A/N:
Beta credit to supernovanox, zara._anna, and megsivy. All remaining mistakes are my own!
On-going TW for the rest of the story: there will be blood, there will be gore, and there will be death. Proceed with caution.
Chapter 13: The Measure Of A Man
The smoke had settled and the stench had passed by the time Hermione could breathe again. At some point, she had silenced and disillusioned the space within the ring, but she didn't know when or how.
The come down from the spell hit her harder than she would have hoped. She was riddled with guilt, disgust, but most noticeably, pain. Her magical core, the most important link that remained to her parents, had not just flailed. When the spell seized, it had nearly combusted inside her. She had felt pieces of it tear away and fill her veins with darkness, heavy and foreboding on her heart.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. No spell should ever have been so powerful.
Fiendfyre was responsible for death as much as it was for life now. It was a juxtaposition she couldn't wrap her mind around, nor wanted to. It disgusted her.
The spell might have saved her life but she felt dirty, like a traitor to her own blood and being.
My parents were supposed to be alive. I should have been dead.
The sun had nearly risen to its full height by the time she made it to her feet. Every bone in her body ached. Every fiber of her magical being squirmed beneath the topmost layer of her skin.
She stood in the center of the ring, ash billowing around her as the wind lifted particles and swept them away. Her beech tree to the right of her, another to the left, and the bush she set on fire straight ahead. Her initial spell had left a burn mark from where she stood to the shrubbery in a straight line.
Seeing it all was chaos and pain and an unsavory reminder of her brush with death. Hermione wanted nothing to do with it for even a moment longer.
She hastily climbed up her tree and unfastened the sleeping bag and rucksack from the branches. She stuffed her belongings into the bag in a rush and swung it onto her back.
The forest around her was eerily quiet. She knew the cameras were whirring in hidden spaces and wondered briefly how they had portrayed her magical outburst. Did she come across deranged? Would anyone understand why? Did she even care?
With all the strength that she could muster, she pulled her Occlumency walls forward. They had held strong when she needed them most and then collapsed like a dam when her body did. She needed them now more than ever.
Her mind settled on one thing. She never wanted to find herself in a situation where she only had magic again.
She needed a weapon. She needed her weapon. There was likely only one person who could have it, and she was ready to do anything to pry it from his hands.
The sing-song of birds filled the air. Hermione turned her back to the grounds, and let her body carry her in the direction that felt right. Slowly, step after step, she left the confines of the space around the tree, all the damage she had done untouched, and disappeared into the depths of the forest.
She walked at a consistent pace for the next few hours, pushing tree branches and leaves from her way while keeping an eye out for any disturbances around her path. She snacked on jerky and drank hesitantly from her bottle of water, conscious of the fact that she didn't know if and when she would come across a fresh stream. She had decided to take an unbeaten path, assuming it would be the safest choice to stay out of sight from the other tributes.
The sun beat down on her head and back as it shined down from above. The heat and stickiness it left in its wake seemed too real to have been magically created for the arena. It felt like the sun on any day in District 12: bright and high, heat only multiplied by the coal pollution in the air.
The cover of leaves was her only relief from the heat. It had only been a few minutes into her hike that she had pulled off her jacket and stuffed it into her bag, having already extended it with an undetectable charm.
The bandage wrapped around her arm had slicked off with her sweat. She had pulled the material apart and stashed it in her pocket, relishing the small token that reminded her of someone that was on her side.
Fleur had taken great care of the damage the tracker had left. Hermione slowed her trek to gape at the eye staring back at her from her arm, and for a moment, thought she saw the pupil of it dilate. But when she focused her eyes on it, the marking remained still. She shook off the uneasy feeling, writing it off to a hallucination from the heat.
She continued on her way, vowing to not look directly at it if she could help herself. Sweat collected at the nape of her neck, fly away hairs sticking to her cheeks and forehead as she brushed them out of her eyes with her equally damp forearm. She trekked through the woods for hours in utter silence. No other footsteps, no voices, and certainly no cannons. It was as if a hush had settled over the forest after the commotion of the day before.
The sun had started to move past its peak in the sky when she came across a collection of bushes that looked out of place. There wasn't any particular reason that they caught her eye, except for the fact that they looked almost too conveniently placed in obstruction of her path.
She approached them slowly, lifting the wand in her hand to run a diagnostic spell over the space. The closer she reached to the bushes, the more they looked like they had been glamoured as a ruse to cover up a space someone didn't want others to find.
As she continued to near, the same drawl in Moody's unpleasant tone shifted through her head. This is not a good idea. Her voice of reason, again.
