hope | c. snow

1

Highbottom cleared his throat and began to speak. "Select students, faculty, and of course, Doctor Gaul. I have summoned you all here today for the 10th Annual Reaping Ceremony, in which we choose two children from each District to throw into the Capitol Arena to fight to the death in the Hunger Games."

"I can't believe they still allow him to speak in public," Clemensia snarked beside him.

Coriolanus didn't answer, but he had to agree. The man was clearly not in his right mind. Anyone could tell that as Highbottom began to walk to the front of the podium, clearly high on morphling.

"And here sit, our own 24 top prospects all waiting to hear the results, hard stacked in this prestigious institution, eager to learn who's won that Plinth Prize, no doubt," said the man, eyeing Coriolanus. He didn't like the look the man gave him. "An a golden future. However, I am here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth."

Moon was right.

There wasn't going to be a prize today.

Coriolanus barely managed to keep himself from revealing any sort of emotion about that news. He kept his face calm and stoic.

He couldn't let others know.

"Disappointed, Snow?" a deep voice whispered.

Coriolanus jerked his head back to see Gahel looking down at him from the seat behind him with a proud look.

"I don't know what you're referring to," Coriolanus bit out.

Gahel shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"Now, as the esteemed citizens of the Capitol have grown bored of the Games and simply aren't watching anymore," said Highbottom, "and if the Games are to continue at all, there must be an audience. So, Headgamemaker Gaul has stepped in to ... incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth Prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades."

"Excuse me?" Arachne snapped.

A commotion began to rise, but Highbottom continued anyway.

"But by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games," Highbottom finished as he walked over to Arachne. He looked at her straight in the eye. "This is a brand new role. As the Reaping progresses live, I will allocate each district tribute to a Capitol mentor behind the scenes,  one who must ... just persuade them to perform for the cameras."

"Obviously, the best mentor would be whose tribute wins the Games," Festus spat out.

"What if I get a pathetic runt girl from one of the poorer districts like 8 or 12? They're just going to die in the first two minutes like they did last year and the year before," Arachne protested.

"Your role," Highbottom said, "is to turn these children into spectacles, Ms. Crane. Not survivors. Victory in the Games is only one of our considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project." Highbottom turned, before facing the 24 students once more. "Oh, and I must tell you that anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage .." he chuckled. "Will just have no future at all."

Then the familiar Panem anthem sounded, and Highbottom rushed away, muttering about how the Reaping was starting.

The man sat on the floor, and the other students looked down at the man in disgust, except for Sejanus, who only seemed confused as to why he chose the floor instead of his seat amongst other professors.

And soon, the Reapings started, with the two screens on the left and right each showing the male and female tributes from each District and their name plastered on the bottom like a banner.

"District 1 boy goes to Livia Cardew," said Highbottom, pulling out a reading glass from his pocket.

Then the name-calling began to start.

The District 1 girl went to Palmyra Monty, then the District 2 boy to Sejanus.

Sejanus' face became dark as soon as his name was called, and Coriolanus could easily guess that the boy on the screen was probably a person Sejanus knew.

But that didn't matter at this moment.

He needed someone that he could actually try and win the Games with. He didn't have the time to spare Sejanus a second thought when he needed to see who he would be mentoring in the upcoming days.

If he got someone from the lower districts like 12 or 8, he would be doomed, and there would be absolutely no chance of him winning the Plinth Prize.

But 3 passed, then 4, and when 5 and 6 also passed by without his name being called, Coriolanus knew that he wouldn't be getting any from the upper districts.

Although he hoped for the best in this lottery, it seemed that his luck wasn't there for it.

Coriolanus just hoped at that moment that at least he wouldn't get 8 or 12.

If he got either of the two, there was no chance of winning at all. They were underfed and the kids didn't know how to do anything, as they weren't able to work until they were past Reaping Age. Everyone knew that.

But if it was any comfort, he hadn't heard Gahel's name yet, and when he spared a glance at the taller boy, he noticed that he didn't even bother to cover his angry face. His dark eyes glared daggers into the back of Highbottom's head, and his fist was clenched on top of his lap.

Then when 7 came by, Gahel Moon's name was finally called.

"The Seven girl goes to ... Gunwoo Moon," said Highbottom.

Gunwoo?

No, Gahel's full name was Galahad, not Gunwoo, but Gahel seemed to recognize it and sneered at the older man. "It's Gahel."

Highbottom ignored him promptly and proceeded reading off names, to which Gahel stuck up a middle finger, receiving gasps from the audience. But Coriolanus knew that unlike him, Gahel would most likely not receive any criticism for that because of his family background and the funds his family was spilling into the Academy.

So Coriolanus didn't care about him. All he cared about was the fact that he was not included.

And when even Eleven had passed without his name being mentioned even once, Coriolanus knew.

He was getting Twelve.

His beliefs were only confirmed when Highbottom lastly called on Coriolanus's name when the District 12 Reaping started.

"For the 12 boy, Lysistrata Vickers, and you'll like this ... 12 girl goes to Coriolanus Snow."

Highbottom's dark eyes met Coriolanus's, and he knew at that exact moment that the founder of the Hunger Games personally hated him, for the better or worse.