Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Let me mourn in peace and let us not bother with that again lest I burst into tears.
Author's Note: I always like to start off with a warning that says, if you don't like it then don't read it. Just don't flame me about why you don't like it. Flames are for idiots who don't have anything better to do with their time then insult people in order to make themsleves feel better. My work isn't perfect so don't expect it to be.
You ever read or watched 'The Seeker' where they mention all that seventh son of the seventh son business? Well, this is nothing like that. I'm merely mentioning it because much like Voldemort creates seven horcuxes due to the magical power of the number seven this can be seen as another example of this and where I suppose you could say I drew some inspiration for this story. If Ginny had been born a boy she would have been the seventh son. What kind of effects would it have had on her/him? An interesting idea and one I felt just had to be explored. And thus we have a story. It's not the only thing in the story I will change, it's just the inspiration for this idea.
I'm working on my ability to summarise long periods of time into shorter pieces. I won't go into lots of detail about his school experience until maybe his third or fourth year of school cause things don't really start to happen for him until then. In fact you can think of this first chapter as a kind of preface/prologue/backstory to the story that will follow. It's needed in order to understand later events. I also don't find much joy in writing the earlier years of school, it seems to just kill my vibes.
Chapter 1:
Disappointment, it was the first thing his chocolate eyes paid view to in the world. And although he wouldn't remember that moment later in life it would be a feeling that pervaded his waking moments from then on. It's not often that a child's birth is met with disappointment, but for the Weasley's who hadn't seen the birth of a girl in several generations of their family. You could say it was inevitable, the disappointment. It probably wasn't helped by the fact that the mediwitch had assured them they'd be having a girl. They'd been ecstatic, completely over the moon and the let-down of seeing boy staring back at them was a bit harder then they'd imagined.
It wasn't that they hated the boy, far from it. They loved him as much as they loved any of their sons, but sometimes they'd catch themselves looking at him and seeing what could have been. It was a subconscious action, beyond their control and yet they could do nothing to stop their feelings from colouring their eyes and actions. Still, the youngest of the seven Weasley children grew up in a relatively happy home. With parents who loved him and older siblings who both fought with him and doted on him. He had a good family and if it wasn't for the occasionally look he caught his parents giving him he wouldn't have had a moment of doubt in their love for him.
The first time it happened, or the first time he could recall the odd look was when he'd first attempted to fly a broom. He'd been about four at the time, far too young to really be trying anything beyond a training broom, but Fred and George had convinced him that they were far younger then he was when they'd first flew and that he was just being a scaredy cat. While not true, it managed to provoke him into attempting to fly. The whole experience had actually gone quite well until he'd picked up too much speed and gone headfirst into a tree. His mother had come rushing outside, red hair whipping round her face, yelling at the twins as she'd dragged him inside, plopped him down on a chair before healing his bumps and bruises.
There'd been a soft look in her eye, a gentle mothering look he'd always associated with his mother's love and tenderness. It was only when she'd finished healing the last cut on his brow that her look shifted into something else. It was subtle and if he hadn't been so close he would have missed it. The change from love into something odd, something at he hadn't been able to identify at the time. It was bitterness and disappointment followed promptly by a strong dose of guilt for even feeling those emotions. He didn't know what it was then, but it had him sitting on that broom the next day doing his best to fly. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't ever want to see it again.
And yet he did not soon after that, when he found himself with black hair after his mother had read to him the story of the-boy-who-lived and he'd declared he'd wanted to be just like him. It happened when his mother bought him his first shirt that wasn't a hand me down. It happened when he'd rushed into the bookstore when his parents had been shopping for Percy's books and he'd stated with surety he was going to be 'the best wizard ever and read every book in the store'. It happened when he'd managed to apparate him and Ron away from a dog that had been chasing them in the woods nearby. It happened when he first met Luna Lovegood and she'd convinced him to let her put plaits in his hair. It happened when they brought him his wand because trying to do anything with his brothers' generally caused phenomenally bad things to happen, like exploding a chunk out of his brother's bedroom wall.
