Play The Game

Harry paused, flattening himself against the cold stone wall and calming his breathing. The minute Lucius had left he had ran off in the opposite direction, following some instinct deep inside of him to find Draco. With each step he took, it was a painful reminder that he might not get out of this alive, that he was trapped inside Malfoy Manor with Voldemort and the Deatheaters. Hearing voices up ahead, he ducked his head and made a dash for a corner bathed in darkness at the other side of the hall. The voices past by and he was left alone, again.

He wasn't too sure how long it had been since he had left Draco, only that they were still apart and although he refused to admit it, something bad was going to happen no matter what he did. A conversation he had once had with Draco flew back to him suddenly.

But who would be the sacrifice? Harry couldn't continue this train of thought. Life was precious, the world was precious, to save that all would come at a cost, a cost that Harry Potter would have to pay, a sacrifice, even. And he had lost a lot already. If he lost anything else he would crack.

Carefully, he stepped out of the shadowy corner and back onto the path he was taking. The torches were all flickering, the only light there was in this Manor. Taking a breath, he began to follow his instincts again.

'Draco, I promised I'd come back for you, and I will.'

"Five, four, three, two, one, zero. Ready or not, Potter, here we come." That voice that plagued his mind, with its high, cold laugh, echoed through the Manor. The torches flared right up to the ceiling before going out completely.

Harry's mind barely registered the word 'shit' before he walked into a wall.

Grumbling, he pulled his wand from his Quidditch cords pocket and held it out in front of him.

"Lumos," he whispered, light springing forward almost immediately from the tip, lighting the path in front of him and leaving the path behind in darkness.

"Can you see where you're going, Potter?" Voldemort's voice almost sang. "It must be harder in the dark."

Harry spun around, the sheer speed at which he did so sending him falling backwards onto the hard stone floor. He hurriedly scrambled to his feet in the darkness, glancing around quickly in each direction, but there was no sign of anyone. At least, in the light from his wand there wasn't.

"Do you know if they're moving the prisoners?"

"No, I think they're leaving them to watch. They're all around it after all, and Potter's boyfriend will be able to watch him die. It should be quite amusing, though the Dark Lord is considering killing the Malfoy boy in front of Potter, so his last memories are happy ones."

A horrible laugh echoed through the halls. "God knows he deserves it."

"Can you see wandlight up ahead?"

The voices seemed to be coming from every direction at once and Harry backed up against the wall, accidentally dropping his wand, which clattered and rolled along the floor. He groped blindly for it, using the wall as a support. As his fingers finally wrapped around the thin stick, the wall behind him seemed to disappear and, no longer with a support, he fell backwards into the space.

"What was that?"

"I don't know. If it was him, he might have found the passage."

"That's alright then. We may as well turn back. I don't like it down here."

Then the voices were gone.

With a startled 'oof' that was himself being winded, Harry Potter landed. He pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his hands softly. He had reached out to grab onto the wall as he fell but had only succeeded in bending, breaking and snapping his already short nails.

He held his wand out cautiously and began to walk again, hoping that perhaps, he was nearer to the Dungeons, and Draco.

"Linberg? Is that you?" The voice was fairly young and uncertain, but muffled by a mask. Whoever it was, he was an enemy.

Harry gripped his wand tighter, trying to steady his breathing. He whispered, "Nox," quietly and flattened himself against the wall to his left, waiting to see who this person was.

The young man stepped forward into a circle of light from some kind of grating, far, far above them. He pulled off his mask to reveal floppy brownish hair and pale, freckled skin.

"Linberg?"

Suddenly he seemed to remember himself and tugged his mask back on.

"Potter?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound gruff and manly.

Harry remained quiet, edging sideways in the darkness that surrounded the wall. He was certain that the only way to Draco was past this person, and if every Death Eater like Lucius had one of those charmed amulets, fighting them wouldn't be all that good an idea.

