I don't have any way of replying to the reviews I'm getting, but I just want to make a shoutout and thank each one of you. Thank you for following my story and leaving comments! They are truly appreciated. x
The Arena was cold on that day, but many charms and spells had been casted to conceal the heat inside of it. In fact, the dome-shaped barrier was visible above the Arena, translucent. Even if it was snowing or raining, it wouldn't fall on the field below.
The crowd was ecstatic. As Draco was sitting in the Trainer's box, he took it all in. His knee couldn't stop bobbing, which annoyed the fuck out of Zabini. Nobody had noticed Theo's absence—yet. Scavengers weren't really expected to make a visible appearance, although Voldemort and Yaxley had insisted many times that everyone in the Empire should attend.
The players had just arrived on the Arena and the Gamemasters were herding them towards the centre. They had to sit in a large circle, all 27 of them. The Gamemasters stood behind them in a wider circle, with more space between each of them. A circle of 27 players, and a wider circle of ten Gamemasters behind.
The spectators were howling and hooting at them, the majority already had their Binoculars clutched to their face. Draco had his own pair today.
He hadn't managed to eat a single bite since yesterday. Normally, he didn't bring Keela into big crowds, but since Theo wasn't there to take her, he'd brought her in the stands with him.
He hadn't even talked to his band—it was Flint's.
He hadn't even said a word to Theo With Granger's Body.
Zabini, sitting on his left, tapped him on the leg. "Happy New Year, by the way."
The gears of his mind stopped functioning for a terrifying second. He hadn't realised the year had changed.
It was January 1st 2005.
"Happy fucking New Year," he muttered.
"Someone's in a mood."
"Our bands are about to murder each other."
Keela was sitting between his knees, and his hands were absently stroking the fur of her neck, scratching behind her ears. All he could think about was how he'd wish to simply run back to the castle into Granger's room and wait with her for the second game to end. He would wrap his arm around her shoulders and keep her close to him. He would listen to her heartbeat. On the other hand, he had to watch his fate play out in the Arena. If Theo failed, he was done.
"I'm not nervous," Zabini replied. "They should be. They are."
"Look at them, squirming like worms," Rathmore cackled, and Liam snickered.
Draco and Crane hadn't exchanged a word since their Fight—and he couldn't care less.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" Darstan's voice erupted in the Arena everywhere at once. "We are so glad you could join us for the second game of the Empire's Games!"
A roar of cheers thundered around him, and he wanted to strangle each one of them. Instead, he took his binoculars, adjusted the gears on the side to 4 and 1 and focused on Theo. But it was Granger's face that was reflected back to him, although he recognized the quiet confidence, the straighter posture of his friend.
A dark humoristic thought flashed in his mind and he thought how it felt to be in her body. Surely Theo must have seen…
He grunted audibly and just kept watching.
Darstan kept spitting a speech with variations Draco had already heard too many times. "Some of you have been with us for seven years now, and we are deeply grateful for your loyalty. This year is really exciting, since we've secured Britain's Indesirable Mudblood Number 1, Hermione Granger! We are certain number 41 will surprise you today. Don't forget there will be people circulating in the stands to place bets."
Draco simply despised how everything was made about her. How Darstan spoke about bets immediately after mentioning her name and number—because they wanted the spectators to make the association. Around him, the screams were raucous and wild.
Darstan proceeded to explain to the newcomers how the Empire's Games worked. Draco could spot the newcomers from a mile away—on the edge of their seat, shushing everyone else so they could listen to every wicked word.
"The second game is a children's game called Duck, Duck, Goose. If you haven't heard of it, it's quite simple. The players are sitting in a circle in the middle. The lowest number will be the one to start the game. They'll walk in a circle and randomly pick two ducks, one after the other, by tapping their head or shoulder or whatever. The ducks stay seated. After you've picked your two ducks, you'll pick your goose. Is everyone following me?"
