Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

By The Light	By : lycanthrope Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 17685 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All of the characters portrayed in this fic (apart from Jamie.) and all other creations existing within the world Of Harry Potter are the creative genius of J.K Rowling, I make no profit from the writing or posting of this fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10

Thank sweet merciful Hygieia for the gift of cleanliness, then bow at her feet and worship the ground she walks on for making it feel so good. For many long moments I stand beneath the spray of scolding water, my forehead pressed lightly against cold tile. A long, drawn out groan vocalizes my pleasure, just enjoying the feeling of purification, pelting against my tense shoulders and running down my exposed back. The tension in my body washed away with the dirt and grime of yesterday’s game and disappearing down the drain.

Throwing my head back I allow the same sense of gratification to run down my throat and over my chest before pushing my head under the relentless spray, smiling as it batters against my crown, cascading down my cheeks, pooling and flowing freely from my chin.

After sighing in contentment, I set about soaping my hair and body to finish what the heated water has started. Scrubbing the evidence of my exertions from my skin and beginning the satisfying process anew. With my life long cleaning ritual completed to my satisfaction, I twist the taps turning off the pounding spray with a high pitched squeak and push much of the excess water from my long locks. Pulling a towel to my skin I simply enjoy the feeling of being clean once more.

Wrapping the soft fabric snugly around my torso I step from the small tub onto the cold stone flooring. I lean heavily on the small sink and close my eyes, breathing in the steam all around me, permitting myself a small moment of stillness before truly beginning the day. With a sigh my palm swipes once over the misted mirror and upon looking at my refection I get a very strong sense of déjà vu when I take note of a missing injury.

My finger and thumb reach up to my face, independent of thought, and run along my bottom lip gripping the flesh to confirm that my reflection is true to reality. I was certain I had spilt my lip yesterday morning. Granted it had been little more than a scrape but it was enough to draw blood. Now I look upon my reflection to find no evidence of the wound, no sign of swelling, not even an angry red line across my lip to indicate it had ever been there. Frowning at the discovery I pull my lip down to inspect the inside to find the skin unmarked.

Not once in any of my research into my condition have I found any reference to advanced healing. Yet here I stand for a second time scrutinizing my own skin for signs of damage, and again I am unable to find any.

It is possible that the blood I found on my skin was not spilled from my body, which would explain this phenomenon, for I remember little pain directly following the physical fight.

Shaking my head clear of the confusing thoughts I pull the towel from my torso and rub my skin dry enough for me to dress and enter Hermione's bedchamber. I find her with her back to me, hunched over a long roll of unravelled parchment, the spine of an open book resting against a stack of other books to angle it towards her. Her finger lands on her page and I hear her lightly muttering to herself before returning the tip of her quill to the paper. Still furiously scratching the words across the page she takes note of me entrance. “Feel better?”

“Oh by the Gods I needed that.” I reply, with the now damp towel running through my long strands of hair. With chasers skill I throw the cloth across the room into the waiting basket by the door. Stepping closer to her hunched back, the pads of my fingers touch against the flesh at her throat drawing her untameable mane over her shoulder and away from her skin. I run my hands down her arms and rest a grateful kiss against the skin of her neck before whispering a soft “Thank you” across the shell of her ear.

The quiet intake of breath indicates the desired effect of my actions and her quill stops momentarily in mid-air. “You're distracting me” she accuses without an ounce of disappointment in her voice.

I hum in agreement, low in my throat and drop my smiling lips to her neck a second time. “You're complaining.” I accuse right back; drawing my lips behind the base of her ear and feeling a shiver run down the length of her spine.

Her head leans back and ever so slightly to the side granting me further access to her delicious skin. “I have to concentrate on this.” She complains further, her body betraying her speech and the feather quill lands on the open roll of parchment.

Encouraged by her positive reaction to my ministrations, desire begins to curl in my belly and heats my skin. I chuckle letting my breath fall against her slightly tan skin. “I highly doubt that you have any homework due for tomorrow. It can wait. At least for a little while.” After so many long, lonely weeks without the comfort of her skin I can hardly contain my anticipation.

Her fingers run along the base of my skull, her nails scraping sensuously against the fresh they find along the way to weave into my hairline and pull my wandering lips from her skin. Her lips find mine for a few moments. She does not try to deepen our kiss before she is pulling back from me, desire darkening her irises. “It's not homework and it's important.”

