Raylynx's POV

I had expected Sirius to come and find me immediately. As the hours grew longer and there was no sign of him, my anxiety began to eat away at me. I hadn't slept the night before, and I didn't sleep this night either, as I waited anxiously at the kitchen table, playing with Harry's birthday present in my hand (despite the fact this his birthday had now passed). I kept waiting for a knock on my door. My heart thrummed like a hummingbird's at the slightest sound and I spent another sleepless night. The hours passed.

Finally, when a sliver of sunlight slid through between my closed curtains and lay sharp on the kitchen table, I crouched down onto the floor. My knees bent, I put my elbows on them and pushed my hands aggressively through my hair. The shield that I had strenuously built around my heart for twelve years- that had taken the better half of twelve years to construct- was already beginning to crack. It was like Remus had said: we had been transported back twelve years. And I felt as though there was a ghost beside me, a ghost that emanated the warmth I used to feel when Sirius used to hold me. Only Sirius had ever been capable of making me feel so warm, and despite everything, I had never forgotten that feeling.

I closed my eyes. Where is he? The image of Audrey Vega in the courtroom played in my mind again. What if Sirius had gone insane while in Azkaban? Gripping my hair tightly, I roughly shoved the image away from my consciousness.

With a deep sigh, I looked up at the clock. I was supposed to go to Diagon Alley today, to look after Harry. Harry. My godson. He was the only thing keeping me anchored to reality, the only thing keeping me from throwing everything away and running straight into the winds to search for Sirius. As always, Dumbledore had guessed correctly. He knew exactly how to play me. Because he was right that this opportunity to watch over Harry was the only possible distraction to keep me from going after Sirius.

Finally, when the sun was strong enough that it's reflection off of the refrigerator was enough to blind me, I got off of the ground with another sharp crack of the knees. I wobbled over to my bedroom and reluctantly began to pack. When I finished packing and dragged my suitcase out to the hallway, I stood in the morning light, dampened by the curtains covering the window. I waited an hour longer, just standing there, swaying slightly in my exhaustion. But no one came. Finally, I picked up my suitcase and left my house, locking the door both with a lock and magically behind me. With one last desolate look at the empty street, I closed my eyes and turned, Disapparating.


As Dumbledore had mentioned, Harry was thoroughly enjoying himself. I saw him getting through his assigned summer readings while relishing Florean Fortescue's company and his ice cream. When Harry left the tables in front of the ice cream stand, I carefully walked around him, staying out of his line vision. In a roundabout manner, I approached the ice cream stand.

"Can I help you, miss?" Florean asked cheerfully.

I slid him a few Galleons and said, "Would you be so kind as to offer him free sundaes from time to time?"

Florean grinned. "Sure thing. I'd have done it anyways. He's a nice kid, isn't he?"

I made sure to keep my distance from Harry, but I spotted him as he went and walked around the different stores in Diagon Alley. I saw him marvel at a handsome set of solid gold Gobstones, and a beautiful moving model of the galaxy in a large glass ball.

Towards the end of the afternoon, I spotted Harry joining the crowd that was gathered around the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Curious, I made my way towards the store. I was mere feet away from joining the crowd when a poster pasted on the brick wall of the store caught my eye. It was a "Wanted" poster and none other than Sirius Black was featured on it, holding his prisoner sign. It looked like he was laughing deliriously. My breath caught. A disturbing shade of red flooded my memory as I reminded the horrific feeling of being thrown back by a sudden explosion. I'd barely managed to lift my head and open my eyes to see Sirius, in the distance, being dragged away by a swarm of wizards and witches. In my head, I was screaming for Sirius, but the Healer came and cast a Sleeping Charm over me. And that was the last time I had seen Sirius.

I stood, frozen, in front of the poster. My body began to react of its own accord. My head pounded, my heart raced, and my palms became sweaty. Then, I heard a voice behind me whisper, "Hey, isn't that her? That mad woman who's always writing about Sirius Black…"

"Oh Merlin, I think it is. Should we call someone? Isn't she dangerous?"

I quickly started to walk away, not wanting to cause a scene. I kept my head down, trying not to draw any more attention from the crowd.

