I think I lost myself a long time ago.

The world around me fades, shimmering. The light around me fails, glittering. I feel a touch and turn away. The fragments of my memory lie like slivered glass, scattered in the dark. I must be careful not to touch the broken glass.

The voices, so kind… like a touch of softest velvet. I listen. My hands reach out, so delicate, so frail. Time has passed. There is more light now. Something flutters. Have the nightingales returned? They were singing when… broken glass, I must not touch.

I breathe in the scent. He must be here. He is the Earth Child. He has calloused hands, always full of flowers. He brings the flowers and puts them by the square of light. Sometimes the wind blows through there, bringing the scent of the city. I do not want to get too near. There is glass in the square of light. It might break.

He is back. I want him to understand. I reach out again, my hands are almost transparent now. Like ghosts. He takes my hands. The velvet voice is echoing. I must rest. I will speak when I feel younger.

My thoughts scatter like feathers on the wind. Breathing is so easy when you never look back. The tears are gone. The Earth Child will bring me flowers again. I will become stronger than the wind. Cruel, cold wind, like silver knives. The silver knife… the broken glass.

Shimmer. Sigh. Breathe. Forget the silver wind. Do not touch the glass.

Someday the glass will be worn down, like broken bottles in the ocean. It will not cut me then.


***


A tall woman carrying a leather satchel crossed the long lawns of Hogwarts. She was lithe and slim, with dark hair twisted back neatly at the nape of her neck. She wore frameless glasses and was dressed in a loose Healer’s robe.

The slanting spring sunlight fell softly on the castle walls and the blue lake. The young woman smiled reminiscently as she paused to watch several students practicing above the Quidditch pitch. Then she turned and continued down the worn track to the greenhouses.

The scent of potting soil and growing things greeted her when she pushed open the glass door. A young man with dirt on his hands stood up from where he was repotting a giant Mimbulus Mimbletonia. He brushed his mop of dark hair out of his eyes, leaving muddy streaks across his pale forehead.

“Hello, Freya.�

“Hello yourself, Neville.�

“I expected you yesterday,� he said simply, coming forward between the rows of plants.

“Well, you know that my schedule is out of my hands. I was called up to Llewellyn Ward just before my shift should have ended. I didn’t get back to my flat until three.�

“Tough luck,� Neville said, dusting his hands off on his canvas apron. “Almost makes my job here sound like an easy one—mind you, it was Mandrakes for the second years today. Four of them out like lights before the end of class.�

Freya laughed and sat down on an inverted bucket. “You and I both love our jobs; that’s what matters.�

Neville sat down on another bucket and drew his wand. A quick cleaning charm vanished the dirt on his hands and face. “Have you seen my mother this week?� he asked.

“Yes, I spent an hour with her yesterday. I think she misses you, Neville.�

He ruffled back his hair again and sighed. “I’ll be going tomorrow. Have you found out anything new about her condition?�

“I ran some new tests based on the research that the Ministry did after the Second War. There are one or two new potions I would like to try. There is a chance, a very faint chance… Do I have your permission to proceed with the treatment?�

Neville sat in silence for a moment. He was gazing absently at a Flutterby bush, not seeing the delicate shaking leaves or the quivering twigs. “Freya, do you think she is happy?� He looked up and met her eyes.

Freya hesitated. “No,� she answered at last, her voice low and steady.

Neville sighed. “You see,� he began slowly, “I had sort of hoped that she was happy the way she is. Now that my dad has passed on, what does she have to come back to? She doesn’t know me. I know I would hate to wake up one day and find that everyone I loved was gone and that the world had changed beyond recognition. I don’t believe that ignorance is bliss… but what if the truth is like a living hell for her?�

Freya shook her head. “Neville, it will be hard, if this even works—and mind you, I make no promises. But right now she is caught inside her own head. My mood scans show that she never truly has a moment’s peace. I think your mother wants to know what happened after Bellatrix took away the last shred of her sanity. But she is too afraid to come back because knows that the reality might be worse then never knowing.

