▬ ❝𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 
𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦,
𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦❞

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧  ▬  PEETA MELLARK HAD ALREADY come to terms with the inevitability of his probable death.

After all, he had won the games the first time as a total fluke. It was with the capabilities of his own brain and an inexhaustible manner of manipulation that he had managed to scrape his way to the final six, and he had enough muscle on his youthful frame to put up a fair fight, but he had known that his wits alone could not bring him victory.

Had he truly attempted to put up a fight against Katniss Everdeen, in an attempt to claim the crown for himself, he was almost certain would have been met with less success. Indeed, the only way he would have left that arena would have been with an arrow buried in his chest.

But this year, things were completely different. This year, Peeta would be pitted against only experienced killers, most with a flair for death. This year, he had already accepted the futility of his fate.

And, having already thoroughly assessed the situation several times over, he had decided that he was accepting of this harsh fate. It was almost certain that, given everything that had happened in the last year as a result of his refusal to die, the star-crossed lovers of District 12 would not be leaving the arena together this time around. In fact, Peeta's intuition was enough for him to deduce that his refusal to die the first time most likely was the reason they were about to be faced with the same fate.

President Snow never did like to be outsmarted, and the lovers' suicide pledge had been enough to put them on death row for the unforeseeable future.

It was only a miracle that they had lasted this long. But it was clear that, due to their popularity amongst the population of Panem, eliminating the pair would not be so straightforward. For the bloodthirsty citizens of the Capitol, the only satisfying way to eliminate their favourite couple without causing a war, would be to provide them with something even more tragically entertaining than their united death - the idea that one may die without the other.

The plan was so simple it was almost laughable - Snow had a skilful way of reminding the pair that he was, and would always be in complete control of their fate, and that they existed only as puppets on his string.

It was a game that they had become far too inclined to play. A game he would almost certainly lose.

But Peeta did not need to die, he knew this too. Unlike his fiancé, Peeta was not the only potential tribute in his category, and he knew that Katniss had already pleaded to Haymitch for the protection of his life over her own. Of course she had - she always had been far too careless with her own life, but she was also smart enough to know that given the opportunity, Peeta would be as desperate to preserve her life as she had been to preserve his.

Plus, Haymitch had knowledge and experience of the games that Peeta could never dream of, and would be far too much use outside of the arena to risk being put in it.

And so, as the morning of the Reaping rolled around like clockwork, Peeta had accepted his fate as a fact.

These would be the last few weeks of his life.

On the day of the Reaping, District 12 was greeted with a wave of inexhaustible heat, and so naturally the crowd were agitated. On the surface, the event looked almost the same as it always did - two heaps of cornered cattle pressed snugly together in their pens on either side of the dusted walkway, separated by rope and tightened clasps of machine guns. The setup was almost exactly the same; the same sad stage built just in front of the Justice Building, framed by two imposing screens; the same crowd of important figures tucked neatly on their chairs at the back of the stage; the same golden-haired escort stood proudly behind her microphone.

Only - things were most certainly not the same.

To the keener eyed, you could almost pluck out the feeling of unfamiliarity that fell over the crowd. It wasn't that the pens of citizens were not separated by their usual gendered age groups, or that the Reaping bowls were almost completely empty of names, or even that the numbers of Peacekeepers guarding the event had almost tripled from last year, their hands much tightly pressed against their weapons.

No, it wasn't anything physical that made this Reaping so different from the rest.

It was the wave of foreboding danger that washed over the crowd like a flood, the suffocating feeling that they were all simply awaiting their impending doom. Peeta couldn't explain why the feeling was there, or what it was that felt like such a threat, but he could sense that his neighbours felt the same. As he stood in his small, allocated area of the stage beside Haymitch, he felt as though he could not breath, as though he was holding his breath for something he didn't even know was coming.

In the heat, he felt his skin begin to sweat, and yet his mind remained completely calm. In an attempt to fill the invasive silence, Peeta's eyes fell on the crowd below him. His family all waited in a line at the front of the right hand crowd, though most of them would not meet his eye. His mother, of whom he had not taken the care to speak to in weeks, stared limply at the dirt below her feet, her eyes forming their usual scowl. The two eldest Mellark brothers were stood with the same lack of conviction, most likely numb to the feeling of their brother being thrown into danger at this stage, or perhaps numb to caring.

Only his father bothered to cast a glance in Peeta's direction, a sullen look in his eyes that could only be described as pity. Mr Mellark cared for his youngest son deeply, Peeta knew this, but he also knew that his father had probably long since accepted what his son's fate would eventually be. If he had believed his opinion held any value, he would have attempted to convince his son to let his older counterpart take his place in the arena instead, but Peeta's mind was already made up. He would rather die his own way, and protect Katniss in the process, than live his life with the guilt of her death for his own survival.

