The warm spring air at the Black Lake was thick with anticipation and the low murmur of a crowd already swelling the newly erected viewing stands. The stands, grand and temporary, circled a large portion of the lake's edge, meeting a long, floating dock that extended out near the center of the water. A line of colorful buoys marked the starting points for the champion. The third task was about to begin. Beneath the main scaffolding of the largest viewing stand, in the cool, damp shadows away from the crowds, Lily Evans was pacing. Her face was set in a frown of determined worry, her vibrant red hair a stark contrast to the rough grey stone.
"He's not here," Lily stated, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. She adjusted the inner pocket of her robes, where a tiny, soft bundle was currently squirming. "Sniffles is getting frantic. He knows we're close to water and there's no shiny gold in sight."
Severus Snape leaned back against a support beam, his expression a mixture of profound exhaustion and simmering irritation. He was rubbing his eyes vigorously. An invisible pressure had been resting lightly on his shoulder for the past three days—the telltale weight of a very anxious Demiguise.
"I checked the South Quad, the West Tower, and even the roof of the greenhouses," Severus drawled, his voice low and laced with complaint. "He does realize, does he not, that even if he vanishes into thin air, they just hold the event until he does show back up?"
Amos Diggory shrugged, nervously adjusting his Hufflepuff tie. "Maybe he didn't factor that in. Or maybe he did, and he just genuinely doesn't care anymore."
Alice Fortescue, pale and visibly distressed, wrung her hands. "I still can't find Frank anywhere. He's been gone all day. I'm starting to panic."
"He'll pop up eventually, Alice, he always does," Lily reassured her, though her own eyes held a flicker of doubt. She looked back at Severus. "I think he genuinely didn't account for the event being postponed. He just wanted three days of peace."
Severus pushed off the pillar, running a hand over the invisible Shimmer's head in a gesture of weary comfort. "We should be trying to find him before one of his genius schemes to get out of the event causes mass hysteria, a fire, or some kind of explosion. That usually happens when he goes quiet."
"Oh, come off it, Sev! My decisions only do that by accident, not on purpose."
The voice, rough and familiar, spoke from the deepest shadow just behind them. Lily, Severus, Amos, and Alice spun around instantly. Standing calmly under the stands, clutching a small leather satchel and with a groggy, Cockatrice tucked securely under one arm, was Echo.
"Echo!" they all exclaimed in unison, circling the boy with a mix of relief and annoyance.
Echo offered them a weary yet genuine smile, the charcoal gray of his hair softening. "Didn't realize I was so missed. I'm touched."
Lily immediately stepped forward, placing a protective hand on his bruised arm. "How could we not? You just disappeared into thin air three days ago with nothing left behind but Shimmer and Sniffles and those vague notes written to Severus and me to take care of them."
"Sorry about that," Echo said, shrugging awkwardly, adjusting the sleeping Nugget. "But I had to act fast to avoid the next Triwizard Tournament event. By the way, what's all the commotion around the Black Lake with these giant viewing stands? The Mermaids ain't going to be happy about all this attention. Is the circus in town or something?"
The four friends exchanged a look that conveyed collective exasperation before turning back to Echo.
Amos cleared his throat. "Echo, these stands are for the third event of the tournament."
Echo's calm, lax expression instantly shattered. His eyes widened, and a nervous, high-pitched laugh escaped his lips, his voice tight with panic. "You mean… it happened three days ago, right? Please tell me it happened three days ago."
Severus shook his head, the invisible Shimmer vibrating with the sudden shift in mood. "No, the event was being set up three days ago. It wasn't happening."
Echo cried out, falling dramatically to his knees in the damp grass beneath the stands. "No! I fucked up the calendar in all the stress and excitement!"
Before anyone could offer comfort or condemnation, a thick shepherd's hook sailed out of the nearby brush and wrapped itself firmly around Echo's neck. A small, shaggy Porlock, its ears pinned back, immediately started yanking with all its surprising strength, trying to pull the champion away like a stubborn head of cattle.
Lily stared at the sight, her jaw slack. "Echo, do you want to explain why a Porlock is trying to move you like some kind of cattle?"
Echo sighed, making no effort to resist the insistent tugging. "Friends, meet Barnaby," he introduced, his voice flat. "Barnaby, these are the few humans that still like me." He explained his three-day disappearance with a tired rush: "Bribed Slughorn for self-Transfiguration info—yes, I was trying to find a loophole out of the tournament—turned into a horse, was 'saved' by Barnaby here, who thought I was a frightened horse, and then spent three days grazing like one until the spell wore off about an hour ago. Now I have a taste for grass." He shook his head. "And now Barnaby thinks I'm a horse that was magically turned into a human."
Alice frowned. "Did you try using your beast magic, your aura, to project your intent that you weren't a horse? Just a human?"
Echo pulled Barnaby's insistent hook free for a moment to rub his neck. "I did, Alice. He either doesn't believe or doesn't care. He's very dedicated to his cause." He let the Porlock hook him again. "Well, now that I'm here, I guess I have no choice but to participate."
Lily leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, so low it was barely audible over the gentle lapping of the lake. "I'm just glad," she murmured, her green eyes wide and serious, "that you didn't decide to use... You-Know-Who to get out of the tournament."
Echo blinked, his exhausted brain taking a moment to catch up. He frowned, genuinely confused. "You-Know-Who?" he repeated, his voice equally hushed. Then, a spark of realization lit his tired eyes. "Oh. You mean Pretty."
Lily gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. No one else, not Severus, not Amos, not even Dumbledore, knew that "Pretty" referred to the ancient, colossal Basilisk currently slumbering deep within the Chamber of Secrets, a creature Echo had not only met but befriended and named.
"Don't worry, Lils," Echo whispered back, a faint, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm desperate, not crazy... yet." He paused, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Though I will admit," he added, his tone growing slightly wistful, "that I thought about it. For all of five seconds, it was a genuinely great idea. Just imagine the look on everyone's face. But then common sense kicked in and said otherwise."
Lily let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, the tension visibly draining from her shoulders. "Thank Merlin for small mercies," she breathed.
"Even if your lukewarm plan did succeed, you'd only be postponing the inevitable," Severus reminded him, getting back on topic, not crying for inside jokes, his voice slightly gentler than before. "The event would just be put on hold until you were found."
"Dammit," Echo grunted, the charcoal in his hair flashing with violet resignation. "Someone just knock me out already."
Severus looked like he wanted to oblige for the stress of suddenly being tasked with the care of a Demiguise, but Lily put a restraining hand on his arm.
"Right," Echo continued, pushing himself to his feet. "Since I have no choice, and didn't get a clue about this event from the first one—where I was supposed to retrieve a dragon egg—what is the objective of this one? Something with the lake, I gather." Before he could get an answer, he looked at Alice. "And where is Frank?"
"No idea, he's been gone all morning and afternoon, im getting really worried," Alice replied, her worry about her boyfriend temporarily forgotten in the face of Echo's current absurdity.
Amos quickly cut in before the conversation could derail. "Some kind of great treasure, something important to every champion, was taken and placed at the bottom of the lake. That's the task."
