The other One

-By E.G.R. Woods

Disclaimer: Original storyline, characters, events and places belong to the wonderful J.K Rowling. I'm just borrowing them. New characters belong to me and other people who are so kindly lending them to yours truly.

Warning: Contains spoilers of 5th and 6th book.

Author's note: The first time I tried this, I decided to simply translate the first chapter of the Philosopher's Stone, just for the sake of accuracy and keeping the tie between the real books and my piece of fiction. But people complained. I decided to redo it.

"It means that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him. His breathing seemed difficult again.

"It means – me?"

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.

"The odd thing is, Harry," he said softly, "that it may not have meant you at all. Sybil's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

--Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 37.

- Chapter One -

The boy who lived

"Bloody garden gnomes!"

Minerva McGonagall stumbled slightly as she rubbed the top of her head bitterly. The aforementioned garden gnome zig-zagged away, holding its head after the blow it got from crashing head on with a striped cat; then hurriedly disappeared in fear among the rosemary bushes when it looked back and realized the cat was not a cat anymore, but an tall thin woman in an emerald green robe. The sound of the gnome's tiny feet scuffing at the grass vanished as it got further. McGonagall glared severely after it through her square-framed glasses. Those creatures were the main reason why not having a garden was rather a blessing.

Adjusting her green pointed hat, she strutted over to the back door of the Longbottom residence, suddenly feeling the chilly dark aura that surrounded the great house. It was midnight, but the kitchen windows cast pale yellow squares of light onto the grass of the backyard. The Longbottoms were wide awake, no doubt about it. This was not a night of peaceful rest.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall."

McGonagall tensed and turned to her right, wand aloft, only to find herself face to face with a familiar person. He was a tall, thin and very old man, with long white hair and beard that reached down to his waist, and he was wearing a purple cape and a black pointed hat. At the sight of him, McGonagall let out a sigh of relief.

Albus Dumbledore's brilliant blue eyes looked at her warmly through the half moon-shaped glasses perched on the end of his long, twisted nose. "It's very nice to see you. Although I must say I certainly didn't expect to find you here."

McGonagall looked at him strangely. He was standing in the shadows, but his eyes seemed to glisten in the dark. She approached him, and spoke in a hushed voice. "You're the one who called me here, Albus."

Dumbledore nodded in comprehension. "I reckon I did, yes. What I meant is, I didn't expect you to arrive before I did."

"Well, I have my own means of travel. And besides, I like to go around unnoticed."

Dumbledore knew she was referring to her cat shape. "My dear professor, you mean that you have been running around all day? And here I thought you would like to have joined some of the celebrations. I must have come across dozens of parties on my way here," he said with a sly smile. With her black hair neatly pulled back into a bun and her severe aspect in general, McGonagall did not exactly seem like the kind of person who frequented parties. She looked ill-humored at the mention of celebrations.

"Honestly, Albus, I would say these celebrations have gotten a bit out of hand. Even the muggles noticed. They are not that dense." Professor McGonagall sighed angrily. "It was on the news."

"Are you sure that what you saw was not the broadcasting of muggle Halloween parties?" Dumbledore asked. He seemed to be teasing. Professor McGonagall clenched her teeth.

"Yes, I am sure."

He tried to hide his wry smile. They both looked up suddenly as a whole flock of owls flew over the surrounding grounds. They had been doing that all day, carrying newspapers and letter back and forth all over the country. The muggles considered it a strange behaviour; it even appeared on the television, a broad report about owls flying massively in broad daylight.

"Perhaps you are right, Minerva. But we have had so very little to celebrate for eleven years," Dumbledore replied. "I think a little disarray is exactly what we all need."

Professor McGonagall sniffed. "A little disarray, you say? They all seem to have lost their minds, the whole lot of them. You'll have to forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm, Albus, but I don't think it's prudent to celebrate yet. Not when things are so uncertain. I don't suppose you believe You-know-who is gone completely, do you?"

Dumbledore didn't reply. He was looking for something in his robes, fumbling through every pocket (it seemed he had a lot of them). McGonagall cleared her throat. "Well, do you?"

