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
- 34
- 35
- 36
Chapter 35

Skin; so durable yet so fragile at the same time, you can stretch it and pull it and twist it. It always springs back into place, sits just the way it should over bone and tissue. Then sometimes, unexpectedly it breaks, life’s liquid pouring from within, every drop designed to repair it and return it to the original design. There is always evidence of that, a graze, a scab, a scratch, something left behind to remind you not to let this precious membrane break again.

Yet I find myself sitting here, silence only broken by the patter of rain on the windows and the constant stream of the shower in the next room, unblinking, unwavering in my hunt to find just a tiny blemish that might explain the overabundance of blood that coated my hand only hours before. I find nothing but the blue lines of veins under my wrist and the creases of my palm.

I felt it break; I felt my own blood staining my hand, wet and warm. I’m certain of it. It was dripping from my fingertips; long after it should have dried. Yet nothing, not even an angry red line, how is that even possible?

Heated fingertips graze the nape of my neck and my entire body flinches visibly. Startled out of my deep musing my eyes instantly search for any possible threat; already reaching down towards my wand on the desk in front of me before sight or thought even comes into play.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Hermione says in a very low voice, striding around my body and into my field of vision.

My hand hesitates over my wand, muscles tight and held at the ready for only a split second before her voice registers to my senses. While still trying to force my tense muscles under control, I instinctively run my fingers through my still damp hair to hide the reaction as best I can. “It’s okay.” I assure her.

I see her smile slowly, still keeping all of her movements as calm as possible. It makes me wonder how I must look. A tiger ready to pounce, perhaps? Or more like a mouse up against a hungry cat, but still fights to protect his home. Either way I cannot smell a hint of fear from her, only see the cautious way she approaches. “What were you thinking about?”

I pull my cheek between my teeth and avert my eyes so I may let at least a small portion of my mind still ponder the events of the day. “Something the centaurs said.” Although I may omit many things that weigh heavily on my mind this is in no way a mistruth.

“I’m surprised they even let you get that close.” She says stepping around me and letting her fingers trail along my skin until they curl under my chin and with only a single touch she has raised my head and captured my attention. “What did they say?”

“Nothing much to me.” Pushing against the rug under my heel, I press my back further into the chair and slide down into a very uncharacteristic slouch. “They seemed more interested in talking to Ammy.”

For just a moment she goes stock-still and I tilt my head in interest. “She spoke to them?”

“She didn’t even speak to me.” I say, turning my head to press my fingers into my eyes, stifling a yawn as I do. My temple rests on two erect fingers and my lungs heave a large sigh. Wondering why at the very moment someone recognises her existence she would chose to remain silent. “So I had nothing to relay to them.” She breathes a sigh of what I perceive to be relief, I narrow my eyes at her in question, something had startled her, some notion that I am not privy to. She only offers me a tight-lipped smile and shakes her head so I do not press her. There is too much currently on my mind to give the action any serious

thought so I rest my eyes once more on the wooden grain of her desk. “Then they called me ignorant and I’m not sure if I should be offend by that or not.”

She leans back perching on the edge of the furniture looking almost as distracted as I feel. “I’m sure they weren’t implying you were stupid, Sweetheart.”

“Are we speaking on the same magical creature?” I say meeting her gaze and we share a short moment of humour. “I think they were talking about Ammy, I don’t know a lot about her, just that’s she’s in my head but they called her ‘Mother to them all’.”

Her eyes squint in thought for a moment before she beings to speak slowly. “How can a wolf be Mother to a centaur?”

“I know as much as you.” I admit with a defeated note to my voice reaching out to press my index finger lightly against my wand, trailing it along the streak of blood that has seeped deep into the grain, staining it a deep red.

“What does Ammy have to say about the whole thing?”

I huff low in the back of my throat. The reaction of the wolf inside me is quite possibly most unsettling feeling I experienced today. Wherever she has scuttled off to she has not returned and the feeling of emptiness left in her wake is difficult to ignore. “She’s proving to be very evasive.”

