The Trap
“As a symbol of the Capitol’s mercy to the districts that rebelled against them… it has been decided that the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games will have two winners.”
Harry swayed as the blood rushed from his head to his feet. Almost against Harry’s will, his eyes automatically moved to find Neville.
Neville was standing up, the sword clutched in his hands, and he was staring directly back at Harry.
They must have been sharing the same thought, the same image playing in their minds.
Two winners.
They could both win. It seemed like a dream before, just something that Harry tried to tell himself, but… but if they could both win… they could.
They could do it, the two of them.
Harry had killed two girls that day. Neville survived an electrocution. They were an okay team, the first real team Harry had in his life. And they could go to the end, go back to District Twelve togeth —
“Hiyah!”
Trent suddenly jumped up and kicked Neville in the stomach, managing to just knock himself to the ground. Neville huffed and bent over some, but neither he nor Harry moved to attack Trent back. It wasn’t really worth it, Trent seemed to be doing an alright job at hurting himself.
Trent was scrambling away on his back, glaring at Harry and Neville both. Harry didn’t understand what his issue was until he had cornered himself and began blabbering.
“Do not kill me,” Trent said quickly. “You said final five, Harry. You promised! If you lied then my brothers are gonna grow up and they’re gonna kill you. Got it? They will kill you. And they’re little, but they’ll get bigger. Way bigger than you! You’re short!”
Harry blinked at Trent.
What the f…? Oh.
Two of them could win, the final two would go home. Harry thought of Neville first, but there was Trent… tiny, scared, innocent.
Harry had automatically grabbed the fang from where he had it tucked in his jacket when he heard the announcement, but why?
There was Neville, Harry’s ally coming in the arena. If they went home, they would be two kids from Twelve that survived. Then there was Trent, little eleven year old Trent who had volunteered for his brother, who wanted to go home and take care of his family.
Was Harry supposed to choose an ally? Would that be the new game for the final fourteen? Everyone pairing off? It didn’t have to be district pairs, but Harry suspected it would be with the districts left being unbroken.
Trent’s district partner was hiding, Trent had chosen to trust Harry.
It took an incredible amount of effort for Harry to lower the fang, loosen his hold on it.
“This changes nothing,” Harry said. Trent relaxed immediately, Neville nodded. “Final five, that’s what we all agreed on.”
And when they reached the final five - if they all reached the final five - Harry would decide then. Did he honor his partnership with Neville? Go home with the boy he left with? Or would Harry save five - who had so many kids?! - boys from crying over their brother?
“Final five,” Neville agreed. He stepped slowly to Trent and smiled when he offered him his hand. “Don’t kick me again though, brat.”
Trent laughed nervously and let Neville pull him to his feet. “I thought you guys would kill me,” he said. “I wish they said three of us could win!”
Harry thought it said a lot about Trent that he so quickly took Harry at his word. Harry wasn’t lying, but Trent couldn’t know that. There was no sense in trusting someone so fully in the games… not unless they were young, soft, not yet beaten and broken by the crummy world they lived in.
“I wish I understood why they’re letting two of us win,” Neville said, looking to Harry like Harry knew single thing that went through the mind of a filthy gamemaker.
Harry didn’t know and he didn’t care. He looked at where Neville had Trent’s hand while he himself slowly sank back in the corner where he had been trying to sleep at.
Even when he closed his eyes though, he could see Neville and Trent holding hands. Harry could tell them his guess why the Capitol decided to let two of them win… it was the new twist.
The Capitol got sick of beating them physically, so they decided to mess with their heads too. Because Harry couldn’t sleep, not really, not while he wondered if Trent and Neville would take the new twist and decide to cut their losses with Harry. Harry strained his ears to listen for any whisper of them deciding to turn against him and he held the fang tightly.
Harry didn’t hear anything, but they could be writing down messages somehow. It would be another slap in the face, as Harry had very basic reading skills and no real writing abilities. If they planned out Harry’s death with silently written messages, Harry would hope they both died in the most painful way possible.
Would they decide that they could get further without him? Maybe Trent would be scared of Harry after what happened with the girls. Neville, who said he wouldn’t kill anyone, might not want to take any chances with Harry by his side.
