Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - 2:15 PM
The Apparition point just beyond Hogwarts' magical boundaries deposited Remus Lupin onto the familiar windswept grounds with the kind of jarring displacement that always reminded him why he preferred conventional transportation methods despite their inefficiency. The November air carried the distinctive scent of the Scottish Highlands—pine, heather, and the particular quality of cold that seemed to cut through even the warmest cloaks with surgical precision.
Hogwarts Castle rose before him like something from a medieval fever dream, its towers and turrets spiraling toward a grey sky that promised snow before evening. The sight struck him with unexpected force—not nostalgia exactly, but something more complex and bittersweet. The last time he'd approached these grounds had been for James and Lily's graduation ceremony, when the future had seemed bright with possibility and none of them could have imagined how quickly everything would shatter.
"Mr. Lupin," came Professor McGonagall's crisp voice from the main entrance, her tartan robes billowing in the Highland wind as she descended the stone steps with characteristic efficiency. "Professor Dumbledore is waiting for you in his office. I trust your journey from London was... productive in terms of intelligence gathering?"
"Very much so," Remus replied, falling into step beside her as they entered the castle's welcoming warmth. The familiar sounds and scents of Hogwarts washed over him—hundreds of voices echoing from the Great Hall, the lingering aromas of lunch preparations, the particular mixture of ancient stone, magical energy, and teenage chaos that defined the institution. "Though I'm afraid the implications are rather more serious than we initially anticipated."
McGonagall's expression tightened with professional concern as they climbed the moving staircases toward the headmaster's tower. "Serious how? Are we dealing with immediate threats to student safety, or broader security concerns that might affect the castle's protective measures?"
"Both, potentially," Remus said carefully, noting how several portraits along their route leaned forward with obvious curiosity, their painted features bright with the kind of interest that suggested gossip would be traveling through the castle's magical communication network within minutes. "Peter Pettigrew is considerably more dangerous than any of us realized when we were students together, and if he's indeed hiding here among the pet population, he's had access to observe and potentially influence student activities for months."
They reached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, where McGonagall provided the password ("Chocolate Frogs") with the kind of resigned efficiency that suggested the headmaster's sweet tooth remained as predictable as ever. The spiral staircase carried them upward with mechanical precision, past the whirring, clicking collection of silver instruments that monitored everything from atmospheric magical pressure to the emotional well-being of students three floors below.
Dumbledore's office was exactly as Remus remembered—a magnificent chaos of books, magical artifacts, and comfortable furniture arranged according to some organizational system that made sense only to its occupant. Fawkes preened on his perch near the window, his brilliant plumage catching the afternoon light like living flame, while the portraits of former headmasters maintained the kind of diplomatically interested expressions that suggested they were listening but would deny eavesdropping if directly questioned.
"Remus," Dumbledore said, rising from behind his desk with genuine warmth that made the journey from London feel immediately worthwhile. "How good to see you again, though I wish the circumstances were less troubling. Please, sit. Lemon drop?"
"Thank you, no," Remus replied, settling into one of the chintz armchairs while McGonagall took her customary position near the window, her sharp eyes already scanning the grounds below as if expecting to spot suspicious rodent activity from this height. "Professor, I'm afraid the situation is considerably more urgent than we initially believed. According to intelligence provided by Mycroft Holmes—and his sources are apparently quite reliable—Peter Pettigrew is almost certainly hiding somewhere within Hogwarts Castle."
The silence that followed was so complete that even Fawkes seemed to pause in his grooming, bright eyes fixed on the humans with obvious interest.
"Here," McGonagall repeated slowly, her voice carrying the kind of controlled shock that suggested she was rapidly calculating the security implications of having a murderous traitor living undetected among eight hundred students. "In the castle. For how long?"
"Potentially since immediately after he faked his death," Remus confirmed grimly. "The psychological profile suggests he'd seek familiar territory where he could monitor developments while remaining completely invisible. His rat form would allow him to integrate seamlessly with the existing pet population, and his knowledge of the castle's layout would provide multiple escape routes if discovery seemed imminent."
Dumbledore had settled back in his chair, his blue eyes losing their characteristic twinkle as he absorbed the tactical implications with the kind of strategic thinking that had made him legendary during his conflict with Grindelwald decades earlier.