Echo threw his head back and let out a single, rough, humorless laugh. "That's the dumbest thing ever. I don't have any treasures. I hardly qualify as rich. Sniffles stole the only gold I've ever had."
Lily put her arm around his waist, squeezing gently. "Maybe it's more of a metaphor, Echo. Something you'd desperately miss."
Echo shook his head, his gray hair shimmering with bitterness. "Well, if my soul is in the lake, the lake can have it for all I care, since the school has been trying to break it just like my damn sanity all year. The only things I truly treasure are my friends and my creatures, and no one would be that dumb to try and put one of those at the bottom of the lake." He paused, his expression hardening. "Was there anything else?"
Severus finally spoke, his dark eyes fixed on the champion. "The treasures are being guarded by the mermaids, who have been promised a great reward for their assistance."
Echo's face, already pale from his physical and emotional exhaustion, drained further. His charcoal-gray hair flashed with a violent, electric purple—the color of abrupt, catastrophic realization.
A treasure… something important to every champion… taken and placed at the bottom of the lake… guarded by mermaids…
His mind, sharpened by the sudden panic, flashed back to the cryptic note he'd found tucked into his Dragon Egg in the first task. It had been written in Mermish. The mermaids are protecting the other Champions' treasures because they have been promised a great reward.
The reward. The mermaids are only enthused because of the promise of a certain individual, Albus.
It all clicked into place, a chain of logic so horrifyingly simple he nearly vomited the grass he'd just eaten. He was the reward.
"Oh, shit," Echo whispered, the sound thin and strained, the Porlock momentarily pausing its insistent tugging.
Lily, Severus, Amos, and Alice all turned their heads, their expressions shifting from irritation to sudden alarm. "What?" Lily demanded.
"Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit!" Echo repeated, his voice escalating with each repetition. He scrambled to pull the Porlock's hook off his neck, his hands shaking violently. "This is bad. This is very, very bad."
Lily grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with worry. "Echo, what is it? What's bad?"
"I have to stop this! I have to stop this before it starts!" Echo yelled, his gaze frantic, scanning the crowds as if looking for a way to detonate the entire viewing stand. The Porlock, Barnaby, let out a confused, worried neigh, its ears flapping.
With a final, desperate burst of energy, Echo turned and shoved the still-groggy Cockatrice, Nugget, into Amos Diggory's chest. The surprisingly heavy, scaled creature, still calming from the spell-wear-off, let out a weak, confused peep.
"Hold him!" Echo shrieked.
Amos recoiled, clutching the murder-fowl as if it were a bomb. "I don't want to hold your murder bird, Echo!"
Echo didn't wait to hear him. He was already running, his robes whipping out behind him, leaving the Porlock spinning uselessly in the damp shadows, its shepherd's crook now empty. As he sprinted into the crowd, he screamed back over his shoulder: "Don't look in the chicken eyes! Hold his talons! And don't take the red string off the snake's mouth!"
Amos, holding the furious, confused Nugget at arm's length, let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. The Cockatrice's eyes, flat and predatory, were fixed on him.
"Nice… killer bird," Amos choked out, his voice shaking.
Nugget let out an angry, aggressive SCHREECH!
With a snap of his wrist, Severus sent a non-verbal Stunning Spell at the Cockatrice. The bird stiffened mid-screech, collapsing into a limp, scaled heap in Amos's arms.
"He'll be out for an hour," Severus said flatly, rubbing his temples. He ignored the bewildered Porlock, who was now staring at the limp Cockatrice with fresh concern. "Let's move."
The highest viewing booth, usually reserved for heads of state and the Tournament judges, offered a commanding view of the entire Black Lake. Albus Dumbledore, Igor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime were seated on plush, velvet-cushioned chairs, watching the final preparations on the dock. Two Auror guards stood rigidly at the entrance. A small commotion flared at the heavy wooden door.
"Sir, you are not allowed in this area!" one of the Aurors snapped, his voice sharp with authority.
The retort was a rough, panicked cry of: "Get the hell out of my way! This is an emergency!"
There was a sickening, splintering crack of wood. Instead of the door opening, a small, champion-sized hole appeared halfway up the paneling, surrounded by jagged splinters. Echo burst through the makeshift breach like a cannonball, stumbling into the room, his clothes dirty, his nose still bandaged, and his hair a frantic, chaotic purple.
Karkaroff, who had been taking a delicate sip of champagne, nearly choked. He stared at the sight of the boy panting in the middle of the room, then at the smoking hole in the door.
"Good heavens, Albus," Karkaroff drawled, adjusting the fur collar of his robes. "What are you feeding these children? They break down doors with their heads now?"
Echo didn't pause for breath. He rushed across the room, collapsing onto his knees in front of Dumbledore's chair, his hands shooting out to grip the Headmaster's expensive purple robes. He looked up, his eyes streaming with tears of raw, uncontrollable hysteria.
"Professor Dumbledore, please, you have to stop this!" Echo begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic, broken rush. "Change the event! Anything! I will take on a three-headed dog! I'll fight a thousand Boggarts! I'll even stand for a whole month of detention with Professor Cleen and listen to him talk about the logistics of potion making! Just change the task! Please, you have to stop this before it starts!" He gripped the robes tighter, his voice dissolving into a ragged, heart-wrenching sob. "Please! I can't do this! I can't! I can't!"
Dumbledore, his expression softening with genuine, weary concern, gently disengaged Echo's frantic grip and rested his own hands on the boy's shoulders. "My dear boy, calm yourself," Dumbledore said softly, his blue eyes kind. "I understand your distress, but there is very little I can do now. The Triwizard events are planned months in advance, overseen by the Department of International Magical Co-operation. They are set in stone. We cannot simply change them due to… circumstances."
Echo looked up at him, his face a mask of wet, desperate betrayal. The purple in his hair solidified into a hard, accusatory crimson. "Don't tell me that. Don't tell me you already knew this would be one of the challenges."
Dumbledore gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. "The events were planned without my say, Echo. I merely had to oversee that they were properly set up and that the safety protocols were in place. Nothing else."
Echo cried out a long, ragged "No," the sound tearing from his chest. He collapsed to the floor, curling into a sobbing, trembling ball at Dumbledore's feet.
Karkaroff leaned forward, his face etched with confusion. "Albus, what on earth is the boy so hysterical about? Don't tell me it's because he wasn't able to figure out the clue from the first task and thinks he'll fail."
Echo shifted his head to the side, his voice muffled against the expensive carpet but surprisingly clear, what sounded like a boast laced with pure, unadulterated panic. "Failure isn't the thing I'm worried about. It's winning. I'm going to win. I'm going to win so hard that I'll blow the whole competition out of the water." He sniffled, pushing himself back up to his knees, his eyes red-rimmed and miserable. "And now, instead of being hated by one school and looked at with suspicion by a town, I'll be hated by two schools and a town after this. What did I do to deserve this?" Echo scrambled to his feet, ignoring the curious stares of the Aurors and the Headmasters. He gave Dumbledore one last, furious, miserable look. "Well, thanks. Thanks for nothing. Yet again."
