Emma and Killian lay together on their couch with a fire crackling low. Emma was curled into his side and his arm was draped around her. She was so happy to be back here, in her home, in Killian’s arms. She felt like she hadn’t seen him in 30 years.
Just hours before, Emma had fallen through the portal followed by Regina and Robin. Emma was dressed in a pink gown and a pink velvet cloak trimmed in ermine. Emma had flung herself into his arms and held him and Henry as close as she could.
They had gone straight home at Emma’s insistence to get changed. Killian had talked her into keeping the regalia. Claiming fun to be had on the Jolly later. She smiled and tucked it into their closet- right next to his pirate coat. Then changed into favorite black yoga pants and oversized sweater, while Killian fixed them all some grilled cheese sandwiches and cocoa.
God, she had missed home.
“I know it might sound strange, but there is a tiny part of me that is glad this all happened.”
“I’ve wondered what it would be like if I hadn’t been sent through the wardrobe.
“I had a bad childhood there is no sugarcoating that, but I like the person I’ve become.”
She smiled at him. “I like the life I have, the life I share with you.”
She had told him of her and Regina’s journey through the creepy fake world. He listened and chuffed at the appropriate times. When she got to the part concerning his doppelganger, the inevitable question fell from his lips.
“Dare I ask what I was like there?”
Emma was quiet for a moment before she sat up to look at him, reaching over to her fingers through his raven hair. His doppelganger’s hair had been long and silver. Framing a worn face and sad eyes. Those eyes haunted her. Emma never, ever wanted to see that look of utter defeat and hopelessness in his beautiful blue eyes again.
“You were definitely different there.” She said thoughtfully, thinking of the warped version of her love. “I think you were how the Evil Queen thought you would turn out. The Evil Queen had a pretty low opinion of you apparently.”
He quirked an eye making eye contact with her, pulling his head away from her gentle touch.
“You were much older, and you had a bit of a belly. “
“I was fat?!”
“Your clothes were a bit of a mess.” She continued, ignoring the question. “You had stopped taking care of yourself.”
She brought her hand to cup his cheek. “He wasn’t you, he wasn’t my dashing, well-groomed, nice-smelling pirate captain.”
He voice fell to a whisper as she voiced the thoughts that had been floating around in her head since that encounter.
“He wasn’t the Killian that’s died for me.” She swallowed hard. “He wasn’t the man I love.”
“But, honestly, I’m kinda really glad I met him.” Emma continued, “Meeting him just made me want to get back to you all that more.”
“To tell me to lay off the deserts and rum?”
“You have seen my stretch marks and cellulite.”
“You’re still beautiful.” He said quickly.
“And you were still handsome.” She cajoled. “You remember when we went back in time? How I met my parents, but they didn’t know me? It was like that, only worse.That Hook was so unhappy and alone and I just remember thinking. ‘I missed it. I missed his whole life. I missed seeing him everyday’.”
‘I thought of all those wasted years which they could never get back and I didn’t want to risk a moment’s more regret.’
“I wanna get old and grey with you, Killian Jones.”
His expression melted into a smile at that, and he leaned in to kiss her warmly.
For whatever reason, there would be times when Peter, James, and Sirius would go exploring and getting up to mischief at night without Remus. Sometimes it was because he felt he had too much of an obligation to do his homework, or- as a prefect and all- he had some responsibility not to get into trouble. More often, though, James wouldn’t let Remus go with them because he was too ill or exhausted around a full moon.
On these nights, Remus would sit on a couch by the fire in the common room with his homework or a book, waiting up for his friends to return. He nearly always fell asleep before they returned well into the night, and the other three Marauders would come back through the portrait hole and find him curled up on the couch. They would attempt to shake him awake, of course, but it rarely ever worked, so most nights Sirius would find himself carrying Remus up the stairs to the dormitory.
The eighth year common room had been cleared out hours ago, but Draco and Harry still sat on a couch together, enjoying the fire.
They were so worn out from chess games and talking to the other eighth years that they didn’t have the energy to head to their rooms. Or perhaps they just didn’t want to.
Draco’s sat there, he stopped wearing gel long ago. Now his hair sits wherever it pleases, but it still never looks bad. Hermione thought he put charms on it secretly.
