AN: I'm not a big fan of crossovers, to be honest, and this will probably be the death of me. But it was a challenge from a friend of mine and I would hate not to be able to rub it in her face when I'm done. Yeah, something like that. Long story.

I'll be changing POV's during the story, mainly focusing on five characters; Magnus, Alec, Isabelle, Clary and Jace. I hope it's clear enough for the readers. Also, some of the characters might not have the same relationships with each other as in the MI books. You have been warned.

Reviews are more than welcome. Constructive critisism, yes plz.

Anyway. Enjoy, I guess~.

It was only a short five minutes' drive to the city's main square where the reaping would take place. What really took time was finding a place to park the car since most of the other District 2 inhabitants would drive there as well. For that reason Robert Lightwood had decided that they would walk instead. Isabelle had complained since she had chosen to wear immensely high heels, but the shoe-crisis had been resolved by Maryse who had ordered her daughter to either stop complaining or change her shoes. Isabelle had finally changed her shoes, much against her will. It might seem trivial to others, but since everyone in the District would be gathered in the square she wanted to look her best. She never liked the idea of the Games, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't use any given occasion to dress up.

They had made it to the square on time, but only because Robert had made sure that they left the house earlier than they had to in order to be there on the stroke of 1. The oldest Lightwood children had wished each other good luck before they had lined up with their respective gender- and age-group. The inhabitants between the age of 12 and 18 had been divided into two groups; the boys on the right side of the square and the girls on the left. The groups were then placed in seven lines, representing the age-group; The 18-year-olds at the front and the 12-year-olds at the back of the square. If she turned her head just a bit Isabelle could see Alec from where she stood. His height made him one of the most noticeable in his age-group, though Isabelle could make out a couple of others who seemed to be taller. He was more well-dressed than usual, probably because of the occasion, but his colourscheme was the same as always, black and dark blues, and his hair was as much of a mess as it had always been. This was the last year his name would be in the lottery, but at the same time that meant that he would be in the most endangered group. His name would be in the bowl six times, making his chances of becoming a tribute higher than Isabelle's by a third.

Her gaze went from Alec's tense form to the buildings surrounding the square. The tall houses were covered by the Capitol's brightly colored banners and the camera crews were bustling around on the rooftops, making last-minute adjustments to their equipment. Nothing that went on in the square or on the stage would escape their attention.

She sighed and turned her attention to the stage again. Even though the reaping had yet to begin she could still feel an uncomfortable heaviness at the pit of her stomach. She basically felt like she had swallowed a rock. Isabelle had turned 16 that very summer and that had increased the odds of her name being drawn from the bowl at the reaping. Of course that also meant that there would only be two more years, two more reapings, before she was completely safe and never had the chance of becoming a tribute. Still, 16 years meant four slips of paper with 'Isabelle Lightwood' on them, and she could not get that out of her head. Having been raised in District 2, she had always been told that being chosen as a tribute for the Hunger Games was a great honor, and she believed that, but she had never wanted that honor for herself. The thought of being a tribute didn't exactly scare her, since she would stand a fair chance in the Games, so that wasn't the issue. To Isabelle the problem was that she loved her family more than her District and even Panem. Patriotism had never really been her thing.

There were three people on the stage; District 2's mayor, Aldertree, a representative of the Capitol, who preferred being referred to as Madam Dorothea rather than her real name, and finally one of District 2's winning tributes, Hodge Starkweather. They were quite the bunch, Isabelle thought to herself. Aldertree was by far the shortest and roundest of the three. His bald head only reached Hodge's shoulder. Hodge, on the other hand, was a tall man with broad shoulders and only a few gray hairs to reveal his age. His shoulders were slumped and there was a haunted look in his eyes – the work of the Hunger Games, Isabelle presumed. Madam Dorothea perfected the odd trio with her turquoise turban, decorated with something that looked suspiciously similar to a stuffed mockingjay, and her draped ropes in matching colors.

When the Capitols anthem was over Aldertree stood up and walked to the front of the stage. He beamed at the audience, obviously trying to be charismatic and charming, but the people of District 2 knew better. Aldertree was probably one of the most unpleasant people you could have the misfortune of running into, especially if he had a bad day. Panem's other inhabitants knew nothing of this other side of the mayor, though, so he kept up his act in front of the cameras.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks." He said in a dramatic voice, still with a smile on his face. He said this every year, as he was supposed to, and always in the same way. He then began listing the previous winning tributes from District 2. There were quite a few since District 2 had always had the advantage of having led good lives, but also because of the mentality of the tributes. A lot of them volunteered and wanted nothing more than to win the Hunger Games. The last name on the list was Hodge's, not because he was the latest victor, but because he had been chosen to function as a mentor to this year's tributes. Aldertree then introduced Madam Dorothea who stood from her seat and took his place at the front of the stage.

