The Tenth Weasley - CH - 147

The death of Barty Crouch and the missing of Highmaster Karkaroff sent shockwaves through the entire magical world, but nowhere was the impact felt more painfully than inside Hogwarts. What had begun as an exciting, international celebration of magical skill had turned into a fortified, suffocating cage.

The Tournament was still happening — because the Ministry could not bear the humiliation of canceling it — but everything else had changed.

Security had become a nightmare.

Harry woke to the sound of boots pounding across the Durmstrang ship’s upper deck. When he rushed outside, he saw ten Aurors standing in formation, wands drawn, scanning every inch of the vessel.

Viktor muttered angrily beside him.

“Is like ve are prisoners.”

Harry agreed silently.

Aurors patrolled the railings, examined every storage box, and checked every student wand. Kingsley Shacklebolt gave orders in his deep voice:

“Inspect all passages. Check for hidden compartments. Verify every name. No one leaves without clearance.”

Hermione, who had come early to bring Harry some books, stood on the dock watching nervously.

“Harry,” she whispered, “this is… excessive.”

“Not excessive,” Harry muttered, eyes scanning the forest. “Paranoid. Desperate.”

A tall Auror approached them. “Names?”

“Harry Weasley,” Harry answered calmly.

“Hermione Granger.”

The Auror’s eyes narrowed. “You are not allowed on the Durmstrang ship unless summoned for academic reasons, Miss Granger.”

Hermione stiffened. “I’m helping Harry research—”

“Research must occur in the Hogwarts library,” the Auror interrupted. “Escorted.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “She’s my—”

“Rules apply to everyone, son.”

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand before pulling away. “I’ll see you later.”

Harry watched her leave with a sinking feeling.

She wasn’t even allowed to visit him without paperwork.

When Harry attempted to enter the castle later that day, he was stopped immediately at the doors.

Two Aurors crossed their wands before him.

“Purpose of visit?”

Harry raised his eyebrow. “Purpose?”

“This castle is now under restricted access for foreign delegates,” one Auror said. “Only Triwizard-related activities are permitted.”

Another added, “No mingling with Hogwarts students. No unsupervised wandering. Direct path to your destination and back.”

Harry exhaled softly, trying to stay polite.

“I need to go to the library.”

“For what?”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “To study.”

The Aurors exchanged suspicious glances, then nodded.

“Escort him.”

Harry blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Every Durmstrang and Beauxbatons student must be escorted anywhere inside the castle.”

Three Aurors fell into formation around him, leading him like a prisoner up the stairs.

Students stared as they passed:

wide-eyed first years,

whispering older students,

shocked foreign visitors.

Ron shouted from the Gryffindor table, “Merlin’s pants, Harry! They’re treating you like you murdered Crouch!”

Harry didn’t answer — he just kept walking.

Hermione hurried to join him but was blocked instantly.

“Only tournament business, Miss Granger,” an Auror warned.

Hermione glared. “He’s my—!”

Harry gave her a small nod. “It’s okay. Later.”

She relented, though her eyes remained burning with frustration.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Moody watching everything from the staff table.

The magical eye whirled, scanning every Auror.

His normal eye narrowed when it passed over Harry.

Then both eyes shifted away, cold and calculating.

Before the lockdown, Harry could follow Moody through corridors, observe him at odd hours, or intercept him near the Forbidden Forest.

Now?

Aurors escorted Harry everywhere.

Durmstrang students were forbidden from wandering at night.

Hogwarts students were kept in their towers.

Common rooms were sealed.

Dormitories were watched.

Every staff member was interviewed.

Moody became untouchable behind a wall of Ministry paranoia.

Viktor slammed a book onto the Durmstrang table that night. “Ve cannot investigate. Ve cannot move. Ve cannot breathe!”

Hermione sighed, flipping through her notes. “It’s worse for Beauxbatons. They can’t leave their carriage after dark. Madame Maxime yelled at an Auror and he nearly arrested her.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Everything felt wrong, tight, suffocating.

“I was supposed to watch Moody,” Harry said quietly. “Now I can barely watch myself.”

Meals were no longer served in the Great Hall. Instead:

Durmstrang students received enchanted crates of food brought directly to their ship.

Beauxbatons students had meals delivered to their carriage.

Hogwarts students remained in the Great Hall with Aurors stationed along the walls.

It killed the spirit of the Tournament.

No more inter-school talking.

No laughter echoing between tables.

No friendly challenges.

No bragging between Hogwarts and Durmstrang students.

