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HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 456
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 20:09:03 +0000 UTCChapter 456: The Old House Changes Hands
Harry had never imagined that, just to catch him, Umbridge would personally lead a team of Aurors to Hogwarts.
He trusted his Invisibility Cloak. He did not trust himself.
He hurried towards the secret passage he had used to come in. Just as he was about to slip inside, Umbridge’s shrill, sickly‑sweet little‑girl voice sounded right by his ear.
“Harry Potter! You can certainly run away, but your friends may not be so lucky!”
Following the sound, Harry crept to the railing and looked down from the upper floor.
On the ground floor, he saw Hermione and Ron being held fast, forced to stand in place.
Umbridge stood there with her short, stubby wand levelled at Hermione.
“Harry Potter!” she called. “If you do not come out, I shall have no choice but to expel Miss Granger on the spot and hand her over to the Dementors for Azkaban. As for the charge, she has violated multiple Educational Decrees issued by the Ministry of Magic concerning Hogwarts. I think that will do nicely!”
At that moment, Professor McGonagall and Snape arrived with several others, trying to stop her.
They were too late.
Harry drew a deep breath, tore off his Invisibility Cloak and stepped into view.
“Umbridge, I am right here,” he shouted. “Everything that happened was my idea. If you have the guts, come and get me!”
At the sight of him, Umbridge was already imagining the rewards she would receive for delivering Harry to Voldemort with her own hands. Just picturing it made the Dark Mark on her right forearm burn pleasantly, sending waves of heat through her skin.
She raised her thick little wand and barked an order to the Aurors who had already thrown their lot in with her.
“Seize him!”
Her Aurors surged forward, and they weren't alone. Students from the Slytherin Brotherhood reserves charged up as well, racing to the third floor. They quickly surrounded Harry and began firing spells from all sides.
Harry fought back as hard as he could, but one wand could not hold off a dozen for long. Soon, he was reduced to barely keeping up, spells smashing into the floor and walls all around him. A tall Auror broke through the line and lunged in, hand outstretched to grab him.
Kreacher appeared at Harry’s side in a crack of displaced air, snatched hold of him and Disapparated on the spot.
In that same instant, the tall Auror’s arm, which he had already begun to pull back, seemed to be yanked forward by an invisible force. His sleeve brushed Harry’s robes just as Kreacher twisted them away, and he was dragged bodily into the warped vortex of Apparition.
The three of them reappeared in Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
“Kreacher! Look what you have done!” someone yelled.
“Harry, move!” came another shout.
The moment the tall Auror arrived in the old house, information about Number 12 Grimmauld Place exploded into his mind. He realised at once where he was.
This was it. The Order of the Phoenix headquarters that Umbridge and the Ministry had been searching for in vain.
He had stumbled straight into it.
In that heartbeat, understanding dawned. He whipped up his wand, threw a Shield Charm that knocked aside Sirius’s incoming Stunning Spell, then blasted through a nearby window with another jinx. He dove out and Disapparated at once.
Watching him escape, everyone inside Grimmauld Place moved at once.
Some began jamming belongings into bags and trunks as fast as they could. Others rushed to contact Dumbledore and Sean. A third group ran out into the street to find scattered Order members and warn them about what had happened.
Within ten minutes, Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been stripped bare.
Everyone was gone.
Three minutes after that, a squad of witches and wizards appeared with a series of loud cracks outside the hidden house. Umbridge and Borel led them in. Guided by the tall Auror, they stormed through the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
The house was already empty.
In the kitchen, Borel laid a hand on the still‑warm stove.
“They left only a short while ago,” he said to Umbridge.
“These sewer rats,” Umbridge snarled. “However you grab, they always slip through your fingers.”
“This must be reported to the master,” Borel said calmly. “Take your people back. I will inform him what has happened here.”
Umbridge would have preferred to go herself and claim the credit. But there was still the Ministry to manage. After a moment’s thought, she gave a sharp nod.
“Of course,” she simpered. “I will trouble you to speak to him first. When I have a spare moment, I shall go and give the master a full account of today’s events.”
Borel’s answering smile did not touch his eyes.
He knew perfectly well she was warning him not to try and claim all the glory. He could not have cared less. A scrap of merit like this meant nothing to him. He was not about to demean himself by squabbling over it.
Borel left. Umbridge took her people away as well.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place fell silent once more.
Only Kreacher remained, hunched in the shadows of a corner, waiting for the people young master Sean had told him to expect.
“So,” Voldemort said later, “the place the Order was using as its headquarters is in fact the ancestral Black family home?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Borel replied.
Voldemort inclined his head.
“Very good, Borel. You and Dolores have done well. It is a pity you did not manage to kill one or two of those Order rats, but even so, you have done well.”
He turned to Bellatrix, standing at his side.
"Since it is the Blacks' ancestral home," he went on, "you, as one of the Black heirs, will go and take possession of it. You may even find some hidden information."
“You may even find some hidden information.”
“Thank you for your generosity, my Lord,” Bellatrix breathed.
“Go, Bellatrix,” Voldemort said. “Take Rodolphus and Rabastan with you.”
“As you command, my Lord.”
Bellatrix exchanged a glance with her husband and her brother‑in‑law. The three of them left the hidden chamber at Malfoy Manor in turn and Disapparated, each of them reappearing outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Bellatrix stepped into the house.
For once, a rare light of remembrance showed in her eyes, the usual madness drawn back and dimmed.
Then, all at once, she whipped out her wand and aimed it at a darkened corner.
Kreacher shuffled out of the shadows, limbs trembling.
“Could it be… could it be Miss Bella?” he whispered. “Is it truly Miss Bella?”
