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HOGWARTS: REGULUS LORD OF THE STARS
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American Horror: Grind Edition
What the heck… turns out I'm still pretty strong after all——
Draco scratched the back of his head, dropped his final piece, and delivered the checkmate.
The corner of his mouth lifted in an unashamed display of triumph. "You still need practice, Tom. Wizard's chess is an extremely important social skill. In the eyes of any proper wizard, if you can't even play it, you're not a qualified wizard at all!
Especially the pure-blood nobles—they train for years just so they can shine one day. You know Lockhart, right? The most famous modern novelist. Even he's decent at wizard's chess. At his level, not knowing the game would get you laughed out of every salon."
Draco felt like he'd finally found Tom's weakness. He kept talking nonstop while resetting the board for the second game.
By the time the second match ended in ten minutes with Tom's defeat, Draco was already feeling smug.
Third game—twenty minutes in—Draco started sweating.
Wait… this guy really didn't know how to play?
His eyes kept darting across the board, hesitating.
Luckily it ended in a draw.
Draco wiped his forehead. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Inside the lavatory he gripped the sink with both hands, staring at his reflection. Sweat beads had already formed on his brow. He frantically rubbed them away with his sleeve.
He doesn't know how to play my ass!
Three games! Just three!
First game—Tom didn't even understand the rules properly.
Second game—he'd already grasped the basics.
Third game—he was actually holding his own against me!
Draco panted, knocking his fist against the wall. "Damn it…"
I really want to know what the hell these people's brains are made of!
Why does my years of hard work get crushed by Tom in half an hour?!
I! Am! Not! Convinced!
Draco glanced around, an idea suddenly flashing through his mind. He left the bathroom and headed upstairs.
"Draco!" Tom's voice rang out from below.
"What?" Draco glared back viciously. "I'm just grabbing something upstairs. You set the pieces up and wait. Since you already know the rules, I'm going all-out this time!"
"No, that's not what I meant." Tom pointed at the bathroom. "You didn't flush just now, did you?"
Draco: "————"
His face turned the color of a rotten avocado.
I only went in to wash my face! What the hell would I flush for?!
"Idiot. This is exactly why Professor Dumbledore sent you to our pure-blood family—so you could see how real wizards live. Our fixtures don't need manual operation!
They flush themselves."
Holy crap, that's actually cool?
Tom immediately stood up and walked toward the bathroom.
He relieved himself.
Then… nothing.
Where's the flush? You said it flushes automatically!
Tom stared at the toilet. No button, no lever, nothing.
"Dobby, help me out."
The house-elf appeared instantly. "Master Tom, how may Dobby serve you?"
"How do you… flush this thing?"
"Press here, sir."
Tom: "———— It doesn't flush by itself?"
"No, sir."
Damn you, Draco, you filthy animal.
Tom flushed, patted Dobby's head, and said gently, "I'm glad I got to see you here, little Dobby. I'll find a way to give you your freedom one day."
A spark of hope flashed in Dobby's eyes before he quickly hid it. "Master Tom doesn't need to do that. Dobby is just a slave and will always be a slave. Dobby only wants to live well—that's enough. And Dobby is quite comfortable here."
(Lie.)
Dobby was the freest house-elf in the world. He longed for freedom more than anyone.
He simply didn't want Tom to get into trouble. The Malfoy family weren't ordinary wizards; they were pure-blood fanatics. Touching their property could drive them insane.
Dobby didn't want Tom caught in that mess.
He shrank back. "Master Tom only needs to enjoy wizard life. If there's anything you don't understand, Dobby will teach—ah, no, Dobby doesn't mean to sound superior. Dobby only wants to help Master Tom."
"I know. It's fine. 'Three people walking together, one must be my teacher.' If I don't understand something, I'll ask you."
Tom left the bathroom and returned to the chessboard.
Draco took a deep breath and began the next game with full aggression—faster moves, sharper attacks, as if he didn't need to think at all. After each move he stared straight into Tom's eyes, waiting.
He was now wearing a single-lens monocle. That was what he'd gone upstairs to fetch.
Trying to look cool?
Tom noticed a faint magical aura coming from the lens.
Cheating!
Someone's cheating!
Then don't blame me for playing dirty.
The moment Draco picked up his next piece, Tom spoke casually: "I just went to the bathroom."
Draco's finger froze for half a second. "Oh."
"The toilet doesn't flush automatically."
"————" Draco stayed silent but still placed his piece.
Tom moved, then continued: "It doesn't flush by itself. I looked everywhere for a button and couldn't find one, so I had to use magic to flush it.
I didn't hear any flushing sound earlier, so you didn't flush after you went, right?!"
Draco choked on his own spit and coughed violently. "What nonsense are you spouting?! How could I be that kind of person!"
"Then tell me—how did you flush?"
"I——" Draco's mouth twitched. "I didn't even use the toilet! I just washed my face! I was tired, so I splashed some water on my face. Is that a crime?!
Does washing your face require flushing?!
Tom, I really hate this nosy personality of yours. Hermione would never do this! Can't you read the room? When someone clearly doesn't want to talk, just shut up!"
Tom gave an "oh" and asked again, "So why were you washing your face? Was the pressure of playing chess against me too much and you started sweating?
