Chapter Text
The sun wasn't yet at the highest place in the sky, but it was getting close. If Neville had to guess, they had maybe an hour before it reached noon.
It was getting warm out, warm enough that Neville felt hot and dizzy after he pulled Fleur's body to the edge of the rooftop. It wasn't meant to be disrespectful to her, it was because Harry was obviously having some sort of an episode and Neville wasn't sure how to keep him sane.
And there was the awful thought in the back of Neville's mind, the selfish and horrible thought, that Neville only had to keep him sane for a little longer.
There were eight tributes left, six more deaths before they could go home.
Neville felt terrible for hoping six people died quickly, but he wanted to go home. Harry needed help, Neville was tired… they could go home soon.
As long as Harry didn't completely fall apart.
Neville moved Fleur to the edge of the roof then went to find his only friend in the arena. Theo was an ally, he saved Neville's life, but Harry was Neville's friend. Harry didn't seem like he was doing so great and Neville hated the idea that people in Panem might be laughing at him, mocking him for falling apart.
They had no idea what kind of toll it took on Harry to be in there, none at all. Neville heard him talking to Fleur, telling her about what it cost to take a life, how hard it was and how it haunted him. Neville lost track, but he knew that Harry had taken quite a few lives in the arena.
Harry was sitting inside the cornucopia on a small stack of crates when Neville walked in. Blaise was injured, a bad cut to his leg, and Theo was unwrapping the bandage Harry must have given him. Harry watched with his empty eyes and Neville looked him over for injuries, didn't see any, then shed his jacket anyway.
"Here." Neville lightly tossed his jacket to Harry, offering it with a faint smile when Harry blinked and focused on him. "You're a bit naked, Harry."
Neville should have taken Fleur's jacket off her, given it to Harry. But it was hot and Neville was sweating anyway, he just had to hope that the Games would end before the Gamemakers froze him out.
"Thanks," Harry said, quickly pulling it on and zipping it up. It was big on him, but not terrible. Neville saw he only had on one sock and no shoes too so he sat down to pull his shoes off so Harry could have one of his socks. He didn't want to make things worse for Harry, but he needed to know if he knew…
"Trent," Neville said hesitantly, watching Harry shiver even with the jacket on. Harry nodded anyway, confirming Neville's guess that he already knew.
"That was One," Harry told him. "Two is dead."
"One of the boys from five is dead," Theo added.
"So who's left?" Neville wondered.
"The two from One, one of the twins from Five, the other boy from Eleven," Blaise said. He sounded about as good as he looked and Neville thought maybe they should start moving him, it might take some time to get him away from the upcoming feast.
"We're staying," Harry said after Neville shared that thought. Harry hopped down from the crates and reached in for a handful of corn kernels that he started chewing while he paced and planned.
"There's four of them, four of us," Harry said, almost talking to himself it seemed. "Blaise isn't any good, Neville won't kill anyone…"
Neville shouldn't have felt ashamed, but Theo rolling his eyes didn't make him feel great. He still raised his chin anyway, showing his parents that he wasn't going to be pressured into being someone he wasn't.
"Eleven won't show up, One will," Harry went on. "Five might, only if he thinks he can get in and out without a fight…"
"So we stay and we fight?" Theo asked. "Take out One and maybe Five?"
They had names, all of them. Neville didn't like that Harry wasn't using their names anymore, but he didn't say anything. Harry was keeping them both safe, alive, if he had to separate himself from the other tributes then Neville needed to keep his mouth shut.
"Neville," Harry focused on Neville abruptly, "if someone tries to kill Blaise, would you fight them?"
"I… yeah." Neville straightened up under everyone's gaze and made himself just as tall and confident as they all seemed in the moment. Neville considered the question, pictured himself if someone tried to hurt his ally.
Theo saved Neville's life, Neville could defend Blaise… even if he didn't think it was the logical choice, it was the right choice.
"Yes," Neville said more confidently. "I can protect Blaise."
"Great." Harry pointed at Theo. "How good are you with a bow?"
"Excellent," Theo said. Neville grinned a little, there really was no need to be humble.
"You and I will sit on the towers, pick them off when they show up. Blaise stays hidden, Neville can protect him." Harry grabbed another handful of corn and stuffed it in his pocket with a decisive nod. "Neville can grab our stuff when it shows up."
