Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: This is a one-shot, and is not meant to be continued in any way, shape, or form. However, I would still like to hear any feedback you might have, as I've never written from Neville's perspective before. I admit, per canon, he's a bit OOC, but I am trying to point out that appearances can be deceiving.

It is with a heavy heart that I resume my role at Hogwarts. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to continue this ruse, I don't know if I want to continue. It just takes so much effort to be mediocre. But pride is a sin, and I'll not sin, so I'll persist in the track set before me. Not without permission. It took years to come to terms with who I am. What I am.

In simple terms, I am his guardian. Whether at school or at home, I watch him and make sure he is in the right places at the right times. He is needed by the people; I am needed by him. It all balances out, as it should.

One could wonder why a guardian would allow him to suffer as he has. The answer is simple. People measure their lives by the moments of joy versus misery. There is no happy memory that does not have its opposite in sadness or despair. True for pagans, angels, witches, muggles, heretics, and demons alike. We count our days by what went right, what went wrong; the times between falling out of our memory like the leaves in the fall. Such is the curse of mediocrity.

If it's any consolation, he never was in any real danger. It's all been worked out already. Not scripted, no. Nothing quite so rigid as that. Merely a suggestion as to how to allow events to play out. An instinctive knowledge of how people respond to particular stimuli helps. Making sure to say the correct phrase in front of the right people to spark a train of thoughts, a train of deeds.

I'm not allowed to interfere directly. I really do hate having to operate from behind the scenes, so-to-speak. I can't help but wonder if direct intervention wouldn't be more effective on some of the less intelligent and more stubborn individuals I am forced through happenstance to deal with. It rankles.

I believe I mentioned balance. Yes, I do have a counterpart. We're engaged in a never-ending slowdance making sure the balance remains. One would think that my counterpart wouldn't be as concerned with balance as I. Why not? What would he gain if the balance were not maintained? When there is naught but dark, why fear it? A steady diet of anything becomes monotonous.

I am the first one to arrive at the platform this year. I must make sure to be here early, as I know circumstances in the Dursley household had reached their breaking point earlier this summer. Harry's been staying in a flat over the Weasley twins' shop in Diagon Alley. He'll be here soon, I know.

Knowing, the way I do, how people react, I must make sure to utter a single phrase when he finally does arrive. It will start him thinking, which will lead to other thoughts, finally materializing in a string of subtly interconnected actions which will ready him to restore the balance of light and dark. I must be especially careful of tone. Too much one way or another will tip the balance too far into the realm of light – not ridding us of the imbalance, but shifting it. No matter what else, the balance must be maintained.

I always find it astonishing how a single word or phrase has the potential to change history – or the future, as it were. I have to laugh a little at myself while it's still safe to do so. Hermione would be shocked to hear my thoughts, I'm sure. She doesn't realize that perfection isn't everything. What does it matter if I failed potions, when in so doing, I ensured that she and others would continue measuring their lives through the balance of elation and desolation?

It is the mundane that makes history. A simple quill can sign treaties or death warrants. The extraordinary simply receive the credit.

Ah, I see Harry has just arrived through the barrier. He looks somewhat lost. I sense he's feeling a bit misplaced after his summer. I smile a little. So clueless. So lost without a voice to spur his thoughts into action. He's noticed me. This would be it, then. He walks over to me, smiling in greeting. Showtime.

I carefully make sure every muscle I possess is placed. I strengthen my smile. Now. The phrase to change history.

"Hey, Harry. How was your summer?"