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The Starlord - Chapter - 81
🕑 Added 2026-01-04 18:09:43 +0000 UTCDolores Jane Umbridge awoke to pain.
It was the first thing she registered—not the ceiling of the hospital wing, not the antiseptic smell of potions and herbs, not even the dull ache radiating through her body—but pain, sharp and burning, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
She hissed and tried to sit up.
The attempt was a failure.
A lance of agony shot through her right leg, and something in her side protested violently. She let out a shrill, furious gasp and collapsed back onto the pillow, clutching the sheets with trembling fingers.
“Madam Umbridge!” came a flustered voice. “Please—do not move so suddenly!”
Pomfrey appeared at her bedside almost instantly, wand already in hand, eyes sharp with professional irritation. “You’ve suffered severe trauma. Broken ribs, deep lacerations, magical shock. If you keep trying to leap about like a Cornish pixie, I’ll have you petrified for your own good.”
Umbridge barely heard her.
Her gaze had found her reflection.
A polished silver tray lay on the nearby table, and in it she saw herself clearly for the first time.
Her breath hitched.
A jagged scar ran from her cheekbone down toward her jaw, red and angry against her pale skin. It was not a neat, discreet wound—no, it was brutal, uneven, unmistakable. Her face, which she had always considered her greatest asset, was ruined.
“What—” Her voice shook, thin and reedy. “What is that?”
Pomfrey followed her gaze and sighed. “The scar? Yes, well. You’re fortunate to be alive. Giant strikes are not… gentle.”
The word hit Umbridge like a slap.
“Giant?” she screeched, trying again—and failing—to rise. “A giant? I was attacked by a giant and you are standing here speaking to me as if this were a minor inconvenience?”
Pomfrey’s lips thinned. “Lower your voice. This is a hospital wing, not the Wizengamot.”
Umbridge ignored her entirely.
“Where is it?” she demanded. “Where is the creature? Is it captured? Killed?
Pomfrey folded her arms. “Hagrid brought you back. If not for him, you’d be dead. Beyond that, the matter is no longer mine.”
Umbridge’s eyes gleamed.
“Hagrid,” she said, the name dripping with venom. “Of course. That half-breed must have bought the gaint himself.”
Within minutes, the hospital wing filled.
First came Cornelius Fudge, flushed and sweating, bowler hat clutched nervously in his hands. Behind him trailed senior Ministry officials, parchment already unfurling, quills scratching.
Umbridge’s thin lips curved into something like a smile—painful, crooked, furious.
“Minister,” she crooned weakly. “You took your time.”
Fudge hurried forward. “Dolores! My dear girl, we were so worried—absolutely dreadful business, this. Magical creature attacks, at Hogwarts of all places—”
She cut him off with a raised hand.
“Enough,” Umbridge snapped. “I want answers. Now.”
She pointed a trembling finger toward the window, beyond which Hogwarts stood peaceful and ignorant. “There is a giant on these grounds. A dangerous creature that attacked a Ministry official in the execution of her duties. And yet, I wake up to find that nothing has been done.”
Fudge swallowed. “Well, we are… investigating.”
“That is not good enough,” Umbridge hissed. “If a giant can roam freely near Hogwarts, then the school is no longer safe. This is negligence. Gross negligence.”
Her gaze swept the room, daring anyone to contradict her.
No one did.
By noon, the castle changed.
The Ministry arrived in force.
Not two. Not ten.
Nearly fifty Aurors Apparated at the edge of Hogwarts grounds. They moved with military precision, cloaks dark, wands drawn, eyes scanning every shadow.
Students gathered at windows, whispering in alarm.
“What’s happening?”
“No—look—Aurors…”
The Forbidden Forest became a war zone.
Teams spread out along the treeline, spellcasters moving in formation, casting detection charms, tracking spells, revealing enchantments meant to uncover even the smallest magical signatures. Blue and gold lights flared between the ancient trees, bouncing off trunks and vanishing into the canopy.
Umbridge, propped up in bed with a potion-dulled glare, watched from a magically projected image hovering before her.
“Search every inch,” she ordered, voice sharp despite her injuries. “I want that creature found and subdued. If it resists, use lethal force.”
Auror hesitated. “Dolores, perhaps—”
She turned on him with a snarl. “Are you questioning my authority, Minister?”
The auror flinched. “N-no, of course not.”
The Aurors advanced.
