Part Three: Daybreak

8 Students Dead - 32 Students Remaining

      "Hermione...Hermione, wake up."

      Hermione rolled over, away from the voice. It couldn't be time for classes already, could it? She had just gone to bed. She certainly didn't feel rested. She'd had a horrible nightmare. They had all been abducted from Hogwarts and told to kill each other, and... Oh, God! She opened her eyes. She wasn't in her four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower. She was in the upstairs flat above a dingy pub, and Harry was gently trying to wake her. Orange sunlight filtered through the windows. It seemed to be just after sunrise. Hermione sat bolt upright.

      "Harry! You said two hours each!"

      "Yeah..." Harry said. "That was kind of a fib."

      "So you haven't slept..."

      "I'm fine, Hermione," he cut her off. "I couldn't have slept last night if I tried."

      Hermione decided to let it drop. Harry telling a little white lie to give her more rest seemed rather insignificant. Actually, given their current situation, a lot of things suddenly seemed insignificant.

      "What time is it?" she asked.

      "Nearly six," Harry said. "She's about to make the announcement, I think."

      Sure enough, a minute or so later Professor Phalanx's unnervingly cheery voice sounded across the island, clearly amplified by magic to reach them all.

      "Good morning students! It's six a.m. the sun is shining; a beautiful day for a battle, don't you agree?"

      "That horrible woman!" Hermione said furiously. "She's actually having fun!"

      "Well let's get started," Phalanx continued. "We got off to a very good start last night. Your dead classmates are as follows, Ladies first, in the order they died; we've lost No. 12, Eloise Midgin, No. 19, Sally-Ann Perks, No. 14, Susan Bones, and No. 5, Susanna Bradley. And now for the boys, in order: No. 10, Gregory Goyle, No. 20 Dean Thomas, and No. 4, Kevin Entwhistle. A very promising start indeed."

      Harry and Hermione were both speechless. They knew people were fighting, but counting Justin Finch-Fletchley, this made eight dead. In just a few hours!

      "Interesting note," Professor Phalanx said, "Dean Thomas chose to take himself out of our little game early. Consider it a personal favor from him to all of you. One less obstacle to victory."

      "Oh no." Hermione whispered. Harry clenched his fist in anger. He couldn't decide if it would have been better or worse if Dean had been killed by another student rather than taking his own life. He was also conflicted because he had felt a certain sense of happiness when the list was finished. Ron's name hadn't been called. He was still all right. But it seemed wrong somehow to celebrate that fact when others were dying all around them.

      "Now for this morning's forbidden zones. Get your maps ready," Hermione and Harry scrambled for their maps; luckily finding that each came with a pen. "From 0700, Sector E=08. From 0900, Sector A=05. From 1100, Sector G=10. That's all for now, I'll be giving you the next three with the Noon announcement."

      Harry marked down the times and zones on his map. For good measure, he crossed out Sector B=04, which had gone forbidden hours ago. Reluctantly, he took out his class list. He hated to do it, but something told him he ought to keep track of the casualties. He placed a small 'X' next to the name of each dead student.

      "Keep up the good work, kids!" Phalanx said. "You're making me so proud!"

      "You're right," Harry said, disgustedly. "She's having the time of her life!" Putting aside his feelings of hatred from the moment, Harry examined his map again. The pub they were in was not in one of the scheduled forbidden zones, nor was the clinic. The clinic was in sector A=6, but A=5 wouldn't become forbidden until 9:00. It shouldn't take them three hours to get there. And if they got delayed...well they had the map; they could just as easily go around A=5 as through it. In fact, now that Harry thought about it, it might not be a bad idea to start avoiding a zone as soon as it was announced, rather than waiting for it to turn forbidden. Better safe than blown up, after all.

      "Ron's alive..." Hermione said quietly. It was only because of their close friendship that Harry caught the undertone in her voice, more than simple relief that a friend was all right. He was reminded of a letter he had gotten from Ron just a few weeks earlier on his sixteenth birthday. The letter had arrived along with a mixed package of Honeydukes candies and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes - thankfully separated to avoid mixing them up.

      Harry,

            Happy Birthday Mate! How are the Muggles treating you? We all wish you were here instead but everyone said it's safer for you there. Load of rubbish if you ask me, but no one does. Anyway, I hope this package reaches you all right. The stuff from Fred and George is for your cousin if he gets to being too big a git.

