Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except Graces Malfoy & Thomas Higgs, who are my own. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line
Author's notes: As usual thank you to my beta Denarii for editing the chapter! And my BF Aleah for reading it over a few times until it was ready!
Special thanks to Blue Luver5000, Manoirmalfoys, galyardt, spannieren, Bharm, and Phoenix for their reviews!
Okay, so at the end of the chapter there is some M rated material… so this is your heads up guys.
Chapter 29
Neville laid beside Graces on the stone floor of the castle, still panting from their previous activities. Every night since the chocolate experiment had been like this. They would meet, do some work with potions, talk a bit, then talk a lot, joke around playfully, kiss, kiss more, kiss more while discarding their clothes, topple to the ground, spend a good part of an hour there, and then lie next to each other silently not talking or touching. Each night would end around this point. It was odd to the Gryffindor how for a good part of an hour he and Graces would spend their time holding, caressing, kissing, and being with one another in the most intimate of ways to ending like this, awkwardly lying next to one another while one of them tried to pretend the other didn't exist.
He wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold her in his arms and nuzzle his nose into her golden locks, breathing in her scent as he fell away into sleep. He could only imagine how comforting that would all be, how wondrous it would feel to drift away to sleep with Graces in his arms, but every time he had attempted at holding her she had made an excuse to leave.
So he just laid there next to her, his skin burning to feels hers again. He felt like there was a little man living in his heart, raging against the walls for him to reach out and take her hand, just make some small gesture to touch her again, but he ignored the feeling and laid there. Just two days ago he had attempted to do such a simple act like holding her hand. At first Graces had allowed it. She had laid there as he laced his fingers through hers, and didn't argue when he brought their hands up and laid them on his chest. But Neville knew from the moment he had touched her, he only had borrowed time.
After a few measly moments of this Graces had sat up and unwound her fingers from his. She made the usual excuses for why she needed to go: Draco would worry, she needed to get some rest, excuses, excuses. She was kind about it. She had stopped closing off completely and would always end the discussion with a soft kiss on his cheek and a good night. Neville knew it was meant to spare his feelings, that Graces in her own twisted way was trying to be kind, but her abrupt absence always left him feeling empty. Graces had made it clear that this could never bloom into something more than what it was now, but Neville couldn't stop himself from wanting more.
It was greedy of him to want more, especially since he had gained so much with the Slytherin in the past few days. Every night since the chocolate experiment they had been together. Graces had made good on her vow that she would be a better tutor. Each night after dinner she met him and they did another potion or experiment that would help him improve, but it wasn't her time that Graces had gifted him with so much, though she was giving him hours of her time, it was the conversations.
Graces was finally at a point where she would talk to him. They talked for hours upon hours about potions, Quidditch, herbology, and Shakespeare. Neville knew without a doubt that if he had been discussing these topics with anyone else he would have grown bored. He certainly didn't fancy talking about potions for two and a half hours with Hermione when they studied together, but with Graces all those things were different.
Potions was interesting. Quidditch strategies were intriguing. Herbology wasn't just a personal passion of his, but something he could share and even build a future on. And Shakespeare, Neville had never thought that words on a page could be like a treasured jewel. Shakespeare the way Graces talked about it, the way they discussed it, was like drinking a fine wine and picking out all the small details of the taste: the year, the notes of fruit, describing the harmony of the mix, and they always seemed to get a little drunk off the discussion and laughed for hours upon hours together. They had discussed Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew' the other night until small rays of light seeped in through the castle window, alerting the two of them that the morning had arrived. And yet, despite how amazing the conversations between the two were, Graces would stray away from any kind of discussion that was in any way personal. It was as though she knew that those kinds of discussions would feed the friendship so that it could bloom into something greater, and she was refusing to allow it such nutrients.
From the corner of his eye Neville could already see Graces becoming restless with just laying there. He could always tell when she was coming down from the euphoria of being with him, and obsessing on the reality of it all. One of the sure signs was that she would bring her arms across her chest, to cover herself, and lay eerily still. As if laying like a statue would mask her uneasiness.
"What's your favorite color?"
Graces looked at Neville briefly before turning her eyes back to the ceiling, obviously slightly disturbed by the question.
"Why?"
