Chapter Text
It wasn’t too long before McGonagall called out the next of Moira’s Chosen; “Longbottom, Neville!” echoing off the walls of the Great Hall. A boy with a very noticeable blond head of hair walked up slowly to the stool at the end of the Great Hall.
The boy was clearly a little nervous if his biting his lip was any indication. Moira smiled and held out her hands, for there was one tiny little shift left for this young man. The world itself seemed to shimmer as magic older than humanity flowed through her, shifting the threads of Time backwards, just enough to plug a floor tile—one that had been slightly raised by Peeves—back into its place. Easier than finding the errant tile and doing it the mundane way in Moira’s opinion.
In this timeline, one Neville Longbottom did not trip on his way to the Hat and suffer the humiliation that might have caused him to retreat into his shell. Of course, the kid may be more than a little nervous, but that was true of most first years at Hogwarts. And thus, finally completely free from his chains, the hands that put the hat on his head did not shake.
As was the case in most timelines, though, the boy was still a Near Hatstall in this one. But when the Hat finished its deliberation, its proclamation wasn’t quite the same.
ALLEGIANT
Neville Francis Longbottom was not brave. Not quite yet. He was a bundle of anxiety wrapped tightly in his terrible memory.
Contrary to what most people believed, though, Neville Longbottom was not meek. He could just never override his anxiety for long enough to retort or fight back against any perceived injustice.
A great example of this problem’s manifestations was sitting across from him at the dinner table.
Neville was extremely unfond of his great-uncle Algernon, but generally kept quiet about it and even occasionally pretended to like him. This fact shouldn’t be too surprising; after all, you too would be unfond of someone if they dropped you out of a window when you were eight (even if it was partially on accident).
Most days, Neville could take his great-uncle’s rather unsubtle ribbing about his ‘sub-par’ abilities, and instead focus on the supposed love of Herbology they both shared. Neville did however suspect that Algie had more than likely simply wanted something in common with him to try and influence him, and it was in fact great-aunt Enid who had the green thumb of the two. Just another reason to dislike him.
After enduring close to an hour of Algie’s posturing, Neville excused himself from the dinner table, walked up the stairs of the ancient townhouse and collapsed onto his bed to scream into the pillow. Thank Merlin that his great-uncle wasn’t around every day, or Neville would have already lost his mind and hexed the man, his anxiety be damned. He could always have a panic attack about it after the fact.
With nothing left to do in the day, and it being far too early to sleep, Neville had to finally come to terms with the fact that he harboured similar feelings about his relationship with his grandmother (although they were far less antagonistic).
He had only recently realized that his anxiety largely stemmed from his grandmother’s chidings of him being unable to live up to his parents’ legacy. It hurt every single time she said it, but he didn’t hate her for it. He couldn’t! She always looked him in the eye when she said it, and for some reason, Neville could always tell with certainty that it came from a place of concern and not one of admonishment.
Perhaps that’s why Neville found it in himself to override his base instincts and put his foot down when it came to the subject of his wand.
“But…” came Augusta’s almost immediate reply, one of slight consternation, but Neville was having none of it.
“No, Gran,” Neville insisted. “If you would rather not accompany me to Diagon, I understand. But I will not use Dad’s wand. Not when he’s still alive. Not with all the connotations and memories that would come with that.”
You see, Moira sometimes shifted timelines on a whim based on her feelings, unknowing of the domino effect that resulted from those interventions. Here a simple cursory change in accepted pureblood childhood literature had resulted in Neville standing up to Augusta Longbottom and convincing her against inheriting Frank Longbottom’s wand. In another world, Neville would have simply caved in instead.
Neville was glad he had given his Gran the ultimatum that he had because that one trip to Diagon Alley marked the beginning of the change in their relationship. Admittedly, Neville had been terrified of the imposing old Garrick Ollivander at first, and the man’s mysterious air that seemed to permeate through the shop certainly hadn’t helped much to alleviate those fears. He was astounded, however, when the wandmaker greeted his grandmother like they were old friends.
