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
- 20
- 21
- 22
A/N: Warning: childishness if afoot.

And also some discussions on faith. With I know may offend some people so I’m going to address it here. I am decidedly not a religious person. But the act of belief is fascinating and beautiful and I really really wanted to explore it. Which is kinda why you've been getting so many Greek gods, also why Jamie has a religion that has been largely dead for almost two thousand years. I don't write this with the intention of offending anyone, everyone and I mean EVERYONE is entitled to their own belief system please proceed with an open mind. However if this does offend anyone please tell me why and I will address it.

I'm done now on with the show

Chapter 21

Movement across the mattress wakes me before I feel ready to rouse from my slumber. My eyes pulling open as a warm arm encircles my waist and tightens around my body the unexpected touch making my body pull as tight as a bow string. It takes only a single breath to draw in Hermione's floral sent and my unease is calmed significantly. Her nose gently nuzzles through my hair and across the back of my neck, her incoherent sleepy mumble makes me forgo the urge to to remove her limb from her body and return to the realm of Morpheus.

Knowing that I have little chance of sleep when her body is pressed so close to mine I let myself settle against the mattress and enjoy the contact, warped in both her body and her sent.

After blinking away the lasting remains of sleep from my eyes I give myself a moment to reflect, yesterday proved to be insightful for a variety of reasons, finding that I am able to push my advanced senses into the back of my mind. Enduring the onslaught of stimulation, still hearing and seeing everything around me but able to block it from cognitive thought. Granted only with the introduction of a suitable distraction. It's plain to see that the trick to living with this new aspect of my affliction is to keep my mind busy in some way, something I have to say may begin to prove difficult with the confines of a lesson plan to contend with.

Not only that, my day spend with the youngest Weasley has highlighted something of which until now I have been blind to. Now knowing that I have found an unlikely friend in the younger redhead it has made me realise the shallowness of any of my previous relationships with my classmates. Whether that be the fault of those around me of my own I am unwilling to explore, even within the confines of my own mind. I can scarcely remember a time when I have spent time with another for no other reason than for the companionship. There was always something to be gained from any sort of company that I kept. Information that could later be used for my own ends or to raise my father's standing in the wizard community. Even the time I currently spend with Hermione is largely for my own benefit, both sexually and emotionally. Although such an arrangement is mutually beneficial for both parties involved it is not completely selfless.

This revelation does leave me a little out of my depth. How does one engage with another on such a level? For that matter how exactly is it that I have been able to surround myself with people who appear to find this sort of interaction so easy? There appears to be no thought processes between the group. Nothing hidden just beneath the surface even when they converse with me. They spend vast amounts of time in each others company simply because they enjoy doing so, an idea that while fascinating is also a sobering concept, if only because I realise that I am inept at such things.

Hermione shifts once more behind me, curling along my back and pushing her legs into the back of mine until she quite literally lies flush against me. It is a rare instance when she falls into such a deep sleep that she forgets her promise to keep her distance when we share a bed in this way and before when this has happened I have been very prompt in pulling myself from her grasp and either rising to start my day or pushing her away from my frame so I am able to fall back to sleep. However on this morning I find myself lingering. Blinking back the lasting remains of sleep against the unlit room, even through the inky darkness being able to watch the lazy shadows of the trees outside as they blow in the gentle breeze, just breathing.

I know this behaviour proves that something within me has changed in some small way, it isn't something I can pinpoint to a specific moment over the past months but something has happened, something so inept and trivial that I at the time I must have not noticed it but I can recognise that I am much more comfortable within my own skin than I have been for much of my life.

Feeling much bolder than usual I reach under the covers grasping Hermione's wrist so I am able to hold it above by body as I turn on the bed to face her, resting her arm back around me when I have shifted into position. A smile graces my face when I find I make out her facial features, even through the inky darkness that has blanketed the room. Idly letting my fingertips graze along the planes of her face and marvelling at the soft shadows cast by her peacefully sleeping form.

Some indefinable feeling strikes the back of my mind without warning and I know without any shadow of doubt that the first rays of natural light as caressing the earth with their glow. How I could possibility know such a thing when I can see no evidence of it with even my very sensitive eyes and without any conscious thought as to the time is something I must ponder later as I am struck with the completely selfish compulsion to rouse the sleeping woman from her deep sleep to I am able to share the spectacle with her.

