The Incentive
“You’re kidding me.”
“What if someone’s in there?”
“Harry, we’re in an arena full of tributes and traps meant to kill us. This is really going to bother you?”
Harry crossed his arms and set his jaw.
Yeah, going in a bathroom that said ‘girls’ on the door was going to bother him.
There could be a girl in there, doing her business, and then either she’d attack them and Harry would have to fight a girl who - in Harry’s imagination - didn’t have on pants. Or there could be a mutt like the one that killed Susan that would kill Harry and he would die in a fucking girl’s bathroom.
Both options were possibly the worst scenario he could imagine.
“I swear to god…” Neville pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled something too quietly for Harry to hear.
Harry didn’t care if Neville saw no problem with it, Harry wasn’t going in there. And since Harry had half a dozen warm rolls stuffed in his pockets, it would benefit Neville to stick with him, wouldn’t it?
They had, by mutual agreement, decided to move one floor up from the dungeon to do some searching. They needed to find water and Harry thought that since the dungeon floor had been quiet the night before, maybe the other tributes had already searched the floor just above it.
If they could just use the maze-like feel of the castle to stay one step ahead of the careers, then… then they’d be one step ahead of the careers.
Harry didn’t think he’d win, but he would like Neville to. It benefited the starving kids in their district to have a victor and Harry - against his better judgement - liked Neville.
Except for moments like they were in where Neville wanted to check inside a door clearly marked as a girl’s bathroom for a water supply.
They had only explored half the floor and, if Harry wasn’t wrong, he thought the hallways made a rectangle with the staircases in each corner. That meant there were two more hallways with rooms attached and one of them might have a boy’s bathroom.
It would be less humiliating to die in a boy’s bathroom.
“Let me check for water then we’ll move on,” Neville said. The roll of his eyes had Harry stepping away from him pointedly.
“Your Luna is going to laugh if you die in that bathroom,” Harry warned him. The other tent kids would definitely laugh at Harry if he did.
If Harry was back in the district, being forced to watch the games, he would laugh.
“I’m not going to — ”
Everything happened quickly.
Neville touched the doorknob and then his entire body seized up, eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he let out a gurgling scream.
Before Harry could so much as take a step toward him, someone leapt on his back and locked their arm around his throat, squeezing the life from him. When Harry turned so he could slam the person against the wall, someone else jumped Neville.
“Argh!” Harry slammed himself backward again and again to try and displace whoever was attacking him. They weren’t very heavy, which narrowed it down.
Everyone in the arena was deadly though and Harry wasn’t so stupid to forget that.
Harry’s eyes were streaming from a lack of oxygen when he finally wall-checked his attacker hard enough to have them loosening their hold on his neck. Even as he took a breath that burned his chest, Harry reached up to grab whoever was on his back.
What Harry found was a handful of hair and he grabbed it tightly to use it to flip them off him. As he slammed them on the floor, he recognized the girl as one of the two from Four, Hermione.
Hermione was a dick though and Harry swished one of his fangs to his palm, planning on driving in through her chest, when she kicked him.
Right in the groin.
Proving there truly were no rules in the fucking Hunger Games.
Harry bent over at the waist immediately, groaning loudly. Hermione was quick and so when the can of carrots and some of the rolls fell out of Harry’s pockets, Hermione snatched them.
“Let’s go!” she screamed over her shoulder as she began running away down the dark hallway.
Harry chased her until a sharp and sudden pain in his side stopped him. Harry stumbled, hit the wall, and could feel the blood beneath his hand when he touched it.
The person who stabbed him, the other District Four girl, Daphne, smirked at Harry over her shoulder as she ran with Hermione, Neville’s sword in her left hand.
“Bye, boys!” she called in a sweet voice.
“YOU FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE!” Harry screamed at her, giving up the chase.
Harry wasn’t going to outrun them, not while he could feel pain radiating down his right leg and through his stomach. Instead, Harry clutched the wall with one hand, tried to put pressure on the wound with the other, and worked to settle himself.
That girl had stabbed Harry with the sword he gave to Neville and her partner stole Harry’s food.
If he wasn’t the victim of their scam, he’d be impressed with them. They had been quick, efficient. As soon as Hermione thought the fight might get even, she took off with Harry’s food in her hands. And the other girl must have…
Shit.
Neville.
Harry had black spots popping in his vision but he forced his feet to turn around, go back to Neville. Something happened to him when he touched the door - and Harry thought the word might be electrocuted? Like what the signs in Twelve warned would happen if someone touched the fence. If that girl had been able to take the sword and go…
“Neville?” Harry gasped his name, more from his own pain than anything, when he saw his ally lying flat on his back outside the door.
Harry dropped to his knees and started to reach for Neville with his right hand. There was a gush of blood, Harry’s head swam, and he thought he might have been dying when the black spots took over his vision entirely, a beeping sound began to fill his ears, and he fell over, unable to move…
… right outside the girl’s bathroom.
Harry could smell something sharp, minty almost. There was a stinging feeling in his side and Harry groaned.
