The Green Games (Dramione)

Day 15; Part 2

Draco was a mess for hours after.

He didn't say another word for a very long time after muttering his thoughts, leaving Hermione to either fill the gap with useless words or to stay silent. She chose the latter.

He didn't instruct her at all as she pulled the knife from his chest, only winced in pain. He didn't tell her that when she sewed him up, it was the most awful job anyone could have ever done (because truly, it was) or make a comment about the scar it would leave, just reminding him of this day, but just stared into the forest. Even when she finished bandaging him as the hovercrafts came, picking Tracy up and they watched blood still drip from her lips, he was utterly silent, and Hermione would have thought him emotionless.

But when she turned around again, she saw tears running down his cheeks and his shoulders shaking that, if he was allowing himself to be vocal, would have violent sobs, not unlike the ones she'd experienced the night before...although it seemed now like years ago. She didn't even know what to say, for she was still trying to process what had happened herself, running through every moment of that list, but she wasn't schooled enough to know what could have caused such hemorrhaging as it did.

"I fucked up." Draco finally spoke in between hiccups, pressing his palms into his eye sockets, "I fucked up, Hermione. I must have mixed something wrong, done a step out of order. It's my fault, I did this. I killed her."

The reality of his guilt settled upon her like a dead weight.

"No," She said firmly, "I did half of that gas too. It could have been my mistake just as easily." She'd been so sure she'd done everything to perfect, but now she couldn't be sure of anything. Even as she read the list again, after finding it discarded on the ground, she realized she couldn't remember if she'd done number five or if she'd mixed the components together in the way number seven instructed her to. Maybe she'd killed Tracy. Hell...she'd killed Tracy....

"No." Draco let out another little cry; "The mixture was neon orange, just like the instructions said it would be at instruction ten. You didn't do it wrong, I did something wrong, I just don't know what. I fucked up, don't you see that?" He said, "It was me, Hermione. It wasn't you."

Hermione didn't know how to comfort him, because what if he did mix it up? She couldn't ever hold it against him, but she knew nothing she could say would ever heal the guilt he felt.

"I was so afraid I was going to lose you again, I was distracted." Draco said, "This is my punishment, for falling in love with you, even thought I was awful to you when I was younger. For finding a job that I love, but one that if I had any hope of returning to, I couldn't now. For thinking that the person I was before, the kid that was stupid and a bully, could just be forgotten. But I'm paying for everything, for my own faults, for my parent's faults...someone has to, why shouldn't it be me?"

If Hermione had any idea what she was going to say before, now that was gone. She had heard Ron say Draco loved her, and hadn't heard him deny it, but to hear the words physically leave his lips? She didn't know how to reply to that. But the rest of his thoughts?

"No, Draco..." Hermione sat next to him, "You're not...that person...you were just a child. You weren't smart enough to know, and the world doesn't just punish that sort of behavior. Everyone's a bit of a jerk at that age." She said softly.

"Hermione, you don't get it. I'm a Malfoy. We're privileged, but we're also cursed. We have so many curses on us that why not add another, you know? Why not specify it to me? You've seen our family tree, why do you think me, and my father, and my grandfather are only children? Why is it only males?" He asked angrily, and Hermione frowned. She supposed she'd never fully thought about it.

"You're not saying-,"

"We're cursed." Draco said flatly, "We have been for centuries. Usually it's not specifically a person, but clearly the world hates me because I dared to love you, a muglge-born, that's just not done in our world, but I don't care...and I'm still paying everyday for it, because I couldn't stop if I wanted to." He whispered, "My name wasn't in the bowl, Hermione."

Hermione struggled to understand. "The bowl? You mean on the reaping? Impossible, everyone's name goes in and you were picked so-,"

"No." Draco shook his head frantically, "My dad wrote those names. He works for You-know-who so that I wouldn't have to go through this. My name wasn't on the slips he wrote, and no one else knew about their agreement, so no one would have a reason to put my name in but it was still picked."

He looked at Hermione, tears gone, but eyes still swimming with sorrow, "I'm cursed." He said a little weaker, "And the worst of it is that I fell in love with someone who doesn't love me back."

Hermione was silent, processing, unsure of anything she could say to change his mind that wouldn't be a lie, or, at least, only a half-truth. But Draco didn't dwell on that, but frowned deeply, his face shifting into 'doctor-mode' as his gaze roamed her body.

"Blimey," He muttered, raising his fingers to ghost across where Tracy's fingers had pushed the air from her throat, "That will bruise. It will be nasty."

In a way, she was surprised after his confession and her lack of response he had the guts to touch her in almost a soft and intimate way. He didn't even hesitate, didn't even pause as he gingerly examined her neck, as a doctor should, but she knew there was more to it than that. But then perhaps his confidence came from the fact she didn't brush his touch away either.

The boy she'd known her first year of school was a coward, yet something near third year had changed every bit of him ensuring that when he left school he wasn't one anymore. The boy she knew first year wouldn't have had the guts to touch her after admitting something so deep, much less find the courage to profess it at all. Yes, Draco was a very different man than the child she'd hated.

And in the end, it was he who pulled back and Hermione felt drawn, compelled to make them stay in this little moment that to him might be nothing, but to her almost felt like everything.

"We should continue. That....occurrence set us back longer than I would have liked." Draco coughed.

"Did you know her well?" Hermione asked, trying to decide if he looked so haunted because they'd been close or because they hadn't, despite being in the same house.

"Enough." Draco replied with a firm tone, "I knew her name, her birthday, her preferred color gleaned from what she wore on weekends, that she had an owl named Mouse, and that her parents moved to Italy after her second year." Draco rattled off, which by all means meant he knew something, but then he paused, "But no, I can't say I truly knew Tracy Davis. She didn't get along with the girls in her grade, and by association, that meant she didn't hang around me."

He seemed angry, almost.

"Whom did she hang out with, then?"

"No one. She was a loner. It's common in Slytherin, applauded even. Friendship, by most accounts, is an oversight of logic and mostly not worth the effort." He said, but he didn't sound all too mechanical, he sounded like he mostly believed it. Hermione opened her mouth to object, but he chuckled, "Even you, who would have most certainly been a loner in any other house, had friends-idiots most of them, as it happens. Gryffindor travel in packs, 'leave no one behind', it's a downfall."

