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Our bountiful Lord has chosen to share the noble gift of magikae with the Deorsans.Let it be known that henceforth, under the benign guidance of His Royal Highness, Lord Morvolo Gaunt, The Mortem Magus Tournament will be held once every septenus. For each tournament, a total of six participants from each district will vie for the honour of winning magic, for their district, for their people. The one that walks out alive, the victor—The Magus Deus would be entrusted with the noble art of magikae, to his use however he sees fit. May the Games Begin!
It is not easy to kill a human. No matter how hard you prepare for it. No matter how long you have accepted the inevitability of it. Nothing can prepare you for the slow, agonising torture it is to watch as life is snuffed off the eyes of a person, especially if you are the cause of it.
Harry found this out the hard way as he stared, momentarily stunned at the sight in front of him. The dagger was still warm in his hands, dripping with blood. He had known he would have to kill. Hell! He had been actively preparing for it for nearly half his life. But still, it was a shock.
The dull thud of the body hitting the ground shook him back to reality. Shaking his head to clear it, he knelt beside the body of the young man. Harry couldn't exactly remember his name, but he knew he was from the Ravenapien district. He felt a trickle of blood running down his face. Just a few moments before, that was where now the deceased person had struck him with his dagger. Harry only had his lightning-quick reflexes to thank for saving his life. Sighing, he started walking again.
'How many were still alive by now?' he wondered.
It ought to be nearing its end. In the back of his mind, he briefly wondered if she was fine. Despite the differences, he didn't want her to die. Which might be odd, seeing he was in a tournament to the death, and their families were more or less a sworn enemy of each other.
The light was fast fading, and he needed to find a safe place to spend a night in. Where would you find a place that would be safe enough to save you from a bunch of young adults hungry for your blood in a bloody forest?
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'The concept of this whole tournament is deplorable.' Hermione thought as she tied herself to the sturdiest branch of the top of the tree she stood on. The sky was quickly darkening, and it would be best if she hid in a safe place for the time being, and of course, the treetop is a very good hiding place while giving her a great vantage point.
Settling into her makeshift pad for the night, she allowed her thoughts to wander.
They say All Was Well.
Of course, it was. The fact that this statement holds true for just a small minority of the multitude of people that existed within the realm of Federation, i.e. all of humanity, was a mere triviality that is inconsequential.
This small minority, the Melians, were what a medieval person would term as 'Lords'.
Long ago, it was said there used to be peace. A time when Deorsan and Melian people lived in harmony. A time when Melian actually worked for the benefit of Deorsans. Even at that time, the Deorsan was divided into 4 districts—Grifforte, Slytheridus, Ravenapien and Hufflefidus. It had been like that for so long that people barely remember how the districts came into being. But they do remember the people that had ushered in an era of peace and joy. It was said that four Melian friends, all heirs of the four great houses of Melian, had come together to bring peace. They had decided to do what was unfathomable. Sharing the wonder of magic with Deorsans. They did not know at the time that Deorsans could be taught magic, but they did decide to share their abilities for the benefit of people.
Each of the four entered the districts they most associated too. Godric for Grifforte, Salazar for Slytheridus, Rowena for Ravenapien and Helga for Hufflefidus.
These caretakers had been revered by the people of Deorsan. They, for the first time, had demonstrated a type of magic previously unknown to the masses, for before, they had only seen magic do unspeakable things to them during violent times. A side that was awe-inspiring. The crops grew faster, yielded more, the ambient temperature always comfortable, injuries healing in a matter of minutes, and many other seemingly impossible feats. In those days, it was said that the very earth pulsated with a mystical aura.
But, like they say...Fate doesn't like a happy human for too long, and so, as soon as the last Great Caretaker's demise, the reins of Melian were annexed by the Gaunt Family. They became the first president of what we now call The Federation. In the guise of improving the lifestyle, the Gaunts more or less forced Deorsans into accepting various long term industrial and agricultural jobs, all the while building an imposing wall around Melian. Credulous Deorsans had believed them.
