ADisclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except Graces Malfoy and Thomas Higgs who are my own. I do not claim ownership of the characters or the settings within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story.
Author's notes: Huge thank you to my beta Denarii and Aleah for all the help with this chapter.
Special thanks to vinny-nicole, snowflake2410, AnnyJackson19, noone297, spannieren, A regrettable decision, guest, amandalucia, kas, and Blue Luver5000
Chapter 73
Neville leaned back against the pillows in his and Graces' bed and pretended to be reading the chapter that was assigned in Charms earlier that afternoon. In truth he couldn't help but watch Graces practice transfiguration. It was quite amusing. He always assumed she just had raw talent when it came to wand work, but from living with her he was quickly discovering that it was not talent but hours of work. She just couldn't seem to get the approach right. She either didn't hit the object at all, or got too close and her wand smacked it dead on.
Actually, Graces Malfoy, whom he always saw as the poster child of poise and grace, was exceptionally clumsy. She bumped into things constantly, cursing him in languages he didn't understand when she knocked her knee against a drawer he left open, but it was a ton of other things. Her hip always seemed to find it's way against a chair, dresser, doorway or cabinet. She bumped into him constantly when they were getting dressed in the morning, though he certainly didn't mind that. And she knocked things over quite often. She knocked over the water he put by her bedside table numerous times in the few weeks they had been living together. It was hard to believe, but Graces Malfoy was extremely clumsy.
"What are you smirking about, Longbottom?" Graces grumbled, making yet another attempt to turn vinegar into wine.
"Nothing," he lied, knowing it was in his best interests not to call Graces Bellatrix Malfoy accident prone. "Are you coming to bed soon? It's late."
"I'm busy."
"You've been practicing for hours. It's past midnight."
"I have a test tomorrow morning and this will be on our N.E.W.T."
"And rest would do you much more good," Neville pointed out, leaving the warmth of the covers to place his arms around the temperamental witch. "You need sleep, Malfoy."
"And sleep I shall when I can do this perfectly."
Neville was quiet for a few moments, holding her from behind while debating if he wanted to offer her help. Graces never made him feel like he was less of a wizard, but there was no denying that he struggled in many areas. He had improved, through her tutoring, and since he got his own wand and no longer was using his father's, but most still didn't rank him highly in skill.
"Would you like some help?" Neville asked quietly, a little embarrassed to even be offering considering that Graces had far better grades than him. "I think I know what you're doing wrong."
Graces tensed for a few moments and Neville couldn't help but wonder if it was embarrassment that she needed help from him, but before he could take it back she leaned back against his shoulder and grinned.
"Okay, Professor Longbottom, let's see what you got."
Neville gave her a small smile before moving her to stand away from him so he could better instruct her.
"You're off when you cast your spell," he started, moving her hand to point directly at the object. "Way off. It's almost as though you can't tell where it is in front of you." Neville paused for a few seconds and then looked down at Graces. "Um, can you tell where it is?"
"Of course," Graces declared, an air of confidence in her voice that seemed odd and ill placed. "I just, well, it's my arm," she finished quickly.
"Your arm?" Neville frowned, looking at her hand.
"Yes," Graces nodded. "It's still messed up from that Quidditch accident in October. Doesn't feel the same. I have a harder time with it."
Neville considered this for a moment.
"And the knocking into things?" Something was missing. What was he missing?
"I'm not perfect, Neville," Graces grinned, looking at him pointedly. "Far from it."
"Trust me, Graces, I'm aware."
"Hey!"
"Hey, what? You stabbed me. You lost the ideal woman title a while ago."
Graces tried to remain indignant, but the facade cracked pretty quickly and they both ended up laughing.
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" Graces giggled, putting her wand down and sitting on the bed.
"Tell you what. I will let go of the fact that you stabbed me then took me out into a barn where you put me in a trough and slit my skin open and stabbed me in the heart with a needle if you just stop bringing up me thanking you after sex that one time in the classroom."
"Nice try, Longbottom."
"Yeah… I didn't think you would give that up." Neville smirked, taking a seat beside her and brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. "You would tell me if something was wrong, right?"
