Hogsmeade Battle Royale

His mind immediately turned to Ron. Was he okay? Was he here as well? If anything had happened to him...Harry’s thought faded as the moonlight hit the other inhabitants of the room; the entire first carriage was here, wherever "here" was. He instantly searched around him, and found a head of red hair; Ron was here with him, too.

"Ron," Harry said in a low whisper. He scrambled over to his unconscious lover, and tried to shake him awake. "Ron!" Soon, the redhead was roused, and he looked up at Harry with confused eyes.

"Harry...what happened?" he whispered. Harry only shook his head; he was just as bewildered as Ron was.

A hushed murmur began to grow around them. The rest of the students were gaining consciousness, and were asking each other the same questions as Ron and Harry. Ginny woke up, alert and fearful in the western corner of the room, and clutched her younger friends. Hermione sat up groaning next to Ron. She rubbed her neck in discomfort, and then gasped, her eyes white and wide in the moonlight.

It was only then that Harry noticed what was around Hermione's neck, and around Ron's, and everyone else in the room. It was a strange collar; almost a shackle. It was made of metal, with a small display on its front. Harry reached up to his throat; it was on him, too.

Ron stood up on shaky legs to join Harry, as they both helped Hermione to her feet. Looking around, they saw others reaching at their throats, clutching the unwanted neck braces. A voice rang out from the crisp darkness, "My wand! My wand!" A buzz fell around the crowd, and the three friends reached at their sides for their wands; they were all gone.

"What is going on here?" Ron whispered to his two friends, although he knew neither of them could give him an answer. A gasp came from the other end of the room; they turned their heads quickly, to see that they were not alone. Two men, one at the southern corner, the other sitting on a table in the eastern corner, were in the large room with them. One was shrouded in darkness, the only thing visible on his person being his white eyes, with an intensity unmatched by the students' fear. The man at the eastern corner, however, was lit by smooth moonlight. Harry gasped as he recognized the striking features and long, red hair. Could it actually be...?

No one could have stopped Ron as he took a step forward, towards the man at the east. A confused expression crossed his face, and a silent question, consisting of only one word - a name - passed his lips. He had no time to ask that question, and only one step would be what Ron Weasley would take. There was no longer the time for questions.

A bright light flashed in the room; the students gasped in shock. A fireplace on the North wall that could not even be seen before burst alive with flames, and a roaring fire brought light and intense heat into the room. Harry could now see his surroundings clearly; it was an ancient looking, yet comfortable room, with the heads of many magical beasts mounted on its walls. It was the lobby of the old Hogsmeade Inn - Harry had visited it many times - yet it felt strange; different. They had gotten into Hogsmeade that night, but at what price?

He didn't have to wonder for long. The captive students watched as the fire spouted green flames - the signature of Floo powder travel - and a tall figure emerged from the fire, foreboding and unscathed. He was tall and thin, yet shrouded in a large black cloak that shielded his face from view. Harry saw a silver clasp at the cloak's cowl; it was an eerie skull and snake, the infamous Dark Mark.

A Death Eater had just came into the inn.

Harry stumbled back in surprise. A girl behind the three shrieked in terror. Ron bravely stood in front of Harry and Hermione, protecting them from anything else that might come out of that fire.

The Death Eater did not attack; he merely entered the room and stood beside the fireplace, almost as if he were waiting for others to arrive. And arrive they did; soon, more Death Eaters, dressed identical to the first, came out one by one from the emerald flames, until eleven ghostly figures stood, silently guarding the fire.

Suddenly, Harry's scar burned with pain. He doubled over with his head in his hands; this was far worse than anything before. Harry knew exactly who the Death Eaters were waiting for, but yet even he was not prepared for what was to emerge from the flames.

