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Chapter 103
Graces swallowed and let out a slow breath. In truth she probably shouldn't be here. She was teetering on the edge of her breaking point, but then again there always seemed to be something pressing her sanity. She focused on her breathing and the small bowl of porridge she had in front of her. She had promised McGonagall at least a bowl of porridge every morning, or some sort of pastry and tea. So with this promise in mind she mechanically ate and tried to not show the panic that was tearing her apart.
She felt as though there were an imaginary wand pointed at her back and the Dark Lord was right behind her wielding it. This wand, this threat of death, had been there for months and she had not a clue. She took another bite of her porridge and imagined the wand was closer to her. She had a wand pointed at her heart— she had been aware of that one, of the risk she took being with Neville, but she had no idea of the threat behind her.
Thomas' revelations the night before had felt like a surprise assault. She had listened motionless as he told her of his aunt and the muggle. For months a muggle had been living in Higgs manor, helping in raising Octavian. Alethea's relationship with this man, this muggle, had never ended. Well, it had for a few short weeks as he had come to adjust to the reality that the woman he had loved for decades had been hiding such secrets from him. But then he had forgiven her.
Not just forgiven her, but stood by her, adjusted his life to help her raise Octavian. Thomas hadn't told her or Draco at first, thinking he could handle the situation himself, but from the details that Graces was told, Alethea and this muggle didn't respect his authority as patriarch. Both felt this title of power was meaningless.
Alethea had lived too long in the muggle world, Graces was realizing. She didn't have the same respect for their customs and traditions… their magic. She treated Thomas as a child, as did this muggle. And now after months of this they were taking it another step further. The muggle wanted Alethea, Thomas, and Octavian to come live in the muggle world. He wanted to marry Alethea and adopt both boys. A makeshift family to make up for what they had been denied previously.
Graces didn't know what to do. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to map out all the options that she had. If it was found out that a muggle was staying at Higgs' Manor, they were dead. All of them. Her, Thomas, Octavian, Alethea, the muggle, even Draco. She and Draco had taken ownership of what was left of the Higgs clan. This would be seen not just as weakness on their part, but the perfect opportunity to attack. It wouldn't even matter that the Statute of Secrecy had been broken because they would die before the Ministry could care.
"G-Graces?" Thomas said quietly.
Graces looked over wearily.
"He r-really is n-nice. He—"
"Thomas," Graces said warily. "Now isn't the time to talk about this."
Thomas nodded and went back to his breakfast. Graces watched as he silently fought with his own emotions. He had begged her last night not to harm the muggle and Graces realized that his not telling her earlier was due to his fear of harm coming to him. She had made no promises. How could she promise him no harm would come when she didn't know it to be true? She knew what her father would do, what her mother would do, but she had no idea what she should do.
She didn't know this man. The only thing she did know was that his presence, his ridiculous idea of moving what was left of the Higgs clan to the muggle world and being a family there would be their doom. Graces cursed Alethea for being so brilliantly stupid to allow all this. Her whole family had been savagely murdered and she really believed that continuing on with this muggle was going to be acceptable? And from what Graces had gathered from Thomas the muggle had not been properly told how great a threat to them there was.
Draco took his seat next to her and Graces watched as Thomas tensed, looking between her and Draco, clearly wondering if she was going to tell Draco about what was going on. She should. She knew that she should, but she also knew what action Draco would take. The muggle would be killed, not because Draco wanted it, but because he wasn't willing to risk all of their safety for one person. Then again, did Draco have it in him to kill someone? Did she?
She made herself swallow another bite of porridge. The only thing she did know was that she needed to talk with Neville. She couldn't make a decision on this without talking to him. Graces took another breath and made sure to regulate it so it was normal. The muggle would be fine, because she knew Neville would not discuss a plan in which he wouldn't be. So she supposed she could promise Thomas no harm would come. Well, no intentional harm.
"Are you okay?"
Graces blinked and looked up at Draco staring down at her in concern. "Yes, of course, why?"
Draco's eyes looked over to her hand gripping onto the spoon, but didn't voice his concerns aloud.
Graces flushed, cleared her throat and deliberately loosened her hold. "I have Granger as a partner in Herbology now. It kind of puts me on edge. She isn't exactly pleasant to work with."
Draco didn't buy the lie, she could tell, but he also didn't dig further into finding the truth. She supposed he realized now that he wouldn't get it from her. She closed her eyes and wondered if she was losing his love. At what point was it going to be too late for them? She felt like she had drifted away from Draco, went on with her life far away from him and never bothered to write. At what point would the silence and distance change things irreversibly?
Wand to her front, wand to her back, and a sinkhole threatening to swallow her up into darkness. She stood up and left the Great Hall, unable to bear being part of her own act any longer. She wanted to be unafraid, sure, something other than what she was. She wanted to be with Neville, she loved him, and she was willing to fight that battle that would come with them being together. But she was scared to fight that fight without Draco in her corner. He still was a part of her. Even though they had grown apart this year he was still her other half.
And yet, she was too scared to tell him about Thomas' situation. Where before she and Draco would decide, now she wanted it to be her and Neville. She leaned against the castle and held the back of her neck. Everything was shifting around her. It felt like there were a million different choices and paths and she didn't know where any of them would end. She was just moving without real thought to where.
That's not true. I am thinking. I am planning.
She just wasn't doing it well. She just needed things to slow down enough for her to figure things out. Things were going to start turning around and then she found out about Thomas' situation. Now it felt as though things were speeding up again. She just needed it all to slow down, to just stop for a moment so she could adjust. She held a deep breath, trying to stretch out her diaphragm that suddenly felt too small.
Nothing has to be done now. She willed herself to not panic, to let this go until she could talk to Neville. She took another breath through her nose, reminding herself that she was breathing, she was getting air. This was all okay, she didn't need to feel overwhelmed yet. The situation was urgent, but the muggle and his aunt hadn't done anything yet. She had time. She left the castle to find Neville. She was sure he went to Herbology early, so she would have an opportunity to ask him to meet her somewhere for lunch.
Lunch would be perfect. They could decide on a plan and then at dinner she could talk with McGonagall, but talk with her with an idea of what they wanted to do. She entered the greenhouse expecting to find Neville alone, but it appeared Hannah had come early as well. Graces swallowed her disappointment and took her seat. She would have to figure out another way to ask him to meet for lunch.
She kept glancing up at Hannah and Neville. They were talking quietly. Neville seemed to be sketching something out in explanation, probably something to do with how the implantation of the willow branch could be tricky depending on how it decided to grow, but Hannah wasn't really looking at Neville's sketch. Her eyes kept glancing up to Neville's face and Graces could tell what she was thinking, it was the same things she thought when Neville was patiently teaching her something.
She ran her fingers through her hair and made herself look down at her Herbology book. She had no reason to feel this way. Neville loved her; he wanted to formally court even. She didn't need to feel any type of jealousy over their interaction now, because it didn't mean anything. Neville didn't feel anything when she touched his arm, or laughed at his jokes. He didn't notice if her hair was down and not in pigtails. None of that mattered to him because Hannah wasn't her. And Neville only had eyes for her.
Still, something cut seeing Hannah with Neville. She could never do what Hannah was doing now, not without consequence. She couldn't go up and obviously flirt with Neville, couldn't touch his arm with such casualness. Nothing she felt for Neville could be shown. Neville denied that it bothered him, but Graces didn't believe for one second that he wasn't disappointed in it all. Even once people knew about them there still wouldn't be such an ease to what they had.
