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Harry Potter and the Hunger Games
Chapter 1
Home in the Grey
The cot is hard and lumpy but I'm used to it by now. After years of lying on the same one it's difficult not to get used to it. It's not like I sleep on it anyway, so I don't need it to be comfortable. This isn't my bedroom. It's my jail cell. That's right, my jail cell. The prison gets so little use that I'm essentially the only one to ever use this cell.
I stare up at the familiar grey ceiling. Everything is always grey here. Grey, dull, and slow. And not just in the prison. It's like this everywhere in District Six. Sometime I think even the sun takes longer to cross the sky here than it does in any other district. Not that I've been to other districts, mind. It's expressly forbidden unless you're a Victor, a Peacekeeper, or summoned by the Capitol. I don't know if that's the case in all districts but that's how it is in Six. The District of Transportation and we can't go anywhere.
This is my home. District Grey they should call it. It's not the most populated district in Panem, but it certainly is the largest. Our beloved industry being transportation, we are the central hub of all transit in Panem. Cars, trains, hovercraft, we build them all. Tracks and roads too. Unless you're from One, Two, or Three, everything passed first through Six before reaching the Capitol. Frankly I'd do without that. Our proximity to the Capitol is in no way advantageous.
Unlike District One, which builds all the luxury items they use in the Capitol, we see very little of the wealth that trickles out of the shining center of Panem. District Two, which provides the vast majority of Peacekeepers, is farther from the Capitol than we are - somewhere to the southwest I think but we're not supposed to know that - and maybe a tenth of the size of Six, yet they still lead far more comfortable lives than those of us closest to the Capitol. I figured out long ago that the numbering of districts has little to do with where we are in reference to the Capitol, but rather signifies our value to those that matter. Namely President Snow and his cabinet. Six out of twelve isn't so bad I guess.
But the size of District Six is more of a nuisance than anything to be proud of. It takes forever to get anywhere, and every step of the way there are Peacekeepers. Being so close to the Capitol means the extra security is unavoidable, lest we get rowdy and cause trouble. Of course the worst crime anyone in Six is likely to commit is trafficking. Drug trafficking, that is. Addiction to morphling, a powerful painkiller, is rampant throughout Six. Though our main industry is transportation we're also the center for medical research, which makes morphling an esily accessible product. I'd wager at least half the population is hooked on it. Which means that, though crime rates are technically high, the people of Six are docile. Most of us anyway.
Unfortunately this leads to another problem. Boredom. The lack of commotion makes the Peacekeepers restless, which doesn't bode well for us. More often than not an arrest is a death sentence, since the so called criminals never make it to prison due to blood-loss or blunt-force trauma while "resisting arrest".
The Peacekeepers aren't the only ones that feel the boredom though. Everyone sane enough feels it. Everyone that wasn't on morphling. I feel it. That's why I'm here today. It's far from the first time I've ended up in jail. Thanks to the boredom I started ending up here at least once a week since I was 7. Trespassing was my offense this time. I'd thought it might be a good idea to sneak into one of those secretive hangers that hold experimental aircraft and the like. I was promptly caught though. I could have escaped the Peacekeepers if I'd wanted to, I'm probably the fastest thing there is in Six and I've done it many times before, but once they saw my face there was no point. Being only 12 now, I'm still too young to warrant the excessive violence from the Peacekeepers. Plus my celebrity status would probably keep me safe except in the case of a serious offense. So they punish me in the only way they know how. Jail time. The only possible punishment for daring to fight against the all-encompassing boredom. More boredom.
It's not exactly boring right now though. It never is when Nymphadora Tonks is in her usual cell right next to mine. She's one of the few regulars besides me and I'm so very glad for it. Grunts, moans and the wet slapping of flesh against flesh emanate from her cell. It brings a smirk to my face imagining the scene next door. I've known about sex for years now. I learned of it the hard way when I was first placed in the cell next to Nym, or Nympho as the garrison likes to call her. She's a drug trafficker, but unlike most she gets away with it. Instead of being beaten to death, the Peacekeepers take out their frustrations on her in a more pleasurable way. One after another after another. I was a little bit horrified by it until I realized that good old Nym enjoys it just as much as they do.
