DISTRICT 3 – TECHNOLOGY

When the sun rose over the hills of District Three, Hermione Granger was already awake with worry. She had been up for hours, and had since given up trying to sleep, so she paced her tiny bedroom back and forth. She was very surprised she'd not worn a hole in the hardwood floor. Her room was very simple, just a plain wooden floor with a threadbare blue rug, a small bed covered with sky blue sheets, a tiny wardrobe that barely held her clothes and books piled every which way, precariously stacked in the most hazardous manner. Sometimes Hermione would stack her expanding collection and wonder that if the Games didn't kill her, these books certainly would. The Games. The reaping was today. This meant nothing but knots in the stomach for every resident of district three. Although they were a poor district, especially compared to their surrounding districts, where the tributes would trained their entire lives, Hermione was at least thankful they were not as poor as some districts, like twelve. She imagined life there and life without her books and could almost not bear it.

Peering out of her tiny round window, Hermione saw the sun start to rise, changing the sky from an inky blue to a bright pink and into a flaming yellow, like fire. She smiled. Sunrise was always her favourite time of day. But today it meant it was time to prepare. She shuddered.

Hermione manoeuvred her way between the piles of books and to her wardrobe. Of course there was little to pick from. She just pulled out her least messy dress, a light pink flannel jersey, threw it on and went to comb her bushy hair. Hermione was not the sort of girl that guys liked. She kept her nose stuck in a book, barely spoke to anyone and didn't have the best features, with a mane of bushy brown hair. Although she fixed her buckteeth using a simple charm last year for a dance, she was still the one that no one really paid attention too. But that's the way she liked it. Quiet and peaceful. She frowned, as she realised that when she contemplated being picked to participate in the Hunger Games, she was more repelled by the fact that she would be forced into the spotlight rather than the fact she'd also be forced into a deadly arena, where she'd have to kill or be killed. Hermione sighed, hoping her hardest she could just stay where she was.


Across the tiny town at the centre of district three, Cedric Diggory was still sleeping. His soft golden brown hair fell neatly over his handsome chiselled face, his arm dangling onto the floor, resting next to his Labrador. As the sun rose and filtered through the tattered curtains in his room, the patter of light feet echoed across the hall and paused at the door. Cautiously, the small boy pressed on the door, letting it slowly open with a creak. This woke up Cedric, who opened his eyes but remained in exactly the same position he was in.

"Are you okay Edmund?" He murmured, his voice still croaky from sleep. The little boy crept into the light, carrying a tattered old teddy bear. He was about twelve, but was short for his age and managed to stay fairly plump despite living in one of the poorer districts. He too had a mop of golden brown hair, but his was curly, making him look even more childlike and innocent than he was. His blue eyes twinkled, and he made his way to Cedric's bed, sitting on the end. Cedric sat up and pushed his hair out of his hazel eyes. "Today's the day, isn't it?" The little boy nodded, clutching his bear into his chest.

"What if I get picked? I won't win" The little boy's voice quivered and he looked down to the ground.

"Hey, you won't get picked. And if you do, I'll volunteer for you, or something. I'll make sure you don't go. And if you have to, you'd win. I'd sponsor you with every penny this town has. Plus your hexes are really like none I've ever seen." Cedric smiled at his brother, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder.

"What if you get picked?" The boy turned his gaze from the floor to Cedric.

"I'll win. Simple as that. Look Ed, there's hundreds of children in this district. Like the Capitol say, the odds are in our favour!" He mimicked the Capitol accent with this last comment, and was rewarded with a smile from Edmund. "Now, go get dressed. Today will be over before you know it."


Hermione was pacing again. This time, in her family's tiny living room. It had bare floors with a threadbare pink rug, the walls were plastered with family photographs and an old worn sofa stood against one wall, adorned with a fluffy ginger cat that was almost as tatty as the rest of the house, pointed towards an old television, that appeared to have been tinkered with several times. Despite being classed as a poorer district, the people of district 3 were better off than the districts to the east, mainly because the technology industry was a fairly expensive one. The capitol had to pay well, because without their televisions, they couldn't broadcast fear into the lives of every resident of the Panem who breathed the word rebellion. And of course, being trained in technology meant intelligence, which can make one very rich indeed.

