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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
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Chapter 45

When I wake the next morning it's not with the abrupt alertness I am accustomed to, the moment the suns ray touch the horizon. It's more like a need to climb, a need to grip the slick mud walls of my subconscious until the tips of my fingers bleed with the exertion.

It's probably why the aching all along the backs of my knuckles, is the first thing I take note of. My hands had been clenched into tight balls around some indefinable scrap of material and when I manage to coax them into something resembling relaxation, every bone and joint grinds against itself, provoking a groan to show my mounting discomfort.

The pounding behind my eyes is the next part of my body to make itself known. Every droplet of water flowing along the piping system, every scratching scurry along the stone floor made by some rodent, somewhere within in castle, every noise punctures my eardrums, stabbing into my brain right between my eyes. When I lift my arm from the bed of protruding springs, my movement is slow and lethargic. Almost feeling as if I have taken on Atlas' load and the weight of the world has already crushed me from the shoulders down.

Losing the fight against gravity my hand drops down, far less gently than I would have liked, over the side of my face and my fingers curl around my temple. My whole chest tightening into a pitiful whimper that might just have been a screech of agony had I the energy to voice it.

Only when warm flesh closes over my freezing fingers do I notice the rest of my body shivering. Those grasping hands pull mine away from my face where it is painfully pushing my skull deeper into the thin pillow. "Careful." Is the softly spoken word I am greeted with.

It takes me a moment and a deep lung full of air to place the voice. The sound and tone so familiar but I am completely unable to put a face to it, forced to open a single heavy eyelid with such agonising slowness that her name is close to the edge of my consciousness when my eyes confirm my suspicions. "Hermione?" I know I had spoken, I felt my jaw aching as it moved but the voice that hit's my ears croaks to such an extent that I am unable to recognise it.

I watch her close the book that had been laid open across her legs, crossed at the knee before closing my eye against the bright light cast by the single candle across the room. "How do you feel?" Is her first enquiry.

I feel my forehead crease, partially against the pain settling over every inch of skin and also because I find myself having to think how I can answer her. I understand the question and I know that I am far from well but having to put the words into any sort of coherent sentence is proving difficult. "Like I've been charged by a Minotaur." My upper lip feels round and full, much too big to merely cover my teeth, and making me slur with the effort to speak around it.

She sniggers slightly at this. "I suppose Crabbe and Goyle do come close." She releases my hand only to put her thick book on the rackety desk and perch on the edge of the bed. "Do you still feel dizzy?"

I can't control the coughing; it thunders through my chest like a raging storm and leaves me moaning against throbbing ribs. "I don't think so." I manage to wheeze out between laboured breaths. "How did I get into bed?" I enquire, dragging an eyelid skyward once more, fighting against the swelling over my left eye and losing the battle.

"You don't remember?" She asks in a low, concerned tone then watches as I slowly shake my head. "I practically had to drag you; you're heavy by the way. No more doughnuts for you."

There is a teasing note to her voice and I feel certain that I have once more completely missed her attempt at humour. "What's a doughnut?" I find myself asking.

Her hand leaves mine to run through the hair at my temple, the soothing caress making my eye feel heavy with fatigue and I don't fight it as it slides closed. "One day I'll make you try one, for now try not to think too much."

"But there is so much to think about." I reply, pushing the heel of my hand against a coil of spring to lower myself onto my back, some note of discomfort catching in the back of my throat.

"Like what?" She asks, her hand sliding off my face with my shift in position and she let's it travel down to my stomach, offering me soothing circles with her thumb.

"Like..." I croak, pausing to clear my throat enough to be comfortable speaking. "Like how I'm going to get into the sunlight without Nancy seeing me. Then convince her that I went to the hospital wing."

"At least you're feeling better." She comments in a way that is more to herself than intended for me.

Even if her comment was just something she threw to the wind, she isn't wrong. Where from what little I remember of late yesterday afternoon, just listing what my current problems were, would have had the edges of my vision blurring into black and teetering on the very edge of consciousness. I may not as of yet be in any frame of mind to be able to puzzle out my problems to any feasible conclusion but I can at least list them. "I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to be able to do that." I say, bringing my mind back to the matter at hand.

