Submission for QLFC Round Five

Chaser #1 for the Chudley Cannons

Prompt: (Dark World Dimension) Write about a parallel world where the characters' worst fears come to life.

Optional Prompts:

3. (setting) Grimmauld Place

4. (emotion) Determination

13. (Painting) Van Gogh's Starry Night

Word Count:2569

"As for you," Alecto turned to Neville, scowling. Beneath the ropes of the Incarcerous binding him, Neville set his jaw determinedly. He could take the Cruciatus; he wasn't afraid.

Amycus appeared next to his sister, grinning. "We've got something special for you, boy."

Neville felt a frisson of fear begin to crawl down his back as he saw what Amycus had gestured to. It was a painting of a night sky filled with stars, but this clearly was no ordinary painting.

It wasn't moving, not like the rest of the paintings and portraits on the walls of Hogwarts, but some kind of unnatural sheen seemed to swirl menacingly on its surface, and Neville shivered.

Amycus and Alecto each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him over to the framed painting.

"We've no idea what it does," Alecto whispered in his ear, giggling. He shuddered with revulsion at her closeness. "How about you find out for us?"

And then they were pushing him up and into the painting, and that strange thing was giving way, cold on his skin, and he was falling, falling, falling…

"Neville!"

The strangely familiar voice was moving closer.

"Neville!"

It was his gran. He didn't know how getting shoved through a painting had brought him home to his gran, but Neville couldn't have been more relieved.

He moved, finding that the ropes around him were loose, and pushed them off easily.

Looking around, he appeared to be in some kind of storage closet. The painting he'd fallen through sat propped against the wall, several others behind it, and the stars winked at him innocently.

He frowned at it, thinking perhaps he should try and get a better look at it, and then the door burst open.

"Neville!" his gran cried, "Whatever are you doing in here? Severus has been looking for you."

And that was the moment Neville realized something was very, very wrong.

Neville followed his gran down the hall, filled with trepidation.

"Whose house is this, gran?" he asked, shuddering as he looked down another hallway in passing only to see the heads of house-elves mounted on the wall.

"Have you gone daft as well as magicless?" she shot back at him sharply. "You know very well this is the Black family home – or used to be."

Magicless? What did she mean by that? He wasn't a squib; hadn't Great-uncle Algie proven that when he was eight?

This train of thought occupied him until his gran turned into a room that was clearly a study. Large bookshelves lined the walls, and behind an imposing desk sat the last person Neville ever wanted to see: Severus Snape.

Snape glowered at him. Neville gulped. He didn't understand how Snape was even here. He should have been back at Hogwarts; he was headmaster there, after all.

"Neville," Snape said, and it was so disturbing to hear his first name coming out of his Potions professor's mouth that he stepped back a little. "What have you to say for yourself?"

Neville was still more confused. He didn't know what Snape was talking about. So, he said so.

"I'm uh, not sure what you mean. Sir."

Anger flared quickly in his eyes, and Snape stood abruptly, the chair squawking on the floor as it was pushed back.

"What I mean is your conspicuous absence earlier, when it was specifically requested by the Dark Lord. Do not think that our new relationship to each other means that I will make excuses for you."

Neville's mind was reeling. Their 'new relationship'? He glanced over at his gran to see her… simpering?

Merlin, was Snape his step-grandparent?

"Boy!" Snape yelled, slamming his hand down on the desk loudly. "Explain yourself!"

"I, um," Neville stammered. He didn't know where in the bloody hell he was, so how was he supposed to tell these people where he'd been?

"I lost track of time?"

"You," Snape drawled slowly, "lost track of time?"

"Er, yes," Neville said nervously. It was a terrible answer, he knew, but he had to stick with it now.

Snape glared at him, during which time Neville tried to conceal that he was shaking with fear.

"Fortunately," Snape finally spoke, "the Dark Lord is… forgiving to those with such an… unfortunate status as yourself. He will see you again tonight. Do not repeat your mistake."

Snape looked at him pointedly until Neville had shaken his head in agreement.

"In the meantime, I think it would do you well to clean a few of my cauldrons. Without magic, as if that needs be said," he said, and swept out from behind the desk. He paused just before the door to look back. "Coming, dear?" he asked, and Neville realized with a sickening jolt that he was asking his gran when she responded that she'd follow him shortly.

He nodded and left, and she looked at him in concern.

