Harry's eyes widened with fascination as he stared at the golden egg suspended within Adrian's magical bubble. It floated with in the sparkling water, its damaged surface was refracting the office's lamplight into broken rainbows across the walls.

The sight was simultaneously beautiful and ominous.

"Under normal circumstances, this puzzle should be solved through your own imagination and perseverance," Adrian explained. "However, given that your egg is on the verge of explosion and likely beyond repair, we are in rather exceptional circumstances."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the bubble began to tremble with its surface rippling with increasing instability. The water inside shook as if stirred by invisible currents.

Before Harry could fully process what was happening, the golden shell burst apart underwater, its fragments spreading out in slow motion.

Adrian quickly waved his wand, creating an invisible barrier in front of Harry.

The exploded shell fragments passed through the magical bubble's membrane and struck Adrian's protective barrier. The pieces clattered harmlessly to the office floor, creating a scattered collection of golden debris around their feet.

"Situational awareness, Harry," Adrian said mildly. "Since we already knew, it was going to explode, why didn't you prepare for it?"

"Well... you were here, Professor," Harry said sheepishly, scratching his messy hair with embarrassment.

Adrian's stern expression melted into one of amusement. "Well, I can't argue with that."

Both turned their attention to the floating bubble, where something extraordinary was taking place. The water that had once been clear now glowed with a deep, oceanic blue color. Silver points of light swirled within the liquid like starlight.

"Magic is always wondrous," Adrian said. "It allows us to preserve and contain things that have no physical substance—sound, emotion, memory. Though I must admit, Muggles have developed their own methods for sound preservation, albeit through totally different principles."

He paused, studying the swirling patterns within the bubble with interest. "Are you prepared, Harry? This clue will only be audible once—the containment spell will dissipate immediately after the message is delivered."

Without waiting for Harry's response, Adrian raised his wand. A crack appeared at the bubble's top, so thin it was barely visible to the naked eye. Through this tiny opening, something began to emerge.

The sound that flowed from the magical container was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. An ethereal, haunting song was flowing out, echoing throughout the office:

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching, ponder this:

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour— the prospect's black

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

When the last note faded into the air, Adrian clapped softly.

The merpeople's song was indeed beautiful when magically translated—listening to the original would probably sound like a hundred cats scratching on a blackboard.

With a casual gesture, Adrian dismissed the containment spell. The glowing bubble dissolved into countless points of light that drifted downw like fallen stars, leaving behind only a small puddle of faintly glowing water that seemed reluctant to surrender its magical properties.

"The clue has been delivered, Harry," Adrian said, tucking his wand back into his robes with a satisfied air.

Harry remained seated, his brow furrowed in the intense concentration of someone grappling with a particularly complex puzzle. His lips moved silently as he repeated fragments of the song, trying to sear every word to memory while simultaneously analyzing their meaning.

"What does this song actually mean?" He asked lastly. "And this phrase about 'what you'll sorely miss'—what could that possibly refer to?"

"I'm afraid that particular mystery must be unraveled through your own intellectual efforts," Adrian replied with a slight smile. "However, I would strongly recommend writing out the lyrics immediately while they remain fresh in your memory. The second task will undoubtedly require long preparation, and this song contains all the information necessary for success—if properly interpreted."

Harry nodded with solemn determination.

The next day at noon, Adrian suddenly realized he hadn't yet told Harry and Cedric that he had become the Triwizard Tournament Supervising professor.

As he passed through the sixth-floor tapestry corridor, he happened to encounter Cedric coming out of the prefects' bathroom, his hair still dripping with water.

"Good afternoon, Professor Westeros," Cedric said as he approached Adrian.

Adrian's eye immediately evaluated the situation. The combination of Cedric's wet appearance, the prefects' bathroom location, and the damp golden egg could only lead to one conclusion—he had successfully decoded the underwater message.

"I see you've discovered the secret contained within your golden egg?" Adrian inquired, though his tone showed he already knew the answer.

Cedric nodded slightly. "Yes, professor, but I'm not entirely confident in my interpretation of the clues."

"Excellent work," Adrian said warmly, reaching out to pat the young man's shoulder in a gesture of encouragement.

"As it happens, I have some relevant information to share with both you and Harry. Professor Dumbledore has appointed me as Hogwarts' official Supervising Professor for the Triwizard Tournament. This means you can approach me at any time with questions, concerns, or requests for additional training."

"Really?"

Cedric's initial reaction was one of pleasant surprise, his gray eyes brightening with various possibilities. However, this optimism quickly gave way to something more complex—a shadow of disappointment and self-doubt.

"I fear I may have already disappointed you, Professor," he said, his voice carrying a tone of dejection that seemed completely at odds with his usual confidence. "My performance in the First Task was... inadequate. I scored poorly compared to the other champions, and I'm not certain how to improve my approach for future challenges."

Adrian looked at him and said gently, "You've done well enough, Cedric. The competition has just begun. Being behind temporarily doesn't mean anything. I think you still have two more tasks to catch up on points, just like in Quidditch—before catching the Golden Snitch, everything remains variable."

