The Finale
The monitors showed mayhem, chaos.
Citizens had guns in Eleven, peacekeepers were dead in Five. Twelve had yet to revolt, but they would.
They all would.
Tom Riddle's eyes lit up when he saw the banners being waved in Eleven, the ones painted with Trent Bailey's name, Harry Potter's face. It was all so truly beautiful, the unrest that had spread to plague every citizen.
There would never be another Hunger Games, there would never be anything to top the Seventy-Fourth games. When Tom took his place as president, every citizen would recognize him as the brilliant mind who turned the Capitol's weapon against them.
The Potter boy would kill Dumbledore and the old man would know, he would know, that it was Tom who set off the chain of events leading to his downfall. A small boy with a sharp tongue could never plan out the rebellion they started, but he would be the face of it.
The symbol of hope - the boy who was sentenced to death and who survived.
Riddle had been weary at first, unsure whether pushing the boy would spell out his own downfall. Would the country want him as a leader in the times of war and peace?
Potter made it easy though, never once playing a game that was sophisticated or political. Potter was lightning personified, everywhere he struck burned up in flames. Potter could lead the war, Riddle would take the crown in peace.
Riddle twirled in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The girl from One had been retrieved, it wouldn't be long before Riddle set off the mutts to drive the other four together. Black knew what he was meant to do; Potter would win.
Potter would be the Boy-Who-Lived and Riddle would take over the entire country.
Five and Eleven were creeping slowly through the arena, whispering about their best plan of attack for the other boys. Eleven had his rifle, Five had a snare wire. They were bigger than Potter, physically stronger. But those boys were not hungry for it as Potter was - they did not salivate for the kill. If they won, they would join the rebellions.
When Potter won, he would take them over.
Riddle's finger stalled over the button to begin the end of the Games, all he needed to do was drive Five and Eleven up to the roof with the clever mutts he designed. Riddle watched Potter and Three, waiting to see when they were ready to fight for the win.
Just before Riddle's long and pale finger could press the button, the door to his private office opened.
Riddle looked away from his pawns and stood as President Dumbledore strode in the room.
"Riddle." Dumbledore's eyes were hard, frozen tundras of blue ice. "I believe it is high time we had a conversation."
Riddle put pressure on the button and triggered the end of his game.
"Certainly, President."
*****
It was going to end soon, Blaise knew that.
The sky was light, an early morning mixture of pink and orange. The air felt fresher, it felt like something real that they would experience soon.
Blaise and Harry were waiting on the roof, cleaning their weapons and drinking as much water as they could. There was no reason to not split up their meager food supplies, there wouldn't be another night in the arena.
Harry was keyed up, ready for the inevitable fight. Blaise leaned back on his hands and watched him, looked over every cut and scar he had, wondering what their future would include. When Harry glanced up from the knife he cleaned, Blaise tossed him a crooked grin.
"What's the first thing you're going to do when we leave?" Blaise asked. It didn't matter, Blaise was sure he would know within a few hours, but he was curious.
"Sirius is buying me a drink," Harry said, his lips curling up in the corner while he continued cleaning Pansy's blood off the knife. "If I wait just a little longer, he's buying me a drink."
"Can I come?" Blaise grinned. "Won't dear old Sirius need to get to know his godson-in-law?"
Harry laughed and it made Blaise's smile grow, seeing him so light and free with the end approaching them. They weren't scared, they weren't worried. They would see it to the very end - just the two of them.
"Why not?" Harry asked, flashing a genuine smile at Blaise. It made Blaise giddy, getting to have all of Harry's many facets to himself. "I'd like to meet your mom too, the woman with the quickest games and all."
Blaise could see it, he could see it so clearly. Juliana Zabini would adore Harry, Blaise very well may be replaced as her favored son. Mother would have watched every second of the Games, possibly with Blaise's mentor while they collaborated on strategies to gain sponsors.
When the Capitol reporters went to interview her for Blaise, she would have raved. There was no shortage of love between them; a love that would grow with their shared experience. It was a love that would spread to include Harry once they finished, once they shared a crown and a place in history.
"Perhaps we could set up my mother and your godfather," Blaise suggested blithely, smirking when he pictured his mother's curled nose. "We could share a house, mio amato. Ah, won't it be cozy? The four of us sharing stories of our games."
Harry laughed again and Blaise tucked that laughter into the corner of his heart where all of his real moments with Harry were stored. Somehow, somehow, in the death and the blood - in the terror and the pain - they found one another.
And Blaise would never let him go.
*****
In Harry's account, he had more gold and sponsorships than the other three boys combined. All he needed was a little more, only a little more to turn the final fight in his favor.
