pretty girl era ♡

You spot Katniss at the edge of the square, gripping her sister's hand. Your friend looks nothing like she normally does. Gone are the boots and hunting jacket, replaced by a simple blouse tucked into a modest skirt. You nod grimly at her; neither of you feels like smiling.

Gale is over on the other side of the square, across from the stage they've set up. Your eyes meet, and he mouths "good luck".

After a few minutes of the routine announcements, Haymitch is introduced, then Effie. By now, the crowd has settled into an air of grimness, despite the clear blue sky overhead.

You don't hear Effie's jokes, and nobody laughs. She finally stops smiling, looking extremely awkward – you almost feel bad for her. Almost.

Then, she sticks her hand in the ball of names, each carrying a life, and pulls one out. Her smile is back on her face when she announces, "Without further ado, our female tribute is: Katniss Everdeen!"

You freeze, repeating her words in your head as if hoping they'd sound different. Your oldest friend – determined, brave Katniss, given a death sentence.

But Effie doesn't wait. Her next words are just as devastating. "And for our male tribute: Gale Hawthorne! Come on up now, dear, don't be shy."

Peacekeepers erupt through the crowd, grabbing your two best friends in the entire world by the shoulders, and forcing them up to the stage. Katniss whips her head around, looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what she's asking for.

"I'll take care of her, Katniss. I won't let her die. And you can't let yourself die, okay? Promise me. Katniss! Promise me!"

Your last words are hysterical, but ironically, Katniss is not. Having heard your commitment to Prim, she is satisfied. She yanks her arms free of the Peacekeepers and walks by herself, her head held high and her face serene.

You grab Prim's hand. Her whole body is shaking, wracked with sobs. You don't hear Effie's last words, but you know what they are.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

___

It's been two weeks since the reaping which stole your best friends. It's shocking how quickly you fell back into routine, as if nothing has even changed. The only indicator of their absence is an added part of your day: splitting your earnings between your family and Prim's.

There are now double the mouths to feed, so you spend double the hours in the forest hunting. Villagers are sympathetic – that may be the only reason you're all still alive. They love Prim, and they trust you. Everything you hunt manages to be traded.

But still, you're cracking. It's just too much, and you don't know if it'll ever get better. You have no idea what Katniss and Gale are going through right now, and you don't let yourself think of them. It would break your heart.

___

Peeta Mellark has always been observant. His teachers told his parents this, back when he was a child. It's this trait that makes him notice you. The girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders, killing herself day after day to provide for not one, but two whole families.

He doesn't understand how no one else sees it. But maybe they do – it's just that no one in District 12 is really in a position to do anything about it. Still, the fact remains that you're close to breaking. You can't keep doing this alone.

Peeta Mellark has never been brave. His mother yells at him, beats him, and he takes it. He has never talked back to teachers, or dared disobey the Peacekeepers. So when he offers to hunt with you, he surprises even himself.

"What?"

"I'm Peeta Mellark. We were in the same class, and my parents run the bakery. I was wondering if I'd be able to hunt with you?"

So you weren't hallucinating. The baker's son – a boy you didn't think could kill a fly – had just asked to hunt with you. Your shock translates into a small laugh, not that anything about the situation is funny, really. Hurt flashes in Peeta's eyes, and you quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm Y/N L/N, I know who you are. I just didn't think you'd be the hunting type," you explain. Because you're gentle, and kind, and I've never seen you hurt anyone, with your words or physically. But you don't add that last part. 

"I've only ever hunted with Katniss and Gale, you must know them, they were reaped this year." Your voice cracks a bit with those last words, and Peeta acknowledges the fact with a nod. His hand twitches; he wants to pat you on the back, or grip your shoulder, anything to stop the melancholy leaking into your eyes, but he doesn't.

"But you're welcome to join me," you end with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

___

The new partnership starts early the following day. You meet a groggy Peeta near his home, and the two of you begin the walk to the Meadow.

You hear no electrical hum from the fencing, which means it's safe to touch, and you guide Peeta across the boundary which separates the Seam from the forest. This is all illegal, you know, but you're too used to it to even notice. Peeta, on the other hand, feels an exhilarating sense of rebellion as he crosses the barbed wire, following your figure into the woods.

"You've never hunted before, have you?" you probe, although it's more of a confirmation than an actual question.

Peeta nods. "But I'm a quick learner. And I won't get in your way, I promise."

