The Tenth Weasley - CH - 141

The morning of the Second Task dawned cold and gray, mist curling low across the Black Lake.

From the stands that ringed the frozen shore, thousands of witches and wizards huddled in enchanted cloaks, warming charms puffing in the air like ghostly smoke.

And among them — in full force — was the Weasley family.

Arthur and Molly sat side by side, hands clasped and anxious, while their children filled an entire row.

Fred and George were the only ones grinning ear to ear.

“Galleon says Harry finishes first,” Fred declared, flicking a gold coin into the air.

Sirius Black caught it neatly. “You’re on. I’ve got five on Charlie. Can’t let the Weasleys show us up.”

Bill sighed beside them. “You two are impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Fred corrected. “Entrepreneurial.”

Even Percy — dignified, solemn Percy — seemed unable to resist the family chaos. He leaned over with a wary glance. “You’re not… actually betting in front of Ministry officials, are you?”

George raised an eyebrow. “Percy, my dear rule-abiding brother — half the Ministry is betting with us.”

“Madam Bones has five on Harry,” Fred added cheerfully. “Bagman’s odds have gone up after last night’s rehearsal.”

“Even Professor McGonagall bet two Galleons on Charlie,” George whispered.

Percy nearly choked. “She what!?”

“Purely out of house pride, I’m sure,” Fred said innocently. “Or maybe she’s smarter than you think.”

Across the crowd, the Potters had arrived — James and Lily, both with Rose. They waved politely toward the Weasleys, and Molly managed a warm smile in return.

“I just hope both our boys come back safe,” Lily murmured.

Sirius chuckled. “Come on, Lily, it’s only water. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Remus glanced at him dryly. “You said the same thing before Harry fought a dragon.”

Sirius blinked. “...Right. Forget I said that.”

Down near the lake, Cedric Diggory was already preparing — tightening his diving robes and double-checking his wand straps.

Charlie Potter stood a few feet away, grim but focused.

But one person was missing.

Hermione.

Harry’s stomach twisted as he scanned the lakeside again and again. Hermione was never late. She was always early — sometimes too early.

He’d been waiting since sunrise, pretending calm, but dread had been gnawing at him for hours.

She wasn’t at breakfast. She wasn’t in the library. No one had seen her since last night.

And Harry already knew why.

He looked out at the lake — that dark, endless mirror of cold. “They took her,” he whispered under his breath.

Viktor heard him. “Who?”

Harry’s voice hardened. “The merpeople. She’s the one they’ve taken for me.”

Viktor cursed softly in Bulgarian. “Hermione? They vill use her as your hostage?”

Harry nodded, jaw clenched. “She warned me it might be her. And she was right.”

Viktor frowned deeply. “You are sure?”

Harry met his eyes — fierce, unyielding. “I feel it. She’s mine. She’s the one I’ll sorely miss.”

A burst of fireworks erupted over the lake, signaling the start. Ludo Bagman’s magically amplified voice boomed over the roaring crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd cheered wildly.

“Today, our champions will dive beneath the icy depths of the Great Lake,” Bagman continued. “There, they must recover that which has been taken from them — that which they will sorely miss!”

Fred elbowed George. “See? I told you, emotional stakes sell tickets.”

“Quiet,” Molly hissed.

“Each champion will have one hour,” Bagman went on, “to retrieve their precious cargo. Fail to return in time… and what they value most may be lost forever!”

Charlie’s mother gasped. “Oh heavens, that’s dramatic.”

Arthur murmured, “These organizers have no idea how to reassure parents.”

Down on the shore, Harry and Charlie stood side by side.

Charlie waved from the next platform over. “Good luck, brother!”

Harry managed a smile. “You too. Don’t get eaten.”

Charlie laughed nervously. “I’ll try!”

Bagman’s voice boomed again:

“Champions ready yourselves!”

Charlie held the Gillyweed — green, slimy, and utterly revolting — in his hand. He didn’t hesitate. He stuffed it into his mouth and swallowed.

It tasted like lakeweed and old socks.

He dropped to his knees, coughing, clutching his throat — and then gasped as gills flared open along his neck. His hands tingled — webbing stretching between his fingers. His legs itched as fins rippled through his boots.

The crowd gasped in astonishment.

And then — splash!

He plunged into the Black Lake.

Fred and George leaned forward, watching the bubbles rise.

“I give him twenty minutes before he finds his hostage,” George whispered.

Fred grinned. “fifteen.”

Percy frowned, jotting notes for his “official report.”

“Fifteen minutes is statistically improbable, George—”

“Ten Galleons says you’re wrong,” Fred cut in.

Percy glared. “I am not gambling!”

“Too late,” George said cheerfully, scribbling his name onto the Weasley betting parchment.

Molly groaned. “I raised entrepreneurs, not bookies!”

Arthur smiled tiredly. “Better entrepreneurs than outlaws.”

Moments later, Cedric Diggory stepped forward — calm, poised, his wand raised.

He whispered some incarnation.

A perfect globe of air formed around his head, crystal clear and flawless.

