Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the most ancient and noble House of Black, bustled with anticipation as preparations for the annual ball unfurled. The grand estate exuded an air of ancient prestige and aristocratic pride, its polished halls and meticulously maintained interiors a testament to the magnificence of high pureblood society. Servants clad in traditional attire moved with practiced precision, attending to every detail with utmost care to ensure the evening's festivities unfolded flawlessly. The ball was going to take place that evening at 6 pm, and it would be remembered as one of the most grandious balls of the century, the presence of the upper echelons of the pureblood society of London a testament to that, or so Walburga Black said.

Amidst the commotion, ten-year-old Sirius Black, the eldest heir of the House of Black, stood resplendent in his formal attire. Dressed in robes of rich onyx adorned with intricate silver embellishments, Sirius carried himself with an air of rebellious charisma that set him apart from the decorum of the pureblood elite. His dark locks framed a face that held the features of aristocratic heritage, while his silver eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that hinted at a spirit yearning for freedom and defiance. At Sirius's side, his nine-year-old brother Regulus, the youngest heir of the House of Black, donned attire befitting his noble lineage. Clad in robes of midnight black, Regulus’s subdued elegance and poised demeanor bespoke his unwavering commitment to family tradition. Despite his tender age, Regulus carried himself with a solemnity that mirrored the weight of ancestral expectations resting upon his shoulders. Joining the young heirs at the ball was their friend Barty, son of a respected pureblood family still entrenched in high society, and Evan, another childhood companion. The trio of friends, embroiled in hushed conversations that hinted at shared secrets and mischief, added a touch of youthful exuberance to the otherwise stringent atmosphere of the pureblood society gathering.

"Hey!" Barty said.

Regulus and Evan initially ignored him, Evan having just arrived and Regulus being next to his mother to welcome guests; Sirius was not there, as Mother thought best to avoid him possibily making a scene in the first five minutes of the ball.

"Hey!!!" said Barty again. After like twenty seconds of beign ignored he was about to start talking again so Evan interrupted.

Evan asked with a bored face. "What now Barty, you know it is not good etiquette to engage with others while being welcomed by the hosts, did you have anything important to say?"

Regulus watched them for a moment before being distracted again by the guests entrance, he could see his cousins arriving from afar: his uncle Cygnus wearing heavy luxurious robes walking in front, on his side his wife Druella Black nee Rosier, she was also Evan aunt, she was wearing a long bordeaux silk dress with red-blood like rubin earrings and behind her his three cousins, Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromeda, you could always recognize Bella from her hair that had both an air of refiniment and crazyness, she was wearing just like her mother  a long red dress which looked had a more heavy fabric satin like that in contrast to her mother did not cover her arms which were adorned with long satin gloves, Narcissa was at all times the most flashy of the sisters with her long blonde hair curled at the ends, wearing a blue night dress with sapphires earring and like her sister wearing sating gloves, and last but not least there was Andromeda, she was wearing a deep emerald green dress that also covered her arms and an higher neckline, her hair black like most of the family members except for Narcissa and in a high chignon exaltating her cheekbones and strong features which were a sign for most of the Blacks, the difference compared to her family could be seen in the way she smiled at Regulus view.

As they reached Regulus and his mother, Cygnus said "Good evening, dear sister" to which Walburga responded  "Good Evening, dear Brother" all this interaction being what was expected between  members of a family of the highest rank, afterwards Druella congratulated Walburga for the greatness that this ball was to ensure and went on in the ballroom with his husband and two of her daughters, Andromeda, he could see stopped to talk to him and ask him a simple question.

"Good Evening cousin, do you happen to know where your brother Sirius is?" asked Andromeda. She and Sirius were very good friends despite their age difference, Sirius was indeed ten while Andromeda was in her sixth year at Hogwarts making her sixteen.

Luckily his mother did not heard, thought Regulus, otherwise she may have told Andromeda not to engage with him, his mother was not one to take things lightly, especially this ball, and Sirius being Sirius, he could not be trusted to even be out of the room this early in the evening. 

Well at least he did not have to attend the welcoming of guests with his mother; the fake and hungry smiles that were turned to him and his mother the only thing he could see behind beautiful dresses and jewellry adorned guests, the attempt at constant praise making him simply lose interest to who these people were and the night of this ball alltogether,

He knew the praise was to be expected as a member to the Most ancient and Noble house of Black but this was too much. Speaking of..

"Mrs. Greengrass," Walburga Black greeted the woman with a regal nod, her posture exuding an air of effortless sophistication as she received the effusive compliments on the organization of the grand ball. The polished ballroom shimmered with the soft glow of candlelight, reflecting the opulence of the Black family's ancestral home.

"Oh, Lady Black, this ball is simply exquisite," gushed Mrs. Greengrass, her voice tinged with admiration as she surveyed the elaborate decorations and impeccable arrangements. "Your attention to detail is unparalleled, and I must say, the ambiance is simply divine. You truly have outdone yourself with this event."

Walburga accepted the accolades with a gracious smile, her eyes betraying a hint of cool detachment beneath the veneer of polite gratitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Greengrass. Your kind words are most appreciated," she replied, her voice carrying a note of restrained elegance that mirrored her poised demeanor.

Mrs. Greengrass, unaware of the subtle nuances beneath Walburga's composed facade, continued to heap praise upon the esteemed hostess, her words flowing unchecked in a stream of flattery and admiration. As she extolled the virtues of the Black family's prestige and influence, her enthusiasm bordered on sycophancy, a display of social maneuvering that did not escape the discerning eye of the matriarch.

Walburga listened politely, her composure unwavering in the face of the woman's overly effusive compliments. As Mrs. Greengrass finally concluded her lavish praise and drifted away, the grand dame of the House of Black remained poised and unruffled, her gaze following the retreating figure with a hint of subtle scrutiny.

Once the woman had departed, Walburga's demeanor shifted imperceptibly, a faint frown touching her features as she turned to her son, Regulus, standing dutifully at her side.

"Regulus," Walburga Black spoke icily, her sharp gaze fixed on her young son as a woman drifted away, leaving behind a cloud of excessive praise that lingered in the air. "Did you see that woman, child? Endlessly prattling on about the merits of this ball as if her words held weight in the esteemed circles we frequent."

Regulus, standing dutifully at his mother's side, felt an unspoken tension in her words. He glanced up, meeting her steely gaze with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. "Yes, Mother. Her words seemed... superficial," he offered cautiously, sensing the disapproval that simmered beneath Walburga's composed exterior.

"She lacks even the minimum decorum and grace expected in our society, Regulus," Walburga continued, her voice carrying a note of disdain. "People like her are to be observed, not invited into our private circles. Remember that, my son. Surround yourself with those who understand the values of lineage and honor, not those who seek to bask in false accolades."

Regulus nodded silently, absorbing his mother's words with a solemn nod. The weight of her expectations bore down on him, a reminder of the rigid standards that governed their world. "I understand, Mother. I shall heed your counsel," he replied, his voice tinged with a sense of obligation and reverence for the traditions that bound their family.

Walburga's expression looked satisfied by his responde imperceptibly, a fleeting glimpse before she masked it with her usual stoicism. "Good, my son. Remember, the House of Black demands nothing less than perfection. Let the fleeting praises of such individuals fade into obscurity, for it is our legacy that shall endure for generations to come."

Regulus absorbed his mother's words, a sense of duty and loyalty coursing through him as he stood at the side of the matriarch of the House of Black. In the hallowed halls of Grimmauld Place, amidst the echoes of a bygone era and the weight of familial expectations, he resolved to uphold the honor and traditions of his noble lineage, guided by the unyielding spirit of the Black family legacy.

As the night unfolded in a spectacle of opulence and tradition, whispers flitted through the assembled guests, carrying rumors of past glories and ancestral feuds. The air crackled with the weight of expectation and the delicate dance of social nuances as the esteemed guests mingled amidst the resplendent splendor of the ball.

In the midst of the formal proceedings, a discussion between two elder wizards escalated into a duel, a customary display of magical prowess that served as entertainment for the attendees.

The duel broke out between Mr. Travers and Mr. Burke, two esteemed members of the wizarding elite, their wands drawn in a display of magical prowess that drew the attention of the assembled guests.

"Ah, a bit of friendly competition, I see," remarked one observer, a hint of amusement lacing their tone as they watched the unfolding spectacle with mild interest.

"Quite a show of skill from Mr. Travers," noted another guest, a small smile playing on their lips as they admired the intricate patterns of light and color that filled the ballroom.

"Ah, the excitement of a bit of dueling adds an element of unpredictability to the evening," commented a seasoned witch, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and approval as she observed the clash between the two wizards.

"It appears Mr. Travers has quite the knack for defense," observed a wizard, nodding appreciatively at the strategic maneuvers displayed by the inebriated wizard amidst the dazzling display of spells.

As the duel reached its captivating conclusion, a ripple of applause and murmurs of admiration swept through the onlookers, the unexpected entertainment adding a touch of excitement to the elegant affair. The guests, no strangers to the occasional display of magical prowess at such gatherings, took the incident in stride, the duel becoming just another tale to be recounted in the tapestry of memories woven at the illustrious balls of the pureblood elite.

The duel concluded with Mr. Burke storming away in anger , his pride wounded by defeat, while the victor basked in the thrill of victory, a customary tradition that added a touch of whimsical entertainment to the evening's proceedings.

As Sirius Black, a curious and mischievous ten-year-old, entered the grand ballroom at Grimmauld Place, he gazed wide-eyed at the elegant surroundings, taking in the sophisticated atmosphere with a mixture of excitement and wonder. Having been held back to prevent any potential disruptions, he arrived just in time to witness the dramatic duel between Mr. Travers and Mr. Burke, the clash of spells captivating his young imagination.

"Blimey, what in the world just happened?" Sirius exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of awe and fascination as he joined his younger brother, Regulus, and their friends Barty and Evan.

Regulus face immediately illuminated seeing his brother after all that evening.

"You should have seen it, Sirius! Mr. Travers and Mr. Burke were dueling like real wizards!" Regulus replied, a hint of excitement coloring his words as he recounted the unexpected spectacle that had unfolded before their eyes.

"A duel? That's brilliant! I can't believe I almost missed that," Sirius exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he absorbed the thrilling details shared by his companions.

"It was quite the show, indeed. Mr. Travers managed to hold his own, despite being a bit wobbly," Barty added, a note of admiration in his voice as he relayed the daring feats of the inebriated wizard.

"Imagine the look on Mr. Burke's face when he got knocked down! Priceless," Evan chimed in, a grin spreading across his features as he recalled the dramatic conclusion of the duel.

At one point during the evening, Sirius's playful antics led to a minor mishap when he accidentally knocked over a decorative vase, causing a delicate cascade of flowers to spill onto the floor. Despite the relatively harmless nature of the incident, his mother's reaction was swift and exaggerated, her stern gaze piercing through the crowd as she scolded her son for his apparent transgression.

"Sirius Orion Black, what have you done?" Walburga exclaimed, her voice carrying a note of exasperation and disapproval as she surveyed the scene of the minor mishap, her eyes narrowed in a mixture of annoyance and concern.

"Mother, it was just a little accident. I didn't mean to knock over the vase," Sirius protested, his guilty expression tempered by a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he attempted to appease his mother's ire.

"Just a little accident, you say? Do you have any idea how fragile those antique vases are, Sirius?" Walburga scolded, her tone laced with a touch of melodrama as she gestured towards the fallen flowers with a dramatic flourish.

"I'll ask Kreacher to clean it up, I promise. It won't happen again," Sirius offered, his voice tinged with contrition as he moved to gather the scattered petals and return the vase to its rightful place, eager to rectify his mistake and appease his mother's unforgiving standards.

As the night wore on, Sirius, swept up in the excitement of the moment, found himself committing a youthful indiscretion that earned him a stern reprimand and a jinx to keep his mouth shut from his mother, Walburga.

The  matriarch of the House of Black maintained a veneer of icy composure, her stoic facade masking the seething anger that simmered beneath the surface. Sirius's embarrassment at his misstep was palpable, and as Walburga's icy gaze fixed upon him, a shiver ran down his spine, a stark reminder of the consequences of defying the rigid expectations of pureblood decorum. and of the consequences that would be waiting him when the ball concluded.

As a matter of fact when the ball concluded Walburga's forced smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve that hinted at the formidable power she wielded within the family. Orion Black, Sirius and Regulus's father, retired to his study for a quiet smoke, his face weary from the night's festivities and the weight of his familial obligations, he has been smoking and playing cards with other wizards the entire night so Regulus did not understand why he would need to go smoke again and leave them with their mother.

Left alone with their  mother, Sirius and Regulus stood uneasily before Walburga as she delivered a chilling admonition to her sons.

She started saying, "Sirius Orion Black, you are an ungrateful son of this house, how dare you ruined the ball and our image with your incompetence, I should have kept you locked in your room for the entire night without food, maybe than you would have learned what it is to be grateful and respectful!"

Regulus, ever the dutiful son, hung his head in silent acquiescence, his young eyes betraying a flicker of fear at the severity of his mother's words.

Sirius, his rebellious spirit burning bright within him, met Walburga's gaze with defiance, a steely glint in his eyes that belied his tender age, he could not talk since their mother still had not raised the curse, but he could speak with his eyes.

In a moment that would shape the course of their future, Walburga turned her attention to Sirius, her voice laced with cold menace as she warned him of the consequences of straying from the path of obedience and duty.

Walburga could not take the insolence of her own son and had to tame his bravery since she was the one in power, first thing she looked him down with superior air and piercing eyes, her face no longer expressed anger but rather an area of seriousness on the surface that was displayed just to hide her rage.

Sirius than changed expressions expecting her mother to hit him, but that was not what happened.

With a cruelty that sent shivers down Regulus's spine, she spoke to Regulus and said.

"You see Regulus, this is a behaviour you should never adopt if you want to be deemed to be called a Black, your brother has trespassed again and again what he could not do so it is now time for him to learn a lesson". She said. Regulus began trembling at her mother's words and tone of pure rage even if her expression did not once change. 

But what he did not expect was for her mother to tell him. "Regulus, stay here and watch".

Regulus and Sirius looked each other in their eyes, thousand words went unsaid, a type of communication only them could understand, something that they shared, that linked them beyond the unsaid, fear.

Walburga then raised her wand, and spoke. "Crucio!"

Regulus initially did not understand, not having ever seen that spell being pronounced by his parents, so he at first he simply stared at his mother wondering what that spell meant, just as he started turning around towards his brother, he heard someone scream. A piercing scream so loud that he could hear it everywhere, it disoriented him and as he turned around frantically searching from where or who the screaming was coming from he found his brother bent forwards, he could not see his face but only hear his bloodcurling screams.

He immediately turned towards her mother beggin her to stop and help him when he realized that she did this to him.

"Mother please stop, Sirius is hurting, he understands he wronged you, he has learned his lesson and won't defy your orders again, please Mother I beg you to please stop this!!-" Regulus had to scream to be heard over the screams of his brother.

His mother looked at him surprised and then with disdain, "Regulus how dare you, where does this disrespect come from, this is how you repay me for all I've given to you, you children show not an ounce of respect to me! Your mother!" she then slapped Regulus, hard, so hard he fell to the floor.

The Sirius cries could be heard echoing through the halls of Grimmauld Place as Regulus begged for mercy, his heart heavy with the weight of familial expectations and the fear of what lay ahead.

After a while Sirius cries calmed down in whimpers, but the tears kept on coming.

As the night wore on and Sirius's cries faded into the stillness of the night, a cold silence settled over the House of Black, a portent of the darkness that lingered within its hallowed halls. The events of that fateful evening would leave an indelible mark on the young heirs, shaping their destinies and setting the stage for the tumultuous journey that awaited them.

Years later, in the present day, the echoes of that haunting night still reverberated through the lives of Sirius, Regulus, and their companions. Amidst the bustling halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a new chapter unfolded as the young heirs found themselves embroiled in a world fraught with danger, intrigue, and the shadows of their past. Sirius, now a charismatic and rebellious teenager, stood at the cusp of a newfound independence, his spirit unyielding in the face of adversity.

Regulus, burdened by the weight of his family's expectations and haunted by the memories of that fateful night, grappled with a growing sense of rebellion that simmered beneath his obedient facade.

Andromeda Black, now a woman in her prime, had broken free from the shackles of her oppressive family, embracing a life of love and freedom with Ted Tonks. As she navigated the complexities of her newfound independence, she found herself drawn back into the webs of destiny that entwined the House of Black and its heirs.

As the Marauders, a group of mischievous and daring friends, embarked on their own adventures within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, their paths intertwined with those of the House of Black, setting the stage for a clash of ideologies and destinies that would shape the course of wizarding history. Through laughter and tears, triumphs and tribulations, the young heirs of the House of Black embarked on a journey of self-discovery, redemption, and sacrifice.

As they navigated the treacherous waters of power, privilege, and loyalty, their bonds of friendship and family were tested, their destinies intertwined in a tangled web of fate that would irrevocably alter the course of their lives. And as the echoes of that fateful night lingered in the shadows, the specter of darkness loomed on the horizon, threatening to engulf them in its all-consuming embrace. In the face of adversity, betrayal, and sacrifice, the heirs of the House of Black stood united in their quest for redemption, their hearts aflame with the unyielding spirit of defiance and resilience. The stage was set, the players assembled, their fates entwined in a tapestry of destiny that would shape the future of the wizarding world. And as the first chapter drew to a close, the echoes of the House of Black's ball reverberated through the ann als of time, a harbinger of the trials and tribulations that lay ahead for the brave souls who dared to challenge the darkness that loomed on the horizon.

Chapter Text

Here’s the translation:

Chapter 3: Never take a mission with Percy Jackson, it’s not a good idea.

Draco got sick.

Which is curious, because it’s something that had never happened before in his life. Now that he’s at camp, he can hear the Apollo cabin kids talking about how difficult it is when a demigod falls ill. So when he walks into the cabin to find Will, demanding to be seen, most of the cabin ignores him. Of course Will is better than those troglodytes and might be the only bearable person in this place, since he tries to examine him despite being even younger than Draco, and is clearly surprised when he touches his forehead.

Yes.

Sick.

Nobody saw it coming.

But he’s sick.

The fever rises and falls every few hours — if it’s not scorching, it feels like he’s burning like a furnace, to the point that the rest of the cabin grows alarmed after 5 hours of deteriorating condition.

Terrible service.

He can’t enjoy Percy Jackson’s newfound celebrity status — he heard Percy had to move cabins after the incident the day before, into one of those beautiful cabins worthy of a Malfoy. Draco had spent the night after capture the flag staring at the empty spot beside him where Jackson used to sleep. Not that he missed his snoring, but it was strange to see the space completely empty, even if he hadn’t been there very long.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

Now all that matters is this damned fever and the tremendous cold running through him.

God.

Draco feels so weak and dizzy that he wants to die of embarrassment — he’s no longer a proper heir, just a sick child, and he looks pathetic. His hair isn’t neat and his flushed face clashes with the color of these stupid t-shirts.

He had never gotten sick like this before.

When, after the third day, they can’t get his fever under control and strange dreams begin to appear, they call Chiron. Draco wants to tell him about the dream.

.

It was as though he were walking up a staircase that ended beneath a green trapdoor. And he was pulling on a rope, though it wasn’t really his hands doing it. The hatch swung open, and a ladder rattled down. The warm air rising from above smelled of mold, rotting wood, and something else — a smell that reminded him of snakes.

Neglected. That was the word for it.

The attic was full of old hero junk: armors covered in cobwebs; shields that had once gleamed and were now mottled with rust; old leather trunks with stickers that read “ITHACA,” “CIRCE’S ISLAND,” and “LAND OF THE AMAZONS.” There was a long table cluttered with jars of pickled things: chopped furry claws, huge yellow eyes, various monster parts. On the wall hung a dusty trophy that looked like the giant head of a snake, but with horns and an entire row of shark teeth. The plaque read: “HYDRA HEAD NO. 1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969.”

Everything was as vivid as if it were Draco himself seeing it all.

By the window, sitting on a three-legged wooden stool, was the most repulsive thing of all: a mummy. The shriveled, raisin-like corpse of a woman. She wore a tie-dye dress, many beaded necklaces, and a headband over long black hair. The skin of her face was thin and leathery, and her eyes were slits of white glass, as if her real ones had been replaced with marble stones. She had been dead for a very long time.

Then she opened her mouth.

Something tried to escape — it was Draco’s body — but it didn’t seem like he controlled it, and when that thing spoke, it did so as if it could see his soul.

“I am the spirit of Delphi…”

.

And that was all he could remember of the dream, before being jolted forcefully out of it.

What could it mean?

He wasn’t used to dreaming, but he also wasn’t used to situations like this — nor was he used to being a demigod, if that was even what he was.

“We gave him ambrosia, but he didn’t improve.” That was Lee Fletcher’s voice, the Apollo cabin counselor. “The hymns aren’t helping either. It’s as if something is damaging him from the inside, but not anything mortal,” he added, looking nervous.

Exhausted, in pain, his chest seeming to burn from something he didn’t understand.

The voices grow more distant.

This might be delirium — he’d never experienced it before, and he wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.

“Hero’s blood… special… connection… bond… Patroclus.” That was Chiron’s voice, but he couldn’t make it out clearly.

He dreams.

But far from dreams of attics and mummies, he dreams of going home, of Quidditch, of his home and happiness.

If he could remember more clearly, a pair of green eyes — like Potter’s — seem to watch him from a distance with irritation.

.

.

When he wakes, it seems the incompetents finally managed to do what they were supposed to, because his body no longer hurts and he can sit up in bed without trouble. There’s an itch in his chest, but it’s tolerable at best. There’s a newspaper beside him that appears to have been left behind by some boy in the infirmary ward where he had apparently been sleeping for several days. The newspaper is nothing like the Prophet — the images don’t move — and to his horror, there are many words he doesn’t understand well.

Never mind that without his magic he can’t use a spell to sort out the letters, which means it takes him longer than he would ever care to admit to read it.

.

New York Daily News

BOY AND HIS MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER STRANGE CAR ACCIDENT.

BY EILEEN SMYTHE

Sally Jackson and her son Percy have been missing for a week following their mysterious disappearance. The family’s ’78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a road north of Long Island, burnt out, with the roof torn off and the front axle broken. The car had rolled over and skidded several meters before exploding.

Mother and son were on vacation in Montauk but left very early under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and at the accident scene, but there were no further signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents of the rural area said they had not seen anything unusual around the time of the accident.

Mrs. Jackson’s husband, Gabe Ugliano, states that his stepson Percy Jackson is a troubled boy who has been expelled from numerous boarding schools and has previously shown violent tendencies.

Police are not commenting on whether the son Percy is a suspect in his mother’s disappearance, but are not ruling out any hypothesis. The images below are recent photographs of Sally Jackson and Percy. Police are asking anyone with information to call the following toll-free number.

.

He has questions gle world — but now every part of him was on high alert.

This wouldn’t be like training at camp, where Luke would stop at the last second.

They could die.

And Chiron had sent them on a suicide mission.

God.

“Percy, put on my cap,” Annabeth urged him.

“What for?”

Draco wanted to murder him. It was a cap that turned you invisible — he was half a second away from snatching it and using it himself.

“They’re looking for you. Turn invisible and let them pass. Then try to get to the front and escape.”

“But you guys…”

Something very important: Draco did not want to die.

“There’s a decent chance they won’t notice us. You’re the son of one of the Big Three, remember? Your scent is probably overwhelming.”

That didn’t matter — it sounded like an excuse. They would be left completely defenseless. Draco was close to tears.

He was not a brave Gryffindor who sacrificed himself for others, nor a kind Hufflepuff. He was a Slytherin, and he was looking for any way out of this.

With or without them.

He was not going to die.

“I can’t leave you.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Grover insisted. “Go!”

Percy’s hands were trembling, but he grabbed the Yankees cap and put it on, turning invisible.

Wonderful. They were dead.

Would he sacrifice Annabeth and Grover to escape?

Absolutely.

Was it cowardly?

He didn’t care.

Draco shrank into his seat, waiting for the attack and ready to shove past anyone necessary to get out of here alive. He would figure out what to do afterwards — after he escaped this death trap. Now that he thought about it, the whole thing was the Muggles’ fault. Public transport, his backside — it was an enclosed space where they could all die.

The Fury stopped, sniffed the air, and stared hard at nothing. She apparently saw nothing, because all three continued forward.

Changing.

It was terrifying.

The old women were no longer old women. Their faces remained the same, but from the neck down they had shrunk into brown, leathery harpy bodies, with bat wings and hands and feet like gargoyle talons. Their bags had become fierce whips.

He tried to escape, but they were quickly surrounded, and Draco whimpered behind Grover, who was trembling just as badly. Annabeth, on the other hand, was standing there looking like a complete Gryffindor idiot.

All her Ravenclaw-worthy knowledge had apparently gone straight out the window.

Whips.

These creatures had whips.

And what did they have?

Probably the stupid camp song Grover had sung half an hour ago.

“Where is he? Where?” they hissed between their teeth.

The other passengers were screaming and diving under their seats — so much for being invisible to mortals.

“He’s not here!” Annabeth shouted. “He’s gone!”

The Furies raised their whips.

Annabeth drew her bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can from his backpack and prepared to throw it. Draco, meanwhile, was wondering why he hadn’t already made a run for it — well, apart from being surrounded. He should have taken the chance earlier. He was not a warrior, not a hero from the stories his mother used to tell, and he was not about to give his life for these people.

They were not his friends. They were nothing to him. He needed to survive.

He grabbed one of the knives he had been given, gripped by panic, missing his wand desperately — not that he knew any spells that could get him out of this, and he was far too young to Apparate.

He didn’t want to be here.

Then the vehicle — the thing known as a bus — lurched violently, and Draco was thrown to the right. The bus scraped the tunnel wall, shrieking and grinding and spraying sparks in every direction. They shot out of the tunnel at full speed and back into the storm, men and monsters tumbling through the bus alike, while cars were shoved aside or knocked down like Hufflepuffs in the middle of a Quidditch match.

He felt sick. Flying on a broomstick was a thousand times better than this.

Somehow the driver found an exit. They left the motorway at full tilt, tore across half a dozen streets, and ended up — still at breakneck speed — on one of those rural roads. There was a forest to the left and a river to the right, toward which the driver seemed to be steering.

The bus howled, skidded a hundred and eighty degrees across the wet tarmac, and crashed into the trees. Lights flashed everywhere. The door burst open. The driver was the first one out, and the passengers followed screaming, as though they’d all lost their minds.

Draco among them.

Yes, it was cowardly not to stay and fight — but he clearly wasn’t going to waste an opportunity now that he had one.

He hit the muddy ground just as the feeling of freedom reached him, and he might have gone further, except that his feet hesitated slightly before carrying him forward. Not that he felt guilty about it — between his safety and anyone else’s, his would always come first. But while one part of him was beginning to feel nervous about being out in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get back to camp, the other part simply froze when a thunderclap shook the bus.

Annabeth, Grover, and Percy came running out — without the Furies.

The bus windows exploded outward and the passengers scattered in all directions. The lightning bolt left a gaping hole in the roof, but an enraged howl from inside told Draco that whatever was in there was not dead.

“Run!” Annabeth shouted. “It’s calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!”

She shot Draco a sharp look as she ran past him — as if judging him for being a coward — before Grover went by. Percy grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him along with them, not giving him a look like Annabeth’s, just running, both of them caked in mud.

They plunged into the forest under a downpour, with the bus in flames behind them and nothing but darkness ahead.

.

.

Annabeth keeps up a fast pace without looking at Draco, and the few times she does, it’s practically to shout “coward” at him with her eyes. Grover seems shaken, and while he glances at Draco with some uncertainty, he doesn’t say anything. Percy, on the other hand, walks beside him looking slightly traumatized. Draco wants to ask about the way back, but then remembers he can’t run away because of the bond. He’s also surprised that nothing happened when he abandoned the others on the bus with three Furies — maybe the so-called bond didn’t exist at all and Chiron had made everything up.

Maybe he could go back to camp and wait there until he could go home.

“If that was just the beginning, this trip is going to be terrifying,” Percy says with a nervous smile.

Draco grunted in response.

That cannot be a good sign.

On top of everything else, all his things — the horrible camp clothes, the money, the food — were left behind on the bus.

They couldn’t possibly have such bad luck.

Could they?

.

.

Annabeth told Percy her sad story — how her parents wanted nothing to do with her, and how she lived on her own as a child — making it clearly known, with evident irritation, that Draco was a coward. Draco ignored this. Percy sighed. Grover played his flute. They arrived at what was apparently called a gas station, but Annabeth refused to explain what that meant. Grover tried to fill in the gaps, far less technically and interestingly than Annabeth would have — but Draco refused to apologize for wanting to save his own skin.

He doubted they’d find themselves in mortal danger again quite so quickly, so she’d probably come around soon enough.

Or so he thought, until they met Auntie Em.

They met Grover’s Uncle Ferdinand, turned to stone.

Auntie Em was, in fact, Medusa — just like in the Greek myths he had read countless times before bed with his mother.

Draco spent the entire encounter screaming, running, and trying to escape. It was Percy who ended up slicing off that horrible woman’s head after she tried to kill them all.

Wonderful.

Not only had he been useless twice in less than twenty-four hours, but Percy Jackson — very much in the style of Saint Potter — turned out to be the savior at the end of the day.

The difference between Saint Potter and Percy Jackson was that Percy had the nerve to send Medusa’s head up to Mount Olympus, and that had been so thoroughly Slytherin that Draco clapped him on the back with genuine pride. Annabeth despised them both for it, and Grover, from the floor, looked as though he simply wanted to cry.

Draco understood him completely.

.

.

That night everyone seemed miserable — Draco included, despite having played no active part in any of the fighting. They made camp in the forest, about a hundred meters from the main road, though it looked rather poorly maintained by the locals. The ground was littered with crushed cans, fast food wrappers, and other rubbish.

They had taken some food and a few blankets from Auntie Em’s place, but didn’t dare light a fire to dry their clothes. The Furies and Medusa had already provided more than enough excitement for one day.

They shouldn’t attract anything else.

He’s cold now, shivering, and hungry — even though he just ate. He doesn’t want to think too hard about what exactly it was he ate.

Percy had decided to take the first watch, and though Draco wanted to sleep, he simply sat down beside him with a kind of listless boredom. Grover seemed to watch them both curiously, as though he wanted to say something to Percy, but thought better of it before falling asleep next to Annabeth.

He’s cold.

He feels terrible.

Coward — something inside him shouts, and he tries to silence it, because he wasn’t a coward. He was a Slytherin looking to survive, as Slytherins always had.

He was not a Gryffindor.

“Go on, then — are you going to tell me how much of a coward I am too?” Draco says, without really understanding why he’s saying it, because he’s been waiting for Percy to say something cutting at some point.

Annabeth had done it to his face.

Grover probably thought it, in his own more subtle way.

“Why would I?” Percy asks, tilting his head.

Well.

Because he was one.

Percy Jackson was a strange person — a bit of an idiot — but he had the most disorienting conversations.

“I didn’t want to come. I don’t want this mission. I don’t want to tempt death. Slytherins survive — we’re not Gryffindors.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Muggle.”

“Hey! I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like an insult.”

It was — at least, to Draco it was. Or maybe it wasn’t. “Mudblood” and “half-blood” used to be insults, but now Draco was also, in some sense, a half-blood himself. He tries to think clearly. He has the blood of gods in him, so technically he’s superior even to wizards.

But at the same time, he’s equal to — or lower than — the demigods around him.

“I want to go home. I don’t know how to fight,” Draco says with a weariness that, just for once, feels like the truth of everything he wants to put down.

To leave.

To go home.

To go back to his mother.

Percy stares at him for a long moment, then drops his gaze with a sad smile.

“I want to go home too… to Mum.” It’s barely above a whisper, and for that one instant, they’re not so very different — and he hates Percy for it.

Because they should be like oil and water. Draco should be better than Percy — a half-blood son of a filthy Muggle, even if his father happened to be one of the Big Three. But here, today, Percy is better than him. A god for a father who claimed him. Two battles fought. Medusa’s head cut off as though he were born for it. And Draco is here, alive.

Because of what others did.

“If it helps — most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing either.” It doesn’t help, and his face must have shown it. “And it’s all insane, and terrifying, but… we’re in it together, so we’ll protect you,” he says with a conviction that makes Draco want to growl that he doesn’t need protecting.

But today has proven otherwise, and he feels so… useless.

Like that day in the forest with Potter and his stupid friends all over again — running to find cover, because he couldn’t do anything on his own.

He hates feeling like this.

Percy hands him a blanket, which Draco takes with irritation, before settling more comfortably at his side — resting his head against the other boy’s thigh, since there’s no pillow. Percy seems curious but doesn’t push him away, and when Grover gets up to talk to Percy, Draco catches something about someone called “Pan” before an uneasy sleep begins to pull him under.

A dream where he seems to be inside a cupboard — far too small — that he somehow knows is beneath a staircase, and though he screams to be let out, nothing happens.

Like a memory.

But not his.

Whose could it be?

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Hai ragione, mi scuso. Riprendo dal capitolo 3 con una traduzione più fedele all’originale.

Chapter 3: Never take a mission with Percy Jackson, it’s not a good idea.

Draco got sick.

Which is curious, because it’s something that usually hadn’t happened before in his life. Now that he’s at camp he can hear the Apollo cabin kids commenting on how difficult it is when a demigod gets sick. So when he walks into the cabin to see Will, demanding to be attended to, most of the cabin ignores him. Of course Will is better than those troglodytes and might be the only bearable one in this place, since he tries to examine him despite being even younger than Draco, and is clearly surprised when he touches his forehead.

Yes.

Sick.

Nobody could have seen it coming.

But he’s sick.

The fever rises and falls every few hours — if it’s not very hot, it feels like he’s boiling like a stove — to the point that the rest of the cabin grows alarmed after 5 hours of poor condition.

Terrible service.

He can’t enjoy Percy Jackson’s new celebrity status. He heard Percy had to change cabins after the incident the day before, into one of those beautiful cabins worthy of a Malfoy. Draco had spent the night after capture the flag watching the empty space beside him where Jackson used to be. Not that he missed his snoring, but it was strange to see the space completely empty, even if he hadn’t been there very long.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

Now all that matters is this damned fever and the immense cold running through him.

God.

Draco feels so weak and dizzy that he wants to die of embarrassment — he’s no longer a worthy heir, he’s simply a sick child and he looks pathetic. His hair isn’t neat and his red face doesn’t go with the colour of these stupid t-shirts.

He had never gotten sick like this before.

When after the third day they can’t control his fever and the strange dreams appear, that’s when they call Chiron. Draco wants to tell him about the dream.

.

It was as if he were walking up stairs that ended beneath a green trapdoor. And he was pulling on a rope, though it wasn’t really his hands. The hatch swung open, and a ladder rattled down. The warm air coming from above smelled of mould, rotting wood, and something else — a smell that reminded him of snakes.

Neglected. That was the word to describe it.

The attic was full of old hero junk: armours covered in cobwebs; shields that had once gleamed and were now mottled with rust; old leather trunks with stickers that read “ITHACA,” “CIRCE’S ISLAND,” and “LAND OF THE AMAZONS.” There was a long table cluttered with jars of pickled things: chopped furry claws, huge yellow eyes, various monster parts. On the wall hung a dusty trophy that looked like the giant head of a snake, but with horns and a full row of shark teeth. The plaque read: “HYDRA HEAD NO. 1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969.”

Everything was as vivid as if it were Draco himself seeing all of it.

By the window, sitting on a three-legged wooden stool, was the most disgusting thing of all: a mummy. The shrivelled, raisin-wrinkled corpse of a woman. She wore a tie-dye dress, many beaded necklaces, and a headband over long black hair. The skin of her face was thin and leathery, and her eyes were slits of white glass, as if the real ones had been replaced with marble stones. She had been dead for a very long time.

Then she opened her mouth.

Something tried to escape — it was Draco’s body — but it didn’t seem like he was controlling it, and when that thing spoke, it did so as if it could see his soul.

“I am the spirit of Delphi…”

.

And that is all he could remember of the dream, before being ejected from it with force.

What could it mean?

He wasn’t used to dreaming, but he also wasn’t used to situations like this — nor was he used to being a demigod, if that was even the case.

“We gave him ambrosia, but he didn’t improve.” That’s Lee Fletcher’s voice, the Apollo cabin counsellor. “The hymns aren’t helping either — it’s as if something is damaging him from the inside, but not anything mortal,” he adds, looking nervous.

Exhausted, in pain, his chest seeming to burn from something he doesn’t understand.

The voices grow more distant.

This could be delirium — he’d never experienced it before, and he wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.

“Hero’s blood… special… connection… bond… Patroclus.” That’s Chiron’s voice, but he can’t make it out clearly.

He dreams.

But far from dreams of attics and mummies, he dreams of going home, of Quidditch, of his home and happiness.

Perhaps if he could remember better — a pair of green eyes, like Potter’s, seem to watch him from a distance with irritation.

.

.

When he wakes, it seems that the incompetents finally managed to do what they were supposed to, because his body no longer hurts and he can sit up in bed without trouble. There’s an itch in his chest, but it’s tolerable at best. There’s a newspaper beside him that appears to have been left behind by some boy in the infirmary ward where he had apparently been sleeping for several days. The newspaper is nothing like the Prophet — the images don’t move — and to his horror, there are many words he doesn’t understand well.

Never mind that without his magic he can’t use a spell to sort out the letters, which means it takes him longer than he would ever care to admit to read it.

.

New York Daily News

BOY AND HIS MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER STRANGE CAR ACCIDENT.

BY EILEEN SMYTHE

Sally Jackson and her son Percy have been missing for a week following their mysterious disappearance. The family’s ’78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a road north of Long Island, burnt out, with the roof torn off and the front axle broken. The car had rolled over and skidded several metres before exploding.

Mother and son were on vacation in Montauk but left very early under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and at the accident scene, but there were no further signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents of the rural area stated they had not seen anything unusual around the time of the accident.

Mrs Jackson’s husband, Gabe Ugliano, states that his stepson Percy Jackson is a troubled boy who has been expelled from numerous boarding schools and has in the past shown violent tendencies.

Police are not commenting on whether the son Percy is a suspect in his mother’s disappearance, but are not ruling out any hypothesis. The images below are recent photographs of Sally Jackson and Percy. Police are asking anyone with information to call the following toll-free number.

.

He has questions.

What’s a Camaro?

What’s a phone and why does it have numbers?

Is it a code?

What’s a policeman?

Setting aside his strange questions about what on earth the newspaper is talking about, he could assume that in any case this is something from the Muggle world and therefore shouldn’t concern him. Muggles are good for nothing — useless, no better than cattle, and they are destroying this world.

That’s what his parents taught him.

They are better than Muggles, superior.

He shouldn’t feel curious about this.

“You’re awake — good,” Will says, walking in, looking honestly relieved to see him better. Draco sets the newspaper aside.

He doesn’t want to go back to the Hermes cabin — sleeping on the floor is bad. He should stay in the infirmary from now on.

Yes, he’s an utter opportunist. He’s a Slytherin — don’t forget that.

“I’m tired,” he murmurs, throwing himself back on the bed with one arm over his eyes, hoping to hold onto the idea of sleeping a little longer.

Though the sky looks dark, he glances curiously out the window, noticing what seems like bad weather — or at least, it feels as though there’s a storm closing in nearby.

“Chiron wants to see you.” It’s the nervousness in Will’s voice that makes Draco lift his arm and look at him curiously. “He has a mission for you,” he adds, confused.

If Draco had had a twig in his hand, it would have snapped in two, and it’s a miracle that he still can’t use accidental magic here, because he’s certain he would have set something on fire.

A mission?

Him?

.

.

A mission makes no sense. There are campers who have been here far longer than Draco — and who are far better prepared than him — to take on any kind of quest. There is no logical sense in their having chosen him for a mission, no matter how he looks at it, and Draco doubts Mr D’s charitable image had anything to do with helping others. Chiron was kind enough to explain the situation when he went to the Big House.

Zeus’s master lightning bolt — the symbol of his power, the source from which all other bolts derive. The first weapon forged by the Cyclopes in the war against the Titans, the bolt that shifted the summit of Mount Etna and stripped Kronos of his throne. The master bolt, containing enough power to make the mortals’ hydrogen bomb look like a mere firecracker.

He doesn’t know what that means, but he supposes it’s something like an explosion.

Odd Muggles and their very Muggle terminology.

Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The Cyclopes’ forges lie beneath the ocean, which gives Poseidon a certain influence over the makers of his brother’s bolt. Zeus believes Poseidon has stolen the master bolt and has now commissioned the Cyclopes to forge an illegal arsenal of copies, which could be used to overthrow Zeus. The only thing Zeus wasn’t certain of was which hero Poseidon might have used to carry out the divine theft. And now Poseidon has openly claimed Percy Jackson as his son.

That sets Zeus and Poseidon against each other.

But another factor enters the picture.

Hades hates heroes.

Hades sent one of his creatures to steal the bolt. He has hidden it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. Draco doesn’t intend to understand the Lord of the Dead’s motives, or why he has chosen this moment to ignite a war.

So what does Draco’s presence mean?

He isn’t sure.

Percy Jackson was the one designated for this mission — he had chosen Grover and Annabeth to go with him, so Draco had nothing to do with any of it.

“A bond?” Draco and Percy ask at the same time. The trio of idiots was already ready to leave, but they had stopped to talk to Chiron, who had handed Draco a backpack without asking him anything.

Then he said that while a group of four was not advisable, in this case it was absolutely necessary because of the bond.

Which he doesn’t understand.

He glances sideways, noticing the confused expressions on Annabeth’s and Grover’s faces — it seems that even they, with far more time here than Draco, had never heard of this before. Which is rather alarming.

“It’s been centuries since I’ve seen anything like it — it’s not very common, but there is something called a soul bond,” Chiron explains patiently. “There haven’t been many recorded cases in all of human history, but in this case I can see that Draco has a special blood — not only because he is a demigod. He has the capacity to form bonds with other people. Or at least, that is what his blood suggests.” He seems to pause over that last word. Draco is thoughtful, and though he wants to ask, he simply doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t understand anything, and it’s beginning to be a nuisance.

Since he arrived at this place, it seems as though everything he knows has stopped working — and it’s not a very pleasant feeling.

“What does this have to do with the mission?” Annabeth asks, eyeing him with irritation. Draco raises an eyebrow right back, equally displeased.

His plan is not to go.

Except he feels tempted to annoy Annabeth — then he remembers that means hours or days travelling with these kids in the Muggle world, and decides no, he really shouldn’t leave camp. He’s safe here and he wants nothing to do with the Muggle world.

“Draco formed a bond with Percy — that’s why he’s been ill these past few days.” Both of them turn to stare at the centaur in disbelief, but he looks somewhat frustrated. “The few recorded cases have shown that every bond is different — much like the emotional bonds some satyrs can form — but until we know exactly what this bond requires, separating them is not advisable. However, we cannot postpone the mission any further, or Olympus could be destroyed,” he adds with regret.

Oh.

Oh no.

Damn it.

He wants to leave this place, wants to burn everything to the ground and go home. He turns to stare at Percy in horror, who appears to have a hand on his chin, thinking it over calmly.

“I don’t feel anything,” Jackson says simply.

The absolute idiot.

Chiron nods.

“The bond so far has only been active on Draco’s side. But it is dangerous, and so it is necessary for him to join the mission as well. Because of the bond with Percy, the journey could still be considered one of three entities.”

Yes.

When Percy turns to look at him curiously, Draco thinks that the best way to end his torment — and whatever this bond is supposed to mean — would be to murder Percy Jackson. But before he even attempts it, Annabeth stops him, pointing out that they don’t know what consequences that might have.

Perfectly reasonable.

Only for that reason does Percy Jackson live another day.

.

.

Draco checks the backpack in his hands. There’s a change of camp clothes (he wrinkles his nose at the thought of carrying those), a toothbrush, some Muggle money and drachmas. He can see his pouch of Galleons that he brought from his mother has been tucked in as well, though no one must know what that magical currency means.

From what he recalls, the old drachmas used by mortals were silver — or so Chiron said — but Olympus only uses pure gold. Chiron also said that the coins might prove useful for non-mortal transactions, whatever that meant.

He also had a canteen of nectar, though over the last few days it proved just as useless as the small pieces of ambrosia — also useless. In case of emergency — less so in the case of bond-related illness.

Chiron assured him that staying close to Percy would help with the bond.

He doesn’t want that.

He doesn’t want a bond.

He wants to break it and return to his autonomy, because he has no desire to find out what kinds of things might get worse with the bond between them. But nobody seemed to know much about bonds, let alone how to sever them, and so his backside ended up tied to Percy Jackson.

What will happen when summer ends?

With a bond in place, he has no idea how he’ll get home.

On top of that, Chiron gave him a bracelet — he said it was special and fastened it onto his arm. The centaur seemed to look at it once it was on, assuring him he would be safe and that in an emergency it would help him. Then he gave him two knives, which Draco hid in his disgusting Muggle trousers, wondering whether his mother would have sent him here had she known any of this was possible.

Stay safe.

Yes, of course.

Everything was one long, constant torture.

And now he was leaving the place his mother sent him to be safe — because he can’t contact her, and even if he could, he wouldn’t know what to say.

Hello Mother, I’m leaving the place where I was supposed to be safe, because I accidentally bonded with the son of Poseidon, and the world may be ending over a feud between stupid gods.

Not very convincing.

Draco had felt envy toward the major gods and their children, but now that he knows it’s forbidden for them to have children, and Percy is literally a contradiction of that rule — well, Draco doesn’t mind so much not being one of those special children.

Bond.

What does it even mean?

The trio of idiots (Draco hates that there are three of them, like the idiotic “golden trio” at Hogwarts) said their goodbyes to the other campers, took one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House — and climbed Half-Blood Hill up to the tall pine at the top.

Chiron was waiting in his wheelchair. Beside him stood the surfer-type Muggle-looking guy. According to Grover, the guy was the camp’s head of security. Apparently he had eyes all over his body, making it impossible to catch him off guard. Today, though, he was wearing a chauffeur’s uniform, so only a few were visible — on his hands, face, and neck.

Nothing unsettling.

“This is Argus,” Chiron told them. “He’ll take you into the city and — well, he’ll keep an eye on you.”

Draco heard footsteps behind them.

Luke was jogging up the hill with a pair of Muggle trainers in his hands.

It was reassuring. Draco exhaled in relief to see him — he looked quite well, unlike Draco, who had been sweating at the slightest exertion lately.

“Hey!” He was panting. “Glad I caught you still here.” Annabeth went pink, as she always did whenever Luke was around — Draco found it tedious at this point. “Just wanted to wish you good luck,” he told Percy. “And I thought — maybe these’ll be useful to you.”

He held out the strange shoes.

“Maya!” said Luke.

White bird wings burst from the heels of the trainers. Percy flinched and dropped them. The shoes fluttered around the ground until the wings folded back and disappeared.

Draco watched the display, thinking.

Magic.

This was bloody magic.

How did these people not know about the wizarding world?

“Incredible!” Grover breathed.

Luke grinned.

“They really came through for me on my quest. Dad gave them to me. Clearly I don’t get much use out of them these days.” His expression darkened.

“Hey, man,” Percy said. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Percy…” Luke looked uncomfortable. “A lot of hope is riding on you. So — kill some monsters for me, yeah?”

They shook hands. Luke ruffled Grover between the horns and gave Annabeth a farewell hug, which left her looking as though she might faint.

Then he turned to look at Draco. It was a strange moment — Luke was the person who had treated him best at camp, who had genuinely helped him. He tolerated his company and even seemed to think he was something.

Pleasant.

Passable, for someone who might otherwise be counted among the troglodytes that Muggles could be.

But in that moment, when Luke looked at him, something in his gaze didn’t shine the way it usually did.

Be careful. That was his own instinct speaking.

“Trust yourself, Draco. You just have to leave the rest behind,” he says quietly, though he seemed to want to say more.

He tuned out the other three talking.

He only watched Luke disappear into the distance.

Strange.

A strange feeling in his stomach — uncomfortable, like something prickling and unsettling him.

They descended the other side of the hill in long strides, toward where a large white square thing was waiting beside a vast strip of black road. Argus followed, something metallic jingling in his hands.

He looked at the white thing, ignoring Grover messing with the winged shoes or Percy receiving a small thing that then transformed into a sword.

One his father gave him, named Anaklusmos — which was magical (there’s no other word for it), as it could never truly be lost.

“Riptide,” Draco and Percy translated at the same time.

When they reached the foot of the hill, he glanced back. Under the pine tree Chiron stood at his full centaur height and raised his bow in farewell. The typical camp send-off from a typical centaur.

They had to get into the white square thing.

Everyone got in.

Draco clenched his fists. He was not a reckless Gryffindor about to throw himself headfirst into things, but if everyone else got in as though it were nothing, it probably didn’t mean they were about to be killed. He had no confidence, but he followed them in, somewhat trembling. He was a Slytherin — he could weigh the pros and cons. And apparently this was some kind of medieval Muggle transportation device.

Poor Muggles without the ability to Apparate.

Well.

Draco would only be able to do that once he came of age.

Then something inside the thing roared when the metal key-like objects were turned. Draco launched himself onto the strange leather seat and grabbed onto Percy like a bear, while Percy complained.

“This stupid metal box is going to murder us.” His voice came out far more shrill than he would have liked, but he clung to Percy, who had closed the door of this damned box.

Three pairs of eyes and one body covered in eyes all turned to stare at him incredulously.

“It’s just the engine, Draco,” Annabeth said, confused — and then the metal box began to move, and Draco gripped the boy harder.

Bond.

They said they had a bond, so now Percy had to save his backside whether he liked it or not. And if there was any chance of dying, he would throw Percy out first and then run in the opposite direction.

“It’s an evil machine — black magic — it’s going to murder us.” There was no changing his mind.

“It’s just a car,” Grover said, baffled.

And that confused him.

“Automobile?” he asked, tilting his head.

What the hell was an automobile?

Everyone seemed to be looking at him as though waiting for the punchline, but Draco kept clinging to the supposed bond that had gotten him into this machine of death.

.

.

There’s a long conversation as Argus transports them west across Long Island. While everyone seems confused by his complete ignorance of the Muggle world, Draco simply says he always lived away from it all with his parents and his school was very traditional (Hogwarts was a joke at this point), so he’s never known anything about Muggles. Annabeth begins to look at him with different eyes for a moment, while Grover and Percy do their best to explain everything about the “automobile” — which always leads to more questions.

What’s an engine?

How does it work?

What’s petrol?

What are dinosaurs?

Why is this called a road?

What on earth is a McDonald’s and why does Percy keep drooling every time he sees one?

He shouldn’t be curious — Muggles are a race inferior to Draco — but he is curious, given the mission, and it would seem strange to act like an idiot in the face of danger. With that in mind, he asks one thing after another. It’s usually Annabeth who explains how things work, since Percy and Grover seem equally clueless about the actual mechanics.

So Draco wasn’t doing so badly — if people who’ve lived years in the Muggle world don’t know how these things function.

It’s perfectly normal not to know.

Draco was asking for the third time about how something Annabeth called the internet worked, because it made no sense to him that it would function through “communication networks” (something he planned to ask about later) rather than through magic. He didn’t believe that something which didn’t seem to physically exist could hold all the information in the world.

At least not about magic.

Draco decided to ask Grover what on earth a “letefono” was, before Percy corrected him — almost boredly — that it was a “telephone.”

“So far so good,” Percy said to Annabeth. “Fifteen kilometres and not a single monster.”

Grover smiled, relieved to be free of questions for a moment, as Draco turned to look at them both curiously.

“Don’t say things like that — it’s bad luck, seaweed brain.” Draco hated Annabeth’s nickname for Percy, because it really was perfect for him, and he resented not having thought of it first.

As the son of Poseidon, it had a certain style.

“Remind me again — why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

She folded her invisibility cap. Draco glanced at Grover, who now seemed uncomfortable watching them both.

“Look… it’s just that we’re not supposed to get along. Our parents are rivals.”

“Why?”

“How many reasons do you want?” She sighed. “Once my mother caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena’s temple — something supremely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to become the patron of the city of Athens. Your father made a saltwater spring burst from the ground as his gift. My mother created the olive tree. People decided her gift was better and named the city after her.”

For someone with one of the Big Three as a father, it’s remarkable that Draco knows more history than Percy himself.

He didn’t contribute anything — it wasn’t a conversation that answered any of his questions — so he stayed quiet, though Grover seemed uncomfortable.

“They must really like olives.”

“Oh, get lost.”

“I mean, if he’d invented pizza — that I could understand.”

“I told you to get lost!”

Argus smiled from the front seat. He said nothing, but winked the blue eye on the back of his neck at Percy. The traffic (Draco felt proud of understanding the term on Grover’s first explanation) in Queens began to slow them down. By the time they reached Manhattan, the sun was setting and it had started to rain.

Argus dropped them off somewhere called a bus station.

Like the Knight Bus?

Argus unloaded their luggage like the good servant he apparently was, made sure they all had their bus tickets, and then left — opening the eye on the back of his hand to give them one last look as he pulled out of the car park.

“Do you want to know why she married him, Percy?” Grover’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts about now having to carry his own backpack.

In the wizarding world others would carry it for him. He missed that — not like here, where he had to do everything himself.

Percy told him to use just Draco — no surname — and to show who he was, but he didn’t like who he was.

He wanted to be important.

Draco was not. Not here, at least.

“Were you reading my mind or something?” Percy replied.

“Just your emotions.” Grover shrugged. “I suppose I forgot to mention that satyrs have that ability. You were thinking about your mother and your stepfather, weren’t you?”

It was curious — whatever bond existed between them, Draco wasn’t sure at this point that what Chiron said about bonds was even real, because he felt nothing.

Maybe it was all a trick to send him on a mission and let him die.

Draco would have done exactly that if he disliked someone and had that power.

Blood traitors in particular. They were disgusting.

“Your mother married Gabe for you. You call him ‘Smelly’ but that doesn’t even come close. That guy has an aura… ugh. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him on you, and you haven’t even been near him for a week.”

“Thanks,” Percy replied. “Where’s the nearest shower?”

“You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so overwhelmingly human that he’s capable of masking the presence of any demigod. I knew as soon as I smelled the inside of his Camaro — Gabe has been hiding your scent for years. If you hadn’t lived with him every summer, the monsters would probably have found you long ago. Your mother stayed with him to protect you. She was a very clever woman. She must have loved you a great deal to put up with that man — in case it’s any comfort.”

He doubts it’s any comfort — you don’t need a bond to see that Percy’s face is bitter at this revelation.

Demigod scent.

Draco thought about that for the remainder of the journey, wondering how his parents had managed to mask his scent for nearly twelve years so successfully.

That monster that attacked him had broken through the barriers — they must have smelled him.

Or someone had known about him.

He would need to investigate.

Waiting for whatever was necessary — it worked in the sense that Draco spent the time tormenting Annabeth with questions about everything around him. It was repayment for the grief she’d given him over the past few weeks. He learned about clothing (though Annabeth pointed out it would be better to ask the Aphrodite cabin about makeup and fashion). Percy chimed in curiously about cars whenever Draco asked comparative questions. Grover spoke at length, and rather gracelessly, about how humans treated their animals.

In the end all three of them divided up the work, looking perpetually surprised at the sheer number of Draco’s questions.

Aeroplanes.

Trains.

The internet.

Telephones.

Television.

All of it was so… unreal.

What kind of world was this?

Draco boarded the bus in the middle of asking questions — about coins, seats, engines, fuel, and whether it was normal to have as many warts as one particular woman — which prompted the other three (two kids and one satyr) to drag him along.

The elderly woman did not take it well.

Draco didn’t care.

He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice Annabeth and Percy arguing about an old woman who had just boarded. She was wearing a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and an orange knitted hat. She also carried a large patterned bag. When she lifted her head, her black eyes flashed, and his pulse nearly stopped.

Behind her came two more old women — one in a green hat, the other in a purple one. Otherwise, they looked exactly like the first: the same gnarled hands, the same patterned bags, the same crumpled dresses.

They sat in the front row, just behind the driver. The two on the aisle seats glanced back discreetly.

The bus started up and they moved off through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan.

Draco noticed Percy crouching down.

“She hasn’t been dead long,” Percy said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “I thought you said they could be driven off for a whole lifetime.”

“I said if you were lucky,” Annabeth replied. “Evidently you’re not.”

“All three of them,” Grover whimpered. “Di immortales!”

“It’s fine,” Annabeth said, struggling to stay calm. “The Furies. The three worst monsters in the Underworld. No problem. We’ll escape through the windows.”

Oh. So they were in trouble, as he had always known they would be.

His mother would murder him if she knew what kind of mess he’d gotten himself into.

He hoped to survive long enough for that.

“They won’t attack with witnesses,” Percy said. “Will they?”

“Mortals don’t see well,” Annabeth reminded him. “Their minds can only process what they see through the Mist.”

“They’ll see three old women killing us, won’t they?”

Annabeth thought about it.

“It’s hard to say. But we can’t count on mortals to help us. Is there an emergency exit in the roof?”

They entered a tunnel, and the bus went dark save for the little lights along the aisle. Without the patter of rain against the roof, the silence was eerie.

The first old woman stood up. As if rehearsed, she announced in a loud voice:

“I need to use the lavatory.”

“And I,” added the second Fury.

“And I,” repeated the third.

And all three began walking down the aisle.

Is a lavatory a toilet on a bus? he wanted to ask, but his alarm instincts told him they were in danger. He hadn’t noticed at first — too excited by everything new to discover in this stupid Muggle world — but now his whole body was on high alert.

This wouldn’t be like training at camp, where Luke would stop at the last second.

They could die.

And Chiron had sent them on a suicide mission.

God.

“Percy, put on my cap,” Annabeth urged him.

“What for?”

Draco wanted to murder him — it was a cap that turned you invisible. He was half a second away from snatching it and using it himself.

“They’re looking for you. Turn invisible and let them pass. Then try to get to the front and escape.”

“But you guys…”

Something very important: Draco did not want to die.

“There’s a decent chance they won’t notice us. You’re the son of one of the Big Three, remember? Your scent might be overwhelming.”

That didn’t matter — it sounded like an excuse. They would be left completely defenceless. Draco was close to tears.

He was not a brave Gryffindor who sacrificed himself for others, nor a kind Hufflepuff. He was a Slytherin, and he was looking for any way out of this.

With or without them.

He was not going to die.

“I can’t leave you.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Grover insisted. “Go!”

His hands were trembling, but he grabbed the Yankees cap and put it on, turning invisible.

Wonderful. They were dead.

Would he sacrifice Annabeth and Grover to escape?

Absolutely.

Was it cowardly?

He didn’t care.

Draco shrank into his seat, waiting for the attack and ready to shove past anyone necessary to get out of here alive. He would figure out what to do afterwards. From now on this creation of death could serve as transport for his backside — it was an enclosed space where they could all die. Now that he thought about it, it was all the Muggles’ fault.

The Fury stopped, sniffed, and stared hard at nothing. She apparently saw nothing, because all three continued forward.

Changing.

It was terrifying.

The old women were no longer old women. Their faces remained the same, but from the neck down they had shrunk into brown, leathery harpy bodies, with bat wings and hands and feet like gargoyle talons. Their bags had become fierce whips.

He tried to escape, but they were quickly surrounded, and Draco whimpered behind Grover, who was trembling just as badly. Annabeth, on the other hand, was standing there looking like a complete Gryffindor idiot.

All her Ravenclaw-worthy knowledge had gone straight out the window.

Whips.

These creatures had whips.

And what did they have?

Probably the stupid camp song Grover had sung half an hour ago.

“Where is he? Where?” they hissed between their teeth.

The other passengers were screaming and hiding under their seats — so much for being invisible to mortals.

“He’s not here!” Annabeth shouted. “He’s gone!”

The Furies raised their whips.

Annabeth drew her bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can from his backpack and prepared to throw it. Draco, meanwhile, was wondering why he hadn’t made a run for it — well, apart from being surrounded. He should have taken the chance earlier. He was not a warrior, not a hero from the stories his mother told, and he was not about to give his life for these people.

They were not his friends. They were nothing to him. He needed to survive.

He grabbed one of the knives he had been given, gripped by panic, missing his wand — though he didn’t know any spell that could get him out of this, and he was far too young to Apparate.

He didn’t want to be here.

Then the public transport known as a bus lurched violently, and Draco was thrown to the right. The bus scraped the tunnel wall, shrieking and grinding and spraying sparks in every direction. They shot out of the tunnel at full speed and back into the storm, men and monsters tumbling through the bus alike, while cars were shoved aside or knocked down like Hufflepuffs in the middle of a Quidditch match.

He felt sick. Flying on a broomstick was a thousand times better than this.

Somehow the driver found an exit. They left the motorway at full tilt, crossed half a dozen streets, and ended up — still at breakneck speed — on one of those rural roads. There was a forest to the left and a river to the right, toward which the driver seemed to be steering.

The bus howled, skidded one hundred and eighty degrees across the wet tarmac, and crashed into the trees. Lights flashed everywhere. The door burst open. The driver was the first one out, and the passengers followed screaming like madmen.

Draco among them.

Yes, it was cowardly not to stay and fight — but he clearly wasn’t going to waste his opportunity now that he had one.

He hit the muddy ground just as the feeling of freedom reached him, and he might have gone further except that his feet hesitated slightly before carrying him forward. Not that he felt guilty about it — between his safety and anyone else’s, his would always come first. But while one part of him was beginning to feel nervous about being in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get back to camp, the other part simply froze when a thunderclap shook the bus.

Annabeth, Grover, and Percy came running out — without the Furies.

The bus windows exploded outward and the passengers scattered in all directions. The lightning bolt left a gaping hole in the roof, but an enraged howl from inside told Draco that whatever was in there was not dead.

“Run!” Annabeth shouted. “It’s calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!”

She shot Draco a sharp look, as though judging him for being a coward, before Grover went past. Percy grabbed Draco’s arm and pulled him along with them — not giving him a look like Annabeth’s, just running, both of them caked in mud.

They plunged into the forest under a downpour, with the bus in flames behind them and nothing but darkness ahead.

.

.

Annabeth keeps up a fast pace without looking at Draco, and the few times she does, it’s practically to shout “coward” at him with her eyes. Grover seems shaken, and while he glances at Draco with some uncertainty, he doesn’t make any comment. Percy, on the other hand, walks at his side looking slightly traumatized. Draco wants to ask about the way back, but then remembers he can’t run away because of the bond. He’s also surprised that nothing happened when he abandoned the others on the bus with three Furies — maybe the so-called bond didn’t exist at all and Chiron had made everything up.

Maybe he could go back to camp and wait there until he could go home.

“If that was just the beginning, this trip is going to be terrifying,” Percy says with a nervous smile.

Draco grunted in response.

That can’t be a good sign.

On top of everything else, all his things — the horrible camp clothes, the money, the food — were left behind on the bus.

They couldn’t possibly have such bad luck.

Could they?

.

.

Annabeth told Percy her sad story — how her parents wanted nothing to do with her and she lived alone as a child — making it clear, with evident irritation, that Draco was a coward. Draco ignored this. Percy sighed. Grover played his flute. They arrived at something that went by the name of a gas station, but Annabeth refused to explain what that was. Grover tried to explain it — far less technically and interestingly than Annabeth would have. But Draco refused to apologize for wanting to save his own skin.

He doubted they’d find themselves in mortal danger again quite so quickly, so she’d probably come around soon enough.

Or so he thought, until they met Auntie Em.

They met Grover’s Uncle Ferdinand, turned to stone.

Auntie Em was, in fact, Medusa — just like in the Greek myths he had read countless times before bed with his mother.

Draco spent the entire encounter screaming, running, and trying to escape. It was Percy who ended up slicing off that horrible woman’s head after she tried to kill them all.

Wonderful.

Not only had he been useless twice in less than twenty-four hours, but Percy Jackson — very much in the style of Saint Potter — turned out to be the saviour at the end of the day.

The difference between Saint Potter and Percy Jackson was that Percy had the nerve to send Medusa’s head up to Mount Olympus — and that had been so thoroughly Slytherin that Draco clapped him on the back with genuine pride. Annabeth despised them both for it, and Grover, from the floor, looked as though he simply wanted to cry.

Draco understood him completely.

.

.

That night everyone seemed miserable — Draco included, despite having played no active part in any of the fighting. They made camp in the forest, about a hundred metres from the main road, though it looked rather poorly maintained by the locals. The ground was littered with crushed cans, fast food wrappers, and other rubbish.

They had taken some food and a few blankets from Auntie Em’s place, but didn’t dare light a fire to dry their clothes. The Furies and Medusa had already provided more than enough excitement for one day.

They shouldn’t attract anything else.

Now he’s cold, shivering, and hungry — even though he just ate. He doesn’t want to think too hard about what exactly he ate.

Percy had decided to take the first watch, and though Draco wanted to sleep, he simply sat down beside him with a kind of listless boredom. Grover seems to watch them curiously, as if he wanted to say something to Percy, but appears to think better of it before falling asleep beside Annabeth.

He’s cold.

He feels terrible.

Coward — something inside him shouts, and he tries to silence it, because he wasn’t a coward. He was a Slytherin looking to survive — as Slytherins always had.

He was not a Gryffindor.

“Are you going to tell me how much of a coward I am too,” Draco says, without quite understanding why, because he’s been waiting for Percy to say something at some point.

Annabeth had said it to his face.

Grover probably thought it, in his own more subtle way.

“Why would I?” Percy asks, tilting his head.

Well.

Because he was one.

Percy Jackson was a strange person — a bit of an idiot — but he had the most disorienting conversations.

“I didn’t want to come. I don’t want this mission. I don’t want to tempt death. Slytherins survive — we’re not Gryffindors.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Muggle.”

“Hey! I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like an insult.”

It was — at least, to Draco it was. Or maybe it wasn’t. “Mudblood” and “half-blood” used to be insults, but now Draco was also, in some sense, a half-blood himself. He tries to think clearly. He has the blood of gods in him, so technically he’s superior even to wizards.

But at the same time, he’s equal to — or lower than — the demigods around him.

“I want to go home. I don’t know how to fight,” Draco says with a weariness that, just for once, feels like the full truth of everything he wants to put down.

To leave.

To go home.

To go back to his mother.

Percy stares at him for a long moment, then drops his gaze with a sad smile.

“I want to go home too… to Mum.” It’s barely above a whisper, and for that one instant they are not so very different — and he hates Percy for it.

Because they should be like oil and water. Draco should be better than Percy — a half-blood son of a filthy Muggle, even if his father happened to be one of the Big Three. But here, today, Percy is better than him. A god for a father who claimed him. Two battles fought. Medusa’s head cut off as though he were born for it. And Draco is here, alive.

Because of what others did.

“If it helps — most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing either.” It doesn’t help, and his face must have shown it. “And it’s all insane, and terrifying, but… we’re in it together, so we’ll protect you,” he says with a conviction that makes Draco want to growl that he doesn’t need protecting.

But today has proven otherwise, and he feels so… useless.

Like that day in the forest with Potter and his stupid friends all over again — running to find cover, because he couldn’t do anything on his own.

He hates feeling like this.

Percy hands him a blanket, which Draco takes with irritation, before settling more comfortably at his side — resting his head against the other boy’s thigh, since there’s no pillow. Percy seems curious but doesn’t push him away, and when Grover gets up to talk to Percy, Draco catches something about someone called “Pan” before an uneasy sleep begins to pull him under.

A dream where he seems to be inside a cupboard — far too small — that he somehow knows is beneath a staircase, and though he screams to be let out, nothing happens.

Like a memory.

But not his.

Whose could it be?

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: If you think something can’t get any more ridiculous, you’d be surprised.

Draco loses any sense that this isn’t madness when he has to say hello to a poodle, to then end up travelling by train for what is 2 days straight. Draco didn’t know what a Muggle train journey was like outside of King’s Cross station to go to Hogwarts, until that day, and although Muggle inventions are a clever thing, living through one was not. This means of transport was the worst thing he had ever known in his entire life (Portkeys, Apparition, Floo Network) — he didn’t understand how anyone could have thought up such an atrocity for others to travel or send objects across distances. Muggles really were as dreadful as his parents thought. Travelling here only made it clearer.

Annabeth still hates him for being a coward, but Draco also hates her for being an idiot know-it-all.

Any hint of appreciation for her knowledge went straight in the bin.

Grover seemed fairly indifferent and still answered his questions when necessary, treating him neither badly nor well about it.

Percy was… his only comfort.

Which was pathetic, because less than 4 days ago he hated him with every fibre of his being for being so similar to Potter.

They travelled through hills, rivers, and seas of amber wheat. They weren’t attacked even once, but he didn’t relax either. It gave the feeling that they were travelling inside a crystal ball, being watched from above and perhaps also from below, that something was lurking, waiting for the right moment.

The only entertaining thing was watching the Muggle attempts to track Percy Jackson.

Did that make them fugitives?

Percy’s photograph had a glazed look in his eyes, with a metallic blur in his hands. The caption (which didn’t move) read: “Percy Jackson, age twelve, wanted for questioning regarding the disappearance of his mother two weeks ago. Pictured here fleeing the bus in which he accosted several elderly women. The bus exploded on a road east of New Jersey shortly after Jackson left the scene. According to witness statements, police believe the boy may be travelling with three teenage accomplices. His stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for any information leading to his capture.”

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth told him. “Police are mortals — they won’t be able to find us.” But she didn’t sound very sure of her own words.

Draco used the time to doze. He missed magic — even at first-year level, anything could be more entertaining than this. He even missed casting a simple Lumos at this point.

This world, to his surprise.

Really was more magical than he had been able to see.

Percy pointed out the window at one point, where a family of centaurs could be seen galloping through a wheat field, bows drawn, hunting their lunch. The centaur child — about the size of a second-year riding a pony — spotted them and waved.

Nobody seemed to notice them.

Interesting.

The wizarding world wasn’t so different — they could use spells so Muggles wouldn’t detect them, but Muggles were usually capable of seeing magical things. But here, this sort of mythological magic seemed to have its own magic that hid things from non-magical eyes… or from those without divine blood. He usually travelled with his parents to other countries, but it made him think — if he had been inside the Muggle world in those places, would he have been able to see these things.

He’d have to put that to the test another time.

When he wasn’t on a suicide mission.

Setting aside Percy’s nightmares about Hades, and a competition between Percy and Annabeth over who had the worst father on Olympus — one Draco couldn’t join, because… well he didn’t know who his father was, so he didn’t have much to contribute.

“My parents who raised me love me,” he had said, to the irritation of the other two demigods.

He wasn’t going to lie.

Even if his divine father never claimed him — and part of his pride stung at that — he didn’t feel so bad. His mother Narcissa loved him, and his father Lucius had said he would always be his father. Perhaps not by blood, which he still struggled to fully comprehend, but he was his father one way or another.

He had spent years thinking less of others because of their blood.

But Lucius had loved him. He was his father. And Olympus didn’t matter.

He wouldn’t be here if he could choose otherwise.

Draco felt uncomfortable following the others — like a burden to them — and this journey was nothing like anything he could have imagined. When he was little he used to have dreams where he would be Harry Potter’s best friend and somehow they would go on adventures together. All of that had been destroyed when Potter chose a blood traitor and a Mudblood instead. He could have had Draco — the best wizarding society had to offer — and chose rubbish instead. Going on adventures all through that first year, Draco had been eaten alive by jealousy, because it could have been him having those adventures with Potter.

If Saint Potter’s adventures were anything like this one.

He wasn’t sure he would have wanted them.

He probably would have frozen up then too.

Pathetic.

The great Draco Malfoy should have done better.

Hadn’t he wanted to be a hero?

.

.

“Why do we have to go and see a stupid arch?”

“Because that’s what Annabeth wants.”

Draco grunted at Percy’s obvious interest in Annabeth, which was irritating. He almost wanted to ask him if he was an idiot for not noticing that Annabeth was completely gone on Luke, which would make his intentions simply ridiculous.

He kept quiet.

Though the irritation persisted.

Same thing all over again.

Potter with Weasley and Granger the Mudblood.

Percy with Annabeth and Grover.

Could they not see that Draco was better than them?

The arch was a kilometre and a half from the station, and Draco hated walking. By late afternoon, the queues to get in weren’t too long. They made their way through the underground museum, looked at covered wagons and other nineteenth-century relics. It wasn’t very exciting, but Annabeth didn’t stop telling them interesting things about how the arch had been built, and Grover didn’t stop passing round gummy bears, so it wasn’t so terrible either.

Annabeth seemed ready to explain everything — even to Draco, whom she swore she hated. Explaining and being a know-it-all, like Granger, was more important.

“Guys,” Percy said, “do you know about the gods’ symbols of power?”

Annabeth had been trying to read about the arch’s history, but she looked up. Draco had been trying to read alongside her, because this was a thousand times better than two days on a train.

