Hallows Game || HP X Squid Game (Draco Malfoy)

32 - And The Winner Is...

"Sparkling pumpkin juice?"

I turned away, failing to hide my disgust as the man in the black mask offered up a bottle covered in sweaty beads of condensation.

There was a loud pop followed by a fizzing sound as he popped the cork anyway.

I pulled at my wrists which were still painfully bound behind my back. How the fuck did he even expect me to drink it?

"You're a rich woman." The man said, filling two flutes as the wheels of the limousine span smoothly beneath us. "You have plenty of celebrating to do when you get home. That was quite the game."

My mouth fell open as I looked at him. On what planet did he think that? Harry killed himself, and then Draco attempted to, but then the guards stepped in, killed him instead and dragged me away to my so-called victory. I wasn't being funny, but surely the glass stepping stones was a lot more entertaining than that?

Questions flooded my head, but there was only one I wanted to actually ask.

"Why did you kill him?"

The strangled voice that came out of my mouth was barely recognisable to myself at all.

The man said nothing for a long minute, and just stared at me through the slits in his mask, contemplating his answer.

"My boss had his reasons."

I felt frustrated. Not all the money in the world it seemed could answer the one burning question I much desired to be answered.

"It makes no sense." I said as steadily as I could, trying not to let the grief I was experiencing overwhelm me. "I surrendered. Why kill him and not me?"

Again, another pause.

"Relax. Enjoy your life."

A red hotness descended through me. I wanted to karate kick this man's mask off and spit right in his face.

"Four hundred and fifty-five people died- were murdered!" I snarled, my voice shaking with anger. "How do you even expect me to sleep again, let alone enjoy my life?!"

"I hear that sleeping tablets are really coming along these days."

I closed my eyes, my mind a fuzzy mess. None of this made sense, and I had the awful feeling that I was never going to get the answers I so sorely required.

"I didn't win anything," I murmured, my chest so tight I could scarcely breathe. "I surrendered."

"As I said," the man spoke in a soft, dangerous voice. "My boss had his reasons."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Who are you?"

Gas began to fill the limo, billowing up all around me so that I could no longer see.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" I choked, gasping to stay awake. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

But instead of answers, all I got was darkness.

When I regained consciousness, I found myself abandoned down a derelict London alleyway, nestled amongst the dustbins and a gold card stuffed in my mouth.

I was rich, but had never felt poorer.

*****

Rain splattered on my face as I stumbled through the streets, crashing into disgruntled shoppers who quickly moved away from me, the disgust on their faces evident.

Having lived in the sewers for long enough, it was a reaction I was already familiar with, none of it phasing me. But in my emotionally numbed state, I had no idea where I was headed.

My head was fuzzy, and I could barely focus my eyes. Had it all just been some kind of horrific nightmare? All those deaths, all that heartache and terror? Was any of it real?

Being back amongst civilisation it was almost hard to believe it had ever been the case.

But it had been real. For all I could see were the faces of the dead: of all four hundred and fifty-five of them, floating around my head, round and round, like a never ending carousel of torment.

I could feel the sharp edge of the gold card cutting into my breast; tucked tightly into my bra and reminding me that, yes - it had, in fact, happened. Hundreds of others: sisters, friends... he, had died for this, for me to be left alone with nothing but a fucking piece of plastic.

I began to laugh: wild manic laughter which earned me strange looks from people around me - people who began to give me an instant wide berth.

My laughter turned into sobs, and my sobs turned into chokes. I could not breathe, I could not anchor myself. I staggered to a halt in the middle of the pavement and crouched down into a tight ball, terrified that if I did not then I would just float away into the unknown.

People continued to bustle around me, their presence feeling uncomfortably close, yet their voices sounding far, far away.

A hand touched my shoulder. I flinched, but refused to lift my head.

"Are you okay, miss? Do you need a hospital?"

"More like a nut house!"

"Miss? Miss? Answer me."

"Don't bother, she's clearly a crackhead. Leave the whore be."

"But she's distressed."

"Exactly. Coming down. There's nothing you can do for her."

"Miss- are you sure there's nothing I can do...? Do you live nearby?"

Silence.

A resigned sigh, followed by retreating footsteps.

I wanted to lift my head and beg whoever it was to come back: beg them not to leave me. But I was frozen: frozen in grief... frozen in madness.

The truth was, there never was meant to be a winner.

Just a terrible, lonely loser.

Where on earth was I supposed to go from here?

*****