I know that I should at the very least think twice about such an action but I cannot stop myself from leaning forward and ever so gently touching my lips to hers before softly calling her name. She grumbles in her sleep but otherwise does not respond so for a second time I touch my lips to hers, moving them against her unresponsive mouth, slowly trailing the feather-light caress along the skin of her cheek to softly whisper against her ear. “Hermione.” I call, trying to sound like a siren pulling the sailors off course. “Hermione.” I try again a little louder.

I only pull back from her when I hear a low groan pulled from the back of her throat at the interruption of her slumber, reaching out to stroke my thumb against the wrinkles made across her face by her irritated frown. Very slowly her eyes open under the light ministration and her tongue pushes against her lips to motion them. “Jamie?” her voice calls, groggy with the lasting effects of sleep.

“Morning.” I do try and fail to keep the exited tone out of my voice.

She groans again and rolls onto her back so she is better able to push the heels of each of her palms deep into her eyes. “What time is it?”

“I don't know.” I answer, remaining on my side trying to afford her some degree of personal space so she is able to come into awareness.

She takes a deep breath and drags her hands along her face. “It's still dark.” She comments after a long pause.

“Very observant.” Only the tiniest slither a guilt creeps into my mind as I watch her groan again and turn away from me, pulling the cover up and over her head in an attempt to fall back to sleep. “Hermione.” Her only response to the mock warning tone in my voice is to pull her side of the blanket tighter around her crown. With a fare amount of manoeuvring I manage to slide my hand over the curve of her hip to pull her closer, able from this position to dip my nose under the quilt and press my lips against the nape of her neck.

She valiantly tries to brush off the light touch, bunching her shoulder in an effort to remove my lips from the only small patch of skin I am able to reach. “Go back to sleep.” Her voice hits my ears clearly even while muffled by the thick fabric covering her mouth.

“Sun's coming up.” I whisper against her skin, knowing that it will be enough to explain my state of alertness at this early hour.

“Then...”she pauses only long enough to try and wriggle from my grip. “Go and watch it or something.”

Her movement shifts the blanket and I am able to rest my lips against the hollow directly behind her ear and whisper against her skin. “Come with me.”

Instantly her struggles cease and she turns her head forcing me up onto my elbow so she has room to breath. “You want me to watch the sunrise with you?” All trace of sleep leaves her voice as she speaks. All I am able to do is watch her watching me, searching for something in my expression. Whatever she finds must please her because she leans up and plants a single long kiss against my lips. When she leans back against her pillow her eyes are still hooded but the ghost of a smile can be found crossing her features. “Alright then.”

I am unable to suppress the grin pulling against the side of my lips. I push away from her, coming to stand at the side of the double bed and reach my hand down in her direction to help bring her to her feet. Walking backwards I silently guide her to the wide window ledge and pull myself up onto in it. Without words we are both able to arrange ourselves on the horizontal plank of wood, my back rests against the stone arch pulling my knees up and spreading my thighs so she is able to comfortably sit between them, her back resting against my chest.

After taking the time to reach behind me and pull the curtain back around us to shield us from the rest of the room I settle in my seat, wrapping my arms lightly around the smaller frame in front of me. She shifts her position for several long moments and leans back to settle down against me, her head resting back against my shoulder.

“You've never asked me to watch the sunrise before.” She comments and I can hear that she is trying to conceal the questioning tone from her voice.

This is odd behaviour of me but I am loath to question it at this time. Since I have been awoke by the first rays of light each and every morning for several months now I have taken to watching the sun slowly climb into the sky from behind the horizon. The true beauty of nature shown to us in all of it's glory through those several minutes at the start of each day. Until now I have never asked her to join me, never really felt the need to pull her from her fitful rest. This morning though the impulse was so strong and took me by such surprise that I simply acted. “Do you not think it's beautiful?”

“I didn't say that.” Her shoulders shift against my chest and she brings her arms along my thighs to rest her palms against my bent knees. “It just always seamed like a private moment.”

I feel the breath hitch in my throat as I pull back against the words which press against the back of my tongue aching to be freed. It takes me a moment to remember who I am talking to and knowing that she will not see this confession as a sign of weakness I let the words tumble forth. “My mother used to say that every day Apollo must guide his great blazing chariot across the sky, only to clamber into a small boat far to the west and sleep the night away as it carries him back to the east.”

