Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, and Suzanne Collins, author of the Hunger Games trilogy.
Warnings: slash, meaning boyxboy
Love and War
Vaguely remembering hands touching and prepping him, Harry waited for his stylist to come in. He shivered. Never before had he experienced such a thorough inspection of his body. Harry felt too clean, too exposed. Too unprotected. He squashed the sudden urge to run into the woods with Gale, undoubtedly getting caked with dirt, mud, and sweat. Oh, what he wouldn't give to just stroll around the trees and simply spend the day with his back on the cool grass next to his best friend, feeling the gentle breeze muss his hair and laying sweet kisses on his cheeks. A sharp rap on the door broke him out of his tempting thoughts.
"Hem, hem," a rather squeaky and high, if not annoying, voice was the first sound he heard as the door opened. Immediately, Harry knew he would not like this person. A short woman emerged, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste at her dreadfully pink attire.
"Well, I am Dolores Umbridge, District 12's stylist," she said, lips pulled back in a big, over the top smile, giving it an exaggerated and fake appearance. The woman didn't seem too happy with being assigned to the region that constantly produced less than ideal performance in the Games.
"If you could put on these clothes, we'll be ready to get started."
After handing him the garments, she left the room. Harry didn't start moving until the sound of clicking heels faded, dressing with a scowl on his face. He hated the condescending way she spoke to him, like he was an idiot, someone who didn't have what it takes to survive, a doll meant to look pretty and be obedient. He'll show her, show all of them. Eyes burning with determination, Harry stepped out into the bright, artificial light.
He swore that he was shining way too much. Harry felt subconscious, blinding himself whenever the angle of light was in an unfortunate position. Wearing the plain black clothes would have been comfortable if it weren't for the rhinestones stitched on any available surface. He looked like a walking disco ball. Sighing, he tried to keep a blank face despite the numerous stares he received from the audience. Once he got on the chariot, Hannah gave a sympathetic wince when she caught sight of his outfit.
Let's just get this parade over with, Harry thought, humiliated.
Pulling out the chair, Harry sat down at the dinner table next to Hannah. He smiled at his godfather across from him, receiving a wink in return. Every spot on the smooth, onyx colored glass was covered by endless piles of food. Feeling his mouth water at the delicious aroma, Harry's fingers twitched at the prospect of digging in.
At the head of the table, Effie grumbled, annoyed. "Where is that woman? Doesn't she know that it's dinnertime? That air headed—"
Just then, the door opened to reveal the aforementioned female.
Harry tensed, just waiting for the inevitable—
"Hem, hem."
He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to drive them into his stylist's face.
"Speak of the devil," Harry heard Sirius say under his breath.
Effie huffed, her lips pursed in irritation. "Don't you know that you were keeping us waiting? Those of us that actually want to eat?"
An ugly smile stretched across Umbridge's lips as she sat daintily in her chair. "Oh, darling," the word was said in such a way that anyone could tell what she truly thought, "haven't you ever heard of being fashionably late?"
She narrowed her eyes in menace. "And besides, a few uneaten biscuits won't do you any harm, if you catch my drift."
Effie looked like she was about to pounce on the other woman. Harry wished she did. He eyed them both.
Team Effie all the way, Harry thought as Umbridge continued to talk in that condescending tone of hers. The tension in the room was thick as the two stared each other down.
Harry took a leaf out of the prep team's book and wisely kept quiet. Across the table, he saw his godfather sneaking in bites of food. Harry blinked incredulously. Catching his eye, Sirius smirked at him.
Dinner and a show, his mentor mouthed, shoving a forkful of roasted chicken in his mouth.
Hesitantly, Harry reached for the pumpkin soup and started helping himself. Once the creamy flavor hit his tongue, he froze as he savored the taste.
So good!
He didn't know if he should eat faster or slower. All he knew was that he wanted more. Beside him, Hannah and the prep team started piling food on their plates, too.
Harry almost wanted to cry when he was done with his soup. Seeing the table still occupied with food, he added small portions of all available food, wanting to sample as much as he could. At the head of the table, the two women were still arguing.
Oh, well. More for me! Harry thought happily around a mouthful of lamb stew.