Unspoken Invitations
The sound of the owl’s wings cutting through the air was familiar, almost soothing, as it fluttered into Neville’s kitchen. The bird perched briefly on the windowsill, its feathers rustling softly as it extended a talon to drop a letter. Hermione had been quietly sipping her tea, absorbed in the warmth of the room and the lingering sweetness of the cake, but the owl’s arrival didn’t go unnoticed.
Neville caught it immediately, rising from the table with a sigh that didn’t quite mask the tension in his shoulders. She could hear the rustle of the parchment as he unfolded it, his breathing slightly more shallow than usual. It wasn’t like Neville to show frustration so openly, but there was something in the air now—a subtle shift that she couldn’t ignore.
She could tell, without seeing, when his gaze lingered too long on the letter, his hands stiffening around it. The silence between them stretched longer than it should have, and for a brief moment, Hermione wondered if she had imagined the brief flicker of frustration that passed through him, something sharp enough to break the quiet, but just as quickly masked with that calm, grounded exterior he was so good at wearing.
“Everything all right?” she asked, her voice tentative, though her senses were already straining to pick up any small clue in his tone or movements.
Neville hesitated, his fingers still gripping the edges of the letter a little too tightly. “Yeah, just… something from St. Mungo’s,” he said, his voice controlled but lacking its usual ease. “They’re organizing a gala next week. A charity event. They’re expecting me to attend.”
Hermione could hear the frustration in his words now, buried beneath the polite tone he tried so hard to maintain. The pause before he spoke again was telling. “I don’t know what they’re thinking. I haven’t been to an event like that in years. And Luna’s not available… She’s in Spain, looking for some rare kind of creature—a quetzalcoatl, or something. I don’t even know what that is,” he added with a dry laugh that didn’t reach his voice.
The words “Luna” and “Spain” stood out to Hermione. Of course, Luna had always been one to travel, chasing down strange creatures in far-flung corners of the world. But that left Neville in a bind, and it was hard not to hear the frustration in his voice now, even though he was doing his best to mask it.
Hermione didn’t need to see his face to sense his discomfort. She could feel it, almost as if it were radiating from him in waves. It wasn’t just about the gala, or Luna’s absence—it was the weight of expectation, the pressure to show up, to be present when it felt like something as simple as company was hard to come by.
“I’ll go with you,” she said, the words leaving her mouth before she had a chance to second-guess them.
The room seemed to still. For a moment, there was nothing but the soft tick of the clock, the hum of the kettle on the stove, the faint rustle of the wind outside. Then Neville’s breath, caught just slightly in his throat, filled the space between them.
Hermione’s heart quickened a fraction, unsure if she had misread the moment, but when Neville spoke, his voice was gentle, surprised, but undeniably grateful. “You’d do that?”
“Why not?” she replied softly, shrugging as if the answer was simple. “I mean, if you need someone to go with you, I can do it.” She couldn’t hide the small quiver in her voice, the uncertainty that always seemed to surface when she was stepping into new territory. But there was something about Neville—something about the quiet way he made her feel like she was still strong, still whole, even on days when she didn’t believe it herself.
The offer was spontaneous, but the more Hermione thought about it, the more she realized how natural it felt. A gala at St. Mungo’s? It wasn’t something she would have ever imagined attending on her own, let alone after everything that had happened in the past year, but somehow, with Neville, it didn’t feel quite so impossible. He was steady. He was grounding.
She could feel the way Neville’s shoulders relaxed a little, a shift that told her he hadn’t expected her to offer, but now that she had, it eased something in him. “I don’t want to drag you into something you don’t want to do,” he said, but there was no denying the relief in his voice.
“It’s not dragging me,” she replied quickly, smiling slightly, though she knew he couldn’t see it. “I could use a change of scenery. I’ve been cooped up in here long enough.”
There was a brief silence, and Hermione could almost hear Neville processing, the wheels turning in his head. “You’re sure? You won’t mind all the people? It’ll probably be crowded and loud…”
“I can manage,” she assured him. “And besides, it’s not like I’m going alone. I’ll have you there.”
The words hung in the air for a moment. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or him, but she didn’t mind the uncertainty. She trusted Neville, trusted the quiet steadiness he brought to everything. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
“Okay,” Neville said finally, his voice softer now, as though the weight of the invitation had lifted just a little. “If you’re sure… I’d be glad to have you there.”
And just like that, they fell into a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather, full of unspoken understanding. The kind of silence that comes from knowing someone deeply, knowing that even without words, the offer was real, and the connection between them was enough.
As the clock on the wall ticked away, Hermione let out a quiet sigh, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t expected. Maybe things didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it didn’t have to make sense. But in that moment, she knew she wasn’t alone. And that, for now, was more than enough.