Chapter 16: We Are The Men, Not The Monsters

Malfoy had kept the broom in the air for so long that Hermione was certain they were far gone from where he picked her up. But it took barely stepping into the cover of the forest to see that she was closer to the cursed tree than she thought. In fact, its twisted remains were visible from where she stood, the sun beating down with vigor in the hottest part of the day, and she was barely a mile away.

He had likely kept in the air longer than necessary just to piss her off.

Setting her sights on the path ahead, she buried herself in her Occlumency walls to let her anger dissipate. She didn't need to act rashly, but she knew that if she were angry, she would.

The forest around her started to blend, leaves overlapping with leaves, branches crossing branches, but she kept her head down and walked with purpose towards the torn tree trunk in the distance.

Despite her best efforts, a thought spilled over her reinforced Occlumency and took residence in the space that she tried to always keep clear. It was the space where all her doubts collected.

For the briefest moment, she wondered if she had been too harsh on Malfoy. Had her reaction been justified? Was she truly in the right?

And more importantly, was there any coming back from it if she changed her mind?

Hermione was frantic in pushing the thoughts out so that they didn't plant any roots inside her. She stopped walking, shutting her eyes so hard that her forehead scrunched, and moments later, a foggy mist swirled inside of her, and her mind was clear again.

When the tree came into sight, she slowed her trek. Though it lay still before her, split down the middle in two, there was no telling if it was still alive, and she was no fool to risk finding out by approaching it. She collected a handful of rocks and moved to hide behind a large bush.

One rock after another left her hand and flew across the decimated space below the tree, hitting parts of the trunk all over. When Hermione had thrown all her rocks, she picked up more and did the same. And then she waited.

Counting slowly in her head down from sixty, she watched the tree for any sign of movement. It remained as it was.

When she reached zero, she started from the top again, slower this time, and again the space around her was still.

Minutes passed as she counted, catching no changes from the tree, when she finally felt confident in making the call that it was long dead. Disillusioning herself as she stepped out into the open clearing, she took cautious steps towards its remains. She knew that the sooner she found the rest of her belongings, the better.

Passing her eyes over the space, she tried to spot any sign of her things. Her backpack had been sent flying by the tree during the attack, so it was unlikely to be anywhere close.

She paused and let her eyes adjust to the sight before her. The tree split open like a banana peel, branches snapped at their cores, leaves strewn around in a scattered mess, and uprooted ground and dirt from the twisted trunk. It looked like a war zone.

A concoction of green and brown colours swam in front of her vision like camouflage before her eyes caught on to a disturbance - a spot of red amongst the chaos.

Her sleeping bag.

She muttered a quiet Accio, and after a moment's delay, as the bag wriggled out from the branches on top, it came flying towards her.

But it didn't come in one piece.

Two separate sections of material, barely scraps, barrelled towards her and left a trail of floating feathers in their wake. It looked like a pillow fight gone wrong, or like the first snowfall of the year, as tiny pieces of feathers circled all around her, not quite falling as they were picked up by the wind and created a tornado of fluff all around her.

When the sleeping bag froze in front of her and dropped to her feet, she could see very clearly that the sack was ruined.

It lay in front of her, torn along a ragged edge, exposing the colourful seams inside. Large gaping holes on either side had allowed the interior contents a quick escape.

She pulled a small feather from her tongue and wondered if it was salvageable.

A scene flashed behind her eyes of getting trapped in a magic-less zone without the ability to cast a warming charm. She could likely live without a sleeping bag, but she would rather not try if she had the choice.

Crouching down onto her knees, she muttered a stitching spell along the two scraps. They met each other slowly but unevenly, and she cursed herself for not listening close enough to Molly's instructions when she mended clothes around the Burrow.

Leaving a hole for the feathers, she summoned as many as she could and directed them back into the bag, while those that she missed fluttered around her in a frenzy. The smallest ones were almost entirely unresponsive to her spell, too affected by the wind, to go where she directed them. She let out a frustrated huff and eventually gave up.

