falling and flying and being, a harry potter fanfic

this is for the Crystals, Gemstones, & Astrology Challenge/Competition with Atlantasite, hopefully explaining the focus on Atlantis. set this where you will. personally, I see it as the 17 or 1800's, but really the dialogue could belong anywhere.

this is really abstract, but I hope you all enjoy it! please tell me if there's any errors! I haven't had a chance to go over it with a fine-toothed comb yet, and honestly I'm surprised I finished writing it as college is already kicking my butt. feedback is of course welcome and appreciated.

He dreamt and dreamt and dreamt.

Emeralds and pearls, gold and silver, the sweet waters of youth. It was the folly of a madman led on by fables and fears and, above all, desperation. He was always desperate, an unfortunate constant in his unfortunate life, and perhaps the sweet, too sweet, tavern maid, who'd whispered the cursed story into his ear, knew. And perhaps she wanted to ruin him like life had ruined her. And perhaps after he went up to his room, drunk and swaying after hours of eating her words up, she'd laughed and laughed and laughed-

The crack of gunfire interrupted his thoughts. The constant hum of his crew dwindled down to nothing and all he could hear was the ocean. That was wrong. This was too soon.

He stumbled to his feet, hands searching for his own gun, wondering if this was what he'd been waiting for. The metal was cold in his hands and didn't fit quite right, his grip never comfortable on the weapon, and that comforted him. Why should a hand be accustomed to death? His heart buzzed in his chest, and he'd barely reached the door, fingers brushing against the tarnished handle, when his crew broke their silence.

His hand fell. He ached.

And when he awoke, he was empty.

(Neville, you don't have to leave with me. I can make it on my own.

- you can, but you don't need to. we are in this life together. we were created to be together, and together we will stay.

we'll be mortals. you can't want that.

- I would rather be a mortal with you, than a guardian alone. in all our centuries here, no one who was actually looking for the fountain found it. I doubt leaving it abandoned for centuries will hurt anything.

you're a fool.

- yes. but even a fool knows when he's in love.

oh, Neville.)

Hannah wasn't gold, nor was she silver. She wasn't a precious metal, priceless but poisonous, rather she was a shard of glass; honest, sharp, breakable. Neville liked that about her. He liked the talks they had. He liked her quiet sort of humor, and the way her braids unraveled as the night got darker, and the way she'd tell the unfortunate customer about the fountain of youth, lies mixing with truth, mixing until you couldn't tell the difference.

They'd never had to deal with the young men she'd sent astray before. Before being the operative word here. Tonight Neville had been distracted by Harry Potter causing another fight with Draco Malfoy. One day he'd ban them from the tavern, but as it was their relationship was one of the highlights of his days. A consequence of not sleeping, but that's not here nor there.

He'd been so distracted by the human's fist fight that he'd missed the handsome man who entered his tavern. He was a rough and tired looking, more boy than man in Neville's aged opinion. The wisps of a beard were coming in across his chin and cheeks, and bruises painted the skin under his eyes; he was handsome in an off handed way, but not Neville's type. A pirate if he'd ever seen one, not a strange sight considering how close they were to port, but there was something familiar about him that tickled the back of his mind. He didn't like it, and he liked the man even less when he watched his interactions with Hannah.

No, this just wouldn't do.

He dreamt and dreamt and dreamt.

Falling, falling, falling for so long that he could almost pretend he was flying. There was no end, and if there was a beginning he couldn't recall it. There was only now. He wondered if this is what Lucifer felt when he was cast down. Free and terrified and wanting.

He fell and fell and fell. He imagined that when there was an end he'd land gently.

There never was. Instead, his mother's voice echoed in his head, "Don't fall into sin. Stay on the Lord's path. Stay on the Lord's path. Stay on the Lord's path," over and over and over again like clockwork.

And he realized that this wasn't a dream.

Before he could pray for forgiveness there was a crash of thunder and, with a clamor, he awoke. Guilty. Desperate.

"And what are we talking about over here?" Neville asked, slinging an arm over the stranger's shoulder. He didn't feel like he meant harm, but something about him was uneasy, unwound and never put back together.

Hannah looked at him pointedly, braid swinging as her head turned, "Darling, Seamus here wants my help finding the fountain of youth. Seems to think that a lowly tavern maid will know where it is."

Seamus, that's right. Neville could remember him vaguely from years ago. He'd been looking for work, fresh from his middle-of-nowhere village, drunk out of his mind for the first time in his life. A handsy little boy, something Hannah hadn't appreciated. A few whispers here, a few suggestions there and the next night the boy had left the port, searching for the supposed legend, offering the couple a vindictive sort of pleasure.

"You're the one who told me about it in the first place," the boy insisted, shrugging his shoulders to knock Neville's arm off.