"Neville," Graces whispered, moving closer to him and placing her warm hand on his cheek as she grinned up at him. "You're being ridiculous." Neville flushed as Graces let out a small laugh. "So I'm not as graceful as you thought and I have to work harder for my grades than you expected. Does it really mean something is wrong with me? I mean, it's not like you and I have ever been alone like this. I know you're bound to find things out about me that aren't what you expected, but your first reaction shouldn't be to think something is wrong."
"You're right." Neville nodded, feeling especially ashamed at bringing up her flaws in such a way. "I'm sorry."
"No need to be sorry," Graces declared, kissing his cheek playfully and bounding up from the bed. "I think you're right. I'm ready for bed."
Neville watched Graces get ready for bed and once again asked himself what he was missing. He should feel awful for bringing up her flaws as though there was something seriously physically wrong with her, but he didn't. He just felt like… He didn't know.
He watched her undress, the opalesque dragon scales on her ribs glittering in the candlelight. From this angle he couldn't even see the scars. She wound herself up in her silk robe after shimmying into one of his favorite nightgowns and he didn't miss the look she gave him over her shoulder as she put her usual night time creams on her skin.
She was graceful. Her movements reminded him of flower blooms floating on water. She was poise and grace. She wasn't clumsy. He had seen her every day for the past six years. She wasn't clumsy. The spells... he could see that being her arm. It did make sense, but the bumping into things constantly didn't seem like her, didn't seem like her at all.
"You look so serious," Graces teased, coming into bed and straddling him. "You're even furrowing your brow."
"Sorry, I was just thinking."
"What about?"
"Nothing," Neville lied. "I must be tired."
"Then let's go to bed."
It was easy to forget his doubts when she was tucked under his chin fast asleep against him. Maybe he was looking into things too much. She was right that they hadn't really been able to spend much time together before, at least not like this. It was a completely different environment when they were meeting in barns or in abandoned classrooms.
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This was going to be weird. It was going to be weird and awkward, and Graham Montague was never good with either of those scenarios. Still, after weeks of nagging he was desperate to get Draco off his back, and he needed to make some effort. Though he doubted Draco would count this as such.
"Graces, I'd like a word." He probably should have made that a request, not a demand, judging by Graces' pointed look, but then this would be even more insincere than it already was. He offered no apology and waited for Graces to excuse herself from the conversation she was having with Pansy.
To this day Graham still did not understand her friendship with Parkinson. Graces was as bright as they came, and Pansy was… well, what you saw is what you got. Graces paused for a moment, clearly a bit surprised by his interruption, but excused herself. Graham inwardly cringed as Pansy grinned up at him, as though she knew exactly what he wanted with her friend, and from the glint in her eyes she seemed to have been reading far too many sappy novellas.
Graham reminded himself that he was raised properly by his mother and graciously inclined his head to Parkinson before walking with Graces over to a more quiet area. "I want you to start attending practices again." There, done. Now he could get Draco to leave him be.
"Pardon?" Graces frowned, her mouth slightly ajar.
"You are a member of the team and I want you to attend practice."
"I'm out for the season," Graces reminded, as though he had forgotten.
"There are plenty of other things you could do that won't require you to further injure your arm. You can run around the pitch to keep up your endurance, help coach, practice flying drills—"
"I can't practice flying drills, if I fall off my broom and grab for my handle I could retear—"
"I have been flying around on brooms with you since your parents bought you a training broom for your 5th birthday," Graham interrupted impatiently. "You're an excellent flyer and you know you wouldn't fall."
"Flying in drills is different and you know it," Graces hissed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "This is ridiculous. I'm off the team, Graham. You know it, and I know it. I have no reason to continue this facade of playing when it's obvious that when my arm is healed I still won't be back on that pitch."
"You don't know that."
"I do," Graces disagreed, her eyes firmly on his. "I know exactly where I could be next year and in none of those scenarios am I playing Quidditch on my school's team."
"I really don't care what you think, Malfoy," Graham drawled. "You will be on that pitch for every Slytherin practice until I tell you otherwise." The blonde made some noise of outrageous, but Graham continued before she could go further. "You owe me, Malfoy. You owe me and you know it. Be on the pitch. It's an order."
"You cannot be serious."
