This is an idea that I have been entertaining recently. I know that stories with a similar premise have been written so I will try to keep this as original as I can. No plagiarism intended. I do not own either Legend of Korra or Harry Potter. They belong to Bryan Konietzko, Michael Dante DiMartino, and J.K. Rowling.

-Line Break-

As he entered the empty compartment, the blonde-haired boy heaved his trunk onto the overhead racks, muscles straining and sweat trickling down his forehead. As he moved the trunk into position, he looked over the compartment before taking a seat.

Staring out the window, he felt the train begin to move, slowly but surely picking up speed. As the station gave way to open fields and rolling hills, Neville found himself deep in thought.

'This is it' he thought. 'I'm going to Hogwarts. I knew this day would come but still...I can't help but be nervous.'

'And to think that once, people thought I might have been a Squib. How silly. I mean I beat...Him as a baby, so how could I be a Squib?'

Rolling his eyes at the thought, he reached into his pocket and noticed a strange absence in his jacket. Fingering around in his jacket, he discovered that Trevor had escaped.

`Not again.' Neville moaned. 'Well, I'd better find him then.'

Leaving the compartment, Neville nearly bowled over a girl making her way down the train. As he stumbled back, he slammed into the wall of the compartment, making him wince in pain.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that!" he cried out frantically as he looked her over.

"I should hope so." she replied as she brushed herself off. She had bushy brown hair, with prominent front teeth, and was already wearing her Hogwarts robes.

"Perhaps in the future, you should take care to look both ways before proceeding down the hall. Nevertheless, it was an accident so I accept your apology. My name is Hermione Granger by the way. What's yours?" she said in a fairly bossy voice as she extended a hand.

"I'm...I'm...Neville." Neville replied as he shook her hand. "Neville Longbottom"

"Really?!" Hermione's eyes widened in surprise and shock. "Well, I've read all about you. You're in Modern Magical History and Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. It's really a pleasure to meet you in person. I bet you know loads about magic. I'm the first one in my family to go to Hogwarts, but I've already tried some simple spells and they've all worked for me."

"Um...Nice to...meet you too." Neville stammered. "I'm so-sorry to ask you this but...I've lost Trevor. Would you mind helping me find him?"

"Oh, okay." Hermione replied. "Let me put my trunk in here first. Who's Trevor?"

"My t-toad" Neville answered, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"A toad?!" Hermione exclaimed as she lifted her trunk up. "Of all things, a toad?!"

"My un-uncle gave him to me when...when I performed magic for the first time." he explained as they pushed her trunk up onto the overhead racks. "It was in June when I was about six. He was hanging me upside-down from the second-floor window and he...he dropped me. I managed to bounce away like...like a rubber ball."

"He dropped you?!" Hermione exclaimed, nearly dropping the trunk. "That's totally barbaric! And all he did was give you a toad?!"

"I...I know, I know." Neville concurred, straining against the trunk. "But still, he's very special nonetheless...He was in my pocket when I boarded the train. He couldn't have gone far. I'll go this way, and you go that way."

"Okay." she said. "Let's meet back here in an hour or so and see where we go from there."

"Oh-okay" he replied as they started off in opposite directions.

-Line Break-

After nearly two hours of searching, Neville made his way back down the corridor, tears in his eyes, having failed to find Trevor.

'Why does he always run away?' he wondered as he neared the door, and saw Hermione.

"Any luck?" she asked, her arms crossed.

"No." he replied, shaking his head. "Nobody's seen him at all. And I can't find a trace of him. You?"

"Sorry" she shrugged. "Well, you better get changed. We'll be arriving soon. Good day."

"Okay then." he replied as he made his way to the door. "Thanks for your help."

"Don't mention it." she said

"Hi Neville." a girl with blonde hair in pigtails said. "You all right?"

"Yeah...um...just lost Trevor" Neville stammered as he made his way to his seat.

"Oh, sorry to hear that." she said, eyes downcast in sympathy. "I'm sure you'll find him soon. You want me to help you find him?"

"Thanks, Susan, but I think we should change now. We'll be at the station soon." he replied. "I'll wait outside while you change."

"Thanks Neville." she said as he shut the door.

-Line Break-

As Professor McGonagall led the first-years into the Great Hall, Neville felt his anxiety skyrocket.

'At least I have Trevor back' he thought as he stroked the toad in his pocket. 'Thankfully Hagrid spotted him. How'd he get in the boat before us?'

