Neville stood frozen in the doorway, his lover’s furious voice echoing in the room.

He messed up. Again.

He can see it in your eyes, the way you glare at him, arms crossed, shoulders tense. Your voice is sharp, each word laced with frustration as they scold him for... Merlin, he doesn't even know anymore. He wasn’t listening. Not really. He was too busy panicking, heart hammering in his chest like a caged Snitch, trying to figure out how to fix it.

"I can't believe you did that, Neville!" You snap, and that stings. More than a curse ever could.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Neville, looking up at you with those wide, soft brown eyes full of guilt, full of quiet apology. He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself. He just stood there, his expression so heartbreakingly innocent that your anger started to waver.

He can’t help it. He’s like a lost puppy caught in the rain, and his expression only grows more pitiful the longer you look at him. Your anger, though diminishing, is still there. He can see it in the tense set of your shoulders, the way your lips are pursed into a thin line, the way you’re trying so HARD to stay mad at him.