The Three Brothers - Chapter 7

1st September 1991

Neville Longbottom was irritated. The stupid toad his Great Uncle Algie had bought him had run away twice since they had arrived at Kings Cross Station. Holding Trevor tightly between his clasped hands, he walked towards the compartment in which he had placed his luggage earlier.

To be honest, he was not that fond of Trevor. Toads certainly weren’t his thing, nor were they currently in fashion. Neville wasn’t sure when they had been. Probably when Great Uncle Algie was at Hogwarts.

But on the platform, amongst the hundreds of students scrambling to get on the Hogwarts Express, there was a good chance of his new pet getting squished underneath someone’s foot or an oversized trunk. God forbid if someone tried feeding Trevor to their owl. His pet might be a hassle, but it was his to take care of.

Now outside his compartment, he tightened the grip on the toad with his left hand while he jiggled the latch open with his right. He had bȧrėly taken a seat when the door slid open again.

A bronze skinned boy stood in the doorway, with a large black bag slung on one shoulder and a trunk at his feet. He was about the same height as Neville, if not slightly taller, and had long black hair framing his slightly chubby face.

“Hey mate, you mind?” the boy, nodding towards the empty seat in front of Neville. Growing up as he had with his Gran, Neville hadn’t ever heard anyone talk so casually. He realised that the boy was still waiting for a reply.

“Um, yes. Come in.”

The boy gave him a small grin and turned to pull on his trunk. Neville watched with fascination as he managed to balance the black bag on one shoulder while hoisting the trunk up on the rack. The boy rested the tall bag beside him, which Neville now noticed was of a peculiar shape; it was narrow at the top, and slowly widened as it went down, before bloating up into an oblong frame.

Following the manners drilled into him by his grandmother, he decided to introduce himself to this newcomer.

“Neville Longbottom,” he said offering his right hand. The reply was not one he expected.

“Your frog, mate.”

It took a moment for Neville to register that he was referring to Trevor, who had jumped out at the first opportunity and was now making his escape.

“I think it wants some humidity,” the boy said, his brows furrowed. As if struck by something obvious, he turned towards the large bag and fished a weird looking bottle from it. Unscrewing the cap, he poured some water on the floor of the compartment just underneath the window.

“Here, try this. I think Trevor might like it.”

Giving a small shrug, Neville let his toad down in the small puddle and was surprised that his normally hyperactive pet didn’t jump out.

“Oh yeah,” said the boy, sweeping his hair back with one hand. “I’m Mark. Mark Smith.” He offered his hand to Neville and shook it with a firm grip. Neville made a mental note to shake hands that firmly from now on.

“Are you from a wizarding family?” asked Mark.

“Yes. I’m a pureblood. What about you?”

“I’m a first-generation wizard.”

Neville was about to tell him that the commonly used term was muggle-born when he stopped himself. Obviously, Mark must be knowing that. If he did not use it, instead opting for a rarely found archaic term, then it had to be by choice. It as wiser to stay silent. Fortunately, Mark asked the next question.

“Do you know if owls make good pets? I considered getting one in Diagon Alley, but Professor McGonagall informed me that there are school owls available at Hogwarts if I need them,” he spoke in short rapid bursts, as if his words were struggling to keep up with his thoughts.

“I live in London. Would that be a problem? Delivering mail and such?”

“They normally know to deliver mail at night. Be generally unnoticed. Great Uncle Algie once said something about concealing spells and such, but from what I remember they tamper with the owl’s sense of direction or something.” Neville tried to recollect anything more he could but came up short. “You don’t want a cat? Or a toad?” he added as an afterthought.

“Not really a cat person,” Mark said. “Plus, I have herpetophobia, so toads are out”

“Pardon me? You have what?”

“Herpeto—it’s a fear of reptiles,” Mark glanced at Trevor, who was basking in the sunlight from the window, “and other related animals.”

“Oh.”

Neville didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even known such a thing existed. His face must have shown confusion, because Mark tried to clarify himself immediately.

“It’s a mild one, not—I’ve gotten over it mostly.” He spread his hands about six inches wide, in a rough measurement of size.

“We had these— these lizards at my Grandmum’s place. An infestation of sorts. Freaked me out as a child.” Looking at Neville, he continued, “Am okay with being around them now. Just not as my pet.”

“What house do you think you’ll be sorted into?” asked Neville, deciding to change the topic.

“Dunno. Whatever they decide, I guess. Haven’t given it much thought, really. What about you?”

