The Terror
Harry
The arena would be easier than this, I told myself. In the arena, at least I wouldn't have to pretend I didn't care.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the too soft fabric of the blanket. Outside the window, the Capitol's artificial night pressed against the glass - a darkness so complete it felt manufactured, just like everything else in this grotesque place.
Collin. I thought of my brother's face when I volunteered. The terror, the relief, the way his eyes had gone wide and then filled with tears. He was safe now. That was all that mattered.
But Hermione wasn't safe.
I couldn't get the image of her out of my mind. The way she'd looked at me during the interview - like I was a stranger. Like I was one of them. The Careers who had attacked her, who had traced that knife along her skin. My hands clenched into fists.
I remembered the day she saved us in the rain. How she burnt the bread from the bakery, for Collin and I. How her eyes would scan the Seam, taking in every detail, always calculating. Always surviving.
We were alike, Hermione and I. Or at least, I'd thought we were.
Now she believed I'd betrayed her. That I was working with Draco, with Pansy and Blaise. That I'd stood by and watched while they hurt her.
If only she knew the truth. If only I could make her understand that everything I was doing, I was doing to survive. To get back to Collin. To protect her, in the only way I knew how.
The memories from earlier that day danced through my mind scenes in a shadow box. Hermione standing in the training center, her back straight, her movements calculated. To anyone else, she looked untouchable. Fearless. But I knew her. I'd seen the subtle tells - the way her fingers would briefly curl into fists when no one was looking, the microsecond of tension in her jaw when the Careers passed by.
She was terrified. And she was hiding it perfectly.
I remembered watching her during weapon training. Her hands were steady on the bow, her aim precise. But I'd caught the moment just before she drew back the string - a barely perceptible tremor that disappeared the instant she focused. That was Hermione. Fear was just another thing to be conquered, another obstacle to strategize around.
We'd grown up together in the Seam, after all. Fear was a luxury neither of us could afford.
But the arena was different. The arena was a nightmare that even someone as strong as Hermione might not survive.
I thought about the Career tributes - Draco with his cruel smile, Pansy's ruthless eyes, Blaise's calculated movements. They'd been training their entire lives for this moment. They saw the Hunger Games as a stage for glory, for proving themselves. Hermione saw it as a problem to be solved, a system to outsmart and survive.
My mind raced with possibilities. I knew her well enough to understand she'd hate being protected. She'd want to fight, to survive on her own terms. But I couldn't lose her.
I began mentally mapping out strategies. High ground would be crucial. Water sources. Potential hiding spots. Ways to create diversions. Ways to keep her alive.
Because underneath everything, beyond the survival instinct, beyond the training, beyond the Capitol's cruel game - I couldn't imagine a world without Hermione Granger.
The darkness of the room seemed to pulse with my racing thoughts. Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, we would enter the arena.
And I would do everything in my power to make sure we both came home.
Hermione
It disgusted me to admit it.
But no matter how I tried to distract myself with the fancy body washes and the meaningless Capital shows, I had to face the facts.
I was scared.
Scared.
The word felt small compared to the emotions churning inside me. However, it didn't encompass how my heart raced when I thought about the Careers, Harry, and the knife that had traced my skin.
Mostly, I was overwhelmed.
Every calculation I'd ever made, every strategy I'd ever planned, felt utterly inadequate against the brutality that awaited us. My mind kept replaying moments - my father's trembling hands as I left, the way my mother's eyes had been dry and distant, and Harry's betrayal during the attack.
Harry standing with Draco's arm around his shoulders. The absolute certainty that everyone was playing an angle, that survival meant becoming something less than human.
I thought about the way I'd tried to score a lower score - good enough to be noticed, not so high as to become an immediate target and how failed. How my every move has been calculated, every breath intentional, yet I still didn’t see Harry’s betrayal coming. I thought we could be relucent allies or at least save each other for last. Yet it seems that despite all my training I had finally met my match.
Whatever strategy I concocted next won’t be enough because, beneath the carefully constructed walls, was a terror so profound it threatened to consume me whole.
The day's training replayed in my mind with brutal clarity. Each moment felt like another layer of the Capitol's machine crushing me, stripping away everything familiar.
During the weapons demonstration, the Gamemaker explained the rules with a casual cruelty that made my skin crawl.
"Alliances are temporary," he'd said, smiling. "Everyone dies except one."
The words echoed in my head, a rhythm more terrifying than any heartbeat.
I remembered the Career tributes circling during our last training - Draco's calculated movements, Pansy's predatory gaze.
My fingers traced the bruises from the attack, remembering how quickly everything could change. One moment of weakness, one miscalculation, and you're gone.
I had tried to focus on what I knew. Survival was about more than strength. It was about strategy. About reading people. About understanding the game better than anyone else. I'd spent years watching, calculating, and surviving in the Seam. I knew how to read people, how to find weaknesses, and how to persist when everything seemed impossible.
But God, the fear was suffocating.
I thought of Harry. Despite everything - despite believing he'd betrayed me - a part of me still wanted him to survive. The boy who'd volunteered for his brother. The boy I'd known my entire life. The boy now seemed like a stranger.
The Careers wouldn’t target him first. They always used the strongest threats, to help them pick off the weak until the could surround them like wolves and attack. And Harry, with his quiet determination, with his ability to survive - he was a threat.
I couldn't stop the images that flooded my mind. Bodies in the arena. Children killing children. The way the Capitol turned our most primal fears into entertainment.
My mother's voice echoed in my head. "Emotions are a luxury we can't afford." But how could I not feel? How could I not be terrified?
Tomorrow, I would kill. Tomorrow, I would survive.
Tonight, I was just afraid.