Neville Longbottom and the Alternate Reality

The leaf under Neville Longbottom's fingertip looks deceptively like a normal plant. As normal as plants get, amongst Hogwarts school's collections. Greenhouse humidity beads on its surface, but falls away under his touch. So quiet. So still.

Neville looks  at the two bodies lying at his feet. So quiet. So still. Like the sword that still hangs from his other hand. There's beading on its blade, too, but it's not humidity.

Neville feels a flash of pain in his head, but it's not from his famous scar, the one that looks like lightning. This is inside his head. It reminds him that, among other things, the scar shouldn't be there.

He remembers many things that don't make sense. He remembers his first day at Hogwarts, his scar drawing stares of wonder. He remembers another first day, staring at the scar on another boy.

He remembers tending these plants. He remembers having grey flecks at his temples, when he did it.

But he's only seventeen, in his last year at Hogwarts. So not all of those memories can be true. He can see the dead snake and the dead Slytherin still at his feet though, so that must be real.

'Longbottom.'

Neville's hand drops from the plant to grasp his wand at his pocket. He turns.

Draco Malfoy's face is damp. Neville wonders how long he has been in the greenhouse.

'Malfoy.'

Malfoy's eyes flick to the bodies. Down and up. 'You brought him in here.'

'Not for this,' Neville says. 'Of all my priorities, killing the friend of a Death-Eater-in-training wouldn't rate high for strategy. He's not significant.' The sentence tastes strange, in his mouth. It tastes wrong.

Malfoy's mouth tightens. 'Let me-'

A long wail interrupts him. The Death Eaters are here. Neville grips his wand and sword, and runs outside. In his peripheral vision, he notices Malfoy dragging Potter's body from the greenhouse.

At least Malfoy's distracted. That's one less person for Neville to worry about fighting.

⌁

There was much screaming and blood, before it was over. But Neville had won.

If anybody asks, he'll say he did it for everybody; for the wizarding world. But in his mind, he has avenged his parents. That's all, in the end.

The air smells acrid now, saturated with spent spells. The gravel underfoot crunches as Neville steps between bodies, the aftermath of war.

He recognises Mr Malfoy among the panicking Death Eaters, frantically grasping at his pockets. Mrs Malfoy is trying to placate him. It's over, Neville sees her say. Time to go. Rather than be convinced, this flusters Mr Malfoy even more. Where's Draco? he demands.

It's a good question, really. For all his bluster leading up to this day, Draco Malfoy remains conspicuously absent.

People are lost in grief and panic as they search for family amongst the rubble. Nobody looks at Neville. Unobserved, he paces into the ruins of Hogwarts school, going left, down, through a yawning hole in the wall where a secret entrance used to be. Now nothing stops Neville from entering the Slytherin common room.

It smells of burnt tapestries, and the floor is littered with broken rock. Much like the rest of the castle. But at least Neville's escaped the thick odour of blood.

There's a corridor at the end of the room, running to either side. The floor is dusted with grit, but a smeared line of bare stone leads down the corridor to Neville's left. He follows it.