Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and the title of this story belongs to the band Oasis. Anything you recognize is not mine.

Warnings: Contains some OOC characters, with Neville as the BWL. Very much AU. Beware, this story is rated M.

Prologue

"Mum?"

The excited teen stuck his head inside his parents' room, but it was deserted. Running down the stairs, the young man entered the kitchen.

"Mum?"

This time he found her. She turned around from the counter to see the flushed face of her eldest son. Well, only son, actually.

"What is it dear?"

He didn't reply. Instead, he handed her a piece of parchment. Curiously, she took it and read it once.

Then she read it again.

The boy was carefully watching his mother's expression and he was rewarded as her shock gave away to a huge smile. The woman came forward and hugged her son tightly, a few drops of tear running loose for the occasion. A happy one, of course.

"I'm so proud of you honey!" She said in a slightly cracked voice and stood on her toes to kiss his forehead.

Any usual teen would be embarrassed by their mother's smothering, but as it happened, Harry Potter was not a usual teen. In fact, Harry was actually relishing the affection.

"Thanks mum. I didn't expect it to be honest. I figured Macmillan or Boot would get it. Even Neville's done loads of stuff. But who thought I would be the Head Boy?" he said with a grin.

The red headed witch smiled widely before saying, "I did. Apart from the pranks, there wasn't any good reason for you not to become the Head Boy. Now go on and owl your dad. He would like to hear it, too."

He picked up an apple from the basket and munched on it as he headed back upstairs.

"Harry?" his mother called him back.

"Yeah mum?" he came back to the kitchen. She was wearing a loving smile.

"What gift would like for this?" she asked, indicating the letter in his hands.

"Are you happy, mum?" he asked her.

"Of course I am, sweetie. I'm incredibly happy and proud." She was almost glowing as she replied.

"That's all I ever wanted, mum." He said quietly.

She couldn't and didn't bother to stop the tears that came to her eyes. Engulfing her son in another fierce hug, she even allowed a silent sob to escape. Unlike the last time, these tears were bittersweet.

Mother and son held each other for a long moment, before they let go of each other. She patted his cheek as to say run along, and he did so.

"Hey mum?" he called as he was exiting the kitchen for the second time.

"Yes honey?"

"I wouldn't mind getting a new CD player. Just saying."

She chuckled.

"You got it!" she called out.

Harry almost dropped his letter in shock. Did she just agree to that? For over a year and a half he has been subtly dropping hints to her about the new portable CD player, but every time she refused, reminding him that he already had one, which was in excellent condition.

And all it needed was to become the Head Boy?

Shaking his head, he went to find Hedwig. James Potter was about to get good news.

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Neville Longbottom rubbed his temples in frustration. His scar was prickling again and it was giving him a killer headache. Professor Dumbledore had requested his gran to teach him Occlumency, but the elderly witch couldn't seem to find the time for him. He had purchased a book on the subject via owl order, but he didn't understand even the first page and had an even worse headache for it. He wondered if Hermione would be able to help.

He could feel that Voldemort was excited. He had a dream about torturing a Death Eater named Rowle a few hours back. Voldemort was apparently fixing up the blunder of the big blond man.

Not that any of it was Neville's business.

He wanted nothing more than to have a happy and carefree childhood with his parents and possibly his friends. But the thin scar shaped like a lightning bolt that stubbornly dominated his forehead made sure that he got none of that. Just before the term ended, Dumbledore called him to his chambers. Obediently, he went at the appointed time. Then there was a conversation that would redefine his whole life.

"Sit down, Neville." The Headmaster said kindly. He obliged. Dumbledore gazed at him for a few seconds, giving him the feeling that he was scanning him or something. With a deep sigh, the old man started speaking.

"What I'm about to tell you now isn't pleasant. I had the option of telling this to you when you were eleven. I had the option to tell this to you every year since that. Yet I waited, because I wanted you to have a childhood. I know that your grandmother might not have given you the love your parents would, but that doesn't mean she cares any less for you. I wanted you to grow up as normally as it was possible. I am aware that your childhood wasn't stellar by any means, but it was better than the load you would have had to carry on your shoulders. I hope you will see to forgive the old man for his mistakes." He paused gravely. Neville was getting a bit impatient.

