Thank you to everyone who is still reading. I know it has been a long wait for the chapters and I appreciate the patience. Also, thanks to Denarri for editing this monster for me!
Chapter 93
"What are your thoughts, Montague?"
Graham looked up pensively from his seat at the far end of the table and shrugged slightly.
"I think it will all be doable, if we can get a foothold in the Ministry," he stipulated, looking between Umbridge and Runcorn. "Even then there is the question of manpower."
"We will have a foothold in the Ministry. Fudge left the Ministry ill-prepared and Scrimgeour is too busy trying to reassure the public of the ministries competence that he has failed to actually do so." Runcorn sneered.
"Still—" Graham continued respectfully "—this will not be an easy task. The registry alone will be absolute chaos. No one is going to register as a muggleborn and the purebloods who hold to their pro-muggle ideals are going to fight us. Not only will we have to hunt every single muggleborn down to bring into the Ministry for questioning, but we will also have to have investigations simply to get the names of who among us is muggleborn. We have discussed hiring mercenaries to help round them up, but I have a difficult time trusting hired hands to do such tasks."
"I doubt we will have a difficult time getting names," Umbridge piped in with her overly high, girlish voice. "Most faithful witches and wizards would be able to name plenty. I bet even you, Mr. Montague, could name not only muggle borns in your class, but half bloods and half breeds as well."
Graham did his best not to wince at Umbridge's sickly smile at the mention of half breeds. He prayed that she was just making a point and wasn't thinking of Wamil. Even if her Siren heritage wasn't known, her veela was obvious, even if it wasn't much Veela.
"You're very young, dear, I'm glad we have included you in these meetings. You do need to learn and be apart of the changes that will be made in the Ministry, but you do not have a grasp of how great the Ministry's power is. When you begin working come the summer you will have a much higher appreciation for bureaucratic power."
Graham motioned with his chin and delicately bowed out of the discussion, but Runcorn's eyes continued to pierce through him. "What department will you be working in once you graduate?"
"International Magical Cooperation," Graham answered blandly.
"What office? Trade? WIll you be overseeing cauldron density?" The table laughed, but Graham kept a straight face.
"Delegation for the International Confederation of Wizards."
Runcorn raised a brow. "Impressive, especially considering they have taken you straight out of Hogwarts. Most have to work years to get there."
"I will be at a very low level position," Graham stated. "I did an internship for them over the summer. Nothing grand, but enough to have my foot in the door."
"Even at a low level you will be able to be of use in that department." Runcorn seemed to have gained slightly more respect for him, but Graham was careful to not look at all interested. "Even with extraordinary grades and the internship you must have had some aid. Who wrote your letters of recommendation?"
"Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore."
It was the first time that the silence at the table frightened him. He was careful to not show his discomfort as the rest of the table exchanged glances.
"Interesting."
"Is it?" Graham asked, a small furrow of his brow. "I would think it was a rather practical move on my part. Considering my head of house is questionable—" he said delicately "—in many Ministry officials' eyes. McGonagall seemed to be the better choice."
"And Dumbledore?"
"He is the Headmaster at my school, it would be foolish to not accept a letter of recommendation from him. Especially when McGonagall had gone to the trouble of procuring it for me."
Umbridge twisted her mouth to the side in thought as she stared at him. Graham stared right back unflinching at her silent accusations.
"I would be very interested to read those letters."
"I am sure they are on file with the Ministry. I doubt you would have difficulty acquiring them."
"We will be sure to do so," Runcorn smiled.
"I'm sorry, is my loyalty in question?" Graham asked, bristling at the thought.
"Not yet," Dolores purred, standing to leave.
"The Dark Lord wants me to be apart of these meetings. My understanding is I am to be learning from you, not subject to interrogation. We are on the same side and I have done much to earn the Dark Lord's trust."
Umbridge just smiled in that sickly sweet way and left, Runcorn following close behind. A tense feeling coiled in Graham's gut. By the time he was walking through the Forbidden Forest to return to Hogwarts he was practically unraveling. He could see what was coming and it was horrifying. He tried not to think of Wamil being hunted down by mercenaries. He knew what kind of men went into that work and he wouldn't want one in the same room with anyone he cared about. He had worked with a mercenary a few weeks ago; those men were soulless and cruel and went into such lines of work so that they could profit off it. Blood purity meant nothing to them, they were motivated only by sadism.
He laid in bed that night and stared at the canopy of green above him blankly. Sleep never came.
