November 1991

Neville Longbottom limped back to the dorms from the Hospital Wing.

This was his third visit to the place in the last month; and while Neville would be the first person to tell you that he was incredibly accident-prone, even he had to admit this was getting rather ridiculous.

He sighed. Sometimes, he wondered if coming to Hogwarts was worth all the trouble.

A year ago, getting his Hogwarts letter had been his biggest concern. The Longbottoms had attended this prestigious school for the last three centuries (as his Gran reminded him every single day). For someone from his family to not go to Hogwarts was practically unheard of; and for someone from his family to not be offered a Hogwarts admission in the first place. . . .

He shuddered. He really didn't want to think about it.

Truth be told, the day Neville received his letter had marked a special moment in his life. Until then, every single member of his family (including Neville himself) had been convinced that he was a squib. Despite the rather memorable bout of accidental magic he'd displayed barely a few months prior to that day, everyone in his family had secretly feared (some more than others) that he simply might not have what it took to rate an acceptance letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Strangely enough, Neville himself hadn't been too bothered at the prospect of being a squib. If he had to be perfectly honest, he really didn't have much of an interest in the more flashy branches of magic such as Transfiguration or Charms. His interest lay in fields which involved less of wand-waving and more of academic research, like Herbology. The smell of fresh earth, the warmth in the presence of plants. . . these were the things that he enjoyed most of all. As far as he was concerned, any day spent in a greenhouse carefully studying one of nature's greatest gifts was a day well spent.

Too bad his Gran didn't agree with him.

He scowled in irritation. If Neville had to sum up all that wrong with his life in one word, it would undoubtedly be "Gran".

Augusta Longbottom, the matriarch of the family, was an extremely formidable and domineering woman. Someone who was accustomed to never taking no for an answer, she ran roughshod over his life. From the clothes he wore to the company he kept, from the subjects he studied to what he did in his free time. . . his Gran wanted to have a say in everything.

Even here, at Hogwarts, Neville was truly not free from her influence. Her status as a member of the school Board of Governors meant that she had plenty of ways of keep an eye on him even within the confines of the castle.

His fists clenched in anger as he remembered the last letter she'd sent him. Apparently, someone had informed his esteemed Gran that he'd been spending too much time in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout. She had owled him immediately, ordering him to "cease this childishness at once and focus on real subjects like Transfiguration, Potions and DADA."

He punched the nearby wall in anger. Did she have any idea what she was talking about? Transfiguration was one of the most difficult branches of magic there was, heck even someone like Hermione Granger tended to have a little bit of trouble with the subject; Snape was one of the worst teachers in the school, even if he didn't have a personal vendetta against every single Gryffindor; and DADA was a joke. . . which was probably the most polite thing one could say about their sorry excuse of a professor.

Neville had spent his entire life trying to live up to his Gran's expectations. He had always put his own interests, his own apprehensions aside to strive to meet her standards. He slogged countless hours a day working on what she considered important, he worked hard to improve his grades to what she considered as adequate; he had even begged the Sorting Hat to place him in Gryffindor over its insistence that he'd do well in Hufflepuff. . . simply because he didn't want his Gran to feel disappointed.

But still, it wasn't enough. It was never enough!

He knew he was being too harsh on her. He knew, that part of the reason that she acted the way she did was because she had never truly gotten over what had happened to his parents. She missed his father dearly, and thus was doing her best to ensure that their legacy lived on through him.

Unfortunately for her, he was not his father; and he doubted he ever would be.

Neville sighed again. Sometimes he wondered, really wondered, what his life would have been like if he had never gotten that Merlin-be-damned letter; if he really had been a squib.

"Hey, Neville. Everything okay?"

He started in surprise and whipped around.

"Harry, what're you doing here?"

"I was on my way to check up on you," said the Boy-Who-Lived as he walked closer to him. "You alright?" his bright green eyes were tinged with genuine worry.

Neville felt a smile light up his face. Harry Potter was one of the few people who made his life in this old castle worth living.

A few months ago, if anybody had told him that he'd end up being friends with the Boy-Who-Lived himself, Neville would've told them to get their heads examined.

Yet, here he was.

If he had to be honest with himself, however, Neville was surprised that someone like Harry would even bother to be friends with someone like him.

Harry Potter was everything the rumors had made him out to be, and then some. One of the brightest students in the school, and definitely the most powerful magically, the boy was everything Neville had dreamed of being. Youngest quidditch player in a century, and the only person Neville knew to have taken on a fully grown mountain troll and come out on top. . . the bloke was simple amazing.

And yet, despite everything he'd accomplished since he'd set foot in the castle, Harry was a paragon of modesty. He never lorded his superiority over others (unlike Malfoy), never used his fame to wheedle concessions from teachers or his peers. . . heck, he even found the time to help those around him with their work, including Neville himself.

It was why Harry was one of the few people in the school he genuinely looked up to.

