HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 44: The Rat of Gryffindor

"What?!" Hermione Granger jumped to her feet, hands on her hips, glaring at the dejected Harry. "You lost it?"

"And my rat, Scabbers!" Ron cried from beside her.

"Keep your voice down, Hermione. Percy's watching." They were in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry nervously glanced around at the other students, afraid the nosy Gryffindor prefect would overhear something suspicious and come interrogate them.

Hermione quickly lowered her voice and asked anxiously, "How could you lose it?"

"I'd also like to know why anyone would want to steal Scabbers," Ron said miserably.

Harry's face was grim. "Our dormitory was ransacked."

"But—only Gryffindors could have taken it. No one else knows our password," Hermione said, the realization dawning on her.

"Exactly," Harry said. This was one reason for his inner turmoil—he suspected there was a traitor in Gryffindor.

"I still can't believe anyone in Gryffindor would steal my rat," Ron murmured.

"Oh! Shut up, Ron! It probably just slipped out to forage for food. You know rats—foraging is their instinct!" Hermione raised her voice, unable to contain herself any longer. "The diary is far more important!"

Her voice carried across the common room, and Ginny Weasley, who sat not far away with her back to them, seemed to have heard the outburst. She glanced furtively over her shoulder at them, then turned back to her homework with a troubled, panicked expression.

Ron nodded sullenly, muttering resentfully under his breath, "None of you care about my rat at all."

"You must tell Dumbledore immediately, Harry. This is no joke," Hermione said firmly.

"Hermione, do you really think Dumbledore will believe me without evidence? Half the school thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin. I've heard all the rumors! No matter what I say, they'll just think I'm making excuses," Harry said, frustrated. "I'm more worried about Hagrid. Talking about the diary inevitably brings up his past. I don't want to get him involved."

"This isn't just about Hagrid anymore. If what Hagrid told me is true, then Tom Riddle is Voldemort, the diary is a trap, and the opening of the Chamber of Secrets was almost certainly You-Know-Who's doing!" Hermione said sharply.

"All right, all right. You don't have to be as intense as Draco," Harry surrendered. "I'll go find Dumbledore as soon as possible."

Only after receiving Harry's assurance was Hermione satisfied. During Potions class on Thursday afternoon, she hurried over to partner with Draco, and while grinding ingredients, she whispered the devastating news that the diary had been stolen.

"Stolen?" Draco asked suspiciously, eyeing the sopophorous bean. "The timing is awfully convenient. You were just about to hand it over to Dumbledore, and someone steals it?"

"Exactly," Hermione said. "We suspect it was someone from Gryffindor."

"How's your research on those lists progressing?" Draco asked suddenly.

"I've identified several suspects. Anthony Goldstein of Ravenclaw, Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff, Graham Montague and Theodore Nott from your house... They were all punished by Filch shortly before Mrs. Norris was attacked, they all expressed pro-pure-blood sentiments, and they all mocked or scorned Colin's hero worship to varying degrees," Hermione said carefully. "However, when we cross-reference with the diary's timeline, they're all ruled out—none of them are Gryffindors."

"What about within Gryffindor?" Draco pressed. "How many suspects are there?"

"Cormac McLaggen, a sixth-year," Hermione said, pursing her lips. "Neither Harry nor Ron like him. He's insufferably smug, constantly ordering people around in the common room and bragging about his family connections. He's been punished by Filch before, he's mocked Colin publicly, and he's very vocal about blood status hierarchies."

"Oh, I know that surname," Draco said matter-of-factly. "His uncle has considerable influence at the Ministry. People like that are usually unbearably arrogant."

"The problem is, when Mrs. Norris was attacked, he was feasting at the Gryffindor table. My roommate Lavender told me he sat directly across from her that night, ate an entire roast chicken, and even gnawed the bones clean. She said the way he did it was rather revolting, so it stuck in her memory..." Hermione carefully poured the ground ingredients into the cauldron. "I think we need to completely rethink our investigative approach."

"Are you certain you haven't overlooked anything?" Draco's mind raced. "Don't limit yourself to just the days before Mrs. Norris's attack. For example, the Weasley twins already knew Filch was a Squib. There are probably many other upperclassmen who know this as well."

"What makes you say that?" Hermione asked, startled.

Draco told her about how the twins had tricked Filch with a fabricated Kwikspell correspondence course.

"Merlin's beard! In that case, we have to reconsider everything!" Hermione exclaimed anxiously, like a cat with its hackles raised. "It could be anyone who knows Filch's secret and harbors a long-standing grudge against him! How many people at Hogwarts don't have a grudge against Filch? In Gryffindor alone, nearly everyone has been punished by him at some point! How are we supposed to investigate this?"