"I am serious," Graham maintained, already checking out of the conversation. "We have a practice tomorrow after classes. Be there."
Graham ignored Graces' protests and, though the blonde followed him out the door of the common room into the hall, he didn't give her any hint that he could hear her. He just strolled to the one place he knew she couldn't continue chatting in his ear. By the time he entered the library he was fairly certain he could expect a hex when he got back for the evening, judging by how Graces stormed away, but he was determined to enjoy a few hours without Malfoys.
Scratch that, without Malfoy number two. Draco apparently was in the library. The blonde boy frowned up at him over a book as Graham took a seat across and silently greeted him.
"Why is my sister furious with you?"
"Because I'm forcing her to spend time with me."
"I don't think you're doing it right if she's that mad at you."
"Malfoy, do me a favor and read your damn book and let me worry about your sister being mad at me."
"But the whole point of you two spending time together is so—"
"Draco," Graham groaned. "Can you please just let me handle this? Or at least shut up about it now, before Madam Pince throws us out of the library?"
Graham was relieved that for once Draco was relenting. Though he probably was only doing so because he didn't want to get thrown out of the library while he was researching charms for the cabinet. Graces offered to help, but Draco refused to let her. He wanted no evidence of her involvement and Graham agreed with that reasoning.
If Draco failed there needed to be no evidence of Graces' involvement. If the Ministry thought for one second she was plotting with Draco she would be in Azkaban. He could take care of her if she didn't have blood on her hands. He would marry her to prevent her death and she could live out her life in the safety of his last name. But he could not protect her from Azkaban. His name could offer her no shelter if the wizarding world had evidence that she helped in killing their beloved Dumbledore.
He looked up at Draco sitting across from him, poring over book after book and wondered what it would feel like if he had to watch him be killed. Part of him wanted to believe he wouldn't watch, that he would do something brave and beg the Dark Lord to spare him like Graces did for Thomas, but he knew that he wouldn't. There would be no way to save Draco. He would only damn himself and in turn damn the one thing Draco cares about. Any effort on Draco's behalf if he should fail would just lead to Graces' death. Graham had to stay in the inner circle and he had to continue being deemed worth having. The Dark Lord would not harm his family so long as he was a true asset.
Still… he wished he could do something. As he stared at Draco he couldn't help but want to be able to do something, but it was a pointless fantasy. The most he could do was what he was doing now. He turned away, not wanting to look at the boy sitting across from him when familiar eyes caught his gaze.
Wamil ever so slightly lifted her hand up from the book it was resting on in greeting and he found himself unable to turn away from her stare. How long had she been watching him? He looked down, embarrassed at how he was watching her. His heart was pounding in his chest and his mouth was dry. Oh, he wanted to look, to see if she was still looking at him, or… or just to see her. He had made such an art of not looking at her that now it was almost unbearable. He arrived to class early, sat in the front because she sat in the back, left class late so she would already be gone with one of her friends. He took different halls, always sat on the side of the Slytherin table that faced the wall, he did everything in his power to never have to look at her. Most days he didn't see her, despite the fact that they only had two classes that weren't together and he did all of this because deep down he knew he was too weak not to look at her.
He took a chance and lifted his eyes back up. Her eyes were still fixed on him, her ice blue eyes. She bit her lower lip and looked around the library, before standing up and motioning for him to follow. He watched her disappear behind some books and looked over at Draco. He wasn't even paying attention to him, and there wasn't anyone in this wing of the library. He could go.
And do what? Say what? Nothing good will ever come of it. No, he was going to stay right where he was. He was going to remain in his chair. He was not going to follow half-breeds into darkened corners of the library. Absolutely not, it wasn't decent. It wasn't proper. He opened his book and began reading, unable to not notice that Wamil didn't return to the desk she was sitting at. How long was she going to wait for him? Merlin, they never even talk. Why would she think that he would meet her anyways? The last time he said anything to her was when Graces caught her giving him notes.
Maybe he should meet her, just to set things straight, make it obvious that he did not want to be friends, or on friendly terms. Yes, he would meet her for that reason. He would make it very clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
Graham stood, a bit too forcefully seeing as how his chair scraped along the stone floor. Draco scowled and shot him a glare, but Graham just rolled his eyes and headed over to where he saw Wamil disappear. Sure enough, there she was waiting. He held his breath as he took in the way her raven hair fell in thick waves around her face. He had worked so hard on ignoring her that he felt like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.