After all, they were the successors of the great caretakers. Too late, they realised what was happening when the reports of abuse became all too frequent to be disbelieved. By then, the wall was nearly finished, so understandably, the Deorsans had revolted. Little did they know that the great power that their caretakers had, many Melians too seemed to have had. Something so great that it was almost akin to the magic of the caretakers, but exactly the opposite.
The magic they knew was so kind, so divine. This...thing. It was blasphemy in the name of magic. Magic couldn't be bad! Could it? Magic couldn't torture the people like this thing did. It couldn't kill people in a variety of gruesome ways. But it was what it was. Magic of something else, they didn't know, but that thing had turned the tide of the War.
What should have been an easy victory for the Deorsans turned to be a massacre, a graveyard for them. It is said about a quarter of a million people perished in that conflict, mostly simple folk, the Deorsans.
And so it had happened. The meagre force of ten thousand Melians had successfully and quite ruthlessly dealt with the first and only revolt against the Melian leadership. Ignotus Peverell, of the scant few survivors of the Deorsan dissenters, had written in his memoirs about the magic Melian forces possessed. Streaks of colours flying around, people falling helplessly, unable to defend themselves, horrific screams in the background, as vultures and crows gilded overhead, smelling blood, eager for people to stop so they could feast. These memoirs only served to deter any future people who might have held a spark for any mutiny.
The Rebellion, or as it has come to be known now, The War was what cemented The Federation's iron-fist rule. Melians became richer and richer, while Deorsans struggled to put food on the table. Just a year after the Revolution, The Federation instigated a clever Tournament. As a punishment, as a way to punish the Deorsans for revolution, and as a way to simultaneously give a meagre bit of hope for a better future. A tournament, where twenty-four teens, six from each district entered, and just a couple walked out alive, armed with the ancient craft of magic. And thus, The Mortem Magus was born.
And here she was, a willing yet still unwilling participant in the 43rd Mortem Magus. Though she didn't let anyone know that. She had been preparing for the tournament ever since she could talk. All of the districts have schools now. Schools where the children are not only taught to read and write but also taught how to fight. Somewhere along the line, in the three centuries or so that the tournament had been held for, someone had a bright idea to actually prepare a volunteer for the tournament. After all, having a Magus Deus was a great honour for any district. Also, having access to the magikae, or magic as it was now commonly known as wielding user, was very beneficial for the district.
So, came into being the Magus Deus Academy. Where the elite students from the school were trained. Each district had one, and from each district, a total of 12 students were sent to train at the Magus Deus Academy every year. Each student here was the best that the district had to offer. Once every seven years, when the tournament was held, the best of best trainees were selected. Three girls and three boys. Being a Magus Deus was a very big deal. For the individual, for the family, and for the district itself. So, more often than not, the tributes, as they were called, gave all they could to have a chance to bring glory to their district.
As if the pressure to not get killed and winning wasn't enough, being from the Granger family was pressure in itself for Hermione. Her ancestor, Hector Granger, was once the Magus Deus.
Her musings were unfortunately cut short by an ecstatic scream of a girl. She had been spotted by a Slytheridus couple. She groaned. Grifforte and Slytheridus, the two districts that have had the honour of having most Magus Deus from their ranks. Also, the two districts, which have been responsible for the elimination of an astounding ninety-two percent of candidates from each other's districts. In short, the largest rivalry in the whole freaking universe, and she knew those two were going to hunt her now.
The girl aimed a bow at her while her partner hacked away at the trunk of the tree with his machete.
Closing her eyes, she sighed. So much for winning the tournament and being a descendant of a Magus Deus. She was going to be killed in the First round itself.
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Harry opened his eyes to the sounds of birds chirping. The sun had dawned, which meant he would have to leave his makeshift shelter, as it was not going to hide him from anyone in the bright daylight. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he focused himself, sketching out a rough plan of what he wanted his day to be like.
It was the first round of the tournament, which meant twelve tributes would be left alive from a total of twenty-four. He knew there were now just thirteen tributes left, so like him, probably most of them would be hiding, playing safe, hoping to wait for the last death out. All that was left was to avoid any stragglers he might come across. And the best way to do that, try to quietly make a way to the high ground he had scouted yesterday. Bracing himself, he quickly packed up his supply bag and set off on the path he had traversed the day before.
