TLAT Dreamcasting : Frank and Alice

Alice Geraldine Griffiths: Lucy Griffiths (coincidence? :P)

“Alice Geraldine Griffiths was not just a normal, thirteen-year-old witch. The golden brown ringlets framing her pretty, cheery face did not belong to an average girl. Her round eyes did not simply take in the world around her, and when she spoke, mere words were not all that she articulated. Alice Geraldine Griffiths was an angel.”

"Bloody hell," marveled Donna Shacklebolt, as Alice took a seat across from her. "Alice, you look… completely different."

Alice knew it, too. Her hair, usually a dirty blonde color, reaching her shoulders in tight ringlets, was now pin-straight, falling well past her shoulder blades in smooth, flaxen sheets. The witch wore make up for the first time in what seemed an eternity, and she wore it well, too: mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss, and blush. A pale complexion and untamed hair were mere memory now.

"No," said Frank, looking at Adam, wide-eyed. He shook his head. "I’m not alright."

"W-w-what happened?" asked Adam. "Is it the homework?"

It wasn’t the homework. It was that Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect, and for the first time in months, he had clarity. For the first time in a very, very long time, Frank Longbottom knew exactly what he wanted.

Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect.

And he didn’t stand a chance.
Frank Longbottom: Sam Claflin

"Frank Longbottom, you stop right there!"
Frank Longbottom stopped right there.
"Francis Algernon Longbottom!" she cried. He stopped, set down the parchment, and turned to face her.
"Yes, Alice Geraldine Griffiths?"
She softened. “Why did you buy that book?”
“Frank rolled his blue eyes. He placed his hands on her hips, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you,” he said.
Alice stopped: she stopped smiling and—for a moment—stopped breathing.
“Really?” she asked.
Frank nodded. His uncertainty about her response showed clearly on his face, but Alice was too agitated to shatter his doubts at once. At length, she found that she was smiling again. The fourteen-year-old witch stood on her toes and kissed him.
“And was it worth all the hype?”
Alice beamed. “Undoubtedly.”
"I love you, Alice Geraldine Griffiths."
And Alice met his eye. The sad smile had changed; there was warmth in her expression again, and she looked at him with such affection that, for a moment, a response to his declaration seemed unnecessary.
"What?" asked Frank, chuckling. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"
She paused. Then—
"Marry me."
"Alice Griffiths…"
"Yes, dear?"
"Will you marry me?"
"Yes, dear."
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