Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 25

The great, gleaming red engine of the Hogwarts Express let out a sharp whistle as it pulled into King’s Cross Station, steam curling around the platform like a curtain between worlds. The students of Hogwarts tumbled out with their trunks and cages and laughter, their robes flapping in the wintry wind, already talking about what they would do over the holidays. Among them walked Harry Potter, his owl Hedwig hooting softly in her cage and a small smile resting on his face as he spotted a tall man standing near the platform’s edge.

Sirius Black looked far from his usual self. His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles shadowed beneath them, and his long black coat hung loosely on his shoulders as though he had forgotten to button it in his rush.

Harry reached him quickly. “Sirius… you look awful.”

Sirius gave him a tired smile, rubbing his face. “Nice to see you too, pup.”

“No, seriously—did you sleep at all?” Harry asked, frowning. “You’ve got bags under your eyes bigger than Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.”

Sirius let out a humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to track down Bellatrix.”

At the mention of her name, Harry’s face grew cold.

“She’s vanished,” Sirius continued. “After the attack on Grimmauld Place, I thought she'd try something else. I've been using every contact I have left in the shadows, even the ones I swore I’d never speak to again. No luck.”

Harry's voice dropped to a low whisper. “You think she’ll come after you again?”

“I think she’ll try,” Sirius said grimly. “But I’ll be ready for her next time.”

Harry nodded slowly, knowing that Sirius meant every word.

Despite the grim news, Harry was relieved to know that Sirius had moved to Highgarden, his home and base of operations outside the dangerous boundaries of London. Grimmauld Place was no longer safe—not for Sirius, not for anyone. And Highgarden was more than a home; it was a fortress of enchanted stone and greenery, with magical protections rivaling Hogwarts itself. It also served perfectly as the headquarters for one of the most exciting events Harry had ever prepared for: the launch of the Starlord broomstick.


The Christmas holidays passed quickly, the days swept up in planning, organizing, and wrapping gifts. Harry sent enchanted toys to the Weasleys, a custom-grown Devil’s Snare plant (safely sealed in a warded pot) to Neville, and a sleek collection of spell-enhanced quills to Hermione, who replied the very next day with a letter filled with so much delight that Harry smiled for hours. He even sent Draco Malfoy a polite, though clearly distant, thank-you note after receiving a strange gift—an old broomstick charm from the Malfoy collection, no note attached. Harry wasn’t sure if it was a joke, a trap, or some weird political move.

On Christmas Eve, Harry visited Hermione’s home, as he always did, a tradition born during their first year at Hogwarts. Hermione’s parents, Daniel and Emma Granger, welcomed him with warmth and tea, and even asked about how the furniture shop in Diagon Alley was going—an odd but sweet concern that made Harry chuckle.

The holidays were brisk and full of magical snowfall, but every day counted down to one momentous date—December 28th.

The day of the Starlord broomstick launch arrived with a clear winter sky and a magical hum in the air.

Highgarden, typically calm and serene, was transformed. Rows of banners in silver and blue fluttered in the breeze. Glowing letters spelled out:

“STARLORD LAUNCH – The Future of Flight Begins Here”

Dozens of witches and wizards bustled about the estate, casting spells to levitate furniture, prepare platforms, and polish the dozens of Starlord broomsticks on display in floating glass cases. Remus Lupin, looking far more energetic than Sirius, was coordinating the event alongside Nymphadora Tonks, who had volunteered for security detail—her pink hair bouncing as she zipped from guest to guest.

“I still can’t believe we pulled this off,” Neville said, appearing at Harry’s side with a wide grin.

“You should believe it,” said George, adjusting his dragonhide gloves. “We’re legends now.”

“Sales haven’t even started yet,” Harry reminded them.

“But the buzz, mate,” Fred chimed in. “It’s electric. You’ve got teams from Puddlemere United, Holyhead Harpies, and even Bulgaria’s Falcons flying in.”

“And the Daily Prophet’s sending three reporters,” Neville added. “One of them tried to bribe me for an early demo.”

Harry shook his head. “We’ll let the broom speak for itself.”

He turned to look at the grandest broomstick of all, the first Starlord prototype, freshly polished, hovering mid-air with a faint silver glow. Unlike the Firebolt’s sleek black finish, the Starlord had a gleaming star-metal shaft, patterned with runes that shimmered faintly in daylight. The tail twigs were flexible, enchanted for tight turns, and the charm stabilizers gave it a smoother ride even during wild storms.

As the sun reached midday, a massive crowd filled the viewing area. Students, parents, professional players, merchants, inventors, and foreign reporters—all gathered to witness the unveiling.

Sirius stepped up to the enchanted podium. He’d cleaned up well, though the tiredness still lingered in his eyes. His booming voice echoed through the estate.

“Witches and wizards of all ages—thank you for joining us here at Highgarden for the unveiling of something truly extraordinary. For centuries, we have flown on broomsticks. Today, we fly into the future.”

There were cheers and whistles.

Sirius turned slightly to Harry. “And it’s all thanks to the vision of a young man I’m proud to call my godson—Harry Potter.”

Harry stepped forward, his face reddening slightly as the applause broke out.

He took the podium. “The Starlord isn’t just a broomstick. It’s an idea—that every young witch or wizard, no matter their background, can ride the skies with confidence. That innovation isn’t just for the old families or the Ministry. It's for students, dreamers, and Quidditch players alike.”

The broom rose higher, spinning slowly, elegantly, and Neville climbed on first. He waved to the crowd, kicked off—and soared.

