Chapter 38 — Hunt in the Burrow 2
Lunch at the Burrow is louder than anything I've ever experienced. Voices overlapped, chairs scraped, forks clatter, and the table feels like it's vibrating with life. But my eyes keep drifting, scanning every corner. The legs of the table. The window ledges. The uneven floor. Any shadow that might hide a rat.
Nothing.
Not even a whisker.
That rat should be here. He should be somewhere in this house, lazing in a corner like the lazy, treacherous coward he is. But I don't sense that magic. I don't sense fear. I don't sense the disguised human soul I'm hunting.
So I decide to try a different approach. Something more subtle.
I turn toward Ginny, who's silently nibbling her bread. She keeps sneaking glances at me and then immediately pretending she wasn't. She looks small, round-faced, bright-eyed. She looked soft in a way none of her brothers are.
I smile at her. "You know, I have two brothers. But no sister."
Her spoon pauses mid-air. A blush floods up her neck almost instantly.
"So I'm seeing now," I say lightly, "how cute a sister can be."
Ginny squeaks. Actually squeaks. Her whole face goes red like a tomato left too long in the sun.
Ron groans. "Oh, Merlin…"
Fred leans over the table. "Oi, Ginny, did you hear that?"
George mirrors him from the other side. "Arthur thinks you're cute."
Ginny hides behind her cup. Her eyes peek over the rim in embarrassment and delight.
The twins chant together, "Our Ginny is the best!"
Ginny makes a wounded sound and kicks them both under the table. They yelp and pretend to fall off their chairs.
Everyone laughs, except Percy, who clears his throat to hide that laugh
But Ginny is still pink and smiling, and that's good. That's what I need.
I lean slightly forward. "So, Ginny, what toys do you play with?"
Ginny blinks. "Anything."
"Anything?" I repeat.
Fred jumps in. "She's the sister of six brothers. She plays whatever we shove into her hands."
George nods. "She grew up flying and dodging Bludgers before she could walk."
Ginny crosses her arms. "I'm better than Ron on the broom."
Ron sputters. "Oi! I'm good—"
"No," Percy declares calmly. "She is better."
Ron deflates immediately.
Ginny beams with pride.
I look between them. "But that's not good, is it?" I say gently. "She should have toys of her own. Pretty toys. Girls' toys."
The table goes quiet.
The brothers exchange glances. Molly hesitates. Even Ginny fidgets.
I knew what the thing they don't want to say. The thing Ginny probably doesn't fully understand.
They can't afford it.
This house is full of life, but not full of money.
Ginny bites her lip and nods shyly. "Maybe but it's okay."
So I sit straighter. "Don't worry. I'll get it. A gift from me."
Molly quickly shakes her head. "Arthur, dear, no. You don't need to buy anything. You being here is enough."
But I'm not stupid. And Molly knows I'm not stupid.
I smile softly. "Aunt Molly, think of it as a brother giving a sister a gift. After all Percy have all his notes to me."
Her eyes flick to Ginny.
Ginny looks like someone just offered her a unicorn. Hope glitters in her eyes so brightly it almost hurts to look at.
Aunt Molly sighs. "Well if it's just a small one."
I grin. "It will be."
Ginny sits straighter. Her face glows.
"So, what do you want, Ginny? Any toy? Any gift?"
She freezes. Looks at her brothers. Looks at Molly. Looks at me. Her fingers twist the hem of her jumper.
"What do you like?" I coax.
Her voice is tiny. "I… I like cute things."
"Cute things?" I lean in. "Like pets?"
Her eyes widen. "I love pets."
"Would you want one?" I ask softly.
The room goes still for a moment.
Fred whistles. "She's going to explode."
George adds, "She's always wanted her own."
Arthur, "Do you have any here?"
Ginny swallows. "We… don't have many pets. Except-"
Ron interrupts. "Percy. Percy is basically a house pet."
Percy sputters. "Absolutely not!"
Ginny giggles. "We have two pets. We have our owl, Errol."
