Special thanks to Denarii as always for editing this for me.

And a big thank you to everyone who left reviews and the people that PMed me that they were still reading after all this time. Thanks, it means a lot I know I was absent for a while there, but it's great to know so many were still excited for an update.

Chapter 95

"This doesn't need to be awkward," Draco said with a pointed look. Thomas glanced up from his breakfast, but then quickly went back to staring at his bacon. "I just don't understand why you two didn't say you were seeing one another."

Thomas risked a look over at Graham whose jaw seemed to be so tight that it seemed as if his teeth were at risk of cracking under the pressure. Graces said nothing, but at least had the decency to look at Draco as he continued to talk with them. Really, everyone should have been expecting this. Draco was the first to breakfast and instead of eating and then whisking off, he stayed and waited for them to come down.

"I just don't understand why it has to be a secret," Draco repeated, becoming increasingly more sour as both Graces and Graham didn't speak. "This is a good thing. We all like one another and—" Draco paused awkwardly as though he wasn't sure what else to say "—it's a good thing."

"Because Graham's appropriate?" Graces asked bitterly, taking a bite of some toast.

"It's a plus, but no. It's a good thing because, well, I like Graham. He's a good guy and it's just good." Graham scowled and looked over at Draco before deciding he didn't want to be apart of the conversation afterall and returning to his breakfast. Draco continued to sit looking increasingly more uncomfortable and flustered. He seemed to want to say more, but didn't have any words.

"Did you not tell me because you thought I would be jealous?" Draco asked, before adding. "Because you didn't want me to feel left out or like the third wheel?"

It was then that Graham threw his utensils loudly on his plate and stood up. He looked as though he were about to yell at Graces. Thomas and Draco stared wide-eyed and waited for a string of vicious insults, but instead Graham pointed accusingly at Graces across the table as though to say this was her fault before storming off with both hands clenched tightly into fists. Graces face drained of color, but she offered no explanation.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Draco demanded.

"We are quarreling," Graces replied simply.

"Why are you quarreling?" Draco asked, his patience already too thin.

"It's private," Graces shrugged, abandoning her toast all together and drinking some pumpkin juice.

Thomas wanted to sneak away from this immensely awkward situation, but he was worried that the slightest movement may set Draco off. He was still in shock to find out that Graham and Graces were dating, he had no idea. When Graces was in the hospital wing after the attack Graham was worried for her, but it seemed he was more worried about Draco.

And when she woke up all of his anger was confirmed. He had yelled at her as she laid there in a hospital bed, bellowed that she was selfish and stupid, that she didn't give a damn about anyone else but herself. He had made sure that she knew exactly how much pain she had caused Draco and all of them when she had chosen to stab herself and Thomas was sure that he would have said more if Draco hadn't kicked him out of the hospital wing.

Thomas was surprised that Draco even forgave him for everything he had said. But Draco did, in no time at all it had seemed, Draco had laid all of his harsh words to rest. He didn't even seem to want to discuss it. Thomas wondered if that was because Draco understood Graham's feelings or if it was because Draco couldn't bear to stay mad at the older boy.

"I think whatever you're quarreling about you could tell me."

"Graham's very private," Graces stated, as though that was explanation enough.

"Why do I feel like you are lying to me?"

"C-cause sh-she is," Thomas muttered under his breath. Graces glared at him and he was quick to go back to trying to be invisible, but it was too late. He had already entered into the dysfunction.

"Really?" Graces asked.

Thomas' could feel his face going red. He knew what Graces had done for him, that he should have given her his undying loyalty no matter if she was deserving of it in the moment, but for some reason he couldn't seem to not say something. He loved Graces, but she was absent from their lives, and she had been for quite some time. She was so absent that they didn't even realize that she wasn't well. It took a dagger in her stomach for them to realize just how unwell she was. Is.

"You. Are." He said carefully, looking over and meeting Draco's eyes from across the table.

Graces' lips pressed into a fine line before she declared that she needed to get to class.

"Do you have any suggestions," Draco asked quietly.

He shook his head. Thomas stared down at his uneaten breakfast and remembered all the times he had wished he could have sat at the adult table during family events. He imagined it as this elaborate thing, being able to converse with his uncles and dad like an adult and not like a child. He would have opinions and they would listen. Now that he was at the adult table, he didn't like it.

