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 for editing and my best friend Aleah for reading it over! On her birthday no less!
Special thanks to bageltiger, Bharm, vinny-nicole, noone297, A regrettable decision, ShellySadistic, char170217, muckabout, omgitsfranklin, snowflake2410, hanajima-Senpai, AnnyJackson19 (Could not stop laughing at some of your comments haha), Blue Luver5000, infinateconstellations, SPARKELS77, N3ZUM1, W0lf12, anand891996, barby03, lucku, guest and OzeraBand!
Also, thank you Elessargreystone for recommending me on hpfanfiction!
Chapter 76
Today was going to be a very long day. He knew that not only by the feeling in his gut but by the way Graces seemed to fret over him this morning before he left, exceptionally early in case Harry checked his map, to spend time in the greenhouse. She had followed him around the little apartment like a lost puppy: biting her lip, playing with a string of hair, fiddling with this vase of flowers and that. And gods, he had no idea she kept that much chocolate stashed away. He doubted she was going to even eat breakfast after all those chocolate frogs.
Still, if he was honest he very much appreciated her worries. It was odd. He knew she didn't love him, but he felt loved. It was like a small match had been lit inside his heart and it warmed his chest and he carried it with him through the day. He felt protected in a way. When he punched Harry and knew in that instant he may have lost all his friends, he had this blinding comfort that he would have Graces. That it didn't matter because she was going to be there. When she had walked out last night the match had flickered, but when she came back and confessed she had never left it blazed that much brighter.
He thought about the way she looked at his bruised and cut up face this morning. Nobody ever looked at him that way. He thought of the beginning of the year when Draco had continuously beat the pulp out of him and Hermione had helped him heal a few times. All those times Hermione had looked at him with a mix of pity and strong affection, he knew that she loved him on a platonic level, but it was nothing like the way Graces looked at him.
He touched the cut on his lip absently. She had wanted to heal him so badly, but he wouldn't let her. He had too much respect for Professor McGonagall to find a loophole to her rule of not being allowed to go to the infirmary. She wanted Harry and Draco to heal the muggle way and he was not about to defy her. The only thing he had allowed the blonde to do was somewhat treat his cut lip.
He had reopened the wound while brushing his teeth. A sharp hiss of pain and a slight trickle of blood had escaped him. He had just began dabbing the cut with a wash cloth and some water, knowing Graces eyes were on him, when she quietly took the washcloth away. Her hand lingering on his arm as she perched herself onto the bathroom counter, so she was nearly eye level with him.
She had been so gentle. Taking his place dabbing the wound, rummaging through her Quidditch emergency bag and finding some disinfectant salve she had. The salve stung, but he didn't notice much. He was too preoccupied watching her lips as after each small dab she blew softly on his wound before giving the area the most tender kiss.
When each cut had been tended to she looked up at him with such affection and remorse that he was left breathless, hovering in a state where the rest of the world didn't exist, just the two of them. He loved her and he didn't understand how she could look at him like that and make him feel the way he did, when she didn't feel the same. He didn't feel like this was in his head. Neville sighed and wished he had a pensieve to clear his head. It was currently a bloody mess. He didn't know what to think or what to feel. One minute he felt fine and loved despite her words and the next his heart felt like it was falling to his feet, because she didn't love him.
He turned the corner to enter the great hall when a familiar polished voice stopped him.
"Good morning," Draco greeted, leaving Neville to marvel that something pleasant towards him could actually come out of that mouth.
Draco raised an eyebrow at his silence which Neville hurriedly amended with an apology and an awkward good morning back. This seemed to satisfy Draco and the blonde stood there beside him in his proper suit and good breeding, waiting for people to pass them by. It was a futile wait. The whole student body seemed to slow their pace at the site of Draco and him standing together. Neville did his best not to look as uncomfortable as he felt, but judging by Draco's amusement he was doing a very poor job.
When the majority of students had entered the Great Hall, and only a few laggards here and there were passing, Draco became inclined to speak.
"I enjoyed your little display yesterday," the blond smirked, his eyes gleaming maliciously as they trailed over to Harry, who unlike the rest of the school, had lingered in the hall watching them. "I'm not going to lie, Longbottom, I haven't had a laugh like that in—gods, I don't know—months? It must be months."
"Glad I amused you," Neville muttered dryly, already exasperated with Draco's antics. He wanted to walk away, probably should have, but something glued him to where he stood. Despite his discomfort, his embarrassment, his worry over what Harry and the others were thinking, he could not shake the fact that this was Graces' brother. Her brother who she loved more than anything or anyone in the world. And that fact alone earned Draco his attention. He couldn't walk away from Draco. It would be like walking away from Gracces.
