A/N:
Chapter title inspired by Stephen R. Covey: "We judge ourselves by our intentions, and others by their actions."

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

Chapter 5: Our Intentions; Their Actions

In the whirlwind following the press conference, Hermione felt herself tugged from one side to another, first by Moody who criticized her for doing something he didn't approve of beforehand, and then by Rita who praised her for blowing the kiss and said that it would fare well with potential sponsors.

Through the commotion, her mind kept replaying the comment made by Draco Malfoy – "nice pin," he had said. She tried to wrap her brain around those two words until she developed a headache, but was no closer to understanding what he meant.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed that she was being ushered through a long dark hallway, fitted with grimy light sconces on either side. She came to her senses just as Moody pushed her through a large black door and slammed it shut behind her. She found herself standing before two men she didn't recognize.

"You are Herm-own-ninny," one of them said, a tall buff man with tattoos across his arms and a shaved head.

"Hermione," she corrected.

"See, I told you it wasn't Herm-own-ninny," the other one laughed.

"Who are you?"

The man with tattoos stuck his hand out to her proudly, "My name is Viktor."

She took his hand and was taken back by how large it was around hers. The other man quickly offered her his hand as well.

"I'm Cedric. We're your style team. Well, most of it," he flashed a striking smile.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Moody had warned her that she would have no say in what the stylists did. She had envisioned snobby people who stuck their noses in the air to her, or ones who looked at her like scum. The two men before her had done nothing of that sort. They didn't look half-bad, and definitely not as high and mighty as she had imagined.

"What will you be doing to me?" she asked hesitantly.

Cedric stood half-leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and popped a gum bubble as he looked her up and down. He stopped when he got to the bare legs beneath her shorts and winced. "Dear, when was the last time you shaved?"

She felt the blush spread across her cheeks and neck. "Never."

"Then we've got a lot of work to do," he announced, pushing himself off from the wall and crossing the room to grab his bag. Viktor quickly followed suit and pulled out a bag of his own.

With their bags in tow, they both approached Hermione and got to work. She spent the next hour gritting her teeth and wiping tears from her eyes as they yanked strips of fabric from her legs. A particularly bad strip had Hermione yelping when the hair was pulled out roughly.

"Sorry!" Viktor exclaimed. "You're just so hairy!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and gripped the table in preparation for the next strip.

Cedric flashed Hermione a sly grin and pulled his face close to her ear. "Don't mind him, he just likes them bare."

Hermione's eyes widened at the brazen statement. Cedric however looked guiltless. He motioned to himself, flashing her a cheeky grin, and said, "I mean, wouldn't you? Look at me."

She saw Viktor throw him a look that was more than a little friendly, but she had little time to dwell on it before Cedric was pulling the next strip.

"Good news, that was the last one."

She took a deep breath and counted to ten to calm herself, unsure if she could have suffered any more of the man-handling. The skin on her legs felt positively raw.

In the hour she had spent in the room, she had yet to meet her lead stylist. She assumed he or she had no interest in seeing her until the obvious problems were taken care of. After the gruelling hair removal, they scrubbed her down with a fluffy loofah and soap that smelled like apples and cinnamon. They removed years' worth of dirt and what felt like numerous layers of the skin itself. They shaped her nails, pulled out rogue eyebrow hairs, and moisturized her from top to bottom like a newborn baby.

She had stayed true to her promise to Moody and hadn't let a single objection leave her mouth.

"You're doing really well Hermione," Cedric said. "We get a lot of whiners and you're anything but."

They had changed her into a robe and stood back to assess her. "You look wonderful," praised Viktor in his thick accent. "Like a new woman."

She forced her lips into a smile. "Thank you. I usually don't have much reason to look nice –" she hesitated. " – where I'm from."

Cedric looked affronted. "Oh of course not, we don't fault you for that." He didn't let her dwell on the comment and followed with a quick change of subject. "Looks like you're ready for Fleur!"

"When she is done with you, you will be marvelous," Viktor grinned. They both darted out of the room.

Hermione realized she didn't have it in her to hate them. Sure, they seemed a bit odd. She also wasn't sure if they were actually lovers or just teasing her, not that that mattered much either. What did matter though was that it felt like they were sincere in trying to help her.

She stood on the pedestal they left her on and passed her eyes over the room, taking in details she had missed before. The room was dark, almost ominously so, painted in a navy blue from floor to ceiling. At the center of it hung a large chandelier that she was sure was the most extravagant thing she'd ever seen in her life.

