A trace of unusual sound reached Sherlock's ears, that voice mixed with the lake water's undercurrent sounds, yet was exceptionally clear.
He quickly turned his head. His gaze pierced through the murky lake water to see a translucent figure slowly drifting toward them.
It was their old acquaintance, Moaning Myrtle.
Two years ago, when searching for the Chamber of Secrets, this ghost had provided them with assistance.
Later, Ron had joked that Myrtle seemed quite fond of Harry, even once inviting Harry to share a bathroom with her after his death, that bizarre invitation still seemed both laughable and lamentable when recalled.
"Myrtle!" Harry's voice was far more excited than Sherlock's, and he immediately called out.
But with the scuba regulator still in his mouth, his voice could only emerge through throat vibrations resonating through the air column, transforming underwater into a string of muffled "gurgling" sounds, like weakly bursting bubbles.
Sherlock's expression remained calm as he quietly observed.
In both his and Myrtle's eyes, Harry's current appearance was somewhat funny, though his bright eyes sparkled with excitement.
Seeing this, Myrtle couldn't help but giggle. Her transparent skirt hem swayed gently with the lake water, and her laughter suffered no distortion underwater.
"You should try going that way!" She extended a slender finger, pointing toward a more shadowy area of water in the distance, her tone somewhat playful. "I won't accompany you there... I don't much like them. Every time I get close, those guys chase me around—it's absolutely maddening."
As a ghost, Myrtle could speak underwater without any hindrance, her voice as clear as if in air.
Her hint was like a glimmer of light in darkness, leaving Harry both surprised and delighted.
This was because the direction Myrtle indicated was precisely the same as the one Sherlock had previously signaled.
This undoubtedly proved they were on the correct path.
"Fantastic!" Harry shouted excitedly again, only to produce more muffled "humming" sounds.
He shook his head helplessly and simply gave Myrtle two emphatic thumbs up, his clear eyes full of gratitude.
Myrtle's gaze clearly favored Harry more. She suddenly made a bold move: swaying her ghostly form, she quickly swam to Harry's side and gently kissed his cheek.
After completing this action, her cheeks instantly flushed red, as if steamed by vapor. She then hurriedly swayed her skirt and floated away in the opposite direction.
Harry froze completely, his eyes were wide and round, even his breathing slowing by half a beat, clearly still unable to recover from this unexpected kiss.
Fortunately, Sherlock acted as if he had seen nothing, his expression still calm as he turned and swam toward the confirmed direction.
This made Harry breathe a huge sigh of relief. His tense body gradually relaxed—at least he didn't have to face this awkward situation.
The following journey was somewhat monotonous.
Sherlock consistently swam ahead, using his keen observation to avoid monsters lurking in the water.
Yet the underwater scenery seemed unchanging: masses of black water plants intertwined like a tangled jungle, swaying gently in the undercurrent.
On the wide, flat sandy bottom, many glittering small pebbles were scattered about, refracting faint light.
Occasionally, several silver fish darted past, fast as arrows, leaving only fleeting silver shadows.
About twenty minutes later, Sherlock suddenly stopped.
He raised his arm slightly, signaling Harry to halt.
Harry immediately accelerated, swimming to Sherlock's side and following his gaze to look around.
The lake bottom here was covered with large patches of black silt. The water currents stirred by their swimming disturbed the silt, raising dark, murky swirls that made the surrounding water even more turbid.
Sherlock made a gesture to Harry—palm slightly curved, pressed against his ear.
Harry immediately held his breath and concentrated.
He knew this was Sherlock signaling him to "listen."
Soon, a melodious yet somewhat eerie song reached his ears—it was the merpeople's song!
"You have but an hour / To seek and reclaim what we took"
The song carried exceptionally clearly through the water. Harry's eyes immediately brightened, his body trembling slightly with excitement.
Obviously, they were about to reach their destination!
Unlike Harry's excitement, Sherlock maintained his composure.
He surveyed their surroundings, confirmed the direction from which the song came, nodded slightly to Harry, indicating he should follow, then slowly swam toward their target.
What surprised Harry somewhat was that even though they were about to reach their destination, Sherlock didn't increase his speed, maintaining a steady rhythm as if they weren't there for a competition but to admire the lake-bottom scenery.
