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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.

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Chapter 31

Every iota of tension Hermione has so efficiently removed from my body only moments ago springs back into place all along my spine. Eyes close to block out the world and calm the churning in the pit my stomach. The hand at her hip tightening around bone with such ferocity that only the thought of marking her with it forces me onto my back. The warm touch against my cheek relaxes but never leaves my skin; traversing down my throat and feeling me swallow back my own nerves.

I can both feel and smell her tension as she restrains herself from pulling herself closer. It enters my mind that she doesn’t want to be the reason I flinch, holding herself perfectly still so I don’t retreat across the room or worse further behind the cerebral barriers I have been building since birth. She’s told me all this, freely when I have asked and I know that my actions are causing her pain but I can’t stop them. Shakily I take a breath, no idea where to even begin, let alone put voice to it.

Her hands slide from my body without argument as I pull myself upright and perch on the edge of the bed, the chill striking at my damp and uncovered back. I feel my muscles begin to shiver but cannot feel the cold that provokes it.

I feel too vulnerable like this, exposed and naked in every sense of the words. So slowly I stand, my mind a buzz of thoughts and emotions but my body, expressionless. Careful and calculated with every movement, simply because this is how it must be, this is how I react to everything I fear. Once the initial panic has subsided, calm must prevail.

The stinging scent of salt invades my nostrils. The small part of my brain that remains completely unaffected and thoroughly observant notes that while she weeps she does so quietly and it envies her for that skill. Every other inch of me burns with shame and guilt, knowing that every tear staining her cheeks I was able to prevent but my own incompetence, my secretiveness would not be silenced. The stillness stretches, hanging so heavily in the air you could slice it with a blade and I know I must be the one to do so.

I tug at the wooden draw filled with my clothing and possessions. Cautious to remove only sleeping attire so she cannot misinterpret and assume I will leave her for voicing such a simple question. Methodically I dress, pulling the chair tucked neatly under her desk out and turn it to face her. Trying to build on something that might someday resemble courage even though I know without a shadow of doubt that when it comes to something like this, I’m nothing more than a snivelling coward.

My fingers are shaking when I look down on them, quaking in fear and I take one in the other, my grip burning to try and halt the movement. “Where do I start?” I ask, listening to her sob cut short as she tries desperately to hide it from me. I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze from my hand, held in such a tight grip my fingers are beginning to turn red.

The mattress shifts and so do the covers, it only takes a glance upwards to see that she has pulled the quilt around her as she sits on the edge of the bed, the corner of the fabric furiously running over her eyes to conceal her tears. “You can start anywhere you like.” Her voice is pitched to a low whisper in a feeble attempt to cover the tremble in her words.

That is a little open ended, I had prayed and hoped for some sort of direction but with such precious little information available to her, it is little wonder that she’s cannot be more specific. There are certain things that I simply must divulge. Things where there is little sense in keeping from her and by doing so I am only hurting her in the process. Such as the development of Ammy inside my head, the wolf living in my skin very nearly made flesh in the light of day. Yet I sense this is not what she’s asking me, this is more to do with experiences that have shaped my mentality. Why I am who I am and there is quite simply no easy answer to that.

Her eyes are on me, intense and inquisitive but still I keep my gaze on the rug at my feet, my toes pushed between the thick threads. Forcing my hands to separate so I no longer constrict the flow of blood I bring my palms together, both thumbs touching the tip of my chin and my lips pressing against the side of my knuckles. Deeply contemplative, unsure of where to begin, where to end and how much should be said in between.

“I’m not like normal people. I was never meant to be, that wasn’t the point.” Dropping my hands to the arms of the chair I push myself deeper into the seat, straightening my back and hearing the detachment in my voice. Distancing myself from the words even as the pain beings to swell in my chest shakes me right down to the very core as I try to put my memories into words in some coherent way. “I was to be extraordinary. We all were. We were his legacy.”

“His?” Hermione asks in a small voice, almost afraid to interrupt me.

“My father.” I answer, estranging myself further as I think on the man. “He painted the lives of his children long before any of us were born. Though having a daughter was never part of the plan.” At this I do bring my eyes up to her, some perverse need to see her reaction. The clench of her jaw is enough for me to see she is holding her tongue. “Still, being the second child it didn’t matter that much, he had his heir I was just the weapon.”

Across the room Hermione shifts, pulling the cover tighter around her shoulders. “You shouldn’t think like that. You’re not just a tool to be used.”

