Ron snatched Scabbers back, turning the rat over and over, inspecting him. "I think the cat got his belly…" he said mournfully, stroking the rodent carefully. "He's so fat he survived."
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
"I knew it! Mrs. Norris has never killed a student's pet!" Filch crowed in triumph. Mrs. Norris yowled, a raspy sound, and licked her tangled grey fur with no visible effect.
Harry looked down at Scabbers lying in Ron's palm. "Let's take him to Madam Pomfrey."
"Good idea," Hermione agreed. "You could ask about the bald patch while you're there."
Ron looked worried. "I don't think she'd be thrilled to see a rat in the Hospital Wing."
Professor Flitwick stepped forward. "Let me see, Mr. Weasley. I learned a few tricks from the healers at St. Mungo's."
"Is it alright, Professor Flitwick?" Ron asked, already holding Scabbers out.
"Of course. Professor Flitwick is quite accomplished in healing charms," Professor McGonagall said, moving closer as well. "While I'm not as skilled as you, Filius, perhaps I could—"
Scabbers's nose twitched.
The next second, Ron shouted, "Scabbers!"
His rat's eyes flew open. It leapt from his hand, darted through the crowd, and vanished. It moved with a speed that belonged to a young, spry creature—not a fat, elderly rat who had just survived a cat attack. Ron's fingers closed on empty air.
Gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd.
"Over here!"
"Wait, it's getting away—moving fast!"
Ron shoved his way through several rows of students, stood on tiptoe, then crouched down, trying to spot a bald rat's tail between shoes and swishing robe hems. "Scabbers? Scabbers! Where are you going?"
Professor Flitwick leaned towards Professor McGonagall and whispered, "Your Animagus form, Minerva."
"Oh… quite right," Professor McGonagall said. Henry thought he saw a flicker of embarrassment cross her stern face. Harry and Hermione glanced up at her, obviously thinking the same thing.
"Look on the bright side, Mr. Weasley," Henry offered. "At least it means Scabbers isn't gravely injured."
Professor McGonagall added, "I'm sure he'll return on his own, Mr. Weasley. Go and get something to eat now."
Harry and Ron's stomachs chose that moment to growl loudly.
Professor Flitwick beamed at the three of them. Harry flushed.
"You—you're not angry with us anymore, Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling.
"What? No, of course not," Professor McGonagall said. "I understand that for those wishing to defend their friends, anger is an unavoidable reaction in such a situation… I understand perfectly. No, Miss Granger, if school rules permitted, I would even award you points."
The trio stared at each other, unable to believe what they were hearing. The surrounding students looked utterly stunned.
"If you don't hurry," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully, "the last slice of pumpkin cake on the table will be gone."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed towards the Great Hall, their conversation still audible.
"I lost House Points! On the last day of October!" Hermione said, her voice full of disbelief.
"Come on, it's just ten points, Hermione," Ron said, distractedly peering under a nearby bench. "You'll earn them back in three days."
Hermione retorted anxiously, "It wasn't ten! It was thirty!"
Harry tried to console her. "Just pretend Ron and I lost twenty points to Snape—that's normal, Hermione. Let's go get chips and pumpkin cake."
…
After Halloween, the weather turned colder. It felt sudden, as if winter had arrived overnight at Hogwarts. The colourful autumn leaves were gone. A thin layer of ice began forming on the surface of the Black Lake, only to melt away by midday under a bright, glaring sun.
Students started wearing scarves and gloves. The house-elves kept all the fireplaces roaring. Every morning, the windows were cold as ice.
Dumbledore seemed busy again, rarely appearing at the school. The note directing people to see Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape was back on his desk.
Because professors were generally reluctant to check the password in the staff room, it took a full week for anyone to notice the Headmaster's office was empty. The entrance password had been changed to 'Pumpkin Fudge', but by the time the staff found out, Honeydukes was about to take their Halloween specials off the shelves.
Despite his absence, Dumbledore maintained correspondence with Henry—mostly to discuss preparations for the arrival of his two old friends.
