Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 18

The last of winter’s frost had vanished weeks ago, replaced by a fresh breeze carrying the scent of blooming wildflowers from the hills beyond the village. The main street of Hogsmeade was livelier than it had been in months, the shop fronts gleaming in the sunlight, and the sound of running water from thawed streams trickling in the distance. Students roamed freely in lighter robes, laughter carrying through the mild air.

Harry and Fleur walked side by side, their steps slowing as they left the busy central street and moved toward the quieter part of the village. Fleur’s silvery hair caught the golden sunlight as she glanced around, her eyes full of curiosity.

“It is much prettier now,” she remarked. “When I was here last, it was… how do you say… frozen to the bone.”

Harry smirked. “Hogsmeade in winter is charming in its own way, but spring lets you see the colours again.” He tilted his head toward a turnoff. “Come on, I want to show you the Star Broomstick factory.”


The factory’s façade stood out even here—a clean, well-maintained building of dark oak and charmed glass. The moment they stepped inside, the air was warmer, filled with the scent of polished wood, resin, and enchantment smoke. Workers in enchanted aprons moved with quiet efficiency, polishing broom handles or etching runes into the shafts under floating magnifying lenses.

Harry led Fleur toward the rear workshop, and took out a long, sleek object wrapped in protective cloth from his enchanted moleskin pouch.

“This is the outer shell of the new model,” he explained. “First stage is copying over the enchantment lattice from the last model, then we test aerodynamics and reflex sensitivity. If it passes, I can start the final enchantments.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You built all this… before you were even of age?”

Harry grinned. “Let’s just say I’ve had help—and a lot of sleepless nights.”

They entered the testing room, but before Harry could find the chief enchanter, a familiar voice came from the corner.


“About time you showed up, Harry.”

Harry stopped mid-step. Remus Lupin stood near a rack of finished broom prototypes, his hands in his pockets, watching him with that steady, unreadable expression he had when something serious was on his mind.

Harry frowned. “Remus? What are you doing here? I thought you were minding the main office. You hardly ever leave it.”

Remus’s gaze flicked toward a side office. “I’m not here about broomsticks. Sirius and I needed to talk to you. He’s waiting inside.”

Harry’s confusion deepened. “Sirius is here too?”

“Yes,” Remus said quietly. “And it’s not something we want to discuss in public.”

Harry glanced at Fleur, who looked between them with open curiosity. “Go ahead,” she said, waving a hand. “I will explore… see how your little empire works.” She gave him a teasing smile before disappearing into the main workshop, her hair catching the glow of the overhead charms.


Harry followed Remus into the side office. Sirius was there, leaning back in a chair, but he wasn’t wearing his usual cocky grin. His expression was taut, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.

“Sit down, Harry,” Sirius said.

Harry dropped into the seat opposite. “Okay… what’s going on? Why are both of you here, and why the secrecy?”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance before Sirius spoke. “Something’s going on at the Ministry. I can’t pin down exactly what it is yet, but it’s big. And it’s connected—somehow—to you and to the Triwizard Tournament.”

“That’s just it,” Sirius said. “We’ve had Ministry officials poking around more than usual. Asking questions about you… things they normally couldn’t care less about.”

Remus folded his arms. “And the timing is suspicious. The Tournament hasn’t been held for centuries. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, they bring it back… with you as an unwilling Champion.”

Harry’s stomach tightened. “You’re saying this isn’t just about school politics or international relations.”

“I’m saying,” Sirius replied, leaning forward, “that there’s more to all this than meets the eye. And if the Ministry’s tangled up in it, you’d better believe we’re going to find out why—before they decide to make their move.”


“It’s true that Daphne’s father is the Minister of Magic,” Sirius continued, tone sharp, “but that doesn’t mean he runs the Ministry with an iron hand. Half the wizarding world seems to think the Minister calls all the shots. In reality…” He stopped pacing and fixed Harry with a grim look. “It’s the Wizengamot that holds the real power.”

Harry frowned. “They’re the ones who elected him, right?”