"It's a simple question, Graces," Neville chuckled, hoping that she would answer. "I'm just curious."
"Purple," Graces said quietly, forcing herself to stay put.
They laid there in silence for a few moments, Graces chewing her lip and Neville trying to hold on a little longer to having her so near.
"Do you want to know my favorite color?" he asked, grabbing at anything to say.
"It's green."
Neville turned on his side and stared at the girl beside him. That was no guess. Graces knew it was his favorite color. It was overt in the way she declared it: casually, confidently, with a tone of finality. But Neville didn't know how she knew.
"How did you know that?"
"I, uh, heard Granger and Abbott talking a while ago… it was mentioned," Graces admitted, blushing up at the ceiling.
"And you remembered?"
The blonde merely nodded, her cheeks growing more and more red, allowing Neville to make assumptions about what it meant.
"I—I need to go," she stammered, sitting up and grabbing for her clothes. Neville bit back a sigh and nodded, leaning back to stare at the ceiling, not particularly interested in watching the girl of his dreams leave him for the night. "First match tomorrow and all," Graces explained. Neville nodded at the excuse. There was always one. "I just need to be well rested for it."
And here comes the soft kiss goodnight… The soft kiss that despite myself I will still relish in. Merlin I'm pathetic.
"I had a good time tonight," she whispered, pulling away, but not far enough so Neville couldn't feel her lips still tickling against his cheek.
"Me too," Neville sighed, giving Graces a small half smile. "I always do."
"You don't look like you did," Graces pouted, standing up and pulling on her shirt.
Neville sighed, and stood up to dress as well.
"Just wish you didn't have to go," he shrugged, buckling his belt.
"Sorry."
Neville dismissed the apology, and leaned against a desk and watched Graces dress.
"I'll be rooting for you tomorrow."
"Sure you will," Graces scoffed, sending Neville a playful smile.
"I will," Neville insisted. "I'll be cheering you on in the stands."
"Okay," Graces humored rolling her eyes. "Good night, Longbottom."
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Neville did not want to get out of bed. In fact he was at the moment very convinced that he could stay underneath his covers for the rest of his life. Vainly he tried to open his eyes only to have them drift shut almost immediately. He was just starting to have a very good dream, a dream involving Graces joining him in his very comfortable bed, when it suddenly dawned on him what day it was.
Today was the Quidditch match for Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Neville, aftering having a wonderful week with Graces, had a surprise in store for her.
Neville laid in bed and once again told himself that this was a good idea. That Graces would appreciate it and that his friends would get over it. He had a plan. He worked out every detail, so that it wouldn't give Graces and his relationship away, and he reminded himself that he was not going to be any more embarrassed than he was every other day at school anyways.
Still… he was nervous.
I can do this, he reminded himself again.
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Graces nervously stood with her friends and brother outside the Great Hall. It had been an odd morning to say the least. She had been woken by a loud crack and sat up to discover a house elf standing on her bed, a note clutched in it's knobby hands.
Graces had been thinking of the note nonstop for hours. She had absolutely no idea what to make of it. It just said "Play it off as a bet. A bet that I, of course, lost and you won."
"What the bloody hell?"
Graces turned at her brothers' statement and stared wide-eyed as Neville walked down the hall a Slytherin Quidditch shirt and scarf laying underneath his coat. He had an annoyed look on his face as Ron continued to hiss something furiously in his ears. Harry seemed to be trying to pull the red head away from him, so that Neville could have some assemblance of space, but the taller boy just shrugged him off and continued.
"Why is Longbottom wearing Slytherin colors!" Pansy exclaimed, as though Neville wearing their colors somehow tarnished Slytherin as a whole.
"He lost a bet," Graces breathed, still unable to believe what she was seeing.
"A bet?" Draco frowned.
"Yeah," Graces nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling.
"You're really low, Malfoy!" Ron bellowed from down the hall, clearly upset over his friend's attire.
"No one forced Longbottom to bet me," Graces clipped, still not moving her eyes from Neville.
"You made a bet with Longbottom?" Draco frowned looking at his sister.
"It's so boring tutoring him," Graces pouted. "I needed something to make things interesting."
"What was the bet?" Pansy asked, still wrinkling her nose at Neville.
