Important: Also written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments); Muggle History: Terrible Muggles in History Task #4- Write about the mysterious disappearance or death of a loathed individual.

House: Slytherin

Category: Short

Prompts: [First Line] Everything was waiting for his/her/their signal to begin.

Word count: 1963 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

Warning: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) piece where Draco is fighting for the light side and takes part in The Horcrux Hunt, a tournament that forces players to work together.

Characters: Draco Malfoy; Alastor Moody; Tom Riddle/Voldemort; Theodore Nott; Blaise Zabini; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter

Summary: For months, Draco Malfoy's waited for their signal, and on one starless night, he sees it. During a small ambush in camp, he's knocked out and everything goes dark. When he wakes, he finds that nothing is as it seems and he's been chosen to take part in The Horcrux Hunt, a tournament drawn by their dark tyrant that forces players to work together to get through a series of strenuous tasks. But, as any game, facing death is always the first battle. The second is fighting against each other. AU; Light!Draco; Horcrux Hunt Reimagined.

Author's Note: The hardest thing about this short was coming up with a title. In the end, I didn't care what I named it, so long as it was pleasing to the ear and it made sense. For the idea of the short, I've always wanted to write something where Draco wasn't portrayed as the antagonist, which gave me the idea of him having more of a key role in the war. As y'all will see, this chapter was left intentionally with a cliffhanger ;) And, once this round ends, y'all will have a fresh chapter to look forward to!

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

And Darkness Rises

The Forest of Dean

December 6th, 1996

Everything was waiting for their signal to begin. The platoon of soldiers were stationed in the middle of a forest, their choice of weapons drawn. Surrounding the base of the most notorious Wizard known to history were the Knights of the Silver Hand, a skilled unit of Dark Art specialists. Draco Malfoy stood watch around the perimeter of camp at the forefront of the still scene, his wand drawn close, his eyes watching the vast expanse of the forest around him. Though the protection charms cast by the small group had been placed earlier when they made camp, he couldn't trust them. Too many people have lost their lives to the deception of the forest; he would not succumb to that same fate so long as he was fighting for this cause, and that was to live.

The sharp sounds of the forest would be enough to paralyze anyone. The past few months have been nothing short of a nightmare; everything reminded him of a battlefield. Lifeless, a raging pit of fire and explosions. All he had to do is close his eyes and forget where he was before being transported back to the inescapable pit of death. He'd travelled from a Northern base and the drastic change in the weather had taken a terrible toll on him. He stood there on the fringes of the camp in his military garb and his coat with fur trimming. Except for a simple warming charm placed around him, nothing protected him from the pressing cold of the Forest of Dean.

Under the chill of the mist that spread over the Forest, Draco watched the sky for any signs of movement. He'd been doing this for several nights now. He kneeled down to dig through the dirt to place an amulet at his feet into the sodden mud floor of the trench. He got up on his knees and peered into the swirling white, tinged with the muddy green of the field. A violent noise cracked into the startled air and he does not need to look down to know what he hit and that it is complete. Then he stood. He'd come across this new tactic during his station in France, though it served as nothing more than a whimsical purpose now. To bury your woes was to become free. If it hadn't been for his reigning officer back in Germany, Draco wouldn't have come. Too many memories of the area crowded his mind; his vision became blurred. He stood watch regardless, looking to the approaching nothingness as if the signal lay within the reaches of the trees. Then, suddenly, they talked and he drew his wand, casting a non-verbal spell that just barely missed his target. When he lowered his hand, he was met with nothing but a voice.

"At ease, Malfoy," the voice said, though it took him a moment to register that it was the head of the resistance, Alastor Moody. He'd been the one to aid him in his training in his first year. He owed the man a lot for the things he's done for him. Moody saved him countless times, fought with him and saved his neck when he was surrounded by a hundred Dementors, his life draining from his body as he watched, helplessly on the outside, as they did. If it hadn't been for Moody, he wouldn't be alive; he wouldn't have found a reason to fight.

Draco watched his old master make his way over to his station, his cane a second away from cracking. The fires of their camp flickered in the distance; he was truly secluded from the rest of the resistance in his pathetic little enclosure. Muttering an apology, he stowed his wand in a strap on his thigh before regaining his position. Moody's mechanical eyes swiveled inside its glass container and he knew instantly what he was searching for, though he didn't say or do anything to dissauge him.

We're safe, for now, he reminded himself quietly. They aren't supposed to move tonight, but if they do, we'll be ready for them. We always are.

"I don't recall sending you to stand watch after supper, boy."

"You didn't, sir," Draco told him with a smirk.

"Then, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Moody stuck his cane into the ground, leaned into it, and looked at him. The iris of his mechanical eye was never seen again. "Standing watch all night again won't prove a damn thing, you know that."

Breathing out slowly, Draco looked to the sky.

It's been months since he'd seen him, last he'd seen his horribly deformed face. A face that he'd cursed with his own wand and mutilated with his own obscene injustice. Moody had been captured some time ago by the Dark Lord, held prisoner, tortured mentally and physically, before being left to die in an abandoned building. Although it's been months since his ordeal and he was still recovering from the enormous pain inflicted upon him, Draco was more worried about the Dark Lord, who had mysteriously vanished from thin air; not even his closest advisers knew of his location. All the more reason to find and murder the bastard.

