General Disclaimer of Everything: I own nothing.
In a swirl of red and black, fury personified stormed down the stairs and entered the common room. It stopped to loom threateningly over a particular squashy arm chair by the fire where a bushy-haired girl was reading a book.
"Scabbars is missing!" The fury proclaimed. "Crookshanks killed him!" He pointed angrily at said ginger cat, which was curled up contentedly on top of Harry's Luggage.
"He's a cat, Ron." The girl explained patiently, "Cats eat rats. You need to keep a better eye on your pets." Ron's face was turning as scarlet as the crest on his robes and Harry felt a sudden need to intervene.
"Ron, 'Mione is right about cats, and you didn't really like Scabbers anyway. Useless, I think you called him. All he does is sleep, remember? Look, your birthday is coming up, right? How about 'Mione and I both pitch in and buy you an owl?"
Ron struggled between furious and pleased. Pleased won out. Hermione shot Harry a grateful look.
"Alright," Ron agreed. "But it'll have to be a good owl. One that is young and fast and fierce. An eagle owl maybe or a great horned."
Professor Dumbledore was very, very surprised to find a luggage in his office after dinner. Especially this particular luggage. It was an old seaman's chest with various ruins and the initials 'H.P.' carved on the lid. He had heard many curious stories about Harry Potter's trunk over the past three years, but this was the first time he'd actually seen it.
Most of his staff insisted that it had legs and that it shuffled everywhere after its master, causing trouble that the boy often seemed oblivious to. Many of the Prefects told them that they had glimpsed its BIG SQUARE TEETH. Severus insisted that it was sentient. Poppy had even gotten a diagnostic reading from it, once. All utter nonsense of course. The luggage sat innocuously at the foot of his desk. Dumbledore thought it all a good joke. James Potter had once done something similar with the Gryffindor first years and a stuffed toy dog. This prank was just a sign of how very much young Harry took after his parents.
He jumped nearly a foot when something bumped against the side of his leg. Professor Dumbledore looked down to see that the chest had moved. Now it stood next to him, on many, many legs. Maybe he should have paid closer attention to those stories after all.
"May I help you?" He asked.
The trunk opened wide, its lid nearly touching the floor. Inside was a stone room, extending far below where the floor of the chest should have been. At the bottom were two limp bodies.
Dumbledore stumbled back, clutching at his heart.
"Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew!"