The crowd cheered and Draco watched Theo. Theo knew the game pretty well already. There was no sign of surprise on his face, but he had trouble reading him since he wasn't bearing his own face. He had the face of the most beautiful woman he'd seen.
"When you've picked your goose, only thegoosemust stand up and chase you. You'll have to run around the whole circle until you're back to take the goose's seated spot. If the goose doesn't manage to stop you, they will be eliminated by one of the Gamemasters. If the goose catches you, you'll have to engage in a fight with them. Everything is allowed. The fight only ends when you or the goose is dead. The winner will sit at the goose's place and the next player to start the round will be chosen randomly."
Hearing the rules all over again, a cold shudder shook his body. Keela rose her head toward him, sensing the shift in his scent. He sank his fingers deeper in her fur, desperate to feel something warm and alive.
"The game will stop when we'll have 15 players left. Good luck!"
The game bell sounded and the applause died down. The Arena fell bleakly quiet. The smallest number—number 3 in Rathmore's band—shakily rose to her feet and began circling behind the others. Draco noticed the look of confusion in a lot of players' eyes. Maybe not all of them had understood the rules.
They'd be killed.
Number 3 selected her two ducks. The goose she chose was number 18. Number 3 started running immediately, but number 18 took two seconds too late to react and bolted to her feet.
She didn't catch number 3 in time.
Liam sighed loudly in the Trainer's box. "Gone without a fight." He watched a Gamemaster approach number 18 with a knife. The woman had started crying, and the crowd was booing her. Number 18 had been wearing emerald at the Christmas party—he remembered.
Theo was staring at the ground while the Gamemaster slit number 18's throat, blood spurting on her dark clothes, staining her uniform as she crumpled to the floor.
On the miniature scoreboard, number 18's square turned black.
"Remember," Darstan sing-songed, "when you're the goose, you have to start the chase immediately!"
Draco didn't even look at the next numbers engaged in the fight. He simply watched two silhouettes fighting. It only mattered to him that Theo wasn't picked often. He didn't particularly wish any of his band players to engage in a ruthless fight either.
He watched number 21 break number 32's arm. The yell of pain was as loud as if it had come from the seat in front of him. The Arena had been charmed for this game so that the sounds could be heard in all the stands.
Number 10 won when he managed to strangle number 24 in a deathly headlock.
"My training is always effective," Rathmore sneered, whooping loudly.
Rounds after rounds happened. He noticed a pattern—there was always a pattern in the second game. The player picking the ducks and the goose eventually always selected a weak-looking player for the goose. Thinking they'd be easier to fight, to outrun or to kill.
Reine was number 28's goose. She crushed her knee on number 28's throat while shaking with sobs.
Until, finally, someone picked Theo.
Draco's heart jumped in his ribcage. Theo had to put on the performance of his fucking life.
His small body dashed into action and he sprinted with all his might after number 7. For a few seconds, it looked like Theo wouldn't catch up with him, and Draco felt his bones turn to ice. But Theo jumped on this back and they both tumbled to the ground.
Don't stay on the ground.
Theo knew better. He got up in a flash and started kicking 7 in the chest. Draco wondered if Granger had already fought this same player in her training sessions. Number 7 was way taller than Theo, but Theo knew Granger's body disadvantage and never let him get up. He kept kicking and kicking and kicking with the force of a boulder, and the crowd was delighted. After a moment, his boot suddenly hovered in mid-air, hesitating. Theo looked at number 7's bloodied face.
He hoped Theo's humanity wouldn't get in the way. It was this player or him.
Theo's thick sole slammed against number 7's temple, cracking the skull and rendering him limp. Spectators rose from their seats, yelling and howling for him, for the golden player.
Theo ignored the crowd and went back to his place. He was breathing quickly, blanked-face, eyes trained on the ground.
There was another fight. Draco saw number 4's bone piercing the flesh.
And another fight. Number 36 got beaten to death.
After that, a goose didn't succeed in catching the player and the Gamemaster jammed his wand in his ear, pushing into the brain's matter. It was one of Zabini's players, and he swore.
The ground was muddied with blood, dark pools of it. He was glad he was skilled enough to not have been placed on Arena cleaning duty.
During the seventh round, Theo got picked again. This time by one of Carrow's players, number 25, a young blonde woman that looked barely older but had the corded arms of a man.
"Are you fucking kidding me," he snarled, tightening his grip around the binoculars.
Theo was quick on his feet again, running after her. Draco felt himself smile when he noticed the other player's mistake.
Theo's hand—Granger's small hand—reached for the long blonde ponytail bouncing between her shoulder blades. He yanked her hard, stopping her run with such violence force that number 25's boots skidded on the dirt. He kept his grip on her hair as the blonde was writhing, trying to free herself.
But instead of engaging in a fight, Theo simply stood there.
Holding the other player's hair while she was on her knees.
Theo looked directly into the crowd—and smiled.
Draco felt uneasy. It was Granger's face he was seeing through the binoculars, but it was the performance of an actor. The audience needed a show. Voldemort had asked that the golden player impress them.
Theo looked at the stands, his eyes travelling through the countless spectators without stopping and Draco didn't know if he was searching for someone or waiting for something.
There wasn't fucking time to wait—the Polyjuice wouldn't last forever.
"What the hell is she doing?" Carrow snapped, and her voice boomed in the Trainer's box. "Why did she stop?"
Zabini was watching them with the binoculars. "She's making sure people know they can bet on her." He was toneless, as if he'd just mentioned the weather.
Draco lowered the binoculars to look at him, but Zabini was still watching the field. "What?"
"I've seen it before. She took control of the other and she's displaying her absolute control of the situation." Zabini lowered his binoculars and pointed at the stands around them. "Look around."
The bidders circulating in the stands had their hands full. Eager spectators were rushing to them, brandishing their money, palm open and covered in galleons.
"Holy fuck." Draco looked back at the Arena. Theo really was holding Voldemort's deal on his shoulders. He felt a thrill shake his limbs—the plan would not fail. Already he was aching to go back to Granger because last night wouldn't have been the last time.
Theo released his grip on the player's hair and the blonde fell to the ground. However, a heinous rage came over her face as she scrambled to her feet. Theo let her, slowly waiting for the fight to begin.
Number 25 dashed head first to Theo with a roar of anger.
Carrow tutted disapprovingly. "Patricia, Patricia, Patricia… you silly girl." She glanced at Draco, looking bored. "Your player will win this, Malfoy. Mine is just a hothead."
Theo, with the petite body of Granger, fought with the blonde with precise, effective punches and dodges. Theo did receive a few punches right on the face and there was already blood gushing through his mouth. But the blonde didn't have the upper hand. With skillful and impressive moves, Theo used his footwork to deceive his rival, until the latter took a wrong step backwards. He landed a blow right on her throat, and Carrow flinched.
"That's gotta hurt, Patricia."
The crowd went hysterical, and the structure shook with vibrations.
Hands at her throat and bent in half to breathe, Patricia retreated, moving away from the fight. Theo followed with slowed steps, as if he had all the time in the world. He'd wiped the blood from a cut on his eyebrow. Draco was transfixed—he'd always known his friend was ruthless and dangerous. He'd seen it in action. But this was blood-chilling.
The blonde, in a last-ditch effort, yelled and swiped her feet across the ground right under Theo's boots. His feet kicked up in the air and he tumbled backwards, flat on his back. Patricia was on top of him in under a second.
"No." Air escaped his throat.
Carrow's player sat on his stomach, straddling his too-thin body, and struck. Again and again and again. Theo raised his forearms to protect his face but Patricia sank her teeth deeply into his flesh and blood leaked out, dripping on her chin.
"What in Merlin's fucking name?!" Draco roared as Theo's scream tore into him like a blade.
"Holy shit, Patricia!" Carrow was ecstatic and squealing on her seat. "You go, girl!"
"Good thing there won't be any training for a week after this," Crane commented. "That was… traumatising."