The Hogwarts students roared in approval as Cedric took one confident breath and dove cleanly into the depths, disappearing into the black.

Then came Fleur Delacour.

With a graceful wave of her wand, her face shimmered — her skin pale as moonlight, gills forming along her neck, and fins sprouting along her arms.

A ripple of astonishment passed through the crowd.

“Veela magic,” someone whispered. “She’s transfigured herself!”

Fleur turned once, radiant and fearless, then leapt — a flash of silver and blue — vanishing beneath the icy surface.

Only Harry Weasley remained on the platform.

The crowd went silent.

Molly Weasley’s hands were clenched together, her knuckles white.

Arthur leaned forward, whispering, “He’ll jump any moment now.”

But Harry didn’t.

He stood tall, water lapping gently at his boots, the golden morning light painting his dark coat in fire and shadow.

He didn’t look nervous — he looked calm.

“Why isn’t he moving?” one of the Beauxbatons girls whispered.

“Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment,” muttered another.

Professor McGonagall’s lips pressed thin. “He had better not be—”

And then, to everyone’s shock, Harry raised his wand.

“Fibra Navis!” he said clearly.

From the very air itself, threads of glowing silver fiber streamed from the tip of his wand, weaving rapidly over the water. The fibers twisted, thickened, and fused — forming the smooth, shining frame of a boat, translucent and elegant, crafted entirely from enchanted threads of magic.

The crowd gasped as the small vessel solidified on the lake’s surface — sleek, sharp, and glowing faintly with runic patterns.

Harry stepped into it.

“What’s he doing!?” Percy Weasley blurted out, half-standing.

Fred grinned. “Inventing boating, apparently.”

George nudged him. “Told you he’d make a scene.”

Even Dumbledore’s expression flickered with intrigue. “How… inventive.”

Meanwhile, Bagman’s voice boomed across the lake, barely able to contain his amazement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it appears Champion Weasley has decided to… ah… sail instead of swim!”

The audience erupted in confused murmurs and laughter, but Harry was focused — his gaze locked on the endless expanse of black water.

He raised his wand again and said, “Ventus Maxima!”

A powerful gust burst from behind him.

The sails — conjured from pure wind — filled instantly, and the boat shot forward across the lake like an arrow from a bow.

Spray erupted behind him as the enchanted vessel cut through the water in perfect rhythm.

The crowd gasped, then roared.

“By Merlin—he’s racing across the surface!” Bagman shouted.

The professors exchanged incredulous glances.

Flitwick stood on his seat, squeaking, “That’s not standard spellwork! He’s using multi-layered propulsion charms!”

As the wind whipped his hair and the freezing mist lashed against his face, Harry pulled out his wand again and pointed it straight ahead.

“Point Me — Hermione Granger.”

The wand spun once — twice — then froze, glowing faintly as it locked on to a direction toward the far right side of the lake.

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Got you,” he whispered.

He flicked his wand again, the fibers along the side of the boat glowing blue, and the craft turned sharply toward the indicated point.

From the stands, Fred and George shouted in unison:

“THAT’S OUR BROTHER!”

“He’s not going under?” someone from the Ministry exclaimed.

“He can’t find anything from above the surface!” another shouted.

But in the staff section, Dumbledore merely smiled — faintly, knowingly.

“Or perhaps,” he murmured, “he already has a way to see.”

Indeed, Harry wasn’t sailing blind.

He had cast a viewing charm across the lake’s surface — a mirror of rippling magic that allowed him to see through the depths like glass.

Shapes moved below: Cedric’s bubble gliding gracefully; Fleur’s shimmering tail weaving among the weeds; Charlie, swimming powerfully, his wand aglow like a torch.

But farther down — much deeper — faint lights flickered.

Torches. Stone pillars. Movement.

The merpeople colony.

Harry’s wand pointed unwaveringly toward it.

“He’s tracking something!” Bill said in disbelief. “Look at the wand — it’s locked on!”

Arthur leaned forward. “That’s… that’s directional magic. Advanced.”

Molly, her voice trembling, whispered, “He knows where she is.”

The Potters looked uneasy. James muttered, “That’s… not standard procedure.”

Lily bit her lip. “He’s breaking every rule in the book.”

Sirius grinned proudly. “He’s breaking them brilliantly.”

The boat sliced through the fog like a ghost, faster and faster.

The wind howled behind him — controlled, precise, and powerful.

Spray hit his face as he kept his wand forward, whispering adjustment charms to keep his direction true.

From below, Grindylows scattered in his shadow, startled by the sudden streak of light overhead.

Even the merfolk in the distance looked up — confused — at the roaring blur racing above their domain.

And somewhere in that black abyss, bound by silver cords and sleeping peacefully, Hermione Granger waited.

Harry’s heart tightened. “Hold on,” he murmured. “I’m coming.”

Back onshore, the officials were in uproar.

Madam Maxime looked furious. “That eez cheating! He eez not even in ze water!”

Snape sneered, “Durmstrang should have taught him respect for rules!”