What came from the fire was not the old, horribly disfigured form that Harry had expected, the horrible serpentine face of Lord Voldemort. No, the figure that emerged was merely a man; a young man, really, who looked only barely out of his teenage years. He rose tall and confident out of the old stone fireplace, his pale face cold yet his eyes dancing with malice. A head of lush, midnight black hair caught Harry's attention; he had seen this man before, though many years ago. It can't be possible, it just can't, Harry's mind raced, as the young man caught his eyes and grinned devilishly. Harry's breath hitched in his throat. This man before them was not Lord Voldemort.

It was Tom Mavolo Riddle.

The black haired man said nothing, yet his evil grin remained. He raised his right arm up slowly - Harry could see his wand, the powerful, dreaded magic wand of Lord Voldemort in his hand - and muttered a spell even Hermione had never heard before. Instantly, a large armchair, almost like a throne, appeared before the fire. The young man began to stride lazily over to the chair, past the faces of startled students. Suddenly, a scream rang out from the crowd.

"R-riddle!" Harry, Hermione and Ron whipped their heads behind them to see Ginny, fearful and trembling, recognize the man. "That's Tom Riddle - the Heir of Slytherin!" She pointed an accusing finger at Tom as tears rolled down her freckled cheeks, and before her first dreadful sob could rise to her throat, a low murmur spread through the room.

"Riddle?" Hermione whispered in thought. Upon hearing that the Heir of Slytherin had returned, Ron held Harry tighter, though he doubted even his protection could save his lover now. Hermione turned to the two, a look of shock on her face. "It can't be..."

The students' realization of the young man's identity didn't seem to faze him much; he continued his relaxed walk to his throne, a devious smirk upon his face. As he sat down, the chair seemed to come alive: skulls on the armrests began gnashing their jaws violently at children, and the pewter snake of the Dark Mark, high above Riddle's head, hissed with a ferocity many of the students had never witnessed before.

"Sit," he said simply to the crowd. His voice was soft, yet commanding, and Harry recognized the voice so clearly as the one in his nightmares. The students looked around at each other, unsure of what to do, yet none of them moved to sit on the floor. Riddle said nothing more, but the grin slid away from his face, a look of anger replacing it. Then, the Death Eaters, standing closely around Riddle, released their wands and aimed them straight at the children. Their fearless shouts of "SIT!" were not nearly as polite as Tom's, and when they bellowed and aimed their wands dangerously, the students finally obeyed.

Slightly angered but undaunted, Tom relaxed back into his seat. Looking at Harry with his cold, bloodthirsty stare, he said nothing, yet Harry could see in Tom's eyes exactly what he wanted. He stood up, despite Ron and Hermione's protests, and faced the Heir of Slytherin. "Why are you here, Riddle?" he asked bravely, though without wand or Sword of Gryffindor to help him. "What do you want?"

Tom grinned again; a sly, crocodile smile that sent shivers down Harry's spine. "Not happy to see me, then?" he said, rather non-chalantly, as if he truly didn't care for Harry's response.

"Not particularly," Harry responded bravely. His face remained calm, though he knew at any time Riddle could give the slight nod to one of his Death Eaters to kill him, once and for all. "The last I remembered, I killed you."

A low chuckle escaped Riddle's throat. "The only thing you killed, boy," he began, "was my diary. A mere apparition of myself." Tom leaned forward towards Harry, his eyes blazing with hate. "But make no mistake, Potter, I am not a simple apparition. I am the Dark Lord Voldemort myself."

Gasps erupted from the crowd, and Harry could almost feel Ron wince at his side. "That's impossible," Harry still stood bravely, but even he could hear the waver in his voice. "Voldemort's an old man. You are -"

"I was dying, Potter." The young man interrupted, his face taking on a deadly serious expression. "The body of Voldemort was dying. There is a spell, that does not create eternal youth, but restores me to my once powerful...and much more handsome...self." He smiled again, as the realization of his power sunk into Harry's mind. He was strong, perhaps even stronger than ever before, and his newly regained youth made him particularly bloodthirsty. He couldn't wait to see Potter blood on his hands once more...

