The Hunt
Harry sat with Blaise while he worked through the impossible weight of what he did. Harry didn't say anything, there was nothing else he could say.
What Blaise did was unforgivable to others, they would never know what it felt like to be forced to kill someone, to lose a friend. They were chosen, some of them volunteered, and then they were sent in an arena where they were made to kill children or to die young.
"Theo was my friend," Blaise said, his voice as broken as his spirit. "He was my friend."
Neville was Harry's. Before it gave him an advantage in the arena, Neville had been Harry's friend. Neville shared sandwiches with him, Neville gave food to Harry for no reason. It wasn't a ploy, it wasn't done to try and get him further in a game. Neville had been needlessly kind.
"I know," Harry said, because he did. Harry had a hole in his chest where Neville had nestled, a hole of the lost friendship that Harry never wanted and couldn't stand to have lost.
"We were going to win together, go home as victors," Blaise said. "We could have done it. If I let Theo kill you, we could have done it."
They could have, Harry could see it. In another Game, Blaise and Theo would have faced Harry and Neville at the end. Harry was good, Harry was the best weapon the Capitol created, but he would have been distracted by protecting Neville. Blaise and Theo were strong, practiced; they would have won.
In another Game, Blaise and Theo were announced as the victors of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games and they went home together for a life of fame and ease. They never struggled again, they mentored their tributes together. Blaise married someone handsome, capable; Theo married someone beautiful who gave him children that eventually competed.
In another one, Harry and Neville won. They won and they returned to District Twelve to get side-by-side houses in Victor Village. Neville didn't mentor their tributes, Harry did it so that Sirius never had to again. Neville's parents invited Harry over for dinner and Harry heard stories about his parents from Sirius. In that life, Blaise died and everyone except Harry forgot his name within a couple of years.
In their Game, Blaise had Theo held to his chest and it took time for him to slowly release him, whispering his goodbyes to his friend, his brother. Harry didn't rush him, he only kept an eye on the opening of the cornucopia so they couldn't be ambushed.
Harry also made his brain work through all the recent deaths, thinking through who was left.
The boy from Eleven with the gun. One of the redheaded twins from Five. The girl from One.
There were three of them left and then Harry could move on to a new arena with Blaise.
Harry couldn't be sure, but he doubted if the girl from One teamed up with anyone. She would be fighting on her own and would split the victory with whoever happened to be in the final two with her. There was a chance that the boy from Eleven decided to work with the boy from Five, neither of them were as cold as the girl and they were both smart, clever.
Girl from One. Boy from Five. Boy from Eleven.
Three more blasts of a canon until Harry would be called a Victor and then a rebel. Harry might end his life being executed on the Capitol lawn, but he'd take as many of those who put them all in arenas with him as he could.
They made Harry a killer, everything that happened was only the result of their choices.
"I have to move him," Blaise told Harry, pulling Harry's mind back to the arena. Harry couldn't plan for what he'd do when he won yet, not until they were finished with the first Game.
"I can do it," Harry offered. Theo did need moved, they couldn't take his body back to his family until it was out of the cornucopia, it didn't mean that Blaise had to do it.
"No, I will," Blaise said. Maybe he did have to do it, maybe Blaise had to kill Theo and he had to move his body. Maybe Blaise would be forever changed in the way Harry was, maybe they were the same.
Maybe they had always been the same.
Blaise picked Theo up and Harry walked ahead of him, knife in one hand and a fang in the other, to clear his path. Harry darted back before Blaise could put him down to grab one of the jackets that Blaise had been resting on while his leg was injured.
It was cold to leave Theo on the stone rooftop alone; Blaise cared for him, he should at least have something soft to lay on.
"Theo could have killed Neville before," Harry said, standing at Theo's feet across from Blaise. Harry's chin was raised, he was back in the Game, and he wanted to be sure someone heard him.
"Any other tribute would have killed Neville," he went on. "But Theo agreed to our deal and he stuck to it. It made him kind, loyal. I hate that we're forced to make these choices, to hurt people we care about. It's the same everywhere though - people turned against each other when we all know who the real enemies are."
Blaise's head snapped up and his eyes were puffy, swollen. There were tear tracks cutting through the dirt on his face, zig-zagged lines of grief. In his eyes though, Harry watched the ember of grief grow to a flame.
"We do know who the real enemies are," Blaise agreed, holding Harry's eyes while they reflected each other's rage built it higher like gasoline on the flames. "And they're not in this arena."
No, no they weren't.
Harry and Blaise backed up to the cornucopia to watch as the mechanical arm was sent down to take Theo from the arena. Blaise did his odd movement with his hands again as Theo rose in the sky, his limbs hanging limply down. Harry put his index finger to his forehead and swung it out before Theo disappeared.
