History Repeated

So, I don't own Harry Potter...Damn.

Summary: James Sirius Potter didn't know what it was like to have parents. He grew up knowing his parents died and his father was famous for something no one but his Uncle Dudley acknowledged and believed in. He knew his parents died but why was never clear.

1 November 2005

Irony was the only word for what happened just mere hours ago, Professor Neville Longbottom thought as he walked through the empty streets of Cokeworth, nearing towards the street, Egerton Road, where his destination awaited.

The bundle in his arms began to whimper, causing Neville to stop and look down. The toddler boy in Neville's arms let out murmured cries but his eyes remained closed. Nightmares, Neville thought as he lightly rocked the boy in his arms. He wondered if this was the right thing to do, at least for a boy newly two years old.

Two years old, the age left a strange feeling bolt itself into Neville's chest. The boy's birthday was yesterday. His parents were alive then. Harry and Ginny, Neville said in his mind, they were alive yesterday. They celebrated their son's birthday yesterday, the second and last one they would ever spend with little James. The day had been brilliant, Neville knew because he had been among the few in attendance. The perks of being the Potter family's "official" Secret-Keeper, the new Herbology Professor bitterly thought.

"Official", what a strange word. A word that Neville knew, would follow him even after the true Secret-Keeper was discovered. No one knew the real Secret-Keeper, not even Neville. He only agreed to stand in as the official, he had the protection of Hogwarts and its impervious defenses. The true Secret-Keeper, with their name, kept off the books and out of minds, had no such luck.

The boy in Neville's arms began to whimper again. Neville frowned and adjusted the boy in his arms so that his little head was now resting against his shoulder. Neville patted the boy's back gently.

"It's alright, Jimmy," Neville said, carefully choosing the nickname the boy's mother gave him. While Ginny Potter didn't mind the name James, she always liked the idea of giving her child a nickname to deter away from whenever the time came for the boy to be scolded.

James Sirius Potter, the name his parents used whenever the boy misbehaved. Jimmy, the name his mother used out of endearment and affection. Neville remembered when Harry and Ginny couldn't agree on the initial nickname of Jamie, particularly the spelling. Ginny liked Jamie, while Harry Jaime. The name was thrown out the window of the Potter's house in Islington after Charlie, one of Ginny's brothers, suggested Jimmy instead.

Charlie had been there yesterday, but only because it was his last day in England before he had to go back to Romania and the dragonologist has yet to meet his little sister's son due to circumstances surrounding his work and the dangers that the Potter's faced.

Neville sighed as he awkwardly bounced the boy in his arms. Again, he wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do, his time was limited when it came to young children. His wife Hannah was back home, pregnant with their first child, which was nerve-wracking enough for Neville without the thought of mad dark wizards terrorizing the streets of wizarding England.

When the boy stopped his little sobs, Neville let out a breath of relief and he continued on his walk towards the house he was instructed to go to with his friend's son.

By the time Neville stepped foot on Egerton Road, he could feel the eyes of every house on him. Identical, maroon-bricked homes cased the street on both sides. Neville and James had passed a small park a little down the road, but there was little to be excited about it with its broken swings and rusted roundabout.

"Neville," He heard from behind him. Stifling a yelp that threatened to escape past his lips, Neville turned around and saw Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, his former professor, and current colleague.

"Professor McGonagall," Neville said politely.

The elder witch waved him off as she walked towards him, showing no discomfort in her step despite the walking stick she used to fool the muggles around her whenever about outside the wizarding world. He never asked why she used it, despite not needing to, though he always imagined she would come up with a silver-tongued response.

"Time and time again, I've told you to call me Minerva," McGonagall reminded Neville. "We're colleagues now, Neville, a level of familiarity is expected amongst Hogwarts staff."

"Of course," Neville said as he adjusted the sleeping James from one side of his hip to the other.

Neville noticed the expression on McGonagall's face changed as she looked at the Potter boy.

"Merlin," She said out loud. "History has cursed us once again."

Neville glanced at James. The boy's messy brown hair brushed past Neville's chin, causing a ticklish sensation that quickly left when he looked back at McGonagall.

"He's got no scars to see," Neville told the Headmistress of Hogwarts. He forced the bile in his throat down and bit his lower lip as he remembered what he had walked into when entering the Potter home. "Ginny was on the settee, I don't think she had any time..." Neville trailed off, shaking his head and forcing himself not to cry. Not in front of McGonagall, not while holding his dead friend's son. "Harry must have been upstairs when it happened, both his wand and Ginny's were by the stairs." He shook his head again, forcing himself to finish before he would be unable to. "Harry was in James nursery, by his cot. James was crying, but didn't look hurt."

"And the murderer?" McGonagall questioned, her face becoming unreadable as stone.

"Only this was left," Neville said as he fished the wand out of his back pocket, snapped into two pieces. He held the wand out to McGonagall, who frowned and took the broken stick. "One of Ollivander's, isn't it?"

McGonagall said nothing as her hands held the broken wand, her walking stick lay forgotten on the ground. "I do not know," She soon admitted. The wand was long, each piece at least six inches. The wood was near black in color and traces of its core stuck out but undetectable to Neville, who barely remembered what his own wand core was at times. It could be anyone's wand, from England or beyond, Neville realized.

In the past week alone, delegations from several wizarding communities from around the globe had been in England, for what Neville didn't know. No one but Ministry officials knew, not even McGonagall if Neville had to guess. Crime had risen since the defeat of Voldemort seven years ago, and every witch and wizard alive was on edge. Even Harry and Ginny had been concerned.

"Wouldn't James be safer with the Weasley's?" Neville questioned as McGonagall picked her walking stick back up and began walking along the street. Neville followed to keep up with her. "They are his family, after all."

"Yes but there have been no attacks on the muggle world," McGonagall revealed, the lines on her face creasing along her skin. "Our world isn't safe, especially for Harry Potter's son now that his parents are...now that Harry and Ginny are dead." Neville's former professor looked away as she stopped in front of a house on the left side of the street. From where he stood, Neville could see the number 7 on the door. Surprisingly, light shined through the windows on the first floor. If he didn't have a sleeping toddler in his arms, Neville would have checked the watch on his wrist for the time.

"Here will have to do until we know it is safe for James to return to the wizarding world," McGonagall said as she began walking towards the front door. Neville watched until the Headmistress stopped and looked back at him. "Come along, Neville. Tonight is going to be a long night for Dudley Dursley and his wife, and an even longer one for young James."

So, what do you think? Should I continue?

I know there might be some grammar mistakes, so I apologize.

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Until next time...