Search:

SIYE Time:12:23 on 29th March 2024
SIYE Login: no


Grey Maiden IV: Darkness Rising
By Chris Widger

- Text Size +

Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Romance, Tragedy
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 181
Summary: Harry's training has begun at last, as has the difficult task of gathering allies. Daphne and his friends will prove invaluable in this job, but then Harry finds himself hurled into a legendary and deadly competition against his will. As the Darkness gathers, he is faced with his greatest test yet. And the penalty for failure might just be death.
Hitcount: Story Total: 132519; Chapter Total: 5800







ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter


Chapter 18: Deadly Waters

Harry’s euphoria from his triumph over Draco Malfoy lasted over a week, undimmed by Dumbledore’s announcement that the Ministry had officially excluded underage witches and wizards from the Charter of Dueling. That was, of course, to say that Dumbledore and a collection of concerned Light wizards had crammed the new law down Minister Fudge’s throat, over the objection of Dark families everywhere.

The only thing that could dim his enthusiasm was the realization that he was running out of time to solve the Egg Clue, as it was already late January, and homework, combined with Occlumency and Potions lessons with Snape, was leaving him less and less time to research. And despite Hermione’s endless efforts, and a few keen insights by Ginny, he was no closer to finding the answer. He was about to give up yet again, when he received help from the most unlikely of sources.

“Hey, Harry!”

Turning around, Harry found himself staring into the widened eyes of Neville Longbottom, who looked shocked by his own daring. Hermione and Ginny, a few shelves away, had also looked in Neville’s direction. Ginny suddenly turned bright red. “Oh, sorry Neville,” she squeaked. “Harry, I ran some of my ideas about the Egg clue past Neville on the train and he said he might have something, but then I forgot with everything that’s happened recently. Merlin, Neville, I’m so sorry for just forgetting you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Neville said. Ginny was getting close to hyperventilating. “Anyway, I thought I’d see if I can be of any help. It’s probably not what you’re looking for, but I figured…”

“Just go ahead, Neville,” Harry coaxed.

“Alright,” the pudgy Gryffindor said. “Harry, I just…I remember something Gran said about the ugliest thing she’d ever heard. She said…” Neville took a deep breath. “She said that one day, while she was just a young Gryffindor at Hogwarts, the Merpeople were staging some sort of ceremony. Headmaster Dippet was there, along with a number of teachers. Anyway, this rather nice-looking Merwoman came to the surface, and she started singing…”

Hermione’s mouth dropped wide open, and she looked like she could have kicked herself.

“…it was rather awful, really. Says it sounded like nails on a chalkboard, or a Banshee mating cry, or something dreadful like that…”

“Neville, you’re a genius!” Hermione cried. She ran up to him and captured her stunned housemate in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” With that, she was gone, dashing for another part of the library.

Ginny and Harry looked at each other. Then Harry put it together. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Talk about missing the obvious.”

Hermione was back a minute later, panting from exertion. She slammed a large book down on the reading table, and frantically flipped through it until she found the page she was looking for. She pointed at a passage with her wand. “Here, right here.”

Harry leaned over and read.

Among the most foul sounds of the magical world is the song of the merpeople, although even this is a matter of perspective. As unbearable as their song is above water, to us air breathers, below the surface, the song is as beautiful as the music of the greatest human composers.

Harry grinned. “Water is the answer,” he repeated. “She was right.”

“Wait, didn’t Luna say that at the Yule Ball?” Neville asked. Harry nodded.

“If you have to listen to the mersong to understand the clue, that probably means you’ll be spending some time underwater,” Ginny pointed out.

“I’d like to check that to be sure, but you are probably right,” Harry agreed.

“I might have something for that too.”

Harry stared at him in wonderment, something that clearly seemed to confuse the anxious Gryffindor. “Go on,” he said, again encouraging him to continue.

“Well, you see, Professor Moody gave me this book after the lesson with the Unforgivable Curses…trying to make me feel better, I reckon.”

Harry remembered that. Neville had been badly shaken after witnessing a demonstration of the Cruciatus Curse, which had undoubtedly brought back terrifying memories of his past. Neville had been just days older than Harry when Voldemort murdered his parents, but Harry knew that if he still lived that night in his nightmares, the same was surely true of the boy before him.

“…anyway, the book’s called Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. I was reading through it at Gran’s, and I came across this passage on Gillyweed. It’s this magical weed that only grows in shallow water near Malta…and I think I read that it allows the user to-”

“To breathe underwater!” Hermione exclaimed. “Neville, where have you been this whole time?”

Neville failed to realize she was joking. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but I didn’t know-”

“Relax,” Harry said, grinning broadly at him. “You know, I might just kiss you right now.”

“Something that might make your girlfriend a wee bit jealous,” Ginny said from behind him. “Of course, I might forgive you.”

Neville chuckled weakly, once he realized that Harry wasn’t serious…well, probably…

“I think I remember some other details about the plant,” Neville continued, sounding considerably more confident now than he normally did, and now that he was in his element. “When consumed, Gillyweed causes the consumer to develop gills, as well as webbing between the fingers and toes.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “Alright, let’s go figure out the details before we get any more excited. Ginny and I’ll go get the Egg, you two meet us down at the Lake-”

“Harry, the water is frigid. Getting hypothermia on top of everything else isn’t going to help,” Hermione said.

“I’m going to have to do it in less than a month anyway,” Harry argued. “I can just use a Warming Charm to make a patch of the shallow water more tolerable. Besides, it’s not like there’s anywhere else I can fit the Egg and my head underwater…”

“Well,” Hermione said, sounding reluctant to admit it, “There is the prefect’s bathroom. I know the password.”

“You do?” Harry said, surprised.

“Looks like our Hermione’s a little less innocent than she’d like to have everyone believe,” Ginny said. She’d moved to Harry’s side.

“Well, I just happened to overhear Cedric and Richard Price, one of the Ravenclaw prefects, talking about it,” Hermione explained. “I remembered it because I thought it might come in handy. Turns out I was right.”

“You’re still advising we break the rules,” Ginny said, cackling evilly.

“You needn’t be so dramatic about it,” Hermione said, glaring at her friend. “While I don’t advocate breaking rules just for the sake of it, figuring out what Harry’s up against is certainly a noble goal.”

“Whatever you say,” Ginny said, shrugging. “Fred and George will be pleased.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“If you two are quite finished, we should get going. You meet us at the Prefect’s bathroom,” Harry said, indicating Hermione and Neville.

Neville looked stunned to be included. “Me?”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “It’s your idea, after all. We’d be glad to have you come along.”

“I’d say we be rather disappointed if you didn’t,” Ginny added.

Neville’s smile was one of relief and the joy that came with finally being accepted by his peers. He and Hermione took off for the Fifth Floor, Ginny and Harry raced for the dungeons.

Ginny retrieved the egg while Harry changed into swimming trunks and a t-shirt to wear beneath his robes. They managed to avoid any suspicion and, when they reached the door to the Prefect’s bathroom, they found a perfect imitation of one of Filch’s Out of Order signs, complete with identical hand writing. Harry pulled the handle, but it was locked. He was beginning to wonder if the sign was real, and not an imitation when the door opened a crack and Neville’s eye peered out at them. They stepped back to allow the Gryffindor to open the door further, then slipped inside.

Hermione had already filled the tub when they arrived. Harry nodded and began stripping off his robes. Harry noticed that in an ironic twist there was a painting of a Merwoman (looking considerably more human than they actually were.) He also noticed Hermione’s eyes bulging as he undid his belt.

Should I look away?” Hermione asked, sounding vaguely disgusted.

