The morning broke like thin glass.
A pale, colourless light seeped through the narrow porthole beside Aleksandra's hammock, spilling across her blanket in a weak imitation of warmth.

Her first thought wasn't of the cold, or the Task, or even the other champions.
It was the silence.

Not the kind that comes from an empty room, but the one inside her — a silence she couldn't break.

She'd tried, of course. The moment she woke, she'd rolled over, lips parting to mutter something about the chill. Nothing came. No sound, not even a whisper. Just the faintest ache at the back of her throat, like a reminder of what she'd bargained away.

Kalina's sleepy voice broke across the room.
"What's wrong with you? You're staring like someone hexed you."

Aleksandra glanced at her, then away again, unwilling to try to explain with hand gestures this early. She only tugged her blanket tighter, hiding the twinge of panic she felt every time she remembered how long the Shell Binding's silence would last. She could not speak until she came up from the water again. That had been the rule.

By breakfast, the ship was buzzing. Excited voices bounced off the wood as students shoved into coats, scarves, and hats, ready to watch the Task. They were all talking about who would win, what kind of magic would be used, how cold the water would be.
Aleksandra heard it all like she was underwater already.

At the long table in the Great Hall, she sat between Kalina and Rhea, mechanically lifting spoonfuls of porridge to her mouth without tasting it. Her eyes kept flicking toward the Gryffindor table, searching for the familiar mop of dark hair that should have been there.

But Mateusz's seat was empty.

It wasn't alarming at first. Sometimes he overslept. Sometimes he skipped meals to sneak food from the kitchens with Colin Creevey. She kept her head down, telling herself not to make it into something it wasn't.

Halfway through the meal, she looked again. Still no Mateusz.

A cold thread began to wind itself into her ribs.

She left before she'd finished eating.
Kalina called after her — "Where are you going?" — but Aleksandra only waved a dismissive hand, stepping into the corridor.

The castle felt different this morning. Too bright. Too loud. Students were streaming toward the lakeshore already, their breath clouding in the air, their scarves snapping in the wind. Every corner seemed to echo with footsteps and chatter.

She checked the entrance hall first. Nothing.
The courtyard. Nothing.
The narrow side corridor where Mateusz sometimes lurked to ambush first-years with snowballs. Nothing.

Her steps quickened, heartbeat matching them.

She found Colin at the base of the marble staircase, both hands jammed into his pockets, shifting from foot to foot like he'd been caught somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

"Have you seen Mateusz?" she signed quickly, stabbing the air with her fingers. Her eyes felt sharp enough to cut.

Colin blinked at her, confused. "I thought he was with you."

Her silence felt heavier now. She shook her head hard.

Colin's brow furrowed. "No... I haven't seen him since last night."

Something inside her began to crack. She took a step back, looking toward the Great Hall again, then toward the doors leading out to the lake. Students were still pouring past in groups, the cold air rushing in each time the doors opened.

The Entrance Hall was thinning quickly, a flood of students pouring through the oak doors toward the lake. Excited voices rang off the stone walls, everyone jostling for the best seats. Aleksandra moved with them, though her steps were slower, more deliberate, her lips pressed into a tight line.

The stands had been erected along the shore, far grander than those used for the dragons. Wooden scaffolds climbed toward the winter sky, packed with cheering faces wrapped in scarves and furs. Their voices echoed strangely across the water, bouncing back in sharp bursts of sound that made the lake ripple as though it was listening.

At the judges' table sat Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Percy Weasley—filling in once more for the absent Mr. Crouch—and Ludo Bagman, whose grin was brighter than the banners overhead.

The other champions were already there. Fleur, elegant even in the biting cold, adjusted her cloak. Cedric flexed his fingers around his wand, jaw set. Harry Potter was pale but determined, his breath misting in the air.

Aleksandra joined them, her Durmstrang robes clinging stiffly to her from the icy breeze off the water. She could feel the small seashell tied against her wrist like a pulse. It hummed faintly in her veins, reminding her of the vow she'd made in silence.

Bagman bustled between them, beaming. "All right, all right, champions, take your places! Splendid! Excellent!" He placed them along the bank, each spaced ten feet apart.

When he reached Aleksandra, he lowered his voice. "Know what you're doing?"

She gave the barest nod. Words were useless to her now; the Shell Binding had stolen her voice until she returned from the depths.

Bagman didn't notice. He clapped her shoulder with a cheery "Good girl!" before bounding back to the judges' table.

