The whistle tore through the morning like a blade through glass.
Alden was already moving.
No hesitation. No breath drawn. He simply stepped forward, wand sliding from his sleeve as the rest of the world — the cheers, the echoing waves of sound, the other champions flinging themselves into the lake — faded to a distant blur.
His fingers brushed the sigil etched along his left wrist. It pulsed once — faint blue light blooming under skin like phosphor caught in veins.
"Frigus Corpus Secunda," he murmured, voice barely more than thought.
The chill bit at him instantly, a living thing. He didn't flinch. The charm sealed over his body, not as warmth but equilibrium — every degree of his skin caught in perfect balance against the winter air.
Cold is a distraction. I have no use for it.
He stepped forward again. The lake's edge met his boots, water lapping once against the leather, before the next charm slipped free — a whisper through the wand's tip.
"Pelagus Velo."
The water bowed away from him, as though repelled by an invisible wall. The film shimmered faintly against the light — a sheen of glass and shadow that flexed like breath. He raised one hand and watched droplets slide off his skin without wetting it. The enchantment hummed softly in his bones.
The final sigil came with a palm pressed over his sternum. A runic seal flared faintly — the Sigillum Anhelitus.
Heart rate steady. O₂ exchange initialized. Fail-safe within seventy-five minutes.
He didn't need Dumbledore's countdown or Bagman's cheer. Alden Dreyse stepped off the dock with surgical precision, cloak flaring once in the air before the lake swallowed him whole.
The world changed instantly.
Light fractured — muted to silvers and deep blue. Sound fell away until only the steady hum of his own magic remained, thrumming like a pulse in his teeth. The weight of water should have crushed; instead, it slid past him like silk. The Velo rippled faintly with every movement, translating drag into speed.
He exhaled once, experimentally — air left his lungs, then returned, cleaner, thinner. The sigil glowed a pale blue in answer. Working perfectly.
Good.
Theo's face flickered in his mind — laughing faintly in the library two nights ago, saying, If I nap with gills for an hour, I'll send an invoice.
Alden's jaw set. You won't be asleep that long.
He angled his wand forward, tracing a direction toward the deep. The currents tugged faintly to the east — the same pull he'd felt in testing. The wards marking the merpeople's village would be two hundred meters down, perhaps more.
Ten minutes. That was the goal.
No theatrics, no delay. In and out. A precise strike — nothing wasted.
He cut through the water with sharp efficiency, each kick measured. Behind him, faint trails of light shimmered where the Velo broke surface tension, leaving no turbulence, no trace.
Through the water's dim light, he saw shadows move — Fleur's silver shape veering wide, Potter descending awkwardly slower, Krum a dark spear further left. None of them mattered. His task wasn't to win. It was to retrieve.
Pressure built with depth, but the Corpus held firm, keeping the squeeze of the lake to a steady, bearable hum. Silt clouds rolled below — dark and slow-moving — and the first strands of kelp began to twist upward like reaching fingers.
He flicked his wrist; two iron filings floated from his palm. They drifted a few inches, then sheared apart, caught on invisible lines of turbulence created by the Velo. He watched the separation, the tiny dance of particles splitting clean.
Drag minimal. Thrust adequate.
Satisfied, he accelerated — the spell carrying him like a current within a current.
He passed a school of tiny fish that parted in a flash of light like scattered sparks. Every movement of the water around him was so fluid, so quiet, that he could hear the faint rhythm of his own heartbeat pulsing through the sigil.
Fifty-eight minutes. Theoretical air remains optimal. Breathing efficiency: ninety-four percent.
He felt the wards ahead before he saw them — faint static brushing against his fingertips, a soft electric buzz along the Velo's edge. Boundary enchantments, older than Hogwarts itself. The merfolk had reinforced them after the last war; Dumbledore's charmwork hummed faintly beneath, ensuring no one drowned for glory.
Alden's lips barely moved. "Acknowledged." The wards rippled at his passage, recognizing his registered status as champion.
He slipped through.
Darkness folded over him like ink.
For the first time, he felt something stir beneath his calm — not fear, not even worry, but a razor's edge of purpose. Every instinct in him sharpened.
Theo was below.
And Alden Dreyse had no intention of leaving him in the dark longer than necessary.
He extended one hand, the wand's light blooming dim and sharp. The water obeyed, parting before him like breath before fire.
"Ten minutes," he murmured into the silent deep. "No longer."
Then he drove himself downward, a streak of white and black vanishing into the cold abyss — the lake folding shut behind him without a sound.
The light thinned as Alden sank. Above him, the surface was already a faint smear of silver, the cheers from the stands collapsing into distant vibrations — thunder filtered through miles of stone. The lake pressed tighter around him now, its weight patient and ancient, but the Frigus Corpus kept it from cutting bone or breath.
