Falling to the ground on her stomach, Hermione tried to calm her racing heart. She was sure the other tributes could hear it pounding in her chest even over the howling wind that had begun to whip against the tall grass. The point of her arrow grazed the back of her knee as she cocked it into place. Out of all the torture she had been put through, in and out of the arena, Hermione knew it was the only way to escape, even if it added to the number of scars that would never be erased.
Behind her, Draco still hadn't uttered a single word since the end of their conversation. There was much she wanted to say, but the words always seemed to stick to the back of her throat or sear the tip of her tongue. Instead, Hermione kept her eyes peeled through the ocean of weeds. Snapping stalks of grass broke the murmurs of thunder overhead accompanied by screaming for their partners.
Hermione recognized the cry of one girl; it was the heart-wrenching pain of losing someone. A boy's agonizing shriek and cry of pain echoed through her ears, and before she could blink, the walls of the arena shimmered in a wave of silver and came to a stop. The Dark Mark appeared overhead, beckoning the lifeless body up to its awaiting grasp. The boy looked to be no older than 17, but his build was strong and sturdy. Hermione had seen him train diligently during their time of sparring, and she had also quickly found that he was rather attached to his female partner, as she was to him. That same pang of guilt she had felt towards all of the tributes their first night at the training center came back in a sudden flash.
The girl cried out for him to come back, and as much as Hermione was tempted, she held her ground and waited behind the wall of weeds protecting her from view. Through the thin cracks in the sea of grass, she could see the girl's tear streaked face; she could also see the pain in her eyes turn to sudden anger. Her fists shook and she lowered her head, her hair falling over her shoulder to cover her clenched teeth and bloodshot eyes.
Shrinking lower into the brush, she heard the girl scream with rage towards the sky. In return, a loud clap of thunder ratted the ground beneath her. Hermione gripped onto the earth tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. She waited until the soft splotches of rain hit her face before opening her eyes. The tribute girl was still standing in the center, gripping her weapon so hard her knuckles had turned white.
She didn't turn when the other two tributes stepped out of their brush to face her, nor did she even bother raising her weapon. Hermione watched the two new tributes exchange a confused glance, sword and dagger still at the ready for her to break into her enraged state.
The moment came sooner than either had expected.
The girl whipped her sword to the two tributes slowly closing in on her. They jumped back from her attacks and stood their ground. Another rumble of thunder sounded overhead. Hermione could feel her heart trying to jump from her chest when the girl took her second lunge.
Sword clashed with dagger. With each movement, duck, and slash, Hermione could see more blood spilled through the pouring rain. Doing her best to cover her eyes from the downpour, she didn't even notice them moving her way until a sharp pain radiated through her spine.
The girl tripped over Hermione and landed against her side, her sword dragging along in its wake. The metal stripped the lower half of Hermione's jacket and pierced right through the skin; a scarlet cut began pooling over in blood. Rolling out of reach, Hermione gripped her bow and scrambled to her feet looking for a head of platinum blonde hair.
Seeing as she had another tribute to deal with, the girl, whom Hermione quickly recognized now was from Bulgaria, took another swing and barely missed Hermione's old wound from the Spanish tribute. Her entire front was covered in mud concealing her bright red colors beneath a lair of dirt.
Hermione couldn't tell where she was between the tall reeds and piercing rain. Taking her chances, she ran towards her only other option. She kicked and pushed aside the stalks of grass, bursting out from behind her only wall of protection. The two tributes hadn't gone anywhere from their earlier positions. Seeing as they were no longer alone, the boy ripped a dagger from his belt and aimed straight for Hermione's head. It whizzed by her face, slicing through the pelting rain and clashing with an upturned rock.
Hermione ducked out of the way as his second shot narrowly missed her shoulder. Reaching across her back, she gripped the feather end of one of her arrows and cocked it back into place. Pulling back the string, she released it to find its target. Center of the bullseye, but thankfully, not to the throat, chest, or head.
The boy cried out in agony. The tip of her arrow had dug its way deep into his thigh. Falling to the mud, he gripped his leg and screamed again.
"Matteo!" his partner shrieked. She fell to her knees and looked from the arrow to its releaser. Much like the Bulagrian girl, her eyes went from horror to rage in the blink of an eye. Rising to her feet, she released the sheath of daggers around her waist.
