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
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Chapter 33

There have been very few things that I have had direct control over in my short lifetime, with another always pulling at my puppet strings. It has always been so paramount that I have something I can call my own, something I am able to wield expertly and have absolute power over. My own thoughts and body was always on hand to fill that role in its entirety. So as such I have always been able to halt a nervous twitch, grasp onto a stray thought to effectively stamp it out. It has not always been easy, to enter that state of stillness, to not only conceal my inner thoughts and emotions but also to tame them, to distance myself to such an extent that the feelings can no longer be felt, but years of practice prevailed.

On any normal day I can call upon my inner calm and quiet disorganised thought, unruffle the feathers of restlessness whenever it should descend to swallow me whole, with very little effort. Today is proving to be an exception.

Tomorrow will mark the beginning of another term at Hogwarts, a day filled with tuition and learning like any other. Only it is not, it cannot be. Schooldays are noted for the inclusion of lessons, in all of which attendance is mandatory. Even Defence Against the Dark Arts, a tutorial I am certain I could pass my exams without having to endure, especially after a battle of wills has been fought and won in my honour by the headmaster against the Professor who teaches it.

For a full hour I will be forced to remain in the presence of one Dolores Umbridge. With her sickeningly sweet laugh that could not appear any more false, even if she were to put her mind to it. With her long looks in my direction, distaste and disgust behind the thinnest of veils in her eyes. I anticipate that she will attempt to bait me, hoping to prove beyond reasonable doubt that it would be unsafe to release me again into society. Obtain a second ruling with regards to Dale’s custody over me.

The event itself I do not fear. The calmness will return when I am most in need of it, of this I am sure. I will remain passive and submissive, true to my training. It will not take her long to become uninterested after any lack of response. No, I have assessed the inevitable meeting and thought of it from all sides, as I do in all stressful situations. Her looks and sneers do not frighten me, as they should, as they are intended. My mental preparation will see to that.

However therein lies the problem; the puzzle has been solved. The groundwork has been laid and I have already decided how I will react to her. Now I must wait, festering in my own anticipation. Time is a fickle mistress and I wish for nothing more than for her to bring the moment upon me, here and now. Just to be done with it so I may once more blend with the shadows and go unnoticed in her tuition. Not held in a perpetual state of edginess with nothing more to fill my head with, than the scenarios I have already pored over for hours upon end.

The quiet of the library is little help, all of my homework assignments were completed over the holidays, aided by my state of alertness from the moment the sun shines its first rays over the horizon. I lost interest long ago in the book held open to my eyes, the words no longer having meaning and I have sat for longer than I dare think about, staring uselessly at the page, wringing my hands together.

“Are you okay?” Ginny’s eyes hold concern as my gaze shoots up to meet hers. Her red eyebrows held high on her forehead in question.

“No.” I answer shortly. There is little point in spinning any sort of tale to encourage her away from the subject; I know my behaviour clearly reveals my anxiety. Both of my hands rake through my hair, my nails pressing against the skin along my scalp, the movement dislodges the knot in my chest for only a moment before it returns. “I’m restless.” I continue. Standing from my seat and taking the open book with me, returning it to the shelf more out of a need for some form of physical exertion, than wishing to tidy it away.

As I turn back towards the table both Ginny and Hermione share a silent exchange, they both hold questions in their eyes but no answers. Something I have come to associate with, what they perceive to be my strange decorum. I do for a moment contemplate returning with another book; in the hope it might hold my interest enough for me to let the looming conflict with The High Inquisitor slip to the back of my mind.

However, just thinking about having to remain still and quiet for another moment, makes me want to rip my own hair out as an alternative. With that thought in mind I return, empty handed, bending at the hip to lean heavily on the table. Lowering my voice to little more than a whisper so I do not incur the short temper of Madame Pince. “Let’s go for a walk.” I suggest, my chest singing in anticipation of being in the open air, Ammy in the back of my mind humming her approval.

For some odd reason they both look shocked at this. Hermione’s forehead creasing in the middle and her hand falling away from the passage she had been reading. Ginny’s reaction is a little less subdued. Her jaw hanging so far off its hinges that it brushes the tabletop.

Surprisingly, considering the strength of her reaction, Ginny is the first to recover, leaning low over the table and whispering. “What? All of us?” Suddenly she jerks to the side, glaring in Hermione’s direction with her bright eyebrows hooded heavily over her eyes. Her quick shout of “Ow!” is enough to let me know that Hermione has caused her some sort of injury beneath the table, as well as catching the attention of the resident librarian.