"Let's sort the weapons," Blaise said, his voice dark with the revival of his own fire.
Harry didn't have a problem with that - the sky was beginning to lighten as it reversed through time. Before it reached nighttime, Harry planned to be called as one of the victors.
They organized their weapons, split up the supplies they had into two bags. Harry pulled on the vest he was sent, Blaise used a strip of Harry's old jacket to tie Theo's knife to his forearm. Blaise said he wasn't good enough with the bow to take it with them, so they both took a fang and Harry had his knife.
It didn't seem like much, but it would be enough to end the Games.
"Pansy's cunning, she'll be hard to catch," Blaise said. "I don't know much about the boy from Five, but the one from Eleven has a gun."
"Not much use against this fuckin' thing, is it?" Harry said, patting the vest he wore. If the Capitol wanted to see Harry in their armor, they'd see it. They'd see it many more times in Harry's life.
"No, but I'm not bulletproof," Blaise reminded him. "If you can, get the gun from him, meraviglioso. If not, he's going to kill me."
Not if Harry killed him first. It was callous, Taylor Anderson let Harry live before, but if Harry wanted to make sure they were all remembered - Trent and Neville and the girls that Harry killed - then there was no choice.
Harry and Blaise had to win. It was all suddenly that simple. There was no more Neville to worry about, no more torn loyalties. There were only nineteen dead children, three more that would die, and then two Victors to burn the world together.
They would be the thing that the world never saw coming, that was what Blaise said and that Harry was clinging to. It wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel, but an inferno. A red glowing fire that Harry would spread through the country.
Since they were on the roof and the others knew it, they took the staircase directly down to the bottom floor. Harry walked silently, as Blaise did beside him. They were the last set pair in the Games and all of the others knew it; they wouldn't go seeking out a fight, they would hide.
Harry doubted they could be drawn out again, only snuck up against.
The castle was more well-lit with the risen sun, Harry could see every speck of dust, every spray of blood. Harry saw the place where he had his first kill and the place where Trent had died in his arms. Harry didn't know where it was that Neville had been attacked, attacked in a way that only killed him more slowly. Every floor showed signs of fighting though, signs of death and misery.
The very bottom floor was silent, though there must have been twenty rooms on the floor - four in each hallway, Harry could finally see the layout with plain eyes. The hallways were all squared around an empty space, something that made Harry wonder what the Gamemakers had planned for it. If Harry climbed over the rail, he might find out.
If Harry did that though, he was sure he would set off some sort of trap that the Gamemakers had set for them. It could be fire, more mutts like the ones that attacked the boy from Ten. Maybe another giant snake or some brand new horror twisted by the Gamemakers to kill children with.
"Split up or no?" Blaise whispered.
Harry shook his head - they could see the entire floor with the light. If they went from room to room, they could poke their heads in while the other watched for any tribute to escape.
They started with the very first room they passed. Harry turned the handle quietly and looked inside, his eyes scanning the dusty room. Aside from a few tables, there was nothing interesting in the room. It was the same thing in the next two rooms, Harry didn't find anything of interest until they reached the last door on that floor.
Inside of the room there were desks set up, a sickening mockery of a school. If life were fair - if the President was dead and the Gamemakers went with him - that was where they would all be, a classroom.
Beside the large desk furthest from the door was a mirror, a grand mirror that sparkled as the only clean thing in the room. Harry signaled for Blaise to stay in the doorway, watch for any of the other tributes, while he tiptoed toward the mirror.
He couldn't explain why he wanted to see his own reflection, maybe he wanted to see how much he had changed, maybe it was the mirror itself pulling him in. All Harry knew was that he crossed the room and then gasped quietly when he saw the reflection.
It was Harry, but it wasn't. The Harry in the reflection was clean, healthy, laughing. Harry's head was on Blaise's shoulder while they laid on green grass with sunlight streaming on them. Blaise looked happy, peaceful. Harry - Harry could hardly recognize himself.
There weren't many mirrors in District 12, Harry didn't spend much time looking at himself. Yaxley had mirrors in his bathroom so Harry saw what he looked like, but it was never as calm and happy as that boy was.
That boy wasn't a victor, or a tribute, he had never been a victim. He was happy, he was only Harry and he was so happy for it.
Harry's mind felt very far away, no longer in control of himself at all. It was similar to when he drifted away to watch himself fighting the others, but his mind was just gone. Harry's hand lifted on its own and reached out to brush the picture, to trace the smile on Harry's face.
