Neville Longbottom
Watery brown eyes scanned the floor of the bustling train, small, pudgy hands clung to non-descriptive robes, trembling—fidgeting. The Hogwarts Express had already begun its journey, yet Neville felt as though his stomach was caving.
Trevor—Trevor—the toad his grandmother had gifted him—because he was a wizard—he found his magic—had gone missing from the moment the train started. He didn’t know what to do! He had lost his gift and he’d already foreseen his grandmother’s disappointment!
Neville sniffled, his bottom lip quivering. He had… he had to find Trevor. He couldn’t afford to lose the beloved gift—his sole gift—that proved his grandmother’s affection for him. Trevor was his companion—his family, now that he was leaving for Hogwarts.
So, Neville pulled his shoulders back, mustered enough Gryffindor courage—Gryffindor like—like his mum and dad—and then knocked on the first door to his left.
The door opened swiftly with a bang, causing him to startle. He raised his eyes up and up and up and found mischievous blue eyes gazing back at him, the fiery locks of red hair making him blink.
There was only one family he knew who had exhibited red hair traits: Weasley.
Neville hoped to Merlin they were the good Weasley… and not the twins his grandmother continued clucking her tongue at.
“Why, an ickle firstie!” the Weasley exclaimed, roving his gaze all over Neville.
Neville tried not to whimper. “H-have you-you… seen a toad…?”
“A toad?” He scratched his head, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. “Can’t say I have, little firstie. Oi, George! Have you seen a toad?” he called out behind him.
“Nope! Why? Did you kill one?” a voice answered back, his answer rendering Neville pale.
The Weasley boy turned back to him and shrugged, not even noticing the color that had left Neville’s face.
“No toadies here, big boy, better find your toad elsewhere!” He grinned merrily before shutting the door closed to Neville’s face.
This time, Neville did let out a whimper.
He wasn’t going to cry. He—He refused to cry!
He sniffled a bit though before shuffling to the second door. This time, he was met with fellow first years of his own, but he quickly left when they threw nasty names at him, trying not to burst into tears when he heard their laughter behind him.
The other compartments weren’t better as well, but at least some people didn’t laugh at him. He met another Weasley, this time in the same year as him, but he stiffened when he saw the wary note in his blue eyes. He hadn’t even noticed the other boy sitting across him, he just fled when they told him that they hadn’t seen his toad.
He spent so long wandering about, Neville had already forgotten where his own compartment was. But that was second to his problems when Trevor was still missing. He would give anything to find Trevor again, to find the proof of his grandmother’s love for him.
He knocked softly on another door, now nearly at the end of the train, and braced himself against the inevitable door slamming open. Except a soft voice merely called out, “come in,” and Neville blinked his eyes.
He slowly opened the compartment door and peeked his head inside, his gaze landing on the sole occupant.
Sitting with his legs crossed with an open book on his lap and wearing the same non-descriptive robes that Neville wore, the boy looked far too serene and at ease being alone inside a compartment of his own. His long eyelashes fluttered as he lifted his gaze from the book to him, and Neville felt his breath catch, his cheeks heating red.
He was very, very pretty for a boy. Neville had never seen a pretty boy before, unless he counted his neighbor, Cedric. But Cedric—he lacked the strange softness that this stranger had, the kind of softness that made Neville at ease.
“H-Hi,” Neville uttered, blatantly aware that he was staring at the boy.
The boy gave a close-lipped smile, leaning his head against the fist he propped on the close window. Curly brown hair sprung from the boy’s head to his neck, loose screws in different directions, yet it framed his face so artfully, it could’ve been intentional. His eyes are also brown, gentle and dark like the patch of dirt Neville would prepare for his grandmother’s roses, but deep as the water well in the middle of the garden.
One glance, and Neville felt as though his entire life blew apart—exposed by his scrutiny.
The boy opened his mouth, and when he spoke, his voice came out soft and even-tempered. “You look troubled. Come, sit.”
Neville couldn’t even remember how he walked into the train compartment and sat on the seat opposite from him. A blink and he found himself sat, scooted into the far wall near the door, so he could escape easily when needed. The boy watched him throughout, eyes casted in a concerned glow that made Neville fidget in his place.
“Can I get you any water? Some food, perhaps?” the boy asked, closing his book softly and tilting his head, a thick curl falling over his forehead.
“N-no… No, thank you,” Neville muttered.
He observed the way the boy reverently stored the book to the side. He must really like the book.
The boy’s gaze darted towards him and shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs. Neville couldn’t help but fidget.
