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Captain Granger looked out from the quarterdeck, her hands grasping the edge, mesmerised – as she always was – by the power of the blue waves on even the calmest of days. The way the wind pulled and twisted her curls left her feeling free, as if all were right with the world.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” said a voice from behind her. The words were spoken softly but with an edge of haughtiness that reflected their owner’s breeding and education.
Hermione turned with a charming smile as she quipped, “And miss the opportunity to see your gorgeous face? Never.”
Andromeda snorted and rolled her eyes, well used to Hermione’s flirtation after having served on her ship for so many years.
“I’d almost believe you,” she retorted, coming close enough to grab Hermione’s wrist and tug down her loose shirt so that it hung from her shoulder, revealing the bloody bandage wrapped around her upper arm, “if I hadn’t caught you hiding from me before. When did you last change this?”
“That depends,” Hermione hedged. “When did you last change it?”
“Hermione,” Andromeda sighed in exasperation.
“That’s Captain Granger to you,” Hermione answered with a smug grin, trying to hide the way she winced as Andromeda unwound the bandage, dried blood sticking and plucking at her skin.
“The Captain Granger I remember,” Andromeda said quietly but pointedly, her attention focused on her work as she cleaned the gash, “understood that if you don’t look after a wound, it festers. Just ask Mad-Eye.”
Hermione glanced over to where her quartermaster stood, his gait lopsided as always due to his wooden leg being ever-so-slightly too short. He was using his one good eye to keep a careful watch on the crew while the other – too small for the socket – barely stayed in place. She chuckled gently.
“Well,” Hermione returned after a moment, “the old Captain Granger was also foolish enough to try and hide from you, so I’m not sure we should trust her judgement.”
“No,” Andromeda mused, beginning the process of bandaging Hermione’s arm once more. “maybe not. But I’m not too convinced by the current captain’s judgement, either. Did you hear that she got herself stabbed the other day?”
“No, really?” Hermione gasped in mock surprise. “I’m sure she was very brave and heroic. Protecting the ship, fighting off a horde of the King’s men… hoping the ship’s surgeon might find her new scars fetching…”
Andromeda pulled Hermione’s shirt back into place, her work done. Bundling up the bloodied bandages and arching an eyebrow, she teased, “Very fetching. Although I must confess, I prefer bedding down with a woman who doesn’t look like a piece of meat once Hagrid’s through with it.”
Hermione let out a surprised burst of laughter at the mention of the ship’s cook, a giant of a man with the finesse of a bull. His food was inedible, but Hermione had such a soft spot for the gentle soul that she couldn’t bear to reassign him.
Andromeda raised a hand in farewell as she descended the stairs to the main deck, her departure as abrupt as her appearance. She passed Hermione’s first mate, Ginny, on the way, who turned to watch her go before looking back at Hermione with a waggle of her eyebrows.
As she got close enough not to shout, Ginny asked, “So… talk her into your bed yet, Cap’n? That looked very touchy-touchy.”
Hermione smirked and rolled her shoulder, testing the way the gash in her arm restricted her movement. “Only in my dreams, Weasley. What’s the report?”
“No report,” Ginny said, straightening up slightly in recognition of the more professional tone the conversation had taken, “just letting you know that Lovegood is on her way up.”
Hermione sighed, and Ginny relaxed back into her slouched stance; the conversation had detoured back into the casual.
“Do you know what she wants?”
“No clue,” Ginny replied, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Hermione and await Luna’s arrival. “I ran straight up here when I saw her on the move. She had that look in her eye.”
“Which look?” Hermione grumbled. Luna had a lot of looks.
Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of bangles clanging together signalled Luna’s arrival already. Ginny had been right; she had that look in her eye. Her dreamy expression was belied by a clear focus and calculating gleam.
“Hermione,” Luna greeted with a pleasant smile. She was the only one other than Andromeda who got away with addressing her as anything other than Captain or Granger – Andromeda because she’d saved Hermione’s arse so many times that she’d earned the right, Luna because it was impossible to make her do anything. “We’re going the wrong way.”
Ginny immediately burst into laughter. Hermione stared at her dumbly, and even Mad-Eye turned around in shock.
“But, Luna,” Hermione began, feeling that she must be missing something if she was having to explain this, “you’re the navigator – you plotted the course.”
“I know that,” Luna said as patiently as she would if she were explaining something to a very small, very stupid child, “but I didn’t realise where it would take us.”
Hermione felt her brain stutter to a halt as she tried to process that statement. However, rather than delve into the inner workings of Luna’s mind, she simply asked, “Why can’t we go this way, Luna?”
“Because we won’t get there.”
