Author's Notes: Just a note to warn that yes, I do plan to finish this fic, but updates will not be frequent. I will update when I can, but you have to understand that if I don't like a chapter or don't feel in the right mood to write, then I will not do so. However, this will be a continuous story as it has been previously planned out and requested by someone else. Please review! Did you like it? Did you not? Was there some aspects you want me to change? Tell me! I can only make it better if you tell me! And if you don't think it can be made any beter (highly unlikely) Tell me so I feel encouraged to write another chapter and that people are actually reading it! Enjoy. ~TheOnlyQuirk

1) The Reaping

Hermione sat up and rubbed her head gingerly, and then winced as streched her injured arm. Pain was nothing new to her however, and she changed quickly, ignoring the nip ofautumn air. She put on a grey wollen coat and some faded jeans before walking to the cracked mirror hung up on the badly plastered wall. Hermione sighed as she examined her red blotchy face, dried tears that were the answer to her salty taste in her mouth.

Stupid nightmares. Hermione reprimanded herself. You're living in a nightmare, you better get used to it. She sighed heavily once more as she spotted the purpling bruise that had blossomed over night on her left cheekbone. Vitreus didn't like her workers to look unkept, and that bruise was going to cost her at least a weeks pay.

It was the 2nd of October 1998, exactly 5 months since the battle of Hogwarts. But Hermione, tried not to dwell on that. False dreams. False hope.

She opened a few wooden cuboards and found the last of her fruit stock. A single apple. Well, Hermione thought, as she picked it up and rubbed the outside, I can't let it rot. I've been hungrier. Well, she thought she had. When camping with Harry and Ron, she thought things couldn't get any more depressing, what with lack of food and comfort. She wished she was there now.

When hope was still an option.

Hermione had slung her bag over her shoulder and had reached the front door when she remembered something.

Of course. No work. It's the Reaping.

And she sat down on her bed.

Her house only consisted of 3 rooms. The main living space where she kept her bed, desk and a small space under the floorboards where she had managed to smuggle the only books she had left. Hogwarts a History, Transfiguartion spell book 5, and Quidditch through the ages. She had read the first two at least 50 times, so now she could practically quote Hogwarts a History off by heart, but the second book wasn't much use without a wand.

The third she hadn't touched.

The second room consisted on a small wooden table and one of the only magical objects in the house, a magic powered cooker. Starving workers are of no use, is what Vitreus always said. The third held a toilet, sink and shower, again powered by magic. Muggles are beneath them.

Muggle borns are scum.

All that time, searching for Horcruxes had been a waste. Hermione Jean Granger, also known as the brightest witch of her age, along with the boy who lived and The King, had sacrificed everything. Countless died, but Voldemort had been one step ahead of them the entire time.

Having finished her apple, Hermione led back on the bed, and for this one time only, let herself remember.

Destroying the horcruxes was not the answer to killing Voldemort. In fact, each one that was destroyed added to his power. The situation was so absurd, Hermione might have laughed if it wasn't a matter of life and death. Voldemort wanted the trio to find the horcruxes to create his new spell. And they had fallen right into his trap. The spell required certain valuble objects to be destroyed by the owners most hated enemy in order for a perfect replica to be made of Voldemort, before wiping out the wizard who destroyed the replica.

The one that Harry killed. A wash of red fire overcame the green eyed boy, and the next moment he was gone. Hermione didn't try and think about the spell. It hurt her head.

Pandonium followed soon after. Many more died. Ron, Molly, Arther, Nevile, Luna, Seamus…the list went on. Only a few were spared. Most of them were pure or half blood. Anyone who defied Voldemort was soon delt with. Muggleborns were killed unless they proved themselves.

…

"Hermione Granger" The deatheater hissed,silver mask lost in the war. Hermione struggled, but the body bind curse could not be easily undone and only her eyes could move freely, darting around in a panic, taking in the ruined mess that was once her school, her freedom, her raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

She fell to the stone floor in blinding pain, the body-bind curse now lifted as the agonising sensation of knives stabbing her,mixed with volts of electricity coursing through her body, overcame her senses and made it difficult to breath.

"Muggleborn scum. Say goodbye to magic." The deatheater hissed. Maybe if she could think straight, she would be happy that she died in Hogwarts, or what was left of it. But all Hermione wanted was to make it stop.

Make it stop.

Just as she was certain the darkness would take her, something did make it stop.

"Wait." Said a cool voice that Hermione knew all too well and hated with every fibre of her swept over and glanced at Hermione who was still writhing on the floor but refused to cry out. He waved his wand and the pain stopped.

"She is strong. She may be muggle born but she is certainly clever." He pondered the thought as if deciding on what to have for dinner.

"She stays. She will work for me."he said, before turning with a flourish with his cloak.