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Graces looked over the letter Professor Sprout gave her from McGonagall another time, before making her way to the Greenhouse five where her and Neville were working on their class project together. She passed the now usual whispers that followed in her wake from other classmates. She concentrated on keeping her eye focused, a difficult task when all it wanted to do was look to where the whispers were coming from.

All curious about what really happened that night that put her in the hospital wing and ended with Theodore Nott being arrested. That was without mentioning her eye. The whole school knew the one she had now was fake, and if they hadn't learned it from the rumor mill, they realized it when she would lose control of it randomly in class. It still took time for her to adjust to the new appendage and while she was getting good at controlling it, it wasn't second nature yet.

"Curious thing," she said, as a way of greeting to Neville.. "McGonagall invited me to dinner tonight."

Neville frowned and stopped tending to the branch of the whomping willow he had cut for their final project.

"That is curious," Neville finally said. "Do you know why?"

"I think I do," Graces stated, rolling her eyes and plopping in the chair next to Neville in a very undignified manner. "I think she's going to try to talk to me about boys."

Neville snorted. "I highly doubt that."

Graces raised a brow and then looked around to make sure there was no one around. It appeared no one was, the rest of the class were mostly doing their projects by the lake or by the forbidden forest and the ones that were doing them in the Greenhouses were using Greenhouses one and two since there was more space in there.

"She caught Graham with Sunder last night."

Neville frowned, obviously not understanding what that was supposed to mean.

"You know, she caught them."

"Caught them?" Neville repeated, his mind still not connecting the dots, before his eyes widened. Graces nodded when she saw that Neville understood.

"Yep."

"Oh," Neville said, a little taken aback. "What does that have to do with you though?"

"She thinks we are engaged," Graces flushed.

"Why does she think that?" Neville frowned.

Graces pinked. "I, uh. Well, both Graham and I may have made it out that way." She waited to see Neville's reaction to this, but Neville just cleared his throat and folded his hands as if to silently say 'of course, continue'. "Anyways, she thinks that Graham is cheating on me and that I'm okay with it as long as he continues to be discreet."

Neville's eyebrows almost shot up to his hairline and he for a moment forgot about the whomping willow branch until it snapped at him as he absently leaned on the table.

"I don't understand. We were together last night. How did all this happen last night?" Neville asked.

"Well, last night and this morning," Graces explained all that happened including Draco finding her and Graham together in the common room and their horrible breakfast this morning.

Neville shook his head and turned back to their project. "You're going to have an interesting dinner tonight."

"I don't think I'm going to go."

"Can you do that? Just decide not to go?"

"She invited me and I plan to decline."

Neville nodded and went back to working on the whomping willow branch. Graces didn't say anything as she worked beside him. The silence felt heavy and she didn't know if it was because Neville was thinking or because there wasn't anything to say and it just felt unfinished. She scowled and wondered if it felt unfinished because she wanted Neville to have an opinion. She walked to the other side of the table so that Neville was across from her. He was working to get the whomping willow more under control and Graces took the time to study Neville's face to see if she could get a read on him.

Neville looked up and was a little startled to see her across the table. He obviously hadn't realized she had moved and was watching him. "What?"

"I feel like you want to say something," Graces stated.

"And you didn't want to say 'what do you think? Should I go?' to find out?"

Graces flushed.

Neville gave a small laugh. "Slytherins."

"Shut up," Graces snipped, unable to not smile. They stood there for a moment both wanting to soak in that moment. A moment where they both felt normal and happy.

"I think you should go." Graces eyed him over the table. "I think—" Neville paused and licked his lips. "I know you don't trust anyone to help you, but McGonagall is different. No, she really is," Neville insisted gently.

"I can't—"

"I'm not asking you to talk to her, I'm asking you to go to dinner," Neville pressed. "Just listen."

Graces tried to gather her thoughts. "I know it's been difficult lately and—"

"Difficult isn't the right word," Neville said quietly meeting her eyes. "It's too lame of a word. Too quiet."