Slowly I drag my eye open, only to see a look a deep thoughtfulness clouding Hermione's features. "I could distract her somehow?" She finally says.

Pulling my cheek between my teeth in thought, then raise my chin slightly. "How?"

Her eyebrows hunch over her eyes and after a few long moments of silence between the two of us she shrugs. "Does it matter?"

The patterns her thumb is making across my stomach, while still comforting is beginning to tickle and I am doubtful that my ribs will be able to withstand any more pressure. So before it can draw laughter out of me I thread my fingers through hers. Resting our hands across my body so I can just hold onto her, giving myself some physical contact so I know I am truly awake. "Yes." I answer simply and by the look on her face I see that I must expand on that. "Nancy is..." I find myself pausing because to call her clever would be an understatement and I don't quite know if Hermione will be able to draw an inference from that simple word. "Well she's a lot like me. We understand each other, even if we want to rip each other to pieces most of the time. If you were injured or upset or even angry, her eyes would be on me."

That confuses her, to such an extent that it strikes her almost dumb with only one word in her vast vocabulary to draw on. "Why?"

"Because she knows I'd never leave you like that." Privately I curse my lose tongue yesterday morning. At the time I just wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she understood what had changed, why I changed because if I could go back in time, just two years and see myself. It's exactly what I would do to that Jamelia Desay, that person though no longer exists. Nancy reminds me so much of that time in my life that I almost feel like I am guiding myself in the right direction, not her. That small misstep is now proving to be a hurdle I had not foreseen. Passion winning out over reason and reminding me, why I had not allowed that to happen for so many years.

"That does pose a problem." She says with a huff. "Can't you threaten her again?" It's not necessary what she says that has me sending a disbelieving look in her direction; even though the very notion of her condoning this form of conduct is baffling at best. It's the way she said it. Like she knows I can and doesn't mind that fact, that she accepts this part of me no matter how distasteful it can be. For a few long moments I just watch her, listening to her heart rate speed up until the moment she utters a very self-conscious: "What?"

"Nothing." I answer almost immediately, not wanting to draw attention to this observation. It's strange to think that I had almost felt cut off from a part of myself, not quite whole when I had not permitted myself to flex these particular muscles. When I thought it would disgust her, cause her to reject me and yet here she is, pushing me into a frame of mind I had been avoiding for months. "I don't really have enough information to threaten her. All I really have is lies and half-truths; it wouldn't be enough for her to look away this time." Slowly and attentively I bring my fingers to my swollen eye. My digits feeling cold against the stretched skin and brings me some small sense of relief from the incessant burning it has provoked. "I suppose I could bribe her, if I had something she wanted."

Having to use much more effort that I would be comfortable to admit, I manage to gather my forearms up beneath me, pushing against the thin mattress to lift my torso with the full intention of sitting up in the bed. As it stands I only have enough time to see Hermione shoot me a scornful look, before my left shoulder burns with resentment over the movement and the pressure I have put into it. With a cry into the tiny room my left arm gives out from under me, my right almost instantly abandoned everything I had been trying to achieve with it and shoots across my body. My hand closing tightly over the joint and if I am honest it doesn't feel altogether stable in its socket and I have no wish to relive the disconcerting sounds or the feeling of it sliding back into place.

"I did say to be careful." Hermione says, purposely catching my eye and raising both eyebrows in challenge. When I don't take the bait she has laid she runs her hand over her chin in thought. "Maybe we are looking at this from the wrong angle." She says, once more for her own benefit. Quicker than I thought she had been able to move she is on her feet, pushing the wooden chair back under my desk and giving the lock that has recently been added to my door a thorough inspection.

She takes to her knees, running the tips of her fingers around the keyhole and even reaching up to take hold of the candle so she may view it in a different light.

Having not learned from my previous failed attempt I shift until my legs fall over the side of the bed, unable to suppress the strangled groan as my feet hit the floor and I manage to pull myself into a sitting position. I pull my injured arm across my lap and fold my other hand over the back of my head, trying to convince myself that I do not need to launch into a coughing fit in order to breathe.