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Wamil stared at the owl in front of her. She knew what the letter in its talons would say and who it was from. Graham had sent her one a day for almost two weeks. On a few occasions she had even considered relieving the owl of it's burden and taking the letter, but once again she shook her head sternly and shooed the school owl away. Graham Montague had no business so much as looking at her, let alone demand that she meet with him. When she received the first letter she thought that perhaps he wanted to meet to apologize, but after she read it she realized there was no contrition for what he had done. It was quick and to the point. We need to talk; meet me tonight at midnight, same place as before.
She forced each bite of her breakfast down and tried to appear unbothered, but in truth she was a turmoil of emotions. She had had this image of who she thought Graham Montague was. It was something she had tucked away to herself and held dear. or years she had harbored a silly infatuation, letting it grow into a crush on a man that didn't really exist except in her head. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Maybe it was his cold silence that intrigued her and she thought him a man of mystery to the point where she took one small thing he did and made up a whole personality for him. It was stupid; she was stupid.
And yet she couldn't bring herself to turn him in for what he was. She didn't tell anyone how he attacked her, and she didn't tell about the Mark, though she knew she should. She laid awake at night vowing to go to the headmaster the next day, but never did. Why? She didn't quite understand herself. Her stomach officially turned, she stood up from the table, grabbed a scone for appearance, and left the Great Hall as though she needed to do something before class, but in reality she just needed a moment alone to breathe. She was halfway to her first class when she saw him.
He froze at the sight of her as she did the same. She would have turned to leave, made a show of turning on her heel, if it weren't for his face. He looked unraveled, fearful even, but not of her as he should be.
"Wamil." She jumped a bit at the sound of her name coming from his lips, at the sight of the openness on his face. He took a step forward, she took two back quicker than humanly possible. Hurt flickered across his face, but he nodded and backed away. "I—"
"I have nothing to say to you," she said quickly, the pastry in her hand crumbling in her fist. "What you did—the way you attacked me—that's unforgivable. It's—"
"You think I don't know that?" Graham asked angrily, looking around as though someone would turn the corner and see them at any moment. "I knew when I went into that classroom that what I was planning to do was unforgivable."
"I know what I am; I know who I am. I am not asking for forgiveness."
"Then what is it you want?"
A few students were now trickling into the hall. Graham tensed and shifted, but didn't retreat. "I can't say here. Please meet me," Graham whispered, his voice as desperate as he looked. "I'll send you my wand at dinner if it will make you feel safe. Please."
Wamil wasn't sure why she wanted to agree. She bit her tongue to keep from saying yes. No should have been the automatic answer, but the longer she looked at him the more she wanted to agree.
"I'll think about it." Her voice was breathy and it was taking all of her effort not to look away from him, not to pity him. His jaw tensed and for a moment she thought he was going to continue to plead, but he stopped himself and nodded. He left without another word.
She showed up that night against her better judgement. She had decided to be there early, long before midnight. Last time she had been naÏve; she was wiser now. Montague had, as promised, sent his wand at dinner. She had returned to her dorm to find an owl with a package on her bed, inside the long box laid his wand. The wand he had used against her. She had stared at it for a good hour. She wondered what it said about him that his wand's wood was blackthorn. The tree of ill omen. A tree thats fruit begins as bitter and severe as it's history before turning sweet after the first thaw. She held the rigid wood as she sat and waited, weighing its density and wondering about it's core, as if that would tell her something about the owner and his intentions.
It would be easy to label Graham's intentions as malicious, but she knew they were not. They at least didn't come from a place of malice, they came from a twisted form of love. And she knew it to be love that he held for her. She had sung and it had no effect on him. He wanted to hide what she was, and if he was doing that then he was doing it to protect her.
If he did that to protect me what else would he do? She paused at that thought. The mark on his arm was still vivid in her mind as though he were there right now and she was looking at it. She suddenly felt panicked by her decision to be there. This was clearly a mistake. No sane person would have come after everything that had happened between her and Montague. He wasn't what she had believed, he had proved that to her already, so why was she here? Love didn't mean anything. It didn't matter what he felt for her if the way he showed it was with pain. As quickly as she could she moved to the door, determined to get away from her poor choice to be there to begin with.
No sooner had her fingers touched the door did it open. Graham blinked in surprise at the sight of her. She watched as he slowly put together the situation. He didn't move out of the doorway to allow her to leave; she hadn't really expected him to, but it would have made things easier.
"Please, move," she requested steadily. He stepped more into the room herding her back away from the doorway. "You know that's not what I meant," she said steadily.
