Chapter Text
Neville was having a hard time adjusting to Hogwarts. His family name and personal reputation preceded him amongst the other pureblood children and it made him self-conscious. The half-blood and muggle-born first years seemed to be having an easier go at making friends and fitting in at school while he was crumbling under the weight of others’ expectations. Neville always seemed to fall short of his parents’ and family’s legacy.
The Longbottoms were an esteemed part of the Sacred 28, and even though his Gran did not have a taste for the society life as the other families did, her positions on the Wizengamot and as the de facto Head of House meant that she and her grandson participated in the minimum number of pureblood societal events required to keep the Longbottom name in consideration for political alliances and possible marriage arrangements prior to his arrival at Hogwarts.
Neville had never done well at those events. As a child, he was awkward and preferred to go off alone into manor gardens instead of playing Quidditch or broom tag with the others. He stuttered when he was nervous and the challenges with his memory caused him to unintentionally slight other children when he didn’t remember their names. It had not gone over well with his “peers” over the years. When he arrived at school, he was snubbed and bullied by children he was already acquainted with before the first week of classes ended.
One morning, while making his way to breakfast in the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy “accidentally” stepped on the back of Neville’s robes in passing as he was trying to climb into the Gryffindor benches. Losing his balance, half-in his spot next to Hermione, he fell backwards pulling the bench and the students sitting on it to the floor. Food and utensils were scattered about and the din brought all other activities to a screeching halt, every eye on Neville.
“S-sorry. So sorry,” Neville was tomato-red as he offered his hand to help his fellow students up. A few accepted his help but some of his fellow Gryffindors gave him withering looks or outright scorned his assistance. Hermione squeezed his hand silently as he guided her to her feet. Once the bench was righted and the others were getting back to breakfast, Neville grabbed his bag and rushed out of the hall before anyone could see his embarrassment turn into tears.
He tried to move quickly but calmly, but he ended up doing an awkward shuffle-run through the cobblestone corridor. Not realizing his boot was untied, he stumbled forward, releasing the majority of the contents of his satchel. He cringed inwardly again and chastised himself. “You’re so clumsy, it’s no wonder nobody likes you here.” He was fully crying now as he tried to gather his things, some of which had rolled under the teal banner hanging from the wall. He stuck his hand out and lifted the textile to see a small alcove behind the artwork. His ink had rolled quite far away behind it. His body was halfway beyond, reaching for the bottle, when he heard footsteps echoing and someone calling his name.
“Neville?” A girl’s voice asked carefully. “Neville, are you down here? Is that you?”
Panicked, Neville ducked all the way under the tapestry, hoping the voice would pass and he would be left in peace. He pressed his body into the corner of the alcove, wiping tears away, wishing he could disappear into the stone.
The footsteps stopped directly on the other side of the cloth wall. He held his breath, his face twisted in pain from the embarrassment. A small hand appeared on his side of the curtain then a girl’s head was backlit as the fabric was drawn.
“There you are.” Hermione Granger had been looking for him.
- - - -
Hermione had been the first person he met on the Hogwarts Express. He had noticed the girl on platform 9-and-3/4, as her parents were both wearing muggle clothes. He didn’t know many people who wore clothing like theirs, so he assumed her parents were non-magical. Not that it made a huge difference to him, but it was hard not to take notice of the family, so happy and excited for their seemingly pensive but eager daughter. She was a first-year like him, as she wore the school colors and not the colors of a particular House.
He felt a pang of jealousy as the mother doted on the girl and the father looked so proud. He wished his parents could be there with him on this important day, or any day really. His Gran meant well but she was not an easy woman to please and was always highly critical of him not meeting some standard he didn’t know about but was supposed to intuit.
