Chapter no. 6: The Second Task

The Aftermath of the Yule Ball

Aurora walked into the Great Hall the morning after the Yule Ball, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor. The hall was abuzz with conversation, whispers flowing like a current in the air. She could hear her name being muttered here and there, followed by snickers and quiet laughter. The same attention she had fought to avoid now pressed on her, a weight she couldn't escape.

She kept her gaze ahead, walking with the graceful poise she had learned to adopt in times like this. The evening had been a blur of lights and music, Elias's cool, quiet presence beside her—something felt different between them now, but there was no time to dwell on it. Not now. Not in a room full of people who wanted nothing more than to gossip about what they'd seen.

Her heart raced as she walked toward her usual spot at the table. As she passed by, she could feel the curious eyes watching her, the pointed glances of students too eager to talk about her and Elias's dance, their arrival together. But as she took her seat, her mind was too clouded for her to fully care.

She was about to pick up a piece of toast when a soft voice broke through the murmurs around her.

"Lady Blackwood," a familiar voice called. It was that Ravenclaw girl who had been supportive of her ever since the Quidditch trials, and who had always been kind. She had become one of the few who didn't treat her like a curiosity or a spectacle. The girl approached her cautiously, holding something out toward her.

Aurora looked up, blinking as the girl gently placed a folded newspaper in front of her. Her brow furrowed. "What's this?"

She hesitated, a look of discomfort flashing across her face. "I thought you might want to see this," she said, her voice low and almost apologetic.

Aurora took the paper, unfolding it with a sigh. As she opened the front page, her breath hitched in her chest.

There, in full color, was a picture of her and Elias—mid-dance at the Yule Ball, her gown billowing out like a dark cloud and Elias beside her, looking distant but poised. His expression was unreadable, just as always. But the headline above the image made her stomach turn:

"Blackwood Falls into Trap: Is She Blind to the Danger of Lestrange?"

The article that followed was no better.

"Aurora Blackwood, known for her aloofness and disdain for the traditional ways of the wizarding world, seemed to find an unlikely companion in Elias Lestrange—son of notorious Death Eaters, Radolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. Despite his parents reputation and their questionable loyalties, Blackwood appeared to throw herself into his company at the Yule Ball, despite his known associations with dark forces.

Is this a sign of her poor judgment? Could she have fallen victim to a well-orchestrated manipulation by Lestrange? It is rumored that Blackwood has been targeted by the dark wizard, Voldemort, from a very young age. Could this be another way of him getting to her—by planting his own pawn in her life? Or is it the Lady Blackwood who wants to go dark, to destroy her own legacy?"

It was continued to hillarious comments on 's fingers tightened around the edges of the paper, her knuckles going white. Her pulse quickened, and she could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. The familiar sting of humiliation crept up her neck as the whispers around her grew louder, more pronounced. Every word, every sentence was like a slap across her face, as if she were being dragged back into the public eye, forced to be the subject of gossip once more.

"That blasted journalist..." she muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the article again, fury bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

The girl watched her closely, her face filled with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Lady Blackwood," she said softly. "I didn't know if you'd seen it. I thought you should know, though. It's the same journalist who took your picture that day during the Weighing of the Wands."

Aurora's gaze snapped to her. The memory hit her like a punch to the gut—how that journalist had all but cornered her, asking questions that felt far too personal. And now, they had the audacity to spin a story like this? She felt her stomach churn, bile rising in her throat.

"They think they know everything about me," she said, her voice icy. "The audacity. It's always been this way. I can't go anywhere without people sticking their noses into my life."

The girl bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable. "People are cruel sometimes. But you know who you are, right?"

Aurora's eyes flickered toward the newspaper again, and for a moment, her resolve wavered. The harsh words were like an avalanche crashing down on her, threatening to overwhelm her. She had thought the night would end without incident. But now, she was faced with this—her reputation being twisted, her choices being judged by people who barely knew her.

"I'm not some puppet for their amusement," she said, her tone now sharp and steady. "This is what they want. They want me to break, to snap, to let their words get under my skin."

Aurora's fingers curled into a fist, and without a word, she clenched the newspaper in her hand. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface bubbled up, sharp and immediate. She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, the need to do something—anything—to push back against the invasive cruelty of the words on the page.

