Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 10

The golden light of dawn filtered through the enchanted windows of the Hogwarts Great Hall as breakfast began in earnest. But for many of the students at the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin tables, their eyes weren’t focused on pumpkin juice or toast—they were watching the students sitting at the far end of each table, whispering with barely contained excitement.

It was Stars Club Recruitment Day.

And like every year, nearly all of the first-years were buzzing with curiosity.

Jason Miller, now seated proudly among the second-years, leaned over to a tiny boy at the Gryffindor table who kept fidgeting with a quill. “Nervous?”

The boy blinked. “Is it true you met Viktor Krum?”

Jason grinned. “Sat twenty feet from him. Star Club gets you to places.”


That afternoon, in the club’s main room—magically expanded and located through a special passage way on the third floor—Harry stood at the center, flanked by Hermione, Fred, George, Neville, and Hagrid, who had come to supervise the influx.

Rows and rows of first-years shuffled in, wide-eyed and excited. The club room had been decorated with floating parchment banners, magical quills dancing in midair, and a grand charmed noticeboard displaying:
"WELCOME NEW STARS CLUB MEMBERS – SHINE BRIGHT!"

Harry smiled warmly as he saw just how many had joined.

It was always like this at the beginning of the year.

A full house.

But he knew from experience that not everyone would stay.


“First off,” Harry said, clapping his hands. “Welcome to Star Club. You made an excellent choice.”

A wave of applause and a few nervous giggles rippled through the crowd.

Hermione stepped forward, carrying a small enchanted chest. “As tradition, you’ll get your starter kit. A basic quill, journal, and assignment planner. The Stars Club isn't just about fun—we help each other with studies, write for the Star Magazine, and grow together as witches and wizards.”

A small girl raised her hand. “Do we have to write all the time?”

Fred called from the back, “Only if you want to be famous, brilliant, and successful!”

Laughter echoed in the room.

Harry chuckled and added, “The truth is—many of you joined today. But some will leave. And that’s okay. The Stars Club isn’t for everyone. We work hard. We help each other. We push each other to be better. That’s how we shine.”

Hermione held up a dark blue patch, stitched with a silver star surrounded by a delicate ring of runes.

“This is our official Stars Club insignia,” she said proudly. “Designed by yours truly.”

“Ooooh,” came the collective awe from the crowd.

“It can be attached magically to your Hogwarts cloak,” she continued. “Those of you who’ve been with us for a year or more—come forward.”

Jason was among the first, walking confidently to Hermione as she tapped her wand to his shoulder. His cloak shimmered as the silver star insignia appeared on the upper chest, near his heart.

“You’ll receive your badge next year,” Hermione told the first-years. “That way we know who’s truly committed.”


Later that evening, the room buzzed like a beehive.

Long tables were spread out with drafts of articles, sketches, and magical camera scrolls. The first edition of the school year’s Star Magazine was underway.

Neville was tending to the Herbology section, animatedly talking about a new plant in the greenhouse.

Fred and George were testing magical ink that changed colors based on emotional tone—Fred called it "MoodScript."

Jason was sketching a comic strip about life in Hogwarts as a Muggle-born.

Meanwhile, Hermione sat at the editorial table, muttering, “We need more pieces on current events. Who’s covering the Quidditch cancellation fallout?”

“I will,” said Lee Jordan, raising a hand.

“And who’s tackling the Triwizard Tournament background?” Hermione continued.

“I’m already on it,” said Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, flipping through several notes. “I’ve sent owl letters to ministry officials.”

Harry, seated near the back with his quill in hand, smiled at the sight.

This—this was what made Stars Club special.

They weren’t just students.

They were creators, thinkers, dreamers.

And even though he carried the weight of too many secrets—like the real dangers the tournament might bring—he allowed himself a quiet moment of peace, surrounded by the buzzing hum of magical ambition.

“Feels like we’re building something bigger this year,” Hagrid murmured as he appeared behind Harry, watching the club work.

Harry nodded. “We are.”

“Ready for it?”

Harry looked out over the students, their eyes alight with purpose.

“Let’s shine,” he said.



The chill in the autumn air had settled across the castle grounds like a silk shawl, making the sunlight glitter off the surface of the Black Lake. The entire school was gathered outside the castle, buzzing with anticipation.

