When The Stars Go Blue
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: They are battered and bruised, but they are not broken. Sometimes, that's hard to remember. Neville/Elizabeth (fem!Harry). OOTP & Season 1 AU. Crossover with 'Glee'.
Author: tlyxor1.
When The Stars Go Blue
Chapter One:
When Neville wakes, the sky is tinged with the grey light of dawn, and the other side of the bed is empty. He worries, of course, before the familiar sound of a piano seeps into his awareness, and he relaxes again. He closes his eyes, appreciates the music as sleep beckons once more, but he fights it's siren's call, certain she - his best friend, his partner, his other half - needs him.
It's not the first time one or both of them have been woken by nightmares. He doubts it will be the last.
With bleary eyes, he shuffles out of the king-sized bed they share, tugs on a pair of pyjama trousers over his boxers, and meanders his way out of their bedroom.
In the hallway, the piano is predictably louder, and Neville follows it's call like a moth to a flame.
He finds her, of course, in the den, seated on a stool in front of the heirloom upright they've hauled from the UK. She sits with her perfect posture, her fingers dance over the ivory keys, and not for the first time, Neville is captivated by every single thing about this marvellous, wondrous creature.
"Are you going to join me, Neville?"
"Do you want me to?" He asks. He's learned that, sometimes, she simply wants to be alone. It depends on the nightmare, on the hold it has over her, on how much of it she recalls when she wrenches herself from their unwelcome clutches.
She, unfortunately, has a tendency to remember them all, start to finish, with a crystal clarity that should probably be alarming.
Perhaps with anyone else, it would be, but with Elizabeth Potter, it is not. Instead, it is, simply, just another quirk, and Neville has come to accept such oddities as par for the course with regards to her.
"Yes," she answers, and her voice is small and frail. "I need you."
Neville doesn't hesitate to cross the room. He settles beside her on the long piano bench, tugs her close, and cards his fingers through her sleep-tousled hair. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, her cheeks blotchy from tears, and Neville knows, without asking, that it's a bad one.
There are very few that can make her cry.
"It was the Ministry of Magic, again," she explains, traces her delicate fingers along the piano keys, and sniffles wetly. He reaches for the box of tissues on top of the piano, offers her a couple, and manages to pull his mouth into a semblance of a smile when she accepts it with a wet laugh. "You always know what I need, don't you?"
"I try," he answers, but he can't deny the thrill of pride that courses through him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," she answers on a sigh, "What's the point? You were there for all of it."
"I know," he answers, "But you know talking about it makes you feel better. Also, remember what Dr Tonks said."
Andromeda Tonks is a clinical psychologist. Neville's not sure how a woman raised in one of the most notoriously traditional, infamously blood purist families becomes a practising, mundane shrink, but he can't deny that the woman has slowly but surely helped he and Elizabeth both.
There were some hurdles in the beginning, of course, particularly with her frankly alarming resemblance to her deranged sister, but those have (mostly) been overcome, and Neville's glad that they've got her in their corner.
In all honesty, they both need her. Between them, he and Elizabeth have more problems than they can throw a stick at, the least of which are the ghosts that haunt them both.
Ron. Hermione. Ginny. Luna. Sirius. Remus. Augusta. Dumbledore.
The list goes on.
Voldemort and his Death Eaters were not at all merciful that horrible, unforgettable night.
Elizabeth gives a long, rattling sigh. "I know. I just…"
"Take your time," he says, "There's no rush."
As Neville plays with the ends of Elizabeth's hair, as she plays a mindless tune on her piano, time ticks by, and he waits.
Eventually, Elizabeth breaks, and as she does, she starts to cry all over again. "I miss them so much."
Without much thought, Neville scoots the stool backwards, hauls Elizabeth into his arms, and carries her to the armchair he has claimed as his own. He settles against the familiar leather, settles her in his lap, and rocks her as he would a baby. As he does, he hums for them both, and tears stream down his cheeks.
Because yes, Elizabeth misses them, but as much as she does, Neville does, too.
Elizabeth cries herself out, and Neville carries her to bed, to sleep for the hour or so before they have to prepare for their day.
It's the first day of school in a new town - in a new country, even - and although Neville is rather apathetic either way, Elizabeth is determined to make a decent impression. He assumes, correctly, that it has something to do with the fact she is a relative nobody here, and he doesn't bother fighting her about it.