When the train arrived, the older woman held him back by the elbow, reminding him that, “A gentleman lets others go ahead of him, as he does not worry he will not have a place.” This was terrible advice to Neville, as he’d rather find a car and let others choose to sit with him instead of him having to find a car that would hopefully let him join. But he heeded and was one of the last to get on the train, despite being amongst the first on the platform. “The early bird gets the flobberworm,” his Uncle Algie would say any time Neville was frustrated with his Gran’s need to be almost impolitely early anywhere they needed to be. This made no sense to him either. Flobberworms were gross.
As Neville had walked onto the train, most of the cars were full. All the students seemed to be excited and laughing, even other first-years were chattering away like they knew each other. It wasn’t until the second to last compartment in the car that he found the bushy-haired muggle-born girl from the platform with her nose in a book.
“Um, may I join you?” His voice squeaked. He wasn’t comfortable talking to strangers, let alone girl-strangers.
“Sure!” She said brightly, marking her place in her book and setting it to her side. “I wasn’t sure I’d have anyone to sit with on this ride! My name is Hermione Granger.” She stuck out her arm for a handshake, directly in Neville’s path, as he moved to stow his trunk. As he turned to face the girl and her outstretched hand, a quizzical look painted his face. She was clearly offering to shake but, as she was a girl, he was supposed to kiss her hand or grasp her fingers and subtly bow, when meeting a lady for the first time.
Too much time had passed and the eager look on the girl’s face was morphing into confusion and a look of rejection. He had to fix this quickly. Grabbing her hand and twisting her fingers, he lightly placed a kiss on the back of it before he could think too hard. His kiss was a little slobbery from nervously licking his lips when searching his brain for the best course of etiquette. The girl froze, in what he can only describe as “terror” until he offered, “Hello Miss Granger. My name is Neville, scion from the House Longbottom. We haven’t met before and I was taught you’re supposed to kiss a lady’s hand the first time you meet. I hope that’s okay.”
“Oh, ehrm. Yes, that’s not what I was expecting but that’s fine. I appreciate your manners.” She smiled weakly and debated covertly wipe the back of her hand on her robes. He sat down on the bench across from her. Thinking better of brushing away the slobber, she offered, “I’ve never had anyone call me a lady or kiss my hand before, so, thank you?” Her thought trailed off, sounding as a question until she firmly repeated, “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you. You can just call me Hermione. Can I call you Neville? Or… am I supposed to call you by your full title?”
“Oh just Neville would be great. It’s a long title and I don’t really care for it but since I mostly go to formal events, I guess I don’t know how to introduce myself more casually.”
“Well, where I’m from, we mostly use given names. Though, from my short excursions into the wizarding world, I understand it’s more common to use surnames and only those who are familiar to you get to use your first name.”
“So we’re familiar then?” asked Neville. That sounded almost inappropriate to him but he couldn’t pinpoint why.
“Well, you’ve kissed my hand,” she smiled shyly, “and we have a long train ride ahead of us, so hopefully we will be friends by the end of it?” Her tone and eyes were both hopeful.
“Yes, that sounds nice,” Neville smiled. He had never had a friend before. “This is Trevor, my toad.”
- - - -
Hermione stepped to Neville’s side of the tapestry and crouched down on her knees. They had only known each other a few weeks but he definitely didn’t want her to see him like this, in his shame. He tried to wipe the last evidence of his tears without her noticing.
“You didn’t get any breakfast. I brought you some,” she looked away from his face to spare his dignity but her voice lacked condescension or pity. She handed him a goblet of pumpkin juice and pulled an overfilled napkin from her pocket. “I didn’t know what you’d like best, so I thought we could share.” There were two sausage rolls and a large Chelsea bun. From her other pocket, she pulled a green apple and a banana.
“Thanks, Hermione. You didn’t have to go through that trouble for me.” Neville was touched by the comfort offered from his friend, without judgement, he hoped.
“It’s no trouble, we both need to eat. And I was hoping to talk to you about our Potions homework before class.” Hermione sat down next to Neville and they spent the rest of the breakfast period eating and chatting with ease.