Chapter 245: Summer Vacation Ends
Watching the professor’s back as he left the shop, the witch wearing black-framed glasses took a bottle of potion from the cabinet. The stopper was covered in old grease. She twisted off the stopper, and a pungent smell filled the air. Even in the dirty pet shop, the strange odor made one’s head spin and eyes blur.
She held the toe-less, balding mouse in her hand, deftly pinching open its cheek with two fingers, pouring the pungent potion into the rat’s mouth. Scabbers gulped it down, and any slight delay would choke it. Its four broken legs struggled helplessly.
“Squeak… uh…” Scabbers stared toward the shop entrance, letting out a feeble wail.
The shop owner slightly quickened the pace of administering the potion. This mouse seemed quite vital; it might really live a few more years.
In front of the iron cages piled in the shelf area, Hermione was introducing Bastien to the common pets—mostly toads, rats, and owls, plus some cats that the shop couldn’t sell.
A ginger-colored cat was lying on top of a cage, its limbs slightly bent, back arched, staring at Scabbers as if poised to strike, growling lowly from its throat.
The rat Scabbers had just been force-fed half a bottle of potion, its belly bulging, eyes slightly dazed. Hearing the growl, it instantly sobered up. The few rat hairs on its body bristled, and it bit the witch’s hand, escaping in the moment she loosened her grip from the pain, landing on the floor and fleeing quickly.
It vanished from the shop entrance in a flash.
“Scabbers! Scabbers!”
Ron shouted in alarm and chased after it, with Harry following closely behind.
The shop owner finally came to her senses, glaring at the ginger cat in fury, nearly losing it: “Crookshanks, you stupid cat! They haven’t paid yet! That bottle of potion is enough to buy your feed for the next month!”
The good mood from closing two deals in a row vanished, leaving only annoyance at losing half a bottle of potion—especially since this cat was unsellable junk that only wasted food and caused trouble in the shop.
Perhaps mindful of the two girls still in the shop, the shop owner didn’t use harsher slang, glaring at Crookshanks on the shelf, trying to condemn it with her eyes to make it feel guilty and go out to earn some money itself.
“Lady, they’re my friends. How much is the potion? I can cover it,” Hermione said softly.
The shop owner immediately switched to a smile, changing faces faster than Polyjuice Potion: “Kind witch, a child like you will surely have good luck. It’s 10 sickles total, and there’s still half a bottle left.”
“Okay.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Looking down, she saw Bastien staring at the cat, her starry, bright eyes full of longing. “Also, I’d like to see that cat.”
“You have excellent taste!” The witch’s face lit up. “Crookshanks has kneazle blood; it’s a guard cat that can easily spot ill-intentioned people and expose their disguises…”
Listening to the owner’s introduction, the two girls examined the ginger-furred, thick and fluffy cat on the shelf. Its face looked like an aged grandmother’s—flat nose and mouth, droopy eyes, as if it had run full speed into a wall or been scorched by an iron. It looked especially irritable when growling lowly, and its hind legs were somewhat bent, clearly once broken.
……
Melvin stood at the Quidditch Emporium entrance, glanced at the bustling crowd before him, then looked down at the balding rat clinging to his trouser leg and squeaking frantically.
Late August in Diagon Alley was full of shopping customers everywhere. Shop assistants in the store behind were casting appraising glances. Under the stares of these passersby, Wormtail couldn’t resume his original form and could only seize this hard-won chance to seek help from the young professor.
A few minutes earlier, Melvin had been walking back to the Leaky Cauldron with a suitcase under the Undetectable Extension Charm when he was suddenly accosted by a rat.
“Squeak! Squeak!” The rat Scabbers clung to his shoes, calling anxiously, one front paw gesturing toward the newspaper office. “Squeak! Squeak!”
Wormtail was a cautious wizard, graduated from Gryffindor House, yet never found the courage in his heart. Recently learning that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, he was terrified and sleepless, his entire rat form emaciated.
He knew Black was very likely to come for him.
Facing the impending reckoning, the rat Scabbers could only seek help from the young professor.
Melvin sighed, looking down. He wanted to get back to the pub quickly, ask Mr. Weasley about the Dementor patrol routes, confirm the Hogwarts Express route, and prepare for tomorrow’s capture plan.
“Hiding until Black is caught—how long do you plan to hide? Where can you hide?”
Melvin half-squatted and said to him, persuading patiently. “Listen, Wormtail. My advice is to stay by Ron’s side.”
“Squeak?”
“Besides you and Black, no one knows the truth of that night. But you’re already dead—posthumously awarded by the Ministry of Magic with the Order of Merlin. The living Black is just a fugitive; no one will believe a fugitive’s words.”
“Squeak…” The rat Scabbers gradually quieted, its rat eyes showing deeply human-like contemplation.