"Surely that is what it seems," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall was quiet for a moment, watching Dumbledore pull various objects out of his pockets as he kept searching. Most of it seemed to be muggle candy; several lemon sherbet wrappers fell to the ground, and he picked them up and put them back into his pockets.

"I don't mean to question your reason," McGonagall continued, trying to ignore the fact that Dumbledore had just pulled a rubber chicken, a spatula and a tennis shoe out of his robes, then put them back in, "but I really would like to know, exactly, what makes you think You-know-who's gone?"

"Minerva, surely someone as wise as yourself would understand there is nothing wrong with using the proper name: Voldemort," Dumbledore said. Professor McGonagall did a sort of flinching move, backing slightly in fear, but Dumbledore didn't notice because he was still busy rummaging through his robes.

"But of course, you wouldn't have that problem yourself. Most people know for a fact that your situation is different. You are, after all, the only one You-Know—oh, well, Voldemort ever feared."

"You flatter me, professor. Voldemort had powers I never did."

"Only because you are too… noble to use them."

"I'm lucky it's dark. I had not blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

McGonagall rolled her eyes. She could never understand how the old man could be so nonchalant and cheerful in moments like this. Finally, Dumbledore pulled out a pocket watch, but it wasn't a regular pocket watch. Instead of numbers, it had little planets moving along the edge. Dumbledore studied it, obviously knowing how to read it, and then put it back into his robes. "We have arrived just in time," he said, glancing at the door of the

"Albus, I'm sorry to be persistent, but I am a bit in the dark here," McGonagall said.

"Well, we are standing in the shadows."

"That is not what I mean," McGonagall replied in exasperation. Dumbledore was being rather cheeky. She looked at him anxiously. "I'm not even sure of what I'm doing here. I guess I just want to know the truth."

Again, Dumbledore didn't answer. McGonagall continued. "I've heard many rumors already, I heard things on my way here, and I don't know for sure what to be certain of. What the facts are, what really happened. How he disappeared."

"All will be known when the time comes," Dumbledore said sombrely. "You will get your answers."

McGonagall felt heavy-hearted. By Dumbledore's tone of voice, she had the inkling that the rumors she had heard might all be true, and then the news wouldn't be so good either.

"We should get inside. They are waiting for us," Dumbledore said. McGonagall just nodded, and she followed the old man toward the steps up to the kitchen door. Dumbledore knocked very lightly, and a few moments later, a plump old woman with wispy white hair opened the door.

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, how nice to have you here. Please, do come in," Augusta Longbottom said in a forced cheerful voice, although her face conveyed a look of utmost sorrow. The two professors made their way through the threshold, returning the greeting, and entered the kitchen. The dim lighting was coming from large wrought-metal candleholders dripping wax onto the counter, and a roaring fire in the hearth of the fireplace. A red washcloth was floating above the sink, drying dinner plates all on its own accord.

"Good evening, Augusta. Theodore," Dumbledore said as he walked further into the house. Theodore Longbottom, slouched in a wide burgundy armchair with large red and green plaid cushions, barely gave an acknowledging hand wave, his face grim and his eyes dropping tiredly. He was a balding man with a pot-belly and a wide, squashed nose. Mr. Longbottom pushed himself slightly upright and settled back against the cushions.

"Let's put the formalities past us, Dumbledore. It's much too late for that," he said in a slow, slightly slurred voice. "Just tell us what you have come for tonight that couldn't wait until morning."

"Theo, fer God's sake! It's the middle of the night, and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall have had a long journey. Be a bit more hospitable, will yeh?" Mrs. Longbottom reprimanded. Mr. Longbottom only grumbled something unintelligible, and his wife muttered something under her breath. McGonagall looked at Dumbledore worriedly, feeling like an intruder on their privacy, but Dumbledore's face was blank, because he was trying to hide his amused smirk.

"May I offer you anything? Tea, water, some firewhisky? Something to eat, perhaps?" Mrs. Longbottom asked kindly. "Where'd that house-elf get to now? TWIGGY!"