He turned, darted through the hole he'd created, and ran off, leaving the small chamber in a profound, unsettling silence broken only by the distant murmur of the crowd.
Madame Maxime broke the silence, her voice a low, confused rumble. "Albus, what was that all about?"
Dumbledore sighed, a long, weary sound that made his heavy silver beard tremble. He adjusted his spectacles, his eyes losing their usual twinkle, settling on a somber assessment of the Black Lake.
"Do you two recall that Mr. Echo has… connections… to the mermaids of the Black Lake?"
Maxime nodded slowly. "I do. We all know he is… dating… the princess of the mermaids, Skate. Is this some kind of conflict of interest?"
"It is not precisely 'dating,' Olympe," Dumbledore corrected gently. "Echo and Princess Skate formed a Pact Stone." He let the weight of that statement settle.
Karkaroff frowned, the detail clearly escaping him. "A what?"
"A Pact Stone," Dumbledore repeated. "It is an ancient form of binding, a Mermish equivalent of a formal, non-negotiable engagement, without the legal paperwork of surface laws. Echo, by all accounts, is the future Crown Prince of the merfolk once he and Skate are officially joined. In addition to that, he has already made a good impression with the other merfolk, and Queen Thelissia herself already loves him like a son."
The realization hit Karkaroff and Maxime simultaneously, their faces paling. Echo wasn't just participating in an event in the Black Lake. He was essentially diving into his future in-laws' highly protected home. He wasn't going to compete. The merfolk, fiercely protective of their own—and doubly so of their future royalty—would view the task as a personal slight against their prince-to-be.
Echo was right. He wasn't just going to win. He was going to win instantaneously, and the rest of the world, seeing the Hogwarts champion emerge from the water first, utterly unchallenged, would not see a lucky boy. They would see a cheater, a sociopath who used illegal influence to steal the victory. The fury of the other two schools would be absolute.
Karkaroff, his normally pompous demeanor utterly shattered, slowly lowered his glass of champagne onto the small mahogany side table with a faint clink. His face, usually ruddy with self-importance, had turned a pasty white. "A Pact Stone," he repeated, the Mermish term sounding alien and thick on his tongue. "You mean to tell me, Albus, that the merfolk were essentially guarding the possessions of their future Crown Prince and three rivals? And we expected them to… to compete? Against him?"
Madame Maxime, her immense figure rigid with shock, slowly rose from her chair, her eyes fixed on the empty space where Echo had been sobbing moments before. "Mon Dieu," she whispered, her voice a rough murmur. "The merfolk will not just ignore him, Albus. They will assist him. They will see the other Champions as rivals to the Prince's honor." She wrung her hands, a visible tremor running through her massive frame. "They will practically carry the boy to the goal, and in the eyes of the students, it will be the most blatant, unforgivable act of cheating ever seen in the Triwizard Tournament."
Dumbledore nodded, a look of profound resignation on his face. "Precisely. Mr. Echo, in his hysteria, was entirely correct. He is going to win this task instantly, and the backlash will be catastrophic. The merfolk will protect him, aid him, and perhaps even deliberately impede the other Champions, all in the name of Mermish protocol and respect for their Royal line."
Karkaroff slammed his hand down on the table, making the champagne glass rattle. "This is an outrage, Albus! A complete mockery of the rules! He should have been disqualified the moment this… this Pact Stone was discovered!"
"And how, Igor, was I to disqualify a boy for the customs of a sovereign magical species that predates the Ministry itself?" Dumbledore countered, his voice sharp with a sudden, weary firmness. "Furthermore, the arrangement was made privately, without the knowledge of the Ministry, and the exact implications were unclear until this very moment."
"Unclear?" Karkaroff sputtered, gesturing wildly toward the door. "He just burst in here, screaming about how he would win and be hated for it! How much clearer could the situation be?"
"He was not panicking about the rule violation, Igor," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back and resting his elbow on the arm of his chair. "He was panicking about the social cost. His fear is not of losing the tournament or even of expulsion. He fears that this will be yet another incident where he is seen to be manipulating events, cheating the system, and cementing his place as an untrustworthy pariah among his peers, particularly those from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."
Madame Maxime turned to Dumbledore, her eyes wide with fresh realization. "The treasures, Albus. My champion's sister, your champion's… friend. They are being held hostage by his future subjects! They will not even dare to injure him to protect the treasures."
"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured. "And if any Champion should, by some miracle, manage to seize their treasure before Echo, the merfolk will view it as an act of theft and disrespect against the Royal Family, and they will likely ensure that the offending Champion does not return to the surface with it." He paused, looking out over the sparkling, calm water of the Black Lake. "This event is a political disaster masquerading as a school competition. And the poor boy who is currently the center of it all is utterly terrified of the outcome."
Karkaroff pushed himself up, marching to the viewing window and staring down at the dock. "We must call it off, Albus! We must cancel the event now, before it begins! The integrity of the tournament must be preserved!...what's left of it."
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "The signal will sound in twenty minutes, Igor. Even if I could contact the Ministry now, the International Statute requires that the event proceed as scheduled once the Champions are in place. We must simply… observe the inevitable."
Echo, his hair still the frantic, exhausted purple of panic, burst through the small crowd and stumbled back toward his friends beneath the viewing stands. He looked like a refugee from a small, violent war, his robes torn near the collar, his face streaked with dirt and fresh tears. He stopped directly in front of Lily, his chest heaving. Lily, Severus, Amos, and Alice all instantly crowded around him, their initial irritation replaced by profound concern.
"Echo! Are you okay?" Lily asked, her hand instantly going to his shoulder.
Echo let out a ragged, choked sound that was half a sob and half a laugh. "No! Everything is absolutely not alright, Lily. My social credit is about to plummet into the negatives across three different magical schools! I might as well put a bag over my head and hope everyone forgets my face!" He ran a shaking hand through his intensely colored hair.
Amos Diggory, still clutching the inert, Stunned Cockatrice—Nugget—to his chest, frowned. "Whoa, what's so wrong, man? Did Dumbledore expel you or something? Though that would be a good thing in this case."
Echo stared at him, his red-rimmed eyes wide with misery. "The third event is taking place in the lake, with the mermaids. Something is being held captive by the mermaids. And who here," Echo gestured emphatically at his own chest, "is engaged to their princess?"
Amos blinked, the information flowing around him in a slow, circular current, until it finally sank in. His face paled beneath the feathers of Nugget's head. He let out a low, drawn-out sound of dawning horror. "Oh, shit."
"'Oh, shit' is right, Amos!" Echo hissed, leaning in conspiratorially, despite the panic making him want to scream.
Lily stepped back, her expression grim. "Echo, you're not going just to win this, are you?" she asked, the implication clear. "You're going to win this by doing absolutely nothing."
Severus, who had been rubbing his eyes with a world-weary air, dropped his hand and fixed Echo with a dark, knowing look. "And everyone is going to hate you for it, cementing your reputation as the cheating, magically privileged Hogwarts champion."