Harry didn’t go to school, he didn’t have a real job, why did he have to wake up? He was warm, nothing was really aching too much, and he liked the voice talking to him.
… the voice talking to him?
Harry came to all at once and he sat up and began swinging hard fists toward the girls that attacked him.
“Stupid - fuckin’ —”
“You’re gonna pop your stitches!!”
Harry swung again and only hit air. A sharp pain in his side had him bite his tongue hard and he rolled on his other side, only to hit a hard floor with a painful thud.
The moment it took him to catch his breath gave Harry time to figure out what was happening.
Harry had been attacked, had his carrots stolen. A girl stabbed him, smirked at him too. Then Harry tried to get to Neville and… and did he faint?
Embarrassing.
Harry quickly made himself feel his body, trying to figure out the damage, and didn’t feel as horrible as he thought he should. Which was because… because…
Someone had been talking to him in a soft voice while they did something to Harry’s side where the wound had been. They didn’t make it worse, Harry could feel that it wasn’t any worse than before, so… What?
Harry rolled on his good side and pushed himself up to his feet, mentally noting that the poisoned fangs were gone too. It didn’t matter, when Harry saw who the tribute in the room with him was, he felt good about his chances in a fist fight if it came to that.
“Hiya.” The little boy from Eleven, Trent, looked at Harry’s clenched fists nervously as he slowly raised his hands up. One hand by his shoulder was empty, the other had something tiny held between his fingers.
They were separated by a wooden table, one with bench seats attached to it. Harry could see from the corner of his vision that there was a surprising amount of blood on the table… his blood… because that must have been where Harry had laid before hitting the floor.
Trent swallowed hard, his throat bobbing made obvious by his extremely thin body, and then he smiled right at Harry.
“I did you three favors now, are you ready to be allies?”
Harry didn’t plan on having more allies outside of Neville, who he didn’t really want in the first place, but Trent had earned it.
It took Trent showing Harry where Neville was, alive, sleeping beneath one of the four identical tables in the room they were in, before Harry decided not to kill him. It didn’t hurt matters that Trent quickly told Harry that he hid all of Harry and Neville’s belongings and they would never find them if he was dead.
Harry could find more weapons, probably. Sirius might send them another bottle of water and nutrient bars, but where would he get giant fangs from? And Harry planned on being buried with that watch, he needed it back.
“I tried to tell you I know all sorts of stuff during training,” Trent said in an upbeat voice when Harry relented and let Trent finish stitching his side.
It wasn’t Harry’s first set of stitches, but he hoped to never repeat the experience again. Without a needle or string, Trent had taken the handle part off Harry’s jacket zipper, ripped part of his undershirt for string, and crudely used them to hold Harry’s skin together at his side.
“I’m also really sneaky, like really super sneaky. That’s what my brother Trace always said. So I’ve been spying on everyone—”
“How?” Harry interrupted.
“Uh… I’m not telling you yet,” Trent decided. Even when Harry glared at him, Trent didn’t relent. “Maybe you’ll definitely not kill me if you think I have something you want.”
Harry didn’t know if he hated that kid or was, once again, impressed against his will.
“I saw those girls making their trap.” Trent forced his thread through Harry’s side once more and Harry stayed blank-faced when he tugged on it to tie it off. “They’re super smart. I tried to be their ally, but they just… they sort of beat me up, a little bit, and stole my stuff…” Trent looked personally offended before he perked up and smiled at Harry. “Like they did you!”
It was a good thing that Harry didn’t think he’d win because he would definitely never be able to look anyone outside of the games in the eyes again.
“They didn’t try and kill you?” Harry asked, focusing on the strange behavior of the two girls instead of his own embarrassing mix up with them.
“Nope. They just kicked me a lot and stole my stuff.” Trent pulled Harry’s shirt down over his wound for him then backed up to raise his shirt. Harry felt a rush of anger for those girls when he saw Trent’s body - so small that Harry could count all his ribs - dotted with black bruises.
“I think they think they’re good enough to win without killing anyone,” Trent said after dropping his shirt back in place.
“They aren’t,” Harry said shortly, his mind already plotting revenge. Not only did they steal Harry’s stuff, injure his ally, and beat up a little kid, but they made Harry look like an idiot.
Harry knew the real enemy was the Capitol, the people who put him in an arena with twenty-three other kids and said only one of them would leave it, but… if someone was going to kill those girls, Harry wanted it to be him.
“You want your stuff back?” Harry asked Trent.
Trent nodded quickly, a light of excitement in his dark green eyes.
“And I want to kick them, so we’re even.”
“Trent.” Harry sighed at the kid facing him. Trent had done Harry a favor by dragging him and Neville to safety and stitching Harry’s wound, but Harry couldn’t have two allies who refused to kill anyone.
“I’m going to kill those girls, do you want to help?” Harry asked pointedly.
“Oh.” Trent blinked a few times before he finally shrugged his shoulders up. “Do you think it’ll make people sponsor me if I do?”