Two seconds later, a creature with a big head and large bat-like ears, and a long pointy nose popped out from behind the counter. Her body was surprisingly thin, her limbs like twigs, making her head and large feet look even bigger, and she wore what looked like an old pink shawl draped around her body like a toga, held together by a safety pin. Blinking her large shiny black eyes in surprise at the sight of the visitors, she did an awkward curtsy for each, then approached her mistress and repeated the gesture.

"Would you kindly prepare something for our guests? I would like a tea myself, and Mr. Longbottom is too asleep to want anything," Mrs. Longbottom instructed to the tiny house-elf, and McGonagall saw Theodore's head was lolling on his left shoulder and he was beginning to snore. "And light the living room fireplace," Mrs. Longbottom continued. Twiggy nodded and did another curtsy. Then she turned silently to Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"A tea, please," Dumbledore said, and Twiggy curtsied.

"Nothing for me, thank you," said McGonagall, and Twiggy curtsied again. She rushed around doing her mistress's bidding; the living room was promptly lit and warm by a roaring fire in the hearth, and suddenly the house-elf was standing on top of three stools piled one onto the other, boiling water for the tea.

"Let's step, then, into the living room, if you please. Now, to what do we owe this surprising visit?" Mrs. Longbottom said with a friendly smile, in spite of her obvious unease. McGonagall and Dumbledore took a seat on the plush couch in front of the fireplace, while Mrs. Longbottom plopped onto a dark green armchair across from them.

"My dear lady," Dumbledore began, his voice balanced to make himself heard only to the people in the room, "I am sure that you have already caught a whiff of the rumors going around about an event of utmost importance that took place last night."

"If you are referring to the destruction of You-know-who, you are correct. And it is the best news any of us have had in a very long time, wouldn't you agree?"

"I do agree. And I would have joined in the celebrations taking place all over the country to commemorate this most awaited day, if it were not for the reason that we are here."

Twiggy entered the living room carrying a large tray on top of her head, filled with assorted cakes and cookies and a pot of tea and two cups for Dumbledore and Mrs. Longbottom. She set it on the coffee table and poured the tea on the two cups. "Thank you," said Dumbledore, and Twiggy curtsied, then turned to her mistress.

"Thanks, Twiggy, that will be all," said Mrs. Longbottom, and Twiggy curtsied again and left. "Just tell me something, professor, because I trust your knowledge and your judgment," said Mrs. Longbottom as she scooped a teaspoon of sugar into her tea, and Dumbledore smiled. "Do you believe that it's true? That he is gone? Is that something we can be certain of?"

Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore brought his own cup of tea to his lips and took a slow, thoughtful sip. "As I was telling professor McGonagall just before we came in," he said finally, "everything indicates that he is. That is all I can tell you for certain. And that is what has brought us here tonight."

McGonagall tapped her fingers on her knee anxiously. Actually she had no idea of why she was there. She just wanted to hear what Dumbledore had to say. He, in the meantime, took another sip of his tea and set the cup back on the table, then treated himself to a cinnamon cookie.

"I've been having a bad feeling about this, Dumbledore, ever since you told us you were paying us a visit at this time. If this is not after all, a pleasant visit, then I suggest you come out and say what you've come to say," Mrs. Longbottom said, stirring her tea loudly. Her friendly smile turned to a knitted-brow look.

"The thing is, my dear lady," Dumbledore continued, "that the reason Voldemort is gone" (Mrs. Longbottom flinched, and McGonagall stopped her tapping and seemed to have a facial spasm), "had something to do with where he had gone last night. He was in Godric's Hollow, and he found your son and his wife and their baby. I believe, and I think I am quite right to say, that Frank and Alice put up a very good fight, trying to protect their son. But they could not…" Dumbledore paused, taking a deep breath. "Voldemort killed them."

After the words left his mouth, it seemed as if hours went by before anything happened. McGonagall stared open-mouthed at the headmaster in sheer stupefaction. The rumors she had heard were true, most unfortunately, she realized with a heavy heart. All day long people had been celebrating the Dark Lord's surprising but most welcome disappearance, but they didn't know what it had cost.

