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Harry Potter couldn’t wait to return to Hogwarts. He’d spent most of the summer cooped up all alone in Privet Drive with the Dursleys, trying to keep up with the magical world and possible news relating to the return of Lord Voldemort. As the summer reached its peak, he’d been attacked by two rogue dementors — large, hooded and monstrous creatures living off people's happiness. Harry had had the misfortune of meeting dementors two years priorly when they’d been stationed at Hogwarts while searching for his godfather Sirius Black, who most wizards and witches believed to be a murderer. Harry, and his cousin Dudley who’d also been present, had only barely managed to escape with their lives. Then, after narrowly escaping death, and getting the news that he’d have to attend a hearing for the use of underage magic in the presence of a muggle, possibly leading to expulsion from Hogwarts, he’d been transported to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Luckily for Harry, the hearing had gone well and he’d been cleared of all charges. All in all, he should be happy. But he wasn’t. Instead he felt miserable.

Harry looked up from the plate in his hand to the banner hanging over the heavily laden dinner table:

CONGRATULATIONS

RON AND HERMIONE

NEW PREFECTS

He knew he was being ridiculous, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the thought out of his head — it should have been him with that prefect badge, not Ron. A couple of minutes ago, when Sirius had told him that his father hadn’t been a prefect either, the party had seemed way more enjoyable. But then he’d overheard Kingsley and Lupin speculating about why he wasn’t made prefect, and it all came crashing down again. 

“You alright, Potter?” grunted Moody, who was sitting nearby, sniffing a chicken leg.

“Yeah, fine,” lied Harry. 

Moody looked appraisingly at him with the electric blue, magical eye, before taking a swig from his hipflask. “Come here, I’ve got something that might interest you,” he said.

Out of an inside pocket of his jacket, Moody pulled a tattered old wizarding photograph.

“Original Order of the Phoenix,” growled Moody. “I found it last night when I was looking for my spare Invisibility Cloak, since Podmore hasn’t had the manners to return my best one…thought people might like to see it.”

But what Moody evidently considered to be a treat, instead had the opposite effect on Harry. Seeing all of those people in the photograph, so alive and well — his parents included — and hearing Moody casually describing many of their dismal fates, made his uncomfortable stomach clench. Harry tried to grin, but his face felt somewhat numb. He tried to look for a chance to escape, which came when Sirius leaned over to study the photograph.

Quickly he made his way out of the basement and up the stairs. All he wanted was to be alone. Harry tip-toed up the stairs, passing the stuffed elf heads, breathing a sigh of relief to be alone again. It was funny, really. He’d spent all summer wishing to be amongst the people he cherished the most, wishing to be in the midst of the Anti-Voldemort movement. But now, all he wished for was to be alone. But as he approached the first landing he heard noises. Someone was sobbing in the drawing room.

“Hello?” Harry said.

The sobbing continued. Harry continued upwards with haste and opened the drawing room door. Mrs Weasley was cowering against the wall, her wand held out pointing at a figure laying on the ground. Harry felt the air leave his body. It was Ron. A very pale, and clearly dead, Ron. His mind raced. But this couldn’t be, he’d seen Ron mere minutes ago, downstairs, showing off his new broomstick. 

“Mrs Weasley?" croaked Harry.

Mrs Weasley brandished her wand at her dead son, all the while sobbing hard.

“R–r–riddikulus!”  

There was a loud crack , and the dead Ron turned into a dead Bill. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder and brandished her wand over and over again. 

“No… riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS, RIDDIKULUS!”

Every swipe of her wand brought new cracks and new dead people. As he saw himself laying beneath his own feet, he felt himself snap out of a daze. Just as he was about to grab Mrs Weasley, help arrived. Lupin, Sirius and Moody burst into the room. Lupin understanding the situation immediately, pointed his wand at the dead Harry and shouted:

“Riddikulus!”

With a puff the Boggart portraying a dead Harry turned into a silver moon. Lupin waved his wand impatiently and the silver object disappeared.

It took quite a while to calm down Mrs Weasley, who continued to sob for another few minutes. But when she calmed down, with the help of soothing words from Lupin and Sirius, she agreed that she was being silly. But Harry on the other hand thought, as he closed the door to his room minutes later, that Mrs Weasley wasn’t being silly. He remembered the people on the photograph, so full of life, but unaware that their lives would come to a brutal end.

As he laid down on his bed, his scar prickled. Harry winced. He looked up into the roof of his and Ron’s bedroom. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembered that an hour ago he was jealous over a prefect badge. But it all seemed so far away now. Harry closed his eyes, the woes of Mrs Weasley swimming before his eyes as sleep took him.

—

Harry awoke with a jolt and looked around. The darkness of the room and Ron’s snores told him that it was most likely in the middle of the night. He felt thirsty. He grabbed the jug on the bedside table, but found it empty. Harry sighed and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. But just as he was about to go back to sleep, he heard voices. Curiosity filled him. Slowly, he rose from the bed, put on his glasses and tip-toed towards the door. 

He winced as the door opened with a creek. Whoever was downstairs however, seemed to be too deep in conversation to notice.

“Harry,” said a whispered yawn from behind. “What are you doing? It's the middle of the night.”

Harry’s heart jumped in fright. He spun around to face the figure of Ron, who was sitting up in his bed, absentmindedly rubbing his eyes. 

“Someone’s downstairs,” said Harry letting out a sigh of relief. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Who is it?” asked Ron, now rapt awake, rising from the bed and slowly moving towards the door to sit beside Harry. 

“I don’t know,” said Harry, slowly stepping out of the door, mentioning for Ron to follow. “Let’s find out!”

The pair of them crept towards the stairs. The voices downstairs were quiet and muted. Ron swore under his breath.

“If only we had some extendable ears…”

“Do my ears deceive me, George?” said a whisper from above them on the stairs. “The prefect wants an extendable ear…”

Harry and Ron almost fell over in shock. Perched a few steps above them on the stairwell was Fred and George. In their eagerness to get close to the stairs, they’d completely forgotten to check their surroundings. The pair grinned at them from above and motioned towards a pair of extendable ears in their hands and then back at Harry and Ron.

“Well…do you want a pair or not?” said George in a whisper, while Fred inserted part of the string attached to his own extendable ear into his ear. “Come on, we don’t have all day. They’ve already been talking for a while”. 

Harry, with his heart still pounding from the scare, nodded and reached out towards George who put two extendable ears in the palm of his hand. He gave one of them to Ron, before slowly lowering his own ear down towards the ground floor — down towards the hushed voices. Slowly but surely the voices got clearer, until it sounded like Harry was standing right behind them. 

“...and they found him just a few hours ago?” came the rough voice of Sirius. “Do they have any suspects?”

“According to Dumbledore, no,” responded Mr Weasley. “It says here in this letter that the American Ministry of Magic got called to Ilvermorny this evening, when the deputy headmistress stumbled across the crime scene. As of right now, the culprit is still on the loose. 

“And Dumbledore’s sure that he’s been murdered?” asked Mrs Weasley cautiously.

“The Americans seem to think so,” said Mr Weasley tiredly. “But all of this is terribly strange. Why him, and why now? You Know Who has been laying low, letting the ministry bring about its own downfall. Murdering a member of the International Confederation of Wizards is a huge risk. It is bound to attract unwanted attention.”

There was a pause in which Harry, Ron, Fred and George looked at each other, mingled confusion on their faces. Who was Mr Weasley talking about? 

“What will happen to the students?” whispered Mrs Weasley. “Surely the school can’t stay open with the headmaster murdered?”

“No, no,” said Lupin, speaking for the first time. “Dumbledore writes that the school will be closed until the investigation finishes. Most students will be taught privately until the case is closed. However, a couple of them will come here.”

“Here? To Hogwarts?” asked Sirus in surprise. “Why?”

“It seems like parts of their family lives in Britain,” said Mr Weasley, playing with the letter in his hand. “Dumbledore writes that they seem to think it is safer to have their sons and daughters closeby, than for them to stay alone in the states.”

“Well, you can’t really argue with that, can you?” said Sirius after a moment of silence. “When will they arrive? Tonight?”

“I have no idea,” responded Mr Weasley tiredly. “Dumbledore doesn’t say.” 

“What about the ministry, Arthur?” asked Mrs Weasley. “Surely, they can’t keep this quiet?”

Mr Weasley sighed deeply. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried. As we know, Fudge doesn’t want anything to be published in the papers that support Harry and Dumbledore. On the other hand, not publishing news about it would seem suspicious. It is bound to get out even if they try to hide it, and when it does Fudge would face major criticism.”

There was another pause. Harry felt his heart pound loudly in his chest. Someone, no, the headmaster of an american wizarding school called Ilvermorny seemed to have been murdered. Morbid curiosity hit him like a truck. Who was this wizard and why had he been murdered? Who had done it? Were they followers of Voldemort? He also thought about what Lupin had said. The school would shut down. He thought back to the events that had transpired three years earlier — the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Hogwarts had been close to shutting its doors then, but narrowly avoided it. He remembered how hopeless everything had felt and could only imagine that many of the American students felt the same way. So many of them would be leaving the place they called home, setting out on an uncharted path. A path he knew that he himself would have been absolutely miserable taking. 

“Well, I’m off to bed,” said Mr Weasley with a yawn, cutting through the silence that had emerged. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Hopefully by then, we’ll have some more information. Good night to you all.”

There was a shuffle of feet as the small group below broke apart. Reality returned to Harry. Quickly he fished up the ear and hastily motioned towards Ron, Fred and George. 

“Hurry! They are going to come up this way,” whispered Harry. “We can’t stay here or we’ll get caught. “Go, go!”

Quietly, Harry and Ron crept back into their room and closed the door. Just mere moments later he could hear the footsteps of Mr and Mrs Weasley pass outside. They practically dove into their beds and swept the covers over themselves. For a moment they stayed quiet, listening to see if Mrs Weasley hovered outside the door, looking to see if they were really asleep. When nothing seemed amiss however, Ron broke the silence.

“So what do you reckon? Is You Know Who behind this?”

Harry looked up into the ceiling and collected his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what to think. It seemed unlikely that Voldemort himself was the one who’d murdered the headmaster of Ilvermorny. On the other hand, who else could it be? Who else but Voldemort would want someone — proposedly a powerful wizard in the International Confederation of Wizards — dead?

“I don’t know,” said Harry honestly. “But I think your dad has a point. Voldemort has been laying low, letting the ministry’s incompetence and fear of Dumbledore cover his return. If that’s his goal, why gamble?”

There was a moment of silence before Ron, conspiratorially lowered his voice into a whisper.

“You…haven’t felt something, Harry? In your scar?”

He thought back to hours earlier when his scar had prickled. 

“Actually, I have,” mumbled Harry. “Just before I went to bed.”

Ron sat up straight, but Harry shook his head before Ron could even finish formulating the question he was preparing to ask.

“It had nothing to do with this.”

Ron looked surprised, but didn’t press the issue. Another silence fell between them, as both pulled the covers over themselves. As Harry began to close his eyes, trying to make himself fall asleep, Ron spoke again:

“Poor blokes… Imagine having your school shut down, because someone got murdered. I don’t know what I would do if that happened to me.”

Harry didn’t answer. 

—

Next morning was so hectic that neither Harry or Ron had a chance to tell Hermione what they had overheard during the previous night. Mrs Weasley had been her usual, stressed self, running around Grimmauld Place trying to make sure that everything was packed and ready to go. Her mood had not been improved by Fred and George sending their trunks flying down the stairs and hitting Ginny as a result, causing her to fall down two flights of stairs. To add to the already stressful situation, Sturgis Podmore who was supposed to see them all off to Platform 9¾, hadn’t arrived, which meant that Sirius, to Mrs Weasley’s utmost dismay had self-selected himself into the group heading to see Harry, Hermione and the Weasley children off. 

As they made their way into London on foot, both Harry and Ron kept sending each other glances. They both knew that Hermione would find the news about the murdered headmaster just as complex and interesting as they had. After twenty minutes of brisk walking, the party arrived at King’s Cross. Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through on to platform 9¾, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform filled with departing students and their families. Harry felt his spirits soar…he was really going back. Mrs Weasley quickly engaged in conversation with Moody who’d been waiting for them at the station with their luggage. 

“No trouble?” growled Moody.

“Nothing,” said Lupin, who'd also come along to see them off.

The group shook hands. Lupin reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “Be careful, Harry.”

“Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,” said Moody, shaking Harry’s hand too. Moody turned and faced the rest of the group. “And don’t forget, all of you — be careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don’t put it in a letter at all.”

A warning whistle sounded; the students on the platform started hurrying on the train. Sirius gave Harry a quick dog-like hug, before Harry was shoved onto the train by Mrs Weasley. 

“See you!” Harry called out of the window to the rapidly shrinking figures of all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix that had followed them to the station. Harry turned to Ron, Hermione and Ginny who were standing beside him. The Weasley twins had already set off to find Lee Jordan.

“Shall we go and find a compartment, then?” Harry asked. Harry shot Ron a look who in turn opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione cut him off.

“Actually, we’re — well — Ron and I are supposed to go into the prefect carriage,” Hermione said in an awkward tone. 

“Oh,” said Harry, feeling disappointed. “Right. Fine.” He was bursting to talk about the news he and Ron had overheard the previous night, but evidently, that would have to wait a bit longer. Ron himself looked very uncomfortable. Harry could tell that Ron was still thinking about Harry’s disappointment over not becoming a prefect.

“I don’t think we have to stay there all the journey,” said Hermione quickly. “Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Head Girl, and then patrol the corridors from time to time.”

Harry grinned back. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. We’ll see each other later.”

“Yeah, definitely,” said Ron. “It’s a pain having to go down there, I’d rather — but we have to — I mean, I’m not enjoying it, I’m not Percy,” he finished defiantly. 

Harry just waved them off. “I know you’re not. Now go! Me and Ginny will find a compartment. Come find us when you’re finished, yes?”

Ron and Hermione went off towards the engine off the train, while Harry and Ginny set off to find a compartment. They struggled down the corridor, peering through glass-paneled doors into the compartments, all which were already full. Harry couldn’t help but notice that a lot of people stared or pointed at him as he passed. He bleakly wondered if all of them believed the stories told by the Daily Prophet. Not till they reached the last carriage did Harry and Ginny find places to sit. Together with fellow Gryffindor student Neville Longbottom, Harry and Ginny sat down in the final compartment — a compartment already housing Luna Lovegood. Harry had never met Luna before. She was in the same year as Ginny, with straggly, waist-length dirty blonde hair, pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. 

Luna was the definition of an oddball. Besides short moments of small talk, she primarily hid behind a copy of a magazine called ‘The Quibbler’ , which she read upside down. While Harry, Neville and Ginny engaged in conversation the train sped onwards into open country. Neville showed them a plant that he’d got for his birthday.

“ Mimbulus mimbletonia ,” said Neville proudly when Ginny asked about details. “It is really rare. I don’t know if there’s one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts. I can’t wait to show it to Professor Sprout.”

Harry felt amused looking at Neville’s expression of happiness. He felt less amused thirty seconds later when all of the pus filled boils on the plant burst open, showering the compartment in sticky, green liquid. Especially, since Cho Chang decided to stick her head inside just mere seconds later. Unfortunately for Harry, she didn’t seem to be too keen on sticking around. Finally, after nearly an hour Ron and Hermione showed up, by which time the food trolley had already passed. 

“Take one guess who is the Slytherin prefect,” said Ron, biting into a chocolate frog. 

“Malfoy?” said Harry without a moment of hesitation. 

“Course,” responded Ron bitterly.

“And that complete cow , Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione viciously. “How she got to be a prefect when she’s thicker than a concussed troll…”

Harry looked over at Ron who was devouring another chocolate frog. There was no chance they could tell Hermione what they’d overheard with Neville and Luna in the compartment. No, it would simply have to wait. 

All in all, the journey was quite nice. Luna burst out in ridiculous laughter when Ron imitated Goyle writing lines. Especially funny however, was an article in The Quibbler about Sirius secretly being a singing sensation using a false alias. The only exception was the unwanted visit of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. The visit unnerved Harry more than usual, since Malfoy left a final comment about him ‘dogging’ in Harry’s footsteps if he were to step out of line. A term that for both Harry and Hermione, who’d slammed the compartment doors in Malfoy’s face, was definitely aimed at Sirius. They exchanged nervous looks. Harry felt his worries grow. Had Lucius Malfoy recognized Sirius at the station and told Draco? Or was it a coincidence? 

Soon, the Hogwarts Express slowed down and stopped at the station. The group shuffled out of the compartment and onto the platform — cool night air on their faces. Harry expected to hear Hagrid’s voice call out to the first years, but instead, the familiar voice of Professor Grubbly-Plank shrill voice cut through the air. He looked around for Ron and Hermione, but they’d set off to deal with prefect duties. Harry had no time to ponder the mysterious disappearance of Hagrid. Quickly, he began to move over towards the coaches taking the students up to Hogwarts, keeping a look-out for Ron and Hermione. Then he did a double take. None of the coaches were horseless. He rubbed his eyes. There were creatures standing between the carriage shafts. Earily, black, gloomy and sinister creatures with dragonish features and wings. 

Strangely, when he asked Ron about them minutes later, he found that Ron couldn’t see them. Even Hermione looked at Harry worryingly when he pointed to the space where the reptilian creatures were standing. 

“Don’t worry, Harry. You’re not crazy.” said Luna. “I can see them too.”

Harry spun around eagerly. “Really? You can see them too?”

“Oh, yes,” said Luna in her loftiest voice. “I’ve been able to see them since my first day here. Don’t worry, you’re just as sane as I am.”

He didn’t feel comforted about Luna’s words, the article about singing sensation Sirius still fresh in his mind. 

—

The Entrance Hall was ablaze with torches as the students crossed the stone floor, heading for the double-doors leading to the Great Hall, and the start of term feast. As Harry entered the hall, the tables underneath the starless black ceiling began filling up. He closed his eyes in frustration as some of the students he passed put their heads together in whispers. As they sat down, Harry glanced up at the staff table. Hagrid’s absence was glaringly obvious. But Hagrid’s absence quickly got trumped by the appearance of new, but to Harry, a very familiar face sitting at the staff table. 

“Who’s that?” said Hermione pointing up at the table.

Harry felt an unpleasant shiver run down his back as the woman with short, curly, mouse-brown hair and a pallid, toad-like face took a sip out of her golden goblet.

“It’s that Umbridge woman!”

“Who?” said Hermione

“She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge!” 

“She works for Fudge?” said Hermione with a frown. “What on earth is she doing here?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the staff table. “No, surely not…”

But before she could elaborate further, the doors of the Great Hall swung open and Professor McGonagall stepped into the hall, leading a line of first-years. In her hands she was carrying a stool on which sat an ancient, heavily patched up wizard’s hat. She placed down the stool and stood back. In customary fashion, the rip near the hat’s brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat burst into a song. In contrast to the previous iterations however, this version of the song seemed to give advice and warnings to the school, rather than describing the qualities of each of the four different houses.

The sorting on the other hand, was as normal as ever. Small and scared, first-years stepped up to the stool, put the hat on their heads before it sorted them into one of the four houses — Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Harry made sure to clap extra hard as new first-years were sorted into Gryffindor. Soon, the line of first-years had ended and Professor Dumbledore stood up from his seat. Despite his somewhat bitter feelings towards Dumbledore, Harry felt soothed at the headmaster standing in front of them. This was how it was supposed to be. The headmaster of Hogwarts greeting old- and new students before the start-of-term feast. 

“To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, a wide smile on his lips, “welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech-making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”

At once the golden plates in front of them filled with food. There was an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down. To his right, Ron let out a sound of longing before filling his plate with anything he could set his eye to. Harry himself loaded his plate with all of his old favorites; Steak and Kidney Pie, a glass of pumpkin juice and as dessert, his favorite, treacle tart. 

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level was starting to creep upwards again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as everybody turned to face the headmaster. Harry himself, who’d begun to feel pleasantly drowsy, felt his attention snap back to reality. 

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” said Dumbledore. “First years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students. Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time to remind you that magic is not allowed in corridors between classes…”

As Dumbledore continued to speak, Harry felt his focus begin to slip away once more. 

“...We have two changes in staffing this year!”

Harry snapped back to reality and shifted his gaze up to the staff table.

“We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was a rather unenthusiastic round of applause at the announcement. 

Dumbledore continued, “Tryouts for the Quidditch teams will take place on the–”

He broke off, looking curiously at Professor Umbridge. Many people further in the back looked confused over why Dumbledore had stopped talking. Then, Professor Umbridge cleared her throat, “Hem, Hem” , and it became clear that she intended to hold a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing more than to hear her speak.

If Umbridge's speech hadn’t been so boring, the entire situation might have been somewhat funny. Behind Dumbledore members of staff did a poor job at hiding their surprise. Professor McGonagall’s lips were as thin as ever and Professor Sprout’s eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair. Meanwhile Umbridge droned on about progress and traditions. Harry found his attentiveness slipping almost immediately. Soon enough however, she was finished and Dumbledore snapped the students out of their glassy eyed traces by starting off the applause.

“Thank you, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” Dumbledore said, bowing to her. “Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held…”

“Yes, it was certainly illuminating,” said Hermione from behind Harry.

“You’re not telling me you enjoyed that?” Ron said quietly, turning a glazed face towards Hermione. “That was about the dullest thing I’ve ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.”

“I said illuminating, not enjoyable,” said Hermione. “It explained a lot.”

“Did it,” said Harry in surprise. “Sounded like a lot of waffle to me.”

“There were some important stuff hidden in the waffle,” said Hermione grimly. “How about: ‘progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged” or ‘pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited’?”

“And that means,” said Ron imploringly.

“It means,” said Hermione ominously. “It means that the ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

Up by the staff table Dumbledore cleared his throat. Harry, Ron and Hermione turned around.

“Now, before I let you off to your warm beds, there is a final, very important thing I have to tell you. This news will be released to the rest of the magical world tonight at midnight, but since it directly affects Hogwarts, I’ve been given special clearance by the Ministry of Magic to give you all an early heads up. It is with great sadness that I announce that the esteemed member of The International Confederation of Wizards and headmaster of the American wizarding school Ilvermorny, Agilbert Fontaine, has been found murdered.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks, while Hermione looked dumbfounded. Around the Great Hall worried murmurs quickly broke out. 

“As you all can imagine…” said Dumbledore grimly, “...this news is highly disturbing. And as of right now, no suspects have been caught. For this reason, Ilvermorny will be closed for the foreseeable future." There were noticeable, worries mumbles at these ominous news. "Most students will go home to their guardians and continue their education privately. But some students, whose families are living here in Britain, have contacted me about the possibility of letting their students continue their education here, at Hogwarts, while the investigation is ongoing.”

Another round of murmurs spread through the students in the Great Hall.

“Naturally,” continued Dumbledore, “...I obliged. When they arrive in two days' time, I hope that you’ll all be as welcoming as you were to our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang during last term's Tri-wizard tournament.” Dumbledore gave a fleeting smile. “Now then, off to bed!”

There was a loud shuffle as students rose from their seats. By now the murmurs had blown up into intense discussions. Hermione still looked thunderstruck as she turned to face Harry and Ron.

“Agilbert Fontaine… dead . I can’t believe it! How? Who?” said Hermione in disbelief. She quirked an eyebrow in interest at the look on Harry and Ron’s faces. “You both don’t look particularly surprised…”

Harry made an inkling with his head towards the door leading out of the Great Hall.

“Let’s talk more in the common room.” He pointed at Hermione’s prefect badge. “Anyways, don’t you have something to do?” 

Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

“Ron, we’re supposed to show the first-years where to go!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ron, who’d obviously forgotten. “Hey — hey, you lot! Midgets!”

“ Ron! ” said Hermione, affronted.

“Well, they are, they’re titchy…”

“I know, but you can’t call them midgets!” Hermione shook her head in disbelief, before turning her eyes on the crowd of new students gathering around the table, looking puzzled and unsure. “First-years!” Hermione called commandingly along the table. “This way, please!”

Harry smiled down at the small students as they passed between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Surely, he himself hadn’t been this tiny when he’d arrived at Hogwarts four years ago. 

“See you later,” said Harry to Ron and Hermione, before making his way out of the Great Hall. All around him, Harry could see people whispering and pointing. The grin he’d just felt light up his face melted off like stink-sap. He’d been stupid not to expect this, he thought angrily as he made his way up the stairs to emptier hallways. Just a few months prior he’d emerged from the Triwizard maze, carrying the dead body of Cedric Diggory, all the while proclaiming to have seen Lord Voldemort return. It also didn’t help that most witches and wizards read “The Daily Prophet” — a newspaper that had, for the better part of the entire summer, painted him out as a liar.

Soon, Harry reached the end of the hallway to the Gryffindor common room, coming to a halt in front of the Fat Lady. It was only then that Harry realised that he didn’t know the new password. He looked at the portrait in front of him glumily.

“No password, no entrance,” said the Fat Lady loftily.

Harry let out a frustrating sigh. He should have asked Ron and Hermione for the password earlier, but it had, unfortunately for Harry, slipped his mind. 

“Harry, I know it!” Someone panted up behind him and he turned to see Neville lumbering towards him, the small cactus he’d shown them on the train gripped tightly under one of his arms. 

Neville stepped up to the Fat Lady and held out the plant in front of him. 

“ Mimbulus mimbletonia ,” said Neville proudly.

The Fat Lady nodded in response. “Correct.”

As she swung forward, a circular hole in the wall presented itself. Together, Harry and Neville climbed through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindor common room looked just like it always did, cozy and welcoming with its squishy armchairs, old but charming tables and fireplace — illuminated by warm, orange flames. Harry gave a wink to Fred and George as they passed him and Neville on their way to post something on the notice board.

When they reached the dormitories, Harry found that he and Neville wasn’t the first ones there. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were already unpacking contents from their coffins, all the while talking mutedly. The moment they saw Harry and Neville enter, they both fell quiet. Harry wondered conspiratorically if what they had been talking about had been about him.

“Hi,” he said, moving across the room to his own four-poster bed. 

“Hey, Harry,” said Dean. “Good holiday?”

Harry shrugged. He didnt much feel like giving a in-depth account of everything he’d been through.

“Not bad. What about you?” 

“It was OK”, said Dean with a chuckle. “Better than Seamus’s, anyway, he was just telling me?”

“What happened, Seamus?” asked Neville curiously.

Seamus didn’t answer immediately. But then he said, with his back turned to Harry and the others, “Me mam didn’t want me to come back.”

“What?” said Harry confused.

Seamus turned around. “She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.”

Harry felt astonished. Seamus’s mother was a witch. Adapting this Dursleyish behavior was obscene. “But — why?”.

Seamus gave a sigh, while buttoning up his pyjamas. “Well…” he began in a careful tone, “I guess because of you.”

“What do you mean?” said Harry quickly. 

“She…er…well, it’s not just you. It’s Dumbledore, too.”

Harry felt comprehension dawn on him, and how anger began to boil in the pit of his stomach.

She believes the Daily Prophet? She believes me to be an attention-seeking liar, and Dumbledore an old fool?”

Seamus shrugged. “Something like that.”

Harry didn’t have the will to argue. Why did it always have to be him? Always the one people talked about — peered at? And especially being the one things always happened to. Angrily, he threw off his clothes and flung himself into bed. Just as he was about to close the curtains, Seamus piped up again.

“Look…what did happen that night…with Cedric Diggory?” Seamus sounded eager and nervous at the same time. 

“Why are you asking me,” retorted Harry hotly. “Just read the Daily Prophet like your mother, and you’ll be all caught up.”

Seamus flared up in response. “Don’t you have a go at my mother!”

“I’ll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar,” said Harry. 

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

“I’ll talk to you however I want!” said Harry — his temper rising as fast as molten lava in a volcano. 

“What is going on?” came a third voice. Harry’s and Seamus’s head snapped around to see a tall red-headed figure standing in the doorway. Ron had arrived.

“He’s having a go at my mother,” roared Seamus.

Ron looked shocked. “What? Why? Harry wouldn’t do that. We’ve met your mother, we liked her!”

“That was before she began believing every word the stinking Daily Prophet writes about me!” yelled Harry. Looking over at Ron, Harry could see comprehension dawn on his face. Seamus meanwhile, went on.

“Ron, he’s barking mad ! Do you seriously believe all that rubbish he’s been telling about ‘You-Know-Who’?”

Ron’s ears went scarlet. “That’s out of order, Seamus. And for your information, yes , I do believe him.”

“Then you’re mad too,” said Seamus in disgust.

“Yeah? Well unfortunately for you pal, I am also a prefect!” said Ron jabbing himself hard in the chest. “So unless you want detention, I suggest that you shut your mouth.”

Seamus didn’t respond, but looked like detention was a worthy price to pay for whatever was on his mind. Ron turned around glaring at the other boys in the dormitory. 

“Anyone else’s parents got a problem with Harry?” he said aggressively. 

“My parents are muggles, mate,” said Dean. “It would be stupid to tell them, since they wouldn’t let me come back.”

