The rain ceased its gentle pretense and began to pour heavily. The castle windows glowed in yellow rows, and beyond them lay the Forbidden Forest, dark and watchful like a massive beast.
Viktor Krum stood at the edge of the treeline, embodying the patience of someone who understood long ago that desire does not hasten time. He had neatly folded his coat, a sign of someone who takes care of their few belongings, while the sleeves of his dark sweater were rolled up to his forearms. His wand rested quietly in his palm.
Harry arrived at the gentle slope with Hermione and Neville. Dobby appeared a heartbeat later, depositing a basket on a stump before disappearing again, giving a salute. Inside were towels, steaming water-skins, and a tin that suspiciously smelled like Molly Weasley's best biscuits. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the unexpected treat, but Harry didn't offer an explanation. Dobby had taken it upon himself to manage their supplies and was not keen on being stopped.
Viktor gave a brief nod in greeting, his face an unyielding mask. "Tonight," he said, "I'll try something. You stop me if it goes wrong."
Harry smirked slightly. "I'll stop you if you win."
Hermione thudded her bag down and brought out a kit of vials. "If anyone gets hurt, we'll stop," she insisted. "And no destructive spells near the trees. The centaurs already see us as troublemakers."
Neville tightened his cloak and glanced between the two opponents, excitement and coldness warming his cheeks. "I brought the notes you wanted, Harry. About timing windows and—um—the staggered counter."
"Watch first," Harry replied. "Then we'll discuss strategies."
They took their positions in the clearing, the snow flattened from weeks of practice. The night held a tension like a breath held in. Hermione raised a hand. "On three. One… two… three."
No shouts or dramatic displays. Viktor moved forward like a chess piece recalling its motion. His wand traced a precise line, creating a distraction to the left while a low pulse targeted Harry's knee. Harry was already shifting, not quite leaping, just adjusting to the new reality of his position. The pulse whizzed by and sliced through the snow.
Viktor quickly capitalized on his missed shot, adjusting his approach with a series of precision jabs aimed at Harry's ribs, designed to test his defenses. Harry's left hand opened, creating a dense space that neutralized the attacks, rendering them harmless.
Hermione gasped. "Merlin," Neville whispered.
Viktor's expression thinned in approval as he pressed the attack. Spells came in quick succession, aimed not just at where Harry was, but where he might be after reacting. Harry refused to conform to expectations. He allowed the first spell to graze his sleeve, gauging its intensity, then redirected the second with a subtle shift, allowing it to fly past him and into the trees.
The duel established a rhythm of its own: Viktor probing with careful tactics while Harry countered with calm precision, poised yet unyielding. Each response seemed effortlessly calculated, as if solving a complex mathematical equation. A ring of air enveloped Viktor's wrist, forcing him to break his rhythm. The snow beneath him became compacted, locking his feet in place for a split second. When Viktor adjusted, a branch fell with uncanny timing, which he slashed apart without breaking stride.
They continued in silence, breath hanging in the cold air. Harry resisted the urge to demonstrate his prowess while Viktor fought against his instinct to grow frustrated. Hermione observed the angles, while Neville counted silently, focused on the flow of movement.
Viktor shifted tactics, widening his stance and sending a hex that crackled like raw metal toward Harry's chest. Pale arcs snaked slowly through the air, seeking a target. Harry held up his hand as if to say halt, and the arcs dissipated into harmless sparks against the ground.
Viktor remained unfazed, creating a slick surface of ice where snow once was, then unleashed a pressure wave designed to constrict Harry's breathing. Instead, Harry embraced the ice as though it were an ally, deftly maneuvering the pressure around him as it flowed past.
"You are bending," Viktor said during a lull in their exchange, not in complaint but as an observation.
"Redirecting," Hermione chimed in, unable to restrain herself. "He's utilizing transient planes—he won't hold them. He just positions them where the burden will land."
Viktor pressed forward with his own rhythm, employing blunt moves intended to blur reflexes and using a low cut to unbalance Harry's form. Yet, Harry offered no such panic. He allowed the jab to hit an illusion he crafted, sidestepping the cut and pinching the binding spell until it broke.
