The Green Games: Chapter Eight (HP/HG crossover)

Hermione woke long before daylight, and she went to her shower. She carefully laid her clothes out, and stood for a long time in the spray of the warm water. She let it run in rivets down her back, dripping off onto the drain like a waterfall. She watched it run through her hair and dribble onto her outstretched hands. She pushed her hair back and breathed as it ran over her face. Because this was life. This was the little life she had left.

A disturbance in the main room alerted her that it was nearly daybreak, and therefore Draco was up. She threw on some comfortable clothes, and went out to greet him.

"You're getting horribly good at this." She said, motioning to the open window and chair he sat on.

"Might come in handy. Climbing trees or something." He scoffed.

"Are you ready for today?" She questioned, and Draco looked at her.

"Hardly. I don't really want my personal feelings displayed across the Wizarding World." He said.

"Then lie, refuse to tell them anything." He groaned.

"That would be worse. Skeeter would make things up, surely. Give me some heroic back-story or something, or pan me out to be the villain in this whole thing. Won't get any sponsors that way."

"Why does it matter if you get sponsors or not?" Hermione asked, taking the second chair next to him.

"They are the difference between life and death. They are the ones sending in water when it's a drought, salve when you've burned your leg, or a weapon when you're the only one left, and defenseless." He described, "Granger, the sponsors are the most important part of the games."

"I thought we were."

"We could all just sit around and die or whatever, but until a sponsor gives us the ability to live and kill, we are little of entertainment. Remember how two years ago, in the game that lasted three weeks, that Ravenclaw boy only got like two hours of footage?"

"Yeah." Hermione said, not understanding.

"He, the entire game, hid. He was smart though, and avoided carefully everything they threw at him. He was going to just…protest it. A kid walking through a forest alone or digging himself underground isn't like watching another kid jab someone's eyes out."

"How very…" Hermione could not put her thoughts into words. Horrific? Disgusting? Appalling?

"Quite." Draco agreed acidly, without having to hear her final thought, "Do you think we can watch everyone else's interviews?"

"Why would that matter?" Hermione asked, and Draco looked shocked.

"This is the first test, whether we know it or not, Granger. It is a high-pressured situation, and it's to see how they react. It's the most opportune time to study our competitors. Plus, what they say in the interviews- building it up for the sponsors, will be worth our time."

It was an earlier sunrise, and an earlier waking time. Hermione had only excused herself to go to the bathroom to brush out her hair when she heard the warning bell for half an hour until the meeting. When she reappeared, she found a confused Seamus staring at the place that was now empty.

"I jus' saw Draco…I think." He said, "I glanced over, but when I realized wha' I was seein', there was nothin' there." He said.

"I think you're loosing it." Hermione said with a guarded laugh. He rubbed his eyes.

"Gettin' to my head, he is." Seamus grumbled, "What do we wear down?"

"Doesn't matter. They're putting us in their outfits anyway." Hermione winced.

"So I could go down in jus' me knickers?" Seamus asked with a leery grin, and Hermione pulled out a bowl for her cereal.

"Your funeral, not mine."

In half an hour's time, they arrived in the training room, which now held twenty-four chairs all set up nicely. Umbridge stood at the front of the room, next to a blackboard and a table with a basket full of slips of paper.

"Sit down, sit down." She said, her hands patting the air, "Stop dallying, we have only eight hours until the show airs." She said, and scowled, as if that could not possibly be close to the time she wanted.

"Only eight hours, Hermione." Hannah repeated under her breath, and Hermione had to pretend she was coughing to cover her laughter, which gifted her a dirty look from Umbridge.

Once the whole group was sitting uncomfortabally, Umbridge walked among them.

"Well, isn't this the most exciting day?" She asked, and Hermione was not surprised when no one agreed with her. Umbridge did not seem deterred. Yes, of course it was a wonderful day for her- ridding the world of twenty-three more irksome teenagers in just one day's time. Magical, some would say.

"A week ago, the world saw your faces…but today, they meet you. It is the most important day of your lives, children." She said solemnly, to which Ron rolled his eyes at.

"We have much to do, really!" She said, and went to the chalkbord, and waved her wand.

"First, you will meet and put on parts of your outfit. Check the sizing, tailor, and then it will be taken away for final alterations." The chalk wrote on the board as she talked.

"Second, you will have time to prepare yourself with some previous questions that were asked, for you want to sound your absolute best on stage. Third, you will be put on your outfits. Fourth, make-up and stage lighting, which men will go through as well. Fifth, we will go across town to the station, which is nearly an hour away, for we don't want anyone to notice us before your grand reveal!"

"Then, at the station, you will each have ten minuets with Rita Skeeter, so make it worth your time! She will ask you some questions, and reveal-something new this year- the all important Skill Number."

"The what?" Someone up front asked.

"You have been watched closely this week, and a highly trained and qualified team have assigned you a number based on your abilities to further help sponsors choose worth-while children. It ranges from one to ten, ten being the most desirable." There were a couple outbursts, particularly from Hannah.

"But what if there was a secret skill we have, that we did not want the others to see? That could be a game changer!" She said, and immediately looked upset with herself. Surprisingly, Daphne agreed.

"I think this is stupid! If we could just have five minuets with this panel, we could show them what we consider to be our best strengths." She said. Umbridge looked pensive.

