The Date
The Hunger Games reminded Blaise of his classes back in District Three.
Every single decision required an assessment of risks versus benefits. If the risk outweighed the benefits, it was a poor decision. If the benefit weighed heaviest though, then the risk was worth it.
Blaise had to put Mother’s spin on his decisions as well though:
How will this be viewed by the Capitol?
Regardless of any benefit, if the decision would have negative repercussions by the Capitol then Blaise couldn’t do it.
Blaise was handsome, not stupid. There were always ways to make a citizen pay for their choices. Blaise could be killed by a well-timed bomb in the arena, his mother could be killed in a robbery.
There had been a girl in Blaise and Theo’s class at home, Lily Moon. She had been pretty, plain, forgettable. Then her sister was reaped and nobody knew what sight the girl had made in the arena, it wasn’t televised, but Lily Moon and her parents had been killed in their home the same day that her sister was killed by a mutation in the arena.
It went without saying that the peacekeepers called the death of the Moon family a robbery gone wrong and no one had been arrested for the crime.
Blaise had a great many thoughts about the President who ruled over their country, but he had more fear than disdain. Blaise also had common sense, a mother who would be hurt for his decisions, and a desire to not die.
All things that his too charming companion lacked.
Harry Potter was a marvel, truly. How did a boy from Twelve have a higher score than Blaise and the same kill count in the arena? Blaise had been willing to write the score off as a fluke, perhaps a punishment of sorts, but Blaise kept track.
There were four deaths that Blaise had not caused, nor did any of the others in his original pack. It could have been the wily twins from Five, the beautiful girl from Ten, even the boy who looked like a soldier from Eleven. But Harry Potter had his own pack, a cache of weapons, and a dead body by his feet when Blaise found him.
It was a shame that Harry would die before Blaise and Theo won the seventy-fourth Hunger Games because he would do so well as a Victor.
In the meantime though, Blaise had a part to play. A role he had perfected before even being chosen for the games.
“Your mentor approves,” Blaise said with a lazy smile and a gesture to the basket delivered to Harry. “I do hope there’s a candle in there, it adds an air of romance.”
The look of death that Harry gave him was no matter. Blaise wasn’t harming him with his flirtations, only setting himself up as the victor to remember.
They would ask Blaise about Harry at his victory interview and Blaise would feign heartache.
“Harry was special,” Blaise would say, his voice choked with emotion. “There are few who could hope to fill his shoes.”
The audience would weep, they would imagine themselves as individuals who could heal Blaise’s broken heart. Blaise would get a few months of peace before he was pushed to follow in the grand tradition of attractive victors being used as sexual slaves, by then Blaise hoped to be married and safe from that future.
Perhaps Theo would marry him, a false marriage to keep them both safe. It was worth a discussion after they won, anyway. Mother would approve, she had married her mentor immediately following her victory to keep from being used as a whore for the Capitol.
Juliana Zabini rarely remained unwed for long, and she would continue to follow that path until she was old enough that the interest in her body had diminished. Blaise could personally do without the endless string of men who thought Blaise was theirs to raise, to discipline, to train, but what kept his mother safe kept him safe.
Harry’s death would be a stopgap for Blaise. Blaise wouldn’t kill him and he would mourn him when someone else did. That grief would get Blaise home safely where he would follow in his mother’s footsteps of whirlwind romances and a meaningless ring eternally stuck on his left hand.
The current romance would play better if Harry had not challenged President Dumbledore on the stage during his interview, but Blaise had already committed to the story he created. It would also help if Harry would show Blaise the slightest interest, though his mentor did seem to be nudging Harry in his direction with the well-timed gift.
“A picnic in a castle is peak romance, bellissimo assassino,” Blaise said, layering on the charm. He could see Theo’s deadpan expression from the corner of his eye - but Theo was boring.
Enter the arena, kill, win.
