The second game roundup happened a week after, right after lunch. Voldemort was presiding on his throne with a beaming, wicked smile.

The game had killed 12 players out of 27.

Two players had killed themselves in the days following.

There had been a total of 32,769 spectators.

23% of them bought binoculars.

64% of them placed bets.

71% of those bets had been on number 41.

There were now 13 players left. Rathmore, Crane and Draco's bands each had three players left. Zabini and Carrow's each had two left.

It had been decided that Draco and Liam would be the only two remaining Trainers, splitting the numbers of players left in two. Seven for Liam, six for Draco.

Rathmore and Zabini would focus on training the future Trainers. Carrow was removing herself from her Training duties to become a Gamemaster at the next Empire's Games. She had been a Trainer since the very first edition.

Because of the nature of the third game, the training sessions wouldn't happen every day. Instead, the players would train three days a week—Monday, Wednesday and Saturday—in the Forbidden Forest.

When the meeting was adjourned, the Dark Lord gestured for Draco to stay behind. As people were streaming out of Town Hall, he caught Theo's eyes. Theo nodded. Keela was under his charge now. Draco hadn't brought her inside Town Hall since the Incident.

The room emptied and Voldemort brushed his robes, walking to stand directly in front of Draco.

"I am a man of my word," he said, his tongue sliding against his teeth. "Your mudblood kept her end of the deal. I am very impressed."

You're not a man.

Draco thought that maybe he had to say 'thank you', but he knew that if he opened his mouth, he would tell him to go fuck himself.

"As agreed, her parents will be released. I think they will be too weak as players anyway. Uninteresting performance." Voldemort clamped his hands behind his back. "I will ask Sankros and Lestrange to escort them back tomorrow to where they were found."

His mouth was burning. Nothing could assure him that Granger's parents would truly be released if he didn't escort them out himself. But he couldn't do it himself since it would take more than a day and he had to be back for training tomorrow. And he didn't have the right to question the Dark Lord. He just had to trust that Sankros and Lestrange would do the right thing.

Nagini curled around her master's neck and Voldemort hummed, stroking the top of her head. His eyes were still on him. "It came under my attention that you may have… engaged in a physical relationship with the mudblood."

Draco's stomach clenched with uneasiness, as thousands of regrets paraded through his mind. Of course the Dark Lord knew. He briefly debated running back to the castle, kicking her door open and flying her away.

"Don't be so nervous, Draco," Voldemort smirked. "Most of my followers are under the impression that I would prevent them from touching mudbloods. That is not the case. My followers can do as they please to quench their physical needs, and it's even easier when it's a pliable player."

A screen of disgust dropped in front of Draco's vision. The word pliable rang endlessly in his mind, echoing around his skull. The mere assumptions that he was using Granger to quench his physical needs was sickening him. Hewashungry for her. He couldn't get enough of her.

Was he?Quenching his needs?

He venomously occluded his mind so the Dark Lord couldn't pry into his head and see the brutal images of Draco stabbing him to death.

"However," Voldemort added, "may I remind you that your mudblood will likely not survive. I hope you won't let this affect your performance or your duties."

His lungs were shaking with strain as he commanded his words to come out. "No, my lord." And to keep up appearances, he found something else to say. "Even if she doesn't survive, there will be other mudbloods after to… quench my thirst, my lord."

The Dark Lord smiled approvingly and clapped his hands once. "I am truly excited to see how the seventh edition will turn out." He disappeared in a dramatic cloud of smoke.


Later that day, the Empire was busy and people went about their business, heading quickly for the castle, Town Hall or Cindermore. It seemed like there was energy in the air. A magnificent sunset was falling on the Empire, the evening sky darkening to a cerulean blue. Draco had decided to spend some time with his mother, sipping on boiling tea with Snowflake on his lap.

Right when she had greeted him at the door, he had noticed the lines creasing her forehead, the dull light of her eyes.

He removed his shoes and Keela stayed in the entrance near the coats and the umbrellas, laying on her belly. The Dark Mark on his forearm was hotter than usual, but as long as there was no summoning flare, he was free.

Narcissa had already prepared the tea, which was set in the living room on a low mahogany table with a plate of pastries.

"Careful with the lemon tarts," she told him as she left the room to get a shawl. "They're so sour, they'll cramp your cheeks."

Draco bit into the lemon tart and winced uncontrollably. "Why are you serving them?" He talked around the possibly sourest bite he ever had.

She came back into the room. "I feel bad about throwing them away. Rosita made them." Rosita was Macnair's wife. "We shouldn't waste food."

He watched her closely, and put back the lemon tart on the saucer. She sat on the love seat. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She served herself some tea, setting the saucer on her lap, and frowned. "To be honest, I'm feeling quite tired. The week has been difficult."

