This is a sequel of Percy Jackson and the Spell of the Hunger Games- it needs a lot of fixing up to do since there are many author errors and such. The writing gets better through out it, trust me - so read that first before coming here.

To those of you who has read that already - HOLLA! Long time no see, right?! So sorry this took so long, plotting was so hard but I've got the general jist of it. This story is going to be so much more intense, and hopefully, much better.

This is all progressed up to Catching Fire.

There are a few things that have changed in the last story (annoying author errors, nuh) and I will notify you of those, but the main one? - no prostitute Annabeth, or prostitution threats from Mr Snowflakes.

I'm sorry for going down that road, guys. It just doesn't feel right to take Annabeth down there, you know?

But yeah. Hopefully you'll enjoy this journey just as much as you did the last one? I dunno, I hope I will :3

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Percy Jackson.

HARRY POTTER AND THE GOD OF INCENDIO

"There two primary choices in life: to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them." – Denis Waitley

Prologue

Despite being alive for over two hundred years, he always felt somewhat dead.

He was staring into the depths of the Styx, and normally he never even glanced at the Styx. He hated it. It made him smoke more packets than any mortal possibly could finish with a beating heart – perhaps that was one of the few perks of being immortal. Invulnerability.

But when he looked into the currents of lost hopes and dreams and unfulfilled happiness, he was a coward. Fear encased his icy cavernous heart, his hands shook with rage, his legs felt like lead... he felt so utterly vulnerable it made him feel sick.

This was when he guessed this was the deadliest part of the Underworld.

At least he saw somesmiling ghosts.

Not that he smiled back, however. The screams and bawls of 90% of the death community were hardly casual background music for a casual encounter with happy, awe-inspiring Elysium-blessed individuals. Also, offering laid-back (comedic, even) conversation like how the weather faired didn't really mix well with the newly-departed, either – and he had tried.

Alas, it was no secret that the Death God's kids were almost scarily antisocial alive, nevermind in an awkward position when he was neither alive nor dead.

But yes, it was a cruel river. He saw baby toys – ah, now he knew the rocking horse was the famous Louisiana Johns from Indiana, a little girl at the age of six. She wanted a pony but she got ran over by an unseen car before she had the chance to ask her mom – and ripped up diplomas of stupid, regretting miserable drop-outs and broken, misshapen pendulum clocks... so many things, so many dreams... just broken. Just like that.

And rings. Golden, cheap, humorous Haribo rings, beautiful ones embellished with gems, engagement ones or marriage ones – he had no clue whom they were for, and why, but there were waves of them, everywhere he looked.

He scratched his overgrown stubble with his bony fingers, exhaling an acknowledging, frustrated sigh when he saw it, in the corner of his eye.

He so needed more of those cigarettes.

Technically, it shouldn't even be there. He wasn't even human anymore. But his father, as great as he was, still deemed it best for the river to have it there, every time he was near, at every opportunity it seized. Yet, when it breezed towards him, he swooped in and took it, despite the many desperate and smart parts of his mind screaming at him to just fucking forget it.

Nico di Angelo was staring at the framed photo of the now dead demigods at Camp Half-Blood.

"Frank!" called Hazel from behind him, her voice crystal clear despite the deafening crashing of the boulders falling around him. Frank turned, widening his eyes at the sight of her – bruised, bloody, and flailing her arms out towards him, mouth widened into a scream. He didn't know how he did it, but he thanked the mighty Mars above for his reflexes, his arms hooking her back towards him as the rubbles of the narrow pathway crumbled downwards into the endless black void beneath.

Frank gave her a quick, small, relieving smile. "C'mon, we gotta be careful through this," he panted. He looked towards the other four, tumbling through the dark mess. Ahead was the silhouette of an archway with wide doors thrown open, with a loose tattered curtain blowing gently in between, as if the wind was calm, whilst in fact it was the direct opposite. "Nearly there now. Okay?"

