SLITHER IN! → S. MALFOY

ACT III, SCENE VIII: SEARCH FOR ME

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - E I G H T 

✧—✧—✧—✧—✧—✧

"—...I'M GETTING THE SUITCASES," Rose heard, frozen in horror, as she pressed her ear against Malfoy's closed bedroom door, "You get the cat. And the clothes."

         They were the voices of the first-year Slytherins Rose had passed in the corridor. She pressed further into the lacquered black door, looking back at the journal that was left lying open on Scorpius Malfoy's bed.

The witch backed away suddenly as she heard one of them sob.

             "What am I going to tell mum," he choked through uprising tears, and Rose heard the sound of feet rushing through towards the middle of the Common Room, "He's dead, Blaze, he's dead, oh, Merlin,—"

Rose blinked.

"Let's just get out of here. I'm sure professor Branche will take care of telling your mum." Then, in a whisper, "I'm scared."

"C'mon, they told us to evacuate, let's do it quick."

                  "Evacuate," Rose mouthed incredulously, and, hearing the two Slytherins descend towards the bedrooms, pushed the door open and dashed across the Common Room towards the exit.

Soon, she was rushing up the stairs and towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

Someone stopped her by the shoulder. Rose looked back to find professor Silkton looking past her, a sombre yet decisive expression marring his face.

"What are you doing here?" His eyes finally slid to Rose's. "The school was told to evacuate."

                  "What happened?" Rose whispered in panic.

"A murder, Rose. A student was found dead in one of the corridors."

THE ROYAL BOROUGH OF KENSINGTON, LONDON

                   "BUT HE WAS NOT—" Ron Weasley lowered his voice, so that only the two sitting opposite him could hear, and, looking at Hermione apologetically, muttered, "—he wasn't a mudblood."

"For Merlin's sake, that is the least of our worries, Ronald," Hermione buried her face in her hands. "I don't want to be sending Hugo or Rose back there until they've found out if it is the Basilisk that's caused his death."

"What else would it be?" Harry Potter, his face sullen, interjected. "It's not like the kid decided to drop dead in the middle of the corridor."

           "But you killed it, Harry, right?" Hermione looked up. "You killed it."

Silence lapsed over the white marble kitchen of the Granger-Weasley household, the only disturbance being the snowstorm outside. It hung, like a milky blanket, over the London roads, covering the roofs of black and red cars parked underneath.

           The Golden Trio looked back at the living room, where Rose, Hugo, Lily Luna, James and Albus sat around the dark mahogany table, discussing in hushed tones what appeared to be the only topic that has been discussed in the household for the past two days since Rose's return.

James Potter slid from the sofa and lay his head on it, looking up at the ceiling.

          "—...This is useless. You're not our parents. Even if it is the Basilisk did kill the boy, you cannot hunt the beast down and kill it. It's there and it's alive and dangerous. And don't look at me like that, Albus, you cannot."