“You don’t know my mother, she’d weasel anything out of anyone!” snapped Seamus. “Anyways, your parents don’t read the Daily Prophet. They don’t know our Headmaster’s been sacked from the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards, because he’s losing his marbles!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry furiously. “So what about this Agilbert Fontaine business then? A highly powerful and influential figure in the International Confederation of Wizards is murdered, and we’re supposed to just take that as a coincidence? You think the bloke just dropped dead on the ground? Man, I wonder what your poor mummy will think when she reads about this tomorrow. She’ll probably suspect that me and Dumbledore rode on brooms to America, killed Fontaine and then rode back, relishing in the possibility of more attention.”

Seamus looked murderous, but didn’t seem to find a good retort. Finally, after a few moments of silence, Neville piped up.

“My gran has always said that You-Know-Who would return one day. She says if Dumbledore says he’s back — he’s back. We believe Harry!” 

Harry felt a rush of gratitude against Neville as the rest of his dorm-mates retreated to their beds - Seamus still looking furious. Harry laid back on his pillow, whilst Ron put his things away beside him. He felt shaken about his argument with Seamus, whom he’d always got along with very well. How many more people were going to suggest that he was a liar? Had Dumbledore suffered like this all summer, and were that why he hadn’t so much as spoken to him for months. 

‘They’ll know we were right in the end,’ thought Harry bitterly, as Ron put out the last candle in the dormitory. But he wondered how many more attacks like Seamus’s he would have to endure before that time came.

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight,” said Hermione the following morning, biting into her toast. “You both overheard members of the Order talking about the murder of Agilbert Fontaine the night before we left Grimmauld Place, and decided not to tell me?”

“It wasn’t that we didn’t want to tell you,” said Ron honestly, with his mouth full of porridge. “We just…well… couldn’t find a good opportunity to do it. Everytime we thought about doing it, someone else was closeby and yesterday with that Seamus business, it just slipped our minds.”

Harry looked up from his eggs and bacon and took in the Great Hall. It was almost entirely empty, since he, Ron and Hermione had decided to head down early for breakfast. It turned out that Seamus wasn’t the only Gryffindor who thought that Harry was a liar. According to Hermione, Lavender Brown also confessed to believing the Daily Prophet’s story over Harry’s. 

“And what did they say?” asked Hermione in interest. 

“Nothing more than Dumbledore told us last night,” answered Harry glumly. “Lupin and Mr. Weasley only commented that it was a weird move from Voldemort, considering he wants to stay off the radar.”

“That is, if it was him to begin with,” said Hermione. “You have to admit. Mr. Weasley and Lupin are right. It is a weird move." 

Ron looked at Hermione like he was questioning her sanity. “Hermione, who else could be interested in murdering a high-ranking member of the International Confederation of Wizards? 

“Ron,” responded Hermione impatiently, “you do realize that there are other bad wizards out there, right? It is fully reasonable that Fontaine has other enemies than You-Know-Who in his lifetime who could have murdered him.”

Harry sensing an argument about to break out as Ron opened his mouth to respond, held up a hand. “Please, not now. It’s too early for an argument.” 

Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise, but let the subject slide. By now, more and more students had begun filing into the Great Hall. Harry could hear how people all around him discussed the matter of Agilbert Fontaine’s murder. Students whispered under their breaths with each other, all the while shoving copies of the Daily Prophet into each other's faces. 

Even though Harry held no love for the newspaper, he did feel a sense of curiosity over how they’d written about the entire incident. Like members of the order had pointed out, it would be difficult — and maybe even downright stupid to keep the incident under wraps. On the other hand, if this turned out to be the work of Lord Voldemort, more and more of the stories parroted by the Daily Prophet and in turn the ministry, would come into question. 

“Hello, Harry,” said a voice from behind. Harry snapped out of his thoughts and turned around. Behind him stood a tall black girl with long braided hair.

“Oh,” answered Harry. “Hello, Angelina!”

“Hi,” she said briskly. “Good summer?” Without waiting for an answer she prowled on. “Listen, I’ve been made Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.”

“Nice one,” said Harry, grinning at her; he suspected that Angelina’s pep-talks might not be as long-winded as Oliver Wood’s had been, which could only be an improvement. 

“Yeah, well, we need a new keeper now that Oliver’s left. Tryouts are on Friday five o’clock, the day after tomorrow, and I want the whole team there, all right? Then we can see how the new personnel will fit in.” 

“Ok,” said Harry.

Angelina gave him a smile and departed. 

“I’d forgotten Wood had left,” said Hermione vaguely as she took another bite of her toast. “I suppose that will make quite the difference to the team?”

“Well, yeah,” said Harry with a shrug. “He was a good keeper.”

As Harry finished his breakfast, hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the hall, bringing packages and letters to their owners. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but Harry was hardly surprised; his only correspondent was Sirius, and he doubted that Sirius would have anything new to tell him after only twenty-four hours apart. Hermione however, had to move her orange juice quickly to the side to make way for an incoming barn owl, with a very wet Daily Prophet in its beak. 

Ron looked at Hermione in disbelief. “Why on earth are you still getting that for?”

“It’s best to know what the enemy is saying,” answered Hermione, while unfolding the newspaper. “Also, I want to see what they have written about Fontaine’s murder.”

As Hermione disappeared behind the newspaper, Professor McGonagall had begun to move along the Gryffindor table handing out time-tables. Soon enough, Hermione emerged from behind the newspaper.

“Nothing about you or Dumbledore, and the news about Fontaine only recounts what was said yesterday.” She gave a sigh and threw the paper to the side. “I can’t say I’m surprised. If you don’t want to acknowledge something properly, best not to go too deep into it! Especially, if you want to avoid pressing questions…”

Meanwhile, Ron was having a meltdown over the time-table which had just been given to him. 

“Look at today !” groaned Ron. “History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defense Against the Dark Arts…Binns, Snape, Trelawny and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George would hurry up with those Skiving Snackboxes…”

“Do my ears deceive me, George?” said a voice from behind. “The prefect wants a snackbox.” Fred and George had arrived at the Gryffindor table. 

“Look at today,” said Ron, holding out the time-table. “This is by far the worst Monday I have ever seen.”

Fred and George bent down and looked at Ron’s time-table. 

“Fair point, little bro,” said Fred, turning to face his twin. “In fact George, this is almost as bad as Tuesdays in our fourth year, remember?”

“Yeah,” answered George with a grin. “What was it? Double Binns, Double Lockheart, Snape and Herbology. Albeit, the Herbology wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t had to deal with those Mandrakes.”

The twins looked up at Harry and Hermione, winking pointedly. “Are you both also interested in a snackbox?”

Hermione scoffed in annoyance. “Why would anyone need a Skiving Snackbox?”

“Well, you’re a fifth-year,” answered George. “And you know what that means…O.W.L.’s. They’ll be keeping your noses so hard that they’ll be rubbed raw.”

“Half of our year had nervous breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.’s,” added Fred happily. Tears and tantrums…Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint…” Fred made a grimace.

“Can’t say I envy those poor blokes from Ilvermorny. They come here after their headmaster is murdered, only to be slaughtered by O.W.L. exams.”

“True, Fred,” responded George. “If any of them are fifth years that is.”

Hermione cut in. “You guys seem quite unconcerned about the fact that you both only managed three O.W.L.’s each.”

“Yep,” said Fred with a shrug. “We feel that our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement. Especially now that we have —”

Harry sent them both a warning look. 

“Er—, now that we have our O.W.L.’s,” said Fred, quickly changing course. “But we’re not going to waste our last year here though.” He looked around the Great Hall fondly. “We’re going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products to fit the demand.”

“But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?” asked Hermione, perplexed. “It’s going to cost a small fortune.”

George grinned at her. “Ask us no questions, and we’ll tell no lies, Hermione. Now then, Fred. Let’s get going to Herbology. Maybe we can sell a few more extendable ears…”

And so the twins were off.

“What did that mean?” said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron. ‘Ask us no questions…’ Does that mean they’ve already got some gold to start a joke shop?”

“You know, I’ve been wondering that too,” responded Ron, his brows furrowed. “They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer, and I couldn’t figure out where they got the Galleons…”

Harry felt that it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters. 

“Do you reckon it’s true that this year is going to be really tough? Because of the exams?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ron. “Bound to be, isn’t it? O.W.L’s are really important, affecting the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year. Bill told me! So you can choose which N.E.W.T’s you want to do next year.”

This discussion continued as the trio rose from their seats and left the Great Hall, setting off for their History of Magic classroom. Harry gave Ron a pointed look as Hermione went into detail on how she would like to continue her work on S.P.E.W. But just as they were about to enter the History of Magic classroom, something caught Harry’s eye. 

“Hey,” Harry said, nudging Ron and Hermione. “What are they doing here?”

A group of wizards and witches that Harry didn’t recognize, had converged on a stairwell closeby. Huddled together, they seemed to be waiting for something — or someone. Some of them were whispering amongst each other, occasionally sending glances over their heads, like to make sure that nobody would overhear them. 

“I’m guessing they’re waiting for Professor Umbridge,” responded Hermione, curiously. “But what for?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron with a shrug. “Ministry stuff?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Maybe…but they can do that after hours. And if they want to talk, why not just use owls?” She gave a sigh, and shook her head in tandem. “We’re probably grossly overthinking this. There are students coming from another country to Hogwarts tomorrow, after all.”

“Wait, wait,” said Ron conspiratorially. “What if those are the students? What if they’ve arrived early?”

Hermione sent Ron a look of incredulity. “Ron, the wizard in the back is about as ancient as Dumbledore. The students will be our age. Also, look at them. They are clearly from the Ministry. I thought you, of all people, would see that…”

“Hey…” said Harry slowly. “I recognize that bloke closest to the bottom. The one whose hat is slightly green.” Harry screwed up his eyes in concentration. Where had he seen that person before? Then, it hit him.  “I saw him with your Dad, Ron; that day at the Ministry. I think your Dad said his name was Broderick Bode. He’s an Unspeakable!”

“An Unspeakable…” mumbled Hermione. “But why would—”

At that moment the bell rang.

“Come on,” said Ron, pulling Harry and Hermione inside the classroom. “Let’s not be late for the first lesson.”

—

The appearance of the ministry wizards — especially the Unspeakable Broderick Bode — made it very difficult for Harry to focus on the upcoming lesson. It naturally didn’t help that the first lesson of term was History of Magic, a lesson taught by their ghost teacher Professor Binns. Professor Binns had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. 

Today, the class suffered three quarters of an hour’s droning on the subject of Giant Wars. Although Harry tried to keep himself focused, he soon felt his thoughts drift away. Even Hermione, who Harry swore was the only one at Hogwarts who had the ability to resist the sleepiness of Professor Binns voice, seemed to have her mind on other things. He and Ron didn’t even get a telling off when they started playing hangman on the corner of a parchment midway though Professor Binns’ lecture. Instead, Hermione’s eyes seemed to flicker between the door to the outside corridor and the parchment in front of her, on which nothing was scribbled. 

After History of Magic, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed off towards the dungeons for Potions. Potions was Harry’s least favorite subject at Hogwarts, taught by Harry’s least favorite teacher, Professor Snape. 

“I bet it will be something really difficult,” said Ron speculative, as the three descended into a discussion about what Snape might set them on the first lesson of term. “Snape loves to see us suffer…”

“Well it’s bound to become more difficult now, isn’t it?” said Hermione to Harry and Ron, as they ventured through the damp, outside courtyard. “We’re O.W.L. students after all.”

“You would have thought we’d been O.W.L. students all these years with the tasks he’s been setting us,” responded Ron darkly. “Do you remember that Stoneskin potion last year? It was an absolute nightmare !”

Just as Harry was going to add to the insults of Snape, another voice — much more pleasant — made itself known from behind. 

“Hello, Harry!”

Harry spun around. It was Cho Chang. Surprisingly, just like on the train, she was on her own. 

“Hi, Cho,” said Harry, his face growing hot. ‘At least you’re not covered in Stinksap this time’ , he thought to himself. Cho seemed to think along the same lines.

“You got that stuff off, then?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, trying to grin as though the memory of their last meeting was funny, as opposed to mortifying. “So did you…er…have a good summer?”

Harry immediately regretted it. Cedric Diggory had been Cho’s boyfriend, and his death had undoubtedly had as big of an impact on her summer as it had on Harry’s. 

“Oh,” said Cho, shrinking back into herself, “it…well…it was OK…”

“Is that a Tornado’s badge?” asked Ron suddenly, pointing at something on the front of Cho’s robes, where a sky-blue badge emblazoned with a double gold “T” was pinned. “You don’t support them, do you?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Cho.

“Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?” said Ron in an accusatory tone of voice.

“I’ve supported them since I was six,” said Cho coolly. “Anyway…see you, Harry.”

She walked away. When Cho was halfway across the courtyard, Hermione rounded on Ron.

“You are so tactless . Couldn’t you see she wanted to speak to Harry alone?”

“What, I only asked her if she—”

Hermione massaged her temples in frustration. “Who cares if she supports the Tornados?”

Ron gave a snort. “Oh, come on. Half the people you see wearing those badges only bought them last season. Nobody likes a glory hunter, Hermione.”

The two continued to bicker back and forth til they reached the Dungeons. The Dungeons were just as cold and desolate as usual, completely devoid of the warmth of the corridors above. As more and more students began to join the queue outside of Snape’s dungeon door, Harry thought back to his brief conversation with Cho. He knew that she could easily hate him for coming out of the Triwizard maze alive when Cedric hadn’t. But here she was, initiating conversations with him — speaking to him not as a liar, not as someone mad. Harry could feel his spirits rise slightly; a feeling that quickly evaporated as he noted that the Gryffindor students once again would be forced to share potions with the Slytherins. 

They had been right about Snape setting them something difficult for their first task of the new term. 

“The Draught of Peace,” said Snape, pointing at a slowly bubbling cauldron. “A potion to help calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned, if you’re too heavy handed with the ingredients, you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing.”

Harry couldn’t have failed more miserably. While he’d followed everything to a tee up til the second line of instructions, he’d accidentally skipped over the third line and went straight to the fourth, making his potion effectively useless. Snape had taken great pleasure, as he always did, in telling Harry that he’d failed today’s assignment. As if that wasn’t enough, Snape also issued them twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone to be handed in during Friday’s potions class.

Divination didn’t turn out to be any better. Not that Harry had expected it to. After Potions, Divination was Harry’s least favorite subject, which was mainly due to Professor Trelawney’s habit of prematurely predicting his death every few lessons. For the first class back, she forced the class to work with dream interpretation. It was dull work, looking up dreams and their potential meaning in copies of “The Dream Oracle” . Harry also wasn’t very keen to discuss his dreams. He knew full well what his recurring dreams about a graveyard meant. Harry was not cheered up when Professor Trelawney issued them even more homework.

“Do you realize how much homework we’ve gotten already,” moaned Ron. “Fred and George weren’t kidding about O.W.L. year, were they? That Umbridge woman better not get us any…”

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found it to be empty. Then, a door opened up to the teachers office and a woman in a black cloak walked out, followed swiftly by Professor Umbridge. Professor Umbridge was dressed in a brightly pink cardigan, which Harry thought clashed terribly with her toad-like features.

“We are making good progress, Juliana. Let’s not be impatient,” said Professor Umbridge coolly. “Oh, and make sure to tell Broderick that Lucius wanted to see him. I have to—”

Professor Umbridge looked up and fell silent as she noticed that students had filed into her classroom. After a moment of silence, she let out a simpering laugh, which Harry guessed was to hide her surprise. 

“It seems like I forgot about my lesson. How silly of me. Send my regards to Cornelius. Off with you…”

The woman, Juliana, gave a curt nod before exiting the classroom. By now, more and more students had begun to fill the classroom. The class was quiet as everyone took their seats; Professor Umbridge was of yet an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict of a disciplinarian she was likely to be. 

“Well, good afternoon,” she said, when finally the whole class had sat down. 

A few people mumbled quiet “good afternoon” back to her.

“Tat, tat,” said Professor Umbridge. “ That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge’ . One more time, please. Good afternoon class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” chanted the class. 

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out please.”

Harry groaned internally. The order “wands away” had never yet been followed by a lesson he’d found interesting. He shoved his wand back inside and pulled out ink, quill and parchment. As he was doing this, Professor Umbridge had used her own wand to draw on the blackboard.

Defense Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles

“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in you being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.”

Professor Umbridge continued to drone on about ministry standards for a couple more minutes, before moving over to the Course Aims. “This year, you will all follow a ministry-approved, theory-centered course of defensive magic. Please copy down the following ‘Course Aims’!”

1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

The class didn’t exactly become more interesting after that. As they finished writing down the course aims, Professor Umbridge instructed them to move over to read chapter one in ‘Defensive Magical Theory’ by Wilbert Slinkhard. Although Harry had thought it impossible, Slinkhard’s book turned out to be as dull as the dream oracle. Soon, he felt his concentration slip away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times. Several silent minutes passed. 

Next to him, Ron was absentmindedly turning his quill over and over, all the while staring at the same spot on the page. Harry turned his head right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione hadn’t even opened her book. Instead, she was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. Professor Umbridge, who’d seemed intent on ignoring Hermione, soon felt compelled to act as more and more of the students focus’ shifted from Slinkhard, to Hermione’s raised hand. 

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asked Hermione, as if she’d just noticed her.

“No,” said Hermione curtly. “I have a query about your course aims.”

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

“And your name is?”

“Hermione Granger,” responded Hermione.

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully,” said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness. 

“Well I don’t,” said Hermione bluntly. “There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells!”

Harr turned his head and squinted at the course aims on the blackboard. Hermione was right. There was no notion about using the spells practically.

“Surely,” continued Hermione, “the entire point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

Professor Umbridge gave another simpering laugh. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use defensive spells, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?

“So we’re not going to use magic,” exclaimed Ron in loud disbelief. 

“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class Mr—”

“Weasley,” said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Harry however, didn’t care. “What good is that? If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a—”

“Hand, Mr. Potter,” sang Professor Umbridge.

More and more voices continued to pipe up. Both Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil tried to make cases for the practical use of magic — all of which were promptly ignored by Professor Umbridge. 

“As long as you’ve studied the theory hard enough, using them in practical situations shouldn’t be an issue.”

Harry gave a big snort of sarcastic laughter. “And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” said Harry loudly, his fist in the air.

“This is school, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Umbridge softly.

“So we’re not going to be prepared for what’s waiting for us out there?”

“There’s nothing waiting for you out there, Mr. Potter…”

“Oh, yeah?” said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling underneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.

“Who do you envision would like to attack children, such as yourselves?” enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honey’d tone. 

“Hmm, let’s think,” said Harry sarcastically. “Maybe…Lord Voldemort?”

Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a small scream, and Neville slipped sideways off his stool. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.” Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby hands splayed out on her desk. “Now, let me make something 

very clear. You have been told that a great dark wizard has returned from the dead—”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry angrily, “but yeah, he’s returned.”

Professor Umbridge looked at him from top till toe. “Unless you want to lose more than house points, Mr. Potter, I suggest you stop this tireless charade. Anyway, as I was saying. You have been told that a great dark wizard is once again at large. This is a lie .”

“It is NOT a lie,” retorted Harry angrily. “I saw him, I fought him.”

“Detention, Mr. Potter,” said Dolores Umbridge triumphantly. “The day after tomorrow, Five o’ clock.” She collected herself. “I repeat, this is a lie . The Ministry of Magic guarantees that no dark wizard is going to put you in danger…”

“So according to you,” said Harry, ignoring Hermione’s pleading for him to calm down, “Cedric Diggory just dropped dead of his own accord?”

There was a collective intake of breath as Professor Umbridge x-rayed Harry with her toad-like eyes. Nobody, outside of Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry speak of Cedric Diggory’s death before.

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident,” she retorted coldly. 

“It was murder,” said Harry. He could feel his entire body shaking in rage. “Voldemort killed him, and you know what the worst thing is. You know it’s true. But I’m guessing such an admission would threaten your dear Fudge’s post as Minister for Magic.”

He heard Hermione give out a small moan in exasperation. Harry knew that what he was doing was stupid. But he was so tired of being ridiculed, of being pointed at as someone out of their mind. None of them knew what it was like in that graveyard, what it was like facing Voldemort. Instead, all they did was to turn a blind eye to the proof.

To his surprise, Professor Umbridge was quite calm. With a blank face, she sat down behind her desk, took out a piece of parchment and quickly wrote something down on it. She sealed the parchment with a tap of her wand, held the parchment out and beckoned for Harry to come and collect it.

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Professor Umbridge.

Harry went up to the teachers desk and took the parchment before storming out of the classroom. 

—

To say that Professor McGonagall was displeased to see him out of class on his first day back was an understatement. 

“You’ve been sent to see me?” she implored questioningly as Harry appeared outside of her office, trying his hardest not to use one of the unforgivable curses on Peeves the poltergeist. 

He held out the note in front of him and Professor McGonagall took it from him, frowning. She opened it, and quickly skimmed through. With every line read, her eyes became narrower and narrower. 

“Come in here, Potter.”

The moment he stepped inside her study, Professor McGonagall rounded on him. 

“Is this true, Potter? You shouted at Professor Umbridge? You called her a liar? You told her ‘You Know Who’ is back?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “But Professor she was—”

“Sit,” said Professor McGonagall with such a finality that Harry couldn’t help but comply. She pointed to a tartan tin. “Have a biscuit.”

“Have— what?

“Have a biscuit, Potter.”

Harry reluctantly took a biscuit and sat down on the chair opposite Professor McGonagall’s desk.

“You need to be careful, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall in a much softer voice than he was used to. “Misbehavior in Dolores Umbridge's class may end up costing more than a few house points or detention.”

“What do you mean,” responded Harry questioningly. 

“Oh, come on Potter, use your common sense. You know who she reports to and where she comes from.” She skimmed over the parchment in her hand once more. “It says here that she’s given you detention every day, starting from Friday evening.”

“From Friday evening,” said Harry, horrified. “Please, Professor couldn’t you—”

“No, I couldn’t,” said Professor McGonagall flatly. “She’s a teacher and has every right to give you detention. Just remember what I said. Thread carefully.

“But Professor, I was telling the truth. Voldemort is back! You know he’s back; Professor Dumbledore know he’s—”

Professor McGonagall held up a hand, immediately silencing Harry. “Potter, do you think this is a game? Or about truth or lies? It’s about keeping your head down and your temper under control.”

She offered Harry another biscuit, which he pointedly declined.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Professor McGonagall, thrusting the tin at him. 

Harry took another biscuit.

“Didn’t you listen to Dolores Umbridge’s speech at the feast yesterday, Potter?

“Yeah,” said Harry, “I did.” He took a bite of the biscuit. “She…well…she said that…uh…progress is to be prohibited… or, well it meant that the Ministry of Magic is going to interfere at Hogwarts.”

Professor McGonagall eyed him, as she opened her door and motioned for Harry to get out into the corridor. It was clear that their discussion was over. 

“Well, at least you listen to Hermione Granger.” 

—

Harry had expected his row with Professor Umbridge to be the main talking point the following day. News traveled fast at Hogwarts, and evident by the whispers and pointing when he’d walk past students in the corridor, everyone in the castle now knew about their altercation. Luckily, most of it seemed to be drowned out by that night's big event — the arrival of the American students from Ilvermorny.

Outside of the castle, rain was pouring down in bucket loads from a gray, bleak sky. It was times like these when Harry felt great affection for Hogwarts' thick walls.

“At least the Ilvermorny students will get to experience authentic British weather on their first day here,” said Harry sarcastically, as they walked out of the Great Hall the following morning. 

Ron gave a snort of laughter. “Right. Wouldn’t be surprised if they turned straight back home.” He looked down at the time table he was clutching in his hands. “On the plus side, no Snape today” said Ron bracingly. 

“Don’t be too upbeat,” said Harry glumly. “There is still Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon. In this weather...”

Thursday began with double Charms, succeeded by double Transfiguration. Both little Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall spent nearly half an hour of their respective lessons highlighting the importance of keeping up with the course work and the upcoming O.W.L.s. 

“What you have to remember is that these examinations will influence your future for many years to come,” said Professor Flitwick squeakily, perched on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk. “If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I’m afraid, we shall be working you even harder than ever to ensure that you do yourself justice.”

This final sentence turned out to be an understatement. Although Harry found the task in Charms class easy, they’d been practicing the summoning charm — a charm he’d mastered the year before during the Triwizard Tournament, the Vanishing spell they had to perform during transfiguration was horribly difficult. By the end of the double period, only Hermione had managed to vanish the snails they were practicing on. To Harry and Ron’s dismay, Professor McGonagall also issued more homework.

The trio spent the lunch hour working on Snape’s moonstone essay in the library, before heading off to Care of Magical Creatures. By now, the rain had eased up, replaced instead by a gray sky and cool, brisk winds. Just like at the opening day feast, Hagrid’s absence was still ominously looming over them. 

Instead, the lesson would be overseen by Professor Grubbly-Plank. Today, they were studying Bowtruckles; pixieish creatures made of wood, with knobbly brown arms and legs. 

Harry, who didn’t care much for the Bowtruckles, circled around to Professor Grubbly-Plank. 

“Where’s Hagrid,” he asked her whilst everybody else was occupied.

“Never you mind,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude the last time Hagrid had failed to turn up to a lesson.

“Maybe,” said Malfoy, who’d slowly inched closer to Harry, “the stupid great oaf’s got himself badly injured.”

“Maybe you will if you don’t shut up,” said Harry out of the side of his mouth.

“Maybe he’s messing around with stuff that’s too big for him, if you get my drift.”

Harry couldn’t concentrate much on the lesson after that, glancing back and forth between Malfoy and Hagrid’s Hut. Did Malfoy really know what had happened to Hagrid, or was he just trying to rile Harry up? An hour later, as they made their way back up towards the castle’s Greenhouses and the day’s final lesson Herbology, Harry told Ron and Hermione what Malfoy had said.

“Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid,” said Hermione at once. “It’s just playing into Malfoy’s hands to be worried; it tells him we don’t know exactly what’s going on. We’ve got to ignore him, Harry.”

Herbology turned out to be incredibly dull. It also didn’t help that none of the students seemed to be able to focus properly on the lesson, the impending feast and arrival of the Ilvermorny students clearly plastered across most people’s minds. Soon enough the bell signaling the end of the final lesson rang. Harry felt a sense of relief as they put back the Dittany plants they’d been working on. He reeked of Dragon dung, Professor Sprout’s favorite choice of fertilizer. 

“Let’s hurry up and hit the showers,” said Ron, brushing off his robes with his dragonskin gloves. “I smell disgusting.”

“Guess, I’ll see you at the feast,” said Hermione. “I think I’ll take a shower too.”

“Yeah, please do,” said Ron. “Don’t think the smell of Dragon dung would mix well with Shepherd’s pie…”

Hermione simply rolled her eyes before walking off.

—

Like the previous year, the Hogwarts staff and the house elves working in the school kitchens held no punches when it came to that evening's “greeting feast”. The Great Hall was decorated immaculately, with the great banners of Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor flying high over the tables. Interestingly, even the ghosts were present, with the exception of Peeves who was, like usual, not allowed to join the feast. 

There was a growing buzz of excitement as Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table beside Ginny and Neville, opposite of Fred and George.

“So where do you think they’ll stay,” asked Ginny, as more and more students began to fill the hall. 

Harry gave a shrug. “I guess they’ll follow the same procedure like last year? Live in their own accommodations?”

“Maybe they’ll stay in Hogsmeade?” responded Neville. 

Hermione gave a snort of laughter. “They wouldn’t let the students stay in Hogsmeade. How could they feel integrated if they were forced to live so far away from the castle?”

“As long as they don’t come by flying horses who only drink Malt Whiskey, I’ll be fine with whatever. The fumes down by Hagrid’s almost knocked me out every time we had a Care of Magical Creatures lesson,” added Ginny with a slight shudder. 

Harry glanced up at the staff table. Hagrid was still missing, his place instead filled by Professor Grubbly-Plank. He thought back to what Malfoy had said earlier that day, that Hagrid was handling things “too big” for him. Although Harry had his suspicions about what “too big” entailed, it was nothing he could talk about with so many prying ears nearby.

“Harry!” said Hermione, shaking Harry’s shoulders.

“What?” said Harry in surprise. He’d been staring down at the golden plate in front of him, completely locked inside his own train of thoughts.

“Professor Dumbledore.” She pointed up at the staff table at Professor Dumbledore who’d just risen from his seat. Quickly, all the voices in the Great Hall fell silent. 

“Welcome, welcome!” said Dumbledore earnestly. “As you’re all aware, tonight’s feast isn’t an ordinary one. In just a couple of minutes, the guest students from Ilvermorny will arrive. But before we move on with any procedures, there are some things of importance I would like to discuss with you.”

Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the hall. 

“I need not to remind you that our guests from Ilvermorny are here due to the murder of their Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine. As of right now, the investigation is still ongoing. Now, while I can’t stop and encourage your curiosity, I implore you to show proper respect towards our guests. Think about what you ask. Remember , they are also victims in all of this, and your behavior will not only reflect upon yourself, but also Hogwarts as a school.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing.

“Unlike last year when we had two entire schools come visit for the Triwizard Tournament, this time we will only host a meager amount of seven students.” 

There was a low mumble at this exclamation. While nobody had expected the same number of students as last year, seven students was a very low number.