Looking around, he saw four long tables running the length of the hall, massive stone fireplaces roaring behind the far right table. Alongside the tables, set with gold plates and goblets, sat the already Sorted students, awaiting the ceremony, or maybe just the banquet, with eager anticipation. Glancing up, he saw thousands upon thousands of candles, dancing beneath the night sky.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside" he heard Hermione say. "I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

At the far end of the Hall sat a fifth table facing them, with Professor Dumbledore himself seated in a golden, almost throne-like chair, with the rest of the staff waiting to his left and right.

'I'd recognize that hair and beard anywhere.' Neville thought with a smile. 'Not to mention his...weird clothes.'

Just then, Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the Head table, with a ragged wizard's hat sitting atop it.

After a brief moment of silence, two furrows formed near the point, followed by a rip over the brim, and then the hat began to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hatssleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Neville, along with all the other students, applauded the hat's performance as it bowed to each of the tables. Smiling, Professor McGonagall approached the hat while holding a long piece of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted" she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Neville gave her a weak smile as Hannah made her way to the stool. After a moment, the hat yelled out "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table to the far left applauded as Hannah made her way to join her fellow Badgers.

Next up was Susan, who soon joined Hannah at the Hufflepuff table. Then it was Terry Boot, who became the first Ravenclaw, followed by Mandy Brocklehurst. Lavender Brown, the first new Gryffindor, received the loudest applause, and even some cat-calls. After that, Neville lost track of the names as he waited for his to come up. Sweat began trickling down his forehead, and his heartbeat steadily increased. Then he heard a familiar name.

"Granger, Hermione!" Professor McGonagall called out.

Looking up, he saw the bushy-haired girl put on the hat and waited for the Hat's verdict.

'She's smart.' he thought. 'So maybe Ravenclaw. But she was also really kind, and helpful. So maybe Hufflepuff? Or was that more chivalry than kindness? Would that make her more Gryffindor then?'

The Hat seemed to take quite a while to decide on Hermione, nearly four minutes. Then the Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione made her way to the table on the far right amid a barrage of applause but not before giving a small smile to Neville as she passed.

Neville felt himself smiling back, only to have a new wave of nerves engulf him as the Sorting continued. As Professor McGonagall went down the list, Neville looked around, stroking Trevor to try and distract himself from the frantic fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

'Now we're finally at the L's!' he thought. 'Why can't it be over already?!'

Then he heard it: "Longbottom, Neville!"

'This is it' Neville thought as he made his way to the stool amid the excited whispering all around him. As he put on the hat, the brim fell over his eyes but did little to shut out the whispers and chatter; in fact, they seemed to echo inside the Hat.

"Hmm" the Hat said. "Difficult. Very Difficult. You greatly admire courage. Superb work ethic too. And such determination-once you set your mind to something. But where to put you?"

'Please Hufflepuff.' Neville thought desperately. 'Please Hufflepuff.'

"Now, now," the Hat replied. "Don't sell yourself short, Longbottom. You'd fit quite well in Gryffindor you know."

'Gryffindor? Professor McGonagall's House?' Neville thought, memories of the Longbottom Manor coming up to the surface.

-Line Break-

After he had finished with breakfast, Neville went off by himself to one of the high-arched stained-glass windows overlooking the grounds and opened it. Beneath him lay the courtyard, a wide cobblestone walkway leading to the manor gates, with a marble statue of a wizard and a cauldron outside the front gates. To the east and west he could see the extensive greenhouses, a key source of the Longbottom fortune and one of his favorite places. Encircling the manor was the metal fence, reinforced with a granite and marble base, absolutely thrumming with ambient magic.

For as long as Neville could remember, he had spent his days inside this manor, which was secured by the strongest wards possible by Dumbledore himself. As further protection, he was also under guard nearly 24/7 by an Auror task force supervised by Madam Bones herself. And to top it all off, he received private tutoring by most of the Hogwarts' professors.

Intellectually, he knew why he had to spend his days inside this compound: Voldemort. Everyone knew that he, somehow, stopped the Dark Lord and brought an end to his bloody campaign of genocide.

And all it cost were Neville's parents. They were not dead. That would have been merciful of Voldemort. The monster had tortured them into insanity; now they lived at St. Mungo's Hospital under long-term care.

As such, he was placed in the care of his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, and sent to live at her manor. However, while Voldemort was gone, many of his followers were still around, seeking vengeance for their Master. Thus, the security and the private tutoring sessions.