No flirting.

No cultural exchanges.

Just silence.

Fear.

Suspicion.

At dinner, Viktor glared at the Auror standing guard at the ship door.

“I feel like ve are under siege.”

Harry nodded grimly. “We are.”

Hermione walked as close as she could get to the ship railing from the Hogwarts side — separated by Aurors, ropes, and rules.

She called out quietly, “Harry!”

Harry stood and walked toward her, but an Auror immediately stepped between them.

“State your business.”

Hermione snapped, “Talking to my boyfriend!”

The Auror didn’t blink. “Move along, Miss Granger.”

Harry clenched his fists. “Let her speak.”

“No,” the Auror said, firm. “Orders.”

Hermione’s face flushed with anger and helplessness.

By the next morning, the castle was unrecognizable.

Aurors prowled the corridors.

Wards flashed on doors and windows.

Quidditch pitch was locked.

Hogsmeade weekends were canceled.

No one was allowed near the forest.

Prefects marched nervous groups of younger students to classes.

The laughter, the excitement — everything that made the Tournament magical — evaporated overnight.

Cedric Diggory complained loudly in the courtyard:

“What’s the point of having international cooperation if we’re all locked inside our schools like criminals?”

Fleur Delacour glared at an Auror who tracked her every movement.

“Zis is ridiculous! We came here to learn. Not to be imprisoned!”

Even the teachers seemed exhausted.

McGonagall was furious.

Flitwick was frazzled.

Madame Maxime threatened to pull her students out.

But the Ministry refused to ease up.

Not when a body had been found.

Not when Karkaroff was missing.

Not when the Tournament’s reputation was at risk.

And that meant Harry’s entire plan — watching Moody, tracking his movements, gathering clues — had collapsed overnight.

He now lived under the same rigid surveillance as everyone else.

He could not roam at night.

He could not sneak into the castle.

He could not investigate Moody directly.

He could not even meet Hermione without someone eavesdropping.

The world had caged the Dragons.

But Harry Weasley was no ordinary Dragon…

He would find another way.

The storm hit Hogwarts with no warning.

Harry had just finished a guarded walk to the library — flanked by two Aurors — when the alarms sounded across the castle.

A sharp, piercing whistle echoed through the corridors, followed by a booming voice amplified by magic:

“AURORS DOWN! MEDICAL EMERGENCY NEAR THE COURTYARD! CLEAR THE AREA!”

Students screamed. Professors sprinted.

Aurors ran past Harry in a blur of dark robes and drawn wands.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s wrist. “Harry—what’s happening?”

Harry didn’t answer. He pulled her down the nearest stairwell and toward the courtyard. The Aurors tried to stop them, but Harry’s determination carved a path.

When they reached the courtyard, Harry froze.

Two Aurors lay on the ground, one unconscious, the other bleeding heavily from deep slashes across his chest. Their uniforms were torn. Their wands lay broken beside them.

And standing above them — surveying the scene with shock and fury — was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

He barked orders at the mediwizards.

“Get them to St. Mungo’s immediately! MOVE!”

But that wasn’t what made Harry’s blood run cold.

What made the crowd gasp, what made whispers explode like sparks in dry grass, was what one of the injured Aurors struggled to say:

“A… a student… wearing… Durmstrang uniform… attacked us…”

Hermione whispered, “Oh, no…”

The courtyard erupted.

“Durmstrang attacked the Ministry!”

“They tried to kill Aurors!”

“Are they Death Eaters?”

“Is this why Karkaroff vanished?”

“It’s a conspiracy!”

Students backed away from Durmstrang robes as though they carried plague. Beauxbatons girls whispered in fear. Even Hufflepuffs stared with wide, accusing eyes.

Viktor Krum pushed through the crowd, fury blazing in his gaze.

His voice roared through the courtyard.

“Ve vould NEVER attack Aurors!”

But panic drowned his words.

The British Ministry had found the excuse it had been waiting for.

And Durmstrang was now officially the enemy.

Professor Navarro arrived seconds later, cloak billowing behind him. One look at the injured Aurors, and he turned toward Kingsley.

In a voice that shook the air, he demanded, “What happened?”

Kingsley leaned heavily on his staff. “Two of my Aurors were ambushed from behind. Slashed with dark magic. By someone in a Durmstrang uniform.”

Navarro’s jaw tightened. “Uniforms can be stolen.”

One Auror — the one still conscious — pointed a shaking hand toward the ship.

