Beneath

Hermione pushes the encounter with the selkie child to the back of her mind for several months, preferring to concentrate on the intricacies and day-to-day minutiae of being a NEWT student.

Of course the Battle of Hogwarts left its mark...bruised on the hearts of every magical person the wizarding world through. But Hermione feels oddly unbalanced sometimes to see the unexpected overspill (things she had never considered) of what she now calls the 'Horcrux Year' bleed into her daily life (although when she's feeling grumpy and uncharitable...which is alarmingly often...she refers to that year as the 'Never-ending Camping Trip in Hades').

The castle Healed itself...magic slowly mending the fallen walls with invisible determination and strength. From a Muggle perspective, Hermione's dad would have gone the sci-fi route and said that futuristic nanites must have swarmed everywhere, constructing grace from the rubble a micron at a time. But the new walls are pristine, and they sparkle in the sunlight like a jewel, so out of place against the rest of the age-darkened castle...a blinding memorial to those who died, a striking reminder of the folly of power.

Her classes are disconcerting; the mix of her old classmates and Ginny's compatriots makes her feel edgy. Some of her classmates are bored (and thus disruptive): there are those who attended Hogwarts last year but failed their NEWTs, there are those who left school halfway through, and there are those who just can't be bothered with the tedium of studying after an adrenaline-spiked year on the run from the Muggle-born hunters. Professor McGonagall, in all her glorious wisdom, has let some of the students do subjects from sixth-year and seventh-year so that Ginny is in Hermione's Potions class but has stayed back to redo Charms.

Perhaps the most startling reminder of the battle is Severus Snape...not because he is different but because is the same. One would swear the scene in the Shrieking Shack had been a nightmare the way he goes about his life just the same as before. Hermione vividly remembers the heavy, soaked edge of her robes where his blood seeped into the fabric, leaving an indelible stain; the coppery scent of his life-force metallic on her tongue as if she could taste his blood in the air; how he'd given up his every defence to see Voldemort fall.

But all that is left of that heroic and desperate day is a faint, pink scar that slashes across his throat. Like the castle rising from the ashes, the constituents of an experimental potion Snape had developed and taken daily had rebuilt his body from the inside-out so that when they went to fetch his body from the Shrieking Shack he'd only needed Blood-Replenishing Potion and his wand. He certainly didn't lose his sarcasm and spite along with all that blood, Hermione often thinks.

She does think of the ghostly child now and then, idly, particularly on her morning walk when she sees the giant squid sunning its tentacles in the first tentative rays of dawn. Hermione used to accept the squid as part of Hogwarts' magical and fantastic scenery, much like the lake or the forest or even the Quidditch Pitch. But now she finds her lip curling with disgust and dislike when the bloated piece of calamari unfurls its mottled and suckered limbs.

It's only when Professor Slughorn announces that the NEWT Potions class is going to spend the day collecting potion ingredients in the lake that Hermione begins to wonder about how the selkies live. Do they have stone dwellings just like the merfolk? What do they eat? How do they learn?

Professor Slughorn's news is greeted with a rising tide of questions and comments (it's lucky he's a bit deaf so he can't hear some of the bitching going on). Slughorn placates the class with his fat palms, looking like a jolly ringmaster in his velvet and lace suit, and chortles. "Oh, ho! So much excitement!"

The class settles down as he tucks his hands into his waistcoat and rocks on the balls of his feet. "Tomorrow will be a joint class with Professors Sprout, Snape and I," he announces. "Happily, this means you have the entire afternoon to collect as much Algae Grass from the lake as you can manage."

Hermione recalls using the mucus-covered aquatic plant in a fourth-year potion...it is slick and bouncy like rubber when you cut into it, squishy and springy when you prod it with a finger...and she feels slightly nauseous.

Next to Hermione, Ginny shudders delicately. "Ugh. Snotgrass," she mutters.

"I have procured sufficient Gillyweed for everybody," Slughorn announces as if it's a huge privilege he's bestowing upon them, "and Professor Snape is double-checking the squid's wards as we speak." He taps the blackboard with his wand. "For those who are not aware of the lake's territorial divisions..." Hermione is mortified to be one of these students and leans forward in her seat, paying perfect attention. A map of the lake appears on the blackboard, shaded into divisions with several colours. "The red area is squiddy's, and his perimeter is generally warded, although he tends to wear holes in it rather quickly... to the disgust of the rest of the lake-dwellers." To Snape and Flitwick's disgust, too, Hermione imagines. "The green area belongs to the merfolk and the yellow area to the selkies."

