The Battle of Hogwarts has been won, and the war is finished. But in its place, there stands oppression, the likes of which the world has never witnessed before. Muggles are under siege, and they have begun to recognize the horror that has darkly seeped into the pores of their existence. The muggle-born wizards and witches have been slaughtered in the thousands, and only a few remain. Hiding has become a scarce option; the Death Eaters are hunting down those who fought for the Light day-in, and day-out. The world has changed, and not for the better.
Hermione Granger awakened in a strange room. Her head was pounding, throbbing against her temples. A low groan escaped her mouth, and she noted that it echoed quietly around the room she was in. She yanked open her eyes, determined to find out where those bloody Death Eaters had dropped her this time. She was used to being thrown around by the bastards, but never had they dropped her in such a strange room before
Her golden-hazel eyes took in her surroundings, filling her with a mixture of fear and curiosity. It appeared that the bastards had dumped her in a metal holding cell. The only notable things in the room was a glass cylinder with a metal plate at the base in the far right hand corner, and a black tracksuit hung on the wall, with a dark red jacket next to it. Just like Gryffindor colors, she noted curiously. What the hell is going on here?
Carefully, Hermione eased herself up from the icy metal floor and wiped her hands on the rags that tattered her body. She had been kept in the basement of Voldemort's sprawling country estate for the two months since the war had finished, trapped in a dank, stinking cell that never saw the light of day. She'd known there were others with her, and what surprised her was that they weren't sent to rot in Askaban with the rest of the blood traitors and Mudbloods. She never assumed they would end up serving a purpose, but apparently she had been mistaken. There has to be a reason I'm here, she thought to herself.
She walked her emaciated body over to the clothing that hung suspended against the wall, and ran her fingers over the soft fabric, an unsolicited moan escaping her lips as she revels in the softness of the texture. Compared to the rough rags she'd been living in for the past two months, this material felt heavenly.
Hermione hastily stripped her rags over her head and pulled on the suit and jacket. For the first time in two months, she felt half-clean and warm in the clothes. Glancing down, she noticed a pair of leather boots and she slipped them over her bare feet, relishing the mere fact that there was actually something covering her feet for the first time in two months.
She only had a moment to relish the clothes on her body. The tube in the corner beeped loudly, causing her to jump.
"Attention tributes, you have twenty minutes to eat your meal and climb into the tube. If you refuse to enter the tube, you shall be killed."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at the tube, both confused and skeptical about what was about to happen. With a crack, and small, wrinkled house elf appeared in her cell.
"Mudblood is to eat this food, now," muttered the elf, dropping a tray on the floor and disappearing with a crack.
Hermione eyed the food hungrily. In the cells at Voldemort's home, they had never once been fed things such as this. She could smell the chicken breasts resting on the tray, along with the roasted potatoes and gravy. Fresh bread rested next to a tall glass of cool orange juice, and a chocolate bar was there as well. She pounced on the tray, shoving the food between her lips hungrily. Good God, this tastes amazing. She momentarily forgot about the oncoming unknown event that began with her having the climb into the cylinder. She shoveled the food into her mouth, savoring the gorgeous taste of the fresh bread and orange juice, so sweet and acidic against her tongue she nearly sobbed.
Once the food had all disappeared and she had licked the plate clean, the grumpy house elf reappeared and whisked away the tray. Hermione wiped her hands on her old rags and dropped them to the floor once more, taking in the room around her again. Her hazel eyes landed on the cylinder, and she calculated she had roughly two minutes until she had to climb into it. What in the world is going on here? I've been fed, clothed, and now I'm expected to get in there? Where will it take me? All the questions buzzed around her brain, but she had no answers. She guessed she would find out when the cylinder took her somewhere.
"One minute," the cylinder announced.
She steeled her nerves and rolled her shoulders back, and crossed the room to step into the cylinder. The door slid silently shut behind her, and she could feel the buzz of magic and the door sealed. She raised a hand to touch the glass, and felt a light vibration running through it. Definitely magic, she decided. She yanked her hand back when she felt herself rise from the floor. Looking down, she noted that the base of the cylinder was lifting her upwards.
Layers of metal, concrete, and finally dirt were passed until she rose into an outside area with fresh air that made tendrils of her hair swing into her face. The sun blinded her eyes momentarily, and when she opened her eyes she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips.
Hermione found herself standing in a circle with what looked to be a golden horn in the center, with weapons and backpacks scattered around at varying distances. She surmised that the best quality goods would be at the center, and she was not mistaken: in the middle rested two wands, objects she hadn't seen nor touched for two months since the war.