A sudden hush rippled through the stands as he tapped his throat and cried, "Sonorus!" His voice boomed across the water, carrying over the icy expanse.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will begin on my whistle. They have precisely one hour to recover what has been taken from them! On the count of three ... one ... two ... three!"

The whistle cut through the air like a blade.

Fleur was the first to move, diving gracefully into the black water. Cedric followed with a careful step, wand raised. Harry shoved something rubbery and green into his mouth before stumbling forward.

Aleksandra, heart hammering, pressed the seashell to her lips. Her breath stilled. She let herself fall forward into the lake.

The cold struck her skin like iron. Her body seized in shock, her legs kicking against the weight of her sodden robes. For a moment it was unbearable—every instinct screamed to claw her way back to air.

And then the Binding took hold.

It began in her throat, a low ache blooming into something stranger. Her lungs no longer burned. She could breathe—slowly, evenly—as though the water itself carried air into her chest.

Her ears filled, then cleared. The world sharpened.

And through it came the song.

It curled around her like smoke, soft and eerie, rising from the deep in verses older than the castle above:

Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground.
And while you're searching, ponder this:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss ...

Her hair floated around her in a dark halo. She reached forward, hands cutting through the water. The cold no longer hurt; it was merely there, a steady weight against her skin.

The lake unfolded into shadowy vistas: forests of tangled weed swaying like drowned trees, glimmering stones half-buried in mud, sudden flashes of fish like knives of silver darting through the gloom.

Shapes loomed from the murk. Logs. Rocks. Once, the suggestion of something vast and coiling, gone before her eyes could adjust.

Her pulse throbbed in her throat. What have they taken?

The judges had said nothing. No hints. No comfort. Only the riddle.

What you'll sorely miss.

The song curled again, its voice crueler now.

An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took ...

Her strokes quickened. A stitch of dread was unraveling in her stomach.

Then—light. A glow beneath the gloom. Shapes tethered to a massive rock.

She slowed. Her heart tripped.

There, drifting like eerie marionettes in the water, were four figures. Their bodies swayed gently with the current, hair trailing like banners, ropes of lakeweed binding them to the carved tail of a stone mer-statue.

Her vision tunneled.

The first figure—fair hair fanning like silk—must have been Fleur's sister. The next, Cedric's Cho Chang. Beyond them, Harry's redheaded friend.

And in the last place—

Her chest clenched.

Mateusz.

He looked asleep, his lashes dark against pale cheeks, lips parted just enough for tiny bubbles to escape. His dark hair drifted around his face like a shadow.

Aleksandra's arms went weak. For a moment, she almost drifted backward, the Binding thrumming like a warning in her veins.

What you'll sorely miss.

She had known it from the moment she first heard the song. She just hadn't let herself believe it.

Her little brother.
Her heart.

And now he hung in the water, bound and waiting for her to fight.

For a heartbeat Aleksandra could only stare, her arms suspended in the water, her whole body trembling with the shock of it.

Mateusz.

Her baby brother, though he'd loathe her calling him that. The only soul who had known her through every mask, every command of Karkaroff, every fragile moment of rebellion. His blue eyes—so like her own—were shut, his chest barely moving with the enchanted sleep.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. A cold fury surged in her veins, burning hotter than fire could.

She struck forward, swimming hard, robes dragging at her legs as she reached the statue. The water seemed thicker here, the lakeweed ropes glowing faintly with enchantment. She seized them with numb fingers and tugged—unyielding, slick, far stronger than they had any right to be.

Her lungs ached with a strange phantom pain. The Shell Binding whispered in her blood, reminding her: Silence, or drown.

Aleksandra bared her teeth, pulling harder. Nothing.

Movement flickered at the edge of her vision.

Merpeople.

They poured from the shadows of their crude stone dwellings, skin grey-green, eyes yellow like lanterns. Spears glinted in their hands, their hair floating like drowned grass. Some laughed silently, bubbles spilling from their mouths. Others leered, pointing at her frantic struggle.

She drew her wand in a swift, practiced motion. The Binding made her silence absolute, but spells could still sing without voice. She slashed the water with it, sending a stream of sizzling bubbles into the nearest rope. It hissed, glowed—then knitted itself back together as if mocking her.

The merpeople roared without sound, spears lifting.

Aleksandra's heartbeat roared louder. She jabbed her wand again, this time at the closest merman, sending a jet of boiling water straight into his chest. He reeled back, clutching at red burns that blossomed across his scaled skin. The others snarled and surged closer, their tails lashing the water.

Mateusz stirred faintly, bubbles streaming from his lips. Aleksandra's panic sharpened into something wild.

I will not lose you.

She twisted free of a spear aimed at her shoulder, striking the attacker with a kick that cracked against its ribs. Her hair clouded around her, a banner of fury. With her free hand she fumbled at her belt, tearing loose the jagged silver dagger she had smuggled from the Durmstrang ship. Its edge gleamed faintly with rune-etchings.

She slashed at the lakeweed ropes.

One strand severed, curling away like a dead eel.

The merpeople shrieked and surged forward, three spears thrusting at once. Aleksandra spun, the dagger flashing. One spear splintered in her grip; another glanced off her shoulder, sending pain sparking down her arm. She bit down on the cry that rose in her throat, terrified that if she opened her mouth the Binding would shatter and the lake would choke her lungs with water.

Mateusz hung slack, his small hand drifting toward hers.

Her vision blurred. Tears—or the lake, she could no longer tell.

She raised the dagger again, hacking at the ropes with furious strength. Each cut felt like it drained something from her, like the Shell Binding itself was demanding more than silence. Her blood thrummed with its dark music.

A voice—distant but beautiful—rose in the water again:

But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back...

Aleksandra screamed in her head, though no sound left her lips. She hacked again—harder, harder—until the last rope binding Mateusz snapped loose.

He floated free, his body drifting upward in the dark current.

Relief crashed through her, but only for a moment—because the merpeople weren't finished. Two of them darted forward, hands clawing, trying to seize Mateusz before he could rise too far.

Aleksandra hurled herself into them with a force that shocked even her. She slammed her shoulder into one, sent her dagger raking across the arm of another. Blood clouded the water like ink.

Her chest burned. The Shell Binding thrummed harder—silence, silence, silence—while the desperate urge to cry Mateusz's name clawed at her throat.

She kicked, struck, slashed, her body a blur of defiance.

And then—miracle—Mateusz drifted beyond their reach, his body caught by a current that carried him upward toward the faint silver light above.

Her arms went weak. The dagger slipped slightly in her grasp. She wanted to follow instantly, to rise with him—but spears still hemmed her in, the merpeople circling, their teeth bared.

The Binding pulsed. Her lungs screamed.

Her brother was safe.

Now she only had to save herself.

Aleksandra's chest felt as though it were filling with fire. The Shell Binding screamed in her blood, a thousand sharp warnings: Hold your tongue. Keep silent. Or drown.

But Mateusz was drifting upward, limp in the water, and the merpeople were closing in, their spears glinting like teeth.

Her choice was no choice at all.

She kicked hard, twisting between them, her dagger slicing at the water more than at their flesh now — buying herself inches, seconds. A spear whistled past her cheek, grazing skin. Another snagged her robes, tugging her back. She ripped free with a snarl, the fabric tearing, bubbles streaming around her like glass.

Her throat burned. Her silence was crumbling.

I cannot lose him. I will not.

Her lungs convulsed. And then — against every rule of the Binding, against the old magic whispering at the edges of her mind — Aleksandra opened her mouth.

Sound tore from her in a single, breaking cry. It was not words, not language, just raw, human desperation — a scream that ripped itself into the water and shattered the silence.

The Binding snapped. She felt it like glass cracking inside her chest.

Agony lanced through her lungs as icy water flooded in. She clawed at her throat, gagging, eyes wide — then forced her body upward, flinging her arms and legs, every stroke a battle against the weight of the lake and the spears still darting at her from below.

Mateusz was drifting just ahead. She reached — fingers brushing his sleeve — and seized him, jerking him against her chest. He was so small, frighteningly light in her arms.

Please, please breathe, she begged in her head, even as her own body screamed for air.

The surface felt impossibly far. Her vision dimmed at the edges. Blood slipped from a cut on her shoulder, unfurling like ribbons in the water. The mer-song still echoed faintly behind her, cruel and haunting:

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back...

Aleksandra bared her teeth in defiance and kicked harder. Her legs burned. Her chest convulsed again, choking on water. Mateusz's head lolled uselessly against her collarbone.

Then — light.

A wavering, silver rip above her, close enough now that she could almost taste the air. She drove her body upward, one last desperate stroke, and—

The world exploded into sound and breath.

She broke the surface with a shattering gasp, dragging Mateusz up with her. Cold air knifed into her lungs, burning worse than the water had, but it was air. She coughed violently, clinging to her brother's limp form, sputtering his name against the waves.

"Mateusz—! Wake up, please, please—!"

Her voice was hoarse, cracked, but it was there. The silence was gone.

The stands erupted into cheers and cries, voices echoing across the lake. She barely heard them. All she could see was Mateusz, pale and unconscious, bubbles still clinging to his hair. She shook him with trembling hands, her tears mixing with the lake water.

For a terrible second, nothing happened.

Then — he stirred.

A sputter, a cough, water spilling from his lips. His eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused, but alive.

Aleksandra's relief hit her so hard she almost collapsed into the water entirely. She pulled him close, cradling his head against her shoulder, her sobs breaking raw into his damp hair.

"I've got you," she whispered fiercely. "You're safe. I've got you."

Together, clumsy and slow, she began to swim them both toward the shore, each breath a prayer that she had not truly shattered something deep within herself when she broke the Binding.

But it didn't matter.

She had saved him.

Nothing else ever would.

Aleksandra half-carried, half-guided Mateusz toward the judges' platform, her arm locked tight around him as though he might slip away again if she loosened her grip for even a second. His face was still pale from the enchantment, and every few steps she checked his expression, unwilling to let him out of her sight.

But if Aleksandra's fear still clung to her, it was nothing compared to the wild, desperate panic etched into Fleur Delacour's face. The French witch stood near the water's edge, her hair tangled and damp, tear tracks cutting pale lines down her cheeks. Scratches from merpeople's spears marked her arms, but she seemed not to notice the stinging wounds.

"Did you see Gabrielle?!" Fleur demanded the moment Aleksandra reached the platform, her voice breaking on her sister's name. Her wide, frantic eyes searched Aleksandra's face as if the answer might already be written there.

Aleksandra hesitated. The words pressed like stones at the back of her throat. Finally, she forced them out, her voice still raw from the Binding. "I saw her... she was well."

She wasn't sure if it was truth, or only the kindest lie she had ever spoken. She could still picture the girl—smaller even than Mateusz, with hair like spilled sunlight and skin as pale as moonlight—tethered to the mer-statue, eyes closed in that enchanted sleep.

Fleur's hands shook. She pressed them against her mouth, her breath ragged, as if Aleksandra's reassurance was the only thing holding her upright.

Aleksandra's own gaze drifted across the platform. Cedric stood nearby, water dripping from his robes, his hostage already safe beside him: a Ravenclaw girl, Cho Chang, whose dark hair clung in wet sheets to her shoulders. Aleksandra realized with a strange twist of understanding that Cedric must have surfaced while the merpeople were all busy dragging their spears toward her.

Her chest ached with exhaustion, but she only held Mateusz closer, keeping her little brother pressed against her side like a shield against the memory of the lake.

The last to break the surface were Harry Potter, half-dragging Ron Weasley beside him, and Gabrielle Delacour, her small form drifting in his wake like a fragile doll pulled from the depths.

a moment, silence fell. Then Fleur screamed.

She surged forward, collapsing to her knees on the platform as Harry heaved Gabrielle toward her. "Gabrielle! Gabrielle!" Fleur's sobs echoed across the shore, her tears mixing with the water that still clung to her sister's skin. She cradled the small girl against her chest, rocking as though she could will warmth back into her bones.

Harry stumbled onto the platform beside them, shaking his head to clear his drenched hair from his eyes. Ron coughed violently, bent double, water spilling from his mouth in great heaves. The two of them looked utterly spent, but Harry's gaze kept darting to Fleur, as if to reassure himself that Gabrielle truly lived.

Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed across the crowd.
"And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen! All hostages returned, all champions accounted for!"

The judges conferred quickly, parchment shuffling, quills scratching. Aleksandra barely heard the words; her entire body still hummed with the weight of the Binding and the memory of her scream in the water. She pressed her hand to Mateusz's shoulder as though to anchor herself.

At last, Dumbledore rose. His twinkling eyes swept across the champions, though Aleksandra thought she saw a trace of solemnity behind the smile.
"For remarkable courage and determination... Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts receives forty-seven points!"

A roar erupted from the Hufflepuff section of the stands. Cedric, still pale but steady, nodded once in acknowledgment.

"And Harry Potter," Dumbledore continued, "for not only rescuing his own hostage but also saving one he was not obliged to... receives full marks — fifty points."

The cheers this time nearly shook the scaffolding, Gryffindors on their feet, screaming Harry's name until it rang across the lake. Harry, red to the ears, ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

Then came her name.
"Aleksandra Zielińska," Dumbledore said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, "for bravery in facing the merpeople's challenge... though her methods were unconventional, and her return delayed... receives thirty-eight points."

The applause was polite, nothing like the thunderous cheers for Harry, but Aleksandra barely noticed. The numbers meant nothing. Mateusz was beside her, breathing, alive. That was all that mattered.