      I've been talking to Mum and Dad about having you come visit and I think I'm wearing them down. Maybe we'll see each other soon. There's something I really need to talk to you about. Don't want to say too much in case this letter is intercepted (By Fred and George. They're here visiting.) but it involves a girl we both know. That's all I want to say for now, but I hope to see you in person soon. I need to talk to a friend about this.

      Anyway, remember to tell us if the Muggles are getting you down. The sooner they slip up, the sooner we can come get you out of there.

                              Happy Birthday,

                                    Ron

      Harry's first thought had been, why doesn't he talk to Hermione about it if he needs a friend? She's there. He immediately smacked himself on the forehead; it should have been obvious. Ron couldn't talk to Hermione because she was the girl he wanted to talk about. Ron fancied Hermione. Once again, it should have been obvious. He had always been critical, jealous even, of Viktor Krum, the only boy they had ever seen Hermione show any real interest in. He was always quick to leap to her defense whenever Malfoy or anyone else made fun of her. Harry wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. And it seemed that Hermione felt the same way about Ron. That clinched it. No matter what it took, even if it meant his own death, Harry was going to get both of them out of this game alive.

      "We need to get to the clinic if we're going," he said.

      "We're going," Hermione replied, pointing to his arm. The cuts were bleeding again, dark crimson soaking through the dingy white bar towels. "You need stitches for those."

      "All right," Harry said, swinging his duffle bag up onto his shoulder and stuffing the taser into the pocket of his school robes where he could get to it easily. "Let's get going."

32 Students Remaining

      Ron's first sensation when he woke up was pain everywhere. He was lying in what felt like a hospital bed. For a moment he entertained the idea that they had all been rescued and he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, or possibly St. Mungo's in London. But of course, reality intruded almost immediately. He smelled salt in the air and he could hear the pounding of surf just outside the window. More than that, he could feel the oppressive weight of the collar fastened around his neck, ready to explode if he put a toe over what Professor Phalanx deemed to be the line. So he was still on the island, still in the battle. The question then became, why was he still alive?

       He sat up with some difficulty, wincing at the pain in his shoulder and abdomen. Looking down he saw that someone had removed his shirt and wrapped clean white bandages over the bullet hole in his shoulder. His midsection was a massive, ugly bruise where the tree had broken his fall, and he suspected he had cracked at least one rib. He also wore smaller bruises everywhere else. But he was alive. And despite the pain, it felt as though he could probably move. Someone had fixed him up.

      That was when Ron noticed that he was not alone. Another student, a girl with long dark hair, sat in a chair next to his bed. She had clearly been sitting watch over him but had slumped forward so that her head lay on the bed near his legs. Gently, he reached over with his good arm and shook her awake. She sat up with a start and Ron saw that it was Padma Patil. Ordinarily, she was one of the prettiest girls in their year; hell, one of the prettiest at Hogwarts, period. Right now, with her hair in disarray, dirt on her face, blood on her clothes (Ron had a sneaking suspicion the blood was his), and that horrible collar around her neck...well she was still pretty, but now she looked like a refugee from some sick war. Well, that wasn't far from the truth, was it?

      "Padma?"

      "Ron!" she exclaimed, "You're awake! I was afraid... How do you feel?"

      "Like I've been run over by a Hippogriff, but I think I'll live," he said. "Thanks to you?"

      Padma nodded. "I did the best I could. I actually managed to get the bullet out of your leg, but I didn't think it was a good idea to mess with the one in your shoulder. I think it's lodged there. I found some antibiotics too, I was afraid you might be allergic to them, but I couldn't really ask you. You seem to be fine though, and they'll keep the wounds from getting infected. Just be careful you don't rip the stitches out. They're not very good. This was...kind of my first time doing any of this."

      "Stitches?" Ron said. "As in, you sewed my skin together?"

      She nodded again, apologetically. "Well without my wand it was the only way I could find to stop the bleeding."

      "You did all that?" Ron asked. "Without Magic? How did you know what..."

      "Well..." she seemed embarrassed. "I want to be a Healer after school, so Madame Pomfrey loaned me a book once on Muggle medicine. She said sometimes their remedies can be just as good as ours. Anyway, most of the stuff I remembered from the book. I kind of had to improvise the rest. But at least this place had everything I needed. It really is fascinating how Muggles get by without spells and potions."

