The Room of Requirement had crafted itself into something magical, warmer and cosier than Neville could have ever imagined. Soft candlelight floated above them, and a blanket was spread out on the floor with cushions surrounding it, as though they were inside a little glowing tent. Neville stood there, feeling a bit out of his element, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked from the greenhouses. He’d spent longer than he’d admit selecting them, making sure each one held a hint of colour and meaning.
When Luna walked in, she paused, her silvery hair catching the light, eyes widening as she took it all in. She wore a simple dress that flowed around her in an ethereal way, and a single flower—a tiny yellow daisy—was tucked behind her ear. Seeing her made his nerves settle, even though his heart felt like it was beating louder than the soft music playing in the background.
“Neville,” she whispered, stepping further into the room, her fingers grazing the soft fabric of the blankets as if it might disappear at any moment. “It’s beautiful. Did you do all this?”
He nodded, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, well… I thought you deserved something nice, especially for this date night. You know, after your exams. And… well, things have been a bit grim, haven’t they?”
Luna’s eyes softened, a gentle smile spreading across her face as she took his hand. “This is perfect,” she murmured, her gaze unwavering. “Thank you.”
They sat down together on the blanket, Neville settling in close but careful to give her space, unsure of how she liked to sit or if she minded when their hands brushed. He’d arranged a few small snacks on a little plate, like crackers and cheeses from the kitchens, even some tiny cakes—fancy ones he’d tried his best not to squish on the way up from the kitchens.
“Did you sneak these out of the kitchens?” she asked, her voice a playful lilt, though her eyes sparkled with genuine appreciation.
“I… yeah,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted it to be, you know, special. I wasn’t sure what you wanted tonight, so I just picked a bit of everything.”
Luna picked up a little cake, studying it carefully. “I like it all. I like you, too, Neville.”
The words came so naturally to her that Neville almost choked on his own breath. She said it like it was the simplest, most obvious truth. And yet, it felt monumental to him. “I… well, I like you too, Luna.”
She beamed at him, and they ate in comfortable silence, occasionally trading glances and smiling like they shared some secret no one else knew. Between bites, they talked about her exams, her eccentric stories about her father’s latest theories, and the wild creatures she was so certain existed. Neville found himself captivated by her stories, the way her voice grew soft or intense depending on what she was describing. It was like watching her mind wander somewhere he couldn’t follow but still wanted to.
At one point, she turned to him, her eyes serious in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. “You’re not afraid of what people think of me, are you?”
Neville looked at her, surprised. “No, never. I mean… I like that you’re you. You don’t change for anyone.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “I… I think you’re brave, Luna.”
A quiet smile spread across her face, and she looked away, almost shy for once. “Thank you, Neville. I think you’re brave too. Even if you don’t always see it.”
They sat in silence, her words sinking in, warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. And then, in that quiet moment, she leaned in, her gaze dropping to his lips. Her fingers brushed his cheek, so softly he barely felt it, and her lips met his, light as a feather. His heart raced, and he reached out, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder, hesitant but unable to stop himself.
The kiss was soft, gentle, just a moment of shared warmth. And when they pulled apart, she didn’t move away; she just looked at him, her eyes warm, as if she could see every part of him and understood it all.
“Thank you for tonight,” she murmured, her voice soft and sincere. “This was… it was perfect.”
Neville found himself smiling, his nerves melting away. “Anytime. I mean…You know I would do it again, if you want to. I would do anything for you Lune.”
“I’d like that very much,” she said, settling back beside him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. They stayed there, letting the soft glow of the candles and the music wrap around them, just the two of them in a little world of their own.
In that moment, Neville felt like he’d finally found something real, something solid to hold onto in a world that had felt so uncertain. And as he looked at Luna, he knew that this night would be etched into his memory forever, a moment of quiet magic he’d never want to lose.
—
Then the war hit, and things changed.