“Why not? You use me.”

She physically flinches at this, indignation flying across her face and a fire of fury lights behind her deep brown eyes. “That’s not true.”

“I was recruited into Dumbledore’s Army so I could teach you combative magic.” Words become lodged in the back of her throat the infallible logic she is unable to counteract but I suspect she is most uncomfortable with the manner in which I drew her attention to it. I hold my hand up in order to gather her attention and halt her useless spluttering. “I’m not questioning your motives, simply drawing a parallel.”

“I…” She starts only to cut herself off. “Jamie. You think I’m using you.”

“You are.” I try to implore. I don’t wish to cause her pain and I know this conversation is doing just that but how else can I make her understand? “Boiled down to the barest sense of the word, you are. You have to be, because everybody else is, every second of every day. Every selfless act has a selfish motive. Some are just more obvious than others.” She still doesn’t understand, more shocked with my view on how people treat each other to step back and see the bigger picture. “Every parent raises a child for their own benefit, if only so they can be looked after in their twilight years. My father was simply more, short sighted about it. He knew exactly what he wanted from us and how to get it.”

“You almost sound like you’re defending him.” She says her, voice snide as her face screws up in a frown of distaste. This is the first time I have spoken of the man and already I can tell she doesn’t like him.

“I suppose I am.” I say trying to keep my voice level; I can feel all those emotions that I had kept locked away under my skin beginning to seep through into my voice and body language. Starting to become affected by my own retelling of my childhood. “He knew exactly what he wanted from us and he gave us all the tools to accomplish it. He tried to craft perfection from mediocrity, in the only way he knew how. His motives and his methods would have been perfect if we’d been special. Had some innate ability to perform all the tricks he required of us on the first try, but we weren’t. We were just children, I know that now. But at the time it felt like I was at fault, that I wasn’t good enough and I was punished for it. Countless times.” Somehow, thinking about all of that pain puts the distance back in my voice. Looking to almost all the world that I could be recounting a fond memory, or even reading a passage from a book that I hold little emotional interest in. It helps, being able to shield myself from it, even if only partly.

Hermione however has the opposite reaction, far from unaffected. The edges of her eyes bloodshot and shining with yet more unshed tears. Somehow able to see right through the façade I show her with such minimal effort that it might as well have been a pane of glass.

“I’m upsetting you.” I say with such cold clarity I might as well have been commenting on the weather.

She sniffs in response running the back of her hand along her cheek and under her nose. “The thought of you in pain for no good reason. Of course that upsets me.” Silently I wait, for either her to calm herself or ask me to continue. “What did he do to you?”

For the first time I turn my head away from her, finding the grain of the desk the most interesting thing in the room all of a sudden. “Withheld luxuries mostly.” I would not go as far as to say I am lying to her, just playing down the extent of that particular pain.

My eyes close in defeat at her next statement. “You call food a luxury?” I had been foolish to think that she might not bring that up.

I meet and hold her gaze. “It was to me.” My voice has taken a much lower pitch, the hurt bleeding through into my physiology. “Along with sleep, sunlight, freedom of movement, human interaction…”

She cuts me off holding her hand out palm facing me with a sharp cry of “Stop.” Her whole body is trembling to such an extent that I am certain she is going topple off the side of her bed at any moment. “Just stop.” The tone of her voice is enough for me to know I’ve pushed this conversation too far too fast and dropping my armour of impassiveness I stand from the chair. In two long strides I have reached her perch and folded my arms around her. Letting her press her nose into my neck and clutch at my lose clothing. “I’m sorry.” She whispers against my skin and I run my hand over her thick bushy mane, in an attempt to calm her.

“It’s okay.” I breathe back in as low a volume as her.

“No it’s not.” Her hand still tightly clenched in the material covering my chest she pulls back to turn those tear filled eyes back in my direction. “You’re the one that has been through all these things. Somehow I’m the one that ended up crying.” She inhales, shaky and deep. Holding the air in her lungs and calming herself. “He deprived you of sleep?” She finally asks, not letting go of my clothing, not giving me the opportunity to escape.

I nod pulling her closer, knowing that having her within my gasp and still being able to see her sad eyes might just be my undoing and I might dissolve into tears for the first time in as long as I can remember. “He would instruct the house elves to wake me once every half an hour, it would have been easier to have not slept at all but confided to my room without light I had little else to do.”

