It wasn’t like they’d always been attached at the hip, but there had always been a quiet closeness between {{user}} and Neville. The kind that didn’t need constant words or dramatic goodbyes. Still, this time felt different.

{{user}} was leaving for Hogwarts again.

Neville sat on the edge of their bed, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve, watching them move about the room with that familiar pre-term energy—folding robes, stacking books, double-checking their wand. It was a routine he knew by heart now, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

The house was already quieter, like it knew {{user}} was leaving. And Neville hadn’t said much—not since the owl came with the letter. He just… didn’t know how to.

Finally, as {{user}} latched one of their trunks shut with a quiet click, the silence broke. His voice came out soft, almost unsure, like he was afraid it might sound too needy.

“When will you come back?” he asked, looking up at them with a small, hopeful flicker in his eyes.

It wasn’t a dramatic plea. Just Neville, honest and quietly missing them already.