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By The Light	By : lycanthrope Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 17677 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All of the characters portrayed in this fic (apart from Jamie.) and all other creations existing within the world Of Harry Potter are the creative genius of J.K Rowling, I make no profit from the writing or posting of this fan fiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter 32

The flickering light of the candle, burned low from so long alit, and the scratch of my quill upon parchment is my only company. Lost in my own little world as I put the events of yesterday to the page of my journal. Never halting, never wavering. Just pouring all my thoughts and feelings out onto the blank expanses of paper.

I woke this morning to the sense of the sunrise, curling around Hermione’s warmth and unwilling to leave the sanctity of her bed to watch it from the window. Content just to feel its inevitable climb along the eastern sky and listen to the even breaths of the one woman that I have given insight into the very heart of my being. Feeling almost weightless right down to the very core of me and closer than I could have ever imagined to another human being.

Something squirms around behind my eyes and my hand goes still above the paper midway through scribing a word. My first instinct is to ignore Ammy’s sudden presence. Cast it from my mind and just continue with my work. Today is different, somehow. The bright morning light bathing over the earth; radiating warmth and cleansing, even my tarnished soul.

Instead I take a breath, wondering if I have made the right decision and after dipping my quill deep into the well of ink I begin to speak. “You were gone longer than usual.” The stem of the feather taps lightly against the glass to dispel any excess fluid and I return my eyes to my journal.

I feel a slither of curiosity consume me and know the emotion to be Ammy’s. My words have surprised her and for a moment she is struck dumb in their wake. ‘You requested privacy.’ Her voice is slow, sounding almost unsure of herself. ‘I granted that request.’

The smile across my face is so bright it shows the white of my teeth and the small snigger deep in my chest, feels too good to try and suppress. “Not even I have that much stamina.” She assumes I could withstand a full night and morning of carnal knowledge. The thought itself does sound appealing on paper but I would not wish to feel the weariness and the ache in my muscles after so much exertion.

‘I had no way of being certain of that.’ The sound of her voice gives the impression that she is trying to chastise me but the tremor of a giggle betrays her amusement.

The sensation of being prodded and poked covers my entire back. I physically flinch my shoulder against it. “Stop doing that.” I try to command, wondering what she is trying to achieve.

She completely ignores me and the feeling continues. ‘You feel lighter Human.’ She comments as though I had not spoken at all.

Muscles twitch and spasm all through my shoulder blade at her intrusive curiosity. “You were only gone a night. I can’t have lost that much weight.”

‘Your exterior matters little to me.’ She comments, her invasive hunt thorough my body stops almost as abruptly as it started. ‘But within, you feel better, lighter.’

The scratching of my quill halts again, my head tilting to the side in question. Looking deeper within myself and wondering what she might be talking about, I feel much the same as I have for most of my life. My hip still twinges when pushed into a specific angle, my knuckles still crack and grind when forced into a high degree of tension. However I suspect that while I still notice these old internal injuries, it is not what she refers to. “What do you mean?” I ask, only brining my attention to my writing when I hear a single drop of ink splash against the page.

I can feel her gazing out through my eyes with intrigue as I hastily push the nib back into the ink. ‘Something is different.’ She stops, waiting for me to fill in the gaps for her; all I do is lean back in the chair, crossing my arms across my chest. With Rachel’s guidance I may have grown leaps and bounds when it comes to hiding things. The tear filled explosion in the late hours of yesterday evening is enough to convince me of that. This does not however mean that I, by any means, am ready to stop these psychological games entirely. If she wishes for the conversation to continue in this direction she will be the one to incite it. ‘Perhaps, not so different.’

I feel an eyebrow lift, how does she always turn the tables on me like that? So effortlessly and with such grace, cut me down to size without a second thought. Very few have been wise enough to do that before. I clear my throat adjusting my posture in my seat and scrabble to try and gather what remains of my decorum. “What do you mean by lighter?”

She chuckles and the sound vibrates around inside my skull for a moment. ‘A dignified surrender. Will wonders never cease?’

Leaning my head back against the chair I feel the laughter as it bubbles up from the very pit of my stomach. Her voice mocks me in a way that should provoke anger, defensiveness, something that isn’t delight but still that is all I feel. I run my hands up and over my face to try and subdue my mirth. It’s too late; my keen ears have already heard the distinct change in Hermione’s breathing to indicate she is awake. The break in tension of the liquid gathered in her eyes is enough to tell me they are open, no doubt looking on me. “Do I always take myself so seriously?” I ask Ammy, scrubbing my hands against my face. She doesn’t answer but I can feel her confirmation running over my skin and my eyes roll of their own violation. “How very reassuring.”

