A/N: Hi everyone! Okay first, I just want to clarify something. YES. This is still going to be a Dramione fanfic, regardless of what has happened so far. :)
Okay, this chapter is now complete! Part 2 has been finally posted.
To Kari: Sorry, I had taken down chapter four for a bit. I kind of just threw it out there without having edited it properly because I thought I wouldn't be able to log in for a while. But I had time this morning so I fixed a few things. : )
Disclaimer: Sadly, Harry Potter and The Hunger Games will never be mine, as much as I love them . . . Only J.K. Rowling and Suzanne Collins have the right to them.
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~. Part 1: Tributes .~
She slept as though she'd drunk a batch of Dreamless Potion beforehand.
How long had it been? Two hours? Three? It felt like two or three minutes when she'd slumped on the bed and shut her eyes. She couldn't recall a single thing her unconscious mind had pulled out for her. Whether it had been the shock or exhaustion, she was glad to have escaped reality for a bit.
Whatever the time was, she knew those sharp knocks on her door was Rita telling her to come out for dinner. Rita kept on impatiently rapping her fist on the wood with no response from Hermione. After a long aggravated moment, the knocking ceased and Rita's pointy heels tapped away.
Hermione slowly sat up in the darkness and blindly patted around the bed to find her wand. She grasped at the thin, wooden stick to cast a soft Lumos and found her shoes tossed across the room. Climbing off the slightly-rumpled sheets to retrieve them, she felt the back of her head ache from the tight pins still secured in her hair. But she didn't bother to take them off as she slipped on her shoes and strode out the room. She shut the wooden door behind her, leaving her wand on the bed. The corridor outside her chamber was bright and her stomach gurgled as she followed a delicious scent down to what she assumed was the dining room.
And it was then she wondered just how she would behave in front of the others. They did not count as part of her audience, but they were still the only people who could help her. Dinner with Rita, sitting next to the Slytherin boy, while watching Ludo Bagman get drunk. Brilliant.
But regardless of how she felt towards them, she would be civil. Yes, yes she would.
The dining room already held Blaise Zabini in his seat. The other Capitol attendants on the train bustled about, placing delicate dishes on the table. One of them dragged out a chair for Hermione, and she only nodded at him as she sat down. Rita sat across from her, fussing angrily as she poured what looked like wine into a glass. A roll of parchment floated beside her with a long, purple quill perched above it. Hermione remembered how Rita always carried that…thing, her annoying Quick-Quotes Quill, everywhere with her, back when she was a popular reporter. Her job mainly soared throughout the Hunger Games, gushing about all the tributes and trying to predict who would most likely win. Now her items merely rested in mid-air, with the tip of the quill waiting for a phrase to scrawl, but having nothing to write.
"Ludo will not be joining us for dinner," she said snippily. Her crimson nails scratched her nose and pushed the jeweled spectacles closer to her eyes. "He is not…feeling well."
He was too drunk to come join them. That much was obvious to Hermione and Blaise's scowl told her he knew it as well. But neither of them commented as they dug into their food. Relieving their hunger felt more urgent than Ludo at the moment. As awful the whole situation was, at least the food was bloody fantastic. The two tributes tried to stuff themselves and eat as much as they could hold. Having seconds or dessert was rare for them back home. Hermione was devouring warm mashed potatoes in her mouth when Rita decided to make small talk.
"Isn't this wonderful?" Rita asked pleasantly. "You get the chance to enjoy all of this," she gestured to the mahogany table before them with all its magnificent food, and the well polished room around them, "even if it's just for a while." she finished.
This caused Hermione to stop her fork midway to her mouth from biting into some roast chicken. Setting the fork down, making a clinking noise that felt too heavy and loud, she stared at Rita's powder-white face. Judging from her expression, it seemed her comment was meant to be harmless. But it had been so thoughtless it was taken offensively. Rita earned a nasty glare from Blaise but became oblivious to it. She did not, however, try to chat up to the tributes for the rest of their dinner.
Once they all finished their meals (not as enjoyable as they first started), the dishes and goblets all levitated themselves in the air and floated down the corridor towards the kitchen. Rita pulled out her wand and flicked it at a marble artifact a few feet across the room. It looked strangely similar to a pensieve. Rita simply murmured Specialis revelio, and Hermione recalled reading upon these objects used in the Capitol. They were sometimes used in the districts if one could afford it. The wizards from the Capitol created projections that would cast themselves in the sky, just as they had at the Reaping, and could be displayed anytime with the pensieve. This particular pensieve did not show personal memories. It showed events that were captures in images, or even events happening at the present moment, and could be replayed in the room the pensieve stood in. With Rita's incantation, a silvery mist floated in the air. It was blurry at first, but it sharpened itself and provided a clear, glowing image. Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill glided to her other side as she shifted and turned in her seat to face the pensieve.
Hermione's stomach began to stir. A taste of anxiety overwhelmed everything else she'd just eaten. This was the moment she'd see the faces of the other tributes. Her other twenty-two opponents that would have only one survivor. That was, if it could not be her. She wondered if she would know any of them. It was possible, and she'd recognized several tributes in the past. Sometimes, students gained special permission to leave Hogwarts and move to a different school. A completely different district. It was extremely difficult to earn the privilege, but a very large amount of Galleons would suffice. In her first years at Hogwarts she'd take notice of the older students even if she never spoke to them. She would eventually learn that they were moving away. A few years later, when they'd be on their last years at school, their names were unfortunately picked in the new district they'd moved to. She watched them fight in the Games; she watched them die.
