As he propelled himself deeper into the murky depths of the lake, Harry wondered how much time had elapsed since the task had started. It wasn't information that would have been particularly helpful in completing the task, but he still wished that he had a way of getting his bearings on how much time he had left. An hour wasn't very much time when you considered how large the Black Lake truly was, and that small slice of time also needed to include carting something potentially heavy back up. With the pang of frustration that often comes with realisations reached a little too late, he realised that, had he worked out the clue earlier and been more prepared, he could have asked Hermione to make his watch waterproof so he'd be able to keep track of the time as it trickled by. The grim realisation that it would have also given him an indication of when the gillyweed would wear off also struck him; as it was, he would have no idea of how much time he had left until it ran out. He wasn't even sure how long its effects took to fade. Would it be instantaneous or gradual? Would it start or finish when it hit the hour? Desperation had led him to taking the slimy plant Dobby had procured, but he really didn't know enough about it to put his life in its hands.
Perhaps I should listen to Hermione the next time she says I'm procrastinating, he thought. It'd sure make life easier. Alas, he knew that this stirring of motivation would fade as surely as it had all the other times he'd considered the idea. The problem was that he always wanted the monotonous slog of work to be done sometime that wasn't in the moment he was currently inhabiting. If he'd only just gotten it, he'd do it later; if there was no later to speak of, he'd wish he'd done it earlier; he had never wanted, and probably would never want, to do the work in the present moment. Not unless it actively worked towards keeping Voldemort away or keeping his friends alive.
His thoughts were swiftly redirected when an aquatic thing darted passed him, its slimy tail brushing against his arm and making his hair stand on end. He spun around, flailing madly to turn himself, but couldn't make out anything other than its silhouetted shape as it swiftly made its way through the murky water.
Please don't let it be a shark, please don't let it be a shark. Are there sharks down here? He knew that there were freshwater and saltwater sharks, and that at least one of those types only lived in areas with running water, but he wasn't sure if either of them could exist in contained environments. Worse still, he didn't know if the wizarding world had some kind of freaky shark equivalent with teeth on its fin or propellers on its tail or something. Rumours spread like wildfire across the Hogwarts student body, so he'd heard of a whole range of different, often unsettling, aquatic creatures that apparently made the lake their home, but it was impossible to keep track of which stories had been proven true, which were initially made up as a joke by the twins, and which were the result of genuine misinformation. His hand almost reached for his wand, but he knew it would be pointless. If only the tournament had been a few years later, after he'd had the chance to learn nonverbal magic; he had no doubt that some other life-threatening thing would have come his way this year in the tournament's stead, but at least he might have been able to use magic against it.
Why would anyone think I was foolish enough to put my own name in? This is ludicrous. I don't know why seventeen-year-olds would willingly put themselves into pointless danger like this, let alone somebody who needs neither the fame nor the fortune that comes with winning. All I want is for us not to die.
He swam down, ignoring the fact that his limbs, unused to the repetitive motions of swimming, had started to ache like a dull ever-present reminder, and picked up two rocks from the bottom of the lake. They were small and fairly light, and he knew that the water would make throwing them with any degree of force difficult, but they were sharp and he felt safer just knowing he had some form of functioning weaponry. If it were a shark and tried to get him, maybe he could hit it in its eye or stuff a rock down its throat to blind, irritate or dissuade it. He didn't know what he'd do after that point, but at least the half-hearted plan gave him the stirrings of a sense of security, however false and tenuous it might be.
Figuring that he didn't have the time to wait around in case it came back for him, he pressed on, keeping a look out for any other potential foes while also taking note of nearby sources of cover. Coral; rocky outcrops; anything that he might blend into or hide behind was filed away as a potential hiding place. Fortunately, he didn't come across the creature, or anything like it, again, and he soon found himself approaching a raised platform, seaweed swaying around it in a kind of eerie, ethereal dance, surrounded by a platoon of merpeople with threatening looks on their faces. They were as different from the mermaid in the prefects' bathroom as History of Magic was from Quidditch, looking sallow and mischievous rather than innocently and self-absorbedly beautiful.
As he observed the pier, he hoped that he had been wrong about it being his Firebolt; if it were something smaller, something the size of a Snitch perhaps, he might be able to fit it into his pocket rather than being encumbered by it on his way back up. Swimming while holding such a chunky object would be trying. Although, he supposed the wooden handle could double as a weapon if he could bear to hit or prod something with it; it would, at least, be more threatening than a rock.
Drawing close to the structure, however, he realised that, atop the pier, there were four poles with shapes that looked like limp people tied to them. He exhaled in horror. Harry had assumed that the things the champions would most miss were their most prized possessions or some symbol of their favourite hobby, but of course they weren't; of course they were people. The idea of losing his Firebolt was repugnant to him, but the prospect of losing any of his friends was utterly debilitating. He would give up all of his possessions, although he'd be loath to part with his cloak, map or broom, if it would ensure their safety; of course he would miss his friends more than his Firebolt. After all, love was, as Dumbledore had stressed to him on numerous occasions, the most important thing in the world.
Of course, this also meant trouble. Now, he had to succeed.
-m-d-
"They're my best friends!" Harry mouthed again, trying to get it through to the merpeople that he didn't plan on leaving either of them behind. He didn't want to leave any of them behind, really, but he knew it would be hard enough to get two people to the surface with his limited swimming ability, let alone four. Besides, there was a good chance the other champions would also reach the pier. As soon as they'd surfaced and Ron and Hermione were safely ashore, he could come back for whoever was left, even if it would be pushing it for him to get back to the surface a second time inside the hour.
The merpeople remained unaffected by his arguments. If anything, amusement passed their features at the sight of the bubbles streaming out of his mouth. Harry was tempted to throw one of the rocks at them, but that would only provoke them, and he was going to have a hard enough time getting everyone out of this alive as it was.