“Oh, gods,” Ginny exclaimed in exasperation, promptly excusing herself from the quarterdeck with an, “I’m out!”
Hermione took a calming breath, the sea air cleansing her of any frustration that rose in the face of Luna’s non-answers.
“What, exactly, is the danger?” she asked, selecting her words very carefully.
“Oh,” Luna said in a tone of understanding. Then, “Sirens.”
“Nope!” Ginny shouted from below, followed by the sound of the doors to Hermione’s cabin slamming shut. She just knew the woman was trying to sniff out her stash from the last time they’d docked.
However, Hermione was saved from having to reply; Mad-Eye had turned to face them directly and was now appraising Luna with a look of great suspicion.
“Sirens?” he asked, incredulity obvious in his voice. “Are you pulling my leg, girlie?”
“Of course not,” Luna replied with a smile, “it would come right off.”
Hermione was aware of the conversation continuing, the contrast between their two voices registering in her mind but not their words. She assumed they were arguing back and forth in their strange way, as they often did when they disagreed – which was the case for almost every subject. Luna was likely protesting the dangers of their chosen route, Mad-Eye accusing her of drinking too much if she thought Sirens were real. It was a conversation she’d listened to with attentive amusement when the topic had been the Kraken, but not now.
In truth, she was elsewhere.
***
The island was alive with more activity than usual, a testament to the importance of the events taking place. While most days found Fleur reclining on the rock she called home, luxuriating in the presence of her sisters, today was different. Not only had a ship come close to the island for the first time in months, but – with Fleur having recently turned seventeen – it was also the first time she had been old enough to participate.
Gabrielle, the youngest of the Sirens, was very upset by that fact. She and Fleur shared a Birthgiver, Apolline, and had spent every Summoning of Gabrielle’s young life sequestered in the cave with the other children. When she had been ushered back into that cave while Fleur remained with the adults, she had thrown a tantrum strong enough to conjure her own small typhoon.
However, from the moment their song first started, Fleur forgot all about the upset of her younger sister. It was as beautiful as it was exhilarating. It had started softly, their voices carrying across the ocean on the breeze. The moment the distant ship slowed and began to turn, Fleur felt her stomach flip in anticipation. The song started building then, a deep rhythm to it that pushed and pulled with the tide. The sea responded, rolling in deeper troughs and peaking in higher crests, urging the ship closer and closer.
They had reached their crescendo as it had crashed upon the rocks that formed the cove around their home, wood splintering and exploding as the hull buckled in on itself. The strongest among them rushed forward, plunging into their bay and swimming with a ferocity she had never before witnessed.
She longed to join them in the water, had even taken a step forward, but her Birthgiver had rested a firm hand on her arm with a gentle smile.
“Not yet,” Apolline had murmured, then inclined her head towards the wreck. “Just watch.”
Fleur had watched. The red hue colouring the water in their bay had left her feeling sick.
“You’re a gentle soul, Fleur,” Apolline said once the frenzy was over. “I doubt this will ever be your role, as it has never been mine. For now, perhaps checking the beach will be enough. See if any have survived.”
Which was where Fleur now found herself, bare feet sinking into white sand as she followed the border of her home. Apolline’s words rang in her mind, and not for the first time, she found herself wondering where she fit in as part of their society. She certainly couldn’t see herself as the type to be satisfied with patrolling the beaches each day. She knew that she should be looking out toward the horizon and scanning the water’s surface, but in truth, she was more focused on searching for shells to bring back to Gabrielle. Of course, this meant it came as a surprise when she raised her gaze a little and spotted a human lying face-down in the sand.
For a moment that stretched on like a lifetime, Fleur’s heart stopped. When it resumed its beating, she felt changed.
Crouching down, shaking hands reached out to turn the human onto its back. It was a girl, brown curls sticking to sun-kissed skin, who looked to be around the same age as Fleur. As the Siren traced her eyes across the contours of her face, lingering on plump lips, dark lashes, and the smattering of freckles on her nose, she felt a flutter of something deep within. It was an urge to reach out and touch the girl’s skin, if only to confirm that she was really there.
Fleur leaned over her. Maybe it was the way she blocked out the sun, casting a shadow across the pretty face before her, but deep brown eyes suddenly blinked into wakefulness.
There was shock in the gaze at first, but Fleur didn’t move at all, and the shock shifted slowly into curiosity. The girl licked her dry lips, a glimpse of pink dashing out that captured all of Fleur’s attention.
“Hello,” the girl said quietly. Tentatively. Not scared, just curious.
“Hello,” Fleur returned, enraptured by the way the salt and sand were becoming more prominent in the girl’s slowly-drying hair. She smelt of the sea, and it made Fleur want to pull her closer. “What’s your name?”