"Welcome, dears." She said. Her voice was surprisingly girly for a woman her size. "And happy Hunger Games."

Isabelle zoned out at this point and though her eyes were still fixed on Dorothea she had stopped listening. The woman's attempt of sounding as mystical and alluring as she probably felt in her fortuneteller-outfit was rather annoying to listen to. Isabelle had happily forgotten about her way of talking since the last reaping. Her thoughts wandered back to a few hours earlier when she had been in the backyard with Alec and Max. She tried not to think about the fact that it might be the last time she would be with both of them like that. How would Max react if her own or Alec's name was drawn? Speaking of the Devil, she thought, as Dorothea crossed the stage to get to the bowl with the girl's names.

"First up, the girl that will represent District 2 in this year's Hunger Games…" Dorothea now spoke in the same dramatic fashion Aldertree had a few minutes earlier, as she reached one of her hands into the bowl. A deafening silence had spread through the crowd as the anticipation grew. "Isabelle Lightwood!"

Isabelle felt like Dorothea had just punched her in the face. For a moment she just stood there, completely frozen, waiting. But no one stepped forward to volunteer which meant that she had no chance of escape. Finally she took a step forward and then another until her feet had carried her to the steps to stage. She made sure not to let any of her chaotic emotions show and tried to act confident instead. Appearing weak on screen was basically suicide. She would have to deal with her emotions later, when there were no cameras. The crowd started clapping when she all but strode onto the stage with a cocky smile plastered on her lips. She refused to look at the crowd and kept her focus on Dorothea instead, but she still heard none of the words the woman said to her. Dorothea said something else and gave her a pad on the shoulder, before she went to the other side of the stage. Isabelle finally turned to the crowd and her eyes immediately caught Alec's. His brows were furrowed and his eyes seemed several shades darker than usual. She didn't look at the crowd behind the possible tributes since she wasn't sure she could bear looking at her parents and Max. Instead she turned her attention to Dorothea again, as the woman drew a slip of paper from the other bowl.

"And the lucky gentleman joining Miss Lightwood is…" She unfolded the slip and smoothed it a bit. Her eyes went wide and the silence was drawn out longer than when Isabelle's name was called. After a few seconds a smile formed on Dorothea's lips. "Well, well, well, what are the odds?"

She looked up from the slip, directly at the audience, as she finally broke the agonizing silence; "Alexander Lightwood!"

At that very moment Isabelle felt her entire world crumbling.

The double doors were flung open and Jocelyn rushed to Clary's side. Not a word was said as Jocelyn put her arms around her daughter, holding her close to her chest and rocking her gently as she had done when Clary was still a little kid.

"It's okay." Jocelyn whispered, but whether it was to calm down Clary or herself wasn't very clear. "We'll figure something out. Luke will go to the Capitol and apologize and then they'll choose someone else."

"Mum." Clary interrupted. She was on the verge of tears now, but she didn't want her mother to see her cry. If Jocelyn knew how scared she was it would only make matters worse. "It won't change anything. You know that."

There was no reply. Jocelyn continued rocking her back and forward while stroking her hair. Clary felt as if she was 5 again and had just woken from a nightmare. Technically she hadn't woken up yet and was still in the nightmare, but she remembered how Jocelyn would always be there in seconds when she had woken up scared as a child. At least she would have Jace with her in the Arena, but in the end that wasn't such a good thing. Facing your best friend in the Hunger Games would probably be horrible, but at least they would have each other's support up until the Games began.

Clary turned her head, not wanting to look at her. Jocelyn was young and beautiful, but living in District 12 had taken its toll on her. Her red hair already had the first grey streaks and the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes kept getting more distinct. The fact that Clary's name had been drawn only added to her worries and it would show on her face.

When she turned her head away from her mother Clary became aware of another person in the room. Luke was standing awkwardly by the door, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the two redheads. His eyes flickered a bit when Clary caught his gaze, as if he didn't want to look at her. She could tell that he felt guilty, even before he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Clary." He said, but he didn't come any closer. Clary could imagine that Jocelyn had told him not to touch her. "I never meant for this to happen."

"I know." She muttered, trying to smile, but it only made it harder for her to keep from crying. She could feel the tears at the corners of her eyes now.

A knock on the door told them that their time was almost up. Jocelyn placed her hands on Clary's shoulders, pushing her away in a gentle movement. Their eyes locked and Clary literally had to force herself to keep the tears from falling; her mother was crying. Jocelyn never cried, she was always so strong, but now tears were falling freely from her eyes. She raised one of her slender hands and stroked a strand of Clary's hair out of her face.