There was such a sense of thinking you could know someone, even though you don't know them at all. Just because she may have seen them daily. Maybe not knowing their names, but recognizing those faces she was simply so used to. Subconsciously noticing their routines, their group of friends, their siblings. There was something so disturbing about never anticipating what would happen to them a few years later. An indisputable surprise when you'd never imagined they'd end up where they did. She had seen certain students at her school hundreds of times before, breathing with living flesh, followed by a gap of absence that would last a couple of years, and then there was the shock of seeing the same faces again-drained and lifeless.
Dead.
Hermione sat up a little straighter in her seat, nervously fiddling with her hands. She reached over the table to pour herself another glass of pumpkin juice, hoping the taste may ease her a bit. She glanced at Blaise, rigid and staring fixedly at the images above the pensive, and at Rita, patiently sitting with her legs crossed and sipping her wine.
The pensieve already had the Reapings from all the other districts and would show them in order. Starting with District One to District Twelve. There was at least one district located in each continent of the world, all except Antarctica. So when students moved away or were exchanged, they would normally choose a district with a larger population or better conditions. The bigger the population meant a smaller chance of being chosen at a Reaping. Better conditions meant more jobs and less starvation.
The pensieve first showed them District One, located in France. Each district had its own school, and District One's was Beuxbatons Academy of Magic. They showed the boy tribute first: Vincent Crabbe. Without waiting for Hermione to process this, it flashed onto the girl tribute, Daphne Greengrass. Hermione set down her glass. She knew them, she knew them both. They had only moved away last year! Had moved to a wealthier district . . . and were put in danger anyway. She cringed at the memory of once calling Daphne Greengrass a complete cow. Not to her face, of course, but perhaps that makes it just as shallow. These two Slytherins, even if she did not like them, would have to be dead if she planned to win. Hopefully not on her own accord.
She could hear Rita's purple quill scratch against the parchment rapidly, taking in every detail the pensieve showed. Although not necessary, Rita's note-taking reflected upon how serious she took her job.
It moved onto District Two, Durmstrung in Bulgaria. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw the two tributes. This time it showed the girl first, Pansy Parkinson. She pursed her lips briefly considering this opponent. This was someone who had laughed at her, humiliated, and insulted her in the past. How many times had she yearned to be able to confront this girl? To go up against her and prove she wasn't as stupid, worthless, or disgusting as she'd been called? Or to just Stupefy her would have left her satisfied. But not this way. Her hatred for this girl had never been so extreme she'd want to kill her. And then the pensieve showed the boy tribute, who oddly volunteered.
Brave, some may call him? Arrogant, Hermione decided.
Tall, muscular, with fair skin and light brown hair: Cormac McLaggen. He too had once been a student at Hogwarts. A Gryffindor, in fact. This boy had spoken to Hermione before, had been interested actually. Infatuated. Back in fourth year, when people finally saw Hermione step out of her bookish character one night at the Yule Ball, leaving many boys enthralled. Cormac McLaggen had been one of them and confidently went after Hermione thinking she'd be bound to return the same interest. She didn't, of course. And it had infuriated Cormac, who was not used to that type of rejection. Hermione refused to date him; she wasted no time on a boy she knew she wanted nothing of. And so this boy, who could have possibly been her boyfriend, had turned into a rival.
A horrible sinking feeling filled Hermione. Four. They had barely shown the first four tributes and she already knew each and every one of them. Each of them were disliked by her and she despised by them. A frightening thought nagged her brain. What if there were more she recognized? In the past, the record for her had been seven students from other districts that she'd watch die, and knowing precisely who they were. But it was a completely different situation to actually compete against them! There were several people who had moved away last year and the year before that, whom she'd found pleasant. What if a friend popped up from another district?
But a quick wave of relief washed through her as they showed District Three. All the way in Italy, the two tributes from there were complete strangers. They seemed to hover around the ages of fifteen and sixteen. Both were very tall, slim, and lanky. In Hermione's opinion, they did not appear very threatening. Especially as the pensieve showed them both bawling their eyes out. But she would not make the mistake of underestimating anyone. For all she knew, they could deliberately be acting weak to have low expectations from everyone. To not cause the other tributes to even bother with them. To be left alone.
District Four, Australia, two other unknown tributes.
But her anxiety returned when the images shifted to District Five. Over in China, Hermione didn't recognized the young boy, but she knew exactly who the girl was.
Cho Chang.
This seventeen-year old girl . . . pretty, popular, former Ravenclaw, and once her best friend's old girlfriend. Hermione had even encouraged and helped Harry to go out with Cho! Thankfully, their relationship awkwardly ended before it could turn into anything too serious. But that wasn't the point. It meant another person she'd have to face. Maybe even fight….
The unease grew as they moved onto India in District Six. A young boy who was not familiar, and Padma Patil representing the girl tribute. The former Ravenclaw looked identical to her twin, Parvati, who Hermione shared a dormitory with back home. She recalled arriving at Hogwarts a few days ago and hearing Parvati tell Lavender and Dean about her sister moving away. Parvati had insisted that Padma move away first while she remained at Hogwarts for another year. Hermione suddenly felt very commiserated for Parvati. If she were her, she'd feel extremely guilty for letting her sister slip into this mess, even if it may have been unintentional.
It all went very quickly for Hermione then.
District Seven, Brazil, a fifteen-year old along with Michael Corner.
District Eight, Africa, and District Nine, Russia, both had tributes that were foreign to her. The four of them centered around the ages between fourteen to seventeen.