Harry had been thinking about Draco for months now, he filled his every thought. Harry couldn’t understand how such an absurd change of events could happen. Events, in which, the eighth years became friends, and Harry was still obsessed with Draco Malfoy– just in a slightly different way than before.
Harry turned his head to look at the boy beside him.
His hand. It was just sitting there, palm-open, warm. Harry thought about how many nerves Draco hand had, connected to every part of his body. He wanted to touch those nerves. He wanted to touch his hand. He wanted those nerves to feel him, zap into Draco’s brain cells the knowledge that they were touching.
Harry thought he should really go up to his room, and put a stop to these thoughts.
But he could do it so easily, grab the boy’s hand, hold it in his. It was less than a foot away from Harry’s right hand. He could feel Draco’s nerves reaching towards him.
Harry looked at his face, and he knew he was right when he first saw Draco. He was all sharpness, freeways of life running through his veins. His face was illuminated. A motion picture flashed across his cheeks, reminding Harry that he should be somewhere else. He couldn’t think of being anywhere else, any farther than one foot from Draco was too much for him to bear. Harry thought he liked Draco too much, and all he wanted to do was hold his hand.
His hand had begun to move, like it was getting tired of his dwaddling. It moved slowly. Harry couldn’t remember a time when he wanted something so much, and merlin, all he wanted to do was touch him. His fingertips were brushing Draco’s and he knew he felt it. The motion picture on his face had stopped. They weren’t looking at each other
Then Draco grabbed Harry’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Draco turned his head to Harry and the corner of his mouth quirked up as he spoke.
“I think saving the wizarding world took all of the Gryffindor out of you, Potter. You really ought to go to Madam Pomfrey.”
“You’re an absolute prat.” Harry mumbled as he hesitantly began trailing kisses up Draco’s arm.
Draco didn’t try to ignore how Harry made him feel this time. He relished in the feeling that began to curl inside of his stomach. He thought about Harry, with his soft skin and his unruly Harry. He thought about Harry, Harry, Harry. Oh merlin, he was infatuated with the boy.
“Yeah, I know.” Draco said moments before he caught Harry in a kiss that sent chills down their backs.
They pushed against each other, wanting to touch every part of the other boy’s body. They kissed each other leisurely, but with passion, as though these events were inevitable all along. Draco’s arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, pulling the boy closer. His lips were soft, mixing with the other boy’s, tasting each other.
Harry had never felt so fulfilled, his whimper shook something inside of Draco.
They stopped kissing, and just held each other that night. They shared light banter, as Draco’s nose touched the soft skin of Harry’s neck. The magic between them was thrumming. One live wire connecting them both.
It was then that Harry knew, he could chat with all the aliens in the universe, and nothing would be better than the contact that he’d made.
Hestia: the feeling in your chest when you eat a warm home cooked meal, getting sleepy when lounging on your couch, the warmth of fire on your face, the nostalgia of seeing your old stuffed animals
Artemis: running and letting the wind rush through your hair, the ache in your arms when you stretch them too hard, aiming perfectly at something you don’t plan to shoot, the feeling when a girl you’re not close with defends your argument
Athena: the feeling of accomplishment after writing a lot, taking the lead in a group project, being the bigger person, finishing your work early and helping someone else with theirs
Aphrodite: the giggly smiles you break into when your friend texts you “this reminded me of you”, a good haircut you can’t stop looking at, a dream about someone holding you, the overwhelming feeling you get when you gaze at someone you love
Hera: the desire to have children, the cautionary but trusting air you get about you when you’re close to a peacock, watching bad karma happen, feeling powerful and fabulous
Demeter: making food for others, the smell of the outdoors, being maternal, missing someone who you know is happy without you
Persephone: the odd smell of flowers, relatives telling you how much you’ve grown, having short hair for the first time in forever, wearing dark colors when you’re known to wear bright colors
“Not an hour later, Rhys found me in the living room, my feet propped on the couch before the fire, a book in my lap, a cup of rose tea steaming on the low table before me. I stood as he entered, scanning him for any sign of injury. Something tight in my chest eased when I found nothing amiss.”
A/N: I hope you enjoy this Gibbs fluff! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!