"Ummm, it, it was—"
"She bet me I couldn't make a simple cough potion without messing it up," Neville sighed, blushing as everyone's eyes widened at him.
"A cough potion?" Draco laughed. "A cough portion?! My gods, Longbottom, how thick are you? That is what's put in children's play potion kit."
All the Slytherins were in a fit over what they thought was Neville's mistake, but Graces just continued to smile happily knowing the truth. Neville dressed like this to support her team. To support her.
A bit mushy isn't it? A little over the line?
No, it's not. He's my friend. We are friends, and friends support one another. Just like Luna wears that lion head. It's not odd in the least.
Don't be an idiot, he's mad for you and you know it.
So what if he is? I like the attention. I don't mind boys being mad for me. It's nice being told how pretty I am and other such things.
…
This is fine.
Keep telling yourself that. I know you, I am you, you fancy him. You like him and you—
Yeah, you know who else I've fancied? Lockhart for a bit. Remember that? So shove off, I'm allowed to fancy people. It doesn't mean anything.
"Neville," Hermione whispered, "how did you mess up a cough potion?"
"I don't know," Neville groaned flustered, shaking his head and looking down. "I did though."
Graces was impressed by the show Neville was putting on, she had no idea he could be this good of an actor. Lying wasn't exactly his strongest suit, but then again it must have helped that he became so flustered regularly that it wasn't considered odd when he became so now.
"You know you shouldn't be rooting for him to lose," Hermione scolded looking at Graces. "You're his tutor, you're supposed to want him to do well."
"Mione," Neville hissed. "It's fine. It was all in good fun. Besides if I would have won she would be in Gryffindor colors."
"That would have been a very foolish bet on your part if you lost," Draco muttered under his breath.
"I knew I wouldn't," Graces whispered back smugly.
"Where's Creevey?" Graces asked excitedly looking around. "I want a picture of this."
"Wanting a photo of me, Malfoy?"
"You wish, Longbottom," Graces sneered, though Neville alone could see the humor still twinkling in her eyes.
"Hey, you're the one asking where Creevey is."
"Only to document your humiliation!" Graces exclaimed, unable to stop the laughter from bubbling up from her.
"Humiliation? Who said I was humiliated. I like the color green. I think I look rather dashing in it."
"Stop talking! You're ruining this for me. Go back to being pathetically sad about the ordeal!" Graces demanded playfully, now bending over with laughter.
It was as Graces and Neville were laughing at their odd banter that Graces realized she had lost herself in front of the audience. This wasn't appropriate behavior, and it was obvious from the stunned look around her that she and Neville were behaving too friendly.
Graces cleared her throat awkwardly, and gained back her stonewall demeanor. She chanced an apologetic look over to Draco, who just raised an eyebrow in response.
"You really are a good sport, Longbottom," Graces nodded sadly, looking around at the Gryffindors surrounding him, her eyes stopping at Hermione. "It's just such a shame at what company you choose to keep."
Neville frowned, and looked over to where Graces eyes were glaring and placed an arm around his friend. Graces sneered at the gesture, before returning her silver iris back to Neville.
"Things could be so different for you, Longbottom," she continued slowly. "So different. You're a pureblood. You could have easily chosen to stay with your own kind. Imagine how much easier your life could be."
"I am among my own kind," Neville proclaimed defiantly.
Graces stared at Neville for a few moments, making sure to muster up as much contempt as possible in a single look.
"You have options, I would advise you to think about them," Graces warned. "Because the road you are choosing now is the road that will deliver you into an early grave." Neville swallowed hard at Graces' words and definitely pulled Hermione closer to him. Making his choice obvious. "Such a pity," Graces whispered, "and down falls another pureblood line."
"Will you cry at my funeral, Malfoy?"
Graces took a few steps closer to Neville, so she was well into his personal space. Hermione remained close to them both, which was fine to Graces considering she wanted the audience.
"I doubt it," Graces whispered, taking Neville's Slytherin scarf and fiddling with the edges casually. "Who knows, I may very well be the cause of it."
"I have no doubt, Malfoy, that you'll be the death of me," Neville declared, staring down at her.
Graces smirked, and took a step back dropping the edge of the scarf before it pulled Neville.