"But you and Blaise?" Hermione fired back, "You were friends with him."

"Which was a mistake, obviously." Draco snapped back, becoming cross with her, "The problem with us, with Slytherins, is that if you are a friend in the beginning, it's hard to shake friends in the end. It is human nature to seek companionship, but it is not often in your best interest, but my flaw is loyalty. It's the idea that if I chose you once, despite everything that would go wrong by nature of probability, then your worth something, right? I kept waiting, hoping until the end that perhaps I would see in him what I saw as a child, what made me rethink my logic. I didn't want to be wrong. I was." He still seemed pained, although Hermione had a feeling most of it fell upon his shoulders.

"Then..." She licked her lips, "Love must be considered equally as frivolous in your eyes. You would have to be a fool by your logic to enter into something so ridiculous." There was a heavy tinge of sarcasm, a hurt to her tone. Draco only gave her a mild smile.

"Why do you think most Slytherins enter into betrothals, despite tradition? Why do you think it is tradition? Because yes, you are right. Love robs you of all your self-preservation and sense of unclouded thinking. Most Slytherins couldn't let this befall them, so a political option to continue their line was the best solution. But I do not deny it, I am a fool in love." He shrugged, "I suppose there came a certain point when even I realized that despite all my calculations, all my logic, you can't override nature and my nature of myself," He waved between them, "calls your nature with a force I couldn't override if I wanted to. And when I let myself go truly to that nature, I found myself falling in love with everything about you in a way that pure instinct couldn't compel."

Hermione snorted, "Is that a romantic way of saying you want to get into my pants? That's charming." She said.

"On the surface, perhaps." His grin was wolfish and he was unflinchingly candid, which she did appreciate, "But it is more than that. It is on a level beneath my control, beneath my most human urges. Once I would say to call it my soul would be impossible, but now?" His fingers ghosted over where his scar was, "I think that's the most appropriate term."

"If that's true, shouldn't my soul be in rhythm with yours?" It was a nice way of asking why she wasn't in love wit him the same way.

"Because you are a Gryffindor." He scoffed, "You have been raised to think by emotion, although you do best by thinking by logic. Your two sides have been in contrast since you could control magic. But it's for the best. Had we met in different circumstances, you'd be driven by logic to the point that I was at, the resistance of the soul. But there's hope, I suppose, because the nurturing of feeding your emotions has been with you for seven years."

"So, in other words, my soul is in rhythm, I just haven't accepted it. It sounds awfully coincidental and convenient for you."

"Do you think you'd be able to touch my soul if it wasn't beating the same as mine?" He questioned back, and this did cause her to pause.

"Come on," He said, after a long moment of her contemplation, looking a little smug, "I think we should head this way."

THEGREENGAMES

Hannah, by a brand of fate and luck that no one could have predicted, makes it back to the starting position first. It's just past noon when she staggers through the protective barrier, sides heaving and blood dripping from her forehead. She wipes it away on her sleeve, relief washing through her whole body as she sees a structure that certainly wasn't there however many days ago that they started this damn trial, a big metal building that looks sort of uninviting but altogether it's something stable and safe and unfamiliar in the best of ways.

There's a wide glass part of it and she can see parents and siblings and other people with their faces pressed against the glass eagerly, and there's a delayed moment before they're all clapping and cheering. She gets the moment of silence before it, even she didn't think she'd be the first one through, but as she passed the barrier, she could just feel that this was true.

It had to do with the fact she was pretty close to the camp to begin with, much closer than comfort than she would have liked in any other setting, and those awful game-makers had less land between her and her goal to throw her off.

Not that they didn't manage to as it was. She'd come across a lake she'd been positive wasn't there before, and had no choice but to swim through it. There had been merpeople waiting for her, and they weren't the beautiful types she'd read about as a child. These were mean with gnashing teeth and claws that dug into her skin, drawing her down under the water.

Even she wasn't positive how she survived. She knew the bubble-head charm quite well, from years of playing by the sea-shore with her family, but the water here was almost too dense to see through, impenetrable, the merpeople invisible until their teeth were up in your face.

She winced as her ankle rolled and gingerly touched the wound there that was obviously tooth marks from jaws that had locked onto her, trying to drown her. It had almost worked too; she could feel her bubble pop and her breath leave her, but just as quickly as they'd all come swarming at her, gnawing at her and breaking her skin, they'd all vanished and she had floated in the depths of the muddy pool, waiting for death, wondering where they'd gone and when they'd be back.

But they never came back.

For some reason, they'd stopped attacking her.

Hannah couldn't wrap her mind around it; true, she'd heard that fresh-water merpeople, as she had encountered here, were generally less violent than the salt-water, but couldn't the game-makers make them as vicious as they pleased? Or was it that since they were sentient, they recognized the horror of the games and only played as much as they could as a part of it? Was it some other reason entirely?

She wondered if they'd let her go simply so she'd over-think it and go mad. If they were doing it to be nice, she would have appreciated it if they'd left a fewer marks. She'd counted, and hadn't even had proper time to look everywhere, no less than fifteen bite marks that burned like someone had poured lemon juice upon them. She hoped that out of everything in this bunker, they might have some medicine.

She pulled herself up to the door, hardly paying attention to the people still pressed up against the glass. She was exhausted. Even if the merpeople had let her live, it had taken all her strength to pull herself out of that water, because obviously, they weren't going to help her there. She could barely swim now, and that was an ordeal in itself. She hadn't exerted herself with so much energy in quite awhile, and all she wanted to do was go inside and find something that wasn't grass and mud and sleep on it.

Professor Lupin was waiting for her at the entrance.

"Congratulations are in order, Miss Abbott." He said, helping her up the steps, "Some of those bites look nasty. You should have those looked at." He said, and Hannah nodded drearily.

"Okay." She agreed, stifling a yawn.

The inside of the box was just as metal coated as the outside, with a slightly modernistic feel. The ceilings were high and had glass skylights above them, and they were at a crossroads of three different directions. One led to the left, and was filled with doors lining the sides. One followed to an open area with a cot or two, where Lupin led her. The third she wasn't sure where it lead to, but she figured she'd have time to find out, if she was able to.

