Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 14

The morning air was brisk and heavy with fog as the second task of the Triwizard Tournament approached. A thick mist curled over the surface of the Black Lake, but the sound of hammering and charms being cast echoed above the still water.

Long before sunrise, Harry and the founding members of the Stars Club had been hard at work with their project—an enchanted floating arena, built upon reinforced platforms and woven with spells, stretching across a portion of the lake like a shimmering bridge. Suspended high above the water was a massive, curved magical screen that gleamed like polished glass.

Dozens of floating runes, charmed by Hermione and Daphne, hovered above the viewing stands, ready to stream live visual feeds from the depths below.

“Check the tethering enchantments again,” Harry called to Terry Boot, who was testing the reinforcement charms along the stage’s boundary.

“Already done, Captain!” Terry shouted back, giving a thumbs-up. “These’ll hold steady even in a storm.”

Harry smiled faintly, then turned toward Hermione, who was adjusting the focus of an enchanted underwater lens stone, her face glowing in concentration.

“I think it’s aligned now,” Hermione said, glancing at the hovering screen. “Give me the test feed.”

Neville pointed his wand at the lake and muttered, “Aqua Viso.”

The screen flickered—and then the black depths of the lake came into view, as clear as if seen through glass. Glistening kelp forests waved gently in the currents. The shadows of Grindylows and Merfolk darted through the depths.

“Perfect,” Hermione whispered, looking proud.

Cheers and applause rang out from the club members gathered nearby, many of them already seated in the stands, hogwarts robes shimmering with the golden star emblem stitched onto their shoulders.

Harry allowed himself a smile. This is what they were capable of. Real change. Real magic.

Just then, Dumbledore approached from the direction of the castle, flanked by Madame Maxime and Highmaster Karkaroff, his long fur-trimmed cloak swaying in the breeze. The three of them made a beeline for Hermione.

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he strode over just as Dumbledore said, “Miss Granger, if I might borrow a moment of your time.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Hermione said politely, though she looked confused.

Karkaroff gave a tight smile, eyes flicking to Harry with open irritation.

“We would like to ask if you would serve as the hostage for Viktor Krum,” Dumbledore said. “Each champion will be tasked with retrieving someone dear to them from the depths of the lake—”

Before Hermione could answer, Harry stepped forward.

“No,” he said simply.

All three heads turned toward him.

“Excuse me?” Karkaroff said sharply.

“She’s not going under that lake,” Harry said firmly. “She’s my best friend and an essential part of our operations here today. We need her for the projections, the feed, everything. Without her, the entire spectator setup fails.”

Dumbledore gave a thoughtful nod. “I understand, Harry, but the rules require—”

“She only met Viktor Krum two months ago,” Harry interrupted. “And this task is about rescuing the person the champions will ‘sorely miss.’ How does that even apply here?”

Hermione blushed slightly but said nothing, glancing awkwardly at the floor.

“It’s true that Viktor has taken a liking to Miss Granger,” Igor Karkaroff said with a slight shrug. “He speaks of her often.”

“But that doesn’t mean she belongs at the bottom of a lake,” Harry replied.

Karkaroff scowled. “This isn’t your decision, Potter. You’re not even truly competing.”

“Exactly,” said Harry, turning to Dumbledore now. “So please make sure that no one is placed underwater for me. I’ve already said I won’t participate.”

Dumbledore studied Harry’s face with those ever-knowing blue eyes, and Harry could feel the weight of that gaze. Still, he didn’t flinch.

“If you really need someone Viktor misses,” Harry added with a faint smirk, “why not put Highmaster Karkaroff in the lake? He and Viktor seem very close.”

Karkaroff’s pale face turned a shade of deep scarlet.

“That is outrageous!”

Harry raised a brow. “Is it? I’ve seen the two of you walking the grounds, heads together, whispering. Seems like he might miss you more than Hermione.”

Madame Maxime chuckled despite herself, quickly hiding her smile with a handkerchief.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

“Well,” he said at last, “perhaps we shall find another candidate. Thank you, Miss Granger. Your contributions are, as always, invaluable.”

Hermione gave a polite nod and glanced sideways at Harry as the delegation turned and left.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

Harry looked back at her. “Yes, I did.”

He stared out over the lake, toward the floating arena they had built.

“I didn’t start the Stars Club just to let people be used as pawns in someone else’s game.”



The frigid wind swept over the surface of the Great Lake, stirring its black waters into shimmering ripples that caught the morning sun. Hogwarts had never looked more enchanted—or more tense.

