As always, Harry Potter is owned by J. . I own nothing! The title of the story is taken from the series, The Song of the Lioness, by Tamora Pierce.
This work has not been beta-ed, so may have various mistakes etc.
He had looked and looked in every compartment up and down the train and still hadn't found where he could sit. Neville Longbottom wiped his slightly sweaty face with the back of his hand, and tentatively raised his hand to knock at the very last compartment at the rear of the train. He tapped uncertainly- he could only see two people through the opaque glass of the door, but that didn't mean that they would want him to sit there. The spare seats were most likely being saved for friends or other students, people who belonged at Hogwarts unlike a squib like him. When there was no reply, he opened the door and peaked his head inside.
Sitting nearby the window was a boy around Neville's age, black and unruly hair framing his face. He was already wearing his school robes, the black tie with the Hogwarts crest proudly emblazoned on it tied much more impressively than Neville could ever manage. The boy gave Neville a shy smile.
On the left-hand side of the carriage sat a crazy man. His short blonde hair looked like it had caught the wrong end of a disarming charm, it was so standing on end. His wide blue eyes caught Neville's own, and without asking Neville, yanked him into the carriage.
"Mind the snorlacks," said the crazy man as Neville shrank away, "they tend to block the path." He reached up to shake Neville's hand- or so Neville thought until the man began to make picking and plucking motions with his hands around Neville.
Once the man was done with his absurd task, he opened his palm to reveal his empty hand. "There!" he exclaimed, and heartily shook Neville's still extended hand. "Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of the Quibbler." A strange triangle-eyed pendant on a golden chain winked at him from underneath Mr. Lovegood's eye-wateringly bright yellow robes.
"N-Neville Longbottom, sir," stuttered the flummoxed boy. There was no chance that Neville could flee back to the safety of the train corridor, as Mr. Lovegood had already pulled the compartment door firmly closed behind him.
"He did that to me too," confided the boy who had smiled at Neville earlier. He gestured for Neville to come sit in the empty seat beside him. With a relieved thunk, Neville sat next to the boy.
It was only on closer inspection that Neville realised what was hiding underneath the strange boy's fringe- a scar in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt.
"You're Harry Potter!" Neville exclaimed, looking at the boy in open mouthed astonishment.
"So hard to please youngsters nowadays," said Mr. Lovegood, "Produce an eleven-year-old boy and they act as if they've won the Quidditch world cup, but prove the existence of worry warts and nothing."
Perhaps this was why one of the most famous- of not the most famous wizard currently alive was here, in the very last carriage. It was the only one whose occupant was crazy enough not to care that Harry Potter was sitting across from him. This was the boy who was to have said to have survived the killing curse and defeated the dark wizard, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named himself. But Mr. Lovegood probably only saw a first year, on the train to Hogwarts for the very first time, and was already feeling slightly homesick.
"I'm sorry mate," apologized Neville, feeling guilty for the way he had sprung at poor Harry. "I shouldn't have reacted that way. Forget it and let's be friends?"
"Thanks, Neville," replied Harry, giving Neville a grateful smile. "I'm not here to be what everyone wants me to be- I'm here to do my best and learn everything I can."
"Ah!" exclaimed Xeno. "Ravenclaw would help you in that ambition- 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!'"
"My Gran says that the most I can hope for is Hufflepuff," sighed Neville, fidgeting at his sleeve. "I suppose it wouldn't be too bad, apparently the dorms are nearby the kitchens."
"Who cares what your Gran says?" replied Harry seriously, looking at Neville with his emerald green eyes. "Who knows, you could always be sorted into Slytherin like me," Harry continued, grinning cheekily at Neville.
"Cunning and a dash of ambition would also serve both of you well," interposed Mr. Lovegood. "That ambition has been darkened in the previous years, but 'Deep roots are not reached by the frost'."
At this, Neville and Harry looked at each other. Harry gave a quick shrug and asked Neville if he would like to play a card game to pass the time until they reached Hogwarts. The two boys were quickly absorbed into a game of exploding snap, and Mr. Lovegood returned to a leather notebook which he turned this way and that as he scribbled in it with an overly large parchment quill, adorned with a sparkly blue raven.
"Are you a new teacher, Mr. Lovegood?" asked Neville when they had finished one of the rounds.
"No, no, no," exclaimed the excitable Mr. Lovegood. "I have been kindly invited by the Headmaster of Hogwarts to do an expose of Hogwarts and tell the future wizards and witches of Britain what awaits them at the foremost school of magic in Europe."