"Oof," I said, as someone suddenly jostled into me.

"Professor?"

I looked up and saw Harry, being jolted this way and that by the over-eager crowd. The door to Quality Quidditch Supplies had just opened and it was mayhem as everyone tried to stampede in to see the new broomstick. I reached out, grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and drew him a bit closer to me to stabilize him. "You all right there?" I asked him.

"Yes, thanks, Professor," Harry replied.

I paused as I realized he'd likely have been fine without my anchoring him to me, as he had grown quite a bit since I'd last seen him. In fact, his head came up to my chin already as opposed to my chest. I smiled a little when I saw how messy the back of his hair was. He had certainly inherited James' stubborn hair.

The crowd stilled and I stepped away from him. "Were you going to have a look?" I asked, gesturing at the shop.

Harry nodded, and then corrected himself. "Well, I was, before I got trampled."

"Right, then. Shall we have a go?" I asked him. "Personally, I'd like a look myself."

Harry looked up at me. "Are you interested in Quidditch, Professor?"

"I like nice broomsticks. Maybe I'll sweep the floor with this one," I said wryly. A couple of people besides me looked absolutely scandalized, but to my relief, Harry laughed.

I beckoned to Harry and we approached the store. I let him step in front of me and as Harry edged his way inside, I followed him too. After a bit of shoving and being shoved, we finally made our way close enough to the front that we both saw it. On a newly erected podium, there was a gorgeous broom. Underneath it, the sign read: The Firebolt. Even I, who had not played Quidditch for many years now, realized how top-notch and stunning this broom would be to ride.

"Just come out - prototype-" someone squeaked out over the hubbub of the crowd.

"It's the fastest broom in the world, isn't it, Dad?" a young boy squeaked.

"Irish International Side's just put in an order for seven of these beauties!" the proprietor of the shop yelled out to us. "And they're favorites for the World Cup!"

Harry had his eyes glued to the broomstick. "Price upon request," he murmured fervently.

I laughed lightly. "Splendid as it is, you've still got a lifetime to live, Harry, and not all of it is going to be on a broomstick."

Harry ripped his eyes away from the broom.

People behind us were yelling at us to get a move on, so that they could see it too. "Will you please let us have a turn up there?" someone called angrily from the back.

"Come on, Harry," I said. "We should move along. You can come back and see it again tomorrow." We made our way out of the store, squeezing past the crowd.

Once we out onto the street, both blinking a little in the sudden sunlight, Harry asked me a bit awkwardly, "Professor, why are you in Diagon Alley?" He paused, realizing, a little late, how the question might sound a bit rude.

But I grinned. "I'm here on business, Harry," I answered. "I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a few days."

"So am I," Harry replied. "I- er- it's not exactly business, but…" His voice trailed off as he realized he didn't know how to appropriately bring up the fact that he'd blown up his aunt.

I held back a smile and said more formally, "Then I expect we'll run into each other now and then."

That night, I stayed up at my desk, not even bothering to pretend to try to sleep. I was worried about what might happen if Sirius came to my house while I was gone. I paced back and forth inside my small room, until the inhabitant below grumpily stomped up to my room to tell me to settle down. Then, I sat down and crossed and uncrossed my hands. What if he's there right now? I stood up abruptly. But Harry's here. If I leave, and something happens, it would be on me. I let out a deep sigh and falling back into my chair, I closed my eyes. The image of Sirius' "Wanted" Poster was immovably etched inside my eyelids.


A few days later, I was having breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron when I saw Harry come in. When he hesitantly waved at me, I invited him to come and sit with me. As he took me up on my offer and sat across from me, I marveled once again at how much he'd grown since the end of his last year. The last time, I'd seen him, he'd just come out of the Chamber, and I had realized that awful truth that he was a Horcrux. Even now, a piece of Voldemort resides within him. My hand trembled slightly as I set down my tea. I shook my head a little, pushing the thought away. I had to focus on Harry, on my godson. Nothing else mattered. What he was, what his future would be, and his connection with Voldemort… I couldn't let myself get swayed by it. That was Dumbledore's job, I knew, and I was to be the counterpoint to that, to protect Harry's "normal" life for as long as humanly possible.