You smile, a genuine one this time. "We'll see about that, Mellark."

Over the next hour, you go over all the traps you had set from the day before, collecting from Katniss and Gale's traps as well. True to his word, Peeta picks it up quickly, and even has a great eye for camouflaging the traps. This becomes his task, using grass and twigs and flowers as his medium, painting a deceptive scene which looks safe and welcoming to the many squirrels and rabbits in these parts.

You also start him on foraging. Only one type of berry is poisonous in the Meadow, and it's easy to identify. You make sure he's clear on which to avoid, and leave him to it, while you head to the hollowed out tree where you've hidden your knives. The familiar sight of Katniss' bow and arrows within the trunk brings a pang in your heart. You leave them nestled within and retrieve only your daggers. You were never a good archer.

Another hour passes, and you return to Peeta with a deer. You're happier than you have been in weeks – this will be enough for almost a week's worth of food. Peeta is not empty-handed either, he has two buckets of progress, one filled with strawberries, the other with raspberries. He gives you a soft smile – he has dimples, you think. He then immediately turns a faint shade of green, having noticed the dead deer. 

You're seized with the desire to laugh, "Why'd you offer to hunt with me if you get queasy from the sight of game?"

He looks at you with an indignant pout, and you can't stop the giggle that tumbles out, then the full on laughter. 

"I'm not like this with all game, just, you know, the larger animals. I can look at dead squirrels just fine – stop laughing!"

Making your way back, within the District, you stop just outside of the fence to split your gatherings.

"Take the squirrels and rabbits, and the bucket of raspberries. I'll keep the deer and trade the strawberries with the mayor," you offer.

"No, you take it all," he crosses the barrier carrying the buckets, and you follow after him, shaking your head.

"I can't, Peeta. That wouldn't be right. This is a fair split."

"I never said I wanted to keep what we hunt. Only that I wanted to hunt with you, Y/N. Take it. I know you need it more than I do. I'll see you next weekend?"

And with that, he pops a strawberry in his mouth, smiling at the sweetness, and walks away.

You're left with your mouth open, unable to process what had just happened.

___

The next morning, you show up at the bakery. His bakery. You earned a few dollars from selling your strawberries to the mayor, and you figure that if Peeta won't take anything, you should buy from him instead.

A few dollars is enough for two loaves of good bread, and so you head to the bread aisle. But your gaze catches on the beautiful cakes on display, decorated with multi-colored icing and swirling script written in melted chocolate.

"I did those," comes a voice from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you see Peeta himself, looking at the cakes with fondness and a bit of pride.

"You did what?"

"The cakes. I decorated them. My mom bakes, but I decorate. I like doing it – it's like painting, just on a different canvas."

"They're really lovely. You have a talent for it," you confirm, "I bet that's why you were so good at hiding traps yesterday. You can see nature's patterns."

He gives you a soft smile in return, and you can see the dimples again. They're adorable, you think. I want to see them every day.

He gives a small cough, looking at you questioningly.

You startle, and blush a deep crimson. "Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I'm here to buy bread. Two loaves," you say as you lower your head to stare down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

It's only when you hear a chuckle that you lift your head back up. Peeta's eyes are sparkling, and his dimples are clear as ever.

"I'll give you three."

___

Two months after the reaping, your partnership with Peeta is still going strong. Every Saturday, the two of you head to the woods, and spend half the day fishing, gathering, and hunting. Originally silent company has evolved into true friendship, with witty banter, fleeting touches, and shared smiles.

You have come to know Peeta Mellark. He isn't just the baker's son, the one who decorates cakes and hates seeing dead animals. He's the boy who saved you, when no one even knew that you needed saving. 

Day after day, he has shown up, offering kindness, companionship, and warmth, without expecting anything in return. You care about him more than you thought you could ever care about someone who wasn't family. You care about his messy blond hair, and you care about his broad shoulders. You care about his blue eyes which sparkle when he tells a joke, and his beautiful heart which leads him to give the occasional customer an extra free loaf. Most of all, you care about his dimples, which come out when he smiles at you. You care so much about him, that it scares you.

And Peeta cares about you. He cares about your hands, calloused but nimble, lethal when holding onto your twin daggers. He cares about your face, how it glows when you laugh at his jokes in the woods, but dims a bit when you're back in the district. He cares about your hair, always tied in a ponytail when in the Meadow, but left to flow freely down your shoulders when hunting's over. Most of all, he cares about your smile, which comes out when Prim thanks you week after week for your help, and forces you to take bottles of goat milk and pet Buttercup. He cares so much about you, that it scares him.