With a groan of shear frustration I pull away from the beauty in my arms and take a seat on the bed, lifting my leg onto my knee to put on a sock. “What exactly are you working on?”

“A lesson plan for Hagrid.” She says not lifting her eyes from the page.

Both of my eyebrows rise at that. “You're telling a teacher, what it is he should be teaching.” I try and fail to keep the shock out of my voice.

She sighs and appears to deflate, dropping her head into her hand. “He has an inspection on Tuesday. Umbridge is going to crucify him if he keeps teaching us about the more dangerous creatures out there.”

“Hermione.” I shake my head and lift my other foot to cover it with a sock. “You're wasting your time. Even if he sat you down in the safety of a classroom and taught you about theoretical wood nymphs, Umbridge will pick fault with his methods.”

Her attention is completely on me as she asks. “How do you figure that?”

With a shrug I carefully try to keep my voice indifferent. “He's a half breed. I know firsthand how she feels about half breeds.”

She's silent for a few moments, blinking at me. “Is that how you see him?” She must be remembering our earlier conversation on the matter. I find that I will need to choose my words very carefully, keeping in mind that the half giant is both her friend and a teacher in this establishment.

Closing my eyes and cursing myself for drawing the conversation once again in this direction I reach for my shoes to try and avoid her gaze. “I used to.” I answer honestly, unsure as to why.

“You don't now?”

I have to think about her question. I've never really met the half giant, never spent any time with him and I’ve never even taken any of his classes. Yet his daily presence at the staff table over the last two years has desensitised me to his immense size. “I don't really notice it anymore.” My shoes now in place and tied, I have no choice but to turn back towards her, “Umbridge will though.”

“I have to try.” She turns back to her work, her frown now creasing much deeper over her forehead.

I cannot suppress the smile at her stubbornness; luckily for me she is staring too intently at her work to notice.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The following Tuesday afternoon, unfortunately, proves my theory. I lean heavily against an archway to a large courtyard on the west side of the castle, my gloved hands crossed over my chest, waiting for the care of magical creatures lesson to end across the rolling hills of snow.

Umbridge is the first to emerge from the edge of the forest. Attired completely in leaf green from the tip of her ear-flapped hat to the heeled shoes on her feet. In my opinion someone with the facial features resembling a frog such as hers, should avoid such colours.

As she passes close by me, the satisfied smirk coating her bulbous features drops momentarily to look upon my form with thinly concealed contempt and disgust. Ignoring the animal inside of me, stomping around in my belly and trying to crawl out through my throat to wipe the superior look from her face by force, I remain stationary. Not daring even to follow her motions with my eyes for fear of losing the thin vale of control I have over my insides. Even with a week until the next full moon my temper is proving to be difficult to control around the vile woman.

Keeping my eyes trained on the resting snow, currently two feet deep I watch as three friends finally emerge ahead of their classmates. The wild curly locks ploughing ahead of the group betrays her identity even at this distance and the purpose of her stride confirms her wrath. I hear her voice carry across the carpet of white but I am unable to decipher her words as she turns abruptly towards her friends. Her arms chaotically gesturing all around her as she speaks. She's not happy and I sigh in frustration. Did she actually expect anything less?

Draco emerges from the dance tree line and engages with my girlfriend and her companions. The confrontation is swift and results in a flustered Hermione pulling her wand from her robes to clear the snow towards the greenhouses.

My eyebrow rises irately at her seeming to forget our prearranged meeting place. It would be easy for me to walk along the castle walls and head them off but this would show Draco my vulnerable back, a position I am loath to put myself into for a second time. So puling at my resolve I remain where I stand, content to deal with any jeering comment he might throw my way in place of any painful curse he might be able to land with my back turned to him.

The three of them pass by my outwardly relaxed form, all either to stupid or two distracted to notice the beast inside me pacing behind my eyes and reap vengeance on those that cause it to exist in the first place.

As they pass unhindered, trying to push each other into the thick layer of snow coating the ground, laughing with each other over the reaction they had been able to provoke in Hermione. I keep them in my peripheral vision and it takes all three of them a moment to notice my presence, then the laughter starts all over again. Draco is the first to speak. “Look boys, the little mudblood forget all about her little puppy.” The growl that rumbles through my chest is an impossible reaction to suppress against his words. “Now, now half breed. No need to get nasty.”

