Even with every student pouring their imagination into their creations, the most eye-catching ship on the Black Lake was still that of one man—Gilderoy Lockhart.
He had placed a life-sized wooden statue of himself at the prow, which constantly waved to the crowd and occasionally let out Lockhart's triumphant war cry. This was Lockhart's warship in all its glory.
Not to mention the dazzling decorative charms, blooming flowers, and the overpowering scent of perfume wafting from it.
It wasn't just speculation—Harry was certain many older students, particularly the boys, had already set their sights on Lockhart's ship, itching to sink it.
Besides Lockhart's spectacle, the two pumpkin boats carrying Sirius Black and Severus Snape drew the most attention.
Sirius's pumpkin boat screamed Gryffindor pride, decked out in bold gold and crimson. A majestic lion leaped across its surface, roaring intermittently—along with the unmistakable human shout of "Snape, come meet your doom!"
No question, that was Sirius's voice.
He stood at the helm, sporting a captain's tricorn hat conjured by Transfiguration, one leg propped on the boat's edge, barking orders at his crew.
Snape, too, had his own crew. Draco Malfoy and his two friends had eagerly offered their pumpkin boat, which Snape had magically transformed. It was entirely green, with a silver serpent slithering across it—a perfect Slytherin touch.
To prevent the two from clashing before even leaving the shore, Harry had assigned them starting positions far apart. But that didn't stop the rival captains from steering straight for each other the moment they hit the water.
To keep overly excited students from casting uncontrollable spells, Harry had supplied each pumpkin boat with dye-filled water balloons. They couldn't harm anyone but were more than capable of damaging a pumpkin boat. And unless the proper cleansing potion was used, anyone hit would be swimming out of the Black Lake in a rainbow of colors.
Hagrid blew his horn again, signaling the start of the first Black Lake War.
To no one's great surprise, Lockhart's pumpkin boat was the first to sink. The boys, as if by unspoken agreement, unleashed a barrage of attacks on it the moment the battle began.
Many girls, noticing this, frantically paddled toward Lockhart's ship to protect him. The boys, of course, weren't having it. In no time, two distinct factions formed, hurling spells and water balloons at each other's boats. It was starting to feel like a real naval battle.
It was chaotic but thrilling. After two pumpkin boats deliberately rammed Lockhart's warship, sinking alongside it, Lockhart was left to swim ashore in disgrace, covered in a riot of colors, to the deafening cheers of the boys.
Perhaps caught up in the heat of battle or fully immersed in the game, by the time Sirius and Snape's boats finally closed in on each other, the rest of the students were too distracted to notice.
The two captains locked eyes across their prows, not bothering with taunts. A flurry of spells shot from their wands, aimed not at the boats—as Harry's rules dictated—but at each other.
Red and green spells sparked against translucent shields, while Sirius and Snape's crews relentlessly pelted each other with water balloons.
Harry had to grab Professor McGonagall's arm to keep her on shore. Otherwise, the furious professor would've stormed into the lake to drag those two reckless adults out herself. She might even have locked them in detention—a rare sight indeed.
Though, more likely, she'd have docked their pay.
The students played all day with abandon. Though Harry had enlisted wind elementals to clear the clouds around Hogwarts for sunlight, the autumn air was still chilly, and the lake water was downright icy.
Yet, even after their pumpkin boats sank, many students didn't swim ashore right away. Instead, they splashed each other in the water, laughing. The Black Lake's giant squid had a busy day, its tentacles gently towing one student after another. The students, in turn, playfully dodged its grasp, having even more fun.
In the end, no one cared about Harry's rules, and he didn't enforce them. He stood on the shore, chatting with the other professors who'd come to watch, all of them laughing at the sight of students splashing about, their bodies painted in vibrant hues.
No one saw how Snape made his exit. All they knew was that his and Sirius's pumpkin boats had collided, embedding into each other. As their crews leapt to safety, the two grown men grappled atop the sinking wrecks, fighting until the water swallowed them.
Harry only saw Sirius swim back to shore, his body a canvas of colorful dyes. His once-handsome brown curls were now a bizarre mix of purple and pink, and his face—Snape's favorite target—was a mess of bruises hidden under the vibrant paint. The magical dyes didn't blend into a muddy mess but stayed distinct, turning Sirius into a walking patchwork.
"I didn't lose, Harry! Ha!" Sirius shook himself like a wet dog, his bedraggled appearance doing nothing to dampen his smug pride. "He ran! He fled! I won!"