Hermione's parents both entered the living room at once, sharing a sympathetic look at their daughter. "Sweetheart, you should eat something." Her mother cooed, holding out an apple to her daughter, who was pale with anxiety. Hermione just shook her head and carried on pacing. The ginger cat raised it's head to appraise her and then fell back to sleep. Her parents stood in the doorway for a moment longer, watching their daughter and reflecting her worry. When the clock's hands were almost pointing to noon, Hermione stopped pacing and raised her head. She took a deep breath, and stepped towards her parents, who both put an arm round her. Together they walked to the door.


"COME ON CEDRIC, EDMUND, WE'LL BE LATE!" Called a short fat man from the small front garden of an extremely rickety, tall house. Voices called back from inside the house, and a moment later, the two boys burst out of the door, still tucking in shirts and combing hair. "Honestly, you two! Hopeless." The man rolled his eyes then looked at them endearingly. He was wearing plain brown robes and had a wooden cane. On the top of his head was a red tartan hat. The three made their way out of their garden gate and into a street filled with tall and thin precarious houses, hat looked like they would topple over without a moment's notice. Each house was attached to a miniscule front garden, some filled with flowers of a huge variety of colour and scent, some filled with weeds and some with just concrete. The street all together gave the appearance of a very odd suburban jungle.

Turning the corner, the family made their way into the large square. It was much too large for the fairly small town, flanked by miss-matched brick houses on one side and huge grey factories on the other. In the centre was a marble statue of a skinny wizard holding his wand in one hand and a coil of wire in the other. As they approached the peacekeepers in the centre of the square, Cedric and his brother were shoved into the right side of the square, facing a large stage that protruded out of the Justice Building. He looked around him. He could see his brother staring at his shoelaces a couple of metres in front of him. To his left, past the statue, he could see the girls, standing in uniform lines, exactly like their counterparts on the opposite side of the square. He cast his eye over the rows of quivering bows and lace, and met several others. Cedric, being as handsome as he was, attracted a large amount of female attention. Even now, with the reaping rearing it's ugly head, there were still eyelids being batted in his direction. He didn't register any of it. Although a popular boy, he had never really met a girl he liked. All the ones who liked him tended to be shallow and gossiped too much. He turned his head back to the front, and watched his little brother shuffling his feet. Although confident that Edmund wouldn't be reaped, he couldn't be so sure about himself. His name was in that bowl more times than he liked to remember, but for each slip of paper, his family got much needed grain. The Diggorys were not the richest, his father did not earn much and since his mother had died, Cedric had been forced to take care of Edmund. Dark thoughts plagued his usually fairly light-hearted ones, wondering what would happen to his brother if he, Cedric, did not return from the Games. Shaking them away, he internally rolled his eyes. 'Don't get ahead of yourself Ced,' He told himself. 'You've not even been reaped yet and you're already creating a will.'


Across the square, Hermione Granger was shuffling from one foot to the other in nervousness. She was stood with some other girls her own age, but they didn't talk to her. Having always kept her nose in a book, she didn't have a lot of time to make friends. Not that they ever wanted to talk to her, anyway. They called her a mudblood. District 3 was not a career district, where they valued the so-called blood purity above all else, but being surrounded by them did have an effect. Hermione's parents were non-magic. At a young age, she had been taken away from them, and taken to Panem, to District 3, where she had been adopted by the parents she had now. The non-magic people, or muggles as they were called here, lived in another place, another country, no one really knew for sure, but they were unaware of the magical Panem. Part of the uprising some seventy years ago had been to abolish the segregation of muggles and magic folk and so to end the discrimination of the muggle-borns, but since the fall of the rebellion, the Capitol had a new distaste for muggle-borns. Although they swore against it, and publicly discouraged prejudice, there was a rumour that they doubled the names of the muggle-borns in the reaping bowls.

