Harry Potter and the Triwizard Gambit - Chapter - 9

The sky above Platform Three and Three-Quarters was a soft gray, touched by the pale blush of dawn. The September breeze rolled gently across the platform, rustling cloaks and tugging at hat brims, and for once, there was no laughter echoing across the red-bricked station.

Not even the Weasley twins cracked a joke.

Everyone was anxious.

And the reason was clear—the Dark Mark.

Even weeks after the Quidditch World Cup, its lingering presence hovered in the air like a phantom. The Daily Prophet still splashed headlines speculating on the identity of the culprit. “Dark Wizard Returns?” one read. “Aurors Blame Elf, Then Retract Blame.” “Malfoy’s Wand Cleared – But Questions Remain.” No answers, only fear.

Children clutched their parents tighter than usual. Parents whispered nervously among themselves, casting darting looks at Ministry patrols keeping watch near the platform’s barrier.

Harry stood silently beside his luggage trolley, watching it all—the restless energy, the tension, the way even the excited chatter of first-years had dulled to a whisper.

Beside him stood Sirius, sharply dressed but alert. And just behind, Remus, wand tucked in his belt, eyes flicking across the crowd. Jason Miller stood between Fred and George, holding his trunk with both hands, glancing nervously at a group of Slytherins in the corner.

“There used to be excitement in the air,” Harry muttered.

“Now there’s suspicion,” Sirius said grimly. “Everyone’s waiting for something bad to happen. Again.”


When the Hogwarts Express’s scarlet engine gave its whistle and the heavy doors swung open, students flooded aboard in sluggish waves. No racing to find seats, no jostling for the best compartments. Just cautious silence.

Harry helped load Jason’s trunk, then climbed aboard with his friends. His destination wasn’t any random compartment this time. No, it was one he had prepared.

With a subtle flick of his wand, the last compartment of the train expanded like an accordion, unfolding silently into a larger sitting space, big enough to fit nearly twenty comfortably. Velvet seats stretched along the walls, floating lanterns lit the corners, and an enchanted tea set brewed cocoa in the middle.

One by one, the original Star Club members filed in.

Fred and George Weasley, their usual antics subdued, took seats near the back. Neville, with his new protective dragon-hide satchel, sat by the window with Susan. Hermione, with a stack of parchment already ready, settled beside Harry, while Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and several others joined in.

When the final member, Tracy Davis, drifted in with her serene smile, humming to herself, Harry finally waved his wand and locked the compartment door with a silencing spell.


“We’re all here now,” Hermione noted, glancing around. “Well, most of us. Still a few returning next term.”

“Right,” said George. “So now can we talk about the blinking green skull in the sky last week?”

Fred added, “Still have nightmares about it. Looked like it was watching me shave.”

“I heard people thought You-Know-Who was back,” said Terry, voice low.

“They always say that when someone sneezes in a cloak,” muttered Padma.

“But seriously…” Neville cleared his throat. “If no one knows who did it, and the Ministry’s pointing fingers at elves and wands… it’s not good. We could be next.”

“They’re not even saying how the spell was cast,” Hermione said, eyes narrowed. “There are only a few known incantations strong enough to produce a Dark Mark. And those require enormous magical will.”

Theodore looked around the compartment. “If the Ministry can’t protect people during the World Cup, then what about Hogwarts?”

A cold silence fell over the group.

Then Harry spoke.

“There’s something you should know,” he said quietly. “And I need you all to keep it secret. At least until it’s announced.”

All heads turned.

Harry leaned forward.

“There won’t be a Hogwarts Quidditch League this year.”

“What?!” Fred and George exclaimed at once. “But—!”

“Calm down,” Harry said, raising a hand. “I thought so too. But I was told directly. From someone at the Ministry.”

“Ludo Bagman?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. “He told me before summer started. He said the Ministry is organizing something bigger. Much bigger. And Hogwarts is one of the hosts.”

Fred’s eyes widened. “Wait—”

Harry nodded again. “It’s the Triwizard Tournament.”

Murmurs and gasps broke out.

“The Triwizard?” Angelina echoed. “That’s—real? I thought it was… like a myth.”

“It was real,” Hermione confirmed, sitting upright. “An ancient tournament between the three biggest European wizarding schools: Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts. But it was shut down centuries ago. People died.”

“They’re bringing it back,” Harry said. “Safeguards, new rules, and all. But that’s why we won’t be flying brooms on Saturdays. Hogwarts will be hosting champions.”

George crossed his arms. “So we get to watch instead of play?”

Fred nudged him. “That depends, doesn’t it? We’re old enough to enter, aren’t we?”

Harry shook his head. “Bagman didn’t say much more. But I got the feeling that entering will be more… difficult. There’ll be a selection process.”

Blaise frowned. “Are we allowed to help?”

Hermione perked up. “Maybe we could cover it for Stars Magazine. We could document the entire tournament!”

“That’s a great idea,” said Hannah. “Get interviews, diagrams, action reports—”

“I’ll handle the graphics,” Tracy chimed. “I’ll draw the dragons.”

“Wait—dragons?!” Neville squeaked.

“No one said anything about dragons,” Harry chuckled. “But who knows? It’s the Triwizard. Anything’s possible.”


As the train rolled steadily through the Scottish Highlands, rain misted against the windows, and the murmur of voices carried through the warm compartment. Worry still lingered, yes—but something else had taken its place.

Anticipation.

Because change was coming.

And for Harry and the Star Club… the tournament was just the beginning.


The Hogwarts Express let out a long, echoing whistle as it came to a gradual halt at Hogsmeade Station, its wheels hissing steam into the crisp evening air. Students began to pour out from every carriage, pulling their trunks, stretching cramped legs, and buttoning cloaks against the chilly breeze of the Scottish Highlands.