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat as she thinks about this small aspect of my unusual faith I have reviled to her. “How does his chariot get back?”

I shake my head at her logical enquiry. “Oddly I've never asked that question.”

“I see.” She falls into silence and I can feel that her attention is no longer on the natural wonder playing out before us. “Why don't you write to her and ask her?”

My body involuntarily tenses at her suggestion and quickly her hands make soothing circles across my knees. After a time I am able to unclench my jaw and swallow the lump in my throat and quietly answer. “I can't do that.” My arms tighten around her, showing that I accept her silent apology.

I have to wonder when she saw it. The longing for my mother's acceptance, I was quite certain that I have kept that desire tightly concealed being a façade of indifference to her persistent silent. Quite clearly I was wrong.

Her fingers grasp at my thighs to draw my attention. “When you watch the sunrise. Are you praying to Apollo?”

Highly grateful for the rapid subject change I latch onto it, uncaring if my beliefs will be met with with any sort of resistance. “No. I have no reason to pray to the sun god. It doesn’t mean I can't worship him for the light he gives us though.”

“That's... very insightful.” She falls into soundless contemplation and the sun is almost completely viable over the tops of the trees before she begins to voice her thoughts. “If you don't pry to Apollo. Do you pry to other gods?”

The tone of her voice tells me that this line in conversation has pecked her interest but it is quite honestly a question that is difficult to answer. Slowly I shrug. “If you can call them prayers. I will swear by their names and often give thanks but very rarely ask them for anything.” I rest my chin lightly against her hair wondering why such things interest her so much. “Don't you ever pray to your god?”

Her shoulders move against my chest in a shrug. “I'm not very religious. My parents didn't really go to church, not even for Christmas. It was never a very big part of my life, I suppose I just never thought about it.” She leans back more heavily against me, turning her head so I have to pull mine back as she seeks out my gaze with hers. “You're gods are important to you. Aren’t they?”

Wordlessly I nod. “Does that bother you?”

“What a silly thing to ask.” Her palm touches my cheek and she smiles. “Everyone's entailed to their beliefs. I know very little about yours though. Maybe you could tell me about them.”

“I think I'd like that.”

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Breakfast this morning was much the same affair as it had been the day before Entering the Great Hall at such an ungodly early hour does appear to allow my senses to become accustomed to the to the sights and sounds of the castle as they enter the waking world. Gradually building a tolerance so I am better able to function within society. Hermione's presence did prove to direct me from my senses much more effectively than the book I brought down yesterday. However she is a creature of habit and she will offend pause in her speech in order to choose how best to express herself. In this long moments my attention would weaver, drastically. The chaos around me dragging my into all of the sighs, smells and sounds the room had to offer. All to quickly everything became to much for me to be able to handle and the now familiar pounding in my head started to make itself known. Just as I could see Hermione's concern beginning to show in her eyes my salvation came in the form of a creased school uniform and straight red hair

As before Ginny entered the Hall just as the noise level began to become intolerable and without missing a beat sat down opposite me and fell into an easy monologue. Speaking of nothing and everything, seemingly in a single breath. Changing from one subject to another at such a speed that it took most of my concentration to simply follow the train of thought. It took nearly half an hour to realise how much she had been distracting me from the rest of the student body.

Many of our class mates had left the great hall to attend their lessons before Hermione stood from her chair bringing my attention over into her direction. “Right, you two have to promise to stay out of trouble when I'm in Arithmancy.” She says with a very serious look upon her face, her eyes cutting across the table from Ginny to me and then back again.

Ginny for her part does little more than pull a grin across her face that screams pure mischief and says brightly. “We promise.”

“Uhuh.” Hermione mumbles and disbelief showing plainly across her face before her eyes land on me.

“I'll be good Hermione.”

My answer brings a small smile to her lips and she leans down in order to peck and mine. “Thank you Sweetheart.” She says and leaves the Great Hall with a quick pace in order to arrive at her lesson on time.

Bringing my eyes level to look upon my younger friend, who due to our timetables is able to spend this free hour with me I find her watching Hermione's retreating back with a thoughtful look on her face. When that look is finally directed at me I know that I have already broken my promise to my girlfriend as the sparkle in the redheads eyes can be nothing but trouble. “You always call her Hermione.”

