George Weasley knew that he had left his mark on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He and Fred had left an impressive legacy behind, one that he was proud of, and he knew Fred - wherever he was - felt the same way.

Their successful Skiving Snackbox endeavour, to the dazzling display of fireworks in their last year, and the subsequent Joke Shop that was born afterwards the Weasley twins would go down in history.

However, their greatest legacy by far was the game they created in their first year, for seventh year students only. The game he and his twin had affectionately and aptly named: Panic.

A game of wits, bravery, and cunning.

When George thought about it, it really was no wonder that Hufflepuffs tended to enjoy watching rather than playing.

Throughout the school year all seventh year students were required to make a donation to the game. One Galleon a week for the entire school year which was collected and held onto by the selected panel of judges for that years game.

Whichever student survived the game and acquired the most points by end, received the lot.

No one had died playing the game . . . yet. Except, as the years went on after the birth of Panic, the challenges became harder to complete, more dangerous, like the judges were trying to out do the ones from the previous year. There had been some grievous injuries that had required either a trip to St. Mungo's or a stint in the Infirmary, but no one had ever lost their lives and as far as George could tell, the Professors at the school were none the wiser.

This year the game was different. There were returning seventh years due to the war, meaning the winnings were nearly double what they had been for any of the previous games.

With the final few months before the classes graduation, the game was set to begin in a few short days and George found himself waxing nostalgic about his Hogwarts days as he looked around his shop, teeming with adolescents hoping to convince their parents to let them buy a love potion or Pygmy Puff.

This game, with Harry Potter and company in the graduating class was set to be the most highly anticipated game since Oliver Woods'.

He chuckled to himself as he shelved a new shipment of Peruvian Darkness Powder and set his gaze on the portrait of his brother hanging above the Skiving Snackboxes.

"Another game is upon us, Freddy." George shares a mischievous smile with the likeness of his brother, who adjusts his purple bowtie with a wink.

"Should be one for the ages Georgie -"

And then, in unison, "As long as they don't panic."

.

"It's absolutely barbaric." Hermione scoffs at her two best friends across the breakfast table. Ron and Harry have both heard this particular diatribe before. "It's a wonder the professors haven't figured out what's going on."

Seamus Finnegan had just come around for the Monday morning collections ritual, demanding a Galleon from each seventh year student and it had set Hermione off on another lecture about the idiocy of the Weasley's twins infamous creation.

"If it's the money, 'Mione, you know I can spot you." Harry means well and Hermione knows that but she can't help the withering glare she casts in his direction at his remark.

"It most certainly is not, Harry Potter." He and Ron both shrink away at her shrill tone, she's already worked up and they know better by now than to egg her on.

"Why are you so bothered?" Ron asks around an entire piece of buttered toast he has managed to stuff into his mouth. "Panic has never irritated you this much before."

Hermione cringes as particles of food spray over his plate and she leans back to avoid being hit.

"Ron!" Harry hisses in a chastising tone, peering suspiciously at the students lingering in the Great Hall.

"OH!" Hermione throws her hands up in exasperation and stands from the table. "This you'll whisper about but Merlin forbid you engage in such practices in the library!"

Ron and Harry say nothing as they stare with open mouths at Hermione. She's been on edge lately and both of them can tell but neither want to ask. This only seems to enrage her more as she puts her hands on the table and leans in menacingly with a glare.

"We have just been through a war, incase you've managed to forget. The psychological impacts of that alone on a young mind are limitless and traumatic and you're telling me that these - these - these SHEEP actually want to compete in a game of death for money?!" She can feel the flush in her face and despite her earlier scolding of Harry for his want of discretion, she does hope, against her better judgement, that no one has heard her.

Panic has been Hogwarts' best kept secret since it's conception and that's really saying something considering the abundance of secret chambers, secret Orders and it's very own school sanctioned death game.

"No one is forcing you to play, 'Mione." Says Ron, looking like he'd gone through some emotional turmoil while deciding whether or not to say anything. "You can just watch me."

He adds the last bit with a smile and her stomach churns.

"I'll do no such thing." She crosses her arms over her chest indignantly. "Honestly Ron, I thought you'd outgrown this kind of behaviour but I see, unfortunately that I was wrong."

The tips of Ron's ears turn pink and Harry pats him reassuringly on the back and gives Hermione a pointed look. She's about to apologize when she feels a solid arm rest across her shoulders and it's owner leaning heavily into her, enveloping her in a rich scent.

"Lovers spat?" Draco Malfoy, the owner of the arm that is currently slung over her, is smirking at the three of them with one eyebrow raised expectantly.

Hermione, unused to Malfoy displaying any act of familiarity with her, shoves his arm away and takes two sizeable steps back from him.

"Honestly, it is hard to tell which of the three of you is even dating anymore - or is it some new age polyamory thing?"

Ron chokes on whatever else he's managed to shovel into his mouth, Harry rolls his eyes and Hermione allows her glare to intensify.

"I've heard it's all the rage in France."

There is a tentative peace between Malfoy and the three of them now as he had saved their lives at Malfoy Manor and they had saved his at his trial after the war. He's not as cruel towards them as he used to be but he still enjoys pushing their buttons every now and then.

