The Pig and The Apple
Gideon's attempt to climb the ropes ended in a sudden fall, drawing Sirius's attention. Concerned, Sirius approached Gideon, who was dusting himself off after the unsuccessful attempt.
"Throw that metal thing over there," Sirius instructed, nodding towards a metal ball in the training area.
Gideon, still shaken from the fall, questioned, "What? No, Alastor said we're not supposed to show our skills."
"I don't care what Alastor says," Sirius insisted, observing the glances they were receiving from other tributes. "Those guys are looking at you like you're a meal. Throw it," he urged.
Gideon hesitated but eventually strode over to the metal ball. He grabbed it and threw it with precision towards a section of knives standing in a metal case. The impact caused multiple knives to fall to the ground, demonstrating Gideon's strength and accuracy.
Sirius, satisfied with the display, nodded approvingly. "See? That's what they should be afraid of."
Gideon, sitting on a crate, was meticulously painting an almost-finished scaly rock pattern on his arm. Sirius, intrigued, walked over, asking, "How did you do that?"
"I, uh, used to decorate the cakes down at the bakery," Gideon replied, concentrating on his artwork.
As they chatted, Gideon noticed a small, younger girl hiding behind a wall, observing them with curiosity. "Hey, I think you have a shadow," he said, gesturing discreetly.
Turning back to Sirius, Gideon continued, "Tomorrow they'll bring you in one by one for evaluations. This is important because higher ratings mean more sponsors. There'll be a bow. Make sure to use it," Alastor advised, his gaze shifting towards Sirius. "Gideon, you make sure to show your strength. They'll start with District One, then you two will be last. I don't know how else to put this, but make sure they remember you."
Gideon and Sirius anxiously waited for their turns, the tension in the air palpable. Suddenly, the announcement crackled over the speaker, calling out, "Sirius Black, District 12."
Gideon leaned towards Sirius, offering a piece of advice, "Hey, Sirius, shoot straight." Sirius nodded, feeling the weight of the moment as he entered the training area. With a determined expression, he picked up his bow and arrow.
"Sirius Black, District 12," he announced, making eye contact with Gerralt Grindelwald in the watching area. Sirius aimed at the target, released the arrow, but missed. Laughter erupted from Gerralt and the Capitol spectators, creating a momentary sense of disappointment for Sirius.
As the Capitol group turned back to their conversation, Sirius, undeterred, walked back to the arrow station, grabbed another arrow, and took aim again. This time, his shot hit the target, but it seemed like no one was paying attention.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted when Gerralt, still talking and laughing with his group, questioned, "Who ordered the pig?" The words hung in the air until an arrow sailed through, hitting the apple in the pig's mouth and pinning it to the wall. The sudden, impressive shot interrupted the conversation, and all eyes, including Gerralt's, turned towards Sirius.
"Thank you for your consideration," Sirius declared, giving a dramatic bow.
"Are you crazy?" Trelawney shouted at Sirius when he and Gideon returned to the penthouse. Sirius, with a smirk on his face, responded, "I just got mad."
"Mad? You realise that your actions reflect badly on all of us. Not just you," Trelawney scolded, her frustration evident. Apolline and Gideon listened in as the tension filled the room.
"They just want a good show; it's fine," Apolline interjected, attempting to diffuse the situation.
"How about just bad manners?" Trelawney retorted sharply. Apolline sighed but didn't press the matter further.
"Well! Finally, I hope you've noticed we have a serious situation," Trelawney addressed Alastor, who had just walked in. Alastor responded by holding his arm up and giving Sirius a thumbs up, causing both Sirius and Gideon to smile.
"Nice shooting, sweetheart," Alastor remarked with a laugh. Trelawney questioned what happened when Sirius shot the apple. Sirius explained, "Well, they looked pretty startled."
"Yeah," Alastor chimed in with a comical expression. "Now, what did you say?"
"Thanks for—?" Trelawney inquired, to which both Sirius and Alastor finished simultaneously, "Thanks for your consideration." Alastor applauded, calling it genius.
"I don't think we're gonna find this funny when the gamemakers decide to take it out... Spoke Trelawney.
on who? On Sirius? On Gideon? I think they already have. Loosen your corset, have a drink," Alastor advised Trelawney. "I would have given anything to see it," he added, sharing a moment of camaraderie with Sirius.
