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Chapter Five: Hermione

I am going to be sick. I just know it.

They tested us last night, just before dinner. All twenty-four of us sat in a small antechamber and waited to be called into the training hall. We were told to present some sort of "skill" to the judges and then their witnessing audience. None of us knew what to expect. I sure didn't know what to do. I hardly had time to decided what my strengths were before my name was called, the ninth in the succession. None of the others ever returned from their presentations. I wondered then if they were going to send us into the arena directly afterwards. I would have had a panic attack right then if I still weren't trying to pinpoint my strong points and decide what I was going to show the judges.

I can truthfully say that I have zero talents. I absorb information the first time I read it, I memorized facts. I have good study habits and I wanted to do well in class. I can be the scariest thing with a wand in my hand, but I don't have a killer instinct in my. The only motivation I have is not-dying, to live. If I have to kill others however, in order to achieve that goal, I am not so sure that I want to stick around. I don't want to become some sort of monster.

The long table held seven chairs. The judges were no one that I recognised. I saw no other spectators until I looked up onto the catwalk some of the others used for jogging during our practice session. I stood in front of the table at the centre and stared back at the judges staring at me.

"Well?" one of them prompted.

"Why do you need to see our talents?" I ask.

"Do you remember how some of the contestants from last year received help when they needed it?" one of them asked. I nodded. "That's why. The more talented you are the more help you get." I nodded, but even now, my stomach still sits somewhere near my knees. I have no talents. But I wasn't going to tell them that. Instead I searched the room, hoping to find something that will inspire the slightest bit of talent, or at the very least, I could perform proficiently enough to earn outside interference. Knowing me, I will need at least four of those glittering pins. They offered shelter, food, medicine, nearly anything to further my chances of survival. I know that I have a fighting chance with my wand in my hand.

I didn't need to be a genius though to figure out that the judges did not want to support someone who only had talent with a wand though. My eyes found the bow and arrow. I'm clumsy with that thing, smacked myself with the bowstring on several occasions, and my arrows never fly anywhere. The sword was a little too heavy for my arms to wield properly although some of the guys, like the Durmstrang duo, James Dirkwell, a Muggle guy, and very unexpectedly, Draco Malfoy were beautiful with those things in their arms -. My knots leave something to be desired, but they are passable. Somehow I didn't believe that the judges would give me many points for being able to tie knots. I should have spent more time at the camouflage station, really because that would have been a truly useful skill to have, and they might give me a decent number...

My eyes find the practice dummy for hand-to-hand combat. I almost move towards it. Mum and I had taken some self-defence classes back when I was thirteen after I told her about that fight I got into with Millicent Bulstrode in second-year. I remember the first time I really got to use those skills was when Malfoy decided that he was going to have a time bullying me and my friends. I was already upset with him for having Buckbeak executed, so that was just the icing on the cake. That punch felt so good. And Mum and I had gone back every year until the war started and we students were put in safety. I've been afraid to even approach the dummy since I've got here. Everyone else just seems so much better than I am in almost everything. And I've never actually fought anyone before, just punched one person and taken fake swipes at my sparring partner. Then there. My eyes linger for a moment more on the faceless mannequin, before I out rule the notion to try my hand at fighting. I only have one chance at this, and I don't want to mess it up by messing around with something that I haven't practiced in two years.

There was only one thing I really had going for me: my endurance. I couldn't run for twenty minutes however. Instead, I just talked.

"Well, I can cook on a campfire-m parents used to take me until a few years ago. I can recognise which plants are edible and which aren't and I recognise the poisonous ones. I think I read somewhere about the efficiency of some of them as well..." I trailed off as I tried to recall what book and the information within, before continuing listing plants and how to know which were which, even finding some flash cards left over from the wilderness experts" station to support my case.

"That will be all, Miss Granger," one of the judges cut me off mid-explanation.

I am still embarrassed over my dismissal. I was dismissed to my suite then, shared with that obnoxious slag, Lavender Brown. I could swear she is as bubble-headed as they come. Thankfully she was shut in her own bedroom so I wouldn't have to chat about the judges and how well I did-or in my case, did not do. It was when I opened the door to my own room that I realised why she was not around to irritate me.

My room had been transformed into a beauty parlour. I closed my eyes n that moment against the budding headache but said nothing. That banquet. That banquet that the kids at Hogwarts were going to watch during their own dinner. The banquet where I would receive my non-existent score from the presentation of my non-talents. I could have growled but I bit my lip as I was waxed, trimmed, buffed, scented, and stuffed into a jade coloured gown with black strappy heels and what felt like too much makeup.

I kept mostly silent throughout dinner in spite of the number of times Lavender, Colin, and the French duo Marie-Ocean and Tristan attempted to pull me into conversation. The scores. The scores. I couldn't stand thinking about the, but they stayed on my mind, knotting my stomach and my mind refused to find a new focus.

Which brings me to now with Alecto Carrows, the sister, standing from the centre of the head table. My stomach flips in a sudden bout of nausea and I just know that I am going to be sick all over the table, in front of the other contestants, the judges, their guests, and the whole of Hogwarts. Dennis Creevey, the sweetheart he is, puts an arm around my waist and asks if I am alright. Just that bit of comfort steadies me, that and the look in Lavender Brown's eyes that tells me I am not the only one feeling uneasy about her presentation.

Carrows goes in reverse order from how we went in.

Blaise Zabini gets a 9.

Desiree Wayne a 10, her sister Delilah as well.

The Russians, Teras Morozov and Raya Morozova, cousins, receive an 11 and 10 respectively.

