A/N: For those concerned: I live! For those not: that's cool too, lol. Also, does no one log in to this site anymore to leave reviews? Ya'll keep commenting as guests and I can't talk back to you!
Thanks to whythehellnothavefun and AngstySnake for beta reading this chapter!
Last Chapter: Neville managed to sneak in to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom and, ignoring everyone else's advice, went for a swim in Harry's tank. Harry was relieved to be able to talk to another person and passed along the warning about the muggleborn "schools" Voldemort was planning, as well as a cryptic message meant to be passed along to Hermione and Ron about Nagini and himself being horcruxes. Harry's mersong manipulated Neville's emotions and desires throughout the conversation, to the point that Neville almost didn't leave when he needed to. Harry switched his song to push Neville to leave once he realized what was happening.
Neville woke the next morning with grit in his eyes, a headache, and Dean leaning worriedly overhead. Dean, who was still bruised and tired-looking from his time with the Carrows, looked instantly relieved when Neville's eyes opened.
"I've been trying to wake you up for fifteen minutes already," he said. "Breakfast starts in ten minutes."
"What?" Neville asked dumbly. The meaning of the words sank in belatedly and he scrambled out of his bed, stumbling when his feet hit the floor. He had to steady himself on the bedpost and noticed Dean now standing with his hand outstretched, as if to catch Neville.
"You alright, Nev?" Dean asked.
Neville shook his head groggily. He felt muddled. Clumsy. Like he was still half asleep.
"I'm alright," he said, checking his balance before he released the bedpost. He looked at Dean, seeing that the other boy was already fully dressed. He had probably been waiting on Neville to go down to breakfast even though they'd likely be running late, now, unwilling to travel the school alone.
"Sorry, I'll get ready as fast as I can," Neville said, managing to groggily stagger to his trunk to retrieve a clean uniform. He wouldn't have time for a shower, even though he would have liked one to clear his head and get rid of the lingering sensation of salt clinging to his skin.
"Are you sick?" Dean asked.
"No, I'm alright," Neville replied, blinking. The fog in his head was retreating more rapidly now. "I think it's because of Harry."
"You saw him last night?" Dean asked, voice hushed. "I thought you were out on rounds."
Neville grinned at his last remaining roommate as he took yesterday's shirt off. "Yeah, we talked." He shivered, remembering the sensation of Harry's mersong encapsulating him. He sobered as he remembered what had actually been said. "He told me some things that we'll all need to talk about - I'm going to call a meeting for tonight."
Dean laughed disbelievingly, breathlessly, as if afraid of being overheard. "You actually got in the tank with him? Is that why you're acting like you have a hangover?"
"I guess so," Neville said with a small grin. "I think I'm the first wizard to survive swimming with a siren, so it's not like there's a precedent."
"What did he say?" Dean asked excitedly. "He was really all there?"
"Yeah, he was still himself, just… not human, anymore," Neville said. He frowned as he pulled on a fresh pair of trousers, then sat on the edge of his bed to replace his socks. Harry had seemed surprisingly eager to bloodily murder the Carrows, but then again, Neville recalled feeling exactly the same way. He didn't feel that way now, as much as he loathed them. He'd happily stupify them and throw them into the deepest pit of Azkaban, but that wasn't quite the same as dropping them into the waiting claws of a monster. Harry. Not a monster. Just… someone who could probably shred a human being to ribbons while the human smiled about it.
But Harry had also been tortured by them, and probably seen them hurt Ginny, too. Neville supposed that might do it, even though Harry had never seemed the bloodthirsty type before.
"What did he say?" Dean asked. "Anything about Ron and Granger?"
"They're alright, as far as Harry knows," Neville said as he pulled on his shoes. "They escaped. The rest I'd better save for the meeting."
Dean bit his lip, but nodded in acceptance. "Tonight?"
"Tonight," Neville agreed.
They were six minutes late for breakfast. Thankfully, the Carrows must have still been busy with mopping up the mess of Ginny's escape, and weren't around to notice.
