By The Light

Chapter 23

 

It isn’t long before we both stand at Hermione's doorway, Ginny quickly declines my offer for her to accompany me inside, stating that Hermione is already accusing us of wrong doing when we are together and she didn't want to give her any further reason to chastise me. This comment was closely followed by a wink sent in my direction, which deeply confuses me but before I could ask her as to the reason for such an action she had turned and left.

 

Leaving me to enter Hermione bedchamber alone. I find her at her desk, hunched over an unravelled scroll of parchment, her head resting heavily in her hand. “Feeling any better?” she asks without lifting her gaze and the quills still rapidly scratches black ink onto the page.

 

I pause in my stride, wondering when she began to know me so well. She only enquires as to be current state, refrains from asking where I have been and what I have been doing. Possibly because she knows I am almost physically unable to give her a straight answer to such a question and does not wish to provoke an argument. “Yes, thank you.” My teeth touch the tip of my tongue as I contemplate expanding further. “Ginny came to see me.”

 

She only smiles turning her head to watch her quill as she dips it deeply into the ink well to refill it. “I told her to leave you be. You weren’t excessively rude, were you?” Her eyes once more find the page as she pulls her tiny script along it's surface.

 

“I don't think so.” I know I had every intention of turning the redhead away by any means necessary. At some point and I'm unsure when, I lost track of that goal. I quickly pull my robes from my shoulders and fold them neatly into my draw so I can avoid Hermione's accusing glare. She does enjoy her neatness. “Am I...” I begin to ask a question, only to cut myself off, whether that is because am fearful of the answer I will revive or I do not wish for her to know I have doubts is unclear, but I find myself unable to finish the thought and turn away from her. Having a mind to drop the subject entirely.

 

The continuous scratching of her quill stops and I hear her adjust her position, moments before I feel her eyes boring into my back. Try as I may I am unable to find an adequate distraction so I can ignore her probing gaze and beguilingly I turn to meet her stare. “What were you going to say?” Her voice has taken a much more gentle edge, as if coaxing an injured deer out into the open.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” I say with a shake of my head and turn to enter the small adjoining bathroom.

 

Her light footsteps follow my movement and when I close the door behind me I can hear her slow and careful exhale of breath from the other side. “It clearly was important or you wouldn't have started to speak Jamie.” Trying to ignore her probing I turn on the hot water tap and step back waiting for the water to come up to temperature. “Please Sweatheart.”

 

I honestly didn't know that such a thing would intrigue her so. Turning to pull the door open she raises her eyes up to meet mine, waiting patently for me to explain myself. “Do you think I spend to much time in solitude?”

 

Instantly her forehead creases in a worried frown. “Is that what you two have been talking about?”

 

Bunching a shoulder in a shrug I try to veer away from some of the other topics we touched on. “Among other things.” I watch her as she turns her eyes downcast to meet the floor, a thoughtful look playing across her face. “Well?” At some point I have become very invested in her answer and feel my impatience clambering up the throat.

 

She takes a breath and tries to begin twice before committing to her response. “You're not nearly as bad as you used to be.”

 

“I see.” I turn back into the bathroom and go to push the door closed once more but she throws out her arm to stop it's progress. A single glance at the determined look on her face convinces me to not resist the intrusion but I am not yet completely willing to continue along this line of questioning, I attempt to distance myself from it and push the plug deep into the drain, standing over the basin to watch it fill with water. Carefully training my eyes on the liquid as the level begins to rise.

 

Slowly she enters the room, taking a perch on the side of the small copper tub and watches me intently. “What's brought this on?” She ask trying unsuccessfully to catch my eye.

 

“Nothing.” My hands reach to my neckline, to begin unbuttoning my shirt and chancing a glance in Hermione's direction I can see she has adopted my tactic of remaining as quiet as possible, leaving me to fill the almost uncomfortable, empty space between us. “I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry.”

 

I receive a heavy sigh from her, having not filled the void with what she wished to hear and she leans forward to rest her forearms against her knees. “Sometimes. When I know you want to be alone all I want to do is pull you into my arms and make sure everything is going to be alright. It's hard sometimes not to.”

 

My shirt falls open and I reach out to turn off the tap, pressing my tongue against the back of my teeth in thought. “Then why don't you just do that?”