Anderson had a rifle, Harry had a knife and a bulletproof vest.
Anderson had an ally, Harry had an ally.
Anderson wanted to win, but Harry was going to win.
"Here we go," Tonks said, standing firmly between Sirius and Remus in the line of mentors remaining. Bellatrix left when her girl died, Barty had fallen asleep on a sofa.
It was Sirius, Tonks, Remus, and Snape who would watch the ending of the final Hunger Games.
Anderson and Weasley were on the floor just below the roof, their whispered conversation about tactics while Harry and Zabini laughed on their monitor. It was arrogant and it made Sirius smile some, seeing Harry laughing and confident that he would be the winner.
James had never been so cocky, neither had Lily. That arrogance? That surety? That was more Sirius than it was anyone else.
Anderson and Weasley froze in their tracks for a moment when they heard what Sirius did, the start of the finale. Anderson whipped around and aimed his rifle down the hallway, aiming it sure even while the lights dimmed from the windows, leaving them in darkness that only the cameras could see through.
"Oh, God." Tonks reached out for a hand and Remus caught it, sharing their strength when Riddle's grand finale made itself known.
"Sick," Snape murmured, his pale face a shade green. "I have never…" He cut himself off and shook his head, unable to even describe the horror that Sirius could see for himself on screen.
Anderson finally saw it and he lifted the gun, started firing just as Riddle expected him to.
Nine bullets left.
BANG!
Eight.
"Run!" Weasley yelled.
The boys turned on their heels and began sprinting, only to be blocked by the mutts from going down the stairs.
"Up, up, up," Tonks whispered. "You must go up."
Weasley paused long enough to retch, a mixture of blood and something black, then followed Anderson up the stairs.
"Ladies and Gentlemen…" Sirius watched Harry in his last few seconds of ease in the arena. "Let the final fight begin."
*****
Harry didn't know how he knew it, but he had been waiting for sunrise to arrive so that they could finish the Games.
The sky was almost too beautiful to fight under though. It filled Harry with a sense of freedom, a sense that he shouldn't have had while trapped in an arena. The pink sky, the cool air. It was washing it all away, leaving Harry feeling fresh and clean.
All of the blood Harry spilled had been washed away and Harry was light, as airy as the wind itself.
"I want the rest of our lives to be like this," Harry admitted. His head was on Blaise's leg and they were relaxing, waiting for when the final fight would start. Blaise's fingers combed through Harry's wet hair, soothing a deep wound inside of Harry's chest.
"It can be," Blaise promised lowly, his fingers trailing through Harry's hair over and over. "We'll win, we'll leave this place. You and me, bellissimo? We deserve an ending without blood."
Harry's eyes fluttered shut and he imagined that. It wouldn't be immediate, Harry still needed to carve the names of every tribute before him into President Dumbledore's chest, but then a life without blood… a life of ease and peace….
"I want that," Harry said, his weakest admission yet. Harry's chest tightened and his breath hitched in his throat. "I want it so bad, Blaise."
That image in the mirror? That boy who had meals without sacrificing, that boy who knew what love felt like? Fuck, Harry wanted it. That boy didn't sleep in a tent, he slept in the arms of someone who cared about him. That boy gave himself in the Games and won a prize better than any monthly stipend or box of supplies.
Blaise's fingers froze in Harry's hair and Harry could hear him swallowing loudly. "Harry, I…"
The wind blew and Harry cracked an eye open, not because Blaise still hadn't finished his sentence, but because of the loud sound he heard inside the castle.
"Was that a gunshot?" Blaise asked as Harry sat straight up, his eyes swinging from tower to tower. It was impossible to tell which tower the sound came from, which might have been the point.
"No, a gong," Harry murmured. It was a gong in its own way—
BANG! The ending is here.
BANG! Two more tributes.
Harry clutched his knife in one hand, his fang in the other. Blaise had a fang strapped to his arm, Theo's knife tucked in his belt, and Neville's sword in his hand.
"Harry." Blaise stood and they were ready, ready for a bigger game. Harry was yanked toward Blaise by his hip and when Blaise kissed him, Harry kissed him back just as intensely.
Hard. Desperate. Pleading.
It should have cut Harry's lips, a kiss so sharp, and maybe it did. Maybe Harry was so used to the blood that it would never again bother him.
"Io ti amo," Blaise murmured. The gold in his eyes was liquid, flowing so softly. There were lines in his forehead though, a tension to his body.
Harry didn't know what that meant, though he could guess.
