Hello, everyone! It's summer, and y'know what that means? No more blaming school and homework for me procrastinating on writing? Hell yeah! Anyway, I'm not going to bore you with too much talk at the beginning of this; I'll leave the small talk for the end. All you need to know about this fic right now: Romione, Hunger Games, drama. Now that you're excited, I'll see you on the other side!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or Harry Potter. If I did, I'd obviously be making this all canon. Somehow.

Chapter One

Ron's POV

Through the compartment window the world speeds past, so fast that I can only make out the blur of sun-heated rock and sand. The train's whistle sounds from somewhere far away, but its screech is almost hidden beneath the everlasting chugging and thumping of the wheels. There are footsteps echoing through nearby compartments and the faint buzz of human voices, but otherwise the atmosphere remains; repeating in a constant metronome-like fashion.

Maybe it's the rhythm that's keeping me so calm – the sheer simplicity of it comforting me in my first moments of death. Well, maybe not death entirely, but as far as I'm concerned it may as well be the beginning of the end, a more poetic person might call it. But I'm not poetic, and I know, from the bottom of my heart, that I am going to die.

Okay, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. Technically I always had a mark on me; raised by a farmer who was waiting for just the right time to harvest me. But today is the day it all comes into perspective – I am, in fact, going to die, and soon. There is no easier way to put it, so I don't bother trying.

A rap on my door pulls my attention away from the window. "Dinner in five minutes," comes the voice of my escort – a mousy little man named Peter Pettigrew. "Don't be late."

I grunt my acknowledgment, not really caring if he hears or not. The landscape that has been consoling me outside is shifting. The rock formations are becoming smaller and patches of drying grass larger. The change makes my stomach clench. I stand up and start to pace anxiously. Bloody hell, pull yourself together! I tell myself as I feel my hands beginning to tremble. You knew this was going to happen – you volunteered for Merlin's sake! Just suck it up and get your arse out there before Crouch comes in to get you himself.

Taking a deep breath, I gather my composure and exit my compartment, heading a few cars down to where the delicious smell of a cooked meal is wafting from. When I enter, I find that I'm the last to arrive.

My mentor smiles at me in a way that most people wouldn't quite consider a smile, but that I've learned to recognize from countless days of training. "Decided to join us?" he says. His brow is crooked, giving him an almost challenging sort of aura. It would seem that I've caught him in one of his better moods.

"You know me, never one to miss out on food," I say with a smirk as I take my seat between him and Lavender Brown - my female counterpart. She giggles, but that means nothing. She giggles at everything.

"So, do you two know your strategies?" Crouch asks, and Lavender actually laughs out loud.

Everything.

"Of course, Barty!" she exclaims, smiling past me. "We get in there, and we win."

"I think he meant the finer details," I mutter around a spoonful of some thick, creamy soup. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it sure is delicious.

"Oh." Lavender hesitates for a moment. "We haven't discussed that yet."

"And that's what we're here to talk about!" Lavender's mentor - Rita Skeeter - exclaims. She has an odd sneer across her face that I know accompanies a plan. "We need to find the best strategies to show the sponsors you're better than everyone else!"

"And to give them a reason to support you," Barty adds. "This is serious business - the sort of thing that could determine your life or death in the arena. We either do a good job now or pay for it later."

"I think I'll take a frivolous approach," Lavender says, and I almost choke on my soup from trying not to laugh. "That way I can surprise them later on just when they're starting to realize."

Rita praises her but I hear Barty mumble something along the lines of "Shouldn't be too hard to pull off". He takes a roll from the bread basket and slices it in two before speaking. "What about you, Ron? Ideas?"

"I've been thinking," I say - that's not a lie - "but I haven't come up with anything." That's the lie; I know exactly what I'm going to do. As everyone expects, I'm going to take my rightful place in the snobby, sneaky brats known as the 'careers'. I will hang out with them and pretend to play tough guy until I reach my final, grotesque fate.

"Well, you'll need to think of something, and quick," Barty growls as he indifferently butters his roll. "The tribute parade is coming up and we want a start on figuring out how you're going to present yourself."

"I will," I promise him, returning my full, undivided attention to my meal. I hear Lavender beginning to drone on in the background but ignore her. I'll worry about parades and costumes and presenting myself later because, right now, all I really want to do is get a cup of that hot cocoa from the other side of the table.

/

A few hours pass. I sit, unwillingly, on a couch. I am seated with Barty, Rita, Lavender, and Peter in front of the television as we watch the recap of the different reapings from earlier today. So far we're up to District 4 and, from what I can tell, this is going to be an interesting year. There's a scrawny kid named after a constellation and a girl with a weird name from 1 and a thin guy with glasses with a part-Veela from 4. In all honesty, the tributes from 3 looked like they would last longer, but hey, who knows? There's a pretty solid chance that none of us will win anyway.

District 5 presents us with a teary-eyed boy with baby fat and a frail-looking blonde girl. "Dead by the bloodbath!" Rita cries, and I try not to pay attention. Every minute I spend with these people is making me feel more and more negative; something I didn't know could be achieved right now, considering where I'm headed.

