Despite the fact the Blaise Zabini (Boy 20, Slytherin) had pointed out that someone was likely to come and investigate the shooting at the lighthouse, or the honking of the truck's horn, nobody had come. It was probably due to the fact that whoever was left was nowhere near their location, and figured that by the time they arrived, nobody would remain around the scene. So after waiting for almost an hour for someone to interrupt their reunion, Blaise finally showed signs of relaxing.
"It's strange," Hermione Granger (Girl 8, Gryffindor) said. The others looked to her, and she glanced to her watch. "You would think someone would have shown up by now."
Blaise shrugged. "It could be that we're the last ones left. I guess we'll find out at six."
Harry Potter (Boy 15, Gryffindor) looked over to him, alarmed. "But we haven't heard any gunshots. At least I haven't."
Hermione nodded. "And I doubt Neville would die without a fight."
Blaise nodded, and took a piece of paper and a pencil out of his pack. He tore off the bottom part of the paper, and then tore that in half, writing something on each piece. "Just in case," he said, putting away the pencil and remnants of the class list, "you might need these." He handed one of the halves to Harry, and the other to Hermione. Before they could read what he had written, he stopped them. "Not yet. Only if I die here."
Harry shook his head. "No. You're going to live."
Blaise smiled sadly. "No. I'm not." He leaned back against the truck, looking up at some seagulls that were flying in the sky overhead. "Whether I die here, or die later when I try to tear down the system, it doesn't really matter. I'm still going to die. I'm a marked man."
"No you're not," Harry said forcefully. Blaise turned back to him. "Trust me when I say you're not." He closed his eyes and took in a breath, not sure on whether to continue or not. Finally deciding that it would be for the best, he turned to Hermione. "You remember the prophecy we were protecting last year at the Department of Mysteries? The one about me?"
She blinked, then stood up straighter. "Yeah... Why?"
"Dumbledore told me what it said after we got back to Hogwarts." Harry didn't even bother to look at them as he spoke. Instead, he focused on a spot just past them. "According to the prophecy, only I have the ability to stop Voldemort for good. That's why he tried to kill me when I was a baby. Because if he didn't, then I might defeat him. Kill or be killed. Just like this stupid game." He sighed, closing his eyes. "At the time, I didn't think I had it in me to kill anyone. Not even him. But after this..." He opened his eyes and looked at them. "It doesn't really matter anymore, does it? Even if I survive this, I'll just have to kill again. Maybe I'll die trying, maybe not. So trust me when I say you're not a marked man, Blaise. If you survive and choose to do something that could get you killed, that's your choice. You don't have to do anything. Me, I don't have a choice. My fight won't end on this island."
Hermione just stared at him, covering her mouth with her hands. Blaise too looked like he had been shocked out of his stupor.
Harry looked up at the seagulls overhead. "The thing is... It didn't have to be me. It just as easily might have been Neville, had Voldemort chosen to go after him instead of me."
They stood there in silence for a few minutes, each of them trapped within his or her thoughts.
"I... I don't have any real reason to live," Hermione said quietly, breaking the quiet. "No bad guys to face, no system to tear down... My friends... Even if I live, they won't. So what reason do I have?" She laughed bitterly. "I'm surprised I've lasted this long." She looked down at her hands. "I've even killed. It doesn't matter whether Hannah was a good or bad person, I've still killed." She looked over to Blaise and Harry, who were watching her. "It didn't bring him back. I mean, I knew that it wouldn't, but some small part of me had hoped that by killing her, he'd come back. That somehow everything would be revealed as one big nightmare." She sighed. "But it's not, is it?"
Blaise shook his head sadly. "No, it isn't."
"I wonder..." Harry spoke softly, "If our class hadn't been chosen... If we would have come together..."
"Probably not," Blaise said honestly as he took out a cigarette. "There would have been no reason for either of you to speak to me, or vice versa." He sighed as he lit up. "Damn shame... That people only come together when it's too late."
They fell silent once more.
6 students remaining
September 3 -- 2:56 p.m.
Neville Longbottom (Boy 11, Gryffindor) looked at his reflection in the small hand mirror he had taken from the house he had been resting in. Although the bleeding had stopped hours ago, he was sure that he was going to have a scar from where the shrapnel from the explosion the night before had torn into his face. It didn't really matter to him. He had never been a vain person anyway. Not like his face was much to look at before. Rather ordinary, really. A scar might actually be a good thing.
