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
- 24
- 25
- 26
Chapter 25

My precious cargo lands on my old withered writing desk moments before my hands land either side of it. My gaze heavy on the folded parchment, which was pristine when I left Adrian's dormitory, now crumbled by the tight grip and sweaty palms. My breath heavy, rapid yet shallow enough for black blotches to fill my vision and make me light headed.

Shakily I run my hand over my forehead and down my face, my fingers pushing my eyes closed as I try to control my breathing. “Perfect. Now I'm panicking.” I berate myself and take a long deep breath to push down the cold hand of fear which is starting to crawl along the back of my neck, forcing all the hairs along it to stand to attention.

It is a fair assessment that I have been in distress since the moment I opened Dale's letter, although I have not permitted myself to address that fact until this moment, far away from the curious eyes of both friend and foe. Only now will I let myself notice my trembling hands, my rapidly changing thoughts and the cold sweat, which has erupted across my body. Sliding down my spine and chilling me to the bone.

Violently I pull my chair under me and take a seat, resting my elbows on the surface of the desk so I can comfortably grip the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I must calm down, I have to think clearly and I cannot do that when in the mists of a blind panic. There are several things that I must address and I need to quiet myself to an extent to list and order them appropriately.

Flattening my hand against the parcel I have obtained, I tug at the bindings and unfold the crumpled parchment. My purchase almost making me smile, just seeing it is enough to calm my racing heartbeat. Adrian Pucey is one year my senior and more importantly a half blooded wizard. He has access to things from the muggle world, that many of us witches can only dream of. Such as a non perishable source of food. His mother will very often send him packages, usually containing things he refers to a flapjacks, nothing more elaborate than oats held together with syrup. The first time I saw such a thing I thought him insane. The foodstuff so stodgy that the feeling of fullness once consumed, lingers uncomfortably deep in your stomach for hours upon end. Until I realised it's potential.

For so many years I accepted my fathers reign over my discipline, my well-being and to a large extent my life. It was only after I started school that I found how unorthodox and cruel his methods with me were. I soon discovered that the worst any of my classmates ever faced was to be sent to bed without supper. Comparing that to my own life, where I have spent days locked in a cold, pitch black wardrobe my father had cleared out in one of the spare rooms for just such a punishment, only provided with the minimal measurement of liquid in order to survive. The thought of a single missed meal barely seemed like any sort of reprimand.

Over the winter holidays of my first year at Hogwarts, I returned home. The freedom of speech this school provided for me must have left some sort of impression because I distinctly remember spending much of that fortnight alone in the dark, due to one discretion or another. When I returned to the warm, comfortable safety of this castle, with a hunger so painful it was crippling. I vowed and I pledged first to every God I could bring offerings to, then every other I could call upon by name, in my faith or any other that I would never put myself in that position again. It took a lot of trial and error but over the years I have developed a system that for one goes unnoticed by all others and also ensures I would survive if I were to be locked away for such a time again.

There are several parts to the process, the first is obtaining these muggle snacks that takes months to spoil to such an extent that they are inedible. They have proved useful on more than one occasion. The second is to inconspicuously increase both my attendance at mealtimes and my portion size so I might be able to gain enough weight on my normally very lean form, for my body to be able sustain itself even without the aid of the oat bars should it ever come to that.

The second of which on this occasion I do not have the time to accomplish properly, however I am lucky enough to have Hermione drag me to at least two meals a day and watch me like a hawk until I eat enough to smother her concern. I have gained body mass over the months but not nearly as much as I might need.

Pressing my fingers into my temples, counting my breaths in an attempt order my thoughts. There are so many things I must accomplish and I cannot order them without a clear head.

I need to divide up these 'flapjacks' into easily concealable pieces, to be hidden both in my luggage and about my person. When returning to my fathers care I knew the procedure by heart, I knew exactly where I could hide things without his detection. With Dale I do not, so I will need once more enter into a period of trial and error. Find where he is most unlikely to look by using every possible hiding place. At least until I learn where is the optimum location.

Then I have to apologise to Hermione. By the gods, in my frantic state I had almost forgotten how I had addressed her. How I must have hurt her with only a few careless, misguided words. There were so many better ways I could have handled that situation. Had I not been so caught up in my own terror I might have been able to calm myself and pacify her curiosity, somehow. I know it is useless to think of such things now so stop myself before I have chance to try.