It happened again and again and each time it did he felt more and more worried that his parents would stop loving him forever. He felt more and more worried that if he wasn't the best, if he couldn't do as much as his brother's had done and more that they would think he wasn't good enough. It wasn't a rationale fear, fear is rarely rationale after all, but it was still one that niggled him and nipped at his heels as he waited with the rest of the first year students for his name to be called out.
He also knew that as a Weasley his name would be one of the last to be called, the waiting really did wonderful things for the tension across his shoulders. He had to stand there and stew in his stress and worry until his name was finally called. The red head was almost scared to move or breathe until his name was finally announced.
"Weasley, Gabriel," the severe witch, he'd quickly identified as McGonagall from his brother's descriptions, called out. Almost jumping in surprise he walked woodenly up the stairs to the stool that seemed far more terrifying then any stool had right to be, he was thankful he hadn't had the misfortune of stumbling on the edge of his robes like some of the other first years had. Looking out over the sea of students, he had just enough time to catch sight of his brothers at the Gryffindor table before the hat was lowered over his head and he could see nothing, but its black insides. He breathed in nervously and found himself wrinkling his nose in surprised disgust. The inside of the hat smelt absolutely disgusting.
"Well, I'm hardly to blame for that. It's not my fault the headmaster won't take the time to clean me properly. Haven't had a good scrub in few decades at least," a voice in his head replied.
His nervousness replaced by surprise he found himself replying without thought, "He really should though, it's hardly proper to let you get into this state. If my mum knew something that smelt like this had been on my head she'd throw a fit."
"It's not like any of the students notice, most of them are too scared to breathe anyway," the grouchy voice replied.
"True enough I suppose."
The hat chortled, "I actually had one of them faint up here once, his surname was Weasley too if I'm not mistaken."
Gabriel gulped.
"Still ended up a Gryffindor though, the lot of you are just too suited to that house to go anywhere else. You however… a seventh son if I'm not mistaken, I haven't seen one of those in a long time, wizards just aren't as fond of breeding the numbers they used to. Still, you could go elsewhere. A different house perhaps."
The red head felt himself pale dramatically. His scattered freckles standing out starkly against the white of his skin. He needed to be in Gryffindor, his whole family had been in Gryffindor for generations in fact it was just assumed he would end up in there without a doubt. If he didn't end up in Gryffindor he didn't even want to think about what his parents would do to him.
"I take it then you're not too fond of that idea. Pity that I'd hoped to see what a Weasley could do outside of the house of red and gold," the hat seemed to sigh with genuine disappointment, though anyone with enough experience would have been able to pick up the teasing tone hidden underneath. "To bad that, well then better be 'GRYFFINDOR'!"
Heaving a sigh of desperate relief Gabriel felt the hat removed from his head and smiled shakily up at the stern witch whose lips twitched slightly in return, no doubt wondering exactly what this Weasley would bring to her house and probably hoping it wasn't the same trouble the twins brought with them. Heading towards the applauding table he quickly searched for the distinctive red hair at the table. First noting Percy, who applauded politely as possible trying to hold back a grin. Then Fred and George who made no move to disguise the triumphant smiles of mischief on their faces. He was surprised to note, however, that his other older brother was nowhere in sight. Quirking a brow to the twins in question he received shrugs of confusion in return which was in itself an oddity. If there was mischief or trouble about then generally the twins were involved in it, for them to not know why Ron was missing was confusing enough.
Shrugging it off he quickly took a seat with the rest of his housemates, smiling happily at being sorted into the house he'd hoped to be in. He'd thought for moment that the hat was going to place him elsewhere, but felt like kissing it in thanks for deciding on Gryffindor in the end. It's not like he had anything against the other houses, but being in any of them would have prematurely killed any chance he had of making his parents proud. He needed to be in Gryffindor to have any chance of doing that.
Being in Gryffindor was exactly where he needed to be. If the rest of the year could just follow along the same course reaching his goal would be that much easier. It's a pity things really go as you hope or expect them to.
