Valkyrie

October 1978

They all call her by the wrong name.

They call her Wilhelmina, even as she clenches her fists and grits her teeth. She must ease it, though. Nothing productive comes from an impromptu fight.

Most of the others discount her. This is a bad idea. She has always been slight for her age, sure, and in the light, she looks like a wisp, soft and delicate, but she is as deadly as they come. Sometimes, she doesn’t mind that they overlook her. That’s what Ferenc did.

She remembers the smell of blood, the tang in her throat. She hadn’t wanted to use her wand for it, besides it was much too impulsive to think of it. All she needed was her sharp nails and a vengeance.

They kicked her out of Durmstrang for that. Boo-hoo. Not like she liked it there anyways, much too cold. She’s a summer girl, through and through.

Hogwarts was nicer, less grueling. Durmstrang was determined to create fighters, while Hogwarts seemed to think herbologists and potioneers were the future of the wizarding world. She’ll beg to disagree with them there.

She threatened to kill herself if they didn’t bunk her with the girls. Her mom didn’t appreciate that, but they pulled some strings anyway. She mostly kept out of the way of her dormmates, especially since she was going in during fourth year, when friendships had already been established.

Despite that, she knows how to play nice. Coy winks, shy smiles, easy answers. She attracted a friend group in no time. She always liked to imagine them as a royal court: Neil as the king, Milton as his loyal soldier, Aurora the court advisor, Charity the princess, Evan the jester, and Severus the military strategist. She was always at the back, perhaps a steward or secretary. That was just fine. She likes to be unexpected.

Only one person ever caught her. But just like everyone else, they underestimated her.

Nobody knows that she killed a boy. They rumoured it at first, but nobody knows she actually did it. That’s a secret she likes to whisper in the ears of her victims as they bleed out. She likes the recognition in their eyes, the realization of oh, you are dangerous.

Yes, she is dangerous. And that’s how she likes it.

~*~

In some way, Alice Fortescue had always known she would marry Frank Longbottom.

Okay, well, maybe she hadn’t been able to articulate it then. She was a kid when they first met, back in the summer of 1963. God, it seemed like so long ago.

For most of the year, she and Dad lived in a small flat on Diagon Alley, so he could run his ice cream parlour. Alice mostly hung around him all day, kicking her feet on the tall stools and chatting with customers. Sometimes, she’d wander the streets, watching people move around her. She liked it especially when the alley got busy right before school, and all the students with their parents would hurry about grabbing this and that. She was especially fascinated by the muggleborn students, who wandered around gazing up with a sense of wonder. Dad had always been good at explaining the muggleborn thing, thank Merlin. She would appreciate it more when she was older.

Until Hogwarts, Alice never really got a formal education. Dad was an enthusiast about the witch trials from the past, and he used to talk her ear off about it over dinner. Everything else came from books.
Their flat was small, and so she kept a collection of her most useful and information-packed books on her nightstand, readily accessible. For the rest, she would go over to Flourish and Blotts, sit on the floor, and read all day. She was only really tolerated because of Dad, but that was okay.

Mum wasn’t around. They didn’t really talk about it, because it had been just the two of them before Alice could remember. Her father was often bumbling and accident-prone and oblivious, but she adored him dearly.

Dad was good friends with Mr. Potter for a long time, she remembered. She’d always found that funny, given that Mr. Potter and his wife were quite old, but Dad had glared at her when she’d mentioned it at dinner with the Potters. She liked them, though. Mrs. Potter always made her Indian sweets; her favourite was Besan Burfi. Mr. Potter was very funny and active, even though his hair was already very grey and his skin wrinkled. He didn’t mind her jokes about his age though, always rewarding her with a wink when she told a good one.

She liked their son, James, most. Alice was a whole five years older than him, so she was rather unimpressed when meeting him for the first time to find he was just a boring baby. It was cool to hold him, though, even though Mrs. Potter tended to hover eerily close in those moments. The baby, with his big brown eyes, looked up from the swaddle of blankets and cooed at her, and Alice became quite taken with him. She’d always wanted a sibling.

Other than occasional visits from the Potters, Alice and her father were basically alone. Even though she liked to chat with the students on Diagon Alley, they never saw her as anything but an annoying and clingy little girl. She was fairly lonely, in hindsight, but she’d never know it then.

In 1963, Dad decided to pack up the parlour for a few weeks to go visit the Potters. This was surprising, cause they didn’t really leave the Diagon Alley area ever, but Alice was so excited. She loved geography books, even the muggle ones, loved pouring over maps. She wanted to travel the world one day, not stay in one place like Dad wanted.