The same stitching spell was applied to close the hole shut, and she stood back to look at her handiwork.

It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. However, if she ever made it out of here, she could cross off magical seamstress from her list of possible careers.

She rolled the bag and sized it down so it fit in her palm, stuffing it into her pocket until she could find her backpack, and rose to her feet to continue her search.

And then she stopped dead in her tracks. What search? Why was she searching for anything?

She was a magical being, for Merlin's sake.

"Accio backpack."

That was all she needed, as the bag came barrelling towards her from the deep pits of the forest, and roughly ten seconds after she had summoned it, it was in her hands.

Hermione rummaged through the bag frantically, cataloging the contents - the jar of rabbit meat remained, cracked but in one piece. She mended it and tossed it back into the bag. Her water bottle was still there, and she paused to unscrew the lid to take a few sips. A trail of water rolled down her chin as she tossed it back into the bag too. She found the small satchel that was transfigured from the baseball cap as well.

Unzipping the front pocket, she felt around for the vial of blood replenishing potion. It was small and escaped her grasp as she rummaged inside, shifting her hand from one end to the other.

But the longer she dug for it, she realized her efforts were in vain. The pocket seemed empty. The tip of her wand lit with a Lumos as she shoved it inside to confirm.

She was right. It was empty.

The zipper had been closed when the bag came to her, so there was no chance it could have flown out during her summons, or even during the attack from the tree.

"Accio blood potion," she tried, but a part of her figured the effort was futile.

The forest around her remained quiet, and she knew the vial was gone.

There was only one explanation. She wasn't the first to find the bag since it went missing. Somebody had gotten to it before her and taken what they deemed valuable.

Hermione didn't let the disappointment linger as there was nothing she could do. A small part of her just hoped she would never need it, and if she did, then Moody's presence with a sponsorship gift would come in time.

After resizing and placing her sleeping bag into the backpack, she threw the straps over her shoulders and looked back at the tree. There was no way she could find shelter in it again. She would need a new spot, and as much as she tried to reject the thought, she knew of only one place she could go with certainty.

She refilled her bottle at the river, which had since been cleared of any Grindylow remains, and transfigured the satchel into another bottle to fill to the brim too. Her trek would take her further away from the river than she would like, so having the reassurance of extra water was a necessity.

Her sights set on one destination, she repositioned her bag on her back and started to walk.

Hours later, she had yet to encounter anything or anyone. The day was silent as it slowly faded from afternoon into early twilight. Her knowledge of foraging struck when she spotted some berries along her path. After running a diagnostic spell over them to confirm they weren't poisoned or tampered with, she popped one into her mouth.

The taste nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Seeing them was one thing, but the burst of flavour along her taste buds took her right back to the day of the reaping. In the woods with Ron, they had snacked on the very same thing - boom berries.

She had no possessions left to transfigure or she would have collected an entire jar of them, either for snacking or the off chance she found other ingredients to make a potion, but there was still relief in knowing they existed in the arena. She pulled off as many as she could hold in her hands and continued on her way.

Despite that dusk had fallen when she reached her destination, she instantly spotted the charred circle of ash.

There was unease with being back where she spent her first day, which felt like it had been weeks ago at this point, but there was also a sense of odd comfort—a type of familiarity with having faced her demons there and having overcome them.

And this time, she had her bow and arrows.

When she climbed into the tree and set up her sleeping space, the thought that she had been in this very spot, under very different circumstances just days before, felt odd. So much had happened since then. So much had changed.

As darkness fell and enveloped the arena, she waited with bated breath for the announcement that she knew wouldn't come. There hadn't been a single canon since the morning's projection in the sky. It had been a quiet day for everyone.

With her bow and quiver tucked inside the sleeping bag, she fell asleep to the sound of crickets, rustling leaves, and the faint melody of a song she almost recognized.