All his life, he’d spent in the shadows, constantly overlooked and forgotten. His grandmother, despite loving him—because Neville knew that she loved him—didn’t know how to show it, but she’d made her disappointments and discontent show often enough. His grandmother never looked at him squarely in the eyes before and Neville knew it was because he looked far too much like his father.
But here, at this very moment, Neville became someone’s singular focus and he didn’t know what to do with it.
“You’re sweating and fidgeting,” the boy suddenly said, a note of contemplation in his voice. “You must be nervous. Your robes are wrinkled, especially below. You must’ve been walking for a while now. Your eyes are red-rimmed but I don’t see any tear tracks on your cheeks. You’re on the verge of crying. Are you afraid of me?”
The series of observations left Neville speechless, his mouth going agape.
“I-I—“ Neville stammered, hurriedly thinking of a response. “I don’t—I’m not—“
He didn’t quite succeed, so he shut his mouth shut, cheeks burning as he lowered his head.
“Here.” A bottled water appeared in front of Neville’s gaze and he lifted his head to find the boy smiling at him, his eyes crinkling softly.
Neville felt his heart squeeze tightly in his chest and he forced himself to accept the water bottle. He didn’t open it, holding it to his chest instead, and the boy leaned back against his seat, not even asking why.
He wasn’t just pretty, but he was also kind. Not even the older ones Neville met on the train had considered his well-being, immediately dismissing him once they had answered his questions. They didn’t even give him water, nor had they invited him to sit in the same compartment as them.
“I apologize for being tactless and putting you on the spot. I hope I’m not overstepping,” the boy said, hesitation laced around his voice, his stare no less than penetrating, “but I have to ask. Why do you look… lost? It’s just that… you look very sad at the moment, and I wonder why. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Neville’s bottom lip trembled, eyes watering at the reminder that he failed to find Trevor.
“M-my toad,” Neville answered hoarsely and suddenly he found himself confessing long-buried sins and unearthing long-kept secrets. “My pet—familiar—my grandmother gave him to me to—to celebrate, you know? They all thought I was a squib, then I wasn’t, and my grandmother gave me a-a toad. His name is Trevor b-but I’m not good at keeping my things and I-I lost Trevor. I know I didn’t forget him at the s-station. He was there w-when I boarded. But now h-he’s… he’s gone.”
Neville whimpered, holding the water bottle tighter, gazing at the floor instead. “I kept looking for him in the entire train b-but… I still haven’t found him.”
He imagined his grandmother’s disappointment and he couldn’t—he couldn’t handle it. He knew that he wasn’t his father, that his grandmother saw his father in him and she wanted him to be like Frank Longbottom, but… but he was Neville. Just Neville. He was Neville Longbottom and he just—he fell short. He knew that, but the truth didn’t lessen the pain.
“Oh, no wonder you look so pale and downtrodden,” the boy commented, and there was pity in his voice that Neville both hated and liked at the same time. “I’m so sorry to hear you’ve lost your friend. It seems like you have quite the trying day. If it makes you feel better, do you want me to help you find your toad?”
The boy poised his offer carefully, his words leaving his lips with consideration. He didn’t want to overstep, Neville knew, and his heart just ached even more, because this was the first time someone asked if he wanted help. This was the first time someone asked if they could help.
Neville sniffled. “I… I’d appreciate it.”
The boy smiled, his face smoothing over with slight tenderness. “What’s your name, by the way?” the boy asked. “My name is Hermione. Hermione Granger.”
Neville blinked his eyes. Hermione was an odd name for a boy, but he wasn’t going to voice that out. It would be quite rude and he didn’t want to offend one of the kindest people he had ever met.
“My name is Neville Longbottom,” he replied.
Hermione’s lips curled upwards into a sweet smile and, really, Neville was almost blinded by his shiny white teeth, with two at the front longer and bigger than the rest—like a bunny. Cute. Neville blushed.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Neville. Now, why don’t you drink your water before we leave to find your familiar? You have to take care of yourself as well. I’m sure Trevor wouldn’t want you to exhaust yourself.”
Neville did as he was told, drinking from the bottle he was given with unreasonable embarrassment, cheeks flushed. Hermione averted his gaze to the window, watching as they passed through countless of scenery, as if he knew of Neville’s flustered state and was giving him privacy.
He wasn’t… he wasn’t used to this. He didn’t know what to do when someone—anyone—much less a stranger put him first. For a long time, he’d been an afterthought, never the priority. And now, this boy—this Hermione—in front of him easily made him feel as if he mattered, that he was important.
Unease churned in his stomach. What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to make Hermione treat him like this? He didn’t understand.