"If he's been observing student activities and conversations for months," the headmaster said quietly, "he's gathered intelligence about our security measures, our staff routines, and potentially our methods of communication with the outside magical community. That level of sustained surveillance represents a security breach of unprecedented magnitude."
"More than that," McGonagall added, her expression growing increasingly severe as she contemplated the possibilities. "If he's discovered which students come from families involved in magical law enforcement, or who might have relatives connected to ongoing investigations into Voldemort's organization, he could be planning targeted attacks designed to eliminate witnesses or intimidate key families into silence."
Remus nodded grimly. "The Holmes analysis suggests his primary motivation is self-preservation through elimination of threats, but he's also demonstrated willingness to kill innocents when it serves his strategic purposes. A school full of children from influential magical families would represent both a target-rich environment and a source of leverage against anyone who might expose his continued survival."
"Then we must locate him immediately," Dumbledore concluded, his voice carrying the kind of quiet authority that made even the most complex challenges seem manageable. "Minerva, what would be our most efficient approach for systematically searching the castle without creating obvious security activity that might alert him to our suspicions?"
McGonagall was already moving toward the window, her analytical mind clearly working through operational logistics with the kind of methodical precision that made her invaluable during crisis situations.
"House-elves," she said decisively. "They know every hiding place in the castle, they can move through areas that would be impossible for human searchers to access, and their magical signatures are so ubiquitous throughout Hogwarts that even a paranoid rat wouldn't notice their activities as unusual. If we provide them with specific behavioral indicators to watch for, they could systematically examine every potential hiding place without triggering Pettigrew's suspicions."
"Behavioral indicators," Dumbledore repeated thoughtfully. "What specific anomalies should we instruct them to identify?"
Remus consulted his notes from the meeting with the Holmes brothers, grateful for Sherlock's characteristic thoroughness in providing actionable intelligence rather than theoretical speculation.
"Excessive grooming behavior beyond normal rodent cleanliness standards, strategic positioning for surveillance rather than typical nesting patterns, possible hoarding of items that would be meaningful to human observation but irrelevant to genuine rats, and most importantly, emotional responses to conversations about topics that shouldn't concern ordinary pets."
He looked up from his notes, his amber eyes bright with the kind of determined intensity that had once made him legendary among his school friends for refusing to abandon difficult causes. "The analysis suggests that while Peter can successfully mimic physical rat behavior, he cannot completely suppress his human psychological responses to emotionally significant information. Conversations about Harry Potter, Sirius Black's imprisonment, or ongoing investigations into the Potter murders would provoke reactions that genuine rats wouldn't display."
"Clever," McGonagall observed with obvious approval for the Holmes family's analytical methodology. "We can have the house-elves conduct routine cleaning activities in areas where students typically discuss current events or family news, then watch for any pets that display unusual interest in conversations that should be meaningless to them."
"How long would such a systematic search require?" Dumbledore inquired, clearly weighing the need for thorough investigation against the urgency of preventing further criminal activity.
"If we mobilize the entire house-elf staff and provide them with clear parameters, possibly forty-eight hours for complete coverage of the castle and immediate grounds," McGonagall estimated. "Less time if we prioritize the areas most likely to attract someone with Pettigrew's psychological profile—locations that provide access to information, multiple escape routes, and proximity to potential targets."
"Such as?"
"Common rooms where students gather for social activities and discuss family news, corridors adjacent to faculty offices where administrative conversations might be overheard, areas near the Great Hall where meal preparation provides abundant food sources, and dormitories housing students whose families might be relevant to his concerns about exposure or retaliation."
Remus felt a chill of realization as he processed the tactical implications of McGonagall's analysis. "Gryffindor Tower. If he's monitoring students for intelligence about Harry or the Potter family situation, he'd be particularly interested in children from families involved in magical law enforcement or those with connections to the Order of the Phoenix."
"The Weasleys," McGonagall said immediately, her expression growing sharp with maternal protectiveness toward her students. "Arthur works in the Ministry, Molly's brothers died fighting Death Eaters, and they're exactly the sort of large, warm, talkative family where a pet rat could gather enormous amounts of intelligence through simple observation of dinner conversation and family correspondence."
"Are any Weasley children currently enrolled?" Dumbledore asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.
