Chapter 161: Dr. Hamster Flywheel
Time: 9:55 p.m.
Ryan silently slipped into the abandoned classroom on the sixth floor, watching the two headless figures before the Mirror of Erised—Harry and Ron still hidden under the Invisibility Cloak.
After Ron stepped into Harry's spot in front of the mirror, Harry's expression changed at once. He reached out to push Ron aside, urgency written all over his face.
"Ron, move! My parents… they're gone!" Harry whispered harshly.
But Ron didn't move. He stood rooted to the floor, mesmerized, as if Harry's words and frantic shoves couldn't reach him.
"Look… it's me," Ron muttered in a daze, his eyes wide, fixated on the mirror.
It was clear that Ron was seeing something entirely different. And with his strength score now at 7, Ron was no longer easily shoved around—especially not by Harry, whose own strength was still a mere 4.
Since coming to Hogwarts, Harry had stopped the constant physical labor he'd endured at the Dursleys. Though well-fed now, his muscles hadn't grown much. And back then, what the Dursleys considered "enough food" would barely qualify as a normal meal.
Across the room, as Harry caught his breath, Ron finally seemed to come to.
Dropping the quilt from his shoulders, Ron posed dramatically in front of the mirror, adjusting his stance like he was rehearsing for a photo shoot. He even spun in place, beaming.
"Can you see your family around you?" Harry asked, holding back a chuckle.
"No—it's just me! But I look older—like, way older. I'm also wearing Bill's old Head Boy badge, and—wait for it—I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup!" Ron raised imaginary trophies in each hand and turned to Harry with gleaming eyes. "You think this mirror shows the future?"
Harry blinked. "What? No! Everyone in my family is… gone."
But a flicker of doubt crossed his face. "Unless… could it be… the Resurrection Stone?"
Ryan, still observing from the shadows, quickly waved his wand to mute the phrase. He couldn't risk Dumbledore overhearing that name. Fortunately, he'd already established a contract on such sensitive topics—anything involving the Deathly Hallows or Atlantis wouldn't be uttered aloud if a third party might be listening. Since Harry had whispered the thought and Ron hadn't caught it, the ward triggered just in time.
But it turned out to be unnecessary.
Dumbledore likely wasn't actively monitoring the scene—at most, he might be checking a scrying screen later.
Interestingly, Ron's behavior diverged from what happened in the original timeline. Perhaps because they planned to stay all night, Ron didn't compete with Harry for mirror time. After a pause, he gave up his spot.
"Alright. There's still time. I'll sleep first. Wake me up when you're done, and I'll admire my glorious future self," Ron yawned, found a corner, wrapped himself in the quilt, and promptly fell asleep.
It was absurd how easily Ron could sleep anywhere.
Harry, meanwhile, nodded and turned back to the mirror. His hand slowly reached out to touch the surface, almost reverently, as though trying to reach through to the people inside.
Seeing that there was nothing more for him to observe, Ryan vanished silently from the room.
---
Far away, in Smith Castle, nestled deep within Nottingham Forest, Dr. Hamster Flywheel was contentedly drinking from a porcelain water bowl.
Ryan reappeared just outside the door, and the house-elf Jack arrived to take over care of the black kitten, Jerry.
Tonight was important—a new pet ritual.
Jerry, the black kitten, had been created through powerful transfiguration magic. When designing the Moon's Phantom, Ryan had contemplated how best to deal with a Horcrux once he reached Level 7 Fearlessness—a title reserved for god-like wizards.
In the end, Ryan decided that even a Horcrux had value. It would be a waste to simply destroy one.
Thus, Jerry was born.
A Spirit of Fiendfyre, made from a dying black kitten, a Horcrux core, and 10 hours of continuous magical infusion. Jerry was not picky—he could eat anything, but thrived on devouring Horcrux fragments. He was similar in essence to a Phoenix, yet opposite in purpose—where a Phoenix represented rebirth, Jerry fed on the tainted souls of dark wizards.
Without feeding on Horcruxes, he would remain the size of a kitten, no larger than a palm.
As for Dr. Hamster Flywheel, today's ritual would grant him a very different kind of power.
Inspired by Dementors, Ryan had designed this ritual to let the hamster absorb the emotional overflow of wizards—anxieties, obsessions, worries. With the Doctor by his side, Ryan could maintain clarity and focus even in the storm of magical stress.
More importantly, the hamster would gain a vastly extended lifespan. Ryan had no intention of experiencing the grief of losing another companion—not when he had the power to prevent it.
The ritual began.
Dr. Hamster Flywheel fell into a deep, enchanted sleep as Ryan's wand spun through the air, drawing out streams of azure runes that danced like liquid magic.
---
By the time Ryan returned to Hogwarts, it was early morning.
Harry and Ron still hadn't returned to the dormitory.
Ryan thought for a moment and figured out what had happened.
Harry was fast asleep again, and Ron had just woken up—still in front of the Mirror of Erised, striking dramatic poses. His flaming red hair glistened, damp from sweat or dew.
Only at nearly 10 o'clock did the two finally return. They packed their things, yawned like they'd merely overslept, and ambled down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
In the near-empty Ravenclaw common room, Ryan sat near the fire, watching them chat as they ate toast, pancakes, and skewered mushrooms cooked over toasting forks.
"Fancy a game of chess?"
"We could go visit Hagrid," Ron offered.
But Ryan already knew what was on Harry's mind.
"You're thinking about the mirror again, aren't you?" Ron asked pointedly. "Don't go back tonight."
He asked three times, and each time Harry gave the same answer: no promises.
Ron, now finished admiring himself in the mirror, was in a calm, almost reflective state—his "sage mode," as Ryan called it.
"Why not?" Harry pressed.
Ron sighed. "Alright, I'll be honest. My neck's stiff, my back's sore, and the ground is freezing. I want to sleep in a real bed tonight."
"Oh, come on. We don't have to stay all night," Harry reasoned. "Besides, it's the third day—we've left no traces. Snape and Filch won't be guarding the hallway again."
"No, Harry. It's too risky. And my spine can't take another stone floor. I'll come with you tomorrow, I swear."
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(End of Chapter)
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