A Disclaimer: 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. Side note, Aleah wanted to torture you all and end it on a cliffhanger, but Ben loves you all and said post it as is. ;)

Special thanks to infinateconstellations, bridget237, NELLA123, JustAnotherFairy, AnnyJackson19, noone297, Blue Luver5000, char170217, stonebreakerironhill, A regrettable decision, AnimeFlowerGirl, Guest, Guest, snowflake2410, Petalclaw's PatriceBethPorter, calhounariel97, M, superscarface83, barby03 and SPARKELS77 for the reviews!

Also, I was not expecting everyone to be so happy about Harry getting punched in the face… Holy shit! hahaha I should have done that ages ago apparently.

Chapter 75

Neville had punched Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The one who had defied the Dark Lord and the only person who had survived the Killing Curse. His friend… He had punched him. He looked over at Graces whose hands were covering her mouth in surprise and only had a moment to really register what was happening before Harry tackled him, knocking the wind straight out of him.

So there he was, rolling around on the castle floor among the crumbles of breakfast and shouts of students, fighting his friend. He probably should stop, let Harry beat the tar out of him, but he couldn't. He couldn't and not just because he felt Harry deserved the punch for how he was treating Graces. He couldn't because he didn't want to look at himself in the mirror knowing he let someone beat him up. He wasn't like before. He had some pride now.

So for every hit Harry landed on him he tried to land a harder one back. Every unsavory name was returned by something just as derogatory and on and on it went. Ron at some point had started trying to break them up, but their will was proving stronger and damn if Ron Weasley was going to stop them.

"THAT IS ENOUGH! ENOUGH!" McGonagall bellowed, waving her wand and sending both him and Harry flying apart. Neville braced himself up and glared at the boy across from him. His heart was pounding and his whole body trembled with rage. Neville felt a lump grow in his throat and hated himself for being so close to tears.

He wanted to hit Harry, he wanted to hit him until his face was even more bloody than it already was. He wanted to fight him until his knuckles hurt too much touch, and he hated himself for feeling that way. Hated himself for wanting to cause pain to someone he knew to be good. Neville had only wished to cause this kind of pain to four other people before this: Bellatrix Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr., Lucius Malfoy and Theodore Nott. It felt wrong that he wanted to hurt Harry.

"Both of you, follow me," McGonagall ordered, her lips tightly pursed together as she led them out of the Great Hall.

Neville clenched his jaw and did as he was told, careful to keep a distance between himself and Harry lest he be tempted to try and deck the raven-haired boy again. A white line edged about McGonagall's tightened lips as she lead them through the hall, too furious to say a word to them until they reached her office.

"Traitor."

Neville stopped in the corridor at Harry's word and the control it took to keep his hands to his side made him clench them into fists. Never had a word hit him so hard.

"You don't get to call me that," he declared. a hard edge to his voice. McGonagall and Harry were both down the halls a ways before he had spoke and both turned at his voice.

McGonagall parted her lips to order him to continue walking, but Neville continued on speaking.

"I was tortured for you," he whispered, the silence in the hall allowing his voice to carry. "I was willing to give up my life for you. My life!" Neville bellowed, his hands trembling with his rage. "My life before I even had the opportunity to live!"

McGonagall started to try and calm him, but Neville didn't hear a word she said.

"I believed you when no one else did. I've never lost faith in you. Not ever. Not for one second, Harry. I have been called a blood traitor all my life and been damn proud of it! I've been proud to stand by your side, not just because I believe it's right, but because you are my friend. But I will be damned before I let you call me a traitor!"

Harry had the decency to look down ashamed for a brief moment, before hardening his face.

"You ruined everything," Neville said bitterly, anger simmering his blood into a rolling boil.

"Sorry you didn't get a nice breakfast with your pathetic crush," Harry scoffed, holding onto the anger he had harbored earlier.

"You stupid, arrogant arse," Neville fired, advancing closer. "You don't get it do you? This was more than just breakfast. This wasn't about you or anyone getting to know her. I wanted her to see all of you. To see me. To feel accepted. To-to see she could have options." Neville damned himself for not being able to keep his voice from cracking or tears from coming.

