Hey there. This is my take on how the Hunger Games would have panned out if it took place in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. There won't be any Hunger Games characters featured in this story, just the concept of the Hunger Games itself. Some characters may seem a bit OOC, but that's due to some changes in the backstory which happened because of the aforementioned Games, and will be explained at a later date. Anyways, I've rambled on long enough... Enjoy!


When Harry awoke, he was met with a sudden feeling of dread which he couldn't immediately place. He reached out for his glasses, placed them over his eyes, and was greeted with a sight that made him realise exactly why today, of all days, was especially abhorrent.

Harry should've really expected that Ron wouldn't have slept all night. Ron, who had lost two of his brothers to the Hunger Games. But Harry had been selfish- he'd spent all of his time worrying about whether or not his name would be called out, and hadn't spared a thought for his friend, who had witnessed firsthand the traumas that the Games brought to families.

Ron was extremely pale. Judging from his eyes, he hadn't slept a bit, and he'd spent the majority of the night crying. Harry couldn't blame him really. The stress of having to watch family members go into the Arena was bad enough- but the Ministry of Magic made it mandatory to rewatch some of the 'highlights' of each Games, so that the violence was fresh in everybody's minds. The TV in the Gryffindor Common Room was constantly playing reruns of previous Games, though many people have bewitched it to do otherwise in the past.

Luckily, it seemed that Ron was being comforted by none other than Neville Longbottom. Whatever he'd managed to say to calm the redhead Harry couldn't guess, but he had a strong feeling of respect for Neville- and perhaps jealousy too. Harry should've been the one who had thought about the feelings of his best friend, and the one who should've been there to comfort him. Yet, he couldn't hold this against Neville, who was simply trying to be a good friend.

Harry lifted himself from his bed, and gave Ron a reassuring smile. Ron nodded back. Nothing more needed to be said- or should be said on the subject. There were no words that could fully comfort someone on such a day as the Reaping. Just a grim understanding that if they could find the right words to put their friend's hearts at ease, they would have been said.

They all got dressed in silence. It wasn't long before Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were also awake and getting dressed as well. Then together, they descended into the Common Room. The Wizarding TV, which sat atop the fireplace, didn't display scenes from previous Hunger Games as was to be expected, but instead a puppy which appeared to be rather bemused at the fact it was inside a TV screen. Someone had obviously bewitched it to lighten the mood. However, the usual commentary could still be heard coming from the device, and the record player at the opposite end of the room which was playing some harmonious classical music couldn't drown out the announcements of another death from a past Games.

"I understand it's a foul day," said a voice from behind, and Hermione joined the group whilst Dean and Seamus set off to their own corner of the Common Room. "But they really shouldn't do that to the TV. Nearly Headless Nick told me that the House Elves are constantly having to undo the enchantments people put on it, along with some nasty curses tha-"
"Give it a rest Hermione," Harry cut in. Hermione's eyes drifted to Ron then opened wide with understanding.
"Oh Ron, I'm so sorry!" She squeaked out, and quickly pulled him into an embrace to make amends.
"M'okay," Ron replied sheepishly.

A few first year girls walked past, and it was clear that the majority of them had been crying. Harry watched them as they went past, and could only pity them. The amount of stress that people were put through every year due to this 'event' was sickening, a view which Hermione obviously shared.

"It's absolutely barbaric, isn't it?" She quipped, examining the Common Room. Friends were clumped together here and there in small groups, talking quietly, with an air that it may be the last time they ever get to converse. "When I'm older, I'm hoping to join the Ministry so that I can abolish this horrid tradition."

Harry was certain that Hermione continued to talk, but he didn't pay attention. Ron clearly wasn't taking it in either, so Hermione resorted to unloading her viewpoints on Neville. Giving him a sympathetic smile, Harry lead Ron out of the common room, as he had just heard the name, "Charles Weasley," being spoken from the TV.

Knowing there wasn't much point delaying the moment any longer, together they navigated their way to the Great Hall. Besides, in a few minutes, an announcement would ring out throughout the school demanding all students gather there. If this call was ignored, that's when they sent out the Hit Wizards to gather those that refused to make an appearance.