Graham raised a brow. "You have my wand and we both know that physically you have the upper hand."
"I want to leave," Wamil maintained.
"I can see that," Graham sighed, his frustration showing. "And I will let you, but first we will talk."
"Don't make me hurt you, Montague," Wamil warned, her teeth turning sharp for emphasis.
Graham's eyes lingered for a moment at her fangs, before they met her eyes. "Hurt me."
Despite what he had done, she didn't want to. She took his wand out instead, one hand braced on each end. "I'll snap it. I swear I will."
Graham flinched and she noted that his hand fidgeted by his side, but he maintained his wall.
"Snap it," he ordered, his voice not nearly as strong. "I won't let you leave without hearing what I have to say."
Wamil pursed her lips. "Fine." She flung his wand at him, embarrassed and defeated. He seemed a bit taken aback that she had given it back to him, but didn't comment.
She watched his eyes shift around the room. "Perhaps we could we sit?"
Wamil crossed her arms. "I didn't realize this was a tea and biscuits sort of affair." Graham didn't take her bait, the Slytherin remained as poised as ever and patiently waited for her to move to sit. If anything it angered her more. She turned on her heel and went to sit. She didn't truly want an altercation, but she wanted something.
"You shouldn't make a threat if you have no intention of carrying it out," Graham said slowly, wiping some dust from the chair before taking a seat. "If someone knows you won't follow through they will disregard what you say in such matters. Or at the very least count that you will hesitate long enough for them to disarm you or cause you harm."
"I believe the last time we were in close proximity I carved up your face," Wamil reminded, her voice laced with hate.
Graham's dark eyes stared across the table at her in a way that made it difficult for her to sit still. She wondered what it was that he was thinking. There was no emotion to be seen, except exhaustion which seemed to riddle every corner of his features.
"Is it true that sirens are unusually strong?"
She scowled, unsure of how to answer. It was true, but there was something in the way that the question was framed that made her feel as though it were a trap.
"It is," she said slowly.
Graham nodded, but didn't allow her to know his reasoning for the question. He drummed a finger on the wood of the desk and continued the silence. He now avoided looking at her as he clearly tried to decide how to start.
"You're in danger," he finally began, taking his hand off of the table and running it through his hair. "Not now, but soon. There's … something coming. Something terrible," he murmured quietly. "You must leave and I don't mean just go into hiding. You must flee the country, start again somewhere else, become someone else."
Wamil frowned as she tried to make sense of the vague warning she was receiving. "Something is coming? Not someone?"
"Does it matter?" Graham asked, his weariness now seeping into his voice. "You're in danger."
"Why am I in danger?"
"You know why," Graham whispered, looking down at his hand.
"No. I truly don't, so explain it to me."
"I can't."
"You damn well can," Wamil snapped, standing from her seat. "You're choosing not to."
"Wamil, please."
"No! Don't sit there and tell me to leave my whole life behind and not even explain to me why I must do so!"
"Do you have any idea the risk I am taking just telling you this? I could be killed for just knowing what you are, but to actually warn you to hide…" Graham cut himself off and made some noise of irritation. "I am risking everything to help you. Isn't that enough to heed my warning?"
"So whatever it is that is coming is coming because I'm a siren? Did you tell someone or did the Malfoys say something?"
"No one has said anything."
"Then I have no reason to be fearful."
"Yes you do," Graham maintained slowly, standing up and moving toward her. "Your siren heritage is still a secret, but your veela heritage is well known."
"So? Many witches and wizards have veela heritage." Graham bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. "Are-are all of them in danger?" Graham didn't need to say a word for her to know the answer. "What is going on, Montague?"
"I can't—"
"You damn well can! If you expect me to heed your warning at all you will tell me, because as of right now I have every intention of telling you to bugger off and forgetting this meeting ever even happened."
"Do you have any idea what I am risking to tell you just this much?"
"Frankly, I don't care."
"I am risking my life to warn you."
"Your life?" Wamil repeated skeptically. "Well, if you're risking that much then you may as well go all out."
He stared at her for a long while, as though he couldn't believe her reaction. That she could be so heartless. She maintained her unforgiving glare as she waited for him to continue. She did feel bad, despite herself she felt horrible as he sat there looking so lost. Maybe that was what he was. Just lost.
"The light isn't going to win this war," Graham began quietly, his voice surprisingly tight. "It's just not. It's not one villain that the light is up against, it's a whole system and the Ministry is content to ignore what is happening, so they shall fall."
