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Harry Potter And The Game of Death

Level 1

Chapter One: Death Approaches

Dementors swooped through the chill night air. A lone hawk and raven flapped their wings as they scrambled to flee, even creatures knowing to stary far away from the messengers of death.

Harry tightly grasped his wand as he watched the creatures draw close. Their terrifying aura washed over him, momentarily causing his entire body to shake in fear.

But he pushed back against it as he finished casting an incomplete Patronus. Silver sparks of magic sputtered out of his wand, forming a thin veil of protection which blocked out the Dementor's powers.

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

"Come on. Work!" Harry muttered harshly as he gave his wand a hard shake. Right now, Harry was the only one able to fight against the Dementors. And unless he was able to cast a fully formed Patronus, instead of the pathetic sparks he was currently making… all three of them would soon die.

Desperate, Harry tried to focus as his professor Lupin had taught him. He searched his mind for the sort of happy memories which were supposed to form the core of a Patronus and bring it into being.

The first one he latched onto was the day he found out that he was a wizard. 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. The day 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 Harry's wand brightened as the memory surged through him. They changed into a gushing stream of magic, while a shape began to form in its depths.

Then the silver light dimmed, the nascent shape dissipating like smoke before a stiff breeze.

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

Harry pushed the memory aside and grasped for another one. This time he chose when he first came to Hogwarts.

On that night, 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 surged once more. And this time, Harry could begin to make out the shape as it began to coalesce.

It had a powerful body, with large, angular protrusions on its head. Perhaps horns of some sort? Or tusks? Whatever they were, they would surely 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 yet again, the Dementors resumed their advance.

Harry grit his teeth as their dreadful aura began to summon the dying screams of his parents. Which was a terrible sign, since hearing their torment at the hands of Voldemort meant that the Dementor's powers were beginning to overwhelm his own.

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. Arguing over the latest Quidditch news with Ron. 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 as the failures mounted, the protective light from Harry's wand continued to fade.

Pain and anger tore through him as he heard his father's voice grow stronger, rising in fear and desperation just before his death. As his mother's voice screamed in anguish when Voldemort appeared in her child's room, wand raised to kill her child.

It was no use. Harry wasn't strong enough, happy enough, to save those counting on him. He was a broken fraud, worse than even Lockhart, and he deserved to have his soul devoured by the creatures which surrounded him.

Harry's wand began to dip, his confidence broken and his magic weakening.

"You can do this Harry. I know you can."

Hermione's confident voice broke through the clutter that filled Harry's mind as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But why?" 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 bushy-haired girl said with a tremulous smile. Top in their class and, arguably, the entire school, the genius who was his best friend placed a soft 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 doubted you 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.

Harry felt his heart ache at the sight. It was the Dementors influence; it had to be! They were nearly close enough to touch, while Harry's spell gave her even less protection than it did him.

Hermione's teeth clattered audibly as the girl 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 what anyone his age should possess.

For the first time in his life, it was time to let loose the floodgates that held his magic back and see what might happen.

Silvery light flared into being, raging forth from his wand in a torrent of magical power. Thicker than the Womping Willow's trunk, it impaced the shadowy forms of the Dementors like a battering ram. And for the first time that evening, the creatures flinched, frightened by the sheer power contained within its glow.

Harry felt a grin stretch the corners of his mouth at the sight. "Yeah, that's right," he hissed triumphantly. Reversing the tables on the blighted creatures felt good! "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 off!"

The Dementor's forced back for the time being, Harry spared a glance for his two companions.

Hermione's face was twisted in a pained grimace as she whimpered from a nightmare, her small form thrashing around the forest's floor. Sirius' bloodied body, meanwhile, heaved and shuddered as the transformed man struggled to draw breath into his weakened lungs.

They looked terrible. But both were alive, and that was what mattered most.

After all, help had to be on the way! Whether it was Headmaster Dumbledore, or Professor McGonagall, or another of Hogwarts' skilled 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 the minutes began to stretch… no one came. And Harry began to grow weaker, his body unable to keep releasing the immense amount of power needed to keep the Dementors back.

Eventually, it became clear that no one else would be coming to save the day.

Cold sweat dripped into Harry's eyes as he began to despair once more. His body began to shake. His chest heaved. All while the torrent of magic pouring out of him fell to a mere trickle.

A trickle that soon ran out. The Dementors swooped in, spectral hands reaching out to grab the humans and devour their souls.

Harry shut his eyes.

And then felt something… change.

A feeling deep inside Harry's body began to stir. Born of need and desire, it came from within the furthest depths of his flesh, his blood– no, his very soul!

The feeling began to rush through his body, bringing with it a distant, wordless melody.

The song entered Harry's mind, slipping into the fabric of his being without effort. Who he was before, and who he would be after, were different than who he was right now: an older him, a current him, a younger him, and a new him, all at once. But also none of them, too, as each one changed and morphed from moment to moment in constant flux.

Somehow, the song bridged the gap between them. It combined all of the versions of Harry's self into one, creating a perfect version which stretched across his entire being. Only to shatter his essence into pieces and drive them apart as it remade him yet again.

After what felt like an age, with his mind filled by the formless music and his very being consumed by a rampaging force out of his control, Harry began to recognize the song. It was on the tip of his tongue. And when he finally put his finger on it, suddenly everything made sense.

The song was magic! The force within Harry, changing him, bringing him together and tearing him apart, was magic itself! A type similar to the life-giving song of a Phoenix, but of a wholly different source and composition.

A groan passed his lips as he buckled to his knees. Whatever this tune might be, and whatever end it sought, it was consuming Harry's already depleted stores of magic. Neither his body nor his reserves could sustain the song's power. And if it continued, it would kill him as surely as the Dementors whose hands neared his flesh at that very moment.

Then time froze. And when it did, the song reaching an insidious crescendo within his brain, four lines of glowing green text floated in the air before Harry's eyes.

Welcome, Master, to the Game of Death

Would you like to play?

Please Select

Yes or No

A/N: Woohoo! Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope that you've enjoyed it enough to continue on or have possibly decided to read it again just for fun!

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 are speaking. So, keep in mind that some characters, like Fleur and Krum, will have grammatically incorrect English on purpose whenever they speak in a scene; I also use a British grammar check for this story, so my fellow Americans may be a little bothered when seeing things like 'favour' vs 'favor'.

Additionally, this story is not a hardcore game fic, which means that the Game of Death 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 continue reading!

Until Next Time,

~Elsil