Chapter 7: Toad the Wet Longbottom

"Blimey, is that the time?!" Hagrid's voice leapt to a yelp, and his body leapt with it as he glanced at his pocket watch. Or at least, his body would have yelped, if a yelp could be translated into physical motion.

It was September 1st, and the crowd at Kings' Cross station was bustling, more than a few Muggles giving Hagrid – who stood a full head over most everyone else – strange looks. The half-giant turned to the Longbottoms. "Sorry, Neville, Augusta: I'm gonna have to leave you. Neville, you have your train ticket, and your Gran…"

"… I will get him to the platform, Hagrid, don't you worry!" Augustra chirped, waving him off. There was a grateful smile in her eyes, even as her mouth remained flat in an officious manner. Gran was a rather unflappable woman, and detection of her caring for others went beyond skin-deep, by which Neville knew you sometimes had to look really hard to detect any warmth.

Grandmother and grandson waved goodbye to their large friend and Neville pushed his trolley cautiously in the wake of his Gran, following her lead. His eyes multi-tasked between ensuring the cage carrying his toad remained unprecariously balanced atop his trolley, and also studying the information on his ticket. Platform 9 3/4s, departing 11:00.

Of course, Neville knew all about the Hogwarts Express. Gran had told him stories of riding on the famed locomotive when she was a student. He even had a rough idea of what it would take to get on board.

However, even for a pureblood wizard, understanding how to board a magical train and then actually doing it could still be two very different things.

Only now when he was facing the reality did Neville appreciate just how difficult a task this was going to be. Walking through what appeared to be a solid barrier in the middle of a train station filled with Muggles. And from the way they now came to a standstill just yards from the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, it was clear that Gran was in no rush to help him or let him use her as a crutch. Perhaps this was what it meant to be a first-year: no one was going to help you. No matter his blood-status, Neville had to appreciate that being a brand-new Hogwarts student could be a great equalizer.

There was a long moment in which he and Gran simply stared at the barrier. There was a clock protruding over the signage for Platform 10. Five to the hour. He had five minutes – less than that, really – to steel his nerves to rush a solid barrier and hope he didn't die before then needing to board a train… hopefully achieving that last step before the train actually started moving.

A part of Neville knew it was fruitless, and yet he still waited a beat to see if Gran would bail him out. She simply glanced down to pretend-rummage through her handbag, letting out a sound that she could plausibly deny later wasn't a sigh.

"Your father would charge that barrier, the same way he charged He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she intoned, rather deliberately.

It was a kind of reverse psychology, not quite abusive but still dancing right up to the line. Comparing Neville's adequacy to that of his parents had nonetheless always served as an effective form of pressure. Neville appraised the barrier up and down nervously. He wished he could counter that he wasn't his dad, that no one – not even Gran – should expect him to be his father when he was only, at best, half the man (genetically) and half his mother. Gran would just brush that away as excuses. Plus, he was on a time limit.

Neville had no choice but to the charge the barrier and hope he wouldn't crash, break any bones or give himself a concussion. He had heard Gran describe the technique enough that he had the tiniest flicker of faith in knowing what was about to happen, but he squeezed his eyes shut just the same.

To his great relief, the crash of his nightmares didn't come, and he emerged unharmed onto Platform 9 and 3/4s. Glancing back, he watched as Gran swept through the membrane that was the barrier, adjusting her hat in a dignified way. She simply granted him a curt nod, her face betraying no indication whether she was pleased with his effort or not.

"Hurry and load your things; the train is about to pull out. Have a good term…." Her voice trailed off interestingly. "Write to me when you get there." She left him with an awkward kiss on the cheek, pat on the head before sweeping back through the barrier. She didn't even leave him with any advice over how to write her, seeing as he had not purchased an owl for his pet. Yet another reason why Neville always had the strongest suspicion his own grandmother thought him quite foolish.

He shoved his trolley at a brisk pace towards one of the rear cars, where people were already starting to heft their things through open windows onto the locomotive. Spying an empty compartment (he had to hop quite strenuously to ascertain its vacancy), Neville began to haphazardly shuttle his belongings into it. He struggled to take his own trunk's weight, and only the assistance of a porter allowed him to slide the thing up and over the sill of the compartment's window.

The Hogwarts Express blew a brash warning with its whistle. Counting backwards as carefully as he could until he came to a boarding step, Neville clambered aboard and then retraced his steps back to the empty compartment. Almost predictably, he overshot and then had to double back, and by the time he found his things, the corresponding compartment was still empty and the train had already chuffed into motion.

Neville took his seat surreptitiously, folded into himself and with his head bowed. He maintained the instinct to not look at anybody, even as he was now quite alone in this car, and also alone in a much grander, metaphorical sense. He didn't know anybody…. and were it not for what Hagrid had explicitly warned him about, people ordinarily wouldn't know him. Except apparently they did know him, on account of some feat of heroics he had apparently accomplished but couldn't even remember since he'd been a baby when it happened. Gran had only provided him with the truth in so many words, taciturn enough with the details that it had been obvious Hagrid had known more than what Gran had been willing to let on, or at least known more than what he was allowed to say.

Neville wondered if he would attract any gawkers. Or worse, if someone else would attempt to join him in this car. Deductively, he glanced about but could see no sign of someone else's trunk or things being loaded into this compartment beforehand. Maybe not all of the compartments on this train would fill up naturally; Hogwarts wasn't really that large of a school to begin with.

Suddenly, he glanced up at the sound of a pneumatic hiss as the sliding glass door was drawn aside.

"Excuse me?" A redheaded boy who looked about as meek as he did and felt was peering trepidatiously into the compartment. "Do you mind? Everywhere else is full."

