The Tenth Weasley - CH - 148

For the first time in Hogwarts history, the Quidditch Pitch was silent.

No cheers.

No broomsticks cutting through the sky.

No laughter echoing from the stands.

Instead, it looked like a battlefield.

The wooden seats were being dismantled plank by plank. Workers floated entire sections into the air, rearranging the structure. Ministry officials barked orders. Aurors patrolled the perimeter, scanning every inch of ground. Yellow caution ribbons shimmered magically where grass had been torn up.

And at the center of it all, towering over the controlled chaos, was the maze.

Or rather, the skeleton of what would soon become one.

Harry stood just outside the cordoned area with Hermione, Viktor, and several Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. Watching. Waiting. Thinking.

Viktor crossed his arms, scowling. “Is ruining Quidditch Pitch a tradition in Britain?”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “No. This is… unusual.”

“Unusual?” Fleur Delacour snorted from behind them. “Zis is barbaric! It used to be such a lovely pitch. And now look at it!”

Indeed, the pitch resembled a construction site gone mad. Ministry workers hammered huge metal stakes into the ground, which immediately sprouted thick, pulsating roots.

Professor Sprout hovered among them with a watering can and a belt of enchanted trimming shears. She was shouting instructions in her usual excited tone:

“No, no, no! That is not where the roots grow! You must make sure they don’t split before the inflation charm— oh heavens, STEP BACK! That stem is going to—”

BOOM.

A massive green vine the width of a troll shot up from the ground and whipped around violently, scattering two Aurors and a construction wizard into a nearby mud puddle.

Sprout clapped her hands delightedly. “Yes! Perfect example. The vines are awake!”

Harry couldn’t help chuckling. Only Sprout would be thrilled to see someone nearly eaten alive by a plant.

Behind the stands, a group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws marched around holding hastily made signs:

“BRING BACK QUIDDITCH!”

“DON’T DESTROY OUR PITCH!”

“WE WANT OUR STADIUM!”

Angelina Johnson shouted angrily at a Ministry official:

“You CAN’T do this! We have the Cup next year!”

The official didn’t even look up.

“The Minister approved this. Next complaint.”

Fred Weasley yelled, “You’re committing a crime against sports!”

George added, “Yeah! You’re worse than Filch with a new mop!”

Sprout called out from inside the maze structure, “Do not worry! I already promised your flying space will return!”

But it did little to calm the uproar.

Harry stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he studied the formation.

The vines didn’t grow normally—they slithered, coiled, changed direction depending on the sunlight. Some even pulsed softly, glowing green like dragonfire trapped under skin.

Hermione leaned in. “Look at the roots… they’re self-thickening. Professor Sprout is mixing normal hedge-plants with Venomous Tentacula growth patterns.”

Harry frowned. “Doesn’t that make it dangerous?”

Hermione sighed. “It’s supposed to be dangerous. It’s a Triwizard Task.”

Viktor poked a sprouted vine cautiously with his wand. The vine hissed and retreated like a frightened snake.

Or… a hungry one.

Harry shook his head. “This whole thing is a mess.”

Hermione turned to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Harry said quietly. “The Ministry is paranoid. Aurors are everywhere. Durmstrang students are being treated like criminals. And now the final task looks like a death trap.”

Viktor nodded. “Ve are being… how you say? ‘Used as bait.’”

Harry didn’t disagree.

One Ministry supervisor noticed Harry and approached immediately.

“Mr. Weasley,” the man said, giving a stiff bow. “You are not permitted inside the construction zone.”

“I’m not inside,” Harry replied dryly.

The man didn’t smile. “For your safety, please stay back. These plants are extremely reactive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re building the final task. Shouldn’t we be allowed to look at it?”

“Observing is permitted,” the man said cautiously, “but only from behind the marked lines.”

Hermione folded her arms. “Harry isn’t doing anything wrong.”

The official gave her a tight-lipped nod. “Miss Granger. Please understand that after… recent events”—he swallowed—“safety protocols have been increased.”

Harry knew what he meant:

The Ministry was afraid. And fear made people stupid.

Dumbledore glided across the field, robes billowing like a moving storm cloud of blue silk. Even the Ministry workers paused when he passed.

He caught sight of Harry and approached him with a gentle smile.

“Ah, Harry. Observing the maze’s progress?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied. “It looks… dangerous.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly. “Naturally. Danger is the essence of the Triwizard Tournament.”

Hermione frowned. “Professor, surely this is too much. The plants are alive. Aggressive.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That is why Professor Sprout is here. She understands them better than anyone.”

Sprout, in the distance, wrestled a vine twice her size. “OH—NO YOU DON’T—YOU STAY IN THAT CORNER!”

Dumbledore continued calmly, “And rest assured, Miss Granger, every precaution will be taken.”

Harry exchanged a look with Viktor. Neither believed that.

Dumbledore lowered his voice. “Harry… the final task will require more than strength or speed. It will require clarity of mind.”