"Hey!" A shout came from the back of the room, and all eyes turned to the small group of Slytherins in the Southern corner. Gregory Goyle stood up, his large, lumbering body grotesque yet foreboding, and all in the room paid attention, even Lord Voldemort. "Where are we?"

Millicent Bulstrode, a few bodies away from Goyle, stood as well. "What are we doing here?" she demanded.

Another girl stood up; Harry recognized her as Emma Dobbs, a fourth year Slytherin in Ginny's small clique. "Who are all these people?" she demanded, pointing to the menacing Death Eaters.

Tom looked at all three of the upstarts, considerably unsurprised that all three of them were Slytherins. Bulstrode and Dobbs had probably already heard of this ritual in their youth, and Goyle's father himself was beside the Dark Lord, shrouded in the Dark Mark. It took a Slytherin to bravely ask questions to which they already knew the answers. Which reminded him...it was about time to enlighten the others in the room.

"Do you know about the Hogsmeade Battle Royale?" Tom asked the room. The students remained silent; either they knew nothing and could say nothing, or they knew about Voldemort's Battle Royale, and said nothing out of fear. Tom shook his head in disappointment. "That's no good," he said. "Didn't your parents teach you anything?" He turned to Harry with cold, menacing eyes. "Or how about your precious Dumbledore?" Harry gave him no reaction; he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. "He must have wanted to put that far out of everyone's minds."

"This world has gone to hell without me, do you know that?" Tom continued, ignoring the nervous look of some students and the dark glares of some brave ones. "Well, that's all going to change. I've come back to make this world how it should be."

Tom stopped his speech short, and he sat up sharply, almost looking like he was listening to something. Then, in a burst of anger and energy, he bolted from his seat, wand in hand and aiming straight behind his chair. "You better come out from there," he said aloud to the chair. "I won't be pleased if you damage this chair."

An eruption of gasps came from the crowd as Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum emerged from behind Voldemort's chair. Both had scowls on their faces and their wands were clutched in their hands. They had the collars around their necks, as the other captives had as well, but they were overlooked by the Death Eaters and still had their wands. "Oh, Viktor," Hermione sighed sadly, anxiously gripping her robes. Harry suspected the two Triwizard Champions were going to attempt an ambush on Voldemort; though they were clearly outmatched and outnumbered by the Death Eaters, Harry respected and understood their actions, and knew he would have done the same in their position.

"Rocambol!" Fleur seethed, as the Death Eaters grabbed them and seized their magic wands. "I hope you rot in hell, you motherless -"

Tom's angers flared, and he raised his wand to Fleur's neck. She flinched, expecting certain death, but she and the rest of the room was surprised to see that Riddle's hand stayed, immobile and waiting, and he had not cast any spell on Fleur. It looked almost as if he was deciding something, deciding whether Fleur Delacour was going to die in the next three seconds. He decided against it; he pulled the wand away from the metal beck brace, and smirked. "I'd rather not," he said, more to himself than to Fleur. "It will probably be so much more fun to watch you suffer this weekend...rather than kill you where you stand."

He released the two champions with a wave of his hand, and two minions seized them by their shoulders to bring them to the other students, with no resistance from either Fleur or Viktor. Tom followed them with his eyes as they sat next to Hermione and Ron, which brought his attentions back to Harry. He still stood though now shaken by Fleur and Viktor's revolt attempt. Tom smirked.

"Harry Potter." Tom stepped forward, slowly approaching the raven-haired boy. Hermione and Ron tensed, never taking their eyes off the Heir of Slytherin. Tom noticed their steady gazes, and turned his attentions once more to Harry. "See you've got yourself quite a cheering section here." He took another step towards him, and Harry's scar singed with pain. He stumbled slightly, but before he could fall back onto the floor, Ron rushed upon him, catching him in his arms and steadying him. His scar still burned, and hurt even more with every second, but feeling Ron beside him and being in his arms made him feel a little better.

"Stay back, Riddle," Ron warned, though his wavering voice gave away the uselessness of his threat. His chin trembled in fear, and Harry could hear his heart beating very fast. "I'm warning you."

