Chapter 8: Last Day
The next day was interview day, the day that each tribute would go up in stage in front of hundreds of cameras, not to mention a live audience, and be interviewed by Rita Skeeter. The up side to the day was that they had the whole day off – no training or anything – in order to prepare. The down side was that it meant it was the last day before the start of the Games. Tomorrow, Harry would be in the arena. Tomorrow might very well be the last day of Harry's existence.
When Harry emerged for breakfast, Hagrid informed him that Lavender was refusing to leave her room. McGonagall had gone to try and persuade her out, since she would have to come out eventually lest Capitol guards drag her out and physically force her into the arena. Better to walk in as though your free will hadn't been stripped from you, even though it was all a lie anyway.
Since McGonagall was gone, Harry's coach for the day was Hagrid. Gilderoy would be arriving in the afternoon to give lessons on poise and how to hold yourself during an interview, but the morning was all about substance – how Harry would be presenting himself to the people of the Capitol.
As they headed into the living room area, Harry though how glad he was to be doing his prep session with Hagrid instead of McGonagall. Where McGonagall was stern and intimidating, Hagrid was friendly and approachable, and Harry didn't want to spend half the day being told he wasn't going to survive so why try.
By the time lunch rolled around, Harry and Hagrid had settled on a simple presentation. Harry would be pleasant, not flashy or showy, but also not meek and cowering. His goal wasn't going to be to stupefy potential sponsors with his charm, but to subtly implant himself in their minds so that when they saw him succeeding in the arena, they would remember him and wonder why they had forgotten in the first place.
When McGonagall heard their plan, she was predictably very against the whole thing. She told Harry that he ought to be focusing on wowing the Capitol and not subtly infiltrating their minds. But she eventually gave in when Hagrid pointed out that if Harry went for the in-your-face angle, he would surely be overshadowed by tributes like Tom Riddle and Sirius Black.
About halfway through lunch, Lavender emerged, ashen-faced, her hair sticking up in every direction, kind of like Hermione's. She looked awful, and probably hadn't eaten at all since the day before. Nobody said anything as she sat down and started to eat, almost mechanically, as though she'd only left her room because she didn't want to starve to death.
"I know I don't stand a chance," Lavender finally said, putting down her fork and looking up at Hagrid and McGonagall, "but I still want to try."
"Well young lady, I'm afraid you've wasted the better part of today wallowing in self-pity," McGonagall said crossly. "I don't know how you expect to be ready for the interviews tonight looking like that but…"
"I'm sure those prep team folk can get 'er ready in no time," Hagrid said assuredly.
"Yes, well I mean to say, she hasn't rehearsed," McGonagall insisted.
"Tha's no problem," Hagrid said. "She can jus' be 'erself. Nothin' wrong with tha'."
"You aren't suggesting that she goes on without any preparation whatsoever?" McGonagall asked, appalled.
"Now see here Minerva," Hagrid said, his voice rising. "Fer years yeh've been intimidatin' tributes, makin' 'em feel like they've got no chance of winnin', and maybe fer some that's true. But I say every tribute has a chance, an' if they make it far enough that a sponsor'd mean the difference between life an' death, then I'm sure their actions in the arena'll warrant a bit o' support."
When Hagrid had finished yelling, Harry and Lavender both turned to see McGonagall's reaction. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, her face turning red. Harry could have sworn he saw steam coming out of her ears that was how mad she seemed. Not wanting to make anything worse, Harry suddenly became very interested in the turkey leg on his plate.
After a minute of silence, McGonagall pushed back her chair and stood. "I see you have their training under control," she said simply, stepping away from the table and heading towards the elevator. "I'll leave it to you then." She pressed the elevator button and in seconds, the doors had opened and she had stepped past them. "Good luck to you," she said to Harry and Lavender as the elevator doors closed in front of her and she disappeared from sight.
Nobody said anything until a couple of Avoxes arrived to clear the table and Hagrid thanked them. Gilderoy arrived not too long after and the afternoon's work begun.
Harry hadn't realized how much work the tributes actually had to put into their interview presentation. Gilderoy started by having Harry and Lavender walk around the apartment with large books on their heads. They had to keep at it until they could do a whole lap without the book falling. Then he set the room up to resemble the stage they would be on for the actual interview and made them practice climbing stairs, sitting in the chair, talking, getting back up and walking down the opposite set of stairs all without letting the book fall. It was worse for Lavender, because Gilderoy made her do the whole thing in heels, but Harry still thought it was cruel and unusual punishment. Shouldn't they be resting, enjoying what could be their last full day of life?
By dinnertime, Harry was exhausted and all he wanted to do was collapse into a chair and eat some good food. Unfortunately, with the interviews coming up that evening, they didn't have time for a proper dinner. Gilderoy handed Harry and Lavender each a sandwich to eat and before they'd even taken their first bite, their prep teams had arrived and were whisking them away to make them pretty.
All too soon, Harry's prep team was finished and Madam Malkin was helping him into the green and brown suit he would be wearing for the interviews that night. It wasn't too overstated, like the tribute parade costumes were, but it still had a touch of district 7 which Harry surprisingly found to be calming.