Crossing my arms across my chest I try to hide my confusion over her remark. “I was under the impression that, that was her name.”

“It is. It's just...” She pauses and I see a rare moment where Ginny Weasley stops to think about her words before speaking. “She always calls you Sweetheart. It's high time she got a pet name.”

A single eyebrow raises high on my forehead. “Oh really?” To be honest such a thing had never even entered my mind. She has always been Hermione, which is the only word that has ever been able to sum up the woman in her entirety. I can think of very few other words or even phrases in the English language that will be able to do the same

“Yes really.” This isn't something that she is going to drop is it? “Is it just that you can't think of any. Or that you can't settle on one?” She is only met with my stony silence for the largest time before she continues, more for her own benefit than mine. “I'm sure we can come up with something.”

“We?” The worry is impossible to suppress in my voice.

“Yes we.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her open palm, deep in thought her fingers tapping against her cheek one after another. “What about 'Pet'?”

I don't even need time to think to reject that idea. “She's not a possession Ginny.”

“That is a very good answer. Alright not 'Pet'.” She gets a far off look in her eyes, pushing air into her cheeks and throwing from side to side in her mouth. “I don't think even you can fault the word 'sweetheart'”

“If only Hermione didn't call me that.”

That provokes a frown. “You're right.” Thoughtfully she nods and my rebuttal. “Hermione would never condone copying.” She turns her head towards yet more students leaveing the Great Hall and I lower my gaze to the table hoping that she might grow bored move onto another topic as her eyes scan the large room. “I suppose you could shorten her name. Mione perhaps.”

With those words this has become a game. A back and forth between the two of us, the reason for the banter almost taking a back seat to our enjoyment of her trying to embarrass me and while I try to shoot her down. “Just saying that word made you sound retarded.”

“Oh.” Her voice takes on a dramatic tone and she rests her hand against her chest in a show of injury. “You wound me with your words.” If this is friendship then I have truly been missing out until now. “I know.” She says leaning forward and becoming exited. “How about 'Patootie.'”

For just a moment I do nothing but blink at her, wondering how she is able to simply make up words on the spot. Then after a deep breath I unfold my arms and make to stand. “I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“Really?” as I walk away I hear as she stands from the table, walking along the other edge and matching my pace. “Not even 'Cutie Patootie.”

“Not until even if it snowed in Tartarus.”

“Is that a desert or something?” She asks.

For a moment I had forgotten myself. After the conversation I had been sharing with Hermione with regards to my faith I had forgotten to check the way I had been speaking to Ginny. I must try to remember that such things do not interest others as they do my girlfriend. Lucky this is something we had been discussing before Ginny entered the Great Hall so I am able to explain the place I am referring to. “You call it Hell.”

“And you couldn’t have just said that?” We meat at the head of the long table and she catches my pointed glare and quickly clears her throat, pulling the subject matter back to her task at hand. “So. I'm thinking 'Deary.'”

The grin returns to my face glad to be pulled back into the game. “Possibility.” I say watching her face fill with excitement for just a moment before stamping it out. “When I’m a hundred and five.”

“I don’t think she can wait that long for a pet name.” Why is laughter so easy in the company of this girl?

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After that everything else just seamed so easy. Only having to deal with hushed conversations of maybe thirty students at any given time. Casually falling into the task assigned or item of study. Defence Against the Dark Arts did prove to be highly tedious as I already new much of the text books content, constantly finding my focus wavering only to have to reign it back in. For once Umbridge's constant need for silence in her classroom more of a blessing than a curse.

The real challenge came in the last room I would have expected. When my feet land on the stone floor, deep in the dungeons of the castle I immediately know I’m in trouble. Already able to smell each individual ingredient from the Potions classroom down the hall. Able to detect and separate each aroma for countless potion attempted in that room before the door has even opened to grant me entrance.

The odours hit me so suddenly and with such ferocity that in shear desperation I begin to identify each one, however I am unable to then discard them from my mind. The fragrance although named stays in my conscious mind, swimming around in my nostrils all of them rich or sharp as they hit my senses. All of them demand attention and will not be ignored regardless of what I try to focus on.