He put away the mirror. He had heard guns go off on the northwest end of the island almost two hours ago, and the horn of some vehicle honk a few minutes later, but had no desire to go investigate. Not yet. He had been too far away to get there before whoever made the noise left. Besides, one of the guns that had gone off sounded similar to his own, in the way it fired rapidly. So he would wait it out.
His pack was getting rather heavy from all the weapons and supplies he had gathered. He had contemplated taking one of the packs he had emptied to put stuff into, but decided against it as he needed his hands free to hold weapons in. So he would just have to make due.
He checked the map. He was in the forested region of F-8. He didn't expect to find any of his classmates left in the forest, as the explosion and consequent fire had most likely flushed them out to the coasts or outskirts. To the west, where the explosion had occurred, some of the trees were still smoking. More incentive for others to stay out of the forest. So he would keep to the outskirts, covered by the trees as he walked around the island, looking toward the open coastline. And if someone was stupid enough to still be in the forest, he would deal with them.
Upon reflecting upon his situation, he supposed that he should have gone toward the noise he had heard earlier. Well, he'd make his way there eventually. He just had to check a few last buildings before he would make his rounds there. He just had to check upon the church and the lighthouse, which was in the general vicinity of the gunshots. And maybe the lookout, too, although that wasn't exactly a building. Even so, someone might be hiding out there.
Just as he was about to walk onward to finish his hunt, his stomach growled angrily at him, reminding him that while he had stopped to rest every now and then, he hadn't bothered to eat much. He sighed and sat down on the ground, opening his pack. He hated having to bother with such trivial matters. The sooner the game was over, the better. And the stale bread everyone had been supplied with wasn't his idea of a good meal.
Still, it was better to gain his strength. Unlike his classmates, who most likely had only their own food and supplies to survive off of, he had the rations of several of his classmates. Enough to give him an edge. While the others had to carefully watch the quantity of food they consumed, he didn't. They would be hungry and thirsty, while he would be perfectly fine. Yes, eating might be an annoying nuisance when he would rather be hunting the rest of his classmates down and ending the game once and for all, but it did have its advantages.
Let them wait. Death would come for them eventually.
6 students remaining
September 3 -- 3:19 p.m.
Millicent Bulstrode (Girl 5, Slytherin) had never been a religious person, yet had inexplicably found herself drawn to the small church in E-8. She didn't even believe in any deity, but still found the symbols to be rather comforting, given the situation. Maybe it was because she had accepted the fact that she was going to die. She had heard that some people suddenly found religion on their deathbeds. Maybe she had as well.
How many of them were left now? There hadn't been any deaths between the morning announcement and the noon announcement, for which she was grateful. Maybe her classmates were coming to their senses. But then the sound of gunfire coming from the west shattered such illusions. People were still playing.
She too had played. She looked down at her hands. She hadn't bothered to wash them after her encounter with Theodore Nott, so they were caked with his blood. Even if by some miracle she did survive the program and end up the winner, her hands would be stained with blood. It wasn't just her, though. Whoever won would forever be stained.
It was a small miracle that she had kept her mind as long as she had. Maybe it was because she had avoided the other students by hanging around the coast before the explosion the night before. The way she figured, not very many of them would be either brave or stupid enough to go out into the open like that. They'd stick to buildings or the forest. And she was right.
Now, though... Those who remained were likely to avoid the forest. She couldn't blame them. But since she wanted to avoid her classmates, she thought it best to take to where no one would bother to go. As such, she ended up in the church. She was dimly aware that someone else might find it to be a good hiding place and end up finding her there, but at that point of time she was getting to be beyond the point of caring. Eventually she'd have to face off against someone. Still...
She looked down at the ice pick sitting down beside her in the pew. Next to it was the machete she had taken from Nott. Neither weapon would really be of much use against the guns others seemed to possess.
She sighed as she leaned back, half closing her eyes. There was no point on lamenting the way fate had turned out. It was all luck of the draw, and some people had more luck than others. She had been lucky that she had survived this long, but knew that her luck would run out. Only a dozen students remained. No, it was probably less than that, as there had been gunshots fired a couple of hours ago. For all she knew she could be the last one left...
But before she could elaborate on such an idea, her blood ran cold as she saw a shadow pass by one of the stain glass windows of the church. She grabbed the ice pick next to her, and slid down onto the ground, hiding between the pews. Someone was outside! She mouthed a silent curse, not daring to make even the slightest of sounds. The panic that had been building up inside her ever since she had awoken in the classroom was starting up again.
She tried to breathe as quietly as possible, but was certain that whoever was outside could hear her heart beating loudly. Poised to attack, she ran a silent prayer through her mind, pleading with whatever higher power was out there to see her to safety. Beads of sweat ran down her forehead as the door to the church slowly opened, and someone walked inside.