I turn my head to fully face the boy, his white blond hair appearing to blend into the carpet of white powder covering the ground. “My bite is worse than my bark Malfoy. I assure you.”

His head cocks to the side at my statement, almost trying to decide if I had misspoken or had indeed intended to intimidate him. “Are you threatening me?” I knew that such a sentence would provoke him to interact with me, drawing him into a conflict and hopefully bringing him down a few pegs in the process. His thought process is so simple to manipulate it’s almost embarrassing.

Leavening a pause between us long, heavy moments I wait until he released his bated breath to answer. My voice at a high pitch to convey my amusement and in turn, raise his vexation. “Perhaps.”

He shows his teeth as he grins. “Crabbe, Goyle. I'll meet you in the common room.” Both of his massive friends look to each other in surprise. “Go on. She wouldn't dare touch me.” Cocking my head to the side at him in question for a moment, this show of arrogance or perhaps bravery is totally for my benefit. His unwavering eyes trailing my body are enough evidence of that. It takes no more persuasion and the two ape-like boys make their way back into the castle, leaving us alone in the small courtyard. “Alone at last.” He says, the almost genuine smile resting on his face making my skin crawl with unease.

“Indeed.” I reply, a little curious as to the direction of this conversation. “Although I see no reason as to why that is.” It is indeed an unsettling feeling, being put onto the back foot in such a way by the boy.

Ignoring my thinly veiled question he jumps straight into what I perceive to be a very well rehearsed speech. “These last few weeks you've been very, unfortunate.” I raise an eyebrow at his neglect to mention much of my misfortune can be directly linked to his actions. “Your father has deserted you. Your connections are gone and you appear to have what is a very bleak future.”

Pushing from my leaning post I take a step towards him, only mildly surprised when he stands his ground. The sudden action was intended to intimidate him and this show of courage is not something I had expected. His words may be the truth, yet he must know I am completely aware of my predicament. So to what purpose has he to voice them? “I do not have time for your games Malfoy. Say your piece and be done with it.”

A look of frustration and anger appears on his face for only an instant before me makes an effort to hide it behind a thin mask of indifference. “I have a proposition for you.” He waits only a heartbeat for me to speak, knowing that I won’t he continues. “My father can see to it that you are treated with some degree of respect. He has even offered to speak to your parents to see if the damage in your relationship can be repaired in some way.”

“And why would he do that?” I take another inconspicuous step closer to him, my arms still folded over my chest. Poised and ready to reach for my weapon even though at this short distance there is little he could do to harm me before I had noticed the beginnings of the action. “When you have so rightly pointed out, that I have nothing to offer him?”

“You do have something.” He stresses the word. “Something you didn't have before. You think I wouldn't notice your uneasy friendship with the golden trio?”

Suddenly all of the puzzle pieces fall into place and I cannot help the snort laugh that escapes me. The look on his face priceless, he had expected me to fall on bended knee at his promises, to pledge myself to his family without a second thought. Clearly he has grossly underestimated the deep-seated feelings I hold for Hermione. “Malfoy. How can you possibly understand?” I take another slow step forward and come to stand almost toe-to-toe with him. His face remains impassive but I can see in his eyes that I have unsettled him, I have once more claimed the advantaged and I intend to push it for all it’s worth. “My friendship with the Gryffindors may be, for the moment, uneasy. But in the space of three days I have had more in depth and invigorating conversations with them than you and I have shared in all our years at Hogwarts combined.”

His mask of unconcern begins to slip from his features at my words. “You would pass up on this opportunity? For what? Conversation?”

I sign in exasperation. “Or acceptance?”

“Yet we both know you would not accept another of your kind.” All pretence lifts from his face and his upper lip lifts in a sneer of disgust. This is his biggest downfall, his unrelenting arrogance and vile temper when something does not go his way. A single child, spoilt beyond measure, without a single stand of patience to be able to claim.

