February had gripped Hogwarts in its icy embrace, the Black Lake's surface a dark mirror reflecting a sky heavy with winter clouds. Students huddled in thick cloaks and house scarves, their breath forming small clouds as they gathered around the lake's edge, excitement temporarily overcoming the biting cold. Two months had passed since the Yule Ball, and the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament had arrived with all its mystery and anticipation. On a raised platform at the lake's edge, the four champions stood in varying states of readiness, Harry Potter shifting nervously from foot to foot, his hand occasionally brushing the pocket where a slimy lump of gillyweed waited.
In the stands erected along the shoreline, Chris sat surrounded by his now-familiar group of friends, his white hair with blue streaks standing out against the sea of dark winter cloaks. Susan pressed close beside him, seeking warmth against the bitter chill, while Hannah and Hermione huddled together under a shared blanket. Daphne maintained her usual composed posture despite the cold, though her cheeks had flushed pink from the icy wind. Beside her, Astoria bounced in her seat with excitement, her young face alight with anticipation.
"He looks nervous," Susan observed, her eyes fixed on Harry's distant figure.
"He'll be fine," Chris replied with quiet confidence. "He knows exactly what to do."
Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice suddenly boomed across the lake, silencing the murmuring crowd. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament!" His words echoed across the water's surface. "Last night, something was stolen from each of our champions. A treasure, of sorts. These four treasures, one for each champion, now lie on the bottom of the Black Lake. In order to win, each champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface. Simple enough, except for this, they will have but one hour to do so, and one hour only. After that, they'll be on their own."
A ripple of concern passed through the crowd. Harry's hand dipped into his pocket, fingers closing around the slimy gillyweed. From the stands, Chris watched intently, noting Harry's determined expression replacing his earlier nervousness.
"Champions, at the sound of the cannon, you may begin!"
The cannon's boom cut through the cold air. Without hesitation, Harry stuffed the gillyweed into his mouth, his face contorting at the rubbery, slimy texture. Fleur and Cedric both cast the Bubble-Head Charm, transparent spheres forming around their heads, while Krum pointed his wand at himself, his face and head beginning a partial transformation into a shark.
Harry gagged on the gillyweed, his hands flying to his throat. In the stands, Astoria gasped in alarm. "Is he choking?" she cried, clutching Chris's arm.
"Just wait," Chris soothed, his eyes never leaving Harry.
Suddenly, Harry dove into the icy water. As the freezing lake engulfed him, a strange but not unpleasant sensation spread through his body. Slits opened on either side of his neck, gills, allowing him to draw oxygen from the water. His hands and feet stretched, webbing forming between his fingers and toes. The cold that had initially shocked his system faded to a tolerable coolness.
Above the surface, the spectators stared at the now-still water where four champions had disappeared. "And they're off!" Bagman announced unnecessarily. "All four champions have successfully entered the lake. Now all we can do is wait!"
"How are we supposed to see what's happening?" Hannah wondered aloud, staring at the opaque surface of the lake.
As if in answer, the water's surface suddenly shimmered and became translucent from above, revealing shadowy shapes moving below, Dumbledore's magic making the tournament viewable to the audience.
Beneath the water, Harry found himself in an alien world of swaying weeds and shifting shadows. He propelled himself forward with his newly webbed feet, marveling at the speed with which he could now swim. The Gillyweed had transformed him perfectly for this underwater challenge, just as Chris had promised.
In the distance, he caught glimpses of the other champions. Cedric moved steadily through the water, the bubble around his head gleaming as he cast occasional navigation spells. Krum's shark-head transformation allowed him to surge forward with powerful strokes, though his half-transformed body seemed unwieldy. Fleur struggled slightly, her Bubble-Head Charm wavering in the cold depths, her wand constantly moving to maintain it.
Strange creatures darted past Harry, fish with multicolored scales, tiny water sprites that emitted bubbles when startled, and once, a large tentacle that he suspected belonged to the giant squid. He pushed deeper, following an instinctive sense of direction toward the merpeople's village.
After what seemed like ages of swimming through increasingly murky waters, Harry heard it, the haunting melody he recognized from the golden egg, but now clear and understandable:
"An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took..."
Following the sound, Harry swam toward a large rock formation looming in the gloom. As he approached, structures began to emerge, crude stone dwellings carved from the lakebed rock, adorned with paintings of merpeople hunting. Merpeople themselves appeared, their grayish skin and wild green hair floating around yellowed teeth and broken spears. They watched Harry with curious but not unfriendly eyes, some pointing him toward the village center.