"See you around, Longbottom," she dismissed, turning and joining her friends to enter the Great Hall for breakfast. Satisfied that her little show would make up for the moment before. "Oh, and Longbottom," Graces called, turning around, but continuing to take steps backwards "Don't forget. You have to cheer for me as well."
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"It's a big game, you have to eat," Draco reminded as Graces continued to push her food about on her plate.
"I'm not that hungry," Graces whispered.
"Darling, what's wrong?" Blaise questioned, placing a curved finger under her chin and lifting her head. "You seemed to be in such a great mood earlier. What happened?"
"We're dying off," Graces murmured, pushing her plate away.
"What do you mean 'we're dying off'?" Pansy frowned, not at all liking this twist in conversation.
"Longbottom is going to die."
Draco held his breath at his sister's statement. He looked around to see how Blaise and Pansy were taking her foolishness at the moment, and was thankful, that much like him they seemed to think Graces was getting at a grander point than just the absence of Longbottom from this world. After all it would be silly for her to mean that she is truly sad that Longbottom would die.
"That," Blaise stressed, sending Graces a dark look, "is not of your concern. I should hope you are not forming any attachment to the blood traitor, my sweet, because attachment like that…"
"It's nothing like that," Graces growled. "He's a pureblood. The last in his line, and he's going to be killed. That's another family down. Don't you see? We're dying off. All of us are dying off. Doesn't that bother you?"
"We are dying off," Draco admitted casually, placing his napkin back down onto the table and shifting to face his sister, "And it is something we are all aware and upset over, Graces. But Neville Longbottom is not a loss."
"His blood is as pure as yours and mine, Draco," Graces declared evenly, meeting her brother's eyes and daring him to deny it. "That's a whole line that other families can marry into, form alliances with, and build upon."
Draco's eyes narrowed at the challenge, and he sat taller so that even sitting he towered over his sister.
"When was the last time any of the Longbottoms attended an old pureblood ritual? Or participated in any of the older holidays? Does Longbottom know all the traditions and etiquette we were brought up with?" Graces eyes slipped from her brother's gaze, and Draco shook his head sadly. "Longbottom is not a pureblood. He is a blood traitor. He and his family have turned their back on their history, their legacy, their traditions and adopted muggle ones."
"Mark my words he will probably marry some half-blood or mudblood and his offspring will be raised with muggle stories, muggle holidays and muggle values. Longbottom's death means nothing to us, because his legacy died generations ago. He's no better than a is nothing for us to build upon there."
Graces frowned and looked down at the table. Draco sighed, remembering how often she did this at home. Their father and mother would say no to something, and she would look down at the table and scowl, every once in a while sniffing back a few tears, but biting her tongue to keep from talking back. The problem was that then he knew what she was biting her tongue to say, and now he hadn't a clue.
"What is the matter with you?" he hissed losing his temper. "You should know all this. Why are you—"
"Draco, will you relax," Baise cut in, saving Graces from her brother's temper. "She's making a valid point. It's upsetting to see older families die off like this."
Pansy nodded in agreement.
Draco watched as hot angry tears began plunging from his sister's cheeks.
"Graces?"
"He should be one of us," Graces sobbed angrily. "His loyalties should be to us. We're his blood, his history, his past and future. Our blood is sacred! We were part of the families that were originally chosen by the gods to bless with magic. It's not right. It's—"
"Blasphemous," Draco finished, watching his sister. "Depraved. Disgusting. Traitorous." Draco leaned forward now that he had his sister's attention. "Neville Longbottom helped put our father in jail. He is a blood traitor. When you start to feel sad that his blood line will soon be gone, remember that he has turned his back on all of us first. He chose Potter. He will continue to choose Potter and all those other blood traitors, half-bloods, and mudbloods over us until it is either us or him in the grave."
"You reminded him he had options today, and he threw it back in your face," Blaise said quietly, chancing a glance over to where Neville was sitting talking to Hermione.
"Judging by the way things are going, you weren't far off when you said that you may very well be the cause of his death. Don't feel badly about that. He chose it on his own."
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Tears. Angry tears. Neville didn't have a clue what had happened during breakfast, but he knew this much. Graces was frustrated and angrily crying over something, and judging by the glances Pansy kept shooting his way it was something over him.
