A/N:
Beta love to Gabby (supernovanox on AO3, wattpad, and TikTok), Zara (zara._anna on TikTok), and Megan (megsivy on TikTok). All remaining mistakes are my own.

"It simply isn't an adventure worth telling if there aren't any dragons." – J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter 3: Do As I Say And As I Do

When the anthem ended, Hermione was taken into custody. They forewent the shackles but she felt just as much a prisoner. She was marched to the front of the ministry building surrounded by Death Eaters. She wondered if tributes had tried to escape in the past.

Once inside the building, they directed her to a small room and left her on her own. It was the most luxurious place she had ever seen and been in. The carpets were a dark, lush green, the couches deep and velvet to the touch. She sat and ran her fingers over the velvet, reciting childhood spells and magical trivia to keep herself calm. She knew that she had to stay strong into the next hour, when she would be given the chance to bid farewell to her loved ones. There would be cameras everywhere she went. She knew she couldn't cry.

Ginny entered the room first. Her eyes were swollen red, fresh tears still lingering on her eyelashes. She didn't say anything initially, instead just approached Hermione and wrapped her arms around her in a desperate hug. "Please don't go," she wept into her dress. Hermione rubbed her hands up and down her back, knowing that her own tears would betray her if she spoke.

Molly followed in shortly after with Arthur and they both sat on either side of Hermione. They thanked her, they wept, they consoled each other, and they whispered words of encouragement to her. We believe in you. You're strong. Be brave.

To Hermione, these words felt empty. Not because of who said them, but because of what they said. When they whispered these things in her ear, she knew they were thinking about their own fortune, their own relief, that it was none of them that had to go. None of their own blood children. It was just Hermione. They could afford to sacrifice her.

As the Death Eaters approached the room, she broke from their embrace and went to Ginny, wishing to savour the last few moments of time she had left with her. "Gin, promise me you'll take care of yourself," she said.

Ginny looked up at her from the chair she had sunk into and bit her lip, a feeble attempt at slowing the tears.

"I promise Hermione, I'll be okay," she said, clasping Hermione's hand in hers. "But you have to promise me, too. Maybe you can win this."

Hermione knew that Ginny didn't actually believe that. Nobody did. She could be brave and she could be smart and she could be strong, but her skills wouldn't be enough against her competition. Other wealthier Districts trained for the Games from childhood. The boys would be taller and faster, the girls sharper and crueler. Of course there would be some tributes like her, easy targets to weed out at the beginning, but some would not be all.

"I'll try," Hermione whispered back, only half believing but knowing she couldn't give up on herself so easily. She knew that she would put up a good fight. She knew that she wouldn't be the weakest. She knew that even when she went down, she wouldn't go easily. "I promise Gin, I'll try."

As she spoke out her promise, the Death Eater at the door signalled that time was up. Everyone enveloped her in another round of hugs and take care's and be strong's. Ginny grabbed her hand and intertwined the fingers through her own until a Death Eater dragged her out. Hermione watched as the door slammed, locks sliding into place on the other side.

Moments later, the door opened again and another person entered. It was Ron. Though she felt nothing romantic towards him, when he opened his arms, she didn't hesitate to be wrapped up by them. Everything about him was familiar: his smell, his size, the way he moved. It was a sense of comfort that she needed in that moment.

He didn't release her as he dropped his head to her ear and spoke quietly. "Mione, you didn't have to do this."

Her chest tightened. "I did," she mumbled solemnly.

"You saved our family. I don't know if I could ever repay you." Hermione knew that he would likely never get the opportunity to, as her chances of stepping foot in District 12 again were slim. This, of course, was left unsaid.

He took a deep, strengthening breath before whispering to her. "I need you to listen to me," he said. "First thing you do, find a bow. You'll have your wand so it can mimic slicing, so don't even bother looking for a knife. Get a bow and arrow. That's your best chance."

"They don't always have bows," she whispered back. She remembered the year where all that was given were grenades. It was a bloodbath that no wand, nor bow and arrow, could stop.

"Then make one," he muttered sternly. "You know how. A weak bow is better than no bow."

Hermione pulled away to look at him but didn't release his embrace. "I can't assume there will even be wood." She remembered the year the tributes were dropped in a desert, nothing but sand for miles. More than half of them died of heat stroke, because there was no shade, or from dehydration, because there was no water. It was brutal.

