Game Changer
Harry
Harry has been combing the woods for Katniss for the better part of two days. Yesterday, two cannons went off, and he was terrified that he’d lost his chance. Then he was disgusted with himself for being relieved for a split-second when it was Rue’s face in the sky. Rue should never have been in the Games, her death is a tragedy – and Katniss has lost her ally.
At least it seems like she took out the bastard who did it.
It’s evening on Day 10, he’s camped out in yet another oak, and he hears trumpets. He exits the tent and climbs into a higher fork, the better to see or hear whatever announcement is coming. Probably a call to a Feast, which could be an excellent opportunity to find Katniss. Cornelius Fudge’s voice booms out.
It’s not a Feast. It’s a rule change. An unprecedented change to rules that barely exist: instead of one sole Victor, two winners will be declared if the last two standing are from the same District.
Harry instantly recognizes the implication. He could actually go home with Katniss.
Assuming he finds her, which is proving bloody impossible, and they take out all of the other tributes, which is slightly more possible, they could return to District 12 as Victors. Together. Both of them.
It’s not just a game changer, it’s a fucking life changer. He’s been accepting his death as inevitable since Reaping Day, and now, it doesn’t have to be. Sure, he’ll still sacrifice himself to save Katniss in a heartbeat, but if he somehow makes it to the end with her, there’s a possibility of a future.
That possibility sings in his veins. He feels like a livewire. There’s no way he’s going to sleep anytime soon. Grabbing his night-vision goggles and binoculars, he climbs as high as he can to scan the trees for signs of movement, alternating between the two devices.
While he keeps lookout, he allows himself to imagine all the things he could do as a Victor. He’d never have to live with the Dursleys again. He’d have more money than he could ever spend. He’d have a whole house to himself, right near Katniss, maybe even next door. They could have meals together and he could meet her family and maybe they’ll even invite Lupin.
Hope is something he hasn’t had in a long time. He actually can’t remember ever feeling hopeful before.
It’s a nice feeling.
***
Harry thought he’d remembered the location of Luna’s oak well enough to avoid it, but he was wrong. He stares at the congealed splatters and pools of blood around the roots. The hovercraft will have long since removed the body.
On impulse, he starts using leaves and pine needles and some of his precious water to scrub and rinse until it’s hard to tell the difference between blood and dirt. Some of his golden ammo balls are still there; he cleans them and loads them back in the bag across his chest.
Then he returns to the stream and gathers stones. He comes back to Luna’s tree with his pack weighed down by enough smooth rocks to build a respectable shrine among the roots. He decorates it with plants he gathered along the way, flowers and greens and herbs and even a few berries, which he smears into the rocks like paint.
Luna would love it, but she could’ve done a much better job.
He’s just putting the finishing touches on it when he hears a soft slither and hissss behind him. Instinctively, he whips around while loading his slingshot, but a golden sphere is not going to be enough to take out this opponent.
It’s a fucking basilisk.
One of the Capitol’s genetically engineered Muttations, the massive serpents can grow up to 30 feet, and this one looks close to that. Its yellow eyes are capable of mesmerizing prey to the point of paralysis. Harry doesn’t look at them. He’s more concerned about the absurdly long and sharp fangs filled with neurotoxic venom that guarantees death within 72 hours without the intervention of Capitol antivenom.
Those fangs are highly evident in the viper’s open, red mouth. The basilisk is 10 yards away. Harry drops the slingshot. The Mutt is rearing up, coiling like a spring for a lunge.
He draws Draco’s sword.
Katniss
Katniss has been having an interesting few days.
After the tracker jacker incident, she woke up on Day 7 with Rue taking care of her. She took the day to make a bow and fashion some arrows with Rue’s eager assistance. They’re crude, nowhere near the quality of the bow at the Cornucopia, but they get the job done. Molly Weasley is surely bragging about her back in 12.
She’s been keeping an eye out for any sign of Harry, certain that he has what she mentally terms “her bow” instead of the “shit bow”.
The next day, she woke up and made a plan, and some more arrows. Rue helped her lure the Careers away from their heavily-fortified camp, and Katniss turned their own fortifications against them. It took about eight shit arrows, but she detonated the mines. She watched Draco strangle Theo with his bare hands. Safe from the cameras in her hiding spot, she sobbed her heart out when the screen showed Luna’s face after Theo’s.
Two days ago, these odds-damned Games and the fucking Careers gave her yet more reason to cry when Marvel killed Rue. At least Katniss killed him too. Then, last night, Cornelius Fudge changed her designation for Harry from “nice to have” to “absolutely vital”.
She remembers overhearing Draco describe the general location of the tree where he killed Luna and decides to start there. Rue said Luna left her to find Harry – after asking Rue to take care of Katniss for him – so Luna’s last known location is as good a starting point as any.
It’s not easy to search for a specific tree in a forest full of them, but Draco gave her some clues to follow. She knows it’s an oak, about two hours from the stream on the far side, in a line from one of the other places she ran across the Careers. She’s close to the general area when she hears the sounds of battle and, like an idiot, runs towards them.
