The stands surrounding the Black Lake were alive with noise—cheers, laughter, and the occasional scream when one of the champions broke the surface for air. Fred Weasley stood among the Gryffindors, his usually easy grin nowhere to be seen.

You hadn’t been at breakfast. Not in the common room. Not even on the grounds. Fred had been looking for you since dawn, his stomach twisted into something ugly and restless. “She’s fine,” George had said, elbowing him when Fred nearly knocked over a third-year trying to spot you in the crowd. But Fred couldn’t shake it. Something was wrong.

And then, the horn blew.

The champions dove into the water, vanishing into the icy depths of the Black Lake. Fred’s heart thudded. He wasn’t even paying attention to Harry, not really. All he could do was scan the lake’s surface and hope—pray—that this unease in his chest was just him being paranoid.

“Come on, Krum!” someone shouted nearby, but Fred’s head snapped up at the name.

Minutes passed like hours, the water eerily still. When it finally broke, Fred saw Viktor Krum rising, his powerful strokes carrying him to the dock. And clutched in his arms—It was you.

Fred’s breath caught. You looked pale and unconscious, hair slicked against your face, your body limp in Krum’s hold.

“She’s one of the hostages!” George exclaimed beside him, eyes wide.

Fred didn’t move. Couldn’t. His stomach burned with something sharp—anger, fear, a tangled mess of both. Why her? Why didn’t anyone tell me she was down there? He didn’t even realize he’d shoved his way to the front of the crowd until he was nearly on the dock, ignoring the shouts of the professors trying to keep the students back.

When Krum gently set you down on the wooden planks, Fred was there, dropping to his knees. His hands hovered over you like he didn’t know where to start—your face, your arm, the way your lips were parted as you coughed weakly, sputtering water.

“{{user}},” he breathed, voice tight. “Bloody hell, you scared me.”

Your eyelids fluttered, confusion flickering in your gaze. “Fred?” you rasped, shivering. “What—”

“Don’t talk,” Fred said, glancing up at the professors, his jaw set. “She’s freezing. Someone get a blanket!”