Hiss.
Avada appeared once again in Harry's dormitory without warning. Moving with great care, he gently placed the still-sleeping Peter Pettigrew back beside Ron's pillow. He cast a spell to ensure that Peter would wake naturally in a little over half an hour, then meticulously checked the room to make sure he'd left behind no footprints, fingerprints, stray hairs, or any other trace before silently departing.
Before that, he had also refreshed a far stronger tracking charm on Peter Pettigrew, making it easier to monitor his movements at certain key moments in the future.
"I've done everything that can be done. The rest depends on how Black and Dumbledore play their hands. Let's hope they don't waste such a generous gift…"
Back in his private room within the Room of Requirement, Avada tidied up the remaining materials, carefully organizing all the bottles and tools. He reheated the tea that had long since gone cold and drank it in one go. After confirming no one was passing outside, he left the Room of Requirement once more—he'd been inside long enough, and he still needed to find the twins and return the Marauder's Map.
"That guy really was a genius. If he'd been willing to draw even a single moral line and use his talent on the right path, Dumbledore might've had to share the title of 'the greatest wizard of the age' with him…"
The one he was thinking of was the terrifying Dark wizard who had discovered the "power of Death" and carried out deep research into the phenomenon of repentance.
That man's mastery of the soul was nothing short of transcendent. Avada's current level—his ability to seal Voldemort, to study Horcruxes in depth, and to successfully cast spells on Peter Pettigrew—relied heavily on the results of that man's research. And in the book Professor Baker had given him, which contained just over thirty papers and notebooks, six of them were authored by that very Dark wizard alone. Clearly, he had left an extremely deep impression on Professor Baker as well.
The spell Avada had used on Peter Pettigrew was itself derived from a byproduct of that Dark wizard's obsessive research into "how to make other Dark wizards repent," later refined and improved by Avada.
So how did he—and several other Dark wizards recorded in that book—end up losing to Professor Baker?
Avada had never been able to figure that out.
Among the dozen or so Dark wizard authors who had contributed more than thirty papers to the book, that man had one of the largest experimental scales and the deepest research, with two or three others at a similar level. And what did that imply?
It meant Professor Baker could reliably kill Dark wizards whose strength was at or below unarmed Grindelwald.
Yet from Avada's observations, Professor Baker's mental strength was only on par with top-tier professors like McGonagall and Flitwick. Even factoring in vast combat experience and unique spells, his practical combat ability was, at best, comparable to those Dark wizards—especially considering that those Dark wizards all had organizations backing them, capable of supporting large-scale experiments.
So how did he do it?
"…Forget it. No point overthinking it. I should focus on finishing the final steps first."
…
"Not bad at all."
Most students in third year and above chose to enjoy a proper dinner in Hogsmeade before returning to Hogwarts. One by one, they lounged in the common rooms like seals on a beach, bellies round and spirits lazy.
In the Gryffindor common room, Fred and George had just climbed through the portrait hole, each carrying a large bag and wearing expressions of harvest-time satisfaction.
"Zonko's new Dungbombs are really something…"
Across from them, Harry sat beside Ron, glancing up at the twins with a gloomy look before lowering his head again to quietly work on his homework.
"Don't be discouraged, Harry," Hermione said gently, noticing his mood. "You'll get to go sooner or later."
"That'll be next year at the earliest," Ron said, stroking Scabbers as he spoke. "From what Harry's said, he probably doesn't want to go back at Christmas just to ask his uncle for a signature."
"Harry, you should try talking to Professor McGonagall again," Ron continued. "It's not like she doesn't know your situation. And Hogsmeade really is fun…"
As he spoke, he shifted position and kept scratching Scabbers, making the rat stretch comfortably. He couldn't say why, but ever since returning from Hogsmeade, Scabbers seemed a bit better—his condition improved, and even his eyes looked clearer somehow…
"Ron," Hermione protested, "Harry should stay at school—"
"But you can't have the entire third year going except him."
Hermione was about to argue further when Crookshanks suddenly leapt onto her lap, a palm-sized dead spider dangling from his mouth.
"Ugh—"
Ron immediately frowned and dragged his chair farther away. "Does it have to eat that thing right in front of us?"
"Oh, Crookshanks, clever boy. Did you catch that yourself?"
Hermione ignored Ron, instead affectionately stroking Crookshanks as he crouched on her legs and ate in small bites. Once the spider was gone, Crookshanks lifted his yellow eyes and stared straight at Ron.
"Keep it away from here," Ron said irritably, cupping Scabbers protectively in his hands. "I know it—it's after Scabbers again. Harry, have you finished your Potions essay? I just completed my star chart earlier… want to compare notes?"
He dragged over his bag, conveniently blocking Crookshanks' line of sight to Scabbers. He then pulled out ink and a quill, along with a parchment filled edge to edge with diagrams and another with nothing but a title. After marking the final star in neat script, he pushed the chart toward Harry.
Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly disapproving of their so-called "comparison," but said nothing. Crookshanks, still perched on her legs, continued staring at Ron without blinking, his fluffy tail tip swaying gently.
"Meow~"
Suddenly, Crookshanks stood up, hopped lightly off Hermione's lap, and padded toward Ron with graceful steps, tilting his head as his small eyes blinked curiously.
"Get away, you menace," Ron waved him off, tightening his grip on Scabbers.
"Meow, meow~"
Crookshanks let out a few short calls, still approaching Ron slowly, even circling his chair a few times at a trot…
"He's not trying to hurt Scabbers," Hermione observed with interest. "He seems to be… curious about you?"
"Curious about me?" Ron raised an eyebrow, handed Scabbers to Harry, and took a few steps away.
Crookshanks didn't follow him. His gaze stayed locked firmly on Harry's hands.
"He's still after Scabbers," Ron said with a frown. "Harry, be careful. Give him back to me first, or that cat might scratch you."
"He won't!" Hermione protested.
The truth was, Crookshanks' curiosity really was aimed at Scabbers. Once Ron took him back, the cat resumed circling Ron relentlessly, no matter how Ron tried to put distance between them. Crookshanks kept lifting his head, sniffing intently at something. At one point, he even got close enough to nearly touch Ron's hand—yet he remained uncharacteristically well-behaved, clearly not acting like he wanted an extra meal.
"Meow~"
After quite a while, Crookshanks finally withdrew his gaze from Scabbers. With a satisfied little sound, he hopped obediently back onto Hermione's lap and closed his eyes, contentedly enjoying her strokes.
(End of Chapter)