Chapter Text
The first couple of hours had been fun. Exciting even. With its hidden alcoves, floating books, and faintly ominous lighting, Hogwarts library felt like the perfect place to uncover life-saving magical solutions. Then again, that might have been because his only point of comparison was Little Whinging Library. Headache-inducing overhead lights, pasty magnolia walls, musty grey carpets. If Hogwarts was where magic lived, Little Whinging was where magic went to die.
To his credit, he'd started off strong, tearing through book after book in his search for something that might help. By the end of the first week, he'd been reliant on Hermione's regular nudges as his attention slipped, and his eyes wandered off the page. He was hardly a natural scholar, but necessity bid him at least try.
By the second week, however, his natural inclinations had started to show. Rather than learn love it, like Hermione had hopefully suggested, he'd simply mastered the art of pretending to read, eyes mechanically sweeping from line to line without taking in a single word. It reminded him of being forced to mow his aunt's already immaculately cut lawn: a motion purely for the benefit of judgmental neighbours.
Speaking of which, the seat beside him was conspicuously empty. Hermione had finally cottoned on to the fact that Harry hadn't taken in an iota of Adventures with Charms: Scandinavian Edition and had stormed off in a huff after his perhaps less than tactful grumbling. But really, why should he bother slogging through if she was just going to read it after him to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
It wasn't as if he wasn't trying. He was well aware that he'd been unwillingly entered into a tournament where death wasn't just possible. It was bloody likely. And that was for the best seventh years that Europe had to offer, let alone someone like him.
Harry sighed deeply, not for the first time wishing he was a bit more like Hermione. It felt a little feeble constantly blaming his restlessness on the fragility of his perch on the mortal coil, but it felt like if he could just have one single year without the threat of death… who knew, maybe he'd discover a love for Ancient Runes or something.
He cast a quick Tempus. Half an hour since Hermione had abandoned him. Half an hour for his frustration to have simmered down, and for an uneasy guilt to have wormed its way into his chest. He groaned and pushed himself to his feet, back giving a quiet click of protest. With a wince and a roll of his shoulders, he gave another heavy sigh; he was doing that a lot these days.
Harry abandoned his post and shuffled aimlessly through the library, peering between the empty shelves. He wondered what Ron was up to.
Now to be clear, Harry was still pissed off with his best mate, but… he missed him. The past months without that easy camaraderie of his two bets friends had been tough, and Harry wasn't bitter enough to keep it going out of spite.
He fought down the urge to go and find Ron with a pout. If Hermione came back and found him playing chess or messing around in the common room, she'd go from annoyed to fuming. And as much as Harry wanted to run from the library screaming, he wanted Hermione's help even more.
A walk then, to clear his head.
The library was quiet and eerily empty. February sat in that perfect lull: deep enough into the year that study habits had started to slip, yet far enough from exams that anxiety had yet to kick in. Nobody in their right mind was here, especially with how nice the weather was today. As it happened, the first person Harry saw was another champion.
Fleur Delacour sat at a table that looked much like his own: stacked high and disorderly with more books any one person could reasonably need. Harry paused. She was still hunched over her book, so he figured she hadn't noticed him peeking from behind the shelf.
After a moment of quiet deliberation, Harry realised he'd stumbled upon a golden opportunity, hovering in reach. Moreso, Hermione wasn't around; she'd definitely scold him for what he was thinking.
Fleur had surely found more than they had, right? As smart as Hermione was, she was three years younger than Harry's competition. Harry reckoned there was a decent chance Fleur had more ideas than his zero. As Harry peered around the shelf, he squinted at the huge pile of tomes on the desk. If he could only get a little closer and see some of the titles… He knew it was a bit underhanded, a bit Slytherin, but desperate times…
"Can I help you?"
Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he choked an aborted swallow.
The girl in front of him hadn't moved from her spot, still bent over a book. But apart from the two of them, this section of the library was completely empty.
"Uh, hi."
"Looking to borrow a few ideas?" she asked coolly, finally turning to regard him with a reproving glare.