“Relax, he’s wearing something underneath…unfortunately,” Ginny whispered, so that only Harry could hear. Cheeks burning a bit, Harry took off the rest of his school robe, handed it to Hermione, and then stepped into the warm water. He reached out and Ginny handed him the egg. Then, he ducked his head underwater, opening the egg as he did so.

Through the clear bathwater, he could see that the egg was emitting a bright light that hadn’t been there when he tried to open it in his dormitory. A beautiful hum came from the glowing interior, followed by a series of notes from some sort of instrument. Then, the song began…

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,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour - the prospect's black
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

Another few bars of music, played by the song unknown instrument, came from the egg.

An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took...,
... your time's half-gone, so tarry not
Lest what you seek stays here to rot...

His lungs burning for oxygen, Harry closed the egg, went to the surface for air, and then ducked back down. He listened to the song again, trying to memorize it as best he could. He came up again, standing in the bath water. The others looked at him anxiously. Harry repeated the words he’d just heard.

“So, if I understand correctly, it seems as though something valuable is going to be taken from you, and hidden at the bottom of the lake. You’ll have just one hour to find it and bring it back,” Hermione said.

“Sounds about right,” Harry agreed, stepping out of the bath. Ginny handed him a towel. “What do you reckon they are planning to take? Don’t have a broom anymore.”

“It’s probably a person,” Ginny said. Then, more subdued, she continued. “Most likely me or Hermione.” She looked unhappy, slightly anxious. “My guess is that it’s me.”

“How exactly are you going to end up on the bottom of the lake?” Harry asked. “I certainly can’t see you going willingly.”

“I’m sure that everyone will be perfectly safe,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen…”

“Because the bloody dragons were so harmless,” Harry groaned. Hermione glared at him.

“…as I was saying,” she continued, “while the Champions might be in danger, I doubt he’d let a student just run out of air and drown at the bottom of the lake if any of the Champions couldn’t reach them.”

“Hermione’s probably right,” Neville agreed. Again, he seemed to be stunned that he was even attempting to participate in this conversation. Harry gave him a nod of encouragement, and he seemed to relax.

“Yeah, I think so too,” Harry said. “Well, we’ve got a basic plan. Might be good to know what I should expect down there, and we’re going to need to procure some Gillyweed, but at least we’ve finally what were doing.” He grinned at Neville. “Thanks to you, of course.”

“You’re welcome,” Neville replied.

“You know, you really ought to feel more comfortable spending time with us,” Harry told him.

“Well, I never really got the idea that you wanted me around…not that you haven’t been really kind to me and all, you have…I just…I didn’t really think…”

“No, you didn’t,” Ginny said. But she was still smiling. “I like having you around, Neville. We all do. If you’re looking for somebody to talk to, don’t feel shy about tracking us down, okay?”

“Alright…thanks,” Neville replied, his cheeks reddening a bit. “Thanks a lot. I really ought to be going, though. I promised Professor Sprout I’d help her re-pot some Mandrakes. She’ll be expecting me.”

“Thanks for you help, Neville,” Hermione said.

Neville waved shyly, then slipped out. Hermione dried Harry off with a couple of waves of her wand, and he donned his robes.

“You think he’ll actually seek us out next time?” Ginny asked.

Harry shrugged. “I hope he does, but I honestly don’t know. Come on, let’s get to dinner, I’m starved.”

Hermione drained the bath, and they slipped out, taking the sign on the door with them.

What they didn’t see was Moaning Myrtle, floating up in a corner of the large room, rather disappointed at just how much of Harry Potter she hadn’t seen.


Legilimens!”

Snape’ s mental presence instantly penetrated Harry’s defenses. He managed to see about three or four flashes of memory before being pushed back. He tried multiple other memories, but was stymied by the mental equivalent of a hastily-erected brick wall every time. Finally, he slammed into one of the walls head on, smashing through, and penetrated deeper.

Harry slowly lowered his head, bending down to touch Ginny Weasley’s lips with his own…

Harry regrouped and hurled Snape back, ejecting him from his mind entirely. He opened his eyes, breathing heavily, and looked to his Head of House for an assessment. “Professor?”

“I was able to reach one of your more private memories,” Snape said. “It is possible that even from so brief an exposure, the Dark Lord may be able to glean some sensitive information. And you must remember, Potter, that this is the best you’ve managed while fully conscious and forewarned of my mental attack.”

“I know I’m not all the way there, sir,” Harry said. Learning the basics had not been much of a problem, but making progress from there had become steadily more difficult. Earlier, Snape had been able to exploit his darkest memories, using his visceral emotional reaction to defeat his attempts to push him out; using the horrors of his past to shatter his mental control. Harry had gotten much better at limiting the amount of time Snape had before he counter-attacked, as well as making it far more difficult for him to break through Harry’s defenses in the first place.

“Nonetheless, you have made significant progress,” Snape granted. “Considering the number of weapons the Dark Lord would have to overwhelm and torment you, I must say I’m pleasantly surprised with your aptitude for the art of Occlumency.”

“That means a lot, coming from you, Professor” Harry said. A part of him still felt revulsion when he looked at his Potions Professor. The memory he’d witnessed forced him to keep an emotion distance, at best. At worst, it made him automatically assume the worst of the man, and find it difficult to deal with his criticism.

“Indeed, Potter. I rarely give compliments. In this case, it is deserved. I often wonder how I could have ever been foolish enough to believe that you were in any way like your father. The two of you may be physically alike, but the resemblance ends there. You are fine student, Potter, dedicated and focused.”

“Hasn’t helped me recently with the Potions lessons,” Harry said. He’d already found himself unable to duplicate Moon’s efforts with the most advanced Potions. Moon seemed to have a sixth sense that told her exactly when to add an ingredient, or to adjust the temperature by just a few degrees centigrade one way or the other. Harry was quite adept at following instructions to the letter, but while he had a basic feel for subtle changes and could often detect if something was going wrong, that was the limit to his abilities. Harry would most likely be a fine Potions student, but he probably didn’t have a future as a Potions’ Master.

“You do seemed to have reached your limits,” Snape admitted. “I must admit I did have high hopes for you. Moon comes from a family of Potions Masters and Mistresses, so her success was in no way surprising. Considering the ineptitude of your father, yours was.”

“Professor, wasn’t my mother quite good at Potions?” Harry asked.

Snape looked at him, then proceeded cautiously. “Your mother was…quite good at everything, Potter. Lily Evans was one of the best students at Hogwarts. If there is a comparison, simply in terms of academic aptitude, it would be your friend, Granger.”

Harry had expected that. “But even Hermione isn’t as advanced as I am, sir.”

“No, she isn’t,” Snape said. “Based on what I’ve seen of her, Potions is one subject where she didn’t immediately have success. Hence, she lacks the confidence and flair of an advanced Potions student. Her marks are fine, and her essays are excellent, but she underperforms on the practical side. You are very much the opposite. That’s not to say your theoretical work is poor; it’s perfectly acceptable. But your attention to detail and basic instincts for Potions has allowed you to come as far as you have. I propose that you continue to work with Moon and me outside of class, but that unless you make considerable progress, you return to the normal track next year.”

“What about advancing me, sir?” Harry asked.

“To N.E.W.T Potions?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. “That would be quite a challenge, Potter. The difference between 5th year Potions and N.E.W.T Potions is significant. I’m not sure you are ready to handle that kind of work. I can at least promise to make sure that you are challenged next year, although we may be working on some potions that you’ve already mastered.”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

“Yes…Legilimens!”

