"Was there anything left for us to discuss, Mr. Karkaroff?"
Carina made no effort to conceal her boredom. She sat with her long hair twirling idly around her fingers, posture deliberately askew—the picture of someone dragged somewhere against their will.
Karkaroff's pride was visibly wounded, though he strained to appear unaffected.
"The ball was my oversight. I never imagined Viktor would be so willful. I wouldn't have thought he'd fail to recognize a beauty like yourself, Miss Malfoy."
"It's fine. In a way, I ended up making a rather better friend because of it."
Harry's scheme had not been entirely without merit. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents had come to believe that Carina had been rejected by Viktor Krum, and that Harry had swooped in while she was still smarting from the slight.
Having a rumor circulate that she'd been turned down was unpleasant enough. But it had given her the cover she needed, and Carina could hold her head high even in front of Karkaroff.
"But you... are you quite all right? Lucius will object."
"What does it matter? It's better than going to the ball alone. And isn't The Boy Who Lived a rather respectable trophy in his own right? He wouldn't look out of place in the display cabinet at our manor."
The moment she said it—purely for the sake of bravado—Carina felt a sharp pain in her chest.
Trophy. She hadn't meant it, not truly, but the instant the word left her mouth she felt a pang of guilt toward Harry, something that carved into her like a blade. It was only an empty boast, and yet it felt as though it were cutting away at her own flesh.
Carina converted the sensation into something sharper and aimed it at Karkaroff.
"Are we quite finished? I should be going."
"No, setting that aside for a moment—"
Karkaroff glanced around nervously, as though afraid of being overheard, and dropped his voice.
"Has Lucius sent any word for me?"
He seemed to have little real interest in the fact that she was seeing Harry Potter. He still saw value in her as Lucius's daughter, and was evidently keen to cultivate that connection.
Carina's brow furrowed.
"...No. If anything, I assumed you would know more than I do. You're the headmaster of Durmstrang—surely you have ties to the Ministry as well?"
"That's true enough. But I'm at Hogwarts now. The only person who can reach me directly at the moment is Lucius."
Carina had come to understand Karkaroff well enough.
The reason he kept directing his attention and goodwill toward her was simple: he needed a contact he could use even from Hogwarts. He was the headmaster of Durmstrang, a man who had built his own sphere of influence—but Hogwarts was foreign territory. He had no informants here, no network of any kind, and the uncertainty was eating at him.
"Has Lucius said anything about... the Dark Mark?"
Desperation is what happens when a man is backed to the edge of a cliff. His choices narrow to the extreme. Jump, or break through.
And the more desperate he becomes, the simpler it is to move him. Open one of the two paths, and he'll find his own way through.
"My parents tend to spare me anything they think might worry me. Their letters always say not to fret. If you're curious, why not write to my father directly?"
"...Ah, well, writing to Lucius directly is rather awkward for me, you see. I am the headmaster of Durmstrang, and Lucius is a governor of Hogwarts, after all."
The reluctance in his voice was unmistakable. Carina caught something suspicious in it.
It wasn't as though he lacked owls. So why wouldn't he write directly? Was there something that made direct contact uncomfortable?
Karkaroff was a traitor to the Death Eaters; her father was still among them. Perhaps that distinction was precisely what made direct correspondence impossible.
Either way, she judged it exploitable. Carina let her voice trail off with deliberate vagueness.
"Hmm, the truth is, I've been rather reluctant to write to my parents myself—I'm not quite sure how to explain things about Harry..."
First, let the hope deflate. Then offer just enough of an opening that he feels he must seize this lifeline before it's cut.
"But if you're curious, I can ask my father on your behalf. I'll have to write to him eventually."
"Thank you, Miss Carina! Truly, thank you!"
Carina accepted Karkaroff's farewell and disembarked from the ship. He had already forgotten entirely that she was seeing Harry Potter—it seemed to register as barely worth noting. He showed no particular wariness about the fact that she might use that relationship to work against him.
Had something more pressing than the Triwizard Tournament come to occupy him? What could it be? Was he, like everyone else, bracing for Voldemort's return—just as the Dark Mark had reappeared?
"...No. Harry said he defeated him. Everything will be fine now."
In truth, she had lied to Karkaroff.
Lucius had already sent her a letter of warning.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Keep a close eye on Karkaroff's movements, Carina.
The Dark Mark has been growing darker. I cannot say with certainty what it means. One might think He is attempting to return, yet no one has received a summons. Still, everyone is keeping their heads down and watching the situation carefully.
My own belief is that whoever cast the Dark Mark into the sky at the Quidditch World Cup is playing games with it—trying to provoke us, or perhaps to threaten us.
Who on earth would do such a thing.
Your father is fine. Do not worry.