Hannah would have been accepted with open arms by his friends and family. Neville wouldn't have to defend his feelings for her. In fact his feelings for her would have probably been much more healthy compared to his feelings in their relationship. It would all just be simple. The happy moments they would have together wouldn't be few and far between. They would be constant. She and Neville had passion, plenty of passionate love to get them through those bad days, but was that stronger than quiet love? Would he have preferred a constant, quiet love that grew through the years? Happy moments after happy moments creating a stronger bond— whereas for the two of them it was what they went through and endured together that made their bond stronger. Did Neville even understand what happiness could be? Had he ever been truly blissfully happy, or had he just had some small semblance with her and clutched onto it, not realizing he could have had other chances to be happier? Could a person who had lived with just tragedies and hardships in their lives really know how to compare what choice would make them happier?
She then wondered how much tragedy one person could take in their life. Neville had a series of tragedies in his sixteen years, was she going to be another tragedy for him to live through? Were they a tragedy in themselves— doomed for an ending much like Romeo and Juliet? Would death keep them apart in the end? She thought of all they would have to live through to be together and a happy love story seemed impossible. Would Neville realize this perhaps and leave. Protect himself from an ending he couldn't endure?
Graces shook her head and pushed away those thoughts. Neville loved her. He had gone on a date with Hannah and he had wanted her in the end. Hannah kissed him and it wasn't anything compared to their kiss. She knew that just watching them kiss. When Neville kissed her it had sparked something in them. She would not sit here and wonder if she was enough for Neville and discount everything they had because she was insecure and dreading telling him bad news. What they had was hard, but it was real. Still, she could definitely continue to dislike Hannah, especially when she was finding any excuse possible to touch her boyfriend.
"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Sprout said quietly, taking Hermione's seat next to her.
"I know," Graces nodded, shifting in her seat, uncomfortable with the proximity.
"You don't look like you know," Sprout pointed out. "It must be hard, not being able to be together in front of people."
Graces didn't answer, there was a pit in her stomach and it just seemed to be growing by each second.
"I—I need to talk to Neville," she admitted quietly, near tears despite herself. "It's important and I wanted to see if we could sneak away at lunch or something, but I can't ask in front of Abbott. And she's not going to leave his side during class, or after. She walks with him to his next class. They take Muggle Studies together."
"Is everything all right?" Sprout asked in concern.
Graces wasn't sure how to answer that question. She didn't really want to tell Sprout any details. She was going to tell McGonagall of course, but she didn't want to tell Sprout. And she didn't want to tell anyone before Neville.
"Not really," she whispered. "I wanted to talk to Neville, see what he thinks I should do about something and then at dinner I will tell McGonagall, but I just—I don't know—wanted to talk with him first."
The class started trickling in and Graces looked around as the seats near her and Sprout were becoming less empty. A few students looked over at Sprout sitting with her and she flushed at the attention, unsure of what they must be thinking.
"Thank you again, Miss Malfoy," Sprout said standing. "You're sure you don't mind giving up your lunch hour to help me?"
Graces blinked. "No. No," she said more clearly. "Not at all."
"Wonderful," the older woman smiled, walking towards the front where Neville and Hannah were at and then tapping Neville on the shoulder. Graces watched as Sprout asked Neville if he wouldn't mind helping her at lunch with a little project. Neville nodded in agreement and Graces did smile as one concern was lifted from her. Sprout gave her a little wink before sitting down and Graces shook her head. Maybe Sprout knowing wasn't such a bad thing after all.
Hermione sat beside her soon after and their silent dislike blanketed over them. Being partners with Hermione had proved to be exceptionally awful. In the back of her mind, Graces knew that she could make things more pleasant, apologize for the things she had said in the past. But she never could bring herself to do so. Hermione, even if she took away her beliefs on muggleborns, was still nosy, bossy, condescending at times and a know-it-all. Hermione also acted as though being her partner was such an inconvenience, which rubbed Graces the wrong way when in fact she was definitely pulling her own weight. Hermione just wanted it to not be true. Everything she wrote for an assignment was corrected by the Gryffindor and any time she hesitated during a practical portion the mudblo—GIRL—would let out a sound of impatience and then just push her aside to do it herself.
This was all not counting the greatest trespass against her. Hermione spied on her. Spied on her very private date and spied on her having sex. Graces flushed at the thought of someone seeing her like that. Hermione didn't know that she knew and for some reason Neville wanted her to not speak a word of it to Hermione. Graces had an idea of why, Neville didn't want her to know where they were in their relationship now. He had no desire to repair their friendship.
"If you give me your paragraphs for the assignment I'll put it together tonight," Hermione said coolly, after Sprout reminded them that their papers were due for the practical uses of whatever project they had chosen. Hermione and Hannah had chosen Fern Flowers, a key ingredient in liquid luck.
Graces nodded and sifted through her satchel to hand Hermione what she had written for her part. She had gone to a great amount of work looking at the folklore that had surrounded the flower and how that had aided the witch who created the potion to begin with. Hermione read over her paragraphs, but said nothing.
"Are you going to show me what you have written?" Graces asked flatly.
Hermione looked up at her for a moment before pressing her lips together and handing over what she had written. Graces read about the measures taken to plant the flower, but before she could finish going over everything Hannah Abbott was standing before her.
"Neville sent me to get his notes regarding the willow. He said you had his from when you two were partners."
"I do," Graces nodded, picking her satchel up. She saw Neville's notes and the ones she had transcribed and decided to give Hannah hers.
Hannah looked at the notes she held out disdainfully.
"Neville wants his notes. Not yours," Hannah emphasized, tossing the notes back.
"Have you seen Neville's handwriting?" Graces asked flatly. "It's atrocious, I always transcribed them. He sometimes couldn't read what he had written and would sit there staring at his own scribbles for five minutes trying to decipher them. I'm doing you a favor, Abbott."
"I've seen Neville's handwriting and there's nothing wrong with it," Hannah defended, bringing herself up taller as she spoke. "So I'll be taking Neville's notes."
Graces blinked. "I don't have them."
"You're lying," Hannah accused.
Graces shrugged. "Prove it."
Hannah pursed her lips, but refused to move her eyes away from Graces'. "I know you have them," Hannah insisted. "I know."
"How do you know?" Graces asked, raising a skeptical brow. "Are you a seer?"
Hannah opened her mouth to say something, probably something redundant, but Neville came up beside her.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, looking at Graces and then Hannah.
"Malfoy won't give me your notes," Hannah explained. "She says she doesn't have them."
Neville frowned slightly, but just looked over to Graces. Waiting patiently for her to explain.
"I offered Abbott mine, which really is the better deal," Graces pointed out. "Considering how poor your handwriting is. If anything I am the hero in this story, no one should have to suffer through trying to read your handwriting."
Neville smiled slightly at her teasing, but Hannah turned as red as a beet.
"You are always so unbelievably nasty. If you have an opportunity to cut him down you are quick to do so. You—"
"Hannah," Neville interrupted. "She's just teasing. My notes are unreadable. Malfoy always transcribed them. Her handwriting is much more legible and prettier."
"I don't want Malfoy's notes, I want yours," Hannah insisted.
Neville frowned slightly and Graces could already see where this was going. Neville was being friendly and kind now, but if he felt Hannah was purposefully being mean to her he would draw a line in the sand between them. Even with their relationship having to be a secret he was not going to allow her any abuse.
"My gods," Graces chuckled darkly. "You know, Abbott, you defending Neville's atrocious handwriting isn't going to change his mind regarding you."
Hannah flushed and glanced nervously at Neville. "I-I'm not trying to—"
"Sure you're not," Graces smirked. "Take my notes and let this be done."
