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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8

I concentrate intently on Snape's billowing robes as he strides with purpose across the frozen ground. Trailing behind him and pulling my shoulders tightly around me in a defensive pose, with my heart hammering in my chest, trying and failing to ignore the thick, deafening silence that consumes the entire school.

He leads me across and off the pitch, away from the weight of so many eyes, around the side of the castle, through a small courtyard and down into the depths of the castle. He doesn’t turn towards me, he doesn’t utter a word and the only sounds that can be heard are the purposeful steps of the Potion Master and the steady pounding of my pulse in my ears.

He barely stops as he opens the door to the large potions classroom, leaving the door open for me to follow after him. As quietly and as unobtrusively as possible I enter beneath the threshold and slowly close the door behind me.

Lighting my foot steps I silently decent the stone steps my eyes upon my teacher, waiting for any sense of his disapprove over my actions and the drastic method my Father undertook to reprimand me over my condition. Snape already has a fire burning beneath a bubbling cauldron placed on his desk, collecting ingredients from various places around the room. My eyes following him around the room, waiting for him to show his rage and strike now that he may do so privately.

As I reach his desk he stops in his frantic pacing quickly crushing a dried Crup with a broad knife before adding it to the mixture. His empty black eyes meet mine for only an instant before they lower back to his work. “Sit down” He stiffly commands. I shift from one foot to the other, somewhat unwilling to move any closer to him. His cold demeanour is doing nothing to counteract the churning in my stomach. I only raised I have taken to long to comply with his direction when I feel his gaze on me once more and he repeats his order.

Begrudgingly I comply and slowly take the high seat before his desk, having to place my feet against the struts a few inches from the floor, letting my knees bend so if necessary I am in a prime position to book a hasty retreat. I respectfully remain silent as he works on his potion, both unable and unwilling to breath the uncomfortable silence.

With his eyes still firmly on his work he begins to speak. “What happened out there?”

I shrug my shoulders and answer simply. “I lost my temper.”

He makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and brushes the powered remains of his next ingredient into his cupped hand. “I do not recall ever seeing you in that state before.” The powder hits the boiling mixture and hisses on contact. I remain stoic as he brushes one hand against the other to rid himself of the excess. “Have you ever felt like that before?”

“I've been angry before.” I'm unsure as to the direction of this conversation but so far he has kept any degree of anger from his voice. “I don't think I’ve ever lashed out like that though.”

With a wave of his wand he lowers the flame under the cauldron and allows the mixture to simmer. “Rage is a common symptom for your disorder.” He pulls his seat under him and resting his elbows on its arms he bridges his fingers, levelling his gaze at me. “Though I must admit, not usually to such a vast degree.”

As his cold black eyes study me, making me suddenly feel very uneasy and find myself lowering my gaze, finding the grain of this wooden desk very interesting. “What does that mean?”

“Maybe nothing. Everyone is different and so is their reaction to a disorder such as this.” The movement of his hands catches my eyes as he brings his fingertips to pinch his bottom lip in thought. “However, this does add another unusual trait to your other symptoms. One would almost suspect that they could not all be coincidence.” I nod at him in agreement. “I think it would be prudent if we were to be a little more proactive in discovering all of your symptoms.”

As my head shoots up to meet the ice in his eyes I know he can see the fear in my own. Is he talking about tests, physical examinations? Am to be subjected to intensive study to further his knowledge? I cannot help but to cast my mind back to the intrigued look in his eyes after my first transformation. As if he would have loved nothing more than to dissect me right then and there. I blink once, twice trying to dampen my own terror at the thought. Acutely aware that my wand is not within my position, knowing the only weapons I have at my disposal are my quick wits. It will not do to have them slowed by an unconfirmed terrifying conclusion “What exactly does that mean?” I ask him slowly, my sights set on his body language and all of my limbs poised to dash from my seat if I feel endangered.

His chin lifts and his eyebrows lift at my reaction. “Do you fear me, Miss Desay?”

I swallow hard against the lump appearing in my throat and have to force myself not to react to the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. I nod stiffly, preparing myself to bolt out of the door at a moment’s notice. “A little.”

