2Brothers in Scars
What would have happened if Lord Voldemort had known the entire prophesy made by Sibyll Trelawney all those years ago?
Harry and Neville. A/U. Post-OotP. Rated: G.
Friday, December 7, 2007
DISCLAIMER: DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own anything Harry Potter affiliated. If I did, I would be sending this off to a publisher...not posting it online.
A/N: While this story meant to be a sort of role-reversal between Neville and Harry, it has turned a slightly different course – but, sometimes that's just how the ink flows. This is a one-shot story, meant for the sole purpose of entertainment and as a fun addition to a paper written on Harry Potter fan fiction. So, please, enjoy!
Harry lay in bed. Back in number four Privet Drive, he was growing restless. This summer wasn't turning out too badly, though. After the threats the Dursleys received at King's Cross Station a few weeks ago, he was being treated decently. But, it didn't make up for the loss of Sirius. It didn't make up for the weight that was placed on his shoulders.
Why didn't Dumbledore tell him? All those years ago when Harry had asked him why Voldemort chose his life to destroy – he could have handled it. Maybe not, but in the very least, he could have handled a watered down version of it.
Perhaps it was simply in his nature – Hermione was right in saying that he had a thing for saving people. Even with how things turned out in the end, Harry didn't see the great evil in his hero-complex. What was so wrong with wanting to protect others? But still – he had to wonder. If he knew then what he knew now – would he have turned out the same? Would he have done things differently?
As Harry's mind drifted off to sleep, he wondered – what would have happened if Voldemort had known the entire prophesy? Would he have still marked the half-blood his equal? Or, would Neville be the boy-who-lived? Harry could feel himself being pulled by his navel, while in the distance he could hear camera flashes and the wheels of a horseless carriage as it approached a castle beyond a black lake.
Opening his eyes, Harry found his surroundings strange – he was no longer in his room at his Aunt and Uncle's house, but in a large office where portraits surrounded him. Beside a desk, on a perch, sat a large phoenix – "Hello, Fawkes," Harry said in a curious tone. "How did I get here?" Behind him, the door to the headmaster's office burst open, and a very different Neville Longbottom came walking through it.
"Neville, what happened to you?"
He had definitely grown a few inches since parting, but this was not the same Neville. He seemed more confident, but there was something physically different about him. He reminded Harry of the muggles he had seen on television, body builders. Although Harry did not know much about building muscle and the sort, it seemed odd to him that anyone could bulk up that quickly.
Neville closed the door quickly, slumping down in an armchair beside Dumbledore's desk. "I barely made it up here without getting mauled – I don't know how you escaped. Fanatics, the whole lot of them!" As he rested his hand on his forehead, Harry noticed something strange – a lightning bolt shaped scar. Reaching up with a sense of panic, Harry felt his own scar still embedded in his forehead. "Are you alright, mate? You look a bit pale – granted, public appearances never make me too rosy, either. But you normally handle it a lot better –"
Harry stood awkwardly, gaping at this new Neville. What was going on? Picking up the hand mirror on the corner of Dumbledore's desk, he nervously looked at his reflection. Like Neville, he too was different. His features were stronger, harder – his robes fit him tighter, and
A voice floated through the opening doorway. "Harry, how did you get up here so quickly?"
Harry's eyes went wide. Gripping his wand tightly, he turned slowly. He knew that voice – it had haunted him since his first birthday, echoed through his nightmares. But it couldn't be, it had to be a trick. Lily Potter was dead.
"This is why I hate sending the two of you on the train – the press, and the Rita Skeeter woman! How did she know that we were going to portkey into Hogsmeade?"
Through the slant of the mirror, Harry could see the door opening wider, the voice still speaking to him. He wasn't listening. He waited – whoever was pretending to be his mother would show themselves in a matter of seconds, and he would be ready for them. As the arm pushed the door open wider, he waited until he would have the opportune moment – just before she would be able to attack him.
He was furious. Very few people use the memory of his dead mother to get to him – especially at Hogwarts! Wand at the ready, Harry turned to face the imposter, but what he saw made him drop the mirror.
Neville jumped to his feet at the noise, as Harry raised his wand. As she came into view, all he could think about was her eyes and his hand tightened against his wand.
"WHO ARE YOU?" Harry yelled, but Neville was quicker, much quicker than he used to be.
"Expelliarmus!" Neville shouted, skillfully catching Harry's wand in his free hand.