In the months leading up to the final battle, Hogwarts had become a place Neville barely recognized. The halls that once echoed with laughter and chatter now felt oppressive, the walls closing in as fear and mistrust hung heavy in the air. Snape had taken over as headmaster, and the Carrows patrolled the corridors, their eyes cold and merciless. Every day felt like walking on a knife’s edge, each corner hiding potential danger. Students disappeared or returned bruised and shaken, sometimes not at all. Those who remained learned to keep their heads down, blending into shadows to avoid the Carrows' wrath.
But the Room of Requirement became their sanctuary. To Neville and the others, it was more than just a hiding place; it was a home. He would slip inside, heart pounding, each night wondering if this would be the day he couldn’t make it back. But the room always welcomed him, transforming itself into a cosy haven where they could gather, plot, and rest without fear. For a few hours each night, they could be themselves, a group of teenagers clinging to each other, holding on to the fragments of the lives they once knew.
There, in the flickering candlelight, Neville found a new kind of courage. He watched his friends sleep, heads resting against walls or pillows, faces softened by exhaustion, and he knew he would do anything to protect them. The DA had become more than a club or a cause; it was their lifeline. He learned to lead, to inspire, to keep hope alive even when it seemed like the world around them was crumbling. They trained, they planned, they dreamed of the day Hogwarts would be free again. And for a few precious moments each night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and whispered stories of a future that felt just out of reach.
But that sanctuary was left behind as the final battle loomed, transforming Hogwarts into a war zone. Neville fought with a desperation he hadn’t known he possessed, watching the castle they’d tried so hard to protect collapse in flames around him. He watched friends fall, saw fear etched into faces he’d known for years, and yet, he couldn’t let himself stop. Not with so much at stake. When he faced Voldemort and his followers, the Sword of Gryffindor gleaming in his hand, Neville felt something snap into place within him—a fierce, unyielding resolve. He wasn’t just fighting for himself; he was fighting for every friend who had ever laughed, cried, or trained with him in that hidden room.
When Nagini fell beneath his blade, it was as if the weight of everything they’d lost was lifted, if only for a moment. The war was over. They’d won. But the victory came with a cost, one he felt in every fibre of his being. And in the days that followed, amidst the grief and destruction, Neville began to notice something strange—people looked at him differently.
In the silence after the battle, Hogwarts felt like a broken relic, the cracks in its stone mirroring the fractures in the people who walked its halls. Friends they’d fought beside were gone; the teachers they’d trusted were wearier, and he knew he’d never see the school as he once had. Yet everywhere he went, hands reached out to pat him on the shoulder, voices murmured his name with awe, strangers shared wide-eyed stories of his bravery. He was the boy who had defied Voldemort, who had killed the Dark Lord’s final Horcrux with his own hands. The fame and recognition came fast, like a tidal wave that swept him up before he could find his footing. He knew now how Harry felt, and he hated it. The trio were the heroes, but Neville had become their knight.
At first, he’d felt out of place with it all, overwhelmed by the whispers and praise. But as weeks turned into months, something in him shifted. He began to grow into this new role, the mantle of heroism fitting him in a way he’d never expected. Where once he’d been quiet and uncertain, he now walked with his head held high, his voice carrying a new confidence, even pride. He was no longer just Neville, the shy boy from Gryffindor—he was someone people looked up to, someone who belonged in the stories told over butterbeers and whispered at parties.
And, gradually, the humble boy who once found solace in the Room of Requirement became harder to find.
As the weeks after the battle turned into months, Neville found himself surrounded by a different world. Letters and owls piled up in his room, spilling out into the rest of the house he shared with his friends, invitations to events, requests for interviews, and endless thank-you notes from people he’d never met. At first, he tried to answer every one, his polite replies reflecting the quiet, kind boy who had always preferred the greenhouse over the spotlight. But soon, the attention became relentless, almost intoxicating in its own way. There was a thrill in it, a rush of validation and pride that filled something in him he hadn’t known was empty.