Hermione chalks up his new and strange behaviour to old habits and their tendency to die hard.

"No need to explain the dirty details." Malfoy interrupts just as Ron's coughing fit comes to a halt and he opens his mouth to either defend them or stuff it with more bacon - for which purpose Hermione isn't sure.

Draco interrupts before she can find out. "Potter, Granger, there's a seventh year party in the Forbidden Forest tonight - a sort of 'last hurrah' before the game starts. A chance to say a sorrowful farewell to your loved ones."

His smile is absolutely feral.

"I'm here too, you know." Ron spits, aggravated at not having been addressed.

"Ah, yes!" Malfoy claps his hands together as though he has just seen Ron for the first time. "Apologies Weasley, over here at the Gryffindor table you just sort of . . . blend in - it's all the red, I'd imagine."

"Very funny, Malfoy."

"Thank you for noticing." He seems bored as he adjusts the collar of the dress shirt situated underneath his usual blazer. "See you three tonight at nine. Grawp's Grotto."

He turns elegantly on his heel and strides out of the Great Hall.

"I still hate that pumpkin head." Ron grumbles.

"He's harmless." Harry responds. "I think he's just gone a little mad, honestly."

"I don't even understand why he's playing. With his parents in Azkaban he has the entire Malfoy fortune to spend as he likes." Ron's shoulders slump as though he's imagining the Malfoy vault at Gringott's and all of the treasures held within it. "Not fair, that."

"Nervous, Ron?" Ginny has appeared, sliding into Hermione's open seat as the dirty blonde is still standing awkwardly in the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. "Malfoy isn't your only competition, you know."

Ginny winks at her brother and gets to work loading her plate to rival Ron's own.

Hermione sees Harry's face fall and as he takes intense interest in his earl grey.

She knows that the 'happy new couple' (according to Rita Skeeter's many articles in the Prophet) aren't, in fact, very happy at all. She herself has witnessed the two in many spectacular rows about Ginny's intent to play Panic.

Harry, ever the saviour of the people, does not approve.

Ginny, ever the strong individual, does not care what he thinks.

It's made for some tense evenings in the Common Room.

Wanting to avoid being put in the middle of another tense situation, Hermione excuses herself to go to the library before classes start.

.

It was a happy coincidence that Hermione and Ginny were assigned to a double room in Gryffindor Tower.

Or, it started out that way.

Now as the game draws closer and Ginny's relationship draws to a breaking point, Hermione finds herself wishing she could have been given any other room in the Castle - she'd sleep next to Peeves if it was an option.

"It's always the same argument." Ginny continues to whine as she attempts to control Hermione's hair. They make eye contact in the mirror and Ginny tries a smile. "You look beautiful, 'Mione. Surviving a war looks good on you, and so does my dress."

"I certainly didn't look so great sharing a tent with two boys for a year, I'll tell you that." Hermione mumbles, resisting the urge to rub at her eyelashes where Ginny has applied a generous coating of mascara.

"Are you going to come and cheer me on at the first challenge?" Ginny finishes with Hermione's hair and falls unceremoniously into one of the armchairs by the fireplace looking decidedly depressed. "Harry says he's not coming so I'll need someone to bolster my courage."

"Ginny," Hermione sighs and joins her in the chair opposite the red heads. "You know Harry will show up. He's not going to sit in the Common's or have tea with Hagrid while you're out there risking your life. Have you even met Harry Potter? He couldn't keep away from trouble if his life depended on it - and most of the time, it has."

Ginny smiles and smooths the edges of her dress over her thighs.

"He'll also be there to support Ron. I need you to come and support me, someone completely on my side."

"Have you even met me?" The notion that she wouldn't be there to also support Ron his absurd.

"I need new friends, ones who are completely loyal to me and to me alone." Ginny declares with a laugh as she checks the clock above the fireplace. "We'd better head to the Commons, the boys will be waiting for us."

They are descending the stairs when Ginny turns to her with another question.

"Are you sure you don't even want to watch? You've seen more death defying antics than most people half your age."

"We survived the war because we had to." Hermione says carefully. "This is a choice. One I don't agree with."

Ginny looks disheartened for a moment before she seems to accept her friends answer and beams brightly at Hermione.

"Have it your way, then. I'll just have to take you out for a fantastically expensive dinner when I win."

.

Grawp's Grotto was named as such because of the gentle giant himself. It was where he dwelled in Hermione's fifth year and as such, had created a wide clearing in the middle of the dense forest. The tree's tangled together at the outskirts of the clearing giving the appearance of a large circular wall made from thick trunks and foliage.

The clearing was obviously chosen for it's privacy, away from the prying eyes of the Professors and where the seventh years could talk freely about Panic.

In the middle there was a roaring bonfire that occasionally morphed into a great dragon made of flame. Every half hour or so it was charmed to soar above the party goers and spit blue fire that stretched and swirled into the night sky. Twinkling lights dotted the perimeter, winking in and out of existence and serving trays floated by filled with drinks that seemed to be flowing freely as if they didn't have class the next morning.