"You've seen the way she holds that child. The way she coddles it every weekend. You've watched her take him in her arms and hug him close as Thomas tries to feed him. Do you honestly think she would want to bow down to the monster that slaughtered that child's family?"

"She planned the damn funeral, Harry! It was all over the bloody papers. She planned the damn funeral for the whole Higgs clan. She buried a family before she could apparate. She's sixteen and playing house with a real live baby. Do you honestly think that she wants to be a Death Eater?"

Neville wiped away his tears angrily."You took something today," he continued, his voice still strong despite the way his jaw shook. "You took away her possibilities. She will never feel she can be anything but a Death Eater, because you showed her that in your eyes she already is one. You're the Chosen One, Harry. If you think of her as a Death Eater, how is she supposed to think she can be anything else? You just announced to the world that she is your enemy." Neville paused and swallowed the ache that had come up in his throat. "She's stubborn… and she's so prideful. Now she will never ask for help… not ever. You announced her as your enemy and damn if she isn't going to be it now."

It was too much to bear. The disappointment, the hopelessness of it all. Neville never was one that was able to hold in his emotions. He cried. He despised that men were looked down on for such a basic emotion, that Harry and McGonagall both looked uncomfortable at his tears. If he was Hermione they wouldn't think twice, but since he was a man they were uncomfortable. He tried to hold it in and took deep breaths to calm himself down, but damn it the tears just wouldn't stop.

"Potter," Professor McGonagall said still looking at Neville. "I want you to go to my office. Wait there for me. I wish to speak to Mr. Longbottom here in private."

Harry frowned at the request, but didn't dare argue. He shot Neville an uncertain look and left.

Neville stared at his head of house and wondered when he had grown tall enough to meet her eyes.

"Neville," the older woman started, moving closer to him so that she could brace her hands on his shoulder. "Do you know something? Something about the Malfoys? Did Graces tell you something? I don't care how small. Did she confide something to you?"

Neville shook his head and looked away.

"Neville, don't lie to me," the professor ordered. "Do you know something?"

"No," Neville maintained strongly, bolting himself upright and still looking the older woman in her eyes.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, weighing him. Neville kept his shoulders square and his face set, determined not to show even an ounce of emotion. He could feel his heart pounding and the adrenaline pulling into his system, but he begged the gods to not let it show on his face.

"Tell me what happened this morning."

"I punched Harry."

"Before that," McGonagall said flatly, her lips pursed together agitatedly. "Why was Graces sitting with you all to begin with."

Neville clenched his jaw, but one look at his head of house let him know that he wasn't going to get out of telling her. So he told her about the bet, Graces' injury, Harry deciding she should be obliged to fulfill the bet anyways. He went on to tell her about how he felt differently and told Graces to leave, but Harry wouldn't allow it. And then he told her about what Harry had said. And how he grabbed her arm and wouldn't let her leave. "That's when I hit him."

"Was he hurting her?"

"I don't know," Neville answered honestly. "If he was it certainly wasn't malicious. Harry's not like that."

"Why didn't you use your wand? Stun him? Why did you—"

"Because I wanted to hit him," Neville answered honestly. "I wanted to hit him, not just for

daring to touch her, but for what he said. He should have compassion for her. If all that he says is true -IF- then he should have compassion for her! He should show her mercy and empathy! Not humiliate her in front of the school! Not make accusations that could put her in danger!"

"Our side is supposed to be better," Neville growled. "We're supposed to be better. He Who Must Not Be Named is the one that lacks compassion, the one that ostracizes people because they are different, believe different. But we're not supposed to be that!"

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows formed together and created one long severe line at Neville's statement. He wasn't proud of what he had done. It wasn't pride that forced the confession out of him. It was anger. Anger and something else. Something he felt still coursing through his veins.

"He could have befriended her!" Neville kicked the wall beside him. "She was making an effort! She wasn't being mean or nasty at all. Which by the way is a huge accomplishment on her part. He just had to be civil!"

There was a long silence but Neville really didn't notice. His thoughts were sprawled out in his mind like marbles cascading across a floor. Everything was a mess and when he tried to get up and arrange them he slipped on one thought or another.

"Neville," McGonagall started tiredly, "go to my classroom. I need to go talk with Potter, while I do that gather yourself, because I plan on talking to you too." Neville nodded and moved to leave but stopped at McGonagall's hand on his shoulder. "I've lost a lot of students," the older woman began quietly. "Death has taken his share. And I've lost a considerable amount to You Know Who."

