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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.

Chapter List
- 35
- 36
- 37
Chapter 36

I don’t even attempt to sleep, I see little point in it and I know I will barely be able to allow my eyes to close. Add that to the fact that the bed is far too short for my lanky frame and I barely even give it a passing glance as I enter my chambers that could once have been referred to as a broom closet, and a small one at that.

Instead I take up residence at my desk, leaning back in the old rickety chair and support my chin on my palm, curling my fingers around my jaw and trying not to think about what I have discovered. Pooling all of my energy into figuring out how I can clamber out of this deep hole I have found myself in.

If I cannot heal myself by magic there must be other means. By that I mean Muggle means. They have survived as a species for as long as us witches and wizards, have so it stands to reason that they have some techniques that can be studied, learned and used to try and curb this vulnerability I have now found myself with. Though I find myself hard pressed to imagine that their methods are in any way superior to ours or we would have taken them on to use ourselves.

I allow the thought to creep into my mind and my eyes to stray to the small healing wound on my left arm, now little more than a patch dried and matted blood. Seconds after my eyes cast across it so do the tips of my fingers, pressing against it and feeling the sting. It’s really there, right in front of my eyes, I can feel it.

Without thinking the forming scab slides easily into my fingernail and pulls away from the rest of my skin. Blood begins to bead immediately and I press my thumb into the droplet. Pressing it against my pale skin and smearing it a little and I pull the digit away.

The information is locked within my mind and refuses to be forgotten but still I have yet to realise the true reality of the event. I know that without a viable means to heal my injuries, I am now much more susceptible to lasting or fatal damage. I can process this and the implications. What I am having trouble wrapping my head around is how much my life must change yet again, my perceptions, my preparations for conflict and strife. All must be re-examined, re-evaluated until I have the necessary means to survive.

I find the problem to be like no other I have encountered because it’s difficult to puzzle out and really push my mind into finding a solution. Almost all I come up with is magical and must either be discarded completely for filed away in my memory for later examination. The curiosity here is the fact that the potion I brew once a week for the pounding my advanced senses cause in my skull still affects me, still numbs the pain until it becomes almost unnoticeable. So why is it that this form of magic is still an option but every spell Hermione attempted at the tip of her wand fizzled out into nothingness before ever meeting my skin?

Another difficulty I am faced with is exactly how to test the limits that I have apparently been left with since my venture into the forbidden forest all those months ago. Mere minutes ago in Hermione’s room I had been under the impression I knew exactly what lines I could cross, precisely where I could go for aid should anything unexpected go amiss. Now? Now every perception I had must be turned on its head or discarded completely. Cast away as utterly useless. Much like the feeling I am quickly descending into.

I make no secret of the fact that I am a fighter, whether with clever tactics or the point of my wand but one way or another I can often land myself in what can be classed as dangerous circumstances. I had always been confident that if things had not gone in my favour I would have an escape, a net of safety erected below me that has always and I thought would always be there. In the magical world it is not difficult to find the attention of a healer. Now for the whole institution to be nothing but a moot point to me is a terrifying notion that not only must I learn to accept and deal with, should the need dictate but also I must conceal it from the rest of the world. Yet another secret, something that can be discovered at any point in time with or without my knowledge, frustratingly personal bodily harm is not something that can be calculated to the finest detail. Cannot be planned for or prepared against, only reacted to.

In what feels like only the blink of an eye I know the day has dawned. Something deep inside of me aware of the sun’s gentle climb along the eastern sky.

I remain in my room, barricading myself into my small hole within the castle walls, unready even after a night of restlessness to face the world outside. Making a small meal to break my three-day long fast with some of the non-perishable goods I had taken to Dale’s. Glad that I had neglected to throw them away when it became apparent they would not be necessary.

For the entire day I consciously avoid all the people I have become close to in the last few months. Keeping them out of my sights so they cannot feel my eyes upon them and losing myself to the crowds around the school, even at lessons it proves to be far easier then I would have anticipated to stay out of their way. The trick is always in the timing, never waiting outside a classroom for it to begin and making sure that the three are safely in their seats before I choose mine, just far enough away so I can ignore their questioning glances without appearing bad-mannered and just close enough for no one else in the school population to notice the subtle shift.

