Harry Potter and the Hunger Games

Katniss

She tries to avoid Harry on the elevators, but they step out of their cars onto their floor at the same time. Katniss sighs. Time to face the music...

They can’t go into the Arena tomorrow with this hanging over their heads. She hates talking, especially about, well, mushy stuff, but if nothing else the Weasleys have taught her that some problems can only be solved by "talking it out."

Harry seems just as reluctant to have this conversation as she does, at least. He’s staring at his shoes, hands in his pockets, shifting back and forth. She takes a leaf out of Harry’s book and places a hand gently on his elbow. “Roof?” He nods.

Once they’re safely ensconced in the sound of rushing wind and tinkling wind chimes, Harry immediately blurts, “I didn’t want to say it.” He blushes, gnaws his lip. “Not on national television at least.”

She sighs. “I know.” She could tell. He didn’t even say it, not in so many words, Rita Skeeter just read him like an Odds-damned open book. Really, Skeeter did Katniss a favor; she’d had her own lingering doubts over whether Harry’s crush was real or strategized, and that interview just fucking obliterated them.

“I know it’s probably not something you can even think about right now,” Harry says gently, “but I’m not lying when I say I have one goal in these Games. And it isn’t winning.”

Katniss nods. At least it makes a bit more sense now. Harry has no one back home, he was literally threatened into volunteering by his only family in the world. He did it expecting to die either way. His life is already forfeit, in his eyes, and… and he cares about her, so… is it really so hard to believe he’d sacrifice himself when he thinks his life is worthless?

She wants to tell him it’s not, tell him there are people who care about him, but it would be an excruciating lie.

Also… if it helps her get home to Prim, who is she to question it?

She’s immediately disgusted with herself at that thought. That’s Capitol thinking. That’s “acceptable losses”. That's Odds-damned fucking bullshit.

She has to say something, she owes him that much. “It’s not as if the feeling isn’t mutual,” his head whips up to lock eyes with hers. Those emerald depths might be her undoing. “But you’re right, it’s not something I can really think about right now.”

He huffs out a breath. “Yeah.” They stand in comfortable silence for a few moments. Before she can think of anything more to say, Ludo Bagman interrupts.

“There you two lovebirds are! It’s time for dinner, unless you’d like me to pack you a picnic?” he asks with wagging eyebrows.

“No!” they answer in unison, complete with sideways glances and blushes. Odds, we must look like idiot fucking teenagers right now.

Well. They are idiot teenagers. They’re just idiot teenagers discussing crushes on the eve of their battle to the death. Y’know. Like teenagers do.

After dinner, they all gather in the sitting room to watch the replay. Katniss thinks she looks vapid and shallow with the twirls and giggles. Harry is much more compelling, with his sardonic witticisms and, truthfully, endearing blushes. She pushes the thought down. Lupin congratulates him on playing “tragic orphan” to perfection.

“You even threw in a Star-Crossed Lovers gambit,” he says acerbically as the anthem finishes. Harry winces. Katniss is pretty sure “Star-Crossed Lovers” was the tagline for his parents. His dad's interview about their toasting keeps getting replayed, cut in with recent footage.

Everyone’s quiet as most of their entourage heads to bed. It’s all handshakes and half-hugs and cheek-kisses and Katniss breathes a sigh of relief when it seems like just her and Harry are left. Then she sees Lupin is still sitting on the couch, with crossed arms, looking both of them over.

“Any last-minute advice?” asks Harry.

Lupin hums. “It’s not last minute till you’re in the tube.” He thinks for a moment. “Katniss, you’re not going to like this. After the Countdown, when the gong sounds, you need to get the hell out of there. You have negligible hand-to-hand training, you are not prepared for the Bloodbath at the Cornucopia.” She really wants to argue with him, but he’s not wrong.

“In fact, during the Countdown, I want you to turn your back on the damned thing and scope out the rest of the Arena. Just don’t trip over your own feet and get blown sky-high doing it. Figure out the best route to put as much distance and cover between yourself and the others as possible.” He turns to address both of them. “And find a water source, preferably running. Test it with small sips.

