Epilimnion by witchsoup on AO3
The tournament was supposed to be safe. Dumbledore was a personal friend of the chieftain, spoke Mermish, commanded the waters of the Black Lake and the movements of the Giant Squid. There was nothing to be afraid of, until the others (the Delacour girl, the Ravenclaw chaser, fucking Weasley) surfaced at the end of the hour. And Granger did not.
He’s transfixed by the sight of her, the utter wrongness of it all. Even her heaving chest is something to be observed from a place of dispassion. She’s a specimen. A peculiarity. // The grief has smooth edges. It’s a glint of green glass on the bottom of a riverbed. // He can give a life back, if he gives something of himself. Sacrifice, to honour hers.
Art: The Mermaid, Pietro Persicalli, c. 1915
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