“True but what is to stop me seeking it?” The twitch of his nose tells me he has no answer to my question. “This... This thing inside me. This disease that disgusts you so. It has and will always continue to change my life, in a detrimental way. There's no cure, no treatment and I will live with that. I have to.” Pausing for a moment I push down my growing anger at my own words. This being the first time I have put voice to these feelings and I’ll be dammed before I allow my temper to stem the tide now. “And you did this to me.” His cold grey eyes meet icy blue as his gaze snaps to meet mine.

“You were bitten, I had no part in that.”

“You left me in the forest to die.” I am careful to keep my voice even, only allowing my ire pull my upper lip up to bear my teeth. I have no evidence of his involvement apart from my own memories. No court in the magical world would convict him based on the sole testimony of a half-breed. “Regardless of what happened after that, vicariously the blame rests squarely on your shoulders.” My voice drops to a low hiss, my temper beginning to seep through my stony exterior. “I swear that one day I will see justice done, one way or another Malfoy. You will categorically understand all you have taken from me.”

The sound of running footsteps on stone indicates that we are no longer alone moments before Hermione turns a corner and with heavy breaths begins to speak. “Jamie I’m sorry I...” She cuts herself off mid-sentence, looking over the two of us so close together. Clearly involved in some sort of conflict by neither spells if fists have begun to fly. “What's going on?” She asks slowly, her concern for my safety evident in her voice.

Still I continue to glare at the boy in from of me, holding his gaze my eyes unblinking, unwilling to be the first to back down.

Totally ignoring the newest addition to the group, he squares his shoulders and with his hand resting on the handle of his wand he begins to speak. “So is this to be it? An eye for an eye?” I am unmoved by his display. It had been done with the intention to overawe me. The ploy has failed. I have spent long enough in his presence since I began my education to know that he will not cause me harm in the presence of a witness.

He is unsettled by the threat and now I know my task is complete I take a small step back, handing him back some of his personal space and effectively sealing my inconspicuous victory over him. With a loud laugh to try and hide much of my anger from my girlfriend so she does not concern herself with what she has been a bystander to at a later time. Letting my lips settle into a mocking smirk I regard him. “Oh Malfoy. Don’t be so dramatic.” Trying to keep my voice even but still lase it with threat I continue to speak. “I still have my eyes.”

His back pushes impossibility straighter in an attempt to hide his fear. Even though we both know it is too late for that. He turns, his shoes grinding against the pebbled floor and quickly escapes, entering the castle and leaves my site. Not a moment to soon.

Hermione comes to stand close to me, her fingers grasping my forearm to secure all of my attention. “What was that about?”

“Oh nothing.” I brush off her concern and after carefully extracting my arm from her grasp I place it around her shoulders in an attempt to keep out the cold.

“Didn't look like nothing.” Why must she always be so observant? “Was he threatening you?”

I smile, knowing that she will be unable to see it from her position. “Defiantly not.” That particular pleasure was all mine this afternoon. “How did your lesson go?” I ask, already knowing the answer but trying to draw her attention away from what she almost just witnessed.

This has the desired effect and a growl enters her voice. “That woman. That evil, twisted bitch.” My eyebrows shoot so high on my forehead they disappear into my hairline in shock. I really don’t think I’ve ever heard Hermione swear before. Biting my tongue to refrain from pointing out I predicted this would happen, I settle for pulling her tightly against my side. Her shoulders are tight and her back ridged. “Do you know what he taught today?” The question is rhetorical; she doesn’t expect and answer so I do not provide one. Instead I opt to pull her into the castle and out of the winter cold. “Thestrals. They're not even that dangerous. For God sake most of us can't even see them.”

Although I stay silent on the issue I can't help but wonder exactly how productive a lesson could be when the item of study is invisible to most of your class. Nor do I divulge my initial fear upon seeing one of the strange creatures after the death of my uncle.

As we walk down the chilly corridors I feel as she turns and inclines her head towards me, sighing at my persistent silence. “What are you thinking about?”

With a frown on my forehead I let my gaze meet hers and with a final squeeze release her shoulders from my embrace. Lifting the back of my robes I push my hands deep into my pockets.

This question is foreign to me. It would be easy to describe me a stoic most of the time. Preferring to lurk in the shadows and be a quiet observer. Before this moment the behaviour has never been questioned and I'm sure, often went unnoticed. My initial reaction is to try and convince her that my mind is blank and I am listening intently to her but my curiosity on this occasion surpasses the initial response. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugs slightly, linking her arm with mine. “You're always so... thoughtful.” At a sidelong glance at her I can see her trying to choose her words, carefully behind her eyes. “It would be nice to know what was going through your head.”