“Seven?” said Ron, confused. “But that letter from Dumbledore that Dad and the others read only said that there would be six.”

“Well obviously someone else decided to come along. Now shut up and listen,” said Hermione under her breath.

“As such, it does not make much sense for them to have their own accommodations. As such, the Hogwarts staff, together with the students of Ilvermorny and their deputy headmistress, have decided on a fun, and what we think is an innovative method, to not only make our guests feel the ‘Hogwarts spirit’, but also to ensure integration.” Dumbledore gave a beaming smile. “In a couple of minutes when Professor McGonagall opens the doors to the Great Hall, we will, for the first time in Hogwarts history, hold a second sorting ceremony.”

“What? Are you serious?” exclaimed a Ravenclaw sixth year, Harry didn’t know the name of. A great laugh ran through the crowd of students. 

Harry himself looked over at Ron and Hermione. They mirrored his own shock, mouths half open, staring intently up at Professor Dumbledore. On the other side of the table, Fred and George looked thunderstruck.

Up at the staff table, Harry could see the twinkle of amusement in Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes.

“Yes, yes,” said Dumbledore after another minute of excited chatter. “We’re all very excited over this new possibility. But now, I’m afraid that we will have to go back to the more boring, but no less important information.” The Great Hall fell silent again. 

“As I was saying. When the doors open in a few minutes time, we will hold a secondary sorting. Each one of the students from Ilvermorny will be sorted into one of our four houses; Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. When the students from Ilvermorny have been sorted and the feast finished, I’ll look for the prefects of each house to show them to their new homes for the duration of their stay.”

Hermione sat up a bit straighter at those words. 

“As you will learn in a couple of minutes, our guests are not all the same age. Two of them will be seventh years, three sixth years, and two fifth years. Finally, I would just like to confirm that end of term exams will still go ahead as planned…” Dumbledore gave another wide smile at the groans of the many students who’d evidently hoped for a different answer, “...And that these students are eligible to play Quidditch for their new houses if they decide to partake in tryouts and deemed good enough by each houses’ captain.”

There were more excited voices at these exclamations. 

“Now then,” said Dumbledore. “Let’s rise for the occasion!”

All around the Great Hall students, ghosts and teachers stood up from their respective seats. The tension and excitement in the air could have been cut by a knife. Further down the Gryffindor table, Harry could see small Dennis Creevey jump up and down to try and see the door better.

Then, as the Great Hall fell silent once more, Dumbledore clapped his hands twice and the door to the Great Hall swung open…

Chapter Text

Three days earlier…

Percy Jackson opened his eyes slowly. A small breeze traveled through a nearby, open window, bringing with it the smell of wild flowers, sea salt and strawberries. Percy let out a loud yawn, before lazily gazing around the room he was sleeping in. 

The room was low and long and solid, with windows facing the sea. The walls were carved out of rough gray stone, infused with pieces of seashell and coral, made to look like the bottom of the ocean floor. Further down in the room, beside a row of empty bunk beds, sat a gray rock fountain with a fish spouting water. The walls were for the most part empty, with the exception of a long minotaur horn and a shield.

Poseidon’s cabin looked just like it had done the last time he’d set his foot in it. Below him, someone gave a small sleepy groan. He looked down at Annabeth’s naked body as she was snuggling into him, her blonde hair sprawled across his chest. He gave her a warm smile. 

Perhaps she had sensed that Percy had now woken up, because a moment later one of her gray eyes peered up at him. Percy grinned down at her. 

“You drool when you sleep,” said Percy teasingly. 

Annabeth snorted, before burrowing her head further into Percy’s chest, while letting out a content sigh. 

“Good morning to you too, Seaweed Brain.” She turned her head upwards to look at him. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” answered Percy, looking at the light streaming in through the windows. “But I’d guess it’s around lunchtime.” 

He bent his head down, and gave Annabeth a long lingering kiss. She hummed in content. 

“You’re in a good mood,” said Annabeth with a wink. 

Percy let out a small huff of laughter. “Why wouldn’t I be? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and there is a very pretty, and very naked woman in my bed, who also happens to be my girlfriend.”

Annabeth retorted by slapping him on the shoulder. “Since when were you such a sap?”

“Being romantic runs in my blood,” responded Percy with a grin, hugging Annabeth closer.

“You’re awfully dense for being someone with romance running through their blood,” said Annabeth, melting into the hug.

“Hey,” said Percy, feigning hurt, “I’m not dense…”

“You totally are,” said Annabeth teasingly. 

The pair laid there for a long while after that, sharing the occasional kiss, and talking mutedly. After nearly an hour, Annabeth and Percy finally decided to get out of bed. They put on their clothes and ventured out of Poseidon’s cabin.

Camp Half-Blood was just as it always was. All around them campers of varying ages were scurrying around in their orange camp attires, carrying out certain tasks or speaking animatedly to their fellow cabinmates. A group of children from Aphrodite’s cabin were sitting under a nearby tree, gossipping feverishly. Percy looked over as two children that couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven raced past, laughing. It was hard to believe that he’d once been that small. 

Percy and Annabeth continued onwards, venturing past the Arts and Crafts center and the Canoe Lake, where three older campers from Apollo’s cabin that Percy half recognized, was trying to teach a younger camper Percy didn’t know how to steer straight when using a canoe. They were evidently doing a rather poor job at this, since the small boy or girl kept drifting sideways.

“You know,” said Percy as they closed in on the Amphitheatre, “when you said that you wanted a break from New Rome, this was not what I’d imagined. But I have to say that Camp Half-Blood as a vacation destination is growing on me.”

“Camp has always been a lovely place,” said Annabeth with a smile. “Perhaps not the ideal place to vacation, but a haven nonetheless. There is just something about this place that New Rome can never replace.”

Percy knew what Annabeth meant. For all its perks, New Rome never properly managed to induce the same feeling of being home to him as Camp.

The Amphitheatre was empty, but further forward, below the climbing wall, stood three very familiar people gazing up at a number of campers trying to defeat the wall. 

“Come on, get a move on!” yelled Clarisse brandishing a spear, as one girl trying to ascend the wall took a short break halfway through. “In a real fight you’d already be dead. Fucking climb!”

Beside her, gazing amusedly at the scene unfolding before them, stood the Stoll brothers. Percy could tell that they were restraining themselves from laughing so as to not irritate Clarisse and risk having to ascend the wall themselves. 

“ Fucking climb ?” said Percy in amusement when they were close enough. “Are you sure you want to teach them that word Clarisse?”

Clarisse and the Stoll brothers spun around to face them.

“Oh, it's you …” said Clarisse pointedly, sounding only mildly disappointing to see Percy and Annabeth standing behind her. 

The Stoll brothers however, beamed at them. 

“Annabeth and Percy, what a surprise! We didn’t know you were here,” said Connor Stoll. “If we’d known you were here, we'd have said hello.”

“We only arrived last night,” responded Annabeth, grinning. “Also, I could say the same thing to you, Travis. I thought you’d be at college?”

“Well,” said Travis, “I was until a couple of days ago. But I decided to take some time off and visit my dear brother to see if the Hermes cabin was in ruins or not. I’m afraid he's not quite as clever as I am.”

Connor snorted in disbelief. “I’m twice as clever as you are, dear brother.”

“You wish,” said Travis in a retort. “Everybody knows that I’m—”

“If I hear you two bickering again, I’ll make you both climb the wall until sundown,” threatened Clarisse, cutting off Travis as she walked over. “What are you doing here, anyways?” asked Clarisse, motioning to Percy and Annabeth.

“Just taking a break from New Rome,” said Annabeth. “Decided to come here and see how everybody’s doing.”

“Well as you can see,” said Clarisse with a glint in her eye, “everybody here is doing fine…” She turned around to the campers who’d been climbing the wall. “Did I say that you all could stop? Fucking climb!” 

One boy puked.

“Better go take care of these losers,” said Clarisse, turning around. “See you!”

Annabeth and Percy continued on their stroll. Behind them, the Stolls had stopped their bickering to once more follow the wall ascent. Soon enough, Annabeth and Percy reached their destination — Fireworks Beach. Just like the Climbing Wall, the Fireworks Beach was not empty. A lone figure was sitting by the water, his feet borrowed in the hot white sand. As the person heard them approach, he stood up and turned around. 

“Hey, guys,” said Will Solace with a grin. “I hope you settled in, all right?”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Percy. “Feels like coming home.”

“I understand how you feel,” said Will. “Nothing beats Camp Half-Blood.” Will looked up and down the beach, almost as if he was looking for something. “You haven’t seen Nico, have you?”

“No, not at all,” said Percy. 

“Well if you do,” said Will, “tell him that his boyfriend wants to speak to him.”

Annabeth took off her shoes and threw them aside in the sand, Percy mirroring her a second later.

“How’s life in the Apollo cabin?” asked Annabeth curiously. 

“Oh, you know,” said Will. “Much like always, I suppose. Kids come in, we take care of them, develop their talents. Not as many new campers lately as usual, though. But I’m not sure whether to take that as a good or a bad omen.” He looked out over the Long Island Sound. “How about you? How’s life been in New Rome?”

“Busy,” answered Percy with a grin. “We’re both doing our own things. Annabeth is—”

But before Percy could tell Will what he and Annabeth were doing in New Rome, they were interrupted by the sound of hooves thundering down the path they’d just traversed. All three of them turned around. A moment later, Chiron, Camp Half-Blood’s centaur activities director, burst onto the beach. 

“Percy! Annabeth!” Chiron sounded agitated as he slowed to a walk as he approached the pair. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I thought you’d be in your cabin, so I went there to look for you, but I must have missed you.”

“What’s this about,” asked Annabeth in alarm.

“You have a visitor up at the Big House," said the centaur anxiously. Behind him, Percy could see how Chiron’s hooves paved the warm sand nervously. Chiron motioned to his back. “Hop on you two, It’s urgent .” He took a moment to look at Will, almost as if to size him up. “You too, Will. Get up. It’s probably good if you’re there for this too.”

Percy and Annabeth didn’t ask any more questions. Instead they just threw themselves on top of Chiron’s back. Will quickly followed suit, albeit a little less gracefully. 

Chiron took off with the speed of a bullet, his hooves smattering against the har ground. They quickly passed both the Climbing Wall and the Amphitheater, both of which were now empty. It seemed like Clarisse was done playing Drill Sergeant. Soon enough, Chiron, with Percy, Annabeth and Will on his back, reached the Big House. 

Just like the rest of Camp Half-Blood, the big house had hardly changed. Its sky-blue color mirrored the sky outside perfectly, while the bronze eagle weathervane drifted slowly side to side as the slow breeze caught it. Noticeable was that the deck wrapping around the outside was empty. That was not to say that it was always full, but since the Big House also served as the Infirmary, you could usually count on someone sitting outside on the deck while awaiting treatment.

As Chiron came to a halt, Percy, Annabeth and Will dismounted from his back.

“She’s waiting for you inside,” said Chiron curtly. “Hurry up, now!”

The three of them went inside. Percy could feel how his pulse quickened and how the familiar feeling of Adrenaline began to spread through his body. It was very rare to see Chiron this anxious, so whatever, or rather, whomever was inside was clearly someone of great importance. The entry hall was just as empty as the deck outside, however the Main Room which came next, was not. 

Sunk down on the sofa in the middle of the room were Piper McLean, Frank Zhang and Hazel Levesque. Hazel was talking animatedly, waving her arms around her head, trying to convey something to Piper and Frank who nodded along as she spoke.

“...The fact that Reyna is even bothering with him is a mystery to me. He’s completely hopeless and about as clumsy as he is stupid. But I guess we—” She stopped herself suddenly as she caught sight of the three of them standing in the doorway to the Main Room. A grin lit up her face.

“Percy, Annabeth, Will!” exclaimed Hazel happily. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Annabeth in surprise. “Reyna told me you’d be on guard duty this week.”

Hazel scratched the back of her head. “Oh, well—”

“They’re not on vacation like you if that’s what you’re wondering,” said a voice from the corner of the room, cutting off Hazel's reply. Nico Di Angelo was leaning against a bookcase, his black hair unkempt and aviator jacket slung over his shoulder. 

“There you are,” said Will, stepping forward, glaring at Nico. “I thought you said we’d spend the day together. Where were you? I’ve been worried sick.”

Nico looked incredibly awkward.

“I…uh…I’ve been busy.”

“ Busy ?” asked Will suspiciously. “With what, Nico ?”

But just as Nico was about to give, what Percy was sure to be a rather poor excuse for his absence, something shifted inside the room. The air seemed to grow heavy around them. Dust that fell from the ceiling above slowed down in its descent, while the sounds of birds from outside of the Big House became muted. Percy had a vague feeling of recognition. He’d sensed, or rather met the source of this feeling before, but he couldn’t place where. 

Then, something strange happened. A piece of wall close to the fireplace started to shimmer. Soon, it started to dissolve — fragments of white paint peeling itself off the wall to hang in midair, until all that remained was a large empty socket. Through the socket walked a woman.

The woman was tall with a fair complexion and a rather stern expression. Long, dark curls of hair hung from the top of her head, draping itself over the back of the blood-red dress that she was sporting. Her equally dark eyes swept over the room as the wall re-materialized itself behind her. She wasn’t alone however. A large black labrador retriever with red eyes stood behind her, flanked in turn by a polecat. A green snake draped itself over her shoulders.

Percy didn’t need Annabeth, Frank and Piper’s audible gasps of surprise to signal who it was. He had seen this woman once before, in the House of Hades. It was Hecate. 

“I apologize for my late arrival,” said Hecate as if it was completely normal for her to appear out of white wooden walls. “There were some things I had to attend to. I trust that you are all well and healthy?”

Nobody answered.

“Some of you,” continued Hecate as if she’d expected this reaction, “I have already met, or even spoken to prior to this.” She gave Hazel a small nod, who gave Hecate a weak smile in return. “But if you are unaware of who I am, then let me introduce myself. I am Hecate, born to Asteria and Perses — Goddess of Magic, crossroads and Necromancy. The one who controls the Mist, the one who controls the Sun and the Moon. You may also know me as Trivia, my Roman counterpart.”

 “Lady Hecate,” mumbled Hazel, bowing her head in respect. “It’s an honor to meet you again…”

Hecate, who’s gaze had drifted over towards Nico, snapped her eyes back to Hazel. “Ah, yes. It has been a while, daughter of Pluto. I trust you have heeded my advice and continued your practice of manipulating the Mist? Remember, it is a tool much too useful to neglect.”

Before Hazel got a chance to respond, Hecate had turned around to face the entire group of Demigods with a businesslike expression on her face. 

“I am sorry for calling you all here on such a short notice, but time is of the essence. I am afraid that I’m in need of urgent help, a help only you can provide.”

“What is it that you need help with?” asked Piper curiously, sitting back down on the sofa. 

Hecate gave a deep sigh, leaning back against the fireplace. 

“Many years ago now, I lost something. Something very personal to me. I need your help to get it back.”

“What did you lose,” asked Percy, steeling himself for whatever was coming next.

Hecate looked up and met his eyes. She looked tired, and some of her presence that had previously been filling the room seemed to lessen significantly.

“My heart, Percy Jackson. I lost my heart.”

Whatever Percy thought he would hear, it wasn’t that. He looked around at the others, who all looked just as shocked and surprised as he felt. A cool wind seemed to sweep through the house at these words, almost as if it could portray the severity of such a statement.

“Your heart?” asked Will carefully after a few moments of absolute silence. “What do you mean you’ve lost your heart?”

Hecate didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked out of a nearby window at a bird perched on the window still. Then she spoke. “It is a rather long story, but a story you will need to hear if you are to understand what’s at stake if you decide upon helping me.” She motioned to the sofa in the middle of the room. “Please, sit. This may take a while.”

They all sat down on the sofa. Percy exchanged a worried look with Annabeth. He could tell that she was just as tense and anxious as he was. Problems concerning gods were seldom easily solvable problems and often required great sacrifices of those who worked to solve them — people who more than often were demigods. Hecate meanwhile, pulled out a chair which she placed in front of the sofa and sat down on it. 

“I suppose that this story begins over four thousand years ago with a man named Narmer,” said Hecate, leaning back in her chair. “If you know your history, you might recognise him as the very first pharaoh in Ancient Egypt. What history doesn’t tell us is that Narmer spent most of his life before becoming a pharaoh as a priest — a priest working part of a larger cult dedicating their lives in servitude to the Primordial Goddess, Nyx. I like to refer to them as the ‘Nyxians’...”

Percy met Annabeth’s gray eyes, and he could tell that she was thinking about the same thing that he was. They had met Nyx once before, in the House of Hades, where she and her children had chased them through her Mansion of Night. They had only narrowly managed to escape with their lives.

“Although Narmer, nor anyone in the Nyxian cult for that matter, were one of Nyx’s own children, their intense devotion made her fawn over them. As a reward, she blessed their bloodlines, giving them the gift of wielding magic . Back in those days, magic was volatile and highly dangerous. Only some Nyxians, who were very skilled, learnt to properly control their abilities. These gifted wielders eventually became new pharaoh’s or influential priests, hiding their Nyxian heritage under the pretense of being blessed by Ra, Anubis or any of the other Egyptian gods.” 

Hecate took a deep breath before continuing to speak. 

“But then I came into this world, and magic fell under my domain. I stabilized the flow of magic in their bodies, and in turn ensured their safety. This stabilization meant that magic could be used by anyone blessed with Nyxian blood. Instead of magic being an indicator of status or skill, it slowly matured into an everyday tool. Over time, the Nyxians began to breed and migrate all over, giving birth to new people able to harness the gift of magic. These people, forgetting about their Nyxian origins and heritage, have since become known as Witches and Wizards.”

“Witches and Wizards are real?” exclaimed Frank in surprise. 

Hecate, to Percy’s great surprise, looked rather amused.

“They are just as real as you and me,” answered Hecate with a glint in her eye. “They even wear those pointy top hats. It’s a wonder they haven’t gone out of fashion,” added Hecate under her breath. “I’ve always thought it made them look like fools.” She quickly composed herself.

“Anyways, back to what’s important. As I was saying, these people have since become known as witches and wizards. Even though these people fall under my domain, I tried, for a very long time, to ignore them after stabilizing their magic. I made a promise to myself never to go near them again.”

“Why?” asked Annabeth curiously.

“I suppose it had to do with the fact that the magical bloodline doesn’t originate from me,” answered Hecate slowly as if she was saying these thoughts out loud for the first time. “It felt like being left with a child to raise that is not yours — odd and unfamiliar.”

“But you failed to ignore them?” asked Percy after a moment of silence.

“I did,” answered Hecate shortly, before giving a very tired sigh. “Nine-hundred years ago a wizard named Merlin was born in Britain. Yes,” added Hecate at the look on the demigods’ faces, “ that Merlin.” Hecate threw back her mane of dark hair. “Although I tried everything to ignore it, his magical presence was so vast that I just had to take a look. I became intrigued, curious. In retrospect, I should have stayed true to my promise. If I had, we wouldn’t be sitting here today…”

“You fell in love with him,” said Piper.

After a few still moments, Hecate nodded. “On the surface Merlin was everything a wizard should be; cunning and ambitious, wise and noble. After he’d finished his education he took up a position at King Arthur’s court. The magic he conjured there exceeded my wildest expectations. I became smitten with him and eventually fell in love. I should have seen what he really was, but I was blinded by my own wanton emotions.” 

Percy could almost taste the self-loathing in Hecate’s voice as she spat out those final few words. He recognized those feelings all too well, and the dangers they brought with them. Sinking too deep into despair never ended well. 

“After a while I revealed myself to him,” continued Hecate, “I professed my love, and after the shock had evaporated, we began meeting up. I thought he shared my sentiments — my feelings — but I was wrong. He didn’t care about me at all, no, he only ever cared about my abilities. But blinded by love as I was, I failed to see it.”

A somber silence seemed to hang over the room for a moment, before Hecate plowed on — this time with even more self-loathing layering her voice.  

“But it is what I did next that has put me here, in this house, with no way out except asking a couple of Demigods for help.” Behind her, the labrador and the polecat stirred. “About a year into our relationship things began to get rocky,” continued Hecate. “Merlin and I began seeing each other less frequently, but I was not ready to give up on us. In a fit of stupidity I wouldn't have thought myself capable of, terrified of losing the one mortal I thought worthy of me, I did the only thing I could think of. I gave Merlin my heart.”

“You did, what ?” said Nico, horrified. “You gave Merlin your heart? Your actual heart?”

“Yes,” answered Hecate, her voice unsteady. “I thought it would show how strongly I valued our relationship. Instead, I played into his hands, giving him the very thing he’d longed for from the start: the access to the source of all my powers. You see, Merlin belonged to a group of wizards and witches who thought themselves above the other magical races. They saw themselves as the overlords, the ones meant to govern over all. My heart gave them the means to finally accomplish this task.”

“But how could you be so foolish?” asked Annabeth in a whisper. 

Hecate shook her head. “A question I’ve asked myself for nine-hundred years, daughter of Athena. However, I’m hardly the first to have done stupid things for the people I loved. Hardly the first to look past the flaws of someone straying towards the path of evil…” At this, Hecate threw Annabeth a pointed look, before leaning back into her chair once more. 

To his right, Annabeth moved uncomfortably. It was very rare for anyone to bring up her past love for Luke Castellan — especially with such obvious intent. 

“Anyway,” began Hecate, “finally achieving what he’d wanted from the start, Merlin disappeared with my heart. When I realized that I’d been fooled, I was furious. I swore that I would locate and destroy him. But despite my best efforts over many long years, I never managed to find him, nor my heart. Over time, I began to get nervous. What would happen if Merlin managed to figure out how to work my heart before I got there? Luckily, nothing ever happened; Not to me, nor the wizarding world.” 

The room was as silent as ever.

“And now you want our help to find your heart?” asked Hazel tentatively, breaking the silence. “Hate to break it to you Hecate, but if you, a goddess, haven’t been able to find it in nine-hundred years, I seriously doubt that we’d be able to. After all, the heart could be anywhere!”

At this, Hecate gave a weak, but rather wry smile. 

“I know where the heart is, daughter of Pluto.”

“You do?” asked Hazel in surprise. “How? I thought you said you never found Merlin, nor your heart?”

“And I wasn’t lying,” said Hecate in response. “I know where my heart is because Merlin told me where it is. As I said, I spent many years searching for Merlin. But time moves differently for gods and mortals. You age, we don’t. And one day, at the end of his life, Merlin stepped back into the light. He called out to me on his deathbed, and I came. He was a frail old man by then, but he still had time for one last sadistic trick. He told me where the heart was, hidden away at the school where he spent most of his formative years, all the while taunting me for being naive, for trusting him. It was the final thing he ever did,” added Hecate, scowling. 

“But if you know where the heart is, why not just go and get it?” asked Will in a confused voice.

“Because I can’t enter the school grounds,” said Hecate in frustration. “I’ve no idea why, but I’m sure Merlin is behind it.” The feeling of power that had slowly dimmed over the course of their conversation, quickly made itself present once more.

“But we can?” asked Percy.

“Yes,” responded Hecate briskly. “Over the years I’ve not sat idly by, rolling my thumbs, Percy Jackson. No, I’ve done everything in my power to get my heart back. Since I can’t enter the school grounds myself, I’ve sent children and loyal followers in my stead. Unfortunately, no one has ever found anything. This is not strange, mind you. After all, Merlin didn’t leave me any clues. Or so I thought, anyway.” 

Hecate rose from her chair and began pacing the room. 

“Three days ago, an American wizard named Agilbert Fontaine returned to America after spending a month excavating an old castle in Northern Ireland. In that castle he found something, a journal belonging to Merlin. A journal my spies tell me gives information on how to find my long lost heart. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I heard it. Finally, my old mistake could be rescinded.” To Percy’s surprise, Hecate’s shoulders slumped.

“But I was too slow,” sighed Hecate. “Agilbert Fontaine was murdered an hour ago and the journal was stolen.”

Sharp intakes of breaths could be heard all around the room.

“Taken by who?” asked Frank.

“The Disciples of Merlin,” spat Hecate furiously, as another spike of power flashed through the room. “A group of wizards from around the world, who have made it their life's ambition to fulfill Merlin’s goal of governing all races. They’ve taken the journal back to Britain, and all they have to do now is locate the heart at Hogwarts to put the first part of their plan into motion.”

“How do you know it's been taken to Britain?” asked Percy.

Hecate gave a loud sigh. “Fontaine was headmaster at the American wizarding school, Ilvermorny. Just before he was murdered, he was visited by a delegation of wizards from the British Ministry of Magic. When they had gone, he was dead. The headmistress told me,” added Hecate. “She is one of my children, you see.”

Percy looked around the room. Annabeth seemed lost in her own thoughts, Hazel and Frank kept sending each other furtive glances, while Will had grasped Nico’s hand so tightly that Nico was wincing in pain. He wasn’t sure what to say. The story Hecate had just told them was so crazy, so preposterous that he knew that it must be true.

“As the daughter of Pluto has already guessed, I have come to ask for your help in retrieving my heart before it's too late,” said Hecate quietly. “Understand that you have no obligation to follow through on my request. However, unless we do something now, the entire wizarding world might be in danger as a result of my foolishness.”

“But why not use your own children for this quest?” asked Percy. He knew that most demigod children wanted to appease and prove their worth to their godly parents.

Hecate gave another audible sigh. “As much as I would like to, son of Poseidon, my children have dwindled in numbers over the last hundred years. The ones that do exist are too young or too old to enter Hogwarts without suspicion. There is also the matter of the severity of this quest. All of you before me have completed more dangerous tasks than this before, and come out unscathed. As much as it pains me, you are my only hope…”

“Can…can you give us a moment? While we talk it through?” asked Piper tentatively from her place on the sofa.

Hecate nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside on the deck. Call on me when you are ready to give an answer.”

And with that Hecate left the room.

It was like opening the plug to an overfilled bathtub. Suddenly, all the emotions, all the questions, fears and suspense burst out of all of them at once. The room quickly became very noisy. Hazel and Piper were talking animatedly to each other, while Frank had stood up to pace the room. Nico and Will were whispering something to each other. Percy turned to Annabeth who met his gaze immediately. 

“You mind rounding them up, Wise Girl?” asked Percy grimly. “I can tell we have a lot to talk about…”

—

“So,” started Percy a few minutes later, when the chatter had died down, “what should we do?”

Annabeth had rearranged a couple of chairs in front of the sofa in the room to form a very ugly, but distinguishable circle. 

“This isn’t a decision one of us can make. Either we all go, or we don’t,” continued Annabeth. “Hazel? What do you think?”

Hazel, looking surprised at being asked first, composed herself to answer. “Well,” she began, “I…I think we should do it. I know Hecate said we were not obligated to help her, but I would feel terrible if I knew that I could have prevented something bad and sat by idly, doing nothing instead.”

“I agree,” said Frank, pitching in. “We all make mistakes. The mistake of one shouldn’t bring doom upon others, especially when something can be done about it. Also,” he added sheepishly, “it doesn't hurt to have a goddess in your favor…”

“While I understand your sentiments,” said Will, butting in, “I don’t know if this is such a good idea. We know too little about the ‘wizarding world’ world to just jump right in. I don’t even want to think about the consequences if we are found out.”

To Will’s left, Nico looked to be deep in thought. After a few moments he cut through the silence that had formed after Will’s exclamations. 

“I won’t lie and say that this new world doesn’t intrigue me. However, I don’t think we should make any promises without knowing what we get out of it. Not to sound heartless, but we have no obligation to help these people, and like Will said, putting ourselves in the line of fire will be dangerous. I’m getting tired of doing the Olympians' dirty work with the reward being a slap in the back and a thumbs up…”

Percy felt conflicted. On the one hand, he agreed with Hazel and Frank. He knew that he would feel terrible if he abstained from helping Hecate and that in turn led to deadly outcomes for innocents. On the other hand, he’d spent most of his rather short life fulfilling prophecies, fighting wars or risking his life as a consequence of sometimes pointless squabbles between Olympians. Only now, over the last couple of months had he found a sense of stability he’d never experienced before, a stability he wasn’t so keen on giving up. He thought of himself and Annabeth walking through the streets of New Rome, lounging in small cafés in their spare time or attending New Rome University.

“I think we should do it,” said Percy slowly. “But Nico has a point. I’ve spent the last couple of months establishing a life in New Rome I never thought I’d have. I’m not so willing to give it up without anything in return.” 

Annabeth on the other hand, seemed to be more unsure. 

“But even if we agree to do it, how on earth are we going to convince anyone that we’re wizards or witches? We know nothing about how to use magic, nothing about the wizarding world, nothing about any of this. And even if those problems are solvable, how on earth are we going to get into Merlin’s old school? It’s not like we can just waltz through the front door, announcing that we’re there to search the castle in hope of maybe finding the heart of a goddess. Not that I don’t want to help those people,” she added hastily. “But you must admit, going in blind like this would be a new level of stupid, even for us.”

Despite the severity of the situation facing them, Percy couldn’t help a small grin. Leave it to Annabeth to reflect over possible issues with a plan. He turned to face Piper. She was the only one who hadn’t spoken.

“What about you, Piper?” asked Percy.

Piper frowned and looked up from her knees on which she’d been staring. Then, as if she’d finally reached a decision, Piper opened her mouth to speak.