"Go team," Blaise said, a raspy joke.
"Go team," Neville echoed.
It was the Games, it was the unreal situation they were all in that left three teenage boys to listen to the youngest and smallest of the group.
Harry didn't waste any time getting everyone in position after that. He send Theo to the tower behind the cornucopia, the one with the best opening if anyone walked out of the Tower that faced the opening of the cornucopia. Neville had to help him climb up the bricks and he managed a laugh while he was being used as a human ladder.
"Look at Harry," Neville told Theo. He couldn't really point, but Theo turned to look at the tower opposite them, the one that Harry had already scaled and sat atop of like some sort of crazy superhero.
"I hate him," Theo huffed. His foot landed on Neville's head, which made the headache Neville already had feel ten times worse, then his weight was gone entirely. Neville backed up a few steps, blinked away the stars that had popped up in his vision, then squinted upward to see Theo was in place. He wasn't as secure as Harry, but he was good enough to have the bow they took from Fleur ready in his hands.
All that was left was for Neville to get in his position inside the cornucopia with Blaise. The sun was nearly just above them, Neville thought they probably didn't have long before the feast appeared. Neville waved toward Harry before he popped inside the cornucopia, lingering just at the mouth of it to wait.
Neville's spear was propped against the same crates Harry had been sitting on and he grabbed it just to have something to hold while he waited. He also glanced toward Blaise and realized then that Blaise was laid up in a little nest of black clothes.
Harry's clothes.
Which brought back Neville's thought that Harry was doing a lot to keep Blaise safe when Neville thought it might almost be kinder to let his injury kill him? It was a horrible thing to think about someone, but… but only two of them could win and Neville wasn't sure what to make of Harry trying so hard to keep Blaise alive and safe.
Blaise brought it up before Neville could, while Neville was in place at the mouth of the cornucopia.
"Harry's dedicated to our final four," Blaise said casually. He had one of Harry's fangs in his hand and he twirled it on his palm, spinning it around. Maybe it was a threat, Neville wasn't sure.
If it was a threat, it wasn't a great one. Neville didn't want to hurt Blaise, but he certainly wasn't scared of him.
"That could be today," Neville pointed out. Neville leaned against the wall, letting it prop him up as it had his spear. He was just tired, exhausted by the Games and the constant death and talks about murder.
It was no wonder that Sirius Black turned to drugs, Neville might be tempted too when he got home. If Neville didn't know his mom would be so disappointed in him, he'd be tempted. But Neville had a family waiting for him, a family that would keep him healthy and mostly sane.
"I hope it is," Blaise said. "I'm tired, Neville."
Neville turned and saw Blaise as he was in the moment - just another teenager stuck in an arena that he didn't ask for and didn't create. Blaise might have been a career, but he was as human as Neville.
"Me too, Blaise," Neville said, turning back and choosing to watch Harry while he waited for the feast to appear. Neville wondered what would be sent for him - if it would even be gifts or only a trap. Some years the Gamemakers would send weapons crafted for each tribute, a few times they sent garbage meant only to spark a fight. There could be medicine, Neville wouldn't turn down something for his head.
He didn't have long to wonder about it - only a few minutes later there was a nearly silent snick on the ground outside the cornucopia and Neville was moving before a table had even fully raised.
There were gifts for each district - Neville was quick to grab the brown bag with the Three on it, then the one with the Twelve.
"Neville!" Harry was hissing at Neville, waving his arms widely. Neville shook his head, unsure what Harry was trying to get him to do. There wasn't time to ask, the others must have been watching and waiting for their chance.
As soon as Neville tossed their bags inside the cornucopia, the door under the tower where Harry sat was thrown open and Neville had to take up his spear.
Harry was wrong - the boy from Eleven did want his gift and Neville wasn't sure that the spear he held was going to do them any good.
The boy walked out slowly with a large black gun held up in his arms. He pointed it toward the cornucopia, then past it to where Theo must have been. Neville was sweating, unsure what to do. The boy could shoot them all, kill them and be done with it.
An arrow flew through the air, very nearly hitting the boy. The boy fired the gun once, Neville couldn't hear any screams from Theo under the echo, but he saw Harry pulling a knife back to throw.
"Throw that knife and I kill your ally." The boy moved the gun to aim it directly at Neville and there wasn't anywhere Neville could duck, to hide, not with Blaise sitting behind him. The boy locked his eyes with Neville and Neville knew the message wasn't for him, but for Harry.