They could have gone on for hours—Viktor crafting intricate challenges while Harry unveiled solutions—if not for the initial learning moment that Harry initiated. He planted himself firmly and Viktor responded with a decisive spell designed to exploit a weak point. Harry let the spell approach, leaning slightly as if attuned to an unseen signal. The spell struck an invisible barrier and veered off to whirl sparks against a nearby pine. He flicked his fingers, and Viktor's wand arm became inexplicably heavy.
Viktor strained but quickly regained his form.
"Good," he acknowledged before launching into a new tactic.
Eight exchanges later, Viktor spotted an opening. Harry purposely maintained a slightly flawed posture, allowing Viktor to launch a constriction at his bicep. Harry adjusted the gravity beneath Viktor's foot by a fraction, tilting the world just enough for Viktor to guide himself without hesitation, and Harry slipped in a binding spell that immobilized him.
Viktor fell into the snow, his eyes sharp and self-critical. Harry knelt and lightly tapped the binding, releasing him. Viktor inhaled, composed himself, and rose without conceding any dignity. He brushed off the snow. "Once more."
Harry smiled slyly. "Same lesson, different angle."
They practiced the pattern until Hermione called for a break. Viktor drank from the water-skin, his gaze fixed on Harry. "Now with a wand," he requested, not as a challenge but as a justified request.
Harry drew his holly and phoenix feather wand from his robes. Viktor's expression flickered with tension and anticipation. Hermione crossed her arms, suppressing her anxiousness. Neville stood frozen, taking it all in.
"On three," Hermione repeated, with a quieter tone. "One… two… three."
The forest seemed to close in around the clearing, aware that something significant was about to unfold.
Harry didn't aim but instead contemplated. The wand felt like a conduit where his intent merged with the world effortlessly. When he moved it, the air seemed to acknowledge his command. Viktor cast a non-verbal charm meant to pin Harry against a tree; Harry countered with a shield that wasn't quite a dome or a wall but more like a lens through which light could be redirected. The charm stretched as it passed through, impacting the trunk well beyond its intended target. Viktor pivoted, readjusting, and Harry unleashed a stunner that simply rendered light null, grazing past Viktor's ear.
"Subtle," Hermione breathed, captivated by the exchange. "He's refusing typical interactions. He's not trading spells outright—he's creating events."
Viktor's grin broadened, not overly wide but genuine. Here was the competition he craved. He layered complex jinxes one on top of the other, timed to hit the ephemeral moments that others might overlook. Harry approached them like droplets from rain—some needing to land softly, others requiring more intensity—and returned a precise triplet: a pause, a weight, and a push, all synchronized to land when Viktor expected to shift dynamically. Viktor's response was graceful yet cutting, a maneuver that could have shattered the focus of an inexperienced spellcaster. Harry met it with a smile, albeit not warmly. "Better," he noted.
Viktor burst out laughing—an unexpected sound that made Neville jump. "Once more," he demanded eagerly.
They drained ten minutes from the night and concluded with a gentle bind that felt both soft and strong. Viktor released a long breath, lying in the snow as he propped himself up.
"You are… different from what we see in school, Potter," he remarked. "Not like what the Ministry prescribes. Not like in books. You create… frameworks for magic to navigate."
Harry tucked his wand away. "Wands are like crutches," he replied, then glanced at Hermione to soften the statement. "Useful, but I prefer to walk unaided."
"Keep it close, nonetheless," Hermione interjected.
"I will," Harry agreed, not mentioning the suspicions he felt toward certain individuals in the castle, one of whom had already attempted to harm him in secrecy. He didn't need to. Hermione's expression told him she understood without words.
"Can I go next?" Neville asked, his voice small yet steady.
Harry gauged him and nodded. "Let's start with the basics. Viktor—can you assist?"
Viktor stepped behind Neville, positioning his hands near Neville's shoulders without touching, guiding him. "You will walk like this," he instructed. "Your center is too far forward. If a spell comes—" He made a quick gesture; Neville could feel the shift—"you'll fall. Feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your knees soft. Imagine sitting on a broom." He glanced at Harry. "Is this correct?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Neville, watch my hand. I'm going to send a push toward your chest. Don't block. Don't panic. Just adjust."