"Ever play Gobstones, Harry?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

I brought out the little wrapped parcel from my pocket. I hid the fact that the tag had his name on it as I opened it. The contents dropped out onto the tabletop as I balled up the packaging paper and shoved it back into my pocket.

"Maybe we can train you up a bit and you can get Ron back for all the times he's beaten you at Wizard's Chess," I joked playfully.

Harry grinned in response, and he rolled up his sleeves.

About an hour later, when the pub was clearing up to shift from breakfast to lunch, we finished our third game of Gobstones. I pushed the set towards him. "This is yours," I told him.

Harry looked up at me, surprised.

"Think of it as… a welcome-back-to-school present from your Professor," I fibbed.

"Are you sure?" he said, picking up one of the marbles and staring at it. "It was probably expensive, wasn't it?"

I shook my head.

"Well, thank you," he mumbled, and looking a bit abashed, he carefully picked up the stones and pocketed them.

"Will you be off to have a look at the Firebolt again?" I asked Harry.

Harry nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "I don't know why. I've got a perfectly good broom and all- but it's just nice to look at it."

"Sure," I agreed easily. "It's a real beauty. Can you imagine what it's like to ride it? Sleek, cutting right through the air, like it could read your mind. The perfect broom for a Seeker, I'd wager."

Harry blinked. "Did you play Quidditch, Professor? You talked about the broom like you used to play."

"Yes, I was a Seeker for a few years," I replied.

"What team?" Harry asked me politely.

Knowing he knew, I gave him a light wink. "Surely you've noticed I'm a bit biased at the games?"

"I have heard Professor McGonagall reprimanding you a few times over the microphone," he admitted, and shot me a pleased grin. "So, you must have played for Gryffindor, like me."

I told him, "Believe it or not, Oliver Wood's father, Alexander Wood, was my Captain for a few years. So, if you ever feel that Oliver is mad for having you wake up at the crack of dawn for practice, just know it's well engrained in his brain."

"Sometimes I just sleep through his presentations, and then when we get onto the field, I finally feel awake enough to fly," Harry confessed. "I try to pay attention, but I just end up flying asleep."

"I know that feeling," I replied, reminiscing. "Sleep is always sweetest when you're not supposed to be sleeping."

"Other times, Fred and George take the mickey out of him," Harry told me. "They know all of Oliver's speeches by heart, you see."

"I'm glad Oliver's carried on that tradition of giving speeches," I said, smiling. "The world's a better place for having the Woods' family pep talks in it."

"I'll try to remember that next time there's early practice," Harry promised, with a twinkle in his eye.

"I wouldn't worry about it," I said lightly. "You're a natural, Harry."

"I wonder where it comes from," Harry mused. "I don't know why I can fly. It just... comes to me. It feels right."

"Well, perhaps you were just born with it," I suggested quietly. Although, in my mind, I was also thinking of the Snitch I'd gotten for him for his birthday when he was very young, and I was sure Sirius and James would have done everything they could to introduce Harry to their favorite sport, Quidditch.

Harry nodded. "Hermione told me that my father used to play Quidditch. I think Professor McGonagall mentioned it too."

"They're right," I said. I took a deep breath and then I said, as casually as I could manage. "In fact, I used to play with your father."

Harry's eyes widened and his whole face became so hopeful. "You mean you were on the same team as my dad? Did you overlap with your father at Hogwarts?"

"We were the same year," I replied quietly.

"Do you remember anything about him?" Harry asked me, with a hungry look in his eyes. "Or my mum? I don't suppose you've…" His voice trailed off. He didn't even know how to ask about his parents.

"They were polar opposites," I said honestly. "Your mother was studious and a rule-follower. Well, she was also the most egregious when she decided to break the rules, but in general, she disapproved of it. Your father was, ah, more mischievous, let's say. I think they must have spent the better half of their Hogwarts years yelling at each other- or rather, Lily yelled at James, and chased him down hallways, threatening him to stop with the pranks."

Harry's mouth was open.

I gave him a gentle smile. "Your parents would have been so proud of you, Harry. Especially James. If he knew his son was the Gryffindor Seeker as a first-year, he'd be besides himself with joy."

