If Harry thought that seeing the other tributes would bring them any sort of comfort, he was wrong. He was dead wrong.

They were terrifying. All of them, from Districts One through Eleven, no matter how big or small or young or old. Terrifying. And Harry knew it wasn't just him imagining things, either - he could feel Malfoy's fear radiating off of him even as his face remained stoic. There was no getting around it - they came from a shitty district and compared to everybody else in competition? It was a surprise they hadn't already had their train bombed to spare the other Districts the trouble of killing them.

District One brought them a boy and a girl - Theodore Nott, a tall dark-haired man around Harry's age that looked harmless enough. Except for the fact that he sort of had the aura of a scheming snake that had just had its supper placed in front of it and the fact that he had volunteered before the first name had even been drawn. Yeah. That sort of ruined any harmless views Harry had of him. The girl, Pansy Parkinson, was worse. She was pug-faced and unappealing, and she had stepped forward to volunteer with reluctance after someone who must have been her mother pushed her out into the middle of the square. She handled the whole thing with an air of boredom - like it was a really boring vacation she'd be taking for a few weeks rather than a fight to the death. There was something unsettling about it, and Harry tried not to stare at the bare patches of skin each of them had. Everything seemed toned.

District Two didn't fare much better - two boys, and the ceremony was similar to that of the one in District 12 only without the drama. There wasn't any screaming or fighting or helpful touches. A little girl's name was called and immediately an older male (a meek man with a sense of purpose and hidden power whose name Harry didn't catch) stepped forward and said he volunteered in her place. The next tribute's name was just pulled - Malcolm Baddock, a kid who they claimed was sixteen but looked twenty-three. Harry remembered what District Two was used for (carving tools, weapons, military) and thought that Malcolm was someone he wanted to steer clear of.

When District Three's turn rolled around, Harry was a little relieved to see that they weren't the only District that made a little bit of a scene. It was embarrassing, really, to have had someone act out like that, and while Draco's pride (surprisingly) hadn't taken a hit, it was nice to see that the emotions were high in more than just their home. A bushy-haired female by the name of Hermione Granger had been chosen as tribute and for a moment, the crowd was a sea of calm. Then she took her first step forward and a fiery-haired male grabbed her arm and loudly announced that he volunteered. She shook him off with an annoyed, "Ronald," and the commentators made a few ginger jokes that Harry mostly ignored. He was too focused on the struggle between the boy and the girl - the boy wanting to volunteer and the girl refusing to let him. Finally, a man on stage who had to be their mayor, said loudly, "Ronald Weasley, are you volunteering or not?" and Hermione nearly shouted, "NO," and that was that. Not that it did much good - Ronald had already volunteered to be the second tribute before Hermione even reached the stage. "Interesting turn of events there," one of the commentators said and Harry glanced over at Sirius to see what his guardian thought. His mentor's lips were pursed and his brow furrowed, but it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Figuring they'd discuss it later, Harry turned back to the screen.

District Four had the least terrifying tributes, Harry had to admit - a pair of identical twin girls both with ridiculous names that started with the letter 'P'. They didn't look too frightening like most District Four tributes. They weren't buff even by girl standards, they didn't give off a creepy aura, and they didn't even seem too graceful. But Harry kept in mind that District Four was known for getting quite a few tributes to the end of the games. It wouldn't be wise to underestimate them.

District Five and District Six brought three more girls and one more boy, and the only notable thing about all of them was that they all volunteered, something that was incredibly troubling. How many Districts had trained for the Tournament this year?

Districts Seven through Ten added the youngest tributes. All of them had to be below the age of sixteen and Harry gave them all until the end of the first day. Then he realized what he was thinking and made a mental note to just steer clear of them - he would not be responsible for the death of a child.

Last, District Eleven's town square flashed onto the screen. They brought the oldest tributes - a man named Peter Pettigrew who everyone seemed happy to be rid of and a female named Nymphadora something, who Harry thought was terrifying on her own because of the way her hair changed from a grave black to a deep, blood red as she took the stage. He felt his heart begin to pound harder in his chest when Sirius turned off the TV before he could watch his own reaping. So that was their competition. A lot of warriors, a couple children, and two adults. Great. He glanced over at Draco who was sitting beside him but his face was as expressionless as ever. He wasn't going to receive any comfort from him; he didn't even know if he felt as threatened as Harry did.