That was why Harry turned Trent down the first time they met during training. Trent was still a kid; from his young eyes to his childish questions. They were meant to be cold, ruthless, and Harry couldn’t do that when he kept accidentally getting the softest fucking allies.
Kids like Trent and Neville were ones that the other tent kids would try and help out back in Harry’s district. When Harry had been eleven, hungry, scared, and soft as could be, they helped him out.
They also kicked his ass when Harry did or said something stupid, but that had been helpful in its own way.
“Yes, Trent,” Harry said tiredly. “It’ll probably help you get sponsors.”
“Good.” Trent relaxed at once. “Cause I’m really hungry. My mentor told me I might find fruits, like in the trees at home, but I’ve looked everywhere and there’s really not any food anywhere!”
Trent stood there, talking about being hungry, with his horribly underweight body that was covered in bruises and his big trusting eyes and Harry wanted to scream.
Harry wanted to scream and burn down the entire arena, leave it all in ashes. If Harry could, he’d pour fuel on everything and stand in the center before striking the match.
The games could go to hell and Harry would go too, just to be sure that they could never bring them back.
Harry and Trent let Neville sleep while they shared one of the nutrient bars that the girls didn’t manage to steal from them. It was grainy and difficult to swallow without any water, but Trent swore he knew where to find water once they were ready to go.
There were also two rolls left from the original six that Harry had and he hesitated before deciding that they would save those for after.
While they ate, Trent filled Harry in on what all he had discovered about the arena and other tributes.
Apparently the tributes from District Two were guarding the cornucopia on the roof which the four other careers hunted. The twins from Five had set up in a room on the third floor last Trent knew. Trent hadn’t seen the girl from Six, but he said the pair from Ten were together on the second floor.
“And Taylor’s on the roof,” Trent finished, seeming smug about knowing so much about everyone.
“On the roof? He’s with the careers?” Harry asked.
Trent’s smile turned sly and he shrugged. “Can’t tell ya. Cause if Taylor wins then my brothers are gonna get to eat real good. Don’t be mad,” he added quickly. “It’s just… my brothers don’t get a lot of food.”
Well how the fuck was Harry supposed to be mad about that? Wasn’t Harry hoping Neville would win so the kids back home could have a feast?
Harry eyes Trent through narrow eyes and decided that even if Trent was tiny, he was dead clever and cunning too.
“Final five,” Harry said, offering him the same terms as he had Neville. “After that, our alliance is done.”
“Cool!” Trent grabbed Harry’s hand and shook it eagerly. “How many of us are left?”
“Seventeen,” Harry said.
In timing so dramatic that Harry almost wondered if it was on purpose, the sound of a cannon shook the room they were in.
“Sixteen,” Harry corrected himself. If they set off that cannon then just for dramatics, it must mean Harry was being featured. “The Capitol just killed their eighth kid.”
Trent’s eyes went wide and panicked at what Harry assumed was the knee-jerk reaction most people had to criticizing the Capitol. Not knowing or caring why he wanted to, Harry tried to make him grin again.
“What?” Harry leaned close to Trent and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You think they’ll kill me if I say something wrong?”
It worked; Harry wished it didn’t.
Trent getting caught up in a fit of giggles was painful in a way that it hadn’t been when Neville laughed. Maybe it was Trent’s age, the childish qualities about him, or maybe it was the way that the two of them could almost pass for brothers with their dark hair, green eyes, and scrawny frames.
Whatever it was, Harry told himself to not forget that only one kid left the arena.
And the odds were against it being Harry or either of his allies.
Trent’s odds weren’t actually terrible though, not when he showed Harry how he had been spying on everyone.
“Watch this!”
Trent carefully opened the door for room they were in and shimmied up it, using the doorknobs as steps. Once he was fully on the top of the door, he was balanced enough to reach up and move a plate on the ceiling.
“It’s tunnels!” Trent whispered down to Harry. Trent stood up, his top half disappearing for a moment as he dug around. When he hopped down, landing on his feet, he had Harry’s watch and fangs in his arms.
“I never would have found them,” Harry complained while he slid his watch back on his wrist.
“It’s called…” Trent twisted his lips to the side. “What did Mister Lupin call it? Like a reward for doing something good?”
As half of Harry’s knowledge of words came from Yaxley, he had no idea.
“Oh! Incentive!” Trent bobbed his head. “I just hid your stuff so you had incentive to not kill me.”
“It was smart,” Harry admitted. He didn’t say how stupid it was for Trent to hand over the fangs though, because there wasn’t anything except Harry’s word that he wouldn’t kill Trent once he had his stuff back.
For anyone else, that might not mean much. But to Harry, it was all he had to give most of the time.
So when they tucked a fang in the crook of Neville’s arm, leaving him armed and asleep, Harry let Trent hold his hand as they climbed up in the tunnels above the ceiling.
There were eleven kids who had to die before Harry would see Trent as a foe. What were the odds that Harry and Trent would be in the final five together?
About as small as them both being reaped?