Where was the thrill? Where was the story that could immortalize a victor amongst victors? Juliana Zabini had the quickest games, Blaise would have the most tragic.
And by God, Blaise would get a back alley procedure done to ensure that he never accidentally reproduced. Blaise would be the last Zabini in the arena.
“Yeah, really romantic,” Harry drawled, his eyes flashing with anger. His eyes truly were his best feature, and anger was good; strong, passionate.
“You, me, in a secluded fucking location so you can kill me,” Harry went on. “Or have your little career pals to do it.”
“Careful, Potter,” Theo said with a careless twirl of one of his fingers. “Your cynicism is showing.”
“If my plan was to kill you, why would I not have done it already?” Blaise pointed out. Blaise had Longbottom by the throat; Longbottom was only still breathing because Blaise wanted to be unforgettable.
“Because you’re a dramatic ass who wants to give the Capitol a good show,” Harry snapped.
He wasn’t wrong, he only wasn’t correct either.
“Fine.” Blaise slowly raised the spear he had been using and let the others watch as he placed it on the table then backed away from it.
The risk was heavy, the possible benefit better.
“You bring whatever weapon you’re most at ease with,” his knife, judging from the wound in Theo’s shoulder, “and I’ll go unarmed.”
Both of Harry’s eyebrows raised at that, his surprise was easy to read. By God, he was pretty though, wasn’t he? Delicate featured, strong willed.
“Blaise…” Theo made a sound of disapproval, as any good wingman should. They both knew that Blaise had another weapon in his pocket, one that would drop an opponent quickly.
“I choose to believe that love can be found in any place,” Blaise declared with a stubborn lilt to his voice.
That was good, nice and quotable. There would be shirts emblazoned with those words when Blaise won.
It made Harry roll his eyes, but some people had no sense of theatrics.
Harry looked to Longbottom then and Blaise watched with interest as they seemed to carry on a silent conversation. Blaise and Theo were quite good friends before entering the arena together, Blaise didn’t expect there to be other previously established friendships.
The twins in Five, yes, the couple from Eight, sure. But Harry and Longbottom communicated as easily as Blaise and Theo and that required a level of trust and understanding that other tributes didn’t bother with.
The game had changed with the announcement of a second victor, not so much that Blaise expected many partners would hold implicit trust for one another.
Draco and Pansy certainly didn’t.
Harry and Longbottom carried on their conversation and Blaise patiently waited while he pondered over the strange alliances Harry had made. Longbottom made sense, in a way. They came from the same district and Longbottom looked able to overpower most of the other tributes if it came to a hand-to-hand battle.
The little boy from Eleven though? Blaise wondered what be brought to Harry’s pack. It certainly wasn’t any physical skill or intellect with weapons. The boy was quiet, obviously relying on the other two for protection.
He was a peculiar ally to have, certainly. Blaise would have to ask what made Harry choose him on their date.
The first date to ever be seen in the Hunger Games. It was a date that would be replayed for an eternity, which meant that it needed to be perfect. Future tributes would try, and fail, to mimic the angle Blaise played.
Blaise was setting a bar in the history of the Games.
It took nearly two minutes, but Harry finally sighed as he snatched up the basket and slammed it on the table beside Blaise’s spear.
“Are you hungry?” he asked Theo, quite aggressively.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Possibly.”
He had to be, they had been a tad impulsive when they decided to split off from Draco and Pansy. Once the announcement happened that two would win the games, Blaise knew that Draco and Pansy would kill them quickly.
They had waited for a chance to gather a few weapons, then they left to find a new pack to hunt with. Theo had a bag with two cans of spiced peaches in them, Blaise had covered himself in weapons, and they left.
It meant they no longer had access to the cornucopia where there were more weapons and food - but Blaise hoped the four of them, five if he counted the little boy, would be able to overtake Crabbe and Goyle.
Once they were dead, they could utilize all the goods within the cornucopia. Then they would need to take care of Pansy and Draco, the twins from Five, the girl from Ten, and it would be the five of them left to battle it out.