She knew in her gut that it might be right. But if she was anything, she was brave, sometimes almost at a detriment to herself. And she knew what she had her sights set on: the bow and arrow. She had assumed from the get-go that there was a chance she would have to put herself in harm's way to get what she needed.
She stood before the glamoured shrub but hesitated.
What would she find behind it? Was it a trap? Would it be worth her life to find out?
Wand still at the ready, she ran the fingers of her free hand over the glamour and watched it shimmer under her touch. It was an excellent glamour, and she doubted many of the others could have even spotted it. Whoever had placed it there knew what they were doing, and certainly didn't want to be found.
If she had any money she would place it on Draco.
Her heart floundered at the possibility of having the bow and arrow in her possession. Would she catch him off guard? She hoped she would. But maybe he would catch her. Flying stars might come her way before she had any chance to mutter a defensive spell.
It was a risk she knew she had to take.
She took a cautionary step back, holding her breath as she pointed her wand at the glamour and watched it flicker, initially resisting her magic. She held strong to her spell and after a few moments watched the magic give away. As it slowly started to peel back, she noticed the adjacent shrubs to it shimmer as well.
The more the glamour peeled away, the more clear the rest of the pattern of wards became. It looked deliberate, as the shrubs seemed to form a circle from the point she had disturbed. It looked to span past her view deep into the bushes and ended somewhere far beyond her reach.
It was an incredible piece of magic.
A part of her started to doubt that Malfoy was behind it. He seemed too brazen to be responsible for such a meticulous charm.
The glamour that peeled away was at eye level and barely large enough to fit her head through. She took a step forward and peered into the space it concealed.
To say she was surprised at what, and who, she saw would be an understatement.
The glamour allowed her a view into a large and open plain. The grass looked brighter than anything she had seen in the forest. There was a single large tree at the perimeter of the space.
Next to it stood a muggle-built shelter, put together from scraps of branches and tree bark. A ragged canopy hung overtop as a makeshift roof. It was small and compact, and reasonably practical, though she figured it was likely magically expanded within.
Before the shelter lay a makeshift cot, occupied by a blonde head of hair. Glaringly blond, so white it nearly blinded her against the rays of the sun. But it was not the blonde she was looking for.
The girl from District 11, Luna, lay atop the cot with a heavily bandaged left leg. Blood that looked to still be fresh was seeping through the wrap. Despite the injury, the girl looked at ease, one hand behind her head and the other hanging down to the ground, bangles and rings all over, fingers running softly through the grass. She had a compress on her head and a smile plastered to her face.
Huddled next to her, on his hands and knees, tinkering with some sort of salve, was the boy from District 7, Harry. He looked towards Luna, eyes bright, and said something to her softly. Her face lit up at his voice and she fell into a fit of laughter. Harry smiled at her and shifted his body to look at the bandage on her leg.
Hermione stood, partially shrouded by the other bushes, and willed her jaw to stay closed. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, and a hundred thoughts ran through her mind at once.
Harry, the boy who had gotten the highest showcase score, who she had personally considered the person to watch out for, sat in her view and fiddled with a bottle of antiseptic. He looked at Luna with worry and fear in his eyes and tried to hide it with a well-placed joke. Luna looked back at him as if he was her hero.
It was one of the most peculiar things Hermione had ever seen. Her heart both filled and shattered at the sight.
She couldn't find it in her to look away from the scene playing out before her.
She remained planted to her spot as she watched Harry remove a ring from his finger and pull the soaked bandage off of Luna's leg. He positioned his wand at the wound and though she couldn't hear what spell he muttered, she could do little else but watch as he tried to heal the girl before him.
The moment felt like a movie until it slowed in motion. Harry fumbled with a new bandage before it slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. He bent his head down to pick it up, shifting his gaze from Luna. His hand wrapped around it and when he lifted his head back up, he froze.
Goosebumps flushed Hermione's body at the sensation of being watched.
Harry had spotted her.
They locked eyes and for a moment, neither did anything but stare at the other. Then his eyes flashed to her chest, likely at her empty wand holster, and quickly down to where her hand was, which he couldn't see through the opening in the ward.
When she remained frozen, a vein on his forehead pulsed. He hastily slid both his hands beneath Luna and lifted her into his arms without strain. He caught Hermione's eye for a split second before he and the girl in his arms vanished before her sight.
The camp remained undisturbed, a gust of wind blew by and lightly lifted the canopy roof, before it settled into silence.
Hermione realized that she had held her breath the whole time watching him. She stood before the disturbed glamour and willed her body to move but it remained frozen. The moments prior playing through her mind like a scene on a loop, over and over and over again.
