Diptych

Chapter 42

The first he saw of her was slick black hair emerging from the water. She didn't immediately come up further, kept her distance and kept her eyes on him. He could see them then, her eyes. Narrow and dark and not altogether human; not at all what he'd been expecting, and yet fitting immediately with the stories he'd heard of the creatures he'd so desperately sought out.

Regulus was still. He could see his own breath puffing out before him as his lungs stuttered and gasped for air. Because she didn't move either, he thought that it was perhaps the right move, that he would allow her to take in his appearance and that of James in front of him, laid out like an offering and then she'd see. She'd see his plight before he told her of it and her heart would clench at the sight of the boy in the same way Regulus' had. But seconds passed. One puffed out breath became two, became six, ten, and finally Regulus realised that she wasn't going to be the first to move. Still, he didn't step forward. He didn't move James. He only said,

"Please, he... he needs your help."

Later, he'd wonder just how many people had said those exact words to her, or to her sisters. Standing out on the edge of the water, knowing the power that they held and risking the consequences legend said they would face. If she was moved by the declaration, she made no show of it.

"He's hurt his head, and I... I think I've fixed it, but... he's still not breathing, and I don't know how to make him start again, and I don't even really need you to do it if you won't, but if you could just tell me how to do it, then I'll take him and I'll do it myself and I'll leave you in peace."

Nothing.

"Please, he's... I've dragged him all the way here, because somebody once told me about you, and you're here, and really I didn't even fully expect that, but you are, and just... please, come on!" He regretted in that moment raising his voice; he worried that he might frighten her off. But if she was afraid by the voice of a frantic boy, it still didn't move her.

"He's my brother's best friend, and if I let him die, he'll never forgive me for it."

Finally, something.

She moved closer, eyes and flat nose appearing from slow ripples. He didn't know what had convinced her to finally bring herself closer, the mention of Sirius, or his pathetic tone, but it didn't really matter. She emerged so far — pale shoulders poking out followed by flowing hair covering breasts and ribs visible only because of the way she'd contorted herself — that Regulus almost convinced himself that she was going to step right out of the water and close the distance between them. Of course, she didn't.

When he and Sirius had first been told the story, he'd been unable to imagine the mermaids in any way other than to picture them as variations of his cousins; they were the only girls he'd spent any amount of time with then. At the beginning of the story, they were all copies of Narcissa and Andromeda, swimming gracefully among themselves, wary of the humans that might've passed by. Later in the story, their features began to morph in his mind, sharpen. They resembled Bellatrix more than the other girls at the end of the story, pulling poor unsuspecting men to their deaths. Growing older, they had stayed that way in his head. Sharp noses and dark eyes and masses of ringlets atop their heads. The reality of this mermaid was quite different.

She didn't haul herself from the water or reach out to pull Regulus in. Instead, she looked back momentarily, torn, before curling one hand towards herself, ushering Regulus closer. With each step he took in her direction, she moved back. When he realised that she meant for him to follow her into the water, he worried. Would he be able to breathe? Perhaps it was a ploy, perhaps the mermaids never really pulled muggles or wizards to their deaths, perhaps the men stepped willingly into their own demise. Was that what they were, these daughters of night? Fates disguised with hidden shears, givers of life and death he had been wrong to trifle with?