You'll be the Death of Me

Chapter 56

Neville looked around the shabby barn filled with thestrals. He had been in here for hours waiting anxiously for Graces to appear. All day he had longed to be with her. He could physically feel his love for her weighing on his heart, growing constantly. It didn't ache. Loving her didn't hurt, but at times he felt like he was going burst from it. It was all just very confusing, the feeling was in so many ways indescribable.

He heard the barn door slowly creak open and smiled knowing that Graces had arrived. He turned to greet her and let out a muffled sound of surprise when the blonde wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely.

"Good evening to you too," Neville panted when Graces moved away from him.

"Good evening," Graces smiled, turning away as she put her bag on an empty work bench and began removing her coat and scarf. Neville swallowed hard as he took in her appearance. She was wearing jeans, very well fitted jeans and what looked to be an old Slytherin Quidditch shirt from a year or so back. Nothing special, but for some reason beyond him it was very affecting. By the time Graces turned back around to him, his heart was hammering in his throat and he had to remind himself to be respectful.

"You-uh-look really nice," Neville blushed, a bit embarrassed that Graces had caught him staring so intently.

"Doesn't take much to please you, huh?" Graces chuckled softly. "An old pair of trousers and a T."

"It's very flattering," Neville noted, watching Graces' fingers playing with the bottom edge of the shirt as she shyly bit her lower lip.

"Thank you," she murmured after a few moments, her arms folding around her. She stood leaning against the workbench, her hands fidgeting with his mother's ring as she seemed to be searching for something to say.

"I never took you for the jeans and a T kind of girl," Neville admitted, slowly drifting over to her. "You usually dress so fashionably."

"This... covers things," Graces eluded, her arms going back to being folded in front of her. "It's long so even if I reach for something overhead I stayed covered. My other shirts are just more tight fitting and a lot of them show some midriff."

"Well, I really like this," Neville smiled, hoping Graces would not feel so uncomfortable. "It's, I don't know, just nice."

"Just nice," Graces smirked. "You should be a poet, Mr. Longbottom."

"If I decided to go that path I would beat out your Shakespeare."

"Oh, would you now?" Graces laughed, bending over slightly from her amusement.

"Yeah, I would. That bloke was not that grand of a writer when it came to poetry,"

"What makes you say that?" Graces asked, turning to face him curiously.

"Sonnet 130."

"Ah, Graces nodded. "That one."

"Yeah, that one," Neville laughed. "That's pretty terrible."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you think it's terrible?" Graces clarified, her silver eyes evaluating him closely.

"Do you think it's good?" Neville asked, slightly shocked.

"You didn't answer my question, Longbottom. Why do you dislike it?"

Neville felt as though Graces were leading him into a trap. He had a very distinct feeling that when he told her why she was going to end up making him feel foolish, but he had already said he disliked it and there was no point now in trying to recover.