After Potions class ended, Harold immediately left the dungeon and, while everyone else headed to the Great Hall, slipped down the passage beneath the Whomping Willow and made his way to the Shrieking Shack.
But he quickly realized that Sirius was no longer there. A fine layer of dust on the armchair told him Sirius hadn't been around in quite a while.
Although he didn't find Sirius, Harold could now be certain of one thing—Crookshanks had definitely been acting under Sirius's orders when he went after Scabbers.
…Right, Sirius had only promised not to go after Scabbers before Christmas. And now, well, Christmas was long gone.
Still, with Sirius missing, this realization wasn't of much help.
Harold didn't linger. He transformed back into a cat and slipped out of the shack.
By the time he made it back to the Great Hall, dinner was nearly over.
But no one found his late arrival strange.
After all, he'd been doing this a lot lately—losing track of time while making wands, skipping meals occasionally, and sometimes sneaking into the kitchens afterward to scrounge up something to eat.
Sliding into his seat at the Gryffindor table, Harold quickly grabbed two pork chops and reached for the pepper and lingonberry sauce.
As he absentmindedly ate, his thoughts returned to the missing Sirius.
Was he avoiding Harold on purpose?
Most likely.
As the only known wizard to ever escape Azkaban, Sirius wouldn't be easy to find if he wanted to stay hidden.
Not that Harold planned to go looking for him.
He didn't need to. If Sirius could command Crookshanks, that meant Crookshanks knew where he was.
And if Crookshanks knew, then Tom definitely knew.
But Sirius would know that too. No doubt he'd taken precautions—Tom hadn't shown up lately, which confirmed it.
Still, it didn't matter.
Harold calmly finished his pork chops.
Tomorrow was Saturday, the day of the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw Quidditch match. There was no way Sirius could resist showing up for that.
After dinner, Harold returned once again to the Room of Requirement, summoning the training room filled with magical dummies. Everything was just as he'd left it—including the traces of his previous spells.
He walked to the nearest dummy and raised his wand.
Based on how Flitwick had acted earlier, it was safe to assume the professor had fully accepted Harold's new wandmaking technique. And yet, Harold hadn't noticed any real change himself—everything still felt the same.
Time to test it.
He took a deep breath and pointed Silvermane at the dummy.
"Depulso!"
For a moment, he thought he heard a voice whispering near his ear:
"The proper motion for the Banishing Charm is a direct thrust… the wand should jab forward like a sword…"
Instinctively, Harold followed the advice.
A sharp screech echoed through the room as the dummy was flung backward, scraping along the floor before it finally ground to a halt.
Harold rushed forward and measured the distance.
Thirteen feet, five inches.
Exactly one foot farther than before.
Staring at the tape measure, Harold's breathing quickened.
It hadn't been long enough for this to be due to his own growth in magical strength. The only new factor was Flitwick—the first person to fully accept his wand.
Just to be sure, he tried again.
"Depulso!"
This time, there was no voice. But the dummy still skidded back thirteen feet, five inches.
Confirmed. His Banishing Charm had grown stronger over the past few days.
It was subtle—almost imperceptible—but real. And this was from just one person's recognition.
What if it were a hundred people?
"Acknowledgment…" Harold paced in circles, trying to steady the excitement rising in his chest.
He needed more data. More wizards. Professors were best, but students would do as well.
…
An hour later, Harold left the Room of Requirement and returned to the Gryffindor common room.
Because of tomorrow's Quidditch match, the room was packed. Everyone was gathered around Harry, and the Firebolt had been placed on a pedestal made of stacked desks like some kind of sacred relic.
Everyone's face gleamed with confidence, as if victory were already guaranteed.
"Ravenclaw's still using Cleansweep Sevens—no way they can keep up."
"They probably won't even see the Firebolt's tail."
In the crowd, Ron looked particularly excited—Harry had just let him try out the Firebolt, and Ron had already forgotten all about Scabbers' injuries.
Harold watched him for a moment, then shifted his gaze.
"Harold!" someone called.
Fred Weasley ran over.
"You have to come watch tomorrow's match. I swear it'll be the easiest win we've ever had."
"No problem," Harold said. "I'll be there."
Satisfied, Fred nodded and left with Lee Jordan.
He still couldn't figure out why Harold didn't like Quidditch. It was the best sport in the world, after all.
Meanwhile, Harold spotted Hermione sitting alone away from the crowd, hidden behind a mountain of books stacked so high the table looked ready to collapse.
On top was a fresh, inky arithmancy essay. Unlike divination, arithmancy was complex, detail-heavy, and required a lot of logic.
Next to it sat an even longer essay for Muggle Studies: "On Why Muggles Need Electricity." It was hard to believe Hermione had filled two feet of parchment on a topic like that.
"Do you need something?" Hermione asked when she noticed him.
"Where's Crookshanks? Still in your dorm?"
"Oh, you're here to blame me too?" she said sharply. "You think Crookshanks tried to eat Scabbers?"
"Isn't that perfectly normal?" Harold said.
"Of course, hurting someone's pet is wrong, but let's be honest—every year at Hogwarts, a dozen pet rats get eaten by someone's cat or owl. If Crookshanks did eat Scabbers, it wouldn't even be surprising."
Hermione blinked, clearly not expecting that answer.
"But he didn't—"
"I know. But that's not important," Harold said. "I want to know if he's in your dorm. Tom hasn't shown up in a while—Crookshanks probably knows where he is."
Realizing she'd misunderstood, Hermione's tone softened.
That made sense. Tom's reputation was far worse than Crookshanks'. Just ask Mrs. Norris. Filch had even added several new rules, most of them about cats.
"He ran off," Hermione said after a pause. "He was in the dorm this morning, but he disappeared during afternoon classes."
"I see… alright," Harold sighed.
"Don't worry," Hermione said. "Tom's the smartest cat I've ever seen. He'll be fine."
"I'm not really worried about Tom, it's just… ah, never mind," Harold said. "By the way, I think you mistranslated a rune in your essay. The last symbol in the first line should mean 'brilliance,' not 'illumination.'"
"Really?" Hermione immediately flipped through her parchment, and Harold turned and headed up to the dormitory.
…
(End of Chapter)