A Promise Kept - Chapter 28 - The Black Lake

The Black Lake

“And the search for the popular journalist Rita Skeeter continues after she suddenly went missing in December, marking the second female figure of note to do so in the last twelve months, after Betha Jorkins of the Department of International Magical Cooperation vanished in Albania last year…”

Albus turned off the radio and released a dep breath.

He had been keeping abreast of the news pertaining to Bertha throughout the past months, and yet, despite investigations being caried out by the Albania authorities, and even the ICW itself, nothing had been found to explain her disappearance.

It was troublesome to say the least, especially given the rumours of just who was said to frequent the country during the years following his graduation from Hogwarts.

Rita was another matter entirely.

She was a loathsome woman who had made countless enemies for herself through her work, so it was less plausible to attribute her disappearance to the work of the Dark Lord, who would only make such a bold move if he was to gain something significant from taking her.

No, although Albus could not be entirely convinced, he did not believe Tom was responsible for whatever had befallen Rita Skeeter.

If only what had happened to the two women was all he had to concern himself with.

The second task of the tournament would be taking place in the next few days, and once more, Albus had his reservations, though this time, he certainly felt as though he had more control with how it would unfold.

Nonetheless, plunging live hostages into the lake under the guard of the merepeople was not as safe as he would like.

A part of him had hoped that Mercus would have refused the request to play host to them, but Barty’s argument had been convincing enough to reach an accord, so, it would go ahead as three of the five judges intended.

The only other that had objected as much as Albus had been Madame Maxime.

She had not wished to see any of her students placed in such peril, and her protestations had only become louder upon Miss Delacour being named the champion of Beauxbatons.

Albus understood her reservations but given the lengths he had gone to in ensuring the safety of the champions and hostages alike, he was confident all would be well.

The merepeople were honourable, had called Hogwarts their home for centuries now, and would not see any placed in danger from outside interference.

They had been stringently briefed on what they could and should expect.

Anything outside of the ordinary was to be intercepted on behalf of the school.

Even so, it was still a rather nervous headmaster that was anticipating yet another anxious but no less exciting task ahead, despite the apparent danger.

“At least it is not dragons,” he sighed, stroking Fawkes’ plumage.

He had been glad to see the back of them upon the completion of the first task.

There were to many people within the school that were too curious for their own good, and his gamekeeper was at the very top of that list.

Hagrid had been rather put-out when the handlers had taken their leave of the forest, undoubtedly reminding him of his own success in hatching an egg.

Albus chuckled to himself as he idly wondered just how Norbert was faring, but was grateful such a breed had not been selected for the tournament.

Norwegian Ridgebacks were among the most dangerous, and ferocious dragons one could come across, after all.

(Break)

“Thank you, Harry. This went better than I could have hoped for, well, for me, anyway. I’m sorry about everyone.”

Harry waved her off dismissively.

“I expected it, and knew I had to face it one day. It’s better that it was on my terms and didn’t give anyone time to prepare too much for my appearance.”

Fleur as she wrapped her arms around him when they reached the door to the carriage, having managed to free themselves from the rest of the students who had accosted them throughout the evening.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your Christmas.”

“And you,” Harry replied, shuddering as she placed a kiss on his cheek.

“See, my magic does affect you,” she said with a grin.

“I wouldn’t be a human male if it didn’t,” Harry chuckled. “Good luck with the rest of the tournament. Neither Krum nor Diggory has anything on you.”

He accepted the pass from Mulligan before barrelling through the paltry defence mounted in front of him comprised of the Pukwudgie players and hurled the Quod into the waiting pot.

It was incredible being back on his broom and competing. For Harry, it was the very best escape from everything else, and he had missed this. He only wished there were more than three official games per year, but he was certainly grateful for the first five months of the school year being free.

It was far too cold until February to play, and even now, there was a distinct, unpleasant chill in the air.

Nonetheless, as the final whistle was blown, he felt a stab of disappointment that the game was over, and jubilation that his team had prevailed.

It had not even been a close contest.

The Pukwudgie team wasn’t bad by any stretch, but they had no answer for the attacking nature Harry had chosen to adopt.

Most of his own team were of a lither build and not suited for a defensive approach. No, the aggressive scoring and using their manoeuvrability was for the best, and it had worked perfectly today.

“Good game, Potter,” Albert Dawkins, the opposing captain offered, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“You too.”