But Karkaroff will be more unsettled than anyone. His life is at stake in this, and he will be doing everything in his power to make sense of the situation.
Keep me informed of his movements.
And I say this only as a precaution: remember what the Dark Mark signifies, who our master is, and who our enemies are.
Take a moment to compose yourself and think clearly about who your friends are and who your enemies are. This is not a matter that concerns only you.
I do not believe the rumors that you have been keeping company with someone as presumptuous and ill-bred as Harry Potter—but I mention it all the same, just to be certain. Do not grow close to that boy.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
And it had now been a full month since Carina received that letter without sending a reply.
Lucius had sent more than ten letters since then, and Carina had not answered a single one. His patience was surely burning to ash by now.
But the time had come to write back, it seemed.
Carina quickened her pace toward Hogwarts.
Whatever anxiety Karkaroff and Lucius might be nursing was beside the point. Carina was living through the most enjoyable stretch of her four years at Hogwarts.
"You're finally together? I told you. There was something off about the two of you since last year's Quidditch match. I could see it—the way you kept watching each other even while competing."
There were those who claimed they'd known all along.
"Since when, exactly? Malfoy and Potter were always at each other's throats!"
There were those hearing it for the first time.
"That can't be right. Carina would never..."
And there were those like Pansy Parkinson, who knew perfectly well and refused to accept it.
Whatever Parkinson's feelings on the matter, Carina was quietly surprised by how many people had apparently seen it coming. Barnette Crabbe and Gray Goyle in particular went around boasting that they'd known for ages, and every time they did, Carina would flush with embarrassment and find somewhere else to be.
Harry, however, seemed entirely immune to embarrassment, and had a habit of appearing at her side at the most unexpected moments.
"Carina! I need to figure out the secret of the golden egg—will you help me?"
Since the ball, Harry had learned something about how to present himself. His hair, swept back in artful disarray, gave him an air of easy freedom. His open, bright face wore a smile that seemed perpetually warm and approachable—yet the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead lent a harder edge to the impression, a reminder of something fiercer beneath the surface.
One thing, at least, was certain: that smile was hers.
Harry approached with his handsome face lit up.
"I found a clue. With your help, I think we can crack it quickly."
"Again? Harry, do you have any idea how much time I wasted on your last pointless investigation?"
Carina gestured at the golden egg in his hand. It had been a month since the ball, and that month had not been spent on romance alone.
She had gone to the library with Harry to search for references, cast detection spells to check for enchantments, and—in a moment she preferred not to dwell on—had actually sat with the golden egg tucked against her for a full hour on the theory that it might need to be incubated.
All of it had been done with Harry beside her, but the point stood: it had not been purely romantic.
Harry shrugged.
"This time I really have found a clue. Water holds the answer."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely. I just need your help."
"I suppose I have no choice."
Carina swept her hair back and rose from her seat.
She didn't dislike spending time with Harry, and so she tended to agree to these requests readily enough when nothing else was pressing. Barnette and Gray had also been quietly considerate about giving them space.
Gray grumbled.
"Fine, you're together—but shouldn't you be getting tired of each other by now?"
"Don't say that, Goyle. It's time to let Malfoy fly from our nest!"
"When was I ever in your nest?"
Carina shot them both a withering look and moved to join Harry. He held the golden egg in one hand and offered her his arm.
"Crabbe, Goyle. We'll be—"
At that moment, an owl swept in through the window and dropped a letter at Carina's feet before settling beside her with an air of solemn authority.
It was the great horned owl from the Malfoy Manor owlery. Carina recognized it immediately and her expression soured.
"Another letter. How many is this now..."
She moved to pocket it without opening it. The letter promptly slipped from her fingers and flew up directly in front of her face.
Carina's eyes narrowed.
"A Howler?"
A Howler. The thing Hogwarts students dreaded most—typically sent by parents to scold their children publicly for some serious transgression.
Ignoring letters for a month was certainly grounds for one. Still, Carina was startled. Her parents prized dignity above almost everything. That they had resorted to a Howler was remarkable in itself.
"Good heavens. It's a Howler!"
"Malfoy, run!"
Barnette and Gray called out in alarm. Carina set her jaw and faced it squarely, as if daring it to do its worst. The Howler contorted into something resembling a face and began to speak in Lucius's voice.
"Carina. When your father and mother write to you, the least you can do is reply. Your mother is very worried. You will write back the moment you receive this. I have instructed the owl to wait until you have done so."
Then it burst into flame and was gone.
Barnette stared at the smoldering remnants.
"That was the most softly-spoken Howler I've ever witnessed."
"Honestly, that wasn't so much a Howler as it was a plea. Please, just write back."
It was entirely in keeping with parents who could never bring themselves to speak harshly to their daughter.