"At least we can eliminate you, Harry, and Ron," Draco said, looking at her as he added horned slugs to the cauldron. He allowed himself a small smile. "See? Three people ruled out just like that."

"This isn't remotely funny!" Hermione glared at him, picking up dried nettles to prepare. "I'll have to question people one by one, subtly trying to extract information! Talking to people is far more difficult than reading an entire thick book!"

"I suspect most people wouldn't agree with that assessment—plenty would find conversation easier than reading," Draco advised. "You need to learn to leverage the strengths of those around you and take a collaborative approach, rather than trying to do everything yourself. Give Harry and Ron some tasks. Let Ron focus on something besides that rat, and stop Harry from obsessing over the diary."

"That's actually sensible. I'll assign them some work. But Harry said he was going to see Professor Dumbledore, and we still haven't seen him do it," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Professor Dumbledore hasn't been at the staff table for dinner these past two evenings. Even Professor McGonagall is complaining she hasn't been able to catch him."

"Not surprising. I've heard that officials from the Ministry and the Board of Governors are visiting Dumbledore constantly. Probably because of the Chamber of Secrets," Draco said.

Even if Harry and his friends hadn't made a fuss, the old bureaucrats at the Ministry and on the Board had remembered the fifty-year-old case—someone had dug it up, pointing the finger directly at Hagrid.

Draco had received a letter from his father, Lucius. The letter explained that Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, under mounting pressure, was discussing with his staff whether to transfer Hagrid, who had a criminal record, to Azkaban for questioning.

Despite Lucius's reluctance, despite Narcissa's urging—Draco had written several letters to his mother outlining the tense situation at school and the serious consequences of the Malfoys' deep involvement with the Chamber—to remain quiet and avoid drawing attention, the other Board members were already buzzing about the tragic Petrification incidents at Hogwarts.

Someone had to be held accountable for the series of attacks at Hogwarts.

Hagrid, the powerless and insignificant gamekeeper, seemed like the perfect scapegoat to appease public outrage.

Meanwhile, the real mastermind behind the Chamber incidents—Lucius Malfoy—felt perfectly safe as long as no one traced anything back to him, and was busy being astonished that Draco somehow knew "the diary came from the Malfoy family."

Lucius had never intended to involve his son in this matter. He'd deliberately told Draco very little about it, lest his son arouse suspicion by knowing too much.

He had no idea how Draco possessed such detailed inside information.

What surprised him most was that Draco also knew the diary was connected to the Dark Lord. He hadn't told anyone this secret—not even Narcissa had known before.

"This is indeed a memento from the Dark Lord's era. As for its specific purpose, I'm not entirely certain—only that it's a dangerous Dark magical object, somewhat connected to the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts. Given the Ministry's frequent raids, I had to relocate it through certain channels. Let's not discuss this further; that's all I'll say," Lucius had written to his son.

Draco could read between the lines of his father's vague explanations. Lucius was concealing something—the diary's true nature remained a mystery even to its former keeper.

But one thing was abundantly clear: the diary was extraordinarily dangerous, and the Malfoy family needed to distance themselves from it completely.

The problem was that the diary had already vanished, stolen from Harry's dormitory by an unknown Gryffindor. Where was it now? Who had taken it? What were they planning to do with it?

These questions plagued Draco's mind during the following days.

He'd been reborn with knowledge of the future, yet that knowledge felt increasingly inadequate. He knew major events and outcomes, but the details, the process, the exact sequence—those remained frustratingly unclear.

You know the future awaits, but you don't know whether your own butterfly effect has changed the world, how much it's changed, or whether the future will arrive as you remember it.

You know that Hermione Granger was once Petrified in the corridor outside the library, but you don't know if she can escape that fate this time, if she'll emerge unharmed. As for possibilities worse than Petrification, you don't even dare consider them.

Most crucially, Draco didn't know how Harry had handled the diary in his previous life, or whether it had been stolen then. Everything was a mystery, all trial and error.

Draco knew the ending but was completely ignorant of the process. Yet he couldn't simply skip ahead to the end-of-year feast and watch Harry and Ron solve the Chamber mystery and earn two hundred points from Dumbledore.

The only good news came a few days later, when the Weasley twins appeared before Draco, beaming with triumph, carrying the drowsy rat.

Draco opened the Marauder's Map and showed it to them: Peter Pettigrew's name was indeed appearing right beside theirs, nearly overlapping their own dots.

They exchanged horrified glances and quickly secured the unfortunate rat inside a transparent glass dome that had been prepared beforehand and enchanted with protective charms.

The rat seemed oblivious to its predicament and continued sleeping soundly. Draco covered the glass dome with a black cloth.

"We gave it some Draught of Living Death—" Fred said nervously.

"During Snape's lesson—" George added.

