The Fandom Games

***Hermione***

Everything is dark. She winces. Her limbs are sprawled over a hard floor, and they ache from the impact. Cautious, she brushes her hand against her surroundings. She’s lying on wooden floorboards, which are coated with a layer of sticky dust. A rough wall rises behind her. She sits up. Her feet hit something large and wood – shelves, maybe? Or a cabinet? Hermione reaches into her pocket, and grips her wand. Should she cast the wand-lighting charm, so that she can see? No. She doesn’t know where she is, or how she’s arrived here, or who has done this to her. She only knows that her palms, are sweating, and her heart is racing in her chest.
Every ounce of her reasoning is telling her that this is danger, and this is a place she needs to escape from. She needs to go home. To Harry. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, pictures their tent in the forest, and tries to disapparate. Nothing happens. Maybe she’s too far away to teleport to any place that she knows.

Something clinks and rattles. Hermione freezes. Someone – or something – breathes in, and out. In, and out. But it’s like no breathing that Hermione has ever heard before – it’s somewhere between the howl of the wind, the whir of a machine, the gasp of a child. As the thing inhales, and exhales, each breath seems to fill the room, right down to Hermione’s bones. She shivers.

Something crackles, and the room is bathed in crimson light. Hermione can see now that she’s sitting against peeling purple wallpaper. The plaster of the lofty ceiling is cracked and fractured. If she stretches out her legs as far as she can, her feet brush against a mahogany bookshelf. She squints to make it the edges through the red haze. The shelves are so tall, so wide, and so tightly crammed with books, DVDs and comics that it would keep even her busy for at least a year. She brushes a row of books. Unlike the floor, the books aren’t caked in dust at all. Somebody has shoved them all there within the last few days. Shaking, she pulls herself to her feet, and peers through a gap in the books to see the rest of the room. A sword made of bloodred flame is burning through the darkness, and this is what is staining the whole room with red light. Holding it is a man – at least, it could be a man, because Hermione can’t tell if the figure is human, or a machine, or a sickening mixture of both. The being wears metal armour so black that it seems to melt into the darkness. Buttons and gears stud its chest and its stomach. A cape ripples behind it, shifting like shadows. But what’s most terrifying of all is the strange, almost alien helmet. The mouth is a spiked grill, the nose an angular triangle, and the eye sockets are as large as a skeleton’s. Hermione doesn’t know what the thing is, or what it’s capable of doing. All she knows is that every time it breathes in, and out through the mask, it makes her muscles shiver, her hair stand on end, her heart race.

‘I’ve been expecting you.’ The thing’s voice echoes throughout the chamber. It’s a man – or at least, its voice is a man’s. Hermione’s heart thuds. She ducks. Has he seen her? Has he heard her?

‘Well, yeah. I did make an appointment.’ A second voice – a female, American one – pierces the dark. Relief washes over Hermione. The man in armour hasn’t noticed her. At least, he hasn’t noticed her yet. As long as Hermione stays in this gap between the wall and the shelves, she should be invisible to him. She looks back through the gap in the books. Standing in the centre of the room, spotlighted by a flickering pink torch, is a girl, who looks like Barbie went to the circus and got wasted. Her white feathery hair has been yanked into bunches, one dipped in turquoise, the other in hot pink. They dangle around her pale face like a bloodhound’s ears. Diamond and heart tattoos peek through her fishnet tights. A golden collar with the letters ‘PUDDIN’ gleams from her neck. She brandishes a baseball bat. Hermione doesn’t know if she’s any good at fighting with it, but the maniacal gleam in the girl’s eye suggests that Hermione shouldn’t get close enough to find out.

‘Harley Quinn,’ the man in the armour says, ‘I trust that the rest of the mansion is empty? Any… intruders would not be received warmly.’

Hermione shivers. She has to get out of here, but there’s no way that she can without being seen. Her only hope is to stay silent, and pray that nobody notices her, so that once these strange people have left she can find a way to escape home. To Harry. She presses her body against the bookshelves, and wills herself to be quiet. Even her breathing and heartbeat seems to echo around the chamber as loudly as if they were her funeral dirge.

And this is the moment, of all moments it could happen, when the assassin falls out of the sky.

The air next to Hermione waves and twists and swirls, and there’s a flash of grey – like the sea? – and an old man falls onto the floor, his knees knocking into the wall. He fumbles against the bookshelves, struggling to stand up, and snarling, ‘who are you? Where am I?’ When he stumbles forwards a step, the red light illuminates his face. Mangy hair is smeared across his scalp, and his piggy little eyes dart around the room with panic. But what’s weirdest of all isn’t his ancient-looking clothes, or even the fact that he just materialised out of thin air. What’s weirdest of all is the fact that the old man’s voice isn’t that of an old man, but of a young girl. ‘Who are you?’ they repeat, ‘where-’

‘Sh!’ Hermione hisses, and she clasps her hand over the old man’s mouth. The man thrashes, and bites her finger. She squeals. The noise resounds throughout the room.

The man in armour spins his head around the room and roars, ‘what is that? Did you bring spies?’

