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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 51
After that the day progresses, with such agonising slowness that it's a wonder I don't pull hair from my own scalp in sheer frustration. Nancy left me to my solitude, handing me the key to my room in a state of fear and a calculating look in her eye that only left me feeling more nervous. So the whole morning I spend in a mass of distress and pent up energy. Checking my watch to see that barely any time had passed only to stand from the thin mattress, walk to the other side of my door and realise that if I leave, go looking for answers the very people who might be able to furnish me with them will not be able to find me. So I am forced to turn around and go back to that very same spot. Then start all over again.
It's midday before anyone ventures down to my small portion of the castle and I'm more than a little surprised to see Neville Longbottom, of all people, standing before me when I leave the room to investigate the patter of feet drawing near.
At the site of me he immediately looks nervous. Drawing further into himself than I would have thought possible. Still it does show a very effective survival instinct. Begin in a perpetual state of worry over Hermione's well-being and how Nancy will use the information I had been forced to give her, doing absolutely nothing to sweeten my mood in any way. If nothing else the almost constant hammering in my chest and the dryness in my throat is enough to push my mood from murderous to downright sadistic. "What is it?" I snap at the boy, getting some sick pleasure from seeing him flinch just from the tone of my voice.
"I urm… err." The stutter is not endearing me to him and I feel my tongue curl visibly around my front teeth, titling my head to the side. Any Slytherin might see the gleam in my eye and interpret it correctly enough to make them back very slowly away. Not this boy, either totally blind to it or brave to the point of idiocy. "It's err. It's Hermione."
With that single word he has every single iota of my attention. I'm in his personal space and towering over him. My height is intimidating at the best of times but if he slouches any more he might just hit the floor, so the effect is doubled. "What about Hermione?"
"She's…" He pauses and I can feel the anger bubbling up along my throat. Much more delay and it will test the resolve of my temper. Not even I wish to see what will happen should it break. "She's in the hospital wing…" I don't move I don't even breathe but still he flinches, stepping backwards and away from me as much as his gate with allow. "She's awake, she's asking for you."
It's the stench of his fear, the cower of his stance that finally makes me decide that he is brave not ignorant. Although I'm not quite certain exactly which would be preferable. Both are a form of stupidity in my book. When my foot presses forward I'm already so close to the trembling mass of flesh that it presses between his feet, my body soon follows but never connects as his instincts take over, forcing a retreat. "This is the first I've heard of any injuries."
His gaze drops instantly, resting on the twisting of his fingers around each other. "We were all pretty beat up." The scent of his fear is thick and rich in the air. "We didn't think…"
"No." I cut in: my voice deceptively low, little more than a murmur but still with enough weight behind it to make Neville whimper. "None of you ever just stop and think." I have to close my eyes and grit my teeth so tightly that I can almost feel my jaw creak, just so I don't reach out and wrap my hands around his trembling throat. Or worse go for my wand. A good anguish filled scream would do wonders for my current mood but I still have enough presence of mind to see exactly where that course of action would lead. After managing to control the blaze of my temper I lightly touch my thumb and forefingers to my head, closing my eyes against the murderous thoughts that spring to the forefront of my mind to tempt me. I even back up half a step, give the boy some room. "What happened?"
With his personal space now back under his control he seams to stand up a little straighter, gaining a few inches of height. He shrugs his shoulders in a nonchalant way but still keeps his gaze firmly fixed to the floor. "It was a trap, there were death eaters. Then the Headmaster showed up. I don't really remember much else."
"How very convenient." I feel my lip lift up in a snarl. Walking past the boy and I'm sure to make contact with his shoulder as I barge my way through.
He doesn't reply any further than curling in on himself again, scared of the very real danger that I might just strike him. More importantly he makes no attempt to follow me, which gives me a chance to try and control my irritable mood before it lands me in more trouble than it's worth.
I'm certain it's not just me that's stoking the fires of the rage in the pit of my belly. I confess that I am a large portion of it. Too many things going round and round in my mind; none of them ending in any way that benefits me. Rage, much like calm is a by-product of fear, of that I'm certain but there is more than that at work here.
The moon is a looming threat above my head. I know it affects me, long before it rises in the sky and turns my world inside out. I can practically feel the wolf stomping around inside of my chest and I've barely even managed to suppress my animalistic growls by the time I touch the handle and press into the Hospital wing.
When I enter she is turned way from me, her hand held between both of Ron's. They are both chuckling over something or other that I have no interest in, only having eyes for the woman prone on the bed. Casting my sights over every inch of visible flesh, looking for the imperfection that must be there but it's not on her body. Not any more. The remaining traces are only noticeable should you pay attention to the ten or so potions lined up on the bedside table and the implications of that makes my mouth run dry.