“Augusta! It’s been a long, long while. Twelve- and a -quarter inches, Blackthorn wood, and Dragon Heartstring if I recall correctly, yes?”
Augusta Longbottom couldn’t help but chuckle. “At this point, I find it difficult to believe you could ever truly forget a wand you’ve sold, Garrick. You do not need to keep testing yourself so.”
“Ah, pish-posh. An old man like me must keep his brain sharp.” He then suddenly turned to train his eye on the third person in the shop. “And that means you must be young Neville Longbottom, correct?”
Neville started at the sudden attention but nodded. “Y–yes, Mr Ollivander.”
“Yes, yes. Good that you’re here for a new wand. Very good. With your mother Alice’s wand lost, I was afraid Augusta would have given you Frank’s wand. The bad memories it probably holds for you aside, your father’s wand was made of Ash, and would thus only stifle any growth you might have had. Oddly enough, you’re the second person I had to caution about that in the last few months.”
“Blimey!” exclaimed Augusta, laying a hand on Neville’s shoulder and squeezing it gently, causing him to turn towards her. “Good thing you insisted on coming here, boy! I never knew…” She trailed off and gave Neville a significant but wistful look, and for once, even looking her in the eye, Neville could not decipher it.
Neville turned back around nervously only to suddenly find a pair of spelled tape measures navigating the length of his body; with Ollivander already rummaging through the shelves in a corner of the room.
“Ah yes, try this one. Ten- and three-quarter inches, Applewood, and Dragon Heartstring. Give it a wave!”
Neville did as he was asked and a lightbulb above them exploded violently.
“Definitely not,” Ollivander decided, snatching the wand from him and handing him another one. “Nine inches, Beech, Phoenix Feather.” Neville waved this one and set a stack of empty boxes on the counter flying.”
“Hmmm, close, but not quite. Considering those two, however…” Ollivander seemed to think for a second, before rushing to a wand box on a middle shelf behind him. He returned smiling. “It’ll be this one, I’m sure.”
And he was right. The moment Neville grasped the wand, he felt a warmth envelop him and he began to glow in a muted but powerful golden light. Augusta gasped in awe at the light show as Ollivander clapped happily.
“There is no need to worry about your grandson now, Augusta,” Ollivander said chuckling. “Thirteen inches, Cherry wood, and Unicorn Hair. Unyielding. Unicorn hair wands usually end up a tad weaker than the other cores I use. But the Cherry wood, which normally produces wands capable of extremely lethal magic, more than compensates for that. A perfectly balanced wand that is loyal to the end.” He smiled widely at Neville. “You will be a very accomplished and powerful wizard one day, Mr Longbottom. I hope to live to see that day.”
If Neville hadn’t already been knocked speechless, he would have been when he turned to look at Augusta and could see the pride in her face, mixed with the same something he still could not quite place.
She only spoke again when they had finished buying Trevor’s feed from the Magical Menagerie and apparated back home, where she collapsed into a sofa almost immediately.
“Is everything alright, Gran?” Neville asked nervously as he approached her. Augusta would sometimes be quieter than usual—especially on the anniversary of his parents being driven insane—but he had never seen her so contemplative. The woman was a force of nature, an act first and ask questions later sort of witch.
Instead of an answer, however, Neville got snatched into a hug. That in itself wasn’t too unusual, so he simply hugged her back. He started to panic, however, when he felt the tell-tale wetness of tears dripping onto his shoulder as Augusta began to cry.
The unflappable Augusta Longbottom was crying.
“G–Gran?! Is everything alright?” He scrabbled to get out of the hug and looked Augusta over for injuries. When he found none, he looked at her in concern. “Gran?”
Augusta hiccoughed as she tried to stop sobbing and somehow managed to rein the tears in. “I–I’m sorry, N–Neville. I’m so, so sorry, my boy.”
Neville's panic decreased slightly, but he was now utterly confused. “About what, Gran?”
Augusta took his hands in hers and looked him straight in his eyes. “About everything I have done. About how I’ve treated you. All the damage I’ve undoubtedly done to you.”