Hermione lets out a soft chuckle that had my eyes upon her in moments, questions burning in my eyes as I try to puzzle out what exactly it is she finds so comical. “The voice in your head is secretive. At least you might get a taste of your own medicine.”

“It’s infuriating.” All she does is raise both of her eyebrows at my statement, silently indicating that she feels the same over my persistent silence. “Point taken.” I push against the back of my seat, leaning far forward until my bent elbows rest against my knees, scrubbing both of my hands over my face, before letting them pull against my skin and rest over my mouth and chin. “That’s not all.” I say finally, the words muffled by my hands over my lips but I know she has heard me; she remains both still and silent, waiting patiently for me to continue. “I was bleeding.” I state simply.

“No you weren’t.” She counters immediately leaning further back on her perch and crossing her legs at the ankle.

“I know what I felt.” I reply, turning my gaze back to my unblemished hand once more.

I can hear her sigh and her fingers invade my vision, taking my hand in her grasp and studying the same patch of skin that I had been glaring at. “Where, show me where?” She implores, turning my limb left and right so it catches the candlelight from every angle. “You can’t have been bleeding that much and it not left a mark.”

“I know that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” I reply snatching back my appendage in frustration. “But if it had been the centaur’s blood it would have dried by the time I got to you.”

“Alright,” She throws her hand up in a show of defeated and raises both of her feet to rest them on the seat of the chair I currently occupy. “For the sake of argument, let’s just say you’re right. It was your blood. When did you get this mystery injury?”

“I…” I pause, running the experience through my mind again. “Tamlen’s parents, they turned up and pushed me down.”

“Who’s Tamlen?” She asks, resting her hand out flat behind her for support.

“The centaur that was injured.” I answer. “I felt the pain, I felt my blood. It must have been then.”

“So if you’d of healed as quickly as you say you did, with no scratches, no marks. Why would you still be bleeding when you reached us?” She pauses and all I can do is watch her watching me, waiting for me to reply to her with answers that I simply do not have. “Sweetheart, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” I answer immediately around a deep heave of breath. “It doesn’t add up. I know that but it’s not as if this is the first time something like this has happened.” Both of her eyebrows shoot skywards in question and I sigh at my own blunder. Dropping my forehead into my hand. “Damn.” I whisper to the rug beneath my feet.

“When were you going to tell me about this?” She asks, and I can hear a tone in her voice that borders on disappointment.

Pushing the curve of my finger deep into the corner of my eye I try to place exactly when and where I dropped all of my barriers, what this woman was able to say or do to loosen my tongue to such an extent that I no longer check my speech when I am in her company. She makes a low noise in the back of her throat to indicate she will not allow this matter to drop no matter how long I grit my teeth to keep my silence. “Now, I suppose.” I answer lifting my gaze to hers and seeing a fire burning in her eyes as a command to go into more detail. “It was months ago, when I was first turned into…” I pause, still deeply uncomfortable with the term werewolf when I refer to myself. “This.” I finish vaguely casting my hands around my own body. “I had scratches. No, they were more like scars. When I got to the hospital wing they were gone.”

“Gone?” She says with a very disbelieving tone to her voice. “And you never told anyone?”

I shrug at her question; at the time there was literally no one available to me that I could have turned to. By the time I would have felt comfortable speaking to anyone at all let alone speaking of my mysterious injuries it didn’t feel like the right time to bring it up. “I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.” I say in truth, I had come close and then I had merely stopped thinking about it. Other things became a priority. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

“If you do heal faster than you used to, and I’m not saying that you do,” She quickly counteracts as my gaze shoots to her. “There’s no way we can really know until Ammy becomes a little more talkative.”

“Yes there is.” The thought leaves my mouth before I can cage it. It is something I should have kept to myself, should have thought in private so as not to worry her but still it is in the open air now and there is little I can do to recall the words once I have put voice to them. “I could test it.”

