Disclaimer: It'd flatter me no end if you mistook me for JKRowling. Nevertheless, I would have to disappoint you if you did, because I'm not.

Harry's heart missed a beat. 'They're ...?'

His parents and godfather nodded.

'Rookwood and Avery killed them,' said James bitterly. 'Voldemort wanted the wizarding race rid of Muggleborns,' - he put his arm protectively around Lily - 'but if ever a family was a bunch of "blood traitors" it's the Weasleys,' he said, painfully echoing the words of Sirius from a year ago. 'Of course, normal people don't care. But Voldemort and his supporters were manic. Rookwood and Avery went to their house just six months after their son Percy was born. Killed Molly and Arthur. Luckily, Percy was at his nursery. He was living in a foster home until two years ago.'

But Harry had hardly take any of this in. No Mr and Mrs Weasley. No Fred and George. No Ginny.

'No Ron,' he croaked.

'Who's Ron?' asked Lily, knowing and dreading the answer.

'My ... best ...' Again emotion overtook him and he couldn't speak.

Lily pulled him close and rocked him like a three year old.

'I'm so sorry, Harry. No Ron. But it's not that bad; there is someone ...'

She looked over his shoulder at James and nodded. He got up and walked to the fireplace, taking down a small box on the mantelpiece. He threw a pinch of powder on the fire and stuck his head into the green flames. He must have whispered the name of the house, because Harry, even in his numbed state of mind, couldn't hear it.

Hermione. Only Hermione could make him feel slightly better. He hoped his dad had gone to fetch her. He didn't want to believe it. Ron couldn't be dead. No, Ron couldn't never have been born. Not Ron Weasley. There must be a mistake. There must be two Ron Weasleys. They thought he was talking about the other one! As he thought this, Harry struggled to loosen his mum's grip. He had to tell them!

'Quiet Harry,' whispered his mum.

He stopped struggling. Hermione was coming. It was okay, Hermione would tell them they were wrong. There was a noise by the fire, and Harry looked up to see James scrambling to his feet and brushing his knees down. He avoided looking at Harry, but nodded to his wife and said, 'They're coming.'

Lily turned Harry to face her.

'Look Harry, Ron might not be here, but you still have friends. In your world you have Ron, here you have -'

Right at that moment, the fire roared and out of the huge fireplace stepped three people. Harry wrenched himself out of his mother's grip and turned.

He had seen all three people in his own world. Two of them he had seen in St Mungo's Hospital.

It was the Longbottoms.

Frank, Alice and Neville stared silently at Harry for a few moments. Then Neville gave a yell and bounced across the room. He gave Harry a bear-hug and let him go, beaming all over his round face. Frank and Alice, slightly recovered, crossed the kitchen to pump his hand up and down and give him a motherly hug.

'What the hell happened to you?' exclaimed Neville.

They were not what Harry was expecting, and this was so totally unlike Neville that Harry was temporarily speechless. He was still recognisable as Neville of course, but he seemed taller, and more cheerful, not to mention amazingly more confident. This Neville didn't seem like he could be daunted by Snape or even his grandmother, and Harry couldn't imagine him having the kind of difficulty the Neville he knew had with a variety of spells. Nor did this Neville look like he would let a slimy git like Malfoy tease him, or, come to that, even be the object of one of Malfoy's jokes. This Neville just wouldn't stand for any of it.

Realising his godson was not about to make a speech, Sirius butted in.

'Let's not all stand here gawping. We need to celebrate!'

There was a loud crack and he was gone; seconds later he was back with an even louder crack and armfuls of food. Harry felt himself able to laugh and the tension was broken. Everyone was hugging each other, and none of the three newcomers were asking him why he was dead. Harry didn't feel up to repeating the whole thing, and hoped his parents might do it for him later instead.

Indeed, half an hour later they were sat on a rug in the garden - Sirius had insisted on what he called a 'barbie-crew' - happily munching on barbecued sausages and dragon ribs, when Neville spoke up.

'So are you going to tell me?' he queried.

'Neville,' moaned Alice. 'Don't listen to him, Harry.'

'Sorry,' said Neville earnestly, 'but I do think I have the right to know why my best friend suddenly turned up when all thought he was dead.'

Harry looked desperately at his dad. James seemed to understand, and answered for him.

'Look, Neville, it's been very hard for Harry. He doesn't understand the situation and nor do we. He's had to recount his whole life for us today and I don't think he's ready to tell it again.'

Harry shook his head and looked at the tartan pattern of the rug. He picked at a loose thread and said, 'You can tell them though, Dad.'

James looked at him questioningly, but Harry told him with a look that he didn't want to tell them although it needed explaining.

So James told the Longbottoms the whole story in almost the same words as Harry had earlier that day. He left the part of the prophecy till the end. He had decided that would need discussion.

The Longbottoms had difficulty believing Harry had arrived through a wardrobe. 'I think we'll have to enrol you on a crash course at St Mungo's,' said Neville, half-laughing.

The dreadful irony of those words, thought Harry with a shiver.

'The last thing I think we have to tell you concerns you, too,' said James. 'Harry said that in his world a prophecy was made, stating that the person with the power to kill Voldemort was born sixteen years ago at the end of July. And Voldemort will "mark him as his equal". Is that right, Harry?'

Harry nodded. He had to say it. He had to let them know.

'There are two people who fit the description,' he said slightly hoarsely. 'You and me, Neville. And the prophecy said only one of them can live - Voldemort or his equal.'