"Harry?" the woman asked, concern flooding her voice, but Harry did not know what to think. Here was his mother – alive. He knew it was her. The look, the eyes, and the concern in her voice – it all screamed that this was his mother. Harry looked from Neville to his mother and back again. It was all too much to take in. How was it possible?
"Woah – Harry!" Neville said, grabbing him beneath the arms as he slumped over. "What's gotten into you?" Neville led him to a chair. "I know being in public stresses you out, but –"
"Who is she?" Harry murmured.
"Harry," his mother said. "Harry it's me – your mum. What's gotten into you?"
"You can't be my mother! Who are you? How are you taking on her appearance?" Harry looked at the faces surrounding him. Neville, his mother and now Dumbledore stood hunched around him. "My mother is dead," he stammered, "You're dead. You died against Voldemort fifteen years ago!"
"No Harry," she said, "I didn't. Why would you say such a thing?" Lily looked to Dumbledore in fear. "What has you so spooked that you would think such things?"
"Perhaps, Lily," Dumbledore said, "I should speak to Harry alone."
"What, but why?"
Dumbledore led her away a few feet, and he wished he could hear what they were saying. As if on command, her thoughts, like radio transmissions, became audible to him – but not Dumbledore's. What is he not telling me? What is wrong with Harry?
"Harry," Neville whispered, breaking his concentration. "You know you shouldn't use occlumency on her – you know she doesn't like it."
"How did I–?"
"Seriously, what has gotten into you? How do I know?" Neville shook his head. "We learned together. I'd know that look of concentration on your face from a kilometer away." He gave a short chortle. "I thought you learned how to hide that expression."
"Neville," Lily said, "why don't you come with me and help me settle into my new office."
"Office?" Harry asked. "You're teaching here?"
"Of course I am, Harry," she said. "We discussed this last week. I am your new potions professor – or at least, I'll be teaching the younger students. Professor Slughorn will be teaching the advanced courses." She paused for a brief moment, the concern rising back into her expression. "Well then, Neville, shall we?"
"Yes, mum."
"Mum?" Harry said quietly as the door closed. "Professor?" Harry asked, turning his head to meet the vigilant eyes of the headmaster. "What is going on here?"
"I was hoping you would be able to tell me," he said.
"I don't know – the last thing I remember is being in my room at Privet Drive, thinking about the prophesy, and now suddenly I'm here."
"Harry," he said with a questioning tone, "how old are you?"
"I'll be sixteen soon."
"Hmmm," Dumbledore hummed to himself as he thought. "And where have you been since the end of the last school year?"
Harry looked quizzically at his headmaster – wasn't it he would had informed him a few months ago about the blood bond between himself and his aunt? "At number four Privet Drive, with my aunt, uncle and cousin, like you told me it had to be."
"Curious," Dumbledore said. "And you believe your mother to be dead?"
"Yes, my father, too –" Harry's eyes suddenly lit up. "Where is he, is he here, too?"
"No, Harry," the headmaster said with remorse, "your father is dead."
"What about Neville – why did he call her mum?"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "Tell me what you know about your life, Harry. How did you get that scar?"
Harry looked disturbed. Dumbledore had spent the last five years of his life filling in the blanks for him. Why did he need to know what he already knew?
"Please," he said, "humor me."
So, Harry did. He told Dumbledore everything he knew, everything the old man had shared with him these many years (although he knew there were parts of the story being left out). Voldemort, his parents, the prophesy, Wormtail's betrayal, the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius' innocence, the Triwizard Tournament, the Order of the Phoenix and the Dark Lord's return to power at the Ministry's ignorance – everything he could think of the linked himself to Lord Voldemort. And when he was done, Dumbledore did nothing but look blankly beyond Harry, taking in all of the information as if hearing it for the first time.
"Harry – what you just told me is much different that what I remember," Dumbledore said. "I don't know why that is, yet – but we will figure it out. I feel it has to do with the prophesy. I don't know how you know about it – obviously your occlumency has progressed farther than I thought."
"But, I never practiced –" Harry said. "I was so mad at Snape that I never took his lessons seriously."
"Snape?" Dumbledore looked confused. "I taught you occlumency, you and Neville both. Harry, I don't know where you would get such an idea."
"Then –" Harry said, "then you don't trust him? And he's not your spy?"
"There was a time, when I did trust Severus Snape – but he has been dead nearly as long as the two of you have had that scar."
Harry looked at the man in confusion. "This is all too much," he said. His mind felt muddled.
"Harry, the reason I brought you and Neville into my office was to tell the both of you the full extent of the prophesy –"
"That one of us has to kill the other?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "and while I still do not understand entirely how you came about this information, or why your take on reality has altered, I feel it necessary to fill you in on your life."