I also have my friends to consider. My outburst at dinner is not something that was discrete by any stretch of the imagination. I must come up with a suitable falsehood to gloss over my actions and hopefully prevent them from questioning me any further on the matter. It dawns on my very suddenly why I have not allowed myself to become close friends with anyone until this point in my life. Although the company I must admit is favourable to endless loneness they do demand a fair portion of my time. Something that is currently in very short supply.

Then I remind myself that I also have lessons that I must attend, I will be conspicuous by my absence. Which cuts the day I had allocated myself more than in half.

Adding up all of these things I realise I am rapidly running out of time. I cannot see a spare moment between now and when I am to board a train. But I know I cannot forgo too much sleep in case that is a luxury deemed fit to be removed, a method which was rare for my father to use but not unheard of. Something I know Dale to have endured, so would know exactly how to carry it out.

The most important task at hand is to ensure my own survival. So with that in mind I pull the first of the muggle treats towards me and pull apart the plastic wrapping that they appear to be so fond of. I have never before been able to take them with me whole. The most important reason for this is that they are muggle items. My father would have recognised that instantly, which would have only prompted him to throw me into into darkness the moment I walked through the front door. I know that Dale lives within the muggle world so in turn would probably be more lenient about such things but I would rather not risk it and besides, concealment is made much simpler my reducing anything in size.

I fall back onto my old habit of readying myself, first measuring, twice the oat filled bar and then cutting the snack into exactly equal cubes before mercilessly wrapping each section in a short length of parchment. One after another I pull the snack food towards me, mindlessly slicing, wrapping and portioning it, loosing myself in the work until all other thoughts drop away from my conscious mind. It takes hours but the repetitive and mundane task does serve the purpose of calming my frayed nerves.

When I have steadily made my way through my whole hoard of food, I have precisely seventy three perfectly warped parcels, all neatly pushed into seven straight lines of ten and a smaller line of three. It is impossible to hide all that I wish to conceal and I leaned very quickly with my father that if he could not find anything he would become frustrated and his search would in turn become more invasive. So to have some of the parcels littered in my luggage that are easy to discover, will discourage any further hunt for them. For this reason I have to know the exact figure when I enter the house, so when they are discovered I can mentally check them off one by one and ration myself accordingly.

I lean back in my old chair and press the tips of my fingers into my tired eyes, pushing my head back to stretch my neck which has begun to ache with inactivity and being hunched over the low desk for so long. I have to restrain myself from trying to hide things immediately, I’m not in the correct frame of mind to conceal the parcels as I may forget where I have put them or may not be able to be creative enough with them so the whole exercise would be useless and later I will convince myself to retrieve each and every one so I might begin again.

Checking my watch I find that it is close to midnight and I know I should sleep. Should give my body an abundance of the fundamental things that it needs, even if I don't think I will be able to. Regardless I stand and ready myself for bed, lowering myself onto the thin mattress I have been provided, the loose springs digging into my back and I have to shift several times before I am comfortable enough to even think of closing my eyes.

Now my mind is my own again that heavy, suffocating blanket of guilt has once more swept over me. Reminding me that my short temper and initial fright may have very effectively driven away the one person I feel certain that I cannot currently live without. Forgetting for a moment my deep seated feelings for the woman, one must also consider that Hermione is my only contact to sustainable human interaction. Ginny may refer to me as a friend but we can only be so through our mural acquaintances. The same applies to the other two thirds of the golden trio. I have proven behind doubt that from time to time, no matter how feverishly I guard my privacy I am in need of human contact on a fundamental level. The only means I have to obtain that is through Hermione. Now my task is complete I should go to her and sooth her concern. I know this is what I should do but it is well after hours and I cannot run the risk of getting caught. Perhaps if I did not suffer with this affliction that affects me every full moon I would risk such a thing but under the circumstances, the consequences for such an indirection would be much more dire for me than any other student.

