A/N:
Chapter title inspired by an untitled quote: "I am not a damsel in distress, but a dragon in a dress."
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. *Vague mention of hunting and animal kill*
Chapter 15: A Dragon In A Dress
Hermione staggered into the woods after Draco left and chose the first tree she found out of sight. The swaying of the branches lulled her to sleep quickly, but it was anything but restful.
When her eyelids fluttered closed, she could see the lifeless look in the eyes of beheaded Grindylows.
The phantom graze of their slimy fingers washed over her body every time the wind blew and rattled the branches.
In her dreams, their haunted faces came alive and gnawed at her arms and legs, sinking their sharp teeth into her skin and seeping blood out of her.
Dream Hermione would cry and scream from the pain as the creatures pulled her deep into the water until she suffocated.
Every time, she woke abruptly, panting, sweat dripping down her neck. The tree she was in would sway and shift in tune with her breathing, and though she would quickly fall back to sleep, the same nightmare would begin all over again.
She wished she had a calming drought, a sleep potion, or the ability to more easily forget so that she didn't have to drown in her nightmares. Every moment in the Games was just another thing that would keep her up at night if she ever made it out.
Hermione awoke in the early parts of the morning, the sun barely starting to rise, to the playing of the national anthem. The branches above her parted to reveal the sky, where the Pure Capital symbol projected in black across the morning blue and white.
It was only the second announcement of the fallen since the Games began, and already, the games-makers had shifted from the night to morning.
She wasn't even really sure if it was the second morning at all. In a magical arena like this one, daylight could be extended, and nighttime cut short. Twenty-four hours could feel like an eternity when the concept of time was tampered with.
You could easily lose your mind to the weight of exhaustion in the middle of the day, or the feeling of being wide awake as darkness fell. It was the Games-makers' way of keeping everyone on edge, no matter how comfortable or powerful they felt.
She waited with bated breath for the verdict of the fallen, her gut sinking as she wondered what it would feel like to see the faces of Harry or Luna in the sky.
The first face was no surprise to her. It was the girl that Hermione had seen and heard bludgeoned to death.
District 3, her name read Hannah.
The next face was one she didn't recognize. A boy named Ernie, from District 10.
The fallen were always announced in chronological order—the sight of his District number flooded with relief.
It meant that Harry, from District 7, had survived the night.
Ernie's face faded into nothing and was followed by a somber melody.
Her heart skipped a beat. Just the two fallen tributes the day before.
A confirmation that not only Harry but also Luna had made it out alive.
Them and every single Career.
She thought back to the blood-curdling scream she had heard the night before. If it wasn't one of them, then who could it have been?
There was a canon, so the only possibility was the tribute from 10.
As the music ended, she ran through her mental tally again. Two fallen, on top of the ten from the day before, leaving just twelve remaining. The Careers, Malfoy, Harry, and Luna making up more than half of who was left.
Twelve tributes dead in the span of two days.
Her body ached, both from restless sleep and the sobering realization that she was living through hell.
It was unclear how early in the morning it was, but if she was up, then she knew she couldn't just sit in her tree all day lest she wallow and feel bad for herself and the circumstances she was in.
The tree swayed like a gentle urge for her to get moving.
Hermione looked around and cataloged her belongings. Her bow and arrow remained tucked inside her sleeping bag with her, where she had clung to it through the night. Her backpack hung off a branch above her, secured with a protection spell. A bottle full of water, a hat, and an empty pack of jerky was what remained inside it. The vial of blood replenishing potion was still tucked into the small zippered pocket at the front.
Her stomach grumbled at the thought of the empty pack of jerky. It had been almost 48 hours since she had eaten normal food, having survived until that point solely on the bits of smoked meat, water, and adrenaline.
But now that she had her bow and arrow, finding food would be the least of her problems.
Hermione warded her tree and the area surrounding it. Certain there were no creatures around, human or magical, she gathered her arrows and slung her bow over her back. Transfiguring the baseball cap into a small satchel, she stuffed the empty packet inside and climbed down from the tree, leaving the rest of her bag disillusioned in the branches.
From the ground, she looked up at the spot she had chosen proudly. She had found it on her last legs of energy, drowning in the darkness of the night, but had done a good job. It remained close to the water, but out of sight, off the beaten path and deep in the shrubbery of the woods. It was a large tree, much like the one she slept in the night before, but it felt like something about this one had specifically called to her.
Its sways through the night had felt like breathing, a comforting sensation that made her feel less alone. After one final look back at it, Hermione disillusioned herself and started to move to higher ground.