A crease folds across his forehead. “I am truly sorry to hear that.” He reaches for his wand on the desk and my whole body goes ridged. I can see in his eyes that he has noticed the change in me but tactfully ignores it, tapping his wand once on the edge of the cauldron. “Over the next few months you and I will be spending a great deal of time together.” He places his wand once more against the wooden surface of the desk and pulls a single goblet and a pristinely clean ladle from a draw underneath it. “I am afraid that you may have to learn to trust me. If only a little.” He draws the mixture from the cauldron with his ladle and spoons it into the waiting goblet before placing it before me on his desk. “Drink this.”

I eye the steel goblet for a moment before letting my paranoia dictate the direction of this conversation. “What is it?”

“It's nothing sinister. A simple Calming Potion.” He leans back in his chair as he speaks, waiting for me to drink his concoction.

My fingers reach out and for the first time I see how much they are shaking, The man could have killed me in hundreds of painful and varying ways by now, yet still I am unable to take the risk that his prejudice is hidden just below the surface of the stony mask he shows the world. So my fingers touch the base of the goblet and push it a few inches away from me. “I am calm.”

“It would appear so.” The sarcasm drips from his voice, as his eyes stay fixed on my trembling fingers. He sighs and reaches below the surface of his desk again and produces a second goblet. As before he ladles more of the same mixture into it, briefly stopping to raise his glass in toast. “A gesture of good will.” He brings the goblet to his own lips and drinks the whole mixture down in three swallows, then strategically places it down on the desk so I am able to see that it is indeed empty. His face noticeably loses some of its rigidity and when he speaks the harsh tone normally accompanying his words is somewhat lessened. “It tastes as foul as it's odour but I assure you it will make you feel better.”

My shoulders roll of their own accord, still dubious but hoping that I can trust the man before me. I take up the goblet and look deep into the contents for a moment. The smell is foul and the colour and consistency resembles that of over cooked, gloopy ox tail soup. I pull a breath in through my nose and take a small mouthful of the concoction, letting it slide down my throat, trying not to gag as the texture of pure raw animal fat passes through my gullet. It settles in my stomach and as I place the goblet back onto the desk. I happily find that my limbs are no longer trembling, my heart is no longer beating so rapidly that it is threatening to burst out of my throat.

A knowing smile slides across his features, looking very unnatural beneath his crooked nose. He doesn't comment on what must be a very noticeable chance in my demeanour. He pulls his chair closer to his desk and pushes the cauldron away to rest his arms across its surface. “Now. If we are to determine exactly how unique you are, I am going to ask a few things of you.” I nod at him and he seems pleased with the small amount of trust I have bestowed upon him. “Do you keep a journal?” The question catches me off guard and I feel my eyebrows heavy covering my eyes in a silent response. “It would appear not.” He answers his own question for himself and stiffly rises from his seat, making his way over to his store cupboard and reaching inside for a small leather bound book. This is placed close to me on the desk as he returns to his seat. “I want you to start writing your thoughts and feelings down on paper.”

I begin to pull on the laces holding my gauntlets in place so I can look more closely at the book. “Why?” I manage to remove one of the gauntlets, pulling it over my hand with my teeth, while resting the book in my other hand. I pry the leather binding free and open it, only to find the pages to be blank.

“Two reasons.” He adjusts his posture so he feels more comfortably in his seat. “Firstly, writing your feelings down might help you to alleviate some of the tension that they are causing in you. Secondly, when you are much more accustomed to my company, and with your expressed permission, I would very much like to cast my eye over them. I am hoping to be able to spot some of the more hidden symptoms that you may be experiencing, even if you are unaware of them.”

“Do you want me to write in this every day?” I ask, flicking through the pages to see if there is anything hidden between them.

“Only if you deem it necessary. This is not an assignment, Miss Desay. This is designed to help you with what you are currently going through.”

I blink blankly at him a few times and put the book back down. “Yes Professor.”

“I am also going to insist that your next transformation is observed by either myself or the Headmaster.” I had expected as much but that doesn’t stop me voicing my concerns about his safety. In reply he only lets the smallest of smiles pull at the corner of his lips and says. “We will be taking precautions Miss Desay.” My jaw clenches in mild embarrassment and I pull my attention to the one gauntlet still encasing my wrist and hand. Pulling slowly at the laces so I no longer need to look at my head of house with that cold unnatural smiles across his features. “Now, we must discuss an appropriate punishment for your actions on the Quidditch pitch.” As he speaks his voice stays very neutral but his eyes swiftly move to cover the doorway at the top of the theatre like room. He pushes lightly against his desk with his fingertips and stands in one fluid motion. “Dolores.”