"Is it true we have to defeat a three-headed dog to get sorted?" asked Harry, his green eyes glowing with excitement at the idea. "My dad said that we would have to use our brains, brawn, grit or trickery to defeat it, and that's how we'd get sorted!"
"My Gran said that it would be a boggart!"
Mr. Lovegood shook his head, and tapped a long finger to the side of his nose. "In my day, we had to capture a wild miniature pixie without using magic."
"No!" cried Neville in horror. "I think I'd rather take Hufflepuff that that."
At Harry's confused expression, Neville explained: "Miniature pixies like to hide out in old drawers and wardrobes and make nests out of the things they find. They can get very protective over their collection- so when you open the drawer where they are hiding, they bite and scratch worse than any Hippogriff! They've been known to take out a wizard's hand or leg when they are angered!"
Harry winced. "How did you catch it?" he asked Mr. Lovegood.
The man smiled, and said mysteriously: "I'm afraid I can't tell you."
"Did you bribe it with some food from the welcome feast?" asked Neville.
"I bet he used some of the napkins to wrap round his hand, and snatched the pixie feet first!" retorted Harry.
Back and forth the two boys bantered, their ideas becoming more and more far-fetched with even Mr. Lovegood laughing good naturedly at their craziness. In no time at all, the Hogwarts Express was nearing its destination. As Harry was already in his uniform, Neville got up to get changed. He had barely yanked the heavy cloak over his head before he heard the faint sound of a bell up ahead.
"All disembark! All disembark!" cried a porter as they made their way up and down the train corridor, ringing his bell as he went. Out from all the other carriages poured all the Hogwarts students- proud prefects with shiny Ps on their breast directing the flow of traffic, first years like himself gasping and pointing at all the sights, and older students, back for another year at Hogwarts.
Neville and Harry stuck close together, Mr. Lovegood behind them, as they got off the train on to the station platform.
Up ahead was a singularly striking figure. A good foot or two taller than anyone Neville had ever met, the bushy haired man called out in a loud and carrying voice: "First yers, First yers, Over 'ere!" Around him was already a small crowd of anxious first years.
"Good luck!" said Mr. Lovegood as he fairly pushed Neville and Harry into the waiting group of first years.
"I'm sure you'll vanquish whatever creature the sorting ceremony throws at you!" With that ominous advice, he swished away, his green robes flapping behind him. The iridescent fabric made it appear as if a thousand myriad eyes were opening and closing with every movement.
The enormous man was counting off the first years with a big, chunky finger. "Right, first yers, follow me." Waving some of the more reluctant students to join the rest of the large group, he strode forward, his large lantern light showing the way.
The small narrow faced blonde boy they had accidentally bumped into gave them a nastily polite smile. He extended a cold hand and drawled: "Draco- Draco Malfoy."
"Oh!" exclaimed the girl beside him, pushing her curly and untamed hair out from her face. "I've heard all about you in Noble Families of Magical Britain and Wizarding Trials of the 20th Century. I'm Hermione Granger, it was quite a surprise to my parents when my letter arrived out of the blue! They were so pleased when they learnt I'd be going to the pre-eminent school of magic!"
Before Malfoy's smile could turn even more malicious, Harry smoothly cut between the pair, and warmly shook Hermione's extended hand."
"Nice to make your acquaintance," he said, and gestured towards Neville. "This is my friend, Neville Longbottom."
"I suppose you've heard all about the Longbottom's in Hilarious Heredity," commented Malfoy meanly as Hagrid in the distance began to instruct the other groups of first years to get into the boats waiting for them at the edge of a large lake.
"I've read all of Stories of Noble Families, which does have some rather funny stories of how Dame Longbottom poked out a trespasser's eye with her walking stick, but I've never read Hilarious Heredity."
Malfoy gave the curly haired girl an incredulous look, but before he could retreat and re-join the safety of the other first years, he was yelled at by Hagrid to get into the next boat. With a disgruntled look, Malfoy clambered into the boat, muttering something about his father.
Harry and Neville got into the wooden boat next, helping Hermione as she scrambled in. Malfoy shrunk away from them with a mean, disdainful look on his face, putting himself as far away from the others as possible.
The others couldn't bring themselves to care about Malfoy's rude behaviour, for they were gliding across the black surface of the lake, the glittering castle of Hogwarts revealed in all its glory.
Neville nudged Harry as the boats approached the other side of the lake.
"Let's stay friends even if we get sorted into other houses," he proposed in a whisper. He wrung his hands anxiously – what would a powerful wizard like Harry want to do with someone like him whose magical power was little more than a Squib's?
But there was no need to worry, as Harry's face lit up in a beaming smile.
"It's a promise," he said, and together they made their way into Hogwarts.