This was adopted off of Author Txtn833's site with her permission. The story idea originally belongs to her.
I do not own Harry Potter or the Huger Games.
I can take a bit of press. Hit me with your best shot on how my grammar/spelling is and I'll fix it. Just make sure it helpful and not hindering.
*A drawback is what happens in nature when the water rushes out to the ocean and off the beach before a tsunami.
Cold nipped at his nose and bit bitterly into his shoes. Tears from the cold were left frozen on his face. He wiped them away futilely, ignoring the crushing cold in his foot, and continued on.
It was April, and the late winter was taking its toll. In the town square, people would huddle around the smallest fires, in the seam, people would lay the frozen bodies of their dead to rest in the blue snow outside.
And in the Hob, people made the best of things.
Like him.
He pushed open the door to the old abandoned warehouse that had probably been standing since the rebellion itself and felt the semi-neutral air warm his skin. Rats scurried along the beams away from him. The Hob was packed today, but there wasn't any heat difference. People walked back and forth, buying this, trading that. No one noticed when he walked in, they were all too busy hunting down something for their freezing, starving families to use. A coat three sizes too small and worn through the sleeves. A pair of boots with a hole in the toe.
The better stuff, he knew, was made by Sarah McKinley. A pretty young mother with a goat and a talent for threads. Hers and the Mayors were the only District 12 families who were warm year after year. Even though goat hair was rough and hard to work with, she made due and actually make quite a profit for her things.
He stamped off his boots to prevent mud accumulating in the dirt-floored building, and then headed through, hauling his game bag over his back. He easily slipped through the people bartering amongst the shopkeepers and then found his way to Sadea.
Several other shopkeepers called out, to say hello and determine in their minds whether today might be a good day to strike a trade with the young teen. "Hello, Harry! How are you?" "Cold out there, isn't it Harry?" "Good hunting today, Harry?" He nodded to each one, shaking his head at the one who asked.
"Not really. A few birds, a rabbit, and a small wild turkey."
Several people sighed, and he found his way over to Greasy Sae. Her small booth was packed today, mainly with young mothers and oldest daughters looking for a meal to share with children and siblings. A few of the older daughters watched him, and he knew why. The same reason he was here. He was providing for his family. He knew they wanted him, or someone like him. Someone who would provide, love them in their old age, make sure their children were warm and well fed.
They were living off a daydream. There were no such people in District 12.
"Hello, Sadea." He said with the air of a man who was pretending he had something when he was coming here with near nothing at all. "Hello, Harry," Sadea said, playing along with his game. "You've grown since I last saw you."
Harry smiled at his old friend and long-time business partner. "Since yesterday?" She just smiled, the wrinkles in her mouth deepening. "Yes." She replied softly "You're growing like a weed."
He smirked and they both laughed. Sadea pulled herself together and asked, "What have you got for me today?" He put the game bag on the table without a word and she opened it up. He saw the grimace cross her face and winced instinctively. "I know it's not much, but it's definitely more than you've seen all day from anyone else, and the woods are dead empty today. Please understand." His voice dropped on the last bit, and he knew she noticed.
She looked up and made eye contact. Her gray seam eyes were darker than most, and they seemed to bore into his own. He wondered if she was trying to intimidate him, or if she just wanted a view of his own strange eyes. Vivid green, he was told. Like the forest in the summer. All the girls loved them. "9 birds, a feather-brained deliciousness and a cottontail?"
He nodded glumly, mentally calling up his list of how much stuff they needed at home. New shoes for Neville and Luna, jeans for Neville since he'd outgrown his pair and now they looked more like shorts than jeans. The kid grew vertically only, he swore. He decided he'd have to forgo a new razor for dad, and he'd have to ignore his own need for boots, socks, and good gloves he could wear while hunting.
Sadea averted her eyes and glanced in the bag. "How 'bout you keep the feather-brained deliciousness. You need it for your family."
Harry sighed, smiled, and took the bag back from her to pull out the turkey. "Are you sure you don't want the wattle?" He asked Sadea teasingly. "I'll let you have it free?"