Ron took a place next to his older brother George, and Harry followed suit. The entirety of the Weasley clan had gathered there, and they each looked as distraught as Ron, some perhaps more so. Percy was sat next to Ginny, whispering soothing words into her ear, and George just appeared to be staring out into space. With the arrival of Ron however, they all soon began talking, trying to reassure one another, and somehow Harry felt as though this was a very personal conversation that he shouldn't be overhearing.

So instead, he tuned out and examined the table at the front of the hall where all of the teachers were sat. As though to add another cruel twist to the sickening event, only past victors of the Hunger Games could apply to be a teacher at Hogwarts. These teachers would then be responsible for teaching the next generations of tributes.

The majority of the teachers looked extremely downhearted- Hagrid appeared to have broken out into tears. Professor McGonagall was trying her best to look stern, to no avail. The only two teachers with opposing reactions were Snape, who was as impassive as usual, and Professor Lockhart, who was giving his patented, dashing smile. On a day like this! Harry felt infuriated.

Harry wondered how bad it must feel to be a teacher. Not only having to have to go through the horrors of the Hunger Games and survive, but then having to teach hundreds of students, constantly knowing that some of these will be doomed to die. Having to try and train them to kill their fellow students, and finally the pain when their tributes were killed anyway. The pain of knowing they tried their best, and yet couldn't keep these children alive. Year after year.

Harry's eyes found Professor Dumbledore, whose magnificent blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Albus Dumbledore, who had taken part in, and won, the very first Hunger Games. Albus Dumbledore, one of only two First Years in the history of the Hunger Games to become a victor. Teachers could only train tributes that were in the same year as they were when they were victors. That meant Dumbledore, every year, had the responsibility of trying to keep four First Years alive. Dumbledore, who was ancient, and had taught at Hogwarts for several decades- countless generations being trained under him.

And only one other First Year has ever become a victor.

Harry wondered how this must feel. Countless First Years must have been trained by Dumbledore, most likely well over one hundred. And they had all died. Harry wondered what it was that stopped Dumbledore from cracking from the sheer weight of this knowledge. What stopped any of the teachers from cracking under pressure.

Perhaps that was Snape's deal, Harry had caused him to be the hate-filled being that he was. But, Harry reminded himself, being a victor of the Games didn't mean that Snape was forgivable. Just last year, another victor of the Hunger Games- Professor Quirrel, had tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Though in hindsight, Harry had to silently thank the man, deranged as he was. The golden trio's attempts to stop Voldemort's resurrection that year had distracted them greatly from the horrors of the Games.

"Hem hem."

The sweet, venomously polite cough of Dolores Umbridge filled the Great Hall as she strolled to the front, flanked by Hit Wizards. Harry found Hermione seated next to him- her arrival having gone unnoticed by him due to being so deep in thought. The Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Umbridge had for many years now held the surprisingly fitting title of Reaper. It would be her that would pick the names of those doomed children from the ministry-styled hat, (originally the Ministry tried using the Sorting Hat, yet it refused all attempts at enchanting it to do something different to it's intended purpose. A popular rumour is that the Sorting Hat also sent off a few well-aimed insults, which is why it has it's battle-worn appearance.)

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome you all to our 100th Hunger Games!" When this was met with a mediocre response, Umbridge pouted then started again. "Now now children. Remember, the Minister himself might be watching this," she pointed her wand to a floating orb that had followed her in, "And I'm sure he'd be very disappointed if you weren't to join in the festivities."

The thinly veiled insult was rather clear. The students themselves, or perhaps their families, would be punished if they weren't good sports.

"Now then, let's try this again. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you all to our 100th Hunger Games!" Cheers and claps spread out throughout the audience, though it was very half-hearted. Umbridge pretended not to notice this meager response and continued.

"Yes, how quickly does time go by?" she chuckled at this, as though remembering delightful memories from her past. From Harry's knowledge of Umbridge, he wouldn't be surprised if she was one of the people who relished in the idea of the Hunger Games. And Harry wasn't surprised at all when she descended into her usual speech.

"In response to a foolish minority," each word was punctuated here, "who believed they could challenge the might of the Ministry, the Wizengamot was forced to put in place, for the betterment of the Ministry of the Magic, the Stature of Secrecy and indeed the entire International Confederation of Wizards, the prized event we now know as the Hunger Games."