Harry studied him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Dumbledore’s eyes hardened, just for a moment.

“I am telling you to be ready for anything.”

Hermione swallowed. Viktor nodded grimly.

Harry felt a shiver through his spine.

As the day grew darker, the maze grew higher.

Walls ten feet tall.

Vines writhing.

Roots digging deeper into the earth.

Leaves sharpening into blade-like edges.

The third task was no longer an idea.

It was becoming a living beast.

Harry stared at the rising walls with Hermione beside him and Viktor at his other side.

He whispered, “This won’t be just a maze. It’s a battlefield.”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“Harry… something is going to happen. I can feel it.”

Viktor murmured, “You must be prepared. More than ever.”

Harry’s hand slipped toward his wand.

“I will be prepared.”

But as he stared at the living labyrinth growing taller by the minute, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone — somewhere — was preparing for him too.

The morning of the Third Task dawned grey and listless, as though the sky itself sensed the tension settling over Hogwarts. A cold breeze drifted across the grounds, stirring the banners that had been hung days earlier — banners no one was allowed to see from anywhere but the castle.

For the first time, the Triwizard Tournament felt less like an ancient celebration…

and more like a funeral waiting for its moment.

By late afternoon, students from all three schools were herded — literally herded — down toward what used to be the Quidditch Stadium. But the pitch they remembered had long disappeared. In its place stood towering, monstrous walls of dark green hedges, all grown unnaturally fast under Sprout’s supervision.

Viktor muttered darkly as he stared up at the twenty-foot-tall walls. “I still say ve should have just had Quidditch match.”

Anya huffed, adjusting her cloak. “This is idiotic. The spectators cannot see anything. No magic screens, no mirrors, nothing?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Of course not. The Ministry claims it’s for ‘security reasons,’ but I think they just don’t know what they’re doing.”

Ron snorted. “When do they ever?”

Students stood around awkwardly, staring at the maze as though waiting for something to happen. The stands that once held thousands of viewers now held barely two hundred people — Ministry officials, headmasters, and a handful of journalists scribbling away with Quick-Quotes Quills.

No families allowed.

No outside spectators.

No cheering crowds.

The Triwizard Tournament had never felt so… empty.

Fred muttered loudly, “They’ve ruined it. Absolutely ruined it.”

George nodded. “We should’ve sold tickets to watch Ron fall asleep on his books. That would’ve been more exciting.”

Ron turned red. “Oi!”

Harry stood with Viktor, Anya, and Charlie near the entrance of the maze. The hedge walls were pulsing softly, as though breathing.

Anya whispered, “Harry… it feels alive.”

“It is alive,” Harry muttered. “Sprout used growth elixirs and magical vines. These things are practically sentient.”

Charlie exhaled nervously. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Charlie looked at the vines warily. “I fought a dragon, and this still looks worse.”

Harry gave him a side-smile. “Good. Then you’re prepared.”

Charlie swallowed. “I’m never prepared.”

Fleur tried to smile at Hermione, but the worry in her eyes betrayed her calm façade. “Zis is madness. Zis is not a tournament. Zis is a death trap.”

Hermione squeezed her hand softly. “You’ll be okay, Fleur. You’re all strong.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

He hadn’t felt fully calm since the Aurors found Crouch’s body.

Something about the maze felt wrong.

Not dangerous — he expected that.

Not unpredictable — he expected that too.

Something felt arranged.

Prepared.

As if someone had set a stage for Charlie.

Up in the stands, the Ministry officials spoke loudly, voices carrying through the stillness.

One official from the Department of Magical Games and Sports announced:

“Students, please take your seats and remain quiet. You’ll have the best view in Britain from here!”

A heckle came from the Gryffindor section.

“WE CAN’T SEE ANYTHING, YOU TOSSER!”

The hedge walls blocked the pitch completely. All the spectators saw was a massive green box. They could watch the entrance… and that was it.

Hermione whispered to Harry, “Honestly, this is pathetic. What did they expect us to do? Cheer at plants?”

Harry nodded. “Spectators might as well be staring at a green wall in a prison.”

Even Dumbledore looked annoyed. His eyes swept across the stands, noting all the bored, irritated faces. Only the Ministry officials pretended everything was going wonderfully.

Rita Skeeter, quill floating, muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear:

“Triwizard Tournament reaches new heights of incompetence — spectators forced to stare at bushes for two hours.”

Fleur nearly snorted.

Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Professor Navarro stood together near the edge of the maze. Professor McGonagall held a golden whistle.

Dumbledore raised his voice, sonorous and calm.

“Champions, tonight you face the final challenge. The maze will test your courage, your mind, and your determination.”

Navarro stepped forward, voice grave. “Beware. The hedges have been infused with defensive magic. They will not hesitate to strike if provoked.”

Madame Maxime added, “If you encounter difficulty, send red sparks into ze air.”

Harry glanced up at the impenetrable hedge walls. “Red sparks won’t go through that.”

