boy with a scar
dirgewithoutmusic
Chapter 2
Summary:
Let's tell another story where Voldemort, snippets of prophecy in hand, went after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters—
Neville Longbottom didn't do magic until he was nearly eight (and even then it was just bouncing down the stairs after he had tripped), but his grandmother beamed proudly all the same.
"Used up eight years of it slaying dark wizards," she told her other society ladies over tea.
But Neville, in any 'verse, was not a stupid boy. When people praised him for things that weren't his fault, he knew better than to believe they were looking at him. Overlooking the stammering, pudgy kid in the corner isn't that much different from seeing the scar and not the boy.
This was a Neville who stepped onto Platform 9 3/4 with all eyes on him— the Remerberall clutched tight in one sweaty fist, the sleek black cat his uncle had bought him under the other arm. He did not ask for Hufflepuff, even though he wanted to, because he was supposed to be brave.
Let's tell this story: if Voldemort went after the Longbottoms, then the Lestranges went after the Potters.
Chapter Text
Let's tell another story where Voldemort, snippets of prophecy in hand, went after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters—
Neville Longbottom didn't do magic until he was nearly eight (and even then it was just bouncing down the stairs after he had tripped), but his grandmother beamed proudly all the same.
"Used up eight years of it slaying dark wizards," she told her other society ladies over tea.
But Neville, in any 'verse, was not a stupid boy. When people praised him for things that weren't his fault, he knew better than to believe they were looking at him. Overlooking the stammering, pudgy kid in the corner isn't that much different from seeing the scar and not the boy.
His grandmother smiled at him and Neville gulped, tried to will magic into being, because one day she would expect him to be done recuperating from his toddling heroism.
This was a Neville who stepped onto Platform 9 3/4 with all eyes on him— the Remerberall clutched tight in one sweaty fist, the sleek black cat his uncle had bought him under the other arm. He did not ask for Hufflepuff, even though he wanted to, because he was supposed to be brave.
Let's tell this story: if Voldemort went after the Longbottoms, then the Lestranges went after the Potters.
Peter still betrayed James and Lily to enemy hands. Sirius still chased him down and laughed when he was arrested on the blasted-apart street. Both of these boys were still raised by families that did not know how to love them. Just the scar exchanged hands.
Except— I wonder if old Dumbledore would have made Harry go to the Dursleys then, or if that particular condemnation was only for the Boy Who Lived, who needed blood protection. Would Harry get to go to Lupin? Or maybe one of the Order members with a more stable income— Andromeda Tonks, maybe, who already had her own little girl to raise, and who despite all the complications did miss having siblings around.
Little Nymphadora, who even then demanded to be called Tonks, turned her hair every color and let baby Harry tug on it. Harry grew up loved, in this world, but he still grew up lost. He still studied his reflection like meeting his eyes might mean meeting someone else's.
Harry still grew up knowing how to use a telephone, spent Christmases with Muggle grandparents. Andromeda went toe to toe with Dumbledore when she disagreed with him; "If I am to raise this boy, then I am going to. I won't be your nanny, Albus. I don't care what half a prophecy this boy once was. I don't care if you glower. I'm a mother and I am a Black and you can think twice before you think about trying to frighten me."