"I love you." Jocelyn said. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? Stay away from the others."

Clary merely nodded. She stood no chance in the Games and even if she tried to avoid the other tributes she wasn't expecting to last long. She didn't mention this to her mother, of course. She would be strong for Jocelyn and she would try to stay alive, but she knew that she wouldn't last long.

Even Luke knows it, she thought as she glanced at him. He looked as if she had already died and it had all been his fault. She was glad she wouldn't be able to see his or Jocelyn's reactions when the Game began.

"Don't blame him." She muttered, looking back at Jocelyn. She knew that her mother was probably furious at Luke because of this. "It's not his fault."

Jocelyn was about to reply when the double doors opened again and a Peacekeeper informed them that time was up. A final, desperate embrace between mother and daughter, more muttered comforts and promises from both of them, before Jocelyn sat up straight and wiped the tears from her eyes. Clary recognized the strong, stubborn woman who had raised a daughter alone for the past 13 years and who would not submit to anything or anyone. Not even this.

The Peacekeeper led Jocelyn out of the room, but after a brief exchange of words with Luke at the door, it seemed that he agreed to let Luke stay. Jocelyn looked displeased, but she didn't object. Instead she looked back at Clary with a regretful glimpse in her eyes. A second later the doors closed, separating Clary from her mother. She felt the tears pressing again when she realized that she might never see Jocelyn again.

Luke sat down next to her, where Jocelyn had been moments before, but there was no tight embrace this time. Instead Luke took her hand and placed something in it. Something small and cold; metal of some kind, probably. Clary looked at the small bronzed pendant in her palm. It had an intricate design that she could best describe as a misshaped eye merged with a cross. There was a graceful feel to it despite of the weird design. She looked at Luke in confusion.

"It's a rune." He explained, smiling slightly at her obvious confusion. "It means 'Fearless'. I figured you could take it with you. To the arena…"

Clary closed her hand around the pendant and merely looked at her fisted hand for a moment. Then she furrowed her brows and threw her arms around Luke's neck, finally letting the tears fall. Luke understood, she knew that he did. He had been in the Game himself. She didn't have to be strong in front of him. He placed his arms around her awkwardly and stroked her back. She really needed that rune; if there was one thing that she wasn't right now it would be fearless.

The train did not disappoint his expectations. It was just as ridiculously pompous and luxurious as it had been described, but Magnus wasn't one to complain. He was used to these sorts of glamorous surroundings anyway, and to Magnus Bane, bigger and bolder was always better. He was currently sitting on the bright blue bench along one of the walls. It was more of a sofa than a bench, really, but the purpose of it was the same. The sound of his perfectly manicured nails drumming against the surface of the table in front of him was almost as loud as the clicking of his blonde companions heels, as she paced the lacquered floor. If he knew Camille right, and he did, it wasn't because she was nervous, but because she was restless. If they were allowed to fight before the Games began she would have tried to kill him three times already. They had been close in the past, but that didn't matter to either of them now. Magnus guessed that it was lucky for him that violence between tributes was prohibited until they entered the Arena.

Other than Camille he didn't have much competition, though. She had pointed the same thing out when they had seen the other tributes on the screen in the living room compartment of the train.

"Guess it's only the guy from 4 we'll have to worry about." Camille had said, eyes fixed on the screen. "The girl will be easy enough to deal with and those two from 2 aren't even real Careers this year. It's almost disappointing, isn't it?"

"You shouldn't underestimate them." That might have been his response, but he agreed with her. Apart from the boy from District 4 - Jonathan, or some other plain and boring name -, he and Camille wouldn't have much competition apart from each other - maybe the guy from 7. He looked pretty mean, but looks can be deceiving. Either way, his only real concern was Camille. He could probably outsmart the rest, but Camille knew him as well as he knew her. She would be fierce competition.

I can always hope that someone else finishes her of. He curled his lips into a slight smirk. As if she had felt him looking at her she turned her head and met his gaze. She raised an eyebrow, probably at his expression.

"What's with that face, Magnus?" She said, countering his smirk with her own. Obviously she wanted to seem confident.

"Nothing much, sweetheart." Magnus replied calmly. "I was just wondering if a few scars would improve your hideous face."

The smirk on the blonde's lips disappeared immediately and her eyes narrowed to slits. For a moment she looked so furious that Magnus was actually expecting an attack, but rather than pouncing on him Camille turned on her hills and marched off, leaving the dining-compartment.

It's almost a pity that the train ride is so short. He thought to himself, the smirk returning to his lips.