"Perhaps…something for next year. While all very good points, I'm afraid at this point it is simply too late. Your numbers have been chosen already." Hannah sunk down a little, and Hermione too was fearful of what they would rank her as. She didn't know she was being watched the whole time!

"I know some of you are naturally…" Umbridge pinched her lips into a pout, "Sulky…but please, I finish with this thought…unhappy people who do not arise to be likable do not last long."

With that depressing thought, Umbridge turned and delicately picked up the basket. "All your names are in here, and the order I pick them will be the order you go." She flipped the board to show twenty-four slots, "My chalk will record them, so there's no…misunderstandings."

One by one, Umbridge called out the names of people. Hermione did not want to be first, she was pretty sure. Yet she did not want to be last, nor middle. Last because if she did not live up to better interviews, no one would want to sponsor her. Middle because it was so centered that it was rarely held in memories.

The first time slot was Daphne. Draco was fifth. Seamus was ninth. Hannah was seventeenth. Hermione was second to last…and Pansy was last.

Hermione was a bit sour, but told herself that at least it wasn't last. But Pansy…Pansy would not give them a uninteresting show, sadly. Perhaps Hermione's interview would be forgotten altogether in light of Pansy's most likely bloodthirsty one. Those were the kinds of things people enjoyed to see here, right?

They were ushered to a smaller area that was portioned off with large movable walls. They would be called in one by one to try on their dresses or suits, in the order that they would be appearing with Rita. After, they were dismissed to eat lunch and to meet with the mentors who would be there, for last minuet discussions. Hermione was sour that she would have far less time than most people; she had so much to ask still. Pansy was arrogant.

"I hardly needed training to begin with." She said with a wave of her hand, "I'm fine with this arrangement." Her eyes locked with Hermione, and she gave a emotionless, pitying laugh, "Poor Granger- I suppose it doesn't matter how much time you'd get, so having almost none isn't going to change things."

Hermione gave an unconscious lick of her lips; she saw an uncertainty behind Pansy's eyes, for they both knew that Hermione was smart and formidable, and Pansy was baiting her. Instead, Hermione shrugged.

"I will survive without a last minuet meeting, quite literally." She said. Pansy made a disgusted grunt in the back of her throat.

"Ah, well…we'll see." She muttered. Perhaps it was an achievement that Pansy had already marked her as an enemy, that she was someone that even came close to Pansy's skill level and therefore someone that Pansy feared. She mostly just ignored the rest. Even skilled people like Ernie she was sure that Pansy would scoff at. It was all child's play to her.

They all moved as a group to a room they hadn't been in before. The boys went down one hall, the girls the other. There were twelve make-shift changing rooms set up with their names in cursive scrawled near each one. The attendant formally apologized, for it seemed there had been an error, and they had the space and help to attend to them all at once, so they would all get equal time to eat or meet with mentors. Hermione wasn't sure why this required an apology, if anything, this was better than before. She saw Pansy stiffen, and lock her jaw.

"All of your dresses will be in there. An attendant will help you get into it, and I will come around to make the alteration notes. Please, try not to ruin anything." The woman said with an exaggerated huff, "That goes for tonight too- we auction off these dresses and suits to fans, and it's always dreadful delivering one late because someone had to have BBQ ribs." She muttered.

Hermione tried to hide her digest. Firstly, the fact that they were being used as a advertisement was demining, although Hermione did acknowledge the cleverness, and secondly that if they were so concerned about messes, why off BBQ ribs in the first place? She threw back the curtain to her own small cubby to find a woman standing with a deep red dress with fabric that spilled onto the floor like water.

Hermione couldn't help but let her expression go neutral. She had hoped to be scowling about the whole affair, regardless of Umbridge's warning, and she didn't like being dolled up like some kind of circus freak and thrown on a national broadcast. But the beauty of the dress- from the colors to the little beads that peeked out in certain places was the exact kind of thing Hermione would have picked for herself in a heartbeat.

She did not smile though, because of the occasion, but as the assistant put her into it, she couldn't help but marvel the way that even the flipside of the uncompleted dress appeared. Even this was beautiful.

There were little alterations to be made; a seam taken in here, the decision to lift the hem up just an inch, and letting some fabric out at her bust, just slightly. She was sure that Miss Malkin usually dressed for skinny girls with microscopic waists, but Hermione wouldn't apologize for her bust and hips.

She was not the first out, and neither the last. There had been multiple couches and chairs moved into the area for people to sit, and most were holding little cards and mouthing things to themselves. Ah, the questions.

As Hermione tugged her shirt back over her, pulling the end down as she exited, someone handed her the little card, which was actually a miniature book. She supposed that someone sitting up there blubbering wouldn't be the most interesting of interviews in the world, and no one wanted to sit through that for ten minuets. Her scowl returned as she reclined on a couch, taking up the whole space.

Most of the questions she wouldn't be able to answer even with the forewarning. Unsurprisingly, they were composed of shallow things that either the majority of the Wizarding Witches would die to hear, or things that Rita could easily manipulate later.

What is your favorite cosmetic product?
Who, from the front covers of Witch Weekly, do you admire the most?

What is something you've never told anyone before?

Who was your first kiss?