Theo could kill Harry, Blaise would kill Longbottom. God knew the little boy would get himself killed before then.
Then it would be a double win from District Three and a victor’s arena for them.
Harry muttered a variety of colorful curses as he sifted through the basket. He eventually pulled out half a loaf of bread that was passed to Longbottom and a sack of green grapes that he gave to Bailey.
“Share with him,” Harry ordered them, confirming Blaise’s belief that he was their leader. Harry pointed at Theo, surprising everyone in the room except for Blaise.
It seemed perfectly in character that a District Twelve boy would slit an opponent’s throat with his fingernails before he allowed him to go hungry. There were some struggles that, once felt, it was difficult to inflict upon others.
“I…” Theo glanced quickly at Blaise, who remained impassive against what he knew Theo was going to do. Theo shrugged his shoulders up and slung his bag around so that he could pull one of the jars from within it.
“We can share this as well,” Theo offered, holding up the peaches for the others to see.
Blaise smiled winningly at Harry when Harry snatched both the basket and the spear.
“Allow me,” Blaise said, reaching to take the basket. “You can defend us if we’re attacked on the way.”
Harry’s hand flexed tighter on the basket for a moment, a moment born of distrust, and then he released it.
“Trent,” Harry looked toward the little boy who had been rather quiet up to then. Harry raised an eyebrow at him and seemed to be conveying a different message silently than the one he said aloud.
“Think of something cool to say if you need to,” Harry told him, his voice light while his eyes were searing. “Got it?”
The boy, Trent, looked puzzled for a moment before he eventually lit up in understanding.
“Got it!” he said with a wide smile. “Have fun on your super weird and gross date!”
As Blaise was neither weird nor gross, he assumed that it was Trent’s age that made him make such a rude statement.
Blaise didn’t bother with any statement to Theo before they split up for the first time since they were reaped. Theo knew to kill the others if needed, Blaise knew they would see each other shortly.
“Follow me,” Blaise told Harry when they left the room the others were in. Blaise gave Harry a charming smile that Harry didn’t seem impressed by.
“Tell me why you’re doing this,” Harry said instead, making it clear that he would go nowhere with Blaise until his question was answered.
“Is it wrong to try and find some small moment of joy in a time filled with darkness?” Blaise asked him, half-earnest.
The hard look on Harry’s face softened some, making him look less prone to driving the spear through Blaise’s chest. Harry was a gorgeous thing, soft and lovely, but it was the juxtaposition of the fire inside him that Blaise noticed immediately that kept Blaise interested.
It was fleeting, it had to be, but what a way to waste time.
“If this is a trap, I will cut your body in tiny pieces and feed it to a snake,” Harry warned him. “There won’t be anything left for your family to bury.”
Blaise laughed and began leading Harry toward one of the towers. The twins from Five had set up traps in two towers, but as of an hour or so ago, the south-east tower was safe to use.
“District Three doesn’t bury bodies,” Blaise told Harry while they walked quietly down the hallway. Each hallway made a square on every floor, and each corner gave them access to a tower. Blaise passed the first tower, certain it wasn’t the one he wanted to use.
“What the fuck do you do with bodies then?” Harry asked, sounding scandalized and then disgusted. “You don’t - do you…?”
“Cremation,” Blaise assured him swiftly. Blaise was unsure what Harry was insinuating, but he was certain it was some horrific idea.
“What’s that?”
“Cremation?” Blaise asked, receiving a short nod in return. “We return the bodies to ash, spread them in the wind. It frees the spirit to return to us in some form.”
“You burn the bodies?” Harry asked. “That seems…”
Blaise gestured around them, indicating the arena they were in.
“Cruel?” he guessed playfully. “They’re dead, Harry. They don’t feel pain or pleasure.”