Harry's news caused the expected fear amongst the DA when Neville relayed the message later that evening. Half-baked plans flew back and forth frantically as students panicked, trying to think of ways to save themselves or their friends. After an hour, the most plausible plan that they had was still to hide muggleborns in the Room of Requirement and hope that Snape didn't actually know how to break into their hiding place. It had been Umbridge and Filch who'd tracked the DA to the room before, after all, and blasted their way inside. They could hope that the information had never made it back to the current headmaster.
It was a fragile, dangerous hope, and they all knew it. But it was that or risk an all-out uprising that would almost certainly result in their deaths. Conversation moved to what they could do, now, and Neville was relieved when Dean provided an objective.
"We need to spread the word to other muggleborns in the school," Dean said. "Only the muggleborns, though. Anyone else who gets word might spread it back to the Carrows or Snape."
"They can't know we know," Sally-Anne Perks agreed. "They might try to take us away sooner."
"Maybe we shouldn't," Michael Corner said. "If anyone panics and tries to run, word will get around that we all know just as quickly."
"Are there any more muggleborns who aren't here?" Sue Li asked.
Around the room, heads nodded.
"Younger years," Dennis Creevey said, unusually worried.
"No one wanted to get them involved in a resistance," Dennis's brother, Colin, explained.
"And we probably shouldn't tell them about this until we have a plan," Susan said. "I'm not trying to leave them out, but firsties aren't going to be able to help in any way, and they're just going to panic and give us away. If they're not already in the DA, let's wait to tell them."
Grim nods around the room signaled agreement.
"There's the Slytherins, too," Lavender offered tentatively.
"There are muggleborns in Slytherin?" Seamus asked in disbelief. "But they're the worst blood-purists!"
"Having muggle parents doesn't mean you can't be cunning or ambitious," Anthony Goldstein pointed out. "It makes sense."
Yes. It did, even though it seemed an awful reality. One Neville was trying to wrap his mind around with just as much difficulty as many of the others in the room.
"Are they even in danger?" Dean asked Lavender. "They all start hiding their blood status as soon as they're sorted."
"Can't blame them," Neville muttered. He could only imagine what it would be like being a muggleborn surrounded by the likes of Draco Malfoy.
"They've all cozied up to the purebloods in their house," Dean went on. "They've probably made deals for themselves or something."
"Maybe up until this year, that was enough," Lavender said, biting her lip. "But it's not anymore."
"You know someone?" Neville asked in interest.
She nodded. "Yes, we went to primary school together before Hogwarts. She won't talk to me in public anymore, but… we're still in touch. I'm sure she knows of more in the other years."
"Who?" Sally-Anne asked.
Lavender shifted uneasily. "I don't want to draw attention to her. I'll try to get in touch with her again, though - if they don't already know, they should."
"Can we trust them?" Seamus asked angrily. "Or are they going to sell us out to You-Know-Who in exchange for their own safety?"
"She wouldn't do that," Lavender snapped. "I trust her."
Uneasy muttering greeted her pronouncement. Neville cleared his throat.
"We can't abandon people who are in danger just because they're in a different house," he said. "If Lavender trusts her friend, then we'll just have to trust that this girl knows who in her house can be trusted with this information and who shouldn't be."
Lavender looked relieved, shooting Neville a small smile.
"Alright," Neville said as the muttering died down. "What else can we do?"
"Not much," was the answer. Those of them more talented with research agreed to surreptitiously comb through the library in search of some way they could escape Hogwarts. It didn't need to be stated that hopes weren't high. Many of them had already searched through what tomes seemed likely to help in an escape and turned up nothing useful. Snape had been thorough in sealing up the secret passageways, and the wards were ancient - nearly unbreakable. A group of students wouldn't be able to batter them down.
Neville had the feeling that they were trying to tackle this problem in the wrong way, but the problem was that he couldn't figure out what the right way would be.
"What about Harry?" Ginny asked.
Neville looked at her. Her lips were stubbornly pursed, her arms crossed - but there was still yellow on her collarbone from where Amycus Carrow had bruised her, and her red eyes showed she'd been crying recently.
"We can't break him out, Ginny," Seamus said, with the tone of someone trying not to lose his patience after having to repeat himself.
