The boy who lived
When Dowager Longbottom left for the ministry that morning, she expected nothing except a lot of press and wild speculation thrown about before that child was placed among civilized wizards. She expected to return home, to take her tea in her bedroom and finally visit Neville in the garden.
Except, none of these things occurred for Dowager Longbottom. She instead slept on, enchanted in strange dreams. Stranger still, the occupants of Longbottom Manor slept on, unaware of anything amiss.
No one noticed the slight trembling of the earth, nor how the urn which contained all that was left of Neville Longbottom tipped over, spilling onto the earth itself.
No one noticed when the very ashes seeped through the earth, never to be seen again.
If anyone had been looking, they would have noticed a thin vine set the urn upright and closed the lid before slithering back into the earth.
As such, when Dowager Longbottom awoke, she began each morning as she always did. Her maid ran a bath, set her tea and biscuits in the drawing room and set out a respectable choice of dark wizarding robes with her signature vulture hat.
Once she was dressed and ate, she took her private floo to the ministry. Dowager Longbottom took her seat next to Dowager Pettigrew and waited for this farce of a trial to begin.
She eyed the oddly colored Harry Potter; she could clearly see the so-called tattoos and strange colored hair.
A child as strange as he would benefit from living with a Lord. Perhaps it would not be too late to change the child. She remembered that Sirius Black had grown up in a rather strict household and she could see those mannerisms in him. The straight back rigidity in his posture, the folded hands, the demure colors.
He was a picture perfect Lord. A perfect example of what a true Lord should look like. She swallowed hard, snapping her fan open, hiding her reddening face.
She would not cry. Her son was still a noble Lord, despite his hospitalization. Her grandson would have been a Lord as well. She took a steadying breath and regained some control over her composure.
“What is your name?”
“Sirius Orion Black,”
“What is your date of birth?”
“November 3,1959.”
Snapping her fan closed, Dowager Longbottom leaned over her desk, ready to listen.
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Emily Jane Pitchner had wanted children but she could never have her own. The curse of giving life to a planet, she mused. To breathe life but never have one of your own. She assumed it was one of MiM’s many punishments against her family.
No, just against her.
As the former general’s daughter, MiM had come to Emily Jane pleading to help defeat Pitch. She had refused. Over and over again. She had been plagued by his wicked ways enough. She desired peace and her own children. She was well on her way to having both.
It happened suddenly and altogether in the springtime. The baby in her womb was gone, her love was gone, her powers were gone.
She was nothing more than a figurehead; something the mortals could worship. For many years, it was enough to soothe her.
Placate her.
Humble her.
Emily Jane Pitchner was many things in her life, but above all, she was a scorned woman. A lost child and a broken hearted immortal.
So she taught the mortals to survive and they gave her names all throughout time.
Demeter…
Abellio….
Freyr….
Hoori….
Then she found the wizarding community and they made her feel alive and wanted. So she made herself involved. She became more than a figurehead. She was wanted.
(Some would say believed in.)
She shed her other names and become enthralled by the wizards and their little magics. She became a consultant for their courts, the deciding factor.
When Pitch rose in power, she ignored it. If MiM expected her to rein in her own father, he was mistaken. She was Emily Jane Pitchner and she would not be tamed. She would not listen to MiM. She would not follow him with such blind faith and devotion, like the other guardians did.
She never understood why that particular orphan had so much power. MiM may have been the lunar prince years ago, but he’d lost everything.
He was the same as her!
Why in all the world did he have so much and she had nothing!
Emily Jane never asked, never bothered to understand why he was or what he was. He had been a child long ago who was raised by bookworms and robots. Somehow, he was a smiling child who became a gentle adult who vowed to protect the children of the world.
She kept to herself. She wandered from place to place, planet to planet only to settle on earth.
Emily Jane was alone, relying on these wizards for some type of company.
Emily Jane was many things, but she often walked and looked up at the stars, deliberately avoiding the moon and the overly joyous oaf. Emily Jane was the last daughter of the Pitchner family.
Perhaps it was natural of the Pitchner’s to be alone.
The sole heiress with nothing to her name. Save for a little green blue rock floating in space.
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If Neville Longbottom had one regret in his short life, it was not visiting his parents enough. Of course, he figured there were worse things to regret, but how could he know? He died when he was eleven.
He was barely a wizard, let alone a man.
Still, Neville never expected death to be so warm, so he questioned nothing and slept on.
Maybe in his next life, he would be less..himself.