"Sir, what is it?" he asked the man who seemed to have aged a good fifty years right before his eyes.

"You know that your parents were murdered by Voldemort. Did you ever wonder why?"

The timid Gryffindor looked thoughtful for a moment.

"No Professor, I didn't. Maybe because I thought Voldemort didn't need a reason to kill someone."

Dumbledore chuckled dryly.

"That is unfortunately true, my boy, very true. However, there was a particular reason that he came after Alice and Frank. You see, before you were born, there was a prophecy..."

Twenty minutes later, Neville had a blank look on his face.

"So it's either me or him, isn't it?" he asked flatly.

"That it is." The Headmaster replied regretfully. The Chosen One showed no emotions.

"I'm not a great believer of prophesies, but I guess he will never stop coming after me, would he?"

It saddened Dumbledore to admit that the boy was right. He wished he could hide Neville from Tom Riddle until the war was over, and offer the poor boy the life he deserved. But Riddle would continue to hunt him as long as the prophecy wasn't fulfilled and one of them ended up killing the other. He could only nod.

"I don't have any powers." Neville said bluntly. While he was definitely improving more than he thought he would, he didn't possess any power that Voldemort didn't know about. Come to think of it, the words had a double meaning.

"Don't be so-" Dumbledore started, but Neville interrupted him.

"Does it mean that he doesn't know about the powers I have, or that he doesn't know that I have those powers?"

"The words can be interpreted in a hundred ways Neville, and many of them don't require any kind of violence. However, Riddle wants to settle this the crude way, and he won't care about word plays."

"Who is Riddle, Sir?" the boy asked curiously.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was a student here around sixty years back. Today, the world knows him as Lord Voldemort."

"Wait, is this the same person-"

"Whose diary Miss Weasley came to possess. Yes." Dumbledore finished.

"Poor Ginny." He muttered, thinking of the cute redhead back in second year, where even he could tell that she had a crush on the Boy Who Lived. Thankfully, she got over it after she mustered the courage to tell Neville about what the diary did to her. They went to Professor Dumbledore, who destroyed the diary and the school was safe again.

"Indeed. Now I have decided to take part directly on your education, Neville. From next year, you'll have additional lessons from me."

"But what about NEWTs? I don't think gran would let me live if I did poorly on my NEWTs, Voldemort after me or not." He said miserably. Dumbledore's jaws hardened. Augusta Longbottom was quite simply the reason Neville was so lacking in the confidence department. The unbelievably proud and stubborn old woman wouldn't hear to any of Dumbledore's requests of stopping to push the boy further.

"I won't allow him to let down the name of the Longbottoms." She would reply arrogantly before impolitely dismissing him.

"I'm sure you will do fine with your NEWTs, Neville. The lessons would be probably once or twice a month." He assured the young man before him.

Neville nodded.

"Go enjoy the remaining hours with your friends. If you have any questions, come to me directly. Try not to use owls or the floo."

Neville nodded again and stepped out of the room, feeling way older than when he entered.

And now, in his room, he was dressing up for a social gathering his grandmother hosted. He didn't bother telling her the prophecy. He had no desire to have additional burdens that his gran would undoubtedly place on him if she was told of the prophecy.

I am supposed to kill a dark lord, and here I am, unable to tell my gran that I don't want to attend a fucking party.

The Boy Who Lived felt like throwing up thinking about how pathetic he was.

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Not far away from the Longbottom Manor, a girl was humming contently as she brushed her shoulder length blond hair. She was not usually this cheery in the morning. To be honest, she was never this cheery. But she had some really good news today, and couldn't help but act like a content woman.

Of course, she wouldn't shriek or dance like Tracey would have done. As she liked to put it, emotions are not dresses that should be flaunted around.

"You seem happy."

She turned to see her younger sister looking curiously at her. Astoria was one person who could read her like an open book, despite her emotionless mask that fooled everyone. But she could keep secrets. Not that this was a secret, anyway.

"I'm Head Girl." Daphne said with a barely covered grin. Squealing, Astoria ran to her sister and hugged her tightly.