As he putters around the kitchen though, preparing a meagre breakfast and the lifeblood that is his morning cup of freshly brewed coffee, he reflects that it will be exceedingly strange to return to school.
Not only is it a mundane institute, but Hogwarts, his O.W.L exams, and the frantic revision seems like a lifetime ago. He's not the same boy he was then, and he wonders how it will change his experiences at William McKinley High.
Perhaps it won't at all, though he is skeptical of that.
Thing's can't be that easy. He can't just walk back into the daily grind of life, and expect things to go on as they always had. There are gaping chasms in his reality where his closest friends, where his family, had resided, and there is no going back from that.
There never will be.
Absently, Neville casts a warming spell over the eggs and toast he's made, pours himself a second cup of coffee (Elizabeth her first cup of tea), and approaches their bedroom. She's sprawled out across the sheets, of course, an arm curled around one of his pillows, her head buried under one of her own.
Without ado, a genuine smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
She is her most unguarded in sleep, vulnerable and almost fragile, and she is adorable.
Even if her bed-hog tendencies will one day drive him to insanity, or to drink, or to both.
As he sets down her tea on her bedside table, the alarm she set the night before blares to life, and she sits up with a jolt, startled out of her slumber, hair askew and clothes rumpled. She grips her wand in one hand, a knife in the other, and wryly, he reflects that it doesn't take her long to transition into the lethal combatant he's come to admire.
While she blinks sleep-crusted eyes at him, Neville stands still, certain not to trigger her paranoia further. As he does, he makes a mental note to avoid alarms in future.
They are probably not good for either of their health.
"Neville," she sighs, relieved, drops both weapons to her lap, and cards a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry."
"No need," he answers, "No harm, no foul, right? That's the rules?"
Her responding smile his wry, and doesn't meet her verdant eyes. "Right."
He offers her the tea, she accepts it gratefully, and while she sips at the brew, he gathers up his shower things, presses a lingering kiss to her temple, and retreats into their adjoining bathroom.
As he leaves her in bed, he cards a hand through his own hair, strips down to his birthday suit, and steps into the shower. He soaps himself down, methodically shaves away the stubble that's grown in overnight, and broods over the day ahead.
Neville has the unerring, unequivocal feeling that it will be the longest one he's had in a while, and he doesn't anticipate it in the slightest.
He wonders if Elizabeth feels the same.
-!- -#-
Chapter Two:
William McKinley High School is a far cry from the medieval grandeur of Hogwarts. It is a nondescript, institutional building, with a football field to the right of it, with an outdoor dining area to the left, and with an abundance of student groups Beth can't - and doesn't bother to - label. There are no uniforms beyond those for the extra-curricular clubs and teams, there are no common rooms or dormitories or student houses, and most notably, there is no magic.
It's almost a relief, if she's honest with herself. Magic has built her up and torn her down, chewed her up and spat her out, and she is exhausted, world-weary, and heartbroken. She loves Neville, loves the friends she made and the family she found, but Beth isn't sure she can ever go back. It simply hurts too much.
"Are you going to wear that?" Neville asks. He drums his index finger on the diamond engagement ring she wears. He is curious, but he is not expectant.
"I'm not ashamed of you," she answers.
"I know that," he smiles, "But you don't have to wear a ring to prove it to me."
"I know that," she echoes, and her smile is faint, but genuine, "But I want to."
Neville concedes with a nod, though Beth doubts he's particularly interested in perpetuating the discussion. He loves to see the ring on her finger, loves it even more when it's the only thing she wears, and they both know it.
"Are you going to be alright?" He asks. His gentle smile has faded, his expression sober, and Beth sighs, weary. Her breakdown that morning is a remarkable display of poor timing, and it's not the first time Neville's asked her that in the few hours since.
"I'll be fine," she answers, "I'll message you if I'm not. Will you?"
Her concern isn't solely focused on his emotional wellbeing, though that is something to be worried about, too. Rather, it's related to the fact that they're about to enter a non-magical school, and for all he's been immersed in the mundane world for the last five summers, Neville is first and foremost a wizard, and a pureblood one at that.
"Yes," he answers, opens the car door, and clambers out. She follows suit on the driver's side, meets him at the boot, and reaches up to press a kiss along the underside of his jaw.
"If you say so. Remember, I'm just a text away."