Suddenly, a loud feminine scream echoed around the forest, stopping Harry dead in his tracks.
He recognised that voice. It was an awful lot like Granger, and it seemed to be coming not too far away from him, in his right. As if on cue, his body seemed to have turned in the direction the sound had come from.
'What am I doing! Granger is probably gonna die anyway. You are safe. Just go to the ground you stakes earlier, and wait for the official announcement of the end of round one. Even more, why do you care? For god's sake , she is a Granger.' His mind was screaming at him. Yes. She was a Granger, but he can't let someone he knew die this way. Gritting his teeth, he bounded towards the source of his sound.
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Hermione involuntarily screamed as the arrow pierced her thigh. She hadn't meant to do that. It made her seem weak, and Hermione hated herself being seen as weak. Ever since the Slytheridus duo had spotted her, her mind had been abuzz, planning and discarding innumerable plans forming in her head by the second.
It was now morning, and she was still safe. Relatively. The dumb people below didn't exactly know how to climb a tree, so they were trying to cut down the tree while the other person kept watch on her, and the bow aimed at her. Well, she wasn't going to sit and wait for these people to kill her, so she had started working on a plan. Over the course of a couple or so hours, she had fastened a makeshift rope/ harness out of the items she had from the survival kit and the vines that adorned the old tree she was on.
Oh! She had chosen her tree quite well. An old Banyan, it was hardly going to come crashing down just by a few blows by a hardly decent machete. A sly grin passed on her lips as her gaze fell on the now destroyed machete. After covertly finishing the rope, she had planned to use it somewhat akin to the Tarzan book she had read in childhood. Swinging from the tree, she planned to escape to the tree nearby, from where she could then either try to escape or counterattack. She had hoped that the girl's aim would be shoddy, but the arrow lodged in her thigh, which she had got while swinging, disagreed.
She was now in the upper echelons of the heavy canopy cover of the forest. She knew it wasn't very safe, as many of the topmost branches tended to be not robust enough to support human weight, but she decided to take her chance. She reckoned she could stay there for a while, precariously balancing herself.
After all, her pursuers certainly wouldn't believe she would stay on a tree again after being nearly killed on a tree. As she saw them running hither thither, in their search of her, another plan started forming in her mind. She knew there was just one person more who had to die in order for this round of the tournament to be finished. She also had one dart, which she had poisoned using the Circuta plant earlier. She had prepared five similar darts, majorly for use on dangerous animals. She had also vowed not to use them on another human until her life was in danger. She had used the four darts to fend off an attack by a tiger earlier, but she still had one remaining.
The only problem, this round might end upon killing one person, but the surviving member of the Slytheridus duo would surely kill her in revenge. She had to be smart. A slight creaking noise she heard at that instant might as well have been ear-shattering. Horrified, she looked below at the branch she was sitting on, breaking from the tree.
"Oh Merlin!" she quietly exclaimed as she plummeted to the depths below. She was successful in using large leaves and branches to arrest her momentum, escaping with a few scratches and bruises, but she still landed quite heavily on her bum. But the larger problem, she realised, was that she had fallen directly in front of one of the very people she was trying to hide from.
Her hands fumbled, trying to reach the dart, but as her hands touched the dart, she realised she did not have enough time to fire the dart. She knew she was a goner. She had heard when death seems imminent, thoughts raced very fast, and time seemed to go slow. Maybe it was that adrenaline forced the neurons to fire significantly faster.
This was it. The end of the great Granger family.
Maybe now Potter would be happy. Maybe they could even have been friends in some parallel universe.
Wait what! These can't be my last thoughts. Her eyes suddenly finally decided to transmit something noteworthy to her brain, as she saw the man in front of her aiming his knife at her, preparing to release it.
She closed her eyes and then heard the unmistakable squelch of a knife piercing the body.
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Harry stared at the sight in front of him. Granger on her knees, her shirt ripped at places, the pieces of leaves and twigs stuck in her hair. Dirt and grime-covered her entire body.