"And of course," I said, "that's not to mention all of your other heroic feats- down in the dungeons with the Sorcerer's Stone, and last year, with the basilisk and diary."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, looking away. "I wasn't trying to- I mean, I didn't feel heroic at all when I did those things. I didn't know what I was doing, honestly."

"No one does in those situations," I said. "We're all just trying to survive."

My eyes lingered on Harry's scar for a moment, peeking out from beneath his jet-black unruly hair.


On the "last day of my business trip," I ran into Harry momentarily at the bookshop. I actually had meant to leave him in peace. I'd parked myself in front of an inconspicuous café and flipped through my lesson plans as I watched Harry from time to time as he bustled about to buy school things. He visited the Apothecary and Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions before heading into Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop. By now, the café owner was giving me a very dirty look for buying a single coffee and staying there for so long, so I casually followed Harry into the bookstore.

My plan was to keep my distance, but the bookstore was unusually chaotic- no doubt due to the stock of about a hundred copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. The books were tearing each other part inside their large iron cage. An employee was using a walking stick to try to separate them. He was crying out for them to stop biting at each other and frankly, he seemed utterly exhausted.

Anyhow, this huge cage took up a large portion of the store, and the crowd shunted me over to the middle of the store- where Harry was.

Harry spotted me and waved. "Hi, Professor," he said.

"Er, hello," I managed to wheeze, as an elderly lady jabbed her elbow straight into my gut as she put her walking stick down on the floor.

The manager, who had been helping Harry to get his books, turned to him and asked, "Are there any other books you need?"

"Yes," said Harry, looking down his booklist, "I need Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky." I found myself trailing along, and Harry didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, starting Divination, are you?" said the manager, leading Harry into the back of the shop, where there was a corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small table was stacked with volumes such as Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks and Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul.

"Here you are," said the manager, who had climbed a set of steps to take down a thick, black-bound book. "Unfogging the Future. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods - palmistry, crystal balls, bird entrails."

But Harry wasn't listening. He was staring at some other book on the table. My eyes followed his to see a book titled Death Omens - What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming. On the cover was a black dog large as a bear, with gleaming eyes- the Grim.

"Oh, I wouldn't read that if I were you," said the manager lightly, looking to see what Harry was staring at. "You'll start seeing death omens everywhere. It's enough to frighten anyone to death." The manager pressed Unfogging the Future into Harry's hands.

I paused. That dog resembled something other than just the Grim. "Harry," I said, trying to keep my voice very calm, "why were you staring at the book?"

"Hm?" Harry mumbled, embarrassed by the thought that I might make fun of him for overreacting to a normal dog, but of course, I was thinking of something else- someone else.

"I just thought it looked a bit familiar- the dog," Harry said, mumbling again. "But I'm not – I'm not saying I believe in it. I just thought I saw a dog like that, the night before I came here."

I felt dizzy. My heart thumped loudly. Sirius went to see Harry. But then, I suddenly felt miserable. But he hasn't come to see me. I looked for him. I waited for him. But he never came. Why?

"Anything else?" the manager said.

"Yes," said Harry. "Er - I need Intermediate Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three."


Later that night, in my rented room, I was tiredly scrawling out Runic figures. Classes were starting soon and despite my utter preoccupation with trying to find Sirius and keeping a watch on Harry, I still had to figure out how to best explain to my seventh years how to draw repelling circles without giving away that I had learned them specifically to ward off vampires.

But I couldn't focus. I sighed and leaning forward, I pressed my fingers against my eyes. Sirius went to see Harry, but not me. Why? And besides that, what does this mean? What should I do?

I paused. Wait, this means that if I stay besides Harry, which I'd do anyways, Sirius might come back. But he won't approach Harry if he realizes I'm there, clearly. So, I need to stay by Harry without letting Sirius know that I'm there. That might be my best chance to meet Sirius.

I tried hard to think of a way that I could remain close to Harry without giving away who I was. Then, inspiration struck me.


Nobody's POV

The old witch who ran the menagerie came in the next morning and tiredly made her rounds, feeding every kind of animal. The menagerie had quite the amazing collection of animals now, far from the few rats and cats that it had started out with. She paused, however, when she saw a big orange cat sleeping on top of the gerbils' cage. She hesitated, and then gently poked it. The cat opened one annoyed eye.