Ginny had wandered off the moment they'd struggled past the dense trees and into the thick of the party, off to join her gaggle of friends playing a game of Exploding Snap that somehow involved a plethora of Firewhiskey. Harry had followed dutifully behind her waving to her and Ron apologetically as he went. Hermione made a mental note to stay away from the two of them tonight because if alcohol was involved it was sure to lead to another fight about Panic.

"Want a drink?" Ron offers with a timid smile.

She knows she shouldn't, but she also knows that this is the last night in a while that she and her friends will be this care free. This party signals the beginning of Panic and as Malfoy had said earlier that morning, it was a chance to enjoy the calm before the storm.

"Sure, why not."

Ron wanders away in search of libations while Hermione is left standing alone attempting to look like she doesn't feel as out of place as she does. It's a strange world they live in now - with the war over, it seems everything and everyone are finding a place to settle but she feels like she's still floating above it all looking for a safe place to land.

"You know," A drawl comes from the darkness behind her. "This is a party, Granger. You could at least pretend to have fun."

She turns to find Draco Malfoy situated in a tree branch a few feet above the ground, drink in had and alone in the darkness.

"Because you're so social."

"I'm observing."

"Observing what?"

"The competition."

Hermione scoffs audibly and turns her back on him, standing in the same spot but with her eyes on the clearing.

"You don't like Panic."

"How ever did you guess?"

"I haven't seen that patented 'Granger look of contempt' in a very long time." She hears him drop from the tree and onto his feet behind her. "Since fourth year, maybe."

"I'm surprised you paid any attention." She admits honestly and stiffens when she feels him come to a stop beside her.

Their arms are touching.

"I doubt that." She can feel his eyes on her and despite trying to resist the pull, she angles her head up and meets his gaze head on. "You and I, we're an observant breed, Granger."

"I'm also surprised you would admit to having anything in common with a Muggleborn."

"Come now, Granger." A slow smile spreads over his face and his eyes flash at her. "I think we both know those were never my ideals."

Her eyebrows pull close together as she watches him watch her and suddenly she can't look at him anymore.

He steps in front of her, unbuttoning his blazer so it hangs open over his perfectly pressed white dress shirt and bends at the waist in a deep bow, when he pulls himself back up he's smirking.

"It's been a pleasure, Granger." He runs a hand through his hair and a few stray pieces fall across his forehead. "But now I have some intimidation tactics to employ."

She watches him walk away and loses him the crowd just as Ron reappears with a large glass of something brown which sloshes over the rim of the cup when she takes it from him.

"Thank you, Ron." She takes a healthy swallow because she feels like she is going to need it.

They stand in what can only be described as a somewhat awkward silence, sipping their drinks companionably when Lee Jordan stumbles towards them with a lazy drunken smile.

"Ron! Hermione!"

"Hello Lee."

"Just rounding up the donations we missed at breakfast this morning." He shakes a small cloth bag in their faces and it clinks with what few Galleons he's collected. "Biggest lot in the games history!"

"Seamus got ours this morning, mate." Ron offers with a friendly smile.

"Fantastic, cheers!" He nods and goes on his merry way shaking his bag of Galleon's in Luna Lovegood's face next.

Ron notices Hermione's sour look and purses his lips.

"Things still tight?" He asks innocently.

After Hermione altered her parents memories before the war she had to start fending for herself in regards to her finances and things were becoming extremely tight. A Galleon a week for the entire school year for something she wasn't participating in and something she didn't even condone left a bad taste in her mouth and her coin purse light.

"I'm making due." She says it with an air of finality.

Ron, who isn't usually as keen with social cues surprises her by changing the subject and asking her to dance.

The makeshift dance floor has an ample amount of couples swaying to a slow song when Ron places his hands delicately on her waist. It's only slightly awkward for a moment considering their brief and failed attempt at a relationship but familiarity sets in swiftly and Hermione finds herself feeling very comfortable.

"I know you don't approve of the game." Ron murmurs at her ear. "I get why you feel that way but I just want you to understand that I need to do this."

"Why?"

"Because I know I can." His answer is firm and immediate.

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Ron." He is a war hero, celebrated widely by every witch and wizard imaginable. Hermione can't understand what more he could possibly want.

"I want to prove it to myself." He takes a deep breath and she can feel his burly chest pressing against hers. "I left you and Harry. I know I came back, I know I proved myself to you both but this is my chance to prove that I can be more, that I can withstand the spotlight, that I belong in it - I've never felt like I belonged in it even when I wanted it."

She can understand what he means. Ron has always felt second to Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived and Died and Lived Again. She wants to tell him that this competition with Harry has always been in his head but instead she hugs him tightly and gives him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

"It's life changing money." He says as though it's an afterthought for him, but she knows Ron well enough to know that it's not.

"Assuming you can keep hold of your life."

"I can do this, 'Mione." He pulls back to look at her and she can see the determination swimming in his eyes - maybe it's the reflection of the charmed bonfire, but either way she believes him.

"I know you can."

.

The next morning, the game begins.