Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights and material belongs to J.K. Rowling. Any and all material is taken with full acknowledgement from the book series and movies. All the rest is my own work.

And the Monsters will Play 'til Dawn

Do you want to play a game?

Oh, don't be like that. Yes, our last game didn't last all too well but what can you really expect from chess pieces as fragile as these?

They break far too easily.

But the game is finished, the crown is mine and I would like to start anew. A new game, doesn't that sound fun?

I can see the trepidation in your eyes…no, you don't like my games, do you?

But don't worry. Just play.

It's only a Game.

It was with enigmatic smiles that the annual Ministry of Magic's Winter Ball was opened with, silk-cladded attendants bowing formally before the procession of British society's most prominent and powerful Lords and Ladies. Charming fairy-lights glided overhead under the gold-burnished chandeliers lighting up the vast ballroom, illuminating a bronze-brushed marble floor and velvet curtains.

Light voices begun drifting over the whirling crowd, intertwining with the rising and falling timbres of 'Lacrimosa' dutifully provided by the Memoria Ministry Orchestra.

If one were to step through the dozens of nobility within the ballroom, immediately, one would know that this was no ordinary event.

No.

How could it be? For these members of the Noble Houses, members of the Ancient Houses, the Honourable and the Strong, they have been raised from conception to grow powerful.

They were cunning. They were deceptive. They were manipulative. They were ambitious.

Born from Magic, They were Strong.

And so, behind pleasant greetings, there were silent wishes for misfortune. Behind airy compliments, there were twisted lies and burning disdain. Behind the tearing and stabbing words, there was a call for aid to the nearby allies. Behind the offered titbit, lethal poison laced the food. Behind the spurned offers, a Challenge was thrown and Met. Behind the twittering gossip, dark smirks was exchanged as Houses rose and fell. Behind the formal and rigid conversations, alliances were tested, enemies battled and Feuds were declared.

This was no mere gathering.

This was a battleground, fraught with warring politics and whispers of ruin.

There were no blades, no magic, no spilled blood; frozen smiles, subtle bribery and blackmail and Games took the spotlight.

This was War. The fortune and protection of Houses was founded on the outcomes of the battles this night.

People either rose under the fatal pressure of success…or crumbled into ash and dust.

(It was just a Game)

It was but a few minutes before the witching hour that the true predator's battle took centre stage.

"…Hello, Lord Black."

With a waterfall of moon-silver hair and glacial slate eyes, Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy slinked to a halt before the dark figure seemingly admiring a frozen ice sculpture of a winter Pegasus. An expression of polite attentiveness adorned the aristocrat's face, a mask borne of decades dancing to the tune of the Game, concealing his black, curling anticipation of the start of a new Game.

Smoothly, with a boneless grace, the figure turned around.

"Ah..." Lord Hadrian James Potter breathed. "Lord Malfoy, what a surprise."

(Let the Games Begin)

Tear the sky asunder, following the breaking of your soul. Shatter your heart, let aside all mortal inhibitions (weaknesses); mortality is but an illusion, for in your place stands a God.

What do you see, Hero? A monster? A beast?

Nay, your sight whispers lies and mist drowns your senses. It is madness, is it not?

Can you feel the insanity tickling in your mind, the disease, the itch clawing and baying at the sides of your head, inside out?

I can see it.

Growing rot behind those shuttered eyes: windows to the soul, you see.

It's all just a game.

"Director."

Director Hermione Granger looked up from her discussion with her Vice Director towards the greeting. She smiled back.

"Hello, Captain Grace," she said. Looking back at her Vice Director, he bowed at her silent dismissal and vanished, presumably to conduct some more research. 'Workaholic,' she thought fondly.

Captain Ulay Grace executed a quick salute before approaching her.

"How may I help you, Captain?" Hermione asked curiously, arching an eyebrow. During the short pause after her question, the young woman studied the Captain in appraisal.

One of the more experienced soldiers under Hadrian's leadership, he was high in the chain of command. Around forty years of age, he was a tough son-of-a-bitch but was completely loyal to his Lord. (He thirsted, he wanted, he burned for Him. Just like the rest of them)

'Like the rest of us,' she thought in amusement. Despite her joking tone though, she knew she was utterly devoted to the Dark Lord and would do whatever it takes to carry out his vision. (He saved her. He offered hope to her. She was His)

Captain Grace nodded in acquiescence. "I was hoping to talk to you about our Lord."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Is there an issue?"

Her tone was pleasant but the edge in her words was genuine.

Are you a threat to my Lord?

(Do I need to hurt? Do I need to kill? Make you burn as I carve out your smile, as I peel back that cage of bone, as I twist my fingers through your blood, all that redredredRED–)

Captain Grace brushed a hand over his insignia – their Mark – on his uniform and shook his head. "No," he replied, his gravelly voice calm, "It is merely about his schedule."