Body numb, her hand found the pin on her chest. She stroked the edges of the metal absent-mindedly and couldn't help but think about the words she had uttered in her mind just the day before.
Allies could destroy the Games.
When she considered that, she never thought the partnership that the Careers had to be an allyship. Their groupings were a matter of convenience; hold strong until the weak fell and then turn on each other.
A true ally would take a struggle on as their own and would share the fruits of their labor when it was needed. A true ally was hard to find.
Harry, arguably the strongest tribute in the batch if his score was any tell, looked like had done nothing to further his own prosperity. If Hermione had known any better, she would have said he looked to be putting his own interests on the line to care for an injured peer.
Not an injured enemy, one he planned to kill when everything was said and done, but a peer. Possibly even a friend.
An ally.
She didn't know where he had gone with Luna but the state of their camp looked like they had planned to stay. She stepped back from the opening she had created and positioned her wand back to it.
No thoughts passed through her mind as she conjured the spell to cover the hole she had made. The magic shimmered under her hand as the glamour stitched itself back to the existing pattern. The glamour pulsed once, then twice, and then settled comfortably into its spot.
She passed her hand over the spot to confirm it performed as it did before and it gave away nothing. Satisfied, she stepped back from the shrub and started to move away from it, pushing through the branches to find an alternate path.
Before she was completely out of sight, Hermione glanced back at the patched spot, the one she could no longer see but knew was there. As she turned her back to it to continue her trek, she hoped she had done enough to cover her tracks.
She had walked for roughly a mile when she spotted smoke rising high in a plume above the trees in the distance. Her heart stammered in her chest at the sight. First because of the memory of her own fire from the morning, and second, and more importantly, because it was a sign of another tribute.
Whoever the fire starter was, was a fool. Magical fire didn't leave evidence of smoke the same way that muggle fire did. And the plume she saw was definitely of the muggle kind. The smell of hickory wood in the air confirmed it.
She quietly disillusioned herself, knowing that the closer she got to the fire starter, the more risk she faced. Whoever the tribute was had just broadcast their location to everyone, and at her proximity, she was already too close for comfort.
She had walked only a few more steps, taking caution as the billow of smoke continued to pour into the sky, when she heard the trickle of water. She paused to listen to it.
Somewhere there was a stream, and it carried running water. A part of her knew it could have been an illusion, a plant by the Games-makers to get into the tributes' heads. But she heard the laps of moving water and the splashes of it against rocks, and it sounded too much like the real thing to be a figment of her imagination.
Her parched mouth was something she suddenly became acutely aware of. Her water had nearly run dry and she needed to replenish it if she wasn't going to survive. Maybe just long enough to be killed by something else, but survive for the time being nonetheless.
She would follow the sound of the stream and find it if it was the last thing she did.
Still disillusioned, hidden amongst the wild shrubs off the main path, she was overcome with a new sound: that of feet, breaking into a run.
She froze.
There were several feet, and unlike the snapping of branches in the morning that quickly gave away that the occupants weren't human, she was certain these were. Hermione's heart beat violently in her chest as a somber realization settled in her gut, that the feet were moving in her direction.
"Over here!" a deep voice called out.
She sank into the bushes, hoping whatever movement she might have caused went unnoticed. As the running feet neared closer, her heart beat faster. She held as still as she could, branches poking into the side of her face and leaves tickling her exposed skin, but still, she stood like a statue. The only movement of her body was the rise and fall of her chest as she desperately tried to get air into her lungs as quietly as she could.
A pack of feet whizzed past her, stampeding like horses on the loose, and she counted two sets. She didn't see who they were through the bushes as they raced by but moments later another set of footsteps drew closer from the same direction. The second set of feet slowed their run and she could see them waver nearby from where she hid, not following the path of where the first two went. Another two sets, another two people.
Four tributes total.
She quickly realized who she was dealing with. If she had to guess, the Careers from Districts 1, 2, and 4, had banded together, as she had expected.
They did it every year, but what they had was always the furthest thing from being allies. They were a pack of wolves in sheep's clothing. When tensions got too high, they would swiftly turn on each other.
The steps from the first set of running feet continued to echo against the trees for a few moments longer before they too came to an abrupt stop.
The two tributes who didn't follow, standing 20 feet away from where she hid, stood still.
The forest around them was silent.
Suddenly, an agonized scream filled the air. It was followed swiftly by the sound of banging, like a hammer to the cold hard ground.
"Fuck!" one of the tributes near her spat. A female voice, high-pitched and angry. Hermione heard her and the person with her start to pace, seeing the shift of their two bodies crisscrossing each other through small openings in the leaves.