Lupin sat her on a cot, and a medi-witch rushed over and began rubbing antiseptic swabs on her first wounds. She winced at the sharp stab of pain. She was sort of glad neither said anything about her left side, which was obviously in far worse shape than any other part, but at this point, unsalvageable. Frankly, she didn't want their pity and her hardened emotions surprised her. As a Hufflepuff, pity came across to them pretty frequently, but usually she wasn't perturbed by it. They were just trying to be nice, after all. But after going through the games, the idea of someone pitying her was awful. It left a sour taste in her mouth just thinking about it.

It took nearly half an hour for the woman to patch up all her wounds (twenty-seven in all), and three of them needed stitches. After the first one was closed up, she hardly noticed her working. In a way, with a jolt, she realized she missed Draco's hand in medicine. It came back to pity; he couldn't judge her and what she missed now for he too was missing just as much. He also understood their trials, so him healing her had been...unique.

Try as this witch might try, Hannah saw her hooded eyes, swimming with a certain tinge of sorrow, when she looked at Hannah. But it wasn't sorrow that she wanted to see, but sorrow when she looked at Hannah she unconsciously saw a chess piece to Voldemort. They had ceased to be humans the moment they were broadcasted on TV; they were untouchable, people far away and doing things no one could imagine having to do, almost fake and no longer human.

She recalled Cedric once told her that's how he felt, but she didn't understand it then.

She did now.

Cedric.

She wondered if he'd be here, for her? Was he even able to? Or was it just her family? She missed him in a way she didn't think she could miss someone that she couldn't even put a label on their relationship, yet when she was in her quiet moments, her thoughts went to him. A lot of it was recalling watching him go through the exact same thing, and thinking it all looked rather effortless then, and how brave he seemed (Oh, she'd had a crush on him since first year), but how she realized how terrified he actually must have been. The fact that he- A Hufflepuff-came out victorious had shocked her then, because obviously Hufflepuffs were the least violent.

But here she was too, obviously close to the end, and she truly felt, as she'd go to almost any lengths to win at this point. Perhaps everyone could win, they just needed to be pushed and prodded in the right way.

"Alright, you're all done." The woman announced, jolting her from her thoughts, "None of the wounds should be infected, but if they were, you'd know before going back out, so come back here at once, okay?" She said, helping Hannah down from the bed. All the little motions, the helping and such, bothered her. Despite what she now was missing, Hannah could manage herself just fine.

But she just smiled at the woman, trying to summon back her pre-Games attitude.

"Thank you. Where do I go now?" She asked, starting to pad toward the door.

"The first door, right across the entrance you came in." The woman smiled, "I think there's some people there that would very much like to see you."

Even if it wasn't Cedirc, the realization that her family-her mom, her dad, and her brothers, were here made her heart beat fast. She limped a little quicker.

She threw open the door, and saw little cubes. The one right in front of her had a light flickering above it, and since she was the only on there, she gleaned it was for her.

She opened the door; unsure of whom she'd come across. The first thing she saw was her father, and her heart soared.

"Mom, dad!" She said, throwing herself across the room, but stopping short. There was a wall of glass between them. Her parents were up against it, and she almost felt a tear. Until now, she hadn't realized how badly she wanted to hug them, to feel their embrace once again...but she couldn't. They weren't letting her.

"My baby..." Her mother sobbed, pressing her hand hard against her lips from sobbing openly.

She paused, a half-foot away from the glass. She realized how ghastly she must look, how underfed and sick and bloody she must have been right then. She saw two heads peaking around her parents, and in that moment, she didn't want her brothers to be here at all. She didn't want them to see her like this.

"Banana," Liam said, grinning ear to ear, "You're alive!"

"And you look totally wicked." Henry added, his identical grin just as bright, but then his face fell as he searched her, "But what happened to your-,"

"Henry." Her father snapped, and she searched his face, realizing they were limiting what her brothers saw of her. On one hand, she was grateful- no child should have to watch what their older sister went through, like this. On the other hand...they would be starting their first year of Hogwarts next year. The heavy weight that they might be picked settled upon her like an anvil, and she had the thought that maybe they should watch because they should know.

The boys didn't bring up the question again, and no one said anything else about it.

"You made it here first." Despite her mother's tears, there was so much pride behind her eyes, "My little Hannah, the first one to see us."

"I had to see you guys. I missed you so much." Hannah said honestly, "And, the idea of sleeping in a bed...I will never take my tiny twin for granted again." Hannah said.

"You know, you used to love camping as a child. I wonder what's different." Her father said, and it took her a full moment to register it as a joke. She half expected her mom to yell at him, and was fully surprised he could be so blasé about it all, but at the same time, she felt a chuckle escape her lips. What else could you do but laugh about it, since the other option was to cry about it?

"Well, it's all fun and games until you run out of pie mix to eat." She joked back, and Liam gasped.

"When you get out, we'll go camping again and we'll bring loads of pie mix!" He sounded aghast, "Why haven't we sent you more, mum, dad?"

"You know what?" Hannah kept a wince away, "I think I might be all camped-out after this experience. Might want to wait a couple years, or you know, never again."

She met her parent's eyes. If she made it out. If.

They talked about everything and nothing for another good two hours. She used to get annoyed as a teenage about their prodding, her parents and kid siblings wanting to spend time with her, but now she hoped they would never leave. It wasn't she yawned her mother stood.

"We should go. Not only do you look like you're going to fall asleep on that chair, but you're boyfriend should get a chance to see you."

"Yes, you should have told us about him! He's quite the gentleman." Her father agreed. Hannah's forehead crunched.

"Boyfriend?"

"Cedirc?" Her mother prompted, "Oh, he came over after the incident. He's been so wonderful to have around, you know? He understands what it's like to be in there, so he's very sympathetic and helps us keep our nerves down. He's a good one, Hannah."

"I knew his father back at Hogwarts; Amos was always a good man. It was only natural he'd have a son equally as polite. I'm sure he's pacing a hole in the ground waiting for you."

Hannah was still trying to process. Cedric had told them...they were dating?

She kissed them through the glass, eyes watching the door on their side very cautiously.

He entered through, a mix of emotions splayed across his face.

"So we're dating now, huh?" she asked pointedly.

"I mean, we never put a label on it." He sucked in, frowning, "Was I out of line to say that, to tell them that?"

