Chapter Text
They made Sirius ride the train back to District 12. It was the same train that Sirius rode to the Capitol, a trip in reverse with his body full of holes.
Sirius didn’t sleep, he couldn’t. How could he even try? James was gone - gone. Lily… Lily was gone. They didn’t say it during his Victory Interview, but Sirius could feel that she had died while giving birth to James’s son, Sirius’s godson.
James and Lily were meant to be married, they were meant to move in the big house in Victory Village. Monty and Effie would live with them, finally free to relax though Sirius knew they wouldn’t. Regulus would go too, he would be given his own room, Sirius knew it.
And James was gone.
The train pulled into the station at District 12 and Sirius felt sick when he saw the crowd of citizens standing outside of it. They were staged, held in place by Peacekeepers, forced to cheer as the wrong champion exited the train.
Sirius’s hands shook when he opened the door and the first thing he searched for in the crowd was Regulus. Sirius just watched one of his brothers die, he needed to see Reggie. Sirius - Sirius didn’t know how to live without James, but he could do it for his little brother who had always needed him.
The citizens were clapping, making their forced sounds of approval. It was all fake, Sirius knew it. He didn’t look at anyone too hard, he couldn’t stand to see the judgment in their eyes when they all knew that James had been the better man.
Sirius searched in the crowd for Regulus, maybe even hoping to find Fleamont, who had treated him like a son, or Effie, who cried when James volunteered for Regulus.
They weren’t there.
*****
Narcissa smoothed down her skirt, crossed her legs at the ankle, and shared a thin smile of determination with her husband. Lucius was pained, Narcissa could see it in the shadows of his eyes.
Draco was strong, resourceful, determined. He was also outnumbered and on the wrong side of the new pack in the arena.
Gilderoy Lockhart played a video of Draco as he currently was in the arena, Narcissa’s perfect boy was pacing a room with his partner, Pansy, while they planned how to best turn the upcoming feast to their advantage.
“You must be very proud,” Lockhart said to them, flashing a cosmetically over-perfected smile. The man hardly fit in Narcissa’s home, with his glittering apparel and overt cheer.
Narcissa was proud of her son, and terrified every moment that he was gone.
“We are,” Lucius said calmly, much more adept at playing the politician with nothing but civic pride. “Draco is representing our district wonderfully. We cannot wait to tell him so upon his return.”
If he returned.
If. If. If. If.
Narcissa begged Draco to not volunteer, the night before the reaping. She had hit her knees and pleaded for her son to remain in the shadows, remain one of the many who were safely in their beds. It was for nothing, Narcissa’s words could never overcome years of Lucius telling his son what an honor it was to volunteer for an arena that Lucius had never entered.
There were too many strong and capable children who entered an arena and found it to be rigged for another district’s success. And even if Draco won… what would become of such a handsome and beautiful boy? He would never be untouched, pure, innocent again.
“Narcissa?” Lockhart looked to Narcissa to press for a quote, something to say about Draco’s success in reaching the final eight. “How do you feel about your son’s chances with only strong competitors left?”
How did Narcissa feel about her son’s chances? Nauseous.
Narcissa felt as if the orphan from Twelve should have been blown apart the very first time he disparaged the President. The boy had said no lie, yet in a standard year it would not be tolerated. The longer the boy from Twelve lived, the more ill Narcissa became.
The Gamemakers could be saving him for a grand show of force at the end of the games - make any who shared his rebellious thoughts believe that they too could become champion only to be struck down by the might of the Capitol before all.
“I am, like any mother, scared for my son and proud of the glory he has brought to our district and our Capitol,” Narcissa said politely. “I hope that our son is home soon.”
“Mama!” Draco smiled and Narcissa laughed at the gap where his front teeth had yet to grow in.
“I’m ready!” Draco straightened the straps on his backpack and tried to stand straight and tall for his first day of school. “Mama, you have to take a picture,” he pouted when Narcissa was struck by her handsome boy and not quick enough.
“All my best friends are waiting for me!” Draco whined. “But Dad said you have to take a tra-billion photos first.”
“And your father was correct,” Narcissa said, laughing again at her bossy boy. She shared a smile with Lucius, who had winked at their son, then held up the camera while Draco situated himself in front of their door. “Say cheese, my love.”
“CHEESE AND CRACKERS!”
Narcissa looked to the family mantle where there was a photograph of Draco for every year of his life.
There were fifteen photographs… only fifteen.
“I hope,” Narcissa’s gaze focused on the last photograph of Draco that she had taken, the one on the morning of the reaping when he wore his father’s old suit and a proud smile, “that my son returns for more photographs.”
Narcissa hoped that her son returned in one piece, alive and safe.
*****
Did Twelve change since Sirius left it? Had it only been weeks ago? It felt like months, years, a lifetime.