Graham paused and closed his eyes. "After the Ministry is infiltrated first they will go after the most prominent light figures, then the muggleborns, then people like you." He was trying so hard to hold himself together, but failing miserably. Wamil reached out to touch him, but he retreated back from her. "They're going to have a registry come next school term and there is no way your name will not be put on it. Your name and hundreds of others. And it won't be Aurors taking you in, it will be mercenaries. Do you know how mercenaries work?" Wamil shook her head. "Go to a farming field during harvest, watch how the dogs catch the rats that are unearthed. That's how they will hunt you all, like animals."
Wamil shook her head. That couldn't happen, there were too many good people in the world to allow that to happen. "That won't happen. The Ministry won't fall there—"
"The Ministry is going to fall," Graham persisted wearily. "Don't put your faith in a sinking ship."
"So I'm supposed to put my faith in you?"
"Me? I'm one of the people loading the cannons on the ship that sunk yours. But I will—" Graham continued reaching into his coat pocket and taking out some papers, "—point you in the direction of land."
Wamil reached out and took the papers, flipping through to see that Montague had obtained official papers for her, her brothers and her parents. All different identities, everything they would need to leave the country without any questions and to start anew. "There are two sets of false identities for all of you. Leave with one and when you get to somewhere safe take the other. Don't tell anyone that you're leaving, don't contact anyone after, and live in a home under a Fidelius charm."
Wamil stared at the papers. "Your answer to save me is to make me not exist," she whispered quietly.
"You existence isn't dependent on a name. Your identity isn't in your name and geographics."
"You're right. Identity is in actions. So explain to me yours. Who are you, Graham Montague? A Death Eater? Do you believe in all that blood purity bullshit? Do you want to hurt people like me? Is that why you attacked me the other night? Because you wanted to hurt me, render me powerless, put me in my—"
"You know why I did what I did," Graham snapped. "You're too smart to have not put it together. If you really believed that I wanted to harm you, that it was done out of hate, you would have killed me that night. You and I both know you had the ability to overpower me, to kill me."
"You're right, I do. So explain everything else to me? Why do you have the mark? Am I some exception to your beliefs?" Wamil asked, tearing up despite herself. "How can you love me, want to protect me and have that mark?" He refused to even look her in the eye. She needed answers. "Who are you?" she demanded, practically shaking.
"Someone you should forget," Graham answered, standing to leave.
"Don't you dare," Wamil growled, standing and putting herself between him and the path to the door. "I want answers and I will be damned if I let you leave without getting them. I want to know why, Montague. Why do you have that mark? Why do you care about me? Why do I deserve an escape when so many others are going to be trapped? WHO ARE YOU?"
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It was worse than he thought it was going to be. Every fiber of his being wanted to leave the room, run away from her, her contempt and her questions. He couldn't stand any of it. He almost wished she would just turn him in. Azkaban would be a relief from his life now. Wamil continued to scream for answers. She was hysterical, he wished he could be so free. He would love to scream like she was now, to allow himself to feel all the things she was feeling, but that would be a downward spiral. If he truly allowed himself to dive into his emotions he would drown in them.
"Answer me!"
Graham took a step back surprised at her proximity and unsure when she moved closer. She looked like she was ready to tear him apart. He wondered if that was part of her veela heritage, they did by nature have a short temper. He was thankful she didn't grow a beak and sprout those scaly wings like true veelas. As he had the thought he did notice her teeth had sharpened. He did his best not to stare and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," he answered, his voice smaller than he intended. He delicately moved around her, too scared to even brush her shoulder, not because he feared her, but because after what he did he was sure she wouldn't appreciate the contact. He was almost out the door, mere steps away from closing this chapter of his life, when Wamil cried out in anger and then to his horror proceeded to tear all of the papers he had given to her.
"What are you doing? Stop. Stop!"
"I'm-not-going-anywhere!" Wamil screamed, tearing the last bit of the papers she could before throwing the shreds to the ground and grabbing her wand.
Graham knew immediately that she was about to incinerate them and grabbed his own wand and cast a disarming charm. Nothing happened, her wand didn't move at all. He cast the same spell and again nothing. Wamil watched him as he tried in vain to use his wand.
"It's charmed," she spat, as though he should have known that his wand would be rendered useless. "I bound it. You can never use it on me again. You didn't think that I would meet you here with no precautions did you?" she asked, flicking her own wand and setting the papers he had risked everything to get her ablaze.
