For days, Harry kept his distance, cloaked beneath a Disillusionment Charm, watching the tall hedges and crooked rooflines of the Burrow—the home of the Weasleys, as he had discovered through careful eavesdropping and subtle questioning. The wards on the property were strong, old, and familiar—clearly meant to keep strangers and threats at bay. Sneaking in undetected wasn't an option, not without alerting someone inside. And with the possibility of Peter Pettigrew hiding as a rat, one wrong move could ruin everything.
The problem, Harry had quickly realized, was wizarding travel. Floo powder and Apparition made it far too easy for magical folk to ignore the outside world. No one ever stepped beyond the boundaries of their property anymore, not unless they absolutely had to. And because of that, the Weasleys were practically ghosts to the surrounding Muggle neighborhood. He watched and waited, hoping someone—anyone—would wander out.
Then, on the fifth morning, two energetic redheaded boys emerged, laughing and kicking a battered leather ball between them. Harry's breath caught as he spotted them—twins. Mischievous. Barely older than him. These had to be Fred and George Weasley.
Pulling his hood low and adjusting his James-like features—scar, glasses, and green eyes all intact—Harry approached casually, matching their pace along the edge of the overgrown fence.
"Hey," he said, his voice calm but confident. "You two wouldn't happen to have a rat, would you?"
The twins blinked at him, surprised, and exchanged a look.
"Who's asking?" one of them said, squinting suspiciously. "You a Hogwarts student?"
"Soon," Harry replied vaguely. "I'm just curious. I've been... tracking a special rat. I think one of your brothers owns him. Percy, right?"
Fred (or George) narrowed his eyes. "You mean Scabbers?"
Harry gave a short nod. "That's the one."
The other twin grinned. "Percy's rat? He's had that thing for years. What do you want with him?"
"I'll be honest," Harry said, lowering his voice. "That's no ordinary rat. And if you help me, I'll give you something much better in return."
They perked up immediately.
"I'll trade you three owls. One for Percy—so he doesn't kick up a fuss—and one each for you two. Proper owls. Fast. Smart. Maybe even with exotic feathers."
They didn't answer right away. The ball rolled to a stop at their feet as they glanced at one another, silently weighing the offer.
"We've been begging for owls," one of them muttered.
"And Percy does keep Scabbers locked up in a stupid cage anyway..."
Harry held up a small metal box—a reinforced, unbreakable cage etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.
"Put the rat in this. Don't talk about it. Not even near the rat. He's smarter than he looks."
"Spying rat?" Fred asked, half-joking.
"Something like that."
After a pause, both twins nodded in unison.
"All right. Meet us here tomorrow, ten sharp. We'll bring Scabbers."
"You better bring the owls," George added, mock-threatening.
Harry smiled. "I always keep my promises. Just don't try to trick me."
"Would we do that?" the twins asked together, grinning innocently.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yes. That's why I'm warning you."
The twins laughed, already walking back toward the house, and Harry watched them go, heart pounding—not with nerves, but with satisfaction. Pettigrew was finally within reach. All he had to do now was wait one more day.
After parting ways with the mischievous Weasley twins, Harry took the Night Bus once again—this time with a clear mission: to fulfill his end of the bargain. He arrived in Diagon Alley early in the morning, the cobbled streets still quiet and kissed with frost from the winter air. The shops were just beginning to open, lanterns flickering to life, and shopkeepers brushing snow from their thresholds. Harry pulled his hood tighter around his face as he made his way toward Eeylops Owl Emporium.
Inside the warm, musty shop, dozens of owls hooted and rustled in their cages. The shopkeeper, a stout wizard with a lazy eye and thick gloves, looked up with interest.
"Looking for something specific, lad?" he asked.
"Yes," Harry said, glancing around at the cages. "I need three owls—one large and two younger ones. All barn owls if you have them."
"Barn owls, eh? Good choice. Smart, reliable, and they don't nip much." The man hobbled to the back of the store and returned with three owls—one impressively large, with mottled feathers and sharp amber eyes, and two young ones, still a little clumsy in their cages but chirping eagerly. "These two will grow in time," the shopkeeper added.