This time, Snape caught Harry completely off guard. Memories flashed by, including dozens of tender moments with Ginny…the Chamber of Secrets…the underground room with the Philosopher’s Stone…Harry watched as Hermione’s belly was ripped open by Quirrell’s curse…then pushed back, shoving Snape out of that corner of his mind…Snape tried another avenue, and got a glimpse of Harry staring down Fenrir Grey back in the Forbidden Forest but Harry blocked him there…his attempt to break into some of his younger memories with Daphne was stymied at last by Harry…as Snape regrouped, Harry took to the offensive, allowing his magic to boost his abilities, to pummel Snape with mental blows, until he was finally ejected…

Harry’s eyes snapped open. He was pressed against the well, sweaty and exhausted. His lungs gasped for air.

Snape’s expression was one of disappointment and distaste. Harry decided to say it before he did. “Damn.”

“Indeed, Mr. Potter? Do you know what went wrong?” he asked. He was clearly testing Harry’s appreciation of the severity of the situation. If he in any way blamed Snape, he would fail that test.

“I let myself be pulled in by our conversations, by the closeness between us. I lost control of my emotions, let my control slip. And you took advantage of that.”

“Yes. Do you feel that my actions were in any way unfair? In the way that I attacked you? In the memories that I focused on?”

“No,” Harry said truthfully. “Your mandate is to teach me how to resist Vol…the Dark Lord’s mental attacks. He won’t tell me when he’s going to strike. I might not even have the warning given by the Legilimens incantation. I need to remain alert and prepared at all times. An attack might come when I least expect it.”

“Yes,” Snape said. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear. You have accepted the blame for your own mistakes. An uncommon quality, yet one I prize. Life is not fair, Potter. That you seemed to have realized that at your age bodes well for your future.”

Harry didn’t mention he felt Snape was a bit of a hypocrite. Although he never specifically blamed James Potter and the other Marauders for driving him to Voldemort’s side, somehow it was still implied. “Thank you, sir.”

“So, tell me, Potter, have you made any more progress in your preparations for the Second Task? I wouldn’t want Slytherin House to be bested by a couple of foreigners…or a Hufflepuff.

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said. He concealed his disdain for Snape’s arrogance. “I’ve figured out the significance of the Golden Egg, and I’m formulating a plan for the Second Task.”

“Excellent…Legilimens! ”

Harry had been waiting for that moment, and threw up a shield immediately. Snape’s presence slammed into it, and the impact reverberated in his mind like a gong. Snape was physically knocked backwards as well, stumbling into the front of his desk. “Good anticipation…Legilimens!

Again Harry was ready, and again, Snape was repulsed. Harry stared back at him, prepared for a third attack. “Obviously, when expecting an attack, your skills are quite impressive. It’s the ability to remain focused and ready to protect your thoughts at a moment’s notice that separates the mediocre Occlumens from the advanced Occlumens. We are done for tonight. Continue to practice every night before bed. If you begin having nightmares, especially ones not caused by the Dark Lord, you aren’t clearing your mind correctly, and you will be vulnerable.”

“I understand,” Harry said.

“I can’t say I enjoy working with you, Potter, but your politeness, despite the fact I am intentionally trying to exploit your worst memories, is refreshing. I’ll see again next Wednesday evening.”

Harry nodded, and Snape unlocked the door to his office. His mind spinning a bit, he headed off in search of Ginny. She was probably waiting for him in the Slytherin Common Room.

When he entered, a number of eyes instantly looked his way. His defeat of Malfoy had won him some admirers, especially among the younger Slytherins, but he’d also earned respect from a few of his older classmates. Millicent Bulstrode had acknowledged his existence for the first time in about two years. He didn’t know much about the Bullstrodes; they weren’t really a wealthy or well-known Dark family.

Also giving him a curious look was the dark-haired Giselle Reisor, sitting alone in a corner of the Common Room. She had not been embraced by her peers, but she’d also shown little interest in becoming friends with any of the others. She tended to avoid almost all contact, but Harry often spotted her watching others, in a manner even more overt than that of Theodore Nott, who might have been the only person in the room that didn’t look his way.

As he’d expected, Ginny was sitting on one of the couches, reading, and she smiled when she caught sight of him. “Lessons go alright?” she asked.

Harry nodded, and sat down next to her. A quick glare chased off a few of the Second Year Slytherin girls who were peering at them intently. Harry reached around Ginny’s back and pulled her closer to him. She sighed, relaxing as she leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes, content. Somehow, just having her there was all the comfort that he needed. He’d originally though that a relationship between him and Ginny might be a distraction he didn’t need, however pleasant. Now, he understood that far from being a distraction, she was keeping him grounded in reality, giving him the breaks he needed every so often, but also keeping him focused and determined. He’d never be able to thank her enough for convincing him to take this chance.

Maybe, sometime in the future, his fears about the consequences of such a relationship might be realized. But for now, there were no regrets.


Harry stared out over the lake, knowing that soon, perhaps even before the ice in the shallow water melted, he’d be plunging headlong beneath the surface and swimming down maybe fifty meters to rescue the girl that was currently skipping stones over the surface of the frigid lake, using her wand to create beautiful patterns of splashes. Ginny had discovered the relaxing benefits of this particular activity during her first year at Hogwarts, but she’d invited him along this time. Regardless, he was keeping his distance, giving her the space she needed.

Daphne had assured him that Gillyweed wasn’t impossible to procure; it would probably be available at the Potions supply store in town, although it wouldn’t be cheap. He could get it during their next visit to Hogsmeade.

He heard something behind him, and spun around. He frowned when he saw Minerva McGonagall, dressed in bulky fur robes of black fur, coming down the path toward him. “Professor..? What are you doing here?” he asked, although he had more than an inkling as to the reason for her visit.

“I heard that you were down here, and thought we might talk,” McGonagall said. “You’ve certainly been making quite a name for yourself, Harry. Why, you’ve even managed to have Rita Skeeter write an article about you that wasn’t full of untrue and unsubstantiated allegations. You came off quite well in it, if I do say so myself.”

Rita Skeeter had finally called his earlier promise to give her an exclusive interview a few days after the duel. After destroying several of her Quik-Quotes quills, and threatening her with the exposure of her status as an illegal animagus if she misquoted or corrupted the spirit in which anything was said, she’d gotten her exclusive interview, and Harry had gotten some positive press. She’d played up the “underdog” angle, but used the duel to make him seem like more of a bulldog, one willing to defend himself and his friends from anyone that might threaten them. She might as well have been tasked with writing an advertisement of Harry to the wizarding public. Skeeter might have gotten a few raised eyebrows, but her reputation of a glorified gossip columnist was undamaged, because she was able to incorporate all kinds of dirt on the Malfoy family, and play up the sympathy angle with Harry.

“Regardless, I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you alone,” she continued.

At that moment, Ginny made her presence felt, as she came to his side. “Hello Professor.”

“Ah, Miss Weasley…I’m afraid I didn’t see you down there.”

“I can be easy to miss,” Ginny said, clearly suspicious.

“What was it that you wanted to talk about, Professor?” Harry asked. His breath was visible in the cold air, but he wasn’t in the least tempted to ask that they bring the conversation inside. His upbringing in Canada had given him more than a little experience with cold weather.

McGonagall looked anxiously at Ginny, as if wishing she’d just go away. That hope dashed, she pressed on. “I want to talk you about some concerns that I’ve had about you…and your guardian.”

“What kind of concerns?” Ginny asked. McGonagall looked irritated.

“I was addressing Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley,” she told the redhead.

“Then I’ll ask the same question,” Harry said. “What kind of concerns do you have?”

“I was very close to your father, Harry. James was, for all his faults, and I know he had many of them when he was your age, one of my favorite pupils,” McGonagall said.