"But master!" The deatheater cried out. "She'll do anything to stop you! Anything!"

Voldemort stopped midstride and gave the deatheater a piercing glare. "You dare defy me?" he said in a soft tone. The deaheater immediately turned white and gave a low bow.

"No master. Of course not."

Hermione gave a low moan, and Voldemort smirked.

"I don't think she's going to put up much of a fight. Do you?" And with that he walked away.

"Never." Hermione said, and the pain started again.

…

Hermione had never agreed to submission. It had been a whole week of torture, but Voldemort gave up for the time being and now she was a simple muggleborn worker, just like the rest. She remembered what he had said.

'She is bright. She will come to realise there is no other option. I am her only chance.'

5 months later and Hermione was still working. Refusing to cooperate. Voldemort was right.

She was strong. She was stubborn.

That didn't stop her being abused. She received punishments wherever she went. Fileing, manual labour, cauldren cleaning, or even to just bully, you name it, muggleborns were there to be used.

The world was a dark place. Blood status was the highest priority, and magic folk were seperated for it. Not killed, Voldemort wasn't that stupid to let magic die out all together, but controlled as he put it.

But like before, uprisings occurred. Bands of witches and wizards who opposed his declarations vandalised streets, created riots,and even went up against deatheaters themselves. Something had to be done. In the midst of all this, Voldemort had dissapeared for two days. No-one had seen from him, heard from him, not even his most loyal companions. But he eventually returned,as he always does, and this time with The Hunger Games.

A way for people to learn their place, so it was said. The rules were simple. A male and a female tribute were picked from each blood status group, aged 12-19. 2 Tributes from pure-blood. 4 tributes from half-bloods. 4 Tributes from blood-traitors, and 6 Tributes from muggleborns. A fight to the death in a specially created arena. What's worse was the fact they were supposed to celebrate it, to prove their alligence to Lord Voldemort. The pure-bloods practiacally ravished in it, holding parties, celebrations and taking bettings on which tribute will be the last standing. It had happened twice before, with all wizards and witches being forced to watch as their children were killed before their eyes. Hermione hated the games almost as much as she hated Voldemort, and still had nightmares about her friend Annie, who had died just last month in a tropical arena. One game for each month, until next year where they would occur just twice a year.

3 to go.

Stopping herself from wallowing in remorse, Hermine sat up and washed her face before exiting her house and headed for the square. She lived in a small muggle-born villiage called Howsingtine, and already she could see rows of nervous children, lining up stoney faced. She felt grateful they had only introduced it when she was 17, and felt sorrow as she passed a twin brother and sister at the age of 12 hugging eachother tightly.

Hermione took her placed in the rows of teenagers and watched as Vitreus walked onto the stage, wearing her usual long black robes. No speech was needed, no waffle before the Reaping. Everyone had been panicking about this day for a whole month, and here it was.

Vitreus walked over to a large black box which was centered at the front of the stage and placed her thumb on the side as DNA recognition. Flames rose up, licking every inch of the box, before spitting sparks of gold and blue into the air which formed letters. Forming names. The first three were boys.

Colin James.

A small sandy haired 14 year old walked onto the stage sniffling. He reminded Hermione of Colin Creevy in 2nd year.

Flyn Amos.

A well-built 16 year old walked up, showing no sign of emotion. His hair was a dark chocolate brown and had piercing blue eyes.

Luke Middleton.

Another 16 year old. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as none of her close friends were picked. Yet, she still couldn't prevent the wave of pity for the 3 boys that already held their death sentence. As the sparks entered the air for a second time, Hermione quickly ran through her next shopping list in her mind, which was what she usually did to distract herself.

Carrots, yes, I will need some of those, only have one left but they keep a lot better than other vegatables…

Hermione's eyes flickered up to the sparks briefly, holding her breath.

Grace Twine.

Another wash of relief and she went back to her list

I'm not sure I have enough pay for cheese, but I havn't had a block for a few weeks now and the bread has gone awfully dry…

Another peak,

Sarah Price.

Hermione stared at her brown shoes and continued, feeling happier by the second.

But more apples I shall HAVE to get…hmm, maybe Ginny could send some over? That is if the death eaters don't inspect all the packages again…

Her train of thought was interrupted as she felt hundreds of eyes train on her. A small boy nudged her in the ribs and she looked up surprised.

Then as she looked forwards her body went rigid, and the shopping list dissolved along with any other thoughts. Her chest tightened and the steps she was forced to take were slow and uneven. Her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes pricked with tears but she forced herself to not let them pass her tear ducts.

Why? Why? Of all the things that have happened, out of everybody here, hundreds, thousands…why?

She took her place on stage, walking past the last of the sparks which had formed the words,

Hermione Granger.

Review!