#professor sharp

Aesop, now under the guise of a rather likeable old grandfather, cursed under his breath and kicked one of the loose cobblestones paving the main street of Scarborough. Hunching in on himself and shielding his face from the cold wind with the flap of his cloak, he cast a sharp glance, sour as a wasp, at the buildings inhabited by people who were evidently bound by a conspiracy of silence. A curtain in one of the windows shifted. He was being watched. Hardly surprising, considering that a casual conversation with the local witches and wizards, initially very pleasant and friendly, had suddenly veered onto tracks that were clearly a taboo subject around here. From a traveller who had been something of a curiosity, within the span of a few moments he had become an outsider who had been gently advised to leave as soon as possible.

It was the first time he had encountered something like this, some sort of bond, something akin to an Unbreakable Vow... Heh, he had almost completely turned the magical part of the town against himself... The Muggles had not been eager to talk either. He snorted and continued on his way.

All because he had brought up the subject of the "benevolent spirit" that had been haunting this area for some time now... A being bordering on divinity, to whom several local men, as though chosen, secretly offered fish and pearls in exchange for the protection of women and children and safe catches for themselves... Only they knew the truth; the rest of the town merely knew that they went to beseech the sea for good fortune, and nothing more, whereas every few days those men would walk out into the night in silence, carrying armfuls of food and, not infrequently, valuables, through complete darkness, guided by signs carved into the sharp coastal rocks that glimmered in the moonlight... And then they would quite literally vanish into nothingness.

Questions about the purpose of these expeditions were still explained in a fairly matter-of-fact and even friendly manner: that "it's tradition", that "they're making an offering to the Sea Goddess". When asked the next question—why this tradition was only a few weeks old—the answers grew noticeably colder; they claimed that it had always existed, only it had been forgotten, and recently "they had remembered it again"... Digging deeper into the matter, and especially delicately suggesting the presence of a selkie, did not end well. The sailors, both Muggles and wizards alike, quite plainly told him, and quote, to "fuck off back to the city and spin your ridiculous tales there and find something useful to do."

He would have had to grab one of them by force and pour Veritaserum down his throat... The problem was that his mission was not about the selkie... Well, not directly. The selkie had most likely come here for the same reason they had. In a shop on Nocturne Alley, the heads of two of her "sisters" had been sold... Not the most valuable prize, though still an extraordinarily valuable one... Nick had managed to find out that it had merely been an advance payment. There could have been more shrunken heads, and, alongside them, the nearly priceless pelts of the Sea Shepherds... One of the rarest magical artefacts in existence; a single lock of their fur could set a merchant up for life.

Aesop cleared his throat and felt a bubbling sensation in his stomach that heralded the imminent end of the Polyjuice Potion's effects. He quickened his pace, ducking into some alleyway so that he could return to his own form. At least being back in his own skin again brought him a small measure of pleasure...

His thoughts returned to the investigation. Nick had been uncertain whether the dealer was acting alone. They already knew where he was—hidden aboard a miserable, leaking hulk, its bow sunk deep into the water at the grey end of the harbour... At first they had suspected someone entirely different, an old local trader, but now Aesop was certain it was somebody new, someone trying to buy his way into the good graces of the underworld and make a name for himself by offering "something extra". They had only ever seen one person moving around the vessel. They had watched for days and nights. The conclusion, therefore, was simple.

How had the selkies ended up in his hands?

The man flirted with women in taverns; that seemed to be how he cast his net. He slipped Veritaserum into their drinks, and when he did not receive the answer he wanted—that is, a "yes" to the question of whether they were selkies—he lost interest and, erasing the encounter from the victim's memory, went looking for the next one... Recently, he had been running out of options; even the fact that he had managed to catch any at all bordered on a miracle... Perhaps he had met the first one by accident; perhaps she had told him where to find another, and that was how the idea for this enterprise had occurred to him... It seemed he would soon be leaving Scarborough. Lately, he had accelerated his stockpiling of supplies, and according to the local barman, the fellow had said he would be setting sail tonight... The perfect moment to catch him.

Aesop found it strange only that, given it was certain a selkie was operating in the area, he had never crossed paths with her, as though his modus operandi was limited entirely to a familiar pattern... All he would have had to do was use a little potion to extract information from the fishermen about where the bloodthirsty selkie, most likely hunting him, was lurking; he could have had her served up on a platter... Evidently, she was waiting for him to make some move, probably for the same moment the Aurors were waiting for—until he sailed out of the harbour and into open waters, where escape would not come easily.

