Neville consulted the letter he had just received from Hogwarts, the one with his third-year supply list. He ticked off the books he would need, noting that it was a generic list. He remembered how someone's insistence had kept it that way, favouring students' self-teaching and the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake.
A smile touched his lips as he recalled waking up that morning. His past life had come flooding back. The condition he had set was for them to fully awaken when they turned thirteen, to ensure they had a normal, worry-free childhood. It was a time when boys become men, and until then, he had felt it was better for the children they returned through to simply live their lives.
He glanced out the window at the greenhouses of his family home, knowing something was missing from the envelope: the permission slip for Hogsmeade. The letter had arrived with the seal already broken. His grandmother had given it to him like that, offhandedly reminding him how clumsy he was and that being so dishonoured his parents' memory. After a moment of introspection, Neville realised a part of his current character was due to this treatment. They had ignored him and tried to mould him into someone he wasn't.
He folded the letter and placed it on his study table before heading downstairs to find his grandmother in her study. She was almost always there. He knocked on the door.
"Come in, Neville. You can rest assured, I have already sent the signed permission slip to your Head of House."
"I appreciate it," he said. Neville was debating whether to reveal his new self now or little by little, an ironic smile playing on his lips, as he knew that was what his friend would consider, not someone as direct as Neville himself. "I was wondering if we could go to Diagon Alley to get my supplies."
"Not today. We'll go next week. I have business to attend to at the Wizengamot."
"It has to do with Sirius Black's escape, doesn't it?"
"That is confidential information." His grandmother's curt voice ended the conversation. "Now go and study for a while. See if a little hard work will make you a worthy member of Gryffindor and, of course, a suitable heir to this family. I must be off to the Ministry, and I'm already running late."
Neville replied only with a nod. He had concluded that showing too radical a change to his grandmother could be dangerous. It was better to reveal the change at Hogwarts. He sighed, never thinking he would have to use one of Salazar's strategies instead of facing things head-on. What was clear to him was that the unconfident boy was gone.
It bothered and hurt him every time his grandmother compared him to his parents, highlighting the differences with his father and forcing him to use his father's wand. Now that he had awakened, he knew why his magic was so reluctant to flow through that catalyst. He would have to resolve that, but he couldn't think of what to do right now. As for the reproach about being worthy of his own home, he had to restrain himself from replying: Who was she to judge who was a worthy Gryffindor?
The funny thing was that he had listened to the Sorting Hat when it told him during the first year that there was more Gryffindor in him than he thought. Neville, believing his family and thinking he was a clumsy man lucky to even have magic, had wanted to be sent to Hufflepuff. But the Hat had convinced him to accept what it saw as the best choice for him, and he had to thank it for that when he had the chance.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in the greenhouses, discovering that this skill and hobby was a calming factor for his usual way of acting. It helped him relax instead of jumping to conclusions, giving him a sense of calm and tranquility he had only learned to have over the years. The delicacy and attention required by the plants soothed him. Now he not only had his old skills but also those he had gained so far in this life, and he planned to enhance them.
At dinner time, he was called by one of the mansion's house-elves. His grandmother hadn't returned from the Ministry, so it was just him and his great-uncle, Algie.
"Where have you been all day?"
"In the greenhouses."
"Even though a large part of our fortune comes from the treatment and trade of plants, that won't make your grandmother proud of you."
"She will never be satisfied. I'll never be my father. Whatever I do, it will never be to her liking. So I've decided that it's better to dedicate myself to being myself than to seek to be someone I can never be," Neville said with a decisiveness that stunned his great-uncle.
Perhaps he was going back on what he had decided hours before, but he didn't want to be crushed or drawn into an endless argument about what he should do to be a better wizard. It was better to nip it in the bud.
"No two people are the same, and no son is his father, Uncle."
"I'm going on a trip soon in the Mediterranean. Would you like me to bring you some plants?"
"If you find any curious ones that we can adapt to the conditions of one of our greenhouses, that would be wonderful."