They all sat in silence for a little while longer, just staring at the television's blank screen. Harry found himself feeling sick. How in the Hell was he supposed to compete against them? Children and peers and adults that scared the life out of him...those weren't people Harry ever wanted to face. Hell, Harry never wanted to be entered into the Tournament at all! It wasn't...he didn't want to kill anyone! He could feel tears begin to well up and blinked them back. No, he couldn't cry now. Draco would never let him live it down. So instead he just sat in stony silence with the others, just staring. Staring and praying that if he stared long enough, he'd eventually wake up and realize it was nothing more than a horrible horrible dream...But then Rita interrupted the silence with the soft clearing of her throat, and all eyes turned to look at her.

"You really should be going to see your stylists," she said softly, and Harry found a part of himself thinking that maybe Rita was somewhat human after all as she wiped away a tear. She sure seemed as shell shocked as the rest of them. "They'll want to see you...make you...handsome." Then she attempted a smile, and even though it came out looking more like a grimace, Harry smiled back. He sat staring at her for a moment, motionless, and then Draco reached out and touched his wrist - a simple gesture, but reminder enough. They needed to get moving.

"Thanks, Rita," Harry murmured as he stood to go, Draco close behind. "For..." For what? Taking him away from life as he knew it? For introducing him to hell? It didn't seem to matter that he couldn't finish that sentence, though. She smiled just the same as if he'd given a long-winded speech worthy of the likes of her and wiped away further tears as she said, "Good luck to the both of you. May the odds be ever in your favor." Then she pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose in a very un-Rita-like fashion. "Your stylists will be waiting for you in your quarters."

Draco and Harry both gave her a tight nod and exited the room together. Harry paused at the door, turning to wait for Sirius to follow them but his godfather was still staring intently at the television screen looking rather troubled. To be honest, he wasn't sure if the older man was even aware that the two kids he'd be mentoring had sat up at all. Draco murmured a quiet, "Come on, Potter," and pulled on his wrist. The two walked through the train compartments in silence, not even glancing at one another as they passed door after door after door. Harry knew that it was required to watch the reaping ceremony. He knew that everyone across Panem had been watching - from District 1 to District 12 and even in the Ministry. But he didn't see why even the competitors should have to view their competition. He couldn't even blame Draco for bringing it up at dinner; regardless of if his companion wanted to see the other tributes or not, they still would have been forced to watch it eventually. It was just the way things were.

As they approached their own individual compartments, Draco released his hold on Harry's wrist and it wasn't until then that he realized how much that had been keeping him together. Without it, he felt alone. Which was stupid. He didn't even like Draco and he was going to be spending the next few weeks trying to save his stupid life. He was never going to be alone. But still his wrist felt cold without the pressure of Malfoy's fingers and he let terror fly for a split second over his features before he calmed himself. He needed to pull himself together. If Draco was killed in the Tournament, he was going to have to deal with being on his own and fear wasn't something that was going to be good to show on camera. He needed to be strong. But it was hard when it felt like no one was really standing on his side.

"Potter," Draco said curtly and Harry glanced over at him. "If you die out there and leave me with those other tributes, I'll kill you."

Which was probably the stupidest statement that he had ever heard in his life, but it brought a small smile to his features anyway. Draco briefly returned it before his features sobered up and he stepped into his compartment to greet the shadows lurking behind the door. Figuring that there was no reason to dawdle in the hall any longer, Harry did the same.

He was immediately greeted by three figures - one male with horse-like features whose skin was dyed the color of the sea during a storm and two females, a blonde who seemed to have a fashion fetish that included a lot of vegetables and an Oriental brunette with bronze tattoos running in intricate swirls across every inch of her skin. They beamed as he walked in and let out a rather harmonious cry of, "Harry!" that made the young man wonder if they had been practicing that while he was out eating. He gave them all a tight smile and tried not to tense too much when they all collapsed on him in a sea of arms for a hug. In District 12, no one was ever really big on hugs. Sirius only hugged Harry on special occasions and if anyone wanted to show affection or make their presence known, they grabbed another's wrist or briefly touched their waist or back or shoulder. Hugging was only done when there were times of great joy or great sorrow; a birth or a death or a reaping. He didn't really feel that this was the best time for hugs but he remembered that his stylists grew up in the Ministry and were really only there to help him. He couldn't help but wonder, though, if his companion had gotten the same kind of treatment and how exactly he had responded to it.

