Opening Ceremony
The table at dinner was filled with things Harry had never even heard of. He was eager to eat something, his stomach felt like it was consuming itself, but he wasn't sure what to reach for first. Ginny didn't have the same hesitancy; she filled a towering plate with a bit of everything and after a moment Harry followed her example.
The man that would be their mentor watched with a light of understanding in his eyes. He was old, much older than Harry would expect a mentor to be. Though he couldn't recall the last time a district twelve tribute had won the games. He gulped down a glass of water.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore. It will be my job to teach you everything I know about survival in the games.” Albus spoke after a few minutes of eating in silence.
“I’m Harry Potter.” Harry shared and then felt infinitely stupid because, of course, he knew that already. The man only smiled in response and part of Harry worried that such a grandfatherly man wouldn't be able to teach them anything useful.
“It’s lovely to meet you both, though I hate that these are our circumstances. You seem like diligent students, and I will do everything in my power to help one of you return home.” Harry stared at his plate. One of us.
“When you’ve finished eating, I believe it's important that we watch the reaping's of your fellow tributes. Anything we can learn about them in preparation could be useful.”
The rest of dinner passed in silence, and Harry longed for the cacophony of the Weasley household. He imagined their dinner table was silent tonight as well.
Dumbledore led them to a couch and he and Ginny sat side by side in front of a large screen.
“This is the recording from today's reaping. I'll show you each district.”
The screen came up, shining brightly and Harry blinked to adjust. Albus skipped past district twelve and Harry swallowed thickly at the blurred picture. Something about seeing his face on the screen as if he was just watching the games from home, made the situation feel much more real.
The pair from district eleven looked young and scared. The Pale boy, Neville Longbottom, the screen read, looked ready to faint. Districts ten and nine weren’t much better off. The boy from nine didn't look a day over ten years old but Harry knew he must be older to be in the games. It was impossible to even consider fighting him. How was he meant to kill children? How was he meant to kill anyone? The girl with him was older, maybe Harry's age with a wild mane of hair and a determined glint in her teary eyes. At least Colin Creevey wasn't alone. There was another young child in district eight, Luna Lovegood. She stuck with Harry long after her district faded because of the expression she’d held for the cameras. A dreamy smile as if she wasn't afraid of her circumstances at all. Harry wondered what it was that made her smile. Confidence? Surely not. Optimism? He wished that he could share in her positive feelings either way.
The districts continued to slip across the screen, Dumbledore making occasional comments on things that might be helpful. Mostly it was things they already knew like what each district specializes in. The pair from district four made Harry shudder as they grinned cruelly at the cameras. Vincent Crabbe and Milicent Bullstrode made an imposing team. Dumbledore further confirmed this with a casual comment that they should not be taken lightly. Harry wouldn't be taking anything fucking lightly in a death arena, but he nodded anyway.
Harry paid special attention to the career districts. Neither seemed as dangerous as in past years but he memorized their faces anyway. From district two Tom Riddle and Gemma Farley. Both cut a striking figure. Farley with a stony expression and Riddle with a confident smirk. Neither was particularly large or muscular, but Harry supposed that didn't mean they weren't skilled in some type of combat. There was no telling what they were taught as career tributes.
Harry frowned as something stuck in his mind at the name Tom Riddle.
“Was Riddle's dad in the games?”
Dumbledore sighed and nodded, a solemn look in his eyes.
“Both of his parents were. His mother incapacitated his father and forced herself on him before he died from his wounds. She won the games that year and had Tom soon after.”
“That's repulsive!” Ginny hissed and Harry couldn't help but agree.
How could someone even consider an act like that while fighting for their life?
“It most certainly is. Sadly, there are no rules in place for such crimes while in the arena so Ms. Merope was not punished. Tom has been brought up under her care so I would advise you to take extreme caution and avoid him if at all possible.”
Harry swallowed around the knot in his throat.
District one was less worrisome. Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass. Malfoy volunteered after Greengrass was selected, much like me and Ginny. It was more than a little sad to see the two holding hands on stage and presenting a strong facade. Harry couldn't deny that their acting was much better than he and Ginny's though.