Draco gave a small chuckle and looked down to gather himself before straightening back up. "Well, I think you amused the whole Slytherin house, but that's beside the point."
Neville hummed a reply and waited for Draco to leave, insult him or both, but the blonde just continued to stand there casually as though he and Neville often talked in the halls. It didn't escape Neville's notice that Harry was growing increasingly more agitated with each passing moment and that with Harry's reaction Draco seemed to be growing even more elated.
"Malfoy, is there something you wanted?" Neville asked, his heart pounding in his throat. It shouldn't matter to him what Harry thought, but it did. Gods above it did. He just prayed that Draco's game wouldn't entice Harry to come over. The last thing he needed was another fight to break out. Lord help him if Harry tried to hurt Draco. He knew whose side he would have to take in that battle. Graces would never forgive him if he allowed her brother to be hurt, even if it was her brother being the pompous arse.
Draco's eyes tore away from Harry's and he made some noise of amusement at Neville's obvious anxiety, before placing a confident hand on his shoulder and directing him away from Harry's eyes and the ever whispering school.
"You worry too much of what others think," Draco pointed out carelessly, as though Neville's fret was silly and absurd. "Not everyone is going to like you, Longbottom."
"I know that," Neville flushed.
"Do you?" Draco challenged. "If that is true then why do you bother walking on eggshells constantly? I mean, if you know that not everyone is going to like you, why do you worry so much about how people see you?"
"I don't—"
"You do," Draco interrupted, his tone confident.
"Are you saying you don't care what people think?"
"No," Draco relented slowly, calculatedly. "I do care. I just put my effort into manipulating how I am perceived and I choose which people I want to favor me. I don't try to please the masses."
"Nor do I," Neville growled, wondering if he needed to remind Draco of his part in the Ministry.
"Not anymore, I suppose," Draco relented, his silver eyes holding onto Neville's brown. "A lot has changed for you since last year."
Neville didn't feel the need to say any more and allowed Draco to continue leading him to a secluded area. The farther away they were from the noise of the hall the more uncomfortable Neville became. He had no idea what would make Draco want to talk to him alone. Or what would make him behave almost friendly towards him. Neville was beginning to feel the weight of the blond's arm around his shoulder.
When they finally did stop he was such a turmoil of emotions he didn't wait for Draco to get a word out before he demanded to know what was going on.
Draco removed his arm and stared at him for a while. Neville watched as his face slid from the pompous, highbrow facade to something more genuine. More real. More like Graces. "Graham told me about yesterday's events. And of the conversations leading up," Draco said slowly, giving Neville a hesitant, pointed look that Neville was sorry to not understand. Draco sighed running a free hand through his hair.
"I was never made aware that you were the reason we were given custody of Octavian," he confessed quietly, his body going stiff as he crossed his arms about his chest.
"Oh," Neville mouthed silently, beginning to feel exceptionally uncomfortable. "That."
"Yes, that," Draco repeated quietly, his face taking on a serious expression as he licked his lower lip nervously. "I wish I could say you didn't have to do that. But I can't… I don't think we would have gained custody without you."
There was a long silence in which Neville didn't know what to say, but he had a feeling saying nothing was best. This was probably the closest he was ever going to get to Draco thanking him and he wasn't about to spoil this moment and say something stupid that would just agitate the boy in front of him. He had a feeling that this took a great amount of humility on Draco's part and the best thing for him to do was stand there and pretend he didn't exist.
"I take it no one really likes you right now," Draco continued, looking down at the stone floor as though there were something in the marble that needed his attention.
"Probably not. I don't really know. Didn't see anyone yesterday."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't expect a warm gathering. Isn't Potter the poster boy for your house?" Neville shrugged and suppressed a sigh. "Yeah… it's not going to be a good day for you."
"I suppose not."
"Would you like to sit with me?"
Neville jerked at the question and stared at Draco in total and utter bewilderment.
"You are a pureblood, Longbottom," the blonde reminded, a hint of annoyance lacing his words. "It's not exactly an insane thought that you and I could be friends. You've aided me countless times this year… Not to mention, you've never once taken advantage of my or my sister's situation," Draco whispered, more to himself.
Neville felt a bit awkward. Draco clearly had no idea about his relationship with his sister.
"It's just my friendship though," Draco emphasized. "Graces is not in this and I don't want you to get your hopes up or something," he added awkwardly, apparently trying to spare his feelings, but unable to do away with his Malfoyness. "So don't choose this for her. It wouldn't make a difference to her anyways. But if you want a friend, Longbottom, you can have one."
Draco thrust his hand out towards him and Neville staggered back, unable to believe what was before him. Draco flinched slightly at Neville's reaction, but recovered well. Keeping his hand out and forcing his back to remain straight. He was nervous. It was written all over his face despite the exterior he was trying violently to put forth.
