Interviews
Katniss
Katniss was reluctant to talk about her “demonstration”, but after hearing that Harry asked the Gamemakers to have someone try to hit him, she impulsively tells the dinner table, “I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers.” She stumbles through an explanation of her poor behavior, but really she needs her worries eased.
“Do you think they’ll arrest me, or target my family, or something?” she asks hesitantly.
“I doubt it,” Lupin says calmly. “In order to retaliate publicly, they’d have to reveal what happened in a closed session, which they can’t do. I’d be more worried about them rigging the Arena for retribution.”
“It’s already rigged,” Harry points out.
“Too right,” Lupin nods. Somehow, this actually makes her feel better. “Now, indulge an old Gamer – what were their faces like?”
She’s almost smiling now. “Uh, shocked, terrified, ridiculous… I think Cornelius Fudge actually tripped into the punch bowl.”
Everyone bursts out laughing. “Well, serve them right,” says Bagman through his chortles. “Their job is to pay attention to you. They can’t ignore you just because you’re from District 12.” He glances around warily like he’s said something taboo. “Sorry, it’s true,” he says to no one in particular.
“They’re going to score me as a zero or something,” Katniss grumbles.
“Even if they do, it won’t matter – people only pay attention to the highest scorers,” says Olivander. “Some people even get low scores on purpose as ‘strategy’.”
Slightly more cheerful now, Katniss and the rest of the District 12 crew gather in the sitting room to watch the score announcements. All the Careers score in the 8-to-10 range, the rest hover around 5; surprisingly, Luna and Rue both pull a 7. District 12 is last – Harry’s face shows up with a “10” flashing underneath it.
She nudges him with her elbow and raises her eyebrows. “Impressive,” she drawls. He blushes, ducking his head and running a hand through his sweaty hair, messing it up further.
Finally, her portrait flashes on the screen, with… “11”.
Eleven!
Everyone starts cheering and slapping her on the back, but Katniss is confused. “Is– was that a mistake? How… What?” She looks at Lupin.
“They must have liked your attitude,” he says. “You’re sure to put on a hot show for them in the Arena.”
“Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire,” says Olivander as he tosses an arm over her shoulders. “Just wait until you see your interview dress!”
“More flames?” she asks warily.
“Something like that,” he says with twinkling eyes.
***
The next morning at breakfast, Lupin seems sullen and withdrawn. The reason becomes clear when he starts talking about interview prep.
“Harry, Rita Skeeter is guaranteed to ask about your parents in your interview.”
Ah. Lupin was the Victor in the Games where Harry’s dad died. Katniss thinks she may have heard someone mention that they were friends in school, and allies in the Games. He probably wants to talk about Harry’s parents about as much as Harry does.
Harry ducks his head and sinks low in his seat. “How do I deflect those questions? I’m not talking about my dead parents on national television,” he sneers.
“Just play the ‘tragic orphan’ card, say it’s 'too painful to talk about them' or something. It doesn’t have to be true, it just has to earn sympathy from sponsors,” Lupin says quickly, clearly eager to avoid the subject as well. “In fact, ‘tragic orphan’ is probably the best card you’ve been dealt, for once. Play it for all it’s worth.” Harry nods gratefully.
Lupin turns his stare on Katniss for an uncomfortably long time. She starts fidgeting. “What?” she finally asks.
“I’m trying to figure out how to present you. Should you be charming? Haughty? Dangerous? You’ve had some excellent moments so far: Volunteering to save your sister, looking unforgettable on opening night, scoring highest in training. People are interested, but they don’t know you. Tomorrow’s interview is going to solidify what kind of sponsors you can expect,” says Lupin.
“Katniss should just be Katniss,” Harry says, “fierce and sarcastic and better than all these Capitol assholes.”
Lupin looks a bit pale, his eyes darting around. “Yes, well, maybe try not to make the audience think you despise them.”
They spend a few hours practicing interview questions. It’s easy to relax with Harry there. His dry wit and gallows humor put her right at ease. She wishes they could somehow do a joint interview.
Then Harry drops a bombshell.
“My only goal in the Games is to make sure Katniss gets home to her family.”
Her jaw drops. She stares at him in shock.
Lupin groans. “Please do not say that on national television. Sympathy aside, no one is going to sponsor someone with a death wish.”
Harry shrugs, “If you say so. Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
Her mind is whirling. Is this a strategy? Is he lying? Why would he put her life before his own? He seems genuine, but she just can’t imagine being that self-sacrificing. Maybe I’m just a selfish bitch, she thinks.
