Harry walked through the library doors with a triumphant smile so broad it seemed to light up the dimly lit room.
He walked briskly toward the table at the back, hoping not to disturb the librarian, and reached Ron and Hermione, who were still lost in their reverie, their minds probably hundreds of miles away, imagining the horrors Grindelwald might be unleashing on the world.
Harry dropped the heavy golden egg on the table with a thud that made them both jump in their seats.
"I did it," Harry announced, resting his hands on the table and looking at them with shining eyes. "I know how to decipher this thing," he said, pointing to the egg.
Ron blinked, coming out of his lethargy, the color seeming to return to his face a little. Hermione looked up from her own book, her expression changing from concern to surprise.
"Really, Harry?" Ron asked, smiling weakly but happily for his friend. "How did you figure it out? We've been stuck for weeks."
Harry didn't hesitate for a second. The lie came out of his mouth with great ease.
"I went to the bathroom on the second floor," Harry began, stroking the metal surface of the egg casually. "While I was washing my hands, I saw the water falling and... I don't know why, but I had an epiphany. I opened the egg and held it under the stream of water. The screams disappeared instantly."
Hermione's eyes widened. The logic behind the action immediately clicked in her brain. She dropped her quill and clapped her hands excitedly.
"Of course! The acoustic medium!" Hermione exclaimed, quickly lowering her voice when Mrs. Pince shot them a withering glance from behind the counter. "Sound travels differently through liquids. Harry, that's brilliant! We have to go right now to test your hypothesis."
Without waiting for a response, Hermione slammed her books shut, grabbed Ron by the sleeve of his robe, and pushed Harry toward the exit, dragging them down the hallways.
They went to one of the largest and least frequented bathrooms in the castle. The prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor, which Hermione was able to access thanks to a little lock-picking trick.
The huge bathtub, almost the size of a small swimming pool, was overflowing with water; someone had probably used it before.
Harry took off his robe and shoes, took a deep breath, and submerged himself in the water with the golden egg in his hands. Ron and Hermione watched from the edge, holding their breath.
Beneath the surface, Harry opened the egg. There were no more bloodcurdling screams or banshee wails. Instead, a chorus of voices, with a mysterious touch, filled his ears with an eerie chant:
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.
Harry surfaced, breaking the tension, panting and brushing wet hair from his eyes.
"It worked, it really worked!" Harry exclaimed, holding up the open egg, which now emitted only a faint hum above the water.
"What did it say?" Ron asked impatiently.
Harry got out of the water and took a towel Hermione handed him, shivering a little from the change in temperature.
"It was like a song... I think," said Harry, frowning as he tried to remember the exact words. "It said they had taken what I value most and that I have an hour to get it back or I'll lose it forever. I didn't really understand."
Hermione bit her lower lip, her mind already working at full speed.
"It could be the Black Lake... maybe Mermaids... they're going to take someone or something important to you. At least now we know what you're up against, Harry."
While the Golden Trio processed the information in the bathroom, around the corner, leaning lazily against a stone gargoyle, Aurelian Gaunt listened to everything.
A smile spread across his lips.
"Very predictable, Harry," Aurelian thought. His little setup in the hallway with Cedric had worked perfectly. Potter had swallowed the hook, line, and sinker, trusting that information and going to put it into practice immediately. Now the "Chosen One" was on track to survive the Second Task, ensuring that the tournament would continue on its exact course toward his father's resurrection.
Aurelian stepped away from the wall and began walking down the hallway just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione came out of the bathroom.
As their eyes met, the dynamic between the four of them was full of contrasts.
Ron felt grateful for the way Aurelian always treated him when they saw each other in the castle, and his family had a certain fondness for that Slytherin. You could say that Aurelian was the only student in that house whom he respected and secretly admired. When he saw him, he raised his hand naturally.
"Aurelian!" Ron greeted him with a relaxed smile. "How's everything?"
Aurelian smiled back and high-fived the redhead as he passed by.
"Everything's fine, little Weasley. I hope those new inventions of Fred and George's don't blow up Gryffindor Tower."
Ron laughed. Hermione, standing next to him, gave Aurelian a small, polite smile. Hermione was a little afraid of Aurelian Gaunt, but he had never treated her badly, so she simply saw him as a great student.
With Harry, it was the opposite.
Seeing Aurelian—impeccable, relaxed, and with that aura of natural superiority that drove him crazy (although only he could see that aura)—made his blood boil. The image of Cho Chang hugging Cedric and the humiliation of having to steal information from his rival for the tournament mixed with everything he already felt for the boy in front of him.
Harry quickened his pace and instead of going around him, he bumped his shoulder violently against Aurelian's.