"Hey." She says in a slow fatigued voice, her weak fingers reaching out to clutch at the limp ones at my side. "Are you okay?" Her worry for me is touching even if it is misplaced.
Consciously I reach out to pick a clear bottle from the horde close to her head, turning it around to read the label, while without any thought whatsoever, twisting my wrist around so she can thread her fingers through mine in a mutually comforting contact. "I'm fine." It's the only truthful answer I can give her. I took a short walk in the summer sun; physically I am in good health. Everything else I'm sure we'll find time to discuss privately. A quick look over the worried lines around her eyes is enough to tell me that I will not need to explain my evasiveness. In as gentle a way as I possibly can I lift my chin at the boy seated on the other side of the bed gathering his attention. "Can we have a moment?"
"Sure." He says instantly rolling his shoulders in a sudden burst of awkwardness. Clearing his throat and leavening the room with more haste and tact than I would have given him credit for.
The bottle in my hands continues to hold a lot of my attention, even as I turn on the ball of my foot in order to take a perch on the side of her bed, without releasing the loose clasp of our fingers. "Extract of Neveroot." I read aloud and as I look up she finds something on the other side of the room much more interesting than this conversation. Picking another label in my line of sight at random does nothing to either alleviate her frustration or my growing panic. "Highlord Vestment. Hermione do you know what these things are for?"
Her eyes are blazing when they meet with mine. "Do you?"
My teeth grit together as I lean forward to gently put the clear bottle back where I plucked it from. "Yes but that's hardly the point." The effects of my long lasting aggravation are still evident not only within my unwavering posture but also the tone of my voice and I have to literally bite the tip of my tongue to prevent any further scathing words from escaping because of it. "Why do you all have to be so reckless?"
Her fingers close tighter around mine and her eyebrows bunch together in a look at borders on sadness. "Please don't be angry with me." I feel my throat close up around any reassurance that at least most of my anger and frustration is directed elsewhere. It leaves me with no option but to remain perfectly still and silent, trying to convince my body that I am still able to breathe around it. Slowly her eyes close and she lets out a deep sigh, her breath catching in an almost unperceivable way, trying desperately to hide the pain from my eyes. "Jamie. I'm tiered and I really don't want to fight with you about this."
"There are things I want to say." I begin slowly watching her lips close into a thin line and her throat pull tight as she swallows thickly. "But they can wait." At least until she is recovered from her injuries and my head doesn't feel quite so foggy.
Her shoulders slump deeper into the fluffy pillow in relief and the small smile that slowly begins to spread across her face should be of comfort. However the sight of it is beginning to raise the temperature on my ire. "Thank you."
Even though she will be unable to see it, I stiffly nod to show I had heard her thanks. It's only when I press a sharp breath out through my nostrils that her heavy eyelids open. I'm almost certain she can see my tongue held between my teeth from the look that crosses over her face. The open disagreement is looming on the horizon; we can both see the storm clouds rolling in, neither commenting. A heavy presence hanging in the space between us and I am forced to hastily turn away before my jaw drops unleashing all of this openness and honesty that this woman has been searching for within me. At times like this I almost long for my long days of isolation, long before my hard mask of indifference began to crack.
So I find myself turning away from one set of eyes that I cannot meet and immediately finding another. Just as brown but so sharp, filled to the brim with hate. Umbridge has taken up residence in a bed across the room from Hermione. That in itself would be reason enough for me to lose sleep over but it's that look in her eye. The way she has the covers pulled up and bunched tightly to her neck, surrounding herself in a subconscious cocoon of safety. The smell is barely perceivable, even to me but she is so clearly scared. If her memories of last night had been removed she would have no reason to be and that thought is enough for my heart to painfully skip a beat before falling back into a heavy, erratic rhythm high in my throat.
I only actually realise that I am back of my feet when Hermione tugs on my fingers in protest. "What's the matter?"
I take just a fraction of a second to long to answer her. Not only do I have to remove that look the older woman is throwing in my direction from my mind's eyes but I also have to pull a genuine feeling smile across my face. An expression, that directly contradicts the sombre mood of our previous discussion, so it's of little wonder when she sees right through the blatant lie I force past my teeth. "Nothing."
Her expression doesn't change, nothing beyond a slow blink in my direction, a fierce battle raging behind her eyes to keep from calling me out and demanding the truth. Instead she shuffles her shoulders so she has a broader view around my frame. She catches sight of the Undersecretary and both of her eyebrows rise in question as she casts her gaze back up at me.
All I can offer her is a tight-lipped smile. One that is not trying to deceive as it had previously. Rather acknowledging that I have been caught in a mistruth but unable to offer further explanation at this moment in time. My hand tightens around hers for a moment and when I speak my voice is barely above a whisper. "I should let you rest."
