Neville Longbottom (Boy 11, Gryffindor) cursed under his breath as he picked up the tracker from the floor of the minivan. He probably should have taken it with him when he went chasing after the trio in the woods, but had just been so focused on his quarry that the thought hadn't occurred to him. After he lost sight of them, he decided it would be best to track their movements. But now...
He scowled. The tracker must have broken when the car had slammed into a boulder. It would make his job a lot harder, but he hadn't had the tracker originally, and had done just fine. He'd learn to get by without it. And he had marked the forbidden zones on his map just in case, so he was in no danger there.
In a foul mood, he went back into the forest. They had gotten a rather good head start, and probably changed directions multiple times to make it harder for him to follow them. No matter. He would find them again. Somehow.
In the meantime, he might as well take his frustrations out on those who he had seen earlier on the tracker. He remembered seeing some hiding out in the residential section. So long as they hadn't moved, he might be able to take some of them out. Chances were likely that some of the snakes were hiding out there as well.
He paused to check on his bullet supply. He had plenty to spare, but should probably reload his gun before he went out hunting. And if he was lucky, he might come across the trio.
After reloading his gun, he smiled and went on his way.
19 students remaining
September 2 -- 9:21 p.m.
Hannah Abbott (Girl 1, Hufflepuff) frowned. For the past two hours she had been walking through the forest, and hadn't encountered anyone yet. She had contemplated going back to the region where she had heard the unmistakable sound of a gunfight, but figured that those involved who survived would likely be long gone by the time she got there. She hated missing out on all the fun.
Upon consulting her map, she confirmed that there was a store up ahead. There might be someone hiding there, and even if there weren't, there might be some food at the store she could eat. It would be good to eat some real food for a change. The bread rolls she had been supplied with were not real food.
Cautiously, she approached the store. No point in getting this far only to be ambushed by someone hiding in some bushes. She smiled as she stood in front of the door. Now or never.
Upon walking inside, the first thing she noticed was Ron Weasley (Boy 19, Gryffindor) sleeping on the floor. She smiled viciously and aimed her gun at him. She froze when he stirred and opened his eyes.
Ron blinked, then shifted into a crouching position, watching her.
Hannah lowered the gun. "You're not playing, are you?" she asked in a small voice. Although she could probably shoot him before he got to the katana lying on the floor next to him, it was simply more fun to play the innocent.
Ron continued to watch her. "Are you?"
Hannah forced herself to break into tears. "I'm just so scared... I--" She got an idea and smiled inwardly. This would throw him off guard. "I saw your friend back there. He tried to kill me..."
"My friend?" He trained his eyes on her gun, slowly moving his hand toward the katana.
Hannah nodded. "Harry. He had that gun. He met up with that girl you hang out with and killed her."
Ron's eyes narrowed as he wrapped his hand around the katana. "Liar."
"Eh?" Hannah was fuming inside. How dare he see through her and not be caught off guard? He was ruining her fun! She was careful to make sure her inner feelings didn't show, so she just looked at him, letting tears run down her cheeks.
Ron slowly stood up. "I should tell you who the shooter is, but I'm not going to now." Although he didn't know how to wield a katana properly, he held it in what he supposed was a position where it appeared relaxed, but was in fact in a position to strike if need be.
Hannah balked. He knew who the shooter was? How was it that he was still alive, then? She recovered and sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess I just wanted you all to myself." She looked back up at him, fresh tears in her eyes. "I can be rather jealous like that." She smiled slightly. "Will you help me?"
Ron continued to look at her coldly. "Put the gun on the floor, then we'll talk."
Her eyes widened. "But how do I know that you won't charge me with that if I do?"
Ron shrugged.
Hmm. He was being rather difficult. "How about this, then. On the count of three, you lay down your weapon, and I lay down mine."
Ron shook his head. "Just leave."
