Author's Note

I know this concept's been beaten to death with a Smelting Stick, but I'm going to have some fun with it, and see how well I can pull it off.

Read and enjoy!

-///-

Sirius Black Apparated with a loud crack on the front step of a home in Godric's Hollow, and cursed soon afterwards, finding that he had stubbed his toe after taking a step forward.

His muffled outburst went unnoticed by the residents of the home he had just appeared in front of, which he realized was the incorrect one, of all things. Somewhat sullenly, and muttering something about getting too excited, he tugged on his jacket and readjusted it before walking, nearly running, to a house that was but a few lots over.

Of course he was too excited to Apparate in the right place, he thought, and it was a wonder he didn't get splinched at all. He was the bearer of important news, that was both terrible and wonderful all at the same time. And the first person he was going to tell, of course, was James.

Not that he had a choice in the matter, either way. Dumbledore had told him to alert James first about what had happened, for some reason or another, because it was very urgent indeed. Why exactly James needed to know so badly, Sirius had no idea. But he didn't mind at all; regardless of whether or not Dumbledore said so, James would have learned through Sirius anyways.

Finally arriving at the house (the correct one, this time)Sirius pushed aside the gate with a squeak and knocked on the door, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as he heard a somewhat malcontented groan and footsteps. The door opened, and James Potter stood before him, his face shifting quickly from disgruntled curiosity to delight.

“Padfoot!” he said, his smile wide. “What in God's name are you doing here? I thought you were back at home.”

“Got news. Lots of news,” he replied, still bouncing a little. “Mind letting me in? It's a bit chilly out.”

“Oh yeah, come on in,” said James, and closed the door behind his friend as Lily sat down on the couch with Harry on her lap. “Real cold out there, tonight.”

“I'll say,” Sirius replied.

“Sirius! What's going on?” Lily asked, as Sirius shed his jacket, haphazardly tossed it on the carpet, and sat unceremoniously down on a free armchair. “I thought you were at home.”

He sighed and knit his fingers together, which twitched slightly as he bent over. “Something's happened,” he replied. “Dumbledore caught me in the bathroom and told me I had to come and tell you right away, it was so urgent.”

“Merlin's beard,” said James, “that important?” Sirius nodded, and Lily set Harry on the carpet as her husband joined her in sitting on the couch. “Well, go on, tell us. What's happened? Is it serious?”

“Frank and Alice Longbottom are dead,” Sirius said, and Lily gasped slightly, her hands cupping around her nose and mouth in shock. James' mouth dropped slightly open.

“No... Alice? Frank? Not them!” she said, but Sirius nodded slowly, sadly.

“They were found just a few hours ago,” he said. “House blown half-apart.”

James glowered. “Who in the world did it?” he said. “Whoever it was, they'd have to be powerful. Very powerful; Frank's not the type to go down without a fight, I mean—”

“You-Know-Who did it,” Sirius said darkly, and this time James gasped along with his wife. Harry sat, oblivious, wondering why things had gotten so quiet all of a sudden.

“That... that can't be,” said James.

“It's what Dumbledore said,” Sirius replied. “Killing Curse, he said, without a mark on them. And that means either Death Eaters or—”

“The mean old bastard himself,” James said flatly, his eyebrows set in a low, furious line.

Lily gasped as she seemed to realize something. “Oh God,” she said, “what about their baby? Neville, isn't it? Is he okay?” She seemed very near to tears at this point.

“That's where the interesting part comes in,” said Sirius, and his mood lifted just a little. “It seems little Neville's just fine.”

“Oh, thank God,” Lily breathed, before realizing just what that implied. “Wait a— how is that possible?”

“Either You-Know-Who's begun showing mercy to children now, which I highly doubt,” James said, giving a weak sarcastic laugh after the statement, “or something very strange is going on.”

“Definitely something strange,” Sirius said, smiling slightly, “because while the boy is just fine, it seems that You-Know-Who has up and disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“You're joking,” James said, and scowled. “Padfoot, seriously, this is no time for stuff like that.” Sirius shook his head resolutely.

“I didn't believe him at first, either,” he said. “But he went on, and Dumbledore isn't one to lie; we both know that. The Death Eaters are all having kittens over it, I hear.”

“Well, that's hardly to be expected, isn't it?” Lily said, attempting to sound brighter, but her voice choked by tears. She picked Harry up off the floor and held him tightly in her lap, as if she were afraid he might somehow float away, never to return. “If he really has...” She sniffed a little. “...disappeared.”

“So where's he gone?” James said, and Sirius shrugged.

