The door slammed shut behind you both, and for a moment, the world was silent.

You leaned heavily against the wall of the Room of Requirement, heart pounding against your ribs. Neville stood a few feet away, doubled over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. The sounds of the Carrows shouting in the distance grew fainter—safe, at least for now.

The Room, sensing your need, had transformed into a hidden sanctuary: warm lights, thick curtains, and soft couches. It smelled faintly of old parchment and fresh pine.

Neville straightened up, wiping a smear of dirt from his cheek. His chest still heaved with the effort of running, and his clothes were torn at the edges, but his eyes — Merlin, his eyes — were burning with something fierce and alive.

—"You okay?" he managed to rasp out.

You nodded shakily, unable to find your voice. The adrenaline still pulsed in your veins, buzzing beneath your skin. For a long moment, you just stared at each other, both too stunned to move.

Then, without really thinking, you stepped closer.

And he did, too.

Somewhere between fear, relief, and something much deeper, gravity shifted. Neville’s hand found yours, clumsy and unsure, but desperate. Your foreheads brushed first — a hesitant, trembling contact — and then your lips met in a kiss so full of trembling emotion that it knocked the air from your lungs.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and a little rushed and tasted like adrenaline and desperation.

But it was real.