Destiny Reversed

Chapter 12 Lessons

Neville stuck his hands in his pockets, having lost the nerve to actually follow the shrinking figures of Violet and the soulless Slytherin. Standing there, in the middle of a forlorn street still chipped with ice, Neville couldn't help but shiver with external and internal coldness, feeling more detached from the rest of the world than ever. His parents were gone, his Grams disapproved of his participation within the Ministry, Mr. and Mrs. Potter were equally disappointed, Harry was pushed away by Neville himself, and now Violet was walking away from him, angry and hurt.

Love, Dumbledore had said, Love was what saved you, and it is what will ultimately destroy Voldemort –for good.

Neville's lips twitched. Love indeed. He wasn't exactly the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, despite what the Daily Prophet liked to print. That title belonged to Harry –it always had. Harry was the one who was loved, and even now, when he had become so distant, still he made new friends, and kept his old. What was it about Harry that Neville didn't have?

Love. What an odd thing to be considered a trait. More of an emotion, a state of mind than a personality trait that apparently would allow Neville to kill Voldemort. But then, killing isn't exactly a lovely thing to do –or see, for that matter. Sometimes Neville wondered if he had it in him to kill. Because that was what was expected of him, wasn't it? Killing was supposed to split your soul . . . would Neville's be split, despite the good intentions and ultimately preferable outcome that would stem from Voldemort's demise?

Knowing his luck, probably. Wouldn't it be ironic if Neville turned out to be the next Dark Lord? Neville laughed out loud, even though it really wasn't funny at all. His own laughter echoed back towards him, reminding him just how alone he was. Nobody else to laugh with him, or smack him on the back of the head for thinking such dark thoughts.

How Neville wished he were ten and innocent. Well, not exactly. He was constantly hounded by Daily Prophet reporters and the Ministry and such, but ten was the last of those years, where he could have a haven, shelter from the outside world. A place where he could just be a kid, just Neville.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter always welcomed him into their home for little play dates with Harry and Violet. At first, when they were really little, he and Harry would gang up on Violet, until one particular incident caused her to cry, getting them in trouble. After that, Harry became very protective of her, and they began including her in their little exploits, which included trying to find hidden treasure in the nooks and crannies of the Potter home.

Incidentally, they did find a nice stash of sweets, which was practically gold to them at that age. Neville realized now that Harry's parents must have noticed what they were doing and –to indulge in the Marauder spirit –hid those sweets for them to find.

Oh, the good old days when their only worry was to be careful in avoiding a stomachache from overindulging on sweets. They had even drawn up a fairly inaccurate and proportionally challenged map of the Potter home. Well, he supposed it was fairly good for kids.

Sitting down heavily on the slippery steps of a shop, Neville smiled sadly as he recalled the tears Violet shed as he and Harry left on the train to Hogwarts a whole year before she would. They had promised to write, and true to their word, they did, if infrequently.

But at Hogwarts, a rift came between their childhood memories as pressures and fame came between them, until Harry and Neville were naught but acquaintances. Oh, Harry had tried to keep their friendship intact, but Neville, for whatever reason, wasn't able to.

Maybe it was because he couldn't love. Maybe it was because he longed to go back to ten years old, but couldn't, and found himself caught between jealousy and unfulfilled wishes.