Happy birthday Fleshdress, fic, music and the wank that ate fandom
A story. About Alice and Frank. For viola_dreamwalk's Behind Every Good Woman challenge.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Around 1,600
Author's notes: Happy birthday, fleshdress! There should be proper birthday fic for you later, but meanwhile this one's for you, if you don't mind owning het, for being the first person on LJ whose writing really made me sit up and take notice, and for being such a lovely friend since my early days here.
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Frank and a girl named Alice. Frank wasn't handsome, but he was good at practical subjects, and he excelled in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Alice was pretty and quiet and people often underestimated her until it was too late.
Alice and Frank fell in love after leaving school, and got married under the shadow of war. They soon had a little boy called Neville, and they loved him very much.
The first time Frank and Alice meet after leaving Hogwarts is at the Auror training induction. Alice hasn't changed much - still that round, shy face and blondish-brown hair - but she looks more defined to Frank somehow. Harder. When he hears that her mother was killed over the summer (in the wrong place at the wrong time, according to hearsay), it doesn't surprise him. He feels a jolt of protectiveness towards his own mother: she's a formidable woman, of course, and he's proud of her, but anyone can be taken by surprise, and these Death Eaters seem to be everywhere all of a sudden.
Frank doesn't remember his father, who died in a flying accident when he was three. Many mothers would have kept their sons away from broomsticks after that, but Augusta Longbottom took the opposite approach, and six months later Frank was bouncing along a few inches above the ground on his toy broom, cheered on by his mother.
Alice isn't the first of his acquaintances to have lost relatives on one side or other of the Lord Voldemort controversy, but something about her attitude attracts him. She reminds him of his mother, who has never allowed herself to be defeated by life. For a year, he has no opportunity to find out whether the resemblance is more than a figment of his imagination, since Alice keeps her distance during training and never joins in the socialising. She gives the impression that she has better things to do, and Frank has other interests, like politics, to distract him.
Alice acquits herself well during training. When she gets frightened (which is often), she pictures her mum's face and reminds herself that some things are worse than fear. And when she's not working evenings, she goes home and cooks tea for her dad, who eats in silence and then disappears into his study, where the whisky is kept.
Alice retires to her bedroom and listens to Muggle music. There's a song with her name in it, called Living Next Door to Alice; her dad, when he finally worked out what the lyrics were, muffled as they were by the closed door, used to tease her about the boy next door and Alice had shushed him furiously, because the boy next door, one Sebastian Boardman, had been a Ravenclaw a couple of years above her at school, and was one of the reasons that she first got interested in Muggle music. (He'd caused a sensation one summer afternoon just after exams by stripping off his robes to reveal a t-shirt that proclaimed, "The times, they are a'changin'" in large, purple letters. Alice had never heard of Bob Dylan, but she soon had a modest collection of his albums, as well as a couple by the Rolling Stones and one by an odd young man whose name might have been David Bowie, although he appeared to change it with alarming regularity.)
Now she plays that song over and over, hoping to draw her dad from his study. It has not yet had any effect.
To celebrate surviving their first year of training, the would-be Aurors venture into central London for drinks. For once, Alice is one of their number; when there's talk of extending the evening, she even suggests they try a nightclub that she's heard is good.
The club is hot and smelly, the beer tastes watery, and Frank isn't impressed. Alice, on the other hand, is almost instantly transformed as she steps inside and straight onto the dancefloor. Frank watches her as she laughs in delight at the opening bars of a favourite song, shifts her full hips in anticipation and raises her arms to shoulder height. She exchanges a manic grin with her partner, a long-haired Hufflepuff, and then the tune kicks in and Alice is off. She bounces slightly on her feet (and oh, how beautiful her curves look to Frank when she does so), but most of her movement comes from her hips, whether it's the way her waist arches in one direction and then the other, or the way she lifts one foot and then the other, pushing her bum out ever so slightly, or the way her shoulders shimmy in time, or the way she smiles as she bites her lower lip, her eyes half-closed. It's the sexiest sight in this club, possibly the sexiest sight Frank has ever been treated to, and he's forced to retreat to a handy chair in order to conceal the sudden tightness in his cords. Clearly he's not the only one: the dancefloor around Alice is thick with men, both friends and strangers, who are jostling to dance alongside her.
The song segues into a disco number, and Frank watches Alice's joy subside into indifference. She moves half-heartedly from side to side for a minute or two, grinning at a couple of hopefuls who are jigging enthusiastically for her benefit, before heading towards the DJ's corner with a shrug. The DJ follows up his nod with an appraising stare, but Alice is already moving towards the bar, bouncing slightly with each step, eyes still bright from her dance.