But District Ten was another blow for Hermione. Seamus Finnigan and Katie Bell from Ireland. Two Gryffindors she knew . . . People she liked, people she'd considered friends.
And finally, District Eleven. It was probably this district that stabbed at Hermione's mind the most. Yes, it was unfortunate to see that the district from the United States had fourteen-year old Dennis Creevey as boy tribute, but it was the girl that sparked a more curious and faint recognition.
She was tiny. Easily the smallest and surely the youngest. Age equivalent to a first year. Petite with a willowy frame, fair skinned, and with long, silvery-blond hair. She reminded her of a fairy. The kind in fairy tales she'd read about and seen in her muggle childhood books. Her lovely face looked so familiar . . . A vague name itched on her tongue. Hermione was sure she'd seen her before. Or perhaps someone who looked just like her, but older. . .
And then they said her name. Gabrielle Delacour.
It all clicked in place. Hermione had only seen this girl once a few years ago. When her older sister, Fleur, took part of the Triwizard Tournament and faced the challenge of the second task. That had been the only time she'd seen this Gabrielle before. The resemblance between the sisters was as obvious as identifying a Weasley.
Fleur Delacour was one of the most beautiful and famous witches in the Capitol. If her victory in the Hunger Games didn't draw people to her, her beauty did. But this little girl . . . she was just a child. She looked so small and defenseless, what does she stand against the monstrous boys of District One and Two? Cormac and Crabbe could so easily crush her with their bare hands. Or what about everything horrid waiting in the arena? Sometimes there's no need for a tribute to hunt you down when there's something else that can snatch you.
Here was Hermione, fretting over what little chance she'll have in the Games, when clearly there were others who had bigger concerns. Children who will never grow to be more than that.
But when you think of it, they were all children either way.
The pensieve briefly showed the Reaping for Hermione and Blaise. Lychorinda Granger being called out followed by the beseeching screams from Hermione. It was so obvious; without a doubt, of how desperate she was to save Lychorinda. The way she frantically shoved the Peacekeepers aside to reach for her sister. This year's District Twelve's Reaping was the oddest. A volunteer, two tributes from two opposing houses, and the strange gesture from the crowd. Rita pursed her lips into a thin line when the pen sieve's images showed Ludo Bagman diving off the stage.
"How I ended up with him as a my partner…" she murmured quietly to herself.
"Don't you mean how did we end up with him as our mentor?" Blaise asked scathingly. He almost spilled wine from the bottle he held as he tried to pour it carefully in his glass. Hermione just took notice how Blaise was not handling all of this as maturely as they both should be. He hadn't lashed out the way she did towards Rita, but it seemed his anger and frustration was starting to seep through.
Rita slowly turned to look at him. "He's the only mentor you have. Or more like, the only one still alive." She reached over and snatched the bottle from his hand. She brought it to her colored lips and gulped down a long, hearty chug. She scowled slightly when she met Hermione's eye, but kept contact. "Not to worry, though, handsome face." Another swig. "You've still got me."
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It was past curfew, but it was his turn to patrol the corridors tonight.
He ambled through the school, hearing nothing and finding nothing. But Umbridge had demanded he stay up as long as necessary to be able to find the wanderer. Apparently, someone had tipped off Umbridge that a student roamed the castle at night, and that he or she secretly took part of unauthorized rule-breaking.
He had searched over an hour and found no one lingering in the hallways. Umbridge told him to stroll by the kitchen, for she suspected the student might be stealing undeserved food. Her main suspect was Potter, but it wouldn't make sense for him to be taking extra food. Unless he was stealing for others… Other than that, what other reason would a student risk getting caught here after hours? For what motive did he or she performed these nightly activities? There'd be nothing to find here in the castle. Too many Peacekeepers and members of the Inquisitorial Squad.
And then a new thought occurred to him. What if he or she didn't linger inside the castle? What if it was outside he should be searching? But it seemed preposterous, though. There are less Peacekeepers outside during this hour, but even less to find of anything else. Why would anyone be outside? But he'd be damned if it turned out he'd been wasting his time in here. And he was getting sick of walking up and down the same corridors for the past hour and a half.
He descended the large staircase of the main entrance, heading to the courtyard. And when he stepped into the harsh coldness of the night, the wind sent pleasant shivers down his spine. He didn't cast a Warming Charm around him as he paced around the stone floor. The breeze helped his senses remain sharp. He walked all through the courtyard and still found nothing. After about another half hour, he had stopped searching and absentmindedly began to count the large cracks in the pavement. Lethargy had distracted him from his duty. He would have abandoned his post and simply gone to bed by now, but something in the back of his mind nagged him to stay for just a little longer. If he left now Umbridge would be irritated with him, but she probably wouldn't him punished. Although it would be quite satisfying if he was the one to catch the absconder. Especially if it really was Potter. Or maybe the Weasel, trying to scavenge for leftovers of food.
Several more minutes passed when he suddenly halted to a stop. . . and the sound of footprints didn't. It had been for just a second, when he'd paused and heard a pair of feet still walking elsewhere. It may have been a soft echo here in the lonely courtyard, but he could swear that sound coming from behind him was heavy breathing.
He whipped around and saw he was still the only one here. Just plain darkness in front of him. He cast a bright Lumos, but the glow did not help reveal anything. And then he remembered Potter had an invisibility cloak. Of course that would help him evade the Peacekeepers, he'd completely forgotten about that significant detail. It meant Potter was near, he had to be. He knew he hadn't imagined the noise.
