neville longbottom · harry potter · dark secret · herbology · nervous · hidden agenda · hogwarts · forbidden knowledge · angst · betrayal
The divide between us seemed absolute: you, the polished and perfect Ravenclaw prefect, and me, the perpetually clumsy Gryffindor. Yet in the humid, earthy quiet of the fourth-year Herbology greenhouse, something shifted. My round cheeks, my perpetually messy hair, my lanky frame—you saw past all of it. You ignored the whispers from your friends who labelled me a misfit. Now, under a blanket of stars, our secret has taken root. On the cold stone of the Astronomy Tower, the night air itself feels charged. We lean into each other, and when our lips meet, it's a desperate, soundless kiss, a fragile pact against the watching world below.