Rubbing her eyes, Hermione arched her aching back against the trunk of the oak. For the first time in weeks, a clear, blue sky awaited her as she stepped out from under the blanket of bright green leaves above her. Smiling to herself, Hermione trudged down the hillside to find Draco spinning a sizzling hot animal over a small flame dancing vigorously against the morning breeze. The closer she came, the louder her stomach grumbled with annoyance. Last night's dinner had been a meager dose of plants and herbs; this looked to be a full course meal.
"Some sort of special occasion?" Hermione asked, sliding into the seat across from Draco. She was both shocked and satisfied to see him making his own meal, for both himself and for her. He gave a light chuckle and shook his head, his focus on carefully turning the seared creature over and over. The two sat in a comfortable silence listening to the early morning birds and the distant thunder of the waterfall.
As a large drop of grease hissed as it hit the hot coals, Draco removed the animal from its stake and slid it onto a nearby rock. Taking out his dagger, he quickly sliced into the juicy meat and slid a large portion over towards Hermione. She didn't hesitate for even a moment as she grabbed it with both hands and took a large bite, the crisp meat erupting in a puddle of salty and sweet grease. Holding back the urge to moan in appreciation, she shoved another piece of meat into her mouth as Draco watched her intently.
"What?" she questioned, finally catching his eyes trained on her. He quickly looked away and shook his head, shrugging off her question all together. He muttered a quiet apology and went back to cutting the portions of meat for a later meal.
Averting her eyes back to the meal in front of her, Hermione finished her breakfast without any further questions even as the awkward interaction stuck in her mind. As the morning continued, neither tribute mentioned the events of the previous night, and frankly had no means to. It had been a terrible experience for both of them, bringing the worst of their fears to life. Hermione shivered at just the thought of what she had seen and took a glance over to her silent partner, who was focused on ripping apart a burnt piece of leg away from the tough meat. Draco was struggling against the slippery meat and the stained bangade shielding his raw cut.
Grabbing her orange bag, Hermione rustled through the contents for a spare piece of cloth. Pulling it aside, she beckoned Draco over and carefully removed the crimson bandage from around his palm. He winced in pain as the cool air met with his aggravated skin, though he cursed to the sky as Hermione poured droplets of cool water inside the open wound.
Ignoring his attempts to wretch his hand away from her grip, she brushed away what was left of the remaining dirt and sweat and rebandaged his hand to its new glory. The moment she was done, he pulled away and glared at her to which she replied with an innocent smile.
The rest of the morning passed in preparation for their next leave and light conversation. Even as unanswered questions and a mildly strained tension hung between them, Hermione pushed the feeling away and focused her attention to leaving no traces that they had been there. Over the past few nights, and before the fog had settled in, she noticed their fellow tributes had gotten more aggressive and more deadly with each passing day. Assuming it was desperation to escape the arena, she knew it would only be a matter of time before the Death Eaters would want their final show.
Hermione stamped out the last remaining coals and threw a blanket of leaves atop the seared pile of firewood. She carefully inspected the outline of their camp, hoisting her bag higher onto her shoulder and giving the silver bow a tightening grip. With assurance no one would know how to track them, she called Draco over and asked what their next move would be.
"The edge of the arena might be our safest bet," he stated, pointing towards the distant hills. "The others are probably still somewhere in the forests, and I'd rather wait to find out whether they're with us or willing to put a sword through our backs the first chance they get."
Hermione nodded in agreement and began their hike. The two walked in complete silence; only the accompaniment of the whistling, tall grass and whispered song of the distant trees filled the deafening void. Just as she was, Hermione guessed he was lost in thought.
Questions and conversations burned the tip of her tongue, anticipating an escape, but she held them back and looked ahead. Even though she had just eaten a full meal, she couldn't help but feel her stomach begin to knot itself. Hermione kept her eyes trained forward, and only once did she glance to the side to once again find Draco looking at her in that funny way she couldn't place. He quickly averted his eyes back to the meadows ahead, not at all fazed at the quizzical look she gave him before turning her own attention back to wading through the sea of weeds.
As much as she tried to push it away, Hermione couldn't help but acknowledge the small nagging thought that kept coming back to her whenever neither tribute had something to say. Even when she didn't mean to let her mind wander, it always seemed to come down to the new found friendship that had blossomed between her and Draco.
Their truce had turned into more than trust, and more than once she felt like she was back at the Burrow laughing with the Weasley's or gathered in the Great Hall beside her group of friends. If anyone had told her then that she would become friends with the one and only Draco Malfoy, she would have burst out laughing and asked how many butterbeers they had had that day. But with each passing day in the arena, and the more she got to know him inch by inch, her view changed on the Slytherin prat to a boy who had done what he could to make his family proud, and in the end, to simply survive until the next morning.
