The chill of late February clung to Harry's skin, the wind whipping off the surface of the Black Lake sharp as a blade. He stood tall on the stone platform that jutted out over the water, his breath misting in front of him. Somewhere behind him, the other champions were preparing. Nervous pacing, clanking equipment, whispered words of encouragement.
But Harry? Harry was still.
He stood alone, wand loose at his side, robes rippling gently in the breeze. Beneath the weight of the eyes watching him—students, judges, even Rita Skeeter with her enchanted quill fluttering like an anxious insect—he felt nothing but cold purpose.
He wasn't afraid.
He wasn't even anxious.
He was ready.
The egg's clue had made everything clear. The person he would miss most had been taken, placed beneath the water in the Merpeople's village, held captive by the magic of the task. And even now, even knowing she'd be fine until the time limit ran out, some instinct in him screamed that she wasn't safe.
He had one hour.
He would not need that long.
"Champions," Bagman called from the judges' platform, voice booming magically across the lakefront, "take your positions!"
Harry didn't look at the others. He stared at the lake. The surface was calm, too calm, like a great black mirror. He stepped forward to the edge.
A whistle blew.
And without hesitation, Harry dove.
The water was freezing, but the spell Hermione had found for him—a modified Bubble-Head Charm—worked instantly, enclosing his head in a sphere of breathable air. The cold pierced through his robes, numbing his limbs, but his magic stirred inside him, hot and coiled like a serpent ready to strike.
Down he swam, through shafts of murky light and columns of silver bubbles, past swaying kelp and jagged rock. Visibility dimmed the farther he went, but his wand was lit, cutting a steady golden beam through the gloom.
Thirty feet down.
Fifty.
He saw movement to the right—shadows flickering just out of reach. He kept swimming.
Then it hit him.
A shape slammed into him from the side, knocking him into a rocky outcrop. His bubble-head charm held, but his ribs flared with pain. A creature—half-fish, half-serpent—twisted toward him, its body long and glistening with black scales. It hissed, its face too intelligent, too hungry.
A Grindylow, but not like the ones in textbooks. Larger. Mutated, perhaps.
It lunged.
Harry's wand snapped up. His voice, muffled in the bubble, barely escaped.
"Stupefy!"
The blast of red light struck the creature square in the face, sending it spinning through the water. It didn't stop moving, but it slowed—dazed.
More movement.
Two more came from the left, smaller but faster.
He turned toward them, teeth gritted.
"Rhazakh-Sen."
The spell slicedthrough the water, a sharp green line of force. One of the Grindylows shrieked a garbled scream before the spell hit. The creature's torso separated cleanly from its tail, black blood clouding the water in spiraling ink.
The second creature hesitated.
Harry aimed again.
"Rhazakh-Sen."
A flash. Another body drifting downward.
The water stilled, save for the swirl of blood and magic in the water. Harry's heart beat steadily. The spells hadn't even cost him much effort. It was as if the water itself carried his magic.
His eyes glowed faintly in the gloom.
He swam deeper.
The lake floor opened up into a wide basin, and there, nestled between two craggy cliffs of stone, was the Merpeople village. Strange huts made of coral and carved stone dotted the area. Pale green lights hovered like ghostly will-o'-the-wisps above the settlement.
And tied to a stone pillar at the village's heart—was Hermione.
Her head lolled, her curls floating weightlessly in the water, her eyes closed as if sleeping. A gillyweed-induced sleep spell, Harry assumed. A line of magic shimmered around the area like a ward, probably designed to keep the champions from simply blasting through it.
Two Merpeople stood watch nearby, tridents in hand. Their shark-like eyes locked onto Harry as he approached, cautious.
He stopped just before the boundary.
There was another Grindylow, swimming in lazy circles near the far side of the village. No… not a Grindylow. Bigger. Pale white.
A Kappa.
It hissed and charged.
Harry didn't hesitate.
"Rhazakh-Sen!"
The spell roared through the water like a harpoon, cracking across the Kappa's armor-like hide and sending it tumbling away into the murk.
Harry turned to the Merpeople and raised his hands slowly.
"I'm here for her," he said, his voice vibrating oddly in the bubble.
The guards did not move.
But the ward shimmered and parted.
He swam to her.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Hermione's forehead. She was warm, a little too warm, but peaceful. He gently cut the magical tether with a whispered spell and cradled her to him, turning and pushing upward, his legs kicking hard against the water.
The swim back was slower.
More creatures circled in the dark, but none dared strike. Whether it was the trail of corpses or the sheer force of magic rolling off him like heat from a forge, nothing challenged him.
The surface was closer now. He could see the light refracting above, hear the muffled roar of the crowd.