The spell he'd cast must have been a warning for the absconder. Potter may be lingering just a few yards away from him, but he may not want to risk running for fear of being heard. So instead, he dimmed the glow from his wand until it vanished completely and stood there in darkness, listening intently. The student probably didn't posses a wand. If the student or Potter had it, surely they could've just Petrified him by now and ran? When he heard no sign of anyone attempting to flee, he slowly began to take a few steps back. He was practically blind. He strained his ears to catch the sound of another soul breathing nearby. Nothing.
If he stood there any longer, Potter might escape whether Draco heard him or not - if he hadn't escaped already. With a frustrated grunt, Draco stalked over to the spot he'd heard someone's soft breath reach his ears.
And there it was again. The lightest sound of feet padding away on the pavement, and if he hadn't looked over his shoulder he wouldn't have caught the sight from the corner of his eye. Not a cloak. It was hair, long and thick that had whished in air, as the absconder rose to flee. A girl. Not Potter, and he was positive the silhouette belonged to a female.
He heard her stumble, and a soft, pained gasp as she tripped on the floor. Idiot girl. She had no chance of escaping now. He took the opportunity to advance on her. He could hear her trying to scramble back on her feet, but it sounded like she was struggling too much too even manage that. He was close enough he could see the shape of her shadow, and without thinking he pointed his wand in her direction.
"Lumos Maxima!" he shouted. The spell illuminated the whole corridor. It sparked the area where he stood in the courtyard. She was caught and he wasn't about to let her escape. There was no escape. Light glowed upon her face, making her easy to identify, but he was left stunned at who he saw.
His malicious grin dropped from his face and shock came to fill it in.
"Granger?"
She must have thought it'd be Umbridge, or a Peacekeeper, or perhaps a teacher. She stared up at him, completely defenseless and as surprised as he was. On the floor, without a wand and looking so vulnerable, she looked as pathetic as he's called her all these years. He certainly hadn't been expecting her. In fact, she'd be the last person he'd have thought would be outside past curfew. The Mudblood bookworm who never broke any of the rules. What was she doing out here then?
He cocked an eyebrow and watched her slightly wince as she placed her pale hand over her thigh. A deep gash had ripped open her skin there with blood oozing out. The filthy rag that was hastily tied over it did nothing to hide the crimson stains. She was biting her lip, her face contorted in a way that tried not to reveal any of her pain. And her expression made his eyes notice the other scratches scraped across her cheeks, her forehead, her chin. She was wearing muggle clothing. Dark and tight that it clung to her skin so it helped her easily blend in with the night. Wasn't enough this time, apparently.
"Not as clever as you think you are," he breathed.
Her eyes widened a bit as she came to realize how much trouble she'd tangled herself in. The brown irises reflected her panic, but it only lasted a second. It was just something that flashed in her eyes once. Then her jaw tightened and clenched in defiance. She opened her lips to snap something back at him, but another faint glow in the distance stopped her.
"Draco!" screeched the toad. "Draco, what's happened? Have you caught him?"
He could see Umbridge approaching. In the faint light formed on the other side, he saw she was not alone. At least three other Peacekeepers followed behind her. She led them towards Draco's spot but her waddling legs probably slowed them all down.
He turned to cast another look at Granger who was staring straight ahead at her inevitable doom. What would they do to her? Expel her? That probably would be the most tormenting punishment for her. This was Granger. Expulsion would scar her life as permanently as the one on Potter's forehead. But Umbridge was not going to make anything that simple. Granger wasn't out after hours because she'd been sleepwalking. No, there was no excuse good enough that would help her. She had to been doing something she couldn't do in the daytime. Something unauthorized and maybe even illegal. And whatever that was would cause her to be in so much trouble that she must have decided it was safest to risk it all during night.
"Draco!" The footsteps were getting louder, closer.
He glanced back at Granger. She kept staring straight ahead looking almost… calm. As though she had accepted this. This was how things were going to go for her. Only a small crinkle between her eyebrows could show that bit of fear he knew she must be feeling right then. She raised her gaze to stare back at him, and his breath slightly faltered. That look in those eyes…he couldn't define it. There was no hatred, no anger, no accusation. She wasn't even giving him any silent plea to help her. But…there was something painful about staring into the eyes of this girl, and knowing he was bringing calamity to her.
He looked down at the gash in her thigh, her hand covering it was colored with her blood. It must have hurt a lot, to the point she couldn't escape anymore. It was the sight of it, her blood seeping out that brought a new thought to him. Umbridge was going to punish her in her own way.
This will be nothing. Nothing compared to what is coming for you.
Danger and pain. Doom and misery. Fear and anguish. It wasn't coming for her, he was bringing it to her.
And what he did then was something he may never understand.
The light radiating from his wand dimmed as he took quick and long strides towards Umbridge. He hurried his pace, trying to look urgent when walking wasn't fast enough. His wand illuminated again, but this time he pointed it to a far corridor at the west side of the courtyard, west of the castle.
"There!" he shouted. "I heard him! Saw his shadow running towards that direction!"
Umbridge didn't wait any longer. "Well don't just stand here! Get him!" She barked at the Peacekeepers.
They all started running, not even waiting for Draco to lead the way, but he followed behind them anyway. The Peacekeepers sprinted ahead with him trailing behind and Umbridge waddling several yards back. Of course there was no one to be found, but they continued to search over the grounds. Umbridge was getting frustrated they would lose him. A Peacekeeper suggested they all quickly split and cover different areas across the grounds. Umbridge was furious they hadn't caught the student yet. She demanded Draco who it was.
He said he didn't know.
He didn't see the face. He couldn't tell who it was. He declared he thought the student was a boy. Just because that's what the shadow looked like. And of course Umbridge didn't doubt his answers, despite being irritated that he couldn't describe more. But the student being described as a boy increased her suspicions of Potter. Perhaps they'll be questioning him in the morning. Honestly, this idea didn't mind him at all.
They all hurried to try and find the absconder, the Peacekeepers and Umbridge taking separate paths.
But Draco returned to the spot he'd found her at. And when he approached, only empty space was left.
Of course she had left by then. About ten minutes had passed since he'd led Umbridge and the Peacekeepers away, giving her plenty of time to run. Or limp. There was nothing here and he should be going back to find Umbridge, or perhaps ask if he could go back to his dormitory. He hated standing here and lingering any longer would force him to ask himself those inevitable questions he really didn't want to think about. So he turned and was about to dim the glow from his wand when something on the floor caught his eye.
Scarlet drops of blood-her blood- were marking the stone ground. Evidence.
For a moment he did nothing but stare at the droplets, truly perplexed by the sight of them. Just red fluid. Of course it was stupid to think anyone's blood contained actual dirt in it, but it didn't stop one from wondering.
Just. Red.
He made himself snap out of it and pointed his wand over that precise spot.
"Scourgify," he murmured.
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~. Part 2: Mentor .~
Rita Skeeter was not the best person to have dinner with on your journey to death.
After watching all the Reapings, Blaise had abruptly stood up and left. Rita Skeeter ignored that and started discussing the twenty-two other tributes- more to herself rather than with Hermione. This year apparently had a stronger batch, or so she stated. She speculated and analyzed everyone, all the while drinking wine to keep her calm. Hermione wondered if her team were all a crew of drunks. Rita didn't seem to be, but she fussed too much and her nerves and stress were no comfort for her.
So she politely excused herself and walked away, Rita's violet quill hanging in midair accidentally brushing her face and the tip point poking her cheek. She batted it away with her hand and went through the hallway, back to her chamber.
Shutting the door, she leaned back and stood there for a long moment. She was so still she could faintly feel the smooth movement of the train. This Capitol train, so swift and elegant it had to be enchanted. Perhaps without wheels. Another advanced creation by District Six.
Hermione strode over to the other side of the room and ripped the curtains open. The train moved too fast for her eyes to be able to find something solid outside, but the moon was still there. Same place in the night sky, right where she saw it every night back home, and she'll still be able to see it in the Capitol and in the arena.
She sighed and uncrossed her arms. Glaring out a window doesn't stop time. Thinking of nothing doesn't pause anything. It makes it all come quicker. So she carefully peeled off her dress and smoothed out the crinkles as she folded it. She opened a drawer and rummaged for something comfortable. She found a pair of short, light pants made of some soft, unfamiliar fabric. Then she pulled on the first shirt her hand felt and slipped into the pants before climbing into the bed. Grabbed the sheets and wrapped them around herself, resting her head on a plush pillow.
She wondered how many other tributes were in this same position. All of them from different parts of the world, on a train and heading to the Capitol as well. She didn't care that she'd taken a nap earlier and it was too early for sleep. Unconsciousness had helped her before and she needed it now.
Her body was numb but her head was screaming.
Is this what every tribute felt? Is this how Blaise felt right now? Was he locked in his chamber just thinking and thinking of how he would survive all of this? Because if so, that meant he'd have to kill her. And if she planned to win, she'd have to kill the boy breathing a few yards down the hallway.
Which led her to think of the other twenty-tributes. Out of the whole batch she knew eleven of them and Blaise. Literally half.
Perhaps if she just stayed out of the action, she could avoid killing. But not killing at all would be impossible. Even if she managed to waltz around the edges she'd have to eventually come face to face with someone. Or she'd be ambushed. Or if she survived as part of the remaining two, she'd have to eliminate the last tribute anyway.
But could she last? How far in would she make it? Rita could analyze the other tributes as much as she'd want, and she still wouldn't know them. But Hermione did. She did know twelve of them. Had spoken to them, gone to class with, and observed all twelve of them. These were not strangers.
Cho Chang, Padma Patil, and Michael Corner had all been Ravenclaws - and exceptionally intelligent students. But she wasnamed Brightest witch of her Age. And in her head there was Harry's voice telling her she just had to outsmart the others. Even those tributes who were already too smart themselves. Outwit the clever.
As for Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass? Did they each have a brain for their own? She'd never thought so. In fact, she'd nicknamed the Greengrass girl as Daft Daphne in her mind - but she'd never dared to voice the offense out loud. And Pansy . . . Pansy had been named Slytherin Prefect last year. Whether her friends were all clueless, it didn't necessarily mean she was too. There had to be a reason she was chosen. The title of being made a Prefect was meaningless to some, but Hermione believed there was something significant about being chosen. Exceeding grades . . . cooperative with others . . . an excellent representative and definition of their house . . . leadership.
Whatever the reason, something told her that Pansy was smarter and nastier than what she'd always seemed to be. Her name-calling and insults was just her language.
Then there was Crabbe and Cormac to consider. Those boys were monstrous in size. Enormous and bulky and everything else in between. They could probably kill her with their bare hands. These monstrous boys could be a challenge. But was muscle worth against intelligence? A hex from her wand, a shot from a bow and arrow. . .
Seamus and Katie, her old friends . . . Collin's younger brother, Dennis . . . No, she could never hurt them, and she prayed that even upon the promise she'd made to her sister, she wouldn't be forced to eliminate them.
