Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Legends speak of the sea’s own heart, hidden in an abyss where no light reaches. Sailors and pirates have whispered of it for generations, calling it the Heart of the Sea. It is more than mere treasure. Some say it formed from the first drop of moonlight that ever touched the waves; others claim it’s the still-beating heart of an ancient sea goddess. Whatever its true nature, all agree on one thing: it holds power beyond imagination, and it calls out to those who dare listen. From father to son, from old salt to young deckhand, the tale passes in hushed tones. On calm nights when the waves are gentle, a faint thrum can be heard beneath the surface, like the distant pulse of a giant creature. Old mariners swear this is the Heart, beating in time with the ebb and flow of the tides. They say if you press your ear to the hull on such a night, you can hear it—a deep, rhythmic heartbeat echoing up from the depths. And if you hear that sound, the ocean will never let you go. The sea’s call will haunt your dreams and stir an unyielding wanderlust in your soul. But the Heart of the Sea is no easy prize to claim. The ocean guards its secrets jealously. Those who search for the Heart often meet a dreadful fate. Sirens with voices sweet as honey comb the waters near its resting place, luring unwary ships toward jagged rocks and certain doom. When charm alone is not enough, storms will rise without warning—fierce squalls and towering waves that can break a ship to pieces in the span of a scream. Even the bravest sailors speak of these dangers with a shudder. Some swear the very beasts of the deep, from the mighty Kraken to schools of hungry sharks, circle the Heart’s domain, warding off intruders. Many a proud vessel has vanished beneath angry swells, her captain’s final cry lost to the roaring wind and water. The broken hulls and bleached bones that litter the ocean floor serve as a warning: the sea does not yield its prize easily. Yet still the legend persists, too alluring for ambition to ignore. For every soul devoured by the deep, another takes up the chase, dreaming of being the one chosen by the Heart. Whispers in dockside taverns hint that perhaps the Heart chooses who can find it—that a captain will be born with salt water in their veins, one whom the waves themselves will not harm. They say this chosen one would be a soul the sirens cannot sway, a voyager destined to claim the sea’s heart as their own. And when such a one finally holds the Heart of the Sea, the ocean will either grant them unimaginable power... or unleash its full fury upon the world. Truth or tale, no one can say for sure. But on the open ocean, where the line between myth and reality blurs with every swell and horizon, sailors carry this warning in their hearts: some legends are not meant to remain legends forever.

Chapter Text

Midnight had long passed on the open sea, and a pale mist clung to the black waters. The Stag’s Vow, a notorious pirate brig, cut a swift path through the gentle swells. The scent of salt hung heavy in the cool air, and each creak of the ship’s timber sounded loud in the hush. Captain James Potter kept one hand firm on the wheel, his eyes scanning the starlit horizon. Beside him stood Remus Lupin, his first mate, arms folded against the damp chill as he surveyed the darkness around them.
James stood straight and sure-footed at the helm, as if born to that very post. In the faint lantern glow, his tousled dark hair fluttered in the breeze, and a confident grin played on his lips. He wore a weathered tricorn hat and a long coat that had once been a rich navy blue but was now faded and salt-stained. Stories about Captain Potter traveled far across the seas—tales of daring escapes and audacious raids that had cemented his reputation as one of the most infamous pirates to ever sail these waters. With a bounty on his head and a charm in his smile, James had a way of looking at the horizon, as he did now, like he was chasing something that always stayed just out of reach.
At his side, Remus Lupin cut a different figure. Remus’s brown hair was tied back with a simple cord, and a few streaks of silver at his temples glinted in the moonlight, making him look a touch older than James despite being of similar age. His coat was patched and practical, and his keen eyes reflected the glow of the stars above as he kept watch. If James was the fire that drove The Stag’s Vow, Remus was the calm breeze that kept it on course. He was loyal to his captain and friend—ever since they’d first sailed together years ago—but that loyalty was matched by cautious wisdom. Where James rushed in, Remus held back, always measuring risk against reward. It was this balance between them that had seen their ship through countless perils.
The ship itself was as renowned as its captain. The Stag’s Vow had once been a proud naval vessel, commandeered in a bold coup by James and his crew right out from under a Governor’s nose. Now its once-white sails were dyed a deep charcoal, nearly black against the night sky, and emblazoned at their center was the emblem of a silver stag’s head with sprawling antlers. At the prow, a carved wooden figurehead of a leaping stag led the way, its fierce eyes forever challenging the sea ahead. Many a merchant captain had surrendered at the mere sight of that silhouette emerging from the fog, knowing the ship’s fearsome reputation. Under James’s command and Remus’s steady counsel, The Stag’s Vow had never been caught and rarely been outmatched.
This night, however, an unusual quiet had settled over the crew. The waters were unnervingly calm, the mist thick but strangely still, as if the world were holding its breath. Remus cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “All’s quiet,” he murmured, though his tone made it almost a question.
James nodded, his gaze never wavering from the darkness ahead. “Too quiet,” he replied under his breath. His voice was low and steady, carrying the confidence that had earned his crew’s trust a hundred times over. But now there was a note of restlessness in it. He could feel something out there—just beyond the edge of sight and sound.
Remus glanced at his captain and longtime friend. He knew that look in James’s eyes: it was the same one he got before he did something particularly bold (or particularly foolhardy). Remus had learned to trust James’s hunches, but he also knew where they often led—straight into trouble. “We could have taken the long route around Widow’s Reef,” Remus said quietly, pulling his coat tighter as if a chill had passed over him. “Avoided this stretch entirely.”
“That would have added a week to our journey,” James responded, flashing a quick grin. “And you know me—I’m not one to waste a fair wind or a good opportunity.”
Remus huffed softly, half a laugh, half a sigh. “Opportunity, is it? I suspect you just enjoy testing our luck.” His eyes drifted to the dark waters off the starboard bow, where the mist was thickest. “These waters... the charts mark them as unsafe. Strange sightings, ships lost. Even the Navy patrols steer clear.” He didn’t say the word that hung in the air between them, but both men felt it: sirens.
James tapped his fingers absently against the wheel’s polished wood. He had heard the same stories. Perhaps those very tales had enticed him to take this route—though he’d never admit it aloud. He felt that familiar tug in his chest, the one that had drawn him to the sea as a boy and never let go. It was an unspoken pull toward the unknown, toward whatever mysteries might lie hidden in uncharted coves or the deepest ocean trenches. Lately, that pull had been stronger than ever, a whisper at the back of his mind like a song he could almost hear. If a part of him hoped that by daring these dangerous waters he might hear that song clearly, he kept it to himself. James clapped a reassuring hand on Remus’s shoulder. “The crew trusts me to guide them true,” he said. “And I trust the sea. It hasn’t killed me yet.”
Remus managed a tight smile. “Aye, you’ve got a knack for staying alive,” he conceded. “Let’s keep it that way.”
As if on cue, a faint breeze rippled through the fog, carrying a new scent across the deck. James and Remus both lifted their heads, noses testing the air. It was still the briny smell of salt, but underneath it was something else—something sweet. A floral note, utterly out of place this far from any shore.
Remus’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of the cutlass at his side. “Do you smell that, James?” he whispered.
James inhaled deeply, and a curious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The sweetness was intoxicating, like the perfume of night-blooming jasmine entwined with seaweed. “Aye,” he said quietly. “Something’s out there.” His heart quickened—not with fear exactly, but with anticipation.
Up in the rigging, a lookout began to hum a gentle tune. A moment later, a few other sailors joined in, their voices soft and strange, singing words that no one could quite make out. Near the bow, a seasoned gunner they called Crabby stood as if entranced, a coil of rope slipping from his hands as he stared into the mist. A younger deckhand suddenly laughed under his breath and leaned over the railing, as though responding to a whisper only he could hear.
Remus felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He stepped away from James, raising his voice just enough to carry. “Hey! Stay sharp, men.” He intended it to sound bracing, but the warning fell flat in the heavy night air—drowned out by the rising melody that now skated over the water.
James heard it clearly at last: a song, eerily beautiful. It drifted around them, echoing out of the fog. The voices were like gold and honey, warm and beckoning. He couldn’t tell how many singers there were—one moment it sounded like a lone woman, high and heartbreakingly lovely; the next, a chorus of harmonies weaving together. The language was unknown, but the feeling it carried needed no translation. Longing. Promise. Come to me, it seemed to sigh.
A haze settled over James’s mind. The edges of his vision dimmed until all he saw was the mist and the idea of something beyond it—something wonderful calling his name. The wheel was still in his hands, but he barely felt it. Come, the song all but insisted. In his chest, he felt a strange ache, as if the sea itself had reached inside him and tugged at his heart. The Heart of the Sea... The words drifted through his daze, an old memory or a dream, he couldn't tell. He took an involuntary step forward, drawn toward that voice.
Suddenly a strong grip clamped down on James’s shoulder, yanking him back. “James!” Remus shouted, his voice cutting through the music like a splash of cold water.
James staggered, the spell broken for a second. He blinked rapidly and became aware of the wheel spinning loosely—he’d let go. The ship groaned as it started to veer off course. James shook his head hard, fighting to clear the fog from his thoughts. With a surge of alarm, he realized The Stag’s Vow was drifting dangerously toward a cluster of dark, jagged rocks peeking above the water to port.
“Helm, hard to starboard!” he bellowed, lunging back to the wheel. He spun it with all his might, the muscles in his arms knotting with effort. Slowly, obediently, the ship began to respond, its prow resisting the deadly draw of the rocks.
On deck, the enchantment still gripped many of the crew. The siren song swelled, shimmering in the mist. A sailor near the mainmast dropped to his knees, sobbing with joy at the sound. Another was climbing the ratlines, reaching toward the sky as if he could fly. Their minds were far away, lost in sweet fantasies.
Remus acted fast. He knew if he succumbed to that sound, all would be lost. He tore a sleeve from his linen shirt and wrapped it around his head, covering one ear, trying to dull the magic-laced melody. Stumbling to the ship’s bell, he snatched up a belaying pin and struck the bell with all the force he could muster.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The bell’s harsh alarm rang out across the deck.
The spell on the crew wavered; men flinched and clutched their ears at the sudden jarring clangor. Remus kept pounding the bell, desperate to keep his crew tethered to reality. “Plug your ears!” he roared between strikes. “Now, all of you!”
James, still wrestling the wheel, added his own voice to the mix. “Stand to, lads! It’s witchcraft on the wind—snap out of it!”
The combined noise of bell and commanding shouts clashed with the siren song in an eerie cacophony. Some of the crew managed to obey Remus’s order: shaking their heads clear, fumbling to stuff bits of cloth or tarred hemp into their ears. Others simply dropped flat on the deck, pressing their palms hard against the sides of their head. Bit by bit, the seductive singing was drowned out by chaos and pain, and reality rushed back in.
A furious screech sliced through the night, silencing the bell in mid-peal. The unearthly song twisted into something vicious and discordant. Out in the mist, shadows moved in the water. Thud! The whole ship shivered as if something had rammed its hull from the port side.
Remus’s eyes went wide. They had heard stories of what came after the song... but now it was upon them. He yanked a pistol from his belt and peered over the railing into the misty dark. At first he saw nothing—just ripples and foam. Then a pale form broke the surface, and another. His breath caught.
Slender, human-like arms with webbed fingers clung to the side of the ship, their nails—no, claws—scraping wood. A face emerged between the waves and the fog: eyes large and luminous like a cat’s in the night, hair streaming dark and kelp-like around a striking, feral visage. The creature’s lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing teeth as sharp as a barracuda’s. A siren, in all her terrible glory.
“God save us,” Remus muttered, stunned by the sight. This close, the siren’s song was more a gurgling hiss—she knew the spell had been broken, and now raw malice contorted her beautiful features.
With a sudden lunge, the siren thrust her arm over the rail, lightning-quick, and snatched at the ankle of the young deckhand who had laughed moments before. He screamed as he was jerked off balance, his fingers scrambling for a hold on the slick deck.
James was already moving. He let go of the wheel (it was secured now on a fixed course) and bounded across the deck. In one fluid motion he drew his cutlass. The steel flashed in the lantern light as he brought it down in a broad arc toward the pale arm dragging the sailor. The blade bit true. With an ear-splitting shriek, the siren released the crewman and dropped back into the sea, a dark, oily blood staining the spot where she vanished.
“Take arms! Defend the ship!” James shouted. The crew, though shaken, were hardened pirates—used to sudden violence. Swords, pikes, and pistols were snatched from racks and belts. Two more sirens leapt out of the water on the starboard side, their lithe forms briefly airborne like flying fish. A shot rang out as Remus fired his pistol at one, the flash illuminating a scaled tail and a mane of tangled hair. The creature screeched and splashed back down; whether hit or merely angered was impossible to tell.
Another impact rocked The Stag’s Vow from below. Wood groaned ominously. One of the beasts was ramming the keel, trying to split it. James realized with a stab of fear that if they punched a hole in the hull, they would all be drowning soon... or worse, at the mercy of these creatures in the water.
“Remus!” James yelled. His first mate was already ahead of him.
“On it!” Remus responded. He grabbed a musket from a dazed crewman and barked, “Light the cannon! Aim for the water, off the port bow!” A pair of gunners, regaining their wits, rushed to the small swivel cannon mounted at the ship’s bow. Their hands shook but they managed to pack powder and shot into the barrel.
James braced himself at the helm once more, one hand on the wheel and the other now gripping a long dagger. He scanned the mist, trying to judge the best course to flee. The wind was picking up, perhaps spurred by the tumult. If they could catch that breeze...
The sirens weren’t giving them the chance. Another haunting wail rose from the stern—one of the creatures had climbed up onto the rudder and was clinging there, dragging her claws along it. The ship lost some steering as the wheel resisted James’s pull.
At that instant, the cannon on the bow fired. The boom was tremendous in the still night, belching fire and iron into the sea ahead. The flash of light blew apart the fog for a split second, revealing three slender figures in the water where the cannonball smashed into the waves. A spray of saltwater erupted. Whether by luck or sheer intimidation, the cannon blast did its work: the siren on the rudder dropped away with a shrill scream, and the shadows in the water scattered in all directions.
“Row, you devils, row!” Remus hollered to the men in the longboats. In the confusion, he’d nearly forgotten: two longboats, each manned by a couple of oarsmen, were still tied to The Stag’s Vow from when they’d tried to tow her. Those men now dug their oars in with renewed fervor, pulling the ship forward inch by inch. At the same time, a blessed gust of wind caught the mainsail, which billowed out with a loud whump. The combined push sent The Stag’s Vow surging ahead, away from the rocks and away from the cluster of enraged sirens.
For a tense few minutes, the crew held their breath, watching the swirling water behind them, expecting another onslaught. But the pale shapes did not follow. Perhaps the ship had left their territory, or the dawn light creeping in made the sirens retreat to darkness. Whatever the reason, the nightmare did not pursue them further. The only sounds now were the ragged breathing of men coming down from terror, and the steady lap of waves against the hull.
“Is... is it over?” a young sailor finally dared to ask, his voice trembling with residual fear.
Remus kept his sword drawn a moment longer, eyes fixed on the sea. Only when he was satisfied that the misty waters were empty did he nod. “Aye. They’ve had their fill of us.” Around them, the crew sagged against rails and masts in relief. Nervous laughter broke out, and a few hearty souls cheered their survival. One man crossed himself and offered a quick prayer to whatever deity watches over fools at sea.
James realized he had been holding his breath; he let it out in a long exhale. His hands tingled where they gripped the wheel. Slowly, he released it and surveyed his ship. A few superficial claw marks scored the rails and hull, and one sail had a long tear from a siren’s swipe, but The Stag’s Vow was intact. More importantly, so was his crew—shaken, but alive. James’s gaze met Remus’s, and he gave his first mate a weary, grateful grin. “Well,” he panted, chest still heaving from exertion, “that was a bit more excitement than I planned for one night.”
Remus let out a breathy chuckle and wiped a sheen of sweat (or perhaps sea spray) from his brow. “Let’s not do that again,” he agreed, voice wry. But there was relief in his eyes. They had faced the legend and lived. Not many could say the same.
A tense silence had settled over the crew, punctuated only by the groan of wood and the whisper of the wind. Some men were still shaking off the lingering effects of the enchantment, rubbing at their ears or muttering quiet prayers. Others, hardened pirates though they were, stood in small groups whispering about what they had just seen.
Remus exhaled heavily, shaking his head as he wiped sweat from his brow. "If I never hear that wretched song again, it'll be too soon."
James, still gripping the wheel, managed a smirk. "Oh, come now, Moony. I thought you'd enjoy a bit of excitement."
Remus gave him a flat look. "Nearly losing half the crew to a siren's dinner plans is not my idea of excitement, James."
Before James could reply, a sharp cry from the port side shattered the fragile calm.
"There’s someone in the water!"
Every head snapped toward the voice. A lookout was pointing toward the waves. Dark water churned unnaturally, rippling as something large moved just beneath the surface.
James narrowed his eyes. “Another wreck survivor?”
Remus was already reaching for his spyglass, but before he could bring it to his eye—something broke the surface.
A figure, sleek and glistening, emerged from the waves with unnatural grace. It was not human.
The crew collectively froze.
The man—no, the creature—had long, wet black hair slicked back against his pale skin, a sharp jawline and haunting gray eyes that shimmered like storm clouds. His arms moved with an elegance too smooth to be human, powerful muscles shifting beneath sea-kissed skin. He wasn't struggling like a drowning man—he was gliding.
And then they saw the tail.
A long, sleek, dark-finned tail cut through the water behind him, half-visible beneath the surface, the scales catching the moonlight in an oil-slick shimmer.
Another siren.
A ripple of panic and recognition spread across the deck. The men who had just fought off these creatures only moments ago grabbed for their weapons instinctively.
James’s grip tightened on the wheel. His pulse hammered. He had expected the sirens to vanish back into the depths once they had broken free of their spell. But this one... this one was following them.
"Get ready!" Remus barked, unsheathing his cutlass.
The siren in the water tilted his head slightly, those eerie silver eyes locking onto James. His expression was unreadable—half amusement, half something far darker.
Then—he moved.
In a blur of motion, the siren shot forward through the water, cutting through the waves with terrifying speed. His tail swept behind him in a single, effortless stroke, propelling him closer to the ship in mere seconds.
A cannon boomed, sending a blast of fire and smoke into the night. The shot struck the water just behind the siren, sending up a wall of spray—but the creature barely flinched.
James’s heart leapt into his throat. Fast. Too fast.
"He’s trying to board!"
Another crewman lunged for a harpoon, hurling it toward the approaching figure. The siren twisted mid-dive, avoiding the weapon with a grace that no human could match. He disappeared beneath the waves for a second, and for a breathless moment, James lost sight of him.
Then—a shadow darted under the hull.
"He's beneath us!" a sailor shouted, backing away from the railing.
James scanned the waves frantically, searching. Where—?
Then he heard it.
A scraping sound—something clawing against the hull.
The siren had latched onto the ship.
A blur of movement—a hand, webbed fingers gripping the railing—
"NOW!"
A net was thrown. The ropes tangled around the siren in an instant.
There was a furious screech—not human, not animal, but something caught between the two. A wild, thrashing struggle followed as sailors heaved the net upward, dragging their prize aboard.
It took five men to haul the creature up, water pouring off him in torrents. He fought viciously, twisting and snapping, his claws flashing as he raked at the ropes.
James stepped forward, breath caught in his throat as the creature hit the deck with a hard, wet thud.
For a brief second, he lay coiled like a viper, his chest heaving, tail slapping violently against the wooden planks. Then, with a furious hiss, the siren lunged.
Remus was faster.
He drove his boot into the siren’s chest, shoving him back before he could sink his claws into someone’s throat. “Stay down,” Remus growled.
The siren snarled at him, baring sharp, razor-like teeth. His gills flared along the sides of his neck, opening and closing as he gasped for air.
“Christ,” one of the crewmen muttered. “This one’s a fighter.”
James stepped closer, his gaze locked on the feral, untamed creature before him. Unlike the sirens they had encountered earlier, this one hadn’t tried to sing. Hadn’t tried to lure them. He had chased them.
And for some reason, that made a cold shiver creep down James’s spine.
“You’re different,” James murmured, tilting his head. “Aren’t you?”
The siren turned those piercing silver eyes on James, studying him right back. There was a flash of something in his expression—not just rage, not just hate. Something else.
Then—**with lightning speed—**he lunged at James.
The ropes pulled tight, restraining him just in time. He was trapped, but he still fought, still hissed and snapped like a caged beast.
“Enough of that,” James said, voice steady, though his pulse was racing.
Remus exchanged a look with him. “We’re not killing it, then?”
James considered. His eyes traced the siren’s form—the power, the unnatural beauty, the intelligence behind those sharp, cutting eyes.
“No,” James said. “We’re keeping it.”
A silence passed. Then, one of the men muttered, “And how exactly do you keep a siren alive on a ship?”
The answer came fast. “The glass tank,” James said.
Every man turned to look at the large reinforced tank they used for storing seawater on long voyages. It was originally designed for holding rare catches, deep-sea creatures sold for high coin.
But now—it would hold something far more dangerous.
The siren thrashed violently as the men dragged him toward the tank. He fought until the very last second, his tail whipping out, nearly knocking one of the crewmen overboard.
Then—with a final, vicious snarl—he was forced into the glass prison.
The water rushed in, filling the tank to the brim.
The siren’s form stilled. His chest heaved, gills flaring wide as he took his first deep breath of seawater.
James stepped forward, placing a hand against the glass.
On the other side, the siren opened his eyes.
James expected rage, fury, blind hunger.
Instead—he found something else.
Defiance.
The siren held his gaze, unwavering, unafraid. Even caged, even captured, his expression spoke clearly:
You haven’t won.
James exhaled slowly, a smirk playing at his lips.
“Well,” he murmured. “What are we going to do with you?”
As the Stag’s Vow sailed forward, a shadow moved in the water behind them.
Another siren.
Far out in the waves, just barely visible in the dim light—a lone figure tread water, watching, silent.
Then—with a flick of his dark tail—he disappeared into the deep.

Chapter Text

The Stag’s Vow sailed forward under the rising sun, the salty wind filling its black sails as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
A siren was on board.
The crew moved cautiously around the large glass tank secured on the lower deck, where their prized catch—a living, breathing siren—was now imprisoned.
The water inside the tank rippled as the captured creature moved, shifting within his confined space. Though restrained, he was far from broken. He did not weep, did not beg, did not appear lost. Instead, he watched. His silver eyes flicked from one pirate to another, calm, assessing, never lingering too long. Sirius Black, as they found out from him, now like he was hiding it, he was even more on the talkative side, as Remus could note.
The tank had been reinforced after a rather unfortunate incident with a sea monster a few years back, so James was confident the glass would hold. Even so, the men gave the siren a wide berth.
They had all seen what sirens could do.
And yet… none of them had ever seen one quite like this.
James Potter stood at the edge of the tank, studying the creature they had dragged aboard. Sirius’ tail floated lazily beneath him, dark as ink, shimmering faintly under the light filtering through the deck. His gills pulsed slowly, his hands—webbed between the fingers—rested against the glass, the sharp points of his claws barely grazing the surface.
But it was his eyes that unsettled James the most.
Most sirens looked at humans with hunger, with desire, or with disdain.
This one looked at him like an equal.
Like a man who was simply biding his time.
“You’re awfully quiet for a creature that usually sings men to their deaths,” James mused, arms crossed over his chest.
The siren blinked slowly, then smirked. The action was almost lazy.
"Would you rather I sing for you, Captain?" His voice was smooth, edged with something almost… taunting.
James raised a brow. "I’ll pass."
"Shame," the siren murmured, tilting his head. "You might enjoy it."
James ignored the way something coiled deep in his gut at that statement. "I’ll admit, I’m curious. The others we encountered—" he gestured vaguely toward the open sea, "—they didn’t just follow us. They attacked. You, however… you were different. You hunted us."
Sirius smirked again, but there was something sharp and dark beneath it. "And you hunted me," he replied smoothly. "Strange how that worked out, isn't it?"
James stepped closer to the glass, measuring the siren’s expression. "Why were you following us?"
A pause.
Then—Sirius leaned forward, placing his hands against the glass, his eyes gleaming with a challenge.
"Why were you in our waters?"
James’ breath hitched for a split second.
Our waters.
Not just the sea, not just a hunting ground, but claimed territory.
It was subtle, but James caught the implication beneath the words.
This siren wasn’t just some mindless beast. He wasn’t just another predator roaming the ocean.
He had a purpose.
James smirked, tilting his head. "Did we offend some delicate siren laws? Should we have sent a letter before crossing?"
Sirius scoffed, his tail flicking once, causing the water to swirl. "You're bold for a man on a wooden cage floating over an abyss."
James chuckled. "And you're cocky for a fish in a glass tank."
For the first time, Sirius bared his teeth in a sharp grin, all pointed canines and amusement.
“I like you, Potter.”
James should not have felt a spark of thrill at that.
From behind him, a tired sigh.
Remus Lupin had been watching the entire exchange, arms folded, a deep frown settled between his brows.
“Tell me we’re not making friends with the siren,” Remus muttered.
James didn’t look away from Sirius. “We’re making conversation with the siren.”
“That’s worse,” Remus replied flatly.
Sirius hummed, gaze flicking lazily to Remus. "He doesn’t like me much," he mused.
"Nothing personal," Remus replied, "I just don’t trust things that try to eat me."
Sirius grinned again. "A reasonable stance."
James fought the urge to laugh.
He turned back to Sirius, his expression sobering. “Tell me something, then. The others tried to kill us outright. But you didn’t sing. You didn’t lure. You came after us with intent.”
Another pause.
This time, Sirius’ smirk faded slightly.
"And what makes you think," the siren said slowly, voice just slightly lower, "that I was after you?"
James frowned.
A beat of silence.
Then a realization hit him like a tidal wave.
The siren hadn’t been chasing him.
He had been chasing the ship.
James' eyes widened slightly.
This siren was after something—or someone—on board.
Before James could press further, a voice from behind them cut through the tension.
“Captain, a word?”
It was Hargrove, one of the more seasoned pirates in their crew.
James turned. “Speak.”
Hargrove glanced at Sirius warily before addressing James. “Sir… some of the men are worried. Not just about the creature, but about the quest.”
James narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"
Hargrove hesitated.
Then, he lowered his voice. “We all know what you’re chasing. The Heart of the Sea. But if this”—he jerked his chin toward the tank—“is what waits for us along the way, some of the men wonder if it’s worth the risk.”
James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had known this would happen eventually.
They wanted answers.
Fine.
He would give them answers.
He stepped away from the tank, motioning for the crew to gather.
“All of you want to know why we hunt?” James began, voice strong and commanding. “Why we sail toward danger, toward the unknown?”
The crew nodded hesitantly.
James took a breath.
“Because it’s there.”
A murmur ran through the men.
James continued.
“The Heart of the Sea. A legend, they say. A myth. But we all know better, don’t we? We’ve seen things—things that defy nature, things that men whisper about in the dark but never dare to chase. But we? We are pirates. We do not fear the unknown.”
The crew watched him now, listening.
James smirked.
“There are riches beyond imagination hidden in the sea. A treasure not of gold, but of power itself. They say the one who holds the Heart of the Sea…” he let his voice drop, letting the weight of the words settle over them. “... holds the very will of the ocean in his palm.”
The crew shifted. Excitement. Uncertainty. Greed. Fear.
James looked around at them all, eyes burning with something deeper.
“That is why we hunt,” he finished. “Because I intend to claim it.”
Silence.
Then—someone cheered.
And just like that, the tension snapped. The crew—while still wary—were reminded why they followed James Potter in the first place.
Because he was the kind of man who made impossible things feel possible.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Meanwhile, Beneath the Waves...
Far below, in the deep where the sunlight could not reach, a different kind of storm was brewing.
A figure moved through the dark water, fast, furious. His gills flared with every sharp breath, his teeth gritted in barely controlled rage.
Regulus Black had felt it the moment it happened.
His brother was gone.
The ocean’s song had changed.
And the pirates… the pirates would pay.