Hannah thought about it. On one hand, she did want to be his girlfriend. They liked each other, found each other attractive, spent time together, and he clearly had shown he liked her in more ways than just one. But on the other hand, the moment they'd admitted they liked each other had been through sex, and her mother always said that was a ruddy way to start a relationship.

But on the other hand, she found she didn't care.

"Of course not. We would have gotten there, eventually. It will be nice to know that I have a boyfriend in my last few days here." She smiled, the word filling her with a warm sort of glee.

"You're doing so well, Hannah. Just a little more fight, please. You're the last Hufflepuff left."

In some ways, it surprised her to hear this, in others, it didn't. She had sort of known, deep down, that there wasn't much of her kind left, if any. Yet hearing it...she understood the deeper meaning of her mother's prideful eyes now.

"I intend to win, don't worry." She said firmly, "I'm not dying without a fight."

"Good." Cedric relaxed, "I...it would be terrible to lose you now, huh?" He asked.

"Whose still left?" Hannah asked, "Since you all seem to think it's nearing the end?"

"Erm, Hermione, Ron, Colin, Tracey-no wait, Tracey just died like four hours ago, on the way here- so not Tracey, but Pansy, Pike, Mandy, and Malfoy." He rattled off. He chuckled, "Guess I can't hate Malfoy now, though? Should probably send him a nice fruit-basket or something, instead of just glaring at him all the time."

"It would be in poor taste to glare at him, he did saved my life." Hannah agreed.

"Damn."

"I agree." She gave a small grin, and she was glad to hear that Hermione was indeed still alive. She figured the cannon for Tracey had gone off while she was underwater.

"Cedric, what do you know about Merpeople?" She asked.

"Not a ton, why?"

She regaled him with her tale of getting here, every detail she could remember about the attack and retreat, and he listened intensely. When she finished, he gave a curious hum.

"Well, you know they're obviously intelligent creatures. They were offered the same status as Vampires and such, but denied it. They didn't want to be regulated, so because of this we think of them as animals, whereas they're sorta like you and me...but half-fish." He rubbed his chin, "It's been said that they are good judges of character. Sirens have been known to let men of good morals go. Perhaps they realized that you weren't an enemy?" He said.

"I had that thought too." Hannah admitted, "Or maybe it's something else entirely."

"I guess I might as well send them a fruit basket too. Or would it be a fish basket? Or that considered cannibalism?"

"I'm not sure, Cedirc." She grinned, giggling, "Maybe stick with seaweed or something. Sushi might be offensive."

"Noted." His eyes traveled up her body, "You're banged up."

"Not in the good way." She winked and his whole body flushed. It was unlike most Hufflepuffs to be so forward, but Hannah was done being 'modest'. Besides, his blush was practically the cutest thing she'd ever seen. He seemed to recover quickly. For his initial surprise, he was a twenty-something year old male, and he'd been more than willing and happy when she'd come to his apartment before the games.

"Well, I would fix that, but you know." He motioned to the glass between them.

"After I win." She said, nodding, "After I win, me and you are going some place nice and warm and non-threatening but we'll never leave the bedroom because we'll be too busy." She felt so dirty, saying such things out loud, and her prim-and-proper self that she used to be tried to censor her.

"Alright." Cedric blushed once again, but it had a very different feel to it, more excitement, "Would it be crazy if I bought tickets now?"

"I expect them when I get out of the games waiting for me." She instructed playfully.

"You know," Cedric said, glancing at her as if seeing her truly for the first time, "I was never as confident as you were. I couldn't have told anyone with that much certainty I'd make it out. I was never sure. It makes you beautiful Hannah, more beautiful than I thought was possible."

Hannah felt her whole body melt at his words, and she almost let out a giddy-girlish laugh. She bit her lip, shrugging, "There are just so many things worth living for. They say if you keep saying something, eventually it will come true. I've never been superstitious, but hey, there's a first time for everything."

"Or a second-a Hufflepuff winning again."

"Yes, that too."

THEGREENGAMES

"He's not back yet."

Pansy spins around, glowering. "I'm quite aware."

By this point, hours after their fight, she was no longer under the false pretense that he was just wandering somewhere near camp, considering possibly killing Pansy in frustration, but would ultimately come bounding back to her. No, at this point she was confident he had gone off on his pipe-dream, and oh, six or seven hours past she had no idea how far he could have gotten.

"I thought you said he would." Blaise was taunting in his tone. She chose to ignore him, for he wasn't worth replying too.

"One of you should go retrieve him." Pansy said, glancing between the now four ghosts that sat before her. Tracy had appeared an hour after the cannon, and sheepishly Pansy had forgotten she was in the games at all. The force of summoning yet another ghost to the circle had caused cramps all along her lining of her stomach, and her knees to shake. She was fairly sure calling upon Blaise, Michael, and Daphne had been intentional, but wasn't sure Tracy's had been.

"We can't." Corner sighed, "We're bound here." He pointed, "To you."

It had been a long shot. She had that sinking suspicion, and she'd wanted to test it. She wondered if the cameras were picking them up at all, or if everyone thought Pansy had gone batty, speaking to thin air and all.

"No matter." Pansy shrugged it off casually, "I have other means of retrieving him."

"I thought you said you were going to stay here?" Daphne tilted her head.

"I am." Pansy gave a wicked grin, and sat herself down cross-legged in the very center of the clearing. She knotted her fingers in the long grass, focusing on the connection between her and the earth. She began to whisper words in a tongue that was now dead, and as other wizards would say, for good reason, but one that had enchanted Pansy from the first time reading it all the same.

She could feel the vibrations of him in black and white inside her head, his crunching footsteps miles and miles away from her. When she was close enough, she tugged his mind to hers.

Come back, Pike. Time to leave this frivolous journey.

She could feel her consciousness merging into his, her will being forcibly projected on his body. She'd practiced this with lesser-intelligent beings before, like the animals of the area, all with great success. They had become her puppets to do literally anything...including hopping themselves into a burning fire if she wanted it. It was like the Imperious Curse, but that one only worked if the person you were cursing you could see. This one, if you knew his or her magic signature well enough, could reach almost anyone.

She'd tried to use it on Draco more than once, but he had been protected by a heavy shield of magic she could not break at any moment she tried.

