As a wizard with solid alchemy know-how, Dylan quickly clocked that every line of the riddle tied straight to core alchemical concepts.
He figured the judges tacked on "the great work" at the end because they worried some champions wouldn't know alchemy from a cauldron stir. Not every school drills it like Beauxbatons does.
"The great work" is alchemy-speak for the full Philosopher's Stone process.
Three big stages: nigredo, albedo, rubedo.
Dylan matched them to the mer-song riddle and everything clicked:
"You'll be plunged into perilous darkness" → nigredo.
The raw chaos stage. Ingredients break down in the dark, waiting to be reborn.
"We'll hide your treasure in something pure within something pure" → albedo.
Post-chaos purification. Strip the gunk, prep for the final glow-up.
"Do all you can to complete the great work" → rubedo.
The real meat of the task. Champions have to pull off the shift from albedo to rubedo, basically a mock run of the Stone's creation.
With the alchemy framework locked in, Dylan nailed what the "treasure you can't live without" had to be.
A wand.
For pretty much every wizard, the wand is magic. Strip it away and even pros are hobbled—especially at the bottom of a pitch-black lake full of nasties.
It tracks with wizard growth too.
Muggle-borns pre-Hogwarts? Magic exploding out of control—pure nigredo chaos.
Get sorted, get a wand, start classes? Albedo—cleaning up, building skill.
Master complex spells, handle danger solo? Rubedo—the great work of wizardry achieved.
Putting it together, Dylan sketched the task flow:
1. Hand over wands at the start.
2. Dunked into the Black Lake's depths—dark, hostile, wandless.
3. Find the hidden wand and a rubedo key item (probably a Stone stand-in).
4. Use the item to "complete" rubedo, then surface with wand + finished great work.
Mystery cracked, Dylan set the golden egg on his lap and stared out at the Black Lake.
Moonlight glinted cold off the water—like it was hiding a thousand secrets.
He knew the second task would outstrip the dragons. It wasn't just power; it demanded alchemy fluency. And the merpeople down there? They'd be the wild card.
After another minute mapping the riddle, Dylan shifted focus to the egg itself.
How did a shiny gold football pull off "play the clue only underwater"?
Magic's got tricks for that—Revealing Charms layered with light sensors and color-shifters, soaked into the shell. Dark? Fuzzy glow. Bright? Sharp patterns.
But a close scan showed the egg kept it dead simple.
It literally stored the mer-song inside.
That lit Dylan up.
The egg wasn't just enchanted—it held live mer-magic. Wizard seals + mer-energy braided together, making the egg a bridge between the castle and the lake-bed colony.
Dylan inhaled, centered, and cast Mage Sight—a high-tier spell that turns magic flow visible.
His pupils flashed pale blue.
Invisible currents snapped into focus.
A thread-thin ribbon of pale-green energy leaked from the egg's seam, pulsing like a living vein, stretching out through the common-room wall, across the grounds, and plunging into the lake's depths.
Straight to the merpeople.
"There it is," Dylan whispered.
The colony pre-recorded the chorus, transmuted it into that energy thread, and sealed it inside. Submerged? Thread activates, song plays.
To dig deeper, Dylan went quiet—then let soul magic rise.
Ancient, dark power—smelling of old stone and starless skies—flowed through his veins and pooled in his palm.
No wand. No incantation.
He touched the seam.
Black aura flared. From the thick green thread he peeled a hair-fine strand—careful, surgical.
He was stripping a soul imprint.
Old-school theory: everything leaves a mark. Emotions, memories—fine prints. A living creature? A coarse soul print.
This strand carried a crude mer-soul imprint.
A faint tremor ran up his finger. The print was locked. Needed the right "key" to open.
Dylan fed it more power—dark tendrils probing, testing.
Progress crawled. The green shell resisted like dragonhide.
He watched the slow shift, unsure how long full unlock would take.
"Huh. Interesting," he muttered, eyebrow raised.
No rush. He cut the flow.
Priority one: find a way to brew time—the ancient fuel this lock needed.
That might be the master key to the egg's final secret.
Decision made, Dylan channeled silver-black energy to his wand tip and brushed the peeled strand.
Contact.
Instant reaction.
The green filament woke, coiling eagerly around the holly like it belonged there, forming a tight energy band.
The room warped.
Common room blurred, swallowed by yawning dark—like falling into a void between worlds.
Third-person view kicked in.
In the blackness, a pale-green glow condensed. Blurry, but alive.
Look close: sometimes a single mer—sleek tail, streamlined torso. Sometimes a massive overlap of countless mers, a tribal super-entity.
Both at once. Individual and collective soul fusion.
The peeled thread tethered Dylan's mind to the glow, a lifeline in the dark.
He tested it—thought back, and his awareness slid along the thread, distance growing, space sharpening.
He held position, feeling subtle pulses ripple from the glow. Fragmented data, unreadable yet.
More exploration needed. The glow probably held the egg's endgame.
Dylan amped his focus. Perception shot backward—slow, then faster, wind-in-the-void fast.
The mer-glow shrank to a pinprick. Darkness flooded in.
A hard yank—
Light exploded.
Dylan snapped awake in the familiar common room. The egg sat innocently on its silk tray, gleaming.
He exhaled.
Hypothesis confirmed.
Digging into the egg's magic weave and the soul print behind the song beat riddle-cracking by a mile. It touched the task's heart.
No side effects, safe return—good.
But the common room was too public. Ancient magic can backfire; a stray pulse could fry a first-year or crack the egg wide open.
"A proper lab," Dylan decided.
Room of Requirement.
He paced three times. Door appeared.
Inside: stone desk, dim torches, zero distractions.
First, notebook and quill. He mapped the plan:
1. Verify soul space matches known soul planes; test free movement and detail observation.
2. Hit the mer-glow with basic detection charms—see what reactions spill.
3. Tag the glow with a micro soul print; watch for fusion or new clues.
Plan locked, Dylan set the egg center-table, raised his wand, and cast.
Smooth this time—no resistance.
Green soul strand peeled clean, coiling mid-air.
Energy surged.
Consciousness yanked back into the dark.
Third-person view rebooted.
The mer-glow hovered nearby, waiting.
But the void had texture now—chill, wet, like lake-bottom air. Invisible currents brushed past.
Dylan steered his "sense-body" outward.
Soon: smaller glows.
Left—two smoky-gray shapes, long limbs, razor claws. Grindylows.
Nearby—a segmented, brownish lump wriggling through silt. Giant leech-worm—lobalug.
Lake denizens, soul-lit.