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.
Chapter Eight:
"We're not performing 'Push It', for fuck's sake," Neville insists, "We are not a strip club."
The Glee Club have gathered in the choir room, and before them, Rachel's hijacking plans fall to pieces. It's a good idea, in theory, since Mr Schuester's idea of a performance would see them all socially crucified. In practice, however, Rachel wants to exchange Mr Schue's disco piece with a soft-core porn show, and Neville isn't the only one uncomfortable with the prospect.
"We need a top 40 song, or a classic," Beth contributes, "Something everyone knows, and preferably loves."
"Something we can dance to, as well," Kurt contributes. He casts Artie a sideways glance. "No offence."
Artie shakes his head, nonplused, and there's a vaguely awkward silence where no one particularly knows what to say. As much as the wheelchair-bound guitarist insists he is 'handicapable', the subject of disability remains a quagmire of uncertainty to most of Artie's peers, and the glee club is no exception. What, if anything, is socially acceptable to say in response to Kurt's words?
The silence is broken by Rachel.
"Does anyone have an alternative song, then?"
"How about Hall and Oates?" Finn opines, "Mr Schue would like that, I think."
"We're trying to avoid songs Mr Schue would like, Finn." The condescension in Kurt's tone is obvious, and it goes completely over the quarterback's head.
It wouldn't be the first time, of course. Kurt's got this droll, biting sense of humour that never fails to make Beth and Neville laugh, but Finn doesn't seem to understand the concept of sarcasm, so most of Kurt's jokes go unappreciated.
It's a shame, really, since a lot of them are golden.
"What about Florence and the Machine?" Artie contributes.
"Or Hot Chelle Rae?" Kurt offers.
As the others throw around suggestions and discard others, Neville and Beth sit back, and wait. Due to their time at Hogwarts, Beth isn't familiar with recent releases in mundane music, and Neville isn't familiar with mundane music, period. He's been exposed to a fair bit, of course, but four summers doesn't make up for a lifetime.
They're working on it, however.
"I think Rachel had the right idea," Beth eventually contributes, "If we want to recruit more members, we need to perform something people can relate to, or are at least interested in. Maybe not sex, but there are other things, aren't there?"
She thinks of peer pressure, about the uncertainties of their future, and of the expectations of adults she and Neville were one surrounded by. She thinks about perspective and hindsight, and wonders if her team members think on the same wavelength.
She hopes so.
"W-wh-what ab-b-bout F-f-fun?" Tina asks. The stutter isn't like Quirrell's, and Beth wonders if it's fake, too, or if it's genuine.
She doesn't ask.
"They've got good beats," Kurt concedes.
"But what song?"
"One that everyone knows," Mercedes answers, "So 'We Are Young', 'Some Nights', or 'Carry On'."
They eventually settle on 'Carry On', and the class bell blares as they schedule practice times. They have to be conscious of the hours Kurt works at his father's garage, of Artie's AV Club commitments, of Beth's cheerios training, of Finn and Neville's football practices, but in the end, everything's settled, and the group disperses without the gnawing certainty that their performance is going to be a disaster.
"Do you think it will go well?" Neville asks, on their way to European History.
"Not really, no," Beth admits. She's not sure if that makes her a realist, or a cynic, and she doesn't ask. "The arts aren't cool."
"Kind of ironic," Neville answers, "Everyone wants to be famous, right?"
Beth chuckles, nods her agreement, and admits, "I don't think we'll be booed off stage, at least."
"That's something, I guess."
They reach their classroom, settle in their usual seats, and await the arrival of their teacher. Neville fiddles with her ponytail, and talks shop with a couple of the guys on the football team - Mike Chang, and Matt Rutherford - and while he does, Beth considers the assessment piece they've been assigned, chooses her topic, and smiles to herself.
It will be nice not to have to write three feet on a goblin rebellion she'll never remember. Instead, it's 2000 words on the influence of World War II on European culture, and Beth is almost excited.