“No.” Her answer is immediate and forceful. Although I cannot see how she would enforce such an instruction. She cannot keep me within her sights for every moment of every day and I know the look on my face conveys that very thought. Her feet hit the floor and she puts her full weight upon them to move herself across the room. “You’re talking about cutting yourself.”

I keep my sights on her tense form, turning my head to keep her in my field of vision. “I’m talking about administering a very small, very safe injury so I can monitor it.”

“You’ve just dressed it up in fancy words. It’s still cutting yourself.” She says. In frustration her hands cover her face and slide up to balled fists in her unruly hair. “Right now, at this moment you’re not bleeding, why can’t you just accept that?”

“Because I should be.” I answer and I can see that my words do not sit well with her. Slowly I push myself to my feet, racking my brain for a way to put this into words. Tell her why this is so important. “Or at the very least have something to show for it.” I can see her mouth open and the breath drawn into her lungs to begin this argument, I cut her off before she can begin. “I concede that it is possible, I did not sustain an injury. It’s plausible that there was blood in the forest and I put my hand in it at some point on my walk back. This is possible.” I pause, waiting for her to speak but her jaw closes and she clenches it tight. “But I’m a…” My tongue goes so heavy it feels like it might break my jaw and I have to force out the word around the bitterness that fills my mouth. “A Werewolf. I should have scars to show for that and I don’t. Surely that is enough to merely consider this.”

She sighs deeply, turning to pace the length of the room twice, her bottom lip held between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes flicking up to meet mine with every other step. “Alright.” Her arms cross around her stomach and even though she has begun to speak her gaze is still darting around the room. Her mind searching for the correct way to order her words before she fully commits to them. “Lets’ just say, for arguments sake, that I agree to this.” Sharply she pulls one of her arms loose to hold her forefinger outstretched, showing me her true disapproval even though her words are contradicting that viewpoint. “Only because there is no way I can stop you. What happens if you’re wrong?”

Slowly I feel my shoulders bunch into a shrug, knowing that the actual outcome of such an experiment is by far most important. “Then the wound heals and we never talk about it again. At least I’ll know. One way or the other I’ll know.”

She takes a seat on the bed, pushing the forefingers of each hand into the corner of her eyes. Her hands muffle her voice as she speaks. “This is a really bad idea.”

“Granted,” I admit still standing and pushing my hands into my pockets. “But do you have any better ones?”

“Yes.” She says forcefully lifting her head and at my questioning look continues. “We wait for Ammy…”

Sharply I cut off that train of thought before it can begin, “The voice in my head that has been around for nearly a month and told me nothing.” She sighs and I can see that she is very slowly, albeit begrudgingly coming around to my way of addressing this. “It’s not safe for me to be completely ignorant to how my body reacts to injury.”

“When was it considered safe to start slicing yourself open?” She says with sarcasm in her tone.

I shake my head slightly, wondering exactly where her overactive imagination had taken this suggestion. “I’m not proposing a life threatening wound Hermione.” I slowly put one foot in front of the other gauging her reaction to my approach. When she doesn’t flinch or show any signs of rejection I cover the space between us, lowering myself to my knees between her feet. Drawing us to the same level. “It need only be the smallest of superficial cuts. On a non vital part of my body, I’m not suggesting anything dangerous.”

She sighs deeply and then meets my gaze in a meaningful way. Her warm hands close around my cheeks, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and I can see it trembling. “There has to be a better way.”

“If you can show me another path I’ll take it.” I say, honestly. This particular approach is causing nothing but distress in my partner. This was not my intent and I do not wish to make excuses as to my behaviour but there is simply no way I can continue with my life without some sort of knowledge to my capabilities. I’ve ignored a lot of what I have observed for far to long, passing it off as something ordinary, when in truth it could be considered astonishing. My arms land on either side of her thighs on the bed, my fingers gently stroking her hips. “I’ll take it,” I repeat after a lengthy pause. “But Hermione, I have to be certain.”