“Nobody rightly knows how, or why, but Dumbledore reckons it's got something to do with the kid,” he said, and looked at his feet. “I'm not really sure if I heard him right about it, but I think that he somehow survived a Killing Curse.”

“Who? Neville or You-Know-Who?” James said, in a tone that might have been jesting in a past life.

“The baby,” said Sirius, and shrugged again at James' look of disbelief. “I know, I can't believe it either! Dumbledore says that it's got something to do with You-Know-Who up and vanishing, though.”

“How could something like surviving a Killing Curse have anything to do with the bastard disappearing?” James said, somewhat hotly. “How's that even possible, anyways?”

“Still trying to figure that out,” Sirius said. “Either way, Frank and Alice are dead, and Dumbledore's getting someone to take care of the baby, and he told me to watch out for you for a few days.”

“Watch us?” said Lily, and held Harry a little tighter. Harry fussed, not exactly liking his stomach constricted by his mother's arms. “Do you... do you think that they'll be actually... actually...”

“It's just safety,” Sirius said, attempting to sound reassuring and failing on a minor scale. “If anything were to happen in the next few days, I'd think that it's better to stick together. So... I suppose I'll have to stay here on the sofa for the night, in case something happens. Er, hope you don't mind.”

He smiled nervously, and James found himself involuntarily and weakly smiling back, and felt awful for it, as it was decidedly not the time.

“N-no, I'll have to get blankets for you,” he said, and began to leave the room.

“James, please... get your wand,” Lily implored as he went on his way, “and get mine too.”

James nodded and returned from the bedroom with their wands and a large blanket folded under an arm; he handed Lily her wand, who took it despite still having Harry firmly in her embrace.

“Don't think I'll be sleeping much, tonight,” Sirius said gruffly, and stared at his boots again. “Don't feel much like it, but you two should get some rest. I should be able to keep watch.”

“Sirius, honestly, you should—” James began, but Sirius looked at him with another weak smile.

“I'm supposed to be playing guard dog, James,” he said, and a laugh somehow escaped from his throat. “I'll patrol and everything. You get Harry to bed; he shouldn't be kept up by all this.”

He smiled fondly at his godson, as Lily stood with him still in her arms, her face creased by worry.

“Don't worry,” Sirius continued. “Off with you both. We can worry all we want in the morning.”

Lily nodded, and walked upstairs, softly murmuring something that resembled, “Alice and Frank... why them? Oh, why them...?”

“You really think You-Know-Who's gone?” James asked Sirius, his voice unnecessarily low, once Lily was upstairs and tucking their son in. Again, Sirius shrugged.

“If it's in the Prophet tomorrow, I think there'll be reasonable doubt,” he said. “I believe Dumbledore's right, though, strange as the circumstances may be. I mean... dragon's balls, James, he caught me on the damn toilet to tell me.”

James nodded, resisting the urge to chuckle. “Right. Damn, Sirius, Alice and Frank? I'd have never thought they'd—”

“Die like that? Nobody ever thinks like that,” Sirius said, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. “You'd best be getting some sleep, James. If anything happens, I'll come get you before you can so much as get another snore in.”

“I do not snore,” James said, smiling despite himself as Sirius grinned and turned into a dog, his wand clenched between his yellow-ivory teeth. He jumped on the couch and made a sort of dog-grin, before resting his head between his paws and eying the door.

Taking this as a cue to get going, James joined his wife upstairs, and had many fitful dreams that he very quickly forgot, before the sun was to rise.

-///-

The Ministry of Magic was having a field day, on the day after Halloween.

“HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED VANQUISHED,” the Daily Prophet screamed early the next morning, in black letters that filled nearly the entire page, with no room for any sort of picture. “WIZARDS WORLDWIDE REJOICE.”

And people certainly were rejoicing, Minerva McGonagall noted sourly, from what she had heard and was seeing.

The Ministry had instantly declared a temporary holiday, and practically every sort of business and establishment was temporarily shut down in celebration of the miraculous event. Classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were no exception to this.

The students of Hogwarts had received the news, along with practically all the rest of the wizarding world, through the Prophet, and reacted very noisily. The Great Hall was buzzing with activity as the older students pored over the newspaper, and the younger ones simply discussed amongst themselves how such a treacherous being like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could finally be gone.

All of them greatly appreciated the newfound lack of classes. Even the teachers found themselves a little jittery from both sorts of news.

Every teacher, that is, except Binns, who was dead, and Dumbledore, who was very much absent.

