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Ornamentum oculis meis
The sea whispered secrets that morning. Its surface lay flat and unmoving. Gentle swells nudged a narrow stretch of sand. This beach was no wider than a ship’s deck. It belonged to a small island. Most maps failed to show its location. On this quiet shore sat an Emerald and silver scales caught the sun. Harry softly hummed a tune. The melody drifted over the water. Tiny fish, no bigger than his thumb, darted near his tail. They wove around him.
Each fish was a flash of color. They seemed unafraid of his presence. The merman's tail, a powerful appendage, twitched slightly. It blended with the natural hues of the sea. The air was still and warm. No wind disturbed the water’s surface. The island itself was remote. It was a forgotten place. Few ships ever passed its way. This solitude suited Harry. He found peace in the quiet. The sun warmed his scaly skin. He felt a deep connection to the water. His humming grew a little louder.
The fish responded with quicker movements. They circled him in a playful display. The sand was fine and pale. It crunched softly under his bare feet. He sat on the edge of the water. His tail lay fully extended behind him. It rested on the damp sand. The scales caught the light. They created miniature rainbows of patterns and movement.
The sounds of the ocean were minimal. Just the softest shushing of waves. This was Harry’s sanctuary. A place far from the noise of others. He was a creature of the sea. His form showed this clearly. The sun seemed to bless his unusual beauty.
He looked so innocent, so unguarded, that Tom Riddle’s heart clenched like a fist.
From the deck of his ship, Tom watched, transfixed. His crew whispered fearfully—a siren, a lure, a curse. But Tom was not afraid. No jewel, no crown, no kingdom had ever made him ache the way this creature did. He wanted him—not as a trophy, but as his.
That day, Tom did not draw near. He simply ordered a gem—a ruby the size of a thumb—to be left upon the island’s sand. And when his ship pulled away, he glanced back just long enough to see the merman’s hand reach out, hesitant but curious, to take it.
The next morning, a pale shell sat where the ruby had been.
So began their wordless exchange.
Tom left pearls, diamonds, even a golden locket once stolen from a duchess. Harry returned with shells, sea glass, driftwood shaped like hearts. And though his crew muttered of madness, Tom lived for the quiet ritual. He lived for the way Harry’s green eyes flicked toward the ship, for the flicker of recognition that passed between them.
But desire is a dangerous tide. Each gift only sharpened Tom’s hunger. Watching from a distance was no longer enough. He needed more.
One night, under the silver light of the moon, Tom ordered the nets cast. The crew hesitated, but the look in their captain’s eyes brooked no refusal. With a great splash, the net closed, and the merman thrashed violently, scales flashing like shards of emerald fire.
“Bring him aboard,” Tom commanded, his voice like thunder.
Harry was hauled onto the deck, bound in ropes slick with seawater. He glared up at Tom, fury burning in his gaze, but said nothing. His silence was more scathing than any curse.
Tom knelt, brushing a strand of wet hair from Harry’s face. His fingers lingered against Harry’s cheek, almost reverent.
“Caught at last… MY precious gem.”
Harry turned his head away, refusing to meet his eyes.
The crew expected Tom to chain him in the hold, or sell him to the highest bidder. Instead, Tom revealed what he had prepared: a vast tank of reinforced glass, filled with seawater that shimmered with the glow of enchanted lanterns. Gems of every color lined the bottom—rubies, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds—enough to make kings weep.
It was a palace of treasure, and a prison all the same.
Lowered gently into the tank, Harry swam in circles once, testing the boundaries, then settled at the bottom, his back to Tom.
“Do you see?” Tom said softly, one hand pressed against the glass. His voice lost some of its command, becoming almost pleading.
“Not all cages are cruel. I’ve built you a kingdom, MY precious gem. Yours, and yours alone.”
Harry refused to look at him. The silence was unbroken save for the soft ripple of water.
Days passed. Tom brought more jewels, more offerings, dropping them into the tank as if trying to buy Harry’s gaze. At night, he would sit beside the glass, whispering as if confessing sins to a god.
“You’re mine now. Not a pearl, not a diamond in all the oceans could rival you."
Harry kept looking away from Tom every time he visits his aquarium. He felt upset but not mad..
"Tell me, MY precious gem... What is your name?" Tom kept nagging Harry to speak to him even once, Harry just gave a glare and turn away.
Tom gave a smirk before turning away. "I am willing to wait for you. You'll break eventually."
And though Harry never spoke, sometimes Tom swore he saw flickers of softness—when Harry brushed his tail over the gemstones, when he left a single shell on the glass ledge, a defiant reminder that he still had his own voice, his own will.
One night, when the sea roared and the lanterns swayed, Tom leaned close to the glass, eyes burning.
“One day, I’ll find a way to make you walk beside me. One day, you’ll see that you were always mine.”
Inside the tank, Harry’s tail flicked sharply, sending a spray of water against the glass—half a rejection and the other half a challenge.
And Tom only smiled, hunger never sated.
“Fight me if you must, MY precious gem. I’ll cherish you either way.”