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
- 36
- 37
- 38
Chapter 37

My eyes close, blocking out the world and I truly wish that I were able to melt into the shadows, which still hug the corners of the room and disappear. Just vanish into thin air and escape her questioning eyes, her prodding words.

“I’ll take that as a no.” She says, a long sigh is pulled from her chest and the beating of her hearts picks up in both volume and tempo. My teeth clench together in response, she may now be well versed in reading my minimal facial cues but in the past weeks I have taken special note of the noises her body makes when faced with different situations. Every small, insignificant sound my highly sensitive ears pick up on directs me to a single conclusion. She’s building courage. Gathering it beneath her breast and all I can do it sit here and wait for the explosion that’s sure to come. “Well, I’m ready to talk about this.” I have to admit, as sudden outbursts go that was quite subdued.

I am uncertain if I am ready to even open my mouth let alone discuss what has sent me scurrying back into the protective blanket of darkness with much more haste then I had been willing to exit it. I am however completely aware that I must be ready to listen, for Hermione is not likely to let this subject lie.

After a long deep breath to steady myself I turn my head and force my eyes to open, holding her deep brown gaze as the light cast from the single candle flickers across her face making that hard, stern look gracing her features look like pure resolve. “You have to stop running away from me when something scares you.”

“I can’t.” I whisper, having to clear my throat after long hours without use.

Her lips press together into a thin line for only a moment. “Try.” The determination in her voice has me wanting to counteract what she says but she can see it pass across my face and cuts me off before I can even begin. “Try. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, or that you’ll even like it but at some point you have to realise that I’m here for you.” She pushed forward on her perch and reaches out, hooking her fingers around my hand, squeezing it, and somehow that tiny action, that small amount of pressure is nothing but reassurance. “We all are but we can only help you if you let us.”

“I don’t need any help.” I surprise myself with my words, not with their content but the tone I used. All the anger, the frustration, and fear melting away, just with the touch of her hand on mine leaves me numb with a deep weariness that is made evident in my voice.

“Clearly you do.” She answers, and having much more vitality that I, pushes a note of purpose behind her speech. “Anyone who attended Defence Against the Dark Arts today could see that.”

“Everyone?” I ask, my voice raising an octave in surprise. I had been very firmly under the impression that I had been nothing but subtle in that lesson.

Her shoulders bunch into a shrug. “Everyone in that lesson is either a Slytherin or a member of Dumbledore’s Army. I think it’s safe to say they all saw that something was wrong.” She must see the look upon my face because she quickly continues, “I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think it’s anything anyone can put into words.” There’s a heavy pause between us, hanging stagnant in the air, only broken when she pulls her upper lip between her teeth, once more gathering courage to broach a subject she thinks I will react badly to. “You’re treating this like a death sentence.”

My grip on her hand tightens significantly, in anger or terror I am uncertain but before I speak I force myself to take a deep breath, counting quickly backwards from five in my head so I do not begin screaming in her direction. Even with all of these precautions my words sound strained when I voice them. “That’s because it is.”

She has anticipated the outburst and so doesn’t let it affect her. “I managed to survive for eleven years without magic and I got cuts and bruises all the time.”

“Cuts and bruises aren’t exactly the things I’m concerned with.” I tell her in a cutting tone.

“No, I realise that.” She says, quickly becoming exasperated with me. “But Muggle medicine shouldn’t be discounted just because it works a little slower. Some of the things they are able to do are remarkable.”

“A little slower?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my tone like syrup. She only shoots me a look that tells me I am being childish over the whole matter, it quickly makes me relent. “I know Muggle medicine is my only option and I’ll trust that you know much more about it than me but that does not take into account that I don’t have access to it.”

“My knowledge isn’t vast but I do know basic First Aid. I can teach you for now.” She sighs, showing me she has been as successful as me in dreaming up a way to transport me to Muggle doctors should the need arise. “As for anything else, we’ll think of something. I promise.”