Dumbledore seemed to be one of the first aware of the news, and McGonagall wasn't surprised at all. She half-expected him to be gone, even, but Albus wasn't a man to miss breakfast easily, and his absence at the Great Hall was slightly unnerving.

She wouldn't know what he was off doing for a while, she assumed, moodily stirring her porridge as the din continued onward at breakfast. Flitwick nudged her on the shoulder with his wand, and extended his glass of cider towards her.

“Toast, Minerva?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No, thank you,” she said, “but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Right!” Flitwick said, in far brighter a tone than usual, and drained the glass with extreme relish. McGonagall sighed.

A large, tawny school owl came soaring in amidst the innumerable other owls carrying letters from home for the students and neatly landed in front of McGonagall, sticking out its leg for her. Unruffled, McGonagall released the parchment tied to its leg, and the owl flew off.

Inside was written this:

Minerva,

Arrange to meet me at Augusta Longbottom's house as quickly as you can.

There is not much time to waste. Come disguised, if you feel the need.

Albus

A lump rose in her throat as she re-read the parchment. Apart from the initial news, McGonagall had heard troubling things about the Longbottoms—rest their souls if they really were dead,as the rumors stated—and how they might be involved somehow. Others had heard, as well, but the names of the Longbottoms and their supposed fates were whispered as rumors and theories in streets and hallways.

Neatly re-rolling the parchment, she stood and quietly whispered into the ear of Madame Hooch, who was merrily toasting with Professor Sprout, and asked to borrow a broom.

-///-

Albus Dumbledore sat in Augusta Longbottom's parlor later that afternoon, sipping a cup of chamomile tea that she had prepared with shaking hands, and watching some of her more reckless neighbors shooting off fireworks in the distance.

“Really, those nitwits,” she said, pouring herself a cup but not bothering to do anything else with it. “I can understand how... how excited they are, now that You-Know-Who is gone, but do they not realize that the Death Eaters are still around?”

“Euphoria can be more effective than the strongest memory-altering charm, Augusta,” Dumbledore said with the slightest of smiles. “The Ministry is already dispatching Aurors to find the remainder of the Death Eaters and place them in Azkaban, before they can do any more harm.”

“Heavens,” Augusta said, and idly began adding lumps of sugar to her tea. “Well that's a comforting thought, isn't it?”

“That, and the fact that little Neville is very much safe,” said Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes wandering to kindly gaze on where the round-faced one-year-old was asleep, oblivious, on one of his grandmother's plush couches. “Him, and the Potters as well. I received an owl from Sirius just this morning and he says they've been left alone.”

“Oh, those Potters,” Augusta said absently, her fingers grasping another sugar cube. “Nice people, yes, but whyever would the be in danger?”

“Voldemort doesn't exactly look kindly upon them, Augusta,” said Dumbledore, and she plopped another cube into her tea, with a slight peep. “The rest of the Order is on top alert as well.”

“Right, right,” said Augusta. “Right.”

“Augusta, your tea,” Dumbledore said gently, and Augusta gasped little in embarrassment to find a small pile of sugar cubes jutting over the rim of her cup.

She turned red. “Oh! What in the world am I coming to...” she murmured, and pushed the cup away, holding her forehead in her hands. Wisps of her gray hair fell out of her bun and over her fingers. “I'm so sorry, Albus, pardon me...”

“Augusta, there is nothing to be sorry for,” he said, and stood to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Your son died nobly, do not be ashamed to grieve for him.”

The woman began crying a little, and Dumbledore produced a handkerchief from his wand and gave it to her. Neville fussed a little in his sleep.

A small, dark spot that was moving over the sky began to get larger as Augusta calmed down a little, and very quickly turned into Minerva McGonagall, who dismounted from her broom and adjusted the green tartan scarf around her neck.

Ringing the doorbell, Augusta very quickly composed herself and sat primly with her hands in her lap. Neville stirred again, as Dumbledore said, “That'll be Minerva. Let her in, if you please.”

“Do come in,” Augusta said, her voice wavering from the last of her tears, and McGonagall stepped in, glancing somewhat disapprovingly at the child on the couch.

“I came as fast as I could, Dumbledore,” she said, her voice neat and free of anything but sternness. “Hello, Augusta.” Augusta nodded in recognition. “Do tell me, what's the matter?”

“Have a seat, Professor,” Dumbledore said, “but do mind little Neville. I doubt he'd like being sat upon.”

“Neville? As in... Frank and Alices's—” she said, and gasped, fearing for the worst. Her stern facade very quickly faded.