Echo threw his arms up in surrender, the Porlock—Barnaby, who was still trying to hook his neck, giving a confused neigh. Echo sank dramatically to his knees on the damp grass again, oblivious to the mud. "And Dumbledore can't do a thing about it! Even if I don't tell the mermaids, they either figure it out or have figured it out and are going to help me once the starting bell rings!"
The collective despair beneath the stands was thick enough to bottle. Suddenly, a thunderous, rhythmic BOOM sounded from the dock, loud enough to shake the viewing stand's scaffolding. It sounded like a massive tree falling into a body of water, followed by a fierce, driving beat.
Echo scrambled to his feet, momentarily forgetting his existential fears. "What on earth is happening?"
They all looked out at the floating dock where the Durmstrang students, stripped down to simple black tunics, were performing some kind of hard-core, synchronized, aggressive dance that involved stamping their boots with incredible force and swinging heavy, iron-tipped staves. The noise and the rhythmic shocks were intense.
Lily explained, "To show the mermaids thanks for allowing us to use their waters, each school is performing for them as a form of thank you."
Echo looked toward the water, his attention instantly drawn to the Black Lake. The surface was undisturbed, but in the dark water beneath the floating dock, dozens of long, muscular forms were visible. The merfolk were swimming rapidly in a tight, swirling vortex, like a massive school of piranha. They weren't breaking the surface, but the sheer speed and agitation of their movement was palpable.
"They're not happy," Echo stated, the charcoal in his hair darkening to a hard, serious black.
Alice frowned, trying to peer into the dark water. "How can you tell? They're not doing anything."
"They're swarming," Echo said, his voice low. "And mermaids only do that when they're pissed. The Durmstrang performance is far too aggressive; they're taking it like a threat, like a war dance being performed on their front lawn."
Amos adjusted the limp Cockatrice. "I hope they stop soon before the merfolk decide to make Durmstrang take a swim of their own."
Luckily, the Durmstrang students finished their performance with a final, violent BOOM of their staves, and then hastily made their way across the buoy-bridge back to their stand, their faces flushed with exertion.
The Beauxbatons contingent immediately took to the dock. Their performance was a beautiful, elegant, and synchronized ballet. The Veela among them, including the champion, Lucian Delacour, spun and glided, their movements generating a gentle, mesmerizing aura that shimmered over the water. This seemed to calm the mermaids much more. They stopped swarming, and only a few curious forms remained beneath the water's surface, watching the spectacle with detached interest.
As the elegant performance continued, Echo murmured, "They didn't hate it, but they didn't like it either."
Alice sighed. "Mermaids sure are picky."
Amos shook his head, holding Nugget a little tighter. "They aren't picky, Alice. They can tell your true intent. And every performance so far was far more about outshining the other schools or impressing the masses than actually giving a sincere 'thank you' to the merfolk."
Lily nodded, surmising the situation. "So instead of getting a thank you, the mermaids are receiving a backhanded compliment wrapped in a pretty bow."
"Pretty much," Echo confirmed, a sliver of the old, dark cynicism returning. "Hopefully, they don't eat anyone for it. Mermaids have drowned people for far less."
Severus, leaning in, a faint smirk touching his lips, drawled, "Skate has kissed you for far less reason, too."
Echo looked at him, his face softening with a rare, genuine spark of affection. "And do you think I'm complaining about that?"
A cheerful, utterly grating voice, laced with an artificial, booming confidence, cut through the intimate moment.
"Ah, the other Hogwarts Champion! Still holding court beneath the stands! Marvellous! I knew I'd find the center of attention here! Trying his best to stay out of any attention!"
Echo, Severus, Lily, Amos, and Alice turned as one. Emerging from the shadows, his robes pristine and a blinding, self-satisfied smile fixed on his face, was a student several years their senior: Gilderoy Lockhart. His bright blonde hair was immaculate, and he carried an empty gold-plated music stand, which he set down with a dramatic flourish.
Echo's entire demeanor, which had just begun to thaw, instantly froze. The sliver of affection in his hair snapped back to a hard, exhausted gray, quickly laced with the frantic purple of his ongoing panic.
"Lockhart," Echo said, his voice flat and dangerously low. He didn't raise his volume, but the sheer menace in the tone made the other four teens stiffen. "Piss off. I have enough problems for one lifetime. I don't need you to be one of them."
Lockhart merely chuckled, a bright, empty sound that grated on Echo's ears like a rusty blade on glass. He leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes glinting with self-importance. "Now, now, Echo, that's no way to greet me or anyone, especially me! Besides, you may want to listen. I have some truly great news for you."
"I don't care," Echo replied instantly, crossing his arms and tightening his grip on his satchel. "Whatever it is, I don't care. Go tell someone who needs a self-aggrandizing pep talk, or better yet, one of the Aurors to help me out of this competition."
Lockhart waved a dismissive, perfectly manicured hand. "Nonsense! This is a tremendous opportunity! You see, the Hogwarts band—the one that was scheduled to perform a lovely rendition of The Wizard's Waltz for our merfolk hosts—has had a small, unfortunate issue. A catastrophic case of spontaneous laryngitis, I believe. They are, quite simply, unable to play."
Echo blinked, a flicker of genuine shock momentarily eclipsing his fury. He looked at Lockhart, then back at the lake. "Wonderful," he said, his voice still flat. "And?"
Lily stepped forward, her hands on her hips, her expression thoroughly unimpressed. "How is that a good thing, Gilderoy? We need a performance."
Lockhart puffed out his chest, his smile somehow growing wider. "Because, Lily, I heard! I heard the whispers of your champion's… social difficulties… with the other schools. And I thought, who better to mend fences than the Champion himself? And since you were a truly magnificent singer, and barely beat me the last time we fought, and we all know the merfolk have a soft spot for Echo, I took the initiative! I made the unanimous decision to sign him up as the sole performer for the mermaids! A heartfelt, solo musical apology from the Hogwarts Champion!"
The four friends—Lily, Severus, Amos, and Alice—shouted "WHAT!" in perfect, horrified unison.
Echo didn't move. He stood completely still, his eyes wide and vacant, the frantic purple in his hair now violently overlaid with a terrifying, pulsing crimson. He was spiraling.
Lockhart, oblivious to the atmosphere he had just created, launched into his usual rambling monologue, using the shocked silence as his cue. "It's brilliant, truly! The perfect solution! A chance for him to show his softer side, to showcase the kind of quiet heroism that makes one truly great. I have had to step in during crises before, often putting my considerable talents at risk to ensure an event ran smoothly. Why, just last month, I saved a whole family of—"
Echo was lost. His mind, already saturated with anxiety and exhaustion, snapped. The rhythmic drone of Lockhart's self-congratulatory babble faded into a dull buzz as a violent, blood-soaked fantasy erupted in his head.
Murder. Clean, total, non-negotiable murder.
