The days leading up to the third and final task were a strange mixture of feverish excitement and oppressive dread. The entire school was buzzing with anticipation for the grand finale of the Triwizard Tournament. Champions were seen practicing complex spells in empty classrooms, and betting pools were running rampant in every common room. But for those who knew the truth, a darker current ran beneath the surface.
Harry, fully aware that his participation was not an accident but a malicious plot, trained with a grim, focused intensity. He felt as though he were preparing not for a competition, but for an ambush.
His training sessions with Ariana, Hermione, and Daphne in the Room of Requirement became less about learning new spells and more about strategic refinement. They had already covered every conceivable defensive charm, counter-curse, and navigation spell. Now, Ariana shifted her focus from practical magic to psychological warfare.
"The first two tasks were tests of specific skills," she explained one afternoon, as they stood before a magically generated map of the maze that was growing on the Quidditch pitch. "Bravery against the dragon, problem-solving for the lake. The third task, the maze, is different. It is a test of character under immense, sustained pressure. The obstacles will not just be magical creatures or physical barriers. The greatest threat in the maze will be the maze itself."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"It will be enchanted to disorient you," she said, her voice calm and analytical. "To foster paranoia.
To make you doubt what you see and hear. It will prey on your fears and wear down your resolve. Your magical skill is sufficient, Harry. Your challenge will be to maintain your mental clarity."
On the day before the final task, Ariana asked to speak with Harry alone. They walked by the edge of the Great Lake, the water calm and dark under the evening sky.
"Tomorrow, you will enter the maze," she began, her tone serious. "I have taught you the necessary spells. Hermione has provided you with all the relevant historical data. Daphne has given you insights into how the other champions think. But I have two final, critical pieces of advice for you. They are not spells. They are protocols for survival. You must commit them to memory."
Harry nodded, his full attention on her.
"First," she said, her periwinkle eyes locking onto his, "the moment you step into that maze, you are alone. Trust no one. Not Cedric, not Fleur, not Krum. They are your competitors, and the maze will make them desperate. Even more importantly, trust no one you might see who is not a competitor. Do not trust whispers, or apparitions, or offers of help. They will be illusions designed to trap you."
She paused, her expression becoming grim. "This task is the endgame of the plot that put you in this tournament. This is where they will make their move. This is the task where they will try to kill you, or worse, take you. Which means the other champions are not just your rivals; they are collateral damage. They are in immense danger. If you see an opportunity to help one of them without compromising your own safety, do so. But your primary objective is not to be a hero to them. It is to survive. Do not team up with anyone. Do not allow anyone to travel with you. If you see the Triwizard Cup, and the path is clear, you take it. You do not wait. You do not hesitate. You complete the contest. Pulling them will not only cause them to get in your escape way, but also cause them to be in a risk themselves. Is that understood?"
The cold, hard logic of it was chilling, but Harry knew she was right. This wasn't a school competition anymore. It was a warzone. "Understood," he said, his voice quiet.
"Good," she said. "Now for the second, and most important, piece of advice." She stopped walking and turned to face him fully. "The Triwizard Cup at the center of the maze is your goal. However, there is a moderate to high probability that the cup itself has been tampered with. It may not be what it seems."
Harry stared at her. "What do you mean? You think it's a trap?"
"I believe it is the final piece of the transportation mechanism," she stated. "The person who confounded the Goblet of Fire would have ensured the final step of their plan was also magically secured. It is highly probable that the Cup has been turned into an unauthorized Portkey."
The idea was so audacious, so devious, that Harry felt a cold dread wash over him.
"So listen to me very carefully, Harry," Ariana said, her voice low and urgent. "If you touch the cup and find yourself somewhere else—somewhere that is not the entrance to the maze—you have been taken. You will be in the heart of the enemy's territory. Do not, under any circumstances, waste time. Do not try to look around. Do not try to be an adventurer. Do not engage in any kind of investigation. Your enemy will be there, waiting for you, and he will be prepared."
She met his gaze, her own intense and absolute. "The moment your feet touch the ground in that other place, your only objective is to get back. The Cup that took you there is your only guaranteed way out. It will likely be a two-way Portkey. Do not let go of it. If you do, grip it again, as hard as you can. Do not hesitate for a single second. The creator of this trap will be counting on your momentary confusion and fear. Do not give them that moment. Touch the cup, and return. That is your only priority. Survival above all else."
She had just given him a precise, step-by-step protocol for escaping a trap he hadn't even known was coming. She had foreseen the ambush, the Portkey, and the critical, split-second decision he would have to make.
Harry looked at his friend, at the brilliant, logical mind that saw the world not as it was, but as a series of interconnected possibilities and probabilities. He had walked out to the lake feeling like a boy being sent to his doom. He was walking back feeling like a soldier who had just been given the key to his own survival.
"Okay," he said, the single word a solemn vow. "I understand. I won't hesitate."
"Good," Ariana said, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Then you are as prepared as you can be."
She had done all she could. She had armed him, trained him, and given him the strategic knowledge to survive the inevitable. Now, the rest was up to him. The final task was about to begin, and the fate of the wizarding world was balanced on a fourteen-year-old boy's ability to follow a simple, life-saving instruction.