-!- -#-
With plans to gather at Rachel's house on Saturday morning, Beth rolls out of bed, proceeds with her usual morning run, and prepares breakfast as Neville tends to the herb garden. The meal is nothing spectacular - bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes - but Neville demolishes it, and leaves the kitchen without depositing his used dishes in the dishwasher.
"Neville! Put your plate away, for Merlin's sake!"
"Sorry!" He shouts from their bedroom, Beth rolls her eyes, and roughly clears away the dirtied breakfast dishes. She wipes down the counters, and puts something out for dinner, and wonders if she ought to take something to Rachel's.
She opts to bake brownies, just in case.
In truth, they're a guilty pleasure of hers. She's known how to bake since her time on Privet Drive, has only learned to enjoy it since her summers spent between the Burrow and the Longbottom family's ancestral seat, High Garden, and her recipes have only improved over time.
Baking, also, is a way for her to destress when music isn't an option. Strictly speaking, music is an option, but she and her fiance are about to spend the whole day singing and dancing, and Beth is fairly certain there's only so much of it Neville can tolerate.
Eventually, it approaches nine o'clock. The brownies are baked, Neville and Beth are both dressed and ready to go, and Beth is irrationally nervous.
"The last mate's house I went to was the Burrow," she says.
It was for Ron, Ginny, and Luna's joint funeral.
"This isn't like that," Neville assures. She already knows that, but it's nice to hear. "No point dawdling, princess. You'll only make yourself sick."
He takes her by the hand, leads her out of the house, and towards his car. He settles himself in the driver's seat, takes a moment to settle his own nerves, and pulls out of the driveway.
As he does, Beth smiles to herself, closes her eyes, and settles back for the drive. As she does, she decides that there is no possible way she could love Neville any more than she already does.
-!- -#-
Chapter Ten:
Rachel's house is located in the wealthier parts of Lima, a large, two story affair with a wrap-around porch and a pool in the backyard. Neville parks alongside the curb, Beth compliments his parallel parking, and they approach the front door a few moments later. Neville holds the tray of brownies, Beth has a backpack slung over her shoulders, and Kurt opens the front door when they reach the steps.
"Hey," Kurt greets, "We're still waiting on Finn. Come on in."
They kick off their shoes by the door, and follow Kurt into the kitchen. Rachel's spread out a variety of snacks, and Neville holds out the brownie tray, nervous. The others, Tina, Artie, and Mercedes, are occupied with the food available.
"The brownies in the tupperware container are vegan friendly," Beth informs their hostess "I've no clue how they turned out, since I Googled the recipe and I've never made them before, but I remembered you said you were vegan, and I figured it would be inconsiderate if I made the normal kind while fully cognisant of that."
"That's very kind of you," Rachel accepts the tray, and the container on top, and she wears a pleased, genuine smile on her face. "Thank you. No one's ever gone through the trouble for me."
Beth shrugs. "I don't mind. I enjoy baking."
Rachel brightens. "Really? I do too. Oh, help yourself to seats, and the food as well."
They settle themselves around the kitchen island, and while Rachel putters around, offering drinks and preparing them, Beth and Neville make idle chit chat with the others. The thing is, none of them have had any particular reason to socialise beyond what was necessary for glee club, and thus, they've not got any familiar ground to tread on.
"What's it like, living together?" Mercedes queries.
"It just is, I guess," Beth shrugs, "I don't really think about it."
"Did it take some adjusting?" Kurt asks.
"Of course," Neville confirms. He doesn't explain that the transition from house elves, Astor Hall, and Hogwarts to Lima, self-imposed exile, and total independence was almost a complete shock to the system. He also doesn't mention the fact that the mundane world is almost a completely different culture, because of course, their companions have no clue of the existence of magic, and both Neville and Beth are content to keep it that way.
Mercedes asks what they've all been wondering. As she does, Kurt elbows her in the side, glaring. "Where are your parents?"
Beth grimaces, and next to her, Neville flinches. The question isn't a surprise, but still, she wishes they hadn't asked. Frank and Alice Longbottom have been buried for only a few months, and although Neville has never truly known them, their loss still hurts him.
