Friendship had always seemed like a fairy tale to Harry, a childish dream, not something offered to dirty little burdens like him in a world like Panem. And so, after a while he even convinced himself he didn't need any, after all he was certain he wouldn't enjoy beating others up and that seemed to be all Dudley and his friends did together. Maybe he would have even felt that way forever if it weren't for an utterly clueless Ron Weasley and utterly persistent Hermione Granger coming along and changing his mind by sheer force of personality.
They became inseparable, sarcastically and fondly nicknamed 'the golden trio' by the peacekeepers because of all the trouble they found themselves in, and the rather unfortunate series of events which led to them being so close. To Harry they were the most important people in the world, and each few minutes he could steal in Molly Weasley's warm bustling kitchen and Hermione's parent's library (Her father was the Mayor) with his two best friends, his only family, felt like slices of another person's life. Especially to a boy who spent the majority of his childhood alternatively scavenging for food for his relatives, so as not to get a lashing and being locked away in a cupboard, not making a sound, so as not to get a lashing.
And when Ron's name was called out - Ron, brilliant, vibrant, 'this seat free mate?' Ronald Weasley, Harry didn't even have to think.
"I volunteer! Stop - stop - I volunteer!"
He pushed through the crowd around him ignoring the stunned Dudley and gaping classmates, wiggling round people until he was standing right in front of the stage clutching his baggy clothing, breathing heavily and looking every inch like a bedraggled kitten.
"I - I volunteer!"
After that things were a whirl of brightly coloured wigs and loud exclamations that Harry didn't even bother to try and make sense of and instead let his vacant gaze search the crowds for the mops of bright red hair saluting him with tears streaming down their faces. He barely even registered the answering salutes from the rest of his district and their stubborn refusal to applaud. So focused was he, on his family - the flashes of fire in a sea of coal grey. And it was only after when he was alone in the room that the peacekeepers guided him to, that he realized the full scale of what he had done.
It was suicide.
He was a child, one of the youngest in the reaping if not the youngest this year. He was tiny too - too small to possibly survive the games, and though he had built a little muscle from chores and illegally hunting and foraging to feed his relatives he had never been given enough food for it to last. Basically he was screwed.
No sponsor in their right mind would take him, he knew nothing that could help in the arena! He wasn't stupid, but he knew that to survive you needed to either be strong(and beautiful), extremely clever or an excellent strategist of which he was neither. God, even Dudley would have all been more suited to this. Hermione was supposed to be the clever one, and wasn't Ron always beating everyone at chess?
Harry wasn't supposed to do stuff like this. Harry let Dudley beat him up so he didn't get it worse at home. He sat quietly and read at break times to avoid the roughhousing and catch up on missed work. Didn't protest his lack of food and kept some catches to himself. Harry looked out for himself - always, it was always about survival, blending in, being 'just' Harry. Even after he became friends with Ron and 'Mione, with their sometimes hilarious sometimes terrifying adventures that were barely ever his fault, he always managed to stay in the background, but now...
He didn't have long to think on it either way as the first of his visitors came. Though he was disappointed in himself that he literally did a double take at the first person to walk through the door - 'come on potter you're better than this'.
"Aunt Petunia"
He tried to keep his voice neutral and not let his anxietyangerconfusion leak into his voice as practice for the Capitol but he wasn't sure how successful he was.
"Harry" Her voice broke and to Harry's utter horror she seemed as though she was going to break down in sobs, before the terrifying moment passed and she pulled herself together, her stick-thin arms flailing all the while, as though she couldn't decide weather to hug or hit him and instead settled on waving them protectively around her own sunken waist.
"I- that is to say we- your uncle and I -" she cut off after a moment looking pained and the silence started to stretch uncomfortably long. But a second before Harry was about to prompt her to either speak or leave, she continued, gaze darting around the room in accordance to her still wildly gesticulating arms.
"We have always tried to do our best for you. I know that - I know that - on, on occasion we may have seemed a bit harsh... But it was for your own good you see!" Her imploring eyes met his but seeing nothing she continued.
