A/N:

Endless thanks to my betas Gabby (supernovanox on AO3, wattpad, and TikTok), Zara (zara._anna on TikTok), Megan (megsivy on TikTok), and Laney (laneymalfoy11 on TikTok). All remaining mistakes are my own.

Chapter 4: Playing Chess, While They Play Checkers

Moody entered the dining room moments after the broadcast ended with a red face and puffy cheeks. He reached for the flask at his hip and took a deep gulp before falling into the seat next to Hermione.

He began tearing into the leftovers from dinner. He ate ravenously, digging into the food with his hands, wiping his fingers on the tablecloth, and belching loudly. He knocked back glasses of what looked like orange juice that he inconspicuously kept thinning out with the spirit from his flagon. From what Hermione had seen of him in the District, he would quickly become incoherent at his current pace.

She confronted the thought that she despised him. It was no wonder that there had never been any other winners from the District besides him. If he was the person that was in charge of training tributes, there was little chance for their success.

She was sure there had been some extraordinary tributes though, some that might have even had a real shot, but their ultimate failure could likely be attributed directly to Moody's incompetence. A big part of success in the arena was sponsorship, and she was sure that the rich people who chose to back the tributes, whether as bets, for bragging rights, or in rare cases even compassion, would seldom want to deal with someone as classless as him.

"Are you planning to give me any advice?" she probed.

"Yeah, I have some advice for you," he said with a mouth full of food. "Stay alive."

"That's not very funny," Rita scolded. "How about you wrap up with the drinks and answer the girl, Moody."

Hermione was startled by Rita's tone. It seemed the woman might have actually had an ounce of good in her.

Moody rose to his feet and stared her down. He towered over her and muttered, "This is my business, with my tribute. Stay out of it, Skeeter."

When he turned back to grasp his drink, Hermione pushed it off the table, sending liquid and glass shards everywhere. He glared and grabbed for her wrist sharply. In the same moment, she drove a knife into the table, hitting a spot right between his fingers which lightly grazed his skin. She braced herself to deflect his anger, but he crossed his arms and sat back to assess her.

"I see I've got myself a fighter this year," he snarled.

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and scowled at him.

"Know your way around anything other than a knife?"

"Yes," she muttered.

"Have any aim?"

She didn't dare break eye contact with him, lest he detect any weakness. This was her moment to show him that she was tough, tougher than he took her for, tougher than anyone took her for. She had promised Ginny – she would put up a fight.

"Yes."

"Prove it."

Excitement flared within Hermione in response to his challenge. She thrived off doubt. She flourished when nobody thought she could. She rose to her feet and yanked an unused steak knife from a nearby place setting, gripping the handle and begging her palms not to sweat. She eyed a part of the wall with alternating panels, and figured if she was doing this, she would go all in.

She turned her focus to that spot, pulled her arm back, and flung the knife forward. Rita shrieked as it lodged itself into the wall, upright and in the center of the sliver between the two panels, just as she had planned.

Moody looked unimpressed but nodded slowly. He circled Hermione and appraised her, checking her muscles and probing at her face while he muttered under his breath.

"You're not hopeless," he scoffed. "Once the stylists get their hands on you, you'll be presentable enough."

Hermione knew the Games weren't a beauty contest, but she had watched enough previous contests to know that when a tribute was good looking, they were more likely to get sponsorships. She nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about we come to an agreement? You don't disturb my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you."

Not much of a deal, Hermione thought to herself. But what choice did she have? He was her only option for a trainer.

"Fine."

"Wonderful." He plopped himself back into his chair and forked at the salad on his plate. Hermione sat down, albeit reluctantly, and hoped that he would say something more.

He chewed for several moments before breaking the silence. "When we arrive at the Capital train station tomorrow, there will be a press conference with the other tributes. There will be cameras. I don't think I have to tell you to not make a fool of yourself in front of them."

Hermione snorted out a laugh.

"Care to share what's so funny, Granger?"

She recalled that just that afternoon, he had done exactly that - made a fool of himself, and the rest of District 12. The irony of his advice was not lost on her.