Hermione’s pained expression I expect, I saw her worry, her near frenzy at our discovery. I anticipated seeing the longing to dive into a deep discussion and so it is easy to give the impression of disinterest.

Both History of Magic and Ancient Runes I was able to attend without incident, falling so effortlessly into the lifelong habit of keeping myself company. Defence Against the Dark Arts is another matter however.

As expected Umbridge’s bitter tongue and vile expression were upon me from the moment I set foot in her class. I had intended to do nothing. Remain as still as possible and offer polite smiles whenever it was to be considered appropriate. Appearing to be in the possession of as much personality and thought process as the chair I had placed myself upon and merely hope she would come to view me as part of the fixtures and fittings of the castle once more. That has been my intention.

What actually occurred in that lesson was far removed from what I had once envisioned. She had expected me to take my seat as she approached my desk, I could see it in the way her eye level lowered, thinking I would willingly place my head at a lower level then hers. Had I been in the right frame of mind that is exactly what I would have done. However, long lonely hours mulling over my own helplessness left me with something foolish to prove. A secret like this cannot last forever and I wanted, no I needed to have the upper hand when it did come to light. So I remained standing and forced her, with my excessive height to look up at me from her position so close to the floor.

I could feel the sarcastic sneer across my face and know that she would have to accept that was polite smile, for it was as close as she were ever to come.

Her own smile was sickly sweet and as fake as the high-pitched voice she used that grated against my ears. “All the time away, have we forgotten how to sit?” Her tone of voice changes on her final word, taking on that more of a command as one would request of a dog with the promised reward of treats.

That alone set me on edge and my arms crossed instinctively, something I could see in her eyes she took to be a show of disobedience. I had almost been tempted to bark but the sniggers surrounding me from the Slytherin members of the class halted that concept before I would allow it to pass my lips, unwilling to play into the hands of her metaphor. So with the absence of anything clever to say I stood, next to the desk promising myself I would take my seat either when I chose or she regarded me as another human being. Whichever presented itself first, I did not delude myself with any notion it would be the latter.

She made that irritating noise in the back of her throat after many moments and the room feel to silence. I saw Ron elbowing Harry at my display out of the corner of my eye, pointing in my direction as if the Boy Who Lived was not already looking in my direction with a look of curiosity. That’s when she turned from me, showing me her back. I cannot tell you if she had intended to incite that I was an unworthy opponent but that was how I read the gesture. My first ever lesson had been to never show your back to someone you perceived as a threat in any way, I cannot even count the times I paid for that mistake.

It made my shoulders tense in a way that I clench on the cusp of battle and I watched her. Looking at that opening and feeling proud that I had restrained myself from reaching for my wand and throwing each and every curse in her direction that I could muster before anyone could stop me. Wondering for only a moment if anyone would warn her, or would they all just sit there in the deafening silence and let me take out my full wrath on this woman, who I admit was not the main source of my irate mood in that very moment but had been the bane of my existence for months.

When she turned to address the class I could see by the way she opened her mouth to speak and then stop that she had expected me to take my seat while she had not been looking. There was a rage in her eyes that I could relate to but I couldn’t understand why she had not yet lashed out at me.

She showed me how little she knew of drawing her wand by pulling it from her sleeve and crossing her arms at the wrist down by her waist, threateningly tapping it against the pleats of her skirt. In that simple act she had broadcast to me how much she had failed to notice, my feet spread exactly shoulder length apart and ready to spring to an offensive position with only a moment’s notice. My dominant hand held loosely across the other arm so it can be easily manoeuvred into position no matter the circumstances. Had she been trained as I had she would have seen my stance for what it was. A threat.

Her smile took a much more menacing edge and her forefinger pressed against the shaft of her wand in what she hoped to be in preparation for a duel that might very well break out. “Take your seat, Miss Desay.” The threat in her voice is much less subtle than what I was showing her, I could have been deaf and still it would have rang in my head like an iron bell.