The dinner continued in silence; they had nothing more to say. Neville usually had a better relationship with his uncle than with his grandmother; at least Algie had never verbally made him feel less. Of course, Neville didn't forget his uncle's dangerous attempts to trigger his magic. Neville wasn't spiteful—he understood that his family's beliefs about magic were a little wild—but that didn't mean he had forgotten. It was clear to him that no one in that house was trustworthy. They had reduced his confidence to nothing, and even though he had awakened, it would be difficult for him to regain it. He couldn't trust them; that was crystal clear.
"I'm taking the newspaper," he announced.
He took The Daily Prophet from the table and went quietly up to his room, unfolding the newspaper on his bed. Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban a week ago, and the Ministry was considering informing the Muggle Prime Minister so they could collaborate in the search for the fugitive. This was worrying because Black was the first person on record to escape from the prison, and that had many people on edge.
"Worrying, but I doubt that this is the threat that has brought us back. I will have to look for the others." Neville frowned. Last year, someone used Salazar's Basilisk as a weapon for blood purity ideals, and the year before that, there was an altercation related to the Philosopher's Stone. He would have to ask Harry everything that happened about it. He had a feeling there was some relationship between the two events.
---
Ever since he'd returned from Hogwarts, Harry had been trying to figure out how to do his homework. To get to his supplies, he'd had to force open the lock on the cupboard where they'd been hidden. He had then moved and concealed everything in his room. The Dursleys didn't enter his room anyway, so it was a safe bet. He had considered taking advantage of the Dursleys' absence to change the light bulbs in the locks, but he didn't have any Muggle money or the time to go to Gringotts for a quick exchange.
Instead, after finishing the chores assigned by his aunt, he spent his afternoons locked in his room, catching up on his homework. He wasn't about to get a week of detention for not handing in his essays. He started with Transfiguration, planning to leave Potions for last—it was always the most tedious.
It was already the thirtieth of October. After a rushed dinner, he locked himself in his room, working on an essay for History of Magic. The subject didn't appeal to him much and was slowly making him sleepy. He eventually fell asleep at his desk, the night breeze hitting his head as it drifted in through the open window.
It was after midnight when he woke up with a start, as if from a nightmare. Moments later, his scar began to hurt, as if it were splitting open. He tried to get up but fell to the floor from the pain, feeling something pass through the scar, from the inside out. He half-opened his eyes and saw a dark, humanoid shape in the room for a few seconds before it vanished. The presence gave him the same feeling that Riddle had given him.
"Bloody hell."
In his mind, he immediately understood what it was because he suddenly had access to a hundred pieces of knowledge he was sure hadn't been there a few hours earlier. He felt comfortable with them, as if they had always been there. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, organising his thoughts and looking for an explanation until he found it: "I've woken up."
He examined his room; the dark residue had disappeared. He was certain it had been destroyed. The very magic released when he awoke had taken care of that parasite. The worrying thing was what it was and what it meant. It also explained a few things. He began to tidy up his books, seeing that he would have to redo the History of Magic essay, which was now smudged.
"I'll be able to deliver a much better one now," he murmured as he watched two owls enter the room. It was one of the school owls and Hedwig, carrying Errol, the Weasleys' old owl.
He took the letter from Hogwarts first, stroking the helpful school owl and giving it a treat as a reward. "Don't you be jealous," he said to Hedwig, who looked annoyed by this act of generosity towards another owl. "You know you're my favourite." The school owl had already left, leaving only two. "Do you mind if I put Errol on your perch? The poor thing is very old and looks completely knackered." Hedwig's hooting let him know that she was satisfied.
With the owls resting, he proceeded to open the letters. First, the one from the school, which contained the usual information: the train had to be taken on September 1st, and the list with the required books was attached. He had already signed up for two electives, but he planned to buy the books for the others and prepare on his own. Information and knowledge were power, after all. There was also something else in the envelope: a permission form to visit the village on weekends when there was a trip.
He growled. The Dursleys would have to sign it, and they wouldn't do anything that could make him happy, unless he found a way to make an exchange that might seem beneficial to them but in reality gave him the most benefit. Plan B was to forge his uncle's signature, which was a fairly simple one. He would think about it in the morning. For now, he knew he had to get a few hours of sleep.