Harry Potter: The Greatest Assassin

The Judge looked at the jury as he spoke. "Wait, everything that has been discussed, is the Jury ready to make a decision"

One of the jurors got up as he spoke. "Yes, we are ready to make our discussion Sir".

The judge adjusted his glasses, his face unreadable. "Very well," he said. "Please proceed."

The juror, a middle-aged man with a pinched brow and tired eyes, stood up. His voice was clear but carried the weight of long deliberation.

"We, the jury, having reviewed the presented evidence and testimony, find the defendants—Petunia and Vernon Dursley—guilty of child neglect, emotional abuse, and failure to provide adequate living conditions for their ward, Harry James Potter."

The words fell heavy across the room like a thunderclap.

A shocked gasp escaped from Petunia's throat.

Vernon's face turned scarlet. He looked like he was about to protest—but his lawyer shot him a warning glance, whispering something sharply in his ear.

The juror continued, voice steady.

"We recommend immediate removal of the child from the Dursley household, to be placed into temporary protective custody pending long-term guardianship review."

Harry, sitting with his hands in his lap, blinked slowly.

He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath.

"Did… did I just get taken away?" he whispered to himself.

Dudley, still beside him, looked completely lost. "Wait… so you're leaving?"

Harry nodded faintly.

"…Yeah. I think so."

Back in the courtroom, the judge gave a single, definitive nod. "The court accepts the jury's verdict. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, please stand."

The two stood stiffly, Vernon trembling slightly with rage barely held back.

The judge looked down on them. "This court hereby orders the removal of Mr. Harry James Potter from your custody. You are prohibited from contacting him directly or indirectly until such a time as deemed appropriate by the Child Protection Services."

He banged the gavel. "This session is adjourned."

Chatter erupted instantly. The press outside shoved forward to get photos and reactions, despite being kept from entering fully. Reporters whispered and scribbled notes furiously.

Harry stood slowly, stunned.

He didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified. His whole life had just changed.

Rosa—still in disguise—stood silently, her smile still serene, but her fingers gripped her cup tightly.

One step closer… she thought, …now all we need is to get him somewhere safe.

Tristan walked over to Harry, lowering himself slightly so he was at eye level.

"You alright, kid?" he asked.

Harry hesitated. Then quietly said, "I think so."

Tristan gave a nod and ruffled the boy's hair lightly. "You're coming with us now. No more cupboards. No more lies."

From the gallery, Lady Slytherin stood and made her way quietly toward the exit, her heels echoing against the marble floor. As she passed Rosa, their eyes met again—just for a moment.

Rosa gave a subtle nod of respect.

Lady Slytherin gave a ghost of a smile in return.

Outside the courthouse, the sky was beginning to cloud over—but for Harry, it felt like the sun had finally broken through, even if just a little.

Tristan gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as they walked out of the courtroom, his steps slow, measured—aware of how overwhelming this moment must be.

Harry followed silently, his gaze low, messy black hair swaying slightly with each step.

But just before they exited, something tugged at him.

He turned his head—just slightly.

Petunia.

She hadn't spoken during the verdict. Hadn't looked at him once.

But now, as he glanced back, her eyes met his.

And for the first time in his memory… she looked like she might cry.

Her lips moved. No sound. Just a single word, mouthed almost like a ghost:

"Sorry."

Harry blinked.

He didn't know why she said it.

He didn't know if she meant it.

He wasn't even sure if she could mean it.

But he looked away.

There was nothing left to say.

The Dursleys' lawyer was already arguing with them, his face twisted with disdain—not at Harry, but at his own clients. He had clearly been blindsided by the truth. Maybe he'd believed their lies too—until now.

Harry didn't care.

He didn't want to care.

Not anymore.

He walked forward, toward the exit. Toward something else.

Something new.

Even if he didn't know what it was yet.

Outside the Courthouse –

Rosa finally emerged from the building, slipping through the press and pushing her way into the open air. The Polyjuice was wearing thin. Her steps were urgent.

She spotted Tristan and Harry approaching the car ahead and started moving toward them—

Until a figure stepped in front of her path.

Rosa stopped cold. Her breath hitched.

"…My lady," she whispered.

Lady Slytherin.

Regal. Immaculate. Cold. Her presence silenced everything around her.

Her eyes were hard as tempered steel.

"Have you given him the letter?" she asked, voice quiet but sharp enough to cut stone.

Rosa swallowed thickly, her hand brushing her coat pocket. "Yes. I'm… getting there. I will tell Harry Potter that he is the heir to the House of Hydra… soon."

Lady Slytherin studied her.

Then, slowly—almost imperceptibly—her expression softened.

Not warm. But no longer threatening.

"Good," she said. And with that, she turned and walked away, heels tapping against the courthouse steps.

Only once Rosa was sure she was gone did she let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Her fingers curled lightly around the sealed envelope in her pocket.

Soon, she thought.

He deserves to know. But not yet.

