Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games books or movies, Panem, or these characters. Those belong to Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate Studios. I did invent the name "Aurelia" for Snow's granddaughter/mother, and anyone is welcome to use it if they give me credit. I also invented the idea of the Reaping Day Ball (though not the Reaping Day Ceremony).
Dedication: To Erika Bierman and the late Donald Sutherland for helping my imagination catch fire.
A/N: I mainly drew on the movie versions of Catching Fire, Mockingjay, and The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes for this fic, but I was also inspired by a sample chapter from the book The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. You can read a full list of historical, literary, and fandom acknowledgements at the bottom.
A/N 2: Special Shoutout to my sweetheart for inspiring and encouraging me as well as being my first reader.
A/N 3: While I came up with the idea for this story and wrote it myself, I did borrow some elements from Perchance AI. See acknowledgements below.
"Absolutely not, Aurelia."
Seventy years after her death, President Coriolanus Snow still held his mother's name as sacred. His granddaughter had carried the name for nearly twelve years now, but Snow rarely called her by it. And he never shortened it to that irreverent "Aurie" her parents and schoolmates used. He preferred to call her "Darling" or "My Golden One" whenever he was feeling particularly affectionate.
But he called her "Aurelia" now to prove how serious he was.
The smile slid from Aurelia's face, and the light in her eyes died. "But, Grandpa, you promised I could wear whatever I wanted."
Snow gestured to the tablet in her hand. "I promised you could wear something decent-not this monstrosity."
The tablet projected a hologram of a child model wearing a black gown with a skirt so wide and ruffled that it practically swallowed her. The gown was bedecked with sequins and feathers, and the sleeves were styled to look like wings. A blue mask with towering blue feathers topped the look. Absurd!
"But it's my birthday, Grandpa." Aurelia insisted.
Yes, her long awaited twelfth birthday. After becoming president, Snow had turned the simple Reaping Day ceremony of his youth into an elaborate ball. Capitol children between the ages of twelve and eighteen gathered for a ball to celebrate the Hunger Games. After watching the reaping, they would dance, feast, give speeches, and display their talents. It was the celebration of Panem's best and brightest youth.
Aurelia had been very young when she realized her birthday fell on Reaping Day, and the ball had held a special place in her imagination ever since. Snow had been anticipating his granddaughter's formal debut into society just as much. He'd spent months helping Aurelia with her speech and listening to her practice her piano recital. He planned to dazzle the Capitol with his Golden One.
But not if she wore this.
Snow sighed. "I'm sorry, darling, but no Snow is going to make her debut at the Reaping Day Ball dressed like a bird."
"But the jabberjay is our bird, Grandpa." Her voice took on the same tone that he used in cabinet meetings when one of his ministers was being particularly dense. "Besides, it's by the same designer that Lucretia Flickerman wore to the Reaping Day Ball last year, remember?"
Snow frowned. At last year's Reaping Day Ball, Ceasar Flickerman's overindulged granddaughter had worn a dress so large and extravagant that an Avox had to carry her through the door. Ceasar had clapped and beamed at her with pride, oblivious to what fools his family looked like.
"Lucretia Flickerman does not represent Panem. Not like you do."
Aurelia-normally so obedient and easy-going-set her chin in a defiant tilt that reminded him far too much of her late father. "Maybe I don't want to represent Panem."
"You are a Snow! You are supposed to maintain a standard of behavior!" The President hissed at his eighteen-year-old son Zanthos after the boy had staggered home drunk again.
Xanthos propped himself up on the doorframe and tilted up his chin. "I don't want to be a Snow," he slurred. "I want to be me."
Snow grabbed Aurelia by her arms and jerked her close to him, bringing his face right next to hers. "I never want to hear you say that again! Is that clear?" He spoke slowly and deliberately, making sure every word sank in.
She flinched as though he had struck her. Her lower lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears. She broke free from his grasp and fled the room.
He sighed. Youth. It really is wasted on the young.
Aurelia did not join him for breakfast the next morning. Not unusual. Although Snow rose every morning at 4:00 am (an old habit from Peacekeeper days) and ate breakfast at 6:00, Aurelia often preferred to sleep in. Just as well, since I'm in a hurry to meet with Seneca Crane. Really, Aurelia is a darling girl, but she has no idea of the stress it puts on her old grandfather to prepare for the Hunger Games and her birthday celebration at the same time.
He sat down in front of his usual plate of fresh bread and fruit from District 11 and turned on the television. A hologram of Finnick Odair's handsome face appeared on the screen. Snow smiled. There he is. The golden boy. The Capitol's favorite victor. If every tribute were like him, we wouldn't have to resort to ridiculous gimmicks to keep people's attention. Goodness, has it really been ten years?