Only silence.Silence and the thrum of his sigils.
He adjusted the charm around his sternum with two fingers, the Sigillum Anhelitus pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The pale blue rune flickered, stabilizing. He inhaled through his nose; oxygen bled into his lungs with a strange, filtered coolness — not air, not water, but something in between.
Still stable.
He angled his body downward, cloak fluttering like smoke before flattening against the Velo film. The magic held, sleek and perfect. The water around him shimmered faintly as the pressure built — tiny bubbles imploding into soundless sparks.
Every few meters, he flicked his wand to send a pulse of light ahead. It cut through the gloom like a knife beam, painting the world in shades of cobalt and bone white: forests of black kelp, slow undulating like hair; ridges of rock glinting faintly with old spell residue.
He scanned every shadow for movement. Every faint current shift.
Where would they keep them? The merfolk were intelligent and territorial. They'd have built their village around something stable — stone foundations, central heat vents, perhaps runic caverns under basalt shelves. He'd studied maps for days, stolen fragments from the library's archives, even traced Dumbledore's enchantments through Hogwarts' ley chart.
If he was right — and he was rarely wrong — Theo would be roughly two hundred meters down, southeast quadrant.
The water around him darkened further, turning from gray to black. He ignited another light pulse, brighter this time. The beam caught against a wall of tangled weed — green and red fronds stretching like fingers through the depths. They swayed with the movement of the current, whispering in and out of visibility.
Something darted between them.
A flash of white, then stillness.
He stopped descending, wand angled low, eyes narrowing. The Velo film hummed faintly, sensing nearby motion. Then it came again — smaller this time — a glint of movement, scales like shards of moonlight.
Fish. No threat.
He continued downward.
Pressure increased. The lake floor was far, but the descent felt endless — like falling through a sky that forgot what stars looked like. He rolled his shoulders once, re-centering his equilibrium.
Forty meters more.
His heartbeat remained steady, measured. Every detail filed itself into the pattern of precision he'd built since the start of the year — analysis replacing fear, structure replacing noise.
He thought briefly of Theo — sitting across from him in the library, half-asleep over a pile of parchment, muttering about how Alden would drive himself mad before he ever drowned.It had made him smile. He rarely did.
A flicker in the distance broke the thought. A faint light — rhythmic, almost deliberate.
He stilled.
Bio-luminescence? No. Torch pattern — rune flare.
He twisted his wand, sending a thin ribbon of silver light curling through the water. It touched a low ridge and illuminated what looked like carved stone. Algae clung to its edges. Beyond it — movement. Shapes.
And voices.
Not real sound — not air vibrations — but something that trembled along the bones, a humming resonance that felt like language born in water. It wasn't words, but tone — command, warning.
The village.
The hum thickened the deeper he swam. The water around him brightened with faint glimmers of green and gold. And then, faintly through the murk, he saw them: pale figures weaving through the darkness, their tails leaving trails of silver in the gloom.
Merfolk.
They were larger than he'd expected. More sinew than grace. Hair black and streaming behind them, eyes a luminous yellow-white that reflected light like polished metal. They moved with predatory ease, every motion fluid and exact.
Alden slowed his descent. The Velo shimmered faintly — invisible to the naked eye, but the water shifted slightly around its boundary, and the merfolk noticed.
Three of them drifted closer. Spears in hand, sharp fins twitching.
He didn't move.
Their language carried through the current — not speech, but pressure against his skull, a series of clipped vibrations that he somehow understood.
Champion. You come too soon.
Alden didn't bother trying to respond. Words wouldn't carry through the Velo. He raised his wand slightly — not a threat, just a signal. His light flared once, pointing downward.
He wanted the path, not permission.
One of the merfolk hissed, teeth glinting. The others laughed — a hollow, bubbling sound. They pointed to the depths below and gestured with their spears — a mocking invitation.
Alden nodded once, curtly, and descended past them.
The first of them swam close, flicking its tail to test the shimmering edge of his spell. The spear touched the Velo and met resistance — not a barrier, but a living tension that pushed back with measured force. The merman's smirk faltered.
Alden didn't turn. He kept his eyes forward, the faintest ripple of satisfaction crossing his mind.
Intent defines mastery.
He pushed deeper.
The darkness turned near-solid — a black so complete it might have been void. Only the faint glow from his runes painted him in ghostlight. The hum of the village grew stronger, resolving into low chords and rhythmic beats — music, haunting and cold.
Then he saw it — faint, distant, yet vast. A sprawling shape rising from the silt — crude stone dwellings carved into ridges, algae glowing in thick coils along doorways. Lanterns made of pearl hung from skeletal branches, casting a murky light over the ruins.
And far at the center, half-buried in shadow — a statue. Massive. Its formis unmistakable.
A merperson carved from basalt, arms raised toward the surface as if to claw it open.