"You have fabulous shoulders, deary," the brunette said as she pulled away and the man nodded his agreement before adding, "And the most beautiful green eyes! We can do so much with those, Ginevra will be so pleased." The blonde nodded absentmindedly, her hand staying somewhere around Harry's lower back and she stared intently at the space between his neck and shoulder before saying, "You have a very good aura about you. I think the cameras will like you very much." To this, the other two let out excited cries of consent and rushed forward to hug him again. Not knowing what else to do, Harry just let it happen.

"Oh silly me," the brunette giggled as she pulled away from the mass of limbs, "we forgot to introduce ourselves!"

"Right we did, didn't we? That's quite rude of us."

"Very rude indeed."

"Well I'm Firenze," the blue man said, offering up his hand.

"Cho," the brunette offered up, doing the same.

"Luna," the last chimed in, though a little late as though she hadn't realized what was going on until she noticed the other two sticking their hands out. Harry shook all of their hands in turn and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you," and all three immediately began fawning over his manners and collapsed again into another group hug. This time, Harry made an effort to somewhat return it. He was going to be stuck with them for the duration of the Tournament and he figured that he might as well try to appeal to them. That was all this was, after all. An appeals to everyone around him - the audience, his team, his companion, his mentor, and the Gamemakers. He needed to get used to accommodating now.

"Okay, Harry, I know you're probably very nervous about all this," Cho said, taking his hand in what he supposed was her way of attempting to be comforting, though with the ridiculously long fake nails she had on, carved at the tips into various shapes, it was really more painful than anything. "You don't seem like the type of man who has been through any kind of spa treatment."

"Oh goodness no," Firenze chimed in, using a handkerchief to wipe some dirt off of Harry's nose.

"But we promise we are going to do everything we can to make you as comfortable as possible so we can get you all sparkly and clean before Ginevra makes an appearance. She really doesn't want to see you until you're glistening."

"And we do mean glistening," Luna chimed in, tilting her head to the side as she smiled absently. Harry gave her a tight, awkward grin, not sure what to make of that. She giggled. "There's no need to have so many thoughts, Harry Potter. Just close your eyes and let us do our job."

"And take off your clothes," Firenze added. "Before you let go of all your thoughts, I mean. It's very hard to remove the clothes off a practically dead body."

What happened next was the most excruciatingly awkward three hours of Harry's life. He had no problem at all being naked in front of people. As a Healer, he saw a lot of naked bodies and it wasn't like he was ashamed of his anatomy at all. In fact, he had more muscle than a lot of people in District 12 and was rather well proportioned. He even was fortunate enough to not be born with excessively creepy amounts of body hair and kept himself well-groomed in comparison to the people around him. But in spite of this, Cho, Luna, and Firenze managed to find every flaw that he had yet to discover about himself and attempt to wipe it clean.

They first started with the dangerously large amount of dirt and soot that had been clinging to his body for as long as he could remember. Though he himself was not a miner and didn't have nearly as much random dirt clinging to his skin as say Draco did, no one in District 12 was ever entirely clean. Dirt was always being kicked up, soot was pretty much a part of their everyday attire, and bathing and showering did little to help as every dust particle in the air seemed to want to cling to their wet skin. Firenze told him that they first needed to start by removing all of this excess dirt and led Harry to a bathtub for the longest bath he had ever taken before in his life. They filled the tub once and softly scrubbed every inch of his body to get the 'easier' dirt off (allowing him, of course, to take care of his more personal regions). Then they emptied the water, scrubbed the tub clean, refilled it, and this time spent the better part of forty-five minutes scrubbing him with bristly brushes that left deep red marks with every stroke until he felt he was literally rubbed raw. Then they refilled the tub with the same procedure again and lightly washed his body and hair until they were positively certain he was clean. From there, they covered him with a robe and went to pay attention to all of the hair that had accumulated on himself through the years. A lot of regions they left alone - his arms, underarms, and legs for example. With the hair on top of his head, they just gave it a nice trim to attempt to make it more even than what the 'stylists' in his District had been able to manage to keep it out of his eyes. Everything else, though, he was told had to go.

