Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.
The merman haunted his thoughts.
Kurt tried to forget about his chance encounter at the lake – certainly, his classes were doing everything in their power to distract him – but he couldn't put the images out of his mind, of a cold blue rippling tale, sharp, pointed teeth bared in a defensive snarl underneath wide hazel eyes. To say that he was infatuated – as some of his peers had brazenly suggested; who's the lucky bloke, Hummel? – missed the point entirely.
Mermaids were simply a point of interest to him, moreso now than ever before. In his spare time, he combed through the Hogwarts' libraries for any hint of mermaid references, peeling worn tomes off the shelves and flipping through yellowed pages. There were dozens of fantastically improbable renderings, describing mermaids as anything from benign and mentally lacking to stunningly intelligent and ruthlessly carnivorous. Kurt couldn't help but be drawn to the descriptions of mermaids as sharks: the teeth were unnervingly similar, in shape as well as size and method.
There were two camps in the mermaid school of thought, he quickly learned: the first maintained that mermaids were essentially highly anthropomorphized dolphins, capable of menial tasks and possessing rudimentary intelligence but otherwise incommunicable. They enjoyed living in groups and even tolerated human company for periods of time – although, the authors allowed, their tolerance for humans was indubitably less so than their apparent aquatic relations – and ultimately they spent most of their time living in caves carved out by other creatures (unbidden, the image of Blaine crept into his thoughts, curled up cat-like on a stony ledge, tail swishing occasionally).
Then there was the camp that insisted that mermaids were more shark-like in nature. Kurt read the accounts, entranced, of recent human encounters with mermaids. In nearly every instance, the human became the unfortunate recipient of a painful warning swipe to calf or thigh, leading to a hasty medical intervention to prevent infection (which, given their sharp, clumsy claws, Kurt could imagine quite easily). There were dozens of sightings of mermaids in groups, but all accounts indicated that mermaids preferred to approach humans alone.
One particularly chilling account recalled a wizard who had foolishly tried to woe a mermaid whose mate had lingered underwater mere feet away. The wizard hadn't known what hit him when he was snatched from the shore into the water and discarded onto the grass moments later like a ragdoll, covered in claw marks.
Kurt shuddered at the thought, not surprised that the aggressiveness and stylistic preference of the attack had led some theorists to group mermaids as crocodilian.
No matter what the books said, nothing accounted for the fact that Blaine could speak English. There were footnotes included that described the mermaid language. Kurt spent hours trying to decipher the hissing, warbling, screeching nature of it to no avail. After many frustrating perusals he at last conceded that it was perhaps entirely animalistic in nature with little-to-no human equivalent. Thus, Blaine's mastery – however basic – of English was astonishing.
There had to be more that the books weren't telling them, and Kurt was determined to find the answers.
And so he abandoned the cool, comforting walls of the libraries and ventured onto the grounds instead, spending long periods studying on the grass and looking up every so often to catch a glimpse of movement out on the lake. Most times, it was merely light shimmering on the water; others, a bird snatching a fish from the water; and every so often, the giant squid itself, lolling near the surface and waving its many arms in uninterrupted contentment.
He didn't see another mermaid for almost a month, well into March when he caught a glimpse of a mermaid's tail vanishing underneath the water. Where once he might have shuddered in revulsion, now he froze and gazed at the water, not daring to move from his perch in the tree he was sitting against. He watched the still black water anxiously for any signs of life, scanning its surface for minutes on end until at last, defeated, he returned to his book.
Midway through a chapter about Apparition, intrigued enough by the subject to lose track of his thoughts, he heard a rustle nearby.
He didn't move even when Blaine settled into place on the grasp beside him, close enough to the water that the tip of his tail could almost dip into it. Holding his breath for several long seconds – he'd read enough stories to develop a healthy sense of caution around mermaids in general, even one that seemed hospitable – Kurt let it out slowly when Blaine didn't make a sound, leaning back against the tree's bark and watching the tiny waves on the lake.
Unsure how to proceed, Kurt feigned interest in his book, watching Blaine out of the corner of his eye. His tail was even more brilliant in the full light – a deep, rich blue at the tip that became lighter towards his core. The white stripe around his waist was like a belt, diving the two halves of him: the fish-like and the human.
Balanced on his arms – bulging with muscle; Kurt had no idea how strong he was but was absolutely certain that he could tear bark off the tree if he wanted to – he remained in a reclined position a mere foot away from Kurt's position for a handful of minutes, not looking at him.
Then he slipped into the water and disappeared, gone in the span of two breaths. Kurt let out a deep sigh of his own at the absence; he hadn't wanted to scare Blaine off, but it had been so surreal to see him again that he hadn't known what to say.
