Author: PaintedStrawberry (forgetfullove on other sites)
Warnings: Mature content, strong language, abuse, Very Alternate Universe
Summary: An alternate universe telling of what the HP world would have been like if Neville Longbottom was the boy who lived and Harry's parents had lived. And how Hermione, Draco and Ron all tie into his destiny. Dark characters.
Intro
It is said that there are many other dimensions next to our own and that these dimensions could be alternate in many ways, or in just one.
In even an already dark story, there is even a darker telling of it somewhere else in the universe.
No one really knows where the first story began, or if the retelling of it is the true version.
My job is simple and yet complex. I am to tell you a new version of the story we all have read or seen. This story is of what could have been a story darker than its mother version.
This is not to say the story I am about to tell you is the right version, for there are thousands upon thousands of the same story, told and retold until the true beginning and end is but a fate whisper behind forgotten words. This one, is just that, it is a single version among the thousands. Therefore, it shall be called…
Ties of Destiny
Prologue
Our story begins on October 31, 1981. This night not only changed one life, but it also changed three other lives as well.
The first life it changed is Neville Longbottom’s. On this night, his parent’s were sitting quietly by the fire, while he lay in his crib upstairs. No one had expected the dark lord to come through the door that night, with his wife Bellatrix at his heels. The two parents had fought valiantly, to protect their little boy, but in the end, the two were tortured and killed. However, the insane couple was unable to kill the baby boy. Voldemort had pointed his wand at the baby boy’s face and said the killing curse, but instead of killing the crying baby, it reflected off him and hit the caster instead. Bellatrix had screamed, running over to her beloved. She screamed at the child, but instead of killing him, she picked up her husband’s body and aparated away.
Not even a few seconds later, did Aurors come, but they were too late. The boy was sent to live with his Grandmother, Augusta Longbottom.
Everywhere the boy goes; he is recognized and fawned over. How he hates it so, doing everything to cover up the scar that lay upon his right cheek in the shape of an angry lightning bolt. His soul is angry and broken. He vies for revenge the only thing keeping him from going insane—never guessing, that his life would intertwine with three other lost and broken souls.
The second life is Hermione Granger, for on this night her father lost his job and the family and had a baby to look after, the couple were finally starting to feel the burden of their child and both were becoming resent for towards her, as if it were her fault that her father had gone to work drunk to many times and was now paying for it by losing his job. The child would grow up craving love, but never receiving it, until her fate would have her meet three boys almost like herself.
The third life is Draco Malfoy, for from the moment he was born he was to become the heir to the Dark Lord and his wife and as such, he would begin his training at age eight. Having to endure the sick mind of the Dark Mistress. It was on October 31, 1981 that his destiny had been put in writing and signed in blood.
Finally, the last life is Ronald Weasley and it was on this night that he learned as a mere babe that he would never been seen as anything but a sore on his family’s back. For he could feel the hatred come from his mother as she fed him a bottle. However, he, as the others will find comfort in each other.
Chapter One
Hermione Granger's House
Age, 10
A brown frizzy haired girl sits on her windowsill; watching the rain fall from the stormy grey clouds. Today is her birthday she is turning ten. Tears roll down her bruised face and onto her tattered dingy yellow dress. Even though today is her birthday, there will be no cake, no presents, or happy birthday hugs, kisses, and wishes. All she had received so far was yelling from her parents, and bruises from her father.
The girl’s eyes turn towards her brown dented bedroom door, she can hear the breaking of glass, and her mother’s yelling.
“Get out of my damn house, you b*****d, and take your child with you!” yells the woman.
“That little b***h isn’t my child; you’re the one that gave birth to her, instead of just aborting it when I told you to!”
The girl covers her ears with her small hands and rocks back and forth, small whimpers escaping her mouth.
