The standard quiet of the Great Hall was lacking after the “feast”, consisting of soup and bread, the next evening. Nervous chatter flung between the students like a scared rabbit, jumping from one topic to another, but all having the same roots: The Hunger Games.
Ginny only nibbled on the bread. She knew she should stock up on as much as she could, but despite the cool, confident front she was trying to put up, she was scared. Her insides were on fire, and she avidly used all the willpower she had not to flush and cry. She couldn’t show weakness in front of anyone – she couldn’t show any signs that she knew she was doomed to this fate, nor could she express any vulnerability in front of the staff or other students.
She was on her own for this one.
It was weird, really. She had never been on her own. She always had a mum, or dad, or older brother to help her. The closest thing she could compare to what she was feeling at this moment was during her first year at Hogwarts, when she “fell across” Tom Riddle’s diary. Yet that isolation was still shared with the journal – right now, she was truly on her own.
“What’s your number?” Euan asked the small group, folding his hands in front of him. He was specifically asking Ginny, his small brown eyes burning a hole into the curtain of hair Ginny left to cover her face. Yet she didn’t answer. She waited to hear the others.
“Twenty-three,” Natalie whispered, her hands gripping the table until her knuckles turned white. She had her eyes closed. “Twenty-three, including my original seven.”
Shora answered next, after a brief silence as if waiting for Ginny to jump in. “Eighteen.”
“How did you get any, Shora? You never mentioned it before.” Euan asked, sitting up straighter. He turned his eyes to face her, and Ginny let out a breath. Sometimes, Euan made things a little too intense and intimate for Ginny’s likings.
Shora shrugged, glancing down. “I helped a second year Hufflepuff girl find her way to class, and I was late, one day. That was only three, though. I got eight for giving a first year boy my food.”
Ginny glanced up and saw Natalie furrow her eyebrows. “When did you do that? And why?”
“I had some sweets tucked away in my trunk that the Peacekeeper’s didn’t take away.” Shora met Natalie’s gaze, then glanced back down to the table. “He looked so…hungry. And miserable. I couldn’t just walk by him.”
They all fell silent for a moment, not bothering to respond. If someone as kind and innocent as Shora was totaled at eighteen Demerits, there was a fighting chance for every single Hogwarts student to be chosen, obviously aside from the exempt first years…
The new twist of the “no magic” rule was a shocking one. Ginny wasn’t quite sure what that rule accomplished. Wouldn’t it be more interesting to watch students battle the brain than brawn? Battle against one another in duels rather than tearing each other limb from limb?
Ginny swallowed at the thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t. Besides, she reasoned. Twenty-four students couldn’t be let loose with magic when they had motive to try and rebel the entire act. That would be unpractical for their intensive purposes. The point was to exercise power. To show that nobody was above the power of the “Modern Magical Government.”
“What about you, Ginny?” Euan nudged her under the table, pressuring her to spill. Ginny was afraid more than words would spill if she did.
“Seventy-seven.” Ginny eventually said numbly. Not that her number mattered.
“Seventy-seven?” Euan echoed, not registering.
“Ginny, that’s nine more than yesterday!” Natalie cried out. “How did you get nine more demerits?”
“My shoe,” Ginny muttered, distracted. She tucked her hair behind her ear, accepting a hair pin from Shora. She pinned a clump away, but still didn’t meet anybody’s eyes. “I didn’t tie it so I wouldn’t be late to class.”
Ginny tuned out of their responses, instead focusing on the staff up near Umbridge’s podium. Mirth seemed to be whispering something worrying in Umbridge’s ear, because Umbridge had an uncharacteristic scowl on her brightly painted lips.
Her dress robes were a strange metallic magenta color, shimmering in the candy glow of the Great Hall. Faux glitter seemed to trail behind Umbridge, silver sparkles falling down her robes like a waterfall but never reaching the ground. Ginny was curious as to what charm could accomplish something so surprisingly beautiful, beautiful in a strange way.
Mirth did not sparkle. His dress robes were a lily pad green color, striped vertically with sun-kissed orange. An extremely strange combination that did not appeal to the eyes, his large rimmed hat and odd bright clue shoes made him quite the site to see.
Now that she paid attention, all the staff was wearing fantastically colored clothing. The Peacekeepers wore their standard black cloth, but even Flitwick was dressed up. Poor Flitwick, in a mustard yellow dress robe and pink-laced cuffs, looked anything but content. He looked miserable.