She sinks heavily back into the pillow and shakes her head very subtly at me. "Which has nothing to do with something that just came up."
"More like something that has come back around." The comment does nothing but confuse her further. "I'll explain later." With some minor editing of the less than refined moments that Umbridge may be remembering of yesterday evening. I still have the presence of mind to press my lips to Hermione's temple, my movements are clearly distracted I'll admit and after telling her to get some rest I leave the room, keeping as far from Umbridge as physically possible. Trying to convince myself that the burning I can feel prickling along the side of my neck has nothing to do with those unblinking eyes following me until the very second I close the door behind me.
As soon as I am alone, my hands are at my face before I can stop them. A sinking feeling filling my stomach to such an extent that I am half expecting to fall to the floor with its weight. My anger all but forgotten in the face of such raw and unadulterated panic. Ammy remaining suspiciously quiet, even though I can feel her squirming behind my eyes but I cannot find the energy to address her discomfort, far to preoccupied with my own.
The clatter of carefree laughter at the end off the hall is enough to knock me out of my stupor and with a roll of my shoulders I am able to take on a stance that could almost be mistaken for impassive. Before making my down into the bowls of the castle in the search of the man I trusted to remove this problem before it had really had chance to present itself.
~X~
The dungeons are quiet, the potions classroom even quieter. It's a strange sensation, to enter that room and have no one on the other side of the door. Professor Snape always seeming to be in his domain, regardless of the hour. With halting footsteps I manage to descend half way into the room before a voice stops all of my muscles dead. "We're in here Miss Desay." The word that sticks in my senses is 'we'. I had hoped that I would only need to deal with Potions Master but when I have gathered the courage to continue, crossed the room to his adjoining office I am hardly surprised to see Nancy Ivybridge seated at the small desk opposite the man. He bridges his hands over the tabletop and settles his black penetrating gaze in my direction. "Close the door."
My eyes meet Nancy's for just a moment and she lifts her head in acknowledgement, there's a hard set to her jaw and a hint of fear shining in her eyes. Clearly she has already been spilling my secrets. "Is this a private party?" I slide my eyes away from my peer, vowing some sort of foul vengeance as I do. Instead meeting Snape's eyes, refusing to back down from those dark depths.
"Not at all." His half smile beneath this crooked nose looks so out of place that it makes me want to physically remove it from my sight. "Please, sit down." He goes as far as to extend an open hand to the aforementioned seat, which looks to have been placed in the room for nothing but my convenience.
"I'd rather stand." I respond, folding my hands together behind my back. In honesty I'd rather run. Turn, flee as fast as my legs will carry me and never look back. Propriety and my own stubborn pride keep me rooted to the spot but under the weight of their combined, knowing gazes. It's a physical effort to keep my back from buckling under the pressure.
"As you wish." His fingers interlace once more and he tilts his head, lapsing into a calculated silence. I cannot feel that he is probing my mind, having learned his lesson but his eyes are enough to make my feel uncomfortable. "It is quite fortunate that you're here."
"I didn't have much choice." I retort. "How much does Umbridge remember?"
"Every second." He replies without a moment's hesitation, I can feel my face drop and my knees begin to shake. "Relax, nothing but fragmented memories and not in any coherent order." His hands press into the arms of his chair, lifting him from the seat and setting my entire body on edge to see where his movements take him. Desperate to draw my wand and halt any violence before it can even truly begin. With no evidence of any weapon, his hands land flat on the table, leaning far over it so he can catch my eye. "She has no idea what she saw last night. If anything she will assume she is losing her mind and never speak of it again. Which might also have been true had I left the memory in tact." It's at this point that I can no longer meet his stare, choosing to direct my sights high over his shoulder to the pickled fatuous of a mermaid but I can feel the burn of his gaze on me the entire time. "The vestal to a deity. Not a common occurrence."
I can feel the muscles along my neck tighten at the mention that there might have been others like me. Not once have I come across any reference to anything resembling what I have been through the past months. That is not to say that Hogwarts library is the only source of information. The book of prayers and blessings I still have in my possession enough testament that Snape has access to old ways of magic that until recently I had only dreamed of. "How many know?"
The Potions Master declines to answer right away, studying me for a long moment before turning from away to open a glass cabinet propped up against the opposite wall of the small box room. "As far as I am aware only the people in this room." Behind his back I manage to catch Nancy's eye and very subtly she shakes her head. I'm not entirely certain what she is referring to but it is my hope that they had been discussing the memory Snape had forced into pieces within Umbridge. Not my miraculous recovery out in the castle grounds this morning. Snape turns on the spot, one hand wrapped around a deep green bottle, the other turning the cork until it is pulled from it's tight confines. "However I am certain I can think of at least one other."