The night held no nightmares, no swaying to lull her back to sleep after abrupt awakenings, and no demon tree. She slept soundly and dreamlessly, tucked under the weight of the repaired sack and the moonlight.

In the morning, the light from the rising sun awoke her slowly. She took her time waking up, letting her body and mind rest until the cushioning charms under her back started to lose effect.

Hermione's morning was lazy, to the point of near-luxury. She climbed down from her tree to find herbs, which she gathered and dried. An empty packet of crisps was a concerning sign of other presence, so she picked it up quickly and made her way back to her shelter.

Transfiguring the packet into a small teacup, she boiled a small amount of water from her bottle and dropped the herbs inside to enjoy a cup of tea. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine being back in the Burrow.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon resting, trying with all her might not to think about what happened the day before. The warm wind was like a caress against her skin, and before she knew it, she had started to doze off. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes later when she was awoken.

"Hullo?" a voice called.

She jumped from her spot, eyes flashing wide.

"Anyone here?"

The blood inside of her stilled, body frozen as if petrified. The voice was one she didn't recognize.

"It's Harry if that means anything," the person said, a calm coolness to his tone. He paused as if waiting for something before adding, "I'm unarmed."

Harry? Was he here for her? She had never so much as had a conversation with him before, but a part of her had assumed she would likely be crossing paths with him again.

Hermione cleared her throat and heard him rustle below her on the ground. "Are you alone?" she asked tentatively.

He exhaled loudly enough for her to hear. "Yes, I'm alone."

"Why are you here?" Hermione said. "What do you want?"

"Erm…"

Harry cleared his throat, dry dirt crumbling under his shoes. His form appeared in an opening of the branches below her as he walked closer to the tree. He looked up and met her eyes.

"I'm here to thank you."

She looked down at him like an animal caught in a compromising position. She knew what he was referring to, but what was she to say besides the obvious?

For a brief passing moment, she wondered how he knew it had been her. It was just a Patronus. She had never said her name or indicated anything to give away that it had been her.

"Okay," she called down to him. "You're welcome."

She heard him shuffle his feet and watched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

He didn't look like he planned to leave yet. Maybe it wasn't all he wanted from her.

"Like I said, I'm unarmed," he pulled his hands out of his pockets in surrender to show her they were empty. "Would you come down?"

He looked nervous, but she figured if anyone should have been, it was her. After a moment's hesitation, she drew her bow over her chest and started to climb down the tree.

Dust filtered into the air as she jumped the last foot and landed hard on the dirt ground. The charred remains of her previous escapade partly surrounded him, though most of the ash had blended into the dust and sand of the forest grounds.

She passed her eyes over where she knew the circle was before she looked up at him, and he was already watching her.

"Hi."

She smiled, strained, instead of answering.

He opened his mouth once, then closed it again before he finally cleared his throat and spoke.

"This is a bit of an odd introduction," he said with a nervous chuckle before he saw the look on her face and pulled his mouth back into a straight line. "Thank you for sending the Patronus."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. It had certainly gotten to him then.

"This is the first time we've spoken," she said. "How did you know it was me?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Lucky guess." The expression that drifted onto his face told her he didn't plan to divulge much more than that.

It sounded like a load of bull, but she let it go.

"You're welcome," she said firmly. "It was the least I could do in return for not killing me."

It was almost humorous how easily those words left her mouth, as if they were talking about sharing sweets in the school courtyard. You gave me a chocolate frog, so I shared my jelly slugs.

But this was life or death.

You let me keep my life, so I helped you keep yours.

She could have told him that she didn't know if the Patronus would have made it to them in time, she could have admitted that she wavered on even sending it at all, but it simply didn't matter. She had already come to peace with the fact that she had done it.

"It made it to us just moments in time," he admitted as if the words were being pulled out of his mouth by a more powerful source than just him, fidgeting with a black ring on his finger as he spoke. "I came here to give you something."