Merlinspire was a small wizarding village close to Durham. Compared to the business of Diagon Alley, Merlinspire was quiet and unassuming. She’d never really been in such nature, such silence. What was especially notable were the kids. Actual kids, not Hogwarts students, but real kids who wanted to play with her.

There were the three toddlers: James, Marlene, and Peter. Amos was just a year older than them, and Septima a year older than him. But there were also Frank Longbottom and Michael McKinnon, Alice’s first real friends.

She remembers coming up to meet them in the McKinnon’s backyard, where they were playing. For the first time in her life, she felt a tinge of shyness, holding her back. What if they don’t like me? She’d never really had to worry about that before, because the people she met usually would leave after one encounter. Every conversation she had with anyone back home would essentially be reset every time.

What if these boys, the closest thing she might have to actual, genuine friends, decided she wasn’t worth it?

Before she could say something, one of the boys turned. He had very brown eyes, and a gap between his teeth.

“Hey, are you coming?”

She took a tentative step forward. “Can I join you guys?” Her voice came out small and shaky.

The other boy glanced back, his auburn curls drifting across his forehead in the wind. “Well, yeah.” He sounded surprised that she was even asking. “We need a third person.”

“That isn’t in diapers.” The first boy added, grinning.

Alice took another step toward them, this time starting to ease. “I’m Alice.”

“Oh, you’re the one staying for the summer!” The first boy says.

“No, just a few weeks.”

“Same difference.” One shoulder shrug. “I’m Frank. That’s Michael.”

Something warm and loving glowed in her chest. “Hi.”

And that was how it started.

~*~

She loved Frank Longbottom more than herself, she knew. She loved him in the mornings, when, sleepy and blurry-eyed, she’d reached out to trace the slope of his nose, his cheekbones, and the curve of his jaw. She loved him when he sang, loudly and off-key, to their tiny radio while he made dinner, even though it always ended up burnt and crispy by the end. She loved him when he sat stooped over his plant book at the kitchen table, adding a detailed sketch of another plant to his collection. She loved him when they stood across from one another at the end of the aisle, holding his calloused hands, knowing they would spend the rest of their lives together.

She’d loved him since she was nine years old, when they first met. She knew that for certain now, even if she hadn’t known it then.

Dad brought her back every summer since, even after she started at Hogwarts. They stayed with the Potters, and played Quidditch with Mr. Potter, James, Frank, and Marlene in the backyard. When Amos was worried about going to Hogwarts, she sat with him and regaled him with stories of her time there and applauded the loudest of everyone when he was sorted into Hufflepuff with her. Michael helped her practice Potions, cause she was rubbish at the subject, and in exchange she would collect ingredients for him to use. Peter would chat her ear off about plants and Quidditch stats once he realized she wouldn’t cut him off or tune him out. Even prickly little Septima warmed up to her eventually, leaving books on the doorstep of the Potters so Alice could read them and discuss with her. Even though Diagon Alley was home, Merlinspire was the place she remembered as an adult: green grass, warm summer air, the sound of feet slapping the cobblestone paths.

She’d kissed Frank on one of the swingsets in the field, installed only a few years prior by a resident. She was thirteen, he was twelve. They’d agreed to never speak of it again, but Alice remembers how flushed and pretty he looked right after, mouth agape and freckles red, even in the dark.

Maybe they wouldn’t have spoken about it again, if it weren’t for the other thing. But Alice still isn’t over that yet.

The focus is Frank, her husband, not whatever happened in the past. She needs to think about him, about his crooked pinky finger and his star-shaped birthmark on his ankle and his gentleness when caring for plants and his love for curry. He is hers, and always will be.

No sense dwelling on the past, now is there?

~*~

After a particularly grueling stakeout mission, Alice brings Marlene and James out for a drink.

They apparate together to the Hogs Head, which Alice has become weirdly fond of lately. The barman, Aberforth, seems to have taken a liking to her, often comping one of her drinks. Alice always glows
with a weird sense of pride when it becomes clear she’s won someone over, even now into adulthood. It’s a childhood thing she’s never able to shake.

“Fuck me, that was exhausting.” Marley groans, pushing her way into the bar. “Why couldn’t something have happened? Maybe just a measly Unforgivable?”

“I thought the point was to avoid the Death Eaters.” James points out with a crooked grin, wedging himself into a tiny booth. Over his head, Alice flashes three fingers at Aberforth behind the bar, who grunts and nods at her. A happy greeting, surprisingly.

“I haven’t gotten to fight yet. I thought today would be the day.” Marlene sulks, flopping down onto the table.

