Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 13

The frost on the windows of the Hogwarts library shimmered with soft winter sunlight. A charmed blue flame flickered steadily on Harry’s desk as he sat in the farthest corner, surrounded by stacks of books on magical theory, arithmancy, and battle charms. A thick journal lay open before him, its pages half-filled with spells he'd been modifying or inventing himself—none of them having anything to do with the Triwizard Tournament.

He turned another page, quill scratching lightly as he made a note about the inefficiency of wand movements in a Bulgarian shield charm.

“Harry?”

The voice made him glance up.

Cedric Diggory stood by the edge of the table, holding the infamous golden egg under one arm, his cheeks slightly pink from the walk through the corridors. He looked hesitant but determined.

“Do you have a minute?”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “Sure, Cedric. What's up?”

Cedric sat down across from him and gently placed the egg on the table between them. It glinted faintly in the flickering light, looking far too innocent for the chaos it brought into his life.

“I... I just wanted to ask you something,” Cedric said slowly, eyes fixed on the egg. “You really haven't figured out the clue yet?”

Harry raised a brow. “I haven’t even looked at the egg.”

“You haven’t—wait, really?” Cedric blinked. “Not even once?”

Harry nodded. “Not even once. I told everyone from the start, I didn’t put my name in the goblet. I’m not here to compete. I only agreed to go along so I don’t lose my magic. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to jump through hoops.”

Cedric looked confused for a moment, suspicion flickering in his amber eyes—but it faded as quickly as it came. He had seen Harry’s behavior. Harry never tried to show off, never acted like he wanted the fame. In fact, he avoided it at every turn.

“Okay,” Cedric said finally. “I believe you.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied. “So… have you figured it out?”

Cedric hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Took me a while. The egg… you have to open it underwater. The screeching it makes when you open it normally? That’s what the merfolk sound like above water. But underwater… it's a song. A riddle.”

Harry’s curiosity perked up despite himself. “A song?”

Cedric leaned in, voice quieter. “The second task—it’s about retrieving something valuable that’s been stolen from each champion. And we’ll only have an hour to get it back.”

Harry frowned. “Stolen? Like what?”

“No one knows yet,” Cedric said. “But I’ve been thinking… it’s probably someone. A person. Maybe someone we care about.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, not liking that idea one bit. “And the task takes place in the Great Lake?”

Cedric nodded. “I think so?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Sounds incredibly boring. I mean, if I were organizing a tournament for maximum spectacle, I wouldn’t exactly hide the entire task underwater where no one can see anything.”

Cedric blinked and tilted his head, now thinking the same. “I… actually hadn’t thought about that. You’re right. All the spectacle and ceremony just to have everyone sit still, staring at the water?”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “Thanks for the heads up, Cedric. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You deserve to know. Even if you're not… trying to win.”

They shook hands, and Cedric left quietly, the golden egg cradled in his arms.


As soon as the doors shut behind Cedric, Harry closed his journal and stood up.

He tapped his wand against the table once. His books and papers floated up, stacking neatly before sliding into his magically-expanded bag.

He had an idea now.

It was time to let the Stars Club shine.



The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was empty, save for a few half-scorched training dummies and an unlit fireplace. Moody stood in the shadows near the window, his magical eye spinning in his socket even while his regular one fixed Harry with a hawk-like stare.

"Potter," Moody growled, his voice like gravel. "You're not taking this tournament seriously."

Harry folded his arms. “That’s because I never signed up for it. I was forced.”

Moody stumped forward on his wooden leg, the floor echoing with each step. “Aye, forced you were. But that doesn’t change the fact that your name came out of that Goblet. That’s binding magic, boy. You must compete.”

“I am competing,” Harry replied calmly. “I walked into the arena, didn’t I? I just chose not to risk my life for someone else’s amusement.”

Moody’s magical eye whirled faster. “You think this is about amusement? Hah. You’ve got enemies, Potter. Ones that would kill to see you fail. Every challenge you face is a chance to learn something—about yourself, about survival. You think real threats give you the choice to opt out?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You sound like you want me in danger.”