My mouth goes dry as I hear the distinctive sound of her heels hitting off the stone steps, each step bringing her ever closer and provoking a single cold bead of perspiration to run the length of my spine. My fear surpasses the effects of Snape's calming potion and I feel my shoulders begin to tremble. Several things shoot through my mind, first and foremost my father’s childlike glee after he had learned who was to take up the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Mostly for her world-renowned prejudices against any manor of beast that she deems to be sub human. Even after I had informed him at the very start of the year of her completely theoretical approach to teaching his glee would not be quenched, his only response to this news was that at least if he or I were to find ourselves in battle with this generation, our opposition would not be apt enough to defeat us.

She clears her throat as she reaches the lowest level of the classroom, her green knitted cardigan reinforcing the optical illusion of her toad like features. Her arms pulled across her torso and crossed at the wrist near her hip. Her wand held delicately between her fingertips, tapping against the pleats in her skirt with each stride. “Please. Continue Severus.”

Curtly he nods and returns his attention to me. His posture stiff and unwavering from the moment he had noticed her presence. “A week of detention should suffice.”

“For the confrontation on the Quidditch pitch? I think you may be right. However...” My eyes slide closed in defeat and I have to tightly clench my hands to strop the violent shaking. “Someone with her condition.” The word is spat in my direction making me feel unclean in its wake. “Is hardly befitting of a prefect badge.”

“It is my understanding...” Snape glides around the side of his desk to place himself between Umbridge and me. “That each head of house is to choose each of their prefects.”

“Yes, I do believe that is how it used to work.” My skin feels cold and sweat appears on my forehead at her words. She reaches into the confines of her cardigan and produces a roll of parchment quickly pushing it into Snape's hands. “I would like to refer you to Educational Decree Number twenty-five.”

Snape stands stock still for a moment, the parchment griped tightly between his long bony fingers, trading glares with the stout woman, before carefully unravelling it. His shining black shoes squeaks against the stone floor turning more towards me, his upper lip pulling skywards in a sneer as his eyes fly across the page. Without warning he holds the unravelled parchment out to me, barely contained rage burning brightly in his black eyes.

Carefully I take the page and drop my eyes to the neatly scribed words upon its surface. At the top of the page there are a few bullet pointed lines. This states the date of the decrees founding which I take note of as being yesterday. It goes on to name the ministers of whom approve and disapprove of the decree. Only one name is printed to show their disapproval. A Miss Amelia Susan Bones. Underneath this it names Dolores Umbridge as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. At this I feel my eyebrows dip heavily, I have never heard of such a position. Scanning over the legal document I don't understand a vast amount of its contents just one line is written ever so slightly bolder and taller than all of the others catches my eyes. 'The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts.' I can't bring myself to read any further and I numbly place the parchment on the desk.

“Now, it is my understanding that she should be striped of Prefect status, along with all of the privileges that come with it.”

That snaps me back into action. I'm on my feet and advancing on her, I can't go back to the dormitory’s, not after this morning and I'll be damned if I let this toad woman puts me in harm’s way. Only the potion masters hand against my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I have to crane my neck to look up to his face and he ever so slightly shakes his head to stop my words. Quick as a flash his attention is back on Umbridge, pushing slightly on my shoulder, I take the hint and take a small step back. “All privileges Dolores? It is school policy for all with Miss Desay's particular affliction to have their own private quarters.”

“Oh, yes of course. We must think of the children's safety.” Her voice is steadily getting sweeter as is the fake smile across her face. “I'm sure we can find her something more adequate.” I am about to loudly protest being spoken about as if I am no longer in the room when the next words out of her mouth has blind fury bubbling in my belly and the beast inside of me stomping around in my chest, begging to be unleashed on the vile woman. “And just to be on the safe side, I think someone with such a volatile temper should be removed from sports as violent as Quidditch.” Her eyes for the first time take note of my presence in the room, a smile of satisfaction spread evilly across her face.

Only the thought that any violent action would prove her right keeps me rooted to the spot, fists clenching and shaking with fury.

“Might I appeal this ruling?” His body may be outwardly calm but the fire is still behind his eyes.

