Hello random fanfiction users! Yes, I am alive, and no, this is not the sequel to Marauders Marauding, if that was what you were hoping. Sorry about that. Instead you get this random story that I was thinking about, which will remain a one-shot unless you all yell at me to add more chapters (but in that case, I would have to think of an actual plot). Enjoy!

This takes place directly after the chapter in the Goblet of Fire called 'The Unforgivable Curses.' Moody has just showed the class the Unforgivable Curses, and Sirius sent back a letter to Harry saying he's flying back up north. The chapter ends with this quote:

"The dormitory was completely silent, and, had he been less preoccupied, Harry would have realized that the absence of Neville's usual snores meant that he was not the only one lying awake."

...

Harry tossed and turned, finally giving up sleep that night as a lost cause. It was now nearly two o'clock in the morning. He quietly pulled back the covers and slipped out onto the smooth cold floor, padding over to the window. When he looked out across the grounds, Harry saw that everything was bathed in silver moonlight and fleetingly wondered where Professor Lupin was now. He resolved to write to the man the next morning to find out how he was doing; maybe his old Professor would also be able to think of a way to stop Sirius from coming back again when Harry was fine on his own.

Suddenly filled with a restless energy, Harry paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair and messing it up even more. Sirius was coming back north, where Aurors and Dementors and even muggles were looking for him, and it was all Harry's fault. Why couldn't he have just kept quiet about a little pain in his scar? He'd dealt with worse pain before on his own, after all. It hadn't been nearly as bad as getting stabbed by a Basilisk fang, like he had in his second year, or as bad as it had been when he had fought Voldemort himself in his first year. Deciding he was too anxious and wide awake to stay in the dormitory just now, Harry began rummaging around in his trunk for his father's old Invisibility Cloak. Perhaps a late-night stroll would clear his head a bit.

"Harry?" said a quiet, sleepy voice, "Where're you goin'?" It was Neville.

"Nowhere, Neville," said Harry quickly. "I just can't sleep."

"Me either," Neville whispered. "I can't stop thinking about the-about those curses."

The Unforgivable Curses had not been pleasant for Harry to see either, but he was sure that Neville had been worse off than even him. It had been quite disturbing to see the curse that killed his parents, yes, but Harry was more worried about Sirius getting captured now than about his parents' murders thirteen years ago. However, as Neville wasn't one of the few people who was aware of Sirius' innocence, Harry couldn't exactly confide this in the other boy. Instead, Harry wondered why Neville had been so much more deeply affected by the lesson than anyone else. As far as he knew, the shy boy had never come into contact with the Unforgivable Curses like Harry had as a baby.

After a long pause, Harry decided to voice his thoughts. "Why was it so bad for you, Neville? I mean, I don't think the others minded seeing the curses at all; they thought it was a cool lesson." There was another silence, and Harry wondered if his question had been too personal. Stupid, he berated himself. Why, other than a very sensitive reason, would someone their age be so traumatised by those curses? Then again, Harry was curious, and perhaps Neville had only been frightened by the thought of what those curses could do to a person (though that idea grew less and less likely as the silence slowly lengthened). Harry could hear Neville shuffling out of bed, and then the hangings pulled back so that they could face each other in the faint moonlight. Neville's eyes were red-rimmed, and his face looked as though he were about to admit to something dreadful.

"If you don't want to say-" Harry tried to backtrack.

"No," said Neville.

"No?"

"No, I want to tell you," Neville said, his voice growing stronger. "My Gran always says that I should be proud, and, well, I guess never mentioning anything to anyone doesn't make me seem very proud, does it?"

Harry silently shook his head.

"Right," said Neville, "right. A group of Death Eaters broke into my house when I was only one; I think it was only a day or two after You-Know-Who's defeat, actually." He paused and glanced meaningfully at Harry's scar. "So yeah. They broke in and-my Gran says they put up a great fight, but no one really knows, do they?-and they tortured my parents with that Cruciatus Curse." He gulped several times.

"Oh, Neville," Harry whispered.

"Wait, there's more." Neville cut him off. "My parents held them off long enough that they didn't notice me, but they had been under the curse too long by the time the Aurors got there." He sniffed. "They're still in St. Mungo's Hospital. I visit them with my Gran sometimes; the Healers say there was too much damage. I-I like to think they know I'm there, that I'm their son, but…" Neville didn't seem to be able to say any more, but Harry understood. Neville's parents were either incapable of waking up, or awake, but incapable of remembering and recognizing their own son. Neville dissolved into deep shuddery breaths that weren't quite real sobs, but close enough to it, while Harry stood by a bit awkwardly, unsure of himself. He wasn't used to dealing with crying people.

"I never knew…" said Harry when Neville seemed to have sufficiently recovered. It was just beginning to dawn on him how awful it must be to have parents that were alive, but unable to function or recognize him. Harry sometimes got sympathy for being an orphan, but he couldn't help but feel that Neville deserved it more.

"I probably should've said before," Neville admitted, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Specially to you, Harry. I don't know if you know, but my Mum was-is your Godmother."

"My what?" Harry was dumbstruck. He knew, of course, that Sirius had been named his Godfather, but it had never even occurred to him that there might be a Godmother as well.

Neville misinterpreted his confusion. "She was meant to take care of you if anything ever happened to your parents," he explained. "If things had gone a bit differently, we might've been... well… Godbrothers I guess."

Harry stared at Neville incredulously. That close. He had been that close to growing up with Neville's parents, as Neville's brother, instead of being stuck with the Dursleys. It made him nearly ache with longing, and also raised his disgust and anger toward the Death Eaters that had stolen parents from both him and Neville. "I wish that had happened," he said fervently.

"Really?" Neville seemed a little skeptical.

"Well, yeah. I've always wondered what it'd be like to have a sibling, and you'd have been loads better than the Dudley at any rate," mumbled Harry. "Not to mention his parents."

"You live with your Aunt and Uncle, right?" asked Neville. At Harry's nod, he continued, "I suppose you couldn't exactly go and live with your Godfather, huh?"

"What?" said Harry. How much did Neville know?

Sorry," Neville blushed. "My Gran told me about what Sirius Black did you your parents. I know you don't like your relatives much, but at least you weren't brought up by a Death Eater."

Harry forced a smile. "Yeah. I'd rather have stayed with your family though."

Neville grinned. "Imagine all the trouble we could've gotten up to."

"Me, not you," Harry corrected, glad for the change in subject. "I'd want to get into trouble, and you'd warn me not to. Then I'd probably end up breaking my leg or something and you'd just say you told me so."

"No way," Neville shook his head. "I'd try to stop you, but if you didn't listen I'd go join whatever you were doing. There's no way I'd let you leave me behind-I'd miss all the fun!"

"True," Harry laughed quietly.

A silence followed, though it was not as uncomfortable as before. Harry suspected that Neville, like him, was wondering what it would've been like to be raised as brothers. Eventually he glanced back down at his watch. It was now half-past two.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said.

"Guess so," said Neville, yawning. "Night, Harry."

"Night Neville."

For some reason, his talk with Neville had tired Harry out. The relaxed discussion had calmed his nerves a bit, and he fell back into a peaceful sleep until morning; Harry only wished that he had been placed with the Longbottoms after that Halloween night when he was one year old. He had a feeling that his childhood would have been very different in a very nice way.