“It was Durmstrang. They wore that red-and-black coat… the dragon emblem…”

Navarro stepped forward, voice like steel. “Are you certain you saw the face?”

The Auror struggled. “No… they wore a hood…”

Navarro spread his arms. “Then you accuse my students without proof.”

Moody clanked forward on his wooden leg.

“Well,” he growled loudly enough for everyone to hear, “it’s no secret Durmstrang trains its students to enjoy violence.”

Viktor stepped forward, fist tightening. “Do not insult us.”

Moody’s magical eye spun toward him. “Just stating facts.”

Harry stepped between them before Viktor could speak.

“Enough.”

Moody’s normal eye narrowed at Harry’s tone.

Harry continued, voice sharp and clear.

“If someone wanted to frame Durmstrang, all they would need is a coat or a transfiguration spell. Anyone could fake a uniform.”

Kingsley nodded slowly. “True… but we cannot ignore the possibility.”

No one noticed Moody’s mouth twitch at the corner.

But Harry did.

That night, Harry gathered Viktor, Anya, and the other Durmstrang students inside Navarro’s cabin.

Navarro paced slowly, anger simmering beneath his calm.

“We must prove our innocence. I will not have Durmstrang’s name tarnished by a coward in stolen clothes.”

Viktor slammed the table. “Ve did NOTHING! Ve vould never attack Aurors!”

Harry lifted a hand. “I know. I checked.”

Everyone turned to him.

Navarro frowned. “Checked what?”

Harry spread several sheets of parchment on the table — each containing the names, wand signatures, and locations of Durmstrang students during the time of the attack.

“You checked their wand signatures?” Navarro whispered, impressed despite the situation.

Harry nodded. “Durmstrang wands leave a faint rune-mark in the wood when used for aggressive spells. I examined every single wand.”

Navarro’s brows rose. “And?”

“And none show signs of offensive magic used today,” Harry said firmly. “Not one.”

Viktor exhaled shakily.

The students around him murmured in relief.

Hermione added, “Then someone is trying to frame Durmstrang.”

Harry nodded. “Exactly.”

Navarro looked at Harry with a new level of respect. “You did well.”

Harry didn’t smile.

Because something still wasn’t right.

“Whoever attacked those Aurors,” Harry said slowly, “wanted the British Ministry to distrust Durmstrang. They want conflict. Division. Fear.”

Viktor leaned forward. “But why?”

Harry answered in a whisper.

“To hide themselves.”

Silence fell.

Anya’s eyes widened. “You mean… if the Ministry suspects Durmstrang, they won’t suspect—”

“The real culprit,” Harry finished.

Navarro inhaled sharply. “Are you saying—”

“I’m saying someone is orchestrating everything,” Harry said. “Karkaroff’s disappearance. Crouch’s death. The chain breaking during Charlie’s task. And now the attack on Aurors.”

Viktor muttered, “All to destabilize the Tournament…”

Anya whispered, “And isolate Potter…”

Navarro clenched his fists. “If you are right, Harry… then this enemy is bold. Skilled. And dangerous.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“And they’re wearing our robes.”

The very next day, the Ministry issued a statement.

Durmstrang students were no longer allowed inside Hogwarts except for tasks.

All Durmstrang wands would be inspected daily.

No Durmstrang student could walk alone.

Aurors doubled their watch around the ship.

Additional wards were placed to trap any student leaving without permission.

When Kingsley read the rules aloud, Viktor swore under his breath in Bulgarian.

Fleur whispered sympathetically, “Zis is unfair.”

Charlie said, “It’s wrong. They’re treating Durmstrang like criminals.”

Ron whispered to Hermione, “They’re going to explode if this keeps up.”

Hermione answered, “Durmstrang already feels caged.”

Harry watched Moody through all of this.

Moody’s magical eye flicked to every Durmstrang robe with keen interest.

He wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t confused.

He looked…

Satisfied.

That night, as Harry stood alone at the ship railing, Victor came to his side.

“Did you see Moody today?” he whispered. “He… he looked like he expected this.”

Harry nodded.

“He did. Because he planned for it.”

Victor looked at him strangely. “Harry… if he’s behind the attack, then he’s escalating. He’s provoking Aurors now. He’s creating an international crisis.”

Harry’s voice lowered.

“He wants chaos. Because in chaos, he can act freely.”

Victor shivered. “What do we do?”

Harry looked at the distant castle, where Moody’s room glowed faintly behind curtains.

And his voice hardened with resolve.

“We distroy him.”