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: Big thank you to my beta Denarii for editing the chapter! It's really a gracious thing for him to give so much of his time weekly for this. And, of course, thank you to BF Aleah for reading it over for me!

Special thanks to my readers iamacola, Manoirmalfoys, Bharm, Blue Luver5000, and spannieren for their reviews! I really appreciate the time you take to write them.

Phoenix, I think you have a crush on Higgs haha Later there will be a lot more of him. As for starting another fic with him… PM me on the site and we'll talk a bit ;)

Also, thank you to cw1991 for the private message! It was just so sweet and made my day :D

Chapter 33

Hermione knew something was going on with Neville. He was different this year. Yes, the difference was positive. He seemed more happy, more outspoken, was more driven and seemed to be spending more time on his personal appearance, but she was starting to wonder if these changes in him were being made for the right reasons.

She had watched Neville all through the quidditch game. He had not once taken his eyes off Graces. He would move his head this way and that, but his eyes always trailed to her. And when he cheered it seemed as though he was sincere, like he really was happy when she saved this goal and that. Neville was like every other male in that he enjoyed a good quidditch match, so she hadn't thought too much of him cheering until she realized that no guy wants to see his team losing, but Neville apparently did. He wanted Graces to win. Regardless of the bet, he shouldn't have wanted that to happen.

Then there was finding them in the room together. They weren't doing anything, but they were together alone. And Neville had given Graces that gold without any real hesitation…

"Hey, Neville," Hermione greeted as the center of her thoughts descended the stairs.

"Oh, hi Hermione," Neville greeted somberly, walking over to the portal to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Owlery."

"What for?"

"To write a letter," Neville grumbled.

Hermione blushed and before she could say another word Neville had left.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said casually, rummaging through his parchment looking for some notes. "He's been a bit out of sorts this morning. It happens sometimes."

"You don't think that's odd?"

"Not really," Harry murmured distractedly. "We all have those moods. I know Ron and I certainly have them often enough. I'm not going to chastise Nev for them. He'll come around, he just seems to want space today."

"Did he ever have moods like this before this year?"

"No, but he's grown a lot this year. Doesn't just go with things he dislikes because he doesn't want to stir things up."

"I'm going to go talk to him," Hermione decided standing up.

"I really think you should just leave him be," Harry sighed, knowing full well Hermione was not going to do as he suggested.

"I'll be back," Hermione promised, completely ignoring his advice.

All the way up to the owlery Hermione thought about how she was going to approach the subject of Graces with Neville. Should she subtly tip-toe around the question or just ask? And even then could she trust whatever Neville told her? He could very well lie to her about his feelings towards Graces. Then what would she do?

Subtle, she decided opening the door to the owlery and looking over at Neville who was currently hunched over a dirty desk writing. Hermione peeked over and saw it was a letter to Gringotts before Neville saw her and moved his arm to cover it.

"Hi," she said pleasantly, trying her best to not seem at all suspicious.

"Hi."

Hermione cleared her throat and began walking among the school birds looking at this one and that. She knew Neville was watching her suspiciously, and she was beginning to regret being there at all now.

"Who are you writing a letter to?" she asked, petting an old barn owl gently.

"My gran."

He's lying. Why is he lying?

"Oh? How is she?"

"I'm assuming fine," Neville clipped, not making any movement to continue with his letter. Hermione nodded, and began walking around the owlery again. "Are you sending a letter?"

"Uh.. yes. Yes I am. I just need to write it," Hermione pinked, realizing that Neville was more astute than she had anticipated. "I was going to write a letter to my dad. I read the most interesting thing about teeth whitening spells. After yours were done, I became curious, and my father is a dentist so I thought I would tell him about it."

"That owl there is good," Neville gestured. "Makes it to my gran's in a day. He should be able to take your letter no problem."

Hermione nodded nervously, and took down the owl. Taking a seat opposite of Neville, which he clearly did not appreciate.

"You didn't bring parchment, quills or an envelope," Neville noted, looking around Hermione.

"Oh, I—uh—must have forgot. I was just so excited to write him," Hermione laughed nervously. "Can I borrow some of yours?"