“Why?” She whispers, her cheek nuzzling against my chest in an action I am certain was intended to comfort me as much as her. “Why would he do that to you?”

“It was always when something has slipped my mind. Making the task of remembering harder, it would continue until I remembered everything he desired me to.” I have to suppress a shudder at the memory. After only a few days without sufficient sleep the hallucinations can be terrifying, far outweighing the feeling of exhaustion.

She curls herself in a tighter ball against my side, hiding from my words and I know I should stop but with a few simple words she asks me to continue. “That’s barbaric.”

“Agreed,” I say slowly, wondering if I should finish that sentence. Just let her into my way of thinking, if only a fraction. “You can’t deny its effectiveness, though.”

I only truly realise that I was pushing too far when she pushes against me, her grip loosening from the fabric of my cloths as she rears back with such ferocity that I could almost think I had struck her. Horror is the only emotion behind her eyes as she looks upon me. As if for the first time seeing me, seeing what I am, what I could become. “You’d condone this.”

“My memory could contend with even yours.” I can’t understand what is wrong with me, the dam now broken on my silence and truths spill forth from between my lips without care for the repercussions. It’s not only out of character for me but also complete stupidity. A pointless discussion that will only leave us both burning in pain and I could prevent it if only I could force my teeth to close. “In this case I think the outcome far exceeds the risks.”

“No.” she stands, pulling the covers with her and they drag along the floor behind her. I notice she is careful to keep it covering her flesh, placing a physical barrier between herself and what she is coming to realise might be more horrific than she could ever have guessed. “Nothing is worth that sort of abuse.”

“Even survival?” I counter, watching her face turn red in frustration. “He gave me to tools to exceed and to survive.”

“Like when we first met?!” Horror and pain in an instant clash behind her eyes and all that is left is rage. “Daddy’s little girl!”

At her words I am on my feet, so close to her our toes nearly touch. With an anger boiling under my skin, so fierce I would not be surprised to find myself steaming. “I was alive!”

“You call that living?!” She practically screams so close to my face that I fear she might burst my highly sensitive eardrums. “In the constant company of someone you don’t like or respect.” The fire still burns behind her eyes but after her outburst she has been able to calm herself enough to lower her voice. “Forcing yourself to become involved in things that didn’t interest you.”

Slowly I blink, listening to my teeth grind for a moment. There is wisdom in her words; even Quidditch was not something I would have volunteered myself for had it not been for the prodding of the people around me. My subsequent enjoyment of the sport was nothing more than a happy accident.

Dropping my gaze to the floor I try and bring my wrath under control. She also pauses, giving us both a moment to try and shake off the heady emotions filling the room. “You once told me you did all of those things for your dad, to please him, to make him proud. Was it ever enough?” I can feel her eyes on me, studying me. The only answer to her question is no and I have no counter argument for it. A long sigh is enough to tell me that she has been able to correctly interpret my persistent silence.

In the quiet that follows we both take time to collect ourselves, anger depleting as quickly as it appeared. We both remain close to each other, more out of a mutual need for the comfort than the intention of intimidating each other. The edges of my newly cut hair drop down into my vision as I hang my head and I have to run my fingers through it as I lift my gaze back to Hermione. “No.” I eventually whisper, bowing to her superior logic. “No, it was never enough.”

Grasping the quilt in a fist over her breastplate she pulls an arm free to let the backs of her fingers trail over my bare arm. “Then why would you put yourself through that?” I feel my eyebrows raise sarcastically in question. Where else could I have gone? “I mean…” Her fingers leave my skin to push against her forehead, crinkling the skin as she puts pressure against it. “You could have told someone. A teacher, a ministry official. Anyone. Surely someone would have made it stop.”

“I wanted to please him. Everything he sought after for himself I wanted to give it to him.” She still doesn’t comprehend me I can see it. “Look Hermione. You might be right. It may have not been a life worth living but before I met you I didn’t have anything else. My father’s rise to power was my only long-term goal. Apart from keeping James and my Mother safe, telling anyone what was going on wouldn’t have helped that cause.”

“You were protecting them?” She asks with a look on her face that tells me she had not even considered that.

“The better I was the easier it was for them. Didn’t stop him trying, just once. I don‘t know how old I was but I was old enough to beat him back.” I close my eyes against that particular memory. It was truly the only time my Father and I disagreed in such a way. The only part of his will I unwaveringly refused to bend to, was the welfare of my youngest sibling and my other parent. It takes me a moment to realize how close to weeping I am and I sniff them back turning away from Hermione and trying to put some distance between us. In this room that has suddenly become far too small for the both of us to exist within. Finding the desk I turn to lean against it, knowing that I have to keep facing her but unwilling to be within touching distance.

