Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 24

The crowd roared as Cedric Diggory stepped into the hedge-lined entrance, wand drawn and jaw set. Fleur Delacour followed shortly after, her silvery hair catching the enchanted light as the cameras above tracked her first careful steps. Viktor Krum pushed past with his usual bulldog scowl, stomping into the green shadows.

Harry lingered at the edge.

He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t asked for it. Yet as the last trumpet sounded, all eyes turned toward him. The fourth champion. The boy-who-had-no-choice.

With a resigned sigh, Harry tightened his grip on his wand and stepped into the yawning mouth of the maze. The crowd erupted again, though Harry kept his eyes fixed on the ground. Just find a quiet corner, he told himself. Sit. Wait. Let the others finish it.

But the maze had other plans.


No sooner had Harry turned down the first corridor than the walls shuddered. Leaves rustled like whispers, and the ground seemed to heave beneath his boots. The hedge ahead groaned, branches twisting, closing off the path. Behind him, the entrance vanished entirely.

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered. “Guess sitting this one out isn’t an option.”

He pressed forward. The air grew cooler, damp with the scent of earth. Above, tiny golden-winged cameras whirred and darted, their crystal eyes flashing. Harry glanced up at one, watching it hover at his shoulder like an overeager owl.

“Enjoy the show,” he told it dryly.

The screen outside flickered with his face, and the audience gasped to see him moving deeper into the labyrinth. Harry ignored them. His pace was steady, unhurried. He wasn’t here to win. He was here to endure.


It didn’t take long before the maze tested him.

The corridor widened, shadows pooling thick between the hedges. Harry’s instincts prickled, his hand tightening on his wand. Then it came—a shape coalescing from the mist, tall and hooded, rattling with the sound of slow, sucking breaths.

A Dementor.

Harry froze, then exhaled through clenched teeth. “Of course.”

But before he could raise his wand, another joined it, gliding from the shadows. Two Dementors now, their presence chilling the air, drawing out the echoes of screams in his mind. The cameras zipped above, capturing every detail—the gasp of the crowd outside was almost audible through the maze.

“Riddikulus,” Harry muttered dryly. “Not even real.”

Still, he raised his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

Silver light burst forth, bright and wild, taking the shape of his great stag Patronus. It charged at the boggarts, antlers lowered. With sharp cracks, the false Dementors exploded into nothingness, leaving only the faint smell of smoke.

The stag lingered for a moment, circling Harry protectively, before dissolving into motes of light.

Harry shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

But inside, a small, cold voice whispered: If those had been real… would you have been so calm?


He kept walking, the shifting walls forcing him ever deeper. Behind the hedges, something snarled, low and guttural, making his skin crawl. Somewhere in the distance, sparks of light illuminated the sky as another champion fought an obstacle. The crowd outside roared with every flash.

Harry barely paid attention. He wasn’t here for glory.

But he was here. And the maze wasn’t about to let him forget it.



The deeper Harry walked, the more relentless the maze became.

Blast-Ended Skrewts scuttled across his path, their armored tails clicking like blades. Harry rolled his eyes. Hagrid’s handiwork, he thought grimly. He flicked his wand, conjuring a powerful gust of wind that shoved the creatures back into a side corridor. Their sparks sputtered against the hedges, but the enchanted greenery held firm.

Not long after, a shimmering fog descended from above, curling around his ankles, whispering in his ears. For a dizzying moment, he saw the Triwizard Cup gleaming just ahead, golden light spilling over him like victory. The crowd outside roared in his head—his name chanted over and over. He felt his lips curl into a smile—I’ve won…

“No,” Harry snarled, shaking himself free. He jabbed his wand forward. “Finite Incantatem!”

The illusion shattered. The fog peeled away, revealing only another twisting corridor of leaves. The cameras hummed above, capturing everything. Harry wondered how many outside had been fooled as well.

This maze doesn’t want me to wait it out, Harry realized. It’s going to shove challenge after challenge until I keep moving.


Rounding the next corner, Harry froze.

There, half-buried in writhing tendrils, was Fleur Delacour. Her body hung limp, pale face slack as vines as thick as ropes coiled around her arms, legs, even her throat. Devil’s Snare. Its black vines writhed eagerly, dragging her down inch by inch toward the soil.

Harry’s stomach lurched. For a terrible moment, he thought she was already dead.

“No… not yet,” he muttered, forcing himself forward. He snapped his wand up. “Lumos Solem!”

Brilliant light burst from his wandtip, blazing like a miniature sun. The Devil’s Snare recoiled instantly, thrashing as smoke curled from its black vines. Fleur’s body slumped free, falling hard against the ground.

Harry dropped to his knees beside her. “Fleur! Fleur, wake up!” He pressed two fingers to her throat—there. Faint, but present. A pulse.

Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips trembled, whispering something in French he couldn’t make out. Her skin was clammy, and she could barely lift her head.

“You’re done,” Harry said firmly. He raised his wand again, pointing toward the sky. “Periculum!”

A jet of red sparks shot upward, exploding high above the maze. Outside, the crowd gasped, then erupted into chatter as the universal signal was recognized: a champion was down.

Harry stayed with Fleur, keeping her breathing steady until a team of robed officials rushed in, breaking through the hedges with their wands. They lifted her gently, conjuring a stretcher of light, and carried her toward safety.