I know that my face can be very expressive when I give it cause to be. This was one such time. Already her body has told me that she could not best me in battle. The facts are simple, that when pushed a purely violent exchange I will always come out on top. I wanted her to know that, so I openly appraised her. From the tips of her pointed shoes to the top of her bulbous features. When I met her eyes it was clear, at least to her how little I thought of her barely concealed contempt.

I can honestly say I never thought I would see a toad turn so red, especially so quickly. “You…” She took a step forward before composing herself with that short fake cough, making me wonder for the first time if it were some physiological cue to bring herself under control. “Ten points from Slytherin.” She said because it was all she could do, I had said nothing, barely even moved all of these witnesses and none of them could say exactly how I had managed to anger this short, power hungry woman to such an extent in such a short space of time.

That’s when I did what was quite possibly one of the most foolish things I could think of. I let both of my eyebrows raise. Now it might not sound like much, but in that small action I issued a challenge. I bated her to take it further, I wanted her to step forward and give me an excuse to put her on the floor. Why? Because all of my actions provoked exactly what I wanted from her and it made me feel powerful.

“And a week of detention.” She continued, answering my dare with all that she could. In theory I was playing with fire, hoping that I didn’t get burned but I rarely do anything drastic without forethought. In truth she could have taken me into custody, right in that moment, for the arrogance I portrayed, for the disobedience but what would she say. I raised my eyebrows? Even for one with her standing, against a sub human entity like me she would have been laughed out of the Wizengamot, of that I was so certain that I was literally betting my life on it. Just to clamber back some of my own self-worth.

I offered her another grin, subtly telling her that at least in my mind I was victorious in this exchange, and then took my seat. Hoping that my thoughts showed plain as day upon my face. My lesson was over; it was time for hers to begin.

Even hours later locked away in the sanctity of my small pokey room that memory gives me a sense of pride. I clambered back some self-respect and quite possibly made the rest my school life much less bearable in the process but right now, in this moment with a victory under my belt it’s worth it. All I have to do is remember to stop the sense from going to my head and over stepping the restricting boundaries that have been placed upon me due to my illness.

After that little stunt avoiding most of the student population was as easy as a walk in the park. It took less than an hour for the gossip to spread around the school like wildfire. No one wants to be affiliated with the dangerous little half-breed that tried to take the High Inquisitor down a peg or two. It just wouldn’t be safe and as a race we are very astute with self-preservation.

Hermione is proving to be the exception to prove the rule. I have remained out of sight as much as possible and outside of the castle walls but I can smell when she has been present at my door. Her scent still lingering in the air long hours after she has departed, I’m so attuned to it now that I can find it easily amongst a crowd and follow it to its source.

On a lot of levels that is all I long to do. To find comfort in her presence and embrace, but I am fearful and hold no illusions that this is not the case. More fearful than I have been for longer than I can remember, in my life there has always been the threat of pain but also the promise of restoration once it had ran its course. It has become apparent that this is not something that is an option to me anymore and I know that it is toying with my emotions, thoughts, and even actions. My behaviour today is enough of a testament to that and I have no wish to expose someone I hold so dear to this side of me, to the potential harshness of my tongue and violence of my limbs.

Her persistence was expected and even now as I smell her aroma heightening in intensity with each step she takes towards my small chamber. I’m already snuffing out the candle so she cannot see the light beneath the tattered door, trying to drive her away with nothing but my silence because the alternative is much more unpleasant.

I sit still as a statue, quiet as the dead in the inky darkness just listening to her footsteps against the unforgiving stone. Her knock on my door is met by nothing but my cold glare and for many long moments she just stands there, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Ever patient, always waiting for me to step out of the darkness and join her in the blinding light. One day she will grow tired of it I’m certain.

“Jamie?” She questions through the door and I feel my eyes narrow at the sound of her voice. “Jamie, please open the door.” She pleads and I have to wonder if she is merely trying her luck or is truly certain that I sit on the other side of that withered wood listening to her gentle voice calling to me. “I borrowed Harry’s map. I know you’re in there.”

I both hear and feel my teeth grind in irritation. The existence of that dammed bit of parchment had slipped my mind; I can’t imagine that it would have taken too much convincing for him to have handed it over to her.

I have no wish to speak to her when I am in this state of mind, still protecting her even from myself. She is quite possibly the only being in existence that can boast such an effect on me.

