Stepping onto the train was like stepping into another world, the cacophony of the crowd behind shut off the moment that the door closed. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and for the first time in my life I really understood the meaning of the word ostentatious. The first oblong car is full of food, more than I have ever seen in my life but little of it I even recognise. It is piled on silver platters on the table and covers every surface in the room.

Evvie leads us deeper into the train, she points to the left, "This is your room Hermione. Ron, yours is further down on the right. Why don't you both freshen up for dinner? I will go and find Minerva, she's probably in the bar car." That last part was uttered quietly, obviously not meant for our ears.

It's a relief to be on my own again, I can wipe the carefully blank look from my face. The bed looks so inviting and I lay down for a few minutes, trying to sort out what I am feeling. Truthfully I'm terrified of what is to come, worried about my family but relieved that I am the one facing the games and not Dawn, for a moment I don't even add angry to my mental list. I've been angry for so long; at my mother, at the system that keeps us downtrodden and at the world in general. It wasn't always that way, before my father died I was a very different person.

Eventually I rummage through the drawers and cupboards, finding a blouse and trousers that look as though they will fit me – dark green isn't a colour that I have ever worn but it reminds me of the forest outside of District Twelve. I tie my hair into a simple braid and head back out of the room.

"Aaaah Hermione, glad that you could join us." Evvie is just as effervescent in real-life as she is on television. She is incredibly fake in appearance and mannerism but I can sense an underlying warmth in her personality. She treats Ron and I like we were puppies belonging to someone else. Although she keeps glaring at him throughout dinner.

Ron Weasley is swallowing food so fast that you might think that he was starving. His family are among the poorest of the pure-bloods in town true but he should not be inhaling his meal like it will be his last. I lean over and spoon a portion of meat in gravy onto my plate and follow it with vegetables and mashed potato. The meat has an unfamiliar flavour, it must be one of those farm reared meats that we have never been able to afford.

I try to avoid the rich dishes that are on the table, those that are swimming in butter or cream sauce – it's not something that I am used to eating and it might make me sick. Once my initial hunger is sated I allow my eyes to travel around the room, Evvie is chattering ninety to the dozen but it doesn't appear that any of us are actually listening to her drivel about parties and the celebrations going on in the Capitol. Ron is still devouring as much as he can.

Minerva McGonagall is morosely sat in an armchair facing the darkness behind the window, she is not eating and despite the glass of alcohol in her hand – she is not drinking either. I know that she hates this. Our District is small and has only boasted two winners in seventy-four years, she is the only one alive and as a result should be something of a celebrity. However her manner puts off many would-be sycophants, she is brusque, can be rather sarcastic and does not suffer fools gladly.

A moment passes and she looks up into my eyes. A sardonic smile crosses her face before she turns her gaze back towards the blank glass. I have spoken to Minerva on a number of occasions over the years, mostly with regards to books – she spends most of her money collecting old volumes. I occasionally come across people selling ones that cannot be traded openly and for a fee I take them to her.

Most people think that she is an alcoholic and while yes she does drink heavily, especially just before the Games, she is fairly sober whenever I see her. From what I understand you build up a tolerance with time. She's an attractive woman barely into her fourth decade but her intense emerald eyes tell of a bone deep weariness, Minerva is a person who has seen too much and unlike her compatriots from wealthier or luckier districts she never gets even a year off – every single year she is forced to send two kids to their deaths and it is slowly killing her.

Finally Ron stops eating and servers rush to clear the table of all but the essentials. I'm toying with a piece of bread, breaking off small parts with my fingers. It gives me something to do besides stare at people and worry. "Are you going to help us Minerva?" I'm surprised that he is the first to ask the question.

Our mentor's only response is to lift her glass to her lips. Almost an eternity passes before she speaks. "The best advice I can give you is to embrace the almost certainty of your impending deaths." My initial response would be to snicker but only a moment later I want to cry, she is not speaking anything but the truth.

Ron lashes out at her, his hand catching the glass in hers – it flies across the room and shatters. Before the bakers son has even had time to blink, he is facefirst against the wall, slammed against it with some force and restrained. "You spilled my drink."