The moment I let my eyelids drift shut and I have surrendered myself to the darkness all I can see is her face. That look of pure defeat that swept across Hermione's face as she let me go at the dinner table. How did she know it would be useless to try and restrain me further? I know not a single muscle in my face even twitched to show my thoughts and yet she knew. Without words, without brooking an argument. As if she could see into me, watch my frantic thoughts as they buzzed around my head.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed I frown at my own inability to control my thoughts and emotions. Why does that look on her face bring such sadness to my heart? Why can I not simply remove the vision of it from my mind? It's there, right in from of my eyes clouding everything and effortlessly brushing aside all my attempts to quench the feeling burning in my breast.

My eyes land on my door as I contemplate leaving the room, heading upstairs and trying to wipe that memory clean with another view of her features. It is a calculated risk. With all my time in self induced isolation I have learned many of the vast corridors through the school. There are several routes I could take which would take me down many rarely used hallways to my gaol. However these disused entries could be where Filch and the teaching staff are to patrol the most. I cannot be the only student who has stumbled across them.

My head tilts to the side for a moment and I chastise myself for my own stupidity. With my new acute senses I would be able to detect the presence of any other life form with my nose and ears, long before any eyes could fall upon me. I would only need worry about the ghosts and even then only a select few of them. Many would simply ignore me. With this new thought the odds of my being discovered, as I traipse the school long after hours drops dramatically. Still possible but highly unlikely.

However now I must ponder what reception awaits me high in the northern tower. She looked so dejected by my actions. The question raises, would she just turn me away? How much harm can I do in the attempt to patch together whatever damage I may have caused to our relationship? Now that is just simply a risk I cannot calculate. Along with the question: will it be worse if I wait until morning?

A hand grips my forehead before running the length of my face as I try to work our exactly what I should do. Not so long ago I would have cast the whole ordeal from my mind, turned over and gone to sleep, like I know I should. Now? Now I'm just a mass of emotion and it feels so crippling. I have to stamp that out, became unfeeling once more, no matter how empty that makes me. Yet I have a long train journey to be able to coach my mind into the correct frame on Saturday morning and I would much prefer that upon my return Hermione might at least be able to stand the sight of me.

I stand from the bed, my heavy heart making the decision for my very befuddled head. Stripping once more from my sleepwear I pull on a pair of loose fitted trousers, a t-shirt and a pair of socks. I am certain that I have a secondary pair of shoes in Hermione's quarters and to walk the castle without them will give me the added benefit of silent footsteps.

Now I must point out that I am not well versed with walking the hallways in the dead of night but I freely admit I had anticipated a lot more foot traffic. Not a cat, not a man, not a soul crossed my path, nothing so much as touched my nostrils on the entire journey and strangely that fact deflated me slightly. I had expected more of a challenge to await me and a higher sense of achievement once I had succeed. It matters little because whatever confidence I had gathered in the climb up the northern tower all but deserted me as I stood face to face with the imposing door leading to the Gryffindor prefect private chambers.

I open my mouth to whisper her password three times, each time closing it slowly and wonder if to simply enter would be appropriate on this occasion. I then talk myself into trying again as because of the late hour it would be highly probable than she is sleeping and I have no wish to call her from the land of dreams if the position I find myself in does not strictly dictate it.

For all the training bestowed upon me in my formative years could my father have not just for a moment explained the proper decorum for apologizing to someone who actually holds meaning in my life. The thought is foolhardy for nothing has meaning in that man's life but power.

Eventually I convince myself that turning around and heading back to the ground floor is not an option unless I am turned away. I don't think I can cope with the guilt settling over my chest until the sun rises. So upon finding some middle ground I rise my fist to the door and after holding my limb aloft for a moment I bring my knuckles down three times on the wood grain.

The door opens long before I even bein to persuade myself that I have roused her from her slumber, it opens with a violent action and light streams from inside the room and hits my sensitive eyes. I squint against the brightness and can only make out the silhouetted form for a few heartbeats. When my vision clears I almost wish I had remained ignorant of her facial expression. The deep shadows under her eyes show her exhaustion and her eyebrows pulled tight into the centrer of her face shows me how angry she is.

I remain quiet, watching as her eyes rake over me once before meeting mine and she turns back into the room, pushing the door further open as she does. I take the action to be a invite and cautiously step into the room, closing the door as softly as I can behind me.