There, in a large open square surrounded by a gathering of singing merpeople, Harry saw them, four figures bound to a massive stone statue. Ron Weasley, his red hair floating eerily around his pale, sleeping face. Cho Chang, her long dark hair drifting like seaweed. A small girl with silvery-blonde hair who could only be Fleur's sister, Gabrielle. And finally, the Beauxbatons girl Krum had taken to the Yule Ball, her blue uniform billowing gently in the water.
All four appeared to be in a deep, enchanted sleep, small bubbles occasionally escaping their slightly parted lips. Harry swam directly to Ron, pulling at the thick ropes of weed that bound him to the statue. The bindings were tough, resistant to his tugging. After a moment of frustration, Harry spotted a sharp rock on the lakebed and used it to saw through the ropes.
Just as he freed Ron, a disturbance in the water announced Cedric's arrival. The Hufflepuff champion gestured to his watch, then to the surface, indicating that time was running short. With a quick nod of understanding, Harry watched as Cedric severed Cho's bindings and began to ascend with her.
Taking Ron's limp form under his arm, Harry kicked powerfully against the lakebed, propelling them both upward. The ascent seemed endless, the weight of his friend and the resistance of the water slowing his progress. He could feel the gillyweed's effects beginning to fade, a tightness returning to his neck where the gills were slowly closing.
In the stands, the atmosphere had grown tense as the hour mark approached. "He should be back by now," Hermione fretted, biting her lip anxiously.
"Look!" Astoria suddenly shouted, pointing excitedly. "There's something coming up!"
A disturbance in the water's center drew all eyes. Suddenly, Harry burst through the surface, gasping for air as his gills disappeared, dragging Ron's still-unconscious form with him. The crowd erupted in cheers, none louder than from the small group where Chris and the others were now on their feet, applauding wildly.
Ron spluttered awake as they reached the platform, confusion evident on his face. "Bloody hell," he coughed. "What happened?"
Harry couldn't answer, too busy being wrapped in warm towels by Madam Pomfrey. Shortly after, Cedric and Cho emerged, followed by Krum with his Beauxbatons date. Minutes later, a distraught Fleur surfaced alone, her face etched with panic when she realized her sister remained below.
"She is safe, Miss Delacour," Dumbledore assured her, his wand already moving in a complex pattern that would bring Gabrielle safely to the surface. "The hostages were never in any real danger."
As Harry sat wrapped in blankets, shivering but triumphant, Ludo Bagman's voice announced the scores. "Ladies and gentlemen, the results! In first place, with forty-five points, Harry Potter, who used gillyweed to great effect and returned first with his hostage!"
The Gryffindor section of the stands exploded with cheers, joined by enthusiastic Hufflepuffs and a smattering of Ravenclaws. From his seat, Chris exchanged triumphant high-fives with Susan and Hannah, while Hermione beamed with pride.
"In second place, with forty points, Cedric Diggory! In third, with thirty-eight points, Viktor Krum! And in fourth place, with twenty-five points, Fleur Delacour!"
As the celebrations continued around them, Susan turned to Chris, her eyes bright with excitement. "He did it!" she exclaimed. "Just like you said he would."
"Of course he did," Chris replied with a satisfied smile. "We gave him everything he needed to succeed."
...
Silvery wisps of memory swirled in the Pensieve, casting ghostly reflections across Albus Dumbledore's lined face as he leaned over the stone basin. The Headmaster's office was quiet save for the gentle whirring of silver instruments and the occasional soft snore from the portraits of former headmasters. Outside the leaded windows, evening had settled over the grounds, the Black Lake now peaceful after the day's excitement. In the memory below, Harry Potter swam through murky waters with unexpected skill, his movements purposeful and confident, too confident, perhaps, for a fourteen-year-old wizard facing such a challenge with no prior warning.
The door opened with a soft click, admitting Severus Snape, his black robes billowing slightly as he closed it behind him. He stood silently for a moment, observing the Headmaster's hunched posture over the Pensieve, before clearing his throat.
"You wished to see me, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore straightened, his blue eyes momentarily distant before focusing on Snape. "Ah, Severus. Yes. Thank you for coming." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "I've been reviewing today's events."