Harry stepped off the train with a deep breath of the familiar mountain air. The sky above was streaked with dusky amber and deep purple, the sun having just dipped beneath the horizon. It was the first night of term.

He turned slightly and smiled as he spotted Jason Miller, already surrounded by a small cluster of first-years, all chattering nervously.

“Looks like he found his fans,” Fred murmured beside him, carrying his enchanted satchel over one shoulder.

Harry chuckled. “He’s a Star Club member now. He’s got that glow.”

“More like stage fright,” said George from behind, giving Jason a little wave, which the boy returned quickly before going back to his group.

A little further ahead, the thestral-drawn carriages waited silently—black, ancient carts led by skeletal winged beasts that most students couldn't see. The first-years, of course, would travel by boat, but the older students began to pile into the thestral carts.

Harry approached one of them, patting the invisible creature gently on the side. “Hello again.”

He climbed in with Neville, Fred and George, the cart jolting into motion as soon as the door closed behind them.


By the time the cart rolled to a stop before the front steps of Hogwarts Castle, lanterns had been lit along the long stone corridors. The students who arrived first—those in the thestral carts—were ushered straight into the Great Hall, which stood just as splendid as always: floating candles flickering, the ceiling enchanted to reflect the twilight sky, and the long tables polished and waiting.

Harry paused for a second as he crossed the threshold. He looked up and around—how many times had he walked into this hall? Yet tonight, something felt… different. He could feel it in the air. Maybe it was because of the chaos at the World Cup. Or maybe it was the weight of what he was about to witness—what he knew was coming.

They all took their seats. Slowly, the chatter returned as more students filed in. And then—

The doors opened again.

And there they were.

The first-years.

A line of wide-eyed, nervous, wand-clutching little witches and wizards, most barely reaching the waist of the older students. They stepped into the Great Hall like deer walking into a lion’s den, their eyes darting to the floating candles, the enchanted ceiling, the gazing faces at the four House tables.

Harry found himself smiling warmly. For a moment, he remembered what it was like to be that small—standing beside Neville, terrified and wide-eyed, unsure of what came next.

“Were we ever that tiny?” Fred whispered, nudging George.

“I think we still are,” George whispered back. “Just in the brain.”

They snickered softly, but like all the others, they turned their attention forward as Professor McGonagall brought out the Sorting Hat and its three-legged stool.


One by one, names were called. Each student sat trembling beneath the hat, which bellowed its decisions as always.

“Hufflepuff!”

“Ravenclaw!”

“Slytherin!”

“Gryffindor!”

And no matter which house was called, the Stars Club members clapped. Loudly. Encouragingly.

Even Slytherins received polite applause, especially from Jason and Hermione, who both believed in not perpetuating old house rivalries.

Some of the students gave timid smiles when they saw the older students clapping for them. A few even recognized Harry and looked utterly awestruck.

“Poor things,” Parvathi murmured. “They have no idea what kind of year they're walking into.”

“Do any of us?” Harry muttered.


After the last student was sorted and seated, Professor Dumbledore rose from the golden staff chair at the head of the room. His silver beard shimmered beneath the candlelight, and his twinkling eyes surveyed the room with calm amusement.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice echoing through the Hall like a warm wave of music. “To another year at Hogwarts!”

The room broke into cheers, though there was still a slight stiffness in the way people clapped. The memory of the Dark Mark hung like invisible smoke in the back of everyone's mind.

“I know that this summer has left many of us… unsettled,” Dumbledore continued, his expression momentarily grave. “But know this—Hogwarts remains a sanctuary. And this year… will be unlike any before it.”

Whispers erupted at every table. Harry felt his heart skip slightly.

“There is much to say,” Dumbledore went on. “But before that, let the feast begin!”


As always, the golden plates and goblets suddenly filled with food—roast chicken, lamb stew, steaming mashed potatoes, pumpkin juice, treacle tart, and golden rolls appeared before their eyes, and the smell washed over the hall like a delicious spell.

But despite the feast, excitement hummed through the room. The students knew something was coming.

Harry leaned across the table toward Jason. “Enjoy the food. You’ll need a full stomach for what’s coming.”

Jason blinked. “Wait. What’s coming?”

Harry only smiled.


When the feast ended and plates vanished with a soft chime, Dumbledore stood again.

“Ahem,” he said. The room quieted.

“I have a rather important announcement to make. As you may have heard, there will be no Quidditch Cup this year.”

The Hall gasped.

“What?!”

“No Quidditch?!”

“Is this a joke?!”

Fred and George exchanged knowing looks. Several students booed softly.

Dumbledore raised a hand.

“Do not despair,” he said, his voice calm. “The reason is quite simple. This year, Hogwarts has the immense honor of hosting the Triwizard Tournament.”

Silence.

And then—

“WHAT?!”

“Are you serious?!”

“The Triwizard?!”

Harry watched as his fellow students looked at one another in shock and awe. Even the professors seemed tense, as if they too were aware of the stakes this decision held.

Dumbledore continued, “For the first time in over a century, the great schools of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts will come together for a series of magical trials unlike any you have seen. One champion will be chosen from each school to compete. The selection process will begin in due course.”

Hermione was sitting upright, eyes glowing with curiosity. Fred and George were whispering excitedly, already planning who might enter.

Jason looked toward Harry with wide eyes. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Harry only nodded.

“This year,” Dumbledore said, “will test us. Unite us. And most of all… remind us that the fire of magic burns brightest when kindled together.”

He spread his arms. “Sleep well. Dream deep. And prepare—for greatness awaits.”


The students rose slowly, buzzing with excitement and dread in equal measure.

As Harry stood, he looked toward the enchanted ceiling. Somewhere above the clouds, destiny was shifting.

And the game was about to begin.