The room fell silent as Rita Skeeter's voice echoed through the TV. "As you know, the tributes were rated on a scale from 1 to 12. After three days of careful evaluation, the gamekeepers would like to acknowledge that it was an exceptional display."
"From District 1, a score of nine, by Marvel. District 2, Rodolphus, a score of 10. Alice, a score of 10. And from District 12, Gideon Prewett, a score of eight," Rita Skeeter announced, her dramatic tone adding suspense to the moment.
"Excellent, Gideon!" echoed voices in the room, celebrating the commendable score.
"Finally, from District 12, Sirius Black with a score of..." The anticipation in the room grew, and Gideon, Apolline, and Trelawney held their breaths. "Eleven."
"Congratulations!" Gideon exclaimed, breaking the silence. Apolline and Trelawney joined in the celebration, raising their drinks in a toast to Sirius's remarkable achievement.
Remus, James, and Peter sat in tense silence, their eyes glued to the flickering images on the TV screen as Rita Skeeter's voice resonated through the room. The weight of anxiety hung heavily in the air, and each passing second felt like an eternity.
"And from District 12," Rita Skeeter's voice rang out, "Sirius Black with a score of... Eleven."
A mixture of relief and dread flooded the room. Remus's heart skipped a beat, and a bittersweet smile touched his lips. Eleven was an extraordinary score, but the haunting reality of the Hunger Games loomed over their celebration.
"Eleven! That's... that's incredible," James stammered, trying to mask the unease in his voice.
Peter, his usual enthusiasm muted by the gravity of the situation, forced a smile. "Yeah, incredible. He's... he's going to do great, right?"
Remus nodded, his eyes reflecting a complex blend of emotions. "It's great, but... it means he's a target, too. The Capitol will be watching him closely now."
As the news of Sirius Black's impressive score of eleven echoed through the room, the tension that had gripped the group lifted. Gideon, Apolline, and Sybill Trelawney erupted into cheers and celebratory toasts.
In the midst of the revelry, Sirius couldn't help but express his surprise. "I thought they hated me," he muttered, a mix of confusion and disbelief in his eyes.
Alastor Moody, ever the grizzled mentor, raised an eyebrow and grumbled, "Maybe they liked your guts, Black."
Apolline, catching wind of the exchange, playfully interjected, raising her glass in a mock toast. "To Sirius Black, the boy on fire!" The others joined in.
In the sprawling garden adorned with vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges, Tom Riddle moved with calculated grace. He approached a white rose bush, its petals pristine against the backdrop of emerald leaves. As he delicately cut a single, perfect rose, Gerralt Grindelwald stood nearby, engaged in conversation.
"An eleven?" questioned Tom, his tone measured and contemplative.
"He earned it," replied Gerralt, his expression unreadable.
Tom's piercing gaze shifted from the rose to Gerralt. "He shot an arrow at your head."
Gerralt chuckled. "Well, it was an apple, near your head," he clarified.
Suggesting they take a seat, Tom continued his inquiry, "Gerralt, why do you think we have a winner?"
Confused, Gerralt queried, "What do you mean?"
"Why do we have a winner?" Tom pressed. "If we merely want to intimidate the districts, why not round up all 24 of them and execute them all at once? It would be a lot faster."
"Hope," Tom stated with conviction.
"Hope?" Gerralt questioned, seeking clarification.
"Hope," Tom repeated, his fingers deftly trimming the rose. "It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it's contained."
In the opulent penthouse, Sirius Black and Alastor Moody found themselves sharing a meal. Alastor, with a taste for simplicity, had chosen his favourite lunch.
As the clinking of silverware and the aroma of the meal filled the air, Sirius couldn't help but express his concern. "Where's Gideon?" he asked Alastor, a note of worry in his voice.
"In his room," Alastor replied nonchalantly, his focus on the meal before him.
"Alastor, tomorrow is the last day. They let us work on our own tributes right before the games. So, you and I will be going down at 9:00," Sirius stated, seeking clarity.
"What about Gideon?" Sirius pressed further.
"He says he wants to be trained on his own from now on," Alastor responded, his tone matter-of-fact.
"What?" Sirius exclaimed, genuine surprise etching his features. "This kind of thing does happen at one point. There's only one winner, right?"