Strange... As though she knew exactly how the poacher operated, and so had wrapped only those men around her finger who could provide her with protection... She was acting cautiously... evidently taught by the mistakes of the past. Certainly.

He frowned and bit his lip as a wave of anger washed over him. So she had not wrapped only him around her finger... She had probably slept with them and told them impossible stories, softening the hearts of pathetic fools... Certainly... Certainly... And then, once she got what she wanted, she would disappear...

"Typical Rilla..." he hissed venomously under his breath, leaning against the wall where he was meant to meet Nick. He had a feeling that this night would not be an easy one. Not only would they have to capture a criminal, but they would also have to deal with a selkie bent on dispensing her own justice. Stubborn. Dangerous. Doing things her own way. "Fucking brilliant," Aesop muttered, before being pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Nick's voice.

Now all they had to do was wait for nightfall. ***

There were two of them.

Twins.

They took turns coming ashore, expecting they were being watched by Aurors. Together, they captured their victims, together they prepared them.

And there were also two gleaming seal skins.

There were perpetrators, there was evidence.

The case solved, by Aesop Sharp.

It did not matter.

He was alone.

Aesop fished that thought out of the boiling tangle that roared in his mind, and tears began to run down his cheeks.

He lay on the planks of the hold, Petrified, facing the wooden ceiling stained with blood, touching the rigid, dead body of Nick lying beside him. Through his clothes he could feel how it slowly grew cold, and how the fabric soaked up the boy’s blood, which seeped from numerous crimson stains on his white shirt, visible only from the corner of his right eye... After a moment it reached him that his left eye saw nothing but darkness. He could do nothing, he breathed shallowly, barely, barely. He could not scream, and yet the scream and pain seemed to fill him from within like air in a balloon, swelling more and more until it was bursting at the seams, unable to bring relief. Adrenaline only seemingly kept him together, and he began to accept the thought that... this was the end.

He began to recall his childhood, his family, even his sister, and that he would do anything to see her again, even though he truly could not stand her. Every second dragged on; he was not sure whether he wanted to desperately grasp the next and the next, prolonging his life, or whether he would rather have it over with and no longer suffer.

The poachers stood nearby, satisfied with their work, and calmly talked about how they now had not only selkie skins and the heads of other creatures, but would also add the shrunken heads of Aurors—and not just anyone, Aesop Sharp himself. They took his and Nick’s wands like trophies, hiding them inside their coats, then lifted Nick’s stiff body and, drawing a sharp knife, placed it against the boy’s throat... First he was to go as a test, perhaps to humiliate and break Aesop even further.

They looked straight into his terrified face, laughing and mocking him, then raised the sharp tool, aiming for Nick’s throat.

A tremendous force shook the boat and turned it upside down like a child’s toy.

Aesop was dazed as he slammed into the ceiling, and after him came the cargo that had until then been on the floor. Dark artefacts, cursed objects, potions... He was thrown helplessly among shards of glass and objects that struck and cut him, and when he heard “MAELSTROM!!!” torn from the lungs of one of the poachers, he instinctively took a deep breath.

A wave of freezing water hit him, again robbing him of consciousness for a few seconds.

When he opened his good eye, he saw that he was suspended in a black depth lit only by pale beams of the full moon, barely forcing their way through the water’s surface. A few feet away the wreck slowly sank, surrounded by a cloud of air bubbles, shedding fragments of wood and cargo...

He felt the spell holding him motionless slowly weakening and twitched, trying to move his legs to swim to the surface. A terrible pain tore through his body and, with the last of his strength, he held a small pocket of air in his lungs so it would not escape... He struggled, but the pain slowly began to darken his mind again. He was trapped...

Suddenly he heard a ghostly female voice, mournful like a funeral song... Singing? A squeal? A scream? So loud it felt as if the sound made his stomach and bones vibrate...

Nearby several flashes burst; with difficulty he turned his head toward them, feeling he was losing consciousness.

The poachers were still alive, their heads covered in air bubbles, alarmed they thrashed in the water, firing blindly into the dark.

From the darkness, in a fraction of a second, a silver figure emerged and sank its teeth into one of them, tearing his throat to shreds. The second brother froze, trembling so violently he could not properly aim his wand; no spell could leave his lungs.