No matter how hard she tried, she could not get her heart to beat any quieter. Wouldn't it be rather ironic for her to die of a heart attack or something before whoever was there killed her? She could hear the scuffling of their footsteps as they walked toward the front of the church. Soon they would pass by her pew and that was when she would attack. Maybe, if her luck still held, she would succeed in felling the nasty person with the nasty gun.
Slowly, they came ever so closer to her hiding spot. One step, then another. Closer... She could see their shadow on the floor. Her knuckles were completely white; she was gripping the ice pick so tightly. Another step, and then...
Springing into action, she stabbed the ice pick into their stomach, driving it in as deep as she could muster. Maybe it would be fatal, maybe not. They stumbled back and fell to the floor. Millicent grabbed the machete from off the pew where she had left it and crawled out of her hiding spot.
She lowered her machete ever so slightly. "Vincent?" she said as she saw her victim for the first time.
Vincent Crabbe (Boy 4, Slytherin) coughed up some blood, and then smiled slightly. "Looks like I found you." He coughed some more.
She warily edged closer to him. "What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that?"
He shook his head. "Sorry... Wanted to find you..." He grimaced in pain. "The shooter... It's Neville... Hunting us down..."
Millicent stared at him. That couldn't be... The boy didn't seem to have a mean bone in his body. But at the same time, it would make a lot of sense. "I--" her voice cracked. She had no idea what to say.
"Listen... Blaise and Hermione... They can help... Find them..." More blood coughed up.
She bit her lower lip. "How?"
"Caw... like crow... Follow..." He closed his eyes and fell silent.
Millicent looked down at him, expecting him to continue. "Follow? Follow what?" She paused. "Hey, talk to me..." She shook his shoulders. "Hey..." He remained still, and she realized that he wasn't breathing. She checked for a pulse. Nothing.
"No..." For the second time, she had killed someone. But unlike before, when Theodore Nott was very obviously trying to kill her, Vincent Crabbe was not. He was trying to warn her, and she killed him...
The panic that had welled up within her before began to resurface, this time with a sense of horror at what she had done. The logical part of her mind that was trying to prevent herself from losing control over herself tried desperately to calm her down. She remained there for a few minutes, crouched over him while her feelings waged war within. Eventually, she slowly stood up, taking the gun that he had dropped onto the floor as he had fallen, and walked to the door of the church. She hoped that what he had said was true, and that she could find help.
Taking a few steps outside, she took in a deep breath, and then did the best imitation of a crow's call that she could. A few seconds later, she could hear someone caw back from the distance. She smiled. Maybe things were going to be all right after all. She took another step forward, then stopped suddenly as something breezed by her. She fell to the ground, her neck nearly severed from just above the collar.
Neville smirked, collecting the gun she dropped. He had witnessed enough to figure out that she had sent out some sort of signal. From the sound of it, whoever had called back was just where he was heading next, anyway. Just perfect, how things worked out in the end, really.
Casually, he continued on his way.
4 students remaining
September 3 -- 3:30 p.m.
Blaise sat back down in his spot in front of the truck, sighing with relief as he did so. He turned to face his two companions, who were giving him a myriad of looks.
"So..." Hermione began. "So he'll be joining us soon?"
Blaise nodded, and explained to a confused looking Harry, "We met up with Crabbe last night before the explosion. He was trying to get as far from the school as possible, and said something about looking for Millicent. Before we split, we told him to use bird calls if he wanted to join up with us later."
Harry nodded. "What if he changed his mind about playing?"
Blaise shrugged. "I doubt he would. You don't share a dorm with someone for five years without getting to know a few things about them." He paused. "He has a strong sense of right and wrong, despite what a lot of people think."
Harry looked doubtful. "What about Neville? I've been his dorm mate for the same amount of time. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I never would have believed he'd take things this far." He gestured at his injuries. "This isn't like him. At all. I just don't get it."
"Maybe there's nothing to get," Hermione said softly from her position near the hood of the truck. "Everyone here is scared," she continued, "and maybe he just gave in to that fear."
Harry shook his head. "Even so... He just seemed so... merciless..."
"I've seen it before," Blaise said, taking out a cigarette. "Back at my uncle's clinic. People would detach themselves so they didn't have to deal with their pain or feelings." He lit up. "Their true selves are still there, just buried deep down. Don't know how else to explain it." He exhaled some smoke.
A lull fell over their conversation. Harry shifted in his position on the ground. "So... Is it possible to snap him out of it?"
