It was his fourth Arena, if he recalled correctly - they were all starting to blur together - and he was starting to see the entire thing as almost routine. There was no excitement when he was dressed in the strangely ridiculous get-up, though Draco did feel a bit more at home in it than the last few outfits they'd thrown him in; there was little interest when he actually went up the tube and finally opened his eyes to things. Just mild curiosity as to what sort of nastiness this one would bring.

It was certainly different, the whole Arena. Bloody disconcerting, if Draco had any say in the matter. But he'd get used to it. He didn't have much of a choice.

And then the gong rang out, and he hit the ground running, off like a shot towards the Cornucopia and the few scattered objects that lay there.