Graces swallowed and tried to still the panic welling up in her gut. She knew things weren't good with her and Neville lately, that they were "off". What was so easy once was now just so hard, but it wasn't until this moment she felt like he may leave because of it all. They always fought, but this new silence was more devastating than anything she had ever said to him.

"Do you want to leave me?" She asked quietly.

"No."

Graces nodded. "Things haven't been difficult, they've been unbearable," she admitted, close to tears.

"Yes."

"But you don't want to leave." She didn't know if it was a statement or a question, all she knew was that she needed to hear that he wasn't going to leave.

"I am not going to leave you."

"I can't reach out to hold your hand with this—" Neville gestured to the whomping willow. "— between us. Come here."

It was foolish, but she didn't even check to make sure no one was around before rushing back around the table and into his arms. She knew that he should leave. If he were anyone else, he already would have.

"I love you," Neville said sadly. "But every day I keep your secrets I wonder if I am digging your grave. Every night you wake up screaming I consider what weakness in me is allowing you to kill yourself." He turned her chin up so she was looking at him. "And every day I realize more and more that I am so desperate for you to love me that I am letting you wither away and die."

"What? Neville, that's preposterous. That doesn't—"

Neville laid his head against hers and cradled her face in his palms, his thumbs gently brushing against her lips to silence her, as though her words were like a siren's song trying to weave a spell on him. He didn't open his eyes as he held her there, just took deep breaths as though he were going to lose his nerve if he didn't say what he wanted to say right away.

"I want more than anything to be the one to help you, but I can't be. Maybe it's because I'm only sixteen, or because I'm not bright—" Graces pulled his hands away from her to protest, but he held her firmer. "Either way I am ill equipped and you need help. So, my love, if you do not ask for it for yourself, I am going to ask for you." She could feel his tears on her cheek and she couldn't help that her own were mixing with them. "I don't want to lose you, Graces."

She wasn't sure what he meant. That he would lose her because he would betray her to get her help or lose her because he was afraid she was going mad.

"I said I would make a choice," she whimpered, holding him closer. "I just need to think. I just need time."

Neville's eyes tightened and his voice came out raspy, but firm. "I need you to make the choice to fight for yourself, Graces. If you don't, I will." When he opened his eyes she knew that he was resolved. "And I don't think you will forgive me for it."

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Minerva flaked the smoked haddock into chunks, careful to remove the bones before she added them into the soup. Graces was due to arrive any moment. She still didn't know exactly how she was going to approach her. She wasn't even sure if she should be the one to try, but this was long overdue. Something should have been done much earlier and she wondered how late is too late. Graces Malfoy was not well and every time she sat and thought about it she could see there were signs of this starting months ago: her grades dropping, her temper being shorter, her weight dropping, her lack of interest in school activities, the child's overall attitude and demeanor seemed to have changed. And yet, no one commented on it.

Well, that wasn't true. Neville had commented on it. She thought back to everything he had yelled at Harry in the hall after their fight. Neville was right to be angry, but not with Harry. She and every grown up in the school were the ones deserving of Neville's fury. They were the ones with the responsibility to help her and they had done nothing. She had promised Neville she would speak with her and she hadn't. Time and time again the adults in this girl's life were failing her. She pressed her lips together tightly determined that she wouldn't fail her again.

Graces arrived a few minutes after the soup was done cooking. McGonagall invited her to make herself comfortable as she finished up in the kitchen. She had expected the girl to take a seat at the already set small table by the fire, but Graces instead walked idly around the small living quarters.

There was something so underlyingly sad about her. McGonagall watched from the kitchen as Graces' hand gently dragged along the sofa and tables. She was pensive as she examined the objects sparsely scattered around the room. She had always thought Graces a quick girl, even when she was quiet in class she could see the gears in her mind turning. Her eyes alone held something. Watching her now was hard. The sharpness that Graces had long possessed had been replaced with weariness. Every movement seemed heavy.

"Miss Malfoy," she said gently. "Come sit."

Graces looked up from the cover a book she was examining and stared at her for a moment before taking her seat.

"Would you like a drink?" McGonagall asked, moving her hand to a pitcher that was placed on the table.

"Thank you."

The blonde continued to look around the room until her eyes stopped on a cross decorated with intricate scottish knots all throughout and a circle around the center hanging in her doorway. McGonagall watched Graces' continue to stare of it while she served the soup and bread.

