Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 1

Harry Potter woke slowly, sunlight pouring in through the tall arched windows of the master bedroom in Runestone Castle. The ancient stone walls, etched with faded runes, seemed to shimmer faintly whenever the morning light touched them, as though the castle itself were stirring to life.

He lay in bed for a moment, simply listening to the quiet—no footsteps, no voices beyond the thick doors. That was one of the reasons he cherished this place. Secrecy. Sanctuary. The knowledge that he was the only living soul who had ever claimed this vast, hidden fortress for himself. Well, aside from Sirius.

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the collection of things he’d gathered over the past few years: polished shelves lined with rare Quidditch memorabilia, stacks of leather-bound books in half a dozen languages, a collection of enchanted tools and prototypes he’d used to design broomsticks, and a dozen other half-finished ideas. Against the far wall stood a tall mahogany cabinet where he stored completed broom designs, and near the fireplace—large enough to stand inside—rested four gleaming brooms. Their smooth handles glinted in the firelight.

Harry pushed back the heavy quilt and stepped onto the chilled floor, stretching his arms overhead. He walked over to the brooms and ran a hand along the length of the original Starlord, feeling the familiar thrum of its magic beneath his fingertips. Sales of the Starlord had soared the previous year, making it the most popular racing broom in Britain. But in Harry’s mind, it was already time to improve it, to dream up something sleeker, faster, more responsive.

“There’s always something better to build,” he murmured to himself, smiling a little.

A soft pop announced the arrival of one of the castle’s house-elves. Norky, clad in his spotless white tea towel, beamed up at Harry with enormous watery eyes.

“Good morning, Master Harry!” Norky squeaked, clasping his hands together. “Rosly is making fresh bread in the kitchens, and the fireplaces have been cleaned.”

“Morning, Norky,” Harry said, glancing around. “And thanks. Tell Rosly I’ll be down in a little while.”

“Of course, Master,” Norky said, bowing so low his nose nearly brushed the floor. “We is very happy you cameback to Runestone Castle, sir. Very happy indeed.”

“You know,” Harry said, moving toward the hearth, “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for looking after everything when I was away. You and Rosly have done more than you know.”

Norky flushed dark pink. “It is our honor, Master Harry. And Master Sirius is very happy at Highgarden, too.”

Harry nodded. “That was the least I could do. Grimmauld Place…” He exhaled slowly, the memory of soot and collapsing walls flickering in his mind. “Bellatrix took enough from him. High Garden was the best gift I could think of.”

Norky’s ears drooped slightly at the mention of Bellatrix, but he recovered quickly, offering a nervous smile. “Master Sirius says High Garden has the finest library he has ever seen, and the rose gardens are growing again. He says it feels…peaceful.”

“That’s good,” Harry said quietly. “He deserves some peace.”

Norky bobbed his head. “Is Master Harry wanting to visit him today?”

“Not today,” Harry replied. “If I need to meet anyone, I’ll go over there. Everyone still believes I’m living in High Garden anyway.”

That was the arrangement—Runestone Castle remained a secret, known only to Harry and Sirius. Highgarden was the public face, the convenient address in every document, every casual conversation. If Harry ever needed to bring a friend over, he would simply meet them at Highgarden, no questions asked.

A soft knock came at the door, and Rosly entered carrying a silver tray. She was younger than Norky, her big brown eyes bright with curiosity.

“Master Harry, your tea and bread,” she announced proudly, setting the tray on the carved table near the window. “Also, the elf from the sanctuary is sending word. The mooncalves have had babies again. They says the population is growing fast!”

Harry smiled, feeling something warm unfurl in his chest. “That’s brilliant news.”

The private island Sirius had given him—a hidden Black family holding—had turned into one of Harry’s proudest accomplishments. A sanctuary for magical creatures driven nearly to extinction. In the early days, he had worried they wouldn’t survive, but now, the herds were thriving, protected and left in peace.

“I’ll have to visit soon,” he said. “Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“Oh yes, Master,” Rosly said, her ears wiggling with excitement. “The unicorns are healthy too. And the golden snidgets—hundreds of them!”

“Good work,” Harry told her, feeling a surge of quiet satisfaction. “Let them know I’m grateful.”

He looked back at the brooms near the fireplace and ran a thumb along the polished handle again, his mind already turning over ideas for improvements. Faster acceleration. Smoother handling. A stabilizing rune to prevent spin in crosswinds.

Maybe he’d spend the afternoon sketching out the new design. There was something comforting in the work—something that made the rest of the world feel manageable, even when shadows like Bellatrix Lestrange still lingered, waiting.

“Master Harry?” Norky asked tentatively.

“Hmm?”

“Shall we prepare the workroom for your designing?”

“Yes,” Harry said softly. “Yes, I think it’s time for something new.”