Tom scrutinized Ron, looking at him up and down. He didn't seem threatened at all. He addressed his thoughts to Harry once again. "And quite a strapping young boyfriend." He cocked his head slightly, as if in thought. "Wonder if his blood's as red as his hair."

Ron tensed, and Harry could feel the redhead's heart drop. His knees buckled in the presence of Voldemort, and now it was Harry's turn to hold Ron up. Tom gave no expression of malice or enjoyment - which frightened Harry even more than if he did - and turned away from their group to address the whole room.

"Perhaps it's about time you got to learn about modern wizarding history." A bright flash of light and heat exploded from the fire, giving Tom's words extra emphasis. "Battle Royale! This will be the best, last, and probably only lesson you'll ever have in school." He narrowed his eyes at Harry and Ron, who still stood among the sitting students. "Do you think he'll stand by you, Harry?" he asked in a hushed voice. Harry felt like he was the only one that could hear their captor, but as he felt Ron's arms tremble, he knew otherwise. "Think he'll still love you when you have to kill each other?"

Harry gasped aloud, as well as many others in the room, much to Tom's amusement. "That's right," he continued smugly. "You all have to kill each other off. And nothing's against the rules." Harry couldn't believe it. This was Voldemort's great plan; this was his Battle Royale. He knew the Dark Lord was toying with him, playing specifically with Harry, but he was taking it one diabolical step further and bringing all of Harry's class with him, forcing them to kill and die. Harry knew Voldemort wanted him dead, but to kill innocent students with him...

"This can't possibly be!" Ginny stood up, though her knees were shaking terribly. "Someone will stop this. Professor Sanglant -"

Tom smiled, as Ginny sank back into her seat in fear. "Oh, yes..." he began. "That poor, unfortunate soul who took the coach with you all into town." Harry had a bad feeling about this. He knew the Dark Lord's cruel ways, and he knew just what he was capable of. "We thought he could have been a bit of a troublemaker, but..." He raised his wand at the inn's checkout desk, and with a wave of green sparks, a sheet came floating from the desk, heavily weighed down by something it was shrouding. It stopped right in front of Voldemort, where he threw off the sheet. "…he didn't put up much of a fight."

It was poor Professor Sanglant, floating; dead. His chest and face were covered in blood, and his eyes were left open wide in shock and terror. His mouth was agape, his last, deathly scream forever unheard. The Professor's glasses slipped off his bloody face and onto the floor with a clang.

The entire class screamed, and jumped back. Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was sitting very close to the body, bolted up and stumbled quickly away. Orla Quirke, a fourth year Ravenclaw, began sobbing into Ginny's shoulder. Now Harry knew how far Voldemort was willing to go to make this Battle Royale. Not even authority figures stood in his way. If his class was sent out, forced to kill each other, would anyone have the courage to stand up and save them? Would anyone be able to save them?

"Calm down, calm down," Tom called over the crowd. "This here -" he motioned towards Sanglant - "was vermin. He was too weak and too proud to ever be a part of my utopia." He looked around the room, his eyes eager to see more bloodshed, just like sixteen years ago. "You'll have to work hard to enter my good graces...and live." A murmur passed throughout the crowd. "So, are you all wondering what I'm going to force you to do?" He smiled, looking at Harry. "Don't worry, Potter...your parents aren't here to save you this time." Harry's eyes widened, and anger coursed quickly through his body, but he could not act, could not attack the Heir of Slytherin, or he would face certain death. He leveled his anger, hoping that soon he would get his chance at Riddle, and perhaps save his friends.

Riddle raised his wand again, this time beside him, in front of all the students. A fuzzy green haze appeared, which was slowly focusing into the figure of a man. "Pay careful attention to the hologram. You won't be told this information again. Don't fall asleep now!" Tom joked, baring white, menacing teeth. The glowing green figure grew more detailed, more focused, until Harry could see its dreaded serpentine head and familiar red eyes. The hologram was of Voldemort, of the Voldemort Harry knew and fought against in his fourth year, leering at the students through the flickering green haze.