"Bah! Who says no to a free wattle?" She shrugged and chopped it off with her butcher's knife and added it to the pot on the stove. Harry watch emotionlessly. He'd seen the show a million times before, though the knife had scared him to death when he had first started coming here alone. She emptied out his game bag, carefully marking each animal, and then gave it back to him, along with a couple coins and some hot broth.
He thanked her graciously. Sadea was like a grandmother to him. He was about to be on his way when Sadea called: "Are you signing up for tesserae this year?"
The smile vanished from his face.
"Is it time already?" He asked weakly. She nodded solemnly, and he saw the pain in her eyes.
The Hunger Games. The Capitol's bloodfest. Each district, one through 12, sending in two tributes, a boy, and a girl, to battle to the death in an arena on live TV. It was a mandatory viewing, and Harry had seen the blood, the guts, the death too many times. Every year, more children. Every year, 23 deaths. The tributes were picked by having everyone submit their names at least once and then picked out of a glass ball. Entering your name more than once gave you tesserae, or grain and oil.
"Yeah, I guess so." He answered numbly. "I mean, we need all we can get here."
She nodded again, this time sympathetically. After all, it wasn't really so long ago that she was seeing her own children leave toward their deaths.
There is nothing more to say, though. She turns away and makes herself busy. Harry adjusts the game bag on his shoulder as she calls out the last words she will say to him tonight. "Tell your dad and siblings I said hi."
"I will." The promise sounds dry and pointless in his mouth, but he makes it anyway.
He weaves his way back through the crowds of people and pushes the door back open. The cold bites into his face, but he ignores it. The streets are deserted and he makes it to the bakery without being spotted or stopped
Ron was already there.
Ronald Weasley was the youngest of all the sons of the baker. Ron had big hands and feet but was something else with traps, snares, and frostings. His five brothers and one sister sometimes outshined him, but he worked hard to help support them. Ron had helped Harry shoot this game and he intended to share the profit with his best friend.
His heart skipped a small beat at the baker's daughter, a red-haired girl named Ginevra, more commonly known as Ginny. He raised a fist and knocked, and within seconds, the door swung open.
He felt the hot air from the ovens wash over him. "Hello, Harry. Ron will be out as soon as he finishes those sticky buns…" She trailed off and ushered him inside.
He nodded. "Thanks, Ginny."
The oldest son, Bill, walked past with Charlie, both carting bags of flour. Fred and George, the twins, were pounding the dough to make cookies, cakes, rolls, and bread, though they looked to be covered in a great deal of the sticky paste themselves.
Ginny was shaping the pastries, and putting them in the multiple ovens. Her hips moved slightly, and Harry tried not to notice because he really didn't want to notice it. He wanted Ginny to be a sister. Nothing more.
Ron, as usual, was on frosting duty. He deftly dripped the creamy icings onto a plate of cinnamon rolls. He glanced up briefly and his eyes and smile communicated a warm hello to Harry before he turned his attention back to smothering the icing on the warm buns.
He didn't mind waiting, it gave him time to sort out his thoughts. Like the upcoming Hunger Games. And his dad, brother, and sister at home.
And Ginny. He knew his feelings for Ginny came only from never having a mother figure, and the fact that she was good with children and household chores, combined with her natural beauty made her… desirable to him.
He sighed and shook his head. He had other things to worry about.
Like how he was going to feed and clothe his family if dad kept bringing home nothing and what he did make could never be stretched to cover for four people. The woods were dead empty this time of year, the Hob almost there. The Weasley's would help him, but even the length of their efforts was limited and with the two growing children in Harry' family…
He loved Neville and Luna, but sometimes…
Ron stepped out from behind the counter. He smiled at Harry and grabbed some dinner rolls off the counter. Harry removed the turkey and split the gold pieces. Ron left momentarily to get a bowl and a knife, and they split the stew. Ron gave Harry some rolls to take home, and Harry let Ron have first pick of the turkey, which Ginny immediately took to cook.
He wrapped himself up as warm as possible and then thanked each of them before returning to the cold. His foot sunk two or three inches as he left the road and began working his way to the Seam. The snow got deeper and the cold throb began again in his foot. He ignored it, knowing he would be home soon and could take off his too-small-shoes. He took a deep breath and kept moving.