"Okay." Gods, she looked pretty even in this mess, even when she was close to tears. "I thought I was supposed to be the daughter of death, anyway," grumbled Hazel, shaking away the dust in her crazy curls with a wild shake of her head.

The other four figures stopped ahead, and Frank heard Leo's strangled yell among the howls of the wind and the shrieks of the monsters behind. Grabbing Hazel by the hand, he pulled her along, their feet scratching against the uneven narrow pathway, careful not to trip over and into darkness, and he thought – jeez, for a son of Mars, he was pretty stupid.

They were so close. So close to closing those damn doors, yet he still didn't know what the heck he was doing, or why, or how he even got this far. The prophecy was too loose and vague for it to even be granted a quest in the first place, and for Jason to say yes to it was a miracle and uncharacteristic thing in itself. Sometimes people had this far away look in their eyes and did rash things for no reason yet still had this momentous success, so Frank guessed that Jason's once in a lifetime rash opportunity came when he accepted Octavian's stupid proposal to go on a dangerous escapade to close the Door of Death.

Hera was the one who brought Piper and Leo along, and they found Nico in the House of Hades being dragged off by Gaia's forces. Together, as a united six, they were stronger than ever – but that didn't really mean anything, since they were pathetically weak by no fault of their own, with wounds making their appearances every ten freaking seconds and the Argo malfunctioning tragically once or twice.

Still, Frank was determined to get his friends to live another day.

His tight grip on Hazel's wrist gradually slipped away as soon as the group suddenly halted, the Doors looming over them hauntingly in a taunt-like fashion. Frank swallowed when he looked into the opening, hearing Hazel gasp behind him. "Oh no," she murmured.

If Frank thought there were far many dead ghouls that escaped already, he was wrong – crowds upon crowds of monsters and zombie-like humans alike ran up the hill and towards the peaked Door in roars of battle cries, with clubs, swords, axes and raw superhuman strength armed, ready for whatever went in their way.

"Holy Hephaestus," Leo muttered, the flames on his hands abruptly extinguishing. Piper breathed in a deep breath, her chocolate brown braids flowing behind her, making her look like some courageous action hero. Nico clenched his pale fists, his dark eyes almost black with rage. Jason just clenched his jaw.

"Let's go," Jason ordered in that casual demeanour, which seemed odd given the present circumstance. He took a step forward, before he was stopped by the sharp yell of the son of Hades.

"Are you crazy?!" cried Nico in an unusual hectic manner, dragging Jason back by the shoulders with knitted eyebrows. He looked at all of them with a deceived expression on his face, jaw slacking with shock. "You go in, you're dead. This is the Doors of Death."

"No Styx," Leo said, in awe of the arch – all of them were, ogled at this symbolic, stupid door. It was nearly crumbling. "Get to the point."

"That's it. See that curtain? – it used to be some sort of boundary, for both the living and the dead. It used to be working fully, you know, not, uh –"

"Like a cat ripped the ends out?" Frank offered.

"Yeah. It had the function of the doors, basically." Nico got out his Stygian iron out of its sheath, twirling it in his hands restlessly. "But a couple of years ago this magical whiz ruined it – that's why Thanatos and Hades built the Doors. The only thing this curtain does is drag people from the outside into the in." Nico paused, glancing down at the hill where the monsters were progressing with quick speed. "It used to be called the Veil."

There was a puzzled silence, all of them clueless of what to do. The entire situation seemed hopeless, and Frank knew what all of them were thinking – someone had to die to close those Doors. But nobody wanted to die – they were just kids, sucked into this prophecy that was destined to fail. Life seemed just that more precious when faced with death, after all, and regrets were that more painful when Frank realised it couldn't be fixed.

It was then when Frank knew what he had to do.

If he was going to burn, it might as well be bright.

"Hazel, give me my firewood."

She looked at him, her eyebrows crossed. "Why?"

Oh, Hazel.

"Just..." he sighed. He didn't trust himself to talk too much, his throat feeling unreasonably heavy, so he pleaded with his pools of inky black. You're a son of a martyr and freaking Mars. You can do this. "Please."

And now you know.