Even the professors—stern and composed on ordinary days—seemed curious. For once, even Professor Snape stood at the back, arms crossed, scanning the horizon like a sentry.

“They’re coming today, right?” Dean Thomas whispered to Seamus.

“That’s what Dumbledore said,” Seamus replied, squinting at the sky. “But how? Floo? Portkey? Apparition?”

“They wouldn’t fit an entire school through the fireplace,” Hermione murmured, standing beside Harry and the Star Club members at the front.

“I heard the Durmstrang students ride dragons,” said a Ravenclaw fourth year breathlessly.

“No, they arrive by firestorm,” said a Slytherin girl confidently. “The lake will boil and they’ll rise from it.”

“Shush,” whispered Jason, standing next to Harry. “Look!”

Someone from the crowd screamed, “LOOK UP!”

All heads tilted toward the sky.

At first, it looked like a faint glimmer—a shimmer in the clouds. Then, as the sun pierced the veil, a shape grew clearer: winged figures, dark and elegant, gliding across the sky.

“They’re flying horses!” Hermione gasped. “Abraxans!”

A dozen massive, muscular white-winged horses, easily the size of elephants, were flying in tight formation through the sky. Their hooves sparkled with magic as they pulled a massive, polished carriage, the size of a small cottage.

“Beauxbatons,” Harry whispered, recognizing the sigil on the carriage's side—a golden wand crossed with silver stars.

Down below, Hagrid waved a crimson flag as wide as a bed sheet, guiding the Abraxans toward the wide expanse of grass between the forest and the castle.

With practiced precision, the majestic beasts circled once and descended. Their landing kicked up a whirlwind of leaves and dust as they touched down with a heavy, synchronized thud.

The carriage wheels hit the earth with a soft quake.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Then the door opened.

From within, a tall, graceful woman in ice-blue robes stepped down first—her silver hair swept back like frozen silk. Madame Maxime.

She was easily ten feet tall, taller than Hagrid, and her eyes sparkled as she surveyed the waiting students.

“Zank you for ze warm welcome,” she said in a melodious French accent.

“I’m just getting started,” Hagrid mumbled, puffing his chest out proudly.

Before the Hogwarts students could even recover from that spectacle, a new sound broke through the air—a deep rumble, almost like thunder but too wet, too heavy.

The Black Lake began to ripple violently.

The entire student body turned toward it, falling silent.

From the center of the lake, bubbles began to rise—large, frothing, rolling boils of water.

Then with a sound like a wave crashing in reverse, a ship burst out of the depths, rising straight up from beneath the surface.

It was a dark, iron-clad galleon, with sails that shimmered like smoke and runes etched into its hull.

“No way,” breathed Ron.

“There’s no river connected to the lake,” Hermione said, stunned. “It’s magically anchored. That... that ship must’ve been transported here.”

The great galleon floated atop the still water now, and a plank extended magically to the lakeshore.

From its deck, students in crimson furs and black uniforms descended with cold confidence. At their lead was a figure with long silver-blond hair and a stern face—Highmaster Igor Karkaroff.

“Durmstrang,” Harry said quietly.

Jason watched with wide eyes. “They look like warriors... not students.”

“They’re trained like soldiers,” said Neville.

The Durmstrang students moved in neat rows, weapons sheathed at their belts—some even carried staffs and bladed wands. Their expressions were hard, proud, and unflinching.

As both groups gathered before the castle, the bell rang out from the North Tower, its deep chime echoing across the hills.

“Back to the Great Hall,” shouted Professor McGonagall over the murmuring students. “Everyone inside!”


The crowd slowly filed back into the Great Hall, excitement sparking in every direction.

The long tables were still there, but the Great Hall had changed. The enchanted ceiling glowed with starlight now, not sunlight, and a new enormous platform had been erected along the side opposite the staff table—lined with three massive chairs.

The Beauxbatons students moved together, like elegant dancers, and seated themselves at a smaller crystal table to the left.

The Durmstrang delegation marched to their obsidian table on the right, leaving a trail of frost behind them.

Whispers floated in every direction.

“I heard they duel dragons at Durmstrang.”

“Beauxbatons has singing duels. I swear.”

“Do you think they’ll take part in classes with us?”

Harry and his friends sat down with the rest of the Star Club, many of whom had notebooks open already.

“I’m taking notes,” Hermione said. “There’ll be at least three article ideas from today alone.”