Alice pats her back. “There’s still time, firecracker. The war is far from over.”

“War is sooooo boring.”

“If I get a mission where I get to fight a Death Eater, I promise I’ll ring you.” James says, hand to his heart, looking so endearingly earnest that Alice melts a little.

“I expect the same of you, Alice.”

Alice nudges her up as Aberforth brings the drinks, glaring suspiciously down at Marlene before harrumphing and turning away. Alice takes a swig, liking how it settles warm and comforting at the bottom of her stomach. Frank probably won’t appreciate her drinking tonight, especially on a work night, but that’s a problem for future Alice, who will hopefully be too drunk to care.

“How’s Lily, James?”

“Gotten weirdly obsessed with cooking, lately. Mum’s been teaching her some of our family’s recipes.”

“They’re delicious.” Marley interjects, holding up her glass as though to cheers, making some slosh out. “God bless Effie Potter.”

“She says the two of you need to go out for coffee this week, I think she wants to talk to you.”

“Won’t even tell me what it’s about.” Marlene has faceplanted on the table again. Alice suppresses a grin.

“I’ll have Frank stop by yours then, so he’s not in the house alone. He’s like a dog.”

James brightens up noticeably. “We can play Quidditch!”

Alice feels something small wilt inside her at his joy. He should have been a Quidditch star, one of the best in the league, but instead he still lives in Merlinspire with his parents, fighting a war that shouldn’t even be his.

Instead of thinking about this though, she reaches over to muss his hair. “Atta boy, Jamie.”

He ducks out from her touch, grinning like a little kid. It’s dangerous for Alice to be sent out with these two: she always sees them as they were when they were young. Sometimes, in the rush of battle, she catches a glimpse of little Marlene, her two front teeth missing, and she tips off her axis.

She prefers missions with Dorcas and Maria-Gabrielle. Dorcas, for all her stoicism and mystery, is a reliable partner. They know each other well in this realm, their movements carefully choreographed on the battlefield like a dance routine, gliding around each other to shoot curses. Maria-Gabrielle is an enigma but laser-focused in a fight. You can see it, when her being clicks into place, activated for battle. She’s saved Alice’s ass more times than she can count.

They’re good partners, but even better: there is no history Alice can fall back on. All that exists between the three is the present, and that keeps them grounded. Nothing else interferes.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? The past likes to barge in when it’s not welcome.

Alice knows a thing or two about that.

“Oh, by the way.” She says loudly between sips of her Firewhiskey, gesturing her hand between James and Marlene. “Frank and I are having a little Halloween thing at ours. You guys are invited, Order associates only.” Alice drinks again, then adds: “Mary can come too, obviously.”

James pumps a fist in the air. “First Gryffindor party since leavers!”

“I’m still a Hufflepuff, nitwit.”

Marlene is looking at her, sort of starry-eyed. “Who’s invited?”

“Ah, the usual crowd. The boys, Lily and Mary, MG, Georgia and Amos—”

“Is Dorcas going to be there?”

“Merlin’s beard, Marls, you’re almost pining over Dorcas Meadowes like I did with Lily!” James exclaims, but his voice drops an octave when he says quickly: “Not that that’s not okay, you know.”
Marlene’s cheeks are flaming red, and she ducks down under the table. James and Alice exchange a look.

They’ve both known that Marlene’s gay for a while now. For Merlin’s sake, they grew up with her. Nobody could really miss Marlene’s gigantic crush on Euphemia Potter, especially not Euphemia herself.

And it’s never been an issue, obviously not. She’s still Marlene Sophia McKinnon, with her bright eyes and coarse laugh. Alice could never not love her, nothing could stop her love for Marlene. Especially not when she sees so much of herself in the younger girl, that she just wants to push her in the direction and say “go, go be happy and out, because I never could”.

No, it’s always been about Elspeth McKinnon. The story of Marlene McKinnon begins with Elspeth Sullivan McKinnon and her love for God. God hates the sin, and not the sinner. Nobody has to say it, but everybody knows Marlene carries that shit deep in her chest, even if she doesn’t let on.

Maybe the biggest issue with it all: Dorcas Meadowes. Alice has worked closely with Dorcas for the past few years now, first as Aurors and now as Order and Valkyrie members. Dorcas is a solitary creature, a lone wolf. She relies on no one, not even Alastor Moody. She is silent and guarded, a fortress heavily protected. For someone like Marlene, loud and brash and in such need of love and acceptance, Dorcas would not be right for her. Beautiful and strong as she is, Dorcas Meadowes is unavailable.