"Dead," Beth answers, tone clipped. As she does, she links her fingers between Neville's, and squeezes in an attempt at comfort.
"Oh," Mercedes acknowledges, embarrassed and chagrined, "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Beth replies, "We don't like to talk about it."
"On that note," Kurt changes the subject, "Where's Finn?"
They look between themselves, and then at Rachel, who shrugs. Neville sighs, withdraws his phone from his pocket, and sends an enquiring text to the quarterback. He receives a reply shortly thereafter.
"He's at Puck's," Neville explains, "He's on his way now."
Rachel grimaces. "That's on the other side of town. He'll be a while."
"How do you know where Puckerman lives?" Kurt asks.
Rachel primly sips at her tea, and answers, "We used to be friends. Of course, that was before everything happened with Mr Puckerman, but I used to spend a lot of time at his house, as he spent time at mine. Lima's Jewish community is rather small. I've known him since infancy."
"He treats you like crap," Mercedes says, and Beth offers her an unimpressed scowl.
Rachel's expression is almost wistful, though not quite. "He didn't always."
Beth shrugs, and offers, "People change, I guess."
Mindlessly, Beth helps herself to the bowl of crisps before her, and the others make idle chit chat about television shows, musical preferences, and their respective classes. Rachel's in Beth's English class, and Beth shares Maths with Kurt, but she's in none with Mercedes, and of course, Tina and Artie are in a completely different grade. Eventually though, Finn arrives, and they settle in the living room to start practising. It's slow progress, and choreography is a mess to sort out, but by evening, they're the best the going to get, and none of them - even Rachel - are inclined to continue.
"You're all welcome to stay for dinner," Rachel informs them. She tugs at the hem of her sweater, nervous, and Beth hesitates in her denial.
She glances at Neville, who shrugs, and apparently it's her choice to make.
"We'd love to, Rachel."
Finn begs off, stating a date with Quinn. The others do too, and before long, it's just the three of them, plus Rachel's fathers, homemade pizzas, and in the background, early reruns of Law & Order: SVU.
"How did you two meet?" Hiram Berry queries.
"Before they died, my parents hired a solicitor to oversee the Potter Estate, a family friend. He worked for Neville's family as well, and he thought it would do us well to meet. We would have, anyway, at school, but the intervention was appreciated. We were 11 at the time."
"And if you don't mind me asking, why the engagement?"
Beth and Neville share a glance, hesitant. 'It was inevitable' is an explanation that won't go over well with Rachel's parents, but since Leroy Berry is a practising attorney, she doubts that the existence of a marriage contract will, either.
Neville clears his throat. "There are a few contributing factors, not the least of which is that I love Beth, and can't see my future without her in it, but also, there were a lot of people chomping at the bit to take advantage of us both. Our surnames carry a lot of weight from where we come from, and as the last of our respective families, we were left vulnerable. An engagement would help keep the vultures at bay. Our self-imposed exile would do the rest."
"What about your guardians?" Hiram asks. He seems perturbed by their explanation.
"There are no guardians," Beth answers crisply. "All of our prospective caretakers are deceased, which would have made us wards of the state had we not moved to emancipate ourselves."
There had been Mrs Weasley and the Tonks' of course, but when politically powerful wizards like Lucius Malfoy and Lile Urquhart had been petitioning for custody of the last scions of Houses Potter and Longbottom, they'd not stood a chance, and both Beth and Neville had lost too much to believe all would go in their favour.
Thus, they had taken the choice out of the Ministry of Magic's hands, and they've not looked back since.
Across the coffee table the three teens are seated around, Rachel sits in silence, stirs her straw in her lemonade, her brows furrowed in thought. Beth chews a slice of chicken and cheese pizza as the Berrys digest she and Neville's explanation, and Neville slurps at the last dregs of his coke.
As he does, Beth thinks, wryly, that his grandmother would have a fit at the sight.
God bless her, but Lady Augusta Longbottom was the most traditional (and strict) woman Beth had ever met. Beth misses her, Neville does too, and yet, the thought of her expression at Neville's display brings a fond, nostalgic smile to her face.
