Harry, who had been walking along the first-floor corridor of the Leaky Cauldron, slowed when raised voices drifted up from below. It wasn't just noise. It was familiar in a way that made him stop and listen for a second longer.
Ron.
Hermione.
Arguing, obviously.
He stepped toward the staircase and leaned slightly over the railing, looking down into the common area.
They were both there.
And Victor.
"Ron!"
His voice carried easily across the room.
All three of them looked up at once.
Ron's expression changed imdiately, irritation replaced with sothing closer to relief.
"Harry!" he called back.
Harry ca down the stairs quickly, taking the last few steps faster than he should have, stopping in front of them with a grin that hadn't been there a mont ago.
"You're here," he said, glancing between them. "I thought I'd have to wait until Hogwarts to see you."
Hermione smiled, the earlier argunt already fading from her expression.
"Still the sa," he said, though his eyes lingered a mont longer before he let it go.
At that mont, Crookshanks brushed past Harry's leg, earning a brief look of confusion before Hermione bent slightly and gathered the cat up, steadying it against her.
Harry glanced between them.
"And that explains the shouting?" he asked.
Ron pointed imdiately.
"That thing tried to eat Scabbers again," he said, still annoyed.
Hermione exhaled, clearly tired of repeating herself.
"It's a cat, Ron. That's what cats do."
Harry looked between them, then at Victor, as if expecting him to step in and say sothing that would cut through the argunt.
Victor didn't move at first. He let the mont sit, watching Ron and Hermione cool down just enough before shifting his attention, slow and deliberate, toward Ron's hands.
Towards the rat.
"Ron," he said, his tone calm but pointed, "have you actually been taking care of your pet properly? I heard rats past ten years old need… neutering, otherwise they start developing problems. Diseases, mostly."
There was a faint, almost amused edge to his expression as he said it, like he knew exactly how that would land.
Ron blinked, completely thrown.
"What?" he said, staring at him. "Neutering? What does that even an?"
He looked down at Scabbers, then back up again, now more confused than annoyed.
"It's a rat, not so fancy animal," Ron added. "He's fine. He's just old."
"But you don't want your pet to die tomorrow or the day after, do you?" Victor said, his tone steady, almost reasonable, which sohow made it worse. "If you want it to live longer, neutering is the only practical option."
Ron's expression shifted imdiately, irritation replaced by concern.
"Really?" he asked, looking down at Scabbers as if seeing him differently now. "He's not going to just… drop dead, is he?"
Victor didn't hesitate.
"Yes," he said. "And since it's not sothing you can do yourself, I can arrange soone to help. No cost."
Ron blinked, clearly not expecting that.
"Wait… really?" he asked again, now suspicious and hopeful at the sa ti. "You'd do that?"
Victor nodded once, calm.
"Yes."
Ron frowned slightly, sothing finally catching up.
"But what does that even an?" he asked. "Neutering. What is it?"
Hermione, standing beside him, pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to react too soon.
Victor answered without changing his expression.
"It's a minor procedure," he said. "You remove a part of the body that isn't particularly useful."
Ron stared at him.
"What part?"
Hermione turned her head slightly, already knowing where this was going and deciding, very quickly, that she was not getting involved.
Victor looked at Ron for a mont, then spoke as if explaining sothing obvious.
"The part that ensures it won't reproduce."
Ron's brain took a second to process that.
Then another.
His eyes widened slightly.
"…You an—?"
Hermione lost the battle and let out a small laugh, quickly covering it, though it was too late.
Ron looked between them, then down at Scabbers, then back again, his expression shifting rapidly between confusion, realization, and horror.
"I'm not letting anyone cut anything off my rat!" he said, pulling Scabbers closer protectively.
Victor didn't react.
"That's your decision," Victor said evenly. "Just don't complain when it becos a problem later."
What Ron didn't notice was the way the rat in his hands had gone completely still.
Scabbers—Peter Pettigrew—had understood far more than he should have.
The word neutering echoed in his mind, followed imdiately by its aning, clear and unmistakable. The idea of sothing being cut away, dismissed as unnecessary, settled in with a kind of cold certainty that made his small body tense.
His claws pressed slightly into Ron's sleeve as instinct took over, not the simple fear of an animal, but the sharper, thinking fear of soone who knew exactly what could be done to him.
He had lived like this for years, endured it, ignored what it ant, but that didn't an he would accept losing anything further. There were lines even he wouldn't cross willingly.
His eyes shifted, quick and cautious, toward Victor.
The boy didn't look like he was joking.
He needed to stay away from that boy.
Because if Victor ever got too interested—
There was no telling what he might decide was "not useful" next.
*****
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