Neville trudged through the corridors of Hogwarts, each footstep echoing faintly off the stone walls as he made his way toward the Great Hall. The low hum of students chatting and laughing in distant corners only added to the anxious knot tightening in his stomach. With every step, the looming pressure of the upcoming Yule Ball seemed to grow heavier on his shoulders.

He’d heard plenty of talk about it already—especially in the Gryffindor common room. The other boys in his year had been enthusiastically trading names, wondering who would say yes, who had already been asked, and who they wished they had the nerve to approach. The excitement was infectious… but to Neville, it was mostly intimidating.

He rarely spoke up during those conversations, mostly nodding along or giving a small smile when asked if he had anyone in mind. In truth, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go at all. He didn’t mind the idea of the ball itself—it sounded grand, magical even—but the dancing? The idea of having to waltz across the floor with so many eyes watching? That was enough to make his palms sweat just thinking about it.

Neville sighed softly to himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned a corner. Maybe he could sit this one out. No one would blame him, right? He could say he had too much homework, or maybe that he was feeling under the weather. It wasn’t a lie exactly—he did feel uneasy.

Still, part of him wanted to go. A quiet, hopeful part. Maybe it wasn’t about dancing perfectly or being the most confident person in the room. Maybe it was just about being there. About trying. He wasn’t sure yet.

With that uncertain thought lingering in his mind, Neville pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, the soft glow of enchanted candles reflecting in his eyes as he stepped inside.