Charlie's friends came in a group of four, each straddling a broomstick and cloaked in dark hoods.

As they landed, the first thing they did was turn to Ron.

"You must be Charlie's little brother."

Ron scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. With that unmistakable Weasley red hair, it wasn't exactly hard to tell.

"This is Harry. Harry Potter."

Instantly, all attention shifted from Ron's hair to the iconic lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

Faced with four awe-struck adult wizards, Harry responded with a polite but visibly tired look, clearly unamused at being gawked at like a museum exhibit.

Fortunately, the journey had gone off without a hitch. They had successfully dodged Filch and his prowling cat, Mrs. Norris, which meant no safety issues. Harry began to relax and chatted with the group about how Charlie was doing at the dragon sanctuary.

"Honestly? Not great," one of them replied, half-joking and half-sympathetic. "Poor bloke's got the worst luck. Just a few months into the job and bam—dragon breakout. Can you believe one of them, a Hungarian Horntail, ended up all the way in Germany and got killed by a Dark wizard?"

"One guy killed a Horntail?" Harry and Ron's eyes nearly popped out.

"Yup," the man nodded grimly. "Still don't know who he is. Covered his tracks perfectly. The whole reserve is on high alert now, patrolling around the clock. It's been hell."

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances. They used to think Charlie had the coolest job ever. Now... it sounded like hard, thankless work.

Just glorified dragon chow.

After some more small talk, the four dragon handlers got down to business. They securely tied up Norbert's crate using several enchanted ropes. Each broom tugged one rope taut, suspending the crate in mid-air like a magical sky sled.

Harry thanked them profusely and watched as they lifted off into the night sky.

But Norbert had other ideas.

Sensing he was being taken away from home into unfamiliar territory, the baby dragon began to thrash violently within the crate. If he'd been hatched from ordinary fire, he'd still be weak and premature. But this wasn't an ordinary dragon. This was a dragon born of Gubraithian Fire—stronger, quicker to mature, and far more intense in his fire.

The handlers had barely flown more than a few dozen meters before they felt an intense heat behind them. In horror, they looked back to see the crate exploding into splinters, searing flames bursting out and burning through the ropes, licking dangerously close to their brooms.

"ROAAARRRR!"

The dragon's cry tore through the still night, shrill and unrestrained. Though it didn't reach the depths of the Forbidden Forest, the echo reached the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers loud and clear.

"A DRAGON! It's a fire-breathing dragon!"

Excited voices rang out as curious students rushed to the windows, eyes wide.

…

Half an hour later, the entire group—Ron, Harry, and Charlie's four unfortunate friends—sat trembling in Professor McGonagall's office.

No one had escaped. No one even tried.

They'd been caught by Professor Flitwick, who had stumbled upon the exhausted, grounded dragon and nearly passed out from fright.

A fire-breathing dragon. In Hogwarts.

He immediately marched everyone to McGonagall's office, taking Norbert along as well. And since all four adult dragon handlers were former Gryffindors, the shame had to be dealt with at the source.

Harry and Ron sat in a cold sweat, minds blank. They couldn't even imagine what sort of hurricane they were about to face in the form of Professor McGonagall.

As for the four adults? Not faring much better.

Graduation didn't mean immunity.

McGonagall had been their Head of House and Deputy Headmistress for seven years. Facing her was like a mouse squaring up to a lioness.

After thirty agonizing minutes of silence, the door finally opened.

In came Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, both in sleepwear. McGonagall's slippers were on the wrong feet, and she looked like she'd sprinted across half the castle. Behind them trailed Hagrid, carrying a stunned Norbert in his arms, face pale as chalk.

Professor Flitwick wasn't present—this was strictly Gryffindor business, and McGonagall would only be further humiliated if another head of house was watching.

Dumbledore said nothing. His face was as unreadable as a frozen lake.

McGonagall, however, was seething.

She marched right up to Ron and Harry, trembling with barely contained fury, her eyes shooting flames. Her long nose flared as she breathed hard through it.

At that moment, Harry thought McGonagall looked more like a fire-breathing dragon than Norbert did. And frankly, Norbert didn't scare him anymore.

McGonagall did.

"I never imagined... never in all my years, that any of my students could be so... recklessly audacious!"

Her voice quivered with rage as she jabbed a finger at Harry and Ron.

"It's one in the morning! And what are you doing? Smuggling a dragon—an illegal dragon, mind you—up the Astronomy Tower!"

"Professor McGonagall, it was all my fault..."

Even in panic, Hagrid stood up for them, trying to take the blame.

"Silence, Rubeus!"

McGonagall spun on him like a storm. The half-giant instantly fell quiet, shrinking into the background.

Turning back to the boys, she looked utterly disappointed.

"I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students than I am right now. In one night, you've broken at least fifty school rules."

With the evidence in front of them and no excuses to offer, Harry and Ron could only hang their heads in shame.

After venting her anger on the students, McGonagall turned to the four adult troublemakers.

"Benjamin. Berta. Sifus. Jack."

Her voice was colder now, less emotional but no less cutting.

"I had hoped that after graduation, you'd become responsible, competent witches and wizards. Clearly, you're as foolish now as you were then. If you were still students, I'd dock a hundred points from each of you without hesitation. But since you're not... I have no authority over you. I'll be treating you as intruders on school grounds."

She turned to Dumbledore with a tired huff.

"Albus, do what you must. I've washed my hands of this nonsense. These lunatics are beyond me."

Everyone else in the room looked like they were about to be sick.

And Dumbledore?

He was exhausted—mentally exhausted.

Just what kind of chaotic prodigies was he surrounded by?

Keeping a baby dragon at Hogwarts? Not ideal, but manageable. It was still small, and if no one knew about it, it wasn't a problem.

Getting rid of the dragon? Even better. It meant Hagrid had come to his senses.

But how did they manage to screw up the one thing that was actually helping?!

He didn't understand.

No one had reported them. No professors had found out. They could have slipped away clean.

Just one simple step—give the dragon a sleeping potion before the flight.

But no. Instead, they managed to not only blow their own cover, but also broadcast the existence of the dragon to half the school.

He could already picture the next few days:

Ministry officials showing up, questions being asked, headlines being written...

And in the end?

He'd be the one cleaning up their mess.

Dumbledore was tired.