"You're absolutely right," Cedric sighed and said, though his sigh showed that intellectual understanding and emotional acceptance were two different things.

Adrian knew this. Cedric had spent years being the exemplary student, the perfect prefect, the champion that everyone expected to succeed. This tournament had introduced him to the unfamiliar experience of being ordinary—or worse, of being seen as the weakest competitor. The psychological adjustment was proving more challenging than any physical obstacle he might face.

Cedric also naturally understood this principle. Self-pity served no purpose.

But as a normal person, having negative emotions was natural.

In the past, he had always been the most outstanding one in people's minds.

But this Triwizard Tournament was different—he had become the one at the bottom.

This sense of disparity made him feel troubled, especially when facing the expectant gazes of his fellow Hufflepuffs. He always felt he had let down their trust—even though everyone was encouraging and comforting him.

"I think a mental reset is needed, Cedric," Adrian suggested. "Sometimes our greatest enemy isn't external competition but our own expectations and fears."

"I understand," Cedric replied, straightening his shoulders. "I'll focus on preparing thoroughly for the second task."

Adrian nodded approvingly. Regarding Cedric, he was naturally at ease.

He didn't offer excessive comfort. Comfort probably wouldn't be very effective anyway. For students like Cedric, simply letting them adjust themselves was sufficient.

After concluding his conversation with Cedric, Adrian made his way toward his office through the castle's corridors. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows had taken on the golden quality that preceded sunset, casting shadows across the stonework and creating an atmosphere of peacefulness.

As he approached his office door, however, this peaceful mood was interrupted by an unexpected sight.

A familiar figure was walking nervously in the corridor outside his chambers—a red-haired boy whose anxiety was visible from several meters away.

Ron Weasley stood in front of Adrian's door in a state of obvious internal conflict. His freckled face was creased with concentration, while his hands moved in an unconscious rhythm—reaching toward the door as if to knock, then pulling back at the last moment, then reaching forward again in an endless cycle of indecision.

'Ron?'

Adrian paused in the shadows, observing this scene with interest. 'What was this child looking for me about?'

"Good afternoon, Ron," Adrian said gently, approaching with calm steps and patted on his shoulders. "I see you're waiting for me. Is there something I can help you with?"

Ron practically launched himself into the air, his reflexes sending him back into the stone wall with a solid thump. His eyes went wide with shock, and for a moment he looked as though he might try to run.

When Ron's startled brain finally registered that the approaching figure was indeed Professor Westeros rather than some corridor-dwelling monster, his stiff posture relaxed slightly.

"Do you always move without making any sound, Professor?" Ron asked, his voice carrying the mixture of accusation and nervous humor.

"Certainly not always," Adrian replied with gentle amusement, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I simply couldn't resist the opportunity to startle you a bit. Your concentration was so intense that I doubt you would have noticed a brass band marching past."

Ron's nervous laugh seemed to break some of the tension that had been holding him rigid. The shared moment of humor created a small bridge of connection that made the conversation feel less formal and intimidating.

However, as the laughter faded, Ron's anxiety returned in full force. His hands began their nervous dance again—fidgeting with his robes, running through his hair, clasping and unclasping in front of him.

His gaze wandered around the corridor as if seeking inspiration or perhaps an escape route, while his mouth opened and closed silently as he struggled to organize his thoughts.

Recognizing the signs of someone grappling with a sensitive topic, Adrian adopted his most reassuring tone. "Why don't you come inside where we can talk more comfortably? I can offer you some hot cocoa—it's particularly good for settling nerves and encouraging conversation."

The invitation seemed to provide Ron with the external structure he needed to overcome his internal paralysis. He nodded gratefully and followed Adrian into the office, his relief at having the decision made for him was obvious in every line of his body.

Ron sat into one of the armchairs arranged before Adrian's desk, his tense shoulders beginning to relax in response to the room's peaceful atmosphere. The hot cocoa that appeared at his elbow, rich, perfectly temperature, and topped with a small mountain of marshmallows seemed to complete the transformation from anxious visitor to welcomed guest.

"So then," Adrian said, sitting into his own chair and adopting his most patient and encouraging demeanor, "what specifically brings you to my office today?"

At this direct question, Ron immediately straightened in his chair, setting down his cocoa with determination. His hands twisted together in his lap as he gathered his courage, then he took a deep breath and plunged into his confession.

"Professor," he began, his voice starting strong but gradually diminishing in volume, "I want to know... how can I become as strong as Harry? I mean... capable of facing dragons and succeeding in that kind of challenge..."

"?"

Adrian raised an eyebrow with genuine surprise, leaning forward slightly as Ron's request became clear.

"Why do you ask?" Adrian inquired gently.

Ron seemed to deflate slightly under the direct question, his earlier determination wavering.

"I also want to single-handedly defeat a dragon..." his voice grew smaller and smaller, "just like Harry."

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