Chapter 1: Lost Toad, Found Friend
Neville Longbottom stared up at the seemingly impervious wall with a dubious expression on his face. When his Gran had initially said that they would be passing through a barrier to get to Platform 9 3/4s, he had expected something a little more... malleable. Like a turnstile. Or a somewhat friendly ticket-taker in a conductor's hat.
Beside him, an aging Augusta Longbottom snorted her impatience. She was an old battle-axe of a woman with a hawkish nose, a firm chin and piercing eyes that expected much from her grandson. Neville had been in her care since he was a baby. As to how he came to be with such a taskmaster grandparent... well, Neville preferred not to dwell on that just now.
"For goodness sake, Neville! Stand up straight and charge that barrier! It won't hurt you!"
Neville darted his eyes up to her. "But the Muggles will see me!"
"Oh, pish tosh! Most Muggles don't know which way is up! Now attack that column!" A pause, and then came the comment all at once more stirring and crippling than Gran's orders. "Your father would charge that barrier."
Neville sighed meekly. And there it was again. In Gran's household, the shadow of Frank Longbottom - her only son - loomed large. From the time Neville was small, his Gran would find any little thing to compare him to his dad - or, to put it more accurately, contrast him with his dad. Where Frank had been muscular, Neville was chubby (persistent baby fat clung like a childish cancer to his cheeks and middle, even at 11). Where Frank had possessed an almost photographic memory, Neville was, at best, forgetful. Where Frank was brave, Neville was a cowardly louse.
Nerves eating him alive, Neville held up his palms, which cradled a precocious bullfrog. Gran had bought it for him based on the advice of the packing list and her own rapier judgement. First-years were at the liberty to select an owl, a cat or a toad for a pet. A vast majority chose owls, and since cats largely looked the same, Gran had figured Neville would be the least likely to forget an animal owned by the smallest minority of Hogwarts students and who also would not be mistaken by someone else's frog. Bullfrogs had distinctive enough features, and that was true of this one.
The frog, whose name was Trevor, eyed Neville beadily before harrumphing a restive croak. As if to say, Get on with it, man! We haven't all day!
Taking a deep breath, Neville stuffed Trevor a little too rudely into the pocket of his robes and braced his hands on the handlebars. He dug his feet into the unyielding concrete, the trolley's weight putting up an even fight against his meager show of strength before eventually ceding to its master. Neville built up a running start, the barrier rushing forward to meet him. He visibly winced, bracing himself for a head-on collison and...
Nothing happened. No crash of the trolley capsizing. Neville opened his eyes.
Steam was rising off to his left, to reveal an imposing, scarlet locomotive. Parents and students in robes just like his were teeming about, loading trunks and cages through the open windows. Neville felt the sharp hand dig into his shoulder, and though he would recognize that touch anywhere, he still flinched.
"This way, grandson. We'll find you a good compartment."
They found a window that looked into empty quarters about halfway down the train. With a flick of her wand, Gran levitated all of Neville's belongings in through the open window. "Right. The train leaves at 11. Have a good term. Send me an owl when you get there." She pecked his cheek - a rare, probably only sign of affection she ever allowed herself. She smelled distinctly of prunes and denture cream.
Neville nodded to her, perplexed that she didn't immediately disappear into the crowd. Evidently, she wanted to watch him get on the train, perhaps capture the moment with... what did Muggles call those contraptions? A Kodak? A camera? Gran probably wanted a picture the way most invested parents do. A platform connecting two cars was nearby, but Neville feared that he would forget which compartment his stuff was in. So, he elected to climb through the window. The tails of his robes scrunched up to his stomach, revealing his trousers.
"Neville, honestly!" Gran huffed. And she tipped him the rest of the way in rather than leave her only grandson hanging halfway out an open window. The Hogwarts Express blew its whistle and Neville shakily got to his feet, in time to wave farewell to his Gran as the train pulled away.
The Express was scarcely out of the station when Neville noticed how significantly lighter his pockets felt. Oh no... Trevor! The poor thing must have been dumped to the floor when he so ungracefully boarded the train. Suddenly terrified, Neville hopped from foot to foot. No frog guts or corpse anywhere to indicate the poor bloke had been crushed. He probably hopped away purposefully, having already surmised that he stood a better chance without Neville than with him. Neville would have to search the train. Sighing, he approached the glass door of the compartment, when it suddenly slid open, a trunk was swung around...
