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Harry wasn't entirely sure that this rat was still Ron's pet in this world. To be honest, his initial thoughts of "revenge" weren't that intense; at least, not until Voldemort had laid everything out. Before that, Harry hadn't gone out of his way to search for the rat.
Ron wouldn't parade this "pet" around, after all. A chubby, plain gray house rat wasn't exactly something to show off. Kids his age cared a lot about their image; a rat would only make him look foolish rather than boost his reputation.
In the few times Harry had met with Ron, he hadn't seen any sign of the rat.
"You think Peter Pettigrew isn't dead?" Dumbledore asked, frowning slightly. In his mind, Peter Pettigrew was killed by Black. Before Voldemort revealed the truth, Dumbledore also believed that Sirius Black was both the Secret-Keeper and the traitor. The fact that James had switched the Secret-Keeper without telling anyone was kept extremely private.
"Black blew up an entire street, and Pettigrew was blasted to bits. At the scene, the only thing they found was a severed finger."
"Isn't that suspicious enough?"
Stereotypes can be deadly. More than that, at the time, Dumbledore hadn't paid much attention to the incident. The Ministry quickly imprisoned Sirius in Azkaban, even without a formal trial, closing the case in haste. Thinking the matter had been settled, Dumbledore ignored it without further investigation.
"Professor Grindelwald, could you possibly predict his location?"
To be honest, asking Dumbledore for help was more about Harry wanting Grindelwald's assistance. Grindelwald, who had once been Zorro, could predict Voldemort's whereabouts, so it shouldn't be difficult to locate Peter Pettigrew, right?
"I'm sorry. I can't."
Grindelwald shook his head. "Yes, I'm indeed a Seer, perhaps the finest of this era, but fate, you see, doesn't take orders."
"The visions I receive usually concern matters closely connected to me, such as when the Muggles invented the atomic bomb. That invention changed my view of Muggles or situations involving people I hold dear."
"I could make predictions about you because I acknowledge you, and Albus played a part in that. When I mentioned being able to locate Voldemort, I added a caveat: if I were to be the one facing Voldemort. Establishing some kind of causal relationship brought him into my list of visions."
"As one blessed by the deity of fate, I gained the ability to glimpse it, but the god of fate doesn't sleep beside me. I can't whisper to it."
"What about Trelawney?"
"I must admit, that mediocre prophet does possess something unique. However, her prophecy concerning Voldemort had a slight connection to him as well. Voldemort had impacted most people in England at the time, and Trelawney was among those intimidated by him."
"Cassandra Trelawney, regarded as a legendary prophet, enjoyed the gods' favor far more than I. It's said she could predict for someone once a month. I don't reach her level. Sybill Trelawney may truly have inherited a fraction of Cassandra's gift."
Although claiming to be the greatest Seer of his time, Grindelwald wasn't blinded by arrogance. He was merely stating the facts.
"Is that so?"
Harry was a bit disappointed but found it understandable. Prophecy, as a power, was an external aid, and if it had no limitations, that would be terrifying—especially with it in Grindelwald's hands. If he were indeed like Cassandra Trelawney, half of Europe and North America might already be united under his rule.
Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Professor Dumbledore, could you tell me the Gryffindor password?"
"What are you thinking?" Dumbledore, sensing there was more to Harry's question, raised an eyebrow. It seemed like he had caught onto something, yet he couldn't quite grasp it.
"Ron Weasley… Professor Grindelwald told me he might have been influenced by a Confundus Charm, leading him to grab the scapegoat."
"My intuition tells me something's off here."
"Even after Voldemort returned to Hogwarts, he still had a pawn left to manipulate Percy Weasley. Although that pawn was a fool who committed a thoroughly foolish act, it's an undeniable fact that Voldemort's influence has already reached Hogwarts, hasn't it?"
"And the one who did all this for Voldemort—could he still be at Hogwarts?"
"A student?"
"Not necessarily. Peter Pettigrew is an Animagus—he can transform into an inconspicuous rat."
"Toads with four legs are everywhere, but a rat with four fingers is much rarer, especially one missing an index finger."
"No one would notice a rat sneaking into Hogwarts, right?"
Dumbledore didn't know the current Gryffindor password. He had been teaching Transfiguration at Durmstrang for years, and before Professor McGonagall, he had been Hogwarts' Transfiguration teacher. Naturally, far away as he was, he didn't know what the current password for Gryffindor was.
They left the underground chamber, and Fawkes's fiery transport brought them to Professor McGonagall's office door.
"Who's there?"
A puzzled voice called from behind the door, and Professor McGonagall, dressed in her nightclothes, opened the door.
"Albus? What brings you back so suddenly?"
Professor McGonagall looked at him with a slight hint of surprise, frowning in confusion. Dumbledore had told her he'd be back for the year-end feast a week later, so his return was both unexpected and late.
"To handle some unforeseen matters."
"Are you referring to Potter?"
Professor McGonagall frowned slightly. In her mind, Harry was a diligent, hardworking student, and it was a shame he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor.
"A few things, yes. But could you tell me the Gryffindor password?"
"All right, the password is 'griffin.' Do you need me to accompany you?"
"No need, Minerva, it's just a small matter. I hope not to disturb the students; they have exams tomorrow."
"If you say so." McGonagall pursed her lips and nodded slightly.
With Fawkes's help, they arrived at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady in the portrait was already dozing, her snoring as grating as her singing. For some reason, even portraits needed sleep, and, apparently, they could snore.
The Fat Lady was not particularly pleased about being disturbed. However, upon seeing Dumbledore, she sighed and opened the door. Even the headmaster had to give the password—it was tradition, an unbreakable rule.
It was already midnight, and all the young wizards had gone to bed to rest up for tomorrow's exams. Some last-minute cramming might have occurred, but Gryffindors, with their typically easy-going nature, tended to face grim realities head-on rather than work overtime. That is, unless they were staying up for a game of Exploding Snap.
The dormitory door had a small brass plaque listing each room's occupants. Before long, they located Ron's dormitory. Dumbledore gripped his wand, and with a faint click, cast a perfect, silent spell, leaving no trace of his magic.
The door swung open without a sound, and familiar snores reached their ears. Behind red curtains on the four-poster beds, the shapes of four sleeping figures were dimly visible.
(End of Chapter)