"One day, I'll say it back," Harry promised. It wasn't the moment, it wasn't the time. Harry didn't want to say it with an axe over his head, caressing his scalp. When Harry told Blaise what he meant to him, it would be a private moment just for them.
There were some things that didn't need to be televised. The rest of the story between Harry and Blaise would not be a circus for the Capitol pets.
It wasn't then, then there was no time for anything as the tower door was thrown open with a bang and Taylor and one of the twins ran out of it.
Harry tensed and shifted himself between Blaise and Taylor's gun, ready to strike if Taylor tried to shoot him. Taylor was distracted though, he and the Twin hardly seemed to notice Harry or Blaise. Taylor kept his gun aimed toward the door while he ran backwards to the cornucopia. It meant there was a mutt, something more dangerous than Harry.
The next thing to join them on the roof had Harry's stomach flipping and goosebumps erupted on his arms.
They were horrible, ten times as sickening and twisted as the beasts had been. With swollen skin, blood staining them a rust color, and their eyes bulging - they were the most horrifying beings that Harry had ever seen.
"Haaaaaarry." Neville shuffled out of the tower, his feet dragging and his arms stiff at his side. There was no blood on Neville, no horrible last injury. It was only a face bloated with death and an eerie hiss to a voice that had been warm, friendly.
"Oh, God." Blaise looked sick when he saw the others following Neville - they were all there.
The twenty dead tributes moved around the edge of the roof, five of them on each side, slowly inching forward and shrinking the arena for the boys to fight in. Daphne and Hermione hissed at Harry, the boys from Two snapped yellow mossy teeth at Taylor.
Trent laughed - Trent stood a head shorter than everyone else and laughed so hard that his nearly detached head flopped around, showing them the blackened insides of his throat with the muscles and bone.
Riddle brought them all back so they could watch two more tributes die.
*****
"Are they going to attack?" Remus wondered.
"Not yet," Sirius said, knowing that wasn't their point. The mutts were made to distract the boys, throw them off their game. It was working too, Harry was so busy staring at little Trent Bailey that he could have been shot by Anderson and never notice.
Riddle was proud of those mutts, he told Sirius as much the last time they spoke. They were psychologically terrorizing, a gory masterpiece to end the games with. There was one way to kill them, to keep them from attacking once they were triggered to begin.
Sirius looked down at his wrist cuff and Harry needed two more sponsorships, that was it. With two more donations in his name, Sirius could send Harry the last gift he would need.
Anderson kept his gun aimed at the boys from Two, the bulky boys whose arms were ripped and muscle hung out in grotesque ropes. There were only eight bullets left and Sirius urged him to start shooting, to try and kill the mutts. It wasn't working though, not until Weasley couldn't stop himself from tripping over his feet and going for his brother.
"Fred?" He whimpered and started to raise his arms. "Freddie, is that you?"
"Don't!" Tonks yelled, a moment too late. Weasley already got close enough to the mutt for it to wrap it's hands around his throat. Anderson didn't hesitate then, he aimed his gun at the mutt and shot two quick bullets - seven, six.
As caught up as Sirius was in the horrifying moment, he saw when Harry snapped back in himself. Harry straightened up, flipped his knife in his hands, and prepared to attack.
*****
All Harry could see at first were Trent's eyes and Neville's cold anger. It had Harry's hands shaking, his breath ragged in his own ears. They were all glaring accusingly, seeing him in his peacekeepers vest and knowing that Harry was no better than the Capitol.
Even Susan, who died with Harry holding her hand, glared at him and wished him death.
If Harry had died instead, some of them would still be there.
Clever Hermione and Daphne or Draco who had been so handsome before Blaise destroyed his face. Trent didn't care if Harry made Pansy ask for mercy and Pansy didn't care that it had been her or Harry. They all hated him, wanted him dead, and it made Harry dizzy.
Taylor fired his gun at the dead twin, knocking the animated corpse backward so that the other twin could scramble away from him, sobbing the whole time. The second gunfire reminded Harry of where he was, what the stakes were.
The mutts were the reminder that the rules to the arena had been so simple: kill or be killed.
Harry slid his fit out and nudged Blaise's to give him a warning before he flipped his knife and made a sudden lunge toward Taylor, hoping to drive it in his thigh. Taylor was quick and he spun out of the way, nearly clocking Harry with the gun if he hadn't ducked.
"George!" Taylor barked at his ally and then George threw himself in the fight, the thin snare wire taut between his hands. Harry bounced back up quickly and charged at Anderson, leaping on his back and locking an arm around his neck to keep from being shot.
Blaise swung his sword at George and the snare tangled around it, yanking them closer together. Blaise pulled a fist back and slammed it in George's face, Taylor lifted his gun and brought the barrel down on Harry's head.
