Chapter Text
HARRY
The black bricks blurred into a rapid succession of streaks at his sides, punctuated by the rhythmic flash of white lights. He didn’t know how he’d got here, but understanding this strange corridor felt far less important than reaching the end on time.
Harry’s frantic strides echoed, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the empty corridor. He pushed on, certain of the urgency even though he couldn’t remember why.
“Harry!” Ron’s voice broke the silence, thin and strained.
“Ron! Where are you? What’s happening?” he yelled, his pace quickening.
No answer.
A moment later, a second cry ripped from the darkness ahead, sharper and more desperate: “Harry! Help!”
It was Hermione this time. There was no mistaking her.
“Hermione! I’m coming! Where are you!?”
Harry surged forward, a primal fear seizing him as the cries sent jolts of ice through his veins. He could hear Sirius and most of the Weasleys too, their voices faint in the distance, but he still couldn’t see them or the end of the blasted corridor.
Why wasn’t he with them? If Dumbledore hadn’t left him behind, this wouldn’t be happening. He was capable, he was useful.
Just when his anxiety was turning unbearable, an exit appeared in the distance. A tall figure was waiting for him there, light on his feet and practically bouncing with impatience, ready to burst through the black door at once.
“Come on, Harry! We must keep that weapon away from him,” Cedric said, a triumphant smile on his face. “We’ll take it at the same time. It’s still a Hogwarts victory. We’ll tie for it.”
Cedric’s foot was already stepping inside, his hand on the doorknob.
“No!” Harry panicked. “Cedric, wait!”
But his words were pointless. Cedric had already disappeared through the door.
“NO! Come back!”
A wave of pure desperation overtook Harry. He was still too far away when the door began to close, an agonizing groan echoing through the confined space. Pushing himself to the limit, Harry sprinted the last few meters.
CRASH.
He slammed against the now solid door the very moment it sealed shut. He scrambled to his feet, propelled by the screams from the other side. He grabbed the cold doorknob and pulled at it violently. It wouldn’t budge.
“Cedric! Open the door!”
Then, a sickening green light flashed across the crack at the bottom of the door.
“NOOO!”
Harry threw himself against the entrance repeatedly. On the third try, the door relented, and he stumbled across the threshold. Everything plunged into a deeper blackness.
The world seemed devoured by the shadows. The walls were gone, and the door behind him had vanished. The only thing he could hear was the profound silence.
Harry felt his own breathing quicken in the stillness, a sharp, fearful sound. Then, a high-pitched laugh rang through the darkness, growing louder and louder.
“Bow to death, Harry.”
He spun around almost instantly—wand drawn—to find a massive hooded figure hovering before him, no face or feet visible. The largest Dementor he had ever seen filled the air with a bone-deep coldness. Lying motionless on the ground beneath it was a small figure.
“Dudley!”
“He has not been kissed... It can’t have kissed him yet...” Harry muttered to himself, his voice shaking.
Harry raised his wand and shouted, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
The tip of his wand glowed, but before the silver stag could emerge, a hand snatched the wand from his grasp, and a blinding flash of light consumed him.
It took Harry a few moments to realize he was no longer in the dark. He was now standing in a spacious, brightly lit room, surrounded by a dozen people in black robes. In the center stood a portly little man with rumpled gray hair: Cornelius Fudge, the Minister. He was holding Harry’s wand.
“Based on your recent violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, the court of the Wizengamot has decided to expel you from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” the man announced, his voice devoid of emotion.
“But—no! I had to do it! There was a Dementor! I had no choice! Dudley—”
The minister didn’t seem to care. “You are now exiled from the entire Wizarding World—to which you never belonged.”
With a callous flick of his wrist, Fudge snapped Harry’s wand in half. The crack echoed through the silent room, a sound louder than a bone cracking.
“NO! You can’t do this!” Harry screamed, but the figures around him were already becoming more distant, their forms wavering like heat haze.
“Sorry, mate. Need to go,” he heard Ron’s voice say, hollow and faraway.
“We cannot see you anymore. We’re sorry, Harry,” Hermione’s gloomy tone added.
He saw them as if from very far away, walking by Dumbledore’s side. He tried to follow, but somehow he knew he’d never be able to reach them. Neither of them responded to his pleas. Albus Dumbledore never looked back.
Then he woke up.
Harry’s eyes shot open, and he gasped for air. He was surrounded by a gloomy darkness, yet it wasn’t as troubling as the one from earlier.
“Damn...” he muttered, the word a low exhale.
It had been only another nightmare, one of many. He should have been used to them by now.
Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, the hazy shapes of his surroundings slowly coming into focus. Little by little, the events that had led him to this old, unsettling room came back to him. He’d been at Grimmauld Place for a couple of days now, and the dreams had only worsened. The long corridor and the door were a recent addition, and he didn’t know what they meant yet—if they meant anything at all.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand aimlessly reaching for the nightstand. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and put on his glasses. The crumbling shapes of the ancient wallpaper turned sharper, along with the shape of Ron’s body in the other bed, still sleeping soundly and unperturbed.
Harry stood up with a huff.
It wasn’t fair to blame Ron or the others, but he couldn’t help it. Harry hadn’t had it easy this summer, and seeing everyone again hadn’t been the respite he’d hoped for. Not with all the bloody secretiveness going on.
What was that weapon that Sirius had been talking about? Was it really that crucial?
The floorboards groaned under his weight as Harry made his way to the loo. While washing his face, the familiar anxieties that haunted him churned. Why wasn’t Dumbledore talking to him? Why didn’t the Order give him a bigger part to play? After all, Harry had been the one who saw him return.
Then there was the hearing. In three days, Harry would have to face a court full of wizards who could expel him from Hogwarts. Permanently. The thought seemed unreal—Hogwarts was his one true home. What if Dumbledore couldn’t stop it? Fudge was only waiting for a chance to silence him after all.
Most of the house was quiet, but from the sounds coming downstairs, Harry realised it wasn’t scandalously early. Mrs Weasley was probably already bustling about the kitchen. He pulled on some clothes and decided to join her—he wasn’t going to get much more sleep anyway. There was no point in waking Ron, though; the redhead was a completely different case altogether when it came to mornings.
“Good Morning, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes when she saw Harry step into the kitchen.
“Morning, Harry. Rough night?” Lupin asked, barely raising his eyes from the Daily Prophet.
Nobody else was there yet. Harry nodded half-heartedly and took a seat next to Lupin. “Any news?”
“Nothing of importance, fortunately.”
Harry took a cup of tea from Mrs Weasley, offering a quiet thank you.
Lupin folded the paper and set it down on the table. “Worried about the hearing, I presume?”
“A bit nervous, yes. Hope I don’t mess it up.”
“Everything will be fine,” Mrs Weasley reassured him, her voice kind but tense. “Dumbledore has all the defence ready.”
Harry gave her a weak smile, the thought offering little comfort.
Just then, the faint creak of the front door opening echoed through the quiet house.
“Were we expecting someone?” Lupin asked, raising a curious eyebrow.
“Not that I know of,” Mrs Weasley replied, setting her dishcloth down and glancing at the kitchen clock. “That’s strange. It’s far too early for Tonks.”
“Perhaps it’s another Order member,” Lupin mused, taking a slow sip of his tea, a faint grin playing on his lips. “We would’ve heard Sirius’s mother screaming by now if it were Tonks.”
The person Harry expected the least then walked into the kitchen. Voldemort himself would have been less of a shock. The boy by the doorway was nervous, but alert, his wand held in a defensive position. His eyes scanned Mrs Weasley, then Professor Lupin, before finally landing on Harry. A visible sigh of relief escaped him.
Lupin, however, stood up at once, his own wand ready.
“Neville? What are you doing here?” Harry blurted out, standing, his eyes fixed on the other boy. Disbelief warred with recognition.
“Hey, Harry!” Neville replied, as if arriving at Grimmauld Place was the most normal of occurrences.
“Longbottom?” Lupin said, surprise evident in his voice. He’d clearly recognized him; after all, he’d taught Defence Against the Dark Arts two years ago.
“Hi, Professor, nice to see you again,” Neville greeted with what seemed to be a genuine smile.
“Does he know the secret to this location?” Mrs Weasley murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
“I don’t think so. Harry?” Lupin faced Harry without lowering his wand. Harry shook his head, his mouth slightly open, still unable to look away from Neville.
“I think you have some questions to answer,” the professor said to the boy. “Supposing that you are really Neville Longbottom.”
“I guess I do,” he said.
A curse came flying from the hallway.
To Harry’s stunning surprise, Neville not only noticed it but managed to block it with a lazy wave of his wand.
“I’m a friend!” the so-called Neville hurried to say, retreating to the kitchen corner.
Sirius came through the doorway, his wand pointed at Neville. “Who are you and what are you doing here?!” he demanded as thick ropes shot from his wand towards the boy.
The round-faced boy reacted in time, and with a flick of his wand, the ropes dispersed into streams of multicoloured paper that drifted harmlessly to the floor.
Harry was open-mouthed. Who was this boy? There was no way he could be the Neville he knew.