Frank swallows down the rest of his beer and follows her hastily, coughing. Still, he makes it to the bar before anyone else does, and leans beside her as nonchalantly as he can.
"I'll get these," he calls, and she turns and smiles, head still nodding in time to the music.
"Thanks, Frank! I'll get you one later, all right?" Her light brown hair is loose, and she brushes a strand back from her face as she asks him whether he likes the music.
"I don't really know it at all," he admits, wondering if he's just ruined his chances, but she only laughs and promises to change that. The way her eyes light up at the challenge gives him butterflies, and he's glad to turn back to the barman and pay for the drinks.
They make their way over to the table around which the other trainees have gathered, but halfway there the music changes and Alice grabs his arm.
"I love this song! Come on!" They deposit their glasses on a nearby table and then Alice pulls him onto the dancefloor, flashing a complicit grin at the DJ who salutes her with a thumbs-up.
"Right," thinks Frank, who learned to waltz at the age of seven, "how hard can this be?" He shifts his right foot and then bounces awkwardly onto his left, but the beat is too fast, and he almost overbalances. He stops, embarrassed, and then lifts a heel to try again.
"Here!" Alice grasps his wrists and leans up to shout in his ear. "Listen to the music," she calls. "Feel the music. Let it tell your body what to do." And then he's damned if she doesn't gyrate her hips right there, inches from his crotch, making him wish he could double over although he's fairly sure it's too dark for anyone to notice the way his body is betraying him.
"Eh…" He emits a croak that he's relieved she can't hear, and then gives himself a little shake. He is Frank Longbottom, his mother has family records that go back five hundred years, and he has been dancing ever since he can remember. Listen to the music, she said.
The beat is strong, fast, insistent, while the singer's voice is raw and knowing. Frank notices that Alice isn't throwing herself about to this one: in fact, she's barely moving except that her feet are tapping the floor rhythmically and her shoulders are shifting in time, and he realises again that it's all coming from her hips.
Feel the music, she said. Her hands are still warm on his, and it's all he can do not to put his arms around her and hold her close enough to feel the music through her body. He takes a deep breath and begins lifting his feet in time to the music.
A smile spreads across her face and she increases her movements inch by inch, until she's gently pulled him into a rhythm. Then she lets go of his hands, and he feels a chill of loss, but it's all right, because there she is, still only inches away, and she's doing that wonderful if terribly arousing thing with her hips again, and dear heaven but she is beautiful and he wants to stay like this forever, bouncing stiffly with gorgeous Alice dancing fluidly in front of him.
Actually, it looks as if she wants to do this forever. What he really wants to do is take her home, and then maybe to his mum's for breakfast, and then perhaps see if she wants to marry him.
He doesn't do any of those things, of course, although he does get to hold her when a slow song signals an end to the evening. And when they are married nine months later, the band plays Living Next Door to Alice and Alice laughs tearfully as she pulls her dad onto the dancefloor, and barely anybody whispers maliciously about people who get married in a hurry during wartime.
Alice and Frank were very happy together, and everyone said that Neville was the sweetest baby. When Voldemort fell, they were terribly sad about the Potters, who were also members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Alice often wondered whether she'd have the courage to do for Neville what Lily and James had done for Harry. But Voldemort was gone, and so they got on with their lives.
Then one day there was a knock at the door.
Author's note: I realised after writing this that the name I came up with for Stubby Boardman, Sebastian, was originally used by shaggydogstail in her wonderful Stubby/Sirius story. I think that's probably where my subconscious dredged it from.
So after four years of wondering why, eg, the SugarQuill put up a notice denouncing stalkers a propos of nothing, and why GryffindorTower disappeared, and hearing rumours, and discounting the rumours and putting them down to jealousy, it's really nice to find out that, yes, actually, fandom as I first discovered it really was dictated by a group of immature [insert polite word, because I cannot come up with one] whose principle reason for believing one person over another was their shipping preferences. Playground politics, anyone? Jesus, what a load of sad bullies.
Also, I'm feeling angry about Iraq all over again, which is obviously a hell of a lot more important, so here are a couple of anti-war songs that made me cry today:
Willie McBride's Song by Dramtreeo (I think). I originally got this from thistlerose.
Ah, young Willie McBride, I can't help wonder why,
Did all those who lie here really know why they died?
And did they believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end war?
For the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain,
The killing and dying were all done in vain,
For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again
Devils & Dust by Bruce Springsteen.