All three of us duck our heads in apology after a loud bout of shushing from the old, frail looking woman. We remain in silence for several moments before I see her eyes peer once more through her half-moon spectacles, going back to the passage she had been reading with rapt attention.

“Yes, why not?” I answer Ginny’s earlier query. “There are only three of us we would still be complying with the school rules.” Something I hasten to add is becoming more difficult by the day. When the ministry handed Umbridge such absolute power in that forty second decree, I am almost certain that so many additions to the regulations was not what they had in mind.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Ginny starts, only for her eyes to widen, quite significantly and shoot across in her seat, accusatory gaze casting over in Hermione’s direction. “Are you going to kick me again?”

Hermione, for her part shows us the picture of innocence. It may look genuine but the sight of it makes Ginny shrink away all the more. For some unknown reason Hermione has perceived her words to have been the opposite of helpful. Hence the physical contact. What it was she has been intending to shield me from however is totally lost on me.

“What Ginny is trying to say…” Hermione begins, shooting a glance across the table at our friend, the trace of reprimand shining in her eyes. “Is that, when you take your walks you usually want to be alone.”

I feel much of my forehead crease in a frown at her words. Looking into her eyes, searching for the jest that must have been so completely beyond me, finding nothing. She just continues to look upon me, waiting for something. “Do I?” I ask without thought. It is true that when I become restless I have recently taken to ambling aimlessly around the castle and its grounds but I cannot pinpoint a single instance when I had specifically requested solitude in doing so. Then again, I also cannot think of a time when I have asked for company either.

With a smile on her face she wordlessly nods. How can she have perceived so many things without my direct import, without my even noticing? “Well I suppose that was implied,” I concede. Watching them share that infuriating glace across the table. “Would you rather stay here, now?”

“Oh, Hell no,” Ginny says before I have even finished speaking, packing away her quills and parchment with such speed that she completely disregards the need to roll up the long scroll, instead stuffing it into her pack, pushing it into a crumpled mess under all her other supplies and books. The shoulder strap slips swiftly over her head and quicker than I could have imagined she is on her feet. “Let’s go.”

“Ginny,” Hermione says, just loud enough to attract the eyes of Madame Pince, she notices immediately and halts her speech, shooting her silent apologies across the room. Lowering her voice significantly so Ginny has to stoop down closer to her to be able to hear. “Ginny we have to finish this.” She uses the nib of her quill to indicate the unrolled parchment across the desk.

Ginny clenches her fists close to her ears in a show of frustration. “Hermione. You’ve already done all my homework.” Now that is a surprise, I have come to understand that Hermione is hard pressed to complete the assignments for even her two best friends, even with their constant badgering. Only giving them guidance notes and correcting their mistakes once they have done it themselves. “Can we please just get out of here?”

“I know all of your assignments are done.” Hermione says, struggling to keep her voice down to a low whisper from between her gritted teeth. “But you have to at least appear as if you’re studying.”

“Well.” Ginny looks as though she is struggling to contend with the quarrel. “Can’t we just do that tomorrow? Besides, Jamie’s restless.” She says, a smile gracing her features as she remembers exactly why they had begun to disagree in the first place. Looking like she has just stumbled onto the only indisputable argument she could bring to the table.

Hermione’s quill waves about irritably for a few seconds and her mouth opens as if to form speech. To counter her in some way, but no sound is forthcoming. It is only a matter of heartbeats before she admits defeat, closing her heavy book around a sigh. “Fine.” She stands to tidy away the table, not able to leave a mess in her wake. “But we finish this tomorrow.” She says by way of both a compromise and a demand, a feat that I am almost certain would be impossible to anyone but Hermione.

Ginny raises a single hand, three foremost fingers outstretched. Her smallest tucked against her palm by her thumb. “Scout's honour.”

“You weren’t a scout,” Hermione says, definitively and has to look twice at Ginny’s raised hand. “And you’re saluting wrong.”

“I could have been a scout,” Ginny says, driving her pointed index finger towards the ground in some bizarre way of exaggerating her speech with her hand movements, even thought she is unable to raise her voice. Shooting her whispered comment at Hermione’s back.

I push my hands into my pockets; beginning to think it might have been quicker and easier to have gone for a stroll around the grounds by myself. “I don’t even know what a scout is,” I comment for the first time since the argument began.

Ginny waves her hand in a dismissive nature. “Some sort of Muggle cult.”