 

“Because it's not what you want. Not from me, not from anyone.”

 

I push the clothing from my shoulders and into my waiting hands taking a moment to rest it over the side of the tub next to Hermione. “You're always forgoing the things that you want because they conflict with mine.”

 

“Yes. When it comes to things like this.” She takes a long breath and I can see much of her face screw up in deep thought. While waiting for her answer I dip my hands into the warm water and bring my cupped palms to my cheeks and neck. “I know that you deal with things differently, than I do.” She continues as soon as I lather the soap in my hands and bring it to my face. “When you're upset you tend to flinch when I try and touch you.”

 

Brining yet more water to my skin to rid myself of the bubbles I shake my head to expel the excess droplets clinging to me. “Do I really do that?” Blindly I reach of the towel and thank Hermione when she pushes it into my hand.

 

“Most of the time.” I can hear the tinge of sadness threading through her voice. “Why do you do that?”

 

“I don’t know.” The miss truth slips from between my lips without even pausing for thought, falling back on one of my longest, oldest habits. My aversion to physical contact especially when I am troubled, is something we have never really touched on in all the times we have spoken and I had been happy to leave those demons buried indefinably.

 

It wasn't often that my father raised his hand to me. He would favour other, more subtle forms of penalization to mould me into the person he wanted me to be but on the rare occasion that he did, it was still the hardest punishment I could endure. He would save the strike of his fist to times when he could see my emotions playing clearly across my features. A closed fisted blow to the side of the head or a meaty hand enclosing over the back of my neck and pushing my face into the nearest flat surface, the term 'Shut up, or I'll give you something to cry about.' Always on the tip of his tongue in these moments. These beating became less and less frequent as I grew older and leaned to school my features so he could not see when I was displeased with something.

 

Hermione will often move to touch me in these moments and as I see her reaching for me, I know that I expect her to lash out, with a pounding fist and harsh words. I truly do not believe she ever would resort to violence. Not when she spends much of her time trying to coax me into talking about my feelings more but all I can see is a hand reaching for me, not the identity of it's owner. I knew that she had at some point noticed the my unease over the matter and she has drastically reduced how hard she tries to comfort me with her body but I was unaware that I physically flinched from her touch.

 

When my face and neck are once more adequately dry I raise my gaze to meet hers. The look on her face screams at me to divulge my secrets to her. As if she knows that I lie about such things. When did she learn my tells? When did she become so adept at reading the expressionless look on my face that I have spent much of my short life perfecting?

 

It strikes me that in this moment that even though I cannot fathom why, she needs my comfort, my touch to sooth her fears. Where I know if our positions were reversed I could not stand such a thing. So stepping closer to her I rest one of my hands against the curve of her shoulder and the other curls along her cheek, my thumb stroking the skin I find beneath it.

 

Her eyes are moist with unshaded tears as she leans into the soft caress, her hand reaching up to hold mine against her flesh. “You're keeping something from me.” Her accusation is softly spoken and without menace.

 

“Yes.” I answer around a sigh, my tongue taking on a mind of it's own and drags a truthful answer between my lips. Hope fills her eyes as her grip on my hand tightens. Pleading with me to continue, to shed light on this dark aspect of my upbringing but I cannot. Cannot bring myself to open my mouth and spill such closely guarded secrets. “Please Hermione. Don't.”

 

As her eyes close around her frustration a single tear spills from under her lashes and touches my thumb. The small droplet remaining on my skin as I wipe away it's track down her face, burning me with accusation. “It helps to talk about it.”

 

“I don't want to think about it.” Now I wish I had remained characteristically quiet this entire time, never bringing this topic to the surface.

 

She sniffs back her tears and reaches for me, hesitating when I feel the muscles in my face clench in a barely noticeable wince. Is that truly what she notices? The smallest twitch in my muscles that even I was unable to perceive, until she brought it to my attention. Determination sets in as I take my touch from her, too push her hands against both of my cheeks, stepping forward I push against one of her knees to draw them apart so I may step more fully into her embrace. Bending at the hip I press my forehead against hers and close my eyes to dispel the coil of fear appearing deep in my stomach. I keep having to remind myself that she would never, could never berate me for letting my feelings show.