"Hello, children," the hologram hissed, its form flickering with age. It turned its head towards Tom, who grinned at it mischievously. "And hello, Voldemort."

Tom turned to it brightly, giving it a warm welcome. "Why hello, Volde -" Suddenly, the hologram flickered terribly, and the apparition of Lord Voldemort appeared in a pair of tiny shorts. The students jumped back, startled, and a few even started chuckling. Tom's eyes flashed with red anger. "What in the blazes - DON'T YOU LAUGH!" He bellowed, loud enough to quiet the crowd once more. He turned to his Death Eaters behind him. "What in the hell is wrong with the hologram! This better be fixed, or I'll..."

A small murmur was heard from within the room; Tom stopped himself short, once again, as the faint sound of laughter came from the mouth of Karen Pucey, a fourth year Slytherin. Tom's eyes widened with rage as he unsheathed his magic wand. "I said no laughing!" He howled, and raised his wand at the young girl. His spell could hardly be heard over the eruption of gasps from the students, for they all knew - even poor Karen Pucey - that "Avada Kedavra" would be the next words out of Riddle's mouth. A flash of green light shot from his wand straight at Pucey; she fell back several feet from the blast, and when she hit the ground once more she was dead.

The students screamed in panic, and rushed up to get away from the dead girl. Pandemonium soon erupted, and a mad rush of bodies tried to reach the door of the inn. The Death Eaters, quick to intercept, got to the entrance first and pushed the crowd back. They barked out unfriendly spells, which hit random students, careening them back into the crowd. One spell hit Hermione, and she screamed as she fell, cutting her arm on a table. Ron and Harry rushed over to her side, glaring angrily at Riddle. With a few more spells and harsh words from the Death Eaters, the children calmed down again, finding it futile, and even fatal, to fight against Riddle's power.

He looked at the trio, trying to keep in his amusement but failing. "I do not tolerate insolence," he said very softly. "And that little girl had to be punished." He looked around at the other students, who were now definitely not going to laugh at their captor. "Back to the video again, eh?" He returned to stand beside his hologram, a perverse vision of Voldemorts, then and now.

"Temper, temper," the hologram warned. Tom ignored its doting.

"Just get on with it," he snarled at his former self. "And try to cover your legs, for God's sake. Now I know why I wanted to be twenty-one again."

The hologram nodded, and continued with its speech. "Here are the rules for Lord Voldemort's Battle Royale. We've put a border spell around Hogsmeade; you're trapped in, so no one can think of escaping, or entering, the town. The spell also nullifies your powers -"

"That's right, children, no magic," Tom interjected.

"If you search for your wands you'll find that we've confiscated them all. We've evacuated everyone, so you won't be able to get any help from the townspeople...not that they’d be of much service to you."

"Fred and George," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron. She was clutching her wounded arm, which was bleeding. "And Lee. They must be out of Hogsmeade by now." Harry saw Ron sigh out of relief, and he thought he mumbled "Thank God" to himself, but by then the hologram began to speak again, drowning out Ron's whispers.

"We have divided the town into many zones," Voldemort continued. "Every six hours, you will hear the handsome Tom here..."

"Why thank you for that, Voldemort!" Tom said, blushing conceitedly.

"...broadcast updates about which zones will be danger zones."

Riddle's face grew serious. "You don't want to find yourselves in a danger zone now..."

"D-danger zones?" asked Susan Bones nervously, raising her hand tentatively.

The Heir of Slytherin nodded. "They keep you all closer together...I don't like it when my contestants hide from one another." Susan squeaked in fear, and put her hand down.

Clearing his throat the hologram spoke once again. "You're probably wondering about those collars." Once again, the students reached up to their necks to find the metal collars around them, cold and biting; their constant reminder that they were the captives of Lord Voldemort. "Fancy things, aren't they? You probably haven't seen anything like them before. They're shockproof, waterproof, and magicproof. Don't try to take them off."

