After the Care of Magical Creatures class ended and the other students had left, Harry and Hermione stayed behind to help Hagrid clean up the scattered chunks of meat and empty metal buckets.
Hagrid looked longingly at Humphrey. "Tomorrow's lesson's with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—think I should bring Humphrey out again?"
"No, Hagrid."
Hermione cut him off almost instantly, her tone leaving no room for discussion.
"You saw what happened today. The runespoor's far too unusual—most people associate them with dark wizards."
"That's prejudice!" Hagrid bellowed, standing up so fast that his chair creaked. "Why should people call it evil? I'll show everyone—"
"All right, all right, calm down, both of you."
Harry stepped between them, rubbing his temples. On one side stood Hagrid, stubborn as ever; on the other, Hermione, reasoning with unwavering logic. The scene reminded him all too well of their old argument over "Norberta's thesis."
Hermione took a deep breath and softened her tone. "Hagrid, I'm not saying your teaching philosophy is bad—it's just not right for younger students. Think about it: flobberworms are harmless. Everyone can touch them, no danger at all. Isn't that what Care of Magical Creatures should be like?"
Hagrid's shoulders slumped. He mumbled, "What's the point of flobberworms anyway… they just eat and sleep…"
But seeing Hermione's earnest face and Harry's exasperated look, he finally sighed and gave in, though clearly unwillingly. "Fine… we'll do flobberworms."
Harry could tell from Hagrid's sulky expression that this was only temporary. With his passion for magical creatures, Hagrid would probably be trying to sneak acromantulas into class by next week.
Humphrey yawned from where he lay coiled around Harry's shoulders, clearly uninterested in the discussion and ready to nap again.
As Harry left, he could still hear Hagrid muttering under his breath, "Next time, I'll let 'em see Norberta for real…"
Good thing Hermione hadn't heard that.
---
Harry soon had bigger worries—Quidditch season was fast approaching.
Oliver Wood had gone completely mad, driving the team harder than ever. After every class, he dragged them to the pitch, keeping them there until the sky turned black. He called it "refining team coordination."
As Seeker, Harry couldn't see why he had to take part in all the tactical drills. His job was to spot the Snitch, not to rehearse chaser formations. But Wood insisted he join in, even making him play the part of a Slytherin chaser and try to steal the Quaffle from Ginny.
"Harry, it's about team spirit," Fred said solemnly during a break—though the mischievous twitch in his eyebrow ruined the effect. "We're one team. We suffer together."
"Exactly," George added, twirling his Beater's bat. "Just think—when we beat Slytherin, it'll be glorious. Sweat now, shine later."
Harry shot them a look; he could see right through them. They just didn't want him lounging by the fire in the common room while they froze in the rain.
Before he could retort, Wood's voice exploded across the pitch like a cannon blast: "What are you doing?! Again! From the top! We're running out of time!"
---
Halloween was nearing, which meant the first Hogsmeade weekend was almost here.
While everyone else was in the Great Hall turning in their permission slips, Harry and the team were still being held hostage on the Quidditch pitch.
By the time training finally ended, Harry's legs felt like lead as he trudged back toward Gryffindor Tower.
But as he rounded the staircase corner, he saw a huge crowd packed around the Fat Lady's portrait, the noise echoing down the corridor.
Standing on tiptoe, he could only glimpse heads and shoulders—and Peeves floating overhead, cackling, "The Fat Lady's gone! Gryffindors'll be sleeping in the halls tonight!"
Harry grabbed a younger student who was craning her neck. "What's going on? Why's everyone here?"
The girl turned, blushing as she recognized him. "It's the Fat Lady's portrait… someone destroyed it! She's gone, and we can't get into the common room!"
Harry's heart skipped a beat. He immediately looked toward Fred and George.
When something went wrong, the Weasley twins were always suspect number one.
Apparently, Percy Weasley thought so too. He pushed his way through the crowd, the Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest, and confronted the twins with an interrogator's glare.
"Tell the truth now. Did you two damage the portrait? I've warned you countless times—no prank items in the corridors!"
"We're innocent, Your Highness of Prefects!" Fred raised his hands dramatically. "We were on the pitch training till dark—whole team can vouch for us!"
"Yeah," George added, winking at Harry. "Besides, we only prank people, not paintings. We have the utmost respect for the Fat Lady."
Percy didn't look convinced but had no proof, so he huffed, "You'd better be telling the truth, or I'll report you to Professor McGonagall."
---
"What's going on here?" Hermione's voice came from behind. She was clutching a few books, fresh from the library, and stopped short at the sight of the crowd.
Harry explained quickly, "The Fat Lady's portrait was attacked. No one can get in, and Peeves says she ran off."
Before Hermione could reply, Professor McGonagall appeared at the far end of the corridor.
The moment she stepped into view, the noise died as if a Silencing Charm had been cast. Students parted to form a path.
Harry squeezed forward and finally saw the damage for himself—the portrait was slashed open from top to bottom, the canvas torn to reveal the rough stone wall behind it.
"Merlin's beard…" McGonagall breathed, touching the ragged edges of the canvas. Her face was grim.