After a few hints from Dumbledore, Henry finally realized the living person who would be cursing the wraith chickens was none other than Nicolas Flamel, who had already lived for over six hundred years.
"Nicolas has always said he dearly wished to curse those gloomy necromancers," Dumbledore wrote. "Consider this the fulfillment of a wish."
…
As temperatures dropped, Henry moved the Dittany plant Neville had given him indoors. The wraith mouse sometimes jumped onto the flower pot, sniffing the Dittany curiously, while the cat spent more time rolling around on the pillows, trying to wheedle alcohol from Henry.
Lying in bed, Henry played with the cat for a while before rolling over and getting up to fetch his coat.
"Alright, alright," he relented. "I'll get you a drink… And Arthur and Molly asked me to take Scabbers to a magical creature shop when I get the chance."
The cat purred in satisfaction.
…
The corridors were lively. The Weasley twins, Roger, and Emery had begun selling the first generation of 'Roger Snakes'. Taking advantage of the fact that Filch hadn't yet updated his list of banned magical items, Henry frequently saw students directing Roger Snakes at each other in mock attacks.
Passing a secluded side corridor, Henry saw a student tangled up by several Roger Snakes. Laughing, the student waved his wand, flinging the snakes together so they knotted themselves into a tight ball.
"Good thinking," Fred said. "First prize. Here's your reward—" The student accepted a silver coin and left, delighted. "George, we need a way to stop the snakes from doing something so stupid."
"Make them trigger another magical effect when they tangle…" George mused. "What about secreting slug slime?"
"Try Relashio," Henry suggested as he walked briskly past them. "Also, Mr. Weasley, magic is not permitted in the corridors. Don't let us catch you."
"Yes, Professor!" George called.
Fred complained, "What, we're 'Mr. Weasley' again now?"
…
Henry found the other Mr. Weasley—Ron Weasley—by the edge of the Black Lake. Ron was crouched on the ground, coaxing his rat with a small piece of white bread slathered in butter. "Come on, Scabbers, have a bite."
"I don't think he should eat more, Ron," Hermione said. "He had corn salad an hour ago!"
"You don't understand," Ron said, a touch impatient. "You don't have a pet. Ever since that bloody cat of Filch's bit him, Scabbers has had no appetite…"
Harry said fairly, "But he finished the popcorn you left by your bed last night."
"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," Henry said, amused as the three crouching figures turned to look at him in unison. "Good morning, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger."
"Professor Henry?"
"Mr. Weasley, your parents…" Henry began, watching Ron sigh.
"I know," Ron said. "Don't fight, eat your vegetables, look after Ginny, wish Harry a Happy Christmas. Percy already told me." Hermione jabbed him sharply in the ribs, and Ron added, "Professor."
"Wrong on all counts," Henry said, barely suppressing a laugh. "Your parents asked me to inquire if you'd allow me to take Scabbers to a magical creature shop in Diagon Alley. We could have him examined there."
Ron hesitated. "That must be expensive…"
"Don't worry about the cost, Mr. Weasley," Henry reassured him. "Scabbers was injured by the school's Mrs. Norris, so the school will cover it."
"Really? In that case… alright." Ron looked reluctantly at Scabbers and handed him over to Henry. "When will you be back, Professor Henry?"
"By dinner at the latest," Henry promised. "I'll return your rat the moment I get back."
…
Perhaps recognizing Henry as the professor who had visited The Burrow over the summer, Scabbers slid obediently into his pocket with little resistance.
Compared to the almost weightless wraith mouse, however, Henry distinctly felt his pocket sag under Scabbers's bulk. He glanced at Ron—who was watching Scabbers's long tail dangling from the pocket with concern—and privately wondered how Ron could think the rat needed to eat more.
After saying goodbye to the trio (and promising once more to be back before dinner), Henry walked to Hogsmeade. Then, with a soft crack, he Apparated into a stretch of desolate wilderness.
Several tits fluttered away in surprise. Henry reached into his pocket to confirm Scabbers was still safely inside. The ground was carpeted in fallen leaves, soft as fine fabric.