And for that tragic resignation, his father pitied him.

Still, Mr Mellark found the composure within himself to give his son a small nod, something so simple and yet so clear to Peeta in meaning that all he could do was nod back. As the final few stragglers stumbled into the back of the crowd, pushed lamely by the Peacekeepers' guns, Effie took a step forward towards her microphone and went to begin.

"Welcome, welcome", she calls out to the crowd, but her usual speech is replaced with a manner of sadness that lacks her usual vivacity, "as we celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary, and third Quarter Quell, of the Hunger Games - as always, ladies first".

Effie shuffled towards the female reaping bowl with hesitation, as if her lack of urgency had the ability to stop what was already fated to happen, and clawed around the empty bowl for a few moments before plucking out the lone slip of paper from the bottom of the glass. As expected, Effie opened the paper and turned to Katniss with a forlorn look in her eyes, before calling out her name.

Katniss picked up her feet to move across the stage, but her expression remained stagnant. The look on her face showed very little and yet so very much all at once, as what the unknowing eye would have viewed as nothing, Peeta could make out the feeling of anger and defeat, and a tinge of sadness and even fear, all rolled into one. Very few knew what Katniss was thinking, she wasn't the easiest to read, but Peeta knew - Peeta always knew.

Taking a moment to compose herself before speaking again, the escort announced that it was time for the men, and moved towards the opposing glass bowl. The bowl was fuller than its counterpart, holding instead two slips of paper that held the power to control his fate. If Effie had pulled out Peeta's name, Haymitch would have almost certainly volunteered in his place, and Peeta's fate would not have been so solely decided as he had originally thought. But when Effie lingered for a second and picked up the slip of paper with as much disgust as if it were dirtying her lace glove, her lips did not find Peeta's name.

Instead, they found Haymitch's, and Katniss barely found the time to shoot Haymitch a look of panic and devastation before Peeta forced his body forwards.

"I volunteer as tribute", the words came with an assertiveness and lack of urgency that could only contrast the desperation in his district partner's call the previous year, laced with acceptance and almost relief that it was not his own name that had been plucked from the bowl. The crowd stirred slightly, discomforted by the sudden tension that had filled the almost silent square, as Haymitch pushed forwards and attempted to barricade Peeta from walking to the front of the stage.

"I can't let you do that", he spoke with little conviction as he attempted to use his arm to force Peeta to stay in his place, most likely knowing that the decision had already been made.

"You can't stop me", Peeta reinforced, reminding Haymitch that he was ultimately powerless to his decision. He stood forward proudly, shaking Haymitch's attempted restraint on his arm away with ease, "Let go".

There was a tone of resignation in his voice that made it all the more painful. As it appeared, all of the District Twelve victors were willing to sacrifice their lives tonight.

Peeta attempted to shoot Katniss a sympathetic look, or perhaps apologetic, but she could not bring herself to glance in his direction. He could see the lone tear slowly falling down her cheek, and yet her expression still did not budge. There was a particular deja vu that made the feeling of unease all the more intense, the feeling that they were in the exact same situation they had been in this time last year and yet, something about it made this situation completely different.

But he could not put his finger on what it was.

Still, amongst the tension, Effie raised her voice up to the microphone to speak, "The tributes from District Twelve - Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark".

Her hand lingered on Peeta's shoulder a little longer than it did on Katniss's, and once again he felt pitied. Before he had time to dwell on the thought though, the crowd stirred, and Katniss's mother lifted her arm and raised three fingers into the air. Her sister was next, and a few more followed, until gradually the entire district had their hands pointed upwards in respect and farewell. Peeta kissed his fingertips and went to move his arm to do the same in return, but a disruption in the crowd cut his goodbye short.

"NO!", a voice called as though it had been plucked from thin air, or sang from the birds that flew over them in a strangled scream.

It happened so quickly he still couldn't be sure it was real, and not a figment of his own imagination.

From the back of the crowd, there was a bustle of commotion that showed no true cause, until several Peacekeepers saw themselves shoved to the side. A figure pushed forwards to the front of the crowd, and Peeta's face drained of any and all colour.

"PEETA!", the familiar voice continued to call, "PEETA!".

The sound of the voice brought a wave of familiarity over him that sent a shiver down his spine, and the entire district turned to face the back of the crowd. Beside him, he felt Katniss turn to give him a look of confusion, but he could not find it within himself to face her. Instead, he remained facing forwards, almost frozen as he stared at the figure that had appeared in front of him. He wanted to believe the thought that had immediately crossed his mind when the voice had called out, but he knew that what he thought was impossible.

She was dead.