Harry slid his eyes from the books to the girl. "This is a public library. Maybe I was just out for a stroll."
Fleur scoffed and turned back around, hair fanning over her back like a blonde poncho. "Well stroll somewhere out of my sight, if you don't mind."
Harry inched forwards, step by step. "If you stay facing that way does that mean I can stroll over to these—"
Fleur snapped her book shut and moved her arm to quickly cover the title.
Harry snickered and spun around, raising his hands. "Alright, alright. Just kidding!" He perched on the edge of the desk and looked down at the other champion, who was regarding him with a very unimpressed look.
Harry gave her an innocent smile.
Fleur seemed to realise that her glare wasn't going to budge him. Really, Harry was basically immune after a childhood of the Dursleys and best-friendship with Hermione.
Harry studied Fleur with a curiosity he'd struggled to quite muster for the somewhat snappish competitor. Fleur, frankly, was the least threatening of the three older champions, and the one that had annoyed him most. Standoffish, shallow, predictable. Yet another person that seemed so eager to dismiss him. She seemed the type to dislike everyone she met on principle, and the fact that she'd removed all the chairs but her own on this enormous desk space she'd made home wasn't helping that image.
But the first task of the tournament had taken the wind out of Harry's sails when it came to resenting the other champions. Near fiery death had a strange way of relativizing your interpersonal conflicts. The other champions might be a few years older than him, sure, but sitting in the medical tent at the end of the task and seeing the burns, the hysteric families, and the shaky looks of relief… They were all just underprepared idiots at the end of the day, lucky enough to have survived creatures that could have easily snapped them up like a snack had anything gone slightly wrong.
The girl sat in the library in front of him, slumped in her seat, hair in mild disarray, and clearly too tired to muster the effort to force him to leave… In this light the glare appeared half-hearted, and the empty spaces around the desk lonely.
Harry smiled at her. "Are you bored? I'm bored."
Fleur squinted at him, but Harry noticed a small quirk of her lip that seemed to betray reluctant amusement. She pursed her lips in an attempt to deny him that knowledge, but the cat was out of the bag, and the fact was now obvious to both of them: she was bored.
She seemed to weigh at least attempting denial, before letting out a small sigh and slumping further in her chair. "I am a little bored."
Harry matched her posture and sat further back on his hands. "I may not have wanted to enter this tournament, you know, but I thought at the very least it would mean an interesting year. Battles and mysteries, right? Not bloody endless hours in the library."
Fleur tilted her head and gave him the same look of repressed amusement, as if an actual smile would break some kind of rule. "You know, you're not what I expected."
"What, not just a leetle boy?" Harry said somewhat sourly. Okay, so perhaps he hadn't completely moved on from that.
Fleur shrugged. "More like… Not a charred 'usk."
Harry blinked. "A charred what?"
A small frown creased her brow. "'Usk."
"Ask?"
"Usk."
Harry frowned. "A charred… Oh, a husk! I'm not a charred husk! You were trying to make a joke."
Reluctant amusement was back, and she let out a sharp little shot of breath that might have been a laugh. "You are a bit ridiculous."
"I might be high on book glue, honestly."
Fleur gave him a flat look and gave a feeble wave towards the table. "Well now I'm completely distracted."
"Oh, were you making good progress?" Harry tilted his head back towards the books and was surprised when Fleur made no move to stop him. Not one to miss an opportunity, Harry tried to shove as many titles as he could into memory.
"It's little use, I'm afraid," Fleur said bitterly. "I've had no luck beside the obvious for breathing underwater."
Harry hummed, while his mind did backflips and his stomach made nervous little eddies. Obvious? Breathing under water? Do go on. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, me too I'm afraid."
She snorted, pointing to her books with a quirk of her eyebrows. "Your guileless attempts to cheat make that quite obvious."
Harry chuckled sheepishly, turning back to her. "You seem less annoyed about that than I thought you'd be."
With a shrug Fleur twirled a long strand of silvery blonde hair between nimble fingers. Her eyes sparkled with something mischievous. "It seems cheating is tradition in this tournament, no?"