"I don't want anything of yours," Hannah said spitefully, her cheeks still pink with humiliation.
"That's too bad," Graces said coolly. "Because my notes are the only ones."
Hannah's jaw tightened and Graces got a sick satisfaction in seeing her eyes begin to well up with angry tears.
"She does have the notes," Hermione stated flatly, apparently deciding that she was done just being a fly on the wall. "I saw them in her satchel when she was getting out what—"
"I'm sorry haven't you learned anything about sticking your nose where it doesn't belong? This has absolutely nothing to do with you," Neville snapped, glaring so hatefully at Hermione that even Graces was taken aback.
"Neville," Graces and Hannah whispered in unison. The two girls shared a brief glance at each other before focusing back on Neville.
But Neville's eyes only went to Graces, clearly only concerned with her opinion on his demeanor. She shook her head. She knew he was angry and he didn't forgive Hermione, but she didn't think it was wise or like him to speak to her like that when she knew so much. He made no apologies to Hermione though, if anything his answering stare back at her told her he was firm on this.
"If Malfoy says she doesn't have them, I believe her," Neville stated firmly, taking the notes that Graces had offered.
"I saw them," Hermione declared more firmly, looking over at Hannah, who still seemed taken aback by Neville's anger.
Graces had a feeling Hannah was ready to drop the subject all together, but Hermione reached for Graces' bag. Graces let out a startled sound, but Neville was the one to yank her bag out of Hermione's grasp with so much force Hermione almost fell off her stool. Graces watched as Hermione grabbed her own wand and pointed it at Neville.
Graces looked at Hermione's wand pointed at Neville and reminded herself that nothing would happen to Neville. Hermione wouldn't hurt him, not really. School yard hexes were nothing. Still, it made her stomach turn. Neville was fine. She was fine. Draco was fine. Thomas was fine. Octavian was fine. No one was pointing any wands. School hexes, it was all fine. She dug her fingernails into her knee and reminded herself of this to take her away from memories of her standing by as the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Draco. How everyone stood by as the Dark Lord pointed his wand at her. Did she flinch away? Or did she hold proud like Neville had?
No one held proud when the curse started though. She had screamed. Draco had screamed. She imagined Neville had screamed too when her father had tortured him. Harris had screamed, but he had held proud like Neville. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember him thrashing against the foot of her bed, tried not to remember what had happened when she had drawn her own wand to save them.
"Graces," Neville whispered, his hand holding on to her wand hand. She blinked when did she get her wand out? Hermione was sprawled out on the ground, her wand gone and looking up at her fearfully.
"Graces," Neville repeated, steadying her shaking hand with his other so both of his hands were cradling hers. "Let me have this."
She couldn't breathe. What happened? She looked around to see Sprout had come over as well, her wand out.
"It's okay," Neville soothed. "Let it go."
She nodded and released her hold on her wand. Neville took it from her, but didn't move away. She was trembling so violently you would have thought she was freezing to death. Everyone was staring at her, Professor Sprout included. What had happened? She looked at Hermione and the other girl didn't seem to be hurt. Had she said anything? How long had they been like this? Had she said anything?
"Breathe," Neville instructed.
Leave.
Graces moved to do so, but Neville's hand firmly grabbed at her arm.
"Don't make this worse than it is."
"All four of you, outside! Right now!" Sprout demanded, herding them to the door. "Explain."
Graces could barely make out what everyone was saying. She kept trying to piece together what had occurred. Everything was gone or a blur. Nothing was there. It was just an assortment of things that didn't make sense where her memory should be. She tried to pay attention to the conversation that was occurring. She heard Hannah accuse her of attacking Hermione. Neville savagely accused Hannah of changing the narrative and pointed out that Granger had pulled her wand out first after taking Graces' bag. And she remembered all that. She did. She didn't remember kicking Hermione's stool out from under her, disarming her, and then pointing her wand down at her menacingly. She didn't remember Sprout telling her to put her wand down either.
"Miss Malfoy!" Sprout shouted, her temper slipping. Graces looked up startled and some of the anger the older woman was feeling seemed to disappear at whatever she saw in her face. "Graces," Sprout said, with regained patience. "I want to know why you didn't listen to me when I told you to drop your wand."
Graces blinked and shook her head. "I-I—"
Graces turned and suddenly became sick on the lawn. Neville quickly moved to her and held her hair back, not even minding that his actions had ruined his shoes. He didn't say anything, he refrained from his usual comforts when this happened, but Graces knew this to be a bad idea. She pushed him away and was silently relieved when Sprout took over the action and sent everyone else, Neville included back into class. She rubbed her back and waited for her to stop dry heaving.
"I'm sorry," Graces wept, holding herself close. "I am. I'm so sorry."
"Graces," Sprout began. "What happened?"
Graces bit her lip and continued to cry. "I don't know. I don't remember anything after Hermione pulled her wand. I—I lost the time. I don't remember doing any of that."
"I think we need to go to the infirmary," Sprout said quietly. "Come."
"I can't keep missing class," Graces moaned, refusing to allow the older woman's arm around her. "I won't pass. I'll—"
"May I remind you that in your second year many of your classmates were petrified," Sprout pointed out gently. "You are fine to miss some class, Miss Malfoy. What isn't fine is you attacking another student and not remembering it. What isn't fine is you going into shock after and heaving up your breakfast. We are going to the infirmary and on the way I am getting McGonagall, since you are not comfortable talking with me. In a while, when I know you are more situated I am going to dismiss Neville to change his shoes. I have a feeling if given the opportunity to leave he will be with you very soon after."
Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
The moment Sprout told him he could be excused to take care of his shoes, Neville moved quickly, sharply away from the desk. His chair may have fallen over, he wasn't sure. He really wasn't paying attention to such nonsense. He made a beeline for the infirmary and with every step reminded himself that she was okay and that everything was okay.
When he entered the infirmary McGonagall looked up from her conversation with Pomfrey. Both witches had solemn expressions and were talking away from the curtained area.
"She's fine." McGonagall nodded, gesturing for Neville to come over to them and not to Graces.
"Neville, has anything like this happened before?" McGonagall asked in a hushed tone.
Neville wasn't sure how to answer that. He was torn between being honest and protecting Graces. What would they decide if it had? Would they take her away?
"Not like this," Neville finally answered honestly. "After a bad dream she's disoriented and—" he stopped. "Never when she's awake. And she's never been—" don't say violent "—she's never tried to hurt me. She just is scared, will try to get away like I'm going to hurt her."
McGonagall nodded solemnly. "Go be with Graces. Poppy and I have some things to discuss."
Neville hesitated to leave at that knowledge. He wanted to know what they needed to discuss that they didn't want him there for. He considered refusing, but the thought of Graces being alone ate away at him.
"Neville, she may be a bit out of sorts," Pomfrey warned, stopping him. "She had a calming potion, but after talking with Minerva I gave her some muggle medicine. It can make her sleepy and a bit 'loopy' for lack of a better word."
"You gave her a sedative."
Both women blinked that he knew what that was and then realization shadowed their features. "Yes," Pomfrey said gently.
Neville stood there in silence for a long moment before turning his back on the other women. His throat grew tight as he thought of Graces being given that kind of medicine. Images of his mother being held down and screaming came to his mind and then morphed into her face being Graces'.
It's not the same, he reminded himself. They're not the same.
He went over to the curtained area where Graces was and stole a moment for himself before entering. He couldn't go in there like he was now, upset and angry. If he went in like this he would only upset her more, only make a bad situation worse. He needed to be calm. He needed to not worry about what had happened or why. None of that needed to be answered now. What needed to happen now was to be there for Graces. He could argue with McGonagall and Pomfrey later. He could talk to Graces about it all later. He entered the curtained area and was careful to keep his features calm.