And yet, as he locked eyes with the startled figure pushing her way through the crowd, he was almost certain it was her. Eight long years had passed by, but many of her features remained the same; the same mane of mousy brown curls, the same penetrating brown eyes, the same flustered expression. From what Peeta could tell, she had grown into quite the woman, with a quiet beauty that had the power to bring nothing but heartbreak. It all seemed so familiar, and yet it could have truly been anybody, had she not whispered the words that left her mouth next.

"Remember", she mouthed as she met his eyes, a statement that set his heart on fire, "Remember."

From afar, Peeta could not tell if she was whispering the words, or whether her lips would not allow her to say them aloud, but he did not get the chance to contemplate.

The muted and stagnant confusion that had followed her outburst, containing only quiet mumblings and perplexed expressions, was interrupted when a series of loud gunshots broke out from somewhere behind the far side of the crowd. The shots were fired straight into the air, followed by a sharp buzzing noise that sounded almost like the striking of a spark. Before the crowd were even given the option to scream or run, the sparks turned into an aroma of smoke that engulfed the population of District Twelve in a blanket of grey. Above them, the grey faded into a hue of bright red and dazzling blue wisps of smoke that broke into the honey-tinted sky in a plethora of coloured flares.

The gunshots continued, some sending bright red sparks shooting into the sky like fireworks, others sending the terrified bystanders stirring in their pens. As the smoke continued to smother the surrounding crowds, it became harder and harder to distinguish the playful, harmless sparks from the latter, and the tension of fear only continued to grow. The painful screams of the crowd grew stronger as they were muffled by the continual firing of shots, the Peacekeepers on guard finally finding the motive to surge through the rope.

Even through the commotion, Peeta did not stir. His feet remained glued to the ground as though he were in a state of severe paralysis, his eyes fixated on the girl in front of him. His stomach had long since twisted into a tight knot that made him feel slightly nauseous, whether through unease or excitement or shock he couldn't be sure, and his heart hammered against his chest like a drum, but still he did not stir.

He did not stir when the shots continued to fire from an unknown shooter at the back of the crowd, or when the screams began to become even more agitated and shrill. He did not stir when his father attempted to push forward in the crowd to speak to him, or when his mother began to mutter degrading things underneath her blanket of smoke. He did not stir as the coloured flares began to fuse together, burning the sky a dazzling tinge of violet, or when the smoke finally reached the edges of the crowd and began to obtrude the stage, building upwards from his feet. He did not stir when the people on the stage around him began to move, forcing their way through the doors of the Justice Building in a desperate attempt to escape from the gas that appeared to be harmless, and only distracting.

He did not even stir when the Peacekeepers began to break ranks and disperse into the Square, pushing onto the dirt walkway to take the intruder by the arms and attempt to drag her away from the stage, guns pressed tightly against her forehead. The colour drained from her already pale complexation as she was roughly carried away, slowly losing all control of her feet in her struggled resistance until they were merely dragging her across the dirt like a rag doll.

And still, she held their eye contact, her eyes now laced with panic. His mind was urging him to pick himself up to help her, but his feet refused to move. Even when he heard Katniss yell goodbye to her panicked family, or when he felt Haymitch attempt to push him forwards as the doors of the Justice Building were burst open and a crowd of Peacekeepers began to pull them away from the stage and towards their imminent deaths, his body remained frozen.

In his state of paralysis, his mouth found the power only to speak a single word. The whisper came out so faintly that he was almost sure the word had died on his lips, but the impact was all the same.

"Hermione", he choked, as the girl slowly faded from his view.

And then he was dragged indoors and the doors of the Justice Building were promptly slammed, and any hope he had of seeing her again faded away with the wisps of coloured light that slowly diffused into the sky.

After all, these would be the last few weeks of his life.

- 𝐀 𝐔 𝐓 𝐇 𝐎 𝐑 ' 𝐒 𝐍 𝐎 𝐓 𝐄 -

Hey Guys! Welcome to the beginning of FLARES - I know this idea is totally wild but I'm so so in love with the concept of this crossover and so I hope you'll all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it! This chapter is a little odd because the first half is just the Reaping from Peeta's perspective, but the majority of the book drifts slightly to focus more on the non-canon features of this au told mainly through Hermione. I'm not 100% happy with how this chapter turned out, but I've been planning the plot of the book (with the help of Vee's evil little mind) and I'm so excited for everything that's to come - the plot is going to be so crazy but so fun and I can't wait to explore this pairing!!

On another note, this week I actually hit 500 followers and have been overwhelmed with both new and old support on my writing and on my profile. I just wanted you all to know that I adore every single one of you and feel so blessed and thankful for any support that I receive, and to any new readers - hello, welcome to chaos central!

Much love as always and stay safe,

Dani ♡