“I’m not my father,” Harry replied. “I’m not anything like him. I’m Slytherin.”

“That you are not part of my House does not have any importance to this conversation, Harry,” she said, using his given name again, trying to establish a closeness and convince him to open up. “My point was that I cared greatly about your father, and I was also close to your mother. And as the only son of two people that held such special places in my heart, that affection has been carried over to you.”

“I appreciate that, Professor, I really do,” Harry said. “I don’t quite understand where you are going, however.”

“You are growing up too quickly, Harry. Your everyday thoughts are not those that should be floating around the mind of a fourteen-year old. This is one of the few times I’ve ever seen you where you were not working, reading, or discussing heavy matters,” McGonagall continued.

“As much as I am touched by your concern, I don’t really see the problem,” Harry said. “I have responsibilities and duties that aren’t typical of a boy of my age. My behavior, thoughts, and habits are all a reflection of that.”

“Perhaps, Harry, but I must argue that you might be exaggerating what is expected of you.”

“Really, Professor?” Harry said. His message was clear: get to the point.

“I think that Daphne has been encouraging you to grow up faster than you should,” she finally said. “I feel that she has been treating you as if you are her protégé rather than her ward. She’s turning you into a soldier, Harry. The duel between you and Draco, and her encouragement of your actions is merely symptomatic of that. She isn’t well, Harry.”

“Daphne is fine,” Harry growled, clearly defensive.

“I fear that you are mistaken. The things that she has experienced in her life; the brutal slaughter of her family, or her husband…the loss of her best friends, and countless comrades in arms…she is broken, Harry. While she has done an admirable job of pretending otherwise, she simply isn’t whole. She needs help.”

“So you are suggesting that my guardian be institutionalized?” Harry asked, getting angrier by the moment. “Are you suggesting she be relegated to the Permanent Ward, with Neville Longbottom’s insane parents?”

He’d been trying to get McGonagall as angry as he was, and he’d succeeded, especially with the comment about Alice and Frank Longbottom. Harry still couldn’t actually believe what he was hearing. McGonagall had become too sentimental, or else had been kept in the dark by Dumbledore. Harry had a job to do, and if his childhood had to pay the price for it, then that was the way things were. “I am suggesting nothing of the sort!” McGonagall cried. “And you’d best show more respect…”

Respect?! For you? For the Longbottoms? What are you going to do, give me a detention? You come up here, interrupting a private moment between me and my girlfriend, and tell me that I’ve been raised badly, that I’m screwed up, and that the woman who’s given me everything in the world I ever needed, and asked for nothing in return, is the cause of it!” Harry was panting by the end of his rant. Ginny squeezed his hand tightly, and he looked at her. Her face was strangely conflicted, but when it seemed she was about to say something, she shook her head almost imperceptibly, and remained silent.

Well…” McGonagall huffed. “I am sorry for offending you, Mr. Potter. And perhaps I got a little carried away. But I urge you to consider what I have said.”

“I’ll do that,” Harry said. “Just don’t expect me to take it that seriously.”

McGonagall glared at him, but seemed to be resigned to her failure. She turned and headed back up to the castle.

“Hermione would be mortified, you know?” Ginny said, a few minutes after the Gryffindor Head of House had left.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to be so rude, I just…I mean, I know that Daphne isn’t always in her right mind. But that’s a far thing from saying she’s unstable and isn’t fit to raise me. You understand what I have to do, understand that she’s acting in my best interests, right?”

There was only a slight hesitation, one that Harry chose to ignore, instead of considering the consequences. “Of course,” Ginny said, her voice confident enough to sooth his fears. “She’s wrong.”

Harry nodded. “She doesn’t understand, Ginny. She doesn’t understand the Purebloods I need to ally with, the respect I need to earn, the training I need to become capable of taking on Voldemort’s finest, and eventually theman himself. She’s like Cedric was, lulled into a false sense of security, clinging to the lie that Voldemort met his end at Godric’s Hollow, that the wizarding world was safe again.”

Ginny quickly nodded her agreement. “You were a little rude, though. You’ve got to understand, Harry, that for people that aren’t like me, people that don’t know the entire story, your behavior can be concerning. To them, you’re some misguided boy trying to play hero long before he’s ready.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Harry said. “Best not to dwell on it, though. They’ll see the trust soon enough. They’ll realize that they were wrong about me, and wrong about Daphne…”

“Right,” Ginny said. She leaned against him. Then, she turned around, and stared hard into his eyes. Harry reached down and cupped her cheek with his right hand, reaching around to caress her hair with the other. He lowered his lips to hers, and they kissed. They kissed with more passion, and more feeling than they ever had before. Harry’s fears and concerns were swept away for that moment. When they finally broke it, they gazed upon each other in wonderment.

“This is the part when I wonder what I did to deserve you,” Harry half-joked.

“All you needed to do was be yourself,” she said softly, not joking in the least. “Want to go inside?”

“Love to,” he replied.

Hand-in-hand, they made their way back from the water’s edge to the warmth of the castle.


Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was ordinarily the highlight of Hermione Jane Granger’s day. Normally, she was engrossed by the material, challenged by the complexity of the magic, and, of course, the best student in the class.

But today was different. Because today, she couldn’t stop staring at her best friend, who was sitting one row ahead and one to the side of her, reading the assigned passage. Normally, they sat together, but Harry had barely gotten into the class on time, his near-tardiness the product of reasons unexplained, several minutes after Hermione had taken her seat and pulled out her writing materials and textbook.

When she thought about it, she considered the possibility of Harry being delayed for Ginny Weasley-related reasons to be quite plausible.

Hermione was happy for them. That she had determined without much conscious thought. They were happy together, and the relationship seemed to allow both of them to relax a bit, and give them a brief respite from the serious matters that consumed their lives. She wasn’t jealous…

Well, maybe she was…she couldn’t help but feeling left out once in a while, but there was hardly anything to be done about it. Harry and Ginny were together now, and they needed some time alone. On Valentine’s Day, earlier that month, she’d spent the entire visit in the bookstore while Harry and Ginny enjoyed what was technically their first date as a couple. They still spent the majority of their free time with her, working together in the library, researching the creatures Harry would have to face in the lake, training whenever possible in the Room of Requirement…occasionally, Neville would even come by, asking questions and, once in a while, opening up and telling them a bit about himself…

She had no right to be resentful. She had no right to blame them for leaving her alone for an hour, maybe two, at a time. And she knew that Harry and Ginny were not oblivious to her feelings. They seemed extra polite at times, asking her how she was even when they spent so much time with her that they already knew the answer. They listened to her problems, and she listened to theirs. They were still, in every respect, her best friends in the entire world.

But if she really believed that, why did she couldn’t she keep from arguing with herself over the matter? Why couldn’t she just accept that now that Harry and Ginny were involved, things wouldn’t always be the same. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have experience being on her own. She’d been equal parts ignored and ridiculed at her Muggle school for her bookishness and her strict adherence to the rules. She’d been a loner. She’d learned to live with it. When she’d finally become friends with Harry (after he nearly got killed saving her life from a murderous troll), it had improved the quality of her life significantly, even if being unceasingly loyal to the Boy-Who-Lived meant that she’d never be able to live a peaceful existence as a normal teenage witch. Of course, if Harry was right, and he almost certainly was, none of them would have the option of being normal, whether they wanted to be or not.