 

“I'm sorry.” I whisper. Guilt at making her feel so helpless evident in my voice.

 

She sighs and saying nothing she turns her head craning her neck into an awkward angle to press her lips against mine for just a moment. I can feel her gaze boring into me as she gently strokes my cheek, patiently waiting for me to be willing enough to renter the conversation and meet her stare.

 

I drop my hands so my arms can circle her waist and slowly let my eyes slide open. “I'm sorry.” I repeat and watch her lips lift in a saddened smile.

 

Her palms fall to my shoulders and her forearms rest along my chest. “I know.” Questions burn so brightly behind her deep brown eyes, that I feel I must remove them from my site before they can pry any painful information from me. After this short conversation I am loath to leave her loose embrace so instead step closer, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss and find myself unsatisfied by one so immediately return for a second.

 

In mere moments our intimate dance has begun. Mouths meeting over and over again in a timeless rhythm, which has existed since time began. The pads of her fingers burn a trail of desire along my collarbone and neck. The raw, chaotic emotion running rampant throughout the room, seeping deep into my pours, coiling deep in my belly and bringing fourth a deep craving for the woman I stand before, a craving so carnal and unrelenting that my fingers find the column of her neck, drawing incoherent pattens across her skin until she shivers her approval.

 

“This isn't exactly what I had in mind.” She whispers, gasping so close to me, that as she exhales I feel her warm breath running down the inside of my throat.

 

I move to pull away, afraid that I have over stepped my bounds, when her knees turn to fully envelop my calves within her hooked legs and her shoulders shoot forward so her hands land over the back of my neck and halt any movement. “I thought...”I start, only to be cut off by her tongue pushing between my open lips to entice mine into action so it may dance with hers.

 

The action both confounds and delights me, in equal measure but now that she has indicated she wishes this entanglement to continue further I let my hands run over her shoulder to rest against her back and bunch my fingers into her school shirt to pull it free from the waistband of her skirt, finding her smooth flesh the moment it is free of it's confines.

 

Her fingers weave into my hair, nails lightly scratching against my scalp in a way that sends a shudder of pleasure all along my spine. Her warmth spreading across my skin, everywhere at once, bewitching me and making me thirst for more.

 

Uneven, panting breaths pushes through over worked nostrils, the sound pressing against my ears and the heavy sent of arousal filling the tiny, tiled room urging me forward. The buttons of her shirt slide between my fingers and blindly I push them open. Too much cloth barring me from her wondrous skin and my movements become frantic in my quest to feel it's length pressed against my torso.

 

Her shoes hit the floor with an audible click as she stands, her lips pulling from mine and her hands press against my chest to urge me backwards. The feeling of rejection that gathers in my chest quickly diminishes as she undoes the top two buttons of the blasted school shirt, reaches down and in one fluid movement pulls it over her head, throwing her already unruly mane into the air in a way that makes my mouth run dry with desire.

 

My eyes land on her breasts, seconds before my hands close over the thin layer of cotton that still binds them, listening to her perceptible, enticing gasp at the sensation. My lips land on her breastplate and her nails scrape once more across my crown in encouragement. Her black shirt is the next to fall victim to our passion and my dexterous fingers, the noise of the zip lost amongst the sonata of moans, gasps and ragged breaths. It comes loose and gravity take hold, dragging it down to pool around her feet, unnoticed by either of us.

 

I straighten my back and in a single motion have her lips and tongue against mine. Unable to decide between tasting her skin and breathing her breath. My hands flatten against her sides and slither southwards, inconspicuously diving under the elastic waistband of her underwear to push it from her hips and down her thighs.

 

Her hands are in my hair and beneath my bra, seething me with the heat of her skin. Her grasping fingers find the peak of my breast, pinching and pulling on it in perfect time with my gently rocking hips. Pressing the length of my body, snugly against her with the unconscious movement.

 

With my hands on her hips I encourage her to move with me when I turn and after she blindly steps on her underwear to pull them over her shoes, so she can leave them in the pile of clothes on the floor she relents to my will. Moving to where I lead her, still kissing me relentlessly and still reaching for me with her greedy grasping fingers. Adjusting my grip on her hips, so her slightly protruding pelvic bones drop neatly into the creases of my palm I push against her, forcing her to topple backwards. She shows trust in my actions by sucking on my lower lip, keeping her eyes closed but betrays her discomfort by a sound of either surprise or protest born in the back of her throat and removing her hands from my skin so they can rest on the porcelain rim of the basin, which is now pressing into the small of her back.

