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The Starlord - Chapter - 71
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 15:35:22 +0000 UTCHarry remained in the courtroom far longer than he intended.
He waited.
Waited for Umbridge to step aside.
Waited for a corridor to empty.
Waited for even a sliver of opportunity to confront her in a way she would never forget.
But the courtroom spiraled into chaos—Wizengamot members arguing about Dementors, Aurors rushing through reports, parchment flying everywhere. Umbridge was constantly surrounded by Ministry officials, flocking around her like flies swarming rotting meat.
No opening.
No moment.
With a low breath, he resigned himself to patience and left the courtroom through the visitor’s passage, hood drawn low.
By the time Harry stepped through the wards of Grimmauld Place, the tension of the Ministry had faded just enough for him to breathe normally again. The old Black townhouse stood quiet—safe, concealed, thick with protective enchantments Harry had reinforced himself.
The moment Harry entered the kitchen, Hermione sprang up from the table, relief bursting in her eyes.
“Harry!” She rushed forward, wrapping him in a fierce hug before remembering who she was embracing and awkwardly stepping back. “S-Sorry. I was just—thank you for being there.”
The Grangers rose as well, both looking exhausted but immeasurably relieved.
“Harry,” Mrs. Granger said warmly, “thank you for watching over our daughter. We’re very grateful.”
Harry nodded respectfully. “I told Hermione she’d walk out free. And she did.”
Hermione exhaled shakily and sank back into her chair. There was tea on the table—half-finished, cooled, forgotten in the aftermath of her ordeal.
“You were in the courtroom,” she said after a moment, looking at him with a mix of warmth and curiosity. “ Why didn't you left with us?”
Harry sat opposite her, leaning back slightly, expression unreadable.
“I was just watching the proceedings,” he said flatly. “That’s all.”
Hermione frowned, sensing something unsaid, but she knew Harry well enough not to push. His secrets came out only when he chose—and usually with consequences.
Mr. Granger cleared his throat quietly. “We… truly didn’t understand the world Hermione was entering when she first got that Hogwarts letter. But today could have ended much worse.”
“It didn’t,” Harry replied. “Because someone wanted it to.”
Hermione tensed. “You mean…?”
“Umbridge.”
He spoke the name like a curse.
Hermione shuddered. Even without knowing the woman personally, she could feel the malice radiating from her during the trial.
“She hates me,” Hermione whispered.
“She hates a lot of people,” Harry corrected coldly. “You’re just the newest target. And she won’t bother you again.”
Hermione swallowed, fear flickering across her face.
The Grangers looked between them, confused but worried.
Harry didn’t elaborate.
Because the truth was something he kept locked behind walls of Occlumency.
He wasn’t finished with Dolores Umbridge.
He hadn’t punished her—yet.
He hadn’t shown her what happened to people who hunted his friends—yet.
But the Sith in him stirred, whispering promises of retribution.
There will be a moment. A place. A weakness. And when it comes… she will learn fear.
He rose from the table.
“I’m going to rest,” he said quietly. “Long day.”
Hermione nodded, giving him a small, grateful smile.
“Thank you again, Harry. Really.”
Harry paused at the doorway.
His eyes darkened for just a moment—cold, calculating, ruthless.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he murmured. “This isn’t over.”
The Grangers gathered their things that next evening, the tension finally drained out of them after days of fear and uncertainty. Mrs. Granger hugged Hermione tightly at the door, whispering promises to write, while Mr. Granger thanked Harry again with a firm shake of the hand.
“We’re dentists,” he said wearily. “We’re not built for… Dementors and trials and politics. We’re going back to work before all our patients think we’ve run away.”
Hermione smiled softly at them. “I’ll visit soon. And it’s only a week until Hogwarts starts.”
The Grangers departed to their Mundane life—a life Harry knew would never truly be safe as long as the Ministry played games.
Hermione remained behind, standing in the quiet entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. Her shoulders lowered, relief finally winning the battle against fear.
“I’m staying,” Hermione said, turning to Harry. “There’s only a week left before school starts, and I don’t want to keep going back and forth. Besides… this place feels safer.”
Harry nodded. “It is. The wards here are stronger than anything the Ministry uses.”
And they were—because Harry had strengthened them personally. Grimmauld Place one of the most fortified properties in all of wizarding Britain.
Later that afternoon, Harry found Hermione in the drawing room, bent over a pile of neatly organized books and parchment. Her quill moved quickly across her notes, already laying out revision schedules in different colored inks. Her eyes glittered with determined excitement.
“My O.W.L. year,” Hermione murmured, almost to herself. “If I get Outstanding in everything except Divination, I’ll be on track for all the N.E.W.T. courses I want…”
Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment. This—this peaceful, studious, entirely Muggle-born determination—was something he respected in Hermione. Because unlike him, she was striving to build a future in a world that constantly rejected her.
And unlike him, she still believed she had a place in it.
“Dobby already bought everything you’ll need,” Harry said.
Hermione looked up, pleasantly surprised. “He did? All the books?”