"Why are you looking for the fountain anyways, boy. Surely there are other, more constructive, ways you could spend your time," the tavern maid asked, her voice soft as velvet.

He frowned, "Well, maybe. No. No. I need the fountain. I want to do something great."

"If you want to do something great, there's a lovely blonde in the back corner," Neville gestured in the direction, "I'm sure she'd be more than willing with a handsome young man such as yourself."

"Yes," Seamus muttered, eyes fogging over, "Yes, she is lovely."

Hannah repressed a smile, "That's right."

"She's lovely," he repeated, "But I need to find the fountain."

It was Neville's turn to frown. What a strange boy, he thought, being able to resist the couples honey sweet words. Normally people would be caught up in them, cocooned in their suggestions, so tightly that they didn't know where their own thoughts started or ended. What an odd, odd boy. Despite himself Neville was curious.

"You're quite determined aren't you?" he mused, "Well if you really want to find the fountain, we'll help you find it."

"We will?" Hannah asked, eyebrows pinching.

Neville smiled, sharp and predatory with far too many teeth, "Yes. I promise you, that you're in for an adventure."

Seamus simply smiled back, unaware he was a boy trapped among monsters.

When he prayed, he couldn't focus on what he was praying for. He couldn't recall. He felt wrong. Not at all like himself, and wondered what his family would think if they ever saw him again. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the words to the Apostles Creed. He couldn't. He couldn't. Instead his head was filled with images of his new companions, Neville and Hannah.

They weren't themselves in his head. They had too many teeth, sharp and bloodied and falling out of their overfilled mouths, grinning grotesquely. Their eyes were an inky black: dark, void. They're bodies seemed unable to contain them, stretching and reshaping oddly, growing bigger and vibrant and so, so different from how they looked in real life that he was surprised he recognized them.

Something in him whispered about danger, about sea witches and enchanters, about the unknown and unseen.

But he was desperate and falling and wanting.

So he ignored it.

(don't forget your blood.

- ma, ma, I would never.

don't trust the men at port. they'll lead you into sin, take you off the Lord's path. stay on the Lord's path. I will not have a renegade as a son.

- ma, don't worry. I'm going to study, not to become a pirate. those stories from the village are legends, no truth in them. trust me.

I do. oh, my sweet boy, my Seamus. I don't need to trust you, you need to trust yourself.

- you act like I'm walking to my death. ma, I'll be okay. I'll be okay.)

"Why are we helping this boy?" Hannah asks late at night, her fingers tapping on his skin.

"I'm curious," is his answer, and he feels so tired, tired, tired and he's been alive for far too long.

She sighs, "You want to see how much he can resist."

It wasn't a question, but he still feels compelled to answer, "I do."

"And if he's the special one you've been looking for?"

Neville smiles, "Then we take him to the fountain. He'll be ours."

"I doubt he'll drink from the waters if he knows it'll mean and eternity with monsters," she points out, despite the excitement building in her, "Unless you think he'll be also immune to social stigma as well as our words."

"I," he said, running his fingers through her hair, "Can be very persuasive."

He dreamt and dreamt and dreamt.

Of beautiful eyes. Of beautiful lips.

Dark and gentle and lovely. The boy in his head was something else, something he didn't deserve. The boy in his head was someone beautiful, princely. All dark skin and kind eyes and soft, soft, soft lips. The boy was good, and he was horribly, dreadfully not.

He had never wanted more than he did when looking at the boy. He wanted and craved and ached. And when he started falling, falling, falling, he couldn't bring himself to be surprised. He would fall for eon's for this boy. This lovely, beautiful, painfully made-up boy.

Neville and Hannah told him to do a lot of things. Mostly harmless, if slightly annoying. But he needed them to like him. He needed them to take him to the fountain. He didn't even notice their annoyance growing and buzzing like a hornets nest. Dangerous, dangerous things to mess with. He never once thought not to listen to them even at their wildest, because he needed them, and he never realized that need could be deadly.

Poor communication and impatient monsters and the rest is history really- until it isn't.

The day started out normal enough, one of his generous companions ordering him to do something. Him suppressing an eye roll and following through. Their sniping when he correctly completes the task. He couldn't figure out where he was going wrong it was driving him insane.

Today Neville needed him out on deck, not unusual in itself, but the other man was oddly chipper, "Seamus you've been such a good lad to me and Hannah."

"Yes," he said cautiously, "It's my pleasure."

"I'm sure," Neville said, rolling his eyes to Seamus' confusion, "You like helping out around here, listening to what we have to say."

He swallowed, blind to where this was going, "Sure."

"You're a good lad," he sighed, "Unfortunately, we don't need a good lad. We need a great lad. An exceptional lad."

"Okay," he said slowly.

Neville looked fleetingly apologetic, "I am sorry about this."

"I'm lost," Seamus frowned.