Looking at her now, Alice doesn’t have the heart to tell her this. So, she reaches an arm down to yank Marlene back up with a yelp. “You’re ridiculous, but yes. I’ve invited Dorcas.”

“No way. Do you think she’ll talk to me?” Marlene’s voice is giddy, like a puppy.

Alice suppresses a sigh. “She hasn’t confirmed that she’s coming yet, don’t get your hopes up.”

But, of course, Marlene does, and she does not stop talking about Dorcas Meadowes the entire night. By the end of it, Alice is staggering drunk and needs to cling to James to leave the bar, Marlene still yammering away.

~*~

On Halloween 1978, a front door is flung open, except this time, it’s the other pair from the prophecy which will one day ruin their lives.

Alice Longbottom, standing in the doorway, grins at the three boys. “Well, don’t you look nice!”

Peter Pettigrew, glaring at her through the eyeholes in his ghoul mask, says very slowly: “Please don’t make us say it.”

Alice leans against the doorframe, folding her arms. “I’m afraid entry to this party requires the password.”

Peter glances at Remus and Sirius, who are standing very solemnly next to him as Frankenstein and Dracula, and who are unwilling to say it. Sighing, the ghoul turns back to Alice, waiting expectantly.

“Trick… or treat.”

Alice claps her hands together excitedly and sweeps out of the way. “Go ahead in, boys!” She lets Remus and Sirius in first before jumping in to bear-hug Pete before he expects it. He shrieks and tries to duck out, but she keeps him in a vice grip until he eventually hugs her back.

“You’re a good sport, Petey.” She mumbles into his hair playfully and lets him go, enjoying how disgruntled he looks.

“You’ve messed up my robe.” Peter says sadly.

Alice waves a hand. “I’m sure Frank’s got the iron somewhere in the house. Now, come on! You’re the last ones here.”

Inside, Frank already has music playing, but she can see Sirius and Remus moving directly to the record player, probably to shift out songs. That’s fine: her darling Frank has shit music taste, anyway. Merlin, she loves him, but it is pretty bad.

James and Amos, dressed as a devil and a werewolf, seem to be having a competition on who can dance the worst. Their judges, Marlene in a knight’s outfit and Mary as a pumpkin, cheer them on. Peter has already downed half a bottle of Firewhisky and is clumsily explaining the rules of wizard chess to Georgia Clark-Day, Alice’s Hogwarts dormmate, who looks thoroughly unimpressed, though it looks especially funny given that she is dressed as a clown.

Lily is lounging on the couch in her crumpled muggle witch costume, having already drank quite a bit. When she’d showed up at Frank and Alice’s five hours early, grumbling about an assignment she had to do requiring an especially difficult potion, Alice had felt it appropriate to break out the good Cuban rum Frank had gotten her for their anniversary. What, like he’d notice it was gone?

Speaking of, she feels beard hairs tickle the back of her neck, and she giggles. Frank’s warm arms settle around her waist, his head slotting in perfectly into the groove of her shoulder. Even in his silly chicken costume, which he made by tearing up pillows and sticking the feathers to himself with a spell, he is still her Frank.

“You need to shave, love.” Alice teases, and Frank hums, settling his chin in deeper.

“You don’t like the beard, darling?”

“It’s barely a beard. More like… some straggly chin hairs.”

“You wound me, Allie.”

“Somebody’s gotta tell you the truth sometimes, love.”

The music changes to Bowie. Frank jerks up. “They fucking changed my music!” He exclaims and darts off toward the record player, where Remus and Sirius have conveniently disappeared.

In the kitchen, she finds MG, sitting on one of the counters, eyes glazed. She’d expected this would happen, really. Unless in battle, MG never fully seems… there. Not that Alice can judge. Everyone copes with the stress of the war differently. Hey, maybe it helps.

Gently, she taps MG’s knee, which shocks her eyes back into lucidity, blinking up at Alice in a way so reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall herself, waiting for Alice to answer the question in Transfiguration.

“Oh, hi Alice.”

Alice smiles warmly. A lot of people find MG odd or off-putting; certainly, she felt a similar way the first time she met her. She knew of her, the Quidditch prodigy, McGonagall’s eldest niece, but MG was strangely quiet in person, far from the loud and flashy persona she held on the pitch or in Gryffindor parties. It took a particular person to warm up to her. Sirius and James liked her, very much so. Even Dorcas liked her, however much Dorcas liked anybody. Alice thought she was sweet in a quiet way, maybe a little unstable – she laughed a lot in strange points of the conversation, or her eyes would glaze over as though she was departing her body – but a good person. Certainly, a wonderful flier and fighter too.

