BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

xxv. The Year of the Rat

     Scabbers, or should she say Peter Pettigrew, has disappeared.

     Lorelei's not seen him in weeks, only managing a quick glance before he scurried off. The coward. One glare is all it took, a fiery sort of look. He knew then, right then, that she knew everything. That he isn't a rat, and he's never been one. A cheap disguise utilized by poltroons. Of course, Lorelei doesn't have proof, only assumptions, but that was enough.

     James may lack honor, but he couldn't craft a lie as nonsensical as this, despite what Remus persisted. Really, the coincidences added up. Scabbers always disappearing, Ambrose Wythinghall's portrait relaying his midnight viewing of a 'stout man,' (Peter Pettigrew is often characterized by those words). Scabbers vanishes the moment Lorelei makes contact.

      To no one's surprise, Ron does not believe Lorelei's theory. He's adamant that Scabbers is and has always been his trusty, treasured pet. Oh, what a fool he can be sometimes. Yet, she can't find it in herself to blame him. There's no evidence. Hearsay won't assist. On the other hand, Harry and Hermione, thankfully, came to her defense. The former more so than the later. Again, Lorelei can't fault her friend. However, she thinks Crookshank's aversion to the rat is cause enough for belief.

     All Lorelei needs to do is find that rat, and she'll prove it. It's easier said than done.

     Animals have never been her forte. See, they don't . . . mix with Lorelei's bad luck. In fact, they enhance it. Crows, ravens, cats, raccoons (Dastardly vermin!), even the magical ones. She's not entirely sure how to find Scabbers, and Hagrid's no help. The poor half-giant's been inconsolable lately, not even her famous lemon loaf helped. Carmine Weatherby on the other hand? A savior.

     Carmy's naturally gifted with grace. Soft touches, a singsong voice, tall and burly like a tree. Butterflies flock to him like honeysuckle and birds perch upon his limbs as if they were branches. He could, Lorelei thinks, very well be nature personified. And he offered assistance without an err of question. He always does. With his savvy knowledge, Carmy concocted elaborate ways to draw in rodents. And, to be fair, they worked. Except, none of the rats caught were Scabbers.

     Lorelei spent all of May painstakingly searching the castle grounds. Under every rock, down suspicious holes, up colossal trees, even daring the Forbidden Forest—until the snapping of a twig scared her out. When she wasn't an acting detective, Lorelei was cooped in Lonnie's office drowning in study guides. Every night. By above, it's dreadful, yet she's improving. Lonnie's persistent, earnest 'Good job's fill her with validation.

     Is she finally sprouting wings?

     Oftentimes, Hermione attends the evening sessions. Shockingly, Cadence and Carmy do as well. Even more shockingly, Lonnie doesn't seem to mind. He's unusually pleasant, donning congenial smiles and offering genuine laughs. Lorelei supposes it's due to the matter of subject—education. It's his life's calling, and he enjoys any crumb of content.

     Although, there's no mistaking the dullness in his eyes. It's been there since the day she confronted James. Lorelei recognizes it so easily because it's reflected back to her every morning in the mirror. She practices her smile. Make it earnest, tip the lips high, dimples, toothy if the occasion calls for it.

     Lorelei's discovered the one spell she's capable of attempting somewhat successfully is Evanesco. After seeing Lonnie utter it to vanish his trash (Is he that lazy?), she begged him to teach her. The start was rocky, as such with all spells she tries, yet the difficulty lessened alarmingly fast. She's enamored with it, and its unique ability to disappear anything, even things not in the realm of possibility. Shadowed water-lines are no more. Perhaps her peers will cease commenting on her appearance.