A bored child can sin.

Besides, he was sipping one of those Muggle milkshakes, which really shouldn’t have been as delicious as it was.

“Yes?”

“Well, Ha—” Grover cleared his throat. “We’re in a public place… are you talking about our friend from down below?”

Draco sipped loudly. It tasted of apple. Delicious.

Stupid Muggles. Perhaps they weren’t as useless as he thought.

“Erm… yes, right,” Percy answered, uncertain. “Our friend from very far down. Doesn’t he have a hat like Annabeth’s?”

“The Helm of Darkness?” she said. “Yes, that’s his symbol of power. I saw it beside his seat at the winter solstice council.”

“He was there?” Percy asked.

She nodded.

“It’s the only time he’s allowed to visit Olympus — the darkest day of the year. But if what I’ve heard is true, his helm is far more powerful than my invisibility cap.”

A stupid cap compared to the Helm of Darkness. Clearly it would be better.

Draco rolled his eyes mockingly, earning a withering look from Annabeth.

“It lets him become darkness itself,” Grover confirmed. “He can merge with shadows or pass through walls. He can’t be touched, seen, or heard. And he can radiate a fear so intense it can drive you mad or stop your heart. Why do you think every rational creature fears the dark?”

Interesting.

The things he could do with something like that. If it weren’t for the fact that technically the Big Three weren’t supposed to have children, it would be interesting to be a son of Hades.

An intrusive thought passed through his mind.

If Poseidon broke the pact.

Why wouldn’t the other two?

“But then… how do we know he’s not here right now, watching us?” Percy asked, nervous.

Annabeth and Grover exchanged a look.

“We don’t,” Grover said.

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” Percy replied. “Have you got any more blue gummy bears?”

It really was curious how someone could be so addicted to blue food. Before meeting Percy, he hadn’t thought that was possible.

The idiot was a constant source of mockery toward every reasonable thing in his life.

It took about 15 minutes to convince him to get into that thing they called a “lift,” which was going to take them to the top of the arch. That’s when he knew he’d have a problem. He couldn’t stand enclosed spaces. They drove him mad.

It didn’t matter how it worked or how Annabeth explained it was perfectly safe.

He was not going up.

So everyone looked at him for a moment, before deciding that if he wouldn’t go he’d stay there. Arms crossed and with a look of reluctance from Percy who didn’t want to go either, in the end Percy was chosen to stay behind and keep watch while the others went up.

Annabeth looked at him like he was a coward.

Grover only sighed.

Percy looked at him with envy when the metal doors of the place closed.

Fine.

Away from the box of death.

“Malfoy?”

No.

Take that back — the box of death was a thousand times better, he thought in terror, turning around in disbelief.

There was a girl, around his age, with light brown curly hair and brown eyes. She was wearing fairly Muggle clothes, though she had no real need to. He recognised the girl’s face, though he knew her family wasn’t particularly important — despite being pureblood.

Lavender Brown.

God, his rotten luck.

.

.

There’s a small café (curious term) near the arch where Percy and his friends have gone to see something stupid that clearly wasn’t worth Draco now being trapped in this situation. While Lavender and who appears to be her father are completely immaculate in their clothes, Draco has to remind himself that he’s wearing dirty clothes from Half-Blood Camp and his hair must be an utter disaster. The humiliation makes him want to find a way to kill himself on the spot — not before murdering everyone present, and especially Annabeth, who is responsible for everything because of her stupid desire to see the wretched arch.

He takes the tea that has been offered to him.

“It’s an honour to see young Mr Malfoy — I’m working with MACUSA. I knew you’d been travelling, but I wasn’t certain you were still in the country,” Thomas Brown says with an amiable smile, which Draco finds anything but.

The man is simply a low-ranking worker. There isn’t much to salvage from the Brown family. Thomas (an ancestor and possibly the reason for the current name of Lavender’s father) Brown was the owner of Tomes and Scrolls in Hogsmeade in 1890.

In late 1890, a Belinda Brown was quoted in a Daily Prophet article about the arrest of a Cornish wizard accused of breeding Basilisks, after a routine Ministry inspection revealed toads in his five henhouses. The wizard pleaded ignorance before the Wizengamot, which was met with widespread scepticism. Belinda Brown, however, believed the wizard genuinely didn’t realise that a Basilisk hatches from a chicken egg incubated beneath a toad, since he had been informed of the inspection in advance and had apparently made no effort to conceal the toads.

Belinda Brown was also quoted in another Daily Prophet article about a Cornish wizard allegedly breeding a chicken with a Common Welsh Green dragon to create a supposed hybrid nicknamed the “Dricken.” Although technically legal at the time, the Ministry launched an investigation to confirm the creature’s existence and look into some of the wizard’s other rumoured crossbreeds — including a Billywig crossed with a scallop, a goat crossed with a Mooncalf, and a Niffler crossed with a beetle — to ensure none of them would cause harm to nearby magical or Muggle communities, if they existed. Brown commented on the rumour stating that the Ministry’s concerns would be greater if the alleged “Dricken” were a chicken the size of a dragon rather than a dragon the size of a chicken.

He only remembered the family at all because of a childhood interest in dragons.

Kelly Brown on the other hand is a professional rugby player who plays as a wing.

Lavender on the other hand is nothing important — a Gryffindor, rather shrill and prone to tears, from his year. They had never exchanged a single word until this day.

The girl standing in front of him looks nervous — clearly wishing she were anywhere else — and that is the only thing the two of them could possibly have in common.

“I’m travelling with some acquaintances,” is all Draco says, enjoying the tea a little. It’s clearly an aberration compared to English tea, but sadly there isn’t much he can do about that.

On another occasion he would have complained endlessly, but he has discovered that complaints don’t carry much weight on this side of the world.

Nobody knew him.

And when someone recognised him as Mr Brown did and treated him with the respect he deserved for being a Malfoy, clearly none of his current companions were at his side to enjoy the sight. Wretched luck he was having today.

He might not look dignified.

But damn it all, he was a Malfoy.

Draco.

Percy had said he should just be himself without his surname or his family. That idiot had no idea what he was talking about — he didn’t know what it meant to have everything in the palm of your hand.

“I heard you were second best in your year,” Thomas Brown says, not realising he is barking up entirely the wrong tree.

Lavender seems petrified, understanding before her father the mistake he has just made.

Second. After a Mudblood.

Draco smiles falsely, already thinking about how when he gets home he will destroy the Brown family’s standing in wizarding society for this offence.

“My older brother,” the clumsy girl blurts out, eyes trembling slightly — the look he has seen at school because she knows it’s wise to be afraid of him. She has spent a whole life learning about the Malfoys and how it’s better not to get in their way. “Daniel works as a historian and is very good at ancient runes,” she adds as if she were fighting for her life.

And what does that have to do with anything?

“Indeed — Daniel was brought in by the Malfoys to restore part of their magical wall,” Thomas says enthusiastically, and that makes Draco forget for a moment about the destruction of the Brown family. “Normally you’d call in a curse-breaker for something like that, but apparently the walls date back through many different eras and even have carvings from ancient Greece. I don’t know much about the subject myself, but it seems the Malfoy family had been working with a specific Greek god — it’s fascinating,” Lavender’s father explains with excitement.

Perhaps… he didn’t need to destroy the Brown family after all.

His parents had been working on repairing the wall, though initially Draco didn’t know what kind of thing could have destroyed it. Before he turned 12 the wall had worked perfectly his whole life, and even at Hogwarts he hadn’t had any incident. But they had barely arrived home for the holidays before being attacked, and it was only natural that a magical barrier would need work to be repaired.

They’d needed to bring in specialists.

Ancient runes.

Greek ones.

Could his Olympian father have had something to do with the runes?

“Do you know which god it was?” Perhaps it was his divine father — and if so, he could resent him properly for his rotten luck.

Well.

At least he wouldn’t be unclaimed anymore. Technically he would still be unclaimed at camp, but he could at least boast to the other campers that he wasn’t someone with no knowledge of his parentage. That might sound stupid to others, but any information would help raise his standing. Percy didn’t understand things like that — he hadn’t been raised the way Draco had.

Draco knew very well the power of information.

His father, Lucius, had taught him that well.

“Well I’m not entirely sure… I think it was—” The man stops, confused, and Draco follows his gaze, taking a moment to process what he’s seeing.

Percy Jackson.

Or who he assumes is Percy Jackson given the distance, jumping off the Gateway Arch.

It takes a second to process what is happening, before he places both hands over his face and curses in ancient Greek, to the considerable surprise of the Browns.

“Did someone just jump off the arch?” Lavender asks her father in horror. He is still in shock.

Right.

Retreat.

“I have to go. It would be pleasant if you didn’t mention my presence to my parents, or to anyone in particular — I have work to do,” Draco says before running out of the place toward the arch.

Yes.

He had no time to silence them, but given that Percy was on the edge of possible death, running was better. He had left them alone for five minutes — there shouldn’t have been any possibility of someone trying to kill them. At this point he would have liked to grab the Browns and force them onto a boat to London right now.

But he couldn’t.

On the bright side — he probably didn’t have the bond after all, since he hadn’t felt a thing when Percy Jackson clearly threw himself toward death.

.

.

When he reaches the arch, Annabeth and Grover look alarmed, before taking him by the arms to get away from the area. Words like Echidna, Chimera, anteater gold, made Draco feel confused. It took a few minutes to find Percy, and the moment Grover did, he practically launched himself at him. They had mentioned the possibility that Hades had captured him, and Draco simply felt that wasn’t the case. Fair enough — he hadn’t sensed Percy’s possible death, but it also didn’t feel like he was in mortal danger. More than they lived in every single moment of this mission.

Draco wants to go home.

Now they have to go somewhere called Santa Monica at the special request of Percy’s father.

They don’t, sadly.

The following afternoon, seven days before the solstice, their train (Draco hated them for making him board another machine of death) arrived in Denver. They hadn’t eaten since the previous evening in the dining car, somewhere in Kansas. And they hadn’t showered since Half-Blood Hill. It must have been noticeable, he thought.

He didn’t even want to think about the Browns and how they had seen him.

He’d be finished in wizarding society if that got out. With any luck his mother would realise he was in danger and come for him immediately.

He didn’t share his encounter with the Browns. That was the wizarding world — it had nothing to do with this mission.

Interesting detail.

They had no money.

At least they could use Iris messaging, which, to Draco’s relief, Percy also seemed completely unfamiliar with.

“Luke!” Percy said, relieved.

Luke turned, surprised. Draco could have sworn he was a metre away, visible through a screen of mist — except he could only see the part of his body framed by the rainbow.

“Percy!” His scarred face broke into a grin. “And is that Annabeth? Praise the gods! Hey guys, are you alright?”

“We’re… well… yes, fine,” Annabeth said, stumbling over the words. She was smoothing down her dirty shirt and pushing her hair out of her face. “We thought Chiron would… well…”

Percy winced.

Draco sighed. So obvious.

Grover smiled awkwardly — at least he wasn’t the only one noticing.

“He’s down at the cabins.” Luke’s smile faded. “We’re having some problems with the campers. Listen — is everything okay? Has something happened to Grover?”

“I’m here!” Grover called. He leaned away from the nozzle and stepped into Luke’s line of sight. “What kind of problems?”

A metal machine called a car ruined the transmission for a moment. Stupid Muggles.

“Chiron had to… what’s that noise?” Luke asked.

“I’ll deal with it!” Annabeth said, apparently relieved to have an excuse to step away. “Come on, Grover!”

“What?” Grover said. “But—”

“Give Percy the hose and come on!” she ordered.

Grover muttered something about girls being harder to understand than the Oracle of Delphi, then handed Percy the hose (or what Draco supposed was one) and followed Annabeth.

Percy did something with the Muggle contraption to hold the rainbow steady and keep Luke in view.

Draco stayed to one side.

Though.

Something in Luke’s expression seemed slightly uneasy.

Was that just his imagination?

“Chiron had to break up a fight!” Luke shouted over the noise. “Things are very tense here, Percy. Word got out about the dispute between Zeus and Poseidon. We still don’t know how — probably the same wretch who summoned the hellhound. Now campers are starting to take sides. They’re organising again like in the Trojan War. Aphrodite, Ares, and Apollo are loosely supporting Poseidon. Athena is with Zeus.”

Idiots.

Like another enormous magical war.

His parents had taken the Dark Lord’s side, but he had lost, so now his parents surrounded themselves with people who wouldn’t.

Which side should he choose?

Zeus was the strongest on Olympus for a reason, but if Poseidon hadn’t stolen the bolt, perhaps it was wiser to be careful. Though sending Percy to retrieve it wasn’t exactly the best idea.

“And where does that leave you?” Luke asked, still not seeming to notice Draco. “Chiron will be sorry he couldn’t talk to you.”

Percy glanced at him with some uncertainty, then at Draco, but before thinking it through properly, he told Luke everything — with Draco right there listening. His dreams weren’t new information exactly, but they were certainly things Luke didn’t know. Part of Draco thought he was sharing rather a lot, which shouldn’t be a problem — Luke was a kind person who had helped him.

So… why did it feel wrong?

He wanted to stop him.

He wanted to tell him that sharing everything wasn’t always a good idea.

He didn’t. But he watched Luke’s eyes carefully.

Something was off.

“I wish I were there,” Luke said. “I’m afraid we can’t help much from here, but listen… it has to be Hades who stole the master bolt. He was on Olympus at the winter solstice. I was with an excursion group and we saw him.”

“But Chiron said the gods can’t touch each other’s magical items directly.”

“That’s true,” Luke agreed, and he looked troubled. “Even so… Hades has the Helm of Darkness. Otherwise, how could anyone get into the throne room and steal the master bolt? You’d have to be invisible.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

“Hang on,” Luke said. “I’m not saying it was Annabeth. I’ve known her her whole life. She would never… I mean, she’s like a little sister to me.”

As if Annabeth would ever steal anything.

She’s as stupidly noble as a Hufflepuff.

“You’d better go and see what that was,” Luke said. “Hey — are you using the flying shoes? I’ll feel better knowing they’re being useful to you.”

“Oh — yes, of course!” Percy lied shamelessly. “They’ve been very useful.”

“Really?” He smiled, looking surprised in a way that suggested he knew they were lying. “They’re working well for you?”

The water ran out. The fine mist began to evaporate.

“Well, take care of yourselves there in Denver!” Luke shouted, his voice fading. “And tell Grover this time will go better! That nobody’s going to turn into a pine tree if—”

But the mist had gone and Luke’s image disappeared completely. They were alone in a wet, empty car wash bay.

“You know, there’s something interesting about that whole conversation,” Draco said, ignoring his damp clothes and noticing the curious look Percy was giving him. “If a god can’t touch another god’s weapon, someone else had to do it. The solstice seems like the perfect timing.”

“What do you mean?” the son of Poseidon asked, incredulous.

Draco considered this, one hand on his chin.

“Hades… why would he steal the bolt?”

“I saw him in my dreams — it has to be him.”

“But… what if, by some chance, someone else was the thief, and they were framing him? Just the way you’re being framed for stealing it.”

Percy’s expression turned sour. Annabeth and Grover appeared around the corner, laughing, but stopped when they saw Percy’s face. Annabeth’s smile disappeared.

“What happened, Percy? What did Luke tell you?”

“Not much,” he lied. “Come on — let’s go find some dinner.”

He didn’t look at Draco, which was the first time during the whole journey that he hadn’t — and it sat badly with Draco, because as they walked he noticed the hostility coming off the boy.

Brilliant.

The one person who tolerated him, and he had managed to anger him with his thoughts.

Nobody seemed to notice.

But it all made sense.

Why would Hades steal Zeus’s bolt?

Why now?

It felt as though someone was orchestrating chaos in the most precise way, so that a war would break out soon — like someone sacrificing pawns to ruin their opponent in a chess match. His father had always told him he took great pleasure in building mental images of conflict, in thinking like a strategist. So why did it feel like, rather than sitting behind the board, he was being used as a piece?

.

.

They tried to eat inside a restaurant, but had no money, so that didn’t go particularly well. Then a man arrived on a motorcycle — which Grover had to explain, since Percy was in a bad mood and Annabeth seemed rather pleased that someone else disliked him. Idiot. The man on the motorcycle was the type who could make a giant cry for his mother.

He was wearing a red tank top, black jeans, and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. Behind red-tinted glasses he had the most cruel and brutal face Draco had ever seen — handsome, he supposed, but utterly merciless. Hair cropped very short and jet black, cheeks lined with scars that had no doubt come from many, many fights.

“Have you got money to pay, kids?” the waitress asked them again.

Yes. Nothing suspicious at all.

Why would anyone help them?

“Put it on my tab,” the new man said. He slid into the booth, which was far too small for him, and cornered Annabeth against the window. He looked up at the waitress, met her eyes, and said: “Still here?”

The girl went rigid, turned like an automaton, and headed back to the kitchen.

The man turned his gaze to Percy, though he gave Draco a brief curious glance — he seemed more interested in Percy. His eyes weren’t visible behind the red glasses.

Draco felt it.

Strange.

Feelings swirled inside him.

Anger. Resentment. Bitterness.

He wanted to punch a wall, to start a fight with someone. Who did this man think he was?

The man smiled.

Draco had to grip the edge of the second-rate diner table with some force.

“So you’re old Seaweed’s kid, huh?”

“What’s it to you?” Percy snapped.

Annabeth shot him a warning look.

“Percy, this is—”

The man raised a hand.

“It’s fine,” he said. “A little fire isn’t bad. So long as you remember who’s in charge. You know who I am, cousin?”

“You’re Clarisse’s dad,” Percy said, surprised. “Ares, god of war.”

Ares smiled and took off his glasses. Where his eyes should have been there was only fire — hollow sockets burning with miniature explosions.

Something in Draco’s chest thudded nervously.

Probably nothing important.

“Got it in one, punk. I heard you smashed Clarisse’s spear.”

“She was asking for it.”

“Probably. I don’t get involved in my kids’ fights, you know. I came because… I heard you were in the city and I’ve got a proposition for you.”

The waitress came back with trays piled high with food — cheeseburgers, chips, onion rings, and chocolate milkshakes.

Ares handed over some drachmas.

She looked down at the coins nervously.

“But these aren’t—”

Ares pulled out his enormous knife and began cleaning his nails with it.

“Any problem, love?”

The waitress swallowed whatever she’d been about to say and left without another word.

If only he could do that.

Feeling envious of a Muggle. Pathetic.

“That’s very wrong,” Percy told Ares. “You can’t go around threatening people with a knife.”

Ares let out a booming laugh, then said: “Are you kidding? I love this country. Best place in the world since Sparta. Aren’t you armed, punk? You should be. It’s a dangerous world out there. Which brings me to my proposition. I need you to do me a favour.”

“What favour could I possibly do for a god?”

“Something a god doesn’t have time to do himself. It’s not much. I left my shield at an abandoned waterpark here in the city. I had a date with my girlfriend, but we were interrupted. In the confusion I left the shield behind. So I need you to go and get it.”

“Why don’t you go yourself?”

The fire in his eye sockets burned brighter.

Terrifying.

“You could also ask me why I don’t turn you into a squirrel and run you over with my Harley. The answer would be the same: because right now I don’t feel like it. A god is giving you the chance to prove what you’re worth, Percy Jackson. Are you going to look like a coward?” He leaned toward Percy. “Or maybe you only fight underwater, so daddy can protect you.”

An interesting way to needle Percy.

Even so.

He felt a certain kinship with the Olympians. Usually Draco also wouldn’t have to do anything — he’d simply extend his hand and someone else would do it for him.

He understood the appeal of having others do the dirty work.

He just hated being the one who had to do the dirty work.

In the end, with a few well-chosen words about starting a war, and a mention of Percy’s mother, and they were on their way to the stupid waterpark. This time it was Grover who explained why anyone would want an abomination like that. It was supposed to be fun — Draco didn’t find it fun. Even less so having to wear another set of Muggle clothes that Annabeth flung at them.

The only potentially amusing thing could be…

“THRILL RIDE O’ LOVE: THIS IS NOT YOUR PARENTS’ TUNNEL OF LOVE!”

Grover would stay at the top with Luke’s winged shoes.

Percy and Annabeth would go through the tunnel.

Draco would stay on the outside, because Annabeth had declared him a useless brat.

Everything was excellent.

Until it wasn’t.

.

.

Grover shouted before dragging Draco into a small booth — he was pressing all the buttons and Draco was trying to process what was happening. Inside the Tunnel of Love, Percy and Annabeth were in the middle of a battle with hundreds of spiders. He’d had his doubts about whether this was a Muggle thing, but Grover seemed alarmed that he needed to turn the power on.

So, no — apparently even Muggles aren’t that strange.

Brilliant.

This ran on… electricity? He hadn’t really grasped the concept of electricity properly.

He needed to switch it on.

Like a lamp?

A Lumos?

Stupid Muggles and their stupid inventions.

“I have to go and save them,” Grover growled, expecting nothing from him.

Nobody expected anything from him.

Draco stared at hundreds of circular buttons. He didn’t understand how they worked — it was supposed to be something like magic, but not magic. While Grover was leaving, the other two seemed to be fighting to survive, and Draco stood there doing nothing.

Again.

Would they die this time?

Did Draco want them to die?

What was he supposed to do?

He began to feel very restless and anxious, without quite knowing why, but he didn’t want them to die. They were idiots, but even idiots served the purpose of protecting him. He told himself that was the reason, but it didn’t feel like the truth. The thought of Percy dying while still angry with him — of never seeing him smile again and say stupid things like “you’re just Draco” — made him feel terrible.

“Work,” he muttered furiously at the metal box in front of him. “Work damn it.” He hit several buttons the way Grover had been doing.

Nothing worked.

Magic.

If only he could do magic.

What would he do differently?

He growled in frustration. Nothing. He couldn’t do anything right, and this whole adventure had only proved how useless he was. If only he could do magic — accidental magic — give energy to this thing, if only someone could help them, if only he had his wand.

Though even with it he wouldn’t have known what to do.

Useless.

He was useless, just like Annabeth had said.

He thought of Potter, imagining the look of disdain on his face — clearly rejecting him, looking at him as though it were a waste of humanity to even be his friend.

Rage flooded through him.

“WORK DAMN IT!” he shouted, slamming both fists down on the buttons — and then something happened.

It was like a burst of magic, of energy, from somewhere inside him. Something blazed from his fists just before they hit the metal, and Draco was thrown backward as though he’d just experienced an accidental magical discharge through his whole body. He coughed a little before pulling himself upright, startled — because the buttons, which had been dull and opaque before, were now glowing in brilliant, vivid colours, like light.

The tunnel.

There was light everywhere.

Everything was chaos and water, but the boat had reached a set of golden doors that were now open and illuminated, and Percy and Annabeth hurled themselves out into the exit pool. Grover was there to help pull them out. Draco blinked and stepped out quickly, sliding toward them, noticing Percy looking at something square-shaped with what seemed like… he didn’t know… but it seemed like anger.

“The show is over!” Percy shouted. “Thank you! Good night!”

Cupids?

He didn’t want to know, but they returned to their positions and the lights went out. The park settled back into quiet and darkness, except for the soft murmur of water in the Thrill Ride O’ Love exit pool.

The tunnel was still running.

It was the only thing still lit.

“You did it, Draco — you made it work,” Grover said when they reached him, looking thrilled.

Yes.

But… he had no idea how.

Draco turned to look at Annabeth, who was dripping wet, but though she pulled a face, she thanked him grudgingly for his help. Percy looked at him steadily, and before Draco could predict what he’d do, Percy clapped him firmly on the back and slung an arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t know what you did, but you saved our lives, mate,” he said with a wide grin.

Draco had no idea what he’d done.

But.

Percy’s smile, his words — things that shouldn’t have meant anything — put something warm in his chest, and even though he had no explanation for it, for the first time since arriving at camp, he smiled. A real one.

.

.

One would think the ridiculous things would stop soon.

They didn’t.

“International Kindness: HUMAN ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.”

A ridiculous journey — already ridiculous, since Ares had given them equipment for travelling, while Percy was in the process of making an enemy of a god.

But do you know what’s even more ridiculous?

I’ll give you a few options about what happened…

Finding out Annabeth was afraid of spiders.

Grover defending animals.

That it was the first time he had ever seen a zebra.

The tragic story of a girl called Thalia, daughter of Zeus — a story that made Draco realise he had been right. Probably at this rate Hades also had a child hidden somewhere.

Annabeth calling Percy friend.

No, that wasn’t the worst of it.

That Percy could talk to zebras as if he were a Parselmouth. God.

.

.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the Lotus Hotel and Casino meant, but when he walked into the place — well, it was quite a pleasant place. The entrance was a huge neon flower whose petals lit up and blinked. Nobody was coming in or going out, but the gleaming chrome doors were open, and from inside came air-conditioned air scented with flowers — lotus blossoms, perhaps. He’d never smelled one before, so he couldn’t be certain.

The place was strange.

Every moment he had to ask Annabeth something — who suddenly seemed perfectly pleasant and not remotely irritated about anything — and she would answer.

Everything was paid for.

As a Malfoy he was accustomed to that, but as simply Draco the demigod, everything was new.

Strange.

Percy excitedly explained the games room to him, taking his wrist and walking him between the machines. Grover would take him for food. Annabeth would later bounce on a trampoline after explaining to him what one was.

Everywhere you looked there were waitresses and bars serving every kind of food imaginable.

A place worthy of a Malfoy.

His room was on the top floor — room 4001 — and they had those little plastic things called LotusCash that made life as easy as a magic wand. It was a suite (which Annabeth explained was the best of the best) with four separate bedrooms and a bar stocked with sweets, fizzy drinks, and crisps. Direct line to room service.

He didn’t know what a telephone was, but Grover explained it and gave him chips.

Delicious.

There were fluffy towels, water beds, and feather pillows. A large satellite television screen and high-speed internet — Percy was the one who explained why the images moved inside the screen. On the balcony there was also a hot tub, and as the bellboy had mentioned, a machine for launching clay discs and a shotgun, so you could send clay pigeons arcing over the Las Vegas skyline and fill them with lead.

It was.

Incredible.

Muggles were incredible — and perhaps it was precisely because he thought that that he should have known something was wrong. But he didn’t.

There were clothes in the wardrobe. His size. Draco looked at them strangely the first time he saw them. But they were silk. It felt wonderful to have something other than rags, and when he dressed himself, none of the others said a word against clothes that fine.

“What’s a video game?” Draco asked once again, still not understanding why Percy was so excited as he led him to the “machines” he had been eyeing with enthusiasm.

“My dear friend, you live in another era,” Percy teased, pushing him toward one of those Muggle contraptions.

It made sounds.

It had colours and lights.

It should have been awful. But it was wildly, infuriatingly addictive — because with his fingers he managed to get a top score in “Pac-Man,” or whatever that little yellow blob was supposed to mean. He didn’t know how many hours it had taken to get that score — it felt like just a few minutes — and when he finally looked up, Percy was gone. He found he didn’t particularly mind, as a waitress smiled in his direction and brought him something to eat.

Treacle tart.

Draco took it, confused. He hadn’t been craving that.

Or had he?

He thought of Potter for a moment — it was his favourite dessert, and anyone with two working eyes could see that. It didn’t mean Draco paid particular attention to him. He had spent his entire first year looking for the other boy’s weaknesses.

He talked with a child who seemed young — younger than him — with dark hair, about a video game for a while, and was fairly sure they played a round or two together before the boy ran off shouting about his sister “Bianca,” never to be seen again. He knew it was odd, because he’d been smiling at the kid quite warmly the whole time.

“Draco!” Annabeth said, jogging over to him. She grabbed his arm with a smile, and while it should have felt strange, it didn’t. “Come on — we’re doing trivia. That way you’ll learn more things,” she added cheerfully, and Draco laughed too.

Yes.

Trivia sounded fun.

.

.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what exactly 3D meant — or 2D for that matter — so when Annabeth dragged him enthusiastically toward something that apparently involved building cities in 3D, he wasn’t entirely clear on what he was supposed to do there. He simply sat down beside her as she explained step by step how cities were built. The reasoning behind hospitals, why there needed to be a police station, plots of land, foundations, schools — all the things Muggles were supposed to know, and it was… fascinating. He didn’t know why he found it fascinating — he doubted he would in any other context — but here it was genuinely fascinating.

Everything had a reason and a purpose.

There was no magic, but what Muggles managed to do was quite remarkable. Or maybe it was just Annabeth — he couldn’t tell.

He had always found her annoying, but she was less so now.

“I didn’t like you — you were a know-it-all, like Granger — but I can genuinely see that you have talent in this city-building thing,” Draco said, sitting beside Annabeth.

She blinked, looked at him, then laughed a little. But she didn’t take it badly.

He felt drowsy all the time. Happy. He hadn’t felt happy in a long time. The feeling was addictive.

“I didn’t like you either.”

“Because I’m a coward?”

“No — I misjudged you.” And she had a distant look in her eyes as she said it. “It wasn’t fair. You’ve only known about all of this for a few weeks. Percy is unusual, but I hated you because… you have it easy.” He must have given her a disbelieving look, but Annabeth only laughed. “Being the new person is easy, but bonding with Percy gives you a direct pass to go on missions with him. You don’t go looking for them, but you get the opportunity. Percy is a son of the Big Three — he’ll get missions faster than everyone else… it’s so frustrating.”

He paused for a moment, fingers stilling over the Chase city layout. Draco hated having to comfort other people — he still didn’t know how he’d managed to get Vincent to stop crying when someone took his cake at the Halloween party in first year. He didn’t want to comfort the girl beside him.

She was annoying.

A know-it-all.

Always trailing after Luke.

Clearly interested in Percy.

He found her irritating.

“Don’t say things like that — I don’t want you to like me,” Draco growled, somewhat uncomfortable, but Annabeth only looked at him before turning back to the city.

“You should have thought of that before you saved my life. And Percy’s.”

“You’d have come up with something.”

“I know. But you still saved us, and that makes you my friend now.”

Draco turned his head away sharply, not quite understanding what was happening, because a Malfoy didn’t have friends — a Malfoy had allies. Gregory and Vincent were at his side because they understood the importance of being beside a Malfoy, as well as the ties between their families. Blaise could almost be called a friend, but only because it suited him. Theo was in a slightly better position than Gregory and Vincent. Pansy simply wanted to become Mrs Malfoy.

Friends.

He had wanted to be Harry Potter’s friend before Potter ignored him.

He had watched Potter race through adventures with the blood traitor and the Mudblood — and now that he thought about it, he had mentioned Hermione to Annabeth earlier, but something had felt odd about it.

He hadn’t called her Mudblood.

It had simply felt wrong.

“I’m not a good person. I’m greedy — I only care about myself. People don’t want friends… just… convenience,” he says, stumbling over the words, feeling powerless, his body trembling slightly at Annabeth’s smile.

“You’re Percy’s friend,” she points out, and Draco feels a flush of embarrassment, because he hasn’t brought it up himself, but Percy always calls him “mate” every time he comes running over to show him something inside the hotel. “And yes, you have a lot of bad qualities. But so do I. And I’ve decided I want to be your friend. I’m a stubborn person,” she says with a touch of smugness. Draco stares at her.

The girl who had spent the whole time dragging him around Half-Blood Camp at Luke’s request — part of him almost fears she’ll admit she’s only doing it because someone asked her to. But he knows she isn’t. He can see it in her face as she sits there smiling.

Offering him friendship.

He doesn’t need her friendship.

A Malfoy doesn’t need friends.

But maybe… maybe Draco does need friends.

“Insufferable know-it-all.”

“Bleached blond.”

“Your hair is also blond!” Draco squawked indignantly, making Annabeth laugh as she shoved him lightly.

She jokes about checking the structural soundness of the city. Draco plays at being resentful while moving closer to her, feeling the warmth settle in his chest.

Without knowing.

That another bond has been forged that day.

To be continued…

Notes from the author:

Hey everyone, I hope you’re enjoying the journey — we haven’t finished the first Percy Jackson book yet, but we’re getting closer. The first arc of the story will probably extend through the second Percy Jackson book for various reasons, but you’ll see why later on.

Ironically, even though Percy was his first friend, Annabeth seems to be softening toward Draco a little — probably because of the hotel atmosphere — but I think the two of them have more in common than just their looks. The Draco and Annabeth friendship is going to be interesting going forward.

Draco can’t bring himself to call Hermione a Mudblood anymore, which is a rather interesting thing to notice.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: True intentions.

Clearly it was a trap — nothing good in life can be free — but the hotel situation had managed to fool them all, except Percy, which is strange. Of all of them he’s the clumsiest. But well, they couldn’t do anything when they had to escape. It was difficult because there really had been another games room opening and Draco wanted to go with Grover, but in the end they couldn’t. Going back out into the real world was… painful. If it were up to Draco he would stay in that place until the end of time, but the other three seemed to think it was important to complete the mission and prevent the end of the world because of the Olympians.

Hogwarts seemed like a good idea now.

Instead they took a Taxi to the… angels? Draco didn’t have a good idea about some parts of this country. Annabeth used the plastic cards from the casino, which seemed to work like magic to get the bored man in the yellow car to accept them.

Then with a few words from Annabeth, he used a speed that wasn’t very safe.

Draco doubted it was safe, even for Muggles.

The moments in the casino seemed somewhat blurry. Among those moments he seemed embarrassed about the conversation with Annabeth, but at least she was no longer giving him murderous looks.

Grover seemed glad about that.

Percy was talking about blurry dreams and things that seemed to suggest everything would get worse. Which Draco doubted. But he was surprised because at the end of the day Percy went into an area with water that seemed like the Muggle pollution that wizards hated — it couldn’t be healthy. Everyone except Percy agreed on that.

But his father spoke to him that way.

Who was Draco to question it?

He wasn’t going in there, and from the looks on Annabeth’s and Grover’s faces, neither were they.

They still trusted that Hades was behind everything.

Was he?

Draco couldn’t make sense of it. While in Greek history — which is not fiction as he had thought — Hades like many others wasn’t friendly with Zeus, this plan wouldn’t make sense. Of all the Olympians, he didn’t think it was Hades. But somehow the clues pointed to him, which is why Draco preferred to keep quiet since the last time he mentioned it to Percy, Percy got angry.

But… if it were someone else.

Who?

It was someone who wanted the big three to fall — someone who would benefit from that. It could be lesser gods, but those usually didn’t create chaos on this scale.

“I have pearls,” Percy announced curiously. Draco looked at them and the worst thing that could happen was that he wasn’t the least bit surprised by this absurd thing.

And probably the not being surprised by abnormal things should itself be a surprise, because he was getting used to this.

Oh no.

.

.

The nights in Los Angeles were horrible. Draco would look at everything with disbelief, because he didn’t understand how someone like him ended up in a second-rate Muggle city at night. Los Angeles is a vast and chaotic city in which it’s difficult to get around. This place was big, and also loud, strange, and hard to navigate. The summer solstice would be the next day and the gods would probably kill each other, so there was only one day left before everything ended.

The casino had taken too many days from them without their noticing. Everything inside seemed like a blink, but now they were against the time limit.

They crossed paths with gang members (Percy had to explain what they were while dragging him along), vagrants, and troublemakers who looked at them trying to gauge whether it was worth mugging them. Walking past an alley, a voice called to them from the darkness.

They tried to attack them. Percy used his sword, forgetting it only worked on monsters, and they ended up running.

Running for their lives.

His life summed up in a phrase.

They ended up at “Crusty’s Water Bed Palace.”

Where a man with a predatory look dressed in a seventies suit, who was at least two metres tall and completely bald, with greyish skin, heavy eyelids, and a cold reptilian smile, tried to murder them. Which was so unsurprising that Draco simply sighed.

His new normal was terrifying.

Hundred-hand massage.

Rubbish.

Which turned out to be Procrustes the Stretcher — you know, the giant who had tried to kill Theseus with excessive hospitality on the road to Athens.

Percy ended up saving them when Annabeth, Grover, and Draco were pinned to the bed, which was a mockery of the fact that even that could kill them.

Draco didn’t know whether to think the Muggle world or the gods’ world was the bad one in all of this.

He wanted to go back to Hogwarts.

.

.

“I already want to go back to camp — I didn’t think I’d miss it this much,” Draco muttered as he walked through this strange place.

Why were they on their way to the land of the dead?

Oh right — because they thought Hades was the villain of the story. Although Draco doubted that, not that it mattered. He had the feeling Percy was here for something more, but he had learned that some comments were better kept to himself.

Grover at his side didn’t seem very positive either, unlike Annabeth or Percy.

First they had to enter the EOB reception. Where soft elevator music came from hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel grey. In the corners were cacti like skeletal hands. The furniture was black leather, and all the seats were occupied. People were sitting on sofas, standing, looking out the windows, or waiting for the lift. Nobody moved, spoke, or did anything. Out of the corner of his eye they all looked fine, but if he focused on any one of them in particular, they seemed transparent. He could see through their bodies.

The security guard’s desk was quite high, so they had to look up at him from below.

He was a tall, elegant black man with bleached blond hair cut in a military style. He wore tortoiseshell sunglasses and an Italian silk suit that matched his hair. He also wore a black rose on his lapel beneath an ID card.

Charon.

Well, he preferred Mister Charon. He swore he heard Percy whisper something like “Why can’t I be called Young Master Muggle?” — without him still understanding very well what Draco was talking about.

He ignored it.

He wasn’t sure how Percy convinced him, but they managed to descend to the Underworld, and with every step closer, Draco was certain he wanted to take one step back.

While descending to the world of the dead, Draco had a second to hate his first-year self, who had for a moment been jealous of Saint Potter’s golden trio’s adventures. He no longer envied them — he wanted to go back to his boring life. But he doubted he’d be capable.

This seemed to be one of those things that stays with you forever.

The air turned misty. The spirits around them began to change shape. Their modern clothes faded and became grey hooded robes. The floor of the lift began to sway.

Draco wanted to vomit when they got out of there.

Because after the stupid lift — which he wouldn’t have entered if it hadn’t been necessary — they were now on a bloody barge. Charon pushed a pole through a dark, oily river in which bones floated, along with dead fish and other stranger things: plastic dolls, crushed carnations, water-soaked diplomas with golden edges.

“The River Styx,” Annabeth murmured. “It’s so…”

Horrifying?

The worst place in the world.

A place that gave Draco chills and made him want only to go back to camp, sleep in one of the stupid beds in the Hermes cabin, eat stupid food, wear stupid orange shirts.

He missed Half-Blood Camp.

The lava wall seemed almost sweet now.

“Polluted,” Charon helped her. “For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing everything into it as you crossed: hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me.”

Muggles, Draco wanted to say. A wizard would never do this to the planet, but Muggles were dreadful.

The mist curled over the filthy water. Above them, almost lost in the dimness, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far bank glimmered with a greenish light, the colour of venom.

What was he doing here?

All those people around… were dead.

Muggles.

Wizards.

People.

Draco was held by Grover, who clung to him and gave him a gentle, kind look, but he couldn’t understand what was happening. Percy and Annabeth were together. Draco didn’t mind for the first time in these days — he was actually horrified by another realisation.

We are better, we are superior, Muggles are worth nothing.

His parents had always taught him blood supremacy.

But here?

In the Underworld.

That didn’t matter.

Death for everyone alike.

Draco shuddered. Grover held him more tightly while he tried to calm himself. For 12 years of his life he had believed in blood supremacy, but if in the end the end of every life was the same, then Draco felt torn between his upbringing and reality. Muggles might be dirty, but on this journey he had seen the remarkable things they could do — similar to or even better than wizards.

He had thought himself superior.

But this whole journey had shown him how ignorant he was of the real world, how his small world had expanded in a masterful way. Not only Muggles, but also the Olympians and Half-Blood Camp.

Was he wrong?

His thinking hadn’t been correct — he didn’t know that with certainty, but this was not the moment to have some kind of illumination about his principles.

He wanted to complain, but there was no time.

The shore of the Underworld came into view. About a hundred metres of jagged rocks and black volcanic sand reached the base of a high stone wall that stretched to either side as far as the eye could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green dimness, reverberating off the rocks: the growl of a very large animal.

The barge’s keel settled on the black sand. The dead began to disembark. A woman led a small girl by the hand. An old man and an old woman hobbled along arm in arm. A boy, no older than them, shuffled along in his grey robe.

Dead.

What was Draco doing here?

He was horrified.

In this place, where in the end, he had done nothing transcendental with his life.

Charon counted his gold coins into his bag and took up the pole again. He hummed something that sounded like a song as he steered the empty barge back to the other side.

“Come on,” Grover urged everyone, following the spirits along the worn path.

There were three separate entrances under an enormous black arch that read: “you are now entering erebus.” Each entrance had a metal detector with security cameras above. Behind them were customs booths staffed by ghosts dressed in black like Charon.

The growl of the hungry animal was very loud, but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. Cerberus, the three-headed dog that supposedly guarded the gate of Hades, was nowhere to be found.

The dead formed three queues, two marked “IN SERVICE” and another that read “EXPRESS DEATH.” The express death queue moved quickly. The other two moved like tortoises.

“What do you think?” Percy asked Annabeth.

“The fast queue must go straight to the Fields of Asphodel,” she said. “They don’t want to risk the tribunal’s judgement, because they might come out worse off.”

“Is there a tribunal for the dead?”

“Yes. Three judges. They take turns. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare — people like that. Sometimes they study a life and decide the person deserves a special reward: the Elysian Fields. Other times they decide they deserve punishment. But most of them… well, they simply lived, they’re history. You know — nothing special, neither good nor bad. So they end up in the Fields of Asphodel.”

Draco made a face, not knowing what to make of his own life. He hadn’t done anything transcendental really, but he couldn’t say he’d been a good person, not after all of this. He had treated Muggles, Mudbloods, and half-bloods badly his whole life.

Here, in the Underworld, that didn’t seem like the behaviour of a good person.

To him it hadn’t felt wrong — it was his life, he was better than others.

He had always thought so.

But now…

Draco was afraid of that judgement.

“Do what?”

“Imagine being in a wheat field in Kansas forever,” Grover replied.

“What a nightmare,” Percy said.

“It’s not that bad,” Grover murmured. “Look.” A couple of ghosts in black robes had pulled a spirit aside and were pushing him toward the security desk. The face of the deceased seemed vaguely familiar. “It’s the TV preacher, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

What was a preacher?

Draco tilted his head.

“They teach about religion,” Annabeth whispered with a sympathetic look, having not pushed too hard about his ignorance all this time.

Religion. Things Muggles believe in.

“So… is he going to the good side?” Draco asked curiously, and Percy stared at them.

“Special punishment from Hades,” Grover guessed. “Really bad people — truly bad ones — get personal attention as soon as they arrive. The Fur… the Kindly Ones will prepare an eternal torture for him.”

Or perhaps being a Muggle wasn’t so simple after all.

Being a Muggle was a mystery.

“But if he’s a preacher and he believes in a different kind of hell…” Percy objected.

Grover shrugged.

“Who says he’s seeing this place the way you and I see it? Humans see what they want to see. You’re very stubborn… I mean, persistent.”

In the end they found themselves approaching the gates. The screaming was so loud it made the ground vibrate under their feet, though he still couldn’t locate where it was coming from.

Then, about fifteen metres ahead, the green mist blazed. Right where the path split in three there was an enormous monster wrapped in shadows. He hadn’t seen it before because it was semi-transparent, like the dead. If it held still it blended with whatever was behind it.

Only its eyes and teeth seemed solid. And it was looking at Percy.

Just what was needed.

.

.

Annabeth managed to control the three-headed hellhound with a rubber ball. Percy complained, but Draco dragged him along because at this point in the journey he had learned not to ask questions and to keep moving for one more day alive. They almost got through that, but the lights started screeching and shouting something like: “Unauthorised possessions! Magic detected!”

Cerberus started barking.

They had to run.

The typical moment from a journey like theirs.

.

.

The Fields of Asphodel were not very pleasant. It was an enormous place — a field millions of times bigger than Hogwarts or all its grounds combined. There was no noise, no light, only whispering crowds that merely milled about in the shadows, waiting for something that would never begin. The black grass had been trampled by dead feet for millions of years. A warm wind blew, sticky as the breath of a swamp. Here and there black trees grew, and Grover told them they were poplars.

The ceiling of the cavern was so high it might well have been a large stormcloud, but the stalactites emitted faint grey glimmers and had extremely sharp tips. He tried not to think that they could fall on top of them at any moment, though there were several of them scattered across the ground, embedded in the black grass after having collapsed. He supposed the dead didn’t have to worry about trivial things like being skewered by a Hagrid-the-groundskeeper-sized stalactite.

He couldn’t help looking for familiar faces among those wandering about there, but the dead were difficult to look at. Their faces shone. They all seemed angry or confused. They came up and spoke to them, but their voices sounded like a rattling — like the squeaking of bats. As soon as they realised they couldn’t be understood, they frowned and moved away.

The dead weren’t frightening. They were just sad.

“Judgements for Elysium and eternal damnation. Welcome, recent dead!”

Yes.

This place was horrible.

At the back there were two smaller queues.

To the left, spirits flanked by security demons marched along a rocky path toward the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance — a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava, minefields, and kilometres of barbed wire separating the different torture zones. Even from so far away he could see people being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cactus fields, or to listen to opera. He glimpsed more than saw a small hill, with the tiny figure of Sisyphus straining to push his boulder to the summit.

Horrible.

Terrifying.

Draco did not want to die and end up here.

The queue coming from the right side of the judgement pavilion was much better. This one led downhill toward a small valley ringed by walls — a residential area that seemed like the only happy place in the Underworld. Beyond the security gate were neighbourhoods of beautiful houses from every era, from Roman villas to medieval castles to Victorian mansions. Silver and gold flowers bloomed in the gardens. The grass rippled with rainbow colours. He heard laughter and smelled barbecue.

Elysium.

In the middle of that valley was a blue lake of shining waters, with three small islands like a tourist installation in Italy. The Isles of the Blest, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times and three times had reached Elysium. Immediately Draco knew that was the place he wanted to go when he died.

“That’s the point,” Annabeth told them as if reading his mind. “That’s the place for heroes.”

Hero.

Was Draco a hero?

He thought about his journey. Apart from that miraculous incident at the waterpark, Draco hadn’t done anything worthy of a hero in his entire life. Every step he took here felt like reviewing his whole life, as if he were just another dead person. He could see himself as a child — always criticising others, mocking poor purebloods at social parties. He saw himself calling the blood traitor poor, or calling Granger Mudblood.

Not just them.

He had done that hundreds of times before — mocked others cruelly, looked down on them, treated them badly, humiliated them.

Because he was a Malfoy, because he lived in a different world, he was better than them.

Was he?

No.

If he died at that moment, at that instant, he would go straight to the Fields of Asphodel.

Damn.

They left the judgement pavilion and entered the Fields of Asphodel. The darkness deepened. The colours faded from their clothes. The crowd of chattering spirits began to thin.

After several kilometres of walking — and of Draco revisiting every moment in his life where he had hurt others — they began to hear a familiar screeching in the distance. On the horizon loomed a gleaming palace of black obsidian. Above the walls prowled three bat-like creatures: the Furies. He had the impression they were being expected.

A Fury.

Like probably the one that had attacked him at Malfoy Manor.

He still didn’t know why that creature had come looking for him.

Then he stopped thinking about it because the shoes Luke had given them almost carried Grover away from them in an attempt to escape the Furies, and before they knew it — from running after him in a world so grey — they were at the entrance to Tartarus. Everyone drew their weapons. Even Draco drew the knives he had been given, nervously. He would have preferred a lance, but as he had learned: a beggar can’t be choosy.

They didn’t fight. Instead they walked with difficulty until they reached the outer walls of the fortress, which gleamed black, and the two-storey bronze gates were wide open. When they got closer, he noticed that the carvings on those gates depicted scenes of death.

Some were from Muggle modern times — an atomic bomb (Annabeth promised to explain more about that) exploding above a city, a trench full of soldiers wearing gas masks, a row of African famine victims waiting with empty bowls in their hands — but all of them seemed to have been forged in bronze thousands of years ago.

In the courtyard was the strangest garden he had ever seen in his life. Multicoloured mushrooms, poisonous shrubs, and strange luminous plants growing without light. Instead of flowers there were precious stones — piles of rubies as big as his fist, beds of raw diamonds. Here and there, like guests at a party, were Medusa’s garden statues: petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs, all wearing grotesque grins.

In the centre of the garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, whose neon orange flowers glowed in the darkness.

“This is Persephone’s garden,” Annabeth explained. “Keep walking.”

The sharp scent of those pomegranates was almost intoxicating. He felt a sudden urge to eat them, but Draco remembered the story of Persephone: one bite of Underworld food and they could never leave. They climbed the palace staircase, between black columns and through a porch of black marble, into the house of Hades. The entrance hall had a floor of polished bronze that seemed to boil in the reflected light of the torches. There was no roof, only the cavern’s ceiling, far above.

He supposed down there they didn’t worry about rain.

Every door was guarded by a skeleton in war attire. Some wore Greek armour; others, British red coats; others, Muggle things he didn’t understand. None of them bothered them, but their empty sockets followed them as they crossed the entrance hall toward the enormous doors at the far end.

Two skeletons in Muggle uniforms. They smiled at them. With Muggle weapons on their chests.

“You know,” Grover murmured, “I’d bet anything Hades doesn’t have trouble with door-to-door salesmen.”

Percy seemed tired with the backpack on his back. For the first time in this journey his expression seemed to complain about it.

He turned to look at him and Draco tilted his head.

“Well, guys,” Percy said, “I think we should… knock.”

A warm wind swept through the corridor and the doors swung wide open. The guards stepped aside.

“I suppose that means entrez-vous,” Annabeth said.

Brilliant.

The room was enormous and the man seated on the throne was… imposing. It had to be Hades — he was at least three metres tall, dressed in a black silk tunic and a crown of braided gold. His skin was albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black. He wasn’t muscular like Ares, but he radiated power. He was sprawled on his throne of fused human bones, looking lively and alert. As dangerous as a hippogriff.

Imposing.

Draco shuddered.

Apart from Mr D and Ares, he hadn’t met another Olympian — much less one of the Big Three — and he understood why this one would be so imposing.

The enchanting aura of Hades was affecting him, as Ares’s had done. The Lord of the Dead resembled the images he had seen of Gellert Grindelwald, or any other imposing dark wizard. Voldemort could never hold a candle to this man. Hades had the same intense eyes, the same kind of evil, hypnotic charisma.

“You are brave to come here, son of Poseidon,” he said in a honeyed voice. “After what you have done to me, very brave indeed. Or perhaps you are simply very foolish.”

He felt a numbness through his whole body. His knee buckled slightly as if wanting to kneel, but he managed to keep himself on his feet.

Hades gave him a brief glance that made Draco shudder, before turning back to Percy when he began to speak.

“My lord and uncle, I have come to make two requests.”

Hades raised an eyebrow. As he leaned forward, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his robe — tormented faces, as though the garment were made of souls trapped in the Fields of Punishment trying to escape.

“Only two requests?” Hades asked. “Arrogant child. As if you haven’t already taken enough. Speak, then. I find it entertaining not to kill you yet.”

Draco shot Percy a nervous look, because this wasn’t going the way they had hoped, and the fact that the boy swallowed hard was a bad sign.

They were doomed.

Annabeth cleared her throat and jabbed a finger into Percy’s back.

“Lord Hades,” Percy said, “you see, my lord, there can’t be a war between the gods. It would be… bad.”

“Very bad,” Grover added, trying to be helpful.

Draco stayed silent.

“Return Zeus’s master lightning bolt to us,” the seaweed-brained boy said. “Please, my lord. Let me take it to Olympus.”

Hades’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam.

Yes.

Perhaps it was time to mention that he didn’t think Hades was the culprit — soon, and he might gain some goodwill from him. Because really, at this point everything looked like a terrible idea.

Stupid bond that brought him here with Percy.

“You dare come to me with such demands, after what you have done?”

Percy gave the other two a wavering look, but when Percy glanced at him, he recognised something like understanding in his face.

“We’ve really messed up,” his eyes said. Draco gave him a look that said “I told you so, idiot,” which seemed to make him shrink where he stood.

“Erm… uncle,” Percy said, “you keep saying ‘after what you have done.’ What exactly have I done?” Percy asked clumsily.

The throne room shook with a tremor so strong they probably felt it in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the cavern ceiling. Doors burst open in all the walls, and skeletal warriors entered — dozens of them, from every era and nation of Western civilisation. They formed along the perimeter of the room, blocking the exits.

“You think I want war, little godling?” Hades snapped.

Don’t answer, Percy. Keep quiet.

Draco’s mental pleas didn’t reach the boy.

“You’re the Lord of the Dead,” he said carefully. “A war would expand your kingdom, wouldn’t it?”

“The typical line from my brothers! Do you think I need more subjects? Haven’t you seen the size of the Fields of Asphodel?”

“Well…”

“Do you have any idea how much my kingdom has grown in just this past century alone? How many subdivisions I’ve had to open?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Hades had already launched in.

“More security demons,” he lamented. “Traffic problems in the judgement pavilion. Double shifts for all the staff… I used to be a wealthy god, Percy Jackson. I control all the precious metals underground. But the expenses!”

“Charon wants a raise,” he took the opportunity to tell him.

Draco was certain that if Hades didn’t kill him, he would do it himself.

He looked at Percy with a death-promising stare, while feeling Annabeth and Grover also looking at him in disbelief. At least he knew his other two companions understood that one of the Big Three of Olympus deserved respect. It was as if this boy didn’t know the meaning of the word respect… or self-preservation.

“Don’t get me started on Charon!” Hades bellowed — which was good, since he wasn’t killing anyone, though he easily could. “He’s been impossible since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere, and I have to deal with all of them personally. Just the time it takes to get from the palace to the gates alone drives me mad! And the dead don’t stop coming. No, little godling. I don’t need help getting subjects! I didn’t ask for this war.”

“But you took Zeus’s master lightning bolt—”

Someone silence Percy Jackson. Draco was about to go over and do it himself, but was held back by Grover and Annabeth.

Hades didn’t look at him.

“Lies!” More tremors. Hades rose from the throne and reached an enormous height. “Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see his plan.”

“His plan?”

“You stole the bolt during the winter solstice,” he said. “Your father thought he could keep you secret. He guided you into the throne room at Olympus and you took the master lightning bolt and my helm. Had I not sent my Fury to find you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon would have managed to hide his plan to start a war. But now you’ve been forced out into the open. You will confess to being the thief of the bolt, and I will have my helm back!”

“But…” Annabeth cut in, still confused and still holding Draco. “Lord Hades — your Helm of Darkness has disappeared too?”

Wait.

A Helm that makes you invisible.

It disappeared.

His mind began to work quickly.

“Don’t play innocent, girl. You and the satyr have been helping this hero. You’ve come here to threaten me on Poseidon’s behalf — you’ve no doubt come to give me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think he can blackmail me into supporting him?”

“No!” Percy replied. “Poseidon hasn’t… hasn’t…!”

“Said nothing about the disappearance of the helm,” Hades growled, “because he harboured no illusions that anyone on Olympus would offer me the least justice or the least help. I cannot afford for it to be known that my most powerful and feared weapon has disappeared. So I tracked you down, and when it became clear you were coming to me to threaten me, I didn’t stop you.”

“You didn’t stop us? But…”

“Return my helm now, or I will crack open the earth and send the dead back into the world,” Hades threatened. “I will make their lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson — your skeleton will lead its army out of Hades.”

The skeletal soldiers stepped forward and readied their weapons.

“He’s just as bad as Zeus,” Percy said. “He thinks I stole from him? That’s why he sent the Furies after me?”

“Of course.”

“And the other monsters?”

Hades curled his lip.

“I know nothing of that. I didn’t want you to have a quick death — I wanted you brought to me alive so that you could suffer every torture of the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I allowed you to enter my kingdom so easily?”

“So easily?”

“Return my helm!”

“But I don’t have it. I came for the master lightning bolt.”

“But you already have it!” Hades shouted. “You’ve come here with it, you little fool, thinking you could threaten me!”

Well, he has a point there, Draco thought, bored.

They didn’t have the bolt.

“I don’t have it!”

“Open the bag you’re carrying.”

Oh.

My.

Everyone turned to look at Percy, who unslung his backpack and unzipped it with a pale face. Draco closed his eyes before anything could be pulled out.

They had been led into a trap — they were the bait.

Just as had happened in the flag capture game with Percy a few days ago (though it felt like an eternity now), they had been used again.

He opened his eyes to see that inside the backpack was a half-metre metal cylinder with spikes on both sides, humming with the energy it contained.

“Percy,” Annabeth said, “how…?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t understand.”

Percy looked at him as if expecting an explanation, but seeing Draco’s expression, he must have been remembering their conversation. His face filled with horror at the realisation that they had been set up.

He knew.

Draco swallowed hard, because he didn’t believe Percy was the bolt thief, but that didn’t matter now.

“All heroes are the same,” Hades added. “Their pride makes them foolish… to think you could bring such a weapon before me. I didn’t ask for Zeus’s master lightning bolt, but since it is here, you will hand it over. I am certain it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now… my helm. Where is it?”

“Lord Hades, wait,” Draco finally spoke, stepping in front of Percy. “This is all a mistake.”

“A mistake?” he roared.

The skeletons aimed their weapons. From above came the sound of beating wings, and the three Furies descended to perch on the back of their master’s throne. One of them smiled eagerly and cracked her whip.

He felt small.

Throughout the journey he had always hidden behind the other three, but now he was standing in front of Hades — the god of the Underworld, who could choose where he would spend eternity.

And he could imagine it wouldn’t be a good place.

He shuddered slightly, but the presence of Percy at his back made him hate him for making it impossible to leave.

“This isn’t a mistake at all,” Hades continued. “I know why you’ve come. I know the true reason that brat brought the bolt. You’ve come to exchange it for her.”

From Hades’s hand a ball of fire erupted. It exploded on the steps in front of them, and there stood a woman, frozen in a golden glow.

He couldn’t speak.

Percy tried to step forward, but Draco stopped him.

“Yes,” Hades said with satisfaction. “I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to negotiate with me in the end. Return my helm and I may let her go. You know she isn’t dead. Not yet. But if you don’t please me, that can change.”

“Ah, the pearls,” Hades continued. Draco noticed that Percy at his side had gone pale. “Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them to me, Percy Jackson.”

His hand moved against his will and he pulled out the pearls.

“Only four,” Hades noted. “What a shame. Do you realise each pearl only protects one person? Try to take your mother, then, little godling. Which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Come on, choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms.”

Percy looked genuinely frustrated.

“We’ve been tricked,” Percy said angrily. “We’ve been set up.”

“Yes, but why?” Annabeth asked. “And the voice from the pit…”

“I still don’t know,” he replied. “But I intend to ask about it.”

“Decide, boy!” Hades pressed him.

“Percy.” Grover put a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t give him the bolt.”

“I know that already.”

“Leave me here,” Grover said. “Use the fourth pearl for your mother.”

“No!”

“I’m a satyr,” Grover replied. “We don’t have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won’t have me forever. I’ll be reincarnated as a flower or something. It’s the best solution.”

No.

Draco knew he couldn’t leave him. He looked at Percy in disbelief — a strange feeling of protectiveness toward the poor satyr, who was so readily laying down his life for them. Even for him. He hadn’t pointed out how useless Draco had been, or how little he had contributed during the journey.

He would give his life for him too.

He hated this situation.

“No.” Annabeth drew her bronze knife. “Both of you go. Grover, you must protect Percy. Besides, you need to get your searcher’s licence to find Pan. Get his mother out of here. I’ll cover you. I intend to go down fighting.”

Idiot.

She was an idiot too.

“No way,” Grover replied. “I’m staying.”

“Think about it, you great goat,” Annabeth snapped.

“Enough!” Percy said, as if it hurt.

Oh.

Draco felt something burning inside him, but it wasn’t entirely his own anger — it was like something additional, and that feeling he’d been sensing wasn’t entirely his. Of course, the idea of leaving Annabeth and Grover wasn’t as appealing as it would have been a few days ago. Back then he would have left them without hesitation.

But he knew.

This emotion wasn’t only his.

It was Percy’s.

He thought about the bond, about Chiron’s words, about something that would connect them, and he wondered if it was only this — emotions — or something more.

No.

He had to help him. It was as if something inside him was screaming to help Percy, as if his whole being was consumed by the need to help him, to do what he wanted, which was to save the other two. It was like a need — like when Vincent saw a cake and simply had an inhuman need to eat it, or like when Pansy couldn’t stay quiet in the presence of someone badly dressed.

His inside screamed.

“Do something and do it now.”

His foot moved and it felt like lifting an unimaginable weight from his back.

“Then it’s time to negotiate,” Draco spoke, stepping forward. Everyone turned to look at him, but Draco smiled awkwardly at Hades, who was now finally looking at him — as if searching for something.

“Draco Malfoy Black, at your service,” he introduced himself, and it was as if something shifted in Hades’s face. He made a slight expression while some of his anger faded and he settled more comfortably in his chair.

“A Black.” It was curious that Hades was the first person to recognise his surname in all this time, but he didn’t complain.

He would use any weapon to his advantage.

Though he wondered if this wasn’t a double-edged one.

His mother hadn’t wanted anyone to know about his family’s connection to the gods, but now he could only ride the wave and help the three idiots at his back. Percy hadn’t been affected by the bond — it only seemed to affect Draco, or so he thought. It was a risky gamble, and as a Slytherin he had been taught not to do what he was about to do.

“You see, I know there has been a misunderstanding. Clearly we have all been used until now, and that is why the easiest deal in this case would be a trade.” Hades raised an eyebrow at his words. “We have been used and deceived, so what Percy will do is not only return the bolt, but also manage to retrieve your precious helm. We only need his… mother?” he asked, turning to Percy, who nodded, slightly confused.

He was handing the pearls to Grover and Annabeth. Draco watched them anxiously, hoping that in any case they would be able to escape.

This was madness.

He should escape with them.

But he had seen it in Percy’s eyes — how much he wanted his mother back — and Draco could identify with that. Something inside him burned with the need to help.

He had to help him. It was as if something in his mind was screaming that he must help him.

Yes, this was the bond. And all he could think was that he hated it, but there was no time to dwell on it. He smiled almost with irony at the thought that he was about to sacrifice his life. What irony life gives you — a few days ago this would have been unthinkable.

But inside he hurt from the effort of it, from trying to be different, from not wanting to spend eternity as a condemned soul.

From helping Percy Jackson.

Hades let out an ironic laugh.

“Please, there is nothing you could give me to ensure that brat would fulfil that request,” Hades said with amusement, and Draco looked at him with bright eyes.

A challenge.

He had always loved verbal challenges.

“What about myself?” he asked with a charming smile. Percy turned to look at him in disbelief, almost wanting to say the same as to the others, but Draco kept talking. He was putting a noose around his own neck, but he didn’t have many ways to win this. “We have a bond.” And that seemed to attract Hades’s curiosity. “I am bound to Percy Jackson, so even though he wants his mother, I am clearly a better bargaining possession with the little demigod. It would be the best way for both of us to take revenge on whoever is playing games with us.”

“Draco,” Percy hissed, trying to approach, but Draco sidestepped him and moved closer to Hades.

His body trembled with fear — Hades was a very powerful and imposing Olympian. He felt like crying.

But he held firm.

“Do you know who your Olympian father is?” The question came from Hades with a hint of interest, but Draco had to hide his surprise at the question.

“No… but you know who my mother is, you know how special my blood is… having me as a bargaining chip could be beneficial for you even if things went wrong,” he replied with barely contained panic and a feeling of breathlessness.

Yes.

Hades’s eyes now seemed curious as he rose from the throne. Percy looked ready to launch himself forward, but the skeletons quickly stepped between them. Now even if he wanted to back out, he couldn’t — and that terrified him.

“You know it is an unbreakable vow.”

Oh damn.

Yes, he knew.

Draco looked at Hades in panic before nodding.

The Unbreakable Vow is a binding magical contract between two parties used to commit a wizard or witch to carrying out a mandatory task. To make an Unbreakable Vow there must be another wizard or witch present observing the vow as a witness, and he or she will be the one to perform said vow with their wand. The consequence of breaking an Unbreakable Vow is that it can cause the death of the person who has broken it.

The Unbreakable Vow works in almost the same way as a Fidelius Charm or a blood pact.

“Yes,” he said in a soft and frightened voice — which was terrible in the middle of negotiations, but he had an idea of where this was going.

And he didn’t like it at all.

Hades extended his hand. Draco looked at it in terror. There was no other wizard or witch, and he didn’t even know if Hades could do magic. He wasn’t that kind of Olympian.

“We will do something similar. You will swear on behalf of Percy Jackson fulfilling his word. Not only will you die instantly if he stole the bolt and your soul will be entirely at my disposal — if he doesn’t return my helm… your soul will go straight to Tartarus.”

Right.

This was not good at all.

Draco looked over his shoulder. Annabeth, Grover, and above all Percy were in shock. Seeing Percy’s eyes he could feel an anguish coming from him — something that felt like the blow of helplessness and anger. This bond business was truly painful, but he held firm, looking at Hades in front of him.

His hand was still extended before him.

“Percy,” he said in a trembling voice. Percy looked at him, ready to charge at Hades to help him. “You’d better not take long,” he added, swallowing hard. His mother was going to murder him when she found out that her attempts to protect him had led him to gamble his soul in the Underworld.

Yes.

If he got out of this, his mother would never know.

“You swear by the River Styx that, if Percy Jackson is the thief of the bolt and does not return my helm, your soul will be entirely at my disposal,” Hades spoke with a smile.

No.

He didn’t want to swear.

“Draco no — a vow by the River Styx, don’t do it,” Annabeth shrieked, to his surprise, but she couldn’t do anything because a skeleton had grabbed her.

Others held Grover too, who kept twisting, while Percy was also held by one of them.

“I swear to give you my soul if I lie, but additionally I will only do this if you also swear by the River Styx to send Grover, Annabeth, Percy with the bolt, and his mother safely back out of the Underworld,” he said with a stammer, but with his chin held high.

Hades smiled at that.

“I swear,” Hades whispered, and Draco surrendered.

When he took his hand, it was as if something burned in his arm. He didn’t know if an Unbreakable Vow felt like this, but it was as if cords emerged from both hands and bound themselves together. They were invisible but they burned his skin. It wasn’t magic — it was something more powerful. Draco watched in fear as Hades lifted the sphere where Percy’s mother had been.

He threw it toward Percy, who caught it, and it released to reveal an unconscious brown-haired woman in his arms.

Percy shook his head, but it was as if a mist surrounded them, and his friends along with Percy’s mother disappeared from view.

Leaving him alone.

In the Underworld.

He turned to see Hades returning to his throne, watching him with a smile. Draco held firm on the ground, but when a skeleton lifted him — well, his life had been good.

.

.

Being a bargaining chip and waiting for Percy to hold up his end of the deal was not very entertaining. Draco was quickly placed in a strange room. It had a bed and a table, but there were no books or anything to do. He didn’t know if time passed here the same as it did outside, but even though there was a very clear distance between him and his friends and Percy, it was as if he could feel their emotions. It was one-way — he doubted Percy had anything to do with it — but he could feel the son of Poseidon’s frustration, anger, and relief.

The last part was for his mother. He could almost swear to it. Though when the relief came, so did the guilt.

He hoped it was a great deal of guilt.

He was trapped in the Underworld because of them.

Who would have thought.

The selfish and spoiled (Blaise’s words, not his) Draco Malfoy had given himself as a bargaining chip to save Muggles.

No.

Two demigods… a satyr… and one Muggle.

“Dinner time,” one of the Furies said after what felt like an eternity. He had intended to stay in his bed all day, but he supposed going out to stretch his legs wasn’t bad.

He felt much calmer than he expected, for a hostage.

The enormous palace was a replica of Olympus (the Fury seemed proud of this), since Hades was not welcome on Olympus unless it was the winter solstice. It was black and bronze. It was mentioned that the palace had several magnificent rooms made entirely of silver or gold, since Hades was also the god of wealth.

In front of the palace was Persephone’s Garden, which contained hundreds of the stone statues that Medusa had sold. A person could only reach Hades’s palace if Hades wished it. If he didn’t, the person simply kept walking for eternity without ever arriving.

When they reached the dining room, Draco was surprised to find only Hades waiting at the table.

Yes.

This was… he turned around wanting to escape, but remembered he couldn’t, and cursed before sitting down. There was a great deal of food — far from looking rotten, it looked appealing, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had been in such an elegant dining room. Probably not since his days at Malfoy Manor.

It was hard to believe barely a few weeks had passed since then.

“You know that, among all the gods, only Hecate is authorised to have children with wizards,” Hades began, curiously. Draco shifted uncomfortably at that.

“The Big Three supposedly aren’t supposed to have children either, but look at Percy — so I don’t see why others wouldn’t break some kind of pact,” he replied, chewing on the meat of… he really wasn’t sure he wanted to know where this meat came from.

Hades smiled as if someone had told him a joke.

Draco kept eating.

“The blood of an Olympian must not mix with that of wizards. Hecate was one of those who sparked magic in humans, but she wasn’t the only one. Her blood combines — her blood complements well. But that of an Olympian does not. A child with divine descent and wizard blood, especially from a family as ancient as the Blacks — it was once a danger already.”

“I like my mother’s family.”

“Your father was clearly not thinking with his head. Although you’re a useless brat now, you’re simply going to be a complete headache. The fact that you can form bonds with others is a bad omen.”

That caught Draco’s attention.

“Is it really that special? A bond.”

Hades stared at him curiously before sipping from his gold and gemstone cup. Now he understood why they said the Malfoys were extravagant — though they could never hold a candle to this man.

“Dangerous. A threat. Demigods are always a pain to manage… but if your father is who I think he is, I am probably in the presence of a greater danger than I feared.”

That put him on alert.

“Do you know who my biological father is?” His father would always be Lucius Malfoy, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t now curious about it.

Hades looked at him — always with that curious expression in his eyes, as if trying to see something inside him. But when a Fury entered through the door, announcing that Hades’s helm had been returned — well, Draco felt glad.

Percy had fulfilled his end.

Quickly, it seemed.

But now he had no answer to his question.

“I hope to be wrong in my thoughts, but remember this, Draco Malfoy,” Hades said, raising his cup. “I could have chosen to kill you… and your little friends. So I suppose the next time I need something, you will remember my generosity,” he murmured with a smile.

Everything around him seemed to turn dark, and Draco regretted having eaten, because when everything stopped spinning, he could only turn and vomit.

Idiot.

All the Olympians.

Idiots.

To be continued…

Notes from the author:

There is a slight change here — in the canon this is not how the conversation with Hades went, and this shows how little by little Draco begins to make changes to the story. But there are still many more to come.

I hope you’re enjoying these chapters.

Draco will continue to be very much his original personality, but changes will happen from this chapter onward. Little by little he discovers more of the world around him and doesn’t live as much in the bubble he inhabited in the Harry Potter canon. Entering the Underworld will do more for his character than everything up until now.

The bond he has with Percy will be explained better as the plot develops.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Decisions.

He’s at Half-Blood Camp.

Or, more precisely.

Outside Half-Blood Camp.

Draco takes a second to stop vomiting, getting up in disbelief from where he finds himself. He didn’t know where Hades was going to send him back, but he didn’t think he’d be kind enough to make it here. Percy fulfilled part of the deal, so he was sent back to the surface, meaning he’s fine now, safe. He wonders why Hades was so kind to him — he didn’t tell him the identity of his true father, but it must have been someone he values for him to have treated him that way.

Hades had his doubts, but he might prefer to be cautious.

Unless his father is actually someone troublesome.

“Draco?” The question comes from his right. He turns, unable to control his emotion at seeing Luke — he’s back, safe.

“Luke,” he says with relief, walking toward him, smiling as he goes, until he stops.

Luke’s face looks pale, shocked, which makes him frown. He almost seems unhappy to see him.

He doesn’t want to admit that hurts a little.

But it’s overshadowed by…

“Draco!” The call from little Will, on the other hand, is much more excited, and he doesn’t even say anything when he throws himself at him to hug him tightly.

His eyes remain fixed on Luke, who changes his face to a perfectly controlled mask, congratulating him on his return and asking about the others. But Draco saw it — something he wasn’t supposed to have seen.

When they reach Chiron, Draco keeps watching Luke until he walks away.

His insides twist.

Something is wrong.

But he doesn’t know what it is. Or perhaps, in the future he would see that the truth was he didn’t want to know what it was.

.

.

They had to wait a few days for Annabeth and Grover to return, and a little longer to see Percy again. The three of them had the same reaction when they saw him, or similar. Grover had hugged him tightly, telling him not to do anything like that again. Annabeth had punched him before hugging him, saying he shouldn’t be an idiot and that she never wanted to lose her friend again. Percy’s hug had been suffocating. Draco wondered whether the strange fluttering inside him was because of the bond they shared or because of Draco himself. He didn’t want to think about it and simply smiled, a little awkward, seeing all of them looking so worried about him.

