Chapter Text
Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden -
Ah - the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!
- Emily Dickinson
There were few who knew the location of Lily Evans’ heart.
There was first James Potter, who had a star map leading to Lily’s heart kept in the depths of his dresser, inked on a piece of parchment. Lily told him after one too many bottles of rum, one night, when James’ eyes had begged her for something, anything, and Lily had to tell him her heart would never belong to anyone who sailed the seas.
And then Mary—Mary MacDonald. She, too, wished to know the desires of Lily’s heart, and Lily had to tell her nothing beat in her chest any-more:
“But, surely—”
“I’m sorry, Mary,” Lily had chastised. Mary was a good crew member, and had a sharp eye in the crow’s nest. Lily had even felt herself flush, a few times, when Mary had given her a heavy look. But then the shame had crept in, and a feeling that the sea was watching. “My heart is elsewhere.”
So much was true.
The third person who knew where her heart lay was the person to whom it belonged. It was buried on an island—a bit small, for the occupants’ usual standards, though not without warmth. Lily still remembered the day it was buried, as though it’d been burned into the black of her eyes, like the midday sun.
There’d been a light breeze, and Pandora looked an angel in the light. She’d spoken heavenly words, too:
“You’re a pirate, Lily Evans,” Pandora laughed. “I will not keep you from it.”
It was undeniable, though, that the sea was Lily’s first love. As a girl, she’d spent her nights out on the balcony, listening to the crash of the water against the ocean rocks, dreaming of a ship to take her far, far away from the entrapment of Port Royal.
Once she left, Lily had never cared to look back. On the sea, she’d discovered a ship, and a crew, and Pandora. And for a short bit, she’d had all of them, and life had been perfect.
But the sea was temperamental, and in constant change. Lily could not dream of controlling its whims.
“Come with me?”
Lily remembered her voice being desperate. Lily remembered being desperate.
“I can’t,” Pandora had shaken her head. “Ten years is a long time, Lily.”
She traced a finger, then, over the scar upon Lily’s chest, puffed up pink. Lily had wanted to flinch away at the cold touch, but hadn’t. It felt like a waste to push Pandora away in their last few moments.
“You’re right,” Lily grabbed her wrist. “It is a long time. Too long.”
Pandora’s eyes narrowed. “It was necessary. Sirius said it himself—you wouldn’t have lived without taking over the Dutchman.”
“And what if I preferred death?” Lily bit.
“You don’t mean that,” Pandora shook her head.
Pandora was right, back then. She knew how much the sea meant to Lily. And it certainly meant more than death.
“No,” Lily had whispered. “No I don’t.”
And then Pandora kissed her one last time. And Lily kneeled, and pressed her lips up the length of Pandora’s thigh. First, at the juncture of her knee. And then, slowly, up to the softest part of her leg, where the skin was thin and easy to bruise. Lily left a bite, as a parting gift, and Pandora gave her a soft smile.
Then, Lily disappeared with the Dutchman, out to the sea, and had resigned herself to a life of longings, locked by the ocean itself.
It took Lily a few years to realise the Dutchman was not freedom. For so long, her cage had taken the form of her childhood home, of Port Royal and its corsetry and customs, she’d failed to recognise when her ship had turned from a salvation to a cage.
It settled into a bone-deep boredom.
“Something wrong?”
It was Sirius, this time. His voice was dry with rum, and he’d caught Lily staring off while she steered, eyes fixed on the horizon.
“No,” Lily insisted, snapping back to herself.
Something was wrong, though. For a moment, she’d been transfixed with the idea of giving the wheel a sharp jerk to the left, towards Pandora’s island. It’d been a harder day than most, and Lily was plagued with visions of Pandora.
It would be a bad decision. A mad decision.
Or, Lily thought, a wise one. The sea was growing wearisome, and Lily was longing again for a tryst. The thought of Pandora was practically inescapable. She’d slipped back into the maze of her memory earlier that morning, touching herself to blonde curls and blue Nile eyes.
“You know,” Sirius whispered. Lily could sense how low his voice was, in case anyone else on the crew heard them. “There’s no such thing as bad thoughts.”
A flush came upon Lily’s face. With her deeply tanned skin, it would not appear visible to others. But she could feel it on her own skin, resting just beneath the surface, and could hear her heart beating beneath the sand, miles off.
“You—”
Oh, the embarrassment, Lily thought. He’d heard her earlier, crying out Pandora’s name.
“But your actions talk, Captain.”
Lily stared at him a moment, before she shook her head, and fixed her eyes back upon the horizon. He was not wrong.
Sometimes, Lily wondered if it’d been real, at all. If the blaze of her bedsheets, hidden away in the Captain’s quarters, were simply fantasies. She wondered if she were merely being haunted by Pandora—by someone she’d desired, but whose skin she never touched.
Sometimes, she wondered if it was make-believe.
Lily could tell the crew worried for her, at moments. Before she’d become Captain, Lily had been singular in her love for the sea, in her devotion to it. There was nothing more that Lily wanted than openness and waves and blue. At sea, she’d learned what true freedom was, far from the clutches of her family and her status at Port Royal.