Chapter Text

Deep Below the Waves…
The ocean was alive with whispers.
To the human ear, it was nothing but the rolling murmur of waves and the distant groan of the deep. But to those who were born in the water, those whose lungs had never known air, the sea spoke.
And now, it was speaking of Sirius Black.
Regulus moved fast. The waters parted effortlessly around him, his tail cutting through the currents with sharp, deliberate strokes. His movements were not the fluid, carefree dance of a siren at play. No, this was something far more primal. More violent.
His hands curled into fists, his claws pressing into the smooth flesh of his palms. The water around him thrummed with rage, a reflection of what burned inside him.
Gone.
Sirius was gone. Taken.
Regulus didn’t need to see it to know it was true. The moment it had happened, he had felt the shift in the water. Like the tides had pulled something from beneath him, leaving nothing but a gaping void.
The Stag’s Vow.
The pirates had done this.
And he would make them pay.
But first… he needed to get to them.
Regulus thought for a long time how he can make that possible, but he knew for sure that in the position of his – he had no chance.
That meant land. That meant legs. That meant a bargain.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Regulus moved through the darker, forbidden places of the sea with purpose.
He swam deeper than most sirens ever dared to go — where the sun had long given up its fight to reach, where the water pressed like cold glass against skin and even sound moved slower, weighed down by the crushing darkness.
Here, the ocean was a different kind of wild. No gentle waves or playful currents. The sea was still and watching, like it was holding its breath.
The bones of ancient creatures loomed out of the dark — great white rib cages of beasts long dead, their size dwarfing even the largest of ships, bleached and glimmering faintly like ghosts under the water. Skulls bigger than a galleon lay half-buried in the silt, their teeth like broken towers.
And at the center of this graveyard of giants, wrapped around the jagged rocks and sunken ruins, was her domain.
Bellatrix’s home.
A palace of ruin and bone, cobbled together from the remains of the dead and pieces of wrecked ships that had dared sail too far into her waters. Rusting anchors, shattered masts, the broken figureheads of ships long lost. Seaweed — dark and slick as blood — wrapped itself through the bones and timbers like it was alive, swaying though there was no current.
Bioluminescent creatures clung to the ruins, casting an eerie green glow that pulsed softly, as though the sea itself breathed through them. Eyes glinted from between the cracks of the wreckage — small, sharp, predatory. Watching. Always watching.
And she was there, in the center, waiting.
At first, she looked like one of them — another siren, lounging lazily along the curve of a whale's rib. But as Regulus approached, he saw what set her apart — and why the others feared to come here.
Her body was long and thin, almost too long, too stretched out, as though the sea had pulled her like taffy and she had never quite gone back to her proper form. Her tail, once beautiful, was now twisted — pale and dark in spirals, lined with sharp, torn fins. Where sirens usually bore smooth scales that gleamed like jewels, hers were ragged and broken, sharp as glass.
Her skin was pale as death, grayish-blue, almost translucent. Veins shimmered faintly beneath it, pulsing with dark magic instead of blood. Long webbed fingers tipped with black, needle-sharp claws traced lazily through the water, like she was constantly stroking something unseen.
But it was her eyes that were the worst.
Pitch black. No whites, no irises. Just endless, devouring dark. Like if you stared too long, you'd fall in and never come out again. And they gleamed with a madness that was cold and ancient, like she had seen too much, lived too long, and gone far beyond what a mind should hold.
Her mouth was a red wound, wide and curved in a smile that never quite reached her eyes. Her teeth — oh, her teeth — were sharp and too many, layered like a shark's, perfect for tearing through flesh.
Around her throat and arms, she wore trinkets made of human bones, tiny vertebrae and finger bones strung together like pearls. Among them were bits of gold from sunken treasure, tarnished and half-eaten away by salt. And hanging around her neck was a locket — delicate, old, and utterly out of place, a human thing, as if it once belonged to a life she had destroyed.
As Regulus swam near, he saw the floor of her domain was littered with bones — human and siren alike. They drifted in the water like leaves in autumn, tangled in the seaweed, silent witnesses to every bargain made — and broken — here.
She was beautiful, once. It was clear in the angles of her face, the shape of her eyes. But now she was something else entirely. Something ruined.
And she was watching him.
Her lips curled into a smile, slow and wide, as if she had tasted his fear already.
"Little Black prince..." Her voice was like silk woven with broken glass, soft and sharp, wrapping around him, whispering into his ears even though she hadn’t moved her mouth. "Come to make a deal, have we?"
When she moved, it was unsettling, like she didn't swim but glided, trailing her ragged fins behind her like a queen wearing a cloak of shadows.
She coiled herself lazily on a broken mast, watching him as a spider might watch a fly caught in her web.
Regulus did not flinch under her gaze.
“I need legs,” he said, his voice as cold as the water around them.
Bellatrix grinned, revealing razor-sharp teeth.
"Oh, my dear... that is a dangerous thing to want."
The sea witch circled him, slow and deliberate, her long fingers brushing against the water around him like she was feeling the weight of his desperation.
"Legs, little prince? To walk among the land-rats? To abandon the sea?"
Regulus did not waver. "I need to get to the pirates. I need to get him back."
Bellatrix’s laughter rippled through the deep. "Ahhh… him. Yes. The reckless one. The traitor to his own kind." She tilted her head, studying him. "But why should I give you what you want?"
Regulus gritted his teeth. "Name your price."
Bellatrix’s lips curled, her webbed fingers trailing over his throat.
"Your power, little prince. Your song."
Regulus stiffened.
A siren’s song was power. It was their weapon, their shield, the thing that had kept them from falling to men since the dawn of time.
To lose it…
Bellatrix watched his hesitation, and she smiled.
"Ah, but you’re desperate, aren’t you?"
Regulus closed his eyes.
Then—he nodded.
Bellatrix moved fast.
Her claws pressed against his throat, her dark magic wrapping around his body like a net, sinking into his skin, crawling into his bones.
Regulus gasped, pain searing through him. His body **twisted, shifted—**his tail split, the smooth fins of his lower body peeling apart, raw, reshaping into something unnatural.
The scream rippled out of him with the skin that started growing over his bones. Regulus thought that he was going to throw up.
He collapsed onto the black sand of the ocean floor, his new legs useless, trembling. His gills burned, sealing shut, forcing him to suck in water through his nose for the first time in his life.
The ocean did not feel the same.
It was suffocating. He gasped for air, but he couldn`t get any. He was choking, looking wide-eyed at Belatrix, which was merely smiling with no good on her face.
Bellatrix leaned down, whispering against his ear.
"There. Now, go run to your pirates, little prince. And do try not to drown on land."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

James stood in front of the glass tank, arms folded, watching his captive.
Sirius had stilled. His tail coiled beneath him, the natural laziness of his siren posture betraying nothing.
But Remus saw it.
The glimmer of something beneath the stillness.
Sirius was not afraid. He was not angry.
He was amused.
James tapped his fingers against the glass.
“Let’s talk, Sirius.”
Sirius’ eyes flickered toward him, his mouth curling into something between a smirk and a snarl.
"Oh, so formal now, Captain," Sirius purred. "Not fish? Not beast? How polite of you."
James tilted his head. "We have a destination. The Heart of the Sea."
At that, Sirius finally showed something close to real amusement.
James leaned forward. "I need you to lead us there."
“And what makes you think I know where it is?” he said, his voice was so amused it looked like a child playing with a newly brought toy.
“You`re a siren,” was the answer, simple as that.
The high pitched laugh sliced the tensions air in the cabin, “Am I? Didn`t know that, thank you very much.”
James sighed heavily at that, “ Everyone is aware that The Heart is protected by the sirens, so don`t play a foul with me.”
A pause.
Sirius tilted his head back, laughing softly.
And then—he nodded.
"Fine," he murmured. "I’ll take you."
James grinned, turning back to the crew. “Looks like we have ourselves a guide, gentlemen. Next stop—”
Remus wasn’t smiling.
Because he saw it.
A flicker. A momentary shift in Sirius’ expression.
The ghost of a smirk.
A glint of something far too entertained.
Like Sirius wasn’t doing this because they had forced him to.
Like he was doing it because he wanted to. Like it was fun for him.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The Stag’s Vow set sail.
The hunt for the Heart of the Sea had begun.
But first, they needed to restock.
James stood at the helm, the wind thrumming against his face. “Set course for Pirate Island.”
A cheer rose from the crew.
Rum, supplies, and a bit of entertainment before the true journey.
James glanced toward the glass tank, where Sirius lounged, smug as ever.
James smirked.
"Enjoying the view?"
Sirius tilted his head. "Just wondering, Captain… when’s the last time you were hunted?"
James’s smirk did not falter.
But deep in his gut, something uneasy curled.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Meanwhile…
Far from the ship, a figure crawled onto the shore.
His legs shook beneath him. The air burned in his lungs. The feeling of sand beneath his fingers was unnatural.
Regulus Black stood, trembling, glaring toward the sea.
His brother was out there.
And he was coming for him.

Chapter Text

The Stag’s Vow sailed steady through a sea that seemed to have finally calmed its anger, but there was a tension that clung to every rope, every sail, as if the ship itself knew there was something unnatural on board.
The breeze was sharp and salt-heavy, snapping the black sails against the brightening sky as dawn crept higher. The deck creaked and groaned under the movement of the men, though they spoke in hushed voices now. The presence of the siren in the hold had changed something.
It wasn't fear alone. It was the feeling of being watched.
Below deck, the water in the glass tank glimmered faintly, the morning sun slanting through the cracks in the wood above, casting flickering light over the creature inside.
Sirius Black.
Or whatever he truly was.
Remus stood by the door for a long moment before going in, hands behind his back, eyes narrowed.
He wasn’t like James. James had that reckless curiosity, that constant need to chase the storm. Remus was quieter, sharper — he watched, he waited, he thought.
And now, as he pushed the door open, the first thing that hit him was the silence — a strange hush, broken only by the faint ripple of water and the slow, measured breathing of the thing in the tank.
The siren was watching him.
Remus didn’t know what he had expected. Maybe something monstrous, something barely clinging to the shape of a man. But Sirius was...
Beautiful.
Dangerously so.
The way his body half-floated, half-reclined in the water, as though he owned every inch of space. His long black hair drifted like ink in the water, swirling in dark tendrils around his sharp, pale face. His skin was smooth and almost glowing, like moonlight on the sea. Sharp cheekbones, a defined jaw dusted with faint stubble that somehow made him look more wild, more real.
But it was his eyes that caught Remus the most.
Storm-grey, and far too human for a monster.
Eyes that watched with keen amusement, and something else — something dangerous.
Sirius tilted his head, lips curling in a sharp smirk.
“Well, well,” he drawled, voice low, smoky, even through the glass and water. “Come to have a peek at the caged beast, have you, First Mate?”
Remus stiffened, but he didn’t show it. He stepped closer, hands still behind his back, stopping only when he stood just a few feet from the glass.
“I came to see if you’re still alive,” Remus said coolly, his sharp amber eyes meeting Sirius’ without blinking.
Sirius gave a soft laugh, something dark and amused.
“Oh, I’m alive, darling. But don’t pretend that’s why you’re here.”
Remus bristled slightly at the word darling, but ignored it, studying Sirius closely.
Now, from this close, Remus could see every sharp detail of him — the scars that ran along one side of his ribs, thin and pale against the gleam of his skin. Claw marks, maybe, or something worse. His tail floated lazily behind him, sleek and black like oil slick, the powerful muscles shifting occasionally as if he was always ready to strike.
But it wasn’t just his body that was mesmerizing — it was the way he moved, like every inch of him was made of liquid shadow and grace.
Remus felt his throat tighten, but forced himself to keep his expression neutral.
"James might trust you," Remus said finally, voice soft but sharp, "but I don't. And I don't like what I see when I look at you."
Sirius chuckled, sharp teeth flashing briefly. "And what do you see, wolf?"
Remus frowned slightly at the word. "Don't call me that."
Sirius swam closer to the glass, and the sunlight caught the silver of his eyes, making them gleam like coins under water.
"Ah, but it fits you," Sirius murmured. "All tense and bristling, watching me like I'm prey. Or maybe like you want a bite yourself."
Remus' jaw tensed. "Don't flatter yourself."
Sirius smirked, pressing one hand against the glass, fingers long and claw-tipped, idly trailing them along the surface as he circled the tank.
"You're different from the others," Sirius said, almost thoughtfully now, his voice like velvet laced with knives. "You don't fear me, not like them. But you should. You, especially."
"And why is that?" Remus asked, voice tight, though a shiver worked its way down his spine.
Sirius paused in his circling, floating again and leaning back against the far side of the tank, arms spread lazily on either side like he was lounging on a throne.
"Because I like you, wolf. And when I like something..." his eyes narrowed, glinting sharp as blades, "...I tend to break it."
Remus exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing calm into his bones.
"You won't be breaking anything," he said coolly. "You're leading us to the Heart, and after that, you’ll be dealt with."
At that, Sirius laughed again, deep and rich, the sound echoing through the hold like a dark song.
"You think you can keep me in here forever? That when we find what you’re looking for, you’ll just be rid of me? Oh, wolf..." He grinned, sharp and dangerous, but there was something like sadness in his eyes for a fleeting moment — a shadow that passed too quickly to catch.
Remus frowned, watching him carefully. "Why are you really helping us?"
Sirius’ smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. "Maybe I like the company."
"Or maybe," Remus said softly, stepping closer to the glass, "you’ve got plans of your own."
Sirius leaned forward, close enough that Remus could see the faint iridescent shimmer of his gills, the way his pupils slitted like a cat’s in the sunlight.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Sirius whispered, voice low, almost intimate.
Remus felt something twist deep in his chest and hated it. Hated how this creature—this thing—made his pulse race and his skin feel too tight.
Sirens are beautiful to lure you in, he reminded himself. That’s all this is.
But still, he couldn’t deny the way his eyes lingered on the sharp line of Sirius’ jaw, the curve of his mouth, the lazy grace of his body.
Danger wrapped in beauty.
A deadly thing.
"I’ll be watching you," Remus said finally, voice quieter now, but no less dangerous.
Sirius grinned. "I hope you do."
When Remus emerged back onto the deck, the sun was high, casting gold and silver across the waves, and James was laughing with a few of the crew, pretending not to watch Remus emerge from below.
But when Remus passed him, James caught his arm.
“Well?” James asked softly, glancing toward the hold.
Remus hesitated, then gave a quiet, tight reply:
“He’s not what he seems. But he’ll lead us where we want to go.”
James nodded, releasing Remus’ arm with a light squeeze. "Good enough, for now."
Remus looked back toward the deck below, where Sirius Black floated in his glass prison, watching the sea as though it belonged to him.
As though he was already planning what would happen when they reached their prize.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

If the sea had been cruel, the land was worse.
Regulus stumbled out of the waves, collapsing onto the sand with all the grace of a broken bird. His hands buried in the grainy, sharp texture—so different from the smooth velvet flow of water. It clung to his skin in ways that felt wrong, abrasive, as though the land itself wanted him gone.
His lungs heaved for air, though it felt like breathing knives.
Gone was his tail.
Now, two pale legs sprawled out in front of him, trembling violently, knees bruised from where he had crashed into the shore. His skin glistened with sea salt and drying water, but already it began to feel wrong—tight and uncomfortable as it dried, his gills burning and closing like they had been sewn shut.
He curled his long fingers into fists, nails—still sharp, still slightly clawed—digging into his palms.
"Breathe," he told himself aloud. His voice was hoarse, ragged, weaker than it had ever been.
And gone was the echo of power that usually hummed in his veins.
Bellatrix’s curse still lingered, a burning coil in his throat where his voice should have sung freely.
No more song.
No more siren magic.
Only this fragile, shaking human body.
He tried to stand.
The moment he shifted, fire tore up his legs—muscles not yet made for walking, bones unfamiliar with holding weight.
Regulus bit down a cry, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, and forced himself upright. His legs shook, knees nearly buckling, but pride kept him standing.
I am a Black. I do not crawl.
And then, with small, jerky steps, he began to walk.
Each step felt like balancing on blades. His body swayed dangerously, his hands occasionally catching the rough bark of trees or the sharp edges of rocks to steady himself.
Still, he moved forward.
When he crested the first hill of sand and looked down, the world that unfolded before him was a sharp, foreign thing.
Pirate Island — they called it Siren’s Call, though few knew why.
The port town was sprawled along a jagged cliff edge, where crooked wooden houses leaned too far over the sea, as though ready to dive. Ropes and bridges connected houses suspended over water, swaying with every gust of salty wind.
Ships of every kind were docked in the crescent bay — some sleek and dangerous, black sails flying, others ragged things with patched sails and cannons that looked ready to fall apart. Lanterns swung from masts and doorways, casting flickering orange light, even though the sun was still high above, as if night never quite left this place.
The air was thick with salt, smoke, and the sharp bite of alcohol. Voices rose in shouting matches and drunken songs, the sound of metal clashing as men dueled in alleyways, laughter that always seemed to end in someone crying out in pain.
Some stood near the center, its doors wide open, the smell of rum and sweat pouring out like heat from a furnace.
Regulus swallowed. His stomach twisted at the sheer chaos of it all.
His brother was somewhere out there.
He had to find him.
First — he needed clothes.
His pale skin stood out too much, and though he was beautiful — terribly, hauntingly beautiful, as all sirens were — he couldn’t walk naked among men like this.
Then, by a miracle, he spotted a line of laundry strung out between two crooked houses, clothes fluttering damply in the breeze.
Regulus limped toward them, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. His sharp eyes caught movement inside the houses, but no one looked out.
With fingers that trembled from weakness and effort, he snatched a pair of dark, rough linen trousers, soft from wear, and a white shirt, oversized but clean.
He slipped them on — clumsy in dressing as much as in walking — and fastened them with shaking hands. His damp hair fell around his shoulders, long and black as oil, and he combed through it quickly with his fingers.
Still, he looked like something from a dream, or a nightmare. Too pale, too perfect, too fragile. But now dressed, at least.
Regulus pulled himself upright, took a slow breath, and stepped into the crowd.
Every step felt like walking on knives, but he kept his chin high, eyes sharp, watching, listening.
Snatches of conversation floated to him — loud, coarse voices of pirates with mugs in hand.
“—Did you see the Stag’s Vow comin' in? James Potter himself docked not two days ago—”
“—Heard they’ve got somethin' locked below. Some monster of the sea—”
Regulus’ heart twisted, his fingers clenching.
“They say it sings like a siren—”
“—Aye, but it don’t sing. Just watches. Beast’s clever, that one.”
“Bet Potter’s got plans for it. Man’s obsessed with legends, that one. Chasin’ after the Heart like a fool.”
The Heart.
Regulus’ jaw clenched tighter.
So James Potter had taken his brother and was hunting for the Heart of the Sea.
Regulus moved closer to the tavern, leaning casually against a post, pretending to watch the waves while his ears stayed open.
More voices:
“—The first mate, Lupin, doesn’t trust that thing in their tank, that’s what I hear.”
“Aye, but Potter—Potter sees somethin' in it. Got it leadin’ them right to the treasure.”
“And if it kills them all? Well, good riddance.”
Laughter.
Regulus swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. His legs ached, his body screamed at him to sit, to rest. But he couldn’t stop.
Not until Sirius is safe.
He turned away from the tavern, stepping into the shadows of an alley, his back against the rough wood wall.
He slid down, legs folding awkwardly beneath him, breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. His fingers gripped the edge of his stolen shirt as if that alone would anchor him.
The city roared around him — drunken pirates, dangerous men. And he was alone.
But as his storm-grey eyes turned toward the sea again, they gleamed with quiet fire.
"I will find you, Sirius," he whispered, his voice raw, nearly lost in the wind. "And I will burn them all if I must."

Chapter Text

If Pirate Island had a heart, Marlene’s tavern was it.
From the outside, it looked like a crooked old ship run aground, turned sideways and smashed into the rocks — and maybe that’s what it once had been. The walls leaned slightly, the windows were small and foggy from years of sea salt, and lanterns hung at odd angles, their flames flickering gold and red in the gathering dusk.
But inside?
Inside was a different world entirely.
Warm firelight spilled from the hearth and drifted up to the ceiling where nets and old sails hung like forgotten ghosts. Barrels of rum and ale lined the walls, and long wooden tables — scarred by knives, burned with candle wax, and carved with names long dead — stretched across the room, filled with men and women in tattered coats, clinking mugs and rolling dice.
Dorcas moved smoothly behind the bar, her sleeves rolled up, her dark hair tied back in a knot. Sharp-eyed and quick-handed, she poured drinks like a queen serving her court, but her gaze missed nothing.
And Marlene, standing near the fireplace, laughed loud and sharp, leaning against the mantel like she owned every soul in that room. Her blond hair was wild, her coat half-unbuttoned to show the gleam of a knife tucked at her hip.
She saw James and Remus the moment they stepped through the door.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Captain Potter himself and his loyal wolf.”
James grinned wide, striding in like the sea itself bowed to him. “Miss McKinnon. Still serving drinks strong enough to burn through hulls?”
Marlene laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as Remus shook his head fondly.
“Only for those who deserve it,” she shot back, before waving them toward her favorite table near the fire.
“Dor, two of your worst for these idiots!” Marlene called, and Dorcas only rolled her eyes but poured the drinks, sliding them down the bar with an expert flick.
James and Remus sat, and James immediately took a long swallow of the dark rum. “Ahhh, burns just right.”
Remus, more cautious, sipped and winced. “You’d think she’d warn us before handing us this poison.”
Marlene grinned, sitting herself down beside them.
“You look worse than usual, Potter. What are you up to this time? Chasing monsters, ghosts, or something more stupid?”
James laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t something more stupid, eh?”
But her gaze sharpened, her smirk fading just slightly. “I hear things, James. Rumors. About sirens.”
James raised his mug as if in a toast. “Rumors are half true. Caught one.”
Marlene’s brows lifted. “Caught one, did you? And you’re here drinking like that won’t come to bite you?”
James only shrugged, but Remus met Marlene’s eyes, more serious. “We’re careful,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
“You never are,” Marlene muttered, but she didn’t push more.
From a darkened corner near the stairs to the upper rooms, Regulus watched.
His body still ached. His legs felt like fire in his bones, but his sharp eyes missed nothing.
James Potter.
The infamous pirate.
And next to him, Remus Lupin, colder, sharper.
He watched the way they leaned toward Marlene, laughing and drinking like they ruled this place. He watched how the room bent around them, like even the worst men here respected them.
But more than anything, he watched James.
The way James smiled, eyes bright, the way he leaned forward on his elbows, confident, dangerous, charming.
Regulus’ jaw clenched.
That man has Sirius.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

After another drink and shared laughter, Remus rose, setting his mug down with a soft thud.
“I should get back. Check on things.”
James gave him a knowing look. “Check on him, you mean.”
Remus didn’t answer.
But Marlene caught the exchange, her eyes narrowing slightly, though she said nothing.
“Go,” James said with a grin. “I’ll keep myself entertained.”
Remus gave a final nod and stepped out into the night, but his mind was a mess.
I need to see him, he thought as he walked. See if he’s still just a monster, or if...
He didn’t finish the thought.
But in his mind, all he saw was those sharp grey eyes watching him through glass.
The moment Remus was gone, Regulus stepped out of the shadows.
He walked with more grace now, though his steps still burned.
Marlene spotted him immediately, sharp as ever. Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, watching.
James raised a brow as Regulus approached.
“Well, now,” James said, leaning back, eyes raking over the pale, dark-haired stranger with clear amusement. "You don't look like the usual rabble around here."
Regulus smiled — sharp, dangerous, sweet.
“Captain Potter,” Regulus said smoothly, his voice a little rough from pain, but still soft like silk. “I’ve heard of you.”
James grinned. “All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly,” Regulus murmured, sitting down across from him without invitation. “I hear you’ve caught something... special.”
James’ smile sharpened. “That so?”
Regulus leaned forward, eyes glinting, voice low. “Perhaps I like to know what kind of man plays with sirens and lives to tell the tale.”
James’ gaze darkened, interest piqued. “And what makes you think I’m the talking type?”
Regulus smiled, head tilting slightly. "You just haven't had the right company."
Marlene watched, narrowing her eyes. She knew a game when she saw one.
James laughed, sliding Regulus a mug. "Maybe you’re right."
It didn’t take long.
Regulus’ questions were sharp, well-placed, wrapped in flattery and interest. James, charmed and curious, answered just enough. Not everything, but enough.
The more they drank, the closer they leaned.
Until finally, James stood, smirking. “Come with me.”
Regulus followed — a trap laid and walked into willingly.
The room was small, lit by a single lantern casting shadows across the walls.
James pushed the door closed, watching Regulus with a smirk that faded into something softer as Regulus stepped near.
Close. Too close.
James reached out, brushing fingers over Regulus’ cheek, trailing down to his jaw.
“You’re not like the others whores here,” James murmured.
Regulus swallowed, his body tense but leaning in anyway.
"And you’re not like other pirates."
James smiled. "You don’t know what I am."
Regulus looked into his eyes. “Maybe I want to.”
And then James kissed him.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The room was small, dimly lit by a single lantern swaying slightly with the creaking of the ship-turned-tavern. The sea breeze slipped through the cracks in the wall, carrying the heavy scent of salt, old wood, and rum.
James stood just inside the door, watching the beautiful, strange man who had followed him here.
Regulus moved slowly, like a predator in unfamiliar territory — sharp and graceful, but there was something stiff in his posture, as if every step was calculated.
James leaned casually against the table, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes were focused and sharp.
"So." James tilted his head, watching Regulus take in the room, lingering a little too long near the window before turning back to him. "What is it you really want, pretty boy?"
Regulus arched a brow at the name, masking his nervousness with cold charm.
"Why do you think I want anything, Captain?" Regulus asked, voice soft but laced with steel. "Maybe I just wanted to enjoy your company."
James chuckled, stepping closer, watching how Regulus tensed just slightly, though he didn’t move away.
"See, the thing is," James murmured, circling him like a storm wind, "Men like you don’t come up to me in taverns just for a drink. You’ve got questions. You want something."
Regulus smiled, tilting his head like a siren about to strike. "Maybe I want you."
James grinned sharply, something dark and amused flashing in his eyes.
"And what makes you think you can have me, sweetheart?"
Regulus stepped in closer now, closing the space between them, his fingers ghosting just barely over the edge of James' shirt, trailing along the fabric but not touching skin — yet.
"I hear you chase things that shouldn’t be caught," Regulus whispered, voice like silk soaked in poison. "Dangerous things. Beautiful things."
James caught his wrist fast, fingers firm but not painful, leaning in so close that Regulus could smell the spiced rum and sea salt on his breath.
"And what makes you think you’re one of those things?" James whispered back, smirking, but his gaze sharp enough to cut.
Regulus’ heart stumbled for a beat, but he forced a smirk.
"Because you haven’t thrown me out yet."
James laughed quietly, a low, rough sound that made Regulus’ skin tingle in ways that frustrated him.
"You’ve got a mouth on you," James said, releasing his wrist slowly, fingers brushing over the delicate bones of Regulus’ hand before he let go. "I like that."
Regulus leaned in, his lips almost grazing James’ jawline.
"Maybe you like too many dangerous things, Captain."
James caught his chin between his fingers, tilting Regulus’ face up to his.
"Maybe I do." His eyes searched Regulus’ face — and for a moment, something sharp and knowing flickered in his gaze. "So tell me, what is it you want to know about my ship?"
Regulus stilled.
James smiled, dangerously sharp now, leaning in so close Regulus could feel his breath against his skin.
"You’ve been asking just a bit too much about The Stag’s Vow."
Regulus recovered quickly, slipping back into that velvet-smooth mask, smirking as though his heart wasn’t racing.
"Maybe I want to know what makes a man brave enough to catch a siren."
James grinned, leaning even closer until their lips almost brushed.
"Maybe I’ll show you, if you ask nicely."
Regulus’ mouth twitched — a smile and a warning both.
"And if I want more than that?" Regulus whispered, "Maybe I want to know what you're doing with the siren."
James’ smile faltered — just for a breath of a second — but then it was back, all sharp teeth and charm.
"That’s a secret, darling," James murmured, hands sliding up to tangle lightly in Regulus' hair, as though he had every right to touch him. "But maybe if you keep me entertained..." His voice dropped lower, rougher, "... I’ll share a piece of it."
Regulus’ breath caught. He hated how his body responded to the way James touched him, but he needed to push through it — for Sirius.
"Then I’ll make sure to entertain you well," Regulus whispered back, leaning in fully this time, pressing his lips softly, then sharply to James’ mouth.
James groaned softly into the kiss, hands tightening in Regulus’ hair, pulling him closer.
Regulus was sharp-edged and soft all at once, his body slender and warm where it pressed against James'.
James let him take control for a moment, let Regulus press him back against the table, their lips colliding again — but James wasn’t a man who stayed passive long.
He spun them easily, pressing Regulus back against the wall, smirking into the kiss as Regulus gasped against his lips.
"Not so easy to tame me, darling," James whispered against his mouth, trailing kisses down Regulus' throat, biting gently at the sharp angle of his jaw.
Regulus swallowed, hating the way his heart was pounding — but the mission, Sirius, was still burning at the back of his mind.
And yet—James’ hands on him, his mouth, the way he looked at him, like he saw something more, shook Regulus deeper than he expected.
By the time James led him to the bed, Regulus wasn’t sure if he was still playing a role or if he had slipped too deep into it.
The kisses grew hungrier, rougher, but there were moments — small, dangerous moments — where James’ hands gentled, where he looked at Regulus like he was something precious, not just a body.
And Regulus felt it.
James laid him back on the bed, his mouth exploring every inch of Regulus’ skin, and for every gasp, every whispered curse, there was a part of Regulus that hated how much he wanted it.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

James was still asleep, arm thrown lazily across the bed where Regulus had been.
The early morning light slipped through the crooked shutters, casting pale lines across the floor.
Regulus sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his clothes with shaking fingers.
His body ached in ways he hadn’t known before — but what scared him most was how warm he had felt in James’ arms.
You idiot, he thought bitterly, standing up and glancing back at James — still peaceful, still sleeping.
You’re supposed to be saving Sirius, not falling for some reckless pirate.
Still... for a long moment, he watched James sleep.
And then he was gone. He had a mission.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The Stag’s Vow groaned softly in the night wind, her black sails furled tight, her hull creaking like an old beast settling to sleep. Lanterns swayed with the gentle rock of the ship, casting shadows that danced across the deck and down into the hold.
Remus climbed the gangplank with steady steps, though his mind was anything but calm.
His eyes swept the deck out of habit — sharp, calculating, but his thoughts were already below, already in the dark space where the siren waited.
Sirius Black.
Remus rolled his shoulders as though shaking off the thought, but it clung to him, stubborn as salt on skin.
Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
When Remus stepped below, it was quiet, save for the soft slosh of water in the glass tank.
Sirius was lounging like a damn king, arms draped along the side of the tank, hair floating around his face like black silk, tail lazily shifting beneath him.
He looked up as Remus approached, a slow smirk curling on his lips.
"Well, well, the watchdog returns," Sirius purred, voice low and rich, echoing off the wood.
Remus didn’t stop until he was close enough to see the faint shimmer of scales along Sirius’ collarbone, close enough to meet those grey eyes that always seemed to see too much.
"Someone has to keep you in line," Remus shot back, voice cool as steel.
Sirius chuckled, tilting his head. "Oh, darling, if you wanted me on a leash, you only had to ask."
Remus' jaw tightened, but his eyes didn’t waver. "Careful what you offer. You wouldn’t like being tamed."
Sirius smirked wider, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his gaze now. "And you think you’re the man to do it?"
Remus leaned closer, resting one hand against the glass. "If I had to."
They were close enough now that the tension between them was palpable, humming like a stretched rope ready to snap.
Sirius watched him through half-lidded eyes, studying every shift of muscle beneath Remus' shirt, every flicker of emotion that might give him something to use.
"You know," Sirius murmured, circling lazily in the water, "I’ve seen men like you before."
Remus raised a brow. "Oh? Enlighten me."
Sirius smirked, circling around the tank like a shark. "Men who pretend they’re all sharp teeth and cold steel. Men who hold themselves so tight they might crack."
Remus watched him, unmoving. "Maybe I just don’t care to show weakness to a siren."
"Oh, sweetheart," Sirius laughed, "you think I’m the only dangerous thing on this ship?"
Remus shifted, arms crossing over his chest, watching Sirius with eyes that refused to soften.
"I know exactly what you are," Remus said, voice low. "I’ve read the tales. I’ve seen your kind rip men apart without blinking."
Sirius swam closer, pressing one palm against the glass right where Remus stood.
"And yet, here you are," Sirius murmured, eyes glinting, "coming back to see me. Again. What does that say about you, wolf?"
Remus' breath caught — only for a second, but Sirius caught it like a hunter catching a scent.
"You keep calling me that," Remus said, voice a little rougher now, "like you know me."
Sirius smiled, sharp and wicked. "Maybe I do."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Remus could hear the gentle lapping of water, the soft creak of the ship’s timbers, but it was Sirius’ gaze that held him in place.
There was something almost tired in those grey eyes now, something that flickered behind the teasing smile.
"You’re not like the others," Sirius said softly, almost to himself.
Remus blinked, the sharpness in his chest faltering for a breath. "You don’t know anything about me."
Sirius leaned in, resting his arms along the edge of the glass, chin tilted as he studied Remus like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
"Maybe not," Sirius murmured, "but I know what it's like to build walls so high you can't even see the sky anymore."
Remus' heart twisted — because he knew that too well.
But he swallowed it down, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Maybe I like my walls."
Sirius smirked, but softer this time. "Maybe you’re just scared of what’s on the other side."
There was a beat of silence — thick, heavy, filled with something unspoken and sharp.
Finally, Sirius’ eyes flickered, and he leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose, separated only by the glass.
"You want to know what’s dangerous, Remus?" Sirius whispered, voice low and intimate.
Remus swallowed, throat dry. "...What?"
Sirius’ smirk curved, slow and knowing.
"Wanting something you shouldn’t have."
The words landed between them like a spark in dry wood.
Remus’ fingers twitched against the glass. "And what is it you want, Sirius?"
Sirius’ eyes searched his for a long moment, something raw and real flashing in those storm-grey depths.
But then the smirk slid back into place, sharp and charming.
"Wouldn’t you like to know," Sirius whispered, before turning away in the water, his tail slicing through it like a knife.
Remus stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, his heart pounding.
Damn him.
He tore his gaze away from the siren and turned on his heel, storming up the stairs and into the night air, the wind whipping around him.
But even as he leaned on the railing, staring out at the black waves beyond the ship, he couldn’t shake the feel of Sirius’ eyes watching him, couldn’t shake the echo of those words.
"Wanting something you shouldn’t have."
And gods help him, but maybe he wanted the siren in that tank more than he wanted to admit.

