May The Odds Forever Be In Your Favour
The night before the Games weighed heavily on Sirius, making sleep elusive. Unable to find rest in his own room, he wandered through the penthouse in the dim light. As he roamed, he noticed Gideon sitting by the penthouse window, gazing out at the bustling Capital below.
"You too?" Sirius asked, joining Gideon by the window.
"Hey," greeted Gideon. "Can't sleep?"
"No, of course not," Sirius admitted.
"I'm sorry I went after you," Sirius confessed to Gideon.
"You know, I meant that as a compliment," Gideon responded.
"I know," Sirius smiled. Together, they observed the citizens of the Capital talking animatedly, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere within the penthouse.
"Listen to them," Sirius remarked.
"Yeah," agreed Gideon, his thoughts lingering on the looming Games.
"I just don't want them to change me," Gideon confessed.
"How would they change you?" Sirius inquired.
"I don't know, turn me into something I'm not," Gideon admitted. "I just don't want to be another piece in their game, you know?"
"You mean you won't kill anyone?" Sirius questioned.
"No, I mean, I'm sure I would, just like everybody else when the time came. But I just keep wishing that I could think of a way to show them that they don't own me. If I'm gonna die, I want to still be me. Does that make any sense?" Gideon pondered.
"Yeah," Sirius nodded in understanding. "I just can't afford to think like that."
"I have my brother," Sirius added, sharing a piece of his own vulnerability.
"Yeah, I know," Gideon acknowledged. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," Sirius replied, offering Gideon a tight-lipped smile.
Sirius stood in the elevator, dressed in his Hunger Games tribute outfit. The anticipation in the air was palpable as Alastor, his mentor, stood beside him. Sirius took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.
"They'll put all kinds of stuff in the front, right in the mouth of the cornucopia. There'll even be a bow there. Don't go for it," Alastor advised, his voice carrying a weight of experience.
"Why not?" Sirius inquired, his eyes fixed on Alastor.
"It's a bloodbath there, trying to pull you in. That's not your game. You turn, run, find high ground, look for water. Water's your new best friend. Don't step off the pedestal too early or they'll blow you sky high," Alastor explained, each word laden with the harsh reality of the Games.
"I won't," Sirius assured him, determination in his eyes.
"Sirius, you can do this," Alastor said, his hand reaching to place the palm against Sirius's cheekbone.
"Thanks," Sirius replied, gratitude and resolve etched on his face.
Sirius stood in line with the other tributes, apprehension etched on his face. The peacekeeper approached, holding a syringe in hand. The female peacekeeper looked at Sirius sternly.
"Give me your arm," she instructed, her tone devoid of any sympathy. Sirius hesitated, eyeing the needle suspiciously.
"What is that?" he questioned, a note of distrust in his voice.
The peacekeeper injected him without offering an explanation. "Your tracker," she replied coldly, moving on to the next tribute without further acknowledgment.
Sirius winced at the prick of the needle, his gaze following the peacekeeper's movements. A tracker now circulated through his bloodstream, a constant reminder that every move he made was being monitored.
In another part of the Gameshow facility, Gerralt Grindelwald stood in the middle of a room filled with technological marvels. The atmosphere was tense as tributes prepared for the impending Games. A gameshow peacekeeper controller announced, "We're up."
Gerralt clapped his hands together, bringing attention to the final checks. "All right, less than a minute, people.
There are 15 out. They're flying," a peacekeeper declared, setting the stage for the commencement of the Games.
Underneath the dim light of the moon, Remus and James found themselves outside James's house in District 12. The air was heavy with the impending doom of the Hunger Games, and their minds were burdened with thoughts of their friend, Sirius.
"He's got to come back, Remus," James said with determination, staring up at the star-studded sky. "Last night, I saw Sirius's star. It's got to mean something. He'll try to come back to us."
Remus sighed, a mix of hope and worry etched on his face. "But what if he's different when he comes back? What if the Games change him?" he pondered, his voice laden with concern.
Before James could respond, the door burst open, and Peter rushed outside in a hurry. His face was pale, eyes wide with anxiety. "The Games are about to start," he exclaimed, breathless.
A lump formed in Remus's throat, and he blinked back tears. The reality of Sirius being thrust into the brutality of the Hunger Games hit him hard
In the cold, sterile room, the Peacekeepers led Sirius towards Apolline, his stylist and the closest thing to a friend in this extravagant nightmare. Apolline's eyes welled with emotion as she approached him, and without hesitation, she pulled him into a tight hug. "You're going to be amazing, Sirius," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She released him, and with a small, sad smile, Apolline presented him with the tribute coat. "Here," she said, guiding his arms through the sleeves. As she adjusted the coat, Apolline discreetly removed a section, revealing a hidden compartment. She placed her finger to her lips, signalling Sirius to keep it a secret.
"Thank you," Sirius muttered, his voice thick with a mixture of gratitude and fear. The countdown echoed through the room, a harsh reminder of the impending ordeal. Thirty seconds left.