"There's always some wood," he replied. "Since the year almost all of them died from the cold. There's not very much entertainment in stuff like that."

"That's true," she said. Hermione hadn't forgotten that year either. It was even worse than the desert. She remembered watching the tributes freeze to death on TV throughout the night. They were knee deep in snow with no wood for fire. None of the warming charms held long enough to avoid hypothermia. That year, not a single tribute killed another. They all died from the elements. The Pure Capital deemed it to be anti-climactic, and from that point on had provided wood.

Ron swallowed hard, starting to lose the composure on his emotions, but trying to keep it together for Hermione's sake. "You're the best hunter I know," he croaked out.

"It's not the same," she said. "They're people, not animals. They think, and they'll be armed."

"So will you. You know how to kill."

"Not people."

"It's not really much different when you don't need it to be."

The unpleasant thing was that Hermione agreed. If she could forget they were people, if she could just look at them as animals, as a necessary kill for her own preservation, it would help. The same way she looked at the kills when she hunted for food.

They were abruptly interrupted by the Death Eaters, who were back too soon. They grabbed Ron and pulled him away towards the exit. "Take care of everyone!" she cried out, clinging desperately to his hand.

"You take care of yourself! Don't worry about us –" he yelled back, as a Death Eater finally broke their grasp and pushed Ron out the door before slamming it behind him.

Hermione's heart rattled in her chest. Before she could calm her breaths, the door opened again.

Her next guest was unexpected. Mayor Dumbledore walked in and straight towards Hermione. He did not look sad or evasive, but he also didn't look happy. He led her to the chair furthest from the Death Eaters by the door and sat her down. There was an urgency to his hushed tone that she didn't discern. "They let you wear one thing from your District in the arena. It should symbolize your home. Will you wear this?" He held out a pin to her that she recognized from earlier. It had been attached to his breast pocket when she and Ron saw him in the morning. She hadn't paid much attention to the details of it before, but now noticed that it looked like a bird.

"This is your pin," she said.

He nodded. "It is, but I'd like you to have it."

When Hermione didn't protest, he continued. "I'll put it on your dress." He reached over and affixed the gold bird to the front. "Give me your word that you'll wear it in the arena, Hermione."

"Okay."

Before Hermione could say anything more, the Mayor had gotten to his feet and left the room. He was her last visitor.

From the room, she was shepherded into a car and driven to the train station. She applauded herself for not crying because the station was filled with reporters. They looked like insects to her with the large lenses of their cameras pointed at her face. She reached within herself and pulled forward her occlumency walls, wiping her face clean of any emotion. She spotted her reflection on a television in the station and felt satisfied that outwardly, she almost appeared bored.

As she stepped through the doorway of the train, the door closed swiftly behind her. It immediately started to move. The speed made Hermione's stomach twist. She had never been on a train before. The preferred, and really the only, transportation method in District 12 was walking. She had overheard that this train travelled at 300 miles per hour. She would reach the capital in less than a day.

The train was somehow fancier than the room in the ministry building. She was given her own chamber with a bedroom, a sitting area, a bookshelf, and a private bathroom. There was both hot and cold running water in the bath, a luxury she never had in the Burrow.

The drawers were filled with clothes, in beautiful rich fabrics, that magically sized to her body. Rita Skeeter had told her that all of the clothing was hers to pick and choose from. Hermione peeled off her dress and stepped into the shower. She was told to be ready for dinner in an hour.

When she emerged, she remembered the pin given to her by Mayor Dumbledore. She sat down to examine it in more detail. The gold bird had fiery wings and seemed to be soaring in flight. It was positioned within a triangle, and within that lay a circular ring that had a line running through the center of it. Only the tips of the bird's wings touched the ring. Hermione didn't recognize the meaning of the shapes but she did recognize the bird. It was a phoenix.

Phoenixes were large magical birds that could regenerate themselves. They would age, burst into flames when they died, and then rise from their own ashes. They signified endurance, and strength in new beginnings. The idea that they would be reborn from the ashes of a flame was a symbol of journeying through adversity.