Remus nodded. “Yes, but it’s not like Muggle elections where anyone can run and win by votes. Most Wizengamot seats are hereditary—passed down through family lines like heirlooms. Only a handful ever open for new members, and even then it’s decided behind closed doors.”

Sirius snorted. “A cosy little club of self-entitled pure-bloods who’ve been deciding laws for centuries. And most of them care more about keeping their old privileges than about fairness or progress.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So… Minister Greengrass can’t just make decisions without them agreeing?”

“Not if he wants to keep his job,” Remus replied. “And he’s already in hot water with them because of the reforms he’s pushed through.”

Harry glanced between them. “Reforms?”

“Laws that finally give Muggle-borns and half-bloods proper access to jobs based on their skills and qualifications,” Remus explained. “Up until now, pure-bloods were getting positions they hadn’t earned—sometimes couldn’t even do—just because of family connections. That meant the talented ones, the people who actually studied and worked hard, were forced into lower posts or made to work under incompetent superiors.”

Sirius’s lip curled. “Greengrass’s law changes that. Suddenly, the nephew of Lord So-and-So can’t stroll into the Department of Magical Games and Sports if there’s a Muggle-born applicant twice as capable. That’s earned him the hatred of half the Wizengamot.”

Harry leaned forward. “And now they’re trying to get rid of him?”

“Not openly,” Remus said, “but support is crumbling. Some are biding their time, waiting for a mistake. Others are looking for ways to undermine his authority quietly.”

Harry drummed his fingers on the table. “What’s this got to do with the Triwizard Tournament?”

Sirius’s expression darkened. “That’s what worries us. Bartemius Crouch was the beating heart of this Tournament, and now—suddenly—he’s vanished from the castle. No official explanation. No appearances. Just letters. And he’s sent Percy Weasley to act in his place.”

“That’s strange,” Harry admitted. “Why not just come himself?”

“Exactly,” Sirius said, resuming his pacing. “Something’s happening behind the curtains at the Ministry. And if it involves the Tournament, then whatever it is might reach you before we’re ready to deal with it.”

Remus added quietly, “Be careful, Harry. This isn’t just school politics anymore. These are the same kind of old alliances and grudges that have brought down Ministers before. If they see you as a threat—or a tool—they won’t hesitate to act.”

Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the warning settle over him. The Triwizard Tournament suddenly seemed far more dangerous than dragons and merpeople.


The lamps along the path to Hogwarts glimmered softly in the crisp night air as Harry and Fleur made their way back from Hogsmeade. The cobblestones were slick with melted snow, the air holding that faint, damp chill that came after winter had finally given way to spring.

By the time they entered the castle, the Great Hall was buzzing with evening chatter. At the far end, Victor Krum and Hermione were already seated together, leaning in close over a shared conversation. Harry caught Hermione’s bright, unguarded smile and felt an odd warmth.

“Looks like your friends are already back,” Fleur said, following his gaze.

“They are,” Harry replied with a faint grin.

They paused near the centre of the Hall. Fleur turned to him, her silvery hair gleaming under the floating candles. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek—though it was angled just enough that every student nearby had a perfect view.

The collective reaction was immediate. A dozen boys froze mid-bite, and more than a few sets of eyes narrowed in pure envy. Fleur Delacour—part Veela, Triwizard Champion, the most sought-after girl in the castle—had just kissed Harry Potter.

Harry, however, simply smiled politely. For him, Fleur was a friend, nothing more. They might not even meet again after the Tournament was over, and he had no intention of reading more into it than there was.

“Merci, ’Arry,” Fleur said softly. “Today was… nice.”

“It was,” Harry agreed.

With a final graceful smile, she glided toward her table, leaving whispers and mutters in her wake.


Harry made his way over to where Fred and George were lounging near the Gryffindor table, the twins engaged in a quiet argument over some scribbled blueprints.

“Fred, George,” Harry said as he approached. “I need a favour.”

“Ah, the famous words we love to hear,” Fred said, grinning.

George raised an eyebrow. “What kind of favour are we talking about? Harmless mischief, or the sort that might get us a Howler?”

