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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
- 8
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Chapter 9

My eyes snap open, my body coming awake and alert in an instant. At first I do not recognise my surroundings. The dim light and musky smell unusual to my senses. After blinking a few times and digging the heal of my palm into my eyes, the previous days events unfold in my mind. I would have quite happily stayed blissful in my ignorance for just a few more moments.

Slowly I unravel myself, having needed to sleep with both my knees and back bent to accommodate the small distance between the two walls. Wincing as I push my arms into the air to stretch out the ache settled against my lower back, the bones pooping back into place. Listening to the active pipe works running through the walls of the castle, which I have found run very close to my new chambers.

The hazy remembrance of dreams I found in Morpheus' realm flashing in before my eyes before quickly escaping my mind. The vague image of a shining sward pulled from the severed tail of a mighty serpent and handed to me. Still dripping and warm with it's blood. I know that in my dream my chest had swelled with such pride to have been presented such a prize. Why I am not sure, I can think of no use for a sword in my life, my wand being all that I need. The harder I try to concentrate on the dream the quicker it runs from my grasp. Before eventually escaping completely into my subconscious.

A knock at my door pulls me out of my musing before I can even start and I glare at the withered wood. Who would be knocking at my door? A later part of yesterday filters into my mind and I cannot help but smile. It really could only be one person.

Standing I pull at the door handle to be greeted with Hermione's smiling face. “Morning.”

I rest my hand against the top of the low door and lean my side against it. “What time is it?” I am barely out of bed and bleary eyed, still dressed in my sleepwear. Yet here she stands, her thick outdoor robes covering her from shoulder to knee, heavy dragonskin gloves covering her hands to keep in her warmth in the icy castle. Her breath crystallising in front of her face and turning to thin plumes of steam despite the fact we are indoors.

“Nearly half seven.” She says brightly. She always was an early riser, though I had not expected to see her quite so early this morning. The sun barely showing in the sky. I raise a single eyebrow at her energy ever so slightly envious. “Aren't you cold?”

Looking down at myself to confirm the attire I am stuck by her question. Dressed only in a long t-shirt and a pair of flannel shorts I feel my forehead crease slightly in confusion. I have never been as effected by the elements as the woman at my door but I have never been totally immune. Coupled with the fact that I had not thought to put any warming charms over the small cupboard I have been assigned as living quarters, as I had in my prefect rooms. By all rights I should be in the end stages of hypothermia. Making I mental note to research this strange new discovery later in the day I answer. “Not really.” With a shrug. Observing her , with her eyes trying to remain inconspicuous as they try to peak around my body and into the room I fight the urge to smile. “Would you like to come in?”

“I was beginning to think you wouldn't ask.” She squeezes past me, having to brush her body close to mine to accommodate us both in the tiny amount of floor space. I turn with her trying to afford her more space as she passes by, my hand lightly against her hip to keep her from toppling. Once safely in the room she looks up to meet my gaze. “Cosy isn't it?” She comments lightly.

“I would have said cramped.” I push firmly against the door, having to lift it slightly on it's hinges to push it back into place. Must remember to fix that at the earliest opportunity. “At least I'm not back in the dormitory’s though.” The mere thought of so many disgusted eyes resting on me sends a small shiver down my spine.

As I turn to face her, I feel a soft palm against my check and firm lips pressed tightly against my own. My hands fall easily to her hips as she kisses me, groaning with both suppressed desire and happy surprise. When she pulls back her hands glide beneath my arms to hold me around my chest, her crown pressed under my chin. “Were you always this tall?”

I chuckle, brining my own arms around her body to encase her shoulders, holding her close and dropping my lips to her hair. “Were you always this short?” I'm happy that we have been able to fall so swiftly back into the easy banter that I have been missing for many weeks now.

“I think so.” She says with a giggle in her voice. Turning her head to place a kiss at the hollow of my throat. Groaning as she lets her warm lips linger against my skin, “I've missed this.”

Pulling back with my arms still around her I tilt my face downwards. “The kissing or the teasing?”

“Most defiantly both.” she places one more chase kiss against my lips and extracts herself from my arms. Taking a seat on the small bed looking at it suspiciously as it groans under her weight. “Do you really have to say here?”

I shrug leaning heavily against the small writing desk on the opposite side of the room, still covered with open, upturned books. “It's not so bad.” My aching knees and back would disagree with me but I don't want to see that look of sympathy on her face ever again. “I'm always close to breakfast and I only have to roll out of bed to do my homework.” As I try to lighten the atmosphere between us I realise what an unusually good mood I have woken up in.