"Bill Weasley, first year Gryffindor," McGonagall confirmed, her voice carrying the particular note of concern that indicated she was mentally reassessing the safety of one of her students. "Bright boy, excellent magical potential, comes from precisely the sort of family background that would make him valuable for intelligence gathering or potentially as a hostage if Pettigrew's situation becomes desperate enough to require leverage."
The three adults sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, each contemplating the unsettling possibility that a murderous traitor had been living undetected in proximity to children for months, gathering intelligence and potentially selecting targets based on their families' involvement in magical law enforcement activities.
"There's another complication," Remus said quietly, consulting his notes again. "The analysis suggests that if Pettigrew realizes he's been discovered, he won't simply flee. His psychological profile indicates extreme desperation combined with strategic cunning—if cornered, he might attempt to take hostages or create enough chaos to facilitate his escape, regardless of student casualties."
"Then our approach must be absolutely precise," Dumbledore concluded, his expression growing grave with the recognition that they were dealing with someone whose capabilities they had consistently underestimated. "We locate him first, verify his identity beyond any doubt, then coordinate his capture with sufficient overwhelming force to prevent any possibility of escape or retaliation against students."
"I can coordinate with the house-elves immediately," McGonagall offered. "They're remarkably capable of discrete surveillance when properly motivated, and they're certainly invested in protecting the students under their care."
"And I'll remain at the castle to assist with identification once he's located," Remus added. "I knew Peter better than almost anyone during our school years—I should be able to confirm his identity even in rat form, particularly given his missing digit and other distinguishing characteristics."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly, then paused as if struck by a sudden thought. "Remus, you mentioned that this intelligence came through Mycroft Holmes. May I ask what specific resources he's deploying to support our investigation?"
"He indicated that he was pursuing complementary lines of inquiry through channels that would support rather than interfere with our direct search efforts," Remus replied diplomatically. "Though he was somewhat... vague about the specific methods he intended to employ."
"Vague in what way?"
"In the way that suggests he's deployed resources that operate most effectively when their activities remain undefined until absolutely necessary," Remus said carefully. "I suspect we're not the only people hunting Peter Pettigrew today, and the Holmes family's approach to family protection may prove more... comprehensive than conventional law enforcement methods would typically allow."
McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a look that suggested considerable familiarity with the complications that arose when brilliant individuals decided to pursue justice through unconventional methods.
"Well," Dumbledore said with resigned humor, "at least we can be certain that Peter Pettigrew's day is about to become significantly more challenging than he anticipated when he decided to hide among our students."
As if summoned by the mention of house-elves, a soft pop announced the arrival of a small figure in a pristine tea towel, whose tennis-ball-sized eyes immediately fixed on the assembled professors with obvious eagerness to be helpful.
"Professors is needing Bobby's assistance?" the house-elf asked, his voice carrying the kind of determined efficiency that suggested he'd been monitoring the conversation through whatever mysterious methods house-elves employed to stay informed about castle security matters. "Bobby is hearing talk about finding bad persons hiding among student pets, yes?"
"Indeed we do, Bobby," Dumbledore replied with the kind of gentle authority that made even the most complex requests seem both reasonable and urgent. "We need you to coordinate with your colleagues to conduct a very specific type of search..."
---
Scottish Highlands - Near Hogsmeade Village - 4:30 PM
The fishing boat had deposited Eurus Holmes at a small harbor village whose name she'd never bothered to learn, populated by individuals whose primary qualifications appeared to be complete disinterest in the affairs of strangers and an admirable commitment to maintaining plausible deniability about any unusual passengers who might require unofficial transportation services.
She stood now at the edge of what her research indicated should be Hogsmeade Village, consulting the detailed notes she'd compiled from "Hogwarts: A History" and several other texts that Mycroft had thoughtfully included in her reading materials. The problem, as she'd anticipated, was that the village was completely invisible to her non-magical perception, hidden behind protective enchantments that made the space appear to be nothing but empty moorland dotted with the occasional sheep.
"Fascinating," she murmured, studying the seemingly vacant landscape with the kind of professional appreciation usually reserved for particularly elegant engineering solutions. "Complete sensory displacement rather than simple camouflage. The magical community clearly understands the importance of security through absolute concealment."
According to her research, Hogsmeade Village was situated in a valley approximately two miles south-southeast of Hogwarts Castle, connected by a well-maintained path that students were permitted to use during weekend visits. More importantly for her current purposes, the village's magical concealment spells operated on different principles than the castle's protective measures, meaning that while she couldn't see Hogsmeade directly, she could identify its location through environmental indicators that the concealment charms couldn't completely disguise.