Whatever the contents, a Howler was, by any parent's reckoning, a last resort.
Carina lifted her arm for the great horned owl to perch on and reached for her bag.
"Give me a moment. If I don't send a reply, this owl is going to follow me around all day."
"Shall I help you write it? I've had a few things I've been meaning to say to Mr. Malfoy."
"Absolutely not."
Carina rebuffed him and drew out ink and a quill.
[I'm sorry for not writing. I've been busy spending time with a new friend. As Father said, I got a bit caught up in the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament—I'm sure it will pass with time. So there's really no need to send quite so many letters.]
The tone was unmistakably defiant. Carina paused after writing that much, considered for a moment, and added a few more lines.
[Mr. Karkaroff seems rather anxious. It might be worth writing to him separately. Thank you.]
"There."
Carina tied the letter to the owl's leg. The great horned owl let out a long, resonant cry and launched itself through the window.
Watching it go, she fully expected more letters to follow. Her parents would not be satisfied with this.
But none of that mattered right now.
Time was short and moved too fast. Since going public with Harry, each day had felt like drifting through clouds—weightless, slightly unreal.
Harry said, "I should probably start drafting a letter to Mr. Malfoy myself, come to think of it. I will be taking good care of your daughter. Thank you for raising her so beautifully."
"The nerve. Father would collapse if he read that."
"That's rather the point."
"Stop it. He's still my father."
Even as she said it, Carina let a small smile slip through.
Harry was consistently, quietly considerate of her—and more than a little inclined to put her on a pedestal. He said embarrassing things without a trace of self-consciousness, and when she rebuffed him he didn't wilt; he smiled. She liked that confidence. It occasionally worried her, how unshakeable it was.
Carina Malfoy had never had a type. She was herself the standard, and people were simply sorted into those who measured up and those who didn't.
Harry Potter, by that measure, was... borderline. No—he cleared it, with a modest margin to spare. He was one of the very few people capable of making even Carina genuinely enjoy herself.
"So. You said you'd cracked the golden egg's secret. Show me."
"Not here—it only works in a specific place."
"Where?"
"Hmm. I'll need to explain a bit about this."
Harry strode down the corridor, tossing the golden egg into the air and catching it again with casual repetition. Had he dropped it, a blood-curdling shriek would have echoed through the halls—but he seemed entirely unbothered by the prospect.
"Actually, it was Cedric who told me the secret. I'd told him about the dragons before the first task, so he returned the favor and gave me a hint about the egg."
"Cedric Diggory? Wait—you told him what I found out?"
"It wouldn't have been fair if only Cedric didn't know."
"How is that unfair? That's called a lack of ability! Does anyone think a little fairy flew up and whispered hints in my ear? I researched, investigated, and reasoned my way to that information!"
"I suppose I was your fairy, just as I was his. Don't worry about it. We competed fairly and I still came out with the higher score... little pine tree."
Without quite noticing, they had come to a stop before the statue of Boris the Bewildered. Harry spoke the password, and the door behind it swung open with a thud. He stepped inside with the golden egg, and Carina followed without a second thought.
It was only after three steps that she realized where she was.
The Prefects' bathroom.
A chandelier thick with glowing candles cast a warm, diffuse light over the room. Every surface was white marble. In the center of the floor sat a bathtub the size of a swimming pool.
Along its rim ran a hundred golden taps, each handle set with a gemstone. Silk curtained the windows; gilt-framed paintings adorned the walls.
Even the Malfoy Manor had nothing quite so extravagant. Carina cleared her throat.
"Ahem. The Prefects' bathroom is rather impressive. Tedious and thankless as the role is, this bathtub alone might make it worth becoming a Prefect..."
She stopped.
The Prefects' bathroom was a bathroom.
A bathroom was a place for bathing.
And Carina and Harry were in a bathroom. Together.
Clunk.
Harry had turned on one of the taps. Colored foam poured out in cascades, filling the tub rapidly. He looked impressed.
"A hundred taps—no wonder it fills so quickly."
"Th—this—no, no, no!"
Carina wrapped her arms around herself and stumbled backward, defensive as though a werewolf had just stepped into the room. Her voice rang off the ceiling and floor.
"It's—it's too soon for this sort of thing! And of all places, the Prefects' bathroom—this is a bit—!"
"What exactly are you imagining, Carina?"
Harry looked at her as though the very idea were absurd.
"The floor is hard and slippery. You'd hurt yourself. I have no intention of doing anything in a place like this."
"Oh... hmm?"
Carina nodded, conceding the logic—and then felt a faint unease settle over her. Harry hadn't said no. He'd said the circumstances weren't right. He was deferring, not declining.
Which means, if the floor weren't hard and slippery, he would...
