The lake split open with a soundless gasp.
Alden's head broke through first, followed by a spray of water like shattered glass. He drew in a breath that burned his lungs, air cutting through the cold ache that clung to his ribs. For a moment, the world was nothing but light—white-gray clouds mirrored in the lake, the echo of cheers rolling like thunder from the distant banks.
He blinked the water from his lashes and turned slightly, steadying Theo against his shoulder. The boy stirred, coughing once before lifting his head, eyes bleary and unfocused.
"What in Merlin's—" Theo's voice was hoarse, broken by another cough. "Why… are we in the middle of the lake?"
Alden's breath came slower now, controlled. "Because you fell asleep on duty."
Theo squinted, hair plastered to his forehead. "I fell asleep in the Headmaster's office," he muttered, confused. "There was a cup. McGonagall said something about 'perfectly safe,' and then—" He glanced around at the endless stretch of gray water, at the stands packed with students in the distance. "…Right. Perfectly safe."
The corners of Alden's mouth twitched. "Seems Dumbledore's definitions are flexible."
Theo stared at him for a moment longer, then let out a weak laugh. "You know, when I agreed to be your 'treasure,' I didn't realize it meant nearly drowning."
"You didn't drown."
"Semantics," Theo shot back, rubbing his temples. "Also, why does every muscle in my body feel like I've been used as an anchor?"
"Because you have."
That earned a louder laugh this time—sharp and real, echoing across the still surface. Theo looked up, blinking against the bright air. "Did we win?"
Alden scanned the water around them. The surface was calm. No other champions had surfaced yet. "It's been ten minutes," he said evenly.
Theo turned to him, incredulous. "You're joking."
Alden's silence was answer enough.
Theo exhaled through his nose, grin widening. "Ten minutes. Brilliant. You realize you're going to make the rest of them look like they stopped for tea?"
Alden started swimming toward the distant shore. "Then they should've swum faster."
Theo followed, shaking his head, voice light with disbelief. "You really are insufferable sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
"Fine. Always."
They moved together through the water, the waves parting around them as the noise from the shore swelled. The students had noticed now—green and silver banners flaring, echoing shouts carrying over the wind.
Draco's voice was unmistakable even across the distance: "Told you he'd finish before breakfast!"
Theo laughed again, softer this time. "Of course he'd say that."
"Let him," Alden murmured, his tone calm but distant, eyes never leaving the judges' platform.
Theo's grin faded slightly as he studied him. "You're thinking too hard again."
"I'm thinking we're still in freezing water."
Theo's voice gentled. "No, you're thinking about down there."
Alden didn't respond. His strokes slowed slightly as he gazed into the reflection of the clouds above, the faint echo of the merfolk's song still clinging to the edges of his thoughts.
"You'd have done the same," he said finally.
Theo smiled faintly. "Of course I would. But you shouldn't have had to."
Alden glanced at him sidelong. "I wasn't asking permission."
That earned a small chuckle. "Didn't think so."
They swam the last stretch in silence—Alden's movements efficient and controlled, Theo's more ragged but steady. The noise grew louder as they neared the stands, voices layering into one continuous roar of relief and excitement.
When their feet touched the silted bottom, Theo turned his face to the crowd, water still dripping from his hair. "Remind me to never volunteer again."
Alden said nothing. But there was a faint, fleeting curve at the corner of his lips before he reached out a hand, steadying his friend as they stepped together toward the bank—two silhouettes rising from the lake, one calm and deliberate, the other laughing quietly at the absurdity of it all.
And for a brief moment, amid the noise and the cold and the blinding light of the morning, Alden allowed himself the smallest exhale of peace.
The cold hit harder once Alden reached land.
The water that had felt almost bearable beneath the surface now clung to him like frost, soaking through his skin, his muscles shaking with the delayed weight of it. He hauled himself up the final incline of wet stones, Theo close behind, both of them dripping and half-blinded by the sudden brightness.
A roar went up from the stands the moment their feet broke the shallows. The sound was almost physical — banners whipping in the wind, students cheering, voices clashing in a chorus of names."Dreyse! Dreyse!" echoed from the Slytherin section, Draco's voice unmistakable as he all but stood on the railing, waving his wand like a conductor's baton.
Alden didn't look toward the noise. He pushed the wet hair from his eyes, breath fogging in the chill, his focus fixed on the figures gathered near the judges' table. Dumbledore was there — hands clasped behind his back, eyes bright and watchful — beside Bagman, whose grin looked one degree short of bursting. Madame Maxime's expression was polite and neutral. Karkaroff's… sour, but unsurprised.
Professor McGonagall had already risen from her chair, wand out, murmuring a warming charm before Alden even reached them. "Mr. Dreyse—good heavens—you're freezing!"
Theo, teeth chattering but still smiling, raised a hand weakly. "Just a bit of a morning swim, Professor."