Her back is ridged and her arms are held tightly around her stomach, both poses contradicting each other. Giving the feeling of both highly agitated and deeply insure.

“I'm...” My voice cracks with inactivity and I pause to clear my throat. “I'm sorry.”

She takes a deep breath, not taking her eyes from mine. “What for?”

I feel the frown ghost over my forehead. She seeks validation for my misdeeds? “I should not have spoken to you in that manor.”

Her jaw clenches under her skin and she deliberately looks away from me. “No you shouldn't.” She concedes the point but I can see from her demeanour that she wished to hear something else from me.

I step a little closer but her scolding look stops me in my tracks. “There's something else I’ve done that angers you.”

Her eyes narrow and the muscles around her eyes bunch together, giving the impression she is holding herself back as she swallows. “How very perceptive of you.” Her voice can easily be described as snide and it cuts, harshly across my chest.

I am suddenly beginning to wish I had spent a sleepless night alone and waited until morning. “I'm sorry.” I finally implore.

“What for?” She says again, the muscles in her shoulders beginning to shake with retained fury.

I quickly run out of words, not understanding her state of distress and if I honestly thought it would help my cause. I would swallow my stubborn pride drop to my knees right here and now and beg her forgiveness. “Anything.” I say knowing that have little hope of stumbling upon the correct answer. “Everything.”

“It doesn’t work that way!” She shouts, her eyes close instantly and she takes a few deep calming breaths amidst the silence that follows. Her gaze is still burning when she lifts her eyelids but she has managed to calm herself enough to stop her trembling muscles. “I’ve been up here for hours. Trying to figure out what I did wrong, how I upset you. Why you lashed out and then closed off and I keep coming up blank.”

That would certainly explain her ridged demeanour. “You didn't do anything.”

“I know that. I've been over it countless times in my head and I know that, I do but you lashed out at me and then you closed yourself off completely. Stormed off to God knows where and I have no idea what is going on.” One of her hands pulls free and with each word she move it sharply up and down. “I want to help you.” She takes a deep breath and chews for a moment on her bottom lip, waiting. For what I am uncertain. Her face softens even if her posture remains ridged and she seeks out my eyes with her own. “I love you, Jamie.”

My eyes close against the words and I swallows on reflex, awaiting her to finish her sentence. Stealing myself against however she might continue. Throughout my life, words of love have always been the prequel to a back handed complement. 'I love you, but that is no way to act in front of your superiors. I love you, but why can't you just be better?' I see no reason for why this instance would differ from any other.

I hear as she steps closer to me, her eyes burning into my flesh as she studies me. “What's the matter?” Her voice is so soft, so consoling that I fall into it's depths and draw comfort from it. Still awaiting the harsh words that must follow. Yet they don't, not even when I pry open my tightly closed eyes. Her brown pools hold such compassion, that I feel a lump forming in my chest and steadily rising up my throat. “Do you love me?” The anger is slowly beginning to drain from her body, being replaced by a deep sorrow that I cannot bare.

I nod dumbly at her for a moment. “More than I have words to express.” I slowly admit, after failing in such an endeavour.

Quickly she uncrosses her arms and drops her face to scrub her hands against in violently. “I just....” Her voice is obscured by her fingers until she snaps them to her side, looking at me, her eyes swiftly becoming bloodshot and shining with unshed tears. “I don’t understand.” Her whole body language instantly snaps back to that of pure rage. I know her behaviour and words are born of frustration but I cannot fathom a way in which to soothe her without dropping the mental barriers that I know I should even now be trying to be rebuild. “Today at dinner, you shut down. I watched it.” Even from this distance I can hear her teeth grinding as she holds her speech, taking a deep breath of which I know was meant to be calming. “You retreated into yourself so far that I couldn't even see you any more.”

My head tilts to the side at her words, my interest peaked. So it was not a feeling she saw on my face it was the absence of them. Could it be that she did not argue with my departure because she did not think there was anything left of me to argue with? “I'm...” I cut my apology short, knowing that the simple words cannot be nearly enough and yet I can't explain either. “I can't change who I am.”

“I never asked you to.” She says through gritted teeth and instantly I know that I should not have made that comment. “I know that you're very introspective but I’ve never seen you like that before. Never and it scared me.”

