12 Students Dead - 28 Students Remaining

      Victoria Frobisher moved quickly through the woods, looking for the Slytherin girls. She kept her sword at the ready, knowing that if she ran into someone with a gun, her only chance would be to attack before they could. The noon announcement had included the names of her two victims, Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini, but no other girls, although someone had killed one of the Slytherin boys - Theodore Nott. Well good riddance, that guy was a pervert, and a creepy one at that. Disgusting; all of them. If anyone deserved to be here it was the Slytherins. But the fact that others were killing meant that she would have to step it up if she wanted to kill the rest of the Slytherin girls before someone else did.

      She just wanted to kill the last three; after that it didn't matter much what happened to her. Oh, she would keep fighting, but it was no big deal if she didn't win. And to be honest, she doubted she had the strength to take out some of the boys. The winner would probably be Harry Potter or Ron Weasley. Vicky smiled at the thought of those two. They were easily the cutest guys in the sixth year, and they were both nice guys; well, Ron could be a bit of a jerk sometimes, but he was decent enough. Both had also accomplished things that were beyond some full grown wizards. Of course, she couldn't really see either of them playing to win. That left Draco Malfoy; Vicky could easily see him as willing to kill, and he had what it took to win. If she had to choose, she would rather be killed by someone like Harry or Ron than by Draco, if she had to die. But in any case, she wasn't going to die just yet. First she had three dirty bitches to kill. And one of them was already in her sights.

      Tracey Davis (Female Student 7, Slytherin) was seated on a picnic table in the middle of a sunny clearing. She sat cross-legged on the top of the table with her back to Vicky. Her bag lay open next to her, along with a bottle of water and a half-eaten roll. Evidently, Tracey had decided this would be a safe spot to stop for lunch.

      Vicky smiled, creeping ever closer to the oblivious girl. She couldn't see Tracey's weapon, but she figured if she could sneak up behind her and stab her in the back, she wouldn't have a chance to use it anyway. Closer now, she was almost in the clearing, just a little closer and...

      CRACK

      Vicky froze in horror as a twig snapped beneath her feet. It sounded as loud as a gunshot to her. Tracey spun around, raising her weapon, a twelve-gauge shotgun and aiming it at the intruder. Determined not to give the other girl a chance to fire, Vicky charged with her sword held high. But Tracey was faster. She brought the gun level and fired. With an explosive sound that echoed over the entire island, the gun blew hundreds of lead pellets at Vicky. Most of them missed but at least a dozen tore into Victoria's left side, just below the ribs. Pain like nothing she had ever felt before shot through her. It was as if someone was holding a lit candle in her stomach. She doubled over, staggering back a few steps and nearly dropping her sword.

      "You crazy little bitch! What the hell?" Tracey screamed. She was fumbling with a small plastic cartridge, trying to jam it into the shotgun's chamber. Ignoring her pain in favor of eliminating her enemy, Vicky charged again. She made it to the table and swung at Tracey's legs. Tracey did the only thing she could think of in response and blocked with her gun. Neither swing was very good; the sword clanged off the metal of the gun without doing any damage, but the force of the blows knocked both weapons out of their owner's hands. Knowing that if Victoria got ahold of either of the weapons, the fight would end with her death, Tracey leaped off the table and tackled the unarmed Gryffindor. The two enemies rolled around on the grass, trading mostly ineffective blows, until Tracey got the upper hand. She ended up on top of Victoria with her hands wrapped around her throat just above her control collar, and began to squeeze.

      "Trying to win, are you? Worthless little bitch!" Tracey said through clenched teeth. "Points for effort, though!"

      Vicky couldn't breathe. Though she was on the petite side of average, Tracey seemed to have a lot of strength in her hands. She gripped Vicky's throat so tightly that not a wisp of air could get through. She could barely hear Tracey taunting her, still making fun of her even as she killed her. The hands on her throat remained but their owner was shrinking into the distance as blackness swallowed up the clearing.

      "Must suck!" Tracey said, "Can't even stab someone in the back properly! A loser like you doesn't even deserve to live!"

      NO! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Vicky clung stubbornly to consciousness, knowing that if she blacked out she would never wake up. Her sword was too far away to grab; so was the gun. She tried to hit Tracey, but she couldn't put any strength behind the blows. Her arm fell onto her bag. Her bag! With the last of her strength, Vicky reached into the open bag, groping for the only thing that could save her life. Her hand closed around the cool metal and she swung her arm, putting her entire body behind it. The long metal knitting needle (Blaise Zabini's weapon) went in one side of Tracey's neck and burst out the other, showering Vicky with hot blood. The pressure left her neck as Tracey fell back. She tried to scream but only managed a wet gurgle as arterial blood spilled from her mouth in a bright red foam. Vicky caught her breath, then wrenched the needle out of Tracey's neck, pushed the dying girl over onto her back and plunged the needle into her face, over and over. She lost track of time, but by the time she came back to her senses Tracey was no longer recognizable as such. Her face, once the prettiest Slytherin had to offer, had become a puddle of blood, skin, broken teeth, and splinters of bone. Needless to say, she was quite dead.