Harry's hand stilled and Neville thought the boy had the best plan - arrows and knives against a gun weren't much of a fight. Neville couldn't believe the Gamemakers put it in the arena to start with… maybe they didn't expect anyone to have any skill with a weapon that carried a death sentence if touched by any but a Peacekeeper.
"Hands in the air and I don't shoot you," the boy barked at Neville. Neville didn't question it, wasn't going to win that fight. Neville raised his hands, letting his spear clatter to the ground, and the boy slowly moved forward.
Then Harry threw his knife.
In the split second that the knife sliced through the air, Neville felt a twist in his stomach. Before it could reach the boy, he pulled the trigger on his gun that was aimed at Neville's head and the door of a tower was thrown open and everything became chaos.
Beneath the chaos, beneath the rush of Neville having to drop to the floor, there was the picture of Harry throwing his knife burned in the back of his mind. That bullet nearly hit Neville - it whizzed toward his head and wound up slicing into one of the crates. Did Harry know Neville would duck?
Or did he not care?
There wasn't time to ask; the boy from Eleven was firing his gun over and over, aiming around the rooftop as he tried to retreat away with two bags in his hands, the bag for Eleven and Five. The two tributes from One were there and Harry was fighting with one of them, the boy, and they were a blur of flashing silver and fists. Neville tried to watch them when he struggled back up to his feet, his body trembling with the fights happening.
Theo must not have been hit by the boy from Eleven, Neville could hear him fighting with someone - the girl from One? - behind the cornucopia.
Neville had his spear in both hands, using it to block the entrance to the cornucopia, when the pounding of his blood in his ears started to quiet enough so that he could hear Harry and the boy as they fought.
"He cried like a bitch," the boy told Harry in a sick tone. He sliced at Harry with a long knife, one that was jagged on the edge and rusted from use. Or maybe not rusted - maybe it was blood. When the sun bounced off it and highlighted it as it sliced Harry's shoulder, Neville was pretty sure it was blood that covered it.
"Yeah?" Harry swung at him, hit him in the chin with his fist and made him stumble. "I bet your parents are real proud - you made a little kid cry."
"While your parents - oh, my mistake." The boy laughed loudly, he probably thought it was something funny. Neville didn't think it was funny, he didn't think that sponsors would find it funny, and Harry certainly didn't find it funny.
Harry's face froze, froze in a cold mask, and Neville's heart raced until he was swaying again, dizzy with the adrenaline. Harry was going to kill that boy and Neville was going to have to watch.
There was a bang on the metal side of the cornucopia that made Neville jump and turn for a second, just long enough to see Blaise limping toward him with his face twisted in agony with every muscle he seemed to use.
"You're not going to help him?" he asked Neville, harsh and unhappy.
Neville looked back out on the rooftop and saw that Harry and the other boy, Draco maybe, were grappling. They were about even on weight, Draco must have been stronger, but Harry was angrier.
Crazier?
Harry had the upper hand.
Neville shook his head, tried to get his tongue to explain that Harry didn't need his help, he probably never had.
"He threw the knife," Neville croaked. That was what kept Neville from rushing out, from offering Harry any sort of assistance. Harry didn't need his help and - and Neville couldn't understand why he threw the knife in the first place.
The boy from Eleven had been clear - he wasn't going to fire his gun if Harry didn't throw his knife. All he wanted was his bag, the gun was protection, not a weapon. It had been aimed at Neville and Harry knew it, he knew it.
So the question was - did Harry believe Neville, slow and clumsy Neville, could duck faster than a bullet could fly or did he see a chance to take out two tributes in one go?
"Worthless," Blaise scoffed at Neville even as he had to lean the entirety of his body weight on the side of the cornucopia just to stay standing. He bent at the waist to find the bag marked Three and Neville saw him pull a vial of clear medicine from the bag. Neville couldn't guess what it was, it was nothing that anyone in his district would have access to, but Blaise wasted no time opening the bottle and pouring it directly on his injury.
Neville's attention was torn between watching the fight between Harry and Draco and watching as Blaise's skin began stitching itself together, healing while the medicine sizzled and eventually burned itself away. By the time Neville saw that Blaise's leg only had a thick silver scar to mark where the cut had been, Blaise was rushing out of the cornucopia and wrenching the spear from Neville as he went.