Neville nodded, jaw tight.
Harry raised his palm and released a controlled pressure. Instinctively, Neville felt the urge to shield himself, but he restrained the impulse. Instead, he leaned just right, allowing the pressure to glide past him and into the trees like a thwarted bully.
Neville's eyes widened in wonder. "Did I—?"
"You did," Harry encouraged. "Again."
They practiced until Neville's body instinctively recognized the motions before his mind could catch up. Hermione called time, authoritative as always. "Enough. You'll tire out and reinforce bad habits. Hydrate first, then Viktor can share his ghost stories."
Wiping his face with a towel, Viktor accepted a biscuit from the tin Dobby had provided, savoring it with approval. He gazed contemplatively towards the dark expanse of the lake, partially obscured by the trees. "Have you ever stood by the shore," he mused, "and felt like it was looking back? Not the water itself, but the thing beneath."
A shiver ran through Hermione, even though the wind had calmed. "You mentioned seeing merfolk villages."
Viktor nodded. "Stone circles. Nets resembling lace, crafted from bones. They have places for shells that sing with the current. I believe there were… offerings. Trophies from wrecks and ancient battles. Armor. Teeth."
Neville inching closer, fascinated despite his reservations. "What about grindylows? You said they swarmed like bees."
Viktor's mouth twisted as he spoke. "They're cowards in groups. They grab ankles and knees, dragging you down. If you bleed, they'll come fast. But they fear light and clean fire. It's wiser to move slowly, hands near your belt. If they climb, you—" He quickly motioned as if breaking delicate fingers. "They don't recover well from that."
Hermione grimaced. "Charming."
"I was a shark for the tournament," Viktor replied simply. "Harder for them to grab on. The noise rang in my ears for a day afterward. Water… it has weight when it envelops you."
Harry listened without distraction. The lake had been consistent—a part of the postcard scenery. Yet, lately, it had taken on a life of its own. A veil over another world. He considered the sensation of the Force around him, how it turned air or snow into an ally. What sensations lay beneath? Was the medium an opponent?
"What about the merfolk themselves?" Hermione inquired. "Are they hostile?"
"Proud," Viktor answered. "They differ from tales in children's books. A different language. Their leaders bear scars like maps," he traced faint lines on his ribs. "They don't appreciate wand magic. But they uphold the rules. If you're a guest and abide… they won't eat you."
Neville squeaked at the thought.
Viktor's gaze turned distant. "There's a depth beyond the task. You can feel it in your teeth—a bell unheard. I do not venture there."
"Dark side of the lake," Hermione mused, mostly to herself. "The part even merfolk shun as legend."
Harry felt the idea settle within him like a coin fitting into a slot. Deeper than the task. An unheard bell. He didn't smile. "Once we finish our exams," he said softly, "I want to explore it."
Hermione immediately replied, fiery with concern. "Absolutely not. You're not diving into a perilous lake because of your curiosity."
"Not alone," Harry conceded. "With proper planning. Bubble-Head charms, yes, but also pressure wards and temperature control. And not for combat. To experience."
"Experience later," she insisted, both fond and exasperated. "Live today."
"Ja," Viktor chimed in, deadpan. "Live first."
They packed up. The walk back across the grounds felt longer than the trek out—tired limbs; a rewarding ache from exertion. They separated at the castle doors—Viktor heading toward the lake and its moored ship, while Harry and the others climbed the stairs to the tower. On the third-floor landing, Neville paused.
"Harry?" he said. "When you… don't use your wand… how does it feel? What's going through your mind?"
Harry thought for a moment. He could describe planes, pressures, angles, or even that elusive force. Instead, he said, "It's like… when rain hits a roof. If you stand under the eaves, you can extend your hand and decide where the water goes. You can't stop the rain. You just choose the paths."
Neville nodded gravely, as if processing both wisdom and insanity. "Right. I'll, uh, practice that."
"Do," Hermione encouraged. "But prioritize resting first."
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Beuwulf