Chapter Text

The sun was barely up, but Pirate Island never truly slept.
The morning haze drifted over the bay, thin and silver, and the sea wind blew sharp against the crooked houses. Smoke from last night’s fires and rum still clung to the streets, mixing with the salt in the air.
Regulus moved through it like a shadow.
His pale skin was less striking now, hidden beneath the rough clothes he had stolen, but there was still something about him that made people glance twice — something too sharp, too controlled for this place.
He walked with purpose, though every step still ached, his body unused to the weight of legs. But Regulus ignored the pain. He watched, he listened, and as the island slowly stirred, he saw what others didn’t.
Pirates stumbling home from long nights, leaning on each other, laughing, swearing.
Sharp-eyed merchants counting coins and checking ships for cargo worth stealing.
Hired swords, leaning in alleyways, watching everything.
And he was searching. For the right people. Not fools. Not drunks.
He needed dangerous, clever ones.
Because if he was to follow James Potter — if he was to reach Sirius in time — he could not do it alone.
He found them first, exactly where he expected — in the shadowed courtyard near the old shipwright’s dock, gambling with knives and coins, their laughter sharp and bright like a pair of blades clashing.
The captain – Regulus assumed - was leaning back on a barrel, feet kicked up, twirling a dagger between long fingers. His sharp cheekbones and wild grin made him look half-mad, but his eyes were sharp, gleaming like someone who saw the storm coming and wanted to meet it head-on.
His first man, beside him, had that lazy grace — a knife resting casually in his palm, but his eyes always scanning the crowd. Blond-haired and smiling, but his smile never reached his eyes.
Regulus approached without hesitation, standing in their line of sight, hands folded behind his back — cold and calculating, quiet as death.
Captain was the first to notice, his head tilting, grin widening.
“Well, well, what’s this? You’re not from around here.”
Regulus’ voice was smooth, sharp as broken glass.
"I’m putting together a crew. I need men who can handle themselves and know how to keep their mouths shut."
His grin sharpened, glancing at man behind him.
"And why would we want to follow you, stranger?" he asked, spinning his dagger.
Regulus leaned forward slightly, meeting captain’s mad grin with a cold smile of his own.
"Because what I’m after," Regulus said softly, "will make us all rich enough to own this island. And because it’s dangerous enough to kill anyone too stupid to keep up."
First man’s eyes glinted, sitting up straighter. "Dangerous, huh?"
Captain stood, slipping his dagger into his belt. "Now you’re speaking our language. I`m Barty, this is Evan, we`re in. Not like we had any plans either way," Barty laughed, still smiling like he`s slightly mad, but that was exactly what Regulus needed.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Next, Regulus slipped through the market side of the island, where the ships docked and strange goods from faraway lands were unloaded. Magical trinkets and oddities hung from stalls, glinting in the morning sun.
Among them, a woman stood with her head tilted back, studying a floating lantern that bobbed in the air, her fingers tracing strange symbols in the wood.
She looked like a dreamer — all wild hair in a loose blond braid, sharp blue eyes, and a faint smile that made her seem like she wasn’t entirely there. But Regulus knew better.
He stepped close, watching her examine an enchanted shell that whispered when pressed to the ear.
“Do you always talk to shells, or is today special?” Regulus asked, voice dry.
The woman blinked, then turned to him, studying him for a long, thoughtful moment.
"And do you always talk to strangers like you know them?" she said softly, but there was an amused glint in her eyes.
Regulus smirked. "Only the useful ones."
Her brow arched slightly. "And what would you need me for?"
Regulus leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to make her curious.
"I’m looking for something old. Magical. Dangerous. Something no one else dares to touch."
Woman’s eyes lit up, her fingers tightening around the shell. "Dangerous magic?" she echoed, now fully focused on him.
Regulus smiled slowly. "Interested?"
She grinned, sliding the shell back onto the merchant's table. "Lead the way."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Lastly, in the tavern where Marlene still poured drinks for the morning drunks, the man sat at the bar, sipping dark coffee like it was whiskey, he had a hat on, that little but covered long red hair pulled back tight.
He watched Regulus approach in the mirror behind the bar, cool and unmoved, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on her mug.
"You’re not from here," he said simply as Regulus leaned on the bar beside.
Regulus stumbled for a second. A woman – she was not a man. She was dressed in too big for her trousers and as big as shirt, it was hard to tell from a far that she was in fact a woman. Regulus smirked faintly. "Sharp eyes."
She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Sharp enough to see a man on a mission."
Regulus inclined his head, admiring her sharpness.
"I need someone who knows the way of things here. Someone who’s tired of drinking alone and ready to make real money."
The woman arched a brow, considering him. "And why would I trust you?"
"You shouldn’t," Regulus said quietly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "But that’s what makes it fun, isn’t it?"
She gave a small laugh, shaking her head, but her eyes were bright.
"You’re trouble."
Regulus smiled, dark and soft. "Always."
The woman stared for a moment longer, then downed the rest of her coffee and stood.
"Fine. You’ve got my attention."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

By noon, they gathered at a quiet dock, Regulus standing before them, arms crossed, sharp and poised.
Barty grinned, resting against a post.
Evan twirled his knife, watching the sea.
Pandora sat cross-legged on a barrel, tracing symbols on her palm.
Lily leaned with her back to the dock rail, arms folded, eyes sharp and curious.
They were exactly what Regulus needed — sharp, reckless, curious, and dangerous in their own ways.
He looked them over, masking the weakness still in his body, masking the storm inside his chest.
"I have my reasons for this journey," Regulus said carefully, his voice cold and calm. "I know where we’re going. And I know the ship we’ll follow to get there."
"And what ship is that?" Barty asked lazily.
Regulus’ eyes glinted, dark as the stormy sea.
"The Stag’s Vow."
Pandora sat up straighter, Evan whistled low, and Lily gave a sharp smile.
"You planning to steal from James Potter?" Lily asked, a brow raised.
Regulus smiled, slow and dangerous.
"Let’s just say I plan to take something back."

Chapter Text

The sea stretched endless and silver, waves rolling like restless creatures just beneath the surface, the morning sun cutting through mist and salt spray. The sails of The Stag’s Vow snapped sharply in the wind, and the creak of the ropes was a constant song in the air.
The crew worked quietly — too quietly — as though no one dared speak too loudly with the siren on board.
Sirius Black sat coiled in his tank, arms draped over the rim, watching them with lazy, sharp eyes, like a cat observing mice.
But his eyes weren’t on them.
They were on the sea.
James leaned casually on the railing, watching the waters, though his eyes flickered to Sirius every so often.
It was Remus, sharp-eyed and tense, who stood nearest to the tank, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
After an hour of sailing, Sirius broke the silence, voice light but carrying an edge.
“Well, Captain,” Sirius called, smirking, his wet hair glimmering in the sunlight, “If I’m to guide you, don’t you think I should see where we’re headed?”
James turned, brow raised, smirk tugging at his lips. "You seem comfortable enough in there."
Sirius shrugged, tail flicking lazily beneath the water, sending ripples across the surface.
"I give better directions when I’m above water," he teased, leaning on the edge of the tank with sharp teeth bared in a smile that was too wide, too dangerous. "Or are you afraid of letting me breathe real air?"
Remus' jaw tightened. "Or maybe we’re afraid you’ll throw yourself overboard."
Sirius' eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward, elbows resting on the glass. "If I wanted to be gone, sweetheart, I wouldn’t be here now."
James laughed, clearly amused by both of them. "Let him up, Remus. What’s he going to do? Fly away?"
Remus shot James a sharp glare but didn’t argue — though his eyes never left Sirius as two sailors carefully lifted a rig that allowed them to raise the glass tank enough to tilt Sirius up toward the railing.
With a grace no human could match, Sirius slid out of the tank in one sleek movement, landing half-curled on the deck, his tail gleaming like oil and silver, water dripping from his skin in shimmering trails.
The crew tensed, hands drifting toward swords and pistols.
But Sirius only stretched out like a lounging cat, propping himself up on one elbow, smirking at them all, sharp eyes glinting.
"See? No need for all the swords, boys."
From his place near the mast, Remus watched, arms still folded, as Sirius tilted his head back, eyes closed against the sun, like he belonged there — like this ship was his playground and the sea sang to him and only him.
Remus’ jaw tightened.
Too comfortable. Too calm.
He couldn’t tell what unnerved him more — the danger Sirius posed, or the way his own eyes kept straying back to watch the siren’s every move.
Sirius flicked his gaze toward Remus suddenly, catching him in the act.
"Careful, First Mate," Sirius said, his smirk softening into something almost mock-gentle, "You keep looking at me like that, I’ll start thinking you like what you see."
Remus snorted, turning away to hide the heat rising to his face. "I look at storms too. Doesn’t mean I want to swim in one."
Sirius' soft chuckle followed him, but there was something dark beneath it, something thoughtful.
They sailed all day.
The sea was alive — more alive than usual. Schools of fish leapt through the waves, darting alongside the ship as though following their strange passenger.
Sometimes, far out in the distance, shadows moved beneath the water — things larger than sharks, too sleek and fast.
Sirius would occasionally watch them with knowing eyes, but say nothing.
"Are those sirens?" James asked once, coming to stand beside him, watching the distant shapes.
Sirius gave a lazy smile. "Some of them."
James frowned. "Friends of yours?"
Sirius looked at him then, sharp and amused. "What makes you think sirens have friends?"
James laughed, shaking his head, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze.
As the day wore on, Sirius was moved back inside his tank, that was however left on the top of the board. He was trailing fingers in the water when they passed close to the waves, almost like imagining it was in the sea, not in the glass cage. His tail flicking in boredom or amusement.
The crew kept their distance, though a few of the braver men whispered and pointed, unable to take their eyes off him.
Remus watched it all, unwilling to relax, eyes following Sirius like he was a fuse waiting to be lit.
At one point, Sirius caught his eye again and smirked, sliding closer to the edge of his cage.
"You’re staring, wolf," Sirius murmured when they were close enough.
Remus didn't move, his eyes sharp. "I don’t trust you."
Sirius’ grin widened. "Good. You shouldn’t."
But then — softer, quieter, for Remus' ears alone —
"But if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have waited this long."
Remus’ heart thudded hard in his chest, but his face remained stone.
"Maybe you want something else," he said, voice low.
Sirius tilted his head, smile sharpening. "Maybe I do."
As the sun dipped low, the sky bled crimson and gold over the water, waves catching fire in the fading light.
The crew was settling, cooking what little food they had over small fires in the galley, and James stood at the wheel, watching the horizon like it would give up its secrets if he stared long enough.
Sirius sat on the rail of his tank now, tail curling down over the side of it, half in the water, half still shimmering in the orange light. His eyes were on the horizon too, but there was something darker in his gaze — something haunted.
Remus caught that look, watching from the shadows near the mast.
What are you really leading us to?
The Stag’s Vow sailed on as the sky turned from gold to indigo, stars beginning to bloom overhead.
But the sea was too calm.
The wind too soft.
Something was coming.
And as Sirius turned, catching Remus' eyes across the deck one last time before night fully swallowed them all, Remus felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Because for all Sirius' smirks and teases, there was something else there now — something almost sad, almost resigned.
Like he knows how this ends.
And Remus wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The wind was crisp and sharp as The Stag’s Vow cut through the waves, it`s black sails full and snapping like the wings of a great beast. The sun was high, but the sky to the west was darkening, a slow gathering of clouds that no one had yet dared to speak of.
James stood at the helm, a smile playing on his lips, eyes on the horizon like he was hunting the sea itself.
It was one of the crew, a sharp-eyed sailor named Fenwick, who called out first, from the crow’s nest:
“SHIP ON THE HORIZON, CAPTAIN!”
Heads turned instantly. James’ gaze snapped up, following where Fenwick pointed — far behind them, just a speck on the waves, but clearly following their wake.
Remus was at his side in an instant, frowning, sharp eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant sails.
“They’ve been following for a while,” Fenwick called down. “Holding course with us.”
James smirked. “Oh, really? Seems we’ve picked up a little shadow.”
Remus’ jaw tightened. "We don’t know who they are."
“Doesn’t that make it fun?” James murmured, hands tightening on the wheel.
“Let’s see how good they are at dancing on the waves,” James said, eyes glinting.
“Trim the sails!” he barked suddenly. “Take her down on the wind — let’s give them a chase.”
The crew leapt into action, pulling ropes, adjusting sails.
Remus gave James a sharp look. “You’re really going to play games with an unknown ship?”
James’ smirk widened, all pirate and danger. "If they want to follow us, let them keep up."
From his tank, perched dangerously near the ship’s edge, Sirius watched with sharp amusement, tail flicking lazily.
“Bit reckless, isn’t it, Captain?” Sirius called over, grinning like he enjoyed the chaos.
“Reckless is my specialty,” James called back.
Far behind, Regulus stood on the deck of the small ship he had managed to pull together, staring hard at The Stag’s Vow, watching as James’ ship began to shift on the waves.
He cursed under his breath.
“They know we’re following,” he muttered.
Beside him, Lily narrowed her eyes at the black sails darting ahead.
“They’re playing with us,” she said coldly. “Trying to see if we’ll keep up.”
Barty laughed, leaning over the rail. "You think they suspect who we are? Maybe they just want fun."
Regulus shook his head, jaw tight.
“They’re dangerous when they’re bored,” he said quietly. Eyes fixed on Sirius' shadow on the deck — too far to save yet.
James’ ship slowed slightly, letting Regulus’ ship close just enough to see the glimmer of it on the waves.
Then — with a snap of sails — James called out orders and The Stag’s Vow surged forward again, cutting sharp and fast, like a beast slicing through water.
Remus frowned, standing near Sirius' tank. “He’s trying to spook them.”
“Working too, looks like,” Sirius said with a smirk, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his gaze — like he knew more than he said.
The ships weaved through the waves, one darting ahead, the other catching up, like wolves circling each other.
“Should we really be pushing this close, Regulus?” Pandora asked quietly, perched on a crate, her eyes on the rolling clouds building in the distance. “Storm’s brewing.”
“I know,” Regulus muttered, watching James’ ship with a tight jaw.
Evan leaned on the rail, sharp eyes studying Regulus. “You’re not telling us everything. What’s this really about?”
Regulus glanced at him, sharp and cold. "You don’t need to know everything. You’re getting paid."
Barty laughed again, tossing a knife in the air. “I like him. All secrets and teeth.”
Lily watched Regulus, sharp as ever. "Secrets like that get men killed, you know."
Regulus’ eyes flickered — but he said nothing.
Inside, though, his chest ached with tension. I have to save Sirius. Before they reach the Heart. Before the curse kills him.
Back on The Stag’s Vow, Sirius leaned out over the edge of his tank, squinting at the sky.
His smirk faded.
"Storm’s coming."
Remus turned sharply to him. "What?"
Sirius’ eyes were darker now, sharp and knowing. "You don’t smell it yet, wolf? The sea’s changing. Too fast."
James glanced up at the sky, but he was still grinning, eyes dancing with the thrill of the game.
"Let them follow us into it, then," James said.
Sirius shook his head, muttering to himself. "Fool. You can't outrun what the sea wants."
As the clouds grew black and heavy, Regulus' ship faltered, the crew looking to him nervously.
“They’re heading straight into it,” Lily said, frowning at the dark wall of clouds ahead.
“They’re mad!” Pandora breathed.
“No...” Regulus whispered, heart racing, hands tight on the rail. "They're chasing the storm on purpose."
"And us?" Evan asked, eyes dark.
Regulus stared hard at the waves, jaw clenching.
"If we keep pushing, we’ll be caught in it too."
"So what, we run?" Barty asked, half-laughing but uncertain.
Regulus turned, shoulders straight, hiding the sick twist in his gut.
“We slow down,” he said, voice like ice. “Make them think we’ve given up.”
"And then?" Lily asked, arms folded, watching him with sharp green eyes.
Regulus stared into the waves.
"Then we reach the Heart before they do." His voice cracked a little, but he straightened, mask cold again. "If I can’t stop them before they get to Sirius, then I’ll stop them at the Heart."
Sirius first. The Heart second.
He would save his brother — or die with him.
As Regulus' ship slowed, The Stag’s Vow sailed straight into the black maw of the storm, swallowed by thunder and rain.
Regulus stood on the deck, watching them vanish.
His hands trembled slightly, but he dug his nails into his palms until they steadied.
"I’m coming, Sirius," he whispered to the wind.
"Hold on."

Chapter Text

The first crack of thunder rolled across the sky like the growl of something ancient and hungry.
The Stag’s Vow shuddered in the waves as the first whip of cold wind hit her sails, snapping the black canvas tight and wild.
Above them, the sky churned — a boiling mass of ink and iron, clouds heavy as stone, twisting in unnatural ways. Lightning danced deep inside, like a monster’s breath waiting to strike.
The sea rose and fell in great heaving swells, tossing the ship as though it were nothing but driftwood.
James stood at the wheel, his coat soaked to his skin, black curls plastered to his face. But there was fire in his eyes, a wild grin even as the ship lurched under him.
"ALL HANDS TO SAIL!" he bellowed, voice swallowed by the wind but strong as steel. "TIE DOWN THE MAST! GET HER READY!"
Men scrambled, pulling ropes that bit into their palms, fighting sails that snapped like whips in the storm.
Remus was already there, steady on his feet though the deck pitched wildly, ropes in hand, barking orders to keep the men alive.
But even as he worked, his eyes kept flicking toward the tank.
Toward Sirius.
Sirius was still perched on deck, in the tank now tied with thick ropes to the mast to keep it from sliding across the ship. But his body was curled in on itself, arms wrapped around his chest, tail coiled tight, eyes wide as the waves crashed and broke against the ship’s sides.
His breathing was shallow, sharp. The kind of fear that wasn’t about dying — but about what the sea could become when it was angry.
He knew.
The sea wasn’t just a place.
It was a living thing.
And when it was angry, it wanted blood.
Remus yanked the last rope into place, rain pouring down his face, and strode to Sirius’ tank, grabbing the glass edge to steady himself.
“You alright?” he called over the wind, voice rough.
Sirius didn’t answer.
Remus leaned closer, soaked to the bone, hair slick and dripping.
"Sirius!"
Finally, those storm-grey eyes snapped to him — but they were wide, and for once, not playful, not sharp — but scared.
Remus' throat tightened. "What is it?"
Sirius' voice was rough, barely a whisper over the howling wind.
"You don’t know what’s coming."
Remus frowned. "It’s just a storm—"
"No," Sirius cut in, his hand grabbing Remus’ sleeve with surprising strength. "It’s not just a storm. It’s the sea. When it’s like this, it doesn’t care who you are. It’ll take everything. You can’t fight it."
For the first time, Remus saw the cracks in Sirius’ armor — the wild siren who had taunted and teased him now looked so human, so breakable.
Remus’ hand covered Sirius’, grounding him, and he leaned in closer, eyes dark and serious.
"Then we fight together."
Their eyes locked, something sharp and real sparking between them, something hot and cold all at once, something they both refused to name but couldn't deny.
Sirius swallowed, holding his gaze, the storm reflected in both their eyes.
"You’re insane," Sirius breathed.
Remus gave a ghost of a smile. "Maybe. But I’m not leaving you."
A scream tore from the sails as the first mast cracked, splitting like bone under strain.
James roared orders, racing across the deck as rain pelted down like needles, lightning slicing the sky so close it blinded them for seconds at a time.
"REIN IT IN! CUT THE MAINSAIL BEFORE IT TAKES THE WHOLE DAMN MAST!"
Men scrambled, but the ropes whipped like snakes, lashing one man across the face, sending him sprawling.
The ship lurched sideways as a wave slammed into her, and the tank Sirius was in groaned against the ropes holding it, water sloshing violently over the edge.
Remus grabbed the edge of the tank, bracing Sirius and himself as the ship tilted dangerously.
"Hold on!" Remus shouted, voice raw.
Sirius let out a low, desperate sound as another wave hit, and his tail flicked wildly, trying to keep balance in the narrow space of the tank.
The sea called to him in that moment — not in song, but in hunger.
It wanted him back.
Wanted to drag him down.
And everyone on this ship with him.
Remus could see it — the panic, the war inside Sirius — and without thinking, he reached into the tank and grabbed Sirius' shoulder, grounding him, holding him in place.
"You’re here," Remus said fiercely. "You’re staying here. With us."
Sirius stared at him, breathless, and something broke in his chest, some wall he had held between them.
"Remus..."
But there was no time for more.
At the helm, James wrestled the wheel, arms straining as the storm fought him for control.
Lightning cracked again, blinding white, and James turned, catching sight of Remus and Sirius clinging to the tank.
He growled low, angry at the storm, angry at the sea, angry that his ship — his family — was at risk.
“YOU’RE NOT TAKING THEM!” he shouted into the wind like a challenge to the gods themselves.
A sail ripped free, snapping in the wind like a broken wing. The ship tilted dangerously, water pouring over the deck as the waves crashed higher.
A wave so tall it blotted out the sky surged toward them, and for a moment, everyone froze, staring into the maw of the sea itself.
Remus tightened his grip on Sirius.
Sirius pressed his forehead to Remus’, eyes wide, breath ragged.
"If we die," Sirius whispered, "I’m glad it’s you I’m with."
Remus swallowed hard, pressing closer. "We’re not dying today."
The wave crashed over the ship with a roar like the end of the world, knocking men off their feet, smashing into the deck.
For a breathless moment, everything was dark, cold, and crushing — water everywhere, as though the sea had finally swallowed them whole.
Remus held Sirius tight, refusing to let go even as the water slammed over them.
When the wave passed, The Stag’s Vow groaned, her decks flooded, men coughing and spitting salt, clinging to whatever they could.
The sails were torn, the mast cracked halfway down, but the ship was still afloat, barely.
James dragged himself to his feet, breathing hard, eyes scanning for his crew.
Remus was still there, soaked and shaking, holding Sirius close, both of them breathing hard, still alive.
Their eyes met, and everything was there between them now — raw and undeniable.

Chapter Text

The sun rose soft and pale, bleeding gold and silver across a sky wiped clean by the storm.
Where last night had been roaring darkness, now the sea lay glassy and quiet, swells rolling slow and tired, as if even the ocean itself was worn from the fight.
The Stag’s Vow creaked and groaned, her sails torn and hanging in ribbons, the mast still cracked but standing — just barely. The deck was strewn with coils of broken rope, shattered planks, and puddles of saltwater that glimmered in the morning light.
A quiet like a graveyard settled over the ship.
James walked the deck slowly, hand brushing over the railing, inspecting the damage. His body ached, bruises dark on his skin under his coat, but he held his head high.
Men moved around him — silent, tired, but alive. No cheers for surviving, just the quiet work of sailors who knew they’d stared death in the face and weren’t sure if they’d truly won.
Hargrove was tying down what ropes still held. Fenwick was patching a broken rail. A few sat slumped against the mast, bandaging wounds and sharing quiet glances.
The storm had taken the fire out of them, but it hadn’t sunk them.
Near the stern, Sirius lay half-draped over his tank, arms folded on the rim, his head resting against them, eyes on the sea.
He looked exhausted, but more human than Remus had ever seen him.
And Remus — standing nearby, leaning on a post, watching him.
They didn’t speak.
But every so often, Sirius would glance at Remus, a small flicker of something almost shy, almost questioning. And Remus would glance back — quick, sharp — but with something softer now, buried under his usual steel.
A new understanding had passed between them in the night — as fierce and real as the storm itself.
There was no teasing now, no sharp edges.
Just quiet.
But charged.
When Sirius shifted in his tank, grimacing slightly as he moved, Remus stepped closer before he could stop himself, hand half-reaching out as if to steady him.
Sirius looked up, surprised — and smiled, a small, tired thing that made Remus’ chest twist.
“You’re still hovering,” Sirius murmured.
Remus huffed softly, but didn’t move away. “Someone has to make sure you don’t drown in a puddle.”
Sirius chuckled, resting his chin back on his arms. “Don’t worry, wolf. Not today.”
Remus just shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his lips as he watched Sirius let the sun warm his damp skin.
Later, when the ship had settled into some quiet rhythm — men working, sails patched as best they could, a new course being set — James retreated to his cabin, the door creaking behind him as he closed himself off from the crew.
The room was dark, save for the thin slivers of sunlight cutting through the wooden slats, casting lines of gold across his maps and scattered books.
James sank heavily into the chair at his desk, pulling off his coat and tossing it aside, running a hand through his damp curls.
His bones ached, and his head pounded — but that wasn’t what gnawed at him.
It was the man from the tavern.
The stranger.
Dark-haired, pale, with sharp eyes that had looked right through him.
James frowned, leaning forward, elbows on the desk, fingers raking through his hair as he stared at nothing.
Why couldn’t he get that man out of his head?
He didn’t even know his name.
And yet — in the midst of chaos, of storms and sirens and near-death — James had thought of him.
Of the way he'd smiled, like he was keeping a thousand secrets.
Of the way he had touched James, like it was a game, but something darker under it all.
James let out a breath, shaking his head.
"You're a fool, Potter," he muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling where the light swayed with the gentle rocking of the ship.
But still, behind his eyes, he saw that stranger’s sharp smile.
And the worst part?
He wanted to see it again.
Outside, the sea was calm now, but dark clouds still hovered on the edge of the horizon, as though the storm was not done with them yet.
Sirius watched the waves, quiet and thoughtful, tail swaying gently in the water.
Remus stood nearby, glancing at him when he thought Sirius wouldn’t notice.
James sat alone in his cabin, thinking about a man he couldn’t name.
And far beyond, on another ship racing toward the Heart of the Sea, Regulus stood at the bow, watching the same horizon, his heart heavy with fear and determination.
The sea was quiet now, but James’ cabin was still dim, lanterns swaying gently as the ship rocked in the soft waves. The storm’s echoes still seemed to hang in the corners — in the water pooling near the window, in the dark bruises on James’ arms, in the silence that wasn’t natural for a ship like this.
James sat slouched at his desk, fingers drumming slowly over a worn map that he wasn’t really looking at.
A soft knock on the door broke the quiet, and before James could speak, Remus slipped in, shutting it gently behind him.
James glanced up, and something eased in his chest when he saw him — the one constant in all of this madness.
“Didn’t think I’d see you off the deck tonight,” James said softly, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
Remus gave a tired huff, crossing to the small table and chair opposite James. "Thought maybe you'd be up here brooding. I hate to leave you alone with that much rum and a map you’re not reading."
James snorted, leaning back in his chair. "You know me too well."
There was a long, easy pause as Remus sank into the chair, both of them just breathing together in the quiet for a moment, letting the ship creak and settle around them.
James poured them both a drink from a bottle that looked like it had weathered three storms itself and slid a mug toward Remus.
“So,” James said at last, voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the air, “you and the siren.”
Remus stiffened slightly but didn’t avoid his gaze. He took the drink, holding it between both hands like it might steady him.
“Me and the siren,” he echoed dryly, as if tasting the words for himself.
James smiled, but it wasn’t mocking — it was gentle, curious, concerned.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him, mate,” James said, resting his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s... something.”
Remus sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, tired but honest.
“I don’t know what it is,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
James leaned back, watching him closely but not pushing.
Remus took a breath, staring at the cup like it held answers.
“He’s dangerous,” Remus muttered. “I know that. He’s sharp and clever and he’s... a siren.”
James hummed. "That he is."
“But there’s more to him than that," Remus continued, voice softer now, almost like he was admitting it to himself as much as to James. "I saw it during the storm. There’s... fear. Pain. Something... broken in him.”
James’ eyes softened, and for a moment, he just watched Remus struggle with this, like watching his brother try to pull a dagger from his own chest.
“And you want to fix him,” James said gently, with a faint, knowing smile.
Remus laughed, but there was no humor in it — just tiredness.
“I don’t know if he can be fixed,” Remus said honestly. “But I think... I think he’s already under my skin.”
James nodded slowly, thoughtful. "You always had a thing for strays."
Remus snorted but didn’t deny it.
“Is that what you think he is? A stray?" Remus asked.
James’ gaze was sharp. "No. I think he’s a storm you’re walking straight into."
Remus looked away at that, but there was no fight in him. "Maybe. But I’m already caught in it."
For a while, they sat in silence, sipping the rough drink.
Finally, James let out a long breath, running a hand through his still-damp hair.
“You know,” James murmured, almost to himself, “you’re not the only one losing sense these days.”
Remus looked up, brow raised.
James gave a small, wry smile, shaking his head. "There was a man. At the tavern."
Remus blinked, surprised. "Since when do you get caught up on a tavern stranger?"
“That’s just it,” James said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I don’t know why. He wasn’t like the others. He was sharp. Cold, almost. Like... he was there for something more. But there was something about him."
Remus tilted his head, watching James carefully now.
James rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated like he couldn’t quite explain it.
"I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Something about him felt... off. Dangerous, but not in the way you'd think. And I can’t even remember if he gave me a name.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s rare. James Potter actually thinking about someone after leaving the tavern.”
James laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah. Rare.”
Remus gave a soft chuckle, leaning back. “You’re a mess too, Captain.”
James grinned. “Guess we both are.”
A long pause settled between them — but it was comfortable now, the kind of silence only shared between people who had bled for each other.
Remus finally stood, stretching his tired limbs, but his eyes were softer now as he looked down at James.
“We’ll figure it out,” Remus said quietly. "Both of us."
James looked up at him, a small, real smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. We will."
Remus gave a nod, then turned to go, pausing at the door.
“And James?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let that man get too deep in your head. You’ve got enough ghosts.”
James laughed, but as Remus left and closed the door behind him, James sat back, staring out the window at the sea, and whispered to himself:
"Too late for that, mate."