Harry knew he would honor his own word, but would they? They grew up differently. They had their own morals, their own codes. Neville had a girl he wanted to get back to, did he think his chances were better without Harry? Trent was a child, Neville could win him over with a few kind words.
But how could they win without him? Harry was the only one who had gotten them closer to the final… Harry couldn’t see Trent overpowering any of the other careers, Neville wouldn’t want to…
Would they make Harry do the dirty work until they made it to final five? Use him and then discard him?
Harry couldn’t sleep until he said his peace, and even after he didn’t feel any sense of safe like he had before.
“You won’t last five fucking hours without me,” Harry murmured with his eyes closed. He hoped it made them jump, like maybe Harry read their minds. Harry didn’t hear them move though, and he never stopped listening.
It made for a restless three hours… every time Harry started to drift off, he saw himself in Hermione’s place, Trent or Neville in his place.
That was the thought Harry had while he tried to sleep and what he thought about when he switched out with Neville.
Trent was sound asleep and Harry stared at a camera, watching it as it watched him.
“Two winners,” he whispered, quiet as anything. “Fourteen kids left. Twelve more murders.”
Because that’s what they were, murders. They weren’t accidents, they were murders. Harry’s two was nothing compared to the Capitol… Harry wondered how many kids had been killed since the games began.
Was it hundreds? Could it be a thousand?
Maybe Neville would know when he woke up; maybe Neville wouldn’t try to kill Harry until they reached the final five.
It was hard for Harry to imagine Neville killing him, as much as Neville refused to kill anyone. Trent might try though, he was soft and childish but he wanted to go home.
If Neville and Trent won, they’d go home to families who loved them and missed them. They’d go home to tearful hugs and words of praise for what they did and what happened to them.
If Harry won… he’d go to a house. A large house, one that would be warmed by electricity and he could take hot showers as often as he wanted. Harry wouldn’t have to trade anything for food, he wouldn’t have to steal.
Harry’s life would be easy, comfortable, empty.
Sure, Sirius would be there - in the village where Harry’s house would be. But Harry didn’t expect him to stick around once he no longer had to.
Harry would win the Games, get the house, take Sirius’s place as a mentor. In a few years, after watching at least one of his tributes die every year - having to see it all over and over and over - Harry would probably take Sirius’s place as a bum too.
At least Harry wouldn’t leave behind any godchild that was born the day he was crowned Victor.
If the rest of Harry’s life followed the first fourteen years, then no one would ever be hurt by Harry’s actions except for himself. Harry could never be threatened with the death of a loved one… it was almost the silver lining of being so truly alone in the world.
And, Harry decided as he tilted his head over to rest it just lightly on Neville’s shoulder, if it came down to Harry, Trent, and Neville… well… Harry would decide then how much his death would matter.
In the grand scheme of things? He was sure it would be very little.
When the boys had all rested, Harry began sharing the plan that had semi-formed during what seemed to be the nighttime.
They were sitting at one of the tables in the room and their collection of belongings were spread across the table between them all. They had two fangs, a knife, a sword. Two bottles for water, one can of food.
It wasn’t much, but Harry wasn’t someone who needed much. What they did have - between the alliance and the supplies - would be plenty. They could get more too, on their way to get closer to the end.
“There’s three of us, eleven others,” Harry said. He lined the weapons up, stacking them to show the floors of the castle. “We’re down here, and we know there’s supplies up here…” Harry tapped the top weapon.
Trent had been listening with wide eyes and he thrust his hand in the air then, like they were in school.
“Don’t raise your hand,” Harry told him, barely holding back a sigh. Harry didn’t know how many sponsors he lost when he killed the girls, he couldn’t risk making people hate him more by being a jerk to a little kid.
“There’s also going to be guards,” Trent said, he had been listening to Harry with wide eyes and when Harry nodded at his information, he beamed.
“Do you know who the guards are?” Neville asked him.
“The boys from two,” Trent told them. “They’re really good with heavy weapons.”
Harry could picture who Trent described; Crabbe and Goyle. They were big boys, muscular and well-trained. Harry didn’t remember their scores, but they were definitely part of the career pack so they would have done well.