I have the option of claiming to have been asleep when she ventured down to my level of the castle but we both know I am not the soundest of sleepers. The slightest noise would normally be enough to rouse me. To ignore her further could possibly be, a yet another detrimental action to our relationship, where my outburst last evening should have been enough to have her keep her distance for a while.

I hear the palm of her hand gently touch the ageing wood, the unique crevices in her fingers catching against the protruding grain, followed by the gentle call of “Please.” That I have no defence against.

I push a long, breath through my nostrils before sitting forwards on my chair, not even needing to stand to reach out and turn the handle, granting her entrance.

The artificial light from the lit torches invade the tiny space and I have to force myself not to wince against the harshness of it, the glow catches her eyes as they dart around the room and she hastily closes the door behind her, already reaching beneath her robes for her wand to reach out and relight the candle. As we are bathed in enough light for her to be able to see I lower my gaze to the floor, remaining as quiet and collected as I can.

The tips of her fingers touch against my chin and lift my head so she can better see my features. “You look exhausted.” She observes and only receives a dark look in response from me. I don’t dare to even open my mouth to respond, uncertain what will spill forth if I do. “Jamie, running yourself into the ground that isn’t going to be any help to you.”

I hold her gaze for a long moment and without speaking turn away from her, letting my eyes focus of the flickering flame illuminating the room. It’s not long before I feel the tips of her fingers gazing my bare arm, outlining the small cut placed their yesterday with such precision, still evident on my skin. “We should talk about this.” She says after a long pause and I am thankful that after spending such time apart her initial panic as subsided. With nowhere to retreat I truly do not know how I would react if she were to once more descend into hysterics.

The muscles all along my arm clench and I know she can feel it under her fingers. The small nervous gesture is not lost on her and she removes her touch from my skin. Slowly I let my thumb rub along my palm and the base of my fingers offering some slight form of distraction from the topic she wishes to bring up. She may talk all she likes but I still have no idea what will spill forth from between my lips if I were to allow them to part.

“You have to be more careful.” She begins in a low voice when it becomes clear that I will not initiate the conversation for her. “Today with Umbridge. If she wasn’t out for you before she will be now.” I know she speaks the truth and I have contradicted myself entirely with my behaviours earlier in the day but feeling then like I do now I simply couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip through my fingers. “There’s no denying that you’re a little more…” She pauses, searching for the right words and still I can’t bring myself to look her way. “Fragile, than we first thought.”

Now she has my attention, every iota of it. From the tight knot across my shoulders to the cold ice in my eyes, had she been looking my way she might have flinched but her gaze is steadfastly fixed to the grey bedspread.

Does she truly see me as fragile, weak and breakable? Of course she does, only because it is true. In the face of this fact I feel my heart begin to pound in anger. Never before have I been seen as delicate, not psychically. Not with such a high tolerance for pain and a weak moral code.

The chair creaks from under me as I push against it to stand; the small size of the room dictates that she stands so close to me that I barely have to take a step to be pressed deeply into her personal space. Dipping my head I push my lips against hers, hard, pressing into her until she is forced to lean back against the door for support. I continue to kiss her, pressing further into her, not because I need to, or even because kissing Hermione at times is as natural and essential as breathing but because she lets me. She gives me this part of herself, wholly and willingly, gives me this power to command her body as I see fit.

I don’t know why, it’s not as if my actions could be classed as romantic in any way but she returns my rough affection, without question or even any form of rejection. Instead reaching upwards to press her warm hands against each side of my neck in a show of complete acceptance. Somewhere in my mind I cannot allow that. My hands claim her wrists in their iron grip, pulling the comfort away from my skin. I don’t want her comfort, her compassion, even her affection. I want the power that this can give me, the control over another human being, to bring her body to its highest peak and know that it was my actions that caused it.

The backs of her arms press against the ageing wood with an audible thump and I am certain that the wards I have placed upon it are the only thing holding it rigid beneath both of our combined weight. My teeth touch her lip a moment before the tip of my tongue and obediently she opens her mouth to accommodate it. I have kissed her like this before, carnal and raw but never for the purpose of asserting any sort of dominant role over her, I have no idea if this is how she perceives my movements. If I were being honest I would say that I didn’t care. Her submission, her willingness to let me take all that she can give is enough for me to feel the elation running through my chest and all I want is more.