Apolline took a step back, her gaze lingering on Sirius. "I'm not allowed to bet. But if I could, I'd bet on you," she said with a warmth that cut through the tension. Sirius managed a small, appreciative smile.
"Twenty seconds," the voice blared through the speakers, a reminder that time was running out. Sirius turned towards the glass elevator that awaited him. With trembling steps, he entered the lift and looked back at Apolline, who nodded in encouragement.
The elevator door closed, separating Sirius from the only source of comfort he had left.
The metallic echo of the Peacekeepers' announcement resounded in the large control room. "They're in the tubes," one of them reported to Gerralt Grindelwald. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as everyone prepared for the commencement of the Hunger Games.
In the enclosed jungle arena, Sirius felt a slight jolt as the tube elevated him onto the top of the pedestal. As the cold metal beneath his feet met the solid ground, he surveyed the circular formation of weapons and supplies that lay in the center. Every tribute's essential needs were strategically placed, tempting them into the perilous bloodbath that awaited.
Around him, the other tributes emerged on their respective pedestals. The atmosphere was charged with tension, the air thick with the weight of impending violence. The ten-second countdown began, and Sirius could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1!"
The blaring horn marked the beginning of the Games. Instantly, chaos erupted in the arena. The careers, true to their brutal reputation, charged towards the bloodbath, engaging in a ruthless battle to secure weapons and supplies. The weaker tributes who dared to run into the bloodbath met swift and brutal ends.
Sirius sprinted across the blood-stained ground of the arena, his eyes fixed on a bag that seemed farther away from the chaotic bloodbath. The Careers were in the midst of slaughtering other tributes near the cornucopia, and Sirius seized the opportunity to make a break for it.
As he reached the bag, he quickly scooped it up and darted away towards the edge of the enclosed jungle. His heart raced with a mix of fear and adrenaline. The eerie silence of the woods engulfed him as he ventured deeper, desperately seeking a place to hide.
Suddenly, Sirius collided with another figure, both of them frozen in shock at the unexpected encounter. It was Harper, a tribute from District Five, and for a moment, they locked eyes in mutual surprise. Without exchanging words, they instinctively understood the need to run in opposite directions.
Sirius pushed through the dense foliage, weaving through the trees as he tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and the chaos of the bloodbath. However, the dense vegetation made navigation challenging, and Sirius found himself face-to-face with another tribute.
Reacting quickly, he changed direction again, zigzagging through the unfamiliar terrain.
Sirius took a moment to catch his breath, settling on a fallen tree bark in the dense woods. Eager to assess the contents of his acquired bag, he carefully opened it and discovered a coil of rope, a box of matches, and an empty bottle. Disappointed at the lack of immediate sustenance, Sirius sighed but quickly refocused on the task at hand.
With renewed determination, he continued his journey through the wooded arena. Sirius ran his hands over the forest floor, feeling for dampness in the leaves. Following his instincts, he eventually stumbled upon a small river. Kneeling beside it, he filled the bottle with clear, cool water and took a moment to quench his thirst.
Realising the need for sustenance, Sirius found a quiet spot by the riverbank and sharpened a sturdy stick into a makeshift spear. He skilfully fashioned a trap with the rope, hoping to catch any small prey that might venture close. His patience paid off as he successfully speared a small fish from the river.
Carefully, Sirius started a fire to cook the fish, but he quickly extinguished it after satisfying his hunger, leaving no trace of his presence. The quiet rustle of leaves underfoot became his only audible companion as he moved through the forest, choosing his steps with care.
As the arena echoed with the distant sound of a cannon, Rita Skeeter's voice resounded through the holographic screens in James's house. "Ladies and gentlemen, that cannon means that thirteen tributes have fallen." Remus, Regulus, James, and Peter watched anxiously, knowing that Sirius was still in the fight for his life.
Sirius, perched high in the tree, strained his ears to catch the distant voices of the careers. The echo of their laughter drifted through the forest, and he could discern the unmistakable tone of mockery. The tributes they had just encountered had made a fatal mistake – they had lit a fire, giving away their position in the deadly arena.
From his concealed vantage point, Sirius listened as Benji, the designated spokesperson of the careers, chided the fallen tribute. "How stupid can you get, making a fire?" he jeered, his words laced with a cruel amusement that made Sirius grit his teeth.
"Oh, oh, no. Please don't kill me," mimicked Alice, one of the careers, in a mocking tone. The others chuckled at the cruel imitation. Rodolphus, the apparent leader, even commended her. "That's actually a good impression," he remarked, revelling in the humour derived from the girl's unfortunate demise.
As the careers continued their taunts, Rodolphus turned his attention to Gideon. "Hey, lover boy, are you sure he went this way?" Rodolphus questioned, his tone a mix of condescension and impatience. Gideon's response was resolute, "Yeah, I'm sure."
The pressure in the air intensified as Sirius clung to the branches, hearing the cruel banter below. He knew he had to remain silent and hidden, biding his time until the opportune moment to escape the watchful eyes of the careers.