There is a knife by my placemat. I lift it and spin the delicate silverware on my palm for a moment, learning its weight and balance. A simple overhand flick propels it forward and it embeds itself in the panelling next to Minerva's head. I'm not trying to stop her because I really think that the Weasley boy needs to learn some respect but deep down I think that I wanted her to notice me.

She turns around and again I am treated to that slow knowing smile. "Have I got myself a fighter this year sweetheart?" It's not an endearment, it's the way that she has always addressed me – there's a hard sardonic edge to the word, like she is hinting at something that I don't know. With effort she tugs the knife from the wall and tosses it on the table in front of me.

I return the intense eye contact and for a moment the room fades and all I can see is that emerald gaze. Hard and demanding. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"So will I." Ron chirps from behind her.

"Good. You both be here early in the morning. We will go over our plans for the day." With that she sweeps imperiously out of the room, an exit not damaged by the slight unsteadiness in her step – something that my hunters experience shows me immediately. I watch her go, somehow not able to tear my gaze from the closed door.

"I'm going to bed." I'm not tired but it's the first thing that I can think of to say. My thoughts and emotions are in a whirlwind and I want nothing more than to be alone. Evvie left while I was distracted leaving Ron and I alone but for the servers.

"Hermione?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you met her... Minerva before?"

"Yes, a few times." I leave the room without further comment. The first time I met Minerva McGonagall it was perhaps a month after my father's death. Our food was running out and I took her a book belonging to my father. I was beyond nervous, she was so taciturn that few people ever spoke to her. I knocked on the back door clutching the book in my hands, I'd heard that she bought them and selling the wrong book to anyone else could get you whipped by the Peacekeepers – I had no idea which titles were banned, so I had no choice on who I sold it to.

The door was wrenched open after a few minutes with a muffled curse. Minerva was standing there, she looked pale and withdrawn. "What?"

I held out the book, "I want to sell it."

"I can see that!" Her eyes flicked from the book to my too big clothes and emaciated frame.

"Please."

"Give me just a minute to wake up sweetheart." Her voice is harsh and a little condescending but soon softens, "You're John Grangers daughter?"

"Yes."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a mess of coinage, she hands me a couple of silver coins. "Final offer, take it or leave it." I took the money and scarpered home with alacrity. I didn't realise until later that the book I had sold her had been completely worthless. She probably used it as expensive fire starting material.

Not all of our trades were that easy, Minerva drove a hard bargain most of the time but I suspect that she enjoyed our exchanges. So did I truth be told, apart from Harry she was one of the few people I ever talked to despite the fact that months could pass between our meetings.

I throw my clothes on the floor and find a simple silk nightgown to slip on before I slide into bed. This is the last opportunity I will have to cry, I don't have to see anyone until the morning and there won't be any camera's until the afternoon. Everything whirls around and around in my head but the tears won't come.

When I wake up it's not even sunrise. I've probably managed two hours of broken sleep. A glance out of the window tells me that it's probably not even three in the morning. I'm not going to be able to sleep any more tonight, so I may as well get up. I grab a fur wrap from the bed, it's doubtful that anyone will be up but even so I want to be fairly decent.

I step out of the room and am immediately glad of the fur wrap, a draught is blowing down the corridor and it's pretty chilly. Walking into the dining car I find a sleepy looking server standing there, he sketches a bow in my direction and gestures, I think he wants to know if I need anything. I ask for a mug of coffee to cover my surprise. Apparently the rumours that the Capitol use servants who cannot speak are true.

A very short time passes and I have a mug of coffee in my hand. It is something my mother has spoken of fondly but I have never tasted. I smell the black liquid curiously, it's rich but bitter scented. The server hands me a bowl filled with a white powder and mimes for me to add some to the liquid. It instantly changes the smell to something similar but a great deal sweeter and it makes my mouth water. "Thank you."

I go back towards my bedroom but before I can get there I glance down the drafty corridor. The door at the end is ajar and I can see a sliver of moonlight through the gap. It gives a faint squeak as I slide it open. Another step takes me out onto a small metal platform on the back of the train. A glance to the side tells me that I am no longer alone.

