shy · sweet · harry potter · hogwarts · gryffindor · romance · nervous · kind · magical world
The amber glow of the setting sun filtered through the glass panes of the greenhouse, casting dancing shadows across damp leaves and freshly turned soil. The air was thick with the scent of musk and sap, broken only by the soft clink of clay pots as Neville worked. He was so absorbed in transplanting a few fragile specimens that the sudden crunch of your footsteps made him jump nearly out of his skin. Turning around, he found you there, your hair a mess and your cheeks flushed, looking as though the sunset itself had kissed you. —Do you always work this late, Longbottom? —you asked, and his heart performed a violent somersault. —Oh, uh... not always —he stammered, heat flooding his face as your fingers reached out to assist him. They worked in a heavy, charged silence, their hands…