Gabriel remembered little of his first year beyond the black diary that took over, destroyed his life and nearly killed him. It was as if the more he wrote in it the more of him the book took away until there was nothing left to give and he was gone completely. He'd thought he'd died. That the book had taken away so much of him that he'd literally died one day just like that, but he didn't. He'd managed to survive somehow and when he finally woke up from both the blackness and the haze that had seeped into his life, he found himself on the cold marble floor staring up into the hopeful green eyes of the boy-who-lived.
He'd thought then that the kind boy would die for his all his efforts - from the poison of the dead snake that lay in the water, but he'd managed to survive too despite the wound on his arm. He'd thought the phoenix that came was a dream, a side effect from whatever that book had done to him, but the healing it had done to Harry was all too real. They would both live or better to say they would all live he decided, when he discovered his older brother had also been involved him his rescue.
He didn't know what the hat had seen in him that it decided to place him in Gryffindor, but now that he'd woken up and started remembering all the things he'd done he didn't think he really deserved to be in the house of the brave. He really didn't think he deserved to be in Gryffindor at all when he saw that look on his mother's face again as he lay in the hospital bed.
It was in Egypt that he first heard the voice. Well, it wasn't so much a voice as it was a set of completely foreign feelings and images that he knew he'd never felt or seen before. It didn't speak to him or expect him to return what thoughts it sent him, in fact it didn't attempt to communicate with him in anyway. It was just there. Not all the time, but when he came across something to do with magic it seemed to stir with interest like a curious cat perking its head up at the sound of something interesting. That's when the images would come, images that seemed to be thoughts on things still far beyond his comprehension.
He didn't know what to do about it. The images weren't anything harmful, they were educational if anything and the feelings he got never integrated or mixed into his own. And even if they ever did there never seemed to be strong emotions beyond curiosity at what it was seeing. He wasn't sure if he should tell his parents what was going on or not. He didn't want to worry them, especially after what happened last year. At the same time though, he didn't want a repeat of last year either. Going through that kind of thing once was enough for him.
In the end though he decided to keep quiet about it. It didn't seem to be doing him any harm and it wasn't attempting to influence or change him like the black diary had, something he would keep close track of. He came to the conclusion that it was probably just a side effect of the diary that would fade with time as most scars do. In the meantime though he made an effort to stay away from anything overly magical. While the images didn't hurt him it was still a bit much to be bombarded by a sudden well of information and he didn't want to encourage the thing anymore than necessary.
It was on their return home the images began to change again. They began to change from pure thought into images that felt more like memories, things the he could now understand and brought about some confusion for him. It started when he arrived with his family at the Leaky Cauldron.
Immediately upon entrance the presence awoke with a vengeance. He'd never been hit by such an overwhelming quantity of images before. Thoughts and memories all to do with the Leaky Cauldron exploded into being. He felt for a moment as if he were someone else, another being entirely as he set sight on the place. Memories of walking through here many times to get to Diagon Alley for Hogwarts supplies. Thoughts on the people it remembered being here before and it's feelings towards them.
Tom Riddle.
Its name was Tom Riddle.
The owner of the thoughts and feelings in his head was Tom Riddle.
The same person that diary had belonged to.
He lent against a support beam roughly as he fought to catch the breath he'd lost. His mother shot him a look of concern as she caught his sudden stumble. He attempted to wave off her, but given that his face was pale as a sheet she ignored his attempts to push back her concern. She'd been keeping a close eye on him since the incident and he'd been doing his best not to worry her, but it seemed that his attempts had been doomed to fail from the beginning.
Sighing despondently he looked at the ceiling. He had to tell someone, he couldn't just leave the situation as it was. Not after it had developed to this degree. The memories hadn't proved to be malicious, but their previous owner had and that meant he had to tell someone. He watched as his mother honed in on him and grimaced. He didn't want to tell her, he didn't want to disappoint her and he didn't want to worry her, but he had to tell someone. Someone who would know what to do.
When she reached him she immediately went for his shoulders and looked at him with worry, "Are you alright, dear?" Not even waiting for an answer she immediately started fussing. Brushing her hands off he managed to still her momentarily.