She could feel his will bending towards her, his footsteps changing abruptly and turning back towards her. She gave a grin; yes, this was working. Then...there was a resistance, Pike tugging forcibly on his mind shackles, as he pulled himself the other way.

No. Back.

She demanded in singular syllables, the force of fighting against an unwilling mind using too much power to be more eloquent. The force did seem to sway him for a moment, but once again she was pushed back from Pike's consciousness. She felt her unseen hand reach out to grab him, but she was smacked out of his mind so violently she found herself on her back, staring up at the sky.

Her lips tasted like copper. She sat up; touching her nose and feeling sticky blood run from it. How irritating; she'd often had minor inconveniences as a result from her magic use, but this was the first time she'd been injured per say by it.

But the thought that she'd failed reached her a moment after, and her bloody nose was forgotten. She let out a scream, slamming her fists into the ground. All around them in a circle, the grass died instantly, wilting into a brown ring. The trees shook with power. She didn't know how he was able to prevent her hold; it was unimaginable. Pike wasn't an accomplished wizard by any means, so it should have been easy enough to persuade him. Perhaps it was the distance. True, she'd only ever tried with animals within her circle.

Yes, this was likely it; she consoled herself with this idea. If he were closer, resisting her would have been unimaginable.

She stood up in a huff, brushing away the foliage from her pants, storming off into the forest. If she had to bring him back by force, maybe she wound. She wasn't planning on running all the way after him, but she had a lingering thought that maybe if she got closer, maybe she'd be able to control him that way.

Something shifted out of the corner of her eye. The sun suddenly disappeared from her sight, as something shielded out her view to the sky. She spun around to see a great wall of thick vines had come up around her before she could even react. She spun in a circle, seeing herself enclosed in at least ten-feet high walls of jungle with a singular path.

She tried to burn through it with a ball of fire, but the leaves just closed the space she'd singed away like a single-minded creature. She touched the wall, and leaves grabbed out at her, wrapping around her wrist like a vice.

At first, panic gripped her when she realized she couldn't shake the leaves. Then, fascination took hold next as she watched the vines lace up her arms. She could feel the dark magic that compelled them, far stronger than her own, giving these usually sentient but unmoving plants a mind of their own.

She tilted her head as the moss closed around her arm like armor. Perhaps she could work with this.

THEGREENGAMES

Roger Davies worked diligently at his station, head bowed over the monitors, fingers flying across the screens, occasionally tapping something with his wand and a muttered spell. Like most everyone else in the Game Maker's room, he was engrossed with his work. This was not the sort of job one could goof off around; it took constant attention and a whole hoard of people to keep theses games afloat and the public satiated.

Suddenly, the room dropped down to a chilling temperature and unrelated to the first change, Roger felt all the hair on the back of his neck stand up and the most uncomfortable shiver run up his body. Without ever saying a word, the presence of their Lord was hard to ignore. One by one, people paused at their workstations- the only person that could cause such distraction as such- and turned their heads to where Voldemort stood, his visit unannounced.

His gaze surveyed the room. Everyone's eyes dropped to the ground. There were no lack of sadistic screw-ups here, because that's what people loved about the games was the really nasty surprises, but Voldemort made the toughest guys in the room quiver and cower like fluffy kittens. He descended down the steps to the main area, gracefully sitting in a chair, and propped one leg up on to the other, joining all his fingertips at the points.

"By all means," He said, raising an eyebrow, "Continue on."

As if by magic, nearly forty heads snapped back to screens, determined not to disappoint him. Davies tried to get back into the groove he'd felt previously, but found it impossible, especially since Voldemort causally peered over his shoulder after about ten minutes. He didn't leave.

Davies gave a frantic glance over his shoulder, and met with the eyes of the most powerful man in the world. He looked away, face sallow. Even in his younger glamour charm, the appearance of himself before the dark magic ate him away- a young adult in his prime- his glance, that sole boring sort of look was the most terrifying thing Davies had ever seen.

Voldemort claimed the change in his appearance was to please the public. Everyone was too scared to rise against him, so he could have been bald and noseless and no one would have insulted him. Yet this was almost worse, because on the outside it was so unassuming. Who would be afraid of a 22-year-old kid? But if you got close enough to look into his sanguine eyes, and didn't die on the spot, you'd see that he was ruthless and nowhere near being childlike.

"Parkinson." Voldemort commented on Davies work. He was monitoring Pansy, mostly not interfering but sending worthy clips to the broadcast manage to piece together for viewing. If need be, he could send distractions her way, but that required the say-so of someone above his paygrade. But he didn't mind, especially not when he was assigned to Pansy's viewing booth. He enjoyed her darkness.

But when Voldemort said her name, he was pretty sure it wasn't said kindly. He seemed...concerned almost, although not for her well-being, more in an unsettled way. Or at least, that's how Davies decided he seemed, it was hard to tell.

They watched her screen together, wordless, for almost twenty minutes. Voldemort was deeply interested, leaning his palms forward on the cool metal to watch her every movement. Davies felt a spark of excitement and possibly lust when she managed to decimate an entire ring of nature around her in frustration.

"Dark magic." Voldemort murmured, tilting his head to the side, "A brand difficult to do properly, yet..."

"Yes. She's become quite proficient." Davies quickly added, "She's a natural. Much like yourself, I would assume?"

Voldemort almost seemed surprised by the question, and at once Davies was sure it was the wrong thing to ask and he'd be killed where he sat, but instead Voldemort chuckled. It was downright scary.

"I suppose." He said, almost like what Davies had said was comical, "Even still..." He trailed off, deep in thought.

"A lot of people think she'll win."

"Yes, I've seen." His response was curt.

Voldemort straightened, jutting his shoulders back, but still staring at the screen. "What do you have planned for this little trial of yours, Davies?" He asked.

"What do we have?" Davies repeated, "Oh!" He lunged across the table, grabbing a parchment, "Er, here sir. Here's the list of things we plan on starting. We've already employed the lake, you see." He said, nodding to where Pike was approaching a lake on someone else's computer just a couple feet ahead of him.

Voldemort scanned the list, nodding at it appraisingly. "Put this one in Pansy's path." He instructed, tapping one with his wand so it burned red colored ink.

"Are you sure?"

"Has she made any indication she will go to the center?" Voldemort asked.

"No, she quite explicitly stated she would not." Davies said, recalling her speech the night previous, or early morning, depending on how one looked at it.