The questions droned on much like that. It was asinine; Hermione couldn't imagine that telling everyone that she'd kissed Anthony Hopkins for her first kiss back in third-year would make sponsors jump up and down to root for her. She was a little discouraged by the lack of tactical questions, or abut the game at all, because she was absolutely certain those were the types of things she should be asked.

Hannah plopped down at her feet. Hermione glanced up.

"That took awhile." She said. Hannah gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

"I guess my boobs were too big." She muttered, "That's a problem for them I suppose. Not surprised; most of the Slytherin girls aren't big breasted." She shrugged, and then flipped open her questions, "Ugg, they aren't serious, are they?"

"I know." Hermione murmured, sighing, and theatrically cleared her voice, "Miss Abbott- what would you rather choose; unlimited shopping credits to your favorite store (please specify) or a date with your favorite celebrity?"

Hannah immediately straightened, and put on her fakest voice, "Well, Rita- is it okay if I call you that- to be honest I couldn't imagine anything more wonderful than a date with some big shot Quidditch star that would probably spend more time looking at his reflection on a spoon than on me."

The pair dissolved into giggles, eliciting dirty looks from Daphne a couple seats over. She looked like she was about to say something, but instead shook her head and turned back to her questions.

"We're not going to get any sponsors." Hannah finally gasped out, "Or we'll win them all!"

Soon, the laughter wore off, and Hermione watched the room lazily. It seemed about half found the questions as laughable as she did, and had set them aside to pursue other things. Some girls though, like Daphne and Tracy seemed to be avidly flipping through. They probably had answers to everything. Poor girls like Susan looked flustered and splotchy already; she probably was trying to memorize the whole thing in the hopes of at least getting one mentor. It was doubtful; Hermione thought with a sigh, her 'score' couldn't be good.

They were dismissed for dinner, letting them set their own pace for eating and visiting people. Susan ran straight for the mentors, foregoing a meal, which Hermione found to be a poor choice. They would for sure need their strength today, and she wasn't going to touch the food backstage, lest she 'ruin' her dress.

So, since this was one of her last big meals that she could have, she dug in and ate like a starving animal.

"You're to be to fat to run if you keep that up, Hermione." Hannah teased, and Hermione glared at her.

"Woah!" Ernie said, his eyes widening, "Did you eat all those wings?" He asked, looking at the pile of bones in front of her, "A woman after my own heart." He winked, showing his own little pile of bones.

"Too bad they don't give us stuff that we could sneak into the arena." Colin scowled.

"Where would you hide it?" Hannah asked with a roll of her eyes, "In your ass or something? They give us clothes to put on, and I doubt it's going to have pockets. Chances are we'll have to fight for backpacks and stuff." She sighed, suddenly looking a little afraid, "That's how the other games have gone."

Hermione gave a visible wince recalling the awful bloodbath last year, people fighting over little bags where they and no idea what was in them.

"I think we can do without." Hermione said, "We're hunters, smart people. We…shouldn't hurt ourselves there. We can always-," Her voice dropped away suddenly, a tight clenching in her chest. The words went unspoken. We can always take supplies off of people we kill.

"Pansy will domineer the supplies, no doubt about that." Elizabeth threw in, her first words to the conversation yet, "She knows she's perhaps the most feared, so she'll just live easy. I can't see her choosing to go rough it in the woods."

"She's fearsome, but I don't think she knows survival all that well." Ernie argued, "It's more that she can't. We might not be as good as fighters, but I've been killing and preparing dead animals all my life. I know how to make my own weapons."

"I've read extensively on poisonous plants and such." Hermione said, nodding.

"I know some medical applications like how to make a splint and how to stop heavy bleeding." Hannah offered up.

"See? That's just the tip of what we collectively know. Once that food and stuff is gone…she doesn't stand a chance."

"So we just wait for her to eat everything?" Elizabeth gave an unsure eyebrow raise.

"For now, yeah." Ernie gave a gentle shrug, "We can see where it takes us later, of course. But do we all agree to not touch the bags and stuff?"

Everyone in the group gave a nod or a sound of affirmation. By this time, Hermione felt as though she'd burst to eat another, and they group split off to meet with beloved teachers one last time. Hermione saw the sudden sadness on Hannah's face as she left, knowing that this was goodbye for her and Cedric.

Hermione couldn't think of who she may want to go to; there was Fred, McGonagall, Madeye…so many useful people, and people she had to thank too, say goodbye too. And she could not decide.

So she did something that later she would call stupid.

She went to none.

She instead found herself wandering back toward where they would be summoned in exactly twenty-one minuets to re-fit their dresses and have their makeup done, and sat in the sitting room. She sat alone, and for the first time she let herself think about Harry, and the monster that his death had been twisted into.

She wasn't sure if she believed in an afterlife, but she hoped that Harry was watching her, somehow, and that he wouldn't hate her for all the things she had yet to do.

A woman unlocked the door and came in. She jumped, seeing Hermione there. Hermione recognized her as the master behind the dresses- Madam Malkin herself. She scrutinized Hermione for a moment.

"You are Miss Granger, no?" She asked with a faint French accent. Hermione nodded numbly. Malkain gave little in change of facial expression, but gave a soft nod. She went over to the racks of dresses in their bags, the fabric bunching and creating an explosion of silk and satin on the racks, and touched them. She took out the one Hermione recognized as her own.