While black spots exploded in his vision, the tributes around the edge began mocking them.
*****
"Kill him!" the boy with one leg howled, his voice garbled by his broken teeth.
Two boys pumped their fists, chanting together, "KILL! KILL! KILL!"
"Kill them, Harry!" the beautiful girl from Ten cried. "Kill them all!"
*****
Just a little longer.
Keep moving.
Keep fighting.
Just a little longer.
*****
Anderson shot off another bullet and he was down to five, only five more bullets. Harry refused to budge from the boy's back, no matter how much Anderson tossed or turned.
Sirius looked at his wrist cuff and felt sweat beading on his forehead. As soon as one of the tributes spilled blood, the mutts would join the fight. They wouldn't be stopped with knives or bullets, they only had one weakness.
Zabini's sword clanked against the stone floor and the twin was fast, clever with the snare. Every time Zabini lunged for him, the boy was able to twist and turn, using only a thin wire to protect himself. The twin had been near death before Anderson found him. Anderson was a leader, Sirius knew it. It only took a little bit of time for him to talk the twin into getting back on his feet and back in the game.
If Harry wasn't going to win, Sirius would want Anderson to win. The boy was a rebel, he was intelligent, trained. Harry inspired people through his pain, Anderson led them to action with his speeches.
"No!" Tonks yelled out when Zabini finally got the sword past Weasley. It wasn't a fatal blow, not yet, but Sirius felt time slowing down while his eyes followed the drop of blood on its way to the ground.
It was so quiet, there wasn't even a splash.
Then Hell broke loose in the arena.
*****
"I didn't even get a chance!" The girl from Nine lunged with her arms out, grabbing onto any human flesh she could and ripping.
"We could have won!" Hermione shrieked, her voice shrill and fury-filled.
"We still can," Daphne sneered, swinging a leg out to topple Blaise on his side.
*****
Harry had an unshakable hold on Taylor's neck, but when a pair of scaled and twisted hands grabbed at him and pawed at his face, Harry's arm slipped and he was thrown off Taylor and across the roof.
The concrete slammed into Harry's head and it knocked the air from his chest, leaving him to gasp without moving any air in or out. The sky was still pink, beautiful, and Harry's mouth gaped as he looked up at it, trying to force his own chest to rise.
Even in the middle of the fight, with his own blood pounding in his ears, Harry looked upward and felt entirely at peace.
Soon, it would be over. Only a little bit longer.
There were faint stars in the sky, a glimmer of the arena dome above them.
"You said we survive."
Harry's lungs were still empty of air, but he flipped over and crouched on his hands and knees, preparing to attack. It was Neville who shuffled toward him, his eyes empty and his teeth bared.
"I didn't kill you," Harry told him faintly. It hurt to speak, something in his chest felt broken, but he had to say it. Panem needed to hear it, Harry didn't kill Neville.
"You said… WE SURVIVE!" Neville bellowed, charging at Harry. There were too many mutts behind them and Neville wasn't an innocent boy anymore, not since his death. Neville was fast, overly strong. Every blow he landed bruised or broke something and Harry tried to see past him to find Blaise.
*****
"YES!" Sirius screamed in relief when the last credit rolled in, the last credit that Sirius needed to purchase Harry's final gift.
It was one of the most expensive gifts, probably the most expensive gift to ever enter the arena. But Harry was the most nationally sponsored tribute - never before had one tribute received multiple gifts from every district. Every district lost someone and everyone who knew pain, knew Harry.
Every man and woman, child or lover, who had been hurt in their life saw themselves in Harry. They saw him, they accepted him. They loved him and they embraced him as their own. They saw Harry's pain and they supported him, gave what they could to him.
And that acceptance was going to save them from a life no better than being pawns on a chessboard.
"Black!" Snape grabbed Sirius's wrist, stopping him from making the purchase. His eyebrows were high on his forehead as he saw what Sirius tried to send in the arena. "Have you lost your mind?"
Sirius wrenched his hand from Snape's grip and ordered the gift to be delivered to Harry.
"Fourteen years ago," he said calmly.
With the country's support, Harry was going to finish the final Hunger Games.
*****
Everything was a clash of weapons, a tangle of limbs and nails clawing at one another, ripping skin and spilling blood. Blaise didn't know who was a tribute, who was a mutt. The arms of the mutts were swollen and discolored, their blood bulged beneath the skin and no longer pulsed, but they were all trying to kill Blaise.