Just as Harry had been her first ever real friend, Ginny had been her first female friend…meaning that she finally had someone her age that could understand and occasionally discuss certain things that Harry was decidedly not comfortable discussing. The fact that she’d seemed to read Harry like a book from the second that she finally accepted her placement in Slytherin (although she was often too shy to say anything, and she guessed that Harry scarcely noticed), was also a positive. Still, Ginny would stick with her when she was right. Of course, the one time that Ginny had been forced to chose between Harry and Hermione, the Gryffindor had to admit that she had been a little wrong. Harry might have been rushing into it, but she now understood that what seemed like out-of-control ambition had actually been an awareness of what needed to be done…as uncomfortable as she’d been with it at the time.

Looking back on it, she’d been afraid. Not that she wasn’t still afraid…afraid that she might lose the only two people other than her parents that had bothered to try to understand her, afraid that the magical world, which she had welcomed into her life with open arms, might be forever changed and scarred by war, and afraid that in leaving the Muggle world, she might merely have stumbled upon something far worse.

That fear was irrational, she knew. Her entering into the magical world had nothing to do with the coming Darkness, and she would never for a single moment consider the possibility of letting Harry fight this war without her. Nor would she sacrifice the friendships, knowledge, and trust she had gained because her safety might be endangered. It sounded foolish…well, it sounded like Harry…but she had a sense that she’d been born to fight this war, that her entire life had been leading to a moment far in the future, when she stood side-by-side-by side with Harry and Ginny, ready to strike down the onrushing Darkness…

Now she was frightened herself.

Could that really be true? Could she, a thinking, reasoning, living, fifteen-year old human being, actually have been brought into this world for no reason other than to fight in a war? What sort of existence was that? She didn’t believe in a God; her parents were atheists, and God and religion had no meaning in the magical world…but if she had, what sort of a monster would that God have to be?

That her parents knew nothing of any of what was troubling her now was both a blessing and a curse. They couldn’t understand, as she’d told Harry. She wasn’t an average Muggle teenager, even an extremely bright Muggle teenager…she was a skilled witch, a witch with a destiny that she couldn’t herself understand, but that she knew existed nonetheless.

For a person that once professed not to believe in Fate, Granger, you’ve changed more than you could have ever imagined.

That thought demanded an explanation.

Well, I’ve seen and experienced more horrific things than most people twice my age…That can change a girl…

So could the realization that her life, no matter what she tried to make of it, had already been decided.

But then again, she asked herself, does the fact that I am destined to fight a war mean that I should devote my life to nothing else?

A pause. An image. A memory.

You bloody idiot, Granger.

Harry. Ginny. Harry and Ginny. That they’d begun a relationship had no bearing on the outcome of the war! They’d done it because they wanted to! They’d chosen to be together, to possibly risk their friendship if things were to end badly, because they wanted more…Maybe they were all going to have to fight, and maybe, they were all going to have to die…but that didn’t mean they couldn’t chose the path that took them to that end.

“…Miss Granger?” a sharp, somewhat surprised voice snapped her out of her mental epiphany.

“Y-yes,” Hermione replied, sitting up, folding her hands on her desk, and looking up attentively.

“Answer the question, please.

Question? What question? Bloody hell, that’ll teach me to drift off during class…

“Could you repeat the question, Professor?” Hermione asked, in the most polite and innocent voice she could manage. Harry turned around and stared at her as if there was a third arm growing out of her forehead.

“Very well,” McGonagall said. “Miss Granger, could you please recite to the class the details of your essay about the difference between changing the material an object is comprised of, and changing the shape and size of the object.”

Hermione had no idea why the Professor was asking her to do this. She quickly recalled her arguments, and summarized them. “Well, magic, the force that allows us to perform any form of Transfiguration, exists essentially without limits. However, witches and wizards are limited in their ability to manipulate and channel magic, in the form of spells and other enchantments…my point was that changing the material something is made from is relatively simple for a trained witch or wizard because it merely involves changing the composition of a static, already-existing object. However, to change size and shape, one needs to literally create matter that wasn’t there before, or take it away. That requires much more magic, a great deal more concentration, and makes Transfiguration one of the hardest magical arts to master. In addition, while most advanced Transfiguration students can change smaller objects, the bigger the object, the more power and finesse is required to change it.” She looked anxiously at her Professor. She was also short of breath. She’d paused a few times, but been so nervous that she’d just kept going.

“Well put, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor.” She turned to the rest of the class. “If I see any of you mocking another student again, I’ll assign detentions and deduct twenty points for each defense. The reason I asked Miss Granger to say that, instead of saying it myself, is because I am tired of hearing certain members of this class complaining about how useless your lessons are.”

The Gryffindor pointed toward the back of the classroom. “Miss Greengrass, please explain to the rest of the class the point that I am trying to get across.”

Hermione turned. The normally passive Slytherin seemed surprised to even be noticed, but her recovery was admirable. “What we’re doing now is rather useless in the grand scheme of things, no offense Professor, but your point is that really doesn’t matter. Transfiguration is an art that must be mastered in increments, from least complex to most complex. It’s a slow, gradual process. Eventually, we’ll learn how to conjure objects, learn skills that we’ll understand are useful in everyday life. But we’ll never be able to properly conjure anything, or perform Transfiguration on a larger, more practical scale, if we can’t master something like the Switching Spell, or anything else we’ve learned for the past four years.” Unlike Hermione, when she was finished, Daphne Greengrass did not look to McGonagall anxiously to see if she said the right thing. She merely gazed up with same disinterested, emotionless mask that she wore most of the time.

McGonagall seemed pleased. “Thank, Miss Greengrass. Ten points to Slytherin.”

It was unclear to what extent McGonagall’s message about the need to work hard in her class no matter how pointless the exercises were actually got through, although a surprising number of her classmates seemed to be working on changing their wooden boxes into marble balls. Hermione got it on the second try, Harry on the fourth. She felt considerably more at ease now that she actually knew what was going on.

Finally, the bell rang, and McGonagall instructed the students that had failed to complete the assignment to work on it that evening, and those that had to write a short essay on their technique and approach. After she packed up her things, the tall Head of House came over to her. “Miss Granger, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

She glanced at Harry, who gave her a questioning look. “Go ahead,” she told him. She noticed Blaise Zabini, a rather hard and determined look on his face, followed Harry out of the classroom. She wondered what that was about.

When the others were gone, McGonagall spoke. “Miss Granger, may I first ask if you are feeling well? You didn’t seem to be following my lecture.”

“I haven’t been sleeping well, Professor,” she lied. She hated to lie to a teacher, but she didn’t want McGonagall to know she’d drifted off either.

“Have you seen Madam Pomfrey?”

“I might, if things don’t get better,” she told her. “Is there something else you wanted to ask me, Professor?”

“A great many things, Hermione,” she said, her voice strangely weary. She was also somewhat baffled by the use of her first name. “But first and foremost among them, I wanted to ask you when you plan to meet with me again. Our first meeting didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

“No, it didn’t,” she admitted. “It’s not your fault, Professor. I guess I’ve just been avoiding it. And Harry’s been so distracted he hasn’t noticed.”

“Miss Granger, it is not quite my place to act as your conscience, but I believe that it is very important that you learn to control your magic. Indeed, I must admit I’m rather surprised that my best student, possessed of boundless curiosity and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, would be so reluctant,” McGonagall said. “Perhaps I am wrong, Miss Granger, but I believe your lack of enthusiasm is a reflection of fear. A fear that I understand quite well. You are frightened that you may never master your abilities. You are not only afraid of failure, but you are afraid that you may hurt someone if you lose control. But ignoring it will not make it go away, Hermione. It will merely grow stronger, and harder to control.”

“I know that…Professor,” she said, adding the last hastily. She was not talking to a friend. She was talking to a teacher, even if that teacher was trying to develop a closer relationship with her. She still needed to show due respect. “I think you’re right, though. About my being afraid.” She felt tears stinging her eyes, and tried to fight them. She didn’t want to start sobbing uncontrollably in front of her Head of House.