"A fine creation of mine," She said, taking it out to look at it, "But no Slytherin would dare touch this, even though the red is slimming on everyone and the gold is understated. So I suppose out of any Gryffindor, I find you an acceptable choice for it."

"Gee thanks." Hermione muttered.

"It will be iconic, of course." Malkain added, "In the pictures everywhere. The golden girl in literal gold…and red. This dress will be out the door in orders." She laughed.

"Won't all of ours, because we're wearing them publically?" She questioned.

"Ah, well." Maklain set the robes back on the rack, "The Slytherins will get…attention. I choose a simpler dress for Miss Parkinson. I may have been in her house, but I find her ways of life…disturbing. I doubt people will be lining up to get the dress of the first one dead, most likely Fay or Susan. But you…you will go far." She said.

Hermione was confused now. "Thanks?"

"It surprises you so. Me stating this."

"Well, I'd imagine it would be in your best business interests for me to not die." Hermione reasoned, shrugging.

"You know, the betting is done mostly anonymously. You might be surprised to find who is already putting their gallons on your name." Malkain said with a meaningful glance, "it would be social suicide to admit names of, let's say a Muggle-born Gryffindor now, but after she wins, that person would be praised for their foresight." Malkain gave a thin smile, "for this is the world we live in."

It went without saying, Hermione gathered, that Malkian was betting on her.

This made Hermione feel sick.

By now the sounds of the girls approaching were growing louder, so nothing more was said. Even if they could, nothing much more was needed. Hannah came back, a simple twined bracelet on her arm, something that Hermione was sure was not there before lunch. She didn't say anything, because Hannah didn't notice that she had noticed, and Hermione didn't have to ask.

She went back into her own little changing room, and this time the dress was put on the correct way, and Hermione gasped a little. She could see why Malkin was so very proud of it, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a little superior that out of all the girls, the Gryffindors that went through this hell every year, she was chosen to wear it. A dress like this could make do horrible things, she concluded.

It was strapless, with intricately sewn golden flowers at her bust, but the stopped at her waist and pulled the fabric tight, so that it accentuated her waist. After that, the skirt fluttered out wide, so that when she walked a circle of fabric bounced around her. It seemed as though someone had beautifully and masterfully pulled up one layer to reveal the same sewn and beading underneath, starting at her left side and winding up. She felt like a princess. This dress probably cost more than she'd ever earn, also, but Hermione didn't care. The attendant noticed her smile.

"It's exquisite." She said, zipping up the back, "Were it in blue and bronze, I'd buy it in a heartbeat, but Malkain wishes not to change any of the colors. About the integrity of the dress." The attendant laughed, whether it was a disguised annoyed laugh or disbelieving laugh, she couldn't tell.

"I hear she'll auction it off, after." Hermione said.

"Well, she waits until the end of the games, things go for more money after." She shrugged.

"I'm sure the winner's garb goes for millions." Hermione scoffed.

"Only if the winner chooses not to keep it; Malkain's gift, she's said two years ago. Slytherins don't need it, some don't want it." The person shrugged. Hermione turned back. If she won, she couldn't imagine giving this dress up.

"Time for hair and make-up!" The person cheered, pushing Hermione out. She didn't get a chance to look around for she was so promptly sat in a chair in a long line, facing outward, and told not to move her head under any circumstances.

"Have you ever moisturized, sweetheart?" One woman asked, running her fingers over Hermione's dry face, and Hermione got the idea that the 'sweetheart' wasn't used sweetly.

"I don't even have to ask if she's ever used any product for her hair, because I already know the answer." A second person said in disgust, lifting up a strand of her unruly hair, "It's going to take hours to fix this mess!"

"Well then you'd better get working," Malkain said sharply as she walked by, "I want these girls looking nothing less than perfect."

"Yes ma'am." The two said, and Hermione could feel the annoyed glances shot over her head. She thought that the simple task of staying put would be simple, but Hermione had to bit her tongue from crying out at a sharp tug of a brush through her hair, and try not to start tearing up as the mascara wand accidentally poked her eye. Hermione turned out to be such a 'difficult case' that her two people requested the help of two others that were already done with their people. The new helpers shared similar exclamations of shock and horror at her apparently obvious lack of cosmetic use.

Finally there were done. Hermione only got a chance to look in the mirror for the briefest of moments, and she found herself to be…beautiful. She wasn't totally against make-up, she just often found it superfluous and a waste of time, but at moments like these…she saw the practical value. She hardly recognized herself.

But the moment was snatched away quickly as she was hurried through the halls to where the group was waiting impatiently to leave. A red blush crept up her cheeks.

"Thank Merlin!" Pansy cried obnoxiously, "I thought they were going to have to preformed plastic surgery to make you look pretty. No amount of magic in the world could make you look desirable." Then she sniggered, nudging Daphne in the side, "But I suppose she looks decent enough, especially the amount of time they had."

Hermione ignored her. Bullies always got what they deserved. Pansy couldn't win. This atrocity would not happen. It was well in her rights for Hermione, during the game, to give Pansy what she deserved as a bully here…death. The very thought, the idea that she considered it okay for the quickest of seconds, sent a shiver up her spine.

