Chapter 6
The silence that followed Thomas Greene's question was absolute. He hadn't meant to blurt it out so loudly, but the shock had stolen his restraint. For a moment, Neville just blinked at him, confusion drawing a soft furrow across his brow.
"Harry who?" Neville asked innocently.
Thomas stared. The name—so iconic, so central—had met blank faces.
Hermione tilted her head, ever the student who thought she might have the answer. "You mean the Potters? Oh, I read about them in Modern Magical History. They were a wizarding family killed during the First Wizarding War, right? Their deaths were... quite tragic."
"Yeah," Neville added, now looking down at his lap. "They were betrayed. My gran says it was Sirius Black. He was their friend... their Secret Keeper. But he gave them up to You-Know-Who."
Hermione gasped, lighting up. "That's right! And then he blew up a street and got arrested. It's in Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, too. The Potters were supposed to have had a son, but... I think he died."
"Yeah," Neville said softly. "Same birthday as mine, actually. Weird, isn't it? But no one ever found him. People think he died in the attack."
Thomas's world reeled.
Harry Potter is dead.
The thought didn't just disturb him—it shattered the very foundation of everything he thought he knew. His mind raced, every memory from his old life crowding in: the lightning scar, the cupboard under the stairs, the Philosopher's Stone, the Triwizard Tournament, Horcruxes...
Gone.
If Harry's not here... what does that mean for the prophecy? For Voldemort's return? For everything?
Hermione closed her book, her brow wrinkled. "I suppose it makes sense that no one remembers him. If he died as a baby and never became famous..."
Thomas stared at Neville, his eyes falling to the faint, jagged scar on the boy's forehead.
A lightning bolt.
It wasn't as pronounced as Harry's had been in the films, but it was there, unmistakable.
Is Neville the Boy Who Lived now? he wondered. Does he carry the Horcrux piece? Was the prophecy about him all along in this world?
His stomach twisted.
I can't trust anything anymore. I can't even trust the story.
Before he could gather his thoughts further, there was a sudden croak.
"Trevor!" Neville exclaimed, his eyes going wide as his toad leapt from his pocket and bounded out the compartment door.
"Oh! I'll help you find him!" Hermione said at once, her hand already on the door. As they both scurried off into the hallway, Thomas sat frozen in place.
The noise of the train continued around him—muffled laughter, trolley wheels squeaking, owls hooting somewhere overhead. Steam hissed along the windows as shadows flickered across the corridor.
He bought a few snacks from the trolley when it passed by, handing over some Sickles for a Pumpkin Pasty and a couple of Chocolate Frogs. He peeled one open and caught a Dumbledore card. The moment brought a small, bitter smile.
At least some things are still the same.
Outside, the scenery blurred past: rolling green hills giving way to rocky moors. Clouds gathered overhead, cloaking the sun.
Thomas leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.
If the prophecy doesn't apply to Harry, what if it never existed here at all? What if Voldemort died—or never did? Or worse, what if he comes back with no Chosen One to stop him?
He took a long breath.
I can't risk guessing. I have to be ready.
The door slid open again. Hermione re-entered first, flushed but smiling. "Neville found Trevor under one of the candy trolleys."
Neville followed, holding the squirming toad gently in both hands. He gave a sheepish smile. "He always does this."
"I'm surprised you have a toad," Hermione said, brushing a few loose strands of hair back. "Most students get owls or cats."
Neville shrugged. "Trevor was a gift from my Great Uncle Algie. He gave him to me after I finally showed some magic. I bounced when he dropped me out of a window."
Hermione stared. "He what?"
Neville winced. "He didn't mean to. I think."
Hermione blinked, clearly unsure how to respond. Thomas just smiled weakly. At least some things were consistent.
As they settled back in their seats, Thomas turned to them. "So... what house do you want to be in?"
"Gryffindor," Hermione said immediately. "It's the best house, really. The brave, the bold, the daring. All the greatest witches and wizards came from Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall was a Gryffindor. Dumbledore too."
"Gran wants me in Gryffindor," Neville said softly. "All my family were. I… I don't know if I'm brave enough. But I hope maybe... Hogwarts will help me find it."
Thomas thought hard.
He remembered the Sorting Hat scene. How Harry had chosen not to go into Slytherin. How the Hat gave him the choice.
If I want to keep an eye on Neville... I need to be in Gryffindor too.
He nodded slowly. "I want to be in Gryffindor too. I've always admired bravery. People who stand up for what's right. That's who I want to be."
Hermione beamed. "Maybe we'll all end up together."
Thomas gave a small smile, but his mind was elsewhere.
No Harry. No script. No guarantee anything goes right.
They fell into easier conversation after that—talking about spells, Hogwarts traditions, and classes. Hermione proudly listed the spells she had already practiced. "I can do the Wand-Lighting Charm, and I almost managed a proper Reparo on a broken mirror once."
Thomas shared his own progress: Lumos, Reparo, Wingardium Leviosa. All with varying degrees of success.
Neville admitted he hadn't tried anything yet. "Gran says it's dangerous. I think I'll just wait for school."
The train whistle blew again. The sky outside had darkened. Clouds swirled above the mountains, and rain kissed the windows in a fine mist.
A voice echoed down the corridor: "We'll be arriving at Hogwarts shortly. Please leave your belongings and prepare to disembark."
Thomas looked out.
There it was.
The Black Lake, wide and mysterious, glistening under the starlight. Beyond it, nestled atop the cliffs, stood Hogwarts Castle. Towers soared into the sky, windows ablaze with warm, golden light.
It took his breath away.
He hurried into his school robes, fastening the cloak with shaking hands. Hermione helped Neville with his buttons. Thomas fumbled with his tie.
The train slowed, wheels grinding on the track. Steam billowed up along the windows.
The compartment door opened again, and a booming voice called: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
Thomas stepped off the train, his heart thudding in his chest.
Fog coiled around the platform as students gathered. Boats bobbed gently on the lake.
The castle loomed ahead, majestic and mysterious.
Thomas stared up at it, half excited, half terrified.
This is it, he thought. Hogwarts. The beginning of magic... and maybe the beginning of everything changing.
And for the first time since stepping onto the train, he felt it—the deep, unmistakable weight of destiny settling on his shoulders.