Hermione's mind froze at Lia's words.
In an instant, all the clues were linked into a cold chain of logic.
The scent of "Peter" = lies.
The scent of lies = near Ron.
That rat by Ron's side that had lived for twelve years and was missing a toe.
The answer was self-evident.
"Hermione?" Parvati's inquiry brought her back to her senses.
Hermione suppressed the surging waves in her heart and forced a flawless smile for Parvati and Lavender: "It's nothing, I just remembered I wrote something wrong in my Potion essay. It's getting late, we should head back."
She gripped Lia's hand; the Cat-girl's soft little hand transmitted a gentle warmth.
Hermione tightened her fingers and squeezed Lia's palm.
They intercepted Ron at the entrance of Honeydukes.
He was munching on a chocolate frog, his mouth greasy, and greeted them indistinctly: "Hey! You guys are finally done browsing. Fred and the others went to prank Filch, so I came out first."
Hermione's gaze pierced through his thick robes, pinning itself onto the slightly twitching pocket on his chest.
"Ron," Hermione's voice was frighteningly calm, "your rat, Scabbers, let me see him."
Ron stopped chewing.
He glanced warily at Hermione, then peeked at Lia half-hidden behind her, his face showing the Weasley Family's signature impatience: "What for? He's fast asleep. What does Lia want to do to him now?"
In his limited understanding, it was only natural for cats to catch rats.
"I heard he hasn't been doing well lately, maybe I can..."
"He's perfectly fine!" Ron interrupted rudely, his hand instinctively shielding the pocket on his chest, "He's just old! Don't nag me like my mum!"
The moment his palm covered it, the little thing in the pocket got spooked and twitched violently.
That was it.
Lia's body instantly went from soft to rigid.
One second she was a dodder flower needing Hermione's protection; the next, she bared the fangs of a carnivorous plant.
The cat ears amidst her silver hair snapped upright, their tips twitching as they locked onto the bulge. In those eyes clear as the sky, all emotion was drained, and her pupils contracted into a lethal vertical slit under the gloomy winter light.
There was no magic in her eyes, only souls.
Rot, decay, cowardice, betrayal... the stench of old lies from the Three Broomsticks turned into a clump of gray, filthy soul-fire, flickering fearfully beneath Ron's palm.
It was him.
From deep within Lia's throat came a low, suppressed growl of threat—the chest resonance of a large Feline announcing death after locking onto its prey.
"Look!" Ron jumped at the sound and shouted, pointing at Lia, "She just wants to eat Scabbers! I told you! Hermione, control your pet!"
"Lia is not a pet!" Hermione's voice suddenly rose. She yanked Lia behind her, her face pale with anger. "Ron Weasley, hand him over!"
She didn't dare mention the name. Once spoken, if this rat escaped, they would never be able to catch him again.
"You're all crazy!" Ron's face flushed; Hermione was being completely unreasonable. "Harry's crazy, and you're crazy too!"
Just as he finished, a despondent Harry happened to walk over from a distance and caught the end of the argument: "What's going on?"
"Harry! You be the judge!" Ron found his savior. "Hermione insists on seeing Scabbers, and Lia wants to eat him!"
Harry looked at Hermione; her face was grim. Behind her, Lia was staring fixedly at Ron's pocket with an expression Harry had only seen in Muggle documentaries—the predator's gaze, a mix of disgust, coldness, and cruelty, before a leopard pounces.
Harry's heart sank.
He didn't know what had happened, but he instinctively felt that things were definitely not simple.
"Ron, just let Hermione have a look. Maybe Scabbers really is sick," Harry tried to mediate.
"No!" Ron's stubbornness was extraordinary; he treated Scabbers as his final territory. "He's my rat!"
"He's not!"
A soft but incredibly firm voice rang out.
Lia poked her small face out from behind Hermione, her vertical pupils watching Ron without emotion: "He... is a bad thing."
Before her voice even faded, she moved.
She was so fast that no one could react.
A white shadow pounced toward Ron's chest with undisguised killing intent.
"Lia!"
Hermione cried out and moved like lightning, catching Lia around the waist just before her claws could reach Ron's robes.
The Cat-girl struggled violently in her arms, letting out an angry hiss.
Ron was so startled that he stumbled back several steps and fell onto the snow, all color draining from his face.