A happy citizen either lived in the Capitol or was dead. Blaise hoped that when he went one day, his spirit would return in the body of a bird. Not one of the mutations created to torment children or to torture criminals, but a bird that was free to soar in the skies.
There was no pre-destined path for the birds in the sky. They had no arenas, no constraints on their freedom.
It was a dream, one of the few Blaise allowed himself to have.
They reached the tower that Blaise had been searching for and Blaise took a moment to look upward in caution. Somewhere within the castle were six other tributes, two more on the roof.
It would be a shame if Blaise’s idea led to his early demise. Harry must have been thinking similarly, for he stared hard up through the spiral staircase with his eyes narrowed for any hint of others lurking in the shadows.
When they were both satisfied that they were as alone as a tribute could be, they sat down on the floor.
“If we were in District Three, this would be a much more formal affair,” Blaise told Harry as be placed the basket between them. “I would have to ask your guardian for permission to take you out, then we would go to one of parks and share a meal while we determined if we were a good match for courtship.”
Harry let out a single sarcastic bark of laughter as he pulled out two red apples and offered one to Blaise. It hadn’t occurred to Blaise before then, but it was rather impressive that Harry had enough sponsors for such a gift.
Fruit was a rarity at home, it had to be a pricey offering in the arena.
“And you think we’re a good match?” Harry asked tauntingly as he sat back and watched Blaise.
Truthfully?
Yes.
There was something about Harry that made Blaise regret they met in such circumstances. Even in that moment, when Harry leaned back with one hand holding himself upright, the weapon beneath his fingers, Blaise could admit he was devastating.
Blaise was handsome, that was a fact. Blaise had his father’s dark skin, his mother’s classic cheekbones. Blaise was tall, in excellent physical condition. Blaise was conventionally attractive.
Harry was… something else entirely. His eyes were too big, his nose too feminine. Harry’s hair looked to be trying to defy laws of gravity as it stood up in the back and laid over his forehead in waves.
There was a thinness to Harry’s body that Blaise didn’t expect. Twelve was an impoverished district, but Harry’s godfather was a victor with the same riches that Blaise’s mother had. Even with the thinness though, Blaise wouldn’t say that Harry looked weak.
He was sharp, electric, different.
Exciting.
“I think that if we both survive the arena that I would never let you rest until you admit that we are,” Blaise said, slowly, carefully.
It was regretful that they wouldn’t both survive. If Theo were to fall in the field though… well, Blaise would have to choose someone to share the victory with.
“Because we’re both tributes?” Harry asked. He curled his lip in a sneer. “Or because you told the whole fucking country that you think I’m pretty?”
Blaise took a bite of the apple he held to stall as he tried to decipher why Harry was irritated by that. It had been a misstep on Blaise’s part, but it had done no damage to Harry.
In fact, with Blaise’s slip-up on stage and Harry’s score, it likely explained Harry’s sponsors.
“You are pretty,” Blaise said. He quirked his lips up in a half-smile. “More dazzling than pretty though, like lightning. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
Harry stared disdainfully at Blaise and Blaise chuckled. Clearly he would get no where with compliments.
“Tell me about your district?” Blaise asked, a courtesy more than an interest.
“It sucks,” Harry quipped immediately. “It’s dirty and too cold in the summers, too hot in the winter. There’s one week in the fall when it’s nice, but then it gets cold again.”
“Do you not have heat inside your house?” Blaise asked curiously. “Or a fireplace for a fire?”
Mother had been on victory tours before, she told Blaise all the homes for victors were the same in every district. Blaise’s home didn’t always have electricity for heat, but he would chop wood for the fireplace when needed. It was rare that Victors Village lost electricity, but it had happened before.
“I don’t have a house,” Harry said, drawling the words out slowly, as if Blaise were dim. It was going to bother Blaise eventually, the continuous insinuation that he was unintelligent.
“I mean your godfather’s house,” Blaise said, apparently playing a game of semantics on what was meant to be a light-hearted moment to set him apart from the others.