The loud banging continued. Between emphasized pounds, she heard the faint sound of pleading. A begging voice from the same direction, muffled and strained.
She realized the sound wasn't of the ground being hit.
It was of a person.
A girl likely, being bludgeoned.
The pounding continued, hit, after hit, after hit.
It was almost more unsettling not seeing it happen, but being able to hear every brutal point of contact. Knowing that every second that passed meant the person was closer to death.
Her fists were clenched at her side, nausea settled in her core. The two tributes kept pacing, muttering to themselves but not loud enough for her to hear.
Eventually, the person stopped pleading. The pounding seized. Silence plagued the space around her again.
And then was filled by the dreaded sound of a canon.
A rambunctious cheer broke out in the distance and was followed by a chorus of laughter. The pacing tributes stopped. She felt a trickle of sweat roll down her forehead, narrowly missing her eye. Her jaw ached from clenching, and her whole body felt rigid with the stillness she found herself forced to maintain.
Two sets of footsteps drew closer to where the other tributes stood before there were four people in her line of sight, but barely. Their wands were lit with faint light and one carried a large lantern. She could hear better than she could see them, only spotting a few details through the breaks in the branches.
A head of black hair, a tall form, likely male, another, and the fourth she could quite discern.
Hermione was still disillusioned and she hoped the shrubs were enough to cover her amidst the quickly settling dusk.
"Cormac," the same angry female voice as before called, "Watch where you're going! You got blood all over me!"
The knot in Hermione's stomach twisted at the name. Cormac. The same tribute who had fought Harry at the Cornucopia. Blood. Covered in blood.
"Pansy," a male voice spat, who Hermione presumed was him. "Why don't you stay out of my way and maybe I won't get blood on you."
Pansy. The tribute from District 1 who had flung an axe at her head in the Cornucopia. Hermione's heart beat violently in her chest, so hard she could feel it up her throat and in the back of her head.
"You didn't have to make such a mess!" Pansy shrieked. "What was the point of this anyway?"
"The point?" Cormac yelled, footsteps stomping as if he was barreling towards her. "Did you forget where the fuck we are? We're in the bloody Hunger Games, Parkinson! The goal is to kill!"
"Did you really have to be so violent?" Her voice was filled with venom, raw and unhinged anger, solely directed at him.
Hermione couldn't see anything but partial shots of their bodies, four of them circled around each other. But she didn't have to see anything to hear the spite in Cormac's voice when he responded.
"I didn't do the killing," he paused, the sneer evident as he spoke. "Milicent did. I just held the girl down." A voice cackled, female, and Hermione deduced it was Milicent, relishing in the joy of what she had done.
The knot in her stomach twisted further. The bitter silence amongst the group rolled in like a fog and settled over everyone.
Somebody cleared their throat. "Now, gather around," Cormac announced. "I'll show you how we get to Potter."
Potter? As in, Harry? Hermione tried to swallow the frog-sized lump in her throat but couldn't. Cormac had just been part of killing another tribute and by the sound of it, was already prepared to move on to another.
"Since we fought, I have his blood-"
"He fought YOU," Pansy interrupted. "He beat your sorry ass to a pulp."
"That - is - besides - the - point -," he hissed. "I have his blood. I also have a potion that will bring us right to him when I add said blood."
If Hermione could have gasped, she would have. She didn't even know a potion like that existed. It was most likely experimental and something from Pure Capital. No doubt dark and not sold on the public market.
"Nobody is following you anywhere until you prove it," a different male voice spoke. Hermione guessed that was the voice of whoever had stayed back from the attack. Based on her understanding of their group dynamic, whoever had been with Pansy.
There was a moment of quiet amongst the pack before she saw Cormac appear between the branches and push his chin into the speaker's face. "Warrington, I should have killed you when I had the chance."
"Back off!" Pansy's voice called, shoving Cormac with a fist to his chest.
Hermione vaguely remembered the name, Warrington. Cassius Warrington, of District 1. Pansy's District mate, and likely the same person she had stayed back with.
Cormac scoffed. "Didn't know you needed your little girlfriend to be your bodyguard."
"I'm not his girlfriend," Pansy spat. "You're just a prick."
Hermione itched to see what was going on in full view. None of them had seemed to notice her but she wished she could have been in a better position, at least watching from a safer spot above.
Cormac muttered something under his breath and then the sound of fumbling and rummaging filled the air as if he had his hand inside a backpack. It lasted for a few moments before he plopped down on the ground crossed-legged. He placed a vial before him and pulled his shirt off.
