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

Chapter List
- 37
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Chapter 38

All forms of pain and any thoughts of sleep are completely forgotten in an instant, the new arrival forcing me to step into the room and close the door behind me. Without moving it, without even touching it I move over to the bed and take a seat, my eyes never leaving that small indentation in the hard wax.

The notion that he could have little to actually say to me and just wish to send through the post this latest form of punishment has me at the height of cautiousness. The letter could simply explode the moment my skin touches it, although I see little point in that. I would lose a hand certainly but not my life and what’s more he knows I wouldn’t be that stupid. So the point of this is to correspond, but why? To what end? He’s already made it abundantly clear he has no wish to see me as his daughter any longer so I don’t know what he would have to say. I don’t know if I even wish to see what has been written. I’ve made my bed and I will lie in it for as long as Hermione will allow me to. Nothing he can say could change that, in either written or verbal form.

The moments drag on as I sit and silently stare at the offending piece of paper. Not wishing to read it but still trying to convince myself I already know what is written upon the page. The man at times can be so predictable it’s embarrassing, although I hadn’t realised how simple it had once been when I had all pf the variables of his existence stored away in my brain.

I take out my wand, twirling it in my fingers, under and over and around, time and time again. The action settling my racing heart albeit only mildly bit enough for me to still my mind enough for me to begin deciding on my course of action. The most prudent thing I could do is dispose of it, set it aflame and watch the embers burn, forget I ever received it but a single question nags at me. Making me stop and think, forgoing the violence even if only temporarily just to ponder the notion. How on earth did it end up in my room?

Owls are clever creatures to be sure, but to push a letter under a doorway in the most tightly warded building in the country? A preposterous thought. Human hands placed this here. Several names spring to mind, none of which are pleasant. Who it would be matters little, why he would go through a third party interests me more. For secrecy maybe, or impact. To receive a letter at the breakfast table I wouldn’t even bat an eyelid as I incinerated the unopened note, but this, this is different.

Twisting my wrist I point my wand at the parchment, silently using as many spells as I can think of to insure it will not harm me in any way and find it clean of curses. Absolutely nothing, which in itself is an oddity. So many times he would send me cursed letters, just so I would always remember to check, yet another thing grasping at my attention and screaming against being ignored, just as it was designed to.

Before I can change my mind I snatch it up off the floor, turning it over in my hands once to find that it has not been addressed, not to me, not to anyone. Curiosity wins over paranoia and with just a little pressure the seal breaks and I am pulling it apart. All at once eager for parental attention, good or bad it doesn’t matter; so long left out in the cold and suddenly I need this. One way or another I need to know what it is that is so important that he went to such lengths to make sure that I would take note of his words.

Jamelia,

I have recently been informed that some of your current circumstances have much more lucidity than is first apparent. Don’t miss understand….

Stop.

Silently I scream that word, it bounces around my head louder than even Ammy could yell, if she ever shows up again and I force my eyes to close.

Two things stop me, firstly my father was undoubtedly about to say something highly detrimental and on a lot of levels I need to distance myself from his scathing words before my eyes scan across them. Remove the sting before it can cause me harm. Secondly, the whole correspondence is written in the mother’s hand. To all the world it would look as though they were solid, together in the thoughts written on this single page. Between his words and her hand it is supposed to make me truly believe that they think as one. But I know better.

My mother is quite frankly a master when it comes to words. She can spin a tale for days on end. Most notable is her tale of Precious and Medusa. A three day cycle of the story to correspond with the stars. The ‘Demon’s Head’ would always become visible to the naked eye just as she finished her story. As if she had called forth the light from the heavens herself with each retelling. A skill I have no hope of possessing.

She can transfer this to the written word. Often leaving me messages hidden inside the text, which has been overviewed and subsequently approved by my father. So I need to stop, and I can practically hear her speaking against the shell of my ear. Telling me not to read what is in front of me, to read what it is she intended me to see. To find her meaning upon the lines.

So completely ignoring the linear order of the text I slowly run my thumb down the left most edge of the page, running it down vertically and picking out the first word of each line. It reads ‘I don’t trust him, be careful. We still love you.’