"Always so much like your parents were, so alive" - here she hissed the word as though it had offended her in some way - "so - so free despite your situations. And I knew then that you would be like them, just as - as freakish, I saw the way you sneered at the Capitol and-" here she cut off abruptly and glanced around as if realizing that this probably wasn't the best time or place to be having such a borderline dangerous conversation. As suddenly as it appeared the nervous energy positively crackling around ebbed away leaving her looking more tired and drained than Harry had ever seen her.
Her shoulders slumped and she choked out the last few sentences that she had been waiting years to say then ran from the room before Harry had even processed her words.
"I always knew you would do something like this" but instead of angry like he had expected she sounded resigned, pained in a way Harry never thought she was capable of.
"Always too much like them... Too much... How could you not fight like them too? I always knew it, always knew..."
After the earth shattering (but confusing) revelations of his aunt Harry was inordinately happy to see a face he knew he would always, no matter what circumstance, be glad to see. Her bushy hair had started escaping the intricate plaits that must have taken hours to weave and tickled his cheek as she clutched him, and as she pulled back he stared fascinated at her red rimmed eyes and tear stained face. Hermione, the second ever person to care about him, to stick with him, his pseudo sister.
"There's a chance you know? That you could win, I've done a lot of research on the Games and it's sometimes someone you would never expect! You know in the 36th annual ga-" He silenced her with his palm which she promptly licked and he pulled a well practiced disgusted face at her in a perfect imitation Rita Skeeter's usual expression around District 12 tributes and their mentors.
"Sooo uncouth" He trilled in the odd Capitol accent. She just hit him on the shoulder with gesture of exasperated familiarity, although she did smile a little through her tears.
"You will try though wont you, seriously? For me, for Ron, for district 12, you will try to come home - even if it seems hopeless? Promise me Harry." The smile was gone and in that moment Harry thought he would have promised anything to get rid of the vulnerable look in her eyes, even though he knew she knew everything was completely hopeless.
"Of course I'll try, it's what I do isn't it - the impossible. I'm The-Boy-Who-Lived after all" She swatted his smirk away the the ease borne of long practice but her face had lost some of its grave seriousness.
"You better not forget it." She whispered fiercely through the smiles and tears, "I've brought you my pin now, haven't I? Would be a pretty poor thing if you went and lost wearing my trinket." pressing a pin into his hands before he had the opportunity to object.
"It's a Mocking-Jay" She added unnecessarily, Harry knew what it was - he loved the creatures after all, had a way with them, like they could understand his notes. The Capitol's failure, turned his happiness.
He couldn't find the right words to say and the rigid control he had over his emotions began to waver as his eyes misted slightly but then the peacekeeper came in and ushered Hermione out and in the they only had one last bone-crushing hug before she spirited away from the room and the moment passed as he was alone again. Left holding the intricate gold Mocking-Jay pin tight enough to leave little red imprints in his palm.
Ron was last then, his Mother and Father and all four of his big brothers and single little sister, everyone was crying and hugging and exchanging 'I love you's and 'I've always thought of you as my own'. There were the 'thank-you's, 'after saving Ginny like you did' and 'even after Fred's reaping' and 'I'm so sorry I can never repay you for what you've done for us.' so many that Harry could barely keep a hold of himself.
-but no, you're not to cry, it's going to be hard enough to get a sponsor as it is without blubbering everywhere-
Then Ron's twisted face, shaking with anger, his: 'How dare you's and 'I've killed you's and 'not even my own brothers would, but you sacrificed' s - and he raged and cried and clung to the desperately frail boy he had always tried to look after, but couldn't in the end.
They all looked in shame and anger and sorrow and it was all so sharp and it burned but they couldn't look away. Couldn't turn from this paradoxically strong child with eyes flashing with hate and love and protectiveness more pronounced than even Molly Weasley could show. The child who just 6 years ago they hadn't known the name of, they couldn't have possibly conceived how much he would do for them, under the banner of friendship in such a short time.
So before they were pulled away, before they could catch that 'one last glimpse' of their honorary brother before he would be taken away to be slaughtered, they saluted him. This boy, this child who had done more against the capital in one sacrifice than hardened men had dared think about. The infamous imp of district 12 who caused trouble everywhere he went and smiled like an angel. 'Because if anyone isn't just a pawn'-
"It's you Harry."