According to Rita, convincing Fudge had been a grueling ordeal, requiring every ounce of her cunning and eloquence to make that dim-witted pig grasp the critical points. At the very least, Fudge was no longer ranting about branding Harry a dark wizard and sending Aurors to arrest him, as he had furiously threatened when she first explained her intentions.
Rita's letter dripped with self-congratulation, not even bothering to hide her desire for praise. Harry, for his part, didn't mind rewarding those who earned it. But that was a matter for later—Rita wasn't there yet.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Harry? Harry! Are you in there?!"
As Harry mulled over Rita's words, a frantic pounding on his office door snapped him out of his thoughts, accompanied by Ron's desperate shouts.
"Coming!" Harry called back loudly. He tossed the letter into the fireplace, watching it burn to ash before flicking his fingers to unlock the door.
"Harry! You've got to help me!" Ron's face was streaked with tears, his voice breaking as he cried, "Scabbers is gone!"
Clutching his earth elemental companion, Hercules, Ron was followed into the room by Hermione and Neville.
"Calm down, take a seat," Harry said soothingly. "Tell me what happened to Scabbers."
"He's gone!" Ron said, his voice heavy with grief. "I thought he was just out wandering or lazing about like usual, but I realized today it's been two whole days since I last saw him."
"I'm sure he'll come back, Ron," Neville said quietly. "He knows you're his owner. Maybe something just held him up."
"Held him up?" Ron whirled on Neville, his face flushed with frustration. "What could possibly hold up a rat? Merlin's socks, he's probably been eaten by one of the castle cats by now—maybe even Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris! Or some other student's pet!"
"That's ridiculous, Ron," Hermione cut in sharply. "The pets at Hogwarts are far too intelligent to harm another animal, especially Mrs. Norris. She's been in this castle longer than any of us—she knows what's allowed and what isn't."
"Oh, really?" Ron's face reddened further. "Then where do you think Scabbers went, huh? Tell me!"
Hermione's response clearly didn't satisfy him. Ron was convinced Scabbers had been devoured by something in the castle, leaving not even a scrap of bone behind. And in his moment of grief, his best friends were offering logic instead of comfort?
"I remember you saying Scabbers used to belong to Percy?" Hermione pressed, ignoring Ron's outburst.
"…Yeah," Ron admitted reluctantly. "Scabbers was Percy's pet before he came to Hogwarts. He had him for years. Then, last year, when Percy became Head Boy, Mum bought him an owl as a reward, and he passed Scabbers on to me."
Despite all his complaints about Scabbers—how he wasn't good-looking or useful for delivering letters—Ron was devastated by his disappearance.
"So, Scabbers is at least seven years old," Hermione said, her tone taking on an odd note. "Do you know how long a rat typically lives, Ron?"
"Huh?" Ron blinked, confused. "How long?"
"Three years at most!" Hermione said firmly. "Three years is already generous. I don't know much about magical pets, so maybe wizard rats live longer, but Scabbers is ancient. Think about it—his fur's already falling out!"
"…You're right," Ron said after a moment, sighing heavily. "His fur's been thinning out, and it's all dull and dry."
"Exactly," Hermione continued, gaining momentum. "Wizard pets are smarter and more sentient than Muggle ones, but did you know, Ron, that Muggle dogs have a particular habit?"
"What habit?" Ron asked.
"If a dog sees you as family and is deeply loyal, when it knows its time is up, it'll sense its own death coming. Then it'll quietly leave home and die somewhere no one can find it."
"Good heavens, why would it do that?" Ron said, stunned.
"Because it doesn't want its family to grieve," Harry interjected. "I've heard of this too. A loyal warhound is the best companion you could ask for—more reliable than plenty of people."
"Well, if you say so, Harry…" Ron's expression twisted with conflicted emotions. "So, you're saying—"
"I think Hermione's right," Neville said earnestly. "Scabbers is old, isn't he? Like my Trevor, they're smarter than we think. He probably didn't want to make you sad."
"Bloody stupid rat," Ron muttered, though tears welled up in his eyes again. "You know I'd rather have him here with me. I could've… I don't know, made him a nice little box or something."
"With flowers," Neville added. "I've got some I grew myself. We could plant them by his… er, grave."
"Thanks, Neville, you're a good mate," Ron said, sniffling and wiping his face with a tissue Harry handed him. "And you too, Hermione, even if your words sting a bit. But still… I just want to see him one more time."
"Though it's not what I expected when I came here, Harry, could you use divination to find Scabbers for me?" Ron asked.
"Of course," Harry said, not hesitating to help with such a small request.
Harry had a dedicated divination area now. He led his friends to a spot outside the totem structure, where a tent shielded them from the blazing sun. As the faint green smoke of burning herbs rose, Harry began divining for Ron's beloved pet.