Thousands of witches and wizards had gathered onto the magical floating platform prepared by the joint effort of the club and ministry officials. Floating stands encircled the heart of the lake, secured by deep-water anchors and reinforced charms. Above them, a massive crystal screen hovered in the air like a silent sentinel. Its smooth surface shimmered with pre-task footage—grindylows darting through kelp forests, eerie ruins beneath the waves, and haunting glows from the merpeople village.

Spectators buzzed in anticipation, gasping every time the screen flickered or shifted. Magical telescopes hovered above the crowd, adjusting and zooming on command. Every corner of the lake would be under the world’s watchful eye.

On the Champion Platform, raised slightly above the water, four figures stood ready.

Harry adjusted his cloak slightly and took a deep breath. The chill didn’t bother him. He’d come not to win, not to compete—but to make a point.

Beside him, Viktor Krum stood with his wand gripped tightly. His eyes were narrowed, focused. Without a word, he began muttering a Transfiguration spell, and his jaw and head began to shift grotesquely. Scales shimmered along his neck as his face elongated, twisting until a shark’s snout had replaced his human features. His hands clamped the edge of the platform, claws digging into the wood, and with a splash, he dove straight into the water like a missile.

The crowd roared.

Moments later, Cedric Diggory raised his wand and muttered, “Caput Bullae.” A shimmering sphere of air wrapped around his head like a golden helmet. He offered Harry a brief nod, then leapt smoothly into the lake with the grace of a practiced diver.

Fleur Delacour, with a flick of her wrist, summoned a charm Harry didn’t recognize. A soft blue glow wrapped around her, and her form grew slender and sleek. She dove in silently, without flourish or fear.

And then…

Harry just stood there.

The audience, expecting him to follow, fell strangely quiet. On the massive screen, the champions could now be seen plunging into underwater darkness. The image flickered between their frantic explorations—Fleur navigating through curtains of kelp, Viktor biting through a swarm of grindylows, Cedric casting bursts of light to search ruins.

But Harry?

He gave a low whistle.

“Now this,” he muttered to himself, “is a lovely day.”

With a swish of his wand, he conjured a small, sturdy wooden rowboat—complete with two oars and a blue parasol that unfurled automatically. He stepped in with exaggerated care, adjusted the parasol to shade his face, and pulled out a book from inside his cloak.

Luna, watching from the stands with Hermione and Neville, burst into giggles.

“He brought a novel,” Hermione whispered, scandalized. “He’s actually going to read!”

Indeed, he was.

As the crowd collectively groaned, Harry began rowing lazily across the lake surface. The boat creaked gently, the parasol bobbed in the wind, and the enormous screen behind him showed the three champions diving deeper into the lake’s depths, battling currents and creatures.

Professor McGonagall looked faintly horrified.

Ludo Bagman—who had personally bet on Harry winning—was fidgeting with his sleeves, muttering curses under his breath.

Even Dumbledore had his hand over his mouth, clearly hiding a grin.

From his perch, Harry could hear whispers from the crowd.

“Is he really just going to row around?”

A Ministry official leaned toward Dumbledore. “Is he allowed to do that?”

Dumbledore stroked his beard. “Technically, Mr. Potter is participating. He’s just… choosing a different pace.”

On the water, Harry flipped a page.

“Let them fight grindylows,” he murmured to the wind. “Let them scramble in the darkness for something stolen. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to be dragged into another contest.”

And truthfully, it felt good.

He knew there were hostages down below. He also knew he wouldn’t have one—he made sure of it. He had no one to rescue. No one to win back.

He had other plans for today—like monitoring, managing, and documenting the task. And Harry had kept his promise: he would participate… but not compete.

The hour ticked by.

The screen now showed Cedric finally discovering Cho Chang tied gently to a stone column. Fleur, guided by a clever trail of bubbles, reached her sister, Gabrielle. Viktor, with his monstrous shark mouth, found a classmate, safely bound and watched over by merpeople.

Cheers erupted.

And then, almost anticlimactically, a soft voice rang through the arena.

“Time!”

Magical judges from the Ministry and Hogwarts gathered the champions one by one as they returned, soaked and panting.

Harry, still dry and lounging, rowed casually back toward the Champion Platform. He tied the boat to the side, closed his book with a stretch, and asked Cedric as he climbed up, “Did you have fun?”

Cedric shook his head, coughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fleur stared at Harry as if he were mad.

Krum just gave him a very faint, amused grunt. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, even he appreciated the absurdity of it all.

“You didn’t even try,” Ludo Bagman said through gritted teeth, approaching Harry with forced cheer. “Not a single spell. Not even a toe in the water!”