"It's a cross," she said simply.

Graces turned to her with a spark of annoyance. "I know."

Of course she knew. Minerva was going to change the subject, but Graces spoke first.

"It's pretty," she noted.

"Thank you," McGonagall said slowly, a little caught off guard by the comment. "It was my father's."

Graces dipped her head slightly in a nod. "And the bible above the mantel?"

She fell silent for a moment. "That is my father's as well."

"Is?" Graces asked.

"Was. Sometimes when people pass certain items never feel like they are your own, my father's bible still feels very much like it is his." And it did. She had few memories without that bible in her father's hands or by his side. If he had been a wizard it would have been like his wand. He never went without it and in times of confusion, fearfulness, happiness he looked to it just as she held to her wand. "My father was a minister for a small presbyterian congregation. He never went anywhere without that book. Even though it is mine now, it is not mine."

"Like a wand," Graces said thoughtfully.

"Like a wand," McGonagall acknowledged, smiling slightly.

Graces held her eyes across the table as though she expected her to say something more, but turned away when nothing more came.

"Is this a stew? Or a soup?" Graces asked observing the bowl in front of her.

"It's a soup. Cullen skink, it's also known as haddock chowder."

Graces nodded and sipped a small amount from her spoon. "It's very good, thank you."

Silence settled over them as they quietly ate. McGonagall tried to think of something to talk about that was pleasant, not wanting to overwhelm Graces right at the beginning.

"Professor Sprout said you're growing a whomping willow for your end of year project."

"Neville is growing a whomping willow," Graces scoffed, shaking her head. "I'm more of an assistant to his genius."

McGonagall frowned slightly at Graces' statement. "That's very high praise."

Graces flushed and shrugged her shoulders dismissively, but the action seemed false to the older woman.

"Are you a Christian?"

"What?" McGonagall asked, her thoughts being ripped from her before they could fully form.

"Your father was a minister, so are you a christian?"

Minerva wasn't sure if she wanted to discuss her personal beliefs with Graces Malfoy, but she decided to answer, considering she was going to be asking the young woman herself to share a lot. "I was raised Christian."

"Are you one now?"

"I like to believe that there is something greater."

Graces brow furrowed. "Magic isn't enough?"

"Not for me, I suppose."

Graces didn't seem to like that answer, but didn't press for more of an explanation. "Your father, he was a muggle, yes?" The older woman nodded. "Was that difficult? Being raised by a father that wasn't magical? One that believed and taught a religion that sentences us to death?"

For a moment the older woman thought Graces was baiting her, but then she realized that she was being sincere. Graces genuinely was curious for an answer.

"There were difficult moments, yes. But I don't think it had anything to do with religion. I loved my father and he loved me. I think the thing he disliked the most about magic was its secrecy. My father prided himself on being an honest man, and every day he had to lie to protect my mother and I. Only a small part of my father's religion talked of witches. The rest spoke of love and forgiveness. And I think that those two traits are what lead him to forgive my mother for not telling him what she was."

Graces stared up at her and the older woman could see there was a question behind those silver eyes, but Graces didn't ask it. Instead she chose to let the conversation die, leaving the room in loud silence.

"May I ask you a question?" McGonagall dared, taking a sip from her goblet and then putting it down. The blonde shrugged and pushed her food around her plate. "What happened to your eye?"

Graces' hold on her spoon tensed, McGonagall cursed herself for being so blatant. She should have proceeded more cautiously. Should have continued with pleasantries, maybe even had the girl come to a few dinners and earned her trust before—

"I—" Graces paused and her nostrils flared. "I once did something very brave." Graces stopped and the older woman didn't dare move less her movement stop the other girl from continuing. Graces swallowed hard. "I was brave once," she whispered. "Brave and foolish. You would have been proud," She laughed sadly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"What did—"

"Don't speak," Graces hissed, clutching her head as though she had a headache. "Don't speak," she murmured. "I need to think. I need to think." Graces rocked slightly in her chair and seemed to be sorting her thoughts. She muttered under her breath words that made no sense and that the older woman had no way of making out. McGonagall restrained herself from reaching for her wand, but a single thought persisted. 'Graces Malfoy was not well.'