One last kick, and he broke the surface, Hermione in his arms.
The air rushed into his lungs as the Bubble-Head Charm collapsed. Cheers erupted, a thunderous wave of sound that made the lake tremble.
He pulled Hermione to the platform, where Madam Pomfrey was already rushing forward. Judges stood nearby, quills scribbling furiously.
But Harry didn't look at them.
He knelt beside Hermione, gripping her hand until her eyes fluttered open.
"Hey," she whispered, dazed. "Did we win?"
Harry smiled, brushing wet hair from her cheek.
"We're not dead," he said. "That's close enough."
But deep down, as the others congratulated him and Hermione smiled weakly into his shoulder, Harry wasn't focused on his score.
He was thinking of that spell—Rhazakh-Sen—and how easyit had been. How natural it felt to call on it. How much of himself it had stirred.
And in the hidden caverns of his mind, something whispered:
You were never meant to be ordinary.
The crowd's thunderous cheers hadn't yet died down when Harry, still soaked to the bone, helped Hermione into a blanket, her shivers slowly easing under Madam Pomfrey's fussing. She clutched his hand like an anchor as they sat together at the edge of the platform, legs dangling over the Black Lake.
They waited in silence as the other champions surfaced one by one.
Cedric emerged next, sputtering and triumphant, Cho slumped safely against his side. Viktor came after, dragging Ron—his hostage—through the water with a kind of feral urgency. Neither made eye contact with Harry, and Harry didn't seek it.
The last to appear was Fleur Delacour. Or rather, she was dragged up by several officials, barely conscious. Her once-elegant silver robes clung to her like seaweed, torn and stained, and her breaths came in short, frantic gasps.
Madam Pomfrey rushed over, wand at the ready, muttering spells under her breath.
"Gabrielle—Gabrielle est toujours là-dessous!" Fleur shrieked, clutching the front of the nurse's robes, her eyes wide with panic. "Elle est là! Elle—ma petite sœur—je ne pouvais pas—"
"She's saying her sister is still down there," Hermione translated, pale-faced.
Harry froze.
A stillness fell over the platform. The judges glanced at one another in alarm, their scribbling quills faltering. Bagman muttered something under his breath. Karkaroff scowled. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, turning toward the lake.
"Merlin," someone whispered. "They didn't bring her up."
Without thinking, beforehe could think, Harry was up on his feet, wand gripped in his wet hand.
And then—he jumped.
Again.
A gasp rippled through the crowd as his body vanished into the lake with barely a splash.
The water closed over his head like a curtain.
Harry pushed forward, adrenaline pulsing hot through his veins. His Bubble-Head Charm snapped into place with a word, and the burn of cold water became a distant second to the raw determination pumping through him.
Gabrielle.
She was just a little girl.
A little girl Fleur trusted the tournament to protect.
He couldn't let her drown.
The murky light of the depths greeted him once again, darker now, the sun's angle shifted. He swam faster than before, his limbs aching but his magic pulsing with unnatural strength.
Faster. Down. Down.
The familiar outline of the Merpeople's village came into view through swaying fronds of lakeweed. He saw the faint glow of the pale green lights, the craggy huts, the tall pillar in the center—and there, still bound with shimmering magical rope, was Gabrielle.
Still. Silent.
No.
Harry surged forward—only to be intercepted.
A wall of Merpeople moved into place, six of them, all armored in fish-scale breastplates, tridents at the ready. Their faces were impassive, eyes unblinking. They made no move to attack, but they did not let him pass.
Harry floated there, tense, barely two meters from the child. He could see her face—peaceful, but too still. Too long.
He pointed, trying to communicate.
"I need to take her!" he shouted through the bubble, but his voice came out garbled.
One of the Merpeople barked something in their harsh, clicking tongue.
Another swam forward, a grizzled warrior with coral armor etched with sigils. He gestured sharply—Go back.
Harry's fingers tightened on his wand.
"I needto take her," he growled, slower this time.
They didn't move.
And something snapped.
Not anger. Not hatred. But resolve. Cold and bright like steel drawn from flame.
He didn't raise his wand. Not yet. But his magic swelled, rippling around him in pulses, and the lake shuddered.
He swam forward half a meter.
The warriors bristled, tridents raised.
Harry raised his hand—not his wand—and opened it.
Magic coiled at his fingertips, glowing faintly in the water.
"I'm not here to hurt anyone," he said, voice calm but firm, commanding. "Let me take her. She's just a child."
The magic didn't lash out.
But it waited.
Something passed between them, ancient and wordless.
The lead warrior hesitated. Looked back at Gabrielle. Then at Harry.
Slowly, tridents lowered.
The path cleared.