Hermione sighs in absolute exasperation, leaning forward as she pushes the book back into its spot on the bookshelf, until her forehead touches the wooden support. “The Scouts are not a cult,” she says in an almost defensive nature. She turns and quickly begins to pack away her writing supplies from the table.

“They are so,” Ginny says and by the look on Hermione’s face she would be wise not to press the issue further. “They have a salute, a meeting place and a uniform. They’re a cult.” However, wise is not a word I would ever use to describe my younger friend.

Fire shines in Hermione’s eyes as she throws her bag over her shoulder and makes to leave the library ahead of us. Using that distinctive walk she usually implements when I have angered her in some way. At the very least I am safe in the knowledge that this was in no way my doing.

Leisurely my long stride catches up with her frantic steps, dropping my arm over her shoulder in a gentle embrace, trying to mollify her without words. I know that I have none that would be adequate as my awareness of Muggles is, I know, severely lacking. The tension begins to slip from her muscles almost instantly and she returns my hold for only a moment before dropping her arm to her side. I take this a silent plea for personal pace and untangle myself from her, both of us remaining quiet, as Ginny jogs to catch up with us.

The silence borders on deafening and does very little to lift the agitation running along my skin. I had hoped that company would at least provoke conversation and take my mind off the last lesson I have tomorrow. “Does it frustrate you?” I ask Hermione and wait till she has turned her head towards me before I continue. “That we don’t know much about Muggles?”

“Hey,” Ginny makes a sound of indignation from across of Hermione.

I jump to defend myself. “Well, we don’t.” I am well aware of my shortcomings in that particular field.

Hermione sighs. “Ignorance is fine. Bliss even. It’s the half-truths that get misconstrued, that’s what really gets to me.”

“Yeah, but then you get all frustrated and don’t explain it properly,” Ginny says, on some level trying to defend her lack of awareness to a world we are all surrounded by. Like it or not Muggles outnumber witches and wizards, significantly. Not only that, from what little I have seen in my ten-day holiday they appear to be getting on just fine without us.

I quicken my stride as we pass through the entrance hall, my sense of demureness taking over and I pull on the heavy oak door, letting in a fresh breeze of cool spring air. Standing at the side but still letting my lungs fill with the freshness, smelling nature in its purest form and the freedom found outside of these imposing walls.

Dutifully I wait for the two other women to pass beneath the threshold before stepping out behind them and closing the large arched door. Sharing a smile with Hermione when she passes. Actions like this may well be pressed into my very nature but it does bring me some pleasure to see that she enjoys this form of attentiveness.

“I know. I shouldn’t do that,” Hermione says, conceding the point. “But sometimes I get the impression that you’re just not interested.”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny asks, waving her arms about in an exaggerated manner. “Of course I’m interested.”

As I draw level with the two I notice Hermione’s jaw clench under her skin. This direction in conversation is doing nothing but frustrating her, the one part of her life that she is categorically superior to us but finds herself completely unable to express it. Something I can relate to. Perhaps it is time to try and find some common ground between the two on this subject. “I for one could make more of an effort to understand.”

Hermione touches the skin at my palm until I widen the space between my fingers so she can entangle them with hers. “You are making an effort,” she assures me. “Especially lately.”

I raise my eyebrow at her in a sarcastic style; even after a long conversation I still do not understand the purpose of a phone. Don’t these Muggles have fireplaces they can use for long-range communication? I may be making an effort, but I do believe that I am blinded to most of it by my own perceptions of the world. “I don’t know how you do it,” I tell her in all seriousness, my head turns sharply in the direction of the forbidden forest, something just outside of my senses catching hold of my attention, gripping onto it and not letting go.

“Do what?” Hermione asks and when I fight against my instincts to return my awareness back in her direction, I can see her gaze trying to follow where mine had just been drawn towards.

I have to shake my head to clear it, the nagging sense that something is just outside of my perception, still tugging at the very edges of my conscious mind. “Live in both worlds,” I start to say, hoping that by putting voice to my thoughts I might be able to shake off the feeling that has suddenly descended upon me. “We have magic, they have machines. Both serve the same purposes. I have so much trouble getting my head around that, but not you. Everything you’ve seen in this school should be as strange to you as Muggles are to me. Yet you take it all in your stride and you excel so spectacularly. I just don’t know how you do it.”

“You smooth talker, you,” Ginny mocks, lifting her head from where she had been looking intently upon her slowly travelling feet. “One day, you are going to tell me how you do that.”

I shrug off the words, that to my ear strike somewhere between an insult and a complement yet never being either. “I didn’t do anything.”