It didn't take long. A clear image shimmered in the stone bowl before Harry—a lush forest, and beneath a tree, a rat lay in a burrow. Balding, frail, and sickly, it looked on the verge of death.
"That's… the Forbidden Forest?!" Ron gasped, staring at the image. "Merlin's beard, where in the Forbidden Forest is that?!"
"No idea," Harry said, stroking his chin. "It's definitely somewhere in the forest, but there's no clear landmark nearby. Even zooming in doesn't show much more."
"See, Ron? Hermione was right," Neville said, patting Ron's shoulder with sympathy. "Scabbers is dying, and he didn't want you to see him like that. That's why he's hiding in the forest."
Ron didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the water's surface. After a long silence, he looked up at Harry.
"Isn't there anything we can do?" he pleaded.
"Even the elements can't help, Ron," Harry said helplessly. "You know how it is in the Forbidden Forest—there are too many rats, and to an elemental's eyes, it's hard to pick out one specific face from another species."
"Oh, Scabbers, you heartless little git," Ron groaned in anguish.
He hugged Hercules tighter, and the earth elemental gently nudged Ron's arm with its stone limb, as if offering comfort.
No matter how much it hurt, Ron eventually accepted the truth. At least he had Hercules now, and Scabbers passing peacefully was a small mercy.
His friends did their best to console him. Neville offered to give Ron a magical plant that secretly blew bubbles when no one was looking. Hermione, meanwhile, promised to get him a new pet if he didn't mind forgoing his Christmas gift. And Harry? He prepared a hearty Tauren feast, hoping good food would lift Ron's spirits. Sure enough, Ron ate with gusto, his mood visibly improving.
As his friends chatted, Harry sipped his mead, his mind drifting back to the image he'd seen during the divination—that balding rat, Scabbers.
Having shared a dormitory with Ron for years, Harry knew Scabbers well. The rat was always lethargic, sickly, shedding fur… and missing a toe.
A single toe.
Perhaps because he'd been mulling over certain things lately, the sight of Scabbers triggered a connection to Sirius Black's case. Twelve years ago, Peter Pettigrew had caused an explosion, and when the Aurors arrived, they found only a single finger of Pettigrew's and a laughing Sirius.
A single finger. Pettigrew was missing a finger.
Maybe it was Rita's influence, but Harry's thoughts turned to Animagi. Something deep within him—a gut feeling—urged him to link the two. And then there was the timing: Ron said Scabbers vanished two days ago… the day after Rita's explosive article was published.
The smile faded from Harry's face, replaced by a grim expression. He didn't share his suspicions with his friends, but he filed them away in his mind.
Harry trusted his instincts. They'd saved his life countless times.
After seeing Ron, Hermione, and Neville off, Harry performed a ritual, solemnly asking the ever-present wind and earth elements to search the Forbidden Forest for a rat—balding, missing a front toe.
From an elemental's perspective, this was delicate work.
If his suspicions were wrong, no harm done—Ron would simply reunite with his pet. But if Scabbers was more than he seemed… Harry's eyes glinted coldly.
By dusk, Harry had arrived in Hogsmeade.
Compared to the chaotic crowds and tents that had once filled the village, Hogsmeade was now much quieter. Harry had selected the first batch of Squib apprentices from those who'd come seeking hope, and after consulting him, Professor McGonagall had arranged for the Ministry to clear out the remaining Squibs.
As Hogwarts' deputy headmistress, she was responsible for the students' safety. Having so many strangers near the school had put her on edge, fearing an incident. Now, things were calmer.
The Three Broomsticks stood on Hogsmeade's main street, near the post office and Dervish and Banges. Harry had visited before with Hagrid. The old wooden building exuded history, its sign—three broomsticks—creaking in the evening breeze.
"Hey, look who's here!" a cheerful voice called as Harry stepped inside. "My favorite Professor Potter! You're a bit late compared to the other professors."
"Had some things to take care of… Good to see you, Madam Rosmerta," Harry replied with a smile.
Rosmerta, the Three Broomsticks' owner, had long golden hair, a graceful figure, and a lazy, charming smile that seemed permanently etched on her face.
"It's been too long," she said with a playful pout. "If I recall, the last time you were here was with Hagrid… last year, sneaking around behind the other professors' backs, giggle."
Her laughter rang out as she recalled the sneaky, almost guilty-looking Hagrid dragging a young Harry in for a drink. Who could've imagined that boy would become a Hogwarts professor?
"Wait, Harry," a voice interrupted. Professor Flitwick approached, holding a tankard. "Did I hear correctly? You were sneaking into Hogsmeade last year?"
At a long wooden table in the back, the Hogwarts professors were gathered. Harry caught Hagrid glancing over, his beard twitching as if he were trying to signal something.
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, meeting Hagrid's anxious gaze with a shrug. "The drinks here are quite good… though, if you're thinking of docking Gryffindor points, last year's already behind us."