With the match concluded and the stands emptying, Harry approached his gathered players and nodded approvingly.

“Well played,” he said sincerely. “I know some of you had your doubts about how I wanted us to work, but I hope you see now that it is to our advantage. Come on, let’s hit the showers before we freeze our balls off.”

“Not all of us…”

“I know, it’s just a figure of speech,” Harry chuckled as Camilla Carver spoke up on behalf of the female players. “Go on, it’s still bloody cold out here.”

Walking the short distance to the changing room, he allowed the others to shower first whilst he gathered up the dirtied robes and placed them in the bag for Sid to collect for cleaning.

He had still not forgiven the surly little creature for arriving when he had when he’d been speaking with Sabine, but Harry could not help but think it had been for the best.

Other than the occasional comment and unmistakeably flirtatious glances from the girl, she had not waited for him after training, and Harry had not sought her out either.

He thought that perhaps the two of them were quite enjoying the strange game they had going on between them, or that maybe Sabine was waiting for him to make the next move.

It had been her who’d taken the initiative last time.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he took his shower and revelled in the heat of the water washing away the dirt, aches and pains of the match, pondering his time back at school since returning from the Christmas break.

“Where have you been, Harry?”

“Why didn’t you come to Hogwarts?”

“Did you really kill the Dark Lord?”

Those were just a few of the many questions he had fielded during his interrogation at the ball. He understood that there was a certain amount of intrigue about him, but truthfully, he did not know how to answer those questions, not without causing panic, at least.

Hogwarts simply had not been safe for him to attend, and no, Harry knew now that the Dark Lord wasn’t dead.

Still, he had managed to change the topic well enough not to raise any further questions, mostly by being rather dismissive of any of the ludicrous claims that had been made, laughing some off.

Even so, not all was as seemingly well as he’d hoped.

He’d made considerable effort so that Fleur would be able to enjoy her evening, and Harry had too. Strictly speaking, it had been his very first date, and it certainly could’ve gone much worse.

In some ways.

Since Christmas, he’d not heard from Gabrielle as much, nor had he seen her around at Beauxbatons as he had before.

When he did speak with her she was quite aloof, not impolite, but their friendship seemed to be just that little more strained.

“She’s jealous. She’ll get over it.”

That had been Wendell’s assessment when Harry had discussed it with the other boy.

Why she was envious, Harry did not understand.

Fleur had spoken with Gabrielle, had explained the nature of the arrangement between them, and yet, the younger Veela seemed to be displeased by them attending the ball together.

What he was to do, Harry did not know.

Maybe Wendell was right and she would get over it, but he did not like to be made to feel as though he’d done something wrong when he hadn’t.

Shaking his head, he turned off the shower and dried himself before the chilly air could ruin the warmth he was enjoying.

What Harry had learned, was that he did not understand girls as much as he thought he did.

Most of his friends were female, and he was certain he’d gotten a grasp on how they thought and felt about certain things, but evidently, he could not be more wrong.

Girls, he realised, were confusing, complicated, and he was undoubtedly clueless to how their minds worked.

Regardless, he could not invest any more energy into figuring what he had supposedly done wrong, and he took his leave of the changing rooms.

With it being a Saturday, he had no classes to attend, and he planned only to complete some of his homework whilst recuperating for the inevitably busy week ahead, should nothing else emerge to destroy what little peace he was granted.

(Break)

Potter Dazzles at Ball!

Potter Returns!

Harry Potter Makes First Public Appearance Since Fall of You-Know-Who!

The headlines had come thick and fast through outlets across Britain, Europe, and even the United States where Harry was making a name for himself as a potential future star of Quodpot.

For Lily, it was reminiscent of the aftermath of Halloween, 1981. Harry’s name had been plastered across all media outlets and spoken on every magical radio station.

Although it was different this time, she was not so comfortable with so much attention on her son.

Not that such an inevitable occurrence could’ve been avoided forever, and it wasn’t as though there was any negativity being published.

On the contrary, the journalists were rather flattering of him, speaking highly of the Potters, and even comparing Harry to his late father and grandfather, whom the older story-chasers remembered.

Even so, the headlines would draw the attention of those that had not forgotten what had happened to the Dark lord for all the wrong reasons.

Not that Harry seemed to care, but he was still a young boy that knew of loss, just not the true horror of war.