Ginny tore her eyes away from him at a new voice. “Hundred seventy-three!” a boy said loudly to her left. “And still counting!”
“Are you boasting about your number?” Romilda gasped from down the line, the first words she’d said in weeks. “You are proud of your number?”
The speaker with the high bounty on his head was a boy. Couldn’t have been older than fifteen, with a baby face and caramel colored hair and fascinating green eyes, similar looking to Harry’s. His skin was perfection, his muscles defined, despite his young looking face.
“Why not?” he retorted with a smirk. “We’re all doomed, anyway. Might as well go out in style.”
Natalie looked at him miserably, tears clouding her eyes. “Oh, Truman, you don’t mean that…”
“I do,” he said stubbornly, putting his palms on the table and raising him up a bit to make himself seem taller. “If I’m going down, I want to take as many of those Slytherin traitors with me as I can!”
Natalie laid her head on the table as if giving up, and didn’t make any motion to sit herself back straight. Nobody seemed sure what to do, and just left her. “You want to go?” Ginny asked the boy, apparently Truman, with curiosity. “You want to be in the games?”
“How couldn’t you want to be?” Truman didn’t seem taken aback, despite his words. He seemed to have rehearsed these words many times before. “Don’t you see what this world is coming to? I’d rather go out fighting for something I believe in than go out starving with no dignity left. This way, I can show them what I’m made of.”
“So you’re going to volunteer?” Ginny said these words before she could realize what she said and stop herself from saying them. Her hand reflexively covered her mouth. “I mean, er—“
“Volunteer?” Truman rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes and saying the word carefully, as if he was trying it out on his tongue. “You can volunteer?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ginny said hastily, trying to think of how she could change the subject. “It was just a whisper, really, I’m not sure—“
Truman interrupted her. “That’s just what I’ll do, then, I’ll volunteer if I’m not picked! Of course, I don’t know why I wouldn’t be, I’ve caused them so much trouble, but I’ve heard the selection is pretty random and—“
“It sounds like you know you’re going to die.” Romilda said bluntly, her face gaunt. She twisted a strand of broken hair around her finger. “Like you’re purposely going to sign a death note.”
“I guess I am, then, aren’t I?” Truman grinned devilishly, relaxing his posture. He began to say something else, but before he could, Umbridge began to speak.
“Welcome, Hogwarts Student and Staff, to the reaping of the first annual Hunger Games!”
Peacekeepers and new staff alike clapped, wolf whistling and stamping their feet as if it were some sort of party. Students were completely silent in the crowd, but Umbridge took no notice to them. She raised her arms and grinned widely, closing her eyes and basking in the applause. She opened her eyes back up, but kept her arms raised as she enthusiastically shouted, “And for many more to come!”
After the applause calmed down, so did Umbridge, lowering her piggy eyes from the Peacekeepers to the students, bringing her hands to the front of her on the podium. She looked from the left side of the room and slowly swept her eyes all the way over to the right, smiling brightly. “Mirth has given us the…honor….” She hesitated upon this word, wrinkling her nose, clearly in disagreement with whatever Mirth was providing. She continued anyway. “of a new rule! Students may volunteer to take the place of a chosen Tribute to play in the Games, granted they are volunteering for someone in the same House.”
There. Volunteer. Ginny understood why Umbridge wasn’t satisfied with this new addition. What if someone volunteered to take Ginny’s place? Wasn’t she a large example of what the Games were suppose to be about? Breaking those who are most informed?
Ginny doubted anyone that would take her place. Euan, Dennis, Natalie…they, for lack of a better word, craved each others silent company, but they would never place themselves in these Games to protect her. Not that she would want them to. All three of them, even after experiencing everything they had, were still innocent. They couldn’t compare to the horrid things Ginny had seen, what she had gone through after the battle. So many deaths in so little time, it still felt surreal to think about. Gnny sighed heavily as Umbridge stepped down from the podium to allow Mirth to step up.
“Students!” Mirth joyously called. “It is time for the Reaping of the first annual Hunger Games at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”
A Peacekeeper carried the sorting stool from the side of the stage, two Peacekeepers following him carrying the always glorious Goblet of Fire, the gems and gold finish gleaming in the dim light of the Hall. He set the stool to the left of the podium, and the Goblet was cautiously set upon it. It seemed a lot smaller than it did three years ago, when it was used for its true purpose – the Triwizard Tournament. Mirth had explained in class that the Goblet had been re-charmed to serve this specific purpose – the Hunger Games.