Hermione turned from the pursuing tribute to sprint back into the maze and safety of weeds and grass. Instead she ran face first into a tall figure, stumbling back and slipping on the mud. Falling to her back and wide open for a sword to the gut, Hermione put her bow up in front of her as a measly shield, her back searing with the sudden weight and hard fall. When her gaze met with a shocked and worried pair of silver eyes rather than a raging tribute, she saw relief quickly flash through them. His hair stuck to the sides of his face as rain dripped from his nose, and Hermione couldn't help but think she didn't look much better. She was the one, after all, sitting two inches deep in mud.
As Draco knelt to her side with a hand extended to help her back to her feet, a sudden flash of silver crossed her vision. A grunted hiss escaped Draco as he fell back himself, clearly refraining from touching the grazed spot to his cheek now beginning to pool over with blood. The scar from the Manticore attack had been hit dead on, the dagger merely slicing it open again. It now lay helpless by Draco's side, sinking into the mud and spotted with scarlet. Turning her head in the direction of the thrown dagger, she caught sight of the Switzerland girl's feral gaze as she approached like a wild animal.
Both she and Draco tried to move away through the mud; move away to where exactly hadn't really crossed her mind. Not daring to take her eyes away from the approaching tribute, she caught sight of her partner reaching for his only available weapon out of the corner of her eye. He gripped the muddy handle of the girl's dagger, but before he could even make a move to get to his feet again, he completely fell to the ground with a pained scream.
The girl certainly had aim as a dagger drove itself into his arm, drilling out his blood and coating the ground with it: a canvas of pain and agony.
Just as Hermione was sure they were both about to meet with Merlin, another scream pierced through the harsh winds and pouring rain that wasn't his. The girl heard it too, and turned her back to Draco. Her partner lay where she had left him, only now the Bulgarian girl was towering above him, staring down at the sword now lodged into Matteo's chest. Hermione couldn't tell if it was shock or pity on her face before the Switzerland tribute screamed.
Running with all her might towards the Bulgarian, she tackled her to the ground, not even bothering to try and hold back the hand that still clenched her last remaining weapon. Hermione had seen it coming before it happened, but she still winced and turned away from the fight knowing which was about to meet their end. It concerned her at how quickly everything became quiet, and the light thud of the Switzerland girl's body against the thickening mud brought her back to the present.
Carefully opening her eyes, she saw the Bulgarian tribute remove her sword from her opponent's neck. She looked in a complete daze. Dagger clenched tightly in her hand, her distant stare moved back to where she and Draco were sprawled helplessly on the ground.
Suddenly realizing the vulnerable state she was in, Hermione found her Gryffindor nerve again and pushed herself out of the mud. The pain of her open wounds tried to pull her back down, but as she caught sight of Draco trying to move farther towards the edge of the brush, his arm laying helpless beside him as more of the mud around him turned to drops of scarlet, she knew she couldn't back down now. She had known from the moment the gong rang out signaling the start of the Games that she couldn't go down without a fight.
She had to stand. And she had to do it again, and again, and again. No matter how many times she got knocked down into the dirt.
By mistake, Draco put his injured arm down to support him. He all but collapsed into the mud, his blonde hair streaking in various shades of brown. A grunt of pain escaped him again, and his eyes tried to search hers out through the non-stop wind and gusts of rain. When they found hers staring back at him, she knew she could see the pleading unsaid words behind them. If she let the searing pain take its toll and let herself succumb to her own fate, she would have let down everything she had been trying to fight for to begin with, far before the Ministry had come up with the idea for the wretched Games. If she were to stand and fight, there was a way out. There was always a way to get out in the end.
Hermione smiled a watery smile down at him before turning her back on him completely, eyes solely trained on the tribute a few yards ahead of her. Her bow was tightly wrapped in her grip, and with steady movements as she tried to gauge the girl's reaction for any sign of a coming attack, she cocked an arrow into place and held it at the ready.
Hermione stood her ground, waiting for the girl to make the first move. She was determined to fight if she had to until her last breath. She would fight for her friends. She would fight for her family. She would fight for the lives lost in this ongoing war. She would fight to bring an end to the Death Eaters rule. She would fight for what she knew was right, even when no one would stand with her.
Prepared for whatever came her way, Hermione was shocked at the Bulgarian's next move.
Releasing the weapon from her hands, her entire body began to shake as she fell to her knees. Her uniform became soaked with the muddy earth, mixed with the scarlet blood of the tributes she had so ruthlessly killed. The boy was unarmed and injured. The girl was fighting out of pure rage. Neither had deserved to die, yet she took the chance to bring them down when they were at their most vulnerable state.