I will never harm our Lord.

Hermione relaxed. She hadn't thought that the Captain was having second thoughts…but any potential threat against Hadrian must be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.

Betrayal is not tolerated. (They would do anything for Him. Kill, mutilate, lie, deceive. He was a drug)

She could see Grace didn't hold her suspicion against her. He would have done the same thing.

(If He was gone, the world will shatter under Their Magic and Rage)

She smiled and tilted her head towards the corridor. "Walk with me," she said. Grace nodded and fell into step with the female Director.

Hermione queried, "What concerns you, Captain?"

"I fear our Lord is overworking himself."

That surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn't. Ulay Grace was ridiculously loyal to Hadrian. Any sign of stress or pain had him panting at his heels within seconds. In his own manly-quiet-Captain way.

(He is not allowed to die. He is not allowed to fade. He is not allowed to leave. He was Theirs and they were His)

"He is the Dark Lord and the leader of the Dusk, he has numerous duties required of him."

Captain Grace's lips thinned. He didn't look happy. "Yes, I understand that, Director. But you know as well as I do that he tends to draw every single task onto his shoulders."

Her lips quirked humourlessly. "Yes, I know." (He was too good. Too perfect)

With not a falter in his step, the Captain eyed his female companion.

"Captain, while I am appreciative of your concern, you must be aware we are approaching a critical point in our plans. The Wizarding community is waking up, becoming aware of Voldemort's movements. We need to capitalize on that, move quickly. As such, our Lord needs to start certain operations and guide our roles accordingly."

"I see…"

He most likely did. As stern and taciturn he may be, that salt-and-pepper hair sheltered a quick mind that would have long ago grasped upon the fact that their plans were starting to unfold. (The Game is Starting) As the pair silently mused upon their own respective thoughts, Hermione continued her train of thought.

As part of Hadrian's First Circle, she was privy to many of the complex and evolving plans Hadrian had created over the years, eagerly soaking up her Lord's trust like a decaying plant for precious water. (He was her Everything) How could she not? Each and every one of them shone with brilliance, spider webs of pre-emptive manoeuvres and assimilations, strands upon strands upon strands of the Dark Lord's influence and future power, stretching and multiplying over Britain, Europe and the world.

(It was such a beautiful game. Everyone is playing, everything is His and they will All. Fall. Down)

Nothing escaped his grasp. It didn't matter that for the most part, Britain was their main target. Everywhere else will eventually fall into his plans…there was no doubt.

(They all loved His games)

Everyone under Hadrian's command will come to play a part in at least one of his plans; many are already fulfilling their roles. No one was useless. Every single one of them is essential to their Lord.

(They breathe for Him)

They were useful. They were needed. They were precious.

(They break for Him)

It was staggering at times. To have such a powerful, dark and captivating Lord fix his burning eyes upon you, to know that he knew your name, that he wanted you…when no one else had.

(They rot for Him)

…intoxicating…

It was a mindless drug, dragging you deep under the raging waves of his power, his limitless knowledge and potential, everything that makes up Hadrian. Like drowning…under their own volition. Everybody knew of their almost worrying dependence on their Lord…and no one cared.

(Always for Him. HimHimHIMHIMHIM)

Hadrian was Hadrian. That was all they needed to know. (Him) He cared for them and in return, they promise their undying loyalty for he saw something in them that no one else had. (They were Broken but He Fixed Them) He reached out, offered the world and the stars and a sun-bright future that awaited them and they shall obey for they too saw that future. (They saw the blood in His eyes) It was what drove them when they're alone, when they're surrounded, when they're observing their enemies. (They were never alone because He was there)

But it paled to when they were in their Lord's presence. (Their Lord…)

He was their Sun, their Moon, their Lord. Like mist in the early morning, his entire whole slipped out of their grasps, his brilliance and fathomless eyes are but one single facet of his being, glittering like star-fire in the night.

(He Burned, they burned. He Danced, they danced. He was a monster but they were monsters too)

No one would ever fully capture their Lord; he was free and wild, beautiful in his alien and inhumane view of the world around him.

(He was theirs, only theirs)

That was okay.

They loved him all the same.

(They always did love His games)

You don't wish to play my game? You wish to run and hide and cower?

Tell me, O Hero, does that sound interesting to you?

But still, if you wish to flee, then flee. If you wish to waste your time, as endless as it may be, hiding like blind and ignorant creatures, do not allow me to stop you.

Go ahead, Hero. Have fun.

The Game is already playing.

Exeunt. Finis.

…What on Earth did I just write?