“I’m a friend of Harry, and I will answer your doubts once you stop throwing curses at me!” he shouted, as two more red hexes hit his newly-formed shield.
After a couple of pleas from Harry and Lupin, Sirius reconsidered and lowered his wand.
Neville raised his left hand in a sign of surrender. Then, lowering his right, he laid his wand on the floor. When he stood up again, he kicked the wand in Sirius’s direction. Sirius picked it up without lowering his own.
“Can we talk now?” Neville asked Sirius, his tone calm and assured.
“I’m certainly looking forward to it myself,” Professor Lupin said. Beside him, Harry was still reeling from Neville’s impossible abilities.
Was this even Neville? Or someone under Polyjuice Potion?
“Explain,” Sirius barked, his wand still pointed at Neville.
Neville sighed heavily. “Can we have Professor Dumbledore here for it? He’ll want to hear this, and I don’t want to repeat myself if I can help it. What I have to say is neither small nor quick.”
A brief discussion ensued, but ultimately, foe or friend, the manner of Neville’s arrival demanded Dumbledore’s immediate attention.
“I’ll call him,” Lupin decided, lowering his wand slightly. “He needs to know how you passed the defenses, at the very least.”
Neville smiled at Mrs Weasley. “Molly, would it be too much of a problem if I ask for a cup of tea? The welcome so far hasn’t been the best, and well, I definitely need it.”
This wasn’t the Neville Longbottom that Harry knew. The Neville he knew was as clumsy with words as he was with his hands, and he was definitely not so familiar with Mrs Weasley.
“Did you just call her, Molly?” Lupin noticed too, his brow furrowed with confusion.
“He’s an impostor,” Sirius growled.
Mrs Weasley remained rooted to the spot, completely taken aback.
“Oh, I believe I did, didn’t I?” A small, knowing smile played on Neville’s lips. “Sirius, I can assure you I’m not an impostor. I’m the real Neville Longbottom, though I won’t deny there’s more to it than that.”
“You know who he is,” Lupin suddenly said, gesturing towards Sirius. At his words, Harry realized that, to Neville, Sirius had to be a mass murderer on the loose.
However, Neville replied with an eerie calm. “He’s Sirius Black, of course. Anyone who can read the Prophet would know who he is.”
That simple statement caught Sirius’s attention.
“And are you not scared or nervous to be around such a dangerous fugitive?” Lupin continued, his gaze sharp.
“Why should I be? Is he any less innocent today than he was yesterday?”
Everyone was speechless. Sirius’s innocence wasn’t well-known, and even if it were, the Neville they knew wouldn’t be so calm about someone who had just come out of Azkaban. Whatever else was going on, Harry could tell Neville was enjoying the bewilderment in the room.
“How—?” Lupin began, his gaze sharp as he looked from Neville to Harry. “Harry?”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Harry quickly interjected, still struggling to decipher the mystery that was Neville Longbottom.
Professor Lupin nodded, letting out a weary sigh. There seemed little point in pressing the boy when he was so clearly willing to speak only once Dumbledore arrived. “I think a fresh pot of tea will do us all good, Molly. I dropped my cup in the disturbance.”
“I don’t think that would be a problem,” Mrs Weasley said, still visibly stunned.
While Lupin went to contact Professor Dumbledore, Mrs Weasley served tea. Neville took a cup and sat down at the table, his composure unnerving. It didn’t go unnoticed that he had no problem turning his back to Sirius after the attack. He sat there, sipping calmly as if the recent magical skirmish had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
Harry was dumbfounded. This couldn’t be Neville Longbottom. He had the reflexes of an experienced duellist and the confidence of someone far older. Harry knew that if the boy had lowered his wand, it wasn’t because he was afraid of facing Sirius. Neville had even managed to get inside Grimmauld Place when it was supposed to be impossible to pass the Fidelius charm. Who was this boy?
“Harry?” Neville called out, halfway through his cup.
Harry, who had been silently scrutinising him, was startled when Neville addressed him. The expression on Neville’s face was difficult to read as he said, “You can trust me.”
“Why should I?” Harry asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.
Neville took another sip of tea. “Look, I know how this looks, but I assure you that I’m here to help.”
“To help with what?”
“First with an urgent matter that will be odd to explain, then, if things don’t work as I expect…” Neville’s gaze flickered away, a subtle shift in his expression. For a single beat, his confidence wavered, and Harry glimpsed the familiar, anxious Neville in his eyes. “Well, if it comes to that, then we can talk about handling Voldemort, I guess.”
That made heads swivel. Neville knew about Voldemort. He was even saying his name without flinching. And what problem could possibly be more urgent than Voldemort?