Her attention returns to Snape, smile still firmly in place. “Yes of course. Any and all appeals should be sent directly and exclusively to my office.” I see the muscles in Snape's arm twitch to reach for his wand before he composes himself, giving Umbridge the opportunity to continue. “Now. All of the correct living arrangements have already been made. Tell your student that Mr. Filch will be happy to escort her there, when she is ready. He will be waiting outside.” She makes a disgusting squeak in the back of her throat, which makes me itch to show her the true extent of my violence. Turning on her heel she ascends the steps to leave the room.

The door closes behind her and even I fear the growl laced in my voice when I speak. “Can she do that?”

“I'm afraid so.” He looks over me once than reaches for my forgotten goblet, pushing it into my hands. “With a decree like this, she can do almost anything.” I take a swig from my goblet but don’t feel any of its calming effects as it reaches my stomach. “You must be careful Jamelia.” The use of my first name grabs my full attention. “She will not miss an opportunity to single you out again as she has done today.”

“I know.” Downing the rest of the dreadful liquid in my goblet to try and counteract the snarl pulled across my upper lip. “May I be excused Professor? I need to go and settle in to my new chambers.”

“Of course. Remember that my office door is always open to you.” He slowly takes the goblet from my grasp and begins a cleaning charm on the cauldron.

“Professor?” He hums slightly to tell me he is listening. “Why are you treating me like this?”

“You are my student.”

He's answer isn't nearly sufficient. “But I'm a werewolf.” It's not the first time I have spoken the word but still I feel my eyelid flinch at the sound.

He turns on me and overwhelms me with his superior height. “Let me be very plain Miss Desay. I am your teacher and you are my student. That is all I need to know.”

He continues to loom over me waiting for any sort of response. At my softly whispered “Thank you.” He appears pleased turning and stepping away to continue clearing away his apparatuses. With a long look at the Potion Masters tight back I realize that this discussion is over. I quietly excuse myself taking my new journal from the desk and slowly ascend the stairs.

With my jaw clenched tight I yank open the door to the potions room only to find the school caretaker on the other side. His hands held behind his back with a very smug look spread across his face. “Come on.” is all he says and begins to lead me down the long corridor. His shuffling footsteps a far cry Snape's rapid long stride, the slow pace causing an ache down the back of my calves as I struggle to amble behind him.

He leads me along the dungeons and up three flights of stairs to the ground floor of the castle, around the side of the great hall and through many winding corridors close to the northern walls. He comes to a slow stop and indicates a lone door set into the stone. The wooden slates worn to a dull grey colour and shrunken with age. “Here we are.” He says his ever-present smug look, stoking the fire under my already boiling rage.

I say nothing, pulling on the small door and having to duck beneath the low hanging upper frame. What I see makes my stomach sink like a stone right to the bottom of The Black Lake. On one side of me there is a small battered writing desk with a withered old wooden chair set underneath. My school trunk set at a right angle and tucked down the side to be able to accommodate it in the tiny room. Across no more than three square feet of floor space stands a steel single bed, the mattress no more than an inch thick and showing signs of age in the form of the protruding springs. A single blanket wrapped around and old moth-eaten pillow rests at its head.

Having no room to pace I turn on the spot to regard Filch and have to restraining myself from wringing his bloody neck if he doesn’t get out of my face or drop the smirk from his lips. “Nighty night.” He says and shuffles his way from my new chambers.

Trying to remain outwardly calm I cross my arm and rest my shoulder against the doorframe, watching him leave. The strategic placement of the room is not lost on me. With both Slytherin and Hufflepuff residing in the lower portions of the castle, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw occupying two of the towers I am effectively outcast from the rest of the student body. Stranded somewhere in the middle, a dirty little secret that must be hidden from view.

Heaving a snort out through my nose as Filch rounds a corner and out of sight, now finally alone I set to work. When first opening the door I noticed the absence of any wards or charms surrounding it. Not even a lock rests against the wooden surface and I know I will not get an ounce of sleep before securing my bedchamber.

Closing the door behind me I pull my Quidditch strip over my head and throw it onto the withered bed. Trying to push down my disgust at its state. Next I set to work along the back laces of my armour, long months of practice has me out of the device in minuets and it is carelessly draped over the back of the lone chair. My sweaty vest soon follows and I replace it with a clean shirt. I leave the heavy leather trousers and boots on and quickly open my trunk, pulling the top layer of clothes out and onto the desk, happy to find my wand neatly tucked between a pair of socks. Beneath them I find my books. All of them gifted to me by my father, mostly containing dark and dangerous magic’s but I am certain I have a book dedicated to the creation and maintenance of entrance wards.

