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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter 13

"This is just impossible." Ron huffs falling into his seat before his simmering cauldron and dropping his chin into his hands with a deep scowl pulled across his face. Looking quite possibly the most dejected I have ever seen him, which is an achievement in itself.

"It's not impossible Ron." Hermione says lowering the flame under her own brew, allowing it to simmer lightly.

"Yes. Yes it is." Ron said in an exasperated whisper. "It is impossible for me to do this. That's why you have a perfectly made, bubbling purple portion. And I seem to have created this smelly, black goo... Again!"

"Everything is impossible if we give up on the first try." The words tumble out of my mouth before I give myself pause to stop them. Something my mother taught me many moons ago, that has stuck with me all this time.

"Easy for you to say." His bad temper turns on me. "You're always good in this lesson."

"You only judge on what you see." I observe, interested by the thought. Even after the past few days it is baffling how much these three take at face value and yet they have survived for so long. They see that I am able to brew a potion such as this and immediately assume that this is the first time I have attempted it. They do not realize the hours spent perfecting these skills and learning techniques passed down through generations. Under my father’s watchful gaze and heavy hand.

It is possible that it is the effects of spending so much time around Hermione, which has given them this blinkered view of the world. Hermione is a natural at everything magical. She can literally read a passage from almost any book and directly apply it to the world around her. Read the method to a potion and be able to replicate it perfectly. Hear the words to a spell only once and be able to cast it with little effort. I have seen this in action and it is indeed remarkable.

I am not so fortunate. The skills that I show to the inhabitants of this school are the product of countless hours of practice and patience from a very early age. My father was well versed in the laws and procedures surrounding under aged magic and was able to shroud me from sight. Leaving him to teach me these spells and potions without the Ministry breathing down his neck.

In my opinion if Hermione had the opportunity and inclination to apply herself in the same way that I had in my formative years she would by this point be able to hold her own against Dark Lord himself.

I can feel the three sets of eyes on me waiting for me to continue, something of which I have little intention of doing. "You're going to have to elaborate a bit, Jamie." Ron prods, as always using his hands to extenuate his speech.

I pull a small smile across my face, unwilling to reveal these childhood secrets, especially when in such a crowded place. Instead I change the topic of conversation to something I am sure would interest Ron much more than my childhood years. "You’re chopping not slicing the Asphodel."

"What?" He says. Not following the rapid change in direction of the discussion.

Taking the aforementioned plant root from the desk I lower the heat on my own brew and take it over to him. "It's why your potion is too thick."

"What's the difference?" He asks.

I raise my eyebrow in his direction in sheer disbelief before quickly turning my gaze to Hermione.

She only holds her hands up in surrender. "I've tried to explain. More than once. Stop looking at me like that."

Ron throws his hands up in frustration. "I don't get it. Slicing or chopping. It still gets cut up."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that to me." I say, lightly. Under normal circumstances such a comment would have made my blood boil. Since this morning’s activities with my girlfriend however my good mood has been unwavering. Regardless of how many stupid comments I hear. "Let's start with the basics. There are twenty-four different methods of cutting ingredient."

"Twenty-four?" He asks his mouth hanging open at the implication.

Not wanting to push him into a state of shock I refrain from mentioning the sub categories for almost all of these methods. "All of them distinct in their own way. All of them mentioned and described in every potion book you will ever own."

"Really?" He asks his face and voice showing how little trust he places in the statement.

"Really." I answer, flicking through his textbook to the appropriate section among the last few pages and showing it to him.

"Oh." He says taking the text from within my grasp and casting his eyes across it as if it were nothing more than an illusion. "Well, would you look at that?" After a few moments of scanning the page his eyes turn back to me. "You can tell what I did wrong? Just by looking at the potion?"

"No." I answer vaguely. Many years of manipulating others from the sidelines has proved that a high degree of observation is in order. Over the years I have been able to develop an uncanny ability to be able to watch many of the happenings around me without being seen. It is a long lasting habit that I am loath to break as it has proved useful on more than one occasion.

Most of his face screws up in confusion. "You're not going to tell me are you?" At least he is learning.