Gibbs sat on his couch, staring at the fire he had started an hour ago. It was finally fall, which meant he could use his fireplace more often. It was late at night; midnight to be exact. No matter what, he just couldn’t sleep. No matter how many times he tossed and turned. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, he had given up. Now he was sitting on the couch in his USMC hoodie, and all he could think about was you.
He thought about what you had worn to work today. You wore black slacks with a purple blouse that was unbuttoned just enough. Those slacks hugged your hips and it drove him crazy. He had kept his eye on you all day; not because you were doing anything wrong, but because he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He thought about how Tony had made a joke that caused you to laugh. He loved your laugh, the way you smiled, and the way your eyes lit up when you found a lead.
Gibbs shook his head, trying to escape these thoughts about you. He had rules against dating coworkers. It didn’t matter how much he tried because you kept running through his mind. He couldn’t just sit here anymore; he had to get out of the house for a little bit.
The Marine pushed himself off of the couch and grabbed his keys. He wasn’t sure where he should go, at first. He ended up subconsciously driving to your house, which wasn’t too far from his own. He sighed, there was no fighting these feelings for you. He turned off his car, walking up to your door. He felt like he should leave, but you opened the door before he could walk away.
Prompt: 24 “Did I stutter?” Warnings: Really angsty lots of swearing and really long like holy fuck I need to chill. Y/N: Your Name Word Count: 2434
To you, drama was the best subject on the planet. There was no sitting at desks planning essays or writing down the answers to endless math questions. You got to run around in weird costumes, jump off balconies and even at some point, set fire to couches on stage, all in the name of art. It was insane, inane and you absolutely loved it. But there are always downsides to every good thing, and that downsides name, was George Frederick. George was, for lack of better words, a drama queen. If things didn’t go his way, like he didn’t get the main part or that one monologue he wanted, he would proceed to complain about it for weeks on end. He’d bitch about whoever was in charge and would talk about his rich father and entitlement to the things he wanted. It was as if Draco Malfoy had been plucked from the bookshelf and dropped into your class by God himself, wanting you to repent for your sins. But the worst thing, the worst thing about George Frederick? It was your stupid, ongoing crush on the moron.
It was, quite frankly ridiculous. His stupid smirk, and the air of smug, self-satisfaction he held about him, his distinct whine of a voice. You found it all… cute. You had no idea why. You thought it was just a temporary thing, a fleeting attraction, but 3 months since your initial realization and your feelings for him had not dimmed at all. If anything they’d only grown, and expanded, to the point where you found it hard to be around him without getting agitated and frustrated with yourself. It had come to the point where you would try to subtly turn the other way when you saw him coming and try to keep your distance from him as much as possible. You wouldn’t call it avoiding per say, if anything it was caution. But after the many months of your careful evasion, your luck ran out.
Your drama class had begun its newest project, short scenes. The idea was that students would pick a section of a play or theatre piece and either work alone or in groups up to 3, to present and perform the fragment to a crowd of parents and classes. Originally you had planned to go alone, and perform Ofelia’s monologue from Hamlet, but fate was working against you and alas when the time of grouping came, your drama teacher Mrs Washington asked you as the only person working alone, if you would join the only student who no one wanted in their group, George.
You couldn’t say no to her, and accepted. All those months of practised escapes and rehearsed withdrawals did you no good now. Sitting on the second floor by the windows, him across from you from you, the sun in his hair as he recited lines a from the Twelfth Night. You’d never felt so helpless.
“Y/N? Are you listening to me?” George demanded, snapping you back to reality. His face was screwed up like he’d been sucking on a lemon, lips pursed. You wanted to kiss him and swear at him at the same time, it was all very conflicting. “Hmm?” You hummed with disinterest, much more concentrated on how to get out of this situation. “Did I stutter? I asked if you were listening.” His eyes narrowed, awaiting your response. You opened your mouth for a few seconds trying to come up with an excuse. Nothing came to mind, you blew out a breath of air. “Yeah, I’m gonna be straight up with you, no.” You shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. George bristled. “I’m sorry.” He clicked his tongue angrily. “Am I not interesting enough?” He hissed, you glared back at him. “It’s not you, it’s the play.” You grumbled, George gave an insulted gasp, as if you’d kicked his puppy or some crap. You couldn’t believe you had a crush on this guy.
