Chapter One: Lavender Brown

I stood shaking among my fellow classmates, hopelessly wishing to be woken up from the horrible nightmare that was unfolding in front of me. Twelve of us, all bound by enchanted ropes, were huddled together while the Dementors swarmed ominously around us. Amycus and Alecto Carrow watched us from a distance, but their presence was hardly required. The Dementors spread enough misery for the both of them.

I had never been more terrified in my life. Even during the Battle, I was not quite as scared as I was now. At least while I was fighting, I had a chance. But now my wand, my only weapon, was destroyed. I had no chance now. None of us did.

There was no telling what the Death Eaters had in store for us. It didn't seem as though any of the others knew, and even if they did, none of us could talk. Our mouths were glued shut by magic, as they had been for weeks now. We were only permitted to open our mouths when the Death Eaters fed us, which was a rare thing in and of itself. Looking around, I noticed that only one of the others appeared to be in good health: Theodore Nott, who was a Slytherin pure-blood and son of a Death Eater. I couldn't imagine why the child of a Death Eater would be imprisoned with the rest of us, but then again, I couldn't have imagined many of the things that had taken place within the last three months.

Before I could look away from the boy, the two of us locked eyes. His eyes were deep pools of dark amber, swirls of burnt honey that bore into me as though trying to tell me a secret. I immediately turned my head and swallowed down my fear, wondering if he knew something that I didn't.

I had little time to linger on this, however, for the doors to the Great Hall had burst open to reveal a large crowd of Death Eaters waiting for us inside. They were all yelling taunts and throwing their fists into the air with garish, twisted smiles on their faces; apparently they were excited about us being there.

The Dementors slowly dispersed, leaving the twelve of us to inch slowly into the Great Hall. The Carrows followed closely behind us with their wands outstretched, but I could not think as to why any of the Death Eaters bothered with such measures anymore. We were twelve wandless teenagers with our hands tied and our bones throbbing with exhaustion. We were pitiful, emaciated creatures who were on the brink of death. How could we pose a threat?

As we moved closer and closer to the High Table, I saw Voldemort sitting calmly in the Headmaster's chair, his revolting pet snake encircling the floor at his feet. I couldn't help but shiver at the sight of him. I would never be able to overcome my fear of him, not truly; he had orchestrated all of this, this gathering, and the chill that ran up my spine told me that we were here for entertainment. Entertainment for Death Eaters never resulted in anything pleasant.

"Welcome, contestants." Voldemort's cold voice echoed throughout the Hall, silencing the Death Eaters around us. Contestants? "Thank you for joining me here today."

He said it as though we had a choice in the matter.

"And Harry Potter," said Voldemort, "I am most anxious to see how you perform."

Harry, who was standing on the other side of the group, struggled against his ropes. I saw the look of pure hatred in his eyes, a look so terrible that I could almost feel the rage within him.

Voldemort stood from his seat and began to walk to the side of the High Table, where he surveyed the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, "may I present to you the first ever contestants of the Death Games."

There were whoops of triumph throughout the Hall. We all exchanged fearful glances with each other, and while some of us struggled and thrashed as Harry did, others attempted to yell out protests. However, our mouths remained closed, and our voices merely resounded within our own throats.

My blood felt like it had frozen over at this point. I didn't make an effort to escape my bonds, nor did I try to scream. I knew it was hopeless. If there were anything that could be done to rise against the Death Eaters, it would have been done already. But our numbers had dwindled. Our wands would never work again. We were alone. We were trapped. As much as it hurt to accept such a miserable fate, it was all I could think to do at the moment. I felt as though my fight had left me. There was nothing else that could be done, not anymore.

Voldemort held his hands out to silence his Death Eaters, and as the Hall went quiet once more, he spoke directly to us.

"I imagine that you are wondering why you are here." The smirk upon his face was possibly the most unsettling thing I had ever seen. "Well, the idea is simple. You are all going to kill each other."

My eyes widened. My classmates had stopped moving completely, and none of them made a sound. It seemed as though they were as shocked as I was.

Voldemort's smirk widened at our dumbfounded expressions.

"Go on, out with it," he said silkily. "Tell me that you refuse."

With a quick wave of his hand, I felt my lips part open. I immediately gasped for air, air that had only been entering and leaving my nostrils for weeks. It felt amazing to feel the freedom of being able to move my mouth again, but under the circumstances, my gratitude didn't last for more than five seconds. I glared at Voldemort, hungry for revenge, and I knew I was not alone in this desire.

Naturally, Harry Potter was the first to speak.

"We'll never hurt each other!" he roared, his voice raspy from lack of use. "You can't force us! You need us. You wouldn't have kept all of us alive if you didn't."

"It is true that I need you," Voldemort replied. "But I do not need all of you."

Harry swallowed, and his lower lip trembled against his chin. "Still," he said faintly, "you won't make us kill each other. The only way you'll do it is by the Imperius curse, and even then we'll try to fight it!"