“Remind me again where everyone is,” Harry asked Trent, looking at his own map while Trent talked.
The twins from Five were on the third floor. The boys from Two above them on the roof. The four other careers, from One and Three, were mobile and hunting. The boy from Ten was in a tower, Trent never did find the girl from Ten but those two weren’t together last he knew.
Trent also wouldn’t give up where his district partner was, he only swore that Taylor ‘probably’ wouldn’t kill Harry or Neville if they were with Trent.
“He was really good friends with my brother,” Trent said, as if that explained anything at all.
Harry frowned at the fake map he made and wished he had paper to figure it all out on. There were two floors they needed to get past to get to the roof, and who knew how many tributes between them and Harry’s goal?
They would all be paired off, Harry was sure of that. Even if the two from Ten weren’t before, they would have teamed up after the announcement. Gamemaker Riddle didn’t say that the final two had to be from the same district, but that just made the most sense.
Harry wouldn’t want to return to Twelve if he had to face Neville’s family and explain that he killed Neville so that Trent could live. It would be awkward and Harry didn’t need more people waiting for him to die, thanks.
“So if we go through the tunnels, we can come out on the third floor just outside one of the towers,” Harry mused, focusing on what he needed to do then instead of what he might do in the unpromised future. “We know the twins are there, but we might be able to get past them to get to the roof.”
“And what are we doing on the roof?” Neville asked, watching Harry’s fingers as they danced across the weapons, drawing a map that only Harry could follow.
Harry looked up and caught Neville’s eyes. There was nothing different about them - they were the same warm eyes that they had been the day before. Neville didn’t look disgusted and he had been understanding when Harry returned after killing the girls from Five.
Neville might not want to kill anyone, but he had to know that one of them would need to to get them to the end.
“We’re killing the guards and taking their stuff,” Harry said slowly, watching for any sign at all that Neville wasn’t okay with that.
If Neville couldn’t do it, wouldn’t go along with it, then Harry needed to cut his losses early. Two of them might be able to win, but they all still had to play.
Neville sucked his cheek in and Harry waited. Trent watched them stare at each other, his green eyes ticking from Neville’s solemn face to Harry’s stubborn one.
“I don’t- you know I won’t kill them,” Neville said quietly, breaking the silence between them.
“You know I wouldn’t ask you to,” Harry said perfectly calmly. “But if you wanna win, they have to die and I can’t do it by myself.”
Either they were a team or they weren’t; Harry couldn’t be a half-ally with anyone. Harry wasn’t forcing Neville to kill anyone, Harry could never, but Neville had to do some of the lifting along the way.
It took another minute of Neville thinking before he finally nodded in agreement. Harry knew he wasn’t happy about it, but Harry had calmed quite a bit since the announcement and he also knew that Neville wasn’t going to break their agreement either.
“You’ve got to be the thief,” Harry told Neville, looking back down at the table. Harry began rearranging things until he had an uneven square made with the weapons with the can of food in the middle.
“Those boys are big, right?” Harry asked Neville and Trent, planning while he thought. “Bigger than Neville?” Harry asked Trent when Trent nodded to his first question.
“I am not big,” Neville huffed, somehow going pink in the cheeks like Harry was being rude?
Harry would give anything to be bigger, stronger, healthier. It would be a real improvement to his life if he didn’t spend most winters hacking and shivering from illnesses that old Winky from Knockturn said were a result of not getting vitamins.
Harry used to like Winky and her husband Dobby. They were a kind little old couple who sold foods in Knockturn and often would give Harry something for nothing. It made Harry see those interactions differently when he remembered how everyone must have known about Harry’s parents, his godfather.
They knew and they never told him. Instead, they pitied him and that was much worse than anything.
Harry rolled his eyes at Neville’s comment and breezed on after Trent said he was very sure the boys from Two are taller and thicker than Neville.
“Good,” Harry said, picturing the roof and the towers in each corner while he looked at the table. Harry put two fingers from his right hand in the center of the square, by the can, then one finger of his left hand in a corner. “Pick a corner and put your finger there,” Harry told the other two.