The girl frowned, taking a moment before she slowly answered, “…Hermione. I think? I…” She trailed off, sitting up and forcing Fleur to wobble backwards onto her bum so they didn’t collide. Hermione raised a hand to the back of her head; when she pulled it away, the tips of her fingers were tinged red.
Fleur moved instantly, scrambling to her knees in the sand and pulling Hermione’s head to the side. She slid her fingers through the girl’s hair, searching until she found the wound. Fleur hissed in sympathy, but she was relieved to note it seemed mostly superficial.
“Head wounds bleed a lot,” she explained calmly, having found herself responsible for the mischievous younger Sirens on more occasions than she could count. She allowed Hermione to straighten up again and look her in the eye, but she didn’t release her hold on the younger girl. Rather, one hand slid down to cup her cheek and the other to grasp her shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth in a way she hoped was soothing. “But the memory loss is a little troubling. Do you remember what happened?”
“I was on the ship…” Hermione muttered, her brow still furrowed in concentration as she attempted to pull the memories from the mist of her mind. Fleur didn’t stop rubbing her shoulder. “And then the wind… started sighing? Or singing? I don’t know, it all gets foggy from there.”
Fleur nodded, understanding – it was simply an effect of their song, not anything more sinister. Using the hand resting on Hermione’s cheek to card her fingers through the girl’s hair, Fleur was relieved to note the wound had already stopped bleeding. The girl seemed surprisingly healthy, which meant one of two things: she hadn’t been sailing for long at all, or the Sirens were currently plundering quite the bounty from the ship.
“Who are you?” Hermione asked breathlessly, pulling Fleur from her thoughts. She realised the human had been studying her intensely and now had a look of wonder in those wide brown eyes. It brought a warmth to Fleur’s cheeks and set off a fluttering feeling in her chest.
“My name is Fleur,” she responded, pulling her hands away self-consciously and tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Are you a surgeon?” Hermione asked. When Fleur frowned in confusion, she clarified, “A doctor? Someone who heals the sick.”
“Ah!” Fleur exclaimed, her eyes lighting up and a wide smile gracing her face. When Hermione smiled softly in response, she felt her heart squeeze. “No, but I have a lot of little sisters who get into all kinds of trouble. I haven’t found my role yet.”
“Well, maybe that’s what you should do,” Hermione replied tenderly, seeming to sense the sadness in her tone as she said the last. A blush rose to the girl’s cheeks as she went on, “You’re a natural.”
Fleur opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. Still, the small motion had been enough to capture Hermione’s attention. When her eyes rose to lock with Fleur’s once more, an energy passed between them which communicated more than any words that they could have spoken.
Fleur wasn’t sure whether she leaned in first or vice versa. It didn’t truly matter. As she melted into the plush softness of Hermione’s lips, the girl leaning into her and grasping the back of her neck with a gentle desperation, Fleur felt the surge of her emotion tugging at the tide. The sea rushed up to meet them in a temperate foam, sanctifying the union of their lips.
“Fleur!” Apolline called, her voice distant but approaching.
Fleur pulled back, her pleasure morphing into a fierce protectiveness that had her standing and whirling around to face her Birthgiver.
Apolline had spotted them both. She stood frozen in place, eyes darting back and forth between her Siren Daughter and the conscious human sitting in the sand.
“Step away from her, Fleur,” she said calmly, although Fleur knew that tone well enough to hear the hidden tension. It was the same tone Apolline used whenever Gabrielle got too close to danger.
“She won’t hurt me,” Fleur asserted, her voice strong and confident. Apolline appeared startled by Fleur’s conviction, but she shook her head regardless.
“You don’t know that, sweetheart. You’ve never met one before.”
“She won’t,” Fleur insisted, although her voice was quieter. She saw Hermione tense out of the corner of her eye, and Fleur shifted closer to her, that protective urge rising again. She repeated, the conviction back, “She won’t.”
Apolline sighed, seeming conflicted. When she spoke, it was with a tone of sorrow. “Please don’t do this, Daughter,” she pleaded, the title bearing a weight that called upon a responsibility Fleur felt in her very soul. “You know that I have to call the guards. Please, just walk away.”
Fleur stiffened, a hand reaching back blindly for the girl she had found. Her heart only resumed its beating when she felt Hermione’s grip.
“I can’t do that,” she muttered quietly despite the distance, eyes welling up with tears as she vigorously shook her head. “Don’t ask me to do that.”
Apolline sighed again, the heartbroken sound of a mother who knew she had no option. However, the decision was promptly taken out of her hands by the arrival of an Elder.
“Well,” Adrienne said in surprise, taking in the sight of the three. The way that Hermione and Fleur clung to one another was enough to tell the tale.