She looks deeply into my eyes for a long moment, what she sees I’m uncertain. Defiance maybe, or determination, whatever it is it makes her eyes slide closed in utter surrender. “Alright.” She all but breathes before swallowing what must be a lump in her throat. “Alright,” She begins a little louder, pulling her hands from my face as I watch resolve flood her system. “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it my way.”

So completely dumbfounded that she has even agreed to my subjection, I silently nod my head in consent. I had truly thought I would need to conduct the experiment in secret many days from today, from the moment the thought had left I my lips this rapid turn was not something I had anticipated.

“Right,” She pulls her fingers into my view, pushing her forefinger against the digits of her other hand as she lists off her conditions. “One cut and I mean that Jamie. Just one. Doesn’t matter if it works, no more finding out how deep you can slice. We wait and we ask Ammy.” Even though I do not like this particular restriction I nod my approval, she does have a point, it would not be a pleasant way to meet my end if I were to become over zealous in my quest to discover the hidden capabilities of my own body. “Good. No veins and only deep enough to draw blood.”

“I accept those terms.” I say, having already agreed with myself the final two regulations she has put forward, long before they were uttered.

“Great,” She says, with little enthusiasm even though she tries to smile. “So… How do we…” She pauses and looks down into her lap.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” I admit. “But there is a scalpel in your apothecary set.” She looks upon me in sheer horror. “I’d use mine but it’s downstairs.” I say trying to calm her. Thinking it was my blood on her tools that could have her in a state of such mortification.

“Jamie, that’s hardly sanitary.” Oh, so it is not my blood, my blood infesting with the disease I carry that disturbs her so. It’s the state of her knife.

“It can be easily cleaned.” I say, already running through some of the more intense spells to accomplish such a thing. If my theory proves right I have little fear of infection, but feel I must quiet at least this fear in my partner. “Any blade will do.”

Slowly she brings a hand up to her mouth, extending a thumb so she can gnaw at the nail she finds there. Her eyes holding mine as she comes to a decision. “It’s in my trunk.”

I make myself wait, even though I can feel the anticipation clambering up my throat, my eagerness to begin, forcing my muscles to tremble but still I wait. I give her the time to take this back, this support for an exploit she sees as fruitless. I am under no illusion that I have placed her into a difficult position, knowing that I will pursue this even without her blessing but that does not make her presence a necessity.

She is hesitant and unwilling but still allows me to slowly stand. I make my way to her trunk without hearing her protest, but when the wrap containing her blades for potion making appears in my hand I hear her heart pick up a few beats. I try my best to ignore it but we both know I have been able to perceive the subtle change in her so I drop my eyes to the floor, going back over to her desk and placing the cloth package upon the wood. After only pulling at the knot it comes unravelled and it takes little effort to push open the wrap. Slowly, one by one fifteen blades are revelled to my eyes. All of various thickness and length all with a specific purpose, none of which include drawing blood.

I hear Hermione approach and feel her standing at my side, her arms wrapped around herself as a form of shield to what it is I am about to do. “Which one?” She says and I have to commend her for being able to conceal the shudder from her voice that I can see wracking her body.

Not wanting to meet her eyes, unwilling to see any of the emotions that I know I will find within them I continue to stare down at the polished metal. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve never intentionally cut into living flesh before.” What I had said I had meant to be taken in jest but her sharp intake of breath and the physical flinch I see in my peripheral vision is enough to tell me my words had not been received as such.

Somehow I resist the impulse to immediately apologise. Knowing that she needs to see assurance in my actions. So I pick a blade, forgoing the long knives and daggers and pulling the scalpel from within its cloth confines, resting it over its position in the wrap. It should make the cleanest cut and I will not need to add much weight in order to draw blood from my skin. The latter of my reasoning should be a reason to put it back into it’s place and chose another but the thought of me losing my nerve after the initial pressure against my skin makes me commit to the decision.