"When's my turn, Nym?" I ask her teasingly. Her breathless bark of laughter answers me. She's so unladylike.
"Not for many years, Harry," she tells me between panting breaths. It disturbed me at first, the way she will hold a conversation with me even as she's taking a lover. We've grown close over the years, after all the times we've been neighbors in here. It took a while to take our friendship outside of the prison. The familiar was comforting and I knew if ever I want to see her, all I need to do is get arrested.
One day changed our whole dynamic, when instead of getting arrested we decided to run away from the Peacekeepers together. It was thrilling and fun, but most of all it was freeing. Helping one another jump fences or climb walls forced down the last barriers that prevented us from truly trusting each other. It brought us closer than anything else had before. From then on we became more than just neighbors, and we added escaping to our list of activities in common. Except Sundays when we'd end up back here. She always gets caught on Sunday and I know for a fact she does it on purpose. She has a gap that needs filling regularly, she tells me. I couldn't deny her that, and so I join her as often as possible to continue the tradition that first brought us together.
Once upon a time I had something of a crush on her, before I was old enough to really understand what that meant, but I know she'll never settle down. She likes the way things are now, and has no need for a relationship. It was her color that really attracted me to her. She's like a rainbow in the Grey that is District Six. Her hair color is always changing every time I see her, and she wears the brightest, flashiest clothing she can get her hands on. Though she never wears anything too hard to take off quickly.
"Aww, but what if I get reaped this year? Then I'll have died a virgin. You don't want that to happen, do you?" I whine playfully. It's something of a running joke between us, how most of the unfortunate tributes die virgins. It's something Nym likes to boast she won't have to worry about. Silence is my answer though. Well, her silence anyway. Whatever Peacekeeper is currently pounding away at her hasn't relented yet. Normally it's a harmless joke, but I sense I've hit a nerve this time. Because this year I'm 12 and it's no longer an abstract notion. My name will be in the bowl.
Nym's own name is in the girls' bowl 7 times this year since she's 18. It's her last year of eligibility and we're both hoping it'll pass without her name coming out of that bowl. Normally an orphan like her would have a lot more than 7 slips in the bowl, but thanks to the Peacekeepers settling for her body rather than busting her drug operations she's never had to take tessarae to feed herself. Most of the poor children in Six are not so lucky. I try not to think about the early age at which she started trafficking and, by extension, getting Peacekeepers off. It makes me queasy.
Despite this being my first year of eligibility, and therefore having just one slip in the bowl, I'm painfully aware that I'm actually very likely to be picked. As random as they like to claim the reaping is, I know Victors' children always go into the Games. The Capitol can't resist the entertainment value of it. The child of someone who'd already won the Hunger Games was likely to make things more interesting. Plus they get to punish the Victors for having actually made it out alive by then taking away their kid. And if being the child one Victor wasn't reason enough for them to rig my reaping, I'm the son of two Victors.
James Potter, my father, won the 54th Hunger Games at the age of 16. He did so in a way no one else ever had before. Flying. It was the Capitol's own fault, really, for reaping a prodigy engineer and dumping him in a junk yard arena. They'd thought an urban arena would be an interesting change and James had flourished for their mistake. He built a rudimentary hovercraft engine from pieces of scrap, and then used it to fly over the other tributes. Any tribute that came too close was burnt to a crisp by the exhaust of the engine. James then became the darling of the Capitol, praised for his genius and paraded everywhere.