The redhead scoffs and rubs her hands together in a bid to generate warmth. When her lips press against them to brow hot air between her palms I realise she will not comment further.

Hermione however, is slowly becoming aware of my complete incompetence when it comes to personal exchange and clarifies for me. “You were being understanding and caring.”

So Ginny must have bestowed a complement on me. It feels strange to receive one, pleasant, but strange. “In that case, I must surely be growing,” I say, letting a smile grace my features.

“Yeah?” Ginny questions. “Just so long as you don’t get any taller, we’ll be just fine.” She concludes in a prime example of her total inability to stick to one subject for any length of time.

I know too late that I had been leading the group, my stride unconsciously dragging me towards the tree line and closer to the feeling that something tapers on the very edges of my sense. I quickly distinguish it as a taste in the air muffled somewhat by the trees and foliage but it is distinctly unpleasant, yet completely indescribable. My gaze is driven towards those trees, wondering why my tongue would be the first to notice the change in the air. Not my nose or ears, which I have come to realise, are the senses that have been most dramatically enhanced by Ammy’s interference.

Hermione’s hand squeezing mine just a little tighter in her grasp pulls my sights down to her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” I make to soothe her fears, truly I do. Wishing to push away the stimuli to my nagging senses, as far to the back of my mind as possible. That is until something touches my ears, a barely audible groan. Pressing against my eardrums as nothing more than a low pitched hum but just one-note clutches at my awareness and refuses to let go. Distress. The aching sensation in my chest makes the decision for me long before I turn my pleading eyes to Hermione and issue a soft command of “Stay here.”

I turn and push my long steps across the grass, closer to the edge of the forest. Behind me I hear Ginny scoff, her voice carrying over in the gentle breeze. “Why does she say things like that? It’s not like we are going to listen to her,” she speaks just as I duck under a low hanging branch and step into the foliage.

Immediately the light diminishes around me, the brightly shining sun blotted out by the thick canopy high above my head. The dense carpet of leaves, dried out and brittle from such a long hard winter, crunching beneath my weight with each step.

Behind me I hear my two companions enter the forest against my wishes, a distinct change in their footfalls reaching my ears as they try to navigate the dense foliage with only human sight to guide them.

I have long become accustomed to my eyes changing instantly, allowing me to see in almost pitch darkness and a high degree of natural light. So I am unsurprised that when I set my sights into the deep, ominous shadows of the forest, blues and greens fading into distinguishable tones of grey and everything around me snaps into sharp focus. In truth only the light made by man poses any situation where I must allow me eyes sufficient time to adjust.

What does surprise me is the fluidity of movement I have between the trees, without having to even cast a second glance I find myself stepping over a protruding root, covered in a thick layer of moss and dead leaves.

Not far from where the shadows meet the daylight a thick oak tree has fallen, either to the elements or time, it matters little but is high enough to provide a good vantage point over the undergrowth and it still short enough to be climbed with little effort. With no concern for the slippery moss and mud that cover everything along the floor, I find another root with my shoe, grasping the branch of a nearby maple tree to hoist myself up and onto the immense log.

My fingers grasp uselessly through the thin layer of plant life until I find solid wood beneath my digits. My shoulders bunch tightly with the strain, lifting my entire body weight until my knees follow suit, resting lightly against the aged bark. After gathering my balance I stand, with far more graze and ease than I would have expected. Every sense spread out around me in the hunt for the creature that has promoted this venture in the first place. Ignoring the smell of the damp earth, the sound of the rapidly beating hearts of the two human women that have followed me, and the underlying sound of life that fill the vastness of this space I search, hunting a pray that has been swallowed by the darkness.

Breathing heavily, the two ladies come to a stop at the base of my high perch. “What is she…? You know what never mind.” Somewhere in my consciousness I hear Ginny speak. Perceiving the words with crystal clarity only fogged by the concentration I have placed on my surroundings. “What the Hell are you doing?” Her words pale into insignificance, overpowered by the rapid scan of the locality, the twitch of my ears for any distinguishable sound and the thirst for the hunt.

Instinct takes over for only a second, in the form of a long deep breath drawn in through my nose and my head turns sharply left. Somewhere through the damp greenery, the smell of the earth itself and the life hidden within the forest floor, I detect the coppery scent of blood. Scarlet and rich, coating my tongue, invading my senses, primal instincts now in full swing but not for the supple tastes of flesh, a ferocious protectiveness, for my territory, my land, the creatures within it belonging to me. A rage fills me that any would cause them harm while my back is turned.