“Sirius?” Harry blinked. “I’ve never been inside his house.”
Blaise felt caught off-guard then. Harry didn’t seem to be lying, he actually seemed more open than usual. It made no sense though.
“Who do you live with?” Blaise asked, frustrated.
“Myself.”
“The Capitol gave you your own lodging?”
“It’s a tent.”
A… tent.
Blaise knew what a tent was, he had seen them in the games before if not in his life. Tents were fabric shaped like a very small house. They didn’t look very warm, or comfortable.
“Why do you not live with Sirius?” Blaise asked. Blaise had seen the footage from many previous games. Sirius Black’s year was replayed as often as Blaise believed his own would be.
It had been a tragic year. Sirius Black won after his brother died and the last words he said to the man was that he would care for his son. The entire of Panem knew what happened next - James Potter died, the girl carrying his child died in childbirth. Sirius went back to his district as a victor and godfather.
“I don’t think he likes kids,” Harry said casually, as if his face didn’t betray the truth of the matter. There was something about his eyes, they were open pools of emotion and the subject of Sirius Black was an upsetting topic.
“I suppose that’s why he won his games,” Blaise said, just as casually. It took a moment for the morbid joke to land, but Harry smirked when it had.
“What about your mom?” Harry asked, turning the subject back on Blaise. “Does she like kids?”
“One,” Blaise said, unconsciously smiling. Juliana Zabini was many things, but a poor mother was never one of them.
Her taste in suitors often left much to be desired, but the ones who weren’t perfectly indifferent to Blaise had a tendency to not last long.
“I think I’ve seen your mom on TV before,” Harry commented. He tossed the apple in his hand in the air, repeatedly catching it one-handed. “She doesn’t seem like she’d be a very nice mom.”
“She is,” Blayde said defensively. There was a heavy weight to being Juliana’s son, but Blaise loved his mother and she loved him. “She’s very different in private than public,” he added.
“Was she sad you were reaped?” Harry asked.
Was she sad? No.
“She was proud,” Blaise told him, thinking of his mother when she saw him before he left Three. There had been no tears, no fears. Mother knew when Blaise had been born that he would be in an arena one day, it was the excitement of a victor’s child competing to add interest to the games.
It seemed like small odds that the children of two victors would end up in the arena together, but Blaise’s mentor had mentioned that the stakes in the games had never been higher. Blaise was unsure how coincidental it was that he and Harry were chosen the same year, but it was a moot point to speculate on.
They were there, they may as well make the best of it while they could.
“See? That’s not what I think a nice mom would feel if their kid got reaped,” Harry said, arguing in his factual tone as if he knew all the secrets to the world. Harry tossed the apple up, caught it. “I think a nice parent would be sad, worried that they’d never see their kid again.”
“Oh what would you know?” Blaise scoffed, forgetting their place and roles for a moment. “Your parents are dead and your godfather’s an embarrassment.”
Harry wasn’t offended, he actually straightened up and grinned, as if Blaise’s insult pleased him.
“Still think we’d make a good match?” Harry mocked him, his grin widening. “If we win are you going to come back and live with the tent kids in Twelve?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’d live in the Victor’s Village in Twelve,” Blaise said, a pretty and empty idea. “We’d co-mentor the future tributes and fill the village with victors.”
“If we live there then we have to invite my friends to move in too,” Harry said. The way he continued to grin at Blaise, as if they were sharing a secret together, was enticing. It made Blaise move just a little closer to him.
“What’s a mansion without roommates?” Blaise said airily. “Can you cook? If not, we may need to hire one of them to do it for us.”
“Course. We can’t be victors and cook our own meals,” Harry agreed. “I know this couple that can make soup out of anything…”
Blaise seemed unable to resist his slow inching around the picnic basket until he was seated on Harry’s left-hand side. Harry didn’t seem to notice or care as he told him about a couple he knew that ran some sort of soup booth.