Neville wasn't ignorant of pureblood ways, but being around Graces made him understand the subtlety much more. Draco's friendship, much like Graces' friendship with Thomas, was a commodity. It wasn't going to be like the friendship he had with Ron, Harry and Luna. It was friendship only in name. Draco wasn't offering to talk about his day or play games of Exploding Snap. He was offering him use of their family name and shelter from the inevitable loneliness that came with making an enemy like Harry Potter.
He felt shaken right down to his core as he stared at that hand.
"It's more than just handshake, isn't it?" Neville whispered quietly. "Just like my sitting on your side of the Great Hall is more that just breakfast."
"What do you think, Longbottom?" Draco questioned gently, his expression almost close to pity. "I can't be friends with a blood traitor."
"Yeah… I figured as much," Neville breathed, his heart dropping down to his feet. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Draco's hand as he slowly slid his own hands in his pockets. He looked up at Draco after with a heavier heart than before.
He was so much like her. Same mouth, same eyes, same expressions. There was no hint of surprise from the other boy as Neville declined the offer. It seemed as though he already expected it. And Neville was even more surprised to see that Draco seemed to understand his choice.
"You're welcome to sit with me," Neville offered hopefully, watching as Draco took his own hand away.
"We saw yesterday how that arrangement would go."
"You let me worry about that."
Draco's eyebrow peaked slightly and his smile returned all teeth and blinding brightness.
"You going to punch the golden boy for me too?" Draco smirked, his eyes glittering with amusement.
"If I need to."
"It's almost worth it just for that."
"Come then."
For a fraction of a second it seemed Draco may incline his head and follow him, but the moment fleeted and his gray eyes turned dark. "No," Draco sighed. "I can't… I think we both know I'm chained."
"No. No you're not. Not yet. Malfoy, I—"
"You're a good bloke, Longbottom," Draco interrupted, his words cool and clipped. " A really good bloke," he repeated, a note of astonishment creeping in. "I-I'm even sorry for how I've treated you before. But I need you to stay away from me and my sister. We can't be seen having a relationship with you. You're a blood traitor and that isn't looked well upon on our side. Graces told Graham she can't be cruel to you, not after all you did for us. She's soft. Delicate. She can play detached and cruel, but it's not actually in her. People can't find that out, Longbottom. If they did they would manipulate her. I've chosen my path. And you've chosen yours. I don't believe we have anything more to say to one another. I think it's best we continue on our own way. Our own separate ways."
Neville opened his mouth to protest but the blonde ignored him, brushing past him to join his friends in the Great Hall. Neville stood in the hall even more confused about his day, a feeling of guilt overtaking him. In an odd way he felt as though he had just rejected Graces. He was suddenly not very hungry, but he continued on into the Great Hall. It wouldn't do to just avoid the inevitable anyways.
He entered the Great Hall and did his best to appear calm and aloof like it didn't matter to him what people thought, though it did very much. He hated the way people were staring at him, whispering as he passed by. He took each step with the awareness that he didn't know what he was going to do once he reached his table.
"May I join you?"
Abruptly, he jerked to a stop to stare at the girl in front of him. He recognized her only as a face he had seen in between classes. Neville didn't even think they shared any friends.
"My name's Wamil," the Hufflepuff offered, giving him a small smile and holding out her hand pleasantly. "I'm in the year before yours."
"Neville." He took her hand awkwardly and ignored the pang of guilt as the act reminded him of Draco.
Wamil gave him a bemused smile at his introduction, and Neville blushed. Of course she knew who he was. He's the bloke that punched Harry Potter just yesterday. The whole bloody school knew who he was.
"Neville," Wamil whispered, leaning in close. "You can let go of my hand now."
Neville flushed and dropped her hand as though his skin was burning from the contact. He muttered a string of apologies that Wamil just smiled at before falling silent and wishing he could just drop into a hole in the floor.
"Is that a yes?" Wamil asks politely, reminding Neville of her original question.
Neville hesitated, unsure of whether he should bring more guests to the table, but in the end he nodded and gestured her forward to the Gryffindor table. Wamil smiled and lead the way, picking the spot at the very edge of the long table and allowing for them to have a great amount of privacy.
Neville was thankful for it. He imagined that he wouldn't be so well received sitting with his housemates. He could feel their eyes upon him, but he forced his eyes to remain elsewhere. Wamil's eyes in contrast seemed to be taking in every detail of what was around her. Neville watched as she turned her head this way and that, even looking up at the ceiling a few times, clearly adjusting to the strangeness of sitting at a different table after so many years. He wondered if it made the whole hall seem different.
