The next morning dawned cloudy and still, the sky casting a silvery light across the castle grounds. Students bustled through the corridors, still whispering about the three-headed dog rumor that had begun to circulate, though none could trace it back to a source. Those who had seen it weren't talking. Not yet.
Amaechi stirred in her bed before sunrise. Dreams had haunted her sleep—half-sung melodies echoing through deep waters, luminous shapes swirling just out of reach. The pulse beneath the lake, the hum in her blood, had grown louder. And more insistent.
After breakfast, she drifted alone toward the Black Lake, unable to resist its silent summons. The early fog clung to the surface, shrouding it like a veil. She stood at the edge, hands tucked into her robes, watching.
Something was down there.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
She touched the shell pendant beneath her blouse—a quiet gift from her grandmother, soaked in protective runes. She remembered her family's words before she left: When the waters speak, do not run. Listen.
"Oi."
She turned, half-expecting Draco, but it was Blaise Zabini.
"You've been coming out here a lot," he noted, hands in his pockets.
"I like the quiet," she replied.
"Sure you do." He gave her a sideways glance. "But I'd watch my back. Rumors are flying, and not everyone in Slytherin likes how you carry yourself."
Amaechi met his gaze. "Good."
Later that day, Defense Against the Dark Arts was a blur—Professor Quirrell stammering about gh-gh-ghoul repellent while Neville accidentally spilled dragon's blood ink over Seamus.
But Amaechi's mind was elsewhere.
It wasn't until Potions class that she was brought back to the present.
Snape swept into the dungeon, cloak billowing, eyes already narrowed as if someone had personally offended him. Which, knowing Snape, was everyone.
"As you are all tragically aware, potions are delicate," he began silkily, pacing the front of the room. "They require precision. Patience. And unlike spellwork, they do not tolerate flair or flattery."
Harry, seated beside Ron, straightened in his seat.
Snape's gaze zeroed in on him instantly. "Mr. Potter. What is the essential property of a bezoar?"
Harry blinked. "It protects against most poisons… sir?"
Snape's smile was razor-thin. "Correct. A miracle."
He stalked forward. "And what is the primary use of wolfsbane?"
Harry hesitated. "It's… used in a potion for werewolves?"
Snape gave a slow nod. "Correct, again. And how does powdered root of asphodel react when added to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry looked blank. "I… don't know, sir."
Snape's eyes glittered. "Clearly. One can only assume the books are invisible to you."
Hermione opened her mouth, then thought better of it.
Snape turned sharply. "Five points from Gryffindor for lack of preparation."
Several Slytherins snickered, though Amaechi merely rolled her eyes.
She noticed Draco smirk to himself—part enjoyment, part exasperation. Later, while they sliced valerian roots, he leaned closer.
"He really has it out for Potter," he murmured.
Amaechi didn't look up. "It's obvious."
"But Potter makes it easy."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "And you don't?"
"Touché."
After class, Draco fell into step beside her as they headed back to the common room. He walked in comfortable silence for a moment, then said, "You don't flinch around Snape."
"I've seen worse."
"Worse than him?"
Amaechi smiled faintly. "My grandmother once summoned a Moke spirit to frighten a Ministry official. I was six."
Draco's laughter echoed in the corridor.
It felt easy. Familiar.
But just as they neared the common room, she felt it again—a pulse beneath her ribs. The lake, calling.
And in the shadows behind the torches, something shimmered. A flicker. A flash of scaled light.
Amaechi stopped, eyes narrowing. When she turned, there was nothing there.
But she knew she was being watched.
That night, drawn once more to the edge of the lake, Amaechi stepped into the shallows. The water lapped at her boots, strangely warm.
A ripple, then a glow.
From beneath the surface, a face emerged—not human, not beast. Its eyes were wide and ancient, the shape reminiscent of a Siren's—elongated pupils glowing like twin moons.
::Daughter of Depth,:: the creature spoke—not aloud, but into her mind. ::You walk with closed ears. Yet the song is in your blood.::
Amaechi's heart raced. "What are you?"
::We are kin. Long sealed. Long forgotten.::
"What do you want?"
::To remember. To awaken. To guide. But beware… others seek to bind what you are.::
The glow faded, the creature slipping back into the depths like a whisper.
Amaechi stood still, drenched in moonlight and awe.
She was no longer just a student.
The waters had claimed her.