"You two live alone, then?" Hiram Berry probes.
"We do," Beth confirms.
Rachel's fathers' expressions remain artfully neutral, though Beth gets the impression they're not impressed, regardless. Whether or not it's because they disapprove, or because they're concerned, Beth doesn't wonder, and instead speaks with Rachel about their shared interest in baking. Neville listens absently, and plays games on his phone when he gets bored, but eventually, Beth grows tired, and the hour grows late.
"We should go," she says, and Rachel nods her concession. She shows them to the door, and Beth offers her a smile. "Thank you for having us, Rachel. We had a nice time."
"It was my pleasure," Rachel answers, "Drive safely, won't you?"
"I will," Neville assures, accepts the hug Rachel offers him, and leads the way out of the house. Beth follows, bids the shorter brunette a wave, and slides into the passenger's seat of Neville's Jeep. She buckles her seatbelt, sits back against the leather seat, and sighs contentedly. Despite her nerves, or in spite of them, it was a good day.
-!- -#-
Chapter Eleven:
The performance goes as expected. It isn't a raging success, but neither does it see them thrown off stage, doused in slushie, or reprimanded by the principal. It does, however, see Mr Schuester rather irked with them, but as he lectures she and her fellows, Beth isn't inclined to feel guilty about it. Thus, she tunes him out, studies the others, and wonders if they, too, are as apathetic as she feels.
"There goes 25 minutes of my life," Kurt says, once Schue's dismissed them and disappeared into his office.
"Tell me about it," Artie concurs.
"He seemed pretty upset." Finn hesitates by the risers, and Beth rolls her eyes.
"Maybe he'll actually listen to us next time," she says snidely, "He's not the one who has to perform, and I'd rather not be stuck singing outdated disco tracks to an audience who'd sooner slushie us than listen."
"Then why are you here?" Finn asks, and his tone is confrontational. "If you're not happy with the way things are, then you can leave - no one's stopping you."
"Did I say that?" Beth parries, "I'm pretty sure the only thing I said was that Schue's taste in music leaves much to be desired."
Neville curves a hand around Beth's waist, presses himself against her back, and props his chin on top of her head. He's calm, passive as Beth is not, and Beth already knows he's not impressed.
He hates it when she gets like this, angry and aggressive and argumentative, and she wishes it could all be attributed to the volatile temper she's tried so hard to tame.
It's not.
Beth, as long as she can remember, has been angry. It's not the anger of built up frustration, but the low, simmering sort built on a life of injustice and lies, and she blames the Dursleys for it.
Sometimes, she thinks she hates them as much as she hates Voldemort, and she wonders if, one day, the hatred will consume her completely.
"Please don't fight," Rachel entreats. She stands between them, brown haired and brown eyed, and Beth nods abruptly, turns, and walks away.
Without a word, Neville follows. He always has. She hopes he always will.
"What was all that about?" Kurt asks. They're in the hallway, headed to their next class, and Neville's hand is calloused around her own.
"Nothing," she answers, "Finn just irritates me."
"Why?" Kurt asks. He seems insulted on Finn Hudson's behalf, and Beth remembers - belatedly - that the effeminate boy's got a monumental crush on the quarterback.
Why does Finn Hudson have everyone falling at his feet?
"He just does," Beth answers, and shrugs. She doesn't think she can explain it if she wanted to. She doesn't. "He just rubs me the wrong way, I guess."
"He's a nice guy," Kurt insists, "Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot."
Beth shrugs, unbothered. Finn Hudson isn't the first bloke she doesn't get along with, and he won't be the last. She doesn't say that though, because Kurt HUmmel won't take it well. He, like Rachel, is blinded by his rose-tinted glasses, and she's not inclined to tear down his illusions.
Instead, she bids him farewell outside she and Neville's European History class, ducks inside before Kurt can ask her to give Finn Hudson a chance, and takes a seat at her usual desk. Neville sits beside her, produces his notebook from his bag, and doesn't say a word.