Releasing her hands I place mine lightly over her exposed neck, one thumb resting at the base of her throat, the other only just above it feeling the curve of her windpipe. If I wanted to, I could squeeze the life from her, watch her turn different shades of red and blue, for only a second I tighten my grip, not enough to harm her or even to obstruct her breaths, which are already coming the rapid shallow bursts, but just enough so we both know that I could.

Satisfied that with this small action that I hold her continued existence in the palms of my hands I move on to more pressing matters. Life and death is easy to preside over, now I want her body to quake. To spasm and tremble under my ministrations, to continue life under my terms, my direction.

Both of my palms flatten against her chest, cupping her clothed bosom in my grasp. She gasps into my open mouth and rests her freed hands against my shoulders but makes no further move to touch me so I leave them where they lie.

Her hips press up and into my body, craving friction and release so my hands drop to her pelvis, circling the bones under the pleats in her skirt and push her back, harshly. This encounter will be on my terms. In response to her halted movement my kisses against her mouth become more intense, teeth clattering against teeth and a carnal need over takes me.

With a swift bend of my knees I curl my fingers around her thigh and slowly raise myself to my full height, dragging her limb skywards her only protest is to wrap her arms around the back of my neck to keep her balance. I continue to hike up her leg until I stand at my full height, having the bend of her knee curve over my hipbone. My other hand already blazing a trail along the sensitive skin I find at the inside of her thigh.

The tips of my exploratory fingers meet the barrier of her underwear and immediately I push the elastic to the side to press against the heat at the apex of her thighs. She pulls back from our carnal kisses and meets my eyes for a moment, her hips unconsciously pressing against me with every quick breath she takes.

The back of her head presses against the wood of the door and unblinking and unwavering her gaze meets mine. Fires of passion shining in her eyes where I know that even with such a heated exchange mine must appear almost dead in comparison. I give her only enough time to tell me to stop. Then press deeply into her, watching as her face contorts with pleasure, her back arching and her eyes rolling skywards only a heartbeat before eyelids flutter closed to conceal them. Her mouth drops open with some unintelligible word at the first intrusion and I give her no time to become accustomed to it before I am dragging it away.

The sharp cry of surprise at my thrust could almost be misconstrued as pain but the way she withers against me, presses her hips down at against my harsh movements is enough to encourage it further. Bending my wrist to an awkward angle I press my hips against it, pushing my whole weight behind each quick jab I press against her centre.

Pulling at her leg with one hand and a crashing into her with the other I listen to the noises breaking forth from the back of her throat. With every thrust my fingers curl, more with instinct that actual thought and it’s only moments before her body begins to quake, just as I desired.

Bending my neck I press my lips against her neck, concentrating wholly on each and every movement up until the very second she goes rigid. Her hands, which had been aimlessly roaming my shoulders trying to find purchase, clench down through the thin martial of my shirt, nails pressing deeply into my flesh and the cusp of her pleasure breaks with a straggled scream.

One is not enough for me, truthfully it never is. So I tuck my thumb further into her and without having to search find that small node of nerves that can drive her to the brink of insanity in an instant. Another three cries of ecstasy and uncontrollable shudders of her hips and her body goes lax.

Extracting my sodden fingers from her depths and gently placing her leg back to the floor, catching hold of her under her elbows and supporting her weight when I see how unsteady she is on her feet.

I shouldn’t have done that. Taken her in that way, with those thoughts and feeling running rampant through my head and I feel the burn of shame covering my cheeks even as she buries her forehead in the crock of my neck to try and regain her breath.

With a fair amount of manoeuvring I have her seated steadily in the thin mattress and I retreat as far away from her as the small space will allow. Curling my fingers against my closed lips until I smell her essence upon them and flinch away.

Its many long moments before she has regained enough control of her lungs to be able to speak and the only words she utters threaten to have me on the verge of tears with the guilt that has so quickly descended upon me. “Are you ready to talk about this yet?”
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By The Light