While any magical child would be exhilarated at the prospect, he felt miserable. Never once was he allowed off the grounds save for the occasional visit to Susan Bones, Madam Bones' niece, and even that required a detailed guard and a strict itinerary. Despite those...issues, he always enjoyed the visits and even became firm friends with her.

As for the tutoring sessions they were a mixed bag.

While the topics were fascinating, none more so than Herbology, he had a few problems with some of the teachers.

-Line Break-

"Alright Neville, let's try again." Professor McGonagall said to a nervous Neville. "Remember the incantation is important. But not nearly as important as visualization, energy, and control. The first step is to form a mental picture of the end form: shape, color, texture. The more detailed you can make it, the better."

Neville merely nodded absent-mindedly, beads of sweat jingling off his forehead.

"Next, you must muster the energy to force it to change." she continued. "This is the reason Transfiguration is such a difficult branch of magic. Whereas Charms merely changes the properties to an object, changes that are often transitive, Transfiguration requires you to force the object into a new form. This requires you to have the willpower to see the change to the end, especially with higher level Transfiguration. Many wizards tried transfiguring animate into inanimate items without sufficient willpower. Needless to say the lucky ones never got started in the first place."

"Yes Professor McGonagall." Neville replied, shuddering at the thought of a half-rat half-pitcher Transfiguration.

"There are two steps to energy: willpower and magical energy." Professor McGonagall finished. "I've already touched upon willpower, so I'll move on to magical energy. Due to the inherent difficulty of Transfiguration, it requires a greater deal of magical energy than other branches of magic. But more importantly, it requires intense, constant control over that energy. If you don't give it enough energy, it will fail to start. If you start off with enough energy but lose control, either giving it too much or too little, at best the end result will merely be misshapen. At worst...well unless you'd like to skip lunch…"

"That's alright Professor." Neville said, breaking her train of thought. "I'll try again."

Focusing on the needle, he visualized it becoming a matchstick. First he thought of the color, picturing the shift from silver to yellow and red at the eye. Second, he thought of the shape, seeing the needle morph into an elongated cube, the point flattening and widening, with the eye filling with material and expanding into a sphere. Finally he visualized the texture, the smooth steel being replaced with the grain of wood.

With the process clear in his mind, he brought to mind the incantation: Myxa verto.

Focusing on the image, Neville pointed his wand at the needle and said "Myxa verto."

Breathing deeply, sweat beading on his forehead, Neville felt warmth welling up inside his chest and abdomen. 'That's the magic energy' he thought. 'Now to channel it through the wand.' Exhaling, Neville tried releasing the energy into the needle through the wand, focusing intently on the visualized process.

Then something went wrong, very wrong. The wand began shaking, hitting the needle and sending it flying off the table, and sparks flew from the tip. One of the sparks caught onto his clothes and they started to smoulder. Just as Neville was beginning to panic, a jet of water hit the fire, extinguishing it immediately.

"I'm sorry Professor." Neville said, wringing out his clothes. "I'll try again." and he went to retrieve the needle.

"No worries Neville." McGonagall said. "But not too much longer. You have Professor Sprout coming on soon. Accio needle."

As the needle replaced itself onto the table, Neville took out his wand and started the process again. After failing to get anything on his fourth try, Neville, seeing time was almost up, tried one last time and succeeded…

...from a certain point of view.

The needle had changed in color and shape, becoming yellow with a red bulb where the eye was and having sharper angles, but the bulb had an indentation and the texture was still metallic.

"Excellent Neville." McGonagall said, smiling slightly. "Now then, let's get ready for Pomona Sprout. I hear she has a new assignment for you."

-Line Break-

Professor McGonagall was a brilliant teacher, but very strict. Although she never said a word aloud, he could tell she was disappointed with his performance in her sessions. It always took him longer than expected to get any results, and the few successes he had achieved were often incomplete, like the needle to match lesson today. This stung even more in the face of the stories he had heard of his parents, and just how powerful and talented they were, especially, it seemed, compared to himself.

Professor Sinistra, while not as strict as Professor McGonagall, was not a very sociable person. She simply focused on the lesson and had no time for small talk or discussing the fine details of her topic. Of course, the fact that her lessons took place only at night and only on the weekends put serious limits on how much time they had for learning the material.