Twenty-three lifetimes worth of being away from the only home he knew, the place that could never be home again without James.
There were cameras following Sirius, following the returning hero from his Games as he traveled to find his family. It had Sirius on edge, Reggie should have been at the train station. Unless he couldn’t… Did the Games set him back that much?
Would Reggie be just a husk again? A shell of the witty and clever boy he had been before Greyback?
Sirius shivered at a chill in the air and couldn’t help but think that even the birds must have died when James did, they weren’t singing at all.
District Twelve might one day be home, when Sirius had his brother and his godson, but it was going to take years before Sirius saw it that way.
*****
“Juliana Zabini.” The simple-minded new reporter for the Hunger Games, Gilderoy Lockhart, smiled at Juliana as he looked her over from the top of her head to her toes.
The man was a nasty bit of slime, dressed up as a jewel. He leered at Juliana with lusty eyes and drool practically dripping from his lips.
Juliana should have wed before Blaise had volunteered to go in the arena. She had considered it, considered that Blaise would put a new spotlight on her that many would look to exploit for their own purposes.
It had only been six months since the death of Juliana’s last husband, she hoped that her mourning period would keep her safe for another few months before she would marry again. If it proved to be a false hope, Juliana would simply wed Blaise’s mentor, Severus Snape, and protect them both.
Not that Juliana believed any in the golden house in the Capitol found Severus to be worthy of the casual sex trade they employed, but Juliana was fond of the man regardless. Severus was protecting Juliana’s only love, she would never forget it.
“Gilderoy Lockhart,” Juliana said, letting the accent she perfected roll off her tongue. “I’ve heard many things.”
“All good I hope,” Lockhart laughed, winking at the camera that recorded them in Juliana’s home. Juliana merely smiled, allowing Lockhart to wonder what she knew about him.
Nothing, truthfully. It was the worst sin in the world of the Capitol, to be truly forgettable.
“You must be excited, seeing Blaise so far in the Games,” Lockhart said once he realized that Juliana would not play insipid games with him. “Though,” Lockhart laughed lightly, “I think we all hoped that Blaise would try and beat your record.”
How could he? Juliana had been unstoppable, she had won the title in a mere twenty-four hours. There had never been a tribute as quick as she, there never would be.
If rumors were to be believed, it would be the final year for the Hunger Games.
“My Blaise is a showman, as his father had been,” Juliana said simply. “He has no need to compete with me, the country loves him.”
The love of the country was no small thing, Juliana knew it well.
“They certainly do,” Lockhart agreed cheerfully. “And it seems like Blaise found his own love…”
Juliana’s smile was softer, more genuine. It was undeniable, her son had fallen hard and fast for the rebel from Twelve. Juliana believe that Harry Potter had been a ploy, something to entertain viewers and mark Blaise as unique.
But Blaise looked at Harry as Cassius had looked at Juliana…
Julianna slipped inside the mentor room, her eyes searching for her Cassius. The other mentors ignored her, busy with the Games happening on the screens.
Juliana shuddered and ignored the screens, having no desire to relive the horror that she had survived just a year before.
Cassius stood tall and strong in the corner of the room, his golden eyes on his tribute, a boy a year younger than Juliana was and stuck in the dang nightmare she had barely escaped.
“Cassius,” Bellatrix, the girl who won the year before Juliana did, sent to Juliana’s husband when her dark eyes found Juliana in the room. “Your child bride is here,” she said.
Better a child bride than a whor*. Better to be beloved and treasured than sold and raped.
“She is no more child than you,” Cassius reminded Bellatrix even as he turned and opened his arms for Juliana. Juliana rushed to him and buried her dread in his chest, willed her fear to be carried by Cassius’s strong arms.
“Mi amore,” Cassius breathed his love in Juliana’s hair as he held her tightly and felt her trembling. “I told you to stay in our room,” he chided her. “You will see nothing there.”
Juliana had, she had stayed in their room within the building and peeked not at all at the Games that played. Cassius told her that he would continue to mentor the tributes for their district and that Juliana should make enough appearances to portray the image that would keep her safe:
Newlywed, spoiled, pampered. Juliana Zabini was a happy wife, enjoying the fruits of her labor in the arena while her husband worked to secure another victor.
He did well with Juliana, did he not? Why ever would she take his place?
“We need to talk,” Juliana told him. She looked up at Cassius and felt her heart ache in her chest; she loved him, she loved him when she never meant to.
Cassius had proposed to her during her victory speech, Juliana knew he would. They had discussed it before she entered the arena, when Cassius Zabini was only a mentor from her district. Cassius warned her of the fate of beautiful victors, their endless role as whor*s to be sold.
Juliana cried when he proposed, nodded prettily and spouted off how it was the love they secretly shared that inspired her to return so quickly. They married before they fell in love, and it was a fairytale in reverse that turned to flames when Juliana took a test.
