I moved my chin up, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Large, deep blue eyes stared back at me. My blonde hair was straight, ending just a little before my chest. My uniform had faded, the black now a gray, the dark blue not so dark. If only I could afford new clothes.

My names Piper, or Pip for short. I guess when my mother named me she thought I would be a bright child, not the dull thing I am now. I never show any emotion. Ever. When I was younger I used to, but found it only led to anger and pain. So I bottle up my emotions and keep a blank face. It works in my favor quite well. I'm in my sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Ravenclaw. Except it's not the school you probably remember.
No, in fact, it's nothing like the old Hogwarts I've only heard about in stories. Stories that aren't even allowed to be told.
You see, Harry Potter and his friends did not win the war. Oh, they were very close, believe me. But at the last second, Harry failed. He was hit with the killing curse, and the magical world as we knew it was uprooted. Death eaters took over. The Dark Lord took over as Minister of Magic. Those who stood beside Harry in combat were executed. Ron and Hermione, his two best friends, were murdered in front of the whole Wizarding World. Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Fred and Ginny Weasley. All of them, killed. I've heard, through whispers, that the rebellion lives on, quietly, so faded it's almost forgotten. Almost.

I was only one when it happened. My parents were killed for standing up for what they believe in. By some freak chance I was allowed to live, and was thrown into the hell that was the orphanage. Run by Sister Karen, one of the meanest witches you will ever meet. She knew how to keep us in line, that's for sure. I still have scars on my back.
Ever since The Dark Lord took over, things have gone horribly wrong. Innocent people getting murdered for Death Eaters fun. Tortured souls wander around uselessly, because there really is no point in living anymore. I don't think I've seen anyone smile outside of Hogwarts actually.
There is one day though, that has got to be the cherry on top of The Dark Lord's reign.

Reaping day.

Once a year, every Hogwarts student is lined up in the Great Hall according to their house. Six children from each house are reaped from the Goblet of Fire, and thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Twenty four innocent children, and only one will come out. These are known as the Hunger Games. They started about two years after The Dark Lord took over, when I was three.

Each year, starting with as soon as you come to Hogwarts, your name is put in. First years have their name put in once. When you're in your second year, your name is put in again once, and so on, until your seventh year. You'll have your name put in seven times, for the grand total of your name in twenty eight times. I'm in my sixth year, so my name will be in there twenty one times. You would think that was bad, but with so many other students, there's a pretty fair chance I won't get chosen.

Today is reaping day. In a week's time, twenty three of my schoolmates will be dead, one damaged beyond repair.

I walk out of the common room and down the halls, to the Great Hall. The halls are all empty, everyone probably already lined up while I was dawdling. It's eerily calm with no one around. Like I'm the only person alive. It helps settles my nerves.
As I round the corner to the Great Hall, I see about seven people still waiting to go in. I don't speed up however; just keep my slow, day dreamy pace. When I arrive, Filch, still the loyal care taker, takes my finger and pricks it, inducing a drop of blood.

"Name?" He asks, even though he obviously knows it.
"Piper McCartney" I answer dully. He nods and beckons for me to go inside.

I step past him and enter, heading over to the Ravenclaw section. I nod at the other students in my year, but don't say anything. I've never really been one for friends, so as I look at all my classmates consoling myself, I feel a slight pang of jealously. I brushed it away, friends weren't really my forte. I don't hate people; it's just friend's can cause you pain. On the other hand, they can give you immense joy. I'm always torn between the two.
I take a deep breath as Professor Morgan steps up. He's a Death Eater, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He's actually one of the nicer teachers, and very rarely uses the Cruciatus Curse on students. His class is on of the only classes I attend on regular bases.
It's not that I'm a rebel or anything; it's just that I don't really need to go to class. I'm what you call "gifted". You know, those kids who know everything and have never read a book about anything. I'm one of those kids. Except I do read books, lots of books. Most of them are fiction, but I do read quite a few necessary school books so I don't fail my tests. Being gifted can be annoying though, my thoughts are constantly jumbled, and sometimes I have to take a moment to sort my brain out. The only other two classes I go to regularly are Potions and Herbology. I don't care for the rest; it's quite easy to remember everything for the other classes. Professor Morgan snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Welcome, pupils." He begins, his deep voice ringing out in the room. "Today, we will begin the reaping for the 13th annual Hunger Games." He paused, looking out into the sea of kids. He moved over to the Goblet of Fire; the flames were now red, it was ready to put us to our death. "As usual, we will start with Slytherin girls." He looked at the death bringer, and a name shot out. He grabbed it and read off the name.