"I'm alright mum, but uh… could you contact Professor Dumbledore? There's something really important he should know about last year's incident," he queried carefully. Not entirely sure if what he knew warranted a visit from the Headmaster, but still finding it his best option in the situation. He didn't have much choice, he just hoped the wizard was willing to visit an inconsequential twelve year old.
His mother had frowned at him in worry, confusion and doubtfulness, but later that day she'd sent an owl and the next day Professor Dumbledore had arrived as he'd asked. He almost felt surprised at the speed the Headmaster had responded, but he guessed the diary was more important then he'd given it credit for. It was rather unfortunate then that as soon as he laid eyes on the Headmaster he felt a wave of anger and fear from the hidden thing inside him. There were images too. Images of the professor setting a cabinet on fire and telling a young boy to give his stolen things back.
Shaking slightly from the well of feeling he watched as the Headmaster greeted his parents politely and exchanging pleasantries with a few people. Catching sight of him the eccentric wizard gestured for him to follow as he lead them to a small table at the corner of the room. He took a seat elegantly before ordering a drink from the waitress nearby and turning his gaze on the young red head before him.
After meeting the headmaster's gaze for only a second Gabriel found he couldn't keep eye contact and quickly dropped his eyes to the table top. Finding something absolutely fascinating about the rough grain there.
"Th-thank you for meeting me, Professor Dumbledore," Gabriel murmured, eyes flickering up then back down quickly.
"Your mother said it was important," he replied with a kind smile. Gabriel looked up quickly once more before glancing away as silence descended on the table. The red head sighed as he realised the silence had stretched on for about a minute and was looking to continue longer. The Headmaster was clearly someone who would wait in silence until you felt awkward enough to try fill it. He took a deep breath as a ready himself for the conversation to come.
"Professor Dumbledore, what exactly was that book?" the young boy questioned, finally meeting his Headmaster's gaze solidly.
"Ah… I understand you mean the diary."
At Gabriel's nod he continued.
"It was a series of memories, kept in a book by a student long ago," he replied.
"Then how did it act like a living thing, interact with me? How was it sentient?"
His blue eyes seemed to dull and harden a moment behind half-moon glances before the look was hidden and quick smile twisted his lips, "A useful piece of magic that. You could call it an… imprint of personality in those memories. Much like the way paintings and portraits speak with us." It was not the entire truth that much Gabriel knew. In fact it might not be the truth at all, but it was an answer of sorts and it did make sense.
Gabriel nodded and took a deep breath before whispering, "Is there any chance then that the diary could be inside me?" The Headmaster seemed to pale slightly beneath his beard, though he hid it well.
"What makes you say that, Mr. Weasley?"
"Since, the incident I've had these uh… well it's sort of like…" he sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to explain.
"Why don't you start at the beginning, Mr. Weasley," he said with a kindly smile.
Nodding slowly at the idea Gabriel looked down at his hands to gather his thoughts as best he could before starting again. "When I was in Egypt with my family it started. I would see some sort of magic or magical text and I'd have all these images and feelings about it popping into my head. They weren't worded thoughts, but rather a flow of past images or ideas about what was seen. I could tell they weren't mine. I mean they felt… just separate from me, they weren't me," he attempted to emphasis for the Headmaster.
"I thought about telling someone, but I decided I didn't really need too. I mean it didn't seem to be doing anything bad and I thought it would eventually just go away, but as soon as I walked into the Leaky Cauldron all I could see or feel were these memories of this place. They weren't my memories though. They were the memories from the diary. Memories from a boy named Tom Riddle," he finished in a rush. He looked at the old professor to sooth his fears, but Albus Dumbledore seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.
He waited in silence for several long uncomfortable minutes before the Headmaster seemed to wake from his thoughts. The old man looked down at him with slight frown on his face that really did look out of place on a face that usually held a smile. He then stared deeply into Gabriel's eyes with a look of focused intent. Surprised by the intensity of the old man's stare Gabriel found himself unable to look away even when he attempted to turn his eyes down, he shuffled slightly in his seat as an uncomfortable feeling began to settle across his brow and he found himself frowning in discomfort.