“My dad was in Gryffindor, though I guess I’ll end up in Hufflepuff,” said Neville, the anxiety that had gripped him since he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter surfacing itself.

“You don’t sound too happy about it,” Mark observed. “Isn’t Hufflepuff the house of the loyal and hardworking?”

“It is …” said Neville, pausing to word his next statement properly. “It’s generally also considered as the house where—where the duffers end up.”

Mark looked at him with an incredulous expression. Recognising the silent acknowledgement, Neville continued,

“I’m not a talented wizard, so it’s pretty much a given that Hufflepuff’s where I’ll end up.”

Mark opened his mouth slightly as if he wanted to say something. But he didn’t, evidently choosing not to comment on Neville’s statement.

“My Gran actually thought I was a squib until I received my Hogwarts letter. Hadn’t seen her that happy before,” Neville added in a soft voice. Realising that he had shared more than he had intended to, he clammed his mouth and straightened himself.

“It’s alright if you don’t tell me. It’s none of my business,” said Mark.

Neville nodded weakly, grateful for Mark’s thoughtfulness. An uncomfortable silence followed for a few minutes, with Mark staring out the window, while Neville focused on the silently napping Trevor.

Eventually, Neville’s gaze fell onto the large bag again, and his curiosity spilt out.

“What’s in that?” he asked.

“It’s a guitar case,” answered Mark. Neville’s face must have been as blank as his mind was, for Mark tried to clarify.

“It’s the bag for my guitar. It’s a musical instrument.”

“Like a piano?”

“Well, no. But actually yes. Technically they’re both stringed instruments,” said Mark, speaking more to himself now. He must have realised that he was only confusing Neville further. “Here, why don’t I show it to you.”

Opening the bag, he carefully removed a large wooden instrument, which Neville recognised from a poster of Weird Sisters he had seen in Diagon Alley.

“You know how to play that?” he asked with a hint of awe.

“Yeah,” said Mark, “been playing for four years now. Want to listen?”

——————————————-

“Now I don’t want to hear a single complaint about the two of you from Professor McGonagall this term. If I get a hint, the smallest—”

Ron watched his mum drone on to his elder twin brothers. He sighed. Even though it was his first year at Hogwarts, the first time he would be going away from home, his Mum had already forgotten about him. Of course, there had been the usual hovering while they approached the barrier. But once they were across, she had better things to do than worry about him.

He looked towards his baby sister Ginny who was crying silently. She would be left alone with Mum this year. Although she could be a bit annoying, Ron had always been fond of her. He gave her a small smile. She must have understood what he had been thinking about, as her tears stopped to return his smile.

“I need to get on the train Mum,” Ron said a bit loudly, trying to get her attention. His Mum turned to look at him and frowned. before taking out her handkerchief

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose,” she took out her handkerchief and Ron tried to jerk out of her way as she approached. It didn’t work as he managed to grab him with a strong grip and began scrubbing on his nose as if it were a dirty plate.

“Mum—geroff.” He finally wriggled free.

“Shut up,” said Ron, angry at the stupid teasing of his brothers. His mother was not paying attention to them, her eyes scanning the platform instead.

“Where’s Percy?” said their mother.

“He’s coming now.”

Ron’s third oldest brother came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, a shiny red and gold badge with the letter P pinned on his ċhėst.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said in his usual pompous tone. “I’m up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves —”

“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin. “Once —”

“Or twice —”

“A minute —”

“All summer —”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy, clearly irritated. Ron smirked. As much as he hated the twins picking on him, he loved when they annoyed Percy.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins.

“Because he’s a prefect,” said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there.”

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

“Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve — you’ve blown up a toilet or —”

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea though, thanks, Mum.”

“It’s not funny. And look after Ron,” his Mum added, almost as an afterthought.

“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

“Shut up,” said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it raw.

“Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?”

Ron was getting impatient, and almost missed the exchange.

“You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?”

“Who?” she finally asked, irritated at their antics

“Harry Potter!”

“Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please. …” Ginny piped; her crying forgotten.

“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there—like lightning.”

“Poor dear—no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform.”

“Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

“I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don’t you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school.”

Ron noticed his mother was being more protective to Harry Potter than she had ever been of him.

“All right, keep your hair on,” Fred replied.

The train blew its whistle, prompting Ron and the twins to clamber on the train. Ron turned to wave at Ginny. She was laughing at George’s joke about toilet seats while running to keep up with the moving train.