“I expect everyone has been keeping track of his or her accumulated demerits,” Mirth winked conspiratorially, as if it was some big secret and he was in on it. “And may I just say, may the odds be ever in your favor!”
The Peacekeepers catcalled again, and Ginny felt a shiver crawl down her spine at the new and upcoming catchphrase among the “capitol” staff of Hogwarts. Euan stifled a snort beside her, and even Natalie, who hadn’t said a word since Dennis’ death, coughed to cover a smirk.
“Now, its time for arguably one of the most exciting pre-Games activities – the Reaping!”
He makes too well of a host, Ginny thought to herself. He had the perfect amount of charm, the right dose of enthusiasm, and just enough charisma for him to seem genuine.
It was sickening.
“The Goblet of Fire has been prepped and shined, as you can tell,” he winked again. Ginny wondered if he actually had something caught in his eye as she sat up straighter, out of her slump. “I have the great honor of announcing the Tributes! Without further ado, shall we begin?”
With that, Mirth hopped down, off the podium and passed Umbridge, in front of the two Peacekeepers that seemed to be guarding the Goblet, standing a few steps behind it on their side, hands held in front of themselves with their wands at the ready. As if someone would try to destroy it. Which wasn’t such a bad idea, Ginny figured. The Goblet was a very particular, artfully crafted and carefully charmed artifact. It would be hard to recreate.
Mirth approached the Goblet giddily, a bounce in his step and his hands freely swinging. He paused, smiling around the room. He stepped a bit closer, until the blue glow of the Goblet lit his face. Ginny held her breathe.
“I believe it will go from the lowest amount of accumulated House demerits to the highest, so Hufflepuff first…” he muttered, just loud enough for the students. He focused on the Goblet with so much intensity, his eyebrows so furrowed, his stare unwavering. This happened for quite a few minutes, it seemed, without anything happening, and Ginny felt her head get dizzy. She let her breath out, just in time for a blue flash.
A paper flew up with a light puff, similarly to what happened at the Triwizard Tournament. Mirth caught the paper with ease, joyously bringing it in front of his face with a wide smile. “Our first contestant for the Hunger Games is…a seventh year, Shannon Night!”
There was a low buzz of apprehension across the Hall as Ginny held in a gasp. The black Hufflepuff that had seemed to try and prove her confidence in Modern Magical Government rose on tall, shaky legs. She was obviously scared, her body wobbling to and fro, but she tried to keep her back straight and her chin high.
“Wonderful!” Mirth chirped over the buzz. Nobody clapped, not even the Peacekeepers, however, as he called her up on stage. “Come on up, Miss Night, come on up! Follow the way right back there…” he pointed behind him, past the staffing table, toward the cranny that the Triwizard contestants were held.
As Shannon teetered up, Peacekeepers kept wands at the immediate ready, in case she tried to run. Ginny knew Shannon wouldn’t be stupid enough to run, however. She wasn’t abnormally smart, but she wasn’t abnormally stupid, either.
As she crossed the stage, looking straight ahead, Mirth caught hold of another slip of paper after the typical blue glow. “Our next Tribute is…fourth year Caddie Simmers!”
A nondescript, short, thick blonde girl stood up from close to where Shannon was sitting, not shaky as much as she seemed sharp. Her movement was brisk and pointed, very much focused on a goal: intimidating onlookers. Ginny didn’t recognize her, but she made a mental note to remember her. Even as a fourth year, this girl was not someone she wanted to reckon with.
“Lovely, lovely…next up, second year Klay Hull!”
Nobody stood from the table. “Klay Hull!” Mirth called again over the silence, trying again. Nobody stood.
Peacekeepers were instantaneously surrounding the tables, pairs marching on either side, examining every student. All too soon, a female and male Peacekeeper plucked a stubby blonde boy from the table; his head lulling and body limp as if he had passed out. Ginny wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.
They carried him to the room, the other Peacekeepers resuming their original positions surrounding the tables. Mirth laughed, “Guess we all can’t handle the pressure!” as he caught another slip, reading, “Sixth year Vega Baster!”
Vega Baster. Ginny was suddenly thrown into the battle upon hearing this name. Ginny was running down the corridor, tears and dirt streaking her eyes, flames licking at her heals. Where had this fire come from? Why was it spreading so quickly? Why was it chasing her?