Well, it's not like he would have looked any better, he supposed. She had come so close to dying. The Slytheridus' hands flailed, faint gaggles from his throat and eyes wide as life seeped out of him, courtesy of the dagger buried to the hilt in his back.
Stop the press.
He, Harry Potter, of the Potter family, had saved a Granger. His rival. His unacknowledged, unnamed enemy. He wondered what he would say to Hermione when she finally decided to open her eyes. Why had he saved her? Despite the bad blood between their families.
It was the 28th Mortem Magus Tournament. His ancestor, Fleamont Potter, was a Tribute, and the son of a previous Magus Deus and was widely expected to win.
Unfortunately, he would be killed in the tournament.
He was the last person to be killed, at the hands of his district-mate Hector Granger. Nobody remembers if the rule of two victors from one district allowance was instituted before or after this incident, but the fact remains. And it was the start of a bloody conflict between House of Potters and Grangers. He didn't know how many people had died pointlessly due to this, but he had often felt that keeping the feud alive was now futile.
But anyway, he had sneered at Granger, although just to keep appearances. He might have hated Hermione early on, in the school, when she sometimes scored more than him or answered a question before him, or the times when she had ranked first, but lately, even that seemed pointless.
He even wondered about Hermione's reaction. Would she be thankful? Angry? Would she ignore him? As if hearing her thoughts, her eyes opened, confusion reflected in her eyes as her hands drifted across her torso. Her eyes widened as they landed upon the corpse of the Slytheridus, and she looked around, finally seeing me. Their gazes met for a few moments. Her eyes changed, a look of confusion turning into that of anger as she put the dart to her mouth, pointing it towards Harry.
Harry's eyes widened as he took in Hermione's actions. So much for thinking what her reaction would be. He never did get mad enough to try to kill him. He mused, as he braced himself to feel the pain of the sting.
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Hermione had distinctly heard the dull squelch of a knife entering a human body, but she didn't feel the expected accompanying pain. Inadvertently, her hands started roaming around her torso, trying to locate the wound. Not finding any, she opened her eyes, Confused.
Directly in front of her lay what would be her killer, blood spewing out of the knife wound in his back. She tore her gaze away from him, intent on finding her benefactor to thank him and also find who was the person kind enough to help her and why. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would owe her life to Potter. Not that she had anything against him personally, but being born to rival feuding families tends to stop people from having a decent conversation.
Potter was looking at her oddly, his face an odd mixture of befuddlement, apprehension and a slight smile, probably at the fact he had survived the first round. How she knew all that, she had no idea.
Their gaze was now meeting, and Hermione was mesmerised by those beautiful emerald eyes of his. His eyes were beautiful. Why hadn't she noticed that before? Suddenly, in her peripheral vision, she spotted the dead Slytheridus' partner, coming up with the destroyed machete behind Harry. Eyes widening, she quickly reached for the dart still in her hand. The machete might be destroyed, but it is still packed enough to mortally wound someone, especially from such a close range.
She didn't know how, but her hands had nearly instantaneously procured the dart, and set the dart in the pipe, and brought it to her mouth. A loud blow of air, and the dart was whizzing towards the perpetrator. Harry's eyes widened and took a challenging tone, and he suddenly ducked and rolled.
'Oh! He must have thought he was my target. Honestly!' she thought, shaking her head.
"You have to aim better, Granger, to get rid of me!" Harry exclaimed angrily. He saves her life, and this is the thanks he gets?
"Oh, really! My aim is very good. Thank you very much. If I had really wanted to hit you, we wouldn't be having this conversation." She huffed.
Harry was about to scoff at her words when his eyes landed on another Slytheridus, exactly where he had been, a menacing machete (Why the hell was it disfigured like that? Did she bang it against the rock or what, he thought) in her hand, and Hermione's dart sticking out of her neck.
Ashamed, he realised what had actually transpired and looked down, blushing nervously.
"Umm.…Thanks, I guess," he mumbled.
"Yeah...well welcome...and thanks to you too," Hermione responded, embarrassed.