The trunk unfortunately is much larger on the inside than it would appear and I have covered all of my rickety desk with thick books, its legs groaning with the burden of weight, before finally finding the right one.

My smile of victory slowly begins to fade as I read through the first page, leaning for the first time exactly how complicated wards are. I shut the book in frustration and decide that the only way I’m going to learn how to perform this magic is by trail and error. A method that is by no means outlandish to me but I am fatigued from the game and the resounding entanglement with my housemate. I am in no mood for failure even though I know that I what I must endure.

I stride outside closing the door as firmly as I can behind me and flip to one of the less complicated spells in the book, pushing the tip of my wand against the wood as instructed and muttering the incantation. After taking a deep breath I push against the door and feel disappointment as it moves under my weight. Looking from the book to the door and back I again I mutter to myself. “This is going to be a long day.”

For several hours I try and fail to secure my room, I do manage to cast a physical ward against the frame, so the door cannot be physically pushed open without a password however the smallest of spells has the wood shattering in an instant. At the very least this means that I am getting very good at the wordless 'reparo'.

After repairing the shattered wood for what feels like the thousandth time, I sigh in sheer frustration, resting my head against the splintered wood I promise myself just one more try and rest the tip of my wand against the door and muttering the long since learned incantation when I hear my name.

It pulls me from my laborious task and I turn towards the sound of the voice, instantly smiling with genuine relief at who I find. Hermione stands still decked out in full outdoor wear. The thick jacket pulled tight and high around her neck. Harry stands next to her with an old and oddly folded parchment in his grasp, which he promptly folds and pushes into the back pocket of his jeans. Next to him is Ron, looking impatient with a silver cloak draped over his shoulder. “Afternoon.” I greet, pushing from the door. “What are you three doing here?”

Hermione fidgets with her gloved fingers and takes a few steps closer, answering me vaguely. “We saw you.” I raise an eyebrow at her but do not press the issue. “What are you doing here?”

Stepping back and pointing my wand in the direction of the door to indicate my current 'foe' I say. “Trying to ward my new home.”

I watch as Ron blinks a few times before collecting his jaw off the floor. “You can cast wards?”

“That is yet to be determined.” With a flick of my wand and a silent thought I send a low level stunning spell at the flimsy wood, sighing with frustration as the wood splinters, cracks and finally falls to pieces beneath the threshold. Under my breath I mutter “Damn.” tapping the doorframe to repair the rickety slats of wood yet again. The look of amazement on the two boys’ faces brings me a small degree of satisfaction after hours of disappointment.

I can feel Hermione's eyes on me the whole time. “New home. What happened to your prefect chambers?”

“They would be reserves for prefects.” I can feel the sarcasm dripping off my tongue as I speak. “Umbridge made it abundantly clear that people like me are not permitted privileges such as that.” Just thinking about it is causing the beast inside me to begin to pace, trying to crawl up my throat.

“She can't do that.” Hermione says stepping yet closer.

Harry speaks for the first time. “Yes she can, she can do anything.” I lift my chin in question and he clarifies. “Lifetime ban from Quidditch.”

“Same here.” My jaw clenching so tightly it hurts my teeth.

Hermione turns to her friends and softly say. “I'll catch you up.” Her eyes silently requesting them to leave. Harry immediately takes the hint and makes to move pass me, having to stop and grab onto Ron's robes to pull him down the hallway. When they are safely out of earshot Hermione takes a few attentive steps towards my tense form. “I'm sorry.”

The pity in her eyes bashes against my pride and I find myself unable to look at her. “Hermione. I'm a werewolf. It would have been naïve to expect anything less.” Swallowing up the distance between myself and the door in two long strides I place the tip of my wand against the wood once again. “Now if you'll excuse me I’m busy.”

Her hand against my shoulder stops my muttered incantation before I start. “I'm just trying to be your friend Jamie.” After a short pause and a sigh aimed at my taut back she continues. “If you want to talk about anything, anything at all, you know where I'll be.”

“Yeah.” She slowly walks away and I watch her retreating form. Running my hand once through my hair, I ponder what exactly I have left to lose by being completely honest with her. The almost easy friendship that has developed between us? It may be a big risk but every time I see her I want so much more than that. The question is am I willing to risk the breadcrumbs for a slice of the cake?