"Microclimate variations," she observed, noting subtle differences in local weather patterns that suggested magical energy concentration. "Temperature differentials indicating significant magical activity, unusual wildlife behavior suggesting proximity to magical human habitation, and most tellingly, the complete absence of mundane infrastructure development in what should be prime agricultural or residential land."
She consulted her compass and began walking in a carefully calculated pattern, using landmarks visible to non-magical observation to triangulate the approximate location of structures that remained frustratingly invisible to her senses. The research had been quite specific about geographical features surrounding both Hogsmeade and Hogwarts—a large lake to the south of the castle, a dense forest to the east, mountain peaks that formed natural boundaries, and most usefully, a railway line that terminated at a station she couldn't see but whose approach tracks were clearly visible across the Highland landscape.
"The Hogwarts Express," she said with evident satisfaction, locating the railway terminus that logic dictated must be adjacent to the concealed village. "Magical transportation requiring physical infrastructure that can't be entirely hidden from non-magical observation without disrupting the broader transportation network."
Following the railway tracks led her to what appeared to be a dead end in the middle of empty moorland, but careful observation revealed subtle signs of recent activity that suggested significant foot traffic through an area that should be completely uninhabited. Worn patches in the heather, occasional litter items that appeared to have been dropped by travelers, and most conclusively, the distinctive marks left by wheeled luggage being dragged across uneven ground.
"Student traffic patterns," she concluded, settling onto a convenient boulder to continue her surveillance of the allegedly empty landscape. "Hundreds of children arriving and departing seasonally, plus regular weekend visits that would create predictable environmental impact regardless of magical concealment measures."
She opened her violin case and began assembling her instrument, not for the soothing recreational music that most people associated with violin performance, but for the considerably more sophisticated acoustic analysis techniques she'd developed during her months of institutional confinement. The violin's modified construction allowed it to function as both musical instrument and precision measurement device, capable of detecting sound reflection patterns that could reveal hidden structures even when visual observation proved inadequate.
Drawing the bow across the strings, she began playing a composition specifically designed to produce acoustic frequencies that would interact with architectural surfaces in measurable ways. To any casual observer, she appeared to be an eccentric traveler entertaining herself with amateur musical performance. In reality, she was conducting sophisticated sonic mapping of structures that remained invisible but continued to interact with sound waves according to predictable physical laws.
"Stone construction, multiple buildings of varying height, architectural complexity suggesting institutional rather than residential purposes," she catalogued as her playing revealed the hidden landscape through acoustic reflection and interference patterns. "Large central structure with smaller satellite buildings, positioned on elevated ground that would provide strategic advantages for both defense and administrative oversight of surrounding territories."
Twenty-seven minutes of systematic sonic analysis provided her with a remarkably detailed map of Hogwarts Castle's approximate layout, including the relative positions of towers, courtyards, and what appeared to be several outlying structures that might serve as storage facilities, greenhouses, or staff accommodations.
"Approximately eight hundred meters north-northeast of current position," she concluded, carefully packing her violin and consulting her notes one final time. "Elevation gain of roughly two hundred feet, terrain consisting of uneven ground with natural obstacles but no insurmountable barriers to foot travel by determined individuals with adequate physical conditioning."
The walk to Hogwarts took her through increasingly wild countryside that seemed somehow more magical as she approached her destination, though whether this was due to actual environmental changes or simply psychological anticipation remained diplomatically uncertain. The landscape was beautiful in the stark way of Highland wilderness—rolling hills covered in heather and bracken, occasional stands of ancient trees that looked like they'd been growing in the same spots since before humans discovered fire, and the kind of sky that promised dramatic weather changes with little advance warning.
As she climbed toward where her calculations indicated the castle must be located, subtle signs of magical activity became more apparent even to her non-magical senses. The air seemed to thrum with barely perceptible energy, wildlife behavior grew increasingly unusual, and occasionally she glimpsed movements or heard sounds that didn't quite match normal environmental patterns.
"Protective ward boundaries," she observed, noting the precise point where the ambient magical energy reached detectable levels. "Sophisticated defensive measures designed to discourage rather than prevent approach by unauthorized individuals—psychological influence rather than absolute barrier implementation."