I take a step forward, my chest filling with relief when she holds her ground. “That was not my intention.” I pause, watching her eyebrows rise in silent question. Begging, pleading with me to continue. “I can't... I'm just not...” Words completely desert me and I have no way to validate my actions. I don’t want to twist the truth with her and I most certainly don't want to lie but I fear her reaction to anything else. “It's complicated.”

“Make it simple.” She says a little to quickly, almost as if she knew what I would say before the thought even entered her mind.

I run my fingers through my hair, thankful that in her rooms I have enough room in which to pace. My mind buzzing with experiences, thoughts, feelings all jumping to the surface, clawing away trying to be the first on the tip of my tongue but my teeth remain firmly shut to keep the at bay. “I'm scared.” The words drop unbidden from my lips as I go to chew on them thoughtfully, effectively halting the motion. I stop in my tracks each muscle freezing in place. I distinctly heard those words, spoken in my voice but I gave no conscious effort for them to be realised to the air.

“You're scared of seeing your brother?” She asks, thankfully ignoring my intense reaction to my own words.

Now she is aware of my thoughts on the matter I see little reason to keep them concealed and I answer with a simple. “Yes.” Before sighing in defeat and sinking to sit on the side of her bed.

“Why?” A note of anger still threads through her voice but her posture betrays the fact that she is begging to calm. Slowly I raise my eyes to hers, hoping she can see my plea to not prod any further with that particular line of questioning. “I mean....” She pauses, calm enough to attempt to reorder her words but still coming up short. “He's your brother.” She says this with such confusion and I know she cannot understand.

“Exactly.” I say and watch her forehead crease.

She takes a deep breath her sights hitting the floor. My words not comprehending with her on a very fundamental level. “But he's your brother. You said you liked getting his letters.”

“Yes. Letters. Harmless pieces of paper. Something I can read at my leisure, when, where and how I want to.” I rake my fingers once more through my hair. Trying to come up with some way, some combination of words to justify the cold hand of fear grasping at my chest in such a way. “Actual, physical interaction. That's something totally different.”

Something in her mind slots into place. I can see a small amount of understanding slither into her eyes. “Then don't go.”

I snort, wishing the answer were so simple. “I have to go.”

“Why?” She's stepping closer to me. Bending her knees until they touch the rug at my feet so she is once again at my level. Her hands reaching out to grasp mine, all my wrongdoings appearing to be forgiven with that simple touch. “If it scares you so much, stay here.”

“I can't.” I say and now I must delve further. Truths are unravelling before me without my consent but to leave it here would be more detrimental to our relationship than the inner workings of my mind. “When we break up for the summer I need to have found someone who can take me in and be able to deal with my disease.” She opens her mouth to chastise me for the use of such a derogatory word for the disorder but I plough ahead, cutting her off before she has even started. “With only a skeleton staff working at the school, I can't stay here and if I haven’t found someone who can take responsibility for me I have to go where the ministry deems safe.” Her mouth closes with a snap, the gravity of my situation for the first time dawning on her. “So I have to build bridges, outside these walls. I'm still a minor. In the summer holidays I have to have somewhere to go and it would be better to test the waters over a fortnight than a six week period.” I deliberately sidestep telling her the twisted pleasure I feel at Umbridge's anger over being overruled by the ministry. Although the very thought of it makes me glad that I have been avoiding her for so long while the dispute was in full swing.

“If it's the summer you're worried about, my parents will let you stay with me.” She says this with such convocation that I suspect she has already contacted them and they have granted the request.

“You're parents are muggles.” I pause to take a breath and quickly forge ahead as I see her open her mouth to protest. “Two full moons will fall over this summer holiday. They are unequipped to deal with someone like me. My brother has magical blood and training so should have the means to accommodate it.”

She slumps back slightly on her hunches. “You've been planning this.”

I nod slightly to the affirmative. “In honesty I had hoped for Dale to offer his home to me over a half term or better yet a weekend.” I know for a fact that I am able to go without basic human needs for that period of time. Two weeks could potentially stretch my resolve to breaking point.

“Do you plan everything like this?”

I feel a smile touch my lips at the shocked look on her face. “Most things.”