No, she’s not, she’s here to keep her sister safe. But Prim is family. She and Harry never even talked before the Reaping. What could possibly compel him to forfeit his life for her?
She thinks back to their conversation on the rooftop, where Harry admitted that Ron asked him to keep her safe. She’d been annoyed that Ron would be stupid enough to ask her competitor something so unreasonable, but then Harry said, “He didn’t have to.” At the time, she'd just thought he meant something like, “He didn’t have to, but he did anyway, so he’s a good kid.” Now she’s wondering if “he didn’t have to” because Harry was already planning on it anyway.
None of it makes any sense. She flees to her room.
***
After throwing an excellent tantrum, complete with a one-sided conversation while she helped the Avox girl clean up the evidence, Katniss returns to the sitting room to find that she’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon working with Madam Malkin on her “feminine charms.”
Walking in heels hurts. Proper posture gives her a crick in her back. Smiling makes her cheeks sore. Basically, it’s torture.
The next morning, the torture reaches a whole new level when her prep team spends hours working on her full-body makeup, nails, and hair. Olivander tells her to close her eyes and slides a dress over her head that must weigh at least 40 pounds. At least the heels he gives her are lower than the ones Malkin had her practice in. She fidgets a minute, then asks to open her eyes.
The creature in the mirror can’t be her. Her reflection shows a divine being, the Spirit of the Sun, an immortal and all-powerful Enchantress engulfed in shimmering flames. Olivander has her twirl, and the visual effect has her prep team screaming in admiration.
Once the preps leave, the dread for the upcoming interview starts sinking in her stomach. It was so easy when she was practicing with Harry – until he said he’d fucking die for me – but tonight, it’ll just be her and Rita Skeeter with thousands, maybe millions of people watching. I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t –
Olivander interrupts her panic with a very accurate interpretation of “Nervous for the interview?”
She sighs. “I– I don’t think I’m going to be able to relax enough to win over any sponsors. When it’s just Harry, or you, or whatever, I’m fine, but thinking of all those people watching just makes me want to throw up.” Her face is probably green under all the makeup.
Her stylist taps his chin thoughtfully. “So, what if you imagine you’re talking to a friend back home?”
Katniss shakes her head. “My friends back home already know everything about me, I wouldn’t have to answer such basic questions around them.”
“What about me? Could you think of me as a friend?” asks Olivander.
Of all the Capitol people she’s met, so far, he’s her favorite. She nods hesitantly.
“I’ll be sitting up front with the other stylists,” he says. “Feel free to look right at me, and answer any questions as honestly as you would if it were just the two of us.”
“Even if what I honestly think is rude as hell?”
“Especially then,” he winks. “Give it a try.”
Harry
Harry tries to pay attention to the interviews, scoping out the competition, but his eyes are continuously drawn to Katniss. She’s a Fire Goddess again.
The pointy-faced blond from 2 is a prat, but clearly trained to kill. Katniss’s makeup is seraphic. The nerdy boy from 3 is apparently good with both verbal and literal traps. Katniss has flames drawn over every inch of visible skin. There’s a girl from 5, Romilda, who seems sly and evasive. Every time Katniss moves, her dress looks like a conflagration.
She moves a lot. It’s very distracting.
By the time they reach Luna, he realizes he’s missed the last three interviews entirely. He pays attention to Luna though. She glides through her interview with a mixture of nonsensical statements and brutal honesty, all delivered in that same breezy tone that makes her sound distinctly dotty. Her sunflower-themed outfit really does nothing to detract from the effect.
When she tells Rita Skeeter, “I have a cork necklace that could keep those Wrackspurts out of your wig, you know,” he joins the audience in hysterical laughter. He’s pleasantly surprised when Katniss, laughing so hard she might be in tears, grips his shoulder to keep from falling out of her chair.
She looks ready to cry for a different reason when they get to Rue. He can sympathize. Someone has put the girl in a literal fairy costume. She simply looks far too small and far too pure to be competing in the odds-damned Hunger Games. He hopes her claim of, “If they can’t catch me, they can’t kill me,” proves true, but there can only be one Victor.
If he has to choose, Harry will choose Katniss every time.
Finally, it’s her turn, and he has a ready-made excuse to stare for three straight minutes. She’s so nervous she has to ask Skeeter to repeat the first question, “What’s impressed you most about the Capitol?”