The air feels electric in an almost suffocating way and I can feel myself beginning to shake. From the chill in the air or touching on the one subject that I am completely powerless to distance myself from I am uncertain. I feel a genuine smile slide across my face and hope that what I wish to tell her might have her believing that the safety of my family was worth all that pain. “My Mother once said I was her Sword and Shield.” I see her open her mouth and have no wish to repeat our earlier disagreement on using people. “Not in the same way. She never asked me to. But she was so fragile, so gentle.” My arms across against my chest, not in any form of defence but just to feel comfortable on my perch. “I was stronger than they were. All the pains I couldn’t fight back against I took in their place. I always hoped it was an adequate metaphor.”

Biting on her bottom lip she nods. “It does sound like it.” Her eyes burn into me, watching, waiting, for something but I don’t know what. “What about now, that you’re not around?”

Her words strike against my chest like a battering ram, my torso in so much pain that I would be unsurprised to look down and find my ribs caved in, heart still beating but exposed to the world. My eyes burn and my whole body shakes and for just a second I almost can’t believe that she would have the audacity to cast that question to the open air. Tear apart still fresh wounds and pour salt into them until I scream myself hoarse. Like a wave in the tide, the rage washes over me, drawing back and leaving nothing but fear and guilt in its wake. One blink and something warm touches my cheek, mysterious and foreign against my skin. “I try not to think about it.” Halfway through my sentence my voice breaks and quivers with some emotion that I cannot place. My stomach clenches almost painfully, pushing all breath from my body and when I inhale I feel my lungs shudder.

I bring my hand to my cheek to push away the unidentifiable liquid and when I pull my fingers back into my vision it’s clear, hot and stinging against my skin. Another blink at it is immediately replaced. Why is it so hard to breathe? Why does my nose feel stuffy and clogged? What is happening to me?

I hear Hermione’s stride across the rug moments before her hand closes over the back of my neck. Drawing me close and pushing my nose into the hollow between shoulder and neck, not caring for her state of undress she drops the covers from around her body, letting them pool at her feet, drawing me against her and gently whispering to me. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” Something deep inside me snaps and the pain radiates out from my bones, through flesh and all across every expanse of skin.

Suddenly I’m clinging to her, as if my very existence depended on it. My fingers pressing into her skin to keep her close, keep her holding me. A tremor runs its way from the pit of my belly, along my spine and through my shoulders. Exiting my mouth in a mournful sob that punctures the air and it takes me a moment to release it for what it is.

I weep, deep into her shoulder for what feels like hours. Clutching at her, holding on tightly when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, terrified she might leave me alone in my sorrow. Leave me in solitude with my eyes literally aflame in protest against the tears I cannot hold back. Not when they are encouraged by the gentle shushing noises and words of comforting nonsense that the woman I cling to so desperately is uttering.

When I decent into a shuddering mess, with no more tears to shed she coaxes me across to the bed, with tender touches and words. Untangling herself from me, only long enough to push me on top of the mattress and retrieve the cover. She throws it over my body then lifts one edge to slide in next to me, immediately wrapping an arm around my head to pull my cheek against her breastbone. She makes no comment as my fingers press once more into her skin, clutching at her and keeping her close to my shaking body. Her fingers run soothingly though my short hair and she continues to utter words I cannot decipher over the roaring of blood in my ears and my own sniffling.

I push my palm against my cheek, ridding myself of the evidence of my own weakness. Thankful that I became so completely undone in the presence of, who is quite possibly, the most compassionate person I have the privilege of knowing. I have no fears that she would take this collapse as a sign that I was feeble and helpless. No thought that she might use it against me somehow. Just hold me, guide me though the totally alien feeling of crumpling under the pressures created by my own emotions.

After coughing violently I swallow down the lump in my throat, and try to sniff back the last remaining verification of my breakdown. “I’m sorry.” I say. My voice hoarse from the gut wrenching sobs I have just recently recovered from.

She presses her lips against my hair, tightening her grip on me, keeping me safe in the comfortable walls of her embrace. “It’s okay. You are allowed to cry sometimes.”