‘We can but try.’ She says, still mocking me with the tone of her voice. I freely admit that it is a welcome change not to take offence to it. I’m sure that in time I might become used to her dry humour.

“That makes me feel so much better.” I say aloud, hoping that this might be the easiest way to introduce Hermione to this new aspect of my life. Leaning forward I push the tip of my fingers under the cover of my journal and slowly close the pages. Not bothering to charm the book to hide its contents. As of last night Hermione has been close to learning the worst of me, there is little she will find in these pages that will be any bigger of a revelation.

All form of glee leaves Ammy’s voice and I can feel the seriousness running through me that she now feels. ‘Your mate is awake.’

That’s interesting, that I would be able to detect such a thing before she. Considering the advanced senses originate from her it is becoming apparent that she does not always give them her strictest attention. “I know.” I answer. Taking a deep breath and feeling elated when I cannot smell fear in the air. “I heard.” My head turns and my sights set on Hermione, laid out on her back, pushed aloft on her elbows, the strangest look on her face. Somewhere between concern, mirth, and curiosity; or somehow a mixture of all three. I feel my forehead crease in response. “This makes you uncomfortable?”

She clears the look on her face instantly and shakes her head. “No, not at all.” Intently I keep my eyes on her, my Hermione may be very good at many things but lying isn’t one of them. “Well…” She lowers her eyes to the bedspread. “It is a little strange to witness.”

I feel much of my body deflate, just because she is aware of the reason I appear to be chatting away to myself it doesn’t make the action appear any saner.

‘You have spoken of me.’ The shock in Ammy’s tone is hard to miss and it makes me what to childishly chalk that up to a win. ‘That is indeed an interesting development.’

I can feel that she wishes to discuss it further, whether not being aware of the almost distressed look my cohabitant is wearing or simply deciding that it is not important enough to halt our conversation I cannot say, but right at this moment I need to explore the lay of the land. So as I push against my thighs to rise from the seat I whisper a quick plea of “Not right now Ammy” to the disembodied voice within my skull and hand my full concentration to Hermione. Stepping over to the bed and awkwardly standing at the side, not certain if it will detrimental or not to clamber in beside her, after what she has just been witness to.

She looks up at me, following my progress her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Ammy? Is that her name?”

‘Will you please explain that I am called Amaterasu.’ She says in irritation and I feel my eye twitch ever so slightly in response. Trying with all my might to push her back so I might be able to see exactly how much Hermione might come to fear me if I continue to behave in such a way.

Ever observant Hermione notices the tiny tick and her face clouds with intrigue. “What did she say?”

“Nothing important.” I say easily, slowly lowering myself to the bed and resting my back against the headboard. “But I do have a feeling she isn’t going to shut up around you any longer.”

Ammy inside my head scoffs at the same time Hermione releases a giggle to the open air. The wolf within me is the first to speak. ‘You beg for too much silence in your life Human.’

I feel my eyes roll, making a silent pledge that the day she uses my given name I might think about using hers. “Yes, because your incessant chatter will be the death of me.”

Hermione hums in the back of her throat and I have to once more switch my point of focus. Beginning to realise that it is very difficult to have a three-way conversation when I am the only mediator. “I see you two are getting along swimmingly.” She says in the most sarcastic voice she can muster, shooting me a cheeky grin as she turns onto her side. She pulls her arm out from beneath the covers and threads her fingers through mine.

“You should have seen us the last few weeks.” I remark, studying her so closely I can see every muscle as they tense. She nods slowly, not committing to any sort of comment and looks intently on our entwined fingers. Her refusal to hold my gaze is both puzzling and worrying to me. “I can stop talking to her if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Both Ammy and Hermione speak in unison with a resounding “No.”

I can clearly understand why the beast inside of me would react this way to such a suggestion but Hermione’s response has both of my eyebrows lifting in question. “It’s a little…” She licks her lips and signs, clearly searching her mind for the right words. “Disconcerting. To start with.” I give myself pause for this; it was never my intention to disturb her in any way. Perhaps a gentler introduction to this aspect of my existence would have been more prudent. “But she’s part of you now. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not something anyone should have to get used to.” I mutter, much more to myself than the other two women that are able to hear me, knowing that this kind of interaction is by no means normal. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Sudden movement against the mattress has me releasing my grip on her hand and all at once her warm body is pressed against mine. Her knees pressed into the soft springs on either side of my hip, her arms resting over my shoulders. My hands immediately go to her hip, not only to feel the supple flesh beneath my fingers but also to keep her stable and she sits back on my thighs. Where I have been out of bed the last two hours, now bathed and dressed, the same sort of time has not been afforded to Hermione. Our heart-felt discussion last night left us both exhausted, so she still remains in nothing but her skin and it takes all my willpower to remind myself that Ammy is still very observant behind my eyes. After taking so much time and effort to ensure that she not cast a glace over her skin in the twilight hours of yesterday, I am loath to put all that to waste in the cold light of day. So I lift my gazed, falling like I have so many times before into those pools of chocolate brown.