Chapter Text

The sea was calm now.
But in Regulus’ mind, there was only the storm.
The ship creaked around him in the night, but his dreams were louder — louder than the wind, louder than the waves.
He was thirteen when it happened.
The dream began as it always did — with the pain.
It started in his chest, a sharp stab like something had torn through his heart. He remembered waking in the middle of the night, gasping, clawing at his skin, trying to breathe while feeling like he was dying.
His mother had told him stories, when he was a boy, about the Guardians of the Heart — but it was a myth, something for bedtime and warnings, never something real.
Until it was.
His dream-body relived it all, step by step.
He stumbled from the water cave they called home, bleeding from where his nails dug into his palms, the call of the sea louder than anything he had ever heard before.
The waves whispered his name, but not like before — like a scream, like a demand.
He had fallen to bottom of the sea, feeling like his whole body was being torn apart, like something inside him was being rewritten.
Pain like lightning in his veins.
The roar of waves that didn’t stop at his ears but pushed straight into his bones. And the weight — the crushing, endless weight — of duty settling into his chest, like a stone dropped into deep water.
His vision blurred as he stumbled, led by something he didn’t understand, feet dragging as though pulled by a current only he could feel.
The sea opened for him, like it had been waiting, parting to show the path that would ruin his life.
In the dream, Regulus saw it again — the cave deep beneath the waves, where no siren dared go but where he had been forced to enter.
A cavern of black rock, walls slick with salt, and in the center —
The Heart of the Sea.
Pale and glowing, pulsing softly like a giant pearl made of liquid light, set into the rocks like an eye.
He had stood there, drenched and shivering, hearing the sea’s voice inside him.
"You are bound."
"You will guard it."
"You are ours."
The words had been a knife.
He had cried, angry and afraid, but there had been no one to hear.
The dream shifted, showing the months after, when he fought it.
He had tried to run.
He had screamed at the sea, cursed it, dove deep and tried to hide, to refuse the bond — but the call of the Heart was in his blood, in his bones.
No matter how far he swam, it dragged him back.
It was like a chain wrapped around his throat.
And in the dream, Regulus saw his younger self on the rocks near the cave, bleeding from sharp coral he had punched and clawed, his tail shredded, his throat raw from screaming.
But the sea never let him go.
And in the end, he had given up — cold and broken, lying on the shore, staring at the sky and knowing that this was forever.
And then the dream shifted again, to the day Sirius found out — a memory Regulus could never escape.
He had been fourteen by then, a year into his duty, cold and bitter, already changed into the sharp thing he would become.
He had slipped into the cave again, answering the pull, thinking no one would follow him.
But Sirius had followed.
A flash of silver tail in the water behind him — Sirius, curious and stubborn, watching from the shadows as Regulus laid his hand on the Heart, as the sea glowed around him, whispering to him alone.
"Reg?"
Regulus remembered how his heart had stopped in his chest, how his hands had frozen on the rock.
Sirius had swum closer, eyes wide, confused and scared.
"What are you doing?"
Regulus turned in the dream, and he could see again the fear in Sirius’ eyes, the way his brother reached for him —
"Reg, talk to me."
But he hadn’t known how.
He had just shaken his head, whispering, "You can’t be here. You can’t see this."
"Why? What’s happening to you?" Sirius had asked, desperate to understand.
But Regulus couldn’t explain. How could he explain being chained to something that was killing him slowly?
"Go home, Sirius."
"Not without you."
The dream always ended the same way — Regulus swimming away, leaving Sirius behind, because if Sirius knew the truth, he would try to take the burden for himself.
Regulus woke with a gasp, sitting upright in his small cabin on the ship, hand pressed to his chest like he could still feel the pain from that first night.
The sea outside was calm, the sun just rising, casting gold through the window.
But the ache stayed.
The guilt.
The duty.
The image of Sirius' eyes when he realized something was wrong.
Regulus leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.
"I’m coming, Sirius," he whispered to himself. "I won’t let it take you too."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"Alright, I’m done pretending," Lily said finally, breaking the silence, arms folded across her chest, sharp green eyes narrowed. "You know where we’re going. You’re not guessing."
Barty smirked from where he sat sharpening his dagger, tossing it between his fingers. "I was wondering how long it’d take you to say it out loud, Red."
Evan, quieter but watchful, leaned against the rail, eyes never leaving Regulus. "She’s right. You’ve been sailing like you’ve known this route all your life."
Pandora was the only one who hadn’t said anything — but her eyes were on Regulus too, sharp and curious.
Regulus didn’t move for a long moment, staring ahead.
"I know where we’re going," he said softly, without turning.
The crew glanced at each other — confusion, suspicion, curiosity in their eyes.
Lily stepped closer, voice softer but sharp as a blade.
"Why?"
Regulus exhaled slowly, the sea wind tugging at his dark hair. He didn't look at her, but his hands tightened on the rail.
"Because I’ve been there before," he said quietly. "Because... I’m the only one who has."
They stared at him.
"You mean to tell me," Evan said, voice low, "that you’ve already been to this place everyone else thinks is legend?"
Regulus finally turned, his face pale, eyes dark as a storm. "It’s not a legend."
Barty’s smile faded, eyes narrowing. "What are you, then? You’re not just some pissed-off boy with a mission."
Regulus’ throat worked as he swallowed. "I am... bound to it. To the Heart. I—" He shook his head, like the words tasted like poison. "I’m its guardian."
The wind seemed to still for a moment, as if the sea itself was listening.
The silence stretched long, but Pandora finally stepped forward, her voice soft, curious. "You’ve been guarding it? Alone?"
Regulus gave a sharp nod. "It’s my duty."
"But why are you taking us there?" Lily asked, frowning.
Regulus' jaw clenched. "Because there are people coming for it. And I need to stop them."
Barty whistled low. "You’re not telling us everything."
Regulus didn’t answer — but his silence was answer enough.
Despite himself, his chest ached, because somehow, in this short time, he had grown used to these people — to Barty’s sharp tongue, to Lily’s careful sharpness, to Evan’s quiet strength, to Pandora’s soft curiosity.
He had let them close.
Closer than anyone since Sirius.
And now, every mile closer to the Heart felt like a rope tightening around his throat.
That night, as the ship sailed smooth but fast, Regulus sat alone at the bow, staring at the moonlight on the waves.
The others joined him one by one, sitting near — not touching, but close enough to make him feel it.
"You don’t have to carry whatever this is alone," Pandora said softly, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve.
Regulus smiled, but it was bitter, tight.
"I’ve been carrying it alone since I was a boy," he whispered.
Lily leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Why?"
Regulus was quiet for a long time before answering.
"Because if I don’t... people die. The sea takes them. And worse." His voice was a whisper, almost lost to the wind.
"And now?" Evan asked.
Regulus' eyes darkened. "Now... now I have to stop the people who are coming for it. And save someone who means everything to me."
Barty gave a soft, dark laugh. "You’re starting to sound like a proper pirate, Regulus."
Regulus smiled faintly — but it was a sad smile, like something already lost.
They stayed near him long into the night, quiet conversation flowing like the waves, and for the first time, Regulus let himself relax, just for a moment.
He hated that he liked them.
Hated that he wanted to believe for a second that he could let them in.
But as the moon rose high and they drifted off to sleep, scattered in corners of the deck, Regulus stood, moving quietly toward the small emergency boat tied to the side of the ship.
His hands trembled as he untied it, lowering it carefully into the water.
He looked back once — at Lily, sharp and kind in her way, at Barty, reckless and loyal, at Evan, quiet and steady, and Pandora, full of strange wonder.
For a breath, he almost stopped.
Almost.
But then he whispered, so soft only the sea could hear:
"I’m sorry."
He climbed down into the boat, pushing off silently into the night.
When the first light of dawn bled across the waves, Lily was the first to notice — standing at the bow, looking for him.
Her eyes narrowed, scanning the empty deck.
"Regulus?" she called out.
No answer.
Evan stood, looking over the side. "The boat’s gone."
Barty swore under his breath, standing, squinting into the sunrise. "Little bastard slipped away."
Pandora stood slowly, hugging her arms to herself, looking out over the waves.
"But why?" she whispered.
Lily exhaled, eyes dark, full of something close to hurt.
"Because he never meant for us to follow him all the way."
She looked out over the endless sea, her jaw set.
"But he should’ve known better. We’re not done with him yet.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The night was soft and warm now, like the sea was trying to apologize for the storm it had thrown at them.
The sky above was scattered with sharp stars, and the waves lapped quietly at the hull of The Stag’s Vow, a sharp contrast to the raging waters of days before.
The crew was quiet, resting, healing, but Remus couldn’t sleep.
He found himself wandering the deck, boots soft on the damp wood, eyes scanning the night horizon — but his feet carried him toward the tank without thinking.
Sirius was there, perched on the edge of his glass prison, arms resting over it, chin on his wrist, staring out at the stars like he was looking for something he had lost.
The moonlight caught the edges of his pale skin, the glimmer of scales along his arms and the faint shimmer of his tail where it drifted lazily in the water.
He looked softer like this. Not dangerous.
Just tired.
“You ever sleep?” Remus asked, his voice low but rough with exhaustion.
Sirius glanced at him from under heavy lashes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Not when I’m caged,” he said softly, the usual sharpness muted.
Remus leaned on the edge of the tank beside him, folding his arms. "You're not caged."
Sirius gave a dry laugh. “A glass prison is still a prison.”
They stood in silence for a moment, watching the sea roll beneath the moonlight.
Then Remus asked quietly, “Why did you follow us, Sirius? Why were you out there, alone, when we found you?”
Sirius’ smirk faded, and for once, he didn’t turn it into a joke.
“I’m a betrayer of my kind,” Sirius said, voice soft, raw.
Remus blinked, turning to study him fully, but Sirius kept his gaze on the stars.
“I wasn’t supposed to be near humans. Not ever. That’s what my family drilled into me.”
He laughed bitterly. “Sirens don’t play nice with humans. You know that. We're taught to lure and drown, to protect our waters and secrets. And I—" His jaw tightened. "I didn’t care."
Remus was quiet, listening.
"I was... curious. Always curious. About the land, about your people. About how you lived — how you chose your own path. Not like us, all bound by old rules and bloody traditions."
He ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking his head.
"My mother hated that about me. She hated everything about me, really. Wanted me to be what she called 'a real siren.' Like her. Cold. Perfect. A killer."
Sirius' voice grew bitter, a sharp edge returning.
"But I never wanted that. Never wanted to be like her or my father. They thought the world should be feared. I wanted to see it."
Remus was still silent, but his eyes were softer now, watching Sirius speak.
Sirius took a shaky breath.
“I only ever cared about one person in that whole damned world.”
His voice dropped, rough and full of something sharp and painful.
“My brother.”
Remus tensed, but didn't speak.
“Regulus,” Sirius whispered. “He was... different. Soft, when he thought no one was looking. We only had each other.”
His fingers traced absent shapes in the water.
“I always thought I could protect him. But I couldn’t stop what was coming for him. I couldn’t stop the sea from taking him."
Remus blinked, confused. "Taking him?"
Sirius shook his head. "Doesn’t matter now."
There was a long silence. Sirius watched the stars, and Remus watched him.
Finally, Sirius let out a long, tired breath.
"That’s why I was following you," he said, voice softer now, but sure. "Not to lure you. Not to kill you. I wanted to see what it was like."
Remus frowned slightly. "What what was like?"
Sirius smiled faintly, a flash of real warmth behind his sharp eyes.
"To be free. To be like you. Choosing your life. Not being tied to some ancient song that tells you who you are."
He looked at Remus now, really looked at him, eyes searching.
"And you know what? I don’t regret a single moment of it. Not even when you caught me. Not even now."
Remus stared at him, chest tight, caught off guard by the honesty, by the rawness in Sirius’ voice.
There was no siren charm here, no magic. Just a boy caught between two worlds, too sharp and wild to belong to either.
And for the first time, Remus understood him.
Sirius smirked faintly, watching Remus watching him, and something softer passed between them, something heavy and real.
“You’re not what I expected,” Remus finally said, voice low.
Sirius tilted his head, a spark of humor in his tired eyes. “What did you expect?”
Remus shrugged, but there was a glimmer of a smile on his lips.
“More teeth. Less heart.”
Sirius laughed, but it was quiet, and maybe a little sad.
“Don’t worry, wolf. I’ve got plenty of teeth. The heart’s just harder to get rid of.”
They stood there for a while longer, leaning on the tank together, closer than before.
Remus didn’t move when Sirius shifted, resting his chin on folded arms, tail flicking gently in the water.
And for a moment — just a moment — it felt easy.
Two souls adrift in the sea, finding each other in the dark.

Chapter Text

The water was colder here.
Even though it was deep and dark, the sea always grew colder the closer he came to it.
Regulus swam with smooth, sharp strokes of the oars, but every move felt heavier, like the sea itself was trying to hold him back.
His arms ached. But he kept going.
Because he had no choice.
He could feel it now — the pull of the Heart, like a hook lodged deep in his chest, dragging him closer.
Every heartbeat was louder in his ears, like a drum pounding under water.
Every breath he took felt like it burned.
It always did.
Because the Heart called to its Guardian, and Regulus had been bound to it since he was thirteen.
Bound to it — and broken by it.
His thoughts spun as he swam, sharp as knives.
"No one knows what it costs."
"No one sees the way it drains you. The way it takes and takes."
It had given him power — more than any other siren.
That was what the Guardian was meant to be:
The protector of the Heart,
The one to hold its secrets,
And the one to pay the price.
Because the Heart needed blood to keep beating — and it always took from its Guardian first.
That was how the sirens stayed powerful.
That was how their magic lived on.
But it was killing him.
Slowly.
Like it had killed the Guardian before him.
As the path narrowed he abandoned his boat and sank in cold water. Regulus’ fingers brushed along the smooth stone wall of the trench he swam through, dragging himself forward as he remembered the night it chose him.
The Guardian is not chosen by love or honor.
It is chosen by need.
When the last Guardian dies — too weak to hold on, swallowed by the sea — the magic reaches out.
Searching for a new vessel. A new sacrifice.
It had reached for him.
He had been a boy — too young — but the sea didn't care.
And now he was bound until death, until the next poor soul was chained to the Heart in his place.
Ahead of him, the trench widened into the massive rock formation, hidden deep beneath the sea.
Most sirens thought it was just a story.
A legend.
"The Heart of the Sea. The place where all siren magic was born."
But Regulus knew better.
He had been here too many times, each visit stealing a little more of his strength. So now as human, too weak for it, he needed to find another way in, something not deep preferably.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The entrance to the cave loomed ahead — a massive crack in the rock, like the mouth of an ancient god.
Beyond it, the cave stretched out — dry land inside, surrounded by water on all sides, a hollow space carved from the bones of the sea.
The only way in was through the lake in the center — a deep pool of seawater that opened to the air above.
But Regulus could not climb onto the land when he was a true siren.
No Guardian could.
They were meant to circle it like wolves, watching from the water.
Never resting.
Never free.
Regulus dragged himself through the final stretch, his arms trembling, his breathing ragged.
His muscles screamed. His vision blurred.
But he forced himself onward, toward the glowing light he knew would be waiting.
His mind swirled with half-thoughts, memories, fragments of what he had been told as a child:
"The Heart gives us magic."
"Without it, sirens are nothing."
"The Guardian must give their life to protect it — always."
He was so tired.
So tired of carrying this alone.
As he swam, he whispered under his breath, voice rough and shaky:
"Just a little farther. Just hold on. You can do this, Regulus. For him."
Sirius’ face burned in his mind — sharp and beautiful and wild.
His brother, who had never known what Regulus had given up to keep him safe.
Who still didn’t know.
"Not yet," Regulus whispered. "You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."
Finally, he reached the cavern.
The water opened into a wide pool, and above it, the land rose, black stone and glowing walls, and there, in the center —
The Heart.
Pale as moonlight, glowing with soft silver and blue light, like a pearl and a living thing all at once.
It pulsed gently, like it was breathing — like it was alive.
Regulus stopped at the edge of the pool, his arms shaking, tears stinging his eyes from exhaustion and pain.
"You’re still here."
He whispered it, half a curse, half a prayer.
No one else knew what it felt like to stand here — how beautiful and cruel it was.
The thing that gave sirens their song and life.
The thing that took his own life in return.
And one day soon, when he was too weak to carry on, it would pick a new Guardian, dragging some other siren to this same fate.
Regulus stared at it, chest heaving.
"Not if I stop them. Not if I keep James Potter and his crew from touching you."
He let himself sit on land, able now, resting for just a moment.
Because he knew they were coming.
He knew James was close, and Sirius was still in danger.
And he had to be ready — no matter the pain.

