Beside Ron, Harry yawned.
The recent training had indeed been a bit tiring, and he really wanted to just go straight to sleep, but his star chart wasn't finished yet.
He pulled his bag over, took out parchment, ink, and a quill, and started his homework.
"You can copy mine if you like," said Ron, labeling the last star on his chart with a flourish and pushing it towards Harry.
Hermione, who did not approve of copying, pursed her lips but didn't say anything.
Crookshanks was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, flicking the end of his bushy tail. Then, without warning, he pounced.
"Oi!" Ron yelled, snatching his bag away—he saw Crookshanks' four paws had already sunk deep into the bag and were beginning to tear at it ferociously.
"Get off, you stupid brute!"
Ron tried to pull the bag back from under Crookshanks' claws, but the cat held on tight, his mouth foaming as he bit.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione screamed; the whole common room was watching the commotion.
Ron spun the bag around wildly, but Crookshanks clung on.
Suddenly, Scabbers leaped out of the top of the bag.
"Catch that cat!" yelled Ron.
At this moment, Crookshanks let go of the bag, sprang onto a table, and chased after the terrified Scabbers.
George Weasley made a lunge for Crookshanks but missed; Scabbers streaked frantically around the common room and shot underneath a large chest of drawers.
Crookshanks skidded to a halt, crouched low, and began to paw furiously beneath the chest with his front leg.
Ron and Hermione hurried over. Hermione grabbed Crookshanks around the middle and heaved him away; Ron threw himself onto his stomach, and with great difficulty, grabbed Scabbers by the tail and dragged him out.
"Look at him!" he shouted furiously to Hermione, dangling Scabbers in front of her face. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't know he's doing wrong!" said Hermione, her voice trembling. "All cats chase mice, Ron!"
"There's something funny about that animal!" cried Ron, trying to persuade a frantically struggling Scabbers back into his bag. "He heard me say Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, what rubbish," snapped Hermione. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron, how else d'you think—"
The people around them couldn't help but start laughing.
"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, ignoring the laughter and interrupting Hermione again. "Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"
With that, Ron marched out of the common room and up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
The next morning was Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. But in class, Ron was still angry with Hermione.
They were currently shelling puffapods and throwing the shiny beans into a wooden bucket.
"How's Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly.
Regardless of the reason, it was a fact that Crookshanks had tried to catch Scabbers. And that dirty rat was, after all, Ron's pet.
Hermione felt very sorry about this.
"He's hiding under my bed, shaking all over," said Ron angrily.
His hand shook, missing the bucket, and the beans scattered on the greenhouse floor.
"Careful, Weasley, careful!" cried Professor Sprout.
In the blink of an eye, green vines spread everywhere on the floor. Moments later, the greenhouse floor was covered with glittering pale purple flowers, with wisps of cold air drifting from their stamens.
Not far away, Marcel bent down and examined the flowers on the ground carefully.
"Professor Sprout, are these Ice Claw Vines a new variety?" After a while, he straightened up and asked Sprout.
"Oh, yes—I improved them myself. Beautiful, aren't they?"
Professor Sprout, who was tidying up the greenhouse with her wand, turned back and smiled when she heard this.
"Indeed, very beautiful," Marcel nodded.
While Marcel was looking left and right at the flowers, Harry suddenly leaned over.
"Wood has been wanting me to ask you—oh, he's our team captain—he wants to know, are you really not participating in the Quidditch Cup this year?" Harry whispered.
"Hmm? Yes, not participating," Marcel shook his head. "Too many things to do, I can't handle it, but—"
"But what?" Harry asked quickly.
"I mean to say, I'll go cheer for you," Marcel patted Harry's shoulder. "You fly great, no worse than Cedric from our house... Of course, Cedric is also very strong, I'm just telling the truth."
"Oh—since you say so—" Harry smiled. "I'll do my best!"
The next class for the little badgers was Divination.
Speaking of which, Professor Trelawney, who was always mystical and liked to predict terrible things, seemed to have never noticed Marcel since the first class.