A loud gong echoed across the forest, followed by an excessively cheer-y feminine voice, proclaiming the end of round one, congratulating the survivors, and asking them to follow the directions back to the Central Ship, from where they would be transported back to Melian City.
Looking at each other once, they started on their path following the red beacon, an awkward silence ensuing between them.
As they fell into a comfortable pace, Harry suddenly blurted out softly, "Have you ever thought of ending our families now pointless feud?" Hermione froze in her step.
"You know what? It's nothing. Maybe I am just tired. Forget it," Harry exclaimed, a bit more loudly and confidently this time, after a slight pause.
Maybe he had imagined things. Of course. Why would Hermione want to stop the feud? She is obviously very passionate and would obviously be the same about this topic. He was expecting to hear a scathing remark and had already prepared a sneer as his reply. But the soft, meek voice he heard from her mouth next was definitely what he had expected he might hear.
"Did you really mean it? " She asked in a whisper, her head down.
Turning to look at her, he softly raised her face up and meaningfully looked into her eyes, slowly nodding.
Smiling, he tentatively put his hand forward and gently queried, "Friends?".
"Friends." Hermione smiled, shaking his hand.
And they took off towards the next adventure, which promised to be much better than this one because now, they weren't alone, and maybe, just maybe even had each other as friends to fall back upon.
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"We don't want to," Harry snapped.
"This isn't a choice," Dumbledore said calmly.
Hermione placed her arm gently on Harry's elbow, and he looked at her, scowling before he sighed and relaxed his face. She understood him, though.
A ball to celebrate the holidays?
They've barely had time to breathe after the first games. Harry was still adjusting, and so was she. It had been gruesome, and many participants were killed.
"This is a tradition in the games, you know this," Dumbledore pointed out. "You have many fans and supporters as legacies in the games, but if you don't show, you'll lose sponsors. You two may be doing well now, but think about whether you can afford to lose sponsors further down the line when resources become sparse."
Harry grimaced.
Things had already been a close call with Hermione, and the option to have a sponsor send them things like first-aid kits when needed was important.
There was no room for ego and his personal feelings in The Mortem Magus Tournament.
Harry looked at Hermione, who nodded, clearly unhappy herself.
"Fine," Harry spat. "We'll go."
"Perfect," Dumbledore smiled. "You'll find your suit and gown in your room."
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"You look beautiful," Harry says softly, admiring the gold and red silk that Hermione wore.
"Thank you," Hermione replied nervously, pinching at the fabric. She was never going to be used to the lavish gowns and lifestyle the games gave her. "You look good too."
Harry laughs quietly and restlessly, ruffling his hair. Despite surviving the last game, his nerves were still jittery. It could also be because he and Hermione would be leading the opening dance with the other districts.
Distantly, both parties were thinking about how absurd it all was. Here they were, fighting for their lives and their district, losing people left and right they've gotten to know. And now? They dressed in luxurious gowns and suits, things that cost more than limbs, and they were celebrating the holidays.
Not going wasn't an option. It seemed that as much as surviving and winning were important, so was their image. Not going would reflect not only poorly on their district but could affect how sponsors saw them. And as deep as they were in the game, losing sponsors wouldn't help them.
So, both Harry and Hermione were stuck here together. In truth, Harry didn't mind. Out of everyone, he'd rather be stuck with Hermione. It was almost funny how he thought that now when they could hardly stand each other in the beginning.
The doors began to creak open, signaling it was time.
"Are you ready?" Harry asks, and Hermione shakes her head.
"No, everyone's going to be looking. Are you?"
"No, I can't dance."
Hermione whips her head towards Harry, mouth agape. "What?" She hisses. "You didn't think to say something before?"
Harry frowns. "There was hardly any time to practice from the time we got out of the games to now."
"Any practice is better than none!" Hermione nearly screeches. She keeps her voice down only to prevent the other districts from looking at them.
"I just figured you could lead," Harry says sheepishly.
"The guy is supposed to lead," Hermione stresses, but Harry doesn't seem to really be worried.
"Don't think that's ever stopped you before," Harry quipped, and before Hermione could say anything else, he hooks her hand around his arm and begins leading her out into the ballroom.
