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"The Dark wizards we encountered that day… they used magic that was both despicable and insidious—" Dumbledore paused, as if attempting to mask his own indifference.
"Can this be cured?" Ethan asked, his brows furrowing in concern.
"Severus has done everything he can to slow the progress," Dumbledore replied, reaching for a strip of gauze.
He wrapped it tightly around his bleeding wound, the fabric infused with magic that immediately slowed the flow of blood.
"Ethan, we must move faster. I have a feeling… I may not have much time left."
Dumbledore spoke of his impending death with an eerie calm, as though discussing something as mundane as the weather.
Ethan inhaled sharply, looking at Dumbledore.
"Don't trouble yourself, Ethan. For someone my age, death is merely another great adventure."
His tone was light, almost indifferent, but there was a shadow behind his eyes.
Then, his expression darkened. "But there is something I must ask of you."
Ethan stiffened as Dumbledore's gaze grew solemn.
"If the Horcrux fragment inside Harry remains intact by the time I die… then, Ethan, I must ask you to—" Dumbledore's words trailed off, but the meaning was clear.
Ethan's breath caught. He understood exactly what Dumbledore was asking of him.
Nearby, Snape snorted but remained silent, standing stiffly at a distance.
"Dumbledore, this is…" Ethan's voice wavered.
"You expect me to—" He faltered, his mind reeling.
Over time, he had come to know Harry, to care for him.
Now, Dumbledore was asking him to.
"I only mean for this to be a last resort," Dumbledore reassured him, steadying himself against the desk with his uninjured hand.
His strength was failing fast.
Even standing upright seemed like a struggle.
With some effort, he pulled open a drawer and retrieved a small vial filled with a luminous, milky-white liquid—White Raffard's Potion.
Tilting it to his lips, he drank deeply.
Almost instantly, color returned to his face. His pallor faded, replaced by a healthy glow.
"Now then," he said briskly, straightening his robes, "it's time we made our way to the Triwizard Tournament."
With a flick of his wand, he gestured toward a silver basin on the floor.
The blood pooled inside it ignited in a sudden burst of blue flames, burning away every trace until the basin was left spotless.
Ethan had urged him to rest, to conserve his strength.
But as expected, Dumbledore refused.
Leaning on his wand for support, he stepped forward, walking toward the Black Lake with Ethan and Snape at his side.
By the time they arrived, the crowd had already gathered. Students sat along the lake's edge, their voices a chaotic symphony of excitement and chatter.
At the forefront stood the champions.
Most of them were warming up, preparing for the task ahead. But Neville…
Neville stood frozen, trembling, as though waiting for something—perhaps dreading it.
Beside him, Snape let out a quiet, disapproving huff.
Snape reached into his pocket and fumbled for a moment before pulling out a slimy, grey-green mass, writhing like countless slippery mouse tails.
"It's Gillyweed. It will let you breathe underwater," Snape said curtly, thrusting the plant into Ethan's hand.
"Give this to Longbottom. We wouldn't want our great warrior to drown in the Black Lake," he added with his usual disdain.
Ethan nodded and turned toward Neville, who stood trembling near the water's edge.
"Professor Ethan! You're here!"
Neville's face lit up as if he had just been saved from execution.
"Professor Ethan, you must help me!" he pleaded, his voice thick with panic.
"I can't hold my breath that long!"
Ethan pressed the Gillyweed into Neville's hand.
"Eat it. It'll let you breathe underwater."
Before he could explain further, Ludo Bagman burst onto the scene.
Waving enthusiastically at Ethan, he grabbed Neville by the arm and dragged him toward his designated starting position.
Bagman then trotted toward the judges' table, lifted his wand to his throat, and performed the Sonorus charm.
His voice boomed across the lake, magnified to thunderous levels.
"Ladies and gentlemen, our champions are in place! As soon as I blow the whistle, the Second Task will begin. They have one hour to retrieve what was taken from them. Ready? One… two… three!"
A sharp whistle pierced the crisp morning air, followed by an eruption of cheers and applause from the stands.
The champions dove into the lake, their forms vanishing beneath the dark surface.
As time passed, the crowd's excitement waned.
Unlike the previous task, this one offered little spectacle—there was no way to see what was happening underwater.
People fidgeted in their seats, their enthusiasm fading into boredom.
Then, suddenly, a figure broke the surface.
A broad-shouldered young man, human from the waist down but with the head of a shark, emerged from the water.
In his arms, he carried an unconscious Durmstrang student.
It was Krum. His decision to partially transfigure himself into a shark had been a clever one.
A short while later, Fleur and Cedric surfaced almost simultaneously—Fleur cradling her sister Gabrielle in her arms, while Cedric guided Cho Chang to the shore.
Both had used the Bubble-Head Charm, allowing them to remain submerged for an extended period.
Only Neville remained unaccounted for.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Whispers turned to worried chatter, then to restless clamor.
Ethan tapped Bagman on the shoulder.
"Are they in danger?"
Bagman, initially irritated by the interruption, turned—then quickly broke into a broad grin.
After all, he owed Ethan quite a bit of money.
"Not at all!" Bagman assured him, waving a dismissive hand.
"Dumbledore would never let any student drown! Their safety is guaranteed!"
Ethan exhaled and leaned back in his seat. He was probably overthinking things.
Still, something gnawed at him.
"Oh, by the way," he asked, almost offhandedly, "who did Neville have to rescue?"
Bagman chuckled. "Harry, of course! He was thrilled to take part!"
Ethan's stomach twisted.
"What?" His pulse spiked with an immediate, inexplicable sense of dread.
"Have you informed Dumbledore?" he asked, his voice suddenly urgent.
Bagman hesitated. "We tried, but we haven't been able to reach him. No one's seen him for days."
Ethan swore under his breath. He knew exactly why Dumbledore had been absent—his injuries had kept him preoccupied.
Pushing back his chair, Ethan stood abruptly. He needed to find Dumbledore. Immediately.
But before he could take a step, a sudden commotion erupted in the stands.
At first, Ethan thought Neville had finally surfaced.
Then he registered the tone of the crowd's cries—this was no cheer.
A wave of gasps and terrified screams tore through the audience.
Ethan spun toward the lake. His breath caught.
The once-dark water had turned a deep, unnatural shade of scarlet.
Floating among the rippling waves were the lifeless bodies of countless merfolk, their severed limbs and mutilated torsos bobbing gruesomely to the surface.
The Black Lake had become a graveyard.