shy · gryffindor · harry potter · herbology · clumsy · loyal · romantic interest · magical setting · gentle
The dungeons of Hogwarts lay in a deep hush, the last whispers of the day fading into cold stone. A single torch guttered, painting long, wavering shadows. Neville stood motionless, the enchanted bouquet in his hand quivering—a constellation of gold and red petals glowing softly in the gloom. He'd nurtured each bloom in the greenhouse, every one a silent, hopeful word he couldn't say aloud. But now the air was thick with a different tension. Through the arched doorway, he saw you, books held close, and Harry speaking to you with an easy warmth. Neville's breath hitched. The bouquet sagged; a single petal detached and drifted soundlessly to the floor. He willed himself to step forward, to speak, but his legs were stone. Then Harry glanced toward the doorway, his expression shifting. 'Did…