      "Yeah," Ron said, rubbing the shoulder where he now had a lovely Muggle bullet lodged. "I'm fascinated."

      "Sorry," Padma said quietly. Ron immediately felt bad. Here he was, snapping at the girl who had saved his life, most likely at great risk to her own.

      "No, I'm sorry," he said. "I just...sorry."

      "Did you see who shot you?" Padma asked, trying to change the subject.

      "It was Malfoy," Ron said. "He wanted... The tracker!" He cast a frantic look around. Could Malfoy have come, taken his bag, and simply not bothered to finish him off, assuming he was as good as dead? "My bag! Do you have...?"

      "Relax," Padma ordered him, "You'll tear the stitches. I went back and got your bag after I brought you here." She handed the black nylon duffle bag to Ron. He unzipped it and looked inside, relieved to see the tracker nestled among bottles of water and individually packaged rolls. He took it out and checked the display. There were no other dots nearby, for the moment he and Padma were the only two around.

      "What is that?" she asked.

      "My weapon," Ron replied. "It..." he stopped because he had noticed something disturbing. On the screen, right next to them, Sector A=05 was marked with the numbers 0900. Zooming the map out as far as it would go, Ron saw two other sectors marked, E=08 with 0700 and G=10 with 1100. He checked his watch: 6:56. He had missed the first announcement!

      "The morning announcement!" he said, "Did you hear...?"

      "I'm sorry," Padma said. "I must have dropped off just before it."

      Ron sighed. Sleeping through the announcement could have been disastrous. It was just lucky that the tracker marked forbidden zones. The more he used the little device, the more he came to appreciate it. But it didn't tell him who was still alive. Counting the dots on the screen (a difficult prospect, as many of them were moving) told him that two more students had died since last he checked. He refused to believe that Hermione and Harry would let themselves be killed, but there was no way to be sure.

      "I have to go," he said, standing up as quickly as his injuries allowed. Thankfully he was still wearing pants, though it appeared Padma had cut the right leg off of them just above the knee to get at the gunshot there. Now he just needed to find his shirt and the rest of his uniform.

      "Wait, you shouldn't be walking around," she said.

      "I can't just sit here," Ron said, "If we stay here someone will pick us off eventually. We have to keep moving."

      "You're in no condition..."

      "Yeah but we don't exactly have time to wait until I'm better," Ron said. "We need to find the others and figure a way out of this. We can use the tracker, and now that it's day we should be able to get a good look at who it is before they see us. That way we can find people we know can be trusted."

      "All right," Padma nodded. "But let me get some supplies first, in case we find anyone hurt."

      "Just out of curiosity, where are the rest of my clothes?"

      "Oh..." Padma blushed slightly, staring at his bare chest. Ron had evidently been working out this past summer, probably training for the upcoming Quidditch season. And, if possible, he had gotten even taller. She'd had her difficulties with Ron in the past (being ignored at a dance was not her idea of a good time) but even with bandages and bruises all over, she could not deny that he had become quite handsome. Between him and Harry Potter, Gryffindor seemed to get all the best guys. "Um...your shirt, and your robes...they weren't really salvageable."

      "Oh," Ron said. He looked around and saw the torn and bloodied remains of his uniform in the dustbin. Padma was right; there was no way they could be worn again.

      "I think I saw some clothes in the closet, though," she said, rushing out into the hallway. She returned a moment later with a big, light green shirt. It had a wide neck and arms and Ron had to admit that it was a lot easier to put on than his school clothes would have been under the circumstances.

      "Um...Ron?" she paused in the middle of loading her weapon bag with medical supplies.

      "Yeah?"

      "I...I know this isn't a good time to ask this sort of thing, but..." blushing furiously, she blurted out the question all at once. "Do you fancy anyone?"

      "What?"

      "You know...you like anyone?"

      Ron frowned. He did like someone, someone in their class. And the longer they lingered here, the greater the chance that he would never see her again. "Yeah," he finally said.

"Not me, right?" Padma said, half-laughing.

      "Padma..."

      "It's okay," she said, favoring him with a smile. "I've got a pretty good idea who it is. I...I'm sure she's fine. And Harry too."

      "I have to see her again," he said. "I never got a chance before and...if we're going to die here..."