Somehow I manage to keep my pace steady as I enter my last class of the day, even as I feel my eyes begin to twitch within their sockets. As we stand outside and patently wait for the potions master to arrive I as inconspicuously as possible close my eyes and drop my forehead into my hand. Hoping that by removing at least one set of stimulus from the equation that I might be able to hold my composure for the entire hour.

“Are you feeling alright?” The voice comes from the left and I have to take a moment to place who spoke.

Gritting my teeth, coaching myself so my voice will not shake with the intensity I can feel settling into my muscles I answer. “Fine Ron.” If the red headed boy, who is usually highly unobservant is able to see the change in my demeanour, it is only a matter of time before other eyes land on me. Through shear force of will I push my head up and open my eyes, only feeling the smallest relief when my gaze remains steady.

Grinding my teeth once more I try to fall back on my lifeline and hunt for a heartbeat. Any one will do, that steady rush of blood through the four chambers I know will be enough to drag my attention of the relentless assault on my nose. My ears search the hall and thirty steady heartbeats hit my ears all at once. I find myself unable to pick just one. One beat of the drum flowing into another that could be the same heart but upon close inspection I find it to be two which just happen to coincide.

My gaze lands on Hermione's neck for just a moment and I have to clench my hands so hard I feel my nails digging into the skin of my palm, so I am able to stop myself from reaching out to feel the steady rhythm of her pulse. I know without even speaking she would understand the action. She would know with nothing more than a glance that I am seeking out the steady thump of her heart amongst the chaos around me.

If this had been the prelude to almost any other lesson that is exactly what I would do. I would not have to consider who would witness the movement. Not have to question any others reaction. But here, down in the fire lit dungeons I am surrounded by my house mates. All of the Slytherin's down here have reason to despise me. If I have not directly injured or manipulated them they are close to those that I have. Any show of weakness will not only be detected but pounced upon like a pack of hungry hyena stalking their wounded prey.

This thought passes through my mind just as the potions master opens his classroom door and silently steps out to permit us entrance into his domain. Once through that threshold every smell intensifies tenfold, yet more aromas to be added to the growing mental list. Unable to stop myself from attempting to distinguish them all and categorise them. Always trying to find order amidst the mayhem and quickly becoming over whelmed by the magnitude of it.

Thankfully I find my seat without my knees crumbling beneath me. I have to force myself to keep my gaze level and my head from my hands. Feeling the now familiar pounding running through my skull, pressing against my cranium with such force with every passage of blood that I fear it might explode. The relentless pain stings the back of my eyes and I lower my gaze to the wooden tabletop. Trying to find pattern in the wooden grain hopeful it might prove to be enough of a distraction.

I need something. Anything. As long as it's tangible and constant but I cannot simply reach across to either my girlfriend or her friends in search of their pulse. The only thing I have been able to find that will calm the raging sensation happening within my head.

In desperation I draw a lung full of air and hold it deep within my chest. For a moment the pain, without the constant barrage of intense odours to aggravate my senses subsides. Only to be replaced mere heartbeats later with a deep craving for fresh oxygen. As quickly and silently as possible I release the breath and draw another. To much, to many all the smells in the room so rich I can taste them and they begin to grow heavy on my tounge.

Looking down at my hands I spy my fingers, trembling and clench them.

The clatter of metal draws my attention to my classmates. All of them pulling forth their cauldrons and lighting a flame beneath them. I need only glance at the blackboard for the name of a potion I know well. Something I have brewed so many times I might be able to in my sleep, though if fatigue were all I had to contend with in this moment that would indeed be a blessing.

Reaching down to my satchel I grasp at my cauldron, noting the unused iron feels much colder to the touch than I remember it being when I packed it this morning. Slowly I rise my eyes in silent thanks to Hermione as she sets down the ingredients that I will need. In all honesty I am uncertain if I would have been able to carry myself to the foot of the class to retrieve them myself. I catch her gaze and find only concern. She's noticed, though I am hardly surprised at this revelation. Somehow she must already know that she can do nothing to aid me. Not this time, surrounded by so many keen and unforgiving eyes, this time I’m on my own.

