Rating: Pg-13, or whatever that means to you.
Summary: Neville has a different view on what the prophecy means.
Warnings: Mpreg, AU, complete squishy fluffiness, rampant glossing over of any gross parts. Voldie-death. Also, Sirius is still alive (basically, when they went to the Ministry, Bellatrix missed.) and the events of the last book did not happen, although this takes place in Seventh year.
Neville's prophecy.
Neville knew it would be him. No one told him - no one else seemed to realise it – no one looked at him when he trained quietly under Harry's instruction, no one put pressure on him. Even still, as he watched Harry struggle and flail and fight under the crushing weight of everyone's expectations of him, he knew.
He wondered, quietly and alone, why he knew, how he knew. What he knew. There were no answers for Neville, no one there to guide him, only more questions. How could he, why would he, when would he. The truest question, the one that burned in his soul and terrified him, as he turned the prophecy and Voldemort's Mark over in his head. Why wouldn't it be Harry?
He rubbed his arm gingerly, where the small black tattoo lay, a condemnation of his blood and beliefs, and tried to focus on the Transfiguration lesson on hand. He'd known, the moment Voldemort placed his brand on Neville's skin, that something beyond mere servitude and a death-sentence had been signed. When the war was over, Neville would be condemned to life under Voldemort's tyranny as one of the few purebloods left to breed, or face Ministry officials with a tattoo on his arm and blood in his veins that sang of guilt and betrayal. No matter his intentions, the first war had shown well enough that Neville would not survive this. That it didn't matter, Neville was as expendable as Harry. One destiny, one path, one goal laid before him.
The feel of Harry slipping into his bed that night – please Neville… Let me… need to feel – brought with it answers Neville wouldn't have considered. The automatic charm he cast – so similar to a protection spell in its makeup that he knew Harry wouldn't think anything of it – brought answers he didn't want to think. The burn of Harry's entrance made him whimper softly, needing the cleansing fire of this union just as much as Harry, and the warmth that swamped his abdomen soon after Harry's warmth swamped his insides told him he was successful, safe. And on a deadline, now.
It took six weeks, in which Neville grew and developed in a whole new way, before Voldemort attacked, daring a full-out attack on the school. Of course, Harry stepped forward and challenged him, the Death Eaters under strict orders to wait until the boy was dead. Until the war, as far as Voldemort believed, was over.
Neville watched Harry fall hollowly. He was still alive, but not for long, as Voldemort raised his wand. Neville knew what he had to do, but the courage to go to Harry, to snatch up his fallen wand, was almost more than Neville could believe. Still, he found himself between one breath and the next between his Lord and his heart, Harry's wand pointing Voldemort square between the eyes.
"Silly boy… You think you can defeat me with a borrowed wand?" He hissed. Neville's lips twisted in a mocking smile.
"I don't know, My Lord, but I'm willing to find out." He sneered, his sleeve falling back to reveal the Mark, Voldemort's Mark on Neville's flesh, as both wand spat out green light to one another. Neville knew of Harry's story, about the link between the wands, but the feeling of the link pulsing through his and Harry's magic made his dizzy and a little nauseous. Voldemort laughed and began pushing, experienced with this and clearly believing himself to be stronger. Neville pushed back, stealing Harry's magic stored in the wand, tapping into the child they shared, the magic they shared. The love of a mother defeated Voldemort last time, and Neville hoped the love of a mother would defeat him this time. Harry was still unconscious, he couldn't fail. If Voldemort won, Neville's child and lover would both die.
Neville felt warmth envelope him, heard a distant explosion, felt his magic pulled tightly for one moment before it snapped, and he fell into blackness, praying silently that this wasn't what the Avada felt like.
"Pregnant?! How? When?" A confused, pained voice broke into Neville's conscious. There were a lot of sounds, mostly dulled, but the speaker must be closer than that, because every word was jarringly clear.
"About six weeks. Is… Is there a chance it's yours? He did manage to use your wand."
"Mine?" The voice bleated uncomfortably. Neville sent a pulse of love to his child, hoping the denial he heard in Harry's voice wouldn't end up hurting the baby. "I… We had sex, yes… But doesn't this involve some sort of magic…"
"I think Mr Longbottom performed the spell himself, perhaps aware this would be a way to defeat him." Another voice broke in.
"Albus, you cannot suggest Longbottom had that much forethought. The imbecile probably attempted a contraception charm and got a conception one instead." Snape, at least he survived.
"Conception charm – I felt him do that!"
"They both feel the same, magically, it was probably a conception charm he used." Good old Hermione, Neville thought, don't ever change.