She inhaled deeply, her eyes narrowing as she stared down at the insulting headlines, her grip tightening around the paper. It crumpled in her hand, the edges curling slightly as the heat from her fingers intensified, but it wasn't a display of power—just a quiet act of rebellion against the words that tried to define her.

Without turning her gaze from the paper, she spoke, her voice low but unmistakable.

"I don't care what they say."

The whisper of her words was like a command, and as if in response to her resolve, the paper began to burn. At first, it was just a slight shimmer at the edges, unnoticed by those around her. The flames seemed to emanate from within, creeping up the sides like a quiet warning. The ash gathered at her fingertips, and as she turned her palm upward, the fire spread across the surface of the paper, igniting it completely in a flash.

One moment, there was a crisp, glaring headline. The next, nothing but fine, grey ash settled onto the table.

The Great Hall remained unnervingly still. No one had seen the exact moment the paper had burned—just the soft, almost imperceptible flicker as it was reduced to nothing. But it was enough. The sensation of having something of hers destroyed, something so personal, yet so public, could not be ignored.

She held her gaze on the remaining newspapers scattered around the room. One by one, they began to smolder and blacken, curling as if reacting to the same pulse of defiance she had just shown. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face remained cool, calm—a façade of someone who was used to this kind of attention, even if it burned.

The murmurs around her began again, but this time they were different—uncertain, quieter, hesitant. Aurora didn't look up. She didn't need to. The message had been clear: She would not be a subject for their gossip, their headlines, their cruel narratives.

She set the last of the charred remains of the paper down on the table, taking a slow breath.

"I've had enough of this," she said, her voice cool, steady. "The next time someone tries to write my story for me... they'll have to find someone else to prey on."

The Ravenclaw girl—looked at her in stunned silence, her mouth hanging open as she watched the last of the flames flicker out. But Aurora didn't wait for her to speak. She stood up from the table, brushing invisible dust from her robe.

All eyes were still on her. But now, the weight of their attention felt different. No longer was it about curiosity or ridicule. Now, they were watching someone who had just burned away the false narrative that was being written for her, who had refused to be defined by words on a page.

Aurora walked out of the Great Hall with her head held high, her steps echoing in the sudden silence behind her.

The echo of whispers still hung in the air long after Aurora left the Great Hall, the murmurs following her like a shadow. Despite the calm facade she'd managed to put on in front of everyone, the storm within her had not yet settled. Her steps were quick and purposeful as she walked through the corridors, her mind racing with a dozen conflicting thoughts. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected to be the subject of a headline, especially not one so twisted and manipulative. It was maddening.

As she rounded a corner, she saw Elias leaning against the stone wall, his icy blue eyes glinting in the dim light. His arms were folded loosely across his chest, his usual cold expression betraying little emotion. But the moment he saw her, something flickered in his gaze—something between concern and curiosity.

Aurora stopped in front of him, barely sparing him a glance as she adjusted the hem of her dress. The night had been a whirlwind, and now, it felt like she was still walking through its aftermath, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"You're late," she said softly, her voice steady but carrying the sharp edge of someone holding back too much.

Elias didn't immediately respond. Instead, he stepped toward her, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to assess how much the night's events had truly affected her. He had seen the headlines too. He knew what they'd said about him. About her.

"You're not as untouchable as you think, are you?" he finally spoke, his voice low. His tone wasn't mocking, nor was it pitying—there was something else, something more sincere beneath his usual guarded demeanor. "That wasn't just about you, you know. They targeted both of us. You can burn their words, but they'll just keep writing more."

Aurora took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing slightly. She turned her face to the side, looking out the window as she tried to steady herself, fighting the urge to let the frustration and anger bubble to the surface.

"I know." She felt the words heavy on her tongue. "It's just... all the lies. I can't stand it. They're trying to paint me as some naïve little girl, lost in a world of danger and manipulation. As if I don't know who I am."

Elias stepped closer to her, his gaze unwavering. "I know what they think of you. They don't know you the right way ."

A flicker of something in her chest—a feeling she couldn't name—rose at his words, but she forced it down quickly. She didn't have time for such distractions. Not now.

"I don't need anyone's sympathy, Elias." Her words came out sharp, but she wasn't angry with him. She was angry at the whole situation—the public spectacle, the way people always seemed to assume the worst of her. "And I don't need to be saved, either."