"I know," she snapped, surprising Neville. She took a deep breath. "But we can't just do nothing, either. Can you imagine what it would be like to be trapped, all on your own, for months? Because he has been. Even if we can't free him, we have to be able to help somehow."
"We have enough to worry about as it is," Michael Corner said waspishly. "Look, I feel bad for him, but Longbottom said Potter's not in any danger. He might be the safest one in this castle."
Soft murmurs of agreement proved Corner wasn't the only one feeling that way.
"If anyone wants to write him a letter and waterproof it, we could find a time to drop them into his tank," Susan said. "I don't want to do it too often, but there's no reason I and the other prefects can't sneak back up there occasionally."
Ginny, who'd been looking as if she were working up to explode, deflated at Susan's suggestion. She nodded, mollified, at the idea.
"As long as the Carrows aren't around, there's no reason we can't wave and smile at Harry when we pass him on the staircases or in the Entrance Hall, either," Neville pointed out, paying particular attention to those who'd been completely convinced that Harry was no longer an intelligent, feeling being. Some of them were looking dubious. "Look, no one has to go jumping into the tank if they don't want to, but he's still our friend - still the reason many of us are even here. You-Know-Who is trying to keep him isolated, and that's just all the more reason to make sure Harry doesn't feel alone."
Neville was relieved when others exchanged glances and hesitant nods with their friends. It wouldn't be much - but it would be something, something that cost them almost nothing. And it could make a world of difference to Harry in his new, lonely existence.
I think I might be starting to go a little crazy in here on my own, Harry had said. If a few smiles and waves could stop that, they had no reason not to.
Ginny smiled at Neville, and he smiled back. Thank you, she mouthed.
Two days later, Neville was back in what Professor Braeburn was calling "the siren room" and Harry was once again jammed into the long, narrow tank for observation. He'd been dragged up from the inscrutable depths of his tank by his wrists, this time - or rather, the cuffs that were now fastened around them. Neville hadn't noticed them when he'd visited Harry a few days before, but he could admit he hadn't been the most observant during that particular adventure. They seemed less painful than the spell Braeburn had described to the class the previous week; the one that imitated a fishing line. Harry didn't seem to be any happier about it, though. He was practically burning holes in Braeburn's back with his eyes, and they could all hear the low, pulsating thrumming coming from him that warned of danger.
However, that anger could have just as easily been from the fact that Braeburn had evidently decided to rename Harry. He'd been calling him "Calder" ever since the beginning of the class. The students didn't need to speak mermish to understand Harry's feelings about it; Harry hissed and spat and shrieked angry notes every time Braeburn used it. But Braeburn had begun lecturing fairly quickly, and Harry seemed to have resigned himself to waiting out the class period - settled on the bottom of the tank with his chin pillowed on his crossed arms. And even though he still looked uneasy, eyes constantly flicking between Braeburn and his old classmates, it was obvious he was listening to the lecture.
I'm still not very good at figuring out my magic like this, Harry had said. Harry probably didn't know anything more about sirens than the rest of them did.
"Now, as you all know, a siren's deadliest weapon is its mersong, which is said to dig its claws into your very soul in order to enthrall. But, of course, it isn't the sound itself that is dangerous; it's the magic carried by the sound, much the same as how we cast spells using incantations. This is why we can construct wards that allow us to hear mersong without being negatively affected. These wards block the magic from passing through, but not the sound."
Padma Patil raised her hand, and Braeburn nodded to her. "Yes, Ms. Patil?"
"You said mersong affects the soul. Are you saying that mersong is soul magic, Professor?"
"Why yes, that is how it has been classified by our research," Braeburn said. "If you recall, the imperius curse was developed from research on mersong. One of the several reasons it was banned from use is because it was classified as soul magic, a trait it inherited from its natural origin. The old misconception that a siren's allure is sexual is proven wrong with this knowledge. Tales of men enamored with beautiful women in the sea do not tell the full story. We all have souls to be ensnared, and the gender of the siren has no bearing on their ability to enthrall."
Neville, hesitantly, raised his hand. He gulped as Braeburn nodded to him.