“I participated,” Harry said mildly. “That’s all that’s required to keep my magic.”

And as he walked back toward the floating platform’s center, the audience exploded in applause—not because he won, but because he didn’t play the game at all.



The morning after the Second Task dawned with a grey, overcast sky, but inside the Hogwarts castle, the energy was anything but dull.

The club headquarters buzzed with activity. Dozens of enchanted printing quills scribbled across parchment, binding and sorting the latest edition of The Stars Magazine as club members directed, sorted, and reviewed stacks of articles, photographs, and commentary.

Neville and Colin Creevey were hunched over a moving collage of underwater snapshots taken during the task—some of Fleur navigating the kelp tunnels, some of Cedric casting bubble-headed charms while deflecting grindylows, and of course, the most popular: Harry Potter in a tiny wooden boat, holding a book under a parasol while the tournament unfolded beneath him.

“Do you think this one looks better with the caption ‘Potter’s Paddling Protest’ or ‘Rowing Over Rules’?” Colin asked brightly.

Neville chuckled. “How about ‘The Champion Who Refused to Swim’?”

“Hmm… too dramatic. He’s Harry, not Lockhart.”

In the corner, Hermione was seated at her editor’s desk, inspecting the final draft with a charmed red quill. She adjusted the Star Club badge on her robes—it had become something of a trend this year. Nearly every club members wore the enchanted golden star stitched onto their robes, which shimmered gently and hummed with a protective charm.

“Make sure the quotes from the Durmstrang students are accurate,” she told a second-year Ravenclaw. “And no exaggeration. We’re not the Daily Prophet.”

“I think we should include the Bulgarian girl who said Viktor wanted Harry’s autograph,” piped in Luna, who was floating upside down in a bean bag near the ceiling. “That part was very sweet.”

Hermione smiled. “Already included.”

Just then, the enchanted delivery scroll from the Owlery fluttered in through the window. The silver seal of the Daily Prophet glimmered faintly. Hermione caught it mid-air and unrolled it.

Her eyes narrowed instantly.

“Oh, not again…”

She tossed the paper onto the main table where several students gathered around. There, right on the front page in exaggerated font, it read:


“Potter’s Parlor Trick — Hogwarts Champion Turns Triwizard Task into Tea Time Stunt”
By Rita Skeeter

While Hogwarts’ golden boy reclined in a boat with a parasol and a paperback, real champions battled monsters in the depths below. Is this the kind of bravery Hogwarts teaches now?

Sources say Potter refused to even touch the water, let alone participate. Is he afraid? Or is he simply so arrogant he believes himself above the rules?

The boy who lived may soon be the boy who loafs.


Harry walked into the room just as the last few words were being read aloud.

Fred and George were already snorting.

“Oh, come off it,” George said. “Loafs?”

“She’s getting worse,” Fred added, holding up the paper like it stank. “That’s not even a pun.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t care what she writes.”

“But people are reading this stuff,” said Ginny, who had joined in to help with the illustrations. “Some younger students said their parents asked if you were dropping out.”

“She’s painting you like a lazy brat,” Hermione added with a deep frown. “And she keeps doing it.”

“I don’t mind the Daily Prophet thinking I’m lazy,” Harry said calmly. “It means fewer people asking me to duel them or drag me into some hero nonsense.”

“But how is she even getting in here?” asked Neville. “Dumbledore banned her, right?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Exactly. And that’s what worries me.”

He took the paper, scanned it again, and then folded it carefully.

“She’s getting in and out of Hogwarts,” he murmured. “Without being seen. And her sources? She’s quoting conversations she shouldn’t know anything about.”

“Maybe she has spies,” Colin suggested.

Harry shook his head. “I’d recognize a human spy. This is different. I think…”

He didn’t finish the thought aloud.

Instead, he looked to Hermione, who was already reading his mind.

She said softly. “You’re thinking… Animagus?”

Harry nodded once.

Fred whistled. “That’d explain how she pops up where she shouldn’t.”

“I’m going to find her,” Harry said. “Not now. But soon.”

“We could help you set up a perimeter,” said George.

“And booby traps,” Fred added. “Some of our new Zonko products are fantastic for pest control.”

“No.” Harry smiled, but it was tight. “She’s mine. I’ll catch her. I just wanted you all to know what we’re dealing with.”

Luna tilted her head. “Why would an animagus want to be a journalist?”

“Because Rita Skeeter doesn’t like rules,” Harry replied. “But she’s about to learn there are rules for her too.”