“Everyone knows Black was the Secret-Keeper, an Azkaban escapee. He doesn’t dare show his face publicly. As long as you stay quietly by Ron’s side, by Harry’s side, the Ministry Aurors and school professors are your guard team.”
“Squeak?”
“Remember what we once discussed? Staying by Harry’s side lets you gather useful information promptly. You’re an Animagus, a stealthy rat. Even in unexpected situations, you can slip away anytime, just like twelve years ago.”
“…”
After some soothing, the potion in its belly began to take effect. The panicked rat gradually calmed, seemingly accepting Melvin’s advice.
About ten minutes later, Harry and Ron came looking. Ron was out of breath but only cared about stuffing the poor little mouse back in his pocket, eyes red with heartache. He especially cherished this pet that had accompanied his childhood.
“Scabbers probably won’t live much longer,” Ron said dejectedly.
“Don’t say that. It can live at least two or three more years.” Melvin picked up his suitcase. He wasn’t bluffing—Voldemort was still waiting for Wormtail to revive him, so it indeed had a few years left.
Ron looked extremely sad.
Finally, they parted at the crossroads. Melvin headed back to the Leaky Cauldron, while Harry and Ron went back to the pet shop to find Hermione. They still needed to pay for Scabbers’s tonic and planned to browse Flourish and Blotts.
The next half day was lively at the Leaky Cauldron. Passing parents shopping rested here, chatting about summer vacation anecdotes. Several teams of Ministry Aurors disguised as patrons were secretly protecting Harry.
The Weasleys and the Granger couple chatted amiably. Arthur wanted to learn about Muggle technology; the Muggle couple wanted tips on raising a big family. While drinking and talking, they suddenly mentioned Professor Levent, making the atmosphere even warmer.
Arthur rambled about Professor Levent’s help to Ron, praising the improved Muggle Studies class as real and fun. Melvin sat at the counter, hearing Arthur suddenly get excited for some reason and want to toast Mr. Granger.
Melvin didn’t stay long at the pub. The well-informed patrons quickly gave him the intel he wanted, confirming the express train’s intersection with the Dementors.
As he went upstairs to his room, he still heard Hermione and Ron arguing.
“You bought this monster?”
“Its fur is quite splendid, isn’t it?”
“What about Scabbers? It needs rest and relaxation. With this thing guarding nearby, how can it rest or relax? How can it get better?”
“Don’t worry. Crookshanks will sleep in my dormitory, and Scabbers is in your boys’ dormitory. There won’t be any issues. Poor Crookshanks—the witch said it’s been in the shop forever, and no one wanted it.”
“That’s the problem!”
……
The next morning.
Old Tom woke Harry as usual with hot tea and a gap-toothed smile. After washing up and leaving the room, the tavern was in chaos.
The Weasley family was all awake, busy moving all their trunks down the pub’s narrow staircase, piling them by the main door. Hedwig and Hermes were locked in their cages; Crookshanks curled in a wicker basket, snoring.
The Granger family had stayed too. With her parents and Bastien helping, Hermione seemed more relaxed.
“The professor seems to have left very early.”
Harry checked the adjacent room; the doorway was open, and it was empty inside.
“Time’s a bit tight.” Hermione sounded a little down; she’d soon be separated from her family for half a year or a year.
“Don’t worry. My dad called a Ministry car to take us to the station. We still have time for breakfast,” Ron boasted proudly, but paid no mind.
Old Tom pushed three tables together so they could eat breakfast at one. Perhaps because it was maybe their last summer vacation breakfast, there was plenty of bacon and fried eggs, plus fresh salad—the dishes were abundant.
Mr. Weasley and Mr. Granger became good friends, chatting nonstop during the meal, having a great time, even planning to return to the Leaky Cauldron for drinks over the weekend.
Meanwhile, Hermione chatted with Bastien, who was also a bit down but forced a smile, reluctantly keeping her company until she smiled, then picked up her cup to taste the tavern’s special children’s drink.
After breakfast, the Ministry car arrived. Mr. Weasley called them outside to board. Hermione half-squatted in front of Bastien, ruffling her soft hair:
“I’m going to Hogwarts for school. You’ll start school tomorrow too. Don’t worry; school homework is simple. Study hard, okay?”
Bastien sniffled, not agreeing.
Hermione pursed her lips and pulled her into a hug.
Even as Hermione boarded with her clothes and luggage, Bastien was still dazed, looking up and staring blankly at the Ministry car.
Luggage stuffed in the trunk, Crookshanks from the wicker basket in the back seat—but Bastien was left behind. She stood at the tavern entrance, craning her neck longingly at Hermione.
Hermione waved from the car, the window gradually closing, blocking their view.
The car slowly pulled away. Bastien unconsciously took a few chasing steps until the car sped out of Charing Cross Road. She stopped, staring blankly in that direction.