The silence was only broken when the teacup unexpectedly slipped out of a thunderstruck Mrs. Longbottom's hand. The china broke and the tea spilled all over the carpet. "Oh, my goodness!" she yelped in spite of herself, looking at the mess. Twiggy promptly rushed into the room, carrying a broom and dustpan, and swept the carpet clean of china fragments, then rushed out and back in with a washcloth and some water, scrubbed the tea off the carpet and dried it, then curtsied to her mistress before zipping out again.

A long pause followed this display of diligence, and then Dumbledore spoke again. "I am terribly sorry for your loss. I wish I hadn't been the one to bring you such painful news."

It appeared that Mrs. Longbottom was having difficulty absorbing Dumbledore's words, because her face was twitching, and her eyes shifted from one side to the other, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. McGonagall feared she was going to have a fit. Then Mrs. Longbottom's perplexed face turned to a frown and then to an expression of disturbance. Her mouth was shaking, then she looked at Dumbledore fixedly, as if expecting him to deny everything he had said. Dumbledore bowed his head. Mrs. Longbottom's eyes, as wide as dinner plates, frantically looked around.

"Th-Theodore! Hear this! It's your son he's talking about! Dead, he says! Theodore, for the love of God! Dumbledore—Professor McGonagall… is it—is it true!"

Mrs. Longbottom was stammering, looking bewildered, her hands still grasping the armchair while she did a sort of thrashing around on her seat, as if she had been shackled to the chair and could not get up. Twiggy sprinted in holding a fan, and started waving it in front of her mistress to fan her face.

"Gerroff, Twiggy! There's no need to—" Mrs. Longbottom slapped her away flustered. Twiggy backed away nervously, did another curtsy and ran out, while Mrs. Longbottom tried to get up from her seat, but her legs seemed to fail her. McGonagall considered helping her up, but she didn't want to get slapped like Twiggy. "Theo! Are you listening? Wake up and listen! Frank and Alice—what in the name of—FRANK! THEODORE! WAKE UP!" Mrs. Longbottom continued yelling. From the kitchen they could clearly hear Mr. Longbottom's loud snoring. Mrs. Longbottom suddenly frowned and leapt to her feet and drew out her wand.

"YOU LAZY OLD WART! GET OVER HERE NOW! WAKE UP!"

There was a zapping sound and a yelp of pain, and McGonagall knew that whatever spell Mrs. Longbottom had hit her husband with, it had worked perfectly. The robust balding man strutted out of the kitchen, rubbing his behind slightly, his face twisted in pain.

"What the bloody hell did you have to do that for?" he demanded, voice groggy.

"Your son is dead, Theo. He and Alice were killed by—" Mrs. Longbottom began forcefully, but then she cut herself off. She gripped her wand tightly until her knuckles were white, and her face turned stone-like.

"I greatly regret to inform you," Dumbledore interjected, "that your son and his wife have been murdered by Lord Voldemort, last night in their cottage in Godric's Hollow. The reason why he vanished during this attack is what has brought me here for another very important announcement."

Mrs. Longbottom scratched the top of his head, his eyes glued to Dumbledore but not really seeing him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Frank and Alice… I cannot believe it… I don't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…" McGonagall spoke for the first time in a long time. She had been holding her breath and her voice all this time; she knew the rumors going around about the Longbottoms, but hearing it from Dumbledore was a completely different thing. If those rumors were true, then the ones about how the dark wizard was destroyed were likely true as well.

Dumbledore patted her in the back. "I know… I know…" he said sadly.

"I don't understand," Mr. Longbottom said again.

Mrs. Longbottom seemed to be still mildly shocked. With a mere swish of her wand, the armchair she had been sitting on lurched forward and stopped right behind her, so she only had to squat down to sit. It was as if she was using all her strength not to cry or pass out. "What else do you have to tell us, Dumbledore?" she asked after a long pause, her voice sounding tired.

"I understand this is a grievous time for you, but I hope you will find solace in knowing what Frank and Alice left behind," Dumbledore explained. "I am talking, of course, of your grandson."

Mrs. Longbottom blinked several times, as if she was making sure he was not a figment of her imagination. "Neville?" she asked in a small voice. "Neville is alive?"