"He killed my friends," Draco told his mentor.

"Aye, he's killed a great many of friends." Moody told him, both his eyes trained on him now. He stood his ground, taking in his old student. "If this is revenge talking now, then you can stuff it. People have gone mad with anger; you would fall right into his trap, whatever it is, if you did. Best to rid yourself of that connection before it starts to affect ya."

"It hasn't affected me," he told him sternly.

Moody became agitated. "If it hasn't, what do you call what you did back there?"

"I was just following orders."

"It could've gotten you killed," growled Moody viciously. "I don't know how they do it around your parts, but we do things differently here. If I say don't leave your post, you listen. Maybe you'll live longer if you do."

"This is war," Draco reminded him, though it didn't feel nearly as relieving as he'd hoped. He dropped the role of a soldier, finally finding the courage to speak to him like a man. "The Dark Lord hasn't been seen in months. What makes you think he's disappeared, or just as amusing, gotten himself killed?"

"I never said that!"

"Then why drop your guard down, huh?" Draco marched up to him and looked into his eyes. He stood there, searching. Though, it was pointless. Moody's always been a hard wizard to break; he'd spent his entire career interrogating Dark Wizards, getting into their minds. He was the best at what he did, so it didn't surprise him in the slightest when he completely shut down. Draco moved back, his face stark white against the backdrop of their camp. "You wouldn't understand, Moody. We've all lost friends and family. Hell, I don't know a single person who hasn't buried anyone. This entire thing is just one long raided episode. It'll never be over."

Moody didn't answer him. Instead, he looked outward.

The world was undeniably quiet outside the field of charms; as they stood, not a sound could be heard except the faint whisper of laughter in the heart of their camp. The soldier took his eyes off the forest for a moment, looking behind him, expecting him to see a mirage of other soldiers strutting toward them. He found the breathless void of foliage just as deceiving as the one outside of the field. There was no telling what sort of joke that was being passed around or if they'd snuck into their officer's tent and stole his secret stash of Firewhiskey, but whatever they were celebrating would be short-lived.

In mere seconds, the world exploded around them. Light rose into the air, blossoming like a foul flower in the cloudless night sky. They appeared from nowhere, forming behind the line of thick mist. Under the cloak of their ambush, Draco could see streaks of magic as it stole into the night. He instantly drew his wand, the signal he'd been waiting for quite some time finally arrived in a chariot of colors and the air quickly filled with the scent of ash and rotting flesh. Ragged shots rang out from all directions. Draco barely had enough of time to deflect the curse hurtling toward him before joining his master's side, wand drawn protectively in front of him. And, then there was painful silence and they waited. Everything was waiting for their signal to begin, until the light obscured their vision. They were lost in the globbering sounds of weapons, the cries of curses, and the dehumanizing screams.

In that frozen second between stand off and fighting, he saw their eyes flickering between the trees. Their faces were unreadable, no fear, and no invitational smirk. They appeared from the dark, something Draco had been anticipating, wands drawn, eyes flashing with fierce retribution. Their Lord had been undeniably quiet up until now; everyone thought he'd gone mad when he said that he was up to something. Now, they were paying the price with bloodshed. Cries took rapture to the night air; Draco banked on them making the mistake he predicted they would months ago in the cool of the old forest, and they did. In that instant one flew at him, ignoring the calls of his comrades behind him. Their Lord was the one protecting their salvation; he had no reason to defend Draco. They expect it to be an easy victory, over in a bloody flash and then they go back to their sanctuary. Not to kill him, but to have him do their dirty work, he's young and strong after all. But things didn't go their way, not at all. In seconds Draco took down the Dark Wizard. The snow stained darkly with the flow from these good looking corpses, no butchery, just expertly sliced jugulars. Draco looked at Moody, still impassive, his training holding up despite this being his first kill. There is no pleasure in his face, as he never expected there to be, and tonight there will be tears.

Draco pulled away from the staged ambush, taking in the battle scene and their opponents. The rest of the platoon had come as their salvation. Their wands gleamed in the cool moonlight. he knew that only one would walk away from this. His opponent's faces were stained with blood. Draco shuffled to the side and awaited in attack, and, possibly, inevitable death. His opponent charged with a mighty cry. Draco dodged to the side in one fluid move. His enemy swiveled in his direction. His menacing eyes were a blazing red and his dark hood made the rest of his features indistinguishable. His opponent thrust his dagger forward, only to be met by Draco's wand. Both weapons met in the air with a resounding 'clang'. The man was a master manipulator of the Dark Arts. Slowly, Draco was tiring.

'If I am to die, I shall fight to the last breath.' With renewed vigor, he slashed his blade back and forth. His wound began bleeding openly.

A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout Draco's body. His stomach ached, his arms lost tension and his legs began to weaken before he dropped to the ground. His tongue was soaked in the taste of blood. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, he grabbed Moody's foot and tried to hold onto him. His head was pounding. He brought a fist to his officer's face, snapping his nose into a grotesquerie.

Then everything went black and he fell…