Tokens
Harry
Vernon and Petunia Dursley do not come to visit Harry while he waits to be escorted to the Capitol. This does not surprise him.
What does surprise him is when, seconds after being ushered into a private room in the Justice Building, Dudley walks in.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he blurts, red-faced, staring down at his shoes.
Harry just stares at him for a moment. “I… I sort of did though, or your parents would be plotting my murder right now,” he says slowly, wondering why on earth his cousin showed up just to deny a truth they’ve both always known.
Dudley huffs in frustration, his face twisted like he’s trying to solve a complex problem, an expression usually reserved for pretty much every class in school. “I mean, I know they say stuff, but… I don’t know if they could actually kill anybody… And now, I dunno… I’ve never been nice to you a day in your life, and you’re, what, going to die for me? This is fucked up.” He stares at the wall, still looking a bit constipated.
That might be the most words Harry’s ever heard Dudley say in one go. Definitely the most he’s ever said to him. He can’t think of anything to say, can only keep staring and wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to have some sort of farewell chat with his cousin after 16 years of solid dislike.
“Here,” says Dudley, whipping his hand out of his pocket and thrusting something towards Harry abruptly. He takes it - and lets out a soft gasp at the sight of the tiny little pendant, a delicate fleur-de-lis in silver and mother-of-pearl. It’s sat inside his aunt’s nightstand for as long as he can remember, the only thing left of her sister, Harry's mother. He’s known of its existence, but never before actually gotten to touch it, to hold it, to look at it as long as he likes. Tracing his fingers over the precious heirloom, he glances back up at Dudley with a question in his eyes.
“I… I always snag it on Reaping Days. I just… If you’re going to die for me, then you should at least have that. I don’t care if Mom yells at me for it, it should be your token.” Dudley nods, as if to himself, “That’s right. That’s proper.”
Nodding along, Harry just stares at the little piece of Lily in his hand, trying to memorize it like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. Idly he thinks of how sure Dudley is that Harry’s going to die, and really, he can’t dispute it. Katniss hunts illegally, it’s a poorly-kept secret. Between her and the Careers, he’ll be lucky to make it past the first day, let alone win.
Plus, if it came down to it, Harry might actually want Katniss to win over him. She’s got a family depending on her. All he has is relatives who literally wished him dead today.
“Anyway… I just… thought you should have that. And,” Dudley stammers, “and I wanted to– to say thanks, I guess. Thank you.”
Harry doesn’t respond. What even would be an appropriate response when your cousin, with whom you share mutual hatred, gives you the most precious thing you’ve ever owned, then thanks you for taking his place in a death tournament, when really you had no choice in the matter? “You’re welcome” just doesn’t seem to cut it.
With a final sigh, Dudley thrusts out his hand with a gruff, “Guess this is goodbye then.”
“Yeah… bye, Big D,” Harry shakes his hand, letting go quickly, and Dudley leaves the room with one final, confused glance over his shoulder.
Harry is once again surprised when the door opens a few minutes later and one of the Weasley kids – Ron, he thinks – enters shyly. He’s all red ears and twitching hands, shuffling back and forth, opening his mouth like he’s going to say something and then closing it again. His eyes are red like he's been crying.
“Can I help you?” Harry asks, not unkindly.
“I– I hope so,” Ron huffs. “I just – I know you like Katniss, or at least I’ve seen you watching her, and I know you don’t know me, and I have no right to ask this because you should be trying to win, but please, if the opportunity comes up, can you please try and keep her safe? I mean, not if it keeps you from winning, obviously, but – but you like her, and she’s kept my family alive for years, and I just really, really don’t want to watch her die. Please.”
Harry tries to process this rapid-fire monologue while fiddling with the fleur-de-lis in his fingers. He’s definitely noticed that this kid has a crush on Katniss – he’d have to be blind not to – but to actually ask a complete stranger to keep her alive? The kid’s got bollocks, he’ll give him that.
“I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to keep Katniss alive for as long as possible,” he says slowly. He was planning to anyway. It’s no skin off his back to promise it to this lanky kid who’s carrying a torch for Katniss.
Ron’s face lights up like he’s just been gifted the sun. “Thank you,” he breathes reverently, “Thank you. Just – yeah, just thank you.” Harry holds out his hand to shake. Ron's palm is sweaty. Having seemingly exhausted his ability to speak to a stranger, he leaves just as quickly as Dudley had, his glance over his shoulder grateful instead of confused.
Harry really wasn’t expecting any visitors at all, so he’s shocked when the door opens a third time. Peacekeeper Pettigrew, the twitchy drunk who always hangs around the Hob, enters quietly, taking a seat across from him without any prompting.
“That was a very brave thing you did,” he says softly, “your parents would be proud.”
Harry snorts. “Bravery had nothing to do with it, and I never knew my parents,” he says, irritated that this man he’s barely spoken to has the gall to try and be – what, supportive? He’s practically a stranger, who is he to waltz in here calling Harry brave and talking about his dead parents?
Pettigrew just twitches. “I knew them,” he whispers, “and I know they would be very proud, and scared, and they’d be here encouraging you to win if they could.”
