Taste of Tea
The silence between them had stretched, comfortable but heavy, as they sat together on the settee. Their mugs of tea sat on the coffee table in front of them, forgotten for the moment as they both seemed to settle into their own thoughts. Hermione couldn’t help but steal glances at Neville, her gaze lingering on the way the light from the window softened the lines of his face, making him look even more... real. More human. He had always been a constant, a quiet presence in her life, but now, as she sat beside him, with the warmth of the tea in her hands and the soft scent of the plants filling the room, everything felt different.
The low hum of the plants in the background, the gentle sway of the leaves, seemed almost synchronized with the flutter of her heart. She felt like the air in the room had thickened, filled with something more than just the comfortable silence they shared. The quiet hum of Neville’s presence, the steady warmth he exuded, was now heavy with anticipation. His gaze, though focused on the floor between them, occasionally flickered to her, like a question hanging in the space between them. Every time he looked at her, she felt as if a thousand unspoken words passed in the briefest of moments. His brown eyes, usually so steady, now held a glimmer of something deeper—a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and something else she couldn’t quite place.
Her heart raced in a rhythm that matched the rapid pace of her thoughts. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips, in her neck, and in the pit of her stomach. The emotions inside her swirled like a storm, and yet, in this stillness, in this charged space, she knew there was only one thing left to do. She had avoided it for so long, buried it under the surface of everything else she had been through, but now, she couldn’t anymore. The truth was right in front of her, and she had to face it.
It was now or never. The thought circled in her mind, like a reminder, persistent and insistent. She could feel the weight of it in her chest—thick, tangible. She had spent so many years afraid of this, of admitting how she truly felt, but she couldn’t ignore it any longer. She had to speak the words. She had to face it head-on, like a true Gryffindor. No more pretending. No more hiding.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she placed her mug gently back on the table. The small clink of porcelain against wood seemed louder than it really was, punctuating the growing tension in the air. She could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat in her throat now, and it was as though time slowed down, stretching each second longer than it should have. Her hands were trembling just slightly as she rested them on her knees, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her trousers. The nerves were there, but this time, they weren’t stopping her. She knew she couldn’t go on without saying it. It had been there for so long—this truth she had kept buried—and she had to let it out.
Turning her body fully toward him, she glanced at Neville once more, her eyes taking in the way he sat, his posture so familiar yet somehow so different in this moment. She could feel his stillness beside her, the way he too seemed to be waiting for something, though neither of them spoke. His hands rested on the arms of the settee, fingers curled loosely, as though poised to reach out at any moment. His jaw was slightly clenched, his brow furrowed, and Hermione could almost feel the internal conflict in him, the unspoken questions swirling beneath the surface.
It was now or never.
“Neville,” she began, her voice soft but steady, breaking the silence with a gentle determination. “There’s something I need to say.” Her words felt like they carried the weight of everything—the years, the unspoken feelings, the moments of doubt and realization.
His head turned slowly, and his brown eyes locked with hers. There was a quiet concern there, but something else too. Hope. Uncertainty. It was like he knew, somewhere deep inside, that this moment had arrived. His brow furrowed just slightly, his lips parted as though to speak, but he didn’t. He was waiting. Waiting for her to continue.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low, almost a murmur, like he was trying to gauge the seriousness of her words. There was something different in his tone, a shift. His usual calm was there, but there was an edge now—a subtle change that betrayed the anticipation he clearly felt. His gaze never wavered from hers, as though he was looking for the truth in her eyes.
Hermione swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and for a moment, she considered backing down, retreating from the truth that had been building inside her for so long. But no. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She had faced dangers, faced the unknown, and fought battles without flinching. This was no different.
With a deep breath, she leaned in slightly, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I ever really saw you—not the way I do now. Not like this,” she began, her words catching in the space between them. She could feel her hands shaking, but she pressed forward, her voice trembling only slightly. “For so long, I was so wrapped up in my own head, in my own world, that I didn’t notice how much you’ve always been there. For me. For everyone around you.” She paused, her chest tightening as the truth poured out in an unsteady stream. “But now... I see you, Neville.”
Her breath hitched in her chest as she saw his expression change. His eyes softened, the lines of tension around his mouth fading ever so slightly, but he remained still. His hand, which had been resting on the arm of the settee, clenched tightly for a brief moment before relaxing again. He didn’t speak, not yet, but she saw it—the flicker of realization, the recognition in his eyes. And it made her heart beat even faster.
“And I realize…” Hermione swallowed, her throat tightening. “I’ve always seen you, just… not the way I should have. The way I do now.” Her heart fluttered painfully as the words escaped her lips, almost in disbelief. “I’ve fallen for you. For the person you’ve become. For the way you’ve always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Her confession hung between them like a delicate thread, fragile yet undeniable. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this moment. Hermione felt the vulnerability of her words, the truth of them settling deep within her chest. She could see him now. Really see him. And there was no turning back.