That Harry never killed anyone, he never watched friends or allies take their last breaths. That Harry didn't know endless hate or rage or pain.
If Harry leaned forward, he wondered if he could fall through the glass, merge with that boy and share his life. Harry wanted to be that happy, that at peace. Harry was tired of fighting, tired of always fighting.
When Harry's forehead touched the cool glass, there was a shout behind him and then suddenly Harry was being yanked away from the peace, from the joy. Harry struggled to get back to it, he struggled to reach out for the picture, when something flew into the picture and shattered the glass, killing the boys who had never hurt anyone.
And once they were gone, Harry's body trembled and the blissful peace he felt left him. Harry looked at the shattered glass in the golden frame and realized it was a trick, a trap. The promise of joy was just another thing the Capitol invented to hurt him.
"You set off a trap." Blaise was there, yanking on Harry's shoulder, pulling him backward from the room. "Run, bellissimo."
Harry's legs were working and he was able to turn, to start running with Blaise. It took his other senses another second to catch up with him and that was when Harry heard howls coming from one side of the floor. The doors on the opposite side were shaking, all of them rattling as something huge and howling must have been slamming against it.
Whatever it was, it must have been designed to kill. It would be bloody, painful, a show for the Capitol pets to watch while a tribute was captivated by a mirror and then ripped to shreds by a beast.
"Fuck." Harry pulled his weapons and put more speed in his legs while the first door started to splinter and the howls filled the entire floor, bouncing off the walls and making Harry imagine an army of vicious beasts.
Just as Blaise's foot hit the first step of the staircase, the beasts broke free. Harry turned to look at them, to see what they were up against, and found himself unable to name them at all.
There were five of them that tore out of the first room, all massive sized and furry. They had hunched backs, sharp teeth that glistened, and dark eyes that were too intelligent for an animal. One of the beasts howled again, its nose pointing up at the ceiling, and Harry pushed Blaise in a rush to get as far away from them as they could.
If there were five in one room and there were four rooms then there were - there were… there were a fucking lot of them and Harry didn't like their odds against them.
The beasts caught their scent or something because Harry could hear their sharp nails slapping on the ground while they started chasing them. Harry kept his knife in hand and had his muscles ready to start swinging it behind them when one of them leaped forward and caught Harry by the shirt.
Harry was pulled back by half of a step and he turned around and slashed at the beast that had him, cutting its snout and spilling black blood. It didn't slow the others though, they surged ahead, trampling the fallen one's body, each fighting to be the one to take a chunk of Harry's flesh off him.
"Come on!" Blaise grabbed Harry's elbow and pulled him along so Harry didn't have to run and fight, he could focus on keeping the mutts off them while Blaise found them a place to go.
Harry slashed at the beasts, stabbing one and ripping it from forehead to snout. It wasn't enough, there were too many of them. They were the trap, meant to rip a tribute to shreds while they were dispatched by a fantasy that was just as fabricated as the mutts themselves were.
"The vents," Blaise said when they reached the next floor. Harry didn't know what he meant until Blaise pulled him into an empty room and slammed the door behind them. "Climb," Blaise ordered, panting from their race up the stairs. The mutts were barging against the door, howling and trying to get to them.
Harry looked up when Blaise shook his arm and saw what Blaise wanted him to do - to climb up and hide in the vents that Trent found.
It should have made Harry falter or hesitate, thinking about Trent and how proud he should be to know that he found a safe place in a death trap. It didn't stop Harry though, it didn't slow him down at all when Blaise cupped his hands together and Harry stepped up on them, flying upward with only a grunt from Blaise.
As soon as Harry was securely in the vent, he reached down for Blaise and pulled hard while Blaise used the doorknob to get himself high enough to pull his body in the vent. The second his weight was gone from the door, the beasts burst in and started jumping for them.
A set of glistening teeth snapped just inches away from the opening where they were. Harry didn't feel afraid when he looked in the glittering eyes that the Capitol designed to kill him.
Harry was made to kill the others, the beasts were made to kill Harry. They were all mutts, but Harry wasn't going to let the beasts win.
"That was close," Blaise breathed shakily. "What was that mirror?"
Everything Harry never spent time wishing for. It had been everything he could have had if there was no Capitol, no Games, no President set on punishing citizens for a war they had never fought.
"A trap," Harry said flatly, watching the beasts for only another moment before he slid the panel back in place and covered them in darkness.
The vents were quiet, only the sound of Blaise and Harry catching their breath could be heard at first. Harry's heart seemed like it was pounding in his ears and he rolled on his back, giving himself thirty seconds to think about what he saw in the mirror.