Then, the cat blinked, and stretching her long back, and whisking her tail, she leapt down from the cage and looked up at the witch intelligently. The witch blinked, taken aback by the cat's patience and self-assured demeanor.

"How could I have missed you?" the witch murmured. "Did you come in with the last shipment of cats? But that was months ago…"

"Hm," the witch grumbled, and leaning down, she picked up the cat, and brought the cat over to the desk, where the catalogue rested. She opened up the giant book and flipped it to the most recent pages, and then she made to write a new entry. The cat put her paw down, blocking the witch's quill.

"Get off. I don't want to have to get ink off your fur," the witch murmured. She gently pushed the cat's paw away and made to write again, but the cat replaced her paw onto the page.

The witch frowned. "Now, stop that." The cat pushed her head against the pages, trying to flip it over.

The witch paused, and then slowly began to go back into older entries. The cat kept repeating the motion until finally-

"Huh, look at that," the witch said, awestruck. "You're already in here. Part-cat, part Kneazle. Looks like the old owner named you and everything. Crookshanks."


Raylynx's POV

I waited for the Hogwarts students to arrive, knowing that I had the highest chance of being picked up by an unsorted first year, but wanting to meet a Gryffindor who would take me. Imagine my shock when Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked in. I followed them stealthily from the roof beams above, taking care of soften the sounds of my steps with my padded paws by stepping toe-first. It likely didn't matter since the shop was incredibly loud, with all sorts of animals squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing.

I slipped down onto the highest cage and watched as Ron approached the counter. "It's my rat," he told the witch. "He's been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt."

"Bang him on the counter," said the witch, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles out of her pocket.

Ron lifted his rat, Scabbers, out of his inside pocket and placed him next to the cage of his fellow rats, who stopped their skipping tricks and scuffled to the wire for a better took. I also paused. I'd seen Scabbers once or twice before, poking his head out of Ron's pocket for a quick moment, but only in my human form.

For some reason that even I didn't fully comprehend (because an animal's mind is far more reliant on its overwhelmingly powerful instincts than its emotions or rationale), my entire body shivered slightly. I felt myself slowly begin to squat, tensing. The human part of my mind figured that it was just because I was a cat, and it was a rat. I was a hunter, and it was my most natural prey… My tail flicked.

"Hm," said the witch, picking up Scabbers. "How old is this rat?"

"Dunno," said Ron. "Quite old. He used to belong to my brother."

"What powers does he have?" said the witch, examining Scabbers closely.

"Er -" The truth was that Scabbers had never shown the faintest trace of interesting powers.

The witch examined Scabbers and she tutted loudly. "He's been through the mill, this one," she said.

"He was like that when Percy gave him to me," said Ron defensively.

My claws were itching terribly. Hold it together, I warned myself. This is Ron's pet. But my instincts were becoming too pronounced to ignore. Catch it. Get it. Trap it with your claws.

"An ordinary common or garden rat like this can't be expected to live longer than three years or so," said the witch. "Now, if you were looking for something a bit more hard-wearing, you might like one of these -"

She indicated the black rats, who promptly started skipping again. Ron muttered, "Show-offs."

Damn it, Raylynx, keep your claws to yourself! I softly growled a warning to myself. Restrain yourself. Stay back.

"Well, if you don't want a replacement, you can try this rat tonic," said the witch, reaching under the counter and bringing out a small red bottle.

Aargh, I can't-! Must- catch- that- rat -!

"Okay," said Ron.

All at once, I pounced.

"How much - OUCH!"

Ron buckled as I came soaring in all my orange furry glory from the top of the highest cage, landed on his head, and then propelled myself, spitting madly, at Scabbers.

"No, Crookshanks, no!" cried the witch, but Scabbers shot from between her hands like a bar of soap, landed splay-legged on the floor, and then scampered for the door.

"Scabbers!" Ron shouted, racing out of the shop after him; Harry followed.

The witch failed to grab me as I slunk under a cabinet. She grumbled at me. "You came back to cause trouble, didn't you?"