Hermione distinctly feels like she's an animal on display—and maybe she is to the Melians. They're so out of touch with reality that watching people fight and struggle to live is their entertainment. It's their entertainment because they'd never have to be in the games.
Unconsciously, Hermione grabs Harry's arm tighter, and he looks over at her curiously, but she shakes her head. Eventually, they stop walking, and Hermione faces the crowd.
The ballroom was extravagant. Christmas streamers, lights, and floating mistletoes are everywhere. Colors of gold, red, green, silver, blue, and bronze slashed on everything. And in the middle of the room stood a twenty feet Christmas tree.
"Welcome to the 43rd Annual The Mortem Magus Tournament! Our stunning participants will start us off with a waltz as tribute," Riddle's voice rings through the grand hall. He looks at Harry and Hermione, a twinkle in his eye, and Hermione tries to not curl her lip at him.
Harry and Hermione get into starting position, and she stares blankly at Harry while he gives her an encouraging smile to lead him. The music rises slowly as she pulls him into the steps. He stumbles a bit, but it's hardly noticeable when he only has to follow her.
"Do you think they can tell?" Harry asks her, and she almost laughs.
"If they can, it's too late to say anything about it," Hermione replies with a shake of her head. "You're not as bad as you make it out to be."
Harry shrugs with a small smile. "Okay, perhaps I lied a little. I've had some practice when I was younger. Not much so recently."
"Oh? With Ginny?" Hermione asked. It hadn't been a secret that Harry and Ginny were close. Well, Harry, Ginny, and Ron. Hermione had heard all sorts of rumors flying around that Ginny was in love with Harry, and it was just a matter of time before they started going out.
"No, with my mum," Harry smiles softly, and Hermione can't help but return it.
"What about you?" Harry asks suddenly. "Where did you learn to dance so well?"
"Similar to you," Hermione answers. "My dad likes dancing, so he taught me how."
"No boys?"
"Yeah," Hermione says, sarcasm dripping in her tone. "The boys were just lining up to dance with Hermione Granger."
"I don't understand why not," Harry purses his lips while Hermione snorts.
"Harry, you thought I was a right swot before all of this," Hermione quirks her brow. She can see Harry struggling to deny it, and she merely makes a noise of dismissal. "It's okay. I thought you were an attention-seeking prick."
Harry lets out a laugh, following around with Hermione as she leads them through a spin. "So," Harry drawls. "What made you change your mind?"
Hermione takes the time to look around them. She finds Draco and Astoria dancing together. If anyone was a right prick, it was Draco Malfoy. But the games changed everything—everyone. Hermione had heard about it—the devastation when Astoria Greengrass was picked. It was supposed to be Daphne Greengrass, but even volunteering as tribute couldn't make them un-choose Astoria.
Astoria had a weak body, a sickly child that grew into a delicate adult. Everyone was certain she was going to die before the first game even finished. It had been a surprise how fiercely Draco protected her, carried her weight.
Hermione's eyes land on Cho and Cedric, dancing with their respective partners, but anyone who watched them could see the secretive glances. It was dangerous and only going to lead to tragedy. But still, Hermione wonders if the games never existed, would someone like Cho and Cedric, from different districts, be allowed to date?
"The games," Hermione says softly. "You saved my life."
"Wouldn't anyone?"
"Not attention-seeking pricks," Hermione says with a shake of her head. "You and Ron were always getting into trouble—Ginny, too. But in the games, you're actively thinking about the best way to get us out alive. Maybe sometimes that's confrontation, but sometimes it's hiding away in a cave for days. You listen to me too."
"I think I'd be a right prick if I didn't listen to the brightest girl in our district," Harry smiles at her. "Besides, don't forget that you somehow saved my sorry arse too." Hermione finds it charming that he could still have the will to smile like that after everything.
Even with everything that's to come.
The dance comes to an end, and Harry subtly sighs with relief. "See?" He teases Hermione. "You make a great leading partner."
"Let's hope we survive for you to one day repay me the favor," Hermione dryly returns.
Another speech is made about the importance and honor of the games that Hermione and Harry can't really stand to listen to before they're somewhat free to roam around.