She turned a sharp corner, her feet sliding alone the tile and almost skittered into a wall. The fire followed her, not continuing down the corridor but chasing her feet as if it was set after her. She was crying now, feeling stick to her stomach. Is this how she was going to die?
She turned her head to look behind her for a split second, setting sick all over the floor as she saw the fire so close to her feet, softening the rubber of the sole on her shoe. She could feel the heat.
Ginny pushed herself even faster, her sides screaming, her legs beginning to feel like someone had cursed a Jelly-Legs Jinx upon her. With glee, she finally saw the stair case – her last chance as the fire now put a noticeable hole in her shoe. She felt the heat begin to blister her skin, Ginny closed her eyes, stretching, pushing…
She was finally on the staircase. She jumped up eight steps, the heat finally leaving the hole in her foot. The heat of the fire was still warm, but it wasn’t a direct threat. It didn’t begin to spread anywhere else, simply stopped at the staircase, lighting its path without avail. Ginny began to think of paths that would get her away when she heard the scream.
It was a scream of pain, clearly, as the screech rang in her ears. There was a wallowing sound, and Ginny opened her eyes to face the worst. A dark-haired girl was caught in the flames, the fire climbing up her sides vicariously, eating this girl instead of Ginny. The pain the girl was in sounded excruciating, the screams consistent and piercing louder with each growing second.
Ginny hesitated only a split second before charging toward the girl, shouting “Aguamenti!”
The spell didn’t help Ginny put the fire out as it chased her before, but it did seem to slow the fire’s growth on the girl as Ginny, never pausing her run, grabbed the girls arm and dragged her up to the stair case. Ginny’s foot was exploding with pain, lugging the girl up and out, keeping the stream of water consistently on her.
It took time, but the fire eventually faded – it didn’t go out, but faded. This magical fire was incredibly powerful, Ginny noticed. A strong spell that could only be cast by someone with too much dark power than his or her own good.
Ginny laid the girls on the steps, careful that she wouldn’t slip. Her breathing was heavy, breaths broken with fear and pain. While the fire didn’t seem to make it directly to her skin, it had charred much of her uniform and got to her uncovered ankles, leaving angry green welts in her skin. Ginny racked her brain for healing spells as the girls eyes flew open.
Through her heavy breathing, the girl managed a choppy, “Thank you,” pausing for a breath. “Thank you, Ginny Weasly.”
Ginny knew it wasn’t the time for conversation, the girl was far from capable of holding one, but the fact that this girl knew her name surprised her enough to ask. “Do I know you?’
“No,” her breathing was growing fainter. Ginny’s heart pounded. “Vega Baster. Now you do. Please, Ginny Weasley, help me.”
Ginny’s eyes zeroed back in, Vega’s name echoing in her mind as Euan put his hand on her thigh. Ginny wiggled away, caught off guard. He flinched away, blushing slightly and clearly uncomfortable with her rejection.
“You seemed out of it,” he whispered, apologizing, scooting away from her.
“No, thanks.” Ginny thanked hastily. “Who did I miss?”
“Peter McNeely, a sixth year, and a second year, Aiden Carter.” He furrowed his eyebrows similarly to Mirth, except the frown on his face showed his frustration. “Why wouldn’t anyone volunteer for the second years? They’re only twelve!”
“So what, you’ll volunteer for any second year called?” Natalie snapped, bringing a finger to her mouth. “Shh! He’s about to do the Slytherins!”
Ginny brought her attention forward, as did Euan, not bothering to snap back at Natalie. Everyone was on edge, and Ginny didn’t blame her for snapping a bit. Even Ginny felt her temper boiling.
“Fourth year, Jerem—“
“—I volunteer!” a thick, brown haired, muscly boy leapt up, jogging onto the stage.
“Woah, woah, there!” Mirth laughed, a pleased smile in his eyes. He motioned for the boy to come over next to him, beside the Goblet. “Introduce yourself, lad!”
The boy obliged, making his way over eagerly. “Hunter Gemming, sixth year.” He tipped his head forward. “I’m all over this.”
Mirth patted him on the shoulder. “Well done, Mister Gemming! Make your way back!” Mirth already had the other slip in his hand, and announced, “Lasceter Void, grade seve—“
“—don’t anyone volunteer,” a cool voice said with easy authority. “This is mine.”
