Right, well, this story is entitled "The boy-who-could-have-been" and this is going to be a multiple chapters fic. It's about Neville Longbottom (obviously) and it takes place between his 5th and 6th schooling years at Hogwarts. Hum… there's going to be some swearing and stuff so, Rated 13+ I guess.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the books or any of that good stuff. JK Rowling does. But let me imagine that I do, OK?
Author's Notes: Please tell me what you think.


The woman's laughter rang through the dim room. "Now you know what it's like to be playing with me!" she spit to the shaking figure on the ground. "Enough of it, Bella" said a cold, stiff voice. Bellatrix shivered. "Yes master" The lean and tall silhouette of the man on the other side of the room was now moving. He was pacing in front of the fireplace, which provided the only light of the room, and therefore looked like a simple black shadow. His head was down and he had in hands wrapped behind his back. For a moment, the room was silent except for the person on the floor who was now weeping convulsively, the crackling of the fire and the light footsteps of Lord Voldemort. He finally turned around slowly and gracefully and addressed the individual at his feet. "You know why we brought you here, don't you Shacklebot?" No answer came from the latter. The Dark Lord remained perfectly calm. "Very well" He cast a look to his loyal follower. She let out a mischievous smile and nodded lightly. Voldemort turned back to his fire, obviously lost in his thoughts. The raven-haired woman raised her wand and shouted: "Crucio!"


About a thousand miles from there, in the English countryside, a teenage boy woke up abruptly. He passed his hand on his sweaty forehead and sited up in his bed. He took a circular look around his room. The moonlight illuminated it brightly by the curtains free window. On the desk in front of him were scattered pieces of parchment, a white feather quill and an ink bottle whose content lay over the deep brown wooden table. Besides that, on the floor, was a huge, worn-out trunk reposing open. The boy got out of bed and sat down in front of his desk. He drew aside said mess and took a fresh piece of paper. Absent-mindedly, he rolled his quill between his fingers and looked out the window. The moon shone big and bright and reflected on the calm surface of the pond. A light breeze gently hit the leaves who undulated by the force of it. The boy's mind floated away to a recent memory.

Six teenagers were squashed into a battered telephone box. "Whoever's nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!" called a voice. A short while later, the floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past its glass windows; blackness closed over their heads and with a dull grinding noise they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic. The Atrium was absolutely empty. A weird and chilly atmosphere floated in. Why wasn't there anybody? A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. As the lift slid smoothly to a halt, they caught sight of golden symbols that twisted sinuously in the dark blue ceiling. They erupted out of the elevator and fell on the ground over each other. Nervously, they stood up. A round faced blond boy gave his hand to a tiny redhead and held her close as though protecting her. The air was filled with tension.

Back in the present, the boy bit his nails with worry. He plunged his quill into the marine blue ink and held it still on the paper. How to begin? He smiled sadly at the thought of the ironic question; he always began the same way. Dear mum…

The sun was now about the height of the trees summit. It gently heated the top of the boy's head. He was now writing furiously fast with his nose about two inches from the paper. Down the stairs someone began to prepare breakfast. You could hear them manipulate plates and kitchen utensils. After a short while the noise stopped and the person sighed heavily. The boy in his room had noticed none of it and was still writing his letter. "Neville dear, come and have breakfast" called a female voice. The blond boy raised his head nervously. He was surprised to see the sun had risen almost completely by the time he was writing. He turned his head toward the door of the room, as though to respond to the person downstairs, but didn't say anything. He sighed and signed his letter. He then stood up and walked away from the room.


Barry Dumpstone was sitting straight in a small collapsible grey chair. He was a young man with curled brown hair. The seat was not very comfortable and Barry, with his tall statute, was having problems staying still. The head-rest was hurting his back and his too long legs, which had to be extended, took about a half of the small corridor. Frequently, healers and patients were obliged to pass over them which caused great embarrassment for every party implied. The exhausted boy took out his round glasses and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He would be very thankful when they would finally arrive. He had not known precisely when Mrs. Longbottom and her pupil would arrive, so had been there since 6:00 am this morning. He was now quite sleepy and the brightness of the lights was making him dizzy. All this whiteness was annoying him. He wished to get out. But he had to get this done before.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor and Barry breathed heavily. He would have to painfully draw his legs back again. He would have to apologize again and there would yet be this discomfort feeling between him a stranger. He closed his eyes in hope for help. When he opened them, an old, grey haired lady, with green robes and a large red handbag was holding on to a blond boy's arm with firmness. They had already turned the corner before he could call out after them. He stood up and ran for them. "Mrs. Longbottom, Mrs. Longbottom!" he shouted, short on breath. The dame turned around shocked. "Now what is it, boy?" she asked bitterly. Barry bent down, his hands on both knees, gasping. Mrs. Longbottom looked more displeased than ever. "Well?" The man took one slow breath and said "I was sent by Professor Dumbledore to get Neville. Professor Dumbledore needs to talk to him, but he was too busy at the moment to come here by himself. He begs you to forgive him and wishes you a pleasant day." Neville looked up to his grandma, astonished. Mrs. Longbottom opened her mouth to talk, but Barry didn't let her a chance. "I'll wait 'till you're finished visiting, of course. I'll be waiting here. Professor Dumbledore says he'll send Neville back by Floo Network around dinner time tonight." There was a moment of silent stupefaction and Barry suddenly jumped! "Oy! I almost forgot." He took a piece of parchment out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Mrs. Longbottom. "This explains everything" he said. "Well, as much as can be told in a letter… these days" he added mysteriously. Incredulously, Mrs. Longbottom regarded the envelope and finally said "Neville will be yours shortly". Then, they walked away, both holding a similar parchment envelope in a grotesque fashion of a mirror.


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