Luna Lovegood: 5

Marie-Ocean Lefevre: 7

I get a three. A god-forsaken three. At that moment I really was almost sick. I lose focus of everything else except for that desolate number: three.

Surely I am going to die now. I only force myself to return to the present in time to catch Denis's eight and Lavender's four. I have received the lowest score, even the first-year scored higher than a pathetic three.

I should cry. I want to cry. But I don't. I don't cry because I prefer to do so in my own bed away from pity-filled eyes and my eventual opponents. My victims or executioners.

In the morning I have a headache from crying myself to sleep and a heavy heart from the task in front of me.

I hate that this will all be broadcast to Hogwarts. It is bad enough that I have already been labelled a weakest link for receiving the lowest score, but for my friends to know as well... I have never felt so helpless, never, not even when, back in primary school, the kids used to tease me about my big teeth or bushy hair. I knew that I had something I could lord over them, that one day the will come to me needing help. At Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Ginny appreciated my intelligence and my ability to to think quick enough to get us out to most sticky situations. I have never had a need to be strong, or a desire to use weapons. The bit of fighting I do know how to do was nearly forced on me, and I haven't practiced in a couple of years. I remember the instructor used to tell me that I wasn't as good as he believed I could be. I jus don't like violence.

Except for that time with Malfoy.

Breakfast is lying out in the suit's commons. I take what I can to eat in my room: pancakes with honey, several slices of melon and grapes on a saucer, a glass of milk. Then I return for a large tea because it is the only thing that will soothe my nerves save for a calming draft.

It isn't long after I have finished my breakfast (surprisingly because I was positive that I was going to upend something) that I hear a sharp knock at my door three ties. Without my response, they push in.

"I have your outfit for the arena, Miss." She announces. It's the stylist from last night, Pippa. I thank her but she remains, gripping the package. I raise my brows to her. "I'm to help you dress and escort you to the Holding Chamber as well." Of course. I resist the urge to roll my eyes or snap that I am not a child who needs assistance with her clothes. Instead I hold out my hands for the package and wait until she removes the clothing from it's paper brown wrapping.

The shirt seems to me a regular black tank top, black in colour. The pants are of a soft, stretchy material and the boots they have given me are calf-length with a flat bottom and thick sole, also black. I'm also given underwear, a black sports bra and matching boy-short knickers. While I dress, Pippa stays and watches, turning and adjusting garments as I dress. The black fleece jacket remains on my bed, since I don't want to burn up in my bedroom waiting to be called to the arena. Pippa straps my knit belt on me herself, turning it so that the buckle is perfect centre.

"You have really pretty hair," She remarks after pushing me into a chair and starting to brush.

"Fair lot of good it will do me now," I retort.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she tells me. She pulls my mass of curls into a thick ponytail at the base of my neck and pulls two locks forward on either side of my face, twisting the curls so that they frame it prettily. She uses a scarlet ribbon to tie the rest back.

"Beauty does more than you would think, Miss Granger," Pippa tells me as she digs around in the pouch strapped around her waist. After a moment she retrieves three round, silver pins, no longer than the first knuckle of my pinkie finger. She attaches them to my belt, side by side, screwing the backs on the inside. "Each contestant receives one to start, and receives another for every three points they earn." I do the math.

"But I only earned three points," I remind her, flinching at the atrocity I preformed- not-performed -at my judges presentation. "Where did the third come from?"

"Have you not been listening?" Pippa scolds me and then softens. "You were so concerned with your score that you failed to appreciate the work I did, didn't you?" The question was rhetoric, she continued on before I could open my mouth to respond. "You are stunning when you so choose to be, Miss Granger, and you were pretty damn attractive last night. The third pin is because of that." Pippa let that bit sink in for a moment. I've known that I was pretty since the Yule Ball when I received all that attention, but that was because I had straightened my hair and wore that gown and had Parvati and Ginny help me with my make up. Not only that, but I had been on the arm of Viktor Krum, so it was almost like a sort of Cinderella story. Any other time I was a Plain Jane, unworthy of any attention at all. I want to argue that I really am not very beautiful at all, that the judges only said so because of that gown and the makeup, but Pippa starts in again.

"Now, when you need help, all you have to do is rub one of those pins-only one-and speak the words, 'I Hermione Granger, seek assistance from my sponsors.' One of your sponsors should send you something to help then, but it is to their discretion what, understand? Mind, You only use those when they are truly needed, okay girlie?" I nod. I should be able to accomplish that much, especially since I'm sure to die before I will need them.

"It's another hour before Pippa and I are summoned to the arena. Lavender and a brown-skinned man who reminds me slightly of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Her two pins are attached to the collar of her jacket, blonde hair parted down the middle of her head and braided into pigtails. The pair of us lock eyes for a brief moment before turning to the door. Down the hall we turn separate corners; the next time I see Lavender Brown one of us might be trying to kill the other.

Pippa places me on a platform. The room we're in is just large enough to fit the pair of us and the platform, with little space to move about.

"Stand tall," she commands me. "Do not show your fear. Finally, avoid the heart of the Cornucopia, do you understand?" I nod. Of course I know this, about a third of the kids are killed in that blood fest. "Find what is closest, grab what you need, and get out of there."

"Yes," I tell her, my stomach flipping again. I hug my middle, trying to warm and comfort myself at the same time although it isn't cold in the room.

"Okay," Pippa smiles at me then, a large friendly smile that makes me want to cry. It's probably going to be the last one I ever see. "good luck then girlie."