Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 22

The crisp autumn wind whistled across the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch as hundreds of students filled the stands, bundled in scarves and house colors. Crimson banners for Gryffindor clashed with the golden-and-black waves of Hufflepuff pride. Excitement crackled through the air—not only for the match itself, but also for what it signified: the first House Cup Quidditch match of the season.

Though whispers of the newly announced Hogwarts Quidditch League filled the corridors of the castle, that event was still a few weeks away. The League’s launch was set for next month. Today was pure, old-fashioned house rivalry—Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff.

Harry stood at the edge of the field, clipboard in hand, wrapped in a deep maroon cloak with the Stars Club sigil—a silver starburst—sewn near the collar.

“Nervous?” Hermione asked, walking up beside him.

Harry shook his head, though he gripped the clipboard a little tighter.

“Not for the match. Just making sure everything runs smoothly. Next month is going to be chaos once the League begins.”

“You’ll manage. You always do.” Hermione smiled reassuringly.

Ginny Weasley, now Gryffindor’s Seeker, circled above the stadium in smooth loops, her red hair trailing behind her. Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's Captain and Seeker, hovered on the other side of the pitch, cool and collected.

Madam Hooch’s whistle pierced the sky.

“Mount your brooms!” she called.

The players kicked off in a surge of wind and cheers. The Quaffle shot into play, and Chasers from both teams went into immediate action. Gryffindor’s trio—Angelina, Alicia, and Katie—coordinated fast passes as Lee Jordan’s voice boomed from the commentary box:

“And we’re off! Johnson to Spinnet—oof! Clean block by Hufflepuff’s Megan Jones—she’s bringing the heat!”

Harry watched from the sidelines, scribbling notes. Though he had stepped down from the Gryffindor team this year to focus on organizing the Hogwarts Quidditch League, he still supported them with quiet pride. Ginny had trained hard, and the entire team had pushed themselves over the past weeks.

Fred and George, seated in the stands behind the Hufflepuff goalposts, waved foam hands and shouted encouragement.

“Ten Galleons Ginny catches the Snitch first!” Fred yelled.
“Make it fifteen and you’re on!” George shot back.

The match was fast and aggressive. Angelina scored a spectacular goal. Cedric launched a feint that fooled half the pitch—including Ginny, who recovered quickly and climbed back into position.

But as the sun shifted behind a dark bank of clouds, something changed.

Harry felt it first—a sudden, unnatural chill that crept up his spine.

Then came the gasps.

Dark figures glided silently over the topmost stands—Dementors.

“Dementors!” someone shouted in horror.

Three of them drifted downward toward the pitch, and the cheering stopped. Coldness spread through the air. Students in the lower stands cried out, clutching themselves and shivering violently.

Ginny’s broom shuddered mid-air, and she nearly lost balance.

“Hermione, clear the younger students!” Harry barked. “Neville—get help!”

Wand already out, Harry ran forward.

“Expecto Patronum!” he shouted.

A silvery mist formed, glowing faintly but not fully shaped. Still, the light startled the closest Dementor, who veered away from Ginny.

Fred and George rocketed into the sky.

“Ginny! Hold on!”
“We’ve got you!”

They flew to her side, steadying her broom and escorting her down.

Meanwhile, Hermione, Neville, and Professor McGonagall ushered students away from the front rows. Professor Flitwick joined, casting protective charms.

Harry raised his wand again.

“Expecto Patronum!”

This time the mist was thicker, pushing forward like a silvery wave. The Dementors hesitated—then suddenly, a bright silver fox tore across the sky, howling furiously.

The Dementors retreated instantly.

From the far side of the pitch, Professor Theron Graves lowered his wand, having conjured the full Patronus.

The match was cancelled, of course.

Dumbledore arrived shortly after, his expression grim.

“They were getting out of control,” he murmured to Madam Hooch.

Ginny sat wrapped in a blanket, a Butterbeer in hand, still shaking slightly.

> “I—I didn’t faint,” she said weakly.
“You didn’t,” Harry smiled. “You stayed on your broom. That’s more than most.”

By nightfall, the castle was buzzing.

Rumors flew—some said the Dementors were testing the wards. Others whispered that Bellatrix Lestrange might be behind it, calling the foul creatures to spread fear.

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat with Hermione, Neville, and the twins, staring into the fireplace.

“If that’s what a few Dementors can do during a simple house match…” Hermione said quietly.
“Then we need to be ready when the League starts,” Harry finished.
“It’ll be bigger, louder—and more exposed.”

Fred leaned forward.

“Then let’s make it safe. Ward the pitch. Post spotters. Whatever it takes.”

“Agreed,” Harry said. “If they want to ruin Quidditch for us, they’ll have to go through the Stars Club first.”

And as the fire crackled in the hearth, their resolve burned even stronger.


The morning after the interrupted Quidditch match, the castle halls buzzed with whispers and speculation. Students huddled in small groups, glancing nervously at the enchanted windows that overlooked the cloudy grounds. The memory of the Dementors still chilled the air, and Harry could feel it in the way the laughter had dimmed, how even Peeves was quieter than usual.

Harry sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, poking at his scrambled eggs while Hermione read the Daily Prophet beside him.

“Still nothing,” she muttered. “They didn’t even mention the match or the Dementors. Just another article about goblin unrest in Gringotts.”

“They’ll hush it up,” said Harry. “Like always.”

Neville leaned in.

“Any word from the professors? Will there be another match?”

“No idea,” Harry replied. “But after what happened, I doubt anything’s happening until they sort out how the Dementors got in.”

At that moment, Daphne Greengrass approached from the Slytherin table. As usual, she walked with the calm dignity that Slytherins carried like a second skin, but her eyes were sharp and direct.

“Harry,” she said coolly. “A word?”

