𝔸 𝕊𝕡𝕪 𝕀𝕟 ℙ𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕥 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Anya had no idea how to let Harry know that her Mother had apparently killed Lord Voldemort.

She sat up in her room, pen in hand, staring down at her blank parchment.

She had never wanted to tell someone anything more, but she knew that putting her deepest secrets into writing was a bad idea for her entire family.

In the end she opted to give a coy suggestion that 'maybe' someone else would someday take out Lord Voldemort before he even left Hogwarts and that he shouldn't worry so much.

She sent the letter and went down to the kitchen, yawning.

To her surprise, her Mother seemed to be trying to cook a giant snake.

"What is that?"

"Oh, this?" Yor gestured to the snake. "It got into the house and..ummm... Well, it died."

She had killed it.

"So I thought I would try cooking it." Yor said. "I've seen people do it on TV."

Anya stared at the snake doubtfully.

She was fairly certain that it was one of the most venomous snakes in the world.

"I'm not eating that." Anya said.

Yor's face fell.

When it came dinnertime she and her father cooked while Yor sulked, trying to scrape the remains of the snake off of the pan she had burned onto the metal.

While they were eating, however, Loid noticed another snake skirting outside their window, watching them.

With practiced ease he whipped out a handgun, fired, and blasted the snake's head clean off.

The snake's body fell onto the floor, and they ended up throwing it out with the others.

"I've never seen so many snakes." Yor said. "Where did you get that gun, Loid?"

"It's Snake season." He lied. "You have to kill them to get rid of them."

"Oh." Yor said. She looked pleased. "I suppose I'll keep an eye out for them then."

Over the next week, the bodies of dead snakes that had gotten into their house and were now lying in their rubbish bin numbered in the dozens.

Yor had taken Loid's claim that it was Snake season to heart, and took great pleasure in whipping out her own gun whenever one reared its ugly head.

The blasts coming from their house were so frequent, Anya was worried that eventually someone would realize that something was going on.

One day she was sitting at home, reading a book when a snake came up to her.

She pulled out her own gun and fired, but missed.

The snake adjusted its head, hissing, and jolted at her.

Anya ended up grabbing it and strangled it to death.

It hung limply in her hands and she stared at it.

She had been reading up on snakes to better understand just why so many of them seemed to be getting inside their home, and in the meantime had learned several safe and effective ways of killing them.

She had also learned, however, that it wasn't typical for snakes to be so aggressive.

She turned the snake over in her hands, trying to identify the species.

Her first observation was that the snake was foreign: none of the species native to Britain matched its characteristics.

Secondly, however, and much more worrisome, were the patterns on its skin.