Harry glanced away as his thoughts went immediately to the first task, and the bitter realisation that nobody in that tent had been surprised when four mini dragons had tumbled out of Bagman's pouch. "I suppose so."
The silence of the library returned, and Harry tried not to shuffle as he constructed and dismissed in rapid succession several attempts at conversation that would somehow lead to her revealing 'the obvious for breathing underwater'.
"So…" he tried. "You wanna trade ideas?"
Fleur frowned, eyes lidded with suspicion. "You want to work together?"
Harry shrugged, attempting casual, as if his life didn't possibly hang in the balance on her accidentally revealing the apparently obvious solution that had eluded him and Hermione for weeks.
"What's the harm? As you say, it's not like anyone seems to care if we cheat. And besides, isn't the whole point of this thing to foster international cooperation or something."
"Hmm," Fleur's eyebrow twitched. "I'm not sure this is exactly what they had in mind."
Harry just smiled sweetly, while Fleur continued to regard him something akin to resignation. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to swap a few thoughts."
Harry held his breath and gave a slow blink, the only outwards sign of the furious celebration he was suppressing. Taking a moment to compose himself he shrugged, nonchalant. "Cool, well maybe you go first? Being older and all—"
Fleur poked him in the leg, and he jumped, startled. Fleur crossed her arms. "I don't think so," she said dryly. "I'm half convinced you have absolutely no ideas, being a little boy."
Harry scowled as she continued, shuffling further down out of poking range.
Fleur gave him a challenging look. "So, I would hear your idea first. And if it isn't completely ridiculous, I suppose I could share an idea of my own."
"That's hardly fair," Harry grumbled. "What's to say you won't just take my idea."
Fleur's lips pressed together thinly. "I am not the type to cheat someone of an idea."
Harry scoffed. "You just accused me of exactly that."
She merely raised an eyebrow as if to say, and?
Harry sighed, and, because she was precisely right that he was wanting to do exactly that, he relented. "Fine, I suppose you don't seem like the sort of person who would do that."
Fleur's sharp look evaporated into a beaming smile. "Thank you."
Harry cleared his throat and looked down at the pile of books, shrugging awkwardly. Now wasn't the time to start feeling bad.
"Well let's hear it then," Fleur said primly. "I admit I am slightly curious. Your solution to the first task was creative. Not even Krum thought to use a broom, or if he did, he didn't have the boldness to pit himself against a dragon."
Harry scoffed. "From what little I know of Krum he'd see a dragon and have ten criticisms on its flying technique. I'm sure he was kicking himself."
Fleur snorted, and all the while, Harry's eyes continued to dart around the table, looking for anything that might inspire him. He hadn't a single idea to trade, after all.
Merfolk Legends of the Twelfth Century and Beyond
Fishing for Wizards: A Cautionary Guide
Why Dolphins Might be Descended from Atlantis: A Literary Review
Enchantments of Some Interest: Volume CXXIII
Damn it, he had nothing!
Fleur sat patiently, back straight in her chair as she waited out the silence for Harry to begin.
He began to sweat; palms slick against the table as his brain refused to conjure anything from the void. Eventually, his mouth latched onto the first word he saw.
"Uh, enchantments."
Fleur nodded thoughtfully, and smiled politely, as if waiting for Harry to continue. But Harry simply stared at her.
Eventually she cleared her throat. "Enchantments? Do I need to pry it from you? What enchantments exactly?"
Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded, as if receiving a thoughtful question. "Hmm, right. Well…"
Harry wracked his brain. What enchanted objects did he know? Wizard chess? No, that wouldn't help. Chocolate frogs? No. The Hogwarts Express? Was that even enchanted?
Fleur raised an eyebrow, mouth opening to end Harry's only chance of survival, so he blurted out the next thing that came to mind. "B-broomsticks!"
Fleur blinked, relaxing back into her chair as her brows pulled minutely together.
"Yeah," he said, trying to distract her from the realisation that it was a terrible idea. "Broomsticks, uh… underwater. Yeah. Underwater broomsticks."
Fleur glanced up at him in surprise and seemed to regard him with some intensity.