"Just because she refuse to play my game doesn't make her exempt from it. That should be a worse crime altogether, refusing my goodwill, wouldn't you say?" He asked, but Davies still hesitated and did not answer. Voldemort's eyes turned hard "Do it."

Davies frowned, spinning back around to pull up the schematics for the event. He wasn't sure if Voldemort was doing this because he liked Pansy and wanted the public to see her overcome yet another thing, or because he disliked her. Davies didn't dare ask.

Instead, he gave an almost awkward cough, and turned on his mic made to make announcements to the rest of the game makers to make them aware of structural changes or things being released. He felt Voldemort's gaze upon his back.

"Maze going up in sectors eight." He tapped a button, and watched on the big screen as it zoomed on to the area Pansy occupied as a great leafy maze rose from the ground, and all the awful things they'd charmed to go along with it.

He turned around to see if Voldemort would say anything else, but saw he had already silently moved on.

THEGREENGAMES

Pike felt the invasion in his mind, the uncomfortable cold and invisible fingers of Pansy digging around on his mind, attempting to latch onto something to draw him back. He'd felt her doing this before, casually, in less obvious ways. She'd practice on him while they were doing nothing, while they were lounging around the camp. He knew the feeling of her dipping her fingers into the pool that was his mind well, but never had there been the anger and the violence of these fingers tugging him a different direction than he'd intended, his own feet betraying him with a couple well placed taps.

But he couldn't let her continue on this time. He couldn't just pretend like he didn't know what she was doing, couldn't let this experimentation of her power reach him any further, and he grasped at his mind, pushing back at her in a way he didn't know he had the ability to.

He wasn't the smartest person at Hogwarts; far from it. He was dipping far below the average, and had mostly skirted through Durmstrang's classes back before the merger. At Hogwarts, he tried even less. So he'd thought it to be the smartest of choices to pair with Pansy, heel at her words and do her bidding. He'd been downright pleased with himself for making such a logical partnership, because Pansy was intelligent and also not a person you wanted to make an enemy. He'd never questioned it, even looking at her different than he'd viewed her at Hogwarts, which was not much at all. He'd follow her off a side of a cliff if she had wanted him to, but now? Now, he wasn't all too sure he wanted to continue on with her another three steps, and her anger at his leaving proved a nagging fear in the back of his mind; he was useful to her right now, but the moment that ended, he was all too easily disposable.

He dropped to the ground, pressing the palms of his hands squarely against his temples, pressing them together in a failed attempt to sooth the raging headache he was creating in his mind by fighting against Pansy. "Get out of my head!" He growled, trying to detach their connection.

He was going to make it to the center. He had reasons he needed to make it there, especially now that the reality of the situation was becoming evident. As a Slytherin, the easy answer would be to kill Pansy before she could kill him. Unfortunately, he knew this task to be a suicide mission. The best chance he had was evasion with the muttered prayer someone else would off her, or that he could rally his thoughts and think of a way to prove his worth to her, to let him be spared at the end of this all.

A white light exploded behind his eyes as Pansy send flopping on the ground in pain, a gasp escaping his lips as he heard her command clear as day in his mind- Come back Pike, time to leave his frivolous journey.

Anger raged inside of him and he shut his eyes, trying to imagine the pathways Pansy had once described to him that existed in their minds, the pathways she was currently using to bend him like so. His body moved without his permission, clawing back the way he came, and for a second he almost let go.

Almost.

With a forceful shove, he tried to push her out of his mind. Although it didn't work, he could feel the reins loosen on him, if only for a second, but enough so that he could plant himself firmly in the ground before his whole body slugged forward at her insistence again.

No, back, she commanded harshly, and despite the whimper of pain that came with her sharp order, he let out a smile. She wasn't able to make him move this time, although the need to get back to her evaded his mind for the quickest of seconds. Sickened at her efforts and the way her fingers were turning his mind to mush, he retaliated with the mental force of anything he had left. He felt her being shoved from his mind, quietness and an emptiness rushing in the moment it left.

His vision was blotchy, as he stared at the ground. He spat up some bile in the back of his throat, body drained of energy from his stand off. He lay there for what seemed like hours, only shivering and attempting to regain his strength. There was a salient reason why this sort of mind invasion wasn't used commonly; even in the most practiced of hands, much could go wrong, making the person used go mad or worse. His headache only worsened from there.

He felt a whole slew of emotions; rage, foremost, as he often did. There was also betrayal, for he always thought that Pansy thought of him as almost an equal, someone that she wouldn't use that on. She could turn Granger's mind to mush for all he cared, but he never expected her to so violently use her new skills on him.

It made him rethink a lot.

Finally, he pushed himself up, and stumbled from where he'd been, coming to a lake. Gratefully, he collapsed near the bank, splashing water onto his face and scrubbing away the blood and vomit. He took a good look at himself in the blurred and shattered reflection of the wavy water, before deciding his face was clean enough. He scooped his face close and shakily raised a palm of water to his lips, only to have something pop out from the water and grab his wrist. He tumbled face-first into the murky lake, feeling sharp claws puncture his skin.

Bloody...hell? He thought groggily, but couldn't see more than a couple inches in front of his face. More than that, he knew he was being pulled down at a speed that no basic animal could accomplish, and the pressure only made his already splitting headache worse. Despite it all, he kept his breath. He'd experienced worse forms of torture at Durmstrang, and he'd gotten quite good at holding his breath for more than five minutes, even under intense situations.

If he could just figure out what had hoodwinked him...

The answer presented itself unexpectedly centimeters away from his face, the movement so sudden it nearly knocked the bubbles contained in his mouth. Freaking merpeople, and damn, he thought, they were really ugly. He'd heard stories of them being beautiful and alluring and stuff, but you'd have to be completely plastered and legally blind to be seduced by these devils.

He very faintly recalled learning about them during his second year of school, but he'd been 12 and thought he was cooler than he was then, and hadn't paid a lick of attention to his schooling. The true magic was that he didn't fail out of school around that age. For the first time, he found himself cursing his wandering mind and wishing he'd been more attentive. The most irritating thought that presented itself was that Granger; bloody know-it-all Granger, likely would know exactly how to get out of this situation.