But the forest did not yield its secrets easily.
Tracking spells flickered and failed. Footprints appeared—then dissolved into nothing. Scents vanished mid-trail. Broken branches straightened before the Aurors’ eyes.
One senior Auror frowned. “This doesn’t make sense. Something’s interfering.”
“Interfering how?” another demanded.
“Like the forest itself is… defending the gaint.”
They pushed deeper.
Centaurs watched from afar, silent and unmoving, eyes gleaming in the shadows. Acromantulas retreated into their nests, disturbed but unwilling to challenge the intrusion head-on.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
By evening, frustration had set in.
Back in the hospital wing, Umbridge slammed her fist weakly against the mattress. “Incompetence!” she shrieked. “Utter incompetence! Fifty Aurors and you can’t find one giant?”
A senior Auror cleared his throat. “Madam Umbridge, there is no sign of a giant presence within the forest at this time.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Impossible.”
“We detected traces,” he continued carefully, “but they are… old. Deliberately erased. Whoever moved the creature knew exactly what they were doing.”
Umbridge’s gaze sharpened.
“Someone helped it,” she said slowly. “Someone within Hogwarts.”
Her eyes gleamed with renewed hatred.
“Find them,” she whispered. “I don’t care who it is. Students. Professors. Groundskeepers. Someone is responsible.”
Fudge shifted uncomfortably. “Dolores, we must be cautious. Accusations without evidence—”
She rounded on him. “Evidence?” she screeched. “Look at my face, Cornelius! That is evidence!”
The Minister fell silent.
The Forbidden Forest stood unchanged, ancient and quiet, as if mocking them.
And far above Hogsmeade, high on a lonely mountain, a giant slept peacefully in a magically expanded cave, warm and fed, unaware of how close danger had come.
In the hospital wing, Dolores Umbridge lay awake, fingers digging into the sheets, hatred burning brighter than the pain.
Someone had beaten her.
And she would make him pay for it.
Harry had expected the summons.
In fact, he had been waiting for it.
The moment word spread that Dolores Umbridge had woken in the hospital wing—scarred, limping, furious—Harry knew exactly what would follow. People like Umbridge did not heal quietly. They did not recover and move on. They looked for someone to punish, someone to blame, someone they could crush to prove that they were still in control.
And Harry Potter was an easy target.
Or at least, he was supposed to be.
As he walked through the corridors toward the spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster’s office, Harry’s expression was calm, almost bored. Inside, however, his mind was sharp and active, replaying every step of the day Umbridge had followed him into the Forbidden Forest.
He hadn’t dragged her there.
He hadn’t even known she was behind him.
The previous day had been almost comical. Watching from a distance as nearly fifty Aurors circled the Forbidden Forest, casting detection spells, flaring lights into ancient shadows, and finding absolutely nothing. They looked like ants scurrying around a mountain, convinced that persistence alone would bend reality to their will.
They had found nothing.
And Hagrid—poor, anxious Hagrid—had nearly tied himself in knots over it.
Harry had taken him aside early that morning, voice firm and unyielding.
“Do not talk to Umbridge,” Harry had told him. “Do not talk to Aurors. Do not explain. You say nothing to anyone except Dumbledore.”
Hagrid had looked stricken. “But Harry—what if they ask—”
“That’s exactly why you say nothing,” Harry had replied. “You’re not good at lying, and you don’t need to lie. Silence isn’t guilt. It’s protection.”
Hagrid had nodded, though his worry hadn’t faded. He was too kind, too open, too honest for a world that thrived on suspicion.
Harry stopped before the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office.
“Fizzing Whizzbees,” he said calmly.
The statue sprang aside.
The spiral staircase rose, carrying him upward. With every step, Harry felt the presence waiting for him—tension, hostility, anticipation.
This was not a friendly meeting.
The office doors opened.
Harry stepped inside.
The room was crowded.
More crowded than Harry had ever seen it.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, blue eyes unreadable behind half-moon spectacles. To his right stood Professor McGonagall, rigid as iron, lips pressed thin. Severus Snape lounged near the wall, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral—though his dark eyes flicked to Harry with something that might have been curiosity.
And then there was Dolores Umbridge.
She sat stiffly in a cushioned chair, her leg propped awkwardly, a cane resting against her knee. The scar on her face was impossible to miss—angry, jagged, marring the smoothness she had once prized. Her pink cardigan could not soften the bitterness etched into her features.