He's disappointed in her.
She wonders why he doesn't have the same bubbling, inescapable hatred inside him, but Beth has never asked. She probably never will. But still, the gods knew, most of his relatives treated him like something unworthy of their blood, of their family name, of his parents' sacrifice.
It would make anyone bitter, wouldn't it?
She glances at Neville, unabashed in her attentions. His dark brown hair falls into his cornflower eyes, his fingers drum along the table top, and there's a distant, thoughtful expression on his face. He is unflappable and mild-mannered, and perhaps his ability to roll with the punches, to take things as they reach him, is what keeps that simmering bitterness and resentment at bay.
Whatever it is, she's glad for it.
She harbours enough hatred for the both of them.
"I think we should start seeing Dr Tonks again," Neville says, thus pulling Beth from her reverie.
"Why?" They haven't seen her since they left Britain, and it would be rather impractical to visit a psychiatrist when there's an entire ocean between them. She says as much.
"Then maybe she can refer us to someone here," Neville answers, "And we're not okay. We need help, Beth."
Beth is, of course, reluctant. She hates the vulnerability that comes with therapy, hates the knowledge that she's freely offering her weaknesses to someone on a silver platter, and hates the thought that she needs one at all.
Is she - are they - truly so broken?
"I'll think about it," she says, but they both know she's lying.
Neville nods succinctly, glances at the clock, and frowns. "Where's our teacher?"
Beth shrugs. She's heard tell that, sometimes, teachers don't show up to their classes, and she won't complain if today's history class is one such case. It's been a shit day, she's tired and grumpy, and the last thing she wants to do is take notes about World War II.
She occupies herself with the final touches of her original song, and around her, their peers chat between themselves. Neville himself is dragged into a conversation with Matt Rutherford and Mike Chang, and meanwhile, Beth listens absently to the chatter between the two other cheerleaders in her European History class. They're fairly unobtrusive as far as the social hierarchy goes, and neither of them are part of Santana's posse of vapid bitches.
She'd almost call them friends. In fact, the only thing that stops her is the knowledge that they'd follow the crowd, and she's never been fond of sheep. After her last year at Hogwarts, she never will be.
Perhaps it's poor taste to hold such a grudge, and also to let it taint her interactions with others, but Beth has been hurt far too much in her 16 years of life, and if she can help it, she never will be again.
-!- -#-
Chapter Twelve:
The same day Quinn, Brittany, and Santana join the Glee Club is the same day Neville receives a referral from Andromeda Tonks. He sticks the contact card on their kitchen fridge with a magnet, and they fight about it. Beth doesn't want to see a therapist, Neville doesn't expect her to unless she makes the decision herself, and it ends with Neville at Puck's place, killing aliens, and Beth at Rachel's, venting.
It's a mess, essentially.
"To be honest, I think you're in the wrong here," Rachel says, and Beth would probably appreciate her honesty if she didn't want to hear what the smaller girl had to say. "He obviously wants to see a therapist himself, and I don't think it was okay for you to blow up at him for acquiring the information in order to do so. SHouldn't you support him in this, Beth? It's not an easy decision to make, and therapy can leave a person particularly vulnerable - emotionally speaking, I mean. He likely needs you a lot right now."
I know," she answers, grimacing, "It was just… a really crap day, and I wound up taking it out on him."
"And that wasn't fair," Rachel says bluntly. "You need to apologise."
Beth sighs, resigned, but she nods her agreement, and finishes her chocolate ice cream in silence. Rachel hums along to the music that filters through her iPod dock, and it's not until she walks Beth to the door that she speaks again.
"It'll be alright," Rachel says, "You both still care about each other, and that's all that matters in the end."
"I hope so," Beth answers. She offers Rachel a hug, and admits, "Thanks for listening, Rachel. I really needed a friend tonight."
"No problem," Rachel answers, "I was happy to help."
