This is the start of my Harry Potter/Hunger Games crossover story. The idea came from .net : The Hogwarts Games.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or The Hunger Games they belong to J.K Rowling and Suzanne Collins
I wake. The light from the dim morning sun slips in through the closed shutters. I stretch out along the rough canvas bed and blink a few times to see into the dark. In the darkness I see them. My mother and my little sister, Prim. Curled next to their bodies is the ugliest feline known to man, his name? Buttercup. Hardly fitting in my opinion. His face is squashed in, half his ear missing and a violent hiss from his lungs lets me know he is awake. I never liked that cat. I tried to drown him when I first found him, hasn't forgiven me of course. Prim loved the cat, she so unfittingly named Buttercup, but how could I deny my sister this moments happiness. Of course, in District Twelve, we don't get much happiness around here. Well, since my father was killed in a mine explosion a few months ago I haven't been happy since. So now at eleven, I am head of the family. My mother, a shadow of her former self, hardly leaves the bed and we were slowly starving to death. That is until I decided to go hunting. My father taught me to hunt, it's one of the things he managed to do before he was blown to bits, that and sing. But singing won't do you any good here, singing won't quench your hunger, singing won't stop the Hunger Games.
The Hunger Games, in the days before the uprising of the thirteen districts against the Capitol there was no Hunger Games. The Capitol brought these games upon us as punishment for the uprising, those in District Thirteen were the lucky ones, they were killed and therefor would never be reaped for the Hunger Games. The Games were violent and bloodthirsty, each year a boy and a girl between the ages of eleven and eighteen would be chosen from each district, trained and thrown into an arena in a fight to the death. Each year, starting at twelve your name would be placed in the reaping and your names would accumulate until the age of eighteen. Those who were poorer, however, would have the option to sign up for Tesserae and you may choose how many times your name will be entered in order to gain grain and fuel for your family. So now at the age of twelve, my name is in the reaping ball four times instead of just one. A small price to pay to see my family don't starve.
This morning I will not need to hunt, I made sure that I had caught enough for our meal tonight. The celebratory meal after the reaping. Many families will celebrate tonight but two families will close their shutters, for they know that their children may never be seen again. I sit up on the canvas bed and slide of silently, I do not need to wake my family this early not on reaping day, I pull on my trousers and a dark t-shirt before lacing my leather shoes which have moulded to fit my feet and pulling my hair back into a braid. The strawberries that I picked yesterday for the Mayor of District Twelve lie in a basket on our plain wooden table. The Mayor and his family are quite fond of strawberries so I deliver them when I can. I step out of our house, it looks slightly dilapidated compared to those in the victors square. The victors square. The place where the victors of the Hunger Games live. Having only won the games twice, and the first winner now dead, only one person inhabits the victors square in District Twelve. Haymitch Abernathy. He is the mentor for the people who are reaped, and it is possible that District Twelve never win the games because their mentor is a drunk. He returned from the games and ever since, he wallows in his own self-pity, numbing his troubles through drink, while the rest of us struggle to survive. My leather shoes crunch on the gravel path. It is obvious where the well-off citizens of District Twelve live. Their houses are a lot more impressive than the houses the poorer citizens live in. I pass the bakers shop, cakes of all sizes are already lined in the window, but the smell of baking bread doesn't fill the street like it normally does. Even the wealthy fear today, the bakers have three sons, all of them are old enough to be reaped in the games. The youngest is twelve, like me and he won't have to sign up for tesserae because unlike me, the baker and his family are not starving.
Usually, because District Twelve is a mining district at this hour people are usually taking the route down to the mines. But not today. There is no work today, so you might as well sleep in, if you can. I can never sleep on reaping day, it is the day when we lose two of our own to the bloodthirsty viewers of the Capitol and there is nothing we can do about it. I take the long route to the Mayors house, or rather the town hall. It is situated in the centre of the village and later today two glass bowls will be placed out on the balcony filled with thousands of slips, four of those slips being mine. And later today, at two o'clock everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be herded like sheep into the centre of the square, roped off by their sex and age category, the oldest at the front, the youngest at the back. And later today two people, two children, will be sent to fight, sent to certain death.