"That will ruin the fun," Tom interjected.

"They monitor your pulse and your positions. If you're found in a danger zone, of if you're causing trouble..."

Riddle looked straight at Ron and Harry. "Or if I just don't like you..."

"...Your collar will act accordingly."

Harry perked up in fear. Voldemort's warning words - and his deadly smile - were not all that comforting. Tom grinned again. "Let's just say that it won't be a pretty sight." He looked through the crowd, waiting to catch someone's eye. He held his wand up in the air. "Any volunteers?"

The crowd immediately looked down at the ground; no one wanted to meet the Dark Lord's eyes. The only one that looked up was Harry, who stared, afraid but courageous, at Riddle. Tom saw that Harry was glaring at him, but no, he could not choose him. The Potter boy must not die now; not while he's set up this whole weekend for him...

Riddle grew restless at the silence, and his face frowned in discontent. With a scowl on his pale face, he aimed his wand down into the crowd...straight at Ginny Weasley. "Ginny, dear," he said, his syrupy sweet voice seductive yet deadly. "Won't you come up in front of the class for me?"

Ginny held back, not standing and not heeding to Riddle's command. She knew she would face certain death if she resisted, but, from what the hologram hinted, if she approached the Heir of Slytherin she would also die. Her hesitation infuriated Tom, and he howled at her with great malice in his voice."GINNY! Come up here and die like a good girl!"

This was all too much for Ginny. She cupped her hands over her ears and screamed in a panic. It was too much for Ron to handle as well; he could only go so far watching this monster torture his sister without doing anything, no matter how angry with her he was before. He bolted up from the floor, before Harry or Hermione could stop him, and confronted the Dark Lord. "Hey!" he shouted, his hands balled into fists. "Leave her alone!"

Tom turned around slowly, an eerie smile like madness across his face. "Oh...it's the boyfriend." He approached Ron, a trio of Death Eaters following close behind him. He chuckled, but only once, and then the smile faded to a face of stone. "Seize him," he commanded. Two of the thugs grabbed Ron, one by each arm, as a look of panic struck across Ron’s face. Harry jumped up to help him, but just as he stood, the third Death Eater shoved him down hard to the ground. He stood menacingly over Harry, his wand pointed down at him. There was no chance in saving Ron now.

"I'd really hate to do this, but..." Tom raised his wand at Ron, until it touched the collar belted tightly around his neck. Ron tried to squirm his throat away, but the Death Eaters' strong hands held his head steady. Tom laughed at his own last remark. "Who am I kidding?" He inched his face close to Ron, his grinning, evil eyes staring straight into his. "I revel in this."

He stepped back, and readied his wand; Ron clenched his eyes shut and flinched. "Periculus," he whispered, and the entire room gasped as Ron's collar began blinking red. It started to beep, and his eyes bugged.

Tom backed away from the redhead; the Death Eaters released him from their hold and returned with the Dark Lord to his chair. "You better run, children," he called over his shoulder. "You don't want to be caught in this."

Ron looked at the retreating Tom in horror. "What is this?!" he cried, but received no answer from the Heir of Slytherin. He clutched his collar frantically, and tried to reach out to Harry, to run to him. But Riddle's warning caused chaos in the room, and the students rushed away from Ron and his blinking collar. They pushed him this way and that, panicking in their flight to hug the walls, and he couldn't even see Harry among the blur of bodies.

And it was not for lack of trying. Harry tried to get to Ron immediately, knowing he was in imminent danger, even though there was nothing he could do to save him. He was pushed back by the crowd; he could almost reach Ron, pushing against the panicking crowd to get to his side. But then a pair of strong arms grabbed Harry from behind and pulled, hard. Harry stumbled back, away from Ron. He turned around to see the stern face of Viktor Krum, with Hermione and Fleur standing beside him.