Harry was a magnetic story-teller, Blaise was certain the entire country was listening to him. Harry used his left hand to emphasize his point, nearly hitting Blaise a few times. There was something else about it too, some indescribable quality that made Blaise crave more stories from him once the first one ended.
“Do you they’re drumming up support to sponsor you?” Blaise asked.
“I… maybe, yeah,” Harry said hesitantly, as if he hadn’t considered that the people he spoke so highly of might return the sentiment. “There’s some peacekeepers that like me, they might be helping.”
“Peacekeepers?” Blaise asked, surprised. Blaise wouldn’t use the taboo word ‘rebel’, but if he had to describe Harry’s every public appearance thus far... “You’re friendly with peacekeepers?”
Harry flashed a bitter and sharp smile, one that cut Blaise as effectively as any knife would do.
“In a way,” Harry said shortly. “What about you? Who’s supporting you?”
“My mother,” Blaise said. “Her friends, I suppose. I have a few friends at home with wealthy parents, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were sending Theo and I their support as well.”
Harry hummed and tossed the apple. “Girlfriend?”
“No,” Blaise smiled. “And you’re incredibly subtle.”
“Just wondering if I’ve got some kid in Three rooting for my death right now,” Harry said without shame.
Blaise leaned toward him some, drawn forward by the enigmatic juxtaposition that was Harry Potter.
“And you, bellissimo assassino?” Blaise murmured, staring in Harry’s eyes and wishing he could hear every story Harry held within him before his death. “Who is rooting for my death?”
Harry lifted his chin and studied Blaise with hooded eyes and a hint of a smirk curling his lips.
“Nobody important,” he said, his voice low. He lowered it more, a whisper Blaise read off his lips more than heard. “Be honest, am I an act for sponsors?”
For sponsors? No. Blaise has plenty of those. Harry was only thinking in terms of the arena, no forethought to the games a victor would have to play to appease the Capitol.
“No,” Blaise said, his eyes flicking up then down. It was a small truth, one that Blaise did no risk or benefit analysis of before giving the beautiful boy who must have known Blaise had an angle from the beginning but went along with it.
It was a gift, a thank-you.
And Harry returned Blaise’s gift with one of his own.
“If I lose sponsors for this, I’ll kill you slowly,” Harry breathed, the only warning before he released the spear beneath his right hand so that he could pull Blaise down by the back of his neck and press their lips together.
It was surprise after surprise with Harry.
Blaise expected a knife to the neck before he expected Harry to kiss him so that Blaise’s story to the country had any validity.
Not that it stopped Blaise from taking full advantage of it.
Blaise put one hand on the small of Harry’s back, pulling him closer. His other hand went to Harry’s hair, curious about the dark waves that were so messy, so soft.
It was the most human contact Blaise had in so long that he couldn’t resist guiding Harry with his mouth, deepening the kiss until they were able to taste the other. The lack of toothpaste in the arena made it unhygienic, but that only added a thrill to it that Blaise couldn’t deny.
Was there anywhere more forbidden, more frowned upon, to be kissing so passionately? It nearly felt rebellious, doing it in the arena. The thought made Blaise’s heart to race and his head to spin dizzily.
Blaise Zabini, the victor’s son, kissing the rebel within the arena.
What an image they must be making as Blaise leaned back and Harry threw a leg over his lap with graceful ease.
“Do this often?” Blaise teased him quietly when he broke the kiss for air.
Harry ducked his head, feigning as if he were kissing Blaise’s neck while he breathed in his ear.
“I don’t care how hungry you are, I’m not fucking you,” he breathed before he did actually kiss Blaise’s neck.
Blaise chuckled, thinking that it had never even occurred to him to press for such a thing. They were making history as it was, no need to make it lewd.
