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.