Without Viktor and Cedric's presence, the room felt cold and uninviting. She dreaded having to strip from her robe, something she assumed she would have to do when her head stylist arrived. She ran her fingers through her hair, a part of her they hadn't done anything to, and thought back to Molly's careful fingers weaving through the plaits and the charms she'd left that still stuck.

She remembered that she had left the periwinkle dress Molly had lended to her on the floor of the train car, never thinking to hold on to the only other piece she had left of the Burrow. Her second home. Now she wished she had.

The door to the room swung open and a strikingly beautiful woman walked in. With Viktor and Cedric at her heels, Hermione presumed she was looking at Fleur. The young woman had short blonde hair that cut off bluntly at her shoulders, half of which was pulled back from her face. The lines of her cheeks and jaw were sharp but feminine. When she pulled her lips back to smile, a light glow emanated from her face.

"Hello," she said in an accent that wasn't immediately familiar to Hermione. "I am Fleur."

"Hi Fleur, my name is –"

"I know who you are," she said matter-of-factly, rummaging through the bag she had with her. "It's lovely to meet you."

She paused, looked at Hermione with her arms wrapped around her core, and flipped her gaze to Viktor and Cedric. "Out with you, boys. Give us some space." They nodded at her in quick succession and filed out of the room.

Hermione motioned her hand towards the knot at her robe and Fleur nodded, taking it as her instruction to strip. As the robe dropped to the floor behind her, Fleur walked around her naked body. Hermione fought her instincts to cover herself and cower behind something, but Fleur's gaze was not predatory or judgemental. She simply observed her.

"I like your hair," she hummed. "Did you tressé it yourself?"

By the look on Hermione's face, Fleur realized that she didn't understand her jargon. "Braid – did you braid it?"

"No," she whispered. "I had help."

"It is trés chic – and very classic. It suits your face beautifully." Her tone was genuine and warm, once again diminishing Hermione's unpleasant expectations of the people she would be working with.

"Are you new?" Hermione asked. Most of the District stylists were consistent, familiar faces that were easily recognizable after years of watching the games. She had never seen Fleur before.

Fleur twirled her finger around a bright feather attached to her ear. "I am. This is my first Hunger Games."

"So they stuck you with District 12?"

"I asked for it," she said but without further explanation. "You can put your robe back on."

Hermione did as she was told and followed Fleur into the adjacent sitting were two red couches facing each other around a small wooden table. The room was in surprisingly stark contrast to the one she had gotten her makeover in. Though the walls were similarly dark and gloomy, one wall was made entirely of glass, providing an extravagant view of Pure Capital from above. The dark hallway and previous room had made it feel like the building was underground – the view clearly showed otherwise. Light filtered in brightly and brought a warmth she had yet to feel in the city.

Fleur motioned to one of the couches for Hermione, and then sat herself on the one facing it. She rang a small bell on the table and plates of food appeared in front of them instantly. Hermione longed to be able to conjure food this easily at the Burrow. She wished everyone in every District was able to. But she knew food couldn't be created from nothing. This summoning luxury didn't work when the food was non-existent in a nearby place. It was a luxury she presumed no District had like Pure Capital did.

Her plate was piled high with glistening meat on a bone, fluffy mashed potatoes, and crisp green beans. She didn't know what the meat was but it looked delicious. Thinking about the Weasley's and her neighbours in District 12, though, made her hesitate. She moved her fork around the food and realized she didn't have much of an appetite. She should have, after how the day had gone so far, but she didn't. She just had a painful knot in her stomach.

She wondered what it would be like to live in a place like Pure Capital while knowing people in the Districts starved. She didn't know if the situation in the other Districts was as dire as it was in 12, but she assumed it was similar. What did people in Pure Capital do with their days if they didn't have to hunt or do physical labour? Did they just sit around and wait for their yearly shipment of tributes to arrive to die for their entertainment?

Hermione looked up and saw Fleur's eyes trained on her. Her food also remained untouched. "You must believe I'm despicable," she said.

Hermione was surprised by the forward statement. Had Fleur read her mind? She of course wasn't wrong. She did think that. Not just about the woman sitting in front of her, but of everyone from Pure Capital. She couldn't fathom living a life of wealth while others suffered, and having the means to help but doing nothing about it.

But she also knew she was in precarious territory. What Fleur thought Hermione might feel, was one thing. Confirming any of those thoughts was a risk she wasn't willing to take yet.

"I do find it rather difficult to process this level of consumption and opulence," she replied diplomatically. Not a lie, but also not the full truth.

Fleur cast her eyes down to the table and nodded solemnly, but didn't respond.

"How about we discuss your costume for the opening ceremony?"