I go round to the back of the Mayor's house, and rap on the back door. My hands have cuts and scrapes on them from hunting in the woods and from climbing trees. I wait a moment and there is a small scampering as the door is pulled open. Stood there is a girl, my age, with long brown hair, dressed in a white dress with pink ribbons. Reaping clothes, nothing like the drab school uniform we are usually subjected into wearing. Madge, the Mayor's daughter is alright, some people expect her to be snobbish but she is quite down to earth and because of this we spend our time at lunch together, and I talk to her more than I talk to most people.
"Good morning, Katniss." She says smiling. I smile back and pull back the cover on the basket of strawberries. Her eyes light up when she sees the delectable fruit, she mustn't have had any since when I brought some last month.
"I thought you might like them." I say. "For celebration, after the reaping." Her eyes waver as I say this. Madge has never agreed with the Hunger Games but then again nobody in their right mind would, and the Capitol are quite clearly not in their right mind.
"There is nothing to celebrate about today." She says solemnly. She's right, last year, a girl from the year above us was reaped. She was killed on the first day, never really stood much of a chance against the other tributes, she was sick before she entered the arena, nothing could really help her once she had been picked. I nod curtly and I hand the basket out to her, which she takes a small but distant smile now on her lips. On her dress I notice a golden pin, a mocking jay the symbol of the uprisings, well that is how I see it anyway. It symbolises District Twelve, how we are surviving even though the odds are definitely not in our favour.
Mocking Jays are all over the woods, they were invented by the Capitol to spy on the Districts during the uprising, they would relay messages to the Capitol and it was a really clever invention for a time. That is, until the Districts found out and they sent the Mocking Jays back with false information. Of course, the Capitol tried to destroy most of the hybrid birds but they bred with other birds and now there are hundreds of them living around Panem. Madge catches me looking at the pin, smiles and unhooks it from her dress. She holds it out to me.
"No, I couldn't." I say, shaking my head at Madge. She grabs my hand, presses the pin into it, and curls my fingers around the intricate gold surface.
"Take it, Katniss. It will give you good luck." She smiles and looks down at the strawberries. "Thank you for the strawberries. Good luck today, Katniss."
"You too and thank you." Madge retreats from the door and closes it behind her leaving me staring at the little golden pin that symbolises so much. I rub my thumb along the delicate golden surface and it gleams from the rays of the sun. Something good is going to happen today, I can feel it.
I take my time walking back towards my house. I pass the black market, more commonly known as the Hob, this is where I trade all my catches. I wave over at Greasy Sae who is busy serving up a stew to a strange man sitting at the counter. I have never seen this man in District Twelve before, but then again District Twelve is a big place. Greasy Sae is one of my best traders, she buys everything from me, even a wild dog which I shot by accident. People won't pay much for wild dog when they can afford better but Greasy Sae buys it all. "Once it's in the soup I'll call it beef." She said to me, and well, meat is meat, take it or leave it. The shutters are open on most houses now, but everyone I see is in a dreary mood, but I have to stay positive, for my mother, for Prim.
The shutters on the house are open, which means they are up. Buttercup is sitting on the windowsill, he hisses at me as I go past and I shoot a glare in response. God I hate that cat. Prim is sitting at the table when I enter, eating a slice of bread which I traded two rabbits for at the Hob yesterday. At eight years old Prim won't have to enter the reaping for four years and even then I won't let her take tesserae, I wouldn't let her put herself in danger. That is my job. She takes small nibbles from the bread and looks up as I enter. Her smile is almost infectious as she jumps from the chair and runs over to me wrapping her skinny arms around my waist. I smile and ruffle her hair. I am glad Prim won't be entered in the games for another four years, this way I know she is protected for now, and even if she is reaped I would protect her then, I would take her place.