Even so, before long they saw a massive rock looming ahead in the murky water.
The rock's surface was rough, covered with many merperson carvings.
The merpeople held spears, vigorously pursuing several enormous giant squids—though the lines were simple, they conveyed a sense of ferocity.
Just then, the merpeople's song came again, but the lyrics made Sherlock frown.
"Come seek us where our voices sound / We cannot sing above the ground / An hour long you'll have to look / To recover what we took"
Sherlock's time sense was extremely precise.
He clearly knew that thirty-five minutes had passed since Bagman blew the whistle to start the competition.
The merpeople's song was both a reminder and a form of interference.
For those with poor psychological endurance, hearing "time past half" would inevitably cause nervousness.
Not to mention unsettling words like "what we took."
Sure enough, after hearing the song, Harry's expression immediately changed.
A flash of panic crossed his green eyes, and he unconsciously increased his swimming speed, even surging ahead of Sherlock.
At this moment, even without Sherlock's guidance, he could follow the song to find the direction, his urgency causing him to completely disregard rhythm.
Sherlock didn't stop him, merely following behind Harry while his gaze continued carefully observing their surroundings.
Soon, the surrounding environment changed: many crude stone dwellings appeared before them. Their surfaces were speckled with green algae, some of which swayed gently in the water.
Then the merpeople finally appeared.
Their skin was a dull, iron-gray color, seemingly cold to the touch.
Their dark green hair was long and wild, like tangled masses of water plants, floating freely with the current.
A pair of yellow eyes glinted sharply, carefully scrutinizing Sherlock and Harry.
Their incomplete teeth were also yellow, and when their mouths curved upward, the gaps between teeth were visible.
Around their necks they wore necklaces of pebbles strung on coarse rope, the pebbles making soft "clacking" sounds when they collided.
As Harry swam past, the merpeople all revealed ill-intentioned smiles, their eyes filled with examination and curiosity.
One or two merpeople even swam out of their caves for a better look.
They gripped spears tightly in their hands, their robust silver fish tails tapping lightly in the lake water, stirring up small splashes.
However, when Sherlock, following close behind, also swam past them and looked their way with emotionless eyes, their movements slowed somewhat. The hands gripping their spears tightened slightly, and they didn't advance another step.
Harry didn't notice the commotion behind him, only swimming rapidly forward while constantly scanning around, searching for the hostages' whereabouts.
Soon, the stone dwellings became increasingly numerous. Some had peculiar underwater plants growing around them, like small gardens.
Sherlock continued carefully observing the surrounding environment when suddenly his gaze rested on a door.
A small Grindylow was tethered beside the door, its body currently writhing restlessly.
Clearly, these two species were not on good terms.
More and more merpeople were now emerging from all directions, all curiously watching Sherlock and Harry, pointing at their scuba gear and whispering with hands covering their mouths.
Neither Sherlock nor Harry paid attention to the merpeople's behavior.
After Harry rounded a corner, the view suddenly opened up before him.
What appeared to be the merpeople's village square came into view.
Several crude houses surrounded the square, and a large group of merpeople floated in front of them.
Among them, a dozen or so merpeople formed a circle, singing in unison.
The song Sherlock and Harry had heard earlier came from them—they were calling the champions over.
Behind the merpeople rose a crude statue, a large merperson carved from massive stone.
The statue's surface was rough and uneven, yet one could still make out the merperson holding a spear with a dignified expression.
Of course, this wasn't the important part. The important part was that three people were firmly bound to the merperson statue's tail.
Undoubtedly, these three were the captains from the three schools: Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum.
However, at this moment all three appeared to be sleeping deeply. Their heads drooped powerlessly on their shoulders, their long hair floating in the water.
Their lips were slightly parted, continuously releasing strings of fine bubbles that slowly rose until they reached the surface and burst.
Their bodies were motionless, only swaying gently with the water current, appearing utterly lifeless.
Seeing the hostages, Harry's heart leaped with urgency, and he immediately wanted to rush toward them.
But when he saw the spears gripped tightly in the merpeople's hands and their vigilant eyes, his steps abruptly stopped.