"Draco!" Blaise yelled at the boy from One. Draco had been on top of Harry, punching him, and he looked up at the sound of his name. Blaise didn't hesitate, he didn't stop to wonder if it was right or wrong or anything —
Blaise ran directly toward him and used his speed to shove the spear directly in Draco's face. It was horrible, the scream that Draco made, the spray of blood as his handsome was ripped apart and the spear lodged itself in the back of his skull.
Neville had felt nauseous before, but he was sure that he would have thrown up then if there was anything in his stomach. Draco was still screaming, gurgling screams that were already fading. Harry was shoving Draco off him while Blaise yanked the spear out of his face so he could turn and run around to the back side of the cornucopia, where Theo and the other tribute had been fighting.
Harry shoved Draco away with a hard push and Neville managed to make his legs work, to stumble his way out beneath the sun. Harry held a hand up and Neville didn't have to think about it, Neville grasped his bloodied hand and helped yank him to his feet.
"Grab their bag," Harry said, already turning away from Neville to take the knife from Draco's slack hand.
"Bag?" Neville repeated cluelessly. What bag? He looked at Draco, at the ruined red meat that had once been a face, and shook his head to try and shake some sense into himself.
"Their feast bag, Neville." Harry bent over and the blood didn't bother him, it didn't slow him. Harry took the knife from Draco then started unzipping his jacket, twisting and turning him to take it off him before the cannon even sounded.
Neville couldn't help but to look at Draco and wonder what his mom was thinking, how much it must hurt her to see her son like that. Neville's mom always said how handsome he was, how much he looked like his dad… he was sure Draco's mom must have said the same thing to him when he was growing up. And Draco had been handsome, he had been… before Blaise drove a spear through his face and left him to struggle to breath with an airway that must have been destroyed.
"Nevermind." Harry shed Neville's jacket off and laid it on Neville's shoulder as he walked past him, already pulling on the bloodied jacket he took from Draco. "I'll get it."
Neville didn't know how Harry walked away from Draco, how he left him there - why did he throw his knife?
Neville crept forward then sat down, close enough to Draco so that he could touch his shoulder and offer some quiet words to try and ease his pains.
"I'm sorry they made us enemies," Neville said, his voice thick and his eyes glazing over. Neville didn't blink away the tears, he wanted the haze to keep him from seeing the gaping hole in Draco's face, the white bits of bones and teeth, the blood that spurted out when Draco tried to talk.
"You did really great," Neville told him, rubbing his shoulder as if they were friends in any world. "You worked hard and you made it to the final eight, I'm sure your parents are proud. And - and I'm sure that they're going to be heartbroken. Do you have any siblings?" he asked.
Draco's head shifted to the side, back again. The pained sounds causing red bubbles to pop at his throat had slowed, eased, and Neville tried to take it as a sign that his pain was ending.
"Me either," Neville told him gently. "I'm sorry, for your parents. I know - I know my parents would be broken if I didn't return home. I'll ask my mom to pray for your mom, okay, Draco? She'll pray for your family and - and maybe you can watch over them."
Draco's gurgling slowed more… there were nearly five seconds between breaths… then there were no more.
The cannon blasted and Neville stayed by Draco for another few minutes, thinking about his own family. Neville didn't want to imagine how much pain his mom would be in, how it would hurt his dad. Luna was so bright and vivid, would it dull her to lose him?
If Neville didn't want to find out how it would hurt his family, he needed to talk to Harry. Because Harry couldn't tell him they were going home together and then gamble with his life, that wasn't what allies did.
Neville didn't have water or anything to clean Draco with, there were no eyelids to close, he only rubbed his shoulder once more before he pushed himself off the ground and went to find Harry. It was the déjà vu of the moment - the dead body behind him and Harry off with other tributes - that made Neville wonder if the last hour had even happened.
Maybe he made it all up, maybe he shouldn't have judged Harry so quickly. Maybe none of them were sane anymore, maybe they never would be again.
Harry wasn't inside the cornucopia, he had to be around the back of it. Neville let his fingers trail on the hot metal, the golden shine that had stars popping up randomly in his vision, as he walked around to find him.
Theo was on the ground, clutching his ribs as he turned and whined. Neville didn't think it was anything serious, not with Blaise chuckling at him and Harry more concerned with cleaning the blood off his stack of weapons.