“Thank you.” I say with a genuine sincerity that feels alien on my tongue. I am the first to admit that it is not often that I willingly accept aid from anyone but on this occasion I must turn to her. She is more knowledgeable and it is the only course of action available to me.

“Don’t mention it.” She says easily then the whole of her demeanour shifts to that of seriousness. “Now we need to talk about Umbridge. You shouldn’t have baited her like that.”

“I know.” I concede immediately. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I’d guessed that.” She nods her head in understanding. “I don’t think it was very clever but I think I know what you were trying to achieve. I’m more concerned with your detentions.”

Turning in my seat so I am fully facing her, I warp both of my hands around hers, staring down at it and wondering why that simple contact can have such a profound effect on me. Then pondering how many times I have asked myself that very question, only to forget the comforting feelings such a light touch can give me when faced with my own insecurity. “It’s only a detention Hermione. It’s not like it’ll be my first time.” I glance up to meet her eyes with a small smile on my lips, remembering one of the first detentions I ever received so long ago in third year. I had been going to meet her, after hours and had been caught out of my bed by the resident caretaker. It was not long after we had become intimate and I was unable to contain myself. I simply wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and even with his shuffling gait Filch was able to catch me. I now know that she had been able to elude him with the use of Harry’s invisibility cloak but she was kind enough to keep me company for the long hours I had spent cleaning the trophies of the school until I could see my face in them.

I had hoped that she might remember that time that feels so long ago but find that she is not as scooped up in the nostalgia as me. Her face is still a hard chiselled line of concern. “This won’t be the same. She has a Blood Quill.”

Well that certainly puts a slant on things. I lean back in my chair but keep my arms outstretched so I can reach, to run the pads of my fingers along her hand. “You think the wound won’t heal?”

She is initially shocked that I am aware of the device but quickly covers the reaction. Surely, on some level she must know that I have been exposed to far darker magic’s in my lifetime than a Blood Quill. “I’m more concerned that it won’t work at all.” At her words I tilt my head in question and she doesn’t hesitate with her answer, so anxious to put her thoughts to the air. “I can’t use my wand to heal you, so you must be resistant to a certain form of magic. The spells I used, essentially manipulates the skin cells to knit together rapidly. If her quill does the same, just backwards, it’s likely it won’t have any effect on you.”

“She would defiantly notice that.” I comment leaning my head to the side so I can push my middle finger against my temple, letting my eyes glaze over with deep thought. I hadn’t even thought that I could be resistant to harmful magic as well as rejuvenation spells. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I close my eyes as I let my mind work with this new information. The High Inquisitor is highly predictable, today proved that. “She won’t use the Blood Quill on me.” I say into the silent air around me.

“How can you be so certain of that?” She asks, and only now do I notice the sound of her gnawing on her thumbnail.

I meet her eyes once more. “There is no way she would risk being that close to my blood.”

Her eyes narrow with bewilderment. “But…” She pauses and I can see her thoughts whizzing around behind her eyes as she searches for her vast knowledge for any tangible piece of information that will explain my comment. “Lycanthropy isn’t carried in the blood.”

“A fact that I only became aware of when I contracted it.” I tell her. “Apparently it’s a common misconception.”

She pauses for a moment, not because she doesn’t have anything to say but because she doesn’t quite know how to put this development into words. “So you’re telling me, that Muggles know more about werewolves, than Witches and Wizards do?”

Her observation does bring a smile to my lips and a chuckle to my voice. “Yes. A fact I’m going to take advantage of. It’s true what they say, ignorance is bliss.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly what they meant.” She says sharing in the humour that has so suddenly filled the air. “Jamie, I hope you’re right.”