At his grandmother's behest, he also received some private lessons from Professor Vector and Professor Babbling. While they both had reputations for being strict, he found their lessons to be interesting and even a little fun but oftentimes he felt as though they were speaking foreign languages. He had managed to muddle through, but for the most part he was out of his element and they knew it. To his relief they simply said "Consider these a preliminary for your future studies. If you would prefer different classes, we understand."

Defense against the Dark Arts was an interesting topic to say the least, partly because it was the one topic not taught by a Hogwarts teacher. For some reason, no Defense against the Dark Arts Professor lasted more than a year, sparking rumors that the post was cursed. Thus Neville received tutoring from former members of the Order of the Phoenix, predominantly Remus Lupin, a werewolf, and Alastor Moody, a retired Auror, with the former specializing in Dark Creatures and the latter in combat.

Remus Lupin was, in many ways, a model teacher: patient, knowledgeable, sensitive, and helpful. Unfortunately, his schedule was a nightmare as he was never available during the Full Moon. Moreover, to Neville's surprise most of Lupin's time was consumed by a "long-term secret mission" as he told Neville after multiple inquiries. Though he often wondered what this "mission" entailed, he knew that it involved traveling around the world as Lupin often brought back interesting souvenirs.

As for Alastor Moody, he was, to put it mildly, a bit of a nutcase. While he undoubtedly knew his material, being a veteran of the last war, his insistence on constant vigilance crossed over into paranoia. He was constantly testing Neville for alertness, hitting him with a Stinging Hex for "motivation". To be fair, Neville did greatly improve his reaction time and learn a large number of spells to use in combat, but he seemed to have become an insomniac as he found himself jolting awake at the smallest noise and even wandering the manor late at night on occasion.

However, the worst of all was...Potions. While Neville found the topic itself interesting, at least when reading about it, he found practicing it was like navigating a minefield: one wrong move and you get exploded, splattered, sliced, or some other horrible fate. He had lost count of how many cauldrons he had melted on account of one little mistake.

To top it all off the Potions Master brought in to teach him was Professor Snape who seemed to hate ...no loathe Neville.

At first, Neville thought it was simply because Professor Snape had to tutor him on weekends, thereby cutting into his personal free time. Later, he wondered if it was because Neville kept having accidents with his potions. In an effort to please Professor Snape, he read ahead the week before his next session and worked extra hard to make sure the potion was perfect.

Every direction was followed precisely right.

Every ingredient in just the right condition and prepared exactly the right way.

For two hours he toiled on the potion, constantly checking the fire and the timer, sweat and fear oozing from his brow.

And perfection he created.

No exploding cauldrons. No surprise accidents. No unexpected results. The color, the texture, the temperature, the smell. Everything. Was. Perfect.

And what was Professor Snape's reaction?

Upon seeing the potion, his face twitched for the tiniest fraction of a second, as though he was about to smile. Then his eyes rested upon Neville and his face turned a very slight but noticeable shade of red and his eyes turned cold, with a dull glow of abject loathing burning within them.

"Acceptable." he said, fury barely restrained leaking through his words, before waving his wand and pocketing a sample into a beaker. With a second wave, the potion vanished into oblivion, then he made his way out of the laboratory.

Neville remained sitting at the table, his head down, questions racing through his head.

'Was it flawed somehow?' he first thought. 'No. I followed every direction just as it was written. I prepared every ingredient just as it should have been. I even carefully selected them JUST for this day. I think...no, I KNOW he wanted to smile. So why...?'

Then a horrible idea crept into the poor boy's mind: maybe Snape hated him simply for just being alive.

With that, Neville dropped his head onto the table and started to cry.

-Line Break-

"Well Slytherin's right off" the Hat mused. "One down, three to go."

-Line Break-

That was one of his worst memories: the wasted effort; the vain hope; the horrible realization; and the complete breakdown.

Thankfully, the other two topics, Charms and Herbology, were far more enjoyable.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was, like Lupin, a model teacher. Neville learned a lot about Charms under his tutelage, and more often than not his spells worked well after the third try, or even the first at times.

However, his Charms sessions had one additional element: fun.

Professor Flitwick encouraged him to find creative, and especially humorous, applications for his magic, often giving examples beforehand. One memorable case was charming puppets to move as part of a play, in this case The Fountain of Fair Fortune, one of Neville's favorite stories. Another case was when he used the Levitation charm on Professor McGonagall's hat and hair so that they floated above her, making her look like her hair was alive. Professor Flitwick's sense of humor also extended to himself, as when Neville was practicing the Summoning charm, just as a practice run, he accidentally summoned the professor instead of the pillow he was aiming for.