"I do say so, and I do remember," Neville answered, mildly long-suffering. He curls a large hand around her waist, brushes his thumb against the fabric of her form-fitting, V-neck, button down vest top, and observes, "A lot of red today."
Beth shrugs, and struggles to meet his gaze. "I needed some courage."
They both glance down at the high top converses he wears. They're red, and he's charmed the shoelaces gold. Upon sight of them, they both smile wryly.
"You too, huh?"
"Absolutely," he answers shamelessly, tugs her into a hug, and presses a kiss to her brow, "I want you to remember, though, that you're one of the bravest people I know."
"Back at you, luv," Beth answers, content to cuddle with him until they're disturbed by a passing driver, who beeps his horn obnoxiously, jeers at them through his window, and laughs on his way past. Beth scoffs, unimpressed. "What a wanker."
Neville nods his agreement, but the moment has passed, and they both - reluctantly - turn to their new school.
"Are you ready?" Beth queries, an impish smile on her face.
"As I'll ever be," Neville answers mildly, links his fingers through hers, and begins the walk towards the front steps. Beth falls in beside him, observes the milling students as she and Neville pass them by, and smiles to herself.
The students hardly pay them any heed. To them, she and Neville are simply new, unknown transfers, and beyond a cursory examination and an open, mild curiosity, they are quickly forgotten. There are no stares, no pointed fingers, no shameless whispers and deplorable rumours.
She is anonymous, and it is refreshing.
"I like that look," Neville says, climbing the stairs. He watches Beth from the corner of his eyes, and as she nestles herself against his side, she frowns, quizzical.
"What look?"
"That smile," he answers, "I haven't seen much of it, as of late."
"It hurts," she explains needlessly.
"I know," he answers, "It hurts me, too."
They reach the doors, shove their way inside, and make the trek towards their lockers. They've taken a tour already, have learned where their classes are, where the cafeteria is, where their lockers are in relation to each other and such things, though Beth is fairly certain that after learning to navigate Hogwarts, William McKinley High is something of a cakewalk in comparison.
They separate to their own lockers, and without Neville by her side, Beth feels exceedingly, irrationally vulnerable. She firms her resolve, however, brushes her hair out of her eyes, and spins the dial on her combination lock until, with a click, the locker door opens.
It is, predictably, empty, and Beth occupies herself with the task of filling it with the notebooks and stationery she doesn't need for the morning. As she does, a broad, olive-toned boy sidles up beside her, spins the dial on the locker next to her own, and offers Beth a lazy smirk and a slow, scrutinising once over.
Even with the unappealing mohawk, the boy is exceedingly attractive, and Beth can't deny that. She is, however, not interested, and the deadpan glare she sends his way is indicative of as much.
He is, apparently, undeterred.
"Sup," he greets, "I'm Puck."
"Beth," she answers, clicks her locker shut, and scans the hallway. Neville's locker is on the other end of the hall, and on the opposite side, but over the heads of milling and dispersing students, she can't miss him. It helps that he's 6'2", a solid wall of muscle and carefully restrained strength, and looking for her, too. He smiles, she waves, and she waits.
"You new here?" Puck asks, "I'm fairly certain I'd recognise a girl as gorgeous as you."
"Those lines work with all the girls?" Beth parries, mildly unimpressed. She crosses her arms over her chest, the boy watches, and Beth makes a mental note not to wear any more clothes that puts her cleavage on display. She's got a decent set for her frame, and she is proud of her body, but she has no real desire to flaunt it in a teeming cesspit of adolescent hormones, insecure girls, and unabashedly interested boys. The skin-tight vest top is rather shortsighted of her, in retrospect.
"Most of them aren't wearing a diamond that's worth more than my car," he answers, "That shit even legal?"
"Yes," she confirms. Neville links his fingers through hers, acknowledges Puck with a nod, and awaits an introduction. She offers it without hesitation. "Puck, this is Neville. Neville, Puck."
"Dude," Puck greets, "Do you play football?"
Neville blinks, startled, and shakes his head. Beth has made him aware of the differences between American and British football, but either way, his answer rings true. He's never played a mundane sport in his life.
"I don't particularly understand the rules, to be honest," Neville answers, "We've only lived here for two months."
"You can learn," Puck answers, "Are you interested?"
Neville glances at Beth, uncertain, and she returns it with a shrug. The ball is in his court, and it is entirely his choice.
He shrugs in turn. "I'll give it a go."
"Awesome," Puck says, "Maybe with you, we could actually win."