There were no contraceptives in Panem, they were outlawed. Juliana and Cassius had been careful, so careful on the few times when Cassius agreed to bed her. He wanted to wait until she was older, Juliana wanted to experience sex with her husband - her love.
They had been careful… never careful enough.
Cassius looked in Juliana’s eyes and there was love there, enough love to last a lifetime. He kissed her forehead and Juliana relished in the touch he shared that was so gentle, gentle as if Juliana had not slaughtered a field of children just a year ago.
“We will talk tonight, il mio lieto fine,” he promised. “Severus needs me now, I will be with you once he is safe.”
Juliana glanced briefly at the screen then, long enough to see an ugly boy with black hair and a hooked nose hunkering down in the frozen tundra that he was cursed to kill within.
Severus would never be truly safe, only in death.
“I expect that my Blaise and his Harry will have a happily ever after that they both deserve,” Juliana said, her stamp of approval on the fiery rebel that loved her son.
Harry Potter would make a fine match for Blaise Zabini. They would be the final children of victors, the final pair that would wed immediately outside of the arena.
Blessed be the God that would not allow either of them to carry a child.
*****
Sirius could see the bakery in the distance, just beyond the wall of Peacekeepers that blocked him from reaching it.
“Stay back.” One of them shoved Sirius hard in his chest, nearly knocking him on his ass. Sirius snarled at him and his fingers itched for a weapon, a weapon he was gifted in the arena and would be killed for owning ever again.
“My brother.” Sirius could see Regulus, just inside the windows. Regulus lifted a hand and there was recognition in his eyes, he knew who Sirius was.
Sirius tried again to shove between the Peacekeepers, getting pissed about his separation. Regulus was in there, the brother that James died to protect. Effie and Monty were there, Sirius could see them.
The baby might be in there, Sirius’s godson.
All the family Sirius had left was inside that bakery and Sirius was being laughed at and mocked by Peacekeepers while they blocked him.
“LET ME THROUGH!” Sirius bellowed. A Peacekeeper clocked Sirius in the jaw with the butt of his gun and Sirius landed on the ground flat on his back.
It gave him the perfect view to see the planes that flew over the District, each one emblazoned with the Seal of Panem.
*****
Ron looked sideways at his sister curled in his side and tried to remind her with his eyes that they were on camera.
All of Panem was watching them and Ron didn’t want them to eat their dinners while Ginny cried on their screens.
The entire Weasley family - the family that was left - was gathered for the interview. It had been mandatory; Bill, Charlie, and Percy were all sent home from work to do the interview.
It was meant to be a big deal that George was in the top eight, the final eight. George only had six more tributes he had to outlive to return home. Ron knew, they all knew, that George wouldn’t do it.
The camera guys had a live feed of George up for them all to see while they were interviewed. George was curled up on the floor in a room, his eyes empty while he talked to no one.
Fred wasn’t there. Fred was gone. Fred was dead.
Ron practiced saying that in the mirror, to make the truth sink in until he could really believe it.
Fred was dead and there was nothing they could do. Mom couldn’t even make herself bury him, his body was waiting in a freezer in City Hall. Ron knew why, he knew even if Mom didn’t.
They couldn’t bury Fred without George.
“The Weasley family.” The blonde guy with the giant white teeth gave them all what he must have thought was a sympathetic look. It wasn’t, it just looked superior, safe, removed from the grief that was killing them all slowly.
“How are you?” he asked, looking toward Bill for an answer. Bill was the oldest, the man of the house ever since Dad died. Bill took good care of them, worked himself to the bone to make sure none of the kids starved themselves to an early grave like their dad had.
“We’re sad,” Bill said. He had his arm around Mom, he was staying strong. Ron was going to stay strong too, Ron wasn’t going to have a breakdown for the stupid f*cking Capitol pets to giggle over while they had their fancy meals and parties.
“Understandable,” Lockhart - that was his name, Ron heard it the last few Games - said with mocking sympathy. “Fred’s loss was sudden. But you still have George!”
Did they?
Ron looked at the screen again and felt his heart actually cracking inside his chest as George kept talking to his own shadow, probably pretending it was Fred. The twins could have won together, they could have. The twins were brilliant, funny, clever. They were getting sponsors, they were doing great.
Then the boy from Three, the one who wasn’t turning murder into a romance, killed Fred and it was killing George too.
“We do.” Charlie forced a smile and they could all see it was fake, he was only doing what was expected of them.
Woohoo, one of the twins was in the final eight. It didn’t matter, Ron’s family was broken, ruined. Mom was a wreck, Ginny was practically comatose most of the time. The two of them watched the Games obsessively, but never commented on it.
George’s death was going to be the final nail in the Weasley coffin, Ron knew it. The twins kept everyone in high spirits, they were the glue for their family. And they weren’t the twins anymore - it was just George and his shadow.