The other man's words were smooth like honey, and seeped into his very bones, morphing with his desperation and want, trickling into his own thoughts until the command: "Jump overboard," was more than a command. It was something he needed desperately.

So he did. No hesitation.

(Seamus you never visit ma anymore. she worries.

-she doesn't need to worry. I'm fine.

I think she does need to worry. I saw you down at the docks earlier. you became a pirate of all things. ma told you to keep to the Lord and not join those renegades.

-what ma doesn't know won't hurt her.

will you ever come home? I could use the extra hands helping take care of the little ones.

-she already has you doing that? Ruth you've barely left girlhood, stand up to her!

I don't mind, Seamus. really. just- come home one day soon. not just for me, but for Kieran and Áine, you wouldn't want them to forget their big brother.

-Ruth, I promise I'll come home one day. and when have I ever broken a promise?)

he was fallingfallingfalling but this time he'd never get to fly.

he was sinkingsinkingsinking, sightless and soundless.

he was falling

falling

alone. always.

"Did you have to make him jump overboard? That seems awfully flashy," Hannah asked later, twirling bourbon in a glass tumbler.

Neville smiled, "How would you have done it then, dear?"

"I'd have handed him a gun and told him to unload it into his head."

"You're under the impression that I wanted the lad to die," he took a sip from his own tumbler, "I never told him to drown."

She laughed, a tinge of shock present, "Do you think they'll take him then?"

"I think they'd be dumb not to."

he was cold. he was numb. he was dead?

maybe, hopefully.

he couldn't feel his heartbeat. he couldn't feel much of anything.

he just kept sinkingsinkingsinking.

drowning.

deeper and deeper and

I ask for forgiveness. I ask for forgiveness. I ask for forgiveness. I ask for forgiveness. I ask for forgiveness. I beg for forgiveness. I beg for forgiveness. I beg for forgiveness. I need forgiveness.

Father please. Please

please

ple-

"Someone's here," the young man said suddenly, looking towards the portal expectantly.

"Someone's coming," his mother corrected.

"No one's come since Hermione fell through."

"It's only been five months, darling. You have all of eternity for your chosen to fall through," his mother explained gently, as if to a wounded animal.

"If Ginny's chosen can fall through, mine can as well."

"You get your stubbornness from your father. Have faith, darling. When the time is right, they will come. You shouldn't rush these things."

"They will come this time. I feel it," the young man muttered, "I feel them."

falling

fallin

falli

fall

fal

fly.

flying.

He was awake. Probably. It was hard for him to tell with the fogginess in his head and the weight of his limbs. He was in a bed, softer than any he'd been in before, surrounded by blankets made out the finest materials he'd ever felt. Where was he? He should still be on the ship with Neville and Hannah, but he couldn't feel the familiar rock of the ocean around him, or smell the familiar musk that scented his chambers. And if he wasn't on the ship where was he, and how did he get here?

He had a few moments of calm, working through his messy thoughts, when he remembered.

Water and weightlessness and cold and numbness and falling, sinking, drowning-

"Calm down, calm down, Mister. You're okay," an unknown female voice called out over him, causing him to freeze.

"Who are you?" he asked, and was alarmed to find his voice horribly quiet and raspy.

The woman sounded amused, "Open your eyes and see."

What he saw was kind eyes and hair bigger than life itself. A pretty girl, around his age, stood over his bed, dressed in a vibrant blue dress. If it was on anyone else he would have thought it ostentatious, but on this girl the color fit. He found himself endeared to her rather quickly, and hoped that she'd grace him with a smile, as he was sure that this is what an angel looked like.

She quirked the corner of her lips, as if reading his mind, "My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a former research archaeologist, and your current welcome guide."

"Seamus," he introduced, his words rolling too slowly out of his lips, "Seamus Finnigan."

"A pleasure Mister Finnigan," she tilted her head to him slightly, before moving out of his space, freeing the obscured view behind her, "Feel free to ask me any questions."

He didn't really register what she said, too shocked by the wonders that filled his eyes. Emeralds and pearls, gold and silver, and, most shocking, a fountain of glittering diamonds, opulent and unnecessary but terribly charming. He was in a room, framed by glass revealing a wonderfully colorful landscape of fertile hill crests and deep blue water, stretching farther than he could see with his eyes. The sky, he recognized vaguely, wasn't as it usually was. Now it was red.

He heard himself ask, "Where am I?"

Hermione smiled, but he was too overwhelmed to really care, "This place has many names. The one I'm sure you'd recognize the best is Atlantis."

"The lost city," he said in wonder.

"Precisely."

"I'd say you encountered sirens," Ginny said a few days later, after learning his story.

"What?"

"They use their voices to make people do things and then send them to their death. This Neville and Hannah you mentioned sound rather tame in comparison to the other ones I've read about," Hermione shrugged, head resting in her partner's lap.

