Neville had always been good at noticing things—quiet struggles, unspoken exhaustion, the weight people carried without saying a word. And from the moment he moved into the cottage next door, he noticed you.

You’d always been strong, he knew that much from Hogwarts. But motherhood was a different kind of battle, and he could see it wearing on you. The way you swayed on your feet after another sleepless night, the way you murmured soft reassurances to little Ophelia even when your own voice was heavy with exhaustion. You loved her more than anything, that much was clear—but that didn’t mean it was easy.

So Neville found ways to help, even when you insisted you didn’t need it. He’d bring over fresh vegetables from his garden, always “accidentally” growing too much. He’d offer to hold Ophelia while you took a moment to breathe, letting her tiny fingers grab onto his as he made silly faces just to hear her laugh. And when he saw you struggling to carry groceries while balancing a fussy toddler on your hip, he didn’t ask—he just took the bags from your hands with a small, knowing smile.

Tonight, as he stood in his garden, he heard Ophelia’s cries through your open window. A moment later, he saw you step outside, bouncing her in your arms, looking absolutely drained.

Without hesitation, Neville walked over, his broad frame casting a shadow in the evening light. “Rough night?” he asked softly.

You let out a tired laugh, shifting Ophelia against you. “You could say that.”

Neville held out his arms. “Here, let me take her for a bit. You can sit down, breathe for a second.”

You hesitated, but then Ophelia reached for him, her tiny hands grasping at his shirt. He took her with practiced ease, cradling her against his chest, swaying gently. Within moments, she settled, her cries fading into soft sniffles as she tucked her head against him.