"Wow Daph, great job!" she congratulated her elder sister, who smiled brightly in response. It was so rare to see Daphne smiling, that the young girl could probably count the number of times she did. In one hand.

"I have news, too." Astoria finally said as they broke, her eyes shining.

"Prefect?" guessed Daphne, and she was spot on. The two sisters shared a hug again, this one lasting a little longer than the previous. Astoria was pleasantly surprised by the extra display of affection from her sister. It was very rare to see Daphne like this.

"Time to tell our parents?" Astoria asked and Daphne nodded at her to go first.

After a few minutes, both girls went downstairs together, holding hands.

"Mum?"

As they entered the kitchen, they found their father writing something hurriedly, dressed in his working robes and chewing on a piece of bacon Blinky made. Gabriella Greengrass wasn't home.

"Good morning father. Where is mum?" Daphne asked the busy man, her smile now gone. Stephan Greengrass wasn't the favourite parent of either girl. Not that he was cruel or anything, he loved his daughters in his own way, but he didn't make it a secret that he would have preferred a son who could carry on the Greengrass name. And the cunning politician never had much time for his daughters, though he wasn't opposed to spending hours comparing the marriage contracts that were offered for the two beautiful girls. Daphne felt that their father saw them more as a healthy sheep to be sold than anything else.

"Morning, girls. Your mother has some errands to run. So do I, and I'll be leaving now." He got up and went towards the floo jar.

"Daphne's Head Girl and I'm a prefect." Astoria blurted out. Her father nodded absently.

"Right. Okay, I'll see you later." He said before the green flames engulfed him and he was gone.

Astoria looked around awkwardly. Daphne went forward and placed a hand on her younger sister.

"Mum will come home soon and we can tell her together." She softly said. Astoria nodded absently.

"I'll be in my room, then." She suddenly stood up and briskly walked towards the staircase and Daphne didn't stop her.

"Blinky." She called and the house elf appeared.

"Mistress calling Blinky?"

"Call me when mum comes back."

"Blinky will do that, mistress." The elf bowed and then disappeared.

Sighing, Daphne went back to her room. Her good mood was gone. She decided to read ahead in transfiguration. The Head Girl couldn't afford to drop her grades, after all.

She brightened a bit thinking that at last she could put Potter in detention if he bothered her again.

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"...and I can put that Greengrass girl in detention now if she bothers me again." Harry finished brightly, while Sirius and James shared a look.

"Who bothers you, dear?" Lily Potter came in with a large plate full of sandwiches. She carefully set them down on a table and then pecked James in the lips before sitting down next to him.

"Just that Slytherin bim- a girl, I mean." Harry quickly corrected himself.

"You two have corrupted my son!" she accused James and Sirius. Sirius tried to look innocent and whistle, but James replied cheekily, "Guilty as charged, my darling."

"The couch has been unoccupied at night for a while." Said Lily threateningly, while James tried to hide behind Sirius. "So why is she a bimbo? Is it because she is in Slytherin?"

"No mum! I have friends in Slytherin. It's just we have a long and bad history." Harry explained.

"Bickering like a married couple." Sirius supplied and Harry glared at him.

"Married couples don't stick the other to the top of the Astronomy tower all night, do they?" he asked darkly.

To James and Sirius' amusement, Lily blushed crimson and tried to look anywhere but her husband's or Harry's eyes. Harry gaped.

"Really mum?" he nearly shouted.

"Um... in my defence, we weren't married that time." She tried weakly and Sirius roared in laughter. Harry and James chuckled at the redhead's embarrassment.

"I WANT THE WHOLE STORY!" Harry shouted at his mother, who was narrowing her eyes at Sirius and James. Finally, she sighed in defeat.

"Okay, fine. I'll tell it. You know that your git of a father always bothered me in the school..."

As Lily recalled the story with occasional helps from the two Marauders and Harry drank in the story like a large sponge, a third Marauder was, after a long time, seeing hope.

He spent around sixteen years in Azkaban, and that tends to take a toll on your sanity. Peter Pettigrew started screaming when someone opened the door of his cell. He didn't stop when he saw the familiar yet terrifying face of the Dark Lord, whose face looked even more repulsive than ever.