"YOU PROMISED!" Theo yelled, his hand finding the front of Blaise's throat and lifting him off his feet with more strength than Theo ever had. Blaise clawed at the fingers holding him, avoiding seeing Theo or the life-ending cut that Blaise gifted him with in the end.
"S - sorry," Blaise tried to say, he tried. Blaise didn't want to choose between his past or future, but how could he not choose Harry? How could Blaise see Harry's darkest corners of his mind and not choose the boy who still craved peace?
Theo's death was regrettable, Blaise would never sleep without seeing the betrayal in his eyes, but Blaise would have chosen Harry again and again and again.
When a mortal met a God, he worshipped them for eternity.
All of the boyish charm on Theo's face was gone, he was angled and harsh, as cold as frozen stone. Blaise's vision was blurring around the edges and a gunshot rang in his ears.
Was that how it ended? Was that fair? Blaise chose Harry and Theo wanted him to know that he would never forgive him for it?
A guttural scream tore across the roof and Blaise hoped it wasn't Harry, it couldn't be Harry. If Blaise was gone, he wanted his love to live on - to blaze and burn across the country, wrecking vengeance on every person who had a hand in the abuse the districts suffered from.
Blaise inhaled a deep breath, pulling the air in his lungs, and that was when he smelled it… smoke.
And where there was smoke, there was fire.
*****
It was beautiful.
The oranges and reds mixed together, shooting out in a heavy stream of flames and heat. It was memorizing, it was everything Harry had been craving since the day he had been reaped.
Fire didn't know alliances or betrayal, fire didn't know what it felt like to watch a child die or to take a life. Fire had no need to play a Game, all fire had to do was destroy. Fire couldn't be reasoned with, fire didn't do negotiations or clever word-play.
As long as a single ember remained, fire could never be extinguished.
The fire machine fit in Harry's hands comfortably, it felt like it was made just for him and sent by Sirius to secure the win. Sirius wouldn't have saved it for the last fight if there wasn't a reason and Harry found the reason as soon as he pulled the trigger on the machine and the fire shot out of the end, catching Neville on fire in front of him.
Neville screeched, his yell metallic like a nail down a chalkboard. He dropped to the ground and writhed, rolled around in an attempt to beat away the flames. Harry started to step toward him, help him, until he remembered it wasn't Neville.
The friendly boy with the sandwiches and the games was dead. All Harry looked at was a Capitol mutation.
Whatever the mutts were, if they were the bodies of tributes that were reanimated or just clever copies, fire seemed to stop them. Neville was still smoking when he stopped moving and his body laid still on the rooftop.
Another gunshot from the center of the roof had Harry running in that direction, running straight for Blaise. Theo had him up by his neck, holding him in the air. Blaise's face was paling and Harry held up the fire machine and waited until he was close enough to not hurt Blaise before kicking it on.
Theo dropped Blaise as soon as the flames licked his skin and he let out a scream like Neville's, a high-pitched sound of terror. Harry went to Blaise and pulled him to his feet, holding him up while Blaise swayed and Theo died once more.
The smell was horrible, sickening enough to make Harry queasy. It was burning flesh and hair, releasing something rotting in the air. All of Theo's liquified organs spilled from his body as the flames burned away at him, slipping between the skin that bubbled and burned.
Theo hit the ground and reached up for them, his fingers nothing more than blackened bone. There was a hiss between Theo's teeth from his exposed skull and then his arm dropped and Theo Nott died for a second time.
*****
The flames filling the roof were suffocating. Blaise could hardly see anything, he couldn't breathe through the smell of burning flesh and smoke.
Harry went on the attack of the other mutts, dancing away from the little boy from Eleven and focusing on the others. And as much as Blaise was disoriented and light-headed by the flames and the smoke, the other two tributes were twice as much.
The boy from Five wrestled with his twin, his grunts of pain mixed with broken sobs every time his brother hit him. Eleven still didn't seem to understand that his gun was doing nothing for him and he fired at Draco and Pansy as they closed in on him.
BANG! BANG!
Eleven was struggling, but Five was completely distracted by the mutt of his brother.
Harry blew flames across the roof - the flames as beautiful as Blaise knew Harry to be - and Blaise ran to reclaim his sword before raising it behind the boy from Five.
"I'm sorry," Five moaned, grappling with his twin without seeing the killer behind him. "Fred, I'm so sorry."
"You can apologize in person soon," Blaise said just before he drove the sword down with all of his might, slicing through the boy's spine and his back, spearing his brother as well.
They struggled weakly, they tried to remove themselves from the sword, but ultimately Blaise watched as they fell as one - landing together in a tangle of limbs and blood.
*****
Tonks closed her eyes when the twins fell and only a small whimper escaped her at the sound of the cannon.