"Hi," she whispered with a small sheepish smile. Graham looked away from her hair and centered on her eyes. He always tried to forget her eyes. They were ice blue, but there were other colors glittering in there. It was the first thing he had ever noticed about her. Her eyes. They were on the Hogwarts express and she was at the trolley when he first saw them. They were impossible to miss against her brown skin. He remembered staring and trying to decipher all the flecks of color in them. He had never seen eyes like that before. He had only seen a stone like it. Her eyes were the like blue opals, the unfortunate thing about them was you had to be close to see the flecks of colors, something he never allowed himself to be.
"What do you want?" he demanded, realizing that this was all a very, very bad idea.
"I just—I, well, it seemed like you were having a row with Malfoy, Graces Malfoy that is, and then you looked like you were thinking about something at the desk, and you seemed sad? I don't know. It's hard to tell with you, but you were certainly not at ease, so I, uh, are you okay?"
Graham paused for a moment and regathered himself.
"Tell me, Sunder, h—"
"Wamil," the hufflepuff interrupted, pursing her lips in a smile. "No need to be so formal. My given name is fine."
"Sunder is appropriate," Graham stated coldly. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't take note of my personal affairs."
"I-I'm sorry," Wamil stammered. "I didn't mean to intrude, I just—"
"Well you did," Graham said, his voice hard and unforgiving. "The argument Graces and I had was exceptionally private. You see we are involved. I'm actually formally courting her; it's why I've been spending so much time with her brother. I hope to marry her at the end of term. Sooner, possibly, if she agrees."
End this. Burn the bridge, make it so you can never turn back.
"That being said, I would appreciate it if you didn't try to lead me into darkened corners of the school. The last thing I want is to be caught with a half-breed in such a compromising situation," Graham sneered, burying the part of him that cared about how hurt the girl in front of him looked. "It could ruin my reputation as well as my whole life. I'm a wizard. I'm from a good family and have a suitable girl waiting for me. I don't need some harpy-like creature trying to tempt me."
Graham turned to leave, but Wamil grabbed his arm and turned him back around.
"Is that how you want this to be?" she challenged, her eyes alive with rage. "Fine. I get it. I shouldn't be surprised. Self-preservation, am I correct?" Graham stood motionless at her words and waited for it all to be over. "So you get to live… just not for anything of your choosing."
"Whatever you are implying, I—"
"Save it Montague," Wamil scoffed. "You have your wish. Consider me gone. But—" she tutted, "you made a mistake calling my heritage into this. A big one. Yes, I'm part veela. And yes, my ancestors, though beautiful and tempting, could turn into harpy like demons when angered, but I would rather come from stock that turned into that when angered then come from stock that turns into cowards when scared."
"I am not scared," Graham said slowly, shaking despite his words.
"Tell yourself whatever you need to, Montague," Wamil chuckled, releasing his arm. "But know that if you ever bring up my heritage in a derogatory fashion again I will show you just how harpy-like I can turn."
Wamil moved to leave and Graham knew in that instant it would all be over. She would walk away and he would have succesfully destroyed any feelings she may have held for him. But for some reason as she moved past him and the smell of her perfume wafted by he grabbed her arm and looked down at her imploringly.
"They would kill you," he whispered, his whole body vibrating. "They would kill you."
Wamil stood looking at him for what felt like hours, her face not showing a hint of softness as her eyes, the eyes he was so fond of, glared at him.
"They're going to kill me anyways," she declared, yanking her arm away.
And with that she was gone. Graham stood there in the dark listening as her last words echoed in his head. Knowing that, somewhere deep inside, he knew that all along.
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"I'm not going to fly," Graces grumbled stubbornly, hellbent on making this as difficult as possible for Graham. "Or practice with the quaffle, or—"
"Exactly what will you do, Malfoy?" Graham snapped impatiently.
"I don't know." The blonde shrugged. "Coach?"