"Because of the second game?"

Narcissa pursed her lips and riveted her eyes into her cup, like she was looking for an answer in the hot liquid. She nodded. "I had to replace Lestrange for the clean-up shift."

He drew a sharp breath and placed his cup down because he knew he would break it. "They made you clean up the Arena?" Anger simmered inside of him. Clean-up was a nasty business. "You can't be serious."

"Lestrange was summoned outside in emergency because of a big muggle ambush in Glasgow. I was the most available person not on duty."

"I haven't heard anything about an ambush." He cleaned the lemony bits sticking to his teeth with his tongue.

His mother took a sip of her tea and Snowflake climbed onto her lap. "That's because it was quickly contained, and they were neutralized."

He frowned, staring mindlessly at a spot on the carpet. The Dark Mark tingled. His knee started bobbing up and down. Glasgow wasn't that far from here.

"What kind of muggle ambush?" he asked.

"Like the one in Paisley last month. They had guns and grenades."

His breath whistled out of his clenched teeth. "Guns and grenades," he scoffed.

"They won't stop, Draco." Narcissa's gaze was intense on him. "Their numbers are increasing. And they're getting closer."

"They won't penetrate the wards with guns," he replied dryly. "That's why they're there."

The silence fell between them, and his mother rubbed at her eyelids tiredly. She was wearing a blue silk shirt and a long, flowy black skirt that made her look even more thin. Leaning over the mahogany table, she picked a pastry—a biscuit with a jam centre.

"They might not get inside." She was talking to an object near Draco, focused on her thoughts. "But they'll wait for their friends to break them." She shook her head immediately, like she was brushing off the stupidity of her theories. She smiled casually as she bit into her biscuit.

His spine straightened like a rod. "Mum, what are you thinking?"

She waved him off and finished her bite. "I'm just saying nonsense, Draco. I don't know anything. I'm tired."

"Are you saying Muggles and Wizards are working… together?" His throat was dry, his brain shuffling the theories in his mind like a deck of cards. If Muggles and Wizards were collaborating, teaming up against them, the wind had changed.

"We took something that was theirs," she said bitterly. "We forced Muggles to take part into our world the minute we decided to capture them for the games. We made them hate us."

Draco looked at his mother, mouth gaping open. To him, it started to sound like his mother was against the Empire's philosophy. And a spark of pure joy bloomed inside of him. He had been waiting for this. Waiting to see if she'd follow him out of here.

The front door suddenly burst open with a loud crash, making them both jump in their seats. The cat bolted away and Keela started to bark.

"Draco!" Theo was screaming.

Draco jumped on his feet. His friend was breathless, his hair tousled. He was wearing his Scavenger clothes as usual, but he was dirty. There was a scarf around his neck, hanging loose. The look in his eyes was burning with urgency and Draco knew it was serious.

"The Ministry has been breached," he blurted out. "Has your Mark summoned you?"

"I mean, it's hot but it hasn't summoned me. What's going on?"

Theo cursed. "They've killed Amycus and Mulciber. Dolohov requested all Trainers and Scavengers on site. Right now. The summoning should not be long."

Draco took out his wand immediately and glanced at his mother. "Can you look after Keela?" His blood was pumping into his veins.

"Of course." Her eyes were flitting between Theo and her son, filled with concern. "Be careful, son. Theodore, you too."

He bent down for a second, grabbing Keela's muzzle and dropped a quick peck between her eyes. "You be good, Kee. I'll be back." She watched him as he turned his back on her and disapparated with a distinct plop with Theo.

They appeared in Coldstream and sprinted on the other side of the bridge over River Tweed. They didn't catch their breath before disapparating to the heart of London, right in front of the Ministry.

The first thing Draco was aware of was the sounds. Gunshots ringing in the air, bullets slicing through fabric and flesh and lodging in stone. Yells of spells and curses, flashes of purple and greens and blues.

Then, the smell. The fog had originated here seven years ago and had never stopped streaming out of the building. Even if the fog was invisible now, its stench seeped into his clothes immediately.

He hadn't brought his charmed scarf.

He hadn't brought his fucking charmed scarf.

He recognized familiar voices—Millicent, Dolohov, Rookwood and Zabini. The pavement was littered with either unconscious or dead bodies, both Muggles and Wizards, cartridges and debris.

The chaos was dizzying.

His Dark Mark was searing.

Theo casted an immediate Protego around them and broke into a run to enter the building. Draco followed right behind, sprinting and dodging to avoid the lines of both fire and jinxes. He tried to look at the attackers, but they all looked the same to him. Dressed with black vests around their torso. Some had helmets, some had masks, some had pipes studded with nails, and most of them had guns. He had never seen masks like these before. They covered their whole head, with two glass openings for the eyes—the chin part was pointy.