He envisioned himself raising his hand, not his wand, but his true magic. He saw a dozen of his most dangerous creatures—Helga the Graphorn, Rowena the Thunderbird, Godric the Griffin, even Pretty the Basilisk and Nugget—materializing instantly, surrounding the preening buffoon. He saw them attack, as he, Echo, calmly watched them methodically break every single one of Lockhart's bones, turning the man into a screaming, floppy doll. Then, just as the final, pitiful whimper left Lockhart's lips, he envisioned Wick, his magnificent, loyal dragon, swooping in from the Forbidden Forest, a roar of pure fire and heat consuming the scene, incinerating the evidence until nothing remained but a small, unrecognizable pile of ash.
Lockhart's voice pierced the red haze abruptly. "…and that's why I think a stirring rendition of a Mermish sea shanty would truly capture the spirit of—"
Echo snapped out of the trance, his breathing ragged. The terrifying crimson in his hair faded, replaced by a distant, bone-weary gray. Lockhart was still talking, gesturing wildly toward the lake.
Lily, noticing the sudden, unnerving stillness of her friend, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Echo? Are you okay?"
Echo blinked, his eyes unfocused. "Yes," he said, the word sounding hollow and far away.
"Are you going to crash out?" Lily asked, her voice low and concerned. She knew his symptoms: the silence, the vacant stare, the terrifying shift in hair color.
"Yes," Echo repeated, this time with a firmer, more certain cadence, pulling himself back from the brink of a magical meltdown.
Lily let out a profound, weary sigh. She looked at Severus, Amos, and Alice, her face hardening into a familiar mask of grim preparedness.
"Okay, everyone," Lily said, her voice dropping to a decisive whisper that cut through the still-babbling Lockhart. "We planned for this day. Does everyone have an alibi?"
Severus, Amos, and Alice all nodded, their expressions ranging from cold resolution to nervous determination.
"Good," Lily confirmed. She then asked the final, chilling question. "Do we know where we're going to hide the body?"
All four teens nodded again.
The word "body" finally registered in Lockhart's oblivious mind. He stopped mid-sentence, his smile vanishing, his eyes wide with a sudden, dawning comprehension of the conversation happening around him.
"W-w-wait!" Lockhart stammered, holding up his hands. "What do you mean by body? What body? Whose body?"
Severus Snape fixed Lockhart with a cold, terrifyingly intense glare. "Your body," he said simply.
As if on cue, Shimmer—who had been a near-invisible tremor on Severus's shoulder—suddenly shimmered into full visibility, its slender, monkey-like body holding a small, silver, meat cleaver in its two front hands. The Demiguise gave the cleaver a sharp, practiced lick, its large, mournful eyes fixed on Lockhart's stomach. Even Barnaby, the Porlock, who was still hovering near the group, dropped his shepherd's crook and stared at Lockhart with a look that suggested a full day of violently hooking a horse-turned-human had left him with a surplus of pent-up aggression. He looked ready to get in on the action.
Echo's eyes, fixed on the murderous fantasy in his head, suddenly cleared. The pulsing crimson and panicked gray in his hair collapsed, replaced by a sudden, steady, clear blue—the color of calm focus and deep, unwavering emotion. He inhaled sharply, cutting through the red haze.
"No."
The single word, spoken in a low, absolute tone, instantly silenced the conversation. Lily froze, her hand hovering near Lockhart's chest. Severus, Shimmer, Amos, and Alice all turned to stare at Echo.
"No?" Severus repeated, his dark eyebrow arching in cold skepticism, the silver cleaver held by Shimmer momentarily forgotten.
Echo pushed Lily's hand away, the movement gentle but firm. He stepped back from the group, his body language shifting from defensive panic to resolute purpose.
"No," Echo confirmed, meeting Severus's gaze. "I'm not crashing out. And we are absolutely not making a magical murder hole to hide Lockhart's body. I am not giving Dumbledore another reason to call me a sociopath." He took a deep breath, the movement visibly calming the frantic energy in his chest. "I'll do it. I'll go up and perform."
His eyes drifted from his friends to the Black Lake, where the surface still held the faint, graceful shimmer of the Beauxbatons' performance.
"Not for the Ministry, not for Dumbledore, and certainly not for the thousands of onlookers waiting for me to fail or cheat," Echo stated, the blue in his hair settling into a profound, almost luminous sapphire. "I'm doing it for the mermaids. Just for them. Just for Skate and her family." He gave a short, fatalistic shrug. "Besides, I already have a song. I wrote it a while ago, hoping to sing it to Skate privately when I could finally sneak away from Hogwarts." He met Lily's concerned gaze. "If doing it in front of her entire family and a thousand onlookers is what it takes to stop a political incident and buy me some goodwill, then so be it. I'm doing this in the name of love."
With a gesture of sudden resolve, he reached into his magic satchel, rummaging past various creature paraphernalia and obscure textbooks. He pulled out a piece of rolled parchment tied with a thin silver ribbon. He held it out to the now-visible Demiguise.
"Shimmer," Echo commanded, his voice soft but authoritative. "Take this. Bring it to Professor Flitwick. He's manning the orchestra in the Hogwarts stand. He'll understand. Go, quickly."
Shimmer, the anxieties of the past few days momentarily eclipsed by the seriousness of the task, appeared to nod. The demiguise launched itself off Severus's shoulder, a flash of silver fur blurring as it vaulted across the heads of a few bystanders before vanishing in the direction of the main Hogwarts stand, intent on locating the tiny Charms Master.
Lily stepped forward, placing both hands on Echo's shoulders. "Echo, are you sure about this? You sound…"
"Sure? No. Of course, I'm not sure," Echo cut her off, forcing a thin smile. "But I'm going through with it before I chicken out and decide that murder is a much easier option. Wish me luck."
He dropped his satchel, adjusted the still-bandaged plaster on his nose, and marched out from beneath the viewing stands toward the buoy-bridge leading to the floating dock.
Gilderoy Lockhart, seizing the opportunity to regain control of the narrative, smoothed his robes. "That's the way to go, Echo! A healthy outlook for the spirit of—"
"Lockhart," Lily interrupted, her voice sharp.
"Yes?" Lockhart replied, his smile instantly snapping back into place, anticipating a compliment or acknowledgment of his masterful foresight.
In response, Lily Evans's hand shot out. She grabbed the front of his pristine robes and hauled his face down to her level, then delivered a single, sharp, impeccably aimed punch directly to the center of his self-satisfied face. The impact was a sickening CRACK.
Lockhart stumbled backward, releasing his grip on the music stand. He stared blankly up at the sky, his eyes glazing over. "Pretty… stars…" he slurred, before collapsing onto the damp ground in a boneless heap and instantly passing out.
Amos whistled, adjusting the inert Cockatrice in his arms. "What a shot."
Alice huffed, a faint scowl on her face. "Well, that was disappointing. I was really hoping we'd get to bury a body today." She looked up at the three horrified faces staring at her. "What? Don't act as if none of you thought about it before. He was asking for it."
Severus simply rubbed his temples, ignoring Alice's comment, the sheer volume of his accumulated stress making further commentary redundant.
Meanwhile, in the judging booth, the official announcer, a Ministry functionary, cleared his throat using a spell to cast his voice like a loudspeaker.