Harry darted forward, heart pounding. He reached Gabrielle's side and sliced the ropes with a muttered spell, catching her carefully in his arms. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.
Still alive.
Relief swept through him, so intense it nearly made him drop her.
He turned, nodding once at the Merpeople, who watched him with cautious silence.
Then he kicked upward, once more swimming toward the light.
It took longer than the first time. His muscles were burning now, every inch of him weighed down by exhaustion and Gabrielle's limp form in his arms. But he broke the surface with a gasp, and dozens of voices roared in awe.
A dozen wands lit up, levitating him and the girl onto the platform.
He coughed hard, curling protectively around Gabrielle until Madam Pomfrey rushed over. Fleur screamed and sprinted forward, nearly collapsing beside them as her sister was carefully taken to the medic's care.
Harry sat back, chest heaving, the cold finally reaching him.
Hermione ran to his side, kneeling, grabbing his face with wet, shaking hands.
"You idiot," she whispered, voice trembling. "You absolute idiot. You didn't have to—"
"She's a kid," Harry mumbled, teeth chattering slightly. "I couldn't just… leave her."
Hermione pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his neck.
From the stands, silence fell.
And then—
A slow, building wave of applause.
Not wild, like the first time.
This time it was reverent.
Harry didn't hear it. Not really.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Hermione's shoulder.
He had done the right thing.
Hadn't he?
But deep in the still waters of his mind, the red-eyed shadow watched with a curled smile.
Even mercy can be used as a weapon.
Harry sat stiffly in his chair beside Hermione, still damp, wrapped in a thick Hogwarts blanket that smelled faintly of cloves and antiseptic. His fingers drummed nervously on the bench as Dumbledore stood before the assembled crowd of students, champions, and judges with that familiar twinkle in his eye that made Harry's stomach twist in foreboding.
The Headmaster's voice echoed across the platform, warm and firm, carrying above the murmurs of the lakefront crowd. "A most unusual turn of events this morning, wouldn't you say?"
Harry tried not to shift under the weight of everyone's eyes.
Dumbledore's gaze turned to him, soft with pride and mild amusement. "Mr. Potter once again demonstrated a strong moral compass in today's task. Though the champions were instructed to retrieve only theirhostage, it must be said—for the sake of clarity—that the Merpeople had strict orders to return any hostages not rescued before the hour mark expired."
A light ripple of surprised laughter passed through the students.
Harry's ears burned.
"That said," Dumbledore continued, "we do not discount bravery, especially when paired with compassion and selflessness. Mr. Potter risked further injury and magical fatigue not for personal gain, but for the life of another." He nodded once, slowly. "It is in light of this exceptional display of character that the judges have awarded him full marks."
The platform erupted with applause—some genuine, some begrudging.
Harry sunk lower in his seat, trying to disappear into the folds of his blanket. He glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eye.
She was quiet.
Too quiet.
When the cheering began to die down and the crowd started to disperse, she turned to him with a look that was equal parts fondness and exasperation.
"You realize you're completely daft, don't you?" she said, her voice low and tight.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Jumping back into the lake. After you'd already done what the task required." She narrowed her eyes. "Do you everthink before you risk your life?"
"She's a kid," Harry mumbled again, more defensively this time. "I couldn't just leave her."
Hermione let out a long breath, standing and folding her arms. "Yes, Harry, I knowwhy you did it. I understandwhy you did it. That doesn't mean I don't get to be angryabout it."
Her eyes were glassy with the tears she refused to shed. "You keep throwing yourself headfirst into danger like you've got something to prove. You don't. Not to me."
Harry looked down, guilt settling over him like another sodden cloak.
Then her voice softened, and she sat beside him again.
"Sometimes I wish you weren't so…" she trailed off, biting her lip.
"So what?" he asked, finally looking at her.
Hermione huffed out a breath, then gave him a tired, affectionate smile. "So damn noble."
Harry blinked, caught off guard as she leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek—then another to his lips, this one slower, tender, like a promise sealed with warmth.
Her arms wrapped around him, and he held her tightly in return, resting his chin atop her head.
"You scared me," she whispered.
"Scared myself too," he admitted, voice muffled by her curls.
For a while, they just sat there, surrounded by the distant chatter of the dispersing crowd and the gentle lapping of the Black Lake. The cold didn't quite touch him anymore. Not with Hermione pressed so close. Not with her fingers curled into his jumper like she never wanted to let go.
The applause was long gone.
But her heartbeat against his chest was steady.
And for now, that was more than enough.
A/N:
Sorry for the delay in uploading these chapters, I have been working on my first original novel and taking the steps to get it published. For those who don't know, the process is confusing for authors being published for the first time.