Harry was certain his mouth was hanging open in astonishment. The rest of the people in the room who were listening to their exchange looked equally stunned.
“You know about Voldy,” Sirius said, his voice low.
“That he has just returned? Yeah, I know,” Neville said, heavily.
“What other problem are you talking about?” Lupin asked, his full attention on the boy, his morning edition of the Prophet long forgotten on the table.
“We’ll get to that.”
Sirius still had a look of deep distrust on his face. By the look in Professor Lupin’s eyes, it was clear that he was also trying to reconcile the image of the clumsy boy with this calm and confident fighter.
No one spoke again until Dumbledore arrived.
“Mr Longbottom, what an interesting surprise,” the headmaster said, his tone a mix of calm and intrigued. He settled into the spot directly in front of Neville, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the boy. “Can I ask you how you got here?”
“You can, but I’ll only answer under Veritaserum. It’ll be quicker, and I don’t want to be doubted.”
Dumbledore turned to Professor Lupin, who answered his unspoken question. “Albus, he knows about Voldemort, but he’s mentioned another problem that is apparently more urgent. He also duels remarkably well; nothing like the boy I taught.”
Dumbledore redirected his glance to Neville. “I guess our next course of action is clear then,” he said, taking out a small vial with a transparent liquid.
“Harry, dear, can you please wait for us outside?” Mrs Weasley asked, her tone gentle but firm.
Being left in the dark wasn’t something Harry liked. He’d been the one to witness Voldemort’s return, why did they think he didn’t have the right to know what was going on? He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wanted to help the Order. He frowned, opening his mouth, already formulating a heated argument.
“No. Harry stays,” Neville said.
Harry turned to Neville with wide eyes.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands,” said Lupin.
Neville didn’t so much as flinch. “Am I not?” he countered, his voice calm yet resolute. “Because, if you don’t agree to this, I can assure you that Harry finds out exactly what you’re guarding at the Department of Mysteries. Right here. Right now.”
Silence took over the room.
Department of Mysteries? Harry couldn’t believe Neville knew about what the Order was hiding from him. Was that where the weapon was being kept? The one Voldemort wanted?
Dumbledore fixed his look on Neville, and it took him only a moment to decide that the boy truly knew what he was talking about.
“You’re speaking of things you don’t fully understand, Mr Longbottom,” he warned, his voice a low rumble.
“I do understand. And if you don’t want Harry to know what is on those shelves, you’ll agree to my request. Harry stays.” Neville didn’t yield.
Shelves? What kind of weapon is stored on shelves? Maybe they kept many weapons there.
The people in the kitchen appeared startled. Sirius did as well, though Harry could see a smile creeping onto the corners of his godfather’s lips.
“What shelves?” Harry asked, turning quickly from one face to the other.
Neville spoke to him in a wary tone. “Harry, there’s a reason why Professor Dumbledore is keeping certain things from you. A valid concern, even if I believe it can be sorted out. Anyway, it’s not something to toss around lightly, and I would rather we go over it later. With care,” he said, before turning back to Professor Dumbledore. “Now, Professor, I want Harry to stay. If you don’t want him to know something, then just don’t ask about it while I’m under the serum.”
There was a moment of complete silence while Neville Longbottom and Albus Dumbledore locked stares.
“All right, Mr Longbottom. I’ll concede, as long as Harry promises to leave the questioning to us.”
Even when Dumbledore purposefully avoided Harry’s gaze, the rest of the room turned towards him, waiting for his answer. Harry knew if he agreed, he’d have to honor that promise. He yearned to find out what was being kept from him, but purposefully breaking their trust by violating the terms wasn’t right.
“Fine,” Harry said, grudgingly. “I want to hear whatever I can. But… am I going to be told the other part later? Whatever is in the Department of Mysteries?”
“Not today. But you’ll find out when the time is right,” Neville assured him.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, before addressing the room. “Are there any other requests?”
Sirius was smiling. It appeared that he was starting to like Neville, despite their first rough encounter. No one else raised any new objection. Even though Harry was still reeling, he was eager to glean any information he could. He’d uncover the truth about the Department of Mysteries and those shelves eventually, one way or another.
“Thanks,” he muttered to Neville, and the boy nodded with a faint smile.
The door was closed and three drops of the Veritaserum went right down Neville’s throat.
Harry didn’t know what to make of Neville. While the boy said there was a reason why Dumbledore kept things from him, it didn’t frustrate him as much as the headmaster’s direct avoidance. Neville said the secretiveness was valid, but he also seemed willing to bridge the gaps in order to let Harry be informed. He seemed to genuinely trust Harry—why else would he defy Dumbledore to keep him in the room?—and Harry supposed Neville deserved to be given a chance in return.