At his low angle, Hermione had the perfect vantage point of him. The rest of the pack held their wands lit above his head, illuminating his makeshift workspace.
Bare-chested, he placed his wand on the edge of the shirt fabric and sliced through it carefully, isolating a piece that was no larger than a sickle. He held it up to the light and looked at it carefully before a greedy self-satisfied smirk pulled at his face.
He unscrewed the cap of the vial and dropped the scrap of fabric into it. Amidst the shading light, she could see the vial sizzle as the fabric melted inside it and released a small trail of smoke. Cormac watched it for a moment before he looked up at the pack and smiled.
"Okay, now what?" Pansy probed loudly.
"Now," Cormac said, pulling at his words, "I drink it."
"Gross."
"But effective," he added. He eyed the mixture with furrowed brows before he placed it as his lips and threw his head back. He recoiled at its taste and looked like he might chuck it back up but the moment quickly passed and he rose to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Pansy called out.
"Going to kill Potter," he barked back. "The potion will lead the way."
His steps descended away from the other three tributes until Hermione could no longer hear them. Somebody raced after him and based on the conversation she had overheard, she assumed it was Millicent. Pansy and Cassius seemed to hesitate. She saw nothing but their feet and faces, something on their hands twinkling against the light of their wands as they whispered to each other with stern looks on their faces.
Eventually, they turned towards the path the other two Careers went down and followed.
Hermione waited until they were out of ear-shot before she exhaled a shaky breath of air. She held back for a few more moments before she moved from her spot in the bushes, still disillusioned, and stretched out her legs carefully.
And then the prior moment hit her like a ton of bricks. They were going after Harry.
She wasn't sure if it was still a bluff or how the potion worked, but Cormac had made his intentions clear. Harry was his next target.
Maybe he always was, and the tribute they took out was just a matter of convenience. In any case, they were already on their way to him.
But a part of her almost didn't fault the Careers. Harry was the highest-scoring tribute from the showcase, and she was sure that others had noticed his potential. She surely had. He should have been everyone's top target.
He was a complete stranger to her and a part of her wondered if it would be the worst thing to have him out of the way.
It definitely wouldn't hurt.
It would be one less tribute against her, two if she counted Luna, who she was sure they could get if they managed to get to him.
The passing thought left her horrified.
Had the Games already gotten to her so quickly? She had just seen Harry, and though he could have attacked her, he hadn't. He had every opportunity to kill her on sight, but he had gathered another tribute, one he was clearly taking care of, and just eased away.
There was no attack. No provocation. And she was still alive.
He could have killed her and he didn't.
The Careers could kill him, but she had the power to stop it.
She still didn't understand why he hadn't gone after her, but what mattered was that he didn't.
At the very least, they could be even.
A life for a life.
It would be a far cry from being an ally, but once the thought was realized in her head, she knew there was no turning back. She had the power to do something about it, and if she could, she would.
At the worst, maybe it would score her some points with the sponsors.
It didn't matter if not saying anything would make her path in the long run simpler. It didn't matter if they succumbed to reasons that weren't her own. But at that moment, if she didn't try to do something to warn him, she would never let herself live it down.
Her hand shook knowing what was to come next. There was no way she would make it to Harry in person to warn him, and frankly, she wasn't so foolish to want to be there when he got attacked.
There was only one thing she could do, and though it technically wasn't difficult, it was complex for other reasons. There was so little good left in her life that conjuring the right memory would be a challenge.
She allowed herself just a moment to think before she settled on the vision she needed. She tethered her magical core to the thought and focused her willpower into the tip of her wand.
"Expecto Patronum."
The silver-blue wisp spilled out to form her Patronus, and it flapped its wings in greeting around her head.
She hoped she was doing the right thing. She hoped he would understand.
"The Careers have your blood," she whispered to the creature, "They know where you are," a breathless pause, "They are coming.*"
The bird nodded and soared valiantly into the air, picking up speed as it flew away from her before the speck of silver light vanished in the darkness.
A/N:
* "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
—Kingsley Shacklebot's Patronus warning in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows before Death Eaters attack Bill and Fleur's wedding
Please let me know if you caught the imagery of shapes at the beginning of this chapter. The placement of Hermione within the ring was not unintentional ;)
With this update, we've officially crossed the 50k word threshold! To think this was just an idea in my head at one point, and is my first posted story, it feels so special! My pre-written content has surpassed 90K words as of this week and the story will likely be close to 150K with everything I still have planned. I don't have a final chapter count yet, but it's looking to be at least 35ish chapters. If you've been reading and following along, I can't thank you enough! I post new updates every Thursday - I hope to see you next week :)