“All of them,” Harry confirmed. “Uniforms, potion supplies, quills, ink. Even an extra arithmancy journal.”
Hermione flushed. “Oh—well—that’s very nice of him. And… you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Truthfully, Harry had ordered Dobby to handle both their school lists because he didn’t trust Diagon Alley right now—and because Hermione had been too busy surviving a Ministry trial to worry about parchment thickness and new robes.
Hermione sighed, pushing a curl behind her ear. “I’m actually looking forward to this year. Even with all the danger. Studying… it makes everything feel normal.”
Harry didn’t reply immediately.
Normal.
He wondered if he even remembered what that was.
Dobby entered the room with a loud pop, Winky trailing behind him like a shadow. The elf looked elated, vibrating with energy.
“Master Harry! Dobby has sorted all school things, cleaned every room, and reorganized the potion shelves in the basement. And—Dobby is ready for training whenever Master wishes!”
Winky nodded firmly. “Winky too.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “You two really never rest, do you?”
Dobby puffed up with pride. “Rest comes after power, Miss Hermione.”
Harry arched an eyebrow.
Hermione blinked. “…Right.”
She still didn’t know the full extent of their training. She didn’t need to. The less she knew about Sith techniques, the safer she would be from everyone—including him.
As the house settled for the night, Grimmauld Place felt strangely peaceful. No Dark Lord rituals. No Death Eater attacks. No Ministry interrogations.
But beneath the calm, Harry sensed currents of danger everywhere:
Voldemort was out there—weak, hiding, but alive.
The Ministry was manipulating the public.
Umbridge was roaming free, a future problem waiting to be handled.
And Hogwarts was only a week away.
Harry stood at the window, arms crossed, staring out into the lamplit street.
Hermione studied.
Dobby trained.
Winky cleaned.
And Harry planned.
Because the quiet weeks before Hogwarts would not last.
And when the storm came, he intended to be ready—more ready than anyone expected.
For the first time in weeks, Grimmauld Place felt lively.
Sirius and Remus returned to Britain in a burst of noise, laughter, and the smell of Swedish pastries Sirius had stuffed into his pockets. The moment Harry stepped into the drawing room that morning, he was nearly tackled by his godfather, who wrapped him in a bear hug that knocked the breath out of him.
“You’re not going back to school without us, pup,” Sirius declared loudly. “Boarding the Hogwarts Express is a tradition. My tradition. Your tradition. And I am not letting that change just because you travel like a blasted apparition champion now.”
Remus rolled his eyes but smiled. “He’s been talking about it for days. I don’t think he slept last night.”
Harry snorted. “You know there are easier ways to get to Hogwarts, right? Floo, apparition, Knight Bus—”
“No,” Sirius said firmly, raising a finger. “We do this properly. You, me, Remus. The train.”
Hermione peeked from behind her book. “I think it’s rather sweet,” she said. “The Hogwarts Express is iconic.”
Harry sighed in defeat. “Fine. But don’t blame me if people stare.”
“Oh, let them stare,” Sirius said. “I like an audience.”
Grimmauld Place’s front door opened, and all four stepped outside onto the quiet street. Sirius clapped his hands in excitement.
“Ready to see something magnificent?”
Remus muttered, “Oh boy. Here we go.”
Sirius reached into his enchanted jacket and pulled out—at first glance—what looked like a toy car. It was palm-sized, glossy black, and enchanted with impossible precision.
With a dramatic flourish, Sirius dropped it onto the pavement.
THUD—FOOM!
The car expanded in a rush of silver light, unfolding into a full-sized, gleaming Muggle vehicle—an old classic, polished so brightly it reflected the London street like a mirror.
Hermione gasped. “Oh my—Sirius! That’s—how did you—?”
“Sirius Black,” Remus said dryly, “refuses to own anything that isn’t flashy, illegal, or dangerous.”
Sirius grinned proudly. “And preferably all three.”
Harry shook his head. “You realize we could have just taken the Knight Bus.”
“And miss driving this beauty?” Sirius scoffed. “Not a chance.”
They loaded the school trunks into the magically expanded boot. Dobby and Winky popped in to hand over last-minute supplies—snacks, extra parchment, sharpening spells for Hermione’s quills, and a repair kit for Harry’s basilisk-hide armour.
Then, with Sirius behind the wheel and Remus navigating (because Sirius insisted maps were for cowards), the car roared to life.
It shot off the street like a rocket.
Hermione clutched the door. “Sirius—SIRIUS, YOU’RE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD!”
“It’s fine!” Sirius yelled over the wind. “Muggles can’t see us—look!”
He flicked a switch, and the car shimmered. They vanished from sight.
Harry leaned back, suppressing a smirk. “Honestly, this is less dangerous than most of the things we did last year.”
Hermione groaned. “That’s the problem.”
Despite her complaints, Harry could see the smile tugging at her lips. Even she couldn’t deny that speeding invisibly across the country in a flying, enchanted muscle car was… fun.
Sirius pushed the accelerator further.