“We’re very proud of George,” Percy said quietly, the only volume he spoke in since the reaping. Percy’s cracked glasses were crooked, fogged over, but he wasn’t crying either.
“As you should be,” Lockhart said way too loudly. The guy was trying to make their interview so happy and cheerful while they could all see George fading away inside an arena, too far away for any of their words to ever reach.
“Ginny,” Lockhart looked to Ginny then and Ron instinctively pulled her closer to his side. “How are you feeling?” he asked her, as if he freaking cared. “Fred volunteered for you, didn’t he?”
Ron’s upper lip curled up and he would have bashed Lockhart’s smarmy face in if it weren’t for Bill pulling a lock of his hair quickly, saving Ron from being arrested or killed in the streets.
How was Ginny feeling? Freaking guilty, miserable, sick.
“Ginny Weasley!”
Ron’s blood ran cold and he looked at his little sister, his baby sister, the youngest of the Weasley family. Ginny didn’t look like she understood, her eyes were as big around as Ron’s fists. Ron didn’t understand either, not Ginny, not Ginny…
Ginny couldn’t go in the arena, she was a baby, Mom’s whole world since Dad died. Mom couldn’t lose her, and she would. Ginny wouldn’t survive. But… but maybe Ron —
“I volunteer!”
Ron had been a second away from saying it; Fred beat him to it. Fred stepped forward from the group of kids with a flourishing bow while Ginny screamed his name —
“FRED! NO!! FRED!!”
Ginny was ignored, then grabbed by Ron when she tried to chase after Fred. Ron didn’t have time to even process that it was his brother, his big brother, who had taken Ginny’s place before the next name was being drawn.
“Angelina Johnson.”
Mom screamed as if she was being torn in half and Ron didn’t understand why - Fred volunteered, but he could win, he could.
“I volunteer.”
Mom screamed because she knew what Ron didn’t know until it was too late:
Fred wouldn’t go in the arena without George.
George walked behind Ron and Ginny, who was still screaming and struggling in Ron’s arms, trying to claw her way to the stage. George was more subdued, less cheerful on his walk to death. He paused, just for a second, and touched the center of Ron’s back.
“He needs me,” George said quietly, a whisper before he pasted the smile on his face that would win him hundreds of sponsors.
Fred needed him, George volunteered.
And there could only be one winner of the Hunger Games.
“She’s sad,” Ron snapped at Lockhart. “She’s freaking sad because one of our brothers is dead and he doesn’t look real great, does he?” he demanded, waving his hand at George.
Fred needed George as much as George needed Fred. It didn’t make sense to see one without the other and Ron knew that George wasn’t understanding it, he couldn’t.
Mom was waiting on George to come home so that she could bury both twins together, just as Ron had feared would happen since the moment Fred volunteered before he could.
*****
Sirius was alone when he sifted through the ashes, sifted through the bombing that took the last of his family.
What he was looking for? Sirius had no idea. Something, something to tell Sirius it was all real, not just a horrible nightmare.
They only dropped four bombs, perfect bombs that tore apart the Potter’s Bakery: one for each remaining member of Sirius’s family.
Regulus… oh, God, Regulus… he was just a boy, only a boy. James had died to protect him, James went in the arena so that Regulus could live. And they killed him anyway, they killed him in retaliation for everything Sirius had said and done in the arena.
James’s parents broke Sirius’s heart, they broke his heart more than his own mother’s death ever had, but Sirius had to think they were at peace. They had to see their son die, the girl they loved as a daughter die, and they were able to join them. Effie believed in a Heaven, a place of peace and safety, and Sirius had to think that two people so purely good would surely be there with their son.
It was the death of Sirius’s whole world that shook his legs and drove him to his knees in the middle of the ashes that still smoldered.
James’s son, his baby boy. Sirius swore that he would protect him, he swore it. It was the very last thing he said to James… and Sirius never even got to hold him.
Sirius dug in the ashes for hours, until the Peacekeepers finally disappeared and the sun left as well. Sirius dug for any evidence he could find of his brother, his godson… anyone.
Sirius watched Regulus burn - he saw him screaming for him, flailing in pain and fear. The Peacekeepers wouldn’t let Sirius past them, they held him down on the ground while Regulus burned and all Sirius could do was scream his name over and over and over.
The baby had to be in there, he would have been with his grandparents. Sirius never saw him, he only saw as Effie cried and clutched Monty and Monty’s lips moved in what had to be a final prayer.
Regulus's face, hidden in flames and twisted in pain, would have been how the baby had looked… a baby so innocent of all of Sirius’s crimes.
The Capitol turned Sirius into a curse and made sure he saw the death of every person he had ever loved. It was Sirius’s fault, all of it.
Sirius curled up on the ground, in the ashes of his family, and begged the God that Effie believed in to take him too. Letting him live was another punishment, Sirius wished he had died with his baby brother.