Madame Maxime ignored the accuracy.

Dumbledore continued, “The Triwizard Cup is placed somewhere at the heart of the maze. Reach it, and victory is yours.”

Aurors moved into position around the perimeter.

Moody limped forward, his magical eye spinning madly.

Harry felt the hairs on his arms rise.

Moody was staring only at him.

Hermione noticed and whispered, “Be careful… please.”

Harry squeezed her hand once.

“I will.”

Charlie’s hands trembled slightly as he checked his wand.

Cedric paced back and forth, muttering to himself.

Fleur inhaled deeply, steadying her nerves.

Hermione fixed Harry’s collar, unable to hide the worry on her face.

“You remember everything we practiced?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “Every bit.”

“Even the destroying sequence for moving objects?”

“Yes.”

“And the fire-deflecting charm?”

“Hermione,” Harry said softly, “I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t trust his words. She leaned up and kissed him quickly on the cheek, whispering:

“Just come back to me.”

Harry grinned. “Always.”

The champions lined up before the yawning, vine-rimmed entrance of the maze.

Wands drawn. Hearts pounding. Eyes fixed straight ahead.

Professor McGonagall raised her whistle once again.

“Champions will enter according to their current standings.

First place: Harry Weasley.”

A hush fell across the entire field.

Hermione clutched the railing. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Fred cupped his hands around his mouth. “Go on, Harry! Show them what a Weasley can do!”

George shouted, “Burn the bushes if you have to!”

Charlie, already trembling with nerves, forced a grin at Harry. “See you inside—hopefully in one piece.”

Harry offered a reassuring nod. “Stick close when you can, Charlie. But never risk staying in one place for long.”

Charlie swallowed. “I’ll try not to die.”

“Good,” Harry murmured. “I don’t want to carry your funeral banner.”

Cedric laughed nervously. Fleur rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself.

Then the whistle blew.

PHEEEEEEEEEEEET!

Harry stepped forward.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the world shifted.

The sky disappeared.

Light vanished.

The air turned thick and damp.

Harry found himself engulfed in darkness, illuminated only by his wand.

“Lumos.”

The light flickered—then steadied.

The hedges groaned around him, as though acknowledging his presence. Their vines curled inward, slithering subtly, sensing warmth… magic… life.

Fog hovered close to the ground like coiling smoke. It swirled around his ankles as he moved deeper, deeper.

Harry stopped, turning back toward the entrance.

He should wait for Charlie.

He had to protect him.

“I’ll give him thirty seconds,” Harry whispered.

Just thirty seconds.

But Fate had different plans.

The entrance behind Harry shuddered violently.

Leaves rustled.

Vines snapped.

And before he could process it—

the maze began to close.

“Bloody—MOVE!”

Harry sprinted back toward the entrance, heart hammering.

The walls contracted like a giant mouth inhaling, vines twisting together into a solid barrier. The fog churned in panic, swirling around him as he ran.

But he was a second too late.

The entrance sealed with a deafening SLAM, the vines knitting together into a thick, impenetrable wall.

Harry slammed his palm against the hedge. “OPEN!”

The vines hissed back at him, thorns extending like fangs.

Harry stepped away, cursing under his breath.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant."

Harry lifted his wand, aimed it at the wall, and muttered:

“Confringo!”

A blast of red fire erupted—

—only to be absorbed instantly.

The vines shuddered…

…then regrew thicker, stronger, and twice as thick.

Before Harry could react, the wall on his left quivered and shrunk inward, squeezing the space dangerously.

He leaped sideways, narrowly avoiding the crushing wall.

“Seriously?” Harry muttered. “A maze that fights back?”

The walls pulsed in answer.

Great.

This wasn’t a maze.

It was a creature.

Harry steadied himself, exhaling slowly as he lifted his wand again.

“Point Me Triwizard Cup.”

His wand spun.

Once.

Twice.

Then faster.

And faster.

And faster.

Until it became a blur in his palm.

Harry clenched his fist before it flew out of his hand.

“So… someone nullified directional magic,” Harry murmured, frowning. “They want us wandering blind.”

Hermione’s voice echoed in his memory:

“Maze tasks are never simple, Harry. They’ll twist your direction. They’ll block your path. They’ll trap you.”

She hadn’t imagined this.

This was far worse.

Harry slid his wand into a ready position.

“Fine. If the Point-Me spell doesn’t work… I’ll do it the hard way.”

He glanced back one more time at the sealed entrance.

Charlie would have to fend for himself until they met. Harry hated the thought, but he couldn’t change the rules the maze imposed.

He whispered, “Stay safe, Charles.”

Then he turned and walked deeper into the labyrinth.

The vines rustled behind him—

closing the path he came from.

There was no going back.

Only forward.

And somewhere far ahead, hidden in the heart of the living maze, the Triwizard Cup glowed faintly with conjured blue fire.

Waiting.

Watching.

Calling.