She paused at what her research indicated should be the outer perimeter of Hogwarts' grounds, studying the landscape ahead with growing appreciation for the magical community's approach to security architecture. Even though she couldn't see the castle directly, its presence was becoming undeniable through environmental indicators that spoke of centuries of magical habitation and educational activity.
"Phase four implementation," she announced to the Highland wind, opening her violin case once more to retrieve not just her instrument but also several items that would have alarmed security personnel at any conventional educational institution. "Infiltration of magically protected academic facility, location and capture of specific target among general population, and demonstration of why betraying members of the Holmes family constitutes remarkably poor strategic planning."
She began playing again, but this time the melody carried different mathematical properties—not acoustic mapping, but something considerably more complex and potentially dangerous. Music specifically composed to interact with magical energy fields in ways that her research suggested might temporarily disrupt certain types of protective enchantments, particularly those designed to repel rather than absolutely prevent unauthorized access.
The violin sang across the Highland landscape as Eurus Holmes prepared to remind Peter Pettigrew that some family loyalties transcended conventional limitations like institutional security measures, magical concealment, and the minor inconvenience of being incarcerated in Britain's most secure prison facility.
After all, what was the point of being a genius if one couldn't occasionally demonstrate that normal rules were merely suggestions for people with insufficient imagination?
---
## Gryffindor Tower - Student Dormitory - 6:45 PM
The first-year boys' dormitory was settling into the comfortable chaos of evening routines when Bill Weasley noticed that Scabbers was acting strangely. Not dramatically so—rats were naturally alert creatures, and Bill had grown accustomed to his pet's unusual intelligence and occasional odd behaviors. But tonight, there was something different about the way Scabbers positioned himself at the edge of his cage, small dark eyes fixed on the dormitory door with an intensity that seemed almost... human.
"You expecting someone, little fellow?" Bill asked softly, kneeling beside the makeshift cage he'd constructed from transfigured school supplies. The other first-years were occupied with homework or preparing for bed, their conversations creating the kind of comfortable background noise that made the dormitory feel like home despite being hundreds of miles from the Burrow.
Scabbers didn't acknowledge the question, which wasn't unusual—despite his obvious intelligence, he remained fundamentally a rat with rat priorities and limited interest in human communication attempts. What was unusual was the rigid stillness of his posture, as if he were listening for something specific rather than simply observing general dormitory activity.
From beyond the dormitory walls came the familiar sounds of Hogwarts evening routine: older students moving through common areas, prefects conducting evening patrols, the distant echoes of dinner cleanup from several floors below. Nothing that should particularly interest a pet rat, yet Scabbers remained frozen in that attitude of acute attention, his breathing barely perceptible and his whiskers twitching with barely suppressed tension.
"Jimmy, have you noticed anything odd about the castle tonight?" Bill asked his dormmate, who was struggling with a Transfiguration essay that appeared to be winning the battle through sheer obstinacy.
Jimmy Peakes looked up from his parchment, grateful for any distraction from McGonagall's assignment on the fundamental principles of cross-species transformation. "Odd how? You mean besides the usual portraits arguing about historical accuracy and the stairs deciding to relocate themselves for no apparent reason?"
"I'm not sure," Bill said slowly, studying Scabbers' continued alertness. "Just... there's something in the air tonight. Like the castle's more awake than usual, if that makes sense."
"Makes perfect sense to me," Jimmy replied with the casual acceptance of someone who'd been living in a magical castle long enough to develop instincts about its moods. "Places like this have personalities, don't they? And Hogwarts definitely feels like it's paying attention to something tonight."
As if to confirm their observations, several portraits in the corridor outside began whispering among themselves with the kind of urgent secrecy that suggested important information was being passed through the castle's magical communication network. The painted figures kept glancing toward areas that appeared empty to student observation, their expressions carrying the alert tension of people watching for something they expected but couldn't quite identify.
"Maybe it's just pre-exam nerves," suggested Marcus Belby, though his tone indicated he didn't entirely believe his own explanation. "Everyone's been more wound up lately, even the ghosts seem jumpier than usual."
"Could be," Bill agreed diplomatically, though his attention remained focused on Scabbers, who had begun what appeared to be compulsive grooming behavior—the kind of repetitive self-cleaning that suggested anxiety rather than normal hygiene maintenance.