When he returned home to visit his grandmother, she looked at him with a respect that she’d never shown before. Gone were the lectures on how he should have been more like his parents; gone were the disappointed sighs. She spoke of his bravery at Hogwarts as though it had erased all those years when he’d stumbled through spells and tripped over his own feet. In her eyes, he saw for the first time that she truly believed in him, proud in a way that made him feel larger than he’d ever felt. He could see how others looked at him with admiration and how the wizarding world now knew his name, just as they knew the names of Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
There was something strangely magnetic about the attention. He was invited to gatherings where wizards and witches toasted his bravery, adults who had barely noticed him before leaned in with wide eyes as he retold his stories from the battle, asking him to relive the moment he’d stood up to Voldemort. And each time he told the story, he felt a little of that old fear fade and a new kind of pride settle in its place. People listened. They laughed at his jokes. They marvelled at his courage.
And then, when he went back to Hogwarts for his 8th year, to learn and succeed in his education, there were the younger students who looked at him with awe, whispering his name as he passed. He began to feel comfortable in this new skin, the weight of his past insecurities slipping away as he saw himself through their eyes. He started dressing sharper, standing taller, finding confidence in places where he’d once been riddled with doubt. For once, he wasn’t the boy who struggled in class, the boy who was overlooked and underestimated. He was a hero, and he was beginning to believe it.
As time went on, that gentle, humble part of him began to fade. He’d grown accustomed to the spotlight, to being the version of Neville everyone wanted him to be—the hero with the sword, the defiant voice who’d stood before the Dark Lord. He no longer felt the urge to downplay his achievements or deflect praise. Instead, he leaned into it, letting it shape him, slowly forgetting the timid boy who had once hidden in the Room of Requirement with his friends, relying on them to hold him up when he felt small, the ones who helped him perform magic and gave him the belief he had been lacking in 5th year and beyond.
That boy was still there somewhere, buried deep beneath the layers of newfound confidence and fame, but he was harder to find with each passing day
Honestly, with the way he was acting - less humble and more arrogant and uncaring - if you asked Hermione she would say it was Cormac 2.0!
---
The war had left its scars on everyone, no one could deny that, but for Neville, the aftermath had been strangely… gratifying. The recognition, the praise—it was all new and overwhelming. He’d faced Voldemort, killed the snake, helped win the war, and now he was no longer the quiet boy hiding in the background. But with the fame came new pressures, new expectations. He’d felt himself change, become bolder, louder. He no longer flinched in crowds; he welcomed them.
Luna watched all this quietly, her gaze lingering on him as he laughed with strangers in the younger years, accepted accolades, and became a hero. She waited until they were alone, in one of the unused classrooms, on what should have been a date night, before finally voicing what had been haunting her.
“You’re different, Neville,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He frowned, taken aback. “Different? What do you mean?”
She hesitated, her eyes searching his. “Since the war… it’s like you’re… not really here anymore.”
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Luna, come on. You know what it’s been like. Everyone’s changed—don’t act like I’m any different.”
“That’s the thing. You are different. But it’s not in the way you think,” she replied, a hint of sadness colouring her words.
Neville’s expression hardened. “You chose me,” he said, his tone defensive, laced with a touch of desperation.
Luna’s gaze softened, but her voice trembled with sorrow as she whispered, “I chose who you used to be.”
For a moment, the room fell silent, her words hanging in the air like a spectre between them. Neville felt his chest tighten, but he didn’t know what to say, how to explain the way the war had hardened him, how the weight of others’ expectations had changed him. He didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had formed between them, didn’t know if he wanted to.
“Luna, I… I don’t know what you want me to say,” he murmured.
She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze filled with the quiet acceptance that had always defined her. But now, it hurt to see it. “I want you to come back, Neville. But maybe… you can’t.”
With a sigh, she stepped away, leaving him standing there in the empty room, unsure of what he’d lost—or if he could ever find his way back to it.
“Luna!” He called out after her.
She stopped at the door of the classroom, and looked back at the man who was supposedly her nerdy, herb-loving boyfriend. “Think, Neville. I am so proud of you, and I am so grateful you can see the bravery in yourself we all knew was there before. But think. Think if this arrogance, this careless dismissal and egotistical behaviour is who you want to be. Because if it is, I need to know.”
“Why?” He whispered, scared of the answer.
Luna looked at him sadly. “You know why.” She said, clearly, before turning and taking the last step out of the classroom.