When they asked about Hades, Draco calmly explained that everything was fine and that it hadn’t been so bad.

But he didn’t want to go back to the Underworld.

“I won’t let it happen again — they’ll have to go through me first,” Percy says with a bright smile, and Draco can’t help smiling.

Everything was the same, but different.

They had been the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill since Luke, so everyone treated him as if they finally saw he was a Malfoy. They finally treated him with the respect he deserved, but it didn’t matter as much as he had expected it to before.

He liked the attention, but this was… strange.

The daughters of Aphrodite smiled as he passed, but Draco barely paid attention to them. He preferred to spend time with Percy, Annabeth, or Grover. Will was also a constant presence when he wasn’t with the others. The boy had been outside before, but he greatly enjoyed seeing things through Draco’s eyes, as though something between them was no longer there.

Will talked about Star Wars or Star Trek — things Draco hadn’t understood before and still didn’t now. But unlike silencing him as he would have before, he now enjoyed listening to him talk.

Paying him attention.

Listening to him.

Muggles were strange, but this world he hadn’t known was interesting.

The world he had refused to accept when he arrived a few weeks ago.

According to camp tradition, they had to wear laurel crowns at the great festival organised in their honour, and afterwards they led a procession to the bonfire, where they had to burn the shrouds their cabins had made in their absence.

“I’m without doubt the most handsome at camp,” Draco joked, showing off his silver outfit, making Annabeth snort and Percy laugh.

“Drama queen.”

“I’ll take that comment as you acknowledging that I’m royalty, Jackson. That’s all that matters.”

And he feels free.

To joke, to laugh — even if they weren’t wizards.

Did it matter?

A few weeks ago, it did. But not now. Because before this journey, no one else would have stepped in front of him to protect him from monsters. They wouldn’t have given their lives to get him out of the Underworld. They wouldn’t have faced gods (the story of Percy fighting Ares for the Helm was epic, and Draco regretted missing it if what Grover recounted was true) to bring Draco back from the Underworld. Usually others put up with him because he was the son of the Malfoy-Black family.

But them.

They were his friends — not just associates or allies. They were Draco’s friends.

Just Draco.

And now he understood what that meant.

Since Percy was a son of Poseidon, there was no one in his cabin to make his costume, so the Ares cabin had volunteered to make it. On an old sheet they had painted a border of smiley faces with X’s for eyes, and the word PUNK in big letters in the middle.

Percy enjoyed burning it. He felt the bond — which usually activated with strong emotions — enjoying the fire.

While the Apollo cabin led the choir and passed round s’mores, they sat surrounded by Hermes cabin campers, Annabeth’s friends from the Athena cabin, and Grover’s satyr companions, who were admiring the freshly issued searcher’s licence that the Council of Cloven Elders had granted him. The council had described Grover’s performance on the mission as: “Brave to the point of indigestion. Nothing we have seen before comes close to the hooves of this one.”

The only ones not in the mood to celebrate were Clarisse and her cabin mates, whose poisonous glares made clear they would never forgive Percy for having embarrassed their father.

“You’re their hero, Percy,” Draco joked when he saw the Ares cabin looking angry in a way he had never managed.

Percy raised his hand. He didn’t understand, until Annabeth laughed beside them both and explained what a high five was.

When he did it with Percy, Percy smiled brilliantly, and Draco’s cheeks felt warm as he smiled. Then he had to high five Annabeth, who laughed delightedly seeing him like that. Grover did it with both hands, and even though he didn’t know it.

He was now part of something.

And it was worth it.

Worth every bit of this mad experience — and that was something he never thought he’d say.

.

.

“So it’s an emotional bond — that’s interesting,” Chiron had said as he walked through the camp, with Draco following him. He had asked to speak that morning after breakfast, and Draco had agreed eagerly.

It was always interesting to talk with Chiron. He was a legendary trainer of demigods — Draco had read stories about him as a child.

And he didn’t look down on him the way Potter had.

“Percy doesn’t feel anything — it’s only me. There’s also… hmm… a need to want to help him.” He didn’t know how to explain what had happened before Hades, but Chiron stayed quiet for a long moment.

He seemed thoughtful, like Hades.

Was there something they weren’t telling him?

“The bracelet on your arm — I suppose you didn’t use it.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement that left him confused.

“I didn’t know how to use it,” he said with irritation, since he hadn’t thought much about the permanent bracelet on his arm.

It was as if he had gotten used to seeing it there, but during the journey there were more important things to think about.

Chiron nodded, then gave him two light taps. Draco barely reacted by instinct when the bracelet ceased to be one, transforming into a spear. It was taller than Draco himself, but it felt comfortable in his hands. It was the most beautiful spear he had ever seen in his life.

“The shaft had been crafted from an ash tree found at the summit of Mount Pelion, and the tip, made by Hephaestus, was of solid bronze, though it has parts of silver that have been reinforced over time.” Draco wasn’t the best with a spear, but he was far better with it than with any other weapon. Even given its size, he turned it in his hands and was surprised by how easily it moved. “It belonged to Achilles.” The spear nearly fell to the ground at Chiron’s words.

He turned to look at him in disbelief, the spear held against his chest.

“What?” he asked, almost breathless.

Chiron looked at him with a slight smile.

“It was a wedding gift for Achilles’s father, Peleus… I thought for a long time about who its new owner should be, but I believe you are the right one. I hope it helps you on your journey.”

There was something he was leaving unsaid — things he was hiding — but Draco set them aside.

The spear of Achilles.

He looked at the spear with admiration, because he held in his hands the weapon of one of the characters from his mother’s stories — something he had heard hundreds of times as a child was now between his hands. He turned it a little more with an excited smile. It felt light in his hands, and when he placed it close to his arm as Chiron advised, it became a bracelet on his skin again.

“I… thank you,” he whispered, genuinely grateful, and Chiron smiled.

“DRACO, HURRY UP!” He heard Percy’s shout in the distance.

Draco excused himself to the centaur, saying he had work to do. When he reached Percy, the boy was jumping excitedly, saying they had to train again. Percy was becoming good at fighting — Draco was well behind him — but when he showed Percy the spear, Percy’s eyes shone with genuine excitement, and Draco smiled.

It seemed like he couldn’t stop smiling around him.

.

.

Percy’s mother wrote to her son often. He was surprised to hear that Sally Jackson genuinely wanted to meet Draco, but Percy convinced him to go and meet her before the summer ended. He wasn’t sure about that. In fact, his parents still hadn’t made their presence known regarding his situation at home, and sometimes it felt strange to think he would be leaving here. He hated some things about Half-Blood Camp — he hated working the harvest, the Ares cabin was unbearable — but there were other good things.

On the 4th of July, the whole camp gathered by the beach to attend a fireworks display organised by Cabin 9. Being the children of Hephaestus, they wouldn’t settle for some sad little red, white, and blue explosions.

They had anchored a barge far from the shore and loaded it with missile-sized rockets. According to Annabeth, who had seen the show before, the blasts would be so rapid they would look like frames of an animation (they had to explain that to him, but Annabeth seemed delighted). In the end a pair of thirty-metre Spartan warriors would come to life above the sea, fight, and explode in a thousand colours.

While Annabeth and Percy spread out the picnic blanket, Grover appeared to say his goodbyes. He was wearing his usual jeans, a t-shirt, and trainers, but in recent weeks he had looked older — almost like a teenager. His goatee had grown thicker. He had put on weight and his horns had grown three centimetres, so now he had to wear the rasta hat at all times to pass as human.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “I just came to say… well, you know.”

Draco felt Percy’s internal struggle — his emotions about wanting to be happy and his sadness that Grover was leaving.

When Percy turned to look at him, he smiled gratefully at not making it public, unlike when he had jumped up in the middle of dinner a few days ago to announce that Percy was happy because Annabeth had told him he wasn’t so ugly.

Annabeth hugged Grover and reminded him not to take off his fake feet.

Percy asked him where he would look first.

“It’s… you know, a secret,” he answered. “I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan…”

“We understand,” Annabeth assured him. “Have you got enough cans for the road?”

“Yes.”

“And do you remember the flute tunes?”

“Gosh, Annabeth,” he protested. “You sound as controlling as mother goat.”

He picked up his staff and slung a backpack over his shoulder, then turned to look at Draco.

“No sacrificing yourself again,” Grover said with a smile, which was curious to Draco.

He was a magical creature — one that in his first year at Hogwarts he would have criticised into the ground and declared worthless to everyone.

But now.

He raised his hand. Grover smiled before giving him a high five.

“I still have a lot of questions, so you’d better come back soon with that Pan,” Draco said with a smug look.

Grover blinked, then smiled and — to his surprise — hugged him.

My.

This group of idiots whose only skill was hugging.

“Alright,” he said, “wish me luck.”

Saying goodbye, Draco thought as he watched him leave, is painful.

.

.

July passed.

It was strange.

From being a boy who was hated and who hated everyone, he found himself moving much more freely than he had felt at Hogwarts. Most days he was dragged around by Percy or Annabeth. He spent the days devising new strategies to capture the flag and forging alliances with the other cabins to keep the Ares cabin’s claws away from the banner.

He was forced by Percy to climb the climbing wall without being burned by the lava.

He screamed the entire time.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a need to throw Percy into the lava for that.

Annabeth spent part of her afternoons talking with him. Any doubt he had about the Muggle world, she would explain in the best way possible. Will usually stole him away in the evenings to watch one of those “films” or “series” that played in a strange way on the “electronic” device.

They were moving images with sound.

But all of it was fake.

Incredible.

He spoke with Silena a few times. The captain of the Aphrodite cabin was quite pretty, though Draco didn’t feel as silly as other boys when talking with her. The girl seemed amused by him, saying that his love life would surely be a rollercoaster — something he managed to catch as a reference, to Annabeth’s simultaneous pride and pity.

The last night of the summer session came too quickly.

The campers had dinner together for the last time. They burned part of their dinner for the gods. Draco was quite clear about leaving his portion for Hestia and ignoring the other gods with dismissive terms. Around the bonfire, the senior counsellors awarded the end-of-summer beads.

Draco received his own leather necklace, and when he saw the bead for his first summer, he felt strangely moved — both his own emotions and Percy’s.

It was completely black, with a spear gleaming in the centre.

“Chiron’s choice,” Annabeth said excitedly beside him.

Yes.

Last day of summer.

What would happen to him now?

If his mother didn’t appear tomorrow at the camp entrance — or if no letter came from her — it was likely he would spend the rest of the year here. He thought about Hogwarts, about his second year of school, and felt torn between the idea of being glad to go back or not.

The following morning he found a formal letter on his bedside table.

He knew Dionysus had written it, because he insisted on spelling everyone’s name wrong:

.

Dear Dacon Molfay:

If you intend to stay at Half-Blood Camp for the whole year, you must notify the Big House before noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated the cabin or died a horrible death. The cleaning harpies will begin work at sunset. They have permission to eat any unauthorised camper. All personal items left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit.

Have a nice day!

Mr D (Dionysus)

Director of Olympian Council Camp No. 12

.

What to do?

Well, if his mother didn’t appear, the answer seemed obvious.

He was deliberating, when something pricked in his chest — as if something had struck him. He felt only panic, an immense panic, then pain.

Percy.

He leapt out of the cabin. There was nobody nearby, only a shadow in the distance walking somewhat uneasily. Draco threw himself toward Chiron, shouting his friend’s name.

And when Chiron looked up, he knew something was wrong.

.

.

Luke was a traitor.

Percy had been attacked by him.

Draco took a seat beside the chair outside the cabin. He had listened to the conversation between Chiron, Annabeth, and Percy, but had asked for some time to step outside. Percy wasn’t in danger — he had gone out with Annabeth — and Draco was simply sitting there, staring at nothing.

Luke was the traitor.

He couldn’t imagine what Annabeth, who had known him for years, must be feeling. Draco couldn’t help feeling his insides growl with the betrayal. He had trusted Luke, had trained with him. Luke had been the first person at camp he had trusted fully.

He had become someone Draco trusted completely in a short time.

But the trust had been… broken.

Was that why he hadn’t formed a bond with him?

Why had he formed one with Percy?

“Hey.” Percy sat down beside him, looking miserable. “I just said goodbye to Annabeth — she said something about what you’d discussed before about leaving, but she said you need to write to her,” he added wearily.

He nodded.

He had spoken with Annabeth about the possibility of staying. For a moment he thought it wouldn’t be so bad if she stayed too — but surprise, she wouldn’t.

“I don’t know whether to stay. I mean… Mother hasn’t written anything. I don’t know if it’s still safe to go back,” he replied bitterly, and Percy looked at him steadily for a moment.

His eyes narrowed.

“Come with me,” he says firmly.

Draco’s mouth falls open slightly.

Eh?

He can’t help it — he laughs, because of course this was pure Percy Jackson levels of madness.

.

.

He couldn’t send his mother a letter, but it didn’t matter. While she might think he was staying at camp, Draco had a mad plan to follow when he asked Chiron for paperwork. The centaur looked very old when he nodded — being part of Olympus, he could help him well enough. Mr D only burped in his face when he said goodbye. He had no Muggle clothes, but Percy told him it didn’t matter, though he didn’t understand the term. When they arrived at Percy’s new home, he found himself thinking it was small. The main hall of Malfoy Manor was two or three times larger than this place.

The woman seemed to have been alerted by Percy of his arrival, because she received him with open arms and a smile similar to her son’s.

It was the first time a Muggle had hugged him.

It didn’t feel bad.

Quite the opposite.

He had to share a room with Percy, because the place was small. But unlike the summer, where he shared sleeping quarters with many boys from the Hermes cabin, he didn’t mind.

A bunk bed, Percy called it. Draco shoved him to get the top spot, and Percy laughed.

It wasn’t Malfoy Manor. It wasn’t his home. Everything was strange, small, Muggle.

It wasn’t the Slytherin common room with enormous beds to sleep in. He vaguely remembered how, on that first day at Hogwarts, he had complained about having to share a room with Theo, Blaise, Vincent, and Gregory — the room was three or four times larger than Percy’s.

“Dinner’s ready,” Sally Jackson said. Draco looked at her, confused.

But Percy made him stumble as he beat him in the race to the kitchen. Draco growled that he was an idiot. Sally took his side. Percy called it mutiny.

Special seven-chilli sauce.

Draco had never eaten a more delicious dinner in his life than that night.

.

.

His mother arrived three days later. She had been alarmed, and Draco genuinely hadn’t thought his mother could find him in… the Muggle world. He had been walking in the Muggle park with Percy — who had been given the task (by Annabeth) of going out with him for an hour a day and explaining the things he didn’t understand. Sally was shopping at the supermarket, which was an astonishing and far too large place from which Percy had to extract him after he got lost… for the fifth time. Seeing his mother made him remember who he was, or what he had been — with her elegant dress, her heels, and her aura. He felt a little out of place beside her.

Wearing only a pair of Percy’s jeans, trainers (they were poor man’s shoes, but bloody comfortable) and a shirt he had managed to rescue from his wardrobe to pass through the Muggle streets.

He didn’t look like a wizard.

His hair was a little longer than at the start of summer, his skin slightly darker from constant sun exposure. He didn’t have many muscles, but he was growing.

“Mother,” he had said, surprised to see her. He hadn’t even sensed her coming.

Percy blinked between the two of them, before Narcissa Malfoy threw herself at him to hug him.

In the Muggle world.

His mother had come to find him.

Here.

His mother — who, unlike Draco, had not been on a near-suicidal mission that made her reconsider some of her ideas — was here. His eyes filled with moved tears, which he nearly let go when he spotted, a little further away, his father looking surprised.

“Draco,” said Lucius, and well.

Draco broke.

His eyes released tears as he hugged his mother. Lucius quickly walked over to them, while his mother told him how worried she had been.

Then Sally Jackson came out, looking confused, carrying grocery bags.

His parents stared at her in disbelief.

Yes.

There was a lot to explain.

.

.

Sally Jackson left them the living room, while telling Percy they needed to go and get his hair cut around the corner. They didn’t have to, as Percy demonstrated, but his mother dragged him away regardless. The introduction had been a little awkward. Lucius had shown something almost like disgust looking at Sally, until Draco mentioned not entirely casually that Percy was a demigod (a camp companion), and Lucius had to keep his face a perfectly calm mask. His mother, on the other hand, was more understanding when Sally said that Draco was a little hero and her son’s best friend, so she seemed sincere in thanking Sally for looking after him.

It turned out that when Narcissa went to look for him at Half-Blood Camp or at its entrance, Chiron had come out and informed her of his new whereabouts. Due to a small inconvenience at the Manor, they hadn’t been able to come and visit him earlier.

The barriers and shields still weren’t ready.

“It’s as if someone broke them — barriers of millennia have to be rebuilt entirely from scratch,” his father said, reluctant to sit on Mrs Jackson’s sofas. His mother, on the other hand, was at his side, not stopping hugging him.

Draco felt warm.

While his life had been one madness after another — and seemed to only get worse with Jackson’s presence in it — he had missed his mother more than he could say.

Before, he had been embarrassed when his mother had wanted to hug him when she said goodbye the previous year before Hogwarts. But now, Draco returned the hug as best he could.

“That means I can’t go back this year… what about Hogwarts?” The new school year wasn’t many days away.

Percy had made mad plans involving paperwork (which Chiron had created with help from… he didn’t really want to know who) so that Draco could attend a Muggle school. Before the summer, he would probably have considered that an abomination.

But now.

Was it?

His parents were discussing the possibility of not returning to Malfoy Manor, which was irritating because he wanted to go home. But if he couldn’t go back.

Was it worth going back to Hogwarts?

Yes.

His mind should say yes, but his mind was also saying… no?

Chiron had confirmed that after the Underworld incident, it wasn’t that he needed to be beside Percy all the time because of the bond — they could be apart without fearing repercussions. Draco wasn’t entirely sure about that. He clearly hadn’t died in that moment from being far from Jackson. Percy didn’t even seem to be aware of the power of their bond (Draco wasn’t either, if he was honest), but moving away from Percy seemed far less exciting than that first week when they had met.

The Muggle world also didn’t seem as dreadful as before.

It was.

Intriguing.

Everything was new — a new world to discover.

“We were thinking about making a move to Ilvermorny, so you’d be close to this place where… they could help, that… centaur.” His father seemed to be using every ounce of his mental strength to avoid using a contemptuous tone. Draco mentally applauded him for that. “He indicated you could return to camp and be safe there. Hogwarts for now… is not the safest place to be,” he said, almost pensively.

Draco thought about last year, about Quirrell, and without doubt the dreadful example of a Defence professor they might have again. So he didn’t give his father’s look much thought.

Ilvermorny wasn’t bad.

Well.

It wasn’t Hogwarts or Durmstrang.

But it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Couldn’t I have a magical tutor?” he asked a little tentatively, not wanting to back down when both parents turned to look at him in disbelief. “Even Ilvermorny isn’t entirely safe, and besides, I’m bonded to Percy — it would be bad to move too far from him.” The biggest lie of all. If Chiron had spoken to his parents about it, they would quickly know he was lying.

His mother gave him a calculating look, but his father seemed horrified.

“Bonded?” he asked, almost with pain, and Draco smiled inwardly.

Yes.

If he couldn’t go home, going back to Hogwarts made no sense. His parents were thinking about sending him to another school, for a year or however long it might take. If that were the case, the best option was to at least do what he wanted. So, with a little manipulation, Draco told his father how he could feel emotions from his best friend (his father seemed horrified by the words best and friend together) and that it would hurt him to go too far away.

In that case.

The best option was to stay in the Jackson house. Lucius turned to look, horrified at the prospect of leaving his son there, but Draco only gave him a puppy-dog look.

“Percy is strong — he faced the god of war.” Both parents now looked at him curiously, but Draco only smiled in a “tender” way. “He’s without doubt the best bodyguard I could get,” he added with a touch of malice, watching his father look thoughtful.

He didn’t want to leave him here — he would probably try to drag him to Malfoy Manor if he knew his Muggle education plans. But for now, he was only making a plan on the go. Annabeth would certainly find this very interesting, but even without being a son of Athena, he knew how to move the chess pieces.

His father seemed to notice by the spark of recognition in his eyes. But when, against all odds, he took a seat across from him, crossing his leg with both hands joined over it.

Ready to hear a proposal, as Draco had seen thousands of times before. Draco smiled.

.

.

It wasn’t a particularly difficult negotiation, but it wasn’t easy either. It was the first time he had obtained something from his father as an equal. His father was easy with Draco — treating him with the affection he wouldn’t show to any pureblood buyer — but he still wasn’t someone who gave him everything without Draco proposing something in return. His safety would depend on Percy Jackson and Half-Blood Camp, who had better means to deal with creatures that even wizards couldn’t handle. They were two worlds that shouldn’t unite for a reason. The repairs to Malfoy Manor were estimated to finish before Draco’s third year at Hogwarts, so as soon as the next summer camp period was over, they would leave this home and he would go to Half-Blood Hill.

That was something he wanted, so he had no complaints.

A special tutor, on the other hand — his father seemed interested in a wizard located near this place, which made Draco raise an eyebrow curiously, without getting any further answer.

He wouldn’t have his wand.

That hurt.

Lucius said he would speak with Severus — his godfather — to obtain the full second and third-year study plan. So if he wanted everything to work, when he returned to Hogwarts for his third year he would have to be ahead of his classmates and not let Granger beat him. The challenge was difficult. Now that he could think of Granger without so much of the Mudblood stigma, he could see she outperformed him academically by a great deal, and he could only ever reach second place.

It would be very difficult.

Not impossible.

He had seen a three-headed dog reduced to nothing by a small ball. Nothing was truly impossible.

Lucius didn’t look pleased when Sally Jackson appeared with Percy, who looked at him with uncertainty. Draco simply nodded, because he couldn’t show his happiness at the deal — he couldn’t show weakness in front of his father. And in the end, that was why it was his mother who got to her feet.

It was a little surprising to see her ask to speak with Mrs Jackson. Draco didn’t want to leave, but he ended up in the middle of Percy’s room (technically his too), enduring at least half an hour in which the boy wouldn’t stop bouncing beside him, demanding he explain what was happening.

Surprisingly, he didn’t spill it. Percy looked clearly annoyed when Sally called them back.

“Oh, Percy, I was speaking with Mr and Mrs Malfoy.” Sally seemed a little tense and looked at him steadily — at Draco — as if she had doubts, before smiling. “It seems Draco’s former home isn’t safe, so this year he’ll be staying with us,” she said, and on that point at least she seemed happy.

Good.

He didn’t want to be an intrusion. He didn’t usually think so much about other people’s feelings, but he liked Sally Jackson.

“That’s brilliant,” Percy burst out looking at him, smiling as if the idea excited him too.

“They also want to pay for his upkeep, though I said money wasn’t a problem.” She said it now while giving a sidelong glance to Lucius, who at least had the mask to not show how much that comment had probably irritated him.

He was speaking with a Muggle, but he wasn’t treating her badly. For Draco’s sake.

He felt moved.

“Oh, Sally, you don’t have to worry.” His parents seemed somewhat uncomfortable with his familiarity toward Percy’s mother. “We’re quite wealthy — money isn’t a problem,” he added with a shrug, surprising the woman and Percy, who turned to look at him in disbelief.

“Wait, all those jokes we made about you being a rich kid at camp were actually true.”

“I lived in a manor. My family is very powerful in the society I come from.”

Percy seemed offended by his arrogant tone, but only gave him an amused look that made Draco roll his eyes. It was about time someone knew his monetary value at least.

What?

Draco was still rich. It was about time someone noticed.

“Well, then, alright.” Sally still didn’t look entirely convinced.

In the end she invited his parents to dinner out of pure courtesy on her part, because she seemed relieved when they declined. They mentioned wanting to have a brief word with Draco before leaving — which was mostly to say that all the paperwork for the year was sorted, and that they would come to visit as often as possible. They didn’t mention coming back to the Jacksons’ place. It seemed they would be taking him on an outing soon, and Draco smiled at that.

They had to go.

Draco didn’t want them to.

But while his father left first, his mother said she wanted to speak with him alone outside the building, and Lucius seemed to know why, leaving without saying much — though he gave him a brief hug, telling him he had done well.

It felt good.

Very good.

“I can’t tell you your father’s identity.” That was the first thing Narcissa said, and Draco knew she wasn’t talking about Lucius. “He was a powerful man, but above all, he was a man who answered the call of the Black family. In the past we had had an alliance and a kind of agreement… so when I asked him for help in having an heir, he appeared. I really hadn’t expected his presence,” she said with a nostalgic voice. Draco listened carefully, while the lights around them began to switch on with the onset of evening. “I knew it would be dangerous, but we wanted a child so much that I ignored the warnings. Wizards and gods must not mix their blood.”

Yes.

It wasn’t much more than the little he already knew, but Hades had seemed to know about his divine origin, so perhaps he could find out a little more through that channel.

Perhaps.

He would leave that possibility open for now.

“Is that why you always told me stories about ancient heroes?” he asked curiously, to which Narcissa smiled.

She touched his nose. Draco couldn’t help wrinkling it slightly with a grimace, but his mother looked at him with affection.

“There was a statue of Hercules at the Manor some time ago — an exhibit your father bought. You saw it when you were one year old, fell in love with it, and I’m convinced it was your first love.” Draco looked as horrified as he was embarrassed by his mother’s words and her possible insinuation. “When I told you stories about him you seemed so enchanted. So I began to tell stories about heroes from mythology, and it was the only thing that helped you sleep… until I told you stories about Harry Potter, your other great literary love.”

“I hate where this conversation is going — you’re just trying to embarrass me.”

His mother let out a light laugh before hugging him again. Now it felt like a farewell, and that was why Draco held on to her.

“It’s a mother’s duty,” she whispered in his ear, and Draco let himself be held. “I have to go, my little dragon, but soon everything will be safe and you’ll be able to come home. I’ll send you chocolates all the time and letters — I’m sorry I didn’t send any before. The owls kept coming back when they headed toward Half-Blood Camp,” she added with an annoyed expression, and Draco wondered if he should mention Iris messaging.

Maybe he would surprise her next time.

“I’ll be fine, Mother, I promise,” he assured her in a calm voice, which made his mother smile warmly before stroking his cheek.

“You’ll become a great hero, Draco, just like the stories I used to tell you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure about that, but he didn’t deny it. He simply watched her give him a kiss on the forehead before having to leave. He stayed outside the building for a while — it must have been too long, because Percy came out to look for him, then dragged him inside to sit him on the sofa and force him to watch television with him.

Sally cooked something blue that day.

He didn’t understand the excitement of both of them over blue food, but Draco only shrugged. That woman cooked like heaven.

Well then — he would be living in the Muggle world for approximately a year. Something that would probably have horrified any past version of Draco now seemed very interesting.

It was his decision.

He was completely mad.

.

.

Meriwether Preparatory School.

Muggles were so strange.

On the first day of classes Draco felt a little ridiculous in the uniform — completely different from Hogwarts — but having Percy beside him made it a little… you know… better. At Hogwarts he would have had Vincent and Gregory on either side, would have chatted idly with Theo or Blaise, would have escaped from Pansy at the first opportunity. But it had always been a strange sort of friendship — if he could even call them friends. Percy was something else, sitting beside him, making ridiculous noises at any comment Draco didn’t understand. Nothing seemed to make sense, but to his relief, the others didn’t seem to mind.

His parents told him that starting from next week, his tutor would appear at school.

He didn’t know how that would work. He wasn’t supposed to be able to do magic in front of Muggles, but in general he simply assumed it was part of the deal. Severus, on the other hand, had probably had doubts, but he sent him all the curriculum books for second and third year, with a note saying he would probably not miss much in Defence this year — whatever that meant. He also sent a special package for practising Potions.

His godfather loved him, of that he had no doubt.

“Are the classes supposed to be this easy?” Draco asked curiously, after a week had passed without the impact he had expected, given that he had spent an entire life not knowing Muggle things.

“No, they’re usually difficult — this school has problems… though hopefully they won’t expel me this year.” He seemed almost hopeful about that.

They also hadn’t been attacked by monsters yet, so that was a point in their favour.

His parents had sent a ridiculously large amount of money. Sally had pleaded with him to speak to his parents about it, but Draco only shrugged. Thanks to the money, Sally could study. He didn’t know what she wanted to study, but Percy said she wanted to, and Muggles seemed to study even when they were adults, so the money was well spent.

Draco had his own Muggle money that his parents sent separately, which Percy was trying to teach him to use.

Apparently paying for a hot dog with a hundred-dollar note was not well received.

He didn’t know if that was a Muggle thing, an American thing, or a Percy Jackson thing.

“I’d like it if they had some sort of swimming club — since you’ll have those ‘secret’ classes most of the week, I’ll be bored,” Percy said as they walked home.

It was strange.

Home.

It wasn’t Malfoy Manor, but it was a home.

Also, going “home” after school wasn’t something he was used to — at Hogwarts everything was in the same place. So far, fortunately, he hadn’t made any mistakes. He didn’t like talking to Muggles he didn’t know, but most of the students at that school seemed interested in him. It was because of the English accent, Percy mentioned, but he had no intention of explaining further.

He usually stuck close to Percy to keep them away. The boy seemed to have a talent for putting people off quickly, and Draco saw advantages in that.

“Talk to Annabeth — you clearly miss her,” he jabbed, just to annoy him, enjoying Percy’s red cheeks and how he kept denying any suggestion on Draco’s part.

Draco laughed before arriving at Sally Jackson’s flat. She was waiting for them with food already ready — blue, to celebrate their first week of classes as a success. Then she showed some tickets she had for a film at the cinema. Draco had mentioned previously that he had never been to one, and both Jacksons had thought that was, without doubt, a clear offence of some sort.

“The Lord of the Rings?” Draco asked, confused, seeing the name of the film.

Sally laughed. Percy said it was boring.

“My son sadly didn’t inherit my passion for Tolkien, but I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean. I saw they were showing them again in a nearby theatre to commemorate, so I thought it would be fair to go,” Sally explained calmly.

Draco didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand how Percy couldn’t love something so perfect.

He came out of the film chatting animatedly with Sally about the Fellowship of the Ring, about Gandalf, about Frodo, about mad theories he had. Sally promised to rent the other two films, and Percy simply followed behind them with a yawn, having slept through most of the film until the final battles.

Sally lent him her copy of The Lord of the Rings.

Draco took it with affection.

.

.

“How do you not get bored of reading?” Percy asked, surprised to see him spending most of the day reading at home, when he wasn’t watching films or playing video games with Percy.

Or, in cases Sally didn’t know about, going to the building rooftop to train a little, since they couldn’t let what they had learned over the summer go to waste.

He took off the glasses his mother had sent him and offered them to Percy. While he had originally hated the idea of them because of Potter — even though they were nothing alike — after placing them on his face, everything was clear. He could no longer use spells to correct his vision the way his mother had taught him, but with these glasses she had sent, it was as if his eyesight — which wasn’t designed for reading anything other than ancient Greek — could read things normally.

“You son of a — and you didn’t tell me,” Percy shrieked angrily before launching himself at him to fight.

Draco burst out laughing while assuring him he would ask his mother to send a pair for Percy too — maybe several, since the glasses ended up breaking in the scuffle, and both of them were now fighting in earnest.

Sally punished them by making them help her cook. Percy did a decent job. Draco was banned from the kitchen for life.

The Jacksons swore that the pancake he tried to make somehow came to life and started to decompose.

.

.

Draco didn’t know what to think when his magic teacher introduced himself. He didn’t know how his father had made this contact, but he would never question the reach of a Malfoy. Amos Kane looked just as extravagant as he remembered seeing him before all the disaster of summer holidays and Half-Blood Camp arrived in his life. The man didn’t seem affected by being in a Muggle school the way another wizard probably would, and he simply nodded when his teacher (whose name he always forgot) left them alone in a room.

The atmosphere felt a little tense.

But when the man took a seat, he only looked at him steadily — clearly knowing something was wrong. He wondered whether only the Greek gods knew how bad it was to be a half-blood (how he hated that the word now also applied to him) who was the child of wizards and gods, or whether wizards also knew something about the matter. As far as Draco knew, the existence of Olympus was not common knowledge among wizards.

Though surely some high-ranking person must know something.

They were there.

It was impossible not to see them.

“My name is Amos Kane — I will be your tutor from now on,” he explained calmly, but Draco only held firm. “Your parents…” He hesitated, looked at him, and Draco knew this man knew something. “…sent me what you need to learn, but on my part I’ll teach you something more.” Now that wasn’t what he needed.

He needed to learn the magic he wouldn’t have at Hogwarts this year, because he couldn’t fall behind when he went home.

When he went back to London.

He needed to be prepared.

“I need to learn magic — not other useless things.” And well, he was still a bit of a git to those who weren’t his friends, so they couldn’t blame him.

Mr Kane didn’t seem affected. In fact, he seemed almost intrigued.

He raised a hand, and from it, a small flame appeared. Draco’s eyes widened almost involuntarily, because Mr Kane didn’t have a wand or any magical channelling object. It was also non-verbal magic, and that was only for very advanced wizards.

He looked at him with renewed interest.

“The House of Life — also known as the Per-Ankh — is a very ancient Egyptian organisation of magicians. It was founded over 5,000 years ago by Thoth, the god of knowledge. In antiquity the House spread throughout Egypt, and today it extends worldwide, controlling 360 Nomes,” Amos explained calmly.

Draco shuddered, because he knew about the House of Life. Most pureblood wizards had to learn about them, but his information was limited.

They were secretive about sharing this information.

Why him?

“We don’t usually teach magic to outsiders, but you are not an ordinary person, Draco Malfoy. So this could go very well or very badly for both of us,” he said with his hand extended — almost similar to what Hades had done with him.

This time he didn’t hesitate.

He took his hand, because he knew when something was a great deal — just as his father Lucius did — and he had no intention of letting it pass.

“I suppose I’ve finally found a teacher worthy of my presence,” he joked, remembering first year at Hogwarts, to which Amos smiled.

This would be interesting.

.

.

Tyson was… strange.

Draco didn’t know if Muggles were supposed to have only one eye, but when he mentioned it to Percy, Percy didn’t even let him explain himself, saying not to stare because it was rude. If Draco could see it, he was certain Percy could too, but Percy treated Tyson like a child who needed someone to help him. He couldn’t help comparing him a little to Potter, who always tried to help everyone and preferred Weasley over him. But this time he simply said nothing.

The boy lived on the street. Draco thought that should perhaps be a red flag that something was wrong, but Sally said she would speak with someone to sort it out.

Why did he have one eye like a Cyclops?

It was strange.

Very strange.

But he said nothing because Tyson didn’t try to murder him, Percy liked him, and he was like his pet. He made sure not to say that out loud… again. Percy and Sally had not taken kindly to his little joke.

While Percy spent part of the day trying to help Tyson, the boys from school — whom Percy swore were insufferable — actually treated Draco quite well. It was curious. He had thought that in the Muggle world he wouldn’t receive as much attention as he did as Draco Malfoy, but everyone — and especially the girls — seemed delighted with him. Percy never stopped teasing him about it with Annabeth. Draco didn’t find them particularly pleasant, not entirely. It was like having many Pansys trailing after him, and that wouldn’t have pleased others.

“You’re so popular it’s irritating,” Percy said, bored, in the middle of break. Draco looked at him curiously, before a girl from another class walked past, greeting him.

Completely ignoring Percy, who stuck his tongue out in annoyance. Draco shouldn’t have enjoyed his friend’s poorly disguised jealousy.

“They have good taste,” he said with a smug smile. Percy looked at him in horror.

“I don’t get it — you’re a bigger nerd than Annabeth, always carrying books. I’m telling you, it’s the English accent. Girls are mad.”

“Jealous. Don’t worry — you’ll always be first for me, Percy. We have a bond.”

“You’d better know your place, Malfoy.”

He laughed, delighted that Percy played along. Then they had to go to chemistry, which was his favourite subject. If only he could tell Severus about it — this chemistry business was his favourite of the books. It was like Potions, but in a Muggle way.

Things didn’t work as magically, but chemical compounds reacting with each other were enchanting.

Less so when Percy nearly blew up the ceiling.

Anyway.

.

.

Draco had heard stories about Egyptian magic. Like most important wizards, he didn’t really know much — only speculation. Once, at a Ministry meeting his father had attended, an Egyptian ambassador had appeared and brought rumours about all of it. From magic that controlled the weather, elemental powers, telekinesis, and even the summoning of portals no one knew the location of. Draco didn’t find Egyptian culture as interesting as Greek culture (now he supposed that was his blood speaking), but he had watched curiously when his father discussed the subject with his mother.

He had had too many expectations, Draco supposed.

Not only did he have to keep up with his Muggle classes (which were the easiest part of his day, to his surprise), keep up with all the reading Severus had sent him and get ahead for next year — he also had to make clay sculptures.

Why?

He didn’t know.

Amos Kane had been sending him to make sculptures for days. The worst of it was that when he finished his small dragon sculpture — which was quite decent from his point of view — Amos destroyed it.

Nothing too dangerous.

No serpents.

No people.

It had to be a small, harmless animal.

Draco wanted to throw all the clay in his face. His professor had ultimately turned out to be another lunatic from the Egyptian House of Life.

That was how Sally found him — in the middle of the living room, practising his sculpture with probably a disaster around him, on the verge of murdering someone because the bloody clay sculpture looked nothing like the damned rabbit he was trying to make so Amos would leave him alone and they could move on to something else. The statue looked more like a deformed ferret, and Draco was about to use accidental magic.

He could feel it in his skin.

But Sally only laughed, came over to him, helped him clean up — especially his face — before making him take a break. Half an hour later they found themselves sitting on the house sofa, in clean clothes, with a face mask made of something he didn’t know what it was, watching a strange drama series with people of East Asian features.

Until an hour ago he hadn’t known what a drama was, but now he couldn’t stop watching it, while Sally laughed about how her son had never once accompanied her in her guilty pleasure for Korean dramas.

“Do I want to ask?” That was Percy’s question when he came in through the door. He looked tired, and seeing the two of them on the sofa in the middle of the evening, with face masks on, watching the series Sally had recommended to him, seemed to be a shock.

Sally only smiled, before shaking her head. Draco decided that the television was the best Muggle invention there was.

Percy looked at them for a moment, before deciding he would rather eat and do his homework (which was probably quite serious since Percy hated homework) than sit with them — even though Percy was the one who seemed more addicted to television between the two of them.

About two hours later, after removing the face mask and with Sally reading beside him while Draco gasped dramatically at the programme.

“How can she not prefer Hyung Chul?” he asked, looking at Sally with a pained expression. She only smiled, and Percy, who was passing through with a can of fizzy drink, looked at him in disbelief. “He’s kind, he loves her, and he’s bloody rich. But Jin Sun prefers that idiot Kim Woo, who clearly only wants that wretch Heo Young,” he growled, trying not to squeeze the cushion too hard to avoid destroying it.

“You have to keep watching the series,” Sally recommended, but Draco pouted, and Percy — seeing him suffer — sat down between them.

“What’s so great about that Hun Chal?”

“Hyung Chul,” Sally and Draco said at the same time.

“Whatever.”

“Please, the man is attractive, wealthy, kind… practically my life.”

“Draco, sorry to tell you, but no.”

“Boys, no fighting on the sofa.”

“He started it!” they both shouted at the same time, before growling at each other and going back to arguing. This time Sally simply paused the series before retreating to another room.

To be continued…

Notes from the author:

A little slice of Draco and Percy’s daily life — I don’t know why, but imagining Draco watching Korean dramas with Sally makes me laugh so much. If anyone manages to guess which drama it is, it’s definitely in their heart. Even though I don’t watch many dramas, that was the first one I ever watched in my life and I absolutely loved it.

Draco has decided to stay in the Muggle world for a year, so when he returns to Hogwarts (and he will), the kind of person he’ll have become is going to be something else. There are also still a few more mad adventures in the Muggle world with Percy before he goes back.

This means we won’t see Potter until Arc 2 — don’t worry, it’s not far off.

This chapter is a gift for my Discord, with whom I’ve had a great time over the last few days. You’ve all earned it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Crazy holidays.

Muggle life was… well… Draco hadn’t thought much about it, other than as something like rubbish before going to Half-Blood Camp. Of course it’s madness, but the Muggle world is enormous and every day Draco ends up a little more in love with some madness of it. He supposes it’s because of Percy and Sally — the Muggle world alongside them simply seems better in every sense. For a wizard it should be impossible not to use magic for so long. Draco grows up in a magical world, surrounded by everyone loving him and showing magic as the epitome of creation.

Away from Muggles.

Despising Muggles.

Even so…

This world was full of something that isn’t magic, but can be compared to it — as if its people were alive and at the same time fighting. Of course against a wizard they would have nothing, his teachings hadn’t been wrong about that. If a wizard wanted to murder a Muggle or dominate one, it would be so easy. If he wanted to create things beyond this world, magic is practically all that’s needed — the only limit is your imagination.

But there’s something in that fragility, and how despite it they are capable of so much, that Draco finds himself intrigued beyond measure.

Besides, they created apple milkshakes.

They can’t be all that bad.

Amos still treats him like a child. He is technically a child, but it’s boring.

His magic classes haven’t progressed much, though he now knows why he had to make clay figures.

Shabti.

Shabti have multiple functions, one of which is that their master can use them to carry out duties in the afterlife. Other Shabti serve as decoys, companions, soldiers, and even librarians or informants. Most Shabti are incomplete in some way. If their bodies are perfect, they will come to life and possibly kill their master in revenge. A Shabti can inform its master by releasing the information in a ball of magical light. It will send a report when destroyed, but can also send messages periodically and automatically. They can also use magic.

His first Shabti was a small serpent. It wasn’t entirely complete, but he named it Steven.

Well.

He was nervous under Amos’s gaze and the name came out of his mouth as if it were natural, which is why his first Shabti is a serpent. It has no life, but it’s as if it does. It’s a dangerous animal — Amos had warned him to be careful — and Draco simply carried on.

He was a Slytherin.

He had his pride.

Far from elemental magic or learning the spells he needed for his third year at Hogwarts, Amos taught him the different kinds of magic in this world.

Egyptian magic. It was so interesting.

Divine Words.

That was so interesting.

In Egyptian mythology, Divine Words is another term for Egyptian magical commands. They are also called hieroglyphic spells or Words of Power. They are called “divine” because they allow the magicians who use the commands to exert divine force and powers. Magicians pronounce them to create or modify reality. To use them, no papyrus or other equipment is needed, such as amulets, potions, shabti, or statues.

To become Chief Lector, a magician needs to be able to pronounce a good number of Divine Words. Words of Power can also be used to walk the Path of the Gods.

Though Amos said that was forbidden.

Draco felt the tip of his tongue ready to mention his lineage, but he supposed Amos must have seen something special in him to be willing to teach him things that weren’t usually taught to magicians outside the House of Life.

It was like spells, but far more powerful.

Amos taught him a strange combination of both — Amos could use magic like the wizards he knew, but he was pushing him to the limit by teaching him wandless magic.

Difficult.

Too difficult.

Just performing a Lumos without a wand seemed almost impossible, and Draco spent at least three weeks making any progress at all, which was unacceptable. He would be behind his classmates the following year and that was impossible. But when the light emerged from his hands and Amos accepted it, he begged him to teach him combat magic — magic he could use to protect himself or use in the middle of a fight.

This wasn’t a strange request. Amos simply looked at him for a long time before nodding.

And then.

The real teaching began.

.

.

“We’re almost on holiday — I can almost taste them,” Percy said as they walked through the corridors on the last day before Christmas and New Year’s break. Almost two weeks without thinking about classes.

Though Draco supposed Amos would leave him a great deal of extra work, he was relieved for a little free time. The Muggle classes were easy — maths was a joke and chemistry didn’t even need to be mentioned. Percy had looked at him with envy for a long time since they started classes. So he would usually read material from Hogwarts that he needed for this and next year, and also work on any written assignments Severus sent by owl. The Jacksons had given him strange looks about the kind of post he received.

He worked on his essays, practised his potions, attended classes with Amos, practised combat with Percy, and had his Thursday Korean drama evenings with Sally.

It was a hectic life. But exciting.

Tiring.

Very tiring.

Draco wouldn’t normally have to push himself this hard. Of course in first year at Hogwarts he had fought to snatch first place from Granger (without success), clearly pushing himself for the first time in his life. But this was a completely different level. His body had begun to get used to clear physical effort since Half-Blood Camp, his mind was opening to possibilities now in the Muggle world, and Amos was teaching him how the world was even bigger than he was beginning to understand.

He didn’t have a great talent for creating Shabti or using amulets, but the man was beginning to teach him a mixture of Divine Words with wandless magic, complemented by combat magic he wanted to stay on top of.

Luke had betrayed the camp.

He wanted to see the destruction of Olympus.

And Draco, like many other demigods, was caught in the middle of this disaster and the fights that would come soon. He didn’t want to think about how during his first mission with Percy and the others he had been useless most of the time. He didn’t want to go through that again.

“Sally mentioned going to an amusement park — I’m interested in seeing that Muggle place that always comes up on television,” Draco said, putting away his notebooks, which was another astonishing Muggle invention.

Why did wizards still use parchment?

A notebook, a pencil, and a pen beat wizards by a long stretch.

They were out of date in this regard.

Of course, many wizards wouldn’t use anything of Muggle origin, but things like these could make studying and work much easier. Draco didn’t want to think that he was one of those wizards who, before spending time in the Muggle world, would have been the first to dismiss such objects as being of the worst category without ever having used them. But now that they were part of his daily life, he was beginning to dread going back to Hogwarts and not having them to hand.

He had been seriously thinking about this — when he was the rightful head of the Malfoy family, he would invest in some Muggle companies and bring some Muggle technology into the wizarding world.

Because… he didn’t know what he would do when he was home and couldn’t watch his Muggle series.

The horror.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to an amusement park. The community where you lived with your parents sounds pretty boring,” Percy said, completely unbothered by the word Muggle, since he was used to it by now. The only time he had asked about it, he had accepted Draco’s explanation.

Normal people, Percy had called them.

Simple people, Draco had said.

Percy was enthusiastic about showing Draco all of the “normal world.” They had gone to a water park the previous week, where Percy clearly felt at home and dragged Draco everywhere. Sally had laughed watching them run all over the place and end up completely soaked.

Draco had a small cold afterwards and Percy called him weak.

Did demigods get sick?

Draco did.

“Hi Draco, I hope you enjoy the holidays,” said a girl from the year above, batting her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly.

Draco ignored her, which seemed to delight her, which made Percy look at them both as if they were mad.

“Please — the last time Annabeth ignored you mid-phone call you sighed too.”

“That’s not true.”

But from the way his cheeks went red and he squeaked in that adorable way, Draco knew he had won this conversation.

.

.

The idea of inviting Tyson to the amusement park came from Percy, who clearly seemed to have some kind of soft spot for the one-eyed boy. When Draco asked Sally if she noticed anything strange about him and she seemed unbothered, he wondered whether he was the only one who thought Tyson was strange, or whether it was just Draco himself. Sally often invited the boy for meals, just like Percy. Draco’s parents gave Sally a large amount of money that she didn’t seem reluctant to spend on others, even when Draco pointed out they could have more things. Social workers had no answer for the Tyson situation, and neither did the school directors, so the Jacksons, in the same way they looked after Draco, tried to look after Tyson.

The one-eyed giant seemed happy when invited, though his way of speaking reminded Draco of a five-year-old.

Or Draco when he first entered the Muggle world.

Perhaps that was why the Jacksons knew how to help him.

The problem with Tyson was that he seemed glued to Percy, and when Draco looked at a rollercoaster excitedly with the intention of riding it, Tyson would grab onto Percy, and that annoyed Draco. Percy was supposedly his friend, but Percy would look at Draco with a pitying expression, because he felt sorry for Tyson, and Draco would end up going off by himself away from the two of them.

The amusement park day wasn’t turning out as exciting as he had wanted.

Sally would get on the rides with him with an adventurous smile, and Draco couldn’t help but adore the woman for being so wonderful.

Until it reached a point where it became ridiculous.

“No.” Draco crossed his arms in front of Tyson, who let out a small whimper at the sight of him. The dislike seemed mutual between them. “You’ve been on everything all morning with Percy — it’s my turn.” He pointed a finger with a threatening look.

Percy seemed torn between helping Tyson, but clearly he wanted to spend time with Draco. The little idiot just didn’t say so and was letting Draco be the bad one in the situation.

Fine.

“But…” the giant pleaded, but Sally had to console him as Draco dragged Percy toward the rollercoaster he had spotted from the start.

The one Tyson was afraid of.

“You’re quite jealous,” Percy said, as if he weren’t smiling about getting to ride the rollercoaster with him. Draco gave him an incredulous look.

“Stop smiling when you say that or I’ll tell Annabeth you’re cheating on her with me — though I can’t blame you, I’m extraordinary,” he said, running a hand through his hair, earning an unimpressed look from his friend.

Idiot.

The rollercoaster was wonderful — as good as flying on a broomstick — and both ended up laughing excitedly when they got off. They thought about getting back in line to ride again, but the absence of Sally and Tyson quickly put Draco on alert. Percy didn’t look any better than him.

Where had they gone?

Draco whispered to the small Shabti serpent in his pocket. It woke with a yawn, and though it was a clay sculpture, it also looked very much like a serpent. It was remarkable how Percy treated abnormal things as normal — when he first introduced it, Percy barely gave it a second glance. He also didn’t question it when Draco asked it to find Sally and Tyson in the crowd, while keeping its distance so some stupid Muggle didn’t hurt it.

They began walking in search of Tyson.

He was enormous.

He had one eye.

Draco didn’t think he would be hard to find, but to his horror, for the second time in a row, he ran into someone he didn’t want to see.

“Malfoy?” asked a girl with curly hair and light eyes whom he had seen a few months ago, looking both very nervous and relieved at the same time.

Draco felt his mouth fill with bile, while Percy looked at the girl curiously.

“Lavender Brown. What a surprise to see you here… again,” he growled the last word without wanting to look at the girl, thinking she should be at Hogwarts.

Of course they were in the middle of Christmas holidays, so anyone could go and visit their family or take a trip to the other side of the world. But the girl had the misfortune of running into him again, in the middle of another awkward situation.

Well.

Draco really wasn’t feeling optimistic this time.

“I need your help, Malfoy,” Lavender pleaded with a degree of fear that made Draco narrow his eyes and prepare to say no.

They had their own problems already — they didn’t need more. So it was simply better to leave her with those Muggle officers to deal with the problem. But when he turned to look at Percy, Percy had a firm expression on his face, and Draco knew before he said anything that Percy wanted to help Lavender.

Because he was an idiot.

But perhaps Draco was an even bigger idiot, because the bond he had with Percy burned when he knew Percy wanted something like this.

And you have to help him.

He just knew.

Damn it.

.

.

In hindsight he should have known everything would go wrong, because there wasn’t a single moment in Draco Malfoy’s life since last summer that, when something was going to go wrong, it didn’t go spectacularly wrong. Murphy’s Law, his Muggle teachers had said, and Draco had been delighted with the idea, because he seemed to be a living embodiment of it, one that only kept getting worse as his life went on. For example, when Lavender started telling them about a huge dog that was following her and that no one seemed to see, he should have assumed there was something odd about that. Wizards probably had a perception that surpassed the Mist, but Lavender was too young, and in reasonable theory with both worlds separate.

She shouldn’t be able to see through the Mist.

But if wizards were in some way descended from Hecate.

Strange.

The strange part was that they would be focused on her — monsters usually went after demigods.

“There was this woman and a giant boy with one eye,” she said quickly, alarmed, and something clicked in Draco’s mind.

Tyson.

Sally.

“One eye?” Percy asked, but there was no time. Draco told Lavender to point out the direction, but she, though seeming glad that someone believed her, seemed reluctant to go back there.

They didn’t need to. Similar to the Cerberuses in the Underworld, an enormous black dog with red eyes appeared at the end of the amusement park street, though no one around them seemed to see it. Draco was tempted to run, but when Percy pulled out his pen — which formed into a sword — Lavender let out a shriek, and Draco could only push her aside before a shadow appeared beneath them.

It was like a fall.

Everything went cold, and before he knew it, they were crashing back onto concrete.

Amos’s teachings seeped into him. He touched his shoulder and the spear shot out, ready for a fight. But far from having simply fallen, it seemed they had been transported to a completely different place. He didn’t know if they were still at the amusement park, but Lavender and Percy were there, also trying to get up, and there was nobody nearby.

But there could be.

“Where did that spear come from? And you have a sword — we’re not supposed to do magic outside Hogwarts, but you did wandless magic,” the curly-haired girl shrieked. Fortunately Percy seemed to ignore her as he got to his feet with his sword pointing in every direction.

It looked like a rooftop of an enormous building.

He didn’t know if they were still in Manhattan, but they had without doubt left the amusement park, and Draco pouted at the thought of not being able to enjoy all the attractions as he had wanted. There had been these hot dogs he had been fantasising about for a whole week — he would take revenge on someone for that.

“We’re in Manhattan — I recognise those buildings,” Percy said seriously. He seemed to lower his guard when he didn’t notice any enemies, but his face kept looking in every direction.

“What kind of dog was that?” Draco asked, turning his back to Percy, trusting that he would be there to protect his back.

He looked at Lavender. She got up nervously, and for some reason grabbed his arm as if he could offer her shelter.

“I don’t know — it just appeared. There was a blond boy with a scar who told me I was like them and that I should follow them. I lost my dad along the way,” the girl murmured, looking on the verge of tears, which made him grimace.

His clothes were already dirty enough without adding a girl’s tears.

Percy, on the other hand, froze, and the bond quickly sent an alert to Draco. Percy seemed angry even though his face was blank — an anger and pain that reminded him of the end of summer. It was impossible to forget that Percy could generate that kind of emotion.

Something inside Draco himself stirred nervously at the memory.

“Luke,” Percy hissed, almost with hatred, and Draco felt uneasy.

“Yes — he introduced himself as Luke. He was cute, until he tried to kidnap me,” Lavender said, and it seemed so unreal, because someone had wanted Lavender.

She was a witch.

Not a demigod.

Wasn’t she?

Before he could say anything, he felt a presence similar to pigeons, but they didn’t make the typical cooing sound — instead a kind of metallic screeching, similar to the sound of a submarine as he had seen in a film. They were white and grey, with sharp bronze beaks and claws. Their small round eyes gleamed in an evil way.

There were many.

Far too many, suddenly surrounding them from the sky.

He felt as though he had heard something like this before.

“Stymphalian Birds,” he said, snapping his fingers. Percy and Lavender looked at him in confusion. “One of Hercules’s labours — they nearly killed him if it weren’t for Athena,” he added with a thumbs up, as he had learned Muggles did when something was agreed upon.

Yes.

That was perhaps not the case here.

They screeched — it was a painful sound.

“RUN!” Percy shouted, grabbing Draco’s wrist, and since Lavender was still clinging to him, she was also yanked along as they quickly ducked through the rooftop door of the building.

That should work.

Shouldn’t it?

Well.

No.

The birds managed to break through the door, and though they were inside a building, the birds kept chasing them for some reason. With his spear he managed to finish off a few, and Percy also used his sword to cut at them. He really would have preferred not to have to fight, but now in the middle of it, all he could do was push Lavender first so she wouldn’t get in the way. She screamed while both of them started going down the stairs.

It seemed to be a hotel — nobody seemed to be coming toward them.

Was the building abandoned?

Percy decided to jump down the stairs rather than walk down the steps. Draco would have liked to do the same, but ended up tripping when Lavender tried to stop to cry. Both of them tumbled and a bird made a cut in his arm. Percy rushed over to them to cut the bird, and before they knew it, all three of them were running again amid stairs, screams, birds, and Draco quickly visualised something that could help them.

Sound.

They needed sound.

He didn’t know which kind, but something like that had been in the story.

“WE NEED SOUND!” he shouted, alarmed, as a wave of birds swooped through one of the windows, making Lavender shriek and Percy simply jump over them.

He wasn’t going to abandon them. Draco would have, but Percy wasn’t like that.

Percy used his fist to break something in the wall, which seemed to cause everything to release a deafening sound that made the birds freeze before seeming like a lost swarm that plunged out of the building.

How many floors had they managed to get down?

He didn’t know, but he was out of breath and had a few scratches, much like Percy and Lavender.

“Is everyone alright?” Percy asked, looking vaguely at Lavender before looking worriedly at him, to which Draco nodded uncertainly.

Fighting was not fun.

There was another sound, as if more birds were about to return, which made Draco growl at the thought of going back to fighting. But they were stopped when something happened.

“The dog,” Lavender shrieked, grabbing his back again, before he could see it on the stairs above them. He felt that cold again and everything around him stopped feeling real.

As if he were floating, and the next instant, he would be falling through the sky.

Literally.

The sky.

Open.

Heading toward the ground and certain death.

Draco screamed while flailing his arms. He could see Percy falling beside him and Lavender now clinging to Percy’s back, also alarmed by the speed at which they seemed to be falling from the sky. There was blue sky all around them. This was worse than falling off a broomstick, and Draco knew that if he didn’t do something soon, they were going to die when they hit the ground.

He didn’t want to die.

Not yet.

Not like this.

The sky had never been frightening when he flew for Quidditch and it wasn’t going to start being so now.

He pulled out his spear while extending his free hand to Percy, who amid the fall — looking terrified — quickly stretched out his hand to grab him. When their hands were joined, Draco visualised with a hollow feeling in his stomach how quickly they were approaching the city that had seemed so far away before. Doubting how much force he had and having no better way to test it, as the building came up toward them and they were going to fall along its side.

He used every bit of force he had to drive the spear into the building.

He didn’t know if it would work.

It was supposedly only able to injure mythological things like Percy’s sword, but some Olympian god must have taken pity on him, because it lodged in. His arm ached from the sudden movement. He had to shout at Percy to hold onto his waist, because he needed his other hand to keep holding the spear.

Lavender shrieked on Percy’s back — at least she was alive.

His arm was dislocated or in the worst case broken.

But not dead.

He sighed in relief that at least they weren’t falling. He didn’t know what he planned to do now — there was no staircase nearby, and there was only a large window that seemed full of people looking at them in alarm. With luck he could hold on until someone came to help them. Everyone seemed to be shouting on the other side of the building for help, and Draco felt pain in his legs.

Then.

He felt something sliding — cold on his legs.

He looked down in horror, noticing how Percy was now holding onto his ankles as if his life depended on it. But that was because Draco’s trousers had slipped down to his ankles and were now falling, while Percy clung to his bare ankles.

“I’m so sorry — I slipped,” he heard Percy say, trying not to look up.

Draco looked up to see the people in the window looking horrified, while some had looked down to see Draco’s underwear, which was a gift from Sally featuring Spider-Man prints.

Some were laughing.

He could see someone pulling out a camera.

“I’m going to murder you when we get out of this,” he promised coldly, and watched Percy shrink.

The window above them finally opened, and to his great surprise, one eye greeted him. Tyson, alongside Mrs Jackson, leaned their bodies out the window to help pull them up. He had no idea what they were doing there, but when they grabbed his hand to help him, Draco simply let them pull him in, relieved to be no longer in the air.

“Why are you in your underwear?” Tyson asked, and Draco simply gave Percy a long look, who only shrank where he stood.

.

.

Mrs Jackson explained, somewhat confusedly, how a dog had appeared and the next thing she knew, she was on the rooftop of this building. Tyson said it was like flying. Meanwhile everyone walked, and Draco simply wore a pair of trousers that one of the members of the office building lent them when they saw him. Nobody asked too many questions about what they were doing there, probably because of Tyson, since nobody could look at him for long before looking away. At the end of the day he wasn’t sure what to make of the death dog — it must have been a monster, but it hadn’t appeared again. They had been taken out of the amusement park, which was actually for the better since Luke had been there. So somehow, except for the death birds.

They were fine.

Tyson and Sally didn’t seem to have been affected.

“Why does he have one eye?” Lavender asked, confused, as they came down from the building. Sally started talking on the phone, looking for Thomas Brown — Lavender’s father.

“Who has one eye?” Percy asked in return, confused, making Draco look at him in disbelief.

Both Lavender and Draco pointed at Tyson. Percy seemed confused before looking up as if it were the first time he had seen Tyson’s face. From the boy’s expression it genuinely seemed to be the first time, and Draco couldn’t understand how that was possible.

Chaos ensued.

“Draco, why did you never say anything?”

“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough not to see it.”

“He’s a Cyclops.”

“A Cyclops?”

“Lavender Brown, not now.”

“Mum, Tyson is a Cyclops.”

Yes.

Everything was chaos now.

.

.

In the end they were all in Mrs Jackson’s flat — Tyson included, Lavender and her father included. Everything seemed a little difficult to explain. Sally took the lead in explaining more about the world of demigods, and when Chiron arrived to see Lavender, he seemed almost thoughtful. Draco wanted to think that Lavender was simply an ordinary witch. He wanted to think that wizards could see through the Mist. But when Chiron used some magical or celestial instrument, drawing a little blood from the finger of a tearful Lavender — as if her body weren’t already full of cuts from those stupid birds.

Something seemed to shift.

Chiron looked thoughtful.

“There is a possibility that Miss Lavender Brown has blood from some minor god. We could go to camp to confirm it,” Chiron said calmly, but Draco only watched Thomas Brown look dismayed.

He claimed to be Lavender’s father, and as Draco well knew, though they weren’t a very prominent family, the Browns were pureblood for now. Chiron tried to explain that it didn’t only occur with a mortal father (he didn’t seem to know about the magical side yet, and Thomas Brown also said nothing, fortunately) and an Olympian god. It could be that Lavender’s blood was that of a demigod through some kind of grandparent. This would explain why, until now, she hadn’t been noticed by mythological creatures.

If Luke went after her.

He must know something.

Then Chiron turned to look at Tyson, who tilted his head, somewhat tearful from everything that had happened, and sighed loudly.

Everyone went to Half-Blood Camp that day. Draco thought it wasn’t a great way to spend his holidays, but it seemed that now Tyson might have a home. Percy explained to Chiron how the boy didn’t have a home and that at camp he could be safer, which wasn’t a lie.

The problem was that Tyson didn’t want to be separated from Percy.

Sally and Thomas couldn’t enter the camp, but when Lavender passed through timidly and everything seemed normal, there must be some demigod blood there. Chiron explained it would be better for the children to spend the rest of the holidays at camp, just to make sure nothing bad was pursuing them (Luke, probably), and Mr Thomas asked to speak with Chiron seriously.

Magic.

Draco swallowed when he saw the adults stay outside the camp and leave them to give a tour to the two new children, who would probably be with them next summer. He had no idea how long Tyson would actually stay.

There weren’t many campers. Draco could see Clarisse around and they quickly avoided her, along with some from the Aphrodite cabin, Hermes, and Hephaestus. There was a girl from Demeter whose name he always forgot.

“It’s not so bad — I’m sure we’ll have a great time next summer,” Percy tried to reassure Tyson, who seemed on the verge of tears about not wanting to be left alone.

He also didn’t know how the other campers would react. Hopefully Chiron would look after Tyson, but even though he loved the centaur, he knew Chiron had more responsibilities than worrying about them.

“I don’t understand — I already have enough problems at Hogwarts,” the curly-haired girl shrieked, looking uncomfortable, but without mentioning she was a witch. Perhaps because she didn’t know if the statute applied to demigods, or simply because she wasn’t as stupid as she seemed. “First the Chamber of Secrets and now this,” she added with a sigh, sitting down on a log by the path.

Percy sat down as Draco did. Tyson dropped to the ground, causing a small tremor that made Draco sigh.

Then he processed her words.

The Chamber of Secrets?

“That’s impossible — my father spoke about that. It’s been closed for years,” Draco murmured with a hand on his chin.

Last time, Hagrid the groundskeeper had been accused. His father wasn’t sure whether that was real or not — he had commented that the man didn’t seem to have the capacity to open a chamber that would harm children of Muggles or half-bloods, but that a mask of idiocy could actually be the perfect camouflage.

He didn’t know Hagrid.

He didn’t care whether he was or wasn’t the one who opened the chamber. He only knew this was interesting — years later, the matter had occurred again.

The Heir of Slytherin.

Who would it be now?

He couldn’t deny it — the idea of seeing children of Muggles die wasn’t as attractive as it might have been a few months ago.

“Well it’s open — the whole school is in panic and everyone thinks Harry Potter opened it.” She was a first-rate gossip, Draco thought in amusement, before furrowing his brow in confusion.

Potter.

As in Harry Potter.

The brat from first year who made his life impossible, broke the rules, and still had everyone applauding him for it — who was friends with a Muggle-born girl and a blood traitor.

Yes.

No.

He didn’t think that if the chamber had been opened, Potter would be behind whatever harm was being done. He was an idiot, but not a murderer.

“Ohhh, Potter,” Percy said, earning confused looks from both wizards. “Draco always talks about this Potter boy. At first I thought he was imagining him, now I think he’s just in love,” he added with amusement, before earning a kick to the ankle that made him yelp in pain.

Lavender seemed to cheer up at that.

“In first year at Hogwarts everyone thought they had something — they said they were enemies, but the girls thought it was cute and a little bit gay,” she said, delighted to be able to gossip with someone. Draco looked at her in complete horror.

“I don’t like Potter,” he said, almost an octave higher from the horror of not only Lavender or Percy thinking that, but apparently other girls whose names he didn’t want to know since they had the most mistaken idea of all.

What — that he liked Potter?

Please.

Draco hated Potter.

Not only had Potter rejected his friendship when they were first-year children, but he was simply a living reminder of the injustice at Hogwarts, where everything simply worked in his favour. Not that it mattered now — Draco had bigger problems than Potter. In fact, he hadn’t thought he mentioned him that much with Percy. He would need to be more careful in future about which words he said or didn’t say to his friend.

The miserable traitor.

Lavender and Percy exchanged looks, which made him flush.

“I’m not bothered by boys — I don’t like boys.” And the thought itself surprised him more than it should have, because he hadn’t really thought about it until that moment. “I repeat — I do not like Harry Potter and I am never going to like him,” he added forcefully, which made both children look at him curiously, before looking at Tyson.

Tyson seemed to have stopped crying to look at him curiously too.

Good. That point had been made clear. He thought it was time to show Lavender the lake — at least, that was what he was thinking before arriving back in the middle of the path to the Hermes cabin, where he would probably have to sleep for the next few days. Something strange happened.

Something appeared above Lavender’s head, which made the girl shriek and try to protect her hair as if she were a daughter of Aphrodite.

She was not.

A symbol that marks someone as a child of the gods — what looked like a torch — appeared above her head just as Chiron was calmly approaching. The centaur stopped, confused, before greeting Lavender.

Daughter and family of Hecate, the goddess of magic.

Draco cursed under his breath.

.

.

He shouldn’t be angry, but somehow he was. There wasn’t much difference. Lavender was sleeping in the Hermes cabin, since there was no Hecate cabin. She slept beside Draco, crying because she hadn’t been able to see her mother these holidays as she had wanted, and Draco simply watched her until she finally settled. Tyson, one bed over, was snoring. Draco only ignored them before stepping out of the cabin and sitting at the first tree he found, burying his face in his hands. Draco went on a mission a few months ago. Fair enough, he wasn’t the best member of the team, but he tried, and his friends assured him he hadn’t done so badly — that in the end he proved to be someone who helps others.

His parents were wonderful.

Lucius and Narcissa had visited him at least 7 times since he moved in with the Jacksons.

They loved him.

They sent letters, they sent sweets, they sent money.

They loved him.

He shouldn’t be upset because his Olympian father wasn’t acknowledging him despite everything he had done, while Lavender — who had been a demigod for barely a few hours — was already recognised by her mother. Though in Greek mythology Hecate wasn’t given as much emphasis, for Draco and other wizards this could be something significant. The very goddess of magic had recognised Lavender as someone of her blood.

It was important.

At least for Draco and others like wizards.

He felt very frustrated.

“I suppose you can’t sleep,” Percy said casually, sitting down beside him, as if it weren’t the middle of the night and he hadn’t left his cabin to look for him.

The bond, Draco thought curiously, but said nothing. Until now the bond had only worked for Draco, but it might be starting to work for Percy too — waking him up through Draco’s quite unpleasant emotions that he couldn’t stop feeling.

Percy seemed to want to transmit peace, but it wasn’t something they had worked on and he didn’t feel it. But he felt his intention.

“The bond…” He didn’t know what to say, but Percy nodded.

“It’s strange — I had never felt it before, but since Lavender was claimed you’ve felt terrible, and it took me a few hours to understand that it wasn’t me feeling that way,” he explained with a concerned grimace, to which Draco groaned.

“I don’t understand. I don’t care about who provided the genetic material — I don’t care… but when Brown was called so easily, I hated it so much. Hecate is a goddess I find remarkable and I thought… it doesn’t matter… I don’t like this,” he said with a huff, to which Percy laughed before nudging his shoulder.

“I couldn’t sleep since I’m not used to sleeping alone — my best friend is missing, so you should come with me.”

“I’m not allowed to go to your cabin.”

“What Chiron doesn’t know won’t bother Chiron.”

It was a terrible idea, but Draco couldn’t help smiling as he followed Percy, who kept talking about a new ice cream flavour they should try when they got home. Percy’s chatter made no sense, but it was like a lullaby that lulled him to sleep.

Both of them shared Percy’s bed. It was something large for the two of them, but feeling his friend’s presence was calming.

He didn’t know if it was the bond speaking, but it settled him.

.

.

Clarisse clearly wouldn’t leave Lavender alone, so she threw her in a rubbish bin. Percy told him he should be a good friend (he didn’t seem to understand that going to the same school didn’t mean being good friends), and when Draco stupidly tried to do something against Clarisse, he ended up in another rubbish bin to his friend’s laughter. Tyson eventually appeared, and Clarisse bothered him too — mocking him. When Percy tried to do something he ended up in a third rubbish bin. Silena, the daughter of Aphrodite, was the one who took pity on them and sent Clarisse away, winking at him in amusement. Draco just took his second shower of the day.

Percy spent the rest of the day trying to teach Tyson how to fish, while Draco went to the strawberry fields with Lavender to explain how it was done.

Not that he liked it — he still preferred Will — but Draco had learned a few things and was concentrated picking a strawberry.

“They don’t know about Hogwarts?” Lavender had whispered, worried, looking around in all directions with many doubts.

So he hadn’t been wrong.

Lavender’s parents and Lavender herself seemed uncertain about whether talking about Hogwarts magic or wizards in England would violate the Statute of Secrecy. Draco had the suspicion that at least some high-ranking wizards here in the United States must know something — it was impossible for them not to be able to see mythological monsters when they theoretically had wizard blood.

But these were only theories.

“My mother says no, and you shouldn’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“If it weren’t for Pansy, you’d be the worst gossip in Hogwarts first year, Lavender Brown.”

Lavender seemed affected by his words. She pouted and looked visibly hurt, as if it weren’t common knowledge that the first (now second) year girl at Hogwarts enjoyed gossip with her best friend Parvati Patil. If he remembered correctly, the Patil twin ended up in Ravenclaw, being shyer than her extroverted sister. But even though he didn’t like keeping up with first-year Hogwarts gossip, he had done so at least among the purebloods, since his father always reminded him of the importance of connections.

It was strange talking to someone from Hogwarts.

This year he wasn’t going to Hogwarts — classes had already started — but here was gossip-Lavender, and he hadn’t asked her anything about school. He only hoped she wouldn’t say anything about him. He had a reputation to maintain.

“I heard rumours about you,” Lavender said, and Draco hated how his gaze moved curiously to her. She smiled as if she were winning. “Well… at first everyone thought you’d gone to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons until…” And then she went quiet, seeming embarrassed.

It took a moment to process why she would be embarrassed, but something fell in his head, figuratively speaking.

He pressed both hands against his tired face.

Not surprised.

A little irritated.

But above all tired.

“You said you saw me in the summer here,” he growled, now looking annoyed, which made Lavender shrink slightly where she was.

“I didn’t say much — I doubted anyone would believe me if I said I saw Draco Malfoy in the middle of a Muggle street, in Muggle clothes, acting in a… Muggle way?”

“I was in the middle of a mission. Believe me, when you come back next summer, you won’t want one — no matter what others tell you.”

“Well, now they think you went to Ilvermorny, though it was a bit hard to believe. Especially the Slytherins weren’t happy about it. The two boys who always went with you seem lost this year, though now they hang around with Zabini and Nott.” Well, she really was a good gossip, but he wasn’t going to judge his current source of information. He thought of Gregory and Vincent — they weren’t his friends, but they were a constant. “Not that it matters so much now with the Chamber of Secrets — you went out of fashion pretty quickly.”

“I feel offended by that.” Lavender shrugged and Draco only huffed. “Well, Miss Gossip, I hope you don’t say anything now — not that I live with Muggles, not the part about gods, nor anything that happened this summer… I doubt anyone would believe you anyway,” he added with a touch of spite that made her sigh somewhat dramatically before pulling at some of the grass on the ground with irritation.

“I know.”