"And we'd like to congratulate the Beauxbatons students for their elegant and beautiful performance, a truly lovely sight for the merfolk community!" he boomed. "And now, we turn to the final performance of gratitude, from the students of Hogwarts. The Hogwarts band will now—" The announcer stopped abruptly as a person appeared from nowhere, placing a note directly into his hand. The announcer, startled, looked down, reading and rereading the paper. "Slight change of plan, folks," he announced, his voice laced with confusion. "The Hogwarts band has suddenly come down with a widespread illness, and instead, the performance will be held solely by…" He paused again, his voice cracking with utter disbelief as he finally read the name. "Hogwarts Champion… Echo."
A thousand shocked gasps and confused whispers broke out amongst the onlookers. All eyes turned toward the buoy-bridge as a small, weary figure, the champion himself, made his way unevenly across the makeshift structure. Echo finally reached the floating dock, the entire structure bowing slightly under the attention of the massive crowd.
Echo stood alone on the dock, taking a deep, shaky breath. Calm down. I'm not doing this for the crowd. I'm not doing this to impress anyone here. This is only for my girlfriend. She's the only one I'm trying to impress.
He walked to the very edge of the dock. In the dark water below, the dozens of merfolk forms instantly ceased their circling, recognizing the boy. Their faces, just below the surface, watched him with an intense, expectant curiosity. Then, one figure rose gracefully from the water. It was Skate, her upper body emerging, her hair a swirl of decorative seashells and moonlight. She looked happy, her eyes shining as she fixed her gaze on Echo.
Echo took another deep, steadying breath, the sapphire blue in his hair glowing with focused intent. He glanced back over his shoulder.
Beneath the stands, his friends were a small, defiant cluster. Lily watched him with wide, anxious eyes, her hands clasped. Severus stood beside her, his expression a mix of resigned support and morbid anticipation, still rubbing his temples. Amos, looking pale, was carefully balancing the Stunned Cockatrice, Nugget, in his arms. Alice was simply staring, a faint, encouraging smile on her face. Their presence, though small, was a massive anchor.
Echo turned his gaze toward the judges' booth high above. Dumbledore gave him a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of weary encouragement. Karkaroff, however, looked ready to implode, his face a mask of furious, disbelieving outrage. Madame Maxime offered a faint, almost maternal look of pity and concern.
Finally, Echo looked to the Hogwarts viewing stand. There, among the faculty, stood Professor Flitwick, the Charms Master. The small professor held his wand, his face alight with focused intensity. He gave Echo a quick, sharp nod of confirmation and brought the wand up as he instructed the magical musical instruments.
A single, clean, melancholic cello note rose from the stand, followed by the soft, ethereal strum of a lute, weaving a delicate, haunting melody into the tense air. The music was simple yet powerful, perfectly capturing the yearning and the sea's vastness. Echo cleared his throat one last time, the sound dry and rough, but full of conviction. He met Skate's expectant, luminous gaze and began to sing. His voice was rough and a bit off-key in places, lacking the polish of a professional singer, but it possessed a raw, resonant depth that transcended technical flaw. It was significantly better than his first, terrified performance for the merfolk, which had been a nervous, mumbled drone. This time, he poured his entire exhausted, frustrated, and profoundly affectionate heart into the lyrics:
Cruel and cold like winds on the seas
Will you ever return to me
Hear my voice sing with the tide
My love will never die
The cello and lute were joined by the soft, sweeping sigh of violins, adding a layer of tragic grandeur to the melody. The music did not try to overpower Echo's rough voice; instead, it supported him, a mournful but powerful counterpoint that suggested an epic, enduring love despite overwhelming odds. Skate's luminous eyes, fixed on him, began to well up, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down her cheek before dissolving back into the lake's surface. The merfolk beneath the water were completely still, their forms suspended in rapt attention.
Over waves and deep in the blue
I will give up my heart for you
Ten long years I'll wait to go by
My love will never die
As the final, sustained note of the intro faded, the atmosphere shifted instantly. With a sudden, dramatic flourish of the Charms Master's wand, the strings cut off, and a massive, deep-toned BOOM of a pipe organ sounded from the Hogwarts stand. The tempo leaped, turning the melancholic ballad into a fierce, energetic shanty, driven by a pulsating rhythm that seemed to demand movement. The soft, yearning melody was replaced by a quick, driving beat, the organ's lower register lending a sudden, eerie, and exciting undertone, a perfect blend of sea shanty and dark, magical chorus.
Echo, catching the beat, opened his eyes wider, the sapphire blue in his hair flashing as he launched into the first verse, his voice gaining a raw power that matched the sudden intensity of the music. The pipe organ swelled, a magnificent, terrifying crescendo that seemed to pull the sunlight from the sky. The volume and complexity of the music intensified, the tempo driving faster and harder, building toward a fever pitch.
Come, my love, be one with the sea
Rule with me for eternity
Drown all dreams so mercilessly
And leave their souls to me
At the apex of the musical swell, Echo's eyes momentarily closed in concentration, and his hand, resting in his pocket, gave a sharp, silent flick of his wand. A silent, non-verbal command, a thread of pure magic, shot across the grounds. Behind the highest viewing stands, shielded by the large wooden structure, the air cracked with a thunderous CRACK, instantly absorbed by the frantic organ and the song's roaring energy. A magnificent, gigantic form materialized silently. It was Rowena, the Thunderbird, her white plumage shockingly bright in the sudden, manufactured dimness of the song's energy. She stood on the roof of the viewing stands, directly above the judges' booth, her electric-blue eyes fixed on Echo.
Echo's mind sent a single, clear command: Fly, Rowena. Make it rain.
With a silent, earth-shaking beat of her twenty-foot wings, Rowena launched herself into the air. The massive wings created a sudden, violent downdraft that tore at the air, creating a swirling vortex of wind. Almost instantly, the sky above the Black Lake, which had been bright and clear, darkened to a bruised purple. Rowena was a creature of weather magic, and with a series of massive wing-beats, she summoned a fierce, theatrical downpour. A cold, thick curtain of wind-driven rain slammed down onto the audience and the lake, instantly soaking the crowd and whipping the water into whitecaps. The sudden, violent shift in weather provided a perfect, dramatic backdrop for the song.
Echo didn't miss a beat. As the rain hammered down, plastering his long, sapphire-blue hair to his face and soaking his clothes instantly, he grabbed the edges of his black Hogwarts robes and tore them off with a violent, dramatic rip. He then reached up and yanked his red and gold Gryffindor tie free, tossing both the robe and the tie onto the wet dock. He stood exposed in a soaking wet, clinging white shirt and black trousers, the sapphire-blue of his hair a shocking contrast to the dramatic scene.
He threw his head back and launched into the second part of the verse, his voice soaring, a resonant, emotional roar that cut cleanly through the wind, rain, and the booming pipe organ:
Play the song you sang long ago
And wherever the storm may blow
You will find the key to my heart
We'll never be apart
On the water, Princess Skate's eyes, wide and luminous, were fixed on Echo's face. As he sang the final line, his shirt clinging to his soaked body, a faint, lovely pink blush rose from her neck, blooming on her face like a shy sunrise.