He tried to shake one off his ankle that was currently gnawing on it like it was a piece of meat. He kicked it in the face, which only made it swarming back toward him even angrier. The blinding light of the pain of his headache, combined with the constant pain of these freaking fish people attacking him and the lack of oxygen made him feel dizzy. He let out a bubble, almost falling unconscious, but mentally slapped himself back into focus.

He was fuming mad. The worst possible thing in the world would to perish at the gills of these things, not after storming away from Pansy and not after surviving the hell she's unleashed upon him. He was angry that he was even here, having to participate. Angry he hadn't found anyone in days worth killing, that nothing had felt as good as it did when he'd tortured Lavender. He was being held back from what he could be, he thought bitterly, and these fish people weren't going to get in the way of that.

He grabbed one by the neck, ignoring the biting and clawing that resulted. He gripped hard, and although he wasn't sure if you could choke a mermaid, avada worked just as well. It was the first wandless and wordless magic he'd ever produced, and damn did he really mean that one.

He watched with satisfaction as the body floated lifelessly in the water, the freaky eyes open and staring blankly at her sisters, glazed over and dull. There was a moment of shock, of utter horror- as if these things had feelings, he scoffed inwardly- and that gave him just enough time to kick his way around and grab another. He didn't trust his aim underwater, but he'd do what he had to do.

The most that could be said of it was it was a massacre. Although the people watching above couldn't see what happened below, they watched as one by one, lifeless bodies of merpeople rose ominously to the top of the lake. It wasn't until there was already half the colony dead when Pike exploded from the water, dragging a body with him to shore, dropping it in disgust when his feet touched dry sand.

He looked back, chuckling, "Good riddance, bloody bastards." He said, touching his own battle scars. He wasn't without injuries; indeed, he had at least twice as many bite marks as Hannah, if not more. He'd also lost his right-handed pinky in the fray, although he only felt the pain now. It was worth it though, he would have given his whole hand to continue feeling the anger and power surge through him as he had the ultimate choice to decide between life and death (and he chose death every time) and see the light die from their beady, ugly eyes as he was reminded how much he meant to kill them, and how powerful the spells he was conjuring were.

Other places smarted worse than others, and a couple wouldn't stop bleeding, despite how hard he pushed down, and how many half-recalled healing spells he muttered under his breath. As it turns out, he only had the emotion of anger still burning inside of him, so any light magic was pretty useless to call upon.

Looking back, it was all just sort of a blur- in between that first kill and (as he would learn later) wiping out almost 9/10th's of an entire colony the game-makers has moved for this particular obstacle. No one really expected this, this mindless killing, to happen, and some were outraged, especially after it was revealed the game-makers had made them more violent than usual against their will. Pike didn't care either way; in his opinion, they attacked him, and each and every one of their filthy species deserved to die. But, even if he ever got the chance, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to summon that fire he'd felt the first time. Saying it had just happened was so cliché, but alas, that was the most accurate memory of the event as a whole. He'd just...happened to basically annihilate an entire coven of merpeople. Dark magic, along with a mind already scrambled due to more dark magic, tended to leave lots of things fuzzy in one's mind.

By the time he reached the entrance to the safety zone, he was holding onto his consciousness by the thinnest of strings. He all but collapsed on the front door, fainting from the blood loss.

He was awakened by snapping fingers. He fought through the darkness to see himself in a white room with clean white bandages wrapped all around him, and most unpleasantly to see one of his least favorite teachers above him-Lupin.

"He's awake." Lupin said to a nurse, who began checking his vitals, "Welcome to sanctity."

"Thanks." Pike grinned, "What do I get for making it here first?" He questioned.

Lupin gave a genuine smile, and this unnerved him. "Oh, you're not the first, Mr. Webber. No, someone beat you by about two hours."

"What?" Pike sat up quickly, which was a mistake, because he saw black dots again. The nurse shoved him back down, "Whom? Was it that traitor Malfoy and his little pet Granger?" He questioned. Lupin's mouth pulled into a taut line, clearly displeased with the way he referred to one of his favorite students.

"No, it was Hannah Abbott." He shot down quickly. Pike frowned, trying to recall the name. When he did, he wasn't sure if he should be amused or insulted.

"A Hufflepuff? You're shitting me, aren't you?" He sneered, shaking his head, "Not fucking funny, man."

"Watch your tongue, boy." Lupin snapped, "And I am serious. Hannah Abbott beat you by exactly two hours, twenty eight minutes, and thirteen seconds." He sounded proud.

"Shit." Pike gave a whistle, his fists clenching. Then, he looked Lupin dead in the eye and gave an accepting nod, "Kudos to her, I suppose."

This was not the reply Lupin had clearly been expecting, because he faltered a bit. As Pike saw it, no matter how infuriating it was that Hannah had beaten him, she was at least a half-blood and not Granger. Also, what was being upset with her going to do? He couldn't murder her right now, and he didn't have a time machine to go back in time and get here faster. All he could do right now was either seethe in anger, or he could collect himself before he saw his family.

"Yes, she was very brave." Lupin recovered, "She went through the same trails as you did, although not quite as...ah, violently." He said. Pike knew he wasn't referring to the wounds he had, but to the way of dealing with them. Too bad, he rolled his eyes internally, what did Lupin expect him to do? Have tea and crackers with them? Likely, since he was a bloody werewolf and that was only a step or two up from those blasted merpeople.

"Double kudos to her." Pike settled back down, and he was a smidgen impressed. If he hadn't gotten angry (unlikely, but still) he wasn't sure he'd be here right now. He doubted Hanna had an inch of anger in her body, which meant she'd gotten away somehow. He almost wanted to ask her if he saw her, but then decided he wasn't really interested in anything about a Hufflepuff...no matter how impressive.

He allowed the nurse to flit around him and fix his injuries the best he could after Lupin left. It took a long while, and the nurse tutted about his state more than once. Not only did she fix his merpeople injuries to the best of her ability, but she also cracked his nose back into place without any warning. That one hurt like the Dickens. He'd forgotten he'd broken his nose-or rather someone else did, and it might have been Blaise or Corner-close to the beginning days of the games. Sorely rubbing over the now straightened curve, he was released and informed someone was waiting for him in the visiting areas.

