As the professor's back disappeared through the shop door, the witch with the thick black glasses pulled a potion bottle from the cabinet. The cork was crusted with old grime. When she twisted it open, a stench exploded out so strong it made the dingy pet shop spin, even for folks used to the smell of cages and owl droppings.
She grabbed the toe-missing, mangy rat with two fingers, pried its cheeks apart, and poured the foul potion down its throat. Scabbers gulped hard, choking if she slowed even a second, his four stumpy legs kicking uselessly.
"Squeak… ugh…" Scabbers stared toward the door and let out a pitiful whimper.
The shopkeeper sped up the dosing. This rat still had some fight in him; might actually last a few more years.
Over by the stacked cages, Hermione was giving Bastian the rundown on the usual pets: toads, rats, owls, and a few cats nobody wanted.
A ginger cat was crouched on top of a cage, legs coiled, back arched, eyes locked on Scabbers with a low, rumbling growl.
Scabbers had just swallowed half the bottle; his belly was bloated, eyes glazed. The growl snapped him awake. The few hairs he had left stood straight up. He chommed down on the witch's hand, and the second she yelped and let go, he hit the floor and bolted, vanishing out the door in a gray blur.
"Scabbers! Scabbers!"
Ron yelled and sprinted after him, Harry right behind.
The shopkeeper finally caught up with reality, spun toward the ginger cat, and nearly lost it. "Crookshanks, you dumb fleabag! They didn't even pay! That bottle was worth a month of your kibble!"
Two sales in a row had put her in a great mood; now it was gone, replaced by the sting of half a bottle wasted, especially on a cat nobody wanted that just ate food and caused chaos.
Probably because there were still two girls in the shop, she bit back the really nasty words, just glared at Crookshanks on the shelf, trying to guilt-trip him with her eyes into going out and earning his keep.
"Ma'am, I'm with them. How much for the potion? I can cover it," Hermione said quietly.
The shopkeeper's scowl flipped to a grin faster than Polyjuice takes effect. "What a sweet witch; kids like you are bound to have good luck. Ten Sickles, and there's still half a bottle left."
"Done." Hermione let out a breath, then glanced down. Bastian was staring at the cat, her starry eyes screaming want. "Also… I'd like to see that cat."
"You've got great taste!" The witch beamed. "Crookshanks is part Kneazle; guard-cat material. He can sniff out shady folks and blow their cover in a second…"
While the sales pitch rolled on, the two girls studied the squash-faced ginger on the shelf. His fur was thick and fluffy, but his face looked like an old grandma who'd run full-speed into a brick wall, or maybe got ironed flat. His eyes drooped, his snout was squashed, and when he hissed he looked extra cranky. His back legs were crooked; clearly broken once and healed wrong.
…
Melvin stood outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, eyeing the bustling crowd, then glanced down at the balding rat clawing his pant leg and squeaking like mad.
End-of-August Diagon Alley was packed with shoppers. The clerk inside kept shooting looks his way, and with all the foot traffic, Wormtail couldn't risk changing back. This was his one chance to beg the young professor for help.
A few minutes earlier, Melvin had been heading back to the Leaky Cauldron, bag charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm swinging at his side, when the rat latched onto him.
"Squeak! Squeak!" Scabbers clung to his shoe, one paw frantically pointing toward the Daily Prophet office. "Squeak! Squeak!"
Wormtail was a jumpy wizard, Gryffindor alum who'd never found his spine. Ever since word got out that Sirius Black had busted out of Azkaban, he hadn't slept or eaten right; the rat was practically skin and bones.
He knew Black would come for him.
Facing the reckoning, Scabbers the rat had no choice but to throw himself on the young professor's mercy.
Melvin sighed, crouched, and glanced around. He needed to get back to the pub, pump Mr. Weasley for Dementor patrol routes, and nail down tomorrow's capture plan for the Hogwarts Express.
"Hide until Black's caught? How long is that? Where exactly are you gonna hide?"
He spoke gently, like coaxing a scared kid. "Listen, Wormtail, my advice? Stay with Ron."
"Squeak?"
"Nobody but you and Black knows what really happened that night. And you're dead; honored by the Ministry, even got a Merlin medal. Black's just a fugitive. Nobody's gonna believe a word out of his mouth."