"See you all at the match," Neville sighed, sincerely upset, though just not over his attire like everyone thought. He made sure not to rush out of the hall, afraid to draw too much attention, but he was determined to catch up with Graces who had left just moments before.
Empty. The hall to the left and the hall to the right were bare, with not even an echo of a step telling him where Graces may have run off too. Aimlessly Neville wandered away from the Great Hall, raking his mind for a clue as to where Graces would go to be alone.
The barn.
Neville strode out of the castle doing his best to avoid other students. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be dressed in Slytherin colors for the game, it was just that he would rather not hear what people were saying about him losing a bet because he had botched a cough potion.
He reached the barn door only enduring two sympathetic glances from Hufflepuffs, three nasty glares from Slytherins, and two offers of tutoring from Ravenclaws, who he suspected were only offering because they wanted to see firsthand how someone was able to botch a child's potion.
For a moment Neville didn't know how to enter. He looked at the wooden door despondently. What if she wasn't in there? What if she was? What if she went off on him for some reason only she understood? He just wanted to make her happy. Radiantly happy. Radiantly happy because of something he did.
Slowly he opened opened the door, slipping into the musky smelling barn, his eyes gliding around until they fell on golden hair and porcelain skin.
"Graces?"
Graces jumped from where she was sitting on a barrel of hay. Neville knew he should look away as she wiped away some tears that were spilling from her eyes, but he couldn't. So he remained where he stood watching her wipe away her embarrassment, clumsily pull her hair away from her dampened skin and grit her teeth against her sobs.
"I just wanted to make you happy," Neville said defeated. "I—I wanted to wear your colors, and show you my support."
"Why?" Graces croaked.
Neville blanked on what to say. He had thought he just explained on why, but clearly Graces felt otherwise.
"B-because, well… because you're my friend."
"Am I?"
"I thought we settled this."
"Am I your friend like Harry is your friend?"
Neville frowned in confusion. "In what way?"
"I don't know," Graces moaned. "I don't know."
Neville heaved out a sigh and was about to start asking more questions, but it seemed that Graces didn't care for an answer to her question. To Neville's surprise she lunged forward and just held him. Her tiny arms braced around his middle as her cheek pressed against his chest, her hard head under his chin.
"You're being odd again," Neville murmured kissing the top of her head.
"I'm never odd." There was a soft silence that fell upon them, it was the kind of silence that came with the morning light before the birds began to sing of new days. "You have made me happy."
"And yet here you are crying in a barn."
"I—I just needed a good cry," Graces muttered.
"Why?"
"Just did."
Neville nodded, knowing better than to push a Malfoy for information they didn't want to give.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Graces whispered. "I just needed—"
"Graces, I don't take anything you say in front of an audience seriously. Honestly, when you start talking like that I just tune it out."
"You tune out everything?"
"Mmm hmm," Neville hummed, pulling Graces' face up from his chest and brushing his lips against hers. Closing his eyes to relish in the feel of her breath wasping against his, he moved in and kissed her again and again and again, a familiar heat spreading through him as he pressed closer to her, taking every kiss with more fire and passion than Graces would allow.
"I have a game," Graces protested, as Neville lifted her up onto an old table and began pulling down her game pants.
"You have to warm up don't you? Plus, it's well over an hour before the match,"Neville pointed out leaning down and running his lips against Graces' inner thighs while his hands toyed with her bare hip. "Now the question is, Miss Malfoy, would you like to warm up with me or on a bloody broom in the cold October air?"
"You clearly have never enjoyed riding a broom," Graces breathed, her words catching as Neville nibbled upward.
"Can't say I have," Neville shrugged, moving his endeavours higher so that Graces was now gripping the edge of the table. "No more crying today," Neville stipulated, continuing on with the task at hand.
There was something so satisfying in hearing Graces' breath become more and more uneven, feeling her legs quiver around him as her fingers molded into his hair. Multiple times he had to stop himself from fulfilling his own desires and taking her on the desk.
Neville wondered if he would ever grow tired of this. Ron certainly was growing tired of snogging Lavender, and Ginny seemed to grow tired of her boyfriends, but every time he touched Graces it felt like euphoria was coursing through him. It ignited every nerve ending with a fire that spread to consume him. His pulse quickened, his head floated and every fiber ached for more. Graces was gasoline to a fire that he wanted to consume him.