Without thinking I clear my throat, neither confirming nor denying Hermione's knowledge of this particular trait. Everyone knows, there's no need to waste my breath. "What happens now?"
"That entirely depends on you." The cork pulls free from the neck of the bottle with a resounding pop and all at once I have a full goblet set in front of me. Nancy with another grasped in her hand. "We are at a very unique position. Miss Ivybridge and I. At a crossroads if you will, with two paths to follow. Now I will ask you again. Exactly whom do you fight for?"
The sense of being backed firmly into a corner settles across my spine. It's one of those sensations I know well, one of the few that truly cause me genuine terror and there is only one action my mind will allow me to take when faced with the cold sweat of fear. So I swallow up all the aggression the feeling provokes within me, I even feel my shoulder dip ever so slightly in an arrogant stance. "So if I don't choose the right side. The side you want me to. I end up being pulled to pieces by some ministry researcher, who would love nothing more than to see just how my insides work."
My calm outburst is enough for him to pause in his action of descending back down into his seat and for just a moment I believe I may have rendered his speechless. "If you consider that to be true, I'm afraid you have gravely misinterpreted my intentions."
"I think what the Professor means to say…" Nancy begins with her first contribution to the discussion. She licks her lips in hesitation and only after he has singled with a small bow of his head does she turn her head and find my ice blue eyes blazing down at her. "Is that, if you point the direction we'll follow it."
I feel myself snort a humourless laugh before touching my nose with the crock of a finger, just to give myself a physical grounding point. "You'd follow the path of a werewolf?"
"No, not normally." She says quietly, placing her untouched drink down on the desk and turning more fully towards me. "But you're not exactly a normal werewolf, now are you?" Our eyes lock, hers stubbornly refusing to back down from the look of steel I can feel reflected in mine. "A god on the other hand, that I can follow."
"I'm not a god." Is my immediate response, with my arms coming up sharply to fold over my chest. "Gods are born, not made."
"That is very true." The quiet professor agrees his fingers interlaced across his lap. "You cannot be a god but you are important enough for them to take a direct interest in you." He is quiet for a moment and I let the silence continue, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this conversation isn't about bargains and blackmail. This is about self-preservation. "Mortals the world over look to the heavens every day for some kind of sign, some direction in their life. I have never been one of those people, and yet one has landed in my lap. One that walks and talks and breaths. That's something any man should take note of."
'He believes you will win this war.' Ammy speaks up within my mind and I can feel my gaze drop to listen to her, even if I cannot bring myself to respond. 'That is not our purpose.' She sounds almost confused by this revelation. That this conclusion is the first place his mind would go. I hasten to add that it is exactly where mine went before I begin to realise that being chosen in this way may not necessarily be to my advantage. My purpose, as she so eloquently puts it, is to unwittingly save lives and ensure there is something left in the aftermath of a wizarding war to worship her kind. It took me many weeks and many long conversations with her to realise that the lives I save don't necessarily need to be the ones that I wish to, nor even my own for that matter. Only that there is some form of life remaining.
The side I chose might loose, yes it would be based on some decision I am likely to make, that much might as well be set in stone, otherwise why chose to keep me around in the first place but it is impossible to determine if my direct input will be advantageous or not to whatever side I fight for.
However, right at this very moment it's to my benefit that I allow them to think this way. Friends and allies are one of the very fundamental things I am lacking in for my decisions to have any sort of impact on world affairs. So to let them believe that I can lead them blinking out into the light on the other side of this conflict might just ender me enough to gain at least two more. One of which is a highly renowned and extremely talented wizard. Even if his skill in memory charms holds a lot of be desired.
"You asked me that question several months ago professor." I begin after a lengthy enough pause to give the impression that I am thinking about my response. "The answer has not changed in that time."
He lets out a low hum of contemplation. "If you only fight for yourself, your side is dwindling in numbers."
"I'm not special in that regard Sir." I respond. He remembers my admission all those months ago but my circumstances have changed and so too have my priorities. "I'm just like everybody else. I fight for the things that I care about. Not for what people tell me I should." No I spend far too many years under than tyrannical regime and I refuse to be put into that situation again.
"Well at least that settles it." Nancy says with a small laugh laced within her voice. "It's hardly likely you're going to fight against Hermione. Is it?"
I could be wrong but I'm almost certain I see Snape's shoulders sag ever so slightly with resounding relief at this revelation.
~~#~~
A/N: Well that was relatively painful, at least before the whole re upload of the last chapter happened. This whole thing was so drastically different you wound's believe it, even if I showed you. One of those moments when am idea doesn't work hence the long absence. Again apologies but I do kinda how it was worth it.
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By The Light