"Sometimes I don't know which is worse. And then I hate myself for thinking such a thing because death is permanent. I know you think that you're the only one who cares where Graces' future lies, but you're not. I care very much. If you want to blame people for not reaching out to her, for not reaching out to Draco, blame the adults, not Harry. I think the world places too much responsibility on his shoulders. He's just a boy, same as you. If anyone deserves your anger it's me."

Neville opened his mouth to protest, but the older woman silenced him. "I've seen her struggling. I've seen Draco struggling. Sometimes they both look so… so… tired," the older woman settled. "I've seen the change and done nothing. But I promise you Neville I will talk to Dumbledore and insist he take an interest in them. I vow I will be more approachable to Miss Malfoy. Even when she pushes me away. I won't write her off as Snape's ward. But you absolutely cannot hit other students. Do I make myself clear?"

Neville stared at his professor dumbstruck for a few moments before mechanically nodding his head.

"Good," McGonagall breathed tiredly. "Now go. And don't think for one moment you are not in trouble, Mr. Longbottom. You are in a great deal of trouble."

And he definitely was in trouble. An hour later McGonagall appeared in the classroom and she let him have it for punching Harry. Neville countless times felt his face go red from shame at the older woman's disappointment and the rest of the day was dedicated to putting blisters on his hands. He had to work with Filch helping with work around the castle with no magic. It wasn't the extent of his punishment either. He had a lot of days of detention coming up, as did Harry. McGonagall had decided that he and Harry were to be punished together, but they didn't exchange any words.

The day was spent in silence. Neville kept his eyes turned to the work at hand, refusing to look at Harry. His lip began hurting later in the day and he realized that he was pretty badly bruised. He wondered if McGonagall purposely didn't send them to the infirmary before Filch. She probably wanted them aware of their injuries which he didn't blame her for. Sometimes magic made you more foolish. What's a few punches when you can get it all cleared up before the real pain of your body healing sets in? He paused at that thought, remembering Graces' slow healing, before throwing himself back into the manual labor in front of him.

They had a few breaks for meals, sandwiches and pumpkin juice that McGonagall brought out to them, clearly unwilling to allow them a real break where they could get away from one another. He knew he should say something, but he was unwilling to be the first. He didn't even know if he was ready to talk to Harry. McGonagall was right that he shouldn't put so much weight on his shoulders, but he didn't have to forgive his cruelty to her. And in a way to him.

He told Harry how he felt about her. The raven-haired boy knew what he felt. So in a way what Harry had said about her in front of him, trying to expose her as wicked before his eyes, was cruel. Neville had jumped across some fiery line and there was no going back. For the very first time he had love in his arms, so he jumped into the blaze and didn't care if he got burned. If defending Graces meant that he was no longer going to have Harry as a friend so be it.

When the sun had long set they were finally dismissed. Both boys headed back to the tower. Neville slowed his pace so Harry could walk ahead, but halfway there Harry paused and turned towards him, his body vibrating from the anger he felt.

"I saw Draco over the summer. He was in Knockturn Alley. I followed him into Borgin and Burke's, and trust me, Neville, he was up to no good. Borgin was all shaken up after Draco showed him his arm. I couldn't see it from where I was, but I think it's a fair guess that he showed him the mark. I know he's a Death Eater and I know he's up to something." Neville put his hands in his pocket and waited for Harry to make his point. "She's already lost, Neville, both of them. I didn't ruin anything, because they are already too far gone."

Neville took a deep breathe and bobbed his head thoughtfully, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from going off the edge.

"When I was very young a girl went missing in some woods a few miles away. She was very young," Neville explained. "Maybe four or five. I remember everyone going out and searching for her. For days people looked for her. Search parties were organized to find her. Morning and night someone was out there looking for her. I remember hearing my gran and uncle talking about her after they put me to sleep one night."

