Allies
Harry
All his life, Harry has experienced what he calls “Potter luck”.
Find a neat toy? Dudley steals it. Successfully sneak food? Petunia notices. Get a good grade? Vernon smacks him. Meet a cute girl? She’s in the Games with him.
The Games so far have been more “Potter luck”.
He finally found a spring-fed pool last night, had his fill of water, and had just finished refilling and treating his hydration pack and collapsible container, when Gamemaker fire drove him out of the area. He managed to avoid any burns and even found another water source – a stream – then the sounds of the Careers ran him off.
Right now, his luck seems to be on the upswing, since he’s in another massive oak where he can use his tent. But he can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He’s pretty sure he can find the stream again. Sticking close to it is his best chance of finding Katniss. As much as he’s wandered these woods in the past few days, he feels reasonably confident it’s the biggest source of water beyond the lake. Maybe the lake is what feeds it. Or the springs might feed both. Who knows what combination of natural and engineered geography makes up this Arena?
His idle train of thought is interrupted by a knocking sound.
Is he hearing things? He’s 50 feet up a tree, in a camouflaged tent. There’s no way someone snuck up on him. But then someone knocks again. Bewildered, he unzips the tent to find… Luna bloody Lovegood.
Of fucking course.
He just sighs and scoots back, and she climbs right in the tent, zips it behind her, and crosses her legs, bumping him with her knees. The Capitol has sort of fucked themselves with this tent right now. There are bound to be microphones picking them up, but no cameras.
Harry silently hands the little nutcase an MRE. He’s got 7 left after that one, 4 meals and all 3 snacks, he can afford to give Luna one meal. Besides, she was much better with edible plants in training. Maybe she’ll earn her keep.
While she’s eating, he observes her quietly, cataloging her appearance. A little thin, a little singed, clearly in need of sleep, but otherwise none the worse for wear. She has no weapons, no supplies, nothing but the clothes on her back and the cork necklace around her neck. He wonders what she’s been doing the past four days.
The anthem starts up just as she finishes her dinner, and they both clamber out of the tent to watch the seal in the sky. No deaths again today. That won’t last long.
By silent agreement, they don’t re-enter the tent just yet. The cameras need to see them. They keep staring at the stars. Harry wonders if those are artificial too.
He gives her a few minutes of comfortable silence before whispering, “Have you seen Katniss?” She turns to him.
“Hmm… I don’t think you’re supposed to find her yet,” Luna says dreamily, her protuberant eyes staring into him without blinking. “I don’t think she’s ready.”
He nods. He’s only spent a matter of hours with her, cumulatively, but he’s picked up on how she operates, a bit. Luna looks like she drifts through the world, but those wide eyes see everything. She sees all, and hears all, and somehow, her brain processes it completely differently from everyone around her to arrive at exactly the right conclusion.
It comes out as nonsense most of the time, harsh truths some of the time, and on rare occasions like this, near-prophetic statements. If she says Katniss isn’t ready for him to find her, then she has reason to believe it. Not reasons she’ll ever explain to him, but. Reasons.
“You were ready for me,” she murmurs, eyes back on the stars. She trails her dirty fingers through the air above her, tracing constellations in the dust motes. He just nods again. The search for water and then Katniss was starting to drive him a bit mad; if he can’t have Katniss, then Luna is exactly what he needs right now.
She follows him back into the tent. He unzips the sleeping bag into a blanket and covers them both, heads at opposite ends from each other. They fall asleep with their legs pressed together for warmth.
***
They’re awoken at dawn by a cannon blast.
“It’s not her,” Luna says immediately, sitting up like she’s spring-loaded. Harry has to blink the sleep from his eyes before he can sit up too. He was having his best sleep since entering the Arena.
Moments later, another blast sounds. “Still not her,” Luna assures him, and he has to believe her. Until he sees her face in front of his eyes, either in the flesh or on a screen, he has to hold on to the belief that Katniss is alive.
They spend a few more minutes in silence, ears open for the sound of another cannon, before tacitly agreeing it’s time to pack up.
Harry lets her wear his hydration pack. He clips the multi-tool in easy reach for her after showing her how to flick the switchblade out. She’s much more interested in all the different gadgets than the knife. He hesitates, then slides a snack, and then a meal too, into the front pouch on her pack. The tarp follows. There’s already a spare bottle of iodine in there – now, if they get separated, she’ll still have resources.