There was an awkward silence. Harry continued.

'I've been thinking about it, and I need to know about the day I died.'

Between the six of them, they told him that he and Neville had gone to Diagon Alley two days before. Voldemort had chosen that day to make his attack on the boys. Neville told him how he appeared out of nowhere and a double beam of green light had blasted out of Voldemort's wand, aiming for both boys' heads. Harry had dropped dead on the spot. Neville, protecting his eyes from the blinding flash, had thrown his hand to his face.

At this point, Harry looked at Neville's left hand. It was tightly wrapped in a bandage. Neville, catching his eye, slowly unwrapped the bandage and showed Harry his hand. Harry gasped. There, streaking it's way across Neville's palm, was a lightning-shaped scar, identical to Harry's own.

Neville looked like he was doing some serious thinking - a look that was completely unfamiliar to Harry. 'So ... when Voldemort attacked us ... he was trying to work out who was the biggest danger to him? Whoever died wouldn't be a threat and then he'd know who was the one he had to kill next? The stronger one?'

It seemed a good enough reason ... but ... there was something wrong ...

'No,' said Harry. 'He knew who was to be his equal. He always knew. It was always to be you, Neville, ever since Hallowe'en, fifteen years ago.'

The silence as everyone tried to work out this reason was only broken by Sirius munching on a stick of carrot.

'Sorry,' he mumbled and put the carrot back on his plate.

'The prophecy said that the equal was born in July, right? That could be either of us. But the second specification was that he was born to parents who had defied Voldemort three times. Up till the day that he tried to attack me fifteen years ago, it could still have been either of us. It appears that in both worlds he decided to come after me. But in your world, this world, we - well, the Harry you know and his parents - escaped before Voldemort reached us … them.'

Harry looked at his parents. 'This means that my parents have now escaped four times, not three.'

This was met with the longest silence Harry had ever experienced. Even the birds seemed to realise how important this was. A thousand thoughts were going through each individual head.

Finally Frank spoke. 'But I still don't understand. If Voldemort always knew our Neville was his equal, why did he try and kill you both the other day?'

'I don't know about that,' said Harry heavily. 'Maybe he didn't trust the prophecy. Wanted to make sure he really did get rid of any competition. And anyway, he never knew about this "equal" business. All he knew was that someone had the power to kill him. What I don't understand is how Neville survived. In my world, I'm the only one who has ever survived that curse, and that was because of my mum ...'

'I can answer that one,' said Lily. 'At least, I think I can. It goes along the same principal as in your world.'

She turned to Frank.

'What about Algie? That holiday you went on, when Neville was two?'

Frank's eyes widened. 'Of course,' he breathed. Harry looked confused; it was obviously something for which he had to have lived in this world to understand.

'When Neville was two years old, we went away for a couple of months. Just to escape the horror of home, the wreck of lives Voldemort had left. A couple of Death Eaters turned up at my Uncle Algie's house, and tried to force our whereabouts out of him. To get their hands on Neville, I presume. But Algie didn't tell them. So the Death Eaters killed him instead, and left the Dark Mark hovering above the house, waiting for Aunt Enid when she came home.' A collective shiver ran through everyone.

'I suppose it could be said that he sacrificed himself for Neville?' asked Frank slowly.

Harry thought for a moment. 'That would probably be enough,' he said after a while. 'It worked for me, at any rate, and it certainly has done something for Neville, if it was that.'

Unsurprisingly, the cheery atmosphere that the barbecue had started with had long gone, and soon after, the Longbottoms left.

xxx

Later that evening, James decided he wanted to see if his new son had as good Quidditch talent as his real one, so the two of them shouldered their broomsticks and walked to the down-sized pitch in the garden. Harry still had a Nimbus 2000, because, he reasoned to himself, his parents had never died. Sirius had never gone to prison and therefore never escaped, the Dementors weren't at Hogwarts, and though his other self still had to play in that horrible weather against Hufflepuff, he hadn't fallen off and as a result, didn't need a new broom.

He started to explain all this to James, but realised he'd never told them about Sirius's spell in Azkaban, so he gave up.

James was impressed with Harry's flying: 'Seeing as you haven't been playing since you were little, you're fabulous!' He even added in an undertone that he wasn't any better or worse than his own Harry, but he immediately looked guilty at having said it, so Harry pretended he wasn't listening.

When Harry went to bed that night, exhausted from the day's explaining and analysing, he had plenty to think about. The knowledge that Ron didn't even exist here hadn't left his mind all day; it hung about him and threatened never to leave, but the change in Neville was interesting enough to distract him. Of course, it probably had to do with the fact that he hadn't been down-trodden by his grandmother all his life. And was Uncle Algie's sacrifice great enough to save Neville from Voldemort two days ago? There was something else niggling at the back of Harry's mind just as he dropped off, but he couldn't quite place it ... ... ... Azkaban?

I have a feeling that that is my longest chapter yet! For this story, at least …

I have to apologise, though. This chapter definitely isn't up to standard - first class incident of quantity not quality -and they have been severely deteriorating since the first chapter. Reason: the first chapter was written entirely off the top of my head - it was the most wonderful sensation, I just put the pen to paper and out it came! I literally changed about two words before I posted it! But I paid for that moment of inspiration by an attack of writer's block, and the last two chapters are evidence of that! Maybe I'll leave this story alone until I have another inspirational moment … Yes, plan. I have a few more ideas up my sleeve, so please don't give up on me!

Thanks, everyone who's reviewed so far! I love y'all!