Could it be the future? The future that Harry could have if he won the games with Blaise? They could destroy the Capitol together, carve Neville and Trent and Theo's name in the President's chest. Then they could lay in grass together and laugh, they could have peace.
It could be the future, if Harry fought for it. If Harry killed three more tributes and then started and finished a revolution, that could be his life.
And that, more than anything, motivated Harry into rolling back over and thinking about how they could use the vents to their advantage.
"Hush," Blaise whispered as soon as Harry opened his mouth. It was hard to see Blaise's face in the dark, but Harry inched closer so he could see Blaise's squint of concentration.
The vents squeaked, straining under the weight of someone moving in them. Harry wasn't moving anymore, Blaise was completely still.
They weren't alone in the vents.
Blaise's eyes bore into Harry's and there was an obvious question there - what should they do?
What should they do?
Taylor from Eleven was too large to fit in the vents, Harry didn't know if the boy from Five knew about them. Pansy would know though, Pansy was the one who killed Trent before he could escape in the vents he discovered.
Pansy was in the vents and Harry owed her a lot of fucking pain and misery. Harry owed her pain, misery, and then a death almost as brutal as Trent's had been.
Another creak and Harry knew they had to find Pansy, find her before she escaped or attacked them.
Harry was light enough that his movements would be quiet, nearly noiseless. Blaise was larger, more muscular, taller. If he went with Harry, they would scare Pansy off and they would have to chase her through the arena that had more hiding places than two people could tear apart.
Harry leaned forward so his lips were directly against Blaise's ear, hiding his whispers from echoing in the vents.
"I'm going after her," he breathed. "Wait until you hear me yell to follow. If you go now, we'll lose her."
"She's dangerous," Blaise whispered back, his breath warm on Harry's skin. "You don't want to face her alone."
Harry wasn't scared; Harry wasn't scared of a single tribute, they were all dangerous. When they all wanted to live, they would do anything and that made them dangerous.
So dangerous… the Capitol was making every citizen the most dangerous weapon. A country full of mutts, waiting for the word to become killers.
"I'll yell when I find her, you can follow then," Harry repeated. "Don't move, we can't lose her."
Blaise stopped Harry by his shirt collar for a second and Harry thought he was going to fight about going with him. He didn't though, all Blaise did was pull him close and crush their mouths together, melting them into one being created in blood and pain and death.
And victory - there would be victory.
"One day," Blaise whispered, "we'll never have to say goodbye."
One day, they could be the boys in the mirror. They would have their regrets, their ghosts that would follow them, but they could have peace, happiness. They wouldn't say goodbye, they would stay together.
"One day," Harry whispered back, staring at Blaise and wondering why he was there.
They were supposed to kill each other and chose not to. Blaise killed Theo, Neville died. Blaise chose Harry and Harry never had to choose.
One day they wouldn't say goodbye anymore, Harry started then while he started slowly crawling away, making sure that he moved lightly enough to not cause a single creak.
The vents were only odd tunnels and Harry licked his lips, tasting Blaise's sweat and spit while he crawled and thought about the Games. Who started them? Who thought of something so perfectly sick?
Why did nobody ever try to end them before? Why were parents not fighting every day to stop the Capitol from killing their kids for sport? The Capitol was so small compared to the rest of the country, they could be overpowered.
The Capitol was a career, strong and well-fed; but they were used to ease and comfort, they didn't know how to struggle like the districts did. The Capitol wanted to control them, the districts wanted to live. It made them dangerous, desperate.
If a kid from Twelve with no family and no home could win the Games, then Panem could win a war.
There was another creak and Harry was close, he was so close. Harry could hear someone whispering to themselves, it was definitely the girl from One.
"Eleven. Five. Three. Twelve. Eleven. Five. Three. Twelve."
Harry grinned for himself, for the cameras that were surely watching him. Pansy was planning to kill them in order - Taylor, the twin, Blaise, Harry. She wanted to save Harry for last, make him the final death.
Pansy wasn't planning to split the win with anyone, she didn't want to save a single person.
It was cold, but it made Harry that much more ready to end her life.
What was the song that Trent sang? Harry started humming it while he closed in on Pansy, wanting her to know who it was that sent Harry to find her.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," Harry sang quietly, his smile growing when he heard Pansy's movements become panicked. She wanted to escape and she couldn't, Harry wouldn't let her. Harry moved faster and sang louder, hopefully confusing her with his voice echoing in the vents.
"You make me happy, when skies are grey."
Pansy shrieked, she was angry and she was trapped.
Harry's heartbeat picked up with his voice and he sang loudly, the words etched in his memory while he replayed Trent's murder in his mind. Harry could picture Pansy cutting him, Draco laughing about his childish cries.
