Chapter One

The Boy Who Lived

Frank and Alice Longbottom were extraordinary. Average in height, in weight, and in appearance, no one might've noticed them strolling through the streets of London in their signature striped jumpers and loving eyes. Average in ability, no one might've noticed them performing magic in the Leaky Cauldron. Instead, Frank and Alice Longbottom were extraordinary due to an incredible ability to love.

Certainly they were skilled in the arts of magic as well—you don't get to become an Auror with meager abilities!—but compared to those they fought beside, they certainly didn't stand out. Luckily for them both, they had given up on being extraordinary in any of these ways when they were still at Hogwarts, and now that they had graduated, married, and were enjoying life with a new baby, it was much easier simply to love each other and that little bundle of joy than it was to pretend that they were more special than that.

Alice had, of course, been pregnant at the same time as Lily Potter, a woman who was quite extraordinary in all the other ways. In the end, though, Alice would be remembered for her abilities and Lily for her love, and Alice would've thought that was just the right sort of funny for this funny world.

When Frank and Alice awoke to a blustery silver sky on this typical Wednesday morning, they had little reason to suspect that anything strange was happening in the world, or that their own participation in it would soon be over. As usual, Frank awoke first and went to retrieve Neville, who was just a year old, from his crib. The boy never cried and Frank found a smiling baby when he peeked into the nursery.

"Hello," Frank stage-whispered, beginning the same game they played every morning. "What do you think Mummy would like for breakfast today?"

Neville never made any noise really, and this particular day was no different. Except, of course, that it was entirely different. Smiling up at his father, Neville clapped his pudgy hands together and giggled when tiny sparks appeared.

"Now, now," Frank whispered, planting a gentle kiss against Neville's curled black hair. They had tried to tame the mess but it never seemed to stay flat so they'd given up. "You have to wait for Hogwarts before you can do magic, little one. Although at this rate, they might take you before your fifth birthday!"

Frank chuckled to himself at the idea that he, the most average wizard to graduate Hogwarts—to his own mind, that is—had managed to take part in the realization of one of the strongest little wizards he'd ever seen. They hadn't told Neville's gran yet and they were eagerly awaiting the opportunity to show off their boy at the next family gathering.

Stepping quietly through the house and into the kitchen, Frank tucked Neville into a highchair and retrieved a bowl of soft food for him from the refrigerator. He and Alice had often talked about whether it was wrong to use muggle methods for such things, but a refrigerator seemed much easier than a chilling charm and with You-Know-Who on the loose, it was better to avoid magic when possible.

Frank tousled Neville's hair and turned back to the refrigerator to retrieve some eggs and cheese, planning on a simple meal for Alice. She'd always been fond of her sleep and Frank often told her that's why she was so beautiful. Usually, Alice would laugh and pull a face, at which Neville would laugh. Frank smiled at the thought and began preparing breakfast. Before he could make it too far, though, a sound from upstairs drew his attention.

For just a moment, Frank's heart seemed to find itself lodged in his throat. This wouldn't be the first time, or even the second or third time, that You-Know-Who had sent trouble their way and he hated to think of pushing their luck any further. Lily and James had had a similar experience and had insisted on getting a Secret Keeper because of it all. Their boy Harry had no idea that his parents were so important to the wizarding community, and Frank sincerely looked forward to watching him grow up and learn about it all.

Allowing his mind to follow this trail of thoughts kept him from being too concerned that anything strange was occurring upstairs, although he still wondered whether a Secret Keeper would be a good idea. He made a mental note to ask Alice her thoughts on the matter later in the day and opened his mouth to call out to her. Before he could, however, she darted lithely down the steps into the entry room, her face smeared into a look of equal horror and delight. It was strange for Frank to see his normally smiling wife wearing such an expression, not to mention the dressing gown she'd managed to get on inside out and mismatched socks she wore on the rest of her body.

"Lily and James," Alice managed to get out as she moved to embrace her husband. A broken sob escaped her lips and she turned her eyes on her son, silently babbling in his chair. Practically dragging Frank alongside her, Alice collapsed around the highchair and hugged them both tightly.