“She's persecuting you.”

“Of course she is Hermione. I'm a half bread.” I know she doesn’t understand and I have no idea how to make it more clear. “If our positions were revered, I would have the exact same reaction.”

Without hesitation she rebuttals me. “I don't believe that.”

Taking up a book from my desk and studying it's spine, proves to be the best distraction offered to me so I no longer have to look in her eyes. “You shouldn't put so much faith in me.” She snorts and I have to wonder who she sees when she looks at me. “Something makes you think otherwise?” Leaning forward I gently throw the book on Stygian Curses back into my trunk.

The bed creaks as she moves across the battered mattress to lean her back against the wall. “You've never lashed out at me.” I close my eyes against the current direction of the conversation. Honesty could make this end very badly. “Not once have you ever called me a mudblood.”

My jaw clenches and my eyelids stay tightly shut. How do I explain that by falling hopelessly in love with just one muggle born witch, doesn’t mean that I have any new found respect for every other mudblood in the world. That I would not hesitate to use someone's lineage to my advantage, if the situation were to arise. “It's complicated.” Is all that I say retuning my attention to my books. Hoping we can pull away from this topic of discussion before it can really begin.

“How so?” I turn to her expecting to find at least a twinge of anger shining in her eyes, however all I find reflected in them is a deep curiosity.

Throwing the second book into the large trunk I sigh, raising my eyes to the ceiling, trying to find a way to explain myself without referring to her line of decent. This feels like one of the first truly deep conversations we have ever engaged in. I don't want to ruin it by insulting her. Running my tongue through my lips once, I find a safer way of continuing. “If I met another Werewolf or even a vampire, I would be likely to show them the same contempt that Umbridge shows me.”

“Why.”

“Because, they're half breeds.” The frown across her face deepens substantially. “I'm not explaining this very well am I?”

“I don't know if you can.” She worries her lower lip and I sit in silence wondering if I have over stepped my bounds. “There's a lot I don't know about you. Isn't there.”

Crossing my arms across my chest and suddenly feeling very defensive I feel my familiar hard mask of indifference slide across my face without my consent. “Second thoughts?”

She quickly stands, her fingers lightly touching my hips. “No.” she says resoundingly. “Just an observation. Something that I want to change, hopefully I might be able to change your mind along the way.” She smiles a glimmer of hope across her face. I restrain myself from asking her not to hold her breath by grinding my teeth, she takes the none to subtle hint and quickly drops the subject. “A conversation for another time I think.” I nod once, hoping she never brings it up again. She leans forward placing her lips against the tense muscles of my jaw. “I think it's time for breakfast.”

I grunt frustratedly. “I need to bathe.” My scowl deepens across my forehead. I am still sticky with sweat from the Quidditch game yesterday, not having the stomach to face my house mates in the wake of my father's howler. The only showers which are available to me are in the dudgeons. Through the Slytherin common room and down the stairs. Not exactly the first on my list of places to visit in the near future.

She still ignores my defensive stance, Bending at her chest and nuzzling her nose against my throat. “Why don't you go to my room?”

“Pardon?” I ask, not sure I heard her right. Leaning back on my perch so I can look down into her beautiful brown eyes. She is unmoving, staying still and looking up at me. “Are you sure?”

“Of cause I'm sure. I'd feel better if you would come and eat something first though.” She pulls my hands from under my elbows and rests them on her shoulders so she can step closer to me. “I didn't see you eat any meals yesterday.”

“No.” Food isn't exactly something that I think about most of the time. Breaks between lessons is usually the only thing to remind me of the time of day and the meals I should be attending. “I was otherwise occupied.”

Disapprovingly she shakes her head moving a few steps over and opening my door. “Get dressed.” In an instant she is gone and I am left to blink and stare at her retreating back. The door pulling closed behind her.

It doesn’t take me long to dress and soon I am joining her in the hallway pulling on the door a few times to coax it into the frame. After checking that my wards are still holding, she takes my hand in hers, weaving her fingers through mine and leads me down the narrow hallway.

My eyes drift to our joined hands, why is it that such a simple contact of skin can make my chest swell? I may have found solace within her arms and against the bared chest, many times before but this small act causes a profound and strange reaction within me, of which I simply cannot explain.

In my early life physical contact was all but banned in the family home. My mother may be a very loving woman but my father's disapproving glare often halted any comfort I could obtain her contact. My brothers... well they were boys.