“What is your name?” Dumbledore asked first.
“Neville Longbottom,” the boy said in the peculiar, droning tone that Veritaserum induced.
From the stunned reactions around the room, Harry gathered some still suspected Neville to be a Death Eater in disguise. Even Harry himself wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, but hearing the boy claim to be the same person as his clumsy classmate was still a shock.
“Who are your parents?”
“Frank and Alice Longbottom.”
“Are you a Death Eater?”
“No.”
A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Dumbledore took a few seconds to formulate his next question.
“How did you enter this secured place?”
“I took the Knight Bus to ten blocks away from here, then I walked to number 12 of Grimmauld Place, covered with an old invisibility cloak. Once here, I came through the main door when nobody was watching.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Everyone else seemed gobsmacked. Not only had Neville entered the Order’s headquarters, but he did so with the needed precautions to avoid being seen.
“Invisibility cloaks are expensive,” Sirius remarked, a frown on his face.
“This one’s second-hand and worn-out,” Neville explained. “That’s why I arrived so early; in full daylight, I would’ve been noticeable. My parents left me a trust vault, and my grandmother also gives me some money. I found it at a good bargain last week in Diagon Alley.”
It was clear that Neville had carefully planned this trip.
“Where is this cloak?” Dumbledore asked.
“I have it with me.”
At these words, he produced a silvery-grey item from his trousers and placed it on the table. It was clearly not as good as Harry’s—thin and ragged, you could see through it in several spots. Still, it would likely hide a person well enough in low light.
“Why didn’t you use a Disillusionment Charm?” Dumbledore asked. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have a problem doing one.”
“The Trace. I didn’t know if that could put me in trouble.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow once again.
“The Trace?” Harry said, a question slipping out before he could stop it.
Sirius and Professor Lupin looked ready to answer, but Neville, under the serum, could not avoid a direct question. “It’s the charm that the Ministry uses to track underage magic.”
“Oh… but he already did magic. He dueled Sirius,” Harry said, and for a moment, he instinctively glanced towards the entrance, half-expecting a Ministry owl to arrive, putting Neville in his same situation.
“It doesn’t work like that, Harry,” said Sirius. “This is a magical household. They can’t detect magic in here. I’ll explain later.”
Mrs Weasley didn’t look happy that he had been told that.
“Remember our agreement, Harry,” Lupin reminded him, his voice firm. “I know you didn’t mean to, and that your words were harmless in this case—so to speak. But be watchful of enunciating anything that might sound like a question on Neville’s current state.”
Harry sighed, but nodded regardless.
After a pause, Dumbledore continued. “How did you get past the Fidelius charm?”
Everybody was waiting for that answer.
“As I said, I only walked through the door. I didn’t break the charm since I knew where the place was. The enchantment is still working correctly.”
His words didn’t answer their questions. They only added to the mystery.
“Who gave you the location of this place then?” Dumbledore pressed.
“Harry.”
The single word hung in the air, a punch to the gut. Every head in the room swiveled toward Harry, save for Dumbledore and Neville.
“I—I didn’t! I haven’t written to anybody since I arrived here! And, besides, I wouldn’t be able to share the location either way! I’m not the Secret-Keeper!” Harry hurried to say, justifying himself.
“Harry’s not the Secret-Keeper,” Professor Dumbledore repeated, this time looking even more intrigued.
“He was, the last time I saw him,” Neville said, in his flat, droning voice. Just as Harry started to think Neville had found a way to trick the serum, the boy added, “He becomes the Secret-Keeper of Grimmauld Place in 1998.”
“1998? That’s… How?” Mrs Weasley asked, her face a mask of confusion.
A fog of confusion filled the entire room. Nobody seemed certain of anything anymore. Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, appeared to finally understand what was happening. With a bright smile he asked his next question. “How old are you, Mr Longbottom?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“He’s what?” Sirius said, voicing Harry’s own bewilderment.
“But he said that he was Neville Longbottom. Neville Longbottom is Harry’s age,” Lupin interjected in disbelief.
“Maybe he’s a different Neville,” Harry suggested with uncertainty. He definitely looked like Neville, but charms could change a person’s appearance.
Dumbledore ignored them all and went to ask his next question. “What year do you come from?”
“2019,” responded Neville without a flinch.
“So he’s... from the future?” Professor Lupin said to no one in particular, but the serum made Neville answer either way.
“Yes.”
“Time-Turners can’t go that far. Can they?” Harry asked, gaining everybody’s attention after remembering the events from his third year.
“They can’t. But I didn’t use one,” Neville answered calmly.