Seamus closed his eyes, "They wanted to kill me?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Their motives are their own," Ginny sighed, "I think that for them to be interested in you is a cause for concern, though. I'll send someone down to talk with you later. Prolonged exposure to such magic isn't a good thing."

He just kept his eyes shut.

He no longer dreamt. He no longer did much of anything.

He slept, and he screamed, and he sank deeper and deeper and deeper and

The first time the Crown Prince of Atlantis walks into his room, he feels charged, The sea herself is pumping through his veins while the earth sings in his nerves. His heart beats faster and faster in anticipation of something extraordinary. Something that he can't explain. Maybe this is God, he thinks, maybe this is a sign. Every part of him sings and he can feel something in the core of himself getting ready to shift off course.

Then he looks up and meets light eyes framed by dark lashes and everything clicks into place.

"I dreamt of you," he says to the boy he once thought was impossible.

(Seamus, one day you'll fall in love and nothing will be the same.

-ma, don't get too sentimental.

you listen to your mother. one day you'll fall in love, and God willing, it will be requited.

-ma.

no, dear. what happened between me and your father won't happen to you. allow yourself to love.

-this has nothing to do with you and papa!

it has everything to do with it, and you know that Seamus)

The Crown Prince's name was Dean, and he was even more beautiful in person. Seamus would be surprised if he wasn't sporting a constant blush considering all the attention he received from the boy. He would have been embarrassed if the boy wasn't so endearing. The way he talked was like a siren song, without the malicious intent. Dean's vowels rolled smoothly like scotch, his voice deep and wonderful. Everything about him was wonderful, in fact. So wonderful that Seamus figured he must have been dreaming, given how unfortunate he was.

One day, while they were out in the royal gardens, surrounded by more fragrant blooms than he could name, and probably ones that his home had never seen he said, "Sometimes I think this is a dream."

He hadn't meant to say that. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

"Why?" Dean asked, twirling a purple flower deftly around his long, graceful fingers.

"Because this feels like," he floundered for a word, "Being."

His brow furrowed, "Being?"

"Not falling or crashing, just being."

The Prince nodded as if that made sense, "Is it an odd feeling?"

"Horribly. I haven't felt like this since I was years younger. But there's something about this place that feels too grounded," he kicked dirt up from the path, "Too good to be true."

"I assure you that we have no ulterior motive."

Seamus licked his lips, "I never thought you did. It's just- Atlantis."

"The myths were highly exaggerated," Dean offered lightly.

"The sky is red here," he said, "I'm talking to the Crown Prince of a country that no one has ever found before. I of all people am talking to a Crown Prince."

Dean frowned, "I am just myself. You, however, are more than you know."

And then, quickly like a bird, he stuck the purple flower behind his ear, the petals brushing pleasantly against his skin. A second later soft, soft, soft lips pressed to his. It was a chaste kiss, but unexpected. He wanted more.

He craved and he needed and he ached.

He dreamt and dreamt and dreamt.

Of honeybees and hornets nests.

He imagined kissing Dean, beautiful and pliable and soft, only to find himself stung. Green, green, green eyes watched him every night and, like a whisper, Neville's voice came, "Bond, bond, bond" and he had no idea what to make of that.

He imagined the sky raining down blood. Only to look up to see it clear and blue. The blood was his. Dean laughed.

He'd awake to the taste of sugar and the weight of death and wasn't sure what to do.

There was a bouquet of purple flowers on his night stand.

He smiled.

"What is bonding?" he asked a day later, the nightmare still fresh in his mind.

Dean stopped, "Where did you hear that word?"

"In my head," he admits, "In my dreams."

His companion looked uneasy, "If I tell you I'm worried you'll react poorly."

Seamus frowned, "If you don't tell me I'll react worse."

The simple explanation is a soulmate.

The expansive explanation involves eternity and the diamond fountain and things he's still struggling to wrap his head around.

"We're bonded," Seamus realizes with a start

"Yes," Dean looks at him carefully, "Does that upset you?"

He's the hornet's nest. He's the one with the potential to sting, to harm. He's the one who could cause pain and destruction and chaos.

He's also the one who would bleed.

Bond, bond, bond.

The only death he can control is his own and

He's perhaps silent a moment too long, "I don't think so."

Dean smiles, but Seamus isn't done yet.

"Will you ever leave me?" he asked, thoughts of his parents and broken plates and little Ruth crying in the barn and himself, tooyoungtooyoung to be dealing with that situation.

"Never."

He swallowed a lump, "Eternity is a long time."

"You are my bonded," the Prince said simply, like that explains everything, and maybe it does, "I would never leave you unless you wanted me to."

he isn't about to die anytime soon.

He crumbles.

Dean catches him.

He no longer dreamt.

What use are dreams to someone who's living in one?