“Good — just keep your mouth shut. You opened it once and I’m kindly letting it pass. Don’t make a mistake a second time or I won’t be so lenient.”

He hoped to be firm enough, but Lavender only looked at him steadily before settling more comfortably on the ground, her hands over her knees pulled to her body and her head resting on them.

“You’ve changed,” she noted, and Draco had a small moment of panic thinking about that.

He knew.

He wasn’t the same person who arrived a few months ago at the entrance of Half-Blood Camp, terrified of a Fury attack or whatever that creature was, not really knowing anything about the world. He hadn’t spent horrible months in the middle of a mission with Percy and the others.

Seeing the world.

Seeing the Underworld (which he didn’t recommend).

Being destroyed in some of his beliefs and rebuilding himself on his own.

“I know.” That was all he said as he placed another strawberry in the basket.

Lavender tilted her head slightly.

“You’re still you — at least quite annoying when you’re not near Percy — but you’ve also changed. Nobody would believe me if I said I saw you on the ground in dirty trousers picking strawberries,” she whispered, almost amused, and Draco made a dramatic gesture.

He still didn’t enjoy doing this kind of plebeian task, but it wasn’t so bad. At home with the Jacksons he realised that Percy was quite self-sufficient (something he hadn’t thought of him), knew how to make basic food, helped wash the clothes, and usually cleaned to ease his mother’s workload. Draco was a disaster at first and still couldn’t go near the kitchen, but there was something about doing things the Muggle way — helping with cleaning that started out as torture and was now almost relaxing.

Not thinking too hard, performing a repetitive action.

Being a Muggle wasn’t so bad.

When that thought ran through his mind, he knew he had changed enormously from last year — so much that even girls like Lavender could notice.

Going back to Hogwarts next year didn’t sound so tempting, really.

“Percy is my best friend — he brings out the best in me, even if he’s an idiot.” He smiled without being able to help it, before his expression became somewhat tense. “The Slytherins aren’t exactly my friends — they were children of families that gathered with mine and… well, now I have real friends.” Curious. Really curious.

Lavender hummed a small affirmation.

Not in all his years had he thought he would be here, in a strawberry field, talking to Lavender Brown about Muggle friends.

Life must enjoy his current state.

“This place isn’t so bad.”

“Wait until summer — some lunatic will probably try to destroy the world again.”

“You know, that sounds like Harry — bad things always happen to him.”

“Take that back.”

When Percy arrived, Lavender shrieked and hid behind him, because Draco was going to murder her unless she took back that he was similar to that idiot Potter. Percy told Lavender that Draco was sensitive about his crush.

Now he needed to hide two bodies.

.

.

Lavender was the most insufferable girl he knew — which included Granger… and Pansy, which was saying something. She complained about everything, didn’t know how to work, and cried when she broke a nail. When Draco pointed this out to Percy, Percy looked at him as if he were a poor idiot and called him a hypocrite. Draco really wasn’t much better than before when it came to the manual tasks of camp, but there was a slight satisfaction in being better at something than a newcomer. As if he had finally moved up a step in demigod society — as if he had managed to advance in some way.

He was still an irritable brat, Percy said.

Draco noted that Percy’s comment was unnecessary.

But it was wonderful for once to be the one who was morally superior. He felt big and powerful, which was why Clarisse didn’t hesitate to throw him in the rubbish bin, making everyone laugh. After the humiliation they went to the training field. Since a week was far too little time to teach Lavender anything, they had limited themselves to giving her a dagger for personal defence.

He doubted anything would attack at Hogwarts.

Well.

Not really, but he doubted any monster would manage to attack her, and so a godly iron dagger could help. Chiron, taking advantage of the small number of campers, was able to train a little with her, which Draco, Percy, and Tyson took advantage of for their own questions. Chiron had kindly praised how much Draco had improved with the spear, to which Draco became smug, though Percy seemed much more skilled with the sword, and Tyson himself seemed to be searching for a weapon that suited him.

It was a little complicated.

Cyclopes were known for their skill at creating weapons, not using them, so Chiron had given him an enormous mace that on more than one occasion almost crushed them, and Tyson seemed amused. They doubted Tyson’s age given his height was contradictory to it, but as long as he didn’t accidentally kill anyone, everything would be fine.

The few campers weren’t happy about the Cyclops, but with Percy, Draco, and Lavender, he wasn’t alone.

The Cyclops seemed a little excited about Lavender, who, despite being a little insufferable, seemed noble toward the giant since both of them were new.

“I get it — the new kids have to stick together,” Percy had joked, putting an arm around their shoulders, which made Draco also look at them with superiority.

Lavender didn’t look thrilled.

When the week ended, the girl said a timid goodbye to Draco and the others, promising not to say anything about him when she went back to Hogwarts. She seemed surprised at the idea of him coming back the following year, and Draco also found himself curious about that — she was a Gryffindor, she would get along with a Gryffindor.

Being a demigod was truly madness.

It had made him do things he never thought he would do.

.

.

Going home was wonderful. Draco was surprised to find the small Jackson family flat as a home. The best part was leaving Tyson with supervision. He didn’t go to the Jackson family home — instead one of Lavender’s uncles, who had been contacted by her father, had offered Tyson a room. Draco had his doubts, but since it was a non-magical family (a Squib) they had protections in their home that could ward off any monster that went to attack him. Sally had hugged them both warmly when they arrived and mentioned an owl that seemed to be waiting for Draco — which meant his parents would be worried — and he didn’t take long to use Iris messaging.

It was much faster for communication.

His mother seemed a little worried to hear that he had gone back to camp for a week and hadn’t been in touch for Christmas.

But he managed to do damage control.

Meaning: they weren’t going to come and take him away to hide him somewhere else.

Miraculously he was able to spend New Year’s at the Jacksons’. It was the first time he hadn’t spent it with his parents, and it was a little strange, but not entirely bad. Sally made a lot of food (mostly blue), her famous seven-chilli dish, put together a kind of party among the three of them, and Draco felt happy. There was no end-of-year party in a manor, no traditions to follow — only a group of three people playing board games, eating, laughing, and telling embarrassing stories.

When midnight came, the first thing he did was kiss both Sally and Percy on the cheek. The first laughed in delight, and the second only pushed him away with a red face, at which Draco mocked him, earning a bit of cake in his face.

They watched the fireworks from the building rooftop, and Draco thought that Muggles really could do magic.

Because everything was beautiful.

He felt very torn, because a few months ago this place would have been the worst torture for him, but now he found himself here, enjoying this life that should be a mistake.

“I bet in England they don’t celebrate as much as here,” Percy had joked in the middle of the fireworks, at which Draco turned to look at him.

It was strange.

Percy with an amused smile, his face bathed in the light of the fireworks, made something in Draco’s chest tighten uncomfortably — like something that shouldn’t be there. He couldn’t help thinking that in the night he looked a lot like Harry Potter, though of course he would never get along with Potter, and Percy was without doubt a much more pleasant person.

Cute, he thought distractedly.

Percy Jackson really was cute.

A somewhat terrifying thought, though he thought of his mother saying a few months ago about his childhood crush on Hercules or Potter (the story of the boy who lived — the real Potter was awful), or how everyone thought he liked Harry Potter.

Was this feeling normal?

Draco didn’t understand it.

Only that everything seemed new. Perhaps it was common to see your best friends this way — he had thought something similar about Blaise when they started at Hogwarts last year, though he had never shown it outwardly. He doubted he would this time either. Perhaps it was common to think your best friend was attractive. After all, he was the person he spent the most time with, and he was pleasant.

Confused thoughts and feelings — Draco pushed them away with no interest in going any further.

“Well, it’s certainly much more fun here and with better company,” he said with an amused smile, which made Percy’s widen before he went back to watching the fireworks.

Draco watched him a little longer, before looking back at the night sky.

It was a beautiful night to be alive.

.

.

It was when they went to sleep that night that Draco thought a good day couldn’t end badly, but Percy Jackson was truly an expert at ruining some things. Draco was certain he had been about to fall asleep from exhaustion when the murmur of his friend somehow reached him, freezing him where he lay.

“What’s Hogwarts?” That innocent question was what sent cold through Draco’s entire body, freezing him in place. “It’s strange — I wasn’t near you, but sometimes it was as if I could hear your voice in my ear, but you weren’t there. You were talking about things I didn’t understand. If you don’t want to talk about it, I can pretend I didn’t hear anything.”

Percy was kind.

Perhaps too kind, and stupidly loyal.

He thought about pretending to be asleep. He knew Percy well enough to know that if he did, tomorrow Percy would pretend nothing had happened.

Had he heard the conversation?

There was no way it was possible — he had always spoken to Lavender when they were alone. But perhaps the bond meant more than he had expected. Until now it had only seemed to affect Draco, but maybe he wasn’t the only one who could be affected if what Percy said was true.

In the future that could get worse.

The best thing would be to tell him the truth now, or make him promise not to speak of the subject and leave it in the eternal void.

Only doubts without answers.

He thought about it for a long time, but Percy said nothing more. Through the bond he could feel a little resignation mixed with sadness — as if not being told the truth made him sad. Until now Percy had grown up with many things hidden from him, just like Draco, so he understood the feeling of being kept in the shadows. And so he made a decision.

He got out of bed and climbed down from the bunk. Percy wasn’t asleep — he opened his eyes a little when Draco got into his bed and sat down. His friend quickly sat up in front of him, looking somewhat anxious.

“What I’m about to tell you, you must swear never to tell anyone or we’ll both be in trouble — not Grover, not Annabeth, not your mother… no one.” There was seriousness in his voice, not knowing whether what he was about to reveal — which was forbidden in the wizarding world — could be a good thing.

Or a bad one.

He would doubt anyone else. He wouldn’t tell anyone. But through the bond he felt Percy’s trust and certainty as if they were his own.

“I promise.” It was an oath — he could see it in his eyes. Percy would not let him down.

He simply knew it.

Draco took a breath before nodding with the last ounce of resolve he had left.

“I’m a wizard.” He began the start of a story, making Percy’s eyes open wide in surprise.

It was still a very long night and there was a great deal to cover, but Percy, to the surprise of them both, managed to stay quiet and listen until the end.

Until dawn.

To be continued…

Notes from the author:

It’s curious — when I was thinking about which member of the wizarding world would also have divine blood, I don’t understand why I chose Lavender. I had read a story where she was friends with Draco and the interaction between the two seemed interesting, so it stayed in my mind and here is the birth of the idea.

I also always thought that, even though Draco tries to hide the wizarding world from Percy and the others, Percy would be the first to find out about Draco’s true nature, because they’re best friends. These chapters are a little enchanting in showing how Draco starts to develop a crush on Percy, but curiously whenever he has those thoughts, he gets Percy and Harry a little mixed up — an interesting detail for the future.

It makes me laugh, the stories of his friendships — how at some point he always had a kind of crush on his best friends. Something like that is how it happens with Draco.

It’s lovely to see Draco and the Jacksons.

Next chapter we’ll start with the second Percy Jackson book. When that story is finished, the first arc of this story will probably be over.

In the future I’d like to do a small interlude with some characters’ points of view — especially Harry’s perspective on not seeing Draco in second year, and also Draco’s parents.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Percy dreams of Grover dressed as a bride, Draco doesn’t understand how he envies that.

Draco supposes that now that he’s Percy’s friend, he’s never going to have another normal summer in his life.

.

Draco’s nightmare begins like this:

.

Draco can feel a voice in the distance. It’s a little curious to know that you’re dreaming — to be aware that in the middle of this dark place nothing bad can really happen to you. Or so he wants to think. His whole body feels alert for some reason, as if he shouldn’t be here. Not that he knows anyone who enjoys being in the middle of a completely black place where there seems to be no end in any direction.

Walking wasn’t exactly an option.

He felt that walking led nowhere, because he couldn’t see anything apart from his own body, which curiously was wearing the same pyjamas he remembered going to sleep in.

“You shouldn’t exist.”

The voice seemed to reverberate everywhere. Draco shuddered for some reason before turning as if expecting someone to appear, but there was only eternal darkness in every direction.

Warm words, he thought sarcastically. Just what every child would love to hear.

“Who’s there?” That was Draco’s question, because being unable to see anything left few other options for understanding what was happening.

There were footsteps. Draco regretted having no weapon here to try to defend himself with.

Then for a second he could see a figure that seemed to be made of ash and smoke, appearing to be more than ten metres tall. Her dress was of an empty black, mixed with the colours of a space nebula, as if galaxies were being born in her bodice. Her face was difficult to see, except for the points of her eyes, which shone like quasars. She had a pair of wings that, when she beat them, sent waves of darkness spreading outward, and she carried a whip made of stars.

It was like looking at one of the galaxies he had seen at school with Percy.

It was terrifying.

Like seeing Hades.

But worse.

Draco shuddered.

He wanted to run, but his feet felt like jelly and he couldn’t move. He hated not being Percy, who would probably have an assertive response to any problem. Draco was quite fearful compared to his friend.

He hated feeling like that.

“You are a mistake, Draco Malfoy — a mistake of this universe that disrupts the balance. Just like your father, you should never have existed. I can’t wait for you to come to me and have all your bonds broken, to make you pay.”

The voice reverberated everywhere and Draco fell onto his back, as if the floor had ceased to exist, watching while he fell into the void as the galaxy woman seemed to look at him with revulsion, wishing for his death in a way so dark that it made his body convulse.

.

He woke with a gasp, sitting up in his bed with a face as pale as it was sweaty. He took a moment to calm his breathing before recognising that he was in the Jackson family flat, which had been his home for the past few months. He fell back onto his bed before leaning over the edge of the bunk, noticing how Percy also seemed to be sleeping somewhat restlessly — but completely dead to the world.

He envied him for that.

Draco spent a few minutes looking at the ceiling of the room before jumping down from the bunk.

It was his last day of classes.

While he hadn’t initially thought he would last a year in the Muggle world, the truth was that Draco had done quite well. The following week he would probably go to Half-Blood Camp before returning to London for his third year at Hogwarts.

That didn’t seem very interesting to him.

Part of Draco didn’t want to leave. He had gotten used to this life and didn’t want to give it up — call him selfish. Every time his parents sent letters or spoke via Iris message (something that seemed to surprise them every time, despite being wizards), they talked excitedly about how after months the runes had finally been restored and new ones obtained, ensuring no intrusion like the one a year ago. Draco had to pretend to be excited about going back to Hogwarts.

He really missed his parents, but it was hard to think about going back to the magic school.

Something he had loved when he was younger seemed so boring now. When he was five, the idea of being a wizard like his parents was fascinating, but not anymore. Being a demigod and knowing more of this world was his interest now.

His tutor Amos had been teaching him for the past year to use wandless magic, which initially had been a disaster (occasionally it was still terrible when he summoned things he wasn’t supposed to) but now he was quite competent at things that weren’t part of the Hogwarts curriculum. Amos was teaching him not just secret magic, but magic he could use in battle, and as a demigod he couldn’t help being tempted to lean into this kind of magic.

Hogwarts wasn’t the best institution. Apart from his godfather Snape, most of the professors taught them boring things.

Amos was far more interesting — a little extravagant and always seeming worried about his brother who was never nearby and whom Draco had never met. But a much better teacher than any he had in his first year at Hogwarts.

Wandless magic.

Without doubt the best magic.

It made Draco feel free. Since his mother had had to take his wand, he was now accustomed to simple and somewhat complex spells using just his hands — primitive magic.

Though Amos indicated it was more common to use wands, even for Egyptians, Draco accepted the challenge of magic without one.

“Good morning, sweetheart — I hope you’re excited for the last day of classes,” Sally Jackson said radiantly when he arrived in the kitchen. Draco accepted her breakfast with a smile.

Percy, a lover of blue food, always received this from his mother, but Draco had complained, saying he preferred green-coloured food, which was considerably easier to find than blue food. Sally had laughed at that and found green food colouring shortly after, making blue food for Percy and green food for Draco. She also always got him green apples because she knew he loved them.

How could you not love this woman?

“Percy is still asleep,” Draco said after sitting at the breakfast bar with his plate of green pancakes, enjoying a nutritious drink.

He always woke up early unlike Percy. Sally made a face, whispering about her sleepy son, and Draco simply continued with his thoughts.

Percy was… Percy.

His best friend.

The whole past year had been madness. After New Year’s, Draco had told Percy everything — and when he said everything, he meant everything. The Decree of Secrecy meant Draco shouldn’t speak about the wizarding world with people outside it. Percy Jackson, despite being a demigod, shouldn’t know anything about magic — both worlds should be separate, his mother had said. But thanks to the bond between them, Draco thought it would be best to communicate the truth.

Percy had been surprised, but accepted everything with relative ease when Draco performed a little magic in front of him.

Apparently nothing could truly surprise you after finding out you’re the son of an Olympian and fighting a Minotaur on the same day.

Draco was caught by that argument.

The lack of reaction was a little disappointing, but Draco couldn’t worry too much about it.

In general nothing bad had happened, since the wizarding world and that of Olympus seemed to be properly separate. Any broken law didn’t seem to have included children of gods — he supposed it must be because of Hecate, who formed an important part of both worlds. Draco felt good about his best friend now being a complete part of his world — a small (large) secret shared by both of them to better strengthen the bond.

Of course nobody else could know.

It would be dangerous.

His mother had warned him about that. Draco hated himself for having in some way betrayed his mother’s trust, but he couldn’t exactly keep many secrets from Percy with the bond, so he would make sure not to have to tell his secret to anyone else.

You shouldn’t exist.

Those words from his dream made him think a little about Hades.

A wizard and an Olympian couldn’t be together, unless it was Hecate. But it seemed his Olympian father wasn’t the goddess of magic.

He feared that in the future that could be a problem.

When Percy appeared they were all able to eat some of the blue and green waffles. Draco noticed that Percy seemed almost as thoughtful as he was. He wanted to ask him about it, but the nervous look on Sally’s face made him narrow his eyes.

She was hiding something.

“Are you alright, Percy?” Sally’s question threw him slightly off balance before he chewed and looked curiously at his friend.

“Yes… perfect.”

Sally dried her hands and sat down in front of them.

“Is it school, or is it…?” Some part of the mythological world that always seemed to be lurking behind them, even when they escaped.

Yes.

Draco would like to say he had a normal life, but that would be a lie.

“I think Grover’s in trouble,” Percy said, making Draco spit out part of his food before the boy began to recount a dream.

Well, it was an abnormal dream.

Even so, Draco envied him a little remembering his own dream, which for some reason he didn’t want to share.

It wasn’t the right moment.

“I wouldn’t worry, sweetheart,” Sally said, looking tense. She didn’t usually enjoy talking much about the kind of things that could get someone killed. “Grover is already a grown satyr — if there were any problem, I’m sure they would have let us know from camp…” Draco thought she seemed to tense her shoulders when she said that last word.

“What’s wrong?” Percy asked.

Draco kept chewing his food a little.

“Nothing. You know what we’re going to do? This afternoon we’re going to celebrate the end of term. I’ll take you, Tyson, and Draco to the Rockefeller Center — to that skateboarding shop you both like so much.”

That sounded like music to his ears.

It was a very exciting place, even when Percy had had to help him learn to skate, and it was very different from Quidditch. Draco enjoyed the place. Tyson, who was still living with the Brown family, seemed in a much better state than when they had met a few months ago living on the street.

“Hold on,” Percy said. “I thought this afternoon we were going to pack our bags for camp.”

She started wringing the cloth she had in her hands.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s just that… last night I got a message from Chiron.”

That wasn’t good news.

Chiron was the activities director of Half-Blood Camp, and he wouldn’t have gotten in touch with them unless something very serious had happened.

“What did he say?”

“He thinks that… going to camp right now could be dangerous for you. We might have to postpone it.”

“Postpone it? But how can it be dangerous, Mum? I’m a half-blood! It’s the only safe place in the world for someone like me.”

“Normally yes, sweetheart. But with the problems we have now…”

“What problems?”

“I’m sorry, Percy. I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you this afternoon, but right now I can’t fully explain it. I’m not even sure Chiron would be able to. It all happened so suddenly…”

Draco was incredulous. His parents had spoken to him the previous night about camp, about how everything was ready as always, and Draco hadn’t wanted to know how regularly his mother spoke with Chiron.

Percy had overheard them.

He turned to look at him.

Draco shrank a little.

“Draco is going,” Percy said — not as a question but as a statement, and Draco didn’t know how to answer.

“Yes.” That was all Sally said, making Percy stand up angrily before heading toward the door.

Right.

Damn.

.

.

Despite looking clearly annoyed, Percy waited for him at the building exit. Draco passed him the backpack he had left behind as they began to walk. They had to take the number 2 train — he felt proud of knowing that after just a few months living in the Muggle world. He might sometimes make a small mistake about it, but the truth was he could now pass for a Muggle, which was charming. Percy would need to be there to help him most of the time, but he had walked into a Taco Bell once and placed his order — something he was proud of.

Of course, fast food wasn’t as good as the food at his manor.

But there was something addictive about pizza.

“I’m sure everything will sort itself out,” Draco tried to placate him, but from the way Percy pouted, he supposed it wouldn’t be easy.

“Just shut up.”

Draco took advantage of a moment when they passed a drinks machine (he always felt proud of having mastered the use of such food machines that apparently didn’t want to murder you), getting a cherry Coca-Cola that Percy accepted grudgingly while they waited for the train, and Draco took his Dr Pepper.

The day would be quite long, but setting aside the strange dreams from both of them, it started in a normal way — or at least as normal as things could be at Meriwether Preparatory School. You know, that “progressive” school in the middle of Manhattan, which meant they sat on large beanbags rather than desks, received no grades, and had teachers in jeans and rock t-shirts, which seemed great.

Percy enjoyed the rock genre quite a bit, which was funny, because Draco was sometimes a great defender of Taylor Swift. It wasn’t his fault that the first musical genre presented to him apart from classical music was the beautiful blonde girl who sang like a god.

She had to be a daughter of Apollo.

He was certain of it.

Draco suffered from ADHD — Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder — according to the Muggles, and was also dyslexic, like most half-bloods. Fortunately, his mother always sent him enchanted lenses so he could read, which made Percy bother him until they gave Percy a pair too. Made with special runes and custom-fitted, both of them could read books without difficulty.

Percy was still a terrible student for the most part.

But Draco stood out considerably even among Muggles.

Ironic.

The only bad thing about Meriwether was that the teachers always focused on the brighter and more positive side of things. While the students… well, they weren’t always quite so bright.

Take the first class of that day, English. The whole school had read a book called The Lord of the Flies, in which a group of boys get stranded on an island and end up going mad. So as a final exam, the teachers sent them out to the playground and left them there for an hour without any adult supervision to see what happened. What happened was that a slapping competition broke out between the seventh and eighth graders, along with two rock-throwing fights and a basketball game with rugby tackles. The school bully, Matt Sloan, directed most of the warlike activities.

Sloan wasn’t particularly big or strong, but he acted as if he were. He had rabid-dog eyes and dark dishevelled hair. He always wore expensive but very careless clothes, as if he wanted to show everyone that his family’s money meant nothing to him. One of his incisors had been chipped since the day he drove his father’s Porsche without permission for a joyride and crashed into a “CAUTION: CHILDREN — SLOW DOWN” sign.

As much as Draco hated to admit it, he could see how Sloan resembled somewhat how Draco himself had been in his first year at Hogwarts.

That was probably why Sloan didn’t hate him — much to Percy’s disbelief. Draco actually knew how to handle the bully.

“Hey Draco,” Sloan greeted as he passed, conspicuously shoving Percy, who complained and made Draco sigh.

He had tried, but despite having spoken to the boy, Sloan didn’t seem willing to stop bothering Percy, or worse, Tyson.

“Matt, slow down.” That was all he said, but the boy laughed before continuing on his way.

Percy grumbled that he didn’t understand how Draco could be popular, and instead settled for ignoring it to jot down some things. Since the classes were so simple, he was using all his free time for his assignments for next year at Hogwarts.

Amos had done his practical exams, indicating he was ready, but even so he would have to leave a week before third year at Hogwarts began to sit the second-year exams, which would give the professors an indicator of his academic level.

Tyson came over to them looking excited. Percy gave him a high five.

Draco sidestepped Jennifer’s dreamy look — she was the popular girl in the class who seemed excited about going out with Draco for some reason. Percy would say that being blond, English, and having that stupid accent was enough to captivate a brainless girl. Draco wanted to point out that at least Jennifer had good taste.

The only problem was that Draco didn’t like her.

It wasn’t even because she was a Muggle — he simply wasn’t attracted to her at all.

When the hour ended, the English teacher, Mr De Milo, came out to inspect the results of the carnage. He declared that they had understood The Lord of the Flies perfectly. They all passed. And never, he said, never should they become violent people. Matt Sloan nodded seriously and then flashed Percy a mocking grin with his chipped tooth.

To stop him from sobbing, Percy had to promise Tyson he would buy him an extra peanut butter sandwich at lunchtime.

“Am I… a monster?” He seemed convinced of it.

Even at Half-Blood Camp, Tyson stood out in ways other children didn’t.

“No,” Percy said, gritting his teeth. “The only monster here is Matt Sloan.”

Tyson sniffled.

Draco only sighed, thinking that in this case, Percy would probably think first-year Draco had been a monster too.

Maybe he would get along well with Potter.

He hated that thought.

As if Percy and Potter couldn’t exist in the same space — after all, Potter had made it clear what he thought of Draco, and on the other hand Percy was somehow his.

His best friend.

They would never be together in the same world. There was no reason or force that would unite them, since both pantheons were separate.

Right?

.

.

After the science and social studies exam — where Percy had a photo of Annabeth that earned a little mockery from Draco every time he took it out or spoke privately with the girl in his room — Percy headed to gym class with Tyson. Draco had long since managed to swap the boring gym classes for a music elective, which wasn’t surprising since he had learned from his mother to play piano and violin since childhood.

Percy and Draco had spent a long time wondering about being a son of Apollo, but Apollo had never claimed him and seemed to be one of the few gods who claimed his children easily.

So no.

Draco’s talent for both instruments was entirely his own.

Thank you very much.

Jennifer, to his misfortune, was good at the transverse flute and so also took part in the school music classes. There was a band which Draco had narrowly escaped being part of, but in general he helped a little with the violin in exchange for skipping his gym classes.

“Maybe we should do a duet,” Jennifer said, moving her long brown eyebrows the same colour as the rest of her long hair. She had eyes almost the colour of amber, and in general was the typical girl who usually bothered Percy.

He wondered why she didn’t bother him instead.

At least as a result of his friendship with Percy.

Draco often spoke on his friend’s behalf, but Percy seemed convinced he could handle it himself, so Draco only took a step back and let him get into trouble. Percy might have his own fights, but that didn’t mean Draco had to like people such as Jennifer or Matt, who seemed delighted with him.

If only Half-Blood Camp were like that.

Clarisse was dreadful.

“I’m not interested,” he said as he began tuning the school violin. He would have liked to bring his own, but it was in the middle of Malfoy Manor for now.

Jennifer pouted — she didn’t look half as nice as Percy.

“You shouldn’t always hang around with that Jackson boy and the big guy. I’ve told you all year you can sit next to me.”

“I’m not interested.”

Jennifer crossed her arms when the music teacher appeared, wearing a t-shirt from some rock band Percy would like. A few students were absent, so Draco simply practised some pieces, almost bored, while Jennifer kept trying to get his attention without apparent success.

There was a break while Draco began to feel restless.

Not him.

Percy.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

What was happening?

“You know, Samantha said she would start a rumour.” Jennifer didn’t seem to tire, but Draco was trying to work out what was happening with Percy to make him so restless. “She says you like that Jackson boy — that you actually like boys,” she added with an arrogant look, as if she were tired of being rejected.

He stopped paying attention to Percy, who was growing more and more restless, and turned to look at Jennifer.

Wait.

“What do you mean?” he asked in disbelief, but Jennifer raised her chin slightly, almost hurt.

“I thought it was ridiculous — you’re the most popular boy. But you’re always with Jackson and you blush sometimes when you talk to him. You never look at me, when I’m the most popular girl in our year.”

Ridiculous and annoying.

Draco took a breath and counted to ten.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t like you. Just because everyone else likes you doesn’t mean I’m the same,” he growled in irritation, and Jennifer seemed hurt.

“So you’re saying you don’t like Jackson.” She was challenging him.

He should say: no, I don’t like Percy Jackson, and he’s my best friend.

But something caught in his throat before he could say it.

It wasn’t that it was a bad thing. He had a small crush on Percy — there was nothing wrong with that. He had had a massive crush on Blaise in his first year at Hogwarts and that hadn’t meant anything. Draco hadn’t done anything strange about it — he had simply admired the dark-haired boy beside him and they had simply been friends. It was normal to feel a little fondness for the people close to you who were also attractive. That didn’t mean it was anything bad.

He also didn’t have to fall for this girl just because she was resentful that he didn’t see her the way others did.

Was there something wrong with not having liked any girl until now?

No.

Maybe.

It was clear he would eventually have to marry a girl — he was the Malfoy heir, and as heir he had responsibilities. He simply hadn’t thought about looking at any girl, because his parents would probably end up choosing his betrothed. This was the norm among purebloods. In fact, in his first year, in Slytherin everyone was accustomed to it, and even some older students already had their betrotheds selected.

It also wasn’t abnormal for men to attract him a little.

In Greek mythology this kind of thing had always been common. Draco simply hadn’t paid attention to it.

But seeing Jennifer looking at him with near-tearful eyes, while he tried to think whether any girl had ever appealed to him, he began to feel a little restless. Maybe it was normal not to be attracted to girls. It was normal for boys to find girls annoying — though at almost 13 years old that might change.

Percy had been interested in Annabeth almost immediately.

That had only seemed irritating to him, but fine.

Right?

“I…” He wasn’t sure he could say anything in his defence, but a sound of an explosion made him jump in alarm, along with Percy’s panic flooding through the bond.

“What was that?” Jennifer said, confused, but Draco ignored her before running out.

Damn it.

Seriously, Jackson.

One quiet day — just one, at the end of the year — was all he asked for.

People were screaming, there was smoke and fire that nobody seemed to see, and Draco supposed this was how his school year would end. Tyson was on the ground looking exhausted, Percy was on the ground, and Annabeth seemed to have appeared from nowhere. She turned to look at him with an amused smile, a tattered backpack over her shoulder.

“Hello, bleached blond.” It was a jab — one that Draco wouldn’t accept from anyone who wasn’t his friend.

Annabeth was.

“Peroxide blond.” That was all he said, glad to see her again.

Though looking at the disaster in this place, he supposed the gladness wouldn’t last long for now. Time to run.

As always.

.

.

There was chaos at the place. Annabeth seemed to know something about Tyson, but she wasn’t fully comfortable — the looks she was giving him were of total distrust, even worse than the ones Draco had received the first time they met. Percy seemed to be trying to convince her he was a good person, but Annabeth seemed like a rabid dog, which made Draco side against her during the journey. Percy seemed sad about it.

Annabeth seemed worried about Percy’s dreams involving Grover and it would have been a great moment to mention his own dreams, but for some reason he couldn’t.

Because the camp seemed to be in danger.

“Camp,” she finally said. “There are serious problems at camp.”

“My mother told me the same thing! But what kind of problems?”

“I don’t know exactly, but something is wrong. We have to get there as soon as possible. Since I left Virginia, monsters have been chasing me trying to stop me. Have you had many attacks?”

Draco and Percy exchanged a look, remembering what had happened during the Christmas holidays.

“Just one.”

“Just one? But how…?” She turned toward Tyson. “Ah.”

“What does ‘ah’ mean?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she apparently thought it was better to travel in the taxi of doom. Draco wanted to point out the equivalent of the Knight Bus, but he couldn’t, since it was only for wizards — and he didn’t have his wand.

They were travelling in what was a taxi, fine, but unlike any other New York taxi it wasn’t yellow but a smoky grey. It looked as though it were made of smoke, as if you could pass through it. There were some words written on the door — something like HREMNAS SIGRS. The copilot’s window glass went down and an old woman stuck her head out. Greyish tangles of hair covered her eyes. She spoke strangely, mumbling between her teeth, as if she had just been given a shot of novocaine.

They didn’t want to take Tyson, but thanks to a little bribery and the wonderful language of money, it was much easier.

The inside was also smoky grey, but it seemed fairly solid. The seat was cracked and lumpy, so it wasn’t very different from most taxis. There was no plexiglass panel separating them from the three old women. Three of them were crammed into the front seat, each with greasy hair covering her eyes, with gnarled hands and dresses of grey sackcloth.

“Long Island!” said the one who was driving. “Bonus for travelling outside the metropolitan area! Ha!”

She pressed the accelerator and he watched Percy hit his head against the seat back. Through the speakers came a recorded voice:

“Hi, I’m Ganymede, cupbearer to Zeus, and when I go out to buy wine for the Lord of the Heavens, I always buckle my seatbelt!”

The journey was chaos.

Percy convinced the old women to tell him something.

Tyson vomited on Draco.

Yes.

He would never travel in this transport again. The three ladies simply ignored him as if he didn’t exist.

.

.

After escaping from a herd of bulls — because Draco definitely needed to escape from a patrol with vomit on his clothes, in addition to planning Tyson’s murder — they arrived at camp. Setting aside the fact that they had to help Clarisse, that Draco now had a cut on his arm from the bull fight, and that apparently there was a new activities director.

Tantalus.

And that Chiron had been dismissed.

Damn.

Additionally, the Half-Blood Camp tree — the one that had belonged to Thalia, one of Zeus’s daughters, who, as they knew, shouldn’t exist just like Percy — was being poisoned.

Damn times two. That phrase was one Percy had taught him, and it couldn’t feel more fitting at this moment.

.

.

Going back to the Hermes cabin wasn’t so bad — it was a little like going back to the Jackson family flat. It was a little like going home. After Luke’s obvious betrayal there was now another cabin leader. He didn’t know if it was Chiron’s idea, but seeing the Stoll brothers as leaders was a little unsettling. It was like seeing the Weasley twins, but worse. Some campers hadn’t come back this year, so when a bed was assigned to him, Draco found himself slightly surprised. The boy next to him was Cecil Markowitz, who was the same age as Will, and on several occasions last summer he had seen them together.

He said hello.

Draco gave him an indifferent nod.

According to what he had heard from Percy, who had gone to speak with Chiron, they would send the bags at some point — and it wasn’t as if he had never unfortunately worn used clothes from this place before. He wanted to speak with Chiron, but apart from a brief farewell, he was accosted by someone else.

Lavender.

The girl was also in the Hermes cabin, but more because of the lack of a Hecate cabin than any lack of claiming. Since there were still some spaces, the girl had gotten a bed above his and enthusiastically introduced a friend she had made before Draco arrived.

Lou Ellen.

With black hair and light green eyes, the girl seemed fun, sitting on Cecil’s bed.

“We need to talk.” She barely let him get settled, but she did let him take a shower because of Tyson’s vomit.

Lavender talked about the second-year matter — something about the Heir of Slytherin, something about a basilisk, and how Ginny Weasley, along with Harry Potter, had somehow got involved. It probably sounded ridiculous to anyone, but here they were — two wizards inside a camp for demigods — and that could be the best reason to believe everything else.

Well. Harry Potter had gotten himself into an adventure.

It didn’t sound as impressive as last year.

In fact, part of Draco even felt some sympathy for him and was glad not to be at Hogwarts.

“I hope to have a quiet summer.” That was all he said to a confused Lavender, hoping this summer would be normal.

Though with Chiron’s departure and a new director, he couldn’t hope for much.

At least they were treating Clarisse badly, which might sound like he was being the biggest idiot, but after that girl had thrown him into a rubbish bin a disproportionate number of times, Draco was allowed to be a little resentful.

.

.

Tantalus was an idiot.

Lavender trembled at his side, terrified of that imbecile.

Tyson was claimed by Poseidon.

Yes. It was an excellent first day at Half-Blood Camp.

.

.

“I feel so bad about this.”

“Percy, believe me — if there’s someone you can’t lie to, it’s me. I know you’re embarrassed, and that’s fine.”

“Of course not. Tyson has been his friend all year. I shouldn’t be embarrassed by him.”

“But you are, and the faster you accept it, the faster you get over it.”

This counselling business didn’t help much. Draco found himself polishing his spear while glancing sideways at Lavender trying to chat with Annabeth, who seemed somewhat reluctant with the daughter of Hecate. Tyson seemed excited, staring at nothing, which made Annabeth throw even more distrustful looks his way.

A bad omen.

“He’s not my real brother!” Percy protested under his breath. “He’s more like a half-brother on the monster side of the family — like a second-degree half-brother… or something.” He seemed so self-conscious it was almost funny.

Almost.

Percy liked to fit in. He hadn’t talked much about his former stepfather, but apparently his whole life he had simply never quite fitted in with others, and now that he was at camp he had wanted to. Not only that — last year he had been something of a hero for completing a mission.

But now with Tyson… he seemed to go back to what he used to be.

A misfit.

He wished Annabeth would come and pull him from his misery. He had seemed happy when she had mentioned the stupid chariot race and the possibility of them participating together. Both had turned to look at him, but Draco excused himself saying he preferred to spend time with Lavender over a deadly race. Their new director could stuff it before he participated.

He also didn’t want to be in the same group as Annabeth and Percy — they were a great duo, but things seemed a bit tense around them lately.

“Tyson is your brother.” Percy was about to retort, but Draco pushed him to stop. “We’ve gotten to know him — he’s not so bad. Don’t let what others say matter to you.”

“I don’t want him to be my brother.” Yes, Jackson’s pout was cute.

Draco wanted to rip those thoughts out of himself, remembering Jennifer’s words and feeling unsettled by their meaning.

“Don’t see him as a Cyclops.”

“He is a Cyclops.”

“Maybe, but maybe you just have to see him as Tyson.” Percy turned to look at him, slightly surprised, so Draco smiled. “Not a Cyclops, not a son of Poseidon, not a half-brother… just Tyson.”

He wondered if Percy remembered those words — when, several months ago, Percy had called him that. Just Draco. Not Draco Malfoy. Not Malfoy.

Just Draco.

From the slight smile on his friend’s face, he supposed he did remember.

.

.

Draco was picking strawberries with Will and Lavender, chatting about the properties of a good shampoo with conditioner in your hair care routine, when Percy arrived furious at his side. It wouldn’t be so bad, except Annabeth arrived in the same way, as if both were competing for something.

Annabeth was faster.

He felt confused when Annabeth literally monopolised him.

“Fine — go work with that monster. I’ll stay with Draco,” Annabeth shrieked before dragging him off.

Percy watched them as if he had been betrayed.

Draco was thoroughly confused.

.

.

Annabeth and Percy had argued — something that would probably have pleased Draco in a petty way, if it weren’t for the fact that instead of ending up on Team Percy, he ended up on Team Annabeth. Lavender seemed delighted with Will or Lou, so she didn’t seem to have a problem with not being around him all the time. She also always tended to sneak off to the Aphrodite cabin. Apparently his two friends had argued over Tyson. Percy had abandoned the idea of competing alongside Annabeth in the chariot race — previously cancelled, only to be reinstated now that they had a new director. Because Dionysus was useless.

The blonde seemed annoyed.

Draco wisely said nothing.

He wasn’t an architect like Annabeth, so he could only propose ideas and sadly help as heavy labour. He wanted to use magic, but it would be too obvious, so everything was done by hand — under Annabeth’s ruthless instruction.

She was a tyrant.

“You can’t trust Cyclopes.” That was all she would say when he asked her about her hatred of Tyson.

Yes.

That sounded a lot like childhood trauma created for some reason.

“Tyson is pleasant.”

“Not you too, Draco.”

Fine — better change of approach. A more subtle angle.

“Do you remember how you hated me at the beginning?” Annabeth tensed beside the chariot they were building. Her hands seemed tense and her face somewhat thoughtful. “I was an idiot, you a know-it-all — but in the end we managed to get along. I can’t guarantee anything now, but I know that if you give him a chance you’ll like Tyson.”

“You don’t understand,” she said in a sad voice. Draco looked at her expectantly without expecting her to say more.

She did.

She whispered her story — with Luke and Thalia — staring blankly, but for some reason.

It was as if Draco felt inside him a terrible sadness that clearly wasn’t only his.

He stayed thoughtful. Neither of them said much after that.

.

.

Could he have another bond?

Draco had thought a great deal about the subject after Annabeth told him that story. Just as with Percy, it was as if something inside him was felt and wasn’t his, but wasn’t Percy’s either. It didn’t repeat itself during the day — it had only been a vague moment where it seemed his friend had a very strong emotion. For the rest of the day he had only felt the noticeable discomfort from Percy over the argument with his friend.

The problem with that.

Draco was caught in the middle.

“I feel like I’m in the middle of two parents who are about to divorce,” Draco groaned in the middle of the Iris message, while Sally Jackson looked at him from the other side. She seemed to be baking cookies, and Draco was almost tempted to tell her to send some by delivery.

Or an owl.

“They’re both a little stubborn, though it’s adorable how Percy used to talk about that girl — I’d love to meet her,” the woman said as if she were analysing her future daughter-in-law.

Draco would like to hate that, but he had bigger problems.

“The worst part is that now that Annabeth recruited me for the race, Percy seems resentful because I’m not spending time with him,” he whimpered with both hands against his face.

He had never thought he would miss how Annabeth and Percy were always together. Usually they were both always with Draco, but now that they were arguing, well, Draco hated feeling torn between them both.

He loved his alone time.

He also enjoyed getting Lavender’s gossip, which reminded him a little of Pansy herself — the kind of rumours someone can have. Though Percy knew about the whole wizard business, nobody knew that Percy knew, including Lavender. So he couldn’t talk about the Hogwarts matter when Percy was spending time with him or in front of others.

It was complicated.

Draco missed not being on holiday.

“And I see you’re not happy about it,” the woman noted, giving him a curious look, to which Draco lifted his face in disbelief at not understanding why she would think he’d be happy about it. “You’ve always liked monopolising a little of Percy’s attention,” she added with a slight shrug, which made Draco tense up.

He remembered Jennifer’s words from a few days ago.

No.

He couldn’t be obvious.

Not that there was anything to be obvious about.

He didn’t like Percy Jackson.

Not in that way. At least.

“Percy is my best friend — just that.” It seemed as if he wanted to convince someone. From Sally’s face, it didn’t seem convincing to her.

Or to him.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry about Percy and Annabeth — just be a good friend to both of them. They just need a little time. Every relationship, even friendships, has small arguments all the time.” Her voice was soft and reassuring, and Draco wanted to think she was right. “If I remember correctly, last week you and Percy argued over a Kit Kat bar.”

“It was my chocolate.”

“My point.”

“This seems a bit more serious,” he whispered to himself, but Sally only smiled, saying everything would be fine — that it was a mother’s intuition.

When the call cut off, Draco sat looking at the small stream of water, wondering whether he had been wrong not to call his real mother instead of Sally. Narcissa was so excited that he would be coming back soon, and Draco found himself increasingly uneasy with the desire not to return.

He felt bad.

He feared that if he called his mother, she would see through his thoughts just by looking at him. Sally, on the other hand, wouldn’t judge him.

“Draco.” Percy’s voice saying his name made him jump when his friend arrived looking tired. “I was looking for you — it’s time for our riding lesson with Silena.” While Percy dragged him along, he could see Annabeth in the distance, looking annoyed with Percy.

Percy looked at him as if he had won.

Draco didn’t know what to feel about this competition — Percy’s attention wasn’t how he had wanted it, and neither was Annabeth’s.

Damn.

.

.

Silena Beauregard, one of the most beautiful girls in the Aphrodite cabin, gave them their first lesson on riding a Pegasus. She explained that there was only one immortal winged horse named Pegasus, who still roamed free through the skies, but over the course of eons had fathered many offspring. None were as swift or heroic as him, but all bore his glorious name. Percy initially seemed reluctant at the idea of going up into the air, unlike Draco, who thought the idea of doing something vaguely similar to Quidditch would be exciting.

Both were in the sky.

And since Draco doubted he was a son of Poseidon, he shouldn’t be afraid of the sky.

Right?

He thought it was unfair that Percy was the son of the god who created horses and could pick up on their thoughts.

Very unfair.

Setting aside how Tyson couldn’t approach the horses, he didn’t seem entirely bad off with Beckendorf, the son of Hephaestus. Something about Cyclopes working in forges. He had met Beckendorf during the Christmas holidays, and it seemed the son of Hephaestus had a talent with Tyson’s half-brother.

That meant.

Free riding lessons for them with Pegasus.

“This girl is remarkable,” Draco said with his chin raised while trotting on the ground with a Pegasus entirely white, with a mane of slightly blond tones.

She was the perfect example of what a Pegasus should be.

Beautiful.

Worthy of Draco.

Percy let out a laugh.

“She’s a girl.” The horse seemed to have complained. Draco pouted. “Her name is Aurora.” The horse lifted her chin in a haughty way, and all Draco could think was: Perfect.

He was in love.

“Aurora, you are the most beautiful animal I have ever seen in my entire life. These peasants don’t know how to appreciate the beauty of your splendour,” Draco praised, stroking the horse’s mane.

Percy listened a moment as she snorted things that Draco couldn’t understand, but from the slightly contracted expression on Percy’s face, he did seem to understand her.

“Bloody hell, she’s delighted with you too — you’re definitely two of a kind,” he whispered.

Draco ignored him when Silena gave them the option of taking flight, and it was… perfect. It wasn’t Quidditch. Draco still had an undeniable affinity for being on a broomstick rather than a living creature, but the Pegasus Aurora was quite incredible when she took flight. Percy seemed a little more uncomfortable flying low, but Draco practically let Aurora show how high she could go with ease.

Her control was impressive.

Much more stable than a broomstick, but more unpredictable.

Flying again put a smile on Draco’s face. The sky was without doubt remarkable.

Every day after that, he made sure to pass by the stables to give Aurora an extra green apple — her favourites too, just like Draco.

How could you not love such a mare.

.

.

Not only was he working on building the chariot — he had to train with the Apollo cabin boys. Lavender seemed reluctant to join, but Percy and Draco managed to drag her along. Draco began to notice with horror that the girl was starting to make friends in the Aphrodite cabin, which meant it was only a matter of time before she obtained all the camp gossip. Percy was a great swordsman. Draco had improved in the use of the spear, but still couldn’t beat his friend. But he noted with pleasure that he had started to put up a real fight against the other campers who had always beaten him easily a year ago.

Percy had talent.

The best in a hundred years (he didn’t want to think about how Potter was the youngest flyer in almost a century as well, to avoid vomiting). They compared Percy to Luke all the time, and Percy always seemed annoyed about it.

In arts and crafts, Percy had started a marble bust of Poseidon, but since it kept looking more and more like Sylvester Stallone, he ended up abandoning it.

Draco, on the other hand, was excited about the idea of a dragon statue, and Lavender made a small house laughing while Tyson destroyed a little of the clay. Unlike Percy, who was Tyson’s half-brother, nobody seemed to bother Draco or Lavender for spending time with Tyson.

Hypocrites, he wanted to say — but he knew how to pick his battles.

Percy challenged him to the climbing wall.

He almost singed his hair.

But at least he had improved enough not to die in the attempt.

Setting aside Percy’s strange and unsettling dreams about Grover in a wedding dress, everything was quiet, at least for a few days. Draco didn’t want to think about his own dreams — usually dark, with a large number of coloured threads all around him, where a voice whispered that soon it would cut them one by one, destroying him definitively.

Yes.

A delightful dream.

.

.

The morning of the race it was hot and very humid. A low mist slid along the ground like sauna steam. Thousands of birds had perched in the trees that Draco thought looked somewhat familiar — thick white and grey pigeons, though they didn’t make the typical cooing of their species, but rather a kind of metallic screeching reminiscent of a submarine’s sonar.

The race track had been laid out in a grassy meadow between the archery range and the woods. The Hephaestus cabin had used the bronze bulls — fully tamed since their heads had been smashed — to flatten an oval track in a matter of minutes. There were stone stands for the spectators: Tantalus, the satyrs, some nymphs, and all the campers who weren’t participating. Mr D didn’t appear. He never got up before ten in the morning.

Draco took his place beside Annabeth, nervous.

He had a bad feeling.

“Very well!” Tantalus announced when the teams began to gather on the track. A naiad had brought him a large plate of cream puffs, and while he spoke, his right hand chased a cream and chocolate stick around the judges’ table. “You all know the rules: a four-hundred-metre track, two laps to win, and two horses per chariot. Each team consists of a driver and a warrior. Weapons are permitted and dirty play is to be expected. But try not to kill anyone!” Tantalus smiled at them as if they were naughty children. “Any deaths will receive a severe punishment. One week without s’mores at the camp bonfire! And now — to the chariots!”

Beckendorf, the leader of the Hephaestus team, headed to the track. His was a prototype made of iron and bronze, including the horses, which were magical automata like the bulls of Colchis. There was no doubt that that chariot contained all kinds of mechanical traps and more features than a fully-loaded Maserati.

The Ares chariot, blood-red, was pulled by two hideous horse skeletons. Clarisse boarded with javelins, spiked balls, metal caltrops of the kind that always land point-up, and a whole lot more very nasty gadgets.

The Apollo chariot, elegant and in perfect condition, was entirely gold and pulled by two beautiful palominos with golden coats, white tails, and manes. Its warrior was armed with a bow, though he had promised not to shoot normal arrows at rival drivers.

The Hermes chariot was green and looked old-fashioned, as if it hadn’t left the garage in years. It didn’t seem to have anything special about it, but it was driven by the Stoll brothers, and Draco shuddered just thinking about the pranks they must have planned.

“He wants to distract us,” Annabeth growled, grabbing him, while Percy recounted his dreams about Grover.

He doubted it was a distraction.

It wasn’t as if they could control their dreams.

Draco himself had dreams in the darkness as if someone were watching him, but he hadn’t said so, and he could trust that Percy wasn’t lying. The bond would tell him.

When Annabeth dragged him away and Percy stormed off in fury, he tried to explain it.

“I don’t think he’s lying — it doesn’t feel false.” But Annabeth only looked furious.

“You’re defending him.”

“It’s the bond — I know it. He’s not lying.” And though Draco said nothing more, after feeling a strong wave of guilt, he could almost be certain that he wasn’t only bonded with Percy.

This guilt was coming from Annabeth.

Two bonds.

He swallowed hard, wanting — not for the first time in days — for Chiron not to have left. He had the feeling that Chiron knew more about his bond with Percy (and now Annabeth) than he had chosen to explain. Draco only hoped that, just as with the bond with Percy, whatever this was with Annabeth wouldn’t end up being too complicated.

He had wanted to tell Annabeth before, but he was nervous about what it meant.

“The race is now — we’ll talk about Grover afterwards,” the girl said tensely, to which Draco only sighed.

To think that a year ago, he was the stubborn one in this group.

As the chariots lined up, more gleaming-eyed pigeons were gathering in the forest. They screeched so much that the campers in the stands began to look nervously at the trees, which trembled under the weight of so many birds. Tantalus didn’t seem concerned, but had to raise his voice to be heard over all the noise.

“Charioteers!” he shouted. “On your marks!”

Draco looked at the birds in confusion, feeling as though he had seen them before but couldn’t remember where… oh… oh no.

“Annabeth.” He turned to look at her, but she seemed to be looking at the track seriously. “We’re in trouble,” he whispered, but whatever he was going to say.

Got stuck in his throat.

He grabbed the chariot tightly, because the race had started and Annabeth had no time to lose. The chariots roared to life. Hooves thundered on the ground and the crowd erupted in shouts and cheers.

Almost immediately there was a very nasty crash. He looked back just in time to see the Apollo chariot overturn. The Hermes one had rammed into it — perhaps by accident, or perhaps not. Its occupants had jumped off, but the terrified horses kept dragging the gold chariot across the track diagonally. Travis and Connor Stoll, from Hermes, gloated at their good luck. But not for long, because the Apollo horses collided with theirs and their chariot overturned too, leaving in the middle of the dust a heap of splintered wood and four rearing horses.

Two chariots out in the first metres.

Draco thought Quidditch was a safe sport now, which was saying something.

Percy seemed amazed in the distance, which made him think Percy was mad.

“Hold on, Draco — don’t get distracted,” Annabeth demanded seriously.

He tried.

But it wasn’t possible.

The pigeons had taken flight and were swooping down at full speed like an enormous tornado, directly toward the track.

“Those pigeons are dangerous,” he growled at Annabeth, who glanced sideways at him but growled when Percy’s chariot drew near.

Damn.

Tyson seemed to be looking at the birds with fear.

Draco touched his shoulder — his bracelet quickly came to life and became a spear. While he enjoyed being on a Pegasus, this medieval chariot he had built with Annabeth (and with several traps his friend had devised) had an excitingly high speed.

Which, if it weren’t for the blasted birds he recognised — the same ones that had attacked them at Christmas, or at least of the same species — they were there.

Bad.

Very bad.

Thousands of pigeons plunged in a swarm against the spectators in the stands and the other chariots. Beckendorf was completely surrounded. His warrior tried to shoo them away with swipes of his hand, but couldn’t see anything. The chariot swerved, went off track, and ran through the strawberry fields with its mechanical horses smoking.

In the Ares chariot, Clarisse barked orders at her warrior, who immediately covered the basket with a camouflage net. The birds swarmed around it, pecking and clawing at the man’s hands as he tried to keep the net in place. Clarisse simply gritted her teeth and kept driving. Her skeleton horses seemed immune to the distraction. The pigeons pecked uselessly at their empty eye sockets and flew through their ribcages, but the steeds kept galloping as if nothing were happening.

Thestrals?

The spectators weren’t so lucky. The birds were attacking any piece of flesh in sight, spreading panic everywhere. Now that they were closer, it was evident they were not normal pigeons. Their small round eyes gleamed in an evil way, their beaks were bronze, and judging by the screams of the campers, razor-sharp.

“Stymphalian Birds!” Annabeth shouted. She slowed down and brought her chariot alongside Percy’s. “If we can’t drive them off, they’ll peck everyone to the bone!”

Draco looked worried at Lavender running with Lou, while he struck a nearby bird with his spear.

It was satisfying.

“Heroes — to arms!” Annabeth shouted as they changed course. But he didn’t think anyone heard her over the screeching and the general chaos.

He felt his own adrenaline, alongside Percy’s and Annabeth’s at the same time.

His head began to pound.

“Half-blood—”

The voice was similar to the one from his dreams. Draco had been holding tightly onto the chariot. He turned to look to his right. It was strange — it was as if for a moment he wasn’t in the middle of a race or trying to protect the camp. Everything seemed as if it were there, but far away, in the middle of the forest.

There were eyes watching him.

They were far away, but it felt as if they were close.

The woman who seemed full of darkness smiled.

The same one from his dreams.

From his nightmares.

His hand let go of the chariot.

“Draco!” It was the alarmed shout of Annabeth and Percy.

But Draco only lost consciousness in the middle of the fall.

To be continued…

Notes from the author:

Hello, little pastries — I wonder if anyone has already guessed who the character is that’s messing with Draco.

If not.

Don’t worry — there’s still a lot left to find out. But even though she isn’t such a recurring or important character in the canon at the beginning, here she will be someone quite developed through Draco.

I feel a little sorry for Draco with his feelings for Percy. I think everyone who has been through that moment of realising they’re not completely heterosexual knows it’s a small chaos because of society itself.

I love how Draco holds Percy and Sally as family too.

Was the bond with Annabeth something anyone expected?

Chapter Text

Draco finds himself in a strange place — it’s like some sort of clearing, but whenever he tries to leave, it’s as though there’s an invisible wall preventing him from doing so. The idea of having this kind of dream made him feel sick. Percy had said those had always been recurring when they were at Camp Half-Blood.

But not for Draco.

Damn.

Back at the center of the clearing, surrounded by strange plain trees and one with a small patch of grass, there were only two things.

Threads.

They stretched toward the sky and connected to the ground, but no matter how hard he looked upward, there was no real sky to see — there were no clouds, and although everything was bright, he couldn’t see the sun either. Setting that aside, he looked at both threads with curiosity.

One was blue and the other purple. The first, the blue one, was quite thick and sturdy, while the purple one was barely noticeable.

“What the hell is this place?” he murmured to no one in particular, unsure whether it was a good idea to touch either of the threads.

Besides.

Why was he asleep?

He didn’t remember going to bed.

Just as he thought that, it was as though something absorbed him from within — similar to when he used a portkey — and he fell into the void.

.

He screams as he hits the ground, landing on his back, and his entire body erupts in pain. Will is the one who runs to him. There are plenty of scoldings, though he finds himself somewhat groggy when he’s placed back on the cot. Something about the chariot race, birds, noise, Annabeth and Percy in a panic when they couldn’t get to him on the ground right away due to the imminent attack. Then something about Annabeth, Percy, and Tyson being punished. If Draco wasn’t punished for something stupid — as if his driving had actually provoked those wretched birds — it was because the fall had been… bad.

Bad enough that Will had the idea of condemning him to the infirmary for at least a week.

His body hurt.

“We were worried,” said Will with a downcast expression, when Draco patted the boy’s head and assured him he was fine and that it was all thanks to him.

Well.

Will’s face lit up. Draco smiled despite the pain.

Will was nice. He wished he were his brother.

Does that mean having Apollo as a father?

No, how revolting.

.

.

Percy and Annabeth arrive after lunch on his third day trapped — apparently Tantalus had forbidden their visits for some reason; it was remarkably quick, the way Draco had managed to get on the man’s bad side when they hadn’t even spoken personally. Draco had been with Will, who was stretching his legs with concern. The fall had been bad — excessively bad. Draco doesn’t remember anything due to whatever he had witnessed, but the pain in his body helps him understand what they’re talking about. There was only so much ambrosia he could consume, and for it not to have healed him completely — well, a muggle probably would have been left paralyzed. Will doesn’t seem happy to see Percy and Annabeth, but he hadn’t seemed happy either when Lavender stopped by that morning, nearly in tears because he was injured.

They were sincere tears.

He hadn’t thought they were actually friends, but now watching the girl cry over him, he was left wondering whether at some point — and soon — he’d end up being friends with her.

Ironic.

In his first year he would have hexed someone — with an Unforgivable if he could — before anyone convinced him he’d end up being friends with Lavender Brown.

Percy and Annabeth now seem to have set aside whatever discord existed between them in favor of a common enemy.

Tantalus.

Not that he’s a great man. Draco remembers the stories his mother told him about the demigod son of Zeus who had committed cannibalism.

“The Sea of Monsters?” Draco asks, impressed, while Annabeth sighs and Percy looks clearly annoyed.

How much has happened in three days?

Setting aside that he slept through the first two entirely, it was an unpleasant surprise when Will mentioned the dream — and he was certain his mother would be worried if he didn’t check in with her soon. Sally was also used to a daily call from Draco.

What can he say.

Both mothers adore him.

It’s so difficult being the perfect son of two families.

“We have to go after Grover,” says Percy with certainty.

“The Golden Fleece could help with Thalia’s tree,” says Annabeth, sounding as though Percy’s look compelled her to say it.

Well, that could be true. The old women who brought them to camp in a death taxi — who had also explained to Jason and the Argonauts, three thousand years ago, how to find the Golden Fleece — had told him as much.

One of his favorite stories.

It doesn’t seem quite so fascinating now, faced with the idea of Percy and Annabeth in the middle of all this.

Polyphemus.

That would be the main problem.

Yes.

Stories don’t seem quite so interesting when you can live them firsthand.

“It would be dangerous — you should bring a lot of supplies,” Draco says, somewhat worried about his friends. He doesn’t like the idea of them being in mortal danger.

He can tell something is wrong from the confused looks on Annabeth’s and Percy’s faces.

What?

“What are you talking about, Draco — you’re coming with us,” says Percy as though it were absolute truth, and Annabeth nods decisively.

Draco has learned a muggle expression that represents him perfectly in this moment: “For f*ck’s sake.”

.

.

Draco claps excitedly that night — after begging Will to let him go to the campfire with everyone — when Clarisse is chosen by Tantalus to lead a quest, earning dark looks from Percy and Annabeth. He doesn’t let himself be intimidated by either of them. He doesn’t want to go on another mission with them.

Did you catch the word another?

Yes, he’s already been on one suicide mission in his life — last summer — he doesn’t need another one.

Tantalus might not be so bad after all, if he can keep him from going on another suicide mission.

At least, if somehow that meant he wouldn’t have a quest this summer.

“There’s nothing we can do about it, guys — it’s fate,” Draco had said with a tone of regret, ignoring the murderous looks from his friends and taking a seat next to Lavender afterward.

The girl sat close to him, checking that he wasn’t injured again, although Draco felt better after whatever son-of-Apollo magic Will had worked on him. As he sang some song alongside her — she seemed to be enjoying it — he felt normal for a moment.

Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad.

The gods of Olympus seemed less terrible that night.

.

.

So… why?

Why did it end up like this?

He shouldn’t have listened to Tyson, who had slipped into the Hermes cabin and pulled him out without anyone noticing, in the middle of the night. For a cyclops — and for most of the campers in the thieves’ cabin not to have noticed such a massive creature causing havoc — he could almost swear they’d been placed under some powerful person’s spell so they wouldn’t hear him. When Tyson told him he couldn’t find Percy in the cabin, Annabeth caught them because she had wanted to go outside, swearing she heard someone shouting about an attack, and then everything descended into chaos.

It was his first night out of the infirmary.

But before he knew it, he was in the middle of the sea, on a mission that had never been assigned to them.

“Why does this happen to me?” Draco complained aloud from the hippocampus he was sharing with Percy, having thought that there not being four hippocampi would be some kind of sign that he wasn’t needed on this mission.

Until the harpies showed up.

Yes.

Draco preferred to go with them — even when Percy mentioned Hermes’ intervention while he was meditating on the beach (“Meditating with a Coca-Cola?” “Shut up, Draco”) — it all seemed somewhat suspicious.

Well.

He was here now.

Riding a hippocampus was even easier than riding a Pegasus for Percy, unlike Draco, who couldn’t stop feeling continuously nauseous, realizing that until now he had never spent too much time at sea. He’d also never liked looking too long at the windows in the Slytherin common room, because for some reason it made him feel claustrophobic. They raced with the wind in their faces, cutting through the waves so smoothly that you barely needed to hold on — or so Percy said. Draco wanted to cling to his friend in fear.

Will would kill him when he didn’t show up the next day for his daily checkup.

Lavender would kill him when he didn’t show up to sculpting class with her.

Silena would kill him for missing another riding lesson.

Aurora would kill him for using a hippocampus instead of the beautiful Pegasus who had become his friend.

As they drew closer to the cruise ship Hermes had pointed out to Percy, he became aware of just how enormous it was. It felt like looking up at a Manhattan skyscraper from the bottom. The hull, an immaculate white, rose at least ten stories high and was crowned with a dozen decks at various levels, each of them with their own viewing platforms and brightly lit portholes. The ship’s name was painted near the bow in black letters illuminated by a spotlight. It took them a few seconds to make it out without their glasses: Princess Andromeda.

Fixed to the bow was a massive figurehead three stories tall — a woman in the white tunic of ancient Greece, sculpted in such a way that she appeared to be chained to the ship. She was young and beautiful, with long black hair, but she wore an expression of pure terror. How anyone could think to put a screaming, panicked princess on the bow of a vacation cruise ship was beyond him.

He remembered the myth of Andromeda, and how she had been chained to a rock by her own parents to be offered as a sacrifice to a sea monster.

The thing was, his friend’s namesake — Perseus — saved her just in time and turned that sea monster to stone using Medusa’s head.

The original Perseus was one of the few heroes in Greek mythology who actually got a happy ending. The rest died through betrayal, torn apart, mutilated, poisoned, or cursed by the gods.

He doubts Percy will be that lucky.

His track record so far isn’t exactly optimistic.

“How are we going to get on board?” Annabeth shouted to make herself heard over the crashing waves.

But there was no need to worry. The hippocampi seemed to know what they wanted. They glided around to the starboard side of the ship, crossing its enormous wake with ease, and stopped alongside a rope ladder hanging from the rail.

“It’s a lot to ask that this doesn’t end with one of us having to escape,” Draco muttered under his breath, ignored by his friends.

Fine.

They just had to get in without anyone noticing, then find whatever they needed from the strange ship.

Hermes had guided them there.

It shouldn’t be that hard.

.

.

They slept little.

The ship seems cursed.

Percy keeps having strange dreams.

They ran into Luke, who seemed to want to kill them and admitted to being the one who had poisoned Thalia’s tree — which deepened Draco’s hatred for the teenager, already considerable and not entirely healthy. Percy and Annabeth — Annabeth especially, since Thalia had been Luke’s friend — seemed to have been gut-punched upon seeing him again.

Yes.

Draco hated Luke far too much right now.

They had to escape in a lifeboat with a little help from Olympus magic.

Draco knew that wasn’t going to end well.

Chiron tried to assure them through an Iris message that he would help.

Nothing can be done.

.

.

It was an uncomfortable silence.

Very uncomfortable.

For a few minutes no one said anything, probably from the sheer relief of being able to say “We’re alive” — but as he has discovered, being alive comes with its own consequences. He glances sideways at Percy, who seems to be staring pensively at the ocean. Annabeth, on the other hand, looks a little restless from the constant movement of her hands. And Tyson… Tyson is Tyson. The cyclops must only be a baby in human years, but the boy — even though he sometimes seems disconnected from reality — has stayed quiet, as if he senses that something bad happened.

No one wants to talk about it.

Draco looks up, remembering that first year at Hogwarts, when everything had been infinitely easier.

What had worried him back then?

Probably how many times Harry Potter ignored him and how to get his attention. His face twists into a bitter scowl at the memory and all its possible implications — which he doesn’t want to think about right now.

Not in the middle of a mission.

“He made a choice,” he says aloud, drawing the attention of the others. Percy looks angry. Annabeth looks almost inconsolable. “And we made ours. Life isn’t easy — we can’t always have the people we care about on our side.” He forcefully pushes the image of Potter out of his head, where it had crept in uninvited. “But that’s because we can’t play with other people’s choices,” he adds bitterly.

No one else says anything for a while, and Draco just sits there, staring at nothing.

He feels uncomfortable.

Very uncomfortable.

In a way that’s very similar to how he felt in the Underworld. As a wizard, he had never needed to spend so many hours at sea. He used to visit some beaches with his family when he was younger — but he had never felt any great affinity for water the way others did. Percy, for example.

He felt uneasy.

He didn’t like the feeling.

An hour later they spotted land: a long stretch of beach lined with multi-story hotels. The waters began to fill with fishing boats and tankers. A coast guard vessel passed on the starboard side and then turned back, as if for a second look. He imagined they didn’t see every day a motorless lifeboat traveling at over a hundred knots, crewed by three teenagers.

“That’s Virginia Beach!” said Annabeth as they approached the shore. “My gods! How is it possible that the Princess Andromeda traveled that far in a single night? They must be—”

“Five thousand and thirty nautical miles,” said Percy, to the astonished looks of everyone.

Draco exchanged a curious glance with Annabeth, both unaccustomed to useful information coming from Percy, who seemed offended by their looks.

“How do you know that?”

“Well… I’m not sure,” and he was sincere — Percy was terrible at lying, after all.

He didn’t have a single ounce of Slytherin in him to save his life. Draco had been turning over the thought that, as stupidly reckless as Percy was, he was more Hufflepuff material. Draco was horrified to think that his best friend might be a potential Hufflepuff.

Life takes great turns of fate.

“Percy, what’s our position?”

“Thirty-six degrees, forty-four minutes north; seventy-six degrees, two minutes west,” he answered automatically. Then he shook his head. “Whoa! How do I know that?”

“Your father,” Annabeth deduced. “When you’re at sea, you have perfect orientation. It’s brilliant.”

Draco wondered whether his own Olympian father had an aversion to water — because right now, unlike his friend, who seemed genuinely energized by the situation, Draco felt completely horrified. From the sideways glance Percy shot him, he wondered how much the bond allowed Percy to feel his strongest emotions.

“There’s a boat coming.”

They turned around. The coast guard vessel, now openly, was heading toward them. It signaled with its lights and began to gain speed.

“We can’t let them catch us,” said Percy. “They’d ask too many questions.”

“Head for Chesapeake Bay,” said Annabeth. “I know a place to hide.”

No one asked what she meant or why she knew the area so well. Percy risked loosening the lid of the thermos a little more — a new gust of wind launched them like a rocket around the northern tip of Virginia Beach and into the Chesapeake Bay. The coast guard vessel fell further and further behind. They didn’t slow down until the shores of the bay began to narrow.

Draco felt quite nauseous, and Tyson ended up patting him on the back — perhaps a little too hard — after he vomited over the side of the boat.

“There,” Percy said. “Past that sandbar.”

They veered toward a marshy area overgrown with brush and stopped the boat at the foot of a massive cypress tree.

The trees loomed overhead, draped in vines. Insects buzzed through the grass; the air was sweltering and suffocating, and a cloud of mist rose from the surface of the river. In short, it was not Manhattan, and he liked it not at all.

Draco climbed out of the boat and vomited.

Damn.

Percy tried to help him, but they were in a hurry to escape.

He doesn’t even know what from.

But to escape.

As always, really — he shouldn’t bother asking what they’re running from anymore. Just escape, like always.

.

.

Annabeth tells Percy about how she knows this place. Draco doesn’t want to listen, but he does anyway, and he knows it’s part of the story Annabeth had told him a while back. He’s glad that Percy and she share something else that connects them. Even though it was painful — the way Percy always had all his attention fixed on the girl — it felt a bit more uncomfortable than he’d care to admit.

The worst part was feeling Percy’s jealousy whenever Annabeth talked about Luke.

It was terrible, and yet not entirely terrible.

At least Percy’s own jealousy wouldn’t leave room for him to feel Draco’s jealousy over always being second to Annabeth — and hopefully the bond with Annabeth was too new for her to feel his emotions… though he doubted it mattered.

Wouldn’t she already suspect?

The children of Athena are strange like that.

Suspect what?

Draco’s face goes blank as he confronts the reality that he is jealous — jealous of the attention Percy gives Annabeth — and that far from being the jealousy of a friend, he fears what more those feelings might mean.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

Draco wishes it didn’t matter, but instead of learning to control his emotions, he learned one thing.

Never trust a shop called “MONSTER DONUTS” in the middle of nowhere.

The worst part of all is that they were saved by Clarisse. Draco almost would have preferred to be eaten by monsters.

.

.

“You’ve gotten yourselves into one hell of a mess,” Clarisse told them.

They had just finished a reluctant little tour of the ship, moving through a series of dim cabins crammed with dead sailors — the dead reminded him, with a strange fondness, of Hogwarts, for some disturbing reason. They had seen the coal hold, the boilers and machinery, which creaked and groaned as if they were about to explode.

They had seen the pilot’s cabin, the powder magazine, and the artillery turrets — Clarisse’s favorite spots — two Dahlgren cannons on port and starboard, and two Brooke cannons fore and aft, all primed to fire balls of celestial bronze.

Wherever they went, the Confederate sailors stared at them with those ghostly, bearded faces glowing beneath their skulls. Annabeth won them over the moment she told them she was from Virginia. Percy ruined it when he said he was from New York, and Tyson stayed glued to his side in a panic.

During dinner there was a strange competition between Clarisse and Percy over their fathers.

Annabeth didn’t participate.

Draco doesn’t know who his father is, but he wouldn’t have participated either — though inwardly he wanted to say his father was rich enough to afford this kind of workforce. He figured it wouldn’t be of any use.

Tantalus had expelled them. Draco kept eating sandwiches out of boredom.

The mention of Luke put everyone on edge, as seemed to happen all the time.

At least now there was somewhere to sleep.

.

.

Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson went to sleep. Draco was almost tempted to follow them, but in the end he had stayed sitting on his bed, staring at nothing. Percy was sleeping soundly, as were the other two. Draco looked at him longer than he should have, turning over everything and nothing at the same time. He thought a lot about Luke. The memory of his first days at camp — hating everyone, but tolerating Luke as someone he had genuinely liked, someone who had seemed trustworthy. Not that it mattered. That a reasonably attractive boy had tried to help him and had seemed trustworthy enough for a part of Draco to have believed him.

He had trusted him.

Admitting that, even only to himself, was painful.

Annabeth had trusted him.

Percy had trusted Luke.

All of them, to some degree, had come to see him as a natural leader.

He froze when he saw his own hand move — he had been seconds away from gently touching his friend’s cheek, but stopped himself before doing so. That gesture would be far too intimate. Frustrated by his heart, which had begun to beat rapidly, he got up and left the room as quickly as he could. On his way out, he ran into Annabeth’s gaze — she didn’t seem to be sleeping at all, watching him steadily — and he let out a groan before walking away, irritated.

He felt nothing.

Not from Percy.

Not from Annabeth.

It was just his own emotions drowning him.

No.

No.

This wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t important, really. In the wizarding world it wasn’t as much of an issue as it was in the muggle world — something he had discovered. Even among purebloods, impulses or attractions toward people of the same sex weren’t unusual, so long as there was an heir. He remembered the many times he had hidden away to mock guests at his family’s parties with Blaise and Theo — usually the young lovers of the heads of household who had a taste for their own sex.

