The Green Games (Dramione)

t-7 Days, Part 1

On the day of the choosing, Hermione was curled up, legs to her knees, in the library. She was reading about plants today, plants that may just save someone from life or death. She did this every year for the past four years, without fail. Well, not necessarily the same topic, but she retreated to the library and lost her where no one would disturb her.

Looking out the windows of Hogwarts, she wished it gave the same feeling of comfort it once had. But now all the trees seemed brittle, all the grass seemed less green, and the water didn't shimmer in the sunlight. The glass was dirty from a lack of cleaning, and the whole of her body felt as if she was about to barf. For the fourth year, she felt ready to give up magic completely.

If she ran into the muggle world, with her parents, they couldn't hurt her. She could hide. She could snap her wand. She could be safe. If she left now they'd never know. Run to the forest, and apparate and be gone before they could catch her.

It was too soon when the bells rang in the school, too soon for those death kneels to announce the death of so many students, people she knew. People she loved.

The whole area was silent, just the sound of padding feet echoed in the halls, with the occasional crying of a younger child. The first years were lucky, though, and shouldn't worry like Hermione did. As a seventh year, she was one step of being closer to getting out, but so much more likely to get in.

She saw Ron across the courtyard, the first time since Friday and they shared nervous looks. His hands were wringing incessantly, like he was trying to wash the skin away. But he smiled at her, his very Ron-like smile, and Hermione was nearly tempted to run over to him. The punishment if she did, though, which she was reminded of by the black-hooded people, would be severe.

The Death Eaters sat stone-like around the courtyard, and Hermione glared at each as she passed. A hand slipped into hers. She saw Ginny at her right, who was biting her lip. She squeezed Ginny's hand, but the expression on the girl didn't falter.

"Maybe, maybe it will be me today." She whispered, like she had every year. Hermione knew this was a two-way situation. Half of Ginny wanted to be picked-Hermione knew she'd win, or get pretty damn close, but the other half wanted to get as far away as she could. Hermione felt wholly of the latter.

"Maybe this year, it will be any of us." Hermione reminded, "Even me."

"Mudblood wouldn't last a day." Someone sneered from behind her. Blaise laughed, as did Crabbe and Goyle. The Slytherins came to this as a joke, very few found fear in this day or the event to follow. She wanted to wring their necks. But it was true; people like her never lasted long. Her heart clenched painfully.

"Shut up, Zabini! How'd you like your name picked." Ginny spun on her heels, her hands flying to where her wand was. Hermione grabbed her arm, and forced her friend away. If she even shows her wand to them, even casually, she'd be up there killed without any time to defend herself. Zabini threw a smile over at her, because he knew this. And even her words were weak; Slytherins weren't picked. Slytherins were never in.

She wondered where Malfoy was, and saw him sitting by his father, on the stage. He was probably practicing for his new job, she thought bitterly.

Hermione was ushered into a line where a masked man waved a wand over her hand, drew some blood, and her body hummed. It was the pact; the no getting out way to keep the tributes before anything rash could happen.

It hurt like a second-degree burn each year.

Then she stood at the bottom of the podium, hanging back near Ginny and Luna who had appeared to her other side. The three gazed up at the number of orbs on the stage. 24. How would it be happening this year?