Spectre: The Dark Riddles #1

11: Siren*

[Chapter warning: vague smut]

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"Like most merpeople that lived in warm water, sirens were exceptionally beautiful as compared to colder water merpeople like Selkies and Merrows. It is believed that these merpeople used their singing voices to lure unwary sailors into the water like in Muggle legend."

--from the textbook Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Newt Scamander, 1927

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The boys' dorm room is laid out exactly how I remember it, with a few updates in their bedside decorations. Green. Black. These are the only colors that exist. Obsidian metal framing the glass windows, a flash of mossy green water beyond. Juniper green walls, dark and clean and elegant. Rustic oak bedframes, painted pitch black. Emerald bedsheets that likely cost a galleon per square inch. Sconces burn low light, casting flickering shadows upon the ceiling.

I memorize the details of this space, not because I don't remember what it looks like, but because... it feels different this time. Crucial in a way it never has been.

Theo leads me to the back corner of the room. His bed is the only one that's made. It's long, likely queen-size, and a pang of jealousy goes through me. I know with confidence that both the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff beds are only twin-sized, so how do they manage this? Then I notice Draco's bed opposite Theo's. Unmade, his homework and textbooks sprawled across it forgotten as he'd rushed off to the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch game.

Lucius. That's who did this. He's donated a generous sum of coins in the last six years, seeing to Draco's every want and desire. He got them to change the Slytherin beds.

He did not bother with Hufflepuff's.

Theo sits on the edge of his bed, drawing me between his arms. "What do you want, mia cara?" His voice, sweet and gentle, casts away all the darkness of the room. There are no expectations, no devious intent behind those blue eyes.

I want to insist that Lucius upgrade my things to the quality of Draco's.

I want Lucius to remember he has more than one child.

"I want to be distracted," I tell Theo honestly.

He frowns at the emotion in my voice, the lump in my throat that has affected the sound of my words. I don't explain myself. One glance at my brother's bed, though, and he seems to grasp enough of what I'm wrestling with to pull me against him.

He draws me in by the hips so fast that I lose my balance and fall on top of him. He falls back onto the bed, taking me with him. "What's your preferred method of distraction, darling miss?" He laughs against my mouth.

I hover above him, pressing my nose against his. I breathe in his scent—mint and sandalwood—and feel his warmth envelop me. I can't help but smile. "Darling miss? What are you, a nineteenth century scholar?"

"Oh, no, definitely not." He turns us until I'm now on my back and he's hovering over me. "A nineteenth century scholar probably had a lot more manners than I ever will." That goofy smile morphs into a smirk that drips with temptation.

A fire sparks in the pit of my stomach.

"But I may as well pretend to be a gentleman, so as not to scare you off." He brushes my hair back, his fingers trailing down my throat, and my smile vanishes completely. "We can do whatever you want. I can show you my extensive charm book collection, since you seemed to enjoy my nerdy side so much. Or we could—"

"I want you to fuck me," I breathe, burning at the admission, but I don't think I want you to gently and kindly take my virginity sounds quite as appealing to a teenage boy.

His smirk vanishes, darkness and arousal sparking behind his eyes. But he hesitates, a question of doubt pulling his brows together.

"Please, Theo. I want it to be you. I want you to be my first."

He forgets the meaning of hesitation, stops pretending to play at manners as his mouth crashes to mine. His hands are practiced and controlled where mine are greedy and unsure.

Here is the thing about being sixteen. It feels like it will last forever. Everything is magnified. Dislike becomes loathing; attraction becomes love; interest becomes obsession.

Theo touches me with expertise, and I know he's done this a million times before, pulled shaking moans from countless girls, but in this moment, I tell myself that this is different. That it's me, and therefore special and defined within his head and heart. I tell myself this long enough that I'm convinced of its truth.

But here is the thing about being a girl. You never know what a boy is thinking. The ones who promise forever eventually leave; the ones who swear protection become the thing you need protection from; the ones who make you smile the brightest become the ones who make you cry the hardest.

In this moment, by giving Theo a piece of myself that no one else can take, I don't realize what I'm giving up. I don't understand the kind of power he will hold over me from this point on. All I can think about is the fire licking at my veins, surging as he sucks and bites at my skin, and then peaking as he pushes inside of me.

Passion. Intensity. Reckless abandon.

These are things I would die for.

And in this moment, as Theo pushes me over the edge and follows shortly after, I know that I will give anything to feel this again. To feel it with him.

Like I said—sixteen-year-olds can be highly dramatic.