The old man stops wriggling. Hermione holds her breath.

‘No, I pinky promise!’ Harley Quinn pouts. ‘It’s probably just a bat, or something. This place is still full of them, even after we moved in.’ She glances around, and stares for a moment at the shelves that Hermione and the old man are hiding behind. Hermione digs her hand further into the man’s face. Then Harley returns her gaze to the darkness ahead of her.

Hermione takes her hand away. ‘Who are you?’ she breathes at the old man.

‘A girl is no-one,’ they whisper.

‘A girl?’

The man’s eyes widen, as they realise their mistake. They pinch their chin between their thumb and finger, and inch by inch they peel off their face, as if were a mask, and the old man is no longer an old man, but a girl, about the same age as Hermione. Her silky brown hair bounces against her shoulders. Her forest-green eyes are as alert as a wolf’s. A shimmering fur cloak – like something out of a fairy tale – shields her shoulders. A sword, slim and pointed like a needle, hangs from her leather belt. ‘A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell,’ the girl admits. She stuffs the limp face into a leather bag.

Hermione gags. ‘You were… you were someone else, and then… the face…’ She’s seen many strange types of magic throughout her time adventuring at Hogwarts. But she’s never seen anything quite like this.

The man in the armour breathes in, and out. ‘I sense much fear in this room. Why did you want to meet, Harley Quinn? Do have something to tell me?’

Arya steps onto the lowest shelf, and peels through some DVDs at Harley Quinn, and the machine man. Her eyes widen. Hermione puts her finger to her mouth, then presses her body against the shelves, and looks back through her books. A bulging spider crawls between their faces. Hermione winces, but Arya remains as still as the dark wood.

The demon barbie clown grins, and strikes a pose with jazz hands. ‘Why, Vadey, I came to offer my services, as an all-round badass broad!’ She waits for a reaction, but the man just breathes in, and out. Her face falls. ‘I… I saw that new master of yours. Well, I didn’t see them, but I heard their voice in the dark. So this master that you serve? And Mr J serves? I wanna serve him to. More specifically, I wanna join your legion. Not Mr J’s.’

The man in the armour’s breathing wavers for a second. Is it with amusement? ‘Tell me, Harleen Quinzel. My master has opened thousands of portals. They have assembled hundreds of the greatest villains of all time. As we speak, their armies are scouring the storyworlds for what they seek. In less than three days they will have power. Unlimited power. Villains will be able to increase their armies tenfold, or bring back loved ones from their dead, or weaken their rivals. And heroes can be eradicated as easily as this.’ He snaps his fingers, and the clicking echoes around the room. Now that Hermione’s eyes are adjusting to the hazy red light, she can see diagrams and photos and maps of a vast city plastered all over the walls.

Hermione and Arya look at each other.

‘Do have any idea what they’re talking about?’ Hermione hisses.

‘No,’ Arya whispers back.

‘But eradicating heroes… that doesn’t sound particularly good, does it?’

‘No,’ Arya moans. They creep closer to the edge of the shelves, their shoulders brushing.

‘I have already recruited your Joker to my master’s cause,’ the voice continues, ‘and his army of villains are searching Gotham for the Library as we speak. The Joker is asking for no small reward, and I am assuming that you will not either. So tell me, Harleen Quinzel, why would I need you?’

Harley flashes a pearly smile. ‘I’m a whole lot of pretty and a whole lot of crazy.’ Perhaps Hermione is imagining it, but her voice sounds much more fragile than it did a minute ago.

The armoured man sighs. It sounds like the release of air when a lorry breaks. ‘So are Bellatrix Lestrange and Cersei Lannister. Both of them are being utilised already. So why would I need you in my unit?’

Hermione and Arya stare at each other again. Hermione whispers, ‘Bellatrix Lestrange…

‘…Cersei Lannister…’

‘…bad,’ Hermione finishes. She twists her wand around in her palm. Bellatrix Lestrange is the most savage, the most evil witch that Hermione and her friends have ever had to escape from. If this armoured man’s master, this voice in the dark, has Bellatrix working for them, and not just Bellatrix, but hundreds of other Bellatrixes just as dangerous as she is…

Harley Quinn swings her bat in an arch around her head. ‘I know how to use this. And not just to get homeruns.’

‘That is not necessary for our purpose,’ the man booms.

‘I can skin people alive with rollerblades? I can smash skulls with a carnival hammer? I can make a cracking egg sandwich? I can make puns about egg sandwiches? I can snap necks with a cartwheel?’ Gripping the bat in one hand and the pink torch in the other, she somersaults across the cave. ‘See?’ She giggles. ‘That one’s fun. And I throw really awesome parties, with fights to the death and everything.’ She claps her hands together. ‘Could I throw a party? For all your villains? Oh, that would be so. Much. Fun! Please, can I-’

‘Nobody denies your skills,’ he rumbles. ‘But I already have countless warriors at my disposal, some of them even as talented as you. I do not require anyone else to carry out the tasks that my new master has set for me.’