“I can help you, Hermione,” the older woman said, her voice soft and maternal. “And I want to help you. You have a gift, an affinity with fire that I believe may stretch well beyond casting more-powerful-than-usual Burning Hexes. My office remains open to you, Miss Granger. You are a gifted, brilliant witch. I would love to see you reach your very high ceiling.”

“Thank you, Professor. And I’ll find time…soon.”

“Perhaps after the Second Task,” McGonagall said. “I’m sure you and Miss Weasley are working quite closely with Mr. Potter to help him prepare.” She definitely knew the details of the Task.

“Yes, we are,” Hermione told her. The Second Task was only days away. They had the Gillyweed, they had read up on all the creatures that called the lake home, and they’d devised some strategies for fighting underwater if the need arose. Harry was about as prepared as he’d ever be. “I’ll come, I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Miss Granger,” she said, her voice becoming more clipped and authoritative. Clearly, though she’d dropped her defenses for a moment, McGonagall’s outward persona was the one she preferred to use when dealing with students. “Now, I believe Mr. Potter is waiting for you.”


He was ready.

The day of the Second Task had arrived, and his mind had been focused almost exclusively on it since the previous evening. As expected, Snape had found him, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville working in the library, and he’d requested, in a mildly polite tone, if Ginny and Hermione would come with him. Now, Harry knew, she was at the bottom of the Lake, awaiting his rescue. He wasn’t going to disappoint her. As for Hermione, he’d decided after a great deal of thought that he’d leave her to Krum. That he trusted Krum hardly factored into the equation. Krum wanted more than anything to prove himself. If Viktor Krum was told to go into the lake, rescue Hermione, and bring her back alive and well, that’s exactly what he would do.

Daphne had again provided him with appropriate garments, including a snug bodysuit, something similar to a the wetsuits that Muggle Divers wore, though this one was magically heated, completely air-tight, and doubled as protective body armor. Over the bodysuit, he wore loose-fitting, heavy robes, so that he wouldn’t freeze on the way over to the Lake, but could still shed the heavier clothing and get in the water in a hurry.

Tightly bundled and roaring with anticipation, the crowd of students and teachers had gathered at the far side of the lake. Bleachers had been set up along the shore, but many students, wanting to be closer to the action, had gathered in a large mob in front of the stands.

Harry had anticipated walking to the shore of the Lake alone, but Luna Lovegood was waiting patiently for him as soon as he exited the castle through the massive double doors. Without a word being spoken, she’d begun walking at his side, once in a while deliberately falling behind and skipping to catch up. As baffled as he was by her behavior, he was touched by her loyalty, and appreciative of the company.

Once they’d drawn closer and spotted the other Champions waiting along the shoreline, Luna left his side as unannounced as she’d come to it, skipping off into the crowd. Harry looked around, trying to find his guardian, but he couldn’t see her. He hurried to join the others. The Durmstrang ship was moored in the distance, nearly concealed by the clouds of thick fog that covered the lake.

All of them seem to have had the same idea about their outer layer, as the other three Champions were also wearing heavy robes that could be discarded as soon as the Task began. Cedric gave him a weak smile as he approached, and Harry nodded at him. Krum’s face was set, his muscles tensed, his posture upright and rigid. He didn’t acknowledge Harry’s arrival. Harry, understanding (and counting on) the Bulgarian Seeker’s intensely competitive nature, didn’t take offense. Fleur Delacour was staring out over the lake, though she did turn to glance at him as soon as he stopped. As always, she was breathtaking, her silvery-blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, her nearly-perfect figure somehow still visible despite the bulky robes.

Harry felt in his pockets for the Gillyweed, assuring himself that it was still there. He still couldn’t quite believe he was expected to eat the slimy plant. But he also knew that the advantages to be gained far outweighed having to force down something that reportedly felt like eating octopus tentacles.

If Harry still had one concern, it was that he would probably find it difficult using magic underwater. He certainly wouldn’t be able to get out the incantations, his movements would be slowed by the water’s density, and he was taking a bit of a chance trusting that his webbed hands were even capable of holding a wand. He’d removed the his wrist holster, and instead tucked his wand into a specially designed loop of fabric on the left side of his midsection. Its placement would allow him comfortable and quick access if he needed it. Looking around briefly revealed nothing of the other champions’ methods of breathing underwater. He expected that Cedric would use a Bubblehead Charm, a very advanced and difficult spell that he would have learned in Flitwick’s N.E.W.T. Charms class.

He noticed Cedric had turned around, and Harry quickly followed his gaze. The judges’ platform had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, a few meters off the ground, giving them a full view of the action. Harry could make out Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Daphne, Madam Maxime, Ludo Bagman, and, Percy Weasley. Again, Barty Crouch was absent. Daphne said the other judges been told he’d been quite ill recently, but no details were given. Harry and Ginny hadn’t even bothered asking Percy. With the exception of Bagman, who looked quite excited, and winked at him when Harry looked his way, and Percy, who was stone-faced, and straight-backed, the rest of the judges looked decidedly unhappy on this dreary, cold February day. Naturally, it was the bright-faced Bagman that stood up to quiet the crowd. “Welcome, everyone, to the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament!”

He let the roar of the crowd subside before continuing. “The Champions are ready for the Second Task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. The highest score will be given to the Champion that returns with their hostage first. Champions, at the ready.”

Each of them took off the robes they had been wearing. Krum and Cedric wore only swimming trunks, while Fleur had opted for a more conservative blue dress made of a light material that would probably still give her a great deal of agility. Harry wondered amusedly if she’d been concerned that the entire male population of Hogwarts might drop dead at the sight of her in a skimpy bathing costume.

All four of them stood along the shore, staring back at Bagman. He waited several second, then blew hard into the whistle.

Harry yanked the Gillyweed out of his pocket, shoved it into his mouth, and immediately discovered that he was at an unexpected disadvantage. Even as he waded slowly into the frigid water, chewing furiously, Cedric and Fleur, who appeared to be using the Bubble-Head Charm, had already disappeared beneath the surface. Krum followed them soon after, after transfiguring the top half of his body into that of a shark. Harry was impressed.

He continued to wade further in, waiting for the Gillyweed to kick in. He heard laughter and jeers from the crowd but ignored it. He was confident, and that was what mattered. A instant after that thought, he suddenly felt as a pillow had been held against his mouth. He dove into the water, and took a deep breath as soon as he’d submerged. He watched as his fingers and toes elongated, and webbing spread upward from the gaps between them. In less than a minute, he had gills and four fins. He plunged deeper into the water, which now felt cool and crisp. He wasn’t sure where he was going, and had no confidence in a Navigation Charm performed underwater. He swum in a roughly straight line, reasoning that the merpeople’s settlement would probably be roughly at the center of the Lake.

He continued to dive as the bottom of the lake came into view. He suddenly realized that his vision was nearly perfect, and he no longer felt the need to blink. The unexpected advantage of the Gillyweed buoyed his spirits. He pulled his glasses off, tucking them into another loop at his waist.

The sandy bottom was almost featureless; occasionally, a rock or clump of seaweed poked out of the soil. He kept swimming, his muscles working easily as he was propelled through the water. Neville had saved his arse.

He came upon a taller clump of weeds, and awkwardly reached down with his long, webbed fingers for his wand. He knew from Hermione’s research that Grindylows inhabited places like this. Grindylows were fast predators with a horned skull, thin arms, long fingers, a mouth full of sharp teeth, and octopus-like tentacles where the feet should be, which both worked to seize smaller prey and also propelled them at impressive speeds. While they tended to work alone against smaller prey, small fish and the like, they were also known to work in packs to bring down larger prey…like Harry.