"Morning, Prim." I say. She drops her arms from my waist and smiles up at me before skipping back to her chair to finish her bread. I get to work making the meal for after the reaping. So even if I am reaped I know my mother and Prim would eat tonight. I use the leftover meat from the squirrels and rabbits and mix it in with a few herbs which I collected from the woods yesterday. I left the meal on the stove the smell of cooked meat filling the room. It was a nice smell, not too strong and it would sustain us for tonight. My mother enters then, offering to watch the food while I take a bath. I have to look presentable for the reaping. I slide into the warm water in the tub and scrub away the dirt from yesterday's hunt I even go as far as washing my hair. After I am finished and my hair is towel dried and platted elegantly by Prim, I put on my reaping clothes. They consist of a light blue, almost white blouse and an dark blue skirt which is accompanied by white flats. After eating lunch, more bread with some cheese from Prim's goat, Lady, we headed out towards the square. It was a short five minute walk to the village square but the way was crowded unlike this morning. I held Prim's hand as we walked, nausea building up inside me. What would happen to them if I was reaped? They would have no means of food, only the oil and grain from the tesserae and that wouldn't sustain them for long. Once we hit the village square I was herded away from my mother and Prim and into the group of twelve year olds. I stood in silence with them as the Mayor came out onto the balcony, he droned on about the uprising and then finally the last few Hunger Games. He then introduced Effie Trinket, she looked out of place with her green tinged skin and pink hair which I guessed was a wig. I stared up at the two glass bowls which held thousands of names. The odds were in my favour, but then again odds had never favoured me before.
"Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour!" She squeaked in her Capitol accent that made me want to throw up. She was always so cheery, it was like she had no idea that what was going on was horribly wrong. She crossed the balcony to the bowl on the left. The camera crews which were perched on top of nearby buildings watching her and the crowd like hawks. "Ladies first!" She digs her hand deep into the bowl of slips and in one swift movement pulls a folded piece of paper out. The crowd draws a collective gasp as one life will be shattered in the reading of one name. Effie smooth's out the paper and I swallow and I hope to God that it's not me. And it's not me. And it's not Madge. It's Hannah Farrow.
Hannah Farrow, twelve years old, just like me. There is a mumble running through the crowd as there always is when a twelve year old tribute is chosen. Then Hannah steps forward. Her golden hair is platted loosely behind her head, she wears a plain yellow dress with yellow flats, her face empty of emotion. She has a brother. He's fifteen. Storm Farrow. They were close, very close, and when they ask for volunteers to take her place he cannot step forwards for her, and neither does anyone else. Hannah stands on the balcony next to Effie Trinket as she pulls out the paper from the bowl full of male names, and Ferren Talon steps forward. He too, like Hannah, shows no emotion on his face. Emotion is a sign of weakness, you would be seen as an easy target if you cried, and you would be the first to die.
The ceremony finished earlier than usual, and I raced out of the pen and Prim met me with a hug. I stroked her hair and I was so glad that I hadn't been chosen, I couldn't leave her here, not to starve if I didn't come back.
"I'm so glad it wasn't you, Katniss." She sniffed. My mother nodded at me and I gave a curt smile. I had learnt not to rely on my mother much and those curt nods and smiles will be the closest things that either of us come to love. I soothed Prim quietly and we began to walk back to the house. On the way I saw Hannah's mother being comforted by Storm, I think he knew she wasn't going to come back. Only fools hoped for something that wasn't going to be, and I was a fool in thinking there was going to be a better place than Panem. The meal that night was a good one. We ate the leftover rabbit and squirrel stew and ate berries on the rest of the bread I traded at the Hob. After Prim was tucked into bed that night, her small frame cuddled against the rough canvas, and Buttercup watching over her like a dog, I headed out to the Hob. I would trade some oil with Greasy Sae for something nice for Prim's birthday which came in a week. The Hob was quiet because most people were at home with their loved ones, celebrating another reprieve from the Hunger Games. Greasy Sae was still at her shop, serving wild dog stew to those who wished to eat it. I hopped up on the counter and Greasy Sae offered me some stew, I took it and the bony old woman traded my oil for some fruit bread. It may not last till Prim's birthday but I could get her something else through my trades later in the week. I drained the stew quickly, leaving the empty bowl upon the counter.
"Only six more years, Katniss." Said Greasy Sae. "Then you won't have to be in those wretched games anymore."
"But what about Prim?" I say. Thinking of my little sister being reaped for the games pained me. I couldn't lose someone else, not after father died. I couldn't lose Prim to the Capitol's annual Hunger Games. "She still has to enter, I can't lose her to the games." Greasy Sae looked over at me and a smile played at the old woman's lips.
