"Potter," Draco Malfoy hisses. "What the hell?"

Harry doesn't answer. He stares unblinkingly at the little glass charm, still clutched between his fingertips. Or the remnants of the charm, he muses, blood spilling down his palms.

"You weren't supposed to be here," he finally whispers. He still isn't looking at Draco. "You were following me."

Draco sneers. "You've been sneaking off the school grounds for months, Potter. How Gryffindor, to assume no one would notice. Headmaster Dippet will have your head!"

There is a cough from the far corner. For the first time, Draco realizes they aren't alone. Slowly, he cranes his neck to the side, where three dark forms are hidden in the shadows. Ron Weasely's eyes are troubled and grim.

Neville throws Potter a furtive glance. "Harry," he whispers, tremors coursing through his hands. "It was only supposed to be us. We can't – !"

"It's already started, Neville." Harry's voice breaks.

"I'm sorry." Hermione is clutching a small black book, her gaze stricken with guilt. "If you're going to play, you have to know the rules."

There is only one candle on the hard, stone floor. Its flame flickers in the heavy air. Draco turns back towards the entrance and pales. The door is marked with a large, red circle, twisted lines and letters painted within. The dark liquid is dripping down the wood.

There are no other exits. The only door is shut. And Draco knows none of them had closed it.

"What," Draco croaks. "What did you do? Whose fucking blood is that, Potter?"

"You shouldn't panic," Hermione interjects. "He – it can sense it."

Draco's breath is sharp and ragged. "It?"

Hermione looks at Ron. Ron looks at Harry. Harry sits down on the cold cement, then beckons for Draco to sit beside him. "Seven hours," he states. "Until the sun raises. Until we win."

The group is silent. Draco pries out his wand. "No!" Hermione shouts, then presses her hand to her lips. "No magic!"

Draco's arm remains poised in the air. He has half a mind to ignore her words, but something gnaws deep in his gut. "You're all insane," he remarks, wand shaking.

"Don't listen to her, then," Ron retorts. "It's your grave."

"No magic," Hermione repeats. "No light, except the candle. And whatever you do, don't leave the room."

Draco scowls, but lowers his wand. "Nothing else?" he derides, voice laced with contempt.

Hermione gulps. "Survive."

"That bastard Grindelwald," Harry exclaims. "Gains more power and followers every day. The whole world expects me to stop it. As if a Hogwarts seventh year could take him down."

His eyes glimmer in the candlelight. "We need something, or someone, to strike him dead."

"October 8th, 1908," states Hermione. "A man named Tom Riddle was placed on death row. He had one final request – a diary, in exchange for his life. He never once wrote in it."

Neville's eyes flit back and forth. "They say he'll grant any wish if you win his game. And he doesn't like to lose."

Hermione hands the book to Harry. He lays it flat open on the floor, then presses his palm down onto the page. The blood seeps into it, dissolving in the darkness. When he lifts his hand, the paper is unstained.

Black letters etch themselves on the parchment, the words sending shivers up Draco's spine.

-o-

A game of fours, a game of fives.

One less to remain alive.

You must choose, or all shall die.

-o-

There is a quill laying next to the candle, in the centre of their small circle. Its tip is dipped in too-red ink. They all know it was not there before.

"There's too many players," Hermione mutters, staring into the flames.

"It wants us to sacrifice someone?" Neville shouts, eyes wide. "No way! It's not right!"

"Maybe there's a way to trick it," Hermione suggests. "Or perhaps we're meant to interpret the words differently. The language is rather cryptic."

Ron nods. "That's good thinking, 'Mione. We – "

The fire snuffs out. There is a low rustling in the blackness. Then the striking of wood, and the room is alight. A thin little match is pressed between Hermione's fingertips.

In bright, scarlet letters, only one word mars the paper. Neville. The round-faced Gryffindor boy is gone.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Draco blurts. "You've had your fun now, Potter. I'm going to the headmaster – !"

"You can't!" Hermione shouts in terror. "You can't leave! Oh God, Neville!"

Four eyes re-convene on the quill. The feather has shifted to the left, its nib resting on the page.

"Someone wrote that," Ron chokes. "Someone wrote his name."

"No." Harry shakes his head. "None of us would do that. It's toying with us. Merlin, this is all my fault! I told you I should have come alone."

"It's not your fault, Harry," Hermione insists. "We don't know what's happened to Neville. Maybe if we win, then he'll be fine." Her eyes shimmer, and she looks down.

The letters dissipate into the paper. In their place emerges a familiar black scrawl, this rhyme more tantalizing than the last.

-o-

Can you hear the victim's cries?

Be forewarned; one of us lies.

-o-

For a moment, nobody speaks. Any moment, Neville's screams will pierce through the silence. But they never come.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaims. "Is it listening to – "

"Us?" Hermione finishes, finger tracing over the words. "One of us. Did anyone else notice that?" Then she jerks back from the book, clutching her hand.

-o-

King. Pawn. Knight. Queen.

True roles yet to be seen.

Three must stay and one must flee.

-o-

Ron's eyes graze the wall. "Neville's out there, somewhere," he murmurs. "We have to get him back!"

Hermione turns white. "I'm worried about Neville too, Ron. But look – this is exactly what it wants! It's trying to pick us off."

"You're right, Hermione," Harry whispers. "But we forfeit if we break the rules – we have to do what it says. And we can't leave Neville out there alone! I'll go. I'm the one who got us into this mess."

"No, Harry." Hermione sniffs. "You always try to take on everything by yourself. Neither of you are going."

There is a soft breath, and the room darkens. Someone hastily strikes another match. When the candle is again lit, the door is ajar. Draco can only see blackness beyond it.

"Hermione!" Ron roars, springing up from the floor. But the frizzy-haired witch is no longer there.

Then someone screams – a high-pitched wail that reverberates throughout the room. "Oh, Merlin," Ron sobs, for he knows whose it was. His eyes stare into empty space. "Hermione!"

"Ron," Harry breathes. "Listen. I need you to stay here. Someone has to watch after the book – "

"No!" Ron cries, smashing his hands into the wall. "No, Merlin no, I have to go after her! It'll kill her!" He heaves and vomits onto the floor.

"Ron, mate! Look at yourself!" Harry shouts. "It'll have to be me! I promise, Ron, I – "

But Ron doesn't listen, and throws himself at the door. The moment he exits, he disappears into the darkness. Harry listens to the rhythmic thud of his footsteps, until he can no longer hear them at all.

The one innocent little candle still flares. Draco sees spots dance across the room.

"This is a joke," he rasps. "Potter?"

Harry's voice cracks. "Why?"

Green eyes meet grey. For a second, the world stands still.

He smiles, and the flames go out.

Author's Notes:

The ending is left deliberately ambiguous. However, there is a particular interpretation I had in mind while writing it.

Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are always appreciated.