"They were convinced she had died in the woods. It had been days. She had no food, no water and was so tiny. It was a practical conclusion. The next day when the search teams went looking for her they brought hounds… to sniff out a body," Neville explained. "She was a muggle girl. I don't think I've ever mentioned, I live near a muggle town. Anyways, it was a sad event. They did find her and she had passed. She had wandered so far into the woods," Neville whispered sadly. "They really didn't have much chance of finding her that first day. It seemed she had just kept wandering, so every step the volunteers took she had gained a step as well and when the volunteers switched out for the evenings she kept going, always a bit further ahead."

"After that my gran told me that if I was ever lost to sit down where I was and wait. Not to move an inch from where I was. But you know, Harry, even when they knew it was a lost cause to find her alive, they still went out there carrying food and water. They still went out there shouting her name until their voices were hoarse, knowing that she couldn't answer. And they did this because they weren't going to just give up on her."

He could tell Harry didn't understand. "I know Graces and Draco are lost. But what you're suggesting is we burn the woods around them."

"Because they're dangerous!"

"Maybe they are," Neville admitted. " But I'm shouting their names hoping they stop moving further into the forest and they will come to where they can hear me or at least stop and sit, wait to be found and helped. And you're... you're running after them. And everyone knows if you hear something running behind you in the dark woods you should run faster. So they get deeper and deeper. And in the end they are going to be too deep to hear me."

"You can't save them, Neville."

"Maybe not," Neville shrugged. "But I'm going to try. And if you get in the way of that again we're going to continue having problems."

"Where are you going?" Harry called, as Neville turned away from the tower.

"Away from you."

Harry made some exasperated noise of frustration, but Neville kept going. He decided to spend some time in the greenhouse, in case Harry looked at his map to see where he went. After a few hours he decided he was safe to head to his and Graces' room and he tiredly dragged his feet out into the cold.

He was so tired he almost didn't notice Nott emerging from the forbidden forest. He quickly hid behind Greenhouse 3 as the other boy walked past and made a note to ask some questions to Graces. He didn't know if she knew what Nott was up to, but judging by the way he was walking about so late at night it wasn't good. Not to mention the last time he saw Nott coming back to the castle he had blood all over his hands.

Neville suppressed a shiver and waited another fifteen minutes before hurrying along. He imagined Graces was going to want to know every detail of his day and that she would be pretty cranky. She had no patience. She hated waiting for anything. He had a feeling this was a Malfoy trait, bred into them by all the wealth, power and elitism the family acquired. He finally opened the door to their small apartment and paused in the threshold.

Soft firelight glowed through the living room as Neville entered. The logs in the hearth had turned to ash and Graces sat perched on the sofa, a warm blanket wrapped around her as she clutched a lace handkerchief in her fist. Graces turned away as Neville drifted towards her, trying violently to pull herself together, before she tilted her head towards his.

"W-we don't go to Higgs manor."

Her face was splotched red, her hair a mess and in knots from running her nervous fingers through it and Neville had to release a slow breath as he watched her wipe her nose and stifle a sob.

"Everything P-Potter said was true and everything I s-said w-was—" She paused and looked away guiltily before forcing the words out. "—was a l-lie."

"I know," Neville said gently, cupping her moist face in his palms and turning her tearful eyes back to him. "I knew that."

Neville watched as her eyes changed color, a kaleidoscope of emotions. Doubt, shame, fear, relief. All there in her gray silver eyes.

"Graces, you've told me enough and I've seen enough to know that it was a lie," Neville reminded, his voice softer and kinder than it had ever been before. "And I know Draco bears the mark. You told me. Remember?"

"I thought maybe you forgot," she whispered lamely, her eyes avoiding his. "Why did you hit him then?" she asked quietly, giving away all her self-damning thoughts. "If you knew I was lying. If you knew what we were. Why did you hit him? Why, Neville? Why would you do that? You-you lost a friend today. You possibly lost all of your friends," Graces rasped, wiping away her tears. "Why would you do that if you knew I was lying? Why would you do that if you knew what path Draco and I were on?"

"You don't know the answer to that by now?" Neville asked taking her hands and kneeling down to look up at her tortured eyes. She was so beautiful, even with her splotched face and red nose. She was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

"Graces," he breathed, his heart in his throat from a mixture of nerves and bliss. "I'm in love with you."

"You can't," she whispered, breaking free of his hands and moving back in her seat, her whole face drained of color. "You're not. You're-you're just confused. It's all the excitement from today."