Next, she noticed the other people standing around her on identical plates. No one was moving for the sheer shock of what they were seeing, and the confusion threatened to swallow her. Hermione scanned her eyes around the circle of 'tributes,' so they had been named, and noted that Neville and Dean Thomas were standing not too far away from her, looking around in awe.
They were standing in what appeared to be an abandoned, ruined city. The buildings had collapsed, there was apparently no other life surrounding them, and the gentle breeze that caressed her face smelled distinctly of rubble and brick dust. Skyscrapers that would have previously reached to incredible heights were shortened and broken, with broken bits and pieces lying around them. She scanned around the place and could not, for the life of her, decide how large this city was, nor what the purpose of this entire setting was for her and the other tributes.
Suddenly, a trumpet sounded out of the sky and all the tributes looked upwards. Voldemort's mark had appeared in the sky, and when it disappeared, Voldemort's face was hovering over the contestants, his wicked grin making them all cringe into themselves. Still, no one moved. It appeared that their feet had been sealed to the base of the cylinder when it rose to the surface. Hermione tried to move herself, so she could run at the devil's face and scream herself hoarse at him, but she found her voice lost to her. Silencing spells, she thought, wondering when the Death Eater's had cast it, for she did not remember.
Voldemort's red snake eyes narrowed at the tributes, and then he spoke. "Welcome, tributes. I understand this must be confusing for you, but you are a group of select people who are to participate in an event that is to become a traditional reminder of the results of trying to fight against my forces. Today, you stand in a ruined city. In the middle, between you all is the Cornucopia. Inside this horn are two wands, among other weapons. Why? Well, allow me to explain." He closed his eyes momentarily and inhaled deeply, smiling coldly at the contestants. "Two months ago, when I killed Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in the Final Duel, it was decided that a reminder would be needed for the rest of the world of the consequences of fighting for the Light, and herein it was set forth that the Darkest Hours would be created. The Darkest Hours is a game, of the most vicious kind, that is shown to the international wizarding community every year. Twenty-four of you have been selected, all of you Mudbloods, blood traitors, warriors for the light, and defectors alike. Only one of you comes out of this game alive.
"Within this city are traps, perhaps even a dragon or two. The Death Eaters will be monitoring your progress, ensuring that you fight for the title of Champion. If you refuse to fight, it will be ensured that we can find motivation for you to do so.
"The rules are simple: kill, or be killed. There can only be one Champion, to be crowned at the end of the competition when the game is over. Believe me when I say that you have no choice in this matter. You must compete. It is not an option. You have been kept alive specifically for this reason, and you shall do your duty to serve as a reminder to the wizarding world. In thirty seconds, the competition will begin and you will be unstuck and unsilenced. In thirty seconds, you begin the Darkest Hours and the fight to the death. All the best of luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
Voldemort's face disappeared from the sky and a countdown replaced his voice. Thirty seconds until I begin a fight to the death with friends and foe alike. Thirty seconds. What do I do? Think, damn it Hermione! She looked around hastily and spotted a building in the distance. Not as broken as the others, top floors still in tact in some places. She knew she had to get as far away from this area as possible, common sense told her that, despite her desire to get to one of those wands.
"Ten, nine, eight…"
It was nearly time. Just as she was scanning the outskirts of the golden horn for some supplies she could take, anything at all, she caught a flash of white blond hair and grey eyes piercing into her. Draco? Her heart leapt into her mouth and memories flashed before her eyes. What the fuck is he doing here?
She saw him mouth something to her, but before she could register what he was saying, the gong sounded and the Darkest Hours had begun. Without turning, she sprinted away as fast as she could, doing her best to ignore the screams echoing from the Cornucopia.
"Just like the war," she breathed to herself. "Just like the fucking war, Hermione. Survive."
It was only when Hermione had slowed to a consistent jogging pace to reach her designated building that she thought about what Draco had been saying: her name, over and over in wonderment. Her heart gave a painful tug and she remembered the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. No, she thought firmly to herself. That would have to wait. For now, she had to run.
A/n: Hi everyone, hope the first chapter was alright. I'll try and stay updated, but what with my final exams coming up it might be a little difficult. Anyway! This is all very exciting and I hope you liked it. It's a very Draco/Hermione based fic.
All characters and the like are copyrighted to JK Rowling and Susan Collins, respective authors of the Harry Potter and Hunger Games series. These works are merely inspired by their ideas and novels. Cheers.