“Wow.” She says managing to sound both in awe and agonised at the thought. “I'd never really thought of it that way.”

“It's my disorder not yours.” I begin, still trying to wipe that helpless look from her features. “I never expected you to think about it in such a way.”

“If it comes to it. Where will the ministry send you?”

“I don't know.” I answer truthful. “This sort of thing hasn't happened for so long, there aren’t any viable records. At least none I can get my hands on. Somewhere with high walls and strong bars I presume.”

“They can't just lock you up.” She says reminding my how naive she can be when it comes to magical creatures like me and their place in the magical community. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Hermione. I'm a half breed and a minor. If they get legal guardianship over me they can do whatever they want.” Her mouth drops open at this and I push my tongue out to wet my parched lips. “I thought I would have more time. In two days I must go and visit my brother if I’m to convince him to take me in until I come of age. He just... dropped this one me all at once and I panicked. I'm sorry”

“There is no way I can talk you out of this is there?”

I shake my head solemnly. “No.” To refuse his offer at this time could provoke him to withdraw his offering permanently.

She blows the single strand of hair that has fallen over one of her eyes into the air but it does little to remove it from her vision. “Okay. What's the worst that could happen to you?”

In two weeks? Luckily cut shorter by the presence of the full moon, which still leaves ten days away from the safety of Hogwarts. At best all of my fears have little foundation and I do not suffer any pain at my brother's hands. At worst, such a stretch of time could kill me, from malnutrition and deprivation of sleep alone. Then anything from illness to hallucinations in between. Needless to say I do not divulge any of this, instead choosing to say a very vague “I don't know.” Unsurprised when I receive a disbelieving look. I have calculated the risk and though it could potentially be very painful I have the means to insure my survival, so I see little need to worry her.

However it may be a little late to try to hold the concern as I feel her grip on my hands tighten significantly. “You write to me every day. Understand?”

I fail at holding back my snigger, knowing that if he really put his mind to it Dale could control my incoming and outgoing mail as my father did. “I will write.” I promise, fully intending to live up to it for as long as I am capable.

She lets go of one of my hands to push the errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Can't I just come with you?”

“I'd rather you didn't.'” I say in all seriousness. Not only do I have no desire for her to see me in any of the positions I fear so venomously but I cannot allow myself to put her into that sort of situation. If my fears are proven to be founded I would never forgive myself if any harm came to Hermione because of it. “I can take care of myself.” I assure her, trying to make that look of powerlessness drop from her face if only for a second.

“I know but doesn’t mean you have to all the time.” I suppose under the circumstances I should feel grateful that this is the only lecture I receive. She sighs and closes her eyes for a very long moment before uttering. “Can we go to bed now?” I don't think I have ever complied with a request so quickly in my short lifetime.

~-~

Over the course of the following day, Hermione and I came to some sort of mutual, unspoken understanding, not to discuss the up and coming visit to my brother's household. I do not know what made her change her mind but I know that I feel unrelenting gratitude for her reaming quiet about the affair. In turn I have made every effort to continue to feel my emotion while I am around her, convincing myself that I will have more than enough time to mentally build my defences on the long train ride.

I was able to calmly get away from the group of friends to return to my room and systemically hide each neatly wrapped parcel in any place I could conceive. Many sewed into the lining of the denim jacket that Dale sent to me before winter. I hope that he will recognise the gift so will be loath to deface it for any search about my person. An undetectable extending charm has also been placed on the inner lining of the jacket as is does fit snugly to my body and the charm was able to eliminate any unsightly and obvious bulges the small packages made.

I have also taken the liberty to cushion the lining of my satchel with the small pieces of sustainable foods. Along with pushing many of them in-between socks and along the sleves of a several shirts, to give the impression of trying to hide them but also making them an easy find.

My vigorous appetite also made an appearance at each meal, this did not go unnoticed by the usually dense Gryffindors gathered around me. Ginny even making the comment. “Are you fattening up for hibernation or something?” I laughed it off, pointing out all the the flaws in her logic as I am neither a mammal that is prone to hibernation and winter has just passed. That left her baffled and she quickly dropped the subject. However I felt Hermione's eye on me through every mouthful.