Graces eyes fluttered as Neville entered her makeshift room and he could already tell that the medicine was in effect. She looked tired and confused. She focused on him and he waited for her mind to catch up to her eyes.
"We have to stop meeting like this, Longbottom," she smiled sleepily, moving to sit up.
Neville shook his head affectionately and motioned for her to lay back down, which Graces gladly did. She closed her eyes for a second and opened them to find Neville had come into the bed with her. He was sitting on top of the covers and she was resting in the knook of his shoulder.
"Did I fall asleep?"
"For a moment."
"Pomfrey gave me a sedative."
"Do you know what that is?" Neville asked, doing his best to keep the question casual and pleasant.
"Yeah, she explained it," Graces nodded. "She asked if I wanted it."
"So you chose to have it?"
"Yeah," Graces whispered, closing her eyes. "You smell good."
He hummed a reply and kissed the top of her head while his fingers danced in her blonde hair. She sighed contentedly and he could feel her body begin to go limp as she started nodding off. Graces sat up shortly after though. He watched her look around in confusion, as though she were trying to figure out what was happening to her. Neville bit his tongue. They gave her too much, probably because they decided they wanted her to fall asleep.
"It's okay," Neville whispered. "Just relax. Don't make sudden movements."
"I feel drunk," Graces said helplessly.
"That's normal," Neville promised, leaning her back down. "Just relax."
Graces eyes immediately turned to his and Neville loved how open she was in this moment. There was no hiding how she felt about him, how she wanted to look and focus on him. No underlying pride that prevented her from just accepting his help.
"Well, one good thing out of this is I don't think your little girlfriend is so smitten with you anymore."
"Oh? You're not so affected by me now?" Neville teased.
Graces frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. You know I am talking about Hannah."
"Hannah is not my girlfriend," Neville reminded.
"You know what I'm referring to, Longbottom."
"I'm going to ignore your ridiculousness right now, because you have had a hard day and are very, very drugged."
"I'm not being ridiculous," Graces muttered petulantly. "She's always touching you in class and trying to engage you in conversation and—"
"Merlin, I love you," Neville laughed, pulling her into him more. "She touches my arm and talks to me and you get yourself all in a tizzy like I didn't ask you to formally court the night before. Like I didn't give you my mother's wedding ring."
"You lent me your mother's ring," Graces corrected.
"As far as I'm concerned, Graces, that ring is yours."
Graces bit her lower lip gleefully and Neville watched as her anger quickly disapperated.
"Is this my engagement ring?"
"That is not an engagement ring and we are not engaged," Neville reminded. "So no."
"AND engagement rings are not exchanged until the last year of the rituals," Neville quoted, deciding to show off that he had in fact been reading the books.
Graces smiled up at him hazily. "Some exchange earlier."
"I don't know if I should call you spoiled or impatient," Neville laughed.
"Eager," Graces giggled, snuggling closer into Neville's shirt. "Is it my wedding band?"
"You are sooo drugged up right now," Neville grinned, wondering how much of this Graces would remember.
"You didn't answer me."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Then it isn't your wedding band."
"Will it be my wedding band?"
"I hope so," Neville admitted, feeling very silly having this discussion at sixteen and also exceptionally happy. "See? And you were worried about Hannah Abbott."
"She keeps touching you," Graces whined.
"She touches my arm."
"And your leg. She touched your leg the other day."
Neville made a noncommittal sound. "I don't remember her doing that. I do remember where you touched me the other day," he said huskily, his fingers wandering down to a sensitive part of her collarbone. "And I remember where I touched you."
Graces giggled. "Point taken."
"You have nothing to get upset over. I love you." Neville's voice was a mix of soft adoration and amusement. "Only you," he swore.
"I love you too," Graces murmured.
He could feel her drifting away. Her body was getting heavier on his and she kept snuggling more into him enjoying the warmth from his body. He understood now why she never wanted to sleep with him before, it was so intimate. Her body softened, her breathing slowed and time seemed to stand still.
"Neville," Graces whispered, her voice heavy. "If I fall asleep will you be here when I wake up?"
Neville swallowed the tightness in his throat. "Probably not, my love. I think I have to go back to class, but I will be with you as soon as I am able to."
"Neville, I do have your notes," Graces confessed sleepily.
"I figured you did," Neville sighed, trying not to be irritated. "You know this isn't keeping a low profile."
"I didn't mean for it to blow up like this. I just—I just like having them. I like your doodles in the margins and the little notes you write off the side if you find something intriguing. You even note things I find interesting and—"
"Godric Gryffindor, when did you become so obsessed with me, Malfoy?" Neville laughed, loving this despite the problem it had caused.
"Neville." Neville grimaced at how Graces voice was starting to slur and slow. "I-I'm suppos—I have something to tell you."
"It can wait," Neville promised.
He waited for Graces to say more, but she didn't. He sat there behind the white curtains and thought about what had happened in class. He couldn't just accept this. They were doing well, she was doing well. They had help. It didn't make sense that things had suddenly turned worse. She had never done this before.
Neville glanced up as the curtain moved and McGonagall came through. A tired worn look on her face as she looked at them.
"She's not dangerous," Neville swore, holding her closer. "She's not. I know dangerous and she is not."
McGongall pressed her lips together for a moment before sitting down at the foot of the bed.
"Are you thinking about your mother?"
Neville's jaw tensed and for a brief second he hated McGonagall. "Graces is nothing like my mother. My mother is dangerous."
The older woman nodded. "I never in my life would have considered Alice dangerous. Ever," McGonagall emphasized. "She was much like you. She was kind and quiet. She had a very gentle disposition, I was surprised she wanted to be an Auror. I think it was her inquisitive mind and fierce passion that drove her to it."
Neville had nothing to say to that. He knew very little about his mother. He just knew what she was now and if he was honest he hated this discussion of what she used to be like.
"Do you know why your mother is dangerous, Neville?"
"Because she's insane," Neville answered flatly.
"Because she is a powerful witch with no control over her mind."
Neville held Graces closer to him and took a shaking breath. He was not going to allow anything to happen to Graces and he would fight anyone, McGonagall included, to ensure nothing happened to her.
"This isn't the same."
"No, it's not," McGonagall agreed. "Because we have the opportunity and ability to help Graces."
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Graces damned her hands for shaking as McGonagall handed her a cup of tea. She placed it down quickly hoping the older woman ignored the clatter of her china. Her head still felt heavy and she was starting to get a headache behind her right eye— if she was honest she could probably fall back asleep.
I can't sleep, I need to figure out what to do about Thomas' situation.
She was failing. She needed to help Thomas and instead she broke down, over something stupid too. She went over everything that had happened in class again and again. She should have just given Hannah her damn notes. If she had not been so petty then none of this would have happened. She would have had lunch with Neville in the greenhouse and been able to figure something out. She could be executing a plan and instead she was sitting in McGonagall's living room in a bed that she was very sure was the sofa before.
"Graces."
Graces looked up at Neville's head of house and immediately looked away. Whatever she was seeing on McGonagall's face was not good. There was too much concern and weariness etched there.
"You understand that I have to take this seriously. You could have harmed someone today. We need to—"
"This has never happened before," Graces pleaded.
"That isn't what I am hearing," McGonagall said gently. "Pomfrey said at the beginning of term she woke you from a nightmare. That you were violently fighting her when she tried to wake you and that Neville was hurt in the process."