George raises a finger grandly. "The most heroic, talented, extremely elderly owl in Britain."
Before he can finish, Fred shouts, "Do not forget the house ghoul."
Ginny, "We have Errol, and the other is Percy's rat, Scabbers."
My heart jumps.
I force my expression to stay natural and tilt my head. "Scabbers? That's the rat's name?"
Ron nods. "Yeah. Percy's rat. Scabbers."
Scabbers. Peter Pettigrew.
There you are.
I keep my face neutral. "But I haven't seen him anywhere."
Percy frowns. "He should be here. He always is."
Ron brightens suddenly. "Oh! I know where he likes to hide. I can get him."
My heart kicks once, hard.
I smile gently. "Please, Ron. Could you show him to me? I have never seen a pet rat before."
"Sure!" Ron jumps up instantly and runs out of the kitchen like he's been waiting his whole life to be useful.
The moment he's gone, Ginny fidgets again. I turn back to her with a soft smile, keeping my voice warm.
"So. Your gift, Ginny. What pet do you want?"
She blushes again, this time deeper. She looks down and traces a finger on the wooden table.
"I… want something cute. Like a kitten." She pauses. "But we also need an owl."
She whispers that last sentence like it's forbidden knowledge.
But I hear it.
Of course I do.
I answer gently, "Don't worry. I'll get it."
Molly's spoon pauses in mid-air. "Arthur, absolutely not. It was one gift—"
"It's alright, Aunt Molly," I say carefully. "Let one be my gift to Ginny. And the other can be my gift to Ron."
Percy frowns. "Why Ron?"
I shrug. "He's the same age as my brothers. If Ginny gets a pet, Ron should too. To be fair. And an owl is useful for everyone, right?"
Ginny watches me like I've hung the moon. Ron isn't even here and he's getting a gift. Fred and George look at each other with raised brows.
Molly looks torn, but she also looks touched. Deeply touched. She places a hand over her heart. "Arthur, that's… that's very sweet."
The door bangs.
Ron charges back into the kitchen, breathless and triumphant, holding a rat by its tail.
The rat looks miserable. Fat, scruffy, old. His whiskers droop like wet strings. He seems half asleep and half dead… but alive enough.
"Got 'im!"
Scabbers dangles there, limp and annoyed.
"There," Ron says proudly. "See? This is Scabbers."
I look at the rat.
I reach out. "May I hold him?"
Ron hands him over without hesitation.
I take him gently from Ron's hands. The rat lands in my hands with a soft, squishy weight. His fur is rough. "He looks very old."
Ron nods. "Yeah, he is. Eight or nine years now. Mum says normal rats only live three or four years."
Eight or nine years.
Exactly when Peter Pettigrew disappeared.
Exactly when the Potters died.
Exactly when Sirius was framed.
I cradle the rat in my hand, running a finger along his spine. I turn him gently and check his forepaw casually. He's missing a toe.
There it is. The absolute Confirmation. The unmistakable injury.
Peter Pettigrew.
The traitor who betrayed Harry's parents, the Potters. The worm who hid while an innocent man rotted in Azkaban.
He is in my hands.
He stares at me with beady eyes. I stare back.
Everyone is talking. Ginny asks if he bites, the twins tease Ron, Aunt Molly telling me not to hold him too tight, but their voices blur into distant noise.
Now I just have to take him. But that is the problem.
I have to take him.
I have to deliver him to the right people.
I have to do it without alarming the Weasleys.
Without raising suspicion.
Without alerting Pettigrew himself and letting him escape.
Ron leans forward. "Isn't he cool?"
I smile peacefully.
"Yes," I say. "Very… interesting."
And I close my hand around the rat, pretending to stroke him.
Pretending I'm just being friendly.
Pretending I'm not holding a living secret in my palm. A secret the entire wizarding world has forgotten. A secret I'm about to expose.
I keep smiling.
Because the hunt is over.
End of Chapter 38 — Hunt in the Burrow 2.