“Hey, kid.” A pair of white boots stomped through the destruction, kicking up what might have been Reggie’s bones, Effie’s cherished recipe books. They stopped right in front of Sirius’s face and he hoped they crushed him.
It would hurt less to be stomped to death, Sirius was sure.
“I’ve got a brother.”
That was all they said - ‘I’ve got a brother’. They dropped something down, something that landed in a puff of grey ash. Then they walked away; Sirius never looked at their face, never cared who they were.
But if they had a brother then they had to know the pain that threatened to paralyze Sirius, the pain that made every nerve in his body sob for death. And maybe they delivered it.
When Sirius could will himself to move, just a touch, he shakily grabbed what they dropped and squinted to understand it. It was a syringe, a rusted medical syringe full of something.
Was it a gift after all? Like the ones delivered to Sirius in the arena?
Was it death? Sirius hoped it was death. Sirius stuck the needle in his arm and pressed the plunger down immediately as he hoped that someone with a brother knew that Sirius only wanted to join his brothers in death.
Sirius was the curse, he was the one who should have died, not the others.
That baby was innocent.
*****
When the cameras arrived in District Eleven, searching for Taylor Anderson’s family, he knew what he needed to do.
It wasn’t easy, it was really hard, but it was the right thing to do.
Taylor had been family, he was. And even if everything was different, if everything was horrible, Taylor was still family.
“Hello. My name is Tyler Bailey and Taylor Anderson is my brother.”
Tyler sat up straight in front of the tree where he suggested they filmed at for the interview. Tripp was busy playing with flowers, giggling at the bees that circled him. Tyler saw the cameraman kept looking at him and it was making Tyler get angry.
Tripp was different, he wasn’t the same as the other Bailey boys. Tripp was sweet, simple. He talked funny and couldn’t run right, his face was kind of flat, but he was a Bailey boy the same way Tripp was. And Bailey boys were supposed to stick together.
It was the Capitol that kept tearing them apart. They killed Trace, they tried to take Tyler in an arena, and they killed Trent.
That boy, Harry, he was the only one who said what it was: murder. They murdered Tyler’s brothers and if that cameraman looked at Tripp one more time then maybe Tyler was going to murder him.
“You had another brother as well, didn’t you?” The man who asked about Taylor’s family, the man with the blonde hair and sparkly clothes that burned Tyler’s eyes, pretended like he was sad for Tyler.
It was all an act, he was Capitol.
“I did, two of them.” Tyler looked right in the camera to make sure he wasn’t ignored. “Trace and Trent. They were my brothers and they were both killed.”
They were going to try and kill Taylor too, they were. Taylor wouldn’t die, he promised.
Tyler went to see Trent first after the reaping. He had been crying - they both were.
“I’m sorry,” Tyler sobbed. “I’m so sorry!”
If Tyler hadn’t been chosen, Trent wouldn’t have volunteered. They were brothers, best friends. Trent was just a little bit older and thought he needed to protect Tyler, when he didn’t. The other boys, the Bailey boys, they needed Trent, he was the one that took care of them most of the time.
“It’s okay.” Trent hugged Tyler tight and he was crying too, they were both crying and hugging and everything felt so bad.
“Try to win,” Tyler begged him. “Please, Trent, please. Be smart and - and make allies and if you - if you have to kill someone… do it, okay?”
Trent promised he’d try and Tyler believed him.
Then Tyler went next door to see Taylor.
Taylor had been Trace’s best friend and he was all of their best friend since Trace was killed. Taylor took care of them, brought them fresh meat and crispy green vegetables at night. He helped the boys get shoes when they couldn’t reuse the ones they had for years and years anymore.
When Tripp got real sick and everyone said he was gonna die, Taylor found actual medicine for him.
“Taylor?” Tyler tried to stand up tall, like a man - like Taylor. Taylor didn’t look scared or sad, he looked… he looked like he knew what was going to happen and he was going to fight through it.
“Tyler, buddy.” Taylor crossed the little room in just a few steps, he was tall and strong, and pulled Tyler in for a hug. Taylor always hugged them, he was part of their family.
“I don’t want you to die,” Tyler whispered. He closed his eyes tight and admitted what he didn’t wanna be thinking but couldn’t help thinking since he saw Taylor and Trent on the stage together.
“But I don’t want Trent to die either.”
They couldn’t both win. The stupid STUPID Capitol was taking both of Tyler’s brothers and only going to let one of them come home. Taylor was big and strong, but Trent was smart and fast.
Tyler wanted them both to win, but they couldn’t.
“Hey. Listen to me, Tyler.” Taylor put his hands on Tyler’s shoulders and kneeled down in front of him so that Tyler could see his eyes - honest eyes, that’s what Ma called them.