He watched Odair catch tributes in his net and stab them with the expensive trident a sponsor had given him. His eyes narrowed over his cup of coffee. Of course, there's a careful balance to be kept between popularity and hero worship. Besides, the Districts might forget their place if they produced an Odair every year. It's just as well that we have "uninteresting victors" now and then.
A dark-haired girl (a tribute from District 5-or was it 7?) ran from Odair, but she wasn't quick enough. Odair caught her in the net like all the others and stabbed her through the heart. The sight of Aurelia running away from him flashed through Snow's mind. He turned off the tv and pushed his breakfast away-suddenly finding that he had no appetite. She's fine. A fit of adolescent pique. Nothing more.
"What do you think, sir?'"
"Hmm?" Snow startled out of his revelry. Seneca Crane was beaming at him, clearly expecting praise for the new breed of Muttations he had engineered for the Games.
"Oh, yes. Very impressive." Snow stared indifferently at the mangled body of an Avox test subject-what was left of it at least. Although she had no tongue, she'd screamed and howled in obvious agony as the beasts tore into her flesh. At one point, she'd managed to escape their jaws and crawl feebly to the electric bars of the cage, only to yelp when she was shocked. A futile effort-as the beasts had managed to drag her back and continue to devour her.
Snow, re-living yesterday's fight with Aurelia, barely noticed.
"Is something wrong, sir?" Crane asked.
Snow shook his head and cursed himself for showing weakness. "Nothing's wrong. Your proposal lacks a certain . . .bite that's all."
Crane perked up. "Of course, sir. You know what's best for the Games. What do you suggest?"
Snow stroked his beard in thought. "Perhaps the mutts could be engineered to look like fallen tributes. That would give the remaining tributes a psychological as well as physical hazard to face and provide more entertainment for viewers."
Crane's face lit up. "Of course, sir. I can easily fuse the mutts' DNA with the tributes' when the time comes."
Snow clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll trust you to take care of it, my boy."
A bright young man. He can go far if he doesn't do anything stupid like the last head game maker.
Snow looked at the clock. "This was amusing, my boy, but I'm almost late for a cabinet meeting. I'll meet with you tomorrow to finalize the details."
"Yes sir."
Snow glanced at the mutts who were licking the blood off the floor of the cage. That's the one drawback to having animals in the Games-the mess.
Snow got the call in his car at 4:00 pm as he was heading home after a long day of listening to that insufferable Antonius drone on about the latest hovercraft models. Amethyst Brightberry, Aurelia's private tutor, appeared on screen.
"Good afternoon, Mr. President. I hope this call finds you well."
He was not well. His bad knees ached from the long hours of sitting. His head was beginning to pound. Not in the mood for small talk, he asked, "Is there something wrong, Ms. Brightberry?"
Brightberry dropped the polite smile. "I'll get straight to the point then, sir. Aurelia didn't attend our tutoring session today. I couldn't find her anywhere in the house or on the grounds. Her bedroom door is locked. Is she ill, sir?"
Snow forgot his pain and fatigue as adrenaline shot through him. Aurelia knows how important her education is. And she knows my rule against locked doors in the house. Something is wrong.
He kept a composed face. "I'm afraid I haven't spoken to Aurelia today. I'm so sorry for your wasted time. You have my word that she'll be present for the next session."
"Thank you, sir. I hope she'll feel better next week." Brightberry's heavily made-up face disappeared from the screen.
The house was unusually quiet when Snow arrived, and it took him a moment to realize why. He couldn't hear Aurelia playing her piano or chatting with her friends. The dead silence added to the pit in his stomach.
"Aurelia?" he called out reluctantly. "Darling, I'm home."
No answer. Normally Aurelia rushed down the stairs to greet him when he came home eager to tell him about her day or show him the latest project she was working on.
"Aurelia!" Snow called again. "Aurelia, where are you?"
Still no answer.
He raced through the house, calling his granddaughter's name repeatedly. Finally, he tried to open her bedroom door.
It was indeed locked.
Snow banged on the door. "Darling?" Nothing. "Aurelia?" Silence.
Xanthos would have yelled "Go away!" or "I hate you!" Snow could deal with that. But to not respond at all-Snow ground his teeth. "Aurelia Snow, I know you are in your room. I command you to open the door, and there will be consequences if you do not obey."
The door opened with a rattling sound, and Snow gasped.
His granddaughter's hair-normally brushed and styled so carefully by an Avox-was tangled and matted. Her immaculate clothes were rumpled. Her face was red and swollen from weeping.
"Darling. . .my Golden One. What's wrong?" He reached out to touch her cheek, but she shrank back. She walked to the corner of her room, sat on the floor, and curled up in ball-a position he had not seen her in since the first days she came to live with him after her parents' death.
He stepped inside the room. "Darling, talk to me." His eyes fell on the tablet lying next to her on the floor. It still projected a hologram of that hideous dress.