"What is it, dear?" Frank asked, more worried even than he had been a moment before. For the first time, he noticed a piece of ivory paper clutched in Alice's hand. Reaching for it as gently as he could, he flattened it out and immediately recognized Remus Lupin's neat, spidery handwriting. The tremor, so characteristic of his finer movements, was not apparent, and Frank realized he must have been concentrating particularly hard on writing this note.

James and Lily are dead. Peter is dead. Sirius is in Azkaban. Albus has Harry.

Voldemort is dead.

Frank stared at this note for a very long time, not sure whether it was the first line or the second line that confused him more. Certainly the first line hurt more and he had to look down to ensure that the hole in his chest was only emotional, and that nobody had carved his heart out of his body when he read the letter.

"They're dead!" Alice screamed, sobbing into Neville's shoulder. The boy looked scared for his mum and Frank wondered what his own expression looked like. Breakfast long forgotten, Frank reached over and plucked Neville from his high chair, preferring instead to draw his wife and son into a firm grasp and mourn the loss of the most extraordinary people they had ever known.

After what seemed like an impossibly long time and not long enough at all, the sound of an owl, clattering against the nearest window, drew Frank's attention. Well, it drew Neville's attention. It was the infant who noticed it first and only a soft cooing sound from his small mouth alerted Frank and Alice to the arrival of a new letter. They stared at their son for a moment, too surprised that he'd made so much sound to consider whatever had arrived in the post.

Quickly, however, the owl's persistent banging was enough to pull them from their reverie and Frank crossed the room to open the window in just a few steps. It dawned on him then, as sunlight poured in through the open curtains, that it was a very strange time of day to be receiving owls. Certainly Remus' letter had been urgent, but who would risk sending more owls across muggle London all the way here?

Scarlet ink like so sprawling letters in blood glistened from the front of the envelope and Frank recognized Minerva McGonagall's handwriting. He held up the letter to show his wife but Alice was only peering at her son, as if some part of her knew that it would be helpful to memorize his tiny face. She wouldn't, of course, remember it for very much longer.

Cracking the wax seal on the envelope and sliding out a thick sheet of parchment, Frank read the new letter aloud. "It is imperative that you leave," he began, his voice much weaker than he had expected. "Leave now."

Frank wanted to look up at his wife again and to find her beautiful eyes looking back up at him. He wanted to tuck these letters away with the rest of his horrible morning and set about making breakfast, knowing that he and his family were safe. But he couldn't, and they weren't. Instead, he closed his eyes and only looked up at his wife when he was quite certain he wouldn't cry.

To his surprise, Alice had picked Neville up and moved to stand in front of Frank before he could do all of these things. "We should leave him with Augusta," she murmured. Her eyes were terribly sad and Frank wondered if his heart might break any more.

Frank hated to agree but found that he couldn't find any sufficient reasons not to and nodded. He didn't dare pry Alice's son away from her when so much was going on, and he resigned himself instead to being the packer. They wouldn't take much with them, but a single bag of the very basic necessities would certainly come in handy. Packing, of course, was the wrong term, since they had been prepared for this moment for a long time, although they hadn't expected it to come quite like this.

As he took his first step towards the stairs, Frank was surprised to find Alice's free hand wrapping into one of his and her soft footsteps following him as he made his way back to their bedroom. When they reached the second floor landing, Frank glanced first into Neville's nursery, and then towards their own bedroom, where he ultimately headed. Alice remained close behind him and only let go of his hand to place Neville in the middle of their bed.

"That poor little boy," she whispered, gazing at the infant.

"Augusta's going to take care of him," Frank responded sternly, hoping it was any consolation at all.

"No, I don't mean our little boy," Alice responded, nearly smiling. "I mean Harry Potter."

"Yes," Frank agreed. "Alice?" His wife turned to face him and peered up at him with eyes full of all the same things he was feeling himself. That knowledge almost brought him comfort. "I love you very much. I love both of you very much," he added, nodding at Neville, who simply smiled. "I love you forever and ever."