Harry walked beside Tristan, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. His shoes made soft scuffing sounds with every step, far too big for him—like most of the things he owned.

He glanced up at the man beside him.

"So… where are we going?"

Tristan glanced down, his grip on Harry's arm light but firm. "My place," he said after a moment. "Well… apartment, technically."

He nodded toward the parked police car at the curb, the same one he'd arrived in.

"Hop in. I'll drive us there."

Harry hesitated. Not out of fear—at least, not entirely. Just… uncertainty. He wasn't used to adults talking to him like this. Not kindly. Not honestly.

He looked at the car, then back at Tristan.

"Are you… even allowed to use a police car when you're not working?"

Tristan chuckled, unlocking the door with a chirp and opening it for him.

"Yeah. Perks of the badge, kid. As long as I'm not turning on the sirens just to cut traffic."

Harry slid in, the seat surprisingly warm. It was a strange feeling. Familiar, yet unfamiliar. Riding in a car where he wasn't being glared at. Where the silence wasn't angry or uncomfortable.

Tristan walked around and got in the driver's seat, starting the engine.

As they pulled onto the road, Harry looked out the window, watching Privet Drive slowly fade behind them.

For the first time in what felt like forever… he didn't feel like he was going back to a cupboard.

The road stretched ahead, quiet but alive with the muffled hum of passing cars and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

Harry sat in the passenger seat, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. He glanced at Tristan, who kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against his coffee cup in the holder.

"So…" Harry finally said, his voice low, uncertain, "do you… do you live alone?"

Tristan nodded, eyes on the road. "Yeah. Been that way for a while."

Harry looked down at his lap. "Because… you want to?"

Tristan chuckled under his breath, not cruelly, just a little bitter. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. Family's… complicated."

Harry gave a small, quiet nod. He understood that more than most.

A few more seconds of silence passed.

Then Tristan asked, "You hungry?"

Harry blinked, surprised by the question. "A bit," he admitted.

Tristan nodded. "There's a takeaway place on the way. Burgers. Fries. Proper food. None of that toast-and-water business you've been surviving on."

Harry didn't smile, not quite—but something in his shoulders relaxed.

"…Thanks."

Another moment passed before Harry spoke again. "Why are you doing this?"

Tristan glanced at him, just briefly, then looked back at the road. "Because someone should've done it a long time ago."

Harry's eyes lingered on him, quiet, thoughtful. "…You said your family's complicated. Did they…?"

"Let's just say," Tristan said slowly, "I know what it's like to be forgotten. To be treated like an embarrassment. Like you don't belong, just because you're different."

Harry didn't say anything to that. But he didn't look away either.

He didn't need to ask what Tristan meant by different.

Instead, he whispered, "I think… I might be a freak."

Tristan slammed the brakes—not hard, just enough to stop at a red light. He turned to Harry, his voice low and steady.

"You're not a freak, Harry."

Harry frowned. "But I—"

"I don't care what they told you. You're not broken. You're not cursed. And if anyone says otherwise, they're wrong."

Harry looked away, out the window. But this time, his eyes were wet.

Tristan turned back to the wheel as the light changed. "You don't have to believe me yet," he added quietly. "But I'll prove it. One day."

They drove in silence for a while longer. But it was a different kind of silence now.

Not heavy.

Just quiet.

Peaceful.

Safe.

After a while, they both arrived at a fast food place and ordered something for Harry to eat.

And when Harry started to eat, Tristan was… startled, to say the least.

The kid didn't eat—he devoured.

Half a 9-inch pizza

A whole bucket of wings

One big burger

And an unholy mountain of French fries

Tristan, who had considered himself a decent eater back in his day, was rethinking all his life choices. Especially after Harry, through bites of chicken and cheese, casually mentioned:

"At the Dursleys, I never got a full meal. Just… like, 40 plates of food, a day".

Tristan stared at him for a full five seconds before slowly sipping his drink, muttering under his breath, "Forty plates? He counted…"

He briefly wondered if this was normal for magical children. Maybe they had bottomless stomachs? Or was this just a kid finally getting a chance to eat like a human?

Eventually, they drove back toward Tristan's apartment, the sun beginning to dip behind the skyline.

They pulled into the lot, Tristan parking the car neatly, and both got out. Harry looked a little drowsy now, food coma setting in, but he followed without complaint as they entered the building and took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

Once there, Tristan pulled out his keys, jiggled the old lock, and pushed the door open.

Harry stepped in and blinked.

The apartment was big—at least to him. Two bedrooms. A living room with a comfy-looking couch and a TV mounted on the wall. Next to it was a sleek, new gaming console—the latest PlayStation model, Harry was pretty sure. The kitchen curved to the right side of the space, with a clean island and polished countertops. The whole place smelled faintly like coffee and lemon cleaner.

Tristan ruffled Harry's messy black hair gently, steering him further inside.