Pause for breathe and fiendish smile.

"Twenty-eight children, as representations of those idiotic rebels, were sent as offerings to the Arena, where they would battle it out, facing challenges both mental and physical, until there was only one survivor- our victor." Umbridge let out a happy sigh, again to give the impression that this was a joyous occasion. "Yes, one hundred years ago today, from this very hat," she gestured the ministry-styled hat that had been set upon an ornate stool by the Hit Wizards, "Came the name of one of our most prized victors, and the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A personal friend of mine.."

Harry doubted this statement very much, and was glad to see Dumbledore raising a quizzical eyebrow behind the back of the Ministry official.

"Albus Dumbledore. And in celebration of our one hundredth Hunger Games, we would now like to ask the esteemed Professor to give a few words." A few claps here and there, again halfhearted. The Ministry officials scattered momentarily so that the audience could get a clear view of the Headmaster. He sighed, lifted himself up off of his seat, and walked towards the front of the table.

The Great Hall went silent, eager to hear what words of wisdom he would display. Slowly and deliberately, the aged wizard took a deep breath, before beginning. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thankyou."

With that, he took his seat as the audience erupted into true applause. Such straightforward and obvious refusal to partake in the activity was reckless, and surely the Headmaster would be punished dearly. Then again, at the age of one hundred and eleven, he probably didn't have much to lose. Plus, such a famed celebrity and genius wizard- the man who defeated Grindelwald, had discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, the man who had given so much to the wizarding community as a whole, couldn't simply be killed off by the Ministry. Such an act would certainly inspire a rebellion.

"Well," Umbridge said in a huff, taking her place at the front once more. "Very well then. I'm sure that the Minister will find your speech very... inspiring, Professor Dumbledore." Her words practically dripped with poison, but Dumbledore appeared to be unfazed.

"Now then, I believe we have dawdled here long enough, onto the Reaping. For those of you amongst the audience," she looked directly into the floating orb and gave a wink, which horrified Harry to no end. "Whom need reminding, or those sat in front of me today who do not fully understand the usual procedure, I shall now go over how the Reaping works.
"Twenty-eight students are picked in total. Each of the seven year groups here at Hogwarts will offer up four students, each being a member of one of the Four Houses, two boys and two girls. They will then line up at the front, next to their respective mentor. These mentors will then have a week in which to train them in whatever way they can, after which, they shall be placed within the Arena, and the Hunger Games shall begin!

"Before we undergo the Reaping, I shall ask our mentors to come to the front, in order of course. May I welcome to the stage, our First Year mentor... Professor Albus Dumbledore!"

The crowd erupted again, still quite pleased with the Headmaster's casual rebellious statement. Though this time, the cheers had lost their vigor. For the Reaping was about to begin.

"The Second Year mentor... Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Lockhart took centre stage and bowed. The cheers were almost as strong at those for Dumbledore, and Umbridge noticeably blushed as he passed. Harry groaned inwardly, and prayed to Merlin that he wouldn't be picked, simply because he knew that idiot Lockhart surely couldn't teach them anything useful.

"The Third Year mentor... Professor Filius Flitwick!"

Professor Flitwick hobbled over, feebly waving with his miniature hands.

"The Fourth Year mentor... Professor Pomona Sprout!"

As Professor Sprout took centre stage, the amount of people applauding was obviously lessening. Whatever energy they had to cheer was slowly dissipating as it came closer and closer to the dreaded Reaping.

"The Fifth Year mentor... Professor Severus Snape!"

A random student from the Slytherin table, a seventh year who appeared to be part troll, stood up and shouted, "Hell yeah Slytherin!" That entire side of the room burst out in renewed applause for their Head of House, and Snape stood at the front of the hall smirking, basking in his glory.

"Now, now, Mr Flint," Snape said smoothly, the applause dying down. "I'm sure that wasn't... Necessary," but there was a glint in his eye that showed he appreciated it nonetheless. As Snape went to take his place, the cheers begun again, though slowly subsided once more.

"The Sixth Year mentor... Professor Minerva McGonagall!"

"Hell yeah Gryffindor!" Shouted Percy Weasley, who shot out of his chair, raised his wand in the air, and fired golden sparks into the air, which exploded into red fireworks. The Gryffindor table roared with applause, and some of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw joined in, just to show their mutual dislike for Slytherin house.