He almost dove for them, but she didn't allow it. She literally held him back with that strength he knew she had, but never witnessed. He watched as her salvation all burnt to ash.
"What have you done?" he could barely speak. He felt as though he was going to be sick. He couldn't get her another set of papers. Getting this set was tricky enough. He had walked through so many back doors in the Ministry to get them and he wasn't sly enough to do it a second time. He had almost been caught red-handed multiple times, it was his name and charm that saved him, that prevented other Ministry officials from questioning why he was in a room late at night, and didn't dare check his person for anything that may have been taken. "I can't get you another set. I can't."
"I know."
"You know?" Graham lashed out. "You're going to die. You and your family are going to die. I risked everything to get you those papers. It wasn't just my life!"
"I risked my sisters' lives! My nephews' and nieces!' My father's! My mum's!" He pounded his fist on the soot left over by the fire.
"I never asked you to do that."
"Yeah, well I did!" He stilled as he realized she was holding him. And not holding him back like she was before, she was just holding him.
"Graham," she whispered, her voice soft and gentle. "Talk to me." She reached her hand up towards him and wiped away tears he had not realized he even had. He jerked away and he thanked the gods that she allowed him to stand and compose himself.
"Why? Why did you do that for me?"
"What does it matter?" Graham asked scornfully. "It was a waste."
"It matters."
"You know why."
"No, because I doubt your feelings for me overpower the love you have for your family. So why risk their lives for me?"
"Because—" Graham paused and waited for a moment when his voice would be stronger. "Because I didn't want to feel the way I felt when my sister died. And I knew—I know I will feel that way when you die, which is assured now."
Wamil nodded, but didn't look at all distressed by his morbid prediction of her future.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," Graham continued, his voice edged with impatience. "I wanted to make you less noticeable, I wanted to scare you so that you would flee. I thought if I hurt you then you would run. You would be safe and my family and I would be safe."
"Hufflepuffs don't run," Wamil shrugged, as though that statement explained it all. "Unafraid of toil," she clarified. "We stand our ground."
"You must leave," he said softly- desperately. "They will slaughter you. You will die."
Wamil who had not gotten up from the floor folded her hands gently in her lap. "Then I die," she said simply.
"No. No, you can't mean that. You can't."
"I will fight."
"You will not win!"
Wamil closed her eyes to his rage and released a slow, steady breath. "I accept that."
"WELL I DON'T!"
"You have to leave! You have no idea what is coming, Wamil. None. In a few months time they will have all the power. All of it. The Light is going to fail."
She just stared, unmoving and unchanging. He was falling apart and she was just sitting there as calm as could be looking at him as though he were the one to be pitied. As if he was the one who would be hunted down and killed.
"Some things, Graham, are worth dying for. If more people stood their ground this world would be better. Is it right for me to live and let others die? It sounds like we need people like me to stay to fight."
"You fighting won't change anything," Graham declared venomously. "You will be killed. How will that help anything?"
Wamil was silent for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe it will make you a better man."
Graham opened his mouth to say something scathing only to close it.
"Will you talk to me?"
He scowled.
"I am talking to you."
"No, Graham. Really talk to me. Not about this, about—" she sighed "—just talk."
He was glad to see that she looked just as confused by her request as he was. He didn't know what it was she expected to talk to him about or what she would gain from it. Talking wasn't going to change their situation; it wouldn't rewrite the past.
"Do you believe it, all that stuff about blood purity?"
"No." It was true too, he hadn't believed that in years. He pretended he did, knowing better than to speak out lest he be treated like the Weasleys and Longbottoms. It was one thing to not believe in it when you were in Gryffindor and your family didn't run in the pureblood circles, but if he had voiced his opinion he would be disowned and ostracized in his society.
"Why did you take the Mark then?"
The shame that he carried magnified as she stared up at him with such hurt and betrayal. He cleared his throat, but the longer he tried to search for words the harder it became. He didn't regret his decision, he did what needed to be done for himself and his family. But there was no justifying it to her. The cost of his family being safe was the cost of others' not being safe. He chose what he could live with.
"How could you bow to that monster? He killed your sister, your nephews and hundreds of other innocent people. How could you do that if you don't even believe in it? He murdered your sister," Wamil stressed. "She died horribly."
"You don't think I know that?" Graham snarled, his temper flaring as she talked to him as though he had the understanding of a child, as though he didn't know what had happened.
"Then how?" Wamil asked, her anger matching his now. "How can you do this? Why would you do this? He killed them." She was now on her feet, backing him into a corner with her questions. "You said you didn't want to feel the pain of losing your sister ever again, then why would you become just like the people that took her away? Why? Why!?"
