It was Saturday night. The Slytherin dungeons were quiet. You were just going to sleep when you noticed that your pet is not there. You sighed in annoyance. It was the third time it escaped this week.

You went downstairs to the common room in your short, satin pijama. Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and Lorenzo Berkshire were sitting on the couches talking lively about something. Sons of famous deatheaters.

“Excuse me, has anyone seen um… white rabbit?” you ask.