AN: All recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
The scared little boy cowered, pushing himself closer to the wall, his wide grey eyes staring at the door. He tried not to whimper, he really did, but the smallest of squeaks slipped out. He was sweating, his platinum blond hair sticking to his face.
The clothes in the closet he was hiding in weren't his; of course they weren't, they were much too large and showy. No, they belonged to his parents.
The house was deathly quiet. No footsteps, no doors opening, no house-elves ghosting about. And yet the boy was frozen in the closet, trying his hardest to not even breathe.
His sharp ears heard it; the sighing, tell-tale creak of the floorboard outside the room. His heart sped up, and he swallowed convulsively. The saliva coursing down his throat offered him no relief. His hands, slippery and sweaty, wiped his fringe out of his eyes. They peered through the gap in the doors of the closet.
The man who came in had a mop of brown hair, curly like the Greek myths the little boy's mum read to him at night. The man had his back turned to the closet, but the little boy could see he wore expensive Italian shoes, and a suit.
The man uncovered the head of the bed, before covering it again. He knelt on his knees, and searched under the bed. He was looking for something, something important. As the man looked around the room, the little boy saw his face.
Half of the man's face was covered by a white mask. The little boy had seen it somewhere before; a musical movie called The Phantom Of The Opera, which he had seen his mother watching once. He had always wondered at the mask. The man in the room wore one just like it.
Then the man caught sight of the closet, and the little boy feared the man was looking right at home. Slowly, deliberately, the man stood up, carefully dusting off his pants. His eyes taking on a manic glint, he slowly made his way over to the closet. With one dramatic swing of the doors, he pulled it open.
"Gotcha, ya little Snitch," he yelled, pulling the little boy out.
The little boy grinned. "How did you find me so fast, Uncle Theo?"
The man ruffled the boy's hair. "Kid, your mother may have been the smartest witch of our age," Theo replied, as he led the way to the dining room celebrating a Halloween party, "but your father was awful at hide-and-seek at your age. Always hid in one place: his mummy's skirts."
Before they opened the door of the dining room, Theo had one last piece of advice. "When you're hiding, Scorpius, hide in the place where no one thinks to look."
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AN:
For homework =]
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