"You look a bit peaky, dear," she said, patting his cheek. "I'll show you to the cauldrons."

Neville followed her a bit blindly, still in a daze, and only came back to himself when he was seated in front of a pile of dirty cauldrons. He picked up the scrubbing brush and set in on the mystery substance caked to the bottom and tried to figure out what in Merlin's name just happened.

He was fairly certain that this was not his world. Somehow, that painting had transported him to some kind of… alternate dimension? Parallel universe? Whatever it was, it wasn't his.

Neville tried to take a deep breath. It was no use panicking, he told himself firmly. He needed to organize his thoughts. First, what did he know?

They thought he was a squib. That was actually not a bad thing, in this situation. His gran was in a relationship with (possibly married to) Snape and cooperating with Voldemort. That led him to the next thing, which was most concerning: Voldemort had wanted to see him. Still wanted to see him, for unspecified reasons.

Merlin's beard, Neville thought, he needed to get out of here. Perhaps the painting could take him back just as easily as it had brought him here. It was worth a try, and he had nothing to lose, really.

But first things first, he decided, and he pulled his wand out of his jeans pocket where it had (thankfully) gone unnoticed. Snape had said no magic, but Neville gave it only a moment's thought before he shrugged and cast an experimental Scourgify at the cauldron. He peered in and was greeted with the pleasant sight of sparkling cleanliness.

So, he could do magic. Where was the Neville that apparently couldn't do magic, he wondered, a bit worried that the other Neville would show up and he'd have more problems on his hands. Clearly, he needed to get out of here before that happened. The painting was back in that closet somewhere upstairs. He was fairly certain he'd be able to find it again, and there hadn't seemed to be very many people in the house, so –

"Neville!"

His gran's voice drifted in the open door, and Neville hastily stuffed his wand back in his jeans as she appeared in the doorway.

"Neville, dear, the Dark Lord wishes to see you now."

She clapped her hands together in apparent delight, but it was all Neville could do not to throw up.

Neville was nearly shaking with fear by the time his gran gestured him into the room where Voldemort waited for him, but he was determined to put on a brave face.

The room, as expected, was full of Death Eaters, and Voldemort. What really caught his attention, however, was the single chair in the center, in which was seated a girl, bound by ropes.

Neville stared in shock; he almost hadn't recognized her.

Hermione Granger was very different in this dimension.

For one thing, she looked like she hadn't eaten well in months, but the biggest difference was her hair. Instead of the long, generous abundance of curls he'd last seen her with in his dimension, this Hermione had cut it all off. Her hair was shaved very short on the sides, and grown a bit longer on top, with a small pile of curls spilling onto her forehead.

She was also glaring at him viciously, which was quite unnerving.

"Welcome, Neville," Voldemort said, pulling Neville's attention away from the silently defiant Hermione. "We have prepared a gift for you, tonight."

"Um, thank you," Neville said, very much aware that everything was on the line here. "What sort of gift? My Lord," he remembered to add on quickly at the end.

Voldemort smiled at him, and it was so grotesque Neville couldn't help shivering.

"Oh, the best present of all," he said, and then paused for effect. "Magic."

Neville didn't understand what he was saying at all, but it didn't stop his heart from racing faster. Thankfully, Voldemort decided to explain.

"You see this mudblood," he hissed, gesturing at Hermione, who only continued to glare. "This… creature," Voldemort continued, getting up and walking slowly around the chair Hermione was bound to, "has stolen magic that rightfully belongs to only those with the purest of blood."

Neville recognized the propaganda that had been spread about in his own dimension by the Death Eaters there. He hadn't really thought anyone believed it, though, and now a sick feeling was building in his stomach as he realized what Voldemort meant to try to do.

"The war has been won for some time," Voldemort said, and Neville's heart dropped, "but she managed to evade us. It was inevitable, however, that she fall into one of our traps, and what greater reward than this to the adopted grandson of one of our most faithful?"

"We thank you, my Lord," Snape said, bowing his head and then raising an eyebrow meaningfully at Neville.

"Thank you," Neville gritted out, but he couldn't bring himself to bow.

"I always reward those who deserve it," Voldemort said, smiling at him again. "Now, prepare yourself."

The Death Eaters around the room took a few steps back as Voldemort lifted his wand high in the air. Neville's heartbeat was pounding up around his ears.