His eyes locked on a silhouette whose hair colour was very familiar to him. Long and straight hair, red like autumn leaves.

Ginny Weasley was fighting alongside Muggles, throwing jinxes at Death Eaters.

They entered the Ministry. The battle was raging with even more intensity inside. The smell of the fog was pungent, his lungs filling with a rancid smell that made his stomach heave. He pressed the inside of the elbow against his face as his eyes watered with the acidity of the air.

His eyes skittered around the place, adrenaline thumping in his ears.

Then he saw them.

Dean Thomas, George Weasley, Neville Longbottom.

Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Rolanda Hooch.

Then his Dark Mark flared with the familiar sensation of summoning. Dolohov's voice rang through his head. "Requesting immediate assistance at the Ministry of Magic. There has been a breach. Urgent help is required now. All available Trainers, Gamemasters and Scavengers, come quick, NOW."

Around them, Wizards and Muggles were duelling against Death Eaters. Wizards were hurling spells, Muggles were showering bullets on Death Eaters with heavy two-handed guns.

Whenever a Wizard noticed a Muggle was targeted, they would cast a protection charm against them. Muggles fired shots to protect the Wizards' blind spots.

So they were teaming up.

Draco hadn't been here in years, but the place was in shambles. The black walls were falling apart, shards of glass strewn about the ground, and the middle statue was wrecked.

Rowle emerged from the chaos and ran to them. Theo had already engaged in a fight with a Muggle.

"I need two men in the Wizengamot courtroom downstairs!" he ordered. A bullet grazed his shoulder and he winced, riposting with a swift killing curse that hit its mark. The body collapsed to the floor.

"What the fuck is going on?" Draco yelled above the chaos.

"They're taking the cauldron!"

"What?"

Rowle started running away to join the fight. "They came for the fog cauldron!"

Draco grabbed Theo's sleeves and they darted for the lifts. He had no idea if they would work, but he didn't have a clue how they would get to the lower levels otherwise. As they were running for the lift, he heard shouts behind him.

"Malfoy, you dick!"

He couldn't turn away to see who had spotted him. Probably a member of the Order. They entered the lift and Theo pressed the buttons frenetically. The grate creaked close and the lift dropped, shutting all the noise off.

Theo was bent over, hands on his knees. "Holy fuck." Panting, he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

Draco was breathing heavily. "Nott, what are we supposed to do?"

"I just—I don't know!"

"I thought you were scheming with them!"

"I was—I am!"

"Didn't they tell you about this?" He was roaring, now. The panic and confusion in his veins made him tremble. "About them working with Muggles?!"

Theo straightened up and stared directly into his eyes. "I swear they didn't tell me about this." He reached into his pocket and pulled a cotton scarf out. "Here, wear this for your nose. It's not heavily charmed, though."

Draco secured the scarf around his nose and Theo tugged his own back up. The lift jerked to a stop and the grate opened. A layer of fog, hardly noticeable to the naked eye, shrouded the space. The smell was so overpowering that Draco was light-headed in a matter of seconds. The putrid, toxic air penetrated his lungs, even with the thin barrier of the scarf, and he gagged. It smelled of rotting flesh, necrosis and rust.

"I know, mate," Theo gritted out, pressing his arm against his covered nose. "Lucky those Muggles found gas masks." He coughed. "We can't stay here too long."

Together, they entered the depths of the Department of Mysteries, scouring the halls. Distant shouts were bouncing off the walls, travelling through the fog. Draco's eyes were prickling, and steaming tears were falling on his cheeks.

They moved further into the depths of the Department, magical bulbs casting a ghostly glow on the hallways and the ceiling. The door to the Wizengamot courtroom hung on a single hinge.

At the centre of the courtroom was the biggest cauldron Draco had ever seen, standing on three claws. It could probably fit five or six men inside. Under its round base was a glowing red orb that looked like molten lava. The content of the cauldron was simmering, and the mix of heat and steam overflowing was a yellowish fog, drifting away with intricate curlicues.

Draco lowered his scarf and retched on the floor, blinking several times to keep his focus.

The courtroom was oddly quiet. It was a circular room, so high it seemed to have no ceiling at all. There were rows of seats all around it, and the judge's seat was under the Ministry's crest. There were five people standing, pointing their wands at each other. A standstill. There were bodies scattered about the courtroom.

Rodolphus Lestrange's corpse was flat on the ground, alongside other Wizards—not from the Empire—that Draco didn't recognize.

Marcus Flint and Avery were pointing their wand at Charlie Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and John Dawlish, who were pointing theirs too. They were separated by 15 feet at least, the cauldron between them. They all wore scarves of different colours and texture around their nose.