 

Quickly I step yet further into her personal space, my trouser covered thigh slipping between her naked ones effortlessly, the unique angle I have pushed her into juts her hips forward and as I lean over her and I can feel her heated sex press against the top of my limb, her pelvis twitching upon contact in an attempt to gain more friction against the fabric.

 

My lips move from hers to trail a line of moisture over her chin and down her throat, when I reach the hollow at it's base the ghost of teeth press against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Next I find the curve of her still covered breast with both my hands and my tongue, not having the patience to remove the garment I enclose the globes in my hands for only a moment before my knees bend pulling me to the floor to kneel upon the tiles at her spread feet.

 

My eyes trail the length of her body, taking no small amount of pride in the flushed appearance of her skin and the fine layer of perspiration that covers her from head to toe. Our gazes meet over her heaving chest as I silently seek the permission we both know I have no need of, not when she looks upon me in such a wanton way, her eyes darkening to such an extent you would swear they were black, not the soulful chocolate brown I have come to love.

 

Her fine wiry pubic hair touches my chin as she presses forwards, not able to voice what we desire from each other and in many ways words are no longer needed between us in these intimate entanglements. Her plea, although silent is well received and I press forward locking my eyes with hers in silent challenge, letting my chin pass through the thin layer of hair to guide me to her aching centre without the use of my sight, her grip on the brim of the sink tightening with each inch that I move until her knuckles turn white with the strain.

 

The moment I have found my goal my lips enclose around the smallest bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex and she is the first to break eye contact. Throwing her head back so her hair falls further down her back and disappears into the bowl of the basin, her covered breasts pushed towards the celling and her hot flesh presses tighter against my face. The cry of passion spilling from her lips, a wordless appeal for yet more of my attention.

 

Happily noting that in this position I no longer have to consider my placement so that I am able to breath, as the angle of her body gives me more than enough room to do so. Now I am free to fully concentrate on her pleasure. The moment I pull a light suction against the nerves and press my tongue forward to press against them her sent of arousal intensifies. The musky aroma stinging my nostrils and worming it's way into my conscious mind until it makes my head foggy and my eyes roll in their sockets, the sent hitting the pit of my desire with as much effectiveness as the short cries of passion falling unhindered from Hermione's lips with every breath she releases.

 

One palm rests comfortably on her outer thigh, massaging the quivering muscles beneath the skin. The other coasts along the line of my chin to press two of my fingers deep inside of her and she lets me know how close to release she is by bunching a hand into a fist through the locks of my hair, pulling it at the roots, provoking an almost painful sting across my scalp.

 

I have only to curl my fingers inside of her and every muscle in her tenses under my touch, shuddering and straining in her release. Her thighs clamping closed in an effort to expel me from the hypersensitive flesh, but does little more than hold me to her so I am able to prolong the orgasm as it explodes throughout her body. For a moment she forgets how to breath, stilling to such an extent that the tiny noises she has been making from the back of her throat cease, held back by the knot that has coiled deep in her windpipe.

 

One orgasm swiftly gives way to a second and the pressure holding back her rapid breaths breaks, the cry of pleasure assaulting my ears and running the length of my spine to stab at my own arousal, where I can feel it already beginning to spill forth and slide down my inner thighs. Her pelvis begging to thrust against my face with abandon, her legs going lax only enough to permit me the room to continue my ministrations and drive her again and again to the hight of passion.

 

After a third climax she losses the hold on my hair, pushing against my forehead so I am unable to continue, not able to stand even one more sweep of my tongue against her sensitive flesh. Slowly I remove my intruding fingers from her depths. I stand to pull her, breathless and shuddering into the circle of my arms, letting her rest her boneless body against my chest, drawing support from my solid stance so she does not crumple to the floor in a mass of trembling limbs.