"One more," Sirius breathed, his heart racing while he watched Harry run around the roof, destroying the mutts and surrounding the boys who lived with his fire.
In its own way, it was beautiful. Seeing the arena bursting into flames clenched something inside of Sirius's chest and created a high so natural he half expected James to begin commenting with him.
"Stop wasting your ammo," Remus muttered, wincing when his boy shot out at the couple from Eight, only delaying them for a moment from their objective. Sirius lost track of how many bullets the boy had left, but it wasn't many.
If Harry slowed down on destroying the mutts, Anderson would leave himself unarmed and vulnerable.
The door to the mentor room opened and closed and it could have been James or Regulus or Lily themselves and Sirius never would have noticed. He couldn't stop watching Harry, not when it truly was only a little bit longer.
Snape shuffled away from Sirius, leaving a gap for Rita Skeeter to fill. Sirius swatted at her distractedly when she whispered his name; she could wait ten more fucking minutes.
In ten minutes, it would all be over.
In ten minutes, Harry would be safe.
"NO!!!"
Harry might not make it another ten minutes.
*****
Harry was picking them off one by one, destroying every mutt that he could find. It was impossible to see anything anymore, Harry could only imagine where Taylor was based on where he heard a gunshot ring out from.
"YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!" Viktor roared, dropping his head and charging at Harry. Harry dodged him, spun around with the flames ready, and watched as yet another mutt burned before him.
There was dark satisfaction and then suddenly there was pain.
Small hands, cold and rough, wrapped themselves around Harry's waist from behind and Harry barely had time to register the only tribute that small before his world exploded in a kind of pain he had never felt before.
Trent pulled on Harry and knocked him down before climbing on top of him and sharing the flames that covered his body. Trent's skin dripped off him onto Harry, burning through his clothes like acid.
"I cared for you," Trent snarled, his head flopping with the venom in his voice. "I wanted you to win."
"Funny," Harry grunted, writhing under Trent and trying to not panic as he could smell more and more of his own body burning. "You don't seem like it, do you?"
If it were really Trent, he would have liked that. A sarcastic quip just before Harry heaved upward with all his might and knocked Trent off him.
Harry rolled on the cement, over and over and over.
"It's stop, drop, and roll, you fucking idiot!" The kids around the fire laughed when one of the girls got too close to the flames cooking their dinner and caught her pants on fire. The girl had shrieked and ran off to find water to submerge herself in, and the others laughed and snickered about it.
Stop. Drop. Roll.
Harry rolled on top of corpses, on top of organs and bones, to get the flames off him. His body burned in agony, but there was only a little longer.
*****
Blaise reared backward and then kicked the girl from Six as hard as he could, sending her body over the rail of the arena and to a second death on the ground.
The smoke had became so thick that Blaise couldn't see the sky anymore, he couldn't find Harry. Blaise kept ahold of the edge of the castle while he ran, listening hard for any sign of his amati.
A breeze picked up and Blaise was grateful when it moved the smoke, though he could have done without it blowing the smell of nearly two dozen dead bodies directly in his face. Blaise swallowed down his bile, squinted his eyes, and finally found Harry in the center of the arena.
There was a horrible feeling of righteousness when the flames covered Harry's body. Harry was all fire, impossible to extinguish, and as lovely as he was deadly.
"HARRY!" Blaise yelled regardless as he began to run toward Harry, sliding some on what seemed to be a piece of someone's skin. Harry was rolling, over and over while he tried to get the flames off him.
Blaise was nearly there when someone grabbed him by the hair and yanked him backwards.
*****
Harry coughed again and again, his watering eyes trying to search through the smoke for any sign of Blaise or Taylor. The cannon had been for George, which meant it only needed to blast once more before Harry and Blaise were freed.
It wasn't Blaise who died, Harry was sure of it. Blaise was fighting, he was winning, wherever he—
"Stand up slowly."
Harry twisted around and looked up at the commanding voice of Taylor. Taylor was calm, ready, as he held Blaise against his chest with one hand and kept the end of his gun on the side of Blaise's head with the other.
Blaise wasn't bulletproof, Harry wasn't flame resistant.
They could have made it all the way to the end and still die.
*****
The wind blew again and took the rest of the smoke with it, leaving Blaise, Harry, and Anderson alone on the roof, perfectly viewable for the citizens of Panem who would be on the edge of their seat.
It was very dramatic, the ultimate ending to one of the most unique Games to have ever been played.
Harry stood slowly and raised his empty hands, his eyes locked on Anderson instead of Blaise.