In the car, Beth drives home, and finds that Neville hasn't yet returned. She continues on, then, until she reaches Puck's house, and she is unsurprised to find his Jeep parked along the curb. She pulls up behind him, treads across the lawn and up the porch steps, and rings the doorbell.
It's answered by Mrs Puckerman, and Beth offers the older woman a tired smile.
"Hi, Mrs P, may I come in?"
"Of course," she agrees, "Neville's in Noah's room. They've been playing XBOX for a few hours, now. Is everything alright?"
"It will be," Beth assures, "I'm sorry to barge in like this."
"It's not a problem," Aviva replies, "Did you want me to make you a drink? Tea? Coffee?"
"I'd love some tea," Beth answers, "Thank you. Do you mind if I go see Neville really quickly?"
The older woman waves her off, and Beth darts up the stairs on quiet feet. She's been to Puck's place a few times recently, playing video games and watching movies in lieu of parties and malicious, thoughtless practical jokes. Puck has to babysit his little sister a lot, and thus, Beth's grown rather accustomed to the layout. Neville has too, of course.
She knocks on Noah's door, and ducks inside nervously. Puck pauses the game, arches an eyebrow as he glances between them, and makes a tactical retreat through the door she's just entered. In his wake. Beth closes Noah's door, leans against it, and stares at Neville.
He looks back, silent.
"I'm sorry," Beth exhales, but her words are genuine, "I was out of line."
"You were," Neville agrees, "But I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
Beth approaches, tentative, but Neville tugs her the rest of the way, and she settles in his lap with a sigh of relief. He is warm, his arms are a comfort, and the kiss he offers her is, too.
She wants to stay like this forever.
"I love you," she says, because after the night they've just had, it needs to be said.
"I love you too," he answers, presses his cheek against her hair, and sighs deeply, "We're a mess, Bethy."
"A hot mess, at least," Beth answers, and Neville's laugh is tired.
"A hot mess," he agrees, kisses her again, long and lingering, and holds her close. There is nowhere else she'd rather be.
-!- -#-
While Neville and Noah play their video games, Beth entertains Puck's younger sister, Rebekah. She's eight years old, and a little badass in training, but she likes Hannah Montana as much as every other eight year old girl, and she wants to be just like Rachel Berry.
"Is Rachel a friend of yours?" Mrs Puckerman asks. She's seated on the couch as Beth and Bekah sit on the lounge room floor, and ahead of them, an episode of Hannah Montana goes unwatched.
"She is," Beth confirms, "We're in the glee club together."
"Do you sing too, Beth?" Rebekah asks, and her hazel eyes are bright, "That's what th glee club is, isn't it? A singing club?"
"That's right," Beth confirms, sings what she can recall of Miley Cyrus' 'The Climb', and braids Bekah's hair as the little girl raves about it afterwards.
"Your voice is awesome," Bekah exclaims, "As good as Rachel's, but different, you know?"
Beth nods. Rachel's got a higher range than Beth, a soprano to Beth's contralto, and with all the vocal strength of a prospective broadway star. Beth's had vocal training as long as the other girl, but it's never been nearly so intensive as Rachel's. She doesn't explain any of that, however, and instead paints Rebekah's nails purple, amused to find the younger girl's bitten them to the quick.
"It's a bad habit, Bekah," Beth informs her, "How do you expect to scratch people without any nails, hmm?"
"I'll just bite them," she answers with a shrug, as though the solution should be obvious.
Behind them, Mrs Puckerman sighs, resigned. "Oi veh, my kids will grow up to be psychopaths."
"On the bright side, Mrs P, at least you know she can defend herself."
Mrs Puckerman's expression is deadpan. "I am not comforted in the slightest."
Despite herself, Beth laughs, and that's how Neville and Noah find them. They pile downstairs like a herd of elephants, and in the doorway, they watch the three of them, curious.
"Is it time to go?" Beth asks Neville.
He nods, farewells are exchanged, and they walk out side by side. They separate at their cars, of course, and meet up again in their driveway. There, she drags Neville inside, he closes the door behind him, and Beth coils her arms around his neck, sighing contentedly.
It's good to be home again.