Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

By The Light	By : lycanthrope Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 17677 -:- 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
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Chapter 2

Her lips imminently fall into an ancient rhythm with mine. One touch of our lips immediately leading to another. Each of us grasping each other tightly as I give in to my cravings for this wonderful woman held clenched in my embrace.

Perception of time begins to slip away from my mind as her fingers weave their way into my thick, long hair. Each time our lips part her erratic her breath mingles with my own so we are breathing as one, moving as one and feeling as one, before they come crashing together again, beginning the cycle anew. In moments like these I feel complete. Each and every fibre of my being coming alive in her arms, under her touch as though she wordlessly commands it to be so.

My palm grips her hip and pulls her tightly against me. Needing to feel her along the length of my body, wanting to caress every inch of skin all at once but blocked in such a endeavour by the abundance of cloth between us.

She weasels a single finger through my belt loop and steps backwards, forcing me to step forward in pursuit, never moving my lips from hers for longer than a second. Moments later she repeats the action, starting the dance all over again.

She stops her assault of my mouth, running her lips along my cheek down to my jawline and along my neck. The fire already raging inside of me intensifying into an inferno of emotion, hormones and need. “By the gods, I want you Hermione.” I shakily manage to speak.

She makes a positive sound in the back of her throat as her fingers begin to nimbly unbutton my shirt. Quickly the garment is open and her palms reach inside to run across the skin of my belly with an enticing softness. A gentleness she always shows me in our moments of privacy.

My eager hands are just sliding up her back when the there are three hesitant knocks at the door. Her attention on my neck immediately stops and I hear her hold her breath, standing perfectly still trying to preventing herself from making any perceivable sound that can be heard from the other side the wooden door.

My gaze hits the wood grain, narrowing upon contact. With any luck whoever stands on the other side will simply walk away. Fooled by the very simple ruse that the room is empty.

“Hermione?” Ronald Weasley's voice sounds through the door, sounding both small and recently chastised.

My eyes close in pure irritation and knowing that there is no way she will continue this charade with her best friend vying for her attention I sarcastically look down the length of my torso at the top of her bowed head. “His timing is impeccable.”

With a sigh her forehead rests on my shoulder and she calls out totally ignoring my comment. “What is it Ron?” She calls out, her voice muffled by my chest but still loud enough to be heads from outside of the room.

“I...” He pauses and I can just imagine him collecting himself on the other side of the doorway. Dusting off his robes and shuffling nervously for foot to foot. “I just wanted to know, if you were alright.”

“I'm fine.” Her voice is holding an undeniably irate tone to it.

“Are you sure?” Persistent bugger isn't he?

I lower a kiss behind her ear, letting her lean into the caress and whisper against her flesh, to insure he cannot hear. “I don't think he's going anywhere until you answer him.”

She nods against me and whispers back. “I know.” The note of defeat is evident within her voice.

“Look Hermione. I just want to make sure everything is alright... Are you still mad at me?”

I give her an unscrupulous look. How can she be so blind to his advances? Even as I think this her hand cups my cheek and she looks at me, her gaze apologetic

She leads me behind her door and opens it enough so she is able to see him and I am hidden behind it. I begin to redo the buttons of my shirt sensing that the moment of intimacy has been damaged beyond repair by the interruption. “No Ron, I'm not mad.” Unseen I roll my eyes and shake my head. A strategically placed lie in that moment would have proved to be enough to run the red headed boy off. At least for long enough that I could have made my escape. “But right now I think I just need to be left alone.”

“Aww, come on Hermione. I didn't mean to... what was it you said? Undermine you. I just thought...” So it would appear Hermione did not walk away unscathed from the disaster I left down at the Quidditch pitch.

She cuts him off mid flow. “No you didn't think Ron. You never think. You just act and it's so infuriating.” Immediately I feel as though I am witness to a conversation that should remain private. A disagreement between friends that may very quickly descend into the realms of the deeply personal.

“Look Hermione.” He says with a sheepish tone to his voice. “I don't think we should have this conversation in the hallway. Can I come in?”

“Ron.” He completely misses the warning tone, which puts a tight edge to her voice and pushes against the door letting himself in with a lightly mumbled 'thanks'.

As I see his bright red hair enter the room and Hermione's eyes meet mine, telling me that the situation is now beyond her control. I realize that I have to decide exactly what I need to do here. There is little to no chance of escape. I would need to walk around the door to get out of the room. He would see me in an instant. It would also open up my back to attack and I could never have that. To be so defenceless against a Weasley, my pride would not allow it.

Another option is to hide, but where? From where I stand my options are very limited. There is the old, under the bed trick. However I can't honestly see any way of getting under there without one getting caught and two it looks very undignified. Plus the moment he turns to face Hermione his eyes will land on me, unceremoniously cowering behind the door.

The easiest option is to simply draw my wand and hex the boy so deep into unconsciousness that I not only could I book an retreat without ever being seen, it would also not necessarily be a hasty endeavour. However such a violent solution would not go over well with Hermione, even if she were to understand the action it is highly unlikely that I would ever be permitted to enter her private chambers again and that is something that I would dearly like to continue.

