The Game

This was written because it was fun to write. There was a funny sort of enjoyment in completely abandoning all my fears and just splashing my idea all over the page(s). Origin Of Our Kind was a divergent plunny. This is a would-be beginning of the other fork.

x.x

"Dean?" Sam asked urgently.

Dean was frozen mid-chew, the yellow mush of apple pie visible between his lips. His eyes were wide and horrified.

Sam followed his gaze to the dog that was sniffing its way up the footpath.

"A Jack Russel?" he said dumbly.

Dean shook his head, and his face turned grey.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

He coughed, and a little cube of apple fell out of his mouth. Sam looked at him in askance.

"A – big Jack Russel?" he hedged, and cocked his eyebrow inquiringly.

Dean shook his head. He stood, and pulled on Sam's arm. Sam let himself be pulled off the low wall and back to their hotel room.

x.x

"What was that?" he demanded as the entered.

Dean whirled on him, grabbing the single hotel chair in both hands. "That dog," he said. "Sam. That dog was a hellhound!"

Sam looked at him open-mouthed and gave a grunt of disbelief.

Dean remained serious, and leant over the chair.

"Did you see its tail?"

"No," answered Sam. "I was too busy looking at you! You looked like shit."

"Thankyou, Sam, but its tail was forked!" Dean stood straight and began pacing. "Forked, Sam! Like the tongue of the Deceiver. And don't you start—I know what those hounds look like!"

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I just didn't expect the hounds of hell to like Grandad's lap dog."

"Well they do."

Dean collapsed onto the couch.

"The question, is what we're going to do about it. Some poor shmuck has got himself a deal, and we need to help him."

"Dean – are you sure…" Sam began.

"Do you expect me to forget something like that?" Dean snapped.

Sam held his hand up. "Listen to me, okay? I could see that dog, and so could you. Neither of have deals coming due. It could have been just a mutant dog."

"When is it just a mutant dog?"

x.x

Meanwhile, Harry Potter sneaked behind the hotel on four feet, and changed back into human form. For a moment, he wished to complain about his animagus form – how did he manage to get such a distinctive a form as a crup – but then the thoughts fled him mind and he shook his head.

Why the hell did Draco Malfoy of all people want to visit him here of all places?

x.x

"Ah, you're here Potter," Draco said with a grin from the open doorway.

Harry gripped the doorknob and thought about slamming the door in his face. "Yes, Draco," he snarled, "What do you want?"

Draco gave him a measured look. "I'm here to return something which your Godfather left to you. Of course, if you don't want it, I needn't give it to you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He'd seen enough of the Black Family Tree tapestry to know that if Draco had anything that was his by right, then the git had a heavy claim on it shouldn't want to part with it.

He was curious, however, and as Draco stood at his door and smiled, it got the better of him.

"What is it?" he asked.

Draco looked up at the doorframe above him. "Well, I would rather tell you inside. It is somewhat cold and dark out here."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Fine," he snapped, and gestured for Draco to come in.

x.x

Harry sat back against the headboard and watched Draco stroll around the room in front of him.

"Here's the thing. There's a game. A great game. A game we all play with our lives. Orion Black had a game piece, but he couldn't pass it to his daughters, only to his son. His son didn't know about it, of course. He was never told. He was too unpredictable.

"But you, Potter, you're predictable. So I know what your answer will be. So tell me, do you want to play the game?"

Harry growled. "You said you played with lives," he said.

Draco grinned. "I did! But I you can't help unless you know the rules. And you can't know the rules unless you play."

"Then I'll play," Harry said, eyeing Draco dubiously.

"Great!" Draco grinned, and held up three fingers. "Here's the facts. You are in the Game. The first rule of the Game is that you can't win. The second rule of the Game is that you can't break even. The third rule of the Game is that you can't quit."

A feral smirk came over Draco's face. "Of course, you can try!"

Harry felt like he'd made a very big mistake. "I… don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to!" Draco said, "but I can't explain. Just… trust me when I say you will soon. I'll be in room eighteen if you need me."

He started to go, but then turned back.

"Oh! And if anyone asks – and they shouldn't – your name is Harry Black."