This time, Alice did smile, just the softest crease at the corner of her lips, and she pressed herself up on her toes to kiss her husband. "I love you also very much," she replied quietly. "Forever and ever."

Frank and Alice Longbottom lingered for just a moment longer in that place, quietly enjoying their last moments in this house they'd made into a home. It was an extraordinary moment and really a shame that none of them would ever remember that it happened.

It's a funny thing, because they always say that the best place to put an infant is the center of the bed, where they can't roll or tumble to the floor. In this case, when the windows of the Longbottom home erupted inwards, the center of the bed turned into a very safe place simply because a bundle of blankets covered Neville and left him well-protected from the glass shards that tore at his parents' skin.

Neville didn't see the tangled black hair of the witch who entered the home first, nor the men that were with her, but he always remembered her laughter. It was the laugh of a crazy woman and indeed, this woman was quite crazy. It was a very strange thing to hear a laugh like that at the same time as horrible screaming.

It was the sort of screaming that seems to never end and makes the hear-er wish they could do anything at all not to have to hear it anymore. Neville wanted to scream, too, but he didn't because Neville never made any sound. He wanted to make those sparks fly from his hands again because maybe he could distract the terrible laughing woman so she would stop hurting his parents. But he couldn't seem to do that, either.

When the laughing woman left and the Longbottoms were discovered, Frank and Alice still weren't extraordinary. They hadn't really died, although Neville certainly felt like it, and they certainly hadn't stopped You-Know-Who the way that the Potters had. Instead, it was a just a few wizards from the Ministry who discovered the screaming Aurors in their house, on the floor, and arrested the laughing woman and the men who came with her. He wasn't allowed to see his parents that day and his gran never looked quite as friendly as his dad or smiled quite as softly as his mum.

Augusta Longbottom tried very hard to take care of her grandson, even when her own husband passed away, too. She couldn't bear to think that Neville would grow up weak when his own parents had been so extraordinary, and she went to great lengths to help the boy become strong. She also went to great lengths to make sure he knew his parents, even when it was harder than anything else for her to do.

5 Years Later

Clutching a bouquet of flowers in both tiny hands, Neville Longbottom trotted alongside Gran as they maneuvered through Muggle London. The city had always fascinated the five-year-old, particularly since his own magic was so disappointing to his family that his grandmother often threatened to leave him there; he supposed he should learn to love the city. Still, this particular visit was not a happy one, and he kept his eyes straight ahead.

Even at his young age, Neville understood that he wasn't the only one who was hurting. He'd never really gotten to know his parents, but Gran had. She'd lost a son and daughter-in-law when Neville lost his mum and dad. And now they were making their last trip to go visit.

There was a chance, of course, that they'd be able to go back someday, in five or ten or twenty years. When the nurse at St. Mungo's had explained that each visit seemed to be undoing all of the progress the young couple was making, the family had made the heart-wrenching choice to stay away. Although there was little hope that Frank and Alice would ever fully recover, there was a chance that they could at least learn to be independent, and that was worlds better than the 24/7 assistance they required now. The hospital staff had agreed and Gran had scheduled their final visit for today, dragging Neville along beside her.

He didn't fully understand—how could he? But he knew that his mum cried when he showed up, and that his dad just looked scared, and that was enough to convince him that Gran was right. He held onto that image as he followed her to the entrance of St. Mungo's, trying desperately to hold back the tears he knew were just brimming to the surface.

Gran performed the necessary—and very confusing—magic for entrance into the hospital and they stepped into the lobby. Healers moved about the halls with varying degrees of urgency and Neville sighed. He was grateful for the care they could provide, but he didn't really have anything positive to associate with the hospital, and the feeling of dread only grew as they made their way to Frank and Alice's rooms.

This part of the hospital was the most dreary, but often the least gory. Although there was less of the sorts of things Gran covered Neville's eyes for, the people in this ward weren't really people. Or they weren't really here. It was fairly often that someone would be mistaken for dead, simply because they'd ceased to really be. Neville wasn't quite sure what it meant to be dead, but he thought that it was probably being like this, except that you couldn't move your body anymore either.