"Yes, he is," Dumbledore replied with a comforting smile. "You see, it appears that when Voldemort showed up at the cottage of Godric's Hollow, his intention was to eradicate all the Longbottoms. But… he couldn't."

Another long pause followed this statement. Mrs. Longbottom had her hand over her mouth.

"It's amazing… it's simply amazing," McGonagall blurted out, despite her effort to stay quiet. She felt she had no place to speak up when this family was getting such sombre news. "I can't believe it's true."

"I don't… understand," Mr. Longbottom said yet again. But he took a wobbly step forward and continued. "What do you mean he couldn't kill him? He's just a baby! And You-know-who is—well, was— the greatest dark wizard ever! After all he has done, all the people he killed…He was more powerful than anyone! How could he not kill a baby?"

"Shut it, Theodore! It doesn't matter now, does it? Neville is alive! He's alive! He survived You-know-who's attack!" Mrs. Longbottom was shouting again, but she sounded relieved. "Merlin's beard! Where is he? Where is my grandson? Is he alright? Is he the reason You-know-who has been destroyed?"

Dumbledore seemed to think a moment, as if keeping himself from giving out too much. "That is the general opinion."

McGonagall's voice cracked as she spoke. "Of all the things that could have stopped V-Voldemort… a little baby… How did Neville survive, Dumbledore?"

"We can only guess," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps we'll never know."

McGonagall got the impression that Dumbledore was, not so much as lying, but not telling the whole truth. She had the distinct feeling that he knew a lot more than he was disclosing. Dumbledore gave her a look, as if to say this was a matter that should not be discussed presently. Then he turned to the elder couple.

"Neville is fine. He's in perfect health," he continued. "It has been a long night and a very long trip for him to be taken to safety after he was rescued from the cottage. He has been kept in a safe place and received the proper care, I assure you. We only wanted to make sure he was in no harm. And now that I have had the opportunity to tell you what has happened, it is time for Neville to be reunited with his family."

"He's coming here? With us?" Mr. Longbottom asked in a small, squeaky voice.

"Of course. I believe it's safe to say that here he will receive the love and upbringing he requires. You are, after all, his grandparents," Dumbledore explained. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom nodded in understanding. McGonagall eyed the elder couple; they both seemed rather reluctant at the idea of having their grandson come live with them, with a certain air of unease, which had either to do with the fact that Neville had reportedly been touched by Voldemort, or with the issue of them being too old to be raising a baby at this time of their lives.

Mrs. Longbottom rose to her feet with scared determination. "We must fix up a room in the house for him," she said, conjuring a smile. "There's a bedroom across from our own that we will need to tidy up quite a bit, but it'll do. Twiggy!" she called, and instantly, the skinny house-elf was standing before her. "Please prepare the empty bedroom in the second level. Have it ready for tomorrow morning," Mrs. Longbottom indicated in a hurried, excited tone. But before Twiggy could curtsy, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Actually, we are expecting Hagrid to bring Neville tonight. He is, regrettably, running a little bit late, but I would say they should arrive any minute now," he informed. Twiggy turned to her mistress again.

"Oh. Then I guess you should hurry," Mrs. Longbottom said. Twiggy nodded and curtsied and, with a snap of her fingers, she had disapparated.

"See here, Dumbledore. This is not the sort of thing you do in the middle of the night," said Mr. Longbottom, who, in spite of being apparently past his confusion, was now looking quite droopy-eyed again. "You could have told us earlier and brought him here at a decent hour! We would've prepared ourselves for receiving him. But it's been ages since a baby has actually passed through this house, let alone lived here." He put a hand to his head in a gesture of concern.

"I would've liked to have been able to let you know sooner about this, but until we could be sure the plan could be taken into action, until we were sure everything would work out perfectly, we didn't want to risk it. Our main concern was always keeping your safety, and Neville's, at heart," Dumbledore said. "I know it is not the easiest thing to do, bringing a child into this home when you haven't cared for children in a long time, but my instincts tell me you have nothing to worry about; you will be wonderful. I don't think Neville could ask for a better place where to grow up."

Sadly, McGonagall thought the only other better place for Neville had been taken away by Voldemort. She shuddered. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom looked at each other uncertainly for the hundredth time already. McGonagall led Dumbledore into the kitchen briefly.