Harry nodded, pleased. "I'll take them."
He paid in full, tipping a few extra Sickles for quality feed and durable travel cages, then carefully levitated the three cages in front of him as he exited into the street.
The moment he stepped outside, he heard a voice cry out behind him: "Harry Potter?"
Harry stiffened.
He turned slowly, eyes darting around. Standing just past the steps of Madam Malkin's were three figures—Andromeda Tonks, tall and poised in her winter cloak; her husband Ted Tonks, a broad, cheerful Muggle-born wizard; and between them, a young girl whose pink-tipped hair had been hastily Transfigured brown: Nymphadora Tonks. Her eyes were wide with confusion.
"Shhh!" Harry hissed, his eyes flicking toward a pair of curious passersby. "Not so loud."
But it was too late. Andromeda was already walking toward him briskly. "I knew it," she murmured as she reached him, eyes narrowed in awe. "Those are James's cheekbones… and Lily's eyes. You are Harry Potter."
Ted stepped forward, smiling, but turned to his daughter with a raised brow. "See, Dora? What did we tell you? That boy you met couldn't have been Harry Potter. He looks exactly like—"
"I am the boy she met," Harry interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "That was me. I just didn't look like this."
Nymphadora blinked. "But… how…?"
"To prove it," Harry said, and with a cheeky grin, he focused—and in a blink, his black hair shifted into a shocking, vivid pink that matched hers exactly.
Nymphadora gasped. "You're a metamorphmagus! Just like me!"
And then she laughed—loud and free and full of disbelief. "That's brilliant!"
Ted chuckled. "Well, I'll be damned."
"Why didn't you tell us before?" Andromeda asked, now looking far more curious than suspicious.
Harry shrugged. "Didn't know if I could trust you. Most people want something when they find out who I am."
Andromeda gave him a sad smile. "We were friends with your parents, Harry. Good ones. You look… so much like them."
"Where are you staying, dear?" she asked, then softened her tone when Harry's expression grew guarded.
"I'm safe," Harry replied simply. "But I don't like sharing where."
"And the owls?" Ted asked, gesturing to the cages floating beside him.
"Gifts," Harry said. "For some friends who've promised to help me."
There was an understanding silence.
They shared lunch together at the Leaky Cauldron, seated in a corner booth. The fire crackled beside them, casting a golden warmth over their food. Nymphadora sat beside Harry, peppering him with questions—none too personal, mostly about his favorite spells, whether he'd ever turned his hair green on purpose, and if he could do accents. Ted laughed often, and Andromeda kept watching Harry like she was seeing a ghost.
When they finished, Nymphadora looked hesitant. "Can I… write to you? At Hogwarts, I mean?"
Harry smiled. "Of course." He pulled a folded slip of parchment from his coat and handed it to her. "This is my address. And if you can't find me, talk to Kyle Walker in Hufflepuff. He knows how to reach me."
Nymphadora's eyes sparkled. "Kyle? I've seen him around. He's always nice to the younger kids."
Harry stood and adjusted the owl cages. "I should go. Got some deliveries to make."
"Stay safe, Harry," Andromeda said softly.
As he walked away, Nymphadora called after him, "Don't dye your hair too cool without showing me first!"
Harry just waved behind him, his hood falling slightly as he disappeared into the swirling snow of Diagon Alley, three owls and one heart lighter than when he came.
No one was allowed in Percy's room. That was an unspoken law in the Burrow—a rule etched into the very wooden floorboards of the rickety old house. Especially Fred and George. After the last time, when they'd filled Percy's entire sock drawer with Ton-Tongue Toffees, the ban had become absolute.
But tonight, the twins had a mission. And it couldn't wait.
"We can't risk it, George," Fred whispered as they crouched beneath the stairs, whispering urgently. "That rat might run, vanish, or get posted to Hogwarts in the morning owl batch. The boy's offering three owls. Three. We can't miss this."
George nodded solemnly. "For once, we're not even doing this for a prank."
Fred grinned. "Still feels like one, though."
