Scabbers thrashed wildly. Sitting on the ground, Anthony yanked his own wand free. He leveled it at Rees. "Step back, Mr. Lambert."
Rees froze, his gaze dropping to the wand pointed at his chest.
"I mean you no harm, sir," Rees said, his fingers still clamped around Anthony's pocket.
Scabbers let out another, more desperate shriek.
"Let it go!" Anthony demanded, eyes locked on Rees's.
Rees took a sharp breath. "Look, I haven't even used a disarming charm." Anthony's wand twitched higher. "I can explain—this isn't a rat, sir, it's an Animagus—"
Scabbers finally wrenched its head around and sank its teeth into Rees's hand. Blood welled up instantly. Rees hissed, a flicker of real pain crossing his face for the first time.
"I was wondering…" Rees murmured, his fingers tightening convulsively. "I had so many questions, Peter. Why didn't you come to me? Why are you still alive? But it seems I don't need to ask… You switched sides, didn't you?" His voice was terrifyingly level, eyes burning.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Mr. Lambert. This is no Animagus," Anthony said, slowly pressing his wand tip against Rees's chest. "Please release it, or its owner will be devastated."
At that moment, Scabbers gave one final, violent wrench. With a sharp rip of fabric, the plump rat tore free from Rees's tightening grasp. It tumbled to the ground, scrambled up, and darted over empty cans, hugging the grimy wall as it fled.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Rees slashed his wand. "Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy—Diffindo!"
Spells shot past Scabbers, missing by inches. They slammed into the ground and wall, kicking up clouds of dust and debris. The rat ran faster, nimbly dodging falling brick chips, skirting a cracked, yellowed rubber pipe, bolting for the busy street ahead—
Its path was suddenly blocked by a tangle of twitching, lurching rat corpses. Some were poison-swollen, fur intact. Others were gutted, torn in half by some predator.
Scabbers squealed. It kicked off the ground, leaping over a corpse. Its hind leg snagged in the jaws of another dead rat. It didn't stop. It dragged the thing along, scraping against the rough wall as it ran.
Snap. The corpse—its neck already half-severed—lost its head entirely. The headless body flopped to the ground, got up, and spun in dazed circles. The severed head remained clamped on Scabbers's leg, teeth buried in loose skin and fat, swinging wildly with each frantic step.
A sudden, silent wind seemed to blow through the alley. More tiny bones rattled through the air, click-clacking together into ragged, skeletal rat-shapes. They surged toward the fleeing rat. A moment later, amidst Scabbers's despairing shrieks, the bone-rats delivered the overweight rodent into Anthony's waiting hand.
"Can't have you running off," Anthony muttered, standing up. He carefully pried the severed rat head from Scabbers's leg and tossed it aside. "Mr. Weasley is waiting."
Nearby, Rees was pinned to the ground by several fox corpses—their bodies sliced into segments by spells, bound together by ropes that had snaked from nowhere, already lifting them into the air. But the moment he saw Anthony catch Scabbers, Rees went still.
His throat was exposed beneath the snapping jaws of a dead fox. He didn't seem to care.
"Give him to me!" The words held an edge of raw, unconscious pleading. "Please, sir, listen. I need—I must—"
A scream cut him off.
Both Anthony and Rees turned toward the sound.
A girl stood at the mouth of the alley, dressed in trendy clothes, a tattooed hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes were wide. Her panicked gaze swept over the scurrying rat corpses, the dismembered but still-moving foxes, the scattered bones at Anthony's feet, then to Rees in his faded robes, wand in hand.
Finally, her eyes met Anthony's. Pure terror. She took a shaky step back.
"I didn't see anything…" she whispered. Then, louder, "I didn't see anything!" She whirled and sprinted, shrieking, "Help! Someone help! The alley—"
In the next second, Rees's wand was pointing at the girl's retreating back. Anthony's stomach dropped.
"No!" he snarled, lunging. The fox corpses pounced. Anthony slammed into Rees.
Simultaneously, a wave of Dread washed over Rees, choking his breath. Scabbers went limp in Anthony's grip, eyes rolling back.
Anthony forced Rees's wand arm down, shoving the man sideways. The spell finally reached his ears: "Stu—"
Rees's head cracked against a beer bottle in the corner.
His gaze remained locked on the rat clutched in Anthony's hand. His lips moved soundlessly. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped, unconscious.
Anthony looked down at him for a long moment before standing up.
In this bone-littered, filth-strewn alley, he was surrounded by dust and death. At his feet lay Rees—bruised, battered, covered in grime. In his hand was Scabbers, now bearing fresh wounds. A terrified teenager was screaming somewhere nearby. The shattered vial of Rat Tonic in his pocket dripped its contents down his leg.
"Well…" Anthony said. "Shit."
"Merlin's beard!" Professor McGonagall gasped, staring at the man on Anthony's bed. "What on earth happened?"
The cat glanced at her, stretched luxuriously on the pillow—sending a puff of feathers into the air—and leapt out the window.
Before McGonagall's arrival, it had been in a spectacular sulk over Anthony's failure to procure the promised alcohol. Anthony's sudden, Cocoa-assisted reappearance in his bedroom, dragging an unconscious body, had only made things worse.
"I fear I've made a mess, Minerva," Anthony said guiltily, shutting the door firmly behind him. "I got into a duel. A Muggle saw."
"Henry!"
"I know. I'm sorry," Anthony said. "But in my defense, the other party bears greater responsibility. I was simply taking Mr. Weasley's pet to the Magical Menagerie—you know it was injured—when this man rushed out, insisting the rat was an Animagus."