After some designing work, Harry dressed in a dark green jumper and black trousers and took a slow walk down the long central corridor of Runestone Castle. Every step echoed against the cold stones, the tapestries fluttering slightly in the currents of magic that always seemed to drift through the place.

It was nearly time to begin their training sessions again. Over the past two years, he, Neville, and the Weasley twins had turned High Garden into their unofficial headquarters for workouts and dueling practice. The broad lawns and fortified courtyard were perfect for sparring. If someone asked how they’d become so powerful so quickly, it always came down to that discipline: early mornings, bruised arms, exhausted lungs, and spells cast until their wands were hot to the touch.

But this summer, Harry had decided to give everyone a little more time to unwind. They’d all earned it—especially Neville, who had been nearly frantic with grief and anger after Bellatrix’s escape. So he’d waited. Ten days without drills. Ten days to pretend, just a little, that they were ordinary teenagers.

He was still mulling over these thoughts when the main doors swung open with a groaning creak, and Sirius Black strolled in. Sirius was in a fine mood, whistling tunelessly under his breath, his black hair tied back in a careless knot.

“Morning, pup,” Sirius called as he shrugged off his traveling cloak. “Rosly told me you were brooding up here all alone. Thought I’d come check whether you’d started growing moss.”

Harry smirked. “If you’re calling this brooding, you must not remember last year.”

Sirius chuckled and stretched his arms overhead. “Fair point. So, what’s the verdict—training today? Or are you still letting your little army lounge around?”

“I’m giving them until tomorrow,” Harry said. “They deserve at least that much.”

Sirius grinned, but there was a glint in his eye. “How generous. Now, before you drag me into any schemes, I’d like to know—did my company depart on time?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “By company, you mean whichever poor witch you lured to High Garden this week?”

Sirius gave him a wicked, unrepentant smile. “Can you blame me? It’s summer.”

Harry shook his head, trying not to laugh. “I’m only asking because I don’t need to hear screaming the next time I floo in.”

“For your information,” Sirius said loftily, “there was no one yesterday. I spent half the day with Remus. He had a client he needed help charming into a better contract.”

Harry folded his arms. “And did you manage that?”

“Of course,” Sirius said, looking smug. “You’d be amazed what happens when people realize the House of Black still has influence. But Remus is the one who deal with the company matters—I’m just there to look dangerous and occasionally use my connection.”

Harry sighed. “Speaking of business, there’s work we need to do. Come on.”

Sirius frowned slightly, catching the note in Harry’s voice. “Serious work?”

“Serious enough,” Harry said. “Follow me.”

He turned and led Sirius along the corridor, past a row of polished suits of armor and down a narrow spiral staircase that plunged deep beneath the castle. The air grew colder the further they descended, until even Sirius had stopped making jokes.

At the bottom of the stairs, they reached a heavy iron door reinforced with runic locks. Harry pressed his palm against a carved sigil, and the door swung open with a grinding of ancient gears. A torch flared to life, casting orange light across the stone dungeon beyond.

Inside, the walls were lined with iron bars. Chains and manacles hung unused from brackets. At the very back of the chamber, in the smallest cell, a figure stirred—wild black hair matted to her pale face, her mouth twisted in a hateful snarl.

Sirius went still beside Harry.

“Merlin’s bones,” he whispered. “Is that—?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry said quietly.

Bellatrix’s head jerked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes, glassy with feverish malice, fixed on Sirius, and she let out a high, rasping laugh.

“Blood traitor,” she hissed. “Mudblood-lovers, both of you. When the Dark Lord returns, you’ll choke on your own filth—”

“Lovely as always,” Sirius murmured dryly.

Harry ignored her, focusing on Sirius. “I captured her after she murdered Professor Greaves in Hogwarts. That was near the end of last year.”

“You did this alone?” Sirius demanded, his voice low.

“I did,” Harry admitted, “She’s been here ever since.”

Bellatrix hurled herself at the bars, snarling. “You filthy little half-blood bastard—”

Sirius’s lip curled. “Save your breath, Bella. You’ll need it to scream later.”

Bellatrix spat through the bars, barely missing Sirius’s boots.

Sirius stepped back, shaking his head. “What do you plan to do with her?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I’ve already arranged it. Tomorrow, I’m meeting Neville and Augusta Longbottom at Highgarden. I’m going to hand her over. They can decide what happens next.”

Sirius was silent for a moment. Then he smiled slowly, a grim, satisfied expression that made him look older.

“You’re giving them justice,” he said.

“I’m giving them the choice,” Harry replied.

Bellatrix started screaming again—long strings of curses, threats, and insane devotion to a master who hadn’t come back yet.

Sirius turned to her, arms folded. “You tried to kill me the last time we met. Shame you never learned the difference between power and insanity.”