More opulence, more flash, more ostentatiousness. Send the tributes to their death, but do it in style. Hermione remained silent, so Fleur continued. "Since you don't have a fellow tribute, we don't have to design a complementary costume. It can be all about you."

Hermione didn't want anything more to be about her. She wanted to run away and live out her days in the forest. She shouldn't have second guessed Ron's suggestion. She shouldn't have tried to be strong. Maybe she wouldn't have to be here. But alas, the should's and what-if's wouldn't change anything. She was already here. Her fate had already been signed.

A single thought passed through her mind. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. If she was going to go down with a fight, she could at least do it with dignity.

"Do I have a choice in what I wear?"

"Of course you do. You might not have had a choice in a lot of what you've been asked to do, but you do have a choice in what you wear," Fleur affirmed with a half-smile. "I can design something and surprise you, or you can tell me what you envision for yourself."

Hermione thought through her options, as limited as they may have been, and considered what she could suggest. She didn't have much knowledge of what looked good or what was stylish, but she did know what she wanted to say with her outfit. She also knew what was important to her going into the games: her own strength and resiliency. She wanted whatever she wore to speak to that, to show the other tributes and all those watching across the country that she was a threat. If she made others believe it, maybe she too would believe it whole-heartedly.

"I'd like something that portrays me as a strong competitor. Nobody expects me to put up a fight, let alone win. I want people who are doubting me to second guess themselves, to eat their words," she said with much more conviction than she felt.

Fleur's eyes lit up. "I think I can do that."

A few hours later, Hermione was dressed in her costume. Fleur had created a dress, much like the color of the walls in the room, that was velvet to the touch in the bodice and flared out into multiple layers of mesh at the skirt. It was floor length and unjustly beautiful, with a slit down the middle that exposed one of Hermione's legs. It sat off her shoulder, sized perfectly thanks to magic, and was somehow both delicate and powerful.

Fleur appraised her creation proudly, circling Hermione and making minor alterations as she went. Finally, she stepped back behind Hermione and met her eyes in the mirror reflection.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Hermione was near speechless, but didn't want her silence to come across as rude. "It's beautiful, Fleur. I feel beautiful."

Fleur's face beamed with a smile. "It's not done yet."

"Oh?"

Instead of answering, Fleur directed her wand to the front of Hermione's dress to show her. She muttered a long incantation under her breath and moved her wand in a motion that Hermione didn't recognize.

Before her eyes, sparkles appeared as wide and bright as star light, materializing on the skirt beneath the mesh. The details were woven in intricate patterns, seemingly assembling themselves, and shined in shades of gold and silver. She thought she faintly recognized the patterns, but was too entranced by the magic to decipher their meaning.

Finally, Fleur stepped away and examined the part of the skirt she had enchanted. "Perfect."

Hermione passed her hands over the mesh, feeling the artificial but striking details of the new additions. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just a few runes," Fleur responded. "Do you recognize them?"

At the mention of Runes, Hermione realized that she did. She had never learned Ancient Runes in school, but she had taken the liberty of teaching herself as much as she could from a book she found in the attic of her parents' home. She was no expert, but she recognized the symbols and knew their inherent meanings.

"I do," she whispered. "I don't know them in detail, but I've seen them before."

She toyed with the material in her hands and tried to recollect the knowledge from deep within her mind. She landed on one that looked particularly familiar. "This is Uruz."

Fleur smiled warmly at her recognition as Hermione continued. "It represents strength, courage and pragmatic knowledge. It's the symbol of young warriors."

"That's correct. You asked for something strong, so I hoped the understated reference, one that only a handful of people will understand, would be your style." She paused before asking hesitantly, "Do you like it?"

"It's perfect," Hermione beamed. And she meant it.

Fleur took the compliment in stride before pulling up a piece of the skirt with her fingers and bringing Hermione's attention to another pattern.

"This is the rune for Algiz," she said. "It symbolizes courage in the face of fear and amidst the unknown." She paused for a moment before adding quietly, "It's for protection."

With a wary glance she met Hermione's eyes and blinked slowly, hoping she understood the unspoken sentiment.

Hermione did. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, being unable to do anything more than nod at Fleur in a show of appreciation. She may have thought that Pure Capital residents were despicable, and selfish, and in certain cases downright vile people, but she couldn't find it in her to dislike Fleur. There was something to her that Hermione couldn't fully understand. As if there was another layer, a deeper meaning, to the things she said and did.

Fleur quickly brought her attention to one more pattern. "And this is Kenaz, a source of light and warmth amongst the darkness."

Hermione wasn't very familiar with that particular rune.

"The quest for truth is like a purifying fire. It will set you free."