Hermione notices that the merpeople inhabit the deeper, central part of the lake, whereas the selkies have the shallower waters as their home. "We will be...with explicit permission, of course...harvesting in the selkies' territory tomorrow. Please respect their privacy and do not go wandering into their village." Slughorn beams out from under his glorious moustache. "I can't guarantee they'd give you back," he says, chuckling like Father Christmas after one too many whiskies.

Ginny grimaces. "Now I'm going to smell of lake-scum for Hogsmeade weekend. Perfect." She sighs softly and leans closer to Hermione as Professor Slughorn starts to describe how the harvested grass will be stored. "I can't wait to see Harry... aren't you excited to see Ron?" she murmurs.

Hermione forces a smile before she turns her attention to the teacher again. "Thrilled."

"Disgusting," Hermione mutters. Her protest is carried away, drifting up into the murky green water on a stream of bubbles. Her webbed hands gather the slimy, olive-green water grass into fat bundles, which she stuffs into a bag slung across her shoulders. The most interesting thing about the Gillyweed transformation are the tiny fins that wind down the backs of her legs like a skewed stocking seam; they ripple gently with each kick. Hermione loves it down here in the gentle quiet, where the outside world seems to barely intrude. If only she could explore instead of having to touch the most repulsive plant she's ever seen.

Slave-bloody-labour, she thinks, wobbling in the water as she struggles to get her balance with her flippered feet. She drifts sideways to another glutinous growth and grumbles to herself about the teachers, who are sitting nice and dry at the lake's edge, 'supervising' the collection and storage as the students rise from the rippling surface. A gleeful moment of insane amusement crosses her imagination as she tries to envisage how Slughorn would look if he took a mouthful of Gillyweed...a fat, bloated fish sinking to the muddy bottom, likely.

A ripple of movement crosses her skin like an invisible wave, and she turns to see which of her classmates is encroaching on her gathering ground. But there is nobody there...she can see only the tiny, green specks of algae that float and shimmer and dance in the muted shafts of sunlight that pierce the surface of the water like spotlights. Huh.

And then a flash of movement at the periphery of her vision has her turning back to the sea of grass, alarmed. Her heart starts to race at her pulse point. She moves closer...the tendrils of the grass send a shudder of revulsion through her as they seem to reach for her. And then she sees it: a shimmer of silver scales deep in the grass and two black, glossy eyes focussed on her. Hermione instinctively knows that it's the little selkie, her little selkie, watching the strange witch in the water, a human outside of the comfort of air.

Hermione freezes, bobbing gently in the murky water as her hair fans out from her face in the lake's gentle tide. Slowly, she raises her hand, beckons with her hand. "Don't be afraid," she says. Her words blur into the water, distort like a wave. And she waits again...she'd be holding her breath if she knew how to control her gills.

When the selkie swims closer, Hermione can see that she's got a lovely fish-like tail, but unlike the merpeople Hermione has seen before, her human-shaped torso also shimmers with a subtle luminescence as if pearl dust has been rubbed into her skin. She's beautiful under the water, Hermione thinks. The greenish hair blends in with the water and the grass around her...the selkie looks like she belongs here, like she's home. She stops when she's a few metres away, still watching with wary eyes, ready to dart away at the first sign of danger. "I know you," the selkie says suddenly. Down here, her voice is like a symphony, fluid and beautiful, and it carries across the water clearly.

Hermione nods. "Yes," she replies. She waits again, afraid that if she asks the questions that are filling her throat like a swelling sponge, the selkie will disappear again.

"Kraken was chasing me. He saw you, so he left. Thank you." The selkie ducks her pearlescent face downwards, as if she is ashamed. "My mother was very angry. I am not supposed to explore by myself."

The giant squid was named Kraken? For a moment, Hermione doesn't answer as she absorbs the mild amusement that arises and flickers around her clever mind. "You're exploring again, aren't you?" she points out gently.

"Yes." The selkie lifts her chin defiantly, now. "But it is safe today...you are all here. And I like to watch humans. You are... interesting but very funny under the water." She laughs and drifts closer to Hermione with wide, curious eyes.

"What is your name?" Hermione asks. "I am Hermione." She smiles, now, truly charmed by the little selkie and her curiosity.

"I am Syrena," she replies. She swims around Hermione in a circle, giggling softly. "Your hair is pretty," she tells Hermione. "But it was different in the air that time, wavy." She makes little circles in the air with her green-tipped finger.

Hermione snorts and it escapes her nose in a large bubble, almost making her choke. "Yes, it's very curly in the air." The mention of the morning at the lake's edge reminds Hermione of a question she has.

"Why was... Kraken chasing you? Did it want to eat you?" she asks.

"That fat thing will eat anything," Syrena says scornfully. Her tail flicks up and down in agitation. "He chased me out of the water, and he wanted to steal my skin to eat, like Leenash."

Hermione frowns. "What is a... Leenash?"