“We have to set her free so that she can grieve and heal. I think it is our duty to give her a chance to come back. And if she is not ready… well, the potion won’t change anything. The potions can only give her a choice; it cannot force her against her will.�

“We talked about that…� Neville trailed off, his brow furrowing. He stood up and walked slowly around the greenhouse with his hands in his pockets. “You are right, of course,� he said at last. “I just don’t want to cause her more pain. As long as the choice is ultimately hers, I think we are doing the right thing. Let’s go ahead with the treatment.�

They walked back out into the sunshine. The path towards Hogsmeade was a mass of spring wildflowers. They passed through the vegetable patch and the herb garden. Neville gathered a bunch of sweet white lavender and handed it to Freya with a shy smile. They walked slowly to the village, talking easily as friends do, while the light grew golden to the west.

***

Something cool against my lips. I think of kisses, whisper light against my skin. I want to ask, who are you? But I cannot speak yet. The hand touches my forehead. Do not break the crystal. Cold air… the silver mist.

Suddenly I see the door. It is a red door with a brass handle. Frank loved red. Frank…

I know if I touch the handle I will have to open the door. Behind the door is a story. It is a story that is not over yet. There is broken glass in the story. But the Earth Child is there too. He will cover the glass with velvet and flowers.

I reach out and sigh. The brass is smooth with age. Frank loved the red door. He loved the mist. I open the door and I see her standing there.

I think I just found myself.

Oh God.

The pain.


Frank was with Neville in the kitchen. I answered the knock at the front door. There was nothing to fear; Voldemort was gone. We didn’t think there could be any danger. But we were Aurors. We should have known better.

Bellatrix cast the spell before I even finished opening the door. I was thrown back against the wall behind me. Bellatrix laughed. The silver dagger glittered in her fingers as she threw it. For a moment I wondered where it had gone. Then I realized that she had skewered my wand arm to the wall, just below the wrist.

“Frank!� I screamed. He had already heard the crash. Thank heavens he kept his head. He held them off long enough to activate an emergency Portkey to send our baby to safety. Then Frank came in fighting. In the meantime Bellatrix had begun her torture. She kept me pinned to the wall but sent Crucio after Crucio into my helpless body. I tried to pull myself free, but the silver dagger was enchanted. I was at her mercy.

Bellatrix has no mercy.

Frank fought well, but four against one is not a fair fight. It was a stupid spell that caught him at last. The youngest Death Eater Petrified him. Then they made him watch my torture.

They raped me, body and mind. Bellatrix made Frank watch. When we couldn’t answer the questions they grew more violent. The Lestrange brothers broke a window and began to magically bury the shards of glass into our flesh, one by one.

I was bitterly cold. The wind blew through the open door and the broken window. I hung against the wall, limp, watching the mist creep across the yard, swirling in slow silver circles. A nightingale began to sing far away. Another answered. Dawn was coming.

Bellatrix’s commanding voice called me back. Her grey eyes, cold and dead like a shark’s, were staring into me. “I will go fetch your son, your itsy bitsy baby boy… I will carve him up like a suckling pig. Would you like to hear him squeal?�

That is when I lost myself. She cast more Crucios after that, but there was no need. My mind was broken. I slipped into the mist; I melded myself with the silver pre-dawn sky. I never wanted to come back. I was free.

But time has worn down the chips of broken glass. It is finally time to leave the sky. The Earth Child is calling. I am stronger than the wind. The silver knife is gone and the wounds are healed. It is time to speak.

***

Neville gripped his mother’s hand tenderly. She lay in her narrow hospital bed, pale and wan. Freya stood by, holding the empty beaker and a flagon of the precious potion. An assistant Healer took notes in the corner. His feather quill made gentle scratching noises on the parchment.

