Chapter Title: 04. Potter, H (D4 Reapings)
Chapter Subtitle: 04. The Girl with Two Faces & The Boy Who Was Reaped
Description: Everyone's having déjà vu, but the question is; from where?
Summary: "So, yes. This year's tribute is—Harry James Potter! ...Wait."
Rating: T for Two personalities
Main Characters/Pairings: Marceila B. (D6F), Echo B. (D6M)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Humor, and Harry Potter (alright people. I will tolerate exactly three seconds of fangirling. One, two—that's enough. Now hush, keep your squeals to a minimum.)
Disclaimer: There once was a girl who said she owned THG. The next day, she claimed that she owned HP also. The day after that, she got zapped by lightning and became a pile of smoking ash. (Witnesses swears that they had heard a certain girl with a huntress' kit and punk-style clothes scolding the sky, which she addressed 'her father', the next day.)
A/N: First of all, I wanted to make huge references to HP while not making this a crossover—thought it would be fun, and the D4 pair was the best way to do this, fight me.
I live off of reviews. Kindly help me maintain my life.
ToTiger outsider: Thank you for not one, but three amazing tributes. I must say, Marceila's my favorite out of the three. I hope you like how I wrote her.
To Professor R J Lupin: I apologize in advance—this is probably not what you had in mind when you filled out the description form lol. Anyway, thanks for submitting a goofy character. I'll do my best goofy writing as possible. If there's such a thing.
To VibeFive (yes u wonderful fuckers I'm still calling u that): Thank you (especially leo) for checking up on my profile and giving me the most inspirational, vehement pep talk ever to push me into writing another chapter. You guys are awesome.
Thanks as always, Amber1015, who always checks up on me, betas my works, and motivates me to write! (You're the fucking best I love you so much!)
Marceila Bellum (18), D4F
"I'm going to make this very short, clear, and literal: she's crazy."
"One of us will have to mentor her, and it will not be me."
"Count me out too."
"I, Aqua Lillias, am past victor of the Hunger Games—I killed nine people, fought mutts craving my blood, and am currently taking part in the most dangerous rebellion in history. But this tribute—this one girl, certainly exceeds my limits."
"…Hey, I just won my games. I'm new here. I still wake up in the middle of the night screaming at the top of my lungs."
"Welcome to the family, dear. Don't worry, all you have to do is wait for just over an eternity and it will disappear. Unless you decide to take the Abernathy Route, that is."
"What the hell is the Abernathy—never mind. Maybe Annie can help her out? I mean, maybe she could understand her since…you know what I mean."
"Sure. Maybe…. Oh, god. I'm too old for this."
"We're to blame. We were the ones who approved of her forms in the first place."
"Vortex. The forms did not inform us about her double personality."
"Okay, okay. Now, uh…why don't we try to be, um, positive, right now. Like, maybe she could be our new Mockingjay!"
"No."
"I agree. That was a bad attempt. Or maybe…."
"Yes…?"
"I've got nothing."
~.~.~
In a velvet chair in a huge white building in the middle of District Four, sits a young lady with blinding platinum blonde hair, hands cuffed tightly together. Her eyes are steady and determined, and her brilliant smile is unwavering.
One look at her, and you'll be wondering why the hell this poised and amiable-looking girl is strapped unnecessarily tightly to the seat—despite her slim, short form—with two heavily armed peacekeepers looming behind her.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Marceila Bellum's gaze traces over at the giant clock fastened to the wall she's facing. Thirty minutes are left before she's off on a train to the Capitol, and there are still no visitors.
She frowns unhappily.
Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, she glances at the bronze door of the room holding her custody. It doesn't open, doesn't reveal her family running over to her with proud tears and saying goodbye to her. Marceila sighs.
"My nose itches," she says quite sweetly to the peacekeeper on her right, twisting her neck at an unnatural, painful-looking angle to try and hold eye contact with the man behind the white Star Wars mask. Her look is pointed.
Silence. A minute passes with Marceila smiling and the peacekeeper staring.
Marceila sighs and turns back as if she had been expecting it.