"Can sirens choose when they're using their magic, or is it constant?" he asked, thinking of how his own emotions had been jerked around so thoroughly by his conversation with Harry.
Harry, as if thinking the same thing, winced at the same time a mournful note keened from the water. Braeburn ignored the sound, his back turned to Harry.
"Well, we don't know," Braeburn said, stroking his chin. "That's one of the questions I hope to answer soon. It's been a bit difficult to test, you see, as we can't risk exposing ourselves to the magical effects of it."
"They must communicate with each other?" Neville said.
"We believe so, though it's been assumed that they are simply immune to the effects of their own kind's magic. The truth is that this is a question we can't even begin to answer, yet."
Neville nodded, accepting the answer. As Braeburn continued talking, Neville glanced at Harry and found that Harry was looking at him.
Harry mouthed something with deliberate care. Sorry, Neville realized.
Neville tried to give him a reassuring smile.
As the class dragged on, Neville felt the increasing discomfort among his fellow DA members. It wasn't the same heavy grief that had been present in their first class centered on Harry, when many of them had believed the story that Harry wasn't himself anymore. Now, it felt more… awkward. He caught them looking at Harry before rushing to avert their eyes, though whether it was from shame at having believed Voldemort's lies or embarrassment at Harry's lack of clothing, he couldn't know. Harry didn't seem overly conscious of the last part, but then, he didn't seem to have any obvious private bits anymore. From the anatomy drawings in their textbooks, Neville knew that sirens did have them, they were just… hidden. Retracted into their tails, or something. Was that why Harry didn't seem embarrassed about it, or was he just accustomed to his state of undress? Or was the desire to cover up one's body a purely human impulse that Harry had lost when he'd been changed?
Today's lecture was less about the dangers of sirens, which had felt more like one of Professor Lupin's Defense classes, and more about sirens' needs. Braeburn droned on for ages about diet; habitat; water temperature, salinity, cleanliness, and oxygen levels.
"The walls of Calder's tank - " Braeburn lectured, ignoring Harry's hiss, " - Are heavily etched in runes set between layers of glass. These runes serve a multitude of functions, from maintaining water temperature to filtering out impurities and maintaining proper oxygen. They also strengthen and ward the tank against both physical impact and magic. Sirens can reach speeds of up to 80 kilometers per hour [1][2], which, combined with their weight, can create quite an effective battering ram against an improperly prepared tank! It is also this speed that allows them to achieve great leaps out of the water. Calder doesn't have enough depth to get very far while separated from the rest of the tank below us, but if the grates were open and wards removed, he could likely propel himself nearly five meters out of the water - which should serve as a reminder of why a deafenti charm is not protection enough if you are on a small boat or near a shore!"
Harry was glaring at Braeburn's back; emitting a steady but quiet thrum of irritated sound. Neville didn't think Harry was talking. It seemed more like a simple emotional expression. Harry's actual speech sounded more complex, more defined. A melody rather than a bass note or a rhythm.
Parkinson had raised her hand. "Don't sirens want to stay in the water?"
"Ordinarily, yes," Braeburn said. "As we discussed last class, sirens are one of the mer species incapable of breathing air or moving on land. However, their aggression means they will often leave the water in order to attack. They don't seem to always plan where they land." Braeburn gave her a small smile. "This is important not only for self-defense but also in taking care of sirens in captivity. It is best to prevent them from leaving the water entirely, rather than assume that the air will be enough of a deterrent for them. They are more than capable of getting out of their tanks, and if they are unable to drag themselves back to the water, they will die of suffocation within twenty minutes."
Neville glanced at Harry, who was making an odd chittering sound. But Harry had turned his face away, pillowed on his arms as if he were tired. Neville wasn't sure of his reaction without being able to see his face, but the sound sounded… anxious? Uncertain?
"That seems like a long time for them to be able to survive without breathing, Professor," Parkinson said.
"They will start to deteriorate within just a few minutes," Braeburn said. "But it is possible for them to last longer if they land somewhere where their gills are still in contact with water, like a puddle or shallow pool. This makes a stone floor such as this one safer for them than a beach. Can anyone tell me why?"