Instead of the expected indications of an impending seizure I feel my eyelids becoming as heavy as lead, black beginning to invade my vision and I can feel my mind shutting down, unable to cope with all of the information my extremities are sending for it to decipherer. On many levels I welcome the impending blackness, the nothingness that will always descend with unconsciousness. If I knew I could be granted some degree of privacy I would not fight the oblivion trying to settle over my conscious mind. I, in all honesty cannot cannot decide if a seizure of my muscles or my impending collapse would make me appear more weak in the eyes of all that surround us. All I know is that nether are acceptable reactions and with a speed of movement I did not know I possessed I capture Hermione's wrist in my grasp. Pressing my fingers tightly between the two bones at the joint until I feel that steady rush of blood.

Closing my eyes tightly and allowing myself to breath I hunt throughout all the sound in the room. Looking for that single one that matches the stead beat against my fingertips. It takes much longer than I would have liked and by the time my ears detect it all of my muscles are already trembling. Finding that one sound is enough, others begin to slip away as I pour all my energy into focussing on that dependable noise.

My fingers hit glass as I reach out to take a lizard spleen to slice for my potion only for it to clatter noisily on the floor. Shattering to pieces and breaking my concentration on Hermione's heart once more. Eyes are on me, I can feel them boring into my skin, burning like liquid fire and my hand clenches so tightly against the imminent spasms that I hear the bones along my knuckled crack and grind together.

Without warning Professor Snape it at my desk. His impressive hight bearing down on me in an intimidating manor I have adopted myself on more occasions than I can count. Lifting my gaze slowly along the lapels of his robes I finally meet his bottomless back eyes as he looks down his crocked nose in my direction. They dart around in their sockets for endless seconds, observing me, scrutinising me as it picking and prodding into my most private of thoughts. Then something enters his features, sympathy of concern, I cannot distinguish which and within a moment it is wiped clean. A simple order of “Get out of my classroom.” Is issued and I have never felt so relived to be reprimanded before in the whole of my existence.

I reach down for my back and pull myself to my shuddering feet in a single movement, setting my sights on the door, holding my breath until I feel the cold metal handle within my grasp. The door bursts open under my weight, after a stumbled step I kick it closed with my heel, uncaring if it slams behind me, only wishing to block out the oppressing aromas of the room. Another stagger and my chest falls onto the adjacent cold damp stone, my breaths shallow and rushed as I try to force air into my lungs.

Now in the relative privacy of the hallway I let my forehead rest forward and hunt for something, anything I can grasp onto with my senses. Even though I am able to feel my own heart pounding against my breastbone I am unable to hear it over the rush of blood along my ears. Only another beating every so slightly out of time with my own will do. Every sound I find the the darkness remains and unidentified anomaly as it tails off to leave silence in it wake. Silence only to be filled with the unique melody of this castle and the sounds and smells now incomprehensible and I feel my back being to spasm.

Searching for something tangible my hands land on my crown, pressing my forehead into the unforgiving rock, digging sharp nails into any scrap of flesh they can find. Knowing through untold years of experience that pain will always remain constant, will always fire the same response in my brain and will down out any other form of stimulus until it is all that can be felt. My tears grit against the self induced pain, crying out has never and will never be acceptable when confronted with any form of painful sensation. Only resulting in an intensification of the feeling until all that is left is silent suffering.

Even the pain isn't enough as I hear confident footfalls through the closed wooden door only to hear the hinges creak as it opens, grating against my sensitive ears with such ferocity that it forced all of the air from my lungs.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I can feel it's chill right through my robes and uniform. The muscle flinches and mercifully the potions master does not make to touch me again. “Jamelia.” He calls softly and I bite my tongue both at the volume of his voice and detesting the sound of my full giving name released to the fringed damp air. “Turn around.”

Releasing the skin at the back of my head from my tight grip I take a breath, reaching out with my ears and find Snape's heart thumping steadily, almost calmly in his chest. Another two breath I a let my eyes open, the distraction proving to be enough to force the throbbing in my head to recede ever so slightly.

My palm finds cold stone as it pushing my body to turn, my eyes feeling heavy with weariness stubbornly raise to meet my head of house's gaze.

Years of coaching have taught me when and where to assume a roll of mild submission and I open my mouth to profusely apologies for my actions only to be cut off my his cold commanding voice. “What is the matter?”

“I...” My tongue takes on the weight of lead, halting my speech as I search my mind for a way to explain this phenomenon without calling into question either my sanity or how safe the rest of the student body will be in my presence.
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By The Light