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HOGWARTS: REGULUS LORD OF THE STARS
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American Horror: Grind Edition
The fireplace in the Gryffindor common room crackled away, but the warmth didn't touch the chill wrapped around Harry.
"I'm not going."
Hermione's voice was quiet, but it landed like a bomb in Harry and Ron's ears.
She sat tucked in the far corner, away from the fire, a thick copy of Legal Principles open across her knees.
"Hermione, that's Hagrid!" Ron hissed, leaning in. "If we don't go, Norbert gets killed and Hagrid ends up in Azkaban!"
"I know it's Hagrid," Hermione said, finally looking up. "That's exactly why I know what we're walking into.
The paperwork's already rolling, Harry.
If we get caught tonight, detention isn't going to cut it."
"You're scared," Harry said, eyes locked on her.
"I'm being realistic." She stood. Her hands shook, but her voice stayed steady as steel. "This isn't brave—it's suicide.
Malfoy's got the net ready and waiting.
I can't follow you two into the fire pit. I'm sorry."
She hugged the book to her chest and climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory without another word.
Harry and Ron just stared at each other, lost.
That was when Neville Longbottom shuffled in, clutching a drooping potted plant he'd clearly overheard everything.
"I—I heard you," Neville stammered, voice trembling. "You're going to help Hagrid get rid of the dragon, right?"
"Neville, this is dangerous," Harry said automatically.
But he glanced at Ron's bandaged, chewed-up hand and pictured the heavy crate. The balance shifted.
"I'm not brave like you guys," Neville went on, teeth chattering, "but I don't want to watch Hagrid cry.
And… I don't want to keep hiding behind everyone forever.
If I can't even try, then I'm really just… just a Longbottom."
He swallowed hard. "But I can help carry the crate. I've been lifting weights a little."
So the trio was set:
A reckless Boy Who Lived, a wounded Weasley, and a dragon-terrified Longbottom.
That was Gryffindor's strike team.
Late Saturday night, the Hogwarts corridors were dead silent.
Harry's Invisibility Cloak barely covered the three of them, but the wooden crate holding Norbert stuck out like a sore thumb.
They had to let it bulge under the fabric, making it look like some invisible monster crawling down the hall.
"Oh Merlin—it's biting my robe," Neville whimpered, fingers gripping the slats.
Norbert thrashed inside, still furious from the fire. The sulfur stink leaked right through the wood.
"Shh, Neville—hold on!" Ron grunted, shouldering the crate. "Once we hit the Astronomy Tower, Charlie's mates take over. We're golden."
The whole trip was pure farce.
On the second-floor landing they nearly walked straight into Filch and his lantern.
Their footsteps thudded like drums on the stone because of the heavy load.
"Who's there?" Filch snapped, spinning around.
Harry's heart slammed to a stop. Neville stumbled in pure panic, slamming the crate into the wall with a deafening crash.
Norbert screeched. A jet of flame shot through a gap and set Neville's sleeve on fire.
"Ah—" Neville sucked in a breath, about to scream.
But right as Filch's lantern swung their way, Mrs. Norris let out a yowl and tore off in the opposite direction, knocking over a full suit of armor.
"Mrs. Norris? Get back here! What'd you see?" Filch cursed and chased after her.
"He… he didn't see us?" Ron blinked, stunned. They'd been practically under his nose and the burning smell was obvious.
"Don't freeze—move!" Harry yanked them onward.
It happened again on the fifth floor.
They were five feet from Peeves. The crate stirred the air as it passed.
Peeves turned, clearly spotted the bulge under the cloak… and instead of ratting them out, he cackled theatrically and started hurling ink bottles everywhere, turning the corridor into total chaos.
"This isn't right," Harry panted, sweat stinging his eyes. "We're making a ton of noise—how are they not—"
"Maybe we're just lucky?" Neville wiped tears with his singed sleeve while death-gripping the crate. "Come on—we're almost there."
The final spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower was hell.
Norbert sensed the height and started slamming around inside. The sturdy crate began splitting under his claws.
"Harry! His claw's through!" Ron yelped as a razor talon punched out, missing his neck by inches.
Neville was one breath from full meltdown, eyes squeezed shut, whispering "don't eat me, don't eat me" nonstop.
The three of them staggered up like drunk clowns hauling a live bomb—no stealth, no plan, just clumsy cover, ragged breathing, and panic-sized mistakes.
When they finally reached the flat rooftop, the cold night wind caught the edge of the cloak and lifted it.