"I can hear you, I know you're there." A sweeping beam of wandlight scoured the corners of the room. "Come on."

'Shit,' Harry thought absently, before an idea occurred to him. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted suddenly, focusing on the last memory he had of Draco and forcing all his power into his Patronus.

He didn't linger to see if the decoy had worked and dodged past the new Death Eater, running as fast as he could.

The young Death Eater yelled out in surprise, holding his arms across his face and backing away from the stag. He realised after it faded that he had been duped and kicked at the ground, swearing to himself.

Harry came up short against a brick wall, and re-lit his wand, raising it high above his head to see if there was any way to carry on.

Faintly, he heard a grating noise, like stone against rock and stopped to listen. The sound began to get louder and louder and just as he was about to back away from the dead end, the floor opened up underneath him and he fell downwards with a startled cry.

For the second time in so many minutes, he pushed himself back into a standing position and glanced around with his wand firmly clasped in his hand.

"Mr. Potter." The voice was older, more confident. "You've finally deigned to join us."

Somehow, the Deatheaters could sense where he was, so he did not bother to try and hide. "Where am I?" he asked, trying to see everything around him at once.

"You're currently on the second level from the lowest floor of Malfoy Manor, an arena in the dungeons. That is where you are headed," the Death Eater told him. "I will not obstruct your path. I am to ensure that you head down there, in fact. Draco Malfoy is down there."

"I'd like to see you try," Harry replied darkly, holding his wand tighter and closing his eyes. If he couldn't see the Death Eater, he could always hear him.

"That would completely defeat the object of my presence," the man told him. "Go right ahead." He pointed his lit wand at the opening.

Harry held his wand out and stepped forward, pointing his wand at the man's back. "You first."

The man raised his hands in a shrug and walked down the passageway. It sloped steeply, and he was soon nearly out of sight. "Trust me yet?"

"No," Harry replied, following the man down the passageway and keeping his wand fixed on his back.

"You really should," the Death Eater said. "I'm not lying."

They stepped into another open room. Evan Rosier stood on the other side, mask slung over a stone gargoyle's head.

"Why are you leading him down here?" he asked the man. "It's a very simple passage."

"He didn't believe me," the Death Eater shrugged. "Here he is, anyway." He turned, passing Harry and walking back up the passageway.

Harry blinked owlishly. Things were getting very weird, very fast. He stared at the new Death Eater he was faced with. He was easily bigger than Harry, with a strange air in the way he was built, as if he was carved out of stone by primitive objects, then skin was thrown over the top. His hair was straw blond and his eyes were dark brown. Harry frowned.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "First, there's a newbie Death Eater trying to see me, then there's him" - he jerked his head in the direction of the man who had just disappeared -"and now there's you."

"We're all here to make sure you get down to the Arena," Rosier told him, voice harsh, almost snarling. "It's just down there. What are you waiting for?" He pointed to a passageway, stepping imperceptibly closer to Harry.

"You could have left me to walk by myself if the lights were on," Harry said dryly, dropping his guard slightly and heading for the passageway.

"You might have walked in the wrong direction," Rosier said, walking up behind Harry. He gave him a rough shove down the passage, snatching the boy's wand as he fell.

It was cold; dark; lonely. Wherever he was stumbling now, it had an air of finality. Unable to see something until it was right in front of his face, or under his feet sending him sprawling onto the ground, his hands were covered in scratches and bruises, the nails broken and covered in muck.

Suddenly, there was a flash of green light and he winced, turning his head away from its source. When he opened his eyes again, he realised he was in a chamber, it was circular and a strange pattern was carved into the floor, spanning nearly the whole distance in every direction. He stepped into the light to get a view of things when he noticed someone else doing the same, but this person was not scared and uncertain like he was, this person knew where he was and was very confident of himself.

Harry's scar which had been throbbing constantly since he arrived burst open, filling him with pain and anger. He collapsed onto the floor as the cloaked person barked out orders.