He stamped his feet firmly, ensuring his footing, then turned on the spot again.
Another soft crack. The next moment, Henry stood behind an abandoned farmhouse.
Crack.
He appeared between the sad, sparse trees of a park. The neatly trimmed hedges surrounded bare flowerbeds. A few children were laughing and shouting as they slid down a slide.
Crack.
He was in an alleyway behind several small buildings, next to a rubbish lorry. Scabbers squeaked in terror from his pocket. Henry slid a hand in to soothe him.
One advantage of being a corpse: he could perform successive long-distance Apparitions without worrying about Splinching.
Crack.
He stood on the bustling street of Diagon Alley and nearly collided head-on with Daniel.
Daniel was carrying a stack of waste paper taller than his head. Noticing shoes suddenly in front of him, his left foot darted to the right side of his right in a dancer's graceful pivot, avoiding Henry and turning a full circle.
Keeping his eyes on the paper pile to ensure nothing fell, he asked irritably, "Who—Henry?"
"Long time no see. How have you been?" Henry laughed. "I assume you're not in the mood for handshakes."
"Nor for a pleasant chat, unless you're heading to The Leaky Cauldron for a pint afterwards," Daniel said. "We're swamped—end of the year, and the manager decided on an early spring clean. No, you don't need to—oh, brilliant, thank you. Lovely to see you."
Henry took half the stack of paper, and they walked together towards Obscurus Books.
"So, Henry, what brings you to Diagon Alley today?" Daniel asked.
Henry glanced at his pocket. "Taking a student's pet for a check-up."
Daniel chuckled. "I thought you were the Muggle Studies professor."
"Last I checked, I am," Henry said. "Therefore, after helping Obscurus Books move three feet of waste paper, the Muggle Studies professor will be taking a rat to a magical creature shop for an appointment."
"Magical creature shop?"
Henry shrugged, shifting the paper stack higher. "I can't very well take a rat to the Eeylops Owl Emporium."
Daniel laughed. "The Old Owl would chase you out."
…
While Daniel stayed behind at the publishing house to argue over whether the items were 'useless waste paper' or 'precious books damaged in the store', Henry slipped away.
Scabbers seemed to have regained some energy, struggling to poke his head out of the pocket to greedily sniff the air of Diagon Alley.
Wizards and witches hurried past. Shop doorbells chimed nonstop. Buyers haggled, sellers protested their innocence. The scent of roasting chestnuts hung in the air, especially tempting in the crisp cold of late autumn.
Finally, Henry heard the chorus of croaking.
He pushed open the shop door. A witch stood before the counter, speaking urgently in a loud voice. "Ever since it ate our old doorbell, it hasn't made a sound… So we fed it a smaller one…"
"Why did you feed it a doorbell, Madam?"
"Because we wanted it to be the doorbell."
The shop assistant said, "No, Madam, you should feed it some 'Toad Croakies'. They have a variety that makes doorbell sounds. We still have some special Halloween Croakies left—they make your toad emit eerie sobs. If you'd like to purchase—"
"No, I don't want that!" the witch said angrily. "I just wanted the Muggles to leave me alone, not actually have them call my cosy home a haunted house!"
She scooped up the enormous toad (which was gazing at Scabbers with weary stupor) and pushed past Henry.
"Then just buy the regular Croakies, Madam!" the assistant called after her. "We have a promotion!"
The answer was an angry croak. The witch held the toad upside-down and shook it. A small bell and a doorbell clattered to the floor. She gave the assistant a displeased look, stepped around some owl feathers and droppings (another assistant was directing a broom and cloth to clean them), and left with her toad.
"That is… also a method," the assistant explained to Henry. "But our Toad Croakies really aren't selling… How may I help you, sir?"
Hesitantly, Henry produced Scabbers. "I was hoping you could take a look at this rat… He seems to have lost his appetite."
Scabbers was staring with desperate longing at a half-eaten tin of tuna cat food.
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