Her answer of “lamb stew” has the audience in stitches, but Harry smirks to himself because he’s pretty sure she’s being 100% honest.
Rita Skeeter shows exceptional finesse in getting them back on track with a quip about the aforementioned stew going straight to her hips, then asks, “What about that showstopping, dare I say heartstopping, costume for the opening ceremonies?”
Harry thinks Katniss glances toward someone in the audience before responding, “Honestly? I was expecting to burn to a crisp the whole time.” Laughter. “But Olivander is a magnificent stylist, I can’t believe I get to wear his clothes. I mean, look at this dress!”
And then she twirls.
Is there a ringing sound somewhere? And where did all the air go? Harry’s mouth is very dry, and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. He’s suddenly grateful for the extremely uncomfortable undergarments he’s wearing, even considering the humiliating conversation with Madam Malkin that accompanied them. She probably expected him to lose control over someone like the chick from District 1, but still… hot damn.
Rita has her keep twirling until Katniss has to grab Skeeter’s arm to keep from falling over. She’s giggling, and coruscating, and a bomb could go off in the audience right now and Harry wouldn’t tear his eyes away.
“Well, we can’t have you taking a dive like your mentor, now can we?” Skeeter steers them back on course with her usual aplomb. “Well, now, let’s talk about that training score. Any hint for our viewers on what happened there?”
Katniss glances at the Gamemakers up on the balcony and smirks. “All I’ll say is, I think it was a first.” The Gamemakers chuckle, nodding in confirmation.
Rita Skeeter lets out a high-pitched, girly scream. “Ahhh Katniss, we must have more than that!”
“It’s confidential, right?” Katniss asks the balcony.
Cornelius Fudge shrieks, “It’s classified!”
Katniss smiles sarcastically at Skeeter. “You heard him. My lips are sealed,” and she mimes zipping her full, red, luscious lips. Harry's mouth is rapidly full of saliva again, but the situation in his trousers is painful.
“Alright then Katniss, take me back then, to the day of the Reaping – they called your sister’s name,” Rita is speaking much softer now, possibly trying (and definitely failing) to sound motherly. “You Volunteered. Will you tell us about her?”
Harry follows Katniss’s line of sight and spots Olivander, giving her a sad but encouraging smile. “Her name is Prim,” she tells him. “It was her first Reaping, she’s only twelve. I–” her voice breaks, “I love her more than anything.”
City Circle is so utterly silent it’s deafening. He's suddenly, dizzyingly flaccid.
“What did she say to you, before you got on the train?” Skeeter asks.
Harry sees Katniss’s throat bob. “She asked me to 'try really hard to win'.” He’s hanging on her every word.
“What did you tell her?” Rita prompts.
Every muscle in Katniss’s body tenses. Her eyes are dark, deadly; she’s poised to kill. Her voice turns low, growling danger.
“I swore I would.”
Even Rita Skeeter looks stunned. “I bet you did,” she breathes, nearly speechless. The buzzer goes off. “And that’s our time. Odds be with you, Katniss Everdeen of District 12.”
The applause continues long after Harry rises to take Katniss’s place on the stage. He’s grateful – it gives him time to compose himself. He shoots Rita Skeeter a cautious smile. Her answering one seems as delighted as it does fake.
“Well, well, well, Har-ry Pot-ter,” she says after the audience finally settles down. She pronounces each syllable of his name slowly, with extra care. Then she says quickly, “We get plenty of Victors’ children in the Games, but it’s not often we see children of parents who didn’t win.”
There’s a slight murmur that runs through the crowd, in which can be heard many whispers of “James Potter”, the occasional “Remus Lupin”, a few “Lily Potter”s, and even one “Sirius Black”.
Harry sighs, giving in to the urge to shove his hands in his pockets. It’s that or run them through his hair, and he’s not messing up literal hours worth of prep work. “Not beating around the bush, are you?” he quips. It gets a chuckle. He discovers his Mom’s fleur-de-lis has been slipped into his pocket somehow. The sharp points bring him clarity when he grips it.
“We just want to get to know you, Harry. Tell me, what was it like, hearing stories about your parents growing up?” Skeeter grins at him, her teeth looking very white and very sharp. It completely ruins that whole “motherly” thing she’s going for.