Once he and Neville make plans to meet up when school lets out for the day, Beth and Neville head their separate ways. They have very few classes together, and it is something she is unused to.
Beth has always been adaptable, at least, and she is familiar with the mundane school system. She worries about Neville, who has spent his early years with tutors, and his adolescent years at Hogwarts, where students were - and are - defined by their houses over almost everything else.
During her tenure at Hogwarts, there were exceptions of course, like Beth, or Draco Malfoy, but in those cases, it was not their own actions that had defined them. Rather, it was everything - and everyone - else that had.
She's glad to be rid of the legacy of the 'Girl Who Lived' and the 'Witch Who Won'.
With regards to Neville, his upbringing doesn't particularly leave one prepared for the standard (mundane) education system, and all the social machinations that come with it. She's prepared Neville as best she can, however, and that's all she can have done.
Beth is not comforted by the thought, and thus she worries, and she waits.
-!- -#-
Chapter Three:
Beth has nothing to worry about. Neville, unflappable as ever, takes to mundane secondary school like a duck to water, and by lunch time, he's somehow acquired a small following of admirers, has firmly charmed each and every one of his teachers, and has obtained an invitation for them both to join the 'popular' table.
"Do you want to sit with them?" Beth queries. She's slumped against the locker beside his, her gaze on the pointed toes of her ankle boots, and she's already ready for school to be over.
"I don't really care," Neville replies, "You know how I feel about that kind of crowd."
"I know," Beth answers, "But I think we should. I don't want to offend them, you know? They can make our lives here miserable, and I think we've got enough to deal with."
Neville nods his acquiescence, clicks his locker shut, and shoulders his backpack. Then he links their fingers together, presses a kiss to the back of her hand, and leads the way towards the cafeteria.
"What do you think about McKinley High so far?" She queries, "Are you missing Hogwarts?"
"I'll always miss Hogwarts," Neville answers, "But McKinley High is alright. No Snape, so that's something at least."
"here, here," she answers, "No more textbooks to the head."
"No more intentional sabotage," Neville contributes.
"No more rants about incompetent dunderheads."
"No more comparisons to Draco Malfoy."
"Merlin, I hated that class," Beth recalls, "It's unfortunate, because I was really looking forward to it before that first lesson."
"Same," he answers, "Though that didn't last long."
Beth nods her agreement. "I wonder who he's traumatising now."
"Probably Colin and Dennis," Neville answers, "Those two are a very special brand of annoying, I swear to Merlin."
Beth laughs, simultaneously surprised and amused. She's not thought of Colin or Dennis in a while, though it seems Neville hasn't gotten over his distaste of the older of the two. Collin had once worked up the courage to ask her to Hogsmeade, and although Beth had graciously turned him down, Neville had been put out for ages.
He still is, it seems.
"Shut up," Neville grouses, but a smile tugs at his lips, "Tosser should have known not to go after another bloke's girl."
"Ah, the illustrious 'Bro Code'," she quips.
"Hey, don't knock it," Neville insists. He emphasises his words with a poke to her side, Beth protests with a laugh, and before she knows it, Neville's pinned her up against a locker, they're snogging unabashedly, and far away, someone wolf whistles at their display.
It is like a bucket of ice water, and with reluctance, they begin to collect themselves.
"That's just mean," Beth informs Neville, "I have to wait three more hours before we can finish this."
Neville smirks, shameless. Beth presses herself against him, unreserved in turn, and whispers, "I'll be thinking about you all afternoon."
Neville swallows convulsively, his grip tightens on her waist, and he laughs hoarsely. "You are a cruel, cruel woman."
He, begrudgingly, steps back, cards a hand through his hair, and exhales raggedly. "We should go, before I drag you into a supply closet and have my wicked way with you."
"It wouldn't be the first time."
"It wouldn't," he agrees, smiling fondly, "Remember that time when Ron and Hermione caught us?"
Beth laughs again, her face red with remembered embarrassment, "I don't think I'd seen Ron blush so hard in all the time I'd known him. Godric, that was hysterical."
"He couldn't look at you for weeks," Neville reminisces.
"Hermione couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to be horrified or curious," Beth contributes, "She asked me a lot of questions, you know? It was weird being the one with all of the answers."
"I can imagine."
They fall into a companionable, nostalgic silence. This time, though, there are no tears upon the remembrance of their friends. Instead, there is only a bittersweet humour that still manages to bring a smile to Beth's face, and it is progress.