Glancing sideways at her I can see that the action has had no effect on her, nor has it prompted her to check my reaction. As if the small show of affection is nothing out of the ordinary. It is in this moment that I realise, I know almost as little about the woman beside me as she has leaned about me over the past months. Though our many encounters over the past year there has been very little time we have put aside to simply talk about each other. We spoke of current events or, which was more often the case, we spoke in a sycophancy of incoherent moans and sighs elicited from our pleasurable activities. Briefly, as she pulls our joined hands in the Entrance Hall I ponder how I could have become besotted by a person I know so little about.

We near the door into the Great Hall and my first reaction is to allow the fingers surrounding her hand to go lax. She cranes her head around to look over her shoulder questioningly at me. My heart hammers in my chest, listening to the sounds of chatter from the other side of the threshold. Ignoring her reaction I stride past her into the great hall facing the fear in my chest like a charging monitor. To my left the students sat closest the the door fall silent, spreading like a plague through my house mates, one by one they cease conversation and their eyes bear down on me. My step falters, even as the rest of the school all but ignore my presence I know that even though illogical their reactions do not matter. My eyes cast along the one silenced table, scrutinising the positions of each student quickly, trying to decide where would be the safest place to take my seat.

Hermione quickly takes the nerve racking decision out of my hands, slipping her her fingers along my palm to rest between my digits, I turn my head to look down in her direction and she simply says. “Come with me.” In a low whisper, which can still be heard over the crowd.

I ignore the raising murmur from my house table and she pulls me numbly back over towards Gryffindor. We reach the far wall and she leads me along it stopping mid way down the table to greet her friends and push a few of her house mates in either direction to make room for us both. “Harry, Ron, Ginny. You all remember Jamie.”

“Morning.” I great stiffly, my elbow finding the tabletop and my nails scratching nervously just under the hairline at my temple.

Harry Potter's eyebrows lower over his bright green eyes and she glances first to me then to the woman at my side. “Hermione?” Leaning slightly over his breakfast with a questioning voice.

“What the bloody hell is she doing here?” Weasley's approach is admittedly a little less subtle but still a question I'd like to ask myself. “Ow!” he squeaks punishing back in his seat to rub against his now injured shin. Did she just kick him? “Damn it Hermione. That hurt.” She just kicked him.

She leans across the table a grabs a plate of beacon for herself, using her fork to serve herself a generous amount. “Ron.” She starts with a false look a pure innocent on her face. “Jamie is my girlfriend. It would be nice if you two got along.”

“Girlfriend?” Four shocked voices ask simultaneously.

Mine is the only one she reacts to. Turning to meet my stunned eyes she hands the the pate of beacon. “To fast?”

Numbly I accept the offered food. Blink a few times at her, pushing more of the salty breakfast food onto my plate that I could possibly eat, knowing that Strix will want to steal some upon arrival. I run her question over my mind a few times, wondering to the exact implications to such a label. “No, not to fast. I just hadn’t really thought about it.” I take a goblet and fill it to the brim with pumpkin juice.

“Hermione Granger has a girlfriend.” My eyes stray to Ginny Wesley as she speaks. I bring my juice to my lips, wondering at the thoughtful look in her eyes as they stay glued to me. A smile spreads across her lips and she turns to Hermione. “Well. At least you have good taste.” Had I the ability to blush I’m sure I would have done. As it stands all I am able to do is choke on my own pumpkin juice.

Hermione's hand stays to between my shoulder blades in a bid to aid my choking, at the same time Ron turns to his sister his cheeks stained ever so slightly pink. “Ginny.!”

She shrugs with a chuckle, “What?” Scooping some eggs onto her fork and pushing them between her lips, effectively ending her side of the conversation.

Sufficiently embarrassed I carefully place my goblet back to the table to wipe away the excess juice from my chin. Ron turns to Harry who has sat with an amused grin between the sibling squabble in silence up until now. “Come on, help me out mate.”

Swallowing the remaining mouthful of his breakfast he turns his head to glance at Ginny. Then returns his eyes to the plate before him. “I had no idea you were that way inclined Ginny?”

The red headed witch just shrugs smirking at her elder brother.

I reach forward for some slices of toast observing the interactions around me. Ron takes the palm of his hand to Harry's shoulder at his comment with such force that Harry's glasses fly off his nose and hang loosely off his face by his ears. “Oh, come on mate.” Harry cries, catching his glasses a moment before they land in his cereal, having slipped off their precarious perch over his ears.

“You implied my sister was gay.” Ron jumps to defend himself.