She was still tilting her head, unsure whether to be pleased or offended, when Harry produced the golden egg.
"Right. More importantly—let's see if what Cedric told me is actually true. Impervius!"
He cast a waterproofing charm on his clothes, then plunged straight into the water with the egg. He must have opened it beneath the surface, because the water bloomed golden and a faint, melodic singing drifted upward.
It was as though the entire bathtub had become a resonating chamber. Carina experienced the rare sensation of seeing music with her eyes. Golden notes rode currents of water like a staff of liquid lines, and when they reached the rim of the tub, sound-filled bubbles burst softly against her, each one a small delight.
There was something singular about music made of water. Carina leaned closer to the surface, wanting to hear it better. The ends of her long hair dipped in.
She should have remembered: the floor was hard and slippery.
"Oh."
Carina fell into the tub.
In truth, even as she slipped, she wasn't particularly alarmed. The tub only came up to her chest. She could simply find her footing and stand.
Her clothes would be wet. Mildly irritating. Nothing more.
"Carina!"
Harry flung the golden egg aside and lunged toward her, pulling her into his arms. Carina's feet were already on the bottom, but he held her as though she'd gone under, and she blinked at him in startled silence.
It was excessive. It was unnecessary. She had been perfectly safe without him, and perfectly capable of standing on her own two feet.
Slipping over the edge of a bathtub was nothing. A damp set of robes, that was all.
And yet—why did unnecessary worry feel so welcome? The warmth spreading through her chest had nothing to do with the temperature of the water. The color rising in her face had nothing to do with the steam.
Carina let her balance shift, deliberately, and leaned into him.
Harry seemed to realize she had never been in any danger, and his expression turned faintly sheepish.
"Your clothes are completely soaked."
"...So they are. The music was distractingly good."
In the center of the tub, golden light still rose like a fountain. Carina was inside the music now. Sound moved toward her like wind, then swept past and dissolved behind her.
[*Come and find us... one hour, only one hour. Follow the singing and come to where we are. To where your most precious thing is kept... you must hurry. Wait too long, and it will burst like a bubble and be gone.*]
Carina pushed her wet hair back from her face.
"What does it say?"
"It's asking us to come to the bottom of the lake, following the singing. Something precious will be kept down there—we have to retrieve it within an hour."
"I see."
Strange.
They had spent a month combing through the library for this, had finally tracked it here to the Prefects' bathroom—and yet somehow, right now, the task felt like news from another country entirely.
A moment ago she had been lost in the music. Now she could hear nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat.
The feeling that the whole world had become a backdrop. The same dizzying enchantment she had felt at the ball came back to her now.
Harry seemed to feel it too. He made no move to retrieve the golden egg floating nearby.
"I'm not sure I need to go looking for anything. I've been thinking I might sit out the second task—or give up at a convenient moment."
"Why?"
"What's most precious to me is already here."
The arm around her shoulders tightened, just slightly. Carina gave a quiet scoff.
Harry had a habit of saying things that were embarrassingly earnest, and Carina—who was not averse to being adored—found she didn't mind it.
Or perhaps he said such things precisely because she didn't mind.
"Besides, I've heard the lake bottom can't be seen from the surface. If someone attacked me down there, help might not come in time."
"...That is a problem."
"Exactly. The fake Moody could be lurking at the bottom of the lake. In a way, it might even be an opportunity—if he's been hiding down there, he'd come up soaking wet, which would give him away... but there's another problem."
"What?"
"I can't actually swim."
The mundane conversation was a mutual deception—a way to keep the moment at arm's length. The instant they stopped talking, they would have to acknowledge just how strange and flustering it was to be standing here, holding each other, in a bathtub.
"Vernon, my uncle, used to lock me in the cupboard whenever the family went to the pool or the beach in summer. I've never been in water higher than my ankles."
"He locked you in a... cupboard? You said your aunt and uncle are Muggles?"
"They are."
"Muggles daring to imprison a wizard? Do they have any idea how great and terrible magic is?"
"I'm not sure that entered into it. They knew I was a wizard's child and did it anyway."
"...If I ever have occasion to meet them, I'll personally see to it that they're properly cursed. The audacity—"
"Don't."
"Why not?"
"Don't. He's still my uncle."
The conversation ran dry. Reality pressed in too close to ignore any longer. Her wet clothes clung to her, heavy and confining.
Harry looked away.
"We've solved the golden egg's secret. Shall we head out?"
"...My clothes are soaked. I can't go out like this."
"Fair point. What was the drying spell again..."
Carina caught his collar and spoke quietly.
"So—just until the clothes dry..."
The Prefects' bathroom had large, plush dressing gowns. It had windows that let in warm, dry air. Until their clothes were dry—only until then—the two of them stayed.