I got God on my side
I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
And fill it with devils and dust
ETA: I am horribly behind on my friendslist, and I know some of you have posted fics in the past few days. I'll try and catch most of them, but please do post a link here if there's anything you want me to see. Also, feel free to do that without commenting on the story in this post. I promise I won't be offended.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: Around 1,600
Author's notes: Happy birthday, fleshdress! There should be proper birthday fic for you later, but meanwhile this one's for you, if you don't mind owning het, for being the first person on LJ whose writing really made me sit up and take notice, and for being such a lovely friend since my early days here.
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Frank and a girl named Alice. Frank wasn't handsome, but he was good at practical subjects, and he excelled in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Alice was pretty and quiet and people often underestimated her until it was too late.
Alice and Frank fell in love after leaving school, and got married under the shadow of war. They soon had a little boy called Neville, and they loved him very much.
The first time Frank and Alice meet after leaving Hogwarts is at the Auror training induction. Alice hasn't changed much - still that round, shy face and blondish-brown hair - but she looks more defined to Frank somehow. Harder. When he hears that her mother was killed over the summer (in the wrong place at the wrong time, according to hearsay), it doesn't surprise him. He feels a jolt of protectiveness towards his own mother: she's a formidable woman, of course, and he's proud of her, but anyone can be taken by surprise, and these Death Eaters seem to be everywhere all of a sudden.
Frank doesn't remember his father, who died in a flying accident when he was three. Many mothers would have kept their sons away from broomsticks after that, but Augusta Longbottom took the opposite approach, and six months later Frank was bouncing along a few inches above the ground on his toy broom, cheered on by his mother.
Alice isn't the first of his acquaintances to have lost relatives on one side or other of the Lord Voldemort controversy, but something about her attitude attracts him. She reminds him of his mother, who has never allowed herself to be defeated by life. For a year, he has no opportunity to find out whether the resemblance is more than a figment of his imagination, since Alice keeps her distance during training and never joins in the socialising. She gives the impression that she has better things to do, and Frank has other interests, like politics, to distract him.
Alice acquits herself well during training. When she gets frightened (which is often), she pictures her mum's face and reminds herself that some things are worse than fear. And when she's not working evenings, she goes home and cooks tea for her dad, who eats in silence and then disappears into his study, where the whisky is kept.
Alice retires to her bedroom and listens to Muggle music. There's a song with her name in it, called Living Next Door to Alice; her dad, when he finally worked out what the lyrics were, muffled as they were by the closed door, used to tease her about the boy next door and Alice had shushed him furiously, because the boy next door, one Sebastian Boardman, had been a Ravenclaw a couple of years above her at school, and was one of the reasons that she first got interested in Muggle music. (He'd caused a sensation one summer afternoon just after exams by stripping off his robes to reveal a t-shirt that proclaimed, "The times, they are a'changin'" in large, purple letters. Alice had never heard of Bob Dylan, but she soon had a modest collection of his albums, as well as a couple by the Rolling Stones and one by an odd young man whose name might have been David Bowie, although he appeared to change it with alarming regularity.)
Now she plays that song over and over, hoping to draw her dad from his study. It has not yet had any effect.
To celebrate surviving their first year of training, the would-be Aurors venture into central London for drinks. For once, Alice is one of their number; when there's talk of extending the evening, she even suggests they try a nightclub that she's heard is good.
The club is hot and smelly, the beer tastes watery, and Frank isn't impressed. Alice, on the other hand, is almost instantly transformed as she steps inside and straight onto the dancefloor. Frank watches her as she laughs in delight at the opening bars of a favourite song, shifts her full hips in anticipation and raises her arms to shoulder height. She exchanges a manic grin with her partner, a long-haired Hufflepuff, and then the tune kicks in and Alice is off. She bounces slightly on her feet (and oh, how beautiful her curves look to Frank when she does so), but most of her movement comes from her hips, whether it's the way her waist arches in one direction and then the other, or the way she lifts one foot and then the other, pushing her bum out ever so slightly, or the way her shoulders shimmy in time, or the way she smiles as she bites her lower lip, her eyes half-closed. It's the sexiest sight in this club, possibly the sexiest sight Frank has ever been treated to, and he's forced to retreat to a handy chair in order to conceal the sudden tightness in his cords. Clearly he's not the only one: the dancefloor around Alice is thick with men, both friends and strangers, who are jostling to dance alongside her.
The song segues into a disco number, and Frank watches Alice's joy subside into indifference. She moves half-heartedly from side to side for a minute or two, grinning at a couple of hopefuls who are jigging enthusiastically for her benefit, before heading towards the DJ's corner with a shrug. The DJ follows up his nod with an appraising stare, but Alice is already moving towards the bar, bouncing slightly with each step, eyes still bright from her dance.
Frank swallows down the rest of his beer and follows her hastily, coughing. Still, he makes it to the bar before anyone else does, and leans beside her as nonchalantly as he can.