Taking cautious steps, she made a point to continue to stay off the beaten path in search of food. She had already had her fair share of unpleasant moments with magical creatures and tributes. All she needed and wanted was a squirrel or a rabbit, even a bird of some sort, that she could catch and kill quickly.
Hermione walked up a valley and neared a particularly dark part of the forest. The trees built a canopy of leaves above her and almost fully blocked the sunlight out. It was like walking into a cave carved through a mountain. The air was cool and still, like a sobering slap in the face compared to the light warmth where she had come from.
As she crossed the threshold from light to dark, she felt the rippling caress of something along her skin, like a brush of air from her head to the toes within her shoes.
It was the disturbance of a magical barrier.
The dissolution over her body had vanished.
The wand in her hand felt no hum, and there was no buzz of magic at her fingertips. It was like holding a stale piece of wood, no different than the sticks and branches strewn across the grounds of the forest.
She quickly realized she had found herself in a part of the woods with no magic. With only her and the bow and arrow at her disposal, goosebumps flushed her body in response to the odd sensation.
Hermione retreated to where she came from, and as soon as she stepped back into the light, magic flamed through her body again. It was the confirmation she needed to know that she was magicless only under the dark canopy of trees.
She would have to be quick. Get in and get the hell out of there.
It was only a few moments after she stepped back into the darkness when she saw it. Movement ahead of her up in the path she was walking.
A small body scurrying from one bush of trees to another.
A rabbit.
She had had years of practice hunting animals on the move, so she didn't need a hide-out spot or to wait to find it when it was eating. The bow buzzed in her hand as if it was calling, begging her to use it. So she did.
The rabbit didn't make it to the end of its path, her arrow puncturing through it as it froze mid-stride, and it fell limply to the ground.
As she approached it, she could see it was grown and fairly meaty. With magic on her side, once she left the odd cover of trees, she could cook and preserve it for days with charms. It would be enough to hold her over until her next chance of hunting, whenever that would be.
Hermione pulled her arrow out of the rabbit and carried it by its ears beyond the magic-less barrier. She walked deeper into the woods and disposed of everything she didn't need or want to bring attention to her from predators and other tributes. She skinned it, quickly vanishing the blood and remains so that the smell wouldn't accumulate from the heat beating down on her.
When the meat was roasted, she devoured it. Rabbit wasn't her favorite meal, but beggars couldn't be choosers in her situation. The most important thing was that she felt sated and full.
She pulled the empty jerky package from her backpack and transfigured it into a lightweight jar. Stuffing the leftover meat into it, she set it with a preservation spell, and tightened the lid closed. She cleaned her hands and vanished any signs of her presence before slinging the bow over her back and starting the trek back to her tree.
Wand in hand, she followed a similar path to the one she came from. Her free hand brushed aimlessly over the bow, and for the first time since the night before, she let her mind wander back to how it came to be in her possession.
Everything she didn't have an answer for always seemed to come back to Malfoy.
The more she saw him and heard the things he said to her, the less she understood his intentions. Why was he doing this? Why hadn't he killed her when he had the chance?
But then again, why hadn't she?
There had been almost no hesitation on his part to hand over the bow and arrows to her, almost as if he had planned to all along. But when that thought passed her mind, it seemed preposterous.
He was a tribute like her, and everyone's main goal should have been survival. It was a Game of the fittest, of the toughest and most clever.
Was his fascination with her just a ruse? She couldn't rule it out, but the look he had given her when he asked her to think about his offer seemed genuine. As if he had truly wanted to partner up with her.
But it just brought her back to the same starting point - why?
Hermione hated that she felt like she owed him now, not just for the weapon but also for saving her. She didn't want to admit it in front of him, but he definitely had. There would have been no way she could have survived the attack from the Grindylows without him.
She owed him her life.
Nearing the sounds of the river and entering territory that she knew would be more populated, she disillusioned herself and all her carry-on.
Her fear from the attack in the water had manifested itself into anger and resentment towards him, but she wasn't angry that he had saved her in actuality.
She was angry that he had done so because he thought she was helpless.
He admitted he had when he called her a damsel—a damsel in distress.
If she was something in the world, she was anything but that.
She didn't need a knight in shining armor. She needed an ally with his metal tested—someone who looked and treated her like an equal.
Someone who fantasized about bringing the Games down like her. Maybe even more than her.
And that was the whole problem. She didn't think he did. She didn't think anyone did.
He had helped her at the showcase, then with the attack, and then had handed her a weapon that could end his life. That wasn't the course of action of someone who wanted to watch the Games burn.
There was wanting to be an ally, and then there was being a fool. She hadn't initially taken him for the latter, but maybe he was.