Harry dropped to the stone, gasping.
He spotted dark specks on the horizon—Charlie's dragon handlers on brooms.
"We… we actually did it?" Ron stared at his own hands like they belonged to someone else.
"Yeah. You did."
A cheerful laugh cut through the dark. Harry whipped around.
"Ahem."
An exaggerated throat-clearing. "Caught red-handed, Mr. Potter."
Dolores Umbridge's voice rang across the tower.
Her toad-like face glowed with sickly delight.
Behind her, Ministry officials in dark gray robes had already sealed every exit.
"What a touching show of friendship," she cooed. "And is this the little fire hazard?"
She stepped up and flicked her wand, lifting a corner of the cloak. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and… oh, the brave but unnamed classmate. Illegal smuggling of a Norwegian Ridgeback, violating curfew, and running a cross-border black-market pickup right here on school grounds."
She let out a delighted little laugh.
Harry couldn't breathe. He gripped the splintered crate until wood dug into his palm.
Ron sagged beside him. Neville kept his eyes shut tight, shaking like a leaf.
"Illegal possession and transport of a Class IV dangerous creature, plus international illegal rendezvous," Umbridge declared, wand waving. "Under Chapter Three of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement guidelines, I am authorized to seize the creature and place all suspects in mandatory administrative detention."
"And all of this happening under the nose of Headmaster Dumbledore, who's so famous for his strict oversight. Truly heartbreaking administrative negligence for the Ministry."
Harry watched the dragon handlers circling overhead, too scared to land once they saw the gray robes. Then he looked at Umbridge's revolting smile.
Every ounce of effort, every risk—it all looked ridiculous next to those stamped sheets of parchment.
"We… we were just trying to help Hagrid," Neville whispered, voice cracking.
"Hagrid?" Umbridge clutched her chest theatrically. "You mean that half-giant with the criminal record? The Ministry already has a special cell waiting in Azkaban.
Don't worry, children—your little adventure will be duly noted in the annual report on Hogwarts' educational standards."
A perfect trap. Procedures airtight, timing flawless.
The officials moved to step past the cloak and take full control—when a calm voice stopped them cold.
He didn't look at Umbridge. He didn't look at the terrified students.
"Quite the performance," he said softly.
"Remarkable bureaucratic skill, Dolores. Cornelius's personally signed authorization always does tend to be—"
"—a bit overeager, doesn't it?"
Dumbledore stepped into the torchlight.
He wasn't wearing his usual flamboyant robes—just a plain, slightly threadbare deep-purple velvet one.
His half-moon glasses caught the firelight as he surveyed the scene.
"Headmaster!" Harry gasped.
Dumbledore raised a hand for silence.
He walked straight to the sulfur-stinking, claw-scratched crate and gently stroked Norbert's scales.
"You—Albus Dumbledore!" Umbridge's voice shot up an octave. "You dare show yourself? You're aiding student smuggling! This is open defiance of the Ministry!"
"Defiance? Oh, hardly, my dear," Dumbledore said mildly, eyes warm. "I'm simply carrying out my duties as headmaster in the pursuit of scholarly research.
I'm sure you haven't studied the Fourteenth Amendment to the Hogwarts School Rules in detail.
It clearly grants the headmaster approval authority for empirical study of magical creature life cycles under extreme conditions during specific teaching periods."
"Research?" Umbridge sneered, jabbing a finger at the wrecked crate. "With first-years? At midnight? On the Astronomy Tower?"
"Precisely because of the extreme conditions," Dumbledore replied, turning to the fidgeting deputy head. "Mr. Chilton, I believe I mentioned in last week's informal request letter that we would need a highly qualified official to assist in receiving this fragile specimen.
Could there have been some unfortunate mix-up in the Ministry's paperwork that led you to believe this was—a crime?"
Sweat beaded on Chilton's temples. He'd spent decades in the system; he read the hint loud and clear.
If this became a bust, he'd get the credit—but it would mean standing openly against Dumbledore.
If it became "invited assistance for a school research project," his record gained a shiny new line about supporting Hogwarts' advanced safety protocols.
Bureaucrats always picked the safest path for their careers.
"Oh—I remember now, Headmaster," Chilton cleared his throat. He didn't even glance at Umbridge's twisted face. "The request letter must have been held up in the Minister's secretariat.
Since this is a properly filed school project, the current handover is… fully compliant."
"Chilton! What are you babbling about!" Umbridge shrieked. "Look at these children! Look at that dragon!"