Harry was sweating in earnest, suppressing the body wide cringe that made him want to curl up into a ball under her gaze. Oh Merlin, why had he even tried to blag his way through this—
"Well, I take back what I said about you being creative," she drawled.
Harry winced.
"Although perhaps I'm the one lacking," she muttered. "Flying a broom underwater… It would certainly solve the issue of speed. The Bubble-Head Charm might struggle to cope, but perhaps a modified version…"
Rapturous relief washed through him like a tidal wave. Harry closed his eyes to hide his glee and let out a steadying breath. The Bubble-Head Charm. Now if that wasn't the 'obvious' solution that Fleur had mentioned, he would eat his pile of books, glue high be damned.
"Harry?"
He blinked out of his euphoric daze.
She gave him a bemused look before repeating something he'd missed in his well-hidden celebrating. "Have you any ideas on how to make the broom work underwater? Or how to adapt the Bubble-Head Charm?"
Harry wagged his finger. "Now now, I can hardly reveal all my secrets, can I?"
Fleur pouted and reluctantly bobbed her head in acquiescence. "I suppose it would be unfair for me to ask any more without giving my own thoughts. But I would like to hear your ideas once I've given my own. I think this—"
Harry jumped to his feet with such suddenness that Fleur startled dropped the book she had just picked off the desk.
While Harry didn't doubt that Fleur had some interesting ideas, Harry had just succeeded in quite possibly the greatest heist of ideas this century—he was no expert on such things of course, but he couldn't think of any better. As such, he was very reluctant to admit that not only did he have no further ideas on how a broom might fly underwater, but he had also never actually realised such a thing might be possible, let alone that there was a charm called the Bubble-Head that could be used, he assumed, to breathe underwater.
Maybe it would have been more sensible to listen to whatever she had to say and then beg off any further trading of ideas, but Harry was overburdened with restless desire to dive back into his charm books and search the indexes at B. He also really was sweating and didn't want Fleur inquiring what was making him so warm given the rather brisk library air.
"You know, I just realised that I need to be somewhere."
Fleur stared at him in clear confusion. "But it's my turn to give an idea. It would hardly be fair—"
Harry waved her off. "Forget it. Consider it a gift in the spirit of international cooperation."
Fleur crossed her arms. "That's not—"
"Sorry," Harry interrupted. "Really must go. I've got a, uh… potions lesson. And I'm going to be late."
Fleur squinted in confusion. "But we are exempt from classes as champions, no?" She reached for her wand. "And isn't it lunch time?"
Harry began to back away "Uh, extra lessons. Specially for me. For the tournament."
Fleur's hands faltered and fell limply back to her lap. "Oh. I didn't realise… That's quite accommodating. Your potions teacher must favour you to offer their time like this."
"Right," Harry suppressed a wince. Hopefully Fleur never asked anyone about Harry's relationship with the Hogwarts potions master… "Yeah, great guy. Well, got to dash."
"Okay, but…" Fleur trailed off. Harry was already gone, darting through the stacks with glee.
Maybe I am the heir of Slytherin, Harry thought, fists clenched and steps bouncing. Hermione wasn't going to believe this.
And that was why Hermione found Harry lounging on his library chair as if it were a throne, with the posturing air of a warrior king of old.
"Harry," she said, giving him an odd look even as she cleared her throat. "I wanted to apologise."
Harry held up a hand. "Don't apologise Hermione."
Hermione made a show of being surprised. "Oh, well I suppose you were the one—"
"I've had a more productive last hour than the last two weeks combined."
Hermione choked. "You—you have?"
Harry gave her a smirk, and she bustled forwards to smack him on the arm. "Stop being an arse. I was trying to apologise." She peered curiously at the book open in front of him. "Have you really found something?"
Harry beamed, good mood unshakable even by Hermione's abuse. "The Bubble-Head Charm!"
He leaned forwards and stabbed a finger at a paragraph on the open charms book. "The Bubble-Head Charm is used to allow a person to breathe underwater. An enormous bubble appears around the head of the person casting the spell, which makes their features look oddly wide and stretched."