Elias's lips twitched, his usual cool mask faltering for a moment. "No one said you did." He stepped back, his posture relaxing ever so slightly. "But you don't have to do it all alone, you know. Not everything has to be a battle."

Aurora gave a small, humorless laugh. "And what would you know about not fighting alone, Elias? You're a Lestrange. People expect you to be alone."

Her words, though blunt, hung in the air between them. She didn't mean to hit him where it hurt, but sometimes, when the frustration was too much, the truth slipped out in ways she couldn't control. She saw his eyes narrow, just a flicker of a reaction, but it was enough for her to realize she had struck a nerve.

For a moment, there was only silence.

"Don't." Elias's voice was quiet, but there was a steel edge to it. "You don't get to judge me, Aurora. Not like that. I know who I am. And I know who you are. You're not some helpless girl who needs saving—neither of us are."

Aurora met his gaze, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, she saw something in him—something real. It was the first time she realized that, despite everything that had been said about him, Elias had always been there, standing next to her without judgment. The idea of him being the subject of her ire seemed almost absurd now, as though there was a part of her that had been too quick to assume the worst.

Her voice softened, the sharpness fading. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean that."

Elias didn't respond right away, his gaze steady on her. Instead of anger, though, there was something else in his eyes—something almost vulnerable, as if he had just allowed himself to lower a wall he had spent years building.

After a pause, he said, "You don't need to apologize for being angry. But you don't have to face all of this alone. Not with me."

Aurora looked at him, the weight of his words settling over her. The chaos, the whispers, the relentless scrutiny—it had all become too much to bear in silence. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop pretending that she could handle it all by herself.

She finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, her shoulders slumping slightly in relief.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For not abandoning me."

Elias nodded, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't abandon people. Not when they matter."

And for the first time in a long while, Aurora let herself believe it.

That night she sent a message to the Daily Prophet through her lawyer to never ever try to comment on Aurora's life nor on peoples life close to her, otherwise Aurora would burn the office in ashes and no one will even question her for that.


.

Aurora didn't have a clue what to do with that stupid golden egg.

The judges had made a point of it, emphasizing how the egg contained the clue for the second task. "Listen carefully, and it will reveal all," they had said. But all Aurora had gotten from it was a howl so piercing it made her want to hex the nearest living thing.

She sat cross-legged on the velvet rug in her room, the egg placed mockingly in front of her like some smug little goblin. A candle flickered beside her, casting a dull golden glow over the engraved surface of the egg, but there was no revelation, no whisper of magic guiding her. Just silence… until she dared open it.

With a snap of her fingers, the egg's lid parted—and the wailing began.

An awful, screeching cry echoed through the chamber. It wasn't human. It wasn't even remotely tolerable. The kind of sound that felt like claws dragging down a glass wall inside her mind. Aurora flinched, her hands flying to her ears.

"Merlin's bones, that's worse than that Polterigist - Peeves with a trumpet," she hissed, slamming it shut.

Silence returned. She stared at the egg, jaw tightening.

"What do I do with you? Boil you? Drop you in a lake?"

She considered asking Madame Maxime—but that would be cheating, and if there was one thing Aurora didn't do, it was beg for help. Even when she needed it.

"Useless bloody thing," she muttered, rising to her feet in a flash of midnight-blue dressing gown. The egg rolled slightly as she stood, almost like it was taunting her.

She glared. And then, without a second thought, she kicked it.

The egg hit the cushioned wall of her room and landed with a dull thud against the rug. It made a tiny whimpering noise, as if offended. Aurora glared harder.

"I hate you," she told it flatly, and then turned on her heel.

It was almost 9 at night and there was no one in the whole castle.

Aurora wandered the quiet courtyard, her boots crunching lightly over the gravel. The air was crisp, the kind that stung just enough to keep her grounded. Her breath fogged in front of her, and her cloak flared with each purposeful step.

Useless egg. Useless clue. Why does everything have to be a riddle wrapped in screaming?

Instead of heading toward the lake or the common areas where some students might still linger, Aurora turned her feet toward the only place that had ever made sense to her—the Library.

It was late, but Madame Pince never questioned her anymore. Not since she'd been given access to the Restricted Section under both Madame Maxime and Dumbledore's joint approval. Aurora had earned her silence with how quietly she moved and how reverently she treated the tomes others wouldn't even be allowed to glance at.