"Maybe you won't have to." I was confused at what Sae had just said. 'Maybe you won't have to,' what does that mean? She wasn't suggesting I took Prim and ran away, that would be ridiculous, we wouldn't make it five miles. The Capitol would catch us, and then where would we be? Dead. That's where we'd be. "This came for you today." Greasy Sae pulled a letter out from under the counter and handed it over to me. Who would be sending a letter to me? I looked down at the letter, my eyes tracing the back of the envelope. A red wax seal was on the back, it was split into four segments each with an animal. I turned the letter over and looked at the front. Surely this was a mistake, nobody would be writing to me. I looked at the green curled ink and the letter was for me and it read.
Katniss Everdeen
District Twelve
Panem
"Who sent this?" I ask.
"A friend of mine. He can help, Katniss." I looked over at the old woman. He can help. Who is he? And I bet he can't help, he can't take me and Prim away from this place. He can't stop the games. Questions still flowed through my mind as I tore open the letter. I pulled out the piece of parchment and keeping a little open minded I began to read.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First class, Grand Sorc., Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Panem Fellow).
Dear Miss Everdeen,
We are pleased to inform you that, after close review of your extraordinary exploits in District Twelve of Panem, the odds have turned out magically in your favour. You have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please find an orange backpack behind Greasy Sae's stew stand in the Hob. Please feel free to wear a symbol of Panem pride while you attend.
When you touch the backpack you will be transported to a new world of magic and wonder. Further instructions will await you there.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress.
I look over at Greasy Sae my brows furrowed. This is some joke. It has to be. Witches and Wizards don't exist, and this must be some sick joke. Touch a backpack and you will be transported to a magical world. Rubbish. Utter rubbish.
"You really don't expect me to believe this rubbish." I say, folding the letter back up and putting it back in the envelope.
"You don't have to believe anything, Katniss." Said Greasy Sae. She passed a bowl of stew down the counter to a man who drained it quickly and left. "Just try the backpack." She points round the back of her stall and there it is. An orange backpack. Rubbish. Things don't transport people to different places like that it's just not possible. But there is that doubt. That one inch of doubt in the back of my head saying: What if? What if this is real? What if this is your chance? My mind wanders to Prim as I stare at the pack. Would she be alright if I left? Who would feed her? Who would take care of my baby sister?
"Prim." I say. One word said it all to Greasy Sae who looked at me with kind eyes. She placed a hand on my shoulder and nodded.
"They can help. Just give them a chance." I look at the kindly old woman who bought my wild dog meat and traded me food and oil. "I will make sure she is alright." I look back at the pack. Hope. That's what it is. Hope. Hope for me. Hope for my mother. Hope for Prim. Maybe this world of witches and wizards can save Panem and end the Hunger Games.
"Make sure Prim gets this." I say handing over the fruit loaf to Greasy Sae. If this turned out to be a joke after all this I would look so stupid. But my child mind made me think. Yes, this is real. This is my chance. Greasy Sae nods and gestures to the backpack. I crouch down next to it, my mind wandering back to Prim once more. She'll be safe, she doesn't go into the reaping for four years, nothing can claim her and Greasy Sae will look after her, she'll be fine. She'll understand. I reach out for the backpack and as my hand closes around the strap Panem is sucked from beneath me and I land face down on a wooden floor.
I stand up and look around. The room is different to any I have ever seen in District Twelve, there is a desk cluttered with many things. A quill and ink pot, parchment, books and a strange red bird which looked at me strangely as I survey the room. There is a strange looking man in a painting behind the desk. I walk around the cluttered desk towards it and a little gold plaque underneath it reads, Phineas Nigellus. I look up at the painting and the slow rise and fall of the man's chest. Hang on a minute. Paintings don't breath. I step back shocked. The man in the painting is breathing and so are the other paintings that are hung in the room. I gasp and place my hand over my mouth almost knocking into the perch of the strange red bird.
"I see you have found your way, Katniss Everdeen." I turn around and standing in the doorway was a very old looking man with silver hair, a rather large beard and half-moon spectacles. He was dressed entirely in purple robes which had silver moons and stars stitched onto it and had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."
Maybe the odds were in my favour after all.
So there's chapter one. Please review it will be much appreciated. Thanks x