Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, and Suzanne Collins, author the The Hunger Games trilogy.

Warnings: slash, meaning boyxboy, violence

Pairing: future Finnick/Harry

Note: I will be altering some of the characters' ages. The story takes place before the Hunger Games.

Love and War

Fiddling nervously with the worn threads of the stiff button up shirt, Harry was herded into his own age group. He craned his head around, trying to look for Gale. Seeing him with the other fourteen year olds, Harry smiled in greeting. Gale sent him a quick nod before turning to look at the front stage, face dropping into a somber expression. Harry shifted slightly and glanced over at his side, recognizing the uncharacteristic blond hair and blue eyes as belonging to a classmate of his. He found himself envying the baker's son, who at the age of 12 was better fed than most of the population, including Gale and Harry. The brunet doused his jealousy before Peeta can see; though that was an easy task to accomplish as the blond was too busy staring at a rather malnourished girl Harry saw a few times in the seam.

Harry found his attention diverted to the front when a very optimistic voice started speaking.

"Welcome, welcome!" A lady wearing a poofy, bright orange dress that reminded Harry of a pumpkin and blonde curls with streaks of the same hideous color to match strolled on stage wearing deep green heels; the laces wrapped around her ankles giving the illusion of vines trailing behind her. Harry winced at her ridiculous Capitol outfit. Everything about her, her clothes, accent, screamed wealth and fortune, oblivious to the hardships of the poorer districts, just like the rest of the Capitol. Everyone was all just pawns for their sick and twisted games, used only for their entertainment. With that thought, Harry grew to hate Effie Trinket a bit. Inside though, he knew that while she wasn't the main proprietor and it wasn't her fault everyone in the seam were how they were, a small, more vulnerable part of him resented Effie for not helping.

"Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Harry went rigid along with all present. A trickle of fear was registered in the back of his mind, but other than the sudden coldness in his hands and feet, Harry felt far away, like this was happening to someone else. No longer was Harry afraid. He was more detached and numb as Effie walked to one of the reaping balls.

"Ladies first," she told the crowd before digging her hand into the bowl and pulling out a slip of paper.

Pausing for effect, Effie dramatically held up the paper and announced the unfortunate victim's name.

"Hannah Abbott."

A girl in the fourteen years section froze before making her way bravely up the stage. Harry commended her for not crying even though she desperately looked like she wanted to.

Effie dug her hand into the boys' reaping ball and unraveled the delicate piece of paper, not understanding that she was holding the fate of the person in her hands.

"Dudley Dursley."

Time stood still for Harry even as the other boys moved away from Dudley like he had received the death sentence, which, in a way, he had. Harry could imagine the despair that would overtake his Aunt Petunia's face, crying and wailing that would borderline sounding pretentious. He could almost see the unattractive purple that Uncle Vernon would turn as he yelled and shouted at the Capitol, struggling against the Peacekeepers holding him back, cursing about the wretched Hunger Games that he watched so joyously before his son was reaped. The two would live a life with no meaning and purpose now that their son was gone, marching to his ultimate death. Oh, they would pray everyday for his return, only to be forced to watch as he was brutally murdered by other children. And, Harry couldn't let that happen.

As Dudley was making his plod up the steps with his hands shaky and body trembling, Harry could see the terrified expression on his cousin's face. He should be pleased that Dudley now had that same look in his eyes, same fear that Harry had when he was beaten to the brink of unconsciousness by his own family. But he was not. Because while Dudley treated Harry unkindly and often abusively, he truly did not wish death on his cousin. So with a straightened back and a jutted chin, Harry spoke the words that would change his fate.

"I volunteer."

It was mumbled so suddenly, so softly that Harry would have missed it if he weren't the one who said it. Heads turned in disbelief and peered intensely around. Who said it? Who volunteered? Harry stared at Effie Trinket, who stopped talking and was searching the crowd, wondering if someone was seriously volunteering, and repeated the words again, more strongly with determination lacing his voice.

"I volunteer as tribute."

With eyes following him, Harry shouldered his way through the crowd to the stage. He passed by his gaping cousin and gave a nod to him.

"Well."

Effie seemed to have regained the ability to speak, brushing off her shock. With all eyes of those present and not present on him, Harry reminded himself not to appear too nervous, knowing the cameras around him will display even his slightest move to everyone in Panem. Imagining the grimace that would appear on the Capitol's citizens when they catch sight of his hand-me-down stained, white shirt and baggy slacks, Harry hid a smile, for once thanking his Aunt for giving him Dudley's old clothes.

"It seems we have a volunteer. The first volunteer in the history of District 12, I believe."

Harry searched the crowd for Gale.

"And what is your name?"

Finally spotting his friend, Harry's eyes latched onto Gale's face, which was morphed into an expression of alarm and concern.

"Harry Potter."

"Was that your friend I called up a minute ago?"

"Cousin," Harry corrected, absent-mindedly, turning his face to look at Effie Trinket.

"Ooh!" she squealed. "You have the most beautiful emerald eyes!"

Harry remained silent, unsure of how to answer to that.

"Well, we have our two District 12 tributes."

After that, Effie gave a concluding speech, but Harry wasn't listening, too absorbed in thinking about what he had just done. How was he going to survive this?