Without hesitation, she raised her wand. A silver cat Patronus leapt from the tip and streaked silently down the corridor.
Someone whispered nervously, "Could it be Sirius Black? The Dementors came here to catch him, didn't they?"
That single name spread through the crowd like wildfire.
McGonagall spun sharply, her voice cutting through the whispers. "No speculation until we know the facts!"
Then, in a calmer tone: "Everyone stay calm. Professor Dumbledore will be here shortly to handle the matter."
But Harry's heart was pounding.
Sirius Black—breaking into Gryffindor Tower? He couldn't have come for Harry; after all these years, he'd never tried to contact Dumbledore. That left only one explanation: there was something—or someone—inside the tower he wanted.
Peter Pettigrew.
He must be hiding somewhere nearby—or had left some clue behind.
Harry's hand instinctively closed around his wand.
Hermione shot him a worried glance.
Moments later, Dumbledore arrived. Peeves, usually a whirlwind of chaos, immediately fell silent and floated down to report what he'd seen: Sirius Black had tried to force his way in with a knife; when the Fat Lady refused, he'd slashed the portrait in fury.
Dumbledore listened without interruption.
When Peeves finished, Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, please gather all students in the Great Hall. They'll sleep there tonight. Also, alert Severus…"
He hesitated briefly before continuing, "And Filius and Pomona. We'll conduct a full search of the castle."
"Of course, Albus," McGonagall said briskly and hurried off.
Harry stayed still, forcing himself to calm down. If Pettigrew had left any trace, it would surely be gone after this uproar.
The search went on all night. Professors and prefects scoured every inch of the castle—from inside suits of armor to the spaces above the ceilings—even the house-elf kitchens.
Just as Harry expected, they found nothing.
When Snape finally arrived, his first act was to glare daggers at Lupin, who had entered the Great Hall at the same time.
Dumbledore silenced the tension with a single warning look before leaving to deal with the Dementors outside.
---
The next morning, the Gryffindor common room was thick with unease. Students huddled together, whispering about the attack.
Hermione brought over two steaming mugs of cocoa and handed one to Harry.
"Try not to dwell on Black," she said softly. "It's a nice day—maybe we could go to Hogsmeade—" She stopped mid-sentence, realizing her mistake. Dumbledore had forbidden Harry from leaving the castle.
Harry was about to tell her it was fine when the portrait hole burst open and Ron stormed in, red-eyed and furious.
"Scabbers is gone!" he shouted.
Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks.
Ron's pet missing hardly seemed reason for such outrage—until he jabbed a finger toward Hermione.
"There was cat fur in my dormitory! Everyone knows Crookshanks hangs around here all the time—it has to be him!"
Hermione went pale. The mug in her hand nearly slipped.
Harry stepped forward instinctively, placing himself between them. His voice turned cold as steel. "Weasley, you have proof? A few stray hairs? Keep this up and you'll regret it."
"Go ahead!" Ron roared. "Hex me like you hexed Malfoy! I'm not scared of you, Potter—I'm not some Slytherin coward!"
The air went tense and still. Harry's hand was already in his pocket, fingers brushing his wand.
Then Hermione's hand closed gently around his wrist. She shook her head.
Facing Ron, her voice trembled slightly but stayed steady. "Ron, Crookshanks didn't do it. He only eats the fish I give him—he's never gone after a mouse. A few hairs don't prove anything. There are other cats in Gryffindor Tower. You don't have any evidence."
Harry added coolly, "Even if it was him, I'll pay you back—one hundred Galleons enough?"
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
A hundred Galleons—that was enough for the newest model of a Nimbus broom, with plenty left over.
Several students stared wide-eyed, clearly stunned.
"Ron," Neville piped up timidly, "Hermione's right. Maybe Scabbers is just hiding. My frog Trevor vanished for three days once—turned up under my cauldron."
Ron's face turned an angry shade of purple. He glanced between Harry's icy expression and Hermione's taut one, then stamped his foot. "Fine! But if I find proof, don't think I'll let this go!"
He shoved through the crowd and stormed out.
Once he was gone, Hermione sagged with exhaustion, letting out a shaky sigh. She didn't have much confidence herself—Crookshanks was still a cat, and she couldn't be entirely sure.
"Thanks, Harry," she murmured with a tired smile, finishing her cocoa in one gulp. "I'd better go find Crookshanks and make sure."
Harry offered to go with her, but she refused. "You stay. You've had enough Quidditch training for one week."
After she left, Fred and George appeared silently, like a pair of mischievous ghosts.
"Sorry about Ron," Fred said, clapping Harry's shoulder. "He's just overprotective. Scabbers has been with him for years—it's like losing family."
George handed him a piece of candy. "Don't take it to heart. Oh, and by the way—remember that witch statue on the fourth-floor corridor?"
Harry nodded. The twins had once mentioned it led to the Honeydukes cellar.
Fred lowered his voice, eyes glinting. "We checked this morning—it's still open."
George grinned. "Hermione's first time going to Hogsmeade, right? You can't miss it."
Looking at their matching smirks, Harry felt the last of his frustration melt away.