He almost jumped out of his skin when there was a splash and a light thud beside him, a water-soaked book landing in the grass at his side. Heart racing, he reached out and curled his fingers around it, glancing back at the lake as Blaine bobbed just above the surface of the water, watching him from a distance of ten feet and looking rather – anxious?
His brow was furrowed, his jaw set, and Kurt didn't know how long he would wait for Kurt to cotton on to his contribution and so Kurt picked up the book. To his surprise (and secret delight) there were symbols scattered around the pages, clearly preserved through the work of a waterproofing charm. Suitably charmed himself, he almost forgot his audience entirely as he flipped through the pages.
It was snatched out of his fingers and cradled to Blaine's chest a moment later, his cheeks a dark but surprisingly vibrant blue. Kurt froze, fingers still outstretched to cradle the book no longer between them, when at last Blaine whirled and vanished under the water, taking the book with him.
Kurt couldn't repress his delight for the remainder of the afternoon, even knowing that he would never be able to understand the book without a suitable translator.
Blaine wanted him to see it, to glimpse something from down under, and Kurt was thrilled at the possibility that there could be even more than he'd suspected.
. o .
"So, who's your mermaid friend?" Rachel asked just as Kurt took a deep, replenishing sip of hot cider that night.
He almost snorted his drink, thankfully regaining his composure in time to say, "I don't have a mermaid friend."
Rachel leveled him with one of her trademark I've known you for six years you are not getting away from this that easily Kurt Hummel looks. Kurt bit into a roll of bread to distract himself, mentally mulling over the best way to address the topic.
Thankfully, he was spared the necessity of answering when Mercedes slid onto the bench beside him and accused, "I have been looking for you all day. Where have you been? We were supposed to study for Potions together at three-thirty."
Not needing to glance at his watch to know that he had missed that deadline, Kurt said, "Sorry, 'Cedes. I got caught up with work and completely forgot that was today."
"Kurt was too busy with his secret admirer to remember his worldly obligations," Rachel chimed in, helpfully.
Kurt groaned, ripping off another bite of bread and insisting, "He is not a secret admirer."
"I don't care if he's a goblin or a boy from Pluto, I want the deets," Mercedes demanded. "And don't you dare leave anything out just because of that train wreck with the Adam kid –"
"It was not a train wreck; it just wasn't meant to be," Kurt said, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Rachel and Mercedes exchanged a look.
"Okay, fine. It ended badly," Kurt said.
Mercedes squeezed his hand once sympathetically. "Boo. We snuck into the kitchens and had the House Elves bring out the Ben and Jerry's. It was that bad."
"But we're happy that you found a new man in your life!" Rachel piped in, happy to bring the topic back around to the gossip that she'd been itching for in the first place. "What's his name?"
Not wanting to be grilled in the Great Hall for details about his love life – or rather lack thereof, and especially in the mermaid department – Kurt hissed, "He is a mermaid. We are not dating, we are not ever going to date, we –"
"Wait, hold up." Mercedes held up a hand, repeating, "Did you just say mermaid? Honey that is a can of worms you do not want to get into. They're not even part-human. They're like pseudo-human – as in they'll happily rip off your arm if it makes them angry."
"Trolls would probably do the same thing," Rachel admitted. "Although I'm not sure if there actually have been any Troll-human unions."
"We are not. Dating," Kurt enunciated. "I met him once – " the lie fell easily from his lips, as he certainly wasn't about to confess to his previous late-night encounter – "and he swam off before I could say a word."
"He seemed pretty charmed by you," Rachel pointed out. Kurt was convinced that she enjoyed making his life difficult, especially when it involved juicy gossip. "Usually they just swim off if anything gets too close." Switching gears entirely, she explained, "You know we'd support you in your future relationships with any humans, including mythical ones, but I have to agree with Mercedes on this one: Kurt, they're dangerous. And they're basically like children, so dating one would be –"
"Completely out of the question," Kurt said firmly, taking another long drag from his cider. "Can we please talk about something else?"
"How about that cute American transfer in our Charms class?" Rachel asked, brightening.
Kurt groaned and promptly excused himself, afraid that they would start matchmaking again if he let them.
. o .
As it so happened, the American transfer was cute, and Rachel and Mercedes' matchmaking abilities – however misguided – were unneeded in order for Kurt to fall promptly head over heels for him. It was alarming how often he caught himself staring at the back of Elliot's head in Charms class, at last stammering over an apology after class when Elliot caught him doing so.
"It's okay," Elliot laughed, shifting his shoulders in a way that seemed to dissipate some of the bright aura that hung around him. "Sometimes I forget that I'm even – putting myself out there so much," he explained sheepishly. "Perks of being a Veela." Looking Kurt over – still frozen in place – he added, "Want to grab a coffee?"
Relieved that it wasn't entirely his fault that he couldn't stop staring – Elliot himself was attractive, but certainly not earth-shatteringly so once the aura was dimmed – Kurt agreed.