"She also said she had to see Millicent earlier in the year for a broken nose, due to the same situation. Neville admitted that sometimes when you wake from a dream you're disoriented and—"
"Am I expelled?" Graces choked, barely able to breathe as she tried vainly to hold back her tears.
"No," McGonagall swore firmly. "No, absolutely not."
"Could I soon be?"
"Graces," McGonagall whispered, placing her hand reassuringly on her knee. "I need to ensure that the students here are safe. I need to ensure that you are safe. What I am getting at is that in order to assure that we need to address the issues you are having now."
Graces bit her lip and looked down. "I thought I was getting better. I thought—"
"I think in many ways, Graces, you are. But what we have here is a situation where we cannot expect for you to be better overnight." She was silent for a moment and Graces knew that she had more to say. "You cannot get better without proper treatment and medical care."
McGonagall held out a series of papers to Graces. The blonde took them and saw question after questions typed out.
"This is muggle," she frowned.
"Yes, it is. I would like you to look at these questions and tell me if you think they apply to you."
Work Sheet 1: Have I experienced a traumatic event?
Purpose: To see if you experienced a traumatic event(s), and if so, what they were.
Instructions: For each of these categories of traumatic events, write down whether
you experienced or witnessed it and, if so, whether your life or safety, or someone
else's life or safety, was in danger. Describe briefly (in a few words or a sentence)
how you reacted to the event. Use more paper if you need to.
Graces scanned the page: Natural disaster, accident (example car accident), unwanted sexual contact before the age of 18, unwanted sexual contact as an adult, physical assault or threat of assault by someone you know (for example, domestic violence), physical assault or threat of assault by a stranger or in your community (for example mugging, stabbing, or shooting), exposure to combat as a civilian or a soldier, captivity, imprisonment, or torture, sudden unexpected death of a loved one, other.
Graces flipped around to the other pages and could hardly see through her tears as all the worksheets listed questions that applied to her. Do you have difficulty falling asleep? Do you have difficulty staying asleep? Do you have nightmares? Do you have difficulty connecting to people? Have you had thoughts of hurting yourself? Do you avoid people and places that remind you of the traumatic event? I am afraid my feelings surrounding the traumatic event will overwhelm me. I feel anxious, nervous, or tense most of the time. I have intrusive thoughts, images, flashbacks, or memories of the traumatic event(s) that affect my daily life.
She closed the packet violently when she got to the page labeled "reliving" and read briefly about how people with PTSD often relive the traumatic event and can even have times where they feel like the event is happening all over again, how when they were in such a state they could be violent to themselves and others.
"It applies," she sobbed, pulling her knees to her chin and covering her face with her arms. "I definitely have it. Everything on there is me."
"Graces," McGonagall began, gently placing her hand on her back as she sobbed violently into her arms. "I know this is hard, but—"
"Can you get Neville?" Graces asked, she knew how she sounded and she didn't care. Being pitiful was the very least of her problems now.
"Graces," the older woman said, patient, but firm. "We need to talk about this. I understand that you are comfortable with Neville, but this is a situation that calls for an adult."
Graces could hardly breathe, she cried into her knees and wondered what all this meant. Post traumatic stress disorder. She had a disorder. She was disordered. Mad.
"From what I have read and what I was told when talking to my previous student this is a very normal reaction to what has happened to you, Graces."
Graces shook her head and tried to get away from McGonagall as the older woman did her best to soothe her. She didn't want her touching her, she wanted Neville. He knew her, he understood her. McGonagall was trying, but she wasn't who she needed. She felt like she was on a moving floor. She would stand and it would shift and move until she fell back down, spinning at times to keep her from getting up. And in a world where event after event tried to keep her from moving forward, Neville was an anchor. He held her, being with Neville was like being held. She was safe and secure. McGonagall couldn't offer that to her.
"How you are feeling, how you are behaving, everything is normal. Your mind is trying to adjust to not just what happened to you, but how it has changed your world. The safety and security you felt for so many years is gone and you need to process."
"Stop quoting things at me!" Graces screamed, unable to take the older woman's meaningless assurances. "I can tell when you're lecturing. Oh, you read up on some books. You talked to a healer. And now you think you know what's happening to me! This is not normal! If it was so normal then you wouldn't be contacting healers, you wouldn't be reading up on-on whatever this is!"
"This is normal," McGonagall emphasized. "Graces, look at me. What you went through, what you lived through, what you are going through is horrible and it's traumatic. You are not abnormal in how you are reacting to it. This is a very normal reaction, but it is also a very serious one," she stressed solemnly.
Graces shook her head. "I don't think you know what you are talking about." She looked up to the ceiling as if the answers were there. "Here you are trying to assure me this is a normal reaction and at the same time I can tell you think I'm going mad. You're worried I'm dangerous."
McGonagall licked her lips and seemed to be in careful consideration of what she was going to say next. "If I took a dagger and cut your palm it would be normal for you to bleed. It's a normal appropriate reaction. But that doesn't take away from the seriousness of the situation. You are bleeding out, Graces."
"I need you to fill these forms out so we can address where you are bleeding from and how deep those wounds actually are."
McGonagall handed her back the packet and Graces stared at the pages of questions asking her to detail not only what happened to her, but how she felt and reacted to it. She sucked in a breath and wondered at how anyone could think to write these questions down so simply, so casually, as though the person filling this out were just doing another test.
"Everything on here is me," she whispered tightly. "I-I see no reason why I should have to give so much detail. You know most of these answers."
McGonagall fell silent for a long while. "How you fill this out will help us—and by us I mean the healer I will give it to—determine what you need. This disorder has multiple treatments. It is a process to figure out what treatment works for one person. Filling this out will give us a starting point."
Graces shook her head and got out of the bed as though she could run away from the situation. "I can't. I won't."
"I know this is hard," McGonagall said gently. "But—"
"Hard?" Graces scoffed. "Hard?"
She wiped away some of the tears on her face and bit her lip to keep from screaming. Hard was a term used for a test, a long run, an object that was compact. What McGonagall was asking was nothing short of unendurable.
"Graces, this is not an option," the older woman said woefully. "I need this filled out."
She glared at her professor. Never taking her tear-filled hateful gaze away as she snatched the papers back up.
"Worksheet one," she read, her whole body shaking with a kaleidoscope of emotions. She could barely keep the quill steady as she began. "Natural disaster—no. Accident— no. Unwanted sexual contact," she read slowly. "Yes."
"Graces," McGonagall begged, closing her eyes. "This is not—"
"Was my life in danger?" Graces read, pretending not to notice McGonagall's words. "Yes. Should I add in that he tortured me during all this? He cruciated me on top of touching me. He made me tell him I loved him, should I add that in?"
"How I reacted." Graces looked up from the paper. "How much detail do you want? I screamed, I begged, I prayed," Graces admitted, her voice so tight that it physically hurt to speak. "I fought and then when that did nothing, when I realized just how pathetic and powerless I truly was I tried to twist my body so I could escape. I tried to clench the muscles in my—"
"Stop."
"Or maybe you all wanted the aftermath?" Graces continued on savagely. "I made a potion to get revenge, I took a two hour long shower, so hot my skin was burned. I cut my hair, and I stabbed myself in the stomach."
"Enough," McGonagall snapped, ripping the papers from her hand and leaving her with a series of papercuts.
Graces stared down at her palms. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and the dampness of emotion coming down off her cheeks. "Something making you uncomfortable, Professor?" she asked softly. "Having a hard time stomaching the images? Imagine how it feels to be asked to not just think about it, but to write it out. So it's permanently there for people to see."
