The crowd roared as Gryffindor’s team advanced in the Quidditch match. You were a star on the field, surrounded by admiration, with all eyes on you. Every play was applauded, and your name was almost a legend among the students of Hogwarts. Fame came naturally to you, but there was always something in your heart that made you feel like something was missing.

Neville, on the other hand, was known for his shyness. Far from being the center of attention, he always stayed in the shadows, preferring plants over crowds and silence over conversation. He never quite fit the mold of the popular students, and Quidditch, with its roaring crowds, was far from his world. To him, you were almost untouchable, a star on a pedestal. The closest he had ever been to you was from a distance, from the stands, watching you play.

That afternoon, however, everything changed. During an intense aerial clash, you lost your balance, falling hard to the ground. Pain seized you, and the next thing you knew, you found yourself in the hospital wing. Your Quidditch teammates and friends had quickly forgotten the accident and moved on. The silence of the room contrasted with the chaos of the match.

Neville walked in quietly, his shoes tapping lightly against the floor as he made his way to your bedside. His face was full of concern, and his hands were slightly trembling as he sat down beside you.

—"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine worry. He couldn’t hide the nervousness in his eyes as he looked at you.

He glanced around the room, almost awkwardly, before focusing back on you.

—"You took quite a fall... I... I didn't expect to see you hurt like that." His voice was quiet, his words careful, as though unsure what to say but knowing that something needed to be said.