As soon as Trent’s finger was in his corner, Harry moved his two fingers toward it. If they chased Trent, it left Harry’s finger free to chase them. Then Neville’s finger would be alone with the can.
The other two boys seemed confused by Harry’s plan, but Harry could see it quite clearly in his mind.
Really, if Harry didn’t think about the weight that had been suffocating him when be killed the girls from Four, plotting murder wasn’t much different than a large theft.
There were more people on Harry’s side, but Harry would still be playing a part to get what he wanted.
In the district, Harry had been coy and shy in equal measures, but silent and sneaky too.
In the arena, Harry could be vicious and clever, loud and aggressive. As long as he never forgot who the people sponsoring him were and who the true enemy was, Harry could play his part for all he was worth.
Harry could play the part of Tribute clear to either Victor or Victim.
The boys split their last can of food and divided the weapons up based on how Harry thought they’d be best used. If Neville wasn’t planning on hurting anyone, he could take a fang that could be used for self-defense if nothing else. Trent would be running and climbing, which left him with the other fang that was long, but light.
Harry liked having the knife, he had good aim in a throw and it never slipped from his grip. The sword was awkward though and Harry delayed them so that he could practice with it for a few minutes, shifting it around and getting used to the weight and length of it.
“Why don’t I take that?” Neville offered when Harry sliced the air and staggered some from the quick weight change.
“Because you’ll be carrying supplies to Trent so they can be stuffed up in the ceiling,” Harry explained again. Truthfully? Harry was sort of getting tired of explaining himself.
It might have been lonely when Harry pulled off thefts and things by himself, but at least he always understood his own plans.
“I can do both,” Neville insisted. He tucked the fang under his arm and held a hand out for the sword. “You’re scrawny, that sword weighs half as much as you do.”
Harry glared fiercely and thought - just for a second - about stabbing Neville in the knee or something. When he saw an unusual smirk on Neville’s face, he realized it was meant to be payback for Harry’s earlier comment.
“You didn’t starve, that was all I meant,” Harry snapped as he handed over the sword. “Ass.”
“Dick,” Neville countered without missing a beat. Harry grinned when Neville gave him the fang and couldn’t resist mocking Neville just a little.
“Neville, your mother could be watching right now,” Harry said, trying to sound as disappointed as he could. He tilted his face up some so he could be seen shaking his head and frowning. “I’m sorry, Mrs Neville’s Mom, I can’t imagine where Neville learned that kind of language.”
“Her name is Alice,” Neville told him, smiling widely as he leaned the sword against his shoulder. “And I learned it from her. Let’s go.”
Harry and Trent exchanged quick grins before they immediately hurried to chase after Neville who was striding from the room with more confidence in his swagger than Harry could ever even fake.
Their plan to stop at the bathroom, get water, climb up in the ceiling from there. They needed water and they needed to wash up.
Harry also needed to pee and didn’t want to just… pee inside. It might be an arena, but Harry wasn’t actually an animal. Trent did it, Neville did it… Harry would if he had to, he just didn’t have to yet.
The hallway was quiet when they slipped out in it and Harry took the lead, as the only one who was willing - if not particularly thrilled by the idea - to stab anyone who tried to attack them.
Harry hated the dimness of the hallways, the feeling of being entirely out of time. The arena didn’t change, not really, even though they had already changed so much.
Harry killed someone; two someones. And he would have to do it again and again until twelve more kids were dead.
The Capitol just kept winning and Harry didn’t know how to make them lose, even once.
The boys made it to the bathroom without running in to any mutts or other tributes. Their section of the castle felt quiet, empty. Harry thought maybe the gamemakers might wait to set off any traps, wait to see if Harry would spill enough blood to satisfy their little pets on his own.
It was cold in the bathroom and Harry, at first, thought it was empty. Neville had used to sword to check that it was safe to open the door - in case the girls from Four left any traps set up.
“It’s cold,” Trent whined in a whisper that was louder when it echoed in the bathroom. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Trent and smack his arm before he put a finger to his lips, indicating that Trent needed to shut up until they were sure they were alone.
If there weren’t vents up in the ceilings and walls, Trent would have been killed already, Harry was sure of it.