Especially the little girl, Gabrielle Delacour. It was this tribute that horrified Hermione the most. Not because she seemed threatening, but her being Reaped haunted her thoughts and reminded her too much of how close that could've been Lye.
With a frustrated sigh, she rolled over to her other side and buried her face deeper into her pillow. It was the thought of her sister that made her eyes wet. This would be a fine time to cry, but the tears were not a problem anymore. They did not spill over her cheeks, and she knew she wouldn't wake up with a puffy face.
What were they all doing back at Hogwarts? Probably trying to comfort each other, giving empty reassurances that she would return. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and all the other Weasleys . . . Saying that they would see her soon. Oh, they would. Definitely tomorrow, at least for the Opening Ceremony.
Hermione wasn't quite sure what the time was at her school, but it must be late enough there for students to have gone to bed. Mostly everyone would be celebrating their safety . . . but Lye? Was she alone in her Hufflepuff dormitory? Would she be sleeping with Ginny tonight? Were Harry and Ron keeping watch over her? Who would tuck her in bed? Who would sing her to sleep?
Her mind went back to early this morning. Lye's nightmares had her screaming awake. . . they'd probably do her the same for tomorrow's sunrise. There were very few things that could truly comfort her during these terrifying moments.
"Can you sing the other one?" interrupted Lye. "The new one?"
"It's not finished yet, though." said Hermione, perplexed.
"That doesn't matter," murmured Lye.
She glanced over at the window. The only light that seeped through the room was the faint glow from the silver moon. And Hermione could just make out the tiny specks of light dotted across the black sky.
"Song in the night . . . will ease your fright," she whispered. "Raise your wand . . . and cast one bright."
She closed her eyes and breathed out a thoughtful sigh. Searched her mind for another line.
Sink into your bed, it will all soon end . . .
"I promise you're safe . . . they can take me instead," she mumbled.
And she continued to softly hum the rest of the lyrics to herself. Creating pointless rhymes that might never be shared with Lye again. And then after a long hour or two, sleep began to crawl on her. She was on the brink of shutting her eyes for good until morning when a different song whispered itself into her head. Words that she'd always thought were haunting, but now in this case, very fitting.
It's so quiet here,
and I feel so cold
This place no longer,
feels like home . . .
.
.
Draco started himself awake.
Oddly out of breath, all clammy and sticky with the bed sheets clinging onto his skin, he'd shot himself out of the dream.
Not a dream. A memory.
Granger came back to slap him in the face again. Not with her own hand, but with the memory that has haunted him for the past year. He had tried to not think of it yesterday, as he'd watched her leave with Blaise. Had tried so hard to block it out, it ended up forcing itself into his dreams.
He sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. His other hand was slightly trembling in his lap, and he clenched it into a fist to control the twitching.
Draco could still remember a single thought that always seemed to echo back at him.
Her. Covered in her own filthy blood and wounded on the ground. Trapped. Blocked. Vulnerable.
It must have hurt a lot, to the point where she couldn't escape anymore.
He still had those same sodding questions that were left unanswered. And he was afraid they would be left that way. Always pestering him, nagging him, making him doubt everything, and driving him mad.
Why had he done it? Why had his instinct driven him into helping her? Why didn't he just turn her in? Why didn't he just walk away?
Because I felt sorry for you; I pitied you.
Because it was too easy. There are better- more humiliating and amusing- ways to get rid of mudbloods.
Because if I were in your place, you would have done the same.
No. None of them were valid reasons. Each one was a poorer excuse than the one before. He had tried to convince himself otherwise, but even blurry lies start to melt. Except for that last one. It held just a small taste of truth in it. If he were the one in that situation, found by Granger, would she have turned him in? He didn't think so. She may despise him, but Draco knew Granger wasn't so spiteful as to do something as cruel. But there was one more question left. Sharp and definite, and hovering on its own.
Did he regret it? Was he ashamed of helping her? Saving Granger, the mudblood.
That was the worst part. He honestly didn't know. And this is what burned inside his skull- the fact that he couldn't even feel any disgust or shame for what he'd done for her.
He pushed his damp hair away from his face and cracked his sore neck to the side. His skin pricked with goosebumps and salty sweat and he craved a bath. A hot bath and a meal to shake off the nightmare. Because it did not matter what he'd done that night. He would never be able to take it back, but it was all thrown away to her recent event anyway.
Granger was gone. She would probably never return. He wouldn't have to glance at her everyday and remember that night. And she wouldn't have to pretend he hadn't saved her either. But in a way, he was grateful she never mentioned it. The last thing he wanted was the gratitude of a mudblood.
.
.
Hermione twirled the small golden pin between her fingers and observed how it sparked when it caught the room's light. It was actually rather pretty. The phoenix poised in the center of the circular shape, wings spread out, about to take flight. So miniature and detailed, she admired how carefully crafted it was. She almost wished she'd left it home for Lye or Ginny. It could be worth a small fortune.
She'd had the oddest dream last night. It was one of those dreams that felt like she wasn't a part of this world, or any particular reality. Like she didn't exist. She stood watching on the sidelines, and that really was all she could do. Just watch. It was as if she had no voice, and her body felt like it'd been Petrified. She'd stood helpless and watched the Reaping playing out again. Lye was chosen, and since no one else was there to protect her, the Peacekeepers dragged her to the stage. That was another thing. Hermione knew they were supposed to be Peacekeepers, but instead she saw Luscious Malfoy and Dolohov by her sister's sides.