Hermione never knew Neville could look so callous, but as she waited for his reply a chill went down her spine as he glared at her. Slowly he reached down to his bag and pulled out some parchment and a quill with one hand, never moving his other arm or eyes away from her. He had just held the supplies out to her when one of the bigger owls swooped down and scratched his bare hand.

"Loki!" Neville damned, dropping all the stuff, and cradling his bleeding hand. "What is wrong with you?"

"That's Malfoy's owl isn't it?" Hermione asked, grateful for the sudden shift in atmosphere, and also that Neville was no longer covering his bank note. It didn't say much, he hadn't finished filling it out, but it appeared Neville was requesting an item out of his personal vault.

"Yeah it is," Neville muttered bitterly. "He hates me."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I haven't a clue," the sandy haired boy sighed examining the gash. "Like owner like bird I suppose."

"Here, let me heal it," Hermione offered.

Neville nodded and put his hand forth no longer looking cross. He watched as she cleaned it out, and started to heal it slowly, and seemed genuinely interested in the process.

"Does the bird always hurt you?" she asked casually, hoping to make small talk that would lead into her questions.

"Yeah, most of the time."

"Do you think Malfoy ordered it to?"

"Hard to tell. I think it just saw how happy it made him the first time he attacked me and just continues it, but I wouldn't rule out that the bird was instructed to do so."

"Neville, can I ask you something?"

Neville broke his eyes away from his hand and glanced at her for a moment.

"Okay," he said cautiously.

"Do-do you think Malfoy is pretty?"

"Sure, he's a handsome fellow I suppose," Neville nodded, obviously trying to make it out as though he hadn't even thought about Graces.

"You know I meant Graces," Hermione bit out, looking Neville dead in the eye.

"It's hard not to notice," Neville mumbled defensively.

"But… but she's so-so vile," Hermione scowled. Neville didn't say anything, he just shook his head and looked away frustrated. "Jesus, Neville, you actually fancy her don't you?"

"She's pretty, Hermione, give me a break. I'm sure I'm not the only bloke that feels that way."

"You were the only bloke that looked disheartened when the captain of the Slytherin team kissed her."

"It's, it's just a—well—a crush," Neville admitted brightening red. "It doesn't mean anything and—"

"A crush?" Hermione hissed. "On Malfoy? Neville, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me," Neville declared, ripping his hand away. "She's a stunningly beautiful girl, I think that it could be argued that something would be wrong with me for not noticing."

"Neville! You cannot have a crush on Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked.

"Will you please keep her voice down," Neville growled, looking around to make sure no one had overheard. "It's just a silly crush, Hermione. It doesn't mean anything. Hell, I had a crush on you 4th year."

"You—you did?" Hermione squeaked.

"Yeah, I did. One of the reasons I asked you to the Yule Ball," Neville spat.

"I, uh, didn't know that," Hermione blushed.

"I asked you to the ball," Neville pointed out irritatedly. "I think that's a pretty fair indication that I was interested in you."

Hermione nervously looked away and worried her lip. She really hadn't treated Neville gently when he had asked her. She had just said that she already had a date and skipped off to the library. She wondered if it bothered him, she knew it bothered Ron, but Neville had been nothing but kind about the ordeal. She hadn't even realized that it may have hurt him to be drinking punch at the ball with Victor and her.

"It was just a crush, Hermione. It didn't mean anything; like I said, crushes don't mean anything."

"Is… is your crush on Graces not a big deal?" Neville nodded, but Hermione knew she saw something else in his face as he said it wasn't. Neville was a poor liar. He became nervous and his eyes shifted, not to mention he stumbled over his own tongue when he lied. "You don't think it's kind of twisted to like her? I mean it's like fancying Bellatrix Lestrange."

"It is not!"

"Neville, she even favors her in some ways. Look at her cheeks, her chin, the shape of—" Hermione abruptly stopped her list when she saw the sandy haired boy had moved to loom over her.

"It's a silly pathetic crush, Hermione. I don't need you making me feel dirty about enjoying her features. She's a handsome girl."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Help? Help?" Neville echoed, befuddled by Hermione's statement. "Hermione, how in Merlin's name is that helpful?"