He writhed and screamed, his scar was on fire. Someone was there, pulling him up, and then his wand was thrust into his hand. Wincing at the pain in his scar, one eye closed Harry faced down Voldemort.

"My Lord," Rosier intoned, bowing. A circle of Deatheaters formed around the pair, but far out into the Arena. They seemed to stand on particular marks in the enormous, intricate pattern carved into the Arena floor. The delicate, flowing and clearly ancient lines spread, taking the eye out to the very edge of the circle of light that spilled from a skylight in the unfathomably high ceiling.

Beyond that ring of light, there were cells. All of them had iron bars running from their ceiling to the floor, with sliding hatches set in them. Skeletons and living prisoners sat in identical silence, gazing with utter disinterest at what was coming to pass before them.

But directly to Harry's left, across what seemed to be some kind of gutter that surrounded the entire circular Arena floor, a figure was pressed up against the bars, hands gripping them, almost eager in its desperation to see what was happening. Pure white light shone on the silver-blond hair, and Harry knew that it was Draco.

Draco could see right across to the other cells, even to the other entries, through which Deatheaters were pouring almost incessantly, filling gaps in that huge circle. Voldemort had been busy, Draco noted. The light from the enormous glass dome, which he knew to be in an unassailable courtyard right in the heart of the Manor, spilled over everything, highlighting the centre of the Arena. Draco knew from various lessons that this place had been used to make an example of prisoners. That was why all the cells in the Manor's dungeons faced in on it. Prisoners would be tortured while others watched, and the carvings in the floor served as tiny rivulets to carry the blood into the wide, fairly shallow gutter that separated the floor from the cell doors. Lucius had shown Draco this once, but hadn't filled it with blood, oddly enough. Draco almost smiled at the memory, but that wasn't what was going to happen now. The Order of the Phoenix would soon come and would find them easily, what with Snape's defection. Then the carvings would run with blood and awaken the spirits that lay dormant in the enchanted designs, waiting for lifeblood to feed their rotten souls.

Voldemort stepped into the arena as the final few Deatheaters moved into place, completing the circle. Harry barely registered any of this, too busy focusing on what he knew was coming and any way there was to prevent it. He was trapped in a circle of people who wanted to kill him, with no way out, and as far as he knew, no one to notice he was gone yet.

Voldemort was looking exactly the same as he had in the Department of Mysteries. He radiated power as he stepped further into the circle until he was stood in the centre. Harry was stood as far back as he could on the very outskirts, Rosier being the only person separating him from the way back.

The Deatheaters weren't moving at all, their eyes focused on their master who was now stood perfectly still with his wand arm outstretched, wand pointing directly at Harry's heart.

"So you've finally come for him, Harry Potter," he hissed, dropping his cloak to reveal the snake-like face. "Too bad you're going to die. Crucio."

Harry braced himself against the spell in a split second, feeling like he was dying from the pain in his scar. The spell hit him dead on and he fell to the side with a sharp cry of pain which resounded around the still and peaceful arena dully. He landed with a crash on the ground and began to thrash wildly against the curse.

"Finite Incantatem." There was a cold chuckle and thin strong fingers wrapped themselves around his arm, dragging him up. Something banged against his chest, hard, and then seemed to jump out of his shirt, swaying across it. Voldemort didn't seem to have noticed, too busy focusing on Harry's face. "You wouldn't have come, Harry Potter. I can see it in your eyes. You came for him and only him."

Harry couldn't move; a limp doll in the hands of a puppeteer. His eyes were unfocused as he barely registered what Voldemort was saying to him.

"Emotion has killed you, Harry Potter. You're not allowed to love or feel, because you will only get killed." Again the cold chuckle. "Crucio!"

Harry braced himself for the pain, but it didn't come. "You're nothing Harry Potter." The harsh voice was hammering into his already pounding headache, and then suddenly he was thrown to the floor, tossed away.