That was the most painful part. He didn't know exactly why body hair was such a bad thing to people on camera, but facial hair, chest hair, and (this was the one that made him groan out loud) pubic hair were all frowned upon on tributes. So he was shaved, then waxed, and then had to go through the terrifying process of having a laser run over every part of his body meant to be hairless to ensure they had captured everything (with the assurance that he shouldn't worry about children, he'd still be able to have them). Then they plucked at his eyebrows and attempted to smooth out the drying hair on top of his head, debated what to do about his glasses (he couldn't have them in the arena, could he?) before deciding to let this 'Ginevra' take care of it. By the time they were done and Harry was able to look at himself in the mirror, he hardly recognized the person staring back at him. He had never been so clean before in his life. He even seemed to...well...

"Glisten," he mumbled quietly and Luna laughed joyfully beside him.

"I told you you'd be glistening, Harry Potter," she grinned, running her fingers quickly through his hair and ruining the efforts of Firenze and Cho to keep it lying flat. "It was something in that scrub we used. Ginny wanted it." She flicked over a lock of his hair that had been standing straight up. "I quite like it, I think."

"Yes, yes, he's absolutely darling," Cho chimed in, stepping forward to knock away Luna's hands and go back to straightening his hair. "But we still have the matter of his eyesight, not to mention this wretched hair, and Harry, darling, you have so many scars, especially that horribly distracting one on your forehead-"

"Leave the one on his forehead," came a sudden foreign voice from the door of his compartment and Cho jumped as she urgently tried to flatten his hair. "I like it. It adds a little bit of...charm. People spend a lot of money to get tattoos to even resemble that."

In the mirror, Harry could see the reflection of a woman in a plain maroon top and tight, leather black pants walk further into his compartment, surveying his face in the reflection of the mirror before taking a moment to fix her own fiery red hair. She was beautiful. Not that Harry had much to base beauty off of as where he came from, that sort of thing was measured in strength and willpower and productivity. But regardless of what traditional views of beauty were, he had a feeling he'd still call her beautiful in comparison to the standard. She didn't have dyed skin like Firenze or a strange taste in fashion like Luna or even a variety of tattoos like Cho. Instead, she decorated her features only around her eyes - eyeliner that was bold made the standard browns pop and mascara made her lashes look long, lush, and beautiful. Even without the makeup, she'd be a lovely person to behold but with it, she was radiant. Simple, but radiant.

"Harry," she greeted with a soft smile, stepping forward to place a hand on his shoulder and turn him around his chair to face her. "So great to finally meet you. I'm Ginevra - your stylist, though you probably figured that out by now."

"I was somehow able to put two and two together, yeah."

She laughed and it was like the sound of bells, soft and beautiful and angelic. Harry could feel the area around his ears turn red as he smiled up at her. He had never had much of an attraction to women. He'd never had much of an attraction to anybody if he was telling the truth but women especially. They were all just various shades of black or white where he came from. Either they were harder than stone and tougher than nails or meek as a mouse and as easy to make cry as a newborn baby. But Ginevra had poise he had never seen before and a smile that was neither shy nor cocky and a laugh that could heal the sick and dying. If he were to feel an attraction toward any woman, he found no issue whatsoever with it being this one.

"Yes well...we'll have to do more work once we actually reach the Ministry," the woman said as she bent down and grabbed Harry's chin in her hand, turning his head back and forth to get a good look at his features. "But you're not completely hopeless. To the very least, you have wonderful eyes." Her brow furrowed. "How does Draco look in green?"

"Horrid," Harry responded immediately with a slight wrinkle of his nose and he watched as Ginny's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I-I mean...green trim he could probably do or a darker green but really, he should stick with...darker...shades." He shook his head. "Nevermind, disregard anything I say. You're the stylist."

She laughed again and somewhere out there an angel got their wings. "I like you, Harry Potter. I think we're going to have a lot of fun." She patted his cheek before standing up fully again. "Cho, be a dear and run back to my compartment, open the closet, and grab the second outfit on your left. And then drop by Mr. Malfoy's compartment and let Astoria know we're going with outfit 7." Cho gave a tight nod before scurrying out of the room, and Ginevra smiled contently, crossing her arms over her chest with a satisfied smile.

