Chariot of Dreams
Harry
I lay on the cold metal table, my heart pounding in my chest as Lockhart, my prep team, bustled around me, chattering away about his expertise in hair removal. I figured that since we were from District 12 we had only two people for our ‘style team’ when other districts get individual stylists and multiple people on their prep team. Instead, we just get Lockhart and the mysterious Sirius Black. I gritted my teeth, trying to hide the discomfort that shot through me with every tug of the wax strips. I couldn't help but think that Lockhart was so absorbed in his own self-importance that he could easily remove the hair on my head instead of my body and not even notice.
"Almost done, Potter!" Lockhart exclaimed, oblivious to my internal struggles. "You're going to look fabulous for the Games! So much better than Granger. Do you know she tried to attack me? She even growled at me like an animal!”
I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Lockhart's choice of words. The Hunger Games were no laughing matter, yet here was Lockhart, acting like this was some kind of fashion show instead of a fight to the death. I couldn't contain my snort of laughter wondering if Hermione was the reason for the red claw-like scratches on Lockhart’s face that I originally thought were a fashion choice. You never knew what they considered fashion these days.
I glanced up as I heard the door to Sirius’s door open and I saw Hermione walking out looking…nice. She didn’t look different than she usually did but there was something about her that seemed improved. I found it hard to draw my eyes away. She walked with a surprisingly thoughtful expression on her face and I wondered what they talked about to put that look on her face. I thought it couldn’t have been anything to do with naked bodies covered in coal powder. Or at least I hoped it didn’t, I thought with a slight blush. Hermione spared my naked body splayed out on the table barely a glance as she meets Lockhart’s stare with a glare, baring her teeth at me. Lockhart jumped back in fear and appeared to be holding in his trembles. I stifled my laugh.
Sirius Black stepped out of the room Hermione just exited and beckoned me over. I gingerly got up and put on the luxurious robe that I was provided with and hurried over to the intimidating man.
Sirius gave me a warm smile as he gestured to the chair in front of a long mirror.
“I apologize for Lockhart’s treatment of you. He came highly recommended, but I am only now just wondering if those were false statements,” Sirius said with an irritated frown.
I sat stiffly in the chair, trying not to fidget as Sirius Black, circled me. His eyes were fixed on my unruly black hair with a mix of fascination and determination that made me want to squirm.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Sirius mused, running his fingers through my hair. The sensation was oddly soothing, despite my nervousness.
"It's like a force of nature, isn't it?" he continued, and I couldn't help but relax a little. There was no judgment in his voice, just genuine interest.
"It's impossible," I admitted, allowing a hint of amusement to creep into my voice. "My aunt and uncle tried everything when I was younger. It resists all attempts at taming."
Sirius's laugh caught me off guard – it was a bark-like sound, full of joy. "Challenge accepted, my boy!" he exclaimed. "I've yet to meet a head of hair I couldn't bend to my will."
As if by magic, he produced a comb and began to work it through my locks. To my surprise, it didn't hurt at all. As he styled, Sirius chatted animatedly about District 12, its fashion history, and his own colorful past. I found myself genuinely enjoying his company, my anxiety about the upcoming events momentarily forgotten.
"You know," Sirius said thoughtfully, "Sometimes it's best to work with nature rather than against it. Your hair has character - why subdue it completely?"
I caught my reflection in the mirror and blinked in surprise. While still distinctly "me," my hair looked more intentionally tousled than chaotic. It was... good.
"There," Sirius declared proudly. "Stylishly untamed. Just like you, I suspect."
For the first time since arriving, I felt a genuine smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks, Sirius," I said, meaning it. "It's... perfect."
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized that Sirius had done more than just style my hair. Somehow, in our short time together, he had helped me feel a little more like myself in this strange new world.
*****
Hermione
I stood rigidly in Sirius Black's styling studio, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. My eyes darted around the room, taking in the eccentric decor and the racks of outlandish costumes. Everything in me screamed to run, to hide, to avoid whatever humiliation this man had planned for me.
"I won't wear coal dust," I stated firmly as Sirius approached. My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I didn't care. I handled Lockhart, I could handle this man as well.
"And if you try to put me in a miner's outfit, I'll do much worse to you than I did to your partner," I growled.
Sirius raised an eyebrow, and I saw amusement dancing in his eyes. It made me want to scowl.
"Coal dust? Miner's outfit?" he said, dramatically rolling his eyes.
"Oh, darling, that's so last Games. I'm Sirius Black. I don't do cliches."
I blinked, caught off guard by his response.
"But... District 12 always—"
"Always gets the short end of the stick?" Sirius interrupted, gently guiding me to a chair.