"It does," Wamil nodded simply, staring once again at the enchanted ceiling above her.
"I didn't realize I said that out loud," Neville confessed, pouring the girl in front of him a cup of tea.
Wamil paused her investigating and smiled softly at him, thanking him for the tea and lifting its contents to her lips before sighing contently after her first sip.
She was striking, beauty that Neville was sure turned heads everywhere she went. Though her robes didn't fit, her face was left untouched by makeup and her hair was left to just fall around her it was obvious she was stunning. And that was without mentioning her eyes.
Neville smiled quietly to himself at the realization. He didn't know why, but it made him happy that such a pretty girl like Wamil had so little effect on him. He sipped his tea and thought about Graces. He wondered if she went back to bed after he left this morning. He liked to imagine she did. He imagined her tucked away in the covers, an aura of beauty surrounding her as she slept soundly in their bed wrapped in purple sheets that still smelled heavily of him.
"What are you thinking about?" Wamil asked curiously.
"Oh, uh, no one."
"I said what, not who," Wamil pointed out, lowering her tea and giving Neville a satisfied smile. Neville flushed and grabbed at something to say.
"So, uh, you're a Hufflepuff."
"And you're a Gryffindor," the girl countered, clearly enjoying Neville's awkwardness.
Neville chewed the inside of his cheek and nodded, busying himself with filling his plate and giving up on conversation. Why this girl wanted to sit with him, he had no clue, but he was suddenly too embarrassed to ask. He had far too much going on in his head at the moment and he felt like any attempt at making conversation was just going to continue to go badly.
"Does your cheek hurt?" Wamil inquired, her eyes fixated on the mean bruise right under his left eye.
"Not really," Neville shrugged. "I think it looks much worse than it actually is."
"Potter looks pretty beat up as well. You know you gave him a black eye."
Neville swallowed uncomfortably and took a bite of his food without tasting it.
"Not that it wasn't deserved," Wamil continued. "A lot of people seemed to believe Potter was out of line. Everyone was watching. Malfoy was being exceptionally pleasant, she didn't do anything that warranted such rude treatment."
Wamil raised her voice as she continued, ensuring the rest of the table could hear her. "In fact! I was appalled that you were the only one to step up yesterday! I thought Gryffindors were all noble and chivalrous! I can't believe a whole table allowed for a girl, a guest, to be manhandled in such a way!"
Neville looked over to see Harry flush and purse his lips. It was obvious he had heard Wamil, but he offered no words in his defense, which Neville was grateful for. He didn't really want another fight to breakout because of his breakfast guest.
"Is that why you're sitting with me?" Neville asked, once Wamil seemed to be done staring daggers in Harry's direction.
"I just thought you could use some company," the other girl smiled, going back to her breakfast.
Neville let out a small chuckle and thanked her, to which the raven-haired girl just waved her hand dismissively. Wamil, though she smiled and had no problem carrying a conversation, didn't appear to need to say much. She seemed content sitting and merely being. It was odd that someone so quiet could radiate so much warmth with few words. It was like she could have whole conversations just in silence.
"So," Wamil began cautiously. "The rumor is that you have it pretty bad for Malfoy."
Neville, deciding that he didn't know this girl well enough to be discussing his love life, took a bite of his eggs and stared down at his plate.
"It must really hurt for you to see her with Graham," Wamil said softly, her own voice taking on a kind of sadness.
Neville scowled at her words before looking up at her in confusion.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Surely you've heard," Wamil frowned. "She and Graham Montague are an item."
"No they're not," Neville scoffed, shaking his head at the craziness of the idea.
"I can assure you they are. I heard it from a very reliable source."
I bet I have a more reliable source.
"Who?" Neville asked, unable to hide his own skepticism and a hint of accusation.
"Well.. from Graham himself," Wamil confessed, her voice hushed. Neville stopped toying with his food and looked back up. "Apparently he's-he's planning on marrying her," she continued, her voice raw with emotion. "And it does make sense doesn't it? I mean he is spending so much time with Draco. That's a part of Pureblood courting, three months separation during which time the boy is to spend all his time with the family of the girl."
Neville lost himself sitting there at that table, lost himself in a maze of memories and thoughts. He remembered walking in on Graham proposing. He remembered Graces in the barn telling him she wasn't going to marry him. He remembered signing her living will. Memory after memory assaulted him. The way she touched him that morning. Her asking him to come to bed with her. Her asking him to make love to her. Could she do this? He knew she could lie, that she could manipulate, that she had the most bizarre ideas of what was right and wrong. But could she do this? Could she hold him in her arms and let him make love to her every night while being involved with another? When he finally emerged from his own head he stared at the girl across from him.
"That's not true."
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
"What do you think they're talking about?" Graham murmured.
