Sirius watches Marlene raise her hand for another drink, slumped over the bar. She's looking rough, but much better than last year, and the one before it.
Four years ago, she won her games, and she's been a mentor ever since, so she's on year three now. Sirius has sort of taken her under his wing, giving her as much help as he can. He remembers her games; he remembers that she killed one of his tributes; he remembers thinking that she would be one of the first to die, then being surprised when she was the last one standing.
This year, both of Marlene's tributes are under sixteen. One is fourteen, and the other is fifteen, younger than both Sirius and Marlene when they entered their own games.
"They're going to die," Marlene murmurs, staring down into the glass that's pushed her way. "They're so—Sirius, they're so young, and they're terrified, and I don't—"
"Marlene," Sirius says gently, and she falls silent.
There's an odd understanding between mentors. Or, most of them. There are exceptions, usually the ones that are mentors of the death eaters; they generally thrive on the games as much as their tributes, and the Hallows. Among those are Lucius Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, and Corban Yaxley.
Despite the fact that their tributes will all be competing, most mentors spend enough time together to become friends. They're all in the same boat, really, and there's nothing like a bond formed between those that understand the same thing, especially when no one else truly can. They know that their tributes will all be slaughtering one another very soon, but that's not something they can escape, or avoid, so they have to coexist with that reality. Most of them do. Among those are Sirius himself, Marlene McKinnon, Frank Longbottom, and Emmeline Vance.
Early on, getting attached to tributes is commonplace. You grow to care for them, get to know them, and try so fucking hard to save them—and most of the time, you don't manage to. At most, you can only save one, and the chance of that is literally eight percent. Sirius has done the math. He knows.
So, watching your tributes die is never easy, especially when you've come to care for them. You have so much hope for that eight percent, but the reality is, you likely won't get it. Sirius has never gotten it. Neither has Marlene, in the two years prior that she's been a mentor. There are twelve mentors, and only one of them can bring home one Victor; the chances of that being you is also eight percent. That's what they don't tell you. The odds are never in your favor.
Sirius has learned the hard way to not get attached, to do everything he can for his tributes, but face the brutal truth that they'll likely die. It doesn't make it sting less when they do, but it's the only way he can cope with it. Marlene is still struggling to learn to cope with it. Sirius knows how hard it is.
"And the worst part is that everyone knows it," Marlene says, finally, unable to let it go. "They all know that they're not going to make it, so I have sponsors already brushing me off, and it doesn't help that my design team is complete shit. I have nothing—absolutely nothing— to work with, Sirius."
Wincing, Sirius reaches out and pushes her glass up from the bottom, encouraging her to drink. It's probably not the best thing for coping, especially with how easily it becomes a crutch, but sometimes—well, sometimes, there's no other way to cope other than dulling the senses. Sirius was very bad about it when he first returned from his games, before James repeatedly dried him out, before he learned moderation. Not that James really gave him much of a choice.
He was never harsh about it. That was the worst part. He never complained, or got upset, or begged him to do better and try harder. He just took care of him without question, every single time. He didn't blame Sirius when he turned right around and did it again and again; he just picked him up, cleaned him up, and helped. It was James who kept him from choking on his own vomit; it was James who swept through his room and removed every drink and drug he had; it was James who bathed him when he couldn't bathe himself, dressed him when he was shaking too hard to do so, and believed in him every time he got better, even when Sirius had gotten worse all over again so many times before. It was James who kept him from killing himself just like his uncle Alphard.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson rivers
FantasíaRegulus Black was fifteen the first time his name was called at a reaping. He's twenty-five when it happens to him again. A lot has changed in that time, and one of them is that he's ready to do whatever it takes to make it home. Nothing or no one w...