“Love makes people do stupid things. Most of us here know that.” She bit her lip. “I say we help Hecate, but only if there is a solid plan. If she can’t present one, we step away.”

There was a murmur of agreement at these words. 

“So,” began Hazel cautiously, “we’re all in agreement, then? We’ll help Hecate with getting her heart back?”

“It seems so,” said Annabeth. “But only as long as there is a proper plan.” Annabeth turned to face Percy.

“You mind telling Hecate we’ve reached a decision?”

Percy shrugged and rose from his seat. “I’ll get her. Sit tight.”

As Percy exited the Big House, he found Hecate sitting on one of the wooden benches lining the outside deck. Her eyes were slowly scanning the woods below, occasionally coming to land on a bird nesting in a tree or a rogue dragonfly whizzing past. At her feet, the black Labrador and the Polecat were once again snoozing contently. 

“It has been a long time since I visited this place, Percy Jackson,” said Hecate slowly, still looking out over the forest as he approached. “But each time I do, it always seems to surprise me.” She turned to face him. “I take it you’ve reached a decision?”

“Yes,” said Percy. “We have agreed to help.” 

Hecate practically beamed at him.

“Thank you, Perseus. You have no idea how much this has alleviated my worries. Now then, let’s head inside to see your friends. We have much to discuss after all! I have a plan…”

Chapter Text

Three days later…

“I spy with my little eye…something gray,” said Percy, peering intensely out of the window.

“Is it fog?” answered Nico unenthusiastically.

“How did you know?” responded Percy.

“Percy, there’s nothing but fog outside the window. What else could you be seeing?”

They were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. In a corner of the compartment, Hazel and Frank were snoring loudly. Meanwhile Annabeth, Will and Piper had their noses deep in copies of “Charm or Harm? An anthology of Charms to save your life” by Joseph Elliot. Percy and Nico, who’d been less keen on reading, had spent the last half an hour playing ‘I spy with my little eye’ out of the train window. 

“You up for another round?” asked Percy, scratching the tip of his nose.

“No,” said Nico glumly. “Anyway, we should probably wake them two.” He pointed at Hazel and Frank. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

“Nico’s right,” said Annabeth, putting aside her book. “We need to go through the plan again.”

“No matter,” said Piper, grinning. “I’ll wake them.” 

Slowly, Piper stood up from her seat beside Will and crept towards Hazel and Frank. She angled herself to be level with Frank’s ear and blew hard. Frank jumped in surprise, his head hitting the underside of the overhead luggage compartment. Frank swore loudly, causing Hazel to jerk awake. She looked wildly around, clearly disoriented.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack?”

Percy gave a loud bark of laughter. “No, no, don’t worry. Piper just decided to…well… give you a rather unorthodox awakening.” 

“You can say that again,” mumbled Frank, rubbing his head. “Wasn’t exactly how I thought I’d be awoken…”

Annabeth, who'd also given a loud snort of laughter when Piper had woken Frank and Hazel, now composed herself. 

“Come on sleepyheads, we need to go through the plan one last time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Hazel, shaking her head. “Damn. My head still feels all fuzzy. It’s been like this ever since Hecate put us into that trance. I’d hoped it would be gone by now, but clearly luck isn’t on my side.”

“Don’t worry,” said Will, finally appearing from behind his book. “My head only cleared up last night and Hecate promised it would be alright before our first classes.”

Percy thought back to their meeting with Hecate three days prior. After agreeing to try to retrieve her heart, Hecate had put all of them into a magical trance through which she’d crammed as much information as she could muster about the magical world into their brains. Although it had been rather cool waking up from the trance hours later, suddenly knowing how to perform all sorts of spells of varying difficulty, magical etiquette and all kinds of information you’d otherwise have to go through a lifetime to acquire, it came with the rather annoying side effect of making your head feel like jelly. 

“So,” began Annabeth, suddenly businesslike. “What is the first thing that we need to do when the train stops?”

“Find Professor Minerva McGonagall. She’ll be waiting for us down at the train station,” droned Percy and the others. 

“Good,” said Annabeth briskly. “After that she’ll take us up to the castle to meet the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. What will happen after that is unknown, but most likely they’ll show us where we’ll stay for the duration of our stay here. With that, stage one of the plan is done; get into the Hogwarts Castle. Then tomorrow—”

“I have to say,” said Piper, butting into the conversation. “It was a clever idea by Hecate to utilize the headmistress being one of her daughters to get us into Hogwarts. All she had to do was to send a letter to Dumbledore after notifying the American Ministry of Magic of Fontaine’s death, asking if some of her ‘students’ could continue their education at Hogwarts while the investigation was carried out. Not exactly something that would raise suspicion, is it?” Piper smiled sheepishly at the look on Annabeth’s face. “Sorry, Annabeth. Didn’t mean to cut you off like that. Please, continue.”

Annabeth gave her a stiff nod before continuing.

“As I was saying. The real test starts tomorrow. From tomorrow onwards, we will masquerade as Ilvermorny students at Hogwarts, trying to find the hearts before the Disciples of Merlin. However, as we are all aware by now, we lack their advantage. We have no journal, and as a result no idea what we’re looking for. As such, there is no shame in admitting that our odds are terrible. To find Hecate’s heart, we will therefore have to exercise all of our new magical abilities to the max, as well as utilize our experience from previous trials, and the powers given to us by our parents.”

Annabeth stood up from her seat, walked up to the door leading out into the corridor before turning around, facing the rest of the demigods. She turned to Nico first.

“Nico, according to Hecate there are ghosts inside of the castle, many of whom have been there for centuries. Make sure to squeeze every bit of information out of them. Employ them as spies if you have to. Do everything possible to give us an advantage. Do you understand me?”

Nico nodded. Annabeth moved on to Frank. 

“Frank, make sure to use your shapeshifting abilities. Animals, especially the owls are bound to pick up things of interest. Talk to them and learn what they know.”

Annabeth faced Percy last. 

“Percy. As a son of Poseidon, make sure to use those abilities to get in contact with the Merpeople in the lake. They have been there for thousands of years and might know something useful. As for the rest of us,” she turned away from Percy to face the cabin at large once more, “we will have to rely on our brains. Hopefully, with a little luck and a lot of skill, we might be able to find the heart first and snatch it from under their big fat noses. However, just remember. Whatever happens in there, we stick together .”

Everybody murmured in agreement. 

“Good,” said Annabeth. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” said Percy, having just remembered. Out from his pocket he pulled a small beaded bag filled with small bottles made out of what looked like pure crystal, containing a scarlet liquid, reminiscent of blood. 

“Magical Essence,” said Percy, handing out a bottle to each of them. “Remember what Hecate said. As we are not descendants of the Nyxians, nor blessed by Hecate, or one of Hecate’s children, we wouldn’t normally be able to actually do magic. Our own abilities are tied to our lineage, and although our blood is magical, it is not ‘the right type of magical’. So to produce magic, we will need to take a substitute. Three drops of this every morning and we’ll be able to pass as any witch or wizard. Forget and well…”

Percy didn’t need to say the rest. They all knew what the consequences of forgetting to take their magical essence could entail.

Outside of the window, Percy could see how the train passed over a great bridge. By now most of the fog had cleared up, leaving behind a bleak, gray sky — the presence of rain still making itself clear.

“Should we get dressed then?” asked Hazel carefully. “We’ll be there soon!”

“I suppose so,” said Will, rising from his seat to fetch his luggage. “Nico, do you want me to take down your bag as well?”

“Sure,” said Nico, shrugging.

To his left, Piper gave a grimace as she saw Hazel hoist the dark robes out of her luggage bag. 

“Hecate was right. Wizard clothing really is out of fashion…”

—

The Hogwarts Express came to a stop some thirty minutes later at Hogsmeade station. After making sure that everybody was dressed properly and had remembered to bring their new wands and luggage, the seven demigods left the train to wait on the platform. 

Percy felt a shiver run down as he stepped out of the warm inside of the train onto the cold, wet and very empty platform. By now, darkness had fallen all around them, punctured only by the fleeting light from a handful of lamp-posts.

“I wish that Professor McGonagall would hurry up. It’s freezing outside,” said Frank, rubbing his hands together. 

As on cue, a large carriage, pulled by a dark horse-like being Percy knew to be called a Thestral, came into view on a nearby road. Moments later the carriage came to a halt in front of them, and a tall and rather woman stepped out. She was dressed in the same type of dark robes as themselves, her dark hair tied up in a tight bun, a pair of glasses adorning her face. 

“Good evening,” said the woman, closing the gap between them. “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope your journey went well?” 

“Oh, yeah,” said Annabeth tentatively, “it…uh…it was nothing.”

“Good! Professor Dumbledore will be delighted to hear that. He is waiting for you in his office up at the castle,” said Professor McGonagall. “Shall we go?”

Percy and the rest of the demigods nodded. With a swish of her wand, all of the luggage standing on the ground flew onto the back of the carriage. 

“Traditionally, first-time students travel over the lake for their first visit to the castle. But due to the weather, we thought using the carriages was more appropriate,” said Professor McGonagall.

Soon enough they’d all left the cold outside and stepped inside the carriage with Professor McGonagall. 

“I wish we could have welcomed you all under more pleasant circumstances. The death of your headmaster has left many of us feeling most distressed. But now that you’re all here, we will do all we can to make your stay as nice as possible. Since wizarding schools normally keep their secrets close to heart, it’s fallen to me to introduce you to Hogwarts,” started Professor McGonagall as the carriage started to move. 

“Hogwarts was founded around the tenth century by four of the cleverest witches and wizards to ever live; Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Rawenclaw, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. Each envisioned a school where young witches and wizards could be educated in magic and where aspects of personality valued by the founders could be brought out. Gryffindor valued courage, determination and strength of heart; Ravenclaw only took on those with the sharpest of minds; Slytherin became the home of the cunning and ambitious; Hufflepuff picked up the rest, valuing hard work and loyalty. Together they built Hogwarts. It is said that the Hogwarts-name came to Ravenclaw in a dream, although this fact is unconfirmed.”

The carriage continued onwards. They were in the middle of the woods now — the darkness pressing in around them. 

“The four founders cooperated well for a time, but shortly after founding the school Slytherin had a falling out with the other founders over blood purity. Slytherin felt that only pure-blood students deserved to learn magic and those of other ancestry, such as half-bloods or muggle-borns were unworthy. The three other founders all disagreed and Slytherin left the school. Despite this, each of the founders had already left their mark on the school. In no way was this more apparent than in the four school houses named after the four founders themselves; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. At Hogwarts each student is sorted into one of these houses.”

The carriage shook as the carriage took another turn. The darkness was lessening now. Percy could see the unidentifiable lights in the distance. 

“I believe you’ll be able to see the castle in a moment,” said Professor McGonagall with a slight smile. “Ah, yes. Here it comes. Please turn your attention to the windows.”

For a moment there was nothing but trees blocking their view. Then, the castle emerged out of the darkness. Everyone except Professor McGonagall gasped.

A thousand yellow lights stared back at them from the windows of a magnificent old castle set upon huge rocks, looking down upon a surrounding black lake. High towers penetrated the dark sky, giving an impression of great might. Surrounded by sloping lawns, the castle almost seemed to grow in stature as the carriage came closer. Beside him, Percy could hear Annabeth let out a small dreamy sigh. Percy smiled to himself. Annabeth was bound to be fascinated by the architecture, even he himself was as a matter of fact. 

“Wow,” said Frank in awe, vocalizing what they were all thinking. “That’s a sight I’ll not forget for as long as I live.”

Minutes later the carriage came to a halt in front of the school. Together they exited the carriage with Professor McGonagall, walking briskly to avoid fresh droplets of rain emerging from the sky above. 

“These,” said Professor McGonagall, pointing at two large wooden doors, “are the doors that lead into the Hogwarts Entrance hall. If you follow me, I will take you up to the headmaster's office.”

Professor McGonagall opened the doors and everybody ventured inside. The inside, it turned out, was just as spectacular as the outside. Great marble staircases led up to higher levels in the castles and on the walls paintings hung in plentiful. Even though Percy now knew that people in wizarding paintings and photographs moved — another happy byproduct of Hecate’s little hypnosis-session — it was still somewhat jarring to see them waving down at them as they passed, whispering excitedly.  

Up stairways they went, through long marble corridors lined with wooden doors which Percy suspected led to classrooms. 

“Where are all the students?” asked Percy curiously. He would have thought to have seen some of them by now, but the castle seemed to be almost empty. 

“In their common rooms,” answered Professor McGonagall shortly as they climbed up another set of stairs. “Classes ended an hour ago, and the evening feast isn’t for another forty-five minutes. Ah, yes. Here we are!”

She stopped in front of a large stone Gargoyle, which leered down at them. 

“Fizzing Whizbees,” said Professor McGonagall and the Gargoyle lept aside, revealing a neat staircase spiraling going upwards. “Professor Dumbledore’s office is up here,” continued Professor McGonagall, pointing at the staircase. “Follow me, please.” 

As a unit, the seven demigods and Professor McGonagall climbed up the stairs, until they reached a wooden door. Professor McGonagall gave three loud knocks on the door, before a voice spoke up from the inside, telling her to enter.

The headmaster’s office was unlike any office of a headmaster Percy had ever been in. He felt uniquely qualified to answer this as he’d spent a lot of time being reprimanded in different offices of headmasters during his early years in school, before Percy knew he was a demigod. 

The room was shaped like a rectangle, with walls lined with shelves filled with books. On the floor stood multiple spindle-legged chairs and tables, which housed a number of silver instruments, who puffed and let out steam. Paintings of wizards and witches lined the upper walls. At the end of the room was a desk. Behind the desk sat the most wizarding looking wizard Percy had ever seen. 

Despite the fact he was sitting down, Percy could tell that the man was quite tall and thin. His long silver beard hung down from his chin, draping over the desk in front of him. Percy could see a rather crooked nose, on which hung a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. But most wizardly of all was his cloak — dark blue and scattered with golden stars. As they came closer to the desk, Albus Dumbledore rose and strode out from behind his desk to greet them.

“Welcome, welcome,” said Dumbledore beaming down at them. “I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! I hope your journey was pleasant?”

Each of the demigods nodded.

“Good, good,” said Dumbledore, smiling more widely. “Why don’t you all sit down? We have some things to discuss, I believe.” With a swish of his wand, Dumbledore drew up nine chairs who materialized out of thin air. “Now, before we get into the more boring formalia, why don’t you begin with introducing yourselves.”

It took Percy a moment before he realized that Dumbledore was looking straight at him. He’d been too fascinated by a nearby silver instrument which was now releasing steam in perfectly shaped circles. 

“Oh, sorry,” mumbled Percy, scratching his head awkwardly. “I’m Percy Jackson. This is Annabeth Chase,” he pointed at Annabeth who smiled in return, “Nico Di Angelo and Will Solace,” both nodded, “Piper McLean,” Piper gave a tight grin, “...Hazel Lavesque and Frank Zhang,” said Percy, finishing off the introduction. Frank and Hazel meanwhile gave small waves in response.

“It is lovely to meet all of you!” said Professor Dumbledore earnestly. “Now, as I was saying, we have some things to discuss. First of all, I would like to start by saying that I wish we could have met under happier circumstances than Agilbert’s murder, but now that you’re here, we will do our utmost to make sure that you have a pleasant time and that your continued education will be as flawless as possible, as we await the conclusion of the investigation.”

As Dumbledore spoke, Percy could see how the portraits on the walls feigned sleep. One wizard with dark hair and a pointed beard was doing a particularly poor job by occasionally letting out loud, fake snores that tricked no one. 

“So, let’s start with tonight, shall we? To begin with, I’m sure you all wonder where you’ll be staying,” said Dumbledore, his electric blue eyes twinkling merrily.

The Demigods all nodded.

“Since Agilbert’s death, I have been in regular correspondence with your temporary headmistress about you coming to Hogwarts. As you may know, Hogwarts has hosted foreign students prior to this occasion, more specifically last year due to the Triwizard Tournament,” continued Dumbledore. “However, on that occasion, the schools of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang brought their own accommodations, and were not staying in the castle. That made sense of course, since they were each bringing about thirty students each. You on the other hand are merely seven. I and your headmistress both feel that ‘private accommodations’, due to your low number, would hurt integration. As such, we have decided that the best way for you to properly get to know and be a part of Hogwarts during the duration of your stay, is to conduct a second sorting ceremony.”

Percy looked around at his friends. Hecate had said nothing about being part of a sorting ceremony when discussing her plan. This was a completely new obstacle that they would have to face together. Percy ground his teeth. How could she not have told them? The answer came just as the thought popped into his head.

“By the look of your faces, neither of you have been told that you’d be part of a sorting ceremony,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. “Your headmistress promised me she would tell you, but I suspect you must have missed the owl. An easy mistake, but no matter. Now you know!”

Dumbledore stood up from his seat and strode over to a nearby shelf on which sat a very old and very patchy wizarding hat.

“During your journey up to the castle, Professor McGonagall gave you a brief walkthrough of Hogwarts history. She also told you, I’m sure, about the four Hogwarts houses; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw?” asked Dumbledore, returning to his seat and placing the patchy hat on the floor. 

Percy felt himself nod again. 

“Good,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “In about an hour's time, you will go down to the great hall with Professor McGonagall. When I give the word, she will bring you all into the great hall to be sorted into one of the four houses.”

“How will the sorting process work,” asked Piper curiously. 

“You will be sorted into houses with the Sorting Hat,” answered Dumbledore, grabbing the old wizarding hat, holding it out for the Demigods to see. “Each of you will in turn step up in front of the school, put on the hat and it will decide which of the four houses you're most compatible with. Said house will be your home for the duration of your stay, and the inhabitants your fellow classmates. After being sorted, you’ll get to experience a classic Hogwarts feast, which we all hope you’ll enjoy tremendously!”

Dumbledore turned to face Professor McGonagall. “Would you be so kind Minerva, to bring our newcomers back up to my office after the feast is finished? I would like for them to meet their new heads of house. It also gives you ample opportunities to hand out their new time tables before the start of tomorrow's lessons.”

“No problem,” said Professor McGonagall. “Do you want me to talk to the prefects as well, Albus? Our newcomers will need all the help they can get once they return to their respective common rooms…”

“That would be excellent Minerva, thank you,” responded Dumbledore.

The portrait of the black haired wizard gave another fake snore.

“With that out of the way, I would like to spend a few minutes talking about your exams,” said Dumbledore, ignoring the man in the painting. “Miss Chase and Mr Jackson, as seventh years you’d both be expected to sit the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests towards the end of the Spring term. Mr Solace, Mr Zhang and Miss McLean, you’d all be starting your N.E.W.T education and you two, Mr Di Angelo and Miss Levesque, would be sitting your O.W.L exams. However, your headmistress has decided that you’ll sit these exams when you return to the Ilvermorny, rather than here at Hogwarts.”

Percy couldn’t help but feel a great sense of gratitude. Going undercover in a school for witches and wizards was difficult enough, without the added pressures of exams hanging over their heads. 

“There is also the matter of the Hogwarts grounds. The forest beside the castle is Forbidden to all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade for those with no permit. You will be happy to know that your headmistress has enclosed all necessary documents for you to be able to visit the village, together with your new classmates. Finally, there is Quidditch. If any of you wish to play for your house team, please give your names to your new heads of houses.”

A pleasant silence fell over the room for a moment.  

“With that said,” continued Dumbledore, “I believe that we’re done. Minerva please bring our guests down to the entrance hall. By now most of the school should be assembled. I’ll make my way down immediately. I wish you all good luck.”

—

Percy was used to the feeling of pounding adrenaline, used to the feeling of uncertainty. But he was certain that he was not familiar with whatever feeling was now coursing through his veins. It was something beyond uncertainty, beyond nervosity. A quick glance at all of the other Demigods told him that he wasn’t the only one feeling queasy. 

Nico was looking an odd shade of green, Will was wiping his hands repeatedly on his new robes and Piper was walking aimlessly back and forth between two statues placed on each side of the door to the Great Hall. The only one who looked in control of the situation, with the exception of Professor McGonagall, was Annabeth — her gray eyes fixed on the wooden door in front of her. 

From the inside, Percy could hear the muffled sounds of a voice he thought resembled that of Dumbledore.

“Nervous?” he whispered to Annabeth, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly.

Annabeth gave a low chuckle. “Terrified.”

“Me too,” said Percy, smiling down at his girlfriend. “But we stay together, Wise Girl, like always.”

“Like always, Seaweed Brain,” said Annabeth fondly. 

Then, Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through the room. “I believe that Professor Dumbledore is just about finishing off. Please come and stand over here by the door in a neat line.”

They all did as they were told. Percy felt another spike of adrenaline, as Professor McGonagall took the pole position in the now straight line. She was carrying both the old sorting hat and a small stool in her hands. Percy closed his eyes and said a quiet prayer to his father. This quest would require every ounce of luck and skill he could muster. Moments later, the great oak doors swung open.

Percy had to work very hard to stop his jaw from falling open in amazement. To say that the great hall was spectacular would be an understatement. Great banners in the colors of green, red, blue and yellow, endorned with animals ranging from a silver serpent to a silver eagle, hung from an enchanted ceiling that was mirroring the outside weather. Underneath the banners stood four long tables belonging to each of the four houses. At the far end of the room, on a slightly elevated piece of stone flooring, similar to that of a podium, was the staff table, behind which sat the teachers and Professor Dumbledore — his silver beard glinting in the light of a hundred floating candles. 

As the seven Demigods followed Professor McGonagall into the room, Percy could feel how hundreds of eyes locked on to them. To his right, a child no older than eleven gaped up at him as he passed. A whisper carried through the hall as they approached the elevated podium on which the teachers sat, gazing down at them.  

Professor McGonagall stepped up on the raised stone podium, bent down and placed the stool and the ancient sorting hat on the floor, before turning to face the line of demigods behind her. Out of an inside pocket of her robe, she pulled a sealed scroll of parchment. She tapped it lightly with her wand and it unraveled before their eyes. 

“When I call your name, you shall come up here, sit down on the stool and put on the hat, which will then assign you one of four houses; Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.” 

There was a moment of silence in which Professor McGonagall straightened out the scroll of parchment in her hand. Then, she spoke with a clear voice that rang through the hall.

“Chase, Annabeth.”

Slowly, Annabeth dislodged herself from the group and stepped up to sit on the stool. Despite the fact that Professor Dumbledore and now Professor McGonagall had explained the procedure to them, Percy still felt slightly unsure how it all would play out. Up on the podium, Annabeth sat down, took a big breath, before cramming the hat down over her head. For a moment, all was quiet. Then, Annabeth let out a small yelp of surprise, but Percy couldn’t see what on earth could be the source of her shock. 

Behind him, a boy sniggered quietly. Percy had half a mind to turn around to glare at him, but was interrupted by something strange happening with the hat. A small gash had appeared, from which boomed a voice that shouted, “Ravenclaw”. 

The table where the boy that sniggered sat, exploded into cheers and applause. Meanwhile, Annabeth had pulled off the hat and was looking mightily relieved. She stood up from the stool, placed the hat to the side and went to join her new classmates. 

Nico was called up next. His pale complexion still looked slightly green as he put on the hat, awaiting his verdict. The hat took much longer to decide this time. Nico sat on the stool for over a minute before the same gash opened up and the hat shouted, “Gryffindor”. The table furthest to the right cheered and clapped loudly as Nico left the podium to join them.

“Jackson, Perseus,” called Professor McGonagall, and Percy felt his stomach twist. As he stepped forward up on the podium, he felt how the eyes of everyone in the Great Hall shifted to fix upon him. Percy picked up the hat and sat down upon the stool. His hands were wet with sweat and his adrenaline was pumping worse than ever. Seeing no reason to extend his suffering, Percy threw on the hat, awaiting judgment. 

First, nothing happened. Then, a small voice spoke inside his head — a voice that certainly didn’t belong to him or his inner consciousness. 

“Three Demigods in a row. Who would have thought…”

Percy had to restrain himself from jumping. He knew now what must have surprised Annabeth. What was more, it seemed to know what Percy really was. 

“Oh, yes,” said the voice, “I know what you are, Perseus. After all, you’re not the first or hardly the last Demigod to be sorted by me.”

“You…you can read my mind?” thought Percy.

“In a way,” responded the Hat calmly. “I can see inside your mind, judge your inner qualities, your desires and values.”

“So you know why I’m here, why we are here?” asked Percy cautiously.

“Naturally,” said the hat. “But you needn’t ask me where it is, because I do not know.”

“I see,” said Percy, rather disappointed. 

“Shall we get on with it then,” asked the Hat. “There is rather a lot here to unpack.”

“Uh, sure,” thought Percy, cautiously.

“Good. Well then, nobody can doubt your bravery or strength of heart. Yes, yes, a leader forged through hardship. You would fit in well with Gryffindor. There is great conviction here. But there is also something else. Undying loyalty for those close to you. Someone who knows what is required to survive. These are perilous times, after all. And underneath all of this, there is a kind heart. Hmmm, very difficult indeed. But yes, I think I know where you belong. It must be…Hufflepuff!”

The Hat shouted out these last few words, and the table with the yellow banner hanging over it shouted out their delight. Percy felt light headed as he took off the hat, left the podium to join his new classmates who were eagerly shouting their congratulations. Percy took his seat between a dark haired girl who to Percy’s great surprise gave him a glowing look, and a tall blonde boy with a large “P”, plastered on his chest. He could see that his new classmates were bursting to introduce themselves, but Percy didn’t feel very talkative. He was way more interested in which houses his other companions would belong.

The procedure continued as per usual. Professor McGonagall called out a name, and one of Percy’s friends stepped up to get sorted by the Sorting Hat. Hazel became the first person to join the Slytherin house, followed shortly thereafter by Piper who, similar to Percy, had looked slightly out of it as she pulled off the hat.

Will, who was next, barely had to put on the hat at all before the gash appeared and shouted out the name of the Ravenclaw house. The Ravenclaws, Annabeth amongst them, applauded and screamed out their delight.

The last person to be sorted was Frank, who threw on the hat and moments later joined Percy at the Hufflepuff table, a grin of relief on his face. 

As the applause died down, Dumbledore rose from his seat. 

“Now, that went off without a hitch, didn’t it. I wish all of our newcomers happy new beginnings in their new school houses,” said Dumbledore, beaming down at them. “As always, there is a time for speech-making. However, that time is not now. Let’s instead enjoy a wonderful Hogwarts feast! Tuck in!”

Chapter Text

Percy had never in his life been popular, or rather, he’d never been popular in school. He’d spent hours in his youth running away from bullies, getting caught up in trouble and sending teachers into early retirements. But now, for the first time in his life, he was one of the most popular people inside of a school. This popularity was, he knew, a temporary one. Once the interest in him and his friends had settled, people would return to their old cliques. 

Although Percy didn’t mind the interest, after all he found the Hogwarts students just as interesting as they found him, he wasn’t quite as keen on the sheer number of questions thrown his way the very moment Dumbledore sat down in his seat behind the teachers table. Across the table he saw Frank looking bewildered as a dark haired girl who looked to be close to his own age shook his hand vigorously, whilst introducing herself.

Percy snorted at the look on Frank’s face and turned to face the blonde boy with the golden badge embroidered with the letter P to his left. The boy held out his own hand, a pompous look on his face, before introducing himself. 

“Percy Jackson, was it?” asked the boy. “I’m Ernie Mcmillan — one of the Hogwarts prefects. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He nudged the “P” embroidered on his chest to signify its importance. 

“Nice to meet you, Ernie,” said Percy with a grin. “Man, if I knew that I’d be this popular I wouldn’t have been so nervous.” People were leaning forward in their seats up and down the table to get a good look at him and Frank.

“Well, you are the first students ever to be a part of a second sorting,” said the dark haired girl to his right. “You really shouldn’t be so surprised.” She held out her hand, just as Ernie had mere moments ago, and introduced herself. “I’m Ellie Cartwright–Williams.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Ellie. I'm Percy,” answered Percy, smiling. 

“So, I’ve heard,” answered Ellie in return. “Anyways, I couldn’t help but notice that you have a tattoo on your forearm. Can I see it?”

“Uh,” said Percy, slightly shocked by the straight-forwardness of the question. “You want to see my tattoo ?”

“Yeah?” said the girl with a completely straight face. 

“I—well, I guess that’d be fine. Here, take a look.” He pulled up the sleeve on his right arm, and showed Ellie his S.P.Q.R tattoo. 

“Hey, that’s really neat,” said Ellie, grinning. “What do you think of mine?” She pulled up the sleeve of her own robe to show a more intricate tattoo of two branches of leaves intertwining, with something akin to a butterfly or a moth perched at the base. 

“It’s really cool,” said Percy, unsure of what else to say. “Really, uh, ‘naturey’ …”

“Yeah, I’m quite happy with it. But sadly, very few people at this school have tattoos, so I rarely get to geek out over them with someone else. In fact, as far as I’m aware, you and I are the only Hufflepuff students with one or more tattoos, so when I saw that you had one I—”

“Ellie,” said a blonde haired girl from across the table. “Give the bloke some room to breathe. He’s been a Hufflepuff student for five minutes. You’ll have all year to talk about tattoos, but now is not the right time.”

Ellie looked sheepishly at the blonde girl from across the table. 