"Nice try," Graham said, glaring at Thomas who was snickering at Graces' comment. "You either fly or I will make you run laps all through practice." Graces groaned and Graham took that time to mention that it would probably be especially excruciating considering she hadn't been working out regularly.
"I really can't fly, Graham."
"I talked to Pomfrey, she said you were fine to fly."
"But if I fall I could—"
"You're not going to fall."
"But—"
"Are you afraid?"
Graces mouth dropped indignantly at the suggestion.
"Bugger off, Montague!" she cursed, punching the older boy in the arm.
"Such language from a lady." Graham chuckled.
"Oh, bite me," Graces snapped, her temper getting the better of her. She now wished she could get on her broom and fly. She wished she had both eyes and could fly circles around Graham Montague until he was so dizzy he nearly fell off his broom, but she didn't have both eyes. The sad fact was she was useless flying formations up there. She not only endangered herself but she endangered everyone around her. Flying alone was one thing, she was fine flying alone, she didn't risk bumping into people left and right with open sky. But up there… up there she would constantly be crashing into people.
One eye meant no depth perception. She really didn't know where anything truly was. She had an idea, but it wasn't exact. Neville mistook it as clumsiness, thank the gods, he didn't know her well enough to know something was seriously wrong. But Graham would know. Thomas would know. If they saw her up there they would know something was wrong.
"I will not fly," Graces repeated stubbornly.
"Then you'll run laps."
Graces bit down hard on her cheek to keep from saying something hateful.
"Fine," she said coolly. "I'll run laps."
She could tell Graham was unhappy with her response. He didn't say a word more on the subject, but he also didn't look at her. He glared forward at the pitch, his face turned to iron as he stomped forward. When they reached the pitch Graces knew that Graham's mood was not going to improve.
The Gryffindor team seemed to be in the middle of their own practice. Graham cursed and Graces tried very hard not to laugh as he turned around and took deep breaths. Graham was an interesting creature. He always had to be in control, which didn't seem like too much of a problem for him, but lately it seemed easier to get under his skin. She wondered if the mark had done that. Suddenly, she felt very bad challenging him to a battle of wills moments ago.
"Do you think he will lose it, finally?" Blaise drawled, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he watched Graham clench and unclench his fists.
"He didn't blow one when he was forced to add you to the team."
Blaise grinned at the memory.
"I wonder what it is he dislikes about me," he mused.
Graces was about to begin listing possible reasons when she noticed Neville on the other side of the pitch.
"Potter! A word, if you will," Graham shouted, moving to the middle of the field and waiting patiently.
"Bit busy!" Harry called before congratulating Ginny on a save.
"Do you need to breathe again?" Blaise asked.
"Not one more word, Zabini!" Graham snarled.
While the rest of the Slytherin team was focused on Graham demanding that Potter come down and speak with him at once, Graces kept her eyes on Neville. He was drenched in sweat and she watched as he picked up a towel from the ground and dabbed the back of his neck.
He couldn't have joined the team. He hated flying. He... was he on the team?
"When did Longbottom join the team?" Blaise asked, a mischievous sparkle in his eye as his attention turned from Graham shouting to Neville.
Graces opened her mouth and wracked her brain for a way to stop what was to come, but came up empty.
"Wow, the Gryffindor team must be beyond desperate if they are allowing Neville Longbottom on the team," Blaise bellowed, making sure every ear on the ground and in the air heard.
Graham stopped mid-shout and turned to where his team was staring. Neville was beet red, but to his credit the rest of him showed no sign of humiliation. He began walking across the field to leave, his towel slung over his shoulder. He nodded at her teammates as he passed, pretending not to hear their snickering and taunts.
"Leaving on account of us, Longbottom," Blaise grinned, walking backwards so he could enjoy the look of humiliation he was about to cause. "I don't believe your captain has dismissed you."
"Leave him alone," Ron growled, flying down and landing beside Neville.
"Temper temper," Blaise tisked. "I was just making conversation."
Harry and the rest of the team had now come to stand by Neville's side, and Graham was immediately nose to nose with the chosen one.
"What is your problem, Potter? I ask you to come down for—"
"What are you all doing here, Montague?" Harry asked, his teeth already bared. "We're in the middle of practice!"