I yowled, feeling misunderstood.

But it was strange. As I peeked out to look at the witch, who had resumed her place at the counter, I spotted the other sleek rats, who had resumed their game of jumping rope. I didn't feel a single feeling of aggression towards them. I mean, I wouldn't mind chasing them around for a bit, but curiosity was nowhere near the level of overwhelming aggression that had insisted upon me when I saw Ron's rat. I felt very confused, almost disturbed by what I had experienced.

Then, I heard a very familiar voice say, "Hello. Excuse me, please, I'd like to have a look at your owls."

Hermione, I recognized. So, they didn't come to the Magical Menagerie just to examine Ron's rat. Hermione wants to buy a pet. She's Harry and Ron's best friend. I hesitated. Cats are allowed at Hogwarts. I saw and heard two sets of footsteps as the witch led her to the array of owls available. But I couldn't let her get an owl. She had to pick me.

I hurriedly squeezed myself out from the cabinet and bounded over to her. I sidled up to her leg and purred, rubbing my head against her shin. Hermione looked down, startled. I mewed gently, and I batted my paw in the air at her. She giggled. Hermione actually was quite adorable, underneath that wildly intelligent and terribly bossy demeanor, which I actually also found endearing. She was exasperating, yes- I'd heard the other professors talk about her. But I liked that aspect of her, and I knew it would calm as she grew older, but the fact that she was so feisty made me adore her. It reminded me of Dorcas, to be honest, and Marlene too, at times. She kneeled down and picked me up. All the air went out of her as she lifted me. I was a bit of a hefty cat, I must say.

The witch, who had been reeling off all of the different characteristics of the owls, turned around, and paused. "Now look who's being sweet," the witch said, surprised.

"What type of cat is she?" Hermione asked. She shifted me onto her shoulder and reaching up, she scratched my ears. No one had done that for me since Maggie had left the Menagerie, years and years ago. I purred contently.

"She's part ginger tabby, part Kneazle, I believe," the witch said, cocking her head at me in surprise. "She's been here for ages. No one wanted her."

"Well, I'll take her," Hermione said.

"Are you sure? She's no owl," the witch said. "And she's not er- I mean, if you've noticed, her face is a bit smushed. And her legs are a bit bandy-shaped. She's called Crookshanks because of that."

I held myself back from growling at her.

"Yes, Crookshanks. That fits perfectly," Hermione said, and I heard a smile in her voice. "She's exactly what I want."

Five minutes later, she walked out with her arms clamped around me and clutching Ron's bottle of rat tonic that he'd forgotten in his desperate chase to retrieve Scabbers. I felt bad about how I'd practically ambushed him.

Harry and Ron were waiting for her at the entrance back up to the crowded street of Diagon Alley.

"You bought that monster?" said Ron, his mouth hanging open.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" said Hermione, glowing.

I purred in Hermione's arms. I would have to try to win Ron back, I knew.

"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" said Ron.

"She didn't mean to, did you, Crookshanks?" said Hermione, her voice soothing as she addressed me.

"And what about Scabbers?" said Ron, pointing at the lump in his chest pocket. "He needs rest and relaxation! How's he going to get it with that thing around?"

My tail twitched. That's where he is? In his front pocket, huh?

"That reminds me, you forgot your rat tonic," said Hermione, slapping the small red bottle into Ron's hand. "And stop worrying, Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers in yours, what's the problem? Poor Crookshanks, that witch said she'd been in there for ages; no one wanted her."

"Wonder why," said Ron sarcastically as they set off toward the Leaky Cauldron.

I was mildly impressed by how sarcastic Ron could be, but then I reminded how old he was, and I thought about James and Sirius and I smiled as I reminded how awkward growing up could be.


Hermione carried me back to the Leaky Cauldron, where we ran into Mr. Weasley, who was sitting and reading the Daily Prophet. "Harry!" he said, smiling as he looked up. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," said Harry.

Mr. Weasley put down his paper, and Harry commented on the front-page picture of Sirius. "They still haven't caught him, then?" he asked.

"No," said Mr. Weasley, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far." He looked very tired, indeed. I hoped Jasper was doing all right on his mission.

