A round, nervous face peered through the window of his compartment. Short, brown hair barely covered the lightning shaped scar on the wrinkled forehead as the boy mouthed "Can I come in?"

Harry nodded excitedly, barely able to keep a grin off his face. Neville Longbottom, the boy who lived, slid through the door in a way slightly lacking in grace, and sat down in a seat opposite Harry. Harry couldn't help it; he stared at Neville in awe. The other boy looked awkwardly down at his feet, then looked up, defiantly.

"You don't have to stare, you know!" Harry looked away, suddenly ashamed. He tried to imagine how he would feel in Neville's place. A round, nervous face peered through the window of his compartment. Short, brown hair barely covered the lightning shaped scar on the wrinkled forehead as the boy mouthed "Can I come in?"
Harry nodded excitedly, barely able to keep a grin off his face. Neville Longbottom, the boy who lived, slid through the door in a way slightly lacking in grace, and sat down in a seat opposite Harry. Harry couldn't help it; he stared at Neville in awe. The other boy looked awkwardly down at his feet, then looked up, defiantly.

"You don't have to stare, you know!" Harry looked away, suddenly ashamed. He tried to imagine how he would feel in Neville's place.
Neville had been barely a year old when his father had stepped in front of the curse aimed for the baby. His mother had been driven wild by grief and was shortly tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange. Neville had been rejected by his grandmother, who had mourned her son almost religiously and blamed his death on her grandson, and Neville had been brought up in a muggle orphanage. The story was well known throughout the wizarding world. Harry could not imagine it.

"Sorry." He muttered. Neville shook his head, "don't worry about it. I figure most people are going to stare."

Harry smiled nervously. He had always imagined what he would say if he ever came face to face with this boy, how in awe of him he was, how he idolised him, but faced with this shy, nervous, awkward boy, he couldn't say any of them.

"So, um, were you brought up in the wizard world?" Harry nodded.

"Both my parents are magical. My mum was raised as a muggle though."

Neville frowned. "I've heard that word a few times... What does muggle mean?"

"It means someone who was born without magic." Harry explained, "sometimes wizards are born to muggle parents though."

"And is Hogwarts the only wizard school?"

"No, but its the only one in England. There are schools in other countries, like the American school Cricketshorn, um... Beauxbatons, that's in France, and Durmstrang, no one knows where that one is..."

Neville nodded eagerly. "Are wizards from muggle families-"

"Muggleborns, they're called"

"Right, muggleborns, are they common?"

"Wizards and wit

ches are born into muggle families more often than non magical folk are born to wizarding families. Those are called squibs. But they're pretty rare."

Harry continued to answer Neville's questions about the wizarding world and the two boys gradually became more relaxed. When the food trolley came round, Neville bought armfuls of sweets, none of which he had tasted before, and he and Harry shared every flavour beans and swapped chocolate frog cards until it began to grow dark.

They changed into their new school robes when the lamps came up throughout the train and sat both with their noses pressed against the window, searching for a first glimpse of Hogwarts.

The American school "Cricketshorn" is the invention of user Qoheleth (also Bar Sira), the story in which it appears can be found through this link: s/5195021/1/The-Girl-Who-Lived