After an indefinable number of steadying breaths I run my fingers through my hair and turn to face Hermione, whom by this time has the tip of her wand pressed tightly into the keyhole. "Are you okay?" She asks in a distracted fashion and I am grateful that she had left me to overcome the feeling in my chest without intervention.

"I'll live." I comment, breathless and wiping away the tears that have gathered in the corners of my eyes. "Do you think you can unlock it?"

I can hear the frustration trying to exit her body in the form of a sigh. "No." She answers in a clipped tone, running her eyes over the doorframe and leaning back on her hunches. "But, I might have an idea."

"Oh?" I say, only half listening. I find it doubtful that she will be able to open the door but I know that there is no way I can talk her out of trying.

So I do my best to ignore her infuriatingly futile attempts and after hooking my hand under my elbow to keep my painful shoulder as still as possible I push myself onto my feet. Only releasing when I bear my weight down over my right hip exactly how bruised that part of my body is. Gritting my teeth and turning within the small space then leaning back onto my desk, trying not to think about how much of my weight it can actually take before collapsing beneath me.

"Jamie?" Hermione says with a disapproving note to her voice, only continuing when she hears me groan in response, just enough for her to know I am listening. "What are you doing?"

"I hurt, Hermione." Is all the response I give her. Reaching down to pull open my trunk and placing my hand on the cool flagon filled to the brim with my pain potion within seconds.

"You could have just asked." She admonishes, standing from her task to rest her hands over my hips to steady my stance. In honestly I hadn't even noticed that I have been wavering on my perch, until she came across to secure me. She leans far over as I push my thumb against the seal on my flagon, upending it almost immediately. "Wow. That's..." she pauses and I hear her swallow and feel her shift her stance. "That's bigger on the inside." From what I can tell by her positioning and the awe stricken words she had used, I can only assume that she had been staring into the dark, bottomless recesses of my trunk.

I drain every drop of potion, not thinking exactly how I'm going to be able to make any more without access to my wand, just glad that right here, right now all that pain has been pushed to the very back of my mind. "Undetectable extending charm." I explain easily, around a sigh of relief. "It's very useful."

"I've actually never heard of that." Her eyes meet mine for a moment, I can see the request for me to teach her this newfound trick but she bites her tongue and resists. Weaving spells at this very moment I would compare in difficulty to scaling Mount Olympus. She must realise this and the grip she has around my hips tightens slightly so she can grasp my undivided attention. "Will you at least sit back down?"

Closing my one good I eye, I nod towards her. Now that I have taken the edge off my full body ache I'm more than happy to remain docile and compliant. Keeping one hand against me to steady my stance she reaches across to pull out the chair she had so recently vacated, coaxing me to take a seat, which I do without complaint and lean back heavily as soon as the weight drops from my knees.

Her fingers find my hair to push the wayward stands out of my face and she uses the gentle hold to tip my face upwards. "Can I trust you to keep still for just a few minutes?" She says with a small amount of humour in her voice.

"Yeah." I say lethargically, all of my energy having been washed away along with the pain.

"Okay." She says along with a small chuckle, running her hand softly through my hair and then leaving me to my stupor. For what could be anything between a few seconds and hours up on end, I listen to Hermione's vague rustling and scraping against her current assignment, tapering somewhere between alertness and a deep sleep but never actually able to be completely submerged in either state.

A particularly loud and lengthy scrape has me taking a sharp breath, seated bolt upright to be able to investigate. What I find when I open my one good eye has me seriously considering pinching my own skin, just to be certain that I have not slid headlong into the realms of Morpheus without noticing. "How on earth..." I cut myself off from asking such a stunned question, when a triumphant smile slides across her face.

"No one ever thinks about the hinges." She says simply, lifting the door and swinging it inwards, still held to the wall by the sturdy lock, still glistening with magical reinforcement, still held steadfastly to the doorframe and acting as a joint for the withered wood to swing from. "Come on." She commands gently, holding her hand out for me to take.

This must surely be how many muggles view us, a sense of equally deep fascination and apprehension. Marvelling over the magic we can weave with a wand, so much so that books are written and mistrals will sing but still with that resounding fear of the unknown. That is how I look on her now, as I slowly slide my hand into hers so she can pull me from my seat.