“Right, sorry…”

“So Percy, what year are you in?” asked Ernie, trying to turn the conversation back on the topic of school.

“I’m a seventh year student,” said Percy with a shrug. “You?”

“I’m a fifth-year student.”

Ellie grinned at him. “Looks like we’ll be study-buddies then, huh? I’m also a seventh year student, you see.” 

She pointed to a number of girls seated right across the table, who’d been watching him intently, including the blonde girl who’d just told Ellie off for bothering him. 

“These are some of your other fellow seventh years,” started Ellie. “The blonde girl on the left, whom you’re already acquainted with, is Lynette Sawley.” Lynette simply nodded. “Lynette is our resident potions-queen. If you need any help with potions, then she’s the one to turn to. She’s also the Hogwarts head-girl, hence the bossy attitude.”

“I do not have a bossy attitude,” said Lynette, scowling slightly. “You just constantly act like unhinged gremlins, and someone, more precisely me , needs to make sure that the castle is still standing when you’re done acting out.”

Ellie ignored her. “In the middle we have Claire Dewitt. Her twin brother Lewis sits further down the table with the other boys, who you’ll meet later.” Claire gave a small wave. “And finally, the girl on the right is Poppy Caxton.” Poppy, just like Claire, gave a small wave in response. “Poppy is excellent at Gobstones, so if you feel like your ego is too big, go up against her in Gobstones and it’ll be right back to zero.” 

“Happy to meet you three,” said Percy, warmly. He glanced up and down the table. People were still staring at him and Frank with great interest. “Say, how many Hufflepuff seventh-years are there?”

“Twelve without you,” said Lynette. “I don’t know what it’s like at Ilvermorny, but classes here are rather small. Therefore we often have lessons with other houses.” 

“Our classes are slightly bigger,” said Percy, remembering the information he’d been given about Ilvermorny . “We were fifteen seventh-years in my house.”

“Oh,” said Claire, in interest. “What house did—or rather do you belong to?”

“Well, there are four houses, just like here at Hogwarts: Thunderbirds, Horned Serpents, Wumps and Pukwudgies. I’m a Thunderbird,” said Percy, shrugging, “and Frank is a Pukwudgie.”

“Do you have a sorting hat too?” asked a small mousy-haired boy from beside Lynette.

Percy shook his head, before glancing at Frank who was deep in conversation with a dark-haired boy about the Hogwarts upcoming Hogwarts quidditch games, judging by the flailing motions of the boy's hands.

“No, we don’t,” said Percy, dragging his attention back to the conversation at hand. “The process is quite different. When we start school we are sorted into houses with the help of the Gordian Knot.” At the confused look on his new peers' faces he quickly added, “It’s a magical symbol on the floor of our entrance hall.”

“So the symbol sorts you?” asked Ernie Macmillan. “It doesn’t sound too different from the sorting hat to me?”

“Well, the Gordian Knot isn’t everything. While the knot is magical, it is ultimately the four wooden statues in front of it—each one representing one of the house mascots—that decides your outcome. Think of the Gordian Knot as a way for the mascots to feel your inner magical abilities.” Percy took a moment to think. “It’s kind of like a scanner.”

“And you became a Thunderbird?” asked Poppy. 

“Yes and no,” said Percy, grinning. He’d taken great pleasure in coming up with a cool backstory. To get the chance to act out on it felt incredibly rewarding. “In contrast to Hogwarts where the sorting hat picks one house for each student, us Ilvermorny students can be chosen by more than one mascot. As such, the final decision is up to ourselves. Naturally, if only one mascot picks you then there is only one place for you to go. I was chosen by two mascots: the Thunderbird and the Wampus. In the end I chose Thunderbird.”

“Why?” asked Lynette, raising her eyebrows in question.

Percy shrugged. “When I was younger I made a promise to someone I love that we would always stick together.” 

He glanced over his shoulder at Annabeth. Almost as if she could sense that he was looking at her, Annabeth turned her focus from the conversation she’d been partaking in and met his eyes. He admired every bit of Annabeth—but there was something truly special about those grey eyes. The way they held wisdom and cunning, the way they reflected back the lights of all of Hogwarts floating candles, the way they inspired the feeling of home. Percy turned his face back to his new friends and smiled.

“So in the end, the choice wasn’t difficult. I simply kept my promise.”

—

Piper wasn’t sure what to make of her new housemates. On the surface they seemed like any other group of students, but Piper could tell that there was a difference between the Slytherin house and every other house at Hogwarts. 

It took her mere seconds to figure out that the Slytherin house had a clearly established hierarchy, something the other houses seemed to lack. The way they spoke, the way they interacted with each other gave Piper the impression that she’d walked into the very elite of British wizarding society. This was unfamiliar territory. She sent Hazel a nervous glance, which Hazel echoed right back at her. It was clear that neither of them belonged.

“So,” said a blonde boy, whom Piper could tell was at the very top of the hierarchy. “Piper McLean and Hazel…whatever your last name was, welcome to Slytherin.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m Draco Malfoy and this is Crab,” he mentioned to a boy on his right, “...and Goyle,” and then to another boy on his left. 

Piper raised an eyebrow. Beside her, Hazel stifled a laugh. Piper knew that both of them were thinking the same thing—Crab and Goyle looked like trolls. 

“You have been the talk of the town lately,” drawled Draco Malfoy, lazily. “Students from America coming here after their headmaster is mysteriously murdered. Ta, ta. I’ll admit, even I’m intrigued. Do you know who did it?”

“No,” responded Piper curtly. “We don’t. They haven’t told us anything.”

“Well,” said Malfoy lazily, “It seems like your ministry is as tight lipped about things as ours. My father tried asking around, he’s a very influential person you see, but even he wasn’t able to get anything of value. But in the end, who cares? My father always said that Fontaine—like Dumbledore—was an idiot for having such a lenient stance on muggleborns. Hopefully now, you can get someone who truly understands the value of blood.” 

‘So that’s how it is,’ thought Piper bitterly. ‘This hierarchy is based on influence and blood purity. Great! Why did I have to get the pure-blood supremacists…’

“Are you a pure-blood, then?” asked Hazel. 

“Aren’t you?” asked Malfoy, his eyes glinting.

“No,” said Hazel. “Both me and Piper are half-bloods.”

“I suppose that can be forgiven,” said Malfoy, “as long as you remember that some wizards and witches are inherently better than others. Oh look, dinner.” 

The plates in front of them which had been empty, suddenly filled with food. Pies, sausages, roast potatoes, chicken and soups lined the table. If Piper wasn’t so surprised, she would most likely have started to salivate. Everything looked amazing.

“You look surprised?” said a dark-haired girl from across the table. “Not used to food just popping up like that?”

“Not surprised,” answered Piper, lying through her teeth. “I’m just…well—taken aback with all of the different choices. I’ve never seen some of these dishes before.”

The girl snorted. “Well, you’ll get used to them quickly. The shepherd's pie is a particular favorite of mine.” She pointed to one of the meat pies closeby. 

“No thanks,” said Piper, grinning apologetically. “I’m a vegetarian. Think I’ll just stick to the vegetable soup.”

“Your loss,” said the girl, shrugging. “I’m Scarlett, by the way.”

“Piper,” said Piper, holding out her hand. Scarlett shook it. 

“So, Piper, Hazel,” continued Scarlett, suddenly businesslike. “Do any of you play quidditch?”

“No,” responded Piper whilst pouring herself a bowl of vegetable soup.

“Have you ever wanted to? One of our Chasers got injured during our last practice session, so we’re holding tryouts during the next few days to find a replacement. You’re welcome to stop by if you’re interested.”

Piper furrowed her brows in thought. She knew that Quidditch was the most popular wizarding sport in the world and that it was played on brooms. Apparently it was also played here at Hogwarts.

“Although I’ve never played, you wouldn’t want me on your team,” said Hazel, grinning sheepishly. “I’m afraid of heights.” 

Piper knew that the height thing was a lie. Hazel wasn’t scared of heights, rather she was scared of the potential consequences that could follow as a result of her entering into Zeus’s domain — especially with Hazel being a child of Pluto. But it wasn’t like she could say that to someone she’d just met, especially not a witch.

Scarlett hummed in understanding, before turning her gaze over to Piper who responded with an apologetic grin. 

“Sorry Scarlett, but Quidditch isn’t my thing either.” 

Scarlett sighed disappointedly. “Don’t feel bad. It’s just that…well…not many have signed up for the tryout, so if you change your mind, come talk to me.”

“Will do,” said Piper, smiling back. 

“Who are you— we— playing in our first game?” asked Hazel, clearly curious. 

“Gryffindor,” said a dark haired boy from across the table, who Piper remembered Malfoy calling Theodore Nott. 

“Are they good?” asked Piper, taking a swig from an amber liquid she’d poured into her goblet. She grimaced as the sweet and earthy taste of the liquid hit her taste buds. Whatever it was she’d drunk, it wasn’t good. She sat down her goblet and shuddered.

“Since I joined the team two years ago, us and Gryffindor have been the frontrunners. We’ve had better brooms and better players. However, all things considered, I’d say that the house-teams are quite evenly matched this year,” said Scarlett, frowning. “But if I had to pick one team as favorites, I would probably go with Gryffindor. Potter and his Firebolt is too much of an X-factor to ignore.

“Oh, please ,” said Malfoy, butting into the conversation once more. “He’s not that amazing. Famous Potter and all of his admirers. The only reason he is where he is because he’s Dumbledore’s favorite. You know, maybe you should join their little fan-club, Lympsham—since you think he’s such an X-factor…”

Scarlett simply shook her head in disbelief at Malfoy’s words. “Listen, Malfoy. Please do not go around and act like you own the exclusive rights to dislike Potter. There are many of us, me included, who think that he’s completely insufferable. However, denying his skill on a broom is just sheer stupidity.”

Hazel frowned slightly. “When you say Potter, do you mean Harry Potter?”

“Of course we mean Harry Potter ,” sneered Malfoy, whilst biting into a chicken drumstick. “Tell me, in America, does everybody worship him too, or is that something only we have to suffer through?”

Piper raised an eyebrow. “I thought the perception of Potter had gotten worse over the summer due to his claim that You-Know-Who was back?”

“So you’ve heard about that, have you? Well, that little thing is a recent development,” said Malfoy, shrugging. Piper could see how a small smile replaced the sneer that had previously occupied his lips. “He’s had it coming for years if you ask me. This isn’t the first time he’s told crazy stories. Did you know he’s a parselmouth ?” Malfoy took another bite of his chicken drumstick. “My father has always said that there is a special ward in S:t Mungos with his name on it. I bet the ministry is just waiting for the chance to use it.”

“Wow, Draco . It seems like your Potter obsession has ascended to new levels over the summer,” said a blonde girl from further down the table. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that you were in love…”

It was crazy how much one single implication in a sentence could change the mood of the entire Slytherin table. Piper, subconsciously felt her mouth fall open. She curiously met Hazel’s eyes and found that Hazel had raised her eyebrows so high that they had disappeared under her bush of dark hair. But it wasn’t just Hazel and Piper who were surprised. On the opposite side of the table a number of students, including Scarlett, stiffened as if petrified. Malfoy’s two boulder looking body-guards Crab and Goyle exchanged menacing glances. Malfoy himself meanwhile, had taken on a slightly purplish appearance as if ready to burst. The only one who seemed completely unconcerned was the blonde girl herself.

“Y–you, you can’t say things like that to Draco,” squeaked a girl further down the table, who Piper didn’t know the name of. 

The girl simply looked amused. “I can’t say what, Parkinson?” The girl threw back her mane of long blonde hair. “That he’s obsessed? That he’s in love ?”

“He’s—Draco’s not in love!” squeaked the girl named Parkinson once more. 

“Oh, he isn't, you say?” said the girl looking even more amused. “I’m sorry to have to break it to you Pansy, but all the evidence points that way. All that our dear Draco needs to do now is to fess up and—”

“Shut up, Greengrass!” snarled Malfoy, at last. “I’m tired of your games. Shut up and be quiet, or I’ll show you no mercy.”

The girl, who Piper now knew as Greengrass, simply snorted out loud, looking just as unconcerned as she had mere moments ago. 

“You’ll show me no mercy, huh? Well now I’m positively shivering.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Malfoy, you may try to be the biggest bully in the playground, but in reality you’re nothing but a wannabe-serpent without a bite.”

Malfoy looked livid, but seemed unable to produce any proper response. The only one who seemed able to speak was the dark haired Pansy Parkinson, who, just like Malfoy himself, looked to be positively fuming.

“You’re just jealous that Draco doesn’t fancy you,” said Pansy, angrily. 

The blonde slytherin girl simply cackled with amused laughter. “Jealous that he doesn’t fancy me? Dear me, it sounds to me like you’re terrified I’ll sweep in and take Malfoy from you. But don’t worry, Pansy. That won’t happen. You can have him for all I care. After all, I like girls, not boys.”

She turned her gaze away from Pansy without a second thought and locked eyes with Piper, the amused smile still present on her full lips. 

“Now here on the other hand we have someone who actually interests me,” said the girl, seemingly appraising Piper up and down as far as she could see. It seemed like she liked what she saw, because moments later she held out her hand in Piper’s direction, extending her prior amused grin into a full blown, dazzling smile. “Daphne Greengrass,” said the girl, finally giving Piper her full name. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Piper McLean,” responded Piper, swiftly. “This is Hazel Levesque.” Piper pointed at Hazel, who waved in return. 

Daphne Greengrass examined Hazel closely, before shrugging and turning her eyes back to Piper. She then leaned over the table as if to whisper something confidential. At this close of a distance, Piper couldn’t help but notice that the blonde girl was extraordinarily pretty. 

“Your friend is cute, I’ll admit it,” said Daphne, fixing her eyes on Piper’s lips as she leaned in closer. “But it’s you who I’m interested in. Tell me, is being sexy your full time job?”

Beside her, Hazel quickly managed to stifle a snort of laughter into a cough. Piper herself also fought hard to keep her face straight. It was an awful pick-up line, but not much worse than what she was used to back home in Aphrodite’s cabin. She was a seasoned veteran.

“You know,” said Piper, letting out a slight chuckle, “you remind me a lot of some people I know back home in America— they’re also flirty, boisterous and self centered. You’d fit right in…”

“Now, now dear. You don’t have to give me compliments,” said Daphne, her piercingly blue eyes glinting in the light from the floating candles above. “That being said, I am slightly disappointed that you didn’t include vain in your description too. People tend to call me that, but I only see that as proof that I know my worth.”

“Know your worth, yeah right,” grumbled Pansy Parkinson, glaring at Daphne as if hoping to set her on fire with her eyes. 

Piper felt that it was time to put her foot down. Even though she actually found Daphne rather intriguing herself, the temperature at the table was close to sub-zero levels. Any more antagonizing and the situation could turn even more nasty. For a moment she even considered using charmspeak to calm down the situation, but stopped herself. After all, who knew who might be watching.

“As flattering as your interest in me is, I will have to turn you down,” said Piper. “You’re not my type.”

“Oh,” said Daphne, continuing to look unconcerned, despite the rejection. “Then who is your type?”

“My girlfriend, Shel,” said Piper, grinning. “She is my type!”

“So you’re already in a relationship? Tat, tat, how disappointing,” said Daphne, not sounding the least bit disappointed. “However,” continued Daphne, shrugging, “I’m hardly surprised. You, like me, are diamonds amongst pieces of coal. It’s only natural that we’d eventually be plucked up. I’ll retreat…for now.” With that, she retreated back over to her side of the table. 

Although Piper felt grateful for a quick solution to her problem, she couldn’t help but feel slightly surprised. She’d been sure that the blonde girl would have been more aggressive and insistent in her attempts to woo her, but apparently that was not the case. 

“You’re surprised that I’m not pursuing you further?” added the blonde, almost as if she’d read Piper's mind.

Piper couldn’t help but to nod in response.

“I might be a flirt, but I am no homewrecker. Although my dear,” continued Daphne, with a wink, “make sure to tell me if your situation changes. I wouldn’t mind taking you out on a moonlight serenade sometime in the future. Just you and me.”

“I’ll take you on a serenade to the place in hell where you belong,” hissed Pansy, butting into the conversation. 

“Please don’t,” said Daphne with a sigh. “You’d be a terrible company, Pansy. But maybe you should invite Draco instead? Those hellfires would probably do wonders for his pale complexion. Now, please excuse me” said the girl with an air of finality, “I believe I have divulged enough attention away from my food.”

And just like that Daphne Greengrass returned to her food, ignoring the appalled and somewhat furious gazes of all of her other nearby house-mates. Pansy looked like she was about to burst. It was by far one of the most bizarre situations Piper had ever experienced. The look on Hazel’s face showed that she too was surprised at everything that had just transcribed.  

“Uh,” started Scarlett after a few moments, breaking through the tense atmosphere at the Slytherin table. “Welcome to Hogwarts?”

—

“So how was the ride here?” asked a bushy-haired Ravenclaw girl from the opposite side of the table. “I hope you didn’t get too wet? The weather has been awful lately!”

Annabeth looked at the expectant looks of the faces of the students around her. It wasn’t weird that people would have questions, but the fact that everyone’s attention seemed fixed on two points, herself and Will, made Annabeth feel unusually shy. She quietly wondered to herself why that was. After all, she’d been an integral part of Camp Half-Blood for years, and never shied away from voicing her opinion or deliberation openly with anyone in front of all the campers. But there was just something in the way they looked at her, almost as if she was some kind of celebrity stopping by for a short visit, that made Annabeth feel uncomfortable. 

“It was fine,” answered Will, breaking Annabeth out of her thoughts. “The journey was longer than we thought it would be, but in the end it all turned out fine.”

“Last year the students from Durmstrang and Beuxbatons traveled here by ship and flying horses. All of it was so crazy—the horses especially! Did you know that Hagrid, the groundskeeper, fed the horses malt whiskey? One of my friends tried to sneak over to pet them, but fainted due to the alcoholic fumes. It was really funny, actually,” said another, much younger student with longer blonde hair eagerly, butting into the conversation. 

“Fun for you maybe,” mumbled a dark-haired boy from further down the table, his face slightly flushed. “I had to spend a night in the hospital wing and Flitwick took twenty-five points from Ravenclaw. I was a laughing stock for weeks.”

“So, how did you get here?” asked an older looking boy. “Someone said you flew in on a dragon, but I think that sounds a bit crazy.”

Annabeth couldn’t help but grin. “If you count a long steel construction with compartments that run on steam as a dragon, then yeah, we got here using one.”

“Damn, so you used the train,” said the same young boy that had spoken up previously. “That is way less cool than flying horses.”

Annabeth shrugged. “We were going to get to Britain by thestral transport at first, but our temporary headmistress changed her mind, so we used a portkey instead. Then, from London we took the train.” 

“What’s a thestral?” asked a blonde witch. 

“It’s a dark, horse-like creature with wings,” answered a dark-haired, very pretty looking girl with Asian ethnicity. “We sixth-years will learn more about them this year, unless I’m mistaken?”

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t learnt about them already,” said Will. “I mean, they do drag your school carriages.”

“What?” said a student. "No, they don’t. The carriages are horseless.”

“They only appear horseless because the only people who can see thestrals are people who have seen death,” explained Annabeth, “something I’m guessing by the look on most of your faces you haven’t experienced.”

“Can you see them?” asked the dark-haired boy who’d fainted from the alcoholic fumes.

“I can,” answered Annabeth shortly. “Will can too, as a matter of fact.” In the corner of her eye, she could see Will watching her cautiously. It was clear that he was trying to send her a warning, heeding her not to say too much—a warning she didn’t need. She knew where to draw the lines. 

“Who have you seen that died?” asked the boy, seemingly completely oblivious to the sensitive nature of the question.

A pressing silence fell over the table. It was clear that most people recognized that this question wasn’t something appropriate to ask someone new. 

“Hey, Lewis, you can’t ask a question like that to a newcomer,” said a tall boy nearby, breaking the silence. He glared disapprovingly at the younger dark-haired boy. The tall boy turned to face Will and Annabeth, with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry about that. I hope we haven’t made you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Will, holding up his hands, immediately diffusing the tension. “It’s not strange to be curious.”

The tall boy looked relieved. “Glad to hear it. Normally I wouldn’t tell Lewis to stop being curious—we are Ravenclaws after all—but there are questions you just don’t ask. The reason someone can see a thestral is one of those questions.”

“Again, we don’t mind,” said Will, smiling. “Uh, but maybe we could move over from asking about thestrals to some introductions? Not all the names at the entire table, of course,” added Will hurriedly at the horrified look on the tall boy's face. “We can get those later, just the names of the people closest by. After all, Annabeth and I have been talking with you for a while now, but we still don’t know what any of your names are!

“Oh, right,” said the tall boy sheepishly. “We probably should have started with that, huh? Well, no time as the present! My name is Alannias Shepley, but all my friends call me ‘Al’ and I’m a seventh-year student. These two troublemakers,” said Al and pointed to the younger dark-haired boy and the long-haired blonde boy, “are Lewis O’Connor and Laclan Mewis. Both are third-year students.” 

The two younger boys waved awkwardly. 

“Down there we have Marcus Belby, a sixth-year,” the boy who’d claimed that the carriages were horseless held up a hand, “and Jason Huntington, a seventh-year student, just like me.” The boy who’d asked if they’d flown in on a dragon smiled back at them. 

“Over there we have Felicity Eastchurch and Marietta Edgecombe,” the blonde and curly-haired witches from previously waved back. “And finally, Cho Chang!” the pretty asian girl held up a hand in response. 

“Hi, everyone!” said Will, beaming at everything and everyone. “I’m Will Solace and this is Annabeth Chase. We’re looking forward to getting to know all of you!”

“Likewise!” said Cho Chang, her dark hair glinting in the lights from the floating candles above. 

“Can I ask something,” said Annabeth, as she turned her gaze away from her new house-mates to marvel at the construction of the Great Hall. “Do any of you know any information about how Hogwarts was built?”

“Why are you asking?” said the blonde Felicity Eastchurch.

Annabeth smiled sheepishly. “Nothing more than curiosity. You see, I’m a really big fan of architecture. It’s what I want to spend my time doing after I graduate, and this place is just… wow . The way they have worked with blending different types of styles and construction techniques is so fascinating. I just thought that you might know more, since you’re students and I’m new.”

“Hmmm,” said Cho, thinking out loud. “I don’t know of anyone from any grade level or house that’s really into architecture. So if you’re curious, the best place to start is probably the library. You could also try and talk to professor Binns—he’s the ghost teacher who teaches History of Magic—but chances are that you might die of boredom before he even comes close to answering your questions.”

“That’s not entirely true Cho,” said Al. “She could always ask Shoma, she’s into architecture if I remember correctly.” He skimmed up and down the table as if hoping to locate the person he was looking for. “Where is Shoma, anyways. She’s usually with you right, Felicity?”

“She’s in the Hospital Wing,” said Felicity simply. “She accidentally blew up her enlargement potion during Potions-class earlier today, so we had to go to Madame Pomfrey to put it right. Also, Shoma isn’t into architecture, she’s a history nerd.” Felicity turned her gaze over from Al to Annabeth. “I’d say you’d do best with starting in the library. Oh, but a piece of advice, try to avoid Madame Pinns, the librarian. She’s more vulture than human.”

Annabeth snorted with laughter. “I’ll try and remember that, thanks.”

“Isn’t there also that one Gryffindor girl, the one who hangs out with Harry Potter all the time? Hermione Granger, is it?” asked the tall Jason Huntington. “I’ve heard she’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“That could work,” said Al. “Hey, Cho. You’re good friends with Potter, right? Maybe you could ask him if Annabeth could talk to her?”

Cho went beet-red in the face. Annabeth could tell that the claim of her being ‘good friends’ with the notorious Harry Potter meant more to her then she was willing to let on. She’d been in Cho’s position once herself—although that was many years ago now. Romantic feelings were complicated matters, far more complicated than they had any right to be. Annabeth remembered how hard she’d fought to keep her growing feelings for Percy secret, and how miserably she’d failed at doing so in the end. To this day, it was the only failure she was proud of. 

“No, no,” said Annabeth, coming out in defence of Cho. “That’s not necessary. I’ll start with the library. Thanks for the kind thought though!”

In the corner of her eye, she could see how Cho exhaled in relief. Annabeth smiled to herself. Crisis averted. 

“If we’re done talking about Hogwarts architecture, is it ok if I ask you some questions about Ilvermorny? I’ve been dying to know more about wizards in America,” said Felicity, her eyes sparking with curiosity. 

“Sure,” responded Will, amused. “Ask away…”

—

The Gryffindor table was, for all intents and purposes, very loud. Students chatted happily amongst each-other as they dug into the food and drinks that lined the table. Above them, the red and golden banner fluttered slightly underneath the magical ceiling which was now displaying a very dark and cloudy-looking sky. 

Nico in many ways felt that the sky above resembled part of his current feelings. He, like all the others, had been nervous about the sorting and very relieved when he’d been assigned a house. However, he’d never reflected over the possibility that he might be alone. It wasn’t that he was scared. No, he knew that he would continue to interact with his friends outside of school hours, after all they were here on a joined mission. But everybody else, even his boyfriend, seemed to have someone closeby—in their own house—that they could talk to, lean on and trust. He was the only one who felt and was alone. 

Nico stuck his fork angrily into a piece of chicken. It was all so unfair . The students around him sent him glances, but didn’t comment on anything. They hadn’t even said hi or introduced themselves at the end of the sorting. Perhaps they noticed that Nico didn’t want to talk, or maybe they just didn’t care. In the end, it didn’t matter. 

“Are you OK?” asked a girl from across the table, her brown and bushy hair spilling over her shoulders. “I couldn’t help but to think that you look a bit down.”

Nico bit the inside of his cheek. Was he going to be rude and shut her out, or settle for a more neutral and open approach? As much as the first option enticed him, he was here, at a school for wizards, for a reason. Burning bridges before he’d even established them was not a good idea.

“I’m fine,” said Nico, looking up from the chicken he’d pierced with his fork. “Just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Thought I’d be used to magical sortings by now, but apparently not.”

“I see,” said the girl carefully. “Well if you need someone to make you feel more comfortable, we’re all here for you.” 

“Thanks, but you don’t have to worry about it,” responded Nico. 

“If you say so,” answered the girl, shrugging. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. This is Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.” She pointed to two boys; one tall and gangly with ginger hair and freckles, and the other short and thin with dark hair and strikingly green eyes framed by round glasses. But that wasn’t the dark-haired boy’s most noticeable feature. That prize went to the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. 

Nico knew all about Harry Potter, of course—the boy who lived. Hecate had crammed every bit of magical information she could into their heads and Harry Potter’s famous defeat of Lord Voldemort fifteen years earlier as a mere baby, occupied a great deal of modern wizarding history. Nico examined him up and down. He didn’t seem that extraordinary, but Nico knew from experience that everything shouldn’t be taken at face value. It was possible that the boy possessed great magical power.

As much as he tried not to be curious about the boy’s past, Nico couldn’t help but feel intrigued. Death was something inevitable, it happened to everybody whether they liked it or not. Yet Harry Potter had cheated death at the hands of the most vicious murderer the wizarding world had ever known. How? 

“If you want to, we can get you Harry’s autograph,” said a voice from beside him.

“Yeah,” said another, almost identical voice. “Harry loves signing autographs. Hey, Harry! What signature will you use this time? The Boy who Lived ? The chosen one ? Or maybe you’re planning on bringing back the old classic, ‘the heir of Slytherin’ ?

Nico turned to face a set of identical faces with identical flaming red hair, both brimming with poorly contained amusement. 

“I’m NOT giving out autographs,” hissed Harry, covering his eyes with his hands.

A few people around the table laughed and Nico, against his will, felt his lips twitch.

“Don’t tell that to Colin Creevey, Harry,” said one of the twins. “He’d be heartbroken.”

Nico couldn’t help but feel a great sense of Deja vu. It seemed that no matter where he went there would always be a pair of twins reeking havoc. 

“You don’t happen to share a collective consciousness with two people named Travis and Connor Stoll?” asked Nico. 

The twins looked at each other, confused. “Travis and Connor….what?”

“They’re a pair of brothers I know from back home,” said Nico, shrugging. “They like to tease and prank people, and from what I can see, so do you.”

“Sounds like good and honest people,” said one of the twins. “My thoughts exactly,” responded the other. “Maybe you could introduce us?” 

Nico felt inwardly that introducing the Stoll brothers to these sets of twins would be a very bad idea if the world was to remain spinning. There was no way he would ever risk that. 

The red-haired twin held out a hand. “I’m Fred and this is George. You’ve already been introduced to our younger brother Ron,” he pointed to the gangly boy next to Hermione. “Our sister Ginny sits further down the table.”

“I’m guessing she’s the one with the long red hair?” asked Nico, throwing a glance down the table. 

“You catch on quick,” said George. “If you want to find a Weasley, just look for a sign of red hair.”

“But enough about that for now,” said Fred. “We want to know more about you .”

“...And more about the reasons for why you’re here,” continued George. “The Daily Prophet has been telling some rather interesting stories about the murder of your headmaster. All we want to know is if they’re true or not.”