And there, bound to its tail, were shapes.
Four of them.
Alden's pulse steadied — not faster, not slower. He'd found them.
He angled his wand toward the village and whispered, voice barely a vibration through the veil: "Time to collect what's mine."
Then, without another pause, he drove himself toward the waiting figures below, cutting through the black like a blade drawn clean from its sheath.
The water thickened as Alden crossed the last ridge, the lakebed opening into a vast basin of gray stone and slow-drifting light. The murk gave way to shapes—structures, crude and ancient, carved into the rock like teeth in a jaw. Each dwelling shimmered faintly with the pulse of runic wards, algae burning pale green in the cracks.
The hum of song grew clearer. Not melody—command. It wound through the water like a net, each note pressing against his chest in steady rhythm.
An hour long, you'll have to look…
He moved soundlessly through the haze, the Pelagus Velo parting weeds and silt in long, fluid ribbons. His shadow swept across the village square before him—an old mer-statue of basalt rising from the center, arms extended skyward as if pleading for air. Bound to its tail were four motionless figures.
Theo was the first he saw.
Hair drifting like pale smoke, eyes closed, hands tied with braided kelp. Ron, Hermione, and Fleur's sister floated beside him, their skin faintly gray under the water's light, bubbles spilling lazily from parted lips.
Alden's pulse slowed. Ten minutes. I said I'd be in and out in ten.
He descended with quiet precision, wand angled low, the runes along his sleeves flaring faintly in answer to the pressure.
The merfolk noticed him immediately.
They slid from their homes and alcoves, long tails stirring up silt, spears drawn in glinting arcs. Gray skin, sunken eyes like molten gold, teeth bared in uneven rows. They spoke in the same resonant tremor that carried through bone instead of air.
Champion. Your hour has not yet come.
Alden ignored them. His gaze stayed fixed on Theo.
He landed on the stone courtyard and approached the statue's base. The merfolk circled closer—dozens of them now—forming a ring of dull glinting weapons. The choir's chant slowed, confused, dissonant.
A tall merman with a mane of tangled green hair swam forward, shark-fang choker biting against his gray neck. His grin showed a mouth full of serrated teeth. He leveled his spear, gesturing at the ropes.
"We do not help," the creature croaked, his words somehow audible through the spell's boundary.
Alden tilted his head, slow and deliberate, eyes calm as slate. The Velo shimmered faintly around him—an invisible halo of moving water.
"I wasn't asking," he said, voice barely a ripple.
The merman laughed, the sound bubbling and distorted. "You are too early, surface-born. The task—"
The rest of his sentence vanished in a blur.
Alden's wand twitched once. The Velo constricted, and a narrow shear-line of pressure carved through the water, so fast it seemed like light refracting wrong. The merman's spear split clean down the shaft with a snick, each half spiraling away into the gloom.
For one suspended moment, no one moved.
Then the choir faltered. Then they screamed.
Three merfolk darted forward, spears flashing. The first thrust met the Velo and slid harmlessly aside, as though striking glass. The second aimed low for his leg—Alden sidestepped in a graceful pivot, the Frigus Corpus holding him perfectly balanced.
The third came from his right—too fast for a parry.
The spear tip pierced the veil's surface—and was violently repelled. A shockwave burst outward, silent but powerful, and the attacker was flung backward into a stone pillar. The impact cracked the base, scattering a cloud of dust and shells into the water.
The others hesitated, their tails lashing the silt in agitation.
Alden's wand stayed low. His expression didn't change. The pulse of his breathing rune flickered blue-white at his chest, steady as a clock.
"Interfere again," he said evenly, "and I'll stop pretending to be polite."
The merman with the broken spear bared his teeth but held his ground, blood swirling faintly from his wrist. The choir went silent.
Alden turned back to Theo.
The ropes were thick, almost like muscle—woven from enchanted kelp that flexed when touched, tightening against movement. He crouched beside them, studying the knots with analytical detachment.
"They bind with intent," he murmured. "So we'll unmake it the same way."
He shifted his grip on the wand and drew a precise pattern through the water—narrow and sharp. The Velo's edge focused into a sliver of soundless energy, slicing along the rope's seam.
The kelp hissed, recoiling, and then unraveled like severed veins.
Theo's arm drifted free first, pale and still. Alden's other hand steadied him by the shoulder before moving on, cutting through the last of the bindings. Each line parted cleanly, the magic humming under his breath in perfect control.
When the final strand split, Theo's body floated weightless for a heartbeat before Alden caught him against his chest, pressing a palm to the Sigillum Anhelitus rune over his own heart. The magic spread outward—blue light sliding from Alden's chest into Theo's, stabilizing him with shared oxygen flow.
The surrounding merfolk surged forward at the sight, their tails whipping the water into turbulence.