Finally after minutes of staring he found the ability to look away returning and he immediately took advantage of it, turning his attention down to the white knuckle grip his hands had on the table.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," Professor Dumbledore apologised, getting the young boy to return his eyes to the wizened face, "but I had to be sure of something before I could decide on a solution to this situation."
The young boy simply nodded in reply, not entirely sure what to say.
"It would seem, however, that your worries are unfounded. The entity in the diary has not found a new home in your head, rather the images and feelings you are experiencing seem to be a type of echo left behind from the backlash of the hasty separation between you two. When you wrote in Tom Riddle's diary you lost a lot of yourself. In separating the two of you when you were so closely intertwined, you not only took back what you had lost, but took back some of him with you," the Headmaster explained to the attentive boy.
"So, you can get rid of it then, Professor?" Gabriel queried.
"That is something I would rather not do," was the reply.
"What do you mean, Professor?"
The Headmaster sighed, "I could remove the memories if you so desired it, but I'm not sure what effect it would have on you. These memories and thoughts are very closely linked with your own. If I attempted to remove them, a thing that is so connected to you, I'm unsure what the resulting action would be on yourself. It is not something I would wish to risk, especially since there is no sentient mind driving them and there is no malicious intent behind them. I am loath to put you at risk to remove something that is not in essence a risk to you as it is."
"Then what am I supposed to do about it, professor?"
"That my boy is entirely up to you, though on the advice of an old man I would suggest you just let it run its course," he advised, the kind smile returning to his face as he stood from the table.
"So, there's nothing you can do about it then, Professor Dumbledore?"
Albus Dumbledore smiled down at him, "Currently, I'm afraid not Mr. Weasley. You can rest assured, however, that you are in no way at risk of being harmed by these memories."
Gabriel nodded then returned his gaze to the table. There was a moment of silence during which Gabriel assumed the professor had left and so was surprised when the gentle voice broke the silence.
"You are the seventh son in your family, are you not?" Dumbledore queried.
"Yes, Professor," he replied with a look of confusion on his face.
The Headmaster smiled mysteriously, "I expect some interesting things from you, Mr. Weasley."
Taking the youngest Weasley's look of confusion as a reply he walked off with a slight smile on his face. Gabriel himself wasn't entirely sure what to make of the Headmaster's final reference to his place as the youngest son of the Weasley family. It was the second time someone - or something depending on what one viewed the Sorting Hat as - had made reference to it. With a look of confusion on his face he decided it was best he found out exactly what they meant when they called him the seventh son as if it were something of importance.
The memories continued to effect his everyday life to the point where when he went to make himself a cup of tea, memories of doing such a thing in multiple kinds of ways - including ways of magic - would filter across his mind. Thankfully, it would only effect the first time he partook in a particular action. For example the first time he set foot in Diagon Alley he thought he was going to pass out for the number of memories that jumped to mind. Thankfully it had only happened the first time he entered and from then on things had seemed fine, though placing focus on particular shops or entering them brought about a series of memories in that way.
Despite the Headmaster's assurances he worried. He felt like all the memories were simply going to overwhelm him until he had no concept of who he was anymore. The trip through the train station to Hogwarts was not much better and when he'd arrived at the school itself he truly had fainted from the series of thoughts, feelings and memories that had overwhelmed him. Generally it wasn't the memories that overwhelmed him to that point, but rather the occasions when the memories were backed by intensely strong emotions, it was the strength of so many different feelings that pushed him over the edge.
He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get through the school year. When Professor Dumbledore had said that a student had created the book he wasn't sure why he didn't immediately realise that he'd meant a student of Hogwarts had been responsible. Dumbledore had mentioned that it was the memories of a student, he should have realised and yet… he'd hoped that when he arrived at Hogwarts that he would at least have some time free of the constant thoughts. However, it seemed like things would be just the opposite. The memories were going to get worse.