Chapter Text

The sea had gone still.
Not the calm kind of still — not peaceful or soft — but the kind that makes your skin crawl, like the water itself was holding its breath.
The waves, which had carried them for days, now lapped too gently against the sides of The Stag’s Vow, the great black ship moving forward as though pushed by hands they couldn’t see.
Above, the sky was bruised with heavy clouds, the color of iron and storm, but no wind blew to move them. The sun was swallowed behind the dark veil, casting a dim, silver light that seemed to stick to the water like oil.
James stood at the bow, one hand on the railing, squinting at the mist ahead.
Behind him, Remus was silent, arms crossed, watching Sirius, who floated in the glass tank, his dark hair swirling in the seawater, grey eyes narrowed at the horizon.
It was Sirius who broke the silence first.
"You should turn back."
His voice was low, but it carried across the deck like a warning.
James didn't turn. "Not a chance."
Sirius frowned, sharp teeth glinting for a moment as he pressed his hands to the glass.
"You don't understand, Potter. The sea here... it's wrong. It's not like other places. This is where things go to die."
James finally looked over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips — but it didn’t reach his eyes.
"Funny. I was told there was treasure in death."
Remus shot him a sharp glance, but James ignored it, eyes fixed ahead.
Then, like a shadow rising from the depths, the rock appeared.
It was massive, jagged and black, towering from the water in a shape that shouldn’t exist. Not big enough to be a mountain, but too huge to be just a stone. Its sides were slick with water, covered in patches of dark moss, and from its cracks and crevices, saltwater dripped endlessly — like the thing was bleeding the sea itself.
The ocean around it was darker than ink, so still and thick it didn’t move, and James felt his skin prickle, his hands tightening on the rail.
"That’s it," Sirius whispered, eyes wide but full of hate. "The Heart’s lair."
Remus swallowed hard, stepping up beside James. "It looks like something the sea forgot to swallow."
James nodded, jaw tight. "And it's where we're going."
They anchored close to the rock, the ship creaking in the dead stillness.
Only James, Remus, and Sirius would go.
The rest of the crew watched nervously, whispering behind them as they loaded a rowboat.
"You're mad to go in there," someone muttered.
James ignored them.
Remus helped guide the glass tank onto the rowboat, the water sloshing heavily inside. It was so heavy that the small boat dipped alarmingly, and James had to balance the sides quickly.
As they rowed closer to the rock, the air felt heavier, like breathing through wet cloth. The closer they got, the colder it became, as though the sea itself was leeching all warmth from their bodies.
Remus grunted as he adjusted his grip on the tank. "You know, Sirius, you're heavier than you look."
James let out a breathless chuckle. "We’re hauling a sea monster here. What did you expect?"
Sirius smirked, sharp but tired. "I’m made of better stuff than you, Potter. Get over it."
Still, there was tension in his voice, something fraying at the edges of his usual sharpness.
The boat scraped against the base of the rock, and they stared up at the towering walls.
It took time. They rowed along the edge, water black and still as tar, looking for any sign of an opening.
Finally, James spotted it — a narrow arch carved deep into the stone, half-hidden behind dripping moss.
Symbols ringed the entrance, worn away by years of salt and sea, but faint glimmers of silver light pulsed in the cracks, like something alive breathed beneath the stone.
The air that drifted from inside was wet and heavy, colder than outside, and smelled like something ancient.
James tied the boat off on a jagged edge, and together, he and Remus hoisted the tank out, water sloshing dangerously.
They moved carefully into the entrance, Sirius’ tank heavy between them, their boots sliding on the slick stone steps that spiraled down.
James grunted. "Honestly, Black. If I knew sirens were this heavy, I'd have caught a smaller one."
Sirius laughed, but it was sharp, brittle. "You couldn’t handle a real siren, Potter."
Remus glared at them both. "Focus. If we drop him, we’ll lose more than our prize."
The steps led deeper and deeper. Water dripped from the ceiling, and every sound echoed, warped like the cave was alive.
Suddenly, Remus’ foot pressed on a loose stone — and with a deep click, it sank under his weight.
Remus' eyes widened. "Shit—"
He slipped, falling forward — the tank pulled from James’ grip, crashing hard to the stone floor.
Glass exploded, water pouring out in a rush, and Sirius fell with it, gasping.
James swore, stumbling back, and Remus scrambled to his knees.
"Sirius—?"
But something was happening.
Sirius writhed on the wet stone, gasping, his body arching in sharp, sudden pain.
"Remus—" he choked, clutching at himself.
Remus was there in a second, gathering Sirius close, his shirt soaking through.
Then they saw it — the tail splitting, twisting, breaking apart like shards of glass melting, the scales dissolving like ash.
Sirius' legs emerged, trembling, skin pale and slick.
He cried out, voice sharp and raw, curling into Remus, shivering.
James stood frozen, eyes wide.
"Bloody hell..."
When it was over, Sirius lay shaking in Remus' arms, breathing hard, soaked through.
Remus, pale and tense, stripped off his coat and wrapped it around Sirius, holding him like something fragile.
James knelt down, still staring. "You could do that the whole time?"
Sirius glared weakly. "No... I—I didn't know. Never... never before..."
His voice broke, and Remus pulled him closer, protective now, glaring up at James.
James held his hands up, backing off. "Alright. Alright."
The cave around them dripped and breathed, ancient symbols glowing faintly.
Remus helped Sirius sit up, holding him close, arms around him tightly.
James stood, eyes on the walls, on the strange carvings of sirens and winged figures — half gone, half telling a story he couldn't yet read.
"Come on," James said quietly, voice softer now. "We need to keep moving."
Remus looked down at Sirius, who nodded weakly, eyes tired but sharp.
"I can walk," he muttered.
"Not alone," Remus shot back, pulling him to stand, one arm wrapped firmly around Sirius' waist.
Together, the three of them walked deeper into the cave, where the Heart of the Sea waited — and whatever else it might bring.
The sound of dripping water echoed like a heartbeat in the heavy dark, a steady pulse that filled every corner of the cave, as if the stone itself was breathing, alive in a way no earth should be. Shadows clung to the walls, broken only by the faint glimmer of strange symbols that flickered and pulsed — ancient, forgotten magic, watching them with unseen eyes.
Sirius was trembling — violently, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps, cold sweat beading on his pale skin. He was curled tightly into Remus, as if afraid the ground might open and swallow him whole. Every time his body jerked with a shiver, Remus only held him tighter, grounding him against his own chest, one hand sliding protectively over Sirius’ back, the other cradling the back of his head with trembling fingers.
"Easy, easy," Remus whispered, his voice low and rough, pressed against Sirius’ temple as though willing him to be steady. "I've got you. You're alright. I’ve got you."
But Sirius didn’t answer. He only pressed closer, as if he could crawl inside Remus' warmth and disappear.
A few feet away, James stood frozen, still caught in the shock of what had happened, his sharp gaze darting between Sirius and the cave around them. His hand hovered near his sword, but for once, not as a weapon — almost like he could draw it for protection from the cave itself.
Then he saw it.
The stones beneath where Sirius had been laid were glowing faintly, a soft, eerie silver-blue, pulsing in time with Sirius' own breathless gasps — as if the cave was answering him, mirroring his pain and terror.
The water spilled from the shattered tank lay in a thick pool, but it didn’t move like water should. It was heavy, viscous — like liquid glass, rippling with unnatural slowness. The same silver glow shimmered across its surface, reaching out like tendrils of light toward Sirius' body.
James stepped closer, frowning, feeling something ancient and wrong humming through the stone beneath his boots.
"This isn’t you," he murmured aloud, voice low but sharp, his eyes never leaving the glowing floor. His chest was tight, heart hammering. He looked sharply at Sirius, realization dawning. "This… this isn’t something you did."
Remus looked up from where he cradled Sirius, his eyes sharp and wary. "What are you saying?"
James crouched, running his hand near the stone, feeling a low thrum of power beneath his fingers, but not daring to touch it. It felt like the cave itself was watching, waiting.
"It's this place. The cave." James said, voice tight. "It changed him. Made him human — at least for now."
Sirius gasped in disbelief stepping a little further from Remus` warmness, his legs instantly buckling.
"Alright, alright," Remus murmured, sliding his arms under Sirius properly and lifting him up like he weighed nothing.. Sirius to that only managed to give a weak laugh — a bitter, breathless sound.
"Not very pirate-like, is it?" Sirius rasped, though his head remained tucked into Remus’ neck. "Being carried around like a damsel."
Remus' smile was soft, but fierce. "Don’t care." His hand smoothed through Sirius’ damp hair. "You're safe. That's all I care about."
James watched them quietly, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in his chest — but he shoved it down. Not now.
The cave seemed to pulse and shift around them, like something stirring in its sleep, the walls bending as if alive, the air so thick it was like breathing underwater. Every drip of moisture sounded too loud, too sharp.
And as they moved deeper, the carvings on the walls became clearer, ancient scenes etched in trembling, jagged lines.
Sirens, swirling with fierce wings and tails, locked in battle with towering figures — creatures like gods of the sea and sky, holding the same glowing Heart that pulsed at the center of the chamber beyond. Chains, drawn from the Heart, running both to the waves and to the clouds — binding two worlds in a curse.
James reached out, running his fingertips gently over one figure — a siren weeping in the sea, as chains rose from the waves to the sky.
"So it’s true," James whispered, his throat tight. "The curse."
Remus stood at his shoulder, still holding Sirius tightly, his voice low. "And we’re walking right into the center of it."
They stepped into a new chamber — round, massive, the ceiling lost in darkness, though faint light rippled across the stone from the center pool.
But unlike before, this wasn’t still water. It swirled endlessly, silent but alive, like something was moving just beneath the surface.
James hesitated at the edge. "We need to cross."
But the moment his boot touched the rim, the water stirred, like a massive unseen body shifting in the depths. A faint growl, like thunder trapped below.
Remus tensed, holding Sirius tighter, his eyes flicking toward the dark water.
"I don’t like this," he muttered, every muscle in his body coiled tight.
Sirius stirred in Remus’ arms, shifting enough to lift his head from where it had rested against Remus’ shoulder, though his body still trembled with effort. His jaw was tight, his sharp cheekbones stark in the low light, and though his breath came fast and shallow, there was fire in his eyes — glass-clear but burning.
"Don’t… don’t touch the water," he said hoarsely, but with an edge of warning, like a command from a place deeper than pain. "It’s alive."
James turned sharply to look at him, brows furrowing. "Alive? What do you mean?" His voice was tight, but Sirius didn’t flinch.
Sirius licked his lips, shifting to sit up straighter in Remus’ hold, forcing himself upright though his muscles protested. "Old magic," he rasped, but his eyes never left James’ face, sharp as blades despite his obvious exhaustion. "It doesn’t want us here. If you touch it, James, it’ll pull you under — and it won’t let you go."
Remus tensed beneath him, one arm tightening instinctively around Sirius' waist, his hand braced against his thigh, steadying him.
"You’ve seen this before?" Remus asked, voice low but fierce, like he could fight off the cave itself if he had to.
Sirius hesitated — a flicker of something in his eyes, some old memory — before giving a small, tight nod. "Not here," he admitted, his voice softer for a breath, a shadow crossing his face. "But magic like this? Yeah. I’ve seen it. Hungry magic. Old as the sea itself. Magic that doesn’t forgive trespassers."
James exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting back to the swirling black pool. The surface rippled again, like silk stirred by wind — but there was no wind. Dark as ink, oily and wrong, it reflected none of the faint light on the cave walls.
"We’ll find a way across," James said firmly, though his heart beat too fast in his chest. He glanced back at Sirius, gaze sharp but lingering longer than it should. "We didn’t come this far to turn back now."
He turned away before anything more could show on his face, pacing along the edge, his boots splashing in shallow puddles, eyes narrowed as he searched for stones or ledges that could serve them.
Behind him, Remus adjusted Sirius gently, lowering him to sit more comfortably but not letting him go, keeping an arm firmly around his waist. Their faces were close enough that Sirius could feel Remus' breath against his cheek, and despite everything — despite the cold and the ache in his bones — something about that steadied him.
"Stay with me," Remus murmured, soft but rough-edged, like the words were torn from his throat.
Sirius let out a shaky exhale, but then tilted his head just enough to meet Remus’ eyes, and his lips twitched into a small, sharp smirk, like a flash of himself breaking through.
"Where else would I go, wolf?" he breathed, a trace of teasing there — but something softer beneath it, something that clung to Remus like a lifeline.
Remus’ throat bobbed, and he pressed his palm against Sirius’ side, grounding them both.
James glanced back over his shoulder at them, his eyes flicking quickly between their faces.
Still, the water kept shifting, restless now, as though aware of their presence.
Waiting.
Watching.
And Sirius watched it back, chin lifting slightly, sharp even when pale and worn. "You’ll have to try harder than that to scare me," he muttered under his breath, only loud enough for Remus to hear.
Remus smiled, teeth flashing faintly in the dark. "That’s the spirit," he murmured back, though his hand remained firm at Sirius’ side, ready to hold him steady through whatever came next.
Together, they stared across that dark pool, knowing it was only the beginning.
James turned back, his gaze darting between them — concern flickering in his eyes before it was buried again.
"We’re getting across," he said quietly but firmly, as much to himself as to them. "Whatever it takes."
The water gave another ripple — like something waiting just beneath the surface, patient, hungry.
Remus looked down at Sirius, brushing damp hair from his pale face.
"Hold on to me," he whispered.
And as they stood at the edge of that dark, swirling pool, hearts pounding, they knew this was only the beginning of what the cave — and the Heart — would demand.
Because the cave was watching. And it would not let them pass untested.
The cave yawned before them, vast and endless, swallowing the faint glow of the distant walls into a thick, suffocating dark. Even the silver runes pulsing along the slick stone seemed dimmer here, their cold light swallowed by shadows that clung like something alive.
Remus shifted Sirius higher in his arms, jaw tight. His heart hammered loud in his ears, louder than the steady drip of water echoing somewhere deep in the cave.
But it was the pool that made his stomach twist — that still, black pool spreading across the center of the chamber like a dark mirror, its surface smooth as glass, yet churning softly beneath as if something massive stirred in its depths.
It wasn’t right.
Nothing about this place was right.
James stood at the edge of the pool, back straight, tension rolling off him like a storm waiting to break. His dark eyes never left the water, jaw sharp with the kind of stubbornness that had dragged them into this madness to begin with.
Remus' arms tensed protectively around Sirius, who was heavier than he wanted to admit — too heavy for someone who only just got legs, and still not strong enough to stand on them. His skin was pale, slick with cold sweat, and though Sirius' breathing had steadied some, his sharp eyes remained fixed on the water like it was a living thing.
“I don’t like this,” Remus muttered under his breath, voice low.
James snorted, but there was no humor in it. “You think I do?” His words were clipped, sharp like a blade drawn too fast.
Still, James took a step closer to the edge, boots echoing against the wet stone.
The moment the sole of his boot scraped against the slick rock, the water stirred — a sharp ripple slicing through the black surface, like something brushing just beneath.
Sirius tensed in Remus' arms, his body going rigid, hands clenching at Remus’ shirt.
“Don’t,” Sirius hissed, voice hoarse but deadly serious. “James. Don’t get closer. It’s waiting.”
James turned to him, frowning. “Waiting for what?”
Sirius’ jaw tightened. “You.”
James' frown deepened, but his eyes didn’t leave Sirius’ face, searching for the truth behind those sharp grey eyes.
“We need to cross,” James said finally, though something had settled low and uneasy in his gut.
Sirius shook his head, his hands tightening in the worn fabric of Remus’ shirt. “It’s not just water,” he rasped. “It’s old magic. And it knows we shouldn’t be here.”
But James Potter was not a man to be turned away by warnings.
With a breath that sounded more like a growl, he squared his shoulders. “We can’t turn back now.”
He took another step.
And that was when the water moved.
Without warning, a tendril of black liquid shot up like a living shadow, wrapping fast and hard around James’ ankle and yanking.
James swore as he stumbled, nearly losing his footing.
“James!” Remus barked, lunging forward with Sirius still half-cradled against him, one hand shooting out to catch James' arm before he could be dragged into the waiting dark.
The tendril tightened, pulling like it meant to tear James under.
"Bloody thing’s alive!" James hissed, yanking at his leg, but the black ooze clung tight like tar.
“Let go of him!” Remus snarled, dragging James backward with a force that made his muscles scream. Sirius shifted in his hold, eyes wide, breath sharp.
Another tendril lashed out — Remus barely twisted in time to keep it from snagging them both.
Sirius’ hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around James’ sleeve, his expression sharp as glass.
“I told you,” Sirius growled, voice raw but fierce. “It wants to drown you.”
James gritted his teeth, struggling against the pull. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that”
Remus dug his heels in, swearing under his breath, fighting to keep James from being dragged fully in.
Sirius stared at the water, breath sharp and quick — and then something in him shifted.
A low, thrumming sound began to rise in his throat — not like the sweet call of a siren’s song, but something darker, deeper, ancient. Like the sea itself had taken residence in his chest and was waking now.
“Let. Him. Go,” Sirius hissed, voice cutting through the damp air like a blade.
The water trembled.
For a heartbeat, it stilled — and then the tendril loosened just enough for James to rip free, stumbling back, soaked to the thigh and panting.
James leaned hard against the cave wall, glaring at the pool, but the color had drained from his face, and his hands were still shaking as he wiped the water from his leg.
“Thanks for the warning,” James muttered, but there was no edge left to his voice. Only the cold realization of how close he’d come to being dragged under.
Remus was still holding Sirius, but now Sirius sat up straighter in his arms, pale but glaring at the pool as though daring it to try again.
“It knows we’re here now,” Sirius said quietly. “It won’t let us pass.”
James swore under his breath, pacing the edge, scanning for any way across that didn’t involve stepping into that death trap.
“There has to be a way,” he said sharply, though the tightness in his voice betrayed his doubt.
Remus’ eyes followed the line of jagged rocks that ringed the edge of the pool — sharp, narrow, but solid.
“What if we don’t touch the water?” Remus murmured, voice low. “Could we cross along those stones?”
James stilled, following Remus’ gaze.
The stones jutted out like teeth from a maw, sharp and uneven. Dangerous, but maybe…
James nodded slowly. “It’s a risk.”
Remus’ arms tightened around Sirius. “So is staying here.”
James looked back at them, his eyes lingering on the way Sirius leaned against Remus, pale but holding himself together with sheer will.
“I’ll go first,” James said, straightening, his face hardening into resolve. “Make sure it holds. Then you follow.”
He turned away before Remus could argue, stepping carefully onto the first stone. It wobbled slightly under his weight, but held.
Remus let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Ready for this?” he murmured to Sirius, brushing damp hair from his temple.
Sirius, despite everything, gave him a crooked smirk, sharp and tired all at once. “As long as you don’t drop me.”
Remus’ lips twitched, but his eyes burned. “Never.”
Step by slow, deliberate step, James made his way across the jagged stones, his boots slick with mist and seawater. The rock edges were sharp and uneven, forcing him to shift his weight carefully as though a wrong move would send him straight into the black pool below.
His sword was clutched tightly in one hand, the tip angled down, gleaming faintly in the dim, pulsing glow of the cave walls. The blade was wet — slick with whatever that black tendril had been — and yet he kept it ready, the muscles in his arm taut with tension.
His other arm stretched slightly to balance, fingertips grazing the damp air like he could hold himself steady on nothing but willpower.
Behind him, Remus followed, moving slower — not because he was afraid, but because of Sirius.
Sirius lay heavy in his arms, one arm slung around Remus’ neck, the other clinging to the fabric of Remus' coat over his shoulder. His legs, still unfamiliar, useless to him now, hung against Remus’ side, brushing the sharp edges of stone when Remus wasn’t careful enough — and each time, Sirius tensed, a faint gasp of pain slipping past his lips.
Remus' jaw was set, his eyes sharp as knives, flicking from the stones ahead to Sirius in his arms. His grip was solid — one arm braced firmly under Sirius’ knees, the other around his back, holding him close and tight against his chest, like if he let go even for a moment, Sirius would slip into the dark.
Each time Remus shifted his weight to move forward, he tested the stone first, making sure it wouldn’t tilt or give way.
“Hold on,” Remus whispered under his breath, the words meant for Sirius but quiet, like he didn’t want to stir whatever was in the water below.
Sirius huffed a breathless chuckle, his cheek pressed against Remus' shoulder but there was a sharp edge of tension in his voice — a fear neither of them would name.
James was halfway across when it happened.
The water beneath them rippled sharply, like something big had stirred — and then, without warning, a tendril shot out of the pool, black and glistening, like liquid shadow.
It moved like a whip — fast, silent, deadly.
Sirius' eyes went wide, a sharp inhale pulling through his teeth. “Remus!”
Remus’ head snapped toward the sound just in time to see the tendril lashing for them. His boots scraped hard on the slick stone as he twisted sharply, turning Sirius out of its reach — but the movement threw him off balance.
His heel slipped on the wet stone, sliding dangerously toward the edge.
For a breathless moment, they teetered — Remus’ arms tightening like a vice around Sirius, holding him close, while Sirius’ arms clung around Remus' neck, fingers digging into his shoulder, anchoring them together.
Water splashed up as Remus’ boot slid — but he caught himself, muscles straining, breathing hard.
Sirius didn’t let go.
Another tendril shot toward James — this one aimed high, like it meant to snatch him by the waist.
James, sharp-eyed and already on edge, reacted in a heartbeat — swinging his sword with a snarl. The blade sliced through the black thing with a wet, disgusting hiss, as though cutting through thick tar, and the severed end snapped back into the water, vanishing.
But James didn’t relax.
Remus, still breathing hard, adjusted his grip on Sirius, who was clinging to him tighter now, sharp-eyed and pale but still trying to keep a calm edge.
“You alright?” Remus muttered, his lips brushing Sirius' temple.
Sirius swallowed, gave a sharp nod against his shoulder, though his fingers didn’t loosen their grip.
James was moving again — more carefully now, his gaze darting back to them every few seconds, as though making sure they were still with him, still safe.
“Move,” James growled under his breath. “We’re almost there.”
Remus stepped after him, adjusting Sirius slightly, shifting his arms to hold him tighter, as though his body alone could shield him from the black pool seething below.
The stones beneath their feet grew narrower, sharper — some so small Remus had to brace Sirius fully against his chest and balance on his toes to step across.
Each step felt like a lifetime — as though time itself had slowed to watch them struggle.
By the time James reached the far side and stepped onto solid stone, he was panting hard, the veins in his arms standing out, water dripping down his soaked clothes.
He turned sharply to help them — reaching out, one arm extended.
Remus, holding Sirius, took the final jump, boots scraping over stone, knees almost buckling as he landed on the safe side.
James' hands were on him in an instant — not rough, not sharp, but steady, grounding. Helping him stay upright with Sirius still wrapped in his arms.
Sirius exhaled a long, shuddering breath, leaning into Remus, eyes fluttering shut as though only now daring to believe they had made it.
The water behind them churned, black and furious, crashing softly against the stones, but it could no longer reach them.
James was staring at them both, his dark eyes sharp but softened by something else now — something quieter, deeper.
“You good?” James asked, voice low and rough, but there was real concern in it.
Remus nodded, but didn’t speak. He still hadn’t loosened his hold on Sirius, and Sirius hadn’t moved an inch away from him.
James ran a hand through his wet hair, breathing hard. He looked at the churning water again, jaw tightening.
“We keep moving,” he said finally, though his voice was softer now, like the weight of what just happened had settled deep in his chest.
Remus shifted Sirius, holding him closer.
“Aye,” Remus murmured, but his eyes were only on Sirius.
And together, they turned from the furious pool and stepped deeper into the dark, where whatever lay ahead was waiting for them — and this time, none of them would let go.
Remus was right behind him, Sirius cradled against his chest, both of them shaking but whole.
Behind them, the water churned, furious, but beaten — for now.
James turned to look at them both, and for a long moment, no one spoke.
Then James nodded once, sharp and firm.
And as they turned from the pool and deeper into the cave, the walls pulsing faintly around them like some ancient heartbeat, they knew this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

The tunnel narrowed around them as they pressed deeper into the cave, stone walls slick with moisture and veins of some pale, ghostly light running through them like old scars. The air felt heavier here, pressing against their skin like the whole sea had followed them inside, clinging to them with salt and damp cold.
James led the way now, sword still drawn, his sharp eyes cutting through the dimness. Behind him, Remus walked slower, more burdened than before. Sirius was still pressed to his chest, arms around Remus’ neck — but even Sirius could feel how Remus was shaking, muscles tight from strain, soaked clothes clinging to him like dead weight.
Sirius' sharp gaze kept flicking up to Remus' pale face, watching the way sweat mingled with seawater on his skin.
"Put me down," Sirius rasped, voice rough but firm.
Remus’ eyes flicked down to him, frowning. "You're in no state—"
"I said put me down," Sirius snapped, more force now, though his fingers tightened in Remus’ coat, betraying his fear. "You’ll drop before I do. Let me try."
James turned, watching them quietly, but said nothing.
Remus hesitated, his arms tightening, but finally, slowly, he knelt down and eased Sirius to his feet — careful, like Sirius might shatter.
The moment Sirius’ feet hit the stone floor, his legs buckled hard, almost throwing him straight down — but Remus was there, steadying him, an arm around his waist.
Sirius gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into Remus’ shoulder as he forced himself to stand. His new legs felt like foreign things, trembling under him, but Sirius lifted his chin, jaw set.
"I’m walking," he said coldly. "So let me."
Remus’ mouth twitched, half a frown, half something like pride, and he nodded. "Alright, love. But you’re not doing it alone."
Sirius didn’t argue — but he didn’t thank him either. His eyes were sharp as a knife's edge, though his body swayed slightly, as though fighting off a wave no one else could see.
They pressed forward, James glancing back every so often, watching Sirius with something unreadable in his dark eyes.
The tunnel finally widened into a chamber — but this one was unlike anything they had seen before.
The walls here were lined with something strange — stone polished so smooth it reflected like black mirrors, distorted and warped.
At first, there were only a few patches of it along the wall.
But as they stepped farther in, it covered everything.
Ceiling, walls, floor — all turned into this strange, dark mirror.
It was vast, the walls towering high, and lined entirely with mirrors — smooth, glassy surfaces, fogged with time but still shining enough to reflect back the pale glow of the cavern light.
But these mirrors…
They weren’t just glass.
The reflections inside moved on their own, even when the three men stood still.
James’ hand tightened on his sword, his gaze flicking from mirror to mirror, muscles tensing.
“Something’s wrong,” Remus murmured, holding Sirius tighter as he looked around, frowning.
In the mirrors, James saw himself, but not quite right. His own eyes glared back at him, darker, colder — and then, without warning, his reflection moved when he didn’t, tilting its head, smirking.
Remus’ reflection sneered at him — eyes full of sharp cruelty that didn’t belong on Remus' face.
And Sirius… Sirius’ reflection was still a siren, glimmering with dark scales, teeth sharp, eyes black like the ocean depths.
Sirius went still, watching his own reflection with wide eyes, shoulders tightening.
"What the hell is this place?" James growled, stepping forward — and the moment his boot touched the floor fully, the mirrors all shimmered like water, rippling outward.
Then, like a blade cutting through calm, figures stepped out of the mirrors — duplicates, but wrong.
Twisted. Darker.
A version of James with a cold sneer, blood staining his blade. A Remus with hollow eyes and a sharp, cruel smile.
And Sirius — a siren fully in control, scales glittering, mouth curled in a dangerous smirk, sharp claws gleaming at his sides.
James’ sword snapped up as the mirrored version of himself charged.
“They’re us,” James breathed, bracing. “But not us.”
The fight began like an explosion.
James parried the first strike from his double, swords clashing hard enough to spark. The sound of metal against metal filled the chamber, echoing off the glass walls, making it feel like a battle of thousands.
Remus shoved Sirius behind him, eyes sharp, sword drawn in a smooth, practiced motion — just in time to catch the swing of his own double, blades meeting with a snarl of force.
“Stay behind me!” Remus barked — but Sirius wasn’t having it.
With a glare, Sirius staggered upright, grabbing a broken shard of mirror from the floor, holding it like a dagger. His legs shook, but his glare was sharp enough to cut stone.
"I’m not hiding," Sirius hissed, eyes locked on his own monstrous double that circled them like a wolf.
The battle was chaos — steel clashing, breath ragged.
James ducked under his double’s swing, pivoting to strike back — the swords sparking as they collided, the force vibrating through his arms.
Remus fought with tight precision, but the other version of him was ruthless — forcing Remus back with vicious strikes, blade flashing in the dim light.
But it was Sirius’ reflection that was the worst — it circled him, taunting, grinning like a predator.
“You think you belong with them?” the siren-shadow sneered, voice a cruel echo of Sirius’ own. “You think they'll keep you once they know what you are?”
Sirius bared his teeth, clutching the mirror shard.
“Shut up.”
The other him smirked, stepping closer.
“They’ll never trust you. You’re nothing but a monster to them.”
And then, Sirius lunged, his legs barely holding, but fury driving him forward. He slashed with the mirror shard, the sharp edge cutting across the siren’s chest, making it hiss and recoil.
James, seeing Sirius’ move, fought harder, sword slicing through his double’s arm, sending a spray of silvered blood that shimmered like mercury.
“Remus!” James barked, as his double struck again, and Remus turned sharply, slashing his sword across his double’s side, forcing it back.
They fought, three against three, breath ragged, bodies bruised, but fighting like they had something to live for.
Finally, James drove his sword through his double’s chest, and as the dark reflection gasped, it shattered into a thousand pieces of light, dissolving like smoke.
Remus did the same, cutting across his double’s throat, watching it fall to mist.
Sirius, panting hard, drove his mirror shard into his own double’s chest — twisting it — and as the siren reflection crumbled into ash, Sirius stumbled, and Remus caught him, arms closing tight around his waist.
For a long moment, they stood there — breathing hard, surrounded by broken glass, the chamber eerily silent again.
James straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, sword still at his side.
“That,” James said, breathing heavy, “was a bit more than I bargained for.”
Remus laughed softly — tired, but real. “You and your cursed treasures, James.”
Sirius sagged against Remus but was smirking faintly, breathless but alive. “Still think I can’t stand on my own?”
Remus smiled tightly, brushing damp hair from Sirius’ face. “Maybe. But I’m not letting you out of my arms just yet.”
The mirrors around them were still now — only their real reflections left, watching back, as if waiting for what would come next.
James sheathed his sword slowly, glancing back at them.
“Come on,” he murmured, quieter now, voice rough but warm. “Let’s finish this.”
And together, battered but stronger for it, they turned toward the next darkness waiting for them in the cave.

