With a loud whistle, the second task of the Triwizard Tournament had begun in earnest. Harry watched his three competitors dive into the lake with unwarranted eagerness, and it was all he could do to stifle a weary sigh. He hadn't wanted to continue the tournament after learning that the second task would involve a large body of water.

The task, as with the first, was actually rather simple: all he had to do was dive to the bottom of the lake, retrieve a hostage and bring him or her back within an hour. Dumbledore had said that they'd picked hostages who were close to the competitors, and a part of him was curious to know who they'd picked for him.

His worries were centred around a well-kept secret of his. Harry Potter was a vampire, and as such, he had an aversion to water. It was lucky that the task was taking place in a lake and not a river—he really would have been done for then.

He'd worked long and hard to find a solution. Gillyweed would have been functional, but it would have required him to either remove his menacing dark cloak or keep it on and get it all soaked. In either case, the effect would have been ruined.

Luckily, he had discovered a spell somewhere in the Restricted Section that was just what he needed. With an appropriately uninterested wave of his wand, he created an air bubble around his body. He had tested it previously and he knew it to retain its effect for several hours. As he descended into the water, he idly wondered why such a harmless spell was in the Restricted Section in the first place.

The water shifted around him, leaving him smug and dry. In the minutes that passed, he gained a newfound understanding of the name 'Black Lake,' as when strolling along the lake floor, it was hard to imagine anything more grim and dark. He found it rather picturesque.

It didn't take long for him to pass the figures of his competitors swimming above his head. The fools could not hope to keep up with him. In what had to have been at most ten minutes, he'd already arrived at the merpeople's village, though it was more accurate to describe it as a set of caves that they had declared as their home. The merpeople were rather repugnant creatures, Harry thought, but creatures all the same, with whom he felt a queer sort of kinship. He returned their perplexed stares and carried on.

A crowd of merpeople was assembled around the village centre, encircling a large stone structure which, with some imagination, could have been interpreted as a statue of a merperson. Tied to the statue were four people, of which he recognized three. Hermione Granger and Cho Chang, surely Krum and Diggory's hostages, were divided in the middle by Draco Malfoy, who he presumed was the one he had been tasked with rescuing. If the Hogwarts staff thought that he and Malfoy were remotely close, they couldn't have been further from the truth.

Of course, it could have simply been that they knew as well as he did that he had no real friends, and so had simply picked one of his Housemates.

He pushed his way through the crowd of merpeople, noting that a large portion of them were armed. He received scowls, but to his surprise, none of them attacked him.

From up-close, he could see the fourth hostage, who he did not know by name. She was young, eight or nine years old at most, and had the look of a Veela about her—certainly Fleur's hostage. He made to approach her, curious, but the merpeople pulled him away. He looked back at them and saw amused faces laughing at him. The ones closest to him, on the other hand, were rather disconcerted, presumably after coming in contact with his air bubble.

"Hey, I was just looking," he said.

"You rescue your own hostage," said a particularly tall merperson.

"I will in a minute." He turned back to look at the Veela; she was very cute, even by the exceedingly high standards of her own kind. A thought struck him then—he'd never drank Veela blood. He was well aware that magical creatures tended to come in many unusual flavours. Given the circumstances, this was a perfect occasion to try out a new delicacy.

The merpeople were staring at him, waiting. There had to have been fifty of them in total. It would have been a shame to kill them all, but such sacrifices had to be made. He turned to look at the nearest merperson, who had shifted away from his air bubble.

Well… in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.

He reached out and pulled the merperson toward him. In a flash, he sank his teeth into its neck. Unfortunately, the blood that ran in its veins was about as appetizing as the flesh, rank and acidic. He felt like he'd drank a juice that had been left to ferment for too long.

He coughed and shoved the merperson aside. Instantly, the gathering was on the offensive, thrusting their spears and tridents in evident anger. He pulled out his wand and swiped his arm in a wide motion. Ripples spread through the water, rapidly engulfing the crowd. The merpeople sank into unconsciousness quicker than they had turned on him.

Now that he was sure he'd not be disturbed, he turned his attention back to the Veela. She'd been tied to the rocks with ropes of weed, which he easily cut with a Severing Charm. As was his preference when trying new flavours, he led her to a slightly more private area. There was a painful shortage of appealing locations, but the tall algae made for easy intimacy.

Once he'd reached a more secluded location, he placed a second air bubble on her, then a Drying Charm. Neglecting this procedure had been one of the first mistakes he'd made starting out—drinking the blood of someone wet, especially during the rain, only diluted the flavour. He couldn't imagine how much he'd be missing out on if he did this underwater.

He looked at her for several moments. Her wispy silver hair and peaceful sleeping face were quite appealing, but he knew his own tastes very well, and scalp blood was a terrible tasting thing. Cheek blood wasn't much better, as he found it far too bitter.

He undid her robes, exposing her pale and blemish-free skin. His favourite types of blood included forearm, thigh, breast, and of course neck, a timeless classic. Recently, he'd discovered that the blood of the navel area was the most delectable of all, and hers was a pretty looking navel. Not to mention how young she was—that always tended to improve the flavours. He was sure he was about to have a fine meal.