“Hey MG. You hiding from the party?”

MG looks very serious. “Amos Diggory would not stop talking at me about the Chudley Cannons.” She says darkly, and Alice laughs.

“You would have thought he would have learned by now.”

MG didn’t laugh along with her. That was the thing, most people didn’t like how out of sequence her reactions were. Alice thought it was very endearing: she didn’t pretend for the sake of others.

“Have you had anything to drink?”

“No. Sober tonight.”

Alice clicks her fingers at her. “Wise choice.” She grabs the countertop and hoists herself up onto it beside MG. “You doing alright?” She bumps MG’s shoulder with her own. “You’re quieter than usual.”
MG doesn’t say anything. She’s drifted away. Alice nudges her again. “MG?”

“My sister’s afraid of the war.”

“Oh. I see. How old is she?”

MG stares down at her hand, opening and closing in her lap. “Nine.”

“Man. It’s gotta be scary for her.”

“She’s afraid of me.”

Alice tilts her head, scrutinizing MG’s side profile, her head drooped and dark hair falling into her face like a waterfall. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s what my dad says.”

“Your dad told you that?”

“He’s a Legilimens.”

“Shit.” Alice sits back. The kitchen is quiet, save for the sound of music and loud belting from the living room. James and Frank, no doubt.

MG laughs suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound. “I started sleepwalking. Apparently, I held my wand at Elsie’s throat in her bed.”

Something thrums in Alice’s chest, a low and steady beat. Carefully, she starts, “Hey, MG?”

“I love her very much, though. That’s the weird bit. And I don’t remember doing it. But she won’t be in the same room as me anymore.”

“She’s probably just a little frightened right now. Once she realizes that wasn’t really you—”

“Do you think I’m scary, Alice?” MG looks her directly in the eyes, the first time since they’ve met. Her eyes are bright blue, like electricity. It is shocking.

“Maria-Gabrielle, I have never met someone less scary than you.” Alice says slowly and gently, pressing her palm flat against her chest, where her heart is.

MG’s eyes blink rapidly, processing. She sees the film cross over them, sliding into place, and then she laughs a little, looking back down and away and mumbling something she can’t quite catch.
Alice feels it deep in her core, the concern. MG is a good kid, and clearly the war hasn’t done her any favours. Patting MG’s knee gently, she slides down off the counter and leaves her be.

~*~

She and Frank had both tried to persuade Dumbledore not to let these kids fight on several occasions.

Frank had gotten emotional, begging Dumbledore not to let them into the Order on his hands and knees, tears in his eyes: they have a future, we don’t, just let them be kids for a while yet. Alice, finding herself numb in response, had threatened. If you let them fight, Frank and I are out. We will not stand by this exploitation.

Dumbledore had just smiled at them and said no, we need the numbers and skills, and he sent them away. Alice hasn’t quite forgiven him for that yet, especially not after the Valkyrie stunt.

McGonagall, she felt, would be easier to persuade. Quietly, standing in her office at Hogwarts, Alice had clasped her hands in front of her and said:

“Please.”

McGonagall had just looked at her, unable to say what she had to. Something like sadness or pity flickered in those grey eyes, but she slowly shook her head.

“I’m sorry.”

It would be the same if she went to them about MG. She was a good fighter, a valuable resource. Who cared that the war was tearing apart her sanity, her family? She was a number, and that was all that mattered.

Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she’ll hear a voice. She hears it soft and gentle, even though at the time, it was hurled at her like a curse, vicious and angry.

Why do you even want to fight?

Alice has the same answer then as she does now:

She wants to fight to protect all the people who cannot or do not want to fight. She, Alice Fortescue, pureblood, is willing to fight, and so she will. She will never look down upon Mary Macdonald for shying away from the Order. Mary is vulnerable in this fight; her blood status is a part of the stakes in this war. Alice fights for her, and for every other muggleborn who is too scared or already dead. Alice stands up for them.

She includes these kids in the umbrella of her protection. Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, Amos, Marlene, MG, Mary, they shouldn’t have to fight. Alice is an Auror, she is trained for this. Put her on the front lines, not these newly graduated children.

They should be protected by those older than them. Alice, Frank, Dorcas, Dumbledore and McGonagall. Alice can never forgive that abandonment of their oath as professors to look after their students.

They have failed them, all of them.

~*~

Now, Alice goes back to the party. She drinks firewhiskey with Georgia, dances around with Marlene, helps Sirius to the bathroom to puke, kisses Frank on the lips, laughs until she cannot breathe.

It is Halloween 1978 and here, in this small pocket far away from the war, all is well.