      Vicky stood up. As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain in her side flared to life. It was like a runner's cramp magnified a million times and then heated to boiling. She could barely bring herself to look at the wound. The buckshot had gouged a few sizeable holes in the flesh of her abdomen, but as far as she could tell, it hadn't hit any organs. She would probably be all right.

      Moving a little slower than she would have liked, Vicky put her sword and the knitting needle back into her bag, along with Tracey's extra ammunition. Then she loaded the shotgun with as many shells as it would hold and limped back into the forest.

      Three down. Two to go.

      27 Students Remaining

      Harry looked up and down the beach, checking for any signs of danger. Eventually, deciding it was safe, he nodded to Hermione. Together they set off, moving quickly and staying low, across the sand. They had been at this all day, moving from one spot of cover to the next. So far they hadn't run into anyone, unless you counted the bullet-riddled body of Theodore Nott. Some sicko had shot him in the crotch before finishing him off with two to the chest. Harry didn't like to point fingers, especially in a situation where paranoia and suspicion were his worst enemies. But he had no trouble imagining Malfoy shooting a friend in the bollocks just for fun. But he could be wrong. And that was perhaps the saddest thing of all. If he could have pinned all the killing going on around him on Malfoy, that would make things nice and simple. But Harry knew better. There were others playing the game as well, a lot of others. So much for Hogwarts students standing together in the face of adversity.

      As the afternoon wore on, he and Hermione steadily made their way south toward the beach. They had no real goal, except maybe to find Ron. Despite the fact that he was clearly injured, none of the announcements so far had contained his name, so he was still alive. Someone must have taken care of him, healed his wounds in the clinic. It had taken Harry a while to stop beating himself up over that one. If they had left for the clinic last night like Hermione suggested, Ron would still have been there when they arrived.

      "We don't know that," Hermione insisted. "If we went last night we might have been killed before we even got there."

      Harry appreciated her attempt to make him feel better. But it didn't change the fact that his best friend was out there injured and possibly alone because Harry had been too damn cautious.

      Eventually another problem intruded on Harry's attention. He was starving. Well after all, he hadn't eaten anything since the start of the game. Hermione looked hungry too so Harry suggested that they find someplace safe and try to eat something. The maps said there were some houses on the beach. They decided that a beach house would be a good place to stop and eat because they could see anyone who tried to approach.

      They crept up to the nicest of the houses. The front door was ajar, the lock broken. Harry and Hermione moved quickly through the house. Harry stopped when he heard someone moving up ahead of them. Cautiously, silently, they moved into the kitchen.

      Jacob Dorny (Male Student 9, Slytherin) was crouched over a bloody corpse. It took Harry a minute to recognize Blaise Zabini. She had been cut open from chest to waist. Nearby, Millicent Bulstrode was in even worse shape; she had been hacked to pieces and beheaded. The stench of blood in the air was overpowering, nauseating.

      Jacob didn't even notice their presence until he heard Harry gag at the sight of Millicent's remains. He turned to look at them, his eyes red with tears.

      "Who would do this?" he asked. "Cut them up like this?"

      "I don't know," Harry said. "I'm sorry, Jacob."

      "This is...all wrong!" Jacob said. "We shouldn't even be here!"

      "Jacob, are you alone?" Hermione asked.

      He nodded. "I waited for Draco outside the school...but I lost my nerve. I was too scared to follow him. I've been on the run since then, I came in here to hide and...and I found..."

      "Well we can't stay here," Harry said. "Whoever did this might come back."

      "Yeah..." Jacob said quietly. He whipped around, raising the biggest pistol Harry had ever seen and aiming it at them. "Or maybe they're already here!"

      "What?" Harry yelled.

      "That's crazy!" Hermione said, "Why would we..."

      "Think about it! Gryffindor, Slytherin! It's no secret you hated them, especially you Granger!"

      "Hermione didn't do it!" Harry said. "She's been with me since we left the school. This is the first time we've even been this far south."

      "Oh, and I'm to take your word for it, is that right?" Jacob asked.

      "Why don't you look at our clothes," Hermione said. "Do you think we could have done all this without getting any blood on us?"

      "There's blood on his arm!" Jacob yelled, pointing at Harry.

      "Yeah, mine! Because I nearly took a grenade from your pal Goyle!" Harry snapped back.

      "The same Goyle who's dead now! I suppose you're going to tell me you didn't have a hand in that either?"

      "I'm not the one who killed him if that's what you mean," Harry said.

      "I don't believe you, Potter!" Jacob yelled, "You hate us Slytherins. You probably couldn't wait to start killing us. Started as soon as you got out the door, didn't you?"

      "You've got it backwards!" Harry said. "Goyle tried to kill me! Then Sally-Ann knocked him out and his grenade killed both of them!"