Being flooded by so many memories constantly throughout his day it didn't come to his attention for several days that he didn't really have any friends in his own house. It made sense of course, given that first year was the time when most of those bonds were formed and he'd been rather out of it at the time, but it still wasn't a pleasant discovery. He had Luna, whom he had been friends with before his arrival at Hogwarts, but that was it really and they didn't share too many classes together. Outside of that though, he felt startlingly alone.
Despite the lows his friendship status with the general populace had reached he found himself excelling in class. It was in part thanks to the memories that he found the lessons so easy. As soon as the teacher had explained the spell they were to be learning he felt a gentle brush from the memories and could recall, as if it were from his own actions, doing the spell in a very similar setting. It went beyond that though, magic just seemed to come easily to him in a way that the memories could not explain. If he looked back over his first year he noticed a similar pattern in the ease with which spells came to him. He hadn't noticed it at the time of course, given the state he'd been been in, but magic just seemed to be instinctive to him and he didn't really understand why people seemed to have more trouble with it.
With the amount of free time he'd had on his hands, the memories assisting his theory work and his ease with magic he inadvertently found himself at the top of the class in several of his subjects. It was an odd thing for him, to achieve something like that. It's what he'd always wanted before he left for his first year at Hogwarts and yet he found that now he had it, he would give it all up for just a few friends. Oddly enough it was his place at the top of most of his classes and his position as somewhat of a loner that brought about such a thing.
Neville Longbottom had found himself watching the youngest Weasley. It wasn't a planned action on his part, Ron Weasley was after all a both a housemate and in his year at school and so he'd wondered what his younger brother would be like. The first thing he'd noticed was the way Gabriel was so distant from all his housemates. He'd thought at first that it was a conscious decision on the boys part to keep himself separate, but had come to realise after further observation that the red head was much like him in that way. He was on the outside looking in. That seemed to be there only similarity though, in every other way possible the youngest Weasley seemed to differ to him starkly - in physical appearance, personality and school performance.
While Neville was well on his way to losing some of the baby fat that had plagued him just last year, the blonde was still on the heavier side with the awkward look of a young teenager beginning to emerge. Gabriel however, was built lean and lanky, much like his older brother, though he seemed to move with a fair bit more grace. Something Neville also found himself lacking in. Beyond that Gabriel seemed a lot more confident in himself then Neville did, standing with his back straight and an air of both confidence and indifference about him. It was markedly different from Neville's lowered head and stumbled gate. What truly separated them, however, was there differing performance in school.
Where Neville floundered, Gabriel thrived.
One could look at them both next to each other and see nothing the similar to compare, but Neville looked and saw the hidden desperation in the younger boy's eyes. To do what, he didn't know, but he'd bet it didn't differ too much from his own need to fill his father's shoes. He looked and saw the similarities one would be hard pressed to find without looking closely. It was this that pushed him to approach the younger boy, though Gabriel remained unaware the exact reasons as to why.
It was nearing the end of the first term before Neville decided to approach him. He'd just got back from the end of term trip to Hogsmeade when he spotted the younger boy reading through a book and muttering under his breathe whilst he twirled his wand in an intricate fashion about his fingers.
"Weasley," he called out as he approached, dredging up every ounce of confidence in his body. The boy paused his wand twirling to glance up from his book in confusion. Spotting Neville his eyes seemed to squint slightly for a second before a friendly smile mixed with the confusion in his eyes.
"Neville Longbottom, was it?" he asked as Neville came to a halt next to him. At Neville's nod the confusion faded. "Call me Gabriel then, there're enough Weasleys around for that to get confusing real fast."
"Sure and uh… do you mind if I talk to you for a minute about something?"
"Yeah that's fine, not like I'm exactly busy," Gabriel grinned ruefully. He slipped a marker into the book he was reading and snapped it shut, shuffling over on the balcony he was sitting on and gesturing for Neville to take a seat.
"Thanks," Neville said, taking the proffered spot. The blonde seemed to consider something briefly before opening his mouth to speak, "You're really good in a lot of your classes, right?"
"Well, we've only done a few tests so far, but I do alright I suppose," he replied.