Hermione suddenly felt a light blush heat her cheeks as her mind transferred to their time as more than just acquainted partners. They were simple and small things; she had laughed at his terrible jokes, exchanged playful banter with intelligent conversations, choked down his watery soups, listened to him talk about the joys of flying a broomstick even when she had gained enough experience to block out the arguments of quidditch from Ron and Harry, and at one point during the first week, the picture of a real smile lighting up his face was something she didn't think she would ever forget. For once, he had looked carefree of the dangers and shadows of his past looming above him at every turn; for once he looked content. Not his signature smirk, not a grimace or a scowl, not a plastered mask he would wear to hide his emotions; a true smile.
Looking towards Draco out of the corner of her eye, Hermione also noted the many small changes she had seen in his appearance; his nose didn't seem as pointed, his eyes not as cold, his skin not as pale, and even his hair seemed to mimic his easy posture as platinum strands fell in front of his face. Hermione held back a gasp and pressed her lips into a thin, white line as she realized she had, for a moment, thought he looked almost handsome.
Thankfully the flush to her cheeks had gone unnoticed. Draco seemed lost in his own thoughts, snapping the tail off each stalk that reached his hand and absentmindedly running it between his fingers, the light feathery substance washing away and into the breeze.
The two continued their journey in silence, both focused on the task at hand rather than their wandering minds. After what seemed like hours, Draco slowed his steps and stopped completely, then looked behind them. His brows were furrowed with confusion as he continued to look from the high mountain still so far away to their previous campsite.
Hermione followed the trail his eyes were making and suddenly realized their slight predicament.
"Where are we?" she asked, finally managing to look him in the eye. "We've managed to waste half a day walking somewhere we aren't getting any closer to."
"Now, now, Granger, where's that "can do" attitude you always used to use around Potter and Weasley?" her partner drawled, a light smirk playing on the corner of his lips. It seemed his sudden worry was gone, and Hermione didn't even attempt to hide her scoff and gently hit his arm. Even with a small grin, he added, "Whatever this is, it isn't helping us get any closer to that mountain, or any farther away from camp."
She turned her back to him and surveyed the area, taking in each detail from afar; apparently Draco's suspicions were correct. The wall of mist was nowhere to be seen, but the hill it had pooled over hadn't changed a bit, nor had the rest of their surroundings. Their campsite wasn't any farther back since when they had first left it, and the mountain to the north wasn't getting any closer even after what felt like countless hours of walking.
Hermione released a heavy sigh and turned to her partner. Draco held back a laugh as he could practically see the screws and bolts turning in her head. Her nose was scrunched in, brows knitted together as she paced back and forth in front of him, snapping the tip of weeds as she went. Draco stood where he was and watched her puzzle over the sudden oddity of their situation.
Why? She asked herself. Why keep us in one place? The farther we travel the more dangerous it gets...but frankly you can't get more dangerous than a maddening fog and a hungry manticore. But why keep us here? The other tributes don't know where we are, and yet -
She abruptly stopped her pacing as her face lit up at the realization. Draco was about to ask what her big, bushy brain thought of when her eyes filled with a sudden horror. He frowned and asked, "Granger?" When she didn't respond, he tried again. "Hermione, what's the matter?"
Hermione looked out over the hillside ignoring his questions. In the far distance, she could see what she had noticed only a handful of times in previous nights, and only briefly saw as a whole once during the first Hunger Games; a clear like dome, almost like a force field, lined the rims of the arena's boundaries, blocking out anyone trying to find their way in to save a tribute, and trapping in those unfortunate few called to fight to the death.
The sudden fear for Hermione wasn't that she had been trapped this entire time (she had figured that much out for herself rather quickly), but the dome seemed to be rapidly decreasing in size. Allowing her gaze to travel down the silvery lining barricading the tributes in, she found it speeding up its pace, no doubt to catch an unlucky set of tributes unprepared for a shield that was likely charmed with the killing curse. With each tribute running towards the center of the arena, where she and Draco were currently stationed, she knew it would only end one way.
Hermione's fear heightened when she turned back to her partner who's silver eyes still gave her a quizzical look.
"We have to go!" she urged, looking for any sign of escape. Her sudden realization made her skin crawl with a familiar feeling; the previous Hunger Games had commenced in the most gruesome sight she had ever beheld, or close to if she had not seen first hand what a war could bring. As such, Hermione had no desire to stay behind and await what she was sure was going to be an excellent show for the Death Eaters in the audience.
