Draco, on the other hand, had been inside the building. It had been barely worth the illness, which had only subsided somewhat since he had surfaced again to find his next meal. Not that he could imagine it helping; the Arena had taken its toll on his stomach violently since a few days in. To say that he was feeling a little bit poorly was an understatement like no other; he was nearly hallucinating with fever and headache.

He'd found a knife just after arriving to the uppermost level of the Arena again. No one else was around; it couldn't be meant for anyone but him. Paranoia running rampant in him - who would give him a knife, unless there was a reason for it - he began heading back to the Cornucopia, back to his little stash of small foodstuffs.

But lo, there was someone already there. He couldn't tell who, wasn't even sure if it mattered; what did matter was that their back was turned, their attention elsewhere. Draco slipped into the shell of the Cornucopia, pressing himself into the shadows as he neared her.