And they weren't even dating – not really – except they spent most of their free time together, which meant that – as far as everyone else was concerned – they were dating. Even so, Mercedes tagged along frequently and Rachel was a near constant presence as well, preventing the rumors from spreading too far, too quickly. Elliot didn't seem to mind, but Kurt didn't want to put their relationship out there so quickly (knowing that all it would mean was more rumors, endless rumors).
Whenever Rachel and Mercedes were unavailable they would sit out one one of the stands watching the older Years practice Quidditch. Occasionally, Kurt would notice a ripple on the Great Lake as they wandered past and pause, recalling his hours spent waiting for even the slightest indication of the creatures lurking below. "Everything okay?" Elliot would ask.
When no further appearances seemed forthcoming, Kurt would nod and respond, "Fine."
. o .
The next time Kurt spotted Blaine was an accident. The sky was crisp and clear and the grounds finally dry enough to walk around in shoes instead of boots, his entire body singing with every step as trimmed grass crunched pleasantly underfoot. He'd been wandering along the edge of the lake waiting for Mercedes and Elliot to show up so they could go to Hogsmeade together when there was a tiny splash and then Blaine was there, his curled claws digging into the cover of the book that he was holding.
Kurt froze in place, unable to speak for several long moments, until Blaine reluctantly drifted closer, glancing over Kurt's shoulder and around the lake in turns. Close enough to extend an arm – and the book with it – Blaine waited for Kurt to take it, beating a swift retreat back to the water and sinking below.
"Oh, hey, Kurt," Elliot greeted, coming up along his shoulder and clapping a hand over it. Kurt stood, dazed and uncertain that the encounter had even been real despite the soaked book in his hands. "What's that?" Elliot asked, nodding at the book.
"A – " Kurt licked his lips, struggling to put his curious and indefinable relationship with Blaine into words, "gift. I think."
"Must've been a clumsy friend, to drop it in the lake," Elliot mused, turning to look at Mercedes as she approached. "Ready to go?"
Kurt nodded, dazed, and had not missed the way that Blaine watched him from a distance of fifty yards or so, barely noticeable to the others, sinking beneath the water again before Kurt could call out to him.
Clinging to the book – vowing to keep it safe at all costs – Kurt wrapped it in the spare robes he kept tucked in his satchel and let Mercedes lead the way to Hogsmeade.
. o .
As soon as they'd had their fill of Hogsmeade and dinner in the Great Hall, Kurt pleaded fatigue and disappeared into his door room, retrieving the book from his satchel even before the door had closed behind him.
The symbols were utterly incomprehensible to Kurt, although he could tell by the subtle differences in hand-writing that they were penned by different authors, but what fascinated him most were the grooves along the blank, stiff cover where Blaine's claws had dug in.
Whatever it was, it was important to him, and Kurt knew to handle it with care. He tried charming it to form a translatable copy to no avail. He considered approaching professors about it and stopped himself outside Professor Cabot's door, fearing that the book would be confiscated from him once he realized its inherent value. At last, he returned to his old haunt and rooted through the library for hours for any translation texts, leafing through page after page of broken mermaid language until he'd successfully compiled a working alphabet.
Painstakingly, not willing to concede defeat, he recopied the alphabet onto a fresh sheet of parchment and under candlelight in his dorm room cast the translation charm once more, a fresh stack of sheets on the bed beside him.
And slowly, to his amazement and delight, words appeared at the top of the page, ticking out across the line as they were translated.
He couldn't stop his eyes from following the text as it appeared, indecipherable clusters of words that were almost as vexing as the symbols had been.
Drawing in a deep breath – knowing that getting frustrated now would only lead to him tossing the book out the window; not the best course of action with something so valuable – he cast another translation charm to reverse the words on the page.
A conversation unfolded before his eyes.
You will do well here, the neater of the two writers began. The water is plentiful. The seasons are mild.
The winters are very, very, very cold, the messier writer fretted. There is no food. There is no sun.
The lake is charmed. You will be fine.
I will be frozen, the second writer wrote, so viciously that Kurt wondered how the pen hadn't broken through the page on the original copy.
You will be fine, the first insisted. I am not far. I have survived. You will as well.
It carried on in such a fashion for pages, the script becoming more complex as time passed. He read until the candlelight dimmed, until the dorm was heavy with sleep and snores. He read until his fingers ached from turning page after page, until at last there was no more, ending simply with the messier of the two scrawls: Where have you been? I need you.
Cooper – the first writer – hadn't responded.
Sitting back against the wall in dazed amazement, Kurt held the pages limply between his fingers, staring at the book that they had come from in quiet awe. There were insights into the mermaid world that had never been penned, as far as he could tell – their culture, their fragility, their strength, their fears – but more than that he had realized quickly on that the book was Blaine's book.