___

This hunting day, Peeta comes with news from the Capitol. A few weeks back, he started giving you updates on the Games, after you told him that you couldn't stomach the thought of watching your friends fight to the death.

"Y/N! Good news!" he greets, exiting the bakery. As the two of you begin your walk, he adds, "I'll tell you when we get to the Meadow."

"You're insufferable, Mellark. You can't just hook me like that, and not tell me what it is."

Peeta doesn't answer, so you start walking twice as fast, ushering him toward the edge of the Seam so you could figure out what exactly he wanted to tell you.

Once in the grassy plains of the Meadow, between the forest and the fence, you turn back to the boy, the impatience evident in your face.

"Tell me, Peeta, or I swear I'll –"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, "but it's not really good news, per se. It's just a little bit of hope."

You nod, urging him to continue.

"It's about the Games. About Katniss and Gale."

The last traces of your smile fade. Concern is etched onto your face, and your eyebrows scrunch up, your jaw tightens.

Noticing this, Peeta pulls you in by the waist, so that your head lands on his shoulder. "It's good news, Y/N. Don't look so defeated. They're both still alive, and they're fighting."

"But at least one of them won't be coming back," you whisper into his neck, so quietly you wonder if he even heard. But Peeta always hears you.

"Y/N. That's the news. They could both come back. Caesar Flickerman has just announced that they will be changing the rules this year – allowing two victors of the Games, provided they're tributes from the same district!"

You look up at him in awe. A change to the Games. Katniss and Gale, not one or the other. Both could win. Both could come back.

You choke down a sob, staring at Peeta's brilliant smile and those mesmerizing dimples. And before you can process what you're doing, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a bout of bravery.

Peeta's frozen for a second, before he begins to reciprocate the kiss in earnest. He pulls you in, one hand holding your neck and the other wrapped around your torso, pressing himself impossibly closer. He tastes like icing and strawberries, and you can smell the comforting scent of warm bread.

The kiss ends far too quickly for your liking, and you're suddenly impossibly shy, all bravado gone. You lower your eyes so you won't have to meet his eyes, but realize that you're practically sitting on his lap, having moved there at some point during the kiss. This observation brings a flaming blush onto your cheeks, and you scramble to move away, but you're held in place by Peeta's arms, forming an iron-tight cage around your figure.

He brings a hand to your chin, lifting it up, and kisses you again, more gently this time.

"Don't go all shy on me now, Y/L/N," he teases, and holds the back of his hand against your forehead, as if feeling for a fever. "You're burning up, darling."

"You know damn well that's not a fever–", you start, but you're cut off by his laughter, and once again distracted by those dimples of his. 

Maybe Peeta was right. Maybe there is just a little bit of hope left for you.

___

—

Draco did not believe in perfection. He kept trying to catch you being fake, as if your kindness and constant positivity was a facade that he might one day spot slipping. But as you continued to work hard with him on projects, joking to lighten the mood, and displaying the same amount of compassion despite his cold responses, he just couldn’t spot a single flaw. And one day, you caught him off guard.

“Godric, Professor Slughorn’s hair looks like his namesake today…” you mutter, as you copy furiously from the blackboard. You hadn’t meant for anyone to hear it, but then you caught the boy next to you let out a snort. Your eyes widened; there was no way Draco Malfoy had just laughed?

You whip your head around, and Draco averts his eyes.

“You just laughed,” you state, a smile forming on your lips. “You just laughed at my joke.”

“Did not,” the boy denies, “I was just shocked that sunshine in human form could say something like that,” then he turns away so you can’t catch the smile that threatens to appear.

Your cheeks redden, and you scoff. “It wasn’t even mean!” you protest, “I find it rather fits him.”

From that day on, the two of you developed a more natural dynamic. Your conversations were no longer one-sided, and you found yourself growing to enjoy Draco’s sarcastic sense of humour and wit. You even got to know Blaise and Pansy, who were very eager to share some of Draco’s most embarrassing moments with you. Little did you know, these two had an ulterior motive.

–

“So, Y/N, huh?” Pansy prompts, glancing up at Draco with an act of nonchalance.

Blaise smirks, catching the tinge of pink that appeared on his friend’s cheeks. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pans, and she doesn’t either. You and Blaise need to shut it and stop poking your ugly heads into this.”