"Yes, that's right!" Graham bellowed. "You're in the middle of practice and we reserved the pitch!"
While Harry and Graham argued over the pitch, Graces found herself feeling sick over Neville not telling her about being on the team, if he was on the team. She knew that she kept secrets, but she didn't know that Neville did… Why hadn't he mentioned this?
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed she was staring at him until he bent his head slightly down and pointedly met her eye. Graces' cheeks flamed as he raised an eyebrow at her, silently telling her to stop staring.
"When did you join the team?"
Neville looked a bit startled that she would ask him that in front of everyone, but she couldn't help herself. It was on the tip of her tongue, and she couldn't wait to ask about it.
"Uh, well, I'm not on the team."
"You're not."
"I'm not."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"That's none of your concern, Malfoy," Harry shouted, his attention now off Graham.
"Shove off, Potter, I wasn't talking to you." Graces wrinkled her nose in disgust and then turned back to Neville. "So?" she pushed. "What the bloody hell are you doing here if you're not on the team?"
"He has just as much right to be here as you," Ginny broke in.
"That's not true," Crabbe snorted. "Graces is on the team. If he's not on the Gryffindor team then—"
"Is she on the team though?" Ginny asked pleasantly, though there was nothing pleasant in her undertone. "I haven't seen her going to your practices, and she is supposedly out for the season."
"What are you insinuating?" Graham asked, moving away from Harry and coming to stand by her side.
"I just think it's interesting that Harry broke his arm and had all of his bones removed and regrown in one night and didn't miss any practices and she hurts her shoulder in October and hasn't been able to play."
"Her arm is hurt," Blaise informed dangerously.
"Like Draco's arm was hurt third year when he was supposedly attacked by a Hippogriff?" Ginny asked, her eyes not moving from Graces'.
"Tendon and nerves are a lot harder to heal than bone," Neville broke in defensively. "Malfoy very well could still be recovering from her injuries. And-and they all have a point. I shouldn't be here." Neville moved to leave, but Blaise stopped him.
"I'm still curious, Longbottom," the handsome boy continued. "What are you doing here?"
Neville looked to be clenching his teeth and Graces wondered for a moment if he was going to sock her friend, but in the end he answered.
"Running."
"Running," Blaise repeated, looking over at Graces. "Oh, I see. Still got the hots for our Graces? Thinking if you could lose some weight she may be interested in playing with your—"
Blaise didn't get the chance to finish that statement before Graham, of all people, had him by the collar.
"Don't be crude," Graham warned darkly. "I will not have that kind of talk on my team. We are better than that."
Both teams fell silent and Graces realized that Graham, though he didn't mean to, had earned himself an ounce of respect from the Gryffindor team. She wondered if they would have this respect if they knew that Graham just didn't appreciate any sort of crude talk. Maybe it was because he had so many sisters. Maybe it was because he thought they were going to get married.
"We can share the pitch," Harry offered, looking over at the other captain. "We did it with Hufflepuff a few months ago. This isn't the first time Madam Hooch has double booked it. I asked her a few days ago and she said it was fine. She must have forgotten that she had given it to you. You don't usually practice at this time. But—" Harry continued, "—I see no reason why we can't share if we keep our teammates in line."
"Or you could all leave," Graham pointed out, squaring his shoulders and releasing Blaise.
"Yeah, that's not going to happen," Harry laughed. "But we will share the pitch. Deal?"
Graham looked down at Harry's outstretched hand and though he did agree to share, he did not shake on the agreement. He immediately began dividing the pitch and instructed everyone to get warmed up. Graces followed her teammates to the center, but couldn't help but hope Neville would stay. It seemed like he wasn't going to, but, just as she thought he was sure to leave, Ginny ran over to him, clearly not wanting him to just leave on their account.
"Laps, Malfoy."
"Seriously?" Graces ground, though very pleased at the thought.
"Yeah, I meant what I said earlier," Graham murmured distractedly, as he watched the rest of the team do formations. "And you better not slack off either."
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"You're just going to let them run you off?"
"Ginny," Neville implored. "I'm not letting them run me off. I just don't want to deal—"
"You're letting them run you off," Ginny insisted. "And you're better than that. If this was any other day you wouldn't be leaving."