The torches flickered low as she stepped through the grand arched entrance of the library. It was mostly deserted, save for a few stragglers dozing over open pages. Aurora slipped past them like a shadow, gliding silently to the far right corner, the place that had become her sanctuary since arriving.

The air here always smelled of old parchment and forgotten magic. Dust motes floated in the dim light like tiny suspended stars.

She ran her fingers along the spines of ancient books, feeling the magic thrumming faintly under her fingertips. Most of these volumes were in languages long dead. But Aurora had been taught well. She could understand the runes, the sigils, the codes whispered only to those who listened.

After a moment, her hand paused on a thick black leather-bound book etched with silver glyphs:
"Voice of the Deep: Subaqueous Magical Creatures and Enchantments."

A flicker of intuition sparked in her chest.

Water… Voice… Could it be?

Cradling the heavy tome in her arms, she moved to her usual table in the back, where the shadows curved protectively around her and the world outside felt miles away. She opened the book slowly, reverently, the pages creaking softly.

Her green eyes scanned the text, flipping past sketches of merrows, grindylows, and selkies until something caught her eye:

"Mermish songs can only be understood clearly beneath the surface of water. Their frequency distorts in air, becoming unintelligible to the human ear. Often described as 'wailing' or 'screaming' when heard above water."

Aurora's breath hitched.

She leaned forward, rereading the passage, her mind racing.

So that's it… the egg's clue isn't meant to be heard here. It's meant to be heard underwater.

She sat back slowly, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

Finally.

She didn't know exactly what the second task was yet, but at least now, she had a starting point.

As the library stretched on in hushed stillness, Aurora remained in her corner, poring over the book, taking careful notes in elegant, slanted handwriting. The glow of discovery in her eyes made her look sharper, more alive.

Aurora's fingers lingered on the parchment as her mind raced ahead.

Underwater… That's why it sounds like screaming above. But how do I test it? She traced the line about merfolk again, eyes narrowing in thought. I'll need somewhere safe. And quiet. And alone.

She closed the book slowly and tucked her notes into her pocket. There was no use dragging this any longer tonight. Her limbs ached, and her magic pulsed faintly beneath her skin, warning her of the exhaustion creeping in. She placed the heavy tome back on the shelf with care, fingers brushing the spine almost fondly.

She stepped into the corridor outside the library, which was now dimmer—most torches had guttered low. The silence followed her as she padded back toward the carriages, her boots soft against the stone. The chill didn't bother her much anymore. She welcomed it, even—it cleared her thoughts.

Back in the carriage, the egg sat mockingly where she had left it. It gleamed faintly in the moonlight, tipped over near the edge of her bed like a sulking child. She stared at it a moment, then knelt and picked it up, cradling it in both hands. She didn't open it again. She didn't need the screaming anymore.

Instead, she whispered to herself, almost like a promise,
Tomorrow. We test this the right way.


The next morning

Aurora rose early. Before the other champions stirred, before even the earliest of students filled the Great Hall. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, pulled gloves over her fingers, and slipped the golden egg into the enchanted bag hanging at her side.

Outside, the mist clung low to the ground, and the lake glimmered like silver glass. She made her way to the edge quietly, where the dock stretched into the water like a pathway into stillness. A few birds chirped in the distance, but otherwise, the world was muted—just the way she liked it.

She knelt at the edge, pulling her wand out and whispering, "Muffliato." The bubble of silence wrapped around her instantly. She glanced around once, making sure she was alone, then carefully slipped the egg from her bag.

Her wand hand moved smoothly as she whispered, "Impervius," casting the water-repelling charm on her clothes. Then, without hesitation, she stepped into the water.

The cold hit her like a wall, but she moved steadily, wading in until the surface reached just below her chest. Taking a steadying breath, she pulled the egg into the water with her—and twisted it open.

This time, the sound didn't pierce her ears. Instead, a haunting melody poured into the lake like woven glass and song. Voices—not wails—sang to her, clear and cold:

"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss..."

Aurora's heart stilled.

They're going to take something. She listened again, memorizing each line as the egg repeated the verse. Something important. And we'll have to find it. Underwater. In the lake.

Her fingers tightened around the egg, the rippling water glinting with light around her. She closed it gently, eyes narrowed.