George's eyes sparkled. "Which is why we need a distraction."
There was only one person in the entire house who could get Percy to lower his guard: Ginny Weasley.
Their little sister had a peculiar magic of her own when it came to Percy. She could make him talk about Hogwarts for hours, just by asking about magic.
Fred and George found Ginny in the kitchen, quietly reading a comic over a steaming mug of cocoa.
"We need a favor," Fred said, crouching beside her.
Ginny looked up warily. "What kind of favor?"
"A good one," George said with a charming smile. "We need you to talk to Percy. Ask him about his magical creatures, about Hogwarts classes, anything."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"
Fred leaned in closer. "Because if you help us, I'll give you two Nose-Biting Teacups."
"And," George added quickly, "we'll teach you how to fly a broomstick."
Ginny considered it, then smirked. "Deal. But I want the teacups first."
"No time," Fred said. "Operation Rat-Swap is a go. Payment after delivery."
Minutes later, Ginny knocked on Percy's door, her voice unusually sweet. "Percy? Can I ask you something?"
There was a moment's hesitation before the door creaked open. "What is it, Ginny?"
"I just want to know… what's it like being a Hogwarts student? Is McGonagall scary? What about Potions class? Do they really make you drink what you brew?"
Percy's eyes lit up like a Lumos charm. "Well, actually—come lets have a walk! I'll tell you everything."
As Percy launched into his favorite subject—himself—Ginny nodded and 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed in all the right places.
Meanwhile, Fred and George moved.
The hallway was quiet. The door to Percy's room had been left ajar just a crack. Just enough.
"Showtime," Fred muttered.
They slipped inside soundlessly. Percy's room was neat to the point of discomfort. Books stacked precisely, quills lined in descending order of nib width. And in the far corner, in a small cage beside the desk, was the rat.
Scabbers.
He was sleeping soundly, tail twitching.
George moved first, opening the latch. Scabbers stirred, but before he could react, Fred put him into the unbreakable cage the boy had given them.
The rat squeaked indignantly, but it was no use.
"Sorry, mate," George whispered. "You're worth three owls."
They didn't dare hide the cage in their room. Too obvious. Too risky.
Instead, they tiptoed down to the garage—Arthur Weasley's private sanctuary of Muggle oddities. Stacked radios, plugs, and even a telephone with half its guts showing filled the cluttered shed.
"Perfect," Fred said, tucking the cage behind a crate of old batteries. "Dad won't enchant the locks in here. Too afraid of frying his beloved toaster."
"And Scabbers won't risk making noise," George added. "He knows something's up."
They locked the garage with a mundane padlock and crept back inside.
Night had settled over the Burrow when the alarm sounded.
"WHERE IS MY RAT?!"
Percy's voice exploded through the floorboards like a cannon blast.
"I know it was you!" he stormed down the hallway in his striped pajamas, red in the face. "Fred! George! Give him back!"
Fred yawned exaggeratedly as Percy burst into their room. "What's going on?"
"You took Scabbers!"
George blinked sleepily. "Your rat's missing? Since when?"
Percy searched their room top to bottom, practically tearing it apart. Drawers opened. Under beds checked. Even the laundry basket wasn't spared.
"Mum!" he called out. "They've taken him!"
"I didn't take your stupid rat," Fred muttered as their mother's voice rang up the stairs, telling everyone to quiet down.
"He probably escaped," George said, "on account of being a rat. Not like he's a cat or anything majestic."
Defeated but still furious, Percy retreated to his room, muttering about irresponsible twins and pestilence.
Fred and George lay on their beds, blankets up to their chins, grinning in the dark.
"Think he suspects?" Fred whispered.
"Of course he does," George whispered back. "But he has no proof."
Silence fell, broken only by the faint hoot of an owl outside.
Fred smiled, staring up at the ceiling.
"Three owls, George."
George nodded. "Three glorious owls."
They didn't sleep much that night.
Their minds were filled with feathers and freedom, and tomorrow's trade.
And beneath a pile of Muggle extension cords and VHS tapes, a very important rat sat in a magical cage, scowling.