Seven years passed after the night that shattered the Longbottom family.
The Longbottom estate had long since been repaired. Broken walls were rebuilt, furniture replaced, and the scars of dark magic had faded from the wood and stone. To an outsider it looked like a proper old wizarding home again—quiet, orderly, and dignified.
But the reputation of the house had changed.
Once, people spoke of the Longbottoms with admiration. Frank and Alice Longbottom had been famous Aurors—brave, talented, respected.
Now their names were usually spoken with pity.
And their only son…
People were less certain about him.
On this particular afternoon, the Longbottom estate hosted a small gathering. Several old wizarding families had come to visit, filling the sitting room with polite conversation and the soft clinking of teacups.
Augusta Longbottom sat upright in her chair, her tall hat perfectly straight as always. Her sharp eyes quietly studied the guests.
She heard the whispers.
She always heard them.
"…eight years old now, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"And still no sign?"
"None that I've heard."
A witch lowered her voice slightly.
"Strange, really. With parents like Frank and Alice."
Another wizard sighed.
"Sometimes magic skips a generation."
The word they avoided saying hung silently in the air.
Squib.
Augusta's fingers tightened slightly around her teacup, but her expression remained perfectly calm.
Across the room, Neville Longbottom sat on the carpet near a tall window.
The boy had grown taller over the years but still looked awkward in his own body. His dark hair stuck out slightly in different directions, and his round face carried the same distant expression it always seemed to have.
In his hands he held a small red rubber ball.
He tossed it gently upward.
Caught it.
Then tossed it again.
Several guests glanced toward him.
One wizard leaned closer to another and muttered quietly.
"Does the boy ever speak?"
"Oh, he speaks," the other replied softly. "Just… not much."
Neville didn't react.
He seemed more interested in the garden outside the window than the conversation inside.
The afternoon sun lit the grass and flowerbeds beyond the glass. The quiet outside looked far more comfortable than the crowded room behind him.
Then a loud voice boomed from the hallway.
"Well now! What's all this gloomy atmosphere?"
The door swung open.
Great-Uncle Algie Longbottom strode inside like a burst of energy.
Algie was broad-shouldered, loud, and completely unconcerned with subtlety. His thick mustache twitched as he scanned the room.
"Family gathering and nobody invited me properly?" he announced.
Several guests chuckled politely.
Augusta sighed.
"Algie."
Algie's eyes quickly found Neville by the window.
"So that's the boy."
He walked over and looked down at him.
"Eight years old already, eh?"
"Yes," Augusta replied shortly.
Algie crossed his arms.
"And still no magic?"
The room grew a little quieter.
One witch awkwardly looked away.
Augusta's voice sharpened.
"He will show magic when he is ready."
Algie snorted.
"Nonsense. Boys just need the right push."
Neville tossed the ball again.
This time it slipped from his fingers.
The red ball bounced once, rolled across the floor, and slipped through the slightly open window.
Neville blinked.
He stood slowly and leaned forward to look outside.
The ball had landed on the grass below.
He rested his hands on the window frame and leaned out a little further.
Behind him, Algie suddenly grinned.
"Well then," he said loudly, "let's see if the boy's got some Longbottom magic after all!"
Before anyone could react—
Algie grabbed Neville and pushed him straight out the window.
Several guests screamed.
"Neville!"
Augusta shot to her feet.
Outside, the world seemed to freeze.
Neville's body dropped through the air.
For a brief moment the ground rushed toward him.
Then something stirred inside his chest.
Deep within the hidden space connected to his heart, the small flame above the five-leaf grimoire suddenly flared.
The tiny spark that had quietly grown for years surged brighter.
Anti magic spread through his body.
Just before his body hit the ground, the force burst outward.
Instead of crashing into the grass, Neville's fall slowed suddenly.
His body bounced lightly against the ground.
He rolled once across the grass and ended up sitting there, unharmed.
For a second he simply stared ahead.
Then a strange pressure rose behind his eyes.
"Ah…!"
Neville grabbed his head.
Inside his chest the small flame surged again.
The Anti magic rushed upward from his heart, spreading through his body before surging straight toward his brain.
The moment it reached his mind, heat flared behind his eyes.
For eight years his thoughts had always felt slow, like trying to think through thick fog.
Now that fog began to burn away.
The Anti magic spread across his mind, touching something deep within his brain—something damaged long ago during the night Bellatrix Lestrange had cast the Cruciatus Curse on him.
The scars left behind by that curse slowly began to mend.
Tiny fractures in his mind sealed themselves.
The dull pressure that had clouded his thoughts for years faded piece by piece.
It felt like someone had opened a window inside his head.
Fresh air rushing into a room that had been sealed shut.
Neville gasped quietly.
The world suddenly felt… clear.
Then the memories returned.
A cramped apartment.
Late nights watching anime.
A glowing laptop screen.
Long workdays.
Endless emails.
Electricity surging through his body.
Death.
Then another life.
A baby's body.
Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter.
His parents screaming in agony.
Darkness.
The final memory settled into place.
Neville blinked slowly.
For the first time since that night seven years ago, his mind was completely whole.
Inside his chest the flame above the grimoire burned steadily.
So that's what happened…
Footsteps thundered across the grass as the adults rushed outside.
"Neville!"
Augusta reached him first.
She grabbed his shoulders and examined him quickly.
"You foolish boy—are you hurt?"
Neville looked up at her.
His mind was sharp now. Clear. Awake.
But instinctively he forced his expression back into its usual confused look.
"I… I fell…"
Behind Augusta, Algie burst into loud laughter.
"Ha! See!"
He clapped his hands proudly.
"Told you the boy had magic in him!"
The other guests murmured with relief.
"Accidental magic."
"Perfectly normal."
"Just a late bloomer."
Augusta's stern expression softened slightly.
She brushed the grass from Neville's robes and pulled him to his feet.
"Well," she said quietly.
"At least we know now."
Neville nodded slowly.
Inside his mind, however, thoughts were racing.
He now understood everything.
His past life.
This world.
Hogwarts.
Voldemort.
The future.
And the strange power hidden inside his heart.
Neville lowered his head slightly so no one could see the faint smile forming on his lips.
His second life had truly begun.