Unspoken Words
Hermione sat at the small kitchen table, the soft hum of the morning light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room. The light seemed to linger in the air, but the stillness that accompanied it made the space feel heavier today—more suffocating in its silence. She took a slow sip from her cup of tea, the warmth spreading through her chest, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the tightness she felt. She could hear the distant sound of birds singing outside, the faint clink of the clock ticking on the wall, and the comforting aroma of toast and eggs wafting through the air. Yet despite the familiar scents and sounds, something felt off. It was the kind of quiet that spoke volumes, the kind where two people sat in the same room but were worlds apart. And between her and Neville, there was an unspoken tension that seemed to hang in the air, thick and undeniable. The kiss from the night before, a simple moment in time that had felt anything but simple, seemed to linger in the corners of the room, in the very space between them, as though they were both trying to pretend that it hadn’t shifted everything.
She set her spoon down softly in the cup, the faint scrape of metal against porcelain echoing in the stillness. Her fingers lightly trailed over the edge of the table, absentmindedly feeling the cool surface beneath her fingertips. Her thoughts were a swirling mess of uncertainty and confusion, her mind tugged in different directions. She wasn’t sure how to address it, or even if she was ready to. The kiss had been unexpected—too sudden, too intimate for the circumstances they were in. She had felt his lips press against hers, felt the warmth of his body close to hers, and for a moment, she had forgotten about everything else. But now, sitting here, in the quiet of the morning, that moment seemed so much larger than it had been in the moment. It was hard to reconcile the two halves of her—one that had been swept up in the closeness of Neville’s touch and the other that feared what it all meant. She had spent so much time in her life relying on logic, on the certainty of things, and this—this felt like a territory she had never navigated before.
Neville had gone to make breakfast—a quiet Sunday morning, a rare occurrence for him to have off, and he had insisted on making her eggs, toast, and a few other things. The idea of something so simple, so mundane, almost felt out of place in the tension they shared. He had been a steady, constant presence in her life, someone she trusted, someone who had always been there when she needed him. And now, after the kiss, she wasn’t sure where they stood. The fact that it was so normal—him making breakfast, her sitting at the table as if everything were just as it always was—only seemed to highlight the shift that had occurred. Neville, despite being the one who had kissed her, was still acting as if nothing had changed. He was calm, almost too calm, and it made Hermione feel all the more uneasy.
She could hear Neville’s footsteps approaching, and for some reason, the sound of his movement felt amplified in the heavy silence between them. He moved with that careful, almost deliberate tread of someone who was used to making space for others, someone who was constantly aware of his surroundings. It wasn’t that he was trying to be quiet—it was just that Neville’s presence was always a comforting, steady thing, something that filled the space around him without ever needing to be loud. Hermione’s fingers tightened around her cup of tea as she instinctively braced herself. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but she could feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging between them like a wall that neither of them had the courage to climb.
When Neville finally spoke, his voice broke the tension with its calmness. “I’ve got your breakfast,” he said, the words light, but Hermione could sense the hesitance beneath them, the subtle hesitation that betrayed the fact that he was also aware of the invisible line between them. He wasn’t avoiding her, she knew that, but there was a shift in him, in the way he moved, in the way he spoke. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t forcing anything. It was as if he, too, was waiting for something—waiting for her to take the first step, to address the space that had grown between them without either of them acknowledging it.
Hermione didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she listened to the sound of Neville’s movements—how he walked with the same steady steps, but somehow now, it felt more deliberate, more careful. As he placed the plate in front of her, the soft clink of porcelain against the table seemed louder than usual, as if it were punctuating the stillness between them. Neville leaned down, his warm breath brushing against her ear as he spoke again, his voice lower now. “Here you go. Eggs and toast. Just how you like them.”
His voice, warm and familiar, was so close that it almost made Hermione’s breath catch in her chest. She could feel him hovering near her, the space between them narrow, yet there was something in the air that kept them both at a distance. His breath against her ear made her skin prickle, and she could tell he was waiting for something—perhaps for her to react, to break the silence, to make sense of the uncertainty that had followed them into the room.
“Thank you,” Hermione replied, her voice quieter than usual, unsteady despite her attempt to sound normal. She reached for the fork, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingertips as she took a piece of the toast and cut into the eggs. The food was comforting, the warmth of it a small but welcome distraction, but it didn’t chase away the tension that still hung in the air between them. She could feel Neville standing just behind her, so close that she almost expected him to say something, but still, he didn’t speak. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to make the first move, to admit that something had changed.
The silence stretched out, thick and almost unbearable. Hermione felt like she was suffocating under the weight of it, and the longer she sat in the quiet, the more it seemed to press down on her chest. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the unspoken conversation, the one that neither of them wanted to have but knew they had to. She could feel Neville, his presence so close, yet so distant in that moment. He hadn’t said anything, but she could sense the tension in the way he stood, in the way he had placed the food in front of her as if that act, that simple gesture, could somehow replace the words they both needed to say.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Hermione placed her fork down on the plate, the soft clink of it somehow louder than the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. She could feel the weight of her own breath, the way it seemed to catch in her chest as she looked down at the plate before her. This—this moment—couldn’t be avoided any longer.