Hermione at my side joins the conversation. “You have a problem with that?” Her lips are pieced but still smiling and I can see the laughter dancing behind her eyes.

“Yes!” he shouts, his hand cutting sharply through the air as her turns his gaze to Hermione. His eyes move between us both and his expression turns immediately from mildly irate to immensely apologetic. “I mean no. No. Nothing wrong with that at all. But we are talking about my sister here.”

Ginny quickly finishes her mouthful and pitches in. “So you're saying that it's fine as long as it's not me?”

“Yes.” Again he back tracks, after seeing the look on the younger girls face. “I mean no. Aww hang it all. I'm never going to with with you two.” He drops his gaze to his plates and stabs his fork into his breakfast.

I sit and watch the whole exchange with a deep sense of fascination. They all seem so comfortable with each other. Not only that, they have engaged in this easy banter without pause or even a care for who is around to see it. Uncaring of the prying eyes or the idle ears around them. I hope the envy I feel for this doesn't show on my face.

Harry looks up from the table, his green eyes meeting mine and I get the distinct impression I’m being scrutinised. He opens his mouth to say something but stops mid breath. His gaze travelling just above my head before I feel sharp talons slowly land on my shoulder.

I feel my lips curl upwards and without turning to regard the bird I say, in a low mutter. “Hello Strix.” He hoots happily ruffling his feathers before settling his wings into place and relentlessly kneading his talons into my flesh to keep his balance. He drops his letter against my collar bone, it slides down my chest and drops into my waiting hands.

For a moment I study the handwriting on the envelope until I am happy that it is from Dale then hand over a rasher of beacon to the bird perched on my shoulder. The paper lands on the table next to my plate unopened and the owl gives a disapproving hoot in my ear, over the low crunching sound of his beak, demolishing the slice of meat. I'm sure he can bloody read because he's slowly developing a nasty habit of staying on my shoulder as I open each letter from my brother. He opens his wings and flutters them, catching the back of my head in the process to show his disappointment.

Ginny points her fork in Strix's direction, her eyebrows raised into her hairline. “You appear to have a friend. A very persistent one.”

“Yeah.” His wing hits my head again forcing it forward and he kneads his claws non to gently into my flesh. I'm starting to find it very difficult to keep my composure with this distraction.

Hermione provides no help in the matter with a giggle in her voice. “I think he wants you to read it.”

My shoulder jerks on reflex and his long talon slips between some muscles. “You noticed that as well. Ow.” Reaching up to detach the beak currently pressing against the top of my ear I finally relent and make a grab for the letter, quickly breaking the seal to appease the impatient bird to my side.

I dutifully ignore the giggles at my side and unfold the crumpled pages inside the envelope, happily noting Strix calming instantly on my shoulder. My forehead creases as I try to decipher my brother's tiny handwriting, why he insists on writing in such small illegible letters is beyond me. He also has an annoying habit of writing in the margins. As if he thinks of something further to say after he has filled the page. Turning the page to the side to read what is written there, Hermione's voice filters into my consciousness. “Who's it from?”

I have to bite down a venomous retort. I know that she is only curious but months of snide comments and contempt from people around me have made me develop a ferocious defence mechanism when approached. Especially when I am trying to decrypt the unnecessarily messy handwriting in front of me. Clearing my throat to rid myself of the venom on my tongue I answer in a distracted voice. “My brother.”

She's silent for a moment and I turn the page the correct way around after reading his side notes to his own thoughts. “I didn't even know you had a brother.”

Letting the pages go slack in my grasp I turn to her. I had expected anger in some form. Maybe even resentment at failing to mention the more personal aspects of my life. Instead all I am confronted with is curiosity and to some extent longing portrayed on her beautiful features. “You never asked.” Her eyebrows raise in question, that particular excuse isn't going to go down well if I just leave it like that. “I have two brothers. Dale's the eldest. He's...” I stop not knowing how to word what's going on in my mind without electing some sympathy from my companions. “He's still keeping in touch.” I purposely avoid mentioning that he is the only one. The bird on my shoulder becomes impatient again, not used to me engaging in conversation so I hand him another rasher of beacon to still his sharp claws. Hooking a thumb over my shoulder I introduce the unrelenting animal there. “This is Strix.”

As if he knows that I'm talking about him, me makes his way over the top of my spine to rest on my other shoulder and hoots in Hermione's direction in greeting, leaning in when she raises a finger to stroke against the soft feathers along his head. Looks like Hermione has another fan. I shake my head at the antics as the cocky bird and push a bite of toast between my teeth.

