Ch 121
Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, a week had passed.
"Harry, there's something I want to ask you," Hermione said, looking a little embarrassed as she stood beside him.
"We don't need to be so formal with each other," Harry replied cheerfully. He was in the common room, packing his things in high spirits—today was the day they were finally allowed to go to Hogsmeade again.
Professor McGonagall had formally recognized Peter Pettigrew as his temporary guardian, which meant Harry could now go to Hogsmeade openly. There was no need for the map Fred and George had given him, and no need for the Invisibility Cloak either.
He could walk openly through the bustling streets, pretend to be perfectly casual, order a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, buy piles of sweets from Honeydukes, or wander into Zonko's Joke Shop. He was sure he'd run into the Weasley twins there. No matter what, he could finally enjoy this rare outing properly.
"Can I borrow your Invisibility Cloak?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"Hm?" Harry was clearly taken aback. "That's fine, of course—but if you need it now, does that mean you're not coming with us this time?" He sounded a little disappointed. This should have been the first time the three of them went to Hogsmeade together, yet Hermione seemed to have other plans.
"I have to go to the library again," Hermione said. "Professor McGonagall's recent assignment requires checking a lot of reference material, and some of it is in the Restricted Section. But she's been away these past few days dealing with Animagus matters, so I can't find a suitable professor to sign the permission slip." She looked genuinely helpless.
"I-is that so…" Harry was momentarily speechless. Talking about homework during a holiday felt almost cruel to him. Right now, his mind was entirely on Hogsmeade. Sneaking out was one thing—but going openly was a completely different experience.
"We'll have plenty of chances in the future," Hermione said softly. Then she added in a whisper, "And honestly, wouldn't you feel more relaxed going with just Ron?"
Harry's face flushed instantly. He and Ron often talked about things that definitely weren't suitable to discuss in front of a girl—like which girl from which House was prettier.
He still vividly remembered how angry Hermione had been the last time she caught them gossiping about a girl's looks.
"Well… good luck with your research, then," Harry said. Hermione was right—they'd have other chances.
"Thank you. Have fun with Ron," Hermione replied, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She let out a long breath and sank back onto the soft leather sofa behind her.
Forgive me, Harry, Hermione apologized silently. Sometimes, a lie is meant to protect a friend.
Professor McGonagall hadn't actually assigned anything beyond the syllabus. That had been a small lie.
There was no way Hermione could tell Harry the real reason.
She suspected Peter Pettigrew.
It was a suspicion without concrete evidence—one based purely on intuition.
Hermione didn't know why she had suddenly started trusting her instincts, something she usually associated with Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw. She disliked people who spoke in riddles; if Professor Trelawney was one extreme, Luna was halfway there.
Yet she hadn't expected that one day she herself would rely on instinct.
When Peter Pettigrew first appeared before everyone, she had been as excited as the rest. She was genuinely happy for the return of a hero long believed dead—someone said to be a close friend of Harry's father, like Professor Lupin. For Harry's sake, Hermione truly felt joy.
But when Pettigrew approached the Gryffindor table, she felt a subtle sense of unease.
Hermione had an excellent memory. Combined with her diligence, it was one of her greatest strengths. She didn't have a perfect photographic memory, but when she focused, she remembered details extremely well.
She recalled the introductory Muggle psychology books she had bought over the holidays, hoping they might help her recover lost memories. Though they hadn't taught her how to hypnotize herself, the basic concepts had left a deep impression.
A person's unconscious movements—and especially their eyes—often betrayed their true thoughts.
Nervousness and excitement were not the same. Nervousness carried fear and unease; excitement came with joy and anticipation.
When Pettigrew had been on the stage, Hermione had been too far away to observe him carefully. But once he stood right in front of them, her sharp senses picked up something off.
As he spoke, his eyes constantly wandered. From time to time, he glanced toward the Slytherin table, as though seeking affirmation. His small eyes would also flick upward occasionally—classic signs of lying. He didn't dare meet their gaze directly, burdened by guilt.
Even when he hugged Harry, his body had been stiff and unnatural. Harry, who had grown up without parents, wouldn't notice. Ron, being thick-skinned, wouldn't feel it either. But to Hermione, the sense of dissonance was overwhelming. Who opened their arms so rigidly during a heartfelt embrace?
Yes—a performance.
That was the most immediate word that came to Hermione's mind.
She had also glanced at Luna, sitting not far away. While the other Ravenclaws applauded, Luna alone shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her usually dreamy silver-gray eyes were uncharacteristically clear—and filled with disgust.
That alone strengthened Hermione's doubts.
Then there was Crookshanks.
Ever since she'd bought him from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley, Crookshanks had helped her more times than she could count.
Whenever someone with ill intent approached, Crookshanks would sniff them out almost instantly and glare at them.
As far as Hermione could remember, he had never been wrong. Diagon Alley was a crossroads between the Muggle and wizarding worlds—swindlers mixed freely among honest folk. Whenever a pickpocket approached her with malicious intent, Crookshanks would rush forward and bite them without hesitation.
Even shopkeepers who tried to pass off shoddy goods—Crookshanks would tug at her sleeve in warning.
But Scabbers being a rat had made Hermione overlook this ability. She had dismissed it as natural hostility between predator and prey, something even Crookshanks couldn't overcome.
Now that Scabbers had turned out to be human, Crookshanks's behavior suddenly made sense.
Still, she had no proof.
And she doubted herself.
Was she really going to trust her own intuition, a bit of half-remembered psychology, and a cat—to question a so-called war hero?
It sounded absurd.
Yet the unease in her heart refused to fade. In the end, Hermione decided she had to verify it herself.
Her thoughts turned to a forbidden book she'd seen in her second year while brewing Polyjuice Potion.
Several dozen pages in, it recorded the brewing method of a potion—
Veritaserum.
That was the only way she could resolve her doubts.