"Crazy... your cat... is crazy!"
He scrambled to his feet, glanced in terror at Lia, who was being held tightly by Hermione, then turned and ran, bolting toward the Castle without looking back.
That stench named "Peter Pettigrew" fled in panic.
Hermione held the still-shivering Cat-girl tightly, gently stroking her bristling fur until the tense body softened again.
The vertical pupils in Lia's eyes slowly dilated, returning to their usual roundness. She buried her face in the crook of Hermione's neck and rubbed against her aggrievedly: "Hermione... he got away."
"I know," Hermione's voice was incredibly gentle, yet carried a steel-like resolve.
She looked up at Harry, who was standing there completely stunned.
"Harry," Hermione's instruction was clear and calm, "listen to me. That rat in Ron's pocket, Scabbers, is no ordinary rat."
She watched Harry's green eyes widen in shock as she dropped a bombshell, word by word.
"Lia says he has the scent of 'Peter' on him. That... Peter Pettigrew who betrayed your parents."
Harry's breath hitched.
"We have no evidence, and Ron won't believe us. So, we must get evidence."
Hermione pulled Lia closer and buried her head in her, taking a deep breath of her scent.
The frustration of failing to capture Pettigrew was finally suppressed by Lia's scent.
Chapter 55: The Hard Part is the Truth (Additional)
In the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room, the flames crackled.
But Hermione's heart was colder than the winter night outside the window.
Lia had already transformed back into her Ragdoll Cat form, curled up on her lap, purring steadily.
Her Constant Body Temperature radiated through the wool skirt like a small heater.
Yet Hermione could not find true peace until that "bad thing" was dragged out.
"Lia, let's go find Professor McGonagall," Hermione whispered, stroking the cat's silky back fur.
Hermione really couldn't think of how to successfully take down an adult Wizard right under Ron's nose.
She didn't disturb anyone, not even telling Harry.
Harry's emotions were extremely unstable right now, and Ron... he was currently the biggest obstacle.
Holding Lia, Hermione walked out of the common room, the corridor filled only with their faint footsteps.
At the door of the Transfiguration Professor's office.
Hermione took a deep breath and knocked softly.
"Come in."
Professor McGonagall's voice was as stern as ever, carrying the displeasure of being disturbed late at night.
When she saw her most prized student standing at the door with Lia in her arms, she couldn't help but feel curious.
"Miss Granger and Miss Lia? Something must have happened for you to come so late. If it's not urgent, why don't you sit down and tell me slowly?" Her gaze swept between Hermione's face and the cat.
After calmly inviting them to sit and pouring two cups of Black tea, the elderly Witch did not believe anything could happen in Hogwarts that was beyond control.
"Professor, I need your help," Hermione said, getting straight to the point after a sip of tea. "The matter is very, very urgent, and very absurd."
Professor McGonagall nodded, a gentle, faint smile on her face. "Go on."
Hermione placed Lia on the chair beside her; Lia transformed back into human form and took a sip of tea, imitating Hermione.
Feeling it wasn't a flavor she liked, she put it back on the table.
"Professor, you remember seeing Lia in Hogsmeade," Hermione stated, not as a question but as a fact.
Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a line, a silent admission.
Hermione spoke extremely fast, yet every word was crystal clear. "She has a special talent. She can distinguish lies in the form of a scent."
"A scent?" Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed into a knot. This was already beyond the scope of Transfiguration.
"Yes, Professor. Today at the Three Broomsticks, we heard Minister Fudge's conversation regarding Sirius Black and... and Peter Pettigrew." Hermione stared intently into Professor McGonagall's eyes. "Lia told me that the account of 'Peter Pettigrew's death' is filled with the scent of lies."
The office fell into a dead silence.
Professor McGonagall's face instantly turned grim, and she steadied herself against the edge of the desk. "Miss Granger, do you realize what you are saying? This is an extremely serious accusation."
"I know!" Hermione's voice trembled slightly, but her eyes were incredibly firm. "So, I had her look for the source of that 'lie.'"
"Professor, that scent, that stench representing 'Peter Pettigrew is still alive'..."
She paused for a moment, struggling to voice the conclusion:
"It's on Scabbers, Ron Weasley's pet rat."
"Absurd!" Professor McGonagall refuted subconsciously, but then she looked at Hermione's urgent gaze and then at Lia's clear, certain eyes.