Graces raised an eyebrow at his question. Judging by the way Graham was looking over at Neville and Wamil she highly doubted that he meant to say the question aloud, but she decided to answer it all the same. Not because she wanted the conversation, but because she was beginning to wonder if Graham realized he was staring.
"Who knows," she shrugged, taking some marmalade and smearing it on her toast.
"It seems intimate though, doesn't it?"
Graces paused and looked up. It did.
"I think you're reading into things."
"She's patting his arm."
"So she is."
"He just put his hand over hers."
Graces looked up and made a disinterested noise at the sight, doing a much better job of ignoring her feelings than Graham was of ignoring his.
"Graham," she drawled, making sure to keep her voice low so no one could hear. "Unless you want the world to realize you're in love with a half-breed I would advise you to stop staring."
Graham immediately looked down at the table. Jaw tense he moved about the food on his plate, clearly no longer interested in meals. Graces wanted to take his hand, lean in and whisper that it was all going to be okay, but she couldn't.
She felt much like Graham at the moment. She forced herself to eat, playing Neville's words in her head with every bite. I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you. It was her comfort, her rock, the only thing keeping her from going over to that table and screaming. She may not believe that Neville truly loved her, but she believed that he thought he did. And if he truly believed that then it didn't matter that a veela hybrid was interested in him. He would remain faithful, even if she didn't deserve his devotion.
The end was near. She could feel it in her bones. This wasn't going to be enough for him. Neville had ideas of love in his head, and love lead to ideas of a future which he could not have with her. She wondered how much longer he could take the disappointment that came with her. She was never going to be able to make him whole. She wondered if he even realized how broken he was. He was so focused on being all that she needed that he neglected his own needs.
"You're-you're partners with Longbottom in Herbology, correct?"
Graham's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it spoke volumes.
"I am."
"Will you—"
"Graham," Graces begged.
"Please, Graces. Please. I-I have to know. I just have to."
"If it's not Longbottom now, it will be someone else another day. Why does it matter?"
"It just does."
"Graham, people could hear you right now. You're behaving—"
"Then say you will ask."
"You know I think I like you better stoic and cold," Graces muttered, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as Graham continued to stared down at her. "Fine," she hissed. "I'll ask."
Graham muttered a thanks that Graces politely ignored.
"Did Draco seem off to you this morning? He didn't stay long for breakfast."
Graham shrugged and gave no opinion, clearly still too invested in what was happening at the Gryffindor table despite the fact he couldn't look over and watch anymore.
"I just found it strange," Graces mused.
"He's just putting on a show for Nott," Graham murmured. "Now that he's back from break Draco has to look busy."
"Yeah, but you're—"
"I am not the one in charge of Draco. You know that."
Graces fell silent at his words and suddenly lost her appetite herself. There was a pregnant silence that folded over herself and Graham after that and eventually the older boy just curtly bid her goodbye and left, unable to take another moment. Graces idly wondered if it was Wamil or herself that eventually forced him out of his chair.
"Miss Malfoy." Graces looked up at Snape's velvet voice and did her best not to draw attention to her fingers tightening on her fork. "Tonight, after dinner."
For a moment she felt as though the world stilled and Graces almost didn't process what was happening as Snape turned to leave. But when she did. When she realized that he—after all that happened, after holding a dagger to her throat—still thought she wanted his help.
"You think you can hold a dagger to my throat one day and help me the next?" She asked, her silver eyes glowing with unspoken wrath.
"You will never touch me again," she whispered, her pale skin turning red with fury. "Not ever."
"Don't be foolish." Snape's tone and look had grown darker, but Graces stood her ground.
"I'm not being foolish," she said stubbornly. "You're not touching me."
Snape was silent for a while, his dark coal eyes bearing down into hers. She could feel her throat tightening and did her best not to let the well of emotions she was feeling betray her. She was so small compared to this man. So small and she hated him so much. She died knowing that her hate did little, she wanted it to do more. She wanted him to pay.
"Fine," he murmured venomously. "Be a martyr. It's not I who has to look down and see mutilated flesh every morning and night."
The words cut her somewhere to deep to acknowledge, but she pretended not to bleed from them. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"I can live with scars." Graces slowly rose to her feet, ignoring how her legs felt weak and trembly. "Good day, Professor."
Everything about that man set her teeth on edge. She hurried through the castle heated and indignant with rage. She wanted to scream, cry and burn down something all at once.
"You okay?"
She slid her eyes over to where Neville had joined her. He strolled along side her casually, but it was obvious that he must have ran to her side.
"Fine," Graces said dully, removing her eyes from Neville's reddened face and walking faster to try and distance herself from him. When Neville matched her pace she sighed. "You shouldn't be walking with me."
