Chapter One

The Twentieth Annual Hunger Games

I wasn't a muggle, or whatever it was that they called non magical people. Squibs? I didn't know. Whatever it was, I wasn't it. Of course, I didn't know this when the fire nation took over. Just kidding, wrong fiction. I was from America, or what was left of it after the nuclear attack. Britain and all of the major countries had been destroyed, although for some reason Canada was untouched which just proves you don't mess with maple syrup. Canada had abandoned all of the other countries, building up walls so no one could cross the border. The American government morphed to 'fit' to our new problem. They blamed the people that didn't fit in, witches and wizards. It was a new Salem Witch trials, they believed that if they could kill every witch or wizard, they could stomp out the wizard gene. Every year two tributes from each district were picked to fight against each other in the Hunger Games. The surprise was that every year, the same type of people were picked. Witches and wizards. Anyone else was safe, as long as no one else had a child that had magic. As long as people kept on producing magical children, we'd keep on being used in the Hunger Games. I wasn't sure what would happen after it though, once they had finally 'gotten rid of' the last witch or wizard. Would they use regular people? Of course that was outrageous, the government may be corrupt, but it wasn't that corrupt. I was an anomaly. I wasn't supposed to be born. I was from two muggle parents but the wizard gene was strong on my mother's side, I guess that's what you get when you're a daughter of the Granger clan. My mother, a squib, taught me about her in secret. The only reason why squibs weren't killed was because they had almost no magic to use, thus deemed harmless. I learned from my mother how Hermonie Granger became the Minister of Magic and Harry Potter killed one of the darkest wizards of all time. Although it was interesting, it was useless to me now. That happened over forty years ago. I brushed back my brown hair, focusing on washing the dishes. We were in district 8, although it wasn't district 12, we were still not doing as well as the Capital or District 1. Our district's main industry was creating designs and fabrics, not a very elaborate place to work. When I turned 15 I started to work in one of the factories, stitching the badge of a Peacekeeper onto the uniform.

The 20th annual Hunger Games was starting this year, today was The Reaping. I knew my name wouldn't be in The Reaping, I had been hiding my magic ever since I had been a kid. My mom had made sure that I wouldn't show any of my magic. I wasn't too worried; I'd be over looked like every other year. None of my friends were witches or wizards either; my mother thought that it would draw suspicion on me. I looked around the room, seeing the faded white wallpaper with a pink floral pattern. There were faded white curtains hanging from the window in front of the sink, a sad looking lawn could be seen through the window. I looked up at the sky, seeing that it was a dreary gray. Usually the houses around here were piled high and built precariously, leaving little to no room in between the houses. It was a cramped living space and even our house was small. We had two bedrooms and one bathroom. The kitchen was probably the biggest part of the house. There wasn't much lighting though, what little was provided came from the windows and the weak light bulb that hung above the table that my father had created. I turned my attention back to the pile of plates on the counter that I still had to go through; I frowned, looking around the room. Just because I didn't practice magic outside didn't mean that I couldn't do any magic. I did it in moderation, small spells just to practice. Even though I knew there was basically no use to try. Even if I was really good at magic, at least from what my mother said, I could only do small spells without a wand. Another reason why it was hard for magic users to be in the Hunger Games, most had either been used to using wands and couldn't use magic once they were taken away, or they had never learned any magic, and were set up for failure. I glanced back at the dishes that were looming in front of me. I usually put off my chores until my parents started to yell, like most teenagers, which set me up to have this huge mess in front of me. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as I pursed my lips, trying to figure out a spell that would quickly wash the dishes. I looked around the house one more time before I laughed, reminding myself that I was the only one up right now. It wasn't that early in the morning but both my parents worked late shifts into the night. My father was a teacher, working two jobs just to scrap by was hard on him. Once a year they were allowed to sleep in, The Reaping meant that they didn't have to work for that day. I glanced back at the dishes, finally the right spell coming to mind. I flicked my fingers in the dishes direction, "purifico" I whispered. I grinned in delight as the dishes one by one started to become clean. The smear of food that had been on them before was suddenly erased, moving to the other side of the counter before setting itself down. The other dishes soon followed. I felt a thrill run through me which always happened when I used magic, I felt like I could do anything. I glanced around the kitchen, tapping my finger to my chin. What else could I do? I glanced at the broom that was leaning against the wall. Of course it had been a flying broom a few decades ago but it had gotten old and no longer worked as well as it should have, not to mention trying to fly in the smog that was made from the factories was not a lovely idea. "accio," I whispered, watching as the broom flew across the room and came right into my hands. I smiled, before starting to brush the floor with it, trying to make it clean. I froze when I heard a knock on the door. My eyes grew wide and I dropped the broom, a loud clattering sound echoing after it. Had they seen me do magic? That was impossible though, no one could have heard me, I was too quiet. I just stared at the door in horror as the person on the other side knocked again.