"Swim?" McGonagall repeated, exasperated, before thrusting thick woolen blankets toward both of them. "Wrap yourselves up this instant."
They obeyed without a word. The fabric was rough, heavy, and steaming with the heat of conjured warmth. Alden wrapped it tight across his chest, the tremor in his fingers betraying the exhaustion he tried to hide. His skin was pale from cold, the black ink of the rune faintly visible over his sternum where the blanket gaped.
Madam Pomfrey bustled forward next, pressing a mug of steaming chocolate into each of their hands. "Sip. Slowly," she instructed, though her tone softened as she looked over them. "Merlin's beard, what are they thinking, sending children into that lake?"
Theo smirked faintly over the rim of his mug. "Technically, I didn't choose to go."
"Then you're the lucky one," Pomfrey replied, tucking another layer of the blanket over his shoulders before turning to Alden. "And you—stop pretending you're fine. You're blue."
Alden said nothing, only nodded once, the steam from the mug curling around his face as he took a cautious sip. The heat spread painfully down his throat, chasing away the numbness finger by finger.
Across the table, Bagman was already talking animatedly to the other judges, gesturing toward Alden and Theo with obvious delight. "Ten minutes flat, can you believe it? A record! I daresay even the merfolk didn't expect—"
Karkaroff cut him off, voice sharp. "Efficiency and recklessness often look the same, Ludo."
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately. His eyes were still fixed on Alden — not judging, not smiling, just studying. Measuring. Finally, he said mildly, "Or perhaps intent makes all the difference."
A faint, knowing flicker passed through Alden's eyes before he looked away.
The tent that had been set up for the champions stood a short distance away, the canvas fluttering against the wind. A few students were still being shepherded toward the stands, but the crowd's noise was already shifting — speculation, praise, disbelief.
When Alden and Theo stepped inside, the warmth hit them like a wall. A small fire burned in the center, and thick chairs lined the sides, each marked with a house crest. Cedric's spot was empty; Krum's cloak hung over his.
A moment later, the tent flap stirred, and Snape swept in.
He said nothing at first — his expression unreadable, only the faint rise and fall of his breath betraying anything human beneath the layers of black. His gaze swept over Alden from head to toe: the dripping hair, the trembling hands still clutching the mug, the faint traces of frost clinging to his shoulders.
Then, quietly, "Ten minutes."
It wasn't a question.
Alden met his eyes. "Nine and a half."
Theo barked a short laugh from where he sat by the fire. "Of course you counted."
Snape's mouth twitched—something like the ghost of approval before he smoothed it away. "You realize, Mr. Dreyse, you may have permanently raised the bar for idiotic bravery."
Alden tilted his head slightly, voice flat but edged with dry humor. "Or lowered it for everyone else."
Theo snorted into his mug. "That's what I said."
Snape regarded them for another moment, then simply exhaled — the kind of slow breath that came after fear had already left the body. "You'll find fresh robes in that chest," he said, turning toward the flap. "Change before Madam Pomfrey decides to hex the both of you for catching pneumonia. And, Dreyse—"
Alden looked up.
Snape's tone shifted, quieter. "Well done."
The words were simple, but from him, they landed like a stamp of significance. Then he was gone, cloak sweeping behind him as the tent door fluttered closed again.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the fire crackling and the faint murmur of the crowd beyond the canvas walls.
Theo leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, grin tugging at his mouth. "I think he just complimented you."
Alden drew in a slow breath, rolling his shoulders beneath the blanket. "That's how you know something's wrong with the world."
Theo chuckled, shaking his head. "No. That's how you know you did something right."
Alden didn't answer. He just stared into the flames, watching them curl and dance in reflected gold across his eyes — their light flickering like the surface of the water he'd just left behind.
By the time the next ripple broke the surface of the lake, the crowd had already begun to murmur again—whispers running through the stands like wind through dry grass.
A girl's head breached first, pale hair slick against her skull. Fleur gasped as she broke through the water, dragging her sister up with both arms, her voice breaking into sharp, desperate French that carried across the lake. Students cheered, and Madam Maxime was already striding toward the edge to meet her protégée.
Moments later, a rush of bubbles signaled another rise—Krum, cutting through the gray surface like a shark made man, his hand gripping Hermione's arm. They emerged to wild applause from Ravenclaws and Durmstrang students alike, the girl blinking and dazed, her hair matted with frost and strands of lake weed.
And then the lake went still again.
The quiet that followed was tense, electric. Even the banners above the stands seemed to slow in the wind. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hollow drip of water falling from Fleur's braid and the low hum of the warming charms running along the judges' table.
Then the final explosion of foam split the silence.
Harry surfaced with a violent gasp, hauling both Ron and Fleur's sister toward the light. The crowd erupted. Gryffindor roared as if the lake itself had surrendered.