Neville was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on hers with a gaze so intense it felt like it was penetrating to her very soul. He was still, his breathing shallow, as if the weight of her words had caught him off guard. He didn’t speak immediately, but his lips pressed together in a tight line, and his hands flexed against the settee, the tension in his body growing with every passing second.
Finally, Neville shifted in his seat, his expression unreadable for a moment. But then, as though the weight of her confession had settled into his own chest, his eyes softened. He reached out, slowly, carefully, and took her hand in his. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt of electricity through her, and her breath hitched in her throat. She hadn’t expected it—not like this. She hadn’t expected him to respond with something so tender, so real. But here he was, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hermione," he said quietly, his voice hushed, as though he were weighing each word before he spoke. "I’ve always been there, because I wanted to be. Because I—" He stopped then, his breath catching in his chest. He looked down at their hands, still intertwined, his fingers tightening around hers almost as if he were afraid she might slip away.
"I’ve always cared about you."
The words lingered in the air between them, and Hermione felt a surge of warmth in her chest. He had always cared about her. She had known that in some way—there had always been something in his eyes, something quiet but constant—but to hear him say it, to hear him admit it, made something inside her shift, something that had been stuck for so long.
Her heart raced, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. He had cared. He had always been there for her, even when she hadn’t been able to see it, even when they had just been friends. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed this—how much she had missed him—until now. But here they were, both finally acknowledging the truth, their hearts laid bare in the stillness of the room.
Before she could gather her thoughts, before she could respond to his confession, Neville shifted even closer to her on the settee. His hand, still holding hers, slipped gently from her fingers, and with a tenderness that made her chest ache, he reached up to cup her face. The touch was soft, almost hesitant, like he was unsure of the ground they were standing on. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine at the contact. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the warmth of his touch, the softness in his movements, the way everything in the world seemed to fade except for the two of them.
But then the words started pouring out of her again, unbidden, as though she couldn’t stop herself. "Neville, I—" She shook her head, her voice faltering as the storm of her emotions began to rise again. She didn’t want to keep talking, didn’t want to drown in her own rambling. She had said enough already, hadn’t she? She didn’t need to explain every detail, didn’t need to dissect it all. It was there, in the air between them, in the way he was looking at her, in the way their hands were touching.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the intensity of his gaze made her heart skip a beat. She saw the same thing she felt—a depth of emotion, of longing that neither of them had been brave enough to admit before. He had liked her. He had liked her even back at Hogwarts, when they had danced together that night, when he had pulled her close in a way that had made her heart race. They had shared that one kiss, a moment of something beautiful and yet untitled, something undefined. They had never named it, never given it a label, and perhaps that had been easier back then. But now, it was different. Now, everything had changed.
Before she could say another word, before she could stop herself, Neville closed the space between them in a heartbeat. His hand slid from her face to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he leaned in, his lips brushing gently against hers.
Hermione could feel the slight tremor in his hand as it held her face, and her fingers gently brushed against the side of his neck, grounding herself in this delicate, fragile moment. There was a sense of hesitation still, like neither of them could quite believe it was really happening, but there was no mistaking the connection. No mistaking the way they both held on to each other, just for a moment longer.
It was tender, the kind of kiss that was full of hope and quiet understanding, rather than anything more intense. She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his for a heartbeat longer, just feeling his warmth. She hadn’t realized how much she had longed for this simple closeness, this connection.
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still around them. There was no rush, no need to define it right away. It was just Neville, just the feel of his lips on hers, the taste of tea lingering between them. Nothing more, nothing less. And in that moment, Hermione realized, without a doubt, that this was exactly where she was meant to be.
She opened her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt in place. The fear, the doubt, the hesitation—they had all melted away, leaving only the two of them, standing in the quiet truth of what they had both always known but hadn’t been ready to face. The air between them was thick with the possibility of more, but neither of them moved, as though savouring the stillness, the peace of knowing that it was real, that they were real.
Neville’s hand remained on her cheek, his thumb still brushing over her skin. He looked at her with a softness that made her heart ache, a kind of vulnerability that she hadn’t expected to see, but it only made him more real, more human.
Neville’s hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin in a soothing, tender gesture. He smiled softly, his lips still swollen from the kiss, and there was something in his expression—something so gentle, so sure—that made her heart ache with the depth of what they had found. "I’ve wanted you, Hermione," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "for longer than I think I realized."
For a long moment, they stayed like that, just breathing in each other’s presence, the connection between them undeniable. There were no more words needed. The silence between them was full of understanding, full of something deeper than either of them had expected. They were finally here, finally facing what they had both been avoiding for so long. And it felt like the beginning of something beautiful.