Maybe he just wanted to be a hero.
But she didn't need saving, nor his help or his courtesy. She needed to win. He could take his twisted savior complex elsewhere.
If it came down to killing him, she reasoned with herself that she could.
As Hermione approached her tree, she muttered "Homenum Revelio" under her breath to ensure the coast was clear.
Warmth enveloped her as she neared the tree's perimeter. She could see a spot of red sticking out from amongst the branches - her sleeping bag. She silently scolded herself for not disillusioning it properly.
She adjusted the bow across her back and started to climb. One branch after another, she placed her hand, then her foot, and alternated as she made her way up the trunk. The branches at the bottom were sturdy, allowing her fingers to wrap around each arm of the tree with ease.
When she neared the top of the trunk where her belongings were, the branches started to thin. The tree tapered off to a point where she could nearly wrap her arms around the whole width. She cautiously slowed her ascent.
Each of her movements swayed the tree, every shift of her hand or foot shaking the barely supported branch below it. She had nearly reached the top when her foot suddenly slipped.
Her instincts were quick. Grabbing onto the branch above her head, she caught herself with her other foot. It was a close call, and though uncomfortable, was expected of a climb to this height. She let her breathing calm before she tried again.
She held on tightly to the branches with her hands and looked down to maneuver her foot back to a solid spot again. The leaves danced around her. If her tree was being watched, it would stand out like a sore thumb.
Hermione placed her right foot to the same branch, testing the placement with a shift of her foot once, then adjusting a second time, until she felt comfortable with where it stood. She took a deep breath in, readying her body to move.
She pulled herself up, putting pressure on her right side, and felt the sturdy push back of the branch below her.
All was well until she heard an odd sound.
A slow, winding crackle that grew from nothing to a loud reverberation of splintering wood. As she pushed her body to grasp onto the branch, the one below her snapped.
It broke off right at the core of the trunk, hitting other branches and leaves as it sailed to the ground. It hit the forest floor with a resounding thump that echoed through the woods around her.
Her foot dangled in the place the branch was, and she quickly maneuvered it, though at a rather awkward angle, to the same branch her left foot was on.
How did I do this the night before, she wondered.
It was preposterous. She could have just levitated her stuff down to a lower spot before starting to climb. She focused all her strength into her arms and legs and pulled herself up the last bit of space she needed to get to her things.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the tree stilled below her and pulled her backpack off the branch, positioning herself along her sleeping back to rest her limbs. She opened the zipper of her bag to move the contents of her satchel into it, rummaging through to ensure that all of her belongings were accounted for.
The peculiar sensation that flashed through her stomach was unexpected, odd, and uncomfortable.
A sense of unease settled into her magical core as if she was suddenly an unwanted guest at a gathering.
And then the entire tree started to shake.
Violently, it swayed with unimaginable force from side to side, unlike anything Hermione had ever seen before. She shrieked and grabbed onto the trunk, bag slipping through her hands and getting caught a few branches below her.
It shifted from left to right, moving in a way no tree should have been able to move. It was like a boat caught in an ocean storm, crashing against waves, coursing through the water at no control of its own.
But she wasn't in a boat, and they weren't in an ocean, and there was no storm. She was in a tree in the middle of a forest.
And she realized all too quickly that it was alive.
The branches swung down to the ground as if the stomping feet of a giant trying to squash spiders beneath it. She held on for dear life as the tree jerked her in every which way.
She knew this moment would be getting projected across all the screens in Regnum, and Moody would be watching.
He would wonder how she could have gotten herself into this mess.
But she was wondering something different; how would she get herself out?
The tree wrenched sharply to the left once, nearly at a ninety-degree angle from its upright position, and then sharply to the right.
And then the branches really came to life.
One by one, in no particular pattern, the branches started to swing at themselves and attack the tree's trunk. The thumpsand smacks echoed through the grounds, and Hermione thought that if she survived the attack, she would surely be killed by a tribute that heard the commotion.
The self-inflicted ambush moved swiftly up the base of the tree until it reached Hermione, still clinging to her spot with everything she had in her. Her backpack hanging a few branches below her was smashed against the trunk violently and then whipped out somewhere into the grounds with vigor she had never seen before from a plant.
For a brief moment, she wondered if it was really a plant at all—more than likely, a type of modified vegetation set up by the Games-makers.
That or it was sentient, which was so much worse.
The tree continued to beat itself, focusing its attack on the topmost part of the trunk, and slowly and suddenly all at once, she realized it was drilling down into her. The trunk whipped violently, trying to throw her off, but she locked her legs and arms in place and just held on.