“This play is incredibly important to me, Shakespeare was one of the best playwrights the world ever saw, and you should feel privileged to be able to perform one of his pieces with me.” George looked like he was going to throw a tantrum but at this point you didn’t care. You just wanted to be on your own, as far away from him as possible before you did something stupid. “I was already planning on doing Shakespeare you twat! Hamlet, which is much more fun the god damned Twelfth Night!” You screeched, George scoffed, flicking his dumb perfect hair to the side. “Well you chose me as your partner so I chose the play! Simple as that.” That caught you off guard. You didn’t choose him, is that what Mrs Washington had told him? You shook your head and carried on. “Yeah, did you have to pick a romance? I barely know you for fucks sake! How am I going to pretend to be in love with you? Hell how are you going to pretend to love me?” Very easily, a voice at the back of your mind said, you swatted the thought away. Watching George’s expression, you were surprised to find him… blushing? He looked, kind of cute? You wanted to punch yourself.
“Oh please, everyone loves me. Even you I bet.” And the cuteness was gone, replaced by indignance and frustration. “Pardon?” You asked, not bothering to keep the aggressive tone in your voice out. “You heard me, why else would you have asked to be with me for this performance. I could’ve chosen from so many people but I accepted you. You should feel privileged.” George laughed snottily. You hated that laugh, the stupid smile on his face, you wanted to rip it off, and you knew exactly how. “I didn’t chose to be with you, asshole.” You spat, venom dripping from your words. The smile on George’s face fell, and was replaced with one of shock. “What?” You laughed bitterly at the question and covered your face in your hands so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. So you wouldn’t feel any guilt for what was coming.
“Why would I want to be with you? When I spend all my time avoiding you? When all you do is bitch and moan and act like you’re hot shit, because newsflash Georgie- You aren’t! Mrs Washington came up and asked me to be in a pair with you because no one else did, and I said yes out of pity. So don’t act as if I want to be here because I speak the truth when I say I don’t want anything to do with you whatsoever!” You took a deep breath and dug your nails into your scalp. Your body was shaking but you didn’t know why. You waited for the snarky response, the whingeing or the complaints but they didn’t come. Instead all you heard was short, mournful. “I know.” You lifted your head from your hands to see George, leaning against the window, a sorrowful look on his face. You felt an empty stab in your chest. “George-” You tried to speak but couldn’t finish your sentence. George rubbed his eyes with the base of his palm. Was he crying? “I know what everyone else thinks. What they say. I’m a spoilt brat, the real life Draco Malfoy, a rich, friendless warning of what you shouldn’t act like if you want to form a good relationship with someone. I’m far too gone to repair any of that now. The only reason people put up with me is because alone, I am nothing. I have nothing to bounce off of, nothing to counteract or argue with.” George paused and turned, staring you straight in the eyes. You could see tears on his cheeks. Guilt panged in your stomach as a chill ran down your spine. You felt your heart rate increase exponentially.
“What I didn’t know, was you. I’d never talked to you, Y/N. I had never heard you badmouth me, never approached you. Nothing. Because I was too afraid to. I’d seen you perform your parts perfectly, do speeches with such confidence and positivity. I’d hear you laugh and talk around the courtyard and I’d feel happier, seeing you around, even if it only happened a few times. I know you didn’t choose me to be in your group, because Mrs Washington suggested to place me with you, she said you wanted to be in my group but I knew the truth, no one would want to. But still, I wanted to talk to you and get to know you. I wanted to befriend you, to… charm you. So of course, I said yes. But I guess I let myself get in the way of that, again.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as you processed what he was saying. “You asked me why I chose the Twelfth Night. How we would pretend be who to pretend to be in love while barely knowing each other and the answer is that, I… don’t think I’m going to have to pretend.” Your heart stopped in your chest as George turned his gaze to the floor. What he had just told you, the compliments, the truth, it was all very hard for you to believe, but still so easy. This side of George was new and different, but you honestly liked it as much as the other. And what he had said… He wouldn’t have to pretend. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be in love and… neither would you. “For someone as great as me, I have to say I’m quite pathetic.” He laughed sadly. A tear fell from his face to the floor, and for you that was breaking point. George didn’t have time to react as you threw yourself into him, wrapping your arms around his back and pressing kisses on the top of his head. “What are you-” He began but was cut off by a flurry of apologies. “I’m sorry, oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You repeated, tears pricking at your eyes. You’d been so concentrated on your emotions you hadn’t thought about his, how he felt about the situation. After his speech, his confession and his tears, you couldn’t deny it anymore. You were in love.