Chapter Text

The cave breathed around Regulus.
A slow, deep pulse that came from the stone itself, like the echo of a beast slumbering under his feet — ancient and hungry.
The walls of the chamber rose high and endless, disappearing into shadows that even the faint silver glow of runes couldn’t touch. The air was heavy, wet and thick, as though time itself was pressing down. Every drop of water that fell from the black ceiling echoed like the ticking of some forgotten clock.
And in the center of it all, glowing pale and sickly blue, the Heart of the Sea floated above its jagged black altar.
It spun slowly in the air, as if suspended by invisible chains, casting ripples of light on the walls, and those lights crawled like living things — pale hands reaching out, whispering promises Regulus had long since stopped listening to.
He stood there, alone, braced against the altar stone, both hands pressed flat against its rough surface, as though he could hold himself upright by sheer force of will.
His breathing was ragged, sharp. Every inhale felt like he was dragging broken glass through his chest. His dark hair, tangled and damp with sweat and cave moisture, stuck to his pale skin — skin that now looked like parchment stretched too thin over bone.
His knees trembled. His legs had long since given up on supporting him properly, but still, he stood.
Because he had to.
Because Sirius needed him.
Because this was his duty, even if it killed him — and it would kill him, sooner than he had ever expected.
His hand slid to his side, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the siren bone dagger resting at his hip. It was sharp and curved, pale as moonlight and twice as cruel, carved from the remains of a siren long dead, humming with ancient magic.
It had been his since the night the sea had chosen him. Since the night he woke in agony, his whole body burning as if swallowed by the ocean’s core itself — and found himself dragged down into this destiny.
His mind wandered there for a breath, unbidden.
To that night. To the pain.
To the way the waves had carried him here, to this very chamber.
To the old Guardian lying dead on the altar, skin gray and empty, as if the Heart had taken all life from him — and how the same fate was now written in Regulus' bones.
A sharp breath cut from his lungs.
The pain was growing worse. His stomach twisted, muscles locking up as a sharp spike shot down his spine.
His hand clutched at the stone tighter, nails biting into the rock until his fingers bled.
But he didn’t fall. He wouldn’t.
His eyes flicked up to the Heart, glaring at it like an enemy.
It pulsed at him, answering that glare. The water droplets falling from the cave roof seemed to slow as they passed through its light, hanging in the air before crashing onto the stones in heavy splashes that echoed like falling bells.
The whole place was alive. Watching. Waiting.
But Regulus was dying.
The Heart was eating away at him, draining him because he had been away too long. A Guardian was meant to stay close — meant to guard. And now the Heart was punishing him for daring to run away, for stepping onto land, for daring to be human, if only for a while.
But what choice had he had?
To save Sirius? He would have given anything.
Still would.
Even now, he could feel it — that gnawing hunger under his skin, like the sea itself calling him back. Like it wanted to drag him down into the dark, where Guardians went to die.
And he would go, eventually. But not before Sirius was safe.
Never before that.
He staggered to the side, catching himself against the rock, the dagger clattering to the ground at his feet. His breath wheezed out of him, sharp and painful.
“Not yet,” he whispered into the dark, voice hoarse and broken but full of fire.
“Not yet.”
The sound of his own voice seemed to bounce back at him, distorted, as though the cave was answering, laughing.
His free hand pressed to his ribs, feeling the deep ache inside, and his eyes narrowed.
Where were they?
Where was James? Where was Sirius?
He turned toward the entrance, pale eyes sharp, scanning the shadows that yawned like black mouths beyond the chamber. His back straightened, even as his body trembled violently.
Regulus knew James would come.
He could feel it, like the pull of a storm on the tide.
James was reckless and stubborn, but Regulus knew something else — he cared. He would fight to get here.
And Regulus had to be standing when that happened.
For Sirius.
For the Heart.
For himself.
His gaze flicked up again to the Heart, that ever-spinning thing.
It pulsed once, hard, and for a second, Regulus swayed on his feet.
His lips curled into a snarl.
“Do your worst,” he breathed.
“I won’t fall before they come.”
And in that moment, as he forced himself upright, as pain wracked his frame and breath stuttered in his lungs, something like pride gleamed in his eyes.
Because Regulus Black would rather die on his feet, guarding what mattered, than give in to the darkness that had been clawing at him since the night he was chosen.
The drip of water echoed again, long and slow.
In the distance, faint — so faint he almost thought he imagined it — came the sound of footsteps.
And Regulus’ head snapped up, sharp like a blade, eyes wide, heart thudding in his chest as if the Heart itself was beating in his veins.
“They’re coming,” he whispered to himself.
A breathless laugh, half wild, slipped past his lips.
“Finally.”
His hand closed around the dagger again, and though his body shook, his stance was that of a man ready to fight to the last breath.
Because if the Heart wanted to take him, it would have to fight for him.
And Sirius?
Sirius would live. Even if Regulus died for it.
The chamber was suffocating now — the air heavy like a storm about to break.
The pulsing light from the Heart cast long shadows that twisted across the jagged stone walls, throwing ripples of pale blue and silver that flickered like restless spirits.
And Regulus was at the center of it all.
Standing, though barely.
His body swayed slightly, like a ship caught in a storm, but his eyes—his eyes burned, sharp as daggers and twice as dangerous.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed off the walls before the figures burst into the chamber — James first, sword drawn, clothes still damp and ragged from the trials, chest heaving with effort.
Remus was close behind, supporting Sirius, who though trembling, was standing on weak but determined legs, one hand clutching at Remus’ arm.
The glow of the Heart danced in his wild eyes, making him look like some kind of ghost or king long fallen — broken but dangerous.
"You."
The word sliced through the air, sharp and venomous, when Regulus saw James step toward him.
His voice was ragged, thinner than he wanted, but it carried enough steel to silence even the dripping water for a heartbeat.
James froze, sword lowering slightly as shock rippled through him.
He blinked, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing — Regulus, here, standing before the Heart, half-dead but alive.
"You," James breathed, his voice rough. “You waited for us here. All this time—"
Regulus straightened, trembling but sharp as a blade drawn to strike.
"I did what I had to," he snapped, fire sparking behind tired eyes. "Don’t pretend you mattered."
James flinched, as if struck.
"I needed to protect the Heart," Regulus hissed. "Nothing more. You were a means to an end."
James’ voice broke through the tension, low but trembling — "Don’t say that."
The way he looked at Regulus now — like the man he thought he had known was crumbling in front of him, like something precious had been torn away — made Sirius’ heart twist in his chest.
Sirius’ soft voice cut through the storm of anger.
"Reggie…"
Regulus turned sharply, his gaze locking onto his brother for the first time — and he froze, eyes wide, dagger lowering just an inch.
His lips parted, breath caught, the sight of Sirius standing there — human, fragile, changed — breaking something deep inside him.
"...Sirius?" he whispered, almost like a prayer, like a boy lost in the dark.
Sirius, pale and tired, but standing human in front of him, stared back, wide-eyed, unsure.
His fingers tightened around the dagger as if holding on to something that kept him upright.
“It’s time to come home,” Regulus said, voice sharp, clipped, and shaking. “We’ll fix this. You and me. We’ll make it right.”
Sirius swallowed hard. “Reg…”
There was a plea in his voice, but Regulus wouldn’t let it soften him.
“You don’t belong here,” Regulus hissed, stepping forward a shaky step, his body visibly fighting to stay upright. His eyes darted to Remus, to James, and burned colder. “Not with them.”
Sirius flinched, but his jaw set.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, voice steady despite the tremor in it.
Regulus blinked, like he couldn’t comprehend what he heard.
“You have to,” he snapped, louder now, more desperate. “You don’t belong here, Sirius! You belong with your own kind—with me!”
Sirius took a shaky breath, his fingers clenching around Remus’ sleeve. “I belong where I choose to belong, Reg. I found something here. Someone.”
His eyes flicked to Remus, soft but strong.
Remus' arm tightened around him, fierce and protective, but Sirius stood his ground.
Regulus’ breath caught like he had been struck.
For a heartbeat, all the anger bled from his face, leaving only something fragile and shattered beneath.
“You’d give up your family?” he rasped, voice hoarse. “For him?”
Sirius swallowed. His voice was quiet, but sharp as a blade when he spoke.
“I’m not giving up you, Regulus… but I’m done giving up myself.”
Silence fell like a heavy wave.
Regulus shook his head, stumbling back a step, eyes wide. His body was trembling now, sweat beading on his forehead, pale and sick.
“I—” He looked at Sirius again, his voice cracking. “I did all this for you,” he whispered. “I gave everything to protect you. Everything. And you—”
His voice broke, and he lifted the dagger as though it was the only thing holding him up.
Sirius took a slow, careful step forward, hands raised. “Reg… Please.”
But before he could say more, James stepped in, fierce and shaking.
“You don’t have to do this, Regulus.”
Regulus blinked at him, eyes glassy, shadows darkening under his lashes.
“You think I have a choice?” Regulus spat, though his voice was thready now.
He glared at James like he wanted to hate him but couldn’t manage it fully. “This thing—" he jerked his head to the Heart— "it owns me. It's killing me. It was always meant to kill me. And now you’ve dragged him into it.”
James' eyes darkened, stepping closer. His sword was lowered now, forgotten, but his hand was out, reaching as if he could still pull Regulus back.
"You don’t have to let it kill you,” James said, softer, almost breaking. "You don’t have to do this alone. Let us help you."
For a moment — a long, terrible moment — Regulus hesitated.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers twitching on the dagger.
James' eyes were locked on his, wide and real, pleading. "Regulus, don’t—"
The Heart pulsed again — sharp, deep — and Regulus screamed, clutching his chest like something inside him had cracked open.
James surged forward to catch him—
The dagger flashed.
Steel bit flesh.
James stumbled back, gasping, eyes wide as blood bloomed red over his shoulder, spreading fast through his torn shirt.
"JAMES!" Sirius roared, lunging forward, but Remus held him back, barely restraining him from collapsing.
The dagger slipped from Regulus’ shaking fingers, clattering to the floor, and he fell to his knees, body wracked with tremors, eyes wild and full of panic.
"No—no—" Regulus whispered, staring at James’ blood like he hadn’t meant to do it, like it was the last thing he wanted.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he gasped, voice hollow. “I told you not to come.”
James, still clutching his shoulder, stumbled forward anyway — and knelt in front of Regulus, even as blood dripped from his fingers.
He reached out, grabbing Regulus’ arms, holding him steady.
“I’m not leaving you here,” James said, fierce and ragged. “Not like this.”
Regulus shook his head, tears finally slipping free, though his jaw stayed tight, furious at himself for breaking.
“You can’t save me,” he whispered. “You can’t fix this.”
But James' grip only tightened.
"Watch me," he growled.
Behind them, Sirius stood trembling, leaning heavy on Remus but watching his brother with wide, pained eyes.
“I won’t lose him,” Sirius whispered fiercely, and Remus nodded, though tears slipped down his cheeks.
James took a breath like a man breaking — and hauled Regulus to his feet, blood soaking them both.
“Lean on me,” he hissed, "and don't you dare fight me on this."
Regulus was too weak to resist.
James’ arm wrapped firmly around him, holding him upright.
“Let’s get out of this cursed place,” James said louder to Remus, voice dark and burning.
As they started staggering back the way they had come, James turned to glance at the Heart one last time — still pulsing coldly behind them, shadows flickering like they watched.
He looked down at Regulus in his arms, pale and shaking, and all he could think was how close he had come to losing him.
"You matter more than all the treasure in the sea," James thought bitterly, holding Regulus tighter, as they moved slowly toward the exit.
And behind them, deep and low, the Heart pulsed again — slow, heavy — as if it had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The ship groaned and rocked beneath them, creaking with the slow rhythm of waves still unsettled from the storm that had dragged them to this place. The sails hung limp for now, patched and torn from the battle of wind and water, and the sky beyond the cabin windows was grey and heavy, as though the sea itself had not yet decided to let them go.
The Stag’s Vow sailed through waters quieter now but no less dangerous.
Inside James’ cabin, the shadows pressed against the walls, swaying with the ship’s movement. The only sound was the soft splash of waves beyond and the ragged breathing of Regulus, laid out on James’ cot, pale and drenched in sweat, his dark hair sticking to his forehead.
His chest rose and fell too fast, like he was running from something in his dreams.
James sat beside him, elbows braced on his knees, a cloth in hand. The fabric was soaked in cool water, wrung out until it dripped onto the floor in slow, rhythmic beats.
He reached out, gently pressing the cloth to Regulus’ burning forehead, brushing damp strands of hair back from too-pale skin. His jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed with something too heavy to speak aloud.
Sirius stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if to hold himself together, watching his brother fall apart piece by piece, and unable to stop it.
Remus stood near him, close but quiet, eyes flicking between Regulus and James — worry carved deep into every line of his face.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
The room smelled of salt and blood and old wood, the windows letting in only dim grey light, casting long shadows across the floor.
Regulus twitched suddenly, a pained sound escaping him — barely a whimper, but enough to make James sit up straighter, hand tightening around the cloth.
"Easy now…" James murmured, voice hoarse and low. His thumb brushed against Regulus' cheek, as if touch alone could anchor him back.
But Regulus didn’t wake, didn’t even flinch at the touch.
Sirius shifted like he couldn’t bear standing still. "He's worse," he said, voice sharp and strained. "He’s worse than before."
James didn’t answer.
He knew Sirius was right.
He could feel it, in the way Regulus’ skin burned, in the tremors running through him like waves battering stone.
“What do we do?” Remus asked, breaking the silence at last, voice low but steady, though his eyes were dark with dread.
James shook his head, wiping the cloth and setting it on Regulus’ chest for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of breath that didn’t look strong enough to keep going.
“We find a way.” James said finally, but his words sounded hollow, like even he wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.
Sirius was pacing now, sharp and restless, the floor creaking under his boots. He ran a hand through his tangled dark hair, eyes wild with something like fear.
"You keep saying that, James," he spat, anger masking panic. "But what way? You know magic better than I do— can you fix a cursed Guardian who's being eaten alive by the very thing he’s meant to protect?"
James’ hands curled into fists in his lap. He breathed in slow, trying to hold himself together.
“I don’t know.” The words were quiet. And they burned.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint creak of wood and Regulus’ ragged breathing.
Remus' eyes narrowed in thought.
“There was…” he started, voice slow, hesitant, like dredging up some forgotten nightmare. "Back in Siren’s Call, I heard rumors. About a woman. A seer. But not the kind people want to find."
James’ head lifted sharply, eyes sharp.
“A seer?”
Remus nodded, glancing toward Regulus as if the name alone might help. "They say she lives past the edge of the world—like some half-mad witch, seeing things no one else should." He swallowed. "No one goes to her unless they're desperate. She doesn't just see the future — she sees the past, the curse, everything. She's... dangerous."
Sirius stopped pacing, turning sharply toward him. "Where?"
Remus hesitated, then said quietly, "On the cliffs beyond the Devil’s Archipelago. You can’t dock close. You’ve got to row to her. But they say she knows all the old magic — the kind that might know how to break a curse like his."
James was already rising to his feet, his jaw set like iron.
“We’ll go.”
"You don’t even know if she’ll help us," Remus warned.
James’ eyes cut to Regulus, pale and shaking, as if the light of the world was already draining from him.
“Then we’ll make her help us,” James said, dark and sure.
Sirius’ eyes stayed locked on his brother, something breaking behind them, and when he spoke, his voice was rough.
"If there’s a chance, we take it."
James nodded sharply, reaching to wring out the cloth again, this time smoothing it over Regulus’ neck as he murmured, “You hold on, Reggie. You don’t get to give up yet.”
The ship creaked again, and a soft knock on the door sounded.
It was Hargrove, eyes shifting nervously from the room to the figure on the bed. "Cap’n… crew's wonderin' where we're headed. What to tell 'em?"
James didn’t even hesitate.
"Tell them we sail for the Devil’s Archipelago. And if they don’t like it, they can swim."
Hargrove swallowed hard but nodded. "Aye, Cap’n."
As the door clicked shut, Sirius turned to James, watching him carefully.
"You think this’ll work?"
James looked down at Regulus, the sharpest, fiercest ache carved across his face.
"I don’t know." His voice was soft, like the storm had been taken out of him. But then, quieter, sharper — "But I’ll die trying."
Silence settled again, heavy and full of unspoken things.
From outside, the wind was rising, sharp and cold, making the sails creak and groan. Somewhere above them, the lookout called orders for changing course — toward the cliffs, toward the seer that no one dared approach.
Sirius sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, reaching to take Regulus’ hand in his, squeezing it hard.
Remus moved to the window, arms folded, watching the dark line of clouds on the horizon.
James stayed at Regulus’ side, one hand brushing back his damp hair, gaze fixed on his pale face like he was memorizing every detail in case the sea took him before morning.
No one spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
Only the sound of the sea, and the sharp turn of the ship’s wheel as The Stag’s Vow set sail for answers — and maybe, if they were lucky enough to survive it, salvation.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The night had settled deep and heavy over the sea, draping everything in a velvet darkness that even the moon seemed reluctant to pierce. The Stag’s Vow groaned softly under shifting waves, the wind humming low in the rigging, as if the ship itself knew of the tension and sorrow in her captain’s quarters.
Remus quietly closed the door behind him as they stepped out of James' cabin, Sirius lingering close to his side, bare feet barely making a sound on the creaking wooden boards. He still wore only Remus’ jacket, too large and slipping from one shoulder, baring pale skin to the cold air. His dark hair was damp and messy, curling wild around his face, and though he stood tall, there was a faint tremor in his muscles — from exhaustion, grief, or cold, Remus couldn’t tell.
“Come on,” Remus murmured gently, hand ghosting at Sirius’ lower back to guide him as they walked the short distance to Remus’ own cabin. “You can’t keep walking around in that thing.”
Sirius shot him a sharp glance, but there was no real bite behind it — just something soft, something vulnerable still too raw to be touched.
“Maybe I like wearing your clothes,” Sirius muttered, lips twitching in a small smirk, but Remus saw the way his fingers curled into the fabric, clinging as though it was the only thing holding him steady.
Remus huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah? Well, as much as I enjoy seeing you half-naked and stealing my things, you’ll freeze if you keep it up.”
He pushed open the door to his cabin, guiding Sirius inside.
Remus’ quarters were small but neat, warm in a way James’ room never was — simple wood walls, maps pinned here and there, a low bed tucked under a window, and a small lantern flickering on the table. There was a sturdy chest by the wall, half open, and a worn chair that looked like Remus had fallen asleep in it more than once.
Sirius paused in the middle of the room, glancing around with curious, sharp eyes, taking in the quiet, lived-in space.
“This suits you,” he murmured, softer than before.
Remus arched a brow as he moved to the chest, pulling out a clean shirt and a pair of dark, worn pants. “What? The mess or the maps?”
Sirius smirked faintly. “Both.”
Remus chuckled under his breath but turned, holding out the clothes. “Here. You’ll look almost respectable.”
Sirius raised a brow but took them — and for a moment just stared down at the shirt in his hands, his expression unreadable.
“What?” Remus asked softly, watching him.
Sirius’ voice was quieter when he answered. “Nothing. Just… strange. To be dressed like this. Like one of you.” His fingers trailed over the fabric, delicate, almost reverent.
Remus stepped closer, voice lowering. “You are one of us now, Sirius. If you want to be.”
Sirius’ throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t reply — instead, he turned slightly, trying to pull the shirt over his head. But the effort made him sway a little, still too weak on unsteady legs.
Remus was there in an instant, hands reaching out to steady him.
“Here,” Remus murmured, voice low and rough as though the words scraped his throat on their way out. He stepped closer, too close, and Sirius could feel the warmth of him — solid, grounding, and somehow just as wild as the storm Sirius always carried in his own chest.
Remus reached for the shirt, fingers brushing Sirius’ bare skin as he gently slid the soft fabric over narrow shoulders.
Sirius shivered, not from cold — but from the feeling of Remus' hands, the way they ghosted along his collarbones, tracing down the slope of his arms as though memorizing every line, every sharp edge of him.
The fabric was soft and worn from use — Remus’, his scent clinging to it, woodsmoke and sea salt, and something darker, something that made Sirius’ pulse flutter in a way that felt dangerous.
It was like being wrapped in Remus himself, the warmth of his body, the steady strength of him.
And gods, Sirius wanted to drown in it.
“You’re not exactly steady on your feet yet, are you?” Remus whispered, the words brushing Sirius' ear like a touch of wind, making him tense all over.
Sirius shot him a glance, sharp as he could manage, though his lips twitched up, betraying something softer. “Don’t get used to holding me, wolf,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarser than he wanted — breathless, even to his own ears.
Remus' mouth curved in a slow, knowing smirk, but there was something burning in his gaze now, something hungry and soft all at once — like he was fighting himself.
He leaned in, fingers adjusting the collar with care that made Sirius’ chest ache — grazing over the hollow of his throat, lingering a second too long.
“Too late,” Remus murmured, almost like a secret.
Sirius’ breath hitched, his hands brushing Remus’ sides in return — light, tentative, but lingering, like he didn’t want to let go. His fingertips grazed along the edge of Remus’ waistcoat, feeling the worn leather and the solid heat of the man beneath it.
Remus’ hands moved lower then, reaching for the pants, and Sirius swallowed hard as he watched him, every nerve in his body sparking to life.
Remus’ fingers brushed along Sirius’ hips, rough knuckles grazing pale skin, dipping low to guide the fabric up over long legs.
The brush of calloused fingertips along the inside of his thigh made Sirius’ breath stutter, a flush rising to his cheeks as he caught the way Remus’ gaze darkened — eyes raking over him, devouring every line of his body like he couldn’t look away.
The pants were a bit too big, hanging loose on his hips, and Remus took his time adjusting them — knuckles grazing Sirius' hipbones, sliding along the delicate line of skin where the shirt didn’t quite reach.
The touch was too soft, too careful — and too much.
“You planning to stare all night?” Sirius muttered, but his voice lacked real sharpness, coming out as a low rasp.
Remus' eyes snapped up to meet his, and the heat there — gods, the heat — made Sirius’ stomach twist, like a wave crashing through him.
“Maybe,” Remus said quietly, voice rough with something heavier than amusement — something deeper, darker. “Not every day I get to dress a siren turned man…”
His fingers brushed down Sirius’ thigh again, like he couldn’t help himself — a whisper of a caress that made Sirius sway slightly.
“Want me to help with these too,” Remus continued, lower now, a dangerous edge to the tease, “or think you can manage, sweetheart?”
The nickname sent a jolt through Sirius’ chest, and he sucked in a breath, sharp but shaky.
He arched a brow, trying to muster the old sharpness, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “Thinking of undressing me again already, wolf?”
Remus’ breath hitched, his hands tightening slightly on Sirius’ hips — just for a heartbeat, before he forced himself to step back a little, as if afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop if he stayed too close.
But his gaze — his gaze never left Sirius, burning with something hungry and aching, like he wanted to kiss every inch of exposed skin and couldn’t let himself.
Sirius felt it, felt the pull in every inch of his body, and gods, he wanted to close that space between them, wanted to give in to it — but there was a weight on his chest, a reminder of everything else, everything broken.
Still, when he swayed again, Remus was there, hands immediately at his waist, holding him steady — firm but gentle, like Sirius was something precious, something he didn’t dare break.
“I’ve got you,” Remus whispered, voice softer now, like it was only for Sirius to hear.
Sirius’ throat tightened, and for a moment, he let himself lean in, resting his forehead against Remus’ shoulder.
“I know,” Sirius breathed back, quiet and raw. “I know.”
And for a moment, just a moment, it was enough to stand there, wrapped in each other’s space — wanting more, but knowing neither of them could afford it.
Not yet.
But gods, if they weren’t both thinking about it, burning in the space between every touch, every glance.
Once he was dressed — the shirt too loose, the trousers clinging low on his hips — Remus stepped back just slightly, eyes trailing over him slowly, almost hungrily, though there was softness there too.
“Damn,” Remus murmured, almost to himself. “You look… good like this.”
Sirius smirked, but his cheeks flushed faintly. “You saying I didn’t look good before?”
Remus chuckled. “You looked like something dangerous from a dream. Now you look like something real. Something that belongs here.”
The words made Sirius pause, something softening in his chest.
Remus turned toward the wall, pulling down a small, slightly cracked mirror and holding it out to Sirius.
“Here. Take a look for yourself.”
Sirius hesitated before reaching for it, hands careful.
When his eyes met his own reflection, he froze.
For a long moment, he just stared — at the pale skin, still marked faintly where scales had once shimmered; at the dark hair falling in loose waves around sharp cheekbones; at the clear blue eyes, shadowed with exhaustion but burning bright.
He looked… like himself. Like someone he had dreamed of being.
His throat tightened.
Remus watched him closely, stepping up behind him but not touching, giving him space.
“Well?” Remus murmured.
Sirius swallowed hard but let out a shaky breath, lips curling in a small, soft smile — rare and real.
“I think… I think I finally see who I’m meant to be,” Sirius whispered.
Remus reached out then, fingers brushing Sirius’ arm gently, grounding.
“And who’s that?”
Sirius turned slightly, eyes meeting Remus’, and there was something fierce in his gaze now — something alive.
“Someone who doesn’t want to run anymore,” Sirius said quietly. “Someone who’s… home.”
Remus’ breath caught.
For a moment, neither of them moved — just the soft creak of the ship around them, the sea beyond whispering its endless song.
Then, slowly, Remus smiled — small but real.
“Well,” he murmured. “Guess I’ll have to make sure you never leave, then.”
Sirius smirked, sharp and soft all at once. “Good luck, wolf.”
But neither of them really meant it as a challenge — because for the first time, they both knew Sirius had no intention of going anywhere.
And outside, the wind carried them forward — toward danger, toward fate — but in that small cabin, for a little while, there was peace.
When Sirius finally turned from the mirror, the flickering lantern light caught his features in a way that made Remus’ chest tighten, as though something sharp and beautiful had lodged itself deep between his ribs.
His hair was still wild, damp curls falling around his sharp cheekbones, framing a face that seemed carved from something finer than flesh — all sharp lines and soft shadows, a dangerous grace in every angle. The sea had shaped him, that much was clear. Like he had been born of salt and wind and moonlight, rather than bone and blood.
But now, dressed in Remus’ shirt — loose and falling slightly open at the collar, exposing the pale skin of his throat — and the trousers sitting low on narrow hips, Sirius looked really human.
Not tamed — never tamed. There was still wildness in him, still something sharp in the way he held himself, in the slight defiance of his chin, the glint in his pale eyes. But it was different now.
For the first time since Remus had dragged him onto that ship, Sirius looked like he belonged.
The faint glow from the lantern danced in his eyes, turning the sharp blue almost silver, and Remus couldn’t stop himself from staring — taking in every inch of him.
The elegant line of his throat, where Remus’ shirt hung loose.
The slope of his shoulders, too thin still, but strong beneath the fabric.
The way his hands — always graceful, long-fingered — hung at his sides, twitching slightly, like he wasn’t used to not having claws.
But more than that — it was his eyes.
There was something in them now that hadn’t been there before.
Not just the sharp glimmer of his siren blood, but something rawer. Softer.
Like for once, Sirius wasn’t hiding.
Like maybe, just maybe, he was allowing himself to be seen.
Remus swallowed, throat tight, chest rising and falling as though breathing suddenly took effort.
“You’re staring, wolf,” Sirius murmured, his voice softer than usual, but with that familiar edge of teasing.
But Remus caught the way his fingers twitched, the way Sirius’ own gaze darted away for a breath, like he wasn’t used to being looked at like this — like he was something precious.
“I am,” Remus whispered back, stepping closer.
And softer, lower — as though it was a secret:
“How could I not?”
Sirius’ lips twitched into a smirk, but there was color rising in his cheeks, faint and real.
And in that moment, standing there with barely a breath between them, Remus thought — Gods, I’ve already lost to him.
Not to a siren’s song.
Not to magic.
But to Sirius himself — to the way he looked now, fully in his skin, fully in Remus’ clothes, fully something real and untouchable all at once.
And Remus wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Sirius closer or fall to his knees before him — worship the miracle of what he was.
But instead, he only reached out, gently, carefully, brushing a stray curl from Sirius’ cheek, letting his fingers linger longer than they should.
“You’re…” Remus shook his head slightly, voice rough with something he didn’t want to name. “You’re more than I ever imagined.”
Sirius’ breath caught, sharp and soft.
And for the first time, there was no sharp reply, no teasing.
Just the two of them, standing close, breathing the same air, as though the whole world had gone quiet to let them feel.

Chapter Text

The sky had darkened by the time they reached the edge of the known seas, where no sailor dared to venture — not because of storms, but because the water itself was wrong.
The wind was sharp here, sharp enough to cut through skin, howling like a living thing. The sea churned black and silver beneath them, waves rising and falling in eerie silence, no crash, no song — like even the ocean held its breath in fear of this place.
There was no sun, no moon — just a heavy grey sky and clouds that moved as though alive, dragging dark fingers through the air. The light that did exist seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, pale and sickly.
Ahead, rising like some dead god’s hand reaching out of the ocean, was the tree.
At first, James thought it was a mast of a ruined ship, but as they drew closer, he realized — it was a twisted, gnarled tree, growing from the wreckage of a ship itself. Its roots had dug into the wood like claws, and from the high tangled branches, pieces of sails still hung, shredded and rotting. Rusted chains swung in the wind, creaking against the splintered beams of what had once been a proud vessel.
The tree grew through it all, twisting, blackened, almost as if it had been struck by lightning and lived.
James squinted at the massive shape as they sailed closer, his hand tightening on the wheel. “That’s her house?”
Remus stood at his side, arms crossed tight, eyes sharp and wary. "Looks like death itself."
Sirius was leaning heavily on the railing, wrapped in Remus' jacket, sharp eyes narrowed as he stared at the dark mass ahead. “I don’t like this,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tight. "This place... it knows things it shouldn’t."
The ship moaned under their feet, as if the sea itself was warning them not to go closer — but they had no choice.
As they docked — if you could call it that — the remnants of the shipwreck formed a kind of crumbling pier, half-fallen into the water, slick with algae that glowed faintly green. Even the wood here seemed alive, like it had eyes watching them.
The three men exchanged glances — James was the first to step off, boots echoing sharply against the broken wood. Sirius followed with a scowl, Remus close behind him, a steadying hand on Sirius' back.
Up above them, woven into the tree’s heart, was Sybill’s house.
It was a crooked tower, built from the remains of forgotten ships — weather-worn boards stacked haphazardly but holding strong, masts and sails tangled together to form walls that leaned with the weight of years and storms.
Parts of the hull still jutted out, splintered and scarred by salt and wind, pieces of dark wood patched with iron bands that rusted in long streaks, bleeding down the walls like old wounds.
Old ropes hung from the beams, some knotted, some frayed at the ends like they had been snapped in some violent storm. Lanterns swayed gently from the ropes, though there was no wind here, casting flickering circles of golden light across the damp boards.
Above, sails — or what was left of them — hung torn and tangled, like faded flags of ships long lost to the sea. They moved slightly, creaking as they caught the weight of the ocean air.
Windows, round like the eyes of a ship, were scattered along the tower's surface — glass fogged with sea mist, and some cracked like they had withstood more than just storms.
And from somewhere high in the tower, an old ship’s bell chimed softly, swaying with the shifting of the tide, though they were far from the sea’s reach.
The whole place loomed, leaning against the sky, heavy with forgotten magic — not alive, but watchful, as though it had seen too many things it would never speak of.
Candles floated lazily in the dark windows, their flames burning green and blue like underwater fire. Ropes hung from the branches, twisting in the wind, some holding cages that creaked and swayed, as if something was still trapped inside.
Above the door — if you could call it that — was a figurehead of an old ship, a woman carved in wood, but her face was wrong — her eyes seemed to follow them, her mouth parted in a silent scream.
Sirius stiffened as they reached the door. "Let’s get this over with."
Remus’ hand brushed his arm in silent comfort, though his own jaw was tight.
They didn’t knock.
There was no need.
The moment James touched the door — it opened itself.
And the world shifted.
Suddenly, they were inside — no crossing of a threshold, no walking in. One moment, the wind and sea screamed around them, and the next, they stood in a dim room that smelled of salt and candle smoke and something old, older than time.
It was like walking straight out of time — the stormy grey skies outside swallowed behind them as if the door had never existed, and now there was only a heavy, salt-stained stillness.
The walls creaked like ship timbers lost at sea, groaning and shifting.
Candles floated in the air, dripping wax that never hit the floor.
Mirrors lined the walls — but none of them showed reflections. Instead, they showed memories, things that hadn’t happened yet, faces they didn’t know, flashes of storms and blood and fire.
Shadows flickered in the corners — but there was no one there.
Sirius tensed, eyes sharp as knives. “This place is so wrong.” His voice was low, rough.
Remus stepped closer to him without thinking, shoulder brushing Sirius’, his hand ghosting close to Sirius’ waist like he couldn’t help himself.
James said nothing — his eyes were on the figure sitting at the round table in the center of the room.
Sybill.
She was already waiting — as though they were late to an appointment she knew they would make.
Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy and sharp all at once. Fingers covered in silver rings tapped slowly on a deck of cards in front of her, worn and frayed as if used for centuries.
“Oh,” she said, her voice light, but filled with something that made James’ skin crawl. “Here you are. Finally. I was wondering how long it would take you to get here. And not a moment too soon. Or too late? Hm. Hard to say.”
She tilted her head, gazing right through them.
Then she smiled, sharp and strange.
“Oh, but you shouldn’t stand so close together — the tension is enough to drown a man.”
Remus flushed deeply, taking a half-step away from Sirius without meaning to — and Sirius only smirked, sharp and wicked, but the tips of his ears turned pink.
James blinked at her, trying to gather himself.
“You’re Sybill Trelawney?” he asked finally, voice rough.
Her smile widened, dreamy and eerie. “Who else would I be?”
Her fingers twitched over the cards. “Now,” she said, eyes glinting, “let’s talk about what you want. And what it will cost you.”
Inside, the air smelled of wet wood and burnt herbs, thick with some magic, like the weight of too many years.
The room was vast but cluttered to the brim. Every available surface was covered in old maps, tattered books, cups half-filled with strange dark liquids, and candles burned nearly to the base. Smoke spiraled in lazy, thin trails toward the beams overhead. The walls, made of patched shipwreck timber, groaned softly as though holding back the sea itself.
Sybill was draped in layers of dark cloth — deep purples and seaweed greens, silver threads tangled like nets across her sleeves. Bracelets clinked softly at her thin wrists when she moved, heavy rings shining dully in the candlelight. Her hair was wild, long, salt-streaked, and tangled as though it hadn’t been brushed in years, falling over her shoulders like a storm itself.
But it was her eyes that struck hardest — sharp, gleaming grey, seeing through them like glass, unfocused and focused at once. Like she wasn’t entirely there — like she was staring into somewhere else beyond them.
She sat at a round table, her fingers turning over same cards, small shells, and what looked like shards of broken mirror. Everything on the table glinted strangely, as though they
James frowned, stepping forward, his hand resting on his belt, close to the hilt of his sword out of pure habit. “We came to ask for help. For someone.”
Sybill tilted her head. “You mean the boy who is drowning on dry land?” she asked softly.
Remus tensed, glancing at Sirius.
“You mean Regulus,” Sirius said, sharper than he meant to.
“Oh, names, names,” Sybill murmured, waving her hand as though they were nothing but wind. “What are names, when the tides have already turned against you?”
Remus stepped forward. “We need to know how to help him. How to stop this... this curse.”
Sybill’s eyes sharpened. “Ah. You want to undo what was never meant to be done.”
James leaned forward, anger bleeding into his voice. “You want to tell me why he’s dying, then?”
Sybill smiled. “You want to fix the wound, but you don’t know how it was made. You seek the Heart, but you do not understand the sea it was torn from.”
Silence fell like a stone.
And then, softly, Sybill began to speak — and this time, her voice was like the rise and fall of waves, smooth and endless and old as the sea itself.
“The sea was split,
The land was torn,
And love was the wound that bled them dry.
A child of both shall pay the price,
But the heart will not be won —
It must be returned, lest all be undone.”
James swallowed hard. “What child of both?”
Sybill only smiled at him, her fingers still turning the shards of glass. “You don’t know yet. But you will.”
Remus frowned. “So we can’t take the Heart?”
“Oh,” Sybill breathed, eyes distant. “You can take it. The question is... will you survive it?”
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, like the room itself had turned colder.
Then she looked at each of them in turn — and her voice grew sharp, as though she was seeing through them.
To James, her eyes narrowed.
"You will kneel at the water’s edge. And when you rise, you will never walk the land again.”
James stiffened. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
But Sybill had already turned to Remus, her head tilting as though seeing something beyond him.
“You’ll watch the tide take what’s yours, and you’ll wonder if he’ll ever come back.”
Remus' throat bobbed, jaw tight. Sirius reached toward him, but Sybill was already shifting her gaze to Sirius.
“You’ve always known the water is your home,” she whispered. “But now it’s not, is it?”
Sirius’ breath caught.
“A bird trapped in a cage,” Sybill went on softly. “But is it really locked?”
Sirius shook his head, anger and fear sparking in his chest. “I’m not going back.”
“Oh, but you might,” Sybill murmured, and something about the way she said it made him go cold.
Finally, she looked to James again, her eyes softening in a way that was somehow worse than all the riddles.
“You were never meant to be his. And yet, you always were.”
James blinked, the words hitting him like a fist to the gut, and suddenly all he could think about was Regulus — pale and broken in his arms.
Sybill tilted her head, her gaze sharpening suddenly, as if she had caught sight of something only she could see.
Her pale eyes, glassy and reflective like moonlight on still water, fixed on James — unblinking, cutting through him like a blade of mist.
For a long, breathless moment, she didn’t speak.
Then, almost a whisper, as though the words themselves might break the room:
"You..."
Her voice curled around him, soft and distant but laced with a strange reverence, a knowing that set the hairs on James' neck rising.
"You are not like them."
Her fingers, adorned with rings of tarnished silver and broken shells, twitched at her sides, and her eyes seemed to see through the years, past and future alike.
"You are of the old ones — the stormborn, the tidewalkers. The last breath of a dying sea."
James' chest tightened, a deep, strange pull stirring in his ribs, like the ghost of a current moving beneath his skin.
"What..." His voice cracked, and he swallowed before forcing it out steadier. "What do you mean?"
Sybill only smiled — a sharp, fragile thing, like she was peering over the edge of a cliff no one else could see.
There was something in her eyes that looked like pity. Like awe. Like fear.
"A child of winds and waves," she said softly. "A bloodline carved from the ocean’s first breath, meant to rule where sky kisses the sea. Meant to hold the storm in his hands."
The candlelight flickered wildly, casting shadows that stretched and curled like reaching hands, and still she stared, watching James like he was something precious and dangerous all at once.
From behind, Remus' voice broke the silence, low but sharp:
"What the hell is she talking about?"
For a moment, Sybill didn’t answer.
Then, slowly, she nodded, her hair catching the shifting light like thin threads of smoke.
"The last," she murmured. "The ocean's last hope and its greatest danger."
James blinked, a chill racing up his spine, even as something old and aching stirred in his chest — like hearing a song he never knew he’d known.
"But I’m just..." he started to say, but the words felt hollow even as he tried to speak them.
Sybill leaned closer, her voice dropping to something like a secret between them:
"When the sea calls, boy..."
Her smile faded into something softer, almost sad, almost fond.
"You’ll hear it. Whether you want to or not."
And James felt it, deep in his bones — like something vast and ancient shifting, waiting.
He swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from her pale eyes that seemed to know too much.
"You can’t run from tides that were born in your blood," she added, quieter still, like an afterthought — or a warning.
The room was silent, save for the soft creak of the floorboards and the faint whistle of wind slipping through the broken window panes, as if even the house itself was listening.
But Sybill wasn’t finished. Her gaze turned dark, her fingers pausing over something heavy on the table.
It was a book.
Old, bound in leather so cracked it looked like it would fall apart if breathed on too hard. Strange script curled over its cover — faded almost to nothing.
James couldn’t take his eyes off it. The thing seemed to hum, like the ocean itself pulsed inside.
Sybill saw his stare and smiled faintly. “Ah. The sea always calls to those it remembers.”
“What’s in that book?” James asked, voice tight.
“Truth,” Sybill said simply. “The truth you’ve been hunting without knowing.”
Sirius frowned. “And will it tell us how to save him?”
Sybill smiled sadly. “It will tell you why you cannot.”
Before they could speak again, the walls began to groan — the whole house shuddering, shadows flickering like waves.
“You’ve stayed long enough,” Sybill said quietly, standing now, her eyes gone almost white. “The sea is watching, and it grows restless.”
Then she spoke one final time, voice echoing like thunder:
"One must fall, one must rise—
One must live, but pay the price.
Blood for blood, love for love,
And once the Heart is in the sea…
The ocean will never be the same again."
The floor lurched under their feet — and before anyone could move, the door burst open behind them, and they were thrown backward into blinding sunlight and salt wind.
As the door slammed shut behind them, gone as though it had never existed, James sat up, heart pounding — and felt a weight in his bag.
He reached in and pulled out the book.
Remus stared. “James…?”
“I didn’t—” James shook his head, breathless. “I didn’t take it.”
But from inside, as though carried on the wind, Sybill’s voice drifted after them:
"You didn’t have to steal it, dear. It was always meant for you."
The wind howled around them, sea foam lashing at the rocks, but James just stared down at the ancient book in his hands. In the bag he also found some strange looking, and even stranger smelling, herbs and one vial of burgundy colored liquid. It was strange how he immediately knew that it was meant for his Regulus, maybe not to heal him completely but to ease his pain.