"Your room's to the left," he said with a half-smile. "Tomorrow, CPS'll drop off whatever you had back at your old 'house'—though I'm guessing it's mostly just a blanket and some oversized hand-me-downs, yeah?"

Harry nodded.

Tristan clicked his tongue. "Figures. We'll get you some new stuff. Proper clothes. A backpack. Maybe a few games if you're into that."

Harry looked up at him, blinking. "...You're serious?"

Tristan shrugged, moving toward the kitchen. "Kid, you've survived more than most grown men. You deserve a fresh start."

Harry stood quietly in the middle of the living room, not really sure what to do with himself. But there was something strange about the space—about this whole day.

It was warm.

And safe.

For the first time in his life… he didn't feel like a prisoner.

The night had settled quietly over the city, casting a silver glow from the moonlight onto the apartment building's rooftop. Tristan stepped out onto the roof for some air, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. The city buzzed faintly below—cars, chatter, the hum of electricity.

And there, leaning against the railing with arms crossed, was Rosa.

He smirked, taking a sip. "You came to visit me so late. What's the occasion? Missed me?"

Rosa didn't even blink. "Not that. And you know why I came."

Tristan chuckled, resting his hip against the ledge beside her. "Of course. The letter. The oh-so-urgent, blood-bound, ancient-letter-of-great-Slytherin-importance."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "So… when are you planning to give it to him?"

Rosa exhaled, her eyes briefly closing. "Tomorrow. He deserves one night without the world trying to break something else inside him. Even Lady Slytherin breathing down my neck can wait till then."

Tristan raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You made her wait? You're braver than I remember."

"She didn't change," Rosa muttered, tugging her coat tighter around herself. "Still acts like she runs the whole sacred bloodline of Europe."

"She probably does," Tristan said with a laugh. "But I'll give her credit. She knows how to make an entrance—and scare the hell out of a courtroom."

They both stood in silence for a moment, the wind gently stirring their hair, the chill biting but not unwelcome.

Then Rosa broke the quiet. "He didn't ask about the letter yet. But I think he knows something's… different. The way he looks at the mark. Like he's trying to figure out what part of him isn't his."

Tristan glanced at the sky. "He's smart. Too smart for a kid who had to sleep next to cleaning supplies and mold."

"He's not just smart," Rosa said, almost softly. "He's observant. Quiet, yes—but watching everything. Processing everything. That kid's seen more in eleven years than most of us do in a lifetime."

Tristan's smirk faded a bit. "I know."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Do you think he's ready for it?" Rosa finally asked. "The truth? The title? The legacy?"

Tristan looked at her, no humor in his face now. "Doesn't matter if he's ready. It's his. He's going to need people who actually stand with him when it hits."

Rosa looked back toward the building. Toward the small, sleeping boy in one of the rooms below.

"I'll give it to him tomorrow," she whispered. "He deserves to know who he is. Before someone else tells him the version they want him to believe."

Tristan just nodded.

The wind blew again. And this time, neither of them said anything.

Because they both knew—

Tomorrow would change everything.

Rosa's gaze lingered on the rooftop horizon for a moment longer before turning back to Tristan. Her expression was thoughtful, but there was a sharp edge to her voice now.

"Did you notice something… when Harry walked into the trial room?"

Tristan didn't answer immediately. He glanced down into his coffee mug, then back at her, the corners of his mouth tugging into a grim line.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I did."

He leaned against the railing again, staring off as if seeing the moment replay in his mind.

"How most of the jury stiffened. The judge's grip tightened on the gavel. That quick glance the clerk gave him—like he expected the kid to hex the whole room."

Rosa nodded slowly.

Tristan exhaled, his voice low. "They were tense. Too tense. Like they were waiting for something to happen. Some of them even leaned away like Harry was a ticking curse."

Rosa crossed her arms. "And the ones who didn't?"

Tristan looked at her now, his eyes serious. "Squibs. Like me. Or hidden wizards, low-key enough that they're used to keeping their instincts in check."

He paused, voice softening. "They weren't scared of him. But the rest… it was like they were seeing something else. Something behind the boy. Or inside him."

Rosa closed her eyes. "They were reacting to the mark. Or… the aura around him."

Tristan let out a breath. "Not something normal. Not just magic."

"A presence," Rosa muttered. "Like the air shifted when he entered. Not Dark, exactly, but… ancient. Wild. Like something older than the room."

Tristan turned back to the sky, brows furrowed. "They felt it. Even the ones who couldn't explain why."

Rosa didn't speak for a moment. Then she added, almost reluctantly, "Lady Slytherin did say… the blade bonds to more than blood."

Tristan muttered under his breath, "And now the court knows they weren't just judging a kid."

"They were judging someone with something in him. Or beside him. Something watching."

They stood in silence again, the weight of that truth settling between them.

After a moment, Tristan looked over.

"We better be careful."

Rosa gave a humorless smile. "Careful doesn't even begin to cover it."

To be continued

Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy