"NICO!"

I don't know how he managed it, but somehow he had leapt just in time, glass splintering all around him as he flew through the air towards me.

I was knocked heavily to the ground, landing on my back with a painful thud. Nico's body, although crushing me, shielded me from the worst fragments of glass slicing viciously through the air.

His body jerked above me as he let out a deafening yell. Near to me, I could hear Draco shouting my name, but I kept my eyes squeezed shut, terrified of being blinded by the glass.

After what seemed like an eternity, but could have easily been only seconds, the world resolved itself into pain and silence, broken only by Nico's fretful voice.

"Are you okay, kiddo?"

A laugh escaped my lips instead of the cry I was expecting. Was I okay?

I could feel a sticky dampness spread across my torso between where Nico and I were pressed together. Blood.

I knew then it wasn't mine because I felt no pain. But was that just the shock? Although, by the sudden alarming paleness of Nico's face, I knew what his deafening yell had been about.

"You're bleeding," I whispered shakily, looking up into his fading green eyes.

"It's just a cut," Nico shrugged, failing to hide his wince as he awkwardly staggered off me.

Draco was at my side in an instant, pulling me urgently into his arms. I could feel the ferocious thud of his heart as he held me tight, kissing my hair and repeating my name as though whispering a prayer.

But I could not share his immediate relief, unable to tear my eyes from the horrifying sight of the dark red stain seeping rapidly across the front of Nico's tracksuit.

"It's nothing, kiddo," Nico assured me, stumbling slightly as he tried to right himself. "Let's get back to the dormitory and pray they've got something decent to drink. I'm fucking thirsty."

*****

Our journey back through the pastel corridors towards the dormitory wasn't an easy one.

Nico barely managed to stay upright as Draco and I helped him hobble back: the three of us somber and silent as Nico's blood trailed behind us, reminding me of Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs.

Ahead of us, Harry strode gaily, humming to himself as though he hadn't just witnessed twelve of our schoolmates falling horrifically to their deaths.

"Players, we sincerely congratulate and commend you all for successfully making it through the first five games. The four of you are now the finalists, and as such, we have prepared a special gift for each of you. Before we reveal the gift, please take a moment to change into the outfits we have bought."

Four smart black boxes at the foot of four lonely bunks, where once four hundred and fifty-six stood.

I watched in sickening horror as Nico staggered towards the bathroom, claiming the need for a shit and ordering us not to follow for a good forty-five minutes.

I did not even last five.

"Nico." I demanded as I flew into the bathroom to discover him dressed down to his boxers, wincing as he attempted to pull a large shard of glass out of his side. "Don't... you mustn't!"

But he did. And the second he pulled it free, blood showered everywhere, the sight before me looking freakishly like a scene from a slasher movie.

Without further ado, I shrugged off my tracksuit jacket and dramatically ripped my t-shirt clean off, shredding it in half with my bare hands.

"What the fuck are you doing, Patil?" Nico asked, clutching his side to try and stem the flow of blood.

"Making a bandage, you idiot," I muttered, striding over to him and wondering just how the fuck this was going to work.

By the look of the gaping wound in his torso, it was going to take a lot more than a dirty old t-shirt to fix this shit.

"A real Florence Nightingale-" Nico rasped, wincing in pain as I forcibly tied it around his waist, "-fuck- look... there's no point."

"Of course there's a fucking point!" I hissed vehemently.

The bathroom door swung open, and I whirled around to see Draco standing at the threshold, his mouth falling open as his eyes swept over our half naked bodies, both of which were stained in Nico's blood, looking as though we'd been participating in some sort of sadistic paint balling session.

"Alia? What are you-? Shit."

"Nico needs urgent medical attention," I said at once, "please, Draco, can you see if the guards will do anything?"

"Yeah, right," Nico scoffed derisively, "because their main concern is our health and safety."

Draco's face softened, but he didn't move. "Alia, Nico's right-"

"What's going on in there?" The pompous voice of Harry Potter interrupted from behind Draco. "I say, you're not all having sex, are you? Because if you are, then that really is most unsanitary when we all have to share the same space-"

"Will you shut the fuck up for once in your life, Potter?" Draco snapped, closing his eyes as though trying to muster a single ounce of patience.

But Harry wouldn't quit, jumping up and down on the spot to try and see over Draco's shoulder.

"They're both naked! She's in her bra- and he's... he-" his eyes bulged open as his gaze landed on Nico's bloodied torso, "-good lord!"

"Out, Potter - now!" Draco growled, whirling around to grab a hand around his throat, pushing him forcibly out of the doorway and, thankfully, out of our sight.

The door swung shut behind them, and Nico and I exchanged incredulous looks before my gaze dropped back down to inspect his torso, relief swarming over me when it appeared the bleeding had at least slowed down.

"See?" Nico chuckled weakly, "Good as new. Now, why don't you make yourself especially useful and go see about those new outfits. I could do with a bit of help."

"At least we finally get a change of clothes," I agreed, although what these sick bastards had in mind as a gift for us, I dreaded to think.

All I wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep, and then to wake up and discover that this whole thing was all nothing but a nightmare.

"It's real, kiddo," Nico muttered after he splashed his face in the sink. "And you better get out of here alive, okay?"

"We are both getting out alive," I corrected him firmly.

He grimaced, shaking his head. "Nah, I don't think so. Look at the state of me. The last supper for me tonight, that's for sure."

"How can you be so fucking calm?!" I spat, suddenly feeling infuriated. I couldn't understand why he wasn't fighting harder.

"It's called accepting my fate. I can either spend the last hours- minutes of my life wasting it in a tight ball of anxiety - or... I can simply enjoy it."

I looked at him, my heart racing in my chest. I felt more frightened in that moment than I had the entire time I'd been in this place. For some reason, I'd never imagined that Nico would die, never feared for his death like I did my sisters' or Luna's. Because, in my mind, Nico Parkinson was indestructible.

The door flew open again, and Draco strode in carrying our gift boxes. "Thought you might need these," he murmured, eyeing both Nico and I carefully. "How are you in hanging in there?"

Assuming this question was directed at Nico, I turned to the sink, running the tap so that I could begin to wash the blood off me.

"Top of the bleeding world," Nico gritted tightly, his jaw set fiercely as though trying to block out the pain.

Draco frowned, but said nothing.

"He needs help getting dressed," I said, nodding to the boxes in Draco's arms.

"Right," Draco said at once, dropping the boxes at his feet. "Would you like me to... or perhaps Alia...?" His voice tailed off as a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"Ali can help me," Nico drawled, seemingly chewing his cheek. "I wouldn't want to make things awkward for you. But, please... don't leave on my account."

Draco hastily pushed Nico's box towards me, clearly grateful at being let off. I peered inside to find a perfectly tailored, all black suit. Draco's face instantly softened as he lifted his own out of his box and lovingly stroked it. He had a look in his expression as though he were being reunited with a long lost love.

Despite everything, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation as I went to lift the lid of my own box, unable to recall the last time I ever wore anything more extravagant than my bloodied (and now torn) tracksuit.

If what the guys had received was anything to go by, then mine was sure to be a glamorous number.

But as I peered inside, I saw not what I was expecting at all.

"Um, I think you must have picked Harry's up by mistake," I murmured, lifting out the exact same black suit.

"I don't think so," Draco chuckled, reaching across to tap a long, slender finger against the front, "look, it clearly has your number."

He wasn't wrong: there, on the lapel of the suit, the digits 199 were neatly stitched.

Wait a cotton damn picking minute... where the fuck was my pretty dress?!

*****