Theo's fury seemed to grow tenfold as his face warped with an unrecognisable expression. With a sweep of his pelvis, he knocked the blonde off her balance and shoved her sideways. She rolled onto her stomach and he quickly sat on her back, grabbing her hair with both hands.
That's when the bashing began.
Theo, screaming and crying with pain, slammed her head over and over again on the rock-hard ground. His forearm was bleeding profusely, dripping down his elbow.
Patricia squirmed under him for a little while, before her body slackened. A pool of blood started expanding around her head, but still Theo kept bashing her skull on the ground, each slam praised and cheered by the crowd.
Until Theo grew tired or maybe he'd realised she was dead.
He stopped, and looked at his blood-covered hands. He stood on his feet, and the trails of tears on his face were white against the dirtiness and the blood of his skin.
Draco lowered the binoculars for a minute and stared at his knees. His hands were shaking with adrenaline. His lungs had already started constricting, and a buzz was ringing into his mind. Keela wasn't sitting facing toward the Arena now, but she was between his knees, staring at him.
She whimpered, pushing her wet cold nose against his elbow. "I'm fine," he whispered. Keela scooted closer until her head was right against his chest and she remained there, sharing her warmth, her familiar scent.
He dropped his forehead against hers and stayed there, unmoving. He was sweating. The noise around was still deafening, but a wave of uncontrollable emotions was rising within him. What if Theo's performance hadn't been enough? What if Theo had sacrificedthisfor nothing? Had killed two players for nothing?
Maybe Draco would be dead tomorrow. Or in a week, when the roundup would come. And Keela would die with him.
Draco wanted to turn into smoke and flee. There was probably more space to breathe in the clouds.
He didn't watch the next fight. Stayed hunched over his dog.
When his heartbeat slowed down, he allowed himself to look back into the Arena. There were eight bodies on the ground. Four more until the game was over.
He watched for the remainder of the game, only to verify if Theo would get picked again. He wasn't.
Arthur was picked by number 40 and oddly, surprisingly, won the fight. He broke the neck with an audible crack. No bloodshed. No fistfight. Clean and quick.
Oliver got killed by number 6—strangled. Draco thought of his red notebook, but couldn't feel bad about him.
Cho Chang killed Anthony Goldstein.
When the twelfth body collapsed to the ground, 70 minutes after the start of the game, Darstan rang the final bell and proceeded with the usual ending comments. When they had made their plan, Draco and Theo had decided that Theo couldn't go to the Hospital Wing to see a Healer afterwards. Because even if he still had Granger's body, nothing could tell the time it would take for the Healer to heal his wounds. Maybe a Healer would want to keep him overnight, and Theo would revert to his body in less than an hour.
The plan was for Theo to go back to Granger's room and for Draco to rudimentary heal what he could.
But first—
First Draco had to see Granger and tell her that Theo wasn't dead.
It took a little while for Draco to exit the Arena, as the flow of spectators clogged the stairs. He'd almost apparated directly to the castle's front doors but resisted. His body needed movement. His mind split in the middle, one half floating to Theo, to what he's just experienced, the other half pulling to Granger, awaiting possibly the worst news of her life.
He hurried, his thick soles crunching against the cold grass. There had been a few snow falls during the last weeks, but the blanket of snow hadn't stuck.
He climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. Keela trotting at his sides.
He knocked on door 41. No response.
He knocked again and waited. He pressed his ear against the wood. There wasn't a sound. A bad feeling came over him, freezing his blood.
He drew out his wand and unlocked the door. "Granger?"
Theo's body was supine on the bed, rigid as a board. A Petrificus Totalus.
"Finite," Draco uttered, his mind blank.
Theo bolted upright, panting, his face flushed red.
"Why are you already here?" He couldn't—wouldn't—understand.
"Tell me she survived," Theo breathed out, teeth clenched in anger.
"What?"
"Are you stupid or what?" Theo was shouting now. Keela was watching their exchange back and forth. "Granger! Fucking Granger petrified me and went to the second game!"