"I am trying, Graces. I am doing the best that I can. You're right, I am out of my depth, but I am speaking to people who are not. And this is what they have asked. No, this isn't what they asked. They wanted to see you. They wanted to physically talk to you themselves, but I know that's not an option. I am trying to help you. Let me help you."
"Then get me Neville," Graces demanded quietly, turning away from the other woman and staring at her cut up palm. She closed her eyes and knew that Nott was feeling the same pain. And maybe it was wrong or sick, maybe she was going a bit mad, but it comforted her.
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Graces stared up at Neville and again tried to decipher his feelings. McGonagall had fetched him from one of his classes. Graces had a feeling that she and Neville had talked privately before coming back. He had come in with the same quiet calmness that he had had with her in the hospital wing. It surprised her, not because she felt that this was out of character for him, but because she expected a bit more emotion from him regarding all that had happened today. He didn't even seem fazed when McGonagall had handed him the packet to help her fill out. He had looked over the pages, requested a quill and began writing on her behalf.
"Neville," Graces whispered, her head still leaning on his shoulder as he continued to write. He made a small sound to let her know she heard him, but didn't look at her. "I need to tell you something."
"I'm listening," Neville murmured, dipping the quill in some ink.
"It's Thomas," Graces whispered. "He—"
"I wasn't in an accident," she scowled, her eye catching one of the previous questions Neville had filled.
"You were in an accident. Two," Neville insisted. "Herbology when you hit your head and you almost fell off your broom during that Quidditch match with Gryffindor."
Graces shook her head dismissively. "Neville, those were nothing."
Neville did turn to her at those words. "No, Graces, they weren't. Those were bad accidents and—"
"I was never fearful for my life during those," Graces insisted. "They don't count. Not as trauma."
Graces shifted as Neville looked down at her, a slight furrow in his brow. She could tell he was chewing on some words and didn't like that he felt the need to be so cautious with what he said. They didn't need to be careful with what they said to one another. He thinks I'm fragile now. That I'm unstable and one small tiny thing can set me off.
"I feel that they were traumatic," he began carefully. "I will write in this section—" He gestured to the section that was labeled 'how I reacted'. "—that you don't feel that this was traumatic and that during this you were just hurt, but trusted that you would be fine."
"You shouldn't include so many details," Graces grumbled. "They can figure out who I am."
Neville did pause at those words. His eyes shifted unseeing and he looked down at what had been filled out. "You're right," he said quietly. He licked his lips and let out a slow breath. "I'm going to toss this out and get another form. I'll fill it out with less details."
Neville moved to get up, but Graces held his shirt to keep him from going. "Neville, I need to talk to you," she reminded.
Something in her face must have told him this was serious, because he moved back into the bed. His other hand moved to rest on her knee as he leaned into her.
"It's about Thomas. He—"
"Graces, I think whatever is happening with Thomas can wait," Neville said patiently. "Right now, let's focus on getting this filled out so McGonagall can get you help."
Graces shook her head. "This is more important. He—"
"More important—" Neville blinked. "More important than getting you help? Graces, you swore to me that you would start taking care of yourself. You—"
"I am not breaking my promise," Graces swore. "This is more pressing. We need—"
"Nothing is more pressing than this," Neville stated angrily. "Did you read this? This is serious, Graces. Whatever this is, it's a big deal. And you have been living with it since the summer." Neville flipped to the pages that listed out signs of PTSD. "You weren't sleeping, abusing medication, night terrors, risky sex, avoiding people that rem—"
"Neville, please."
"Today you didn't know what was happening, Graces." Neville shook his head. "You had a-an episode over such a small disagreement. You—"
"You think that was about a disagreement?" Graces scowled, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Hermione held her wand against you," she whispered. "And you—you just stood there in all your Gryffindor bravery," she scoffed, her voice trembling slightly at the memory. "Do you honestly believe that doesn't have an affect on me? How can you call that a small disagreement? She held her wand to you, Neville."
Neville was silent for a moment before reminding Graces that even though Hermione was angry the most that would have happened was she would hex him.
"I know that. I knew that," Graces insisted. "But can't, I couldn't bear it, Neville. Seeing that—" She paused and covered her face to keep Neville from seeing how just the thought of it again tortured her. "I wasn't there anymore. I couldn't bear it. It physically hurt me to see. It—it took me somewhere else."
She felt Neville's arms fold around her and moved so her face was pressed into his shirt. "I love you so much," she confessed. "You don't know how much, Neville. Because if you knew you would understand how that could affect me. How seeing you like that made me think of Draco being tortured, of Harris being tortured, of—of you being—" She couldn't say it. "You're so brave. You're so brave," she choked. "My father was going to kill you, and you accepted that, you—"
"Graces," Neville whispered imploringly. "Please."
She held him closer. "I need you to not be so brave," she begged. "Draco can't be right about you, Neville. When someone pulls a wand on you, you have to act. You have to, because I love you and I won't lose you. I don't care if you're brave and righteous. I don't care if you did the right thing. I only care that you are by my side."
Neville didn't say anything for the longest time. She cried in his arms and wondered when this had occurred, when the mere sight of Neville being in harm's way could break her down to the point where she couldn't even be in that moment. She wanted to tell herself that there was more to it, that she was just so beside herself regarding Thomas that it set her off, but she knew that not to be true.
Neville sighed heavily. "I suppose it's my turn to talk about the Ministry," he began quietly, rubbing the space between his eyes.
"You don't need to justify to me why you went to the Ministry," Graces said, shaking her head. "I understand why you went and—"
"I'm not going to explain why I went to the Ministry," Neville interrupted gently. "I'm going to explain why now is different than then, and why you don't need to worry about me just 'standing there in all my Gryffindor bravery'."
"Then—" Neville paused and licked his lips. Graces watched as he seemed to be far away from her despite his arms around her. "I didn't have you then," he whispered in awe. "I had no one then. I was no one's best mate, no one's great love. I have my gran and uncle, but most of the time I felt like I was a disappointment to them, to our family name."
"They were so proud of me after the Ministry. My gran just beamed with pride. I thought she was going to lose her mind about me sneaking out of the school, but she was just so proud. I don't think she's ever really been proud of me before then."
"I'm sure that's not true, Neville," Graces frowned. "You—"
"It is. She is disappointed in many things and I am sure you have heard some of the howlers over the years."
Graces had. She had even laughed at some of the ones he received back then. And Neville had always looked so crestfallen and embarrassed for the rest of the day. She bit her lip and wondered at how he could love her after she and Draco made his life so miserable on such horrible days.
"It wouldn't be like that now. Now if I was at the Ministry I would be desperate to make it out, desperate to see you again, Graces. I mean—I didn't want to die before, I wanted to live, but now I have all these things that I want to do. I have a life that I want with you. I sit in class and fantasize about taking you out for pizza. I highly doubt you've had it, and I spend hours thinking of taking you to try it. I imagine you'll love it and we'll end up being one of those couples who orders from the same place so much that they know us by name." Neville smiled so brightly at the thought that she couldn't help but grin as well. "I want to take you to Paris. Well, I take you, but obviously you'll be the one dragging me around showing me everything and deciding what we do."
"I want to spend a day in bed with you," Neville said, his voice low and his eyes darkening in a way that made her flush with heat. "I want to make love to you all day and in between talk, read, play card games, and argue about stupid stuff that doesn't matter like what we should have for dinner."
"Well, if I've spent all day in bed with you I think you will get whatever I want for dinner and for dessert, and for breakfast the next day," Graces teased, loving the way that Neville smiled back at her in confirmation. "For the record I really love crepes."