The paper crumbles between both of my hands and I push the curve of each thumb deep into the corner of each eye. The message is short as it must be, if my father exceeded a page in a personal correspondence, even if she had written it for him it would be cause for alarm, but it’s enough.

My disorder, the people I now choose to surround myself with, hasn’t damaged my relationship with the softer of my parents, not nearly to the extent that I had feared. Until this moment I had no idea how much of a weight that was upon my shoulders. How scared I was that she would never look upon me as a mother does a daughter again. Or even how important that is to me.

With this brief message in mind I begin to read over my father’s words a second time, eyebrows rising further skyward in surprise with every sentence. My father is quite possibly the only person I know who can be so degrading and commemorative at the within the same instant. Not once does he admit fault for his recent actions. Not a single word of apology but if he had I’m sure it would have rung hollow with me.

However he offers truce, the same offer made by Draco all those months ago surrounded by snow. Protection from the followers of the Dark Loud by betraying those closest to me, Lucius must have more need of the information they request than I had first thought.

The initial talk of this had been months ago, so much has happened since then. What’s more the recent events surrounding me do make the offer a tempting one.

Not for the first time I wish that I had enough ground available to me so I might pace. There is so much to consider and it is impossible to do so while seated. So after carefully folding the note and concealing it in my robes I pull at my door with much more vigour than is strictly necessary and decide on a slightly longer route to the northern tower than is usual.

The timing of this letter is just so perfect. Just as I slowly realise how fragile my body truly is since that night in the forest, just as I begin to feel completely powerless; this lands right at my feet. Does he know? That is a sobering thought. That he could know how little it would take to destroy me, and no magic will have any effect, nothing to stand in his way. So he offers me an olive branch, knowing that I have no choice but to accept.

It’s ridiculous; there is no way he could know. Outside of Hermione and myself no one is aware of this. Even if someone were to see the small incision on my skin no one would think anything of it. A trivial wound left to heal of its own accord. I have also been very studious to ware sleeves for most of the time, so perhaps he’s just lucky but something in my mind refuses to accept that as an answer.

Then of course there is the warning from my mother to consider. She could have worked any number of messages into that page but she specifically told me to be careful. Not to refuse, simply be cautious. Does that mean she trusts in the decision I make regardless as to what that might be? Or to accept but simultaneously safeguard myself?

So many things to consider, so many variables all running through my mind, looping round at such a speed and to such an extent that when I reach Hermione’s doorway my head is almost spinning with all the possible outcomes.

I don’t even think as I depress the door handle. I can hear her pottering about and see the light from the candle under the door but still I just walk in. I don’t prepare my face; I don’t wipe it blank along with the multitude of thoughts buzzing around in my cranium. Yet I am still surprised when I she asks. “Is something wrong?”

As I sharply look up I know it to be a mistake. Every thought is passing across my face, in plain sight for her to see. To wipe it clean now would be suspicious, so instead I opt for a tactic I have never used before and acknowledge my slip completely. Offering her a tight-lipped smile I shake my head at her question. “Just back ache.”

The concern and confusion clouds her features in an instant as she pushes herself up off the floor, where she has created something that looks akin to a nest on her bedroom floor. Books open on top of books, covering nearly every spear scrap of floor space. “Your back?”

I shrug with nonchalance. “Kitchens, cleaning dishes.”

“Oh,” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my answer. “Well that could have been worse.”

“Would have been better if the sinks were just a few inches higher.” I know that I am playing this exaggeration over my physical state for all that it is worth but no one can deny that is it proving effective in distracting her from any other form of questioning. Slowly as not to place my feet on any of her precious book I tip toe over to the bed and immediately remove my shoes from my aching feet. “What exactly are you doing?” My eyes stay glued to the mess that she has created, trying not to draw attention to the fact that it is so out of character.

She steps over the circle she has made with the open tombs and takes her seat in the centre. “Researching.” She watches my face as she answers and I’m certain I don’t give her any reaction, far to weary from long hours of labour and distracted by the letter practically burning a hole in my pocket. “I figured that we’d tried all the conventional methods of healing. It was time to look for something abstract.”