And she did consume him. As Neville moved up onto the table, authoritatively moving Graces legs apart and covering her body with his, he thought about how much she consumed him. How his every thought was consumed by her, his every desire centered around her, his joy derived from the simple smiles she offered him and how much he absolutely adored and lov—loved her.
"Hey, everything okay?" Graces asked, looking up from underneath him.
"Yeah. Yeah, everything is great." Neville knew that he was trembling, that he was more frightened now than he had ever been in his entire life, that he was currently staring and probably making Graces feel incredibly awkward, but he couldn't seem to move. He loved her. He loved her and he didn't even know when it had happened. But it happened. He loved her. He looked down at Graces who was lying underneath him an image of perfection, and yet he knew she wasn't. She was flawed. More flawed than anyone else he knew and he loved her.
He loved her laugh, the way she ate chocolate when she was stressed, how her eyes lit up when she learned something new, how she approached plants cautiously, how she loved muggle books, the way she hummed when brewing a potion, how she was looking up at him now with so much concern. It was rare he saw someone look at him as though they knew him, but Graces was able to. It was like she saw him, despite trying to pretend she didn't. In moments like this he knew she did. He lifted his hand and cupped her face in his palm, in awe of how much affection bubbled in his chest over her, in awe of the realization that he would do anything for her. He leaned in gently and kissed her, moving inside her again and lowering his lips to her neck as he began moving with more passion.
"Everything is great," he repeated with real meaning.
He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to whisper in her ears how much he loved her as he moved his hips forward with hers. He longed to murmur against her collarbone as he nibbled at the base all of his affections for her, but he didn't say a word of it. He even held himself back from showing her physically. He was certain that if he began actually making love to Graces in an intimate manner, the blonde would run off well before either of them were finished.
She can be such a prat at times.
But you love her.
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Everything felt wonderful. No, better than wonderful, glorious. This was exactly what she needed after her conversation with Draco. She needed Neville holding her, kissing her, and giving her the comfort that only he could give her. She didn't really know how strong Neville's loyalties to her were, but in moments like these she could pretend. She could pretend that she was the one that held all of them. She didn't dare ask who he would choose. She had almost asked earlier, and realized it was a mistake. Asking Neville if she was higher on his list than Potter would have been a mistake. Sometimes knowledge only brings pain. It rips away the small comforts we cling to, and gives way to only harsh reality.
And she didn't want that. She had harsh reality with everyone else in her life: Draco, her father, her aunt, everyone. But with Neville she could pretend. She could close her eyes and lose all reality as Neville persisted in his quest of discovery, and she could pretend that she was the only world he cared to explore. That she and she alone was his ultimate priority. Not even Harry Potter himself could take him away from her.
She was not stupid enough to think this all the time, but in the moments she spent with him like this she could. For a brief time with him she could put away everything that should keep them apart and pretend.
So she pretended. She kissed him deeply and pretended they lived in a world where she would never have to worry about the repercussions of kissing him. She closed her eyes and lost herself in his touch, lost herself enough to forget that she was a pureblood and he was a blood traitor, allowing Neville's hands to take her far away from such things like blood status.
What did it matter anyways when only he could make her feel so good? All she wanted was to feel good, to chase that feeling and hold onto it long enough to keep her sanity. The problem was that gaining that feeling meant being with Neville, and the more and more she spent time with him the more she didn't want to let him go.
Graces shoved that thought away and pulled Neville closer to her. She could feel herself at her peak, tipping over the edge to fall down into elation. But she couldn't allow herself to go. She didn't want the aftermath of the fall, the ending where reality would come after the dust settled on the ground. She wanted to stay with Neville like this longer.
"I'm never going to get enough of you," Neville groaned, as Graces wound her legs around him drawing him in deeper and bringing him to the edge as well.
Graces didn't know if it was Neville's statement, his voice as he huskily moaned her name after, or a combination of all that pushed her of the edge. But she couldn't truly care to think about it as she toppled down into her ocean of bliss, pulling Neville alongside her as she cascaded down.