She eyed one of the photos of him dancing with Fleur, and in that moment, she realised just how quickly his transition into manhood would come. In a few short months, he would be fifteen years old, only two away from reaching his majority.

That was why he had agreed to attend the ball.

He needed to be a presence in Britain, to not be seen as an outsider by his peers on the Wizengamot, to have their respect.

“Still looking at those photos?”

“And worrying.”

“About what?”

Lily released a deep breath as she turned to face Sirius.

“In only two years, he will be Lord Potter, take up his seat on the Wizengamot, and the responsibilities that come with it all.”

“He will be ready for all of it. I look forward to the day he walks into the Wizengamot and look the all in the eyes. They will realise that Harry is like the Potters of old, a warrior, and someone they should not cross.”

Lily nodded.

“You believe in him.”

“Of course. I knew his grandfather, and as much as Harry is like James, the older he gets, the more he reminds me of Charlus. I don’t think I could give him any higher complement than that. You will see, Lily. He will be one of the greats.”

She did not doubt it.

Harry was a brilliant wizard, incredible for one his age, and he showed no signs of slowing down in his pursuit of knowledge and skill.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t worry about him.”

“Nor me,” Sirius murmured. “Nor me.”

(Break)

It was shortly after breakfast, and a sleepless night for Gabrielle that Fleur arrived home, seemingly pleased with how the evening had gone.

She offered her older sister what she hoped would not appear to be a strained smile, and Fleur returned it, not seeing Gabrielle’s for what it was.

There was no anger, or even disappointment, but she could not ignore that she felt as though she had somehow been betrayed, although Gabrielle was acutely aware that she had not been.

Harry did not belong to her in any sense, and yet, she had spent the previous night pacing back and forth, doing her utmost to rid herself of the jealousy that was plaguing her.

“How was it?” their mother asked.

Fleur’s eyes all but twinkled as she began explaining the Yule Ball, how odd it was not to be the centre of attention, but also how attentive Harry had been towards her.

“It was wonderful, Maman. Better than I could’ve hoped for.”

Their mother smiled, and once more, Gabrielle felt guilty for how she felt about it.

For Fleur, it was likely an experience that would never be repeated, one single night she would remember, a glimpse into what it was to be normal.

She despised feeling jealous, and although she understood just how special that one moment had been for her sister, it was not easy to be happy for her with so many warring emotions.

That, unfortunately, was the nature of the Veela, of the more feral, base side to them that did not understand reasoning so well, or even logic.

She knew that Fleur was not interested in Harry in such a way, and even if she was, Gabrielle in herself would not feel any bitterness or disappointment.

If anything, she would be pleased more than anything else, but the creature within her would not be.

It was confusing, stressful, and for the first time in her life, she was experiencing the pitfalls of her nature.

“And Harry was a perfect gentleman?” their father asked.

Fleur rolled her eyes at him.

“Of course, he was. He even made sure to walk me back to the carriage when it was over.”

Their father nodded approvingly.

“He’s a good boy,” he sighed fondly.

He was.

Gabrielle could not understand why she felt a certain way about him agreeing to be Fleur’s date. He’d not done so in a bid to provoke a feeling of envy within her.

Harry had agreed because he knew how much it meant to Fleur, because if he was her date, there would be no concern of anyone trying to take liberties with her sister.

Once again, Gabrielle knew this, fully understood why the two of them had gone together, but it did not prevent the less pleasant emotions from being prevalent.

Perhaps in time they would ebb away, and she would not be bothered by them as she was now, but until then, it was not easy to even think of seeing or speaking to him without her Veela heritage acting out quite unpredictably.

It had been weeks now, and still, she found it difficult to be around Harry without her other side reacting to his presence. It was even a challenge to write to him with a clear head.

As such, she had not done so as regularly.

Gabrielle missed it.

She missed how things had been before this unexpected complication and somewhat come between them, or, if she were honest, if him taking Fleur to the ball had become problematic for her.

Harry had done nothing wrong, and it felt as though she was punishing him, nonetheless.

It was a knock at the door to her room that pulled her from her maudlin thoughts, and Gabrielle frowned as she opened it.

She had never seen Madame Maxime appear to be so concerned, and the large woman said nothing for several moments after entering the room, closing the door behind her.

Gabrielle watched as she paced back and forth and eventually deflated.

“As I am sure you are aware, the second task of the tournament is tomorrow morning.”

Gabrielle had all but forgotten about it, but she nodded.