They checked in at the main desk and gently pushed open the door of room 219. Neville peered around Gran's leg, clutching the flowers tightly and searching the room for his mother's sweet eyes. He wondered what it would be like to really have a mother.

For a moment, Frank and Alice Longbottom looked happy. They surveyed their young son with a beautiful serenity, and Frank almost seemed to recognize his mother. Neville and Gran took advantage of that brief time, because it always was brief.

Almost every visit was the same: they would arrive and everything would be nearly perfect, they would spend time together, usually about twenty minutes, and then something would change and Frank and Alice's faces would turn into expressions of horror. Then there was the screaming. The horrible screaming. The unbearable sound of agony that no child should have to hear their parents endure and that no mother should have to hear her child express. The pain of it was always too much, and as the Healers rushed into the room to help comfort the terrorized young couple, Neville and Gran would leave quietly, keeping their goodbyes to themselves.

But for the first twenty minutes, everything was okay. Neville reveled in that time. Gran, naturally drawn to her son, would sit beside Frank and fuss over his clothes or his hair, tenderly reminding him to take good care of himself. Neville, however, would sit on his mum's lap. He was never sure if she really wanted him to sit there or if she pulled him there because it just felt right. He hoped it was the latter; it felt right to him.

Alice Longbottom was soft and warm and very sweet. She had pretty hair and pretty eyes and pretty skin. Neville didn't think anybody in the world could be as pretty as his mum, and he loved to touch her cheek or her hair. He didn't have to say very much, and he didn't really have much to say, but Alice would always listen. She wasn't verbal yet, and so she didn't ever say anything back. But Neville loved to tell her about everything that had happened since the last time he'd seen her.

Sometimes he'd talk about magic, but since he didn't have very much, he liked to talk about other things. He'd tell her about London, or a book he'd seen, or a picture, or a toy. She always nodded and smiled like she knew exactly what he was talking about. Maybe she did.

And then the twenty-first minute would come. Sometimes it wasn't so precise, but it certainly felt like it to Neville. It didn't really seem like there was anything that triggered it, but it always happened. Sometimes he heard Gran and the Healers discussing different reasons based on what had happened, and he'd put his hands over his ears and hum until they stopped.

Frank and Alice apparently were happy enough most of the rest of the time. There were incidents but that was to be expected. One of the healers told him once that the only word they'd spoken since they came to St. Mungo's was "Neville," but he wasn't sure if they were just trying to make him feel better. He wished it was true. He wished he could hear his mum say his name. He knew he might not hear his mum say anything again and he couldn't even remember what her voice sounded like.

This visit—the last visit—would be different. There would be no twenty-first minute. Neville and Gran couldn't stand to leave with that image as their last one, although Gran would never admit how much it hurt her. They couldn't help pushing their time though. Ten minutes came and went with Neville sitting on his mum's lap and talking about the different words he'd learned for colors. This was easy because he could point at the flowers and tell her what colors they were.

Her eyes were so happy and so pretty. Now that he was five, he knew that they were blue. She watched, and smiled, and nodded, and Neville wondered if she knew the words for colors anymore. But he wouldn't have time to find out. Soon, almost fifteen minutes had gone by, and Gran tapped him on the shoulder softly.

"Time to go," she said softly. It seemed to Neville that her voice was funny. Like she was trying to swallow something too big while she spoke. He sort of felt the same, and thought she might be trying to swallow her sadness. Or perhaps her tears, because Neville's came out his eyes and hers never seemed to come out at all.

Neville nodded and cast a glance back at his mum. He placed one small hand on her shoulder and leaned up to kiss her cheek. He was surprised to find that it was wet, and he watched in shock as a single small tear slid down her face. Gran gasped softly but regained her composure and moved to stand by the door, a clear indication to Neville that they needed to leave. It really was too much to bear.

"I love you, Mum," he whispered gently. Sliding to the floor, he took the most normal steps he could manage, afraid that if he walked too fast he'd forget to remember this moment, and if he walked too slow he'd get stuck in it.

Slowly and very broken, his mum's soft voice rang through the heavy silence. "Goodbye, Neville."