      "Hey, what happened to all of us getting out?" Padma asked. She gave him another smile. "Come on, let's go find the others. Oh, and take these first," she handed him two small white pills. "They're aspirin, Muggle painkillers. They should make you feel a little better."

      Ron took the pills from her, but paused with them halfway to his mouth.

      "What is it?"

      "I just...remembered something Phalanx said back in the classroom, about how there are no rules. I think I understand how some of the others must be feeling, why they're killing each other. I mean...these could be anything. For all I know, I could drop dead two seconds after taking them. It's like she said, only one of us can leave alive. So why trust anyone?"

      "So how do you know you can trust me?" Padma asked. "Unless... You...do trust me, don't...?"

      Before she could continue, Ron popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed.

      "I was just making a point. If you wanted me dead, you could have left me at the bottom of that hill," he said.

      "Maybe I'm just using you to increase my own chances of survival," she suggested.

      "Maybe I'm using you for the same reason," Ron said.

      "So do we trust each other, then?"

      "I trust you," Ron said. "At some point...you have to trust someone. Otherwise..."

      "You lose it and start killing whoever you meet," Padma said.

      Ron nodded. "That's what they're counting on. They expect us to turn on each other. That's why they set the time limits and the forbidden zones; it's all to make sure we won't team up against them."

      "So we trust each other?"

      "We do," Ron said. "It's our only chance. And even if it doesn't work," he grinned, "it's sure to piss those wankers off."

32 Students Remaining

      Draco Malfoy spent the better part of an hour searching the bottom of the hill where Weasley had fallen the night before. He had figured Weasley was a goner and he could wait until light to come back for his gear, especially that tracker. Then, at six o'clock, he heard the announcement. Weasley wasn't on the list of dead. Stranger still, neither was Longbottom. Draco couldn't figure out how Longbottom had survived being shot in the chest, or how Weasley had survived his own wounds from the same weapon. Maybe these gun things weren't as good as they had seemed. They were Muggle weapons after all. But they had worked so well on Justin and Eloise...

      Well maybe Longbottom had something protecting him. There had been no weapon in his bag, just food, water, and the other standard equipment (which he had promptly transferred into his own bag). So it was possible that whatever weapon Longbottom had received had somehow protected him from the bullets. And maybe someone came and managed to heal Weasley. There was a lot of blood in the area where he had fallen, so at least one shot had hit him, but maybe he only got an arm or leg, someplace where it wouldn't kill him immediately. Well it didn't make too much difference. Weasley still only had the axe. The next time they met, Draco would make sure he was dead before leaving. For now, there were thirty players besides Weasley that he had to worry about more. He had to figure there were at least a few more guns out there, also blades and bludgeoning tools. He also remembered Professor Phalanx mentioning that most of the weapons in the bags were of Muggle origin. That meant a few were probably magical. The sooner he found one of those, the better he would feel.

      A rumbling in his stomach reminded Draco that the last thing he had eaten was a pumpkin pasty on the train. Looking around to verify that he was alone, he sat down near where Weasley had fallen and opened his bag, making sure that his gun was close at hand. He took out one of the rolls, unwrapped it, and took a bite. The thing was hard as a rock and tasted slightly worse. If he was going to spend the next three days here, he was going to have to find something better to eat. But there was nothing else right now, so he choked down the rest of the stale roll, washing it down with water from one of the many bottles he now had. That was another stroke of luck. Each bag barely contained enough bread and water for the entire three days, and that was assuming it was carefully rationed. But now that he had appropriated the supplies from both Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom, he no longer had to worry about that. That was good; anything that gave him an edge over the others was good. Because, although a few more students would probably take each other down without his help, Draco had a feeling that most of the killing in this game would be up to him. There were three deaths in particular that he was looking forward too. Weasley had escaped once, but he wouldn't be so lucky next time. And after all, he quite literally had nowhere to run to. Granger was out there too; she would be an easy kill, but a satisfying one. And then there was Potter. He could barely contain his excitement at the thought of putting a bullet right through that ugly scar everyone was so hung up on. He couldn't have planned it better, the Ministry not only allowing, but encouraging him, ordering him even, to kill Potter and his groupies. And he would get away with it. No one would even blame him. If anything, they would feel sorry for him. Poor kid had no choice, did he? Kill or be killed; that was the rule.

      It was like a dream come true.

32 Students Remaining

To Be Continued...