"Because I have other sisters!" Graham shouted, pushing past her for space. He felt as though someone was sitting on his chest, he loosened his tie and ran his fingers through his hair that had become damp with sweat at some point since he entered the room. "I was given an opportunity to keep them safe and, damn it, I took it. And I would take it again if I had to. I may not believe in blood purity, but I believe in blood. My sisters were not going to die if I could protect them."
"My father is weak, he wanted to cling to this idea of neutrality even after Arella was killed and damn if my sisters all didn't marry men just like him! None of their husbands decided to change their position in the war. All of them stayed neutral, as though what happened to the Higgs wasn't a message. No, they just wanted to wait it all out. See how this war was going before they took a side. The sick thing is they all believe in this shit. They all believe in blood purity. I'm the only one who doesn't and I'm the only one who has the Mark."
He felt dizzy, like the world was spinning around him and he couldn't focus on a spot to center himself. He never focused on what he was doing, what he did. He made a plan and followed through, didn't question it as he carried it out. Everything he chose was calculated and now standing here in front of her all he could think was that he shouldn't have ever had to make those choices. That he shouldn't be here.
"I was going to ask you to the ball," he admitted quietly. "I-I was going to give up everything. My family, my friends. I didn't care, I loved you and I was going to ask you to the ball." His hands twisted at the memory. "I had this idea in my head that you could love me as well. That you longed for me the way that I longed for you and no stupid blood status was going to keep us apart any longer. I knew my family wouldn't approve, but I didn't cared. I loved you. But I was too nervous in the days before the ball." He brushed away some tears and continued on. Compelled to tell her everything, not because it was her, but because he realized he wanted to tell someone.
"You're so well liked. You always had a crowd of friends around you. I have difficulty with people," he admitted. "I get uncomfortable rather quickly. So I, uh, didn't ask. Instead I decided I would ask you to dance at the ball. Right away. I didn't care that it would be in front of everyone. This was the one plan in my life I made and didn't follow through with, and it could have saved me from what I am now."
"In my head you said yes. And for the next three years we would date here in Hogwarts. I hoped my sisters would still see me, maybe my parents would come around, but I didn't care. We were going to be together; I wasn't going to live a lie anymore."
"And then you showed up to the ball with that Ravenclaw boy. He was nothing like me. He was warm, well liked and smiled constantly. And suddenly my idea that you may feel the same way seemed so foolish. I watched you laugh and dance with him all through the night and couldn't imagine you wanting me, cold, unfeeling me."
"You feel, Graham," Wamil murmured, wiping away her own misplaced tears. "I think you feel more deeply than most."
Graham suddenly wished he had just left. He felt embarrassed after saying all of that. He didn't feel any sense of relief now that it was out, hanging in the air between us. He had made a bad situation worse. None of this was able to be changed there was no point in telling her any of this.
"Why didn't you say anything? You could have told me when I gave your coat back to you. Or come up to me in class or after class. I would have—"
"You would have what?" Graham asked wearily. "I distinctly remember you and that Ravenclaw guy were an item after the ball. You two were an item for a long time. I moved on. Well, I tried to move on," Graham corrected.
"Is that what Graces is? You moving on?"
"No. The girls before Graces was moving on. Graces was a crush for a brief period, then she was a calculated decision to better my family's status."
"Was?" Wamil repeated. "What is she now?"
"Now she is my best friend's sister, who I will marry to protect."
"Even though you love me."
"Should I allow her to die for that love? Graces, who buried my sister, who saved the Higgs families' last heir. How could I allow Draco's sister to die and then still cherish him as a friend?"
"You don't love her."
"She doesn't love me."
Graham tried to embrace the silence that had surrounded them. He felt it was fitting for it all to end like this, with silence. He held to it. Ever since he could remember silence had been a comfort to him. He felt more comfortable with it than with anything else. Maybe it was because growing up in a household with so many sisters there was a lack of it, or maybe it was because there was something in him that didn't fit with the rest of the loud, busy world. Either way he didn't feel like there was coming back from this. He was about to move to leave when Wamil spoke again.
"What's your wand's core?
The question caught him off guard, but he eventually answered. "Bone."
"Bone," Wamil repeated. "Bones protect organs; what's vital within us. I think I have an idea of who you are, Graham. Blackthorn and bone. Thorny and hard to get to, bitter until turning sweet and protective of what you can't live without."