“As part of it, the champions are expected to rescue the thing they will sorely miss should they fail to complete it. In this case, the judges have decided that we will be using live hostages.”

“And you would like me to be the hostage.”

Madame Maxime offered her an apologetic smile.

“If only it was so simple,” she sighed. “The hostages are to be placed in the centre of the Black Lake under the guard of the merepeople.”

Gabrielle blinked.

“How long…?”

“You’d only be under there for a couple of hours at most. You do not have to. I could always ask, Mr Potter if…”

“I’ll do it,” Gabrielle interjected immediately. “I’ll be her hostage.”

Madame Maxime nodded, perhaps in relief, or in concern. Gabrielle couldn’t quite tell, and she was not certain why she had volunteered so willingly.

Maybe it was her instinct to protect Harry from being dragged any further into the tournament than he already had, or it was that her sister needed her for this.

Regardless, Gabrielle had done so.

“I will need you to come with me, Gabrielle. No one is supposed to know of your involvement until the beginning of the task.”

“Can I write to Harry? I’ve not replied to him in a few days.”

Madame Maxime nodded thoughtfully.

“I will wait outside for you.”

Quickly penning a note to the boy, she left her room to accompany the headmistress, not knowing what tomorrow would bring, but suddenly feeling rather apprehensive about the ordeal ahead.

Veela did not tend to fare well in water, but she had every faith in her sister.

Fleur would not see her harmed, after all.

(Break)

He was breathing heavily, and he could feel the sweat seeping through his t shirt. Since returning from the Christmas break, Professor Flitwick had been pushing Harry harder and harder, once more reminding him of just how far away he was from being able to defeat the man.

Each and every time, he would leave the classroom having been humbled, but it was not as though his mentor was faring any better.

Flitwick too was sweating profusely, his own breathing laboured as he nodded his approval.

“Excellent,” he praised.

“Excellent?” Harry wheezed, “you’re still standing.”

Flitwick laughed amusedly.

“As are you,” he pointed out. “When was the last time you were hurled across the room, Harry?”

He frowned as he pondered the question and rubbed his shoulder that he had grown accustomed to being sore.

“October fourth,” Flitwick answered. “I catch you from time to time with something but you recover and defend yourself adequately. It has been months since I truly got the better of you.”

“But you could.”

“Undoubtedly,” Filius said with a smirk, “but it would not come easily, Harry. You have grown, you have learned to adapt, and to relax even when your back is against the wall. Were we to come to blows, I would defeat you, but not as easily as you might think.”

Harry nodded appreciatively.

“I’d make sure I gave you my best.”

“And I would expect nothing less from you, and nor will I, should you agree to my proposal.”

“I’m flattered, Professor, but I do not think a marriage between us would work. You’d be here at Hogwarts…”

“Shut up, Harry,” Flitwick interjected with a shake of his head. “This is quite serious.”

Harry said nothing else, and Flitwick removed a stack of parchment from within his desk.

“This coming summer, Europe will be hosting the Duelling World Championships. The very best duellist from across the magical world will be competing against one another, and I would like for you and me to take the tour.”

He handed Harry a leaflet depicting two wizards locked in a particularly furious duel. The two were trading some rather unpleasant spells and defending against the attacks from their opponents with seamless ease.

“That would be amazing,” Harry whispered, in awe of the display.

“Good, and I would like for you to compete, not against the senior duellists, but in the under seventeens category. The competition will be stiff, but I do not doubt you will do remarkably well. It is the very best experience you can get as a duellist.”

“Compete?” Harry murmured. “Do you think I am ready?”

“Do you?”

Harry frowned as he continued to watch the two wizard on the front of the leaflet before nodding.

The very notion made him rather nervous, but there was the competitive side within him he could never quell. He wanted to compete, to pit himself against the very best he could, and if Filius thought this was for the best, who was he to deny the challenge?

“I’ll do it,” he declared, eliciting a proud smile from the man.

“Then I will make the arrangements. It will be quite the experience for you, and me. It has been some years since I last attended, even as a spectator.”

It was an exciting prospect, a new challenge for Harry to overcome, and he would give it his all, even if he felt considerable pressure being pushed upon him once more.

It was nothing new, but there seemed to be more and more expectations of him in everything he did, and though Harry always did his very best, he knew that one day he might just fall short of them.

He only hoped it would not cost him dearly when it inevitably happened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as noticed the Charms professor looking out of the window, switching his thoughts from his own bothersome ones.