"Squeak…" Scabbers went quiet, tiny eyes showing way too much human thought.
"Everyone knows Black was the Secret-Keeper, an Azkaban escapee. He can't show his face in public. You stay put with Ron, with Harry, and you've got the Ministry Aurors and Hogwarts staff as your personal bodyguards."
"Squeak?"
"Remember what we talked about? Stick close to Harry, gather intel. You're an Animagus; sneaky rat. Worst case, you bail, just like twelve years ago."
…
After some coaxing, the potion in his gut kicked in. The panicked rat calmed down and seemed to buy Melvin's plan.
About ten minutes later, Harry and Ron came running up. Ron was out of breath but didn't care; he scooped the pathetic rat into his pocket, eyes red. He really loved that childhood pet.
"Scabbers isn't gonna last much longer," Ron mumbled, crushed.
"Don't say that. He's got at least two or three years," Melvin said, hefting his case. He wasn't guessing; Voldemort still needed Wormtail for the comeback.
Ron looked gutted.
They split at the crossroads. Melvin headed to the Leaky Cauldron; Harry and Ron went back to the pet shop to pay for the potion and hit Flourish and Blotts. Hermione was still there.
The rest of the afternoon, the Leaky Cauldron was hopping. Parents rested, swapped summer stories. A couple teams of Aurors blended in as random drinkers, secretly guarding Harry.
The Weasleys and Grangers hit it off big-time. Arthur was pumped about Muggle tech; the Grangers wanted tips on raising a big family. They drank and chatted, and somehow the talk turned to Professor Lewinter. The vibe got even warmer.
Arthur raved about how the professor had helped Ron, how the revamped Muggle Studies class was actually fun. Melvin sat at the bar, listening as Arthur got worked up and clinked glasses with Mr. Granger.
Melvin didn't stick around long. Word travels fast in a pub full of shoppers; he got the intel he needed: when the Express would cross paths with the Dementors.
Heading upstairs, he caught Hermione and Ron bickering.
"You bought that monster?"
"His fur's gorgeous, isn't it?"
"What about Scabbers? He needs rest. How's he supposed to relax with that thing lurking around?"
"Relax, Crookshanks'll sleep in my dorm. Scabbers is in the boys' dorm. No problem. Poor Crookshanks; the lady said he's been in the shop forever, nobody wants him."
"That's the problem!"
…
Next morning.
Old Tom woke Harry as usual with hot tea and a gap-toothed grin. After washing up, the pub was chaos.
The whole Weasley crew was up, hauling trunks down the narrow stairs and stacking them by the door. Hedwig and Hermes were caged; Crookshanks snored in a wicker basket.
The Grangers had stayed over too. With parents and Bastian pitching in, Hermione looked chill.
"The professor must've left super early."
Harry peeked into the next room; door wide open, totally empty.
"Clock's ticking," Hermione said, a little down. Another six months, maybe a year, without family.
"Don't worry, Dad called a Ministry car to the station. Plenty of time for breakfast." Ron bragged, but didn't really notice her mood.
Tom pushed three tables together so they could all eat as one big group. Maybe because it was the last breakfast of summer, the bacon and eggs were endless, plus fresh salad; the spread was huge.
Mr. Weasley and Mr. Granger were best buds now, chatting nonstop, even planning a weekend pub crawl back at the Leaky.
Hermione kept Bastian company. Bastian was bummed too, but forced a smile and chatted until Hermione laughed, then sipped the pub's kid-friendly pumpkin juice.
After breakfast, the Ministry car pulled up. Mr. Weasley waved everyone out. Hermione crouched in front of Bastian, ruffling her soft hair.
"I'm off to Hogwarts. You start school tomorrow. Don't worry, homework's easy. Study hard, okay?"
Bastian sniffled, didn't answer.
Hermione bit her lip and pulled her into a hug.
Even after Hermione loaded her stuff and climbed in, Bastian stood frozen, staring at the Ministry car.
Trunks went in the boot, Crookshanks's basket got shoved in back, but Bastian stayed behind on the sidewalk, craning her neck, watching Hermione.
Hermione waved from the window as it rolled up, cutting them off.
The car pulled away. Bastian took a few automatic steps after it, chasing until it sped out of Charing Cross Road. Then she stopped, staring blankly down the street.