So that's your game…

She stepped back out onto the dock, the water dripping from her boots as she cast a warming charm to dry herself. The cold hadn't bothered her, not really. What haunted her now was the question pulsing behind the egg's words:

What would they take from me?

That thought stuck with her all day.


The Second Task – The Lake Challenge

The morning of the second task dawned cold and misty. Fog clung to the surface of the Black Lake like a veil, and the grounds of Hogwarts were buzzing with excitement. Students huddled in cloaks and scarves, filling the stands that had been conjured along the lakeshore. The judges sat under a magically heated canopy, their faces serious but expectant.

Aurora stood on the frozen ground near the lake's edge, wrapped in a thick cloak that billowed in the wind. She had removed it moments before the task, revealing her slim form clad in sleek, dark blue swimming robes laced with enchantments against cold and pressure. Her wand was strapped securely to her arm. Around her neck, a silver pendant from the Blackwoods hung beneath the robes, thrumming faintly against her skin.

To her right stood Cedric, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Harry, looking unusually pale, was clutching a piece of Gillyweed, and Viktor was already stripping off his cloak, revealing gills forming on his neck.

Aurora exhaled. She'd tested the egg clue by submerging it in water in the library's enchanted basin—and finally heard the singing:
"Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground..."

She knew now they had to go into the lake. And bring something… someone… back.

Ludo Bagman's voice boomed magically across the grounds.
"Champions, get ready! You have one hour to retrieve what has been taken from you. On the count of three… one… two… THREE!"

A whistle rang out. And with barely a second's hesitation, Aurora dove into the icy water.

Under the Lake

Instantly, her body adapted—the enchanted robes warming her skin, the spell she had cast earlier letting her breathe underwater. Her hair streamed behind her like black silk, glowing faintly under the magical runes stitched into the robes. She swam deeper, the cold wrapping around her limbs like shadows.

Below, the light faded quickly. The water was dense and dark. Strange fish darted past, their scales glowing with eerie phosphorescence. The deeper she swam, the quieter everything became—until only the slow thump of her heart and the rush of water remained.

She passed weeds that curled like hands. A Grindylow peered at her from a crevice but didn't move. She was close.

Then—singing.

Haunting, melodic voices drifted through the water. Mermaids.

Aurora followed the sound and emerged into an underwater clearing. A circle of stone sat beneath the lakebed, and tied to tall coral pillars were four figures.

Cedric was already approaching Cho.

Viktor had nearly reached Hermione.

Harry had just arrived, panic spreading across his face as he saw Ginny.

Aurora's gaze snapped to the last pillar—and her breath caught.

Elias.
He looked peaceful, unconscious, bound by glowing kelp. His silver –black hair waved in the water, eyes closed, as if dreaming. Around him, merpeople watched silently, their spears in hand, guarding the hostages.

Aurora swam forward cautiously, the runes on her robes reacting to the ancient magic holding the hostages. She reached out a hand and muttered a spell with clarity, slicing through the kelp carefully. The mermaid nearby watched her with narrowed, ancient eyes.

"Let him go," Aurora whispered, unsure if the mermaid understood.

Still, the spell worked. Elias drifted forward, and Aurora caught him. She looped one arm around him, keeping him close.

She looked around. Harry was struggling to cut the ropes.

Aurora turned and kicked upward, her magic pulsing with strength, shielding both her and Elias from the pressure.

Breaking the Surface

Aurora broke through the water with a sharp gasp, dragging Elias with her.

The crowd roared.

Madam Pomfrey and members of the staff waded in, helping her pull Elias onto the dock.

He was still unconscious, but breathing.

Aurora knelt beside him, water streaming off her. Her hair stuck to her face, her eyes searching his.

He coughed—once, then opened his eyes slowly. He looked up at her, dazed.
"You look like death," he said hoarsely.

Aurora exhaled a half-laugh. "You're one to talk."

She sat beside him as Madam Pomfrey conjured blankets. The sun broke through the mist as the other champions emerged one by one.

Post-Task

The champions were gathered near the judges. Dumbledore leaned close and murmured something to Madame Maxime, who nodded proudly at Aurora. Bagman raised his wand.

"All four champions showed great courage, resourcefulness, and care for their hostages. But one—" He smiled, "—showed exceptional magical control and swam the deepest path."

Aurora's name echoed across the lake. The Beauxbatons students burst into cheers.

Aurora didn't smile. She just nudged her face a bit.