      "Stop trying to lie to me!" Jacob thrust his huge gun at Harry. "You did it! YOU KILLED THEM ALL!"

      "I thought you said I killed Blaise and Millicent," Hermione said. The gun swung toward her. "Well which is it, Jacob? Did I kill them or did Harry?"

      "You're in it together!" Jacob replied. "You think if you help each other and kill everyone else you can both go home! Well that's not how it works! Don't you get it? None of us are going home!"

      "Well not if you keep yelling like that!" Hermione said.

      "But see, I think I've got it figured out," Jacob continued. "I don't have to go looking for people. Everyone else is out to win. Eventually they'll all come to me, just like you two. But the joke's on them," he gestured with the huge gun, pointing it back at Harry, "I'm ready for you all!"

      Harry just barely saw it; the subtle, almost imperceptible hitch in Dorny's breathing. He was going to fire. Just as he pulled the trigger, Harry ducked under the gun. The shot seemed even louder than the grenades; it was like a cannon had gone off. Harry didn't even hear the snapping of the tazer as he shoved it into the other boy's chest and pressed the trigger. Jacob gave a violent jerk and collapsed, dropping his gun in the process. The scent ozone and burnt material mingled with the smell of gunpowder, but both were still overwhelmed by the stench of blood.

      "Is he..." Harry couldn't bring himself to ask if he had killed a fellow student. Hermione pressed two fingers against Jacob's neck and shook her head.

      "He's alive," she said. "But I don't think we'll want to be here when he comes around."

      "We can't just leave him here," Harry said.

      "What other choice do we have? Wait for him to wake up and ask him to follow us when we've just attacked him and taken his weapon? He's not likely to trust that. Or do we let him keep the gun and make a little wager on how long he'll wait before shooting us in the back?"

      "I just don't like the idea of leaving him here," Harry said. "We should at least leave him the gun."

      "No, Harry. We absolutely should not," Hermione replied. "If he has the gun, he'll use it to hunt us down, or he'll kill the next innocent kid who stumbles in here. Without it, he'll probably just hide in a closet upstairs until it's all over, in which case we can come get him once we find a way out. Besides, as much as I hate to say it, we need a gun. We've been lucky so far but a stake and a stun gun won't get us very far here."

      Harry almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're not suggesting we play this game, are you?"

      "Of course not. I want to find a way for everyone to get out of here, just like you. But be realistic. A lot of people are playing the game. What happens if - no, when we run into one of them?"

      That was, of course, the crux of the matter. Hermione was right, they had been lucky so far. He didn't want to think about what would happen when they inevitably ran into someone looking to win the game. Actually, he knew now what would happen. The same thing that had happened with Jacob, only next time he might not get the chance to fight back. The next attacker might kill him or Hermione, or both of them.

      "All right," he finally said. "But you take the gun. I'm so jumpy right now I'd probably shoot myself in the foot."

      Reluctantly, Hermione nodded and took the gun from him.

      "We'd better go," she said. Harry nodded and together they headed out the back door and back up into the woods.

      A few minutes later, Jacob Dorny woke with a start and looked around frantically for his gun. It was nowhere to be found.

      "Lose something, Jacob?"

      Jacob's heart skipped a few beats as he whirled around to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway from the living room, holding a large gun.

      "Draco!" he said, relieved. "Bloody hell, am I glad to see you!"

      "What the hell happened here?" Draco asked, surveying the bodies of the two girls with a look of disgust.

      "Someone killed Millicent and Blaise," Jacob said. "I think it might have been Granger. She was here, with Potter. They hit me with some kind of lightning stick and stole my gun!"

      "Potter?" Draco suddenly looked very interested. "Where did he go?"

      "I don't know, they knocked me out. They must have thought I was dead."

      "Not likely," Draco sneered. "Potter wouldn't have the stones to actually kill anyone. They probably split before you could wake up."

      "Yeah, I guess you're right," Jacob said. Already he felt better. Now that Draco was here they'd surely find a way out of this game. "So what do we do now?"

      "We?" Malfoy asked.

      "You know. To escape." Suddenly Jacob realized he didn't like the way Draco was holding that gun, only a few inches shy of pointing straight at him.

      "Who said anything about escaping?" Draco asked, swinging the gun over to point at Jacob's chest.

      "Draco...no..."

      "Sorry, mate," Malfoy said cheerfully with a nonchalant shrug, "Survival of the fittest."

      The shots rang out one after the other, each one accompanied by an explosion of fiery pain in Jacob's chest until one shot struck his spine, cutting off the pain, and all other sensations, forever.

      Draco Malfoy didn't bother searching for Jacob's supplies. He had plenty and Potter had already taken the dead boy's weapon. He stepped over the three bodies he headed for the open back door. Two sets of footprints led up into the woods at the edge of the beach. Grinning, Draco checked his ammo and followed the tracks.

26 Students Remaining