Neville tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his face turning somber again. "I would be desperate not to die, because my last thoughts would be that you didn't know, couldn't know how much I love you. I would do whatever it took to get back to you, Graces, so that I could show you how much I love you, so we could do the things people do when they share their life together. Dying young feels more acceptable when you don't think you're missing out on much."
"I need more than a lifetime with you, Graces Malfoy. I need a thousand lifetimes to love you. But people don't get a thousand lifetimes, they get one. I get one life." Neville's jaw tensed and she watched as he seemed to wrestle with some emotion. "So if I only get one life—a life I plan on joining with yours—then I am going to do everything I possibly can to ensure we have as much time as possible to be together."
Graces swallowed and felt as though she were falling in love with the boy beside her all over again. All those months it had come slowly, but now it was a flood of the same emotions just all at once. "A thousand lifetimes," she repeated. "Who says things like that?"
"People who are madly in love with you," Neville whispered, leaning in and kissing her in a way that made her forget that she was in her teacher's apartment and in mortal danger.
"I need a thousand lifetimes with you too," she proclaimed as the kiss finished.
Neville leaned in to kiss her again, but she gently pressed him away. "You know how we have these wonderful moments and—" Graces paused and took a breath to regain herself. "—and they're short lived because something is always happening?"
Neville sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. "Sounds familiar."
"I have a problem, a very serious one, involving Thomas, and I don't know what to do. Well, I have a few ideas, but I doubt you would approve," she admitted biting her lip. "So I'm about to unload a whole mess on you and I know I've already stretched you thin today, but I need you to help me figure this out."
To Graces surprise Neville didn't look wary at the prospect. He moved away from her so he could look at her and he actually looked quite pleased.
"You want my help in figuring out what to do?" he asked, smiling slightly. "Really?"
Graces rolled her eyes affectionately. "We're talking of formally courting, Neville. Do you honestly think I wouldn't include you in important matters?"
"Yes, well, this is the first really. I mean, all the other times you were forced to tell me or something along those lines. You usually keep your life pretty separate from us."
"Well," Graces shrugged, taking Neville's hand. "We agreed during our talk that I wouldn't do that anymore."
Neville gave her a little half smile before admitting he thought it would take some time before she actually followed through with that promise. Graces wanted so much to not tell him. She looked up into his hazel eyes and knew that the moment she told him this small amount of bliss would be gone. The thought of a few good moments to help them withstand the both kept invading her mind. What if the bad didn't make up for the good? What if—
"Whatever it is, Graces, I can take it. We can take it."
"I know," she nodded, closing her eyes and bracing herself for the fallout.
"Do you remember Thomas' Aunt? Alethea? The Squib?"
"I remember."
"As you know she lived in the muggle world, for a very long time," Graces began, deciding it was better to start from the beginning. "What I don't think I've mentioned before was she had a relationship with a muggle."
Neville's brows raised slightly at the news, but he nodded in a way that told Graces he didn't find this news to be that surprising. "I didn't realize the Higgs were so… progressive," he said slowly.
"Yes, well, there were stipulations."
Neville's features darkened slightly. "What kind of stipulations?"
Graces opened her mouth and shut it. She understood why the Higgs family did what they did, but she knew that Neville would not. She glanced up and could tell that he was already against what was done.
"Having a child that can't be in this world is difficult; they wanted her to be happy. They didn't force her to stay here, or marry a low level wizard. They let her live where she wanted to live, paid for her schooling and her living expenses during that time. They—"
"Parents don't get points for being parents," Neville interrupted. "They had her, she was their child, and they absolutely should have done those things. What were the stipulations?"
Graces flushed at Neville's abruptness. She felt as though in a way he was scolding her, though she had done none of this to the woman. He is scolding you. You thought this acceptable. "She could be with the muggle, live with him even, but she could not marry him and she could have no children. Precautions were taken to ensure this," Graces added quietly.
"To keep the bloodline pure," Neville scoffed bitterly. "They made her barren."
Graces nodded. "He never knew of our world or of the reason for why they were never able to conceive a child."
Neville closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. "Right, he doesn't get to know about our world, because the International Statute of Secrecy doesn't allow it unless you are married, so she's stuck lying."
"Yes," Graces said quietly looking down at her hands.
"Did they want children?"
"Yes," Graces murmured. "She mentioned something about it, about having to lie about why it wasn't happening for them. They saw doctors apparently, but—" Graces let her voice die.
Neville closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. "That's awful."
Graces didn't feel it was appropriate to comment on that. She had felt that this all was very fair. Thomas' family had allowed her a lot— much more than her family would have allowed her. She wanted to leave this world and not only had they allowed it, they had paid for everything she needed until she didn't need them to. It wasn't perfect, they all made sacrifices, but now as she sat there she considered just how much more Alethea's sacrifice was in comparison.
"When we got her from that world, she told him the truth," she continued quietly. "Apparently, squibs aren't traced. The Ministry feels that if they talk muggles will just find them mad, so they don't bother. So she told him everything, about our world, the issues of her being born without magic, the restrictions her family put on her... Anyways, he didn't take it well."
"I should imagine not."
"I thought it ended, but according to Thomas they worked it out. The muggle moved in after a month or so. Thomas didn't tell me or Draco. He was too frightened, because of what could happen and he has grown a fondness for him," Graces shook her head. "The muggle's been helping to raise Octavian and now... now that he knows everything he wants to get married. He wants to get married and he wants Alethea and him to adopt Octavian and Thomas. He thinks they should move out of Higgs manor and into the home he and Alethea have. Thomas would continue to go to school here, but he wouldn't have the role he has now. The muggle doesn't respect Thomas as the patriarch, he treats him like a child. And Thomas said that he forbid him and Alethea to be married, but the muggle—"
"What's his name?"
Graces blinked. "What?"
"The muggle. What's his name?" Neville repeated.
Graces bit her lip. "I, uh—"
"Merlin, Graces," Neville cursed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"John. His name is John."
Neville nodded and mouthed the name John as though he were entering it into his memory. There was this tired frustration to him as he laid there. He continued to rub his head and Graces didn't know if it was the endless amount of bad situations they found themselves in, or if it was his exhaustion from the problems she caused and the beliefs he had been fighting her on for the past few months. She bit her lip and acknowledged it may be all of that, but right now it was her beliefs.
Graces swallowed some emotion. "I'm sorry I didn't say his name. That... that I think—thought—this was all okay. This is how I was raised, Neville. I was raised to believe purity matters, my family—"
"And it's that belief system that allows purebloods to do horrible things," Neville reminded, his voice taking on a frosty tone. "Like making their daughters barren, killing muggles, as if their life doesn't matter as much. Purity matters," he repeated, shaking his head.
Graces swallowed tightly, shame assaulting her though she tried to move away from it. "My beliefs have changed, Neville," she promised, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe not as much as you wish they would, but they are different."
"Do you think it's okay for Thomas, who is, what, 13? 14? to decide what two grown adults do with their life? He forbade them to be married," Neville scoffed. "Merlin."
"He is the patriarch," Graces reminded. "And you know how dangerous it is for—"
"That's not the point, Graces," Neville cut off. "I think you would believe that Thomas had that power regardless of this war."
Graces flushed at the truth in those words, but she didn't know how that was so bad.
"I do see that your beliefs have changed," Neville said, his voice gentler, but still imploring. "But you still have such… bias. What gives Thomas more right to lead the family? I don't even think he wants to. He definitely doesn't want to be a father, I'm sure he misses being a child, why is it so awful in your mind that two people who clearly care about those boys take on that role?"