"I'm fine, mate," Neville said, trying to stand straighter. "Really!" he insisted at the other boy's disbelieving look. "Madam Pomfrey patched me up in two seconds."

"If you're sure," Harry said, still looking at him closely. "C'mon, let's get going. Dinner's in a couple of hours."

They walked back together to Gryffindor tower in silence. "That was one hell of an explosion back there, mate," Harry spoke casually. "What went wrong?"

Neville grimaced, recalling the incident in question that led him to the Hospital Wing in the first place. They'd been attempting a particularly complex piece of Transfiguration in class, and just as he'd uttered the last syllable of the incantation, an explosion had sent him flying into the wall.

"I probably just messed up the incantation or something. . . ." he mumbled sheepishly.

"Nah, you didn't," Harry said. "I was right behind you remember. You got both the incantation and the wand movements right."

"Well then, I dunno. . . ."

They moved forward in silence again, until Harry spoke. "Say, can I take a look at your wand?"

"Why?" Neville asked suspiciously.

"Just got a hunch," his hand was outstretched expectantly.

"Well. . . . okay, then. Here."

Harry took the wand and examined it closely. "Gotta say, it looks rather worn out. Been using it long?"

Neville merely cursed under his breath. The bloke was just too sharp sometimes.

"Didn't catch that, Neville. Sorry."

Persistent bugger! "It's my Dad's wand. . . ." He muttered.

Harry was silent for a moment. "Your father's Frank Longbottom, right?"

"Yeah." It was a touchy subject for him.

"I'm sorry," Harry squeezed his shoulder gently.

"S'okay." Somehow, having Harry mention his father didn't feel as bad as he thought it'd be.

They continued walking in silence for a while, before Harry spoke again. "Why're you using his old wand again? It doesn't seem like it's a good fit for you."

"My Gran wants me to. . . ." Neville muttered, not wanting to say anything more.

Harry wisely chose to remain silent.

Neville blinked as he stood outside Ollivanders.

In all honesty, he had no idea how he'd ended up here with Harry Potter and Professor McGonagall of all people.

It all started with the next day's Transfiguration class. Having finished his work early (as usual), Harry had engaged the Professor in a conversation on wands in general. Somehow, he'd hinted to her that not everything was right with Neville's wand, and before he knew it McGonagall was already making plans to visit Diagon Alley to get him a new wand. She also mentioned that she'd have a few choice words for Augusta Longbottom the next time they met at the Board of Governors meeting.

But what floored Neville the most was how Harry had managed to talk the stern professor into letting him accompany them. The Boy-Who-Lived had simply pouted a little and made a few off-hand comments about his relatives never taking him anywhere nice, and McGonagall had relented.

Neville grinned. The bloke really knew how to push the right buttons.

All in all, it was a great day, as Neville managed to get a new wand, and their Head of House chose to drop her stern façade for a bit and humored both the boys with stories of their parents' adventures at the school.

The little shopping trip had done wonders for Neville's mood. Between the time he spent with his new friends and the fact that he was actually improving his performance in Transfiguration and Charms thanks to his new wand (Cherry and Unicorn hair), life at Hogwarts never seemed better.

Naturally, it was barely a week later when things went to hell again.

Neville limped out of the Hospital Wing, his ears burning red with shame and anger.

Malfoy and his goons had accosted him on the way from the Library. One thing led to another and before he knew it, he was getting the shite kicked out of him before some of the prefects had intervened.

An entire corridor full of people had sworn that Malfoy had started it, but Snape being his usual self had deducted points from Gryffindor and chased him away, saying he was lucky he hadn't gotten a detention instead.

Neville growled in impotent rage. It was so bloody unfair! Why the heck did Snape always single him out like that? Why did. . . .

"Alright, Neville?" Once again Harry Potter strode over to meet him.

He grinned weakly at his friend. "Yeah mate, I'm fine."

Harry simply nodded. "Great. Let's go for a bit of a walk, shall we?"

"Yeah," Neville said gratefully. Anything to get out of the castle for a bit.

They walked all the way to the lake, discussing quidditch and homework and other random stuff.

As they settled down on a rock overlooking the water, Harry spoke.

"Say, Neville. Why d'you suppose Malfoy keeps picking on you all the time?"

"Dunno," Neville said, skimming a stone across the lake surface.

"There must be some reason. I mean, the guy's practically obsessed with you. First the Remembrall, now this. . . ."

He's got a point, Neville thought. "Maybe it's because my Gran and his Dad are both on the school's Board of Governors. I hear they're always butting heads."

"Hmmm. . . ." Harry seemed thoughtful.

"Or maybe it's because I'm so weak. . . ."

Neville wanted to smack himself the moment the words left his mouth. To his surprise however, the Boy-Who-Lived merely chuckled.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. . . ."

Neville looked at his friend in surprise.

"Yeah. Believe me, I know a few things about being bullied."

"You? Bullied?" Neville was shocked. He couldn't imagine someone like Harry ever having to face bullies. The bloke was just so. . . strong.