“I’m sorry, but I won't allow that,” said Hermione, crossing her arms. “He’s been here for a matter of minutes and I’m guessing the last thing he’ll want to do is to sit and be interrogated by his new housemates—especially since he barely even knows us. Please, let’s show him some respect.”

“Oh, don’t be such a buzzkill, Hermione,” said Ron, the twins' younger brother, clearly excited by the idea of hearing more about the murder of the Ilvermorny headmaster. “I bet he knew he’d get the questions anyway. Let’s just rip off the band-aid.”

“That doesn’t matter, Ron. It’s unethical .” 

As much as Nico appreciated Hermione’s viewpoint, he also couldn’t help but agree with Ron. If he answered their questions now, he wouldn’t have to deal with it further in the future. It was better to just get it over with.

“I appreciate you standing up for me Hermione, but you really don’t have to,” said Nico. “It’s fine if they want to ask questions.”

“See,” responded Ron, a smug aura of superiority drifting off him in waves. “I told you he’d be fine with it.”

Hermione just ‘humpf’d’ in disagreement, but didn’t make any additional comments. As much as she gave off the impression of being displeased, Nico could tell that she secretly was just as interested in finding out more about the events as the others. 

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble,” started Nico, scratching the top of his head, “but I really don’t know more about the murder than what is being reported in the papers. We just woke up one day and were told that we couldn’t leave our dorms. Later, some teachers came up and told us that there had been an ‘incident’ and that the school would need to close for the foreseeable future. Then they sent us home. We didn’t even know what the incident was until the newspapers revealed that Fontaine had been murdered.”

This, of course, was for the most part false. While the story built on real sequences of events, Nico himself had not been there to witness anything. He only retold the cover story they’d come up with together with Hecate. The story told enough truths to not be seen as suspicious, but left out enough vital information to not invite too many prying questions. 

“Well that’s disappointing,” said Fred. “I can’t lie, I hoped for more.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” said Nico, “but I truly don’t know more than that.”

By looking around the table he knew that Fred Weasley wasn’t the only one disappointed in his supposed lack of knowledge. Ron, who’d been practically bursting out of his seat with curiosity, sat down with a sigh.

“If the school is closed, how come you seven are the only ones who were allowed to come here?” asked Hermione, frowning. “Shouldn’t there be hundreds of others in need of education as well?”

“It’s true that there are hundreds of others in need of education, but in contrast to Britain the schooling back home in the states works differently. While Ilvermorny is the most popular destination for witches and wizards to send their kids as it is free and has good education standards, there are also other private institutions available for those who can afford it. Usually only a select few with rich parents study at these private institutions, but now, since Ilvermorny closed, almost everyone has ended up at one of these institutions.”

“But you said that few people could afford them,” asked a round-faced boy with rosy cheeks. “If they couldn’t afford it before, surely they can’t afford it now?”

“The only reason why they’re able to afford it now is because Ilvermorny are helping to cover the costs while the investigation is ongoing,” responded Nico. 

“So if the school is helping to cover the costs, how come you’re here?” asked a blonde girl from further down the table in a curious tone.

Nico let out a big, fake sigh he hoped was convincing enough. “Let’s just say that it was a family decision. Some of our parents didn’t feel safe enough leaving us at the hands of some private institution and asked the temporary headmistress to write to Dumbledore.” 

“Family decision?” asked Harry. “You’re all related?”

“Oh, no,” said Nico, shaking his head. “Well not all of us, anyways. Percy is my cousin and Hazel is my half-sister, same dad, different mother. Annabeth is Percy’s girlfriend. They’ve been through everything together and known each other for years, so wherever he goes, she goes. Will is my boyfriend and Frank’s together with Hazel, so when we told them we were going here for a while, they tagged along. Piper is the only outlier.”

“Who was Piper again?” asked the round faced boy, squinting around at the other tables.

“She was the brunette who got sorted into Slytherin, Neville” said Hermione, pointing over at Piper who was deep in conversation with a blonde witch. “Poor girl,” added Hermione with genuine sympathy and a shake of her head. “She’s talking to Daphne Greengrass.”

“Is that a bad thing?” asked Nico, who failed to understand what the issue was. 

“Well…” started Hermione slowly, “maybe not bad, but a bit weird. Daphne Greengrass is… uh…quite special . She’s, to put it bluntly, completely self-absorbed and doesn’t get along with anyone—not even her own housemates.” 

“Her father owns one of the largest wizarding banks in the world,” added Ron, whilst chewing on a chicken bone. “I reckon he’s the richest wizard in all of Britain, maybe even in the entire world. I’m actually a bit surprised you’ve not heard of the Greengrasses before.”

“Can’t say I remember hearing anything about any Greengrass,” mumbled Nico, trying to recall the information Hecate had imprinted into his brain, sadly coming up empty. “So what’s she like? Is she a bully?” asked Nico, frowning. 

Hermione thought for a second, before answering. “Not exactly. To be completely honest, she usually just ignores everyone and does her own thing. That’s why I thought it was a bit weird that she’d taken interest in someone else for once.”

“She seems to have said something to Malfoy, though,” said Harry gleefully. “Just look at his face. He looks like he’s about to explode.”

Everyone turned to face Malfoy and let out low appreciative chuckles at the purplish flush on his face. 

“Oh,” said Hermione, turning back to Nico. “I was going to ask. Do you know—”

But what Hermione was going to ask was quickly shut down by the arrival of someone Nico had not expected. Floating through the air, a few feet above the ground was a pearly-white ghost sporting a ruff, tights, a pair of breeches and a doublet. A large, rather spectacular hat adorned a head of curly hair that glinted in the floating candles above. Nico had naturally seen spirits in all their different forms before, both in and outside of the underworld. However, this was the first time he’d come across one at Hogwarts. 

“I miss being able to eat,” said the ghost miserably as he closed in on the Gryffindor table. “Tonight's feast is looking especially succulent.” 

“Hi there, Nick!” said Ron, through a mouthful of pie. “How’s it floatin’?”

Nick looked at Ron as if he was inspecting something especially unsightly. “Charming as always, Mr. Weasley,” said the ghost reproachfully. “Perhaps in the future, you could show me a bit more resp—”

Suddenly Nick fell silent. Nico, who’d taken a swig of the amber liquid in his goblet, looked up to see Nick staring at him with an almost comically frozen expression.

“I…Oh— oh , dear. What are you , no…I—I just remembered…urgent business, yes very urgent. On the second floor.”

Nico raised an eyebrow in amusement. It seemed like the ghost knew, or at least felt, what he was. “Surely,” Nico began, smirking slightly “you’re not going to leave before introducing yourself. That would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

The ghost, who Ron had called Nick, grew even more pearly-white. “I—I, yes…I suppose…I suppose you’re right. Please forgive me! I’m Sir Nicholas de Mimsy–Porpington. At your service.”

“Say,” said Nico, who was enjoying himself more and more. “How did you die, Nicholas?”

“D–Decapitation,” said Nick, stumbling over the words. “Lady Grieve had me executed after I swapped her teeth for tusks.” 

“And how come you haven’t passed on ?” said Nico, with obvious intent.

Nick grew, if possible, even more white. “I–I, well…that’s really quite insensitive to ask.”

“Is it?” asked Nico. “Why?”

 Nick gulped deeply and looked around the room for a means to escape. “Ah, the Bloody Baron is calling me. I really must be going…sorry.” This was a lie. The ghost who Nico assumed was the Bloody Baron was floating menacingly over at the Slytherin table with his back turned to the Gryffindor. He’d made no indication whatsoever that he wanted Nick to join him. Nick began to float away, but Nico held up a hand, stopping the ghost in his tracks. 

“Sorry to hear that,” said Nico with a grin that was way too wide. “Give the Bloody Baron my regards!”

“I–I’ll see to it,” said Nick. “Good evening to you all.”

As the ghost quickly made his way across the room, Nico turned back to face the table of students, only to be met with a barrage of highly curious glances. Hermione Granger’s eyebrows especially, were so high up on her forehead that they’d disappeared beneath her bushy, brown hair. He cursed inwardly. He’d had a bit too much fun teasing Nick, and now he would have to square up to the consequences. 

“Hey…” said Fred slowly. “Am I the only one, or did the old ghosty act a bit weird?” 

“Yeah, I thought so too,” added Harry, sending Nico a penetrating glance. “It was almost like he was afraid of you.”

Unfortunately for Nico, even more eyes settled on him at Harry’s statement. There was only one way out of this. He’d have to lie!

“Oh,” started Nico with a shrug, trying to make his act as believable as possible. “I…well, you see, ghosts don’t really like me. It’s been like that ever since I was small.”

“They don’t…like you?” asked Ron questioningly. “Why?”

“How should I know?” said Nico. “They all just avoid me like the plague. But here I got the chance to meet one, so I thought I’d tease him a little and well…you saw the effect.”

“ Weird ,” said George. “But hey, at least you won’t have to worry about Peeves.”

“Peeves?” said Nico. “Who’s Peeves?”

George grinned. “He’s the resident poltergeist, and he’s a menace. Most people try to avoid him, but if what you’re saying is true, then you won’t have to worry about anything.”

Nico nodded, before shoveling more chicken into his mouth. Around him, slowly, conversation returned to more ‘normal’ topics—Nick’s reaction to his appearance seemingly already forgotten or too un-interesting to keep exploring further. A familiar feeling moved around in his chest. Where he’d minutes ago felt disappointed with being alone in Gryffindor house, he now only felt a strong sense of curiosity. Perhaps being here, at Hogwarts, would prove more interesting than he’d thought. 

—

When the dinner wrapped up and the other students began making their way back to their respective houses, the demigods, together with Professor McGonagall made their way back up to Dumbledore’s office. Now that the tension from before the sorting had left them, conversation was more free-flowing. Percy and Frank told everyone about their experiences over at the Hufflepuff table, whilst Piper, with great amusement, recounted her meeting with Daphne Greengrass. After a couple of minutes of walking, the group once again came to a full stop in front of the Gargoyle, blocking the hidden stairway behind it. 

“Fizzing Whizbees,” said Professor McGonagall, and the Gargoyle lept aside. 

They squeezed their way up the spiraling stairway, and entered the office. Dumbledore’s office looked just like it had when they left it over an hour ago. The silver instruments puffed on their tables, and the Phoenix ‘Fawkes’, was still perched on the back of Dumbledore’s chair. Dumbledore himself however, wasn’t in the office. 

“The Headmaster had some things to see to,” said Professor McGonagall, waving her wand in an elegant motion, drawing up a number of chairs out of nothing. “Please, sit. He’ll be with us shortly.”

In tandem, they all took a seat in their respective chairs, continuing to chat amongst themselves. Percy, who’s been glancing back and forth between the various paintings on the wall, broke through the chatter to ask Professor McGonagall a question.

“The paintings on the walls? Who are they? I noticed them earlier, but forgot to ask.”

“They’re old headmasters and headmistresses,” answered Professor McGonagall, looking up from a sheet of parchment that she’d pulled out from underneath her robe. “When a headmaster or headmistress dies or leaves office after a long time of service, the school commissions a portrait to be made of the person so that they can continue to serve the school, even after they’re gone.”

“That’s cool,” said Frank, now also looking at the paintings on the wall. “Who was headmaster before Dumbledore?”

“That would be Armando Dippet,” responded Professor McGonagall, pointing to a sleeping man in a portrait with long white hair and beard, clad in blue wizarding robes and a black pointy hat. The previous headmaster, the demigods now knew to be called Armando Dippet, made no notice of having heard his name being brought up. Instead, he continued to sleep deeply, snoring audibly in his portrait. “Dippet held office from 1925, when he replaced Phineas Nigellus Black,” Professor McGonagall pointed to another portrait of a dark-haired man who was also, seemingly, sleeping, “...until 1971, when he was replaced by Albus Dumbledore.”

“I see you’re taking them through the history of the Hogwarts headmasters. A rather dull conversation starter, don’t you think, Minerva?” said a pleasant voice from close to the staircase. All of them turned to see Dumbledore beaming down at them, his blue eyes twinkling. Dumbledore however, wasn’t alone. He was closely followed by three other people who neither of the demigods had yet to be acquainted with. 

One was a man with sallow skin, a long hooked nose and greasy black hair—his thin frame covered by dark robes, not nearly as dark as his cold black eyes. Percy was staunchly reminded of a vampire, ascending from his crypt to feast on unsuspecting victims. All-in-all, the man looked highly unpleasant. 

The two other people who’d entered alongside Dumbledore, couldn’t be more different from the sallow-skinned man. One was a kind-faced woman—burly and chubby, with dirt all over the hems of her robes and a green hat adorning her nest of curly, brown hair. The other was a very small wizard with white hair and beard, wearing stunning blue robes. He was so small, that Percy wondered if a gust of wind would cause him to fly away if he ever stepped a foot outside. 

“Now that we’re all fed and content, there is one final thing we need to do before we retire for the night. It is time to introduce you to your respective heads of house,” said Dumbledore, motioning to the three people plus Professor McGonagall. “As you’re now aware, Hogwarts has four houses; Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Each house has a head of house. Professor Minerva McGonagall, whom you’ve already met, is the head of Gryffindor house outside of her role as deputy headmistress. Then we have Filus Flitwick,” Dumbledore pointed to the very small wizard, “head of house for Ravenclaw, and Pomona Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house.” The curly haired, chubby witch waved back. “Finally,” said Dumbledore, glancing over at the man in black, “we have Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house.” Snape simply nodded in return. “The heads of the house work as overseers,” continued Dumbledore. “That means that they can help you with anything you might need, or any questions you may have.”

“So they function like our mentors?” asked Annabeth.

“Exactly,” responded Dumbledore. “I should also add something about the Hogwarts point-system. While here at Hogwarts your triumphs will earn you points. Unruly or poor behavior will lose you points. At the end of the year these points are tallied up to decide who will win the house cup. I hope that you’ll all do your best to try and contribute. Now, unless there is something more anyone wishes to say, I believe that it is time for bed. Oh, yes, Professor McGonagall, if you may.”

Professor McGonagall stepped forward pulling out seven identical slips of parchment to that which she’d been reading mere minutes ago. 

“These are your timetables for tomorrow onwards. If you have any questions, feel free to seek me out in the staff-room.” She pointed towards the spiraling staircase. “The Prefects of each house are waiting for you downstairs to take you to your new common rooms. Good luck, and welcome to Hogwarts.”

Chapter Text

For the first time this term, Harry felt pleased when he returned from the Great Hall. The arrival of the new students from Ilvermorny and the subsequent sorting had made everybody forget that Harry himself was present. There were no ill-intended glances, no quiet but loud enough conversations about his shouting match with Umbridge, nor anything about Voldemort. Some people, whom Harry knew to be doubting him, had even had the decency to look at him like he wasn’t some parasitic creature, leaching off every moment of fame he could get. 

Harry sighed as he sunk down in the arm-chairs in front of the fireplace. Behind him, Harry could hear Fred and George talking animatedly to Alicia Spinnet about their latest skiving snackbox. He looked over at the entrance, but there was still no sign of either Ron or Hermione.

After the feast had finished, Ron and Hermione, as prefects, had been told by Professor McGonagall that they were to go and wait outside of Dumbledore’s office, to bring the new Gryffindor student Nico di Angelo back up to Gryffindor tower after he and the other students had been introduced to their new heads of houses. 

Harry, not being a prefect, had gone ahead, promising that he would wait for them up by the fire. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander to the events of the evening. It had been quite the spectacle to be sure and Nico di Angelo, his new classmate, it turned out was quite the interesting individual. Sure, he was fairly reserved, but seemed kind enough. There was also that interesting event with Nearly Headless Nick, who’d almost recoiled when seeing Nico’s face. Harry couldn’t remember any ghosts ever reacting to seeing a person like that before. Perhaps Nico was telling the truth and didn’t know why Nick or any ghost supposedly for that matter acted so weird. But Harry had a feeling Nico wasn’t completely truthful.

Just as he was about to ponder the mysteries of Nico di Angelo further, the portrait hole opened and Ron and Hermione entered, closely followed by Nico. 

“...Honestly, he’s an absolute nightmare . Just wait til you have your first lesson and you’ll see. He hates everyone who’s not a Slytherin,” said Ron animatedly. 

“Hi,” said Harry, standing up from the armchair. 

“Hi,” responded Ron and Hermione in tandem. Nico on the other hand simply nodded absentmindedly—his eyes scanning across the Gryffindor common room rapidly, taking in the scenery. 

“You were quick,” said Harry to Ron and Hermione. “I thought I’d have to wait a while.”

“Luckily for us it seems like Professor Dumbledore had already gone over everything before the feast. This meeting was just to introduce the heads of houses,” responded Hermione, yawning slightly. 

“We did get to see Malfoy, though,” said Ron gleefully. “And guess what, he still seemed furious from whatever that Greengrass girl had told him at dinner. He didn't even look at us. Him and Pansy Parkinson!”

“That’s a first,” said Harry, amused. “Maybe we can ask Daphne Greengrass for some tips. I wouldn’t mind getting Malfoy off our backs more frequently.

Beside him, Hermione yawned again. “I’m really tired. I think I’ll retire for the night. Harry and Ron,” said Hermione, taking a few steps towards the girls dormitory, “Why don’t you show Nico where he’ll sleep? I’m sure he’d like to unpack.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Ron, pointing towards the stairway to the boy’s dormitories. “This way.”

Together, Harry, Ron and Nico ventured up the staircase and into their dormitories. Seamus Finnigan, perhaps to avoid talking to Harry, had already retired for the night—the hangings on his bed pulled closed. Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom on the other hand, were still awake and talking in hushed voices so as not to wake Seamus.

“Here we are,” said Ron. “Huh, it seems like they’ve added a bed to your left, Harry.”

True enough, to the left of Harry’s bed another bed, exactly like the others had been added, beside which stood, Harry guessed, Nico’s trunk. As Ron began to disrobe—preparing for bed—Nico walked over to the bed and sat down on it. 

“This is really cosy,” said Nico. 

“Oh?” said Dean. “Much cosier than Ilvermorny?”

Harry, who’d been taking off his own robes, turned to face Nico, interested in what the answer would be.

“I guess time will tell,” responded Nico with a shrug. “But one thing is for certain. You have better beds. Ours are much harder.”

Dean grinned. “1–0 to Hogwarts then.”

“Perhaps,” quipped Nico, standing up from the bed, walking over to the window. The rain which had subsided during the day had by now returned with full force, pelting the windows. “But from what I’ve been told your teachers seem to be rather poor, so that lead may not last very long. Or what do you think, Ronald?” asked Nico, motioning to Ron to give his opinion.

Ron went red around the ears, a sure sign of embarrassment. “It’s Ron , and in my defence I only complained about Snape, whom nobody outside of Slytherin actually likes.”

“To be fair, it isn’t only Snape who’s bad though,” added Dean sheepishly. “I’ve always thought that Professor Trelawney’s a bit…uh… quirky .”

“Quirky? More like barking mad,” mumbled Ron under his breath. 

“Don’t forget the new star in the show, Professor Umbridge,” expressed Harry glumly. “The old hag.”

“Professor Umbridge?” asked Nico. “Who was that?”

“The one in the pink cardigan. Looks a bit like a toad,” said Ron. 

“I don’t remember seeing her,” said Nico, peering out the window. “She wasn’t part of our meeting with Dumbledore, anyways. But if she’s as awful as you say, then perhaps I should be glad to not have.”

“Don’t be too upbeat. You’ll see her on Friday for Defence Against the Dark Arts,” said Harry darkly. “And I’ve gotta see her tomorrow for my detention. Great .”

There were a few moments of silence in which Nico returned to his bunk and began to undress. 

“Hey, Nico,” remarked Neville. “What’s that on your arm?”

“Oh, this?” said Nico, pulling up the sleeve on his robe. “It’s a tattoo.”

Up close, Harry couldn’t help but think that Nico’s tattoo was rather unremarkable—at least in comparison to the horrible skull tattoos worn by Voldemort’s Death Eaters. The tattoo depicted something closely resembling a christian cross, but with the addition of a half-moon shaped curve at the top, above which sat a dark circle. The letters S.P.Q.R were emblazoned underneath. The only confusing part about the tattoo were the vertical lines underneath, which in comparison to everything else, seemed to resemble nothing worthy of note.

“So cool,” said Neville almost enviously. “I wish I could get one, but I fear that my nan would flay me alive.”

Ron let out a huff of laughter. “You and me both, Neville. My mother would end me.”

“Did you get that done in a muggle shop?” asked Dean curiously. 

For a second, Nico looked unsure how to answer the question. “No,” said Nico, finally. “A friend of mine, Reyna, helped me get it. She’s, uh, not a muggle.”

“You’re pretty young to have a tattoo though,” said Dean. “Weren’t your parents mad that you got one?”

Nico snorted with laughter. “My mother died when I was very young and my dad wasn’t in the picture until a couple of years ago. He’s also not the kind of person to play ‘father’—not that he’s inherently a bad guy—he’s just different . So, no, my parents either couldn’t or wouldn’t care about me getting a tattoo.” Nico pulled up the covers of his new bed and slipped inside. “Perhaps my sister would have, though. She’d probably chewed me out.”

An awkward silence stretched over the room. Harry felt a great sense of sympathy for Nico’s position. His parents weren’t in the picture either—murdered by Voldemort fifteen years earlier. How would they have reacted to all of the things he’d been through? Would they have been furious or proud? He had a feeling, no he knew, having come face to face with their ghosts last summer, that they would be proud. But perhaps things would have been different if they’d been alive.

“Sorry about that,” said Dean, wincing. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Nico. “I don’t mind talking about it.”

“Right,” answered Dean, clearly unsure about what to say next. “I think I’ll…uh…go to bed. Night.”

“I should probably go to sleep too,” replied Nico, who’d pulled out his time table, examining it up and down. “ Great , an early start tomorrow. Couldn’t have wished for anything more…”

Then, without using his wand, Nico sat up from under the covers and pulled the hangings around his bed, enclosing himself inside.  

Harry sent Ron a glance, which Ron returned. Although no words passed between them, Harry knew they were both thinking the same thing. ‘Well, that was awkward…’

—

Early next morning, Harry and Ron had headed down together to the Great Hall. Tired, and in Harry’s case anxious over that evening's detention, meant that they didn’t talk much as they loaded their plates with eggs and bacon.

“I can’t bother with Divination this early,” mumbled Ron. 

“I can’t bother with Divination whatsoever,” responded Harry, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. “At least you don’t have to sit through constant death predictions.”

“True,” said Ron, grinning sheepishly. “But we both have to do the assignments, and that’s punishment enough on its own. I swear, if she makes us do those palmistry-things again, I might actually—”

“...kill yourself,” finished a familiar voice from behind. Hermione had arrived, behind which stood their new classmate Nico Di Angelo. To Harry and Ron’s surprise, Hermione looked rather displeased.

“You look really sunny this morning.” grumbled Ron, raising an eyebrow. “Have we done something wrong?”

Hermione sent Ron a disapproving glare. “Why did neither of you think about bringing Nico down to the Great Hall this morning?”

“What?” said Harry and Ron in tandem. 

“NICO,” said Hermione slowly, as if speaking to someone very dumb. “Him—our new classmate.” Hermione pointed to Nico, who looked rather sheepish. 

“What about him?” asked Ron, clearly confused.

Hermione sighed deeply. “Do both of you not realize that Nico can’t find his way around the castle yet? If I hadn’t caught him lingering by the portrait hole when heading down for breakfast he would never have made it to his classes.”

“Sure,” said Ron slowly, “but what does this have to do with me or Harry? Nico could always have asked someone, couldn’t he?”

“You’re a prefect , Ron,” answered Hermione, with forced calmness. “This is exactly what prefects do. They help people.” 

“Alright, alright, hold your horses,” said Ron defensively. “We didn’t think about it, alright. And for your information, I do actually help people. Unless you’ve already forgotten, last night I—”

Harry, feeling the familiar winds of an argument blowing his way, quickly acted to divert the attention. “Sorry, about that, Nico. We really did forget,” said Harry quickly, butting in, cutting off Ron. 

Nico held up his hands. “It’s fine, really. I told Hermione not to be so harsh on you guys. That being said,” added Nico sheepishly, “I wouldn’t mind getting some help finding my way around the castle. I, uh, have no idea where I’m going.”

“Well, our first class is divination,” said Harry, as Nico sat down on the opposite side of the table, quickly stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth. “Professor Trelawney’s classroom is located in the North Tower. It’ll take some time to get there, so when you’ve finished just follow me and Ron.”

“You’re not coming?” asked Nico, looking at Hermione.

“Me? Oh, no, I dropped divination two years ago for Ancient Runes. But don’t worry, I’ll meet up with all of you for Transfiguration and Charms.”

Minutes later, Harry, Ron and Nico set off for the North Tower. When they arrived twenty minutes later, Harry found that they weren’t the first to arrive beneath the stepladder. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were whispering to each other, but at the sight of Harry, Ron and Nico, they stopped abruptly. Harry, once again, couldn’t help but feel that the conversation probably had something to do with him. He felt his temper, which had been calm since his fight with Umbridge, rear his head again. 

But just as he was about to send Lavender and Parvati a snide remark, the trapdoor above opened. Soon enough, Harry found himself back in the warm and overly perfume-scented room, hosting Professor Trelawney. 

Divination that morning turned out to be more enjoyable than usual. Harry found himself deeply amused by the varying looks of incredulity on Nico Di Angelo’s face as Professor Trelawney swept around the room in her large glasses—speaking in that mystified voice about the various fortune’s she’d read in her crystal ball that summer. 

“...And then I saw it, deep inside the wispy depths of the glowing orb—the child was going to be a boy!”

Parvati and Lavender burst out in applause and excited whispers, but Nico Di Angelo, who seemingly couldn’t take it any more, snorted with laughter. Professor Trelawney snapped her head around, sending Nico a reproachful look.

“One would think that those with the inner eye would receive more respect from those unable to decipher the signs,” said Professor Trelawney mistfully. “But alas, it seems only the few understand the true worth of the seers.”

Nico huffed with laughter. “I’ve seen the abilities of true oracles, professor. You are neither that, nor a seer—and if you are, not a particularly gifted one.”

A hush swept across the classroom. Even though Harry knew many, himself included, agreed with the sentiment, very few would voice their opinions so openly. 

“Don’t say that to Professor Trelawney,” piped up Lavender Brown, breaking through the silence, whilst sending Nico angry glares. “Anyways, she’s just shown us that she can see into the future—she predicted the gender of a child.”

Nico shook his head in disbelief. “You seriously consider that to be a good example of seeing into the future. Guessing the gender of a child is not exactly difficult. There’s a fifty-fifty chance for either a girl or a boy. Anyone in here would be able to make that guess.”

“She’s made many other predictions before, all of which have come true,” added Parvati.

“She’s also predicted you to die multiple times the last few years, and you're still breathing,” said Ron under his breath. “Poor track record if you ask me…”

Harry had to stifle a laugh.

“Please, my children,” said Professor Trelawney, waving a dismissive hand towards Parvati and Lavender. “I do not mind. Us seers have always been doubted—this is nothing new. But I’m sure that in time, Mr. Di Angelo will come to be convinced, just as you all have been, of the power of my inner eye.”

Harry was unsure about many things regarding Divination. But even he could make a calculated guess that, in Nico Di Angelo’s case, being convinced of Professor Trelawney’s supposed inner eye, wouldn’t happen.

—

Charms and Transfiguration, their two final classes of the day, both ended up being far worse than Divination. Due to the events of the previous day, very few, if any students had managed to work on the homework assignments given to them. As such, Harry had suspected that only Hermione would manage completing everything without a hitch. 

Surprisingly however, it turned out that Hermione wasn’t the only one able to do both the summoning spell in Charms and later the Vanishing spell in transfiguration. Nico Di Angelo turned out to be quite the wizard, earning Gryffindor twenty points for being the second to completely vanish the objects they were practicing on. 

Harry and Ron meanwhile continued to struggle with the vanishing spell. No matter what they did, the vanishing spell simply didn’t work. At the end of the class nobody was surprised to hear that Professor McGonagall ordered everyone, with the exception of Hermione and Nico, to continue to practice the vanishing spell before their next Transfiguration lesson. 

“Do not take this the wrong way,” said Professor McGonagall curtly, before dismissing them. “But I have to admit that I find it a tad bit embarrassing that only two students in this entire class can complete a simple vanishing spell. Especially since one’s not even a Hogwarts student.”

As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o’ clock, he, Ron, Hermione and Nico headed straight for dinner without dropping of his bag in Gryffindor tower so that he could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for him. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, “Oi, Potter!”

“What now?” he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.

“I’ll tell you what now ,” she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. “How come you’ve landed yourself in detention for five o’ clock on Friday?”

“What?” said Harry. “Why…oh, yeah, Keeper tryouts!”

“Now he remembers!” snarled Angelina. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team , and find someone who fitted in with everyone ? Didn’t I tell you that I’d booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you’ve decided you’re not going to be there!”

“I didn’t decide not to be there,” said Harry, stung by the injustice of those words. “I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who.”

“Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday,” said Angelina fiercely, “and I don’t care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who is a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you’re there!”

She stormed away. Harry glowered after her. 