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets again and fumbled deep within them. The strain and focus on his face was evident, his brows furrowing and jaw clenching, before his eyes finally lit up and he pulled his hands out.

His left hand was closed around something small. He hesitated for a moment before he reached towards her to place it in her hand. She had almost no time to react before she felt her fingers wrap around something cylindric and cold against her skin.

Hermione looked down at her hand and then lifted her gaze to meet his. "What is this?"

He didn't have time to answer before she handed it back to him. It didn't matter what it was because she didn't need anything from him. That was the whole point of the Patronus in the first place. She didn't want to owe him anything.

"Just take it," he said, pushing the vial back towards her.

"But -"

He forced her fingers closed and pushed her arm gently away from him.

"Just take it, okay?" his tone was exasperated as if wishing she wouldn't argue with him.

Hermione held the vial up to the sun, and it swirled like molten gold. Not a single light beam passed through the viscous liquid, specks of chrome swimming within it.

She knew exactly what it was.

"Where did you get this?"

The corner of his mouth pulled into a grin because he knew she recognized it for what it was. "It was a sponsor gift."

She was dumbfounded. Firstly, because she had yet to receive any sponsor gift from anyone. Moody and his coordination of gifts were nowhere to be found when she had needed him most. Secondly though, and more importantly, why was he trying to offload this to her? It was the type of thing someone could change the tide of the Games with.

"I don't know why you're giving me this, but I can't take it."

Hermione had just felt like she evened the ground between them, handing him her own thank you for not hurting her, but this was outrageous. Harry damn Potter had just given her a vial of Felix Felicis as if it was nothing.

Liquid luck.

What type of sponsors did he have that would send something like this?

And what Games-maker in their right mind would allow it?

It was the type of advantage you could only make up. It couldn't have been anything but a cruel joke.

He kept his hands in his pockets, taking a slow step away from her to avoid her handing the vial back to him.

"Did you forget where we are?" she breathed. "Just because you didn't kill me, and I helped you, doesn't mean it needs to escalate to this. We're in the Hunger Games. You do know what the premise is, don't you? I could use this to kill you!"

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Yeah, I'm aware." If not for the tenseness in his shoulders, he would have otherwise looked completely unbothered. "I have a feeling you won't, though."

She held herself back from rolling her eyes. He had no way of knowing that for sure. "Why are you doing this?"

"If not for you, it would be in the hands of the Careers."

Regardless if that was the truth or not, Hermione didn't care. She couldn't take it. She hated the idea of owing him anything, and there were too many other things on her mind, mainly staying alive, to worry about. She couldn't also worry about having to even their playing field again.

But in some twisted way, it somehow also made sense. If the Careers had killed him, they would have raided his entire camp. The last thing anyone needed was a Career with Liquid Luck on their side. If he were telling the truth about them, she would be a fool not to accept it.

As she pondered her options, he observed her, studying her face the same way you study a problem you don't quite understand. The way when something intrigues you and you want to solve the puzzle it presents.

The way she knew she looked at Draco.

She glanced back down to her hand and nodded slowly, the realization quickly settling in her gut that there was unlikely a proper way out of this. She didn't think he would have threatened her to take it, but who knew?

She definitely didn't. He was practically a stranger, and she didn't know what lengths he would go to convince her.

He took her nod as acceptance and didn't wait long enough for her to change her mind before he started to shift away from her. She stood in silence, still stunned, and watched him kick dirt, fumble with his hands, and tousle his hair again as if not knowing how to part ways. Then he stood up straight, nodded at her, and turned to go.

Whatever this was between her and Harry was odd. It made absolutely no sense. But it also didn't feel wrong. The guilt that flushed through her at the thought made her feel queasy.

Who was she if she accepted his help but bagged on Malfoy for his?

Harry had already taken multiple steps away from her when the words came out of her mouth, too fast for her to stop them before they slipped out into the open.

