Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its related works. The rights to the books, movies, and everything else belong to J.K. Rowling and her many business affiliates. This is a fan made work of fiction that will never earn me a single penny. Now buy something official so you can support the woman who made this world possible for us to play in and explore.

Harry Potter And The Game of Death

Level 1

Chapter One: Death Approaches

Dementors swooped through the chill night air. The land below their shadowy forms lay covered in a cloak of fog, the light of the moon and stars hidden behind ominous clouds.

Harry tightly grasped his wand as the Dark creatures drew close. The Dementor's terrifying aura washed over him, trying to drive him into terror. But Harry pushed back against it with every ounce of will he possessed, silver sparks of magic sputtering out of his wand and forming a thin veil of protection. Because even though his wand refused to form a corporeal Patronus, he was the only thing standing between the creatures and his friends.

Nearby, his best friend, Hermione Granger, knelt over a bloodied canine form. The young witch had her wand out, slowly moving over the large animal's body as she assessed the damage. Fighting off the werewolf form of their teacher had taking its toll on the canine, and its breath was coming in shuddering, wet gasps.

A pang of anguish ran through Harry when he saw her face begin to pale. The canine form, after all, was no ordinary dog, but the shapeshifted body of Harry's recently reunited godfather, Sirius Black. And even thinking about the possibility of the man dying caused Harry's heart to ache. A feeling which caused the silver sparks coming forth from his wand to dim and diminish in volume

Harry raised his head and looked at his wand in horror. "Come on. Come on. Work already!"

But no matter how much he yelled at it the magic refused to work. Desperate, Harry tried to focus as his professor, Remus Lupin, had taught him, pushing out thoughts of what had happened when he had undergone his transformation into a werewolf. Instead, Harry searched his mind for the sort of happy memories which were supposed to fuel a Patronus.

The day when he found that he was a wizard rose from the depths of his mind. It was a beloved memory when Harry had learned the truth of his past. That he was not a Freak as his aunt and uncle had always insisted. That his parents had been wonderful people who had loved him with all their hearts instead of being itinerant drunks who had died in a crash. And it was also the day where Harry had first felt there could be a place in the world where he might find even a tiny shred of happiness.

The silver bursts of magic coming from his wand brightened as the memory surged through him. It turned into a gushing stream of magic, and a nascent shape began to form in its depths.

Then the silver light dimmed, and the nascent shape dissipated like smoke in a stiff breeze.

Harry wanted to kick himself. Of course that memory wouldn't work! The Dursley's, his nasty aunt and uncle who had raised him since he was a baby, and their son, Dudley, were a part of that memory. Their very presence tainted it like an oil slick covering a patch of clean water.

Harry pushed it aside and grasped for the next one he thought could work.

This time it was the night he first came to Hogwarts. Harry recalled sitting in the enchanted boats on the lake, gasping in amazement when he saw the immense castle glowing with magical lights in the distance. Of meeting children his own age who wanted to be his friend. Of being welcomed by Professor McGonagall, and of the thunderous welcome given to him by the entire Gryffindor table upon his Sorting.

The silver stream of surged once more. A small, shape began to coalesce within it, with angular protrusions on its head. Perhaps they were horns of some sort? Or fangs, or claws? Whatever they were, they must belong to a powerful creature. One capable of pushing back the hovering Dementors and saving Harry's loved ones.

But for the second time that night the Patronus failed to form. And as the stream of magic dimmed, the Dementors began to advance on his position.

Harry grit his teeth as their dreadful aura began to summon the dying screams of his parents. Their past torment at the hands of Voldemort meant that the Dementor's powers were beginning to overwhelm his own. And the only way to stop its paralyzing effects would be to summon a Patronus.

Memory after memory flashed through Harry's brain as he threw his entire being into the fight. Flying on a broom for the first time. Winning his first game of Quidditch. Eating a birthday cake at the Burrow. Freeing Dobby from the Malfoys. Receiving an album of pictures from Hagrid filled with photos of his parents. Seeing Hermione wake up from the Basilisk's petrification. Sitting around a warm fire with Ron and Hermione. Joking with the Weasley twins. Ginny's tearful face as she thanked him for saving her life.