Concern gave way to anger. "Is all this about a dress? Because if it is, perhaps you are not mature enough to go to the Reaping Day Ball."
Aurelia mumbled something into her arms.
"Look at me when you talk, child."
She looked into his eyes. "You hurt me," she said in a low but clear voice. She pushed up her sleeves. Her arms were bruised with the imprints of his palms and fingers.
He winced. Did I really grab her that hard?
"You broke your promise. Then you hurt me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I was afraid of you."
Snow knew he was a monster, but he never thought he'd be a monster to her. A long-buried memory resurfaced.
He was five years old. His mother had just died, and he was hiding in a dingy closet in their decaying penthouse. His hand was bleeding as he clutched a rose tightly in his palm. The Grandma'am treasured her roses more than anything. If she found out he'd stolen one, he would be severely punished.
Aurelia buried her face in her bruised arms again and began to rock back and forth-the way younger tributes in the arena sometimes did.
You're towering over her. That's probably not helping her fear. Snow groaned as he sat down on her bed and patted a spot next to him. "Darling, come sit with me. Please," he added-a word he rarely used.
Aurelia rose from the floor and sat next to him. She looked down at her lap and twisted her dress in her hands-a telltale sign of her agitation. Finally, she spoke. "I want my parents. I want my daddy."
Now Snow flinched as if she'd struck him.
"My daddy never hurt me," Aurelia continued. "I felt safe with him. Why do you hate him so much?"
"I-I never hated your father."
Aurelia looked directly at him and smiled. Not the happy smile that was so precious to him but the shrewd, self-satisfied smile she got on her face when she outmaneuvered him during their chess matches. "You're always telling me not to lie, Grandpa."
Snow gasped at her audacity. Then he laughed. "Ah, darling. You'll make a fine politician one day."
The smile vanished from Aurelia's face, and she moved away again.
I've never told her about my. . .complicated relationship with her father. Our fights about his drinking and his womanizing and his reckless behavior. Our late-night political discussions that turned into heated arguments. The. . .incident that forced me to send him into the Peacekeepers for twenty years. But she deserves an honest answer. At least as honest as I can give her.
Snow sighed. "Darling, what do I always say about our family?"
She looked down at her lap and twisted her dress again. "Snow lands on top."
"Exactly. Our family rose from the ashes of the Dark Days to usher in a glorious new dawn for Panem. Your father was born the day I became president. When I held him in my arms, I felt like the sun had risen in my life for the first time in years. I wanted to give him everything. But he cared more about his own desires than our family or even our country. And I couldn't let anyone destroy what I worked so hard to build-not even my own son. Do you understand?"
She nodded but didn't answer or look up.
He took her chin in his hand and gently turned her face to his, staring into her brown eyes (So much like Mother's eyes. Why have I never noticed that before?) "Darling, I want us to be friends again. What can I do to make that happen?"
Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and her lip quivered again. "You can let me wear that dress to the Reaping Day ball."
Impossible. "Aurelia, I can't- "
She pulled away. "It's Aurie. Why won't you call me that?" She lay on the bed and turned away from him, pulling a pillow over her head.
Snow sat at the dinner table alone, picking at his plate. His mouth sores hurt more than ever. He had the tv on-not because he wanted to be informed but because he needed to fill the silence.
He laughed bitterly as he pushed the salmon from District 4 around his plate. Dr. Gaul told me when I was her apprentice that the things we love destroy us. I laughed at her because I believed I'd become incapable of love. I thought I was invincible. But sure enough, the years have proved the truth behind her words. Xanthos turned against me. Then Tigress. And now my Golden One. The best thing to come from my disastrous relationship with my son-the best thing to come from me. How could a dress have come between us?
He stabbed half-heartedly at the salmon. The problem is that she wants to copy her vapid little friends when she's so much better than them. They should want to copy her.
He brightened. He had an idea.
"I have just the stylist for you," Seneca Crane said when Snow told him of his plan. "A new one."
Snow raised an eyebrow. "A new stylist?"
Crane waved his hand. "The veteran stylists are all showy and flashy, trying to outdo each other. Exactly the opposite of what you want for your granddaughter," Crane reassured "This one goes for substance as much aa style. I think you and Aurelia both will love his vision."
Snow stroked his beard. "Very well, I trust your judgement."
Snow coughed blood into the sink. My. . .condition would flare up on the Reaping Day Ball-of all days. He spat, grimacing at the metallic taste and glared at his bloody face in the mirror. The odds have been in my favor all these years, but time is running out. These games may be my last. And what then about my country? My legacy?
He shook his head and wiped his chin with a cloth. Today is about her. Crane's instincts about his stylist had better be correct or both will have Hell to pay.
Snow heard the expectant chatter of the arriving guests downstairs as he raced to Aurelia's bedroom. "Darling," he called out. "It's time to go." He opened the door and caught his breath.