Neville was about to argue until he noticed Graces breaking off from her teammates. And suddenly he didn't care if he got teased a bit. He decided to stay, but he knew better than to approach her. He was in the middle of a lap when the blonde bumped into him, though this time he knew it to be purposeful.
"Malfoy," he greeted, taking a look around to make sure no one was paying attention.
"Longbottom," Graces smirked. "So… you're not on the team."
"No, you've seen me on a broom," Neville laughed breathlessly. "Plus, as you well know, I hate flying."
"So … you just run around while they play?"
"They do ground stuff too," Neville reminded. "I work out with them."
"Why?"
"I think that's a pretty obvious answer, don't you?"
Neville felt a bit irked that Graces was asking him so many questions while his lungs were burning; he also was a bit embarrassed that she was not at all out of breath.
"You never mentioned that you were working out with the team."
"I did say I was working out though, remember? The morning I left for winter holiday you asked if I had been working out."
Graces was silent for a few moments, which Neville was especially grateful for.
"It shows," she said quietly.
Neville glanced over at her running beside him and had to stop himself from grinning. He really wasn't doing it just for her. He wanted to look better for himself, but he he would be lying if he said he didn't want her to look at him like that.
"Careful, Malfoy, you don't want your teammates to see you checking me out."
"They can't see from that far up," Graces shrugged, though she did stop looking.
Neville was at the point where he would usually stop for a cool down, but, not wanting to be the first to stop, he kept going, doing his best to keep pace with the blonde.
They were on another lap when Graham Montague joined them.
"Malfoy, I know you can run faster than this," the older boy growled, clearly at his wits' end with her.
"Shove off, Montague," Graces panted, her face now glossy with sweat. "I'm on my second mile."
"I was not kidding about what I said earlier," Graham said through gritted teeth. "Now pick up the pace! I know for a fact you can lap Longbottom here."
"You have a problem, Longbottom?" Graham challenged when he caught Neville giving him a dirty glare. Neville shook his head no, knowing that if he tried to defend Graces it would only end badly. Better to let Montague think that he was angry over his comment.
"She wouldn't lap me," he grumbled.
"Oh, I would lap you," Graces grinned, picking up her pace. "You would be eating my dust, Longbottom."
"Beat me? Yes. Lap me? No."
"I would bet my entire estate I could lap you," Graces laughed, now sprinting.
"Malfoy," Graham growled warningly.
"Well, I wouldn't want you and yours to be homeless," Neville panted, sprinting with her. "But I wouldn't be opposed to a friendly wager."
"Oh? Do you miss wearing Slytherin green?" Graces taunted, a sparkle appearing in her eye.
"Malfoy!"
Neville was kind of enjoying the way she was ignoring Graham Montague in favor of him.
"It's going to be you losing this time, Malfoy."
"What are the stakes?"
"Graces!" Graham grabbed her arm and jerked her back, seething with rage. "What are you doing?!" he demanded, looking over at Neville and then back at her.
Neville could feel his heart pounding in his chest. This had been a mistake. He could see it now.
"Preparing to humiliate, Longbottom," Graces frowned, as though this was completely obvious.
"Really? That's what you're doing?"
"What do you think I was doing?" Graces asked, her face now stone as she crossed her arms in front of her.
Graham didn't answer, but Neville could tell he had some suspicions. The older boy looked over at him again and Neville didn't dare breathe as Graham's jaw tightened.
"So what's the bet, Longbottom?" Graces asked, walking back over towards him.
"Uh, nevermind. I think I'll just—"
"Oh, no you don't," Graces objected. "I'm bored, and frankly I didn't want to be here at all," Graces added, giving Graham a look that could kill. "So come on, Longbottom, make my day interesting again."
When Neville didn't answer Graces pursed her lips and stated that she knew what she wanted.
"And what's that?" Neville asked quietly, his nerves getting more out of his control as Graham continued to glare at him.
"I want the extra credit assignment that Professor Sprout has offered the class. Obviously, I wouldn't do so well with it, but if you did it for me," Graces waved her hand and let her voice trail off. "It would make up for the project I failed earlier this year."
"I-I could help you with that anyways," Neville offered, his heart pounding in his chest.