It’s a good thing she does. When she gets to the tree, the battle is over. A massive, poison-green, fucking basilisk is on the ground with a sword through its mouth. One fang is lodged in the arm of the person holding the sword, who is also on the ground, collapsed next to a little shrine of painted rocks and plants.
It’s Harry.
Moving on instinct, Katniss pulls the basilisk away from Harry, being very careful not to touch the fangs while making sure they don’t pierce him again. She pulls the sword out of its mouth and slides it into her belt. Harry’s arm is bleeding freely now that the fang is out. She rips a strip off her ever-dwindling hoodie and wraps his wound tightly. His eyes are fluttering. They lock on hers.
“Katniss,” he croaks. She might be crying; his face is swimming in her eyes.
“I’m here,” she chokes out, taking his hands in hers, “I found you.” She might have found him too late. He won’t survive that bite without antivenom.
They’re too vulnerable here, out in the open. “Can you walk?” she asks. He twitches his head left, then right. No. She’s going to have to carry him. It shouldn’t be too hard, he’s scrawnier than she is. But it limits how far they can get.
Harry is speaking shakily. “Luna’s tree… the crown…” The crown? What the hell is he talking about? “... It’s a cave.” Oh. The crown of the tree. She looks up. The crown looks massive, but it doesn’t look like a cave. “Climb,” says Harry, more firmly now, his eyes more clear as he tries to convey the importance of what he’s saying.
Climb. Climbing, she can do. She considers how to carry him for a moment, then sees he’s wearing a pack. It’s much bigger than her backpack, with extendable straps and even a waist belt. She unclips it and pulls it out from under him, then lengthens all the straps.
She pulls Harry up and onto her back. He tries to help, but the muscles on his right side are already twitching, and he has no control over his arm. She kneels down to keep him steady while she pulls the pack on over him, securing him to her back by tightening the straps. The waist strap she cinches tightest of all, anchoring him to her hips.
Luckily, the tree is a pretty easy climb, for her at least. She stops every few feet to check that Harry’s secure. His convulsions keep threatening to shake him out from under the pack. When she finally reaches the crown, she gasps.
It is a cave. A deep bowl, invisible from the ground. Throw a tarp over the top and it would be completely sheltered. It’s the perfect hiding place. She kneels down again, holding Harry steady with one arm while using the other hand to remove the pack. Then she lays him down.
He’s pale, sweaty, shaking. He must have lost consciousness at some point, because his eyes are moving rapidly under his lids. His breathing is shallow. There’s absolutely nothing she can do to help him.
Focus on the things she can do. She pulls out the first-aid kit she got from Marvel. It’s got bandages and sanitizing wipes. Unwrapping Harry’s arm, she sees the bleeding has slowed, so she cleans the wound and wraps it in sterile bandages. Better than the dirty strip of jacket, at least. It still doesn’t stop the venom coursing through his veins. That will kill him long before an infected wound. She dribbles some water in his mouth, feeling useless.
Harry seems comfortable enough for now, so she decides to examine his supplies. The first thing she sees when she opens his pack is her bow. It’s even more beautiful than she remembers. “Shit bow” looks like a child’s toy in comparison to the elegant silver weapon, and her crooked arrows have nothing on the engineered lines of these beauties. She straps the bow and quiver to her back.
Then she notices the rest of the contents of the pack, gasps, and almost smiles. Harry has been living like a king. There’s enough supplies in here that she’s pretty sure she could just start up a new life in the woods with this pack and never look back. She pulls out a bundle of willow bark and sets it by Harry’s head. If he regains consciousness, he may be able to chew it for the pain.
It’s starting to get dark pretty rapidly in their cave. Katniss digs out a tarp, a rope, and a few pegs, and uses them to make a roof. She pops up the tent and picks Harry up to gently place him inside. He’s so tiny, weak and spasming. She zips him into his sleeping bag.
What now? They’re in a secure location for the moment. They have all the supplies they could ask for, except antivenom. There’s no way Remus Lupin can get it for them, even if he pools all their sponsors. If they won, Harry would be healed by the Capitol, but she’d have to leave him and kill every remaining tribute single-handedly before he dies. Not a realistic option.
She eats one of the snack MREs from Harry’s pack, figuring he won’t mind since she just hauled him up a tree and is trying to save his life. His muscle spasms are slowing, but she has no idea if that’s good or bad. Her grasp on the effects of neurotoxins is tenuous at best. She just knows that a basilisk bite puts a 3-day countdown on a person’s life.
Should she be trying to keep him awake, like a concussion or hypothermia? Or letting him rest like an infection? Doing nothing is unbearable, and leaving him to die is not an option. The sound of trumpets startles her out of her macabre inner monologue.
Cornelius Fudge is inviting them to a Feast. She’s ready to ignore him, when he says, “This is no ordinary Feast. Each of you is in desperate need of something.” She pays attention then.
There will be a backpack with antivenom at the Feast, at dawn.