The blonde quickly stood from the couch and moved around so that the sofa was now between them. Neville stayed on bended knee watching her as she paced back and forth, her fingers nervously playing with the necklace he had given her so long ago.

"I don't expect you to say it back," Neville frowned, standing up but not moving towards her. "Graces, I didn't tell you because I expected you to say it back. I know you don't feel the same and that's fine. There's no pressure. I just wanted you to know."

"Neville, you're just confused. Please, I think it's best we don't talk about this. I think it's best we pretend this never happened."

Neville frowned and tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Do you want that because me loving you frightens you, or because you sincerely believe I don't truly love you?" he asked slowly, unsure of which one he would prefer.

"You don't love me," Graces snapped, whirling around and glaring at him. "You don't."

"I do," Neville said, moving around the couch and reaching for her hand.

"Don't touch me!" Graces said hysterically, jumping back as though she were frightened of him.

Neville lowered his hand dejectedly and tried to figure out what exactly was happening. Graces' face softened, but she didn't move forward. She just looked at him, her eyes tracing his face as though he were a book written in a language she couldn't comprehend.

"Can we talk about this?" Neville asked, near tears.

"No," Graces said, gently turning away.

"I- I really don't need you to love me back," Neville repeated tightly. "I really don't. I-I don't ever expect you to feel the same way as me. And-and this is truly enough for me. I don't need anymore than you're giving. I just... I just wanted you to know. Know that I love you. That I would do anything and everything for you. That—"

"Would you kill Albus Dumbledore for me?" Graces asked, coldly.

"What?"

"Would you kill Albus Dumbledore for me," Graces repeated, slowly turning to face him. Neville's face must have shown his horror at the question, because Graces just nodded knowingly. "Would you kill Harry Potter for me?"

"No," Neville cast, his disgust with the question evident.

"Then I guess you wouldn't do anything for me," Graces concluded hardly. "Don't look so terrified, Neville. I didn't ask you with the expectations you would. Nor do I want you to. I'm just making a point."

"What point is that?"

"That you don't love me," Graces breathed, moving close to him and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "And that's fine. It truly is." Neville stiffened as she gently brushed her lips against his. "I'm not at all hurt that you don't, Neville."

Neville was so confused. He really didn't understand how Graces was reaching such an outrageous conclusion.

"You think that because-because I won't murder two innocent people for you that it means I don't love you?"

"Love means everything." She stated it with such certainty, such sheer knowledge that Neville knew she believed that.

"I would die for you," Neville whispered, taking her hands and not allowing her to move away from him. "I would give up my life for you."

"You would do that for a stranger," Graces pointed out, clearly unimpressed with his declaration. "You're a Gryffindor through and through. Righteous and selfless. You don't love everyone in the world, Neville. But you would die for someone without even knowing their name."

Neville stared at her, at a loss as to what he could possibly say.

"I would do anything for Draco, for Thomas and Octavian," Graces continued, sliding her hands out of his as he stared there dumbfounded. "It doesn't matter what. I love them and because I love them there is no bounds to what I would do. If they are not in this world I don't care about this world. And if I have to burn the world around us to ash to ensure their safety I will do it, no questions asked. Just as Draco would do that for me."

"I see," Neville said bitterly. "So what you're really saying is my love isn't good enough."

It was now Graces' turn to be speechless.

"So because I won't hurt innocent people. Because I won't alter my morals, I don't love you. At least not enough for you to consider it." Graces looked away and Neville was glad for the moment, because he was already choking on his own tears. It hurt that she didn't love him back. He was surprised by exactly how much that hurt. He felt hollow and the hurt was so deep he knew he could drown in it. But the hurt that came from her not loving him was miniscule compared to the hurt that came with her believing his love was so below her standards that it wasn't even real.

"I—that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?" Neville demanded.

"I-I don't know," Graces whispered, her voice tight from the tears she was holding back.

"Are you really this twisted? This warped?" Neville asked, taken aback. "Do you honestly have faith in the notion that love is so… so … I don't know what to call that. I really don't. It's wrong. Love can't be that way. I refuse to believe it's that way."

"Then what is it?" Graces demanded. "If I'm so misguided, guide me! What is it then?"

