Favourite Game

Prologue

The room is dark, the shadows deep and can only see my scarred hands lit by the last burning embers dying amongst the black wood. Scarred and burnt beyond redemption the scolding mug of tea does not bother me.

I fiddle with the bag and the red bleeds flavour into the water. It's Rosehip tea, my mother used to drink it. She said it was an acquired taste and let me have a sip. I glared up at my mother and told her it tasted like old rotting banana peels. She said that it was for the grown-ups and I wouldn't think that in a few years. I still don't like it, so that's another thing Mother was wrong about. But it comforts me, in the gloom and loneliness.

My shoulder aches, like a dull knife twisted every which way possible. It reminds me too of a memory, though not comforting. A memory still fresh in my mind.

"Harry, you can't go alone"

The tall raven-haired boy looks back at me. His eyes are dull, resigned.

"I can't stop you, can I? He doesn't smile, but I don't care and jump forward like an eager puppy. We walk in silence and the cries and screams of battle become gradually louder. Neither of us speak, his eyes are hard and his knuckles white as they grip his wand tightly. He breaks into a run and I follow, ever faithful. The trees thin and chaos reaches my eyes. I stumble slightly, realising what I have gotten myself into. He truns if only briefly and his eyes dance ever so slightly as if daring me to turn back. He's the hero but I would never turn back and he knows it. He disappears and I spend ten fruitless minutes fighting on the outer ring and searching for him.

I don't know who shot me, snipers maybe. How innovative of Voldemort. Of course I thought none of this. I heard a slight whistling and the words that I had been about to speak die on my lips.

Everything slowed down, the arrow hit and my entire side, shoulder down flies backwards with the force of a bullet. Or rather an arrow. I stagger slightly and fall, becoming just another body, injury. At first I am numb, I try to move and it hits me. A pain so sharp and sudden I cry out, but no one comes. I don't move but my shoulder still throbs. I can almost feel it beating, I lay still watching the night darken, the Dark Mark grins evilly down at me from the sky.

I must have blacked out, the first thing I notice is the Mark is gone, and second the cries have stopped. Or quietened down, someone cries out occasionally, horrible high pitched screams of pain. Which only seems to aggravate my shoulder and move ever so slightly so my view is altered. There is a fire in the distance, though probably only ten metres away. Someone is checking bodies, I can't see his/her face. They come nearer and just as the bloodied body next to me is declared dead he looks up, wiping the sheen of sweat off his face.

Weasley.

I groan, not in pain. Even in my deliria I hate him. And I will to the ends of the Earth, he looks at me. And grins. The bastard actually grins, a genuine smile. A bet the sadistic bastard was pleased, as if it was all worth just to see me like this. I glare and he calls out to him.

"Malfoy's here, we could leave him Harry he looks ready to cark it any minute now" his voice pleads. I open my eyes never realising I had closed them and see him. Harry, he looks tired, hurt, concerned and compassionate all rolled into one. He leans to me and puts a small vial to my lips. It is slightly off colour white and I immediately fall asleep.

When I wake I'm in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. A place I've come to hate and love. I sit up slightly and Madam Pomfrey rushes over and her first words split my heart.

"Harry's not here"

He went away, I guess he had to. The War isn't over yet. But that doesn't stop me from being bitter. The devastating hero, who took me to the brink of life, death, pleasure and sanity isn't back yet. But I'll be up and around soon, the wound is clean cut Poppy say so anyway. And as soon as I can grip my wand without wincing I'll be gone, to follow wherever Harry is.

Even to Gates of Hell.