Ginny blanched as the blonde boy from the train that she had punched stood up. He had no evidence of the attack, and he looked even more intimidating sauntering toward the stage with a laid back confidence. She had completely forgot about the encounter with him, with so much going on.
Now she understood by what he meant about not getting on his bad side. Clearly, he was in it to win it. He was ready to kill. And she was now at the top of his list. Ginny tried not to groan. Would it have killed her to play nice that day?
She thought about it for a second. Yes, it would have killed her. She wouldn’t have seen him as much of a threat as she did right now.
“Third year, Sarah Blanch!” Mirth interrupted her thoughts.
“I volunteer,” a female voice called, not waiting for the girl to accept her place. A girl with sleek brunette hair, tied on top of her head, stood up. Her features were very sharp, her body very slender. She walked with firm grace – not the grace of a dancer, that seemed delicate, but grace that comes from agility, and speed. Like a vampire.
She didn’t bother to meet Mirth at the cup, instead calling behind her shoulder, “Blaze Milling. Remember me.”
Mirth chuckled in an admonishing manner, like a parent. Yet contradictorily, he said, “Such confidence these Slytherins have! We’ll see you in the arena, Beautrice.”
She paused her steps for only a moment, not looking behind her as she corrected, “Blaze.” In a flat tone and followed her way back.
Mirth chuckled again, then turned to the slip of paper in his hand. “Jonah Lewis?”
It seemed Mirth predicted this volunteer, since he didn’t mention Jonah’s year. He predicted correctly, however, when a seventh year named Mark Tupper volunteered his place.
“Presley Taylor?” Mirth tried again, but was not rewarded with a volunteer this time. Apparently, the females were a slight bit more skittish than the males – besides that Blaze, of course. “Wonderful, Presley Taylor, year seven!”
The girl that intimidated Ginny so much on the Quidditch field quietly found her place behind the curtain, not giving away whether or not she was okay with being drawn as Tribute. She left with a light swish behind the curtain, heard in te dead silence aside form her footsteps.
“Well! Last Slytherin Tribute will be a female…” Mirth caught the slip. “Second year, Gemma Stone!”
Ginny felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Not Gemma. They had to be kidding. Someone would take her place, of course. Someone would volunteer to take this twelve-year-old girls’ place. She wouldn’t last five minutes in such a place. The Hunger Games were not made for girls like Gemma.
Yet nobody did. Gemma seemed as shell-shocked by this as Ginny did. She stood on jelly-like legs, grasping the table with white knuckles to keep from falling. “Come on up, Gemma!”
Ginny watched Gemma close her eyes and take a few calming breaths, still counting on the table to hold her weight for a few moments as she collected herself. She stood up as a Peacekeeper made an advance toward her.
Gemma slowly walked up to the stage, passing the staff with her eyes trained down. Her shoulders bounced up, and Ginny was sure she was trying to stifle a sob.
“Lets move onto the Ravenclaws, shall we?” Mirth smiled, either oblivious or uncaring to the girls terror. He waved the slip of paper in his fingers. “First up is Samuel Blue, year sixth!”
Ginny didn’t pay any attention to the Ravenclaws. She was still focused on Gemma. Clearly, she would take her under her wing. That would weigh her down, however – Gemma seemed as able to adapt to survival mode as much as a dragon could be domesticated and kept as a pet. Not that Hagrid didn’t try, of course…
Ginny would try. And not just because she promised West she would watch over Gemma, but simply because the Games were unfair. A twelve year old didn’t belong in this position, even more so than anyone else.
She wondered how she would be able to win this with Gemma tagging along. No, not just tagging along, but using supplies Ginny was sure to need for herself, ones that she were sure would be a rarity…
Euan’s hand was on her thigh again, but it was a firm grip this time, enough to make Ginny cry out in a slight, “Ow! Euan!”
“Ginny.” She looked into Euan’s eyes, which were wide with fear. What of? She couldn’t have missed that much of the Reaping while she tuned out. They couldn’t have called her name yet, could they have?
Confused, Ginny looked up toward the Ravenclaw table, fast enough to see a flash of silver hair and raddish earrings as they disappeared behind the curtain. Without thinking, Ginny shouted, “I volunteer!”