And in strode the most confident witch Neville had ever seen. The girl looked to be about his age, with frizzy brown hair, that shaped a round, cute face, adorning it like a halo. Or at least a halo that relied on short-circuited, Muggle electricity. Her eyes were pools of molten chocolate, and as she met his eyes, Neville recognized a gaze that was very familiar. Very reminiscent of his Gran: whoever this girl was, she suffered no fools.
"Hullo. I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name?"
Well, that was a name he would never forget. It was powerful... and beautiful. All in all, it suited her. Neville did not realize he was tongue-tied until Hermione cocked an eyebrow querulously. Name... she'd asked him his name.
"Uh... Neville. Neville Longbottom."
He waited for the inevitable giggle at his damning surname, but it didn't come. Instead, Hermione purposefully stuck out her hand and they firmly shook.
"Pleased to meet you. May I sit? Everywhere else is full."
"Please," Neville allowed. "You can have it to yourself for a while."
To his surprise, the girl frowned. She looked almost hurt, and Neville feared he had something wrong even as Hermione peered at him more curiously. "What's wrong?"
"I lost my Toad. Right after I got on the train. I think he may have hopped into the corridor.
Hermione's brown eyes gleamed with intrigue. "I've never met a student who owned a Toad yet. He can't have gone far. Come on, I'll help you look for him."
Neville allowed himself a hopeful smile. Never in all his life had he met someone as understanding as her. Well, except maybe his mum. "You're a very kind person," he told her, and the two first-years exited for the corridor.
"You take that side of the car; I'll take this side. Meet back here." And Hermione flounced in one direction, leaving Neville in awe of her commanding presence. They had only just met, and yet Neville knew he'd follow that authoritative voice anywhere. He took off in the other direction, clapping his hands and calling lamely. "Here, toady, toady..."
Neville beat Hermione back to their compartment with no luck on his search, folding himself into the plush seat to wait and hoping it would swallow him. Five minutes later, she was back, flicking her untamed hair out of her face and huffing exasperatedly.
"Any luck?"
"No," Neville glumly replied. Hermione sat down across from him. "I asked around. Two boys who looked like they had raided the entire sweet trolley said they hadn't seen him. The ginger one was trying to curse his pet rat. They hadn't even changed into their robes!"
Neville shrugged. "Boys will be boys." It was a phrase his Gran used a lot, usually to excuse him and his prat-falling ways.
"Nonetheless, it would be nice to see more boys who acted like men. Like you," Hermione lamented. This oddly caused Neville to flush beet red. It felt nice to be viewed as a man, and not as a child, certainly by one of his peers. "I expected more of the great Harry Potter."
Neville stared. "You met Harry Potter?!" Hermione nodded quite seriously. A hundred questions flooded Neville's voice box, but he let them all simmer into silence. He didn't want to appear too eager. He had heard of the great Harry Potter and his role in the night the Dark Lord fell. The fact that he would be in their year was quite a boon.
By now, the wheat fields had passed into forested trees, which now merged into little townhouses as they passed into a quaint village. The sun had traversed its journey across the skies, for the moon to now usurp it. The white orb was high in the sky by the time Hermione and Neville felt the train slowing down. Helping each other gather their trunks, the pair disembarked from the train onto the platform. Amidst the sea of little heads, a loping, lumbering figure waded through them all, casting the light of a lantern from left to right. "First years! First years, follow me."
Hermione and Neville were jostled closer, and Neville stared. For before him was the most giant man he had ever seen. His hands were the size of garbage can lids, but even then, he seemed to be struggling with something in his free palm. "Why the devil can't this little horny toad stay still?"
Neville peeked through fingers the size of salamis, and by the light of the lantern he saw...
"TREVOR!"
The giant, most of his face obscured by a black nest of beard, glanced down at the dumpy lad. "This little guy yours? Here you go!" Neville eagerly took the toad from him, smiling his thanks.
"He must have hopped off, same as everyone else. I lost him on the train."
The giant smiled kindly. "What's your name, boy?"
"Neville Longbottom, sir."