"Taetra!" he called weakly, watching as the small bolt of lightning shot out of the end of his wand. Voldemort brushed it off with a simple "Obsidio." Before striding back over to Harry and gripping his arm painfully, wrenching him upwards and grabbing hold of the amulet around his neck.

"Who gave you this?!" he demanded, cold fury seeping into his voice. "WHO?"

Harry was unable to answer, the pain of his scar too intense. Understanding dawned on Voldemort's face and he turned around abruptly, throwing Harry across the room and into some Death Eaters. His cruel eyes sought out a certain Death Eater and he raised his wand, pulling the Death Eater into the middle of the circle by an invisible force.

White-blond hair was clearly visable as the Death Eater remained suspended in the air, unable to move. Voldemort jerked his wand backwards suddenly, the mask wrenching off the Deatheaters face as he plummeted onto the hard stone ground. "So, Lucius Malfoy, you betray me for your son. I'm afraid that just cannot do."

Harry looked up, bleeding from his temple to his jaw on his left hand side. "No!" he called weakly, knowing that there was only one spell which would do something.

"Avada Kedavra!" Two voices shouting the same curse at the same time. Lucius skidded across the ground from Voldemort's spell, and Voldemort turned as Harry Potter shouted the second curse. "Fool," he spat. "You have to mean it."

The power in the Unforgivable was too much for Harry to control and as it ripped out of what seemed to be his very soul it arced in the air and shot straight into the amulet, sending Harry flying backwards to smash against the bars of someone's cell then forwards onto his front and... black.

***

Lucius' head cracked against the stone, blood flowing freely into the carved designs. Emeralds set in the ground glowed bleakly as their spirits stirred. The almost reverent silence was snapped as Draco threw himself against the bars of his cell.

"FATHER!" he screamed, chains clanking against the bars as he shook them fruitlessly. "DAD!"

The Deatheaters looked from Lucius, to Draco, to Voldemort and then to Harry. Draco's bulging eyes were fixed on his father's dead body, eyes that were completely dry of any tears. His knuckles were so white that it was almost as though the bones had torn through. All the blood drained from his face, the light leeching all colour from his hair.

The silence pressed against him, forcing him back, down, in, away from his father. No more silence, please, god, no more silence. Draco opened his mouth and screamed, shrieked hysterically, the horrific sound tearing his throat as it ripped free. Echoes bounded like feral spirits from the walls of the amphitheatre that was living out its ordained purpose. All the injustice of the place hit him again, and Draco's lungs swelled once more as black spots appeared before his eyes. His breathing was harsh, ragged, painful, but no match for the tearing grief and emptiness. His terrible shrieking was still not silenced when Evan Rosier pulled his cell open and stepped aside to let the hysterical boy out.

Draco leapt across the gutter and ran as though he were on castors to his father's side where his screams finally trailed away, shaking him desperately. "Dad..." he croaked. "Dad..."

"He's dead, Draco," Rosier said gently, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"No you're fucking not!" Draco spat, swinging his fist around unthinkingly into the man's groin. Rosier stumbled back, face contorted with pain. "My father's dead, and you..." He wheeled on Voldemort. "You fucking killed him."

"Yes, I cannot deny that," Voldemort said, his face twisting into what may be a smile as he turned and pointed a bony finger in Harry's direction. "But he killed himself, Draco."

Draco's eyes, still dry, followed Voldemort's finger to look at Harry's slumped figure. Something changed, though it was imperceptible from the outside. Inside, it was like the emptiest vortex, sucking him in, drawing everything that cared about his father and about Harry in away from harm. He felt as though his organs had gone with it as he stood up, strangely light and empty.

"Voldemort," he addressed his father's murderer. "You've taken many things, but these two things are going to take a lot to replace. I charge interest," he told him, expression totally flat, an empty, throbbing pain in his head. The manacles about his wrists clanked as he walked slowly across the design towards Harry. The Deatheaters sensed that Draco was almost akin to a vacuum at that time, and parted like the tides, staring in on him in silence.