Minerva is sitting on the mesh with her slender trouser clad legs in front of her. I can't help the way that my eyes trace over her body. Damn that woman has some fine lines. My ogling is subtle or at least I think it is until a knowing smirk crosses thin lips and it's obvious that I'm wrong. "If you want to stare at me like that Miss Granger, I think that you will have to buy me a drink first."

"Haven't you had enough?" I ignore the point of her conversation and instead go to the part that is going to adversely affect my chances of survival.

"No. Never enough to stop the dreams."

I tear my eyes away from the broken woman and glance at the platform, it's small not intended to sit on. There is no railing and for a moment I have no idea what is keeping us from falling off and then I remember the rumours of invisible barriers that muggles create with technology that can keep people in. "Force shield?"

"Indeed."

I sit down next to my mentor and took a sip of the scalding liquid, it's horrible but strangely leaves me wanting more, craving another taste. Somewhat like the woman beside me; her alcohol induced escapism repels me but there is something about her that captivates my interest and always has. Especially when she's looking at me with those piercing emerald eyes, like she is now.

I'm glad of the wrap around me, we're protected from the worst of the wind caused by the speed that we are going but it's still cold.

"Can you change your nature and become a killer sweetheart?"

I hesitate but it's something I have thought about a lot in the last day. "I... If I have to."

"I need you to be able to hold in your emotions. Killing is not... pleasant and you cannot afford to break down in the arena."

"I can." For my family, for Harry and for you. I bite off the rest of my sentence and let it die unsaid. This woman has been through so much and there is a part of me that wants to save her more pain. "Are you telling Ron the same thing?"

"No, Mr Weasley does not have quite the same moral values as you."

"He doesn't have a chance."

"Not a one and he knows it."

"Do I?"

Minerva smirked. "Yes and I don't want to see you waste that chance."

"I can do it."

She shifts her position and looks at me strangely. "Have you ever wondered how you can do what you do?"

"What?" What the hell is she talking about?

"You went into the woods as an untrained... child and yet not only can you support your family through hunting. You have also managed to avoid the worst of the creatures in there. It is not called the Forbidden Forest for no reason and you somehow escape unscathed. Have you any idea how many adult men do not return from its depths and how little success hunters have?"

"I just thought that I was lucky, that and I practice shooting a lot."

"It's the magic that flows through your veins."

I snicker, "Don't be silly. My family has not turned up a measurable amount of magic in generations." Normally I would look around for hidden cameras before discussing anything like that but she undoubtedly has already done it.

"Until you. Your abilities are raw and untrained but I can feel the power within you." What Minerva is saying is preposterous but something within me responds to it and it feels like she is telling the truth. "Give me your hand."

Her fingers are like ice on my skin but nevertheless I feel a sudden rush of heat moving up my arm. After a moment a blue light forms around her fingers before it twists around my own like a serpent. Light erupts from within my skin with a tingle but unlike hers it is green. Our magics join and turn turquoise. It's the most intimate thing that I have ever experienced and I can sense that she feels it too.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"You already knew on some level and I'm not in the business of opening myself up to an execution."

I nod this time, everything that she is saying makes perfect sense. "I... er... read some of those books that I sold to you."

"I thought as much. You cradled them in your arms as though you knew what they meant."

"And?"

Minerva gives a sigh and drops my hand, I miss the contact until I feel her fingers brush against my thigh. "They are the last remaining part of our lost society and the few books left will be invaluable in the future."

"The future?"

"Live through the next fortnight sweetheart and maybe I'll fill you in."

I return the smirk that she gives me. "So how do I win?"

"Simple, do everything that I tell you."

"And you'll stop drinking?"

"I'll cut back."

"Then I'm all yours." I don't know why I used that particular phrase or why it came out as a husky purr.

"I may hold you to that."

Our eyes meet and lock, something intense passing between us in that stare. It's nothing that I can name but it's powerful beyond belief and I cannot tear my eyes away.