Hermione sniffed, and the girl next to her moved a couple of inches away from her, her face shrivelled up in a look of disgust, as though Hermione's blood-status was contagious. Hermione had long since stopped caring. There was no use in tears and words of anger in defence like the ones she used to shout many years ago. They just invited further jeers of resentment. And although not everyone in the district had the same views of blood-purity like some of the more well-to-do families, they still made up a powerful minority, so Hermione just kept her head down, and focused on her books.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the anthem blasting out from the screens either side of the stage. A witch in long sparkling robes of cyan, her hair combed back into a tight bun with a headdress of bright blue leaves adorning her head, swept onto the stage. She ignored the microphone, but reached for her wand, muttering 'Sonorus' to it, holding it to her throat. A second later she looked up beaming, her voice ringing out across the square as though she was pressing a megaphone to her thin lips which were painted in blue stripes.

"Welcome, citizens of District 3. Welcome, to the 74th Annual Hunger Games." She beamed across the crowds, her face doubled magnificently on the enormous screens either side of her. "President Riddle has wished you all a very Happy Hunger Games! A short clip will be shown, and then the reaping shall begin! The excitement in her voice must have sounded across the district. "May the odds be ever in your favour!" The clip showed, and Hermione was left to her thoughts again.


Cedric rubbed his hands together nervously. The tension in the crowd was obvious, they did not want to see a film about the rebellion, they wanted the reaping to be over and done with. Finally the clip finished, and the witch, who had been gazing in admiration at the screen, turned back to the crowd.

"Now… who should we pick first? Boys!" She made her way over to the bowl facing the half of the square with the boy lined up in neat rows. Carefully placing her hand into the large bowl, she plucked out a slip of paper and opened it. Cedric placed all his prayers into hoping it was not his brother.

"Cedric Diggory"

Cedric had been listening so hard for Edmund's name, that he did not recognise his own for a second. It was only when he heard Edmund cry out, a strangled 'NO!' that he was released from his confusion. He stepped forward, towards the stage. He felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, some filled with relief it wasn't them or a member of their family, some filled with pity, some of his friend's filled with sorrow. He saw his brother being held firmly back by one of his close friends, Orion Nott, who was wearing a grim look, but gave him a nod. Cedric returned it. He climbed the stairs, and looked out upon the crowds. He saw his father, a look of disbelief in his eyes, slowly shaking his head, being held up by a few of his friends from the factory. Cedric thought, at least if he were to die, his family would not be unsupported. He turned to the brightly coloured witch, who beamed at him like she could not be more delighted at his impending death, and gave her a stony gaze. She ignored him, and crossed to the opposite bowl.

"Now, ladies!" She reached into the bowl again, and quickly drew out a name. Cedric idly gazed across the lines of girls, wondering who would be his fellow tribute.

"Hermione Granger" She read out the name, and Cedric's eyes fell upon a girl with bushy brown hair, whom he had seen a few times around his school. He had never really talked to her, but some of his friends had referred to 'that Granger girl' when talking about the 'good for nothing mud-bloods' At first he had protested, he had never seen anything wrong with the muggle-borns but after a while it became to tiresome to argue. He had never seen her bothered by it anyway, he only ever saw her in the library, reading. He watched the girl take a sharp intake of breath at the sound of her name, her face filled with fear, but not surprise. Then just determination. He was not a stranger to the rumours that muggle-borns had their names put into the reaping more times than any other wizards, but the amount of them reaped could be just because there was a large number of them in poorer districts. He watched her step forward, grinding her jaw, holding her head up. Her walk was followed by no emotion, unlike Diggory's, but it didn't seem to worry her. He had to admit, he was quite impressed. He knew of her cleverness and rather good knack for spells, but this unphased, stubborn face had always been hidden behind books. His district might have a victor yet. Shaking his head and laughing internally at his self-assessed apparently hopeless situation, he looked again at his chances at winning. He was strong, able, clever, brave. He could win. Just because the victors were nearly always from career districts, did not mean neither he nor Hermione would go down without a fight.

Shaking hands with his fellow tribute, he smiled. She smiled back, and for a moment they shared a look of knowing. Feeling remarkably more positive about the experiences he could face in the next few weeks, he turned to his district, and waved.