In truth, so do I.

~~~~0000~~~~

The one thing I have come to appreciate the most from my new friends is how easily they can completely ignore something. My actions yesterday were clearly noticed by all of them, yet not a word, not even a whisper passed their lips in question. Ginny offered me what I assume she thought was a reassuring smile, but quite frankly looked eerily close to the look she wears just before she is to jump into a bout of teasing at my expense. As for Harry and Ron, upon noticing my presence their conversation stopped for only a moment to acknowledge me. Lifting their eyes in question and giving me only enough time to either answer or decline, before returning to their trivial topic of discussion.

That was in fact the height of their inquisition. Everyone acknowledging that there had been something going on, something that affected me in a detrimental way and made me act like a petulant child but no one spoke of it. All of them in their own way showing their interest but respecting my privacy enough to allow me to choose if I should divulge it to them. I hardly need say that I did not. I admit that I am slowly coming to trust these three people but not quite enough to start handing them information that is potentially dangerous for me.

I simply deflected the conversation to a more neutral subject, each and every one of them indicated they had noticed but did not comment. I don’t think I am fully able to convey the gravity of these actions in words; to know that I had people around me that I could choose if and when to confide in them. After that moment it was no longer a requirement. They would not pursue me in the hunt for the knowledge. Neither to advance themselves or to push me down as it would have been in Slytherin house. Amongst them knowledge is always power and to conceal it will quickly make you a target. It is so refreshing not to be forced to guard my secrets with as much ferocity as I once had.

Most of the day went by very quickly, I know that I had not quite been feeling myself even after my talk with Hermione and I remained even quieter than usual. It became apparent that people were taking notice when Ginny, with as much tact as she possess took the liberty of asking if Crookshanks had wondered off with my tongue. With, I admit, quite a bit more profanity. It didn’t halt my silent mood but did draw my attention to their conversations.

Then as we neared the end of the school day my anxiety began to rise. I have no intention of antagonising Umbridge twice in as many days but without the distraction of a full class I have no idea how much of her focus I will be capable of withstanding without biting back against the scathing comments that are sure to be bubbling just under the surface of her sickly sweet smile.

For this reason I wait until the last possible moment to raise my hand and bring my knuckles down on her office door. In an instant it is opened and I have to look down into her bulbous features. “I very nearly thought you wouldn’t be coming.” Her voice is as thick and sweet as treacle but I can see the shadow ghosting across her eyes, if I had been late to this detention, the consequences would have been severe.

She makes that high pitched greeting squeak in the back of her throat before pushing forwards out of her office. Obeying the wordless comment I step to the side of permit her to exit, quietly striding behind her at such a slow pace it causes an ache in the backs of my calves and it leaves me wondering how people quite so short don’t become frustrated by how slowly they move.

She leads me through the castle, up one staircase and down another, through winding paths until I’m certain she wishes me to lose my bearings, so I cannot find wherever it is she is taking me without an escort. Or the most sinister thought enters my mind that she does not wish for anyone to find me. Two things calm this fear, firstly the knowledge of Harry’s map that will point to my location no matter where she takes me. The second is that we have not yet descended below ground level, however if my head were to descend below sea level I am uncertain if I will panic or not.

I am thankful when I can congratulate myself on my own paranoia. On the ground floor, so deep inside the castle that I am unable to see the sunlight through any windows she pulls us into a corridor, which is no longer than six feet deep. The wall completely cut off and there are no doorways branching from this place. The whole set up looks as though the alcove were created to house the large portrait of a fruit bowl that runs from the floor to just above my head.

“Your detentions will be conducted here.” She says leaving me to wonder exactly where here might be. She has to press herself forward and push her whole weight onto the tips of her toes, her fingers outstretched towards the painting. “You will report to me and I will escort you heare. In two hours I will come and retrieve you.” Her stretched fingers skirt along the pear only once before it is giggling and moving away from her reach, revealing a doorknob. The cheer that spreads across her face makes me want to reach out at throttle her with my bear hands. “Come on.”