I only have one other real option open to me and frustratingly I am completely unable to calculate the consequences of what I know I must do. I dig deep into my belly, pulling a sneer across my face, stepping forwards and prepare to act as though I own the place. “Hello Weasley.”

He lets out a surprised yelp, jumping up and spinning on the spot, patting his palms against his chest in a fevered search for his wand. Reaching beneath his robes and finally extracting it and pointing it towards my - by now - very bored expression.

I pull my arms across my chest dropping myself into a small defensive stance and consider the boy in front of me. Shakily pointing his wand at me in what I think he interprets as a threatening pose, searching his mind for a spell to throw in my direction.

I know without a shadow of doubt that my wand is currently located in my back pocket, protruding ever so slightly for easy access. I know that in the time it would take for me to reach for it and point it at this boy I would already have a multitude of highly painful curses ready and powered at its tip. I am also completely certain that of these curses that are already running through my mind there is not one of them that he would be confident in blocking. The final thing I know, and this one is big, is that if I were to do any of these things Hermione would very likely never forgive me.

So I remain, rooted to the spot, my eyes focused on the tip of his wand as he begins to speak. “What are you doing here?” I feel myself shrug on reflex. My face carefully relaxed remaining silent. “If you've hurt her I swear I'll...”

I cut him off stepping forward so the tip of his wand presses tightly against my breastplate. “You'll what Weasley? Curse me? Just try it.” I dare him. Knowing he would need to speak his spell of choice and at this distance I would quite easily be able to redirect his wand before it could touch me.

“What are you doing here?” He says, beginning to gain some confidence.

I shrug again. “Same as you. I came to see Hermione.” I flick my eyes in her direction trying to gain her reaction to this situation. The look in her eyes tells me she is not handling this well.

“Why?” Interesting question.

Should I answer with complete honesty? Telling him that I am so completely devoted to his friend that I cannot bear to be away from her for longer than a day? Should I simply say what Hermione already knows of our relationship until the tips of his ears are the same colour as his hair? Instead I remain outwardly calm. “Why not?”

“Well...” His gaze wavers from mine as he ponders this. Giving me another golden opportunity to incapacitate him. Something which I am still failing to do. “Just get out. Or I'll...”

The tip of his wand presses tighter against my breastplate as I lean forward and press against it. The posture itself serves to be threatening but it also ensures that if, in the unlikely event he were able to conjure a wordless spell I will be able to feel it vibrate against my bone, giving me the opportunity to redirect the strike to a much safer position. “Or you'll, what? Exactly.” I ask, raising an eyebrow, almost hoping that he tries to send a hex my way. At least then I would have both opportunity and reasonable motive to vent my frustrations out on him.

“That's enough.” Hermione comes to stand between us gently pushing against my shoulder, while simultaneously trying to push Weasley's wand down from my chest. ”Ron drop it.” He glances over to her then back at me as I raise my lip in a sneer; he then begins to slowly lower his wand from its threatening position. Hermione takes this to be a good sign as she adds. “Thank you.” She lets out a long frustrated sigh before turning her head to me. “I think you'd better go.”

My gaze snaps to meet hers as my insides begin to ache. I can see my world crumbling around me and there is nothing I can do to stop it. “Me?”

“Yeah you.” Ron gloats. Only to immediately cower away from the fire that burn in my iris' as I snap my sites on him.

Hermione's grip on my shoulder tightens as she turns to chastise him. “I said that's enough Ron.” She turns back to be with apologetic eyes and in that moment I know I’ve lost her. I unwittingly forced her to make this decision and I was never under any illusion that she would choose me over her friends. Carefully she begins to speak even as I feel the light leaving my eyes. “I think it's best if you leave.”

I feel numb and I feel empty. Like my very soul was ripped from my body only to be thrown to the floor to be tramped over. I run a hand over my eyes and will them to stop aching with unshed tears. I cannot remember the last time I wept with pain and I’ll be damned if I start now, with so many eyes bearing down on me. “Fine.” I finally say, trusting myself to look in her direction hoping that she cannot see the pleading in the back of my eyes. I hastily turn and leave closing the door gently behind me.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m staring at the ageing wood, the tips of my fingers gently running along the grain. Silently saying goodbye to what I truly desire. Not being able to voice it to the open hallway but still feeling my chest aching with the strain of what I know is to come. Nothing has been said yet but I can feel it. The walls of reality finally bearing down on me, crushing me with immeasurable force.

I have to restrain myself from violently lashing out at the wooden door and opt to turn and leave, blindly making my way back down to the dungeons. Back down to the dark where I belong. A numbness to debilitating to the senses seeps deep into my bones and I'm at my own doorway before I’ve even registered that I have descended a flight of stairs. “Finet lux lucis.” I whisper still in a light daze and granting myself entrance to the private prefect room.

The door creaks as it closes behind me and I'm left alone in the dark cold room, only my dark looming thoughts for company.

