Whispers of Loyalty
Hermione
I sat at the table, my long curly hair falling around my face like a curtain. I focused on cutting my chicken, ignoring the chatter around me. The less I engaged, the better.
Across from me, Harry dabbed his mouth with a napkin. The poor guy looked ready to bolt at any moment. I caught his eye briefly and gave him a small nod—no need for words.
That's when I heard her. Rita. Her fussy voice grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"My word, you two certainly know how to handle yourselves at a table. Last year’s tributes could learn a thing or two from you."
I kept my face neutral, but inside, I seethed. Who was she to judge? To compare us to those sad bone-thin children of last year? I glanced at Harry and saw the pink tinge creeping up his neck. Something in me snapped.
Without a word, I stabbed my fork into a large piece of chicken and shoved it into my mouth. Grease smeared across my lips, and I felt crumbs tumble onto my lap. Good.
Harry, bless him, caught on quickly. He grabbed a dinner roll with his bare hands and tore into it like a wolf. Breadcrumbs rained down on the tablecloth. I felt a surge of pride and kinship. Maybe I had judged him too soon.
Rita's gasp was music to my ears. I chanced a look at her and nearly laughed at her scandalised expression. In the corner, I heard Moody chuckle.
"Aye, that's more like it," he slurred, his glass eye tilting back in his head, looking like he was about to tip over, "Eat like ya mean it, not like some stuffy Capital brats."
For once, I agreed with the old drunk. I grabbed another piece of chicken with my fingers, letting the grease drip down my chin. Harry emboldened, reached across the table for the butter, his elbow narrowly missing his water glass.
As we continued our messy feast, I caught Harry's eye again. This time, we both smiled. It wasn't much, but it felt like a small victory. Let Rita stew in her judgment. We'd eat how we damn well pleased.
I glanced over at Moody expectantly.
"So what is your strategy for us?"
Harry perked up his eyes from where they had settled on his empty plate.
"Do you have any tips to survive the Games?"
Moody let his one good eye drift lazily over me and then took a large gulp of sour smelly liquid.
"Don't die," he said and then laughed gruffly at the looks of surprise on Harry's face.
I stared at Moody, my eyes narrowing as I processed his useless advice. The bitter taste of disappointment mixed with the lingering grease on my tongue. I'd hoped for something, anything, that might give us an edge in the Games. Instead, we got this drunken fool's idea of a joke.
"Don't die," I repeated flatly, my voice barely above a whisper. "That's it? That's your grand strategy?"
I glanced at Harry, watching as shock and dismay washed over his face. His eyes, so recently filled with hope, now held a glimmer of fear. It made something twist in my gut, a feeling I quickly pushed aside.
Moody's grotesque laughter echoed in the train car, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. I fought the urge to wrinkle my nose in disgust.
"What did you expect, sweetheart?" Moody slurred, his good eye unfocused. "Some secret trick to win? There ain't no winning in the Games. Just surviving until you can’t any longer."
I scoffed in disgust, unable to hide my contempt any longer.
"Fat lot of good you are," I muttered, loud enough for him to hear.
I watched Moody reach for his glass, his movements slow and uncoordinated. Something inside me snapped. Without thinking, I grabbed my fork and brought it down hard, impaling Moody's hand to the table just as his fingers brushed the glass.
Moody's eye widened in shock, a strangled cry escaping his lips. The car fell silent, save for the rattling of the train.
"Maybe now you'll focus on something other than drinking," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. I twisted the fork slightly, eliciting another pained gasp from Moody. "We need a mentor, not a drunkard."
I yanked the fork out, ignoring the splatter of blood on the pristine tablecloth. Rita's scandalized gasp barely registered as I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Come on, Harry," I said, not bothering to look back. "Let's go somewhere we can strategize."
I stalked out of the dining car, the sound of Harry's hesitant footsteps following me. Behind us, I could hear Moody's muffled curses and Rita's shrill voice calling for a medic.
As we moved between cars, I caught a glimpse of Harry's pale face. He looked shocked, maybe even a little scared. Of me? Of the situation? I wasn't sure.
"He'll live," I muttered, more to myself than to Harry. "And maybe now he'll take this seriously."
We needed to prepare, to have a real plan. The Games were no joke, and I'd be damned if I'd let Moody's indifference cost us our lives. As we found an empty compartment, I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage still simmering inside me.
"Alright, Harry," I said, turning to face him. "Let's figure out how we're going to survive this."
Harry
I stared at Hermione, my heart pounding as she drove the fork into Moody's hand. The clatter of silverware, Moody's pained gasp, Rita's shrill cry – it all faded into the background. All I could see was Hermione, her curly brown hair framing her face, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that made my breath catch.
"Come on, Harry," she said, her voice cutting through my daze. "Let's go somewhere we can strategize."
I followed her out of the dining car, my legs moving of their own accord. My mind was reeling, torn between shock at what had just happened and... something else. Something I was afraid to name.
As we moved between cars, I caught myself staring at the back of Hermione's head, admiring the way her hair bounced with each step. She was everything I wasn't – strong, decisive, unafraid to take action. It was terrifying.
The thought sent a jolt through me. How could I think of her that way? It felt like I was already giving up. One or both of us would likely be dead in a matter of days. And yet...I didn't want it to be me.
"He'll live," Hermione muttered, glancing back at me. "And maybe now he'll take this seriously."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Her eyes met mine for a brief moment, and I felt my heart skip a beat. This was madness. I shouldn't be feeling this way. We were supposed to be enemies, I couldn't count myself out yet.
As we found an empty compartment, Hermione turned to face me. "Alright, Harry," she said, her voice softer now. "Let's figure out how we're going to survive this."
I swallowed hard, trying to focus on her words and not on the curve of her lips or the intensity in her eyes. How were we going to survive this? How was I going to survive this stomach churning fear she inspired in me?
"Yeah," I managed to croak out. "Let's do that."
As Hermione began to outline potential strategies, I found myself torn between hanging on her every word and marvelling at her quick mind. Part of me wanted nothing more than to run away. To jump out of the train car and live in the forest like Ron and I had always dreamed. But then I remember Collin and how they would make him take my place.
The conflict raged inside me as I nodded along with her plans. How could fate be so cruel to give me an unbeatable competitor?