Only then did he realize that without knowing it, he had already surged ahead of Sherlock.
Guilt instantly welled up—they had clearly agreed to coordinate with Sherlock, yet at the first sign of tension he'd committed his impulsive fault again.
Fortunately, he stopped in time at the critical moment, not acting too rashly.
Otherwise, once he charged forward, the merpeople would very likely have immediately attacked.
But what Harry never expected was that while he stopped, Sherlock continued swimming toward the hostages.
What surprised him even more was that the merpeople surrounding the statue didn't stop Sherlock as he approached.
They merely watched him quietly, their expressions appearing quite complex.
Seeing this scene, Harry was both surprised and delighted. His worries instantly dissipated, and he immediately followed behind Sherlock, swimming toward the statue.
Sherlock stopped beside the statue, carefully examining the ropes binding the hostages. They were woven from water plants—thick and slippery, their surfaces covered with a layer of moist mucus, looking extremely sturdy.
He tried pulling with his hands, but the rope didn't budge.
Even with his considerable strength, he couldn't simply tear the rope apart with his hands underwater.
Harry also noticed this problem. He immediately turned to look around, his gaze sweeping over the spears in the merpeople's hands, and had a sudden inspiration: perhaps they could use a spear to cut the rope!
He quickly swam toward a merperson—the creature was a full seven feet tall with a long green beard on his chin that waved about in the water.
Around his neck he wore a short necklace made of shark teeth that glinted with cold light.
However, when Harry gestured to borrow its spear, the merperson laughed heartily and shook his head.
"We cannot help," the merperson said in a hoarse, low voice.
Seeing this situation, Harry's anger rose from his heart and courage grew from his rage.
"Give it here!" he shouted—of course, what emerged was still incomprehensible gurgling sounds while trying hard to wrest the spear from the merperson's hands.
Unfortunately, his strength was no match for the merperson's.
With a slight effort, the other party pulled the spear back.
Seeing Harry's embarrassed state, the surrounding merpeople all laughed heartily.
The laughter echoed through the water, seeming particularly grating.
Harry gritted his teeth and could only give up trying to seize the spear, instead searching around the lake bottom for usable tools.
Before long, his gaze fell on two relatively sharp stones.
Their surfaces were rough and uneven, with sharp edges that seemed capable of cutting through rope.
He immediately swam over, picked up the stones, and returned to the statue's side, handing one to Sherlock.
Sherlock made an "OK" gesture to him.
This made Harry feel somewhat gratified—at least he could finally be of some help.
However, just as he was about to desperately hack at the rope binding Cedric with the stone, Sherlock took that stone from his hand as well.
"Gurgle gurgle (Sherlock)?" Harry looked at Sherlock in puzzlement, not understanding what he intended to do.
But in the next moment, Sherlock drew his wand and tapped one of the stones lightly.
That stone quickly transformed into a knife.
"Gurgle gurgle (Brilliant)!" At that moment Harry almost wanted to give Sherlock a hug.
That Transfiguration was perfectly executed!
Sherlock transformed the other stone into a knife as well, and the two immediately got to work, deftly cutting through the ropes binding Cedric.
Properly speaking, at this point they should just take Cedric and leave, but Harry hesitated.
He looked worriedly toward Fleur and Krum.
Where were the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students?
What were they dawdling about?
Why weren't they hurrying up?
Did they really intend to leave these two to die here?
With this thought, he immediately pointed at the bound Fleur and Krum, gesturing frantically to Sherlock.
Sherlock immediately understood Harry's meaning.
He wanted to rescue these two as well.
One could only say Harry was truly too kind-hearted.
However, when Harry returned to Krum's side and raised his knife to cut the rope binding her, several strong, powerful hands immediately seized him.
It was six or seven merpeople.
They pulled Harry away from Krum's side while shaking their green-haired heads and laughing heartily.
One of them even issued a direct warning: "You can only take your own hostage. Leave the others alone..."
"But they'll die!" Harry was both angry and anxious, unable to help but retort, though his voice remained muffled gurgling sounds.
With this thought, he couldn't help but look toward Sherlock.
He knew very clearly that Sherlock was a kind person.
Even if Fleur and Krum were their opponents, he wouldn't stand by and watch them die.
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