The doorway is low to the ground but I only need to bend my neck to dip beneath it and one look at the walls is enough to tell me exactly why she chose this over any letting of my blood. A high ceilinged room, mounds of brass pots and pans covering every wall, every work surface. The huge bricked fireplace at the end of the room the main source of light, pans and kettles held over the roaring flame. The kitchens. Lowering me into a place she sees to be for beings that are sub human, the half-breed down with the elves where she belongs.

“Now give me your wand.” She say’s and I feel my whole back twitch in response. Hand my weapon over to this woman? She can’t be serious. But still she stands one hand outstretched and her fingers curling to indicate I should fill her palm. “You won’t be needing it.”

To refuse is impossible, unthinkable. However the only other alternative is to leave myself defenceless. Slowly, oh so slowly I reach into my back pocket and run my index finger along the handle of my wand. Still deciding on whether to hex her and run or to hand it over, giving her the opportunity to take me down without a fight.

Pulling the long strip of wood from behind my back I am careful not to let the tip stray into her direction, the temptation of that would be far too great to resist, so I don’t even look along the shaft, just in case I inadvertently give myself a clear shot.

Just as the timber is about to touch her fingers they flinch, violently and curl in on themselves until her fist trembles. “Is that blood?” Her voice calls out, dragging my gaze to meet hers. Her eyes are unblinkingly staring at the object in my hand and I have to drag my gaze downwards.

The streak of red that has soaked deeply into the grain of the wood was not something that I had paid much mind to after I initially noticed it. It was careless to allow Tamlen’s blood to touch my wand but I know that the stain will wear away given time but until this moment I had not given thought to how I could mislead the woman in front of me. “Yeah.” I say, keeping my tone of voice offhanded and unconcerned. “I caught my finger in potions.” Keeping an attitude of indifference I bunch my shoulders into a shrug. “It’s just a stain.”

Her eyes may be riveted to the offending strip of crimson but my eyes are on her. Watching her jaw line twitch with nerves and her hands pull against her chest, drawing in on herself and away from the potentially contaminated blood I have displayed to her. It’s takes a few moments for her to actually decide exactly how she is going to handle the situation; I can see her thoughts clouding her vision. When I see she has made her decision the reaction is instantaneous, her arm snaps out from her chest her index finger held out to my side. “You, elf. Come here.”

I had anticipated the slap of bare fleet against the stone floor, but the footsteps that meet my ears are muffled, almost over powered by the gentle roaring of the fire at the other end of the room. “Dobby is always happy to help.” The small elf says, his huge eyes looking up towards the High Inquisitor, waiting on direction.

The stout woman narrows her eyes at the cheeriness in his voice before saying in a slow voice. “Good.” She takes a breath through his nose, her nostrils flaring in an almost dangerous manor. “Take this girl’s wand.”

He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, sounding somewhere between surprise and distress. “But.” He pulls one of his huge pointed ears between his fingers, twirling the long digits around the tip. “Dobby is a house elf.” He lowers his gaze to the floor as he points out this obvious fact. “He cannot take a witch’s wand.”

Umbridge’s reaction somehow borders on both comical and frightening. Her cheeks puff out giving her yet more attributes of a toad and I swear she turns the colour of a beetroot. Alarmed somewhat that she might just explode; I almost jump to diffuse the situation. Much more comfortable handing my wand over to a creature that does not have need of it I practically thrust it under his long nose, so even as he stares intently on that crack in the floor he cannot miss the gesture. “Its fine Dobby, you can take. Keep it safe.” I say, trying to make it sound more like a task and less like a form of reprimand.

Then his eyes meet mine, deep and curious, his mouth ever so slightly agape, even as he takes the wood from my hand and clutches it in his tiny palm. Pulling it closer to his chest looking like he might just curl his whole body around it in a protective cocoon.

Chancing a glance in the professor’s direction I can certainly say that I have been able to satisfy her need to disarm me. Her skin returning to its normal colour and she nods her consent. “Very well. There are dishes to be cleaned and the elves have been instructed not to obey you.” Clearly that isn’t the case, this small creature standing between us, his huge eyes passing from one to the other in a show of complete innocent ignorance just followed my direction and over hers. Her comment leads me to wonder if she even noticed that.