 

She curls her head against my chest to tuck her crown under my chin, having no mind to suppress the giggles that have slowly begun to take hold of her. Although the reason for such good humour eludes me, the sound of her laughter brings a smile to my lips as I stoke my palms in soothing circles across her back, waiting patiently for her to recover enough to form speech. “Oh God.” She says in a loud breathless whisper, her fingers clutching at my side and upper arm to hold herself steady. “The things you do to me.”

 

I make a sound of agreement and approval against her hair as I drop a kiss to her crown, then tighten my arms around her to pull her from the small bathroom. “Come on.” I say as a gently spoken command, steeping back and guiding her out of the room, over to her bed where she takes a seat. Immediately flopping back to the mattress, her arms thrown high above her head in a highly enticing pose.

 

Resisting her provocative body I take to my knees a second time and quietly unlace her shoes to remove them. She is quiet for several moments and does not make any protest when I lift her feet from the floor, turn her body and place them on the bed. I frown once at her white bra, the last remaining garment to hide her skin from my appreciative gaze. But with her back presssed against the sheets in such a way I am incapable to do much about it at present. “I'm sure we were talking about something.” She says and when I lift my eyes to search her face she has her hands folded behind her head and a questioning eyebrow raised.

 

It was foolish of me to think that a gratifying, meeting of flesh would deter her from wading through my secrets for very long. “I'm sure it wasn't important.”

 

She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows, reaching out to draw me into a chaste kiss with an hand against my cheek. “Please sweetheart,” She begins when her forehead rests against mine, her voice pleading. “If you can't speak to me then will you at least talk to someone. Anyone.”

 

I pull back sharply, my pupils dashing back and forth as I search her face, which shows me nothing but confusion. “You're the second person to ask me that today.” I try to explain, my brow still furrowed trying to decide if Snape might have pulled Hermione aside to question her. However I find it had to believe that she would use his exact wording if that were the case.

 

She only smiles and pulls at my arm that is supporting me against the bed. “We can't both be wrong.”

 

I narrow my eyes at her for just a moment the relent to her gentle tugging, allowing her to pull me along side her. As soon as my back touches the mattress she reaches behind her back to remove that last scrap of fabric and throws it off the side of the bed. Raising her eyebrows once when she meets my questioning look and proceeds to pull herself over me, one knee landing on either side of my hips, hands pressed to the mattress beside each of my ears. Leaning over me in such a provocative way she still feels the need to continue the conversation. Something of which I thought we had left behind in the bathroom. “Please, promise me you'll find someone you trust enough to talk to.”

 

“I do trust you.” I implore, not comfortable with the implication of her words.

 

The small smile that spreads across her face holds no accusation nor malice and succeeds in pushing down the irate knot working it's way up my throat from the pit of my belly. “Not with this.” She takes a moment to adjust her legs, letting her weight rest on her bent thighs as my pelvic bone. “And that's fine.” She catches the disbelieving look on my face the moment my muscles bunch into it. “Honestly. You don't need to tell me every little thing about you. Not if you don't want to. But...” She leans back still further until she is sitting high and astride me, her own fingers trailing the length of her thighs, her body holding me to the bed at my back so I cannot escape the discussion. The tip of her tongue touches her top lip for a moment in deep thought, her words being carefully orchestrated behind her eyes so I have no hope of misinterpreting her. “You're not as unaffected by things as you try to make out.” She holds her hand to silence me as I begin to protest. “I can see it. Not always I know but you can't just bottle everything up.”

 

Defeated I meet her stare for a long moment. “Why not?”

 

“Because you'll explode.” She says with all seriousness. “Find someone.”

 

“Alright.” I relent, sighing in frustration, my mind already working over the possibilities and any way that I can convince her that I am speaking to someone about these things, without actually revealing anything.

 

The smile she pulls across her face lights the entire room. “Thank you.” She leans down reaches between us to pull the button of my trousers open and proceeds to show me how truly grateful she is long into the night.

 

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#sigh# why am I never happy with chapters like this? #pouts# Anyway hope you liked this, even though people are starting to gang up on Jamie a little bit but you can't have friends and be that private at the same time. It just doesn’t happen. Hope you like this and I should be moving the story along – not to mention the school year- sometime soon. Pinky promise.

 

As always please please please R&R I love to see your comments and getting into some sort of dialogue with you guys. Until next time!