Hannah narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "But there are people playing out there!" She could feel her act crumbling. She hated feeling so frustrated. Trying her best to compose herself, she continued. "At least tell me who the shooter is."
The boy shook his head once more. "Sorry."
Hannah's eyes turned cold. He wasn't buying her act. And if he wouldn't play along, and wouldn't tell her what she needed to know, then his use was over. "It's too bad, then." She raised her gun and fired at him three times. He fell to the floor.
She walked calmly to the door and opened it. Looking back at him, she smiled. "It's too bad you're just so damn stubborn." Smiling, she ventured back outside.
19 students remaining
September 2 -- 9:45 p.m.
Hermione Granger (Girl 8, Gryffindor) stopped as she arrived at her destination. She turned to wait for her companion, who was lagging behind. He hadn't been kidding when he said he was no good at long distance running. Probably because he was a smoker, she figured.
Blaise Zabini (Boy 20, Slytherin) joined her, out of breath. "Sorry," he muttered. "Hate running."
Hermione smiled slightly. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe you should quit smoking."
Blaise shook his head and smirked. "Maybe I should quit running."
Hermione shook her head and opened the store's door. Her eyes widened. "Ron!" she shouted as she ran inside.
Blaise furrowed his eyebrows and followed her inside. He stopped in the doorway as he saw her holding the fallen body of her friend. It looked like the other boy was still alive, but just barely.
"Ron, hold on!" Hermione pleaded as she held him. "Don't you dare..."
Ron opened his eyes and looked up at her. "'Mione?" He coughed up some blood. "Looked for you..." He grimaced. It hurt to talk.
Hermione shook her head. "Who... Who did this?"
Ron closed his eyes. "Ha-Hannah. Watch out... for her..."
Hermione nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. "Yeah..."
Ron opened his eyes and tried to smile. "Hey... You're crying..." He raised a hand to her cheek, trying to wipe away a tear. "Smiles... suit you better..."
"No..."
Tears fell down from Ron's eyes as well. "Now I'm crying..." He tried to laugh, but it came out more as a cough. "So glad... Found you..."
Hermione nodded. "Yeah... So hold on. We'll heal you up--"
Ron tried to shake his head. "No... I know I... won't last much longer. Just... stay here... Don't want to... die alone..."
Hermione sniffled.
Ron closed his eyes. "I'm sorry... Never told you..."
There was silence. Hermione looked down at him tearfully, wanting him to continue, but he didn't.
"No..." Her voice squeaked. "Open your eyes..." There was only silence to answer her. "Please no..."
But there was no answer, and after a minute had passed, she broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably she held his lifeless body.
18 students remaining
September 2 -- 10:21 p.m.
Theodore Nott (Boy 14, Slytherin) surveyed the ruins. He knew that a gunfight had taken place there not quite an hour ago, and had been hoping to find a more useful weapon among the carnage. But there was nothing. Not even a dead body. There was some blood, and empty shells from the guns, but nothing more. A disappointing venture, really. Not like he had been expecting more.
At least whoever had been involved was long gone. The weapons he had were best for melee combat, so wasn't ready to face someone who might have a gun. Not unless he could sneak up on them and take their weapon.
It was almost pointless to go to old battlefields. Anytime he had come across one, all of the weapons had already been taken. At the same time, if he came across any living students, they might fight back and he might lose. He had gotten lucky so far, but one could never tell when their luck might run out.
He knew that he couldn't be the only one looking for better weapons. A scavenger, as some might put it. But that would be oversimplifying things. He considered himself more as an opportunist.
Before leaving the school, he had flipped a coin to determine which course of action he should take. If the coin came up heads, he would join with Malfoy and the other Slytherins and find a way to escape the island.
The coin came up tails, and so he would play to win. But if he were to win, he needed something more than a machete or garrote. All of the guns that had previously fired were wasted on his classmates. He knew that none of them had what it took to win. They were all too blinded by their emotions.