“How long am I to be here professor?” It pains me, truly it does but I try my utmost to be courteous, hoping my question comes across as wishing to repent as opposed to needing to know how long it will be until I can escape.

“Well.” She begins, making a show of pausing her speech and spreading that smirk across her face. “Let’s say until it’s done.”

I bow my head as an outward show of respect and understanding, using the action to hide the frustrated grinding of my teeth. Then turn further into the room, following behind the small elf and not daring to meet her eyes again, as I am uncertain I might be able to keep the agitation I feel towards her out of my gaze. At this point that would almost be enough to extend my detentions further.

Dobby pads across the stone floor in his socks. Socks on a house elf. Not just a rag tied to each foot but actual socks. Curious.

He leads me over to a low basin, clearly designed for someone with a much shorter stature than I, yet still too high to suit the needs of the elves that run the kitchens. Wooden boxes have been placed below each sink for them to stand on. A viable mountain of pot, pans and plates stacked in a disorganised pile starts at the floor and comes to mid-way up my chest. It gives me the sense that I could been here for weeks and never complete the task that has been set for me, what’s more I know that at each mealtime more will be added to the stack. I have to shake my head to dispel the thought and am suddenly much more grateful for the services provided by this school. Even if the elves are permitted to use magic. “Where do I start?” The words leave my mouth before I can check them.

I can almost hear the smile in the small elf’s voice as he answers. “Dobby likes to start from the top.”

For just a moment I narrow my eyes at what I perceive to be a sarcastic retraction, until I see his face. The smile he wears is not one of mockery but one of pride. I am in his realm, must defer to his knowledge and this pleases him, yet another strange trait. Clearly it is not just the addition of socks that makes this elf stand out amongst his peers.

“Right.” I agree, pulling my robes off my shoulders and find myself surprised that, he is happy to take it from me to hang it against the wall, using one of the pot racks to do so. I pull at the buttons at my sleeves and roll them up my arms. “Best get started then.” Subconsciously scratching at the healing mark on my arm before turning the hot tap to full, so I can set myself up for a long evening of shrivelled fingers and back pain.

Two hours I spend in the kitchens, socking and scrubbing plates, listening to the inane chatter of the elf that greeted me. All the others scurried off to attend to anything else they can think of that keeps them away from the strange creature that sits on the rim of the sink, swinging his legs back and forth and chatting away with the strange tall human who has invaded their territory. He doesn’t seem to mind that his conversation is one sided; I have little to say on his collection of woollen hats that he has accumulated while cleaning the Gryffindor common room and do little more than glance at his odd socks when he so proudly points them out to me but still I listen. Years upon years of absorbing all the trivial knowledge around me preventing me from doing anything else and I’m certain he can see it. The noises of agreement and proper gestures of my head actual responses to his words not just appropriately timed.

I am rewarded for bestowing him such attention as when I am less than two thirds of the way down my seemingly never-ending pile he snaps his fingers and the plates begin to fly into the bubbles and start cleaning themselves. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be helping me.” I admit my reprisal is half hearted at best but if I have to spend one more moment hunched over this sink I feel certain I will forever be left in that pose. Which doesn’t exactly make me look very menacing.

He grins so wide he shows me his small white teeth. “Professor Umbridge insisted that Dobby not obey any commands from Miss Jamelia Desay.” No matter how many times I ask or send a dirty look in his direction, he steadfastly refuses to stop using my full given name. “She did not say he could not volunteer his services.”

“Very sneaky.” I commend and as I reach for the towel to dry my hands I have to wonder if my complement had as much of an effect on him as it would have on me. “You couldn’t have just done that when I got here?”

“Then who would Dobby have spoken to?” The curiosity in his voice is only overshadowed by the sorrow in his eyes.

“So the other elves…” I begin, shocking him to the core by pulling out a chair and taking a seat. A term I use very lightly, as all of the furniture has been designed for much shorter beings than myself, I practically fall into it and it is possible that I would have been more comfortable setting myself down on the floor. “They’re avoiding you. Not me?”

He pushes his hands against the edge of the sink, lifting his body and jumping down to the floor, leaving the dirty plates to clean up after themselves, completely unattended and bows his head. “Dobby is strange to them.”

