[summary] Hunger Games!AU - Sirius/Remus - Today, Sirius wants to make a good impression. He's wearing his best dress robes, patched up to the best of their House-elf's abilities. Not many people still have House-elves, and whilst the Blacks may no longer have heating or a regular supply of food, they lord Kreacher over their neighbours as if he is an extravagant show of wealth. Which, in a way, he is.

A/N — Written for Hogwarts Assignment 6, Healer Studies, Task 11

This is a much darker take on Sirius, which is hopefully justified due to the world they're living in. It's based off of the prequel Hunger Games book, but I've tried to explain all relevant info.

Thank you so much to Bex for beta'ing :)

Warnings: Off-screen character death, starvation

The gates tower above Sirius' head, topped with a once white sign proudly proclaiming this to be London Zoo, except some of the letters are missing, so what it actually says is Lodn oo. Still, it is in no worse a condition than the rest of the city, decimated after the war.

But today, Sirius wants to make a good impression. He's wearing his best dress robes, patched up to the best of their House-elf's abilities. Not many people still have House-elves, and whilst the Blacks may no longer have heating or a regular supply of food, they lord Kreacher over their neighbours as if he is an extravagant show of wealth. Which, in a way, he is.

Sirius adjusts his hold on the paper bag he carries, weighed down with sandwiches. Kreacher had used the last of their bread and cheese to make them, but Sirius had insisted. If the Blacks wished to maintain the illusion of wealth, then they could not support an obviously starving tribute.

He makes his way slowly to what used to be the lion pen, the plexiglass scratched and mottled until it's barely translucent, giving only a hint at the shapes of the figures moving around inside.

Two Aurors stand either side of the gate, a twisted metal creation that had obviously been installed more recently. Probably when the animals had all died of starvation; people could barely feed themselves, animals in captivity had been the first casualties this far into the capitol.

One of the Aurors eyes Sirius suspiciously, hand on his wand, but he steps aside to let Sirius in with only a muttered warning: "I'd watch out if I were you, they haven't been fed since they got here."

Sirius smiles and pats his brown paper bad. "Don't worry," he says, "I came prepared." He does not miss the way both men eye the bag hungrily; likely, they haven't eaten in days either. Sirius' own stomach growls at even the thought of food.

Just before stepping into the enclosure, Sirius pulls the scrap of parchment from his pocket. He has the words memorised — there's only four, after all — but he wants to make sure.

Remus John Lupin — Werewolf.

He does not have a face to go with the name, but he knows that the boy is one of the two werewolf tributes. He'd hoped for a veela, people always root for them, but a werewolf's only advantage is on the full moon, weeks after this year's game is held. But he will just have to make the best of what he has. It's something he's become incredibly good at over the last few years.

Not knowing where else to start, Sirius turns to the boy closest to him. He looks incredibly young, with snot running down to his chin and scrapes all the way up his arms, but he cannot be younger than twelve.

"Mister Lupin?" Sirius asks. The boy stares at him blankly for a moment before shaking his head, filling Sirius with instant relief. Whoever has that one is going to have a hard time selling him to the public.

"Do you know where he is?" Sirius asks, but the boy has eyes only for the bag in Sirius' hands, his dirty fingers reaching towards it. Sirius backs away hurriedly. "This isn't for you," he snaps. "Talk to your own mentor."

The boy hisses, actually hisses, at him like an animal. Sirius wrinkles his nose in disgust, feeling sorry for whoever's stuck with this one. But at least it's less competition for him.

Two children huddle together in the shade provided by a rocky outcropping, staring up at Sirius through long, greasy hair with big eyes that glow ominously in the low light. He cannot tell which is the male tribute and which the female, but he suspects neither are his.

He clears his throat, glancing about the enclosure, and says loudly, "I'm looking for a Mister Lupin." He circles the enclosure twice, calling all the while for a "Mister Lupin."

A girl who looks about Sirius' age lies face down on the floor, her matted hair spread out like a grim halo about her head. The only indication that she is still alive is a slight twitch to her leg, though Sirius suspects she is not long for this world.

Sirius turns away from her, startling when he comes face to face with another boy. He hadn't even heard him approach.

"What do you want?" the boy asks, his expression mullish.

"Remus John Lupin," Sirius says, the words ingrained into his memory. "Is that you?"

The boy folds his arms across his chest. "Yes," he replies curtly.

"Right, well," Sirius had expected a slightly better greeting, "I'm your mentor," he says, awkwardly juggling the sandwich bag until his right hand is free to hold out for a handshake.

Remus stares at the hand blankly.

Pursing his lips in mild irritation, Sirius looks his tribute up and down, seeing what he has to work with. He's scared, of course — almost all the werewolf tributes are — and his clothes are incredibly bland, but he holds himself with a stubborn dignity that Sirius might be able to work with.

Remus folds his arms over his chest. "Are you done gawking?" Despite himself, Sirius flushes with embarrassment.

"It's my job to help you win this," he says, to which Remus' only response is a scowl. "Don't you want to win?"

"Well I certainly don't want to die," Remus snaps. Sirius winces.

"I brought you a present," he says, shoving the bag of sandwiches at Remus. It's an obvious attempt to change the subject, but an effective one. Remus has half a sandwich stuffed into his mouth before Sirius can even gesture for them to take a seat on the nearest rock.

.oOo.

The other tributes eye the both of them as if they are something strange, watching warily as Remus wolfs down another sandwich and Sirius nibbles on the corner of his first. He's ravenous himself, but he doesn't want the tributes to realise.

"What's in this for you?" Remus asks, startling Sirius once again. "Why would you help me?"

Sirius thinks the question over for a moment, but he isn't really sure how to answer. "How much of the Games do you know?"