All those memories and more were found and tried. Yet not one of them worked. And as the failures mounted, the protective light from Harry's wand continued to fade.

The Dementors were close, now. Harry could feel their baleful aura pressing in on him, affecting his mind as it dug into his soul. The voices of his parents from the night Voldemort had killed them grew to where he could begin to make out words.

Pain and anger tore through him as he heard his father's voice rise in fear. As his mother's voice screamed in anguish. He shuddered, and his wand began to dip.

A soft hand touched Harry's shoulder. "You can do this Harry. I know that you can."

Hermione's confident voice broke through the clutter that filled his mind. Ever calm and reliable, his best friend's touch brought him back from the brink. And as if it, too, were buoyed by her confidence, the silver stream of magic which had slowed to a trickle began to strengthen.

"But why, Hermione?" Harry desperately fought to keep his voice under control as the fear of failing took hold on him. He twisted his head to look at her. "Why?"

"Because I trust in you," the brilliant girl said with a tremulous smile. Top in their class and, arguably, the school, the genius who was his best friend tightened her grip on his shoulder. "I've trusted in you since the day you leapt onto the back of a giant troll that was about to kill me, and I've never had reason to doubt you in the years since. You've faced far worse things than this, Harry, and you've never been beaten yet."

A sign of strain appeared on her face as she spoke. Sweat began to bead on her brow, and she started to sway on her feet. It was the Dementors; it had to be them! They were nearly close enough to touch, and Harry's spell protected her even less than it protected him.

Still, she fought on. Her teeth clattered audibly as she fought to finish her words of encouragement. "I know that… that you are an amazing wizard, Harry… one who… who will face even greater challenges in the future. So do… what you must… and… and protect…"

Hermione's words cut-off mid-sentence. Her body slumped to the ground with a soft thump as the Dementor's dreadful aura overwhelmed her spirit.

Harry gave a cry of anguish as he watched it happen. "No. No. No!" The young wizard screamed in pained rage at the creatures surrounding them. "Not Hermione. Not her! You can take my life if you want, but you can't take hers! Never! Not while I'm still here."

With renewed strength, Harry eyed the creeping forms of the Dementors. He gripped his phoenix-core wand and summoned forth every bit of magical energy he possessed, digging it out of his body and shaping it to his will. He might not possess a memory happy enough to power a proper Patronus Charm, but what he did possess was a potent well of magic far beyond anyone his age should possess. And for the first time in his life, it was time to let loose the floodgates and see what might happen.

Silvery light flared into being, raging forth from his wand in a torrent of magical power. The shadowy forms of the Dementors flinched back from the sheer power contained within its glow.

Harry felt a grin stretch the corners of his mouth at the sight. Reversing the tables on the blighted creatures, and making them be the ones to feel fear, felt good. "Yeah, that's right," he hissed triumphantly. "Can't get us now, can you? Even if the spell's not complete, it's enough to hurt you guys and make you back away!"

With the breathing room granted by the Dementor's retreat, Harry spared a glance for his two companions. Hermione's face was twisted in a pained grimace, while Sirius' bloodied form still heaved as he drew in rasping breaths. But both were still alive for the moment, and that was what mattered most.

After all, help had to be on the way. Whether it was Headmaster Dumbledore, hailed as the greatest wizard of the age, or Professor McGonagall, a powerful witch in her own right, or another of the Hogwarts professors, surely someone had to be coming for them. Heck, at this point Harry would be relieved to see even Snape arrive, though the man bore no small amount of blame for the situation happening in the first place, what with his refusal to accept Sirius' innocence in the death of Harry's parents.

But as time passed, no one came. And as the minutes began to stretch, the strain of holding the empowered spell began to take its toll.

Harry's felt his muscles start to tighten. His head became feverish. And deep inside his spirit, he could feel something begin to crack and strain as the pressure on him grew heavier.