Sure enough, four Grindylows burst out of cover, rocketing through the water straight form him, teeth knashing and arms extended to seize him. Harry pointed his wand at the creatures and screamed, “Relashio!”

Hermione had said that the Relinquishing Spell, which in air produced hot sparks that often forced an attack to loosen or loose his grip, had “fascinating effects” when used underwater. Despite the fact that the incantation came out as an incoherent grunt, and a cloud of bubbles, a jet of scalding hot water flashed from the tip, hitting two of the Grindylows, causing them to scream in agony. Next, Harry used the Blasting Hex.

Ginny had stumbled across this little piece of information just hours before she and Hermione had been taken away by Snape. When used underwater, the Blasting Hex traveled a safe distance from the castor before exploding like a small version of the Muggle Depth Charges that Harry had seen in classic war movies with some of his non-magical friends as a child. He was not disappointed. The blast blew all four Grindylows away from him, and they seemed to decide he wasn’t worth the effort as the scurried away, burned and bruised. Wand out, alert for further attacks, he proceeded through the weeds. When he emerged, he was as lost as he’d been from the beginning. Then he spotted something. Or rather, someone…

Moaning Myrtle, of all people, hung upside-down a few meters in front of him, a curious and amused expression on her ghostly, bespectacled face. She giggled softly when she saw him. He mouthed her name, and she nodded. “Hello Harry,” she said. “Nice to see you down here.”

How? he mouthed.

“Oh, I like to hang out in the U-bend. When someone unexpectedly flushes the toilet…” she shrugged. Harry shuddered at the implications of what he was swimming in. “Lost, are you?”

He nodded. She flipped right-side up. “You know, I’ve always liked you Harry. You’re cute.”

Harry tried to hide the bafflement and disgust he felt at that statement. Myrtle might be able to help him, but offending her would only drive her away, and leave him alone in the open water, scrambling around without a clue of where he was going.

Harry gestured at the what around him, then gave an exaggerated shrug. “Oh. The merpeople settlement is over is that direction, she said, pointing the right and down. “I can’t go with you though; they aren’t real fond of me. Honestly, they chase after me with spears and tridents!” she said indignantly. Harry was forcibly reminded of Hermione.

She gave him a sour look. “You’re going to rescue her, aren’t you. The redhead,” she spat. She showed him a hurt look. “I’m always here, you know…” She giggled slightly. Harry wasn’t able to hide his disgust as well this time around.

I’ll remember that, he mouthed. Thank you.

Myrtle sniffed, then shot away into the distance, her sobs sounding like the clacks of dolphins. Harry began swimming in the direction she’d indicated. Eventually, mercifully, a large rock came into view. As he swam closer, he made out a mural on the side, depicting a pair of roughly-drawn merpeople chasing down the giant squid. He swam through a gap in the rocks, and emerged into the middle of what appeared to be the merpeople settlement. On either side of a narrow road were a series of small underwater sharks. Merpeople stared at him curiously. They were nothing like the idyllic images that children knew: real Merpeople had mottled grey skin, dull green eyes, strands of seaweed-colored hair drifting in the current. Some exposed mouths full of broken, yellowed teeth. Harry noticed a tethered Grindylow beside one of the houses. He continued on through the village, reaching what appeared to be a larger village common. At the center was a massive stone stature of a merperson. Tied to the tail were two small forms, one with clouds of billowing silver hair, the other with a fiery mass of long red hair. Both were unconscious, heads lolled down to their chests, small streams of bubble emitting from their mouths every few seconds.

Harry swam over to Ginny, drawing his wand. A quick cut from the knife he’d gotten from Sirius for Christmas took care of the ropes, and he pulled her free of the stone tail. She didn’t respond. Her eyes were closed, but she was alive. Harry wrapped his left arm tightly around her, and spared a glance back at Fleur’s sister. He quickly decided that even if Fleur failed to retrieve her, she’d be brought safely back down to the surface. Harry kicked hard, and moved them off the right intending to loop back around and head back the way he’d come. He drew his wand, and cast the Lighting Charm, looking for the passage.

Then the world exploded.

When something explodes underwater, the number one concern is no longer fire or shrapnel. Water does not compress as air does, so the pressure wave can exert enormous force, easily hitting hard enough to kill. It is this principle that allowed the British Navy to sink submerged German submarines during both world wars, without the depth charges they dropped actually hitting the target. All that was needed was a detonation in close proximity to the submarine’s hull. The blast can blow out hull plates, shred welds, destroy a submarine’s precious hull integrity and send it plummeting to the bottom, its trapped crew still inside.

A thundering, muffled boom nearly blew out Harry’s eardrums, and he instinctively threw up the strongest shield he could muster. Sediment was blasted off the bottom, shrouding the entire scene in a blinding mist of sand particles. The shield did its job, sparing Harry and Ginny from the brunt of the pressure wave, but he could no longer tell up from down, and the force of the impact had still blown them clear.

Inhuman shrieks of rage split the water. An instant later, a merman burst through the cloud of sand, brandishing a spear, his eyes crazed and murderous. Harry successfully executed a silent Slicing Curse that not only cut the spear in half, but took the wielder’s right arm with it. The creature shrieked again, then disappeared into the clouds.

In an instant, as the sediment slowly settled and his visibility improved, he realized that he was surrounded by armed and homicidal mermen, carrying spears, tridents, stone swords, any sharp weapon that they could find. They came at him from all directions, stabbing madly.

Harry discovered at that moment that wordless magic under pressure was not nearly as difficult as it seemed. Clutching Ginny to him, he sent curses lancing out in every direction, driving the mermen back. But as soon as they’d stopped retreating, they came again. Harry fended them off, but he was tiring, he was running out of time, and they were getting closer. One of the stabs barely missed his left side, and the second thrust passed right behind Ginny. Harry unleashed a Relinquishing Hex in the warrior’s face, probably blinding him. He stabbed madly before Harry destroyed his spear with another Slicing Curse.

It was time to get out of there.

Harry kicked hard with both legs, launching them upward, toward the surface and away from the crazed and murderous merpeople, who seemed reluctant to leave the settlement and pursue him, especially after he’d already wounded several of their number. He refused to look back. He focused all his efforts on reaching the surface. His ears popped. About halfway there, he felt a strange burning sensation on the sides of his throat, and saw the webbing between the fingers on his left hand begin to retract back into the skin. He forced himself to stop breathing, knowing that his temporary gills were also faded back into his neck. He held his breath, ignoring his burning muscles, his thundering heartbeat…ignoring everything but his focus on what was directly above him, and his vise-grip hold on Ginny’s torso.

Harry broke the surface, his lungs screaming for air. He managed to fill his lungs before he was dragged back into the choppy water. His right arm reached for an found his glasses, pushing them onto his face. His left arm remained wrapped tightly around Ginny, who was still unconscious. He saw that he had surfaced farther away from the shore than he’d intended. He managed to keep his head above the surface, then pulled Ginny up with him. He’d expected her to open her eyes the moment she hit open air. She didn’t. That was when he noticed the waxy, ghostly pallor of her skin. The spray of freckles across her nose stood out in bleak contrast. Harry’s confusion lasted only as long as it took him to notice that the water around the two of them was considerably darker, and featured a red tinge that froze his own blood in its veins.