Neville struggled to get his throat to work. He wasn't the type who would rudely turn someone away, even if he preferred not to be joined by anyone else right now. But seeing as everywhere else was apparently full, he finally managed, "Not at all," and gestured to the open seat across from him. The redheaded boy sank gratefully into it, a relieved smile easing its way onto his face.

"…. I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."

"I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom." He gulped a little before he said it.

Neville had long since become accustomed to some people getting a chuckle out of his hearing his name for the first time. It was a rather unflattering portmanteau, recalling a word his Gran had used to describe it. He was relieved when Ron did not immediately guffaw or laugh in any way…. though he wasn't sure his actual reaction, though somewhat novel, was much better. Bright blue eyes widened, and the boy opposite seemed actually somewhat afraid of him. This made Neville nervous: he never gave anyone just cause to be afraid of him, nor would he want to. Usually, it was the other way around, and he was the one who was afraid. But no, Ron didn't seem afraid exactly, more…. awed. Neville doubted if this was any consolation.

"So…. so it's true! And do you have the…. you know…."

"What?" Neville blinked.

"Scar," Ron whispered the word like it was some kind of slur.

"Oh. Um…." Flushing, Neville brushed back the comb-over his Gran said made him look like a 40-something with a receding hairline. At least Ron seemed to appreciate what was underneath, for his blue eyes now nearly popped. "Wicked!" he grinned. "So that's where You-Know-Who….?"

"Yes," Neville murmured. "But I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" asked Ron eagerly.

This caused Neville to flush. He hadn't expected there to be a quiz; he barely knew the broadest brushstrokes of the story himself, and from the way Gran refused to speak of it beyond what was necessary, he had often considered himself lucky he had even that much to go on.

Though, now that he struggled to think on it, one thing did come to him: "Well…. I vaguely remember a lot of green light, but nothing else." He could feel in his soul that he was telling the truth, though he didn't see how it was possible to remember something from infancy. Did children, even magical ones, recall that far back to the earliest moments of life?

From the way Ron was gawping at him, Neville supposed that it was a meritless question. "Wow," the ginger breathed, staring at him for a prolonged beat, and then, seeming to realize what he was doing, glance out the window.

Averting his own gaze, Neville spotted the single trunk propped at the boy's feet, which he must have pulled in behind him. "I'll help you get that racked…." He mumbled. Ron seemed only too appreciative of the help, and together, the two boys swung his trunk high onto the luggage rack. "You pack lighter than I do," Neville marveled, trying to keep conversation despite how it went against every one of his anti-social, self-preservation instincts. "Did you board alone too?"

At this, Ron snorted. "I wish. I've got three older brothers with me on this train."

"Yeah? I'm an only child. For the longest time, it's just been me and my Gran. Wish sometimes I had three wizard brothers."

"Five," Ron one-upped him, sounding gloomy. "I'm the sixth in my family to go to Hogwarts, and only my sister's behind me. Bill and Charlie have already left. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was Captain of Quidditch. And Percy's made Prefect." He slumped back into his seat. "Don't know what I would do."

"All I'll probably earn is the right for people to stare at me," Neville mumbled. Ron grumbled something sympathetic, like he knew the feeling. And perhaps he did. A large brood like his likely turned a lot of heads. "Are all your family wizards?" Neville inquired, who was finding Ron to be about as interesting as Ron found him.

"Reckon so. I think Mum has a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him." The ginger brightened. "I do have a pet rat, though! Wanna see?"

"Yeah!" Neville shifted in his seat eagerly, a smile putting him at ease for the first time since he'd got on the train platform.

Ron procured a brown lump from its cage. "His name's Scabbers. He's a hand-me-down pet from my brother, and he hardly ever wakes up; he's useless…." His eyes quickly took on a gleam. "… unless, of course, for wand practice. Wanna see me try some magic on him?"

"Only if you'll let me show you my pet after!" Neville scooched forward. "I've got a toad!"

Ron took this in diplomatically, fighting off a kind of strained smile, before turning back to his rat. Clearing his throat, he was just raising his wand when a girl with bushy brown hair came bursting precociously into their compartment. The girl's heart-shaped, admittedly lovely face was marred by a tired, annoyed scowl, as she lifted something up in her palms. "Does anyone know whose toad this is? I found it wandering the hall…"

"Trevor!" Neville yelped in shock, lurching forward to snatch up his toad before turning back to glance at Trevor's container in dismay. He wouldn't have known his pet was even missing if he hadn't been just about to look.

The girl appeared abjectly relieved to have found the toad's owner, though her attention was now diverted to the wand in Ron's hand. "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then!"

Ron turned a shade of pink that was a few hues lighter than his hair before getting on with it. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow…. Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!" A spark emanated from his wand, which had absolutely no effect, outside of driving Scabbers into his pocket with a squeak of indignation.

The bushy-haired girl appeared skeptical. "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it?" Ron frowned hard. "I've been practicing my own spells, and they've all worked for me." From the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, she seemed to be casting about for an example. Before she could find one, however, she looked again at how Neville was studying her with the same befuddlement Ron was, and she gasped. "Holy cricket…. You're Neville Longbottom! I'm Hermione Granger. And… you are?"

Ron sloughed off what was clearly her tone of disdain. "Ron Weasley."

"Pleasure," she murmured flatly. "You two better change into your robes; I expect we'll be arriving soon." She got up to flounce out of the car before turning back at the door, taking Ron in with more scrutiny. "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way," she finally announced, unprompted and unsolicited. "Did you know? Just there."

In the time it took for Ron to rub his own nose, Hermione bounced away with a toss of her tousled curls.

Ron scowled. "Whatever House I'm in – and that'll be Gryffindor, mind – I hope she's not in it!"