"Broken ribs," Blaise said when he saw Neville watching them. He didn't sound like he cared, though Neville wasn't so sure he would anymore anyway.
Why did there have to be so many hidden layers to an already horrible game?
"Did the girl get away?" Neville asked, looking around and only seeing droplets of blood on the ground.
"Yeah, seems like Theo couldn't kill a girl," Blaise said. He was grinning when he bent down to grab Theo under his arms to yank him to his feet. Neville thought it was a bit rich of Blaise to comment since he had been content to sit in the cornucopia until it was Harry losing a fight.
"Come along, Theodore, let's see what the Gamemakers sent you," Blaise said, letting Theo lean on him to walk. "Mi amore, don't take too long, they've sent you a gift as well."
Harry's head moved maybe an inch as a nod and Neville waited until the other boys were gone to sit down beside Harry.
"You threw your knife," Neville said, blunt and quiet. Harry wasn't someone who tiptoed around things, either he'd explain why he did it or Neville would draw his own conclusions.
‘Mi amore' was something of a big hint either way.
"I did," Harry said, still obsessively cleaning the weapons with the sleeve of his jacket.
Neville didn't like how small his voice was, how openly he was showing his hurt. That wasn't what a victor would do, but Neville wasn't a victor and he might never be one. Without Harry, Neville didn't stand a chance. "Why?"
"Because I told Blaise I'd choose him," Harry said. He said it so simply, so easily. Harry looked up and Neville couldn't control his expression, he could wipe away the shock. If Neville was smart, he would have started running, but why bother?
Neville wouldn't outlast the others, he wasn't going to see the ending.
Neville was never going to see his family again, but he didn't think Harry would make him suffer either.
"But I also told you I'd choose you," Harry went on. He lifted the knife he had taken off Draco and the sun bounced off the sharp blade when Harry flipped it in his hand. Neville already winced away, not too much of a man to admit the idea of being stabbed by his friend scared him, when he realized Harry was offering him the handle.
Neville wouldn't have taken it, he wasn't going to kill Harry, until he realized Harry was squeezing the blade and cutting himself open. Neville grasped the black handle, waited for Harry to slowly release the blade, before he pulled it to his lap. Harry squeezed a fist, dropping his own blood on the stones, and leaned toward Neville to drop his voice low.
They could have been friends, normal friends, who shared whispers and secrets. Neville might have told Harry about Luna in an excited whisper, Harry would have told him normal things. If they had grown up the right way in District Twelve, they would whisper to each the kind of secrets that would build up a strong friendship.
All they had between them was a suddenly shaky alliance, death, blood, and whispers that Neville wished he never heard.
"I think it's going to come down to us," Harry whispered quickly, his eyes burning brightly. Neville thought he looked feverish, his skin was so pale, his cheeks dark red, and his eyes glowing green under the sun.
"When it's just us - me, you, and Blaise - you need to use that knife, Neville. You need to take it and kill me." Harry wasn't blinking, there was no punchline to a joke. There was only Harry staring at Neville and wanting an agreement that Neville would kill him.
"Harry, I - no," Neville whispered back, soft and concerned. If it came down to the three of them - Harry was guaranteed a win no matter what. Neville wouldn't kill him, Blaise wouldn't either.
"I need you to do it, Neville," Harry insisted. He sounded insane, absolutely insane. "It's not murder, it's a gift, better than anything from the Capitol, okay? You take that knife, you set me free, then you go home to your family. If not," Harry stood abruptly, causing Neville to feel small and stupid as he stared down at him, "I can't keep my word and I'd like for you both to win."
Neville didn't agree, he didn't argue anymore. Neville only felt a deep sense of sadness settle inside of him, weighing him down with his own fatigue, when Harry walked away. Harry was a kid, they were all just kids, and he was planning his own death.
The Games were sick, horrible and sick. If nothing else that Neville had seen and experienced showed him how deeply wrong it all was, Harry's request hit it home.
Neville pulled his knees up to his chest and bowed his head against them, hiding his tears from the camera and wondering if his mom would be happy or ashamed to know that Neville never even considered praying in the arena until that moment. Neville held the weapon his only friend handed him and he thought about Draco's family, Trent's family, his own family.
And Neville prayed to his mom's God that one day there would be no arenas, no tributes, and no victors.