A few minutes pass by uneventfully. Marceila hums an old tune softly. The peacekeepers shift uncomfortably behind her.
"Have a seat," The eighteen-year-old finally declares in a sincere voice. "You look rather stiff. People would think that you are the ones getting ready for their Games."
Her calm, blue eyes shine with genuine worry, and the peacekeepers instantly tense, holding the gun on their belts tightly. They won't shoot, or cause her any real harm, but they would knock her out.
Marceila frowns, and stretching her body as well as she can while tied up, sighs deeply once again.
And just like a switch is flipped, without any signs of warning; Merceila is gone, and her other personality takes her place.
"You know what I'm going to do once I'm in the games?" Asks a cool voice with the girl's mouth—nothing like the calm, kind tone she'd been using until now. The voice is evil, harsh.
One peacekeeper barely hides a shiver. The other fails in concealing it.
"I had so long to think about it…Eighteen years of chasing blood…. How fun," Marceila sneers, an unnatural twist of lips on her suddenly wicked-looking features. "I'm going to hunt down the most innocent, young, weak. Peeling their skin off layer by layer, listening to their screams—music to my ears." The young woman suddenly jerks back her head to the white-clothed man behind her, and the one on the left flinches slightly, gripping his gun even tighter.
Marceila looks like she's imagining all the blood and gore, the desperate sounds of terror. And she's savouring it like honey.
"Fuck yeah," she purrs, licking her full lips slowly, as if she's a cat settling in to torture a mouse until its heart gives out from pure terror. Her eyes glisten a terrible oceanic blue—it holds a storm—as she focuses on one of the peacekeepers, gazing meaningfully into the black glass helmet, forcing eye contact. "Don't worry, you won't miss anything. I'm sure the cameras would love to get all that shit on the main screen."
Smiling widely, baring all of her perfect teeth—rather looking like fangs at the moment—Marceila blinks.
And it's the first Marceila again. "I know it's your job to be silent and broody and everything, but seriously, I want your opinion on this. Do you think it's a first for a volunteer District 4 tribute to have no visitors?"
Two peacekeepers shiver in perfect synchronization.
~.~.~
Echo Brookes (17), D4M
"Why do I think that I vaguely recognize him?"
"Yeah, Aqua, he's a Harry Potter lookalike. A stunt-double for Daniel Radcliffe in the movies."
"Oh! That's why! Wait. What?"
"Hmm? What are you talking about?"
"Wh—? You just said the boy looks like someone. Someone whose name I'm sure I've heard before…"
"Huh? What are you talking about? I didn't say anything."
"Right. Okay, fine, stop giving me that look. Anyway, what do you think of the boy?"
"He looks familiar."
"Yeah…"
"Oh!"
"What?"
"Don't you think it would be nice if Finnick trained this one? I mean, he is certainly a trident master."
"Vortex, I know you are new to this whole mentoring/post-Games/rebellion thing. So, I will make this very clear for once and for all. Finnick is busy."
"Busy doing what? Ah, ohh."
"See, you've gotten it. You're learning, boy! Let us see if you landed on the correct conclusion. Finnick is busy—"
"Planning and executing the rebellion!"
"No, Vortex dear. And here I was thinking that you were getting wiser. Finnick is busy eating sugar cubes and playing poker with Johanna."
"…You're not joking."
"Do I seem to be the joking type, Vortex?"
"…No, ma'am."
~.~.~
Like most things, it seems to be an accident when these three things happen at the same time.
One, Muffin Lollipop—the newbie escort of District Four—who had been dramatically, slowly revealing the boy tribute's name on the paper with her long fingernails, makes this weird, conflicted face. As if she doesn't know whether to be annoyed or exhilarated, which makes an interesting expression. She fumbles with the paper in her distraction and it flutters to the ground soundlessly after a slip of the fingers.
Two, Finnick Odair, graciously late as ever, bounces up the stage steps with a wide grin flashing over his face. He's waving and bowing at the cheering crowd beneath him, dressed in a white sweater and blue jeans. He's also probably the reason of Muffin's sudden lost of focus. Echo freezes for a moment—blinks—because he swears the trident master himself had just looked directly at him and winked, before fishing a fistful of sugar cubes out of his pocket and grandly throwing them to the crowd witnessing the reaping.