“Their son, yes, and an orphan as of yesterday night,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Have a seat, Professor.”

Biting her lip, McGonagall gently nudged the child to a further end of a sofa (Neville had already fallen back asleep). “It's true, then, isn't it? That they're...” she said, her voice quiet, and bit her lip again after Dumbledore slowly nodded. “Oh, Albus, that's... how could this have happened? Frank and Alice, of all people?”

Augusta gave a rather loud sniff. “There's nothing we could have done,” Dumbledore said. “We must, however, be grateful for the young boy sleeping beside you, my dear Professor.”

“Oh, the poor— then... then, is it true that he survived a Killing Curse, Dumbledore?” she asked, and glanced at the child. Nothing seemed to be different or odd about him...

“It is,” Dumbledore replied.

“How in the... how is that possible?” said McGonagall, her face tight and shocked. “There's nothing that's been shown to nullify a Killing Curse, Albus, so how can this child—”

“There are many mysteries in this world, my dear Professor,” Dumbledore said calmly, “and, sadly, this is one of them. We may never know.”

McGonagall, feeling just a little too overwhelmed for her own good, found tears leaking from her eyes. Augusta, and not Dumbledore, was the one to offer her a handkerchief this time.

“While the reason Neville has survived is indeed a perplexing mystery,” Dumbledore continued, as McGonagall dabbed at her eyes, “the most pressing issue is that of who shall care for him now. Augusta?” The woman looked up, looking particularly drained. “I believe we have already discussed this, prior to Minerva's arrival.”

“You are going to raise him?” McGonagall said, and Augusta nodded slowly.

“I am,” she replied. A barely noticeable note of strength appeared in her voice.

“Neville must be in the care of his family,” Dumbledore said, as Augusta reached across McGonagall's lap for the boy. Hesitantly, as if he were made of glass and tinsel, McGonagall shifted the baby from one side of the couch to his grandmother's arms. “It's what his father would have wanted.”

“Yes, indeed,” Augusta said softly. Neville curled into her arms, attempting to find warmth from her bony limbs. “My God... it's just so amazing, how much he looks like his mother...”

There was a loud crack.

“Dumbledore!” A gravelly voice burst from the front door as a figure stomped in, accompanied by the thump of a heavy cane. “Dumbledore, I knew you'd be here.”

“Alastor, what is it?” Dumbledore asked, barely fazed by the man's rather loud entry. McGonagall and Augusta, on the other hand, had quite noticeably jumped up a small amount, the professor's hand near her heart.

“Oh, pardon me for intrudin', Missus,” Mad-Eye Moody said, nodding curtly in Augusta's direction. Neville was fussing. “Didn't mean t'wake the little chap.”

“N-not at all,” Augusta replied, positively frazzled.

“Dumbledore, I got excellent news,” Moody continued. “We caught the Lestranges.”

“What?” Augusta and McGonagall said. Dumbledore smiled widely.

“Found 'em trying to storm the Potters house just after lunch, wanting to do God knows what,” Moody replied. “Didn't quite expect Sirius there, though! Heh.” He gave a rakish grin of his own, his magical eye spinning about somewhat merrily. “James and Sirius made quick work of the two; had 'em stunned and ready for the Aurors to pick 'em up within ten minutes. Lily sent an owl to us right away, bless her soul.”

“Fantastic news, Alastor,” Dumbledore said. Light twinkled in his eyes and glasses.

“Had no idea how they got in, though,” Moody continued. “No doubt that'll keep us busy for a while, tryin' to figure that out! Not that we aren't busy enough.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said. “They had a very powerful charm on that house, indeed.” He sat, nodding, for a moment. “Thank you for coming in to tell me, although you could have been a mite quieter.”

“Do forgive me, Professor,” Moody replied, smiling just a little. “Well, I'd best be on my way.”

“Care for a sweet, before you go?” Dumbledore asked. “I brought a package of lemon drops with me; I'm terribly fond of them.”

“Sounds like nothin' I'd enjoy eating,” Moody said grimly. “Got any Cockroach Clusters, though?”

“Sadly, I have none,” Dumbledore replied.

“Ah, pity,” Moody said. His electric blue eye came to rest on Neville, who had barely woken and was observing the visitors to the house, his face wrinkled. “Might as well wish some luck to the kid, then. What's this, here? Now that's quite a nice-looking scar.” He leaned over, Augusta's shoulders rising a little in discomfort from his nearness).

His thick, rough fingers brushed away some of Neville's hair to reveal a V-shaped cut, just above his right eye.