He didn't want to outright kill her, though his mind would be swayed if—somehow—her blood didn't turn out to be to his taste. As such, he didn't bite her, as it would have been far too deadly. Rather he drew a small cut with his wand and watched the blood seep through, running down her stomach, staining her underwear. The sight of his victims covered in blood always made them more attractive, he thought.

He pulled her close and licked the blood, right over her cut—and he could have died a happy man right then and there. It was fucking delicious. All the sweetness he'd come to expect from the navel and more, in perfect balance with the taste of iron. There was an added tang that had something of an eastern quality to it, but which he couldn't quite place—it was a reminder that this was an exotic creature, a rare find, a once in a lifetime opportunity.

He waited a few seconds, trying to regain his composure. He needed to taste more of it. He drew a second cut, wider, deeper. The blood coloured her stomach red and ran down her legs. Were it not for the rational part of his mind that so annoyingly ticked away in the background, reminding him that he had a limited amount of time, he would have stripped her bare and had his way with her right at that moment.

The second cut, if possible, tasted better than the first. Like as with the looks of the Veela, the blood was supernatural, above the flavours of a normal person, and certainly much harder to come by. With every sip of her blood, he felt the want to give into his instincts grow, but he was nothing if not strong of will. He could have well thrown caution to the wind, fucked her, bit her and left her to die, but that was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

He was a vampire, and one with a track record at that. If his secret was to ever be found out, he'd be in trouble. Not that he didn't feel sure of his ability to defend himself, but he had many hundreds of years still left to live, and he fancied living them without being prosecuted.

They just don't get our struggles, I swear.

He lapped at her blood for a few more minutes, savouring every taste. His impassive face betrayed none of the desires which he so skilfully kept at bay.

After a while, his time was beginning to run out. He'd made it a personal mission to absolutely shame all the other champions in the tournament, and he wouldn't settle for anything more than thirty minutes for this task.

After a couple healing spells, he closed her robes—grimacing at the mental fortitude it took to do so—and brought her back to the statue. When he'd undone the air bubble and tied her back, she looked as though she'd never left.

Then he freed Draco Malfoy and rose to the surface. He glanced at the giant clock hanging between the spectator stands, and grimaced.

"Forty-three minutes?" He was aghast. "Are you kidding me? I aced that shit! That was thirty-five, tops!"

Had the Veela really distracted him that much? She did taste amazing, so he supposed it wasn't out of the question. He brought Malfoy back to the starting point, and when he regained consciousness, he looked very confused. He ignored him and waited for the other champions to return.

It was well over an hour before Fleur returned with her sister, dead last, by which time he'd grown quite tired of Hermione Granger's pestering. The Gryffindor girl was exceptionally sharp and persistent, and in the past few months she'd taken to questioning him about his every little action. She had an uncanny ability to find him wherever he went. This time, she'd wanted to know just how he'd managed to complete the task so much quicker than everyone else.

"The other three are incompetent," he had said.

When the Veelas finally resurfaced, he approached them, putting on his most charming face. Fleur's sister, who he'd learned was called Gabrielle, was clinging onto her. She had a towel over her shoulders and looked quite relieved to be there.

"Did everything go alright?" he asked. "You took quite a long time."

Gabrielle looked up from her sister's shoulder and, noticing Harry, she moved and hid her face completely. He supposed she had a bit of a crush.

"Yes, everything waz all right," said Fleur. She looked quite crestfallen. "Ze grindylows surprised me. I deserve zero points."

"Don't beat yourself up too much." He sat down beside her. He would have tried sitting next to Gabrielle, but he didn't push his luck. "It's a credit to your skill that you're even here."

Fleur laughed mirthlessly. "Please. You beat ze task twice as fast as I did."

"Well—I just got lucky that my strategy worked, I guess," he said.

"But you are also a very talented wizard," she said. "And I waz the one 'o called you leetle…"

"To be fair, you were out of your element—meaning no offense. You're a Veela, right?"

"A quarter-Veela, yes."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, though many thoughts ran in his head. She and her sister were quarter Veela? He felt a shiver down his spine when he pictured tasting a full Veela's blood.

Realizing that he'd not said a word for a few seconds, he quickly spoke. "What I mean to say is—pardon me if I'm wrong—Veela can turn into bird creatures of sorts, isn't that right?"

"Yes, we can," Fleur said somewhat flippantly. He wondered if she felt insulted.

"Well, do you think that might mean that Veela naturally struggle in water environments?"

Fleur considered the question. "I've not thought of eet before. Maybe you're right."

The conversation was cut short when Bagman's voice boomed out over the lake. The judges scored each of the champions, and for the second time, Harry earned the inevitable first place. The sight of Karkaroff's scowling face as he held up a 10 was very amusing.

As the champions and hostages headed back to the castle, he found himself uninterested by the thought of the third task. The tournament had been a welcome distraction from the boring ease of daily life at Hogwarts, but even it hadn't managed to challenge him. Now that he'd tasted Veela blood, though—and only quarter-Veela at that—he found himself wondering if perhaps he was searching for a challenge in the wrong place. Maybe Hogwarts wasn't the place for him. But then where…?

He glanced at Fleur and Gabrielle, who were hanging around at the back of the group. A plan was beginning to form in his head, and a devious plan it was.

Note: Fuck Hostiel.