"Maybe if you associated her with Lestrange then you wouldn't find her so appealing anymore."

"She's not Lestrange," Neville muttered. "She's not."

"She is Lucius Malfoy's daughter though!" Hermione continued. "And you cannot deny that resemblance, Neville. She favors her father, in more ways than looks. Christ, Neville, she looks like the man that cruciated and tried to kill you. It's sick, and that's without mentioning Draco."

"Fine, I'm sick, is that what you want to hear?" Neville choked, standing up and gesturing to himself in disgust. "I'm sick and perverted. I think about a girl who resembles the people who have hurt me and my family the most. I want to kiss and hold a girl whose aunt orphaned me. I want to take to bed the twin of the guy that beats me bloody any chance he gets. I want Graces Malfoy more than I've ever wanted anything else in the world."

"I'm an idiot and a fool. I want her and I know full well it will never happen. Even if by some miracle she loved me nothing would come of it," Neville cried, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and squinting violently to stop himself from crying openly. "I'm so stupid. I really thought maybe it could happen. I really did. I thought maybe if she saw what a nice guy I was, or if I was more ambitious she would see me, really see me, start thinking of me in a different light and not as some blood traitor that is always fucking up in class. But it doesn't matter if she did start thinking of me that way does it? It never could have been, I was just too naive to realize it."

Hermione stared wide eyed at the boy in front of her. She had never seen Neville behave like this, like the world was coming to an end, like he was breaking under pressure. He was having a complete meltdown, and all she could do was sit there staring at him. None of it made sense. None of it.

"I-I don't understand," she whispered. "How-how could you feel so strongly about her?"

"I don't know," Neville moaned. "I don't know, but I do. Doesn't matter how cruel she is to me, how much she ignores me, how frustrating she is. I like her. Hell she's stabbed and threatened to kill me and I still can't get myself to keep away from her."

"She stabbed you?!" Hermione exclaimed. "Neville, you—"

"Will you just leave me alone about it?" Neville snarled. "You got your answer, isn't that enough? Now you know. I fancy Graces Malfoy and I have no shot in hell of anything coming from it."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. This was all a lot more than she expected.

"I can't talk about this right now," Neville sniffed, picking up his letter and violently finishing it before shoving it in an envelope and starting to tie it to an owl. Hermione stared glued to the spot as he furiously wiped his red eyes, and fumbled with the string. "I have more important things to attend to. I have people relying on me now, and I don't have the time or energy to stand here with you crying about my feelings."

"Neville," Hermione called, trying to stop him from leaving.

"I don't need to be reminded about who she is, Hermione. I don't, so bugger off and leave me alone," Neville barked, slamming the owlery door as he left.

Hermione stood there in the owlery, a mix of dust and feathers floating around her. She took a step to follow him. Neville was obviously seriously upset, and she didn't feel right just leaving things like that between them, especially because it was her that unraveled him so. But the one step was all she was allowed.

Harry came in the owlery next, a look of disapproval taught on his face.

"I just passed Neville," he informed.

"I-I didn't mean to upset him I just—"

"Hermione, I know you mean well. I do, you have a heart of gold or whatever, but you need to stop. You need to lay off Neville."

"Harry, he—"

"If Neville wanted me to know he would tell me," Harry cut in. "I think Neville has had his personal life disclosed to other people enough. If he wants me to know something he will tell me."

Hermione just nodded and let the issue drop. Everything Harry was saying made sense; the discussion she had with Neville didn't, but what Harry was saying did. She did want to know more about Neville's "crush" on Graces. She felt like there were things she was missing, like the stabbing, the threatening, why he was so insistent on caring for her, but she realized she had hit a wall with Neville on all that. He was not going to talk to her about his feelings for Graces. In fact, she wondered if he was going to talk to her at all now.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," she breathed, swallowing all the things she wanted to say.

"I am," Harry said gently. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Hermione followed Harry out of the owlery, still not completely convinced she should do nothing, but unsure of what else to do if Neville didn't want to talk to her. It was as they passed the library that she had an idea, an idea she hoped would help Neville later.