In those sky-blue pupils, there was no trace of impurity, only a pure conviction.
A twelve-year-old, top student, coming in the middle of the night to gamble her future on a tall tale.
A strangely shaped cat, suspected to be a natural Animagus, using intuition beyond that of a human to corroborate the story.
Professor McGonagall's breathing became rapid.
She remembered that night twelve years ago that had broken her heart.
She thought of James and Lily, and of Black, whom she had always believed to be of good character.
What if... what if there really was more to this?
"This matter is beyond my authority." Professor McGonagall stood up, pacing back and forth in the office before slowly stopping. "Miss Granger, Miss Lia. Come with me."
Without the slightest hesitation, she strode out of the office.
Hermione immediately pulled Lia along to follow.
The gargoyle leading to the Headmaster's Office slowly moved aside upon hearing Professor McGonagall say the password "cockroach clusters."
This was the first time Hermione had stepped into this circular office. The portraits of past Headmasters on the walls were all asleep.
Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, looking at a copy of The Daily Prophet, his long silver beard almost reaching the tabletop.
Seeing Professor McGonagall arrive with two young witches, a flash of understanding passed through his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles, but there was no surprise.
"Minerva, it's so late. Has something interesting happened?" He put down the newspaper and interlaced his fingers on the desk.
"Albus, listen to me." Professor McGonagall's tone was more serious than ever. "Miss Granger has made a discovery."
Under the gaze of two top-tier Wizards, Hermione felt immense pressure.
But at the thought of the warmth and trust of the one holding her arm, she gathered all her courage and repeated what she had just told Professor McGonagall, word for word.
Dumbledore's expression didn't change at all; he just listened quietly.
Only when Hermione mentioned that "Lia can smell lies" did his gaze truly and intently fall upon the cat in Hermione's arms for the first time.
"Oh?" He let out a gentle exclamation, as if seeing an interesting magical bauble. "You smelled the scent of a lie?"
"Yes," Lia said succinctly.
"Albus, this is too incredible. But Miss Granger's attitude is very firm, and..." Professor McGonagall glanced at Lia, "Lia doesn't seem to be joking either."
Dumbledore fell silent.
The office was so quiet that the faint sound of Fawkes the Phoenix preening its feathers could be heard.
He remembered that tiny but pure golden light on the Quidditch Pitch that could even repel Dementors.
He remembered Snape's recent report, saying this cat could sense the sorrow deep within his Occlumency.
Now, she could "smell" a lie that had been silent for twelve years.
Constant Body Temperature, Danger Intuition, Super-speed Regeneration... these could all be explained by the bloodline of a Magical Creature.
But sensing emotions, repelling Dementors, sniffing out lies... this had already touched upon the level of the soul and laws.
"Lia," Dumbledore spoke gently, his voice possessing a power that seemed to soothe the heart.
Deep blue eyes met the wise spectacles.
"Child," Dumbledore smiled, "can you tell us what that 'lie' smells like?"
Lia hesitated for a moment, then said clearly:
"It's... it's like old dust, and that kind of... rotting rat smell from the sewers. Very stinky, very disgusting. Like a secret that's been hidden for a long, long time and has gone moldy."
This childish description, however, caused both battle-hardened Wizards to feel a chill run down their spines at the same time.
A secret hidden for twelve years, already rotten and moldy.
Twelve years was a quite significant amount of time.
In Dumbledore's azure eyes, a sharp light flashed and vanished.
He made a decision.
"I understand." He stood up, walked over to Hermione, and took a deep look at Lia. "I believe you."
Hermione could hardly believe her ears.
"I believe in the prudent judgment of an excellent student, and I am willing to trust the intuition of a pure heart." Dumbledore's voice returned to its usual composed calm. "Minerva, it seems our little trouble is much larger than imagined."
Professor McGonagall's tense shoulders finally relaxed. "Then what should we do? Go directly to question Ron Weasley?"
"No, that would only alert the enemy." Dumbledore shook his head, walking around the desk as if conceptualizing a complex chess game.
"We need an opportunity, one where no one can argue. We need a stage for the actor to appear on their own."
"Minerva, you know," Dumbledore said meaningfully, shaking his head at Professor McGonagall, "killing a traitor isn't hard; the hard part is the heavy truth."
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