"You mean my life here," Harry said, scooting to the edge of his seat, "my life where my mother is alive?"
"Seeing that you already know about the prophesy, I guess I can skip ahead a bit," Dumbledore said as he took a seat behind his desk. With his hands clasped together, he began to retell Harry's life, as he knew it. "When that prophesy was made, it was overheard, as you know," he said, preventing Harry from interrupting him, "by one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. This spy heard everything and took that information to the Dark Lord. Instead of attacking you, as you recall, he waited – attempting to figure out which one of you was the chose one mentioned by the prophesy and which one posed little threat. I, however, made his choice more difficult, by insisting that you and Neville remain together at all times. With four members of the Order standing guard I figured it would be near impossible to get to the two of you – but I did not plan on Peter's betrayal.
"When Voldemort entered the house, your mothers were tending to the two of you. Your fathers attempted to hold off the Dark Lord, but they did not last very long. Your father was without his wand, and even with his wand, Frank could not stand against his knowledge of magic. When he reached the nursery, your mothers were standing guard. Voldemort offered them their lives, their freedom. All they had to do was step aside. They refused, so he took it out on your mother first, attempting to use an imperious curse to force her to move away from you. When that didn't work, he used the Cruciatus until she couldn't raise herself off the floor – he wanted her to witness the death of her only son.
"With her out of the way," Dumbledore continued, a saddened look set into his features, "he turned again to Alice Longbottom. He gave her one last chance to move away from Neville, and when she refused, Voldemort aimed his killing curse at you."
Harry looked stunned. His mother had not died for him, yet he was still alive? Before Harry could ask how, Dumbledore resumed his story.
"You survived, because Alice Longbottom stepped in front of you – she sacrificed herself for you. Your mother witnessed the entire thing. As she rose to protect the two of you, she found herself too late. Voldemort again aimed his wand to kill, but this time he meant to take both of you out with one curse. However –"
"Her love saved us both."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, her sacrifice not only for her own son, but for another's? It protected you from him – the end result being the scars that you and Neville share. The bond was sealed however, when I sent the two of you to Neville's Grandmother's to stay with your mother healed at Saint Mungo's. The loss of your father added to her injuries left her – well, anyways! Voldemort was stopped for the time being, and was unable to return during your first year by some impressive detective work by yourself and Mr. Longbottom. Lord Voldemort came back to his full power only a few months ago – it was not your blood he took, however, but Neville's grandmothers."
"Then she –?" Harry asked, unable to form a complete question.
"No," Dumbledore said to his relief, "she's quite alright. You and Neville, having both received messaged from the Dark Lord about her whereabouts was able to inform your mother and myself. We arrived in time to prevent her death, but she nearly lost her mind in the process. You see, you have lived the past fifteen years with your mother, Neville and Neville's grandmother. The four of you have formed a makeshift family – your mother raised Neville as her own son, the least she felt she could do to repay his mother. As I understood it, you and Neville came to regard each other as brothers, and his grandmother as your own."
It made sense to Harry, in its own way. Just as he would have done anything to rescue Sirius – in this world, he and Neville would do anything to protect their Grandmother. However, it seemed that Harry was not as caviler in this life as he was in his old life. They went to his mother and Dumbledore before acting on their visions, a response that must have come from Dumbledore's personal training and his mother's presence in his life.
Harry woke startled.
It was strange to have strange dreams and not wake to the stinging pain of his scar. But then again, he normally did not dream about alternate universes. He almost preferred to see Voldemort in a rage, almost.
His mother being alive, although something he wished possible, was not real. Loosing Sirius only made the permanence of death more real. While he believed Luna (a very strange thought, indeed) that he would one day see his parents and godfather again, he knew or at least he hoped it would not be for a long time.
Thinking back on his dream, he went back over all of the details. It was similar – how certain events still happened, and some things never happened at all. It all could have been different, Harry thought to himself. But as he laid in the dark, his mind wandered, again, pondering questions left from this dream. In this alternate reality, secluded within the wizarding world, would he still be friends with Ron? And, without Ron as a friend, would he have come to be friends with Hermione? Did he still play Seeker? Where was Lupin? What about Sirius? With his mother still alive, Sirius never would have went to Azkaban – he wouldn't have been a fugitive! Harry's life could have been something completely different, and the thought of this intrigued him.
Breathing in the crisp night air, Harry smiled – he had found a way to entertain himself until the Order came to rescue him.
"What if…?"