"Cynthia Mox"

A burly girl walked up and took her place on the stand. She was smirking, and it was no wonder, most Slyrtherin's loved going into the Hunger Games. It was usually them, or Gryffindor who would win. Professor Morgan continued on with the names.

"Kelly Jenka."

Ouch. She was huge. She would be hard to take down.

"Preena Little."

Her last name was quite the understatement.

"And now for the boys" Professor Morgan nodded, and began reading out the selected names.

"John Callo."

Holy hell he looked tough.
"Kyle Jenka."
Oh, siblings. Twins by the looks of it.

"And lastly, Jake Parksley"

I feel bad for him, a first year. He's still got some baby fat on him, has blonde hair and the greenest eyes I've ever seen. He steps up, looking scared as hell.

"And up next, Gryffindor girls…" The Goblet starts shooting out more names.

"Marissa Cornwell."

Average build. Blonde hair. Looks scared as well. She'll do well, probably.

"Alyssa Kigg."

Scrawny third year. Has a brave face though, I have to hand it to her.

"Nicole Shwartez."

A seventh year. She'll be another tough opponent.

The boys are called out.

"Mark Jones."

A third year as well. By the look on Alyssa's face, they are good friends. Or, I guess, were.

"Sal Heckmen."

A fourth year. Can't really tell much about him.

"Jeremy Huggunt."

Weird last name. A sixth year. Looks like he'll be a hard fight too.

Damn. Sizing everyone up, I can tell this is going to be a hard fight this year.

Next up is Hufflepuff.

"Alexis Clint."

A fifth year. She's average. And crying. The one thing you cannot do on reaping day is cry, sweetheart.

"Kate Foresst."

She's got bright red, poufy hair. She pulls away from a group of her friends who are crying, and walks to stage. Girls got guts.

"Sylvia Dunt."

A very pretty sixth year. But I know not to let her looks deceive me.

"And the boys for Hufflepuff…"

"Max Cornsbey"

A seventh year, but he's very scrawny. His posture could really use some work.

"Curtis DeFinkle"

Holy hell, this kid is huge. Not the muscle huge, though.

"Jack Stevensun."

A taller kid, who glances mournfully at Kate. Another reason I don't make friends, I don't want to have to kill them.

"And onto the Ravenclaw girls" Professor Morgan's voice is hollow, and I know he's upset by the pick of students. He always is.
I can feel my nervousness rise as the names begin to flutter out. I can only pray to whatever God there is that I don't get picked.

"Isla Lenips"

She's in my year, I considered her one of my few 'acquaintances". Guess that little bond has been broken.

"Jill Page"

Another red head with lots of freckles and pretty blue eyes. Looks too nervous.

I can feel the pounding in my heart begin to lessen. One more Ravenclaw girl to go, and I'm in the clear for another year. Professor Morgan grabs the next slip of paper, and when he reads the name out, I almost vomit.

"Piper McCartney"

I have been reaped. In a matter of days, I will be dead. I slowly walk up to the Tributes Stand, keeping my face expressionless. Time for tears will be later. For now, I need to appear strong, to appeal to sponsors. I take my place and look into the crowd, not really seeing them. I blink a couple of times, and listen as the boys are called out.

"Dylan Kowlswell."

A fourth year.

"Michael Sosaskow"

Seventh year.

"And our final tribute is… James Burns."

A first year. He starts crying then and there.

They have taken their places. Jonathan Hughes, the Headmaster, steps forward, his expression gleeful. It disgusts me.