"Not on my watch. Now, let's talk about you, shall we? Not your district, not coal, but you."
As Sirius began to work on my hair, I remained tense, but curiosity got the better of me.
"What do you mean, talk about me?"
"Well, for starters, that brilliant mind of yours," Sirius said casually.
"I hear you're quite the strategist. Top of your class, wasn't it?"
My eyes widened in surprise.
"How did you know that?"
Sirius winked at me in the mirror.
"I make it my business to know my tributes. Clothes aren't just fabric, Hermione. They're a statement. And you, my dear, have a lot to say."
As Sirius worked, he shared his ideas – not of coal and pickaxes, but of constellation patterns to represent strategy, fabric textures that hinted at hidden depths. Something to spark a flame. Gradually, I found myself engaging, even suggesting modifications. It was... exciting.
"You know," Sirius mused, putting the finishing touches on my hair, "being memorable in the Games isn't just about looking pretty. It's about making them see you. The real you."
I gazed at my reflection, hardly recognizing myself. My hair was elegantly styled, with a subtle shimmer that caught the light like stars. I looked intelligent, mysterious, and powerful.
"I... I look like me," I said softly, surprised by the emotion in my voice. "But better."
Sirius grinned.
"That's the idea, love. Now, let's talk about your interview outfit. I have some ideas involving enchanted parchment and invisible ink..."
I leaned forward, my earlier reservations forgotten.
"Tell me more," I said, feeling a spark of excitement for the first time since the reaping. Maybe, just maybe, I had found an unexpected ally in this strange, colorful man.
*****
My heart raced as our chariot waited at the end of the line. The roar of the crowd was deafening, even from here. I glanced at Harry beside me, his green eyes bright with a mix of nerves and determination. We both wore outfits that seemed to flicker with flames – a masterpiece of Sirius's design.
My dress was a deep, smoldering red at the base, gradually transitioning to brilliant orange and then to wisps of yellow at the shoulders. Intricate golden embroidery reminiscent of burning embers swirled across the fabric. As I moved, the dress shimmered and shifted, creating the illusion of living flames. A headdress of delicate gold wires held flickering lights that danced like fireflies around my carefully styled hair.
Harry's outfit mirrored mine in masculine form – a fitted suit that seemed to be crafted from cooling lava, with veins of fiery orange and red pulsing beneath a surface of smoky black. His usually unruly hair was artfully tousled, dusted with gold that caught the light like sparks.
"Remember," I whispered to Harry, "chins up, eyes forward. We're not scared. We're powerful."
He nodded, squaring his shoulders. I took a deep breath, forcing my analytical mind into gear. This was our first real chance to assess our competition.
The procession began. District 1's chariot rolled out first, carrying Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode. They were draped in luxurious fabrics studded with precious gems, exuding wealth and arrogance. Blaise's dark skin gleamed like polished ebony, his physique speaking of years of training. Though less conventionally attractive, Millicent had a solid build that suggested significant strength. Both looked confident and dangerous.
District 2 followed, with Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Their outfits, a stylized version of Peacekeeper uniforms, were all sleek lines and sharp angles, emphasizing their district's weaponry focus. Draco's pale, pointed face was set in a sneer, but I noted the calculated gleam in his grey eyes. Pansy, petite but wiry, moved with a grace that hinted at agility and possibly skill with smaller weapons.
The chariots continued to roll out, each showcasing their district's primary industry. I made mental notes on each tribute, assessing potential threats and allies.
When District 11's chariot appeared, I felt a pang of sadness. Cho and Michael looked ethereal in gossamer outfits embroidered with fruits and grains. Their matching outfits emphasized their unity, a strength in itself, but I couldn't help but think of the tragedy that only one, if any, could survive.
Finally, it was our turn. As our chariot moved forward, I felt a wave of heat. Our outfits had come alive, rippling with flames that licked harmlessly at our skin. The crowd's roar reached a fever pitch.
"Now," Harry murmured, and we raised our joined hands high.
The flames surged, enveloping us in a dazzling display. Through the fire, I could see the awe on the faces of the crowd, of our fellow tributes. For a moment, we weren't just two more kids from an outlying district. We were powerful. Unforgettable.
As we circled the City Circle, I caught sight of us on the large screens. We were radiant, terrible, beautiful. Sirius had worked magic, transforming us from coal miners to creatures of living flame.
But even as I basked in the moment, my mind raced. This attention was a double-edged sword. We'd made an impression, yes, but we'd also painted targets on our backs. I could see it in the envious glares from the Career tributes, the speculative looks from the others. Draco’s particular looked hungry and fierce as if he was determined to douse our flames.
The game had begun, long before we'd set foot in the arena. And I was determined that Harry and I would be ready for whatever came next.