“You think I don't listen to you.” It doesn’t take me long to figure out what she is getting at.

“Well...” She pauses again. I presume to avoid directly agreeing with my conclusion. “You're not always an active contributor to a conversation. We're you always this quiet?”

I take a moment to mull over that question. In all honesty, before our declaration of love three nights ago, we very rarely spoke about anything of consequence. So a conflict of interest would have very few adverse effects, so there was no reason for me to keep many of my thoughts to myself. It is also a distinct possibility that the past few weeks of my self-induced solitude has made me much more accustomed to silent reflection. “I don't know.” I eventually answer honestly. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not really. It's just.” She pauses to take a breath and to decide how best to express herself. “I'm worried that I'm boring you.”

I allow myself the pleasure of a smile and a snort of laughter. “You are many things Hermione. Boring, however is not one of them.”

Her loud huff of frustration reaches my ears only moments before her voice. “Then, why is it so difficult to have a conversation with you?”

“Is it always?” I ask with genuine curiosity, I had not considered before that to hold a one sided conversation would be a chore. Many of the people I have surrounded myself throughout my short lifetime have been content to listen to their own voice for hours upon end. It was a very simplistic way of extracting information so I have always permitted it to continue. This particular predicament is not something I have ever encountered before.

She lets out a long breath and I see her squint her eyes. In thought or in exasperation I am unsure. “Not all the time. Just when we get onto certain topics you go really quiet.”

“I don't always have something to say.” I say as she pulls me up a spiral staircase.

“Well I know that's a lie.” At my raised eyebrow she continues. “You're always thinking. It's like I can see the cogs tuning in your head. You just don't voice them.” I make a small noise in the back of my throat to show that I have heard her but say nothing on the matter. It was a mistake on my part to think she would not notice the action. “See. You're doing it again.”

“I'm sorry.” I apologize easily. With a slow sigh I go about trying to come up with a way of explaining myself to her without divulging too much. She stays quiet, as if intuitively knowing that on this particular occasion I fully intend to speak honestly, yet I am simply choosing an appropriate order for my words. “We always seem to land on a topic, that you are passionate and very opinionated about. My own opinions often conflict with yours.”

“So?” Her question takes me off guard but she saves me the embarrassment of confusion and ploughs forward. “I don't want a carbon copy of me. There would be no point in conversation if you believed everything I did.”

I frown, trying to remember a time in my life when open discussion of different opinions was not only permitted but encouraged and find myself drawing a blank. Such conflict in my family home would not have been received well by my father. His opinion was my opinion, regardless of my own thoughts on any particular circumstance. So her request for open conflict of interests is more than a little baffling. “You want me to argue with you.”

“Not argue.” Her rebuttal is quick. “More like debate.”

“Debate?” I ask, letting the word roll around in my mind, wondering if there is any difference between the two words.

“Yes, debate.” She pulls on our interlocked arms and draws me to a stop, waiting until I look upon her face in question before she continues. “I'm going to regret saying this but, please don't be afraid to disagree with me.”

“What if you don't like what I have to say?” I ask fearing her answer.

“Why does it scare you so much? You think I'm going to leave you because we have a difference of opinion?” Her comment is in jest though I do not take it as such. Not having to voice my answer, she sees the tightening of my jaw beneath my skin and steps forward to run her palm over my cheek as a show of reassurance. “Don't think that way. Don't tread on eggshells. Just be yourself.”

With her skin pressed close to mine I find it hard to find the energy to either lie or hide my feelings. Covering her hand with mine I put voice to a niggling fear in the back of my mind with little thought to the consequences. “What if you don't like who I am?”

“I fear the same thing.” The small admission is enough to lift a heavy burden from my chest and lets me release a small breath I had been holding. “We'll just have to cross that bridge when and if we come to it.” Somehow I think my approach of staying quiet and totally avoiding the hypothetical bridge is better than her idea. She giggles at me and it makes me wonder if the thought shows on my face. “Come on.” She takes my arm again and pulls me into a brisk walk. “We have a history of magic lesson.” My groan echoes down the corridor and her laughter soon follows.
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By The Light