"You have no hope to help him now," Viktor said, his thick Bulgarian accent coming through in a time of crisis. Hermione agreed with him as he held strongly onto Harry's shoulders. She had tears already streaming down her face.

Harry tried to respond. "But -"

"You saved our lives once, 'Arry," Fleur interrupted him, reminding him of their trials in the Triwizard Tournament. "Please, let us do the same."

Harry looked back at Ron despairingly, as the beeping of his collar grew faster. How he wished to run to him, to help him somehow... He cried out when Ron was pushed to the floor by a rushing Neville Longbottom; Ron was now alone in the middle of the room.

He got up quickly, scanning the room for any signs of his love. He saw him; Harry, near the wall, with frightened eyes. He reached out for him, in a last, desperate attempt to find something he knew in a flurry of madness. "Harry!" he wailed, holding out his arm.

"Ron!" Harry cried, reaching out just the same.

The collar stopped beeping; its red light went out. A wave of sparks erupted from the collar; an explosion, timed perfectly right. It caught hold of Ron's throat, the blast penetrating deep through the jugular. He screamed, but no sound came out, a fountain of blood replacing the cry; Ron's blood, spouting from the wound. It sprayed onto the floor and onto Harry. He turned away, unable to look. The room was silent as he clenched his eyes shut, save for the sickening sound of a body hitting the floor.

Harry knew just what had happened before even turning around. That sound could have meant only one thing. He turned around slowly, his eyes widening in shock at what he was seeing. It was Ron, lying face down in a pool of his own blood. He was dead.

He shook his head in disbelief. No, it couldn'tve happened...it had all gone so fast... He stumbled over to his fallen lover, and fell to his knees with a sob. Laying his head down on Ron's back, Harry clutched Ron's robes between his fingers and began to weep. "Ron!" he sobbed, the realization finally hitting him; his Ron, the man he loved, was dead. His best friend, his lover...his everything. Just as Voldemort had done before with his parents, Tom Riddle had taken away his Ron, the most important thing in the world to him.

Something enveloped in the folds of Ron's robe caught Harry's eye. With shaking hands he picked it up. It was the photograph, taken on the coach only hours before but what seemed like an eternity. There, in the still perfection of the picture, were a smiling Harry and Hermione, and Ron, so tragically cut out of the photo. It was stained with blood now; Ron's blood, and Harry finally realized that, flawed as it was, this would be the final photo of the three friends, once invincible, but now gone forever.

He clutched the photo in trembling hands. It couldn't end like this. This couldn't all be over...

"Hey, Harry...do you fancy anyone right now?"

And then, it hit him. This was only the beginning.

"What a shame." Tom's voice projected loud and sarcastic through the room. He approached Harry, whose insides were nearly boiling over with emotions. Harry looked up at him, the cause of all this torment and bloodshed. The bloodshed of those he loved. Tom sighed, and ignored the death glare Harry was giving him. He wanted to see how far he could take him before he cracked. "He must have been a good lay, eh, Potter?"

Harry stiffened and he could feel his anger reaching new levels. He stood up, facing Riddle; he wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, wanted to make him pay for what he did, and what he was planning to do. He lunged at Tom, his anger coming to a boiling point. Before he could reach him, two pairs of arms held him, and pulled him back away from Tom. He looked back; it was Seamus and Dean. They must have seen Harry going over the edge, and they pulled him down to the ground, away from the danger of Voldemort.

"Don't do it, Harry," Seamus whispered.

"It's not worth it," Dean added gravely. He motioned towards Ron's body. "Even for him."

Riddle smirked once again. "Are you finished?" he asked, aloof. Harry gave no answer - for his response would have been too provoking - and Seamus and Dean were still holding him back, in case he did try again to retaliate. Tom turned towards the hologram of Voldemort and nodded, urging him to continue.

"There is a time limit on this little game," he hissed. "You all have three days for only one student to remain alive." The old hologram sneered at the students. "If there are more than one of you little snots around after that..."