Beneath the agitated surface of the lake, dozens of other merfolk were beginning to rise, their upper bodies emerging from the water. They were no longer the detached, curious observers of the Beauxbatons' performance. They were captivated, their eyes wide, their faces etched with the song's profound, melancholic emotion. As the music reached its new peak, a soft, ethereal chorus of high-pitched, harmonious voices—the combined song of the merfolk—rose from the lake, weaving itself flawlessly into Echo's raw baritone and the organ's thunder.
Echo finished the verse on a final, sustained note of desperate yearning, holding his hand out toward Skate, palm up, a gesture of complete surrender. Skate's deep blue eyes met his. The blush remained, but the soft, romantic expression on her face hardened slightly, replaced by a sudden, intense look of contemplation. Her eyes flickered from his outstretched hand to the merfolk singing around her, and then back to the dock. The contemplative look broke into a brilliant, wide smile of sudden, clear understanding. She had an idea.
With a sudden, decisive motion, Princess Skate shot forward, her powerful mermaid tail giving a single, immense thrust. Before Echo could react, her hand shot out of the water, seizing his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. With a powerful, near-violent yank, Skate pulled Echo forward and down. He tumbled off the edge of the dock, his body executing an awkward, panicked arc before slamming into the cold, deep water of the Black Lake. The impact was a shock that ripped through his concentration.
WSSHH-SPLASH!
The luminous sapphire blue in Echo's hair immediately fractured into a thousand erratic, panicking shades of green and yellow—the color of surprise and utter disorientation. The silent, powerful command thread connecting him to his Thunderbird instantly snapped.
CRACK!
Behind the viewing stand, the immense, white form of Rowena, the Thunderbird, vanished in a silent crack of magical displacement, apparating instantly back to her vivarium in the Room of Requirement. The fierce, wind-driven rain, cut off at its magical source, ceased as abruptly as it began. The sky, momentarily bruised purple, softened back to a weak, overcast gray. The pipe organ music, which had reached a fever pitch, screeched to an agonizing halt, followed by a confused, echoing silence. On the dock, Skate, her eyes shining with pure exhilaration, submerged instantly. All the other merfolk who had risen to listen to the song dove back down with a powerful flip of their tails, vanishing into the depths. A collective, stunned silence fell over the massive crowd. It lasted only a beat before dissolving into pandemonium.
"HE'S BEEN PULLED UNDER!" the announcer, the Ministry functionary, shrieked, his voice booming over the magical loudspeakers, strained with pure hysteria. "THE HOGWARTS CHAMPION HAS BEEN DRAGGED INTO THE LAKE! SOMEONE—GET AN UNDERWATER VIEW! GET AN UNDERWATER VIEW!"
Chaos erupted in the viewing stands. Aurors and faculty members rushed to the water's edge. In the judges' booth, Karkaroff, who had been furious just moments ago, looked delighted by the sudden catastrophe. Dumbledore merely adjusted his spectacles, a faint, resigned amusement touching his lips. Almost instantly, the air near the lake's edge shimmered, and a massive, magically projected screen of liquid light sprang into existence for the audience. The view was slightly murky, but it was there, centered on the area just beneath the floating dock.
Initially, the screen showed dozens of mermaids swimming rapidly, their tails flickering as they formed a tight, protective wall just beneath the surface. Then, as one, the mermaids dispersed, swimming away toward the center of the lake, revealing a sight that instantly quieted the crowd: Echo, completely drenched, suspended upside down in the water, his arms flailing slightly as he bobbed, completely caught off guard.
Echo quickly righted himself with a splash, his soaked hair a frantic, chaotic mess of electric-green and yellow. He looked around wildly, his eyes wide with confusion and a brief spike of terror. He didn't know how he was breathing, or how the camera was even picking up sound, but he was alive, and the water felt unnaturally welcoming.
"What the hell was that, Skate?" Echo thought, though his mind was too shocked to formulate the thought into a clear expression of Mermish.
Then, he saw her.
Skate was swimming toward him, moving with an unnaturally slow, deliberate grace. She was magnificent underwater, her hair streaming like seaweed, her tail shifting color with every fluid movement. The magical screen, which was broadcasting both picture and sound, caught the faint, haunting melody drifting into the water. Skate had begun singing the final part of his song, her voice crystalline, pure, and hauntingly beautiful, contrasting sharply with the raw edge of Echo's baritone.
Cruel and cold like winds on the seas
Will you ever return to me
As Skate sang, she glided up to Echo, her expression one of profound, loving intensity. The second she reached him, she pressed her forehead gently to his, her lips momentarily brushing his own. In that instant, a warm, magical current flowed from her to him. Echo felt a sudden, profound calm—the panicked colors in his hair fading to a deep, serene sapphire—and an immediate, glorious sensation of his lungs filling with water, breathing as naturally as air. Echo took a massive, glorious, wet gasp of air, the action instantly dissolving the last vestiges of his fear. He felt the pure, non-negotiable relief of the moment, the knowledge that he was safe in her element.
He met her gaze, his eyes shining with profound affection and gratitude. He threw his arms around her, pulling her close. He joined her in the song, his voice rough but clear and powerful in the water, weaving perfectly with her ethereal, high-pitched melody.
Hear my voice sing with the tide
Our love will never die
As they sang the final verse, they began to spin slowly, holding one another tight in a dance of deep-water affection. The music, a flawless duet, swelled with emotion, a stunning combination of raw power and elegant beauty. The merfolk, watching from a distance, began to clap their tails in a slow, rhythmic beat that echoed through the water.
They finished the final note together, their voices harmonizing perfectly on the last word. Echo pulled Skate in, his eyes blazing with the powerful, sapphire-blue light of his true emotions, and sealed the song's end with a deep, passionate kiss.
On the screen, the kiss was clear, broadcast in all its unreserved, romantic intensity. Above the water, the massive crowd, who had just witnessed a near-death situation turn into a spontaneous public declaration of Mermish love and engagement, was absolutely silent, utterly stunned.
The Veela contingent was in raptures, their collective energy a shimmering wave of delight and approval, punctuated by happy, musical gasps. They were devouring this display, a testament to pure, powerful love.
Only Empusa watched with a face like thunder, a vicious, venomous jealousy coiling in her gut. She practically spat the word. "Disgusting. Such utter sentimental nonsense."
In the viewing booth, Karkaroff dropped his monocle. Madame Maxime let out a low, satisfied Ahhh. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled, his eyes twinkling with a genuine, paternal warmth.
"Well, Igor," Dumbledore murmured, his voice soft. "I believe that concludes the performance of gratitude from the Hogwarts Champion. And I believe we can safely say that, for the moment, he has bought the merfolk's goodwill." He paused, looking out at the stunned crowd. "And he's certainly bought himself a good deal of trouble."
Echo and Skate finally broke the kiss, their breaths still mingling in the water around them. Echo, grinning from ear to ear, brushed a strand of seaweed from Skate's face.
