Pairing: Angelina Johnson/Graham Montague
Theme set: Beta
Title: A little bit of love is worth a moment of your time
Warning[s]: Brief mention of torture. Run-on sentences, misuse of semicolons, commas, punctuation, and other unmentionable grammatical crimes against the English language.
Notes: Written for 1sentence. Title borrowed from the John Legend Song 'Save Room'.
If you strip it down to its very core, it's nothing more than a story about a boy and a girl falling in love and sharing a life together; everything else is just window-dressing.
"How hard did you hit your head again?" Angelina asked her friend Katie Bell when the girl noted that Graham Montague looked quite snoggable these days whilst silently agreeing with her.
Graham Montague found himself more often than not hiding in the visitor stands, spying on the Gryffindor team, which sounded better than admitting that he'd picked up the odd habit of following Angelina Johnson around for reasons he didn't quite understand himself.
Angelina spent hours berating herself for believing the rubbish her friends put in her head about Montague fancying her because that was the only explanation for her lurching heart each time she laid eyes on him.
"You'd think that a girl like her could do better than that git," his girlfriend said disapprovingly as they watched the Gryffindors horse around in the Great Hall and all Graham could do was agree, poorly hiding the jealousy coursing through him when Weasley put his arm around Angelina's shoulders.
It was an ever so faint curl of his lips, and if you didn't know what look for, you'd miss it, but Angelina hardly ever did and always ended up feeling queasy and weak in the knees, no matter how hard she fought against the spell he put on her.
Graham considered it progress when she used his first name to tell him to sod off.
Angelina spent weeks evading Graham, making sure she didn't face him during meals, changed her route to classes, and skived off the one they had together, hoping and wishing that out of sight would mean out of mind soon, but she finally gave up running when one day after Quidditch practice, he stood waiting for her outside the changing rooms.
When she was ten, Angelina wished on a falling star for a handsome prince on a white steed like the ones in those fairy tales, and even though she was old enough to know better these days, she couldn't help but wonder if Graham was her wish come true when he gently put his hands on her cheeks and softly pressed his lips onto hers.
"One of these days you're gonna stop running away from me!" Graham called after Angelina with laughter tinging his voice and only when she rounded the corner, the sniggers died and turned into a wistful sigh as he lifted his fingers to his lips, relishing the taste of the kiss he stole from her.
"Yeah, I've always dreamt of being the other witch, leave me alone," Angelina bit out as she roughly pushed Graham out of her way, refusing to listen to anything he had to say.
"Just let it be, love, it will happen if it's meant to be," his grandmother had once said, and Graham had to admit that the bit of wisdom didn't make him feel any better when he heard that Fred Weasley would be taking Angelina to the ball.
Montague wasn't her date, and Angelina was certainly not his dainty little girlfriend of a year, but that night at the Yule ball, weeks -no, months' worth of confusing tension between them slowly reached its boiling point one step at a time until they stood side by side on the dance floor, their fingers brushing as both pretended to ignore each other until he whispered 'Astronomy Tower' and she found herself following him, Fred long forgotten.
"I won't stop you if you want to leave," Graham told her, giving her the option to walk away from whatever it was between them, hoping she wouldn't.
His warm breath washed over her cold skin as he whispered her name in a way that sounded like music to her ears, a symphony she wouldn't mind listening to for the rest of her life; was this how it felt to be in love?
Although Montague broke up with his Ravenclaw girlfriend the day after the Yule ball, wonderment about when Angelina would finally tell her friends that they were a couple now kept his mind occupied because 'I'll tell them tomorrow' had turned into months already; catching her mid-snog with Fred Weasley in the Quidditch pitch a few nights before the Third Task answered that question.
Angelina wasn't sure whether she ought to be offended or gently coax Montague into visiting Madam Pomfrey, afraid that he was suffering from Brain Rot because him doubling over in laughter -in relief apparently, was not the support she had hoped for when she told him about Fred Weasley kissing her and how she had kicked him to get him off her.
"Well played," Angelina groused as Graham helped her back on her feet after kicking her off her broom during a 'friendly' game of Quidditch, offended and thankful at the same that he didn't hold back now that they were a couple.
Whiskey and Rum
"I lurrrrv you, Gra'm, marry me," Angelina slurred and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek right before vomiting on his shoes and passing out instead of sleeping with him for the first time, which was the reason she drank too much to begin with.
Their first time happened shortly after Easter, months after the Firewhisky induced disaster that was their first attempt; no alcohol or high expectations were involved this time around, just to the two of them, the sunset, and the deep conviction of being properly ready and wanting.
She didn't ask why he joined Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad and he didn't volunteer to the information, just like she had neglected to tell him about joining the DA; maybe, there was a smidgen of lingering mistrust there neither wanted to admit to.
Angelina spent the nights at the infirmary for weeks, holding his hand as she prayed for him to heal soon and when she wasn't doing that, she spent the night whispering in his ear to wake up and tell her who'd done it so she could practice her hexing skills on them.
Other than flashes of red hair and the hellish pain in his legs as the Numbing Potions wore off, Montague couldn't remember much of 'the accident' or the time directly after, but he vividly remembered dreams of Angelina and how soothing they were.
The writing had been on the wall for a while, but they couldn't ignore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return any longer nor the fact that the cellars underneath Graham's childhood home weren't there any longer; he wasn't sure he wanted to know if he and his parents stood on opposite sides.