Harry leaned in, lowering his voice. “I want to know about Barty Crouch. He’s disappeared from Hogwarts, hasn’t shown up lately. Percy’s here instead. Can you… talk to him? Find out how Crouch is doing?”

Fred exchanged a glance with George, their usual playful expressions sharpening slightly.

“We can do that,” Fred said at last. “Percy’s been strutting around like a peacock with a Ministry seal on his letters. He won’t mind boasting.”

George smirked. “Especially if we ask in front of someone important.”


The twins found Percy near the Ravenclaw common room, a neat stack of parchment in hand, his quill poised as if the act of note-taking itself was a badge of honour.

“Percy!” Fred called brightly. “Just the man we were looking for!”

Percy looked up, adjusting his glasses. “If this is about borrowing my ink again, the answer is no.”

“Not about ink,” George said smoothly. “We were just wondering—how’s dear old Mr. Crouch? Must be exhausting handling all his work here.”

Percy straightened, the faintest flicker of pride in his eyes. “Mr. Crouch is… indisposed. He’s entrusted me with his duties at Hogwarts, and I intend to carry them out with the utmost diligence.”

Fred tilted his head. “Indisposed how? Caught a nasty cold? Bitten by a cursed quill? Swallowed a self-updating rulebook?”

Percy’s expression tightened. “It’s private Ministry business, and not for public discussion. Suffice it to say, his health has been… unpredictable. But rest assured, all official duties are being handled with full efficiency.”

George leaned in, his voice mock-casual. “So unpredictable that he hasn’t set foot in the castle for weeks?”

Percy gave them a thin smile. “Ministry matters are rarely simple. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have correspondence to complete.” He swept past them without another word.

The twins rejoined Harry at the Gryffindor table moments later, their smirks gone.

“Well?” Harry asked.

Fred shrugged. “Officially, Crouch is ‘indisposed.’ Unofficially…”

George finished the thought. “Percy’s hiding something. Whatever’s going on, it’s not just illness.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, the unease in his stomach growing. Something was happening in the Ministry, and the Tournament was caught right in the middle of it.

From what he’d learned, there were only three tasks in total. Two had already been completed, and the final challenge was all that remained. One more hurdle, and this cursed tournament would be over for good.

He kept telling himself that.
One last task… then peace.

The thought alone made him feel lighter, even as spring sunlight spilled into the Great Hall during lunch, warming the long tables.


That calm didn’t last.

It started with a rumor from the Hufflepuff table—a group of students whispering that they’d heard something about the dragons from the first task. Harry dismissed it at first. The dragons had been taken back to Romania months ago… hadn’t they?

By dinner, the whispers had become a buzz.

“They never left,” a third-year Ravenclaw told anyone who’d listen. “They were still in the Forbidden Forest. The Ministry kept them there after the first task.”

And then came the real blow.

Three dragons—fully grown, dangerous, and deadly—were missing.


Harry overheard fragments of tense conversation as professors moved briskly between the staff table and the doors. Words like containment breach, Muggle sightings, and massive claw marks carried through the air.

That night, in the common room, Ron came stomping down from the boys’ dormitory.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he said, looking pale. “Something attacked their cages. Smashed them apart like matchwood. They had metal bars thicker than your arm and layers of enchantments—and it didn’t even slow them down.”

“Something big enough to smuggle out a dragon,” Hermione said grimly from her armchair. She had an open book in her lap but clearly hadn’t been reading. “Or someone who knew exactly how to get past all those wards.”

The thought made Harry’s skin prickle.


By the next morning, the castle was in uproar. Rumors swirled about dragons swooping over the countryside or setting fire to farmland. The Ministry was supposedly scrambling to find them before they reached a Muggle settlement—or worse, before a Muggle caught them on camera.

Hagrid was spotted speaking in low, urgent tones with Professor Dumbledore, his face drawn tight with worry. “If they’ve flown off,” Harry overheard him mutter, “we might never track ’em all down.”

Classes were interrupted by notices:

All students were forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest.

Any sightings of large creatures were to be reported immediately.

The Ministry had Aurors combing the area.


And underneath it all, Harry sensed something else—a tension that had nothing to do with protecting students and everything to do with the Ministry’s reputation.