I fold the half read letter tightly and push it into the back pocket of my trousers, while Strix is distracted, glad that he only noticed the movement by adjusting his balance.

Turning my attention back to the table I find Harry looking marginally amused by our actions. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak for a second time. “How did you sleep last night?”

I shrug and Strix with a flap of his wings moves over to perch himself on Hermione's much more stable shoulder. Soaking up all the attention she is giving him. “Not bad, why do you ask?”

“Just thought it would be cold.” His tongue comes out to moisten him lips. I stay silent, not used to such mindless chit chat and Harry clears his throat. “You know how to use wordless magic.” Instantly I’m suspicious. Why on earth would he want to bring the conversation in that direction? He sits fidgeting with his hands waiting for me to speak. I no make to move to fill the the stillness between us turning back to my breakfast and waiting for the Boy Who Lived to get to the point. “Where did you learn that?”

Without moving my lowered gaze I answer. Starting to become uncomfortable with his line of questioning. “Here and there.”

Ron shorts and directs his question towards my girlfriend. “Is she always this vague?”

Her only answer is a tight lipped smile, with a one last small unwanted nip to my ear Strix pushes from Hermione's shoulder and disappears into the large parliament of owls hovering above our heads.

“Look I don't mean to be rude...” I have to bite my upper lip to keep from calling the boy in front of me by his surname, brining my sights back up to look at him “Harry. Stop beating around the bush and spit it out.”

Leaning back in his seat he blinks at me in surprise for a moment. “Can you teach me?” All those around us ignoring the change in topic between us, continuing with their mindless chatter, oblivious to the almost pleading expression on his face.

I snort with humourless laughter and his three friends lapse into silence waiting for an answer. “To what end? You lean these skills next year, why rush it?”

“Why did you?” My jaw tightens and I’m starting to get the impression I have been set up by this small group of friends. He takes the hint quickly that I am not going to answer his question and tries a different approach. “Voldermort is coming.”

The way he watches me so intently shows me that he expects me to react the to The Dark Lords name uttered from his lips. “The Dark Lord has always been coming.”

“So you believe me?”

The lies printed across the Daily Prophet can hardly compete with a dead body slowly becoming ridged with rigor mortis right before your eyes. This coupled with the rumours flying through my father connections throughout last summer holidays all but confirmed his story of the Dark Lords return.

My elbows rest on the table top on either side of my plate, my palms meeting, my lips resting against the edges and I contemplate his request for several moments. Giving over my advantage over most of the witches and wizards of my age is not a small decision to make. My competence with my wand is down in no small part to days upon days of practice and patience. Once mastered the skill he seeks from me is more than useful as I have shown on numerous occasions. It has given me a large sense of safety for years and to hand it over to a boy I have only known for a single day feels foolhardy.

However, I have very few pleasant things left in the world. One of which sits quietly at my side. Pushing her food around her plate with her fork in an attempt to look unaffected by my conclusion. The thought of Hermione in such danger without a means of defending herself, which I am more than capable to provide, makes my insides clench painfully.

My condition and the rejection I have suffered due to it, has effectively ended any sense of loyalty I have to the Dark Lord along any who support him. These people do not know me, all they truly know of me is the beast residing within my very skin. They have not shunned me for this dangerous trait, not even paused for alarm.

“There is so much more I can teach you.” I say.

He lets out a deep breath with a snort of laughter. “I think I’d like that. I think we all would.” There is murmurs of agreement in the intimidate vicinity from his friends and he smiles. “Would you be willing to teach others?”

“You would only pass on the knowledge anyway. Why waste the time?”

“Then it's settled. There’s a few things that I need iron out first but I'd like to start soon.” He rubs his hands together and pushes his half finished meal away, he stands. Ron following close behind. “I'll let you know as soon as I can.” he turns and makes his way through the crowd of students gathered around the great hall, to make a hasty exit into the Entrance Hall.

Turning my head towards Hermione I find her glacéing at me, not able to hold my gaze for more than a second. “Thank you.” she says after returning her attention to her breakfast that by the looks of it she has lost all interest in.

With suspicion laced through my voice I begin to speak. “You knew he was going to ask me that.”

Her face folds into a grimace showing me her guilt. “I didn't think he was going to ask this morning.”

“You don't need to set me up Hermione. Just ask next time.” Turning back to my almost forgotten meal I bring another bite to my lips,

“Thank you.” She says again resting her hand against my forearm on the table. I nod at her slightly uncomfortable with her expression of gratitude.
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By The Light