They were shooed onto a magic train that would take them underground to their place of hell tonight. For the first time, Hermione got the chance to look around to see what her friends and enemies wore tonight.

Her first thought was no dress was out of place; all the girls looked fantastic, a perfect fit in the literal and metaphorical sense. And the men were dashing- some in wizarding robes, but very high class ones, and some in suits. She was actually surprised to see such a muggle clothing item there, but it was undeniable that the men wearing such things looked ravishing. Perhaps Malkin was trying to extend her business, and this was the best way to do it?

Hannah was wearing a slimming dress, unlike Hermione who felt as though she was going to a costume ball-like area, Hannah's was understated compared to others. But there was a flair of sex with a dipping 'V' front in black lace, and the underneath was a pastel yellow that fanned out like a cupcake insert on the ground. She looked at Seamus, in a suit. He was of course probably not a stranger to such things, being a half-blood and everything. His suit was simple and black with a scarlet tie.

Standing and holding onto the handles just a foot away from him was…Draco in a suit. In a white suit, she realized. The whole picture was startling. She thought out of anyone, he would be the most insistent to only wear 'wizarding' things, and perhaps this told a story all on it's own. And Hermione was sure people would making assumptions about the white; did it signify a clue to an alliance, ie with non Slytherins? But Hermione was quite sure it was because it was his favorite color, he still supported Slytherins in his green and silver tie and silver accents.

She would imagine that white would wash him out, but instead it made his pale skin shine like alabaster, giving off just the perfect difference so that she saw now his skin was not a sickly white but an ivory crème.

"He's hot, eh?" Hannah whispered, and Hermione jumped, angry she'd been caught examining him, "Oh it's fine. I won't tell anyone, but I was looking there too." She gave a low whistle, "I guess they did some magic on us all today, eh?"

"Yeah." Hermione said, turning her gaze away, "I guess so."

The back waiting room was filled with couches and food. Susan went over there, looking frazzled and hungry, and an attendant scolded her and told her harshly not to get messy at all, or she'd be sorry. Hermione concealed a laugh, what were they going to do; stab her with an eye lining pen?

The space was big enough so that most people spread out, unwilling to be near another. A white screen sat in front of them, and Hermione assumed they would be watching each interview, which sent her stomach to a tangle of nerves. What if she colossally screwed up? She didn't want everyone back here to see it. But she also thirsted to know what everyone else would reveal, so she just told herself she would not mess up at all.

The time flew by quickly, and Hermione watched through a slightly ajar door as people rushed in and out, taking little notice of the contestants waiting backstage. Ten minuets before the start, two supervisors came in, one taking Daphne and Ron- the first two- out to wait. The other stayed in to signal for people to go out, although Hermione found the theory simple enough. When one came back, you went out. But the world would work like clockwork if everyone was smart enough for that, which everyone wasn't, so Hermione did understand why that second person was needed.

Their screen blinked on, and the silence that rained over the room was powerful. They watched as the T.V blinked and then a merry and vomit-inducing old tune played the intro to Rita's Show.

Hermione hardly watched her opening comments, it was all over-exaggerated and probably made-up anyway. What did pique her attention is when Rita said she was handing the floor to a very special guest. Hermione's sharp breath echoed around the room…Voldemort. Her and Hannah exchanged looks. A quiet murmur rose from both the crowd and the contestants sitting in the back.

"He wouldn't risk it." Hannah shook her head vehemently.

"He has nothing to fear now." Hermione muttered, her throat constricting, "He's the leader of a new world."

"I have an announcement about the games." He cut straight to the point, his gaze looking over the audience. Hermione didn't know she was holding her breath until she needed air, "In the past, we choose our winners for a purpose, a meaning. In the first games, it was a matter of surviving what I had no idea would be so successful today. Our second games, with Fred Weasley as our victor, was to keep the tradition. Third year, Viktor Krum to show that I have extended my kindness and power to all forms of Wizard life, and whether you began or ended at Hogwarts, you are still a new member of this world. In the fourth year, I decreed that two winners would be crowed, if they were from different houses. We ended up with two former rivals, strengthening my original emphasis that while our school houses may keep us apart in our youth, in this new world, those that cannot co-operate with previous rivals has no place at all. So now, I am here to announce the message and victors for this year."

Hermione couldn't even imagine, but he continued. "It has come to my attention that many still are following my old plans of the world. I have since modified it to create a stronger, better society. We need all three blood- levels, each plays an integral role in this new society, with specific tasks."

Yeah, Hermione thought with a scowl, Muggleborns doing all the dirty work that no one else wants to do while the Purebloods help you run your dictatorship.

"This is why there will can be not one, not two, but three victors this year; a winner from each blood-group. I wish all the contestants the very best." And then, he was gone.

The room exploded backstage, then quieted. Everyone was now looking curiously at the people around them, as if everyone was trying to imagine who would be with them at the finish line. Hermione knew the thought crossed her mind. Hannah, for sure, she thought as she linked fingers. Perhaps Ernie. Yes, those were three people Hermione felt confident about walking out of this place with. Now, the idea of allegiance was so much more to everyone. You weren't only fighting for your own lives, but for the lives of your friends too. And this…was an interesting development to say the least.