The two ended up on the floor, with Flitwick sitting on Neville's stomach.

The professor said "Mr Longbottom, I believe hosts usually send owls before summoning their guests.", mimicking McGonagall's sternness.

Neville stammered at first, then, realizing Flitwick's sense of humor, replied with "Professor Flitwick, I believe guests are supposed to knock before meeting the host.", imitating the diminutive professor.

After a brief pause, Flitwick broke out into a fit of laughter. "Well played, Mr Longbottom. I look forward to teaching you." he said as he got off of Neville.

-Line Break-

"Yes," the Hat continued. "You'd enjoy Ravenclaw very much. But alas your mind is...not exactly the right type. You learn more by plowing through the material than by insight or creativity. Not that that's a bad thing, but just not what Rowena would have liked. Halfway there."

-Line Break-

Then there was Herbology, Neville's absolutely favorite subject.

He loved the fragrance of the plants; the color and texture of their leaves and bark; their uses in potions and spells; and, most of all, the sense of satisfaction in knowing he had succeeded in making these plants thrive despite their diverse and intense needs. In many ways, it was like Potions: one mistake and all your hard work is wasted, and you end up paying the price.

Most of all though, Herbology gave Neville ample time to be with his favorite Professor: Pomona Sprout.

Professor Sprout was, like many of her colleagues, an excellent teacher: patient, knowledgeable, sensitive, and helpful. She always made her sessions a great deal of fun, much like Professor Flitwick. But most of all, Professor Sprout was nurturing toward Neville.

-Line Break-

He sat there by the table in the potions laboratory, his head down on the table, tears streaking down his cheeks, disappointment and confusion burning in his heart.

"Neville are you alright?" a voice called out from behind, pulling Neville's attention and he felt his cheeks go red at the sight of Professor Sprout. "I'm...I'm fine…" he said as he tried to discreetly dry his eyes.

Then he squeaked out "I'm...I'm not late...am I?"

"I think we can wait on that Neville." Professor Sprout replied, crossing to the table. "For now, let's talk."

"About what?" Neville asked nervously as Professor Sprout took a seat next to him.

"Whatever you want Neville." Professor Sprout answered, taking an informal, inviting tone. "After all you'll be off to Hogwarts soon, and you already know some of the material so you have an advantage over the other students. So how does that make you feel?"

Neville, digesting her words, pondered over her words, and soon felt a wave of fear rush through his mind. Fear of meeting people that no doubt had heard his story; fear that he would not live up to everyone's expectations; and fear of their reactions to his performance.

Soon after, a second emotion mixed into that fear: doubt. Doubt of his destiny, his abilities, and the story that had grown up around him like a Strangler Fig.

After all, if he was the Boy-Who-Lived, why was he struggling?

If he could defeat the most powerful and evil Dark Wizard in all history, then surely these school subjects would be child's play to him, right?

Was this just a temporary phase?

Was this related to surviving the Killing Curse, a supposedly impossible feat?

Or was this symptomatic of a much more serious problem?

Did he really survive the Killing Curse as a toddler, a feat long believed to be impossible?

Was it possible that the story was mistaken?

Or worse….

Was his story in fact a lie? Merely a fairy tale?

"I'm, I'm afraid." Neville said after a rather long while. "I'm afraid that I'll be one big disappointment. I mean, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, so surely this would be easy, right? If I could beat...him as a toddler, then I should be performing wandless magic by now. Instead, I'm struggling at everything and all the teachers think of me as one big disappointment. And if the teachers think that, what will stop the students from sharing those thoughts?"

As he rambled his fears, Neville began to tremble in anxiety, and his voice seemed to rise in pitch.

"And, and, and, even-even if I do everything right…" Neville stammered, having difficulty forming a sentence. "I mean just now, or so it seemed, I brewed a perfect potion. No hyperbole. It was absolutely perfect: no accidents, no deviations. The color, texture, consistency, even the fragrance were completely spot-on. And how did he react? He took one look at me and said 'acceptable'. How could he say that? If my very best only got that...then...then…"

Neville's trembling intensified, and his voice began to crack as moisture collected in his eyes.

Professor Sprout, seeing his distress, placed her hand on his shoulder and began to rub it, gently but firmly. Despite herself, she found herself humming a soothing tune, bringing Neville's anxiety, and shaking, down to manageable levels.

