"My lord…my lord…I have received news of the utmost importance," murmured a man, clad in batlike, black robes, bowing in front of a tall, pale man.

"News?" A high, cold voice emanated from the mouth of the tall man.

"Yes, my lord. All the answers."

"The answers?" He leaned forwards in his seat. "Go on, Severus. I don't doubt you won't disappoint me." He waited, stroking the long, thick snake at his right.

"I was in Hogsmeade. At the Hog's Head."

"That name has no meaning to me. Do explain."

"It is the inn and pub of Aberforth. Aberforth Dumbledore."

A low chuckle escaped from the seated man. "Aberforth Dumbledore? Albus Dumbledore's little brother? Always overshadowed, always a disappointment, compared to his precious older brother…" He cackled outright, his pale face glowing uncharacteristically.

"My lord…there is a prophecy."

The other man's eyes widened. "A prophecy?"

"Yes, my lord. A prophecy."

"Of which I am the subject, I assume," he said, his face devoid of emotion.

"You are the subject," admitted the standing man. "But you are not the only subject."

"Oh?" he hissed.

"You and a young boy. A young boy who was born as the seventh month died…"


Neville became a plump toddler, his mop of dark, curly hair flopping at odd angles on his head, his grin broad and toothy, his grey eyes sparkling, and his cheeks a rosy pink, flushed with life.

The love of his doting family had not ebbed—instead, it had strengthened. As the war grew in size and power, Frank and Alice were more often than not called away to the Order to help protect the wizarding world, leaving Neville in the care of his extensive family. His first birthday was celebrated in the shadow of the largest battle of the entire fight, in which five members of the Order had been killed. His parents were quiet and solemn throughout, only briefly boasting conservative smiles.

The months flew by. Neville's passion for flora only grew. The war grew in size and magnitude, and Frank and Alice's sad faces became a permanent fixture of the manor. The young boy developed a passion for Quidditch, which he practiced with aging Uncle Algie in the backyard, much to his grandmother's dismay.

"You'll scuff up Neville's creeping grass!" was the final cry, but when she found she could not stop them, his grandmother took to watching from the kitchen window. The swooping broomsticks brought back lovely memories and the little boy's obvious talent was a pleasure to watch. However, Neville's first words were "Uncle Algie's lost a toe." Perhaps Quidditch was not the game to play…

August moved to September, and September to October. The nights grew significantly chillier. The little boy was swaddled in puffy cloaks and ski jackets. Scarves were wrapped around his head and neck, giving the impression that he was a small Inuit boy. The only indication that he was not, in fact, of North American descent, was the sweet English lilt that accented his voice every time he spoke.

The end of October drew nearer. Neville developed a campaign to join the Muggle children during All Hallow's Eve. "I could be a Quidditch player," he suggested. "Gwenog Jones." His ideas, although quickly shot down by his attentive parents, were encouraged by his other relatives. It was decided, the little boy's displeasure, that Halloween would instead be spent indoors.

They finally put Neville to bed at half-past 11:00. He had struggled admirably to remain awake with the "grown-ups," but once it was found that they were all retiring, as well, to their remote cottages and guest rooms and couches, Neville had allowed himself to be carried upstairs by his weary father and rocked to sleep by his mother, who yawned as she sang an old lullaby.

When his eyes closed and his consciousness slipped into the realm of the dreaming, Neville dreamt of snakes. He'd never particularly hated snakes before, but at the thought of these ones, his sleeping blood ran cold. Ones with huge fangs, bigger than his face, and blood dripping everywhere…he awoke with a scream.


"Alice, Alice, get Neville and run! I'll fight him off!"

It was his father's voice.

"No, Frank! Come, we'll go together."

"Alice, no. I've got to help the others. Go!"

Neville's eyes shot wide open. He struggled in his crib. The only thought in his mind was that perhaps they were going to go trick-or-treating with the Muggle children. Then he wondered if they'd gotten a Quidditch costume for him.

His mother swept him from the bed. Sobbing, she clutched him to her chest. So afraid, so afraid.

"Neville, promise me you'll be okay," she said quietly. "Promise mummy you'll be alright." The infant boy, sensing Alice's urgency, nodded sleepily, his head resting on his mother's shoulder.

"I'll be alright, mummy," he replied. "Don't worry."

There was a bang and a yell from the hallway approaching Neville's room. Alice gave a squeak of terror. She realized with a clamor of terror that she did not have the energy to Disapparate. The only means of transport, she saw, her hopes slipping, was Neville's toy broom—but the enchantments put about the manor would hardly let that through. She was trapped, she realized, amongst her own protection.

The door to the boy's room swung open.

"Alice, Alice," said a high, cold voice. "You silly girl."

"No, please!" she screamed.

The man before her was clad in dark, sweeping robes. His face was pale white, and his eyes shone bright red. In the place of a nose were two slits. His lips, pale and cracked, moved slowly.

"It is not you I wish to…dispose of…tonight." The blood red eyes swiveled towards Neville.

"No! Not my Neville!" Alice wrapped the little boy tighter in her grip. His were now wide open. "Take my life, but spare Neville!"

"It is not your life I desire."

"Tell me why!" screamed the desperate mother.

"There is a prophecy. I must destroy him before his power becomes too great. You already see him as a talented wizard, a young, gifted warlock. I cannot let him grow." The Dark Lord smiled benevolently. "But I can let you live. You can join my side. Your husband has fallen—" Alice gave a shriek of terror and grief— "but I can assure you that you will be well taken care of. Malfoy Manor has always been…a welcoming home."

"NEVER!" she sobbed. "Never, never, never."

"Step aside, silly girl," said Voldemort.

"No!" she cried, tears running down her face. "No! If you want Neville, you'll have to go through me first." Alice raised her wand.

"Protego!" she cried, as the man sent a first hex her way. It bounced off the bubble of protection she'd created, bouncing about the room, until it finally found the door and shot down the hallway. Even though the spell had saved her this time, she knew that it wound not save her against the Unforgivable Curses…

"Let go of the boy and all is forgiven," yelled the Dark Lord…Voldemort, over the bangs and yells from downstairs. "Let go of the boy and all your dreams will come true…your husband will return, he will join you, and so will Neville. Let go and it will be so much easier…"

Alice felt her grip slackening on Neville, and her wand. Sweat poured down her face, plastering her hair to her skull. She couldn't let go. She wouldn't let go. It took her a moment to gather her wits. Voldemort stared at her, disgusted.

When she looked up, she smiled. Raising her wand, she screamed,

"FOR FRANK!" A jet of bright red light shot from her wand, hitting the Dark Lord square in the chest. Voldemort stumbled backwards, an expression of pure shock written on his face. He fell backwards into the wall and crumbled to the floor.

Alice crumpled on the floor, the momentary power draining from her. She threw her body over Neville, protecting him from the recovered, advancing wizard she knew now would show no mercy. And she wanted none for herself. She only hoped that Neville would be okay. Neville, her baby Neville.

Tears streaked down her dirty cheeks. Images of her life flashed before her. Hogwarts. Her family. Frank. The manor. Neville. The Order. Her ideals faltered, her morals bent double in pain; but her love of them; of Frank, of Neville, of her world—stayed strong.

When the flash of green light came, she was ready.