It is clear that she has been able to piece together a fragmented picture of what I fear I may suffer when I leave the safety of the school. I have no way of knowing if her imagination is close to my actual past experiences and I am hesitant to broach the subject considering how she is for the moment content to let the matter slide. It is clear however that she has recognised my strange relationship with food and when I return to the castle it is likely she will be much more firm with her handling of my eating habits. A matter that must be left to deal with another time. Right in this moment I must withstand with fussing fingers smoothing down the lapels of my jacket. Unknowingly running her fingers over no less than fourteen small parcels of non perishable food and in doing so testing the strength of my charm. “Have you got everything?” Somehow she has managed not to hear my answer to this question the last three times she asked me on the short walk from Hogwarts Castle to Hogsmeade station.

“Yes Hermione,” I say slowly feeling the grin spread across my face at her visible agitation. Hoping that this time my response will not fall of deaf ears.

“Good.” She says with a decisive nod, still keeping her eyes on my already neat lapels to avoid my gaze. “And you know where you're going?”

My hand had been resting in my pocket, gently clutching the small paper folded tightly within it, I pull it free for her to see. “I have instructions, remember.” Dale had been kind enough to meticulously plan the route, explaining where I will need go and who I will need to ask for my platform number once I reach the muggle train station.

“Yes, I remember. Don't lose them.” She ignores the roll of my eyes and her fingers brush my cheeks, in the most gentle of touches, seconds before her lips push tightly against mine. “You still don't have to go.” She breaths against my skin.

“Yes I do. We've discussed this.”

Her palms coast over my shoulders and down my arms so she can pull my hands between her grasping digits. “I know and I understand. I don't like it but I understand.” I force myself to remain outwardly calm as she takes a deep breath, slowly gathering her strength. Her gaze touches mine and her hands tug downwards, indicating she wants me to bend to her.

I rest my lips against hers just as the train whistle sounds out behind me forcing me into the carriage. Releasing her I bent at the knee to retrieve my satchel from the floor and push the strap over my shoulder. “I'll see you when I get back.”

“And you'll write.” She says as I step up into the carriage.

Pulling the door shut by the open window I rest my elbows heavily on the sill. “Everyday.” I assure.

She nods, swallowing heavily and smiling half heartily. “Good luck.”

I remain quiet and let a grin pull across my face, my body shaking from side to side as the train departs.

I remain at that open window for well over a mile of travel, content to close my eyes against the breathtaking scenery and just feel the wind as it rushes through my hair and around my ears. Slowly taking each breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, letting a feeling of calm engulf me before I have to retreat into one of the many empty compartments and continue with my preparations.

The train is more than a little sparsely populated at this time of year, many of the students preferring to remain at school with their friends and enjoy the bi daily visits to Hogsmeade village. So it is not a difficult task to avoid all the other students on the train and no one comes in search of me. I use the time to gently guide myself into the correct frame of mind I may need to adopt around the member of my once estranged family. Taking two books from my bag and exchanging the dust covers of them both affords me a useful way of which to do such a thing.

Hermione had given me one of her many muggle books, explaining that it wouldn't be prudent for me to be seen browsing through my spell books when I leave the relative safety of the magical world. So with one of my many books dedicated to the blackest of magic, now carefully concealed behind the cover of 'Pride and Prejudice' I settle back into my seat and begin to fill my mind with each spell, curse and charm the words have to offer, each of them more cruel and painful than it's predecessor. Feeling myself shrink back into the deepest recesses of my own mind with each passing word. I know what I leave behind is little more than a shell of who I have become but this is how my immediate family prefers me to behave and this is the quickest way I am able to accomplish this state of mind.

The change over at Glasgow Central Station is a surprisingly smooth affair. The gentleman behind the thick glass able to give me detailed direction to the platform that I am to depart from, coupled with each platform being very clearly labelled prevent me from becoming lost in the large crowd of the station. Once I have gotten over my initial shock of being confronted with an open carriage I settle into a seat as far away from any of the surrounding muggles I can muster and once more descend into the realms of dark, dangerous magic.

The whole journey takes just over six and a half hours and when the disembodied voice – of which on first appearance startled me into quite literally jumping out of my seat - fills the carriage once more and announces that we are to pull into New Street station I almost feel ready to be able to face my brother.
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By The Light