"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said when the applause died down. She wasn't taking the cheer in stride like Snape. In fact, she appeared absolutely livid. "We shall not have an outburst like that again. Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Takin' points from her own House!" Seamus whispered down the table in shock. But Harry understood. Professor McGonagall seemed to know that Percy would be punished for his outburst, and was trying to diffuse whichever tortures were being planned for the boy by giving him a fair punishment in front of everyone. Hopefully then, the Ministry wouldn't press further charges.

"And finally," Umbridge continued, severely disgruntled by the constant interruptions. "The Seventh Year mentor... Professor Cybil Trelawney!"

After the outbursts for the previous two teachers, the praise that Trelawney, a teacher Harry hadn't even seen before except at the last Reaping, was substandard to say the least. During the polite clap, Harry turned to Hermione and whispered, "Who is Professor Trelawney?"
"She's the Divination teacher," Hermione whispered back warily. "She says she can see the future, and that's how she won her Games. Nobody believes her though. She spends all her time in her room drinking, she's the worst mentor to have."

Harry tried to imagine that, a mentor who spent so much time intoxicated that they simply couldn't assist in the training for the Games. Thinking about it, Harry couldn't remember hearing about a seventh year who had won the Games. Harry himself had only been present for one Games in his First Year, and hadn't payed much attention to it, but he knew it had been won by a (then) Third Year, Cedric Diggory.

"Of course, us here at the Ministry," Umbridge babbled on, "want to make this event extra special," she scanned the crowd, and her gaze caught Harry's, and Harry was certain she spent a second longer observing him. "So we hope you have a happy Hunger Games, and remember," she giggled as she prepared to unleash her signature line, "May the odds be ever in your favour."

"Alright then," Umbridge said in her bright, misplaced happy tones. "Let the Reaping...Begin!"

She placed her hand into the hat, and Harry saw Percy wrap an arm around Ginny, whispering in her ear. Gryffindor was always picked first out of the hat, and as Ginny was also a First Year, that meant the piece of paper held in Umbridge's podgy hand could bear her name.

"Gryffindor's First Year Tribute," she said dramatically, opening the piece of paper in her fingers. "Is..." She held the paper up to the light, as though she wished to read it better. It was clear she loved building up the tension for the crowds.

"Miss Ginevra Weasley."

"No!" Ron shouted, grabbing hold of his sister's hand. Percy held her close, staring daggers at the Hit Wizard who was now approaching. George's head fell to the table, and it was obvious he had started weeping. When the Hit Wizard got close, Percy stood up and pointed his wand at the man, as if challenging him to take a step further.

"Don't Percy," Ginny whispered, and she stood up, and quietly walked over to the Hit Wizard. Despite his challenging nature, Percy didn't try to stop her, and collapsed into his seat again. Hermione rushed over and pulled Ron into an embrace.

Harry simply watched as Ginny walked to the front, unguided, as the Hit Wizard took his position next to the Hufflepuff table, clearly anticipating more protests when the next name was called out. Ginny, who was quiet and shy, and supposedly a big fan of Harry's as well. Another Weasley being sent into the Hunger Games. Ripping the family apart even more.

Harry didn't even pay attention as the next three names were called out, a boy from Hufflepuff and Slytherin, a girl from Ravenclaw. None of them appeared to have a family, as no one stood out to stop them from being taken. Harry tried to imagine how that must feel, to have no one protest your being picked.

But then his mind was snapped from it's wondering as he payed attention once more to the Reaping. Because now, Umbridge would be picking out the name of the Second Year Gryffindor tribute. Could it be him? Harry supposed that'd be better than if Ron was chosen. Harry had heard rumours that they purposefully picked the relatives of past tributes to spice things up. Whether or not this was valid, Harry couldn't tell, but he wouldn't put it past the Ministry.

"The Second Year Gryffindor tribute is..." As her eyes looked at the parchment in her hand, her pupils seemed to engorge and her face began to split in half as a repulsive smile was spread across it. "Oh my!" She said, clearly overjoyed by this turn of events. "Harry Potter!"


Right, that's the first chapter. Please review so I can know whether or not I should continue. Constructive critisism is also welcome! :)