"You've done a lot of brave things, yes?" Graces asked, looking up at her and seeming to hold her breath. Minerva nodded slightly. "Did it ever break you?"

McGonagall tried to fight her impulse to frown. She was so confused as to what was happening. She knew that if she could take a moment to gather her thoughts and process what was happening, she could figure out what the girl meant and give her a good response, but she was so taken aback she took too long to answer.

"I did this brave thing and I think it broke me a bit. People don't talk about that part of doing what's right. They don't talk about what happens when sacrifice your life and you live through it. They don't tell you that you won't sleep anymore. That the people that you once felt so close to feel so very, very far away. That getting out of bed every morning will take all you have. That you will feel scared in a room where there is nothing to fear. They don't say you won't ever be you again. That you will stare at yourself in the mirror every morning and not know who it is staring back. I did a brave thing, but I'm not brave. I did a brave thing and I'm not me."

"I-I," Graces shook her head and stared down at her soup, her hair slightly coming forward shielding her face. "I'm not me."

McGonagall sat quietly gathering herself. She took a breath and prayed she approached this correctly, that she didn't scare her off before she could help her, she leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table while she fidgeted with her palms. She had known for so long that something was wrong and she did nothing. Neville had even told her something was wrong and she had promised to reach out to Graces and hadn't until this moment. The realization hit her harder and harder as every moment passed. She could have helped her days, weeks, months before even and she didn't.

She thought back to what she had seen after the war. How "touched" some of her colleagues were by what had happened, how long it took herself to come back to who she was. She had a student this traumatized and did nothing. She had a student this unbalanced and didn't even notice.

She moved over to Graces and cautiously placed a hand on her shaking form.

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Graces stood as the feeling in her stomach began to quickly move to her chest. Her tongue vibrated with nausea and she covered her mouth, but before she could control her panic she was vomiting into her palm. McGonagall, even with the shock of what was happening, was quick to pull her hair away and hurriedly lead her to the kitchen sink, the closest area to accommodate her. Graces could feel her face flush with humiliation as the older woman held her shoulders and rubbed her back as she continued to be sick in her kitchen. She closed her eyes as the final waves of nausea caused her to dry heave and wished Neville was there.

Night after night she woke from nightmares that nothing could keep at bay and night after night Neville would hold her on the bathroom floor as she was sick, placing a cold cloth on her neck while he gently massaged her back. It had become such a normal routine he wasn't even panicked anymore when she woke. He was resigned. This was their life together now and there was nothing he could do about it. How had it come to this?

"It's okay," McGonagall shushed, wiping away her tears and vomit with a towel that was by the oven. "It's okay." She had been repeating the same thing over and over again and Graces felt suffocated by the two words. It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. She tore out of the woman's grasp and held herself as she cried, each sob felt like a defeat. She was defeated. She didn't want to be here, she didn't want to talk to her, but she didn't want to lose Neville and he was right. She couldn't forgive him if he betrayed her. So she had to betray herself. And she was more frightened to talk to this woman than she had been standing in front of the Dark Lord.

She wanted to die. She wanted her father. She was a blood traitor. She was a liar. She was a manipulator. She had been beaten, humiliated, molested and tortured. She had been wrong. Her whole life she had been wrong. She was racist and hateful. And she loved Neville Longbottom, but she was too much of a coward to admit it.

It wasn't until shards of glass from the window in McGonagall's sitting room pierced her skin that Graces realized she had screamed all this. She froze as her bloody palm met with the cold night air and pointed edges of remaining glass pricked her wrist in warning to not move. McGonagall looked paralyzed for a moment, before she quickly hurried over to her.

"I-I'm sorry," Graces whispered mortified, as the professor gently guided her shaking hand safely out of harm's way. The older woman didn't reply, she seemed to still be processing everything Graces had declared. She stood there holding Graces arm and hand, looking at the damage but not seeing it.

"I don't know where to begin," she said after a while, more to herself than to Graces.

Graces let out a long, grieving sound, almost like a sob, before the tears came breathlessly. "Just help me," she begged, dropping to her knees and laying her head against her professor's robes. "Help me."

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