“Y/N!” He yelped pulling away slightly, your faces were centimeters from each other and your arms were now wrapped firmly around his neck. From this proximity you could see his face, red as a tomato. He was sputtering nervously. “But you- hate! You don’t like me you, you said-” You shook your head. “I was confused and frustrated before, and I took that anger out on you. I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. It took me a lifetime to accept but I think that I…I.” George waited for your answer, but it was too overwhelming to say, to much to put into your own words. Instead you took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to his forehead, finally opening you mouth, you spoke gently.
“She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm ‘i th’ bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pinned in thought; and, with a green and yellow melancholy, she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?” George’s face lit up, as you wiped away his tears with your thumbs. “Shakespeare!” He gushed, making you laugh. “Yes, Shakespeare you dork.” You giggled as he watched you in awe. “Then this means-?” You nodded in affirmation, George’s face split into a grin as he wrapped his arms around your waist.
“So I can kiss you, right?” He asked breathlessly. You nodded, giving him the green light. He leaned into you and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was enthusiastic, exciting and a bit possessive. He moved his lips against yours eagerly, but couldn’t help but break into giggles. “Wait till I show off my new girlfriend to everyone. Hamilton and his friends will be so jealous.” He said as you broke the kiss off. His smug grin was back, but this time there was something charming about it. “Unpopular my ass, I’ve got the prettiest girl in the school by my side.” You rolled your eyes and poked him gently in the ribs. “Don’t let it go to your head, Mr popular.” You warned him, George smirked and snaked his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You shrieked in protest but he was having none of it. “Together we’ll rule this place Y/N! The kings and queens of the school!” He cheered spinning you around. A voice shouted at you from the first floor.
“Correct me if I’m wrong but that doesn’t sound like Shakespeare, Mr Frederick? Ms Y/L/N?” Called up Mrs Washington. You froze as George dropped you. You looked and shrugged, indicating for him to speak, he thought for a second, then gave you a wink and shouted down to Mrs Washington. “I guess I know more Shakespeare than you Miss!” He bragged cockily. You slapped your hand to your face and groaned, you’d fallen in love with an asshole. “George!” You hissed to him, he waved you off. “It’s fine, she likes me!” But as the words fell from his mouth the distinct, threatening sound of heels clicking against a linoleum staircase echoed up to where you two were. George’s face went pale. So he was capable of feeling fear. You came up with a plan in your head “You have free period next, right? Same as me?” “Yes, I do?” “Run.” “Ah, a fine idea.” The two of you grabbed your things, shoving them into your bags. George took your hand and laced his fingers with yours, leading you forward, you thundered down the staircase, barreling past Mrs Washington and out the doors, laughing all the way.
Martha Washington watched them go by with a smile. “Well then. I do believe Mr Washington owes me some money.” She said to no one in particular, making her way down the stairs.
You knew when you got involved with Killian than he has a past and that the past would forever haunt you. A pirate’s life style was that of adventure, women, and booze. Every time you sat with him, his hands gently resting on your leg, you couldn’t help but imagine how many other women those hands have touched. The two of you sit on the couch, the fire roaring warming up the chilly room. The tv is on but Killian seems more interested in watching you. He loves to watch you react to what is on the tv, like how you scrunch up your nose when you find something funny. Out of the corner of your eye you see him glancing down at you with a burning look.
“What?” you self consciously mumble.
You curl yourself up deeper into his embrace as you feel your cheeks start to glow with embarrassment.
“Can’t a man look at his striking girl?” he chuckles.
He takes your hand in his and you shudder at the power behind his touch. Your fingers intertwined in his, the metal of the rings that sit on his fingers making it a tighter fit. Your eyes avert from his gaze as you bite on your lip anxiously.
“(y/n).” he sighs.
The cool metal of his hook presses against your cheek forcing your face inches from his. He leans in close but you avoid looking into that seductive stare of his. You feel his hand unlock from yours and firmly grip your jaw tilting your head upward.
“(y/n) look at me. What’s the matter love?” he squints at you.
“Nothing.” you half heartedly smile.
