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Galenea watched the flickering stars through the window of her chambers. Her body and mind were weary from the eventful months. Having hardly any time to herself, her skin was dry and parched from lack of water.
The finwife was in desperate need of a soak.
Now, as there was finally a moment of peace, she might indulge her need without fear of being caught out. She knew just the place to do it.
Most of the students had departed from Hogwarts for the Christmas Season, including the Prefects. This departure en masse left their luxurious bath deliciously unattended.
With this goal in mind, Galenea Cray left her window perch and began gathering the necessities for relaxation.
She had a sizable collection of atlantic seasalt on hand in little vials. Pouring it in bathwater eased the discomfort of the transformation that inevitably ensued upon her submersion. She next reached for her bottle of juniper oil, an old remedy for aches passed down from her dearly departed grandmother.
She caressed the vial fondly. Kind memories of the woman who’d raised her returned to her mind.
Lastly, she found her fluffiest towel and the pièce de rèsistance: her favorite chenille bathrobe. Absorbed in girlish giddiness at the prospect of a lovely bath, she hastily crept from her quarters in Ravenclaw tower and made the short trip to that gorgeous tub down the hall.
...
The castle was quiet in the lull of night. Many of the usual inhabitants had returned home for the holiday season. There wasn’t likely to be a single soul stirring in the reverent stillness.
Still, it was his night to make rounds about the castle in search of curfew-breaking students, and he didn’t intend to shirk his duty.
Besides, anything was better than tossing about in his bed until the wee hours of the morning.
Severus had begun his search from the bottom. He would first search the dungeons and ascend from there.
Unsurprisingly, he found nothing amiss. Other than Peeves lurking about like a buffoon, as per usual, all was quiet. The poltergeist always managed to grate on his nerves.
After an hour of keeping a quick pace, he’d nearly reached the castle’s garret undisturbed...
That is, until he heard that voice.
A woman’s voice.
A gentle lullaby graced his ears as he concluded his ascent of the stairway.
It was mesmerizing. A soft lilt in a language he did not recognize. His eyes grew heavy from the soothing cadence. He nearly fell down a flight of steps in his trance, barely catching himself on the stairway railing.
He needed to find the source. For some indecipherable reason, it was imperative.
His previous mission almost entirely forgotten, he slunk past the Ravenclaw Tower in pursuit of the singer.
The closer he got, the sweeter the song became. He could finally discern the lyrics. A Norwegian lullaby.
“Byssan lull,
koka kittelen full
där kommer tre
vandringsmän på vägen”
The voice beckoned him closer. In mindless pursuit, he found himself before a door he recognized.
The door to the Prefect’s Bath.
“Den ene, ack så halt,
den andre, o så blind
den tredje säger alls
Ingenting”
Had he been more possessed with reason at that moment, he’d have recognized the err in turning the handle to reveal the songstress.
It wasn’t in his nature to creep on naked women in the bath.
In his bewitched state, however, the door seemed a frivolous impediment from what must be utter bliss lying beyond.
Ever so careful not to disturb the songbird from her warbling occupation, he gently turned the knob of the great door and pushed it open only a fraction.
Just able to peer inside with one eye, he beheld what seemed to be a goddess of water in her kingdom of bubbles.
She tossed her long flaxen hair over one shoulder, causing it to glisten like liquid gold in the pale moonlight that spilled from the stained glass window. She commenced running through the delicate strands with what seemed to be an elegant little golden comb.
“Byssan lull, koka kittelen full,
där blåser vindar på haven,
på Stora ocean,
på lilla Skagerack
och långt upp i Bottniska
viken”
Ceasing her combing, she set the instrument aside and stretched her porcelain arms over her head. This languorous movement revealed the hills of her ample breast to the moonlight, the peaks of which seemed to perk to a point at the sudden exposure to the air.
The sight sent a shiver through Severus’s form. A pang of desire from a dark, abandoned place in his soul crashed over him in spite of himself.
His conscience struggled to peer through the fog caused by the enchantress’s song.
This was wrong.