"Preposterous," McGonagall stated flatly. "The Weasleys have had that rat for years. No sane person could endure being kept as a pet for that long. Furthermore, Animagus transformation is highly dangerous. Anyone attempting it must register with the Ministry for proper supervision. I recall no registered Animagus with a rat form."
Anthony nodded. "I told Mr. Lambert he was mistaken. He wouldn't listen."
"Lambert?"
"Rees Lambert. I'm not even certain that's his real name," Anthony said. "He works—worked—at the Magical Menagerie. He's been sacked. But I know he's used other names before. He was a clerk at Eeylops Owl Emporium once… Merlin, it's complicated."
McGonagall strode to the bed, examining the man. She studied him carefully, lips pressed thin, then drew her wand and tapped it lightly against his temple.
Anthony watched as the man's dark hair faded to a dusty grey-white, growing shorter.
McGonagall murmured a spell. She grabbed her own sleeve and scrubbed it hard across the man's face. The sallow, waxy skin dissolved like washed-off paint, revealing a pale, lined face beneath. Both Anthony and McGonagall saw the scars.
"How…" McGonagall breathed. "Remus!"
Her gaze darted, confused, between the man's gaunt face and Anthony, then back to the patched robes and painfully thin frame.
"Remus Lupin," she told Anthony. "He looks… he's had a hard time of it. What happened to his head?"
Anthony winced. "He collided with a glass beer bottle."
McGonagall looked up at him. Anthony offered an awkward shrug.
"Most unbecoming," McGonagall murmured. Anthony could practically see her imagining him swinging a beer bottle—like a troll with a club—at Lupin's skull.
He felt the need to elaborate. "He fell against a bottle in the corner of the wall… Well, before that, he was rather preoccupied with three foxes, and then there was my Dread at close range…"
"Your what?" McGonagall asked.
Anthony said quietly, "Dread… I'm a Necromancer, Minerva."
"Thank you, I had almost forgotten," McGonagall said sharply. "How did you come to blows, Henry? I can scarcely imagine…"
"As I said, he wanted Mr. Weasley's rat. I refused," Anthony recalled. "His manner was… unhinged. He claimed he meant me no harm. But he kept demanding I hand Scabbers over, sounding increasingly frantic. So when that Muggle saw us, I feared—instinctively—he might harm her."
McGonagall shot him a hard look, face tight with thought.
"Remus was one of the least unhinged people I've ever known," she said finally. "But it has been many years… Black's betrayal, and James and Peter's deaths… they must have affected him deeply…"
"I wish you could have seen it—" Anthony stopped abruptly.
"What is it?"
"Wait. James and Peter's deaths?" Anthony said, puzzled. "I recall Lambert—this Mr. Lupin—insisted on calling Scabbers 'Peter.' He asked it why it was still alive."
McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"Yes. He kept calling the rat 'Peter' as if it were a rabbit in a blue jacket. Who is Peter?"
A low groan came from the bed. The next instant, the man's eyes snapped open, alert, scanning the ceiling. His hand was already moving toward his chest, where his wand lay.
Then, half-propped on his elbows, he turned his head and saw Anthony and McGonagall. Lupin closed his eyes briefly, released his grip on his wand, and pushed himself up to lean against the headboard.
"Goodness," he said, his voice rough. "Well. Good afternoon, Minerva."
McGonagall didn't speak, her lips pressed in a tight, worried line.
"Don't tell me it's not afternoon anymore," Lupin said with a weak smile. He turned his gaze to Anthony. "Sir, my apologies… I gather you know, but… I am Remus Lupin." He added, "Truthfully."
"Henry Anthony," Anthony said. "Pleasure to meet you." He watched as Lupin gingerly felt the lump on the back of his head. "And, again, my apologies. I was in rather a hurry."
"The pleasure is mine," Lupin said, waving off the apology. "Might I inquire after the rat? I believe you caught it."
"It's just outside. In the office," Anthony said.
McGonagall finally found her voice. "Remus… that was Peter?"
"Oh, you know?" Lupin said, swinging his legs off the bed. "Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Anthony. I need to see him first." He added gently, "I recall he's quite adept at escaping."
"Are you certain, Remus?" McGonagall said, but she was already striding to the bedroom door and yanking it open.
Her sharp eyes scanned Anthony's office. "Where, Henry?"
"On the desk. Given the pursuit, I thought extra precautions wise," Anthony said, following them. "Don't worry. I'm fairly certain it can't escape."
"Henry, an Animagus retains human intellect…" McGonagall began, then stopped short. "Oh."
Before them sat a very sturdy, elaborate hamster wheel. The oversized Scabbers was crammed inside, looking profoundly miserable. It was gnawing frantically on the metal bars, producing a harsh screech-screech but leaving no mark. The Wraith Mouse perched on a stack of books nearby, keeping diligent watch.
The appearance of McGonagall and Lupin seemed to send Scabbers into a fresh panic. It squealed, biting the bars with renewed madness, claws scrabbling desperately at the magically sealed door. The wheel didn't even wobble.
The Wraith Mouse hopped down from the books. As if demonstrating proper wheel etiquette, it stood on its much smaller hind legs, gripped a bar, and gave the wheel a solid push.
The wheel began to turn slowly, carrying the shrieking, tumbling Scabbers in endless, dizzying circles.
"My hamster wheel is quite sturdy," Anthony remarked calmly. "Most of my furniture is. I have a cat with… strong opinions."
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