She doesn’t react to the choice, just following my gaze and stares down at it with menace.

Pulling my upper lip between my teeth I feel I must give her just one more opportunity to leave. “You don’t have to be here Hermione.”

“Yes I do.” She answers with decisiveness and a detachment to her tone that I have never heard before. She reaches down and picks up the small, razor sharp blade. Adjusting her grip around it until her forefinger presses tightly against the blunted back. Her wand appears from nowhere, touching the shiny surface and she mutters a sanitising spell, the red mist engulfs the blade for only a moment before dissipating. Her eyes reach for mine and I can see a fire of determination blaze like an inferno. “Sit down.”

Slowly I comply, curious as to her motives. She knees at the side of the chair and takes my wrist in her free hand. “You’re not doing this.” I state simply, that had not been part of the agreement. Where having a bystander administer the actual injury has it’s advantages it is by no means fair to expect her to do so.

“Yes I am.” She states quietly and tightens her grip around my arm. The cold metal touches my skin a moment later, just enough weight put behind it to stretch the skin but not to break it. Her hands are a steady as a rock and her eyes and fixed to the point where steel meets flesh. Her eyes flick up just once more to meet mine, pleading with me to halt all these proceeding but all I do is grit my teeth and brace myself.

I hiss with a sharp intake of breath as I feel the layers of skin pierced, and I turn my eyes down to the small wound no deeper than a paper cut and no more than a quarter inch in length. A droplet of blood beads on my skin, doubling in size before the tension breaks and it trickles down the side of my arm. I catch the crimson droplet with my thumb before it can fall to the floor, eyes still glued to it’s point of origin, watching it intently for any sign of anything irregular.

For many long moments we both hold our breath, watching the blood repeatedly bead along the opening before I am forced to wipe it away to maintain a clear view. It’s only when my blood begins to clot that Hermione release the air she had been holding in her lungs. “It’s not healing.” She says in a low voice.

“No.” I agree after a pause. My forehead creasing in confusion, had I really been injured out in the wood or was that simply my apparently, overactive imagination playing tricks on me?

She heaves a long, deep breath and I am certain I can see relief flooding her face. Her wand is then hovering over my skin and a faint mutter of “Episky.” Leaves her lips but nothing happens. The bleeding

has stemmed somewhat but that is due to my natural healing capabilities, not any effect form her spell. I can smell her panic as she waves her wand a second time.

I teeth clench under my skin, “Are you doing that right?” I ask and already I know the answer, before me sits Hermione Granger, not a snivelling first year with no idea how to handle their wand. There is no conceivable way that she is unfamiliar with any spell she has used on me.

Her breathing picks up and only now do her hands begin to shake. “I’ve used this spell a hundred times.” Of coarse she has, she is the best friends to both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Two boys that are not only meddlesome but also accident prone, this low level healing spell would have been an essential component in my Hermione’s arsenal for years.

The cold fear even begins to grip at my heart. Where the initial bites and scratches upon a werewolf are irreparable by magic, any subsequent injures should not face the same predicament. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and set my jaw, determined not to start trembling. “Then, try another one.” My voice is cold and curt but when she gazes at me I don’t see the hurt that should register on her face, only the beginnings of the same alarm I myself am trying to keep at bay.

She’s on her feet and looking through her extensive collection of books within seconds, by the time she has pulled one out, filled with useful healing spells the flow of my blood has halted completely but neither of us can fool ourselves that it is my immediate pain that causes us to be so frantic.

Spell after spell she performs perfectly, all the with same effect, nothing. Not a flicker of knitting flesh, not even pain to signal it had been executed incorrectly. All to quickly the walls are coming in around me as she passes through page after page in her thick tomb, suddenly realising that where I had predicted an advantage, what I have found is the exact opposite, if Hermione is incapable of sealing the smallest of wounds, then I am currently much more vulnerable than I had ever anticipated. What if I were to sustain a truly life threatening injury? It is not impossible nor should it be ruled out. What am I to do then? With no viable means to repair myself but the natural human defences I have been granted since birth.