"They say a single drop can make someone sleep for three days and nights—" Fred's eyes gleamed with mischief.

"We thought if the reinforcement charms didn't hold, this might save us some trouble." George revealed a rather vicious smile.

"Excellent," Draco said gravely. "Let's go find Professor Dumbledore."

When Draco and the Weasley twins arrived outside Professor Dumbledore's office, Harry stood at the entrance, staring helplessly at the enormous, grotesque stone gargoyle.

"I don't know the password," Harry said. "Professor McGonagall wouldn't tell me."

"Sherbet Lemon," Draco said. In his previous life, he'd overheard Harry mention this password to Hermione in the library.

The words brought the gargoyle instantly to life. The wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that began rotating slowly upward like a magical escalator.

"Together?" Draco said to Harry. "It seems you have business with Professor Dumbledore as well."

Draco suspected it concerned the diary. Harry was such a procrastinator—several days had passed already.

Harry nodded silently and stepped inside with Draco and the Weasley twins. They spiraled higher and higher until finally a gleaming oak door appeared before them.

Draco stepped forward and knocked with the griffin-shaped brass door knocker.

"Come in," called an elderly voice.

They opened the door and entered to find Professor Dumbledore seated behind a large desk in the Headmaster's office. Before him sat Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and two hooded wizards who appeared to be Aurors from the Ministry.

The Headmaster's office occupied one of Hogwarts Castle's four towers. The furnishings suggested the current Headmaster harbored a fascination with the cosmos—the shelves were crammed with antique orreries, telescopes, star charts, and various astronomical instruments, all lending the office a distinctly unique character.

Draco wasn't in the mood to admire these wondrous magical devices. He first greeted Fudge politely, and Fudge, noticing his platinum hair, smiled back warmly.

"Well, it seems we must interrupt this conversation," Professor Dumbledore said with a slight smile, stroking his waist-length silver beard. "We appear to have several uninvited young visitors. I think I'll need to change the Headmaster's password more frequently."

His intelligent blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he regarded Harry, Draco, and the Weasley twins. "What an unexpected combination of friends! Care for a Cockroach Cluster?" He gestured toward a dish on the desk.

Draco and Harry remained motionless. The Weasley twins, however, approached with considerable interest, grabbed a handful, and examined them curiously. "Cheers," they said casually to Dumbledore.

"Since you have matters to attend to, we'll take our leave—" Fudge said, rising to depart.

"Wait a moment," Draco said suddenly. "Actually, Minister, I'd very much appreciate your presence to witness this rather remarkable moment."

Fudge looked at him quizzically, frowned, and sat back down.

"This may seem an unusual request, but I'd like everyone present to have their wands ready," Draco said, stepping forward. He placed the glass case containing the rat on the floor and pulled back the black cloth. "Minister, I'd like to ask you to have someone cast a Human-Presence-Revealing Spell on this rat."

The rat continued sleeping peacefully in its enclosure, completely unaware of its impending exposure. Harry whispered in surprise behind him, "That's Ron's—" but the Weasley twins, who stood nearby munching sweets, covered his mouth and tossed in several Cockroach Clusters.

"I don't recall the Ministry registering any Animagi in rat form," Fudge said, sounding affronted, as Harry choked and coughed. "This is preposterous."

"Yes, I suspect this is an unregistered Animagus—and an extremely dangerous one," Draco said calmly.

"My boy, even though Lucius and I are on friendly terms, this is incredibly presumptuous! To barge into the Headmaster's office and accuse some ordinary rat of being an Animagus!" Fudge's face flushed. "First the Chamber of Secrets, now this absolute nonsense... Dumbledore, I'm beginning to question your ability to manage this school..."

Dumbledore ignored Fudge's complaints and grumbling, simply looking at Draco, trying to ascertain whether he was serious.

Draco stood expressionless, eyes lowered, accepting Dumbledore's scrutiny without flinching.

"Fudge, I see no harm in honoring the student's request," Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Malfoy, if you would."

Draco carefully removed the unconscious rat from the glass case and placed it on the floor. Then he stepped back several paces, gripping his wand tightly, prepared for anything.

Dumbledore emerged from behind his desk, raised his Elder Wand, and deftly cast the spell upon the rat.

A flash of blue light erupted, and several gasps rippled through the office. Fudge's voice was the loudest.

Like time-lapse footage of a plant growing, the rat rapidly sprouted a human head, and moments later, limbs emerged as well.

The two Aurors immediately lunged forward and pressed down firmly on the still-sleeping figure.

He was a short, balding man with thinning hair and a large bald spot on his crown. His face was lined and wrinkled, his skin grimy, and he bore an unfortunate resemblance to a rat.

It was Peter Pettigrew.