Graces jaw trembled. "I don't think I have to say it," Graces murmured. "I think you know."
"Yeah," Neville nodded, his voice weighted with all his feelings. "I do."
A heavy silence blanked them. Graces bit her lip unsure of how to approach him. She wanted to move on from this discussion and just get to the real point of the matter.
"Remember, my family thought I was a squib for the longest time," Neville said quietly. "Honestly, I thought I was a squib. I was so young and trying to come to terms with not being a wizard, which for so many people meant that I was not just handicapped but less. I was less," Neville repeated, unable to hide how much that hurt him.
"I know that my gran and my uncle love me," he continued, his voice filled with gravel, "But I also know that they struggled with the thought of a child in their family not being magical. And I was scared, because there wasn't a place for me in this world and I could see everyday that my gran, and even at times my uncle, were fighting the impulse to not be disgusted with the idea of raising a child outside of the wizarding world. And I was just thankful that they weren't planning to do worse to me," he murmured. "Thankful that they would allow me that. They put me in the muggle primary school because they were trying to make my transition into their world smooth."
"Neville," Graces started tightly.
"It took til this year for me to just feel like I'm barely more than a squib," he admitted, continuing on. "Magic has such weight in this world. Without it you're nothing here. Without it a child gets to decide your life."
She couldn't deny that truth. She hated that Neville felt that way, that all that had happened to him, but at the same time she also held those beliefs.
"Was one of the options you were considering killing him? Killing John, for being so bold as to think he could create a family out of ruins?"
Graces closed her eyes. "I wouldn't have done it," she said tightly. "I would have just channeled my father and made him think I would, scare him enough to leave. From what Thomas has told me he doesn't believe that the mu—John—knows how dangerous this all is. Alethea has warned him, but not to the correct degree. She seems to be too scared of losing him. "
"Hmmm, doesn't that sound familiar," Neville scoffed tiredly.
Neville was silent for a long time and though he continued to hold her Graces wondered if he wanted to. They didn't really have these discussions. The few times they came up something happened, but now it wasn't avoidable. She considered what he must be feeling towards her now that they were having to face one of their biggest differences.
"Would you love me? If I was a muggle," Neville asked after a while.
"You're not. You're a pureblood like me."
"But if I wasn't. Would you love me? If I wasn't magical, if I wasn't pure? If I was me, but just missing those things. Would you love me? Think me equal to you?"
Graces bit her tongue. She didn't even understand why they were having this discussion. She was in danger. Thomas was in danger. Octavian was in danger, and Neville wanted to sit here and talk about imaginary scenarios. She was about to point this out but stopped at the look on Neville's face. It was more than disappointment, it was pain.
He thought she wouldn't. And for some reason that bothered her. It bothered her that Neville thought her love so feeble. It also shocked her that she even felt bothered by it. Before she would have thought the answer of no would have been completely appropriate., but now, now it didn't make sense to not love Neville. She considered what she had wanted before, what her parents had raised her to want: pureblood, rich, heir, powerful, and from a decent family that upheld their traditions. No blood traitors.
Neville was pure and she would say powerful in other ways her parents wouldn't acknowledge, but he wasn't rich, being an heir of two other family members was pointless, he was definitely a blood traitor. And yet she loved him, so much that none of those things really factored into her feelings. And when she thought of the reasons she loved him blood status and power meant nothing.
"I would," she whispered, a bit surprised. "I would love you. Once I knew you it wouldn't matter."
Neville nodded his expression calm, but determined. "Now imagine that you couldn't marry me, or tell me why, that you had to lie to me about it and watch my disappointment. You couldn't have a baby, because someone hated me so much without ever meeting me that they would deny us that. Imagine that you just tell your brother about us and he does that to you. How would you feel, Graces? If Draco decided, not us, that we would not have a baby. If Draco took it upon himself to alter your body, to take away your right to choose."
"I would be devastated," she admitted. "Why are we having this discussion? There's nothing I can do. I didn't do any of this to them. This is our world, this is our reality and right now I can only try to save us from the consequences of it."
"If we want this world to change, we have to be a part of that change, even when it's hard," Neville stressed quietly. "Even when it could have a cost to us."
"Why do we have to change this world? I just want to survive it," Graces said imploringly.
Neville narrowed his eyes. "Graces, I want a life for us and we can't have one if we don't win this war. You've given me hope of a life with you and damn if I won't have that with you now. I want it all. And I don't want to be looking behind our backs constantly. I don't want to worry over you going somewhere alone. We need a better world for that pretty life you put in my head."
Graces was about to argue that as purebloods they could always have that life, but then stopped herself. Neville would never not fight. He would never allow muggleborns and muggles to be mistreated or made into second class citizens. She thought she could, she could turn the other cheek for the knowledge that hers were safe, but Neville couldn't. One of the greatest reasons she loved him also could be their downfall.
"I'm not like you, Neville," Graces said hushly, balling her fists up in the sheets. "I'm not good like you. You hear all this and immediately want to do the right thing. You... you are empathetic to people you don't even know." She felt as though she were falling down a well and she didn't know if there was water or ground below. She was too scared to look at Neville, as if he would see all the horrible thoughts that were hers alone to bear if she did. "I don't care about other people the way you do. I care for a select few. Damn the rest if need be."
"I do want to do the right thing," she swore, unable to stop her tears from falling freely now that the damn had broken. "But I'm scared. I'm scared," she repeated. "I'm trying, Neville, I am. I came to you for a reason, but I c-can't be like you. I'm scared this will never come naturally for me."
"You think I want you to be like me?" Neville asked, tilting her chin so she was looking up at him.
"Don't you?"
Neville shook his head slowly and ran his hand through her hair. "I selfishly enjoy being one of the very few you love and care for. I used to be so envious of those you loved." She could feel Neville's breath on her lips intermingling with her own. "I never dreamed anyone would love me passionately, let alone love me enough to burn the world for me if need be. I thought I'd have a quiet love that grew, not this."
"What's this?"
"Wildfire," Neville laughed breathlessly. "All-consuming, constantly growing, unplanned—"
"Destructive."
"I would rather die in the ashes of our love then live a lifetime with anything less."
Graces sniffed. "Will you still feel that way when you're burning?"
"I am burning," Neville declared. "As are you. And I believe we are both being forged into something different. Better. Each blow we take is making us something new, something stronger."
"I once said that you'll be the death of me. You have been. I could never go back to who I was before you and I don't think you could go back to who you were before me," Neville smiled sadly. "Who we were before each other doesn't exist anymore."
She considered who she was before, who she was on her way to becoming. "I don't want to be who I was before," she murmured. "I don't want to believe the things I did before."
"I'm going to challenge you more, Graces," Neville said gently. "I think it's important we talk about these things: blood purity, magic, muggles, religion, all of it. I can't expect you to let go of some of your beliefs without talking to you and giving you new ones. I have no expectations that all of your beliefs will be the same as mine. I don't think you and I will ever agree on religion, but I think we should still have an understanding of each other. I think you should challenge me too. I know there are things you want me to do, but I'm too me to do them."
Graces' mouth twitched slightly. "Think I could convince you to dance naked on Samhain, start observing some holidays."
Neville narrowed his eyes and shifted uncomfortably. "Like I said we can talk about it."
She leaned up and kissed Neville softly, moving her hand to the stubble on his chin. "So what do we do now regarding our current situation?"
"Talk to McGonagall then talk to Alethea and John."
I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Don't forget to review/ follow!
Also, can you believe 10/04 will mark 7 years of me writing this fic! Thanks for hanging in there with me :D