Next Rita invited Madam Malkin to share some insights about her designs here. She said that she, for the girls, focused on the two houses colors across the three dresses- two in the singular shade of each, one in both. As Hermione looked around, she realized that Lavender was in a fully red dress; Faye was in a fully gold dress, while Hermione was in red and gold dress. This, which usually wouldn't have, slipped her attention. The boys were dressed similarly with their ties. She went on to say that there were some pieces in here she had been waiting for the right person to wear, although even after Rita badgered her, she just smiled at the camera, refusing to say. Hermione instinctively looked down at her own dress.

Then, the interviews began.

Daphne was first, and she got an extra minuet for Rita to explain the 'scores'. They assessed their skill ability, and each contestant was given a number one through ten, one being no skills whatsoever, and ten being the most competent they could imagine. She did warn the sponsors directly, however, a high score did not indicate that they predicted this person to win. Things happened in the game that are even beyond the skill capacities of anyone, but this is at least a base for people to go off of.

Daphne was given the first score, and impressive 7. Hermione was sure it was because of her covert knife-throwing and close-range skills. Daphne even pulled up her dress and admitted that she had a little knife strapped to her thigh, just to comfort her. Yikes- a sharp blade close to Hermione's skin would not have been something to calm her self down that was for sure.

Ron was second, and he was obviously more nervous, stumbling over the leg of the chair as he entered. He got a six, which Hermione was momentarily surprised at, but she reminded herself he was a strategist, and could beat anyone in a game of Wizard's Chess, so perhaps it wasn't as strange as she thought. Ron's questions pried and pulled about his brother, and how there could be a second Wealsey win, and to divulge some 'secrets' that Fred just had to have passed along. Hermione hoped he would keep his mouth shut about the plans; that was one of her two biggest surprises! If everyone else knew she could will the parts of an exploding tree any time she wanted, it wouldn't be as effective, now would it? Luckily, Ron's face turned red, but he shook his head and didn't say a word. Rita became increasingly agitated, and Hermione knew he may pay in sponsorships, but he didn't say anything.

But perhaps he would, because he did something so incredibly stupid it could only be categorized as Gryffindor bravery. At one point, while trying to worm something out of him, Rita made the mistake of mentioning Harry's name. Ron went from looking annoyed, to downright upset. His whole demeanor changed, and for a moment he looked conflicted. Rita continued to talk, not noticing his trouble. He stood, which caught her attention.

"I'm done here." He said simply, holding up his hands, and walked away. The silence that followed even left Rita Skeeter grasping for words. When he came back into the room, Pansy scoffed.

"My God Weasly, you are looking for a premature death, aren't you? Only an idiot would give up their interview time." She sneered. He spun, and Hermione and Seamus jumped instinctively to hold him back.

"She has no right to bring Harry so casually into this. He died trying to something good, and everyday we continue this, we shit on his grave." He yelled, "I will not sit there and have her use him against me." He said, his whole body shaking.

Pansy just watched with almost amused eyes, and rolled her eyes.

"Harry got what was coming for him." She said, flicking her fingers, "Do I think these games are stupid, yes. But only because It's clear that I am a superior, and I think our Lord Voldemort has lost sight of what's truly important."

It took both Ernie and Colin added to keep Ron from lunging at her throat.

"It's not worth it. Kill her in the game." Ernie muttered under his breath, and that stopped him. He still yanked himself from everyone's hold and stalked over to the farthest couch from her. She looked all too pleased at his reaction.

During the commotion, Hermione had missed Leanne's interview, which she wasn't sure was all too interesting. After her was Blaise, and Hermione already knew him to be a competitor, so although she listened, she found nothing of earth-shattering importance. He was a seven as well.

After him was Draco. Draco looked uncomfortable, which was very unlike him. Hermione would have imagined him to be soaking up the people that cheered when he entered. As he sat down, he fidgeted and repositioned himself. He only became seemingly more anxious when he was given a score of eight; so far (even though he was only fifth) the highest score.

"So Draco, you seemed extremely surprised when you were chosen?" Rita said, leaning in. Draco paused his squirming. He took a long moment to answer.

"My father is on the board," He finally said, perfecting a monotone 'I-don't-care' type of voice, which Hermione was nearly sure was the exact opposite of his feelings, "That help create the games. Was I surprised? I suppose. But then again, anyone is game. I guess it was a shock more than one Slytherin was being picked at all."

"Slytherins usually do extremely well in the games. Most that are picked make it to the final three, and Marcus Flint was a winner already. Do you have any comments about this?"

"We are trained better than most." He said, and Hermione saw a flash of his usual arrogance, although she wasn't sure if at this point it was a mechanical answer, "Survival is at the very core of who we are. Usually, not such extreme survival, of course."

"Yes, I agree." Rita said, "And how do you think your family's money and position will sway your outcome in these games?"

"I wouldn't want to win based on my family, I want to win based on my skill. It may be a comfort to others to have anything they ever need at their fingertips, but I don't trust that. It makes you overly sure of yourself, which is a dangerous thing. So while I respect that I am in a position unlike most, I'm not expecting much." He said.

Their conversation continued. Rita would ask a question; Draco would neatly tie it up. He didn't have any conversations, per say. For his last question was the same one she'd asked the other contestants, seemingly her end question (expect for Ron, who she never got the chance to ask).