Lifting my elbow above my head I stretch out my shoulder before cupping the back of my neck in an attempt to work out the knots that have settled under my skin. “Any luck?” I should feel something more, anger maybe at her not accepting my situation, or elation that she would continue to try, in the face of so many failed attempts. Right at this moment all I can feel is tiered and I would sleep quite fitfully for at least a week.

“No.” She says after a small pause, deflating somewhat under the admission. “Everything seems to work the same way. Just different forms of execution.”

I had expected as much, dark magic is much the same. “I thought you were going to teach me this… aid thing.” I say.

“First Aid and I will. But having something else couldn’t hurt. The potion for your headaches works, it makes sense that there must be something else that does.” She stops to watch me push the tips of my fingers deep into my eyes, trying to keep them open. The initial surge of panic I felt down in my own rooms evaporating and leaving me exhausted. “I’d like to finish up a few things. Do you think you could sleep with the lights on?”

“I think I could happily sleep through an earthquake.” I reply, palming a yawn.

She leans over her books to retrieve my sleepwear and after it is safely in my hands her eyes turn back to the knowledge laid out around her. Losing herself in the written word, leaving me to turn over and promptly fall to sleep. Determined to tackle the newest development with fresh eyes in the morning.

~X~

When the sun rises I’m already awake, waiting for the predawn. Body rejuvenated and mind a buzz with activity. No matter how much I tried I couldn’t bear to leave the bed, just watching the sleeping figure lying next to me in the inky darkness.

I can’t defend her, not as I once could. Before when my blood could spill and we would be able to stop it with an uttered word. Now it will take time and who is to say that we will be able to stem the tide once it has begun.

Slowly as not to wake her I reach out, fingers ghosting across her skin. She shifts but only further into the touch. So trusting of something that can and has turned so vicious.

My father’s offer is not something he readily approves of. Someone higher up the ranks is tugging on his puppet strings and he must be learning that without me to smooth the way through other’s offspring that he must obey all commands. That much is plain from the words he uses. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to include Hermione in this protection. She has become as close to me as my own flesh and blood, I’ll be damned if I leave her to the wolves when all they want to do is rip her apart.

If I do this, I’ll lose her. That much is set in stone. Not right away, I need to be close to her to live up to my side of the bargain but the moment she finds out she’ll be gone forever. All I can hope to do is keep her safe, something my body will no longer allow me to do but my actions can. Especially if I go as close to the top as I have access to, I also know that I can set wheels in motion without fully committing to them, put down demands that are unlikely to be answered favourably.

Even with all of this in mind, when I press a kiss to her forehead, silently I am beginning to say goodbye to everything I have gathered in this room, every scrap of emotion that she has pulled from me as she brought this cold husk back from the grave.

Wakening so early does have its advantages. I am able to put my plan completely in motion before any other student is awake and wondering about the castle. My first stop is to the Owlery, a scribbled note already clenched in my palm, handwriting deliberately rushed so the recipient will open the letter without thought. Having never actually progressed into the building with such advances senses I feel lucky that I only emptied the contents of my stomach once on the journey.

The rest of the time I spend clearing my head, ambling around aimlessly and trying to force myself back into a mind-set that I so spectacularly failed at when I returned to Dale’s after the first kind word spoken to me. Although I have to conceded that kind words are not exactly something that I foresee, so at least this time I might be able to hold onto the mask for as long as it is necessary.

All through breakfast I am clipped and quiet, luckily over the past few days this has been my manner. They barely give me a second glace and leave me to my personal musings. Even Hermione does not press me about the barely touched plate in front of me. The moment the post arrive my eyes are riveted to the Slytherin table. I have already located that crop of white blond hair, long before I even took my seat. All but ignoring Strix as he lands on my shoulder, waiting for the moment it dawns on him exactly what is in his hands. Malfoy’s cold grey eyes meet my icy blue, right across the room and amongst so many we might as well be alone in a tiny space, screaming at each other what is it we want to say.

The communication is brief to say the least; he finds my eyes, holds them for a heartbeat and nods. That’s enough for me to return to my table. Handing the bird at my shoulder a strip of bacon for his trouble, he takes off not long after that, either reading my mood or having someplace better to be. Either way I am able to silently slip the dispatch from Dale into my pocket without opening it, uncertain that if I read his messy script if I will still be able to go through with what it is I have planned.

