The atmosphere in the compartment relaxed.
Snack wrappers piled up on the table, and the fields outside the window receded into the distance.
The train headed north, the clatter of the wheels drowning out the noise in the corridor.
Ron drank a few gulps of pumpkin juice, then took Scabbers back into his arms.
“He usually likes these best,” Ron said, stroking Scabbers’ back.
“Though he’s a bit odd today.” Lynn followed up by asking, “Odd how?” “Too quiet.
He’s usually lazy, but at least he’d snatch food when he sees it.” Harry leaned over.
“Is he sick?” Hermione immediately said, “Maybe you should take him to someone at school.
You shouldn’t just guess when a pet isn’t feeling well.” Ron became uneasy.
“He’s been like this for years; he should be fine.” Scabbers curled up in Ron’s hand, his body tense.
Lynn felt a subtle sting in his perception.
Malice.
Very faint.
Not directed at him.
The direction was toward Harry.
Resentment, fear, evasion, and a sense of viciousness born from being backed into a corner.
Lynn’s finger paused on the rim of the bottle.
This rat was afraid of Harry.
And hated Harry.
Or rather, it hated what Harry represented.
Voldemort’s downfall.
The Death Eaters scattering.
It could only hide in the Weasley home, unable even to reclaim its own name.
Exposing it now would certainly be satisfying.
But who would believe it?
A newly enrolled freshman pointing at Ron’s pet rat, claiming it was a wizard who had been missing for years.
With no evidence, no spell to prove it, and no credible background, he would only push himself into the spotlight before everyone.
Lynn suppressed his judgment.
No rush.
Hogwarts had a library, professors, ancient spells, and methods to test for Transfiguration.
As long as it stayed near Ron, it would eventually leave clues.
What he needed wasn’t to shout the truth out loud.
It was to make the truth something no one could deny.
Ron suddenly raised Scabbers in front of Lynn.
“Didn’t you say earlier he had a story?
What do you think is wrong with him now?” Lifted into the air, Scabbers froze completely.
Lynn looked at it.
It looked back at Lynn.
That sliver of fear could no longer be contained.
Lynn showed a gentle expression.
“Maybe he’s just getting old.” Ron breathed a sigh of relief.
“See, that’s what I thought.” Lynn added another line: “Old things usually don’t like being held up for interrogation.” Ron immediately placed Scabbers back into the cage.
Harry looked at the cage and whispered, “He really was trembling just now.” Hermione frowned.
“Do rats tremble from nervousness?” Ron grew a bit flustered.
“He’s just cowardly.” Lynn pushed the remaining bit of Chocolate Frog over to the cage.
Scabbers didn’t touch it.
He shrank into the scraps of cloth, curling his body into a ball.
Lynn pulled his hand back.
He didn’t dare eat anymore.
At least for this train ride, Lynn had gained a clear objective.
Keep an eye on Scabbers.
Don’t let him near his own luggage.
Don’t let him get near Harry alone.
If he tried to leave the compartment, note the direction.
Ron was still muttering, “He wasn’t this shy before.” Hermione looked at Scabbers, then at Ron.
“Maybe it’s too noisy on the train.” Harry nodded.
“Maybe.” Lynn didn’t offer an opinion.
The corridor outside grew lively as several students ran past the door.
“Malfoy’s coming!” “He’s looking for Harry Potter!” Harry froze.
Ron’s expression turned sour.
“Malfoy?
I knew he’d come.” Hermione asked, “Who’s Malfoy?” Just as Ron was about to answer, the compartment door was pushed open.
Standing at the door wasn’t Draco.
It was Hermione, who had left earlier.
She leaned one hand against the doorframe while holding her books with the other, her face tinged with annoyance.
Ron was startled.
“Didn’t you go look for the toad?” Hermione scanned the compartment before fixing her gaze on the rat cage on the table.
“I was going to look for the toad, but…” Rain splattered against the window, streaks of water sliding down the glass.
Someone ran down the corridor dragging a trunk, causing the compartment door to rattle slightly.
Hermione didn’t leave.
She stood there, as if realizing she had spoken too hastily, yet unwilling to back down.
She looked at the old wand poking out of Ron’s sleeve.
“Didn’t you say you knew a magic spell just now?
You can try it now.” Ron was stunned.
Harry was stunned too.
Lynn pushed his pumpkin juice aside.
Very good.
Miss Granger’s speed in changing battlefields was faster than turning pages.
Ron had already been annoyed by her questions, and now being stared at like this, his teenage pride flared up.
“Try it then.” He opened the cage and put Scabbers on the table.
The rat lay motionless, its gray fur scruffy—it certainly didn’t look like a healthy pet.
Lynn gave it only a glance before looking away.
He knew, of course, that this rat shouldn’t be casually messed with.
But knowing the plot and speaking out right now were two different things.
A freshman who just boarded the train, pointing at Ron’s rat and claiming something was wrong with it, would only make everyone think his head had been scrambled by Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.
Hermione walked into the compartment, sat near the door, placed her books on her knees, and sat up straight.
Harry moved over a bit to give her space.
Ron raised his old wand and cleared his throat.
“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow—” He flicked his wand.
Nothing happened.
Scabbers remained gray.
The compartment fell silent for a moment.
Holding his wand, Ron’s face turned red inch by inch.
Hermione looked at the rat on the table, then at Ron.
“That’s not a real spell,” she said.
“It sounds more like something your brothers made up to fool you.” Ron gripped his wand tightly.
“How do you know?” “Because real spells require clear pronunciation, proper hand movements, and directing your magic in a specific direction.” Hermione opened *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1*, pointing to a bookmarked page.
“It’s clearly written in the book.
Spells aren’t just putting a few pretty words together.” Ron’s face flushed even redder.
Harry said softly, “Maybe the wand is just too old.” “An old wand definitely affects spellcasting,” Hermione said.
“But the incantation itself is wrong too.
Sunshine, daisies, and butter are all related to yellow, but that doesn’t make it a spell.” “You haven’t even had a class yet,” Ron snapped back.
Hermione retorted immediately, “That’s why I read ahead.” That hit the mark.
Right on target, and sharp.
Ron felt the crack on his old wand and pulled his hand back into his sleeve.
It wasn’t that he didn’t realize he had made a fool of himself; he just didn’t want to admit it in front of someone he had just met.
Hermione wasn’t trying to trample on him either.
Coming from a Muggle family, she had no older brothers or sisters telling her about Hogwarts, no stories at family dinners, and no common knowledge learned from childhood.
All she had to hold onto were books.
The more books she read, the more she felt she truly belonged here.
Harry sat in the middle, adjusting his round glasses, clearly still confused as to why a spell to turn a rat yellow could cause an argument between the two.
Lynn hadn’t intended to speak.
But if Ron was pressed any further, he’d likely try the spell on Scabbers a second time.
That rat couldn’t be allowed to have an accident here, nor could this argument keep revolving around it—after all, it was an adult wizard, extremely dangerous.
“Ron’s problem isn’t entirely with the spell,” Lynn spoke up.
Ron looked over immediately.
“See!
I told you!” Hermione looked up as well.
“Then where do you think the problem is?” Lynn first pushed Scabbers back toward the cage.
“Let’s spare the victimized rat first,” he said.
“It looks like it no longer wishes to participate in the educational cause.” Harry couldn’t hold it back and let out a laugh.
Ron breathed a sigh of relief, placed Scabbers back into the cage, and shut the door.