"Ron asked a lot of questions, too," Neville says conversationally, "I wonder if they ever got around to it, in the end. They were so blind to each other's feelings."
"Something changed though, near the end," Beth says. As she does, they reach the cafeteria doors, and they pause to finish their conversation. "I think they did. I hope they did."
"Yeah," Neville answers, and his tone is rough, "Me too."
He squeezes her hand in his, they collect themselves, and slip into the cafeteria. The 'populars' take pride of place in the centre of the room, students clad in letterman jackets and cheerio uniforms, and Beth smothers a grimace. Beside her, Neville does, too.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Beth answers, and they approach the table hand in hand.
"Dudes, about time you showed up," Puck exclaims, gestures at a pair of seats across from him, "Take a seat."
"Thanks," Neville answers, pulls out Beth's chair, and tucks it in when she's seated. He seats himself afterwards, produces his lunch from home, and devours the kebab with abandon.
"Your mom make that?" Puck asks. Beth grimaces, and Neville swallows his current mouthful of food with a shake of his head. He tips it in Beth's direction, and Puck needs no further explanation. "You make sandwiches for your boy, then?"
"He made breakfast this morning," Beth explains.
"Hold up, chica, you two live together?"
The girl who speaks is of hispanic descent, with coal-rimmed eyes and rouge stained lips. She exudes the same, predatory confidence that radiates off Puck, and Beth assumes - correctly - that this is his female counterpart.
Beth nods. "Since June."
This revelation receives a fair bit of attention, and soon, the whole table is focused on them. Beth curbs the instinct to fidget, Neville settles his hand on her jittery knee, and Beth munches on a biscuit.
"How are your parents okay with that?"
Puck, belatedly, makes introductions.
It is a blonde girl who asks, haughty in demeanour, and with a crucifix hung around her neck. Her name is Quinn Fabray, she is the captain of McKinley High School's cheerleaders, and she is not impressed.
"Neville and I are emancipated minors," Beth hedges, "We don't live with our parents."
"Dude, that is so awesome," Puck exclaims, and Beth idly wonders if he knows what an inside voice is, "You can throw parties whenever you want!"
"Maybe," Neville answers vaguely. He's pretty sure that, like Beth, he'd sooner pour acid in his eyes than host a party for a group of people they've just met.
"I like your ring," Brittany Pierce informs her, and the non-sequitur leaves Beth nonplused. "It's pretty. How did he ask you?"
Neville chokes on an apple slice, coughs and splutters, and turns bright red. Beth smirks, absently claps him on the back, and addresses Brittany, "I'll tell you later. Lunch is almost over."
Brittany claps her hands together, smiling. "I can't wait. I love stories."
"This one's the best I've got," Beth assures her, and overhead, the school bell blares to life, "And on that note, I'll see you later, Brittany. It was nice meeting you."
"You as well," Brittany chirps. She leaves her lunch tray on the table and flounces off with her pinky linked with the hispanic girl, Santana Lopez.
Beth and Neville slowly meander their way out of the cafeteria, side by side.
"What have you got now?" Neville queries.
"European History," Beth answers, and they approach her classroom.
"Me too," Neville replies, follows her through the door, and flops gracelessly into a seat near the middle of the room. "I don't suppose I can get away with taking a nap?"
Beth snorts indelicately, settles herself in the seat beside Neville's, and produces a notebook and pen from her bag. "Not likely, luv. This isn't Binns."
Neville rolls his eyes and arches an eyebrow. He's irritated, and Beth has patronised him. Again. "I noticed."
She offers him a chagrined smile. "Sorry, Nev."
He shrugs, accepts the apology, and drops the subject.
Excepting Barty Crouch Jr and the three Lestranges, Neville has never been one to hold a grudge. He dislikes a lot of people, of course, and frankly despises a number of others, but he never goes out of his way to remain angry with someone.
Apparently, people he doesn't like - or loathes - are simply not worth the effort. In contrast, the people whom he likes - or loves - deserve more from him than a grudge that may or may not be easily resolved.
Beth sometimes wishes she could be so magnanimous, but she really, really can't. Merlin knows she's tried. Unfortunately, she has a tendency to brood, to fixate and obsess over things, and grudges are almost an unavoidable byproduct of that.
Case in point: Draco Malfoy, but that's another story all together.