Dumbledore rose from his chair. The room fell silent.

“Welcome, students—of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang—to what promises to be a most historic year. In the coming days, you shall see traditions reborn, challenges unveiled, and friendships formed between lands near and far.”

He smiled warmly, eyes twinkling.

“But tonight, we feast!”

With a clap of his hands, the plates filled with the finest magical dishes from across Europe—French pastries, Eastern European dumplings, and British roast all together.

Jason leaned toward Harry, whispering, “We’re not just part of a club now, are we?”

Harry gave him a grin. “No. We’re part of history.”



The buzz inside Hogwarts grew louder with each passing day since the arrival of the foreign students. It wasn’t the kind of tension that came before exams or a Quidditch match—this was different. This was excitement. Anticipation. Magic not of wands, but of recognition.

The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had quickly settled into the castle, but what no one had expected was just how well-informed they already were about one thing—no, one group.

The Stars Club.

It began innocently enough. At breakfast the next morning, Harry barely had time to butter his toast when a Beauxbatons sixth year approached the Gryffindor table.

“Excuse me,” she said in heavily-accented English, holding out a rolled-up copy of The Star Magazine. “Are you ‘Arry Potter?”

Harry blinked, surprised. “Er—yes.”

“My name is Elise. I read your piece on magical brooms versus enchantment-run transport in the July edition. Could you please autograph zis?”

Harry blinked again.

Neville coughed into his pumpkin juice. “Guess your fame’s shifted continents.”

Before Harry could respond, three more students from Beauxbatons and two Durmstrang boys walked up behind her.

“I really liked your rune calculations on acceleration charms!” one boy said excitedly in a thick Slavic accent. “You corrected the French Ministry’s numbers—do you know how rare that is?”

Fred leaned back in his chair, grinning ear to ear. “Didn’t think we’d become celebrities over quills and ink.”

“I thought they’d be more excited about the Dark Lord stuff,” Ron muttered.

“Not in Beauxbatons or Durmstrang,” Hermione whispered back. “Voldemort never touched their world. They don’t see Harry as the Boy Who Lived. They see him as...”

“A business prodigy,” added Luna, who had just arrived, munching on a violet turnip muffin. “And the Weasley twins are prank revolutionaries.”

As if to confirm her words, a tall Durmstrang student approached the twins with a serious expression.

“You are Frederick and George Weasley, yes?” he asked. “I have read your column. My friends and I have questions about the ‘Inverted Bubblegum Curse.’ It is genius.”

Fred beamed. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Hermione elbowed him sharply.

Meanwhile, another wave of attention rolled toward Harry.

This time, it was Victor Krum.

The Bulgarian Seeker strolled up with a confident gait, flanked by two other Durmstrang boys. He wore a black and red trimmed cloak with the Durmstrang crest, but what truly caught attention was the gleaming broomstick in his hand.

The Starlord.

It was unmistakable—sleek, matte black, etched with runes, and modified for professional play.

“Potter,” Krum said in his gruff voice.

Harry stood up, a little awkward but curious. “Krum.”

The Seeker didn’t offer his hand—he didn’t need to. Instead, he gave a small nod of approval. “You made this broom?”

Harry smiled slightly. “Designed it. I have a team who helps with production.”

“I used to fly the Firebolt,” Krum said, holding out the Starlord. “But this... it cuts sharper in the air. No drag. How?”

Hermione, behind Harry, immediately perked up. “Custom wood layering. Harry used dragon scale resin in the varnish. It resists magical friction.”

Krum raised his eyebrows and turned back to Harry. “You have more models coming?”

“I’m working on a racing variant,” Harry admitted. “Lighter frame, less control for more speed. Not approved yet.”

“I want to test it,” Krum said plainly. “Tell me when it’s ready.”

“Oh, and...” he reached into his robes and pulled out a small camera. “One picture?”

Harry laughed. “Sure.”

Neville took the camera, and to the amazement of everyone, snapped a photo of Victor Krum posing next to Harry Potter.

As they walked away, Fred muttered under his breath, “Blimey. He’s fanboying you.”


That night, as the stars twinkled outside the enchanted ceiling, Harry sat back in his room, looking at a signed picture of him and Krum.

He wasn’t the Boy Who Lived to them.

Just Harry Potter, the innovator.

And for once... he liked that.