The Art of Sabotage.
By this point, the dog and I had developed an understanding. He supplied the intel, and I provided the brains. Sirius may have been clever for a dog, but he lacked the refined subtlety of a cat. Humans notice a giant black dog creeping around the castle grounds, but they never suspect the whiskered mastermind casually lounging by the fire.
Our next move was sabotage. If we couldn’t expose Scabbers outright, we’d make his life so miserable that he’d slip up. The rat had secrets—dark, foul-smelling secrets—and I intended to shake them loose.
The plan began at breakfast.
The humans were at their usual table, eating their usual bland food, when I made my entrance. With my tail held high, I strutted across the Great Hall, drawing a few admiring glances. (Yes, I know I’m magnificent.)
The rat was perched on The Ginger’s lap, nibbling on a crust of toast. I leapt gracefully onto the table, causing a minor uproar.
“Crookshanks!” Hermione hissed. “You’re not supposed to be up here!”
I ignored her. This was war.
I slunk toward The Ginger, my eyes locked on Scabbers. He froze mid-nibble, his whiskers twitching in panic. Good.
“What’s he doing now?” Ron groaned, shifting uncomfortably.
“Crookshanks, leave him alone!” Hermione pleaded, but I was already in position.
With a quick flick of my paw, I swiped at The Ginger’s plate, sending a sausage rolling onto the floor. The entire table erupted in chaos.
“HEY!” Ron yelped, clutching Scabbers as students scrambled to save their breakfast.
I pounced, landing just short of the rat. He squealed and darted into The Ginger’s robes, narrowly escaping my claws.
“Crookshanks!” Hermione scolded, grabbing me. “What’s gotten into you?”
I glared at her, insulted. “What’s gotten into me? WHAT’S GOTTEN INTO YOU?!” I thought. She was supposed to be smart. Why couldn’t she see the rat for what he was?
Later, Sirius and I regrouped in an abandoned classroom.
“I think it went well,” he said, wagging his tail.
“Are you joking?” I snapped. “He got away. Again.”
“Yeah, but look at him.” Sirius gestured out the window, where The Ginger was pacing nervously with Scabbers clinging to his shoulder. “That rat’s rattled. He’ll slip up eventually.”
I sighed, kneading the floor with my claws. “We need a bigger plan. Something that forces him out of hiding.”
Sirius grinned. “I might have an idea.”
The next day, we executed Operation Borrowed Robes.
While the humans were distracted in class, Sirius sneaked into the dormitory and dragged The Ginger’s robes into the corridor. I intercepted them near the stairs, dragging them further into a dark corner.
By the time The Ginger returned, the trail was set.
“Where are my robes?!” he cried, rummaging through his trunk.
“Did you misplace them?” Hermione asked, frowning.
“No!” he said. “I left them right here!”
While they argued, I smirked to myself. The robes, now thoroughly dog-scented, were hidden under the stairs—a perfect trap for Scabbers.
Sure enough, later that night, I found the rat sniffing cautiously at the fabric. He looked nervous, his tail twitching.
“Got you,” I thought, leaping toward him.
But before I could land, he bolted, squealing like a banshee.
I gave chase, weaving through the castle corridors. The rat was fast, I’ll give him that, but I was faster. My claws scraped the stone floor as I lunged for him, narrowly missing his tail.
Then, just as I was about to grab him, he disappeared into a crack in the wall.
I skidded to a halt, growling in frustration.
Back in the dormitory, I paced angrily while Sirius lounged nearby.
“He’s slippery,” I muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Sirius said. “We’ll get him. He can’t hide forever.”
I flopped onto the bed, my tail flicking irritably. The rat was a coward, but he was also clever. If we wanted to catch him, we’d need to up our game.
And I was more than ready for the challenge.