"Neville, I think you're being too hard on yourself. First off, Professor Snape is EXTREMELY difficult to please, even if you're a Slytherin. The fact that he said your potion was acceptable means that you met his extremely high standards, which means that you have true potential." she said, patting Neville on the back. "Second, I know the legend around you has grown a bit out of control, so people are bound to have high expectations of you. And you will make mistakes and people will jump on you."

At those thoughts, Neville began thinking of his family, specifically his grandmother, Augusta, and his great-uncle Algie. Augusta had been a good guardian, making sure he ate well, took his medicine, and always studied and practiced as hard as possible, but Neville could not help but feel a little intimidated by her. She was always telling Neville about how talented and powerful his parents were; how they sacrificed everything for him; and how he should live up to them. And whenever he failed or made a mistake, she always gave a disappointed look before directing him to try again.

Then there was Algie, the most determined, so to say, to expose Neville's magic, or lack thereof.

Whenever Algie visited, he had always "tested" Neville for magic potential. These tests included: dropping Neville off Blackport pier, where Neville had nearly drowned; taking Neville for a walk that "happened" to run into a large, ill-tempered dog, where Neville required magical healing; and lastly hanging Neville upside-down out a second-floor window and "accidentally" dropping him.

To everyone's relief, Neville simply bounced upon impact without injury, the first sign of magic he had ever exhibited.

"But there is a bright side to it." she continued, breaking Neville from his train of thought. "Once people meet you, they can see what you really are: a kind, hard-working wizard who always gives it his all. And if they don't like that, their loss."

Hearing those words, Neville began to think of Susan Bones, his best friend. At first, she believed full-heartedly all those stories that people told about him, shocking him into complete disbelief when he heard them for the first time ...and how it hurt them both for him to tell her the truth.

After the initial shock and confusion, however, Susan was able to see him for who he really was after she had accidentally walked in on one of his many practice sessions. The sweaty brow, the shortness of breath, the shaking of his wand hand, and the late night revealed his drive and work ethic, and, after bonding over their respected, missing parents, soon became best friends.

Feeling his fear dissipate with her kind words, Neville turned to Professor Sprout and, with unexpected speed, wrapped his arms around her, muttering "Thank you." again and again.

Professor Sprout, seeing his prior breakdown, simply smiled and returned the hug.

"Well Neville, I think we better get some rest." she said, yanking Neville back to his senses.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, realizing the time. "I'm so sorry Professor! I took up all your time!"

"No worries Neville." she reassured. "I think you desperately needed this, and better here than at school, right?"

As Neville vigorously nodded in agreement, Professor Sprout simply stood up and said "I guess we'll have to reschedule for same time tomorrow. But…" she trailed off seeing Neville's eager face. "We won't be doing this in the future, especially at Hogwarts. Understand?"

As Neville nodded in response, Professor Sprout simply smiled and said, "Very well, good night."

-Line Break-

"You have an excellent affinity for Hufflepuff" the Hat nodded. "But why not Gryffindor? You could be great you know? It's all here in your head."

'Please, please Hufflepuff' Neville begged.

"Well if you're sure, better be...HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat declared.

-Line Break-

Author's Notes: Hey everyone. Sorry for the delay. Started school again and everything kept piling up, not least of which were some personal losses. Think of this as my Holiday present for those that have been waiting so patiently.

Now for a few quick things. Yes I know Neville was in Gryffindor in canon, but remember he was a nervous wreck WITHOUT the fame and pressure of being The Boy Who Lived heaped upon him. And unlike Harry, he had no Muggle relatives to take him in, so he couldn't be raised outside the Wizarding World without leaving him fatally vulnerable to Death Eaters. Thus, he knew about the story all his life, and just imagine what that would do to a person like Neville. Also, as I've shown, Neville's been tutored by the Hogwarts staff, including Professor Snape, who terrorized him so much in canon he became Neville's boggart. If he could do that much damage just from three years of being his teacher, imagine him being Neville's tutor.

So with all that which has already changed, why not the Sorting? This is already AU, so I'm going to explore the ramifications rather than just have Neville take Harry's place. Don't worry, Neville's NOT any less brave than canon, but like canon it's going to take a while to come out and when it does Death Eaters Beware.

Finally, I'm going to be closing the poll for Ryuukhan's familiar soon so cast your vote and stay tuned to see Hina in the next chapter.