Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
______________
IT'S ME FRANK OH MERLIN, FRANK I'M SCARED WHAT DO YOU WANT TO SAY FRANK? OH FRANK, THIS IS AWFUL. BUT THAT'S HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE, OF COURSE ______________
Alice stumbles inside her house with Frank clinging onto her, and her legs finally topple under his weight and under the weight of the war that only presses itself on her shoulders more and more with each passing day, forcing her to sink into the ground with no way out. Frank is bleeding beside her, and she knows he is in pain, but the apparition has knocked the breath out of her, for it has been so sudden, and she lies on the ground, gulping in large breaths of hair.
Augusta lets out a cry of panic upon seeing her son and daughter-in-law in such a condition, but brings herself together immediately and lays Frank gently down on the floor, before whipping her wand out from her robes. Alice closes her eyes and allows herself to recover from the ordeal she has just gone through – thankfully, she hasn't received any wounds – and only then realises the sharp stinging sensation on her left arm.
When she looks down at her arm, she notices that a large slice of her skin has been ripped apart from her elbow region – exposing her flesh, from which rivulets of blood are gushing out. She doesn't remember being cursed, and decides that she has probably splinched herself. With shaky hands, she pulls out her wand and mutters a few spells to stop the bleeding.
When she has somehow recovered from her shock, she turns her attention to her husband.
Frank is lying unconscious on the floor. A large gash, marking the usage of possibly Dark Magic, occupies half of his stomach. Alice nearly retches at the sight, but holds herself back and asks Augusta how he is doing. Her voice comes out shaky and tear soaked.
"Do we need to take him to St Mungo's?" she asks.
"No," Augusta answers confidently. "I can close this wound, and after that, I will apply a potion which should stop the pain. He will be fine."
She continues to work on the wound, while Alice sits there and watches the colour returning to Frank's face. Her fingers are clutched together, nearly twisted into impossible angles, and she revels in the pain that she feels on her elbow, knowing that what Frank is feeling must be a hundred times worse. She counts his breaths, which are too fast to be normal, and his chest heaves up and down painfully. But what his mother is doing must be working, for his breathing rate slowly decreases, and she can no longer count them by merely watching his chest.
Alice feels like a coward, and the word twists her insides painfully, for she has never associated herself with that word. She does feel fear, she is afraid of a lot of things – she fears that she isn't enough for the world, that she is being selfish bringing a child into this hate infested land, that she isn't doing her bit for her people. She is scared to pieces of the death eaters, of the war. Of Death. And yet she has continued to fight, still does, and in her mind, this is what assures her that she is brave enough. That she is a true Gryffindor.