Harry was silent for a moment. "When I was younger, my cousin and his buddies often picked on me for the heck of it."

"You live with muggles, right?" Neville was hesitant to ask.

"That's right," he said nonchalantly. "They're not big fans of magic, let me tell you."

He paused. Neville couldn't help but glance around nervously. The conversation was steering into a rather uncomfortable territory.

"There were about five of them, including my cousin. They spent all their free time during and after school chasing me around. Made a game out of it as well. They called it 'Harry Hunting'". There was the barest hint of steel in his voice.

Neville was horrified. The Boy-Who-Lived was bullied by muggles? He'd beaten a troll, for Merlin's sake!

"Of course," if Harry noticed his shocked expression, he didn't react. He was still staring out over the lake. "One fine day, I realized I'd had enough and decided to confront the wankers."

"You beat them up, right?" Neville asked hopefully. That sounded a lot more like the Harry he knew.

His friend merely laughed. "'Beat them up?' Mate, there were five of them. Not to mention they were all double my size. No way was I going to win that fight."

Neville was confused. "But then. . ."

"Why did I do it?" he prompted. "Why'd I pick a fight I knew I couldn't win?"

Neville merely nodded.

"Because sometimes, it's not about winning or losing. Sometimes, it's all about taking a stand." He looked thoughtfully at the ripples in the water. "I knew I had to stop running sooner or later, or I'd probably spend the whole of my life running away. I may not have won any of the fights, but I showed them that I wasn't going to lie down and let them walk all over me. If they wanted a piece of me, they'd have to work for it."

For a few minutes the two boys just stood over there, watching the giant squid drift lazily over the lake.

"Harry?"

"Hmm...?"

"Any tips you'd like to share?"

He looked thoughtful for a second. "If you're going up against a gang, try to split them up and take them one by one. If that doesn't work, make sure to always focus on the leader first. Some cases you succeed in taking down the boss fast enough, the rest of them will just scatter. Worst case scenario: you go down, at least you'll take the head wanker with you."

Neville merely grinned.

Neville Longbottom was in a great mood today.

Sure he was lying in the Hospital Wing with his face looking like a mashed potato, his left leg broken, several cracked ribs and quite a few teeth missing, but he was still happy.

After all, it wasn't like Draco Malfoy, lying across the hall from him was looking any better.

Currently his Gran and Lucius Malfoy were having an epic row in the middle of the hall, flanked on both sides by McGonagall and Snape.

After a shouting match that lasted half-an-hour, the heads of both the families had been separated at wand point by an extremely irate Madam Pomfrey (who knew the mediwitch could be so terrifying). In the end, the heads of both Houses had agreed (rather reluctantly) that since both Neville and Draco were equally culpable, they would both be suspended for three days, along with equal loss of House points and a week's worth of detentions.

As his Gran stormed up to his bed and proceeded to berate him for his behavior, Neville noticed there was something. . . off about the way she spoke. He'd been on the receiving end of her ire enough times to know what she sounded like when she was truly angry. This time though, her admonishment seemed almost half-hearted.

Then he caught sight of an incredibly beat-up looking Draco Malfoy limping away with his parents' assistance. He noticed his Gran cough into her hand softly; behind her McGonagall was determinedly looking away, the corners of her mouth twitching.

Neville stared at the two ladies in surprise.

Bloody hell! They're actually enjoying themselves!

As Neville limped out of the Great Hall beside his grandmother, he could see a lot of the students staring at him.

Whispers and pointed glances followed him as he walked. Some were griping about the number of points he'd cost his house, some were muttering about how he was secretly a psycho, some were admiring the way he'd taken down Draco Malfoy, some were wondering if this meant he was going to start bossing everyone around like Draco had. . .

He found he didn't actually care that much.

His eyes fell on his friends sitting at the Gryffindor table.

Ron was grinning from ear to ear, shooting him a thumbs up; Hermione looked torn between anger at his recklessness and relief over his recovery; and Harry. . .

. . . the Boy-Who-Lived merely smiled at him, shooting him a friendly wink over his goblet of juice.

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder. He looked around in surprise to see his Gran with her arm around him.

Her face was set, her eyes stared straight ahead. . . but there was something in them that Neville had rarely seen before; something he had only seen on the day he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter.

Pride.

His Gran was proud of him.

Neville Longbottom walked out of the castle with his head held high.

AN: I figured people'd like to know how Harry won Neville's loyalty.

I'm going to be jumping around between years quite a bit, so lemme know if it becomes too confusing to follow.

Fair warning, this isn't going to be one of those fics where Harry becomes Lord Potter and goes around bringing righteous justice down upon his enemies with his perfect teenage girlfriend. At the same time, this isn't going to be a broody, emo "Dark Lord Harry" fic where he becomes uber powerful after reading from a forbidden book.

I'm trying to achieve a middle ground of sorts, while maintaining realism along the way. Sure some moments will require a little suspension of disbelief, but if you can stick around you will enjoy the story.