Hello :)

Firstly this is my first EVER story, so if it isn't formatted or laid out correctly, then that is due to my ignorance of this site!

Secondly I own none of the characters, nor the basic plot (although the ideas are mine)

Thirdly This is a mixture of Harry Potter and The Hunger Games. If you are fans, great. If not, read this then go and read the books! They are amazing!

Fourthly I don't know how often I will be updating - it will come in dribs and drabs. (I believe that is a British idiom, so sorry if that makes no sense to you.)

Fifthly I don't think I have ever had to write fifthly! I am listing! ('Tis not a good writing technique. Oh well, I have started so I'll finish!)

Sixthly Apparently Sixthly is not a word... -.-

Seventhly Okay, so these aren't real words anymore, but you get the gist. Also I have never known whether it is spelt 'okay' or good old 'OK' !

Eightly Back on topic - It is rated T in case the violence increases... It might...

Ninthly Please enjoy this and review it!

The disk he was standing on ascended until his head rose above ground level. Harry glanced round the Great Hall at the other slowly surfacing figures, immediately deciding who were possible threats and whether to avoid them or to dispose of them promptly. He located a small Hufflepuffclaw girl, gauging that she could be no more than a second year at most standing next to an equally tiny Ravenclaw boy, although he had a gleam in his determined eye that made Harry unsure that he would be as easy a target as he appeared. Surveying round he saw a burly, thickset Durmstrang 6th year girl beside a willowy, blonde, yet equally as intimidating, Beaxbattons girl, Fleur De'Lacour, whom he had met prior to the reaping when all the students could pretend to be friends. He put a wall between himself and her so it wouldn't be so agonising killing her if and when the time came. Reminding himself that there could only be one survivor, he scanned the assembled students with renewed intent, searching for any weakness he could spot that would give him the slight advantage which might save his life. He noticed that Cedric Diggory, a 5th year Hufflepuff boy, seemed totally calm. Whether it was a facade or not Harry could not tell, but he was sure there was far more to Cedric than the arrogant show off he appeared at school. Next to him poised Malfoy, a Slytherin and fellow 4th year. He was also Harry's most hated enemy at school and his pointed face was tinged with malicious excitement which Harry found sickening. He knew that Malfoy, Pansy - the female tribute for Slytherin - and the two Durmstrang tributes had already decided upon teaming up to hunt down the other contestants. Alliances between the students of pure wizarding background always formed near the start, owing to the fact that they thought they were better than everyone else and working in groups had proved to be successful in the past. Although he was of pure wizarding descent, Harry had no intention of joining the 'Pure Bloods' pack. His plan was to stake out in the many secret passageways and hiding places Hogwarts had to offer until he or most of the contestants were dead. The Hogwarts students had the home ground advantage this year, and he planned to use this to its fullest. He just hoped the head Gamemaker, Umbridge, and her Death Eaters didn't force him out of hiding with a trap of some kind. In previous tournaments fires or floods had been started to force the tributes together and make the show more interesting.

It was then that his eyes fell upon Hermione Granger standing at the opposite end of the Great Hall, his fellow Gryffindor tribute; and best friend. Her jaw was set and her face looked determined – yet strikingly vulnerable. Her eyes were dry, but tears threatened to spill over. His stomach lurched and he had to resist the urge to leap off his platform and comfort her. They had been friends, along with Ron Weasley, since their 1st year at Hogwarts, and he considered her his sister he never had. She, Ron and Hogwarts made up the family he never had and he could not begin to imagine how Ron felt shut up in the Gryffindor Dormitory being forced to watch as his two best friends line up to be slaughtered. He tore his gaze away from her face and forced himself to focus, knowing that there was little time until the cannon fired to signal the start.

His next point of focus was the small scrap of brown material in the centre of the ring of platforms which many of the students were gazing at intently. It was the sorting hat that the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, used every year to determine which of the 4 houses each Hogwarts student should be placed in to. All around it at different distances the ground was littered with magical and muggle items with varying helpfulness, including books, weapon and food. Close enough to Harry's platform that he could have reached down right there and picked it up was a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans. They were utterly useless in this situation, so he looked closer to the hat where the more useful items lay. There, as if mocking him lay a brand new Firebolt, the fastest broom in existence. Harry was the youngest seeker of the century, and knew that only he and Viktor Krum, a 7th year Durmstrang boy and Professional Quidditch player, could use that broom to his full potential. He then remembered what his mentor, and head of house, Professor McGonagall, had said.

'Run away Potter. Do not be tempted by whatever lays around that hat. You're only chance of success is to get away and hide before the Pure Bloods start to hunt you down. Trust me.'

He was torn. He knew that if he could just get to that Firebolt he actually had a chance of winning these torturous 'games.'

Then he heard a woman mutter 'Sonorus' and suddenly her voice boomed through the hall, making him jump, and he instinctively reached inside his robes for his wand. After a terrifying few heartbeats he remembered that they had all been stripped of their wands and any other magical artefacts about their person, and would be forced to fight like muggles, unless they found something of great assistance surrounding the hat.

'Welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Wizard Tournament, this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' Rita Skeeter's voice echoed off the harsh stone walls of the castle. 'Contestants are reminded to not step down from their discs until the cannon fires, lest they face a rather horrifying demise.' Her voice seemed somewhat amused by the prospect of such a fate, and Harry's loathing of the little beetle-like woman rose in his chest, along with his hatred of the Ministry and Voldemort who sat at its head laughing as students are forced to compete in his twisted, morbid games for his entertainment. 'All tributes should remember that the 3 unforgivable curses are strictly forbidden. Any tribute caught using them will be annihilated. May the odds be ever in your favour.' Then the countdown began.

'10,' his heart hammered in his chest as an impending sense of doom settled over him.

'9,' he re-adjusted his glasses, his mind still racing, trying to decide whether to go for the broom or not.

'8,' He doubted he could outpace Krum any way.

'7,' Malfoy smoothed his bleach blonde hair into place, and exchanged a grin with his fellow Pure Bloods.

'6,' He looked around the room and located his nearest exit, a side passage leading away from behind where the professors table usually resided.

'5,' He thought of Ron and the other Gryffindors and hoped that his death wouldn't be too gory.

'4,' He thought of his Godfather, Sirius, who he had never got to know.

'3,' He thought of his parents whom he had never known.

'2,' He leaned forward, ready to race for the broom.

'1,' He tensed his legs ready to run, just as he caught sight of Hermione out the corner of his eye who shook her head ever so slightly...