“Nothing so troubling,” Flitwick sighed dismissively. “I am just quite eager for the tournament to be done with.”

“Ah, the second task is tomorrow.”

“It is, and I fear that this one could be more troubling than the first. The danger is not so immediate, but there are many variables that I am not so comfortable with.”

“Variables?”

Flitwick quirked an eyebrow at him before shaking his head.

“I am not at liberty to discuss it further with you, Harry. Do not think that I do not know that you went looking for those dragons. Miss Delacour was certainly unsurprised by them.”

“As was Krum.”

Filius hummed.

“Regardless, it is not my place to speak of such things, but I must admit, this is the one that causes me the most anxiety.”

Once more, he looked out of the window, but it wasn’t towards the forest as it had been when the dragons arrived. No, his gaze was aimed towards the horizon, and Harry idly wondered if the second task involved flying.

Krum would win that one without a doubt.

For what he lacked in conversational skills, he certainly made up for with his ability on a broom.

“Well, I do hope all goes to plan,” Harry offered as he readied himself to leave. “For my part, I have an essay on Enchanting to complete for Madame Alarie.”

“She is quite a brilliant witch.”

“And easy on the eyes,” Harry chuckled. “Same time on Wednesday?”

“Of course.”

With that, Harry took his leave of the office, and only a moment later upon exiting Grimmauld Place, found himself within the confines of his own room, tired and dirtied from his duelling with Flitwick, and ready to eat.

Before he could do so however, he noticed that the little box he kept on the bedside table was glowing a gentle blue, indicating he had received a missive in his absence.

With a frown, he opened the box to find a hurriedly scribbled note from Gabrielle, and he cursed under his breath as he realised the implications.

“Shit,” he muttered, any idea he’d had of eating all but abandoned as he cast a few cleaning charms on himself and departed Ilvermorny once more, concerned by the development he’d just become aware of.

Veela and water simply did not mix in such a way, and certainly not when it came to prolonged exposure.

The longer Gabrielle and Fleur were beneath the surface of the lake, the more dangerous the situation would become for them.

A feeling of dread settled within Harry, and he could not, in good conscience, simply wait to hear that all had gone well when there was a significant chance it would not be.

What the judges of the tournament had been thinking, he did not know, but he could not remain idle.

He needed to see for himself that all was indeed as well as he could only hope.

(Break)

The second task was not one that was designed for the viewing pleasure of the gathered crowd. The champions had entered the lake only a few moments prior, and although there was some excited murmurs lingering, for the most part, the onlookers had fallen silent.

For Albus, he found his gaze fixated on the surface of the water, looking for the first signs of disturbance, and the return of those that found themselves within the murky depths.

It would be some time before that came, perhaps up to an hour of rather tense waiting.

Olympe was undeniably the most nervous amongst them, but even Igor was uncomfortable with his student out of sight, and potentially in peril.

Although the lake was mostly benign in nature, there were creatures within that could certainly cause problems for the champions.

“Albus!”

He was pulled from his thoughts by the panicked tone of his colleague from Beauxbatons, and though he was relieved to see Miss Delacour slowly but surely making her way back towards the edge of the lake under her own steam, it was clear to see that she was not in a good way.

Angry red marks littered her neck, and she was bleeding from several wounds. They were not so deep that they caused immediate alarm, but they would certainly need attention from the waiting Madam Pomfrey.

Olympe, however, did not wait, and hurried to assist her student, who was all but consolable.

“Non, Gabrielle!” she protested as she was forced into the medical tent to be treated.

Albus found that he could no longer sit at the judges table, waiting for the return of the final two champions. According to his watch, more than half of their allotted time had passed, and the closer the end of the task became, the more his own nervousness grew, so, it was quite the relief to see Viktor Krum surface only a few moments later with Hogwarts’ own Miss Granger in his arms.

Still, there was no sign of Mr Diggory as yet, and that feeling was short-lived.

Had something happened to the boy?

Albus did not know, but as he heard the continued protestations of Fleur Delacour, he once more found himself transfixed on the lake, urging the surface to break a final time.

(Break)

It appeared that the unease he had immediately began to feel upon reading Gabrielle’s note was well-founded as he watched Fleur barely managing to extract herself from the lapping tide of the lake having failed to rescue her younger sister.

