She’d seen her share of tributes from district one in the arena. They were charming, resourceful, cunning and ruthless. She’d studied all the traits common to every last tribute in the past, gearing herself for the moment she might be reaped. But nothing could prepare her for Draco Malfoy, the boy from district one- the boy who could not kill. And absolutely nothing could have prepared her for herself- the girl who damn well could.
“I don’t understand,” his words come out in tatters, shaking along with the dagger in his hand. Draco can’t do it, Hermione realizes, and it feels as though he is, in fact, stabbing her- gutting her, right between her ribs. The kill shot. “All my life, I was prepared for this. I was prepared to kill. I was born into a family of killers.”
She almost laughs from where she lies on the ground- partly from fatigue, pain, desperation; she hasn’t eaten all day and the forest floor is jabbing needles and self-hatred into her raw injuries.
“And I was born into a family of engineers, yet I know exactly how to end your life,” Hermione doesn’t mean it as a threat- just a matter of pure fact. Her only real skill in the arena is her keen knowledge of absolutely everything, including human anatomy and psyche. That and an iron-clad will to live. Combine those two, and she could make Draco kill himself if she so wanted; but she’s tired, and she hates herself, and she doesn’t want to be this disposable piece of Capitol propaganda anymore. “Doesn’t matter what you’re born into, it matters what you let yourself become.”
“Do you want to? Become a killer?” Draco whispers, fear tearing his pupils wide open, exposing every vulnerable aspect of him to her; and she wonders if she’s prey or predator in this moment. In reality, they’re just children. Scared fucking witless and scarred beyond just the flesh wounds.
“I already am.”
+ the hunger games / dramione, requested by @bethylgrixon