"It's so romantic, isn't it?" was all that Angelina said when she received the invite to Fleur and Bill's wedding which led to Graham grumbling about wartime weddings and idiots rushing into things head-first, afraid that she'd want to get married as well.
"It's...ah, really something, thank you," he mumbled as he pulled the mint-coloured lumpy, shapeless jumper Angelina had knitted for his twentieth birthday over his head; he didn't have the heart to kill her excitement by telling her that it was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen.
She liked watching him, studying every inch, memorising each of his flaws and perfections, especially when he slept with his head in her lap and she could freely run her fingers through his hair whilst wondering how different her life would have been without him in it.
If there was one thing Graham admired about her was her inability to dance to the rhythm of the music and it not stopping her from enthusiastically stomping around the dancefloor in a way that made him look like a graceful prima-ballerina.
Slytherins were supposed to be the evil Death Eaters and Gryffindors the brave and selfless defenders of anything good in the world, strong-held beliefs that shattered when Angelina discovered the Dark Mark on her father's arm the same day she learnt that the Montagues ran an Order safe house.
His whole body felt as it was on fire, his already weak leg broke again as Malcolm Johnson hit him with one torturous curse after another; the punishment for helping Angelina escape her solitary confinement in the middle of the night.
The world around her seemed to move in silent slow-motion, the nearly demolished Great Hall the stage and the only narration Angelina's gasps for air as she tried to swallow her sobs in an effort to stay strong for Graham as he sat by his parents' dead bodies whilst her father was unharmed and in custody of Aurors; winning the war had come at a high cost.
"There's nothing you could've done," Graham whispered in her ear as she broke down in his arms after hearing the names of his victims on the first day of Malcolm Johnson's trial.
"Have you ever been to those places?" Angelina asked in amazement when Graham was done listing off the summer houses across Europe he now owned as the sole Montague heir, and here she thought that a mini-holiday to get some much-needed rest and quiet would be a cheap hotel in Brighton.
His friends were nice enough lads, Angelina reckoned, but she'd like them even better when they weren't camping out in her living room day in day out, eating all her food and depriving her and Graham of privacy; such a shame Graham couldn't read her mind and do something about it without her coming across like a whinging hag.
"It was my Mum's, she would've wanted you to have it," Graham said as he slid the simple gold band on her finger, smiling as the charms snapped in place and the ring resized itself; the little trinket had already accepted Angelina into his near-extinct family, all left was her to accept his proposal.
"Maybe it’s for the best, we're too young and have so much to do still," Angelina tried to convince herself as she held the small phial up to the light; she ought to be relieved, not disappointed that the test came out negative.
Their friends had learnt early on not to interfere when they were arguing lest they'd turn on them, knowledge Adrian Pucey had clearly forgotten about when he tried to stick up for his friend by suggesting that Angelina should've checked the toilet seat first before sitting down and Graham tossed him out for mouthing off his fiancée.
Adamant to start their marriage with a clean slate, Angelina decided one night when she couldn't sleep that he shouldn't either, not until she told him all her secrets and little indiscretions, from stealing a lollipop when she was ten to pinching her younger cousin for hogging their grandparents attention to practicing kissing with Alicia because she wanted to sure that she'd be good at it when the time came; Graham was only interested in the kissing girls part.
Her wedding day was the complete opposite of what she'd imagined, and as she stepped into the registrar's office dressed in a simple blue robe with Graham by her side and their two witnesses behind them, Angelina decided that this was even better than her wildest dreams.
Graham was already proud to call Angelina his wife from this day on, but when she told the registrar that she had a change of heart and wanted to take on the surname Montague after all, he was ready to burst.
After the news of Malcolm Johnson's death in Azkaban prison reached them, Graham held Angelina without question as she cried and mourned the loss of the loving father she once knew, not the vile man he turned out to be.
"I'm not gonna tell what to wear, I mean, do what you want, but are you sure that's the right, uh, colour, yes, colour for you?" Graham said when she showed him the new summer dress she bought, too short, too deep-cut, and too tight to wear in public.
It wasn't an elaborate announcement or screaming it off the rooftops, but rather a quiet day at the beach watching the sunset when she told him she was pregnant, which he answered with pulling her closer and kiss followed by a smug, 'You owe me a Galleon.'.
For the first time since the end of the war, Graham felt like a true hero when he rescued Angelina from the bloodthirsty spider in the bathtub.
"I think I'm going to hate the part that's coming," Angelina deadpanned when her waters broke in the middle of Diagon Alley.
He had never said it so many words, but she knew that it bothered him immensely that he couldn't run and play with their kids in the same pace as the other fathers because the limp he was left with hurt too much.
"My own Quidditch team with a few spares," was the answer when he once asked her if and how many kids she wanted; by the time Angelina announced the third Montague cooking in the cauldron, he had to acknowledge that she might not have been joking after all.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, Graham smiled as he watched Angelina teach their four-year-old son how to fly a broom, priding swelling in his chest; the boy was a natural like his mum.
As their youngest went off to Hogwarts and got sorted into Ravenclaw, Angelina had to admit defeat and maybe think about a fifth addition; regrettably, none of their four kids had made it into Gryffindor House.
It took Angelina several hours to make a very upset Graham understand that when their only daughter talked about boyfriends in her first letter from Hogwarts, she didn't mean 'boyfriends' but rather 'boys who were her friends'.
"Not a single thing," Angelina answered honestly when her daughter asked if she ever regretted not doing things differently in her youth, "You probably would have been a Weasley if I had."