She had done that.
She was a killer.
She was a monster.
A monster that deserved to die.
All at once, Hermione could see these thoughts cross over the girl's face. She had reduced herself to silent tears until a sob broke through her body. Covering her blood covered hands to hide her face from the two remaining tributes, the Bulgarian girl weeped behind the only protection she had left.
Hermione just stood and watched from a distance. The girl mourned and pitied the lives she had taken only moments before. Now, she had reduced herself to tears on the wrongs she had done. This twisted game they were in made good people do the most horrible of things; Hermione knew that now better than anyone.
Cautiously taking a step forward, Hermione slowly approached the Bulgarian girl. Her boots slushed against the pools of blood now surrounding her from the two dead bodies. The boy's face still had that twinkle of life behind them; the girl stared straight up to the dark and thundering sky, a single tear slipping down her once flushed cheeks.
Hermione didn't look at them as she bent down in front of the sobbing girl. She refused to look up at Hermione and instead seemed to shrink away when she reached out to pull her hands away from her tear-stained face.
Hermione didn't pressure the girl to reveal herself. Letting go of her hands, Hermione stayed kneeling in front of her until the girl's sobs became mere whimpers. Nonetheless, Hermione didn't leave even when the girl sniffed against her last tear.
Carefully removing her hands, the girl looked up at Hermione with puffy and bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks were stained with what looked to be hundreds of trails of tears that glistened against the rumbling clouds overhead. Dotted against her forehead were bloodied fingerprints that weren't her own. The rain began the cycle of washing it away, slipping the blood away and down her cheeks like more of her unshed tears. The Bulgraian girl saw Hermione glance up at them, and she slightly bowed her head in shame.
Just as Hermione was about to reach out to lift the girl's chin, her head shot up and she croaked out a single word.
"Please."
Hermione's eyes widened for a moment. She knew what the girl was asking for. But she didn't know if she truly had the strength to do it.
She stared back down at the pitiful girl who had killed just for the sake of revenge. She killed an unarmed boy because he was teamed on the wrong side. She killed a girl in search of the same vengeance as herself. And now, she asked Hermione to do the same out of pity.
Hermione carefully studied her face only to see pain and suffering. From the look in her eyes, she could see the girl had nothing much more to live for, and only asked for one simple favor to be done.
She slowly nodded her head and got to her feet. The girl stayed on her knees in the lake of blood even as Hermione began to walk away. When she turned back around to look at the girl for the last time, the weakest of smiles pulled at the corner of the Bulgarian's lips. The girl didn't even know if Hermione had heard the words leave her lips, but by the look in her eyes, she assumed so.
With one last intake of breath, Hermione pulled back the string of her bow and released the arrow. It pierced through the girl's heart in one swift second. She fell to her back in the sea of those she had killed, but the look on her face was nothing but relief and contentness. Thank you, she had said. Thank you.
The Dark Mark hung in the sky as if it were an added constellation. The long snake slid from the skull's mouth, it's fangs marking a thin line against the black clouds. In one swift movement, the tributes were lifted from the ground and brought back to the sky. A flash of green blinded Hermione before she slowly opened her eyes. Everything was quiet, the rain and gusts of wind turning to nothing but a light breeze.
Hermione felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder and turned to see Draco standing behind her. His blonde hair was a matted mess of twigs, blood, and dirt. The dagger wound to his shoulder seeped through the cotton of his shirt and stained it crimson. Cutting into his cheek was his new and old scar from the fights and battles fought within the arena. But the most prominent feature of all were his eyes.
When she found the courage to look up into them, she found none of his walls were up and everything had been torn down. Kindness and pity swam behind them; something far past unusual for a Malfoy.
Nonetheless, when he took her in his arms, completely ignoring the pain of his injuries, Hermione finally broke in his oddly warm embrace. Her pain of seeing the ones she cared about die in the most cruel ways brought more tears piled onto the others.
Yet alongside them, she could feel a weight lift off her shoulders like none had ever done before.
They had survived and conquered through it all.
Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had survived the Hunger Games.
Hello my fellow Potterheads!
Sorry for the rather tragic sort of end to the end of the games, but it's not over yet! Next update coming next Monday and Wednesday! :)
And, as always, I hope y'all have a super morning, afternoon, evening, or night!
-Summerwinds