His granddaughter wore a simple white gown trimmed with shimmering gold ribbon. The symbol of Panem was embroidered on her chest in delicate gold thread. Her long dark hair was piled on top of her head and surrounded by a garland of white roses. She looked as pure and innocent as a child and as elegant as a young woman.
She twirled around. "Grandpa!" She exclaimed. "I look like a princess!" She ran toward him, her face radiant.
He laughed. "And you are. . .Aurie." He practically choked on the shortened form of her name, but she beamed at him.
"I've been practicing our speech, Grandpa." Her face and voice became solemn for a moment. "On the day of my twelfth birthday, it is an honor to join the flower of Panem's youth in celebrating the games that hold our society together," she recited.
Snow's heart burst with pride. He knelt and folded her into his arms, and she returned his embrace. He closed his eyes- savoring the feeling of her small arms clasping his neck again. I've been forgiven.
Suddenly, Aurelia pulled back-her face clouding again. "Grandpa, what's wrong? You're bleeding."
Snow looked down. His collar was indeed bloodstained. He forced a smile. "It's nothing, darling. Just a scratch. Shall we go now?" He stood up and offered her his arm.
She took it, smiling up at him.
I'll be the most important man in her life for a while longer still. Perhaps I'll talk to Crane and see if he can design a Hunger Games-style competition for her potential suitors. The thought made him smile to himself.
Seneca Crane met the two of them in the hallway along with a dark-skinned young man Snow had never seen before. Crane's face was almost as radiant as Aurelia's. "Mr. President, may I introduce you to the stylist responsible for your granddaughter's look tonight?" He gestured to the young man. "This is Cinna."
The young man bowed his head. "An honor, Mr. President."
Snow clapped him on the shoulder. "Cinna, you have made my granddaughter smile again. How can I ever repay you? Name your reward."
Cinna fidgeted. "There is something, Mr. President. I know it's very last minute since the tributes are arriving in a few days, but I would like to be reassigned to another district for this year's games."
Snow squeezed his shoulder. "Of course, my boy. Name any district, and we'll make it happen."
Now Cinna stared directly into his face. The young man had large, dark eyes and a deadly serious expression. "I would like to be reassigned to District 12, sir."
The smile vanished from Snow's face, and he removed his hand from Cinna's shoulder. District 12? It looks like the ghosts of the past aren't finished with me yet.
Aurelia tugged at her grandfather's sleeve. "Come on, Grandpa. It's time to go. I don't want to miss the Reaping."
He looked gazed into her face and saw the innocence and trust he had missed during their days of fighting. He forced a smile and shook Cinna's hand. "Of course, Mr. Cinna. District 12 it is."
At the Reaping Day ball, a ripple of excitement went through the crowd of Capitol adults and children alike as they watched a girl named Katniss Everdeen volunteer to take her sister's place as tribute-the first volunteer from District 12 in ages.
Aurie Snow, resplendent in her gown and white rose garland, turned to her grandfather and smiled. "I have a good feeling about this one, Grandpa."
Acknowledgments:
The Hunger Games Wiki was my "Bible" while I was writing this. (I got the name for Snow's son from Snow's father's middle name listed on the Wiki. The Wiki also informed me that the wolf mutts in the first film probably contained DNA from the tributes.)
I also watched a lot of Youtube-particularly the videos "All President Snow Scenes From The Hunger Games Movies"-posted by C J, "President Snow Pays Katniss A VisitThe Hunger Games: Catching Fire"-posted by the official The Hunger Games movie channel, "The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1-President Snow's Speech to the Districts"-posted by Mikahla, "Catching Fire-President Snow's Granddaughter Scenes"-posted by TheGirlWhoLovesMsp, and " 'I'm Not Asking'-Peeta and Snow Deleted Scene" posted by Real or Not Real News.
The name Amethyst Brightberry was generated by which is created and owned by someone named Emily.
My historical inspiration for Snow's relationship with his son and his granddaughter came from the Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo's relationship with his son Ramfis but also from George Washington's relationship with his stepson and step-granddaughter. You can read the articles "George Washington's Disappointing Stepson" ( . ) and "George Washington's Beautiful Nellie" (George Washington's Beautiful Nelly (Feb 77,Vol:28 Issue:2) for more.
Two books (besides The Hunger Games series) were my literary inspiration: The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa and Lincoln and the Bardo by George Saunders.
AI content: The idea that Aurie twists her dress when she's upset came from Perchance. A couple of lines of dialogue in this story were re-worked from AI. The exchange between Crane and Snow ("Your proposal lacks a certain bite. . .You know what's best for the games) was originally "Your proposal is... lacking. It needs a certain... bite. I'll take care of it. Trust me, I know what's best for the games." and "celebrating the games that hold our society together" was "The Hunger Games are not an object for your amusement or pity. They are the very basis of our society."