"Albus, Hagrid is bringing the boy? Do you think it's wise to trust Hagrid with something so important?"

"My dear professor, you have to learn to have more faith in Hagrid, seeing as he had proved himself worthy of all of our trust so far. I assure you, Neville is perfectly safe with him."

As if on cue, Dumbledore was interrupted, however, by a deafening noise that broke the silence all around the house. The professors and the Longbottoms looked around, searching for the source, as the noise became steadily louder. The four of them eventually looked out the window at the dark grounds, then up at the sky. At that instant, a heavy motorcycle fell right off the air and landed a few feet away from the kitchen door.

The enormous man riding it removed his goggles. Shaking his wind-swept wild black hair and beard, he got off the bike carefully, holding a lump wrapped in blankets in his large muscular arms. He approached the house as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom stepped out to greet him.

"Good evening, Hagrid. I was beginning to wonder where you had gotten to," Dumbledore said, patting Hagrid on the arm.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout the delay," Hagrid said sheepishly. "Bloody owls flyin' all over the place, an' those ruddy fireworks an' rockets've made air traffic a bit difficult. But it was smooth most o' the way. This li'l guy fell asleep righ' over Bristol." As gently as he could, he held the sleeping baby out to Mrs. Longbottom, who held him in her arms tightly, both she and Mr. Longbottom looking down at his face with great concern.

"Any problems over there?" Dumbledore continued.

"None, sir. I got 'im out jus' before them muggles started ter show up," Hagrid replied.

"Where did you get this motorcycle, Hagrid?" McGonagall asked.

"'Tis borrowed, professor. Sirius Black len' it ter me. I'm sure he'll be expectin' it back soon."

"Yes, Hagrid, you can go and return it to him. I believe you have done more than enough here tonight. Thank you very much," Dumbledore smiled at the giant. Hagrid nodded, but looked uncertainly at the Longbottoms.

"Thank you, sir. But I—I wondered… may I please... say goodbye to him?" he asked shyly. Dumbledore smiled broader and nodded. Hagrid approached Neville's grandparents, and he leaned his large dishevelled head over the baby and gave him a kiss on the top of the head, scrapping him slightly with his beard. Unexpectedly, he gave a whimper that sounded more like a howling dog.

"Hagrid! You'll wake him!" McGonagall scolded.

"I… I'm sorry," Hagrid wept and he blew his nose loudly with a large handkerchief. "But I can't bear it… Frank an' Alice dead… and poor li'l Neville's lost his mum an' dad…"

"Yes, yes, it's very sad, we know, but you must control yourself," McGonagall said. "Neville is not alone, you know. He has his grandparents. He will be fine."

"I know… well, I should be going. I'll return the motorcycle ter Sirius. Good evenin', Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore. Good evenin', Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom." And clambering back onto the huge bike, Hagrid started it up once again and disappeared in the black night sky.

"Dumbledore, what is this on his face?" Mr. Longbottom asked. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall leaned over the blankets. Beneath the flecks of brown hair, on the forehead, they could see a scar of curious shape, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that the spot where he…?"

"Yes. That is where the curse touched him. He will have that scar forever," Dumbledore responded.

"Is there anything we can do about it?"

"Even if there was, I don't think you should. Scars can sometimes be useful."

McGonagall had no idea of what Dumbledore might mean by that, about what could be so useful about a scar, but she had learned a long time ago that this sort of comment from Dumbledore was usually not so beside the point.

"You do understand what this means, don't you, professors?" Mrs. Longbottom began. "If what you have told us is true… If our grandson has done what even the most accomplished wizards have not even come close to achieving… it's unbelievable. Neville will be famous, a legend… Everybody in our world will know his name!"

"Yes, you are quite right. Which is why we must be very watchful of him," Dumbledore said. "All of this is enough to confuse any child. He's become famous while still being a baby. And he won't even remember why! There will be a time for everything. There will come a moment when he will be ready to learn it all. All in good time, my dear lady, all in good time.

