Rain tapped softly against the apartment window, the quiet rhythm blending with the low hum of a laptop struggling to stay alive after years of use, while the dim light of the screen illuminated the tired face of a man sitting alone in his small room surrounded by scattered snack wrappers, empty noodle cups, and the general mess that came from someone who spent most of his life working and sleeping rather than truly living.
For five days a week his life was nothing but work.
Nine in the morning to late in the evening, endless reports, emails, deadlines, meetings that should have been messages, messages that should have been ignored, and bosses who somehow believed that overtime was a personality trait rather than a temporary emergency.
By the time Saturday arrived, his brain usually felt like a phone with one percent battery left.
But Saturday was sacred.
Saturday meant silence.
Saturday meant anime.
He leaned back in his chair and stretched his stiff shoulders while staring at the screen where a familiar scene played, a loud, determined boy swinging a massive sword while shouting with impossible confidence.
"My magic is never giving up!"
The man chuckled quietly.
"Asta… man, you've got too much energy," he muttered to himself while picking up a cup of tea from his desk.
He always admired characters like that.
People who refused to give up.
People who lived loudly.
Because his own life felt the opposite.
Quiet.
Routine.
Predictable.
He took another sip while watching the episode continue, the five-leaf clover grimoire appearing on screen as dark magic swirled around it, the symbol glowing ominously in the center of the frame.
"Still the coolest power system though," he murmured.
The laptop flickered suddenly.
He frowned.
"Eh?"
Another flicker.
The screen dimmed for a second before stabilizing again.
Then he noticed the problem.
Earlier he had spilled a little tea while laughing at a scene, and some of it had dripped dangerously close to the keyboard and charging cable.
"Oh crap."
He leaned forward, reaching down to unplug the charger before anything worse happened, his fingers brushing against the metal connector just as a hidden drop of liquid completed the circuit.
The moment his hand touched it—
CRACK.
A violent surge of electricity tore through his body like lightning.
His muscles locked instantly.
The cup fell from his hand.
Pain exploded through every nerve.
The room spun violently.
The laptop screen flickered wildly in front of him, the image of the five-leaf clover grimoire flashing one last time before the world began fading into darkness.
His last thought drifted through his mind weakly.
Man… what a stupid way to die.
Then everything disappeared.
Cold air brushed across soft skin.
A strange smell filled the surroundings, a mixture of wood, cloth, and something faintly metallic, while distant voices echoed somewhere beyond the fog of consciousness.
His mind felt heavy.
Slow.
Like waking from a deep sleep where the dream refused to release its grip.
He tried to move.
His body barely responded.
His eyes slowly opened, revealing a blurry ceiling above him while shadows moved across wooden beams illuminated by warm candlelight.
The world looked strange.
Old.
The sounds were unfamiliar.
Footsteps.
Fabric moving.
Quiet conversation.
His thoughts struggled to form clearly.
Where… am I?
He tried to move his arm.
Instead of the normal movement he expected, something tiny twitched weakly.
His confusion deepened.
Why does my body feel so small?
His vision slowly sharpened and two figures appeared nearby, both wearing long robes rather than modern clothing, their voices calm but slightly tense as they spoke to one another.
"Frank, I still think we should strengthen the wards again."
A woman's voice.
Concerned.
Gentle.
The man beside her answered calmly.
"They're already reinforced, Alice. Voldemort is gone."
The name echoed inside his mind like a gunshot.
Voldemort.
The world tilted violently in his thoughts.
His brain scrambled to understand what he had just heard while his eyes focused on the two adults standing nearby.
The man had messy brown hair and a strong, determined expression, while the woman beside him had warm eyes and blonde hair tied neatly behind her head.
They looked familiar.
Too familiar.
The realization slowly crept into his mind like a creeping shadow.
Robes.
Magic.
Voldemort.
Alice.
Frank.
His tiny body trembled.
No…
His thoughts raced wildly.
There's no way…
He tried to speak but the only sound that escaped his mouth was a small baby noise.
"Aaa…"
The woman immediately turned toward him with a gentle smile.
"Oh! Neville's awake."
She walked over and carefully lifted him into her arms, her warmth surrounding him while his brain struggled to process the impossible situation.
Neville.
Neville Longbottom.
The name crashed through his thoughts like thunder.
Harry Potter.
Before he could even begin to understand the madness of it—
BOOM.
A violent explosion shook the entire house.
The walls rattled.
Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.
Alice froze instantly while Frank's expression hardened as he pulled out his wand.
"The wards—!"
Another explosion followed.
The air suddenly felt colder.
Heavier.
A voice echoed through the destroyed entrance below.
"Frank Longbottom!"
The voice was sharp, cruel, and filled with manic laughter.
"Come out and tell us where the Dark Lord is!"
Frank's jaw tightened.
"Bellatrix…"
Neville's tiny heart began pounding rapidly.
Even without understanding everything, pure instinct screamed danger.
Heavy footsteps entered the house.
Four dark figures stepped through the broken doorway.
At the front stood a woman with wild black hair and eyes burning with madness.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Behind her followed three more Death Eaters.
Rodolphus Lestrange.
Rabastan Lestrange.
Barty Crouch Jr.
Bellatrix slowly tilted her head while smiling like a predator who had already cornered her prey.
"Well… well…"
"Two loyal Aurors."
Her wand lifted lazily.
"Tell me something."
"Where is the Dark Lord?"
Frank stepped forward.
"He's gone."
Bellatrix's smile disappeared.
"Crucio."
Frank collapsed instantly.
His scream filled the house.
Alice shouted and raised her wand, but another curse struck her before she could react.
"CRUCIO!"
She fell beside Frank, shaking violently in agony as the curse tore through her body.
Neville trembled in her arms.
His mind screamed in horror.
This is it.
The Longbottom torture.
This really happened.
Suddenly a sharp pain exploded inside his chest.
Something deep within his heart awakened.
His vision darkened.
Instinctively his consciousness turned inward.
Inside the darkness of his mind something floated silently.
A book.
Black.
Ancient.
Its cover marked with a five-leaf clover.
Above it burned a tiny spark of magical flame.
Weak.
Fragile.
Neville stared in shock.
What… is this?
Bellatrix's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Oh?"
Her eyes had noticed the baby.
She slowly walked closer.
"Well now… what do we have here?"
She crouched in front of him, smiling with twisted curiosity.
"A Longbottom heir."
Neville felt pure terror.
Bellatrix tilted her head slightly.
"I wonder…"
Her wand pointed directly at him.
"CRUCIO."
Pain exploded through his tiny body.
The curse ripped through every nerve like burning knives.
Inside his heart the small magical spark flared violently.
The grimoire trembled.
A strange dark energy burst outward instinctively.
Anti-magic surged forward in an attempt to resist the curse.
But the power difference was overwhelming.
Bellatrix's magic crushed the resistance instantly.
Neville's consciousness shattered under the unbearable pain.
His brain shut down completely.
Darkness swallowed him.
And the last thing he heard before everything disappeared was Bellatrix Lestrange laughing.