Just as he was about to leave, feeling thoroughly chastened by his own mind, the woman seemed to begin stretching her legs. However, when they would’ve breached the surface of the water, there were no legs at all.
In their place was a gorgeous, opalescent tail with a long, gossamer fin.
There was a bloody siren in the prefects’ bath.
“Byssan lull, koka kittelen full,
där segla tre skutor på vågen”
“Den första är en bark,
den andra är en brigg,
den tredje har så trasiga segel”
Humming the start of the next verse, she closed her eyes and rest her head on the edge of the bath, her face now revealed to Severus.
Still in shock over the tail, his eyes nearly bulged from his head at the sight of the familiar face.
The refined, delicate features belonged to the soon-to-be replacement head of Ravenclaw House, the recent hire of one Filius Flitwick: Galenea Cray.
And, little did Severus know, he was not the finwife’s only audience.
...
Floating on her back in leisurely circles overhead, a Ravenclaw ghost by the monicker of Moaning Myrtle oft attended this bathroom in secret. She was the ghost of a particularly nosy fourteen year old, after all, and there were often scantily-clad boys to moon over, here.
Tonight, however, she had come to attend what had now become a sort of concert given by the mermaid in the bath.
Her song seemed to be the only thing that could soothe Myrtle’s relentless nerves.
Thus, anytime the finwife saw fit to soak, Myrtle did, as well.
Galenea did not mind the company of the young Ravenclaw. This kindness was rather an oddity for Myrtle. She was accustomed to being a joke. She was nothing more than a pathetic victim to be cackled at by the insufferable, warm-blooded students. However, even as a student many years past, Galenea had seen fit to befriend not only the bathroom-dwelling specter, but also many of the other ghosts haunting the halls of Hogwarts. Upon learning the finwife’s secret, Myrtle was intent on being Galenea’s closest friend. They had a shared passion, seeing as Galenea spent a great deal of time as a patron to the bath that Myrtle so prized.
At the mermaid’s request, Myrtle was even appointed as a sort of watch-guard for the woman. The young teen did not take the employment lightly.
After many a night of uninterrupted song and relaxation, her time had finally come.
Someone was snooping at the door...
and it was a man no less.
...
Shocked from her repose, Galenea heard Myrtle give a sudden shriek.
“Whatever is the matter, dearest?” She turned to ask, but was swiftly interrupted by the shrill teenaged ghost.
Like a flash of lightening, the specktor bolted to the doorway with inhuman speed. The force of her movement swung the door to the bath wide open, revealing the imposter.
“PROFESSOR SNIVELLUS SNOOP!”
Myrtle screeched at the top of her lungs, leveling her pointing-finger directly at his curved nose.
“HAVING A SNEAKY PEEP?! THE DUNGEON BAT IS A GIANT CREEP!”
His face was the image of abject horror as he tried in vain to stutter an apology or an excuse. Anything at all. In his haste to retreat, he nearly slipped on his robes.
“GO AWAY!” She indignantly commanded.
By that point, the man was halfway down the hall with his proverbial tail between his legs.
“WAIT!” A much gentler voice beckoned.
He would not wait. He was sickened by himself. He continued his swift withdrawal. He could not face her after what he had done. He simply could not. Myrtle’s mocking voice echoed in his head.
He certainly felt like a “Giant Creep”.
Nearly reaching the stairs, he heard the voice call out once more.
“Severus, please!”
Her melodic voice broke upon the desperate plea. He gave a moment’s pause at the emotionally-laden outburst.
She knew it was him, of course she knew. Myrtle wasn’t exactly discreet. His stomach seemed to drop to the floor. He knew he deserved whatever hale of fire he was bound to receive. The split second of hesitation on the part of Severus was just enough time for the woman to descend upon him.
Grasping his shoulder with a shockingly strong grip, she swiftly turned him to face her and pushed his back to the wall, pinning him against it with her body.
He was trapped.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to escape the stormy grey eyes of the woman whose privacy he’d invaded.
He felt he might become ill.
He tried to maintain a stoic face, but failed miserably. Unable to meet her eyes, his gaze was fixated on the floor before him.