"No." Is the only answer he gets from me before I make my way back over to my finished potion and turn off the heat from under it. I take my seat and wordlessly fold my arms and await Snape to make his way around the class to give his marks.

Ron sighs in defeat after looking at his watch, knowing that he does not have the time to start the potion again, and after turning off the flame gives me one last glance. "Why are you always so cryptic?" He asks before slowly beginning to pack away his possessions.

Distractedly I reply. "Practice." Letting my eyes follow the potions master around the room as he moves from student to student commenting on their efforts.

"One of these days..." He pauses and pulls my attention in his direction. "I swear you are going to give me a straight answer to a straight question."

This is when Hermione decides to join in the conversation with a small chuckle. "I wouldn't hold your breath Ron."

Harry, with the aid of his tweezers, drops a very tiny amount of powdered Burdock into his potion, his immense concentration preventing him from conversing with us up until this point. After pulling his tongue from between his molars he turns to us with a mischievous grin on his face. "We could start asking cryptic questions? Would that work?"

"Depends on what you would describe as a cryptic question." I say my eyebrow raised in challenge.

He opens his mouth to speak and draws breath, only to crease his eyebrows and close his mouth into a thin line. He attempts to pose his question several more times before turning back to his potion. "I'll have to get back to you on that."

"So it would seem."

"Shut up." He playfully retorts and carelessly adds the final ingredient to his mixture. The reaction as soon as the small dead insect hits the liquid is immediate. With a small crack and a long fizzle the mixture bubbles over the side of the cauldron and a thick blanket of smoke erupts from it. Moulding into a mushroom shape right in front of Harry's face. He coughs and splutters, waving his hand over the cauldron and quickly reaching for his wand to extinguish the flame. "What did I do wrong this time?" He asks rhetorically.

Staying in my position and showing that I am in no way surprised by the outcome I calmly state. "Read the board."

It only takes him a moment to realize that he had missed not one but two steps from the method, which is written in chalk along the backboard at the head of the class. "Oh bugger." He drops into his seat in frustration. "You could have told me."

"Then what would you have learned?" I ask, looking suspiciously at the cloud of smoke slowly dispersing around the room.

"Mr. Potter." Though I had not taken my gazes from Snape for a moment I am still amazed at how quickly he can stride across the room to chastise Harry at any given opportunity. "Yet another show of incompetence?"

"Sorry professor." Harry mumbles lowering his gaze to the ruined potion.

He shakes his head ever so slightly, looking down his long crooked nose for a few long moments at the black haired boy. "Ten points from Gryffindor and clean up this mess before you leave." He only glances over to Ron's think gunk lining the base of his cauldron before heaving a very frustrated sigh, waving his wand and cleaning up the mess. He moves swiftly on, only nodding in approval at Hermione's work, being unable to pick fault. All too soon he is standing before me and I refuse to loosen my defensive stance, pulling my arms tighter around my chest and hope that he will make no comment on the mixture within my cauldron. The last thing I want to hear is his praise after he has shot down my friends at my side so vigorously. Thankfully all my prayers are answered and he only hums in the back of his throat. He taps his wand once with a hollow clang against the side of the cauldron’s metal rim, clearing it of its contents. "Stay behind after this lesson."

Was he able to read my thoughts or my body language? Or is he simply perceptive enough to know that any form of praise in that moment would have been received poorly? I have never been known to look a gift Pegasus in the mouth and as such I stop myself from asking as to his motives. "Yes sir."

Everyone around me is slowly packing away their belongings so I know I will not have to wait long to exchange a private word with the professor.

Ron for once using all of the tact he possesses, waits until the potions master is out of earshot to comment. "What the hell could he want to see you for?" He looks around to his friends as if they might impart him with the answer. Harry for his part looks just as confused and the red headed boy and Hermione quickly averts her gaze so she will not need to answer him. Ron's blue eyes land once again on me and he whispers in outrage. "That potion was bloody perfect."

I shrug, hoping he might overlook the stiffening of my muscles with the action. The date is by no means lost on me. Tomorrow is the full moon. He did inform me I would need to see him the day before for a draft of Wolfs Bane and for him to show me where I will be spending the night.