He had to rethink things. What would Ron and Hermione say if they were able to see and talk? Ron would say to take one person up and then go back down with them to get more. And Hermione… She'd say to look at it from a different angle. The clue said that the hostages would be lost forever if they weren't reclaimed within the hour… However, he knew, logically, that there was no way Dumbledore would risk his students' lives on their champion's ability to reach them! There were too many things that could go wrong. Besides, they were trying to avoid deaths in this Triwizard Tournament, not risk the lives of four people whose names had never even gone into the Goblet of Fire. His gaze drifted over to the little girl, and he realised something else: he had seen the Delacours on the docks before the start of the task; there was no way any parent would have agreed to putting their preteen daughter in that position if they knew there was even the slightest chance of her actually dying.
So, although it went against every survival instinct Hogwarts had imparted in him so far, he just had to pick the person he would most sorely miss and return to the surface with them, trusting that the others would be safe. He would talk to Dumbledore once he'd resurfaced to ensure that the others' safety was in fact guaranteed, but there wasn't anything else that he could do about it.
But whose champion was he? The girl was obviously Fleur's to retrieve, and Cho had to be Cedric's, however much he wished she weren't, and he supposed that meant that Hermione was Krum's and Ron was his.
However, even as he thought that, he realised that Ron wasn't necessarily the person whom he'd most sorely miss. Prior to this year, he certainly would have been; Ron was his first and closest friend, and he would, being brutally honest, miss his daily company more than he would Hermione's. Hermione was always focused on schoolwork, whereas he and Ron were able to just relax and muck around together. Now, however, after Ron had abandoned Harry when he needed him the most due to idle envy of something he should have known Harry would never want, when he had left him floundering because he wouldn't listen... Harry had been shunned and celebrated by turn; everyone either thought he was an attention-seeking brat who had taken the glory away from its rightful place with Cedric and deserved shunning, or saw him as a cheeky innovator who had found his way around oppressive restrictions and was therefore worthy of praise. No one holding either stance wanted to hear the truth – that he was innocent, scared, and in need of support. He was used to people turning against him; they had in his second year, after all, under much the same circumstances. However, he had assumed that Ron and Hermione would always stand by his side, staving off the judgmental glares or envious comments and helping him work out how to face a dragon without being burned to cinders. Hermione had stood by him, but Ron had let groundless envy and resentment tear them apart. And, in the process, something had fractured. Of course, Ron had come back after he'd had the time to stew over it, and things were now back as they had been, as they shouldhave always been. And Harry had forgiven him. But, still, the break and lingering bitterness were still there, however miniscule it was in comparison to the relief Harry had felt at their reunion. The bone poked away at the surrounding skin and caused the muscle of their relationship to ache a little every time it moved the wrong way. Because Harry now knew exactly who would stick by him throughout anything, and exactly who might not.
But did that matter? It was clear that he was expected to retrieve Ron, and for good reason. Returning to the surface with someone else – whether it was the girl he fancied or the girl who stood by him – would just polarise everybody even further. Those who despised his involvement would see him as even more of a trouble-maker, while those who celebrated his actions would see him as even more of a sassy rebel. Reactions would be intensified and comments harshened. He might be used to that by now, but that didn't mean that he could handle it at the intensity it would reach if he brought back Cho Chang and so was seen as further undermining the Hufflepuff champion. Besides, that would be a poor repayment to Cedric for his much-needed advice, however vague and initially insulting, on how to open the egg.
All too aware that the person whom he would view as the most helpless, the person whom he would most sorely miss, the person whom he most wanted to view him as a hero, and the person whom he was expected to retrieve in no way matched up, he darted forward to hack away at the ropes circling the two pale wrists, now cold and wrinkled from the water. The merpeople started forward in protest at his sudden movement, but he held up one finger to indicate that he had accepted that he was only to take the one. After a moment of suspicion and indecision, the man he assumed to be their leader gave a signal, and they all dropped back in unison. His path clear, Harry finished severing the rope and, after releasing the rocks and letting them drift to the lake floor, hoisted the body into his arms before setting off again, pulling the limp form, weighed down by waterlogged robes, up with him.
A/N: A bit of a change from canon here in that Dobby didn't overhear Moody and McGonagall mention that Ron had been taken and so couldn't report it to Harry when he gave him the gillyweed.
This chapter's early as I'm going away over the weekend, but they'll hopefully be back to normal next week. Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but thanks, as always, to my lovely brother for beta reading this. You're awesome and, without you, I would probably stress about this to the point of imploding; and then you'd have to clean up the mess so, really, it's better for both of us this way.
Thanks again to everyone who has followed, favourited or reviewed this. I'd love to hear your thoughts on whom you think Harry's taking back up with him. The answer will be revealed in the next chapter, and then from there it'll be looking at how his decision affects everyone else. Also, as I've mentioned to a few of you, I've gone back through the coming chapters and added several hundred words to each, so hopefully that'll help with the length.
To the guest reviewer: Thanks for your reviews. The second one made my brother and me both laugh.
To PaC: Fair enough; I guess that's the downside of a site where people pace their updates depending on how fast they're writing instead of doing it all at once like in a published book. Definitely feel free to message me if you do end up signing up. I didn't interpret canon!Fleur as assuming that Gabrielle would die because of the clue, but rather because the lake is a dangerous place and she, despite knowing logically that the hostages were going to come out alive, was on edge from the task and had no way of tracking their progress. Regarding your idea, that's not the direction this is going, but it would be interesting to see how it would have affected their relationship. I think Harry would forgive Ron, but that the embarrassment on Ron's end – especially if it had been in front of their classmates – might still splinter their friendship.