Silence again, so bleak. That furious buzzing in his ears every time it settled. Draco could see only blackness when he turned his mind inwards, but it was not silent blackness. Still, he could hear himself screaming endlessly as he walked closer and closer to Harry. He knew not if that screaming would ever end, but maybe it would follow him, driving him deeper and deeper into insanity like some kind of animal pushing him beneath the water. A strange ringing was laid over the silence as he approached. Harry's head was bleeding from his scar and Lucius' amulet lay on his chest, fizzing and crackling with green sparks and lightning flickers. Draco crouched beside him, wiping the blood from Harry's face and lifting the amulet from around his neck. Slipping the heavy silver pendant over his own head and dropping it down inside his shirt, Draco bent forward and kissed Harry's cheek very softly.

"You kept your promise, but I have to break mine," he whispered, jaw clenching tightly as soon as he was no longer speaking to stop the tears from breaking out. "I'm going to have to leave you now. I hope they take care of you. I promise I'll come back and visit you." His voice cracked and he dropped his gaze to one side, gripping Harry's warm fingers tightly in his own icy ones. Sniffing sharply, he looked up again, eyes searching Harry's face for some kind of comfort, some kind of warmth to take with him into that endless vacuum. Only the memory of Harry's face, soft in its sleep, would help him.

Dropping Harry's hand when he could take it no longer, Draco rose to his feet, walking slowly away and struggling not to look back. He knew that he would, and then it would destroy him. A broken sob escaped his throat and he ran for the wide archway at the other end of the Arena.

"For Merlin's sake, stop him!" Voldemort yelled. Several Deatheaters surged forwards, grabbing Draco's arms. One raised a heavy dagger and reversed it, smacking the hilt against Draco's head. The blackness within reached up to envelop him, and he crumpled without so much as a whisper.

***

Soon after, Dumbledore led the Order of the Phoenix deep into the blackened heart of Malfoy Manor, at Snape's direction. Though initially stunned by the massively increased numbers of the Deatheaters, the trained wizards and witches recovered rapidly and set to work. Lord Voldemort's forces and Albus Dumbledore's tangled immediately. The fighting was vicious, and the ancient design ran red with blood once more.

Like a strange macabre dance they moved in and out, around people and through them. Whilst some fell, some carried on dancing, colours sprouting forth from thin sticks that were wands as unearthly shadows climbed the walls and lights flickered eerily.

Glowing stones released prehistoric spirits, unfurling and spiraling up to the light, concealing it and covering the Arena with shifting, iridescent shadow. Lord Voldemort encountered Albus Dumbledore once again, and fled before any harm could be done to either. The Deatheaters continued their fight, seemingly unheeding of their Lord's departure. The Order, however, took it straight to heart as a sign that they held the advantage. Some attempted to move the bodies, throwing them into the blood-filled gutters around the Arena floor, trying to clear the floor for more of this complex dance.

In the distance, you could almost hear drums, though the mere thought was absurd. The only sounds were of cries for power, and forgiveness, cries of death and life as the lighter force began to dominate the darker force. The dance was drawing to a close as mobile ones from the darker force banded together and with a loud crack, disappeared entirely.

They were replaced instead by Lord Voldemort. His wand pointed at Albus' back, he cried out a curse carrying death. Showing nimbleness and agility far below his years, Dumbledore stepped from the course of the spell and retorted with one of his own. The Dark Lord's cloak swirled up about him, then bands of lightning encased him and he was reduced to dust.

Suddenly, there was a small sound of something rumbling; getting louder, and louder, and louder until finally, the remaining of the lighter force erupted in cheers. They banded the darker force that had not escaped together and ran around releasing prisoners.

In the darkness, no one noticed the unconscious form of Harry Potter lay with his arms folded across his chest, eyes closed and looking peaceful. Nor did anyone notice that Draco Malfoy, who had been locked in the prison, who had been the only one to have seen it all happen, was gone.