Even in this state I cannot bring myself to let go of that last flicker of hope. The last reminisce of how thing should be. How they could be. It could remain the same. Stealing secret moments away from prying eyes. It could be so much more. Her friends can be excepting, even reasonable, if only they could know my unyielding love for her. If only I had the courage to voice it.

It's only three little words after all. Three tiny, innocuous words that bear such weight that no matter her reaction they will tip the foundations of our relationship on it's head and once spoken can never be revoked.

I take a seat at my desk. Blindly looking at the moss covered walls, playing scenes out within my mind. Shaking my head against the images and dropping my head into my hands I know I cannot afford such wishful thinking. In this world there is only what is, not would could be, or what I wish to be. The only real way I can deal with this is to wait. My world is in their hands and I have no choice but to trust them not to break it.

With this new resolve I pull a fresh stretch of parchment across my desk, running my palm over its smooth surface. Removing one bottle of ink and a quill I begin to write my essay for potions, which I confess had been putting off for days.

Losing myself in the slow scratch of the nib upon the parchment. I spend my time forcing all thoughts of this predicament from my mind, completely concentrated in my task. Hunching over the written words for untold hours until my breathing returns to normal and my heart stops hammering against my chest. Letting my entire focus rest upon this academic exercise, where I can influence my grades to my liking, always knowing the outcome.

This is how she finds me. Cold, distant and withdrawn.

The door creaks open and I continue to write. Aware of her presence but unwilling to leave the sanctuary of my essay until necessary, determined to at the very least; finish my paragraph before returning to reality. “Jamie.” She calls to me her voice breaking on that single word as she closes the door.

I can almost smell her tears, so evident they are in her hitch breathing. It's more than enough to confirm my fears and my heart seizes at the implications. Clenching my teeth and swallowing the bile that is rising up my throat I force myself to remain natural. Unchanging, unaffected or at the very least appearing to be so. “Yes Hermione.” I reply still scratching the words across the parchment and treating her like a mile inconvenience.

She clears her throat and speaks to the back of my head. “We really need to talk.” I remain stoic allowing leaving a silence between us, knowing that she will soon become uncomfortable with it and she will continue without me having to prompt for it. “It's over Jamie.”

Just like that, another three little words. Not the ones I wished to hear but just as devastating.

My quill hovers, static over the piece of parchment, my whole body freezing in place as I reach to dip the nib back into the ink. My jaw clenching painfully and my mind going blank. I had not expected such a reaction, that those words that I had been anticipating could no longer affect me. I had been wrong.

After many moments I am able to swallow the growing lump in my throat to form speech. “I know.” Even to my ears it sounds empty, almost forced.

I hear her step forward her hand resting on my shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

I roll my shoulder forcing her comforting hand from my body. “No you're not.” My tongue now working of its own will, needing to lash out and hurt her as much as she's hurting me. Even though I am unwilling to show my pain, it does not prevent me needing to inflict it in equal quantities. My quill drops back into my ink pot and I tap the excess from the tip, once again resting it on the parchment. I simply cannot bring myself to look at her. If I do I fear it will be my undoing.

Thankfully she does not try to touch me again. “I didn't want it to be like this.” I can hear the presence of tears in her voice. The grip on my quill tightens and I force myself to stay seated, even as every fibre of my being is screaming at me to comfort her. Even as she tears my heart to pieces.

Instead I bite, like the snake I am. “You chose Hermione.” My quill lands in the ink a final time and I leave it there. The distraction no longer working. I knit my fingers together across my desk, still refusing to look at her. “You chose this. I did not.”

“Are you saying you wouldn't. Are you honestly saying that if you were in my position you wouldn't do the same?”

How can she be so blind? If our roles were reversed I know I would fight for her. To keep her in my life one way or another. Whether it remain in secret, or if I were to declare to the whole world that I am besotted with Hermione Jean Granger. The smart and brilliant muggle born witch who would put us pure bloods to shame had she the inclination. My father and my house mates be damned.

I turn my head so I am able to see her in my peripheral vision. “I'm not in your position though. Am I?” My jaw tightens painfully trying to keep my hurtful comments safely behind my teeth, knowing that I will regret them later. I know I could easily tell her my true feelings and end all of this in a heartbeat. One way or another. I know she could fall into my arms like she has so many times before. On the counter side she could laugh in my face and still walk away. I honestly don't think I could take that right now. “I think you'd better go.” I say my voice still void of emotion.

I hear her sniff back her tears and say. “I really am sorry.” The door creaks open and then closes and as the catch clicks into place I sharply look towards it. Hoping that maybe, just maybe she's still standing there. However the room is cold and empty once more and I find my chest aching. Slowly I turn back to my desk and replay the conversation in my mind’s eye, swiftly provoking an unpleasant burning deep in the pit of my stomach of which I do not know how to sate. The pain provoking anger and without thought or pause I grasp the small bottle of ink hurling it at the stone wall. It shatters on impact, ink flying all over the room and still the burning in my chest continues.

My hand runs through my hair and scrubs my face, my eyes unblinking, watching wet black ink as it begins to run down the cold stone wall, willing myself to calm my trembling body.

“By the Gods above, what do I do now?”
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By The Light