Three, the girl who volunteered prior—the slim one with the sharp cheekbones—blinks. When her eyes reopen, they represent a tsunami of glacial blue and the icy aura of a newly sharpened sword.
Of course, no one but Echo seems to notice the third event occurring. They're either too busy staring slack-jawed at the fallen paper, not daring to breathe, or frantically scrambling over one another to get hold of one of Finnick's infamous sugar cubes. Even the cameras and the commentary are focused on nothing but District Four's Golden Victor.
Then, like most happenings, the events became into a big, chaotic mess of consequences, very quickly.
The girl—Maurecia? Maria? Pounces on poor Muffin, her sharp fingernails raking through the escort's very obvious hair extensions and making her scream at such a pitch that everyone in the vicinity screws their eyes shut and try not to black out from the sheer decibel level.
The peacekeepers are surging forward, caught off guard, and quickly rush to contain the female tribute, who is now screaming, "THE WEAK MUST DIE!" in a voice that makes blood turn to ice that Echo has trouble deciding whose voice is worse, the girl or Muffin.
Finnick, frowning, takes a step backward, which isn't a good idea considering he in in the middle of ascending the stairs and the crowd beneath takes a collective gasp as he flails, trying to catch his balance.
Luckily, he manages, and at the same time the girl tribute is separated from the escort ("—MUST PERISH, WEAKLINGS—") and taken away to the Justice Building by peacekeepers. Muffin, miffed, regains her posture, wiping frightened tears and melted mascara from her eyes, and frantically trying to fix her hair while she fretfully looks around for the fallen piece of paper.
The victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, Vortex, finally takes pity on her and swoops in, presenting her with half the torn piece of paper. Muffin gives him a teary, grateful smile, and coughs a few times in her gloved fist, clearing her throat.
"So, yes, anyway, this year's boy tribute from District Four is—" she pauses for dramatic effect. "Harry James Potter!"
The citizens of District Four blink, trying to make sense of this whole series of unfortunate events.
"Wow," a girl next to Echo whispers in a deadpan. "Sweet, sweet, sweet fuck."
"…Wait," Muffin squints. "Oh, sorry, my bad." She looks around. "Echo Brookes? Will you come up here please?"
~.~.~
Like most people, it seems to be perfectly normal that Echo Brookes was going through the day's events over and over inside his round head nonstop.
"To be fair," his sister Coral, consoles him. "You do kind of look like him. You know…green eyes, jet-black hair, round face, tall, lanky. The whole package."
"How, Coral, is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"…Because J. K. Rowling makes eight dollars every passing second?"
"Okay," Lake cuts in. "What Coral is saying here is—we're going to miss you so much when you're gone—and we'll be waiting right here when you come home."
When—not if. Despite the constant weight in his stomach, Echo manages to smile waveringly at his girlfriend. "Love you, Lake. And you too, Coral."
They both nod, and clasp his hands, as if trying to transmit whatever they want to say to him but can't express with words. "I'm sorry if I'm not making much sense, Echo. I just…feel so jumpy on your behalf, alright?" Coral stutters, tears forming in her eyes. She blinks them back forcefully, trying to stay strong for her only family.
Echo still remembers the shock that overcame him when he was practically dragged up to the stage by three peacekeepers, which, in normal circumstances, would have been considered excessive, but given by the current events, completely understandable.
"I'll be fine, okay? I love you," he says, giving them both one last kiss on the cheek.
Then it's time to leave.
~.~.~
A COMMENT FROM THE CAPITOL:
CAN'T WAIT FOR THIS YEAR'S MERCH!
(ARE THEY SELLING TOY WANDS TOO?!)
A/N: Short chapters, fast updates. Okay, okay. I can do that.
(Probably.
Probably not.)
Q & A
Question 1: Harry Potter or The Hunger Games? (I honestly can't choose, this is like having to choose between my feet and the Internet.)
Question 2: How are you guys doing with the pandemic and all? Hope you're all safe. :(