Remus grabbed the dashboard. “SIRIUS—SLOW—”
Too late.
The car lifted smoothly into the air.
“We’re flying,” Sirius announced proudly. “Well? Isn’t this better than the Knight Bus?”
Harry cracked a small smile. “Yeah. It is.”
The car descended behind the Kings cross Station—far from the main crowd—and shrank again with a click. Students were already gathering at the platform, parents hugging their children goodbye.
“See?” Sirius said smugly. “Perfect timing.”
He hugged Harry fiercely—longer than usual. There was a subtle tremor to him, as if he feared letting go.
“Have a good year, pup,” Sirius whispered. “And if anyone in this country gives you trouble—send me their names.”
Harry patted his shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”
Remus placed a gentle hand on Harry’s arm. “Don’t forget what we talked about—control. Power means nothing if you don’t direct it properly.”
Harry nodded silently. Only Remus would dare lecture a Sith-in-training with that calm tone.
Hermione hugged Remus and Sirius as well, thanking them for the ride.
Then Harry and Hermione collected their trunks and walked toward the scarlet train, the whistle echoing across the station.
Sirius cupped his hands and shouted:
“WRITE TO US! OR I’LL COME TO HOGWARTS MYSELF!”
Students stared.
Harry and Hermione managed to claim a compartment near the middle of the train—quiet, clean, and away from the noisier groups. Hermione immediately pulled out a study planner, placing it on her lap as she sat by the window.
Harry rolled his eyes. “You haven’t even reached Hogwarts yet.”
“It’s OWL year, Harry,” Hermione replied primly. “Preparation is essential.”
Harry smirked. “Of course it is.”
Moments later, Neville arrived dragging his trunk, looking flushed and a little breathless.
“Sorry—I had to help a first-year with her toad,” he said as he slid the door shut behind him. “It escaped… twice.”
Hermione chuckled. “Of course it did. Sit down, Neville.”
Neville beamed at both of them—this year, he seemed more confident, stronger. More sure of himself. Neville deserved it.
Seconds later, the door slid open again.
Ron Weasley stood there, slightly awkward, slightly hopeful.
“Er… all the other compartments are full,” Ron said, looking at Harry. “Mind if I sit with you lot?”
Harry didn’t look up from the magazine he was pretending to skim.
“We’re waiting for someone.”
Ron blinked. Looked at the three of them. Then back at Harry. “Who?”
Harry turned one page. Slowly.
“Not you.”
The silence was sharp and immediate.
Ron’s ears reddened. His mouth opened—closed—opened again. “Mate, come on, you can’t still be—”
“Weasley,” Harry said quietly, finally looking up, “I’m not your mate.”
Hermione and Neville exchanged uncomfortable glances, but they said nothing.
Ron swallowed hard. “I… I just thought—maybe we could start over.”
Harry shook his head. “I’m done starting over with people who betray me. Try another compartment.”
Ron stood still for a moment, wounded pride flickering across his face—then he muttered something under his breath and walked away, sliding the door closed behind him.
Hermione exhaled. “Harry… do you think that was necessary?”
“Yes,” Harry said without hesitation. “I’m done fixing Ron’s insecurities. I’m done letting him treat my life like a competition.”
Neville nodded. “I don’t blame you. He’s tried too hard recently—like he wants something.”
Harry didn’t respond, but Hermione knew he agreed.
The train had just begun to move when the compartment door slammed open again.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Draco’s sneer was firmly in place.
“Well, well,” Draco drawled. “Granger, I heard your little trial went smoothly. Shame. I was hoping to see you in Azkaban this year.”
Hermione stiffened, fingers curling.
Neville stood halfway up, face darkening. “Leave her alone, Malfoy.”
Draco ignored him, eyes flicking to Harry. “And you—traitor? I read the papers. Planning to abandon us if the Dark Lord comes back?”
Harry stared at him, expression unreadable.
Then he smiled.
It wasn’t friendly.
“Malfoy,” Harry said softly, “if you’re trying to provoke me, try harder. I’ve crushed things far bigger than you this summer.”
The temperature in the compartment seemed to drop.
Draco’s smirk faltered. Crabbe and Goyle shifted nervously.
Harry leaned forward just a little, voice low and deadly calm.
“And tell your father,” he continued, “that the next time he sends masked cowards into Diagon Alley, I might decide to show up.”
Neville inhaled sharply.
Hermione froze.
Draco paled.
“You—what do you mean—how do you—?”
Harry raised one eyebrow. “Run along, Malfoy. Before I decide to practice something new.”
The threat was unspoken but unmistakable.
Draco fled. His goons followed, practically tripping over each other as they shut the compartment door behind them.
A long silence filled the compartment.
Finally, Neville whispered, “It… really does feel like we’re back at Hogwarts, doesn’t it?”
Harry leaned back, almost relaxed.
“It does,” he said. “Same idiots. Same noise. Same nonsense.”
The Hogwarts Express thundered northward, carrying them toward another year—and Harry Potter’s shadows grew a little longer on the window glass.