“Neville,” Hermione began, her voice soft but steady, the words hanging in the quiet space between them. “About last night…” She hesitated, the weight of her own words catching in her chest. She could feel his presence shift just behind her, as if he was waiting for her to continue. The room was still, the usual comforting hum of Neville’s movements stilled by the tension that lingered in the air. Neither of them spoke immediately, both of them suspended in this strange space, hovering over what had happened, unsure of how to address it. Her breath came a little more quickly now, the fluttering in her chest a strange contrast to the calm she tried to maintain.
She couldn’t see his face, of course, but she could feel how his body had stilled, how the space between them seemed to pulse with a new kind of energy. His tension was palpable, even without the usual visual cues she’d rely on. It wasn’t just the kiss that had changed things—it was the uncertainty that now hung between them.
“I—” Hermione’s fingers tightened around her mug as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I don’t know what to say. It wasn’t... expected. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.” Her voice trailed off, the honesty in her words clear but weighed down by the uncertainty she felt. The truth was, she hadn’t expected it either. It had come out of nowhere, just one fleeting moment where the world had tilted—one kiss that had meant everything and nothing at once. It wasn’t a grand romantic gesture. It had been quiet, simple, and yet, it had shifted something between them in ways she didn’t yet fully understand.
The silence that followed was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more like a moment suspended in time, where both of them were trying to find their footing after something unexpected. She wasn’t sure how Neville would respond. She didn’t know what he was feeling, what was going on behind the calm façade that she had come to rely on.
Neville didn’t say anything right away, but she felt the soft shift of air as he moved. A moment later, he placed a mug gently in front of her—a refill of her tea. The familiar warmth of the mug in her hands steadied her, offering the smallest bit of normalcy in a world that felt suddenly very different. She hadn’t even realized how much she needed it until now. Neville had done this for her without asking, offering a small comfort that spoke volumes.
“I didn’t mean for it to change things either,” Neville’s voice was low, soft, as though he too was carefully considering his words. “But it did, didn’t it?” His question wasn’t pointed or demanding—it was gentle, almost as if he was acknowledging the truth without trying to rush into it. And in that softness, Hermione could hear the uncertainty in his voice, too. The air between them had shifted, and it felt like there was no way back to the way things had been before.
Hermione took a sip from the tea. She needed the clarity it brought, even if only for a moment. The uncertainty of what had happened last night, the confusion of what it had meant—she didn’t have answers for it. But for now, she had this. This moment, this feeling of being with Neville, even if everything else was up in the air. He was right. It had changed things. Neither of them could pretend otherwise.
“I don’t know what to do with it,” Hermione finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. The simple admission felt both liberating and terrifying all at once. “I’m not sure how to... how to act now.” She could feel the slight tremble in her hands as she held the mug, the warmth of the tea offering a little comfort against the strange rush of emotions that she couldn’t quite name.
Neville’s voice softened, and she could sense the compassion in his words. “You don’t have to act, Hermione. Not with me.” He wasn’t pushing. There was no expectation in his voice, just a quiet offering of understanding, of patience. Neville had always been this way—steady, reliable, calm in the face of uncertainty. In that moment, she didn’t need him to provide answers. She needed him to simply be there, to not rush her, to let her find her own way through the confusion.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of her drinking the tea, the soft click of the spoon against the mug, filled the space between them. She could feel him standing behind her, close but not crowding her. His presence was a steady comfort, though she knew things between them had shifted. She didn’t know how to navigate this new reality. She only knew that it felt different now, and that neither of them could ignore it forever.
Finally, Hermione set her mug down on the table with a soft clink, the sound louder in the quiet room than it should have been. She felt a slight shift in the air as she turned her body slightly, facing him even though she couldn’t see him. But she could feel him—his presence, the quiet expectation that he was waiting for her to speak, to make sense of the words that tangled in her mind.
“Maybe... maybe we don’t have to figure it all out today,” she said, her voice steady but soft, her fingers still gripping the edge of the table as if for support. She could feel the weight of the decision hanging in the air between them, but she also felt a small measure of relief at saying it aloud. “But we can’t just ignore it, Neville. Not forever.” She wasn’t sure what she wanted—what they both needed—but it felt important to acknowledge it. They couldn’t pretend like the kiss hadn’t changed something, like they could just move on as if nothing had happened. Not when it felt so huge.
Neville’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, the warmth of it a quiet comfort. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, offering the kind of reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
The words were simple, but they were enough. They weren’t a solution. Not yet. But they were a promise that, whatever this was between them, they wouldn’t face it alone. And that small gesture, that quiet vow, made Hermione feel a little less adrift. She didn’t know where this would lead, what it would mean in the long run. But with Neville by her side, she knew that she didn’t need to have all the answers today. Not yet. Not with him here.