Padma reluctantly raised her hand.
"Sand would absorb any water rather than allow it to puddle," she said.
"Correct! And it's doubly dangerous because it is practically impossible for them to get any purchase on to drag themselves back into the water, whereas they might have a chance if on a surface they can grip - depending on the strength and weight of the siren, of course."
Parkinson raised her hand again, smirking. "Has Calder ever been stupid enough to jump out of a tank?"
Harry's head had whipped up to hiss at her, which was quickly joined by an irritated scale of mersong; likely some sort of retort or insult. Her smirk grew when she saw the reaction - she was taunting him on purpose, evidently knowing that Voldemort's propaganda was just that - propaganda. Was Braeburn the only one left in the room who believed it?
"He did try to leap at the beginning of the last class we had," Braeburn reminded her. "The wards prevented any mishaps, though." He smiled wryly. "I can assure you he'd dearly like to get to me. I have had to remove the wards from the top of the tank once or twice, and I can tell he's considered trying. I was, of course, well out of range."
Braeburn's back was still facing Harry, which is why he missed Harry flipping him the bird.
A wave of startled snorts and giggles escaped the students. Braeburn's eyebrows shot up.
"You all think that's funny, do you?"
Neville covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin while others smothered their laughter. Braeburn finally noticed where they were looking and turned. Harry met Braeburn's eyes straight-on, then, very deliberately raised his second hand in an identical gesture. At the same time, Harry said something in a series of pointed, downward-scale notes that managed to convey a scathing tone. The meaning wasn't hard to guess.
Try to misunderstand this, Professor.
"I don't think you can assign him detention, sir," Anthony Goldstein said, still snickering behind his hand.
Harry smirked, his eyes still locked with Artemius's. The professor was gaping like a fish, evidently struggling to make sense of the perfectly clear and human communication methods Harry had employed. Harry was hoping it would cause Artemius to realize that his specimen was, in fact, sentient, but Harry wasn't going to put too much faith in Artemius's powers of reason.
Artemius wrenched his eyes away from Harry to his students. "Did someone teach him this?" he asked sharply.
"I'm pretty sure we all just picked it up from the older students at one point or another, Professor," Ernie MacMillan said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
"No, no, this is obviously not a native behavior," Artemius said. "This is mimicry, something not highly uncommon amongst even nonmagical animals. Someone, most likely a student, showed him this and he is copying what he saw."
"Wow, you are really set on being dense," Harry sang, and saw that most of the students switched their attention to him. Artemius also turned to look at him, though he seemed to relax when he saw that Harry's hands had dropped. Harry threw in an eye roll to make his feelings clear, and Artemius hurriedly looked away again.
"It is quite… fascinating how quickly Calder has picked this up from the student body," Artemius said nervously. "It was, perhaps, foreseeable given how much exposure he has to the students with the public setting of his habitat."
"The only thing I was exposed to was Dudley's delinquency," Harry sang in a drawn-out monotone. "And that was years ago."
"Sounds like he's talking to you, Professor," Ernie said cheerfully. "Almost like he understands."
"Yes, quite uncanny, isn't it?" Artemius said with a forced chuckle. "Of course, kneazles and crups are often observed doing the same, and no reasonable person believes that they truly understand English because of it."
Harry snorted, but the sound came from his gills as more of a wet thump, sending a noticeable wave through the water around him. The students didn't look convinced, either.
Artemius cleared his throat. "Well, I think that's the end of class for today. Please remember that your essay detailing the steps you would take to set up an aquarium safe for a siren is due next Tuesday - five feet!"
The students began moving, hushed conversations exchanged among themselves as they gathered up their supplies. A few of them waved at Harry as they left - small motions half-hidden in the folds of their robes or shielded from the professor by their bodies. Some did it confidently; others hesitantly as if they weren't truly certain Harry would wave back. He copied their example and shielded his own return waves from Artemius's eyes, something small and warm blooming in his heart at the tiny, casual interaction with anyone at all others. Ernie even smiled at Harry as he gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up, and Harry was surprised at the wide, genuine smile he gave back. Out of everyone Harry might have expected to poke fun at a professor on Harry's behalf, Harry hadn't expected it to be Ernie, of all people.