Oh no—could the great Young Master Malfoy actually be losing to a half-blood who learned wizard's chess less than an hour ago?"
"You wish!!!"
Twenty minutes of fierce combat later.
This time the "fierce combat" was all Draco's.
He lost.
Draco stared at his own hands in disbelief.
He slapped his cheeks.
It must be because Tom kept talking during the match and broke his concentration!
"No talking! Silence is the most basic etiquette in wizard's chess. Again!"
Fifteen minutes later.
Draco: "Again! Stop breathing so loudly—your breathing is distracting me!"
Ten minutes later.
Draco: "Again! Pull your foot back—you almost kicked me and made me misplace the most important piece!"
Five minutes later.
Draco gave up.
He realized that every single game, Tom's skill level had jumped another huge notch.
This guy had gone from total beginner to wizard-chess grandmaster in one afternoon. He could probably enter official tournaments now!
Genius. Is this what a real genius looks like?
Draco took off the monocle and sighed. "I'm tired. Let's stop here for today. Hey, whoever you are—come take Tom to his room to rest."
Before Tom could say anything, Draco had already trudged upstairs like a zombie.
The grand golden staircase of the manor did nothing to cheer him up.
In his bedroom, Draco set the monocle on the table and clutched his head.
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
He had felt this exact helplessness once before—at Lockhart's tournament.
Back then he had also relied on external help.
In other words… he had cheated.
With this monocle, Draco was confident that no one in Hogwarts—no, in the entire wizarding world—of his age or even his father's age could beat him at chess. The lens let him see ten moves ahead, predicting every possible path Tom could take.
And yet he still lost miserably.
The more they played, the worse the defeat became!
Why does someone like this even exist in the world?
Handsome, magically gifted, top of every class, even Snape likes him. Fine, whatever. But why is he also insanely good at wizard's chess?!
Draco slapped his own cheeks twice, trying to calm down.
No. The mistake was mine from the very beginning!
I never should have chosen wizard's chess!
For smart wizards, once they learn the rules they pick it up in no time.
I should have picked something that doesn't require brains—something decided by pure power and speed!
Tom probably doesn't play many games anyway, so tomorrow——
Heh heh.
Draco decided to take a nap first. Once he woke up he'd drag Tom outside and give him a proper lesson!
He refused to believe Tom was good at everything.
One game to learn, two to master, three to dominate? Impossible!
Draco finally defeated his inner demons. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
He had barely slept last night because he had to pick Tom up. The moment his head hit the pillow, exhaustion crashed over him and he fell asleep.
Meanwhile…
Ministry of Magic.
The Ministry was holding a meeting.
The topic was the future of Hogwarts.
Voldemort?
That matter had already been settled in a five-hour meeting last night.
The conclusion: ignore him.
The idiots at the Ministry didn't think Voldemort was that strong.
After all, he had already "died" once. How much power could a Voldemort who still hadn't fully resurrected possibly have?
Just another roadside nuisance. If he caused trouble, they'd simply kick him aside.
As for why no one from the Ministry had helped when Voldemort appeared at Hogwarts last night——
The Ministry comforted itself by deciding Hogwarts simply hadn't notified them.
If they had known, a few Aurors would have been enough to capture him and drag him straight to Azkaban.
Yes, it was all Hogwarts' fault. If not for their reckless solo action, the Ministry could have brought Voldemort in themselves.
Bang!
The gavel slammed down. An elderly wizard stroked his beard and spoke: "Regarding the natural-born Dark witch Misha and her shadow—how should we rule?"
"Arrest them. Throw them in Azkaban. She might become the next Voldemort. We cannot let her grow.
If Dumbledore insists on protecting her, then remove him from his post."
The older wizards in the room murmured among themselves, debating whether the suggestion was reasonable.
"I agree. Better safe than sorry. Instead of betting she'll grow into a kind, outstanding witch, I'd rather assume she'll turn into another evil monster."
Lucius frowned.
So that's why Dumbledore sent Tom to my house and specifically reminded me: "Tom is the wizard who defeated You-Know-Who—the youngest, most talented wizard alive. Don't let his age fool you; his skill in Dark magic and curses already rivals most Aurors."
Lucius sighed.
Dumbledore had probably predicted this meeting long ago.
If Lucius agreed to arrest Misha here, then in the coming days—no, the coming months—he wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully.
Misha was Tom's sister. Tom could easily punish him and then break her out of Azkaban.
Of course, that assumed Tom really did have the power to defeat Voldemort.
Was this Dumbledore's gamble?
Lucius rubbed his eyes. He felt an invisible mountain of pressure suddenly pressing down on him.
"Lucius Malfoy, what is your opinion? Should we arrest Misha, or choose another path?"
The pressure landed squarely on Lucius.
Almost everyone was staring at him.
The radicals wanted to storm Hogwarts the moment the holidays ended, seize Misha and the shadow, and punish them.
The conservatives thought the radicals were too soft—they should act immediately, right now!
Feeling the weight of every gaze, Lucius shifted in his seat, folded his hands on the table, and rested his chin on them.
"Before we make this ruling, may I say a few words?"
Everyone sat up straighter.
No matter what, Lucius Malfoy was still a pure-blood. His words carried weight.
"Of course, please speak."
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