Mirth seemed to be int eh middle of announcing the enxt name, though, because he looked just as surprised at Ginny’s interruption. “Miss Weasley, you know you can’t volunteer for those outside of your House!” he laughed lightly, except there was en edge under his tone. What was he afraid of? Ginny didn’t have time to wonder.
So she would have to watch over Gemma and Luna, now…
Tears stung Ginny’s eyes. This wasn’t okay. This really wasn’t okay.
“As I was saying…” Mirth cleared his throat. “Oliver Bleak, fifth year!”
“Who else did I miss?” Ginny demanded, looking at Euan with ferocity in her eyes. Who else in Ravenclaw did she care about? Who else would she have to protect?
He didn’t answer, though, because there was a sudden strangle cry of “I volunteer!” from the Ravenclaw section. Ginny couldn’t believe it. That Rolf Scamander, Luna’s boyfriend, stood up, chasing after her. Gemma. Luna. Rolf. She could only help so many people.
Ginny looked at Euan, frustrated. She didn’t mean to take it out on him, but he was the closest. “Who else?”
Euan looked alarmed. “Just a third year boy named Briar Westmore and a fourth year girl, Kendall Frush!”
Ginny snorted as he said “just”. There was no “just” in the Hunger Games. There seemed to always be another rule, another twist, another surprise. No justification for what these people were about to force the students to do.
Mirth didn’t get a chance to announce the next and alst female Ravenclaw, because the indian foreign exchange student that Luna befriended volunteered herself. Ginny choked. Why would she do that? Ginny didn’t wasn’t actually too bother by her adding to the numbers – Suruchi seemed sure of herself, and seemed competent. Not that Luna wasn’t, even Rolf, but honestly, Luna didn’t seem to possess traits that would make her survival skills too sharp. Suruchi, on the other hand, could be a help.
Ginny began to worry about her numbers, though. They could only travel in a pack so big without attracting so much attention.
Mirth smoothly continued to the Gryffindors, not paying attention to the drama that just unfolded before the Great Hall. “The first Gryffindor Tribute is fifth year Reed Valley!”
An unrecognizable boy sauntered to the room, not giving any words or motions that signified his emotions in any way. Mirth didn’t bother with commentary, instead moving onto the next name. Ginny held her breath. Was this it? Euan tensed beside her, she watched Natalie pale.
“Fifth year Truman Bow!”
That boy that was so proud of his number stood shakily. For being so confident, the boy clearly did not expect to actually be called. The odds, apparently, were not in his favor as he walked past. He didn’t seem to be crying, but he was shaking. He wasn’t smiling, and in fact looked a little green, as if he might get sick. Surely, Ginny would be joining him next.
“Fourth year Tink Bell!”
Tink bell? Like Tinker Bell? Ginny wanted to volunteer, since she knew her fate already, and save this fourth year, but she was too shocked to answer. She must had been a Muggle-born. Harry hold told her about a little fairy named Tinker Bell once. Ginny almost fought a smile at the memory. Once she watched the small black girl walk past the curtain, though, pulling her back to reality, Mirth was already calling the next name. “Seventh year, Christian Jacob Power!”
Ginny felt a bit sick to her stomach. Her and “Christian Jacob” – Cj, he preferred – often studied together. He was a funny boy, surprisingly strong despite his lanky body, but also a bit of a loner. He was nice, but quiet, and usually preferred to do things on his own. He was also exceptionally smart – which is the reason Ginny began studying with him in the first place. He had been tutoring her in History of Magic since their third year at Hogwarts.
“Jade Song, second year!”
Ginny bit back the words she was about to say and did a quick count on her fingers. There was only one spot left. Was it possible she actually wasn’t going to get called? Did she have a fighting chance of getting through the Reaping safely?
After all, it was exceptionally difficult to fool the Goblet of Fire. How could it be rigged to pull her name? She was sure they could, seeing as they had re-charmed the Goblet anyway, but she wasn’t one hundred percent positive she was doomed to be a player at this point. Could her gut be wrong? Could West? How did he know, anyway? Perhaps he was mistaken, or heard a weird rumor about her…Ginny was wrapped in these thoughts, trying to justify the fact that she wouldn’t be called, as Mirth spoke his next words.
Mirth didn’t even look at the slip, but crinkled it in his hand, pocketing yet. Ginny’s heart stopped thumping and sank to her stomach. That’s how he rigged it.
He lied.
“The last Tribute for the first annual Hunger Games is seventh year, Ginny Weasley!”