“I am going to work my very hardest to make sure that Trent comes home, okay?” Taylor said, and that was brave. It was brave of Taylor to say that when he was really saying that he would die for Trent.
“I don’t want you to go,” Tyler said with his lower lip quivering. “Taylor, I - I don’t want either of you to go.”
“I know.” Taylor smiled and it was sad, but not scared. “Can you do me a favor, Tyler? You have to take care of the boys while Trent’s gone, okay? You need to help them brush their teeth, get to school. But no matter what, Tyler, listen to me, no matter what: you stay away from the guys in the field, okay?”
The guys in the field? Taylor’s friends? The ones who came by to patch the hole in the Bailey roof and who played music on Tommy’s birthday. Tyler liked the guys from the field, they were nice.
“Why?” Tyler asked. “Why do I need to stay away from them?”
“Just until Trent and Mister Lupin come home,” Taylor said and he was serious, very serious. “Promise me, Tyler. Look me in the eyes and make me a man’s promise that you will stay away from those guys until Trent and Mister Lupin come home.”
Tyler didn’t understand why, but he said the words:
“I promise.”
“Good boy.” Taylor hugged Tyler again and Tyler hated that it might be his last hug from him. Taylor wasn’t really old enough to be his dad, he was only seventeen, but sometimes Tyler liked to think of him as his dad.
That was baby stuff though and Tyler… Tyler had to be the man while Trent was gone.
“I’m going to try and send Trent home,” Taylor told him before they broke away their hug and Tyler could see that Taylor wasn’t scared, he wasn’t, but he was crying anyway.
“When they send me back, can you - can you have me buried out in the field, by Trace?”
Tyler promised he would, only if Taylor promised to live if Trent didn’t.
The dirt was still fresh in the field where the cameras recorded Tyler. Trace’s grave had grass growing on it and Trent’s was still new and muddy.
The guys from the field dug the hole and built the coffin for him, Tyler asked them to. Taylor told him to stay away from them until Trent came home and he did.
Then Trent was returned home and Tyler asked them for help.
“Taylor Anderson is going to win what you call a game,” Tyler said, glaring right at the camera like Harry did when Trent was killed. Harry screamed and cried and held Trent for Tyler - Tyler wanted him to win because of that.
Tyler wanted Taylor to come home and Harry to win and then he wanted them all to burn down the Capitol together.
“Taylor is going to win and he is going to make every single person who killed my brothers regret it,” Tyler said. He pointed at his big brother’s grave, the one that the ‘rebels’ who Taylor warned him away from had dug.
“And if Taylor doesn’t win, Harry Potter is going to,” Tyler said. “Then Harry Potter is going to kill Dumbledore and I’ll spit on his grave.”
Lockhart didn’t ask Tyler anymore questions, Tyler didn’t think that he would. Lockhart packed up his camera people quickly, mumbling about finding a classmate or something to comment on Taylor’s progress in the Games.
Tyler sat outside by his brothers’s graves and watched Tripp chase bees around the flowers that grew across from two dead boys. Tyler stayed there until he heard the crunching of boots that marched toward him, the group of Peacekeepers that were sent to make Tyler shut his mouth.
Tripp was distracted by a whistle near the woods and he ran toward it while Tyler waited for the Peacekeepers to march up on him.
“Evening,” Tyler said politely. He looked up at the line of Peacekeepers - they only sent six - and smiled as politely as he had been told to be his entire life.
Politeness didn’t save his brothers, but it didn’t hurt any for Tyler to be polite for just a second.
“Tyler Bailey.” The Peacekeeper in the middle stepped forward and he raised his gun. They weren’t going to arrest him, they were given orders to kill.
There was a blast of a gun, over and over. It echoed in the field as bullets whizzed through it. Five, six, seven, eight.
The Peacekeepers fell one by one as the guys from the field charged from the forest with their own guns drawn.
One of them, the guy who was best friends with Mister Lupin, had Tripp on his hip while he fired one more shot at the Peacekeeper who thought he would kill Tyler.
The Bailey boys had started with five and they were down to three. The Capitol wasn’t going to kill another one of them.
*****
Sirius didn’t know how he made it to Victor’s Village or why he was there.
One second he had been searching for Reggie’s body in ash and the next he had been talking to his brothers, begging for forgiveness.
James forgave him, he was too forgiving, too loving. Regulus was more stubborn, but Sirius was getting there he thought.
There was one house in the Victor Village with the lights on. Sirius squinted at the strange paper strung across the porch and it took his swimming vision a few minutes to read it:
“Welcome Home”
It was so morbid that Sirius laughed, who would do that? Who would welcome Sirius to the Hell that had become his life? It had to be President Dumbledore, who else would continue to kick him over and over?
Sirius stumbled on his way in the house, he was stumbling a lot. Sirius still hoped that the burning in his veins would kill him, but it was making him clumsy in the meantime. It brought James back for a few minutes, then Regulus.