If Blaise died, it would have been worth it, he thought. To meet someone who made his blood sing, to find the love that he never knew he craved. Harry didn't say it, but Blaise felt it every time their eyes connected.
"You or him," Anderson told Harry calmly. "It doesn't make a difference to me. For Trent, I'll let you decide."
Blaise tried to shift his leg around, slide it between Anderson's so he could bring it up the second he had a chance, and was instead struck on top of the head by the rifle.
"Don't move," Anderson told him, still completely calm. "Potter, choose. I'll kill him or you."
*****
"I'll kill him or you."
"He's letting Harry choose," Remus said. "It's as much of a mercy as anything."
It wasn't mercy, it wasn't an act of kindness.
Sirius saw it on Harry's face, he saw his indecision and his fear. Harry might not know it yet, but he loved Zabini. Harry was loved by him and loved him in return.
It wasn't mercy or kindness that Anderson offered him, but the kind of choice that would haunt Harry for the rest of his life.
*****
There was sweat pouring down Harry's back, irritating the burns that covered his skin.
Blaise's eyes were golden, warm, while they waited for Harry's choice. He wouldn't condemn Harry either way, they knew there was a chance that they couldn't both win.
Taylor's eyes were calm, completely in control. And Harry couldn't condemn him either, not when he was only a person trying to live.
"We aren't your enemies," Harry told Taylor, shifting his weight so he could see the side of the gun. "We didn't put you here."
"No, you didn't," Taylor agreed. He was so pleasant and calm, a horrible contrast to how Harry's entire body trembled while he gambled on his own poor memory.
"It doesn't mean this isn't the way it has to be," Taylor said. "Only two of us can win, Harry. Pick now, you or him."
"Amati," Blaise whispered to Harry in the word that Harry never knew the meaning for. He smiled too, soft and sweet and nothing like every calculated smile or forced laugh that Harry had seen from him.
"Live," Blaise said gently. "It's okay. It's okay if you choose life."
"I'll miss you, Pet."
Yaxley didn't wish Harry luck, he didn't tell him to try and win, he only sent him away from the District with four final words and one lesson that Harry hoped he remembered correctly.
"Fine," Harry said, looking past Blaise to Taylor. "I choose to live."
*****
"And that's the way it goes, isn't it, Ludo?" Gilderoy clicked his tongue while the camera panned across the Capitol, every close up showing a person who was disappointed in Harry's decision.
"The star-crossed lovers, finally seeing their end." Ludo shook his head. "Blaise Zabini finally can see that he put his trust in the wrong person."
*****
There were few things that had gotten to Blaise in the arena. Theo's death, the pain Harry showed when Bailey was killed.
Blaise wanted to see Harry win, he wanted to see Harry live, he didn't expect it to hurt so badly when Harry chose himself so quickly, so easily.
The worst part was that Blaise still loved him; Blaise loved him as completely as a fire itself - consuming everything in its path, refusing to be stopped.
"Fine." Anderson accepted Harry's decision. "Anything you two want to say before this is over?"
What was left to say? What did Blaise want Harry to remember for all the time they would never have together?
"Harry…" Blaise faltered and there was so much pressure, so much crushing his chest while he struggled to find the words.
How did he explain what Harry meant to him? How did he absolve Harry of his guilt and make him promise to truly live? How could Blaise have gotten so close only to see his happy ending slipping away?
Harry was supposed to make it. They were supposed to make it.
*****
"Remember me," Blaise told Harry, his voice wobbling with emotion, emotion Harry couldn't bear to feel himself.
Harry's eyes locked on Blaise's and he saw the entire Games replay again - from the moment they first met at the tribute parade.
"You think I won't?" Harry asked him. "You've carved your name on my chest, Blaise. Every breath I breathe will remind me of you."
Blaise closed his eyes and nodded, accepting the fate that Harry chose for him. Taylor shifted the gun, tightened his finger on the trigger.
"I love you, Harry Potter," Blaise whispered brokenly. "You were the thing I never saw coming."
There was surely a country of people screaming for Harry to say it back, to give Blaise the one thing when their end was there. It wasn't worth it though, it wasn't worth letting the country share in something so painfully private.
Harry raised two fingers to his forehead, three to his lips, four to his chest. "Be free," Harry told Blaise, moving his hand behind his back where Taylor couldn't see.
*****
Blaise couldn't resist opening his eyes after all, he wanted Harry's face to be the last thing he saw. Blaise loved beautiful things, beautiful and fragile things that he could cherish in the most secret parts of his heart.
Harry was beautiful, every inch of him. With his scars, his glowing eyes, the hair that fell in his face and stuck to him with sweat, Blaise had never seen anything as beautiful before.