The rest of us nodded fervently, and Neville Longbottom yelled, "Dumbledore's Army!"

Voldemort's face was one of amusement, much like the face of a child who takes pleasure in burning an ant with a magnifying glass. "Silly children," he whispered. "You will do as I command."

His eyes wandered to someone behind us, and he gave a slight nod of his head. Bewildered, I looked toward the Great Hall doors, where another group of prisoners entered in a single-file line. They were led and followed by Death Eaters, and their wrists were bound in the same rope that ours were. I didn't recognize any of them; they were small children, first years by the looks of them. There had to be at least twenty, maybe thirty that were in the line. Their heads were low and their bodies shook with fear. My heart instantly dropped into my stomach at the sight of them.

When they had all entered the Hall, the children were forced to stop in front of us.

"If you do not play," Voldemort leered, "then these young boys and girls will never see the light of day again."

At his words, the children sobbed and shook even harder. A few of them looked at me, but I had to force myself to turn away. I couldn't bear the pleading in their small eyes, couldn't bear to think of such innocent faces meeting tragic ends. The other prisoners shouted protests, even went so far as to kick their legs out at the Death Eaters, but their efforts were futile. The only way they could stop such an act would be to give in. And how bad could dying be? How could it be worse than living as a slave, or living in a constant state of fear and anxiety?

"I'll do it," I said, but my voice was barely audible in the uproar. I cleared my throat and set my eyes on Voldemort, summoning every ounce of courage I had to speak to him directly. "I'll play your game!"

This time I was heard. Some of the prisoners stared at me incredulously, while others gave me appreciative nods. Ginny Weasley cried out, "I'll play too!" Seamus Finnigan said, "Yeah, I'll play!" The rest of my classmates followed suit, but Theodore Nott was not quite as quick to give in. Both he and Blaise Zabini were sharing a similar look with one another, a look that told of a deep intimacy that I had never seen before. I wondered what on earth they were thinking, but eventually the two of them yelled, "We'll play!" at the same time.

Voldemort gave another nod to the Death Eaters in front of the line of children. The Death Eaters turned around, and the children did the same, bustling out of the Great Hall with more speed than they had shown when they entered.

The twelve of us stood rooted to the spot. Our mouths weren't glued shut again, but we were quiet. None of us had anything more to say. I knew what the others were thinking, and to be honest, I was thinking it too: what did we just agree to?

"Take the contestants to the arena," said Voldemort, although he appeared to be talking to no one in particular. I realized that he was, in fact, talking to the Carrows, who had remained hovering in the Entrance Hall as they awaited their instructions. The brother and sister Death Eaters raised their wands again, forcing us to walk out of the Great Hall.

I could barely process the thoughts racing through my mind. I knew, even before I agreed to play the game, that I could not kill any of these people. I couldn't kill a person at all, even if that person was a Death Eater, and these were my classmates. These were my friends. I had known them all for years, had studied with them and cheered with them during Quidditch matches. I had eaten breakfast with them and gone to Hogsmeade with them. How would any of us be able to harm each other? If I were to die, who would be the one to kill me? Would I be able to defend myself from an attack in the first place? I didn't have the answers to any of these questions, and I never would.

This was exactly what Voldemort wanted: to turn us against each other, to pit friend against friend. And what would become of the last one standing? They would never be the same again. The remaining prisoners would cast them out for killing their sons and daughters and sisters and brothers. They would be broken forever.

I couldn't fathom a more horrible fate.

As we made our way past the courtyard and onto the grounds, I saw a long oak table positioned on the shore of the Black Lake. There were objects on the table, but I couldn't make out their shapes. Whatever they were, I didn't like the feeling I got from looking at them. I averted my gaze to the clouds, thick and white against the blue sky. It was a terribly gorgeous day. If I'm to die, I thought, I would want it to be on a day like this.

Eventually we made it to the table, and I was close enough now to recognize the vast array of weapons set out in front of me. There were two old, rotting axes; a crossbow and quiver filled with arrows; a set of six small daggers, all varying in length and width; and a thin, silver sword with red rubies on the hilt. Further down the table were different items, which I supposed were to be used as defensive weapons: a pair of omnioculars; a foe-glass; a broomstick; a suit of armor; and two unlabeled phials filled with potions, one red and one yellow.

I noticed that Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were sharing a look again, but I still didn't understand how they could communicate in such a way. It made me wonder if they were planning something sinister, or if they had made some sort of pact long ago that they would kill each other if it ever came down to it. I couldn't know for sure. I thought about Parvati, about what would have happened if she had been a part of the Death Games as well. Would we have teamed up and helped each other? What would we have done, anyway? I'd never been physically strong, and neither had Parvati. We may have been smart, but the others were smart too.

Stop thinking about Parvati, I thought. I knew that asking myself these questions over and over would not get me anywhere. I had to come up with a plan if I wanted to make it out of this alive.