Neville stood by the door with the sword while Harry creeped through the decent sized bathroom, checking in each stall as he went. There were five stalls, four with dirty looking toilets, the fifth stall was larger though and had a bathtub in it.
Harry slowly opened that last door and felt a shock go through him when there was someone in there. A boy was curled up in the bathtub, completely asleep. Harry froze in place and felt as if the fang in his hand throbbed, telling him to use it quickly.
It was the boy from Ten, Krum. He was curled up with his back against one side of the tub and his head turned on his shoulder, his jacket wadded beneath his head like a pillow. Harry didn’t see any weapons, any supplies at all, on him.
Was Harry meant to kill him? Then and there? He could. The boy was bigger, stronger, but he was asleep and the curve of his neck was exposed and Harry could reach out and drive the fang through it, kill him almost instantly.
It would be easy. It would get Harry one life closer to being a Victor.
Harry’s heart raced and he shuffled a step closer, holding the fang tightly while he watched the boy. The boy let out a soft sleepy breath, not knowing that his life was being weighed while he dreamed of somewhere better to be.
Would that boy kill Harry if their places were reversed? Harry was sure he would. Why wouldn’t he? They were both mutts made by the Capitol, placed in an arena to entertain the world.
The hand holding the fang started to raise and Harry saw it shaking, but it didn’t feel like his hand. That was because it wasn’t, it wasn’t.
It was the Capitol’s hand and the Gamemaker’s weapon and there were people screaming in Harry’s ears to KILL HIM. DO IT. HE WOULDN’T HESITATE.
Harry’s thoughts were beginning to spiral - in a circle that never ended, never. Over and over, around and around. - and the screaming in his ears was so loud that when someone touched him it was only a lifetime of paranoia that kept him from screaming.
Harry turned his head and knew his eyes were blown wide, he still had the fang raised and aimed at Krum, then he saw who stood behind him.
It was Neville and he was pale, but calm. Neville shook his head at Harry, his message clear.
Harry couldn’t think, he couldn’t, because there was something inside of him screaming to kill Krum before Krum could kill him.
Neville was saying no though, shaking his head over and over. When Neville reached over slowly, he circled Harry’s wrist with his hand and lowered it.
Harry let him and then Harry followed him out of the bathroom, walking silently through the door that Trent held open for him.
Once they were back in the hallway, Harry let the fang fall to the floor with a clatter so that he could bend over at the waist and clutch his knees.
It felt like a mistake, letting Krum live. Killing him then would have been a mistake too, Harry was sure of it. If Krum had been the one with a weapon, the one awake and standing over Harry, he wouldn’t have hesitated.
Neville propped the sword against his shoulder so that he could rub his hand down Harry’s arm, murmuring lies to him.
“It was the right thing to do,” Neville said quietly. “He was sleeping, Harry, not fighting.”
Everyone was fighting. Everyone who ran from the blood bath and hid themselves away was fighting. If they didn’t stay in the beginning and let themselves be killed, they were fighting.
It didn’t matter though. The moment had passed and Krum lived because Neville was too soft. How Neville thought he’d go back to Twelve without killing anyone was beyond Harry’s understanding.
Maybe Harry was stupid. Maybe Neville was.
Harry straightened up and subtly scooted away from Neville, breaking his hold on Harry’s arm. Trent had fetched the fang from the ground and offered it to Harry.
“Who was it?” Trent asked him. “The boy from Ten?”
“Trent, shut the fuck up,” Harry said, not having the patience to talk to Trent just then.
Trent frowned and Harry wasn’t going to feel bad. Harry looked away from him, looking at the fang in his hand, and then flinched when someone screamed.
Harry looked up, mistakenly thinking it was Trent who screamed, and then looked to Neville when the scream cut itself off. Neville looked as startled as Harry, but he had already identified the source and he turned to grab the bathroom door handle.
“Don’t!” Harry yelled, grabbing Neville’s wrist just as he had done to Harry. Neville struggled, but Harry held firm.
“If something in there kills him, we don’t have to,” Harry reminded Neville. “We can’t save him.”
“We don’t have to leave him to some - some freaking trap!” Neville cried, yanking on the door knob.