Tom knelt down, his face only inches from a glaring Harry. "Now wait, here's my favorite part."

"...They all explode...and you all die." The serpentine hologram grinned, baring glistening green fangs. "Now, doesn't that sound like fun?"

Standing up - and leaving Potter along to his misery - Tom addressed the rest of the room. "Any questions so far?"

A lone hand was raised tentatively from the back of the room. "Y-yes," said Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw boy from Harry's year. Tom nodded his head in acknowledgement. Terry swallowed hard before asking his question. "If I survive, can I go home?"

The whole inn perked up and paid attention. Everyone wanted to know the answer to his query. "Of course," the young Dark Lord replied. "But only if everyone else is dead."

Terry Boot's hand fell down to his side, but as soon as it fell, another hand shot up, a hand familiar to Harry's - as well as everyone else's - eyes. Tom nodded his head once again, and so then, Hermione Granger spoke for the first time to the Dark Lord Voldemort. "How were we chosen?" she asked, rather forcefully. "Why is the first carriage the only one here?" She looked towards Ron, and held in a sob. "Why are you doing this?"

"A Gryffindor go-getter, eh?" Tom narrowed his eyes at the Muggle-born. "I'll have to be watching for you. And as for your last question -" he turned to the entire room, his face deadly serious. "You can all thank young Mister Potter for all this. If had been a good boy and died sixteen years ago, then there wouldn't have to be all this...unpleasantness."

The Death Eaters, eleven of them, all outstretched their wands in front of them, and, simultaneously, muttered a simple summoning spell. What appeared before them were backpacks, dozens of them. They were a low-level canvas material, and didn't look too extravagant, but the students all knew that they had some true importance in their survival this weekend.

"Now, we won't leave you completely defenseless," the hologram said. His words were not at all neither comforting nor kind. "Each of you will receive one of these bags, with food and water, a map of all danger zones, a Muggle flashlight..." Both the holographic Voldemort and Tom Riddle himself had glints of evil in their eyes. "...and a Muggle weapon."

Some of the children looked perplexed; others were looking around the room warily. Some pureblood wizards had no experience with anything Muggle, much less their more technological weapons and devices. Some had not even been exposed to the fundamentals of the Muggles' electricity. Others - mostly the half-bloods and Muggle-borns in the room - knew what they should expect, knew the weapons Lord Voldemort was speaking about...and, most importantly, they were looking towards their pureblooded classmates that might not know what they were in for.

"Each weapon is different, unique, and holds no magic qualities. I hope you've all paid attention in your Muggle Studies class; you wouldn't want to be given a gun and not know how to use it." Some pureblooded students sank down in defeat after hearing this. "I'll assure you that not all of your classmates will be that stupid. You will leave the room one by one. When you hear your name, take your belongings, and one bag provided for you."

"The weapons selection process is random," Tom added. "So no peeking."

The students waited tensely for the hologram of Lord Voldemort to call the first name; to call the first combatant in this deadly game of Battle Royale. The old apparition finally opened his mouth, and hissed out the words,

"Longbottom...Neville."

A squeak was heard from Neville's vicinity; he stepped forward, his hands shaking. He was nearly in tears. He took only one more step further; he was so unsure of what he was doing. He didn't want to leave the sanctity of that inn, or else this would all be so real. A Death Eater threw one of the sacks at Neville; he caught it, but it left him off balance, and he tripped over his own feet, falling clumsily to the floor.

"Get up," Tom sneered. He couldn't bear to see such a pathetic individual any longer. He hoped the rest of this Longbottom's existence was agonizingly painful...just like his parents.

Neville obliged, and stumbled out of the room into the warm night air of May. It had just turned the twenty-second over an hour ago; the looming clocktower of the Three Broomsticks pronounced the time to be 1:40 A.M. As Neville Longbottom began his last run through Hogsmeade, the ancient clock's face glowed green with Voldemort's power. The 1997 Hogsmeade Battle Royale had begun.