"I see everything perfectly, Dolores," Dumbledore said, voice still soft but carrying iron weight. "Due to an administrative oversight on my part in communicating instructions, these justice-minded students who volunteered to assist with teaching ended up performing a rough but extremely brave emergency transfer on a rainy night.
This was an educational strategy error—not a legal smuggling matter."
He turned to the three boys huddled in the corner.
"Hagrid will be fined fifty Galleons for inadequate evidence supervision and placed on three years' probation," Dumbledore announced. "As for Mr. Potter and his friends, they will lose house points—already in short supply—for unauthorized transport of valuable teaching assets.
All of this will be handled internally at Hogwarts. Wouldn't you agree, Dolores?"
He had openly admitted the slip.
If Umbridge wanted Hagrid now, she'd have to arrest the headmaster who had just accepted responsibility.
And Fudge didn't have the power to touch Dumbledore.
The shrieking stopped. Anger drained from Umbridge's face, replaced by cold calculation.
Her eyes flicked between Dumbledore, the broken crate, and the Invisibility Cloak on the ground.
She smelled the deal.
A professional, utterly fake smile slid into place.
"Research specimen—Albus, you make an excellent point," she said, savoring the words. "But I can't return empty-handed. The Minister needs results.
Since you admit the safety breach came from a delay in the headmaster's office procedures, this Hogwarts Campus Management Safety Risk Assessment Report will require your signature."
She pulled out a pre-prepared parchment. The title read:
Interim Determination of Potential Life Threats to Underage Students Due to Administrative Negligence by School Authorities.
If Dumbledore signed, the Ministry gained a legal lever into Hogwarts' internal affairs.
"Done." Dumbledore signed without hesitation.
"A wise choice." Umbridge tucked the document away, satisfied. She waved her staff aside so Charlie's people could land.
As the crate rose into the air, she glanced back at Harry with a thin smile. "Best of luck, Mr. Potter. Let's hope your next experiment follows proper procedure."
The tower top fell quiet again.
Harry, Ron, and Neville stood frozen.
Harry felt weak-kneed—the pure exhaustion of cheating death.
He stared at Dumbledore's back, the old surge of awe and gratitude rising fast.
If the headmaster could handle the Ministry like this, then maybe no law was unbreakable after all.
"We… we're free, right?" Ron wiped sweat from his face, voice buzzing with relief. "Malfoy never saw that coming. One word from the headmaster and the dragon's suddenly legal. His sneaky dad just got crushed!"
But under the flickering torchlight, the greatest white wizard of the last half-century looked strangely tired.
He hid it well.
"Come here, children," Dumbledore said, voice smoothing the cold wind.
He stepped forward and gently patted Neville's still-trembling shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, Neville. You faced your fear tonight. Your grandmother would be very proud."
He smiled kindly and flicked his wand; Neville's singed sleeve mended instantly.
"Professor—I'm sorry," Harry said, throat tight, fists clenched. "We were too reckless. Hermione actually warned us—"
"Bravery and recklessness are often separated by a single line, Harry. Thankfully you three came through unharmed." Dumbledore's eyes held only the same endless tolerance. "Go see Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught. Tonight's extracurricular adventure is over."
At the same moment, deep in the spiral staircase below the tower…
The Ministry officials in their gray robes finally let their shoulders drop a fraction now that they were inside the castle where they'd once spent seven years. Their steps slowed.
"Fifteen years later and the old headmaster's still got that protective streak," the graying veteran muttered, lighting a wall torch. "Willing to hand the Minister a loaded gun just to keep those kids under his wing."
"Only at Hogwarts would our white wizard make that kind of concession," the younger wizard snorted, touching his Ministry badge. "Anyone else facing that pile of ironclad evidence tonight? Who could spin a 'legal experiment' out of thin air?
We came out here in the middle of the night basically to do the old man a quiet favor."
"Favors aren't free, Green. Learn that." The veteran shook his head, staring up the dark stairwell with complicated eyes. "We all know what that piece of paper really cost. Privilege always demands an equal exchange."
He pulled his collar up against the draft. The two men shared a knowing look.
"Too bad—after tonight's little show, our alma mater's good days might really be numbered.
Let's go. Mr. Malfoy is still waiting for this perfectly scripted finale."
The night wind swept through the ancient corridors, carrying the muffled thud of dress shoes on stone.
In the adult world, the rules quietly strangled every last bit of the fairy tale.