TEAM 13 : DISTRICT 7

Oliver : Jon

Interviews (Part 4)

Despite their plan—and how hard had that been, to figure out what to do and how to communicate it and whether it was actually possible—despite their plan, Oliver had yet to be able to let go of the constant unnerving feeling of being behind, needing to do more.

The problem was that the feeling was likely accurate.

The problem was that the feeling didn't change what he was actually able to do, which was frighteningly little.

Still, Oliver—like the rest—did what he could.

He remembered, vividly, his introduction to war in his first life.

He remembered standing in the middle of Puddlemere's locker room, completely in shock as his teammates looked at him as if he were the madman.

"We can't, don't you get that?" John Henry, one of the chasers, had implored. "It's our life, it's our decision."

"Why can't you see that if you don't fight, then you'll just end up dead anyway?" Oliver had yelled back. He'd been furious, almost mad with rage. You-Know-Who's army wasn't even hiding their plan; everyone, from Jenny's two-year-old son to Paul's senile great-grandfather, knew that they were going to attack Hogwarts the next day.

Hogwarts.

Not only that, but most were under the impression that, barring a completely new army springing up out of nothing, You-Know-Who would win.

Oliver planned to be part of that army.

He'd been planning for everyone he knew to be part of it too.

It had been bad enough when his parents refused—they were too old, they claimed, there was too little they could do. He'd fought with them, screamed at them, been told not to visit them again until 'some sense had been knocked into him', and still hadn't managed to convince them of the absurdity of inaction.

He'd tried his mates, then, his friends who he'd known from diapers. The Weasleys were on board, and some of his other friends also promised to 'try their best' to make it, but he knew it wasn't enough.

He'd then turned to his Puddlemere team. He was already disappointed, frustrated, at the end of his rope, but—he'd thought—but his team, at least, would be next to him. They risked injury every match, every practice. They weren't 'too old', they weren't 'too busy'—there was no excuse they could use, and he hadn't thought they'd try to get out of fighting the good fight to begin with.

And then they'd all said no.

"Our lives, our decisions." John Henry reiterated. Around him his fellow teammates nodded.

Oliver stood in front of them, in front of the last possible defense between You-Know-Who and all he wanted to accomplish, and screamed.

He'd fought the next day.

He'd fought until he had no magic left to fight with, then took a beater bat and fought with that, instead.

They'd lost that battle, but it had taken long enough that the children had been evacuated.

After that, after the best chance they had was over and done with, after that his teammates and friends and parents rose up. They fought when You-Know-Who's people invaded their own homes, forcing them to give up their possessions, their land, their oh-so-precious lives.

Many—anywhere from one to two thirds of the whole of the isles' magical population—had died.

It was those who had already abandoned their possessions and land, who lived in the nooks and crannies of the British Isles and planned in secret, dealing with their disadvantages by giving up all but what mattered, it was they who won the war.

The ones who were too privileged to give up even a touch of what they were used to?

They were the ones who either died or bent, subjugated under the yoke of You-Know-Who's fake blood privilege.

Here, in his second life, here Oliver was sure the same would hold.

The Capitol was a lost cause. The people, for all that they had as much freedom as the Districts, liked their things too much to (as a whole) abandon them in the pursuit of what's right. As Oliver, Luna, and the rest gathered allies, though, they also kept in mind the other lost causes: never mind the tributes (who would join them if young enough to think they had no shot at winning, or fight against them if their age made them sure their victory was imminent) Districts 1, 2, and 3 were…

Well, they weren't about to rebel.

Not as a whole.

District 4 was different.

In District 4 the constant oppressive presence of so many Peacekeepers kept the rebellious spirit alive—Percy had been certain of it.

The other careers? They could take as much tesserae as they wanted, so hunger generally didn't exist. They were the Capitol favorites, along with District 3, and they knew it, so they didn't want to give up what they had—to them they had too much to lose.

When Oliver mounted the stage to talk with Cicero, to laugh and put on a good show, he had taken that into account.

Districts 1, 2, 3, and 4 were located in the Southwest of Panem. District 7—his District—was directly on top of them. When Jon planted his own seeds, then, he talked about how trees strove to the light, up, up, up, and towards water, no matter how far.

Hermione thought there was a 'pretty good' chance that some, if not most, would get the message once the true rebellion started, when combined with all the other signs, all the other comments.

Oliver was just happy that, here, most of those in his own District—his own family, friends, and teammates—who understood the message would listen to it.