He leans in closer, his lips hovering above yours. You want to close the gap between you two but all you were distracted with other thoughts. Finally your lips touch, the scruff of his bread grazing your soft cheek. The kiss was timid at first but the lust grew. His fingers crawl around the side of your head and tangle themselves in your silky hair. The tips of his fingers wind themselves loosely at the root and pull slightly, just enough to create tensions.
“Killian.” You mumble.
His lips pull into a smile against your mouth knowing that it would drive you crazy. You back away slowly again drawing the tender skin of your lip in between your teeth. His eyes are filled with perplexity as he looks at you and for that you felt bad. It wasn’t that you don’t love Killian because you do, it’s just he has so much more experience. You haven’t ever kissed anyone before Killian, not even the innocent and meaningless kiss that a child experiences in grade school.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” you excuse yourself from the room.
Wandering down the hallway you have walked a million times before, you sense the feeling of being lost creeping up on you. You turn into the room on your left which happens to be the bathroom. Warm tears start to well up in your eyes as you stare into the mirror. The reflection you see isn’t the strong and passionate girl you usually see. The person staring back at you is small and confused. You dab away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes and grab the doorknob with your trembling hand. Before you open the door you inhale deeply and exhale as the door swings open. You take on step out of the door and crash into Killian.
“(y/n) what’s that matter?”
Killian places his hand on your arm holding you in place. His eyes squint at first but then soften as he sees a small tear roll down your face.
“Hey now. No need to cry love.” he reassures you.
You are at a loss of words, so you stand there bewildered for a moment. Falling into his chest, he tucks your head underneath his chin and rubs small circles into your back. He sighs wracking his brain as to why you are upset.
“I’m sorry.” you whisper.
“Sorry for what?” his voice trails off.
“I’m just. I’ve been thinking.” you stutter.
“About?” he inquires with sad eyes.
“How inexperienced I am.” you mumble.
“Whatever do you mean?” his lips draw into a frown.
“I’ve never… been with anyone else. I can’t imagine the kind of women you have seen and.” you are cut off.
“I don’t care about those women (y/n). You are innocent, and that’s what makes you, you. Sure I’ve kissed other women before but who am I standing here with, huh?” he brushes back a piece of your hair and tucks it behind your ear.
“Me.” you frown.
“So wipe that from off your face. Such a shame to see such a pretty lass with a frown.” he kisses the top of your head.
After that night all of your doubts washed away. Killian was there to stay. From time to time you ask him about past experiences, like if he’s ever had his heart broken, or thought about marrying a woman from his past. He would always direct the attention back to you though, because you are the one that has captured his heart.
[Author’s note: Once again gif isn’t mine. Also send in requests love! I have plenty of time to spare xx]
So basically what happens is that Neville and reader and just chilling in the Great Hall and everyone is leaving for chirstmas holidays. However, some random people come to tease/bully Neville before they go. Before Neville reacts though, reader asks him to cover his ears.
Me and Neville are just laying on the couches and watching the fire in the Great Hall. Neville is on the verge of falling asleep, his head on my lap. I pet his hair. For some reason his hair turn slightly wavey and curly in the fourth year. It tangles really easy. I still love it though it’s so cute.
“Hey, Neville!” Some voices say from the entrance of the Great Hall. Neville pyhsically cringes at the sound of the voices. Neville shuffles around a bit and attempt to get up. You hold him down though. You whisper quietly, only loud enough for Neville to hear.
“Shush, just go back to sleep.” You say, running you finger through his hair again. Neville, just tired and not really in the mood to deal with the people, just lays back down on Y/N’s lap. Closing his eyes. “Oh can you cover your ears for me too?” You say watching the people slowly come nearer.
Neville, drifting in and out of sleep, obeys and covers his ears. You cover his eyes with one of your hands as a precaution. You shift yuo body and look at the oncoming group. You raise you wand and incite a spell.
The spell sends one flying back on the floor of the Great Hall. The sound of screaming snaps Neville out of his dreariness. He dart up and looks at the group of people. A pair running at their probably hurt leader and Y/N holding their wand out.
As the group runs away. They scream bloody murder and that Y/N was a dark wizard and not to trust them. You send one more spell and mute the group. Neville sits back down. Confused on what emotions he should be feeling.