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Neville never believed that he could have his heart pounding so violently in his chest while the world seemed to move in slow motion around him. It was too much. It all was too much. Violently he pulled at his tie trying desperately to gain some air. He knew he was panicking, but he couldn't seem to get himself under control.

Graces' brother was a Death Eater. Hermione was suspicious. Nott was a threat. Graces was giving up on fighting him. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had wanted to cruciate her. He was the patriarch. Draco was her patriarch. Draco was a Death Eater. He, Neville, was lying to his family, his friends. Graces was lying to her family and friends. He helped lock up her father. Her aunt tortured his parents. Her father tortured him. They could never be together. Her twin was a Death Eater. He loved her.

I can't breathe.

The last thing Neville wanted was for anyone to see him like this. Panicked, sweaty and on the verge of passing out he barreled into the nearest classroom he saw. He tore off his clothes as a prickling heat spread on his skin. But even with his shirt and trousers off the heat didn't leave, and the air didn't come into his lungs. Neville could now hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and his head was pulsing from the rush of blood.

I need to calm down. I need to calm down, he repeated to himself over and over again as he dropped to his hands and knees on the floor. He tried to breath correctly: in through the nose, out through the mouth in deep breaths, but with every intake it didn't become better. He was just taking in shaking breaths and crying, crying alone on his hands and knees on the cold floor.

Neville expected this to happen, but not like this. He expected to feel this way after Graces broke it off with him, after he poured his heart out to her and she threw it back. He could never have imagined feeling this way before that happened. Now he did though. Draco was a Death Eater. How could he want to be with a girl whose brother was a Death Eater? Hermione was right. It was sick.

And yet, he still loved her. Despite how sick and torn he felt about who she was and who her family was. He still felt something warm resonating in his chest for her. If he separated her out from her family, he was deeply in love with the Graces.

But you can't separate her from her family. Blood is blood.

Blood is meaningless. It's like how purebloods look at Hermione. It's—

It's not meaningless to her.

Neville groaned and turned over to lie on his back, covering his face with his hands. He could not even begin to disassemble his thoughts from one another. He wasn't able to process one single thought about his situation. If he thought about how he loved her, he thought of how he hated her aunt. If he tried to focus on how sweet she was, he was immediately thrown into thinking about how callous and cruel she could be, which then turned into him thinking of her father. If he thought of her father he thought of tea parties and how Lucius Malfoy was responsible for raising the woman he loved. And when he thought of that he felt sick, because he loved Graces who was raised by an evil, sadistic man. What does that say about me?

He laid there for a while and tried to think about that. He had once heard that people accept the love they feel they deserved. Did he feel that he deserved to be loved by a—

No. She's wonderful. I'm not in love with some evil sadist. I'm in love with a sugar addicted, stubborn, Shakespeare loving, curious, frustrating, childish, plant killing, brilliant woman. I just need to clear my head and think.

The problem was Neville couldn't think. Too many things kept on swirling in his head that wouldn't allow him to. Even if he had a pensieve he couldn't remove any of his thoughts. It all was connected. He couldn't look at Graces without having her attached to her family. It was impossible to separate the two. It was like separating a flower from its roots. It was beautiful to look at, but it wouldn't remain. It would die with time. Separating it was only to enjoy it temporarily, and he couldn't look at Graces as just that. Not to mention her roots were so deeply ingrained into the soil that separating her from them would mean tearing her apart.

Neville could feel panic edging up on him again and decided that he should try to do something soothing as he continued on his thoughts.

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He is not going to tell, Graces reminded herself for the millionth time that evening as she sat in the abandoned classroom fiddling with the end wrappers of a candy bar. It had been a long day to say the least. First off, telling Longbottom yesterday she was fine to make it to the castle on her own was a mistake. After the initial shock and adrenaline had come down she had discovered that she had re-torn her arm which made getting dressed problematic. To add to her arm, her leg hadn't fully regained all function. It had hurt to get dressed, but she had managed. Biting her cheek against the pain and inwardly cursing Nott, she finally had managed to hobble over to the hospital wing though.