"Nothing. Don't make a fool of myself - got it," she quipped.

Moody eyed her suspiciously but continued. "Keep your head down until you get to the stage. The last thing you want to do is faint from the flashes. You'll be introduced and then we'll be on our way."

Hermione played with his words in her head, but they weren't enough.

"Is that it? What about in the Cornucopia? What's the best strategy –"

"Hold your horses," he spat. "One thing at a time. After the press conference, you'll meet your stylists. Don't resist what they do to you because it'll be no use. You have no say."

"But –"

"No buts, Granger. Don't resist." He threw his napkin on the table and stood to leave, the door swinging shut behind him.

When Hermione got back to her room, she felt the train pause. She opened the window, letting the soft breeze blow through her hair, and saw that they had stopped to refuel. In the distance she could see mountains and wondered if they were the same ones as those that divided the furthest Districts from the Pure Capital. She didn't have much of a geographic prowess for anything beyond her own District, but she knew the mountains were significant. They were vast and spanned miles long, acting as a natural protective barrier around the Pure Capital. From where she stood now, they looked small and inconspicuous on the horizon.

When the train started to move again, she closed the window. For a while, she just stood and stared out of it, wondering what would happen if it opened at the high speed they were moving. As the landscape flashed by, she could see lights in the distance. Was it a District? Maybe District 7? Or maybe District 2? She didn't know. She just stood and stared, thinking about the people in whatever District it was that were in the safety of their homes and settling in for bed.

She wondered what was happening in the Burrow. How was Ginny doing? Had Ron left his room? Did Molly cook the fish they caught that morning? Did anyone even eat it if she did? She wondered if they watched the recap of the reaping event on their little muggle television. Did they cry for her? She hoped they did.

Though the Burrow had been her home in the years she'd lived there, she missed her parents dearly. The loneliness that ached in her heart after their death never went away. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to crawl into her mother's arms and be coddled.

The day had felt endless. It was hard to imagine that just that morning she had been in the forest with Ron. It seemed like a lifetime ago, like a dream that had quickly morphed into a nightmare. She wondered if when she fell asleep she'd wake back up in the Burrow.

The drawers in her room held a number of different nightgowns, but Hermione just stripped off her shirt and pants and climbed into bed. The sheets were made of silk and felt like melted butter on her skin. If you're going to cry, do it now, she told herself. In the morning, any evidence could just be washed off in the shower. But the tears didn't come. She felt too overwhelmed, too exhausted, and most of all too numb. She let the train rock her to sleep to the thought of birds, the woods, and freedom.

She awoke hours later to knocking on her door and light seeping in through the drapes of the window. Rita Skeeter's voice vibrated from the other side of the door. "Up you go! Today is a big, big day!" When Hermione didn't answer, Rita knocked again.

"I'm up!" she yelled. Her statement was met with silence and quickly followed by the trailing sound of heels descending down the hallway and away from her room.

Hermione rose to her feet and entered the bathroom for a shower. She decided to wear the same outfit as the day before because it was still clean. She traced the phoenix pin still on the shirt with her finger and thought of the woods, thinking about what she would do to be able to step foot in them again.

Her typically unruly hair was still held up by the charms Molly did for the reaping. The top parts of it were swept away from her face in two French plaits on either side of her head. The loose curls on the bottom still felt soft to the touch. She ran her fingers through them lightly and left everything else as it was.

As she entered the dining room car, Rita handed her a cup of something dark brown. It didn't smell like tea so she assumed it was coffee. The Weasley's could never afford coffee but she recognized the smell from weekends in her home while she was growing up. Her father loved coffee. The moment she sat down at the dining table, she was served an enormous plate of food piled high with eggs, ham, and potatoes. A plate of fresh fruits sat on the table and looked to be under a chilling charm. There was a basket of bread rolls that could have fed the Weasley's for an entire week. Next to her plate stood a glass of pumpkin juice. She stuffed down as much food as her body could handle.