The first half of the day goes by in an almost blur of contemplation, strategizing, and predictions. The lessons are usually painfully easy anyway, I have little need to engage my brain unless it is called upon directly. The hour lesson before lunch I have to myself so I make my way to the prearranged meeting place and take a seat. The Astronomy tower I knew to be unoccupied at this time of day, I am certain professor Sinistra does not even rise from her bed if the stars are not shining in the sky. Midday is the perfect time to be here if you do not want to be disturbed.

I can hear him ambling up the stone steps the moment he begins to ascend. My keen ears tell me he is alone and this fact does surprise me somewhat. What tale could he have spun to his two bodyguards to allow him to confront the resident creature alone? When he passes through the doorway he finds me seated, side on to the large arched window, my feet up on the sill and looking down at the ground below. A single fingernail pressed between my teeth, still thinking, still trying to talk myself out of this course of action.

“You’re alone.” He observes, coming further into the room.

Without looking in his direction I move my hand so my chin is pressed against a lose fist. “As are you.”

He was always one to be the centre of attraction so to gain this of me he leans against the wall right at the edge of my field of view. A smile of pure smugness spread wide across his features. “Surprised?”

“I’d be lying if I said no.” Slowly I turn my gaze to fully regard him and his relaxed attitude to being alone with me. “I had begun to think, you three were attached at the hip.”

“That’s almost funny Desay.” He raises both of his eyebrows once in place of actual laughter, somehow I have truly amused him but his upbringing will not allow him to show it as others do. “What’s all this about?”

I’m astonished that he is unaware of what would cause me to arrange something like this but I am careful not to let it show upon my face. Reaching into my robes I take out my father’s letter and hand it to him. To his credit he only hesitates for a second before opening it to read, the side of his mouth lifting into an easy smile with each passing line. He snorts to himself as he folds it closed. “Never thought the old man would be able to do it.”

“So Lucius is behind this?” I say, trying to make it sound more like a statement of fact than a probing question.

Slowly he begins to nod, reaching out and turning a chair around so he can take a seat. “My father has been hassling yours for months now. They are both being quite stubborn over the whole thing. I kept telling my parents that there was no point, you’d never go for it anyway.” His eyes narrow in my direction and holding the parchment in two fingers he offers it to me. “But I think you might be about to prove me wrong.”

“And you never like to be wrong.” I say reaching out and retrieving the note, opening it and running my thumb down over the words ‘Be Careful’ reminding myself to do just that.

“I do when it benefits me.” With a short sniff and a touch to his nose he sits back on his chair, running his eyes over me and apprising me. “What changed your mind?”

When I find his eyes he hold my gaze, even as he sees me searching him trying to claw into his mind, even though we both know I could never wrap my mind around legilimency no matter how I tried. I must rely on his body not his thoughts. He gives no indication that he is aware of the reduction in magical effects on me. Not even a whisper in his eyes, only genuine curiosity. “Circumstances have changed.”

At that he does laugh, a single bark and highly subdued by anyone’s standards. “Is she not giving you what you need anymore?”

I feel my eye twitch without my consent at such a comment. I have to refrain from screaming right into his smug face exactly how good my love life can be in the dwindling hours of the night but I know it would be better to let him think this. That I no longer crave her touch and affection or she no longer gives it. It doesn’t matter what he thinks as long as he does not know the truth, does not think me weak. “Circumstances have changed.” I repeat, and from that short sentence he knows I will not go into detail. Not that he had expected me to anyway.

“Fine keep your secrets, I have no use of them anyway.” And now he downplays exactly why we are here. My secrets are all he is interested in. “So you can pass all of your information to me and…”

“No.” I say sternly. “I’m not here to agree to these terms. I’m here because I want more then you’re offering.”

His composure nearly breaks and I can see the fury bubbling beneath the surface. “You’ll get what you’re given half-breed.”

“Then you will not get what you want.” I answer, remaining as calm as I am able. Hoping that I haven’t misjudged this situation.