“Draco comes from a long line of tributes. Many in the Malfoy family have participated in the games and a great number of them have won. Do not underestimate him. Love can make a man do crazy things after all.” He offered Harry a wink and Harry wondered if Albus had misunderstood his intentions in volunteering. And then Harry figured it didn't matter what he believed; it wouldn't change anything.
Dumbledore offered more of his insight on the most dangerous tributes. Harry listened to every word but none of it seemed particularly useful. Some of the man's sentences even seemed like straight-up riddles. It was a troubling thought as Harry lay in bed, the train rocking gently as it sped along. What would he do if his mentor was less than helpful? Harry hadn't considered that their trainer would be just as knowledgeable as them. He’d have to be sure to watch the other tributes closely at training and try to learn from example.
It wasn't reassuring to think he and Ginny were completely on their own.
The next day moved quickly. He and Ginny were separated again and rushed off to be made into a spectacle for the opening ceremony.
Harry's designer was an older woman who spoke scarcely. Her movements were frantic and hurried as if her time was severely limited and her anxiousness was contagious. Harry had always hated being the center of attention and now he was going to be marched through a crowd of thousands and broadcasted across every district.
On the plus side, Harry felt cleaner than he ever had in his life. The feeling didn't last long as they presented charcoal paint. Harry could feel the heat in his face as he stood bare-chested and was painted over with black paint.
“Close your eyes.”
The paintbrush swept across his closed eyelids in a bold stripe. When Harry was allowed a glance at his reflection, his green eyes stared back shockingly bright amidst the black.
They had attempted to tame his hair, but Harry knew better than anyone that such a task was impossible. They opted for slicking it away from his face with a tinted gel, though their displeasure was palpable. The overall effect was that he looked like I’d just gone for a roll in the coal mines.
Harrys pants felt too loose. They’d been made to look tattered and distressed but they hung low on his hips, and he had to resist the urge to constantly pull them up. He felt extremely out of place.
Ginny on the other hand looked like a phoenix born from the ashes. Her dress was an array of grey and black, fading lighter near her collar. She had the same black stripe across her brown eyes, but her hair had obviously cooperated much better. They’d piled it on her head and somehow made it seem much bigger than it was, a wild flame.
“You look good,” Harry admitted. Maybe this would earn her a few sponsors. Ginny rolled her eyes and turned away.
“I always look good.”
They were guided to a black chariot, ready to be pulled by two broad-chested black horses. Harry had never been so close to such a large beast before and couldn't help but admire them.
“This is important, Harry,” Ginny said, and Harry turned to meet her serious gaze. The designers fussed around them, rearranging garments last minute.
“What do you mean?” He spared the harried older woman a last look as she stepped away and the great horses began to trot forwards.
“For sponsors. This is our first impression; we’ve got to make it a good one.” Harry opened and closed his mouth for a moment. How in the hell was he supposed to do that? He'd never made a good impression on anyone in his entire life.
Harry looked around at the other tributes, too far away to see clearly but much brighter than their dark aesthetic. ‘Coal Miners’ didn't seem like the greatest first impression. The other districts had brighter, more appealing designs and chariots, there was no doubt in Harrys mind that they’d get more sponsors.
“Chin up, Harry. Smile. Wave. We need them to like us,”
Ginny was staring straight ahead, her hands clutching the chariot railing in a white-knuckled grip. Harry had never been good at making people like me, but he would try. Even if it was just for Ginny. He placed a hand on top of hers and squeezed reassuringly.
The roaring of a crowd grew louder as they neared the tunnel's mouth. Louder, louder, deafening. Harry was blinded for a moment by the shift in light as we emerged, and then he was smiling.
Never in his life had he seen this many people. The audience was never-ending, an infinite sea of people.
Harry lifted his free hand and tried to wave enthusiastically. Look at us, he tried to portray. They may not be the flashiest district here, but they deserved recognition too. He raised his arm higher, turning his head to grin at the crowd. God, he hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt. He thought he might be sick.
Harry looked over to see Ginny doing the same. When she caught his gaze, she flipped her palm under his to lace their fingers together, the pressure grounding. They could do this. They could survive. They would.
They had to had to.