Harry stood and followed her a few paces away, to a quiet corner near the wall of enchanted night-sky windows. Daphne didn’t beat around the bush.

“I thought you’d like to know. My father is furious.”

Harry blinked.

“Your father?”

“Yes. Because Dumbledore gave him a proper shouting in the Floo call last night. Father said he hasn't been scolded like that since he was in school. He said Dumbledore made it very clear that the Ministry broke their promise.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“The promise that the Dementors wouldn’t attack students.”

Daphne nodded.

“Exactly. Dumbledore only allowed them to patrol near the grounds because the Ministry swore they’d behave. But now… well, Father told me that the Dementors will be pulled back. Immediately.”

“So they’re gone?” Harry asked, hope rising.

“Not just gone. Banished. Dumbledore’s strengthening the wards around the entire perimeter of Hogwarts. No more patrols. No more Dementors.”

She paused, then added with a faint smirk,

“My father said, and I quote: ‘The man could make the Department of Magical Law Enforcement look like toddlers with toy wands if he wanted to.’”

Harry let out a small laugh.

“Sounds like Dumbledore when he’s angry.”

“He’s not just angry,” Daphne said, her tone suddenly more serious. “He’s furious. And this time, he’s right to be.”

By midday, the news had spread through the school like Fiendfyre. Students could be heard saying:

“Dementors have been expelled!”
“The Headmaster reinforced the anti-Dementor wards!”
“They won’t dare come back again!”

In the staff lounge, Professors were seen discussing the new boundaries Dumbledore had marked with enchanted silver stakes around the edge of the grounds. Even Professor Snape, who normally stood like a shadow behind Dumbledore’s decisions, had been seen nodding grimly in agreement during the reinforcement efforts.

Later that evening, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat by the fireplace with Hermione and Neville.

“I knew Dumbledore would take care of it,” Harry said, finally allowing himself to relax.

“Of course he would,” Hermione said. “But it's still worrying. The Ministry might have been the one to place them here, but what if someone else is giving them orders now?”

“Bellatrix?” Neville suggested.

Harry leaned back and stared into the fire.

“Maybe. But if the Dementors start acting on their own, or taking orders from someone worse… this is only the beginning.”

Hermione sighed.

“Well, at least Hogwarts is safe again. For now.”

Just then, an owl swooped through the common room window, dropping a letter in Harry’s lap.

He opened it.

Harry,
Heard about the match. Good instincts, keeping your wand ready. I'm looking into the Dementors' breach myself. Don't trust anything the Ministry says. Stay sharp.
— Sirius

Harry folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Hogwarts might be safe again,” he said quietly, “but it won’t last unless we stay one step ahead.”

And with that, the common room slowly drifted into chatter again, filled with hope that—for now—the darkness had been kept at bay.


Far from Hogwarts, at the heart of a quiet Muggle neighborhood, Sirius Black stood at the window of Number 12 Grimmauld Place — a magically obscured flat hidden in plain sight, nestled among rows of Muggle houses. He had taken refuge there to be closer to the Ministry’s movements in London, far from the safety of Black Island or Runestone Castle.

The silence was broken by panicked shouts outside.

“Fire! Somebody call the fire brigade!”

Sirius snapped alert, bolted to the window, and threw it open. Flames danced across the roof of the building opposite. But it wasn’t normal fire — the flames glowed an eerie blue and crackled with unnatural intensity.

“Cursed fire,” Sirius muttered, his wand already in his hand.

He rushed down the narrow staircase, coat flying behind him, and kicked open the front door. Heat hit him like a wall. The fire had already spread across several rooftops, curling unnaturally through brick and steel.

Muggles had fled the area, their voices fading in the distance as the shriek of sirens drew closer.

Sirius took command of the flames, channeling his magic with practiced precision.

“Aquamenti Maxima!”

A powerful torrent of water surged from his wand, crashing over the magical flames. He conjured barriers of protective air around nearby buildings and absorbed the wild fire with binding charms.

“Inferno Vincula!”

Chains of silver magic erupted from his wand, snaring the last of the cursed fire and choking it out until nothing remained but smoke.

And then, a voice.

“Ah, Sirius… long time no see. Ickle Sirius still playing the noble hero.”

Sirius spun around, his eyes narrowing.

There, standing in the middle of the street, as if she had simply appeared from the smoke, was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her dark hair whipped around her face, and her lips curled into a wicked smile.

“You know,” she said sweetly, “I’ve been searching for you. Imagine my surprise when I realized you were hiding in our old neighborhood.”

“You were the one who started this?” Sirius growled, raising his wand.

Bellatrix gave a mock pout.

“Now, now, cousin. You locked me out of our family vaults… cut me off from Grimmauld Place. After all we shared.” She laughed, low and cruel.

“Those vaults hold Black family, Bellatrix. Not yours to steal,” Sirius said coldly.

She began circling him like a predator.

“Oh, but you forget. I am a Black too. I’ve been inside Grimmauld Place. I know the smell of its old corridors. I walked the steps, the drawing room… the blood-stained walls. Even if I can’t see it anymore… I know where it is. And you know what that means?”

She flicked her wand toward the nearest house — a non-magical one next to Sirius’s — and it caught fire with a sickening roar.

“I can still burn it down.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide. Grimmauld Place might be hidden under Fidelius, but the surrounding Muggle homes were not. She was using them like a torch circle — trying to destroy it from the outside in.

“You’re mad,” Sirius said.

“And you’re too late,” Bellatrix sang, stepping backward toward the alley behind her.

“You won’t leave here,” Sirius barked.

He cast a stunning spell, but Bellatrix laughed and vanished in a swirl of shadows.

The fire brigade was arriving. Blue lights lit up the street. Sirius turned quickly, waved his wand in circles, and vanished into the nearest alley with a crack.