NOTE: I do not own Harry Potter or The Hunger Games, I'm just obsessed with them. Also, I know that there's probably a billion stories with the same theme as this, but please give it a try. I've been wanting to write this for a while, and it would mean a hell of a lot to me. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it :)
We all saw it. The shot of green light illuminating the trees and sending eerie shadows through the long grasses outside the woods, lingering for only a moment before a high, cold laugh made the birds take flight into the greyish morning sky. When that laugh rang out, we knew we were without a prayer. Our final hope lay crumpled on the ground, concealed by the dense trees of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the boy I loved, had drawn his final breath for us.
I didn't cry. I didn't collapse on the ground as the sobs tore through my chest. A tiny part of me, buried deep down under the broken ribs and bleeding skin, still believed that he would emerge from the shadows, laughing and holding Voldemort's wand high above his head in victory as we all rushed to him to hear the tale of how he won. I just had to cling to that part, even though I knew there was no good in defending somethingI knew to be a lie. Don't cling to fairy stories, Ginny, it'll only hurt more when reality sets in.
I turned to Neville, who was shaking like a leaf next to me, staring at the spot where the light had erupted from seconds ago. His blue eyes had lost the light they had had during the fight, the triumph that shone from his face was replaced by a look of disbelief. Everyone around me – Luna, Ron, Seamus, Pavarti, George, even Professor McGonagall – seemed to be mirroring his expression. This above all else shook me awake from my fantasy.
He really is gone.
I looked down slowly, so that no one saw the tears falling thick and fast down my cheeks, and hitting the grass below me like a waterfall hitting sharp rocks. We were silent. No one moved, no one spoke. Not until we heard soft footsteps cutting through the silence like a knife, and my head shot up to see a pale figure emerging from the cover of the trees, followed by several people in silver masks and a huge silhouette that could only belong to Hagrid. Voldemort and his Death Eaters stepped into the pinkish morning light, lips placed in grotesque smirks, and Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Slughorn and Flitwick hurried in front of the first line of fighters – Neville, Luna, George, Percy, Dean, Seamus, Ron and myself – as if to shield us from him. Not that that would do any good now.
Hagrid had by now reached the edge of the forest, and he appeared to be holding something in his arms. I couldn't quite make out what it was, but before I had the chance my attention was quickly drawn back to the scene in front of me, as Voldemort began to address us.
"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him."
Lies, I thought bitterly to myself.
"We bring his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child will be slaughtered, as will every member of your family."
He casts his red eyes over us all, snakelike and evil, like a lion surveying his prey.
"Now," he says slowly, beginning to walk from end to end of our lines, "I have had something of a stroke of genius, as I often do after a murder…" He raises an arm towards Hagrid, who's face is now soaked with his gargantuan tears, and I realise what he's holding.
Harry's corpse.
I have no time for tears, as Voldemort continues his speech.
"I have devised a little game for us to play. I will select twenty-four fighters, eight from each of the three main wizarding schools in Europe, to compete in it. Two from each house, to be more precise. They will be trained under the surveillance of my Death Eaters, before being presented in front of the entire magical population of Europe. Once this has been done to my liking, this 'Champions' will be transported by Portkey to a secret location, where they will be forced to fight to death in a designated arena until only one remains. I will then deem this victor worthy of life, and let them and their families lead a life free from any fear of myself and my Death Eaters. "
Is he joking?! Forcing us to murder each other so that we can escape him? He's insane. This is his sick and twisted idea of fun, or revenge on us for standing up to something we didn't like. Just like he does.
He wants us to fight each other, get us in the right frame of mind, before forcing us to join him.
That's his real game, here. Mould the survivor into his servant, let the weaker ones die.
"However," he continues, his voice dripping in glee, "I don't want this to be unfair, oh no. Bellatrix, here," he signals to the woman directly to his left, who gives us all a mocking curtsey, he face twisted in grim delight, "will assist in choosing the Hogwarts Champions by holding a raffle. Everyone's name will be entered, from first year's to those taking their N.E.W.T's, and there will be no exceptions."
The extra emphasis he puts on those final two words send a shiver through me, as if I have just been dunked in cold water. This means it could be me. Or Ron. Or anyone I care about.
"This little raffle will be held in the Great Hall at six o'clock tomorrow evening. Failure to attend will result in some…" he sneers, "…unfortunate consequences. There will be two Champions, a boy and a girl, from each house. As well as facing those from your own school, you will be doing battle against those from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons." He casts one last sweeping look over us all.
"I suggest you prepare yourselves."
He cackles, before disappearing in a cloud of thick black smoke, along with his Death Eaters bar Bellatrix, who is still staring at us with a mad glint in her eye.
"Well then, kiddies!" she squawks manically, "Better get to bed, hadn't we? Big day tomorrow!"
She's right. Tomorrow will make or break us all.
We'd better be ready.