A deeper meaning, another layer. As Fleur's words swam in her mind, she bent down to adjust the heels on Hermione's feet.

Moments later, the door to the room swung open. Viktor and Cedric appeared in the doorframe with their jaws dropped.

"Herm-own-ninny, you look – Wow."

Cedric shot him a look for the obvious mispronunciation of her name but seemed like he understood where the fault came from. He too looked at her dumbly before proclaiming, "What he said. Wow."

Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the praise and looked to Fleur who observed the dress fondly.

Or maybe she observed her.

Cedric pulled Fleur in for a sideways hug and kissed her on the cheek. "Way to go Fleur, what a first showing." She smiled at him warmly and swiped the back of her palm under her eyes, before quickly clearing her face of emotion and straightening her back.

"I believe it's time to go."

Hermione's stylist team ushered her out of the room as she replayed Fleur's words in her head. A source of light amongst the darkness. She wondered if the irony of the statement was intentional as she passed through the dark and grimy hallways but assumed it was just a mere coincidence. The Pure Capital was light, it was color, it was brilliance.

At least in a literal sense.

She got whisked down an elevator to what seemed like the very bottom floor of the building they were in. She knew the opening ceremonies were about to begin.

As they exited the elevator, she saw pairs of tributes being loaded up onto what looked like thestral-drawn carriages, as she could observe them being pulled but couldn't see by what. She had been spared witnessing her parents death, so the thestrals were thankfully still invisible. She figured if she survived the Games, they no longer would be.

Viktor offered Hermione his hand as an empty carriage approached for her. She flashed him a smile she hoped didn't betray how nervous she felt and pushed herself up the height of the steps. She adjusted her body at the front, making sure the part of her dress with the runes was visible through the glass wall around the carriage.

As Fleur had said, few would understand the meaning. Ancient Runes were exactly that – ancient. Not many bothered themselves with things that were so old and seemingly irrelevant. But that very fact made her smile inside. The thought that she was making a statement to and about herself that only a few people would understand felt special.

As the opening music began to play around Pure Capital, and the doors in front of the line of carriages slid open to reveal the crowd, her carriage slowly moved into the queue.

Hers should have been the last carriage in the line, but she heard another one pull up right behind her. She turned, confused because there was no District after 12, and was met with the sight of the same odd person from the morning's press conference – the Malfoy boy from Pure Capital.

She saw him hop into his carriage unimpeded, heavy robes billowing behind him but no stylist or escort around, and plop himself down on the seat at the back of the carriage. He looked haggard and like he would rather be anywhere else. Join the club, asshole, she thought to herself. We'd all rather be somewhere other than on our way to impending death. It seemed like he hadn't seen her and she hoped to keep it that way.

Before her carriage was out of eyesight, she looked back at her stylists. Cedric blew her a kiss, Viktor flashed her a thumbs up, and Fleur gave her a small smile. She waved to them and turned her attention to the path ahead.

The ride through the city was supposed to take around fifteen minutes and would end in the City Center. From there, they would be introduced by the President, stand for the anthem of Regnum, and then be escorted into the training building. That would be their home, and effectively their prison, until the Games began in one week.

As Hermione waited in the queue of carriages, she watched the other entrances ahead of her. The tributes from District 1, a vicious looking girl with a blunt black bob and blonde boy a foot taller than her, wore matching bejeweled tunics. She knew that District made jewelry for Pure Capital, and the roar of the crowd at their entrance showed that they were clear favorites. The next few districts passed in a blur. She spotted the scar headed boy from District 7 dressed as a lumberjack with his female counterpart, and the girl from District 8 linked arms with her paired tribute, a goofy looking boy who seemed like he had just recently grown into his body and didn't know what to do with his long limbs.

As the amount of carriages in front of hers diminished one by one, anxiety creeped into Hermione's gut. On impulse, she flashed her gaze to the carriage behind her. She didn't know why she did it, but something about the man in the carriage felt familiar. Almost comforting, after the moment with him this morning, amidst all the other unknown around her. She regretted looking his way the moment she did.

He had been sitting slumped in the carriage but chose that moment to lift his head, and met her eyes head on. An all-knowing expression crept onto his face and he rose to his feet gracefully, strutting to the front of his own carriage. He leaned forward with both his arms on the glass wall and looked at her quizzically.

She should have expected it after that morning, but she didn't think he would be so brazen, so outwardly shameless, a second time. But she felt the deliberate push against her Occlumency wall almost instantly.

Only a fool who knew Occlumency would keep themselves exposed, and she was no fool. He thought he could catch her off guard, but she was a hunter. She didn't get caught off guard. She was the one that did the catching. She rolled her eyes at his weak attempt and turned away from him, forcing her mind not to think about what he was trying to accomplish with Legilimency.