Maybe it was magic, magic to speak with the dead. Sirius didn’t know, he only knew that he tripped over something that didn’t belong there.
It was probably more dead family members. But - no, that didn’t make sense. They wanted Sirius to watch his family burn burn burn, they wouldn’t give him their bodies afterward.
Sirius looked down on the steps of his porch and tried to make sense of the little bundle of blankets. Sirius wasn’t cold, he was too hot, so why the blankets?
The blankets started crying and it startled Sirius so badly that he fell off the porch, barely staying on his feet.
“Reggie?” Sirius slurred his brother’s name, the only baby he ever knew. Sirius reached for the blankets and wondered if the magic brought Reggie back again, back as a baby instead of a sad and haunted teenage boy.
Sirius held the rail tightly to bend down and reach for the baby. He held his breath when he lifted up the blankets, the baby, and wasn’t prepared for the bright green eyes that he saw.
Harry.
That was what Lily named him before she died: Harry James Potter. If Sirius had died and James lived, he would have been Harry Orion Potter.
Hop.
“They - you’re here.” Sirius whispered the words and his brain tried to swim through the magic to find some understanding. Had the baby ever been in the bakery? Had he been spared? Who - who put him on Sirius’s porch?
Sirius looked down at the child that was his - his godson, his son - and watched as a teardrop dripped from his face to Harry’s.
“That’s my son,” James whispered, proud as any new papa could be. He smiled over Sirius’s shoulder and then laughed when Harry quit crying and yawned. “Lazy boy, what’s he done today?”
Evaded death, apparently.
When the curse of Sirius Black fell on the last of his family, Harry had evaded it. Harry was alive, but not safe. Nobody in Sirius’s life had been spared, not his brothers, not the couple who treated him like a son.
Harry didn’t have the parents who loved him or the grandma that knitted him blankets and that was Sirius’s fault.
“I’m so sorry,” Sirius told him. Sirius’s feet were slow, sticky with the same substance flowing through him. They knew where to go though, somewhere to keep the baby safe.
It was James’s last wish that his son was safe and if he stayed with Sirius, he never would be. One day, Sirius would see him burn and they would record it and play it over and over and over again to laugh at Sirius as another loved one was ripped away from him.
*****
Alice inhaled deeply, letting the scent of her plants ground her as they were rooted in their soil, and made herself stay calm.
It would do Neville no good if Alice started acting foolish on camera, crying for her baby and screaming about injustice. The interview man only wanted some nice quotes to add to their story, something generic about how proud she was of her only son and how much she hoped he would win.
“Neville is a good boy,” Alice said honestly. “No, I’m sorry, Neville is a good man,” she corrected herself. Neville had been a boy, before he was reaped. Alice watched her baby grow in the arena through horrors that were unfit for children to see, let alone live through.
“Neville is the best man,” Luna added softly. Luna was another one who had grown since the reaping, Alice hated to see it happen. The silly and whimsical land of imagination that Luna lived in seemed to die when Neville left for the Capitol and the young woman that sat beside Alice to talk about their Neville was quiet, demure, mature.
Alice and Frank hoped that when Neville returned - because he had to return - that their kids would heal together.
They had a rare type of love, genuine and deep as the ocean. It was love that drove Neville to volunteer and it was devotion that made Luna rally the citizens of Twelve, encouraging donations for Neville in the arena. Even those with so little to eat were moved by Luna’s words of passion about the man who Neville Longbottom was and the donations continued.
“You care quite a bit about Neville, don’t you?” the man asked Luna. “Are you two sweethearts?”
“I love him and he loves me,” Luna said simply. “He’s risking his life for me and I - I’m praying for him.”
Luna never used to pray, Alice knew it. It had been one of many oddities about the girl that Neville one day brought home for his parents to meet. As far as Alice knew, Luna had never prayed until the night of the reaping after they had cried themselves dry in each other's arms.
Alice loved Luna, she loved her son. It was every parent's worst nightmare, having their heart inside an arena and being damaged at every turn. Alice would take his place if she could, though - like her son - Alice knew she could never kill a child. Instead, Alice prayed, Luna collected donations, Frank watched their son every second of every day.
It had to be enough, it had to be. Alice’s heartache and Frank’s inability to sleep and Luna’s devotion had to be enough to bring Neville home to them. And if they failed, Alice prayed that Harry Potter would save Neville.
Harry had been Neville’s first friend, the first child who played with the ‘townie’, as Neville was taunted by the other children. Neville used to gush about his friend, how fast he could climb trees and the beautiful pictures he could draw in class.
“Mommy!” Neville was running for all his might on his two little legs that hadn’t lost their baby chunk yet. It made Alice smile to see traces of her baby in the big boy that launched himself at her after a busy day of school.