In truth I had hoped to avoid the conversation for as long as possible. The new circle of friends Hermione has inducted me into, have made little to no mention of my condition over the past week. The result has been that I have felt almost normal. Almost human. I had hoped I may have been able to prolong that feeling for just a few more hours.

"I'll catch you up." I say in an attempt to direct the three friends out of the door and down to the Great hall for dinner.

Hermione ducks her head under the strap of her satchel and casts her eyes over me. Offering to stay for moral support without voicing her concerns. The slight shake of my head is minimal so as not to draw attention to our silent exchange. After a long sigh she follows the two boys from the classroom.

Sitting at the back of the classroom certainly has its flaws. As each and every student passes me by a multitude of different looks are thrown my way, along with a collection of snide remarks from my fellow Slytherins.

It doesn't take long for the room to empty, the potions master pays me little attention as he fusses around his desk, flicking his wand in all directions to clear the blackboard and clean spilled potions from tops of desks. The only sign he shows that he isn't completely ignoring my presence is a short glance he sends to the back to the classroom wordlessly indicating that I should go to him at the head of the room.

After of sigh of annoyance over the silent summons. I lift my bag from the floor at my feet and throw it carelessly over my shoulder, descending the stone stairs. Coming to an uneasy stop at the teacher’s desk just as Snape takes his seat behind it. He leans back heavy and casts his gaze over me several times before he chooses to speak. "It is good to see that your skill in potions is, at last, starting to show through."

I offer him no more than a tight-lipped smile at his praise. For the past four years, I have taken many steps to hide my skills from the rest of the school's population. It has been my experience that those who excel intellectually receive an abundance of attention something, which has never suited my purpose before this time.

It is however very difficult not to compete with Hermione. She is, by nature, very competitive. She in no way encourages anyone to contend with her but finds a huge amount of satisfaction with being the smartest witch of her age and having the grades to show for it.

I know that if I excel at a lesson or task she will in turn subconsciously try with all of her might to best me. Which in turn will further her knowledge and advance her skills to a higher degree than she would achieve with study alone.

I am certain that when the boy who lived asked for me to begin teaching him and his friends the arts of magic this deceptive method is not exactly what he had in mind.

However these efforts were not designed to be noticed by any third party. Snape's observation over the change in my performance is not something that I had anticipated. Though with the gift of hindsight I now see that such an outcome was inevitable.

He waits far longer than most would for some form of verbal answer from me. Something, which I hasten to add, is not forthcoming. Stubbornly his eyebrows rise in question and the small action indicates that it would be disrespectful for me to delay a response further. So begrudgingly I clear my throat to speak. "I have always had passing grades." I inform him.

"Very true. Though before this week I would not have graded you above Acceptable. Today you are pushing an Outstanding." The look in his eye and the sly smile on his face are exactly the response I had been trying to avoid these past years.

Carefully avoiding his eyes I offer him a simple. "Thank you Professor." Bushing off the approval and hoping that we can simply move the conversation forward and away from this topic I say, "You wanted to see me?"

His eyes narrow to slits, leaving me under no illusion that by attempt at a subtle subject change has not gone unnoticed. Regardless he pulls a small flagon; the cork pushed tightly into the neck, from beneath his robes and rests it against the surface of her desk.

After a lengthy pause I take up the ominous container. "Wolfs bane." I state, already loathing the substance.

"Part of it." He says and my gaze quickly turns to meet his bottomless black eyes. "This potion is very complex. It must be taken in two parts, the day before a transformation and just as the sun is setting the following day. The timing is critical."

"You want me to take this now?" Worrying my bottom lip and tossing the flagon around in my grasp I wonder how long I can delay this. "What will happen to me?"

"It is my hope that nothing will happen in the next twenty four hours. There are, however, common side effects."

"Such as?"

"Everyone reacts slightly differently to the potion but the most common side effects are nausea and fatigue. Though for your first try I would expect almost anything." I feel myself swallow my fear at his words. "Then tomorrow, after you have transformed you will simply curl up and go to sleep."