The determination blazes like an inferno behind her eyes and I have no choice but to pay rapt attention to every word she utters. “Now you are going to listen to me and we are not going to have this conversation again. Are we clear?”

Seated over me in such a provocative manner and with such command in her voice it is unthinkable that I would have any part of my awareness on anything else in this moment. “Clear as crystal.”

“Good.” She speaks while narrowing her eyes; just to be sure I’m listening. “We are in a relationship, now that means that you have to live with my little quirks and I have to live with yours.”

I shoot her an unscrupulous look and run my hands over her hips to rest them against the curve at the base of her back. “You have quirks?”

“Oh yes, defiantly.” She says, her voice taking on an almost teasing tone.

“Really?” I ask, running the past months, through my mind and failing to find any of these idiosyncrasies she is so convinced she forces me to bear. “Such as?”

“This morning, you got up before me.” I nod at her statement to the obvious. “Did you shower before or after your tided away our clothes?”

Breath gathers behind my tongue but I have no words in which to expel it, instead casting my eyes across the room, already knowing that the offending garments no longer cover the floor. “Well after. But I don’t see how…”

“And why would you do that?” She asks cutting me off as though I had not continued to speak and even though it is made clear that I make to answer her question she carries on, unimpeded. “Because I’m a complete neat freak and if the room had been untidy when I woke up it would have made me cranky.”

“Yes,” I agree, might I add hesitantly, she may appear to be making light of this easy routine we have both fallen into but that does not necessarily indicate that I should agree wholeheartedly with her. “But I still don’t see how…”

Once more she halts my speech, albeit in a much more pleasurable way as her lips cover mine and push my head back against her headboard so I have no escape from the demanding touch. Not that I could imagine a case where I would want one. She only holds my lips for a moment before drawing back. “The point is…” She starts and answers my smile with her own, once more perceiving what I was about to say before I was able to put voice to them. “You’ve already learned to live with that. I can live with you talking to this Ammy.”

“That doesn’t even compare.” I utter, hoping she might either agree or counter me as I have little else to say. However on this occasion she remains uncharacteristically quiet. Even going so far as to raise both of her eyebrows in challenge. “Tidying away a small mess, that I made I might add, and listening to me talk to the voice that only I can hear are hardly the same thing.”

One of her eyes squints in a show of deep comical contemplation, even though I can see she has already chosen her words. “Yes it is.” Shrugging once she shifts her weight from across my lap and is on her feet before I can even form thought. “I can just pretend you’re on the phone.” She calls out, walking away from me towards the adjoining bathroom with and more sway to her hips than is customary. It is more than a little distracting.

The moment she disappears around the corner of the doorway my thoughts are my own again and I scrabble from the bed, having to reach down to untangle the sheets from around my bare feet. The showerhead springs to life as I reach the open doorway and rest my hand against its frame. “As easy as that?” I ask. Not quite believing my own good fortune.

I hear her push the excess water from over her face and through her hair, the abundance of liquid hits the base of the copper tub disrupting the steady beat of droplets for only a moment. “As easy as that, Sweetheart.” She confirms.

“Sometimes My Love, I think you are far more forgiving than I deserve.” She makes a garbled noise of agreement from the other side of the shower curtain. A thought strikes me as I turn to leave the tiled room and my curiosity forces me to spin once more, calling out. “Hermione.” At her noise to indicate she is paying me at least some degree of attention I continue. “What is a phone?”

My only response is a bark of laughter, moments before a wet flannel cloth is hurled in the vague direction of my face.

~~000~~

The Great Hall is alive with activity when we arrive and after so many days of eating my meals in relative quite I feel myself wince against the noise as we approach. Only my determination to once more desensitise myself to the din, which must come with school life, convinced Hermione that I would not have a problem taking the meal with the rest of the student body.

The headache started almost immediately but I manage to make it to my seat without any indication of an impending seizure. So I remain in the hall, even when the look that crosses Ginny’s face makes me literally want to run and hide under my bed. “Well look at you two.” She shouts over the din as we both draw near hand in hand. “You’re practically glowing.” Her voice is so loud in fact that many of those around her, who were only moments ago completely fixated on their morning meal, take the time to look us over.