Snape's gaze flickered to the swirling memory in the Pensieve, his thin lips pressing into a tighter line. "Potter's performance was... unexpected, Headmaster," he said, the words measured and precise. "His skill with the gillyweed and his speed in retrieving Weasley... it was almost as if he knew exactly what to do."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, moving to his high-backed chair behind the desk. He settled into it with a sigh that spoke of weariness beyond physical fatigue. "It troubles me. He seemed... prepared. Too prepared."
The portraits on the walls remained silent, though several had opened their eyes, watching the conversation with poorly disguised interest. Fawkes, perched near the window, preened his scarlet feathers, seemingly indifferent to the tense atmosphere developing below.
"Perhaps you should not have encouraged his participation in this farce, Headmaster," Snape said, a familiar edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. His dark eyes bore into Dumbledore's, challenging. "Are you so certain the Dark Lord will reveal himself during the final task? Are you willing to risk Potter on a hunch?"
Dumbledore's gaze hardened. "I am sure, Severus. The prophecy... it is a matter of destiny. Harry must face him."
A log shifted in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks upward. The sudden flare of light illuminated the subtle tension in Dumbledore's face, the tightness around his eyes, the firm set of his jaw beneath the flowing silver beard. These were not the features of the genial headmaster known to students, but of the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald, who carried burdens few could comprehend.
Snape leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "And what if the letter was true, Albus? What if the Dark Lord is truly gone? What if we are placing Potter in unnecessary danger?"
The letter, an anonymous missive that had arrived months ago, claiming that Voldemort had been permanently destroyed through some unknown means. Both men had dismissed it initially as a cruel joke or a misguided attempt at reassurance. Yet as weeks passed with no sign of Death Eater activity, no whispers of Voldemort's return, a seed of doubt had taken root.
"Impossible, Severus," Dumbledore said, but there was the faintest hesitation before he continued. "The prophecy... it is clear. Harry is the one."
He rose, moving to the window where Hogwarts grounds stretched into darkness. His reflection in the glass looked suddenly older, more vulnerable. "I have consulted every source, examined every possibility. The connection between Harry and Voldemort remains. The scar... it is more than a mark. It is a link that binds their fates."
"Yet Potter seems different this year," Snape observed. "More confident. More... competent. Someone is helping him, guiding him. Granger, perhaps?"
"Miss Granger has always been a devoted friend," Dumbledore acknowledged. "But this feels different. More... strategic." He turned from the window, his expression troubled. "Harry has new friends this year. The Hufflepuffs, Miss Greengrass from Slytherin, and..."
"Emrys," Snape finished, his expression darkening further. "The boy with the unusual hair. I've noticed him watching Potter. There is something... unsettling about that one."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Christopher Emrys. An exceptional student, by all accounts. Perhaps too exceptional."
Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken concerns. Fawkes let out a soft, melancholy note that seemed to echo the mood of the room.
"I made mistakes in the past, Severus," Dumbledore said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Terrible mistakes. I cannot afford to make another."
Snape's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his dark eyes. Both men carried the burden of past errors, paths chosen that had led to unforeseen tragedy.
"I cannot allow history to repeat itself," Dumbledore continued, returning to his desk. "Harry must be protected. Even if it means... guiding him down a difficult path."
The implications hung in the air between them, sacrifice, manipulation, the greater good that had justified so many questionable decisions.
"And if you are wrong?" Snape asked, the question sharp as a blade. "If the Dark Lord truly is gone, and Potter is being placed in danger needlessly?"
Dumbledore's hand moved unconsciously to a drawer in his desk, the drawer where the mysterious letter was kept. "Then I will have much to answer for," he said quietly. "But the risk of being wrong in the other direction is far greater. If Voldemort returns and Harry is unprepared..."
He left the sentence unfinished, but both men understood. The fate of the wizarding world, perhaps even beyond, hung in the balance of decisions made in this tower room.
"Watch him, Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice firmer now, resolve replacing doubt. "Watch Harry. And watch those around him. Particularly young Mr. Emrys. I need to know who is influencing him, and to what end."
Snape rose, recognizing the dismissal in Dumbledore's tone. He gave a curt nod and turned toward the door, his face once again an unreadable mask.
The door closed softly behind him, leaving Dumbledore alone with his troubled thoughts and the swirling memories in the Pensieve, where Harry Potter continued to swim with a confidence that raised as many questions as it answered.