Prologue
PROLOGUE
NEVILLE REMEMBERS SCREAMING, before the end of it all.
The flashes of white light, the terrified shouts, and the sudden deadly explosion when all hell broke loose. He vaguely remembers mourning, a flurry of black cloaks, and the distant looks on his grandmother Augusta’s face in the years after.
He has always felt too gentle for the adventures he’s been forced to go on. When compared to the solace of the greenhouse, fighting has never felt like his forte. Yet he understands responsibility, understands what it means to be the Chosen One. He may not enjoy it, but he knows what is at stake and he will not back down for anyone.
Even so, he cannot help but feel envious. It fills him with guilt, when he sees Harry roaming down the halls with his Slytherin friends without a care in the world and wishes to be him. His gaze usually seems despondent when walking alone, his small frame hugging the wall and braced for an attack, but his eyes shine with amusement with his friends. The contrast, the unspoken charm and innocence surrounding the other boy feels like a mystery. Worse still, it then fills him with intrigue, an unstoppable curiosity to find out more about Harry: even as he listens to Ron’s furious rants over the Slytherins’ latest misdeeds.
He knows that maybe, the answer may not be what he desires. But he is a Gryffindor, after all, through and through.
And he’ll do whatever it takes, even if it kills him.