Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JK Rowling's. And I doubt she'd be very pleased with what I'm doing to it…
Warnings: Neville/Voldemort. Don't like it, don't read it. I won't be offended if you don't – to be honest, I probably wouldn't read it myself. But if you do read on, you will need some willing suspension of disbelief! Good luck.
Tom Riddle
I've never fitted in with the other children at the orphanage.
At the moment, I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, my forehead creased in concentration as my mind whirs, deep in thought about this topic. I lift my hand, examining the tips of my long, thin fingers with interest. I rub my thumb and forefinger together, watching them closely. Perhaps a spark of energy will leap from my skin if I concentrate hard enough. I don't yet know fully how my powers work, but I could spend hours in this position, in silent contemplation of my abilities, testing my strengths and learning to manipulate the world around me to do my bidding.
Nobody disturbs me while I think, which is exactly how I want it. The other children try, of course – they always do. Some pathetic sense of curiosity draws them to me – the strange, solitary boy who never joins in with their foolish games. But somehow, the door knob always refuses to turn for them, and they soon drift off and leave me in peace. I'm glad to have them gone. I'm not interested in them; I'm above them.
It's me; I'm the one stopping the door from opening, I know it. Mrs Cole says it must be rusted, but it works perfectly well for me. And what does she know? She's just like them; she hasn't got the power, the magic, that I have. I can feel it in my fingers and toes, a tingling sensation that spreads through my body. At first, I didn't know what it was; I thought that the strange things that happened when I was angry were coincidences. But now I know better. There is no coincidence, only power. Gradually, I have learned to keep mine in check.
I can make things happen; things I shouldn't be able to control. I can make the other children hurt when they annoy me too much. I can make their insides burn and boil in pain until they scream and fall to the ground in a writhing heap, water leaking from their eyes like the pitiable creatures they are. I'm different to them. I'm special. I think they can tell, somewhere in the back of their primitive minds, that I'm not like them. They used to tease me and call me names, until I taught them better. They've stayed away from me since then, watching me from the shadows but always keeping at a distance.
It is better that way; I prefer the solitude, and I don't want to associate with them. I am magical, and they are weak.
Neville Longbottom
I've never fitted in with the rest of my family.
At the moment, I'm sitting on the edge of my bed thinking about this. I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead on them. It's comforting, somehow, curling up in a ball and blocking out the rest of the world. I need the peace and quiet at the moment – I just managed to escape from Great Uncle Algernon... My aunts and uncles are all over to see Gran, and he's been poking and prodding me as usual to try to get some magic out of me.
Of course, it'll only be so long until someone yanks the door open and pulls me downstairs to, say, dunk my head in a bowl of water and hope I sprout gills, but for the moment I'm enjoying being alone, where I don't have to worry about Great Uncle Algie's constant attempts to force out my powers. It's never worked yet, and to be honest, I'm starting to think I'm a Squib. I've kind of accepted it, I suppose, but I do wish I was a wizard. Sometimes I spot Gran pursing her lips at me with disappointment etched all over her face. She wants me to grow up to be a powerful Auror, like Mum and Dad, but instead I've let her down.
I'm all right with Gran's constant glances though, I've got used to them. It's only when the rest of the family is here that I feel left out and... almost lonely. Just this afternoon, Aunt Bertha was reminiscing about when she got her first wand. She whipped it out and showed us how she made a stream of bubbles appear from it, and then all at once, everyone turned to stare at me, looking all sorry for me with their eyes softening. That's the kind of thing that makes me want to run away and hide in a cupboard or something, because it just reminds me that I'm nothing. I'm just a disappointment of a child, and I deserve to be locked up in St Mungo's, not Mum and Dad. At least they were useful.
Oh no, here's Great Uncle Algie standing at the door-frame. He grins at me; he must have come up with another scheme to force out my magic. That is, if I even have any. I sigh; I'm in for a long night.
I love my family, I really do… It's just that they're magical, and it makes me feel weak.
Author's Note: This was written for mysterygirl12345678's "Make the pairing work" competition on HPFC. I was given the pairing of Neville and Voldemort. Yes, I know Voldemort is incapable of love, but I'm just going to conveniently forget about that for now. So there. I never expected to write something like this but hey, it's fun! :D I hope you don't hate it too much, and thanks for clicking on it in the first place. :P There will be six chapters in total, by the way, which are all written already.