When he emerged from his room, Harry joined Lavender, who was wearing a green and brown form-fitting, floor-length dress and long dangly earrings. They were met by Hagrid and Gilderoy and together, the four of them with their stylists got into the elevator and headed down to the waiting room for the interviews. McGonagall still hadn't returned and Harry had begun to wonder if she ever would.
When they arrived in the waiting room, everyone was with their teams, so Harry didn't have a chance to talk to any of his 'friends' as he'd begun to think of them. He knew they weren't really friends, but acquaintances seemed too formal a word to describe the people he'd briefly connected with over the fact that they were all facing their impending deaths.
As usual, the interviews started with district 1, and as usual the girls went first. Charity Burbage, the female tribute from district 1, glided out onto the stage to greet Rita Skeeter and Harry felt the nerves settling in. He'd never been good at oral presentations at school, or public speaking at all, and he was about to have to go out in front of the entire country.
The interviews seemed to go by all too fast, and suddenly Harry became aware that Lavender was already gone. Hagrid came over and began ushering Harry towards the edge of the stage and Harry suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He couldn't do this, he couldn't go out there. He was going to make a fool of himself. He would just refuse to go out, and they would be forced to move on to district 8.
As Harry solidified his plans in his head, he faintly saw Lavender stand and shake hands with Rita before descending the other end of the stage. Harry felt himself being propelled forward, and before he had a chance to tell them that he wasn't going to be doing his interview, he was out on the stage and Rita was beckoning him forward. There was no backing out now.
"Welcome Harry Potter of district 7!" Rita exclaimed as they shook hands and Harry took a seat in the designated chair. The lights shining onto the stage were so bright he couldn't see anyone out in the audience, but he could hear them roaring and clapping, so he knew they were there. There were also cameras on either side of the stage, which were proving to be extremely distracting. Knowing that he had to focus, Harry turned his head towards Rita and smiled as pleasantly as he could as he waited for the crowd to settle down.
"So, Harry, how does it feel to be reaped at such a young age?" Rita asked.
"Well I'm not really that young," Harry pointed out. He was seventeen, among the oldest of the tributes that had been reaped.
"Oh, well of course fourteen isn't as young as some, but still, you've barely even started to live," Rita said.
"Oh, no, I'm not fourteen – I'm seventeen," Harry said, his cheeks heating up. Did he really look that young?
"Of course you are," Rita said, patting Harry on the knee as though she didn't really believe him. "What about your parents?" Rita asked next. "How do you think they feel about your being picked for the Games?" Had she even done any research in preparation for this interview?
"My parents died when I was very young," Harry said quietly.
"And do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so eager to be chosen for the Games?" Rita asked.
Harry frowned. "I'm not eager – what, you think I wanted to be reaped?"
"Well Harry, we all know you took out a fair amount of tesserae, even though you hardly needed to. Why else would you do that besides wanting desperately to be chosen?" she asked.
"Don't you think I'd have volunteered if I'd wanted to compete?" Harry asked, angry with this line of questioning. Who did this woman think she was, and how had she come across his tesserae record?
"Volunteering isn't nearly the same as getting chosen," Rita said. "I'm sure a young fourteen-year-old boy who lost his parents at such a young age would very much like the idea of being chosen – even if he had rigged the system."
"I'm seventeen," Harry repeated. "And I – "
"Oh, I'm sorry, that's all the time we have," Rita said as the buzzer rang. She stood, and Harry stood with her, unable to even comprehend what had just happened. "It was lovely talking to you, and may we all wish you the best of luck in tomorrow's Games."
Harry shook her hand again and made his way off the stage, eager to get away from the woman. How she had managed to turn him into a fourteen-year-old attention-seeking orphan in under two minutes was beyond him, but at least it was over now.
Harry found Lavender and the rest of their team over in the far corner and he joined them, his head down as he thought about how he'd just ruined his chances. Hagrid assured him that it wasn't as bad as he thought, but when Harry asked to watch the replay of the interviews and Hagrid refused, he knew Hagrid was just trying to cover it up for him. He was grateful for that. He wouldn't want to feel any more discouraged than he already did.
The six of them – Harry, Lavender, Hagrid, Gilderoy, and the stylists, Madam Malkin and Hepzibah – all got into the elevator together and headed back up to the seventh floor. With the interviews over, all that was left was to get a good night's sleep because the Games would be tomorrow. Hagrid and Gilderoy bid them a good night before heading off in the direction of food, and the stylists followed Harry and Lavender back to their respective rooms to help them remove their elaborate outfits and make sure they went to sleep.
After Madam Malkin had left, Harry lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling for hours. He knew he ought to sleep, because he wasn't going to be getting much of it in the arena, but he couldn't sleep knowing the horrors that lay ahead for him in the morning.
When the sun rose in the morning and Gilderoy rapped on the door, indicating that it was time to get up, Harry was still wide awake, not having slept at all. Unthinkingly, Harry stood and threw on some clothes – it didn't matter what since he would have to change before going into the arena anyway. Then he stepped out of his room, casting one last cursory glance at the room that had been his for such a short time, and walked out to the breakfast table.