"You really know how to make an exit, don't you?" Echo laughed, his voice bubbling slightly. "That was… quite the performance."
Skate smirked, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, I'm not done yet."
She turned slightly, waving a webbed hand toward the deeper shadows of the lake. From the gloom, another mermaid emerged, carrying a large, roughly woven sack made of thick kelp. With a swift motion, she untied the top and upended the sack. Chunks of raw, bloody meat tumbled out, instantly clouding the water around them in a gruesome, expanding cloud of crimson.
Echo stared for a split second, then snapped his fingers, letting out a delighted, underwater laugh. "You genius! You absolute genius!" he cried, grabbing her shoulders. "Those idiots up there will think I've been eaten! They'll think I'm dead!" He gestured wildly at the spreading red cloud. "This is perfect! They'll have to take me out of the event. Hell, with a 'death' like this, they'll probably cancel the entire tournament out of sheer panic and liability concerns. And even if they don't… I'm free. I don't have to participate in this insanity anymore."
He pulled Skate into a crushing hug, burying his face in her shoulder. "You are literally the best girlfriend ever. I don't know what I did to deserve you."
Skate hugged him back, her voice soft and fierce against his ear. "I'm only doing what I can to help. I know how much pressure you've been under with all of this surface nonsense."
Above the water, the massive, projected screen displayed the entire scene with crystal clarity. The bloody cloud, the jubilant celebration of his own 'death', the heartfelt confession of manipulating the tournament to escape—every word and gesture was broadcast to the thousands of spectators in the stands. The silence that followed was absolute. Not a single scream, gasp, or whisper broke the stillness. The crowd sat frozen, processing the surreal spectacle of a champion gleefully faking his own gruesome demise with the help of his mermaid girlfriend.
Echo, still holding Skate, suddenly pulled back slightly, a frown creasing his brow. "Wait," he murmured, looking up toward the surface through the murky red water. "Why is it so quiet?" He tilted his head, listening intently. "Where's the panic? Where's the screaming? Surely I wasn't hated that much… right? Someone should be at least a little upset that I've been apparently devoured."
Skate released him and swam rapidly upward, her powerful tail propelling her toward the surface. She poked her face above the water for a brief moment, scanning the stands, then dove back down to Echo. "They're not panicking," she reported, her expression puzzled. "They're just… staring. Silent. Like they're watching something very interesting."
Echo blinked, confused. "Watching something? What could be more interesting than a champion being eaten alive?" Before he could ponder further, a prickle of unease ran down his spine. He looked around the murky water. "Although… I am getting the distinct, unusual feeling that I'm being watched. Like… really watched."
Suddenly, Echo's eyes drifted forward, his gaze locking onto a seemingly empty patch of water just a few feet in front of him. A faint, shimmering distortion hung there, barely visible in the gloom. His eyes widened as the realization hit him like a physical blow.
"Oh, damn," Echo muttered, his voice carrying clearly through the water. "It's that stupid magic projection screen." He stared directly into the unseen camera lens, his expression shifting from confusion to a horrified, dawning comprehension. "They all probably have seen and heard everything about our ruse."
Skate, sensing his sudden tension but not understanding the source, let out a low, aggressive growl in the direction Echo was looking, her teeth flashing as she glared at the empty water.
Echo sighed, running a hand through his hair, which was now a resigned, exhausted gray even underwater. "Oh well," he said, addressing the shimmering distortion directly, his voice laced with defiant apathy. "I'm in the water, so I'm technically participating. But I ain't going to do anything, and none of you can make me." He pointed an accusatory finger at the unseen audience, his gaze piercing through the magical projection to the judges and officials sitting high above, safe and dry. The people he was referring to—Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Maxime, and the Ministry officials—knew exactly who they were.
"And just to make sure you can't fish me out," Echo continued, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "I'm going to make sure you can't."
He reached into his magic satchel, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a small, glass vial filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid. Without hesitation, he uncorked it and quickly swallowed the contents. Within seconds, Echo's body shifted and convulsed. His skin took on a pearlescent sheen, scales erupted along his ribs and spine, and his legs fused, lengthening into a powerful, shimmering tail that mirrored the colors of the deep lake. With a swift, violent yank, his remaining white shirt tore away, flying across the water and momentarily obscuring the view of the magical screen. When the fabric drifted away, Echo was revealed in full merfolk form, similar to Skate and the others. He was devoid of clothing, which had ripped away in the transformation, save for his wand holder and wand, still securely attached to his forearm, and his magic satchel slung across his chest.
Echo then made a deliberately insulting face at the screen—sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes—a gesture of pure, childish rebellion. Skate, catching on quickly, mimicked him perfectly, her own face contorted in a mock-aggressive sneer. Then, with a laugh that bubbled through the water, Skate took his hand. With a powerful, synchronized thrust of their tails, they turned and swam rapidly into the Black Lake's deep, dark depths, the other mermaids following in their wake, their melodious calls echoing through the water like a haunting farewell.
Silence continued to grip the crowd above, but the reactions were no longer uniform. Shock had given way to a chaotic mix of amusement, outrage, and begrudging admiration. In the judges' booth, Karkaroff was purple with rage, sputtering incoherently about disqualification and blatant mockery. Madame Maxime was hiding a smile behind a large, lace handkerchief. And Albus Dumbledore simply leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling brighter than ever.
"Well," Dumbledore murmured to himself, watching the screen fade to black. "He certainly knows how to make a statement."
The announcer's magically amplified voice crackled over the bewildered crowd, sounding a little shaky. "Well… that wasn't quite the performance and turn of events we expected! A most… unique interpretation of gratitude from the Hogwarts Champion. Anyway," he coughed, regaining his professional composure, "we shall start the third event of the Triwizard Tournament when the other three champions are ready!"
As the announcer spoke, the remaining champions scrambled onto the floating dock. Lucian Delacour, Vanya Krum, and Seraphia Throne were already prepared, stripped down to sleek bathing suits and clutching their wands. They looked pale but determined, casting nervous glances at the now-calm surface of the Black Lake where Echo had vanished. Each murmured a quick series of incantations—Bubble-Head Charms and transfiguration spells to aid their underwater movement.
"Once they are all there and ready," the announcer boomed, scanning the line of shivering teenagers, "Remember! You have one hour to find your treasure in the lake, or it will be lost forever. Ready? GO!"
With a synchronized splash, the three champions dove into the icy water. The massive magical screens above the lake flickered and split into three distinct views, allowing the onlookers to track each champion's progress. The crowd leaned forward, their earlier shock replaced by the thrill of the hunt.
Luckily for the champions, the merfolk seemed to have exhausted their interest in surface dwellers. The screens showed dark shapes lurking in the gloom, but they kept their distance, watching with cold, passive eyes as the intruders swam past.
"And they're off!" the announcer narrated, his voice regaining its usual excitement. "Krum has opted for a partial aquatic transfiguration—a bold choice! Look at that speed! Throne is using a standard Bubble-Head Charm, reliable and efficient. And Delacour seems to be employing some form of Veela magic to propel himself through the water effortlessly. It's a race against time and the depths, folks!"