No one said anything about Harry asking another question, though it was even more harmless than the first one.
Dumbledore leaned forward, clearly eager to find out more, though he didn’t seem as wary about Neville as before. “What did you use?”
“I don’t know precisely. I was caught in some sort of magical disaster with a few students, possibly involving books from the Restricted Section.”
“Explain yourself.”
Neville went on. “I was heading to my office when I saw James Potter in an empty classroom—”
“Are you from the future or the past?” Sirius interrupted with a growl. “James Potter is dead!”
“I meant James Sirius Potter, Harry’s son,” Neville explained in his flat, droning voice.
The new information brought about gasps and several pairs of eyes fixed on Harry. It was unbelievable. He’d been plagued by doubts about surviving Voldemort’s return, and now, impossibly, he had a son in 2019? Was it even true?
“You named your son after me!” Sirius said with a loud joyfulness. He wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder, suddenly more willing to believe Neville.
“Err... yeah, I suppose so,” Harry murmured, the name suddenly making perfect sense. “How could I not? You’re the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.”
Sirius was grinning. “Well, thanks, but you know, that name is going to get your kid into a lot of trouble.”
“Merlin! That boy is going to be a walking explosion!” Lupin said, throwing one hand to his forehead. Some of the people in the room laughed—a small breath of fresh air that was certainly welcome.
Mrs Weasley shook her head in pretended disapproval, though she was still smiling warmly at Harry.
Lupin, who seemed more relaxed now, turned to Neville. “So, by the way you mentioned students, I take it you’re a professor? In 2019?”
“Herbology teacher and Head of Gryffindor,” Neville answered. Grins appeared on the faces of Sirius, Harry, and Professor Lupin. The previous tension looked only like a bad memory now.
“Mr Longbottom, can you please continue with your story?” Professor Dumbledore asked, his tone serene.
“Of course,” Neville replied. “As I was saying, I found James Potter in an empty classroom. He was with Rose Weasley—” Mrs Weasley took a step forward, a big smile on her face, but a subtle hand gesture from Dumbledore stopped her before she could interrupt Neville again. “The two of them were arguing, as always. They had this strange book from the Restricted Section, or so I understood from their shouting. When I tried to find out what was going on, a blinding light caught me. The next thing I knew, I was fourteen again and in my old bedroom.”
Dumbledore allowed a brief pause, his fingers steepled thoughtfully as he let the explanation sink in. “Interesting story, Mr Longbottom. Fantastic, yet undoubtedly true by virtue of the Veritaserum,” he said. “To that matter, do you have an idea of the item or spell that sent you to this time?”
“None, Professor.”
“How long have you been in this time?”
“Almost a month now.”
“A month, you say?” Dumbledore’s voice became severe, his eyes narrowing slightly as Neville confirmed the time. “Are you planning to change something in this timeline?”
“No. The future is quite good as it is.”
“We won? He’s gone?” Mrs Weasley couldn’t help but blurt out, her voice trembling with hope.
“Yes, Voldemort was killed for good on May 2nd, 1998.”
Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up, and a collective gasp rippled through the room at such a specific piece of information. Harry could barely believe it. The idea that Voldemort and all he represented had a predestined and concrete end felt surreal, to say the least.
“But—that’s almost three years from now! He will kill hundreds of people by then,” Mrs Weasley cried, a panicked edge to her voice.
“Yes. Yes, he will,” Neville answered gravely, causing Mrs Weasley to flinch as the stark reality of his words hit them all.
They all took the confirmation in silence, surely wondering if anyone they knew wouldn’t make it. Harry’s family was gone; he never met them. However, now he had many loved ones he couldn’t bear the possibility of losing. Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Professor Lupin, Hagrid, the rest of the Weasleys. Would any of them die?
“Who does it? Who kills him?” Sirius demanded, his tone edged with anger.
“Harry.”
At first, Harry couldn’t quite grasp the answer. When Neville had said Voldemort was gone, Harry had assumed Dumbledore would be the one to defeat him. Harry wasn’t even the best with magic in his school year; how could he manage to defeat the most powerful evil wizard there was? He couldn’t fathom how that could happen in a hundred years, let alone in three.
He turned, half-expecting someone to laugh, but they weren’t. Everyone, except for Dumbledore and Neville, was watching him dumbfounded, as if he’d just defeated a Hungarian Horntail with a spoon. He didn’t know what to say.
“B-But... me?” was all he could mumble.
“Yes,” the serum-affected Neville spoke again.
“That’s my godson!” Sirius said, beaming. Dumbledore had the slightest hint of a smile on his face.