The pivot point created by the lock, held fast into the doorframe but does not provide the same level of swing as the hinges do. So as a consequence I am forced to pass beneath the threshold under my own steam, slowly and cautiously side stepping, quite literally toppling onto Hermione when one of my feet clumsily become tangled in the other. My motor functions having not yet fully returned to me even if the maddening pain has been reduced to a dull throb across my body.

There is a terrifying moment where she rocks back onto her heels and I honestly do not believe that Hermione will be able to support both of our combined weight but as I am learning is most often the case; the shorter woman surprises me. Flashing me a triumphant show of teeth when she has us both stable and still standing, revealing that she had not exactly been optimistic of that outcome herself.

She refuses to allow me to even entertain the notion of taking a single step without her assistant, pushing her shoulder deeply under my armpit and weaving her arm around my waist. I am loath to admit it but after two shaky paces across the uneven floor I confess, albeit privately, that she had been right and it is unlikely that I could have made it outdoors by myself.

After many close calls that would have brought both of us to the floor and more painful groaning from me than I am willing to acknowledge, she reaches out to swing the outer door open. My knees very nearly giving way entirely as the scent of fresh air hits my nostrils. Frustratingly she has to half drag me around the side of the building, out of the shadow of the castle due to our point of exit but when she does. When she is finally able to pull my battered and broken body out into the glorious rays of direct sunlight the effect is instantaneous.

I can breathe again. That was my first coherent thought of the day. No longer do I have to subconsciously check my breathing pattern, making sure that I wasn't breathing too deeply and over taxing my lungs. They had already reminded me in a non-to subtle fashion that if I were to do so I would end up choking one of them up through my windpipe and then my ribs would take the opportunity to remind me that they had also taken a beating.

Then I straighten up to my full height, only briefly taking notice of my hip that can now easily bear my weight, instead focusing on what is quite possibly the most important part of my anatomy. My fingers thread through my tangled hair and I close my eyes in alleviation. I can think again, without that maddening fog that pointedly refused to leave my thoughts, without feeling as though my stomach were going to drop right out of me. I laugh out loud at the strange wonderful feeling of having my thoughts back where they belong, not dancing just out of reach, relieved tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, both of which I am now able to open without a battle.

Hermione slides away from my side and just as quickly my eyes follow her, with some almost palpable craving for her right on the edges of my tongue. I can feel it gather in my irises as I look over her, the election and the ecstasy of the past couple of seconds collating inside me, pressing against my chest and howling for release.

Several things pass through my mind that could cause this reaction: the adrenalin of so many aliments healing all at once, the deep primal part of my being that I am gradually beginning to accept making itself known, or even the simplicity of being in her presence. Unsupervised for such a stretch of time and not having the coordination or the energy to illiterate to her exactly how much I crave her. I can't settle on any of these answers and to be honest I don't care. All I know, without a shadow of doubt is that I want her and even if I had the power to resist it I don't see the reason to. Not with her eyes glistening at me in the early morning light, that smile touching her lips looking more genuine that I have seen in days.

It's not often that I incite physically contact between the two of us without rhyme or reason. Without some sordid ulterior motive, today is no exception. She must be able to see it in the hungry look I can feel pulled across my face because she takes a half step back, letting me press into the curve of her back with the palms of my hands and even lifting her face skywards as my lips descend onto hers.

She is quick to thread her fingers into my robes, which I am only just observing that I had failed to change out of last night. My fingers find her hair as I straighten significantly, pushing against her wild mane in a futile attempt to tame it before I pull those sparkling soulful pools of brown from my gaze. The tip of my forehead touches hers, totally at the mercy of the smile spread so wide across my face that my cheeks are beginning to ache. "You didn't undress me." I say slowly, hoping the provocative tone I had managed to push into my voice reaches my eyes to the same extent that it is singing in my chest.

"I didn't think it would be proper to take advantage of you in your weakened state." She says in jest; her hands sliding further up my torso and hooking lightly over my shoulders before her mood turns just a fraction more serious. "I take it you're feeling better."

"Oh, Hermione," I begin, thinking that her observation must be some sort of record when it comes to understatement. "I've never felt like this before."

