Necklace of Hope [tomarry]

Chapter One

"... Harry Potter!"

Harry stood rigid at the sound of his name. He was sure a gust of wind could have knocked him right over in that moment as his heart beat thundered rapidly in his ears. He wondered if this was what shock felt like.

But no.

He couldn't say he was all that shocked.

The burn of hundreds of pairs of eyes on him made his skin crawl, and the knowledge that hundreds more were watching him, judging him, from behind a screen was enough to make him want to make a scene. He didn't dare, though, not when his eyes swept up and met those of Ginny Weasley.

Ginny was the picture of absolute calm, her face an unreadable mask. It was her eyes, however, alive with a fire Harry was exceedingly familiar with that kept his mouth shut and allowed him to be prodded none-too-gently to the podium. His eyes didn't leave her face even as his feet found the steps up onto the podium. It was a minor miracle that he didn't trip, for which he was grateful. He didn't figure that would make the greatest first impression.

He took his place next to Rita Skeeter opposite Ginny and forced his eyes to roam over the crowd. There was the perfunctory applause Harry was all-too familiar with, but no cheering. In fact, it was almost eerily quiet once the clapping stopped. Faces both young and old wore grim expressions. Any relief they might have been feeling was overpowered by the reality of two young people getting sent to their almost certain demise.

After all, a District 9 tribute hadn't won the Games in some twenty years, and Harry didn't particularly feel like the odds were going in his favor.

When his eyes caught sight of a bundle of red-heads sequestered on the outskirts of the crowd, a pang of something sharp struck him in the region of his heart. Desolation was written clear as day on their faces as they looked at Ginny. He searched for his friend, Ron, and found that he was not staring at Ginny, but directly back at him. His face was set in stony rage.

Skeeter began rattling off the same spiel she gave every year about what an honor it was to be chosen for this momentous occasion. Harry couldn't hear it very well over the ringing in his ears.

She then turned to each of them in turn and asked, with an air of excitement that might have been completely genuine, how they felt about this opportunity. If ever Harry had a regrettable scathing response to such an inane question, he could not think of it now. He let Ginny answer, but when Skeeter turned her piercing stare on him, his mind was still distressingly blank.

Only later would he wonder what could have possibly possessed him to say, "I think it was only a matter of time, really, until my name was drawn from that cup."