"I'll get these," he calls, and she turns and smiles, head still nodding in time to the music.
"Thanks, Frank! I'll get you one later, all right?" Her light brown hair is loose, and she brushes a strand back from her face as she asks him whether he likes the music.
"I don't really know it at all," he admits, wondering if he's just ruined his chances, but she only laughs and promises to change that. The way her eyes light up at the challenge gives him butterflies, and he's glad to turn back to the barman and pay for the drinks.
They make their way over to the table around which the other trainees have gathered, but halfway there the music changes and Alice grabs his arm.
"I love this song! Come on!" They deposit their glasses on a nearby table and then Alice pulls him onto the dancefloor, flashing a complicit grin at the DJ who salutes her with a thumbs-up.
"Right," thinks Frank, who learned to waltz at the age of seven, "how hard can this be?" He shifts his right foot and then bounces awkwardly onto his left, but the beat is too fast, and he almost overbalances. He stops, embarrassed, and then lifts a heel to try again.
"Here!" Alice grasps his wrists and leans up to shout in his ear. "Listen to the music," she calls. "Feel the music. Let it tell your body what to do." And then he's damned if she doesn't gyrate her hips right there, inches from his crotch, making him wish he could double over although he's fairly sure it's too dark for anyone to notice the way his body is betraying him.
"Eh…" He emits a croak that he's relieved she can't hear, and then gives himself a little shake. He is Frank Longbottom, his mother has family records that go back five hundred years, and he has been dancing ever since he can remember. Listen to the music, she said.
The beat is strong, fast, insistent, while the singer's voice is raw and knowing. Frank notices that Alice isn't throwing herself about to this one: in fact, she's barely moving except that her feet are tapping the floor rhythmically and her shoulders are shifting in time, and he realises again that it's all coming from her hips.
Feel the music, she said. Her hands are still warm on his, and it's all he can do not to put his arms around her and hold her close enough to feel the music through her body. He takes a deep breath and begins lifting his feet in time to the music.
A smile spreads across her face and she increases her movements inch by inch, until she's gently pulled him into a rhythm. Then she lets go of his hands, and he feels a chill of loss, but it's all right, because there she is, still only inches away, and she's doing that wonderful if terribly arousing thing with her hips again, and dear heaven but she is beautiful and he wants to stay like this forever, bouncing stiffly with gorgeous Alice dancing fluidly in front of him.
Actually, it looks as if she wants to do this forever. What he really wants to do is take her home, and then maybe to his mum's for breakfast, and then perhaps see if she wants to marry him.
He doesn't do any of those things, of course, although he does get to hold her when a slow song signals an end to the evening. And when they are married nine months later, the band plays Living Next Door to Alice and Alice laughs tearfully as she pulls her dad onto the dancefloor, and barely anybody whispers maliciously about people who get married in a hurry during wartime.
Alice and Frank were very happy together, and everyone said that Neville was the sweetest baby. When Voldemort fell, they were terribly sad about the Potters, who were also members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Alice often wondered whether she'd have the courage to do for Neville what Lily and James had done for Harry. But Voldemort was gone, and so they got on with their lives.
Then one day there was a knock at the door.
Author's note: I realised after writing this that the name I came up with for Stubby Boardman, Sebastian, was originally used by shaggydogstail in her wonderful Stubby/Sirius story. I think that's probably where my subconscious dredged it from.
So after four years of wondering why, eg, the SugarQuill put up a notice denouncing stalkers a propos of nothing, and why GryffindorTower disappeared, and hearing rumours, and discounting the rumours and putting them down to jealousy, it's really nice to find out that, yes, actually, fandom as I first discovered it really was dictated by a group of immature [insert polite word, because I cannot come up with one] whose principle reason for believing one person over another was their shipping preferences. Playground politics, anyone? Jesus, what a load of sad bullies.
Also, I'm feeling angry about Iraq all over again, which is obviously a hell of a lot more important, so here are a couple of anti-war songs that made me cry today:
Willie McBride's Song by Dramtreeo (I think). I originally got this from thistlerose.
Ah, young Willie McBride, I can't help wonder why,
Did all those who lie here really know why they died?
And did they believe when they answered the call,
Did they really believe that this war would end war?
For the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain,
The killing and dying were all done in vain,
For, young Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again
Devils & Dust by Bruce Springsteen.
I got God on my side
I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a powerful thing
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
And fill it with devils and dust
ETA: I am horribly behind on my friendslist, and I know some of you have posted fics in the past few days. I'll try and catch most of them, but please do post a link here if there's anything you want me to see. Also, feel free to do that without commenting on the story in this post. I promise I won't be offended.