I have to turn the cork several times to pull it free from its confinement. Then without pause, without giving myself any time to think, I bring the rim to my lips and force it down my throat in one long swallow. "That is disgusting." I say handing him back the drained flagon and pushing down the bile rising from the pit of my stomach. Holding my fist against my mouth and fighting a strong gag reflex, I look over the potions master for any show of amusement at my discomfort. I'm surprised not to find any. Instead I see quiet concern shining in his eyes. The emotion does not reach his facial features but is evident in his body language as he learns forward in his seat to assess my reaction to the medication. After a few moments I compose myself and wish for nothing more than to be able to leave his presence and wash the vile taste from my mouth. "Was there anything else professor?"

"If you are to vomit at all before tomorrow night, you must come and see me immediately." There is no way in all the trials of Hercules that I am vomiting, if it means having to take the concoction again. "I will be in my office tomorrow. Come to see me at least an hour before sunset and we will make the final preparations."

"Yes sir." I say pulling my bag from the floor and hanging it over my shoulder, anxious to leave the classroom. I respectfully give him a few moments pause to comment further, when nothing is forthcoming I quickly say. "Thank you sir." And turn to leave. Taking the stone steps two at a time in my haste to remove myself from this place.

His voice, echoing around the empty room halts my steps for only a moment. "Miss Desay. If you are in need of me I will be in my office."

"Yes sir." I say with esteem. Having no intention of taking him up on such an offer. His presence without supervision for only a few minutes has my skin crawling. I am no hurry to place myself in such a position of my own free will.

The door closes slowly behind me and I take a detour from my normal route into the Great Hall, ducking into the rest room to rinse my mouth. My eyes rest momentarily on the bar of soap laying on the porcelain sink and I briefly consider if the taste would be more bearable than the sensation currently settled across my tongue and running down my throat. After deciding that it would be both healthier and simpler to attend the evening meal in the Great Hall I begin to make my way up to the ground floor.

I enter the Great Hall not even glancing over to the Slytherin table and make my way between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Already spying two tufts of red hair indicating where Ron and Ginny are dining with their friends.

When Hermione initially brought me over to the Gryffindor table over a week ago, she started a chain reaction, of which should have been obvious, but was inadvertently overlooked by both of us. Many of the Slytherins knew that it would be very hard to incite a reaction with jibs directed at myself. I have lived with backhanded compliments and outright insulting remarks for much of my life from my father’s side of the family. It was at first the reason I threw myself into the study of dark magic as such a young age and to this day such remarks slide off my back without leaving a scratch. However the moment her hand pressed against mine that day many of them realized they had another, much more effective, approach to prod at my temper.

The next weekday meal I sat at my house table for a grand total of six minutes. Within that time I was pulled to my feet by my own rage, my wand griped tightly in my fingers, wondering how many of those around me I could hex or curse before someone had the power and the courage to put me down. The answer was none. Hermione appeared to materialize next to me. Placing her small hand over mine to still it’s shaking and gently coaxed my wand out of my iron grip.

From that day to this I have taken every meal of which I have been in attendance with these four. As I approach the table I find a smile on my lips forming unconsciously. The argument, which reaches my ears from the two boys on the other side of the long table already appearing to be humorous in it’s content.

"Oh come on Harry, you've got to admit it is possible." Ron says a fork full of mash potatoes held forgotten in his hand, mere inches from his mouth.

Quietly as not to draw any attention from the disagreement I take my seat next to Hermione. She is silently shaking her head back and forth with an amused smile pulled across her lips.

Harry for his part pulls a face around his own mouthful of food, gesturing with his hands before he gives himself time to swallow. "No! No chance mate." Harry continues in his rant, his voice rising with each and every syllable uttered. "It's all about mind over matter. I don't care how strong you are. If you’re fighting against something smarter you're going down."

Ron's fork lands on his plate with a clatter and he begins to use his hands to exaggerate his words in a way that I am beginning to associate with him. "Forget wise words and clever plans. I'm talking about something primal, unstoppable. No amount of smarts is getting past that."

"Nothing and I mean nothing, is unstoppable. Furthermore you can't forget wise words and clever plans, if you have them you're gonna use them" Harry rebuttals.