"You seem upset," Neville murmured quietly. "Besides, we have the same class and we are partners. I don't think it's crazy if I walk with you. People will just think it coincidence, or me being terribly hopeless." Graces bit her lip and thought of the million things wrong with Neville's plan. "Here," Neville continued, holding out the paper due at the end of the week. "You can pretend like you're looking it over."
Graces made a show of irritatedly snatching the paper out of Neville's hand and sighing in frustration, as though she wasn't pleased to have him there beside her.
"Oi! You could have torn it! That's hours of our work there you almost ripped!"
"Good thing I'm a witch," Graces murmured, pretending to read over the paper. Neville was silent for a few moments before awkwardly clearing his throat and asking if he had been the one to upset her this morning.
"You?" Graces scowled. "No, of course not. Why would you even think such a thing?"
Neville flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, offering her no answer.
"Did you think I was worried about that girl?" Graces smirked, her cheeks reddening despite her attempt to feign confidence.
"No-no," Neville replied hurriedly, licking his lower lip nervously. "I just, well, was it maybe something Draco said then, perhaps?"
Graces frowned. Neville was not good at being subtle. It was obvious he was fishing for something.
"Should something Draco said have upset me?"
"What? No. I mean—I just wanted to know. That's all."
She hesitated a moment, torn between demanding more answers and just letting this one go. She really was in no position to be demanding of Neville, not after yesterday and last night. She knew she hurt him and his eyes told her just how much he was still wounded.
"Snape upset me."
"Snape?"
"Yeah. I don't want to talk about it. He's a sleaze and I hate him."
"I won't argue with any of that."
Graces looked down to hide her smile as a low chuckle came from somewhere deep in Neville's throat.
"Careful, Malfoy, someone will see you not scowling at me."
"Then I'll say that we were discussing your fight with Potter."
Neville gave her a disapproving glare which really made her smile. She turned away, quite happy with herself, and pretended to look at the paper and then in her pretending really took a look at it.
"Hey! You took out one of my paragraphs!"
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
"She's not even nice to him," Hannah grumbled, taking her seat and glaring at Neville and Graces as they quietly argued about their paper.
Hermione looked up and just shrugged. She really had no words for Neville at the moment. Not only had he hit her best friend, but he had made no effort to talk to anyone else other than Graces Malfoy and apparently Draco Malfoy.
She in no way thought how Harry had reacted yesterday was right. Honestly, a lot of people didn't blame him for intervening. Graces had been nothing but gracious and Harry had crossed a line. But to hit Harry again and again? To fight him like he did and then ignore him and everyone else? It wasn't right either.
"Did you see him and Draco talking before breakfast?"
"Yeah, I saw," Hermione sighed. Not only did she see she had to hear about it all through breakfast and her walk to class from Harry and Ron. Both boys were convinced that Malfoy was egging them on and Hermione, despite her telling them contrary, believed it as well.
"What do you think it was about?"
"Malfoy was probably just having laugh about yesterday's events."
Hannah made some noise of acknowledgement, but continued to look over at Neville who was now just silently standing with Graces, their argument now over and their usual silence taking hold.
"He looks really beat up. Do you think he's in pain?"
"I'm sure. I know Harry isn't feeling too grand."
"You know, I think he almost drew his wand against me for her once."
"What?" Hermione asked shrilly, startled at the thought of Neville drawing his wand against a girl.
"It wasn't anything serious." Hannah blushed. "It was back when he had to go to the infirmary because he was sick. I went there to visit him and he and Malfoy were in the same curtain and—"
"What do you mean they were in the same curtain?" Hermione scowled.
"I guess Malfoy was sick too. She sure looked it. She must have had a fever. She was dripping sweat and pale as a ghost. She looked as though she was close to vomiting. Anyways, Pomphrey quarantined them together."
"She did?"
"Yes, she did."
"That's odd."
"I suppose it is, but she did. Anyways, I came to visit him and when I found them they were standing together, talking."
"Friendly?"
"No, not at all. Maybe Neville was trying to be friendly, but it was obvious that Graces didn't want him there. She was exceptionally agitated. When I entered she started screaming at me to leave, and Neville just allowed her to. He didn't even scold her when she called me a half brain as well as a half breed."
"He heard her call you that?"
"He did. He said that she was ill, and that she asked me to leave. He made it out like I was the one being rude."
Hermione stared over at the boy she had known for over five years. She couldn't believe it.
"Then what happened?"
"I said something about how he should defend me and made some kind of comment about hexing her and he moved in front of her all protectively and—I don't know—something about his stance let me know if I reached for my wand he would reach for his as well."