Karma?

Probably.

Draco had always thought his life would be perfect — that he would be the perfect son, with the best grades, a respectable career like his father, and a family of his own in the same mold. Well, ever since his first year at Hogwarts, everything seemed to have gone downhill. From losing the top spot to a muggle-born girl, to his dream life of being Harry Potter’s best friend — and ending up in… whatever these feelings were.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to like Percy Jackson.

Percy was his best friend.

“Oh, for the love of Olympus, I can smell the hormonal problems from here — calm down or I’ll throw you overboard,” Clarisse growled. She seemed to have been making her rounds on patrol. Even though he couldn’t stand her, he couldn’t help but think she seemed genuinely serious about the mission.

He wishes she had done it alone.

But here they were.

He settles more comfortably against the ship’s railing. He still feels nauseous and would rather be anywhere but here — but here is where he’s ended up, and here is where he’ll stay. He’d take a ship full of dead people over the miserable lifeboat he traveled in, and even the ship over the seahorses.

Even if that meant breaking Percy’s and Tyson’s hearts.

“It really surprises me that you haven’t done it yet — your favorite sport is locking me in trash cans,” he grumbles bitterly, thinking that the girl behind him is so much stronger than he is. By a long shot.

Percy could at least give her competition.

Draco?

It’s a miracle he’s still alive in her presence.

“I’m pretty good at that,” the insufferable girl says proudly, “but right now I don’t need your pathetic backside getting in the way. This is serious — this mission matters to me.”

Draco wondered briefly what it felt like — having that drive to complete a mission like the rest of the camp kids, those who were all looking, in some way, for their parents’ approval. He hadn’t thought Clarisse was in that group, but looking at her now it was so painfully obvious — she wanted that, like all the rest. She wanted her father to see her and give her… recognition?

He doesn’t know what that feels like. He doesn’t even know who his biological father was.

Draco is frightened by how, when he thinks about that, he can feel a small part of himself empathizing with Luke — with the hatred toward those beings sitting on their stupid thrones, watching them dance like circus monkeys — he has seen it, Percy showed him videos, and last year they even went to a muggle circus, much to Percy’s delight — waiting for any one of them to so much as notice they existed.

He hates it.

He hates Luke.

He hates understanding him.

“Why?” he asks, looking at Clarisse, who bristles at his gaze. Draco just turns back toward the sea. “For the attention of a father who’s never there?”

“He gave me this ship, idiot.”

“Probably so he could get the recognition at the end of it.”

“You wouldn’t understand — you’re not a claimed demigod.”

Curious how those words stung, even though they were true. The worst part is that somehow the others were all chasing the same approval — including two of his closest friends. As far as he knows, Lavender seems fine not knowing anything about Hecate, but that may be because she, like Draco, has a perfectly normal family that loves her — even if there are other bloodlines in her history or family tree.

The rest, though.

For them, this was everything.

The mission was their way of proving their worth.

“I hate him,” he says — knowing Clarisse doesn’t understand what he means, seeing in her eyes that she doesn’t really care — but feeling as though he’ll explode if he doesn’t get it out. “Luke. I hate him.” Because he’s right, in a way no one understands — but at the same time, he’s doing everything in completely the wrong way.

He’s surprised to see Clarisse’s face twist into an expression of hatred, similar to the one during dinner when the subject came up.

It wasn’t only Percy and Annabeth — or even Draco — who were hurt by the boy’s betrayal.

The camp was left without a leader.

Of course Chiron had done everything he could to help, but now even their trainer was gone. And Mr. D — well, he was a prime example of how useless the Olympians could be. The camp has no leader. Luke betrayed everyone there.

“He’s an idiot who’s going to suffer when I find him with a spear in my hands,” said Clarisse, in a tone that was almost murderous.

It was the first time since arriving at camp that he found an emotion he could actually relate to. Percy felt jealous and resentful toward Luke. Annabeth seemed so hurt by the betrayal. But Draco simply hated him.

I trusted you. He had wanted to say it when he saw him on the ship.

I trusted you and you betrayed me.

Selfish, Draco thinks with a strange sort of fascination. He’s simply a creature filled with selfishness.

He’s always been that way, to some extent.

“Not if I get there first,” he says with a half-amused smile — because even as a Slytherin who is realistic about the fact that he has no comparison to Luke in terms of skill, his greatest wish right now is to punch the boy in the face.

Clarisse glances at him sideways with a curious look, before her face turns to stone as she stares into the distance. Draco turns to look just as the ship lurches with a jolt far too sharp — he barely grabs the railing in time, feeling a fresh wave of nausea rise in him.

What the hell is that?

Clarisse looks almost feral, gripping the rail with her face lit up somewhere between concern and adrenaline, while Draco feels like he might be sick.

“Welcome to the Sea of Monsters, princess,” she growls, before the alarm begins to sound.

Damn.

.

.

There are different routes into the Sea of Monsters.

Charybdis.

The Clashing Rocks.

Obviously, they chose the one with the whirlpool.

The ship overheats. Tyson runs like an absolute hero, risking his life. Draco is in the middle of everything, vomiting over the side, because he hates the sea.

Then… everything explodes.

.

.

He doesn’t know what’s worst about being in a rowboat with Annabeth — aside from the vomiting that continues, and how sick Draco feels, having now spent too many hours at sea and being thoroughly convinced that the ocean hates him as much as he hates it. Or the fact that when Percy wakes up, they’ll have to tell him that Tyson is probably dead. Annabeth had seemed quite worried about that, and so had Draco — because he had felt Percy’s anguish when he went to look for his brother.

In terms of their current situation.

They were doubly screwed.

And indeed, when Percy woke up, Annabeth and he exchanged a glance at his immediate question about his half-brother. When they told him the situation, Percy seemed to try to be optimistic — but Draco felt firsthand the full weight of guilt and hopelessness inside him. The new, tentative emotions from Annabeth — a deeply honest and sincere worry for Percy — were eclipsed by his devastation at the loss of his half-brother.

He almost wanted to laugh, to tell him that in the end he did care about Tyson. But he held back.

Words wouldn’t help.

Draco found himself feeling quite uncomfortable at the thought of Tyson being dead — ironic, considering that just a few months ago he had been competing with him for Percy’s attention. Surprisingly, it seemed Annabeth had also grown fond of the cyclops after he proved himself to be different.

Now they have less than twenty-four hours to find Grover.

No pressure.

.

.

There is a warning among the gods about a Half-Blood of the Eldest Gods — the next one to live until the age of sixteen. That is the true reason Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades made a pact after the Second World War and swore to have no more children. The next child of the Three to reach sixteen will become a dangerous weapon.

That hero will decide the fate of Olympus. He or she will make a decision, and with that decision, will either save the Age of the Gods or destroy it.

.

.

Draco reflected on those words from the floor, as a ferret.

Yes.

A ferret.

Like those things that look like elongated rats — albino, with a strange shape, scurrying around everywhere. People would probably be confused about how he went from a rowboat to being a ferret. It’s curious — so curious that Draco wants to murder someone — while Percy stares at him from beside him, transformed into something resembling a guinea pig.

They had found an island where a woman had welcomed them. Perhaps the first red flag should have been how the woman treated Annabeth so noticeably differently from the boys.

C.C.

They had been so stupid.

Unlike Percy and Annabeth, who had clearly seemed enchanted at first, Draco had looked at the woman with uncertainty, unable to understand why her sweet voice grated on him so much.

“This is not the best moment to be staring at Annabeth,” Draco says, almost bored, from his cage, while Percy seems scandalized beside him in his guinea pig form.

“I wasn’t staring at her,” he says in squeaks that Draco understands — and is glad of, since they’re different species.

Draco just lets out a sigh in his animal form.

C.C. — or rather, Circe — had turned them into animals. The woman had seemed confused when Draco ended up as a ferret, when she had clearly intended for both of them to be guinea pigs. It probably had something to do with him being a wizard. He had seen the woman’s hesitation before Annabeth came in, wearing something resembling an ancient Greek white dress.

Which left Percy literally speechless.

Yes.

Actually falling for him would be a stupid idea he must avoid by every means. It’s fine to have a crush — a word he had learned from muggles — on his friend. But any feeling beyond that was better off killed outright. It’s fine that Percy is a fairly amazing hero, even if he’s an idiot, and Draco refused to fall for him when it would only be torture — since Percy was clearly interested in Annabeth. The worst part is that even though Annabeth seems to have feelings for Luke, she can’t deny that she also seems interested in Percy.

Damn.

He didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of a teenage love triangle.

He was a Malfoy.

He had more dignity than this.

“You know what they say — never meet your heroes,” Draco says with resignation, looking at Circe.

Percy stares at him in horror.

“Did you have a crush on Circe?”

“She’s a daughter of Hecate, I’m a wizard — we have stories about her. It’s like you with Hercules.”

“That’s not fair, Draco, you also like Hercules.”

He can’t deny the undeniable. Even his mother knows about his fascination with the stories of the mythic hero, son of Zeus.

He stops daydreaming and bickering with Percy when Annabeth manages to trick Circe to go and find them. At least she seemed to be free of whatever enchanting spell the woman had over them. Draco couldn’t help but feel disappointed at how easily the woman had believed Annabeth — as if she thought everyone would be happy to be under her command without question.

These minor gods had such tremendous egos.

Pathetic.

Annabeth smiles before running toward them, scanning the cage full of other guinea pigs — whom Draco hasn’t bothered checking to see if he can understand — while she seems to search among them. It doesn’t take her long to spot him.

“I didn’t want to be a ferret either,” he grumbles when he sees the understanding in Annabeth’s eyes, though he doubts she can understand his animal language.

Percy laughs. Draco launches himself at him, feeling the need to defend his honor.

Annabeth quickly grabs them both to pull them apart, then holds them — one in each hand. Then she takes them to where there’s a box of vitamins, where she swallows one. The same box that Hermes had given Percy and which was… brilliantly convenient. Draco flung himself toward them, as Percy seemed confused. Draco quickly shoved one into his mouth just as Circe walked in.

When Draco returned to human form — after feeling a horrible pain throughout his body, vaguely similar to when he was once transfigured into a human — his bones cracking, his skin feeling like it was on fire, the sensation of his whole self being utterly beyond his control.

His clothes had come back. Minus the shoes.

Details, clearly.

“Curse Hermes and his vitamins! They’re nothing but a passing fad! They don’t offer any real benefit!” he had growled, just as Draco used his hand to activate the bracelet on his arm, which had pleasantly resized itself while he was a ferret.

Sometimes the smiths really do get things right.

Not that it mattered — the vitamins would make them immune to magic.

How he wished he could sell that in the wizarding world.

Would they work against Unforgivable Curses?

Annabeth threw the vitamins into the cage, while Draco barely managed to hold the woman back with the spear at her throat as everyone transformed back into… well… humans.

Pirates, probably.

“Run?” Draco asked when he spotted Edward Teach, son of Ares.

“Run,” Annabeth confirmed, gripping Percy by the wrist. He seemed confused.

Now that Circe was occupied.

It’s not as though he could have beaten a clearly ancient sorceress anyway.

So.

They ran.

Draco hates how that phrase becomes more and more common in his life with every passing day.

.

.

The Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Blackbeard’s ship — you know, one of the pirates who had been Circe’s guinea pig. Well, it was a lovely ship.

In Draco’s defense, it was Percy’s idea to steal it.

A curious note: Percy seems to have strange powers for controlling ships. Draco simply went back to vomiting over the railing.

Percy was proud to have found something he was good at.

Draco would have loved it to be something he could actually enjoy, and not something that made him sick.

.

.

While Percy was delighting in learning to handle a ship and sharing a moment with Annabeth about cyclops lore — something Draco had heard before — Draco continues vomiting over the railing. Not that there’s anything left in his stomach; bile always does the job. He feels a little grim about his earlier transformation. A ferret — simply pathetic and undignified. At least he knows Percy was a guinea pig, so if Annabeth ever tries to use it against him, he won’t be the only humiliated one in the conversation.

Why a ferret?

Circe’s magic was powerful — she was probably one of the most powerful witches in recorded history. A true legend among wizards, though among demigods she wasn’t quite as significant as her mother Hecate.

He’s almost certain that having wizard blood is what made his transformation different.

He doesn’t want to think about what the implications of that might be.

The other thing he couldn’t stop thinking about was the prophecy Annabeth mentioned.

A half-blood of the eldest gods.

Would it really work that way?

Could it only be a direct child?

If you look at it from a certain angle, even the children of Apollo, Hermes, or Athena could be part of that prophecy — all of them are grandchildren of Zeus in a sense, so they too would be connected to it in some way.

Maybe he’s just overthinking it.

Until now, only Thalia and Percy were direct children of the Three.

Would there be more?

At first there was only Thalia, but then Percy appeared — and that didn’t necessarily mean something was clearly wrong among the Olympians.

“The Island of the Sirens,” Draco said, unimpressed, when Annabeth explained her plan, which was a terrible idea.

“They say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They reveal things about yourself that you hadn’t even realized. That’s why they enchant you. If you survive, you come out wiser. I want to hear them. When will I ever have an opportunity like this?” Annabeth says confidently, and Draco cannot bring himself to think the girl is more foolish than this — even though he’d like to.

Percy was right to cover his ears.

It was the wisest and most sensible thing to do. Well — Annabeth clearly couldn’t be perfect at everything.

“Sirens are deceptive and can lead you to your destruction. In my childhood stories there was one about a Siren, and they always bring bad luck,” says Draco with his arms crossed, while Percy glances at him sideways.

“Sparky the Dragon?” he asks, amused, causing Draco to blush and shove him.

The story — read only by pureblood wizard children — about a dragon who fell in love with a Siren is general cultural knowledge. But Percy had found it hilarious when Draco showed it to him among the belongings his mother had sent so he could spend the year there. It was his favorite book.

Idiot.

This was a terrible idea.

He didn’t want any part of the plan.

Percy and Draco are reluctantly drafted into helping her anyway.

.

.

Everything goes wrong.

Draco stays on the ship — useless in the water — but even though he has a cut on his cheek from where Annabeth managed to break free of his grip while he was trying to hold her back, Percy had gone after her without hesitation.

He jumped without looking back, without thinking about what would happen to Draco, left alone on the ship — completely sick, alone — while he worried about Annabeth alone. He doesn’t really blame him. Draco wishes he had been braver, that he had a broom or something so he could have gone after her. No spell he knows how to cast wandlessly would have helped him there.

Draco should have gone after them anyway.

He didn’t.

Instead he watched Percy save the girl, like a stupid comic-book hero — the kind Percy himself used to show him.

When they both climb back on board, he helps them without giving either of them a second glance — genuinely worried about them. But when, a few minutes later, everything seems fine and they continue the journey, he can’t stop himself from sitting down in the middle of a corridor inside the ship, unable to understand why his heart feels broken for some reason.

And desperate to think of anything else so that no one notices.

He hates the bond.

For now it seems somewhat one-sided — Draco receives the emotions of others, but he knows that with Percy, depending on the emotion, Percy can feel things too. He fears Annabeth may be the same.

.

.

Annabeth’s fatal flaw is hubris.

Excessive pride.

.

.

Percy doesn’t know his.

.

.

Looking at them both, Draco easily discovers his own: selfishness.

That would probably be his fatal flaw.

Because he wants things only for himself without caring about others. Because he wants all of Percy’s attention on him right now. Because he wants Annabeth to still be his friend in spite of all that. Because he wants his parents too much, wants them to see him, and feels as though he’s the only one who matters.

He takes those emotions and sets them aside.

.

.

“Draco…” Percy calls to him as he enters the corridor. Draco is still sitting on the floor, nauseous, staring at the wall with a distant look.

He wonders how much Percy knows about what’s happening. How much he can feel.

But none of it matters.

“We’ve arrived,” he says, his voice a little rough — not from crying, but from exhaustion.

He feels Percy’s emotion.

Concern.

Concern for him.

And he savors the fact that, for just a moment, Percy’s attention returns to him.

But through everything — even though it’s not something he can name — it’s as though he simply knows, just from looking at Percy, that they have reached their destination.

As Percy nods, Draco finds himself unnerved by the growing power of the bond between them.

.

.

In the distance, another patch of land came into view: a saddle-shaped island, with wooded hills, white sandy beaches, and green meadows — just as he had seen it in his dreams.

30 degrees, 31 minutes north; 75 degrees, 12 minutes west.

The cyclops’s lair.

If you picture a “monster island,” you imagine jagged rocks and bones scattered across the beach, like on the island of the Sirens. But the cyclops’s island was nothing like that. Yes, there was a rope bridge over a chasm, which was not a good sign — it was more or less the equivalent of putting up a billboard reading “Something evil lives here.” But apart from that, the place looked like a Caribbean postcard. It had green meadows, tropical fruit trees, and blindingly white sandy beaches.

Annabeth breathed in the fragrant air deeply.

“The Golden Fleece,” she said.

“Will the island die if we take it?” Percy asked curiously.

Annabeth shook her head.

“It will lose its lushness, yes. And it will return to whatever state it was in before.”

Not that it matters.

Percy seemed guilty, but Draco pushed aside his emotions in order to think for himself — his fatal flaw was selfishness, and he hadn’t arrived at that conclusion for nothing. If they wanted to save the camp, they needed the magical object, and frankly, they needed the camp far too much to worry about what happened to this island.

Which was the lair of a monster who was apparently trying to… marry… Grover.

His life was a comedy.

In the meadow at the foot of the cliff, several dozen sheep were clustered together. They seemed peaceful enough, though they were enormous — as big as hippos. Beyond them, a path wound up into the hills. At the top of that path, near the edge of the chasm, stood a colossal oak tree. There was something golden glinting in its branches.

“This is too easy,” said Percy. “Do we just walk up there and take it?”

Annabeth narrowed her eyes.

“There’s supposed to be a guardian. A dragon, or…”

Just then a deer emerged from the brush. It trotted across the meadow, probably looking for grass, and suddenly all the sheep began to bleat and lunged at it. It happened so fast that the deer stumbled and disappeared in a sea of wool and hooves.

There was a flurry of grass and brown fur.

A few seconds later the sheep dispersed and went back to wandering peacefully. In the spot where the deer had been, there was nothing left but a pile of white bones.

The three of them exchanged looks of varying degrees of horror.

It was disgusting.

Not that Draco could vomit any more at this point — he was certain that if he was still alive after so much of it, it was only because he was a demigod now.

“They’re like piranhas,” she said.

“Piranhas with wool. How do we…?” Percy began.

“Percy!” Annabeth stifled a cry and grabbed his arm. “Look.”

She pointed toward the beach, just below the meadow, where a boat had been dragged up onto the sand — the other lifeboat from the CSS Birmingham.

.

.

Of course everyone wanted it to be Tyson.

It wasn’t Tyson.

But Draco felt a little calmer knowing that Clarisse was alive. It had seemed far too cruel to him for the girl to die. The only problem is that the cyclops got to her first.

Polyphemus.

Draco remembers those moments as a child when his mother used to read him the Odyssey or the Iliad, all those times he had longed to live those kinds of adventures.

He hates himself so much right now for ever wanting that.

“I have an idea,” Annabeth had said, eyes bright. Draco and Percy turned to look at her. For a brief moment, Draco feels a small flutter at the look of absolute trust his friend gives her.

He forces himself to push that emotion aside and look at Annabeth instead, who seems to hesitate slightly when she meets Draco’s gaze, but in the end simply smiles faintly. It’s not what he would have wanted — but the world has shown him in the past year that things are far from how he would like them to be most of the time. In spite of everything, he can’t find anything within him to hate the blonde girl who resembles him — even though they’re not siblings — and who genuinely tries to do what’s right.

Even if it’s sometimes morally questionable.

She’s his friend.

Draco smiles slightly before nodding, making the girl smile in relief.

They’ve made it this far.

Now.

It’s time to rescue their friend, save Clarisse, save the camp, and take that golden object.

Yes.

Draco will never again feel jealous of Potter and his stupid adventures — which, compared to the ones he’s living now, look like child’s play.

To be continued…

Notes:

A few people had commented earlier about how Draco has a crush on Percy, or how it would show a little. It’s not something that will be developed into anything — remember this is a Drarry story (Harco?), so the main pairing will eventually be Draco x Harry.

But that doesn’t stop him from having a massive crush on his best friend — one Draco himself doesn’t even want to have, because he values his friendship with Percy deeply and knows Percy would never see him that way.

Still, it is kind of adorable.

All of us — normal humans — have experienced unrequited love at some point. I liked the idea of Draco’s unrequited loves being Percy… and Hercules. It’s also quite possible that if Luke hadn’t betrayed the camp, Draco would have developed something of an infatuation with him too.

The next chapter is the end of the first arc.

I’ll explain more about that for anyone who might have forgotten the initial author’s notes.

Someone also asked for a shoutout on TikTok — I’ve never been asked that before, so I’m not sure I’m doing it right.

Luka walks out putting on a pair of reading glasses, scanning a little piece of paper before speaking.

Luka: “Hiya?”

Production hands her another slip of paper. She reads it with a confused look, not quite sure what to make of it.

Luka: Production is telling me that the TikTok user @isama0825 also wants a shoutout, so: “Hiya x2.”

I don’t really understand the whole shoutout thing, but if it made someone happy, I hope you’re happy :D

Chapter Text

So we’re still telling the story. Everything that happened that summer before going back to Hogwarts is a little difficult to recount. The worst part is that the encounter with his father still hasn’t happened, but in general this kind of mission is starting to wear him out.

Believe him.

In his third year everything is even worse, and he has so many bonds now that he sometimes gets headaches just remembering it all.

Where had he left off telling the story?

Oh, right.

Polyphemus’s island. Draco shudders at the memory of that story and everything that kept happening afterward. He worries about everything still to come now that he’s about to leave for third-year break — he has a feeling everything is going to get worse, and without a doubt the memory of his year with Potter is a disaster.

On top of that, he still has to figure out the crazy woman who seems to haunt him, and his Olympian father is more of a nuisance than any real help, despite having saved him. Draco remains a firm believer that the man is out of his mind.

Well, enough thinking — the story must go on. When they arrived at the island, let it be known that at the end of the day, Draco is nothing but a poor innocent victim.

To hell with Percy Jackson — he loves him like his best friend, but the boy is a magnet for trouble, even worse than Potter. Though, thinking back on how third year ended, he can’t help but feel the poor idiot is only going to have an even harder time after everything that’s happened to him.

.

.

Seeing Grover dressed as a bride, or Clarisse hurling furious words at Polyphemus, is quite a confusing sight. The cyclops smelled absolutely terrible, which was rather bad for his already defenseless and sensitive stomach — though thankfully he didn’t vomit. Now that he was on dry land, he didn’t seem to have that urge anymore. He didn’t fully understand the fake Scottish accent or the woven shawl being used as a wedding outfit, but it seemed they had arrived just in time before… whatever it was that might happen. He wasn’t sure it could actually happen.

A massacre once the truth came out?

Probably.

They had been watching everything unfold. Clarisse, unfortunately, has a big mouth and blew Grover’s cover, landing them outside a cave with no way in — except for a small gap that maybe a guinea pig version of Percy could squeeze through.

No.

He is not going to entertain the thought that a ferret-Draco could do it. He has dignity.

“I think I could do something to get inside, but I wouldn’t know how to make it talk,” says Draco, thinking it over. He considers the Shabtis — he could make a snake one, something he hadn’t wanted to summon until now because he doubted it would have survived all this madness.

But the snake he usually called Steven might be able to help.

Though they have nothing to send with it to Grover or Clarisse, to explain that they were here and coming to help.

“Who would have thought being a guinea pig would have been useful right about now,” Percy jokes about himself, glancing sideways at him.

No.

He is not going to include himself in that joke, Draco thinks bitterly.

“Well, that was due to Circe’s magic — it’s not as though someone just goes around wanting to turn into an animal and it happens… unless you’re her child and have her blessing,” Annabeth explains indifferently.

Percy turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow. Draco scorches him with a glare.

Yes, Percy, go ahead and make faces so everyone understands you have magic — because as you know, you’re the son of wizards who are completely forbidden from bonding with any god of Olympus other than Hecate. Wonderful. And even if he wanted to turn into some… small animal that is absolutely not required to be a ferret, it’s not as though he can do it on command.

Becoming an Animagus is a rather complicated process, and not every wizard has the ability to become one just because they wish it. It requires a complicated procedure — Draco may or may not have researched this before starting at Hogwarts out of curiosity, only to become discouraged partway through — potions, leaves held in the mouth for an indefinite period of time, and a lightning storm.

It’s not as if Draco suddenly thinks “I want to turn into a ferret” and something happens.

The thought forms in his mind — before everything begins to spin. Percy and Annabeth let out astonished gasps while the pain passes quickly through Draco’s body, before everything becomes overwhelmingly large.

No.

Not again.

No.

Please, no.

Draco screams in horror, but the sound that comes out is a chittering squeal, causing both Annabeth and Percy to crouch down to his level, while he strikes the ground with tiny paws he recognizes perfectly. Along with an urge to eat something meaty — ferrets appear to be carnivores, or at least he is.

“It’s possible that after the incident with Circe you now have the ability to transform into a ferret. Can you do it too, Percy?” Annabeth asks curiously, clearly considering the possibilities that might imply.

After a grimace from Percy, and a sideways glance suggesting he thinks Draco is now a ferret due to his magical heritage more than his Olympian father’s side, Percy answers.

“I doubt I can,” the boy says shyly, disappointing his friend.

Draco stares at his tiny paws in disbelief.

What does this mean?

He has never seen an Animagus in person, but his transformation felt very similar to what the books described — which made him break into a cold sweat. Metaphorically, that is. Now, as a ferret, he seems to experience everything in a limited way. The idea that Circe’s magic had not only transformed him into a ferret, but had somehow altered the entire Animagus process — skipping all the steps so that he ended up like… this.

It filled him with disbelief.

And fury.

He was going to murder that second-rate witch.

A ferret.

His Animagus form was a ferret. And now, thanks to all of this, Draco could have lived his entire life without ever knowing that would be his spirit animal.

“Can you turn back into a human?” Annabeth asks, looking worried.

Draco stares at her intently, before realizing, with horror, that — in fact, no — he cannot turn back into a human, even though he tries to think of it the same way he had when he became a ferret.

Damn.

.

.

First-time transformations for wizards becoming Animagi are rarely easy — they are fraught with complications, and it is crucial to be careful, to have experts nearby so as not to become trapped in what can only be described as a kind of limbo between human and animal. The good news in all of this is that Draco is a complete animal — not some sort of monster caught between both forms — which means he only needs to find a way to return to his human shape without the help of Hermes’s vitamins.

It would be wonderful to figure that out without being in the middle of a mission on the island of a legendary cyclops.

Not a legendary cyclops of the good variety.

Fortunately for them, Grover spoke the language of animals — so when he entered through the cave instead of Clarisse, who had been on the verge of getting herself killed, and Grover heard a horrified shriek that it was Draco, well — at least he was alive. Though from the look Clarisse gave him, despite being in danger of dying herself, it was clear that this would be something she’d use to torment him at camp for the rest of his life.

His nonexistent social life was now more dead than when it had started.

“Are Percy and Annabeth here?” asked Grover, practically moved to tears, while Clarisse let out a somewhat relieved huff, and Draco nodded as a ferret.

“They’re coming, but they need to be careful and not be so reckless.” He gives Clarisse the worst look a ferret can manage. “We’ve been looking for you for days,” he adds, gazing up at Grover with wide eyes that make the satyr look on the verge of tears.

He says nothing when Grover hugs him against his neck as gently as he can.

“And what does that mean?” Clarisse asks, irritated.

It means.

That he hopes Percy and Annabeth think quickly of a way to get them all out alive.

.

.

He had thought it would be subtle.

Of course it isn’t.

Being a ferret was endearingly entertaining — at least he bore no responsibility for whatever his friends did. He could have been a stress ball for Grover, or would have been if the satyr hadn’t been tied up with Clarisse. But since no one could understand him, he quickly perched on the satyr’s shoulder and held on tight.

.

.

It’s difficult to hold on. Even though Percy offered his shoulder, Draco growled at Grover that there’s no point being with someone who can’t understand him. The boy seemed hurt by this when the translation was relayed to him. Well — Percy had gone to rescue them, cutting their ropes, running after hearing Annabeth scream. It wasn’t pleasant to be carried on someone’s shoulder like that, but running on his own would slow them all down. It was very difficult to look even remotely dignified as a bloody ferret — but Draco doesn’t think too hard about it, because right now everyone is fighting for their lives.

Polyphemus was an idiot.

But an enormous idiot.

A very large giant who can kill you.

The others knew how to fight — they had trained at camp. And although Draco couldn’t take part in this, because he was a ferret, he didn’t hesitate to leap from Grover’s shoulder when they got close enough, slip between the giant’s legs, and bite him mercilessly on the toe.

It was the most disgusting thing Draco had ever done in his life.

But it worked.

“RAAARRR!” roared the giant.

The good news: he released Annabeth. The bad news: he let her fall head-first onto some rocks, where she lay motionless like a ragdoll.

More bad news: Polyphemus charged at Percy — five hundred stinking kilos of cyclops that Percy had to face with his small sword.

Draco went flying.

Damn.

.

.

His small body hit the ground with a thud, gasping as he lay on his back, realizing that Percy would have to manage with the others against the cyclops. Draco used his body to scramble toward Annabeth, who was still unconscious, clawing at her and jumping on her trying to get a reaction.

Grover reached them, scooping up Annabeth — and by extension, Draco, who was on top of her.

“She’s going to be alright,” he said in a panic, at which point Draco jumped onto his shoulder to keep an eye on Percy.

Percy was fighting with Clarisse.

Damn.

Human form — he needs a human form.

But his body refused to respond.

Both of them began running downhill, while Grover and Draco headed toward the killer sheep. Draco growled at Grover, who swore under his breath before changing direction, because Percy and Clarisse were coming up behind them. He didn’t want to run toward the fight — Annabeth was still unconscious and bleeding.

He’s useless.

Again.

Like last summer.

“Cut the ropes — Annabeth has a knife,” he said, leaping toward where he knew the weapon was.

The plan would have been perfect. Percy and Clarisse would come from their side, the rope would be cut before the cyclops reached them. There were screams, they ran — but when Percy managed to get to them and cut the ropes, the cyclops was on his side of it.

Yes.

A perfect plan that failed.

It was the end.

Draco found himself trembling between Annabeth’s body and Grover, when Percy literally threw himself into the fight with a battle cry. It was as though something had taken hold of the clumsy boy who, while skilled with a sword, had never shown this kind of warrior spirit from within. Well, yes — people say something similar happened with Ares, but this was a bloody cyclops, and… who is he kidding.

He raised his sword and launched himself into the attack, forgetting this was an utterly unequal fight. He drove the sword into the giant’s belly, and when Polyphemus doubled over in pain, he struck him across the nose with the hilt. He slashed, kicked, and pounded with fury — and suddenly Polyphemus was on the ground, dazed and groaning, with Percy on top of him, the tip of his sword pointed at his single eye.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!” the monster whimpered.

“Percy!” Grover gasped. “How did you…?”

It was the same question Draco had, if he was being honest.

“Nooooo, please!” the cyclops begged, looking up at Percy with a pitiful expression. His nose was bleeding and a tear was forming at the corner of his eye. “My sheepies need me. I just want to protect my sheepies!” And he began to sob.

Percy had won.

He only needed to drive the sword in.

One clean thrust and it would be over.

“Kill him!” Clarisse shrieked. “What are you waiting for?”

“He’s a cyclops!” Grover warned. “Don’t trust him!”

Draco let out an indignant squeal, because these two idiots didn’t know what they were saying — every word was wrong — because now he can feel the empathy rising inside Percy. He’s probably thinking about Tyson, and that was absolutely the last thing they needed right now.

He has nothing against cyclopes like Tyson — but this cyclops is different.

There are good humans.

There are bad humans.

There are good cyclopes like Tyson.

This was a very bad cyclops.

“We only want the Golden Fleece,” Percy told him. “Will you let us take it?”

“No!” Clarisse yelled. “Kill him!”

Draco was fervently in Clarisse’s corner.

The monster sniffled loudly.

“My beautiful fleece — the finest piece of my collection. Take it, cruel man. Take it and go in peace.”

“I’m going to back away very slowly,” Percy told the monster. “One wrong move and—”

Polyphemus nodded as if he understood.

Percy took one step back — and quick as a cobra, the monster swatted him off the edge of the chasm.

“Stupid mortal!” he bellowed, getting back to his feet. “Give you my fleece? Ha! I’ll eat you first.”

He wishes.

Draco leaped from Annabeth’s body in an instant. He doesn’t know exactly what he felt — but his body simply filled with energy, and everything became clear for a moment. He had forgotten about the bond. Of course he could feel Percy’s stronger emotions, but something inside him had just switched on like a light.

Protect him.

Keep him safe.

Help him.

Those words became a kind of mantra, and when he hit the ground he was human again. Without hesitating, he touched the bracelet on his arm — the spear in his hands felt right. Unlike Percy, unlike his friend’s humanity, unlike whatever it was that made him show mercy.

Draco showed none.

The spear drove without mercy through Polyphemus’s right thigh. The cyclops let out a howl — before a boulder the size of a basketball lodged itself in his throat. The cyclops began to choke, trying to swallow that unexpected pill.

He staggered, whimpering in pain, as Draco ran forward to wrench the spear from his leg — embedded deep — causing a rather unpleasant pool of revolting blood in the process.

He tried to catch Percy when he fell from the sky. It would have been very heroic and very manly.

The idiot landed on his back.

“Damn,” Draco groaned, flattened against the ground, face in the dirt, with Percy shifting in disbelief on top of him.

When he followed Percy’s gaze, he saw it.

Halfway down the path leading to the beach — completely unharmed, despite being in the middle of a herd of killer sheep.

“Bad Polyphemus!” Tyson exclaimed. “Not all cyclopes are as good as we seem!”

Draco couldn’t tell whose relief was whose — Percy’s or his own.

.

.

Tyson gave them a condensed version of what had happened: Rainbow the hippocampus, who had apparently been following them since Long Island Sound in the hope that Tyson would come and play with him, had rescued Tyson when he was sinking beneath the wreckage of the CSS Birmingham and had managed to get him to safety. The two of them had been traveling through the Sea of Monsters ever since, trying to track them down, until Tyson picked up a powerful whiff of sheep and followed it to the island.

Nothing more was needed.

It was perfect.

Then they were surrounded by killer sheep.

The Fleece, meanwhile, helped Annabeth recover. He didn’t mind Percy’s desperation, as Draco was dealing with his own distress at the sight of so much blood. He didn’t want to lose his friend — so the Fleece had been enormously helpful when she woke up nearly fully healed.

Clarisse proved to be more than she seemed when she helped carry Annabeth back to the Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Then, before Draco’s astonished eyes, he witnessed a battle of brothers — Percy and Tyson fighting together against Polyphemus. He wanted to go and help, but this time the bond didn’t compel him to move, as if something inside him was saying that everything was alright.

“They’re incredible,” he heard his own lips whisper.

Then Clarisse joined the fight.

Apparently not pleased about the cyclops wanting to marry her.

No one said anything.

Not even when that led to a shipwreck and being rescued by hippocampi.

.

.

.

Miami.

That wasn’t the important part. They had been away from camp for ten days.

Which meant that Thalia’s tree should have been dead by then.

Percy had given Clarisse all the money they had for a plane ticket — that had been unexpectedly kind of him, and Draco thought he was an idiot — but no one listened to him when Clarisse ran off, because they were running out of time.

That was when Luke appeared.

.

.

“Hey, buddy,” Luke said. “Welcome to the United States” — as if he didn’t have a sword at Percy’s throat.

Draco hated him.

He remembered the words he had shared with Clarisse what felt like an eternity ago, but he couldn’t move when Luke’s usual goons — those two bear twins — materialized on either side. One grabbed Annabeth and Grover by the collar of their shirts. The other tried to grab Tyson, but Tyson knocked him into a pile of luggage and let out a roar at Luke.

Draco drew his spear, forcing the other one to release Annabeth and Grover.

No.

He was going to fight.

This time he would not freeze.

“Draco.” Luke’s voice sounded like that of a snake charmer.

Draco looked back at him with hatred — but Luke didn’t seem the least bit surprised. For some reason, Draco felt paralyzed.

“Percy,” Luke said calmly, “either you tell your giant to get out of my sight, or everyone here is going to find out they can’t win. Still tripping over that spear, Draco?”

He tightened his grip on the spear, while Annabeth and Grover behind him seemed on high alert. He tried to ignore the devastated look on Annabeth’s face or the furious growl from Percy at Luke’s words.

Draco hates Luke.

He hates seeing the kind boy who had smiled at him when he was in trouble, when everything at camp was new and he was scared and suspicious of everyone.

He hates him for betraying him.

And this feeling didn’t belong to Annabeth or Percy.

It was entirely his own.

“What do you want, Luke?” Percy snapped.

He flashed a smile that twisted the scar on his face.

He pointed to the far end of the dock, and that’s when Draco noticed something that should have been obvious from the very beginning: the largest cruise ship in the port was the Princess Andromeda.

“Well,” Luke said, “what I want is to offer you my hospitality again, of course.”

.

.

The bear twins dragged them aboard the Princess Andromeda and brought them to the stern deck, in front of the pool with the jets spraying water. A dozen assorted goons — reptiles, Laestrygonians, armored demigods — had gathered to offer their “hospitality.”

Again.

This is getting tedious.

“So,” Luke murmured. “The Fleece. Where is it?”

He examined them carefully. He prodded Percy’s shirt with the tip of his sword. He peered into Grover’s jeans.

“Hey!” Grover protested. “That’s natural goat fur!”

“Sorry, old friend,” Luke said with a smile. “Just hand over the Fleece and I’ll let you resume whatever quest you were on.”

“Ha!” said Grover. “‘Old friend,’ is it?”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” Luke’s voice was dangerously calm. “Where… is… the Fleece?”

“Not here,” said Percy. “We sent it on ahead. You miscalculated this time, ‘friend.’”

Luke narrowed his eyes.

Draco narrowed his own, confused.

“You’re lying. You can’t have…” He flushed suddenly at the dreadful possibility occurring to him. “Clarisse?”

Percy nodded confidently.

Draco was horrified for an entirely different reason.

Despite his clear performance — despite looking mildly surprised — there was something almost maniacal glinting in Luke’s eyes. Draco couldn’t understand why the boy would seem satisfied when their actions had so clearly worked against his plans.

Had they, though?

“You entrusted it to…? You actually gave it to…?”

“That’s right.”

“Agrius!”

The giant bear took a step back.

“Y-yes?”

“Get down below and saddle my steed. Bring it up on deck. I have to fly to the airport. Quickly!”

“But, boss—”

“Now!” Luke shouted. “Or I’ll feed you to the dragon.”

The bear swallowed hard and lumbered heavily down the stairs. Luke paced alongside the pool, cursing in ancient Greek, gripping his sword so hard his knuckles looked ready to burst.

But he wasn’t angry.

He seemed a little worried.

But not furious.

The rest of the crew looked rather uneasy. Perhaps they had never seen their leader this unhinged.

“You’ve been playing us from the start,” Percy accused, but Draco couldn’t stop watching Luke, his unease growing. “You intended for us to bring you the Fleece and save you the trouble of finding it yourself.”

“Of course, you idiot!” he snapped. “And you’ve gone and ruined everything!”

No.

His expression wasn’t genuine.

It was as though he was telling the truth and lying at the same time — as if, somehow, they were still in the middle of another trap.

“Percy—” Draco tried to speak. Luke shot him a sideways look of amusement, but Percy was too consumed by fury.

“Traitor!”

He watched as Percy pulled his last gold drachma from his pocket and hurled it at Luke. As expected, Luke dodged it easily. The coin passed through the rainbow-lit curtain of water.

“You deceived us all.” Percy had his own plans. “Even Dionysus at Camp Half-Blood!”

Luke smiled contemptuously.

“This is no time to play the hero, Percy. Drop that pathetic little sword of yours or I’ll have you killed sooner rather than later.”

“Who poisoned Thalia’s tree, Luke?”

“I did, obviously,” he snarled. “I already told you. I used the venom of an old Python, brought directly from the depths of Tartarus.”

“Chiron had nothing to do with it?”

“Ha! You know very well he never would have. That old fool doesn’t have the spine.”

“That’s what you call spine? Betraying your friends? Putting the whole camp at risk?” Luke raised his sword.

“You don’t understand half of what’s really going on. I was going to let you take the Fleece… once I’d finished using it.”

Oh no.

Luke’s eyes meeting Draco’s made everything click — this was wrong. The Fleece. They should never have brought the Fleece back.

But why?

Draco had a feeling they would find out soon enough.

“You were going to use it to resurrect Kronos,” said Percy.

“Yes! And the Fleece’s magic would have accelerated his regeneration tenfold. But don’t think you’ve stopped us, Percy. You’ve only slowed the process down a little.” — No. That doesn’t sound sincere.

“So you poisoned the tree, betrayed Thalia, and laid a trap for us… all to help Kronos destroy the gods.”

Luke clenched his teeth, looking more bored than anything else.

“You already know all this! Why do you keep asking?”

“Because I want your audience to hear it.”

“What audience?”

He narrowed his eyes, looked back — and all of his goons did the same. They cried out and stepped back a pace. Above the pool, shimmering in the mist-filled rainbow of the spray, an Iris message flickered into view: Dionysus, Tantalus, and the entire camp in the dining pavilion. Everyone was seated in silence, staring at them in stunned disbelief.

“Well,” said Dionysus dryly, “an unexpected evening distraction.”

“Mr. D, you heard him,” said Percy. “Everyone heard Luke. Chiron had nothing to do with the poisoning.”

Dionysus sighed.

“I suppose he didn’t.”

“That Iris message could be a trap,” Tantalus suggested — though he had almost all of his attention fixed on a cheeseburger he was attempting to corner with both hands.

“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. D, looking at Tantalus with revulsion. “It appears I’ll have to reinstate Chiron as activities director. I think I miss playing pinochle with that old horse.”

Tantalus caught the burger, which this time didn’t fly away. He held it up from the plate and stared at it in wonder, as though it were the greatest diamond in the world.

“I’ve got it!” he said, bursting out laughing.

“We no longer require your services, Tantalus,” Mr. D announced.

Tantalus looked stupefied.

“What? But—”

“You may return to the Underworld. You’re dismissed.”

“No! But… Noooooooo!”

As he dissolved into mist, he clutched the burger and tried to bring it to his mouth — but it was already too late. He vanished completely, and the burger dropped back onto the plate.

The campers erupted in cheers.

Luke roared in fury. He slashed his sword through the jet of water and the Iris message dissolved. But it had already served its purpose.

“Kronos was right about you, Percy. You’re unpredictable. You’ll have to be replaced.”

One of his men blew a bronze whistle and the deck doors burst open. A dozen warriors appeared, forming a circle around them bristling with the bronze tips of their spears.

Luke smiled.

“You won’t leave this ship alive.”

.

.

They made it out alive.

It had been a strange display of testosterone — Annabeth’s word — when Percy managed to convince Luke to fight one-on-one, which kept Draco tense for most of it. He couldn’t intervene. If he did, he’d turn the one-on-one Percy had secured into a fight against every other warrior present. In the end, his intervention wasn’t needed when Chiron appeared — but it didn’t matter.

When Luke watched them leave under Chiron’s protection and his centaur kin, Draco could swear he gave him one last amused smile.

Draco couldn’t do anything. Again.

His fists clenched in fury.

.

.

Chiron had a private talk with Percy — the contents of which Draco knows nothing about. But when they returned to camp, Chiron mentioned that he would be having a talk with Draco soon.

How soon was soon?

A day.

A week.

A year.

It didn’t seem to matter.

Thanks to the centaurs’ particular ability for travel, they arrived at Long Island shortly after Clarisse had. He rode on the back of one of Chiron’s kin but didn’t talk much during the journey — least of all about what had happened. When they arrived at camp, the centaurs were very eager to meet Dionysus. They’d heard he threw incredible parties. They were disappointed. The god of wine was not in the mood for parties — particularly when the entire camp gathered at the top of Half-Blood Hill.

Lavender had launched herself at him the moment he dismounted, catching him in a near-deadly embrace that proved Draco may have come out of it somewhat injured.

Even from a distance from the fights.

He had been knocked around hard as a ferret and felt thoroughly bruised. Will had joined Lavender’s embrace with an emotional one of his own.

It was good to be back, Draco thought, moved.

The past two weeks at camp had been brutal. The arts and crafts cabin had been burned to the ground by an attack from Draco Aionius — which, as far as he could gather, was the Latin name for a large-lizard-that-spits-fire-and-destroys-everything — and there had been several jokes made about the name. The rooms in the Big House were overflowing with the injured; the Apollo cabin kids, who were the best healers, had been working overtime to provide first aid.

Everyone crowding around Thalia’s tree now looked exhausted and beaten.

The moment Clarisse draped the lowest branch of the pine with the Golden Fleece, the moon seemed to brighten and shift from grey to silver. A cool breeze whispered through the branches and began stirring the grass on the hillside and across the valley, as though everything were coming into sharper relief: the glow of fireflies in the woods, the scent of the strawberry fields, the murmur of waves on the beach.

Slowly, the pine’s needles began turning from brown to green.

Everyone erupted in cheers. The transformation was happening gradually, but there was no question about it: the magic of the Golden Fleece was seeping into the tree, filling it with new life and driving out the poison.

Chiron ordered round-the-clock guard shifts at the top of the hill — at least until they found an appropriate monster to guard the Fleece. He said he was going to put an ad in the Olympus Weekly right away.

Meanwhile, Clarisse’s cabinmates hoisted her on their shoulders and carried her to the amphitheater, where she received a laurel crown and many other honors around the bonfire.

Annabeth, Percy, and Draco were ignored.

It was as though they had never left camp.

He supposed that was their best way of saying thank you — because if anyone had admitted they had slipped away from camp to embark on the quest, they would have been obliged to expel them.

This is for the best, Draco thinks when he can finally collapse onto an infirmary cot, where Will smiles and tells him stories of everything that happened at camp. Lavender sneaks in that night, declaring that Draco has worse luck than Harry Potter if what they’re saying is true.

“I have worse luck than Potter — who would have thought it possible?” Draco jokes in amusement as his ribs are bandaged.

“Harry Potter — the boy you’re always talking about?” Will asks, genuinely curious.

Lavender shrieks excitedly before launching into exaggerated stories, full of rivalry — which is true — and romantic tension — which is not — for the benefit of the blond boy.

.

.

The following morning, once the ponies had set off for Florida, Chiron made a surprising announcement: the chariot races would continue as planned. After Tantalus’s departure, everyone had assumed they were history — but it seemed logical, all things considered, to bring them back, especially now that Chiron had returned and the camp was safe.

Tyson wasn’t thrilled about the idea of getting back on a chariot after their first experience, so he was perfectly happy for Percy to team up with Annabeth.

They wanted Draco to be there.

Draco wanted to be there.

“I think I’ll watch this one from the ground — the doctor’s orders are rest,” Draco said with a straight face, winking at Will, who flushed in embarrassment before pushing him.

He laughed about it.

Percy looked a little confused and disappointed — but after glancing at Annabeth, he seemed completely delighted by the idea.

As Draco watched the ridiculous race, which looked ready to kill his friends at any moment, he thought with a bittersweet smile that perhaps this was a good way to say goodbye. He hadn’t let the feeling grow. It would probably be a long time before he could say he felt nothing — but watching Percy fight alongside Annabeth, both of them utterly in their element together as a team, he thought with sadness that this was probably where his first love ended.

He hadn’t even given it the chance to begin.

“That was a sad sigh,” Lavender says curiously, watching as the race is won by Annabeth and Percy against all odds.

“It was a farewell to something that was never meant to grow,” he says, watching fixedly as Percy looks radiant while thanking Tyson.

Tyson blushed to the tips of his ears. The crowd erupted in cheers.

When Annabeth kissed Percy on the cheek — after which the roar of the crowd grew considerably louder — he caught Lavender’s expression, as though a revelation had just dawned on her regarding the matter. He doesn’t ask what she knows, because he can only tell that she knows something. She looks almost sad for him.

It hurts.

But it will stop hurting someday.

Draco smiles faintly when Percy waves at him from the crowd, only hoping that Percy can’t feel this — that he can’t feel the sadness or loneliness.

The entire Athena cabin hoisted Annabeth, Tyson, and Percy onto their shoulders and carried them to the winners’ platform, where Chiron was waiting to place their laurel crowns.

He doubts Percy can feel it.

When his own emotions are too overwhelming, Draco can’t sense the others — so for now, he’s alright.

.

.

Draco leaves Percy and Annabeth to enjoy their newfound status as champions. A part of him whispers that if he had said yes, he would have been celebrating alongside them — but in the end, it wouldn’t have changed anything. During his entire first year at Hogwarts, he had wanted to beat Harry Potter at Quidditch, but even if he had been there, he doubts it would have made him happy. He doubts that participating in the race would have won him anything — it simply feels like he would have been fighting to reach something that was never within his grasp.

A golden Snitch that flies from his fingers into the distance.

He calls his mother, who has of course been in contact with Sally Jackson — an undoubtedly bad influence. The expression on Narcissa Malfoy’s face as she told him he would be coming home before the end of summer made him shudder.

The wards had been lifted.

The runes were ready.

He needed to arrive early to prepare for the Hogwarts exams he would have to take for his second year, in order to enter his third year. While he had studied, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to review things on his own, without the distraction of camp.

Draco looked through the Iris message at his mother speaking in that tone that left no room for doubt.

Perhaps it was for the best.

He was used to being at Percy’s side — he had wanted to spend the entire summer with his friend. But now he simply wanted to rest. To grieve a first love that clearly had no future, and move past it at Hogwarts.

Next summer would be different.

They would be better friends than they were now, but by then Draco would have killed any romantic feeling that had tried to take root inside him.

“Two more weeks, Draco — that’s all you have, and then you’ll be going home. That is, if you’re not off on another adventure at the end of the world again,” Narcissa says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Then she told him she loved him. His father gave an effusive greeting — or as effusive as he was capable of. Then the call ended, and he stood in front of the river for far too long. Thinking seriously about how on earth he was going to tell Percy that his summer holidays had been drastically shortened.

He didn’t need to be a Seer to know Percy wouldn’t like it.

Even if Percy would never look at him in a romantic light, Draco was his best friend — he’d fight Grover and Annabeth tooth and nail for that title — and Percy wouldn’t be happy about losing him until the following year.

Lavender wouldn’t be thrilled about being left without him either, though she’d be less upset about it, since she’d see him during the Hogwarts school year.

Maybe he could visit during some holidays?

“Draco Malfoy,” Chiron says, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Draco had lost all track of time and space, but he smiles when he sees the centaur.

Or he does.

Until he sees his expression.

Bad sign.

They walk in silence for a while. Draco simply keeps pace with the centaur, who seems to be doing his rounds and looking out over everyone — greeting others, but maintaining a kind of path set apart from the crowd, one that gave them presence.

But enough distance for a private conversation.

“Annabeth told me something she believes — a theory — but I wanted to confirm it with you, since something like this wasn’t supposed to happen.” Unlike with Percy, Draco understands Chiron’s meaning quickly.

“So she felt it too. Unlike Percy — it doesn’t seem strong enough for him to notice.”

“She’s quite perceptive. Though I didn’t expect you to have a bond with anyone besides Percy, which is rather… unusual, given the possible nature of the bond.”

“Nature?” he asks curiously.

Last year, Chiron hadn’t said much about the bond — but now he seemed to have reconsidered his position, probably because of what had happened at camp, or perhaps he had simply decided that now was the right moment.

“Achilles’s heel.” Well, that was certainly taken out of context, but Draco nods and follows the erratic line of thought. “Everyone knows Achilles, but few know Patroclus — or at least, certain details of his life.” Draco tilts his head as the centaur gazes into the distance. The sun is setting; it’s a beautiful evening. “Patroclus was cursed.”

He turns to look at the centaur in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, almost baffled. Chiron hesitates a little longer before sighing.

“Not many people knew about it. Even Patroclus himself wasn’t aware of it at first. He said it had been like a whip across his body — when he saw Achilles, when he spoke with him, he didn’t think anything was wrong. Not until they went to war,” Chiron explained, calmly. “He wasn’t the first to form bonds — they have existed for years, and while they’re usually created through magic, kindred souls form bonds of their own. Percy himself has a bond with Grover that allowed their dreams to connect.”

Right, that made him a little jealous — he won’t deny it — but it was some consolation to think that Draco had formed a stronger bond.

“What does that bond have to do with me?” he asks seriously.

“It’s similar — at least, I recall it being very similar,” Chiron replies. “It began with him feeling Achilles’s emotions. He began to be able to read him in battle. They were an almost infallible team. Patroclus often said he felt a strange need to help Achilles in every way possible — many times even against his own better judgment. He always needed to help when it was necessary.” Chiron pauses. “Patroclus loved Achilles deeply.” The double meaning is there. He knows it. He ignores it for the sake of his own sanity. “There came a time when Patroclus swore he could hear Achilles’s thoughts.”

An uncomfortable silence.

A very long, uncomfortable silence.

“And then…?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of alarm — because perhaps some things were feeling a little too familiar for his liking.

“He died.” Draco felt cold at Chiron’s words. “It drove Achilles mad.” Yes — this story was not going in a pleasant direction, Draco thinks, unnerved. “No one knows the full nature of that curse, or how it came to be, but it’s believed that the goddess of darkness, Nyx, wanted to balance the world. Achilles was powerful; Patroclus was his weakness. War was a dark thing at that time — but as far as I know, Patroclus only ever had one bond. With Achilles.”

Draco pressed a hand to his chin.

“So if I have a bond with Annabeth, it could mean a different curse, or a different kind of bond altogether.” There was almost a note of hope in the way he said it.

“Or it could mean that the curse is worse in your case.”

He liked Chiron better when he kept things to himself.

.

.

Draco doesn’t know which is worse to tell Percy — that his holidays have been cut short, or that he has a bond with Annabeth. The idiot seems resentful about both.

“But I’m your best friend.” That is the complaint he makes about both conversations.

Well.

At least Draco knows he’s not the only one who feels this is all too much for the two of them. Percy seems to be on the verge of tears at the thought of losing his best friend — not just for the rest of the holidays, but through the entire next school year as well.

“I promise I’ll come back.” He makes a silent apology to his parents and hopes they haven’t planned anything in advance. “Over Christmas and New Year’s — I know I can sneak away for a few days to come and visit.” He tries to console him.

But Percy still stands off to one side, nudging a stone with his shoe, looking miserable.

Annabeth isn’t present — but when Percy, after their conversation, literally doesn’t leave Draco’s back for the rest of the afternoon, she doesn’t seem at all put out. Curiously, she and Grover — who is staying the rest of the holidays before setting off on another search for Pan — are always nearby alongside Tyson and Lavender. Draco has to sneak away from the group just to talk with Will.

Though that becomes a challenge in itself when Percy tends to leap onto his back, accusing him of not spending enough time with him.

Draco genuinely cannot understand how he managed to fall for such an idiot.

.

.

Sometimes Draco thinks about Luke. About how Luke let them escape, in his own way. About his smile. About his plan — and how Draco knows they fell right into it, as if it had been a trap all along.

Luke wanted them to have the Fleece.

Why?

Sometimes Draco couldn’t sleep because of that. Those thoughts — and also because Percy would sneak in to drag him over to the Poseidon cabin, contraband and all, for a sleepover with Tyson. Draco finds himself missing those moments, even now.

He wants to go back to Hogwarts.

But he wants to stay here.

His heart feels divided.

.

.

“You know you have to talk to me all the time — we have the Iris messages. You should get a mobile phone, even if they’re dangerous for demigods,” Percy grumbles as they walk together after training. They had been practicing with swords and spears.

Draco still can’t beat him, but Percy is determined to make him into a warrior, and seems to consider him one of his best sparring partners so far.

“It won’t work — magic, you know,” he whispers that last part, because now that he thinks about it, Hogwarts — like most of the wizarding world — is quite behind the times when it comes to modern technology.

It’s a shame.

Even without fully understanding mobile phones, he can see why Percy finds them so useful. Some of them have small, addictive games, while others can play music by different artists.

Draco knows well what the customs of pureblood wizarding families entail.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking they’re dull, and that a bit of technology would make everything better. He won’t say that in front of his father, not unless he wants to give the man a stroke.

“The wizarding world is boring.”

“Tell me about it.”

The muggle world has far more distractions, he notes quickly — probably because of the absence of magic, which for Draco will always be infinitely more wondrous than a life without it. That doesn’t stop him from enjoying it all the more. Magic is something inherent to a wizard — especially if you’re born into a magical family and everything around you, from infancy, is steeped in it.

But the muggle world is fascinating too.

If only you could have the best of both.

“I didn’t thank you properly,” Percy says, drawing Draco’s attention as they walk. Draco glances sideways at him — and only looks at him fully when Percy smiles. “When Polyphemus was about to eat me, just before Tyson arrived, you attacked to help me. Thank you, Draco,” he adds, with a sincerity that stirs something in Draco’s chest — something he immediately growls and pushes aside.

He stares ahead, annoyed.

Idiot.

“You saved all our backsides more times than we can count — stop being such a sentimental arse,” he mutters, quickening his pace. Percy just laughs and walks at the same speed, giving him a shove.

Yes.

He would not miss that fool.

.

.

Tyson left one day. Percy said his father had called for him. Draco simply spent the rest of the day in Percy’s cabin, lying on the bed reading comics, while Percy lay beside him looking miserable and eating blue gummy bears.

At least until a storm broke out.

One day of peace before leaving.

That wasn’t too much to ask.

The storm skirted around Camp Half-Blood, as storms always did. Lightning split the horizon and the waves churned on the beach, but not a single drop of rain fell in the valley. That was because they were protected again — thanks to the Golden Fleece — sealed within their magical borders.

Percy hadn’t been able to sleep much and Draco was drooling on Tyson’s old bed when the knocking at the door made them both bolt upright.

Grover.

With a grave expression.

“Percy, Draco!” he blurted. “Annabeth… on the hill…”

The look in his eyes said something had gone horribly wrong. Annabeth had the watch shift that night to guard the Fleece. If something had happened…

Run.

Draco was on his feet before Percy — he hated the idea of fighting and he wasn’t the best warrior, but experience was beginning to make him react quickly rather than late. He hadn’t practiced any way of improving or controlling the bond with the others, though Annabeth seemed more attuned to it than Percy. Their bond was weaker.

But he felt the girl’s anxiety.

It wasn’t entirely bad — but Draco quickened his pace.

Luke?

No.

It wasn’t Luke.

Dawn had barely broken, but the whole camp seemed to be stirring. Word was spreading; something tremendous must have happened. Some campers were heading toward the hill — a procession of satyrs, nymphs, and heroes in a strange mix of armor and pajamas.

The sound of hooves rang out and Chiron appeared at a gallop, a somber expression on his face.

“Is it true?” he asked Grover.

Grover simply nodded, looking dazed.

Draco was about to ask what was happening when Chiron reached down, effortlessly lifting both of them from the ground and depositing them on his back. He galloped toward the top of the hill, where a small crowd had already gathered.

He never thought he’d be riding on Chiron’s back.

It sounded ridiculous, even in his own mind.

“Curse the Lord of the Titans,” Chiron said. “He has deceived us again and given himself another chance to control the prophecy.”

“What do you mean?” Percy asked.

“The Golden Fleece has worked too well,” he said.

But Draco’s mind was already running at a million miles an hour.

The blood roared in his ears. He couldn’t think clearly.

The tree was in perfect condition — whole and healthy, saturated with the essence of the Golden Fleece.

“It has healed the tree,” Chiron said, his voice breaking. “And not just driven out the poison.”

Draco could feel Annabeth’s happiness before he even saw her — but there was also uncertainty, which made him look toward the person standing beside his friend.

The moment they came into view, Annabeth ran toward Chiron.

“She… all of a sudden…”

Her eyes were flooded with tears, while the other girl stood there, unconscious. Percy the hero leaped forward to run toward her — but Draco only looked desperately for the tree that had been protecting them, before realizing the unconscious girl was lying right at its base.

He remembered Annabeth’s story.

The daughter of Zeus who had given her life to help Luke and Annabeth escape.

A daughter of the Three.

“Oh no,” he whispered, at the same moment Chiron shouted.

“Wait, Percy!”

The girl had short dark hair and freckles scattered across her nose. She was lean and strong-looking, like a long-distance runner, and she wore clothes somewhere between punk and gothic: a black T-shirt, tattered black jeans, and a leather jacket covered in pins from bands he had never heard of in his life.

“It’s true,” Grover said, still breathless from running up the hill. “I can’t believe it…”

No one else was approaching the girl.

“She needs nectar and ambrosia,” Percy said, alarmed.

He didn’t understand why everyone was so terrified.

Percy wasn’t seeing what the others were seeing — not just an unconscious girl, but the beginning of a possible ending.

The worst possible situation for all of them.

“Come on!” he shouted at the others. “What’s wrong with you? Let’s get her to the Big House.”

No one moved — not even Chiron. They were absolutely stunned.

Then the girl drew in a breath with a kind of shudder. Then she coughed and opened her eyes.

Her irises were a startling shade of blue. Electric blue.

She was shivering and her expression was wild.

Draco found her beautiful — and terrifying. And even though he knew it wasn’t her fault, he felt the urge to blame her, because everything was about to become so much more complicated.

“Who…?”

“My name’s Percy,” his friend said, still oblivious. “You’re safe.”

He was right.

For now, at least.

But they were not safe, Draco thinks in horror, noticing that the girl seems older than them. He begins to worry about how old she is — whether she might be close to sixteen.

How much time would they have left, then?

“The strangest dream…”

“Everything’s alright.”

“Dying.”

“No,” Percy assured her, still blissfully unaware. “You’re fine. What’s your name?”

And then Draco felt Percy’s realization before she even answered.

“My name is Thalia,” she said. “Daughter of Zeus.”

Yes.

Draco thinks Luke is a genuine, thorough bastard — one who truly managed to make everything fall into place so that the prophecy would be at its worst, if there is any way to make it worse. A crack of lightning sounded in the distance and the rain soaked through him, but it didn’t feel as bad as being trapped in the ocean on his last mission. Physically, he felt fine.

Mentally, Draco only thought one thing.

Damn.

Everything was going to be so much more complicated from now on.

Chapter Text

Second arc: A mix of life between wizard and demigod.

Chapter 11: Going back to Hogwarts, where nothing can go wrong — spoiler… everything goes wrong.

.

Many years ago there was a young man — an innocent child whose destiny had been powerful. The very grove of Dodona had decreed that this young man would be a miracle among heroes, with the capacity to break any prophecy ever made.

An anomaly.

She knew that the stupid gods thought they could manage it — but she knew better. That son of the day would likely become a problem. Even his parents hadn’t seen him as someone important. But then one of her daughters showed her the future of that human — the horror he could become for the primordials.

She killed him.

They were at war. It wasn’t so difficult to manipulate others into doing the dirty work.

Patroclus should not have lived. His existence ended before he could do anything that might lead them to ruin — a human whose thread was cut by her intervention.

Then… fate decided that someone else would take his place. She had screamed from the depths of Tartarus when the thread of Draco Malfoy was bound by fate with the same thread they had used to bind Patroclus.

Stronger.

Resistant.

They tried to keep him away from her.

She didn’t flinch.

She would have another demigod to kill.

And she would make him come to her of his own accord for that very purpose.

Just as she had manipulated the threads to kill Patroclus, Draco Malfoy would come to her by his own free will — breaking the threads of his bonds and placing himself at her mercy. Perhaps prophecies didn’t work for him the way they did for others, but her children had foretold that the demigod would fall into her hands if she managed to destroy every thread tying him to reality.

Unlike Patroclus, fate seemed to favor him — because it hadn’t given him just one bond. It was giving him two, and the number would likely grow.

Yes.

She would have to lure him to her.

And kill him.

Restore the balance of existence itself.

.

.

Draco Malfoy woke with a gasp in his bed, with the sensation of having been dreaming of something — a dark presence at the back of his mind that seemed to make his entire body tremble in horror. There’s a faint storm outside the window, but Draco ignores it and gets up to walk to the bathroom in his room.

It’s very large.

Draco looks at his hands almost pensively after washing his face. When he raises his eyes he can see that the whole place is enormous — or perhaps it always was, and he simply hadn’t noticed before.

He was home.

Well.

He was at Malfoy Manor.

This was his last day here before leaving for Hogwarts — a week before the other students — where Severus and other professors would administer his exams and evaluate him in other areas of aptitude to determine his placement. Draco didn’t need to be too self-centered to know he would overcome the difficulties, but that doesn’t stop him from having to immerse himself in his studies again all the same.

What had his dream been about?

He was certain there had been a feminine silhouette, but he wasn’t sure.

He admired his reflection in the mirror for a moment. He looked quite different from his first year at Hogwarts — and from the last time he had looked at himself within these walls. His hair was a little longer, already reaching past his cheeks. Part of him wanted to cut it. The other part was too lazy, and he generally just stole one of Sally’s hair ties to pull his messy hair away from his face.

Silena and Lavender used to enjoy playing with his hair, so he let them do whatever they wanted.

The bitterness returned.

He wasn’t at summer camp anymore.

He missed them.

Percy would use the Iris messages to talk to him often, several of his friends would drop in to talk to him, and Lavender would send many letters by owl. In general, he wasn’t completely out of the loop on camp gossip.

His mother had reluctantly agreed to let him spend part of Christmas and New Year’s with the Jacksons.

Only if he behaved in class.

It wasn’t a difficult deal.

Easter was off the table due to the sheer number of parties and balls the Malfoys would be hosting — but until then, Draco thought he could enjoy going out with his friends during the holidays.

“Master Draco,” greeted a house-elf, Twinky, who belonged to his mother and now helped him given that Dobby was a free elf.

Thanks to Potter.

Draco doesn’t want to think about it.

“Just a moment, Twinky — I’ll be down to breakfast shortly,” he says calmly. The elves don’t seem entirely accustomed to his new indifferent attitude toward them, which reminds him that in general he had been a considerable idiot over the past few years.

He doesn’t plan to apologize — even if Percy would encourage him to — but he doesn’t plan to be cruel either.

He still has a little pride left.

Indifferent as to whether that’s good or bad, he may think that some cyclopes like Tyson aren’t bad, or that some satyrs like Grover deserve respect — but that doesn’t mean he’s going around praising every magical creature he comes across just because of that.

Twinky leaves quietly.

She doesn’t expect that either.

He looks at his reflection, takes a breath, and lets it out slowly.

It feels much less exciting than his first day at the muggle school. The reflection only shows him a smile that is almost tired and amused. The world seems completely different again.

.

.

He feels the new wards as he walks through Malfoy Manor. It’s not something Amos had taught him, but he’s a little more sensitive to magic now — especially since Circe turned him into a ferret. He hadn’t told his parents about that part of the incident. He’s not sure he feels proud of his possible Animagus form. Before leaving New York, the Malfoy family had visited Amos, who had confirmed privately that this would indeed be his new animal form.

An albino ferret.

Draco had wanted to curse whatever Olympian father he didn’t know for that offense.

The clothing is also unexpectedly uncomfortable. While he has grown up wearing silk and the finest the market has to offer, there’s a practicality to muggle clothing that he misses. He doesn’t miss the horrible abomination that is the orange camp T-shirt — but he does miss the running shoes for sprinting for his life. His parents hadn’t told him he couldn’t dress that way, but the words weren’t necessary given the looks of disapproval they gave him when they saw him wearing them on the day they left the USA.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” His mother greets him the moment he appears in the dining room. Draco barely resists the effusive displays of affection from his mother — he simply feels delighted.

He loves Sally Jackson and trusts that woman like a second mother, but he knows she can’t replace Narcissa Malfoy.

Who seems much warmer and more affectionate ever since she lost her son for more than a year, and concealed the truth of his birth from him.

Perhaps it’s guilt.

Draco loves the feeling of his mother being more affectionate than usual, so he doesn’t complain.

“Let him sit down, Narcissa — he’s not a child anymore,” his father says, bored, while reading what appears to be a wizarding newspaper.

Something about a certain Sirius Black who escaped from Azkaban. At any point before knowing he was a demigod — ironic, given how much he had mocked them, or some of them, for most of his life — this news would have been quite sensational and he would have sought out every bit of information he could find.

Well.

Now it felt like an ordinary Monday.

A psychopath escaped?

Congratulations — not that it matters.

His ranking of important things has lost much of its significance when, in first place, there is a stupid lunatic named Luke who wants to bring Kronos back to destroy the age of the Olympian gods and probably end the world along with it. Next come the Olympians who clearly don’t like them, cyclopes wandering around wanting to devour them. He’s glad to think Clarisse has been removed from that list.

His last days at camp, he hadn’t ended up in a single rubbish bin.

He considers that an achievement.

“Draco will always be my little boy,” Narcissa says like a proud mother. Draco reminds himself of his table manners.

The food is good — delicious, even — though it isn’t blue or green.

He feels a small pang of disappointment at that.

“Sirius Black is your relative,” Draco says, glancing at his mother as he reads the full name on his father’s newspaper. Both of them look tense for a moment, and Draco keeps eating. “Not that it matters — just casual conversation. An escaped prisoner is, at the moment, the last of my priorities.” He says this after chewing.

Lucius smiles in amusement. Narcissa simply huffs before commenting that he is a cousin with whom they haven’t had any contact for a long time.

The newspaper paints him as one of Voldemort’s followers.

Draco yawns as his mother announces it’s time to leave.

.

.

Draco may be showing off a little when he arrives at Hogwarts with his luggage. He knows he’ll be accepted, so he doesn’t understand why anyone would need to make two trips. His mother and father are present, though it seems his father had been involved in incidents from the previous year — which makes him appear tense as they walk away from Professor Snape’s quarters, where they traveled via Floo Powder, enabled especially for him due to his current condition.

Percy called him an arrogant idiot.

Draco mocked him, reminding him who would be there when he needed help with Mathematics and Annabeth was busy.

There was a certain level of stupidity that Annabeth and Draco could manage between them, which is why they usually split the work of helping Percy.

He walked through the corridors behind his parents, while Severus walked ahead toward the classrooms where his first exam would take place. The hallways were deserted, and there were still two weeks before the students would be here — which made the place feel a little desolate. The image of the camp full of life made him smile faintly with a touch of nostalgia.

He couldn’t hold the smile for long when Severus turned to look at him and put on a serious face.

Image.

He must project the image of a Malfoy-Black.

Not that he had changed all that much.

Had he?

.

.

“Remarkable — in all my years, this is the first time I’ve seen a student improve their spells without a wand. There are other schools that encourage this, but at Hogwarts it isn’t common,” says Flitwick, looking quite intrigued by his charms examination.

Draco only glances tensely at Severus, who gives him quite an incriminating look from across the room, and he genuinely doesn’t know what to say to him.

After a week of exams with the professors alone, he’s beginning to feel that perhaps he isn’t concealing things as well as he’d like. Amos had taught him the power of magic through words — through feeling magic leave the body without need of a wand — because he’d had no other option.

Hogwarts, compared to that, feels… behind the times.

Everything feels behind the times.

As if it had been frozen in time.

They didn’t even have computers.

He mourns the absence of YouTube and Google.

His Korean dramas with Sally.

“I suppose that after this final exam, all that remains is to evaluate the results — but I can see there should be no problem with integrating you into third year with the rest of your year group,” McGonagall comments with a somewhat more cautious expression.

Unlike professors such as Flitwick or Sprout, the head of Gryffindor House seemed to have far more reservations about treating him with any degree of neutrality — even though his work in Transfiguration was impeccable. Well, in first year he had caused a little chaos with her Gryffindors, so he can’t blame her entirely. Every professor has their favorites.

He didn’t see the headmaster at any point.

Not that he cares.

“Which subjects will you choose as electives?” Severus asks on the way to the dungeons. Everything feels far too cold now that there are no students.

Draco tries by every means — and fails — to compare the dungeons to his space in the Hermes cabin. There’s quite a difference.

He still feels at ease here, though.

This had been his home in first year.

It isn’t unknown territory either, even if Draco himself sometimes feels like a stranger within it.

“Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures,” he says, walking calmly. He had thought a lot about which electives to choose. Percy, who had helped him decide, suggested it would be better to take muggle studies.

Draco simply ignored him.

Because he was an idiot.

Severus hums in approval before giving him one final look as he heads into his own quarters as head of house. Draco watches him curiously before suppressing a shudder. His mother had been helping him with his Occlumency, given that he now has far too many secrets to keep — though Severus hadn’t tried to use Legilimency on him.

He knows he’s hiding something.

Had to be a Slytherin.

What would he do now?

.

.

“You need a hobby.”

“Shut it — you picked up, so it’s not my fault you can’t live without me.”