My mother, Lily Evans, won a couple Games later, in the 56th Games. She was 17. She was no mechanical genius like my father - not that the Capitol would make the mistake again of providing bits of machines for the engineers of District Six to exploit - but she excelled in her own way, in our district's secondary industry, medicine. Her score had been low due to her frailty and she'd played that weakness for all it was worth. Then when the arena was was revealed she was unstoppable. Her Games had been one of the scariest seen to date. The arena that year was bathed in complete darkness. Only the fancy cameras of the Capitol allowed the rest of Panem to witness it while the tributes could see nothing at all. Even the career tributes had been terrified when the muttations were released into the blackness with them. Lily wasn't phased though. Losing her sight only gave her slight pause before she fell back on her other senses to locate her weapon of choice, a medicine pack, and then picked off one by one not only the other tributes but a large number of the mutts as well.
They were the Champions of the Grey. District Six's pride and joy. The two of them had gotten married after her Games and had me the year after that. And then one more year passed before they both died in a mysterious train wreck on their way to the Capitol. Mysterious to Panem, but not to me. My parents had started getting vocal about their disdain for the Capitol. About the unfairness of the Games and how their son would inevitably end up in them. And about how the Victors were treated after winning. Lily had barely escaped forced prostitution to the highest bidders in the Capitol thanks to her very public romance, and later pregnancy, with another Victor. James hadn't been so lucky in his first year after the Games.
The Capitol doesn't exclusively use Victors for sex, of course. Had my father not had his looks then they would have put his genius to work instead. My mother they were content to use as a decoration and propaganda piece. Essentially, you win and the Capitol owns you. They can do anything and everything they want to you. Despite their struggles the two remained in love and had a short though happy marriage, but they soon found out what happens when you don't happily take everything the Capitol dishes out.
I was on that train too. Barely over a year old, it's something of a miracle I survived. I only came out of it with a jagged scar across my face. It's a distinguishing feature I'm rather proud of honestly. I think it looks cool, almost like a lightning bolt from my right temple to my left cheekbone, barely missing both my eyes. My scar is also a reminder, though, of the price of freedom. Take an inch from the Capitol and they'll take back a mile. Though it looks wicked, the scar is so clean that it does little to mar the good looks my parents' genes gave me. The genes that I know will land me in the same boat as my father if ever I win the Games. The unkempt jet black hair that I get from my father, and the emerald green eyes from my mother, have been the topic of many articles in the Capitol already.
All I have to do to know the truth of this fate is to look at the new darling of the Capitol. Finnick Odair of District Four won 4 years ago in the 65th Games. He was 14 then, the youngest winner of the games yet, but that didn't stop the Capitol from throwing lovers at him. These days he is always seen with a new lover, male or female, on his arm at every upscale ball, gala and party in the Capitol. I often wonder if both my father and Finnick took on an attitude like Nym's, of simply enjoying it because it's unavoidable anyway.
The truth is I'm in no real hurry to lose my virginity. And if I ever do, I know it wouldn't be with Nym. She was too much like a sister to me. I'm in even less of a hurry to lose my life, though I'm resigned to the fact that I'll likely die in the Games.
All my knowledge of the Capitol, the Games, and my parents, comes from one man named Sirius Black. He's a Peacekeeper. One of the few in Six that is actually from Six. He and my father had been close, before the Capitol took him. Sirius has watched over me since I was an infant. Though my custody went to my mother's sister, I spend a great deal more time with him than I do with my aunt Petunia. Especially since the time I started getting arrested.
"Don't joke about that Harry," Nym's voice interrupts my musings. She too is all too aware that it's not a joke anymore this year.
"Hey what-" comes the indignant cry of the Peacekeeper in her cell.
"I'm done." Nym informs him. "Thanks. We'll have to do this again some time." Her voice, though jovial, sounds hollow to me.
The Peacekeeper leaves her cell with a huff and passes in front of mine while still fastening his pants. He didn't bother locking Nym's cell behind him. She's likely to receive more visitors soon anyway.
I hear her rustling her clothes back into place before a soft thump tells me she's sat down with her back to the wall our cells share.
"It's not fair," she complains. I know she's referring to the fact that one day I will most assuredly be going into the arena. I agree that it isn't, but what can we do really? My parents spoke up about it and look where that got them. It got them dead.
"It's not likely I'll go in this year. I'm only twelve. Not much entertainment in that," I try to reassure her.