She disappears around a corner and something snaps in my mind, before I know it I’m calling out to her jogging down the winding corridor to catch up. “Hermione!” I call once more as she comes into view, she stops dead and goes ridged. With heavy breaths I draw level with her, my nerve failing me in the last moments. “I'm sorry, I had a bad day. I shouldn't have spoken like that to you.”

“I understand.”

“I really don't think you do.” My hand shoots up to run through my hair and scratch at the back of my neck. How on earth am I supposed to start this conversation? The nervous gesture catches her attention and she turns to face me fully. “Listen I...” I feel a grimace cover my face as I try to put words to the feelings I’ve been keeping inside for so long. “I'm not very good at this. I'm...” I want to tell her that I am hopelessly in love with her. That just her smile brightens my day I can lose my family, my prefect status even my web of dark wizard connections so long as I still have her presence in my life. “I'm uncouth, manipulative, a liar, disloyal, insanely stubborn and sometimes just downright rude. Breaking off our relationship is probably one of the smartest things you've ever done and that’s saying something. I know I'm not always the easiest person to be around but...” I swallow once, my heart hammering in my chest, tears stinging the back of my eyes but never showing themselves. “But I have to know. Would it have made any difference?” My blue eyes lock with her brown ones and I can see her patently waiting for me to get to my point. “Any difference at all. If I had told you how much I love you.”

Her face goes slack with shock and she takes a small step back. “What are you saying?”

The reaction isn't exactly what I would have hoped for and with a shaky breath I begin to back-pedal. Convincing myself that I might be able to cope with the low level of intimacy I have been granted so long as it is not removed completely. “Tell me it would have meant nothing and I will never speak of it again. I promise.” My voice drops to a low whisper to hide my tremble and the sheer desperation laced though it.

“Jamie. You're an idiot.” She runs a shaking hand through her bushy mane, ordering her thoughts behind her eyes. “I thought...” salty tears leak from her eyes and spill down her cheeks and I have to keep my limbs in check to keep from brushing them away. “I thought it was just physical... for you.”

My heart stops and then thunders against my ribcage to such an extent that I fear it might burst from my very chest, it at odds with itself as much as my current thoughts. “Just for me?”

She nods. “You were, are my first. I let you hold me; touch me, in ways I couldn't imagine letting anyone else. You think I would do that if I didn't have some feelings for you?”

I take a small step forward and am pleasantly surprised when she stays where she is, letting me get closer to her. “Hermione. Please. Be a little more specific.” My arms locked against my sides, the muscles straining to reach for her but I know that I will not be able to survive any further rejection. So there they stay, straining against my resolve until I am absolutely certain that I am perceiving her words correctly.

“I kept holding on to you Jamie, hoping that one day you might love me in return.”

The short distance between us is suddenly too much and I step closer to her whispering a low, “I always did.” I dip my head to bring my lips to hers, a hand sliding along her face, my thumb brushing away the freshly spilt tears. My other arm circling her waist as both of her hands slide up my chest and gather behind my neck. We breath as one as I pull her hips tightly against my own, breaking the age old rhythm of our lips to rest my forehead against hers, falling into those soulful brown eyes all over again. The hand on her cheek moving to cover her shoulders, holding her impossibly close. “I'm a werewolf Hermione.” Even though I couldn't imagine letting her go for an instant I find myself needing to remind her.

“It doesn’t matter.” She whispers threading her fingers through my hair and pulling my head down again to cover her lips with mine.

“Hermione.”

The call of her name from one of her fiends down the corridor has me making to step back from her arms. She quickly bunches her fist in my shirt and pulls me back to her for just one last kiss before she pulls back, her palm stroking against my cheek in a pacifying gesture. “I have to go. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Any time you like.” I can't keep the wide grin from my face.

She leans up on her toes and places one last kiss against my lips and pulls out of the circle of my arms. “Tomorrow.”

“Until then.” She turns and I watch her leave, letting my gaze rest on the smile pulled across Harry's face, he speaks in hushed tones as she approaches and she laughs at him, playfully slapping his upper arm. She pulls him around the corner and out of sight.

With the still tingling sensation against my lips I turn back towards my quarters to finish my wards. Perhaps today has not been such a disaster after all.
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

By The Light