“TRAITOR!” she shrieked. “THE DARK LORD WILL BURN YOU ALL—”

Sirius looked back at Harry, unbothered by the echoing screams. “Augusta Longbottom has been dreaming about this day for years. Whatever she has planned…it’ll be thorough.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Harry said quietly.



Harry lingered in the dungeon a little longer after Bellatrix fell into a sulking, whispering silence. She sat slumped in the corner of her cell, filthy hair hiding her face, though her shoulders still twitched with ragged breaths.

He could almost feel the castle watching them. Runestone Castle was old beyond reckoning, wrapped in layers of wards and hidden protections no modern wizard would ever fully unravel. A place so secret and remote that no one could stumble across it by accident.

All around these ancient halls, in the thick woods and hidden caves, lived magical beasts driven almost to extinction. Harry had spent months bringing them here—crated, sedated, protected by the strongest wards he knew. Unicorns, mooncalves, golden snidgets, kneazles, even a pair of wary augureys.

He glanced back at Bellatrix’s cell, jaw tightening. He didn’t want her here a moment longer. And he certainly didn’t want any hint of her presence to draw the wrong kind of attention—poachers, collectors, or worse.

He looked at Sirius, who was watching him steadily.

“It’s time,” Harry said quietly. “She can’t stay here.”

Sirius nodded once. “I agree. Highgarden?”

Harry exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

With practiced efficiency, they stepped inside the warded cell. Bellatrix lifted her head just as Harry raised his wand.

“You think you can chain me forever, filthy half-blood—”

“Stupefy.”

The red bolt struck her squarely in the chest, and she collapsed backward onto the cold stones. Sirius crouched beside her, checking her pulse with no more concern than if she were a sack of grain.

“She’ll wake up eventually,” he said.

“She won’t enjoy it.”

Together, they fastened thick magic suppression shackles around her wrists and ankles—runes glowing a cold blue as they locked tight. Harry carefully looped another binding chain around her waist, anchoring it to a brass ring he’d sunk into the floor months ago, just in case.

Sirius helped him lift her limp form, and for a moment, Harry caught a whiff of something sharp and metallic beneath the dirt. Bellatrix smelled like old blood and rage.

Once she was secured, Harry stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow. “All right. I’ll hold the transportation rune. You keep her steady.”

“Got it.”

They worked in tense silence. Harry pressed his palm against the air, tracing a broad spiral with the tip of his wand. A shimmering portal flickered to life—circular, tall enough to walk through, pulsing softly with golden light.

Sirius shifted his grip under Bellatrix’s arms. “Ready when you are.”

“Three…two…one.”

They stepped forward together, crossing from the chill of Runestone Castle’s dungeon into the warm, familiar hallway of Highgarden. The portal snapped shut behind them with a faint crackle.

For a moment, Harry felt something ease in his chest. Highgarden might be Sirius’s domain now, but it was still theirs—still safer, still something Voldemort had never touched.

They maneuvered Bellatrix down another flight of stone steps into Highgarden’s own dungeons. Unlike the grim coldness of Runestone, these cells were clean, dry, and faintly perfumed by the rose gardens overhead. It was the least she deserved, he supposed.

Sirius laid her carefully on the iron cot and double-checked the shackles. When he was satisfied, he turned to Harry and clapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“You did well,” he said. “Don’t let yourself forget that.”

Harry didn’t reply. He knew he’d done what had to be done, but it didn’t feel like triumph. Only necessity.

They left the dungeon in silence, climbing back into the bright upper corridors. The moment they emerged, Harry took a deep breath, brushing the dust off his sleeves.

“Come on,” he said, finally. “Let’s go see Remus.”

They stepped into the study, where Remus Lupin was seated behind a broad oak desk piled with parchment, catalogues, and neatly stacked invoices. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, catching the streaks of silver in Remus’s hair.

He looked up with a tired but genuine smile. “There you two are. I thought you might have decided to stay brooding in your castle all day.”

Sirius snorted and dropped into an armchair, looking perfectly at ease. “He had a dungeon to clean out.”

Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask. Instead, he shuffled a stack of parchment. “I’m glad you came. The Star Broomsticks accounts are ready for your signature, Harry.”

Harry stepped closer, glancing down at the tall columns of figures and the embossed seal of their company. The Star Broomsticks Factory had become more than any of them expected. What had started as small hobby was now an empire that reached from Hogsmeade to the Continent.

He signed his name carefully in the space marked Managing Director. Neville and the twins would be along later to do the same—each of them held a share. Sirius, too, though his was small by choice.

Remus rubbed his eyes and leaned back. “Orders are steady. We’ll be running another production batch by next week. The French distributor wants an exclusive model. You can think about that later.”

Harry nodded absently, feeling the weight of everything—business, plans, vengeance, the war that still waited on the horizon.

For now, at least, Bellatrix Lestrange was no longer his secret to keep.

And maybe that was the first step toward something like peace.