At that Neville actually laughed, "You're kidding right. I've heard the professors talking you know. They go on and on about you, talking about how you're so quick to get spells. Some of them even say you're better then Hermione Granger," he added in a fake whispered joke. Gabriel actually seemed to blush at the compliments, something Neville really hadn't been expecting given the confidence the boy gave off.
"Thanks, I suppose," was the eventual soft reply, "but is there any reason you decided to bring that up other than to get a blush out of me."
"Well, no point in beating about the bush is there," Neville chuckled. He then looked away when he spoke next, glancing over the grounds, "You know how you're good at all of that, yeah?"
Gabriel hesitated for a moment before nodding.
"I'm not, good at that kind of thing that is. In fact you could say I'm absolutely terrible at it," he finished.
"Why are you telling me this?" he queried confusedly.
"Because… I want your help," Neville finished softly.
"It's nice that you think I could help you and all, but I'm only a second year. I don't even know what the third year material is, never mind if I'd be capable of helping you learn it," Gabriel explained.
"What if I gave you my books?"
"I'm still not sure that-"
"Don't say no just yet. I mean what if I gave you my books for the holidays, you could read them if you want or just ignore them if you don't have the time. Just, please wait until the start of the new term before you make a decision," Neville countered his denials in a rush.
"I still don't understand why you want my help," Gabriel replied with a confused shrug.
Neville sighed, "It's embarrassing alright. Asking one of the older students for help is embarrassing, especially if they say no. And the only person in my year who I could ask for help for confidently would be Hermione, but she's so busy trying to do her own work and help Ron and Harry through theirs that I think if she gets even a bit more on her plate she'll explode. Normally a second year wouldn't really be an option, but the professors say you're really good so…" he trailed off uncertainly looking away.
Glancing over Neville's face uncertainly Gabriel seemed to think a moment before making a decision.
"I'll read over the books," Gabriel said, getting Neville to glance up with a grin, "and if I think I can help you. Then I will."
"Thanks."
"Yeah well, don't get your hopes up," Gabriel replied. "I may not understand a thing I read."
Except he did understand it, all too easy. It wasn't like he had much to do in the holidays anyway. He'd stayed at Hogwarts with the rest of his brothers and a few other students. Given the absence of so many students he did find himself spending more time with them. Joining them for a few snowball fights and playing some chess against Ron, where he actually won a game for the first time with the assistance of some memories. Whoever Tom Riddle was he'd been a decent chess player while at Hogwarts. It still didn't feel fair to Gabriel sometimes, he honestly felt like he had a cheat sheet that made some things just that much easier. It certainly helped understanding those books.
Of course he'd noticed straight away that Neville hadn't left all his books behind, just the more wand based ones and potions, interestingly enough. From what it looked like Neville was having trouble with Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions. He wasn't sure what supplementary third year subjects Neville had chosen, but he either he wasn't having trouble with those or he didn't think Gabriel should be helping with subjects only introduced in third year. At the end of the day though he saw no reason to deny the older boy's request. He understood the texts and was sure he'd be quite capable of teaching them. So when Neville came back for the start of term he sought the boy out, returned his books and agreed to tutor him twice a week until he passed his exams.
While Ron basked in the glory of being the one to drive Sirius Black out the tower Neville faced the disgrace of being the one responsible for leaving his list of passwords lying around, allowing the Azkaban escapee to sneak in without anyone the wiser. It was perhaps this that solidified their friendship, or maybe it was better to say that it was Gabriel saving him from his Grandmother's howler that really did it. The formation of their friendship certainly had Gabriel feeling better about that year. Before he'd felt quite isolated from his house, but having a friend in his house, even if it wasn't a student in the same year as him was a vast improvement for the twelve year old.
There tutoring sessions did continue, though it was more of a casual help on Gabriel's part then it had been previously. The continued tutoring certainly helped Neville's confidence as exams approached. Gabriel himself was confident enough that he would do well in the exams, he just wished Hermione Granger did too though. He hadn't been in the right state last year to see for himself the increasingly frazzled state the girl seemed to decline into around exam time, but it was a fascinating thing to bear witness to. It was also making him worry for the girl's health.