Neville finished his water and both he and Hermione left his compartment to roam the train yet again. Neville walked behind him, trailing after him like some sort of gnarly ghost. Hermione, on the other hand, walked with a quiet confidence, his strides purposeful.
Hermione knocked on a door and plastered a small, polite smile when it opened. Neville’s lips pursed when he saw the trademark Weasley red hair. This one was definitely older than the one he’d encountered earlier, with a haughty face that made Neville to step closer to Hermione.
His expression reminded Neville too much of another boy from earlier—the one that laughed at him with his friends—who had blond hair and quite a pointy face. Neville didn’t think this one would be nice to them, and he braced himself for the inevitable rejections with a wince.
“Hello, I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir,” Hermione started without preamble, a velvety quality to his voice that made the Weasley boy soften his expression. “I saw you earlier at the station and noticed your Prefect badge. Congratulations, by the way. That being said, I do wonder if we can ask for your help regarding a dilemma we’ve encountered.”
Neville watched as the Weasley’s chest swelled. “Well, it is a Prefect’s duty to help those students in need, of course. You’re a first year, aren’t you?”
Hermione nodded, a soft pink tint on his cheeks. Neville’s eyes blinked at the sight of the charming expression. Hermione—he was—Neville rarely met kids his age but he never met someone who was capable of being charming like Cedric. Perhaps, Hermione was more charming than Cedric.
“Yes, I am. As well as my companion here.” Hermione gestured to Neville who waved shyly at the Weasley.
“Well, nice to meet you both. Hopefully, once you’ve sorted, we’ll see more of you,” Weasley remarked. “Now, what is it that you want help for?”
“Thank you, sir. Well, you see, Neville’s toad went missing in the train. He’s been looking for it since. I was wondering if you can cast a spell or charm that can help us find or bring back his toad? Maybe an Accio?” Hermione asked.
Neville merely gazed at Hermione. He hadn’t even thought of doing a spell to find his toad. He’d been too distraught to ask for a Prefect as well. He really hadn’t anticipated Hermione’s move, however.
The Weasley blinked as if surprised. “That’s… an advanced spell. I’m surprised you know of it.”
“I read a lot.” Hermione shrugged, the red tint spreading across her cheeks.
“Ah, a wizard after my own heart,” Weasley remarked, chuckling before he paused. Neville didn’t quite understand what made the Weasley grimace before he brusquely said to Hermione, “I’ll cast an Accio for you, if you want.”
Hermione grinned brightly. “Thank you so much, sir. Neville’s toad is named Trevor.”
The Weasley nodded absentmindedly before he took out his wand and casted an Accio for Neville’s toad. It didn’t take long before a dark green object zoomed across the train and into the Weasley’s waiting hand.
“Trevor!” Neville exclaimed, wide-eyed. He eagerly accepted Trevor from Weasley’s grasp and held the amphibian to his chest, his relief so overwhelming that his knees nearly buckled under him.
He didn’t even hear Hermione thanking Weasley and Weasley giving them a succinct nod, the compartment door closing once Hermione assured the Prefect they would be able to return to their own compartments without incident.
He blushed when he noticed Hermione watching him, a fond smile across his face. He wanted to hide behind his pet toad but decided to be… brave for once. His grandmother always said that Neville looked like his Dad. Why didn’t he try to be like him for once?
So, he straightened his back and met Hermione’s eyes, his chest tightening when Hermione returned his gaze without hesitation. Soft, tranquil, like undisturbed water. There was a confidence in Hermione that was neither arrogant nor blatant—Neville envied him for it.
“Thank you,” Neville said, lips trembling slightly, “for helping me find my pet. I… no one’s ever helped me like you did before.”
Neville always felt like an afterthought, like the last bruised fruit at the bottom of a basket. Easily forgotten and overlooked, Neville was used to being pushed in the background. His grandmother wanted him to be more like his dad—to be brave, courageous, and wise, before…—well, before.
His aunts and uncles thought he was a Squib and did all kinds of things to bring out the magic in him. They threw him out of the window and his grandmother just watched.
No one had ever helped Neville, nor did they ever treated him with kindness. Even Cedric could be thoughtlessly cruel, unable to comprehend that Neville didn’t have his confidence or his abilities. Cedric always assumed that people could do what he could—he was always baffled when they couldn’t.
Perhaps, if Neville wasn’t so ashamed and he wasn’t trying to prove a point to everyone—that he deserved to be a wizard and he deserved to go to Hogwarts and he deserved the name he had—maybe he could’ve asked Cedric for help. But Neville didn’t want to be that kid who pestered their older, more experienced neighbor, just to get a hint of his light in a way.