"I don't like feeling as though I owe you anything," Graces drawled. "This would be fair. What do you want?"
"I don't know…"
"Bull, what do you want?"
"Fine! You're dismissed," Graham contended. "You're done. No more practices until your shoulder is better. You won, Malfoy. Happy?"
"Really? Perfect. Thanks, Graham. Now, Longbottom, back to this bet."
Graham made some noise of frustration and a few moments later the whole Slytherin team was down wanting to know what was going on.
"Nothing," Graces grinned. "I'm about to completely humiliate Longbottom here. He seems to believe he could beat me in a race."
"Not beat," Neville corrected, blushing. "Just, well, you wouldn't be able to lap me."
"Oh, that's just too rich," Blaise laughed. "She will lap you, Longbottom. She can lap some of us."
Crabbe and Goyle both looked away in embarrassment, answering Neville's question of who which made him feel immensely better. If she was lapping Graham or Blaise he would think twice about his statement, but even he could probably lap Crabbe and Goyle.
"What are you asking for?" Blaise questioned, clearly excited over the prospect of Neville being humiliated further.
"An extra credit project to be done for me. I could use it for Herbology."
"Merlin knows that's the truth," Zabini laughed. "I still don't understand why you bother with that class. You're awful with plants."
"Healer program," Graces reminded, rolling her eyes.
"What's Longbottom asking for?"
"He's getting cold feet, so he's not asking for anything yet."
Neville glared at Graces, but the blonde just lifted an eyebrow, silently inviting his next move.
"Fine," Neville contended. "Breakfast. You have to sit at the Gryffindor table for breakfast." Graces' jaw dropped but Neville continued. "And you have to treat all of us like purebloods. Like-like you would anyone at your own Slytherin table."
"Forget it," Graces quipped, moving to walk off the pitch. "Not worth it."
"Scared, Malfoy?" Potter challenged, descending down and dismounting from his broom. The rest of the Gryffindor team came down as well, but Graham, still clearly furious with Graces defiance, ordered his team to go back up and make use of the clear air. The Slytherins were groaning, but the moment Graham started shouting they were all grabbing their brooms. From Graces' wide eyes he had a feeling that Graham rarely lost it like this.
"So?" Harry continued, his emerald eyes alive with amusement. "Still wanting to back down, Malfoy?"
Graces gritted her teeth, but waved Neville to line up with her.
"This was a mistake wasn't it?" Neville asked, his mouth dry as his housemates started cheering him on.
"Possibly," Graces admitted.
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't worry," Graces whispered. "It was my fault. All of it. It will be taken care of, don't stress. Just don't win."
"K."
"One mile, okay? Ready. Set. Go!"
Neville didn't have to let Graces beat him, the blonde was much faster than he expected. She had been holding back earlier. He found himself running as fast as he possibly could just so he wouldn't be further humiliated. He suddenly realized that Graces, aside from being in better shape, was also probably a big runner.
He was starting to realize that while he could run a mile in a bit over ten minutes, Graces could run it closer to five. She was easily going to lap him. Despite the fact that he knew he wanted Graces to win, he was feeling pretty humiliated.
He could hear her coming up behind him and knew that she was slowing down for no other reason than to not embarrass him more than necessary. She stayed a good distance away, clearly waiting until the final lap, but Neville wished she would just get it over with. It was obvious she could pass him now.
He was about to stop and just let her pass when he heard her yelp with pain. He turned around to see Graces sprawled out on the pitch yelling up at her teammates who had allowed a bludger to slip by and hit her.
Graham whizzed towards her, bellowing out his own disapproval to Crabbe and Goyle, before lowering himself down over her. Harry was already there, inspecting her leg.
"How did you not see it coming for you?" Harry asked astounded. "It was coming on your left and—"
"I was distracted!" Graces yelled, pushing Harry away from her and moving closer to Graham. "Is it broken?" she asked, looking up.
"I don't think so," Graham murmured, his hand on her outer thigh. "We should take you to the infirmary to be sure."
"Do you need some help?" Neville asked, helping to hoist her up on her legs.
"No," Graham declared curtly, picking her up with ease and holding her steady. "Not from you."
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