Preparing himself for the inevitable slap of her hand, his body tensed like a coiled spring under her firm grip of his robes...
but the blow did not come.
Instead, after having assured that Severus would not flee, she softened her grip on him. Her dainty pale hands now simply resting on his chest, she spoke so softly that he could hardly hear,
“Severus, I am so sorry.”
In utter shock, he couldn’t help but scoff with incredulity. Snape immediately met her gaze at what seemed like an absurdly placed apology.
“I-y-you,” he stuttered, rapidly blinking before he managed an inelegant reply, “You what?”
Her dainty brow was knit in concern, her rosebud lips pursed as she considered her next move.
“This is entirely my fault,” her voice betrayed her regret, “I know what my singing does to people, especially men,”
She smoothed the ripple she’d left in the fabric of his shirt from her iron-grip with gentle hands. The tender gesture awakened a strange fluttering heat under his skin that he endeavored to ignore.
No one had touched him this way. Not a soul. His muscles seemed to ache with forbidden sentimentality.
“Your actions were not your own,” she spoke with finality, “A finwife’s song enchants any who hear it.”
She searched his dark eyes with hers, seeking to gauge his reaction,
“May I ask your forgiveness on behalf of Myrtle for the verbal abuse?”
Severus thought his head might spin. Not only had he thoughtlessly assaulted this woman’s privacy, revealing what must be an incredibly well-guarded secret, but she was now seeking his supplication.
Supplication for his own trespass.
His angular face contorted in question, he found himself at a complete and utter loss for words. His obvious distress was not lost on Galenea, as she broke the silence once more,
“Severus Snape with nothing to say?”
The new mirthful sparkle in her cat-like eyes seemed to bring Severus’s mind back to him.
His voice was slow and careful, entirely lacking in the usual sarcastic tone,
“Miss Cray,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “Though I cannot speak for whatever power you may possess, I must take some manner of responsibility for my actions.”
Galenea cocked her head inquisitively at this, urging him to continue, though the exposure of the delicate curve of her neck caused a wave of desire to spread through Severus that his mind hastily sought to quell.
“If forgiveness is what you seek, then I must insist that none is required. If anything,” his eyes shifted nervously to the left, “It is I who should be seeking yours.”
At this makeshift-apology, the woman couldn’t help but flash a sweet little smile,
“Ever the gentleman, Professor Snape,” she teased, “You have my full and free forgiveness,” the laughter left her features rapidly as she continued, “So long as I have your discretion, that is.”
He was hardly in the position to deny the woman, seeing as she had him pinned to a wall. His being apprehended aside, this event was the last thing he wanted to have circulating the school.
No, her secret was safe with him.
“I’d have kept your confidence even without a promise, Galenea.”
A broader, more dazzling smile graced the beauty’s face, “Yes,” she sighed, content with his answer, “Yes, I suppose you would, wouldn’t you?”
It was the sigh. The gentle trust in her features. The feeling of her now relaxed form against him. At that intimate emission, Severus was made painfully aware of his position. Beneath this wickedly beautiful creature who seemed to be wearing nothing but a long bathrobe, he felt the softness of her pressed flush against him. Her hair was still wet, as she’d rushed from the bath to him in hasty pursuit earlier.
Merlin, the scent of her was utterly intoxicating.
The feeling of her ample chest against his body brought the image of her bare form back to his mind unbidden. He felt his body tense in aroused interest.
His breathing became shallow, nearly hitching with each rise of her chest to meet his.
Galenea, unable to restrain herself any further from advancing on the man, stood on her toes to meet his eyes head on. Leaning against him further in support of her position en-pointe, she pressed a slow, featherlight kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you.” She whispered, her gentle lips ghosting his ear.
As quickly as she had closed the distance between them, she pushed herself from the wall, releasing Severus from her grasp.
With a saucy wink, she chirped,
“Happy Yule, Severus, and goodnight.”
She turned on the heel of her bare foot, and swayed her hips as she traipsed down the hall to the entrance of her chambers.
As soon as she’d disappeared from sight, Severus slowly sank to the floor.