6 is better, but only a little bit. This time the tributes are stronger and slightly healthy-looking, but the girl bursts into tears the moment she's on the stage and the boy just looks as though he received a recent blow to the head. Well, you can't really blame him…

I am just considering a possible list of ways to get myself out of watching the rest of the recaps when the feed turns to District 7. As I see the town square, I can't help but be amazed. It's so… green. Not like your everyday yellow-green grass as it dies in the noon heat, but strong, healthy green. Beyond the square, on the horizon, are trees - stretching out as far as the eye can see, all this spectacular new shade of color I'd never quite believe unless I saw it in real life.

But, just as I'm staring intently at the screen, the shot changes. The camera is now panned in on a girl, and I realize she must've been called. My attention recedes slightly, only to return to its state of heightened alertness. At first I can't understand what's so interesting about this girl until I realize - it's the way she's behaving.

In my 18 years of watching the Hunger Games, I have seen a lot of different reactions. Crying, trying not to cry, panicking, boasting, smirking, and almost anything in between. But her reaction is different; something I've rarely seen before. Her eyes are wide but she's not crying. Her face is shocked but not defeated. As she takes her spot on the stage and the suddenness of the moment begins to wear off, her face turns stony and impassive; determined. She holds herself up straight as the escort steps forward to choose a boy and I realize what it is that caught my attention.

Hope.

Not the arrogant, beaming hope of a career, but a silent, warm hope. It's like the kind of hope your parents give you when you tell them they're scared of the monster under the bed, and they check for you and tuck you in nice and tight before kissing your forehead and turning on the night light. It's a reassurance that, no matter what, you'll be alright.

But this girl was just chosen to fight to the death in an arena with 23 other teenagers - why on earth is she feeling hopeful?

I lose sight of her as the camera turns to a brawny, brutish boy that looks as though he could squash my head like a grape. Scowling softly, the boy goes up to join the girl up on the stage, moving in a manner that would indicate that all his body parts are made of sticks.

They show a shot of the girl, boy, and escort as the escort says some last words. My eyes flick curiously to look at the girl, wondering how she's coping after she's had a moment to realize what's about to happen to her. I'm not sure if I'm surprised to see her standing there, stiff as a board, staring straight ahead with an air of great stubbornness. Being a person possessing great stubborn abilities myself, I can't help but appreciate the gut she must have to be pulling this off. She's already trying to win this thing, I realize, and I feel a brief flash of sympathy, quickly followed by pity. All that… and she's probably going to die.

District 8 appears on the screen in a sudden change of hue, leaving me blinking rapidly as I gaze into the dry, dead green spectrum colors that are often associated with cornfields.

The rest of the program drags on, slowly and painfully as more innocent children are sentenced to death. Some of them handle it better than others (like a dreamy sort of girl from 8) while others react as badly as you would expect (the boy from 12). When it is finally over, I waste no time before excusing myself and retiring to my bedroom.

I put on a pair of pajamas I find in my dresser and lay down in my bed, doing my best to ignore the constant moving and shaking of the train. I quickly grow irritated as I toss and turn, knowing desperately that I will need my sleep but unable to get comfortable enough to relax.

As I wait for sleep, I can't help but think of all the other tributes that got called today. Where are they now? Are they having trouble sleeping as well? What about that girl - the one from District 7. I'm having trouble imagining her - all I can seem to remember is her expressionless face and brown eyes. Somehow the thought of her sternly powerful gaze helps me to relax; the sheer force of her hope almost making me feel hopeful as well.

That's stupid, I think lazily, just as my consciousness is starting to slip away. I already know it's a lost cause. I'm not going to go and get myself all worked up just because some girl I don't know from a district I don't come from doesn't want to give up.

Because right now, I know what's going to happen, and I'm fine with it. But if these are going to be my last two weeks alive, I'm sure as hell not going to waste them making myself believe that I have the slightest chance of being the unfortunate soul to make it out alive.

Unless you haven't guessed, this is going to be you typical, drawn-out, angsty Hunger Games romance. Hoping to add some good character development in there somewhere; not sure how that's going yet as I'm only on Chapter 7 myself. I like to keep a few chapters between myself and the update.

Anyway I'd like to give a quick shout out to my girlfriend at this moment – I'm not sure if she'll ever read this, but to all of you who have she is one of the people that gets me off my ass and inspires me to write. She's an aspiring author and is the most wonderful person ever so feel free to thank her when you go to write a review!

Speaking of such, please feel free to favorite this story/leave a comment; the commitment I'm trying to make this summer is big and intimidating and knowing that someone's day has benefited from a chapter I wrote is the most wonderful way to help me give you constant updates! I love you guys so help me help you out!

Anyway it is late and I have no idea what to do for Chapter 7 so I should probably go brainstorm. I'll probably be updating in a few days or so; so until then, have a nice day! I'll be back soon with more sappily-written multi-chapter goodness!