He knew for a fact that the girl was first in her year by a fair margin and it was clear she knew her work back to front. So, he wasn't entirely sure why she seemed like she was both hopped up on caffeine and about to fall asleep where she stood. It made him worry that the exams were a lot harder then he'd thought, last year's ones had been cancelled after all. It actually managed to get him a bit panicked and nervous, spending more time then he'd planned shuffling through his notes.
It seemed, however, that all his worrying had been for naught. He breezed through the exams, not requiring the voice's input on any of the questions. Which had him feeling prouder of his skills and knowledge then he'd been before. It was following these exams however, that he found himself pulled into something that had made absolutely no sense to him at the time.
He'd been heading out to the grounds to enjoy a walk in the fresh air after spending most of his time studying when he'd come across something absolutely baffling. He'd been walking through the Entrance Hall when he'd stumbled upon a battered looking Harry and Hermione. This wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary if not for the fact that Hermione then grabbed Harry and dragged him into the broom cupboard across the hall. He was ready to write it off completely and just assume that the two of them were in some sort of secret relationship when another Harry and Hermione came walking through the entrance hall, a Ron with them too.
Blinking several times in shock it took him what could have been several minutes to mentally wake up from his statue like pose. As soon as he did ideas and possibilities to explain the situation began formulating in his mind, the voice making it's own contributions that mixed with his thoughts. There were several possible conclusions to draw - polyjuice potion, time turner or an illusion of sorts. The first one being the most likely and plausible of the lot, which would mean that someone saw fit to impersonate the-boy-who-lived and his close friend. He could think of a number of reasons someone would choose to impersonate Harry Potter, but it still didn't help him in knowing exactly what to do about it.
Then Harry pushed open the cupboard door and came stumbling out quickly followed by a flustered Hermione, both of whom froze at the sight of him. Before either of them could move he had has wand out and the words for a quick stunning spell on his lips. Harry fell first in a flash of red light. Hermione was about to follow him when she raised her hands in surrender and shouted, "Wait!"
He paused for a second and frowned. Wand still trained on her figure as he waited for an explanation. "It's not what you think," she began. "We're not using polyjuice."
Her hand reached towards her neck and he raised his wand in threatened warning.
"I'm not going for my wand, I promise," she quickly explained. "See, I won't even put my hand beneath my clothing. I just need to hold this chain and pull on it so I can show you-"
"A time turner," he said finishing her sentence as the peculiar hourglass fell into view.
"I- well, yes. How did you know that?"
"I've heard of them," he murmured. Moving towards her in absentminded fascination, the hourglass holding his complete attention. "What I'm more interested in hearing, is how you managed to get one?"
"Oh, well I wanted to take overlapping classes this year and Professor McGonagall called in a favour to get me this. But, listen we really need to be going. Something really bad is going to happen if we don't get there fast enough to stop it," she babbled quickly.
He smiled faintly touching the hourglass for only a moment before letting it fall back to her chest. He expected nothing less than life threatening danger from the Golden Trio. He glanced at the ground where Harry had fallen briefly noting that the boy seemed to be coming too. He turned his gaze back to the bushy haired girl before him.
"Be careful," he murmured as he turned to walk away, "Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time."
Author's Note: I am, as of yet unsure if this story is going to continue or not. I haven't written anything beyond what I've posted here and I could possibly leave this as a stand alone fic. I'll just see how it goes. On my profile there is a link to my deviantart account where you can find a some art for this story.
This fic will not contain any slash. Generally the opposite is posted when genderbending is involved, but seeing as this fic is placed in a category where slash is frequently found - genderbender - I thought I should warn in the opposite direction. So, there will not be any slash in this fic. Sorry to those who enjoy it and were reading this in hopes of finding it.
It's so freaking hard to write like this. It goes against my natural style in so many ways, but it has to be done. Partially for the learning experience and partially because this information is important to the latter parts of the story. Still feels like I'm writing in slow motion though. It took me days to write something I could probably churn out in a couple of hours