More than that, she knew they were a symbol of the Battle of Hogwarts. The President's regime was masterful at propaganda and concealing information, but the knowledge of the Phoenix was something they could never bury. District 13, which had started the rebellion that led to the Battle, had used phoenixes to help their cause. The birds were large and strong and could carry heavy weight, transport messages, and Apparate. They could sing beautiful melodies that provided support and comfort. Most importantly though, they could heal.

As she processed the full meaning of the pin, she smiled to herself. Wearing it would be a slap in the face to the Pure Capital.

Hermione had never seen a living phoenix, but she knew at least one had lived in the woods where she tracked. They had a unique ability to replicate human sounds when they sang. Sometimes when she hunted, she whistled a melody her mother used to sing to her as a child and though she couldn't see it, she could always hear the rustling of feathers before a harmony joined her in the song. Whenever she felt alone in the woods, or frightened, the beautiful melody would ring out seemingly from within the lush trees and spread through the grounds of the forest, like a comforting blanket.

She fastened the pin to the fabric of her shirt. She had chosen a dark green tunic. With the phoenix against that color, she could almost envision it flying through the woods.

A knock at her door alarmed her to Rita Skeeter's presence. The woman had come to collect her for dinner. She followed her through the narrow hallways and into a dining room that looked much too big for a train. She assumed an extension charm was at play. Rita pointed to a chair and gestured for Hermione to take a seat.

"Moody went down for a nap", she said matter-of-factly. Hermione didn't know what to say to that so she nodded and turned her eyes to the table. At that point the dinner courses started to arrive. Rich pumpkin soup unlike anything she had ever tasted before, a salad so fresh and crisp it didn't even feel real, followed by potatoes, grilled vegetables, and a decadent steak. She had never had food like it before in her life. As she stuffed herself, she thought about how it wouldn't hurt to put on a few pounds before the Games began.

When the meal was over, Hermione turned her attention to the television that was suspended in the corner of the room. The broadcast was showing recaps of the reapings from all Districts. She knew they staggered these broadcasts because nobody who lived in the Districts could actually watch live. Only residents of Pure Capital could.

She watched, one by one, as each reaping took place. The names were drawn from the goblets as they were in District 12 to varying degrees of crowd excitement. She studied the faces of the children, because most were younger than even her, that would be her competition. The faces of those she would be tasked with killing. A few of them stood out. There was a boy from District 7 that jumped out to volunteer with a scar on his forehead. He was her age but his face looked weighed by years of anger and resentment. A girl with purple hair from District 8 strolled up to the stage when her name was called and popped a gum bubble when her mayor shook her hand. In District 11, an ethereal looking blond girl, small and bright eyed, looked out longingly into the crowd for encouragement when her name was called. A mocha skinned boy yelled out that he would volunteer for her. The District escort had sternly shushed him. His name was drawn from the boys' goblet moments later and when he joined the girl on stage, they smiled at each other and held hands.

When they showed District twelve, Hermione watched herself run forward to volunteer. The desperation in her voice was palpable. She watched as Ginny grabbed at her arms and as Ron pulled her away. The commentators of the program paused uncomfortably when they showed the footage of the crowd saluting her. They made quips about Moody when he stumbled off the stage. When the anthem began, the program ended.

As she turned away from the television, a new scene suddenly appeared. It showed a large rectangular room, far greater than anything she had ever seen. At the front of the room was a grand chair, raised above eye level. In it sat the president, President Riddle. Surrounding it were curved rows upon curved rows of seats all faced towards him and each filled with a person. A loud knocking sound broke through the murmurs of the crowd.

"We will have order in the chambers!" a projected voice spoke. The discussion in the room only grew louder.

The speaker banged the gavel on the table again. "Order!" The crowd continued to ignore him.

"Silencio!" The crowd fell silent.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Rita Skeeter rise to her feet and approach the television.

"Lucius Malfoy, present yourself," drawled President Riddle from his chair.

A middle-aged man rose from amongst the crowd and drifted to the front of the room. He had long hair, so blonde it looked almost white, that fell to his shoulders and framed his pale and pointed face. The president waved his wand and seemed to unsilence the standing man with a non-verbal spell.

"Do you know why you stand before the chamber today?"

The man in question bowed his head. "I do, President Riddle," he stammered out. He lifted his head and met the gaze of the President before quickly adding, "My Lord, I do."

"So then you understand why I cannot have you go unpunished for your incompetencies."