Looking towards where the judges gathered through his omnioculuars, he expected to see at least one of them intervening to retrieve Gabrielle from the lake.

When he realised that none were, he shook his head from beneath his cloak.

“Well, fuck,” he huffed, hurriedly removing his robes, shoes and t shirt, leaving him only dressed in his trousers and armed with his wand.

He couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, and knew he would undoubtedly find himself in trouble for intervening from all directions, but Harry did not care.

Gabrielle was potentially in considerable danger, and he could not simply wait around and do nothing.

With a shake of his head, he entered the lake on the opposite side to where the judges and crowd were gathered as he applied a bubble around his mouth and nose that would allow him to breathe.

What awaited him below, Harry had no idea, and his grip tightened around his wand in anticipation as he readied himself to face any challenge that would present itself.

For only the first dozen or so feet, he could see well enough, but he quickly realised that the Black Lake was not named with a sense of irony. Soon enough, he had to light the tip of his wand and hurriedly defend himself from a marauding group of Grindylow that emerged from the depths.

Aiming a jet of boiling water towards the creatures deterred their first attempted at throttling him, but they proved to be rather eager to inflict suffering.

Seeing that the water would not be enough, Harry took a more permanent approach, and the magic of the Black family succeeded where the simpler charm had not.

Seeing two of the group almost torn limb from limb by the unpleasant spells that followed did scatter the rest, and Harry continued on his way, his eyes peeled looking for any further disturbances.

It was certainly eerie here, and though Harry could not see more than maybe half a dozen feet in front of him by the time he reached the bottom of the lake, he could sense danger all around him.

There was magic within the depths, not like any other he’d ever felt before, a magic of its own, as threatening as it was protective.

It made him wonder if the lake itself was natural or had been created magically, and if so, just how long it had been here. Perhaps it was as old as the castle itself.

Not that such curiosity mattered.

No, he needed to focus on finding Gabrielle, wherever she might be.

Logically, it was the very centre the champions would need to find their way to, and with that in mind, that was where Harry headed, striking out at every shadow that neared him, taking no chances on what may be lying in wait.

It was an odd yet somewhat calm tension that had taken hold of him that only increased as he began hearing voices from somewhere in the distance.

“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.”

It was ominous to say the least and deeply concerning to boot.

Harry did not like the sound of the words, but he could not fathom there being so much veracity to the claim that what was taken would not be returned. He was not here to substantiate that.

Gabrielle was stuck within an element that would not be so kind to her or her magic, and regardless of whether or not he believed the lyrics of the song did not matter.

This task was incredibly dangerous for his friend, and he would see her freed from it, come what may.

(Break)

She woke with a gasp and found herself disorientated by her surroundings.

The last thing Hermione remembered was being in Dumbledore’s office, and now, she was cold, wet, and confused as to what had transpired.

Fortunately, she was being held in a pair of strong arms as she was being carried back towards land, and for a moment, she thought she was dreaming, only for Viktor to speak in his gruff voice.

“We are the first back,” he sighed in relief. “Well, together.”

He nodded towards a nearby tent where Hermione could see an almost catatonic Fleur, a concerned Mrs Delacour, who was talking frantically in French with Madame Maxime.

When Viktor placed her on the ground, she hurried towards the French champion, and saw that her hair was streaked with blood, and her neck showed signs that she’d been strangled.

“Fleur?” she whispered.

Her gaze was glassy, and Hermione could smell the cocktail of potions she had been given.

“Miss Granger, I will need to check you over,” Madam Pomfrey insisted.

She nodded and followed the woman, noticing Dumbledore and the three remaining judges were by the edge of the lake.

“Dragons and now this,” Madam Pomfrey huffed, casting a warming and drying charm on Hermione. “Drink this.”

It was only a Pepper-up Potion, and she took it gratefully in a bid to fend off the lingering chill in her bones.

“Is Fleur okay?”

“Miss Delacour will be fine,” Madam Pomfrey assured her. “She will need some rest, but she will recover from her injuries.”

Hermione nodded, but she was not convinced.

Something did not feel right with the mood of those in charge, and certainly not Mrs Delacour, who was clearly displeased by how the task had unfolded.

“Can I leave?”

Madam Pomfrey eyed her for a moment before nodding.

“If you feel unwell, you are to return to me. Understand?”

“I will,” Hermione assured the woman before leaving the tent, unsure on what she should do.

She opted to watch and wait.