Draco gripped his wand with both hands and pointed it alternately at Weasley, Kingsley and Dawlish. He was starting to see spots in front of his vision. The cauldron was bubbling softly.

"Theo?" Charlie lowered his wand slightly.

Theo hadn't raised his wand—yet.

Marcus and Avery swivelled their heads towards them. Draco saw the gleam of confusion in their eyes.

"We don't have long," Kingsley said, and his voice was austere.

Marcus and Avery were outnumbered, two against three. Although Lestrange must have been alive some minutes before. Draco wondered who killed him.

"Go," Theo urged, and he was looking directly at Charlie. "Do what you have to do, now."

"You fucking viper—" Flint snarled, and Draco saw the tension in his wrist as he was about to cast something at Theo, whatever that was.

And he couldn't let that happen.

With one quick motion, he pointed his wand at him across the room. "Avada Kedavra."

Flint's body smacked the ground with a thud, and Avery roared with fury.

Draco didn't even blink. "Avada Kedavra."

Avery crumpled like a rag doll.

"Go!" Theo shouted at the others.

They weren't told twice. Kingsley shot a levitation spell to the glowing red orb underneath the cauldron. It turned black as soon as it left the underside of the cauldron, and Kingsley wrapped it around a piece of cloth, shoving it into his pocket. While he was doing this, Dawlish had retrieved many empty vials and dunked them into the cauldron. He withdrew them and screwed their cap shut, before nodding at Charlie.

The cauldron had stopped simmering, and the fog wasn't exuding from it anymore.

Draco was having a hard time to follow, even though what he was seeing was simple. Was that all there ever was, for all those years? A fucking cauldron and a glass orb?

"That's all," Dawlish said, like he confirmed his thoughts.

Charlie looked at Theo, and glanced at Draco, lingering on him. "Thank you."

The three members of the Order disapparated.

Draco's lungs felt scratchy and he scrambled clumsily through the exit, coughing. Theo's breath was whistling as he followed. When they were back in front of the lift, they stopped.

"Hit me," Theo ordered.

"What?" He didn't recognize the throaty sound that came out of him.

"It has to look like we fought. We have three dead men of ours in there." He coughed violently, eyes bloodshot. "It has to look like we couldn't stop them."

Draco nodded, but his thoughts were fractured and foggy. The smell of death was clinging to his clothes, penetrating the first layer of his skin.

He punched Theo right on the mouth, and shook his numb hand after.

"Cut me," he said to his friend. "Use your wand."

Theo patted his bloodied lip. "You sure?"

Draco was starting to see double. "Now."

Theo pointed his wand at him and stepped back a couple of steps. The jinx flew out of the wand with a white glow and Draco felt the sting on his bicep, then another one in his flank. He cursed under his breath as he felt warm blood trickle out of the wounds.

"I only grazed you," Theo said, then opened the grate. They flung themselves inside and rose to the surface.

Draco retched for a second time in the lift and wiped his mouth. "I don't understand how you've managed to breathe through it."

Theo cleared his throat numerous times. "You haven't been a Scavenger in a long time. You're not used to it anymore. Also, my scarf is better than yours."

"What's that thing you said, those Muggles were wearing?"

"Gas masks."

"What is it?"

"It's a mask that prevents them from breathing damageable air, like poisonous gas, specifically. It was useful in the military forces."

"I want one." He didn't know why he had said it.

"Right now?"

"Yes, right fucking now."

When the lift climbed back to the main floor, the battle had lessened in intensity, but there were still shots being fired and spells being cast on all sides. It seemed like other Death Eaters had come as reinforcements, and they had the upper hand.

He took a gulp of fresher air, although it was still acrid—but less than downstairs. His lungs were ablaze, and his head was spinning.

Dolohov was behind the centre statue, clutching at his limp arm. When he spotted them, they approached him.

"What happened?" he asked urgently.

"They fucking got away," Theo snarled with a voice that Draco knew asacting. "Flint and Avery were dead when we arrived."

Dolohov's face turned red and he cursed the gods.

"And Lestrange," Draco added. The spots were darker in front of his eyes.

"What did they do?" Dolohov's eyes flitted between both of them. He looked desperate, and spit was gathering at the corners of his lips.

Draco clasped his wounded bicep and pressed it against his body. "They took the—" A sudden coughing fit interrupted him. "I don't know what it was, but they took what was lighting the cauldron. A small orb."

He didn't know why, but he figured it was best not to tell Dolohov that they took samples as well.

Dolohov threaded a sentence of unholy words. "They took the fucking Ember."

Draco knew what an 'ember' was, but the way Dolohov said it, it sounded like a proper name. A concept, maybe. An artefact. Something important.

As another coughing fit shook him, his mind went blank.

He retched a third time and collapsed on the floor, surrounded by darkness.