As the hedge walls sealed behind them, Harry stood alone again.


For a moment, he stared after them, chest tight. Fleur had been strong, clever, capable—and still, the maze had nearly taken her life.

Harry glanced up. The golden-winged cameras circled overhead, lenses fixed on him. Somewhere beyond the walls, thousands of eyes watched his every move.

He shook his head. “Well,” he muttered, tightening his grip on his wand, “guess it’s just me and the hedges again.”

He turned, and the maze shifted once more, leaves whispering as though hungry for its next trial.



The hedges twisted around Harry like a living labyrinth, the air thick with damp earth and magic. He pushed forward, wand raised, wary of another illusion or creature. Then he froze.

There—just ahead—Cedric Diggory.

The Hufflepuff lay sprawled on the ground, his golden hair matted with blood, his breathing shallow and ragged. Crimson stained his robes, soaking the grass beneath him. For a sickening instant, Harry thought Cedric was dead.

“No—no, not you too,” Harry muttered, dropping to his knees beside him. He pressed a hand against Cedric’s chest. Weak heartbeat. Alive. Barely.

“Cedric, can you hear me?”

Cedric’s eyes fluttered, lips moving soundlessly. Harry leaned close, catching only fragments: “—attacked—behind—”

Harry’s jaw tightened. There was only one other champion he hadn’t seen. Viktor.

But now wasn’t the time. Harry lifted his wand. “Periculum!”

Red sparks burst into the sky above the maze, exploding in brilliant light. The crowd outside roared in shock, the giant screen zooming in to show Cedric’s bloodied form.

Within moments, the hedge walls trembled as robed officials forced their way through. Two witches conjured a stretcher of shimmering light, carefully lifting Cedric’s body. His face was pale, his head lolling, but his chest rose and fell. Alive.

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. If I’d been even a minute later…

The officials vanished with Cedric, sealing the hedges behind them. Harry was alone again.


He stood, fingers tightening around his wand until his knuckles whitened.

It didn’t matter that the rules allowed interference between champions. It didn’t matter that the Tournament was supposed to test cunning as much as courage. Cedric would have died.

Harry’s mind raced, his stomach twisting with anger. It has to be Krum. Fleur’s already out. Cedric’s down. He’s the only one left. And he didn’t just compete—he tried to kill.

The golden cameras zipped overhead, circling him eagerly. He ignored them. His heart was pounding, a hot roar in his ears.

Harry turned sharply down the next corridor, hedges shifting to guide his path deeper into the maze. His voice was low, dangerous, echoing against the leaves.

“Alright, Viktor,” he muttered, eyes blazing. “Time we had a little chat.”

And with every step forward, the maze seemed to pulse around him, as if it too held its breath, waiting for the confrontation.



Harry’s boots pounded against the earthen floor as he rushed toward the maze’s center. His lungs burned, his wand steady in his grip, but fury drove him forward. He didn’t want the glory of winning the Tournament, but he couldn’t stand the thought of someone like Viktor Krum snatching it through blood and treachery.

But then he stopped dead.

Viktor lay sprawled across the ground. His robes were torn, his body bloodied and broken in ways no spell alone could cause. His face was slack, lifeless. Whatever had killed him hadn’t been human.

A shadow fell across the path.

The sphinx appeared—majestic and terrible. A lion’s body, powerful and sleek, with a human woman’s face that watched him with calm, unblinking eyes. She sat regally in the center of the path, her tail swishing lazily against the dirt.

Harry’s throat tightened. “Did you do this?”

The sphinx inclined her head, as though he had asked about the weather. “I did,” she said, her voice deep and melodic. “I told him: if he answered my riddle, he could pass. But he did not answer. He attacked instead.” She bared her teeth—not in a smile, but in the quiet certainty of a predator. “So I killed him.”

The words were delivered casually, almost bored, as though life and death were no more than outcomes of a game.

Harry’s hand tightened on his wand. His instincts screamed to fight, but her calm gaze held him still.

“Now,” the sphinx said, her eyes narrowing slightly, “I ask you the same. If you answer correctly, you may pass. If you cannot, you must turn back. If you refuse, I will end you as I ended him.”

Harry exhaled slowly. He had no choice. “Ask your riddle.”

The sphinx’s eyes gleamed as she spoke, her voice carrying like a chant:

“First think of the person who lives in disguise,
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what’s always the last thing to mend,
The middle of middle and end of the end.

Finally, give me the sound often heard
During the search for a hard-to-find word.

Now string them together, and answer me true:
What creature am I, who lives within you?”


Harry’s brow furrowed. He repeated it softly to himself, piecing the words together, one line at a time.

A spy… that’s the first. The last thing to mend? A broken heart… heart. Middle of middle, end of the end… r. The sound often heard… er. Put together: spider.

He looked up. “You’re a spider.”

The sphinx’s lips curled in approval. “You are cleverer than most.” She rose gracefully, her lion’s paws silent as she stepped aside. “Pass.”

Harry walked carefully past her, every muscle taut until she vanished back into the shifting shadows of the hedge.

And there it was.

At the very center of the maze, gleaming on its pedestal, stood the Triwizard Cup.

Harry froze, staring at it. The cameras swooped around him, catching every angle, broadcasting his choice to the entire world.

He hadn’t come here to win. But the Cup stood waiting, silent and irresistible, the maze curling around him like a trap.