“Harry, I want you to spend every second of that Countdown scoping out whatever’s closest to you. Weapons you can use, food you can eat, shelter you can carry, water you can drink, in that order. Get in, get it, and get out. They’ll be on top of you by the time you reach it, so duck and weave and be as unpredictable as you can. Remember, you’ll be up against ranged weapons as well as melee.”

Harry’s nodding along with each point, as if adding them to a mental checklist. Katniss runs back over Lupin’s advice to her, and it’s burned into her brain. Turn around. Scope a route. Find cover. Running water. Small sips. She’ll probably be repeating it the rest of the night. “What do I do for weapons though?” she asks.

It’s encouraging that Lupin at least takes a moment to think about it. He’s holding up his end of the bargain, staying sober enough to be helpful. She might buy him a drink if she lives. “If there’s anything you think you can grab within a 5-second sprint, before anyone else is even close, grab it. But scope the route first. If you have it in you to count the seconds, you can split your time wisely.”

She nods and updates her checklist. Turn around. Scope a route. Turn back. Grab what’s in reach. Find cover. Running water. Small sips. She hopes it’ll be enough.

“And after that?” Harry asks. He seems determined to get as much out of Remus Lupin’s “teacher mode” as possible - before it disappears into ethanol vapour.

“I’ll leave it up to you two whether you want to team up,” says Lupin, “or find any other Allies. It’s no good teaming up with someone you can’t trust, can’t work with, or who endangers you.” He gives them a pointed look, probably thinking of Luna and Rue. He’s grumbled enough about them the past few days.

“Other than that, all I can really tell you is to stay alive,” he concludes, and stands up. The two tributes just nod. What more is there to say? Lupin leaves, and finally, it’s just the two of them. Blessed, comfortable, silence.

She realizes suddenly that they’re still in their interview attire. She’s been wearing 40 pounds of dress, and another 40 of makeup, for so long she’s forgotten it’s there. “I need a shower,” she announces. Harry huffs and stands with her.

On their way to their rooms, he whispers, “Think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”

“No,” she admits. She’s already thinking too hard about what the Arena will be. Tundra? Savanna? Island? Mountain? All she wants is trees.

Harry ducks his head and mumbles, “Roof in an hour?” She inclines her head to agree and closes her door behind her.

***

Talking to Harry is too easy.

They’re laid out on a blanket in the garden, another pulled over both of them, facing each other in the darkness, legs stretched out side-by-side. The lights of the city glint off the gold flecks in his eyes. He alternates between low murmurs, breathy whispers, and deep grumbles.

They talk about the Arena. They talk about the other Tributes. They talk about what they’d rather be doing back in 12.

They talk about the Hob. She finds out that half the times she sat on Ma Rosmerta’s counter, he was tucked underneath it, gnawing bones like a dog. They laugh about Aberforth’s antics selling white liquor. He growls about Mundungus Fletcher’s trade in morphling and mushrooms. She shares stories about hunting and trading game alongside the Weasley twins.

It’s easy. Too easy. It’s the twins around a campfire, it’s Prim in their bed, it’s Molly over tea. Easy as breathing.

The talk turns more serious as the night wears on. They tell each other about their families; his abusive relatives, her neglectful mother. She tells him all about the Weasleys, how the twins ran into her in the woods one day after their fathers died, and how it led to her becoming part of their family. He admits how much he’s always wished for that.

There’s no way to tell how much time passes. There’s no moon tonight, and no stars in the Capitol. She wonders why that is – is it smog or light or misery that drowns them out?

It gets chilly. She shivers. He oh so tentatively shifts around to sit next to her, ever so slowly wrapping an arm around her. She has ample time to move away, tense up, anything to indicate it’s unwelcome, but it isn’t, so she leans in. She’s still trembling. They shuffle down under the blanket, laying on their backs, his arm still tucked under her shoulders.

She must fall asleep at some point, because the barest glimmer of dawn wakes her. She blinks the sleep from her eyes, then turns over – in Harry’s arms. Oh. He looks so peaceful in sleep. Angelic. Innocent.

She hates to wake him, but does so as gently as she can manage. He doesn’t say a word, just stares into her eyes for a moment before pulling away. They pack up the blankets.

His hand brushes hers all the way back to their rooms.