Chapter Text

The storm was still whispering over the waves when they climbed back onto the ship, but the deck was calm compared to the hurricane that had raged inside them before. The crew watched them return with wary glances — James cradling an ancient book as though it might shatter, and Remus holding Sirius close like a lifeline.
But James had no eyes for any of them — his steps were heavy and sure as he made his way straight for Regulus.
He found him where he had left him, in James' own cabin, pale as bone against the sweat-drenched sheets. His breath was shallow, like the tide barely clinging to the shore. The sight of him nearly buckled James’ knees.
Without a word, James knelt beside the bed, pulling the bag open. The vial of deep burgundy liquid gleamed in the dim candlelight, catching the gold like blood on glass. There was no hesitation in James’ hands as he uncorked it.
“Come on, love,” he whispered, voice raw and soft in a way Sirius and Remus had never heard before. “Come back to me.”
He slipped an arm beneath Regulus’ trembling shoulders, lifting him just enough to tip the vial carefully to his lips.
The effect was nearly instant.
Regulus' body, once tight with pain, slackened like a rope cut free. His breath, so ragged a moment ago, smoothed out, drawing long and steady. His lashes fluttered, but he did not wake — though now, at least, he slept without thrashing.
James sat back slowly, one hand lingering on Regulus’ chest, as if to be sure his heart still beat. He exhaled shakily.
“He’s breathing easier,” Remus said quietly from where he leaned in the doorway, Sirius tucked under his arm.
James didn’t look away from Regulus. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. “Yeah, he is.”
For a long moment, none of them spoke. Relief was a physical thing in the room — heavy and warm, as though they had all been holding their breath too long.
Finally, James stood. He turned to them, jaw tight, but his eyes softer. “Let’s see what that bloody witch gave us.”
They moved to the captain’s table, spreading the ancient book open like it was an altar. The leather groaned under James’ fingers, cracked and worn by salt and time. As the pages turned, a strange, shivering wind swept through the cabin — as though the sea itself were watching.
The first page was written in an ancient script — twisting letters that seemed to pulse and shift as if alive. But as James dragged his fingers over the surface, the words bled into understanding, rearranging themselves in ink-dark letters that glowed faintly blue.
Remus and Sirius leaned close, peering over James' shoulders.
"The Book of the Lost Sea" the title read, "The True History of the War of the Depths."
And beneath that, in smaller letters:
"Written in blood, carried in salt. For the child who will one day kneel before the sea."
James' hand trembled slightly as he turned the next page.
The Legend unfolded like a storm:
“In the beginning, the sea was whole. A kingdom shared — between those of the waves, and those who walked between water and sky.
The Sirens — daughters and sons of the deepest trenches — who sang to the moon and shaped the tides.
The Thalassari— children of sky and sea, who could walk both the earth and swim the currents, bound to neither, free to both.
But love, as ever, does not heed law."
The image carved into the parchment was of two figures meeting under moonlight — one with a long flowing tail, the other standing on the shore, hand outstretched.
“A siren and a thalassari. They met beneath the waves and wove love out of salt and wind.
Together, they found the truth — that their magic, when joined, could command the Heart of the Sea, the source from which all ocean power was born.
But love breeds fear in gods. And the gods, fearing what such unity could mean, whispered poison into their children’s ears.
'One day,' they said, 'the sirens will drown the land.'
'One day,' they said, 'the thalassari will steal the sea.'
And thus, the war began."
James’ throat was dry as he turned another page, the pictures growing darker.
"The ocean ran red with blood.
Lovers turned to enemies.
Those who had once sung together beneath the waves now tore at each other with tooth and claw.
In the final battle, as the Heart was seized between them, the gods struck down their children.
They tore the ocean’s children apart.
Sirens were bound to the sea — never again to touch the shore.
The Thalassari were exiled to land — their ties to the water severed, their bodies slowly losing the ocean's grace.
And the Heart, pulsing with broken magic, was hidden in a place neither land nor sea."
The final page showed a carving of the Heart, pulsing between waves and cliffs, guarded by a figure kneeling — crowned in shadows.
And beneath it:
"But one day, the blood will return — when sky and sea meet again.
Not one child, but two — of land and of wave.
Only together shall they kneel before the sea.
Only together shall the curse be broken."
The room was utterly silent as the last words glimmered across the page.
Sirius was pale, Remus’ eyes wide with something between awe and sorrow.
And James — James sat back, staring at the book like it might burn him.
“It’s us,” he said finally, voice rough.
Remus blinked. “What?”
James looked between them — to Sirius, to the door where Regulus slept beyond.
“It’s me,” he said, swallowing hard, “and him.”
Sirius’ brows furrowed. “Regulus?”
James nodded.
“A siren and a thalassari’s blood.” His voice wavered. "Two halves of what was broken."
He ran a hand through his damp curls, eyes distant.
"It was never meant to be one person. It was always meant to be two."
The realization settled heavy and sharp in the room — undeniable as the sea crashing against the ship’s hull.
"We were never meant to take the Heart," James whispered. "We were meant to return it."
Remus leaned forward, hands gripping the table. "And break the curse."
James nodded, gaze hardening.
"Together."
Behind them, a faint, soft breath stirred — and they turned to see Regulus, still pale, but his breathing steady, as though some distant part of him had heard and was waiting.
Waiting for James to come back for him.
Waiting for them to finish what had been broken long ago.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The ship groaned softly as it sailed on steady waves, the night sky heavy above them, salted wind stirring the tattered sails. The moon, pale and bruised, hung low — a thin sliver of light barely cutting through the darkness that stretched in every direction.
In the captain’s cabin, lanterns flickered, casting a muted golden glow over the small room. The walls creaked softly as if whispering to themselves.
James sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, one hand absently running over the spine of the ancient book they had brought from Sybill's house, fingers tracing its worn leather like it held the answers to everything.
On the bed, Regulus lay pale but breathing easier. His sharp, delicate face was turned toward the window, silver moonlight washing over his skin. His eyes were closed, long lashes dark against his cheeks, and for a moment, James just watched him — watched the way his chest rose and fell, slow and shallow, but steady now.
The strange burgundy liquid Sybill had given them had worked, or at least, it was helping. Regulus was no longer thrashing in fevered dreams. His breath didn’t rattle like before. James had been sitting at his side since they left the cursed island, refusing to leave him, even when Remus insisted he get some rest.
Suddenly, a soft sound — like a sigh caught in the throat — pulled James from his thoughts. Regulus stirred, brows furrowing slightly as his fingers twitched against the rumpled sheets.
"Reg?" James leaned in, his voice soft but sharp with hope.
Regulus' lashes fluttered, and he blinked up at the ceiling as though unsure of where he was. His throat worked on a swallow, pale lips parting.
"...James?" His voice was raw, weak but there.
Relief flooded James' chest like a crashing wave. He smiled, the kind of smile he didn’t let anyone see — tired and soft and a little broken.
“Yeah,” James said gently, reaching out to touch Regulus' shoulder, feeling the sharpness of bone beneath skin. "Yeah, I'm here."
Regulus turned his head slowly to look at him, something vulnerable and confused in his gaze. "Where…?"
"On the ship. You're safe," James whispered, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "You’re alright. For now."
Regulus let out a soft breath, like he couldn’t quite believe it. His body was still trembling faintly from weakness, but when James reached to adjust the pillow and help him sit up a bit, Regulus didn’t resist.
He let James guide him, even leaned into the warmth of James’ hands as they steadied him, moving carefully, gently, as if Regulus might break.
"I've got you," James said quietly, his hand lingering at Regulus’ back for longer than necessary, steadying him as he sat upright against the headboard.
Regulus swallowed hard, breath shaky. "You should… hate me."
James stilled for a heartbeat, eyes searching Regulus’ pale face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, his hollowed eyes that still gleamed with something fierce.
"I don’t," James said softly, and something in his voice — something real and aching — made Regulus’ throat tighten.
James reached for the book, flipping it open carefully, setting it on Regulus’ lap, but he stayed close, one arm braced behind him in case he swayed.
"I want to show you something," James murmured.
Regulus glanced down, frowning slightly, thin fingers ghosting over the aged pages. Symbols and script stared back at them — old siren marks, lines that glowed faintly when the lantern light shifted.
James leaned in closer, voice low.
"This book… it has the truth," James whispered. "About all of this. About the Heart. The curse. About you."
Regulus turned his head slightly, sharp eyes narrowing. "Me?"
"And me," James added, voice softer now, heavy with something he hadn’t fully admitted to himself until Sybill said it out loud. "About what we are."
Regulus blinked, confused, but James gently turned the pages until he found the passage — the legend itself, carved into the old book like a wound that never healed.
"They were one people," James began reading, voice quiet in the dim cabin, words trembling like the ship in the waves. "Sirens and… Thalassari."
Regulus stilled. "Thalassari?" He echoed the word like it tasted strange on his tongue.
"My people," James murmured, glancing sideways at him. "The last of them."
He kept reading, his finger trailing over the words. "They lived together. Ruled the sea together. But then they were torn apart… because of love and fear."
Regulus' breath hitched, and James looked up, meeting his eyes.
"It was a siren and a thalassari. And when they tried to claim the Heart together, the gods cursed them. Cursed all of us."
Regulus stared at him, something sharp and vulnerable twisting across his face, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.
"And it says," James added, softer now, his throat tight, "that only when the blood of both walks into the Heart again… will the curse be broken."
Silence hung heavy between them, thick as the storm clouds outside.
Regulus blinked slowly, eyes wide and stunned. "You think…?"
James swallowed hard. "I think it’s us. You — siren. Me — thalassari."
Regulus looked away, jaw tight, but his hands on the book trembled.
James reached out, covering Regulus’ hand gently, grounding him.
"We’re going back," James whispered. "We’re going to break it. Together."
For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak. His gaze stayed on the book, on James’ hand over his own, on the flicker of the lantern's light.
When he finally looked up, there was something softer in his eyes — something James hadn’t seen before.
"I…" Regulus began, voice hoarse. "I never thought anyone would… fight for me."
James smiled, but it was sad, a little bitter. "You don’t have to fight alone anymore."
Regulus swallowed, leaning a bit closer — whether from weakness or something else, James couldn’t tell.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, breathing in time with the creak of the ship.
And Regulus let himself look. Really look.
For once, he didn’t fight it — didn’t build walls between himself and the feeling that had been creeping up on him since the first day James Potter touched him like he was something fragile and worth protecting, not a tool to be used or a curse to be pitied.
He let his gaze linger on James — on the way soft lantern light caught the golden strands of his hair, messy and wind-tossed, always like he had just walked through a storm and hadn't bothered to fix it. On the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes that made him look tired and far older than his years, and on the way his mouth was set, like every word he wanted to say to Regulus was too heavy to speak aloud.
And his hands — gods, those hands. Strong and calloused from sword and rope, but gentle when they touched him, as though James was afraid Regulus might break. No one had ever touched him like that. Not his family. Not his people. Not anyone.
Regulus felt a quiet ache settle deep into his chest — sharp, aching, like a bruise blooming under his ribs.
For all the things he had told himself — Don't feel. Don't want. Don't hope. — none of it mattered now.
Because he was dying. He could feel it, like something gnawing at his insides, hollowing him out from the bones. And knowing that, knowing his time was running thin, gave him a strange, painful kind of freedom.
If he was going to fade away, if this was all the time he had left — why fight it? Why hold back?
So he let himself fall — fall into the feeling that had been clawing at him every time James looked at him like he mattered.
He let himself notice how James' eyes softened when they lingered on him too long, how his hands trembled just slightly when he helped Regulus sit up, as if he cared more than he should.
He let himself lean into the warmth of James' hand, resting against his back, grounding him.
He let himself think — If things were different... if I weren’t dying... would he love me back?
The thought was dangerous. It burned in his throat like saltwater, but he didn’t chase it away.
Instead, Regulus swallowed the ache, leaned his head back against the headboard, and just watched James. Letting himself drown in the quiet, unspoken thing stretching between them.
There was a kind of peace in it. Bitter, yes, but real.
Because if this was all he would have — this moment, this closeness, James’ hand steady on his own — he would take it. He would let himself feel every crack and shatter of it.
He would let himself love James, even if James would never know.
Even if it was too late.
And as James leaned closer, showing him the book, talking about curses and legends and hopes for a future Regulus didn’t believe he could reach, Regulus didn’t look at the pages.
He looked at James.
And thought, If I had more time, I would have loved you properly. Fiercely. Completely.
But instead, he just nodded softly, let James’ voice wash over him, and allowed himself to feel that love in secret, like a quiet rebellion against the fate that was waiting for him.
He felt the warmth of James’ arm brushing his own, the way James held him steady like he’d never let him fall, and Regulus leaned just slightly into him, like he could borrow that strength for a little longer.
And when James turned his head to glance at him, giving him that tired, lopsided smile that always felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, Regulus felt himself fall all over again.
If only there was more time.
But he would take this moment.
Because it was his.
For now.

Chapter Text

The night stretched endlessly around them, thick as ink, the moon nothing but a pale smear behind heavy clouds. The sea lay still and black, as though holding its breath — no wind, no waves, just that tense, waiting silence that seemed to weigh on every inch of The Stag’s Vow.
From where James sat on the quarterdeck, the ship groaned quietly beneath him, timbers creaking with every gentle sway. His back rested against the mast, arms loosely wrapped around Regulus, who lay slumped against his chest, his skin pale in the moonlight, dark lashes fanned against cheeks far too hollow.
James pressed a damp cloth to Regulus’ forehead, gently wiping the sheen of cold sweat that clung to his skin. Every now and then, his hand would shift to brush back tangled strands of damp hair, fingers lingering like he couldn’t quite let go.
The night air was damp and cool, but James felt feverish with worry. His thumb brushed over Regulus' knuckles, holding his limp hand as though he could anchor him there.
"You’re alright," James whispered, voice low and rough. "You’re still here, Reg. You’re still here."
He glanced down when Regulus stirred faintly, a soft, broken sound in his throat, but didn’t wake. James swallowed hard, his chest aching like something was trying to break free inside him.
At a distance, Remus leaned against the railing, elbows braced, watching the horizon where only darkness loomed. His eyes, sharp and tired, kept flickering between the sea and James holding Regulus — a quiet weight in them, as though he was holding back too much for too long.
Sirius sat at his side, legs dangling off the rail, shirt half open, pale skin gleaming under the weak moon. His dark hair was damp from sea spray, sticking to his temples, and his fingers toyed absently with a small silver ring — twisting it around and around like a nervous tic.
The air between them was thick — not with words, but with all the things they weren’t saying.
James glanced up finally, catching Remus' gaze. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
And then James broke the silence, voice low and tight.
"We’re almost there."
Remus exhaled a breath through his nose, glancing at Regulus before looking back at James.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Almost."
James’ jaw tightened. His eyes drifted to Sirius, who was watching him too now, something sharp and unreadable in those storm-grey eyes.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," James said slowly, his voice like stone grinding, "you stay with him, Moony. You don’t leave him."
Remus straightened slightly, his mouth a thin line. "And you’ll stay with Regulus."
James nodded once, firm. His hand brushed over Regulus’ arm, as though he could somehow hold him there with that single touch.
"You know I will."
For a while, the ship creaked and groaned, water lapping against her sides, but none of them moved.
The sky above was churning, clouds racing like beasts in the windless sky, and the moon kept slipping in and out, throwing pale silver light that danced on the waves like broken glass.
Finally, Sirius broke the silence, voice sharp but soft, like it cost him to speak.
"You really love him, don’t you?"
James didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He only brushed a hand through Regulus' damp hair, his fingers trembling slightly.
"Yeah."
Sirius' jaw tensed. For a moment, James thought he might say something, but then Sirius looked away, back out to sea.
"It’s funny," Sirius murmured, mostly to himself. "You, a pirate. Him, a siren. The whole world built to keep you apart."
Remus looked over at him sharply, but Sirius kept his eyes on the water, the moon reflecting pale in his gaze.
James’ voice was soft, but full of steel.
"Let the world burn if it has to."
A ghost of a smile touched Sirius’ lips, but it was sad, like the sea at night — vast and empty.
The wind stirred then, a soft breeze that ruffled James’ curls, and Regulus shifted slightly in his arms, murmuring something too low to catch.
James looked down, smiling faintly, his heart twisting. He adjusted Regulus, holding him closer, one hand rubbing gently over his back.
"Rest, Reg. I’ve got you."
And as he said it, his heart ached with the weight of what was coming.
Remus watched them both for a long moment, something softening in his eyes — something that looked too much like grief for James to bear seeing.
Finally, James glanced back up at Remus.
"Whatever happens, Moony…" he started, but his throat closed around the words.
Remus only nodded. "I know."
James swallowed thickly, and for a long time, they stayed like that — four broken pieces of a crew, holding on to each other while the storm they couldn’t yet see built on the horizon.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The door to Remus’ cabin clicked shut behind them, muffling the whisper of the wind and waves outside.
Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the scent of salt and smoke and something softer — something that was just him. A small lantern swung gently from a hook in the ceiling, casting soft, golden light over the dark wood walls.
Sirius stood near the bunk, arms crossed loosely over his chest, bare feet on the creaking floorboards, shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled halfway up. His hair, long and dark, tumbled in wild waves over his shoulders.
Remus leaned against the door for a moment, watching him, arms folded tight, as if he wasn’t sure whether to speak or keep pretending nothing was there.
It was Sirius who broke the silence — voice sharp, but not enough to hide the way it wavered.
"You didn’t have to give me that look, back there."
Remus blinked, caught off guard, then frowned slightly.
"What look?"
Sirius turned, glaring, though his eyes were softer than the words.
"When I said pirates and sirens were never meant to be together. Like I broke something by saying it."
Remus stared at him, breath catching for a beat too long.
"Maybe you did," he said softly.
Sirius’ jaw twitched, a muscle jumping as he glanced away, arms tightening across his chest.
"I wasn’t trying to... I just—" he exhaled hard, running a hand through his damp hair. "It’s easier if I don’t believe in things I can’t have, alright?"
Remus pushed off from the door, stepping closer, slow and careful.
"And what is it you think you can’t have?"
Sirius laughed, but there was no real humor in it.
"This," he muttered, gesturing vaguely between them, like it was a weight he couldn’t hold. "You."
Remus’ face softened, but his eyes stayed sharp, cutting right to the truth.
"Sirius—"
But Sirius shook his head, stepping away, pacing like a caged thing.
"You don’t understand," he said, voice fraying at the edges. "What is this legs i`ve got are temporary? What if the second sea water touches my skin I will be that again? And I will never be able to turn back…"
Remus swallowed thickly, watching him.
"You think I don’t know fear?"
Sirius stopped pacing, turning to face him, eyes blazing but wet.
"You don’t know this fear. You don’t know what it’s like to finally have something — to finally be something — and know it can be ripped away the moment you touch the sea again. To lose this... this body, this chance to choose who I am."
Remus took a slow step closer.
"You think I don’t fear losing you?" he said, voice low but shaking. "You think I don’t wake up in the middle of the night wondering if the next time you slip, the sea’s gonna take you back and I’ll never see you again?"
Sirius froze, breathing sharp, chest rising and falling fast.
"You didn’t have to look at me like that," Sirius whispered again, softer now. "Like you were afraid to let me go."
Remus let out a soft, shaky breath and stepped even closer, barely a hand’s span between them now.
"That`s because I am," he said quietly. "Because I don’t want to let you go, Sirius."
The air between them felt like a storm about to break — charged, heavy, waiting.
"Remus..." Sirius’ voice cracked slightly, and Remus reached up, hand cupping Sirius’ jaw, thumb brushing over the sharp line of his cheek.
"Even if something happens…I will not let you go," Remus whispered, voice trembling but sure. "I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you."
Sirius’ eyes fluttered closed for a second, leaning into the touch like he couldn’t help it.
When he opened them again, they burned like silver fire.
"You promise?"
"I swear it," Remus breathed.
And when Sirius surged forward to kiss him, it was sharp and desperate, lips crashing into Remus’, hands fisting in his shirt like if he let go, Remus would vanish.
Remus groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding to Sirius’ waist, pulling him in. His other hand tangled into Sirius' hair, holding him there like he never wanted to let go.
The kiss was rough at first — sharp teeth, harsh breath, anger and longing tangled together — but then it slowed, softened, became something trembling and tender.
Sirius whimpered softly when Remus’ hands traced over his hips, thumbs grazing the bones there, like Remus was memorizing every inch of him.
"You’re real," Remus whispered against Sirius’ lips. "You’re here. With me."
"For now," Sirius breathed, voice breaking, but Remus shook his head, pressing soft kisses to the corner of Sirius’ mouth, his jaw, his throat.
"For as long as you want me."
Sirius let out a shuddering breath, leaning fully into Remus, resting his forehead against the other man’s shoulder.
"What if I want forever?"
Remus' hands tightened around him, holding him close.
"Then we’ll fight for forever."
They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, as the sea whispered outside, as the ship rocked gently under them.
Sirius’ breath evened out, his head resting on Remus’ shoulder, and Remus held him like a man holding something he’d fight the whole world to keep.
"We’ll figure it out, love," Remus murmured, kissing the crown of Sirius’ head. "I’m not losing you to the sea. Not now. Not ever."
And in that soft, golden light, the storm they both carried was quiet for a little while — and all that remained was the sharp, aching want neither of them dared fully name yet.