Across from the chaos, Alden watched from his chair beneath the judges' tent—blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, steam still faintly rising from his skin. Theo sat beside him, leaning forward to see, one arm still tucked in a blanket of his own.
"Five minutes past your time," Theo murmured with a grin. "You'll have to settle for sharing first."
Alden's eyes tracked the scene without expression. "I'll survive."
When Harry reached the shallows, Dumbledore himself helped him upright, Madam Pomfrey swarming at once with blankets and bottles. The merfolk had followed him halfway up—gray shapes in the shallows, eyes bright and unblinking. They spoke to Dumbledore in low, throaty sounds that scraped at the edge of hearing.
After a moment, Dumbledore nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling in what looked like genuine approval. He stepped forward and lifted his wand to his throat.
"Sonorus."
The charm deepened his voice, carrying it across the crowd."Champions and spectators," Dumbledore began, "our second task has concluded."
Cheers surged, fading again as the other headmasters and Bagman took their places beside him. Karkaroff looked sour, Maxime proud, Bagman glowing like a lantern.
Dumbledore's tone grew formal, echoing against the still lake."The task, as you know, was simple: recover what you would sorely miss. The methods were your own."
He gestured to Fleur. "Mademoiselle Delacour—who demonstrated capable use of the Bubble-Head Charm but was forced to withdraw before reaching her hostage—scores twenty-five points."
Polite applause rolled across the stands; the Beauxbatons students rose to cheer her. Fleur barely acknowledged it, still clutching her sister, whispering furiously in French.
"Mr. Krum," Dumbledore continued, "used partial Transfiguration to great effect. Though it lacked elegance, it achieved its goal. He retrieves his hostage second. Forty points."
Karkaroff clapped once, slow and deliberate, as if expecting the applause to follow. It didn't.
Then Dumbledore turned to his left, to where Alden stood beside the tent entrance now, having risen when addressed. His black hair still dripped onto the frost-hardened grass; his gray-green eyes were calm and unreadable.
"Mr. Dreyse," Dumbledore said, and the murmur that went through the crowd was immediate—half reverent, half wary."You completed the task in ten minutes, by methods the Merchieftainess herself described as… 'precise, if aggressive.'"
There was a faint ripple of laughter among the Slytherins. Theo coughed into his hand to hide his grin.
Dumbledore's mouth twitched, though whether in amusement or restraint was hard to tell. "You retrieved your hostage first and with full consciousness, demonstrating both control and efficiency. However, we must note deductions for unnecessary use of offensive magic against the merfolk guards, despite prior instruction."
Karkaroff's lips curved, but Dumbledore continued before he could speak.
"Nevertheless," the Headmaster said, his voice carrying clean and unshaken, "the panel is in agreement that your performance represents exceptional magical aptitude. Fifty points."
The reaction was instantaneous—Slytherin roared to its feet, emerald banners bursting upward in a storm of green sparks. The sound shook the stands.
Theo leaned toward him, his grin wolfish. "You've just become a legend, you know that?"
Alden didn't smile. "I didn't ask to be."
"Yeah, well," Theo said lightly, "you never do."
The applause rolled on—Bagman clapping enthusiastically, Maxime nodding in approval, Snape at the edge of the platform with his arms crossed, his expression a quiet, unspoken good.
When it finally ebbed, Dumbledore raised his wand again."And lastly—Mr. Potter."
The crowd quieted again as Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly. "Though he exceeded the time limit, Mr. Potter was the first to reach the hostages and displayed what the Merchieftainess called 'unnecessary compassion.' His score: forty-five points."
The noise that followed was deafening. Gryffindor and Slytherin clashed in cheers and jeers across the lake. Above the din, Draco's voice rang clear: "Tied? Tied?! Someone check the lake, I think the judges are blind!"
Tracey smacked his arm. "Shut up, Draco, you'll get detention."
"Worth it!"
Theo leaned forward again, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. "There's your rivalry sealed for life."
Alden said nothing. His gaze drifted past the crowd, past the color and noise, toward the steel-gray expanse of water behind them.
The surface was calm now—too calm.
He thought of the village below, of the yellow eyes watching from the dark, of the sharp crack of a spear shaft splitting cleanly under his spell. He'd done what he needed to. Nothing more. Nothing less.
And yet, even as the applause went on, there was a stillness in him that didn't ease.
When Dumbledore dismissed the crowd, Alden stood a moment longer than the others, the blanket still draped over his shoulders. Theo rose beside him, clapping a hand to his arm.
"Don't overthink it," Theo said quietly. "You won. You saved me. That's all that matters."
Alden glanced at him, the tension in his jaw easing just enough for the smallest nod. "That's what I told myself underwater."
Theo smirked. "You'd better keep believing it, then."
They walked off together toward the tents as the stands emptied, cheers still echoing behind them.