‘No, no, no!’ Harley Quinn sinks to her knees, her eyes moistening with tears. ‘Please! Why not? Is it because of the party thing? Or because I called you Vadey? Oh, it’s because I called you Vadey, isn’t it? I’ll never do that again! I’ll be the most respectful respectable evil minion ever, I swear,’ she gushes, ‘from now on I’ll always address you as’ – she puffs out her chest, and deepens her voice – ‘Darth Vader, supreme Lord of the Sith.’ She gazes up at him, with wide, pleading eyes.

Darth Vader breathes in, and out.

Pink and blue eyeshadow are streaming down Harley’s white face. She stares at the floor, her voice cracking. ‘Please. You have to let me serve you. I asked to join Mr J’s division, but he said that I… that I wasn’t right for the mission. So I’ve gotta join your division. I’ve gotta be there when you find the Library.’ Is it Hermione’s imagination, or did Darth Vader look concerned when she said that?’ ‘After your troops overran Gotham, I oversaw Mr J talking with that creep you both serve now… I mean, I didn’t technically see him, but overheard Mr J talking to the villain in the dark. I know what the Library has the power to do. There’s something… something I need to change.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘You get it, don’t you Vadey?’ She mouths the letters L O V E, then mimes blowing a kiss into the air.

Darth Vader breathes in, and out. In, and out. He raises his fist, and Harley flinches, but then he lowers it again, as if he’d changed his mind. ‘Your feelings will be your downfall.’

‘Oh, they already were,’ Harley giggles, ‘literally. Into a vat of acid.’ She dives her right hand into the left, mimicking the sound of an explosion. Her giggling grows louder, until it becomes the ugly laugh of a hyena.

‘We have to stop them,’ Arya whispers in Hermione’s ear.

‘Definitely,’ Hermione whispers back, ‘do you have a plan? If I can get back to where my friend Harry Potter is, then maybe…’

Arya unsheathes her sword. The silver blade glows in the red light, as if it too were made of fire.

‘You idiot,’ Hermione hisses, ‘you’ll be killed, or worse, seen! Are you just going to go out there and…’

‘Kill them? Yes. Can you think of a better solution?’

‘No, but…’

‘Are you going to order me not to kill them?’

‘No, but…’. How can Hermione tell Arya what to do? She has no idea who she is. But Arya can’t just leave their hiding place. She’ll get both of them killed.

‘Good.’ Arya raises her sword in front of her, and steps out behind the shelf

Hermione aims her wand. ‘Expelliarmus!’ A red bolt of lights knocks the sword out of Arya’s hand. It clatters against the hard ground, and it echoes around the room. Hermione freezes. Arya freezes.

Harley Quinn looks up, arching her eyebrows. She waves her pink torch around the walls.

Hermione doesn’t dare to breathe. Arya mouths, I hate you. Hermione mouths back, I know.

Harley fixes her torch on the shelves. The wall behind them is bathed in hot pink light. Hermione and Arya’s shadows are cast onto it. Harley grins. ‘Hello, there.’

‘Seize them!’ Darth Vader clenches his fist, and the walls tremble. Chunks of plaster rain onto the ground. ‘What are they? I want them dead. Seize them!’

Arya snatches her sword off the ground. Hermione darts out of the way of a chunk of ceiling.

Harley whistles, and idly twists her bat around in her palm. ‘See… I’d just love to murder some people, except there’s the slight technicality that I don’t work for you…’

The Villain’s voice is twisted with panic. ‘Seize them, and you can do whatever you want! You can have your silly party, for all I care!’

‘Goodie!’ Harley jumps to her feet, and hurtles towards them, brandishing the baseball bat.

Hermione shrieks. She glances around the room, but the darkness is obscuring any doors that there might be. Harley swings her bat at her, and she darts out of the way, banging into the bookshelf. The shelves creak, and maps and old DVDs tumble to the ground. Harley swipes at her legs again, so Hermione grabs onto the edge of a shelf, and jumps onto it. As she scrambles up the shelves, she knocks over book after book. A comic flies in front of her face, with a boy in a red suit on. She shoves it away… as she touches it, her vision blurs a little, exactly like it did when she left the tent earlier, and was somehow transported to here.

Arya kicks Harley, but Harley barely flinches. Darth Vader is marching towards them, his bloodred sword raised.

‘Do you trust me?’ Hermione yells to Arya.

Arya glares up at her. ‘Obviously not!’

Hermione grips the comic in one hand. She jumps off the shelf, and grabs Arya with the other hand. The room starts blurring. Arya is screaming. Harley swings her bat, but it passes right through Hermione’s head, as if her body was made of smoke. Harley shrieks, ‘you bitch! Why won’t you let me kill you?’ She lashes out again, shouting at her to be polite and die already, but to Hermione she’s just a swirl of pink and white and blue, and the whole room is dissolving into darkness, and now Hermione and Arya are falling, and Arya is squeezing Hermione’s hand so tight that Hermione is genuinely afraid she might crush it, and images flash before their eyes, of earth and space and of a big blazing letter A, and of a man flying in a suit of iron, and six gleaming stones in a glove, and of … is that a racoon and a talking tree? … and now of New York, and a train, and an elf, and a boy in a red costume.