"Such a fine batch of tributes! Good luck to you all, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

We are carted off into a long, dark hallway. Each tribute is led into their own private room. As I am pushed into mine, I hear to door lock behind me. I know I won't be able to open the door but I can't help myself, I jiggle the hand anyways. It won't budge. I sigh and turn around, taking in my room for the rest of the evening. I will be staying here until tomorrow morning, when the Hogwarts Express will come and we will take the train to the Ministry. There, will we be paraded around for a night, to try and get sponsors. We will have a week's training, a final interview, and then be thrown into the arena.
I distract myself from these thoughts by looking around. There's a double bed against the black wall, with a rich, deep blue velvet blanket and pillow set. The only light is the soft light emitting from a fire place on the right side, accompanied by another velvet couch with long light blue strings at the arms. The floor is a dark brown wood, which goes almost perfectly with the blue. There is a dark brown mahogany dresser, and I presume the outfit I am required to wear for tomorrow will be in there. I sink down into the plush bed, not bothering to change out of my uniform.

I have been chosen to participate in the Hunger Games.

I will not win.

My life only has a matter of days left.

I push the access of pillows off, leaving me with one or two silk pillows. Good, I don't think I could sleep on velvet. I curl up under the warm covers. Since I have so little time left, I decide to think happy thoughts. Not that I have many.
The first thought that comes to me is Draco Malfoy. He used to visit the orphanage and talk to the kids, but most of them ignored him, were scared by him. But not me.

He told me he was a Death Eater, but that he did not want to be one. His father had forced him to become one, even though he wanted nothing to do with any of that. He told me he and Harry had been friends; they had saved each other's lives. He would tell me stories of before The Dark Times, before The Dark Lord took over. Of how Hogwarts used to be. He told me they had a sport called Quidditch. That you would fly around on the broomsticks, looking for the Snitch and scoring goals. It sounded so much fun. He told me of Hogsmeade, a small town just outside of Hogwarts, where you could get Butterbeer, loads of sweets, and the best equipment for pranking your friends. My thoughts turn dark as I remember the day he was taken. He already wasn't supposed to be telling me all these things, but one day he told me of something I knew he never should of. Of the Order of The Phoenix. He told me before The Dark Times, this was a rebellion group already against The Dark Lord. Presumably, after they had lost the war, it had ended. But he told me it hadn't. He was in it. When I was of age, he would take me out of this hellhole and take me there, to help with the revolution. I had agreed, and was about to ask who was in it. How many people? Why couldn't they take me now?

But Sister Karen had been suspicious already of the stories Draco had been telling me, and this whispering drove her over the edge. She called the authorities, and Death Eaters stormed in, grabbed Draco, and dragged him off. I've never seen or heard of him since. When I asked Sister Karen she slapped me and told me to go to bed without dinner.

Perhaps that is what I should fight for, I think. Not for myself. But the revolution Draco had been so keen on me joining. If I can win, perhaps with my new status I can help convince others to join my cause. Maybe, just maybe, we can destroy The Dark Lord once and for all.
I can't help but remember something Draco told me. Just before he was taken. He mentioned something about Horcruxes. That there was only one left. Destroy it, he said, and you can destroy Voldemort. I shuddered when he used that word. I've never said The Dark Lords name.
After he told me that, I was committed to figuring out just what a Horcrux was. When I finally came across a book, (in the restricted section, no less) and I realized it could be anything, I almost stopped caring. But I was determined to continue on. I would've asked around, except I knew that would get me killed. So my research had to be alone, very, very secretive. Only in the middle of the night would I read or go out looking for books, out of fear someone would catch me and turn me in.
I had narrowed the last Horcrux down to something that would be very personal to The Dark Lord. I bet my morning pumpkin juice The Order had knowledge on it.

So that was my plan. I would fight for our future. I would try my hardest to win. I would escape the arena, join The Order, and begin the fight for freedom. I wasn't sure how, but I was going to try.

Perhaps I would try to start a movement with my interview.