"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you…"
There she was. Harry could see her in the darkness, he could pause for a second and watch her struggle with a wall panel that wasn't moving. Harry's body was blocking the only exit, he had her trapped and cornered.
Only one of them would make it out of the vents.
"You killed my ally, Pansy," Harry said. Pansy tried to swivel around, she was only a little larger than Harry, but Harry had an advantage in Trent's vents. All of the others who were sure their size and weight would help them only knew of half the arena, they had no idea the secret and hidden tunnels that would travel through the arena for the smallest of tributes.
Pansy had a two pronged spear that she tried to jab in Harry's neck the second she faced him. She snarled when Harry flattened himself and all she did was slice against the top of his head, a shallow cut from what Harry could feel, before her spear hit the metal of the vent and sparks flew between them.
"I was looking for you," Pansy sneered, pulling her spear back just as quickly as Harry pulled out his knife. If Harry had carried it in his mouth, she would already be dead. But Harry knew, he knew, he was going to kill her.
For Trent, he was going to make it painful. The last memory of Pansy's short life.
"Were you? It sounded like you were saving me for last," Harry said, slicing his knife out and slashing the front of Pansy's arms when she moved them for protection. Her blood began to spill, mixing with Harry's, and Harry could feel it sticking to his legs, his own arms.
"Best for last, darling," Pansy said, her teeth flashing in the dark and making Harry laugh. It wasn't a nice laugh, it was cold and angry, angry at all that Pansy had done.
"That explains why I'm killing you now and saving Eleven for last," Harry taunted her, lashing out again and catching her face. Pansy wobbled to her side and Harry balanced on his knees so he could grab her by the hair and bang her head against the vent.
Pansy was weaker, not as well-rested, not as determined. Harry did it again and his controlled fury burst out of him.
"You think you were the best?" Harry yelled, making sure she could hear him over the clank that her head made every time it connected with the vent. With every slam, Pansy's frantic movements to stab Harry were slower, easier to avoid.
"You killed a little boy, Pansy!"
CLANK!
"Did it make you feel good? Killing someone so much smaller than you?"
CLANK!
"You couldn't even do it alone!" Harry laughed again and there was an edge to it, an edge almost as sharp as his knife. Pansy's eyes looked unfocused and Harry slammed her head down instead of to the side so he could climb on top of her, putting his knife at the edge of her throat.
"Beg me," Harry demanded, glaring down at her and imagining Yaxley, Riddle, Dumbledore - everyone who hurt someone smaller than them just because they could.
"Beg me for mercy," Harry said softly, sliding the blade across her throat just enough to split the skin and have blood bubble up. "Say ‘please, Harry, don't kill me'."
Pansy wasn't going to break easily, Harry could feel it. Pansy spat upward, Harry laughed when the bloody spit landed back on her own face.
"‘Please, Harry, don't kill me'," Harry repeated, dragging his knife down the line he made a little deeper. Pansy gasped and the blood was trickling down her pale neck while Harry readjusted so that his knee pushed down on her arm, keeping her from trying to stab him again.
"Fuck you," Pansy said, weak but still fighting in the only way she could. Harry traced the cut again and Pansy started to scream and only cut it off halfway through by what seemed to be iron willpower.
"I'll end it now," Harry told her, staring hard into her eyes. Pansy was pretty, Harry had never noticed before. Pretty, strong, smart - she would have made the perfect victor.
"I won't drag this out if you'll beg me." Harry slid the blade of his knife in the cut again, softly making sure to knick as much of her skin and nerves as he could. Pansy tried to swallow and couldn't when Harry flipped the knife and started digging in the cut, scraping and pulling at anything the blade could reach.
"PLEASE!" Pansy's voice broke, the cut gurgled and gushed blood when a sob ripped from her chest. "PLEASE!"
Harry smiled as he leaned forward and put his lips just inches away from hers. "That boy you killed, that little boy? He never begged, you miserable bitch."
Harry couldn't give Trent's brothers Trent back, but Harry could give them Pansy's plea. Harry could give them a sense of pride in knowing that Trent - the smallest, weakest, most innocent of tributes - died as twice the fighter that Pansy wanted the country to see her as.
Pansy tried to scream in either pain or frustration again and Harry dug his knife in the center of the cut and twisted - hard.
Blood sprayed from Pansy's throat and it didn't phase Harry, it didn't hurt him. Harry had the blood paint his face while Pansy gurgled once more, twice more, then silence.
Just before the cannon blasted, Harry put two fingers to his forehead, three to his lips, four to his chest.
"So please, don't take my sunshine away."