Harry hated to do it, but he squeezed his body beneath Neville’s arm and stood in front of the door with his fang in hand and his other hand clenching the knife. Harry was surprised to see Trent squirm his way over beside him, his fang out as well.
“It’s him or us,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes at Neville challengingly. “You didn’t want to kill him, let’s just wait it out.”
Neville’s hand was still on the door knob and when the door behind Harry began rattling - the boy crying out for help - Neville paled.
“He’s dying,” Neville groaned.
He was. But…
Neville’s hand wasn’t opening the door, it was keeping the knob from being turned.
“Who was the girl you volunteered for?” Trent asked Neville abruptly, speaking loudly to be heard of Krum’s screams. “Is she your giiiiiiirlfriend?”
Despite Harry having told Trent to shut up, it was the right thing to ask. Harry didn’t know if Trent was purposefully manipulating Neville or if he was only a kid asking childish questions, but Neville clenched his eyes shut and Harry watched a spasm twist his features.
Neville wasn’t killing that boy, he wasn’t. But he was though as he prevented the boy from escaping whatever was in the bathroom with him.
“Her name’s Luna and I love her,” Neville said, his face still twisted up. “She’s my best friend in the entire world.”
Harry didn’t listen to Neville tell Trent about Luna, Harry listened to Krum die in what sounded like a horribly painful way just a few inches behind him. Krum was gagging, screaming… Neville’s arm strained as he kept the door from being opened.
It was a trap of some sort that was killing Krum, but it was Neville who was refusing to let him live.
In a way, Harry was glad for it. It showed him that Neville wanted to win, he was there to fight. Neville didn’t want to drive a sword through anyone, but… he was willing to let the other kids die all the same.
The problem was the Harry saw then that Neville wanted to win, he was there to fight.
Two of them could win, but, after the screams ended and the cannon blasted for Krum’s death, there were still eleven more kids before anyone would leave.
How long could Harry expect Neville to keep his word? If it came down to Harry or Trent, would Neville choose Harry?
If it came down to Trent or Neville… would Harry have to choose?
The new twist to the Games was a nightmare for Harry. Every paranoid thought he had felt amplified as the basic foundation of the Games had changed.
It went from an individual contest to a team contest and Harry had never been a team player.
Those thoughts and questions played over in Harry’s mind when he opened the bathroom door to find Krum. Whatever trap had been in the bathroom with him was gone, leaving only Krum to fall over on the floor after the door was opened.
Neville looked sickly when he inspected the scratches on the door, left by fingernails of a boy who wanted to escape some horror. Harry only cared enough to kneel down beside Krum to rearrange him to a more peaceful position.
There was no blood, no injuries on Krum. Only his face twisted in terror gave any indication that something horrible had gotten to him. What it was, Harry had no idea.
Knowing the sick people who designed the traps though, it would have been terrible, terrifying, excellent for entertainment.
Harry probably didn’t win any sponsors by standing idly by while Krum screamed for his life, but he was quickly reaching a point where he couldn’t care as much about sponsors.
Food was great, surviving was better.
Trent said a very little bit about Krum, as he had the girls, and Harry was ready to leave when he heard it.
Footsteps echoing down the hallway, moving too quickly.
Harry thought perhaps the Gamemakers had set off whatever trap had been in the bathroom to push Krum in his path. When he heard the footsteps - at least two people - Harry instead thought that it had been a trap for Harry.
Kill Krum, stall him by using Harry’s moment for the tributes against him, leave him in the area for other tributes to find.
Sirius did warn Harry that he hadn’t made any friends in the rooms where men and women in dark cloaks played with their lives, Harry wasn’t surprised to be caught up in their trap.
“Go!” Harry hissed to Trent, shoving him in the opposite direction of the footsteps. Trent was small, worthless in a fight. He was fast though and he could escape in time, leave Harry free to fight without trying to defend him.
Trent didn’t move after he stumbled from Harry’s shove. He only pulled his fang from his jacket pocket and he raised it.
There wasn’t time to hide, flee, or fight about it. The footsteps were approaching quickly. Harry had his knife in his right hand, open and ready to fly, while he tried to think of who it might be.
