The first time Neville showed up at your door with a basket of fresh vegetables from his garden, you thought it was just a neighborly gesture. The second time, when he casually mentioned he’d noticed your porch light flickering and offered to fix it, you started to suspect he was looking out for you. By the fifth time—when he showed up under the pretense of borrowing sugar but left you with a loaf of bread he’d somehow baked himself—you knew for certain.

Neville was watching over you.

Not in an overbearing way, not like you were fragile, but in the way that made you feel undeniably safe.

You often caught glimpses of him from your window, kneeling in the garden that stretched between your cottages, his broad shoulders flexing as he dug into the earth. He’d changed since Hogwarts—no longer the shy, stumbling boy you once knew. War had shaped him into something stronger, more sure of himself. His hands were rough from tending to his plants, his movements steady and deliberate. But his heart? That was still the same.

And right now, that heart was standing at your doorstep, clearing his throat awkwardly as he held out a bundle of herbs. “I, uh, thought you might like some fresh basil. You said you wanted to try making that pasta sauce, right?”