Harry tried to pull Ginny’s limp form above the water, desperate to see her awaken, to see her warm brown eyes staring back at him in bewilderment and relief, to know that his rapidly growing panic was unjustified. Instead, he found himself staring at the left side of the redhead’s torso…and the deep, bloody puncture wound that had gone entirely unnoticed in his frantic race for the surface. Harry held his dripping wand in his teeth as his right hand shot to Ginny’s neck, pushing into the hollow, searching for a pulse.

He found one. Weak, unsteady, and irregular, but present nonetheless. It was at that moment that he also noticed that Ginny was still taking slow, erratic breaths.

But none of that would matter if he didn’t get her to shore, and under Madam Pomfrey’s care. Legs still thrashing in the water as he tried to keep them both afloat, Harry seized the bottom of Ginny’s Hogwarts robes and yanked hard. The fabric gave, and, though unable to see what he was doing, he somehow managed to tear off a reasonably sized piece. Harry let go of her and quickly pulled the strip of her robes around the girl’s chest, covering the wound. He had no idea if it would staunch or even slow the blood flow, which had picked up as her body was released from the enchanted sleep, which would have slowed body function down to the bare minimum. That was probably the only reason Ginny was still alive. Had her heart been beating at a normal rate, depending on when the injury was sustained, she might have already bled out.

Harry refocused on the present, tying the strip of her robes as tight as he dared. Then he took note of his position. He’d surfaced maybe a hundred meters off the beach. He was exhausted, his muscles protesting every movement as he treaded water. His fingers and toes were numb from the frigid water of the lake, and he was starting to shiver uncontrollably. The bodysuit might keep his core warm and prevent the onset of hypothermia, but that only meant so much. The crowd on the shore didn’t seem to have noticed him, and he realized.

And my life is the hardly the one most at risk.

Harry yanked his wand out from his teeth, thrust his right arm into the air, and screamed, “LUMOS RUFUS!” at the top of his lungs. A blinding crimson fireball erupted from the tip of his wand, probably visible to people in Hogsmeade, and, if the students’ fingers suddenly pointing at him were any indication, alerting those on the shore to his plight. At this distance, he could hardly make out any details through the fog, and the splashes of water on his glasses were playing havoc with his vision (how at that moment Harry wished he’d bother to learn the Water Resistance Charm from Hermione; Daphne’s own charm had long since worn off).

He looked down at Ginny, willing her to awaken, but her head lolled back in the water, hair splayed out on the surface like an orange halo. Then he felt something yanking him hard in the direction of the shore. He picked up speed, clinging hard to Ginny as they raced through the water. As Harry drew close, he saw the source of the Summoning Charm.

Cedric Diggory stood in shallow water, drenched and dishelveled, a towel hanging off his broad shoulders, wand thrust in a dramatic pose, like some sort of gesture of defiance to one of mankind’s greatest historical enemies: the sea itself. Behind him, others were racing down to watch the spectacle, or to offer assistance. Cho Chang, bundled and shivering, stood behind him, looking somewhat terrified. The Hufflepuff wore a look of strained concentration. Finally, when Harry reached the shallows, he canceled the spell.

Harry stumbled out of the waves, wildly hurling his wand onto the beach as he cradled Ginny’s body with both arms, then falling to his knees. He lay Ginny out flat on the rocky beach. Her condition has worsened. Her skin had taken on a grey, deathly shade, and the blood had easily seeped through the thin material of her robes. Harry stared at the crowd, which had moved in closer. “What the bloody hell are you waiting for? Get help!” he yelled. He looked back down at his girlfriend, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt in his life. Her chest continued to slowly move up and down, but she did not stir.

Several students stumbled through the crowd, but most just stood there in shock. Harry’s rage was building with every moment. Ginny lay dying before him, he was barely capable of remaining upright, and scores of his peers just stood there, unable or unwilling to do anything.

Hermione blew through them like a battering ram, losing her towel along the way as she literally bowled over multiple students, including fellow Gryffindor Seamus Finnegan, and would have hit Lavender Brown had she not moved at the last instant. His friend skidded to a halt. She was still drenched from head-to-toe, her hair plastered against her skull. Her eyes were wide with fear and shock. She turned around, retrieved the towel she’d lost, ran back over to them, dropped to her knees, and began applying pressure. The two best friends stared at each other over the body of the redhead, unable to muster a single word.

Madam Pomfrey’s entrance wasn’t quite as dramatic, but she still cleared the crowd in record time, coming to their side faster than Harry had ever though possible. She gestured for Hermione to remove the now bloody towel, and a whispered spell later, a clean white bandage had sealed itself against Ginny’s skin. “She’s lost a lot of blood,” the Mediwitch said, more to herself that anyone else. “What happened?” she said sharply, looking to Harry.

“Explosion…merpeople went insane, started attacking…thought I’d gotten away from them…didn’t know…,” Harry gasped, relieving the events in a few seconds of flashing images, sounds, and sensations. Hermione’s eyes went wide with horror as she gasped. Then he realized that she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking past him, out over the Lake.

Slowly, dreading what he’d see, abruptly realizing that her proximity to the blast had made this almost a certainty. Harry turned his head.

About 20 meters offshore was a small human form, floating face-down. Her silvery-blonde hair shone like a beacon against the dreary grey sky. Harry’s heart sunk like deadweight flung into the choppy lake. He closed his eyes, trying to forget about the carnage that surrounded him. Trying to forget about the competition that had gone from dangerous to deadly in the space of an hour.

Others had know caught sight of the floating corpse. Shaky fingers weakly pointed. Hands flew to mouths. Tears flowed freely. Jaws dropped and hung agape..

A hoarse shriek of agony, anger, frustration, and misery tore through the air. Fleur Delacour sliced through the crowd at a full sprint, diving headlong into the water, swimming out toward the body. She grasped the small form by the arm, pulling her back to shore, laying her out flat on the pebble-strewn beach, a few meters away from Harry, Hermione, and Ginny.

But it was too late for Gabrielle Delacour. The eight year old girl was long gone. Her chest was still in death, her sightless eyes staring aimlessly into the sky. Odd crimson blotches stuck out on her otherwise pale skin. Elizabeth Gilroy, a Hufflepuff 7th year and aspiring Healer who occasionally worked as Madam Pomfrey’s assistant, cast a spell on the girl. Nothing happened, and the young woman looked back to her mentor and shook her head.

Harry tore his eyes away from the sight, and back to Ginny. She wasn’t there. Madam Pomfrey had conjured a stretcher. From the way the crowd scattered to let them through, she was probably wearing a look declaring she was willing to hex them if they didn’t get out of her way. Dumbledore stumbled down to them, holding out a glowing blue hankerchief, a hastily created Portkey. The Hogwarts Matron seized one of the handles on Ginny’s floating stretcher, then the hankerchief, and vanished in a flash of blue light.

Harry, his exhaustion long forgotten, dashed up the path back toward the castle. Hermione was hot on his heels, leaving Krum behind. They were quickly joined by Fred, George, and Ron Weasley. Percy was nowhere to be found.

Reviews 181
ChapterPrinter
StoryPrinter




../back
‘! Go To Top ‘!

Sink Into Your Eyes is hosted by Grey Media Internet Services. HARRY POTTER, characters, names and related characters are trademarks of Warner Bros. TM & © 2001-2006. Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions on this site are those made by the owners. All stories(fanfiction) are owned by the author and are subject to copyright law under transformative use. Authors on this site take no compensation for their works. This site © 2003-2006 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Special thanks to: Aredhel, Kaz, Michelle, and Jeco for all the hard work on SIYE 1.0 and to Marta for the wonderful artwork.
Featured Artwork © 2003-2006 by Yethro.
Design and code © 2006 by SteveD3(AdminQ)
Additional coding © 2008 by melkior and Bear