Blake's knife moved swiftly, expertly.
Ron and Harry watched, awestruck.
"He's really a magizoologist!" Ron whispered.
"He even tricked a mouse!"
"The operation was a success!" Blake cheerfully announced as he cleaned up.
Banban—Peter Pettigrew in Animagus form—opened his teary rat eyes, staring at the devil who'd mutilated him.
"Congratulations, Banban. You're a girl now."
"Squeak…" Peter fainted on the spot.
"Um… what's going on?" Ron asked nervously.
"Don't worry. The anesthesia hasn't worn off yet," Blake said as he stopped the bleeding with unfamiliar spells that neither Ron nor Harry recognized.
"Alright, I promise—Banban will be incredibly docile from now on."
Blake handed Scabbers back to Ron. The rat was healed but visibly missing a part.
Ron gently took Banban and reached for his pocket when Blake pulled out a small vial filled with tiny pills.
"Give it one a day, like candy," Blake instructed. "It's an antidepressant I developed for animals."
"You see, a lot of the creatures I care for were rescued from smugglers. Some had been caged for years. They were deeply traumatized when we got them, so I give them this to help."
Ron blinked, staring at the vial in disbelief.
Medicine? Did that mean he didn't need surgery at all?
But he said nothing. It was too late to ask now.
"Well, it's 9:70 now—you can give it one," Blake added.
"But it's still unconscious," Ron pointed out.
"No problem. The pill melts in the mouth. Otherwise, how would you get magical beasts to take their meds?"
Ron nodded, poured out a pill, and gently placed it in Banban's mouth. Sure enough, it dissolved instantly. Even in his sleep, the rat swallowed it.
Harry opened the door, letting in a rush of chatter. More students were returning to the compartment.
"Is it done?" Harry asked.
"Yeah. It's sleeping—Oh! It's awake!"
Peter Pettigrew slowly opened his eyes, head spinning.
"Who am I? Where am I? What just happened?" he muttered, dazed. Then everything came back to him. Panic surged.
He felt the void between his legs.
"No!" he screamed internally, trying to leap from Ron's hand.
But his limbs betrayed him—no strength, no control.
To Ron, though, Banban simply looked… calmer.
He had expected Scabbers to wake up enraged—thrashing, maybe even biting like before. But now…
Banban looked energetic but moved delicately, as though afraid of hurting himself.
"Scabbers is so much calmer! Blake, you're amazing!" Ron exclaimed.
"Just doing my job," Blake said humbly.
After all, Peter had succumbed to the spell and the pill. If he still had the strength to escape, Blake would've failed.
Peter trembled with fury.
"Docile?! I'll docile you! I'll—wait…"
Suddenly, terror replaced anger.
His Animagus magic wasn't working.
He couldn't change back!
Impossible! Has that wizard figured me out? But if Blake knew his secret, why hadn't he told anyone?
Pull it together, Peter! It's just a fluke!
Ron slipped Banban back into his pocket and happily resumed eating. With his pet's "recovery," his appetite had returned.
Blake, watching, cringed in silent disgust. The same hand that held a rat now clutched a pie.
Gross.
But just as he silently cursed Ron's hygiene, Blake noticed Hermione and Cassandra looking at him with equally disgusted expressions.
"Eh? What's wrong with you two?"
"Did you wash your hands?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm wearing gloves…"
"You—sit over there!" Cassandra ordered, pushing him toward the window seat.
Now deprived of his spot between the girls, Blake looked dejected—especially as Cassandra nudged Hermione toward her and sat at the edge herself.
Damn it. They really think I'm dirty…
Still, Hermione didn't seem as upset. Blake seized the opportunity and scooted closer.
"Hermione, do you like cats?"
She nodded.
Blake smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a ginger cat with a hilariously squashed face.
"This cat's part Kneazle. I bought it in Diagon Alley. I'm giving it to you."
Hermione's eyes lit up despite the cat's odd looks.
"Thank you, Blake! Does it have a name?"
"No. You choose."
"Then… Crookshanks!"
"Perfect," Blake grinned.
Hermione beamed, cuddling her odd-looking new pet. Blake, pleased, resumed sitting beside her without objection.
Across from them, Cassandra watched hopefully. Hermione had gotten a gift—even if it looked like it'd been hit with a frying pan.
Didn't that mean she should get something too?
She stared at Blake, hinting with increasingly exaggerated glances.
Blake ignored her completely.
Humph! You pushed me away and now expect a gift? he thought smugly.
Cassandra scowled, then slyly reached behind Hermione to tug Blake's robe—pleading silently.
Still nothing.
She let go with a huff and turned away.
Blake sipped tea from his thermos, chuckling inside. But the cup felt strangely cold.
He paused. The tea wasn't just cooling—it was freezing.
He looked outside.
The train had stopped, and a thick mist had settled in.
His expression hardened.
"Hiss… why is it so cold?" Cassandra murmured, pulling her robes tighter.
Blake set down the teacup and summoned his wand.
Only one kind of creature could bring such cold.
A gust of wind blew in from the slightly ajar carriage door.
Then a skeletal, grey hand gripped the doorframe.