Hermione's eyes went wide. She practically launched herself into the seat beside him, reaching to pull the book over. When she finished reading, she turned to him, eyes shining. "That's perfect, Harry! Just the sort of charm you need!"
She sat back, glaring at the piles of books around them as if they'd offended her.
As Harry read the spell's description for about the hundredth time with a pleased smile, Hermione began to rifle through the stacks on his desk. "How on earth did you find it? Was it referenced in Adventures with Charms?"
Harry sunk back into his chair. "Er… not quite."
Hermione frowned, and shot him a suspicious look, hair falling quite terrifyingly over her eyes.
Harry chuckled weakly. "I went for a bit of a walk. Stumbled on Fleur Delacour."
Hermione gave him a scandalized look, but shuffled closer, voice low. "You didn't steal one of her books, did you?"
"No!" Harry said quickly, ignoring the fact that stealing her books had been within the scope of his plan. "No, she told me about it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry, why would she tell you the answer? Doesn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"
"She seemed to think the spell was pretty useless. Something about not being able to swim fast."
Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I suppose that makes sense. We've been so focused on finding something to help you breathe underwater, I hadn't stopped to think how hard the actual swimming might be."
"There's more," Harry added. "I had to trade her an idea before she would talk with me, and I made up some nonsense about flying a broom underwater."
Hermione snorted.
"I know," Harry quirked his lip. "But thing is, she actually seemed to take the idea seriously. Asked me if I had any idea how I was going to get it to work. Or how to adapt the Bubble-Head Charm to the speed—that's how I learned about it." He chuckled somewhat guiltily.
Hermione shook her head but gave him a considering look. "That's quite cunning, Harry."
Harry smiled thinly. "Just don't tell Ron. He already thinks I'm a cheat."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know why she was so interested in your idea, quite frankly. I've never heard of anyone flying underwater—"
"Read many books about flying, have you?"
Hermione huffed, shoving his arm. "More than you, I reckon. But as I was going to say, I've hardly read extensively on the subject. But if Fleur thinks the idea has merit it could be worth researching."
"She is three years older," Harry shrugged. "She probably has a better idea than us."
Hermione nodded reluctantly, as if it was a stretch to imagine that the seventh-year champion might be better read. "We'll put it on the list."
"I was thinking of asking Madam Hooch," Harry admitted. "Or Professor Flitwick, maybe."
She gently slapped his arm. "The Professors aren't allowed to help you, Harry."
"It seems cheating is tradition in this tournament," Harry muttered, echoing Fleur's words with a small smile.
Hermione huffed, but didn't deny it, which Harry considered as close to permission as he was going to get. He sat back with a satisfied smile while Hermione dragged the charms book over and began to furiously scribble notes.
For the first time since figuring out the second task, Harry was starting to feel a spark of hope. Maybe he wouldn't drown in front of the school after all.
"How can I help you, Mr Potter?"
It was the end of Charms class, and Harry had loitered around awkwardly for Professor Flitwick to finish talking to one of the Hufflepuffs. Hermione had sought his eyes with a warning look that Harry had expertly evaded, and he was eventually left alone with the Professor. Flitwick waved him over and Harry took a deep breath.
"How can I help you, Mr Potter?" he asked cheerfully. "Any trouble with the assigned work? You didn't appear to be struggling today."
Harry shook his head. "I actually had a question about brooms, Professor. I was hoping you could help or at least point me in the right direction."
"Brooms?" Flitwick's bushy eyebrows rose. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask about flying, Mr Potter. Perhaps Madam Hooch?"
"It's not so much about flying, Sir. It's—well… I was wondering if it's possible to fly a broom underwater."
Flitwick frowned in confusion, but then a small smile twitched his moustache. "Ah, I think I understand."
Harry winced, bracing for the letdown.
Flitwick cleared his throat and gave Harry a significant look. "You are interested in the variable dynamics of charmwork, and how competing environments might factor, brooms merely being a contextualised example. Purely an academic exercise, of course."
A slow, conspiratorial smile bloomed on Harry's face.