He could see where this was going and it was infinitely more painful. "None of this matters, Wamil. There's no point in this."
"In us talking?"
"Yes."
"Have you wondered why I didn't turn you in? Why I didn't expose what you were?"
"I know why."
"You know?"
Graham looked down at his hands. "I knew after I harmed you it would go two ways, you would expose me and I would be taken away by Aurors. Or you would say nothing… and hope to protect me, possibly change me… because you had feelings for me. Even if I didn't warrant those affections. I wish you had just turned me in," Graham admitted quietly.
"You don't belong in Azkaban, Graham," Wamil choked out. "You still have time to turn this around. You can still make the right choice." She moved forward and took his hand. "You can still choose me."
The right choice, he didn't even know what that meant anymore. Was it right to put his family in danger? To let Draco and Graces die? That didn't feel right. He imagined what would happen to Draco if he wasn't helping him. Even if they couldn't get that damn cabinet to work, he was still there for Draco. Was that wrong? The right choice was supposed to be what was right for everyone, but what was right for everyone wasn't right for the people he loved. So in the end the choice was to choose the people he loved or to let the people he loved suffer for the greater good. The greater good was only going to save one person he cared about. He slowly closed his fingers around Wamil's hand. He was surprised at how cold her hand was, he expected it to be warm just like she was.
"Do you remember when we met?" Wamil asked, smiling up at him through tears. "The very first time."
He needed to leave. Tear his hand away and go to the dungeons where he belonged. Not linger here for moments he could never hope to keep. "Wamil, please—"
"It was our second year when someone had bought out the candy trolley."
"I remember," Graham acknowledged, wishing she would stop.
"You were so angry, I could hear you from my compartment demanding to know who bought out the whole trolley."
Graham scowled. "I know I didn't raise my voice, nor was I in any way disrespectful to the trolley woman."
"No," Wamil chuckled softly. "You didn't. 'Completely out? Someone bought the whole trolley? Who?'"
Graham raised a brow at Wamil's interpretation of his accent. "I don't sound that posh."
"Oh, yes you do," Wamil laughed, holding his hand tighter. "You absolutely do." Graham shrugged and decided he didn't want to argue. "Do you remember what happened after?"
"You came out into the hall and offered me a box of ice mice."
"And you refused to take it," Wamil pointed out.
"It wasn't your fault that it was all gone," Graham shrugged. "And I didn't know you. It felt strange to take something from you."
"Still, I insisted."
Graham remembered, she had been very persistent and he had eventually taken the box. "You did, and then I suggested we share."
Wamil smiled quietly. "You said you were very good at sharing and told me how you had a lot of sisters."
"And then you told me about your brothers."
"So we shared that whole box and talked about what a pain it was to be the youngest of seven and be the only child of one gender. As I recall you felt you had it worse."
"Oh, I absolutely do have it worse," Graham maintained, giving Wamil a genuine smile. For a moment he didn't feel like his heart was in his stomach. He felt dizzy as she continued to look up at him, he wanted badly to rearrange himself and get a hold of his wits, but he couldn't. Wamil would never have to sing a song to grab hold of him, she could do it with her presence. She came closer, her eyes lingering on his mouth and he knew she was thinking about kissing him. He wanted her to, prayed that she would, and at the same time prayed that she wouldn't.
"Wamil," he said, pausing her from moving any closer. "This won't lead to anything—"
"I know what this is going to lead to," Wamil whispered, her lips gently brushing against his. He felt a blaze of fire course through him at the contact. It overwhelmed his senses and dulled the voice in his head shouting for him to stop.
He kissed her harder, pulling her close and tangling his hand in her hair. He thought about all the times he had wanted to do this. His first real fantasy had been about her and here he was actually holding her in his arms and she was kissing him exactly like he had imagined. She had him up against a desk and was quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt, as though she too feared that this was going to go away. He wondered how long she had wanted this and if it was as long as him. Her hands were still cold as they touched his bare chest. He covered them with one of his, to warm them for what he hoped was to come, but quickly pulled his hand back when he felt a sharp prick.
Wamil yanked her hand back behind her before he could get a good look at her transformation. He watched as she very clearly tried to get a handle on the rest of herself. He had never seen what a siren had looked like before this, and had a feeling he wasn't getting the full picture, only a small glimpse. Her skin had scaled in some areas, her hands had talons where fingernails should have been and her teeth were sharp enough to rip out his throat if she chose.
"This-this happens," Wamil stammered, her appearance regulating.