Remus shrugs. "They show it on the telly every year, but no one really watches it." He reaches slowly for the last half a sandwich and Sirius pushes it towards him. "Just a bunch of kids starving to death, for the most part."

"They're making viewing mandatory now," Sirius explains, trying to ignore the way Remus' nose wrinkles in displeasure. "So this year it's supposed to be a bit more interesting."

"Ah, well," Remus says with a smirk, "as long as my death is entertaining for the masses, I shall die happy."

"You're hilarious," Sirius says dryly, although a not inconsiderable part of him bristles at the thought of Remus dying. And not simply because if Remus wins, Sirius, as his mentor, gains a scholarship to the top university in the country. There's no way he can afford to go without that scholarship.

"We need a plan," Sirius continues. "You're quiet, you can get around without people noticing you. That's good. Definitely something we can work with. But it's not going to make the viewers love you."

"And why would I want these people to love me?" Remus scowls. "They're the real monsters, turning our deaths into reality T.V."

"You want them to love you," Sirius says, enunciating his words carefully, "because they can sponsor you." At Remus' blank look, Sirius elaborates, "It's part of increasing viewer engagement. If they have a stake in the winner, they're more likely to watch."

"And how does that help me?"

"Well," Sirius says, mildly flummoxed, "they ...send you … things."

"Like what?" Remus asks, his annoyance palpable, coming off him in waves aimed directly at Sirius. "Do they send knives? Poison? Food?"

"Uh, yes."

"Well, which is it?" Remus snaps.

"I think they can send you anything they want," Sirius says slowly, although he isn't actually sure. It's definitely something he will be asking his instructors next class.

Remus, however, looks unimpressed. "This isn't some high school project," he hisses between clenched teeth. "Lives are at stake."

Actually, for Sirius, it is a high school project. A new part of the curriculum introduced just this year, having students mentor tributes in the games. But Sirius doesn't think Remus would appreciate hearing that, so he simply nods in a way he hopes is sage and says, "I know it's not a game." He winces at his own phrasing. "I know it's not fun for you, but we need to make sure you survive this."

"Well, if you've got any ideas, you know where to find me," Remus says, his words dripping in sarcasm.

"Actually," Sirius' brow furrows in thought. "I think I might have an idea."

.oOo.

The next time Sirius visits Remus, he cannot afford to bring any food. But what he does have is a compact stolen from his mother. He'd taken a knife to the powder last night, prying it from the casing.

Remus is not impressed.

"Are you telling me I should take more care of my looks?" he snaps. "Really!? At a time like this?"

"No, no!" Sirius runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the dark strands until he winces, the pain clearing his head. "It's empty."

Remus looks at him incredulously, flipping the compact open and staring at the cracked mirror in disbelief.

He closes it with a sharp snap. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment," he says dryly.

"You're allowed to take one token into the arena," Sirius hurries to explain. "And I thought this could be yours."

"Very thoughtful."

It is clear Remus doesn't understand, although in all fairness Sirius has not done a very good job of explaining himself.

He leans towards Remus, making sure to keep his voice low as he says, "Look around you. What do you see?"

Remus rolls his eyes. "Starving kids trapped in an old zoo."

"Well, yes," Sirius' face heats with embarrassment, "but other than that."

Remus frowns, but he does look around. Sirius follows his gaze, taking in the rubbish strewn about, the evidence of fires made by desperate people seeking just a bit of warmth. Bones from long dead animals, and the more recent carcasses of rats.

The rats are everywhere in the city; at first, people were just grateful for the additional meat, a rarity in these times, but then the rats had broken into the food supplies, leaving an already starving city with even less. That's when the rat poison had been scattered throughout the streets of London.

The zoo is no different, its paths covered in the grey-blue pellets, and they stick to the bottom of Sirius' boots from where he had walked through a large pile of them.

"The games are held here every year," Sirius says, gesturing around the lion pen where the tributes are being held. Only one will ever leave here again. "You've got to use the arena to your advantage," he adds, fidgeting his feet.

Remus smiles softly, the first genuine smile Sirius has seen from him. "You're not so bad," he says as if they are not talking of murder. But then, it is the only way for Remus to have even a chance of survival.

"Crush them up when no one's looking," Sirius whispers, his eyes flicking down to the pellets he's brushed off his boots. "Hide them in the compact."

Remus nods, mouthing a quiet thank you as Sirius leaves.

.oOo.

When Remus is announced victor, most of the other mentors all congratulate Sirius heartily, albeit a bit jealously.

"That boy spent most of the game hiding out in the caves," Sirius hears Severus whisper to another mentor. "It's utter poppycock." Sirius rolls his eyes.

Severus has always been insufferable, and Sirius had watched with a great amount of satisfaction when his candidate had died of 'food poisoning', knowing that Remus had had a hand in it.

"Don't listen to him," James says, pushing Sirius towards the stage. "Your boy was outstanding."

Sirius smiles. His boy. He likes the sound of that.

He steps onto the stage to a smattering of applause from the students and teachers, joining Remus where he stands like a deer in the headlights, fresh from his arena win. He's still wearing his tattered clothes, with at least a week's worth of grime coating his skin, and dark bags frame eyes containing that hunted look Sirius is very familiar with seeing on all the victor's faces.

An Auror had grabbed the compact from Remus as soon as he'd been dragged from the arena, and there will likely be an inquest later. But it doesn't matter. Sirius had read the rules thoroughly; the loophole will likely be filled in time for next year's game, but that will not affect Remus.

Sirius grabs the other boy's hand, ignoring his startled yelp, and raises their clasped hands above their head.

This victory belongs to the both of them.