Hermione was at a loss for words. This didn't sound at all like Neville, not the Neville she knew and loved. Then again the Neville she knew also wouldn't beat the pulp out of Harry. She had justified it to herself yesterday the way many others had. Harry was out of line, grabbing at a girl like that. Ron had even told her in confidence that if Harry had touched her or Ginny like that he would have done the same.
"It's like she has a hold on him somehow."
"Pretty girls tend to be able to do that," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to Hannah. "And Graces is a very pretty girl. It's not that surprising she could have Neville wrapped around her finger."
"Yes, but… usually those girls are at least nice to the bloke. She's not nice to Neville."
Hermione was silent for a moment. She could be nice to Neville though. She had witnessed her being nice to him. Once when he lost the bet, and again when Ron and Harry had mentioned their race. And she had been very nice to all of them just yesterday. She had even paid her a compliment. Hermione looked up and marveled at Graces' skill. One moment she could be enchanting, the next cold and stoic.
Hermione could barely breathe as she remembered Graces' cruelty towards her in the prefect's bathroom.
"Why won't you leave Neville alone?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence and moving to the edge of the water to glare down at the girl before her.
"Leave him alone," Graces frowned. "Now, why would I do that? Longbottom needs my help, and I owe him a debt."
"You know what I mean," Hermione said. "Why are you toying with him? Flirting with him, touching his arm, asking him to help you with Herbology, isolating him from his friends. Why are you doing this?"
"Now, Granger," Graces smiled, wafting the water around her lazily "I would think that's obvious. I'm doing it because of you."
"Please, stop," Hermione choked. "Please."
"No."
Did she ever stop? Was this a continuation of her long, sick, twisted game?
"Hermione? Are you alright?"
Hermione turned to where Ron had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Hannah, Harry and Ron were all staring at her in concern. She nodded and was thankful that Sprout had ordered everyone to start harvesting their Nux Myristica. She followed Hannah over to their plants on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, unable to stop herself from trying to look through the foliage to see how Neville and Graces were interacting. It was no use though. She couldn't see a thing.
"Do our buds look strange to you?" Hermione asked, an idea beginning to bloom in her mind.
"No, they're—"
"I think something's wrong… It's like they're not ripe at all."
"What are you talking about? They—"
"I think I'm going to ask Neville to take a look."
Hannah's mouth dropped to protest, but Hermione already was hurrying away. Professor Sprout had allowed them to plant wherever they pleased, wanting them to choose based on what they knew of the plant. Neville had been excited to plant by some old trees that were starting to rot. She remembered him telling her it was a bit off from the lake.
She slowed her pace as she neared the heavy trees that surrounded her friend and strained her ears to their conversation. Sadly, nothing was being said. She inched closer deciding to hide between some bushes and a tree. After a minute she began to feel exceptionally foolish. Graces and Neville were not even looking at one another. Both of them were elbow deep in soil with bored expressions on their faces.
She had just concluded that she was wrong, and becoming overly paranoid like Harry when Neville began to speak.
"I heard an interesting rumor today," he began coolly, sitting up from his knees and stretching his back.
Graces made some noise of acknowledgement but didn't look up from the soil she was sifting through.
"Yeah, it was regarding you." Another disinterested noise. "And Graham Montague."
Graces didn't appear to be listening. She murmured some frustration about getting dirty, scowled and continued to work.
"I, uh, heard you two are involved," Neville continued louder, obviously getting a little antsy at Graces' ignorance. "Soon to be engaged even."
"Really?" Graces asked, looking up with only slight interest. "How intriguing. Do you think we will have a summer wedding? I always wanted a summer wedding."
"Summer weddings are nice," Neville acknowledged, waiting for more of a response and not receiving one.
"What kind of flowers do you think you would have?"
Hermione frowned. Neville's question almost seemed… playful.
"What kind do you think I should have?" Graces asked, now stopping her sifting and looking over at him.
"Depends on what colors you want."
"Pink? That's always a good color to have at a wedding."
"It is. Complements you well too." Graces smiled at the approval, before asking what a good flower would be. "Peonies would be nice."
"Peonies," Graces murmured, rolling the name around again and again on her tongue. As if saying it could help her envision it. "Yes," she said slowly after a few moments. "I believe that would work wonderfully."
Graces laughed. "Can you imagine Graham in pink? That's it. My gods, it's almost worth making pink the color just for that."
Graces went back to her work, a ghost of laughter still playing on her fine features, not seeming to notice that Neville looked increasingly uneasy. Graces had just started to really make progress with her buds when Neville hesitantly spoke again.
"Graces." Hermione watched as Graces paused and looked over at him. There was no sly gleam, no smirk, nothing malicious in her features as she stared at Neville.