He never could quite understand the whole concept behind emotions. On an intellectual level, he knew that he was different from others, because they felt things and he didn't. But he got along just fine without feeling anything, while those around him often times were unable to do much of anything because their emotions got in the way. So even if he could feel such a thing as jealousy, he wouldn't be the least bit envious of them. Emotions just got in the way.
He consulted his watch and map. He would most likely encounter students in the forest, but those who had guns were probably lurking about as well. It might be a good idea to avoid them for now. Even though venturing out in the open had its risks, he was unlikely to come across anyone else, so long as he stayed far away enough from a place where students could hide.
After flipping a coin to decide on which way to go, he head north to the coast.
18 students remaining
September 2 -- 10:43 p.m.
Millicent Bulstrode (Girl 5, Slytherin) sat atop a boulder at the northern most point of the island. She tried her best to ignore the cold wind blowing her way from the sea, but it wasn't very easy. Not when it kept blowing her hair all over her face, at least. She hated it when her hair got in her face. An unfortunate consequence of having long hair, she supposed. Still, it was better than having short hair. She had short hair as a child, and it really didn't flatter her all that well.
Not that long hair flattered her much, either. She wasn't a pretty girl, and she knew it. She had hoped that she'd grow into her features more as she grew up, but to no avail. It didn't do much good to dwell on it, though. She couldn't change how she looked, especially now.
She supposed that she could have met up with the other Slytherins after she had left the school. Malfoy had sent out a note to them asking them to meet him here. She chose not to go. She knew enough about him to know that he was a no good creep. He'd probably turn on all of them once they had gathered. He was dead now, though. Maybe some of the others had shown up and his plan to turn on them failed. It didn't really matter.
She was alone in this. In the end, she was always alone. It was probably her own fault, though. After being sorted into Slytherin, she had tried to fit in with the 'cool' crowd of her housemates. Unfortunately, they never really accepted her as one of them, and she ended up alienating the students from the other houses. So she hung on to the peripheral.
Half of her housemates were dead now. Most of them from said 'cool' crowd. She had been surprised to find that she didn't care much.
She should probably move. The wind was being rather annoying, and she didn't have anything to tie her hair back with. She supposed she could wrap her hair around the ice pick she had as a weapon, and pin it back that way, but then she wouldn't have a weapon in easy range if she had to defend herself. Not like an ice pick was much of a weapon. Better than nothing, though.
In the distance, she could see someone heading her way. They were still rather far away, though, so she wasn't too concerned. Or maybe it was just that she had already accepted that she was going to die here, and didn't really care anymore. Still, she wouldn't die without putting up some semblance of a fight. The approaching figure looked rather smallish. Or at least small enough that she would have no problem overpowering him if it came down to hand to hand combat. If he had a gun, she might be in trouble, but she was beyond the point of caring anymore.
She gripped the ice pick in her hand as he came closer. She wondered if he saw her or not. If he did, then he most likely didn't have a gun, as he would have shot her by now. Or maybe he just wanted to be a little closer so he would have a better aim. Whatever.
She sat there, watching the boy approach. As he drew nearer, she was able to see that he carried some sort of bladed object in his hand, although she couldn't quite make out his face yet. No matter. Although she hated to underestimate him, she couldn't help but feel that he must be rather stupid if he planned on attacking her with just that. It wasn't even long enough a blade that he could keep any real semblance of distance between them. There were only two boys in the class who she would have difficulty facing in a fight, and one of them was dead. And she could admit with the utmost confidence that the boy approaching was not Vincent Crabbe (Boy 4, Slytherin), unless he had inexplicably lost a lot of weight in the past 24 hours.
The minutes ticked past. The boy walked closer. Millicent continued to watch him. There was no doubt that he knew she was there, as the two made eye contact. She recognized him as Theodore Nott, one of her housemates. Like her, he was a loner, but he was a loner due to choice. She didn't trust him. He was too cold and calculating.