"Get out of my way, Gaunt," Harry hissed, pushing him harder than necessary.
Aurelian barely moved from his spot, his expression becoming indecipherable as he watched him pass.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked by the aggression.
"Sorry, Aurelian!" Ron apologized quickly, looking at his friend as if he had lost his mind. "He's been really stressed out about the tournament, you have to understand. See you later!"
Ron and Hermione ran after Harry, who was already quickly walking away down the hallway without looking back.
Aurelian stood there, watching them disappear around a corner.
He sighed dramatically, smoothing the fabric of his robe where Harry had pushed him, as if dusting himself off.
"What a temper," Aurelian muttered to himself, shaking his head with amusement. "I wonder why Potter hates me so much. I've never really done anything wrong to him."
A smile, full of irony, spread across his face. With his hands in his pockets and a calm stride, Aurelian Gaunt continued on his way to the Slytherin common room, satisfied that his little world was still spinning exactly as he had arranged it.
Meanwhile, deep in the dungeons, the atmosphere in the Potions classroom was... stifling.
Severus Snape walked slowly between the rows of bronze cauldrons, observing with his usual disdain the third-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students who were clumsily attempting to prepare a Shrinking Solution. His black cloak fluttered behind him like the wings of a bat.
He was about to reprimand a student for cutting the roots incorrectly when it happened.
Spontaneously, as if someone had pressed a red-hot poker directly against the skin of his left forearm.
Snape stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught in a sharp hiss that echoed in the silent classroom. His right hand flew instinctively to his left arm, clutching it tightly.
The nearest students looked up, startled by the sudden change in their teacher's posture. Snape's already pale face took on an almost translucent tone, and a thin layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
The pain was sharp and stabbing. A pain he hadn't felt with such intensity in over a decade.
"Professor... are you all right?" asked a Hufflepuff girl in a trembling voice.
Snape closed his eyes, making a superhuman effort not to buckle under the pain.
"Today's class... is over," he managed to say, his voice sounding more hoarse and raspy than usual. "Leave your cauldrons as they are. Leave the classroom. Now."
The students didn't need to be told twice. Seeing Snape's fierce expression, they hurriedly gathered their backpacks and stampeded out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.
Once alone, Snape leaned heavily against his desk, breathing heavily. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pulled the black fabric up.
There it was.
The Dark Mark. For thirteen years, it had been nothing more than a pale scar, a reminder of his past sins. But now... the skull had darkened to an absolute black, and worse, the snake emerging from the skull's mouth was slowly writhing, slithering across his flesh as if it had a life of its own.
Snape swallowed hard, terror freezing his blood. He knew exactly what that meant.
Without wasting a second, he pulled down his sleeve and left the classroom, striding through the corridors, ignoring the throbbing heat rising up his arm.
He needed to find Dumbledore.
He ran up the stairs from the dungeons. When he reached the first-floor gallery, he saw two figures talking quietly by a large window.
They were Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. Minerva's dark brown hair fell in a perfect bun. Snape stumbled a little on the last few steps, his heavy breathing betraying him before he could speak.
Albus and Minerva turned instantly. Seeing the pallor of their colleague and potions master and the way he was clutching his left arm, they both rushed toward him.
"Severus!" Minerva exclaimed, losing her usual composure. She took him by the right arm to help him steady himself, while Dumbledore stood in front of him, his blue eyes devoid of their usual sparkle.
"Severus, what's wrong? Why are you in this state?" Dumbledore asked, his voice grave and urgent.
Snape looked at them, his black eyes wide with panic and pain. He whispered the words they had been fearing for years.
"He... the Dark Lord... is regaining his strength."
A groan of pain escaped Snape's lips as he finished the sentence, his knees almost giving way from the pain.
Dumbledore took Snape's left arm. With a quick but careful movement, he rolled up the sleeve of his robe.
Minerva let out a small gasp beside him.
Under the gray light streaming through the window, the three watched the Dark Mark. The black of the magical mark seemed to pulse in time with Snape's heartbeat, and the snake clearly undulated, an unmistakable sign that its master was gathering and regaining his magic, alerting his followers in the darkness.
Minerva McGonagall brought a hand to her chest. Her eyes reflected a mixture of sadness and fierce determination.
"The future looks very dark, Albus," Minerva said in a chilling whisper, her gaze fixed on the writhing snake.
Albus Dumbledore gently released Snape's arm and pulled down his sleeve to hide the mark. He closed his eyes tightly, worry lines etching his face.
The Tournament, Grindelwald in the east, and now this. The pieces were moving too fast.
"What I feared most," Dumbledore thought, feeling the weight of the wizarding world fall back onto his shoulders, "has already begun to happen."
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