"Forgive me," Neville continued, taking a deep breath. "But I need to hear you say it isn't true."
A tension had filled the air at Neville's question. Graces stared at him for what felt like hours, despite only seconds ticking by before finally answering "It's not."
She looked so hurt. As though the question was asked just to wound her.
"Then why would Graham say such a thing?"
Graces hugged her arms around her and worried her lip. "I have an idea as to why..."
"Does he think it's true?"
Graces shook her head. "No. Trust me. Graham does not want to marry me. At least not the way you think. We both know ourselves to be a good match, but it's more of a back up plan. As you well know." Hermione frowned. There seemed to be some hidden meaning behind Graces' last statement. "We would much prefer to remain friends."
"I distinctly remember him kissing you and aski—"
"He wants to uphold his family name and honor. Yes, he thinks he would enjoy me and eventually love me, but—" Graces hesitated "—he really only wants me as a distraction."
"A distraction… from what?"
"I believe you had breakfast with her."
Neville frowned and then seemed to catch on.
"Well, I'll be damned. Really?" Graces' lips tightened and she nodded in a way that told Hermione she thought the idea ridiculous.
"Does Wamil know he has feelings for her?"
"No. And you're not going to tell her anything," Graces snapped, pointing her finger threateningly at Neville. "A scandal like that could ruin Graham's life. He's already having problems at home with his family and if they found out he had his eyes on some half-breed harpy he would lose everything."
"Yes, but if they love each other—"
"Graham loves his family. His mother, father and sisters," Graces informed him stonily. "I highly doubt he loves that girl. He barely knows her."
"He could."
"He doesn't."
"Is that according to your standards or by his?"
Graces whirled around at Neville's words and stared at him as though he had struck her.
"I'm sorry that was—"
"Uncalled for," Graces finished, clearly upset.
"It was. I apologize."
Graces searched his face for any hint of insincerity, before finally nodding her acceptance and looking away. Neville continued watching her, clearly beating himself up for whatever crass exchange had taken place.
"So, um, Valentine's day is around the corner," he started nervously, clearly grasping at something to turn the mood. "And I was wo—"
"No."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"I wanted to prevent you from saying something stupid and sappy like 'Will you be my valentine?'. I fear if you utter anything near to that sentence I will lose all respect for you."
Neville flushed, but didn't let Graces' nasty words deter him.
"I really would like to take you out. I planned a date for us over break. We won't be able to go on Valentine's Day, but I, uh, got portkeys to take us off campus for that Saturday and—"
"Portkeys?" Graces echoed in disbelief. "How on earth did you manage that?"
"You're not the only one who has friends in the Ministry, Malfoy."
"I'm intrigued," Graces exclaimed, her laughter coming out breathless. "Do tell."
"My godfather… he works in the portkey department. I paid him a visit and asked for a favor."
"Madam Blanc for a godmother and a Ministry man for a godfather? I am very impressed." Neville gave a soft chuckle and waited for Graces to continue. "And where do these Portkeys go?"
"That you can only find out if you accept."
"What rubbish is that? Not even a hint?"
"Nope. It's a total surprise."
Graces twisted her mouth in thought. "How do I know it's worth it?"
"It's worth it. Trust me. You've never been anywhere like it."
"I've been to a lot of places," Graces bragged, her highbred accent highlighted for the occasion, as though she wanted to remind Neville of how much money her family had.
"You haven't been here," Neville maintained, not allowing himself to be at all intimidated.
Graces raised a brow and bit her lip. "Well, this is exciting isn't it?"
"So is that a yes?"
There was a long pause, before Graces turned and faced him seriously.
"I just don't think it's a good idea," she said softly, her face looking almost apologetic.
"Because we're leaving school?"
"Because you're a blood traitor and I would be in a heap of trouble if anyone found out I went on a date with you."
"No one is going to find out."
"You can't guarantee that," Graces pointed out sadly, turning away so Neville could only see her back.
Neville looked completely crestfallen at Graces' proclamation. He didn't argue with her, or try to plead his case. He just accepted Graces' decision.
"We could still spend time together," Graces offered, not needing to look at Neville to know his disappointment. "Just in private… like we usually do."
"I know… I just wanted to take you out. I wanted it to be special. I wanted to do something special for you. I wanted to go out," Neville added. "I never had someone to share Valentine's Day with before."
Graces slowly turned and took in Neville's expression. Hermione watched as Neville gave her a small smile and told her not to worry about it, that he was just being sappy and to ignore him.
The matter appeared to be settled, and just when Hermione thought she could come out from her hiding spot and pretend to ask Neville some questions, Graces spoke.
"I'll think about it."
;) Thanks for reading! Sorry for the long wait! haha I will try not to keep you in suspense for the next one!