The Carrows raised their wands and muttered incantations that made the ropes on our hands disappear. I rubbed my sore wrists and looked furtively at the others, wishing I knew what they were thinking. None of them said a word as the Carrows stalked back up the grassy slope toward the castle. There was a tension in the air, a tension so disgustingly thick that it made the breath in my lungs heavy with dread.

"What do we do?" said Terry Boot, breaking the uneasy silence. The rest of us looked over at him, but no one responded. My best guess was that no one knew what to say. I didn't, anyway. Were we supposed to just… go at it? What did Voldemort even expect us to do?

Without warning, I felt my feet being lifted from the ground. It was as though a giant hand had grabbed hold of my shirt, intending to place me away from the other prisoners. The invisible hand let me fall to the ground about fifty yards out from the oak table, right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As I straightened up, I realized I was placed right in the middle, with five people to my left and six to my right. Theodore Nott, I noticed, was to my immediate left. His jaw was set and he was in a runner's stance, like he was getting ready to sprint as fast as he could to the table.

I didn't know what to make of him. I knew that Theodore Nott was the son of a Death Eater, but was he really so eager to kill his classmates? The boy was practically salivating. I tried to shake my head of the thought, but the longer we waited for something to happen, the more terrified I felt. I looked back at the table, contemplating whether or not I should try to grab something. There weren't as many weapons as there were "contestants". If I didn't get my hands on at least a dagger, there was no way I would be able to defend myself. Dagger it is, I thought. It would be easy enough to grab. They were small, but they would do the job.

God, what was I even saying? They would do the job. I sounded like a cold-blooded killer already. Well, if it was for self-defense… that wouldn't have made me a cold-blooded killer in any sense of the word.

Unless I liked it. What if I liked it?

Stop it, Lavender, I told myself. Just stop.

I breathed a deep sigh and did as Theodore did: I put my right leg out in front of me, ready to sprint to the table. If I was going to grab a weapon, I needed to do it as quickly as possible. The only problem was that I didn't even know if I was a good runner. I had run plenty of times, but not like this… not with the prospect of imminent death hanging over my head.

Suddenly, a familiar voice washed over me, a voice that made my hair stand on end and my fingernails dig into my palms. I could tell that the others heard it too, as many of them put their hands to their ears in an effort to block out the terrible sound.

"Contestants," the voice said, "you should know that I am watching you. We are all watching you."

I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing, but I was shaking so badly that my breath was coming out in heaves.

"Let the Games begin."

And with that, he was gone. We all looked around at each other, unsure of what to do. To my right, Hannah Abbott stood stock-still, her face wet with recent tears. When she saw that I was staring at her, it seemed as though her entire body went stiff. Then, in the blink of an eye, she darted off toward the table, her long blonde hair whipping behind her like a flag in the wind.

I was caught completely off-guard, but Hannah's explosion of movement caused the others to copy her. I whipped around to see Theodore Nott running toward the table as well, and I cursed myself for letting him have a head start. Frustrated, I hurried after him, my eyes set on the daggers that were gleaming in the sunlight. I watched as Theodore picked up one of the axes and swung it directly at Hannah, who dodged the attack and sprinted into the trees. When I finally made it to the table, I grabbed the dagger closest to me and intended to do the same as Hannah did: run into the forest. It was the only place I could think of to hide, and if I stayed on the outskirts, I could get water from the lake when I needed it.

As I turned around to head back, a brutal force knocked me to the ground. I landed on my ribs, and the dagger flew out of my right hand into the pebbles that lined the shore. My eyes fluttered open, but the sun was so bright that I could only make out a large shape standing in front of me; it appeared to be a tall, lean boy, and he was twirling a dirty axe in his hands. Even with the sun in my eyes, I could see the swirls of burnt honey glowing against his shadowed face.

I gasped and attempted to crawl away, but he dug his heavy foot into my ankle and pressed down as hard as he could. Screaming and crying, I thrashed out at him, not wanting to believe that he was going to kill me. How could it have been so easy for him, hurting another human being who had done nothing to wrong him? All I could think of in that moment was how stupid I had been, how stupid we all had been for not banding together in the first place. We could have tried to escape. We could have just told Voldemort we would play the game and then… and then nothing, Lavender.

No, we couldn't have escaped. If we even tried to escape, he would kill those innocent children. He would probably kill the children first, and then our friends, and then our families, all because we disobeyed him. He would never stop. And in the end, it would never matter how hard we fought. Our deaths would have come sooner or later anyway.

Maybe this was better. Maybe dying at the hands of a friend was better than dying at those of an enemy. There could be peace to it. Closure. Acceptance. Perhaps there could be some sort of unspoken forgiveness between the one killing and the one being killed. I would forgive him for losing his will, and he would forgive me for leaving him behind in this wretched world.

But when Theodore's axe came down on my skull, the last thing on my mind was forgiveness.