They're both somewhat hungry, but with how often they get roped into speaking to sponsors and other curious fans, they don't have much time to themselves.
Things get a little tense when they interact with other districts—particularly Draco, who seems to want to make it a point that he'll win and that his skills are far superior to Harry and can't be bothered to even think of Hermione as competition. Astoria merely gives them an apologetic smile before she manages to pull Draco away.
Cedric is interesting, Hermione thinks. Harry clearly likes the older boy, and it seems Cedric enjoys Harry's company as well. But the rumors of Harry being a legacy and having advantages seem to reign over Cedric and his district.
The night seems to drag on and on, the two of them being bombarded with questions and rumors until Hermione thinks she might scream and rip her dress into bits.
Harry split from her for a moment, getting pulled away by some old man who apparently sponsored Harry's father when he was in the games. Now, Hermione was stuck with some Melian ninnies who wouldn't stop screaming about how scrumptious Harry was and how jealous they were that Hermione got to be in the games with him.
It was so infuriating and only reinforced how out of touch the Melians were and how good they had it in Melius. How good the outer districts would never have.
And before Hermione could open her mouth and say something that would undoubtedly get her killed one way or another in the next games, Harry slides back in.
"Excuse me, ladies, I believe Dumbledore was looking to speak to us." Harry drags her effortlessly away from the crowd, weaving through the throngs of people and letting them disappear from view.
"How much longer do we have to be here?" Hermione sighs frustrated, her voice going an octave higher as it usually did when she was annoyed.
"I don't know—a couple of hours more, maybe. But I've passed my limit as well," Harry ruffled his messy hair into any even crazier mess.
"Why does Dumbledore want to speak to us?" Hermione asks, slightly worried that something was wrong. Dumbledore had been a surprising sponsor. He had never sponsored anyone before, including Harry's father. Yet, now, here he was, their staunch supporter.
"He doesn't, I saw your face turning red and hair falling out of place the longer you stood with those girls," Harry tells her, and if it had been anyone else, Hermione would have lectured them into a new era.
But it was Harry who was once again saving her. And because of that, Hermione laughed. Harry grins at her delightfully as they pass by a waiter.
"Would you like one?" The server asks politely, offering them the tray of some bread, smoked salmon, and other fancy toppings that their outer district could only dream of having.
"Don't mind if we do," Harry says as he takes the whole tray and drags Hermione off and leaves the stunned server behind.
"Harry!" Hermione says his name with a reprimand, but it can't be taken seriously with her lip twitching in a smile.
And between all the noise and the gushing over other participants, Harry manages to sneak them away outside the ballroom. They wander the dark halls like thieves until they are far enough from the noise and parked underneath a window. Snow falls peacefully outside, and it's a sight to see.
The city of Melius is a sight to see, and it both elates Hermione and breaks her heart.
"Honestly, they should've said something to us earlier that we'd never get a moment of peace and get to eat," Harry grumbles as he takes a piece of food from the tray, eyeing it with mild confusion before he puts it in his mouth.
He chews slowly before deciding it's good and chews faster. He offers the tray to Hermione, who takes a piece and just stares at it.
"Something wrong?" Harry asks as he leans over to see if there's something particular Hermione was looking at in her food.
"No," Hermione shakes her head with a sigh. "Just, it's strange, don't you think? To eat food like this even though some outer districts would never even get to see this, let alone eat it."
Harry nods. "We're doing better than most, I think. When my dad won the games, we had it way better than some of the others. Knowing what's on the line—the prosperity of our district and the chance at magic, it makes the pressure so much heavier."
Harry turns to look at Hermione, staring at the other girl. It was hard to tell Hermione was so beautiful. They were dirty half the time in the games, and Hermione had never been one to care about her looks. But here, in this city with her hair and make-up done, Harry could see she was glowing.
And yet, there was a part of them that missed her bare face and mind-of-its-own hair.
But one thing hadn't changed no matter how she looked out there and how she looked now—the fierceness in his chest that pushed forward to protect her.
"I don't think we can keep getting away with just surviving in the games to come," Harry swallowed. "We're going to start having to win."
