What really grabbed Dylan's attention were the faint, thread-like energy strands stretching from the Grindylow and Lobsta shadows, each one connecting precisely to the mermaid glow.
Judging by the flow, the mermaid was the hub—those threads like invisible leashes, yanking the others into line. It felt exactly like a rancher roping cattle: total control, zero question who's boss.
Beyond the magical critters, Dylan spotted smaller flickers—clusters of colorful, streamlined blobs flicking transparent tail fins. Bubble fish. And swarms of tiny silver specks schooling together: regular old lake fish.
Those everyday fish sometimes shot out threads too, but unlike the Grindylows and Lobstas, theirs didn't link to the mermaid. They arrowed straight up, piercing the ceiling of darkness and vanishing into… somewhere.
Dylan tried pushing his range further, but an invisible wall locked him in place.
No matter how hard he strained, he couldn't drift more than thirty feet from the mermaid. It felt like being tethered to a post.
While tracing the fish threads, a ripple pulsed from above.
He snapped his gaze upward—just in time to see a massive gray blob streak past. Easily fifty feet across, dozens of thick tentacles whipping out energy like live wires.
One tentacle slammed downward, the shockwave rippling the void. Then the thing rocketed off into the dark.
Giant squid.
Even with the range limit, Dylan had enough to piece it together.
This wasn't the real Black Lake floor, but a mirror of it—a shadow space.
A perfect reflection of the lake, sustained by the lake. Every creature, every plant down there had a glowing echo here. And the stability of this place proved the real lake was still kicking.
Of course, this was just his working theory.
Like soul studies, you build a framework from what you know. "Shadow space" fit the data best.
Following that logic, the creature glows made sense: mermaid, Grindylow, Lobsta—each a condensed snapshot of their species, blending group traits with individual flickers. You see the flame and the sparks.
That push-pull of whole-and-part was the hallmark of shadow-space bleed.
Good news: the tether didn't block spellcasting.
Dylan aimed his wand-consciousness at the thread between mermaid and Grindylow—the "taming" link.
A soft snip of dark light, and the strand parted. The taming imprint floated free, a faint gray sigil pulsing with power.
He could feel the logic inside: the exact magical sequence the merpeople used to dominate Grindylows and Lobstas.
Bring that back to the real lake? He could leash those monsters himself.
Jackpot.
The wonder of this place lit a fire under him.
Time to experiment.
First up: Patronus. Soul magic, positive vibes—how would it play here?
"Expecto Patronum!"
Warm gold burst from his awareness, coalescing into a sleek, shimmering pixiu—his Patronus.
Except this time, a thin thread trailed from its rear, shooting upward like the fish lines, vanishing into the dark.
Dylan's mind raced.
If he was right, that thread led to wherever he'd last cast a solid Patronus—probably the Gryffindor common room.
The charm only locked into a clear form when it hooked a real memory. Otherwise, you just got a blob of happy juice.
This jived with transfiguration theory: spells grab imprints. But where do they grab them from?
Right here. Shadow space.
Those threads? Magical conduits—bridges between caster and imprint.
Still just a hypothesis. Needed more tests: different Patronuses, transfiguration attempts, the works.
Most wizards pegged Patronus as "fancy Dementor repellent." And yeah, it's clutch for that.
Silver light, warm vibes—Dementors hate it. No other shield comes close.
But dig into soul magic, and the charm gets weird.
Case in point: Dylan's pixiu was interacting.
Its silver glow rippled outward, gentle but magnetic.
Grindylow shadows slowed their twitchy darting, drifting closer. Lobsta blobs inched along the energy wake. Even the still plant fronds started swaying faster, like they were answering.
Dylan knew why: pure positive emotion, weaponized.
Most living things are drawn to it. Dementors? They feed on despair, so it burns them.
Here, the shadows were reacting the same way.
He fed more magic into the pixiu. The glow flared—still soft, never harsh.
More shadows swarmed: silver fish schools, bubble fish with rainbow tails. Even the giant squid paused overhead, tentacles tasting the light before slipping away.
Then a wild idea hit: What if I lace it with dark magic?
He pulled a strand of silver-black energy and wove it in.
The glow brightened, but stayed gentle.
New reaction.
Plant fronds sprouted tiny green threads, creeping toward the pixiu and linking up—energy vines.
Fish shadows extended silver lines, syncing pulses.
The closest mermaid, Grindylow, and Lobsta shadows hesitated, then sent out pale threads—not the thick taming ropes, but tentative feelers, hovering inches away like they were testing the vibe.
Dylan felt his own magic flowing into the Patronus through some unseen channel, stabilizing it.
He cut the feed.
The pixiu faded to a translucent ghost, still floating.
But it wasn't residue—it was new.
Faint threads now linked the ghost-pixiu to the mermaid cluster—shaky, pale, ready to snap.
Dylan brushed one mentally: energy flowed, but weak.
This is nuts.
He stared at the ghost.
"Patronus works because it's soul made visible," he thought. "Happy memory + pure emotion = soul energy given shape."
"Here, no physical interference. The effect is clean."
Then the dark-magic twist: "That ghost? It's the charm stripped to essence. And it's hitting the mermaid shadows on a memory level—triggering connection."
A new theory sparked.