Hoping that my embarrassment does not show on my face I try to appear unaffected. “Thank you for that assessment Ginny.” Halting my steps I customarily wait for Hermione to sit before me. “Although, a few decibels higher and they might just have heard you at the staff table.”

She leans back in her seat wagging her index finger in my direction once, in an exaggerated manner. “I will be sure to remember that.”

“Must you?” I take my seat at the table and immediately realise my mistake in coming to the Great Hall. All along the table bacon sizzles and eggs steam making my mouth water. The longing to quench my thrust for protein that I admit was part of my day-to-day life when I was completely human but has intensified since I took on the form of the wolf. This is going to become a very difficult festival from now on.

Ginny ignores my reprisal, pushing her fork under a heap of scrubbed eggs, drawing my jealous eyes to the food. “You two have any plans for today?” Her head ducks down to fill her mouth with the rich substance and I have to shake my head to dispel the effects.

“Not as far as I know.” Hermione answers for the both of us, pushing a plate close to my nose. “Bacon?” She queries.

Resting my elbow on the tabletop I curl my fingers and rest my lips against it, not even trusting myself to touch the plate presented to me. “No. Thank you.” I answer and try not to notice when her eyes narrow at me.

“You are going to eat breakfast.” To the world around us her tone may have been misinterpreted as a question, but to my ears I hear it as the command that she had intended.

“Yes,” I quickly agree, feeling the ache of hunger deep in my belly but still not prepared to satisfy it. “I’m just working my way up to it.”

She shoots me a confused look before turning that same expression over the table to Ginny; receiving nothing more than a perplexed shrug in return.

Both Harry and Ron begin to approach our seats. Ron looking across at his friend with a worried expression and Harry with his first two fingers of his right hand pressed against the jagged outline of the scar at his forehead. The deep lines, casting shadows under his eyes belay his exhaustion and when he reaches the table he all but falls into his seat. “Morning.” He says reaching over the table to pour himself some pumpkin juice.

Hermione looks up, offering the plate of bacon to her tiered friend also letting concern cast across her features. “Bad dreams, again?”

He only nods around a yawn and I can see that we will not be getting any sort of conversation out of him for the next few hours. I watch as Hermione and Ron share a meaningful look across the table and instantly know that I am being left out of the loop with regards to theses dreams, which appear to be very significant.

I shake my head at the antics, reaching out for a pitcher of water and pouring it into my goblet. It was nigh on impossible for me to trespass on the secrets between these three when I wished to stop them defeating the Dark Lord. Nowadays I almost think I might be safer being left in the dark on such matters.

Cold silence casts over all of us in a suffocating blanket of awkwardness. The golden trio looking down at their barely touched meals and pushing it around their plates with various utensils. Ginny trying not to be the first to break the quiet of contemplation, squirming around in her seat, not looking as though it is an easy task.

Personally I have no way of occupying my hands if I delay my breakfast any further, so more out of a wish to try and extract myself from the uncomfortable air than a genuine need to eat I reach into my robes and pull a spherical fruit from within my concealed inside pocket. Resting the pomegranate lightly on my plate and glaring at it so intently it might as well be a foe on the battlefield.

“What the hell is that?” For all her effort Ginny is the first to break the silence and I almost wish I hadn’t given her something to comment on.

“Fruit.” I answer not looking up because I know Ginny must be wearing some expression of mischief and I have no wish to see it just yet. Taking up a knife I slice the offending food down the middle and place both half’s flat side down against the plate.

Ginny’s fork enters my view, fully laden with the protein that I desire and forces me to look her in the eye so I no longer have to face the temptation directly. “That’s your breakfast?”

“Yes.” I answer shortly, does she have to draw attention to it? The back of my spoon hit the curve of the Pomegranate to dispel the seeds inside. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” I say with little enthusiasm.

“Wow.” Ginny starts and already I can see the jokes at my expense beginning to build behind her eyes. “You sound so happy about that.”

The look on my face must show how much this topic irritates me because it only makes her smile wider. “It’s spring. I’m fasting.” The skin peals away and I am left with the bright red fruit falling down onto the ceramic plate. Sometimes I really hate this time of year.

Ron is the next to interject, the situation that must on a lot of levels be very strange to him pulling him out of his concern for his best friend. “And I thought Lent was bad.” His eyes snap up from my plate to my eyes. “So you have to eat nothing but that for forty days?”