“Damn,” said an unknown voice from behind. “She really killed you for that, huh. Almost gives me feelings of Deja vu, or what do you say, Wise Girl?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione, spun around only to see two figures they’d never interacted with before. A tall, lean and very handsome boy with windswept dark hair, sun-tanned skin and sea-blue eyes had his arms around a shorter blonde girl with grey eyes. 

“I’m Percy Jackson and this is Annabeth Chase,” said the boy, motioning to the girl beside him. “We’re friends of Nico. It’s nice to meet you!”

Hermione, taking the initiative, stepped forward in greeting. “I’m Hermione Granger. This is Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.” She pointed to Harry and Ron subsequently. 

Percy raised an eyebrow and looked over at Nico who leaned lazily against the frame of the doorway to the Great Hall. “I didn’t know you kept such a famous company Nico? You’ve been here less than twenty four hours and you’re already hanging out with Harry Potter?”

Nico scoffed almost indignantly. “Better than hanging out with you any day of the week.”

“You say that, but I remember us having the time of our lives playing ‘I spy with my little eye’ on the train here. You know maybe we should—oof.”

The blonde girl beside him, Annabeth, had elbowed him hard in the ribs—so hard in fact that Percy had to bend down to catch his breath. “Don’t antagonize him, Seaweed Brain.” She turned and faced Harry, Ron and Hermione head on. “Sorry about that. I swear he’s a nice guy, he just likes to joke around.”

Percy groaned in response. 

“Do you mind if we borrow Nico for a while. We have something that we want to talk to him about?” continued Annabeth. “Unless you’re busy, of course.”

“No, no, please,” said Hermione, hurriedly. “We were just heading off to dinner, don’t mind us.”

“Great,” said Annabeth, briskly. “Come on Nico, Percy, let’s go. The others are waiting.”

As the three headed off, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed into the Great Hall.

“What d’you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?” said Ron sceptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. 

“Less than zero,” said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. “Better try, though, hadn’t I? I’ll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno…” He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, “I hope she doesn’t keep me for too long this evening. You realize that we’ve got to write three essays, practice vanishing spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and finish that stupid dream diary for Trelawney.”

Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling. 

“ And it looks like it’s going to rain.”

“What’s that got to do with our homework?” said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

“Nothing,” said Ron at once, his ears reddening. 

—

At five to five, Harry bade the other two goodbye and set off for Umbridge’s office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door, she called “Come in,” in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around. 

He had known this office under three of its previous occupants. In the days of Gilderoy Lockhart, the walls had been plastered with beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. Last year, the impostor Moody had packed it full with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment. 

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolored kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

 “Good evening, Mr. Potter.”

Harry started and looked around. Professor Umbridge was sitting down on a chair a few feet to the right, at a—in comparison to the other parts of her office—incredibly messy desk, full with mounds of parchment, charts and books. 

“Good evening, Professor Umbridge,” Harry said stiffly. 

“Well, sit down,” she said, without looking at him.

Harry went over to a small table draped in lace, beside which she’d drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.

Harry looked up, waiting for some kind of instruction, but Professor Umbridge paid him no notice. She was completely engrossed in what to Harry looked like an old tome, neatly decorated on the back and the front. What it was about, Harry didn’t know. But apparently, it was interesting enough to make Professor Umbridge completely neglect his presence. As Professor Umbridge looked up from the book, leaning over her desk to consult some ragged old piece of parchment, Harry decided that it was time to speak up. Perhaps, if she was distracted enough, he could get her to allow him to go to Friday’s tryout.

“Er,” said Harry, without moving. “Professor Umbridge. Er—before we start, I—I wanted to ask you a…a favor.”

To Harry’s dismay, this seemed to have the opposite effect than what he was hoping for. 

“Oh, yes?” said Professor Umbridge, slamming the tome shut and putting it down on her desk. As she turned to face him, Harry noticed that her bulging eyes had narrowed. 

“Well, I’m…I’m in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o’ clock on Friday and I was—was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it—do it another night…instead…”

He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good. 

“Oh, no,” said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. “Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading, evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one’s convenience. No, you will come here at five o’ clock tomorrow and on Friday. You will do your detentions as planned.”

Harry felt the blood surge to his head and he heard a thumping noise in his head. So he told ‘evil, nasty attention-seeking stories’, did he? With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her and down at the parchment in front of him. He couldn’t lose his temper, not again. He was sure that Umbridge wanted another shouting match—another chance to put him in his place, but Harry wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. 

“There,” said Umbridge sweetly, “we’re getting better at controlling our temper already, aren’t we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill,” she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. “You’re going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.”

She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 

“I want you to write, I must not tell lies ,” she told him softly. 

“How many times?” Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness. He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,” said Umbridge sweetly. “Off you go.”

She moved back over to her desk, picked up the tome and soon enough disappeared behind it. Whatever the tome entailed, it had to be interesting—or perhaps sadistic enough—to keep Umbridge entertained. Shaking his head, Harry returned to the empty parchment in front of him. He raised the sharp black quill, then realized what he was missing. 

“You haven’t given me any ink,” he said.

“Oh, you won’t need ink,” said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice from behind the tome. 

Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies .

Nothing could have prepared him for what would come next. As he finished writing the final ‘s’ on the word ‘lies’, a searing pain shot across the back of his hand. He let out a gasp of surprise. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. Meanwhile, the words had also appeared on the back of Harry’s right hand, as if cut into the skin by a scalpel. Soon enough however, the skin had healed, leaving the place where it had been red and smooth.

Harry sent Umbridge a glance, at the sight of her peering over the top of the tome gleefully, her toad-like eyes filled with malicious pleasure. Harry quickly returned to the parchment and with Umbridge’s quill once more wrote I must not tell lies . Like the first time, the searing pain soared across the back of his right hand, before healing seconds later.

It went on like that for what seemed like hours, and despite the fact that darkness fell outside the windows, Umbridge gave no indication that he was free to leave. Harry knew she was watching for signs of weaknesses, or perhaps disgust at using his own blood to write. But no matter what, he wouldn’t give it to her. 

“Come here,” she said finally, seemingly satisfied. 

He stood up, the back of his hand stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin was more red than ever before.

“Hand,” she said.

He extended it and she took it in her own. He suppressed a shudder as her stubby, ring-clad fingers touched his own. 

“Tut, tut. I don’t seem to have much of an impression yet. Well, we’ll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won’t we? You may go.”

As if in a daze Harry exited Umbridge’s office, without saying anything. The school was quite deserted; Harry was sure it was way past midnight. On the walls, people and creatures in the paintings were snoring soundly. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he was sure Umbridge wouldn’t hear him, broke into a run. 

Chapter Text

Percy yawned. It had been a long, but not unproductive first day. In fact, he thought, by his estimates it should be considered nothing short of spectacular considering what tended to happen when he came into close proximity to a school building. He’d even earned ten points in his final class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, for correctly identifying a rare type of salamander called ‘Graynewt’, which thrived amongst bones in graveyards. 

And now, he, Annabeth and Nico were on their way to meet up with their friends. Not surprisingly, it had been Annabeth’s idea to have a rendezvous after the first day of class, but Percy, although tired, didn’t dislike the idea. It was a good idea to have frequent meetups to discuss their progress. That being said, he seriously doubted that there had been any progress whatsoever on their first day of classes.

Soon enough, the group of three exited the front doors of the castle. In the not-so-far distance, Percy could see the smooth, calm surface of the lake surrounding the isle on which sat Hogwarts castle—its water so dark blue it was almost black.  

“This way,” said Annabeth, pulling both Percy and Nico down a dirt path leading down towards the shore. 

As they ventured closer, Percy noticed that the others were already there, gathered around the trunk of a large cork tree. 

“It was lucky Professor Sprout wasn’t watching that closely or she’d definitely taken some points from me. What a great first impression that would have—hey, there you are,” said Hazel, looking up. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

“We might have if I’d had to go on a long manhunt for both of these dorks,” said Annabeth, pointing to Nico and then Percy himself. “Luckily, I ran into Seaweed Brain here right outside the Dungeons after potions and Nico, a bit later, right outside the Great Hall.”

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me,” said Hazel. “I heard you’ve been hanging out with Harry Potter, Nico. Tell me, is he as terrible as the Slytherins make him out to be?”

“What are they saying about him?” interjected Percy, curious about whatever it was that the Slytherins disliked about ‘the boy who lived’.

“All sorts of things. That he’s arrogant, pompous and attention seeking. Oh, and that he gets special treatment by the teachers because he’s Harry Potter . There are probably other things as well, but I got tired of listening to them after a while so I shut my ears off.”

Nico frowned. “Well, he doesn’t seem that bad to me. In fact, I get the feeling he rather detests all the attention he gets. Anyways, it’s not like the Slytherins are particularly popular amongst the Gryffindors either. Especially that Draco Malfoy.”

Piper gave a low chuckle. “Well, I can see that being the case. He certainly was an absolute ass during yesterday’s feast.”

“And he wasn’t much better during today’s lessons. Did you know that he tried to hex a Hufflepuff-boy named Justin Finch-Fletchly when he walked out of a classroom this morning because he thought it would be amusing,” added Hazel, shaking her head. 

“The Gryffindors were talking about someone else last night,” continued Nico. “I think her name was Daphne Greengrass or something. They seemed to think she was rather cool because she made Malfoy angry.”

“That wasn’t the only thing she did,” said Hazel with a snort. “She also tried to woo Piper all throughout dinner last night.”

“You’re kidding?” said Percy with a laugh. 

“No, she’s not,” supplied Piper with a grin. “I turned her down, of course. However, her attempts were quite funny. She’s certainly an eccentric one.”

“More like vanity personified,” said Hazel. “You should have seen her today during History of Magic. She spent the entire class gazing lovingly at her own reflection in a hand-mirror. If I hadn’t spent time with the children of Aphrodite, I would have been weirded out.”

“I’ve heard she’s supposed to be really clever though,” said Piper, shrugging. “According to Scarlett—a Slytherin student in my year” added Piper at the confused looks on the others faces, “she’s supposed to be second only to Hermione Granger in terms of academic ability amongst the fifth-years.”

“That doesn’t mean that she’s not weird though,” said Hazel. “At least in comparison to many of the other students here at Hogwarts.

“True,” responded Annabeth. “But I think it's fair to note that you can be both eccentric and brilliant at the same time. She clearly belongs to that category.”

They continued talking about their first day at Hogwarts for over an hour. Around them daylight slowly started to give way to the looming embrace of darkness. The water in the lake, which had been still when they’d arrived, now rippled slightly under increasing gusts of wind. 

“Hey, not to be a bummer,” said Hazel after Percy and Frank finished telling the rest of the group how Argus Filch, the school’s vindictive caretaker, had been close to making them late for their first classes of the day for ‘breathing too loudly in the corridors’. “But would it be okay if we were to go back up to the castle? None of us have had any dinner and I’m starving.”

“Sure,” answered Annabeth. “I was just about to suggest that myself, actually. However, before we leave I’d like your opinion on something.” Annabeth was quiet for a moment, gazing out at the slow moving, dark mass that was the great lake. “These meetings—how should we conduct them? Not that today has been particularly secretive in terms of information, but going off to talk in conspicuous places once a week might send unnecessary hints to the individual or individuals part of the Disciples of Merlin. Drawing attention to ourselves this early is out of the question.”

Will, who’d been chucking small rocks out into the black depths of the lake turned and faced Annabeth. “I’m guessing you have a plan?”

Annabeth nodded. “I’m thinking that we should keep these meetings sparse unless it is or becomes absolutely essential that we meet up. I trust that each and every one of you can decide on your own what counts as important and non-important information and whether that information needs to be shared. I also think this place, down by the shore, is an ample place for future meetings, as it is far away from curious listeners.”

Frank furrowed his brows. “Not saying I disagree with the plan, but isn’t there still going to be an issue with staying inconspicuous? I mean, if one of us learns something important and starts running around like a headless hen trying to find the others, won’t that over time only be to our detriment?”

“It will,” agreed Annabeth, fishing for something in one of her pockets. “That’s why I propose we use these.” She held out her hand and showed the group a golden coin.

"A…Galleon?" asked Nico, confused?

“Not just any old Galleon,” responded Annabeth with a self-satisfied grin. “These have been magically enhanced using a Protean Charm.”

“A Protean Charm, huh,” said Percy. “A charm that allows for the simultaneous change of objects through a common purpose.” Percy felt himself shudder. The words that had come out of his mouth were his, but also not. He’d never heard of a ‘Protean Charm’ before, yet he knew exactly what it was—the information engraved into his mind by Hecate. 

“Exactly,” said Annabeth. “If you look at Galleons, you’ll see that they have serial numbers around the edge. I plan on taking advantage of that.” She stuck her hand down the insides of her robe and pulled out six more Galleons, which she then handed out to each and every one of them. “When I—or any of you—tap our Galleons with our wands, the other Galleons will glow hot and the serial numbers will change to resemble a date and a time, signaling a meeting has been called. Easy, and inconspicuous.”

Will looked highly impressed. “This is an excellent idea, Annabeth.”

“Athena always has a plan,” said Annabeth, shrugging. “Anyways, I can’t take all the credit. I’m just copying an idea someone else has already implemented.”

“Who’s idea?” asked Nico, curiously. 

“That ‘Voldemort guy’, answered Annabeth. “Remember what Hecate told us. Voldemort burned in a mark on his followers arms which, when touched, sent a signal to all for them to join him. I thought that we could implement the same strategy, but without carving marks into our arms.”

“Awww,” said Percy teasingly. “How nice of you to think of us, Wise Girl.”

Annabeth looked at Percy with a deadpan expression, before turning to face the whole group. “Remember. What we are doing here is of great importance. We cannot afford to screw up. That means that we need to stay on our best behavior—or in other words: no unnecessary troublemaking!” She sent Percy a very pointed glare.

“You know,” said Percy, grinning, “you don’t have to be so bossy, Wise Girl. I’ll behave, don’t worry.”

“I hope so,” said Annabeth menacingly. “And if you don’t, you won’t like what happens next, trust me !

Percy gulped loudly. “Y–Yes, ma'am.”

Annabeth smiled. “Good boy.” She gave Percy a soft pat on the shoulder before turning around and started walking back up towards the castle. 

“For future reference, Percy,” said Nico after a slight pause, “can you at least try and make it less obvious that you’re the submissive one in your relationship. It’s making me deeply uncomfortable.”

“What,” spluttered Percy. “The submiss—WHAT?!”

In front of them, Annabeth let out a loud bark of laughter. 

—

The following day, a Friday, dragged on far more slowly than Piper would have liked. Although her classes were interesting—especially the practical ones like Transfiguration and Charms—the more academic ones, like History of Magic, were her bane of existence. She’d given up on trying to take notes, her messy and dyslectic scribbles of no use to anyone. Yet, despite the hardships, she persisted. 

Soon enough, the day started to come to a close, with the final lesson of the day—Advanced Arithmancy—just around the corner. 

“I honestly don’t know why I put up with this class. I don’t even like Arithmancy,” moaned Scarlett as they made their way over towards the Advanced Arithmancy classroom.

“If you don’t like it, why did you choose it for your N.E.W.T.s?” asked Piper, confused. 

“That would be because her mother is famous within Wizarding Academia for her work in Arithmancy,” said Ella Wilkins, a fellow Slytherin sixth-year. “She’s been trying for years to get Scarlett to follow in her footsteps, and Scarlett—because she has no backbone—has decided against telling her that she finds Arithmancy revolting.”

“Hey, hey,” said Scarlett defensively. “I don’t find Arithmancy revolting, just… less than desirable .” 

“That’s not what it sounded like this Monday when you told me that you’d rather have a make-out-fest with the Giant Squid over reading one more page in ‘The Epistemological Differences within Wizarding Numerology over the Centuries’ . I distinctly remember you saying that you found the book and the subject revol—”

“YES, I get it,” said Scarlett quickly, her face flushing red. “Just…just, don’t say it outloud. If Professor Vector hears me say that she’ll probably tell my mom the next time they exchange letters.” At Piper's curious look she added somberly, “they’re pen pals.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think Professor Vector hinted that we were going to read something new today,” continued Ella with a shrug, as they closed in on the classroom. “So, you might get off flipping pages in ‘ The Epistemological Differences within Wizarding Numerology over the Centuries’ for a while.”

Scarlett scowled. “Right. Lucky me…” She opened her school bag and began rummaging around inside it. Then, after a moment, she pulled out a thin book that couldn’t be more than one-hundred pages, with an ornate leather covering. “It was this little beast, wasn’t it?” She examined the book closely. “Hmmm, ‘Magical Numericals and their use in the studies of ancient literature’ by Lucienda Cresswell—well that sounds positively harrowing. Hmpf, well, at least the cover is cool.”

Soon enough, the three of them found themselves outside of the classroom. The door was already unlocked, but Professor Vector was nowhere to be seen. At the front of the class stood a large blackboard on which someone—most likely Professor Vector—had left a message:

TODAY WE WILL BE READING: ‘MAGICAL NUMERICALS AND THEIR USE IN THE STUDIES OF ANCIENT LITERATURE’ BY LUCIENDA CRESSWELL.

AS TODAY IS AN INDIVIDUAL READING SESSION, I EXPECT YOU TO BRING YOUR OWN COPIES OF THE BOOK.

“Looks like you were right,” said Piper to Ella as they took their seats by one of the windows. Beside them, Scarlet let out a dissatisfied grunt.

Piper threw her bag upon the table and began rummaging around inside it, however the book that they were going to read was nowhere to be found. Piper felt her stomach drop. “Fuck me…” mumbled Piper under her breath as she continued her fruitless search. “Hey, how long is it til the lesson starts?”

Ella looked down on her watch. “About half an hour. Why? You forgot something.”

“Yeah,” said Piper, frowning. “That book.” She pointed to the thin book in Scarlett's hands. “It’s weird. I swear that it was the last thing I slipped into my bag last night, but I must have forgotten it on my bed.”

Ella let out a whistle. “Well, you better hurry off back to the common room then girly. Professor Vector can be really strict to those who don’t follow instructions. Take it from one who knows.”

“Right,” said Piper, rising from her seat. “Would you mind saving me this seat?”

“No problem,” answered Scarlett. “Leave your bag, it’ll be quicker that way.”

Piper left her bag on the table and sped off back out off the Advanced Arithmancy classroom, back towards the Slytherin common room. 

—

The Slytherin common room was located deep down in the dungeons, concealed behind a patch of stone wall which melted away once you said the correct password. So far, the dungeons were Piper's least favorite part of Hogwarts. Damp, cold and frequently visited by many of the ghosts, stepping down into the dungeons always felt like venturing into another world. According to her new classmates the common room itself was located underneath the Big Lake, but Piper had yet to discern if this was true or false.

As she made her way deeper and deeper down into the dungeons, the sound of the chatter of the students from the open areas above slowly disappeared until she was left in complete silence—her only company being her quick, but steady breaths and her elongated shadow, distorted by the flicking torches on the walls. Slowly but surely, the stretch of corridors and stairs started to dwindle, until Piper was faced with just the wall she was looking for. 

“Serpent,” she squeezed out between labored breaths and the wall in front of her magically disappeared. 

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which hung round greenish lamps, bathing the room in a green tinge. In front of her, an ornate mantlepiece hosted the smoldering embers of a nearly extinguished fire around which sat multiple large armchairs. 

Piper looked around. The Slytherin common room, which was normally lively, was now completely empty. ‘Guess everyone’s in class’ , thought Piper, taking a few steps into the room. 

Soon after she’d entered the common room, she took a left through a nearby door and walked down a curving corridor where the walls were lined with paintings of wizards and animals, either snoozing or sending her furtive glances. In between each of the paintings were wooden doors leading to the dorms. The sixth-year girls were located furthest down the corridor, meaning that Piper had to pass all the other doors before she could enter her own dorm.

As she opened the door to her sleeping quarters, Piper came to a full stop. It turned out that the Slytherin common room wasn’t completely empty after all. A sole student was lounging inside, admiring her own reflection in a hand mirror clad with glinting emeralds—someone who didn’t belong in the sixth-years dorms. Her beautiful blonde hair falling in cascading waves down her back.

“I look magnificent today,” said the girl with a self-satisfied sigh without looking up. “Positively, and utterly radiant. Don’t you think so too, Piper dear?”

Piper felt a tinge of irritation run through her when she noticed exactly where the girl was laying. “Hello to you too, Daphne. Care to explain what you’re doing on my bed?”

Daphne continued to examine her own reflection, still without so much as a second glance at Piper. Then, after a few moments of silence she spoke. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Piper strode over to her bedside table and began searching it, but the book she was looking for wasn't there. “I could ask you the same thing. If I remember correctly, you have Divination as your last class on Fridays. Why aren’t you there?”

The blonde Slytherin blew on her perfectly manicured nails. “I’m afraid I felt quite unwell, so I decided to retire to the common room early.”

“Right,” said Piper, not believing this for a second. “And you just happened to end up on my bed?”

“It would seem so,” responded Daphne, finally putting down the mirror. “Quite fortuitous, don’t you think?” She met Piper's gaze, her eyes so stunningly blue that someone could have replaced them with gemstones.

“Quite,” said Piper briskly. “Listen, I don’t have time for this. Would you mind getting off my bed? I’m looking for—

“...the book ‘Magical Numericals and their use in the studies of ancient literature’ by Lucienda Cresswell?” asked Daphne, standing up from the bed and taking a step towards Piper. 

Piper narrowed her eyes. “And how do you know that?”

Daphne let out a melodic giggle. “You take Advanced Arithmancy as your final class on Fridays, no?”

“True,” answered Piper suspiciously, “but that still doesn’t explain how you know which book I’m after. We’re in different years, remember? Also, I’m an N.E.W.T student—you and I have different book lists.”

“How indeed? It is truly a mystery for the ages…” 

Piper, feeling more and more suspicious by the second, was struck by a sudden idea, a hunch—a hunch she was certain she was right about. She narrowed her eyes accusingly at the girl in front of her. “You…you stole my book, didn’t you? You took it out of my bag when I wasn’t looking. That’s how you know what the book is called.”

Daphne’s face split into a grin, highlighting her perfect white teeth broadly. “My, my. So you’re not only pretty face but sharp too? Your girlfriend really did pull a gem.” She stuck a hand into her robes and pulled out a thin book with an ornate leather cover. “You’re right, however, I did snatch your book.”

“Why?” asked Piper, apprehensively. 

Daphne didn’t answer immediately, instead opting for taking two more steps forward, closing the distance between her and Piper to that of an arms length. All the while, having her blue eyes fixed on Piper’s. “When you are a perfect human, there aren’t many things in life that one finds interesting,” started Daphne. “Life becomes too easy, my opponents too feeble and worthless to ever be more than mere short-time amusement. But you have had me intrigued ever since the first time I saw you. So I decided that I had to talk to you alone, and the easiest way to do so was to steal your book. As for why I chose this book in particular, well, that was simply due to my knowledge of Professor Vector as a teacher. Another teacher, like Professor Flitwick, might have let you share a book with someone else if you forgot to bring your material. But Professor Vector, who dislikes tardiness, can be quite harsh to those who don’t follow her rules. I once saw her give a boy detention for bringing the wrong book, claiming it ‘set a bad example to the rest of the class’. Hogwarts students know that she’s harsh and therefore always bring the right material, but you, an outsider, couldn’t possibly know this. I predicted that once you found your book missing and learnt about Professor Vector's behavior, you’d come rushing back to the dorms looking for your book, not wanting to set a bad first impression to other Slytherins nor be on the receiving end of Professor Vector’s harsh punishments.”

Piper played it cool. “Sounds like an awful lot of work simply to talk to someone like me alone—after all, I’m hardly something extraordinary.”

“Oh, I beg to disagree. You are far, far from ordinary. After all, there is something different about you. Isn’t there, Piper McLean?” 

Piper held her gaze steady. Just like the first time they met during the feast, Piper couldn’t help but feel impressed. Simply by speaking to her twice—perhaps even once—Daphne had deduced that she, and perhaps the others, were different in some capacity. Her perceptive abilities were undoubtedly off the charts. The way she’d planned their entire interaction so far was also deeply impressive, from the way she’d stolen her book to how she’d predicted her actions. Piper ran some calculations in her mind. The safest way to get out of this as quickly as possible and get back to class on time was just to deny that she was different. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daphne let out another melodic chuckle and took another step forward. They were now so close that they were touching. Daphne, being slightly taller than Piper, leant down and whispered quietly in her ear.

“Yes, you do.” Then, even more quietly, she added, “and I know what makes you different…” 

An uneasy feeling spread throughout Piper’s stomach. Did Daphne really know that she was different, a demigod, or was she only bluffing? Surely, there was no way. She’d given away nothing, hardly even spoken to the girl before. Steeling herself, Piper put on her best poker face. Whatever the truth was, she could not afford to slip up this early. “Can I have my book back now, or I’ll be late to class.”

“Well, of course,” said Daphne, taking a step back, bowing slightly—the smile never leaving her face. “Wouldn’t want to make you get detention now, would I.” 

The blonde held out Piper’s book. Piper practically snatched it out of her hand. Despite the rough gesture, Daphne only continued to smile. “It’s been a delight talking to you, Piper.”

“Likewise,” said Piper sarcastically. She turned to leave, but once she reached the door Daphne once more called out to her from behind.

“Oh, but before you leave, would you mind helping me with something? It’s serious!”

Piper sighed. “What is it?”

Daphne stuck her hand inside her robes and pulled out two small bottles of lip gloss. “Which one do you prefer? The pink, or the purple one?” She pointed to each of the bottles.

Piper examined the bottles. “The pink one,” she said after a second. “Much sexier.” Then, with a swish of her cloak, she left the blonde witch alone in her dorm.

—

Piper’s first lesson in Advanced Arithmancy turned out to be incredibly dull. For over an hour they sat in complete silence reading chapters in ‘Magical Numericals and their use in the studies of ancient literature’ , which for Piper seemed like an eternity. The words swam in front of her eyes, dull and uninspiring. It also didn’t help that she had the entire interaction with Daphne occupying her thoughts. 

When the bell finally rang, Piper was the first to slam her book shut and the first to rise from her seat. Beside her, she could see that Scarlett had a slightly dazed look as if struck over the head by something heavy. Leaving the classroom felt like breaking free from shackles. 

“Told you it was awful,” said Scarlett glumly. “And my mother wants me to work with this. One more lesson and I might die of boredom.”

“Yeah,” said Piper absentmindedly. “Totally.”

“I have to say,” started Ella, throwing her school bag around her shoulders. “It was really ballsy of you to arrive one minute before the bell rang for the start of class. What kept you?”

“Oh, well,” said Piper trying to come up with an excuse. “I just got a bit side-tracked, that's all.”

Scarlett chuckled. “Well, at least now you’ll remember to always check your bag for the right materials before heading to an Advanced Arithmancy class.”

Piper smiled.

Scarlett switched the subject. “Anyways, I wanted to talk to you. I know you said that you weren’t interested in trying out for the Quidditch team, but if you’ve changed your mind and feel like giving it a go or simply watching, the tryouts are tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.” Scarlett gave Piper and Ella a pleading look. “It would mean the world to me to get some girl support from the sidelines, even if only a little”.

Piper furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Sure I guess. But why would you need girl support? It’s not like you’re going to be the one picking new players for the team, the captain will do that.”

Scarlett pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Montague has decided that his spare time is more valuable than to have it spent on quidditch tryouts. Therefore, the burden of deciding on a new chaser has fallen on me, the new vice-captain .”

Ella looked slightly shocked. “Hey, you’ve never told me you got made the vice captain.”

“That would be because I only got named the vice captain this morning,” responded Scarlett, grinding her teeth in frustration. “Montague came up to me after breakfast and told me to skim through this.” She pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, straightened it out and began to read out loud. “I, Graham Montague hereby name you Scarlett Lympsham as the new Slytherin quidditch vice-captain. Your first order of business will be to oversee the chaser tryout tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.” 

When she finished, she tore the parchment apart. “What a load of rubbish. Me? A vice-captain? I haven’t even played a quidditch match yet. When I joined the team two years ago I did so as a reserve and now they expect me to be a vice-captain. It’s a farce.”

“Maybe this is a stupid question, but I really don’t understand why you’re mad? Don’t you want the position?” asked Ella. “I know I would.”

“Of course, I do,” hissed Scarlett. “But I don’t want it handed to me because our captain is a lazy moron who can’t be bothered to show up to a chaser-tryout, I want to earn it on my own—through my own achievements as a player.”

“Can’t you just delegate the responsibility to someone else?” asked Piper.

“No,” said Scarlett darkly. “Bletchley, Warrington and those new Beaters Crabbe and Goyle are idiots. Adrian Pucey is injured and Malfoy, well, giving him the job would be like inviting a dominatrix to an all-you-can-humiliate buffé. I’m sure he’d use it to play nasty tricks on some unsuspecting second-years. No, I have to be the one to do it.”

 “If that’s the case,” started Piper looking over at Ella, “then I don’t see us have any choice. Of course we’ll pop in.”

Ella nodded and Scarlett looked relieved. “Thanks, you guys. Anyways, I’m going to pop down early to the Great Hall, or else I might starve to death. Feel free to tag along if you’d like.”

“Not that I’m particularly hungry, but sure, I’ll tag along,” said Ella. “Piper?”

“Sure, I’ll come too,” said Piper. “But I need to stop by the bathroom first, so please, go ahead without me.”

