Chapter 261: The Missing Crookshanks

Since Allen went to the Ministry, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been trying to stick together, though Hermione often vanished and reappeared for no apparent reason.

They all carried the magical scrolls Allen had made.

“When’s Allen coming back? Does registering as an Animagus really take this long? He’s been gone five days already,” Harry said, swallowing a bite of food as they ate lunch.

“Exactly! Allen’s Animagus registration should’ve made the Daily Prophet, but there’s been nothing about it in the papers these past few days,” Ron said, setting down today’s copy of the Daily Prophet, frowning.

“Could something have happened to him?” Harry asked, growing concerned.

“What could possibly happen at the Ministry? My dad wrote me a few days ago—he met Allen at the Ministry. Don’t worry,” Ron said, stuffing his mouth full of food.

“Alright,” Harry said, adjusting his glasses, then noticing Hermione had been silent, looking uneasy.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry asked gently.

“Nothing—” Hermione snapped back to herself, hesitated, then asked, “Have you seen Crookshanks?”

“Crookshanks? No? What’s wrong with Crookshanks?” Harry asked, surprised.

“I haven’t seen Crookshanks since yesterday morning,” Hermione whispered, her expression growing frantic.

“Well, at least Scabbers is safe—that stupid cat scared Scabbers sick,” Ron said dismissively.

“How can you say that!” Hermione exploded.

“What did I say? Isn’t it true?” Ron stubbornly retorted, jutting out his neck.

“Enough,” Harry cut in firmly, stopping their argument. “Right now, the most important thing is finding Crookshanks. Let’s ask around—maybe the portraits or ghosts saw him. Crookshanks is smart; he won’t get into trouble.” Harry comforted Hermione.

“I remember, right before Allen left, we thought we saw a cat’s shadow near the Quidditch pitch outside the castle—it looked just like Crookshanks,” Ron suddenly said.

“That was almost two weeks ago. Crookshanks only went missing yesterday,” Harry said.

“I mean, Crookshanks probably slipped out of the castle and wandered into the Forbidden Forest...” Ron shrugged. “The Forbidden Forest is dangerous...”

He fell silent then, seeing Hermione’s tears suddenly well up, soaking her robe.

“That’s not what I meant... I meant...” Ron panicked, stammering out explanations.

Hermione slumped over the table, burying her head in her arms, shoulders shaking as muffled sobs came from beneath them.

“It’s all my fault—I’ve been so busy lately, I barely took care of Crookshanks. By the time I noticed he was gone, it was too late to save him,” Hermione’s voice grew dull.

Harry shot Ron a reproachful glare; Ron looked sheepish.

“It’s fine—the cat we saw that day might not have been Crookshanks. There are plenty of stray cats around the castle,” Harry continued comforting her. “We’ll help you find him.”

Under the table, Harry nudged Ron, who quickly nodded in agreement.

Hermione’s crying finally stopped.

That afternoon, they used their free time to ask the castle’s portraits and ghosts about Crookshanks—but found nothing.

Hermione’s face grew paler by the hour.

But there was nothing they could do.

They searched for days without learning Crookshanks’ whereabouts.

Meanwhile, Allen at the Ministry finally met with Minister Fudge.

Minister Fudge still looked plump; the public outcry and political pressures hadn’t affected his mood or appetite.

Allen had spotted Fudge returning to the Ministry amid the crowd,

and Fudge had seen Allen too—his gaze lingered on him for a moment before shifting away, then he was immediately swept into the crowd and taken to the underground first-floor minister’s office.

Allen knew he was now nothing but a tool—Fudge no longer bothered to hide his attitude.

But Allen had no choice—he was under someone else’s roof.

Still, the very next day after Fudge’s return, he received Allen—though Fudge beamed with false warmth, asking after his daily life.

Allen mustered his energy to endure Fudge’s empty chatter.

Fortunately, the conversation ended quickly; his Animagus registration was scheduled for that afternoon.

A temporary joint committee, formed by the Wizengamot and the Auror Command, handled Allen’s Animagus registration.

The process was simple: transform into his Animagus form so Ministry wizards could record his features.

The registrars were an elderly wizard in purple-red robes, with a delicate silver “W” embroidered on his left chest, and a middle-aged wizard who clearly was an Auror.

They meticulously recorded every detail of Allen’s panda form.

Allen felt the middle-aged Auror kept watching him with wary eyes—as if he were a potential criminal.

This left Allen baffled.

The entire procedure finished quickly—but just as Allen thought he was free, he was ordered to go to the eighth-floor underground hall.

When Allen arrived at the hall, he found it filled with wizards—he even spotted several clearly identifiable reporters, including Rita Skeeter.

A small stage had been erected before the Wizarding Brothers Fountain; Minister Fudge stood atop it, smiling as reporters interviewed him.

Camera flashes blinked incessantly, producing bursts of smoke.

Fudge spotted Allen and immediately waved him over, beckoning him onto the stage; Allen reluctantly climbed up.

Fudge affectionately draped an arm over his shoulder and beamed at the crowd.

He then asked Allen to transform into his Animagus form; Allen complied reluctantly—this was one of those moments where you had to give the Minister some face.

The appearance of the panda triggered even more frantic flashes; everyone was fascinated, delighted by the panda’s presence.

Allen felt like a clown.

Then Fudge delivered a passionate speech, subtly claiming Allen’s achievements as his own political triumphs—proof of his dedication to young wizarding education.

Allen felt deeply embarrassed; not a single meaningful word was said.

But the crowd below applauded enthusiastically, cheering Fudge on.

Finally, Fudge announced that, due to Allen’s accomplishments in magical research, he was considering nominating him for a Third-Class Order of Merlin, sparking even louder applause...

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