Graces was never more thankful for Pomfrey's discretion. She had originally tried to play it off as though she had tripped, sprained her ankle and re-torn her arm, but when the medi-witch checked her leg it was clear that without a sprain her story was moot. Partial paralysis wasn't the easiest thing to hide. She had for a moment thought that the medi-witch was for sure going to demand to know what had happened, but Pomfrey didn't. She simply told her to get some rest and said she could leave in the afternoon.

From then on her day had been filled with wondering about Neville. Why he wasn't going to tell, what his plan was to protect her, if she could truly take help offered by him and why he didn't seem able to look at her any longer…

She had passed him leaving the hospital wing. At first she didn't think much of it, and even started walking towards him, they were alone in a hall, it wasn't uncommon for them to take such moments to their advantage and talk. But as she drew nearer she realized something was very wrong. Neville's eyes were bloodshot, and not just from lack of sleep, his skin was glistening with a mixture of sweat and tears and his breathing seemed to be erratic. And that was without mentioning the way he looked at her when he saw her approaching.

Neville had for months always looked at her with warmth and excitement when she approached him. He was always happy to see her. Even when he was not able to outwardly show it, his eyes danced with elation at her presence. But yesterday they didn't. He had looked at her in a way that told her that she was the last person he wanted to see. So she stopped in her approach and looked away as he hurried by her to head to the greenhouse.

The rest of her walk to her common room had been like a dream. So much had happened in such a short span of time that now her head was just spinning from it all. Part of her knew that she should take the time to sit and think it all out, but she couldn't seem to find the strength in her to do it. So she decided to just go to the dungeons and sleep the day and night away until she could see Neville. Draco hadn't even checked on her, which meant that he was busy trying to get everything ready for his task. She tried not to think on that too much either. It did no good for her to dwell on matters she had no control over anyways.

What good is magic if you're still powerless, she thought bitterly, taking in a deep breath. She all of a sudden felt very tired which was insane considering she had spent all of yesterday and this morning in bed. The thought occurred to her to lay down on the desk and rest her eyes, but she quickly dismissed it. She did not want to be asleep when Neville entered. She wanted to have her wits about her. She was not sure what that look the other day meant, but it wasn't good, especially considering how Neville had skipped classes that day.

Graces was awoken from her morbid thoughts as the door to the classroom opened. Neville glanced up at her for a moment before looking away and walking into the room. Graces stared at the sandy haired boy as he took a chair and sat it down across the table from her. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was pale. He was unshaven which might have looked nice if the rest of him wasn't equally a mess.

"Why won't you say my name?"

Graces blanked, that was not the question she had been expecting. That seemed so trivial now.

"I-I don't understand," she breathed, her silver eyes staring forward curiously.

"I want to know," Neville continued slowly, raising his eyes to meet hers. "Why you refuse to say my given name?"

There was a long silence that filled the room, a silence only incomplete by the the sound of Graces breathing. It was a strange question and yet it wasn't. She sat there trying to decipher where to even start, if she should start.

"A given name is an awfully intimate thing if you think about it," she began slowly, trying very hard to maintain Neville's stare. "It's in many ways your parents hopes and dreams for you, not just as a member of the family, but as an individual."

"I was originally going to be named Trivia Bellatrix Malfoy going along with both my mother and father's family naming traditions, a child whose name and birth was a product of two great houses joining. They, as you can see, did name Draco that way, but the labor of childbirth was hard on my mother and she almost lost me during the process."

"Professor Snape is Draco's and my godfather, did you know that? No, I guess you wouldn't. No one does, really. He's not a very good godfather. He doesn't go to birthday parties or anything like that. I really only started seeing him after school began. But my father gave him the title after he saved my mother's and my life. It was a very great honor for my father to give Snape that. A traditional pureblood child whose godfather was a half-blood? It's unheard of. And he just threw it in his face," Graces scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Just like a half-blood to not appreciate the things he is given."

Graces was silent for a moment, clearly regaining herself from her rant.

"Anyways, Snape, the great potion master that he is, saved my life and my mother's life too which is what earned him such a title. He, however, wasn't able to fix the damage my mother suffered during the birth, and he informed my father that I was to be his last child."