"Would we get a reward if we caught him?" asked Ron, from beside Hermione and me. "It'd be good to get some more money -"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, who on closer inspection looked very strained. "Black's not going to be caught by a thirteen-year-old wizard. It's the Azkaban guards who'll get him back. You mark my words."

At that moment Mrs. Weasley entered the bar, followed by Ginny, Fred and George, and Percy. Percy came up to Harry and holding out his hand, said very solemnly, "Harry. How nice to see you."

"Hello, Percy," said Harry, and I could tell from the way the corners of his lips curled like James' used to, that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"I hope you're well?" said Percy pompously, shaking hands.

"Very well, thanks -"

"Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy -"

"Marvelous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand in turn. "Absolutely spiffing."

Percy scowled.

I gave a little guffaw that sounded like a hiccup. Hermione patted my back, hoping I wasn't about to cough up a hair ball at the middle of the bar.

"That's enough, now," Mrs. Weasley chided.

"Mum!" said Fred, as though he'd only just spotted her and seizing her hand, too. "How really corking to see you -"

"I said, that's enough," said Mrs. Weasley, depositing her shopping bags in an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She pointed to the brand-new silver badge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said proudly. I remembered that Bill had been Head Boy during his time.

"And last," Fred muttered under his breath.

"I don't doubt that," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two prefects."

"What do we want to be prefects for?" said George, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life."

Ginny giggled.

"You want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley.

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner..."

He disappeared and George heaved a sigh. I heard him mutter to Harry, "We tried to shut him in a pyramid. But Mum spotted us."


Hermione left me a bowl of water and cat food before she went downstairs to have dinner with the Weasleys and Harry. As soon as she left, I snuck out and returned to my room. I packed my things and after I had Dissulurated myself, I went back down and gave Tom instructions to have my things delivered to Hogwarts.

I overheard a couple phrases from the Weasleys' table, though of course I kept my back turned to them just in case.

"It's because of you, Perce. And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them-"

"- for Humongous Bighead."

There was a round of snorts and giggles.

Percy persisted and asked, "Why are the Ministry providing cars, Father?"

"Well, as we haven't got one anymore," answered Mr. Weasley, "and as I work there, they're doing me a favor..."

"All right, you're all settled. Thank you for staying with us," Tom said, though he looked very confused. He could swear the woman who had checked in under my name had looked nothing like me. I left quickly.

Back in Hermione's room, I watched, my tail swishing in the air, as Hermione and Ginny raced around trying to pack all of their things. Finally, they flopped over onto their beds, massaging their stomachs from having eaten too much.

I marveled at how well I could hear as Crookshanks. I could hear conversations even a few rooms down, where Ron and Percy were arguing. And then, if I shifted over to the corner of the room where my water bowl was, I could hear directly below me, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were. They must still be at the bar, or somewhere close to it. I could make their voices, though slightly muffled. Then, I suddenly realized that it wasn't just my good hearing that enabled me to hear them, but the fact that they were arguing.

"Molly, how many times do I have to tell you?" Arthur was saying angrily. "They didn't report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black's been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: "He's at Hogwarts...he's at Hogwarts." Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he's had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that..."

There was a weighted silence, and then Ron's loud, large yawn from a few doors down startled me. I jumped up, my fur on edge.

Hermione peered over at me. "Crookshanks?" she said tiredly. "What is it?"

I purred softly and tried to settle down, wrapping myself in my tail and curling up on the floor.

Hermione smiled. She looked tempted to sink back into bed, but she shook herself awake and called to Ginny, "Ginny, come on. We've got to brush our teeth."

Ginny mumbled something incoherently.

"I mean it. Otherwise, the enamel on your teeth will wear down. My parents told me about how-"

"Oh, please don't talk about enamel again," Ginny moaned into her pillow. "I know your parents are dentists, but you talk about this all the time, Hermione."

"Well, I wouldn't have to keep telling you if you would do the right thing and-"

"All right, all right," Ginny, said pushing herself up from the bed. "I'm up. Let's go brush our teeth."

They both went over to the bathroom.

In my mind, I pondered over what I had heard. "Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black's been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: "He's at Hogwarts...he's at Hogwarts." Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead…"