"Longbottom? Not Frank and Alice Longbottom's boy? Yer parents are the finest folk I've ever known. Hagrid's the name."
Hermione smiled in relief at Neville, pleased that his toad was back. "I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself precociously.
Hagrid beamed and tipped his hat. "It's my pleasure, Hermione. First years, follow me!" He continued his booming instructions as the sea of students followed his buoy of light, off of the platform and down a sloping hill until they came to the shore of a lake.
"The Black Lake!" Hermione whispered excitedly, tugging on Neville's arm. Seeing the little wooden boats before them, the first years awkwardly tried to commandeer one. Neville was glad that he and Hermione remained sardined together in the throng, and they ended up seated next to each other in one, along with a red-haired girl Neville didn't know. She couldn't be one of those Weasleys, could she? The Weasleys were a prominent pure-blood family, just like his, but they pretty much had almost all boys. But no, the girl introduced herself as Susan Bones.
Hagrid commandeered an entire boat for himself that seemed to barely take his weight. Somehow, it was sea-worthy as he led the flotilla across the Black Lake, towards the twinkling lights of Hogwarts castle seated high on a cliff. They made the crossing in almost no time at all and were guided into the Entrance Hall. There, in emerald-green robes, stood a woman who displayed the same imperial countenance as Neville's Gran. Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, laid out the rules for the start of term feast, before she and Hagrid exited into the Great Hall to prepare the rest of the castle for the new pupils' arrival.
While they waited, a loud, boorish, brash boy pointed out Harry Potter to the rest of the class. And there he was now, just ahead of Neville and Hermione, with spiky black hair and glasses that seemed slightly too big for his face. The fellow standing next to him also had red hair - they were indeed the fellows Hermione had met on the train - who was identified by the blond boor as Ron Weasley. The blond boor was Draco Malfoy, and upon hearing the name, Neville paled. He too knew well that name - another pureblood dynasty like his. Only this one was not as friendly. The Malfoys were notorious for supporting Voldemort eleven years earlier. It also reminded Neville of her, the witch who was supposedly a relative and had haunted his family... no, focus. He unclenched his balled fists.
Harry admirably told the Malfoy boy off, just in time before McGonagall came back to escort them inside. The Great Hall had four long tables filled with students. Neville was fixated by the candles floating in mid-air around their heads.
"They're enchanted," he heard Hermione whisper to Susan Bones on his left. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
In the center of the room stood a tall black hat, which promptly burst into song. Then McGonagall read names one by one from a scroll, to sort the first years into their houses. Neville felt a thin sheen of sweat accumulate on his brow. He had given far too much thought to what house he would be put in. His parents had both been in Gryffindor, for they were brave. But what house best described him? Certainly not Slytherin - he wasn't selfish. But he wasn't brave either, like the Gryffindors. Smart as a Ravenclaw... no. He liked to think that he was loyal. He decided to hope that he would be sorted into Hufflepuff and hope for the best.
"Hermione Granger!"
For the first time since he'd met her, Hermione appeared daunted. She took the stool trepidatiously, and Neville could hear her whispering to herself as she shuffled out from beside him in line, trying to talk herself down. "OK. Don't be nervous... relax..."
"... one. I'm telling ya," Neville didn't catch all of what Ron murmured to Harry, off to his right. His thoughts were jarred away when the hat, barely on Hermione's head, bellowed out, "GRYFFINDOR!"
A cheer went up from the center right table, and Hermione happily skipped down to join them. Well, he was screwed. Neville now desperately hoped the hat would short-circuit itself and put him in Gryffindor. Because at least in Gryffindor, he would have a friend.
"Neville Longbottom!"
The prerequisite snicker came rising from the back, led of course by Draco Malfoy, but was quickly stamped away by McGonagall's sharp eye, as Neville took the stool.
"Longbottom, eh?" the hat barked once on him, and Neville whimpered. "I know exactly where to put you... GRYFFINDOR!"
He nearly fainted off the stool. The hat must have short-circuited. Two ginger-haired boys who he was certain were Ron's older brothers - twins - had to move to help him to his seat, which was an empty space right by Hermione. She enthusiastically gave him a one-armed squeeze, and he smiled weakly back.
Huh. Maybe he was brave, after all.