A scruffy, balding rat missing a toe stirred from sleep.
This time, it wasn't waking up in a school uniform pocket or nestled by a pillow.
Nor did it see the familiar red-haired Weasley face when it opened its eyes.
"You're awake, Scabbers."
"!"
Scabbers' eyes widened, locking onto a handsome boy staring back with dark, probing eyes.
"Squeak squeak!"
Scabbers glanced around nervously, finding itself on a cold, silver metal table in a vast, empty space.
Lucien's eyes swirled with black spirals as he studied the rat, its tiny paws rubbing together.
Hmm, even with the Eye of Insight, I can't see any magical signature.
So this was an Animagus.
In animal form, they could conceal their wizarding essence, making it nearly impossible to detect.
Perhaps certain actions or stimuli would trigger a magical signature to appear?
Lucien channeled more magic into his Eye of Insight, the spirals in his pupils spinning faster.
Sensing something off, Scabbers shot a glance at Lucien, who stood motionless, staring.
Its tiny legs scurried to flee.
But Lucien flicked his wand, and metal barriers rose around the table, blocking Scabbers' escape.
The rat halted. It recognized this young wizard—Ron's friend from school, first met on the Hogwarts Express.
Back then…
Scabbers recalled feeling uneasy about this boy, avoiding him instinctively.
It never imagined that after a normal nap, it would wake up in Lucien's clutches.
Scabbers twisted its head, acting like an ordinary rat.
Lucien hadn't done anything to it, after all. Maybe Ron had lent Scabbers to him for a few days and would soon take it back.
As Scabbers looked for a corner to curl up in, Lucien cast a Levitation Charm, making it float.
Watching the squirming rat, Lucien frowned slightly.
Even under magical influence, no signature appeared.
He'd pushed the Eye of Insight to its limit, yet not a trace of magic flickered.
Was this typical for an Animagus, or was Peter Pettigrew an exception?
After all, this was an Animagus who'd stayed hidden for over a decade, possibly the longest to remain in animal form in this world.
Heh, who could endure living as a rat for so long?
In that sense, Peter Pettigrew was oddly "brave."
Could a coward, driven by fear of death, muster such resilience to survive?
What if a sudden "attack" forced the Animagus to drop their magical disguise, revealing their signature?
If this didn't work, he could ask Professor McGonagall about Animagus magic.
Maybe she could transform into her tabby cat form to let him study her magical signature.
But that felt… bold.
"Professor, could you turn into a cat for me to examine?"
No, studying Scabbers—er, Pettigrew—was far easier.
Lucien lowered Scabbers back to the table, offering it some snacks.
Scabbers hesitated. A rat refusing food would look suspicious.
So it nibbled a biscuit.
Observing the rat's normal behavior, Lucien still saw no magical trace.
Zzt—
A tiny electric arc shot from Lucien's wand toward Scabbers.
"Squeak!"
The rat leaped, unhurt but startled.
It glanced around nervously, then casually at Lucien.
That glance chilled Scabbers to the bone.
The boy was smiling.
Scabbers' heart sank. Was this some nutcase who enjoyed tormenting cute animals?
What kind of friends was Ron making?
Lucien saw it—a fleeting surge of magic, a momentary glimpse of a magical signature.
So, sudden magical stimuli can briefly reveal the signature.
But it vanished too quickly.
Could sustained magic prolong the signature's visibility?
Scabbers shivered, sensing something dangerous looming…
An hour later, Lucien stepped out of the Gourd Space.
"Not bad progress. Keep it up, and I'll crack it in two weeks, tops."
"Detecting an Animagus's hidden magical signature."
A faint golden figure appeared beside him.
"Glimmer, you're back," Lucien said.
"How was your chat with Mr. Newt?"
As he spoke with the young Qilin, Lucien removed the satchel from its neck.
Inside was a letter and two books—both copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
Common bookstore editions, but…
Lucien flipped open the cover. The first page bore Newt Scamander's handwritten signature.
"Signed copies secured. Perfect for this term's exam prizes."
"Should motivate Harry and the others to study harder."
Lucien pocketed the books, eyeing the Qilin. "Glimmer, have you grown again?"
The young Qilin, in its growth phase, was visibly larger each month.
"Maybe, Master. But I can shift sizes, so it's not that noticeable…" Glimmer replied.
After chatting a bit, Lucien headed toward the groundskeeper's hut.
He'd promised to join Hagrid and the others for a meal at the cabin.
But as he approached, he spotted a sneaky figure lurking nearby.
Had Fang and Snowy been taken for a walk?
No barking or alerts, though.
A boy with slicked-back platinum hair paced near the cabin, clutching a box under his arm.
"Checked the library, asked Ravenclaws—he's not in the common room, no classes today, so probably here…"
"Something up, Malfoy?" Lucien called.
Startled, Malfoy hugged the box tighter. "Oh, it's you, Lucien."
Lucien eyed the large box, puzzled by Malfoy's presence.
The timing was off. Malfoy reporting Hagrid's dragon egg was supposed to happen closer to Christmas, not now, just before the Quidditch match.
"Uh, well…" Malfoy stammered, then thrust the box toward Lucien, looking away. "I… I came to apologize."
"I shouldn't have said you had no right to comment on purebloods or insulted your background…"
His voice shrank, but, recalling his father's instructions, he pressed on.
"This is… my apology gift."
"Will you, uh, accept it?"
Malfoy's stuttering, almost Quirrell-level, made Lucien chuckle.
Kids. How many could apologize so openly?
But…
This didn't seem like Malfoy's style, at least not this soon.
Hmm, someone's guiding him from behind the scenes?
If Malfoy could be more sincere, less arrogant, he might've already befriended his favorite rival, Harry.
In a blink, Lucien's pupils swirled with the Eye of Insight.
He scanned Malfoy and the box.
Oh, strong magical aura, but not a living thing. Feels like…
Lucien rifled through his memory, recalling items he'd examined with the Eye.
It was similar to the dragon heartstring he'd gotten from Snape.
A faint, radiating heat.
And not just one source.