This is a one shot I did after watching the Hunger Games movie and subsequently reading the book a few months back.
Voldemort is the president.
Bellatrix is the Master of Games.
I'm sure there are many fans out there who would appreciate an entire story along this vein and if you feel so inclined to run with the plot, please feel free. I don't own Harry Potter or Hunger Games. If I was making money off of this, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it.
I hope you enjoy.
As the platform rose and the over-the-top sweet voice counted the tributes down to the start of the games, Harry remembered Severus's words of advice.
"Speed and cunning are your greatest assets. There are going to be twenty-four of you in that arena. You're small, but I've seen you during practice. If you follow my advice, you'll keep your head. Literally."
Harry poised on the edge of the platform, heart hammering and mouth dry. Everything was in hyper focus as he left the underground staging area and entered the arena for the first time. The Golden Cornucopia seemed to burn with fire in the simulated sun. At the mouth was a table neatly lined with the twelve wands of the wizards and witches who had been called as tributes.
Boxes, backpacks, and, of course, all manner of weaponry lay in a massive sprawl across the emerald lawn, spreading from the cornucopia out towards the outskirts of the forest where they would play their lethal game. Better supplies would be inside the cornucopia and lose value the further they got from the golden horn.
Harry wished for a moment that he had been born Muggle, despite his gift of magic. The Muggle tributes only had to grab what supplies they could. If Harry didn't grab his wand, someone else would. The other wizards would use it against him; the Muggles would break it or use it as leverage against him. That meant braving the slaughter.
Speed was his only ally. He had spent fourteen years of his life running from his uncle and his cousin. Now was the time to let it show. In the final moments of the countdown, he thought back to the Dursleys. Although he had never been a particularly welcome addition the family, they were still his kin. They had fed him, clothed him, raised him, and kept him out trouble the best they could. Harry had felt compelled to volunteer himself in Dudley's place despite his cousin's penchant for chasing him.
"That kind of sentiment will get you killed in the arena. You don't have any friends in there. Everybody will stab you in the back eventually."
Harry remembered footage from Severus's own run through the arena. The surly black-haired tribute had had an alliance with the female tribute from his district and she had betrayed him to another before nearly killing him herself. Severus's revenge had been brutal.
"Enough of this countdown!" A new woman shrieked over the intercom. The tributes startled, some just barely keeping themselves from leaping from their platforms. Harry's blood ran cold at the madness he heard in her voice. "I say the games start now! Run, little piggies! Run!" The woman began to laugh as the buzzer sounded, her high-pitched cackle ringing in Harry's ears as he flew.
He had never run so fast in his life and it showed when he reached the table first. He frantically snatched his wand – Oh! How good it felt between his fingers! Like being whole again! – and turned to face the inevitable attacks against him.
One of the tributes was already bearing down on him, an axe already in mid-swing toward Harry's stomach. Harry quickly cast a silent shield charm to keep his insides where they belonged and dove sideways away from the other boy. He flung a stinging charm into the axe-wielders face to discourage him from pursuit.
The cornucopia was a scene of mass slaughter. Blood splattered the meadow and the golden horn shone with freshly spilled crimson viscera. People screamed in pain and with animalistic drive. Harry snatched a decent sized backpack in his way toward the forest, but was tackled to the ground before he got far. The boy was white-blonde, desperation shining in his vivid eyes as he grappled for Harry's wand. Harry punched him in the jaw and struggled to be free, but the blonde boy pulled a knife from the ground beside him and went to slash Harry's throat. In a moment of blind panic, Harry jammed his wand into the boy's temple. Red sparks exploded out of the tip and the boy bellowed in agony as blood spurted from the wound and his hair caught fire.
It was easy to wrestle the knife from his hand and free himself after that and Harry scrambled to his feet as the boy shrieked. The further he ran, the more quiet it became and soon, Harry found himself very much alone in the forest. He slowed to a jog and eventually to a brisk walk. There was no use tiring himself out; the games had only just begun.