For once my shock does not come at a time when I am taking a drink so, at least on this occasion I am not forced to entertain my friends with my enviable drowning in a small goblet. “Forty. By the Gods no.” The very notion of that leaves me in fear for the safety of everyone around me. “Three days, no more.”

Hermione has taken to leaning her head against her hand, supported by her elbow on the table and with a quietly spoken query has my attention. “There’s a story behind that, isn’t there?”

“We do many irrational things for faith, but there is always a story to accompany the madness.” I say, repeating an old mantra from my childhood. So many times I would ask why it was required of me to only consume this fruit when spring came along. This was always my mother’s answer.

‘As it should be.’ Ammy’s voice rings through my head and my forehead creases and I feel my eyes waver from Hermione’s face to listen to her. What care would the wolf inside me have for Gods and Myth? It is intriguing but unfortunately I will need to wait until a later time to press her further.

When my eyes return back to Hermione she is wearing a smile that clearly indicates she knew exactly where my lapse in attention had been and in an atypical show of shyness I duck my head to escape her questioning gaze. It is only after I have taken the first spoonful of my breakfast that I feel her hand squeezing my thigh. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

“I’m hardly an effective storyteller.” I say, knowing that it will bore many at the table.

Her fingers press against my flesh in an imploring gesture. “I’m interested.”

“Very well.” I say clearing my throat and taking another bite, able to lose myself in the tale and almost fail to remember to taste in my mouth. “Persephone is the daughter Demeter, you might refer to her as Mother Nature. Persephone married the God of the Underworld and he tricked her into eating the fruit from his personal garden. She was rescued after consuming three seeds, one for every winter month. So every year she must go back to her husband’s side for that time and every year on her return we celebrate.”

“There’s more to it than that.” She says, narrowing her eyes in my direction.

“There is always more.” I relent, hoping that someone else might be the centre of attention at some time soon. “But you will need to find a far better wordsmith than I to tell it properly.”

We share a smile that is only interrupted by Ginny’s fork clattering to her plate, her hands held aloft, palms facing us in the universal signal of ‘stop.’ “Wait a just minute.” She pauses only long enough to swallow what she had been chewing. “Are you trying to tell me? That because some chick god got conned by some guy hundreds of years ago, you can’t eat anything but that for three days?”

When put like that it almost feels like idiocy but I find myself questioning where she might take this, so I do not jump to defend this particular festival. “In a nutshell, yes.” The smile that spreads across her face can only be described as evil. “What?” I ask very, very slowly, almost scared to revel what caused that glint in her eyes.

Without a word she cuts herself another mouthful of toast and piles on as many eggs that will fit, bringing to her mouth slowly and placing it against her tongue with a noise that could quite easily be described as orgasmic. Long appreciative moans can be heard as she slowly chews and her eyes roll back in their sockets in pure pleasure. When the food has been chewed enough it is pushed into one of her cheeks so she can speak out of the side of her mouth, pointing in the vague direction of her lips. “This is so good.” She pauses to swallow, without a care of the murderous look I am sending across the table. “Honestly. Eggs and toast, match made in heaven.”

With a long frustrated sigh I try my hardest not to indicate just how much the exhibit has affected me, turning to my side so I no longer have to cast my eyes upon the wanton display. “My Dearest Hermione. You may have been right. We should have taken this meal in your room.”

She giggles but does not comment, appearing not to want to be placed in the cross fire between the redhead, who lives for little else but to give me a hard time, and myself, hunching over her food in order not to be drawn into the pleasant squabble.

“Hey.” Ginny calls, all notes of irritating enjoyment dropped from her voice. “That better not be another nickname. I already paid out for the last one.”

“I fail to see how this would affect me.” I say, glad that I may have stumbled on to a way to repay her constant ribbing. “Who won, anyway?”

“Luna, actually.” She says, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. Which is a strange manoeuvre as the Ravenclaw table is located behind my back, not hers. She then scratches her head in apparent confusion. “I can’t quite get my head around that one.”

I shrug slightly, thinking that we do not give enough credit to the girl. “The wise can be found in the strangest of places.”

“Yeah?” Ginny says with a disbelieving look on her face. “So can the lucky.”

~~~~000~~~

A/N – Alrighty then. So this one was a lot lighter hearted. After the last chapter I don’t think I could do any more. I don’t want to ever put myself in a position where I have to feel like that again. The things I do for you people. We have had a lot of seriousness so I thought Giggles were in order and I got to play with the religion a bit more. It’s going to be in there either way, it is a big part of Jamie’s life and the actual act of faith is just beautiful but is it interesting? Let me know coz we can always tone it down a bit, not much coz it is important. But a bit.
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By The Light