He walked as normally as he could, and saw one door closed (bloody Abbott), and saw another open to him. A girl a couple years older than him with the same color hair and eyes grinned at him through a glass shield.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, baby brother?" She teased, her eyes traveling to the heavily wrapped body of Pike Webber.

"Had a run in with some freaking fish people." He muttered, "And it's good to see you too, Fern. Now you say it back since I'm in the worst game show of forever and you're not the one in it and we haven't seen each other in like three months."

"You're overdramatic, and seem to be doing just fine." Fern shrugged.

"Almost." Pike pressed his fingers to his forehead, recalling his thoughts about Pansy and their...partnership, "I'm having a girl problem."

Fern smirked, "If you said that to me in any other scenario, I'd be bored and done with the conversation, and would try to strangle you before you could say anything else. Luckily for both of us, this isn't one of those scenarios."

THEGREENGAMES

The remaining five contestants all reached the same edge of the forest at different points, yet at roughly the same time. They were all about three behind Pike for various reasons, which had given the Game Makers enough time to erase any evidence that the lake had ever been there. They had much better trials left that were more exciting, and besides, a lake of dead merpeople wasn't the most intimidating of challenges.

Mandy was the first to realize what had started, and also closest by a couple yards. Out of nowhere, a deer shot toward her, knocking her onto her back and kicking the wind from her stomach. She spun around to stare after it, mouth ajar. If her and Cal had known there was deer out there, they could have eaten so much better than the rations they shared between them.

Urg, her heart hurt. It seemed everything reminded her of Cal, which was stupid because they'd only known each other really for a week and a half. Yet she felt like she couldn't walk an inch without something reminding her of him. This was part of the curse of the games, wasn't it? To constantly think of those that got left behind?

A mouse ran over her hand and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Now that she was more aware again, it wasn't just a deer coming her way, but every animal in the forest bounding through the trees straight at her, weaving around her at the last second, like an endless stream.

Dazed, she frowned, staring at the foliage in front of her. She knew in her mind this meant something, this exodus of these animals were wholly significant. She'd even read about it somewhere but what...?

She sniffed the air, realizing what this meant the same time her brain processed the peculiar smell that was now wafting in the air. It was smoke. The forest was on fire.

Mandy stumbled into a standing position, backtracking as she did. Even if this were a regular ole accidental forest fire, which she had little faith of that, she recalled how quickly these things could spread and how deadly they could be.

She stayed as low as she could, because smoke rises, and covered her mouth with her sleeve. Already, the wind had pushed the smoke towards her face.

A flaming branch fell in front of her, inches away from her face. Somehow, the fire had licked its way through the forest and circled around her at an alarmingly fast rate. She jumped back, but felt the hot flames licking all around her. She threw out a hand, coughing out a spell to reduce fires, but it didn't work.

She'd never questioned her abilities before, but now she wondered if she'd said it wrong.

A stray ash caught on her pants leg, and she stomped at it frantically to blot it out, but it seared up her leg. She screamed as the fire burned through her skin, falling out of balance onto the ground, grabbing her leg in agony.

A falling ember lit the ends of her beautiful blonde hair on fire, and she rolled around, managing to put that fire out. The fire on her pants still continued, and with shaking finger she attempted to unbutton her pants, to no avail. The smoke was thick here, and she worried if she'd suffocate.

Her jacket caught to the fire, and she burnt her hands trying to pat this out too. Like the one at the bottom, it was equally as resilient and without the courage to summon a water charm, she could only watch as the flames burned down her skin. Even if she made it out of here alive, she'd be disfigured for the rest of her life, she thought. Not that it was terrible in comparison to dying, but she'd never thought...

There were so many scenarios she'd never thought of before coming into the games, honestly.

Burning to death was certainly never one of them.

Yet, here they were. Here she was.

THEGREENGAMES

The cannon made Ron jump out of his skin. Colin held up two fingers.

"The second today." He observed grimly.

"You don't think-,"

"No." Colin answered far too quickly, but the fear on his face was just as obvious as Ron's, "It's...they're Draco and Hermione. And it wouldn't both be them..." He trailed off.

"Hermione better have freaking made it." Ron muttered.

"Wait, do you smell that Ron?" Colin said, throwing out an arm and stopping Ron mid-step.

"Erm, no?" Ron frowned, "Just smells forest-like. You know, mold and leaves and 'fresh air'. Why, what do you think you smell?" He turned to Colin to see his friend's mouth fully agape, staring up at the sky.

"That." He whispered, and Ron followed his gaze. A thick cloud of smoke rose above the trees, and it seemed to spread closer toward them.

"Is it...do you think...May it will..." Ron couldn't find the right words he was looking for.

"I think we need to get back to the stream we passed. Worst comes to worse, we'll duck into there." Colin said, grabbing Ron's hand and tugging his arm nearly out of the socket with the frantic fashion he u-turned.

"Slow down, buddy."

"You've never seen a forest fire, have you?" Colin said, but did not pause his quick steps, pulling Ron behind him like a child, "It can go from this to that in a second. If we don't hurry, we might get caught in the middle of that fire. And why should we have to deal with that?"

At first, Ron thought maybe Colin's facts weren't all together right. The job of lighting the campfire at their house usually fell to him, because he was the youngest boy (not to say Ginny didn't have to do it occasionally). Even lighting those pieces of wood with magic instead of muggle matches or flint, and having the perfect tee-pee of wood, sticks, and paper to burn, it took forever for it to finally catch fire.

Yet as he stumbled through the forest, being tugged by his blonde companion while Ron tried not to hurt his bum leg more, he re-thought that doubt. He could feel the flames behind him, making sweat dribble down the back of his neck uncomfortably. He could hear the crackling wood and ashes began to fall around them like snow, although it was ugly and overpowering. He understood Colin's pace and frenzied insistence to get to the water.

A package fell right in front of them.

"Grab it, we'll look at it later!" Colin said, but Ron took the briefest of moments to examine what he was picking up. He wrenched his wrist from Colin's grip.

"No, we should open these now." Ron said, tearing through the paper like a savage beast.

"Nothing can be that important that-,"

"Colin, look for a second!" Ron said, his patience running out, "There's only one thing that could be in this shape being sent to us now." He said, throwing one of the parcels at Colin, "Our ticket out of here." He added, unearthing from the parchment paper George's old broomstick.

Colin, armed with Fred's broom, grinned.