Through my sorrow I begin to laugh, her words so mundane but completely absurd at the same time. Only mere months ago such a colossal loss in my self-control would have earned me a thrashing that would have stung for weeks, now it is condoned, the pain soothed away by her placid touch and kind words. “You knew I was going to do that.” I accuse lightly, remembering her gaze upon me.

“I was hoping you would.” She runs her fingers through my hair, her short nails lethargically grazing my scalp to gather the stands and slowly drop them back to my crown. Only to repeat the action moments later. “You were just so detached from everything. I should have known it would be someone else’s pain that really hurt you.”

“Trust me Hermione. I’m not that caring.” I say with another sniff, closing my eyes and letting her soothing touch wash over me.

“Yes you are.” She says, her voice is light but still does not leave me with any room to argue the point. “You don’t love many but when you do, it’s so fierce.” My breathing begins to shudder again and I am frightened that if I say anything I might dissolve into tears once more. So instead I press my lips against her breastbone in thanks for the compliment. “Is there anything you can do to help them?” She asks after many long moments of silence.

I shake my head against her, swallowing the lump in my throat, hoping that I might be able to dislodge it indefinably but the moment it is cleared it begins to form anew. “Best thing I can do is nothing.” I can taste her curiosity over my statement. “No one would believe a half breed over an upstanding ministry official. Even if they did they would only make enquiries, which would come back with nothing. It would only anger him and make it worse.”

Her grip around me tightens and I can feel the muscles in her stomach clench. “Is there anything I can do to help?” There is strain in her voice but she is trying to keep it light.

I snort with humourless laughter. “If there’s anything anyone can do I haven’t thought of it yet.”

Her lips press against my head in a comforting caress. “You will.”

Her statement is said with such certainty that I press against the mattress on either side of her, holding my torso above her so I can look into her eyes to see any sort of doubt. I find none and it perplexes me. “You have such faith in me.” She nods slowly, reaching up to wipe her thumb against my cheek where the tears are starting to dry and matt with my skin. “Why?” I ask.

“Because I know you.” She says simply, only continuing when she sees my forehead crease. “I know you would do almost anything to get what you want. If you want to protect them you will.”

I shake my head, wondering if she even remembers what we had so recently been speaking about. “You don’t know me that well.”

“You hide things from me.” She shifts on the mattress, turning ever so slightly so her back is flat against it. “But it’s all just details, bits and pieces. Over the past months I’ve spend almost twenty-four hours a day with you. There’s no way you could hide all of yourself in that time.” I feel a serious look cross my face, too exhausted to pull my mask over it before it is visible, she’s sees it cross my eyes. “What is it?”

“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” Now that got her attention, her eyes snap into focus and her head tilts ever so slightly to the side. “It’s important, and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“What is it?” She asks so full of compassion that I cannot believe that I had the gall to keep this to myself for so long.

Letting my tongue pass between my lips to moisten them I start. “Do you remember when we called forth our Patronus?”

She nods enthusiastically, and I can see her looking on her memory behind her mind’s eye. “When your senses went berserk?”

“Yeah.” I whisper, pushing myself back and up onto my knees. Not completely certain what reaction this nugget of information might incite. “I walked away with more than just acute senses.” She pushes herself up onto her elbows clearly interested. “The wolf inside of me started speaking to me.”

Her eyes go as round and wide as saucers. “What?” Silently I wait for the shock to subside and for something to happen. I’m not certain how she is going to react and it is a deeply unsettling feeling to have not thought this out to the fullest before committing to it. “You’re sure? That it’s your wolf?”

Solemnly I nod. “Dale’s wife had a test. I’m not insane.” My voice takes on a highly defensive edge and I have to restrain myself from correcting myself.

“Is that what’s been worrying you these past weeks?” She asks, her eyes wondering across my face. I had not even been aware that she had noticed. All too quickly her earlier comment about how well she knows me rings true and all that is left to do is thank all the Gods that I might not have to endure a conversation like this one again. “That you were going mad?”

I nod at her. “Mostly.” All in all I don’t see how that could be seen as a trivial concern.

Slowly she smiles, shaking her head at me in that way she does when I have done something exasperating. “Oh Jamie.” She need not have called my name; she already holds all of my attention. She reaches out and hooks her hand around the back of my neck. “Come here.”

With a gentle tug she pulls me back across her and seeks out my lips with hers, pushing them together in a comforting embrace. Wordlessly reassuring me that all that she has learned of me this night has not tarnished the relationship between us.
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By The Light