She gives another bark of laughter, this one completely mirthless.
"I wouldn't be so sure. They love getting the little ones in there. It's more painful for the families," she says bitterly.
"Maybe. But I don't have family," I rebuff.
It's true really. Aunt Petunia may legally have custody of me but she's never wanted me. Never loved me. She's barely even acknowledged my existence since the day I was handed to her. The only indication that she knows I'm there is the fourth plate she serves at the table for dinner. The other three being for her son, her husband and herself. My uncle and cousin are not pleasant people to be around so I make sure I'm not around. It isn't hard given that I technically owned two houses in the Victors' Village and my so called family only occupies one of them.
I realize a moment later that she was referring to herself and I feel guilt welling up inside me. I would never leave Nym if I had the choice. But I'm the poster boy of the Grey. Son of the Champions of the Grey. Six doesn't care about me like they did my parents. I think they feel they can't get attached to me because they know I'm going in and I'm not coming back out.
This time my musings are broken by Sirius. I hadn't even noticed him come up but there he is at my door, clad in his white Peacekeeper's uniform. He's a tall man, rather handsome in a rugged kind of way. He keeps himself clean, being a Peacekeeper and all, but there's always an air of fatigue, glumness even, about him. His bright blue eyes pierce out of the darkness that seems to surround him and weigh upon his shoulders.
"Alright you two. Get out of here. And try to stay out of trouble, will you?" he pleads with us exasperatedly. I roll off my cot as my surrogate uncle fumbles with the key for my cell. I know how worried he is this year and mentally I correct my earlier statement. I do have family. My Peacekeeper uncle, and my whore sister. And me, a 12 year old delinquent with no future, adored from a distance by the Capitol and forgotten in the Grey. What a strange family we make.
Nym slips out of her cell knowing it's rarely ever locked. I can see the tear tracks down her face, and her eyes, bright blue just like Sirius' eyes, are full of yet more tears. She plasters on a grin and tousles Sirius' hair, causing him to scowl at her. Her own hair is purple today.
"Later Black. Come play with me next time," she offers with a smile. She sends a wink my way before making her escape. Sirius shakes his head at her antics but I know a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never joins in on the "fun" with Nym like the other Peacekeepers do. She's like a daughter to him in the way that she's like a sister to me. That's not the only reason though. I know it's also because Sirius, though he wouldn't admit to it publicly, prefers the company of other men. But that was frowned upon outside of the Capitol. In there, no one has any real obligations. Out in the Districts though, if you weren't making more potential little tributes then you were neglecting an essential part of your duty. No one in Six would have cared, but Sirius is a Peacekeeper. He has to be the ideal of Panem, even behind closed doors. Or else. The Capitol truly was obsessed with with sex. Whether it's forcing it on you, or denying you its pleasures.
"Go on home, Harry. I'll see you after the reaping tomorrow, as usual," Sirius tells me as he finally gets the door open. I can tell he's trying to reassure himself as well as me. We always watch the Games together, Sirius, Nym, and I, but not because we enjoy it. Who but the freaks in the Capitol could enjoy such a thing? We watch the Games with their intended purpose in mind. To remind ourselves what it means to go against the Capitol. Sirius wants to believe this year will be like the last, and we will simply be watching them, not living them. My gut tells me otherwise.
I walk home, not having enough coin in my pocket to board a tram, so it takes me a good two hours in the vastness of Six. When I get there I immediately regret having come at all. Petunia is in hysterics over the reaping tomorrow. Dudley, my cousin, is only a few months older than I am, so this is his first reaping too. I try tuning her out. I understand her fears, really I do, but I can't help feeling they're unwarranted. Dudley Dursley has little to no entertainment value, and I just can't see him ever being reaped.
In a rare moment, Petunia seems to remember that I exist outside of needing to eat. She turns to me, her wide puffy eyes glistening with tears. Her hands grip my shoulders so hard it hurts. The fear and panic in her eyes is unmistakable, and for a brief moment I think she realizes how much more danger I'm in of being reaped than her pudgy son is. That isn't the case.