Alden rose slowly, Theo in his grasp, his wand angled down at his side. His eyes glowed faintly with reflected light from the rune.
"Stand down," he said. His tone carried no volume, yet it filled the water.
A dozen spears trembled mid-thrust. The chief snarled something low and harsh.
Alden shifted the wand an inch. The water itself seemed tobe still in anticipation, like the entire lake was holding its breath.
"I came for what's mine," he said softly, each word deliberate. "And I'm leaving now."
No answer came. Only the dull thrumming of the statue's base and the faint drift of blood from the cracked pillar.
Then, one by one, the merfolk lowered their weapons.
The path ahead cleared.
Alden's jaw tightened. He adjusted his grip on Theo, the Velo expanding slightly around them both like a second skin.
Nine minutes, he thought. In and out.
He turned once toward the statue — the stone eyes of the mer-god staring blankly down through the gloom — and then kicked off the lakebed, propelling himself upward through the heavy silence.
The merfolk watched him go, yellow eyes bright in the dark, the broken spear drifting lazily behind him like an offering left in his wake.
The lake was darker on the way up. Not from the depth, but from what he left behind.
Alden cut through the water like a blade, each stroke of his arm clean and deliberate. The Pelagus Velo shimmered faintly around him, turning pressure into glide. Theo's limp form drifted weightless in his hold, eyes shut, hair rippling in the current like smoke. The rune on Alden's chest glowed faintly through the murk, its light extending through the veil to Theo's chest in a thin, pulsing line.
The sigil kept him breathing. Barely.
Alden didn't look back. The mer-village had already faded into a pale blur of ruins and yellow eyes. The faint hum of their choir was gone—silenced, or unwilling to follow him. Either way, he didn't care.
They would've let him drown.
That thought circled like a slow current. He hadn't expected mercy—but the deliberate cruelty, the way the merfolk had laughed when he reached for Theo's bindings, had burned something deeper than anger.
Creatures of law, he thought coldly. Rules and riddles while people suffocate.
He adjusted his hold on Theo, turning slightly as a school of fish scattered away from the shimmer of his ward. The motion of water around him was smooth now, effortless. He should've been relieved.
But he wasn't.
He was thinking about the look in the merman's eyes right before the pressure burst sent him flying—surprise, pain, disbelief. Alden hadn't even hesitated. His body had moved before his thoughts did, pure intent shaping the spell to kill if it had needed to.
It didn't even feel wrong.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, dull and unflinching. He'd done what was necessary. But something about the ease of it—the lack of hesitation—stuck to him like the cold.
He angled upward again, faster now. The water around him grew brighter with every meter. Lines of silver light cut through the gloom, scattering off scales, off particles, off the faint shimmer of the veil.
Theo stirred faintly in his arms, exhaling a trail of bubbles. Alden didn't speak. The sound wouldn't carry. But he looked down at him for a heartbeat—at the face slack with sleep—and something in him shifted.
It wasn't pride. Not victory either. Just an unspoken truth, surfacing quietly as the air above: If it ever came to it, he'd do it again.
Whatever it took.
Whatever it costs.
The thought didn't scare him. That was the part that did.
He broke through a patch of rising current; pressure eased, the veil flexed, and for the first time since entering the lake, he could see the faint mirror of the surface. Rippling light. Color. Movement.
Shadows of boats overhead. The blurred outline of students leaning over the rails, scanning the water.
The sigil at his chest flickered—thinning now, but still functional. He could feel the cold again, small pinpricks against his skin where the Frigus Corpus began to fade.
He pressed one hand against Theo's shoulder, reinforcing the rune's extension through touch. His eyes stayed on the surface, narrowing.
An hour long, you'll have to look, the song had said. He hadn't needed even half.
Intent, he reminded himself, not chance.
The water lightened until it glowed pale blue. His reflection caught faintly in the shimmer above — eyes half silver in the light, hair drifting like mercury. A distorted ghost looking up at him.
He thought of the others — Daphne, waiting at the shore. Draco, loud and oblivious. The rest of the world sees only the boy who "looked like a Dark Lord."
Maybe they weren't entirely wrong.
But they hadn't been there. They hadn't seen how the merfolk circled Theo like carrion around a flame. They hadn't felt the silence when the spear cracked, or how easy it was to make them fear him.
He tightened his grip, the surface almost close enough to touch.
Power means nothing if it doesn't protect those who matter.
A breath escaped him — half exhale, half surrender. The thought sat in his chest, heavy but resolute. He didn't know whether to be proud of it or afraid.
Then the surface split open, and Alden Dreyse rose into daylight.
The crowd erupted somewhere far above him, a wave of noise that felt hollow after the silence below. He didn't look at them. His only focus was the body in his arms — alive, safe, breathing.
Everything else could wait.