The man named Lucius nodded his head in acknowledgment.

President Riddle raised his eyes sharply and addressed the crowd. "Mister Malfoy stands before you today because he believed it was wise to question the manner of how we operate our annual Hunger Games, and in doing so, questioned my judgement. It is his belief that children should not be entered into the Games. In fact, he shared with great conviction that entering children does not maintain order amongst the Districts as we intend." He paused, assumingly for greater effect, but the already silent crowd had little reaction.

"Oh dear," Rita Skeeter's voice cut through the scene playing out on screen. Hermione quickly flipped her eyes back to it, not wanting to miss any moment of what was surely to be an unpleasant development. It was like a fiery crash she couldn't look away from.

The scene continued with President Riddle's assertive voice ringing out through the room. "Lucius, your words have disappointed me, they have disgraced our establishment, and you have brought shame to your family. Are you ashamed of your actions?"

The man's eyes were planted to the ground. He nodded solemnly. "I am, My Lord."

"Then I shall see fit that I prove your beliefs otherwise."

The President paused and twirled his wand in his hands. His silence commanded attention and indignation. Hermione felt her heart hammer in her chest violently, thanking her fortunes that she wasn't on the receiving end of his wrath.

"Your son, Lucius, is he here?"

Lucius raised his chin to look at the President, his pupils blown wide and face shading red. "He is."

A vicious smirk graced the President's face. "Excellent," he growled. "I do regret having to do this Lucius, but let it serve as an example to all those in the room and across the country. Poor actions have grave consequences."

Comprehension seemed to dawn on Lucius Malfoy and he balked. "Please, please don't!"

If the President heard his pleas, he made no motion to show it. "Today, one of our Districts selected only one tribute."

Hermione rubbed her sweating palms on her pants, knowing that whatever was to come would not be pleasant.

"I expect you all understand the value and importance of the Hunger Games to our state," he continued. "If the circumstances were different, I may have accepted only twenty three tributes."

"My Lord, please! Please!" Lucius Malfoy begged. "I will do anything!"

The President shot him a venomous look and promptly silenced him without a word.

"It is in my partisan opinion, that we amend that outcome." He smiled brazenly before adding, "and so I propose we add an additional male tribute."

The look of Lucius Malfoy silently collapsing in a scream tore at Hermione's heart. She didn't know who this man was or what he had done in his life, but she felt his anguish as if it was her own.

The President looked out into the crowd, searching, before his eyes locked into his target. A young man rose from his seat. President Riddle nodded his head at him and smiled proudly. He moved to unsilence the crowd, but not before announcing smugly, "Draco Malfoy, may the odds be ever in your favour."

The crowd erupted into shock, while President Riddle made a quick escape from the room.

"My oh my, what a travesty. A young man with his upbringing doesn't belong in the games," Rita muttered to herself. Hermione's anger flared but she couldn't find herself to take her eyes off the screen.

The camera panned to the boy in question. He looked to be around Hermione's age. He was the spitting image of his father, but younger and considerably more handsome. He stood with his chin raised defiantly, jaw clenched and empty gaze staring out into the distance. Hermione recognized the tell-tale signs of an occlumency wall in place. He was dressed in black from head to toe, a stark contrast to the bright colors of the Pure Capital residents around him. The chatter built in the room but he didn't flinch or show any sign of awareness for it. As the camera began a slow zoom into him, he flipped his eyes directly at it. Silver penetrated through the lens as he stared into its depth, unblinking. Goosebumps flushed Hermione's body. It was impossible to perform Legilimency without being in the actual presence of the person, but his intrusive stare felt like he was trying to pry into her body and mind. The camera continued it's slow zoom until the only thing within the screen was his face. For a moment, the camera stilled. The ghost of a mischievous smirk pulled at his lips before the screen cut to black.

The 24th tribute.

A/N:
J.R.R. Tolkien said himself that no story is worth telling if it doesn't have any dragons. My friends, we now have ourselves a dragon.

As if anyone had any doubt that Mr. Riddle was a vile man... If you're curious about my personal fancast, I envision him as the aged but nonetheless handsome version of Tom from 1943. I always believed he was so much more terrifying when he looked like a nice and pleasant person. That juxtaposition of good looking to evil acting always gave me chills.

Updates posted every Thursday - see you next week for chapter 4.