His face pulls into an ugly sneer and he is once more up from his seat, pacing the floor with his hand running over his chin in thought. “What more could you want? Playing up to that side, protection from this one. You do this and you’re untouchable. What more could you possibly want?”

“Hermione.” I answer. My only demand, I had thought of having my family removed from the fathers care but fear what would befall them if the request were to reach his ears before it could be enforced. Once I am back in that house I will be able to do more to defend them, right at this moment my beloved is all I can secure through this negotiation.

He laughs again, this time mockingly. “As a pet? Sure if she’s still alive.”

Although I remain in my seat, slowly counting backwards from ten my mind plays out scene after scene of utter violence. Breaking his neck with my bear hands, chocking the life from him and watching his face slowly turn blue. How it is that I don’t act upon these thoughts I will never know but somehow I manage to calm myself. “You misunderstand me.” Slowly I rise to my feet, tempting fate by stepping closer, within arm’s reach knowing that if I were to strike him that would be the end of this. “She has to have complete immunity. He must promise…” I begin and we both know I speak of the Dark Lord. “that no harm will befall her. Neither in his vendetta against Harry or his campaign against muggle-borns. What’s more I want it written in His hand signed by His blood.”

“You’ll never get that.” He says with a dismissive gesture of his hands. “She’s a mudblood for crying out loud.”

“She’s also a deal breaker.” I say, sticking to my guns. “If you can’t guarantee her safety you’ll get nothing from me.”

“Is she really worth all this?” He asks his face showing his disgust and distain. “She’s barely even human and you’d put your life on the line for that.”

“She holds more humanity than you and I combined. There is no point trying to dispute that.” Once, not so very long ago, I believed exactly as he does. Yes, I had loved Hermione for years but she was always further down the evolutionary ladder, it was something I never dwelled on, fearful and driving myself to insanity. Thinking myself in circles and never able to come to a positive outcome. Somewhere along the line my perspective shifted, only ever so slightly but enough for me to see things in a different light. No longer so disgusted with myself for no longer being human, being pure. No longer cautious of the Gameskeeper because of his giant blood. Consorting with elves and centaurs without pause for thought. When did that happen and what caused it?

He doesn’t argue with me, not with souls as black as pitch, it’s pointless. We were always going to give up our humanity for the cause. For others to stand in the light we had cleared. Now all I can do is try and claw some of mine back. Piece by agonising piece. “I can’t promise you that Desay. You know I can’t.”

“Well,” I take a breath glad that we have been able to at least remain civil. “Don’t come back to me until you’ve got it.”

He looks at me for a long moment, scrutinising every twitch, every breath. Just to see if I will budge, if I will cave and take only what has been offered to me. When he shakes his head I know he has his answer. Without a word he stalks off and I let my shoulders sag with fatigue. How on earth did I manage to keep up that state of mind indefinably? It’s exhausting.

My stomach beings to churn and I have to remind myself that I have not commented myself to anything yet. I have laid down a condition and even if it is met I can still refuse. But still it keeps on turning, over and over again until it’s almost spinning and I very nearly lose my footing on the spiral stairs. At the first opportunity I duck into a bathroom turning on the cold tap as high as I dare, cupping my shaking hands under the spray and letting them fill before bringing it to my cheeks. Twice I do this before I am forced to press the back of my hand against my mouth to physically push down the deep sense of nausea that has settled across me.

Closing my eyes I reach out to shut off the cold water. Leaning forward only to glance out into the world, met with only my own reflection, a sight that sickens me down to the core. “Am I doing the right thing?” As I speak so does the image of me, a hollow representation of nothing but myself. There is no wolf, no presence behind my eyes, no second opinion that, once I would disregard and wish it had never been offered, now I would give my left eye for. “Where are you Ammy?” Never before have I felt so lonely, so cut off and so helpless. My own council always used to be enough. Guilt was never taken into account, never even recognised and now I need validation. Something, anything but I am only met with silence.

My fist strikes the porcelain in frustration and all at once every ounce of energy is drained from every muscle in my body lowering me down to the cold tiled floor. Where I draw my knees close to my chest and bury my face between them. Silently calling for the wolf that at one time wished to aid me in times like this and now leaves me in unbearable solitude.
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By The Light