One by one, the champions plunged into the lake with loud splashes—except for Cohen, who was still slowly undressing. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine how awful it would be to swim in water while still wrapped in robes.
But Cohen wasn't worried about swimming while clothed. As a Dementor, he didn't get wet at all. He was undressing purely to avoid the hassle of drying his clothes later with spells.
Wearing nothing but underpants, Cohen leapt into the lake to a chorus of shouts and cheers from the crowd gathered around the shore.
And with that, the last champion had entered the water. Which meant… the audience had nothing else to watch.
Now they could only stare at the calm surface of the lake for an hour, their minds wandering into deep, philosophical questions about life and the meaning of this tournament, until the soaked champions emerged, each carrying the person they were meant to rescue. They'd cheer a bit for the winner, then trudge back to the castle to eat, sleep, and repeat their mundane routines.
But while the spectators were stuck in their boring wait, the champions had much more immediate concerns—like bizarre underwater creatures, freezing temperatures, and lake water so filthy it stung the eyes.
The moment Cohen hit the water, he shifted into his Dementor form. By now, all the champions had probably learned the truth about Cohen from their headmasters… except maybe Cedric.
"Harry? What are you still doing here?"
Cohen spotted Harry swimming nearby.
"I was waiting for you," Harry said. He'd already put on that fishbowl-helmet Cohen had made, his voice muffled inside it.
Seeing Cohen transform into a Dementor still gave Harry the creeps. The black cloak figure just didn't feel like someone who was once human.
"This is a solo event, not a team challenge," Cohen muttered. "But whatever. Nothing too dangerous down here anyway."
At least, nothing more dangerous than Cohen himself.
The two of them swam deeper into the lake, surrounded by a murky haze. The water was so cloudy that they could barely see ten feet ahead.
Below them was an eerie forest of tangled black lakeweed, scattered with shiny pebbles and smooth, flat patches of lakebed—so far, at least they could still see where they were going.
But only for a moment.
A massive dark shape drifted slowly overhead, blotting out the light.
"Giant squid," Harry whispered.
"It probably won't eat anyone—just tries to push people back to the surface," Cohen said, tugging Harry down with him into the weeds.
The school's giant squid was nearly domesticated by now. It liked people. That's why it often nudged clumsy students back to the shore or floated near sunbathers to get a good scratch.
"Don't let it shove us up," Cohen warned. "We'd waste too much time resurfacing."
"But… it doesn't seem to be leaving," Harry muttered.
The squid was still drifting above them, not moving off at all.
"Then we go underneath." Cohen pointed to a darker patch beneath the weeds. The visibility was worse down there, but the squid wouldn't follow—they could get tangled in the plants.
They picked a direction and started wriggling through the weeds.
Strangely enough, no matter where they went, the giant squid remained above, shadowing them.
"What's going on? Aren't there other people in the lake?" Harry asked, confused. "Why's it only following us?"
"No idea," Cohen said, frowning beneath his hood. He'd already ruled out the possibility that the squid might be a long-lost cousin. Aside from the Chimera tail, none of his parents were aquatic.
This squid had lived its whole life in a Scottish lake—it couldn't possibly be related to a Greek Chimera.
"Grindylow!" Harry suddenly cried. His wand whipped downward, aiming at his own feet.
A green-skinned creature with long horns had latched onto his ankle with claws that were far too large.
There were more of them, too—but when one tried to grab Cohen, its hands closed on empty water.
There were no legs under a Dementor's cloak.
"What're you grabbing at?"
Cohen asked the underwater goblin cheerfully as it stared up at him, bewildered.
The Grindylow looked far more horrified than its victim—it had never seen a Dementor before, and facing this eerie, shadowy creature gave it serious second thoughts.
"Relashio!"
A jet of red-hot water burst from Harry's wand, striking the Grindylow. Its skin turned bright red, and with a pained shriek, it let go.
The others, seeing their comrade injured, fled in a panic—though not without shaking their tiny fists angrily at Cohen and Harry before disappearing.
"Well, at least they've got guts," Cohen commented.
"Blast, we need to go up to get our bearings again," Harry said, glancing around. The Grindylows had disoriented him—everything looked the same, just endless waterweed.
They waited until the squid turned its massive head, then darted out of the weeds toward clearer water—only to dive back into cover and continue in the direction they guessed would lead to the merpeople's village.
Soon, they heard singing.
"…An hour long you'll have to look, To recover what we took…"
They had made it. After pushing through the last of the weed forest, signs of the merfolk's presence began to appear.
A massive boulder rose from the lakebed, carved with mossy green murals of merpeople wielding spears, chasing a giant squid.
Judging by the squid's cushy life now, it was clearly just a dream of theirs—no way they'd ever catch the one in this lake.
"…Time's half gone, so tarry not, Lest what you seek stays here to rot…"
The giant squid had not followed them. It seemed something—maybe a wall of shadows—was keeping it at bay. Cohen suspected the merpeople were protecting their territory.
Beyond the boulder, they found clusters of stone huts nestled on the lake floor, draped in lakeweed, with dark windows and shadowy figures peeking through.
The merpeople were not what one would call "beautiful." In fact, they weren't even "average." With iron-grey skin, tangled green hair, and necklaces of strung-up stones, they looked rough and wild.
They stared wide-eyed at Cohen—who, shrouded in his inky cloak, looked nothing like a human anymore.
He didn't belong in their waters.
A few braver merpeople gripped their spears tightly, eyes locked on Cohen, ready to defend their village if he made a single wrong move.