"And this is how I became Graces Bellatrix Malfoy, instead of Trivia. My father was just so thankful to have me, his last child, his only little girl, that he decided I needed a name completely different from the rest, something no one else could ever have, a name I could define on my own. So he made up Graces. It was pretty, strong, everything he wanted. I could mold it on my own, which is sort of the point of a given name. Your parents start it with meaning they hope for you to achieve, but it is up to you to make it your own."

"Neville Alastor Longbottom," Graces said quietly, looking down at her hands on the desk. "It's a kind first name. Comforting even on the tongue. Not harsh or hard. It could demand respect, it's not weak, but it gives more comfort I suppose." She smiled weakly at the thought. If that was what Frank and Alice Longbottom wanted for their son, they had it. "Your parents' greatest hopes must have been that you would be a good and kind man. Alastor, though… They must have hoped for you to be like him in some ways. Probably brave and just. So much is in given names…"

Graces looked up at Neville. He was listening, but it was clear he didn't understand. If anything she was just confusing him. She sighed and realized she would just have to say it.

"Saying your given name is addressing you as an individual. You're separate from your family. When I say Pansy, I am not thinking Parkinson. I am thinking Pansy who I played dress up with, Pansy who is a prissy girly girl. If I started addressing you just by your given name, I'm worried I will forget about who you are outside of being Neville. I can't let myself forget that. You are a Longbottom and I am a Malfoy. Blood has been spilled between our families, blood that is stained there between us. Saying your name is like crossing that line and not looking back at the blood. It's like trying to pretend that it isn't there. I-I can't ignore who we are outside of ourselves, Longbottom," she whispered. "I can't allow myself to forget."

Neville could read between those lines. I can't allow myself to fall in love with you. She said his last name to remind herself to keep a distance.

"Right," Neville rasped nodding his head and searching through his coat for the package that was delivered that morning from Gringotts. He took out the small parcel, neatly wrapped in tan paper, and set it down between the two of them. Graces eyed it warily, as Neville drummed his thumb against the table, clearly trying to think of what to say. "It-it should protect you. Not from everything, just from Nott forcing himself on you. It's, well, it's not what you think though. Well, it is, but it's not and—"

"What is it?" Graces asked softly, picking up the small package and gingerly undoing the paper, stopping when she saw it was a ring box.

Graces felt like all the air left the room. A ring box. A ring box. She turned over the parchment and saw that the package was from Gingotts. From Neville's personal vault. A ring box from Neville's personal vault meant-

"What the bloody hell are you trying to pull?" Graces screeched, flinging the box on the table and standing up. "No. No. No. No. I can't believe you would even—absolutely not."

"Graces—"

"NO! Are you mad? You have to be mad!"

"It is not what you think, let me explain."

"Is that your mother's ring?" Graces asked, almost near hysterics.

"Yes, but—"

"Oh my gods," Graces moaned, turning her back on Neville and screaming in her hands. "What are you thinking? That we would just get married and have a fidelity charm? Are you really that—"

"I am not marrying you!" Neville roared over the blonde's shrieks. "Will you sit down and shut up for just two minutes while I explain!"

Graces immediately stopped her rant at Neville's stern voice. Her heart was beating a million miles a minutes and she felt woozy like she had been spun around on a broom.

"Sit. Down," Neville ordered again, his jaw set tightly. Graces took a few shallow breaths to regain herself before timidly taking a seat.

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Neville knew he needed to calm down. He was edging really close to just losing it with the girl in front of him, and he needed to cool off. None of this was Graces' fault. She had never let him live under any sort of delusion they could be together. She had never pretended that her family was anything but what they were. She had said she herself planned on being a Death Eater. And he had chosen to pursue her even when she tried violently to push him away.

It just all hurt. Everything hurt. They could never be together. She was smart enough to distance herself, never say his name and whatever else she did, but he was a fool. He was a fool that chose to just keep falling down an empty well, a well he pretended had water at the bottom.

Neville put away those thoughts and gently took up the package. He took his time undoing the package to allow himself some moments to gather himself. Finally he was holding a bare box. He had never really seen his mother's wedding band. In pictures yes, but not up close like this. His gran had only recently allowed it to be placed in his personal vault, along with a few other things that he should have as the patriarch. Slowly he opened the box.