Blaise looked over to him. "Possibly. He'd be an emotional wreck if you did, though. I don't know how many students he's killed, but you remember how you felt when you killed Zacharias? And that was just an accident. Imagine how he would feel if he snapped out of his stupor. He might not be able to live with himself afterward." He shrugged.
They fell silent once more.
4 students remaining
September 3 -- 5:15 p.m.
Following the caws hadn't been quite as easy as Neville had supposed it would be. Even so, he followed them as best as he could. In retrospect, going around the coast would have been easier than going through the wreckage of the forest, but he could wait. Besides, if he took the coastal route, the person calling to him would see him coming, and most likely duck into the forest before they were within range. So if he took the forest route, he could use the trees as cover and get closer to them.
He checked his map. He should have made a lot more progress than he had, but had been forced to make a detour due to some of the trees in his path being on fire. Now he was somewhere in the southern end of F-4, feeling the need to rest due to all the walking. Just as he suspected, the student calling to him was somewhere on the northwest corner of the island. They could wait, though. He still had plenty of time.
That reminded him. He looked to his watch. The 6:00 announcement would be in 45 minutes. He might not have as much time as he thought, if he wanted to beat the announcement. Whoever was doing the calling might stop once they realized that the person they thought they were calling to was dead.
He studied his map, looking at his watch every so often. He needed to rest, but needed to beat the announcement. Let's see... If it took him that long to get from there to there, and then back around the detour, then it would take him approximately twenty minutes to half an hour to get to his destination so long as there were no more obstacles. Finally coming to a satisfactory conclusion, he decided that he could afford to rest for ten minutes or so. Whoever was calling to him seemed to be staying in one place, so they were likely well rested. He should be too.
He set his pack down onto the ground, sitting down beside it. He could wait.
4 students remaining
September 3 -- 5:51 p.m.
Blaise looked at his watch, then handed Harry a painkiller from the kit he had taken before they left the clinic. "So whose names should we be expecting?" he asked as Harry swallowed the little pill.
Harry held up his hand as he washed it down with some water. "Most of the girls. Let me check..." He took the class list out of his bag. "Uh... It looks like the only girls left are Hermione and Millicent." He paused. "I never realized there were so few of us left..."
Blaise nodded, and looked at his watch again. "Am I the only one here whose getting a bad feeling about all of this?"
Hermione shook her head. "Something's wrong..." she said quietly.
Blaise nodded in agreement.
Harry sighed, putting the class list away. "I wonder if he found her."
"He might have found her dead..." Hermione said quietly.
"Or maybe she didn't trust him," Blaise said. "Either way, we'll find out." He looked at the truck. "Maybe we should get in, just in case."
Harry smiled. "Nervous?"
Blaise nodded. "I'm getting the same feeling that I did back at the station." He didn't make any move to get up, however, nor did either Hermione or Harry. "Whatever may happen, stay by the truck. If you can't, get to the minivan."
Hermione looked confused. "But it won't run."
Blaise looked at her, half-smiling. "No, but it'll start, right?" He leaned back against the truck, although he didn't relax. "That's all we need."
Although they were still confused, they remained silent. Minutes passed by.
"So..." Blaise broke the silence. "Where do you want to go after we get out of here?"
Harry looked to him. "How?"
Blaise shook his head dismissively. "Gotta hold on to that hope, right? Me, I'd like to go to a village of beautiful women who were desperate for male attention." He smiled. "Don't know if such a place exists, though."
Harry laughed, while Hermione shook her head, smiling.
"There's nowhere in particular I want to go," Hermione said. "I've always wanted to see the world. Maybe go to Egypt. There's a lot of history there."
Harry nodded. "I want to go somewhere where I can just be left in peace. Somewhere where people didn't point and stare at my scar, and where there was no prophecy hanging over my head. Somewhere that I could just be normal. Just be me."
Blaise smiled. "I guess that's all any of us want."
Just as Harry was about to say something back, Montgomery's voice interrupted him.
"Good evening, everyone! Have you all been doing well? Well, it's not like there are many of you left who could answer, anyway, so let's just move on to the point, shall we? The dead."
Blaise scowled. Montgomery was sounding far too cheerful. More so than usual...
"The boys seemed to have gotten off quite lightly..."
Harry didn't even have to look at the class list to realize that there were four boys left. Himself, Blaise, Crabbe, and Neville. He hadn't heard any guns fire since the lighthouse, and doubted that Neville would die so easily. And if Crabbe sent the signal, then all of the boys should still be alive.
"...Only one. Boy 4, Vincent Crabbe."
Harry's eyes widened.
4 students remaining