The scarred man smirked. “I want you prepared. Every dark wizard in the world knows your name. If you don’t learn to play their game… you’ll die before you reach twenty.”

Harry didn’t reply. The weight of those words hung heavy in the air.



The large room, accessible only to founding club members through the portrait of dancing trolls, was buzzing with activity. Posters of magical creatures, enchanted ink pots, and stacks of quills filled every surface. In the center, Hermione was helping Daphne review a draft article on mooncalf migrations, while Fred and George tested a new prank potion that turned your voice into birdsong.

When Harry stepped inside, heads turned immediately.

He walked up to the front, conjured a bell, and gave it a sharp ring.

Everyone went silent.

“Something’s come up,” Harry began, hands tucked behind his back. “The second task of the Triwizard Tournament is going to take place underwater. In the Great Lake.”

A collective murmur spread.

“They’re going to steal someone important to each champion and place them in the lake. And we’ll only have an hour to get them back.”

“What?!” Hermione gasped. “That’s barbaric!”

“It’s safe, apparently,” Harry muttered. “But here's the real issue. The whole thing is hidden from the spectators. There’s going to be a thousand people watching—sitting in the freezing cold, looking at an empty lake. No one will see what happens beneath the surface.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Fred said.

“Exactly,” Harry replied. “And that’s where we come in.”

Now every student was leaning forward.

“We’re Stars club,” Harry continued. “We have access to talents, knowledge, tools that most others don’t. And I say… we use this opportunity to show the world what we can do. We’ll set up a projection system—mirrors, charms, possibly even enchanted photography—so the spectators can see what happens beneath the water.”

“That’ll require some serious magic,” George muttered.

Hermione was already scribbling in her notebook. “We could use the magic that Quidditch stadium uses combined with omniocular syncing. If we borrow a few of the screens from the ministry, enhance them with sound filters…”

Neville grinned. “We could ask Professor Flitwick for help. He loves to apply charms practically.”

“We could use enchanted swimming devices too,” Fred added. “Miniature ones that float below the water, tracking heat signatures or motion and relaying it to the projection surface.”

“We could even make it part of the next issue of the Stars Magazine,” Tracy said dreamily. “An editorial on magical applications in live broadcasting.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s do it. Not for the tournament, but for the people watching. Let’s make this the most memorable second task in Triwizard history.”

The room erupted into excited cheers and rapid planning. Ink splashed, parchment flew, and spells were tested as the Stars Club launched into motion.

Harry stood in the back of the room, watching his friends work with purpose.

This wasn’t about glory.

It was about proving that magic could be shared.



The spiral staircase creaked as it turned, carrying Harry and the founding members to the familiar door with the brass griffin knocker. Harry knocked once.

“Enter,” came Dumbledore’s warm voice.

The headmaster was behind his desk, parchment in one hand, a lemon drop in the other. Fawkes gave a soft trill from his perch, tilting his head curiously as the students stepped in.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger. Mr. Longbottom. Mr. and Mr. Weasley. Miss Greengrass.” Dumbledore set down his parchment. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such fine company?”

Harry took a breath. “Sir, we need your permission—and your support—for a surprise during the second task.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled. “A surprise? Do go on.”

Harry explained the plan in detail—the enchanted screen above the lake, the underwater viewing devices, the charm work that would allow hundreds of spectators to see what the champions were doing.

When he finished, Dumbledore sat very still, fingers steepled under his chin.

Then, he let out a low hum.

“My word,” he said softly. “The second task would have been met with confusion and disappointment. Cold benches. Limited visibility. Your idea would revolutionize how the task is viewed.”

Harry nodded. “That’s the goal. Not for attention. But to… improve the experience.”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled. “You truly are your mother’s son. Always thinking of how to make others’ lives better. Yes, Harry. You have my full permission—and the aid of any professor you require. I imagine Professor Flitwick would be most intrigued.”

Hermione smiled widely, her hand tightening on her notes.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, growing serious, “I must call a meeting. The Ministry will need to approve this.”