I feel my upper lip lift high in a snarl, a feral growl shooting from deep within my chest into the open air and instantly I can smell fear. The source distinctly human where the pain and blood I can smell are not. Rolling my shoulders I allow my eyes to close. This frame of mind is of no use to me and I know I must remain here to dispel it. It only takes two breaths to calm the rage beneath my breast, and once more my inhuman senses take over, calmer this time, more in control with another focus another purpose.

With the location of the distressed animal already made available to me it doesn’t take long to rediscover it in the gloom. Humanity overrides the primal urge at the scent of blood, picking apart the gentle undertones that can be smelt beneath it. Logic identifies the species and my eye twitches in annoyance and those implications.

Dropping down to one knee I place the flat of my hand against the bark, pushing all of my weight upon the limb so my feet lift and twist over the edge, only to land stolidly against the ground, my knees bending on impact to take the strain to such severity that the backs of my knuckles touch the damp earth.

“Wow.” Ginny says with awe. “Where did you learn to climb like that?”

Knees straighten, seconds before my spine, my gaze still cast about between the high leaves, my advanced senses tracking the movements of the injured animal. “I didn’t,” I hear myself answer distantly. Such new abilities are of interest to me but all investigation must remain until a later date, right now I have something more pressing that I plainly cannot ignore. The beast inside of me simply will not allow it.

My muscles filch all along my arm at unexpected contact and for just a millisecond I think I might lash out, cast my limb in a high arch and remove the annoyance. That is until I look down into concern clouding the brown eyes I love so much. Her forehead bunches as she looks up at me, drawing together in the centre with worry. “What is it?”

“A centaur, I think.” I reply, trying to drag my mind out of the primal haze and having little luck in doing so. “Whatever it is, it’s definitely injured.”

“There is no way you can know that for certain.” Ginny comments thankfully refraining from any form of physical contact for I truly do not know how I might react to that. “Is there?”

“Smells like a horse but not quite,” I answer, my gaze going back to the forest and I feel a longing burning within me to dash between the trees. “It’s my best guess.” The scent I admit is alien to me, when it hit my nostrils at first my mind could not recall any similar smells for me to compare it to. Not until my human mind overrode that of the wolf to clinically pick it apart. “I have to help it.” The words leave my mouth and I’m certain they’re not mine. What would I care of a half-breed’s well being? I know categorically that the forest is dangerous and I cannot fathom why I would willingly put myself into that danger to aid another creature.

“Yeah,” Ginny says and I hear her fingers pass through her hair. “You do know that centaurs aren’t exactly known to enjoy the company of humans.”

For the first time my gaze rests upon hers, she takes an instinctual step back from me but I cannot detect a hint of fear about her person. As if a force greater than either of us has pushed her back. “I’m not exactly human though. Am I?”

Strong fingers grasp my chin and force my gaze back towards Hermione. The fire in her eyes almost makes the wolf inside me shrink in fear in the face of them. “We’ll talk about that statement later,” she promises, thrusting an almost accusatory finger in my direction. “Right now, there is no way I’m letting you go into that forest by yourself. It’s dangerous in there.”

“I know,” I reply and my muscles tense without my thought. “But I can’t just do nothing.”

“Why?” Is all she asks, betraying her character to aid all that are in need of it in order to protect my safety.

“Because she won’t let me,” I tell her, my teeth gritting with restraint. Holding my knees locked in place so I do not give into the temptation to race off without further discussion.

Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth, she knows instantly I speak of Ammy. Make no mistake about it, I am well aware that these thoughts and feelings are hers. Still a sensation somewhat detached from my own opinion but simply put so strong that they literally over power my will. The mere thought of just walking away makes my stomach churn and my muscles tremble.

She shakes her head, her eyes wondering the forest, so close to just releasing me to the wilderness, but that final tether holding me in place. “Then we’ll go and tell Hagrid, he can…”

“Retrieve him if you wish,” my speech holds as I draw breath, more tension as I force myself to resist when every fibre of my being is screaming at me to do. “I must still attend to this.”

I don’t know what she sees as she looks into my cold blue irises. Perhaps the determination that stems from the animal within, or even Ammy herself stomping around behind my eyes begging for release. This is unlikely, as I doubt she is able to see much in the very limited light around us but still her face begins to soften. Relenting to my resolve far quicker than I would have expected. “Alright. I’ll go tell Hagrid. We’ll come in after you if you’re too long.”

Ammy practically screams with joy and already my body is moving, deeper into the dim, gloomy forest.
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By The Light