But the harder she held on, the angrier it got.
Faintly, she heard the building sound of splintering wood. The same sound that passed before the branch snapped off, but louder and more pronounced. It built until it was blaring in her ears and stirring her insides, but a look down the trunk confirmed that all the branches were still in their place.
The sound amplified through the corridors of the forest, and a particularly loud splinter reverberated over her head like thunder. The impact of it sounded like it had struck the base of the tree and filtered down to the very core under the ground.
Limbs still wrapped tightly around the only thing she could hold onto, magic bubbled up beneath her and sparked out the ends of the branches.
The bark started to crack and pop off the bone until the entire thing looked like it was shedding. It sliced through her chest, body just barely protected by her jacket and pants, and crackled off into bits and pieces that fell to the ground below her.
The bark made waves for another issue.
The sound that she had heard may have very well been a lightning strike as a large splinter weaved its way down the very middle of the trunk. It ran like a stream down the base, and she felt the crack of it deep within her own body.
The tree was splitting open like a banana peel, and she was stuck in the middle.
She watched with horror as it separated between her. Splitting right before her eyes as she felt her grip around the trunk expand with it. When she started to slip, she did the only thing she could think of by grabbing onto a branch above her and let the separated piece take it with her.
She hung 50 feet in the air, legs flailing below her, and wondered how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.
She looked up to the now clear sky, devoid of any leaves or branches, and saw a bird flying above. It soared in a circle around her spot in the forest as if waiting for her to finally fall.
It looked like a hunting bird, and she realized she would likely be some creature's dinner tonight.
The wand in her back pocket hummed. She dangled with one hand and felt for the wood before her fingers wrapped around it.
Magic buzzed in her palm, and she realized she had only one choice.
If you're already falling, just let go.
So she did.
Her grasp around the branch slipped through her fingers as the force of gravity pushed against her, and she started to free-fall. Head up towards the sky, she saw the bird suddenly swoop down towards her in a sharp dive. She closed her eyes.
The cushioning charm was already rolling off her tongue when she felt her hand snatched from above her.
She yelped as her arm popped out of its socket painfully, eyes shooting open only to be blinded by the white rays of the sun in the sky. Whatever had grabbed her hand immediately swung her body up, taking her trajectory from a downwards fall to a swoop upwards, and she landed with something between her thighs.
"Hold on," a voice said.
She clenched her legs and immediately wrapped her arms around the solid structure in front of her chest, and as her eyes adjusted to the light in a patch of shade, she quickly realized that she was sitting on a broom.
Pressed against someone with a white head of hair.
Draco.
"What are you doing!" she yelled, pushing at his back.
"Put me down!"
"Let me go!"
He made it seem as if he heard none of her pleas as the wind deafened both of them in response to the broom picking up speed in the sky.
Her fingers started to slip from around him as the force of the wind pushed against her, and she momentarily wondered if she should just let go. She knew how to cast a cushioning charm.
She didn't need him to save her. She could have done this all herself!
One of her hands started to lose hold of his shirt, and she felt him grab onto her again, repositioning her grip.
"I said hold on!"
She tightened her grasp on him, tucking her head behind his neck, and waited for it to all be over.
He whirled through the air, passing nothing but trees before the speed of the broom slowed, and they descended onto a secluded plain. The moment her feet touched down on the ground, she jumped back from him as if he had scorched her.
He straddled off the broom, mussing his hair as a sly grin crept onto his face. Her anger boiled over.
She charged at him, swinging back to throttle him in the chest, or more preferably his face, and he threw his hands up in defense. But she didn't get further than that before a sharp pain soared through her arm, and she collapsed to her knees.
The adrenaline of the flight had masked the throbbing of her shoulder up until that point, but now it threatened to consume her. The pain pulsed loudly, numbing the fingertips of her hand as she grabbed onto her elbow to stabilize her arm. Every shift of her body made her grit her teeth to fight the tears that threatened to spill over.
She knew magic could heal this type of injury, but she was still filled with fire hot rage.
"Let me fix that for you," he crouched down next to her.
She recoiled away from him, catching sight of his red eye tracker staring back at her amongst a half sleeve of other tattoos. He had started to reach for her with his wand when she jerked away and immediately hissed in pain.
"This is your fault," she spat. "Get away from me."
He rolled his eyes. "Granger, just let me heal you, or you won't be able to use that pretty bow I gave you."
How dare he? How dare he.
Hermione felt her emotions start to spiral, swirling within her as they mixed with the darkness hidden deep in her core.