It mostly seemed quite vague. Because as far as Hermione could tell, her sister avoided the fights. Up until she met another fellow tribute. Which was the bizarre part of the dream. Lye had created an alliance with Gabrielle Delacour. It appeared more than an alliance, whereas the two girls considered themselves friends. But then the dream turned into a nightmare when Lye and Gabrielle Delacour were miraculously the only tributes left, and they stood with several yards of space in between them on large meadow with tall, swaying grass.
The two eleven-year-olds stared at each other, hesitant.
She sighed and dropped her hand. As odd as the dream was, it was very close to having come true. Perhaps not the part of Lye living up to being one of the last two, but the reality in which she'd come very close to being the one on this train. Sitting in this chair, clutching her wand, and waiting for her Mentor to show up with the boy tribute sitting two feet away from her.
Hermione fiddled with the hem of her green shirt while trying to stealthily sneak a glance at him. She noticed a large golden locket attached to a long, golden chain was hanging on his chest. The locket had an S carved into it, and something of a memory flickered in her brain.
Blaise was, as usual, silent. He hadn't said a word for the past ten minutes in which they'd been waiting for Ludo. He'd sat there, completely calm, while Hermione tapped her foot on the carpet, drummed her fingers on her armrest, and fidgeted in every other small way as she waited impatiently.
She didn't blame him for having stormed off last night. It was nothing compared to the short row she'd had with Rita Skeeter. But she wondered if Blaise's anger was bottling up inside him. She didn't think he'd bawled his eyes out last night, but surely he was more than upset with the whole situation. Would he burst out right now? Now that they would soon arrive in the Capitol and Ludo Bagman does nothing but waste himself?
The most she'd ever seen of Ludo before was him gambling with others of District 12 and drinking until he was dead to the world. But he was still her Mentor. Their Mentor. Maybe if they respected him, or at least acted pleasant towards him, he'd be willing to help. That wouldn't happen if Blaise was going to explode in his face. She just needed him to cooperate too. Give him a nudge.
She inhaled a slow breath through her nose, and turned to look at him. "Have you met him . . . Ludo?"
He didn't even acknowledge her and Hermione suddenly felt very awkward.
And then it struck her that Blaise didn't even like her. What if he was on the same page as Rita? Thinking she would ruin their chances of any sponsors and she was incapable of being a decent tribute. That stung a bit because she hardly knew Blaise, but thought there'd never be any grudges or hostility. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd be willing to accept help from Ludo. So she brushed off his cold attitude and reluctantly tried again.
"Listen . . ." she began slowly, "I'm not very fond of him either. Never have been. . . But . . . he's all we have right now. The only shot we'll get."
Before she could say more, the door in front of the room slid open and Rita Skeeter stepped in. She was dressed as colorful as ever, with her shiny spectacles and polished nails. And when she spoke she sounded sober as she always did.
"Come to the dining room," she said smoothly, "Breakfast is ready for us."
Blaise and Hermione stood and made to follow her.
"Is he ready for us?" Blaise asked behind her.
Rita pursed her lips. "He isn't seeing stars if that's what you're asking."
Ludo had already started eating when they walked in. "Ahoy, there" was all he'd muttered. He was wearing the same clothes from last night and his ashy blond hair was sticking up in weird places, but he seemed fine. The three sat down and Hermione and Blaise immediately dug in. They ate quietly for a few minutes and even Rita didn't bother to make small talk. But Ludo surprised Hermione by being the first to speak.
"So," he said, and she hated that there was still a hint of a slur in his voice. "You're the Slytherin, he's from Gryffindor, eh?"
Hermione's eyes widened a bit and she glanced at Blaise who had arched an eyebrow.
"No," she said flatly.
"Don't wear green then," he replied, pointing to her shirt.
They were silent again, and this was nagging Hermione but Blaise stepped in before she could.
"You're supposed to help us," he said evenly. Hermione noticed his fists were clenched tightly. "So help us. Give us advice."
Ludo chuckled as he slurped into his goblet, and then he let out a short belch that stunk of Firewhiskey. Hermione saw from the corner of her eye that Rita's lips thinned into a fine line. She seemed just as annoyed.
"How's this?" Ludo questioned, "Stay alive." And he began to chortle again until he was sputtering out his drink, not noticing no one thought his little joke was amusing. Rita was glaring at him too.
"Hilarious," hissed Blaise. And then he was suddenly on his feet and he knocked over the goblet from Ludo's hand and the plates were scraped off the table with his arm. Firewhiskey splattered everywhere and Rita jumped in her seat.
Ludo was frozen for a moment, his hand still in midair as though he was still grasping his goblet. He cocked an eyebrow and his lips were tugged into a half-amused smirk. Then his hand flew to his pocket and he flicked his wand at the plate in front of Blaise, causing it to lift itself and smash into Blaise's face.
Rita cried out something, something Hermione didn't hear because she whipped out her own wand to point towards Ludo. She was infuriated. This morning she'd been wasting her time thinking that if she was "pleasant" towards Ludo he'd be willing to help. Stupid assumption. And Blaise had known that too.
"Stupefy!" Ludo was heaved backwards, where he collided against the wall and the delicate plates that were piled up in stacks crashed onto the floor. Watching him bash his head on the wall and stumble to the ground, watching all the plates shatter around him, gave Hermione an unexpected satisfaction. She was wrong, it wasn't Blaise's cooperation that she needed. But she didn't have to convince Ludo to help her. She shouldn't have to try to impress him. He was supposed to help them! He was supposed to give his best efforts to guide them into the Games!