I find myself looking from first Hermione to Ginny and back again for some indication as to what is going on. It is commonplace for the two boys to disagree but I have not seen them so drawn into the discussion before.

Receiving no answer from anyone at the table I resolve myself to ignore both of them and reach for a helping of the sizzling pork, piling it onto my plate finding myself with no appetite for anything else.

"You're forgetting the significant weight advantage." I hear Ron exclaim.

"No, no I'm not." Harry is quick to jump to his own defence. "In an all-out charge I agree with you, but if something is small and nimble it just gets out of the way of the larger opponent. So you just end up tiring him out. Then bam, he's all yours."

"See sense Harry..." Ron says, seemingly running out of steam under Harry's logic. He then throws his hand up in the air in exasperation. "This is getting us nowhere." He turns his gaze over the tabletop "Hermi..." I watch as something passes over his face and he thinks twice at asking my girlfriend for any sort of back up. Just as quickly he turns to me. "Jamie, what do you think?"

I am so taken aback by the question that I drop my fork to the plate as if burned. "Pardon?" He very rarely acknowledges my existence at the table, always falling into a heated discussion with Harry or one of his siblings the moments his rear hits the seat.

"Really, what do you think?" He waits for a moment and I just look at him with wide eyes. Somehow he must suddenly realize that I have only been privy to a small portion of the conversation. "If a griffin and a dragon got into a fight who would win?" Whatever I was expecting to hear in no way shape or form had it been that.

"You want my opinion?" I ask and I find myself still mildly surprised when he ecclesiastically nods his head. "But the matter is trivial."

Almost immediately his face flushes a bright red. "No, no it's not. It's important."

I sigh at this, wondering how I got roped into this argument. Hermione provides no help, choosing instead to hide her giggles behind her hand at my discomfort. Even Harry is leaning across the table, eagerly awaiting my response. Previously I would simply agree with whomever I had a better relationship with. Or even whoever would be able to help in gathering connections, or I could see that my influence over would be useful in some way. However in this instance I do not have this option. Both are equity on very friendly bases with the woman sitting beside me and neither have anything that I could wish to gain from them. So I try my hardest to try and avoid directly answering. "A dragon and a griffin would never meet. Both are indigenous to two different areas of the world."

"Yeah I know that." Ron says, leaning over his half eaten meal. "But what if they did?"

He's not going to drop this is he? "Under what circumstances?"

"Does it matter?" The red headed boy asks, clearly becoming frustrated with my avoidance.

"Yes. Defiantly. In an open fields or even deserts for instance the dragon would have a distinct advantage, whereas in an inner-city or mountain range the griffin would hold the higher ground."

Ron takes a breath, pointing an accusing finger in my direction; he makes a move to speak then thinks better of it. His mouth starts to open and close uselessly, closely resembling a mermaid out of water. I'm on the verge of asking if he feels well before his gaze snaps to Hermione. "Is she always this difficult?"

I draw breath to show my displeasure at such a question but I am cut short with a firm, "Yes." at my side and I turn to stare, mouth open in shock, in her direction. She is merely grinning from ear to ear at me.

Somehow I manage to close my mouth with an audible snap and turn back to my evening meal. Taking up my fork and mumbling into it "I just like to be thorough." Laughter bubbles up all around me and I feel my ears start to burn with embarrassment.

Her hand lands heavily on my shoulder and a quick glance shows me she is still smiling. "We're just teasing you Sweetheart." I let the term of endearment slide without comment, wondering if this is the first time she had uttered one or just simply the first time I had noticed it.

Ron coughs to show how uncomfortable he is and lowers his gaze to his plate. He still hasn't really gotten used to Hermione and I being in a relationship.

The whole subject is quickly dropped with no concrete conclusion to the immaterial discussion and a heavy silence falls over us for a few moments before Harry, still with his eyes carefully directed to the table top and pushing his food around his plate, decides to speak. "So, Jamie." I look over and give him my full attention; his show of indifference is an obvious ploy, interesting me immediately. "Are you still interested in teaching us wordless magic?"

