Neville Longbottom

Watching him sleep is as if it were an old painting that you never tire of admiring, the sunlight cautiously entering between the fabrics of his white curtains, the wind that hits his face as if it were a caress. The only feeling is security, security that yours will not end quickly, that if possible it will last forever. Just listening to their breathing is like a song that you would listen to a thousand and more times without stopping. You caress his brown hair, uncovering his forehead to place a kiss. You don't want to leave, you never want to leave, you want to stay there with him, with Neville.