The passion ebbs from us both as I look deep inside myself to pinpoint exactly what reactions my mind and body is experiencing, while Hermione lets curiosity take over much of her features. "How do you feel?" She finally asks, some edge of wonderment in her voice.

For a long moment my eyes lose focus, hunting for some word or phrase that can possibly describe it. In the end, even with my modest vocabulary the simplest of words seems to fit almost perfectly. "Alive." All my life I had been under the misconception that just because my heart was still beating that must mean I am alive. I had no idea how wrong I could be.

I wouldn't categorise any of my injures to be life threatening in any way but to go from that level of uncoordinated movement and pain to this, it's such a vast leap that you can't help but take notice of it. Show gratitude just for being healthy. Magic, I'll grant you, can fix most aliments relatively quickly, for most at least but not to the same extent and with such swiftness. A general build, an easy transition between one state to another.

Nothing like what I am currently experiencing, with the sudden burst of energy and vitality that makes me feel: "Like I could do anything." I've never spoken a truer word. Ideas running through my head at such speed running into and over each other, melding together; things have never been so clear, so incredibly easy. With crystal clarity I know exactly what I need to do, without even really needing to think about it. Scraps of information effortlessly fit together like the workings of an intricate puzzle. My father would never see it coming; it's different and invisible. Taking time and patience but I have ample amounts of both.

Warm digits against my cheek bring me back to the present, and my eyes lock on those deep pools of brown. I hadn't forgotten she was in my arms, my body still humming to be close to her, closer than we are now with the barriers of cloth separating us. She smiles slowly, seeing my attention shift. "I lost you there for a moment."

"Sorry." I say, my gaze dropping between us as I try to decide exactly how quickly I could have her liberated from that crimson woollen jumper, also pondering if it would be faster and easier if I simply ripped it in two.

"At least you're smiling about it." She says watching my eyes dart back up to her features and the grin that spreads across my face I would personally describe as devilish. "What?" She asks in a very slow voice. I know that is implausible that she would know exactly what I had been thinking but for some reason I take this cautiously asked question as permission to act on my thoughts. My palms slide under both shirt and jumper, in a smooth single motion gathering at the small of her back and pushing it skywards. It doesn't exactly take her long to realise what I had in mind. Her hands closing over my forearms and she pushes all of her body weight down onto the limbs. "What are you doing?"

"I missed you." I all I say, pushing my advances further but I can see that this is making her uncomfortable, so settle for gently running the tips of my fingers along the base of her spine.

"We've been apart a day." She admonishes, still keeping a firm grip on my arms, leaving me under no impression that I should continue, regardless of the current state of my raging hormones. "Not out here, not like this." She says, keeping a constant connection with our eyes.

Somewhere at the back of my mind I realise that this behaviour in our current surroundings is inappropriate. That neither of us should be seen outside of my small damp room but every nerve ending along my body is screaming for her intimate touch, clouding my judgement somewhat and I have to shake my head to clear it. "Alright." I relent but still must keep constant contact with at least a portion of her skin. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth as something resembling fear settles in the pit of my stomach. "But we can?" I ask with a suggestive movement of my head, remaining vague but still intuitively knowing that she will be able to understand the implications and only just noting that her restrictions did not include any sort of time frame.

"What's gotten into you?" She asks, finally releasing my upper limb to run the backs her fingers across my cheekbone. Even this simple movement draws a pitiful whimper from between my lips. Her eyes close at the sound and she permits herself a short breath of laughter. "Something else we're going to have to get used to."

"Probably." I answer around a sigh, already trying to work out the fastest route anywhere that could be classed as private. "Or I could just not get beaten up again."

She nods slowly. "That would probably be preferable." She stops for a moment, her body going still, her eyes darting across mine and she must see something because her next move is to reach behind her. Taking my hand into her own and entwining her fingers, gently commanding me. "Come on."

She takes several steps back towards the tall imposing castle, before I fall into line; having to stomp down the sudden impulse to physically celebrate, as would if I just scored a goal in Quidditch, settling instead for wrapping my arms around her waist and placing a lingering kiss of absolute gratitude against the flesh of her neck. The surprised squeak she emits only adding to my anticipation.
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By The Light