But in this class, Marcel inexplicably became the main target of her prediction.
"Oh, Mr. Maclean, I have to say—" Professor Trelawney's large eyes stared fixedly at the crystal ball in front of her, looking at the white mist flowing inside, "In the near future, darkness will descend, and the ominous will return..."
She suddenly shivered, as if she was afraid of something.
She screamed: "Oh! It's terrible! Someone will die! Someone—"
Trelawney suddenly held onto the table, her eyes widened even more, and her hands couldn't stop trembling.
Marcel was confused by her words—to be honest, he didn't know whether to believe Trelawney or not, but just in case, he still asked.
"Who will return?" he said calmly. "Voldemort?"
Seeing Marcel blurt out this name without scruple, many young wizards from pure-blood families subconsciously covered their mouths.
But Trelawney shook her head vigorously, her slightly curly long hair being thrown back and forth.
"No... believe me, it's better not to say it... not to say it..." She supported her body by holding the edge of the table and moved away to another place.
Marcel sat there frowning and pondering for a while, but finally shook his head.
"In any case, it's always good to be fully prepared..." he muttered in a low voice. "Anytime, anywhere."
Before long, the class was over.
While everyone was communicating with each other about the scary prophecy Trelawney had made to Marcel and planning to go to the Great Hall to enjoy today's lunch, Professor Sprout suddenly opened the classroom door and walked in.
"I was busy dealing with the Ice Claw Vines on the floor just now and forgot to mention something!" She panted slightly. "Remember to give me the application form before Halloween—if you don't hand in the form, you can't go to Hogsmeade. So, hurry up!"
"Oh, right, I have to hand in a form to go to Hogsmeade..." Marcel blinked. "I've been going there so often that I really forgot about this."
This thought only stayed in Marcel's mind for at most two seconds before he threw it to the back of his mind again.
Where was he supposed to get a signature? Ask Dumbledore to sign it?
However, at this time, in the Transfiguration classroom, Harry, who was in the same situation as Marcel, was not as free and easy as him at all.
Although Harry had decided to ask Professor McGonagall long ago, he had been thinking about it for a whole class and still hadn't made up his mind.
It wasn't until just now, when Professor McGonagall reminded everyone to hand in the form as soon as possible, that he summoned up the courage under Ron's urging.
"Go and ask," Ron whispered to Harry.
"Oh, but—" Hermione obviously held a different opinion.
"Go on, Harry," Ron urged stubbornly.
Harry waited until everyone had left before slowly "inching" towards Professor McGonagall's desk.
"Well, Potter?"
Harry took a deep breath.
"Professor, my aunt and uncle... oh... they forgot to sign my form," he said nervously.
Professor McGonagall looked at him over her glasses and said nothing.
"So... er... do you think it would be all right... I mean, will it be okay if I... if I go to Hogsmeade?"
Professor McGonagall withdrew her gaze and shuffled the papers on her desk.
"I'm afraid not, Potter," she said. "You heard what I said just now. No form, no visit. That is the rule."
"But, Professor... my aunt and uncle... you know, they are Muggles! They don't really understand... understand about Hogwarts forms and dates," Harry struggled to find the right words. "If you said I could go..."
Ron was nodding vigorously at the side to encourage him.
"But I don't say so," said Professor McGonagall.
She stood up and put her papers neatly into a drawer.
"The form clearly states that the parent or guardian must give permission." She turned to look at him with a strange expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Potter, but that is my final decision. You'd better hurry, or you'll be late for lunch."
This was obviously unsalvageable.
Ron called Professor McGonagall a lot of names, which made Hermione very annoyed; she deliberately put on an expression of "finally a successful conclusion," which made Ron even angrier.
And the classmates in the class were happily talking loudly about what they would do first when they went to Hogsmeade.
Harry endured this silently, holding back a belly full of depression.
"There's always the feast," said Ron, trying to cheer Harry up. He patted Harry. "You know, the Halloween feast is always great."
"Yeah," said Harry gloomily, "it'll be okay."
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