"We still have much to discuss. But we will have a chance in the morning, when we are all well-rested. I would like to offer my assistance with any matter that you feel requires it," he continued after a pause. "Of course, you probably would like to make arrangements to visit the scene where it all took place; it is a private family affair, after all, and it is up to you whichever you find is the proper course of action to bid farewell to your son and daughter-in-law. I believe it is important that you do so."

Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom nodded heavily. The baby stirred in his sheets. "We will talk in the morning, then," Dumbledore said, seeing that Neville might wake up at any moment. They all said good night, and with a sad grin, the Longbottoms walked back into the house, with Dumbledore and McGonagall watching. For a long minute they both remained on the spot, watching the lights from inside the house, their heads slightly bowed. McGonagall had to blink back tears furiously, and the usual titillating light of Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have been put out.

"Well," he said finally. "It's done. I believe we still might have time to join the celebrations. I will see you soon, I hope, Minerva." McGonagall only nodded. "Good night, professor."

"Good night, Albus." In a blink of an eye, the striped cat was lurking through the shadows once again, away from the house. Dumbledore stared after her for a few seconds, and then looked up at the house again, letting out a deep sigh.

"Good luck, Neville," he muttered. He turned on his heel and, with a movement of his robes, he was gone.

Mrs. Longbottom, with Mr. Longbottom tiredly in tow, climbed the steps of the winding staircase up to the second level, stopping when they reached one of the doors. She walked into the empty room. Twiggy had cleaned it up nicely, and there was a small fire in the hearth. But there was no furniture except for a chair and table and a full-length mirror, all covered with white sheets, and an old bed in one corner. Mr. Longbottom transfigured the old bed into a crib, and quickly conjured up some blankets and sheets. Before she put the baby in the crib, Mrs. Longbottom ran a gentle finger over the scar on his forehead, as if making sure it was really there. Then she laid him down to sleep and turned off the light. "Sweet dreams, Neville," she said from the doorway, before she and her husband closed the door and left.

Neville Longbottom turned over inside his blankets and continued to sleep, unaware of what had happened in the past twenty four hours; without knowing he was famous… He could not know that, at that very moment, people gathering in secret all over the country were lifting their goblets to say in quiet voices: "For Neville Longbottom… the boy who lived!"

You'll have to excuse me for barefacedly "borrowing" a few things verbatim from the books. Especially one of my favourite quotes:

"You flatter me, professor. Voldemort had powers I never did."

"Only because you are too… noble to use them."

"I'm lucky it's dark. I had not blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

I love that part. I really love Dumbledore (respectful silence) when he says things like that. J.K. Rowling is a genius.

Augusta Longbottom is one of my favourite characters, believe it or not. I think most people see her as this old lady who is embarrassingly honest (kind of like Luna, which is why I love her too, she can be so funny sometimes). Most would say they are annoyed at her insensitivity. But I think maybe she's been made that way by her situation, by what has happened to her and her family. So much trauma and despair perhaps have rendered her unsentimental, and having to put up with a grandson who is a bit of a clumsy dolt has lost her a great deal of patience and sensibility. So I don't think she's been like that her whole life, but I believe that, given her old age and sad family history, she hasn't got the same endurance she used to. I sympathize with her.

Mrs. Longbottom reminds me slightly of my own grandmother (on my father's side, as well). She is that kind of woman who speaks her mind unabashedly. What strikes me as a resemblance to Neville's grandmother is that mine is not very sentimental either. She's just not really about expressing feelings of love or of sorrow. Mrs. Longbottom is a special character to me in that sense, that she reminds me of one of the most important and most influential people in my life. My grandmother's taught me so much and constantly makes me laugh. In spite of her flaws, I still love her very much and I hope she remains the way she is, a very wise and strong woman a kindred spirit not hindered by age and no-longer-brand-new joints (she's 73 years old, but looks and acts and has the health of a 50-year-old). She's endured so much, for her family and for herself, just like Mrs. Longbottom, but she still takes things with a light heart and a big smile. That is why I dedicate this chapter to her.

(Come to think of it, she doesn't even read Harry Potter, or has ever seen the movies. But it really doesn't matter. Maybe someday I will coax her into the Potterverse at last.)