As the Express left the platform Ron started to search for a compartment, anxious about his first year at Hogwarts.

———————————————–

Hermione caught a hold of the guide rail running along the passage as the Hogwarts Express swayed underneath her. She was making her way to the next carriage; her previous encounter having filled her with confidence.

She had just finished exchanging introductions and pleasantries with three first-year girls like herself—Mandy Brocklehurst, Sally-Anne Perks, and Megan Jones—and she had found out that despite being purebloods and half-bloods, only one of them had bothered opening any of their schoolbooks.

Being a muggleborn herself, Hermione had been extremely anxious regarding her own lack of magical knowledge. So, she had decided to introduce herself—and in the process, ȧssess all her fellow first years on the Express.

As she neared the next compartment, she could hear faint sounds of someone playing the guitar inside. Curious, she slid the door open to look inside.

There were four occupants; all boys. Two of them—dressed in black Hogwarts robes like her—were half-standing-half-sitting on the seats. They were older than her, both having identical red hair and freckles, and to Hermione’s surprise, identical grinning faces.

The other two occupants looked her age, but looked different otherwise. One was dressed in an old-fashioned shirt, with pale skin and short blond hair, while the other was dressed in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and jeans, his hair long and skin light brown. He was the one playing a large guitar, and had stopped to look at her when she opened the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked, snapping Hermione from her reverie.

“Oh, yes. I’m a first-year, so I decided to visit all the compartments and introduce myself to everyone,” said Hermione, “I’m Hermione Granger, muggleborn. Are you first years too?”

Her tone must have been a bit fast, for the blond boy seemed dazed and the black-haired boy widened his eyes. The two twin redheads were unfazed, however. They turned to look at each other, their grin widening before they turned back.

“Fred and George Weasley, third-years, at your service,” they both said simultaneously while offering their hands—one his left while the other his right¬—for her to shake. “Nice to meet you, Hermione Granger Muggleborn,” they added as she shook them.

Hermione was about to retort to their obvious attempt to tease her when the black-haired boy intervened.

“Nice to meet you, Hermione. I’m Mark.” He took a small pause to brush the hair off his face, “Mark Smith.” Pointing towards the other boy, he added, “This is Neville Longbottom. We’re both first years as well.” Hermione noticed him give Neville a small kick on the foot, which brought the boy out of his stupor.

“Uh, hi,” Neville offered with a weak smile, trying to hide his earlier awkwardness.

Realising she would have to take charge of the conversation if she wanted answers to her questions, Hermione took this as an invitation to join the boys in the compartment. She walked in, ‘accidently’ shoving both Fred and George before taking a seat beside Neville.

“Are any of you Muggleborn?” she asked.

Neville and the Twins shook their heads, while Mark nodded with a bit of reluctance.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh, wonderful!” said Hermione, “I was so shocked at first, you know, when Professor McGonagall came to our house to tell me I was a witch. Then she turned the desk into a pig, and I found out about magic. Was it her that came to your house too?”

“Yes.”

“Did she take you to Diagon Alley too? Isn’t it wonderful?” Hermione spoke, her enthusiasm genuine.

“It’s great.” Mark’s enthusiasm didn’t seem to be so genuine.

“Have you read any of our textbooks?” Hermione was having to control herself from asking all her questions at once. It was a sure-fire way to scare someone off, as she knew by experience.

For a moment Mark’s eyes looked straight at her, as if seeing through her. He then shifted slightly in his seat before answering.

“Yeah, I skimmed through them. Surface reading of sorts.”

“Really?” asked Hermione, finally happy to meet someone interested in their studies. “I’ve read them too. Actually, I managed to memorise some of them,” she added sheepishly. “What do you think of the first chapter from Standard Book of spells; the one on the power draw procedures?”

——————————————

Neville watched in amazement as the girl—Hermione Granger—kept asking questions to Mark, her tone picking up pace like the Express pulling out of Kings Cross. To top that, Mark was able to match her pace in answering, though his replies were short. Evidently, he wasn’t keen on elaborating any more than what was required of him.

Neville turned to share a look of incredulity with Fred and George, who were bȧrėly managing to hold in their laughter. Clearly, Hermione Granger didn’t know when to stop.

The Weasley twins had entered their compartment a couple of hours ago when Mark had been demonstrating the guitar to Neville. They were there to prank the ‘firsties,’ but on seeing the guitar they had been distracted long enough to forget about it; they were both fans of the Weird Sisters.