"Don't know if you've noticed, Granger," Draco drawled, cocking a blonde eyebrow in her direction. "But we can't exactly go anywhere! Now will you just tell me what you're going bloody mad about."
"A bloodbath," Hermione cut in, glancing behind her in an almost paranoid state. "That's the final task. Not including us, there are only four other tributes remaining. We've been in this arena for who knows how bloody long, and if you ask me I'd say the audience is getting a bit bored. They always end this horrid thing we're in with some sort of show, and why not go down by - "
"By having the rest slaughter each other in a bloodbath," Draco interrupted, his previous annoyance replaced by an icy cold emotion. His eyes were no longer humorous and easy, something Hermione had never seen in him before their truce had grown to friendship, but they were filled with that unease and fear she had seen when he walked onto the stage after demanding he take his mother's place. Her stomach flipped at the oath they had unceremoniously taken when shaking hands; they would not kill each other, but that didn't mean there should be hesitation when it came to the other tributes.
"We've got to find a way to get away from here before - "
"There isn't a way out of this, Granger," Draco interjected, cutting her off again. His walls of emotion were rebuilding themselves right before her eyes. "We both knew we'd have to do something if we made it this far."
Hermione swallowed the lump rising in her throat, but she didn't dare cry now. Not when the entire wizarding world was watching her, no doubt ready to see the Brightest Witch of Her Age crumble to the ground in hopeless sobs. The tears that threatened to spill burned against her eyes, but not a single one fell as she looked back up at Draco.
She was a war hero to those she had fought with, and to some she was a filthy Mudblood, friend to Harry Potter and blood traitors alike. She had learned from the war that the memories of battle never cease to fully go away. Hermione had known firsthand the struggles of what a separation amongst each other could bring, afterall she had lived almost a year on the run from the people that wanted to see her dead. She knew the pain of seeing those you love ripped from life, and what it meant to see them become something you knew they weren't. Hermione knew all of this, yet there was one thing she was completely certain of.
If Hermione knew anything, it was that Draco Malfoy was not a killer. No matter how many names he called her in school, no matter how many times he had pushed her friends around, no matter the opinions he used to have on people like her, she knew even then that Draco Malfoy was not a killer. That's why he didn't kill their Headmaster. That's why he would wake during the middle of the night, jerking his arm out as if to grab his wand and ward off whatever haunting nightmare he was having. That's why she knew that the boy standing before her would have to relieve the invisible scars he so wanted to cover, including the one still bandaged into his left forearm.
In the ranks of the Death Eaters, she had heard that killing someone was a formidable act that would earn respect and even fear. That was not the case for Draco.
Even standing before him now, Hermione could see him reliving the pain of his past. The things he had done, the people he had housed, the witches and wizards he was forced to torture and even kill all flashed across his eyes as they came like haunting waves.
Before she could stop herself, and before she knew what she was doing, Hermione reached out and gently took his hand in hers. The gesture was small and not much to think of unless you had known the history behind the two tributes standing in front of each other. Over her time at Grimmauld Place, when the long nights would haunt Harry and Ron to brutal extents, she soon learned it was the small things that made it all the better. A hot cup of tea, a warm plate of almost-stale biscuits, a song on the old piano, or even just a story made all the difference to her two best friends.
She watched carefully now to see it had done the same with Draco. He flinched when her fingers took his into her own, offering the slightest hint of comfort to what she knew he needed. Staring deep into his eyes, the walls crumbling back down to see the raw fear and emotion in his eyes, she saw something she had never seen before and never thought to consider.
Many considered Draco to be the boy who made all the wrong choices. Now, seeing the frightened boy the war had left behind in order to protect those he truly cared for, even if he wouldn't admit to aloud, she realized it wasn't that he made all the wrong choices; Draco Malfoy was the boy who had no choice.
Just as she was about to speak, a thundering cloud rolled out amongst the morning sky, clouding everything around them in an eerie shadow. As if someone had burned out the last remaining candle, Hermione watched as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the blanket of clouds. No more than a single hill away, Hermione watched with Draco, her fingers slipping out of his as he began to reach for his dagger. From both sides of the tall meadow, and the distant mountain, the four remaining tributes ran for their lives attempting to escape the ever shrinking walls.
Hey y'all!
Double update today, I hope you all enjoyed!
***Bit of an important question for you as the readers, but by the end of this, would you guys be interested in a follow-up one shot of the year later or anything like that coming after the conclusion of this fic? Let me know in a review!***
And with nothing much else to say, I hope y'all have a magnificent morning, afternoon, evening, or night!