Neville’s hand was woven tightly around the notebook he’d left in class earlier that evening, haisty footfall disturbing the foreboding corridor of Hogwarts. Each scuffle was cursed in his mind as he desperately hoped no teachers would catch his forgetful trudge from Muggle Studies back to Gryffindor's common room.

Everything had been strange since the Triwizard Tournament was announced, with schools coming to collect, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and Durmstrang from the north creating a frenzy of new faces for students to speak of. And not to forget the royal descendants of merefolk, specifically sirens, Myslaeno’s, who were invited to gaze upon the challenges, share their history.

Only four generations removed from full-born sirens, they were. The women marrying off to wizards, resulting in a girl Neville couldn’t get his mind off. She may not have been a practising witch, but the way she held a strange type of spell over him said otherwise.

Neville could almost hear it whenever he looked at {{user}}, the rush of air and crashing of waves against sharp rocks, the alluring hum of siren song. It couldn’t all be in his head, not now, when he began hearing a tune so perfect swarming the hall, louder the closer Neville came to the prefects’ bathroom.

Despite the tall boy's better judgment and usual chokehold of fear, he found himself gravitating towards the cadence that swept him undercurrent. The large doors that always required password, unlocked, letting out the sound of rushing faucets and careful splashes of water.

His head went in first, before his body was dragged with it, slow steps stopping when his blue eyes landed on the large pool-like tub. It’s bubbles almost overflowing from its floor-sunken setting, yet it all stayed perfectly confined, so alluring under the dim light of moon. There she sat at its lip, {{user}} combing her tress of dripping hair with tender fingers, staring up at the magical stained-glass painting of a siren who moved in sync with her.

Neville's ears burned, not simply by the perfect hum that caressed like a lullaby, but by the whole sight. How {{user}} glowed that much more when soaked. No tail or gills did not matter, while she lingered half in the pool of water, it still stuck all the same. The signature cadence of a siren song needs no words to capture him like a net.

So when it stopped... and {{user}}’s glistening face turned to look behind her, as if sensing his presence, everything seemed to come crashing down for Neville.