Hermione closes her eyes at the thought. Winning meant killing. And killing meant people like Astoria and Cedric losing their lives.
"I was proud when I got chosen for the games," Hermione said softly. "It was a chance to prove myself that I was just as good as everyone else—as good as you."
Harry snorted in disbelief. "We battle all the time for the first spot in the academy. I think everyone knew that you were at least better than them."
Hermione chuckled. "Were you surprised when you were chosen?"
Harry leaned his head back. "Yes and no. No, because it's not uncommon for legacies to be chosen. I think yes because a part of me was hoping I wouldn't get chosen. Living up to my father has always been big shoes to fill. And not fulfilling them doesn't just mean disappointing my family but dying and our whole district suffering for that."
"I guess you didn't like being called The Chosen One the entire time you grew up, huh?"
Harry shook his head. "It felt like they were cursing me. Like some weird prophecy was being put on me but I guess it was true. I was chosen."
"Well, I'm glad," Hermione says astutely, and Harry turns to her with wide eyes. "If you weren't chosen, I definitely would've died. Imagine if it were Cormac."
"He's kind of smart," Harry smiles.
"Yeah, a smartass," Hermione mutters. "There's a high probability I would've let him die."
Harry guffaws and slaps his hand over his mouth to cover the loudness of it. They both find themselves quietly laughing before they settle down in silence.
"I'm glad it's you too," Harry says into the darkness.
"Even if I'm a swot?"
"I think I've grown to like that about you, it's the most fanciable part now that I know you."
Hermione smiles even if Harry can barely see it. The outside is dark, but the moon and Christmas lights crawl just enough through the window to illuminate parts of the wall.
"You're quite fanciable yourself. I'll be regretful if I don't get to see who becomes Mrs. Potter," Hermione teases, but Harry doesn't laugh along with her. Instead, through the shadows, she can see his hand move across and cover hers.
"We're going to make it through, Hermione. I swear it. I swear I'll make sure we both get out." Harry says it so seriously that a strange lump forms in the back of Hermione's throat. She doesn't say anything back even though Harry knows she wants to make the same promise to him.
And Harry's not really sure what's gotten into him. The madness of the last few games—a looming threat that every day feels like it could be his last despite his tenacity to win. Maybe it's being alone with Hermione too long. They wake up together, eat together, work out together, and in the games? They're all each other has.
Hermione, who could be very high strung, was also kind and compassionate. And maybe she wasn't fun in the same way Ginny was, but Harry did enjoy his time with her. Fun was becoming relative to what they were during and finding ways to smile despite it. Maybe along the way, Harry imagined how they could live their lives when they both got back, alive and well.
Everyone could watch them go through the games, but what they had actually experienced would only ever be between them. And Harry was starting to be unable to want to share that burden with anyone else than Hermione.
But when Harry's lips got too close, until his breath could be felt on Hermione's, she spoke.
"Don't."
It was quiet. A sad and desperate plea.
"Why not?" Harry whispered back.
"Because," Hermione closed her eyes. "If you kiss me now, for the reason I think you're going to kiss me for, I can't take it. If we don't—if you don't survive the games then this reason will break me."
And Harry feels a heaviness settle over his chest, the reality that even if he promised, he couldn't really promise.
But Harry's different. If he doesn't kiss Hermione now, for the reason that Hermione is right about—he won't be able to take it.
"It's nothing like that," Harry reassures her. "There's just a mistletoe above us."
Hermione starts to open her eyes, but Harry squeezes her hand.
"Don't open your eyes," Harry tells her, and Hermione pauses before her eyes flutter shut again. "Breaking tradition is not good luck and we can't afford any of that, right?"
A couple of seconds pass before Hermione nods with a—"Right."
"Merry Christmas, Hermione," Harry whispers, and his heart flutters when Hermione turns her hand over, lacing her fingers through his and squeezes.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," she returns softly.
And when Harry Potter kisses her, Hermione thinks that this is the best luxury of all. And this luxury could be found in her district. She prays silently that the things they promised tonight are things they can keep, and this luxury will belong to only her when they go home.