But Dumbledore raised a calm hand. “The task requires them to retrieve their hostage. It never specified how.”

Ludo Bagman blinked. “So technically… sailing counts?”

“Indeed it does,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling faintly.

The crowd erupted again, cheering louder than before.

Harry’s boat blazed across the water, leaving a glowing silver wake behind him.

Students from every house were shouting now — even Slytherins, some of them laughing in disbelief.

“That’s Weasley for you!” one Gryffindor yelled.

“Always doing something different!” another shouted.

Fred and George were already collecting Galleons from half the audience.

“Told you he’d do something insane,” George said smugly.

“Best investment ever,” Fred added.

But as Harry drew closer to the far edge of the lake — to the place where the water darkened and light could no longer reach — his wand trembled slightly.

He looked down, and his eyes widened.

There — glowing faintly through the black — were four figures tied to the lakebed:

Three humans, one creature with silvery hair.

All unmoving. All asleep.

Hermione. Ginny. Fleur’s sister. Cho Chang…

Harry whispered, “Found you.”

The black surface of the lake rippled gently beneath the morning sun.

Harry’s boat floated silently now, its shimmering hull of magical fibers glowing faintly over the glasslike water.

From the stands, the crowd buzzed with excitement and confusion. The other champions had vanished beneath the surface long ago.

He stood tall in his boat, wand raised, eyes closed — feeling the lake, listening to it. The air around him vibrated faintly, magic coiling like pressure before a storm.

“What is he doing?” Percy asked, half-panicked.

Fred grinned. “Winning. Obviously.”

Molly’s hand was pressed over her mouth. “He’s not even touched the water…”

Arthur murmured, “No… he’s planning something.”

Harry opened his eyes.

They gleamed silver-blue — faintly glowing, like light refracted through the depths.

He spoke softly, the wind carrying his words across the lake:

“Vincula Aeternum… Submersi Obediunt.”

The air trembled.

Then — ripples exploded outward.

From the tip of his wand, six glowing chains burst forth — spectral, serpentine, made of pure magic. They shimmered like molten steel and hissed as they touched the water, steaming against the cold.

The crowd gasped as the chains plunged below, slithering into the dark like the limbs of a colossal squid.

Each chain moved with purpose — intelligent, alive, answering Harry’s unspoken command.

In the deep gloom of the lake, the merpeople colony stirred.

Their guards raised their spears, startled by the sudden light streaking through the water — silver coils cutting across the darkness.

One chain reached the stone pillar where Hermione floated, bound by enchanted cords, her eyes closed in magical slumber.

The chain shimmered, pausing as if listening. Then, with delicate precision, it wrapped around her softly, severing the restraints one by one. The cords dissolved in bubbles of light.

When the merpeople lunged forward, furious and armed with coral spears, the other chains struck.

Clang!

A spear shattered against the glowing metal.

Two chains wrapped around the attackers, binding them gently but firmly, their weapons falling to the lakebed.

A dozen more merfolk surrounded Hermione’s resting figure — but the chains formed a protective circle around her, shimmering with runes that glowed brighter the closer they approached.

One elder merwoman, eyes wide with awe, motioned for the others to stop.

They understood.

This was not a fight they could win.

Above, Harry’s hand trembled slightly as the six chains rose slowly, dragging their burden upward. The water boiled and frothed around them.

The surface bulged — and then burst open.

Hermione’s form emerged, cradled in a gentle web of silver light. She was still asleep, but breathing, her hair floating around her like a halo of brown silk. The crowd gasped in disbelief.

Even Bagman, whose enchanted voice usually filled the arena, was momentarily speechless.

“She—he—he’s—pulling her out of the water without even—without even touching it!” he finally stammered.

Molly Weasley cried out, standing. “That’s my boy!”

Arthur smiled faintly, shaking his head in wonder. “Merlin’s beard…”

Even Dumbledore, calm as ever, could not hide his admiration. His eyes sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Impressive.”

The crowd erupted.

A deafening roar swept over the lake, echoing through the forest and bouncing off the castle walls.

“He did it!” Fred shouted, throwing his arms up.

“First place!” George added, already writing numbers onto his betting parchment.

Percy’s jaw dropped. “He—he didn’t even go under—how—how did—?”

“Don’t ask questions you can’t afford to understand,” Fred said cheerfully, collecting Galleons from stunned Ministry workers.

From the judge’s platform, Madam Maxime was arguing furiously, her voice booming over the din.

“Zis is not fair! He did not complete ze same task!”

But Dumbledore raised a calm hand.

“The rules state only that the champion must retrieve what was taken from them,” he said, his tone firm. “It does not specify the method.”

Karkaroff folded his arms. “Clever… too clever.”

Bagman cleared his throat into the microphone, his voice still unsteady.

“Ladies and gentlemen — in a stunning display of magical control — Harry Weasley has completed the task in record time! Without ever entering the water!”

The stands went wild.

Students screamed, waved banners, and stomped their feet. Even a few of the Slytherins joined in — albeit grudgingly.