None of them seemed to doubt Neville’s words, accepting them as fact. Dumbledore even moved on as if the possibility of Harry defeating Voldemort wasn’t entirely impossible.
“What are your plans then, Mr Longbottom? You say that you like the future and that you don’t want it changed, so why did you take a month to contact us?”
“My first intention was to let you wipe my memory to let the future occur unaffected, but to do that, I needed to contact Harry first.”
“And why did you need Harry?”
“Firstly, I trust him the most, more than you for that matter. I would trust him with my life.”
The admission took Harry off guard. This future Neville genuinely trusted his future self, but currently they weren’t that close. What had happened in the future?
Sirius and Lupin looked at him with very proud eyes. He was going to be a war hero too, Harry realised, fighting alongside friends, like the Marauders did. That wasn’t precisely bad, but still, how many of his friends was Harry going to see die? Was anyone going to betray him, as the Marauders had been betrayed?
“I also needed to find James Potter. If James Potter is here, then the time may be altered already, and I shouldn’t let my memory be wiped out,” Neville concluded.
“Why didn’t you send me an owl?” Harry asked.
“An owl can be tracked and intercepted.”
“If James Potter is in this time, and we cannot send him back before the time is altered, what do you plan to do?” Dumbledore pressed.
“I plan to fight, of course, like last time. I would want to be in the Order in that case.”
Even after everything they’d discovered, their expressions still showed amazement at Neville’s determination. Clearly, they still saw him as a fifteen-year-old boy.
“So, correct me if I’m wrong,” Sirius said, “But, would he still be able to predict things if the future changes?”
“Some things ought to stay the same, even with changes,” Neville answered. “I ignore to what extent my knowledge would be useful, or for how long, but I know more than events. I know your plans, as well as the enemy’s. I also know what needs to be done to ensure that Voldemort does not return,” Dumbledore seemed genuinely surprised at this part, which was a rare sight indeed.
Lupin still appeared unsure. “Your information is certainly valuable, but I’m not sure if you expect a more active role in the Order. Even with your display deflecting Sirius’ spells, you were seventeen when the war ended and still in school. You couldn’t really have had much fight experience, could you?”
The serum compelled Neville to answer. “I had. I joined Dumbledore’s Army in 1995. I fought Death Eaters in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in 1996. In 1997, I became Dumbledore’s Army leader because of Harry’s departure from Hogwarts. In my seventh year, I did my best to keep the fight going at Hogwarts when it fell under Voldemort’s control. I fought in The Battle of Hogwarts in 1998, by the side of the Order of the Phoenix and the Hogwarts’ Staff, leading a group of students. I faced Voldemort when he came to the castle for the last time before his defeat, and used the Gryffindor sword to kill Nagini then. I worked with Harry in the aftermath of the battle to catch the remaining Death Eaters, I—”
Harry blinked at Neville’s impossible battle resume.
Battle of the Department of Mysteries? Battle of Hogwarts? Dumbledore’s Army? Gryffindor’s sword? Harry was utterly floored. Who was this boy and what had he done with Neville Longbottom?
No one knew what to say for a moment. When Sirius finally dared to open his mouth, Dumbledore cut him off. “I think that asking more things of Mr Longbottom could compromise the future he’s trying to defend. Either way, I believe we have enough information to trust him.”
He then gave the antidote to Neville.
The moment he was out of the Veritaserum, Neville hurried to add, “Just so you know, facing Voldemort wasn’t as heroic as it sounded. Actually, most of that sounded more grand than it was. Mostly, I was just stumbling through it.”
“Most people in a war are,” Sirius said with a smile. “It’s when you come out the other side that you realise it’s all experience.”
There was a nod of respect exchanged, and Harry suddenly felt unremarkable compared to the battle-hardened Neville.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Well, I have to say it’s a shame that our future has been jeopardized by the possibility of time changing, especially when it seems that we’ve come victorious,” he said, before moving on. “That being said, if we were to be visited by someone from the future, few alternatives would be as favorable as the traveler being you, Mr Longbottom. Rest assured, you are welcomed in this house, and it is our priority to see you safely return to your time at the earliest.”
They went on to discuss the situation. Finding Harry’s son was the problem Neville had mentioned as being more urgent than Voldemort. If James Potter had indeed been sent back with Neville, they needed to find him and discover where he’d been in the last month. They also needed to verify that no other time traveler was around who could compromise the future. If Voldemort found out about time travelers with knowledge of the future, or that he lost in said future, it would be disastrous. Dumbledore said that in the meantime, he’d try to discover how they got sent back in the first place, and if he was lucky enough, he might be able to return everything to normal and still salvage the timeline.
