Chapter 20: Return

Being back in the Capitol was unreal. Everyone was gushing over Harry and congratulating him on his win. He was supposed to be enjoying everything – all the lavish meals and elaborate parties – but he couldn't. These had been one of the shortest Games ever played – only four days long – yet Harry felt that he'd been in the arena for a lifetime. When he slept, he dreamt of the castle: of the trophy room, of the dungeons, of the battle by the lake. When he was awake, he would catch glimpses of people who looked like Sirius or Dobby or Lily, but then they would turn around and he would realize it wasn't them.

Finally, the day of the final interview arrived. Harry moved almost like a zombie all morning as Madam Malkin dressed him in a fine suit of her own design. Hagrid wished Harry luck before he had to go up on stage and the suddenly he found himself standing next to Rita Skeeter once again in front of the entire Capitol.

It felt like the interview went on forever. Rita Skeeter kept asking questions Harry didn't want to answer and bringing up topics that Harry would really rather not talk about.

"What about this no-killing policy you seemed to have throughout the Games?" Rita asked.

"What about it?" Harry questioned.

"Well for three days you refused to kill anyone, and then right at the end when it was just you and Riddle, you seemed to have absolutely no reservations about driving that sword through his chest," Rita pointed out. "Was that a plan that you'd sketched out ahead of time with your mentors? Make yourself seem weak, keep out of harm's way and let the other tributes kill each other off, giving you a clear shot at victory?"

"Of course not," Harry spluttered. "I didn't – "

"Oh, I think we have an evil mastermind on our hands here," Rita interrupted him. "And the Games this year were so short!" she exclaimed. "How did you manage that?"

"I don't know what you're – " Harry tried to interject.

"I mean, the bloodbath only killed what, six tributes? And still you managed to cut down the rest in such a short time," she continued.

"I was just trying to stay alive," Harry muttered, losing interest in arguing with Rita Skeeter. She could paint whatever kind of picture of him she wanted. It wouldn't change the facts. It wouldn't change what happened in there. It wouldn't change how he felt about all of it.

"Well, are we all ready for the viewing of this year's highlights?" Rita exclaimed, clapping her hands together. A huge screen appeared and the Capitol anthem began to play. Harry took a deep breath as he prepared himself for what he was about to endure – three hours of pure torture, where he was going to be forced to re-watch the worst days of his life in front of a live audience.

The beginning of the highlights was innocent enough – Harry watched himself be reaped again, along with many of the other tributes. Next the shot cut to the tribute parade and training. Harry was shocked when he discovered that conversations he'd had with tributes inside the training center had been recorded and now were being broadcast nationwide. Next were the interviews and all too soon, Harry was watching himself stand on that pedestal next to the Cornucopia as Lee Jordan counted down the seconds to the Games.

He had to watch all over again as Lavender and the others died at the bloodbath and Dobby and Hedwig died in the tower. He also got to see some of the other things that went on during the Games that he wasn't present for – he watched Sirius, James, and Lily find the trophy room and set up camp. He watched Sirius go out and explore the castle, discovering all his different hiding places. He watched Remus and Tonks run out into the forest and he watched as they were attacked by mutations and Tonks died. He watched as the Careers brewed their poisonous concoction down in the dungeons and laced their weapons with it.

He watched as the Careers set Peter up as a spy and as he and James found him and brought him back. He watched as Peter betrayed them all, killing Lily and then running when James cried out. He watched as James went after him and they all went after James. He watched as James died all over again and Remus was injured. He watched as Remus, then Sirius, then Fred and all the others died all over again. And finally, he watched himself back Riddle into a corner and he saw the hatred in his eyes as he buried the sword in Riddle's chest.

It scared Harry, how much hate he had in that one look. It wasn't him – he wasn't that person. He wasn't the kind of person that won the Games, because the kind of people that win the Games are despicable people who take pleasure in killing. In that moment on screen, when Harry killed Riddle, it looked like he'd enjoyed it.