Percy laughs in amusement while talking to him, the bathroom serving as their meeting point with the help of a drachma and the shower spray. Probably when his dormitory mates return, he’ll have to find another way to speak with Percy — perhaps the lake would work.

There was a privacy charm he had been practicing with Amos.

Though spending a long time in the bathroom would raise questions.

Well.

That would be a future Draco problem.

“Please — we both know my presence is essential,” Percy declares, laughing from what appears to be his bedroom.

Draco is sitting on the cold floor of the Slytherin dormitory bathroom, where he shares a room with four others. It doesn’t matter much right now. Although in first year this would have been mortifying, he’s quite comfortable sitting there in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt he had stolen from Percy during the time they lived together.

They were roughly the same build, so they were always stealing each other’s clothes.

He had taught Percy the importance of silk.

Not that it’s relevant.

“You’ll probably get a quiet year this time — let’s be honest, you’re a magnet for trouble,” Draco says without bothering to be careful.

From the look on Percy’s face, he knows he isn’t wrong.

It seems that the rest of the summer holidays, after Draco left, had been quite the ordeal with Thalia’s arrival. Unlike Draco, Percy wasn’t exactly fond of being the center of attention — but he seemed to resent the daughter of Zeus’s presence somewhat.

Not exactly because she seemed to be getting all the campers’ attention.

But because she was getting the attention of one camper in particular.

“Annabeth is still your friend.”

“But she spends too much time with Thalia.”

Percy looks adorable with his pout and crossed arms. Draco would like to tease him a little more, but he simply stays quiet.

Thalia.

The daughter of Zeus.

There are more important things to think about — beyond Annabeth’s divided attention — with a girl who is part of the prophecy, or at least could be the one it speaks of. Stupid prophecies, always so complicated. It would cause enormous problems as the girl’s age draws near.

She’s fifteen.

Damn.

Draco touches his neck tensely. It really isn’t something he likes to think about, but the prophecy could become a problem at any moment.

Would there be any way to delay it?

“You know if you like her, just tell her,” Draco says, somewhat hypocritically, though he enjoys the red spreading across Percy’s face as he denies it.

“She’s just my friend.”

“Coward.”

Percy growls and Draco laughs a little at the situation, until Sally enters the room after calling Percy for dinner, greeting Draco cheerfully before pulling Percy away. He talks with Sally a little longer — until Percy shouts that there’s been an accidental fire.

Sally and Draco roll their eyes.

When the call cuts off, Draco feels a little lonely for a few moments before smiling and calling Annabeth.

“Draco, my favorite dyed blonde,” the girl says with bright eyes and a wide smile.

Yes.

He may be a little lonely — but he genuinely laughs when talking to Annabeth.

He misses his friends.

.

.

Draco dreams. Everything feels a little confused, but he’s certain he saw a large black dog running through a forest, then transforming into a person with their back to him — someone who looked gaunt and skeletal. Just as he was about to see the face, everything disappears. He sits up in bed, confused, not entirely sure when he had fallen asleep, unsettled by the strange dreams. Luke, he thinks bitterly — Luke had explained that it was common to have a kind of prophetic dream on camp grounds.

But Draco seems to be an anomaly.

The strange dreams had begun mostly when he was away from camp.

He sits up in bed sweating, passing a hand over his face, only to startle at a dark pair of eyes watching him from across the room.

“Blaise,” he says, mildly surprised, before getting to his feet. He notices they aren’t alone in the room.

Theo, a boy with brown hair and blue eyes, was unpacking his trunk, not once lifting his gaze from what he was doing. Gregory and Vincent also seemed to be doing the same, with bags full of sweets they kept eating without pause. They had grown considerably since first year.

In height and in girth.

The welcome feast and the Sorting — he had missed both by falling asleep.

He had been talking to Percy in the afternoon, discussing the Sorting and explaining in detail to Percy how the Hogwarts house system worked. Technically he shouldn’t be doing that, but he had broken far too many technicalities at this point. They had also talked about the houses — Draco was quite unambiguous in saying Slytherin was the best house of all. Percy seemed irritated when Draco admitted he wasn’t Slytherin material and was more of a Hufflepuff.

He felt proud when Percy understood it was meant as a funny insult and took offense accordingly.

“I suppose the prodigal son has returned. Given that last year you didn’t answer a single one of Pansy’s letters, I had been hoping you were dead,” Blaise declares with a mildly amused expression. And although anyone might think he was being insulting, there was warmth in his words.

He did feel guilty about not having replied to their letters last year — but he had been so captivated by the muggle world that anything magical, apart from his parents, had seemed unimportant.

“As if I could die so easily — I’m far too perfect for that,” Draco declares, almost jokingly, in a way no one in the room could fully understand just how close to the truth those words actually were.

In recent months, the number of times he had come close to death was ridiculous.

But he hadn’t died.

Many times protected by Percy and company — but sometimes by himself. And that made him feel rather smug about the whole thing.

He couldn’t comment on any of it — but the feeling was there.

“Leave it, Blaise — the poor idiot speaks like that because he wasn’t here last year to declare himself the Prince of Slytherin,” Theo explains while reading his book, not once lifting his gaze.

Idiot.

Gregory and Vincent seem a little confused to see him, but they greet him as warmly as they can — in their way. The Slytherin way. It seems that during the time Draco had been absent in second year, both boys had spent more time with Blaise and Theo, which made them uncertain about how to act now that he was back.

With a few sharp words, he lets them know there’s no need for anything to change.

After all.

The less they hover, the freer he’ll be to talk to Percy or train.

Which reminds him that now that he can’t train in the shared dormitory — since he’s no longer alone — he’ll need to find another outlet for his ongoing training. The day before, he had made a stupid bet with Percy about who could do more sit-ups, and he had no intention of losing. He also couldn’t afford to fall behind on his spear work.

This summer he would be stronger. His personal goal was to knock Percy down at least once.

“I heard you were in America — the Brown girl says she saw you, and the rumor spread quickly. You always used to mock Ilvermorny,” Blaise says teasingly, returning to his trunk.

“I didn’t go to Ilvermorny.” He doesn’t plan to use that as an excuse, since it could be dismantled quickly — so he discarded the idea the moment it occurred to him.

That seemed to catch the attention of those present.

“I had private lessons with a wizard while staying with a family friend. It was quite productive,” Draco says with a half-smile, partially concealing it behind his hand.

Theo and Blaise exchange a glance before looking back at him, unimpressed.

When they tire of asking him questions, Draco doesn’t even bother catching up on what happened last year — Lavender had already filled him in. He would see her tomorrow to say hello. He throws himself onto his bed with the curtains drawn to write to his friends and parents. He could usually reach them via Iris message, but he knows his owl Merlin, up in the owlery, would be happy to stretch his wings.

Annabeth would find that rather interesting.

Percy would growl at him for not using a mobile phone.

He laughed softly.

The sounds of his dormitory mates — quieter than the cabin at camp, all things considered — made him feel a little more comfortable at Hogwarts. He was surprised by how accustomed he had grown to being surrounded by people.

.

.

The first thing he saw upon leaving the dormitory was Pansy. She had grown a few inches and gave him the most unpleasant look she could manage before walking over to take Daphne’s arm — who simply offered a slight nod in greeting. Blaise, passing by his side, gives him an “I told you so” expression that Draco ignores as he continues on his way. The Slytherins had been informed of his arrival — probably by Snape, or simply because word traveled as fast as it could — since no one seemed particularly impressed to see him in the common room.

He yawned slightly when he was out of anyone’s presence and kept walking.

He couldn’t talk to Percy due to the time difference. He could only use the Iris message at night, or find somewhere at the school where he could do it without too many questions being asked — depending on how much the Mist concealed things.

When he reached the corridors.

It was a different matter entirely.

Looks. Whispers. Eyes on him.

He was almost tempted to look down at himself, but he doubted he’d find anything odd. His uniform was on correctly. His hair was styled with Sally’s favorite cream — the one that left his hair frizz-free but soft to the touch. He missed wearing looser clothes, but he made no gesture toward looking at anyone else.

This is what he’s supposed to be.

A Malfoy.

The kind of attention he should have commanded when he first arrived at Camp Half-Blood — but instead he had been quickly dismissed as just another face in the crowd. He felt a little uncomfortable for some reason, but didn’t show it on his face. Too many years receiving this kind of attention had made him immune to it. Although he would usually have swaggered, now he simply ignored it.

“Mr. Malfoy — I’m glad you’re present and alive, which gives me no reason whatsoever to excuse last night’s absence,” Severus says with an impassive face, though there’s a clear warning in his eyes.

About what would happen if he pulled something like that again.

Draco just smiles in amusement.

“I wasn’t feeling well, Professor — but I promise it won’t happen again,” he tries to sound sweet, but Snape practically shoves his class schedule into his face.

As he takes his seat, he looks over the parchment written in ink — truly, a printer, regular paper, or a Bic pen could make a tremendous difference — with interest. He doesn’t have many free periods, which will bite him when his ADHD kicks in, but he’s prepared to deal with that in exchange for finishing the year with perfect marks.

It had been his father’s requirement.

This year he would beat Hermione Granger.

“Malfoy.” He looks up, having expected Blaise, but instead it’s Marcus Flint.

He had thought the boy would have graduated last year, but it seems he’s somehow repeating his final year. He shrugs mentally and doesn’t give it much thought. Which does suggest that, if Flint is still here, he’ll likely remain Quidditch captain. He doubts Severus would let anyone else handle that.

There’s no one currently capable enough.

Well — Graham Montague wasn’t so terrible. At least he knew Quidditch.

“Flint,” he says, glancing at him sideways with mild curiosity.

Flint doesn’t seem interested in pleasantries.

“Last year your father donated a Nimbus 2001 to each member of the team, which secured your spot as Seeker for this year,” he says without beating around the bush, not caring who else at the Slytherin table might hear.

From their reactions, no one seems particularly impressed. He would have appreciated a heads-up from his father. Though now that he thinks about it, during one of the Iris calls he made last year, he has the vague sense that his father mentioned something about it.

But he had been more focused on snatching a green dinosaur gummy from Percy’s hand before he ate it.

He hadn’t thought about Quidditch at all.

Well.

He liked Quidditch objectively — but he had always thought it would feel a little like cheating to participate now that he was a demigod. He had better endurance, better reflexes, and had been trained over the last two summers in a life-or-death game. Flying had always come easily to him since he was a child. His vision was sharper, and he was ready for anything with the right motivation.

It would be a bit unfair.

Annabeth would disapprove entirely.

What would Percy say?

He recalled his idiot best friend talking excitedly about hoping to join a school with a swim team so he could compete and dominate the competition.

Idiot.

But smart.

He was raising him so well.

“I don’t want to get in that way.” His words make Flint frown, but Draco smiles in amusement. “I’ll try out. I feel like crushing a few idiots for a change.” Not a great idea — his schedule is already packed enough.

But what can he say. He likes being busy.

Flint looks at him as though he’s an idiot before mentioning the tryout date, which makes Draco hesitate slightly. He hadn’t been on a broom at all last year — but he’s confident his other activities had kept him sharp enough to be the best at the tryouts.

Blaise took a seat beside him, followed by Theo, while Gregory and Vincent sat across from him.

“I thought they’d just hand you a spot after what your father did,” Theo says with one eyebrow raised, to which Draco simply smiles with a hint of malice.

There would be nothing fun about that.

Theo huffs. Blaise lifts his tea with infuriatingly elegant precision. Draco puts a bit of toast in his mouth when he feels an intense gaze on him — somewhat different from the looks he’s been getting all day. His eyes rise almost automatically, and for a moment all he sees is green. He chews lightly while watching Potter stare at him in disbelief, gesturing not very subtly to his red-haired friend and Granger — clearly talking about him.

It’s an intense look, certainly — but that’s not the one he felt.

He glances slightly further down the table and finds Lavender Brown’s bright eyes fixed on him, not looking away when he meets her gaze.

Talk to me, please, talk to me — you promised you’d talk to me.

Draco hides his smile as best he can. He knows Lavender had been afraid that when they returned to Hogwarts, he would ignore her. She had reasons to think so. His plan this year wasn’t to stand out too much — just to go along with whatever he had established in first year, without getting involved, giving himself some well-deserved rest from all the attention after what happened in the Sea of Monsters.

He deserved it.

A quiet year.

But talking comfortably with a Gryffindor, when he was known as a Slytherin who didn’t tolerate the lions — well, that would obviously draw attention. The thing is, he has no intention of mingling with other Gryffindors. Lavender is different.

She’s family.

Family is important.

They may not technically be family by blood — though all purebloods are related to one another in one way or another — but all members of Camp Half-Blood are family through Olympus in some sense, even when he hadn’t been claimed yet. There’s still hope they might be cousins somehow, and for Draco, family is important.

It is everything.

Percy and Annabeth are friends — almost family — and that’s why they mean so much to him.

Was Lavender a friend?

He lowers his gaze heavily. He can feel the girl’s disappointment from where he’s sitting, and so he spends the rest of breakfast turning over what he should do. He ignores the fact that there is now a worn-looking professor at the staff table alongside the groundskeeper — who, according to Blaise’s muttered comments, is the new Care of Magical Creatures professor.

Wonderful, he thinks with sarcasm.

An untrained person with no professional qualifications and a connection to the headmaster gets to be a professor. All it takes is one thing to go wrong.

“Something seems to be bothering you — you should control your emotions better,” Blaise comments when Draco’s foot starts bouncing restlessly. Draco gives him a withering look, but any further criticism dies in the air.

Lavender has stood up.

It’s his moment.

What is he going to choose?

What would Percy do?

The image of his best friend smiling and encouraging him to do something is what makes him get to his feet, earning a curious look from Theo, as he moves quickly toward the corridor, drawing more than a few glances. He spots the girl’s curly hair a little way ahead. He tightens his fists slightly, thinking this is a terrible idea that will have consequences — but he supposes that’s a problem for future Draco.

Yes.

He may be a bad influence on Percy in some things — but Percy has changed him far too much in return.

“Stop right there!” he says in a raised voice, halting more than a dozen students in the corridor.

He catches the exact moment Lavender stops walking. She had been walking alongside the Patil twin, also a lion, who he knows — he’s heard plenty about her, because Lavender never stops talking. He’s probably going to regret keeping that annoying girl who can’t keep quiet around.

But.

She was his annoying girl who can’t keep quiet.

He begins walking toward her with determination. No one is going to tell him what he can or cannot consider his own. Draco is selfish, and the school can go to hell if that means something.

“Malfoy,” Potter growls. He hadn’t noticed the boy was there, but Draco doesn’t give him his attention — walking straight past him toward Lavender.

He could swear he catches a flash of surprise and indignation on Potter’s face, as if he had assumed he was going to speak to him. But maybe that’s just his imagination. He doesn’t think the boy believes he deserves his undivided attention — in first year he made it quite clear how much he disliked him and how his attempt to obtain a friendship from him had failed.

It doesn’t matter.

Because now he has friends who are worth it.

When he reaches Lavender, the girl has already turned around, wearing the most pathetically hopeful expression he could imagine.

Idiot.

Like Percy.

Like Tyson.

Like Annabeth — she could be the daughter of Athena, but she was an idiot.

Like Will.

He likes idiots, because those idiots are his idiots.

“Leaving without saying hello — I thought they raised girls better these days,” Draco says with an amused smile at Lavender, who grins delightedly while the Patil twin stands there with her mouth hanging open. “Such a lack of manners, Miss Brown,” he adds in a teasing tone, which makes Lavender burst out laughing.

Quite loudly, almost like a duck running out of air.

Damn.

He had missed her.

She was like home — because she reminded him of Camp Half-Blood, and even though he would like to avoid that, even though he would like to convince himself otherwise.

That place was his home.

“Well, one must make a boy work for the attention a little. I do love seeing a boy come looking for me.” She’s flirtatious when she wants to be, though a little clumsy about it — she’s spent far too much time with the Aphrodite cabin for her own good.

“I don’t beg for attention. Those were your eyes begging for mine.”

“I must disagree.”

Draco ultimately just smiles, ignoring that everyone around them is probably watching the two apparent lunatics they seem to be. A Slytherin talking to a Gryffindor without getting under each other’s skin or going for the jugular must be quite a spectacle for anyone nearby. But for anyone who understood the truth, they would only see two children connected in ways that couldn’t be comprehended.

He offers his arm.

Lavender practically squeals, both hands over her mouth, before taking his arm — as they had done many times at Camp Half-Blood.

When Percy would get annoyed at being ignored and would climb onto Draco like a koala.

He misses his personal koala.

“May I walk you to your next class?” he asks in a courtly manner, knowing how much girls love that.

Lavender looks at Parvati — he remembered her name now — and tells her she’ll see her in class, before dragging him away with a smile.

“I missed you so much, Draco,” she says in a whisper as they walk toward class, and Draco feels calmer just from hearing it.

Yes, there would be consequences for his actions.

But for now, he simply smiles as he listens to the camp gossip of the moment — things Percy hadn’t told him, because Percy was a blind boy who didn’t notice things the way Lavender did. The news that Silena had finally given Beckendorf her attention was apparently something his friend had completely forgotten to mention.

Which meant Percy would pay for that later.

He barely has time to drop Lavender at her class before having to run to Arithmancy.

.

.

“A Gryffindor, Draco! Have you lost your mind?” were Pansy’s words as she growled upon leaving Herbology — a class shared with Ravenclaw. The Gryffindors were in Transfiguration, if what Lavender said was accurate.

Now that Herbology was over — during which he had sat next to the Goldstein boy to escape Pansy Parkinson’s fury — he has fewer ways to avoid her. He was fairly certain she hadn’t chosen that class, but perhaps he was wrong, given the way she was walking alongside him looking like a Grover whenever someone brought up animal mistreatment or the destruction of nature.

So much for a quiet day.

He walks toward the groundskeeper’s hut with Pansy, thinking that since he wasn’t here last year, and since Theo and Blaise had chosen Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, he was alone with Pansy, Gregory, and Vincent in this Care of Magical Creatures class.

He has nothing against Gregory and Vincent, apart from their intellectual capacity.

But Pansy.

“It’s not as though I’m dating her, Pansy — she’s a friend.” Bad choice of words. He sees that the moment Pansy’s face darkens with anger and indignation.

Probably because he had never referred to any of the Slytherins with that term. To them, relationships had always been connections and convenience — allies at best. Friendship was something far too rare among pureblood families.

Damn.

“She’s a Gryffindor,” she mutters with contempt, and the first-year version of Draco would probably have accepted that.

Now he just finds it exhausting.

He decides to ignore her, hoping the class won’t be too dreadful. Ignoring Potter and his group of friends on the other side — at whom Pansy directed a look of revulsion — the presence of Lavender made him give her a wave as she enthusiastically waved back.

Pansy tightened her grip on his arm.

“She’s the one who spread rumors about you last year,” she says under her breath, and Draco sighs.

Yes.

That had been a bad idea on Lavender’s part — but he can’t really blame her. Besides, he used the information as emotional leverage whenever he could. Unlike Lavender, who, while she could have ruined his image, it was nothing compared to how Percy had spent his last weeks at camp telling everyone that Draco could turn into an adorable ferret.

He hadn’t said it out of malice — but it had clearly damaged his reputation. Even Clarisse mocked him about it.

In any case.

Most people had assumed that his ability to turn into a ferret at will — though he hadn’t tested it much since the Sea of Monsters — must have something to do with Hecate or some Olympian with magical powers. Since he hadn’t been claimed during any of the adventure, no one had dwelt on it too deeply.

He glances sideways at Pansy, who seems to look at him with distaste before glaring furiously at the groundskeeper of Hogwarts — apparently promoted to professor of Care of Magical Creatures, which made the prospect of taking this class rather disappointing and almost tempted him to drop it — as Hagrid talked about how in their first class they would be encountering hippogriffs.

Yes.

A terrible professor.

Don’t misunderstand — hippogriffs genuinely seem like incredible creatures. Draco was absolutely in love with the Pegasus Aurora at Camp Half-Blood, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to present such a dangerous creature to a group of students between thirteen and fourteen years old, who wouldn’t appreciate the gravity of what they were dealing with. It was only a matter of time before someone made a mistake.

More than one or two campers had occasionally been sent flying by the pegasi.

But they were more resilient, and they had nectar from the gods.

Someone will end up in the hospital wing sooner or later.

“I know,” he says in response to Pansy’s words. She simply gives him a death stare before storming off to the other side of the field.

Draco runs a hand through his hair in irritation.

Things in Slytherin were very different from Camp Half-Blood. Draco had entered with a great deal of power thanks to his pureblood status — plus being part of two of the oldest and most powerful families in recent history. In Slytherin everything is governed by hierarchy. In his first year, Draco had been the most prominent member of his year group, and it was expected that he would spend the remaining years becoming a kind of leader or important presence.

Pansy had been his childhood companion — and clearly, she was interested in his status, which is why she was always at his side.

Though in terms of actual importance, he’s fairly certain Daphne Greengrass is far more notable than Pansy — it’s just that Daphne’s attitude had always made the two of them repel each other.

They had expected that, after missing his second year and now entering his third, he would reclaim his position within his house.

“How dull,” he mutters under his breath with an irritated expression, while the groundskeeper rambles on about how to approach a hippogriff and the importance of not dying in the process.

He wanted to tell his father about this. He had no particular fondness for the groundskeeper, and the man was making the class far more dangerous than a group of oblivious third-year students could manage. If Percy were here, he’d probably already be inside the beak of one of those overgrown birds thanks to his clumsiness — unless he had a team around him. Percy should not be approaching them alone.

Simple.

But his friend was a little clumsy.

Damn.

He missed Percy Jackson tremendously — the idiotic, knuckle-dragging seaweed-brain who, in the first days after meeting him, had shown him the advantages of being simply Draco, without his surnames or family to define him. Here, he has to maintain an image, to be what others expect of him — and he feels the bitterness of realizing that within just one day back.

He walks over to Lavender, ignoring how Hagrid has quickly used Potter as a guinea pig when no one else was willing to go near the hippogriff — because they aren’t idiots — before placing him on the creature’s back and making him shout as they shot up into the air.

Always the center of attention.

He has no intention of even thinking about it. He’s been tired of being the center of attention over the past summers — and the worst part is, he wasn’t even the center of attention for himself. He was the center of attention because of his bond with Percy, and that was more than enough.

“Pansy is being a nightmare,” he says when he reaches Lavender’s side, just as Neville Longbottom beside her lets out a quiet gasp at hearing him — but wisely ignores Draco’s gaze.

Smart kid.

More so than he would have expected back in first year.

Lavender just sighs.

“She’s not the only one — everyone in my house has been asking whether I’ve gone mad for being so friendly with you. Even Ron Weasley,” she whispers, being a little more discreet while she fidgets with a strand of hair, glancing at the red-haired boy.

Who was watching in horror along with Granger as his best friend apparently risked his life.

He wasn’t going to die.

He was just going for a little flight. Potter played Quidditch — as long as he gripped with his knees he wouldn’t die. According to Lavender, the boy had faced a Basilisk last year, so this was nothing serious to worry about.

He took a moment to mentally reflect on how his threshold for what counted as truly dangerous had shifted.

Yes.

He had changed a great deal since first year.

“Really? Weasley?” he says with a touch of disdain, at which the girl turns to look at him, flushed and looking quite irritated.

“Don’t make it weird because of your massive crush on Percy.” Draco growls at her in disbelief. “Please — everyone at camp knows, except Percy, because Percy is an idiot. And we all know we’d be dead if any of us ever said anything.” At least they weren’t that idiotic.

He neither confirms nor denies the statement. He simply turns to look as the hippogriff appears with Potter on its back, looking excited by the flight despite being somewhat frightened. For a second their gazes meet, but Draco only blinks before turning to look at the other hippogriffs in the field.

The groundskeeper instructs them to break into small groups and approach each hippogriff carefully, with a proper bow to show respect. Draco has no intention of going anywhere near the oversized birds. It feels like a betrayal of Aurora, and they strike him as far too pretentious for what are essentially fancy flying chickens.

Lavender takes his wrist hesitantly, ever timid. He glances over with something approaching irritation when Longbottom ends up next to them after the groundskeeper encourages him to join them — all the other hippogriffs already surrounded by other students.

Longbottom doesn’t look at either of them.

Lavender squeals with delight at the creatures, though still keeping her distance.

Lavender and Draco both look at Longbottom — since neither of them has any particular interest in going first. Longbottom, feeling their stares, looks up at them, pale, before sighing in something like resignation and taking the first step toward the hippogriff. Draco takes advantage of the moment to confirm he has no intention of approaching the thing — and if anyone tries to force him, he’ll simply drop the class. He had signed up for it with some excitement, but now that he knows who the professor is.

No.

Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are more than enough.

“I don’t think I want this class anymore — I’ll speak to Professor Snape before dinner,” he tells Lavender, who immediately looks as though he’s broken her heart.

He rolls his eyes.

He’s not abandoning her in every other class.

Lavender opens her mouth to say something — probably to beg and try to charm him into staying so she isn’t left alone — but he already has an answer ready for every possible argument before she even speaks. Not that it matters. He feels it in the air. He turns quickly to see Longbottom, who seems to have done something wrong — probably out of clumsiness or nerves — as the hippogriff rears up on its hind legs, ruffling its feathers in preparation to strike with its talons.

Perhaps not fatally.

Wait.

Longbottom is an average human. Well — an average wizard. A mediocre wizard.

He’s going to get hurt, and if he’s unlucky, without a limb. In any case — too bad.

At least that’s what he would have liked to think. It’s as though his body reacts from muscle memory — because it certainly isn’t something he would have chosen to do. He thinks exactly that, miserably, as his body moves almost without his consent. His leg slams hard into the back of Longbottom’s knee, sending him falling backwards, creating just enough space for Draco to step between the two of them in an instant, his right arm raised as a shield.

It’s a blink.

An instant.

Son of a — he thinks, as the hippogriff’s three talons drive clean through his right arm. Someone lets out a scream — it might be Lavender, or Pansy. It doesn’t matter. He can feel blood dripping, but his eyes are fixed on the overgrown chicken, which now seems to be pushing its leg against him as if trying to knock him down and pin him. But Draco has managed to establish a solid center of gravity and has no intention of being brought to his knees by a bird.

Even if it’s heavy and strong.

Bloody idiot.

He can see movement all around him. But before anyone can do anything, Draco shifts his weight to his right side to keep the bird’s talons locked against his arm, creating enough space to send his left leg sweeping up fast and with precision — striking from beneath its jaw. It’s not as large as a cyclops, not as intimidating as Hades himself, and he has been chased by creatures far more terrifying than an overgrown chicken. The beautiful Pegasus Aurora is more frightening when he doesn’t bring her an apple for dessert.

The hippogriff let out a startled squawk and released its talons, but now it looked furious.

Congratulations — because Draco is more furious.

With his left hand, uninjured, he grabs the chicken by the beak and slams it without mercy into the ground, the way you’d scold a dog. He can see the fury in the creature’s eyes — but they seem to freeze when they meet Draco’s own, probably filled with equal fury. It stops trying to get up, even as Draco doesn’t ease the pressure pinning its beak to the ground.

“I’m not having a good day, bird — so get yourself under control if you don’t want me to domesticate you.” It’s not a request. It’s an order the creature had better follow, or risk being run through the chest.

He’s tempted.

It would only take one movement — touching the bracelet on his arm — and his spear would make it happen.

The hippogriff, fortunately for itself, stops struggling and looks bewildered. When Draco releases it, certain it won’t do anything, it doesn’t move either. It stays still, watching him from the ground, until Draco huffs and jerks his chin in a movement that sends the hippogriff getting to its feet and walking away, thoroughly humiliated in front of the rest of its kind.

Yes.

He was never coming back to this class.

Draco blinks a little at the dead silence around him. He looks up to find every student and the groundskeeper staring at him with their mouths open. He tilts his head in confusion. He just saved Longbottom from getting mauled — he didn’t do anything wrong.

He didn’t want to do it — but now that he has, they shouldn’t be looking at him like that.

“Draco — your arm.” It’s Lavender who says it, worried, walking toward him so he can see his arm. The robe is partially torn open. His shirt beneath is torn as well, soaked through with his own blood.

Oh.

She’s right — it hurts.

Draco uses his good hand to tear a strip of his robe in quick, efficient movements — no help needed, though there are people pulling from all sides thanks to the chicken — and hands one end to Lavender, who takes it in confusion. With it, he wraps the fabric in quick turns around his forearm, covering the wound. He bites down on the end he needs to secure it before using his other good hand to press down hard on the injury.

It hurts — sharp little pulses of pain — but it will do the job of slowing the bleeding.

He admires his work before yawning, mildly bored. He’ll need a sleeping potion and a pain potion. The hospital wing can probably patch him up properly once class is over.

He turns around, noticing that everyone is still frozen.

“What?” he asks, slightly defensive, because no one is going back to their business as usual. It’s not as though anything is seriously wrong.

He doesn’t feel that much pain — though his pain threshold has increased considerably since his first summer at Camp Half-Blood. Beyond that, Amos, during his magic training, had a habit of not tending to him unless it was a genuine emergency. Once he forced him to fight a Shabit with a dislocated shoulder. Percy himself in their “practice” fights would show no mercy and leave him with a considerable number of cuts before either of them took some nectar to recover when necessary. In the camp’s final weeks, Clarisse herself had broken his leg once or twice during training.

Of course, he misses Will, who would have him patched up in minutes with some rest.

But this isn’t that serious.

“Draco — you need to go to the hospital wing.” It’s Pansy who says it, seeming to forget her anger entirely as she walks quickly toward him, followed by Gregory and Vincent, who stare at his wound in horror.

He blinks in confusion, looks at his hand, his bandage is turning red — but he knows he can withstand far more blood loss than this.

“I was planning to go after class,” he says, a little defensively.

As if they think he’s an idiot.

He knows he needs to go to the hospital wing — but the worst has already passed.

Pansy looks just as horrified as the rest of the class — except Lavender, who looks merely worried, while watching Granger push the groundskeeper.

“Hagrid, he needs to go to the hospital wing,” the muggle-born hisses, probably not out of concern for him, but worried that the groundskeeper will look like a bad teacher.

Which he is.

Though no one seems to notice.

The groundskeeper quickly moves toward him, apparently wanting to lift him, and Draco pulls out his wand and points it at him as a warning, stopping him from picking him up.

“Don’t touch me — I can walk. If it’s really so necessary, I can get there on my own two feet. It’s just a little blood.” Someone seems to cough or mutter that it isn’t a little blood, but the groundskeeper looks confused, and Draco simply sighs, passing his injured hand through his hair.

The movement hurts — but he could still fight on.

Everyone is a pack of drama queens, he thinks as he announces aloud that he’s going to the hospital wing under his own power, and begins walking with his hands in his trouser pockets, looking thoroughly bored. On the way he takes off his tattered robe, revealing his shirt now soaked through with blood, which provokes gasps from everyone he passes in the corridors on the way to the hospital wing.

Drama queens.

Every single one of them.

He misses Camp Half-Blood.

To be continued…

Notes:

It’s interesting, this scene where Draco saves Neville involuntarily — I had thought about it for a long time before beginning to write the story. It was one of the scenes I was most excited to write. It’s also funny because Draco has changed a great deal since his first year at Hogwarts, but what seems most entertaining is how he has stopped seeing dangerous things as truly dangerous.

Draco is accustomed to cyclopes, monsters from the underworld, irritable gods, and far too many other things to be worried about a hippogriff.

Blood doesn’t seem to concern him much either, and he’s genuinely surprised by how much importance everyone else places on it — which I find entertaining. His reality has been altered. It’s as though he’s still the Draco from canon, but at the same time completely different.

There are concepts he’s gradually changed — but not all of them. He refers to Hermione and Ron by their surnames or less offensive nicknames, rather than mudblood or blood traitor, but others, like Hagrid, with whom he has had no real interaction, he continues to treat like a gardener.

I also love the scene of Draco ignoring Harry a little. At some point — though it isn’t certain — I may write a short separate chapter or aside with a bit of Harry’s POV, to show how he felt about being ignored.

Unlike the Percy Jackson books, where I included a large portion of the plot with Draco’s additions, I won’t be doing the same with the scenes from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban — since Draco isn’t very involved with the golden trio, and everything would be seen from an outside perspective.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: I’m not adorable, maybe a tiny bit, but I’m not that adorable.

Severus was furious when he arrived at the hospital wing. Draco simply doesn’t understand why everyone is so upset when Pomfrey announced his injuries — it was just a little blood. Everyone seemed to think they needed to contact his parents or make a scene over a little blood, but Draco simply stayed in the hospital wing that night grumbling about not being able to talk to Percy. Neville also had to visit Pomfrey briefly because kicking him had apparently been a little forceful — but with no broken bone, no one blamed Draco too harshly. By the following day the wounds were fully healed, even the part of the bone that had been pierced had recovered. Pomfrey seemed concerned about the scarring and Draco almost laughed in her face.

His body is full of scars — not too many, but these won’t make much difference.

Nobody gets through two summers of adventure without a few scars here and there that don’t particularly bother them.

He moves his hand up and down, grips things, and makes sure it doesn’t hurt too much — but Pomfrey sends him a collection of pain potions anyway, which he accepts with reluctance.

He spent more than a week vomiting on boats last summer. He can handle a bit of pain.

Neville had only needed a little magic and was fine.

They never saw each other in the hospital wing. Good — he had no interest in interacting with him.

“They should sack him — he’s a bloody danger to this school. You need to speak to your father,” Pansy growls when Draco arrives at breakfast.

He took a quick shower, has clean clothes with no blood on them, and tried to talk to Percy — but Percy seems to be in class, and so the day doesn’t feel off to a great start. The only good thing about spending the night in the hospital wing was not having to deal with his irritating dormitory mates. The bad thing is that now at breakfast they have far too many questions.

“The school will have already informed Mr. Malfoy,” Blaise adds quickly, noticing that Draco couldn’t be bothered to answer anything.

The bread was delicious. He spotted a green apple with covetous eyes and growled at Vincent when he almost took it — Vincent handed it over, embarrassed.

He pats the boy on the head like a puppy. It’s entertaining to watch the boy light up at that simple gesture.

He supposes he treated him poorly in first year. And in the years before that.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Draco says, bored, meeting the incredulous looks of his nearby companions and others at the same table.

The rumor must have spread like gunpowder among his peers.

Wonderful.

He keeps eating his food in a mild sulk, moving his right arm ostentatiously so everyone can see he’s fine. Flint passes by before breakfast is over, telling him that he doesn’t care if he has to drag himself there — he had better make it to the Quidditch tryouts.

Priorities, he thinks with amusement.

It’s not as though he was planning to skip the tryout. It had been one of the few things actually cheering him up these past few days.

“You’ve changed,” Theo whispers as they walk to their next class. Blaise has gone on ahead, Pansy is ignoring him, and Vincent and Gregory seem to be whispering to each other about something and laughing. “In any case, at least people are talking about Slytherin now. Seems the fashion of Potter fainting over a Dementor has gone old,” he adds, falling into step beside him.

Dementors.

Right.

Draco glances out the window as they walk, spotting in the distance some small black shapes that seem to drift through the air like lost cloaks.

“I wonder who created the Dementors,” he murmurs to himself, thinking about whether they might be a creation of Hades or some other Olympian. There are plenty of mythological creatures of chaos who could be their makers.

Everyone around him gives him an odd look before looking away.

Theo gives him a long stare, but in their next class, he sits down beside him.

.

.

In the following class with Severus, the man gave him a look of mortal disappointment, but Draco simply smiled and calmly gathered his ingredients. Lavender took a seat beside him, as did Theo. The two of them had exchanged a long look for a good while — but neither moved away. Draco felt mildly uncomfortable for a few moments. He heard some Gryffindors talking to Potter about Sirius Black, but Draco was ignoring them while concentrating on his potion.

He stops moving his hand when he hears something.

A voice — dreadfully off-key — seems to bounce around inside his head, as though it’s ricocheting off the walls of his skull, even though he can clearly tell that everyone around him is simply talking as usual. No one seems to be singing.

That off-key voice.

He knows that voice.

His eyes narrow.

He scans every person in the room for a few moments. No one appears to be singing. His gaze sweeps over the golden trio — what a stupid name — and Potter’s eyes lift as though he can feel the stare. The boy gives him a look as though he finds him irritating, which Draco is used to, but beneath all the irritation there seems to be something almost thoughtful.

Not wanting to give Potter any reaction whatsoever — he doesn’t deserve one, not after rejecting him in first year — Draco shifts his gaze past the boy.

One of the supply cabinets, the kind used to store ingredients, has what appears to be a glass protective front.

The color drains from Draco’s face.

The glass isn’t reflecting the inside of the cabinet. Instead, it’s as though he can see Percy Jackson’s room — half-formed in the strange distortion of its position. Percy is lying on his bed in a pair of shorts and a blue T-shirt, wearing headphones while writing in what appears to be a notebook, and singing.

Percy has stopped writing to use his pencil as a microphone, belting out — with disaster and feeling — a song that seems to have been playing on some station lately. Draco’s mouth falls open in disbelief.

“Percy?” The question comes out loud. For a moment the image in the glass flickers in confusion, looking around curiously.

Then it turns to where he is.

Their eyes connect. Percy’s eyes widen slightly. Draco can tell — he’s looking right at him.

Then Severus steps between them, cutting off any connection, and Draco looks up in confusion.

“Mr. Malfoy, I would expect a little more attention in my class. Given that you were not present last year, I would not expect your attention to be fixed on Potter as usual,” Severus says, visibly irritated — because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t be making an example of him in front of the entire class.

And all just because he had refused to lodge a complaint about the groundskeeper.

As if that were worth his time.

“It wasn’t Potter — I was looking at—” His words hang in the air as he leans to keep looking at the cabinet glass, feeling deflated that Percy is no longer reflected in it.

Damn.

He was going mad.

Potter and several other students turned to look at whatever he had been staring at, finding clearly nothing worth admiring there.

“I’m glad my supply cabinet interests you so greatly — you’ll be staying after class this evening to help categorize it, given your interest,” Severus says calmly before moving on. Draco pouts before lowering his gaze.

Theo laughs and kicks him under the table, while Lavender gives him a look that seems to be trying to read his very soul.

He wasn’t going mad.

Was he?

.

.

He walked quickly to the bathroom after class, escaping Lavender’s interested look and Theo’s mildly curious one. He shut the door quickly after making sure no one was nearby. He used one of his special coins for the Iris message, which took only a few moments to show his father’s image — looking far less impressed than the first time he had done this. A shame. It had been rather entertaining to see Lucius Malfoy’s surprised expression.

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Draco sighs.

“Could you please not file a complaint against the groundskeeper? I’ve already spoken to Severus — I don’t intend to continue in that stupid class,” he says in an uncomfortable tone, to which Lucius simply stares at him in disbelief before rolling his eyes.

“I’ve already spoken to the school board. Not only are we looking to replace that incompetent half-giant — I also want that chicken killed.”

Draco smiled despite himself, since the name his father had given it was similar to the one he himself had thought of, and he liked anything that made him feel aligned with Lucius. Inside, he had been terrified when he first realized Lucius was not his biological father.

Even so, he was his father.

“I don’t want it dead. I want it away from me. What it did was nothing compared to last summer.”

“You know very well it isn’t just about that. It disrespected a Malfoy.”

“And I made it very clear I’m not weak — I subdued it, I held my own against it. Killing it would only inflate something I don’t want to grow. I don’t want too much attention drawn my way.”

“You’re a Malfoy. You’re my son. You will always draw attention.”

Draco’s eyes go warm without his permission at the emphatic way his father says that he is his son.

Yes.

He doesn’t need any Olympian to acknowledge him. He is the son of Lucius Malfoy.

“Please, Father,” he says in a pitiful voice — a technique Percy Jackson uses that always works on Sally Jackson, who is herself a tough nut to crack. “I know I’m your son and I’ll use your name whenever I need to, but I also want to show this group of misfit inferiors that I can do things through my own strength. I’ve shown I’m powerful in my own right, and I want to win this fight my own way,” he adds with sincerity in his voice.

He also has no desire for the chicken’s death on his conscience. Something tells him that if Grover ever found out, he would receive an earful the next time he saw him.

Annabeth and Percy would agree.

“You don’t have to fight alone — you’re my son.” Now his father is the one who seems hurt, throwing a small tantrum, as much as Lucius Malfoy is capable of showing one.

Draco smiles.

“Exactly — as your son, I’m going to uphold the name so everyone can see that I’m just as strong as you are. Please, Dad.” He knows it’s a double-edged move. His father had raised him to be someone who follows customs and tradition.

When he turned ten, he was supposed to stop calling him Dad. It was too childish, too far outside the expected etiquette.

A very effective double-edged weapon.

His father looks at him for a moment. He can almost swear he hears his mother laughing in the background, but he doesn’t mention it — it’s not the right moment.

“Will you be joining the Quidditch team?” his father asks, changing the subject. Draco’s eyes light up with excitement.

“I’ll crush everyone at tryouts. I promise that for the first match, you can come with full confidence I’ll win.” Wait — the first match is usually Slytherin versus Gryffindor. He knows Potter is generally a decent player.

He always has good brooms — better ones, specifically. But he was reasonably competent.

But Draco is better.

He has to be. His pride requires it.

“The chicken will live.”

“You’re the best father in the world.”

“Stop being so impertinent.” But as they say goodbye, Draco catches a smile on his father’s face.

He walks to the dining hall in a better mood — though it dips slightly, because now there are not only rumors about him and the chicken, but also about him being punished by Snape for staring at Potter.

Stupid gossips. They would put the Aphrodite cabin to shame with how fast they spread rumors.

.

.

Two classes with Gryffindor in one day ought to be illegal, Draco thinks, walking behind the herd of idiots — excluding his dear Lavender — and following Professor Remus Lupin toward somewhere outside the usual classroom. He couldn’t be worse than the groundskeeper, but he was keeping his doubts in reserve just in case. He couldn’t wait to finish this class. He had a small free period before going to help Severus, during which he was fairly certain he could talk to Percy and check that everything was alright.

To find out what had happened that morning.

Something had happened.

He wasn’t going mad.

Was it the bond?

Blaise seemed bored beside him while Professor Lupin explained about what a Boggart might be. Draco stopped thinking about Jackson and started wondering instead what on earth his greatest fear was. He glances sideways at Lavender a little ahead with Parvati — both of them seem somewhat worried about it, as he knows his own list of fears is rather problematic.

He’s afraid of quite a few things.

Giant cyclopes.

Medusa.

Harpies.

Hades was quite intimidating.

Circe was a nightmare, but she was terrifying.

Kronos, who somewhere in this world is finding a way to return to life, destroy all the Olympians, and end the world as they know it.

“I don’t like Nundu or Chimaeras,” Theo says pensively, and Draco glances at him sideways, surprised by the volume of words he’s heard from him over the past few days.

Theo usually prefers to be alone with a book, away from everyone. Well, now that Draco no longer has Gregory and Vincent trailing behind him at all times, Pansy is angry with him most of the time, and Blaise is a free spirit who only talks to him when he feels like it.

He supposes he presents an unusual kind of solitude that Theo is drawn to.

He shrugs.

He isn’t a particularly irritating presence. Somewhat similar to Annabeth in terms of knowledge, but less of an idiot than Percy.

“I’m a little curious about what my greatest fear would be,” he says, unimpressed, as Neville Longbottom steps forward and his Boggart transforms into Severus Snape.

Yes.

When that rumor spreads, his godfather is not going to be pleased.

It seemed to be the Gryffindors’ day, and while Draco was curious about his own fear, he simply stood with his arms crossed, observing the other children confront their fairly common fears. There was a small pang of something like envy at being scared of a teacher or a spider. Everyone seemed energized, and the Slytherins simply stood at the back. He didn’t mind much — in Potions it was usually the other way around — and Draco simply examined his fingernails without much interest.

It wasn’t exactly keeping him up at night, not knowing what his fear was.

“Well done, Neville — finish him off!” Lupin said as the Boggart fell to the floor in the shape of a cockroach.

Draco judges Weasley fairly harshly — between a spider and a cockroach, from his perspective the cockroach was more revolting.

Though, being a daughter of Athena, Annabeth hated spiders for obvious reasons.

Longbottom was walking with something approaching confidence, but as he had to pass by Draco’s side, he looked mildly surprised. Draco doesn’t understand why — he saved the boy’s backside a few days ago, and bruised his knee in the process, but it was to save said backside, so he shouldn’t look horrified. Longbottom clearly has Percy Jackson’s luck, because he trips right beside him and sends Draco stumbling forward quite abruptly, straight to the front of the group.

He flings his hands out wildly to avoid falling to his knees. Everyone makes space so he doesn’t topple onto them, and when Draco stops swaying, he is standing at the front.

Still on his feet.

That’s a victory.

With the cockroach rapidly changing shape in front of him.

Damn.

The color drains from his face and anxiety blooms in his chest — which vanishes the moment the Boggart finishes transforming. First he feels a flash of dread as a humanoid shape rapidly forms: slightly taller than him, lean, masculine. The face appears quickly, and every shade of color leaves Draco’s face when he finds himself looking at Luke.

His hands begin to tremble.

“I don’t understand your surprise, Draco — after all, we both know why you’re afraid,” Luke says with a faint smile, extending his hand to point at him. “I am everything you’ve always feared,” he adds with a smug smile that makes Draco’s insides twist at the Boggart’s charming expression.

His breathing stutters.

Something inside him seems to want to break, and his eyes don’t leave the boy — nor, presumably, does anyone else in the room.

“Didn’t you trust me? You thought I could be your friend — that you’d matter to me.” The words cut through the air and no one moves, frozen just as Draco is.

Yes.

Draco had trusted Luke. Those first weeks at camp, when he hated everyone, Luke had presented himself as a handsome and pleasant young man who was there to help or guide him. Even though he had tried to hide it, Draco had genuinely appreciated the boy at the time.

He had been the first person Draco trusted at camp — even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

He had admired him.

He was strong, attractive, and charismatic.

“But now you’re afraid of me. You’re scared of what will happen when I complete my mission — because you know I’ll succeed, because I’m intelligent and strong. It’s not even about Annabeth or Percy. You think you can hate me, but you didn’t raise a hand against me the last time you saw me.” He seems condescending now as he walks toward him calmly.

He isn’t going to hurt him physically.

His words, however, are already sharp knives to the chest, cutting without mercy, in ways the bloody hippogriff never managed.

This time it actually hurts.

“Draco, use the spell,” he hears Remus say distantly as Luke stands before him, lowering his face toward his ear while Draco remains frozen.

“You’re afraid of knowing that you only like boys — and of everyone finding out.” It’s the whisper in his ear that finally makes Draco’s eyes blaze with fury, and his teeth bite down hard on his lower lip.

Yes.

Luke represents everything he fears.

He is his greatest enemy right now.

But also.

He is everything he hates.

Simply hearing him makes his entire body ignite, and his hand moves of its own accord when it connects with a powerful punch to the Boggart’s face, sending the figure stumbling back. He’s making a scene, he thinks, fury governing his mind as he hurls himself like an animal at the false Luke, who keeps laughing while Draco rains punches onto his face that do absolutely nothing.

It’s a magical being.

So his fists are just as useless here as they weren’t with the hippogriff.

He keeps hitting.

Even when someone grabs him by the hips to pull him away — he identifies Vincent afterward by the elbow he drives into the boy’s stomach — while Gregory and Blaise try to hold him firmly. He keeps struggling to get one more hit in on the Luke who is still laughing on the ground.

“Lie to yourself all you want, Draco — you know you’ll never be rid of me. You’re weak, pathetic, and you mean nothing to anyone. Annabeth, Grover, and Percy are only your friends because they feel sorry for you,” the Boggart shrieks with malice, and a pained sound escapes Draco’s mouth at what the false Luke just said, the words cutting deep into him with force.

It hurts.

It burns.

It wounds.

Draco only wants to throw himself at the apparition, but Lupin steps in front of him. The Boggart quickly transforms into a glowing orb that resembles the moon. A final spell sends the Boggart back into the cabinet, leaving the room in silence.

Except for labored breathing.

His.

“Draco,” the Defense professor says softly, crouching down to his level. He looks worried — but Draco is only staring at the cabinet with hatred.

His body won’t stop shaking. He knows he looks pathetic. Both Gryffindors and Slytherins are watching him in the middle of what appears to be a panic attack.

Luke’s words echo in his mind.

Lie.

He’s lying.

He has to be lying.

He knocks the hand from his shoulder with a sharp swat, because he doesn’t want the pity of a stupid professor. He pulls himself upright with every shred of dignity he doesn’t have, then turns and walks with his chin up out of that place. His breathing is ragged as he hits the corridor and starts running — he just wants to be alone, away from everything.

He tries to run from Luke’s words.

But he can’t.

That damned idiot, even without being present, still manages to ruin his day.

.

.

There is a finite amount of time he can spend in the owlery playing with Merlin, his family’s owl, while working clay he always keeps with him — before he has to go back. Although his plan had been to go unnoticed, it seems to have unraveled in less than a week, and his dignity is currently in tatters among his Slytherin peers. Among the Gryffindors too — by now, with how fast rumors spread, he has no doubt the whole school knows. He wants to talk to Percy, but Luke’s words have planted a kind of fear in him. He knows Percy is his friend and that probably has something to do with the bond.

He has never felt pity through the bond.

But what if it were real?

Draco plays with his hands, terrified by the possibility.

He wants to talk to Percy, but he’s afraid — and he hates himself for being so pathetic and weak.

He freezes and sets his own emotions aside for a moment when he feels something quicken in his chest, as though something is pressing in on him. His brow furrows when he senses a kind of desperation from Percy inside him. It had probably been there for most of the day, but now he feels it so strongly that it makes him uncomfortable. He throws a locking charm at the owlery door just in time for the Iris message to appear before him.

Several owls take flight in surprise.

“Draco!” Percy’s face shrieks, looking worried. Draco blinks in confusion. “Are you alright?” he asks, trying to assess him as best he can from across the connection — it seems he’s in the bathroom using the shower spray. “For days I’ve felt uneasy, but you didn’t call or send an owl, and then for the last hour or so it’s felt like something terrible was happening to you. It really hurts,” he says, distressed, his expression anguished. Draco simply lets himself sink down to the floor, exhausted.

He was worried.

The bond seems to work both ways with emotions that are strong enough.

“It was a bad class. Well — they’ve been bad classes.” He can’t deny that the hippogriff wounds had apparently been serious. “Today I had a class with a Boggart — it takes the form of your worst fear,” he explains at Percy’s confusion. “It showed me Luke,” he adds, mostly against his will.

Something flickers in Percy’s eyes before they go dark with anger.

He hates him.

Percy had trusted Luke too.

But now it seems like a more personal hatred. For some reason, his insides burn with Percy’s own fury, as though someone had damaged something precious to him. It’s only a moment, but he’s startled by the enormity of the feeling.

“Oh, Draco — don’t worry. He can’t hurt you. I wouldn’t let him.” He appreciates the words, but the problem is that he has already been hurt.

“He said you were all my friends out of pity.” Percy opens his mouth in disbelief, but Draco doesn’t let him say anything before unleashing everything he’s been carrying inside. “That he would complete his mission, that I trusted him, and…” He hesitates, because saying it out loud will make it real, and he’s afraid. “That I’m scared of people finding out that I only like boys,” he murmurs, his throat dry — which brings Percy’s brain to a complete stop.

Percy seems to open his mouth, close it, open it again.

Draco feels panic through every moment of it, but something that was hurting doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore, and far from feeling revulsion through the bond.

He only feels concern from Percy.

That settles him.

“He won’t complete his mission. And of course we’re not friends with you out of pity — you’re my best friend. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Or… if you like boys.” He doesn’t seem disgusted, just uncertain about how to phrase it. “You’re still my best friend. We have a stupid friendship bond — don’t bring up Annabeth, the bond was supposed to be just ours, which means she’s also your best friend.”

“Lavender will fight for that spot.”

“Of course we’ll all fight for that spot, because even though you’re an idiot, you’re also pretty great, and we want to be your friends. Even if you have a thing for that Potter guy.”

“I don’t have a thing for Potter,” he squawks in indignation, but Percy laughs in amusement.

“You know, you used to talk very passionately about Hercules, and that music teacher at our school,” Percy says, wiggling his eyebrows with amusement.

“You talked about Hercules too.”

“Bi-curiosity?”

And then he breaks. A laugh bursts out of him that seems to make Percy’s eyes shine, and he’s simply glad that if the idiot feels any kind of affection through their bond, he doesn’t think he’s in love with him. Because Draco wants to kill this feeling — even though it’s difficult when Percy Jackson is so clumsily adorable. His chest fills with relief knowing that Percy doesn’t hate him for liking boys. He’s not sure whether he’ll ever be attracted to a girl, though everything so far points to the contrary.

But Percy is still here.

Still looking at him with the affection they have between friends.

Still here.

He didn’t leave.

He accepts him.

Draco doesn’t understand how he went from being in the middle of his worst fear to feeling like he could command the sun if he wanted to.

“A hippogriff tore through my arm a few days ago.”

“What kind of school is that?”

Draco is relieved by the horror in Percy’s voice. Then he begins to talk for what feels like hours. No one comes close because everyone is in class, and Draco simply enjoys catching up with his best friend — who accepts that he’s gay without looking horrified.

He’s gay.

Draco Malfoy is gay.

That may have been the fear his Boggart showed him — but it diminishes somewhat now that Percy has accepted it.

.

.

Draco’s first week back at Hogwarts is nothing like he expected. Not only were the first classes dreadful, but several different rumors have spread about him. From being a new patron of Gryffindor students — blasphemous, given that he only talks to Lavender — to being a lunatic mauled by a giant chicken — they actually say hippogriff, but to Draco it’s a bloody chicken — to being the strange boy who’s afraid of another teenager. If anyone actually knew Luke, they’d understand perfectly why someone should be afraid of him, given that he’s threatening the reality of the entire planet as they know it.

He can’t talk about that, of course. He can’t talk about any of it.

At least the Defense incident was somewhat diluted by Longbottom’s Boggart being his godfather, which seemed to be the more entertaining story for students to circulate. His godfather seemed to redirect his anger upon hearing about the hippogriff incident, and after having a prolonged go at Lupin. In the following Defense classes, the professor seemed to want to speak with him — but Draco always positioned himself at the back, ignoring everyone and furiously taking notes on anything else.

Last to arrive, first to leave.

Something that works.

“We need to train — I feel restless,” Draco growls, his foot tapping rhythmically in the library. Even though he loves books, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on them with all this repressed energy.

Stupid demigod body.

It’s as though he grew accustomed to training all of last year, and now that he’s gone just one week without it, he feels wrong. The Quidditch tryouts were next week, and Draco couldn’t wait to release some of this energy.

“I don’t do that. Now hand me that stupid book. Dyslexia has always been rubbish, but I swear it’s gotten worse this year,” Lavender growls while writing on her parchment, only to use the correction charm after re-reading it.

Every spell a young wizard with dyslexia learns when they’re young.

Draco is surprised he hadn’t noticed the girl’s difficulty before — even when he taught her his mother’s spells for easier reading, Lavender still occasionally manages to write things incorrectly.

He glances around.

Lavender has been spending a lot of time with him. Even her friend Parvati had started spending more time with a girl named Kellah from their dormitory and year group — who must be muggle-born because he barely recalls her. Just as the Slytherins had talked behind his back, it’s clear the Gryffindors weren’t exactly pleased with the amount of time Brown spends with Draco.

Not that the girl had mentioned it.

She simply ignores it and keeps walking toward him like a little dog who’s found its owner.

“Everyone at camp does it — including you.”

“Not everyone is the same, Draco, so shut up and tell me what to write in this Potions essay. Why do we have a Potions essay the first week?”

“Come on, Lavender — don’t make me beg. Let’s train. Just one night.”

Lavender groans, drops her parchment, and gives him an incredulous look.

“Say I’m listening, genius. Where?”

Now Draco’s smile is exactly like that of someone who has caught their prey.

.

.

If Lavender Brown had any suspicion that he was mad, it probably evaporates that day. Not only had he forced her to stay up far later than reasonable on a Friday night and sneak out of her common room at the risk of detention if they were caught — he had also made her walk through the corridors, evade a bewildered Flitwick on patrol who mistook them for Mrs. Norris, and then exit the castle toward the Forbidden Forest. He had been observing the edges of the Forbidden Forest throughout the week before classes started. There were clearly magical creatures within it, but at the borders not many seemed to appear, and if any did — they wouldn’t find easy prey in him.

Nearby there was quite a useful clearing they could use for training.

“I hate my life,” Lavender growls, shivering with cold while clutching the small dagger in her hands as Draco stretches.

He has some clothes he used to wear at the Jackson house for exercise. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, holding his spear, reminding himself not to be too hard on Lavender — the girl is barely progressing. She was better with magic. Every day he notices a little more of that glimmering something in her — a magic different from the one they use, brighter and stranger.

Granddaughter of Hecate.

If she was anything like Circe, who knew what her power might be.

“Go on — remember your center. Don’t move your wrist too much. And yes, the answer is that I remember your last encounter with Annabeth perfectly well. Now — attack!” He watched Lavender make a face, moving her lips as though silently mimicking him in a mocking tone, but she accepted his instructions.

She launched herself forward.

Lavender wasn’t very nimble. Unlike Draco, who was obsessed with beating Percy, Lavender only trained to survive — but she was very fast. Another big difference between them: when Draco threw himself at Percy with near-animal fury, indifferent to a cut or two, the occasional dislocated bone, focused entirely on pushing Percy to his limit.

Annabeth had called them idiots.

But Chiron had seemed somewhat satisfied with how the two of them pushed each other, because apart from Clarisse, no other camper managed to bring Percy to that level.

He moved the spear with something close to joy. After a year of continuous practice and two summers of different adventures, watching himself against Lavender showed him the enormous strides he had made since that first day, so long ago. His feet moved as though in a dance while Lavender attacked with growing frustration, but even feeling so disadvantaged, she was trying with everything she had to follow his instructions.

He struck her several times before moving the spear so quickly that when it connected with her ankles, she shrieked and fell backwards.

“Again,” he said with a blank expression.

Lavender growled, but got to her feet.

When he struck her in the stomach and she fell, she got to her feet.

When he disarmed her and applied a hold Annabeth had taught him — using him as the example, naturally — Lavender got back to her feet.

When he disarmed her with bare hands and she was left defenseless, she rose from her knees.

She seemed frustrated at falling and getting back up over and over — but every time he put her on the ground, she kept rising. It was hard to see the little nuisance who had approached him crying that day at the theme park, what felt like a very long time ago. She wasn’t an analytical warrior like Annabeth, a tank like Clarisse, or blessed with that particular quality Silena had — but she reminded him a little of himself somehow.

“I’m frustrated,” Lavender said from the ground after her fourteenth fall. “Everyone in Gryffindor treats me like a stranger. Even Parvati, who’s my best friend, barely talks to me anymore. Just because I talk to you.” For a moment Draco simply thought of various ways to make every Gryffindor in the vicinity suffer. His chest began to sting, but he focused more on the concept of revenge. “And maybe it’s partly my fault too — sitting and talking with them, when they don’t understand, when they don’t see what we see. I miss camp,” Lavender whispers, closing her eyes.

Draco stays there, watching her rest for a little longer before dropping down to do sit-ups, trying to burn off some energy while his friend catches her breath.

Yes.

Perhaps he had left the Gryffindors alone for long enough — but if they were making Lavender suffer, perhaps it was time to remind them why he was a Slytherin.

.

.

“I need you to work for me, princess,” he had said the following morning, in a better mood, as he took a seat next to Pansy.

The girl glanced at him sideways. She had been less cold since the hippogriff incident — though not nearly as much when he announced he wouldn’t be pursuing consequences — and a little wary, like the rest of the Slytherins, after watching him in Defense. For Slytherins, keeping their emotions off their faces is paramount — show no weakness, give others no weapons, always guard their dignity carefully.

They had seen him.

When he attacked the false Luke.

They had seen the fury on his face, and some had started looking at him sideways with something approaching fear. Percy told him he was unwell when Draco admitted he found that satisfying.

Power is always useful.

“You only call me that when you want something from me that I’m not going to like,” she says, arms folded, lifting her chin.

Yes.

It was.

Which is why he needed to be extremely careful.

“I’ll give you a free pass if you do the job well — any request, consider it done.” Now he had her full attention. Pansy’s eyes lit up and she put on the full face of a negotiator, which he knew she kept in reserve for moments like these. “You know I have a small pet in Gryffindor, and they already know better than to bother her.” He had made that very clear the first night of classes when someone commented that Lavender was an idiot.

Draco had threatened the fourth-year boy, who hadn’t taken him seriously at the time — but now that the rumors of his outburst in Defense were public, it had been rather entertaining to watch the boy flinch whenever Draco gave him a bad look.

“We haven’t done anything to that little Brown girl.” She seemed to suffer at admitting it.

“Apparently some of the stupid lions aren’t very clever around her, and they seem to… push her out.” He weighs his words carefully, but Pansy looks mildly entertained. “If you find out who they are — and if anyone does something to her, I expect you to tell me in full detail,” he whispers with a look that’s both slightly amused and slightly dark, making Pansy practically purr.

“Oh, Draco — there you are. You bastard wolf pretending to wear lamb’s wool.” Pansy practically purrs as she takes his arm.

Draco lets her.

“Would you do that for me?”

“I have no intention of turning down a deal like this, because I already have an idea of how to use your help in the future.”

Both of them smile at each other, because that is what Slytherins do.

.

.

“If you’re going to do something bad, make sure nobody catches you.”

“Oh, Percy — we both know it was me who taught you that.”

“Yes, yes, Draco is the best of all, bow down to the most powerful demigod of them all.”

“That’s what I like to hear from my loyal lackey — know your place.”

“Sure, whatever. Now, about the Maths homework.”

“I swear Annabeth is leaving the worst of it to me. I’m going to complain to her.”

.

.

It would take a little time — Pansy does her work well, but gathering information on the lions won’t be easy, so he’ll leave her to it for now. On the day of the tryouts, Draco wakes up energized. He’s been training with Lavender three days a week — the girl says it’s too much, but to Draco it seems like too little. He’s hoping today will finally let him drain the great quantity of excess energy he needs out of his system, because he’s nearly at the point of jumping from the Astronomy Tower if he has to sit still for another hour doing nothing.

Percy seems equally frustrated, complaining constantly that he misses his training partner.

He doesn’t mention the Potions incident, since it hasn’t repeated, and he supposes it must be nothing.

“We’re not going easy on you, Malfoy,” Flint growls when he arrives at the Quidditch pitch, looking fairly bored but with eyes that blaze when he sees the other students trying out.

Draco glances at the stands. Blaise appears to be there out of obligation from Pansy, but he’s surprised to see both Theo alongside them, and Lavender a little further away, waving her hands energetically the moment she catches his eye.

He raises his hand awkwardly and could swear he sees her smile.

Yes.

He would crush any Gryffindor who hurt his friend, even if she never asked him to.

Being on a broomstick was bloody brilliant. Of course his heart held a special place for Aurora, the Pegasus from Camp Half-Blood, but a broom also had its merits. Both beat the hippocampi by a wide margin — if it were up to Draco, he would never ride one of those again. The Nimbus was quite fast, but he almost thought Aurora might be a touch faster. When it came to risky maneuvers, though, the broom was far more satisfying.

He felt happy.

Genuinely happy.

He missed Percy, Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth, and even Will.

But up here in the air, he was happy.

The tryouts passed far too quickly. The other fourth-year boy who had wanted the Seeker position didn’t stand a chance — Draco snatched the practice Snitch on every run. It wasn’t his fault the other boy was an ordinary human — though being a wizard should already put you above a muggle — while Draco was, without question, a demigod.

Fast.

Battle-ready.

With reflexes honed by a full year of continuous training.

When he climbed off his broom, he didn’t even have to wonder who Flint would choose. The older student clapped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him in with unmistakable enthusiasm.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy — you’re an animal,” the older student says with bright eyes, and Draco simply preens.

Yes.

It isn’t Camp Half-Blood, but damn it — the attention on him wasn’t unwelcome, and above all it was because of him.

They were looking at him for who he is.

Draco.

He smiled with delight as he approached his friends — first the Slytherins, who applauded with enthusiasm, and Blaise even pushed him in amusement. Then he turned his face to find Lavender, who smiled radiantly before hugging him tightly.

.

.

“There’s a rumor you’re dating Brown,” Theo said one day as they walked toward the dining hall. Blaise usually slipped off on his own, and lately it was Theo who walked with him each morning. Gregory and Vincent tended to head to the dining hall very early of their own accord, to secure as much food as possible.

Draco neither confirmed nor denied it.

He had the vague impression that he only liked boys, but this could be a good cover — because no one other than Percy knew about his inclinations. Well, there was a strong chance Sally and his mother Narcissa did. And Lavender had her suspicions.

Theo gives him a long look over their meal, but Draco ignores it. Theo goes back to his book, and Draco privately thinks the idiot should have gone to Ravenclaw. He also thinks he could be friends with Annabeth, though he doubts that would happen in this lifetime with both worlds so separate.

.

.

Lavender refuses to go training one night — apparently being a girl and having girl problems makes everything more irritating, and she wants to eat chocolate and complain from her bed. Draco goes to train anyway. Even with Quidditch practice adding to his muscle work, without proper exercise he would go completely mad from studying. It’s a little lonely training alone — like doing a solo dance in the middle of an empty hall. Having to invent opponents and figure out how to dodge them isn’t quite as entertaining.

He tends to imagine Percy.

He replays his movements, over and over in his mind, during battle scenarios, thinking through the best ways to counter him.

He has better reach with the spear, but Percy is terrifyingly fast and lethal with the sword. He needs to improve his reflexes, and that can’t be done without an opponent. Lavender barely counts, and nobody at this school would be a worthy opponent for an actual fight — and that worries him.

At least Percy doesn’t have that either.

Even so.

He needs something.

One night he heard a wolf — a distant howl of pain — and Draco was almost tempted to go after it, just for something to do. But he didn’t. He walked back toward the school out of boredom. There’s quite a difference between a training fight and attacking a living animal — and that difference has a name. It’s Grover, who would never forgive him and would complain about it for the next century if he killed an innocent creature.

He walked through the corridors before swearing under his breath at the sound of footsteps.

It’s nearly two in the morning, he thinks, bored, before concentrating hard and rapidly becoming a ferret, shrinking into himself.

Damned Filch and his inconvenient timing.

He’s not worried about the caretaker — it’s that blasted cat that usually accompanies him. So he hurries on tiny paws to slip past both of them unnoticed. Being a ferret has its advantages, not that he would ever admit that out loud, even under oath.

The cat’s presence is nearby.

He knows it the way an animal knows.

He slips under what appears to be a curtain before the cat appears from the other end of the corridor. He holds his breath, wondering if he has room to flee, when he notices with horror a pair of hands closing around his tiny body. He shrieks — but before the cat can come running, something slips into his mouth and he curses inwardly, not knowing what to do. Turning back into a human now would only alarm whoever is holding him and reveal that he’s an Animagus — an illegal one, though it happened because of Circe. He hadn’t told many people about this form.

“Shh, little one — or we’ll both get caught,” says a voice, turning him over. Draco can only curse his luck once more when Potter’s green eyes find his.

His damned luck must be legendary.

Didn’t he have a father on Olympus?

He must not be very fond of him.

.

.

He stays frozen, watching everything in slow motion. Not only does he discover that Potter has an invisibility cloak — which makes him think that if he’s had it since first year, a great many things would make a lot more sense — the kind Annabeth’s cap reminds him of, but he’s now trapped being carried toward Gryffindor Tower. He had tried to escape, but the boy only held him firmly, saying soothing words. When they nearly got caught by Filch a second time, Draco figured he’d have to endure this ordeal and get away as quickly as possible. He was in danger — but the lesser danger for now was Potter.

When they arrive at Gryffindor Tower, everything is dark inside, though the interior reminds him a little of the Hermes cabin — not that he’d admit it out loud.

“Look who managed it — this is brilliant, Harry,” Seamus shouts with a triumphant howl, followed by the rest of the boys sharing the third-year dormitory.

Magnificent.

Draco lets himself sink further into Potter’s hands with disdain as the curious looks of the other boys fall on him while they settle into a semicircle. Apparently they had been playing something as foolish as truth or dare. Potter had been assigned a dare to go to the hospital wing and retrieve a vial of fever potion.

No one seemed to know he had an invisibility cloak.

He wonders why, since the look Potter and Weasley exchange makes it so obviously a secret that it practically hurts.

“And who’s this?” Seamus asks curiously, looking at Draco. Draco gives him a death stare and bites him when he touches his head.

Everyone laughs.

He considers biting Potter, but Potter doesn’t touch him and simply sets him down on his lap in the middle of the blankets, which are so warm that Draco makes himself comfortable in them.

“I found him wandering around — he must be someone’s pet. I felt sorry for him running into Mrs. Norris.” Like the Slytherins, the Gryffindors all grimaced at the mention of the horrible cat.

“He might have an owner — you should look into it tomorrow. Though it’s Saturday,” Longbottom says, looking at him with curiosity but wisely keeping his distance.

He needs to escape from here. In the afternoon he has Quidditch practice, and it’s going to be far too obvious when he isn’t found in the Slytherin dormitories. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear at the first opportunity, but he was always there for breakfast — and this was going to be absolute madness.

He looks toward the door and notes it’s closed.

Yes.

This was going to be madness.

“He’s cute,” Weasley says, attempting to touch him. He receives a bite just like Seamus did. “Wretched little beast,” he mutters, clutching his wounded hand against his chest.

Another wave of laughter.

Draco gives Potter a warning look, but Potter doesn’t dare touch him. Instead, he seems to pick up a packet of sweets he has nearby and offers one. He isn’t sure whether his ferret physiology means he should be eating any of these.

He chews the little sweet rapidly.

His taste buds as a ferret are absolutely terrible, but he was very hungry after training for hours.

He’s marginally less annoyed, which is why he doesn’t bite Potter when a finger passes over his head. It’s something he hasn’t even let Percy do, so that idiot had better not push his luck. The treat isn’t good enough to justify not mutilating the bastard.

The game doesn’t last much longer. Draco notices in the distance, inside a cage, a rat watching him steadily before ignoring him and retreating to the far side. Curious — he hadn’t known Weasley had a rat as a pet, or he had simply never paid attention. Though watching the boy settle into the bed beside the cage gives him a fair idea.

Meanwhile, Draco is sleeping in Potter’s bed.

Ironic.

The first boy he shares a bed with after finding out he’s gay is not Percy — it’s Harry Potter. There are some things in his world that skirt the edge of irony until it starts to hurt. The boy keeps yawning as he lies down in a stupid pair of pajamas that seem far too large for him. He thinks about how horrified Lavender or Pansy would be to see the boy dressed like that.

“You know, your face is interesting — you look angry,” Harry whispers beside him. He hasn’t touched him much, correctly intuiting that he doesn’t want excessive human contact.

Draco gives him a long ferret stare. He has no intention of humiliating himself by behaving in any way that encourages greater interest from the boy. He’s hoping that at some point during the morning, someone will leave and give him a window to escape. He also knows Lavender will be around somewhere. She hasn’t seen his ferret form — but it wouldn’t take her long to put it together.

Percy described it quite vividly on multiple occasions at camp.

Something he hated at the time — but which might actually come in useful now.

He sighs, weary. That sound seems to make Potter smile, and Draco watches the boy’s face for a moment, thinking that the boy is an idiot — and also that he had never seen Potter smile before. He tries to recall, but apart from the clearly angry, annoyed, uncomfortable, and exhausted face the boy always showed him — he had never directed anything positive his way.

He remembers Percy’s smile. It seems like sunlight hitting him full force — Apollo be damned — and everything bad in Draco’s body simply leaving.

Maybe it’s his stupid infatuation.

Maybe Percy’s smile was somehow infused with the ability to cheer people up.

Maybe it was the bond.

Harry’s smile is more guarded, almost shy and clumsy, as though smiling were somehow forbidden. Draco tilts his head in mild curiosity. The smile isn’t entirely unpleasant on his face — but seeing him smile makes him seem even more different from Percy in a way Draco can’t quite identify. Percy is chaotic, someone charismatic and clumsy, who courts death almost unconsciously, a hero, someone who will be great in any legend of the future.

His past is sad.

Percy will sometimes talk, at night, about the loneliness and sadness before camp — how no one wanted to be his friend, how much he hated Gabe, how alone he was.

But now it’s not like that.

He has friends, and Percy always smiles when he sees him, announcing him as his best friend.

The past is sad, the past weighs on his shoulders — and Draco often feels ashamed, because his own childhood before Hogwarts was, honestly, absolutely wonderful. Others, like Annabeth, also carry a heavy weight on their shoulders, something to bear, something that being a demigod means in a way that Draco genuinely doesn’t carry. His Olympian father ignores him, yes — but apart from that, his life has been exceptional.