"Yes, exactly, sir. I was wondering, if you were to give an essay on such a topic—what books would you recommend?"
Flitwick brushed his moustache. "The exact workings of modern brooms are slightly beyond my expertise, but I'd wager… yes—with the right protective charms layered, I would be surprised if the impediment of a different medium stopped a broom from working."
He gave Harry a meaningful look. "In fact, I suspect an experimental approach may be the best way to explore this. Hypothetically of course. As for protective charms, I believe the current sixth year's reading list has a number of useful books."
Harry nodded. He could ask Fred and George.
The message was clear, then. Flitwick was an absolute legend, and Harry's next step would involve getting cold and wet.
"Thanks, Professor! That's really helpful," Harry said earnestly.
Flitwick chuckled and waved him off. "Good luck, Mr Potter!"
Harry waved and jogged out of the room. He had some twins to find.
Harry had a week to go and nothing but a vague idea to work with, so he wasted no time tracking down the twins.
"You want our reading list?"
"Didn't peg you for a nerd, Harry."
Harry didn't rise to the bait. "I need some of the books. For the second task. It's kind of important."
Fred and George exchanged a quick look, turning back to him with matching smiles. "Why didn't you just say so, my boy?" Fred flung his arm around Harry's shoulders.
"It was literally the first thing I said to you..."
George waved him off. "None of that matters now. Fred and I are here to help." He paused. "For a price, of course."
Harry shrugged off Fred's arm. "Or I could ask Angelina, or Alicia."
Fred held out a placating hand. "Now, now, don't be hasty." He glanced at George. "You let us help," he said. "That's the price."
Harry blinked. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. No one but Hermione had even offered.
"I mean sure," he said slowly. "But why now all of a sudden?"
George sighed theatrically. "Full confession Harry, we meant to help sooner."
Fred leant in, fingers pinched a hair-width apart. "But we were a just a tiny bit jealous."
Harry folded his arms and glowered at him. Jealous? Of what, almost dying to a dragon?
"Easy now," said Fred. "We carry no pitchforks, promise."
"We're not Ron," added George. "Didn't throw a tantrum. Just—a bit gutted, you know? Eternal glory dangled in front of us, then snatched away."
"We're over it now, though," said Fred cheerily, before Harry could snap back. "Made a small fortune on the betting pool, and it's only February!"
Harry scoffed. "Glad to know someone's making money off my near-death experiences."
George clapped him on the back. "Teamwork makes the dream work, Harry."
"But money isn't everything, is it dear brother?" Fred sighed with mock solemnity. "We find ourselves lacking a real challenge, and I say if we can't compete, helping our adopted brother survive a death trap or two is the next best thing."
"So, what do you say?"
"Help a brother help a brother out?" Fred finished.
Harry regarded their hopeful faces with a reluctantly coaxed smile. "Why not?"
"Wonderful." They both held out a hand, and Harry had to awkwardly cross his arms to shake them simultaneously.
"Now, what's the clue? Got any ideas?"
Harry launched into an explanation. The twins nodded thoughtfully at the mention of the Bubble-Head Charm, but when he mentioned Flitwick's subtle suggestion, they began to practically vibrate with excitement.
"Seems like a perfect opportunity for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to expand into the travel industry."
"I was thinking exactly the same."
Harry tilted his head. "Weasley's Wizard—what?"
Twin grins spread in perfect synchrony. "Not to worry, Harry. Let's just say this is exactly the kind of challenge we've been looking for. Now then—let's discuss specifics."
Harry was still a bit unsure how he'd ended up being wrangled into Fred and George's burgeoning empire. They'd explained their post-Hogwarts plans to him with surprising seriousness: a full-blown joke shop in Diagon Alley! It wasn't that Harry doubted their ability, acquainted as he already was with their equally mad and genius inventions. He just wasn't sure how he felt about being turned into their 'lab rat'.
In no time at all, they'd dragged him down to the edge of the lake, and Harry was learning firsthand the joys of 'experimentation'.
"Good enough, I reckon."