It was a diary.
And he'd given it to Kurt.
He could barely pull on his Invisibility Cloak quickly enough, racing out of the hall underneath its cover and across the grounds until he reached the lake, panting as he clutched the book to his chest.
He waited and waited and waited, cold beginning to numb his excitement as the lake's surface rippled uneventfully. Just when he was certain that his fingers would go numb before anything would change, a familiar head surface, followed quickly by the rest of Blaine as he bobbed out of the water, gazing up at Kurt with dazed eyes.
Kurt held out the book to him without a word. Blaine took it, staring at its cover as though he couldn't quite believe that it was there, and then looked up at Kurt, golden eyes bright.
"Tell me when Cooper responds," he insisted. It wasn't what he'd meant to say – thank you for sharing this with me, for everything – but it was the only thing that his mind could come up with, so early in the morning, so rattled with questions.
Blaine stared at him, uncomprehending for a long moment. Just as Kurt was about to explain to him in more simplistic terms what he wanted, Blaine nodded, hugging the book closer to his chest.
He opened his mouth to ask why Blaine had done it – why Blaine had surrendered so much of himself to Kurt for seemingly nothing in return – when there was a loud, hair-raising growl at his back.
Every muscle in Kurt's body went tense at the tell-tale werewolf howl that cut the air a moment later, seconds before water rushed up to meet him as Blaine surged up to grab his arms and dragged him down into the water.
He never had breath for a scream, clinging to Blaine's back and shoulders as he broke the surface and swam. Kurt shivered violently at the cold water, aware of the heat underneath Blaine's skin as he flattened himself against it. The werewolf bared its teeth at them and snarled loudly as Blaine retreated deeper into lake, carrying Kurt with him. Then he plunged under the surface and the werewolf was no more, only darkness and coldness and silence.
Kurt held on as tightly as he could, careful not to let his legs touch Blaine's tail as they hovered just under the surface, Blaine calm and unperturbed and Kurt quietly panicking as every iota of oxygen was squeezed from his lungs. Just when he was certain that the blackness around him was about to become complete, they resurfaced, Blaine whirling them around to scan the lake. Kurt clung to his shoulders, gasping, until at last they relaxed slightly.
They could hear distant howling from the Forbidden Forest, but the area around them – and, indeed, the grassy hills leading up to Hogwarts – was empty. Even in Kurt's spotty vision he could see that they were alone once more, relief seeping through him like a drug as he held on and let Blaine tow him to shore.
Kurt sank onto the wet grass and shivered hard, unable to muster the energy to move for a long moment. Blaine hovered in the water anxiously, watching him and the trees, ready to recapture him if need be. Kurt dimly noticed that Blaine's arms were empty: the book was gone. He couldn't help but feel guilty, knowing how difficult it would be to find again in the dark water.
"Kurt?" There were footsteps this time, and Kurt noticed Blaine tensing as he shrunk back, almost disappearing under the water. Kurt looked over his shoulder and saw Elliot running towards him, his gaze sliding over Kurt's shoulder and to Blaine – almost vanished, now, but still visible, those golden eyes unmistakable – before he came to a halt in front of Kurt and snarled at Blaine.
"Elliot," Kurt said, still shivering hard. "Elliot, stop it," he ordered. "He did nothing wrong."
"Come on, we need to get you to Madam Astor's," Elliot said, reaching for Kurt.
Blaine chose that moment to hiss at him, glaring at Elliot as he neared Kurt, evidently seeking to protect him from any perceived threat; his claws were out, and even though Kurt was numb he could tell that his own arms were beginning to ache strangely, small grooves where Blaine's claws had been and oh.
It was too much for Elliot: there was a flash from his wand and Blaine reeled, letting out a screech as he flailed and vanished underwater, writhing as he swam farther and farther away.
"What the hell was that?" Kurt snapped.
"We need to get you to the infirmary," Elliot explained, scooping him up in his arms effortlessly. The Invisibility Cloak, Kurt noticed, was still at the base of the tree where he had left it, shimmering lightly in the breeze.
"What were you thinking, Kurt? Why were you here, you know how dangerous they are –"
"What did you do to him?" Kurt demanded.
"We need to get you to the infirmary," Elliot repeated, unmoved, as he hiked him a little higher in his arms and kept walking.
Kurt's arms were bleeding sluggishly, but he didn't care. "Put me down."
"No."
"Is he okay?"
Making an exasperated noise, Elliot said, "He's fine. It wears off in an hour."
Kurt was still shivering and knew that Elliot was right, knew that the infections from Blaine's claws could already be building in his skin, but he still grated out, "It wasn't his fault."
He never heard Elliot's response, his vision going dark at last, his thoughts all centered on one thing and one thing only: Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, Blaine...