The tap-tapping of the oar on the boat did the trick. The owner of the feet so lackadaisically resting on the side of the boat was alerted — a beautiful girl gazed at him across the waters. Arven might've been on his way, content to let her remain a serene mystery no longer in danger, when the danger re-doubled in a trice. Just as he lowered his wand arm, he saw her react swiftly to an evident problem with the bottom of the boat. The stern dipped. The water lapped around it. The stranger rowed for the bank, but the boat steeped menacingly.

Not realising he'd walked so close to the lake's edge now that the water was nearing his ankles, Arven tossed his blond hair distractedly from his face and raised his wand again. It had been a while since he'd performed such powerful magic, but he focussed his mind and felt his objective flow from arm to wand tip — "wingardium leviosa".

Slowly, dramatically, the moving boat began to part from the surface of the lake, water flowing from the hole as if from the ascending ruins of Atlantis.