But Pandora—
Pandora was simply a matter of time. It was what Lily told herself—somewhere, on a lonely island, was Pandora, practising her magic, awaiting the arrival of the Dutchman. It was easy to imagine her there—Pandora had always been solitary, content in her own world, and the island provided more than enough for her. It was far from the savage of Port Royal, or from the pirate ports, and would never be a target for thievery or pillaging. Lily had ensured that.
(The other thought was a terrible one. The other thought was of an abandoned island, the grave of Lily’s heart left abandoned to the whims of the ocean. The other thought was of an island that had never been inhabited, at all.)
The more Lily turned it over in her mind, though, the more Pandora turned into a paradox. Some nights, Lily could practically see Pandora there, next to her. Some nights, they had complete conversations, so vivid that Lily would reach a hand forward, to feel for Pandora’s form, only to find her own sheets, empty but for salt.
Other nights, Lily would see nothing of Pandora at all. She’d trace the scar upon her chest, and then place another notch mark in her wall. Seven years, she was coming up on. Twenty-five hundred marks. Twenty-five hundred days.
Lily felt a bit like she was going crazy.
Sometimes, Lily thought of throwing herself off the ship. The sea was inviting. Lily could imagine it would go quite smoothly: she’d throw herself off the ship, drown, and some sea creature would find her. Or, she’d drift all the way to an island, where wolves would pick at her bones. It felt easier than the agony of longing.
Other times, she thought of finding Pandora’s island, and digging up her own heart. Cracking the lock upon her vault. Putting the beating thing back in her chest.
She’d be giving up the Dutchman, but Lily supposed, sometimes, it wouldn’t be so bad. Ferrying souls to the underworld was not for the weak. And though Lily Evans was not a weak woman, Pandora was her exception. Lily’s shields fell, a little, around Pandora.
(Lily knew, of course, if she did this, she’d die. She’d carved her own heart out from survival, not from choice.)
Still. A lingering thought.
It was James who brought up the idea of visiting, one evening. Lily had spent the day up in the crow’s nest, with Mary, leaving the navigation purposes to Sirius for the day. She’d taken to watching the horizon with a telescope, sitting next to Mary in silence.
Dinner was with the crew, and consisted of far too much rum. It was, perhaps, why James had the courage to speak up.
“Why don’t we just go ?”
He asked it in an exasperated manner.
Lily gave him a vicious look. “Go where?”
In response, James shot her a golden grin. “To your heart, Captain.”
A thump shook the table as Lily buried her knife between James’ fingertips, digging into the sea-rusted wood of the table.
“James,” Lily corrected. “Watch your words. I will throw you overboard.”
James rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to imply you have a heart.”
Laughs sounded through the crew, though Lily felt a sinking in her gut. As if she’d swallowed seawater. It was a comment that James meant to be complimentary, appealing to her carefully-cultivated reputation as a heartless pirate.
She wasn’t heartless, though. Her chest beat empty, sure, but Lily herself still had a heart.
Absentmindedly, she traced over the scar on her chest. Thought of the sacrifice she’d made, for the sea. Two sacrifices, one and the same. Quickly, the blonde hair, the grey-blue eyes, drifted into her mind. Just for a minute. It felt, a bit, like a vow she’d made—Pandora would never leave her mind for long.
When Lily brought herself back to the present, to her crew and her ship, James was giving her a soft look.
And, when Lily gave a slight tilt of her head, and then a nod, James knew exactly what she meant.
They sailed three days in the opposite direction they were meant to. The crew had protested, of course, given that Lily didn’t give them much of an explanation, but they were satisfied enough when Lily shrugged, and stated it was none of their business.
(It helped, too, when she pulled the switchblade from her boot, and dared them to question her again.)
They sailed until James questioned whether the star-map was correct, until Mary asked if Pandora’s island was a real island.
The Dutchman found it in the end, though. It was a small thing, perched amongst a larger scattering of islands. Lily recognised Pandora’s by its shape; once upon a time, they’d spoken about living there together, when Lily was finally weary from the sea.
Back then, Lily had too much heart, too much worry for what others would think. She’d lied, and told Pandora she’d give up the sea for her.
Something told Lily that Pandora knew the truth, though, even back then.
As they approached the island, Lily found herself wracking her eyes over the shore, looking for movement. She held her telescope between both hands, as though she could ground herself with the lens, with the knowledge that Pandora was just there—a shore away.
Beneath the crash of the water, Lily could practically feel her own heart beating. Her lungs caught in her throat, before she fixed her eyes back on the beach, upon the spot where she knew Pandora would be, wading out from the line of forest.
Upon her thigh, Lily could practically feel the trace of Pandora’s fingertips already, writing out a single word.
“Mine,” she’d said, on their very first night, and then she’d bitten a bruise at the juncture of her thigh.
“Yours,” Lily had whispered back.
For a moment, Lily felt as if it were a mirage—the memory itself, limited to her mind. And then, a small movement. First, it was the flutter of something golden, catching in the sun. Shifting of the sand. Then, it was the slow, drawn out movement, of a wave.