"Get up, Pettigrew. It is your lucky night." The cold, high-pitched voice called before disappearing, but left the door open. Half expecting a dementor to swoop in, he fearfully approached the door. He could hear the mad cackle he became quite familiar with: the signature sound of Bellatrix Lestrange. Britain's most terrifying witch was free again.

"We don't have all day to spare, you worthless vermin!" Rookwood spat at him as a silent Rodolphus Lestrange followed him.

As quickly as his small and weak legs would allow, he followed the two men, flinching at every odd gust of wind. He wasn't sure if he preferred to die rather than being free again. Leaving Azkaban was good, but being the Dark Lord's dummy for his practise of the Cruciatus Curse was nearly as unpleasant. Nearly.

Back in the Potter residence, Harry Potter was helping his mother with the lamb that was to be cooked in his honour. He stood on a bench to reach for jars of spices and stuff, and his mother was giving him small things to do. 'Hold that pot for me, dear', 'please hand me the onions', 'can you take that to the counter for me, honey?' and such.

James watched his son and wife with a strange smile on his face. Of course, all those works could be done much quickly and neatly with magic, but Harry tried to help his mother whenever he could. And since he was not allowed to do magic yet, they were mostly done in the muggle way. At first Lily insisted that she was capable of doing her works by herself, but Harry wouldn't listen. James had then pulled her aside for a few moments when Harry was otherwise occupied.

"What's wrong, James?" she asked him curiously. Her husband hadn't snatched her to a dark corner since they graduated from Hogwarts. The memories of those times nudged a light blush to creep on her face.

James kissed his wife before answering. He needed to calm her down in case she got mad.

"Listen Lils, I know you can do your works and take care of yourself. You know that, even Harry knows that."

"But he always-" she started in a low voice which was poisoned with a bit of hurt. Did her son think she was a fragile doll?

"Let me finish." James interrupted. "We all know that you are a very capable and strong witch, and that you have a bum to kill for." He winked when she swatted his arm playfully. But he pressed on. "But you should understand what it means to him. He just wants to help you anyway because he loves you. Don't you understand what it was like for him?" he asked her pleadingly.

Lily was confused at first. James could relate so easily because, according to Mrs. Potter, he tried to help with household chores, too. Their elf was not happy, but James didn't care either way. Why did Harry have the urge to help her in everything she did?

Then it hit her. Oh gosh I'm stupid! She chided herself. She promised herself to accept his help whenever it was possible.

"I understand." She told her husband, who looked relieved. "I'm sorry I didn't see it earlier. Thank you, James."

"Anytime, luv." He smirked before they went back.

"Open the oven for me, Harry." Lily called as the leg of a lamb floated near the electric oven.

"What's mummy cookin?" the three years old Melanie Potter appeared behind her mother's legs.

"Harry and mummy is cooking lamb, sweetheart." Lily replied, bending down to kiss the little girl's forehead.

"Not just cooking anymore, mum." Harry called.

Lily turned around to find that she had pushed the marinated lamb leg to Harry's face while she was talking with Mel. Needless to say, his face did not smell nice.

"Sorry dear." She said sheepishly and Harry waved it off like it was nothing.

Neither James nor Sirius bought his innocent expression, and they weren't disappointed as a moment later Lily shrieked, "YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR IT MISTER!"

All of them roared in laughter as Harry still had his mother in a hug from behind, rubbing his face in her auburn hair, covering it with the slimy delicacies. Melanie was happily giggling away.

"Love you too, mum!" Harry shouted and Lily giggled.

"Oh you!" she affectionately patted his cheek as he rested his head on her shoulder.

James smiled at his son and his wife. Harry always showed an extraordinary amount of affection towards his mother, and James could understand why.

Having to live without your mother for nearly twelve years tends to have that effect on people.

Soooooo…. I'm back. Kinda. The plan is to split the whole plot into two stories. I'm glad to say that the first story is complete, and I intend to post a chapter each week, if not more frequently. However, each time I read through the chapters, I find a lot of errors, so if anyone is interested in being a beta, please PM me.

Reviews will (probably) result in frequent updates.