"Loss of appetite…" The clerk looked down, peering over her glasses at the enormous rat. "Well, let's have a look then."
An owl with a fierce countenance swooped over, landing on a large cage atop the counter. Inside, a group of glossy, sleek, and proudly preened black rats squirmed. The owl's bright eyes darted between the black rats and the fat rodent on the counter, and it lowered its head with interest.
"Shoo! Not you and your appetite!" the clerk waved impatiently at the owl. "Liss, please add some owl feed to the trough. My apologies, sir. Let's look at your rat. What's this, a cat bite?"
"Yes," Anthony said, leaning with the clerk to examine the small, healed white scar on Scabbers' belly. Beside them, the black rats chittered, shoving their noses through the cage's iron bars to peer at the rat lying on its back.
The clerk nodded, flipped Scabbers over, and stared at its sparse fur.
"And is it exceptionally lethargic?"
"Definitely," Anthony confirmed. During his stay at the Burrow, he often heard Ron and the Weasley twins arguing about Scabbers and Errol. Fred and George's favorite point was that Scabbers was "fat and lazy, only eats, drinks, and sleeps."
The clerk gave Scabbers' tail a squeeze. "How old is it?" she asked Anthony.
"I'm not sure," Anthony said. "I'd guess at least three?"
"For a rat like this, three years is already a good run," the clerk told him. "Does it eat nuts normally?"
"Uh… I don't know," Anthony tried to recall life at the Burrow. "I think it sometimes ate the peanut crumbs on peanut butter biscuits."
"When was its last mating season?"
Anthony hesitated. "I don't know."
"Does it gnaw a lot?"
"I don't know…"
The clerk's gaze flicked between Scabbers and Anthony's face.
"Did you find it in a rubbish bin?"
"No," Anthony said seriously. "It's my friend's family pet."
"Oh, my apologies," the clerk said. "Of course not. But we do get customers who try to pull our leg for fun sometimes." As an apology, she perched an even thicker pair of glasses on her nose and lifted Scabbers right up to her face for a close inspection.
She frowned and hummed meaningfully a few times.
"What happened to its left ear?" she asked.
Anthony studied the spot her finger indicated, surprised to realize Scabbers' left ear was torn.
Probably anticipating another "I don't know," the clerk clicked her tongue, bent down to rummage under the counter for a bit, straightened up empty-handed, and called out loudly, "Liss! Please fetch some Rat Tonic from the storeroom!"
"Right away!" Liss called back from behind several rows of magical rabbits and cats.
"One moment, sir," the clerk said, continuing to scrutinize Scabbers. "And its front paw. Look, it's missing a toe here." She shook her head. "This rat's seen some hardship. It's a wonder it's lived this long."
Anthony felt compelled to defend the Weasleys. "Its owner treats it very well. I believe these injuries must have happened before it came to my friend's home."
"I'm sure, sir," the clerk muttered, squeezing Scabbers' round, soft body. "Truth be told, we do have a potion that can repair pet limbs. It's a tad pricey, but it can make your beloved pet—or your friend's—whole again. Interested?"
"How pricey?" Anthony asked.
"Four Galleons, five Sickles," the clerk said, then pointed to the black rats nearby. "Or you could consider getting your friend a new rat. They know some fun little tricks, and they're cheaper. Only nine Sickles."
Anthony looked over. The black rats immediately propped up their tails and hopped about, diligently showing off.
"Thank you, but I don't think its owner wants a replacement," Anthony said. "They're quite attached. To what extent can the potion you mentioned repair things?" He eyed Scabbers. "Does lost fur count as a limb?"
"It doesn't," the clerk said. "But unless the damage was from Dark magic, I guarantee you'll take home a rat with a perfect ear and a whole front paw. Look at this paw—for a rat, the front paws are much more important than the back… Oh! Goodness, you startled me. The Rat Tonic? What are you standing there for, Liss?"
Anthony looked up to see the employee named Liss staring at Scabbers, his face twitching strangely. His gaze was intensely odd, but he slowly handed the small red bottle of Rat Tonic to the slightly impatient clerk.
Anthony glanced at him and looked away. The wizarding world always had its odd ones. He was getting used to it.
"Ten drops every three hours, or three drops every hour," the clerk said. "Three Sickles, seven Knuts."
"Perfect, thank you," Anthony said, counting out the coins from his purse and handing them over. "Could you seal it well? The journey back is a bit bumpy."
"No problem," the clerk said, deftly wrapping extra tape around the bottle and even tying it into a bow.
Anthony nodded and smiled at her, took the bottle, and reached to scoop up Scabbers.
A hand suddenly clamped around his wrist. Liss held Anthony tightly, smiling calmly. "Might I know the rat's name, sir?"
The clerk cried, "Liss Lambert! What are you doing?"
Anthony stared at Liss, startled.
"Scabbers," he said. "He's called Scabbers."
Liss repeated, "Scabbers." He looked down at Ron's rat. Scabbers seemed oblivious to his gaze, contentedly munching on the peanuts the clerk had given him. Anthony studied Liss.
Liss released Anthony's wrist. "My apologies, sir." He offered no further explanation, just gave Anthony an apologetic nod, then directed brooms and rags to resume cleaning the pet shop.
Baffled, Anthony left amid the clerk's continued apologies. In his pocket, Scabbers comfortably hugged a large handful of peanuts.
…
Maybe it was his imagination, but after leaving Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Anthony kept feeling like someone was following him. He turned around, scanning the area, but found no clue.