I let out a snort of laughter. So we're back to this again. "I'm a woman of my word." It is easy to lie so convincingly when you have been doing it all of your life, however on this occasion I do have every intention of teaching these three all that I can to aid them in their fight. "You name the time and place I'll be there."

"How about after dinner?"

My eyebrows rise at his request. It would have been considerate to give me a little more notice but all I will need is my wand and my wits, both of which I have with me. "If that's what you want." I take a moment to glance up to the staff table and remind myself that travelling around the castle in groups any larger than three is strictly prohibited, thanks to our pompous High Inquisitor. "Where shall we meet?"

"No." Hermione hisses across the table and I have to wonder at such an adverse reaction. "You can't just spring this on her."

With those few words I am immediately on the defensive. "Spring what on me?" Her hand reaches for mine under the table and gives it a tight squeeze, her eyes never once leaving Harry's.

"I didn't really intend to." Harry says. "I just wanted to get started right away. There wasn't really any good time to discuss it."

"Discuss what?" I ask, trying to remain calm.

He gives me a lingering look and a long sigh, before glancing over each shoulder in a very suspicious manor. "We can't really talk about it here but there are a few more who want to learn." He pauses a moment then leans across the table. "I'm sorry but I did ask if you would teach others."

Mimicking his posture I try and fail to keep the irate tone from my voice. "How many others? Exactly."

His hand travels to his unkempt hair and scratches his scalp as he tries not to meet my eyes. "I don't know. A few."

Instinctively knowing I won’t get a straight answer out of the boy so I turn to Hermione at my side with a questioning look. "Well?"

I have no problems with imparting my knowledge to even a very large group, especially if it would help to keep Hermione safe through the coming years. My problem is with Umbridge appearing to find some sort of decree to pass on a daily basis whatever they are doing must be against the rules. This would not be a problem if it were not for my condition. I would have no problems with causing the woman as much discomfort as possible, without fears at getting caught in the act. However my disorder does not only lower my status significantly in the eyes of many around me, it also strips me of some fundamental rights. If anyone else within these walls were to be caught breaking the many new rules forced upon us they would face detention or at the very worst expulsion. I have much more to fear as Umbridge could legally take me into custody for even the most minor infringement. Even if I were not convicted it would take many moons to convince any court to agree to a fair trial, especially without the aid of most of my family.

An uncomfortable look spreads across her features and she squirms under my unyielding gaze. "I don't know an exact figure." Her tongue runs out to wet her lips and she sighs. "Okay, we can postpone this until we have had a chance to talk."

"I'm not going to like this am I?"

"Probably not."

I sigh and look at each of the four friends one by one. All of them have the decency to look sheepish about the matter. "No. Let’s just get this over with."

The grin is back on Harry's face in full force. "Good. We'd better... Urm. Head up." He rubs his hands together a few times before turning to his red headed friend. "Ron?" He pulls Ron to his feet and tilts his head towards Ginny, then purposely strides out of the great hall. Leaving Hermione behind to lead me to the mysterious meeting place.

After a long pause between us she begins to hesitantly apologize. "I'm sorry about all of this. I didn't realize he was going to bring this up today."

"What exactly is going on?" I ask, not caring for apologies at this time. Just wanting some answers to explain their suspicious behaviour.

She squeezes my hand still held within her grasp a final time before drawing away. Reaching into her pocket and doing her best to avoid my eyes. "Can we talk about this later?" I give her an unscrupulous look, remembering our conversation just a few short days ago, where she told me that I was evasive in most conversations. She takes a single gold coin from her robes and rests it against the tabletop, taking in my facial features and sighing. "I promise. We'll talk about this but not here."

I nod once and draw my gaze away from her, pushing my half empty plate away having suddenly lost my appetite. With her unable to decide on a topic that may appease me and me with no wish for conversation we both sit in silence. Watching others leave the Great Hall, slowly filing out to presumably attend to their nightly rituals before sleep. We must sit for almost an hour before Hermione lifts the small gold galleon from its resting place and running her thumb over its surface. "Time to go." She says, standing from her seat. "Come on."
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By The Light