At Neville’s bewildered but now cautiously wary look, Augusta took a few deep breaths to calm herself down and motioned to the seat next to her. Once Neville sat next to her, she tried to look him in the eye but failed. She instead bowed her head and began explaining.
“What happened to Frank and Alice at the hands of those five monsters left me devastated for a time, my boy. My son and my daughter-in-law were driven insane by torture, and I could only sit by and do nothing. And then, when you showed no signs of magic, I grew very afraid. Not for the legacy of the Longbottom family that Algie keeps droning on about, but for you. You see, a few months after you were born, You-Know-Who had vanished off the face of the Earth and wixen all around the Isles were celebrating. But the ones who actually fought against him weren’t quite sure the war was over. By Merlin, we weren’t quite sure You-Know-Who was really dead, and many of us still aren’t convinced he is.”
She closed her eyes before continuing, shame now clouding her voice. “When you did finally show accidental magic, I thought pushing you to be like Frank would help you realize your potential. Instead, it has only created a rift between us. I know you pretend to be happy when our family meets, Neville. You hide it masterfully, and against anyone else, it works well, as evidenced by Algie and Enid when they visit. But you have Frank’s eyes and I know them too well for it to work on me. At first, I tried to avoid confronting my mess of emotions and marching on as I always have, but…”
She paused and took another deep breath before finally making eye contact. “…it is only today that I have realised my mistake. I do not ask for your forgiveness, my boy, only for your understanding.”
Neville levelled a calculating look at her and felt a touch proud of himself when he managed to speak without his voice wavering. “What was it that changed your mind? That Mr Ollivander said I would be a great wizard? I’m sure Great Uncle Algie would be very happy about that.” He couldn’t help the bitterness that leaked into the statement at the end, but for once, he was not going to back off.
Augusta winced at the barb but shook her head decisively. “No, my boy. To me, you being a great wizard was a foregone conclusion, hence why I pushed you as I did. No, it was the fact that Garrick said you would become a great wizard one day. That’s when it sunk in that you were still a child—one brought up in peacetime, for Merlin’s sake—and I was being beyond unreasonable with my demands.”
Neville stayed quiet for a moment and stared into his grandmother’s eyes. Ever the formidable witch, she met his dissecting gaze, but even she was unnerved by how her grandson’s ocean blue eyes seemed to be staring into her very soul, deeper than they ever had before. After a tense stare-off that lasted over a minute, Neville nodded and smiled before launching himself at his grandmother and embracing her in a bear hug. “I don’t know why or how, but somehow, I know that you’re telling the truth. I forgive you, Gran.”
Augusta grinned through the tears and hugged back even harder. “I won’t let you down again, my boy. And to be entirely honest, I never really liked my brother-in-law either.”
None of this meant that Neville was any less clumsy, so he still lost Trevor the toad soon after they stepped foot on Platform 9¾. This time, however, both he and Augusta were aware this was largely because Trevor was much too independent to be a pet.
Hence their plans involving the Black Lake when he got to Hogwarts.
As soon as his luggage was stowed in a compartment, he went around the train looking for Trevor. Compartment after compartment he asked and searched, but to no avail.
With only four of them left, he knocked on yet another door and slid it open.
“Sorry,” he apologised pre-emptively, “but have you seen a toad at all?”
The two inhabitants of the compartment—one of whom he felt like he should recognize—shook their heads.
Neville couldn’t help but hiss in annoyance. “I wasn’t supposed to lose him entirely just yet!” he grumbled.
The girl looked a bit confused, but Neville was well aware what he had said was a bit strange. “He’ll turn up,” she said placatingly.
Neville sighed and nodded. “He always does. Well, if you see him…”
At their nods, he shut the compartment door and walked on ahead to the next one. This one was immediately different. The wizard inside was clad in a black cloak that seemed to suck in all the light from the room. He seemed to be sitting very still, and the very air seemed to be charged with something. Anticipation? Magic? Neville didn’t know.
His hand itched for his wand, but he fought the impulse and tried to settle his breathing. “Excuse me, have you seen a toad come by, sir?”