"So, if you win, who are the other two people you see yourself coming out of the area with?"

It was the most devious question she could imagine. Rita knew well that everyone would be watching, including the other contestants. If anyone was trying to hide an alliance, they'd be forced to lie. Lying never ended well. If they told the truth, though, that could be more disastrous. So far, Hermione had not been mentioned in anyone's answers, which she was shocked at. Perhaps Ron would have included her, but she would never know. She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that he did not immediately come to her mind as the person she'd say on stage.

Draco looked torn, an emotion for the first time since he'd begun talking. She realized he was battling with the impulse to sever his ties to his Slytherin companions, or to say whom everyone expected him to say. Finally, he reached a decision.

"Pansy, for the half-blood, because she is ridiculously skilled and I don't see her losing. Not because I necessarily want her at my side, but I'm being practical. On the same line of thinking, I don't know if I could see Granger loosing either."

His final words left the whole crowd in shock. Admitted he thought his hated enemy would win? That he wouldn't kill her? Even Hermione's jaw dropped to the ground in surprise.

Elizabeth went on next, which she was lucky they were allies, for she didn't watch the tape too closely. She was trying desperately to avoid Draco's gaze as he returned to the room.

Next was Michael, and he got a six, which she thought was far too generous for his skill set. She only scowled at him harder when she was, once again, listed as the person he saw coming out of the arena with, along with Ron. Her and Ron did share a surprised look, neither expecting his choice, and Hermione realized that Michael didn't really have any friends or allies here to choose otherwise. And perhaps this was the luckiest thing she could imagine. Watching Ron die would be one of the worse things Hermione would do, if it came down to it.

Fay got a five, also shocking Hermione. She was so nervous that she squeaked multiple times during her interview, making it very difficult to focus on what was being said. Instead, Hermione found herself mentally counting the number of mouse=like sounds she emitted.

Seamus got a six, which Hermione thought was dreadfully unfair, especially compared to Michael's six. Seamus was perhaps the only person that could beat Fred in a bomb or explosion making contest. He could simply blow everyone up, if he so chose. He was also the first to be charismatic to the crowd and Rita, laughing and turning up his Irish charm up to full volume. Despite his average number, Seamus would get sponsors, and Hermione predicted mostly female ones at that.

She kinda zoned out, she would recall later, during the next couple of interviews- about six people- one of the only memorable things was Susan breaking into tears, only solidifying her very low score of four.

It wasn't until Ernie took the stage- the 16th interview- that she actively perked up. He stayed to the script that they had agreed on, what they were going to say, what they weren't. He marked Hannah and Hermione as his two survivors with him, making this the fifth person picking her. Apart from Pansy, who had a technical six (Justin commented she would probably win, although he didn't want her to and choose a different half-blood out of emotion over logic) this was apparently the most likely choice.

Hermione hoped she wouldn't disappoint anyone. Hannah was much the same- she got a six, which Hermione saw her deflate visibly on the screen, but Hermione was sure there was more up her sleeve than a mere six, so she was still confident in her friend.

Four people late, Hermione was getting ready to go. Pike Webber was in front of her, and he didn't acknowledge her more than send a disgusted sneer and biting comment her way.

"Everyone's favorite, eh?" He growled, "You're nothing special. Not without tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb to find trouble. Oh, wait, one of those are dead."

Hermione breathed deeply, and found an expected smile in her anger. She was sure her expression pissed him off more than anything she could say.

When he took the stage, Hermione watched him from the wings, holding her breath. Unfortunately, Pansy joined her a moment after Duke left the interview. They didn't talk, just sent hostile glares at each.

Pike received an eight as his score, which made Hermione's blood boil. He was almost as disgustingly gruesome and messed up as Pansy- that was awarded now, was it? He was unapologetically confident during his interview, grinning leery and assuring a bloodbath for him.

All to soon, it felt as though he was in and out within only two minuets, although it actually had been ten. Hermione hardly registered her name being called over the speakers, and the applause that followed. She walked out, forcing a smile. Her face scanned the crowd, and in it, time seemed to slow down.

All the Weasleys that were left were in a row in the middle. Next to them was Neville, who gave her weak thumbs up. Then Artemis. And sitting next to Artemis were…oh, Merlin, it was her parents!

She had hoped they wouldn't be found and forced to see this, watch their daughter die for a world they didn't understand. They probably wondered why she didn't just leave- being a Muggle was better than dead, right? Their eyes were so sad, full of just anguish. Why? They seemed to ask, Why did you volunteer to do this?

She hoped that they wouldn't hate Artemis, if she died. That they would not blame a young girl that had no choice in the matter. She stumbled, her confident stride stumbling in the split second she saw them. Miraculously, she managed to make it to the chair right across from Rita, who was smiling like a child on Christmas. Her and Rita…well they didn't see eye-to-eye. During Hermione's fourth year, she had found the reporter to be an unidentified animagnus. They had an 'agreement' since then.

Hermione turned to see an 'eight' flash on the screen, and she sighed a breath of relief. It was a number only shared by herself, Pike, and Draco. To be up there with the 'vicious' Slytherins was comforting, more so than it should be in any other situation.

"Hello, Hermione! You seem to be the woman of the night. And it can be expected, in such a stunning dress. It's stunning, right everyone?" Rita asked, giving an over exaggerated smile to the crowd. The audience went wild, and Hermione felt a blush creep up her face.