The group split apart and Piper headed off towards a nearby bathroom. She didn’t actually need to visit the bathroom, she only needed someplace alone to think. When inside, she found herself an empty stall, closed the door and sat down heavily on top of the toilet seat. In her head she could hear Daphne’s words playing on repeat, over and over again.

  “You are far, far from ordinary. After all, there is something different about you. Isn’t there, Piper McLean? And I know what makes you different…”

 She fished around in her pocket for the enchanted Galleon that Annabeth had given them the day before. With one simple tap of her wand on this piece of gold she could summon all of her friends, but then, were her premonitions even true? Had she perhaps read too much into it? After all, there was no way Daphne could possibly know she was a demigod. She’d revealed no sensitive information and even if she had, she was sure 99% of Wizards would be unable to make sensible connections between her, her friends and mythical Greek gods. 

Piper looked at the small gold coin in her hand. It was much heavier than at first glance, perfectly circular with a dragon-motif in the middle. She shook her head and shoved the Galleon back into her pocket. No, this was too early to call wolf. She needed more information. It would be worthless wasting time on a maybe, she needed to be certain. 

Piper rose from her toilet seat, flushed the toilet despite not having used it and rushed out of the bathroom down towards the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Friday’s classes passed in a haze of tiredness. Surprisingly to Harry, Ron seemed very sleepy too, though he could not see why he should be. All the while a gnawing feeling of dread slowly pooled in the pit of his stomach. His second detention with Umbridge was that evening and it was safe to say, Harry wasn’t looking forward to it. Harry tried to sustain himself by reminding himself that tomorrow was the weekend. However the mounting pile of homework swiftly brought him down back to reality. 

His homework situation was, in simple terms, desperate. Due to the previous nights detention, he hadn’t been able to begin on Snape’s moonstone essay nor on the questions set by Professor McGonagall. He hadn’t even been able to start on the homework set by Professor Grubbly-Plank about the proper handling of Bowtruckles. As such, he was forced to work inbetween classes, scribbling furiously on pieces of parchment. 

When the last class of the day ended, Harry had managed to cobble together something on Bowtruckles, put down some answers for McGonagall and even started on Snape’s essay all under the eye of a disapproving Hermione who kept on muttering under her breath about ‘proper planning’ . Ignoring her, he dashed down to the Great Hall to try and get something to eat before bracing himself for another evenings worth of detention. Hopefully, this would be the last.

Harry had never before considered the possibility that there might be another teacher in the world he hated more than Snape, but as he walked up from the Great Hall he had to admit that he’d found a strong contender. ‘She’s evil,’ he thought as he climbed a staircase, ‘she’s an evil, twisted, mad old—’

“Ron?”

Harry had reached the top of the stairs, turned right and almost walked straight into Ron, who was lurking behind a nearby statue, clutching his broomstick. He gave a great leap of surprise when he saw Harry and attempted to hide his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back.

“What are you doing? I thought you’d be back in the common room with Hermione.”

“Er—nothing. What are you doing?”

Harry frowned at him. “I’m on my way to Umbridge’s detention, remember?” He stole another look at the poorly hidden broomstick behind Ron’s back. “Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?”

“I’m—I’m hiding from Fred and George, if you must know,” said Ron. “They just went past with some first-years, I bet they’re testing stuff on them again. I mean, they can’t do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there.” He was talking in a very fast, feverish way.

Harry scratched his head awkwardly. Shortly after arriving at school, Fred and George—no doubt with the help of the Tri-Wizard winnings Harry had given them in June—had begun testing newly developed joke-shop articles on willing first-years in reward for Galleons. Hermione, affronted, had banned them from testing their products on first-years in the common room. It seemed that they’d only partly listened.

“But what have you got your broom for, you haven’t been flying, have you?” Harry asked. 

“I—well—well, OK, I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh, all right?” Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. “I—I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I’ve got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Harry, grinning broadly. Ron blinked. “It’s a brilliant idea! It’d be really cool if you got on the team. I’ve never seen you play Keeper, are you good?

“I’m not bad,” said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry’s reaction. “Charlie, Fred and George always made me keep for them when they were training during the holidays.”

“So you’re off to the quidditch pitch then?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Though, tryouts don’t start for another two hours. Thought I’d go down for some last-minute practice. Tried doing some yesterday too by bewitching Quaffles to fly right at me, but it hasn’t been easy. I don’t know how much use it’ll be.” Ron looked nervous and anxious. “Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when they see me down on the pitch. They still haven’t stopped taking the mickey out of me for becoming a Prefect.”

“Wish I could be there,” said Harry bitterly, looking down at his clock. “Well, I’d better be off. Detention starts in ten minutes.” He sent Ron an encouraging nod. “Good luck!”

They split off, with Harry heading straight towards Umbridge’s office. At exactly five o’ clock he knocked on Professor Umbridge’s door for what he sincerely hoped would be the final time and was told to enter. The blank parchment lay ready for him on the lace-covered table, the pointed black quill. 

“You know what to do, Mr Potter,” said Umbridge from behind the old tome she’d been reading the evening before. Harry noted that her desk was even more messy than the night before. He sat down, picked up the quill and glanced through the window. If he just shifted his chair an inch or so to the right…on the pretext of shifting himself closer to the table, he managed it. There, in the distance, was the Quidditch pitch and there was the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaring up and down the pitch. Below the three high goalposts stood a dozen black figures, apparently awaiting their turn to keep. Harry squinted, but quickly realized that it was pointless to try and identify Ron from this distance.

He bent down over the parchment and began to write. I must not tell lies. The red skin on his hand grew inflamed almost instantly. I must not tell lies. Harry could see the faint outline of the words appear on the back of his hand. I must not tell lies. I must not tell lies. The words became more and more clear, etching themselves into his skin.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

The cut on the back of his hand opened and began to bleed. I must not tell lies. The cut dug deeper, stinging painfully. I must not tell lies. Blood trickled slowly down his wrist.

He chanced a glance at Umbridge to see if it was safe to throw another look through the window, but whatever it was she was reading had completely captured her attention. Through the pain, Harry wondered what on earth could bring Umbridge to such a standstill. He would have thought—sadistic as she was—that she would have made his detentions into a spectacle, inspecting him closely as he suffered. He shook his head. It was not a good idea to get caught watching Umbridge, over doing his detention.

Harry looked out of the window. Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a terrible job. Hoping very much that the Keeper wasn’t Ron, he dropped his eyes back to the parchment.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

The third person to try out was solid, the fourth terrible, the fifth dodged a bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. Outside darkness was falling. Soon it would be dark enough that it became impossible to see the players. 

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

Hours later, the parchment was shining with drops of blood from the back of his hand, which was pulsating with pain. He glanced down at the clock. It was close to midnight. The Quidditch pitch was no longer visible, and the tryouts were over—someone had been chosen as their houses’ new Keeper.

Finally, as if snapped out of a trance, Umbridge closed the old tome and rose from her seat—eyes flashing maliciously. 

“Let’s see if you’ve got the message yet, shall we?” said Umbridge. She moved towards him, stretching out her short ringed fingers for his arm. And then, as she took hold of him to examine the words now cut into his skin, pain seared, not across the back of his hand, but across the scar on his forehead. At the same time, a most peculiar sensation fluttered through his midriff.

He wrenched his arm out of her grip and leapt to his feet. Umbridge smiled broadly, distorting her toadlike features to an almost extreme amount.

“Yes, it hurts, doesn’t it?” she said softly.

Harry didn’t—couldn’t—answer. His heart was thumping very hard and fast. What was she talking about? His hand, or did she possibly know what he just felt in his scar?

“Well, I think I’ve made my point, Mr Potter. You may go.”

Harry didn’t wait to hear if there was anything more, throwing his schoolbag over his shoulder and darting out of the office.

Stay calm , he told himself. Stay calm, it doesn’t necessarily mean what you think it means…

“OOF—” He’d run straight into something hard. “Hey,” said Harry irretably, momentarily forgetting his anxiousness, “what the fuck is your pro—Ron?”

For the second time that day Harry had run into Ron in a place he hadn’t expected.

“Harry!” said Ron eagerly, completely ignoring Harry’s outburst. “I did it. I’m in, I’m Keeper!”

“What? Oh—brilliant!” said Harry, trying to smile naturally, while his heart continued to race and his hand throbbed and bled. “But what are you doing here? It’s almost midnight, I thought you’d be up in the common room by now?”

“I was,” said Ron, “but I thought you’d be all miserable after your detention, so I went down here to get you.”

“Where’s Hermione? Have you told her?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve told her. She’s up in the common room knitting hats for the house elves. Honestly, I wish she’d just give it a—Harry, what’s that on the back of your hand?”

Harry, who’d just scratched his nose with his bleeding right hand, tried to hide it, but had about as much luck as Ron earlier that evening trying to stuff his new Cleansweep Eleven behind his back.

“It’s just a cut—it’s nothing—it’s—”

But Ron, ignoring Harry’s feeble attempts at deception, grabbed Harry’s forearm and pulled the back of Harry’s hand up level with his eyes. There was a pause, during which he stared at the words carved into the skin, then, looking utterly revolted, he released Harry.

“I thought you said she was just giving you lines?”

Harry hesitated, but after all, Ron had been honest with him earlier today. “Come on,” he said, “let’s walk and talk.” So he told Ron the truth about the hours he’d spent in Umbridges office.

“The old hag!” Ron said, horrified as they made their way up a staircase. “She’s sick! Go to McGonagall, say something!”

“No,” said Harry at once. “I’m not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she’s got to me.”

Ron looked bewildered. “ Got to you —Harry, she’s carved words into your skin . You can’t let her get away with this!”

“I don’t know how much power McGonagall has got over her,” said Harry, as they turned a corner into a dark corridor.

“Dumbledore, then, tell Dumbledore!”

“No,” said Harry flatly. 

“Why not?”

“He’s got enough on his mind,” said Harry, but that was not the true reason. He was not going to go to Dumbledore for help when Dumbledore had not spoken to him once since June.

“Well, I reckon you should—”

Harry held up his hand. “Shhh, quiet!” A number of voices were trickling out of a nearby classroom. He felt his curiosity spike. Who would be occupying an unused classroom at this hour?

“Up ahead,” whispered Harry pointing to the classroom. “There’s someone inside.”

“Who is it?” responded Ron quietly. 

“No idea,” whispered Harry. “Let’s get closer.”

Slowly, Harry and Ron snuck towards the classroom. As they got closer, the voices from inside became more prominent and recognizable. Not only that but they were sharp and somewhat agitated.

“Hey,” mumbled Ron slowly, as the pair peered through an opening in the door. “Isn’t that—” 

But Harry held up a finger in warning, silencing Ron. In the center of the classrom stood the strangest asortment of individuals Harry had ever seen. Pearly white mists that Harry recognized as the forms of Nearly-Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron and Peeves, surrounded a lone male students with pale skin and dark hair.

“Nico Di Angelo,” Ron whispered. “But I thought he said that ghosts usually avoid him.”

“Yet here he is,” said Harry slowly, “at a very peculiar time of day.”

“Let’s try to hear what they’re saying.”

They closed their eyes and listened. 

“...And what if we—I—don’t want to do it?” said a voice Harry recognized belonging to Nearly Headless Nick. “I have no stake in whatever it is you’re trying to do. I tell you, I want no part of it.”

Nico Di Angelo chuckled coolly. “I couldn’t care less what you want. You’ll follow my orders because I’m the one giving them. You all know who I am, right?”

“Of course we do,” said a dark, grovely voice, Harry suspected to be that of the Bloody Baron. “But why are you here? Is this your fathers idea of some twisted punishment?”

“You have a very high opinion of yourselves, don’t you?” snorted Nico. “Do you really think my father has the time to concern himself with the likes of you ? No, I’m here for a different reason. I’m in need of some information.”

“I–If you’re looking for information, maybe the Library can help you,” said the Fat Friar. “I assure you, us ghosts, we know nothing—please, just let us be!”

“The information I’m after is not something you’d find in an ordinary library book. What I need is information concerning the actions and movements of teachers, students or anyone else noteworthy. I want to know what is going on at every whim, who is passing in and out of school, every secret and squabble,” continued Nico, completely ignoring the Fat Friar.

“You want us to–to spy on the teachers and the students?” hissed Nick. “Proposterous!”

“I do,” said Nico pleasantly, as if they were discussing what was for dinner that evening. “But don’t worry, I won’t be saddling you with anything important. I just need your help covering ground.”

“What you’re asking for is a betrayal to Hogwarts,” groveled the Bloody Baron. 

“Not only that, but do you seriously expect us to just blindly trust you?” added the Fat Friar. “At least tell us why you need this information and we might be inclined to help you without threats.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Nico simply. “It is too important to be entrusted to a simple ghost. 

“I–I,” started Nick, “I–I can’t—what you’re asking for is—”

“You have your orders,” stated Nico firmly. “I expect you to follow them, or I’ll be less than happy with all three of you. You’re dismissed.” Then he added, “...hold on a minute, Peeves, was it? I want a word with you, alone .”

Harry scrambled backwards. “Ron!” he hissed. “We have to move, the ghosts are coming this way.”

They hurried backwards and practically threw themselves behind a nearby suit of armor. The ghosts of Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar and the Bloody Baron glided eerily through the stone wall a number of feet away—each one looking whiter than Harry had ever seen them. To Harry and Ron’s frustration they didn’t immediately leave, but instead lingered outside of the classroom now only occupied by Nico Di Angelo and Peeves the Poltergeist. 

“I can’t believe this,” mumbled the Fat Friar. “To think someone like him would be here. What are the odds?”

“Someone like him?” said the Bloody Baron. “More like them , if you ask me.”

It went quiet for a moment in which none of the ghosts spoke. Harry and Ron looked at each other. Harry could tell that Ron was thinking the same thing he was. What on earth were the ghosts talking about, and what was Nico Di Angelo up to. Why would he need to employ ghosts to spy on the students and teachers in the school?

“Mules,” stated Nick under his breath. “He’s—they’re—treating us like mules.”

“They are,” agreed the Fat Friar, “but what do you expect us to do? It’s not like—”

But what the Fat Friar was going to say was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Peeves, gliding through the classroom door, cackling to himself.

The Bloody Baron glided forward. “What did he tell you Peeves?”

Peeves looked almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mr Baron, sir, old Peevesie isn’t allowed to say. I promised Mr Ghost King that I would keep it very, very quiet. Top secret assignment!” He cackled wildly, bobbing up and down midair. “But I can tell you it’s going to be very very fun… ”

“Let’s take this somewhere else, shall we,” said the Fat Friar. “I need a few moments to collect my thoughts.”

And with that, they left. Harry and Ron lingered for a moment to make sure they were really gone, before slowly approaching the classroom again. But to their surprise, as they peered through the door, they found it to be empty. Opening the door more widely, Harry stuck his head inside. There was nothing, not a trace that anyone had just been inside. 

“Where did he go?” asked Ron, looking puzzled. “There’s no way he managed to sneak out of the door without us noticing, right?”

Harry shook his head, opened the door and stepped inside the classroom. There wasn’t a soul inside. He looked at the windows. They were wedged shut, unable to be opened. “Well, we know he didn’t go through the windows.”

“Maybe he has an invisibility cloak?” said Ron.

“Maybe,” said Harry slowly. “But we would have seen the door open even if he was. So if he is wearing a cloak, that means he’s not left the room.” He rummaged around in the inside of his pocket. “Damn! I should have brought the Marauders Map!”

Ron looked incredibly tense. “You mean he could still be in here?”

“He could be, but I have a feeling that he’s not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Harry shrugged. “Just a feeling, I guess.” He looked down at his bleeding hand, which has throbbing more painfully than ever. “Come on, Ron. Let’s get back to the common room and tell Hermione. She’ll want to hear this.”

“Alright,” Ron said hesitantly, throwing the empty classroom one final glance before exiting with Harry. “Who knows, maybe she has something for your hand.”

“Yeah, maybe she does,” mumbled Harry as they started their journey back to the Gryffindor common room. “But one thing is clear. Nico Di Angelo is up to something, and something tells me the other Ilvermorny students are too…”

Chapter Text

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia!” 

The portrait hole swung open and Harry and Ron, panting from running for the last ten minutes, threw themselves inside. 

Despite the late hour, the Gryffindor common room was still relatively crowded. Over in a corner, Fred and George were talking animatedly to fellow Gryffindor Quidditch team members, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. Nearby, a handful of first-years bore the unmistakable signs of extensive nosebleeds. Harry had a shrewd suspicion that Fred and George might have given them something new out of their latest assortment of Skiving Snackboxes.

“There,” he said to Ron, pointing to one of the cushions close to the fire. Hermione was buried under a thick layer of yarn, snoozing silently. As they approached, she stirred and looked up at them.

“Welcome back,” said Hermione, stifling a yawn. “Did you hear that Ron’s been made Keeper?” Then when she saw Ron standing beside Harry, she added, “...oh, right. I forgot. You went to tell him yourself, didn’t you.” She tried, but failed, to stifle another yawn. “How was detention?”

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and then around to the other people in the room, who were all too preoccupied with other things, than to listen in to what they were saying.

“Listen, Hermione,” said Harry, quietly. We need to talk to you. It’s important!”

Hermione seemed to immediately perk up. “What? Has something happened?”

Harry and Ron looked at each other again. It was clear that neither of them knew where to start. Harry, throwing caution to the wind, held out the back of his hand right in Hermione’s face. At first, Hermione didn’t seem to grasp what it was she saw. Then, she let out a small horrified gasp.

“Oh no— Harry ! What’s she done?”

“I told you,” said Harry, wincing slightly. Hermione’s grip on his hand had tightened, “she’s forcing me to write lines.”

“Harry, this isn’t the time for jokes. This is—I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” Hermione looked deeply upset. “How on earth—”

“It’s some kind of quill,” said Harry quickly. “When I write with it, it cuts the words I’ve written into the back of my hand.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds like a blood quill, to me. I’ve read about those. Instead of ink, a blood quill uses the writer's blood as a substitute. However, they are definitely illegal, and if Umbridge is using one, you need to tell someone!” 

“That’s what I said,” mumbled Ron. “I told him he should tell Dumbledore, but Harry reckons he’s ‘too busy’ .”

“Too busy? Harry, this is abuse!” hissed Hermione. “You can’t let her get away with this!”

Harry ignored them. If Dumbledore wasn’t going to as much as look at him, there was no way he would turn to him for support. Instead, Harry plowed on. “There’s more, Hermione.” He sent Ron a glance, as he hadn’t told him this part either. “Earlier, when I was in detention, Umbridge touched my arm…”

Hermione and Ron listened closely. When Harry had finished, Hermione said slowly, “You’re worried You-Know-Who is controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?”

“Well,” said Harry, dropping his voice further, “it’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” said Hermione, though she sounded unconvinced. “But I don’t think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he’s properly alive again now isn’t he, he’s got his own body, he wouldn’t need to share someone else’s. He could have her under the Imperius curse, I suppose…”

Harry watched Alicia Spinnet give a sharp huff of laughter at something said by Fred Weasley. Then Hermione said, “But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you, and didn’t Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn’t got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it’s just coincidence it happened while you were with her?”

“She’s evil,” said Harry flatly. “Twisted.”

“I can see that,” said Hermione, giving the back of Harry’s hand another glance. “But Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurts. I’m sure he would want to be bothered by this.”

“Yeah,” said Harry before he could stop himself, “that’s the only bit of me that Dumbledore cares about, isn’t it, my scar?”

“Don’t say that, it’s not true!”

“I think I’ll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks—”

“Harry, you can’t put something like that in a letter” said Hermione, looking alarmed. Don’t you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can’t guarantee owls aren’t being intercepted any more!”

“All right, all right, I won’t tell him then,” responded Harry, irritably. “But I’m not going to Dumbledore, no way, it’s not happening!

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ron, perhaps sensing that the pair was about to get into a serious argument, spoke up, directing the focus back to the topic at hand.

“If you two are finished bickering, can we please move on? I want to tell Hermione about Di Angelo!”

“Nico?” said Hermione, confused. “What about him?”

“Well,” mumbled Ron quietly, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check that the coast was clear. “You know how Di Angelo claims that ghosts tend to avoid him?”

“Yeah…” 

“Well, me and Harry might just have seen why.” Ron lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Right now, when we were walking back from Umbridge’s office, we overheard him talking with a couple of ghosts in an empty classroom on the fourth floor. And guess what? He was threatening them!”

“What?” said Hermione, her eyes wide with disbelief. 

“Yeah,” continued Ron, “I’ve never seen anything like it. He told them that he—no, them, the Ilvermorny students—were looking for something…some kind of information, and that he wanted their help with monitoring the students and the teachers. And when the ghosts didn’t want to do as he said, he told them that they would cooperate because he was the one asking—and they just… relented . They seemed terrified of the bloke, I tell you.”

“They weren’t only terrified of him,” supplied Harry. “He said something about his dad too, remember? How they ‘seemed to have a high opinion of themselves’ and how they weren’t ‘worthy of his fathers time’ .”

“Right…Oh, yeah and then, he gave Peeves some kind of special mission, but about what Peeves wasn’t allowed to say,” added Ron. “But you know what the craziest part was? When the ghosts had disappeared, Harry and I went into the classroom to check if he was still there, you know, to see what else he could be up to—but he was gone! Not a trace of him.”

“He definitely wasn’t there,” said Harry, agreeing. “And since it’s on the fourth floor, it’s not like he could have jumped out of a window. Di Angelo would have died, wouldn’t he?”

To their surprise, Hermione looked less convinced than they would have first thought. She bit her lip, and threw a glance up towards the stairway leading to the boys dormitories.

“I…listen, I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” started Hermione slowly, “but are you absolutely sure that it was Nico Di Angelo you saw, or could it have been someone else?”

“It was definitely him,” said Harry confidently. “We both saw him.”

“But that’s not possible,” said Hermione.

“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “We know you like to see the best in people and everything, but we saw him do it. We saw him threaten them!”

“That’s not it,” whispered Hermione. “It can’t have been him, because I saw him go up to your dormitories about an hour ago and nobody’s left the common room since.”

“That’s not a problem if he can apparate,” stated Ron.

“Ron, how many times do I have to tell you? You can’t apparate or disapparate inside the Hogwarts grounds! It’s impossible!”

Ron shook his head. “How then, do you explain that he was able to appear in a classroom on the fourth floor, without exiting the common room?”

“Well…” said Hermione, slowly. “What if he didn’t exit the common room, and the person you saw was…you know…someone in disguise ?”

Harry thought for a moment. It was certainly possible that someone was disguising themselves as Nico Di Angelo using magical means. Only last year, a death eater had successfully impersonated Mad-Eye Moody for nine months using Polyjuice Potion. On the other hand, Harry thought, there were some glaring problems with this idea. First and foremost, it eliminated everyone from Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as suspects and incriminated a handful of Gryffindors—those who’d sat close to them during the feast—and had seen Nico’s influence on the ghosts. Although he knew he was biased, Harry didn’t think any of them would go as far as to impersonate another member of their house. Besides that, there was also the fact that whoever they’d overheard had known a lot of personal details about Nico’s private life, something he’d shared very little about so far, which meant that they were either making it up or knew him on a personal level. As such, the most likely option was that the Ilvermorny students had something to do with it, or that Nico Di Angelo was the one they’d seen in the classroom. After all, the Fat Friar had alluded to them all being involved in whatever Di Angelo was up to. Harry supposed Nico could have used a time turner, yet that still didn’t explain how he was able to make it out of a classroom on the fourth floor unseen. 

“All I’m saying,” continued Hermione, “is that it’s more likely that you both saw someone disguising themselves as Nico, then him breaking multiple laws of magic.”

“But why would they do that?” asked Ron, brows furrowed. “It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“You’re right,” said Hermione, “it doesn’t…”

They sat in silence for a moment and looked out of the window. The sky outside was dark, the moon covered by thick clouds. 

“Well, whatever’s going on, we should be on our guard,” said Ron. “Something weird is going on and I don’t like it.”

Harry quietly agreed.

—

Annabeth yawned widely as she trudged out of the Ravenclaw common room. Beside her, Will was beaming down at everyone and everything that he passed, as if he’d been reincarnated as the sun. Annabeth on the other hand, wasn’t. It was way too early for that. 

“I thought you were a morning person?” said Will teasingly, his white teeth on perfect display. 

Annabeth sent him a resentful glare. “It should be illegal for anyone to be this upbeat at seven in the morning.”

“Oh, come on. I only wanted a breakfast buddy.”

“Yeah, well, when you asked me to eat breakfast with you, I was thinking that it’d be sometime around ten, not at the crack of dawn.”

“Come on, don’t be such a buzz kill. We’ll have the entire Great Hall to ourselves!”

The pair moved quietly down one of the stairways. On the walls, portraits of witches and wizards were snoozing softly under the warm glow from nearby torchlights. 

“Have you heard anything about Nico’s little crusade yesterday?” asked Will curiously. 

“Nothing,” replied Annabeth shortly. “But I suspect we would have heard something if things had gone haywire.”

“Probably, yeah,” said Will, shrugging “but coercing the ghosts into helping us spy on people is risky business. If anyone were to see him do it…I mean, I have no idea how we would try and spin that in our favor without looking incredibly suspicious."

“As long as he stuck to the plan, nothing should’ve gone wrong.” Then she added in an undertone, “I hope.”

Close to what Will had predicted, the Great Hall was almost entirely empty, with the exception of a few lone students occupying each one of the tables. Up at the staff table, only the temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Professor Grubbly-Plank, was visible—her head bowed down low over a bowl of porridge.

The Ravenclaw table specifically housed only one student. As the pair approached, the student—a girl with raven hair—looked up and met their eyes. Surprisingly, the girl looked rather put out over something.

“What’s up, Cho?” asked Annabeth, failing to stifle another yawn. “You look miserable.”

Cho visibly winced. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It kind of is yeah,” said Will, grimacing slightly. “Sorry…”

“No, no, don’t worry about it, it’s just that…I don’t know what to do.” She averted her eyes back down at the half-eaten toast in her hand. Then, as if stealing herself, she met their eyes again. “Have you…ever been in a relationship?”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. So that was what this was about. “I have,” said Annabeth slowly, “ever since I was sixteen.”

“Me too,” replied Will. “But mine is more recent.”

Cho diverted her eyes again. “My boyfriend died in June—he got murdered by You-Know-Who.”

Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Death was a common malady amongst Demigods, and Annabeth had come in contact with it far more often than she would have liked. Situations like these carried a great weight, and as such required the utmost care. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

Cho smiled weakly. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I–I’m just confused that’s all.”

Annabeth had a sudden premonition. “Let me guess, there’s another guy involved?”

Cho nodded. “I…I just don’t know what to feel. Every night when I fall asleep I have nightmares about Cedric dying, and just the other day I missed class because I couldn’t stop crying.” She looked up to the ceiling. “But then there are other moments, moments when it’s not so bad, and I realize I might be interested in someone else.” Cho sighed deeply. “But that in itself feels like a betrayal.”

A sting of familiarity flickered in Annabeth’s stomach and she couldn’t resist speaking up. “I was in a similar situation once.” 

“You were?” asked Cho, clearly surprised.

“It’s true,” said Annabeth. “My growing up was…rough. My birth mom wasn’t in the picture, and I didn’t get along with my dad or his new wife—so I ran away. This one boy, Luke, found me and helped me through it and I caught feelings. A few years later I met Percy, and around the same time I found out that Luke had started doing some really bad things. Suddenly there was this rift between us that couldn’t be fixed. Meanwhile, the distance between me and Percy closed rapidly—even though it took me a long while to admit it.” She chuckled to herself. “Although I knew I’d fallen for someone else, there was still this twinge inside, holding me back from taking the last step. I guess some part of me still hoped we could become something more. In the end I pushed past it and made it official with Percy. And I haven’t regretted it since. He is the dirt under my nails—nothing’s ever going to clean him out.”

“What happened to the other boy, Luke?” asked Cho, her eyes wide.

“He died a few years ago,” Annabeth said. “Impaled on his own knife.”

Cho fell silent for a moment. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice was rather coarse. “H–How did you move past his death?”

Annabeth thought about it before giving her answer. “Well,” she began, “I’m not sure I have, or ever will. Luke is, and always will be an important figure in my life, and from the sounds of it, so will Cedric be in yours. The way I view it, the best thing we can do to honor their memories is to continue living—at least that’s what I know Luke would want me to do.”

A tear ran down Cho’s cheek, but she wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand. Then she nodded determinedly. “You’re right. Cedric wouldn’t want me to fall apart, he’d want me to keep on fighting! I need to be strong!”

Beside her, Will smiled weakly. “It’s OK to be weak sometimes, remember that. There is no strength in denying that you need support. Even the most powerful needs someone to rely on from time to time…”

Cho didn’t answer but simply nodded resolutely, before standing up from the table and turning towards the door to the entrance hall. 

“I think I’m gonna go down to the Quidditch pitch. Rumor has it that the Slytherins are gonna have chaser tryouts at nine, and I want to watch. Feel free to tag along if you’d like.”

Annabeth and Will shrugged. It was not like they had anything better to do. Hurriedly, they scraped some butter on some toasts, picked them up and hurried after Cho.