"Alright, alright, I get it," Harry said, dodging the water Sirius shook off and sidestepping his attempt to grab him, lest he get stained too. "Go clean yourself up. There's hot water at home."
Sirius's eyes and half his face were swollen, no amount of dye hiding it. Harry forced his godfather to down a full bottle of Cold-Cure Potion, enduring Sirius's lengthy boasts about how he'd thrashed Snape in the water.
Harry had grown adept at handling Sirius's sudden bursts of enthusiasm. After calming him down and sending him to his office, he turned to find Professors Sprout and Flitwick watching him, barely stifling their laughter.
"…He was like this when he was a student, wasn't he?" Harry said, exasperated.
"More or less," Sprout chuckled. "Though back then, he cared a lot more about his image. Had plenty of girls chasing him."
"Clearly, Azkaban changed him," Flitwick said with a sigh, then smiled. "But you can tell Sirius is doing alright now. You've taken good care of him, Harry."
"Oh, he's doing fine, alright," Sprout said, laughing. "If we're comparing the two, Professor Potter here seems more like the godfather, doesn't he?"
"That's not something to be proud of," Harry said, shaking his head. "I'd rather he start acting his age soon. At this rate, he'll have a hard time finding a witch to marry."
"Pfft, worrying about that?" Flitwick roared with laughter. "You're sounding more like his godfather every day, Harry—even fretting over his love life."
"Don't worry," Sprout said kindly. "Sirius is still a handsome lad. He'll find a wife. Wizards live long lives—he's got plenty of time."
"I hope so," Harry sighed.
As dusk fell, the students finally climbed out of the Black Lake at Hagrid's call, reluctant to leave. Their faces were flushed from the cold, hands and feet like ice, but their excitement was undimmed.
Boys and girls alike chattered about the day's naval battle, bragging about how many enemy boats they'd hit or how many people they'd splattered with dye. They gulped down Cold-Cure Potions, grimacing at the taste, then puffed out clouds of white steam from their ears like locomotives as they headed to the castle with bottles of dye-removing potion in hand.
They had to clean up before the Halloween feast.
Ron, Hermione, and Neville finished up in Harry's office. Earlier, Hermione had gifted Ron an odd-looking cat to soothe the pain of losing his old pet. It meant Ron wouldn't get a Christmas present this year.
The cat was one Hermione had picked out with Harry at a Diagon Alley pet shop. It was a half-Kneazle, with magical creature blood, making it exceptionally clever. It had striking ginger fur, a long tail, and a broad, slightly squashed face, as if it had been punched.
Though the shop had plenty of other animals, and they'd initially planned to get Ron an owl—since he'd complained endlessly about his family's ancient shared owl, Errol, especially compared to Percy's new one—Hermione changed her mind the moment she saw this cat.
And Ron… well, Ron was thrilled when he got it, despite grumbling that it was "ugly" and "not cute at all." But Harry could tell Ron adored it. Following Hermione's suggestion, he named it Crookshanks.
The proof was in Crookshanks' behavior. With its Kneazle blood, it could sense goodwill, and it didn't mind Ron holding it at all. That spoke volumes.
Unfazed by Ron's dye-covered state, Crookshanks leapt from a high cabinet onto his back, getting stained itself. So, human and cat ended up bathing together.
"Looks like he's finally over Scabbers—I mean, Peter Pettigrew," Harry said, hearing Ron's laughter and Crookshanks' playful noises from the upstairs bathroom in his office.
"It's not the cutest, but Crookshanks is really smart," Neville agreed. "It seems to know when Ron's feeling down and won him over easily, making him forget that rotten rat."
"I agree with the second part, Neville. Crookshanks is smart," Hermione said. "But the first part? I think Crookshanks is adorable! And quite handsome. If we weren't picking it for Ron, I'd have kept it myself."
"You're right, Hermione," Neville said, knowing better than to argue with her when she got serious. He changed the subject. "By the way, Harry, are you sure we can come with you? Nick didn't invite us, did he?"
"Don't worry. It's a birthday… er, deathday party. Nick won't mind more people celebrating with him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have invited me," Harry reassured. "Besides, don't you want to see how a ghost's party compares to a living one? It's a safe opportunity."
"A safe opportunity?" Hermione quipped. "What, are there unsafe ones? And why do ghosts celebrate the day they were killed? I'd have thought they'd avoid talking about their deaths. If I were murdered, I wouldn't want to dwell on it."
"Maybe it's because it's been so long?" Neville mused, recalling Nearly Headless Nick's behavior. "Nick's never shied away from his death. Last year, when we were first-years, he even used his nearly severed head to scare people."
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