TEAM 13 : DISTRICT 3
Hermione : Hermosa
It took her a second to notice the code.
Morse had been something of a last minute addition, during the war, and even then it was rarely used. Draco had taken a liking to it, though; he'd appreciated its true 'muggle-ness' and spent more time than nearly anyone else in memorizing it.
She still remembered, thankfully, most of the letters, and so after some time she was able to parse out the words (in her language, a language no one here spoke) and determine the message being sent by the red 'recording' light on the camera in her room. She watched it through the mirror out of the corner of her eye—no point being careless—and it repeated at least three times before she realized what it was asking her to do.
She tapped her foot, four times, loudly.
The message changed.
By lights out Hermione was already exhausted, but the messages were still coming, so she knew that was just something she'd have to deal with the next day, when the Games begun.
Draco's information was far too valuable for even a minute of sleep.
She lay awake instead, occasionally shifting one way or the other in response to a question, as confirmation, or just to show she hadn't yet fallen asleep.
The messages kept coming.
It was nearly four in the morning when they ceased, and Hermione lay awake for some time afterward, considering the information they contained.
Draco clearly hadn't been able to contact her earlier—there were even long pauses in the transmission, where he seemed to be waiting for some unseen danger to end—but what he had been able to tell her was, generally, good news.
It gave her—it gave them—a concrete plan for the first time, one that could be carried out and wasn't just about preparing as best as possible and dealing with blows as they came.
Inside knowledge had won them the Second Riddle War. It had allowed them to win against an enemy with more time, resources, and hope than them, and to do so in such a manner that (despite the many, many problems the post-war years brought) no one thought there'd be a third.
Inside knowledge would win them this one, too.
The next morning she and the rest of Team 13 were led onto the same plane. It was difficult, painfully difficult, to convey the information without raising suspicion, but she did it. She and the rest sat quietly as they dealt with injections into their arms, they murmured in low voices, finalizing plans, as they eyed the clothing they were wearing (it was gear suitable for many terrains, which had both good and bad implications) and then changed into it while trying not to catch sight of anyone else in the process. They smiled at the Victors who had chosen or were made to see them off and stood, ready, in the tiny capsules which would send them to the arena above.
Hermione tried very hard not to yawn.
They had a plan now. They had information, a giant support base, and a direction to be headed. They didn't have resources, they didn't have the assured-ness which came with knowing victory was guaranteed, they had nothing even approaching the upper hand—
But then, they'd never needed any of that before.
Hermione fought off another yawn and then, with all the suddenness of apparating, they were in the arena.