"Situs removere," Voldemort said, his wand moving about dramatically, "translationem magicus locare de novo –"

If Voldemort said anything else, Neville didn't catch it after that, too distracted by the string of light that had been growing between himself and Hermione that had suddenly become almost blindingly bright. A weird pressure was building in the air, too, and just as it was becoming unbearable, it suddenly dissipated, along with the light, and Neville took several gasping breaths of relief that it was over.

"How does it feel?" Voldemort asked, his expression almost manic. Neville honestly didn't feel any different. He suspected the spell hadn't worked at all, since he was already a wizard.

"Strange," he said, since he had to give an answer, and that wasn't totally a lie. He did feel strangely out of place.

"Well, we must have a demonstration, then," Voldemort said. "Bellatrix, give him your wand."

Neville barely managed not to react as Bellatrix grudgingly gave him her wand. He held it loosely in his hand, because it felt a bit unpleasant, but Neville thought it would probably work for him. All of the Death Eaters and Voldemort were watching him in anticipation.

"Expelliarmus," he said, trying to make it sound uncertain, like he was new to magic.

Neville had 'accidentally' aimed the Disarming spell at Voldemort, and the Dark Lord's wand flew out of his hand, although, in direct proportion to the strength of Neville's incantation, it landed only a few meters away from him.

There was a hush around the room as everyone realized that he had Disarmed their invincible leader. Neville was sweating bullets.

And then Voldemort laughed. If Neville had thought that his smile was awful before, his laugh was even worse. The other Death Eaters, assuming, along with Voldemort, that the spell had been successful, joined in his raucous delight. Neville wanted to reach up and cover his ears, but he didn't dare.

Instead, he took the opportunity to move a few steps closer to Hermione, putting himself right next to her chair, and then he moved Bellatrix's wand in a circle, and prayed the spell he'd read about in the library last week actually worked.

"Somnus vallum," he said.

Except for Hermione and himself, everyone collapsed, eyes sliding closed. Neville huffed a breath of relief that the spell had worked with such a resistant wand.

He turned to Hermione, casting a Finite, and tossed her Bellatrix's wand as soon as she'd freed herself from the slack ropes. Her glare softened for a moment, only to return when he motioned for her to follow him out of the room.

"You're not Neville," she said coldly, as soon as they were out in the hall.

"Er, yes and no," he said awkwardly, heading up the stairs, where he was pretty sure the storage closet with the painting was. Yes, there was the hall with the house-elf heads. "I'm a Neville, certainly, but, um – "

"Get to the point," she snapped.

"I'm Neville from another dimension?"

"Huh," she said, squinting at him, and Neville knew he didn't have her convinced at all.

"Look, I could show you. The Carrows shoved me through a painting, and I ended up here, on the other side of it," he told her. "But you should probably just get out of here. That spell's not going to last more than ten minutes, tops, if they're all heavy sleepers."

She was already shaking her head. "There's no one left."

"What do you mean?" Neville asked, with growing horror.

"Everyone's dead," she shrugged, like she didn't care, but Neville could see the hopelessness and despair in her eyes. "Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Remus, Tonks, Fred, George, all the Weasleys, actually –"

"Okay, I get it!" Neville said quickly, not wanting to hear the rest of that painful list.

"… and I watched you die this morning," she finished saying, quietly.

Neville was struck speechless for a moment. "I'm so sorry," he finally choked out. She didn't say anything, but her lips quirked in a sad half-smile.

Neither of them said anything further until they found the closet with the painting.

It was still there, propped against the wall in the same exact place, bewitching and menacing. Hermione crouched to look at it.

"Fascinating," she said, tilting her head, and then she stood again. "I suppose this is goodbye."

"Oh. Yeah," Neville said, slowly, his mind still catching up to her words. "No, wait. Come with me."

"What?"

"Well, I don't want to leave you here," Neville said.

"I can't just leave," she said, but she didn't sound very convinced.

"Why not?" Neville asked. "You said it yourself. There's no one left."

Even as he said it, they could hear the faint sounds of a commotion. There wasn't much time left.

"Alright," Hermione said, nodding briskly and straightening her shoulders. "Nothing to lose, I suppose."

Neville grinned, and stuck out his hand. Hermione took it, and then they ran toward the painting together, diving into it headfirst.

Moments later, a Death Eater flung the door to the closet wide open, lifting a lighted wand up to check the corners.

The stars twinkled back innocently.