From somewhere in the castle depths came the soft popping sounds that indicated house-elf activity, though considerably more frequent than typical evening routines usually required. The magical servants were clearly engaged in some sort of systematic activity that involved moving quickly between locations throughout the building, their distinctive transportation method creating an almost rhythmic background percussion to the night's ambient sounds.
"Definitely more house-elf activity than normal," Jimmy observed, setting aside his essay with evident relief. "Think they're doing some sort of deep cleaning project? Maybe preparing for holiday decorations or something?"
"Possible," Bill said, though his instincts suggested the increased house-elf activity was related to whatever had Scabbers so agitated. The rat had excellent hearing and could detect sounds that humans missed entirely—if he was responding to specific activities elsewhere in the castle, those activities were probably significant rather than routine.
The dormitory door opened with the soft creak that announced prefect patrol rounds, but instead of one of the older Gryffindor students, Professor McGonagall herself appeared in the doorway. Her usually immaculate appearance showed signs of hurried activity—her robes were slightly disheveled, her hair had escaped its customary severe bun in several strategic locations, and her expression carried the kind of focused intensity that indicated serious business was being conducted according to urgent timelines.
"Boys," she said, her voice maintaining its usual authoritative tone despite obvious underlying tension, "I need to conduct a brief inspection of dormitory conditions. Routine matter, but requiring immediate attention."
The first-years immediately straightened their posture with the automatic response that McGonagall's presence triggered in even the most rebellious students. Her reputation for transforming misbehaving children into inanimate objects was probably exaggerated, but none of them were particularly eager to test the boundaries of her patience during what was clearly a stressful situation.
"Is everything all right, Professor?" Bill asked, noting how McGonagall's sharp eyes were conducting a systematic scan of the dormitory that seemed to focus particularly on areas where small animals might find concealment.
"Everything is perfectly fine," she replied with the kind of diplomatic precision that indicated everything was definitely not fine but discussing the details would serve no useful purpose. "I'm simply conducting routine inspections of student accommodations to ensure appropriate standards are being maintained."
Her gaze fell on Scabbers, who had frozen completely at the sound of her voice, his small body pressed against the back of his cage in what appeared to be an attempt to become invisible through sheer force of will.
"And what have we here?" McGonagall inquired, approaching Bill's bed with the kind of casual interest that somehow managed to convey both genuine curiosity and underlying suspicion. "A pet rat? I wasn't aware you'd received permission for animal companions, Mr. Weasley."
"I... well, I found him in one of the passages," Bill admitted, his natural honesty overriding any instinct toward diplomatic evasion. "He seemed friendly and harmless, and I thought my brother Percy might enjoy having a pet when I go home for holidays. I was planning to ask permission officially, but I wanted to make sure Scabbers would adjust well to castle life first."
"Scabbers," McGonagall repeated, her voice carrying the kind of thoughtful consideration that suggested the name had particular significance beyond its obvious descriptive qualities. "And how long has he been residing in your dormitory?"
"Three days now, Professor. He's very well-behaved—barely makes any noise, eats very little, and seems perfectly content with the living arrangements."
McGonagall studied the rat with the kind of professional intensity usually reserved for particularly challenging Transfiguration problems, her experienced eyes noting details that would escape casual observation. "Mr. Weasley, would you mind removing your pet from his cage? I'd like to examine him more closely to ensure he's healthy and free of any magical parasites that might affect other students."
The request was phrased as a polite inquiry, but her tone carried the unmistakable authority of someone whose suggestions were actually commands delivered with superficial courtesy. Bill immediately opened Scabbers' cage, reaching inside to retrieve his pet with the kind of careful gentleness that had characterized all their interactions.
What happened next occurred so quickly that the human observers barely had time to process the sequence of events. As Bill's hand approached, Scabbers suddenly exploded into frantic activity, launching himself toward the cage opening with desperate speed while emitting high-pitched squeaks that sounded almost like screams of panic rather than normal rodent distress calls.
"Catch him!" McGonagall commanded sharply, her wand appearing in her hand with the kind of practiced efficiency that indicated considerable experience with crisis situations. But Scabbers had already escaped Bill's startled grasp and was racing across the dormitory floor with the kind of strategic purpose that suggested he knew exactly where he was going and how to get there most efficiently.