"Sporadically?" Graham asked a bit breathless from their activities before.
"No, no," Wamil shook her head, her cheeks continuing to red. "Just during… during—" she looped her finger in the air and Graham quickly understood.
"Oh. Oh!" Graham repeated, understanding a bit more. "So, uh, you've—" he did the same movement with his finger that she had. "Before?" Wamil nodded. "The Ravenclaw?" Graham asked, frowning curiously. She hesitated, but nodded. He was a bit surprised by that. He didn't think that he was a very attractive guy. Graham had also always found him incredibly annoying and he didn't think jealousy had played into these opinions.
"Does it bother you?" Wamil asked, her eyes searching his face carefully.
Graham ran a hand through his hair. "It would be pretty hypocritical of me to be bothered by your conquests. I just was surprised. I didn't think your relationship with him was very passionate. You two hardly held hands. I don't think I ever saw you two kiss either."
Wamil frowned. "I was talking about my changing form." She pushed the opening of her shirt together more so he couldn't see as much. "I know it can be shocking. It-it bothered David. I think it's the main reason why he broke it off. He's muggleborn and I had never told him what I was. He didn't even know about sirens. He told me about children's tales of mermaids and described how they were pictured in cartoons. He found out like this not just what I was, but what a siren looks like. I think it really scared him the first time. I mean, I know it did. My point is if it bothers you—"
"He scares too easily," Graham interrupted.
"That's not fair. It's understandable," she said quietly, her eyes casting down to the floor. "He didn't want to be with something like—"
"Someone," Graham corrected. Wamil looked up at him and he realized he was so angry he was shaking. "He didn't want to be with someone like you. You are not a thing. You are a person." He pulled her back to him so his arms were around her. "I am not scared of you. I am scared for you."
He pulled her hands away from the buttons of her shirt and kissed her chest up to her neck, dragging his tongue and biting down on what he pleased, aware she was slowly changing form again. It really didn't bother him, if anything he was more aroused by it. He pulled away so he could take her in.
"You are one of the most powerful beings in this school, Wamil," he stated gently, running a finger against the hard scales that now covered vital parts of her, her body knowing what orgeons to shield by instinct. "And you're stronger than I could ever imagine. People fear you because they know that they are small in comparison. That's why David broke up with you, that's why he was scared when he saw you like this."
"I don't think that's very fair. I didn't tell him and he tried. He really did. It just—"
"I don't need to try," Graham pointed out, pulling her even closer so she could feel that. She seemed a bit shocked by his excitement, but didn't pull away. "I love you, Wamil. All of who you are, not just parts."
She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling to stop the tears from brimming over her eyes. "You know I love you too, even with the Mark. I love you, that's why I didn't turn you in."
Graham let out a sigh and bent his head down. "This is not the same as my Mark."
"No, no it's not," Wamil agreed, unable to fight the tears she held back. "But I understand why you took it. I don't agree with it and I still hope that you will see there's another path. But you are who I always thought you were, Graham. And I'm so relieved. I was scared I invented you in my mind."
Graham wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know who she thought he was. He wanted to ask, but he was scared of the answer, scared he fell short of the man she imagined.
"I'm only going to get you for tonight, aren't I?"
Graham nodded. He didn't see a way that this could be different, at least not a way that would keep everyone safe. He wanted to say something foolish like 'you will always have my heart' or some other rubbish, but it felt too strange, even if it was true.
"Okay," Wamil accepted, her disappointment slipping through.
"You can change your mind," Graham reminded.
"And never be together?"
"It would be less painful," Graham said quietly.
"I think never being together would be more painful. At least we could have one night. Be us for one night. You could love me for one night."
Graham swallowed. "Yes."
Wamil laughed nervously and kissed him. "So we'll have a night then."
"And some morning," Graham smiled, trying to not let her see how much this was killing him.
She laughed sadly and kissed him. She was still crying and this all felt more like a goodbye than a coming together. He held her and realized that he had just made everything infinitely harder, but he couldn't bring himself to let her go. One night did seem better than none at all. Even if they would pay for it with a lifetime of pain and longing.
Thanks for reading! Sorry it has been such a long time guys! My son was born though! His name is Graham, he was born in June and is absolutely perfect. My husband and I couldn't be happier. Obviously I have been pretty busy with motherhood and work, but hopefully in a few months I will have more time. My husband has had to go on a lot of away rotations and he's been gone for two months. He left again today for three weeks, but this is the last time he will be away for so long, so I should have more time to write once he is back more regularly.