"Scabbers… is gone?"
Harry couldn't help but show a flicker of unease at Ron's words.
He'd seen Scabbers' true name on the Marauder's Map long ago. He'd always suspected Ron's rat wasn't just a rat. But how was he supposed to bring that up with Ron? And now, the rat had suddenly vanished…
Ron nodded. "Yeah! Just poof, gone! I'm telling you, Hermione's behind this!"
"What?" Harry blinked, caught off guard. "What's Hermione got to do with it?"
Ron's eyes widened. "How could it not be her? That cat of hers! Crookshanks has been after Scabbers forever, and now Scabbers is gone. I bet that blasted cat saw his chance when Scabbers was alone and gobbled him up!"
Harry blinked again. "Er… have you talked to Hermione about this?"
Ron nodded vigorously. "The second Scabbers went missing, I tracked her down. And you know what she said? That my rat probably ran off on his own and got eaten by someone else's cat! She said blaming her was the dumbest thing ever. I was furious, Harry!"
Harry's mouth twitched. He glanced at Dylan for help, but Dylan just stared at his nose, then his heart, staying silent. Clearly, he wasn't getting involved.
Sirius, Peter Pettigrew… whatever they were up to, Dylan seemed content to let it play out. He'd probably invite them all to his world for a "visit" when it was over. For now, he'd let them finish whatever they were scheming. After all, he was a reasonable, understanding wizard who didn't like forcing people into things.
Dylan was sure that, with a sincere invitation, Peter or Sirius would be thrilled to visit his world when the time came.
Seeing Dylan wasn't going to help calm Ron down, Harry gave a weak laugh and turned back to his fuming friend. "Maybe… Crookshanks didn't eat Scabbers?"
"Who else would want to eat him? No other pet's been sniffing around Scabbers like that cat!" Ron shot back.
Harry opened his mouth. "I mean, what if nothing ate him? What if Scabbers just… ran off?"
Ron spun to face him, incredulous. "Why would he do that? That makes no sense!"
Harry hesitated. "Well, maybe… maybe he's getting old and wanted to hide somewhere, you know, so you wouldn't see him… pass away? Couldn't that be it?"
Ron froze. "Is that… possible?"
But after a moment, he shook his head stubbornly. "No way! He wouldn't just drop dead like that. I'm telling you, it's Hermione's cat! Crookshanks ate him!"
Harry sighed. Ron was sticking to his story, evidence or not.
Trying to reason with him, Harry asked, "Why are you so sure it's Crookshanks and not, say, what I suggested?"
Ron faltered but pressed on. "If it wasn't Crookshanks, why did Hermione get so mad when I confronted her? She was acting like I'd caught her red-handed! You should've heard how fierce she was!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you've got evidence that Crookshanks ate Scabbers?"
"Of course!" Ron declared, pulling a small tuft of ginger fur from his pocket. "Look at this!"
Harry squinted. "Is that… Crookshanks' fur?"
"Exactly!" Ron said triumphantly. "This color? Totally his! I found a bunch of it by my bed. If that's not proof Crookshanks ate Scabbers, what is?"
Harry stared. Was Ron under some kind of brain-eating curse? Carefully, he said, "Crookshanks comes into our dorm all the time. I've got his fur on my bed too…"
But Ron wasn't listening, muttering to himself. "Hermione's always buried in her homework. When I called her out, she acted like I was ridiculous! Said this fur doesn't prove anything. If this isn't evidence, what is?"
Harry scratched his head. "Did you just have a row with Hermione?"
Ron huffed. "Yeah! I should've been tougher. Everyone was watching, and she made me look like an idiot!"
Harry paused. That explained the excited crowd he'd seen earlier. He couldn't get through the mob, and since it didn't seem like anything awful had happened, he'd hurried back. Now he realized Ron and Hermione had been at it. If he'd known, he would've tried to break it up!
Worried Ron and Hermione's friendship might be on the rocks, Harry looked to Dylan again.
Dylan rolled his eyes. "Why not just tell him?"
Harry froze. Ron turned, confused. "Tell me what? Are you two hiding something? Do you know where Scabbers went?"
Harry's expression grew odd, piquing Ron's curiosity. "What's going on?"
After hesitating, Harry bolted to his bed, kicked off his shoes, and climbed in, pulling the curtains tight. He left a small gap, waving Ron over. "Come here."
Ron, bewildered, shuffled over. As soon as he got close, Harry yanked him onto the bed.
"Whoa! What's this about?" Ron yelped, alarmed by the secrecy.
Harry didn't answer. He used his wand to flick off Ron's shoes, then pulled the curtains shut.
Dylan glanced at the bed, smirking. "Bit eager, aren't you?" Shaking his head, he went back to his book.
A while later, Harry must've finished explaining, because Ron leapt off the bed, barely getting his shoes on before sprinting to the bathroom.
Harry pulled back the curtain, looking worried. "Ron's not in trouble, is he? He looked really rough."
Dylan figured Ron was probably hurling in the loo. He wasn't interested in watching. Harry, though, was.
With a snap of his fingers, Dylan summoned a crystal ball, spinning his finger over it three times. Mist swirled, and an image formed. He tossed the ball to Harry.
Harry caught it and peered inside. The scene was clear: Ron, red hair a mess, was hunched over a toilet, shoulders shaking, robes trembling. He looked like he'd downed a bad batch of Butterbeer.
Harry's eyes widened at the sight of Ron retching. The crystal ball nearly slipped from his lap, but he caught it just in time. Trying not to laugh, he glanced at Dylan. "He's… gonna be okay, right?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow as the ball floated back to him. "What's the big deal? He's just throwing up a bit."
Peering into the ball, Dylan saw Ron finish, wipe his mouth, and retch again. Grimacing, he banished the image. That was too gross.
Harry relaxed. "As long as he's fine…"
Dylan tucked the crystal ball away. Scabbers' disappearance had nothing to do with Hermione but a little to do with him. Besides experimenting on Lockhart and Riddle, Dylan had been using Ron's rat—Peter Pettigrew—as a test subject. He'd cast spells to ensure Peter wouldn't remember anything, thinking he'd just napped.
Dylan had mastered a powerful spell: Dreamweaving. It let him craft dreams in someone's mind. With it, he'd enhanced spells like Gate of Dreams and Veil of Mnemosyne. He'd used them on Scabbers now and then.
Lockhart, after a botched Obliviate and curse backlash, was a bit daft now. Dylan had used Dreamweaving to build him a new personality—smart enough to follow orders. He'd even sent Ravenclaw to study Lockhart's mind, hoping to recover memories about that blood diamond made from a unicorn's heart. Dylan wasn't too hopeful, though. The diamond didn't seem useful.
His thoughts drifted to the unicorns. He wondered if Aurelius could convince those stubborn centaurs. If not, Dylan might resort to dark magic and kidnap the whole clan. It'd be easier than reshaping their memories one by one. His world could use another race, marked and adapted to its ecosystem. Maybe it'd even start producing little centaurs.
He shook off the tangent. Scabbers had fled because Dylan, using Dreamweaving, had planted a memory of Crookshanks hunting him. Though Crookshanks had lost interest after Hermione scolded him, Dylan made Peter believe the cat was out to tear him apart. Panicked, Peter bolted, thinking he'd hide until Crookshanks lost interest.
Dreamweaving was terrifyingly effective. It could make someone believe the impossible, even against logic. Peter could've stayed safe with Ron, who'd never let Crookshanks near him. But Dylan's spell convinced him to run—and he did.