The wizard’s head snapped towards Neville and yellow eyes seemed to bore into him with an intensity unparalleled. Neville fought down the urge to scream.
He only barely escaped that one with his life ten minutes later. He was never having a discussion about sugar quills with anyone ever again!
Well, two more left! Upon opening the second to last compartment, he found only one person inside: a bushy-haired girl with a bit of an overbite who seemed to be reading a course book for Charms.
“Hey,” he said, hesitant to disturb her. “I was wondering if you had seen a toad around here? I seem to have lost him.”
The girl frowned but shook her head. She seemed to mutter something about helping the right way (whatever that meant) before nodding. “Need any help looking?” she asked. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way.”
That hadn’t been part of the plan, but he shrugged. “I guess I could use some, actually,” he accepted. “I’m Neville Longbottom.”
Hermione followed him to the last compartment, which was also a dud, before turning around. She skipped the Sugar Quill Guy entirely (so she had made the same mistake he did!) and went on to the next one.
He was about to tell her that he’d just been there, but she was too quick.
“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” Hermione asked.
“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” the ginger-haired boy said, but Hermione seemed to ignore him, instead looking at the wand in his hand.
“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”
She sat down in the compartment, allowing him to stand at the threshold instead. The girl did not seem to care that she was being a bit forward about her request, so maybe she was a Muggle-born?
The ginger boy seemed a bit taken aback by her attitude but shrugged. “Er — all right,” he said before clearing his throat.
“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”
That incantation sounded entirely fake. Neville had seen his Gran use the spell before and he was pretty sure the incantation was Colovarius or something. He was also sure it was one of the few charms that Gran was proficient at.
By the looks of it, ginger head knew the spell was fake too, but Hermione hadn’t noticed the fact. She somehow managed to go on a long rave about spells and magic and her Hogwarts letter without taking a single breath. As Neville was just recovering from the daze it left him in, he was almost immediately knocked into another one as Hermione identified the second inhabitant of the compartment.
Merlin! How did I not see the scar before? The Girl-Who-Lived! Except Hermione hasn’t quite noticed the ‘girl’ part. Can’t blame her, most people only know about the scar, and she was said to be a boy in every book that has her in it.
Neville couldn’t help but be a little amused when Harriet Potter corrected Hermione on her name and felt bad for being amused when that seemed to dishearten Hermione.
Bloody hell, this whole ordeal is like I’m on one of those wild Abraxans Algie was talking about!
Hermione’s following rave about sorting got him thinking though. It occupied his thoughts through finding Trevor and being invited into Harriet and Ron’s compartment, with only a brief interlude when Malfoy appeared. Draco Malfoy seemed to have taken to copying his father Lucius if Gran’s description of the elder Malfoy did him justice. Not that the altercation pulled him from his musings, if anything it spurred them on even further!
Once, he had been sure Gran would want him to be in Gryffindor, even though he never really felt brave. But after everything that happened at Diagon Alley that fateful day, he wasn’t quite so sure anymore…
And so, memories swirling through his head, Neville found himself walking up to the Sorting Hat. He heard a dull click as something was pressed in somewhere but he wasn’t quite sure where it had come from (though it almost sounded like the stone tile below him).
Weird. Didn’t know the tiles could be moved, he thought as he put on the Hat.
“Ah, Neville Longbottom. I remember sorting your parents and grandmother quite well! All very interesting people and you seem to be shaping up to be quite the same. Now, where to put you…”
“Hufflepuff, if possible,” Neville muttered.
The Hat seemed to deliberate on the fact silently for the next couple of minutes, which was just enough to start making Neville a bit anxious.
“You do indeed have the loyalty required in spades, Mr Longbottom,” the Hat finally spoke, “just barely inching out your latent bravery.” Out loud, it bellowed, “Very well, then. HUFFLEPUFF!”
Neville skipped over happily to the Hufflepuff table. He wasn’t brave yet (no matter what the Sorting Hat thought), but maybe he would be someday. But not even Lady Fate Herself could question his loyalty.