Beside her sat Cornelius Fudge, fidgeting with his hat.
Three Aurors stood at attention near the door, faces impassive, hands never far from their wands.
Harry paused just inside the room.
“Good afternoon,” he said politely, his voice steady. “Prefect told me I was needed.”
Umbridge didn’t waste a second.
“It was him,” she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Harry. “That boy tried to kill me!”
The words echoed in the office.
McGonagall’s eyes flashed. “Dolores—”
“No!” Umbridge snapped. “I will not be silenced! He lured me into the Forbidden Forest! He led me there knowing full well what awaited me!”
Harry blinked.
Slowly.
Confused.
“I’m sorry?” he said. “What?”
Fudge cleared his throat. “Mr. Potter, perhaps you could explain why you were in the Forbidden Forest at that day.”
Harry turned to him. “Of course, Minister.”
He shifted his weight casually.
“I was walking,” Harry said. “I do that sometimes.”
Umbridge let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Walking? In the Forbidden Forest? Do you expect us to believe that?”
Harry looked at her calmly. “I didn’t ask anyone to follow me.”
“That’s a lie!” Umbridge screeched. “You knew I was behind you!”
Harry shook his head. “No. I didn’t.”
Snape’s eyebrow twitched.
Dumbledore watched silently.
“You see,” Harry continued, “I never turned around. I never spoke to you. I never acknowledged you. If you chose to follow a student into a restricted area without informing anyone, that was your decision.”
Umbridge’s face flushed a deep, unhealthy red. “You planned it!”
“Planned what?” Harry asked mildly. "For you to enter the forest with some school students? For you to confront unknown magical threats alone?”
Fudge frowned. “Potter, did you attempt to assist Professor Umbridge when she was attacked?”
Harry turned fully toward him now.
“No,” he said simply.
A murmur rippled through the Aurors.
McGonagall inhaled sharply. “Harry—”
But Harry wasn’t finished.
“With all due respect, Minister,” he said evenly, “Professor Umbridge is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She was appointed by the Ministry.”
Umbridge’s lips trembled.
“If anyone should have been capable of defending themselves against a magical creature,” Harry continued, “it should have been her.”
Silence fell.
Harry’s gaze locked on Fudge.
“You shouldn’t be asking students why they didn’t rescue their professors,” Harry said quietly. “You should be asking why your professor couldn’t defend herself.”
Snape’s mouth twitched—barely.
McGonagall looked like she might applaud.
Umbridge surged forward in her chair, pain forgotten. “How dare you speak to the Minister that way!”
Harry turned back to her.
“How dare you,” he replied calmly, “accuse me of attempted murder without evidence.”
He spread his hands slightly.
“I didn’t summon the creature. I didn’t attack you. I didn’t know you were following me. And I certainly didn’t force you into the forest.”
One of the Aurors spoke for the first time. “Miss Umbridge, did Mr. Potter verbally or magically compel you to follow him?”
Umbridge hesitated.
Her silence stretched.
“No,” she said finally, voice sharp. “But—”
“Did he threaten you?” the Auror pressed.
“No,” she snapped.
“Did he cast a spell on you?”
“No.”
The Auror nodded slightly, as if confirming something he already knew.
Fudge shifted uncomfortably. “Dolores, without direct evidence—”
“Evidence?” Umbridge shrieked again, gesturing to her face. “LOOK AT ME!”
Dumbledore finally spoke.
“Dolores,” he said gently, “injury alone does not establish intent.”
She rounded on him. “You’re protecting him!”
“I am protecting the truth,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
Harry remained silent now, letting the room digest what had been said.
After a long moment, Fudge sighed.
“There is no formal charge we can bring,” he said reluctantly. “At most, Mr. Potter violated school rules.”
McGonagall spoke instantly. “A matter already handled internally.”
Umbridge’s nails dug into the arm of her chair.
“This isn’t over,” she hissed at Harry. “You think you’ve won.”
Harry met her gaze, unblinking.
“I’m not the one in the hospital,” he said softly.
That ended the meeting.
Harry was dismissed minutes later.
As he turned to leave, he felt Umbridge’s hatred burning into his back like acid.
But for the first time since she arrived at Hogwarts, she had failed to bend the room to her will.
And Harry knew—
No defense against dark arts professor stayed more than a year. Even if something happened to Professor Umbridge at the end of the term all the blame will go to the curse of that position.