It was plain. Just a golden white band. There was no inscription, diamonds, or any other kinds of jewels associated with it. Just a band. He wondered if his mother had been disappointed in it.

No. She wasn't the type. Gran said she enjoyed simpler things…

Neville nodded to himself and removed the ring from it's box.

"It will protect you from Nott forcing himself on you," he informed, finally taking his eyes away from the ring and holding it out to Graces. The blonde didn't take the ring though, she just stared at it as though she didn't believe it was real.

"What will it do? Is-is it like one of those fidelity charms? Just placed on a ring? Is it going to burn any man that so much as touches me or—"

"Graces," Neville sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. "It won't do anything like that. Just trust me in that it will protect you."

"I can't take that ring."

Neville inwardly groaned, but tried to look patient as he stared across the table at Graces.

"Why?"

"It's your mother's ring," Graces said quietly looking away. "It wouldn't be right."

"It's not her ring anymore," Neville murmured. "It's mine now. It hasn't been her ring in over a decade. It's been passed down in the Longbottom line for ages."

"I can't," Graces maintained, looking on the brink of tears. "It's your mother's ring. Your future wife's ring. You need it to give to her."

"I have no doubt that you will give me the ring back, Graces. Just take it until you're safe. It would just be gathering dust in a vault otherwise."

"What will your future spouse say if she knew I wore her ring? What would your mother say if she knew I was wearing her ring?"

"I am not even going to address the future spouse thing, considering our relationship with one another, and as for my mother, I will never know considering people like your brother tortured her."

Neville regretted it the moment it slipped out. He watched as Graces covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes as silent tears fell. It was harsh and cruel of him to say it, but he didn't seem able to control himself. He hated Death Eaters.

"Draco has never done anything like that," Graces rasped. "He hasn't. I would know if he had."

"I'm sorry," Neville sighed. "I shouldn't have said that. Just take the ring, Graces."

"I can't."

Neville leaned back in his seat, stared up at the ceiling wondering what God up there insisted on torturing him.

"Here are your options. You don't take the ring and sleep with Nott willingingly. You don't take the ring and are violently raped by the bastard. You take the ring and are safe from ever having to know what Theodore Nott feels like inside you."

Neville knew that he was being crude and blunt. Just saying those things aloud made him sick and he was not the one that it could be happening to. Graces was. He hoped that putting those options in perspective for her would force her to make the right decision. After a few moments Graces wiped her eyes and gingerly took the ring.

"Not on the right hand. It has to be the left."

"Why?"

"Trust me, you don't want it on the right, Graces."

The blonde nodded and slipped the ring on her left. Both students stared at it for a few moments.

Better soak it in.

"Do you know how to glamour it so it doesn't show?" Neville asked tightly, turning his head away.

"Yeah, I can figure it out. Thank you," Graces added softly, turning the ring around on her finger examining it.

Neville just nodded and tried to think of how to get out the next thing he had to tell her.

"I need space," he finally said after what seemed like hours just sitting together in silence.

"Space?"

"Yeah, space."

"I don't understand," Graces whispered, staring at him and frowning. "What do you mean by space."

"I-I just need to clear my head and think," Neville shrugged. "I just think that would be easier if we had some distance between us."

"You don't want to see me," Graces accused angry tears brimming around her eyes.

"No, I don't."

"Are—are you breaking it off with me?" Graces asked angrily.

Neville frowned and stared at the girl in front of him.

"Well, now, I would think that would be impossible considering we are not in any sort of relationship."

Neville watched as Graces' walls began to go up. He watched her eyes turn stormy, her chin turn up and her jaw set. "Right." And then he watched as she stormed out of the room. He knew he should feel an array of emotions, but all he felt was empty.

If you enjoyed the story about Graces name you have noone297 to thank. I originally was not going to explain how Graces got her name, but she messaged me in January asking about how Graces got her name and after I explained, and she loved it, I decided to include it.

Don't forget to follow/review!

Also, I am going on vacation this week, so the next chapter may be late :/ I'm sorry, I'll try to shoot for it to be on time, but it may not be possible.