Harry was pleasantly buzzing with the positive attention, happily skipping grace notes escaping from his sides as he watched his old classmates trickle out. Last time, they'd barely looked at Harry. Was the difference because Neville had spoken to the other students; told them about the conversation he and Harry had had?
"Oh, ah, Mr. Longbottom, before you go I'd like a word." Artemius's voice drew Harry's attention away from Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot leaving through the door. The Gryffindors were the only ones left: Neville, Dean, and Lavender. The latter two shot anxious looks at Neville.
"I'll be right there if you want to wait by the door," Neville told them quietly, spiking Harry's curiosity. Dean he might be able to understand, but Lavender had never spent much time around Neville. Nevertheless, they both looked decidedly nervous as they left the room, though they were trying to hide it. Why were they both hanging on to Neville?
"Yes, Professor?" Neville said politely when they'd gone.
"I just found out yesterday that your application to join the research program was cleared," Artemius said, smiling jovially. Harry flinched at the mention of the research program, a note nervously warbling out from his chest. Neville's eyes flicked to Harry, but Artemius ignored it.
"Our first meeting is this Saturday - ten o'clock in this room. Assuming you are still interested?"
Neville blinked, eyes wide. It took him a moment to manage a response.
"Oh - oh, yes, wow, um - I didn't expect that to actually be approved?"
Artemius patted Neville's shoulder. "The Headmaster isn't so unreasonable as all that. I admit, he didn't think too highly of you based on your performance in his potions class in your younger years, but you've maintained good grades in Care, Herbology, Astronomy, and History throughout your schooling, and we've seen marked improvement in Charms since your O.W.L. year as well. He couldn't deny a promising student a chance to further their education in a relevant field."
"Oh, um, well, thank you… thank you, Professor," Neville stammered. "I, ah… I'll be there, then."
"Do you know the impervious charm?" Artemius asked.
"Er, yes, I do," Neville said.
Artemius clapped his shoulder again. "Excellent. You'll need it, so if you're rusty, I recommend brushing up on that as well as your deafening charm."
"Thank you, Professor," Neville said. "Really. Er," Neville's eyes flicked to Harry again, uncertain and sympathetic, before he looked back at Artemius. "I'll see you on Monday, then."
Harry watched his friend leave. It wasn't until the door had clicked closed behind him that Harry realized his body was still humming nervously, betraying his fear about the research program to Artemius.
Artemius seemed lost in his own head, however. His expression had gone blank, staring emptily ahead. After a moment, he shook his head and turned to look at Harry, frowning.
"Perhaps it is true that you retained… one or two expressions from your time as a human," he mused. "It's possible. But without a wild-born siren to compare your behavior to, it may be impossible to know for sure." He sighed. "I am grateful for a live subject to study, Calder, but I can admit your origin might be muddying the waters a bit, so to speak."
"Probably by a lot more than 'a bit,'" Harry snipped. "You're just an idiot."
Artemius sighed again, but moved away from the tank and deafened himself. It was only a few moments before Harry felt the magical wards release and the grate retract, freeing him to leave. It seemed Artemius wasn't intent on keeping him for tests this time.
Harry considered showing Artemius his "mimicry" again before he left, but it seemed pretty obvious that Artemius would explain it away, and Harry found his earlier spite was missing. He hauled himself over his tail and clumsily splashed back into the main tank with mixed feelings. He hated the restrictive confines of the tank Artemius had been using to put Harry on display during the class, but at least in there, he didn't feel so alone.
The quiet waters swallowed him whole. He swam straight down, past the now-open grates, shuddering as he imagined that the next time he was forced to leave the artificial depths he would likely be a test subject.
His cuffs itched.
Footnotes:
[1] Around 50mph. (I'm American-raised. I used km in the draft for British accuracy, but the measurement means almost nothing to me without a conversion!)
[2] Harry's length, weight, and speed are all loosely based on the short-finned pilot whale.