That, on the other hand, made him think.

About other people’s pasts.

Not everyone has it easy, and though he had often assumed that being Harry Potter meant being someone famous and great — something Draco had put to rest before going to Camp Half-Blood — he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. After an adventure, the label of being a hero loses a great deal of its appeal. After an adventure, being famous isn’t particularly exciting either.

After missions, the fear of death is very palpable.

A finger passes over his head and draws him out of his thoughts. Harry is stroking him and seems fascinated at not having lost the finger like the rest of his friends. Draco thinks about biting him, seriously — he had been deep in his thoughts and hates being pulled out of them. He doesn’t do it. The boy’s expression looks almost fascinated, but he also recognizes something he has seen in Percy and Annabeth.

Desperate hunger for affection.

He tilts his head and Harry smiles.

Why should someone like Potter be craving affection?

He opens his mouth, lets out a small squeak, and Harry only smiles wider.

“You’re quite a little thing, aren’t you — you scared me back there. You probably miss being near your owner and were frightened to end up somewhere unfamiliar,” Harry whispers in a low voice, and Draco simply wishes he could raise an eyebrow.

He was quite accustomed to being somewhere unfamiliar, far more often than he’d like to think. He had no proof, but also no doubt, that next summer — if Kronos hadn’t destroyed the world by then — Percy would manage to pull him into the middle of another near-death adventure.

“When I was little I couldn’t have pets, but I liked the neighborhood cats. I know you’re a ferret — but you remind me of them.” He bites him for that. Not with the same enthusiasm as with Weasley, but enough for Potter to pull back his finger with a resentful pout. “Rude,” he huffs quietly, and Draco watches him steadily.

Whatever.

He shifts a little before jumping nimbly onto the boy’s chest. Potter blinks in confusion as he curls into something of a ball there, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart, and the warmth surrounding him.

“You’re very spoiled,” Harry says, before someone shushes him from across the room — one of his dormitory mates. Harry makes another pout, and Draco closes his eyes.

Not quite willing to admit he falls asleep faster than he expected.

Tomorrow will be another day.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Draco is surprised by the movement beneath him signaling a new day — first, because he’s sleeping on top of a person, and second because he remembers too late that he’s a ferret, and falls flat on his face when he tries to stand up and take a step. Potter’s laughter is the first thing he receives, and Draco is in a bad mood that morning as he remembers he’s trapped in this godforsaken place. He stretches out where he is, watching the rest of Gryffindor begin their day in a disorderly and quite undignified manner that the Slytherins would never allow of themselves.

But that he knows the Hermes cabin, or in any case Percy Jackson, used to do.

“Wait here — we’ll go get something to eat and hopefully find your owner,” Potter says, as though he understands him.

Well.

He does understand him.

But a normal ferret wouldn’t.

Draco snorts before peering around the room. No one seems ready to leave, which means his escape plan isn’t going to work. In fact, it’s Potter who gets there first, gathering him against his chest before waiting for Weasley to head downstairs.

The common room is full of Gryffindors.

Draco could be sick. Instead he desperately searches for Lavender, and is horrified not to spot her anywhere. He’s tempted to jump from Potter’s arms and run — though a school full of students in broad daylight wouldn’t be very safe.

He just needs to reach a quiet corner and turn human again. It’ll be odd to be walking around in muggle clothes, but that might be the least of his problems.

“Harry, what is that?” Granger growls, walking quickly toward them, with an enormous fat cat at her heels that seems to be looking at him with interest.

Potter holds him carefully against his chest while, unexpectedly, Weasley jumps in front of him as a shield. Draco almost feels sick at being protected by Weasley, and he knows that if Weasley ever learned who he was protecting, the boy would feel an even greater disgust at his own actions.

“Careful, Hermione — that cat is always after poor Scabbers. Don’t let it get close,” the Weasley boy says with no tact whatsoever. He can see Granger’s offended expression, but Draco ignores them both to look at the cat, who watches him with fixed, bright eyes.

Well.

He understands the rat a little — the cat looks dangerous given his current size.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to be here — I was brought against my will and I want to go back to my own house,” Draco mutters with some uncertainty.

He had been able to speak to Percy when he was a guinea pig, but the two of them had been connected somehow as animals, or so he believed — closer to each other than to the cat. He doubted he could communicate with anything that wasn’t a transformed human.

Which the cat doesn’t appear to be.

To his surprise, the cat speaks.

“I’m rather tired of disguised humans near my human,” the words say, confusing Draco briefly before he shakes off his surprise.

“You understand me?” He tilts his head.

The cat seems almost offended.

“I’m half Kneazle — but any cat is intelligent enough to understand the stupid humans who turn themselves into animals,” it hisses, making Weasley point and complain to Granger again, who looks embarrassed while holding the enormous cat.

Crookshanks?

What kind of name is Crookshanks?

Draco simply watches as Potter holds him more firmly against his chest, then huffs in irritation and slips out of his arms easily, running along his body without hesitation. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that he’s somehow touched him. He doesn’t want to think about that. When he lands nimbly on the floor at a safe distance, he leaps until he’s facing the enormous cat being held by Granger.

He doesn’t harm it.

He just hisses at it — but it doesn’t read as a threat, even though it clearly could be.

“Whatever — I just want to get out of here, but they’re holding me against my will,” he shrieks in what must sound like chittering to the humans.

The cat. Or the half-Kneazle.

Does it matter?

Well, it simply flicks its tail before sighing. It doesn’t seem to want to help him — it just sits on its hind paws, watching him.

“Humans always want help. Exhausting.”

“I promise to reward you. Someday in the distant future. If you come looking for me, I will never come here of my own free will again.”

“What’s your human name?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

The cat seems to widen its eyes slightly. Draco doesn’t want to know what sort of things the Gryffindors have been saying about him, but right now he needs an ally, and this cat appears to be the only one who understands him.

From the corner of his eye he notices the stupid trio watching them in surprise. Weasley seems to be pointing out, again without any tact, his amazement that Crookshanks isn’t killing him. Potter hovers nearby as if he wants to protect him, but seems uncertain. Granger looks slightly smug.

He ignores them.

“Let the humans get you out of here — it’s the easiest way. If you come back, I’ll help you slip away.”

“That doesn’t help me at all right now.”

“I am helping you by not eating you.”

Draco grumbles in irritation, but the cat uses one paw to gently push him before turning and walking away. Something about its grumpy attitude reminds him a little of Annabeth, but he doesn’t want to say that out loud, somewhat afraid of what might happen if the daughter of Athena ever found out.

“Oh, bloody Ares cabin.” The voice makes Draco look up excitedly, just as Potter lifts him back into his arms.

“Lavender?” Weasley says in confusion, as the girl quickly finishes coming down the stairs, practically bouncing toward them, staring at him in horror.

“It’s me, Lavender — it’s Draco,” he squeaks, though he doubts she can understand him. Even though Circe did this to him, maybe she could understand him through some Olympian magic.

He doubts it.

The girl simply opens her mouth in disbelief. She can’t understand him — but she’s clearly recognized him, and Draco could simply love her for that.

If he were straight, of course.

Everything is purely platonic.

“I found this ferret last night.” Potter doesn’t reveal how — perhaps he isn’t quite as foolish as Draco assumed. “I was about to ask Hermione to help find its owner,” he adds, looking a little confused by Lavender’s reaction.

The curly-haired girl only looks up, then back down at him with worry, before swallowing.

“He’s… he’s… Draco’s pet,” she says in almost a whisper, looking at him. Draco wriggles in Potter’s grip, which only tightens slightly when he hears his name. Potter’s expression darkens, and he knows Lavender has made a mistake.

“Oh.” No, nothing that comes out of Potter’s voice like that can be good.

Draco and Lavender share a look that means the same thing.

Damn.

“Malfoy has a ferret as a pet?” Granger asks with doubt, while Weasley laughs slightly, as though that makes him better than Draco, despite keeping a rat as a pet.

“Yes, it’s his pet ferret — its name is Per—” Draco gives her the worst look a ferret can manage, because if she dares say “Percy” he swears he will murder her the moment he’s human again. She can see it. “Sparky. Its name is Sparky.” She nearly sobs in fear.

There is a silence.

A long and uncomfortable one.

Weasley laughs openly. Draco stares at Lavender with fury. She simply goes red with embarrassment. Potter looks at Granger in confusion.

“There’s a famous story among young witches and wizards called ‘Sparky the Dragon’ — I heard it mentioned by some girls in first year,” Granger explains helpfully. But Draco can only give Lavender a withering look as she shifts nervously.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy is pathetic — I’m going to mock him for this the first chance I get,” Weasley laughs as Lavender gives him a cold look, but says nothing more.

Granger lets out a sigh.

“Ron, we’ve talked about this. Now that Malfoy ignores us, it’s better to stay away from him and avoid unnecessary confrontation.”

That strikes him as curious.

They’ve been talking about him.

He glances sideways at Lavender, who seems to tell him with her eyes that they’ll talk later.

“He’s probably plotting something — Harry always says so. It’s impossible that he’s changed overnight.”

“Ron, he was away from Hogwarts for a year. A lot can change in a year.”

“Not him, Hermione — even if Lavender does talk to him.” He gives the girl a slight apologetic look, and she simply watches him, stone-faced. “Everyone knows it’s only a matter of time before he goes back to being the spoilt brat his father made him.”

“He saved Neville.”

“Whatever — that doesn’t prove anything.”

Right, he’s tired of being humiliated by those two. Even if Granger seemed somewhat on his side, she wasn’t going to defend him. Potter’s silence was irritating because it meant he was backing Weasley’s idea that he was plotting something.

He jumps from Potter’s arms. Potter tries to catch him, but he runs to Lavender, who holds him protectively against her chest, giving Potter a look when he approaches. Potter seems to want him back and watches him, but Draco has had enough of this and burrows further against Lavender.

He feels warm.

In the arms of someone who definitively doesn’t hate him and doesn’t think he’s an idiot — he knows he was one in first year, but he hasn’t done anything to deserve such contempt this year.

He’s left them alone, as Granger pointed out, and whatever he might be plotting has nothing to do with them.

He even helped save Longbottom — not quite planned, but that ought to count for something. He thinks about his revenge against those who are making Lavender feel pushed out, and he won’t hesitate to collect on it. If they’re going to speak badly of him, at least let it be for something he’s actually done.

“It doesn’t trust Malfoy — if it belongs to him, why did he let it wander Hogwarts at night? It could have gotten hurt.” It’s strange, Potter defending ferret-Draco from human-Draco.

Lavender only stares at him steadily, then glances at Draco with worry — but Draco ignores them, feeling safe now.

It doesn’t matter what they say about him.

They already despise him.

They always have.

Potter had rejected his friendship in first year, and he knows that won’t change now. Just because Potter was kind to him while he was an animal doesn’t mean he feels any particular fondness for the person he is. All the kindness of last night and this morning wasn’t directed at him.

Well.

In a twisted way it was — but it doesn’t matter.

“He’s Draco’s ferret. I’ll return him,” Lavender says with dignity. Draco would raise his fist in support if he could.

Potter is stubborn, on the other hand.

“Maybe I should be the one to do it, so I can tell him what I think of him.”

Lavender doesn’t back down.

“No — Draco is my friend, and he’s made it very clear he won’t be bothering anyone this year. He ignores you, and you should simply leave him alone. If you can’t manage to like him, at least stay away and let things be peaceful. If you were even slightly mature, you’d see the white flag he’s raised.” Well, he didn’t technically raise any flag — but it could technically be seen that way.

Weasley huffs under his breath.

“You don’t know half of what he did in first year.”

Draco mutters under his breath, because he really did do some fairly questionable things in first year trying to get Potter’s attention. In his defense, he was an idiotic child.

He’s surprised by how loyal and protective his friend is — almost like a lioness protecting her cubs.

“No — but you don’t know half of what he’s done since this summer. He’s changed. He’s my friend, and he’s the bravest person I know,” Lavender growls in irritation. Several Gryffindors send looks in her direction.

Draco makes sure to memorize them.

For the record, he is not the bravest person she knows. Without question that would be Percy — with enormous helpings of stupidity — or Annabeth, with intelligence and logic. But he supposes Lavender has somehow connected more deeply with him.

Well.

He won’t bother correcting her. It was about time someone admired him for everything he’s been through.

“He’s probably laughing at you behind your back — that’s what Slytherins do,” someone laughs from behind her, but Lavender keeps her chin up.

She doesn’t waver.

She trusts him.

Oh no.

Draco feels it — like a fire running through his veins, a fury that isn’t his, and emotions of fierce protectiveness that don’t belong to him either. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried as Lavender walks out of the room without looking at anyone else.

A bond.

A bond with Lavender Brown has formed.

Yes.

Percy is not going to be pleased about that.

.

.

“Could you stop forming bonds with people, for just five minutes?” Percy complains with an entirely childish jealousy when Draco can finally talk to him.

He had returned to human form in the corridor and spent a good part of the morning thanking Lavender for rescuing him, as well as dodging the Slytherins who had noticed his absence overnight. The girl didn’t seem particularly affected by other people’s words — which made him understand that this had probably been happening far more consistently than she’d ever let on.

That didn’t make him happy.

On the other hand, like Annabeth, Lavender’s emotions were much harder to pick up on than Percy’s. Even at a distance, he could feel fragments of irritation or happiness at random points throughout the day.

“I haven’t told her yet, but she’ll figure it out soon enough,” Draco comments, knowing he needs to speak to Chiron about the matter.

The centaur liked to be kept informed of anything new related to the bond, though Draco still hasn’t mentioned the strange visions of Percy in reflective surfaces.

“Did it have to be Lavender?”

“I see her every day.”

“Which is unfoundedly unfair — I’m your best friend. You know, best friends forever.”

“You’re not a wizard.”

Percy dramatically staggers back, clutching his chest and ranting about discrimination, which makes Draco laugh, which makes Percy smile brilliantly.

Yes.

His smile is different from Potter’s.

When he thinks about Potter’s smile, he feels something bitter.

“Draco?” Percy asks, clearly having felt something through the bond, but Draco blocks it easily.

“I was remembering something unpleasant. By the way, I’ve had a new idea for a spear move, but I’m struggling with how to implement it without a decent opponent.” Percy immediately takes the change of subject with exactly the ease Draco expected.

.

.

Draco,

I know I told you that you could count on my help, and I have no intention of withdrawing that offer — but I must admit that requesting an albino ferret as quickly as possible is somewhat… unexpected in many ways.

Nevertheless, I’ve sent it. The cage comes with a warming charm for the journey. Enclosed is also a book from the pet shop with care instructions. The seller — a rather unpleasant creature of low standing — indicated it was the best of its litter, is well cared for, is trained, and should not cause any trouble.

Your dear mother has advised me of what will happen if you bring it home upon your return. Come next summer, you’ll be taking it with you.

Lucius Malfoy.

.

.

Dear Father,

You are the best father in the world.

Yours, Draco.

P.S.: I’ve obviously secured the Seeker position for Slytherin. You may attend the first match without worry. I promise to catch the Snitch for you.

.

.

Draco and Lavender stare intensely at the ferret inside its cage in the middle of the Slytherin dormitory. His housemates were visibly horrified when a Gryffindor walked into the serpents’ den. A fifth-year Slytherin tried to say something about it. Draco swept him to the floor with alarming ease — feet and hands. He may not command the same respect he had in first year, but unlike then, when he would use his surname, now he used his own strength to intimidate others. Wizards had a far larger arsenal than camp demigods, but in terms of speed and physical strength, Draco simply outmatched them with ease. If he could use his spear, he’s fairly certain he could have dominated his entire house by brute force alone.

“Its name is going to be Sparky, because someone couldn’t come up with anything better,” he grumbles, looking at Lavender, who has the pleasure of going red.

“It’s better than my first idea.”

“Which was still stupid. Calling it Percy would be my death.”

“It really wouldn’t be — everyone at camp knows about your crush on him.”

Draco is going to push her off his bed, where his ferret is lying peacefully in front of them, watching with its head tilted. At that exact moment Theo Nott appears. He doesn’t seem surprised by Lavender’s presence, but he does notice the ferret in front of them, and there’s a moment where his face betrays him — a look that seems to say “what in the hell is this?” — before he recovers and walks to his bed as though he saw nothing.

That’s the way.

Everyone will know by the end of the day that Draco has a ferret — which they probably already do, given that everyone watched him walk through the common room carrying a ferret cage.

“I don’t have a crush on Percy,” he mutters low enough that Theo won’t hear. Lavender has the audacity to raise an incredulous eyebrow.

Later in the day, when Severus passes through the common room — clearly having been informed of his new pet — he simply gives Draco a long look as though hoping to be told it isn’t real. Draco only continues with his new ferret, which is an absolute menace that needs affection all day long, draped across his shoulders and napping.

Apparently, ferrets are social creatures.

That require interaction with other ferrets.

Lavender didn’t stop laughing for several minutes upon being told he just needed to turn into a ferret so it wouldn’t feel lonely. She’s a damned nuisance, but she’s right.

Uncertain about what to do, that first night — after casting a Silencing charm on his curtains so no one could hear him — he turns into a ferret in front of his new pet. He wonders whether it will be able to communicate with him the way Granger’s cat did, but to his surprise the ferret simply yawns, bored.

“I don’t like my name. I’m actually a girl. I want a real ferret friend,” Sparky says in a remarkably self-important manner.

Draco buries his ferret face in his tiny ferret paws.

Obviously he ended up with the most insufferable ferret possible.

Percy nearly wet himself laughing — Draco could feel it through the bond — when he explained about his new pet.

.

.

He walks to Defense class in a foul mood. He’s left his ferret in the dormitory with a promise not to escape. Sparky — whether she likes the name or not, it’s her name now — eventually agrees with reluctant compliance in exchange for a promise of delicious food. He’s contemplating putting up a notice to find someone in the castle who has a ferret, to get his ferret a playmate. Lavender walks beside him wearing a wide, amused smile about the whole situation. It’s been barely a week since the Potter-and-the-ferret incident. He’s been aware of Potter’s eyes on him, but Draco is determined to ignore the boy for the rest of his natural life.

When he has trained with Lavender, he’s returned to the Slytherin common room as a human.

He’d rather get caught by Filch than end up as a ferret in Potter’s hands again.

“Who on earth keeps a ferret as a pet these days?” Draco grumbles with his hands in his pockets.

Lavender just watches him with amusement.

“I’ve actually been doing my research on that, darling. I heard a boy in Ravenclaw has a ferret.”

Well, that’s interesting. Draco looks at Lavender curiously, because among the other houses — he’s looked into it and no one in Slytherin has a ferret — he’d prefer someone from Ravenclaw over a Gryffindor. Hufflepuffs are even more tolerable than any given Gryffindor.

His dear Lavender is an exception to that rule.

“I’m all ears,” he says, taking a seat at the far side of the room. He does a double take when Theo sits down next to him without seeming bothered by the lack of a greeting.

At this point Blaise, while he doesn’t ignore him, doesn’t actively seek him out either. Gregory is only at his side when there’s good food nearby, and while Vincent seems curious about his new ferret, he only walks with him when Quidditch comes up in conversation. Pansy is an interesting case — they don’t talk much these days, but she seems far more receptive to him, as though she knows she can use him at her convenience.

He still owes her a favor.

He has to stay alert for when she calls it in.

“Anthony Goldstein,” Lavender says under her breath. Draco raises an eyebrow with curiosity before trying to think back over the Ravenclaws.

He thinks he’s in his year group.

He’d probably pushed past him in a corridor during first year at some point. If he’s not mistaken, he’s muggle-born — no, wait. The surname Goldstein is actually a wizarding surname. Though he doesn’t recall seeing him at any gathering of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so he must be a half-blood.

Not that it matters now.

His eleven-year-old self would have been appalled, but Draco actually feels entirely at ease with it. As long as Anthony Goldstein can help him with his problem, his blood status is the last thing he cares about. The only inconvenience is that people don’t usually help without something in exchange — this is precisely where having been a Hufflepuff might have come in useful — and he’d have to have something to offer this Ravenclaw.

A book, perhaps?

He looks at Lavender with crossed arms, curious. She just shrugs.

“Parvati could talk to her sister Padma. She and Anthony aren’t close, but she might be able to find out more.”

“And that is why you’re my favorite.”

Lavender gives him a look of pure disbelief. They both know Percy is his favorite — but what Percy doesn’t know for now isn’t hurting anyone.

Class begins. Draco watches his professor, who seems to have given up trying to engage with him since the Boggart incident. He hasn’t participated in class either, and Lupin seems to have stopped encouraging him to do so — which means the classes haven’t turned into a disaster. Today they were studying the curses useful against Red Caps. Draco spent most of the lesson yawning and feeling mildly restless.

Though more relaxed thanks to Quidditch practice.

His foot kept tapping rhythmically against the floor out of habit. It was very common for demigods to have some kind of tic. Percy would always play with his pencils when they had to study. Whether or not Draco had stared at those fingers with some curiosity, wondering what they would feel like against his face, was his greatest secret. Lavender, on the other hand, would play with her fingers — moving them rhythmically against the table, over and over.

She plays piano.

It’s a pureblood custom, though not from a particularly prominent family. The Browns had her learn piano. She herself admits she’s not very good at it, but it seems to calm her. As though thinking in chords while others speak keeps her entertained, stops her from focusing too hard on the people around her.

Would she ever play a duet with him and his violin?

He returns from his thoughts when he sees several Gryffindors looking captivated by the professor — all of them excited to learn more about the creatures. For some reason the man’s robes look quite threadbare, and he can see Pansy mocking this to Daphne out of the corner of his eye.

Draco watches his professor steadily, then takes Lavender’s parchment and earns a dirty look from her.

Tell me I’m mad, but he’s rather attractive.

He gestures toward Lupin, at which Lavender has to put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

Theo looks at them curiously, but both of them return to looking serious as the professor continues.

A Red Cap is a creature resembling a small dwarf that lives in the pits of old battlefields or anywhere human blood has been spilled. They are easily repelled by charms and curses, but are highly dangerous to lone muggles. If a Red Cap encounters a muggle on a dark night, it will try to beat them to death with its club.

They can be deterred by dousing them in a beautifying potion, as their temporary “beautiful” appearance is deeply repulsive to them. Red Caps typically stand around a metre tall, have red eyes, and long, sharp nails. They are found most often in northern Europe.

Red Caps are less dangerous during their mating season, as they are more interested in attacking each other than any intruder in their territory.

Draco does not want to think about those creatures mating.

“Right — now find a partner. We’ll do a short exercise. I want to start practicing a new spell for when we face the Red Caps next week,” Lupin says with his endlessly warm smile.

Carpe Retractum.

The Pulling Charm creates a retractable magical rope made of light. This rope can be used to pull objects at a distance toward the caster, or to pull the caster toward whatever the charm is fixed upon. It is generally used on inanimate objects, though it can be used on plants or animals.

Everyone seems excited.

Draco simply takes Lavender’s hand, and she laughs with delight at being chosen — as if there were any other possibility.

They spread out around the room. Lavender holds a small red ball that serves as the target. Draco hasn’t learned this particular spell before. He glances over with mild irritation when Hermione Granger is the first to produce the charm successfully a few moments after they start, but he manages without much delay to create the rope of light.

Then it’s Lavender’s turn.

Draco has to throw himself to the floor just before the rope strikes the wall where his head had been a moment earlier.

“My, Miss Brown — that was quite powerful. You must have a remarkably strong magical core inside you and you simply need a little more control to channel it. Five points for Gryffindor,” Lupin announces from beside them both, making Lavender flush with excitement and Draco sigh in relief that his head is still attached.

He notes the professor giving him a curious sideways look, though Draco simply enjoys how, on the other side of the room, Granger doesn’t seem entirely pleased at not having stood out quite as much. He tries not to think too much about her. She was one of the few who didn’t attack him when he was a ferret. She hadn’t defended him either. She didn’t think him capable of change, not after he called her a mudblood throughout first year.

She didn’t seem like a bad person.

But she was a poor loser.

And Draco was a terrible loser who enjoyed watching others suffer just a little — nobody wanted to be in the room when he won a round of Uno against Percy. Nobody.

“Change partners,” Lupin announces suddenly, and everyone looks confused before they shift in one direction like a clock.

Draco makes a face when his new partner turns out to be Seamus Finnigan — not so much because he’s a Gryffindor, but because barely into the practice the boy causes part of the ball to explode in his hands, without Draco touching anything. The boy has serious issues with magical control.

After Seamus comes Blaise, who laughs in amusement at Draco’s barely-contained sigh of relief. Then when it was his turn with Vincent, Draco didn’t practice so much as go over to help him with the foundational idea. He didn’t need much help — but Vincent always needed things explained in a different way.

Granger appears in front of him.

He catches Weasley making a poorly concealed grimace in his direction, but he ignores it. He almost wants to ignore Granger too.

She casts the first charm — never toward him, never with any aggressive intent — and catches the ball in the rope of light, pulling it toward her. Draco can feel his professor’s curious gaze from where he’s standing near them. Not just him — several Gryffindors are looking in their direction.

He ignores them.

He uses the charm to grip the ball in Granger’s hands and draw it toward himself without difficulty.

Granger’s look turns curious.

“Well done to you both — you’ve mastered the charm in just a few minutes. Both of you show great talent. That will be five points each, for Gryffindor and Slytherin,” Lupin announces with enthusiasm. The rest of the class seems uncertain about what that means, since both houses are rarely treated equally by a professor.

A professor who had clearly once been a Gryffindor himself. Draco appreciates that he doesn’t seem to favor one house over the other.

He mentally gives him another point in the attractive column.

Without exchanging a word, he and Granger pass the ball back and forth with the charm a little more. Good technique, he can’t help thinking with some irritation. She’s competent in general.

Then Parvati, who, while wary, says nothing against him.

“Your wrist is twisted — centering your body and good posture maximize the effect of the charm,” Draco says with boredom. Parvati yelps slightly in surprise that he’s speaking to her and simply nods awkwardly.

She follows his instructions. She does better.

Draco thinks she doesn’t quite deserve full revenge for ignoring Lavender more than before, but he’ll be keeping an eye on her.

“Change,” Lupin announces again. He seems pleased that there have been no accidents so far, apart from Finnigan blowing up a few balls.

Of course that’s about to change.

Draco keeps his face blank, but internally grips his own hair in irritation as Harry Potter appears in front of him. Nothing has to go wrong — he managed to work with Granger without difficulty. Besides, Weasley is the kind who doesn’t move when changing partners, which he’s grateful for, since that means nothing will explode between them.

But Potter is not the quiet type like Granger.

“I saw your ferret alone last night.” It sounds like an accusation. Draco ignores him, holding the ball and hoping Potter will just use the bloody spell and not talk. “It almost got caught by Filch’s cat — you shouldn’t neglect your pets like that.” Even if he thinks he’s being considerate, the self-righteousness with which he says it is irritating.

Draco knows a great deal about self-righteousness and arrogance.

Gryffindors are exactly the same.

Self-righteous moralists who think they’re better than everyone else.

“It’s not your problem,” he says in a flat voice, barely containing a growl, gripping the ball tightly.

Potter frowns.

“It could have gotten hurt.”

“Believe me, my ferret can take care of itself. Now use the bloody charm.”

Potter looks annoyed. He tries the charm and it doesn’t go well. Draco smiles mockingly, and Potter clearly takes offense because he keeps talking.

“I looked after it that night.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

“Lavender says you’ve changed, but you’re still an idiot.”

“Use the bloody charm, Potter.”

His hands are starting to feel restless. He knows he hasn’t had any accidental magic in a long time — his lessons with Amos have genuinely helped with that, and the constant energy expenditure of being a demigod helps too. What used to help most was having Percy beside him, but for now Lavender is managing to fill that gap.

Potter is not making this easier.

He just needs to use the charm. Lupin will change partners, and with any luck they’ll never have to speak for the rest of their lives.

“It’s obvious you’re hiding something,” Potter says accusingly, and damn it all, it’s like being back in first year again.

Draco just wants to scream that of course he’s hiding things. There’s a very long list, starting with being a demigod, having a massive crush on his best friend, being gay, the time he was left clinging to his spear on the side of a tall building with his underwear on full display, and his guilty fondness for afternoon drama serials with Mrs. Jackson.

He’s hiding the fact that he has a life. A very good one. Far away from here.

He doesn’t understand why he came back.

Apart from Lavender, there is nothing here keeping him. He should have stayed in Long Island with Percy and Sally, people who cared about him and whose lessons had made everything more interesting. Stayed close to the camp where everyone had once hated him, but who knew he was one of them. Amos should have kept teaching him — nobody outside the House of Life received lessons in ancient magic.

Even the man who ran the shop on the corner near the Jacksons’ flat — a middle-aged muggle with no remarkable qualities — always stopped him to give him a green apple sweet, because Draco had bought one in his shop once and said it was his favorite.

It’s strange.

He doesn’t want to be here.

And he’s only just realized it — for the same reason he realized first year was going to be hell when he was living through it.

Harry Potter hated him.

He rejected his friendship.

Draco doesn’t usually break so easily. He may be useless at heavy lifting at Camp Half-Blood, but he generally maintains his dignity as best he can. But Harry Potter shattered that easily with a few words that struck the wounded ego he’s nursed toward him since first year.

He hates him.

“Of course I’m hiding something, you dense little four-eyed idiot,” he says out loud, making several people turn to look. But Draco only watches Potter, who seems on the verge of a smug smile. Too soon. “I’m a perfectly normal person with stupid normal teenage secrets.” Alright, that point is debatable, but it doesn’t matter. “What I cannot wrap my head around is why a bespectacled moron can’t stay in his own bloody lane instead of picking a stupid confrontation with me. I thought you wanted me to leave you all in peace. I haven’t so much as glanced in your direction a single time, so don’t come at me like you have the moral high ground to correct me as if you’re some kind of saint,” he adds with venom and the clear intention of doing him harm.

It would be so easy.

His spear would make it so easy. Well — he couldn’t, actually. It could only harm monsters and demigods.

Could it harm wizards?

Stupid Potter.

“You’re an idiot, Malfoy. You’re hiding something, and you’re just pretending with everyone else,” Potter declares, going slightly red and flustered.

Draco is going to kill him.

“And what in the hell does that have to do with you?” he practically shouts. He sees Lupin correct him for his language, but he doesn’t care. “You are absolutely nothing to me personally. We are not friends.” He wants to add — at least not because of him. “We are nothing — not even mortal enemies or any childish thing. Your existence means absolutely nothing important to me. I just want you as far away from my life as possible right now.” Percy would call him a drama queen, he thinks, as Potter’s eyes go wide. “If you’re obsessed with I don’t know what damned thing, I’m telling you here and now — just leave me the hell alone and cast the stupid bloody charm that is the only thing you have to do, so we can change partners right now, you marked-face piece of work,” he says, nearly at the edge of hysteria, lifting the ball so Potter can see that’s all he needs to do.

Just that.

Potter is going to say something.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Draco shrinks at the tone of Lupin’s voice. The professor is standing beside them both, and he suspects he’s about to lose house points. “I’d like a word with you after class.”

Damn.

That’s worse than losing points.

He shoots Potter a murderous look, but Potter only watches him as though he himself is the indignant one somehow.

He hates him.

.

.

Draco hopes Marcus Flint won’t be furious about him arriving late to Quidditch practice. Lupin says nothing as he takes a seat at his desk in his private classroom, and Draco stands in front of him looking visibly uncomfortable. At least the professor doesn’t seem angry — but he doesn’t seem inclined to let him off free either, so Draco isn’t sure whether to count that as a positive or a negative. When tea is offered, he takes it in silence and drinks. It’s lavender tea, and while it usually works as a relaxant, it’s not one Draco would openly choose.

He’s more of a peppermint person.

The calm before the storm.

“Chocolate?” Lupin offers. Draco wants to refuse but accepts one awkwardly. “Mr. Malfoy, I understand that being young can be somewhat stressful at times, but I would appreciate it if in future classes you refrained from using certain… language with other students.” Lupin begins pensively. The warm smile remains.

Draco simply holds himself stiffly before lifting his chin.

“I will. Just don’t put me with Potter again.” It isn’t such a difficult request — most professors who teach their shared classes have this unspoken rule about keeping them apart as a matter of preference.

Lupin nods.

“It seems the two of you have… history.” In the most generous possible sense. “I heard you weren’t at school last year — an exchange in another country.” Well, professors gossip too, he thinks bitterly before biting into the chocolate. “Though the story between you both in first year is quite, known.”

“I have no intention of fighting with Potter like children. If that’s what you’re thinking — I just want him far away from me, ignoring his existence, and hoping he ignores mine.”

He’s sincere in his words. Lupin now seems to look at him with curiosity.

Is it because of Potter, or because of him?

Draco has watched the man try not to favor Potter too openly, but his gaze tends to drift toward Potter in moments. Draco freezes at that thought, because having noticed it means he’s still paying attention to Potter in some way — and that is unacceptable.

“You don’t want to be friends?” The question catches him off guard.

“That train left a long time ago. He made it very clear my friendship didn’t interest him, and now I’m very clear that his doesn’t interest me either.” He takes a sip of tea. Lupin’s eyes sharpen slightly.

“That’s rather a muggle way of putting it.”

The cup freezes in his hands. His instincts flare. His gaze lifts slowly from the teacup to the man sitting across from him. For a moment he had almost allowed himself to think the man cared about him — as a student worth watching, as someone kind, someone he shouldn’t have his guard up around. He had thought the same thing about Luke.

He can see it.

The moment Lupin realizes he’s made a mistake.

But it doesn’t matter.

Draco gives one chance.

One.

Sometimes not even that.

Luke taught him that.

His emotions seal themselves away quickly, back to a careful blank. He takes the teacup slowly. Lupin says nothing, but his posture has changed noticeably. The next time Draco looks at him, after finishing the drink, he can see the man shift, as though he knows what Draco is doing.

He’s watching him.

Right, then.

He has some scars that wouldn’t be particularly noticeable, but his eyes have always been sharper than average. He doesn’t know what kind of work the man did before becoming a Defense professor, and he’s almost tempted to write to his father just to have him investigated. He doesn’t. Nor does he feel the need to destroy the man’s career simply because of his observation — he doesn’t know too much. Nobody could ever know the truth behind what Draco is hiding.

Even so, he’s tempted. Just to show this man who he’s dealing with.

A game, perhaps.

Underestimating him.

Trying to control him somehow, as if he had something to use against him. He may be overreacting — perhaps the man simply wants to know him better — but he’s made a fatal mistake and Draco has no intention of being led along.

He looks at the man’s robes — quite old, nearly falling apart — which suggests very poor financial circumstances. Since he’s a reasonably capable wizard, it could mean he hasn’t been able to find work, or has a debt somewhere. He doubts it’s a debt — he doesn’t seem that kind of fool. Difficulty finding work could mean he’s carrying something heavy on his back, something Draco could find and hold over him if necessary.

He thinks of his father again. Discards the idea again.

He could find out himself if he wanted to.

He sets the teacup down on the table. Lupin watches him expectantly.

“Professor Lupin, that was quite decent tea — so I’ll only say this once,” he says calmly, as composed as he always is at pureblood social gatherings, no emotion showing anywhere on his face. “Stay away from me. I assure you it’s for your own good — but I am not someone who enjoys others nosing around in their affairs,” he adds with a practiced, slight smile. “I would also appreciate you keeping Potter away from future pairings with me. If you do, I’ll pretend this tea conversation never happened. And believe me — that is best for both of us.”

“Mr. Malfoy—”

“It hasn’t been a pleasure meeting under these circumstances. Don’t worry — breaking any rules in the future is not in my interest.”

Lupin doesn’t look pleased as Draco gets to his feet to leave.

It’s as though a line forms in his mind, and he crosses the man’s name off it. He simply doesn’t feel the need to engage with him further. What a waste.

.

.

In the following Defense class, he watches the man attempt to greet him, and he extinguishes that optimism by ignoring him entirely and taking his seat without paying attention for the rest of the lesson. He even has the audacity to fall asleep in the middle of class. Though Lupin seems reluctant to bring it up with his head of house, he ultimately does — which doesn’t work out quite as expected, since far from upsetting Severus, the man wears a faint smile when he says he’ll handle the discipline of his student himself.

Yes, of course.

They spend an hour playing chess while Severus gives him a light review of his Potions knowledge.

Draco had the best hour of his life in that room.

.

.

Draco had managed to master the Aguamenti charm with alarming ease well before it was required for class, which meant he could now talk to Percy from almost anywhere away from other people’s eyes, without spending hours in the bathroom. Apparently Blaise and Theo had something against him monopolizing the third-year Slytherin bathroom — sensitive little nuisances. He took advantage of it to sneak away before breakfast. Today was the thirty-first of October, which meant his first trip to Hogsmeade — about which Lavender had not stopped talking in an excited, and somewhat shrill, manner about everything they were going to do together.

The girl can be more energetic and affectionate than Pansy herself.

Remarkable that she is his candidate for best friend.

“You know, it’s not that I’m not interested in hearing, for the last twenty minutes, about how extraordinary Annabeth is — but I have a school trip today.” Fair enough, there may be a trace of jealousy in his voice, but it’s amusing to watch Percy remain completely oblivious to his own blatantly obvious crush.

The boy goes violently red.

Cute, his mind supplies without permission.

With nostalgia and an uncomfortable feeling that he wishes he were the one putting that expression on Percy’s face, but at the same time not wanting it, afraid that their friendship could be ruined — and Draco was honest with himself about one thing: he needed Percy in his life.

Maybe he was only trying to convince himself that being friends was the best thing.

Who knows.

“I don’t like her.”

“The blush on your cheeks and the photograph of her you always carry could suggest otherwise.”

“That’s not true. Besides, I also have a photograph of you.”

Draco ignores the beat of his heart and looks at him in disbelief — only for his emotions to die when Percy shows him what appears to be a newspaper clipping. An old article. In it, Draco can be seen clinging to something that is not his spear against the side of a building, with Percy gripping his ankles and Lavender clinging to Percy. Draco’s underwear is on full display, because Percy accidentally pulled his trousers down.

Silence.

Then, if anyone had walked past that corridor, they would have heard shouting, followed by Draco walking out in a fury after cutting the call with Percy — not before assuring Percy that when he came for the holidays, Percy would die slowly.

Percy laughed.

Then grew nervous upon seeing Draco’s expression.

Yes.

A slow and painful death is what awaits him. Then Draco would burn that photograph, and he doesn’t want to think about the fact that it probably lives on the internet somewhere. He had learned from the muggle world that if something is on the internet, it likely lives forever — and that he simply cannot allow.

“Draco!” Lavender shrieks when he approaches the corridor. He blinks in confusion when he finds Theo there waiting as well.

He hadn’t arranged anything with Theo.

Only with Lavender.

He glances sideways at his friend, who shrugs, but also seems quite curious about it. It’s not as though he’s going to send Theo away. His entirely changed attitude from first year had been enough to push away most of the people who used to hang around him. He keeps walking, not quite understanding what’s happening — but everything freezes when, reaching the end of the corridor and turning the corner, he comes face to face with those green eyes he so despises.

He freezes.

So does Potter.

Damn.

They stare at each other for an instant. At least in Draco’s mind, the last words he said to Potter the other day in Defense class float through his thoughts. Until now both of them had done a rather good job of keeping to their respective sides like opposing plagues. Their eyes don’t happen to meet during meals or any other time — or rather, when their gazes happen to drift in the other’s direction, they look away immediately and make sure not to repeat it.

Has his good luck run out?

He feels the urge to look at the sky and curse whatever Olympian might be involved in this.

“Malfoy,” Weasley growls with clear resentment in his voice. Draco rolls his eyes, thinking he doesn’t understand why.

Well, he does understand. His first year was a proudly dreadful exercise in that.

But he’s been behaving quite well since then. He still hasn’t taken revenge on the students who push Lavender out, even though Pansy’s detailed report the previous day made him want to frame it and hang it above his bed with pride. He knows it’s not worth it, but he’s fairly certain Pansy could be one of those characters in the drama serials who always has information ready to hand the protagonist.

She did excellent work.

“Weasley,” Lavender growls, to his surprise. He turns to look at her, remembering how last summer she had laughed a little foolishly when talking about the red-haired boy.

Not now.

She looks almost annoyed.

He glances sideways at Theo, who seems to be hiding a smile behind his hand.

“You shouldn’t be associating with snakes,” Weasley growls, as though rescuing a damsel in distress. Lavender puts on a cool expression.

Draco glances at Granger in alarm, but she only seems to watch Weasley with irritation and exhaustion. Potter is doing everything he can not to look at him, but doesn’t seem willing to intervene to stop the explosion from happening in front of them all.

He wishes he could just disappear.

How he wishes he were a ferret right now so he could run away.

“I can do what I like and with whoever I like.” Lavender lifts her chin while pressing more firmly to his arm, looking thoroughly defiant. Draco feels proud of her for it, though the timing isn’t ideal. “I know your brain can’t process it, but if people prefer Draco’s company it might be because he’s a better man than you,” she says with confidence.

Theo is now laughing openly.

Draco gives him an irritated look.

“He’s just a pompous idiot like his father, and you’re going to get hurt. Nobody but you wants to be around him,” Weasley mutters, thoroughly humiliated, still insisting on some version of protecting Lavender. But Draco can see it in his eyes.

He just wants people to hate him.

Interesting.

Draco feels the same way right now.

“Well, jealousy is entertaining up to a point,” Theo says, to everyone’s surprise. They all turn to look at him. Weasley frowns, but Theo holds the neutral tone a pureblood knows to use in a dispute. “Power, money, connections — goodness, I hadn’t seen someone want to ruin another’s life purely out of jealousy before. But what can you expect from the lower classes.” He’s defending him. In a twisted, strange sort of way.

Draco looks at him briefly, then watches Weasley curiously. His face has fallen in clear disbelief, then ignites as though furious. He wants to point out that with that red hair, he now resembles some kind of boiled lobster.

He doesn’t.

He doubts it would help.

That only makes it more tempting.

“You—” Weasley says with hatred at Theo, who clearly seems delighted by the creation of a new nemesis. For a brief moment Draco is almost tempted to say he’d rather face a cyclops than endure this ridiculous teenage world.

“Ron, enough — we’re going to be late,” Granger snaps, as though trying to pull him away. Weasley seems reluctant until Potter himself grabs him by the arm to stop him from doing something reckless.

One point for Potter.

His record with Draco has gone from -99 to -98.

“You should listen to your pet, you—” Draco can see what Theo is about to say before he says it. His hand flies violently to the back of Theo’s neck, delivering a sharp enough blow to ring through the entire corridor and nearly send him to the floor.

The golden trio — he still thinks that name is stupid — stands frozen. Lavender doesn’t look surprised in the least.

Theo gives him a death stare, which Draco meets with complete indifference.

Not this.

He’s not going to allow it.

That word.

No.

He thinks of Percy, and how others would call him that — a mudblood, even though he’s a demigod and probably carries blood more powerful than anyone standing in this corridor. He can’t allow anyone to speak that way in his presence. Even if Draco himself once did.

He thinks of Sally Jackson. Lovely Sally Jackson, who would sit on the floor with him and talk about books and The Lord of the Rings.

Their smiles are so alike.

No.

Never.

Not with them.

“Look, Theo — you can mock his socioeconomic standing, his dress sense, the way he talks, the stupid weasel hair.” Weasley jumps in offense at that. “But don’t call anyone that. Not mudbloods either. I don’t care whether you hate each other — but not in front of me. Never.” It isn’t a request between friends or housemates.

It’s an order.

Theo watches him with eyes that spark with irritation, clearly plotting future revenge. It doesn’t matter. He starts walking, passing between Granger and Potter without acknowledging anyone. Lavender quickly takes his arm in her warm, affectionate way, smiling with something close to amusement as she watches Theo curse under his breath before growling at the golden trio.

He’s probably furious that Draco ruined his fun.

He stays at Draco’s side for the rest of the walk in silence.

“Why?” That’s all he asks during the trip to Hogsmeade.

“My best friend is a half-blood.” Though it isn’t technically the whole thought, it isn’t a lie either. Theo’s eyes only widen in disbelief as they walk into The Three Broomsticks.

Yes.

Percy Jackson is an idiot who changed his life.

Chapter Text

The Hogsmeade trip wasn’t so bad. It was good to stretch his legs, browse some shops, and buy a few toys so his stupid ferret would stop biting him on the nose. While they walked, Lavender pointed out the boy called Goldstein, and while Draco considered going to speak to him, he left it for another time. Theo knocked him into the snow at some point on the way, but he let it go — of all the possible revenge he could take, falling in front of a group of Gryffindors and having the Weasley twins laugh at him could be considered a fairly innocent offense.

Theo doesn’t ask about Percy.

Draco doesn’t want to talk to him about Percy.

It feels bad having both worlds so separate, but whenever he wants to act a little like a fangirl, he can go to Lavender, who already seems used to his continuous ramblings about his best friend. Purely platonic, of course.

The food that night is delicious.

They had a way of making every October thirty-first a great feast. Draco shoved enough sweet apples into his mouth that Pansy pushed him, pointing out that he was starting to resemble Gregory. That was a harsh insult. He said goodbye to Lavender, who was walking curiously beside Neville Longbottom. When he caught his friend’s eye, she only winked before walking away with the boy, who ignored Draco the entire time. Draco preferred to continue on his way talking to Blaise about a topic on poisons they had been discussing throughout the banquet.

Then, when they reached the common room, Severus appeared.

Looking miserable.

Ten minutes later they were back in the Great Hall, because apparently someone had tried to break into the castle — Sirius Black, probably — and so now everyone had to sleep together. Draco doubts it’s the best solution, but what is truly outrageous is when they’re handed sleeping bags. Not because he can’t sleep on the floor, but because of the color.

Red?

What were they supposed to be — Gryffindors?

Draco grumbles while preparing his sleeping bag with alarming speed. He was used to sleeping on the floor at Camp Half-Blood, since the Hermes cabin doesn’t always have enough beds — though now he has a fixed bunk reserved for him. He sits calmly on his improvised bed, receiving curious looks from his housemates, especially Pansy.

“You haven’t complained once.”

“Why would I complain?”

“You’re a drama queen sleeping on the floor.”

“Shut up, Pansy.”

His friend throws a pillow at his face, which Draco dodges before giving her the middle finger, making her shriek in indignation and attempt to strangle him. Vincent also drops onto his sleeping bag looking comfortable. Gregory eats a biscuit while Theo ignores everything and lies down quietly — he seems annoyed about not being able to read the book he bought in Hogsmeade. Blaise, meanwhile, takes a seat on the sleeping bag next to Draco, gives him a few curious looks, then lies down without saying much. Daphne quickly moves over to Pansy to talk about girl things.

Draco glances toward the Gryffindor side, where Lavender is talking to Parvati before settling in to sleep.

Good.

He throws himself onto his sleeping bag, and it’s probably the exhaustion that causes him to fall asleep the moment his body hits it — his habit of conserving every bit of energy in the middle of a mission kicking in. The following morning, when Blaise mistakenly tries to wake him, Draco’s instincts send the boy flying with a hold that makes more than one Slytherin look at him with renewed fear.

Well.

Oops.

Percy, terrible friend that he is, nearly ran out of air laughing when Draco told him the story.

Again.

.

.

Draco waits a week before finally giving in to the pressure from Lavender — and from Percy, because his damned friend had been looped in on the ferret dilemma, so without further ado he ends up walking toward the library. Because the blasted Ravenclaws never leave it, and neither does Granger, whom Draco has previously sworn he has seen in two places at once and is probably losing his mind over. In the library he can spot the Ravenclaw group from his year group, people he hasn’t treated too badly — this year. He mutters a curse before walking almost grouchily toward them. The fair-haired boy is his target, and when the boy’s eyes lift to look at him, he freezes slightly, uncomfortable.

There’s a very awkward silence as the others turn to look at them.

Yes.

Draco feels uncomfortable, but grateful that Lavender hadn’t come, because when she feels uncomfortable she simply talks and talks. She’s very difficult to silence.

Well, that doesn’t matter right now.

“Goldstein,” he says in a tense voice. The boy raises an eyebrow, and while he doesn’t accuse him outright like a normal Gryffindor would — Lavender is his beautiful exception — he doesn’t seem particularly pleased to see him either. “I’d like to speak with you privately, for a negotiation,” he adds, mildly awkwardly. It’s almost worse than when he had to speak with Hades.

At the time it hadn’t seemed that way — but now it does.

One of the girls, who must be the twin sister of Lavender’s friend, gives him an unpleasant look. Goldstein keeps watching him with uncertainty, probably running through every possible scenario in his mind. Draco raises an eyebrow with mild curiosity when the boy stands up, willing to follow him to another table. Boot and Corner exchange curious looks as they settle at a table a little further away.

“Speak.” Cold as ice.

Ravenclaws are so serious and dull.

Draco still thinks they’re the second best house at Hogwarts.

“I heard you have a ferret.” From Goldstein’s expression, that was clearly the last thing he expected to hear. “I have a pet ferret.” He curses Potter for that. “And I know ferrets like to socialize, which is why I wanted to discuss your price for coordinating some afternoon playdates.” If it were up to Draco, he’d hand Sparky over for Goldstein to take care of permanently.

It was purely a front for Draco’s sake, but Lavender had told him that made him a bad pet parent, and Percy had threatened to report him to Grover if he neglected the poor ferret, who seemed to have crawled straight out of the depths of the underworld given its foul mood.

Goldstein places a hand on his chin.

“That sounds like a good arrangement for me — not just for Thorin.” Draco had to bite his lip to stop himself from asking whether that name came from the dwarf in The Hobbit, because that would reveal far more than it should about his knowledge of muggle things. “Not only would he have a new friend, but you seem willing to compensate me for it,” he adds with a certain interest, to which Draco smiles tensely.

He’d like the idea of threatening the boy until he agreed, but apparently Percy was against that.

Idiot.

“I’m rich.” The Ravenclaw only looks at him, unimpressed. “And a little desperate about that ferret, so I could give you something to demonstrate my generosity.”

“Humble.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Draco gives him a withering look, but Goldstein seems somewhat thoughtful, as if working out how to get the most out of this. He’d only have to ask his parents for a little help. They always said he should use his name for something, so he was going to make the most of it.

He wished he could do that at Camp Half-Blood — though he loved the fact that there he was simply Draco.

“A book.” Predictable, Draco thinks before nodding, finding the whole thing mildly dull. “I need ‘The Wars of Theseus,’” he adds, causing Draco to look up at Goldstein in surprise.

Interesting.

The Wars of Theseus — a historical document detailing the wars and military feats of Theseus, chronicling his strategies and legendary battles. It covers his military campaigns, his alliances and the betrayals he encountered, a deep dive into the myth of the Minotaur, and Theseus’s expeditions into unknown regions. It examines the political intrigues of Athens during his reign and concludes with his lasting legacy on Athenian history and Greek mythology.

An extremely rare book. He had read it with his mother, and now that he understands why, he thinks it must have been in the Black family for generations.

How does Goldstein know about it?

“I have it at the manor.” The boy’s eyes light up with excitement. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can hand it over, but I could lend it for study purposes — provided you return it in perfect condition. I trust Ravenclaws to take care of a book that old.” The boy nods, far too eagerly, dropping the cool Ravenclaw act in favor of being a boy excited about a book. “I will skin you alive if it comes back with so much as a single wrinkled page.” And he could do it.

For a moment the boy hesitates, then nods again, more slowly this time.

Understanding now. Aware of the implications.

“I promise to take good care of it. There are several charms for preserving books, so I swear on my life to look after it.” The boy doesn’t know what he’s swearing on.

His life.

That’s a rather heavy promise.

Draco sighs.

“It’s not actually that remarkable — Theseus has his stories, but Athena is… well, the books on Perseus are far more interesting.”

“You like Greek mythology?”

Goldstein seems curious. Draco frowns. As a child he was a lover of Greek mythology, and now it’s simply part of his daily life.

Whether that’s good or bad, he can’t decide.

“Somewhat,” he admits, not wanting to say more.

It doesn’t matter.

Goldstein manages to keep him in the library for at least two hours. Draco only leaves because he has Quidditch practice, but the boy seems genuinely eager to talk to someone about Greek mythology, and Draco has the distinct feeling he’s walked into a bear trap.

Percy laughs again when he tells the story that night.

“You only laugh at my misfortunes.”

“My little Draco is growing up and making friends.”

“Go to hell. We’re the same age.”

“I’m almost a year older than you.”

Draco gives him the middle finger. His own birthday is in June, and for almost two months they’re the same age — until Percy’s birthday in August.

.

.

On the day of the first Quidditch match Draco feels quite composed. Flint seemed determined to do everything possible to avoid playing that day, even tried to use Draco’s injury as an excuse — but when they saw his arm perfectly healed and Draco visibly eager to play, they almost threw him off the team. The weather is a genuine torture for everyone, but Draco for some reason feels far more motivated to participate. He’d take a stormy match over being in the middle of the Sea of Monsters any day. The only downside today is having to play against Harry Potter, but not everything can be perfect.

Nobody seemed to be in a good mood.

Probably because Severus had taken Lupin’s class the previous day, which forced Draco to actually participate instead of dozing as usual. His godfather had told them to research werewolves. He wasn’t sure if it was all just to make them work harder, or whether his godfather-serpent had something in mind — something he’d leave for after the match.

He was going to win.

When he arrived at the pitch it was hard to see the stands clearly, but he was fairly certain he could make out his father’s blond hair from a distance, and it made him smile with excitement. Both his team and the Gryffindor side looked horrified by the weather, but when Draco took his Nimbus he felt like a fish in water. Percy had seemed sad about not being able to watch the match. He doubted the boy would understand Quidditch, but Percy had spent hours listening to him talk about it the previous night and seemed mostly just excited for him.

Draco rises into the sky with a small laugh swallowed by the rain. He has a water-repelling charm on his goggles, while his teammates and the lions appear to be caught in something resembling a bloodbath. He crosses paths with Potter twice, but the Snitch seems to be hiding from both of them. He lets the air hit his face without discomfort even though his clothes are completely soaked through.

His vision should make it easy to spot the Snitch.

It doesn’t.

Elusive little devil.

A whistle pulls him out of his concentration. When he descends because the Gryffindors have called a timeout, he can see Flint’s face looking absolutely furious.

“They’re ahead by fifty points — find the bloody Snitch now, Malfoy,” he growls before turning to bark orders at the rest.

Charming, Draco thinks with sarcasm, raising his eyes to the sky without understanding why the dreadful weather only seems to be getting worse. His brow furrows pensively. He ignores Flint’s instructions to the Beaters about attacking the Gryffindors without mercy, and many other things that wouldn’t be morally appropriate. When he tells Percy the story, he’ll simply leave out these particular details.

Back on the brooms.

This time there were lightning strikes included. Draco cursed under his breath, thinking that perhaps Zeus was being a massive baby or that someone had dared to provoke him. The Olympians had stupid ways of getting angry. Then suddenly, when another bolt fell, he saw it — a tiny golden speck. His body moved instinctively toward it.

The Snitch.

It was his.

Well, it was far away — but Draco just accelerated, feeling a rush of excitement. He growls when Potter appears at his side. He doesn’t know whether Potter had spotted the Snitch or was simply following him, but the idiot was infuriating. Both of them accelerate, and for a moment Draco’s broom is faster than Potter’s, and he can feel the Snitch almost within reach of his fingers.

But something happens.

Cold.

Everything feels cold.

Like when they were in the Underworld.

Ah — Dementors. Draco ignores them because, even though the sensation is mildly numbing, it’s nothing more than a faint tingle compared to standing before the king of the Underworld. So he’s simply glad that Potter has stopped pressing him, and grabs the Snitch with one hand.

He smiles.

It’s his.

The Snitch is his.

He turns, ready to rub it in Potter’s face that he was faster, when everything freezes. He watches in slow motion as the boy sways on his broom as though unconscious — maybe he is, because he’s tipping sideways. His body tenses as he watches the slow drift, too far away, his hand useless for steadying him, and he’s going to fall.

To the ground.

Many meters below.

His disheveled hair reminds him for a moment of Percy, when Percy fell from the cyclops’s grip. His body moves on its own.

It’s watching Percy fall again.

He crouches on the broom and accelerates toward the falling figure. He can’t reach where Potter is falling, but maybe he can intercept — everything happens in seconds. As a demigod, Draco is accustomed to battle drills, Capture the Flag, clashing with other campers, going on all manner of suicidal missions because of his bond with Percy. His body is trained to react fast.

That’s why he saved Neville.

Instinct.

He’s close to the ground when Draco repositions himself on the broom to launch horizontally — he would later see that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, but with no time and no options, it was all he had — catching Potter’s body in midair before both of them shoot violently from the impact and crash into the ground. There’s a moment where they roll and Draco tries to shield Potter’s body against his own, feeling stones scraping his arms and his goggles flying off somewhere.

He groans when they stop.

He holds Potter’s body against him, annoyed, while he feels his head throbbing. He’s fairly certain his head struck a rock at some point during the tumble.

The rain continues to fall on them.

Damn.

Stupid Zeus.

“Harry!” The first to arrive is Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, followed by the twins. Everyone looks confused and worried, and the boy is quickly lifted away from him.

Wonderful.

Because that little adventure knocked the air right out of him.

When his own team arrives — most of them giving him incredulous looks, because saving someone at the cost of nearly your own life isn’t very Slytherin — Draco silences them by raising his left hand, still holding the Snitch.

What can he say.

He has priorities.

There’s chaos in the stands, rain, Oliver talking to Madam Hooch, and Flint shouting that they won fairly because he had the Snitch.

Miles Bletchley, the team Keeper, is the one who offers him a hand. Draco takes it and gets to his feet. His foot burns and he thinks he may have sprained it from the way it hurts when he puts weight on it.

He tries to take a step forward, only for his leg to give way and send him face-first into a mud puddle.

Humiliating.

.

.

Everyone is sent to the hospital wing, leaving behind the chaos of the spectators and the declaration of Slytherin as the winners. Draco sits calmly on a cot, explaining that there’s no real need to examine him — he merely scraped himself, quite unlike a certain idiot who fainted. Flint disagreed and pointed to the blood on his arms, his leg, his bleeding head, among other things. He ignores the Gryffindors on the other side. Saving Potter was a reflex — he had no interest in discussing it, and part of him curses himself for having done it.

Another part knows Percy will praise him for it.

That feels good to think about.

“Draco!” Lavender shrieks upon arriving with Pansy and other Slytherins. Not just the Quidditch team gathers around him — his close ones and friends do too.

He can almost picture Camp Half-Blood, with Will, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover hovering around him as usual.

It’s a good feeling.

“Saving a Gryffindor — how low you’ve fallen,” Blaise mocks.

“You looked like you were flying,” Vincent says with rather too much enthusiasm.

“I think I can smuggle some pastries in if you stay the night,” Gregory offers with a thumbs up.

“Idiot,” say Theo and Pansy in unison.

Lavender hugs him, nearly sobbing at the sight of him injured. She must know this is far from the worst he’s looked, but Pomfrey arrives and sends everyone away. It takes no more than a few minutes of spells before his ankle is pain-free again, the blood dries as the wounds close, and while Pomfrey seems to want to keep him in the hospital wing because of his head, he doesn’t feel unwell.

“You’ll come back first thing tomorrow morning — if you experience dizziness or blurred vision, have someone bring you immediately. You seem to have quite the hard head, young Malfoy,” she says, first in a tone of command, and the last part pensively, as though she genuinely thinks he’s an anomaly.

Whatever.

Draco gets to his feet and checks his balance. Being a demigod gives him a more resilient body than ordinary muggles or wizards. He stretches a little, feels no dizziness, and though Vincent offers to carry him, Draco only laughs and shakes his head.

He doesn’t see the Gryffindor team when he leaves — not before thanking Pomfrey, as Will taught him to be kind to healers. She seems pleased by his words. As he exits he can feel the eyes of a group of Gryffindors on his back, and again thinks they’re simply out of their minds.

“Seriously — Potter?” Pansy says, walking the corridor with the rest of his inner circle.

He’s about to respond, but when they round the corner, Draco spots his parents walking quickly with Severus behind them. He smiles radiantly — before the smile falls when he sees his parents’ worried expressions.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy Black — what on earth were you thinking?” is the first thing his mother says, losing a little of her composure. His father takes a small step sideways for his own wellbeing.

“I can explain, Mother.”

“Right now.”

He shrinks where he stands, casting a silent plea at his father, who averts his gaze as though he didn’t see it.

Betrayal.

After his mother’s scolding, his father actually seems pleased that they won and that he caught the Snitch under such conditions with the storm against them. Though Lucius seems mildly disappointed that he saved Potter, when Draco explains that he too is disappointed about that, both his father and Severus seem more at ease with his honesty.

Rather than joining his team in the common room, he stays in Severus’s office talking with his parents for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Smiling with excitement just to see them.

His mother hugs him.

His father praises him based on the comments from his professors and his role on the Slytherin team.

He feels brilliant, radiant — so much so that he forgets about Potter entirely.

.

.

Everyone talked about it all weekend. Wherever he went, people pointed and whispered around him, as though he couldn’t hear them. Some Slytherins mocked him, calling him “the Savior of the Savior of the Wizarding World” — which seemed more like a way to undermine Potter than anything else. He didn’t stop them, didn’t encourage them, just kept walking and ignoring everyone. No one linked him to the caramels with vomit flavoring in certain people’s meals, the itching powder in their clothes, or the dead worms in the bags of certain Gryffindors as revenge for his friend — it was quite mild, because the mistreatment had stopped and Annabeth had made him feel guilty. Well, perhaps he had hit a few specific ones with a charm that made their hair fall out, but Pomfrey fixed it relatively quickly. Lavender seemed radiant. Whether they liked him or not, everyone in Gryffindor was saying that, even if they didn’t want to admit it, it had been a very heroic thing — and Draco nearly wanted to be sick at the idea of a handful of idiots thinking that about him.

He wasn’t a hero.

It was reflexes.

“What did Percy say?” Lavender asks slyly on Monday before Defense class, the class they’d share together.

“He said he was proud of me,” Draco whispers with a light blush, making Lavender let out an excited shriek before taking the seat beside him.

The Gryffindors ignored him — only the occasional glance drifted his way. He wondered if they expected him to ask for something in exchange for saving someone. Draco was almost tempted. He ignored Potter as best he could. Potter had looked at him, but Draco fled from the gaze, and noticed instead that Longbottom hadn’t stopped looking in his direction since the entire weekend.

Lavender smiled mysteriously.

He didn’t like that.

When Lupin arrived, looking miserable and announcing that they didn’t need to hand in the werewolf essay, Draco curses because he had spent the previous night finishing it. Lavender laughs beside him, as does Theo, because both of them had taken it easy. Draco wants to tell them that he’d had a special werewolf class with some kids from the Athena cabin last summer, which Lavender and Percy had both refused to attend.

He glances sideways at Lupin, curious.

How long ago was the full moon?

While there are some creatures that differ a little between the wizarding world and those of Greek mythology, Chiron had mentioned that Romans, Egyptians — Amos had confirmed that — and Norsemen also have differences between species. He didn’t cover all the thousands of cultures with their own gods, since that would take far too long.

If Severus wasn’t going to teach.

That meant he could sleep.

“Your expression is stupid,” Theo says, pulling out his notes. Draco ignores him and simply settles more comfortably in his seat, deploying his newest skill.

The ability to sleep anywhere.

He hopes he doesn’t snore.

For a few moments, within his dream, it’s as though he can see the blue thread from his chest, and when he looks up — in a kind of déjà vu — he finds Percy looking equally surprised. It’s strange to see him in pajamas, though not entirely unusual. The boy opens his mouth as if wanting to say something, but there’s no sound from him.

Is he saying his name?

“Draco.” That voice isn’t Percy’s — it sounds feminine. “Draco, wake up.” That’s when Percy pouts, and Draco is yanked out of his dream.

He sits up, looking at Lavender in surprise. It must have been just an instant, but the class has already ended. He gets up with a tired yawn and walks out ignoring whatever Potter is being kept behind for, and Lupin’s gaze, following Lavender as she criticizes him for drooling.

That was a strange dream.

.

.

Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff.

“I still don’t get it — what’s a Snitch?” Percy says, tilting his head. Draco just grumbles while using some small figurines to recreate the match.

“Be quiet. I’m trying to reconstruct the match for you.”

“Why are they flying?”

“We’re wizards, idiot.”

“I don’t get the Snitch — loads of points, but your job is basically to do nothing.”

“Blasphemy.”

Percy still looks clearly confused. Right now he wishes Annabeth knew his secret too, because she would be a far better listener than Percy.

.

.

Draco receives a letter from his mother announcing that he’ll be leaving school a little earlier than his friends — they’ve already spoken to Severus and Dumbledore — so this last visit to Hogsmeade before Christmas will be his last, since he’ll be leaving the school that same evening. It seems his mother is more interested in sending him to the USA a week earlier so he can spend the celebrations there. He’s curious about what on earth she could have said to Severus, but if it’s a formal request from his parents, the old Dumbledore apparently had to accept it.

Lavender was pouting about not being able to come with him.

She’d be spending Christmas and New Year with her family.

“Goldstein will take care of Sparky for the whole holiday — seems the book was quite something special,” he comments on the way to Hogsmeade with Lavender at his side.

Theo had hurried ahead with Blaise, Gregory, and Vincent because of a new promotion on sweets. His friend can be very quiet when he wants to, but has a serious sweet tooth. Lavender, meanwhile, wants to go Christmas shopping, which is why she stops and drags Draco to look at every shop they pass, despite the snow being rather thick.

“Making friends with a Ravenclaw — unheard of. Scandalous,” Lavender says with a hand over her mouth in amusement.

Draco gives her an amused look before stopping and looking up.

There’s nothing behind them, but for a moment he felt as though something was there. His eyes narrow, certain he heard someone breathing nearby. Lavender, somewhat less attuned to these things given that she hasn’t been in quite so many life-or-death situations, quickly points to the right, and when Draco stops looking behind them.

He’s fairly certain there’s someone back there.

His mind stops working when he sees Longbottom.

“Longbottom?” This seems quite unusual. He glances sideways expecting another herd of interfering Gryffindors, but sees no one else.

Lavender pushes him excitedly to go forward, and Draco should have noted that as the first warning sign that there might be something a little more “coordinated” about this supposedly innocent little interaction. He ignores the feeling of being watched by someone else — for all he knows, his senses could simply be on alert because of Longbottom.

He crosses his arms with nothing to say. The boy looks paler and slightly less chubby than in first year, but still manages to look pathetic.

“I-I—” he stammers, a dreadful first impression. “I mean, thank you,” he says, rather more abruptly, before turning slowly red.

Draco blinks in mild confusion and glances sideways at Lavender.

“Thank you?” he asks quietly. The girl rolls her eyes.

“For saving me from the hippogriff. Thank you.” He makes an overly deep bow. Draco only blinks before looking up.

Memories of those damned birds come to mind. He had forgotten about the incident from the first week and wouldn’t have remembered it — his body has several scars, enough that the ones on his arm don’t stand out. So it takes him a little longer to turn the matter over in his mind, before noticing the persistent looks from both Lavender and Longbottom, as though waiting for him to say something.

He hates it.

He hated when someone thanked him.

Usually it was Percy, and the dynamic between them would be Percy thanking him for something, Draco teasing him and insisting he be more grateful, before Percy grew tired of it and launched himself at him to start a fight.

He obviously can’t do that here.

“I didn’t want to save you.” He’s fairly certain he heard a gasp behind him, but when he looks back he sees no one. He returns his gaze to Longbottom, who seems expectant. “It was a reflex, so there’s nothing to thank me for. You don’t owe me anything, Longbottom,” he adds, because he knows that life debts are quite serious things in the wizarding world.

He could even have the boy as a servant if he wanted and played his cards right.

He has no interest in that.

He scratches his ear, bored.

“You also saved Harry,” the Gryffindor boy says almost pensively — not as if he’d done something wrong, just noting a fact.

Draco wrinkles his lip.

“Also a reflex.”

Longbottom seems thoughtful now, but Draco is feeling increasingly uncomfortable and is fairly certain he can simply turn and leave.

“Still — thank you very much.” He sounds more sincere now, less stressed, and Draco waves a hand dismissively. “Also for saving Harry, for not making use of it… I—” The boy hesitates, it’s written all over his face. “I can see Lavender was right. You’ve changed a lot. For the better.” After saying this quickly, the boy makes another slight bow before running off at speed.

Very quickly — far faster than his somewhat chubby frame might suggest. Draco watches the direction he went with a thoughtful expression, then turns to glare at Lavender.

“You arranged that,” he accuses her. The girl’s smile is incriminating enough.

“More or less. He’s wanted to thank you for a while. Even if it seemed more obligatory at first, this time it was clearly genuine.” Her face softens. “I’m glad others can see you’ve changed. You’re still an idiot — but a kind one.”

He lets out a huff before starting to walk. They pass by an alleyway where there’s a large, scraggly-looking dog. Lavender looks horrified when Draco leaves part of the sandwich they’d bought at The Three Broomsticks. He shrugs before saying it’s the sort of thing Grover would do.

The dog only barks at them before devouring the food.

.

.

Severus takes him to the Floo. His godfather doesn’t seem impressed when Draco presents his Christmas gift in advance — a green Christmas hat. Draco is almost certain it will end up in the middle of the fireplace the moment he’s gone. Returning to Malfoy Manor is pleasant. He can stretch properly, he can talk to his mother who hugs him with such warmth it melts him. His father decides he’ll stay for two days before departing for the United States. There’s some kind of Iris message from Percy saying they’re expecting him for an important mission. Lucius ignores it.

He spends a large part of the day with his father in the library, being sharpened on everything he may have forgotten about being an heir.

Genealogies.

Family businesses.

A little accounting and a warning about maintaining his social relationships with future political allies. Draco mentions that aside from Lavender no one else is his friend, and when his father asks, Draco admits that the girl is also a demigod and that’s what binds them.

“Don’t let that guide your entire life. Your blood is important, but you are a Malfoy.” It isn’t a scolding — it’s a reminder. And from the way his father pats his shoulder, it’s more of a show of affection than anything else.

“Of course you’re my father,” he huffs, almost affectionately. His father doesn’t reproach him for dropping his composure, so long as he behaves at the upcoming parties.

Lucius smiles.

Narcissa, meanwhile, makes him play the violin a little before he leaves. Sally Jackson will be waiting for him near where the Ministry of Magic is — not that she knows that, because as far as Sally is concerned, he’ll be arriving by plane and is already on his way. His father listens alongside his mother as he plays a piece that goes out of tune at least twice. He knows he’ll need to practice more.

His parents allow him to take the violin.

“You’ve grown so much,” his mother whispers on the way to the Ministry in London, so he can use the portkey his father had arranged.

Draco looks at them with an amused smile.

“Do I look handsome?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. His mother smiles.

“Perhaps — though you’re very young for a partner. Though we could begin thinking about future suitors for marriage contracts,” his mother says as his father arrives. Draco shrugs, not giving it much importance.

When he takes the portkey and says goodbye to his parents with a wide smile, which both mirror with lighter ones of their own, it’s then that he notices his mother referred to a suitor in the masculine — not the feminine.

He narrows his eyes in confusion.

Perhaps he imagined it.

When he steps out onto the street, he’s attacked by a powerful force that nearly knocks him to the ground.

“Draco!” Percy Jackson shrieks in his ear, and Draco laughs in delight while hugging him back. Sally quickly joins in to embrace them both.

He loves his parents — they are his family, and that is something he will always carry in his heart.

But part of Draco thinks, as he holds the Jacksons, that he has come home after many months.

.

.

Draco would like to say he’d have a day to rest, but Percy hurries him into the car, and it’s in the middle of that madness that they discover the mission actually begins now. Percy assures him they have deadly weapons, and Draco does always have his spear as a bracelet on his arm. During the drive, where Sally has to take them, Percy seems embarrassed about it. Draco prefers this to having to arrange his own transportation. So far, in his first summer it was a madhouse looking for the lightning bolt, and then in the middle of a ship, he infinitely prefers the adorable Sally Jackson.

“Is Kim Sam-soon still working as a pastry chef for that idiot Jin-heon?” he asks in horror about the latest events in the drama they had left paused.

Sally sighs.

“No, she’s going to open her own bakery with her sister.”

“That’s justice. That idiot doesn’t love her.”

“I think they’re sweet together.”

“Boring,” Percy says, after the two of them have been talking without pause for several minutes. Draco pushes Percy and claims the front passenger seat so he can talk to Sally more easily.

Which is the best option when they later pick up both Annabeth and Thalia during the journey.

From New York to Bar Harbor, Maine, was an eight-hour drive. Sleet fell on the motorway. Everyone seemed tense while Draco talked nonstop about the biscuits Sally had sent him and his ideas for a novel. He feels Thalia’s inquisitive gaze on the back of his neck, but Annabeth has greeted him warmly.

Something bright blooms inside him when he sees her, and to Draco’s surprise, he can tell it’s mutual.