Harry, who was the one with the direct connection, said that nothing had happened around him yet to prove James was indeed in 1995. After a few private words with Neville, Dumbledore left Grimmauld Place, asking them to contact him if any news of James Potter was heard.
Albus Dumbledore didn’t look Harry in the eyes the entire time he was there.
After the headmaster was gone, a moment of silence hung in the air, but eventually, things moved forward. Sirius returned Neville’s wand, and Mrs Weasley decided that serving breakfast was a good way to let the information settle.
The portrait of Mrs Black had its chance to yell when Tonks arrived. When Lupin explained the situation, she was equally shocked but quickly began theorizing.
“I believe James wasn’t sent back,” Tonks said to Neville. “He hasn’t even been born yet. He has no body.”
“I agree with Tonks,” Lupin added. “It’s been a month; we should have heard of him by now. At least Harry would have. If James were here, Harry should have noticed.”
“I hope you’re right. If that’s the case, I’ll be going very soon,” Neville answered.
Lupin’s words seemed to spark another thought in Tonks. “What about James’ mother? Couldn’t James be with her?” she asked.
Harry’s face paled. He hadn’t even considered that. Who was James’ mother? Was it Cho? The possibility made his heart pound a bit faster. He turned his head rapidly to where Neville was seated.
Neville only gave him a small smile. “Professor Dumbledore asked me about that. Don’t worry, we have that covered. We’ll be watching over her.”
Everyone except for Harry seemed pleased by this.
“Why don’t we bring her here?” Harry asked, his voice tight with suppressed eagerness. He was curious, yes, but even more, he worried about this girl he might not even know yet. After all, Voldemort was out there.
Neville didn’t seem to judge him. “Because we want to minimize my impact here. It might be better if she doesn’t know she’s James’ mother.”
Harry nodded in defeat.
“Don’t worry,” Neville assured him, “She’ll be fine.”
A minute later, Harry decided he had another question.
“Er... Neville, why did you wait a month? You could have come here weeks ago.”
“Well, I wanted you to be here. I knew you wouldn’t arrive until your birthday. I know the future, remember?” he said, smiling faintly.
“Right,” Harry paused, then asked something that had been nagging him. “Hmm, I know this might sound weird, but how does James look? I need to be able to identify him.”
Neville chuckled slightly. “He has the Potter resemblance, just that his hair isn’t as dark. Don’t worry, you’ll know. And I’ll try to be around for the time being. If he appears, I’ll notice.”
Some time later, Ron and the twins strolled into the kitchen. The twins noticed Neville right away and stood in the doorway staring. Ron, on the other hand, made straight for the table with a hungry face after giving Harry a lazy greeting. He didn’t see Neville until he raised his head from his plate.
“Bloody Hell! Neville, what are you doing here?!” Ron yelled.
Everyone laughed, except for Mrs Weasley, who frowned at her son’s language.
The news of Neville’s arrival was obviously a shock to the Weasley boys. Harry still hadn’t quite assimilated it himself. If they were going to win the war, he should be happy, and tried to convince himself of that. Nevertheless, a few things made him uneasy, like Neville’s mention of Voldemort taking over Hogwarts. He would have to ask more about it later.
“So Neville, do any of us have kids in the future?” Fred asked, looking very interested in the answer.
“If we can solve this, then you don’t need that information. If we cannot, then we’ll see if I can tell you about it,” Neville said, a hint of something—almost sadness—in his tone.
The twins looked disappointed.
“By the way, can I borrow an owl from someone? I have to let my grandmother know that I’m fine.”
“Sure. You can use Hedwig.”
“Harry, Hedwig is quite identifiable, I believe. How about using Ron’s owl?” Lupin said, and everyone nodded.
Then, Hermione appeared at the kitchen door.
“Oh, good morning, Hermione. Is Ginny still upstairs?”
“Good morning, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione replied. “She’ll be here in a moment. She felt a little ill when she woke up.”
“This morning too?” Mrs Weasley asked, her voice worried.
“Yeah, I think so.” Hermione then looked at the rest of the people at the table. “Good morning, every— Neville?”
Ginny came through the door at that moment, looking rather green. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked.
“Bacon n’ eggs, wan’ some?” Ron asked, his mouth still full.
When Ginny saw the food, her cheeks suddenly flushed, and she lurched outside, clutching her stomach.
“Wonder what’s wrong with her. At least she didn’t wake up in a cranky mood today,” Hermione said with concern.
Harry, who was looking at Neville, noticed an idea forming in the boy’s mind. Neville’s eyes narrowed in the direction where Ginny had left the kitchen, and then he spoke very loudly.
“Oh, crap!”