The Room of Arcane Affairs was deep beneath Hogwarts—warded, silent, and invisible to students. In attendance were Dumbledore, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Madame Maxime, Headmaster Karkaroff, and three stiff-faced Ministry officials, including Bartemius Crouch Sr. and Ludo Bagman.

Dumbledore stood at the front, a shimmering model of the Great Lake projected behind him. “We’ve convened here to discuss an idea proposed by a small group of students—namely, the founding members of the Stars Club.”

At the mention of the club, Ludo Bagman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, they’re the ones with the magazine! My niece reads it—fantastic stuff.”

Crouch barely looked up from his parchment. “What is this… idea?”

Harry stepped forward.

“With your permission, sir,” he said, “we want to enchant a projection screen above the lake, and use charmed underwater devices to broadcast the second task. So that the audience isn’t sitting in silence, looking at water. They’d see everything.”

A beat of silence.

Madame Maxime looked impressed.

Professor Flitwick looked downright thrilled. “Genius. Truly genius. With some advanced reflection charms and reverse levitation, we could make it happen!”

Karkaroff scowled. “This is irregular—”

“It’s brilliant,” interrupted Bagman. “Imagine the international press!”

Crouch stared at Harry. “And… why do you want to do this, Mr. Potter? To curry favor with the public? Sway the judges?”

Harry’s voice was calm, but his emerald eyes held firm. “I’m not trying to win, sir. I just want the people who came here—people who travelled from all over the world—not to be disappointed. We’ve got the skills to make this magical experience more magical. That’s all.”

Dumbledore’s smile was subtle but proud. “I believe it’s worth supporting.”

After a long pause, Crouch sighed and scribbled something onto the parchment. “Fine. The Ministry will provide a basic projection screen. The rest is on you.”

Harry nodded. “Understood.”



“Harry! Wait up, lad!”

It was Ludo Bagman, wearing a wide grin and a Quidditch-themed cloak that practically glowed in the moonlight.

Harry sighed internally. “Hello, Mr. Bagman.”

Bagman jogged over, slightly winded. “Good to see you, my boy. Listen, I wanted to have a quick word.”

Harry glanced around. “About what?”

Bagman gave a sheepish chuckle. “About the Tournament, of course! Now, don’t be modest. You’ve got talent. Everyone saw you fly at the World Cup, and your broom company—brilliant, just brilliant!”

Harry raised a brow. “I’m not competing to win. I never wanted to be in the tournament.”

“Yes, yes, but think about what this means!” Bagman leaned closer, voice lowering. “People are betting on you. Big money, Harry. I might have… let’s say… put in a personal stake on your victory.”

Harry blinked. “You bet on me?”

Bagman laughed nervously. “All in good faith, of course! You’re a sure thing if you just try, and it would be great publicity—for the school, for the Ministry, and for your business too. Everyone loves an underdog.”

“I’m not an underdog,” Harry said flatly. “I’m not even a runner. I’m just here so I don’t lose my magic.”

“Well, yes, but wouldn’t it be better if you won something out of it?”

Harry stared at him. “Are you saying you want me to risk my life so you can win a bet?”

Bagman’s smile faltered. “Now, I wouldn’t put it like that…”

“I would.”

And with that, Harry walked off, leaving the Ministry official standing in the moonlight, flustered and red-faced.



No one knew.

As the rest of the school busied themselves preparing for Valentine’s Day and whispering theories about the second task, the founding members of the Stars Club worked under the cloak of invisibility and secrecy.

Under the supervision of Professor Flitwick, they enchanted crystal orbs to float underwater and transmit their surroundings. Hermione and Daphne created spells to filter distortion and amplify motion. Fred and George handled the syncing of all feeds to the projection array, working out visual delays and flickering.

Neville helped calibrate them in the Room of Requirement—transfigured into a model of the lake bed.

Harry oversaw everything, checking every charm, rechecking every spell.

They didn’t have weeks.

They had days.

But together, they made the impossible happen.

By the night before the second task, all the pieces were ready—hidden in crates, locked beneath the dockside shack near the lake. They would be deployed and activated at dawn.

Harry looked over the enchanted screen—a massive, almost translucent silk-like surface that shimmered with charmwork—and smiled.

“Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget,” he whispered.