"Enough!" screamed Rita, "Stop this at once!" She had taken out her own wand and was pointing it at Blaise who looked like he was about to strike at Ludo again.
But Ludo was getting up from the floor, laughing merrily, and the moment felt so bizarre it caused Hermione and Blaise to hold their ground. Ludo waved his hand lazily at Rita, trying to tell her to lower her wand and back off.
"Calm down Skeeter," he assured her. "It's not me they need to kill. They know that."
Two of the Capitol train attendants suddenly came bustling in, probably alarmed from all the racket they'd caused.
Rita took a second to recover herself. "Everything's alright. Nothing to see here, just-just the tributes wanted to, er, demonstrate something for their Mentor." They both stared at where Ludo stood, shocked and nervous. But Rita shooed them away with more lofty words of assurance and the attendants left, saying they would be back later to clean up the mess.
Ludo was brushing off shard pieces of white plates when he looked up and glared at Hermione.
"You can lower your wand now, girl."
Hermione barely realized she still had her wand raised defensively, and she reluctantly let her arm fall to her side.
"Will you look at that, Miss Skeeter? Seems like I got a pair of tributes this year who know how to use their wands."
He slumped into his seat and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Rita sighed heavily but sat down in her seat once more and Blaise and Hermione slowly followed. Rita passed a clean, white cloth to Blaise and he used it to wipe his face. On a normal day, somewhere back at Hogwarts or the Burrow, Hermione might have laughed at the food on Blaise's face. It had been splattered in certain places, almost perfectly over his eyebrows and chin.
"Well, I've gotten bright kids in the past before," said Ludo. "Sad thing is they never make it that far to use their wands. Always die within the first few days, gone by the first week for sure, all 'cause they don't know how to survive without magic-"
"So then tell us how to survive," Hermione persisted. "Tell us what we need to do in the arena to last long enough. What do we do if we encounter another tribute weaponless? Is it best to flee or-"
"I got the notion since yesterday that you're one of those people who has an excessive use with their mouths." Ludo grumbled. "And that there, is the first thing you need to learn. You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut in the Capitol. Understand this girlie; you're gonna meet people who will blabber on offensively. Some will try to rile you up on purpose. They find it funny. You're a new face this year. A new tribute they get to gush over. If they do, then you're lucky."
"How would that make me lucky?"
"Because it means they noticed you. You spark some interest. Now if you and Billy here-"
"Blaise," contradicted the other tribute.
"Right," said Ludo glancing at him, "If you both behave from now until the arena, I'll do my best to help you. I've gotten people who come here and they look like they're ready to dig up their graves themselves. You two seem to at least have a chance."
His comment tugged a bit of hope inside Hermione, and she thought it was irrelevant since the compliment came from Ludo Bagman, of all people. But this man was a Victor. He'd been through the same thing and lived. He'd won. And he could be of good help, if he kept his head on.
"You'll need to stop drinking then. A Mentor who isn't even sober won't do us any good," she said.
Ludo's blue eyes met Hermione's. He stared at her for a moment, studying her. He'd said she talked too much for her own good. She wondered what other notion he'd gotten from her. After Stupefying him he must have thought she was easily angered. But he had better not think of her as a weakling. She'd eagerly hex him again if she had to prove it.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll do my part if you do yours. Remember, not another dicky word. I don't care what they say to you. You bite your tongue until it bleeds. It isn't worth snapping back at them. You can kill as much as you want in the arena." He looked at Blaise. "That goes for you too. First thing tributes do is meet their stylists. You both know those people have their stupid fashions. They're gonna see you like their own piece of raw dragon meat, and you're gonna hate it, but you better let them do their jobs. They at least know what the audience like. Humor the others, and I'll give you both the pointers you'll need. Understood?"
It all sounded awful. The Capitol's fashion had always struck Hermione as gruesome. But Ludo seemed to know what he was talking about, and Hermione realized that all he was really asking was for them to trust him. After sharing a quick look with Blaise, Hermione nodded.
"Good-o," said Ludo. "We'll be arriving soon-"
"In just a few minutes, actually." said Rita quietly, and then the train passed through what could only be a tunnel.
The dining room they all stood in was suddenly shadowed, and they were quiet enough to hear the wind whisking by outside. Hermione slowly put her wand in her pocket and walked to the nearest window. A moment later, she could feel Blaise standing beside her.
The train flew past the last curve and shot out at the exit. The room was immediately filled with sunlight and the world outside the glass window wasn't just miles of deserted land anymore. Hermione couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped her lips. Even Blaise made a slight sound of awe. The Capitol city, it's structure, it's landscape, was truly glorious. Utterly incredible and magnificent. This was the place she'd read about so much. But not even the pictures she'd encountered in books or newspapers had captured its beauty.
Such a beautiful place . . . to be the home of monsters.
"Welcome to the Capitol," said Ludo bitterly.
.
.
A/N: Someone told me that since I'd combined the first couple of chapters, and if you'd already reviewed for one chapter, you can't review for that same chapter again. :( But I think you can still review anonymously . . . Anyway, thank you for all the reviews I've received so far. They motivate me to write more (and update faster, haha).
To the anon who was a bit confused with the scene of Draco and Hermione, if it really happened or not, I hope reading Part Two has clarified it for you. :)
Those lyrics at the end that Hermione remembered, the ones that she felt were suited for her (not the song for Lye), are lyrics form So Cold by Ben Cocks. I think that song and Born to Die by Lana Del Rey are fitting for this chapter. :)
Next Chapter: The tributes meet their stylists and attend the Opening Ceremony on the chariots.