The careers were hunting as a pack of four, Harry was certain there were only two people approaching. The girl from Ten was on her own as far as any of them knew, so was Trent’s district partner.
It was most likely the twins from Five, which was almost worst case scenario for Harry. One had volunteered for a sibling, the other volunteered so his brother didn’t go in alone.
Those two would have been the most happy about the new twist. It wouldn’t have been a question to them - not really. They grew up together, they had the same family waiting for them.
It wasn’t them.
Harry threw his knife the instant a body turned in the hallway and it struck the boy in the shoulder before Harry could even identify him. Neville, who maybe got a taste for murder after Krum’s death, charged the hallway and started fighting second boy with his sword while Harry tried to place them.
It was the boys from Three, Blaise and Theo. Theo had gotten Harry’s knife in his shoulder and left it in place while he and Harry began fighting and Blaise was speaking quickly while his sword and Neville’s clashed against each other.
“An alliance,” Blaise was saying, his voice smooth and mocking. “We came to find you to make an alliance.”
Harry scoffed while he slashed the fang at Theo’s face, very nearly catching him. Theo had moved at the last second though and Harry’s fang slashed in midair. Trent ran up to try and help, but it only took one kick from Blaise to send him flying down the hallway.
If Trent didn’t want kicked, maybe he shouldn’t try to get involved in fights he was too small for.
“Yeah?” Harry bit back a scream when Theo grabbed his hair and tried to use his grip to bare Harry’s throat for his knife. Harry tried to stab Theo’s side, missing again as Theo was taller with a longer reach.
“Watch,” Blaise ordered. When Harry glanced at him from the corner of his eye, he was sort of impressed.
Blaise did a twisting motion with his sword after he clashed it against Neville’s, knocking Neville’s from his grip. Blaise probably grew up training for the Games, Neville grew up sharing sandwiches with kids from an orphanage.
It made Blaise the better Tribute, but Neville was the better person.
Neville went entirely still when Blaise moved the tip of his sword to the center of Neville’s chest. Harry felt sick as he watched, too certain that Neville was about to die to notice that Theo wasn’t doing any more than only holding Harry in place.
Harry had already respected Neville, been surprised by his decision to let Krum die. Harry didn’t know he could continue to be surprised by Neville, but he was then.
Neville didn’t close his eyes, he didn’t blink or beg. Neville looked like a man as he stood at Blaise’s mercy and silently waited to die.
“Final words?” Blaise asked Neville, smirking like Harry wasn’t going to leave him so full of puncture wounds that his mom wouldn’t even recognize him.
“Trust the nargles, they’ve never steered us wrong before,” Neville said, his voice loud and steady.
So Neville had went a little crazy, that was understandable. Most people did in the arena and then they died or they became Sirius.
“Touching,” Theo said mockingly.
Trent screamed when Blaise pulled the sword back and Harry and Neville’s eyes met.
‘Win’. Neville mouthed silently.
Harry’s eyes stung and he couldn’t move his head, but he would. Harry would win and he would kill Blaise and —
Blaise dropped his sword just a second before Trent jumped on his back and tried to plunge the fang into his chest.
Theo released Harry and spun around to grab Trent by his arm and Harry was once again momentarily frozen.
They had him, Neville. If Blaise was quick enough, and Harry knew he was from when he had watched him train, Blaise could have killed Neville and then Harry within seconds. Trent would have been easy to finish off then.
But he didn’t.
“What’s going on?” Neville breathed after Theo disarmed Trent without hurting him.
“An alliance?” Harry guessed, not entirely sure.
Harry didn’t like what it said about him that he could put himself in the shoes of gamemakers and his morphling-addicted Godfather ten times more easily than he could the other tributes.
It didn’t make any sense though, none at all. Or, it didn’t, until Blaise caught Harry’s eye and winked.
“I don’t like to use words like blackmail, but as I didn’t kill your friends, you should go out with me.”
Neville made a sound that was half-laugh and half-snort, Harry only groaned.
Harry had forgotten, because he didn’t care, but Harry wasn’t the only tribute playing a part for sponsors.
And apparently Blaise was determined to include Harry in his act.