Harry gulped. The magic was leaving his body faster than it could be replenished. And if continued, then even his great reserves would soon be tapped.

Meanwhile the Dementors began to inch closer. Their black clothed writhed through the air, circling his position as if they could sense his growing weakness.

Though he fought to keep the magic flowing from his wand, Harry began to despair. He looked at his friend and godfather and gave their silent forms a sad smile. "I'm sorry. But it looks like I wasn't good enough. I'm not the wizard either of you thought I was."

Then, as the stream began to weaken further, something changed. And everything started to become… different.

A feeling deep inside Harry's body, born of need and desire, began to stir. It came from within the furthest depths of his flesh, his blood, his bones – no, his very soul! And nothing, not even the world itself, could restrain its flooding might.

As it began to rush through his body a distant melody filled Harry's ears. It was a song of some kind. A tune. One without words and without sound.

The song entered his mind, slipping into the fabric of his being without effort. As it did the changes within Harry started to accelerate. Who he was before, and who he would be after, were different than who he was right now. And somehow the song was bridging the gap between them. All of them. It was combining them into one, only to then shatter his essence into pieces and drive them apart, remaking them in the process before repeating it again, and again, and again.

After what felt like an age, with his mind filled with formless music and his essence consumed by rampaging magic, Harry began to recognize the feeling. It was on the tip of his tongue as it were. And when he finally put his finger on it, suddenly everything made sense.

The song was magic! The force within him, changing him, bringing him together and tearing him apart, was magic itself! A type similar to the Phoenix song given voice by Fawkes, but of a wholly different source and composition.

That melody had felt fiery and filled with both life and hope. But this song felt as though it was the polar opposite. It made Harry feel as desolate as the surface of the moon and colder than the vacuum of space. And when it grew stronger, the melody made the world feel both bright and dull at the same time. As though Harry could see everything in colour one moment, then solely in black and white the next.

A groan passed his lips as he began to buckle. Whatever this tune might be, and whatever end it sought, it was consuming Harry's already depleted stores of magic. And neither his body nor his reserves could handle the song while also maintaining an overpowered Patronus spell.

Something would have to give. And the answer as to which it would be became obvious when the light of Harry's incomplete Patronus fizzled out.

Freed from its defending aegis, the horde of Dementors swooped in for the kill. Spectral hands reached for him, and the last thought Harry had was sorrow over being unable to save those he had sworn to protect.

But the song was not over. It wrapped itself around his body as they drew close and trapped what little remained of his magical energy. The song used this power to feed itself, its pitch nearing a crescendo as a cold hand reached out for Harry's throat.

Then time froze.

And when it did, four lines of glowing green text floated before Harry's eyes.

Welcome, Master, to the Game of Death

Would you like to play?

Please Select

Yes or No

A/N: What with Level 1 of this story being nearly complete and all I've gone back and edited every single chapter to bring them more in line with my original vision. First time readers should note that some chapters will not be as exciting as this one, because I used this fic to test out a number of different styles and methods. Not all of which bore good results. But this chapter is a good representation for where the story ends up, and where it will resume at the beginning of Level 2 ^-^

IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is an Alternate Universe (AU) fic. MANY things such as character ages and sexuality, Quidditch rules, past events, organizations, the mechanics of magic itself, it being a slow-burn harem story with seven lovely ladies (eventually) being paired with Harry, and far more have been changed to fit my own vision of how this new world operates. I view HP canon as a guide rather than as chains which bind me, and occasionally thumb my nose at the more hardcore parts of fanon too. I also like to show accented English when certain characters, such as Scottish or French characters, are speaking. So keep in mind that some characters, like Fleur, will often have grammatically incorrect English on purpose when they are in a scene. This story is also not a hardcore gamer fic, which means that Game and its mechanics will not dominate every chapter and may go multiple scenes without being used or referenced.

Thank you for giving this story a shot, and I hope that you enjoy reading it.

Until Next Time,

~Elsil