Chapter Text

The first pale light of dawn cracked over the endless, silver-black waves, turning them into molten steel as The Stag's Vow cut through the water, cutting a determined path toward the looming shape of the rock.
It rose from the sea like the spine of some ancient, drowned beast — jagged, black, dripping with mist. The morning fog coiled thickly around its base, veiling the entrance to the cave that had swallowed them before.
James stood at the edge of the deck, Regulus cradled in his arms, the younger man’s head resting against James’ shoulder, pale and feverish, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
The closer they came, the worse Regulus seemed to get — like the Heart was pulling his life away the nearer they sailed.
Behind James, Remus tightened the straps of his sword belt, jaw set, eyes hard. Sirius stood beside him, silent but sharp-eyed, the wind pulling at his hair, the salt spray clinging to his skin.
No one said a word.
They were past words now.
The crew — watching from the shadows of the ship, wide-eyed and whispering — knew this wasn’t about treasure anymore.
It was about life and death.
About saving Regulus.
About ending a curse.
As they drew near, the waves hit the rock with low, heavy crashes — like something breathing beneath them.
James adjusted his grip on Regulus as the gangplank scraped against the black stone. Regulus stirred faintly, a soft sound of pain leaving his lips, and James bent close, whispering,
"Just a little longer, love. Hold on."
Remus and Sirius were already moving ahead, stepping onto the slick stone, blades at their hips, sharp eyes watching the swirling mists.
The entrance gaped open before them, a jagged maw in the rock.
Without another word, James followed, carrying Regulus into the dark.
The air hit them like a wave — thick, heavy, cold, tasting of salt and something old, like forgotten storms.
Water dripped steadily from the walls, forming narrow rivulets that gleamed silver in the dim light. The stone steps spiraled down, slick with moss and sea-wet, treacherous underfoot.
James moved carefully, keeping Regulus close to his chest, whispering soft reassurances under his breath, though his own heart pounded like a war drum.
Sirius was ahead, leading the way.
Remus kept close to James, hand on his arm every time he stumbled slightly on the slick path.
"We're close," Remus murmured low.
And James could feel it too — the pulse in the stone, like the cave itself was alive, the same heavy rhythm as Regulus’ failing heartbeat.
The path opened suddenly, widening into that vast chamber with the swirling black pool.
It hadn’t changed.
If anything, the water churned more violently, as if it sensed their return.
"We don’t have time," James hissed, adjusting Regulus. "He won’t make it if we don’t hurry."
"Then we cross the same way," Remus said, stepping to the edge, eyes narrowed at the water that lapped hungrily at the stone.
James' jaw set. "You’ll take point. Sirius will cover behind. I’ll go in the middle with Regulus."
"You sure you can handle that?" Sirius asked, sharp but concerned.
James just gave a thin smile. "Try and stop me."
Remus stepped onto the first slick stone. It held.
He moved to the next, James following, clutching Regulus close, feeling every breath the man took like it was a thread ready to snap.
Halfway across, the water lashed out again — tendrils of black liquid whipping at them, reaching for Regulus like it knew what he was.
Remus snarled, swinging his sword, cutting the water back with sharp, hissing slashes.
"Keep moving, James!" he snapped.
James grit his teeth and pushed forward, slipping once but catching himself before they fell, holding Regulus tighter.
"Almost there," Remus called over his shoulder. "Keep going!"
As the tendrils struck again, Sirius took the brunt of it, hissing as one lashed across his side, but he stood firm, cutting again and again.
Finally, they reached the other side, and James stumbled onto solid ground, chest heaving, as Remus and Sirius turned to stand guard between them and the pool.
"Not over yet," Remus panted, but James was already moving forward, cradling Regulus close as they hurried deeper into the cave.
The next room was darker — walls glistening like wet glass, and mirrors lined the space, reflecting twisted versions of themselves back at them.
James glanced around, tension rising in his chest.
And then —
The mirrors rippled.
Figures stepped out of them — shadows that looked exactly like them.
James, Remus, Sirius… even Regulus — but cold, cruel, darker.
"Oh, bloody hell," Sirius muttered, eyes wide.
"Seems like it," Remus growled, sword drawn.
James’ eyes darted between them and the pale, fevered figure in his arms.
"I can’t fight and carry him," he breathed, frustration sharp in his throat.
Sirius turned sharply, eyes burning. "Then run, James. You get him to the Heart. We’ll hold them off."
Remus nodded, already stepping between James and the doppelgangers.
"We’ve got this. Go."
James hesitated for a heartbeat, but when Regulus stirred weakly against him — "Ja... James..." — he knew what he had to do.
He gently set Regulus down just enough to pull his sword free, and threw it, hilt-first, to Sirius, who caught it with a sharp grin.
"Watch my back," James whispered, voice breaking slightly.
"Always," Sirius called.
James scooped Regulus back into his arms, turning as the fight broke loose behind him — steel on steel, furious and wild.
Remus was already lunging at his own double, blades clashing, sparks flying. Sirius met his reflection with a snarl, sword swinging in wide, vicious arcs.
James ran.
Through the shadows and the dripping walls, his heart pounding, Regulus a dead weight in his arms — but he would carry him to the ends of the world if that’s what it took.
"Hold on," James murmured, breathless as he reached the next twisting corridor. "We’re almost there."
Behind him, the sound of swords crashing and snarls echoed, the light of steel flashing off wet walls — and James didn’t look back.
Because ahead, somewhere beyond the dark, the Heart of the Sea waited.
And James would tear the ocean itself apart to save the man in his arms.
The chamber was silent when James finally stumbled inside — the sound of his boots echoing in the vast emptiness, water dripping steadily from the stone above.
At the center, the Heart of the Sea pulsed, pale and cold, glowing softly like a ghost’s breath. It spun slowly above a black pedestal, hovering in the air, threads of mist swirling from its center like a wound that would never close.
James was gasping for breath, soaked with sweat and sea spray, holding Regulus close to his chest as though afraid to let go — as though if he did, Regulus would slip right through his fingers and be gone.
"We're here. We're here, Reg, please — hold on."
He sank to his knees in front of the Heart, laying Regulus down gently, cradling his head in his lap.
"Regulus," James whispered, his voice cracking, running shaking fingers through Regulus' damp hair. "We made it. You have to hold on now. Please. Just a little longer."
But Regulus barely stirred, eyes half-lidded, breath so faint it was like he was already halfway gone. His skin was pale as moonlight, lips tinged with blue, his body too weak to fight anymore.
"Stay with me," James whispered, leaning close, forehead pressing to Regulus’. "You don’t get to give up. You don’t get to leave me."
The chamber loomed around them — vast, endless, and echoing with the pulse of the Heart of the Sea, hovering in its cage of shadows and pale light.
"Regulus," James whispered, voice raw and shaking, as he reached up to brush damp hair from Regulus' pale face.
"Regulus, wake up. Please — please, love, open your eyes."
But Regulus’ eyes fluttered weakly and stayed closed. His breathing — what little was left — came in faint, rattling gasps, as though each one might be the last.
"Look at me," James begged, pressing his forehead to Regulus’ temple. "Don’t do this. Don’t leave me."
For a long, painful moment, nothing.
Then Regulus stirred, just a faint twitch of his fingers where James gripped his hand — and James nearly broke in half from the relief and terror crashing together in his chest.
"Reg?" he whispered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.
Regulus' eyelids fluttered open, just a crack. His gaze was glassy, distant, but for a moment, he focused on James — like he wanted to carve the memory of him into his soul.
"...James," Regulus whispered, his voice so thin, so broken, like it was tearing him apart just to speak.
James shook his head desperately. "No. No, don’t say it like that." His hand cupped Regulus’ cheek, thumb trembling against his cold skin. "You’re gonna be alright. You’ll see. We’ll fix this."
But Regulus smiled faintly, a soft, heartbreaking thing that felt like the world ending.
"You’re… so stubborn," he breathed, eyes half-lidded, a tear slipping down his pale cheek.
James let out a choked, shattered laugh. "Yeah, well... you make me that way."
Silence fell again, thick and heavy as the sea around them.
Regulus’ breath hitched, and he coughed weakly, every sound cutting through James like a knife.
"I need to say this," Regulus whispered, his voice trembling, close to breaking.
James shook his head, tears sliding freely down his cheeks now. "No. No, you don’t. Save your strength. Please, Regulus, please."
But Regulus reached up with trembling fingers, brushing James’ jaw, and James leaned into the touch like it would be the last thing anchoring him to this world.
"I love you," Regulus whispered, voice breaking, tears sliding down his cheeks now too. "Gods… I love you. So much. I never thought I'd say it — never thought I could. But I do. And I’m… I’m so grateful you found me. Even if I’m too broken to keep."
"Stop," James gasped, grabbing Regulus' hand and holding it to his chest. "Stop saying that — I’m gonna fix this. You’re gonna be okay."
But Regulus' eyes were already fluttering shut. His breath shuddered — and then stopped.
"Regulus?" James’ voice cracked sharply. "Reg—?"
Nothing.
The sound that tore out of James' throat was pure agony, a raw, wordless cry as he pulled Regulus close, clutching him like if he held tighter, he could force life back into him.
"Don’t do this to me," James sobbed, rocking him. "Don’t you dare. You promised me, Regulus. You promised—!"
He buried his face in Regulus’ neck, body wracked with shuddering sobs.
"Please," he whispered, desperate. "Please, gods, please. Take me instead. Anything. Just bring him back. I’ll do anything."
The cave began to groan, a deep, ancient sound, like something in its walls was stirring, shifting.
And James didn’t care. He held Regulus tighter, as water began to seep up from the floor — a slow, rising tide glowing faintly with blue-white light.
The Heart of the Sea began to pulse harder — faster, brighter, like it was waking for the first time in centuries.
"Please," James whispered, tears falling into Regulus’ hair. "Don’t take him. Take me. Let him live."
The water rose to his knees, swirling cold around him, then to his waist, glowing as it wrapped around them.
"Please," James sobbed, "please…"
Up to his chest now, and James didn’t even care. He clung to Regulus as though he could shield him from the rising tide with his body alone.
"Take me instead," James whispered, over and over, until the words cracked and broke.
The Heart flared, light blinding, and the water surged higher — pulling James under.
And as the water closed over his head, he gasped — and realized he could breathe.
His eyes shot open — wide and panicked — but he was breathing. His heart thundered, and his arms tightened around Regulus’ lifeless body, still glowing faintly in his arms.
Then, the water shimmered, as a figure rose from the depths — a woman of light and sea, her body fluid like the waves, her hair floating in strands of darkness and silver.
Her eyes were deep as the abyss, and when she looked at James, it felt like she saw every broken piece of his soul.
"You would give everything for him?" she said, her voice soft but powerful, echoing through the water like a song from the depths.
"Yes," James whispered, hoarse, tears still slipping down his face. "Anything. Please. Just let him live."
Her eyes, dark and ancient, gleamed with something like sorrow.
"Then you must give the sea what it asks."
James swallowed, his arms tightening around Regulus, but he nodded. "What do you want? Take it."
She drifted closer, a hand cupping his cheek, cool and soft.
"Your life on land. You will belong to the sea. Forever."
James froze, breath shaking — thoughts flickering to Sirius, Remus, their crew — but then his gaze fell back to Regulus, and his heart shattered all over again.
If it meant saving him, James would give everything.
"I accept," he whispered. "Take me. Please, take me. Just bring him back."
The goddess smiled, sad and soft.
"So it shall be."
Light exploded around them, fierce and blinding, and James felt the ocean rush into him, through his veins, his bones, his soul.
He clutched Regulus tightly as the world fell away.
And then—
Nothing. Darkness took him.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The air in the mirror chamber was thick, heavy like the weight of a coming storm pressing against the walls.
Sirius was on one knee, panting hard, his sword dripping with something too dark to be called just "reflection." His shirt clung to his chest, torn and stained with streaks of blood, some his, some not. His chest heaved, every breath scraping at his throat.
A long cut ran down his left arm, the sleeve torn open to the skin, the blood sluggish now, but still weeping. His fingers trembled, from strain or pain — maybe both.
Across from him, Remus leaned against the slick stone wall, his sword arm trembling with every breath, blood running down from a deep gash in his side, soaking the hem of his shirt dark. His face was pale, jaw tight, lips pressed together so hard they were white. His other hand, slick with blood, pressed tightly to his ribs to keep himself upright.
Between them, the shattered mirror lay in ruins, shards scattered like ice on the stone floor, some still catching and bending the dim light of the cave. Their reflections were gone, but the bloodied remains of their doppelgangers lay sprawled, lifeless now, like broken shadows.
It was over.
But the silence that followed wasn’t peace — it was the kind that comes before a storm breaks.
Sirius' breathing was ragged as he wiped his face with a shaking hand. "Remind me," he rasped, voice rough as gravel, "to never pick a fight with you again, wolf."
Remus let out a breathless, humorless laugh, though his chest ached with every word. "Right back at you."
They both leaned against opposite walls, swords lowered but still in hand, as though they didn’t dare let them go yet.
And then—
A sound like the earth groaning itself filled the air.
The stones shuddered beneath their feet, a deep vibration that rattled the shards of glass across the floor.
Remus' eyes shot up to the ceiling as a fine dust of stone and sand rained down on them.
"What now…" he breathed, straightening painfully, sword rising again though his arm shook with the effort.
Sirius was slower to rise, one hand bracing against his thigh as he pushed himself to stand. But the moment he found his feet, his entire body froze —
Because at the far end of the chamber, where the shadows gathered thickest, water was starting to seep in, curling over the edge of the stone floor like fingers reaching for them.
At first, it was a thin sheet, barely noticeable — but then it began to spread, too fast, too hungry, glimmering under the faint light like black glass.
Remus stiffened, but Sirius —
Sirius paled to the color of ash.
"No…"
Remus turned sharply to him, watching as Sirius took a step back from the advancing tide, his whole body shaking now — but this wasn’t exhaustion. It was terror.
"Sirius?" Remus asked carefully, moving closer, though every step made his ribs scream. "What is it?"
But Sirius was staring at the water like it was a beast with teeth.
"If it touches me…" Sirius breathed, voice so low and broken it barely carried over the sound of dripping water. "If it touches me, I’ll turn back. I’ll lose this—" he gestured weakly at himself, at his human form, the shirt torn and sticking to his skin, pants clinging to his legs. "I’ll lose it all. I won’t… I won’t be able to come back."
Remus’ heart squeezed tight.
"I can't touch it, Remus. I can't—"
"I know," Remus said quickly, stepping right in front of him, grabbing his arms, holding Sirius steady even as the other man trembled under his hands. "I know. Listen to me—"
Sirius’ eyes snapped to his, wide and dark and full of raw fear.
"You need to go," Remus said, voice soft but firm. "Go back to the ship. I’ll get James and Regulus."
"But—"
"Sirius," Remus cut him off, and his voice wavered, but he tightened his grip. "Please. You need to be safe. I’ll find them. I’ll bring them back. But I can’t do that if I’m worrying about you too."
Sirius shook his head, jaw trembling, eyes wet and furious. "Don’t make me leave you."
"You have to."
There was a pause — a breathless, terrible pause — and then Sirius surged forward, grabbing Remus' face and crashing their mouths together.
The kiss was desperate and rough, tasting of blood and fear and everything they hadn't said — Sirius’ fingers tangled in Remus' hair, pulling him close, as though he could anchor himself there.
Remus kissed him back like he was drowning, like he would die if he let him go — fingers clutching at Sirius’ hips, pulling him close, grounding them both in that moment.
When Sirius finally pulled back, breathless and shaking, Remus kept a hand cupped around the back of his neck, leaning their foreheads together.
"You come back to me," Sirius whispered, eyes burning. "You swear it."
"I swear," Remus breathed, though it hurt to say it, because he wasn’t sure if any of them were coming back.
Finally, with one last lingering touch, Sirius turned, avoiding the creeping water, and ran for the tunnel — leaping over stones, light and quick despite the tremble in his legs.
Remus stood there, watching him disappear, heart pounding like thunder.
Then he turned, sword raised again, and ran for the chamber where James and Regulus had gone —
—and as he burst into the central chamber, he was just in time to see James sinking under the water, still clinging to Regulus.
"JAMES!"
Without thinking, Remus dove, the icy water closing over his head in an instant.
It was like swimming through light and shadow, glowing and cold all at once. His arms wrapped around James' waist, trying to pull him up — but James wouldn't let go of Regulus. Clung to him like a man who would rather drown than release him.
"Gods, James, let me—" Remus gasped as he broke the surface, struggling to hold them both. But James was limp, eyes closed, lips pale, and Regulus was just as still.
Panic surged through Remus. "No, no, no—"
It can`t be the end. It can`t end like that. But Remus couldn`t carry both of them out, especially after the fight – his body was too weak.
Remus dove again, he pulled James by arm and Regulus by the end of his shirt, pulling as hard as he can swinging his legs fast under. But it was useless, the movement was to slow and he was more and more exhausted with every move.
Then—
Regulus' eyes snapped open, silver-bright and glowing with power not of this world.
Before Remus could react, Regulus grabbed James to his chest, and with a sharp kick, shot through the water like a creature reborn, strength thrumming in his lean body.
Remus blinked, stunned, and then swam hard to follow, heart pounding as they cut through the water toward the exit.
The cave groaned around them, stone cracking, water rising higher — but Regulus didn't slow, carrying James like he weighed nothing.
And as Remus followed, struggling but fast, he thought — maybe, just maybe, they'd make it out alive.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The sea roared behind them, a sound like a thousand beasts screaming in rage as the cave finally gave in to itself — stone groaning, walls splitting, the thunderous crash of ancient magic breaking apart.
Water exploded upward in a great column as the last of the Heart's cave collapsed beneath the sea, swallowed whole by the depths.
The Stag’s Vow bobbed on violent waves, its sails half-furled, the crew running along the deck in panic — eyes on the violent waters and the men who burst from the darkness.
Regulus, still clutching James, burst from the sea first — cutting through the waves with inhuman speed and strength, his silver eyes like molten metal in the breaking dawn.
Remus followed, slower but steady, fighting the waves to keep up — and together, they made for the ship as the last echoes of the Heart’s destruction rolled through the air like a funeral bell.
"CAPTAIN!" someone screamed from above — but James was still out cold, limp in Regulus' arms.
Sirius, standing on deck, frozen at the rail, could barely breathe as he saw them come closer — Remus alive, swimming, fighting for every inch.
His throat closed tight.
Remus…
They reached the side of the ship — ropes thrown down, arms reaching. The crew pulled Regulus and James first, men grunting with effort as they hauled their captain and the near-dead man from the sea.
Remus dragged himself up after them, shaking, soaked, bloodied — but alive.
The moment Sirius saw Remus’ face above the rail, his body moved on its own —
"Remus!" Sirius rushed forward, eyes wild, breath breaking in his chest as he stumbled across the deck, shoving sailors aside.
When Remus' boots hit the deck, Sirius threw himself at him, arms wrapping tight, burying his face in Remus' soaked shoulder, like he needed to feel him alive to believe it.
But then—
Remus shoved him back, harder than Sirius expected.
Sirius staggered, breathless and confused. "Remus—?"
And then he saw it.
Remus' clothes were drenched in seawater, dripping onto the deck in heavy streams.
Sirius' eyes dropped to the puddle forming under Remus' feet.
His own legs were already burning.
The pain shot up from his heels like fire — like glass slicing under his skin.
"No… no, no, no, no," Sirius gasped, stumbling back as if he could outrun it. His knees buckled, palms hitting the deck hard as he collapsed.
"Remus, it's happening—!"
The familiar crackle of magic raced up his legs, flesh twisting, muscles tightening as the shell began to form, the sharp glimmer of scales sparking in patches along his calves.
"NO!" Sirius screamed, crawling backward, face twisting in horror. "I can’t—please, I can’t—"
Crewmen stared, frozen, not understanding, but Remus did — and his heart shattered.
"Move!" Sirius hissed, crawling toward the edge of the ship, as if he could throw himself into the sea and just let it happen.
But Remus lunged forward, grabbing Sirius' arm before he could make it to the rail.
"Don’t!" Remus shouted, eyes wide, fierce. "Don't you dare give up now!"
But Sirius was panicking, breath coming in sharp gasps, hands clawing at his own legs as the magic crawled higher. "I can't stop it! I can't—"
Then—
His gaze darted wildly, searching the deck until—
The basket of sand and dry earth, hauled for storage, for ballast, for repair work.
With a cry that was half-sob, half-snarl, Sirius threw himself into the sand, clawing at it, covering his legs in great desperate handfuls.
"Come on—" he panted, burying his legs, sand sticking to wet skin. "Stop, stop, stop—"
The burning slowed.
His chest heaved.
The magic flickered.
And as he sank deeper into the sand, it broke.
The shells retracted, slithering back under his skin with a sickening ripple, leaving only smooth flesh behind.
His human legs.
Still there.
Sirius stared at them — wide-eyed, panting, shaking from head to toe. His fingers trembled as he touched his own calf, like he didn’t trust what he was seeing.
"I…" Sirius breathed, eyes filled with stunned wonder. "I'm—still me."
Remus was beside him in a second, dropping to his knees, not caring about the water soaking the deck, pulling Sirius close and wrapping his arms tight around him.
"You’re still you," Remus whispered fiercely against Sirius' temple, as if he could say it enough to make it true.
Sirius clung to him like a man who had almost drowned — fingers clutching at Remus’ soaked shirt, breath shuddering against Remus’ throat.
The rest of the crew watched in stunned silence, uncertain, wide-eyed, but no one moved to interrupt.
Finally, Remus pulled back just enough to look Sirius in the eyes.
"You’re alright," Remus whispered, voice hoarse, but full of fierce relief. "You're alright, love."
Sirius gave a broken, breathless laugh, leaning their foreheads together, still shaking.
And Remus — exhausted, bleeding, drenched — let out a ragged, shaky laugh of his own, as though realizing for the first time that they had survived.
They had survived.
Together.

Chapter Text

The steady rocking of The Stag’s Vow on gentle waves was the first thing James noticed as consciousness clawed its way back to him.
Salt lingered thick in the air, tangling with the smell of sun-warmed wood and distant cries of gulls.
But what truly anchored him — what pulled him from the dark — was the soft, slow drag of fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with a tenderness he hadn’t known in what felt like lifetimes.
James blinked, lashes heavy with sleep, his throat dry and aching, and the first thing he saw was Regulus, sitting beside him, pale and thin but alive, dark hair loose and curling slightly from the sea air.
James’ head was pillowed on Regulus’ thigh, and those fingers kept stroking, soft and steady, like Regulus was still trying to convince himself that James was really there, breathing and alive.
James tried to speak, but only a rough croak came out.
Regulus glanced down, his eyes lighting with something so soft, so real, that James’ chest ached with it.
“You’re awake,” Regulus whispered, a small smile pulling at his lips — one of the rare, real smiles, the ones James had only caught glimpses of before.
“Yeah…” James rasped, swallowing. “Feels like… I got hit by a storm.”
Regulus huffed a quiet laugh, his hand not leaving James’ hair. “You… kind of did.”
James blinked up at him, squinting against the morning sun that streamed through the cabin’s little round window.
“You’re okay,” James murmured, like if he said it aloud, it would make it real.
Regulus leaned down, pressing his forehead to James’ for a moment, closing his eyes. “Thanks to you.”
James wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t just him, but the words caught in his throat.
Instead, he reached up, fingers curling around Regulus’ wrist. “You’re not leaving me,” James whispered. “Not now.”
Regulus let out a shaky breath, but he didn’t pull away. “No,” he agreed softly. “Not now.”
James’ chest twisted painfully — part from relief, part from the ache of how much he wanted to hold onto this.
And somewhere deep, he knew.
He was bound to the sea now. Forever.
But if Regulus was there, he could learn to live with that.
Later that day, as Regulus dozed beside him — worn thin but healing — James sat with Remus and Sirius in the captain’s cabin.
Maps were pushed aside, the ancient book of the sea open on the table, pages still damp but legible. The weight of what they had done — and what was yet to come — hung heavy in the room.
Remus leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face, still pale from the ordeal of the cave.
Sirius sat on the table’s edge, legs swinging slightly, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. He looked tired but sharp-eyed, alive in a way James hadn’t seen him in a long time.
James glanced between them, his shoulder still wrapped and aching but healing fast.
“We did it,” Remus murmured, almost to himself.
“Barely,” James said, but his voice was soft.
Sirius gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I never want to see another version of myself again.”
James' eyes flicked to Sirius, studying the way he still looked tense — as if one wrong move would strip away his hard-won humanity again.
“You both fought like hell,” James said quietly. “You saved us.”
Remus met his gaze, something soft but wary there. “We almost didn’t.”
James held Remus’ gaze for a long, lingering moment — something heavy and unspoken passing between them. An acknowledgment of how close they had all come to breaking apart, and yet, here they were. Still standing. Still breathing. Together.
The ship creaked softly beneath them, rocking on gentle waves that lapped against the hull like a calming heartbeat. Beyond the cabin’s windows, the sea stretched endlessly under a pale crescent moon, silver light spilling across the dark waters, as if the ocean itself was finally at peace.
In the corner, Regulus sat curled on the cushioned bench, a soft blanket draped over his legs. His head leaned against the wooden wall, but his eyes were open, quietly watching, as though he was still learning to believe that this wasn’t another dream that would vanish when he blinked.
For a long while, none of them spoke — there were no words big enough to carry what had just happened, and maybe there didn’t need to be.
The lantern hanging from the beam above swayed with the ship’s rhythm, its warm golden light flickering over their faces, dancing in the corners of the room, making the silver thread of Regulus’ hair glimmer faintly as he sat in stillness. It cast soft glows over the ancient book still lying open on the table — the book that had led them here, its weathered pages like a silent witness to everything they had survived.
Finally, James exhaled, a slow, unsteady breath, like he was releasing something he’d been holding in for too long.
“Well,” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion but edged with a small, real smile. “We made it.”
Sirius, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the table, snorted softly, but there was a glimmer in his eyes — tired but lighter than before.
“For now,” he said, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips, and the sharpness was gone from his voice.
Remus gave a quiet, breathless laugh, glancing between them. His hand, still bruised from the fight, reached across the table to brush his fingertips briefly over Sirius’ knee — an anchor, a reassurance.
“For now,” Remus echoed, but this time, it sounded like hope.
James leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face, and let out a low chuckle.
"That’s all we ever need, isn’t it? A bit more time. A bit more tomorrow."
Across the room, Regulus stirred, looking at James with something soft in his eyes — something that wasn’t sharp and guarded like before, but gentle and real. "Tomorrow sounds good," he whispered, voice rough but steady, like he meant it.
James turned toward him fully then, gaze warm and lingering, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to the two of them.
Sirius slid off the table with a stretch, swaying slightly with the ship, and reached to help Remus to his feet, nudging him with a crooked grin.
“Come on, wolf. We’ve earned some sleep. Maybe for once, we’ll wake up and not have to fight for our lives.”
Remus huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue, leaning into Sirius a little, as if just as unwilling to let go of the moment.
Sirius glanced over his shoulder at James as he opened the door, pausing for a breath.
“Don’t stay up all night worrying, captain,” he said, something more serious under the teasing. "We’ve won. We’re here. That’s what matters."
James gave him a tired smile, a quiet nod. "Yeah… yeah, I know."
As Remus and Sirius stepped out into the night, James turned his gaze back toward the window — watching the moonlight shimmer over the waves like a silver road stretching to nowhere and everywhere at once.
For a while, the only sound was the creak of wood, the soft hush of waves, and Regulus’ even, steady breaths.
Finally, James stood, moving to sit beside Regulus on the bench. He leaned close, shoulder to shoulder, letting his head tip gently until it rested against Regulus’ temple.
"You alright?" James asked, voice soft, roughened with care.
Regulus gave a small breath of a laugh, leaning into him. "I think… I think I will be."
James smiled faintly, letting his eyes close for a moment. "Good."
His hand reached out, covering Regulus’ where it lay on the bench between them, fingers threading through his.
Outside, the sea whispered against the ship, carrying them forward into whatever life came next.
James opened his eyes and gazed out at the dark horizon, the taste of salt sharp in the air, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel like a prison — it felt like home.
He would sail these waters forever — cursed, yes, but not alone. Not anymore.
Regulus shifted slightly, resting his head on James’ shoulder, and James let out a slow, content breath.
They had survived. They had won.
And tomorrow would come — bright, and theirs.
The waves outside whispered soft promises, and the ship sailed on, chasing dawn.

Chapter Text

The sea stretched out beyond the hills, calm and silver-blue under the morning sun, waves lapping lazily at the distant shore. From where the little stone house sat perched on the edge of the hill, the ocean looked endless — like a secret still whispering to those who knew how to listen.
It had been five years since the storm that changed their lives.
Five years since they had stepped out of the dark cave, breathless and broken, and sailed away from the Heart — leaving behind more than just curses and legend.
At first, they all stayed together. The four of them — James, Remus, Sirius, Regulus — mending sails and mending wounds, sailing the seas as the fiercest crew ever whispered about in taverns. Together, they took on kings, storms, and sirens' songs. But adventure had a way of wearing on a man’s bones, and after a while, even pirates needed rest.
It was Sirius who had said it first, in a quiet moment one evening when the sky was bleeding red over the waves:
"Maybe that’s enough adventure for one life, yeah?"
Remus had looked at him then — into those tired, wild, beautiful grey eyes — and he had known. Enough was enough.
So when the winds turned and James and Regulus — ever restless, ever drawn to the sea — set course for more treasure hunts and lost ruins, Remus and Sirius stayed behind.
They found a quiet place, a cottage with walls of old stone and wild roses growing around the door, perched high enough to see the sea stretch far beyond the cliffs. The kind of home neither of them ever thought they’d deserve — but they built it together, and made it theirs.
The years passed, but they passed sweetly.
And now—
Inside the little kitchen, sunlight poured through wide windows, warming the pale wood floors. The scent of sea salt mixed with fresh coffee, the gentle breeze tugging at thin white curtains.
Sirius sat perched on the counter, barefoot, in loose linen pants and a soft shirt left lazily half-open, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. His dark hair was longer now, softer, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck, a few strands curling around his face. The sea had tanned his skin, but his eyes were still sharp and silver, though softer now — full of something like peace.
Remus stood between Sirius' legs, arms lazily looped around his waist, chin tipped up to look at him. There was something so natural in the way they fit together, like they had always belonged like this.
Sirius was smiling — that slow, easy grin that Remus had spent so long thinking he’d never get to see.
"You're staring, wolf," Sirius teased, voice husky from sleep but filled with warmth. "Planning to devour me, or just admiring?"
Remus chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Sirius' jaw. "Maybe both."
Sirius laughed quietly, head falling back slightly to give Remus more space, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as Remus' nose brushed along his neck.
They stayed like that for a long moment, quiet and content, the kind of silence that spoke of years spent together — a peace well-earned.
Then Sirius’ fingers tangled lazily in Remus’ hair, and with a soft smirk, he murmured, "You think they’re still alive out there?"
Remus huffed a small laugh against Sirius' throat. "Knowing those two? Definitely."
Sirius leaned back enough to look into Remus' eyes, eyebrow raised. "Last I heard, they were sailing straight into Devil’s Mouth."
Remus grinned, fond and amused. "That’s what I heard too. Treasure hunt, apparently. Something about gold lost to time."
Sirius snorted, shaking his head, but there was affection in his voice. "Figures. World’s quietest siren and the pirate king of all seas."
Remus laughed fully now, head falling to Sirius’ shoulder. "They're legends now, you know. People in town whisper about them like they own the sea."
"Maybe they do," Sirius said softly, brushing a hand through Remus’ curls. "Maybe they always did."
Remus hummed in agreement, eyes fluttering shut as he let himself relax fully against Sirius. "And what about us?"
Sirius leaned in, forehead pressed to Remus’, voice soft and sure. "We’ve got everything we need right here."
Remus smiled, eyes opening to meet Sirius’ gaze — full of love, fierce and gentle all at once.
"Yeah," Remus murmured. "We do."
Outside, the sea shimmered in the morning light, stretching endlessly beyond the cliffs, and though adventure still called from somewhere beyond the horizon, for now, they had chosen peace.
And as Sirius leaned down to kiss Remus, slow and deep, it was clear neither of them would trade that for all the treasures of the world.

Chapter Text

The sea stretched endless and wild beyond the windows of the captain’s cabin, waves rolling like silver beasts under a pale morning sky.
The Stag’s Vow had changed since its wildest days — the black sails now patched with deep royal blue, the figurehead newly carved, a siren and a stag entwined as if frozen in a dance — a reminder of all they had fought for, and all they had become.
They were still legends.
Still feared.
Still loved and hated in every port that dared to speak their names.
But inside the captain’s cabin, it was quiet.
The kind of quiet that only comes when you’ve outrun every storm and found the eye at its center.
James lay sprawled lazily across the wide bed — a luxury he had added to the ship, one of many changes. His dark curls were messy from sleep, glinting gold in the pale morning sun that filtered through the slanted windows. The tattoo of the sea serpent along his side peeked out from under the thin white linen sheet.
And above him, Regulus sat astride his hips, bare-chested, lean and sharp as ever, but softer now too — his sharp edges smoothed over by years of James’ hands and love.
His fingers trailed idly through James’ messy curls, his nails scraping gently against James' scalp, making the pirate captain hum low in his throat, like a contented beast.
"Five years, Potter," Regulus said quietly, but with a smirk tugging at his lips. "And you still let me sit on top of you like I own you."
James cracked one eye open, smirk lazy and dangerous all at once.
"Because you do own me, sweetheart," he rasped, voice low from sleep. "Sea and soul, remember?"
Regulus huffed a soft laugh, but there was something in his eyes that warmed at those words — something that always glimmered there when they were alone.
He bent down, fingers sliding into James’ hair more fully, and pressed a slow kiss to James’ lips, tasting of salt and wind and freedom.
"You’ll ruin me with that mouth," Regulus whispered against his lips, but didn’t pull away.
James' hands slid up to Regulus’ hips, holding him gently, fingers stroking lazily along his sides. "Already have, haven’t I?"
Regulus rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.
The ship swayed under them, creaking gently as if even the Vow had grown accustomed to their strange kind of peace.
Outside, they could hear the crew starting to stir — but neither of them moved.
James trailed his hand slowly up Regulus’ back, fingers tracing old scars and soft skin, before resting at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss — slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring the taste of him, as if he had all the time in the world.
Because he did.
The sea was theirs now.
"I heard," Regulus murmured when they finally broke apart, resting his forehead against James', breath still a little uneven, "that in Port Royal they talk of us like we’re gods."
James grinned, teeth sharp. "Well, we did steal an entire fleet from under the governor’s nose. And didn’t we sink the Navy's prized ship last summer?"
Regulus chuckled, sitting back up on James’ hips, hands resting on James’ chest. "You’re insufferable."
"You love it," James smirked.
Regulus smiled, but softer now. "I do."
James sat up slightly, bracing himself on one elbow, free hand sliding along Regulus’ thigh, watching him with that look he saved only for him — that look like Regulus was the only thing anchoring him to this world, and maybe the only thing he wanted to be anchored to.
"You know what I was thinking?" James murmured.
Regulus arched a brow, amused. "This early? Careful, you might strain yourself."
James chuckled. "I was thinking… we’ve been sailing for years now. Maybe it's time to go see that island you always talked about. The one you said you'd want to live on if you ever stopped running."
Regulus stilled above him, dark eyes sharp but confused. "James..." he whispered, searching his face. "You can’t step on land."
"I know," James said quietly, something wistful in his voice, like he was tasting a dream that could never be fully real. "I know."
He reached up, brushing a hand along Regulus’ cheekbone, thumb stroking the skin gently, like he couldn’t quite help himself.
"But maybe we could… find a way to anchor close. Some quiet place where I can stay on the water, and you can step ashore. A place that’s ours."
Regulus was quiet for a long moment, and James felt the weight of his silence like a tide pulling away from shore.
Finally, Regulus leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, his hands cradling James' face like something precious.
"Not forever running?" Regulus asked, voice softer now, almost breaking.
James smiled, a little crooked, a little sad. "Not running. Just... sailing slower. Maybe a place to return to, when the sea’s been rough."
Regulus exhaled shakily, and James felt the way he melted into him, like the idea of having something solid, something theirs, was enough to hold him afloat.
"I’d like that," Regulus whispered, lips brushing against James’ as he spoke. "But I don`t need that that much. The only thing is important to me is you. On land or in the sea – I don`t care."
James closed his eyes for a moment, holding Regulus close, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as they ever had.
"I feel the same way, I just thought maybe you were bored of the sea and sailing,” James smiled, holding Regulus even tighter. He will do everything he can just to make him happy.
Regulus smiled, a real, soft smile that James could feel against his lips.
"You always were ridiculous, Potter," he whispered. "But I love you for it."
James grinned, tugging him down into a slow, deep kiss, like the sea itself had carved them this moment out of time.
Outside, the Stag’s Vow creaked gently with the waves, sails catching the wind like wings, and the ocean stretched endlessly, a promise and a prison all at once.
But in that cabin, tangled in each other’s arms, there was no curse heavy enough to drown the love they had fought for.
And as Regulus curled into James’ side, and James pressed a soft kiss into his hair, they both knew — whatever storm would come next, they would face it together, sea and sky, pirate and siren, bound in ways no curse could ever break.
Because home wasn’t land or sea. It was each other.