Harry bit his lip. He knew he should trust this woman. He did. But the fact that she had seven outfits to the very least picked out for him to wear just arriving to the Ministry made him worry. People who grew up outside of the Districts or who were pulled away from them to exhibit their special talents in a more secure environment were a little...off. They had...well dyed skin or bronze tattoos or an affinity for vegetable earrings. And a lot of the time, stylists did a horrible job with adequately representing who their tributes were. They tried to dress them up in the latest Ministry fashion and oftentimes what they had them wear was embarrassing to say the very least. They always tried to make it match the District they were from, whether it be casual wear that the cameras might never see or the costumes they would be put in while being formally introduced before their introductory interviews. Though Harry so far seemed to really like who Ginevra was and her style seemed a lot more tame than the style of those in her team, he couldn't help but worry about what she was going to put him in. After all, she hadn't even asked about what he usually wore. In fact, he realized as his brow furrowed, the only person she did ask about was...

"Ginevra?"

"Ginny, Harry, call me Ginny." She took a seat on his bed, crossing her legs to make herself comfortable. Harry bit the inside of his cheek.

"Right. Ginny. Uhm." He paused. "Why...did you want to know about how Draco looked in green?"

If the question seemed strange to her, she didn't show it. "You and Draco are a team right now Harry," she said in a tone that was purely explanatory, not patronizing nor confused. "A pair if you will. Though stylists tend to like to play to the strengths of their tributes' physical attributes be it their bodies or hair or...say, eyes, and give them a look based on that, Astoria - that's Draco's stylist - well, she and I decided that we were going to take a different route the second we saw Draco's face when your name was called." She didn't even pause at the surprised look that spread across Harry's features, though she did give him a knowing look. "And when you two shared that look...it was just one look while you were on stage, when you were calming down your mentor? Well we decided then that if you two were going to present yourself as a team at the reaping then we might as well carry that on through the Tournament."

"Present ourselves as-as a team?" Harry could have laughed. "Me and Draco? Draco Malfoy?"

Ginny's brow furrowed with confusion. "Well yes, of course. Normally tributes refuse to look at each other during reapings. We thought for sure that when you two...And in the hall, walking here, you passed our compartments..." She frowned. "I'm sorry, did we misread something?"

Sirius's words from dinner came flying back at him. Once those cameras start rolling, I don't want anyone out there to doubt that are you are as close as can be. Great. Had everyone been planning this sort of thing while he was sleeping? Did Draco know? "Well...well not necessarily, I mean..."

But before he could get a proper explanation out of what exactly he and Draco were to one another, Cho came back into the room with what looked a hell of a lot like a body bag on a hanger. Familiar with the idea of a body bag to the very least, Harry raised his eyebrows. What kind of outfit was supposed to be considered 'casual' that took up that much room? At the look on his face, Ginny laughed.

"Don't look so worried," she said, standing to take the hanger from Cho and hang it on a rail above Harry's bunk. "Most of it is just air and then room for shoes and any other extraneous accessories, though I hear you've got a pretty nice one yourself somewhere around here."

"Here it is, Gin," Luna said brightly, stepping forward to dump something into the palm of Ginny's hand. As he looked more carefully, Harry realized with a bit of a jolt that it was his phoenix pin.

"Ah yes there it is. Thanks, Luna."

"Ginny about that pin..."

"Yes it's absolutely darling, isn't it? Very nice call on Sirius's part there, getting you matching tokens. And what better symbol than a phoenix? Genius, absolutely genius. I nearly cried when he showed them to me this morning and immediately went back and made some last minute adjustments to my favorite pieces..." As she spoke, she began to unzip the bag with her free hand but Harry honestly wasn't paying her much mind. He was too focused on the hand that was wrapped tight around one of his parents' pins.

"Ah here we are then." Harry tore his eyes away from her pale hand to look up at what she was presenting to him and knew immediately that he had been worrying for nothing. It was a simple outfit - a black shirt and dark green cargo pants with a gold trim that extended around the pockets to form a simple but beautiful design that reminded Harry a bit of flames. For shoes, there sat a pair of simple black boots that would lace up to about mid-calf and seemed to be trimmed with the same fabric that his shirt was made of. Overall, it was simple. Yet even just looking at it Harry knew it was far nicer than any other outfit he'd ever worn before. The only troubling part of it was the jar of what looked like gold paint that Ginny was holding in her hand.

"Suit up, Potter," she told him with a bit of a mischievous smirk on her beautiful face. "We're going to make you...what's the word you used, Luna?"

"Glisten?"

"Right. We're going to make you glisten, Harry."