Before him hovered Rilla, wrapped in a veil of white hair and scarlet blood mixed with water; her green eyes glowed against her grey, almost graphite-speckled skin. Looking straight at the poacher, she smiled darkly and casually released her brother’s body from her hands, letting it sink into the black depths, as if saying: “see how easy that was.”

The man swung his wand.

The woman smoothly drew the harpoon she carried at her belt, holding her sealskin around her waist, and with one swift motion of her muscular arms hurled it toward him.

“AVADA—”

The blade pierced the poacher’s chest with such force that it pinned him to the wreck, sending up a cloud of blood.

The selkie moved toward Aesop, who recoiled in fear.

He saw only her sharp fangs and glowing eyes.

Then there was darkness. ***

He was slowly regaining consciousness, which drifted among thoughts and events, completely lost and tangled. Nothing he saw or heard made sense—fragments of memories, faces, voices, screams... his screams? Possibly, because he felt pain so terrible he was certain the selkie still had her teeth clamped around his leg. He tried to drive her away, he saw her eyes... he was afraid. Someone was holding his arms, they were restrained. Liquids were poured into his mouth, which he immediately vomited. He cried, he begged for death.

Eventually the chaos in his mind subsided. Silence came, even though the pain did not leave him. He breathed with difficulty, gasping for every breath with effort.

Very slowly he opened his right eye; although the light was dimmed it still hurt, and for a moment he could not recognize where he was. His nose told him enough: the smell of clean sheets, medicines, and the distinctive bland soup meant St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where he had been more than once after being battered by wild beasts.

Sweat ran down his forehead; he was feverish, he did not know what to do to escape the pain. He twitched instinctively and realized he had been tied to the bed. Turning his head, he saw himself wrapped in white bandages from which healing herbs protruded, while blood seeped through them. He quickly assessed that the combination of plants and potions on the table should have completely cut off sensation, including pain... and yet he still felt as if his left leg were being cut to pieces. He grimaced, trying to control it, breathing shallowly, trying “not to think about it.” He was increasingly panicked—why was the pain not disappearing?

He heard rustling, as if someone had shifted under a blanket in the next bed.

“Ah, Nick... we botched this job... oh well,” he muttered toward it, trying to sound as roguish as possible, masking his suffering. Out of the corner of his good eye he saw a blurred figure approaching him. “The soup here gets you back on your feet quickly, trust me... don’t worry... I’ll sort myself out too...”

“He’s dead, Aesop.”

The sad female voice made the hair on his body stand on end. Fear tightened his throat; he did not know whether it was because those words reminded him of what had truly happened, or because Rilla was standing beside his bed.

“I’m sorry.”

Aesop bit his lips, trying not to cry, clenching his teeth with all his strength. It was entirely his fault.

“Only I knew their secret...” she said quietly, as if she had sensed his thoughts, stepping a little closer. The pale candlelight made her graphite-speckled skin and white hair glow with an eerie light. Her eyes shone with a spooky glow as they examined the bandages on his bleeding leg. “You never stood a chance...”

Her gaze turned to him.

She no longer resembled the thin, delicate beauty she once was. She was now rather full-figured; her curves emphasized by thick fur worn like a cloak, tightly belted at the waist. The neckline revealed large breasts, and sleeves made of seal flippers exposed strong, muscular arms that would shame many a strongman. Her small hands, ending in sharp black nails—very seal-like—pulled aside the dressing on Aesop’s left cheek. He stiffened in unease, remembering what she had done to the poachers. She grimaced at the wound and, without asking, leaned in to lick it.

“Get away, selkie!” the wizard hissed, but she did not react at all.

“You’ll lose your eye if I don’t. You know that,” she said calmly.

It was a fair argument. Aesop was proud, but not enough to sacrifice his sight. He knew that if he still could not see despite the potions, things were bad. A powerful curse must have hit him—he could not remember anymore. After a moment he nodded, embarrassed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why did you come here?” he hissed, swallowing tears as he felt the warmth of her body close.

She said nothing.

He felt her breath on his skin, fish-like and unpleasant, and a moment later the warm wet tip of her tongue. The touch was soothing, but when she pressed its full length against his wound—catlike yet rough as a rasp—and dragged it across it, Aesop howled in pain. The wound burned like living fire, but after a moment the pain began to fade and he could blink again, slowly regaining his sight. A heavy sleepiness came over him; despite the pain, a pleasant warmth pulled him toward unconsciousness. He fought it, seeing Rilla pull the seal hood over her head, about to leave. No—he did not want to be alone.

“Don’t go...” he whispered, and lost his strength.