Cedric had not yet returned with Cho Chang, and there could not be much time remaining in the task for them to do so within the limit.

Those within the crowd were tense, as were the judges and members of the media that had gathered to report on the task.

The eerie silence began to grate on Hermione, but before it could become too much, the crowd erupted in cheers as Cedric did indeed return with Cho in his arms.

The cheering, however, quickly abated as they realised that there was still one of the hostages missing, which meant that Gabrielle was alone in the lake.

Hermione could only shake her head as she watched the judges continue to discuss that very thing amongst themselves.

Something needed to be done; a sentiment that Dumbledore certainly agreed with.

If anything, it seemed that Karkaroff and Crouch were against intervening in the last few minutes of the task, but it seemed that the decision was quickly taken out of their hands.

Hermione was certain she felt the ground trembling as the surface of the lake began churning from an unseen force, forming a rather violent whirlpool that drew nearer towards the edge from the centre.

“What is happening?” she whispered.

That seemed to be the very question on the lips of everyone looking on, but Dumbledore held up a hand to prevent any from intervening, only to conjure a shield over himself and the judges nearby as the swirl exploded upwards, and a large waved washed over them.

As the spray cleared, Hermione felt her breath hitch in her throat at the sight of the young man walking the last steps out of the lake.

She had never seen Harry so furious, but it was the blood pouring from the deep wound in his shoulder, and the various other welts that covered his body most were focused on.

Hermione, however, was looking at the girl he was cradling in his arms.

“Harry!” Fleur sobbed, pulled from her stupor at the sight of the boy.

Gabrielle was pale and had yet to wake, and in lieu of losing his frayed temper, Harry carried her towards the Healer’s tent, where Hermione followed.

“Help her,” he said dismissively as someone tried to tend to him.

He grimaced as the blood began to flow, but with a flick of his wand, a pile of clothes was summoned into the tent.

Those within were in a state of shock, as were the crowd outside.

The excited chatter had begun in drips and drabs, but for the most part, the spectators said nothing, waiting for an explanation come announcement from the judges.

“Harry, are you…?”

Hermione broke off and watched with morbid fascination as he removed a trunk from within the robes, resized it, and removed an impressive collection of potions.

With practiced ease, he pulled the stopped from one with his teeth before pouring the contents into the wound in his shoulder, grimacing as the skin sizzled.

All that remained after only a moment was a pinkish lump of scar tissue, and Harry leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, releasing a deep sigh.

“What the hell were you thinking? That was probably the most stupid, reckless thing you have done, Harry James Potter!”

Hermione had not seen Sirius enter the tent, but the man’s presence was certainly being felt.

“Not now, Sirius. You can shout at me later.” Harry huffed. “How is she?”

Madam Pomfrey deflated.

“Stable, but not well,” she answered. “She is being prepared to be taken somewhere she can get the help she needs.”

Harry nodded as he stood.

“And who’s stupid idea was it to put her in the lake in the first place?”

“Mr Potter, all precautions…”

“Bullshit,” Harry cut in angrily, surprising Barty Crouch. “There are no precautions that could’ve been put into place that would’ve prevented the danger to her. She’s a Veela, and her magic would’ve recognised the danger she was in no matter what protective charms were put into place. Idiots,” he added with a shake of his head. “Fucking idiots.”

He shared a very brief exchange of words with Mrs Delacour before exiting the tent, leaving behind a bewildered group of witches and wizards.

Hermione followed along with Sirius, who was not in the best of moods.

“Harry, wait!” he called.

The boy paused and turned to face his godfather.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry sighed. “I’ve had worse from Flitwick.”

Sirius nodded.

“You know, you won’t be able to keep this from your mother,” he said almost amusedly as he nodded towards the dozens of photographers.

“As long as Gabrielle is okay, I don’t care.”

Sirius offered him a proud smile.

He would not say it, or openly condone it, but Hermione could see just how proud the man was, even if he was terrified and angry with the boy.

“What happened down there?” she asked.

Harry shrugged in response.

“You’d best ask the merepeople.”

With that, he continued on his way, ignoring the members of the media that attempted to follow him, only to stop as Harry suddenly vanished, as though he’d not been there at all.

Hermione and those that had witnessed him emerge from the lake knew differently, however. The water had yet to settle from the disturbance he’d caused, nor had the excited chatter as Dumbledore approached the podium to give the judge’s verdict on the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.