Graces laid there panting for a few moments, and for once didn't protest when Neville rolled off her and pulled her into him to be held. She allowed herself a few moments to enjoy this, being held by him, comforted by the warmth of his skin on hers. She wanted to continue enjoying this, but no sooner had Neville gently kissed the top of her head did the guilt begin to flood inside her. She buried herself more into him, as though Neville could protect her from the thing raging within, but it was all for naught.
"I should get ready for my game," she smiled playfully, putting on a show so as not to hurt Neville's feelings. It wasn't his fault she felt so wrong about all this. He was more than wonderful through it all. She just couldn't bear laying there with him after. It felt wrong. What she was doing was so wrong. If her family knew…
"Of course," Neville smirked, throwing her gear over to her and getting up himself. "Trust me, I didn't forget."
Graces nodded and began dressing, but she felt odd about the way Neville was looking at her and the way he was dressed. It was hard seeing him in Slytherin green. It was like a reminder of who he could have been. UGH! He needs to stop glancing at me like that!
"What?"
"What?"
"Stop looking at me like that. It's giving me the skeevies."
Neville raised an eyebrow and finished pulling on his Slytherin shirt.
"The skeevies?"
"You know," Graces blushed. "That feeling you get when the hair on the back of your neck stands on end and a chill goes down your spine."
"You're being odd again," Neville smiled, his brown eyes fixated on her in a way that made her hold her breath. "But I shall try not to not give you the skeevies."
"Thanks…"
"Why don't you say my name?"
"Not this again," Graces sighed in exasperation.
"You have yet to answer the question."
"It doesn't need to be answered."
"Still, I want an answer and I don't intend to stop asking until I get one."
"I thought you wanted to make me happy today?"
Neville narrowed his eyes for a moment before smiling up at the ceiling and shaking his head.
"Once again you have bested me. Fine, fine. I'll leave it alone for another day."
Graces smiled and closed the distance between the two of them and offered Neville a gentle kiss.
"For my silence?"
"No," Grace giggled. "I just love winning."
Neville let out an exuberant laugh at Graces' candor and pulled her up off her feet in a grand embrace to kiss her properly.
"Then I hope you win today."
Graces nodded awkwardly, and made excuses to leave right away. She was relieved that Neville just smiled and placed her down. She hurried to the barn door and was about to run off to the pitch when something made her turn around.
"Blaise is going to throw a party for our house today. Regardless of if we win or lose," she added quickly, though she hoped they didn't lose. "He seems to think we are all in need of high morale or whatever."
"How nice of him," Neville acknowledged, clearly unsure of where Graces was going with all of this.
"I, umm—I was planning on wearing that blouse you gave me," Graces blushed, now feeling as though her whole body was vibrating. "And… well, I thought that maybe you would want to see me in it…"
Neville seemed genuinely shocked at Graces' statement and just stood there with both eyebrows raised looking at her.
"I would," he nodded, a stunned look still plastered on his face. "Very much so, actually."
"The party is going to be in the woods, so I was thinking we could meet in the abandoned classroom and you could see me in it before I left." Neville slowly nodded, waiting for Graces to give more details on when. "It takes me a while to get dressed, but I should be ready about an hour and a half after I leave the field."
"So an hour and a half after the game, got it."
Graces rolled her eyes. "No after I leave the field. My mother is coming to the game, along with other team members family. We all usually visit for a bit."
"Oh."
"You never noticed?" Graces asked with a smugly raised eyebrow.
"Usually we're all celebrating too hard or rushing to the hospital wing cause Harry fell off his broom, got banned from Quidditch, or other things like that… I don't think many Gryffindor families go."
"Well, we can't have muggles running about the castle can we?" Graces scoffed.
"Not all Gryffindors are muggleborn, Graces," Neville reminded patiently.
"Anyways," Graces continued, pretending to ignore Neville's words, "does that work for you?"
"Yeah, it works for me," Neville agreed, watching her in that way again.
"Great," Graces rasped, reddening at the sound of her voice and clearing her throat. "I'll see you after."
Graces shut the door and began sprinting to the Quidditch pitch. She was going to be late for warmups. Draco was going to yell at her, Thomas was going to give her a stern look, and the Captain was going to probably make her run laps, but as she neared the pitch and saw the first few glares from her teammates she couldn't help but grin.
Okay guys! Next chapter quidditch game and more Higgs!