“We’ll save it for our mansion in Twelve,” Blaise said, just loud enough for the cameras. When Harry nipped Blaise’s neck with his teeth, Blaise quickly and carefully flipped him until he was on his back and Blaise was above him.
It couldn’t be comfortable, laying on the stone floor, but Harry stared up at Blaise with eyes so bored that it felt like a challenge. Harry might believe he was doing Blaise’s favor, but Blaise intended to ensure that it was a memorable experience for Harry as well.
When death was imminent, pleasure should be chased with abandon.
“Tell me if I go too far,” Blaise whispered before he brushed Harry’s hair away from the curve of his back. Harry’s hair was dirty, possibly even soaked with blood.
It wouldn’t have been Harry’s blood. It would be the blood of a tribute that Harry killed, tore down in his desire to live.
By God, Blaise might never be able to touch another human being if they had never killed at least one person. It was more than the rush that came with knowing Blaise was tracing the side of someone deadly, it was the shared connection that formed when they both took the life of another - multiple times each.
“Gorgeous,” Blaise said, hardly thinking of the cameras at all anymore.
Harry’s eyebrows pinched together then and his muscles tightened beneath Blaise. There was confusion lurking in the back of his eyes, shadows of something that Blaise couldn’t decipher - would never have the time to.
What a waste.
It was a heavenly moment of bliss in the midst of hell while Blaise laid there, doing nothing while everything slowly changed.
Blaise made Harry blush when he kissed his neck. Harry squirmed when Blaise traced his hip bone on the outside of his clothes.
It was all rather innocent; it was driving Blaise absolutely mad.
If they weren’t interrupted, Blaise might have stayed there until the games ended. Theo could inform him when they were the final three and then Blaise could blink just slow enough to allow Theo to kill Harry.
Blaise would need to remove the layer of his skin that had touched Harry, the stylists in the Capitol could do that. They could make him over into someone who never touched - never knew.
What Blaise couldn’t lose would be the memories of the mercy they gave each other, the one great gift that no Gamemaker could take away. Blaise would see green every time he closed his eyes, every time he took a new lover.
It would have been acceptable - had Harry not seared himself beneath Blaise’s skin when they were interrupted.
There had been nothing but quiet breathing, whispered words of nothing. The arena was silent, the country was likely transfixed on the innocent explorations between two boys condemned to death.
And then there was a scream - sharp, pained, childish.
Harry went from soft, pliant, content to shoving at Blaise, pale, and gasping.
“Trent,” he said as he shoved Blaise off him with strength he shouldn’t have. Blaise rolled to his side and hadn’t even connected Harry’s one word explanation with the scream before Harry was running up the staircase, Blaise’s spear in his hand.
Blaise’s blood finally return to his brain and adrenaline flooded through his limbs, sending him off after Harry. The scream was still echoing, definitely coming from a floor above them, and Harry was wasting no time.
It likely was the little boy from Eleven, no other tribute in the arena could sound so young.
Harry tore off from the second floor landing, chasing down the sound of the scream just before it cut off all at once.
When the scream stopped, Harry did for a moment too. Harry froze, his head quirked to the side, and then he inhaled sharply.
The entire earth shifted as Blaise watched Harry go from a pretty puzzle, someone interesting and compelling enough to make his partner as he sought to create history, to someone deadly, someone prepared to create a war just so he could win it.
Not only to win, but to punish, to condemn.
Blaise was fond of Theo, they had been friends their entire lives… but Blaise could never extinguish the pure fire that made up Harry in that moment. No man, no Gamemaker, no mere tribute could.
Could God himself take Harry?
Blaise didn’t believe so.
Harry Potter would win the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Blaise realized it then. Though, he should have known it from the first time they met. It was hubris that made Blaise believe he would outwit Harry when Harry was born for the Games.
Instead, Blaise followed like a helpless dog after a steak as Harry ran to find his tiny ally - and Blaise hoped that a God would have mercy on the soul of whoever, whatever, caused that scream, because he was certain Harry would not.