What could he, someone she didn't know of before the previous night, and frankly still didn't know, possibly gain from her? A boy from Pure Capital of all places.

Warning bells went off in Hermione's head. This man is planning to kill you. He probably just liked to play with his food before he did.

Suddenly, it was her turn in the queue and her carriage passed the threshold of the doors, flying out into the crowded streets. Her entrance was met with cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!". Every head turned her way as the runes on her dress illuminated into blinding bright stars amongst the setting sun of the early evening. At the magic, the crowd cheered even louder. She caught sight of herself on the broadcast screens and got chills, unbelieving that she looked as beautiful as she did.

She stood and waved, remembering that she was showing for sponsors. She lifted her chin slightly higher and pulled her most charming smile to her face. As she gained confidence, she blew back kisses, and the crowd went nuts after her moment in the morning with the little boy. They threw flowers, they shaped their hands into hearts towards her, and shouted her first name. Nobody could take their eyes off of her and the dress she was in and she couldn't help thinking that Fleur added the surprise on purpose to give her an advantage. She wanted to make her unforgettable.

Everybody would know who she was. Hermione Granger. A young warrior.

She felt a high unlike anything she'd ever felt before, adrenaline pumping through her body, and it gave rise to a flicker of something within her that felt very much like hope. Surely there were sponsors that would want to take her on? Maybe she could actually do this.

Her carriage arrived in the City Center mere moments before the one behind her did. She didn't dare look back at its occupant. The thirteen carriages filled the Center, and the building of every window that surrounded it was packed with people. The music ended on a high note as the President stepped forward from his seat in the balcony above the grounds.

He was tall, dark-haired, and extremely handsome. Hermione remembered him from the broadcast she watched the night before and couldn't help the unease that settled in her stomach. He looked, and in that moment sounded, like an agreeable man, extending pleasantries and well wishes to all the tributes. But she felt like she had seen a more sinister part of him, one that she presumed he didn't display too often to the masses.

As his speech continued, she watched herself get broadcast once on the display screen, then again, and then another time. Each time, in the corner of the screen she could see the Malfoy boy staring her way as if trying to catch her attention.

She decided she wanted to try something, a little something out of the pages of his book.

She eased her Occlumency wall back and held her breath, waiting patiently to see if he was going to try and test her again. She realized he had only done it before when they looked at each other, never yet like this. She wasn't a natural at Legilimency like she was at Occlumency, but she knew enough to get around. A quick test of his walls showed her he had no defences up, whether by choice or by chance, didn't matter much to her.

As the camera turned to her again, she chose that moment to pounce and projected into his mind.

What do you want?

She caught the startle flash across his face on the screen as he jolted to the voice inside his head.

She snickered. It had worked.

It took him mere moments to gather his composure before she felt him enter her mind.

I didn't know they taught Ancient Runes in the Districts.

She could sense the snark bleeding through his words. Of all things, that's what he wanted to say to her? She chose not to respond.

First the pin, now the runes. Who are you, Hermione Granger?

She knew with Legilimency, the voice she heard was a mere projection of the real thing, but it still felt like he was hissing his words into the back of her neck.

She hesitated a moment too long because when she went to enter his mind again and tell him it was none of his business, his walls were up.

She turned her head towards where she last saw him, but he had resumed his place on the seat of his carriage and was prominently faced away from her. As the President's speech concluded, the carriages did a final loop of the City Centre, and paraded into the training grounds.

The moment the doors shut behind the carriages, she was engulfed by her stylist team, who babbled out praise and compliments. As she glanced around, she noticed all the other tributes were talking with their partner, their stylist, or their escort and trainer. She caught sight of Malfoy jumping down from his carriage with nobody to greet him.

She watched as he walked towards the training ground entry point and undressed his robe. It looked expensive, as all Pure Capital things did. He dropped it to the floor behind him and waved his wand before the robe burst into flames.

He continued walking purposefully towards the entrance as the robe sent a plume of magical smoke into the air. As his figure disappeared into the tunnel, the flames settled almost instantly.

When the smoke cleared, a single orange feather lay atop the heap of ash.

A/N:

If Hermione's style team were to have a name, I think they would be called the Triwizard Stylists. Unlike canon, all our champions are still alive though...

...at least for now. Maybe forever? Who knows. But they are now. If you didn't catch the references to where the fourth one is, more will be revealed about him soon.

Hermione's reference to "should's and what-if's" was inspired by a quote by John O'Callaghan: "The what-if's and should-have's will eat your brain out."

Updates every Thursday - see you next week!