They climb down the tree, and Luna immediately spots a bush full of berries that she assures him are edible, close by a little patch of some herb he can't pronounce. Herbed berries become their breakfast.
Over the course of the day, Harry follows Luna on a meandering path that dumps them out abruptly at the stream around noon. Along the way, she’s gathered a veritable feast, and even helped him set a snare or two. They top up their water vessels while sharing an honest-to-odds salad.
Luna seems content to keep up a one-sided conversation about everything from the names and uses of every plant and tree they see, to the imaginary friends she’s making with the spirits of the forest. Her voice is so airy and soft, it blends right in with the wind and the birdsong. Harry just lets it wash over him, asking a few questions. He learns a lot. Some of it’s helpful in the real world.
Sometime after they wander away from the stream again, she starts climbing. He follows automatically. She shows him how to leap and swing from tree to tree while telling him about the Black Fairy who taught her. They find mistletoe infested with nargles. An errant air sprite informs her, apparently, that they can set snares in the trees to catch squirrels as well as rabbits. They rig five of those, swinging their way through the forest like trapeze artists.
The sun is just skimming the horizon when she swings them right into the crown of the best oak tree he’s seen so far. It’s ancient, and massive, at least 12 feet in diameter at the base. The crown is even wider, forming a cup that’s been hollowed out by so much time and weather and disease it’s practically a cave.
Harry watches Luna Lovegood relocate a nest of brown recluses (he stays far away), a family of squirrels (he’s fast enough to kill one before they scatter), and a bird’s nest (he snags the eggs before she can protest), then helps her rig the tarp above their heads. It covers the bowl they’re in completely. It feels like they’re in a treehouse.
The squirrel and eggs make for a decent fry-up over his little camp stove, especially with Luna’s contributions of herbs and greens. They eat off the same plate, sharing the sporknife. She very, very softly tells him, “The Rotfangs can’t see me here,” before starting up some make-believe tale about gum disease taking out the Peacekeepers and bringing down society.
Harry interprets this as an assurance that there are no cameras on them. The softness and inanity of the comments tell him the microphones can still hear them. Luna Lovegood is probably the only person in Panem who can get away with discussing the downfall of the Peacekeepers while the Capitol listens in. Anyone listening will just hear confirmation of her insanity.
His mind wanders. It’s Day 5, he reminds himself. He wonders how Katniss is doing, and if she’s found any allies. Suddenly, Luna is right in front of him, knees pressed tight up against his, lips against his ear. “I left Rue in a tree where Katniss is sure to be.” It’s so low and hushed that he almost doesn’t catch it. Then he has to stop himself from gasping as she rocks right back into her previous position and starts up a story about heliopaths, spirits of fire, and their immortal queen.
Katniss has Rue. Lupin thought Rue was just as “useless” as Luna, and Luna’s just given him the best day he’s had since he entered the Arena. If she thinks Rue is a good ally for Katniss, then Harry trusts her judgment over Remus bloody Lupin’s.
They peek their heads out of a corner of the tarp to watch the screen in the sky. It reveals that the two cannon blasts that morning were for the Career girls from 1 and 4. “The queen heliopath must have deemed them unworthy,” Luna states confidently. Katniss is responsible for these kills. He wonders if she’s had any others.
They pop the tent out – no such thing as too much shelter – and fall asleep head-to-foot again.
***
The next two days pass in much the same way. They wander the woods, sometimes on the ground, sometimes through the air. They check and move their snares, clean their kills, and gather berries and greens. Luna unerringly guides them to the stream by early afternoon, always in a different place, always just in time to refill their water.
They splash in the stream the second day, getting each other soaking wet with suppressed giggles. It also helps wash some of the filth from their bodies. Luna chats with nyads about water purification while they lay in the sun in their underwear, waiting for their clothes to dry.
She finds six birds’ nests in two hours and takes one egg from each. When they start accumulating a backlog of cooked meat, she insists they cut back on snaring. She takes a leaf here, a stalk there, until she has a feast of vegetables and spices. Luna Lovegood is a custodian of the forest, a keeper of the balance.
By nightfall, she leads them back to the ancient oak. They take down their camp each morning and put it back up each night. It helps remind him not to let that bowl in the crown of a tree feel like home.
It’s too good to last. In the early hours of Day 8, Luna shakes Harry awake.
“The Careers are here.”