And if Alden's gaze drifted once more to the lake before they disappeared inside, no one noticed. The surface shone like a mirror — smooth, silent, and deep.
The castle was alive again by the time Alden and Theo returned — the corridors filled with chatter, footsteps, and the electric buzz that always followed spectacle. Even before they reached the Slytherin common room, they could hear the noise through the stone: laughter, cheers, the low hum of a dozen excited voices.
The door swung open to a wave of warmth and light. The common room blazed with green fire reflected in the water outside; the lake shimmered against the glass like liquid emerald. Banners hung from the archways — DREYSE: HOGWARTS' TRUE CHAMPION! — clearly conjured in record time by a combination of Blaise and Pansy's vanity and Draco's showmanship.
"There he is!" Draco crowed the moment they stepped through. He was standing on one of the low tables, wand raised like a conductor before an orchestra. "Ten bloody minutes! Do you realize—"
Theo, still swaddled in his blanket, lifted a hand weakly. "Do you realize I was nearly drowned for this?"
Draco ignored him entirely, eyes on Alden. "—ten minutes! Potter took nearly an hour and still tied you! Absolute robbery. I demand a recount!"
Tracey laughed from the sofa, her legs curled beneath her. "Sit down before you fall, Draco. He already won. Be happy."
"I am happy!" Draco insisted, though he looked more like a man personally wronged by fate. "I just prefer victory to be mathematically accurate!"
Blaise leaned against the fireplace, smirking. "You sound like Granger."
That shut him up — for about three seconds.
Pansy cut in before he could recover, sweeping over with a flask of something steaming and potent-smelling. "Here," she said, pressing it into Alden's hand. "Warming draught. Tracey made it. It'll stop you shaking like a broom in a gale."
Tracey rolled her eyes. "That's because you dumped half the cinnamon cabinet in it, Pans."
"It worked, didn't it?"
Alden took a cautious sip. Heat crawled down his throat, steady and fierce. The trembling eased by degrees. "Thank you."
Daphne had been standing apart until then, watching him from near the glass wall. When their eyes met, she stepped forward — quietly, without the dramatics of the others. Her hair was still loose from the cold outside, a few curls damp from melted snow.
"You scared half the House," she said simply. "Theo vanished, and you were gone before anyone knew where."
Theo raised his hand again, dryly. "I was right there. Just… asleep. Underwater."
Daphne ignored him. Her gaze stayed fixed on Alden. "But you brought him back."
Alden's answer was measured, almost detached. "I told him I would."
That earned him a small, knowing smile. "And you don't lie."
The noise around them swelled again as Blaise clapped him on the back, Tracey demanded the whole story, and Draco launched into a loud monologue about "historic Slytherin dominance." Even Pansy, usually sharp-tongued and reserved, was grinning.
Theo slumped into an armchair beside the fire, blanket still cocooned around him, eyes half-shut with warmth and exhaustion. "If anyone's wondering," he mumbled, "the bottom of the lake is miserable. Zero stars. Would not recommend."
Draco snorted. "You didn't even do anything!"
"I was asleep, you prat."
"Exactly!"
Laughter rippled through the room — the kind that rolled like a physical warmth, cutting through the lingering cold.
Alden lingered at the edge of it all, hands still tucked into the sleeves of his borrowed jacket. The firelight danced in his eyes, and for the first time since surfacing, he looked… still.
Theo cracked one eye open. "You all right there, hero?"
"Fine," Alden said softly.
Theo smirked. "You don't sound fine."
"I'm thinking."
"That's what worries me."
Alden's gaze flicked toward him, but there was no sting in it — just quiet amusement, the ghost of something lighter. "About how to win the last task."
Draco, overhearing, immediately straightened. "Of course you'll win the last task! You're tied with Potter now, and we can't let Gryffindor have anything."
Tracey tossed a cushion at him. "You mean you can't."
Blaise poured himself a drink. "Let him talk. He's been practicing speeches for this since Yule."
The fire cracked; laughter flared again.
Alden let it all wash over him — the sound of it, the life of it — and for a brief moment, his thoughts drifted not to the tasks or the Triwizard glory, but to the simple, absurd sight of his friends alive, warm, and laughing.
He didn't say it aloud, but something in his chest eased. Whatever it takes, he thought quietly. I'll keep it that way.
Daphne's voice broke his reverie, soft enough for only him to hear. "You're shaking again."
He blinked, realizing she was right — his hand, still half-clenched around the flask, trembled faintly.
She reached over without waiting, wrapping her fingers over his. Her touch was warm — grounding, real.
"Better?"
His reply was quiet, but steady. "Yes."
Outside, the lake gleamed dark and endless beneath the moonlight. Inside, the green flames burned higher, laughter spilling late into the night — the kind of laughter born from survival, from victory, from knowing the worst was over.
For now.