“To be completely honest, I didn’t hear that many stories until I was old enough for the Reaping,” Harry admits. This part, at least, is easier for him to discuss. He’s had practice. “People would get nostalgic after the ceremony and just walk up to me and tell me how much I look like them, and share random memories. It’s not exactly fun to talk about.” He shuffles his feet, feigning shyness without looking down.
Rita nods her head gravely, like she has any idea what he’s been through. Capitol bitch. “I imagine you’re quite close with your mentor, though, Remus Lupin.” Another rumble passes through the audience.
Harry’s heard the frankly horrifying story that his Dad begged Lupin to look after him with his dying breath. Since Lupin seems to have spent the entirety of Harry’s life trying to drink himself to death, Harry personally thinks of Lupin as a traitor to James and Lily’s memory, and would likely want nothing to do with him if his life didn’t depend on him. That’s not what he says, though.
“Remus had a rough time after losing my Dad, I think, but he’s really stepped up since I Volunteered.” It’s an overly-generous oversimplification, but it’s meant to be a deflection, and it lands right on target.
“Yes,” Rita beams, “like your father before you, you Volunteered to prevent a family member from being harmed. That was your cousin, Dudley, who was drawn, was it not?”
“It was,” he shrugs, gripping his cousin's first - and likely last - gift in his pocket.
“We’ve heard you were raised by your aunt and uncle. Would you say Dudley is like a brother to you?”
Harry can’t help it. He throws his head back and laughs. Rita gives him a puzzled look. “Let me put it this way,” Harry explains, “My cousin Dudley is a champion boxer, and if he could catch me, I’d be his favorite punching bag.”
The audience laughs along this time. Even Rita twitters a bit. “Well then, Harry, if there’s no brotherly affection between you, then did you Volunteer in the true competitive spirit of the Hunger Games?”
Harry frowns. That sounds like some next-level Capitol bullshit to him. "I'm pretty sure if I hadn't Volunteered, my relatives might have actually beaten me to death."
Rita shows all her pearly whites like a shark out for blood. "That's a very serious accusation, Harry. Are your aunt and uncle not the loving guardians we'd all hoped for?" The crowd grumbles softly.
“After my Mom 'got knocked up by a Seam wastrel who got himself killed' and I 'ripped my way out of her to enter the world'?” he asks sarcastically, directly quoting Aunt Petunia. “If I die in the Games, they’ll throw a party.” They probably threw one after I left, he adds to himself.
The audience doesn’t seem to know whether to laugh or whisper at this point, so they do a little of both, tittering and susurrating. Even Rita’s baffled for a moment, so she just changes the topic entirely; “Well, not counting your relatives then, who is cheering you on back home?”
Harry’s brow wrinkles in concentration for a moment before he decides to just answer sarcastically, “A few people at the black market, but you didn’t hear it from me.” The Capitol laughs, a bit hysterically since they had to do it indecisively before.
Rita chuckles, “Oh-ho, come now, Harry, a devilishly handsome and terribly interesting boy like you? There must be someone special you hope is watching.”
Harry squeezes his token tightly in his pocket. He and Lupin had a lengthy discussion on this topic after the “someone special” in question stormed off to her room, and she’s definitely watching. He shakes his head, but he can feel a hot blush lighting up his cheeks.
“No?” Rita prods, raising a sceptical brow.
“Not at home, no,” he says, trying to be enigmatic. Based on Rita’s sympathetic expression, he’s failed spectacularly.
“Oh dear,” she says, something in her tone causing a hush to fall over the crowd. “Well, who can blame you? She’s a knockout, honey.” And Rita Skeeter shoots a genuine, shit-eating grin, right at Katniss Everdeen.
Harry can’t even look at her. Or Skeeter. He’s staring at his shoes on national television. If he wasn’t wearing 50 layers of makeup, his face would look like a tomato. His mouth is dry again, and not in a good way. He’s not sure if it’s the crowd or his ears buzzing. The fleur-de-lis digs into his palm.
“Wouldn’t it be terrific if we could hear a response from Katniss?” Rita asks, and the crowd goes wild. “Sadly, Katniss’s time is up–” the buzzer sounds “–and so is ours! Best of luck to you, Harry Potter. Panem’s heart goes with yours.”
He wants to let out a sigh of relief, but the wall of sound that hits him almost has him staggering before he turns toward his seat. He forces himself to raise his chin and walk with confidence but he’s not sure he pulls it off.
He doesn’t let himself look at Katniss as the anthem plays, just at the screens around the square – but every one of them is showing him standing next to her.