Completely ignoring the revelation that this man knew his parents, Harry just sinks further into the couch, staring sullenly at the pendant in his hands. If Pettigrew knew his parents, why is this the first time he’s ever mentioned them? Just because he thinks Harry is going to die? It’s too little, too late, and entirely unwelcome. He doesn’t need to hear that they’d want him to win. His only goal now is to help Katniss win.
They sit in uncomfortable silence for a few moments until Pettigrew finally gives up, standing and moving toward the door. Just like the others, he glances over his shoulder, but he whispers, “You look just like James, but you have Lily’s eyes,” before quietly closing the door.
***
Harry’s face is blank as he exits the car – his first-ever car ride – at the train station. His eyes automatically find Katniss, who similarly looks almost bored. He wonders if it’s just a strategy for the Games. He’s not really leaving anyone behind that he cares about, but she definitely is.
After a few minutes of indulging the cameras in front of the crimson express train, they’re ushered inside. The train starts moving the moment the doors close. He’s never been on a train, and the speed of this one is breathtaking. It’s no wonder their journey to the Capitol, which he vaguely remembers is clear on the other side of the continent, will take less than a day.
They get a short tour of the train, where each of them apparently has an entire personal car complete with bedroom, bathroom, and dressing room. There’s a whole wardrobe full of clothes finer than anything anyone in his family has ever owned. The crew must have worked fast while he was in the Justice Building, because they’re all in his size. He takes the time to luxuriate in his first-ever shower before dressing in something simple.
He tucks his mother’s pendant carefully in his pocket as he heads to the dining car, a few minutes early for dinner but with nothing better to do. Choosing a seat at random, he doesn’t have long to wait before Bagman trundles in, escorting Katniss.
“Where’s Remus?” Bagman asks brightly. Harry and Katniss both just shrug. Bagman doesn’t seem too bothered by his absence, anyway. “Well, perhaps he’s just taking a nap – it has been an exhausting day!”
The first course is served, followed by another, and another, and it’s all Harry can do to pace himself because everything tastes amazing and he’s never been allowed to have as much as he wants, ever. Bagman makes some ignorant comments about previous tributes “eating everything with their hands like savages,” and Katniss pointedly puts down her knife and fork and starts using her fingers instead. Harry smirks at her and follows suit.
During the meal, Bagman is really the only one talking, so Harry lets his mind and his eyes wander. He notices Katniss’s pin, a gold mockingjay, and snorts under his breath. It suits her – a bird with a beautiful voice whose very existence screams “fuck you” to the Capitol. Perfect.
Harry’s no fan of the Capitol, if nothing else because the Dursleys adore their evil overlords.
When the final course has been cleared, Harry sees Katniss is looking a little green, and he’s not much better off. They’re both probably equally unused to such quantity or quality of food, and equally determined to keep it down. The three of them move to another compartment, this one with a huge screen and plush seats where they can view a recap of today’s Reapings.
Harry tries to memorize the faces and names of his competition, falling back on a lifetime of needing to notice details in order to survive and avoid pain. There are the predictable volunteers from the Career districts: Marvel and Glimmer (Were their parents high or just hateful?) from 1, and Draco and Pansy from 2. The male tribute from 3, Theo, looks twitchy, but with unmistakable intelligence in his cold eyes. The list goes on, the names and faces all starting to run together, until they reach District 10.
The girl, Luna Lovegood, floats up to the stage on screen like she’s walking on air. Her face is serene, not a trace of fear nor tears in her eyes. She hums and stares at the sky the whole time she’s on camera. Harry wonders if she’s completely sane, and if not, whether she was before today. She reminds him a bit of Ma Rosmerta’s granddaughter.
When a twelve-year-old girl named Rue is called in District 11, Harry spares a glance at Katniss, and notes the haunted look in her eyes. The girl is like a color-inverted image of Prim. Except she has no one to take her place. The boy from 11, Blaise, is very tall and has striking features.
When they reach the District 12 recap, the commentators can’t stop harping on about how “no one can even remember whether 12 has ever even had a volunteer, and now they have two.” There’s a lot of bullshit about “siblings competing for glory” and “stealing each other’s thunder,” like no one can see that both of them were protecting their families, not trying to upstage them. Harry may not have had a choice in the matter, but glory definitely had nothing to do with him volunteering.
Plus, the announcers must be idiots if they can't remember that the last District 12 volunteer was his father. Certainly, no one in 12 will let him forget it. James Potter was the first and only boy in history to successfully volunteer for a girl, because he announced, “She’s pregnant. It’s mine,” on national television.
Bagman is just in a huff about Lupin making his wig crooked. “Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentable behavior.”
Harry can’t help but laugh at that. “He was plastered,” he says, “he’s always drunk on Reaping Day.”
“He’s drunk every day,” Katniss quips with a smirk.
Bagman grumbles, “Yes, how odd the two of you find it amusing. You know your mentor is responsible for advising you, lining up sponsors, and dictating any gifts you may receive. Remus Lupin is your link to the world outside these Games, which could be the difference between life and death for you two!”
On cue, Lupin trips into the compartment. “I miss supper?” he slurs, then vomits all over the expensive rug and promptly falls into his own sick.
“So, laugh away!” Ludo Bagman says, hopping around the pool of vomit to flee the room.