Hermione was the first person he’d met who helped him without shaming him or being ashamed of him.
So, when Hermione smiled at him, Neville couldn’t help the blush from spreading across his cheeks. He could only pull Trevor close to his face, hoping his pet’s green skin would conceal his heated face.
“You’re welcome, Neville. I’m glad that you’ve been reunited with your friend again.” Hermione patted Trevor’s head with two of his fingers. “Now, Trevor, I hope you don’t run away this time. Dear Neville had been worried about you. He needs his familiar with him at all times. I hope you stop being naughty.”
Neville gaped as Hermione spoke to his familiar in a soothing, lightly high-pitched voice. Noticing his stare, Hermione looked at him through his lashes, loose curls falling over the sides of his face, and his smile formed into a smirk. Neville’s breath hitched and Trevor settled in his grasp.
Hermione leaned back, sliding his hands in his pockets, the faint smile still adorning his soft, princely features. He was the epitome of cool nonchalance. If they were older, Neville was certain that Hermione would capture many hearts with just one glance.
“I have to return to my compartment now,” Hermione said, eyebrows furrowing briefly. “Do you have a compartment of your own or would you like to join me?”
“I—I have a compartment of my own,” Neville answered. Even though he wanted to spend time and get to know Hermione for the rest of the ride, he was still unsure. He didn’t want to feel as though he’d overstayed his welcome. “I… I should probably go.”
There was no hint of upset or dismay across Hermione’s face as he nodded his head. Neville didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved by his lack of reaction.
“I’ll walk you back,” Hermione suddenly offered.
Before Neville could protest, Hermione grabbed his elbow and the words died in Neville’s mouth.
“T-this way,” Neville uttered, mortified to hear how breathless he sounded. What was wrong with him? He needed to… to get his head together, yeah. His head together. Before Hermione thought he was a lunatic.
Hermione nodded and together, they walked down the slim corridor towards Neville’s compartment. Neville could feel Hermione’s fingers as they grasped his elbow, unable to stop his musings how, for a boy, Hermione’s hand was strangely soft and warm.
As they neared Neville’s compartment, he couldn’t help but voice out the question that had been plaguing him since he met Hermione.
“Er…” Neville glanced at his companion then stared ahead, powering through his hesitation, “I hope I don’t offend you but… y-your name. I can’t help but feel that it’s a… girl’s name?”
They stopped in front of his compartment door, and Neville turned to Hermione whose expression conveyed a hint of amusement.
Neville stopped breathing when Hermione reached forward to fix his collar, strangely frozen until his arm dropped.
Then Hermione answered, with a teasing grin, “That’s because I am a girl, Neville.”
Neville’s mouth went agape and Trevor made a sound. “Y-you’re a girl?!” he couldn’t help but exclaim.
Hermione—he—she was a girl! How could Neville had missed that?! He’d been so convinced that Hermione was a boy despite the unusual name and now that Neville found out the truth, he stared at him—her—harder.
Somehow his gaze had trouble focusing on her, some sort of whimsical haze slithering around Hermione’s features that made her appear both vibrant and muted at the same time. He stared, squinting his eyes at her.
At the delicate jaw, those long eyelashes, those impossibly big and beautiful eyes—
Neville drew back and sputtered.
Hermione was a girl!
Hermione laughed—a tinkling delicate, feminine sound—and Neville’s ears burned.
“It was nice meeting you, Neville,” Hermione said, taking a step back, flashing him one last grin over her shoulder, “I’ll see you at the feast and after the sorting. Take care of yourself and drink some water, yes? Also, bye-bye, Trevor.”
With one last parting wave of her dainty hand, Hermione strolled down the corridor and away from Neville. He stood there gaping, heart in his throat.
When he thought she was a boy, he’d thought that Hermione was pretty. She had the regal and elegant air of a prince and the charms of a fairy. She spoke softly like she was a dream and moved as if she was one with the wind, all graceful arcs of her feet and confident poised of her hands.
Now knowing that she was a girl all along, Neville’s opinions remained the same of Hermione. She still looked like a fairy prince, still moved with the wind, and spoke like a dream. Knowing her true sex didn’t diminish her beauty.
Neville blushed as he entered his compartment.
Hermione—despite being a girl—made him feel like a princess. Strangely enough, Neville was okay with it.
“Trevor,” Neville whispered to his familiar as he gently put him back to its temporary habitat. “I think I made a friend.”
If he called her his knight in shining armor, then that was in Neville’s thoughts. Safe and unheard, yet definitely felt.
And of course, like any princess longing for her knight while trapped in her tower, Neville longed to see Hermione again.