The permanent ward looked like a garden. Neville had taken great pains to make the place beautiful. Soft yellow curtains, braided rugs, and a small fountain decorated the walls and floor. An old gramaphone was playing the softest strains of Mozart’s Magic Flute. The widow was open, and a rain-washed breeze stirred the curtains.

When Alice opened her eyes she saw a young man looking lovingly into her face. He seemed like a nice person, so she let him continue to hold her hand. The woman standing behind him was smiling from ear to ear. Another nice face. Alice took a deep breath and looked at the flowers.

“How long have I been lost?� she whispered. Her voice was cracked and broken from disuse. She looked back into Neville’s face.

“A very long time,� he answered quietly.

“Am I safe now?� she asked.

“Yes, you can sleep if you like.�

“Yes, I will sleep.� Alice closed her eyes. The terrible memories came flooding back like the clinging mist. “Wait!� she croaked. Her eyes flew open again. “I remember. Where is the Order? Why don’t they come? Did we forget to set the alarm ward? Bellatrix will find Neville and kill him. Oh God!� She had sat up, her frail hands twisting the yellow blankets, eyes wide and terrified.

“Neville is safe,� Freya said gently. “Everything is all right now. The Order came in time. You just can’t remember that part. Now drink this and sleep. Everyone is safe now.�


***

A month had passed. Alice lay propped up on feather pillows. A leather bound photograph album lay in her lap. Neville was taking her through his childhood. The old woman had a wistful look on her face. One withered hand lay on his tousled brown head, like and autumn leaf on rich brown earth. The wind had torn the leaf from its tree, but it had finally found a place to rest.

Neville stopped speaking and looked up. “Is everything all right, Mother? Would you like to sleep now?�

There was a long pause before she answered. Speech would never again come easily for Alice. “No… you understand, don’t you?� Her eyes were deep and sad, reflecting the empty years between young grief and broken old age.

“Yes Mother,� he answered, closing the album. “I understand. But listen, I have something to tell you. It is about my future—our future.� He paused and then took the hand that rested on the coverlet. “Mother, I am going to ask Freya to marry me, and I think she will say yes.� He spoke quietly and simply, but joy shone in his eyes. Alice stroked his hair and smiled. She didn’t speak; there was no need.

After a long silence she lifted her left hand and drew off the engagement ring that she wore above her wedding band. The diamond caught the light as she pressed it into Neville’s palm. The entire spectrum of colors glittered for an instant against his calloused skin.

“Give her my ring,� she whispered. “I’d like her to have it.� Neville didn’t argue. He kissed the back of her hand and went to find Freya. Alice continued to smile while she watched the grey, wind-swept sky.

***

Neville came into the room carrying a tiny bundle wrapped in pink and white blankets. “Your granddaughter wants to make your acquaintance, Mother,� Neville said, sitting down beside her and proudly folding back the blanket. A tiny face framed with wisps of downy curls looked up, blue eyes full of wonder. Alice stretched out her hands to take the baby. “We have named her Alice,� Neville said, placing her into his mother’s arms.

“Thank you, son,� she murmured, rocking little Alice and crooning. Holding that tiny baby transported her to the dim past. An old lullaby formed on her lips and she began to sing it softly under her breath.

The rock is strong, it carries on,
Oh lullaby, my little one ,
The sea is wide from side to side,
Oh lullaby, my little one,
I am near, so do not fear,
Oh lullaby, my little one.

The fire is warm, like sun on stone,
So hushaby, my little one,
The wind is soft, leaves born aloft,
So hushaby, my little one,
I’ll hold you tight till morning light
So hushaby…. sweet hushaby…

Outside the wind tossed the pine trees and carried up a silver mist from the river. It rattled the panes of glass in the windows and shook the doors on their hinges. But for Alice there was no cruel wind, only a tiny pink fist gripping her finger and a tiny heart beating close to her own. For a brief moment the long years had never happened. She held her son again.

Alice pressed a light kiss on the baby’s forehead and let the moment pass with a breath and a sigh.

She was content.




~Fin