Neville stared at her. She was so angry. He knew that, he did. Somewhere in the corners of his mind, he remembered this about her. That she was so angry… and hurt. No, maybe she wasn't angry, she was hurt and the only way Graces knew how to deal with hurt was with anger.

"I don't know," he whispered honestly. "I wish I had all the words to describe what it is you make me feel, but all I can think to describe it is the way you move against me while you sleep and how I feel knowing you are there."

Her eyes met his and Neville for a brief moment thought he saw recognition before she tore them away and stated that what he said didn't make sense.

"And what you're saying does?" Neville challenged.

Her jaw clenched tightly. "I'm so sorry, but this is how I feel. This is what I believe."

Graces wiped away a few tears that had managed to escape her, before straightening her shoulders and walking to the door. Neville didn't stop her as she brushed past him and he didn't turn when he heard the door click open, nor did he look back as it shut. He hurt like he had never hurt before and part of him was glad she left. He didn't know if he could last another minute with her in the room. He took a deep breath and tried not to cry. She didn't love him. There was a hole swallowing him up inside. She did not love him. And she didn't believe he loved her.

A knife to the chest would have been less painful.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

She hadn't left. She meant to. She wanted to, but she found herself unable to move from the door. She stayed leaning against the painting that granted her entrance for over an hour, knowing Neville was just on the other side and hating herself for not being in there with him.

She didn't believe he loved her. It truly was impossible. If he had then he would do anything for her, just as Draco was willing to do anything. She knew that she didn't need to worry that he loved her, but he thought he did. He thought he did and declared his love only to hear back that she didn't share his affections.

She felt her blood run cold. Was she truly that cruel? That much of a coward?

She was terrified of everything that she was feeling and even more terrified of what Neville was feeling. He decked Harry Potter for her today in front of the whole school. Not only did he hit him, but he fought him. Fought him for her. Draco had been delighted in the display, but she shared none of that delight. It broke her heart to see him bleed for her. Tore it to shreds to see him sacrifice a friendship for her.

She stared up at the ceiling through her tears and realized she should walk away, walk away and never speak to him again. He would heal. He didn't really love her and if she erased herself from his life he would realize that. And in time he would move on. Her legs buckled as if they knew her plan and she buried her head in her knees as she succumbed to her own weakness.

She wasn't leaving. She couldn't. She forced herself to her feet and wiped away her tears before entering the room again. All the lights were out and the fire had even died in the living room. She edged her way to the bedroom to discover Neville asleep. Graces bit her lip and quietly dressed down in the dark. She didn't want to wake him. As cowardly as it was she wasn't quite ready to face him. She didn't even know what she would say. She opened the drawer to take one of her nightgowns and closed it deciding on an old shirt of Neville's instead. It was laced with grass and flower stains, but it was her favorite. His scent lingered on it no matter how many times it was cleaned and it was, in so many ways, a painting of Neville. Simple, soft, warm and collaged with color.

She stood looking at it on her for a few moments before tip toeing to the bed and sneaking in the covers.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, her heart skipping a few beats. "I couldn't leave." She felt Neville shift in the bed and didn't dare look over to meet his eyes, though she knew he was staring at her. "I never left," she whispered, more to herself than him. "I just stood outside. I couldn't leave."

"I should have though," she said, her voice cracking from emotion. "I shouldn't be here."

"Then why did you stay?"

Graces damned herself. "Because-because I think you're in pain." She looked up at the ceiling and tried to will the tears to sink back into her eyes. She couldn't look at Neville. She couldn't look and see him looking at her with his heart in his eyes. Seeing that would make her hurt unbearably. "And I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you here in pain."

She knew her tears were pitiful, but she couldn't stop them from coming. She hated herself. Neville pulled her close and kissed away each tear drop, whispering again and again for her to not cry. That any pain he was in had disappeared the moment she was beside him and that he loved her.

"You can't love me," she pleaded, pulling away to actually look at him. "It's impossible, Neville. It is. Can't you see that? What you feel for me, though it may be many wonderful things couldn't possibly be love."

"I do love you," Neville implored.

"You can't!"

"Why?"

"Because love is forever," Graces shouted. "Forever. Eternal. If you love someone it will last. It will withstand anything and everything. It's final. I pray to the gods you don't love me, Neville. Because that would be so tragic. So heartbreaking. Because we don't have forever. We have such a small window open to us. I don't want you to love me, because if you do, if you truly do it will never leave. You will love me when fate separates us forever."

