The dungeon was chaos as Neville's cauldron erupted with pink foam, hissing violently. He fumbled with his ladle, knocking it into the bubbling mixture as Snape muttered something from across the room. Despite the mess, Neville's flushed cheeks and the determined crease in his brow made it impossible for you to look away.

Your friend nudged at you, her tone sharp with disbelief. “That’s your man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, leaning your chin on your hand as you watched Neville frantically mop at his bubbling cauldron. His cheeks were flushed, his forehead creased with concentration, and his hair stuck out in odd angles from the steam.

“Look at him,” your friend insisted, gesturing at the potion-splattered robes and frazzled expression.

You did. His robes were stained with potion splatters, and his wand was clutched so tightly it might snap. Yet, there was something endearing in the way he muttered under his breath, trying his best despite the chaos. His warm brown eyes flicked up for a moment, meeting yours, and a shy smile broke across his face before he turned back to the mess.