He could remember the effort it had taken to do the job. He could remember the shock at how much blood a chest cavity could contain. And he could remember the dark determination with which he advanced on the other tribute and the satisfaction he'd felt in knowing that he'd ended a life. It was a deep satisfaction that was unfamiliar to Harry. He'd never been the kind of person to want somebody to die, even if the person was despicable themselves. But that was the thing about the Games, it changes people. It takes perfectly ordinary people and molds them into whatever the Capitol wants them to be. The Capitol wanted a murderer, and that's what Harry became.

When the highlights were done showing, Rita did a quick closing a thanked Harry for being there, not that he'd had a choice. Then he found himself whisked off to a party at the President's mansion where he shook hands with people who were so stingy that they only gave Hagrid enough money for three bars of chocolate instead of the medicine that Harry had needed to save Remus.

When that was all over, he returned to the seventh floor of the training center for one last night, after which he, Hagrid, and McGonagall boarded the train back to district seven.

"Now you keep in touch," Gilderoy ordered when he waved goodbye at the station. "I'll see you in six months for our victory tour."

Harry waved goodbye to Gilderoy and then shook off McGonagall and Hagrid, finding himself a quiet place where he could just sit, away from adoring crowds and fans and whatnot.

When the train pulled into the district seven station, Harry was greeted by a mass of excited people. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were front and center, hugging him and congratulating him and talking about how exciting it was that they were friends with a victor. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley showed up and Mr. Weasley patted Harry on the back while Mrs. Weasley prattled on about how what Harry needed was a nice district seven home cooked meal. Even Bill and Charlie and Percy and George showed up to greet Harry, much to his surprise. The absence of the Dursleys at the platform was hardly noticeable, and yet Harry did notice. He supposed that now that he was a victor and had his own house and everything, he never needed to see them again. They could simply pretend they'd never known each other.

The group headed down to the Weasley's house in the lower town, and when they passed by Lavender Brown's house, Harry found himself stopping in his tracks. Inside were Lavender's parents, grieving over their lost daughter, and yet the rest of district seven was celebrating because of Harry. It was unfair, Harry thought. At least in all the other districts, people could mourn openly. Because of Harry, Lavender's family had to mourn in their house, away from all the fanfare.

"You coming mate?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Harry responded, tearing himself away from the house and following his friends to Ron's house for a big Weasley dinner.

The victor's village was quiet. It wasn't like the lower town where everyone was partying in the streets at all hours of the night. And it wasn't like the upper town, where the parties, though kept inside, could be heard from all corners of the town. No, in the victor's village, things were somber, and Harry found that he liked it much better.

He found his house easily enough – it was the one with the shiny new plaque on it that read Harry Potter. When he'd arrived, he'd found his few measly belonging strewn about the porch and he assumed that his aunt and uncle had delivered them before he'd returned from the Capitol. How nice of them.

It didn't take long to move his things inside and arrange them, and soon he found himself restless. He couldn't sleep – he would only end up having nightmares anyway. He decided to go and see if Hagrid was home. Maybe they could have a drink together. After all, now that Harry was a victor, he was considered an adult, despite being only seventeen. Apparently the Capitol figured if you were old enough to survive the Hunger Games, you were old enough to do just about whatever you wanted.

Hagrid wasn't home when Harry knocked, and after checking, he discovered that none of the other victors were home. Harry was about to return home, when he noticed a light coming from down the lane. He followed it and found all five other victors sitting around a bonfire in silence.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"It's a vigil," one of the other victors, Alastor Moody, replied. "For the fallen."

"We do it every year," one of the female victors, Hestia Jones, explained.

"We were in the Games," Hagrid said. "We know what it's like, an' it's no party."

"Would you like to join?" Oliver Wood, the youngest tribute besides Harry, asked.

"Yeah, I think I would," Harry said, his throat constricting as he took a seat on a log bench. This was exactly what he'd been needing ever since he'd come out of the arena. Everyone had been treating him like some big hero, throwing parties and celebrations. He didn't want to celebrate. Death was not something to celebrate.

When Harry went to sleep that night, for the first time since the arena, he didn't have any nightmares. He was sure this wouldn't continue forever. They would probably come back and plague him frequently. But at least for one night, he had peace.

All wasn't well. But perhaps someday it would be again.