"Its' beautiful." She agreed, focusing on keeping her breathing and voice steady, "I'm lucky to wear it."

"So," Rita said, coming down and leaning in, which she did when she was asking a big question, "What made you volunteer for a girl, when you yourself were only moments away from being spared of these games?"

Hermione could have anticipated this coming. "It was…I didn't know what I was doing until it happened. But, she was so young, I thought. If she has to be in the games one day, how is it fair to have her go now, when she could have years to practice?" She questioned.

"A very brave thing to do." Rita agreed solemnly, "And it has made you unmistakably popular with the watchers, not that I'm surprised. Although it is possible…" Rita, for once in her life, seemed unsure of how to continue, and even afraid, "…no one wants to see an eleven-year-old slaughtered." She murmured, almost so quiet that Hermione wondered if everyone else heard it.

It was so utterly surprising, ripping back the layers of makeup to reveal that, gasp, Rita was human! Her sarcasm melted away, when she realized Rita was looking to the left, where Voldemort disappeared. If he watched this, heard that, she could be horribly reprimanded. Hermione had to admire her words, just this once.

"I agree." Hermione whispered too, "It's…sick." Rita took a moment to compose herself, and then the questions that followed were mostly common stuff about strategy, her allies, and the superfluous stuff like her favorite place to shop, mentor that helped her the most, and ect.

She answered Ernie and Hannah for her final question, just as they had too. If it wasn't clear those three at least were in an alliance, it should be now. On her way out, she mused at the irony of it all. Hufflepuffs, those supposed to be all love and flowers, were the two people she was betting on to survive a murder game.

Pansy sauntered out, smiling and waving like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hermione hung back to watch. Pansy got a nine, which elicited many sounds and gasps. Pansy looked like she had completely expected it. Her questions were answered much like Pike's and each of them made Hermione want to vomit more and more. It wasn't until her last question that really scared Hermione.

"So, Pansy, you know what question is coming. Who are the two people you'll be walking out of that arena with?"

Pansy looked offended. "No one." She said, and Rita startled back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-,"

"No, you heard me right." Pansy assured, turning to the camera, "Lord Voldemort, if you're watching, you should know that I don't share anything. Especially not victories. If I don't come out alone, I don't come out a victor at all." She turned back to Rita, "Does this answer your confusion?"

"Very much so." A dark shadow passed across Rita's face, "Give it up for, Miss Parkinson everyone." Few people clapped, but Hermione knew she'd made her point.

She was a killer.

They got back late, and most people went right to their rooms. Hermione included. Her and Seamus really had no words to share, just gave each other sorry looks. Something in her heart thudded, after sharing a room with him for a week, she found it hard to imagine him dying too now, after knowing him so well. He seemed just as disturbed.

Hermione wished she could say that she, logically, forced herself to sleep because she would need it tomorrow. That she just pushed aside all her worries and slept soundly. That she didn't freak out, that she was the strong person everyone so expected her to be.

But that would be a lie.

Instead, she spent most of the night curled on the bed, staring at the wall, clutching her stomach in pain. She eventually carried her blankets out to the porch, so when she began to cry she wouldn't wake Seamus if- bless his heart- he managed to sleep.

And it hit her. All this training, and Hermione, could die. Twenty-one people would die, or more, why shouldn't that be her? Why should she get to be so special and apart form the rest? Why should she be able to survive when everyone she cared about could not?

By dawn, her sobbing had ceased, and she lay numbly, letting the cold air wash over her, staring blankly at the sky. She hardly registered when Draco climbed onto the patio with her.

"Blimey, Hermione. You didn't sleep at all, did you?"

Hermione was silent, and only closed her eyes hard, biting her lip so she didn't cry again. Draco sighed, and collapsed on the chair. She looked up and saw puffy rings underneath his eyes, and she realized with a jolt he had been crying too. His hair was messed up, and his night-shirt was buttoned incorrectly, leaving gaping holes.

"I'm a mess too. It's hard to imagine this is my last sunset." He whispered. Hermione found her voice, rough and strained, but forced it up.

"You'll last the first day, Draco." She said softly, "I have faith in that."

"So will you." He said, looking at her.

"I hope…" She replied in a small, afraid voice, "If you kill me…make it painless?"

"Huh? Why would I kill you?" He asked.

"Because we are enemies. And we don't have time for second thoughts about that anymore." She said, hardening anything she ever felt for anyone other than the two people she would be trying to keep alive. Anything she ever felt for Ron, for Luna, for Lavender, for Seamus, and now for Draco of all people had to die. She could not afford it to live.

He seemed to understand that, and was even a little hurt. Then his eyes glazed over with a certain hated and hardness, and he spoke in a tone Hermione hadn't heard him use with him for years, "I guess so. Despite the fact you may win, you'll still me a mudblood."

It stung, but Hermione felt at this point, it was what both needed to say. She nodded, turning the other way. Draco left with out so much of a sound. She let the pain, the anger, and the affronted feelings of being called something so vile overtake her until anything she felt for Draco previously was crushed like a spider underneath her hate.

Yet Hermione had to wonder, in that moment, if those words for the fist time in Draco's life, were in its theory, a lie.