"Listen, Dumbledore, pregnant or not, that doesn't matter. What does matter is that the boy is a Death Eater, you all saw the Mark! How am I supposed to tell the public that Potter failed but a Death Eater killed him?!" Fudge blustered, sounding furious and pleading all at once.
"Had to take Mark… Prophecy…" Neville slurred in explanation.
"Neville? Are you awake?" Hermione asked, loud enough for the others to hear.
"No, he's talking in his sleep." Snape sneered, something sounding like "Imbecile" following quietly.
Neville, with a groan, forced his eyes open. He nearly closed them again when he saw the people surrounding him. Draco, Hermione, all the boys in his dorm, the Minister, Proffessors Snape, McGonagal, Lupin and Dumbledore, Sirius Black, several Aurors and one very concerned looking Medi-Witch.
"What happened?" He asked with another groan at how hoarse his voice was.
"You! You're a Death Eater, why did you kill him?" The Minister asked, sounding furious at Neville for presuming to do such a thing.
"Because that was my destiny. The prophecy… It said so." He tried to explain.
"What prophecy? Dumbledore, what is the boy babbling about?"
"Neville, that was talking about Harry, Marked as he equal…"
"No, both of us! It meant both of us, Professor, that's why I took the Mark… I knew, and then, when Harry came to me, I realised that's how it would happen, the power he knew not, the same one that worked the first time, love! Love of a mother, love for a partner, the magical union between me and Harry while I was pregnant. When I took his wand, it had some of his magic in it, and I could use that, and my own, and tap into more of Harry's because of the baby, that's why I had to use Harry's wand. It wasn't ever meant to be Harry, Sir, it was always supposed to be both of us, that's why it didn't work the first time!"
"Both the prophecy, it speaks of the one. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…"
"Harry and I both fill the description: Born on the same day, both of our parents thrice defied him, both Marked albeit in different ways. The power we have that he knows not is our child. And the one, well, only one of us was stood facing him. It was our combined power, yes, which he knew not, it was his wand, but it was me who faced him. Or, perhaps we can look at it another way. We are one. Me, Harry and the child, in that moment as our power was channelled through me to kill him, we were one being, one magical unit split into three parts. And the last bit – We had both cast the Avada, so in those final moments, there was two ways for it to go – he died or I died, very soon followed by Harry. We could not both survive. Your prophecy has been fulfilled, Professor, he is dead. And I think this is a fitting way for it to happen."
"Fitting how?" Hermione asked softly. Neville smiled at her, a small, ironic smile.
"All along this was a battle of Pureblood versus non-pureblood. In the end, a Pureblood defeated a half-blood. And yet, the final victory is in favour of all blood."
Harry became surprisingly light and happy in the weeks that followed. He constantly hovered over Neville, solicitous, gentle and loving. He made plans, he talked about their future, he prepared for his Newts. He spent hours each evening touching Neville's abdomen, connecting to the baby. Neville watched him flourish with a feeling of delight that he'd never felt before. Accomplishment, pride. Neville had done this to Harry, Neville had given Harry a future to think of, a family of his own.
Of course, everyone (especially the Minister, who'd instantly begun spinning "tragic love story" to the press) insisted they marry. Neville had worried initially that Harry was only doing it for the baby, but the desperately grateful, loving kiss Harry bestowed on him told him that, even if they weren't in love now, there was the chance there for the future. The wedding became the big press event of the year and in April, Neville now six months pregnant and blossoming better than any of his favourite roses, they got married in Hogwart's Great Hall, surrounded by friends, war heroes and the press. The kiss Harry pressed to his lips tasted like sunshine after rain, spring after a bitter winter, hope and love and youthful joy. The pictures that appeared in the press the next day showed two very different men than the shy, depressed, crushed man Harry had been this time last year and the unnoticed recluse that had been Neville. Now it showed power and love and confidence and hope, with Neville's bump displayed proudly, Harry's arm wrapped around his shoulder and the other hand pressed over the baby.
Neville insisted on going to see his parents on the morning of his birthday. Harry held his arm to steady him as he waddled into their hospital room. He didn't say anything, just looked at them for a few tearful moments, one hand pressed instinctively to his bump as he contemplated them. Finally he kissed them both on the head and whispered "I know you would be here with me if you could be." And "I forgive you." When he left, he took Harry up to the maternity ward. Harry looked like he was about to ask why, but Neville's waters broke on his shoes before he got the chance.
"Now?! But… But it's a week early!" Neville kissed him quickly and laughed as the Nurse hurried over to lead him somewhere private for the birth.
"When else would this baby be born, Harry?" He asked softly, pride and love shining in his eyes.