After that, the four of them had talked about anything and everything. The twins, who were both great guys, told them stories of various pranks that they had already pulled off during their two years at Hogwarts. The ‘crazy music’, as George called it, had continued, with the twins asking Mark to perform more and more weird pieces.

Neville had initially felt out of place; after all, he didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation. Yet, the three of them had still treated him as an equal, and after a while, he had even cracked a few jokes.

“— well, I need to get going now. Nice meeting all of you.” Neville realised that he had zoned out on Hermione, and gave another awkward smile to the girl. He watched her get up and give the twins a disapproving look before walking out of the compartment with the same gusto with which she had entered.

Once the door slid shut, a silence lingered for a few moments. Then Mark spoke.

“Well, that was interesting.”

Another silence followed before Neville chuckled. Then Fred gave a snort and broke out laughing. George soon followed. Mark gave an amused chuckle before joining in, and the sheer absurdity of the laugh caused Neville to succumb too.

Before boarding the Express, Neville had a wondered whether he would be able to make new friends at Hogwarts. He didn’t have to worry about it now.

——————————————

Ron watched as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station. He had just finished changing into Bill’s old school robes. They were a bit short for him, not fully covering his sneakers as they should. Not that he had much choice in the matter; these were the only ones close to his size. He looked at his new friend Harry Potter, dressed in brand new robes which fit him perfectly.

Harry Potter.

Ron still couldn’t fully believe that he’d met the boy-who-lived, let alone shared the whole train ride as friends. The more he thought about it the more absurd it seemed. A scrawny kid dressed in shabby, ill-fitting clothes, and a pair of round spectacles—which were a bit smaller and being held together by tape—sitting on his nose. No one would’ve guessed he was the Harry Potter but for the famous lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

He wasn’t at all like Ron had expected him to be. Being famous and all, he had expected Potter to be an arrogant kid—much like Draco Malfoy. But he was quiet, unassuming and friendly. More importantly, he was loyal as well—to someone he had bȧrėly met an hour ago.

The both of them had been in the compartment when Draco Malfoy came in, his stupid thugs behind him. After insulting Ron and his family, the ponce had offered his hand in friendship to Harry.

For a moment, Ron thought Harry would take it; after all, why would he want to be friends with stupid Ron Weasley, with his stupid hand-me-downs and stupid corned beef sandwiches.

But he had refused. Not only that, he had outright stood up for Ron, citing he was the reason that Harry was refusing Draco’s friendship. At that moment, launching himself to fight Malfoy and his thugs, Ron knew that Harry was going to be a great friend to him. Now, Ron hoped he would be able to match it.

Looking once more at his hand-me-down robes, Ron silently chided himself. At least his clothes were somewhat his size. Harry’s muggle clothes had been at least three sizes too large for him.

At first, Ron had thought that it was some sort of strange muggle fashion. But from what Harry told him, it was clear that the so-called great Harry Potter hadn’t, in fact, lived a great and comfortable life as people believed. He too had to do his chores—Ron was sure that Harry had to do more than him—and content himself with his cousin’s hand me downs. The most incredible fact was that Harry Potter hadn’t known that he was a wizard until he was eleven years old—had no idea he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

As he fiddled with his robe impatiently, Ron saw the bushy-haired girl—Hermione Granger, she had called herself—walk past their compartment. He remembered her earlier visit, bombarding both him and Harry with a slew of questions that they both had been overwhelmed by.

Even though he had made light fun of it, he had been hit hard. A girl his age, who hadn’t known that she was a witch until a month ago, was now clearly much more knowledgeable about magic than him.

Was he really ready for this? Ron was now more nervous about Hogwarts than he’d ever been before; all his doubts had decided to flood in together.

Could he live up to Bill’s genius? Or Charlie’s skills? Even though he was annoying, Percy had a discipline that Ron could only dream of matching. Fred and George were literal geniuses, not to mention the huge reserve of confidence and nerve they carried around like a sack of galleons.

Before his thoughts could encroach upon himself, a voice echoed through the train.

“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Ron looked at Harry, who was tending to his beautiful snowy owl, Hedwig. Ron found himself absently patting his pocket, where his useless pet rat Scabbers was soundly napping. He had been Percy’s pet before being dumped on Ron; the new prefect had gotten a new owl along with his new robes.

Shaking his reverie, Ron thought about the upcoming challenge. Would he be sorted into Gryffindor? The rest of his brothers were all Gryffindors, but then each one of them had something special. What did Ron have? What fate would Hogwarts hold for him?

——————————————