He wandered into Flourish and Blotts. As Daniel had said, a massive cleanup was underway. The shop was a chaotic mess, impossible to navigate, and everyone was too busy to pay him any mind.
"Why has the big cleanup been moved up so early this year?" Anthony asked, standing on a ladder to avoid a broom vigorously sweeping under the bookshelves.
Daniel looked around, leaned closer to Anthony, and whispered resentfully, "It's the Ministry… Pushing through that Muggle Protection Act has thrown the whole of Diagon Alley into chaos. Knockturn Alley dumps its rubbish everywhere, and they don't care. They only interrogate legitimate shops like ours… Last month…"
"Daniel! The procurement ledger!" someone shouted from the other end of the shop. "Found another banned Dark Arts book!"
Daniel cursed under his breath and shrugged at Anthony. "You see, Henry, no time to entertain you right now. Ugh, I hate dealing with this Dark Arts stuff…"
"I have a suggestion," Anthony said, gripping the ladder as a few copies of Quidditch Through the Ages whizzed past his head. "If you agree, I think Hogwarts' Restricted Section would be happy to take them. For anything too dangerous, the professors' private collections are, as I understand, rather formidable."
Daniel's eyes lit up. "Right! Brilliant, Henry. If you could contact the Hogwarts Library for us…"
"I'll write," Anthony nodded, pleased at the prospect of more research material.
…
After leaving Flourish and Blotts, Anthony wandered Diagon Alley for a bit longer. He chatted with Tom at the Leaky Cauldron and bought a bottle of brandy for Hagrid. Finally, he left the pub, intending to buy some proper Muggle white wine for his cat, not the watered-down stuff they served.
Anthony mentally tallied the pounds in his wallet, considering how many bottles to buy.
He stopped abruptly. That feeling of being watched was back.
This was a quiet alley, backing onto the rear courtyards of two pubs. Both stood silent in the daylight, their doors shut.
Anthony could only faintly hear the traffic and chatter from Charing Cross Road. If he listened very carefully, music seemed to drift from a record shop, but the November wind quickly tore the melody apart.
Past this quiet lane, he would reach a massive supermarket that never ceased to amaze him. People would drive their cars and carry home crate after crate of goods.
Anthony turned to face the empty air. "If you want to do something, this is the perfect spot."
Silence.
A plastic bag trembled slightly in the wind at the base of a wall, snagged on broken bricks. Empty beer bottles rolled on the ground, clinking.
"I mean no harm, sir."
A man stepped from the shadows, still wearing wizard's robes. Both his hands were raised. He held them in an awkward but practiced way, showing Anthony the wand still tucked in his pocket.
"Mr. Liss?" Anthony asked, not entirely surprised.
"My surname is Lambert," Liss corrected, still smiling. He seemed not to have expected Anthony to realize he was being followed so quickly.
Anthony sighed. "What do you want, Mr. Lambert?"
"I know this is strange," Liss said. "I must be mad. Sir, may I know your name?"
Anthony watched him, silent. At least eight different ways to curse someone using just their name flashed through his mind. Each implied the other might be an Azkaban escapee.
He studied Liss carefully and suddenly noticed a worn leather suitcase by his feet. Anthony raised an eyebrow. From the novels he'd read, if "following" and "suitcase" appeared in the same chapter, they usually meant "confidential documents," "money," or "weapons."
"Oh, that," Liss glanced at the case. "My luggage. I was dismissed."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Anthony said. "But, Mr. Lambert, I still don't understand what you want."
Liss took a step forward.
"I want an answer," he said softly. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just so confused…"
"Sorry, what?"
"The rat," Liss took a few more steps closer, his voice a whisper, as if afraid to wake something. "The rat, sir. Could I trouble you for one more look?"
Anthony gaped at him. Liss's hands were still raised high, his eyes full of earnest pleading. Scabbers was fast asleep in Anthony's pocket, emitting tiny snores.
"Sorry, I'm afraid I can't," Anthony said. "I promised to return the rat safely."
"I just need to see it," Liss said. "See him. It's very important to me, sir."
He sounded utterly unhinged. Anthony looked at him, then at his suitcase. In a flash, a thought struck him.
"You killed that clerk!" he said incredulously. "You killed Lawton, the clerk from the pet shop!"
Liss's eyes widened in shock.
"I did not!"
"That's Lawton's case," Anthony said with absolute certainty, eyeing Liss warily. "There's still owl droppings on it." He subtly held his breath, sensing the many rat and fox corpses along this street.
"That's not—I am Lawton, sir," Liss said, suddenly adopting a pained expression. "I'm Lawton."
A chill ran down Anthony's spine. He was facing someone who kept changing identities, and this person was relentlessly pursuing him over Ron's rat. From any angle, this was bizarre.
"If you just want to see it, I can send you a photograph," Anthony offered.
"It's not the same, sir," Liss (or Lawton) said.
Just then, Scabbers woke up. Clutching a peanut, it poked its head out of Anthony's pocket.
The next moment, an unbearably complex expression flashed across Liss's face. Anthony protectively covered his pocket, but Liss had already lunged, slamming Anthony to the ground. One of Liss's hands pressed hard against Anthony's pocket, the other yanked out his wand.
Scabbers shrieked in terror, peanuts scattering everywhere.
"Hello, old friend. Bet you don't recognize me?" Liss said gently, his wand pressed directly against the rat's throat. "I'm astonished… You probably didn't realize you hold things differently from other rats, did you, Scabbers—Peter?"
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