The magic from his wand tip lingered in the air around them as he started to reach for her again when she startled him by jumping to her feet.
"Why! Why are you doing this?"
This referred to so much more than just the broom. From the very first day they had crossed paths, to every moment between then and now. She couldn't look at him without the questions about his intentions driving her mad.
He clenched his jaw, a look of resignation passing over his face before he dropped his eyes to the ground and retreated his wand away from her.
A fleeting thought drifted through her mind, one that had been pushing at her insides since the moment she first met him. One she didn't want to believe.
It was the seed of doubt that this was all a game to him. Literally and figuratively. Her fists clenched at her sides, rage growing at his silence.
She had seen it in tributes before. Be nice, build trust, start a partnership, and then stab the fool in the back.
The realization hit her then. She was the fool, and the dam within her broke.
"Let's hear it, Malfoy! Why are you so set on getting under my skin? What do you get from partnering up with me? That's it, isn't it? You have some twisted Pure Capital scheme to trick the dirty District tribute? Do you get more sponsorships from it? Maybe a cash prize? Tell me all about it, Draco!"
She dipped her words in spite, coating his given name with as much venom as she could muster.
His head perked up, eyes going wide before he gulped and cleared his throat.
"No," he uttered.
But that wasn't good enough for Hermione. "Then what is it? Why are you trying so hard to make this -" she motioned at the two of them - "happen?"
She poured all her anger and fear into the glare she gave him. She could see him shudder under it and hesitate before he finally met her eyes.
Guilt was written all over his face. She was about to push him again when he looked down, resigned, and just shook his head. "I can't say."
The avoidance was damming. Three words were all she needed to understand that she had figured him out.
"Right."
Any restraint she had remaining left her in a flash.
"Then you need to leave me alone -" she growled. "And while you're at it, stop trying to help me. I don't need your help."
She stuck a finger from her uninjured hand into his chest, hard, dirt-covered tips leaving marks along the white of his shirt. "I do not need a savior."
He had the nerve to look affronted and stepped back from her. She negated it by stepping towards him and stabbed a finger into him again.
She hoped it would bruise.
"I don't need a hero, or a knight in shining armor, or someone to bail me out! I'm bloody capable of doing it myself, and you should have just left me be!"
His eyes trailed from her face to her hair and stopped. Whenever she got angry, her hair got angry with her. She didn't even want to think about what she looked like, but this moment wasn't about that.
It was about making it clear where she stood.
She pointed her wand at her shoulder and muttered a healing spell, gritting her teeth as the magic coursed through her and set the injury straight. It locked back into place with a pop, and after a few moments of pain, she rolled it back to get a feel for it.
It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough.
Doubt marred his expression as if he knew a self-cast healing charm wasn't as effective as one cast by someone else, but he said nothing. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his trousers and met her stare.
She grabbed him roughly by his t-shirt collar and pulled his face close. His eyes shot open, but he let himself be jerked forward without restraint. Inches away from him, anger seeped out of her every pore.
They were both breathing hard, chests rising and falling in rhythm against each other. Hermione clenched her jaw as whips of his hair tickled her forehead.
"You're not the only one that can see in the fucking dark, Malfoy."
His mouth pressed into a hard line, but he remained quiet and kept his gaze locked into hers.
She pushed into his mind and let the unspoken sentiment bleed through her.
Leave me alone.
She shoved him back hard, not caring if she injured him. His expression remained unchanged as he stumbled on his feet. When he regained his bearings, he pulled the collar of his t-shirt away from his neck and swallowed tightly.
Hermione adjusted the bow across her body before turning away from him. It would take her hours to find her belongings again, and at this point, he was just standing in her way.
He didn't stop her as she started to take strides towards the forest.
Her ears rang, her mind still not fully comprehending everything that had happened in the last hour, but she shoved her Occlumency wall into place and focused on counting her steps.
She was almost out of earshot when he called out to her.
"So, I'll take this as you not being interested in partnering up?"
The tease was evident in his voice as if he thought everything she said had been a joke.
She whirled around to look at him, disbelieving he would really be that dense.
"Take it as a shove your savior complex up your ass."
When Hermione turned towards her path into the forest again, she didn't look back.
A/N:
Poor Hermione just cannot catch a break.
I know some of you might be frustrated with her actions in this chapter, but you have to try and put yourself in her shoes. Would you trust somebody, a practical stranger at this point, that easily? She's spent her whole life being forced to watch the games, to see countless examples of tributes betraying each other after agreeing to be "allies". Her actions might not make sense, but they are raw and valid considering the circumstances she's been placed in. Our girl will figure it all out, no doubt.