"What did you think of lunch?" Neville asks.
"It could have been worse," she observes, "None of them asked about my rings. I expected them to."
Neville brushes his thumb over the cygnet ring he wears on his index finger. It marks him as the head of his house, and Beth wears one, too. They are different in design to denote their different houses, of course, but the bands each represent a burden neither of them - Beth and Neville, that is - are prepared for.
Neville shrugs. "I think they were more interested in our living arrangements."
"We're not becoming a party house."
"I thought that was a given."
"Just making sure," Beth answers, chuckling.
As she does, their teacher (finally) arrives, and they both fall silent, and their class passes. It's delightfully interesting, and as they retreat from the classroom, Beth admits, sheepishly, that she's looking forward to their next History lesson.
Neville chuckles, walks alongside her to their study hall session in the library, and informs her, "Hermione would be proud."
"Yeah," Beth agrees, and her own smile is nostalgic, "She would."
-!- -#-
Chapter Four:
A lot can change in a fortnight. Puck becomes a casual friend, Neville joins the football team, and Beth is coerced to try-out for the 'Cheerios'. She's fairly certain Santana and Quinn intend to humiliate her, but neither of them know of her past on Privet Drive.
Her Aunt Petunia, wretched woman that she is, has only one ambition in life, and that is to upstage everyone she can. Thus, Beth has been trained in dance, gymnastics, and music since the age of four, and that is only the beginning.
With that in mind, however, her cheerleading try-out is a breeze, and the next thing she knows, she is a Cheerio, with the odious nickname of 'Queenie', courtesy of Coach Sylvester.
The woman in question, Sue, is perhaps the strangest person Beth has met in Lima. She has all of the authority of Madam Hooch, all of the crazy of Bellatrix Lestrange, and all of the biting sarcasm of Professor Snape, and most of the time, Beth isn't sure whether or not she wants to laugh in her face, or run away as far as she can.
"That woman is nuttier than squirrel dung." Beth settles herself on Neville's lap, slumps against his chest, and groans. "How is she allowed near children?"
"I'm sure you can handle her," Neville answers, runs his hands up and down her arms, and nestles her more securely between the 'V' of his legs. He's settled under a tree on the front lawn of their new school, and beside him, Puck is half asleep over a giant coffee cup. "We were taught by Snape for five years, after all."
"Professor Snape didn't have me doing cartwheels until I got confused by which way was up," Beth answers sardonically.
"At least she doesn't have you scrubbing the gym floor with a toothbrush," Neville reasons.
Despite herself, Beth laughs, concedes the point with a nod, and closes her eyes to the morning light. Neville, in turn, nuzzles her neck, and the rasp of his jaw makes her shiver.
It was another restless night for both of them, plagued by nightmares and memories Beth is sure they both want to forget. Eventually, they'd given up the pursuit of sleep, an had instead spent the early hours with love and pillow talk until, inevitably, another sunrise had intruded on their peace.
A number of hours, a training session each, and too much caffeine later, it's eight o'clock, they have 20 minutes until homeroom, and Beth's legs are the consistency of jelly.
"I'm off," Puck declares, "Later, suckers."
He strides towards the parking lot, Beth produces her copy of Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' from her satchel, and squints blearily at the pages. Although her Aunt Petunia had wanted to prove to everyone that she was the best at childrearing in Little Whinging, her extra-curricular activities had not consisted of Shakespearian studies, and despite her name, Hermione hadn't been particularly focused on the subject, either.
Thus, Beth spends more time than she cares to admit attempting to make sense of Shakespearian English, and she wonders - and envies - how Neville can find it so easy. She doesn't want to ask him for help though, because his own English class is studying 'Othello', and it's not fair to expect him to read two of Shakespeare's plays, just because he's better at it than her.
"How much do you not want to be here right now?" Neville asks, and his breath is warm against her neck.
"Probably as much as you," Beth answers, laughs when he nips her throat, but sobers as she catches sight of Mr Schuester. He is her Spanish teacher, and Beth can't stand him.
He reminds her of Professor Snape, without the unapproachable attitude, and she wonders if Schuester realises how much of a twat he is. Snape, to his credit, was fully aware of his own failings as a teacher, and as a human being. Schue, however, is under the mistaken assumption that he is God's gift to students everywhere, picks his favourites accordingly, and is thus quietly resented by the greater majority of teenagers in McKinley High. He is, of course, oblivious, and Beth can't wait for the day reality ups and slaps him in the face.