“Alright, alright. But just so you know, she likes you too,” Blaise replies, before striding to the staircase and heading up to his room.

Pansy nods, “She does, but I have no idea why… You’re utterly unlikeable!” she finishes with a cackle, and practically sprints to the girls dormitories, where she knows the blond boy can’t touch her.

And so, Draco was left all alone with his thoughts and a pounding heart, at 10pm in the Slytherin common room.

—

The upcoming week was Hogsmeade week. Draco and you had made plans to get some extra quills and ingredients you were missing for the latest potions assignment.

“So, how many first years did you scare today?” you greet him with a giggle, “Do I have any 11 year olds I need to comfort?”

Draco scowled, but his eyes crinkled, belying his happiness at seeing you. “Yeah right, it’s their own fault for standing in huge groups in the middle of the corridors. You think it’d kill them to walk on their own.”

You laugh openly, loud enough for a few scattered students to turn and look. And Draco can’t blame them, because he knows just as well how easily you catch the eye. 

After making all the necessary stops, you spot an adorable new pop-up near Madam Puddifoot’s.

“Oh my GOD. A Build-A-Bear Workshop!” you squealed, and Draco makes a show of cringing and plugging in his ears.

You roll your eyes, smiling. “I haven’t made one of these in years. We absolutely HAVE to try it.”

Draco stops plugging his ears and his expression develops into one of horror. “No. No way in hell am I doing that. I have a reputation, Y/N. You are out of your min–”

You yank on his sleeve, pulling him along, not paying attention to a word of his rant.

“OW! How are you this strong, midget?! Fine!” the boy finally complies begrudgingly.

An hour later, the two of you exit the shop, you having made a bear with platinum blond fur and a slytherin uniform. Whenever you pressed its stomach, the bear would squeal out “do you know who I am?!” sending you into bouts of laughter at its resemblance to your friend.

Draco did not find this nearly as amusing as you did, but he was quite proud of his own bear. A brown one modelled after his favourite quidditch player. 

“Admit it! You had lots of fun in there,” you confront, as you spot him fixing the collar of his bear’s robes.

The boy shakes his head, and immediately gives his stuffie to you, “yeah, if I were three years old… now you carry it. I can’t be seen carrying a stuffed bear.”

You roll your eyes, but gladly take the plush. It smells just like Draco.

—

Before you know it, February sneaks up on the Hogwarts students. You start spotting floating hearts and angels everywhere, courtesy of the professors.

However, you had yet to receive a single Valentine, which you found quite bizarre. Not that you were overly confident, but you had always received at least a few in past years. You decided not to dwell on it, however, not when the NEWTs were approaching.

Little did you know, several Valentines had been trying to make their way to you, but each had been stopped on their journey by a certain Slytherin boy. Whenever he spotted one with your name on it zipping along in the halls, he simply hexed it, and it would disintegrate. He also glared at anyone who looked at you, lower years and upper years alike. Eventually, people gave up; there was no use trying to compete with Draco Malfoy.

—

Then on the very last day of the week, February 14th itself, you were working on a potions project, when your partner suddenly walked in.

Draco looked nervous, almost. At least as close to nervous as you’d ever seen the Slytherin prince get… but then he pulled out a little velvet box with a satin ribbon on it, motioning for you to open it.

“Now, don’t make this weird, okay? I just saw this in the store and thought you’d like it,” he mumbles, lowering his head. 

Carefully, you undid the ribbon and opened the box. Inside, there was an absolutely adorable necklace with a tiny silver bear. Your face lit up, and you hugged the tall boy. “It’s perfect,” you exclaimed.

Draco was absolutely flabbergasted, but he awkwardly returned the hug, patting your hair. “Want me to put it on?” 

After he clasped the necklace, he held your shoulders and turned you around to face him. Almost unconsciously, Draco began to smile. A genuine smile that made him look like a 17-year-old boy instead of his ice-cold persona.

You marvelled at how happiness transformed your boy’s face, and you stared up at him for a long time, long enough for Draco to tilt his head in curiosity.

“Is there something on my face?” he inquires.

You shake your head. “No. No, I just… you have a beautiful smile. I think you should do that more. Smile, I mean,” you stumble over your words.

Draco chuckles, as a blush spreads over his face, painting his pale complexion. He leans in again, but instead of a hug this time, he quickly pecks your forehead. “Maybe. No promises though,” he whispers.

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