The light in the compartment suddenly went out and she realized that they had entered a tunnel. They drove in darkness for several moments before the room flooded with light again. Hermione's heart dropped. Through the windows she could see the landscape of something she had only ever seen on television – Pure Capital, the ruling city of Regnum.

She used to wonder if the cameras lied about its magnificence but seeing it with her own eyes confirmed the opposite – they somehow didn't capture it's vibrance enough. Skyscrapers glistened high above the sky like diamonds, polished cars passed her vision with their windows rolled down, and all the colors seemed artificial. There were bright pinks, and oranges, and vibrant blues and deep greens scattered all throughout the city like a kaleidoscope. She was rendered speechless.

When the train rolled to a slow stop, Hermione followed Rita and then Moody out of the main doors. The moment she stepped past the threshold and onto the platform, she was blinded by the flashing lights of camera shutters all around her. She put her head down, remembering Moody's scarce advice, and followed her escorts to the platform where all the tributes would be gathering.

With District 12 being the furthest from Pure Capital, Hermione was the last tribute to arrive. On a small makeshift stage, the other tributes were already lined up in order by their District number – one empty space at the end of the line remained for her. She recognized most of the faces from the reaping recap the night before.

As she took her spot in the line, a burly man approached the podium on the stage. When his voice rang out, amplified by a Sonorus charm, Hermione took the moment to pull forward her Occlumency walls. She looked out towards the crowd, easily hundreds in attendance, and noticed people pointing at different tributes. Some were waving at them, while others smiled and the odd person even winked. She was sickened by the display knowing that they probably couldn't wait to watch all those on stage die.

Then she remembered her thoughts from the night before. Moody would do her no favours in getting sponsorships. What if the people in the crowd waving at her were rich? Would it hurt her to smile or wave back if it meant a soft spot for sponsorships later? Probably not.

When the speaker turned his attention to introduce the tributes, she formulated a plan. She was at the end of the line so she had time to observe. As each tribute's name was called out, they stepped forward and either bowed their heads or waved out once to the crowd.

When it was finally her turn, she plastered a charming smile to her face and stepped forward. The moment she did, a young boy sitting on the shoulders of his father blew a kiss to her. She made a motion to catch it with her hand and pocket it with a delighted wink to the boy. She watched the moment replay back on the broadcast screen. Laugher erupted amongst the crowd and the young boy clapped his hands in glee. She bowed her head and took a step back.

This might be easier than she thought.

As the conference came to an end, the tributes began to skirt off the stage with their escorts in different directions, looking to avoid any unnecessary opportunities for mingling or scouting. Hermione got disoriented in the crowd of bodies and momentarily lost sense of what direction Rita and Moody had gone. She thought she had seen them go left, but as she stood in the center of the moving bodies around her, she realized she had no concept of what was left and what was right.

She slowly backed up, hoping to reach the step she had stood on during the speech to try and get some leverage over the commotion. She moved until she collided with a firm wall. She jumped back, startled, and found herself face to face with the tribute from Pure Capital. Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, his eyes studied her intently, no trace of emotion betraying his thoughts. She had just started to apologize and move away from him when he flicked his gaze down to the pin on her chest. His eyes seemed to widen in recognition before he broke the connection and looked up at her with a raised brow. She felt a stern push at her occlumency walls and gasped at the sudden intrusion. Is he trying to perform legilimency on me? Right here? Right now? When she didn't budge, the push receded. He had the nerve to look at her smugly as if he had just accomplished something.

"Nice pin," he breathed over his shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd.

A/N:

What is Draco up to? I guess only time will tell.

Next week's chapter is one of my favorites I've written so far (even including up to what I've written now with my buffer). I'm so excited for you to read it. I hope to see you on Thursday :)

Sidenote: there's one line in here, when Rita wakes Hermione, and she yells "I'm up!" that always does weird things to me. I don't know if it's anyone else, but my instinct is to always finish that line in my head with: "The fuck?". I mean, IYKYK. If you want to know, here you go: watch?v=9UyxBVvBDY8