Dark Kingdom.

Harry for the life of him couldn't tell if he was joking with him, complimenting him, insulting him, or just making a suggestion. So he just sniffed at him. Once the Slytherins had all left the field, he was embraced by his teammates once again who still couldn't seem to believe that they had not only won, but survived to celebrate it.

"Oh wait until tonight, Harry!" one of the twins said.

"There's going to be such a party!" said the other.

"AND YOU'RE THE GUEST OF HONOR!" they shouted together.

All Harry could do was grin and let them all carry him to the showers.

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It wasn't until much later that Harry actually got the opportunity to shower. No sooner than he reached the locker room, than it seemed that every Gryffindor in school, and not a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well, was dropping by to congratulate him. Classmates who had ignored or even down right antagonized him were suddenly shaking his hand and saying things like 'I knew you were something special' and 'Can I have your autograph?'. It was all very baffling to him.

Even more baffling was that Hermione didn't seem at all pleased.

"You could have died!" she shouted at him, shoving aside several of his admirers in order to speak to him.

"It's only a game," Harry shouted back in order to be heard. "I did it to regain those points I lost. It was McGonagall's idea! Aren't you happy? If I win the next match, Gryffindor will be in the lead!"

A triumphant cheer rose from the crowded locker room at the mention of a another victory to come. Hermione attempted to shout something in response but her voice was lost amongst everyone else's. Eventually, she gave up and stocked off. He tried to follow after her, but was distracted when Clyde was suddenly in front of him.

"You did it mate! You actually did it. I can't believe I ever doubted you!"

But you did. The bitter thought rose up, seemingly out of no where, and Harry forced it away. Clyde might have been upset lately, but he hadn't stopped being his friend. If it just so happened that it was easier now to be moreof friend, well then... he'd remember it in the future.

Finally, the rest of his team locked everyone out of the locker room so that they could all clean up and get ready. Still a bit shy about showers, he let the other boys go first as he checked and put away equipment. When everyone else had left, he took an extra long, hot shower. The hot water soothed his bruised and aching body, until he felt loose and relaxed. He switched into a clean, comfortable set of clothes and headed towards the castle to join in the revelry.

He never made it.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A bit of danger in the next chapter and a familiar face makes an appearance.

Harry knew he was being carried. He knew that whoever was carrying him was not being at all careful or gentle with the task. He knew it was starting to get dark.

Aside from that, he didn't have much clue as to what was happening. Any attempt to follow a single line of thought was thwarted by the twenty other unrelated thoughts that popped up to lead him astray. The world titled and twirled, and he was powerless to right it, to even close his eyes to the madness of it.

And then suddenly, someone spoke and his mind cleared.

Ruthlessly, he was dropped to the ground and kicked in the side. He let out a cry and tried roll away, but someone else came from the other side smashed a boot between his shoulders. His two attackers continued kicking and stomping him mercilessly for a while longer, until Harry was certain they intended to kill him like that. But they stopped abruptly, and dragged him to his feet.

His body screamed in protest and he screamed along with it, but even that was too painful. He could barely breath, his lungs pressed against his injured ribs and collarbone, but he tried to beg them to stop. All he could manage was a gaspy sound, and his captors ignored him.

He was dragged to a tree and thrown against it. Here he must have blacked out for a moment, for when he opened his eyes again his hands were around the tree and he was facing two very angry looking Slytherins. Whitehall stood shoulder to shoulder with Morgenson, sneering down at him, their wands poised.

"I can't believe this little shit beat us," Whitehall sneered.

"Beat you, you mean," Morgenson said, although he looked just as displeased. "We would have won if you'd been doing your job and actually looked for the stupid Snitch."

The Slytherin Seeker shoved the other boy harshly.

"You were suppose to have taken care of him during the match. That was your job! Then you had to make everything worse and embarrass the team in front of the Dark Lord!"

Morgenson shoved the other boy back, knocking him to the ground and pointing his wand at him.

"At least I tried to defend our honor. You all just stood there like nitwits, while our Lord payed homage to that mudblooded GRYFFINDOR!"

The two boys were quickly trading blows, temporarily forgetting Harry for which he was grateful. Despite the lifting of the charm, a stunning hex he believed, he was still a bit unclear about what was happening. He had been kidnaped by these boys and taken to what appeared to be a clearing in a very large expanse of forest.

It wasn't the Forbidden Forest, that much Harry knew. The trees were younger and darkness within them was more natural. However, the cold autumn night was fast approaching and the rising dark was quickly becoming ominous. As distracting as the pain and cold was, Harry could figure out that this strange place meant something bad was in store for him. Little boys found dead in the woods wasn't such rare tale after all, and it seemed the humiliated Slytherins had been inspired.

As if to confirm his sense of dread, a long mournful howl fell over the woods. The Slytherin boys, who were both sporting bloody noses now, suddenly stopped their squabbling to listen. Forgetting their argument for the moment, Whitehall swallowed thickly and turned to his co-conspirator.

"We should go."

Morgenson nodded in agreement. Together they turned and hurried further into the clearing. The Slytherin Beater suddenly stopped though and turned back to their victim. He stalked towards him, digging in his pockets until he found a pocket knife. Harry stiffened and tried to move away, but his bonds held tight.

"What are you doing?" asked Whitehall nervously as several howls joined the first.

Morgenson drew close, his dagger now drawn, his faces inches from his victim's. Harry could neither move nor breath, and fear rose up and flowed out of his eyes in desperate tears. The older boy merely looked down at him, his expression superior and merciless.

"Just making sure they find him."

Harry let out a soft, pained cry as the blade was dragged across his hand. He could feel the warm blood welling up to flow down his chilled fingers and soak into the ropes around his wrist. Morgenson smirked in satisfaction, then turned to rejoin Whitehall.

There was a loud pop and then Harry was alone.

He was alone and he knew he was going to die. Horribly.

Whether by wild animals, cold, his injuries, or a combination of these, it didn't matter. He would never be found. Hermione would cry. Natalie would cry. Would the twins cry? They'd all cry their share of tears, wonder at what had happened to him, and then they would move on with their lives and he would be forgotten. His parents would be forgotten.

And all because Slytherins were sore losers.

The howls were getting louder and closer, as the night grew deeper. Through the break in the clearing he could see the moon rising up from the horizon, round and yellow. Well, bloody hell. Of course it was a full moon. Letting him be killed by any means other than magic or magical beast was obviously too muggle for the bloody pieces of dragon excrement.

Steadily the howling drew closer and closer, and he couldn't help but think that the creatures coming his way already knew he was there. Surely they could smell it? Even in the cold air, Harry could smell the sickly-sweet scent of his own blood. His body trembled from cold and fear, and the pains in his body combined into one massive ache.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to curl up into warm ball and just let it end. But he remained silent. Futilely he tugged and twisted his bonds, fighting off the numbness and increasing his own pain.

There was suddenly a shuffling sound behind him, a disturbance of dry leaves. Harry froze. A twig snapped. His chest began to heave quickly, disregarding the pain in his ribs.

He expected the werewolf to immediately lung out and bite him, but it didn't. He could hear it sniffing about, making distinctive 'wuffing' noises, and pacing just behind the tree. It defied what Harry had heard of werewolves. Werewolves were not like real wolves. They feared nothing but silver, and would attack an entire band of armed wizards without a second thought or run head first into a speeding carriage.

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