"Can I ask you something?"

He paused, turning his head back to her.

"Sure, I guess."

"Why are you helping Luna?"

She heard the faint sound of a camera whirl somewhere above her head.

It took him almost no time to answer her. "Well, none of us had a choice in being here. I'm doing the only thing I can to not let the Games win."

It was as if he was pulling the words out of her brain. It was almost that exact sentiment that had propelled her to send the Patronus. But it wasn't enough for her. She felt the spools of restraint within her start to unwind. Maybe if she understood his thought process, it would help with hers.

"Why Luna?"

The question made him pause. She caught him bite his lip, pushing his glasses up his face, before he cleared his throat.

"I'm not sure why her," he said, a genuine air of honesty laced into his words. "I probably would have done it to anyone."

"Anyone?"

He chuckled. "Well, not anyone. But she's not the only one I would have stepped up for."

For a moment, Hermione wondered if he meant her, but it made her head hurt.

He was so much better than she thought. So much more than just a tribute here to kill.

Now that she had started, she couldn't stop. She hoped the things he shared could help her decide on her path forward.

"Do you regret taking her under your wing?"

She had expected a nasty expression from him, but it wasn't what she got. The answer was ready on his lips without a second thought. "No."

"And what if you die?"

"Then I die," he said, his voice noticeably quieter, almost as if he was resigned to the possibility. "I'm not a monster. Me and you, we're not like the Careers. We're not here to be killers."

"Then why are you here?"

He straightened his spine, letting his shoulders roll back to give him a few extra inches of height. He searched her face, and when their eyes met again, his expression softened.

"I don't think either of us can answer that. But since we are here, I've chosen to be better than what the Games-Makers expect, better than what Pure Capital expects of a tribute. The least I can do is keep my sanity and preserve some good while I'm still around."

It made so much sense, and none at all. When no more questions came, he nodded at her and retreated quietly into the woods until he was out of sight.

When she climbed into her tree to sleep that evening, she couldn't get Harry's face out of her mind. Everything he said had stuck, but it was what he hadn't said that she could feel digging into the core of her being. Laced into his words was the unspoken sentiment that if she needed an ally, he would be hers.

Two tributes in two days had offered her that chance. But here she sat in her tree, alone.

Hearing how he talked about his choice to partner with Luna as if it was a conscious and intentional decision, was both terrifying and beautiful. His words had made it seem like doing the right thing was just as simple as that - making the decision and taking the action.

It shouldn't have been that easy. It terrified her that it actually might have been that easy.

She thought back to Draco and the ease with which he offered her to partner up. It might not have been something he had his sights set on when this all began, but then again, why did it matter?

At that very moment, Hermione decided that it didn't.

When the nighttime wind picked up, she tucked herself into her sleeping bag. It was another day without a canon, which meant that every tribute left since yesterday morning still remained.

As she settled into her spot, she wondered what everyone else in the arena was doing. She thought about the long days and nights still ahead of her, ones she was now determined not to spend alone.

Hermione's mind drifted back to Harry, and she realized his arrival was likely the best thing that could have happened to her.

Something about him reminded her so viscerally of Ron. The way they carried themselves, the way they looked at her, the glint in their eyes. She muffled a choked sob at the thought of him back home.

Maybe in a different lifetime, some sort of parallel universe, the three of them could have called each other friends.

Ron's cheery face and warm smile flashed in her mind, and she felt the prickle of tears along her waterline. She pulled her head under her sleeping bag to muffle the sounds.

She had few men left in her life. Some born out of nature, others out of need.

Harry's sentiments floated in her brain until she could string the words together like a poem.

We're not monsters.

I'm not here to kill.

The least I can do is keep my sanity and preserve some good while I'm still around.

As she drifted off to sleep, faces flashed through her mind.

She saw Ron.

She saw Harry.

She saw Draco.

She saw herself.

None of them were monsters.

They were all just men, people, trying to survive.