He looped and turned, performed a corkscrew spin, and dove, only to pull up at the last second. The crowd gasped and clapped, watching the broom perform with precision and grace.

When he landed, he grinned. “Smooth as a unicorn’s stride!”

Harry handed the next broom to a Holyhead Harpies Chaser, and the demo continued for half an hour, wowing even the skeptics.

By the end of the event, order forms were being signed in magical ink. Many batches of Starlords was already in produced.

Sirius pulled Harry aside as the evening stars began to glow above the enchanted lanterns of Highgarden.

“I’m proud of you, Harry,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Not just for the broomstick. For everything. You’re not just surviving Hogwarts anymore. You’re making your parents proud.”

Harry looked out at the crowd, still buzzing with excitement.

“Thanks, Sirius,” he said. “For everything.”


The days following the Starlord launch were a blur of celebration, fulfilment, and magical bustle. By New Year’s Eve, the mood across Highgarden and Hogwarts alike had lifted to a state of buoyant joy. Orders for the Starlord broomsticks had exceeded all expectations, and shipments were already flying out across Britain and continental Europe—magically transported through broom-certified vaults, Portkey routes, and Floo-connected drop stations.

Inside the warm halls of Highgarden, owls came and went constantly. Each fireplace seemed alive with flashes of green fire as communications streamed in—praise from Quidditch teams, requests for more brooms, even invites for Harry to speak at trade conferences.

Harry had barely slept, though it wasn't due to stress. It was excitement.

“Mate,” Fred told him, leaning back in an armchair beside the glittering New Year’s tree, “you’re going to make the Nimbus company cry.”

“They’ll offer you a job next,” George added. “Or they’ll try to bribe us to sabotage your next design. Don't worry—we’ll triple their price.”

Harry laughed, though he knew they weren’t entirely joking. The Starlord had already sparked chatter about revolutionizing student-level Quidditch in the next decade.

But beyond the success, beyond the mountain of orders and galleon-ledgers being updated every hour, something else warmed the atmosphere of Highgarden: Remus Lupin was in love.

Remus, who had always worn a quiet, watchful calm like a cloak, now had a new spark in his eyes. His footsteps were lighter, his smile easier. And the reason? A retiring Chudley Cannons Chaser named Nell Harper.

She wasn’t a household name—yet. But among the more devoted Quidditch fans, Nell was beloved for her optimism despite her team's near-perpetual string of losses. She had been with the Cannons for almost seven years, seen thirty-two defeats, four catastrophic broomsnapping incidents, and one game where the Snitch hit their Keeper in the face. And yet, Nell still played with joy.

“I like her,” Sirius said during breakfast, watching through the window as Remus and Nell walked through the snow-dusted courtyard, hand in hand.

“You like everyone,” Harry replied with a smirk.

Sirius shrugged. “That’s true.”

Nell had been to Highgarden twice before, but this time, she stayed for New Year’s. She brought with her a storm of laughter and orange-and-white scarves from her team, as well as a strong fondness for cinnamon biscuits. Harry had spoken to her a few times by the hearth, and though she was as chaotic as the Weasley twins at times, she was kind—genuinely kind. She made Remus talk more, laugh more, and it made Harry feel oddly peaceful.

“She told me she’s considering retiring from the Cannons,” Remus admitted to Harry one afternoon while they organized another round of shipment records. “She’s tired, but… she also said she wants something quieter. A life.”

Harry looked up. “With you?”

Remus gave him a soft smile. “Maybe. We’re just… seeing where it goes.”

“I’m happy for you, Remus,” Harry said honestly. “You deserve that.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder gently. “And you, Harry, deserve a holiday. You’ve built something bigger than most adults manage in a lifetime.”

“Well,” Harry said, grinning, “technically I had a lot of help.”

That evening, the Weasley twins enchanted the New Year’s tree to shoot out golden sparks that spelled out words like “Starlord!” and “League Champs!” every five minutes.

Everyone had gathered around for a feast: roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, shepherd’s pie, and magical chocolate fountains. There were crackers charmed to explode with fireworks instead of jokes, and dancing charmed instruments circling over the tables.

As the clock neared midnight, Sirius poured everyone butterbeer and stood up on one of the chairs to raise a toast. “To Highgarden, to the Starlord, to broomsticks that don’t explode mid-air—”

“They only did that once!” Fred shouted.

“—and to a new year of flying higher than ever,” Sirius finished. “Cheers!”

Everyone clapped, and Harry clinked his bottle against Sirius’s.

As the music swelled and the fireworks bloomed over the snowy roof of Highgarden, Harry glanced around the room.

Remus and Nell were leaning against each other on the couch. Neville was laughing as he tried to dodge a sparkler charm from George. Hermione, who had arrived earlier that evening from her family’s place, was deep in discussion with Angelina Johnson about league statistics. And Sirius?

Well, Sirius had already slipped away with a French journalist who had come to cover the launch.

Harry rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself.

“Still playing the field, I see,” he muttered.

He didn’t blame Sirius. After all those years in Azkaban, locked in silence and shadow, Sirius had emerged like a comet, blazing fast and refusing to be tethered. He lived hard, loved briefly, and drank in freedom like air.

And Harry knew deep down that Sirius wouldn’t settle down anytime soon.

But he still hoped that one day… maybe.

As the fireworks exploded in a grand finale overhead and the clock struck midnight, Harry stood by the window, arms folded, watching the sparks light up the sky. The world was changing, and he was no longer just a boy with a lightning scar. He was a creator, a leader, and perhaps—if fate allowed it—someone who could help shape a better magical future.

And the new year had only just begun.