If Blaise could change one thing, he would have asked Harry to tell him what he meant to him before he died. Harry didn't though, Blaise should have known he wouldn't. One day, one day in the pastures of peace far away from the world of pains, Blaise would see Harry again and he knew Harry would tell him everything he didn't want to share for the country.
And then, while Blaise watched Harry's eyes and prayed that he took that precise color of green with him, Anderson pulled the trigger.
*****
Click.
Blaise flinched and Harry felt the click echoing in his mind. It was deafening, hollow. There was no bullet that could have been as loud as that single click had been to Harry's ears.
Everything happened quickly then - within seconds it was done.
Blaise's eyes snapped open in disbelief. Harry pulled the fang out from behind his back. Taylor dropped the gun.
Within a second of Taylor pulling the trigger of the empty gun, he was dead.
Taylor dropped to the ground and Blaise stumbled as he was abruptly freed, stumbled right to Harry's arms.
"You knew," Blaise gasped, his voice shaking as hard as his body did. "You fucking knew the gun was empty."
Harry held Blaise and watched Taylor die, he watched as a good person made it to the very end only to die in the same way as twenty-one before him did.
"I hoped," Harry admitted. "I couldn't see the barrel very well."
"YOU HOPED?!" Blaise yelped, his voice covering the sounds of Taylor dying before them.
Harry shrugged and his lips curled up in the corners, all of the weight on his chest lifting when Blaise looked ready to shake him.
"It worked," he said simply.
"‘It worked'," Blaise repeated. He laughed breathlessly, joylessly, and it became deep and hysterical. "By the Gods, cuore mio, imagine if it didn't!"
Harry didn't want to imagine it, all he wanted to imagine was Blaise's relief infecting him, his laughter spreading to Harry. They grabbed each other and laughed until they cried, they laughed until the final cannon blasted.
And that was it.
They won.
*****
It was over. The Games were over. The final Hunger Games had ended and it was Harry who still stood.
Rita whispered his name again and pulled sharply on Sirius‘s shirtsleeve. "Listen to me."
But Sirius couldn't hear her, he couldn't listen. Sirius could only replay the fight in his mind and listen to Zabini's joyful cries on the monitor. He and Harry grabbed each other and laughed together, they cried together. Every sound of victory that Sirius wanted to make, the boys made tenfold on the monitors.
Harry did it.
Harry fucking won.
Against every odd, every staggering odd, Harry was a Victor. Without the support Sirius should have given him as a boy, without the love of his parents, with only a sharp mouth and chest full of hate… Harry won.
The boys were hugging on the screen, Zabini was laughing with his shoulders shaking while Harry seemed stunned at still being there. It would take some time for that shock to wear off, Sirius knew it would, but when it did… when the shock wore off - Harry would remember all the hot anger that he built up for the Capitol and he would start a whole new Game.
The mentor room should have been celebrating, screaming and cheering for the two victors. Instead, there was only silence.
Thick, suffocating silence that Sirius didn't understand. It felt like a noose around Sirius's neck and he looked around at the others still there - Remus, Tonks, Snape, Barty - before finally landing his eyes on Rita.
"The gong," he said, his voice hoarse with the dread he could feel creeping up from his stomach, freezing him from the inside out. "Why isn't it going off?"
That was what was missing. There never was a final cannon blast but a gong, signifying the end of the Games.
Rita shook her head and Sirius clocked the tears glossing her eyes, the shadows of incoming pain moving around while she clutched Sirius's arm tightly.
A tear spilled over her lashes, zig-zagging down her face.
Then another.
"Riddle's dead," she whispered.
Rita's words hit him like a fist to the stomach, driving a huff of air from Sirius's mouth. The stillness of Snape beside him went unnoticed, Sirius could only replay Rita's words while the noose around his neck tightened.
Riddle… dead…
The screens in the room flickered, flashing light on every mentor frozen in place.
The microphone crackled to life in the arena and Sirius's eyes flew back to the screen as quickly as Harry's head snapped up.
"Attention, tributes." It wasn't the calculating voice of the Head Gamemaker who promised Sirius that Harry would live, but the voice of the man who Harry promised to kill.
"The prior revision to the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games has been revoked. Only one tribute will be crowned the victor."
Only one.
Only one.
Only one.
Only one.
No matter how hard he tried, Sirius couldn't twist those words into something that would allow Harry and Zabini to both leave the arena.
All Sirius knew was that the President had saved the biggest twist for the final few minutes and, like every citizen in the country, Sirius couldn't take his eyes off the screen before him.
The Games weren't over.
They may have just began.