Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I do not own the rights to Harry Potter (why would I be posting stories on the Internet if I did?) or any other character from the Harry Potter series in this story.
The story is very AU. The idea has been nagging at me since book 5 when we found out the prophecy could apply to either Harry or Neville. And please review if you read this because, even if there's something you think I could change, it really helps.
Thanks in advance.

The child was just a little older than a year when his parents died. It was Halloween night, and although the streets were packed with trick-or-treaters, nobody saw anything unusual.

It was no accident - they weren't Muggles who had a tendency to be accident-prone - but the emergency services who arrived at the scene shortly after thought that it was. After all, there were supposed to be four people in the house, and they found four bodies.

The only thing which puzzled them was the fact that they had four adult bodies. One of them should have been that of a young child.

The police guessed there must have been some mistake, maybe the child was with family or friends, and thought nothing more of it. They had no evidence as the house was burnt to the ground and the bodies burnt beyond all identification, but apart from the missing body of the child, it all fit perfectly.

There was an accident, the head detective had decided, one which had destroyed a family. Perhaps they had left a candle unattended. These things happened at this time of the year. Or maybe it was that they were cooking dinner on the stove and got distracted by calling trick-or-treaters. And so the case was closed.

He did, however, feel sorry for the family. They were good people, never had any trouble from them, always friendly to those around them. They didn't deserve something like this, a horrible end.

Ten years later, the detective was still horrified by the family's demise and thought about them often. Tonight he thought about them because he knew the missing child should have been around the same age as his own son - ten, almost eleven, years old and about to start secondary school, with his whole life ahead of him.

Forty miles away, the child awoke with a start.

--

Gasping for breath, Neville Longbottom rolled over in his little bunk. He'd been having that nightmare again, the one with the green light and the insane laughter. He dreamt that there was a man who wanted to save him, and a man who wanted to kill him. Although he knew it wasn't real and he'd seen this scene played out in his head hundreds of times before, Neville felt sick and shivered.

There were also two women in the dream, but he was sure he'd never dreamt of the women before. One of them had cried out, and flung herself in front of him, ignoring his cries for her to save herself. And the body crumpled at the foot of the staircase, Neville was certain he'd never dreamt of that before.

Rolling onto his side with a sigh, Neville laid his head on the hard pillow and huddled under the thin duvet provided by the orphanage. He was sleeping again in no time.

The following morning, Neville woke to bright sunlight pouring in through the window, and the laughter of the other boys who shared his dorm room, gathered around the foot of his bed.

"Save me! Save me! My name's Neville Longbottom and I can't do anything myself!" sneered one of them. The rest giggled. Neville felt his face flush and looked at the floor.

"You're eleven, it's time you started acting like it. So stop believing that you have family somewhere and they're coming to get you coz you ain't got no family. Nobody wants you, Scarhead. Just like the rest of us," one of the older boys spat bitterly.

"Now, now, children. It's breakfast time, so get up and go have your food," Mrs Arrans called, peering around the door. Neville liked Mrs Arrans. She ran the orphanage where he'd grown up and was always nice to him, even though the others weren't.

"Come on, Neville."

Neville looked up. The other children were gone and Mrs Arrans was smiling at him. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed across her chest, just waiting, as though she had all the time in the world.

"Do I have to go to breakfast with them?" Neville hated the other children. They all thought he was a freak and laughed at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Neville didn't know how he had gotten the scar, nobody did. He'd just been left on the doorstep of the orphanage one night, scar and all, with a letter tucked under his blanket. Unfortunately, he'd never been allowed to read this letter.

Mrs Arrans smiled. "Sadly, yes. Come along, dear."

Neville sighed and flung his legs out of the bunk.

"One more thing Neville," Mrs Arrans said softly. "Happy birthday, dear. I have something for you. Later." She winked and left without a backward glance.

Neville smiled a little. He was eleven now. He would be starting at the local secondary school this year and maybe he would have more friends there and people wouldn't care that he was a freak with no family. But then again, maybe it would still be the same and people would laugh and he would have no friends.

It was hard to be a eleven-year-old, especially when you were an orphan. And it was even more difficult when you had a funny scar and strange things always seemed to happen to you, even though you had no idea why they did.