The front door slams closed and the girl watches, as her father gets into the car and drives away. Cupboards slam closed from down stairs, her mother is looking for her booze. One final cupboard slams shut, before the angry footsteps began to get closer to the girl’s room. Her door slams open and her mother stands in the doorway, a cigarette lit in her mouth. The woman walks into the room and over to the door less closet, reaching up she pulls down a box and reaches inside pulling out a thermos, which the girl knows is filled with some type of alcohol. The woman then walks over to the girl’s bed and sits down, looking at her as she opens the thermos and pours the contents into the lid. In one gulp, the lid is emptied, she then takes a drag from her cigarette, she looks at the small girl, disgust shows in her bloodshot eyes.
“It’s all because of you; you did this to your father and me. You just had to be born and ******** everything up. Why do you live to make my life a pile of s**t? I guess because that’s all you have ever known is s**t, because you are s**t. You’re worthless and stupid, and that’s all you will ever be,” says the woman, then she stands up and walks to the door, just before she closes it she says, “Happy birthday, you little s**t.”
Slowly, the girl gets off the windowsill, and walks over where mother had been sitting. She lies down next to the warm spot; she touches it, being as close as she would ever get to feeling her mother’s warmth. Her eyes close and she slowly drifts off to sleep, the rain being her lullaby.
Draco Malfoy’s Manor
Age, 9
A pale blonde boy sits in an armchair, next to the fire, in his father’s study. He is supposed to be reading the advance Dark Arts book in his hand, while his father works on papers. However, his mind cannot concentrate on the many small words. His mind is troubled; thinking about what would come that night, and how he could not stop it. His pale grey-blue eyes glance up at the clock—the muscles in his back tense subconsciously. It was almost time; he would have to go to her. Be her slave, her toy, once more…
A small old house-elf appears before him, clad in only a once white but now yellowed pillowcase. “Young Master, Mistress Dark wishes to see you.”
The young boy turns to his father, as if to say ‘save me’, but his father does not look at him. His quill stands posed over the paper, the ink dripping from it, he bows his head in sorrow; this is the only gesture that he gives his son, to let him know that he had heard the elf, but can do nothing.
With his heart growing colder by the weeks, hatred the only thing scorching his cold soul, he turns to the elf and says, “Tell her I will be there soon.” The elf bows and disappears.
The boy stands and against his own will, makes his legs move towards the door. He only pauses once to look back at his father in hatred, before closing the door gently behind him.
The man sitting at the desk, lays down his quill, and rests his head in his hands.
“I’m a monster.”
Ron Weasley The Borrow
Age, 9
“You are a burden to your family,” says a plump red haired woman as she cooks dinner. A young red headed boy bows his head in shame at his mother’s words. You eat our food, you make us use money we don’t have, to put clothes on your back. You are a burden to us.”
“What about Ginny, she is younger than me.” Immediately the boy covers his mouth, not meaning to speak his mind.
“What was that!” the woman yells, whirling around to face her youngest son.
“Nothing…” he mumbles, looking down at the ground.
“Ginny is my only daughter, the only girl to be born into this family in many generations. She is the princess of this family, how dare you speak as if she is less than you are! I was happy with the amount of boys I had before you came along. You are nothing but an irritating, itchy, scab on the name of this family! Go to your room! You just got your scraps taken away for two days.” The woman, turns away from him, going back to her cooking, humming a tune as if nothing had happened.
The boy walks away, going up the stairs to his bed in the attic. Tears fall down his face; the only thoughts that are running through his head are his Mother’s words “I was happy, before you came along.”
Neville Longbottom
Age, 9
A boy that is slightly chubby and has dark brown hair sits in his room, just staring out the window. Inside he wishes he was a normal boy, but everywhere he goes people would say: “Is that Neville Longbottom? The-boy-who-lived?” He could not hide the mark that told people who he was, for it lay in the open on his round right cheek.
Voldemort and his wife Bellatrix—many called her Mistress Dark—had killed his parents. Even though he was only a babe, they were unable to kill him with the killing curse. No one knows why, not even his Gran, but in his heart he knew that it was because of his mother, he could just feel it.
People thought that just because he is famous, that he has everything that he would ever want. This is not true, he did not have any true friends, all the friends that he had ever had, had used him for his fame. All he wanted was some true friends.
What he wanted most of all, however, was revenge. He wanted to be able to make Voldemort and his wife suffer for years, before he killed them.