Neville, of course, notices.
"It's like you need a teacher to hate," he says, "What do you have against him, anyway?"
"He's an unprofessional, oblivious twat," she answers.
"And why does this concern you?" Neville queries. Beth sits up, and turns to face him. "You don't even care about Spanish."
"It's the principle of the matter," Beth answers, and she's agitated. Neville is, too, and the tension between them retrieves attention from their peers.
Spats between couples aren't anything new in William McKinley High, but Neville and Beth have become a focal point in their new school's gossip mill, and everyone's interested. Not only are they recent transfers, and newly minted members of the football team and cheer squad, respectively, but it has become common knowledge that they live together (alone) in a small bungalow outside of Lima's city centre. Moreover, word has spread that they are engaged, and it is no surprise that tongues are wagging.
"Is it, really?" Neville parries, "Or do you just need someone to be angry at?"
"Are you still holding that against me?" Beth stands, hurt and insulted, tugs roughly at the roots of her hair, and walks away before she says something she'll regret later. Over her shoulder, she says, "I can't deal with this right now."
Beth has always had a poor temper, but it's only been in the last few months that she's learned to control it. She's still quick to anger, of course, and she will inevitably boil over and lash out at the first unsuspecting target of her fury. She doesn't want that unfortunate sod to be Neville.
Not again.
Inside the school, she enters the nearest girls' restroom, wrenches the hair-tie out of her sable ponytail, and roughly combs through it with the brush from her bag.
As she ties it back into the high ponytail expected of Coach Sylvester's 'Cheerios', Santana sidles in, Quinn and Brittany not far behind.
Upon sight of them, Beth rolls her eyes, not at all surprised. In WMHS, gossip spreads like a disease, and thus, she almost expects that they would seek her out.
"Sounds like there's trouble in paradise," Santana purrs,a malicious smirk on her face.
Beth arches a peaked eyebrow, mindlessly applies some lipgloss, and bites her tongue. Santana, however, doesn't appreciate her reaction - or the apparent lack thereof - and queries, "Does that mean I can have a ride on him?"
Beth can't stop herself, and she doesn't even try. "I thought you were the school bicycle, Lopez?"
The hispanic girl's eyes widen, outraged, and she raises a taloned hand to slap - scratch? - Beth across the face.
Beth herself catches her wrist with the reflexes of a fighter, and levels a frosty glare on the other cheerleader.
"First, every healthy partnership will clash at one point or another. I'll thank you not to insinuate that my relationship is nothing less than stable. Second, you can certainly try to hit on Neville as much as you like, but I guarantee that he will never reciprocate your attentions. He's not fond of whores. Finally, try and hit me again, and I will make your life miserable."
Beth walks out then, and in the bathroom, a trio of cheerios remain. Two of them are aghast, and the third is exceedingly disappointed. Not only at Beth, but at Santana, and the green eyed transfer wonders how Brittany will proceed in the ensuing minutes, hours, and even days.
In homeroom, Puck greets Beth with a fist bump and a curious expression. She and Neville have been encouraging him to attend all of his classes, and although he is reluctant, he does so anyway. It's progress.
"Dude, I left you and Frankie snuggling under a tree. What's the deal?"
Beth rolls her eyes, props her chin on her raised hand, and answers' "Just a stupid spat that brought up old wounds. We'll sort it out later."
Puck nods slowly. He doesn't seem particularly convinced, but neither does he want to pursue the matter further. "If you say so, Legs."
"Don't worry about it," she insists, "This is not our first disagreement. It won't be our last, either."
She's reluctant to call it a fight, really. They've had worser confrontations in Gryffindor Tower, loud, explosive arguments bad enough to send the lower years to their dorms, and the upper years to the quietude of privacy wards.
Those had been resolved and overcome, and although she's hurt by Neville's insinuations, she knows that this spat, too, will end in the very same way.
All the same, the point of their disagreement lingers on her mind through her morning classes, and by the time lunch has arrived, Beth doubts herself.
Is she right, or wrong? After her Spanish class with Mr Schuester (and, incidentally, the revelation that he's starting up WMHS' show choir), Beth isn't so sure.
-!- -#-
Author's Note: Unearthed this from a long-forgotten USB. Thought it was lost forever. It's shit, but I can't bring myself to get rid of it. To be uploaded in four parts.