“Adrienne,” Apolline sighed, apparently relieved to have her own Birthgiver present for the dilemma. She bowed her head and took a small step backwards, conceding to Adrienne’s authority without hesitation.
“Do not be afraid, child,” Adrienne murmured as she approached the pair slowly, her long dress leaving a trail through the white sand. Her eyes were unwavering as she focused on Hermione; it didn’t take long for Hermione to raise her own gaze, a defiant glint present. She stood but didn’t release her hold on Fleur’s hand despite their sweaty palms.
“If you’re going to kill me,” Hermione challenged, jutting out her chin, “I’d rather die on my feet.”
Fleur’s breath caught in her throat, and as she joined Hermione on her feet, she took just half a step forward. It was enough to place her between the girl and her Elder. Adrienne’s eyes swivelled to assess her for just a moment. She halted her approach and smiled before asking Hermione, “How old are you, child?”
Hermione paused for a second, then said, “Seventeen.”
Adrienne tsked. “Come, child, you are no adult. Lies will not serve you here,” she scolded. “How old are you?”
Shame-faced, Hermione muttered, “Fifteen.”
“You see, Apolline?” Adrienne asked, gesturing widely as she looked over her shoulder at her Daughter. “Just a child – no threat. However…” This time, her piercing blue gaze was fixed on Fleur. “…that does not mean she can stay.”
“Please,” Hermione began before Fleur could protest, her tone very sincere. “Please, madam, let me stay. There’s nothing out there for me, no one.”
Adrienne smiled kindly, if a little sadly. “There are your people, my child. You must return to them.”
“No,” Fleur croaked, unable to prevent the tears that had begun tracing paths down her face. “You can’t make her leave, she… The way I feel, it can’t—”
She didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t have a name for this intensity of emotion that surged within her. The prospect of letting Hermione go felt inherently wrong, as if she were being asked to cut off her arm and cast it into the ocean.
However, a hint of hope ignited at the spark of understanding in Adrienne’s eyes. She looked at them more closely, examined the way they hadn’t let go of each other for a single second.
“She must still leave, Fleur,” Adrienne explained, shaking her head and extinguishing that hope. “She is too young; she must grow before she can be with you in the way that you desire.”
“She should be with me now!” Fleur exclaimed, her anger surging outwards and drawing in a rogue wave to crash behind them. Throwing out her other arm to gesture to the ocean, she declared, “You see! Even the seafoam has blessed our union – you cannot take her from me.”
Adrienne took a deep breath, her eyes tracking the water that still lapped around their ankles. With her head tilting to the side in acknowledgement, Adrienne locked eyes with Hermione and agreed, “If the sea has blessed it, then the sea will bring her back to you. If the sea brings her back to you, then she will reach you unharmed. She must grow up among her own.”
Fleur felt her chest crumpling in on herself. She knew better than to argue, could tell when the final decision had been made. Even as Hermione turned to her in desperation, even as she shook her head in mourning, she knew that all she could do now was hope.
When the Sirens sang their second song, Fleur cradled her love close to her chest and did her best to cover the girl’s ears. When the ship came to rest next to the wreck of the first, its crew eagerly rowing over to meet the island of beautiful women, Fleur busied herself by covering Hermione’s face in kisses and whispering promises into her hair.
She almost resented the single crewmember who had been smart enough to block her ears with wax, leaving her unaffected and able to speak with Apolline. After her Birthgiver approached and introduced Hermione to Andromeda, the ship’s surgeon, Fleur pulled her to the side and told her that she loved her. She told her that she would always love her and that, no matter how many years it took, she would be welcomed back with open arms.
When she watched them sail away, she pressed her fingers to her lips and tried to imprint the feeling of their last kiss into her memory. She closed her eyes and prayed to every god she could think of that the sea would bring her back.
***
Hermione looked up, coming back to herself.
Mad-Eye let out a snort of disgust and turned to her. “It’s your call, Captain. If you think Sirens,” he scoffed, his disbelief obvious, “are a threat – if they’re even real! – then we can add three full weeks to the journey. I’m sure the crew’ll be delighted with that.”
Hermione locked eyes with Luna, and somehow, she knew that Luna knew.
“We stay the course.”
Luna smiled gently, asking, “You’re not afraid?”
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, but she smiled in response. “No, I’m not afraid.”
“That’s good. I was worried you might be,” Luna mused, gazing out over their motley crew. “I’m going to go see if Andromeda knows where I can find some beeswax.”
Hermione looked to the horizon, pulling out her spyglass. Far off in the distance, a tiny speck of rock was coming into view.
No, she wasn’t afraid. She was excited.