Syrena giggles again, flashing yellow teeth. "Who, not what," she says. Her thin, shimmering arms dance through the water as she keeps herself hovering gracefully in place.

"Leenash was my..." The selkie frowns, as if in intense concentration. "My suka's sister."

Hermione raises her eyebrows in question.

"My suka is my mother's mother," Syrena clarifies.

"Ahhh." Hermione wrinkles her nose as she considers the familial relationships. "So... Leenash was your great-aunt, then."

Syrena shrugs elegantly, sliding a long tendril of Algae Grass through her little hand. "If you say so. My mother told me the story of Leenash many times; it is a scary story to make little selkies be good." She smirks.

"It didn't seem to work in your case," Hermione teases. She likes the selkie's spirit and her feisty sense of humour. She's a delight to interact with.

"Hah!" Syrena bares her jagged line of teeth again. "Leenash liked the sunshine too much," she begins. Her tone is almost sing-song, now, as if it's an oft-told tale. "One day when she was out of the water in the yellow sun, Kraken snuck up on her and stole her skin away; ate it up right in front of her while she screamed and screamed. From that day on, Leenash walked on two legs and learned to use the human magic. She lived in the castle, but she did not come down to the lake to visit her family because the water made her sad, and she missed her skin too much."

"What happened to her?" Hermione asks, enthralled by the melancholy tale. There's a tightness starting to band around her lungs, and she realises that her time is almost up. She wants to stay, though, to hear the end of the story, so she grits her teeth together stubbornly.

Syrena lifts her narrow shoulders. "I don't know," she answers. "One day she left the castle, and she never came back again. But then many years later..."

"I... have to go," Hermione gasps with her last lungful of breath, her head feeling light and faraway. She feels her feet tingling, the webs between her fingers dissolving away. She kicks hard, fights her way upwards towards the silver divide.

Syrena stares up at her for a moment, looking disappointed, and then the selkie darts off through the water, fast as a flash. Hermione breaks through the surface and gasps in a cold lungful of air with a grateful splutter. Then, feeling like a drowned rat, she swims to the shore. Her robes are waterlogged and heavy as she wades towards the professors...she scowls when she sees they sit in brightly-coloured deckchairs with a steaming pot of tea set on a spindly table between them. Professor Sprout is nowhere to be seen... probably warm in her greenhouses again.

Hermione's shoes are squishy when she slides her wrinkled feet into them at the lake's edge, and her hair hangs in heavy clumps around her face. The wind is icy and it bites into her chilled skin, now, setting her teeth chattering. If I need to take Pepper-Up after this, I am going to sue the school, I swear... It's bloody November!

"Ah. Granger," Professor Snape says, folding his long, spidery fingers around his teacup. "Let's see your harvest, then." He lifts his chin and peers down his nose into the bag she holds open. She realises that there are only three slippery rolls of Algae Grass curled up in the very bottom of the bag. His lip lifts in a curl of disbelieve and derision. "A poor effort," he sneers. "And perhaps a Poor grade, too," he adds spitefully.

Hermione drops the bag with the rest and folds her arms, rubbing her shoulders vigorously and shivering as she presses her lips together in an effort not to earn herself a detention. Professor Slughorn sips his tea, his pinky finger riding the air. "Och," he says, his fat fingers reaching for a buttery piece of shortbread. "I'll give her an 'A'." He gives her his Slug Club smile, and Hermione's lips curve into a grim little smile. At least she's favoured by one of the teachers out here.

Snape snorts but doesn't argue with his mentor. "Off to the castle with you, Miss Granger," he snaps. "And wipe your feet before you go inside, for Merlin's sake."

She hears him muttering about Filch getting up his nose as she hurries away, casting a surreptitious Drying Charm as she goes. There's enough space up that nose, for sure, she thinks maliciously.

"You've got something green stuck in your hair," the mermaid in the Prefects' bathroom informs Hermione in a superior sort of voice.

Hermione glares at the pretty creature with her golden hair and her aquamarine scales. "You're the least interesting kind of mermaid there is," she tells her. "And your nipple is showing," she adds with a fake smile.

The mermaid makes a hasty adjustment of her clamshells and pouts huffily at Hermione, who is lounging in the large bath pool, up to her ears in bubbles.

Yes, she thinks. The selkies are fascinating. If only I'd had longer to speak with Syrena... to hear the end of her story! She ducks her head under the bubbles, feeling the water press around her, her lungs start to burn. She thinks of ways she can speak with her selkie friend again. A Bubble-Head Charm won't give her the mobility she'd like underwater, and Viktor's half-shark trick was just not an option. What I really need to do is to get hold of some more Gillyweed.

A/N: Thank you to Gelsey for proof-reading. You are made of awesome!