“Look, Mommy!!” Neville pulled a paper from his pocket and shoved it at Alice. “Hawwy made it!”
“Well let’s see here…” Alice pretended to examine the drawing closely just to hear her son laugh. It was such a nice laugh, a giggle of a little boy who was loved and loving.
The drawing was adorable, truly. There were two boys standing on a line of squiggly green. One boy had big brown eyes and a smile that took up his entire face. The other boy had a smaller smile, but the same oversized eyes colored green.
The boys were holding hands and Alice could have cried to know that her son had a friend - a true friend. Not just any friend, but Neville had befriended the one boy in their District who might have needed a friend the most.
“This… this is the best picture,” Alice told Neville. Neville reached for it, but Alice wanted to keep it, to treasure the friendship between two boys who could grow to be as close as brothers one day.
“Why don’t we go out in the garden and see if those strawberries are ready yet?” Alice suggested. She smiled and poked Neville on his little button nose. “Maybe your friend Harry would like some tomorrow.”
“Yes!!” Neville threw his arms around Alice’s stomach and squeezed her so tight while he looked up at her like she was his entire world. “I love you, Mommy,” he said so perfectly earnestly.
“And I love you, my Neville.”
Alice showed the paper that had yellowed with time, but still showed two boys beginning a friendship that could save both of their lives.
“Harry was Neville’s first friend,” Alice told the camera, told all of Panem. “I know… I know that the two of them will come home together.”
Alice saw that Harry was wrapped up in the handsome boy from Three. The Gamemakers had made the distasteful decision to play a night between Harry and Blaise together for the entire country to see. Alice heard Harry’s promise to Blaise, his promise to choose him if he was able to.
Frank had howled in pain, he broke a chair in his anguish that the boy they were pinning their boy’s life on was choosing someone else. Alice wasn’t as convinced.
What Alice thought was that Harry was a boy who needed love at fifteen as much as he had needed a friend at five. Harry was grasping at love being offered to him, it was understandable.
But if Harry was faced with a decision, Alice thought he would see that Neville Longbottom loved differently. It wasn’t romantic, but it was deeper, more sure. Neville loved Harry as a friend, as he might a brother. Neville’s love was solid, as immovable as a mountain.
If Harry was faced with a choice, and Alice prayed for his sake that the choice was not laid in his hands, Alice thought that he might see that he had been loved the entire time.
And then Alice’s son would be able to run to her arms once more.
*****
Sirius stared balefully in the camera lense and tried to answer Lockhart’s question.
What was safe to say? He was proud of Harry? Would that backfire on Harry somehow? Would it make it seem like Sirius approved of the rebellious things he said and did?
Should Sirius say that Harry was probably sick in the head, mixed up from the death and blood and didn’t know what he was saying?
Sirius was the only one who could be interviewed as family for Harry Potter and everything he could say could backfire and hurt Harry.
“What was the question?” Sirius asked, stalling and sweating under the lights they brought in to record him under. The lights were burning Sirius, burning him like Harry could be burned.
Bombs, gunfire, flames.
There were endless ways that Harry could die if Sirius wasn’t careful. Tom Riddle said that Harry would live, he said he would be the rebel marked for death who survived to start a war. It didn’t mean Sirius believed him, it didn’t mean that was a better life for Harry than the one he was living in the arena.
“I asked you if you think Harry’s going to win,” Lockhart repeated, speaking slowly for Sirius. He probably thought Sirius was high… it would be easier if he was.
Did Sirius think Harry would win? Win what? The Games?
No, he wouldn’t. There were no winners, only losers. Every person reaped either died or lived in the Games forever. The arenas changed, but there were still landmines planted everywhere and one small step in the wrong direction would set them off.
Sirius was declared a Victor then dropped in an arena of fire and pain. Nymphadora Tonks was declared a Victor then pushed in an arena of prostitution and pain. Remus Lupin only ever killed one person and he lived in an arena where he thought more death would bring peace to the people.
They never left the arena, only in death were they free.
So would Harry be declared a Victor? Yes. Did Sirius think that meant he would win a damn thing? No.
“I think that Harry is clever, brave, and wants to live more than anything,” Sirius said carefully. “The other tributes are depending on him,” Sirius was depending on him - Panem was depending on him, “and I don’t think he’ll let them down.”
Not as Sirius did his godson when he had been just a baby.
Not as Sirius did his godson when he let the rebels bring him to their side with promises of peace and life for the only person left in the world that Sirius loved.
Harry was spared the flames when he was a baby, Sirius once thought it was because he was truly innocent. Sirius really thought that the Capitol would let Harry live as a haunting reminder of the family Sirius could never have, that he didn’t save.
The Capitol spared no one; they held Harry and waited until he was nearly out of reach. Then they dropped him in an arena of endless fire and pain.
Harry would survive the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Harry couldn’t win.