My willpower gives out completely, long before Hermione’s shows any signs of wavering and dimly I call to her. “That’s enough.” I’ve seen too much and now I wish I had remained ignorant.

“No.” She says reaching down between her bent knees and turning a page. “There has to be something. Anything that works.”

“Hermione.” I say in a low voice, feeling all fight leave my body instantly. She ignores me and begins yet another spell. “Hermione.” I call again and finally she looks up at me tears shining in her eyes and I honestly wish that this could have been something I had concealed. The desperation in her face would have threatened to take my legs from under me had I not been seated. “That’s enough.” I need no further confirmation and have no desire to spend endless hours pouring over this irrevocable fact.

Her wand drops into the open book and rolls along the page until it is cradled in the spine, both of her hand reaching up to cover her face in an effort to keep the sobs I can see pulling at her shoulders in check. “Oh God.” She quietly says and it is the first time I have ever heard her use the phrase. “What do we do?”

“Nothing.” I answer instantly, my mind working through all the possible scenarios. Playing them out in my minds eye and not finding anything favourable.

“Madame Pomfrey, she must know spells I don’t.” She says, her voice rising in tempo with each passing word.

The thought had yet to cross my mind and when the words leave her lips I examine the potential outcome of going to the kind hearted medi-witch. “No.” I say after only a moment.

“Jamie…” She begins to speak but I never hear her argument.

My voice cutting her off before she can really being. “She would need to report it, the last thing I need right now is the Ministry knowing about this.”

“We could ask her to be discrete.”

Slowly my eyes close, constantly I overestimate Hermione’s grasp on the political mist that must constantly circle around me. Slowly I begin, trying to convey enough to finally make her understand, to pull her out of her naivety with all things that surround my condition. “I’m a half breed, I’m not entitled to the same level of confidentiality as you.” I watch as my words register and much of the blood leaves her face. “She would be required to report this, for that matter so are you.”

Indignation clouds her features for a moment. “I’d never…”

For the second time in as many minutes I cut her off. “I know.” Fatigue invades me, seeping into my very bones. “I know.” I repeat more to assure myself than to put her mind at rest. I drop my forehead down into my waiting hand, pushing my fingertips sharply into my skin. “I need to…” I pause to take a long breath, trying to figure out where I might be able to turn for aid. “Think.” I finish trying not to let this feeling of vulnerability conquer me.

“There has to be something.” I can hear the rustle of pages at my side.

“Hermione.” I say in a low voice. Hoping I might grasp at her attention before her hysteria can push me any deeper into myself than I have already fallen.

The back of the hard backed book rises from the floor only to be slammed back down. “Or a doctor, we could get you a doctor.”

I can feel agitation rising along my spine. “Hermione.” My voice is only slightly louder but I can feel the growl of irritation rumbling through my chest, passing between my lips with a single word.

“No.” She says, she’s ignoring me completely and even though in some small part of my brain I know that she is only doing so because of the worry she feels over me. The rest of me finds this fact irrelevant and I know soon I will lose all patience. “How on earth would we be able to have a doctor on call. It’s not as if they can even see the castle.”

“Hermione!” The last thread on my temper snaps and I feel my voice rise to a loud shout. I hadn’t even realised I had moved but my eyes are open and I am breathing rapidly, restraining myself from lashing out with anything but my voice and words. My eyes stare into hers and she recoils from me, falling back onto her hunches in the face of my resounding annoyance.

My jaw clenches so tightly that I am surprised that I do not push it from its hinges. Keeping the hateful comments and scathing words locked tightly behind them. The walls are closing in on me, falling into themselves and trapping me under their weight and immediately I know I must escape. Before I allow myself to do anything that I will never be able to recant.

So without uttering a word I stand, ignoring her feeble sounds of protest and make my way to the door pulling it soundly shut behind me.
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By The Light