"If his name comes out tomorrow, you'll volunteer." Her voice is so matter-of-fact that it throws me for a loop, and it takes me almost a whole minute to realize she's giving me an order. Behind her, her husband Vernon is nodding his head in approval as if I'd already said "yes ma'am" or otherwise acknowledged her request as being valid.
"It's only right, after everything we've done for you," he says. A hate rises up from my gut so powerful I know it's showing in my eyes. My lip contorts into a snarl. Everything they've done for me, he says. They've been living off the money my parents left behind since they took me in. Vernon works in some car manufacturing plant but his income really only serves to add to their already lavish lifestyle. I want to scream and rip into them for everything they've done for me. Instead I ball my fists and bite the inside of my cheek. Vernon has never been above striking me and I don't want to deal with this today. I shrug off my aunt's hands, not bothering to grace them with a response, and I storm out of the house ignoring their shouts of surprise. They can't have truly expected me to agree to that, could they? I almost hope Dudley gets picked tomorrow, if only so I can watch them as I don't volunteer. I shove the thought away immediately. There may be a mutual dislike between us, but I shouldn't stoop to their level. I don't wish the Games on anyone. Except maybe Snow and his cabinet.
I head into the next house over and lock the door because I can still hear Vernon's angry yells behind me. My father held the deed to this one, though both my parents had actually lived here once they'd gotten married. I'm often grateful for this since it means Petunia can't touch anything physical left by my parents. Not legally anyway, and she knows if she ever got caught she'd likely be beaten to death for "resisting arrest" like everyone else.
This house is one of the few comforts I have in this world. It's the one place I know that isn't grey. Well, it is, but it never feels like the rest of the Grey. The walls are golden in the sun, and the furniture is a barely perceptible shade of heather. The air still holds an aromatic mix of the flowers I know my mom used to grow, and the machine oil of my father's tinkerings. It's all in my head, I know, but it's somehow just so much better than the ever present smell of gasoline that permeates everything in Six.
After I've calmed down some I look out the window. Victor's Village is just as grey as everything else in Six, but there's no Peacekeepers except at the gate. There's really no need since there are so few of us living here. There are only three actual Victors living in the Village. Arabella Figg, Remus Lupin, and Alastor Moody. Arabella was a lovely woman once. I've seen the old footage of her Games, the 27th Games, in which she camouflaged herself and simply outlasted all the other tributes. She's past her prime now, and sadly addicted to morphling like so many others in Six. She's the only Victor I've actually spoken to on occasion. When I was young, whenever I needed to escape the Dursleys I'd sit on her couch and play with her cat while she'd paint. Painting was her coping mechanism after she returned from the Games but most days it wasn't enough. I've been sad to see her paint less and less since her cat died, and instead rely on more morphling to keep her smile on.
Remus Lupin won the 23rd Games. I don't know how he won his Games and I will likely never ask. It's entirely possible that he too is on morphling but I don't know that either. He does not speak. Most of the time he remains catatonic in a chair by his living room window, but occasionally, when the full moon is visible, he will let out an agonized scream almost like he's howling at it.
Alastor Moody scares me. He's a crazy old recluse that won the 12th Games, and ever since then he's been paranoid. He lashes out at anyone who approaches him. He mentors the tributes every year since Remus won't move and Arabella doesn't have the presence of mind for it. Somehow I'm not surprised District Six has only had 5 Victors out of 68 Games. The last two of those 5 were my parents. My mother's house is now the Dursley's, and my father's is now mine. If I ever turn 18 I'll be able to kick out my worthless family. But I have my doubts that I'll ever even reach 13.
Thanks for reading. For those of you who know my other story Gate Builders, I am still working on it. I will post the new version when I have finished Part 1.
This story was a plot bunny that wouldn't leave my brain so I took a break from Gate Builders to write it out. It's finished so I will be posting a chapter every week. Chapters will be short and unrefined. I didn't take much care writing it out. Sorry.