Seeing Clearly
Neville had gone to the kitchen to fetch them both some tea, leaving her to sit alone with her thoughts. The room was filled with the faint scent of plants—an aroma that reminded her of the greenhouses at Hogwarts, the kind of smell that always carried with it a sense of peace. Books were stacked haphazardly on the table beside her, some open, some closed, as though he had been lost in thought just before she arrived. The low hum of the kettle in the kitchen was the only sound, adding to the calm that seemed to settle over the apartment.
She glanced around, absorbing the small details—how the walls were lined with plants, some hanging from shelves, others in pots scattered across the windowsill. His home was full of life, in a way that made it feel more like him—warm, welcoming, and alive in a way that spoke to his care and passion for the world around him. It was odd, she realized, how much she was noticing. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze from the window, the way the light from the street outside filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the floor. Everything felt sharper, clearer, more vivid now that she could see it all. And yet, as she sat there, surrounded by the simplicity of his life, her mind kept returning to one thing.
It was the plants—his plants, the way they seemed to flourish in his care—that caught her attention the most. She knew Neville was a prodigy in Herbology, of course, but it was one thing to hear about it and another to see it in action. The sheer variety of plants in his apartment was astonishing. There were ferns with delicate fronds, succulents with thick, waxy leaves, flowers she didn’t recognize, their colours vibrant against the pale walls. Each plant had its own little space, its own careful arrangement. Some were placed high up, others near the windows, soaking in the light, and a few were even hanging from the ceiling, their vines trailing down like tendrils of nature itself. There was a sense of harmony in the way they were placed, almost like an unspoken language between them all, with Neville as their caretaker.
It struck Hermione how much this place reflected him—his quiet nature, his ability to nurture, to make things grow. He didn’t just keep plants because they were beautiful; he kept them because they were a part of him, a part of the way he saw the world. He had created a sanctuary here, a space that felt alive with the careful attention he gave to each living thing, whether it was a rare, magical plant or something as simple as a small houseplant.
Her eyes drifted across the room again, her gaze lingering on a particularly impressive vine that seemed to have wrapped itself around a wooden trellis near the window. The soft green leaves shimmered under the light, and Hermione felt herself marveling at the beauty of it. She was still processing everything—the fact that she could see again, the way her world had shifted from a blur to a spectrum of color and detail—but it was in this moment, surrounded by Neville’s plants, that she felt a new understanding settling into her chest. He had always been the kind of person to give everything his care, his patience, and his heart.
Everything felt sharper, clearer, more vivid now that she could see it all. And yet, as she sat there, surrounded by the simplicity of his life, her mind kept returning to one thing.
Neville.
She had always seen him, in one way or another—through her time at Hogwarts, through the battles they had fought together. But now, sitting here, alone with her thoughts and with him not too far off, she realized that what she had seen was only a fraction of the whole picture. What she thought she knew about him—his kindness, his loyalty, his bravery—had been just the surface. Now, seeing him, not just physically but emotionally and mentally, she was beginning to understand the deeper layers of who he was. And it was as though the veil had been lifted from her heart.
She could hear him moving about in the kitchen, the sound of cups clinking, the soft hum of his voice as he muttered to himself. His presence felt familiar, grounding, in a way she hadn’t known she’d missed. It wasn’t just the comfort of knowing him or the connection they shared—it was something more profound. The way he had been there for her, without hesitation, without needing anything in return. The way he had always been steady, even in the midst of chaos. The way he cared for people—not just because it was the right thing to do, but because it was in his nature, because he saw value in them.
And now, sitting in his space, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of the moment, Hermione realized that she had fallen for him. Not because of his appearance, though she had noticed how different he looked—how much more grown-up he seemed. But because of who he truly was. His quiet strength, his humility, his unwavering kindness. He had always been there for her, standing by her side when others might have faltered, supporting her even when she couldn’t see what he was doing for her. But now, with the clarity that her sight had given her, she could see him in a way that went far beyond the surface. She could see him as he truly was—a man who had grown into his own, who had learned to navigate the complexities of life with grace, despite the hardships he had faced.
She didn’t need to see the small, quiet details of his appearance anymore. She already knew that. It was the depth of him—the way he cared for people, the way he had stayed by her side through all of it—that made her realize just how deeply she had fallen for him. It wasn’t a sudden revelation. It was as if, with every moment they had shared, every time they had supported each other, the pieces had fallen into place, one by one. It was like stepping into a world she hadn’t known existed, one where love had slowly grown without her even realizing it.
She wasn’t sure when it had happened. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment her feelings had shifted from friendship to something more. But now, as she sat in his apartment, her thoughts drifting back to all those quiet moments they had shared—whether it was during their time at Hogwarts or in the aftermath of the war—she could see how it had always been there, right in front of her, waiting for her to notice.
“Here we are,” Neville’s voice broke through her thoughts, and Hermione looked up to find him standing there with two steaming mugs of tea, a soft smile on his face. His hair, still slightly tousled, framed his face in the way it always had, but now it seemed to suit him even more. There was a quiet assurance in his gaze, something grounded, something that made her heart beat just a little faster.
“I made it just the way you like it,” he said, his smile growing as he handed her one of the mugs. “Not too strong, just a touch of honey.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, and she took the mug with a quiet, grateful smile. He had always remembered. Even in the chaos of everything, even when it had been so long, he knew. She didn’t have to say a word, and he always made it just right. The warmth of the mug settled in her hands, grounding her further in the present. She took a sip, savoring the familiar taste. It was perfect.
Her gaze lingered on him as she lowered the cup, taking in the way he stood there—slightly nervous but steady, the easy, natural way he moved. There was a calmness in him now, a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before, one that seemed to fill the room with a subtle strength. As she watched him, it was like she was seeing him for the first time. Not just the boy from Hogwarts, not just the man who had been there for her in her darkest moments, but him—the man who had grown into someone remarkable. It wasn’t just his kindness, his steady nature—it was the way he carried himself now, how the world seemed to bend a little around him, how he made her feel like she mattered in ways she hadn’t realized before.
Her fingers still tingled from when they brushed against his as he handed her the mug. She wasn’t sure if it was just the warmth of the tea or the quiet intensity between them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She had always known Neville, but now, sitting here, with the weight of everything she had just realized pressing down on her, she saw him more clearly than ever before. He wasn’t just the healer, the friend—he had become something more to her. She could feel it, deep down. The quiet moments, the way he had always shown up for her, the way he held space for her without question—all of it had slowly woven its way into something else. Something real.
And as she took another sip, looking at him across the room, Hermione realized, for the first time, that she had fallen for him. It wasn’t sudden. It hadn’t been an instantaneous shift. It had crept up on her in small moments, in quiet gestures, in every time he had been there when she needed him most. But now that everything had come into focus, now that she could see him with this clarity, she knew that it wasn’t just friendship she felt.
Her heart ached a little, full of both the softness of the realization and the quiet fear that came with it. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t even recognized it for what it was until now. But here it was. She had fallen for Neville Longbottom. And it was in this moment, in the warmth of his presence, in the shared silence between them, that she realized she could no longer imagine a life where he wasn’t a part of it.
And with that realization, the room seemed to feel even warmer.