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Alexandra could not say what had led her to this conclusion. Intuition? Studies of the Heir's past attacks? Slytherins always liked to attack in the shadows and where they weren't expected. True Slytherins of course. Crabbe, Goyle and Draco Malfoy didn't count.
"Assuming you're right...do you think there have been other attacks in the castle? I mean if everything was time-delayed to go off during the match, the Heir could-"
"-attack with his Monster while everyone was busy shouting for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff? Yes."
Alexandra closed her eyes and tried to ignore the awful sensation spreading in her stomach and the rest of her veins. Hermione and Morag were in the castle. Hermione would quite a prime target due to her simple existence and the fact their Gryffindor friend ridiculed every claim of pure-blood supremacy every time she opened her mouth.
"Should we not run?"
Alexandra made a negative nod.
"If we had the power to bypass the Hogwarts wards and teleport myself directly to our study room or the library, we may arrive in time. But with this crowd?"
On the pitch and the grounds between the stadium and Hogwarts, hundreds of students formed a dense, panicked mass that went in every direction without any discernable purposes. There was no Nimbus or a flying broom quickly reachable to avoid this tumult.
"I thought-" Nigel found difficulties to find his words. "They are our friends-"
"Yes. And Nigel what do you think is going to happen if we rush head first in danger?"
"Bad things?"
This was a generous understatement. Death was not in general a good thing...and neither was petrifaction.
"At best, we arrive too late. At worse...we will be petrified. Or missing. Or dead."
"I see." The voice of the Gryffindor translated clearly the contrary.
"Don't mistake me." Alexandra closed temporarily her yes before reopening them and pinching her nose in angst. "No matter who was attacked, the Heir and those who help him have proven they are too dangerous to be left on their own devices."
"It's time to act?"
"Yes. Yes, I think it's time. Now let's find a way to see how bad things are in the castle."
A few minutes later and a couple dozen of judicious applications of the Levitation Charm, the two members of the Exiled had the first inklings of the answer. It was bad. On the stairs leading to the second floor, three Gryffindors first-years laid petrified.
"Jade, Abigail and Rosalyn..." Said in a shocked and dramatic voice a Gryffindor Prefect. The sixth-year girl looked ready to burst into tears. "I thought they had wanted to stay in the Common Room..."
Bypassing the crowd encircling the victims of the Heir, Alexandra and about twenty Ravenclaws went up, searching for any clues of more attacks. Hogwarts was plunged into an unreal silence. The animations of the armours had stopped. The figures of the portraits were not talking anymore. Only the footsteps of the living resonated in the corridors, quasi-running in the corridors in fear and angst. After ten minutes, alerted by the cries of alarms of a group of Hufflepuff, they found them on the fourth floor.
First to come into view was a older girl with long blonde hair. Alexandra knew her. Penelope Clearwater, Prefect and sixth-year Ravenclaw. One of the kindest authority figures among the Raven's tower. She was also a Muggle-born.
Close to her was the peculiar girl who had just talked to them before they went to Quidditch. Luna Lovegood. The serene face of the first-year witched was tranquil, contrasting greatly to the face of horror showed by the Prefect. There was a Hufflepuff boy too. Alexandra couldn't put a name, but his height and the general common robes on a week-end tended to make him a first-year coming from a non-magical background.
And six feet behind them...
Hermione had still a surprised expression on her face when she had been petrified. Her hair seem a bit dishevelled from the moment Alexandra had seen her half an hour ago. Her Gryffindor friend was holding a small mirror in her right hand, one the raven-haired witch had seen Morag use during the week-ends or after their duels sometimes to keep an 'acceptable' appearance.
Morag harboured a more resolute and firm expression, like she had been preparing to fight her opponent. The wand of the red-haired witch was in her hand anyway. Not that it seemed to have mattered. The MacDougal Heiress was petrified. One glance around revealed no trace of spell fire in the corridor. Bad. The enemy had managed to defeat them before a single spell was on their lips.
A song came to the mind of the Potter Heiress. One she had hoped there would never be any occasion to sing.
Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone:
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.
In the black wind the stars shall die,
and still on gold here let them lie,
till the dark lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land.
"The Lord of the Rings again?" The visage of Nigel was gloomy, even at the light of the torches lightening the dark corridor. There was no windows, no portraits in this section of the castle.
"It's appropriate, no?" Alexandra bent over Hermione petrified body and tried to see if her friend had left something, anything that could give them a clue. It did not take long to find it. The piece of paper had been caught between the petrified fingers...it took a lot of creativity to release it without causing harm to Hermione's skin.
The message was in Hermione's writing and had been clearly written in a hurry. The parchment was torn, the ink had dropped several times on the text and the corners. A far cry from the perfect essays the second-year best student redacted every week. But even with a couple of unintelligible letters, Alexandra had no difficulty deciphering it, Nigel casting a quick Lumos to read it by her side.
THE KING OF SNAKES
"What does it mean, Alex?"
"Basilisk..."
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