"I've only cast it once," Harry stuttered, voice oddly muffled by the bubble around his head. "Don't you think we should—"
"No time for caution!" Fred cut in. "The task's in a week after all!"
"I suppose," Harry muttered and swung a leg over Fred's Cleansweep. His stomach twisted in a way it never did on a broom.
"That's the spirit, Harry. Now off you pop!"
Fred shoved him in the small of the back and Harry stumbled off the pier with a yelp.
Freezing water slammed into him. Harry clamped his eyes shut and held his breath, but he was assaulted by the strangest sensation. His face stayed completely dry, even as the rest of his body was bombarded by the clawing cold of lake water.
He cracked one eye open, then gasped.
In the murky gloom of the shallows Harry drifted weightlessly, like a piece of seaweed. The bubble was a clear window, giving him an unobstructed view of the grimy posts of the pier, and the distant lakebed below. The charm's bubble shimmered around his head, and he drew a cautious breath… then grinned.
"Nice." His voice echoed oddly in the air-tight sphere.
Satisfied that the bubble was stable, Harry looked down at the broom still held between his legs. It… wasn't doing anything. He tried leaning forwards, sideways… but nothing happened.
Various failed manoeuvres later, Harry gave up and swam up to the surface.
The twins helped him climb back on.
"Didn't look too promising from up here," commented George.
Bubble dismissed, Harry scratched his head. "Yeah, it's hard to tell, but nothing I did made it move."
"Not a problem," Fred nodded sharply. "Plan B."
"There's a plan B?" asked Harry warily.
"Nothing to be concerned about, Harry. Do you really think we'd put you in danger?"
"Right," said Harry a little sheepish.
"Plan B is simple," Fred said with a grin. "Just think of it as a Wronski feint. Only, you don't pull up."
Harry blinked. Wait. They were serious.
He glanced out at the lake, still and dark as painted concrete. "You mean… just fly into it?"
"You got it," said George. "It'll tell us if the problem's starting or staying in flight."
Harry nodded slowly. That made some sense.
He drew his wand and reapplied the Bubble-Head Charm, watching the shimmering layer form over his head. Then, he mounted his broom and kicked off.
Hovering over the lake, he hesitated. The surface below glinted, green-grey and cold.
Nothing for it! He dove.
A second later he surfaced, coughing up water.
"A bit slower, perhaps?" called George from the pier.
"Love the enthusiasm, though!" came Fred.
Harry spat out the mouthful of water and silently swam back to the pier, ears burning despite the cold. So the Bubble-Head Charm had its limit. Good to know.
On his next attempt he eased into the lake more gently. Harry let out a breath as his Bubble-Head Charm held. However, as soon as he slipped into the water, the momentum of his broom died, and it floated beneath him listlessly.
With a sigh, Harry surfaced and swam back to the pier. Precious time was slipping away…
"What's the report, young rat?"
"Stopped working as soon as I got in the water." Harry wrung out his sleeves, scowling as he shivered.
Fred flicked his wand. Blissfully warm air buffeted him, and Harry sighed in relief. "Thanks."
"Perhaps not quite ready for market," Fred frowned.
"Most intriguing," George murmured, tapping his chin.
Harry stared out over the water while the twins discussed. Only one week until the task… Was this really going to work or was he wasting his time? The temptation to simply give up was strong. He didn't know if he could face even one more week in the library. If this pan out, maybe he was better off just practicing his Bubble-Head Charm and improving his swimming technique.
"Harry?" Fred asked, a sly edge to his voice.
"Yeah?" he sighed.
"Do you have a new member of your fan club, or is the French champion spying on you?"
Harry frowned and turned around. Sure enough, Fleur stood a little way off in her blue robes, arms braced against the cold.
Fred waved.
She seemed to freeze, as if unsure what to do. Then, she turned on her heel and walked quickly back toward the castle.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Had she followed him here?
"She's much prettier than you," George mused, watching her walk away. "Maybe we should offer her our services instead."
Harry rolled his eyes. "So why isn't it working? Do we have time to fix it?"
Fred clasped his hands together, meeting Harry's eyes.
"I have no idea."