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Chapter 637: Lost Beneath the Water
Several Giant Streaming Mirrors stood before the stands, each displaying live footage of different Champions’ progress through the second task. The second challenge wasn’t entirely restricted in the use of magical aids, so the Champions employed every trick in their repertoire to survive the underwater environment. Some used the Bubble-Head Charm, others transformed parts of their bodies into fish, some ate Gill Sac Grass, others drank Water Lung Potions, and one even used Muggle diving gear—though the exact identity remained a mystery.
Thanks to Wade Gray’s standout performance in the previous challenge, a single camera lens had been persistently tracking his every move. The audience watched as Wade secured the cylindrical object first, then the disc—his lead growing ever more pronounced as the other Champions still struggled against Grendilo, the giant creature lurking in the depths. Wade’s progress was nearing completion.
Bagman, his voice brimming with excitement, declared, “Remarkable! Absolutely remarkable, ladies and gentlemen! Wade Gray might just become the first Champion to complete this task! And if so, it could give him a slight advantage heading into the third challenge…”
Before he could finish, the camera feed abruptly twisted—spinning violently as the lakebed’s rocks, darting fish, and swaying aquatic plants blurred into streaks of color, as though the Streaming Mirror itself had been thrown into a washing machine’s drum.
In an instant, the young wizard vanished from view.
But not before he’d clearly plunged into—no, into—a swirling vortex.
Bagman swiftly pointed his wand at the mirror, enlarging the image. Yet, no strange underwater sounds emerged. No spell incantations from Wade Gray. Only the low, steady rush of water, the creaking groan of the mother mirror under immense pressure, and the faint, eerie transformation of its surface.
Occasionally, a clear flash would break through—the gaping maw of a monstrous fish, lined with rows of needle-thin teeth; the jagged stump of a sunken ship’s mast; a glowing plant pulsing faintly in the dark. But most of the time, the mirror showed only swirling darkness and murky water.
A ripple of unease spread through the stands. Karkaroff leaned forward slightly. Madam Maxime frowned. Old Barty Crouch lifted his eyes. The other headmasters reacted in their own ways—some concerned, some contemplative.
Bagman, the commentator, froze for a moment, then blinked and recovered, speaking casually. “Well, it seems the mother mirror has been caught in the vortex at the lake’s bottom. We’ve temporarily lost sight of Champion Wade Gray…”
As he spoke, Bagman stole a quick glance at Dumbledore’s expression across the referee’s table. Behind the half-moon spectacles, the blue eyes narrowed slightly—nothing more. His posture remained as still as an ancient oak.
From the Headmaster’s face, Bagman read no alarm, no surprise. He couldn’t tell whether Wade Gray had stumbled into unforeseen danger… or whether this was precisely part of the plan.
Could the boy have set another trap for the others again? Bagman thought, frowning. Then, forcing a bright tone, he continued, “But don’t worry—Wade Gray will surely reappear soon. Let’s shift our focus to the others. Ah! Viktor Krum is approaching the squid—will he awaken the beast?”
“Dumbledore,” said Egilbert, the headmaster of Ilvermorny, leaning closer, voice low. “Are there any other dangerous creatures in Black Lake beyond what we’ve seen? I mean, anything on the scale of the Merpeople tribe?”
Dumbledore interlaced his fingers across his abdomen, leaning back in his chair. His silver-white beard stirred gently in the breeze. “Ah, Egilbert. I wish I could say I knew every inch of that lake. But I cannot.”
His voice was calm, almost gentle. “The water beneath Black Lake is older than Hogwarts’ walls. Even I cannot claim to know what ancient beings dwell in its depths.”
“Then… aren’t you worried, sir?” asked Ms. Fujiwara from the Magic Institute, her paper fan delicately covering her mouth. “Your student is lost down there… or do you have a way to reach him if needed?”
The other headmasters knew the truth: the Ministry of Magic had already communicated with the squid and the Merpeople tribe. They were guardians of the treasures the Champions sought—but they were not allowed to attack the wizards who came to retrieve them. Even if a Champion broke the rules or foolishly tried to fight, the creatures would only pretend to attack, driving them out of the lake without real harm.
But this time, Aurors hadn’t accompanied the Champions beneath the surface. If a Champion encountered something truly unexpected, help from the shore might not arrive in time.
And now, they had no idea what had become of Wade Gray.
Hearing Ms. Fujiwara’s question, Dumbledore offered a quiet, serene smile. “I don’t know what lies beneath the Black Lake. But I do know my student. When danger strikes, I believe he’ll show courage and wisdom far beyond his years.”
Ms. Fujiwara smiled faintly, turning back to the mirror and smoothing her skirt.
Karkaroff let out a dry, mocking laugh. “Then we’ll just have to hope he comes back alive… though I do hope there’s no Scylla down there.”
…
Wade, swept into the depths by the vortex—no one knew how deep—finally steadied himself. Before him loomed a towering wall of pitch-black rock, smooth and slick with water.
And then, like a memory surfacing from myth, the name came to him: Scylla.
Legends spoke of a monstrous creature—six heads, twelve legs, a body as large as a mountain, capable of merging with stone walls. It could crush a fishing boat with a single flick of its limb. But Scylla was more myth than reality—like a forgotten god of the wizarding world. Tales persisted, but no one could claim to have seen it.
Wade ran a hand along the cold, slippery rock. He realized his thoughts had been mistaken.
The logic was simple: this was a canyon on the lakebed—unknown in depth, but already under crushing water pressure that made every breath a struggle. He inhaled slowly, painfully. The water around him felt thick, almost gelatinous. In his ears, the roar of his own blood pulsed like a drum. His body felt gripped by an invisible hand, every organ pressed down by unbearable force.
Only through transformation into a Merperson could he survive such conditions. Anyone else—whether wearing a bubble helmet or sporting a shark’s head—would be dead within moments.
The Ministry wouldn’t have placed the second task in such a deadly location. If they had, no one would survive.
Wade didn’t speak. He merely raised his wand and cast a series of spells, each releasing a soft glow that washed over him. Relief washed through him.
Then, with another flick, a glowing white orb burst from his wand tip, floating ahead of him. It illuminated a wide radius of the surrounding water.
Wade glanced upward at the endless pitch-black lake above, then kicked gently with his fish tail, moving away from the vortex’s grip. He didn’t dare move too fast. He drifted slowly, steadily, upward.
The water wasn’t entirely silent or dark. Strange, glowing plants pulsed with soft light. Distant, low rumbling sounds echoed through the depths—muffled, indistinct, from some unknown direction.
Then, suddenly, his motion paused.
A pale, semi-transparent figure hung motionless ahead.
Long hair, like waterweed, drifted in the current. A robe floated like smoke. The figure was neither fully real nor fully phantom—half-formed, shimmering in the dim light.
(End of Chapter)
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