The rat headed directly for a gap between two floorboards that appeared too narrow for his body, but he somehow squeezed through the opening with the kind of desperate flexibility that seemed to defy normal rodent physiology. From beneath the floor came the sound of rapid movement toward what was probably a larger space that would provide multiple escape route options.
"Impedimenta!" McGonagall cast toward the gap, but the spell missed its target as Scabbers had already moved beyond the affected area. She immediately followed with "Revelio!" while pointing her wand at the floor, causing a section of wooden planks to become transparent and revealing the complex network of spaces between floors that Hogwarts' small inhabitants used as their personal highway system.
The spell revealed Scabbers moving through the inter-floor passages with remarkable speed and obvious familiarity with the route, heading toward what appeared to be a larger opening that would provide access to the castle's main structural spaces. More tellingly, his movement patterns showed the kind of strategic thinking that suggested he was following a predetermined escape plan rather than simply fleeing in random panic.
"Alert the house-elves immediately," McGonagall instructed Bill with crisp authority while maintaining her magical monitoring of the rat's progress through the castle's hidden spaces. "Tell them that the target has been located and is moving through the inter-floor passages toward the central staircase access points. Code Seven protocols, maximum containment priority."
"Code Seven?" Bill repeated, though his tone suggested he was already moving to comply despite not understanding the specific terminology.
"Emergency security measures," McGonagall explained tersely, her attention focused on tracking Scabbers' movement through the transparent floor section. "That rat is considerably more than he appears to be, Mr. Weasley, and his capture is now a matter of student safety rather than routine pet policy enforcement."
The implications of this revelation struck the dormitory occupants with varying degrees of comprehension, but all of them immediately understood that their pleasant evening routine had just transformed into something considerably more serious and potentially dangerous.
"Is he... dark magic?" Jimmy asked nervously, unconsciously backing away from the area where Scabbers had disappeared despite the rat being well beyond any possibility of immediate threat.
"He's a very dangerous individual using magical means to disguise his true nature," McGonagall replied, beginning to move toward the dormitory door with obvious urgency. "Boys, you are to remain in this dormitory under no circumstances should you attempt to pursue or intercept the target. House-elves and faculty will handle the situation from here."
As she reached the doorway, she paused to address Bill directly. "Mr. Weasley, you are not in any trouble regarding the pet policy violation. However, I will need a complete statement about where and how you encountered this individual, what behaviors you observed during his residence here, and whether he showed interest in any particular conversations or activities that might have provided him with sensitive information."
Bill nodded numbly, still processing the revelation that his friendly pet rat had actually been some sort of dangerous criminal using magical transformation abilities for concealment purposes.
"Professor," he said suddenly, struck by a disturbing realization, "if he's been listening to our conversations for three days... he knows about my family. About Percy, about my parents' work at the Ministry, about everything we've discussed in letters from home."
McGonagall's expression grew even more serious, if such a thing were possible. "Yes, Mr. Weasley, he does. Which is why it's absolutely critical that we capture him before he has the opportunity to act on any information he may have gathered or pass that intelligence to associates who might use it to harm your family or other students' relatives."
She left the dormitory at a pace that was dignified but clearly urgent, her voice carrying through the corridor as she coordinated with other faculty members who were apparently stationed throughout the castle for whatever operation was now reaching its critical phase.
The first-year boys remained in their dormitory, processing the unsettling knowledge that they had been unknowingly sharing their living space with a dangerous criminal who had been systematically gathering intelligence about their families while posing as a harmless pet.
"Well," Jimmy said finally, settling back onto his bed with the kind of forced casualness that suggested he was trying very hard not to think about the implications of recent events. "That's definitely not going to help with my Transfiguration essay. Think McGonagall will accept 'discovered my dormmate was harboring a dark wizard in animal form' as a valid excuse for incomplete homework?"
Outside their window, the Highland wind began to carry a sound that none of them had heard before—violin music, hauntingly beautiful and mathematically precise, played with the kind of technical perfection that suggested the performer possessed capabilities that transcended normal human limitations.
None of them realized that the music was specifically designed to interact with Hogwarts' protective enchantments in ways that would create temporary gaps in the castle's magical defenses, allowing unauthorized access by individuals whose family obligations transcended conventional limitations like institutional security measures and minor inconveniences such as recent escape from maximum security incarceration.
The game was reaching its most complex phase, with multiple players converging on objectives that were both complementary and potentially catastrophically conflicting.
---
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