“The only harm done to him, because of his encounter with Voldemort,” Dumbledore said. McGonagall and Augusta winced; Moody and Neville did nothing. McGonagall eyed the scar, now that Moody had pointed it out.

“Is that really the only thing that Killing Curse did?” she asked. Moody traced the thing with his finger, and Neville batted it away with his tiny hand.

“As far as I can tell, yes,” Dumbledore replied. “He'll have that scar for the rest of his life, I can wager.”

“Lucky kid, I tell you,” Moody said, shaking his head a little. “Lucky kid. Hey, look up here!” He smiled as he wiggled his fingers at Neville, and pointed to his eye, which began to spin about inside its socket. Neville began to cry; Augusta glared.

“An excellent attempt, Alastor, but I'm afraid that young Neville doesn't appreciate your brand of humor,” Dumbledore said warmly, smiling.

Moody sniffed and thumped his cane on the ground for good measure. “Well, then. I shall be leaving. Take care, all of you. Long live the Order.”

“Long live the Order,” Dumbledore replied, and Moody was gone.

“...Albus, why exactly did you call me here?” McGonagall asked, and Dumbledore chuckled. She pursed her lips, finding it a bit of an inappropriate time for laughter. Augusta was trying to calm Neville down.

“My dear Professor, if there is anything I know about you, it is that you never like hearing anything,” he said, “where you cannot easily separate the truth from the lies. The fate of Frank and Alice Longbottom was quite simply gnawing at you this morning, wasn't it?”

McGonagall flushed, and Dumbledore chuckled again. Augusta shushed them out of instinct, before shying back with a quick, “Forgive me,” and returned to rocking Neville.

“You, of all people, deserve the truth as soon as possible,” Dumbledore continued. “No doubt the Prophet will be reporting it all day tomorrow, but you'd want to hear of it at a quieter time; and from a less sensational source, no doubt.”

“Oh, all those nagging press-hounds,” Augusta said disapprovingly, stroking Neville's head. “I'll never get a moment's rest.”

“I'll try to help all I can, Augusta,” said Dumbledore. “For now, care for Neville and lay low. Professor, if you wish, you may return to Hogwarts.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall said weakly. She stood. “Goodbye, Augusta, and good luck.”

Augusta nodded, and McGonagall stepped outside, onto the lawn, onto her broom, and flew out of sight.

“Where are you going to go?” Augusta asked, after a while. The room was nearly silent as Neville fell back into sleep.

“I have a few matters to attend to,” said Dumbledore, and began to search in his robe for something. “Afterwards, Hogwarts.”

“I still can't quite believe this is happening,” Augusta said. “I won't get a moment's rest, when the word gets out of... of what happened.”

“All peace comes at an expense,” Dumbledore said, finding what he was looking for. He proceeded to dig into a small, white paper bag. “I'll place some minor charms on your home, if it would help for a while.”

“Oh, would you?” Augusta said. She seemed much older than she looked, her face somewhat helpless as possibilities began to arise in her mind. The last thing she wanted was tramps from the tabloids snooping around her house.

Dumbledore held up a small yellow sweet, almost in triumph. “My dear Augusta, I promised you I would do all I could,” he said. “All you must do is care for Neville.”

She stroked his hair, almost fondly, almost as if by compulsion. Her fingers lightly brushed the V-shaped mark, still red and fresh. “Yes, yes,” she said softly. Dumbledore popped the sweet in his mouth and stood.

“Good luck, Augusta,” he said, and bent down to whisper close into Neville's ear. His silver beard brushed the boy's face. “And good luck to you, Neville.”

He left the house, paused in front of it for a moment as he cast a series of spells to help Augusta keep most of her privacy in the coming days, and Apparated away.

Across the world, news was already getting out that the sole survivor of The Dark Lord's final attack was the orphaned child of Frank and Alice Longbottom, two British Aurors that died at his hand, trying to protect their son.

The Daily Prophet ran the story, officially, the next morning.

Wizards and witches everywhere lost their sense of self, almost collectively, wandering in plain view of Muggles in suburbs and cities everywhere, as they went to visit friends and family and spread the glorious news.

Several Muggles noticed, Vernon Dursley included. But as he went along his way, his nights were very much unbothered, as were his mornings, and the mornings after that, and every morning afterward for several years.

In a home somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole, in Godric's Hollow, and in several other homes across the world, a toast was being made.

“To Neville Longbottom,” they would say, “the boy who survived!”

Neville Longbottom simply squirmed in his grandmother's arms, his eyes tightly closed.

“Mum...” he said.

Augusta began to softly cry.