"You deserve love," Graces continued tightly. "I want that for you. I do. I want you to have someone that loves you endlessly, Neville. I want you to have someone that worships the ground you walk on and would do anything for you. Anything and everything. Someone who would let the world burn for you."

"You've spent too much of your life loving people who are incapable of loving you back. Please, please don't love me and make me one of those people. Because if I was I would hate myself. It would be my greatest sin. What kind of life would that be for you, Neville? We have no future."

She couldn't stop the tears that flooded out of her. She hated herself, but she also hated the woman in Neville's future, the one he would truly love, the one that would love him. She wanted to be that woman. She wanted to love him. She wished to the gods she could. She remembered the first time she wished she could love him, when he first brought her to this room and took her to the bath to warm her up. For weeks she had pushed hopeless thoughts of what could be in a time of no war from her mind, but earlier when Neville had first proclaimed his love, she couldn't ignore the way her heart soared for that one moment before reality shot it down.

"You can't possibly love me, Neville. Because that thought alone would break you. It would beat you down every day if you truly loved me. If you loved me you wouldn't be able to live without me. You would do anything to be with me… anything it took," she finished tightly.

She felt Neville's hands on her face and she moved closer to him as he pulled her close. She wanted to hold him and she wanted him to hold her. It wasn't love, she knew that, but it was something.

"Neville, I do care about you. I care about you greatly."

Neville kissed her forehead tenderly. "I know."

"And I know you care for me. I just don't believe that what you feel is love. As wonderful and strong as it may be I don't think that—"

"I think it's best we just not talk anymore tonight," Neville said gently. "I'm not going to agree with you. I won't be taking my declaration back. I love you and that's just how I feel. I'm willing to not say that to you again, I understand it makes you uncomfortable and that you don't believe me, but in time I hope you will see it as the truth."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you don't."

Graces was silent as she pondered what Neville was saying.

"Neville?" Neville made a drowsy hum of a reply. "Are you sad?" Graces whispered, unable to escape her guilt.

"Not anymore."

"Really?"

"Really."

Graces paused. "What are you right now then?"

"Tired, but content."

"Why are you so tired?"

Neville chuckled. "Hitting the Chosen One comes with a price. Manual labor."

"Oh," Graces deflated.

"Harry had to do it too, though. McGonagall is fair." When Graces opened her mouth to speak again Neville continued. "Everything is fine, Graces. We're fine. I'm not sad, just let me hold to my heart's content and sleep. It's been a really long day."

Graces swallowed her questions and moved closer to Neville as he folded her in closer to his chest. She felt better instantly and closed her eyes as she enjoyed the heat radiating off him. She nuzzled under his neck and breathed in his scent. He must have been outside a lot today. She could smell the snow, the dirt, leaves of all kinds and the hours of sweat from it all.

Neville groaned. "I didn't know you were going to come back; I would have showered. I'll shower," Neville proclaimed lamely, tiredly moving to get up and wash away the day.

Graces placed the palm of her hand down on his bare chest stilling him, before leaning in to kiss him. She kissed him until his breath turned hot and demanding and she could feel his skin burning beneath her fingertips. He moved on top of her, discarding what little he was already wearing and throwing off what she was. She wrapped her long supple legs around him and kissed him soundly.

She wanted him to hold her. Hold her and make love to her just as he was doing so now. She cared for him. She did. She truly did. She wanted to take away his pain make him feel as good as he made her feel. She wanted to lift him from this terrible day and take him back into their safe world. So she kissed him and gave herself over to him and let him feel what she did feel for him. It wasn't love, but she prayed it satisfied him enough, that it made him feel wanted and cherished.

It wasn't nearly close to what he deserved, because he deserved love and devotion, but she prayed it was something for him. Prayed it was something, because it was all she could give. After, as she laid down with him, she wondered if he knew that this was the most she had ever given romantically. She hoped he did know, so that when they ended he could look back and see that this was special for her. She knew he would meet someone who he truly did love and that that girl would make all the feelings he thought he had for her fall away to the wind, but she wanted him to remember her fondly… affectionately.

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