He stopped a few feet away from her, looking up at her. Neither of them said anything. Millicent brushed back some of the hair the wind had blown into her face.
Theodore glanced to the ice pick in Millicent's hand, then back up to her face. "You would win in a fight," he commented after a few tense moments. "It would be pointless for me to try and overpower you."
Millicent nodded. "You're welcome to try. You might even win."
He sized her up. "You're not playing."
"Nope." She slid off of the boulder, staring him in the eye. "Doesn't mean I'm going down without a fight, though."
He nodded, and they stood there, the only sound being made by the wind blowing. He took something small out of his pocket and tossed it in the air, catching it in his hand. Nott studied it for a few seconds, then put it back into his pocket and looked back to her.
"I'm playing to win," he said calmly. "I've already killed two of us." He took a step back, holding his machete in a battle ready position. "Third one's a charm."
Millicent's jaw clenched as she readied herself for combat. "A real charm."
She ducked as he swung the machete at her, hitting the boulder where her head had been. For someone of her size, she was surprisingly nimble on her feet. When she had been younger, she had an interest in dance. All of the practice she had paid off with her being surprisingly graceful when she wanted to be. Now was one of those times. She ducked again as the machete swung her way.
She didn't bother to lunge for him yet with her ice pick. He was faster than she was, and would move out of the way before she could make contact. She had to wait to get behind him.
She continued to dodge as he would swing the machete. It took less energy for her to get out of the way than it did for him to attack. He would either grow frustrated and careless, or end up tiring himself out. He might even figure out what she was doing, and expend even more energy trying to out dance her. That's all it was, really. A dance to the death.
She parried the machete with her ice pick, and Nott jumped back. "You're not even fighting back," he said.
Millicent smiled. "What makes you think this is a fight?"
He and swung at her again. She dodged gracefully, and ended up with her back to the boulder.
"What do you think this is? A dance?" He prepared to swing.
Using the boulder as a launchpad, she pivoted around him, stabbing the ice pick under his chin as she got behind him. "Haven't you figured it out? That's all we've ever done."
Nott dropped the machete as the ice pick dug deeper into his throat. He fell to his knees, the girl bending down with him as he fell.
With her free hand, Millicent picked up the fallen machete, making sure to keep it out of the boy's reach. "Unfortunately," she whispered in his ear, "a dancer needs a heart to make a truly spectacular performance."
She removed the ice pick from the boy's throat, allowing him to fall completely to the ground.
Picking up her pack from its position near the boulder, she cast one last look over her shoulder, then walked off to find a more peaceful place to get lost in her thoughts.
17 students remaining
September 2 -- 11:17 p.m.
Blaise stood guard outside the store, his face somber as he took a drag off of his cigarette. He thought it best to leave Hermione undisturbed inside. He had never been very good at consoling others, and didn't want to upset her any more by saying something stupid or callous.
"For someone who knows so much, you're remarkably dense when it comes to how people feel!" Cynthia shouted at him.
He raised his hands defensively as their uncle watched on amusedly. "Hey, I'm just saying."
She continued to glare at him. "She felt bad enough, without you having to rub it in her face."
He shrugged. "Well, it's true. She should have watched her kid better. Kid that age doesn't know better. That's what Mama's for."
Cynthia's eyes darkened. "You just don't get it, do you?" She sighed and shoved past him. "Why even bother?" She turned to face him. "You help these people, but you don't even know why you help them, do you?"
Blaise shrugged as he leaned against the wall. "It's the right thing to do, isn't it?"
She shook her head and walked away. "You really don't get it."
He sighed, letting out a puff of smoke.
"It's because we care."
He glanced behind him at the closed door. He wished that he could help her, but wasn't quite sure how he could. There was nothing he could say that would make the pain she felt fade away.
He looked out to the forest, hoping that Harry escaped safely as well.
"That's the heart of it, really. It's all because we care."
17 students remaining