Somehow, and I’m unsure exactly how, I manage to suppress the urge to point out that Dobby is strange to me. “Because you’re free?”

He shakes his head and his huge bat like ears, flap back and forth with the movement. “Because he likes it.”

For just a moment I sit and stare at him. While personally, the notion of losing my liberty and bowing to any man has me shaking right down to my boots I know the same cannot be said for house elves. So many times my youngest sibling would ask the elves that attended us why they continued to serve. Their answer was always the same. They felt safe. Not just serving witches and wizards but knowing, categorically exactly where they belonged. For any elf to turn on that mindset is mind boggling to me. “But you still serve.” I eventually point out.

That sentence alone makes him smile. “Dobby likes to help.”

I glance over his head where his magic is still whizzing through the task that I had been agonising over for hours and would be long into the night without his aid. “I can see that.” My head swivels as I hear the undeniable sound of glass, chinking along the stone floor. “What was that?” I try to rise in a graceful manor, quickly discovering that at this angle, my knees are not in any sort of position to be able to drag me upright and end up in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The fumble gives Dobby enough time to scamper his way around me and block my way into the adjoining room. Even though when I pull myself up to my full height I tower over him something stops me from simply barging my way past to investigate. “Miss Jamelia Desay must be exhausted.” He says, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice and failing miserably, his body betraying him further as he spreads his tiny frame wide in a bid to keep me away from the curious noise.

He’s not wrong, not by a long shot, my bones in the base of my back ache and many of my muscles hurt from the odd angle I have had to hold myself at, all of this combining to make me weary but my curiosity is peaked and proving difficult to ignore. “What are you hiding?” I ask.

That one question proves to be a large miscalculation. “Dobby hides nothing.” He says with indignation and I swiftly realise that offending him is not the way to let me in on whatever he is keeping from me and possibly the rest of the house elves. “He would never, could never…”

Holding my hand out in a move halfway between surrender and instance I cut off his tangent. “Alright.” Clearly this form of questioning is making him distressed and it would be unwise to antagonise my only ally when I have another six evenings to spend in the kitchens. “Dobby isn’t… I mean…” At some point throughout the course of the evening his speech pattern has gotten so ingrained into my head that I’m almost thinking in third person. “I mean you’re not hiding anything.”

His mouth opens, as if to protest further and as my words dawn on him he does little more than utter a squeak. “Well…” He looks dazed and confused that I would agree with him so readily and has no idea how to continue.

“Perhaps…” I begin, one again diffusing something I had no intention of instigating in the first place. “It would be best if I left.” I say promising myself that I will get to the bottom of this mystery before the week is out.

Almost as if the snap of my fingers would make it so, he all but forgets how I had offended him, clutching his long pointed ear in his fingertips in a gesture I am beginning to associate with him. “Perhaps.” He speaks the word slowly, contemplating exactly what it is he wants to say. “Will Miss Jamelia Desay be coming back to see Dobby?”

“Oh defiantly.” I say, wondering if he is toying with me or if he genuinely doesn’t understand the nature of my punishment. “I’ll be here all week.”

His smile lights up his whole face. “This pleases Dobby.” He reaches into his clothing and pulls forth my wand, holding it out on his out starched palm for me to take.

With yet more promises to return the following night I am slowly ushered from the kitchen back out into the hallway, left with the strange sense that I have made a friend and barely been detained at all. That is with the exception of the constant protest in my lower back.

The bed in my personal quarters is much too small for me to be able to sleep while in this state, so I know that I will inevitability have to make my way up to the northern tower. Not something I am adverse to in any way but it would be better if I had a draft of my pain potion to hand. Not only if this pain proves persistent but I also have a full two hour block of Potions tomorrow evening and I am still having trouble adjusting my senses to that particular lesson.

I had the full intention of simply poking my head through the door to collect what I needed and quickly making my way up to Hermione’s rooms but as I turn to curse at the door that I have still yet to repair an envelope on the floor catches my attention. My father’s seal pressed into the wax that holds it closed.
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By The Light