“You’re better than Percy with the bond,” he says, looking at her over his shoulder. The girl laughs while Percy pouts with his arms crossed.

When they finally arrived at Westover Hall it was getting dark. Sally had already told them every one of Percy’s most embarrassing childhood stories, leaving nothing out. He thinks it’s fair revenge after the idiot has a photograph of Draco in his underwear floating around somewhere — and the worst part is there’s nothing remotely inappropriate about it, it’s purely for humiliation purposes.

Thalia wiped the fogged windows of the car and peered out with narrowed eyes.

“Ugh. This should be fun.”

He doubts it.

Westover Hall looked like a cursed castle — all black stone, with towers and battlements and imposing wooden doors. It loomed on a snowy crag, commanding on one side a great frozen forest and on the other the grey, roaring ocean.

How did this become his life?

He could be in the middle of a dinner with his parents, or even chatting animatedly with Lavender and his Slytherin classmates.

But no.

Here he is, on the edge of death.

Again.

Lovely.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Sally asked.

Draco was going to say something like “yes, we want you to wait,” but Percy stepped on his foot.

“No, thanks, Mum. I don’t know how long this will take. But don’t worry about us.”

“Of course I worry, Percy. And how are you planning to get back?”

Percy flushed in embarrassment and Draco cursed him, because she had a very good point.

“Everything will be fine, Mrs. Jackson,” Annabeth said with a smile. “We’ll make sure he stays safe.”

Sally seemed to calm down a little. To her, Annabeth is the most sensible demigod ever to have reached the eighth grade. Draco feels slightly offended at being lumped into the same category of problems as Percy in Sally’s eyes. She’s convinced that if they haven’t been killed, it’s largely thanks to Annabeth. Which is true, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys admitting it.

“All right, dears,” Percy’s mother said. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jackson,” Thalia replied. “And thank you for the ride.”

“Enough jerseys? My mobile number?”

“Mum…”

“Nectar and ambrosia, Percy? A gold drachma in case you need to contact the camp?”

“Mum, please! Everything will be fine. Come on.”

She seemed a little hurt by that, so Draco simply groaned before shoving Percy, who gave him a look. Draco said a warm goodbye to the lovely woman before starting to walk behind Percy, curious. Annabeth and Thalia followed. The wind cut through his coat like icy daggers.

“Your mother’s brilliant, Percy,” Thalia said once the car was out of sight.

“I suppose, decent enough,” Percy admitted, looking mortified at Draco’s death stare — Percy knows how much he loves his mother. “What about you? Are you in contact with yours?”

Bad subject.

Thalia’s expression went dark.

“That’s none of your business, Percy—”

Draco nudged Annabeth, who picked up the hint quickly. She was a very sharp girl.

“We should probably head in,” Annabeth interrupted. “Grover must be waiting for us.”

Thalia glanced at the castle and shuddered.

“You’re right. I wonder what he found here that made him call for help.”

Draco looked up at the black towers of Westover Hall.

As long as it wasn’t another cyclops who wanted to marry him.

Everything would be fine.

What could go wrong?

.

.

Less than a few minutes later — after Thalia made excessive use of the Mist to pass them off as students, something Draco complained about since nobody had taught them how to use it yet — they were in the middle of what appeared to be a strange school dance. Grover was alive and as yet unmarried, and everything would have been quite fine, if Draco didn’t now find himself in the middle of the dance floor with Thalia in his arms in a very uncomfortable dance. They were supposed to be here for two ten and twelve-year-old demigods.

Bianca and Nico di Angelo.

The gymnasium floor was dotted with black and red balloons that kids were kicking at each other, or trying to strangle one another with the streamers hanging from the walls. The girls moved in clusters, as girls do — wearing quite a lot of makeup, thin-strapped tops, loud trousers and shoes that looked more like instruments of torture. Every now and then they would surround some poor wretch like a school of piranhas, erupting into giggles and shrieks, and when they finally released him, the boy would have ribbons all through his hair and lipstick graffiti all over his face.

“Don’t look at the kids,” Thalia had ordered. “We have to wait for the right moment to take them. In the meantime we have to pretend we have no interest in them. We need to throw anyone off the scent.”

Then she suggested dancing.

Draco knew he couldn’t dance with Percy — even in his daydreams he wouldn’t dare go that far. He also would rather have fought to dance with Annabeth or Grover before being paired with Thalia.

She was.

Well.

Different.

“She looks happy,” Thalia had said, after spinning him quite forcefully. Draco is a decent dancer, but she has a rather aggressive style.

Far too rough.

He glances over, and while for a moment he might think Thalia is talking about Percy — who seems to have bright eyes while listening to Annabeth talk as they dance — he assumes she means Annabeth. His friend now has her hair loose after removing her cap and looks almost like a proper young woman. Her smile is brilliant, and it causes a mild ache in his chest.

He had suspected it the previous summer, but it was obvious now that it wasn’t just Percy who was awakening feelings.

“So you chose me on purpose,” Draco says with curiosity, without a trace of complaint. Thalia meets his eyes, cold as two chips of ice, seeming neither affected nor guilty. “Percy is my best friend and Annabeth is quite a good friend of mine. I know I don’t have a chance, and I have no intention of getting in the way.” He wonders how much Thalia knows about him, but everyone at camp must have their suspicions about Draco’s feelings.

Everyone except Percy.

Percy was an idiot.

Why did he like him?

“You don’t seem to be lying.”

“I have no reason to. Both of them matter to me — though I’ll admit Percy matters more because he’s my best friend.” He glances sideways at the boy laughing at something Annabeth says. “I’m selfish — I’ll admit that. But I want to see him happy.”

Thalia just sighs, somewhat loudly, before spinning him violently. That girl was never going to get a partner behaving like that. He was about to complain when Annabeth suddenly appeared in front of them, saying she’d lost sight of the children. When they turned, they weren’t the only ones who had disappeared.

Percy wasn’t there.

Draco smacked his forehead with his hand.

That idiot is capable of getting lost even when all he has to do is go in a straight line.

.

.

The deputy headmaster was a monster, Grover had admitted — but while they run to find the idiot that is their friend, and the two new demigods, it seems they’re in trouble. Draco feels panic through Percy’s bond, and while he wishes he could pinpoint where Percy is, he can’t get a clear image in his mind. They really should have put more emphasis on practicing how to use the bond.

Bad moment to think that.

Or maybe not.

“Grover, Draco — I need help.”

He stopped abruptly — so abruptly that he crashed into one of the tables that seemed to hold reserve food for the party, ending up drenched in what appeared to be a fizzy drink, leaving him feeling thoroughly sticky. Thalia gives him a disgusted look, but Grover seems to have understood.

“Percy,” the satyr says, and Draco nods.

Slightly irritated, in fact. There’s supposed to be a bond between them. Percy always complains about Draco’s extra bonds, but the son of a — well, by his father’s side, since Sally is a saint — calls Grover first.

Idiot.

But he knows where Percy is. It’s as though something lights up in his mind for a moment, and he knows it’s through the bond that he starts running. He can feel Percy at a distance, and it’s only because of Annabeth that he stops. The daughter of Athena clearly has a plan. She places a hand on his lips and Draco nods.

Stupid Percy and his trouble-finding.

.

.

Annabeth’s move was brilliant when they reached the place. With her invisibility cap on, she charged at the di Angelo children and Percy at the same time, knocking everyone to the ground, which caught Dr. Thorn off guard and left him frozen for a fraction of a second. Enough for the first volley of projectiles to pass buzzing over their heads. Thalia and Grover then advanced from behind, Thalia wielding Aegis, her magical shield.

“You stink,” is what the ten-year-old boy says upon seeing him, as though being covered in reddish liquid weren’t already enough.

He gives Percy a withering look. Percy laughs nervously before pushing Bianca toward Draco as well. The girl is confused when Percy seems ready to join the fight.

It’s not as though it was entirely necessary.

If you’ve never seen Thalia enter combat, you don’t know what real fear is. To begin with, she has an enormous spear that extends from a small personal defense spray she always keeps in her pocket. But what’s truly intimidating is her shield — a shield fashioned in the manner of her father Zeus’s, also called Aegis, a gift from Athena. On its bronze surface is the relief of the Gorgon Medusa’s head, and while it isn’t enough to actually turn you to stone like the real thing, it’s so terrifying that most people are overcome by panic and run the moment they see it.

Even Dr. Thorn grimaced and began to snarl when it was thrust in front of him.

Thalia attacked with her spear raised.

“For Zeus!”

Seriously?

She seems excited to surprise her father, the way any average demigod would be.

He hates that.

“She’s incredible,” Nico coos with excitement. Draco gives him the look he deserves as the poor idiot he is, before sighing without wanting to use his spear.

He readies it only as a last line of defense.

Draco thought Thorn was finished — Thalia had driven her spear into his head. But he let out a roar and swept it aside with a blow. His hand turned into an orange claw with enormous nails that sent sparks at every scratch against Thalia’s shield. Had it not been for Aegis, she would have been sliced to ribbons. Thanks to its protection, she managed to roll backwards and land on her feet.

The clatter of the helicopter was growing louder behind them. Draco didn’t want to know what they were planning to do with them.

The doctor fired another burst of projectiles at Thalia. Draco noticed something strange — he had a tail: a thick tail like a scorpion’s, with a spike-studded tip. The Aegis deflected the volley, but the force of the impact knocked Thalia down.

Grover leapt forward. With his reed pipes at his lips, he played a frenzied tune that any pirate would have danced to. To general amazement, grass began pushing through the snow, and within seconds the doctor’s legs were tangled in a mass of weeds as thick as rope.

Thorn let out a roar and began to transform. He grew, swelling into his true form — his face still human, but his body that of a great lion. His sharp tail fired deadly spines in every direction.

“A manticore!” Annabeth exclaimed, now visible. Her Yankees cap had fallen off when she knocked them to the ground.

“Who are you people?” asked Bianca di Angelo, looking first at him, then at the now no longer human headmaster. “And what is that thing?”

“A manticore,” said Nico, breathless. “It has an attack power of three thousand, and five saving throws!”

Draco shot Percy an incredulous look, but Percy seemed equally lost.

What on earth were these children?

“Get down!” Annabeth shouted, locking eyes with him. Draco reacted instantly and knocked the di Angelo children into the snow.

Percy used his shield.

Tyson’s shield.

Everything was madness. To think that less than a week ago he’d been at Hogwarts seemed ridiculous by now. His life was more this walking chaos alongside Percy Jackson and his friends.

“Surrender!” the monster roared.

“Never!” Thalia shrieked from the other side, and launched herself at him.

Draco couldn’t see well what was happening with Nico and Bianca below him. The helicopter emerged from the mist and positioned itself in front of the cliff. It was a sleek black military aircraft with side-mounted devices that looked like laser-guided rockets. They had to be muggles operating it, but what was that contraption doing there? How were mortals working with a monster? In any case, its floodlights blinded Thalia at the last second, and the manticore took advantage to sweep her off her feet with a blow of its tail. The shield fell to the snow and the spear flew off to one side.

“No!” Percy shouted as he ran to help and managed to deflect a spine aimed directly at her chest, raising his shield to cover them both.

Dr. Thorn laughed.

Nico, beside Draco, let out a gasp of awe with his eyes fixed on Percy. Draco barely contained the urge to roll his eyes.

Suicidal idiot.

He should go help them now — but seeing Bianca trembling like a newborn calf — he really should never have watched that documentary with Sally — and Nico wearing the clear expression of someone thinking I have just fallen in love with a hero, he would have no care for his own wellbeing.

“Don’t you see it’s pointless? Surrender, half-bloods.”

A clear, piercing sound came from nowhere — the call of a hunting horn, sounding from the forest. The manticore froze. For an instant no one moved at all. The only sounds were the howl of the blizzard and the din of the helicopter.

“No!” Thorn said. “It can’t be—”

He broke off abruptly as a burst of light shot past Percy. An instant later a gleaming silver arrow sprouted from his shoulder.

Thorn staggered back, moaning in pain.

That was unexpectedly useful for them.

Draco found himself stunned.

“Curse you!” he screamed. And he unleashed a rain of spines toward the forest from which the arrow had come.

But with the same speed, an endless stream of silver arrows shot out in response.

It almost seemed as though those arrows were intercepting the spines mid-flight and splitting them in two — though he was probably imagining it. Nobody — not even the Apollo cabin kids at camp — could shoot with that kind of precision.

Draco certainly couldn’t.

He still considers Clarisse his benchmark, even when it isn’t fair.

The manticore wrenched the arrow from his shoulder with a howl. He was breathing heavily now. Percy tried to deal him a blow, but the creature wasn’t as wounded as it appeared. He dodged Percy’s sword and swept his tail against his shield, sending him rolling through the snow.

Then the archers emerged from the forest. They were girls — about a dozen of them. The youngest looked about ten, the oldest around fourteen — a year older than him, he thinks uneasily. They wore silver parkas and jeans, and each had a bow in hand.

They advanced on the manticore with resolute expressions.

“The Hunters!” Annabeth cried.

Thalia murmured in astonishment:

“Unbelievable! Brilliant!”

Bianca also looked surprised, while Nico seemed to clench his fists in excitement as though in the middle of a film.

As though his life weren’t hanging in the balance.

Hunters?

As in the Hunters of Artemis?

One of the older girls approached with her bow drawn. She was tall and graceful, with bronze skin. Unlike the others, she wore a silver diadem at the top of her dark hair, which gave her the look of a Persian princess entirely.

“Permission to kill, my lady?”

He didn’t know to whom she was speaking, because she never took her eyes off the manticore.

The monster let out a whimper.

“It’s not fair! This is direct interference! It goes against the Ancient Laws.”

“No it doesn’t,” interjected another girl, somewhat younger than Draco — she looked twelve or thirteen. She had reddish-brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes, a silvery yellow like the moon, were astonishing. Her face was so beautiful it took the breath away, but her expression was serious and threatening. “The hunting of all wild beasts falls within my domain. And you, disgusting creature, are a wild beast.”

She looked at the girl with the diadem.

“Zoë — permission granted.”

“If I can’t take them alive,” the manticore snarled, “I’ll take them dead!”

And it lunged at Thalia and Percy, clearly knowing they were weakened and dazed.

“No!” Annabeth cried, and charged at the monster.

“Stand back, half-blood!” shouted the girl with the diadem. “Get out of the line of fire.”

She didn’t listen. She leaped onto the beast’s back and drove her knife between its lion mane. The manticore howled and spun in circles, thrashing its tail, while Annabeth clung on as though her life depended on it — which it probably did.

“Fire!” Zoë ordered.

“No!” Percy and Draco shouted together. He had gotten to his feet, pushing the children aside. With more fighters now present, he was not going to let anything happen to Annabeth.

But the Hunters loosed their arrows. The first pierced the monster’s throat. Another struck his chest. The manticore took a step back and staggered, howling.

“This isn’t the end, Hunters! You’ll pay for this!”

And before anyone could react, the monster — with Annabeth still on its back — leaped off the cliff and plunged into the darkness.

“Annabeth!” Percy shrieked.

Draco tried to run, but this time it was Bianca — the innocent girl — who threw herself onto his back and tackled him as bullets passed over his body, right where he had been standing. Their enemies hadn’t finished yet. The rattling of the helicopter was audible — machine guns.

Most of the Hunters scattered quickly as the snow was peppered with small holes. But the reddish-haired girl looked up very calmly.

“Mortals are not permitted to witness my hunt,” she said.

She opened her hand sharply and the helicopter exploded and turned to dust. No — not dust. The black metal dissolved and became a flock of ravens that vanished into the night.

The Hunters approached them.

The one named Zoë stopped dead at the sight of Thalia.

“You!” she exclaimed with revulsion.

“Zoë Nightshade.” Thalia’s voice trembled with rage. “Always at the most convenient moment.”

Zoë examined the rest of them.

“Five demigods and a satyr, my lady.”

“Yes, I see that,” said the youngest girl, the one with the reddish-brown hair. “A few of Chiron’s campers.”

“Annabeth!” Percy shouted. “We have to go save her!”

The girl turned toward him.

“I’m sorry, Percy Jackson. There’s nothing we can do for her right now—”

He tried to get up, but a pair of Hunters held him down on the ground. Draco shook himself free of Bianca and ran to the edge of the cliff, ignoring the others. Without jumping — there was no one in sight below, and any connection with Annabeth through the bond was blank.

“—and you’re in no condition to throw yourself off the cliff,” the conversation continues behind him.

“Let me go!” Percy demanded. “Who do you think you are?”

Zoë stepped forward as though about to strike him.

“No,” she was cut off. “It is not disrespect, Zoë. He is simply very upset. He doesn’t understand.” And she looked at Percy with eyes colder and brighter than the winter moon. “I am Artemis,” she announced. “Goddess of the hunt.”

When she spoke, she shot a quick glance at Draco, who remained kneeling at the cliff’s edge, staring into the void, feeling nothing through the bond.

His fists tightened.

He let out a shout that silenced everyone, as he struck the ground with his fist.

Damn.

To be continued…

Notes:

It’s interesting — I had planned a great deal around the timeline and found one online that best accommodated everything. Anyone might assume the Titan’s Curse would happen during the summer, but no — it falls over the Christmas holidays, and now everything is going to be chaos.

The di Angelos have appeared.

How exciting.

I also find it funny what happened with Draco before his trip to Hogsmeade — noticing that someone was watching him, and sensing a presence without being able to identify it. I wonder who could be following him undetected with some kind of invisibility cloak.

I’m just saying.

It was brief, but we return to the Percy Jackson universe — though the moment the mission ends, Draco will have to go back for his third year.

Will he go back?

We’ll find out.

Chapter Text

Again everything happens very fast. He went from enjoying time with his parents to being in the middle of a mission where they quickly managed to lose Annabeth, which has everyone in a terrible mood. Not only were they now in the presence of a major Olympian deity, but they had to return to camp to look for Annabeth — which would probably require a quest.

After watching Dr. Thorn transform into a monster and plunge off the cliff with Annabeth on his back, you’d think nothing could surprise him anymore. But when that twelve-year-old girl told them she was the goddess Artemis, Draco ignored her, even as she watched him intently.

He wanted to give her the middle finger.

But she would probably kill him.

He hated that about the gods and their powers.

Grover was a mess. He stifled a cry, dropped to his knees in the snow, and began to whimper:

“Thank you, Lady Artemis! You’re so… so… wow!”

Draco exchanged a look with Percy, who was still visibly worried about Annabeth. Draco understood — his own insides were full of his own anguish, compounded by Percy’s.

The horror.

“Get up, goat boy!” Thalia snapped at him. “We have other things to worry about. Annabeth has disappeared!”

“Hold on,” said Bianca di Angelo. “Time out. Just a moment.”

Everyone stared at her. She was pointing at them one by one, as though going over the pieces of a puzzle.

“Who… who are all of you?”

Artemis’s expression softened slightly.

“Perhaps it would be better, my dear girl, to first know who you are. Let’s see — who are your parents?”

Bianca looked nervously at her brother, who was gazing at Artemis in wonder.

That boy needed to sort out his priorities.

“Our parents are dead,” said Bianca. “We’re orphans. There’s a fund that pays for our school, but—” She hesitated. He supposed she saw from their expressions that they didn’t quite believe her. “What?” she asked. “It’s the truth.”

“You are a half-blood,” said Zoë Nightshade, whose accent was difficult to place. It sounded old-fashioned, as though she were reading from an ancient book. “One of your parents was mortal. The other was an Olympian.”

“An Olympian? Do you mean an athlete?”

Draco stopped worrying for just a second to think that, almost two years ago, he had worn exactly the same idiotic expression as Bianca right now.

How dreadful.

And revolting to recall.

He hated the feeling.

At least that phase where everything was new and strange was behind him — which left a great deal to be desired about his current life.

“No,” said Zoë. “One of the gods.”

“That’s so cool!” exclaimed Nico. Yes — Draco thought that boy seriously needed to sort out his priorities.

“It’s not cool at all!” Bianca said in a trembling voice. “I don’t find any of this cool!”

Nico had started bouncing on his heels.

“Is it true that Zeus has lightning with a destructive power rating of six hundred? And that he gets extra points for—”

“Be quiet, Nico!” Bianca pressed her hands to her face. “This isn’t your stupid card game, you know? The gods aren’t real!”

Too much pointless chatter. They needed to hand the children over to Chiron and move forward to find Annabeth.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Thalia told her, “but the gods are still very much real. Believe me, Bianca. They’re immortal. And when they have children with humans — kids like us — well, things get complicated. Our lives are in danger.”

“Like that girl who fell?” said Bianca.

Thalia turned. Even Artemis seemed grieved.

Draco tightened his fists in irritation.

“Do not despair,” said the goddess. “She was a very brave girl. If it is possible to find her, I will find her.”

“Then why won’t you let us go look for her?” Percy asked, and Draco nodded.

“Because she has disappeared. Don’t you sense it, son of Poseidon? There is magic at work here. I don’t know exactly how or why, but your friend has vanished.”

Magic.

Draco was alarmed. Percy seemed too consumed by fury to notice, but Draco turned to look at the cliff, wondering why anyone would want Annabeth. She was an extraordinary girl and his friend, but it would be more common for someone to go after Percy as a child of the Three, or even Thalia.

Someone wanted Annabeth specifically.

Or had it all been bad luck?

That didn’t quite feel right.

“And Dr. Thorn?” Nico chimed in, raising his hand. “It was impressive how you shot him up. Is he dead?”

“He was a manticore,” said Artemis, with more patience than Draco felt. “I expect he has been destroyed for now. But monsters never truly die. They re-form again and again, and must be hunted every time they reappear.”

“Or they hunt us,” Thalia observed.

Bianca di Angelo shuddered.

“Which explains… remember, Nico, those people who tried to attack us last summer in an alleyway in Washington?”

“And that bus driver,” Nico recalled. “The one with the ram horns. I told you. He was real.”

“That’s why Grover has been watching over you,” Percy explained, wearily. “To keep you safe in case you turned out to be half-bloods.”

“Grover?” Bianca stared at him. “You’re a demigod?”

“A satyr, actually.” He removed his shoes and showed her his goat hooves. He thought Bianca might faint on the spot.

“Grover, put your shoes on,” said Thalia. “You’re scaring her.”

“Hey, my hooves are clean!”

“Bianca,” Percy said, “we came to help you. You need to learn to survive. Dr. Thorn won’t be the last monster you run into. You have to come to camp.”

“What camp?”

“Camp Half-Blood. Where half-bloods learn to survive. You can come with us and stay all year if you want.”

“Brilliant! Let’s go!” exclaimed Nico.

“Wait.” Bianca shook her head. “I don’t—”

“There is another option,” Zoë interjected.

“No, there isn’t,” said Thalia.

The two of them looked at each other with undisguised fury between them. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Artemis gave him a calculating look from a distance, which he simply went on ignoring.

“We have already overwhelmed these children quite enough,” Artemis said firmly. “Zoë, we will rest here for a few hours. Set up the tents. See to the wounded. Collect our guests’ belongings from the school.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And you, Bianca, come with me. I want to talk with you.”

“What about me?” asked Nico.

Artemis examined him for a moment.

“You might show Grover how that card game of yours is played. Grover will be happy to entertain you for a while… as a special favor to me.”

Grover nearly stumbled.

“Of course! Come on, Nico!”

The two of them headed off toward the forest, talking about hit points, armor class, and the kind of things only computer enthusiasts obsess over. Artemis walked along the cliff’s edge with Bianca, who looked thoroughly confused. The Hunters began unloading their gear and setting up camp.

Zoë shot one more furious look at Thalia and went to oversee everything.

The moment she was out of earshot, Thalia kicked the ground in frustration.

“The nerve of those Hunters! They think they’re so… Argh!”

“I’m with you,” Percy agreed. “I don’t trust—”

“Oh, so you’re with me now?” She spun on him like a basilisk. “And what were you thinking in the gymnasium? Did you think you could handle Thorn on your own? You knew perfectly well he was a monster! If we’d stayed together, we’d have finished him off without the Hunters having to get involved. And Annabeth might still be here. Have you thought about that?”

Percy clenched his jaw.

Draco huffed, drawing both their attention.

“Fighting solves nothing. If we want to find Annabeth, we need to stay calm.” His voice comes out firm and directed at both of them. They look at him with irritation, but Draco keeps his chin up.

Imagine that.

He has to be the mediator. The world is truly out of its mind.

He glances sideways at Artemis in the distance with Bianca, frowning. He doesn’t quite understand why he feels uneasy about it.

.

.

The Hunters set up camp in minutes. Seven large tents, all of silver silk, arranged in a crescent around the bonfire. One of the girls blew a silver whistle. At once, white wolves emerged from the forest and began circling the camp, like a team of guard dogs. The Hunters moved among them and fed them treats without any fear. Hawks watched from the trees with eyes that caught the firelight, and Draco had the distinct feeling they too were standing guard. Even the weather seemed to bend to the goddess’s will. The air was still cold, but the wind had died down and the snow had stopped, making it almost pleasant to sit beside the fire.

He noticed Percy and Thalia at opposite sides, each carrying their own guilt.

After a while, Grover and Nico returned from their walk. One of the Hunters brought their bags, and Grover helped tend to Percy’s shoulder.

“It’s gone green!” Nico commented, fascinated.

“Don’t move,” Grover ordered Percy. “Here, eat some ambrosia while I clean the wound.”

Nico began rummaging through his own bag, which the Hunters had apparently packed with all of his things — though Draco had no idea how they could have slipped into Westover Hall unnoticed. He pulled out a pile of figurines and set them on the snow. They were miniature replicas of Greek gods and heroes, including Zeus with a lightning bolt in hand, Ares with his spear, and Apollo with the sun chariot.

“Good collection,” Percy told him.

Nico grinned from ear to ear.

“I almost have them all, plus the holographic cards. I’m only missing a few of the rarest ones.”

“Have you been playing this game long?”

“Only this year. Before that…” He frowned.

“What?” Percy asked.

“I’ve forgotten. It’s strange.” He seemed uncomfortable for a moment, but it didn’t last long. “Hey, can I see that sword you used earlier?”

Percy took out Riptide and explained how it went from a pen to a sword when you uncapped it.

“That’s so cool! Does it ever run out of ink?”

“Well, I don’t actually use it to write.”

“Are you really the son of Poseidon?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you must be great at surfing.”

Percy looked at Grover, who was struggling to hold back a laugh. Draco, for his part, pressed a hand to his forehead and began losing patience with the boy. He had been older when he arrived at Camp Half-Blood, and he knows he was much more insufferable than this child at the time — but that doesn’t stop him from feeling irritated right now.

“Nico!” Percy said. “I’ve never actually tried.”

He kept asking questions. Did Percy fight a lot with Thalia since she was a daughter of Zeus? — Percy didn’t answer that one, though Draco said “yes” and earned himself a dark look. If Annabeth’s mother was Athena, goddess of wisdom, how had she not thought of something better than diving off the cliff? — Draco didn’t hold back and flicked the boy on the head, earning a complaint. Was Annabeth Percy’s girlfriend? — Grover wouldn’t stop laughing when Draco helpfully noted that they were “not yet a couple,” though he did emphasize that something was clearly there. Nico seemed a little deflated, though he didn’t appear to notice why.

“Are you a demigod too?” Nico asked, glancing at him sideways with something closer to dismissiveness than the admiration he had for Percy or Thalia. “Do you have a godly parent? Why didn’t you fight? Are you weak?” The string of questions made Percy smile with quiet satisfaction now that someone else was in the spotlight.

Draco smiled tensely, ready to hit the boy again. But then Zoë Nightshade approached them.

“Percy Jackson and Draco Malfoy.”

Zoë had dark brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose. With her silver lieutenant’s diadem and her imperious expression, she looked like royalty. She regarded them with distaste, the way one might look at a bag of dirty laundry someone had asked you to pick up.

“Come with me,” she said. “Lady Artemis wishes to speak with you both.”

.

.

She led them to the last tent, which looked no different from the others, and brought them inside. Bianca was seated beside the reddish-haired girl. It was difficult to think of her as the goddess Artemis. The interior of the tent was warm and comfortable. The floor was covered in silk rugs and cushions. In the center, a golden brazier seemed to burn on its own, without fuel or smoke. Behind the goddess, resting on an oak stand, was her great silver bow, worked in such a way that it recalled the horns of a gazelle. From the walls hung animal skins — black bear, tiger, and others he couldn’t identify.

He noticed another hide stretched nearby, and suddenly realized it was a living animal: a deer with gleaming fur and silver antlers, resting its head trustingly in the goddess’s lap.

“Sit with us, Percy Jackson and Draco Malfoy,” said the goddess.

Draco sat beside Percy on the floor in front of her. He feels like he should say something but genuinely has no desire to speak with an Olympian. The goddess studied them carefully, which made Draco uncomfortable. She had an ancient gaze for someone who looked so young.

He noticed with some unease that her attention kept returning to him.

He didn’t like the idea of a god looking at him that way — but Hades himself had shown curiosity about Draco before.

“Does my age surprise you?” she asked.

“Uh… a little,” Percy admitted.

Draco shrugged, not wanting to contribute anything.

“I can appear as a grown woman, or as a flaming fire, or as I wish. But this is my preferred form. It is roughly the age of my Hunters — of all the young maidens who remain under my protection, until they are ruined.”

“How…?”

“Until they grow up. Until they go mad about boys, and become foolish and insecure and forget themselves.”

“Oh.” Profound, Percy.

Draco, meanwhile, glanced around curiously. He wondered whether Artemis knew that Draco was entering the age where he was going mad about boys himself.

Ironic.

Zoë had sat to their right and was watching them with fury, as though they were personally responsible for every ill Artemis had described. As though the mere concept of being a boy had been invented by one of them.

He thinks of Annabeth. His brow furrows with worry.

“You must forgive my Hunters if they aren’t very friendly toward you,” said Artemis. “It is extremely rare for boys to enter this camp. They are normally forbidden any contact with the Hunters whatsoever. The last one who set foot here—” She looked at Zoë. “Which was it?”

“That boy from Colorado. She transformed him into a jackalope, my lady.”

“Ah, yes,” Artemis agreed, with some satisfaction. “I do love making jackalopes — that creature from American mythology, part rabbit, part antelope. In any case, I have called you here to tell me more about the manticore. Bianca has told me some of the troubling things the monster said. But perhaps she didn’t fully understand them. I want to hear it from you.”

Percy spoke while Draco remained silent. Throughout that time, Artemis kept shifting her gaze toward Draco, and he returned it with a rather uncomfortable smile.

When Percy finished, Artemis placed a hand on her bow, thoughtful.

“I feared I would have to use it.”

Zoë leaned forward.

“Do you mean the trail, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“What trail?” Draco asked at last, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Creatures are appearing that I have not hunted in millennia,” Artemis murmured. “Prey so ancient I had nearly forgotten them.” She looked at them steadily. “We came here last night because we detected the presence of the manticore. But that was not the monster I am looking for. Repeat exactly what Dr. Thorn said.”

“Uh… ‘I hate school dances.’” Everyone turned to stare at Percy with varying degrees of exasperation. He flushed with embarrassment.

“No — after that.”

“He said someone called the General was going to explain everything to me.”

Zoë went pale. She turned to Artemis and began to say something, but the goddess raised a hand.

“Continue, Percy.”

“Well, then he mentioned the Great Awakening—”

“Stirring,” Bianca corrected.

“Right. And he said: ‘Soon we shall have the greatest monster of all. The one that will bring about the fall of Olympus.’”

The goddess remained as still as a statue.

“Maybe he was lying,” Percy suggested.

Artemis shook her head. Draco didn’t think that was right either.

“No. He was not lying. I have been too slow to read the signs. I must hunt this monster.”

Making a visible effort not to appear afraid, Zoë nodded.

“We will set out immediately, my lady.”

“No, Zoë. This I must do alone.”

“But Artem—”

“This task is too dangerous even for the Hunters. You already know where my search must begin, and you cannot accompany me there.”

“As… as you wish, my lady.”

Draco thought this was absurd and a terrible idea. The Olympians had proven, time and time again, that they were poor at doing things on their own. Zeus lost his lightning bolt and couldn’t recover it without help.

Hades lost his helm too.

“I will find that creature,” Artemis promised. “And I will bring it back to Olympus for the winter solstice. It will be the proof I need to convince the Council of Gods of the danger we face.”

“And do you know what monster it is, my lady?” Percy asked curiously.

Artemis gripped her bow tightly.

“Let us pray I am wrong.”

“Can a goddess pray?” Draco said with a smirk. Artemis looked at him with curiosity.

The shadow of a smile flickered across her lips. He was annoyed. He hadn’t wanted to make her smile.

“Before I go, Percy Jackson, I have a task for you.” Draco did not miss that no mention was made of him.

“Does it involve being turned into one of those jackalopes?”

“Unfortunately, no. I want you to escort the Hunters to Camp Half-Blood. They will be safe there until my return.”

“What?” said Zoë, and Draco felt a pang of sympathy because he didn’t want them there either, useful as they were. “But Artemis! We despise that place. The last time—”

“I know,” the goddess replied. “But I am certain Dionysus will not hold a grudge over a small, er… misunderstanding. They have the right to use cabin eight whenever they need it. Besides, I understand the cabins they burned down have since been rebuilt.”

Zoë muttered something about stupid campers.

Not all of them were that stupid.

Usually.

“And there is one final decision to be made.” Artemis turned to Bianca. “Have you made up your mind, child?”

Bianca hesitated.

“I’m still thinking.”

“Wait,” Percy said in confusion. “Thinking about what?” Draco watched the whole thing like a tennis match — something Sally had shown him.

It had been dull, though good for his neck.

“They’ve proposed… that I join the Hunters,” the girl says, and Draco’s eyes go wide.

“What? But you can’t do that! You have to go to Camp Half-Blood and put yourself under Chiron’s care. It’s the only way you’ll learn to survive on your own.”

“It’s not the only way for a girl!” said Zoë.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

But for a different reason.

He looked at everything, horrified.

“Bianca, camp is a great place! It has a pegasus stable and a sword-fighting arena… I mean, what do you get out of joining the Hunters?”

“For a start,” replied Zoë, “immortality.”

“You’re joking, right?” Percy and Zoë were now in a competition of their own.

“Zoë rarely jokes,” said Artemis. “My Hunters follow me on my adventures. They are my servants, my companions, my fellow warriors. Once they swear loyalty to me, they become immortal, yes. Unless they fall in battle, which is very unlikely, or break their oath.”

“And what do they have to swear?” Draco asked tensely.

His mind was racing, thinking about what was about to happen.

“That they foreswear romantic love forever,” said Artemis. “That they will not grow old, nor marry. That they will remain maidens for eternity.”

“Like you, my lady?”

The goddess nodded, watching him steadily.

“So you travel the country recruiting female half-bloods—”

“Not only half-bloods,” Zoë interrupted. “Lady Artemis does not discriminate based on birth. Any who honor the goddess may join us. Half-bloods, nymphs, mortals—”

“And what are you?” Percy asked indiscreetly.

A flash of fury crossed her expression.

“That is none of your concern. The point is that Bianca may join us if she chooses. The decision is hers.”

“This is madness, Bianca!” Percy said. “And what about your brother? Nico can’t become a Hunter.”

“Of course not,” said Artemis. “He will go to camp. Unfortunately, that is the best that can be offered to a boy.”

“Hey!” Percy protested.

“You’ll be able to see him from time to time,” Artemis assured Bianca. “But you’ll have no further responsibility for him. The camp instructors will take charge of his education. And you will have a new family. Us.”

“A new family,” Bianca repeated with a dreamy air. “No more responsibilities.”

“Bianca, you can’t do this,” Percy insisted, his voice rising. “It’s madness.”

She looked at Zoë.

“Is it worth it?”

Zoë nodded.

“Yes.”

“What do I have to do?” She sounded so certain, so desperate. Draco stood up quickly, indignant, drawing everyone’s attention.

For the first time, Artemis didn’t look at him with curiosity — she looked almost annoyed at the interruption. But he stepped in front of Bianca, his face white with fury, because she was going to do this. Some kind of emotion about the girl flooded him with irritation in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

He thought of his parents.

The way his mother hugged him every time he came home for the holidays.

His father, who said he was proud of him when they weren’t even connected by blood — but who was his father, and Draco was his son.

He thought of Sally Jackson, who had become family to him.

Of Percy, whose bond had made him his in some supernatural way.

Of Annabeth and Lavender, who smiled around him.

Draco wonders for a moment, like the boy who came to this camp years ago caring nothing for anyone else, how much he has changed — how the idea of failing those he loves now feels like an aberration.

And watching someone else do it makes him sick.

“You’re going to abandon him — to change families, without thinking it over, without even trying to discuss it with him.” His words make Bianca freeze. She looks at him in surprise, a flash of guilt in her eyes that she quickly tries to smother by standing and looking defiant in return. “You’re going to leave a child alone because you’re an idiot who hasn’t even sat with it for more than an hour,” he adds, coldly.

Fair enough — when his mother told him he was a demigod, it wasn’t exactly a perfect moment. He was on the other side of the world overnight, and it took him a long time to piece together even part of the story. He’s fairly sure everything has happened very fast for Bianca and Nico — but that doesn’t mean their sister should decide to simply walk away without even speaking to the poor boy who loves geek things.

Who clearly thinks Draco is pathetic.

But it doesn’t matter.

He remembers Nico’s excited expression and feels a small identification — with that age, when everything is new, when you still trust others.

“You don’t understand anything. You don’t know what I’ve suffered,” the girl growls, and Draco feels himself flushing red with fury.

This girl makes him sick.

Percy beside him tries to take his arm. He pushes him off, and even as Percy seems to be trying, clumsily, to send some calming emotion through the bond, Draco ignores it.

He feels only his own emotions.

“He’s a ten-year-old boy.” He had been twelve when he arrived at camp, and everything had been too much. He had been alone.

They’re going to leave a poor child alone.

Bianca flushes with fury.

“And I’m twelve — I’ve been looking after him for years. I’ve been responsible for years, because our parents aren’t here. You don’t know what I went through to take care of him,” Bianca shouts in anger, as though no one sees her — as though everyone only sees Nico’s older sister.

Yes.

Perhaps if he thought only about Bianca, he might find it sad. He might try to understand the weight of responsibilities on a girl so young that she shouldn’t have to carry them. He could feel empathy if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

Because Draco saw a little of himself in Nico. Lucius had no obligation to raise him as a son, but he had. His mother could have treated him differently because of his origins, but she raised him with every ounce of love in her. Sally Jackson could have chosen not to give him a home, but instead she embraced him warmly for every moment he was with them. Percy, Annabeth, and Lavender had chosen him — they wouldn’t abandon him.

Family.

They were his.

“It is your responsibility,” he says with disappointment. Bianca looks furious. Zoë and Artemis make irritated faces, but no one speaks.

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR IT!” the girl says, practically on the verge of tears.

Yes.

It’s cruel.

But he can’t see past it. All he can think of is the boy outside the tent, whose sister hasn’t looked back at him a single time since they found the Hunters, since someone else could look after him — and that thought freezes something cold in his chest.

“You didn’t ask for it — nobody asked for any of this. Do you think anyone at Camp Half-Blood asked to be a demigod?” He extends his hand with indignation. “Nobody asked for monsters on their backs and near-death every second of every day. But the stupid Olympians just do as they please—” Artemis’s face hardened and Zoë took a step toward him. Draco ignored her. “Artemis is going to use you like every other Olympian around, but you don’t care. You just want to hand your little brother over to someone else to look after and you’d take any option in the world to avoid being someone’s sister.” He doesn’t know if that’s true — he just wants to wound her. It works.

“Draco,” Percy warns, worried. Draco ignores him, eyes fixed on Bianca.

“You want to earn people’s pity by making them think you’ve sacrificed so much — well, I’ll tell you this. I hope you become an immortal Hunter and live a very long life for one single thing.” He prods the girl’s chest, pushing her with disdain. “So that every day of your pathetic existence, you remember that you were given a choice. And that you didn’t hesitate to choose someone other than your own blood — that you saw the most cowardly and pathetic opportunity to rid yourself of someone who trusts you completely, and you chose to fail him,” he hisses, with as much contempt as he can muster.

Going for the jugular.

Yes.

Percy thought he was a good person, that he had changed — and maybe he had. But he is still a Slytherin at heart, one who can destroy with nothing but words aimed precisely at what hurts most.

From the pain in Bianca’s eyes, he can tell she genuinely cares about Nico.

It doesn’t matter.

She’s going to betray him.

Abandon him.

And Draco is not good enough a person to try to encourage anything else.

“Malfoy.” Artemis’s voice rings out like thunder, as though she wants to stop him — a warning. He doesn’t care. Hades is more frightening. “If you have nothing to contribute, I kindly ask you to leave,” she adds in a tone that allows for no further reply.

He laughs.

Everyone seems tense. Draco only smiles with malice at Bianca, before turning a lazy smile toward Artemis.

“For a moment you almost made me think you care about this girl,” Draco says with amusement toward Artemis. Zoë growls. “But let’s not forget that she was in danger this whole time and it’s only now — curiously, now that she’s a potential demigod — that you showed up to rescue her. Yes, of course. Important like a new family. Every Olympian is the same kind of arrogant.” He glances sideways at Bianca, who seems nearly on the verge of tears, and the power of it doesn’t feel entirely good. “Enjoy your new family. Maybe you’re right to choose them — they’re exactly what you deserve, in the worst way possible,” he adds with mockery before walking out at a steady pace, chin high.

The first thing he sees upon leaving are the Hunters, at whom he gives a withering look, before noticing Grover, who looks worried, with Nico at his side — who doesn’t yet know his sister has just abandoned him.

The boy watches Draco with wide, curious eyes.

Draco is a coward when he moves away from everyone and sits against a tree, staring at the sky. He takes the free moment to send an Iris message to his parents. They look disappointed at the idea of not seeing him again soon when he explains that his friend has disappeared.

He doesn’t know how long this will last.

His father’s worried face stays in Draco’s heart for the rest of the night.

They worry about him.

They love him.

That is what a family is supposed to be.

.

.

Bianca agrees to become a Hunter. Draco hates her for it.

They exchange frozen looks when she comes out of the Hunters’ tent. She doesn’t go to Nico. The word “coward” nearly slips off his lips.

It isn’t his problem.

.

.

Meeting Apollo was… disappointing. Meeting the Olympian gods from his mother’s stories turned out not to be as wonderful as he’d hoped.

He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and for a disconcerting second Draco thought of Luke. The same reddish-blond hair, the same healthy, athletic look. But no — he was taller and had no scar on his face like Luke. His smile was more playful. Luke did nothing but frown and smirk condescendingly lately. The driver of the Maserati wore jeans, loafers, and a sleeveless shirt.

Like Artemis before him, Apollo glanced at him sideways — then frowned, as though he’d seen something unpleasant.

Only at him.

Only at Draco.

No one else.

Wonderful. He was already hated. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised.

There were awkward introductions, there were Japanese verse attempts, there was a great deal of indifference from Artemis toward her brother, and then Apollo pointed them out.

“No trouble at all.” He looked them over. “Let’s see… You’re Thalia, right? I know all about you.”

She flushed.

Girls, Draco thinks, bored. Apollo was attractive, he wouldn’t deny it, but he was an Olympian — revolting.

“Hello, Lord Apollo.”

“Daughter of Zeus, aren’t you? So we’re half-siblings. You were a tree, correct? I’m glad you’re not anymore. I can’t stand seeing pretty girls turned into trees. I remember one time—”

“Brother,” Artemis cut him off. “You should be on your way.”

“Ah, right.” Apollo looked at Percy, narrowing his eyes. “Percy Jackson?”

“Uh-huh. I mean — yes, sir.”

Apollo studied him carefully but said nothing, then looked at Draco. Again, a frown of distaste.

Draco raised his chin in challenge, arms crossed, even if he stood no chance against this person. He couldn’t even beat Percy yet in a proper fight.

“Draco Malfoy — yes, the camp’s surprise,” Apollo says with something like restrained irritation, before glancing sideways at Artemis, who has her arms folded and looks equally displeased — probably about what happened with Bianca. They could both get over it.

“Surprise?” he asks with effrontery. Apollo only frowns.

“You’re an anomaly,” — which sounded dreadful. Percy beside him winces sympathetically and Nico laughs, finding it mildly entertaining. “It’s unusual for a demigod to fall off our radar. Even without being claimed by your divine father, your person is anomalous because even my prophecies cannot see you.” He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.

Artemis interrupted with a cough, at which Apollo simply stopped looking at him and went back to smiling.

He didn’t look at him again for the entire journey.

Draco stood with his arms crossed and his thoughts, not for the whole ride of course — Nico never stopped asking questions, and then Apollo had the brilliant idea that Thalia should try driving the car, which, despite Apollo’s unsettling passive-aggressive ways of resisting, was quite a decent vehicle.

Thalia set a town on fire.

And nearly destroyed Camp Half-Blood as well.

.

.

Returning to camp was almost like returning to the Jackson house — a strange sense of calm at coming home. Everyone had to go see Chiron. Percy kept glancing sideways at him, and Grover looked worried, but they needn’t have been. It was Annabeth who was missing. Draco simply sighs, trying to make the bond work in some way, but everything on the other side was empty. Perhaps the girl was still unconscious wherever she was.

That wasn’t a good sign.

The camp seemed almost deserted. Draco knew that most half-bloods only trained there during the summer. Now only the year-rounders remained: those with nowhere to go, or those who would face too many monster attacks if they left. But even that group seemed relatively sparse.

Charles Beckendorf, from the Hephaestus cabin, was working the forge by the armory. The Stoll brothers, Travis and Connor, from the Hermes cabin, were picking the lock of a storage shed. Some Ares cabin kids had gotten into a snowball fight with the forest nymphs. And that was about it.

The Big House was decorated with red and yellow fireballs that warmed the porch without setting it alight. Inside, flames crackled in the fireplace. The air smelled of hot chocolate. Mr. D, the camp director, and Chiron were passing the time with a card game in the sitting room.

Chiron’s beard was scraggier in winter and his curly hair a little longer. He didn’t have to maintain his teacher’s poise here and seemed to allow himself a more relaxed appearance. He wore a woolly sweater with a hoof print pattern and had a blanket across his lap that almost completely covered his wheelchair.

The moment he saw them, he smiled.

“Percy! Thalia! And this must be…”

“Nico di Angelo,” Percy said. “He and his sister are half-bloods.”

Chiron sighed with relief.

“You managed it, then.”

“Well…”

His smile froze.

“What happened? And where is Annabeth?”

“Oh please,” said Mr. D with irritation. “Don’t tell me we’ve lost her too.”

Draco grumbles, feeling foul on both Percy’s behalf and his own, and stumbles out of the room — slightly guilty about disappointing Chiron, but desperately wanting some time alone.

He walked quietly until he reached the camp’s bonfire. Despite the absence of people, there was a girl there whom Draco had occasionally spotted before. She looked about eight, and while he couldn’t be sure whether he’d ever faced her in Capture the Flag, he believed he had seen her at the bonfire from time to time when he passed by.

He wanted to be alone.

But the red-haired girl didn’t seem to be speaking to anyone, and Draco thought it was best to stay nearby until they decided what to do about Annabeth.

He let out a sigh that was far too loud for the occasion, staring at the sky. He almost just wanted to scream or throw himself into the lake voluntarily — curious, given how much he hated the ocean.

“Here.” Draco looked up when the girl beside him passed him a piece of chocolate. He accepted it with mild disbelief.

He would never say no to chocolate.

He looked at the girl. She returned her gaze to the bonfire.

“Thank you,” he said, somewhat awkwardly, unwrapping the chocolate and taking a bite.

He could almost swear he had never tasted chocolate this good in his life, and his mother regularly sent him chocolates from Paris when he asked. He let out a quiet groan with the chocolate in his mouth, feeling a small pocket of peace within the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.

He gets through half the chocolate when he looks at the bonfire, then sighs before taking a quarter piece in his hands.

He’s not going to give anything to his father — or if he does, not without an insult attached. So he thinks about who to address his words to instead.

Artemis — discarded.

Apollo — discarded.

Hades — not particularly tempted.

Hestia, the only Olympian worth anything. I have no proof, but I have no doubts either.

He tosses the chocolate into the fire, which briefly changes color before the offering seems to rise skyward. He hears laughter beside him. He turns to see the red-haired girl laughing, and he flushes slightly — though he doubts the girl has any divine power that allows her to read minds.

Though with Olympians, you never know.

“You know, I like chocolate very much — though once I almost burned my house making it,” the girl says with a sigh, and Draco understands that a little.

He is a terrible cook.

He checks the bag at his side, which he hasn’t yet managed to drop off at the Hermes cabin, hoping to find one of the cookies Sally gave him during the journey. Since the girl had given him the best chocolate he’s ever tasted in his life, he feels he can repay the generosity in kind.

She blinks in surprise when he places a few cookies in her hand.

“Don’t look at me like that. Your chocolate is good, and I’m clearly not so much of an idiot — no matter what Clarisse says — that I can’t repay the generosity of others,” he grumbles, indignant at the thought of anyone spreading any rumor about him like they did his first summer.

He thought they’d moved past that.

The girl still looks surprised, before smiling and hugging the cookies.

“Thank you very much, Draco Malfoy — I accept both gifts,” she says with a childlike smile. Draco tilts his head in confusion.

Both gifts?

He only gave her a few cookies.

“Hey, Draco! Who are you talking to?” comes Percy’s voice. He seems to be in something of a bad mood as he emerges from the main cabin.

Draco looks at him in confusion, but when he turns to his right, the girl seems to have simply vanished.

Strange, even by his standards.

Percy ignores his confusion somewhat, looking uncomfortable. He says that for now they won’t be searching for Annabeth, and that they have to play Capture the Flag. Draco felt as bitter as his friend at that.

This place was madness.

.

.

Capture the Flag?

Really?

He doesn’t know which is worse — the idea of not being able to go out and search for Annabeth, or watching Percy and Thalia attempt to work together as team captains when they played Capture the Flag. Both could be equally terrible. But the worst part turned out to be Nico di Angelo as a new member of the Hermes cabin — at least the Stoll brothers had someone new to torment. The problem was that the boy had attached himself to Draco’s side.

Despite having stated in his own words that Draco was “not that cool and not a hero like Percy,” Draco had wanted to throw him out the window.

He hadn’t.

Travis seemed to think it would be entertaining to give the bunk next to Draco to Nico, which made the boy jump and talk non-stop about the Mythomagic card game for at least thirty minutes before dinner. He now knows far more about the game than he ever wanted to. Mythomagic is a collectible card and figurine game based on Greek mythology. He also received a ten-minute lecture on the Ares card — Bloodrage: infinite health for three rounds.

Far too many times.

He also said Ares was awesome. Draco pressed his lips together. In person, though he hadn’t seen him, Ares had threatened Percy, so he was perhaps not quite so awesome.

At dinner he wanted to go and sit with Percy, but the Stoll brothers kept him at his table, seemingly because Nico found him endlessly entertaining. Nico believed Mythomagic was better than poker — Draco doubted either was superior to the other.

“Look, Draco — you have to see this card.” He held the Zeus card up to Draco’s forehead, and Draco bit back the urge to say that Zeus was the worst Olympian of them all.

They stole his lightning bolt and blamed everyone else before looking at their own negligence.

How was he the leader?

The only table that seemed genuinely happy was the Hunters’. They ate and drank and laughed constantly, like a real family. Zoë sat at the head, with the air of a mother hen. She didn’t laugh as much as the others, but she smiled occasionally. Her silver lieutenant’s diadem gleamed among her dark braids.

Bianca seemed to be having a wonderful time. She had apparently decided she wanted to learn arm wrestling from one of the Hunters — the same one who had gotten into a fight with an Ares camper at the school. The other girl beat her again and again, but she didn’t seem to mind.

She didn’t once look over at Nico.

Draco glanced at the boy, who seemed to be quietly playing with his card, occasionally looking at Bianca with uncertainty — and that finally made the boy’s presence feel more genuinely annoying.

“Is there a Heracles card?” he asks, overcoming his desire for silence, though he fails to maintain it. Nico’s face lit up even further as he dug through his enormous deck and then pushed another card into Draco’s face.

He was going soft. How revolting.

There was no personal space here, apparently.

He sighed.

From the corner of his eye he noticed Percy looking pensive. The two of them exchanged a look that said they were both having a rough time. Nico jumped at him, pointing out another card, and Draco had to keep his attention on the boy, who seemed somewhat lost without his sister but was an endless supply of energy at his side.

When they’d finished eating, Chiron made the usual toast to the gods and gave the formal welcome to the Hunters of Artemis. The applause was not particularly enthusiastic. He then announced a game of Capture the Flag to be held in their honor the following night, which received a much warmer response.

After that, everyone headed to the cabins.

In winter, lights went out early.

“Look at this card, Draco.” Nico jumped onto his bed, even though the lights had already gone out. He could swear he heard the Stoll brothers laughing from somewhere distant.

Draco groaned into his pillow for a moment, then moved over and let the boy sit beside him to talk about cards until he fell asleep. He thought briefly that perhaps the boy had never slept a night without his sister.

It only lasted a second.

Because Draco had never shared a bed before, and when Nico kicked him out of it in the middle of the night in his sleep, Draco hated him with every fiber of his being.

.

.

The next day Draco woke with an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders that was beginning to irritate him. He doesn’t know whether it was because Nico kicked him out of bed or because the boy snored for the rest of the night while attempting to hug him like a stuffed animal, but it had been uncomfortable. He rolled his shoulders again and again, but no matter what he did, it felt as though something was there — even though there was nothing.

Strange.

The nightmare Percy described to Draco and Grover the following day didn’t help either.

“The cave ceiling collapsed on her?” Grover asks, and Draco touches his shoulder, thoughtful.

“Exactly. What do you think it means?”

Grover shook his head.

“I don’t know. But after what Zoë dreamed…”

“What? Zoë had a similar dream?”

“Not… I don’t know exactly. Around three in the morning she showed up at the Big House saying she wanted to talk to Chiron. She looked absolutely terrified.”

“Wait — how do you know that?”

Grover flushed.

Percy and Draco exchanged unimpressed looks.

“I had, um… camped near the Hunters’ cabin.”

“Stalker,” Draco said at the same moment Percy said, “Why?”

“Well… to be near them.”

“You’re a shameless stalker with hooves,” Percy says, looking at him with pity.

Draco lets out a slight laugh. His back still felt uncomfortable, though not severely — just odd, like carrying a constant extra weight.

“That’s not true! Anyway, I followed her to the Big House, hid behind a bush, and watched the whole thing. She got very angry when Argos wouldn’t let her in. It was rather violent.”

Argos was the camp’s chief security officer — a large blond man with eyes scattered all over his body. He was rarely seen unless something very serious was happening. Draco wouldn’t have liked to bet on a fight between Argos and Zoë.

“What did she say?” Percy asked.

Grover made a face.

“Well, when she gets angry she starts speaking in that old-fashioned way and it isn’t easy to follow her. But it was something like Artemis being in trouble and the Hunters being needed. Then she snapped at Argos that he was a witless oaf… I think that’s an insult. And he called—”

“Wait. How can Artemis be in trouble?” Percy’s question makes Draco huff. Both of them turn to look at him as he raises his hands to the sky.

“Those idiots are always in some kind of trouble,” Draco mutters, and he could almost swear he hears a distant rumble of thunder that makes Grover flinch.

He’s not lying.

Zeus is a dramatic crybaby.

“Um… Well, eventually Chiron appeared in his pajamas with curlers in his tail—”

“He puts curlers in his tail?” Percy’s question shouldn’t interest him, but it’s actually a very good one.

Grover clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Continue,” Draco demands, though he knows they’ll come back to that particular detail in the future. He files it away as a mental note.

“Right, so Zoë told him she needed his permission to leave camp immediately. But Chiron refused. He reminded Zoë that the Hunters were supposed to remain until Artemis gave them orders. And she said—” Grover swallowed. “She said: ‘How are we to receive orders from Artemis if she has been lost?’”

“What does ‘lost’ mean? Like she can’t find her way?” Percy really does have difficulty seeing the full picture sometimes.

“No. I suppose she meant she’d disappeared. That she’d been taken. Kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Draco tried to process the idea. “How do you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?”

“Well, yes. It happened to Persephone.”

“Right, but she was something like the goddess of flowers—”

Grover looked at him, offended.

Draco pressed a hand to his forehead, then gave Percy a light flick on the back of the head.

“Of spring.”

“Alright, whatever — but Artemis is far more powerful. Who would be capable of kidnapping her? And why?”

Grover shook his head grimly.

She had wanted to go hunting alone, thought she could manage it — but she couldn’t. Draco placed a hand on his chin, thinking.

“I don’t know. Kronos?”

“He can’t be that powerful yet. Can he?”

The last time any of them had encountered Kronos, he was in pieces. Well — encounter was perhaps not exactly the right word. Thousands of years ago, after the war between gods and Titans, the gods had cut him to pieces with his own scythe and scattered the remains through Tartarus, which amounted to a bottomless recycling bin the gods kept for their enemies. Two summers ago, Kronos had lured them to the edge of that abyss and nearly pushed them in.

Then last summer, on Luke’s terrible cruise ship, they’d seen a large golden coffin. Inside it, according to Luke, the lord of the Titans was slowly being reassembled from the abyss — every time someone new joined his cause, another piece was added to his body. Kronos could already influence and deceive people through dreams, but Draco couldn’t imagine how he could kidnap Artemis if he was still a malevolent heap of fragments.

She was an Olympian.

She was powerful.

Could they have tricked her?

He thinks of Annabeth, and for some reason his back feels heavy again.

“I don’t know,” said Grover. “I think we’d know if Kronos were fully restored. The gods would be much more agitated. But even so, it’s strange that you had a nightmare the same night as Zoë. Almost as if…”

Percy finished the sentence before him:

“They’re connected.”

Out in the frozen meadow, a satyr began slipping on his hooves while chasing a red-haired nymph. She let out a laugh, opened her arms wide, and pop! — turned into a pine tree that the satyr ran headlong into.

“Ah, love!” Grover sighed with a dreamy expression.

Draco grimaced.

“I don’t think this is the moment, Grover,” he tried to be gentle, but it came out disappointed — because it really wasn’t the moment.

Draco might have a crush on Percy that he was trying to get over, but even he knew when not to tempt fate and when to focus on what mattered.

“I need to talk to her,” Percy said, thoughtful.

“Before you do—” Grover pulled something from his coat pocket. It was a trifold brochure, like a travel pamphlet. “Remember how you said it was strange that the Hunters showed up at Westover Hall like that? I think maybe they were following us.”

“Following us? What do you mean?” Percy asked, looking at the brochure.

Draco moved to his side to look.

It was about the Hunters of Artemis. The cover headline read: “A WISE DECISION FOR YOUR FUTURE!” Inside were photographs of young maidens on hunts, pursuing monsters and firing arrows. The captions read things like: “HEALTH BENEFITS: IMMORTALITY, WITH ALL ITS ADVANTAGES!” And: “A FUTURE FREE OF ANNOYING BOYS!”

“I found it in Annabeth’s bag,” Grover explained.

They stared at it.

Oh.

It makes sense. Annabeth is young, a skilled warrior, intelligent.

“I don’t follow,” said Percy.

Grover and Draco exchanged a look. Draco took the brochure from Percy and leafed through it on his own.

“Well, it seems to me that… maybe Annabeth was thinking about joining them,” Draco says slowly, knowing something was wrong.

Percy’s pain and helplessness hit Draco’s chest soon after, like a sharp reminder of what Annabeth meant to Percy, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet.

Yes.

Nothing quite like an indirect way of reminding yourself that the person you might like would never see you that way. For about the twentieth time.

Draco looks at the brochure, thinking that if he were a girl, he might have joined the Hunters himself just to run away from his feelings for Percy.

Doesn’t that make him just like Bianca?

Draco curses the thought.

It’s true.

It doesn’t make him hate her any less.

Chapter Text

Percy took the news badly, so he spent the rest of the day looking for things to do, under the worried eyes of Grover and Draco. Well, Draco couldn’t stay worried for very long — Nico found him, and it seemed Chiron had unofficially designated him as the boy’s babysitter. Which made him hate Bianca considerably more. Even though the boy was irritating, Draco admits he feels a little sorry for him, and while that wasn’t a feeling many would admit to, it was what motivated him to look after the small and enthusiastic demigod. He misses Will so much. If the sunny little boy were here, Draco wouldn’t have hesitated to abuse their friendship and make him help with babysitting duties.

He would usually ask Percy for help.

He left him alone because he knows he needs a moment.

Though part of him — the logical part — says that if Annabeth joins the Hunters, he might have a chance with Percy, he ignores the fact that Percy is straight and doesn’t feel encouraged by the idea. He doesn’t like being someone’s second choice, however selfish that sounds. He feels that Percy has found something with Annabeth that isn’t easily found with other people. Draco, who is determined to be Percy’s friend and fully convinced that their friendship would be worth more than any other relationship, prefers to keep things that way.

If Annabeth becomes a Hunter, he feels Percy would always miss her, even if he were with other people.

And Draco is selfish enough to want someone who would love only him.

He may even have an arranged marriage in the future, but at heart he’s a hopeless romantic — he blames the dramas he watches with Sally Jackson.

.

.

.

That night, after dinner, Percy was determined to defeat the Hunters at Capture the Flag. It was going to be a very small game — just thirteen Hunters, including Bianca di Angelo, and roughly the same number of campers.

Zoë Nightshade looked deeply displeased. She kept shooting resentful glances at Chiron, as though she couldn’t believe he had forced her to stay and participate in this game. The other Hunters didn’t look particularly happy either. They no longer laughed and joked as they had the previous night. Now they huddled in the pavilion whispering among themselves while adjusting their armor. It seemed some of them had been crying. He supposed Zoë must have told them about her nightmare.

Their team had Beckendorf and two other kids from Hephaestus, several Ares cabin members, the Stoll brothers along with Nico and Draco from Hermes, and a handful of Aphrodite kids.

It was curious that the Aphrodite cabin was participating at all. They usually kept to themselves, chatting and watching their reflections in the river. But the moment they found out they’d be facing the Hunters, they signed up with tremendous enthusiasm.

“I’ll show them that ‘love isn’t worth it,’” Silena Beauregard muttered furiously while putting on her armor. “I’m going to pulverize them!”

Draco backed away from her with a shudder, while Nico looked entertained.

“I’ll lead the attack,” Thalia proposed. “You handle the defense.”

“Uh…” Percy hesitated. “Don’t you think your shield would be better used for defense?”

Draco let out a sigh, already clearly seeing the future.

This was going to go badly.

Percy and Thalia as captains — the disaster was inevitable.

“This is going to be a nightmare,” he whispered, drifting back toward Silena, who, still annoyed, seemed to sigh in defeat and soften a little.

“Well, I was actually thinking the shield would work better to reinforce the attack,” she replied. “Besides, you have more practice in defense.”

“Fair enough, that’s true,” Percy lied shamelessly, and Draco let out a laugh. His friend scorched him with a look.

“Brilliant.”

Thalia went to help the Aphrodite girls, as several of them were having trouble putting on their armor without ruining their nails. Nico di Angelo approached Percy with a broad grin.

Now that he spent all day at Draco’s side, he never stopped asking about Percy — and Draco had only managed to dissuade him because he knew Percy needed time alone.

Feeling his anger and sadness surging irregularly from inside was already quite enough to deal with.

“This is so cool, Percy!” The bronze helmet, with its blue feather plume, nearly covered his eyes, and his breastplate must have been about six sizes too big.

Draco wondered if he’d looked just as ridiculous when he arrived at camp. Almost certainly yes.

Nico raised his sword with some effort.

“Can we kill the people on the other team?”

“Uh… no.”

“But the Hunters are immortal, right?”

“Only if they don’t fall in combat. Besides—”

“It would be brilliant if we could respawn right after being killed and keep fighting—”

Percy looked exhausted, not used to the boy’s non-stop chatter. Draco watched him with thinly veiled resentment, having had to endure it all day.

“Nico, this is serious. These are real swords. And they can cause real damage.”

Nico looked at him, slightly let down. Percy seemed to realize he had just sounded exactly like his mother. Percy looked at Draco and pointed a threatening finger — warning him to say nothing — though Draco’s mocking smile probably said enough.

Percy gave the boy an awkward pat.

It was adorable how terrible he was at it.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be brilliant. Just stick with the team. And stay away from Zoë. We’re going to have a great time.”

Chiron’s hooves rang on the pavilion floor.

“Heroes!” he called. “You know the rules. The creek is the dividing line. The blue team — Camp Half-Blood — will take the west woods. The red team — the Hunters of Artemis — the east woods. I will serve as referee and field medic. No maiming, please. All magical items are permitted. Take your positions!”

“Brilliant,” Nico whispered to Percy in a not-at-all quiet voice. “What kind of magical items? Do I have any?”

Thalia shouted:

“Blue team! Follow me!”

Everyone erupted in cheers and followed her. Draco walked beside Percy, glancing at Nico sideways.

“Isn’t he adorable?” he asked mockingly. Percy gave him a death stare.

“Shut up.”

Draco smiled. Fair enough — he could do that. Let himself decompress for a while. He rolled his tense shoulders, feeling them more uncomfortable than they had been that morning.

He needed to clear his head.

.

.

Percy left him on defense with the others, but instead of staying, he slipped off like the impatient person he is.

The Hunters win.

He isn’t even surprised.

When the Oracle comes out of her cave, however, he is surprised. Draco had never seen the Oracle before — but he feels as though he’s seen her somewhere, as if in the middle of a strange dream.

.

.

The cabin leader meeting doesn’t surprise him. He watches Percy go and can tell all Percy is thinking about is Annabeth, just from his expression. His own insides keep being pulled between his own concerns and his friend’s. He stays in the Hermes cabin while all the leaders head off, surprised when Nico stops bouncing around showing him another card and goes quiet. The boy frowns in silence, and when Draco looks up, he could almost have cried with relief.

He jumps up to hug Will Solace, who looks confused at the sight of Nico before looking at Draco with curiosity.

“Will, I thought you weren’t coming for the holidays,” he says, almost relieved, already forming a plan in his mind to recruit him as a co-babysitter.

Will was a wonderful person.

The boy flushes slightly upon seeing him, then looks curiously at Nico with something almost close to irritation.

Draco blinks in confusion at that.

Something seems wrong again, though he can’t tell what.

“Mum went on tour. When I talked to Lee, who talked to the Stolls and said you came for Christmas, I thought I’d stop by,” the boy says with a smile that is every bit the son of Apollo he is.

“Who’s he?” Nico seems curious as he takes a seat on Draco’s bed. Will notices the gesture and frowns for a moment before maintaining his smile.

He seems uncomfortable with Nico, and Draco doesn’t understand why. Will is usually one of the friendliest campers around — he had put up with Draco at his absolute worst. Will deserves a seat on Olympus.

“Will Solace, son of Apollo,” he says in a tense voice, though the smile stays.

He glances at Nico, who only nods cautiously, clearly sensing a kind of wall between them. Then Nico jumps up and takes Draco’s wrist, pulling him slightly away from Will, who frowns in irritation.

Draco, just like with the flag game, can see that something bad is on the horizon — the way he always can when Thalia and Percy end up on the same team.

“I’m Nico — and he’s my glorified babysitter, though he’s clumsy.” Nico shows not the slightest respect, and just as Draco was about to object, Will jumps in, offended.

“He’s not clumsy. He’s a great hero. Last summer he went to the Sea of Monsters.”

He was defending him. How sweet.

Draco places a hand over his chest, touched.

“He fell in the mud at Capture the Flag,” Nico says with a shrug.

Will gives Nico a dark look.

Yes.

Perhaps the idea of having both boys in the same space wasn’t going to end well. Draco began watching them with concern as they practically scorched each other with their glares. He whimpers into his hands when both of them start bickering, his shoulders feeling impossibly heavy, unable to say anything to Will — who was his healer — because the boy seemed to be in a full argument with Nico about who was better.

Percy or Draco?

Children were terrifying.

.

.

The quest was formed. Percy wasn’t part of it, and obviously neither was Draco. Chiron had only sighed upon seeing him grip both Will and Nico firmly to keep them apart. Draco had hoped his leader would be merciful and compassionate, but even with everything on his shoulders, Chiron looked almost pleased as he pointed at Draco and indicated it was time he acted as one of the older kids and looked after the younger ones. He was only thirteen, Will was slightly younger than him, and Nico was ten. It didn’t concern Chiron in the slightest that he’d left Draco responsible for making sure nobody killed each other.

Bianca would go on the quest.

Percy did not take it well — to say he took it extremely badly would be an understatement. He had been very close to leaving without anyone’s permission when the group was formed: three Hunters, Thalia, and Grover. Grover gave Draco a look asking him to look after Percy, as though Percy could be stopped by anything or anyone.

He had been wide awake when Nico decided he wanted to keep playing Mythomagic with him, furious that he’d had to spend the whole day alongside Will. Both boys repelled each other like oil and water. The pressure on his shoulders had disappeared at some point, and in a better mood he had agreed to play with Nico for a while.

Though it turned out Nico wanted to spy on the Hunters and had tricked him into not being alone.

Then Percy arrived.

Being stupid.

Something involving a cow called Bessie came up and Draco didn’t want to ask too many questions about it.

Then the strangest conversation unfolded before his eyes.

“And now you want to follow them on the quest they’re about to undertake.”

“How did you know?”

“Because if it were my sister I’d probably do the same. But you can’t do it.”

Nico looked at Percy defiantly.

“Because I’m too young?”

“Because they won’t allow it. They’ll catch you at the first opportunity and send you straight back to camp. And yes, also because you’re too young. Remember the manticore? There’ll be plenty of creatures like that along the way. Even more dangerous ones. And some heroes will die.”

Nico hunched his shoulders and shifted his weight.

Draco glanced in the direction Bianca had gone, thinking it was going to be a very bad idea having her along — immortal or not. Draco had been a disaster on his first quest and was alive by pure miracle after the second.

“Maybe you’re right. But… you could go in my place.”

“What?”

Draco groaned. This was a terrible idea. Percy was already a fire that didn’t need more fuel.

“You can turn invisible. You could go!”

“The Hunters don’t like boys,” Percy pointed out with unexpected sensibility. “If they discovered me—”

“Don’t let them discover you. Turn invisible and follow them. And keep an eye on my sister! You have to do it. Please.”

“Nico…”

“You were already thinking about it anyway, weren’t you?”

Sharp kid.

Draco had to give him that.

“All right,” Percy said. “I have to find Annabeth. I have to help them, even if they don’t want me to.”

“I won’t tell anyone. But you have to promise me you’ll keep my sister safe.”

“That’s a lot to promise on a quest like this. She already has Zoë, Grover, and Thalia—”

“Promise me.”

“I’ll do everything I can. That I can promise you.”

“Then get moving! Good luck!”

It was madness. He hadn’t even packed. He had nothing but his cap, his sword, and the clothes on his back.

Draco simply pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, and when Percy looked up, he could read his thoughts and quickly looked away. That morning he might still have said yes — but the pressure on his back had left, and he had the feeling that Annabeth wasn’t suffering right now.

Why had he thought she was suffering before?

He has no idea.

But he understood Percy’s look, and while he had never doubted that sooner or later this boy would make some wild decision and go off on a mission — just as he had the previous summer — this time Draco crossed his arms and raised his chin.

He thinks of Annabeth.

Of the prophecy.

He feels bad, because he wants to help, but he knows that sometimes helping means not getting in the way.

“I’m not going with you.” Percy’s face looked as though he’d been slapped, but Draco held firm. “I know you want to find Annabeth, I know this kid wants to protect his sister.” He gestured to Nico, who stared at him in disbelief and whispered something like “coward” that didn’t even make him flinch. “The prophecy can be dangerous. People die. If someone does something wrong, everything could go worse. I’m not going to try to stop you from leaving — but you can’t make me go.”

“Doesn’t Annabeth worry you?” He knows that’s a low blow, even for Percy. They’re best friends and they don’t usually come at each other like that.

Both of them are stubborn. Draco has a thousand ways to subdue him with words, but he holds them back.

He sets aside his Slytherin side just to sigh.

Only for Percy.

He doesn’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t want Percy to think badly of him.

“She worries me — but if my being there ruins the mission or makes it harder, I’m not taking this approach. Last summer it was a miracle we got out alive. You don’t always have to be the center of everything. Thalia and the Hunters can do good work if you trust them.” He tried to be the voice of reason, to make Percy understand that it didn’t always have to be him.

He’d already nearly died twice.

Why keep trying a third time?

“The other times you only came because of the bond.” He seems to only be realizing this now. Draco sighs without seeming offended.

Though he’s starting to get irritated.

They’re friends, but this feels a little like first year again, when Percy had looked uncomfortable with him at the start of that mission.

“Not everyone has suicidal ideas.”

“She’s your friend.”

“She is,” he says slowly and dangerously, in a tone that even Percy in his angry state understands, because he goes quiet. “And I’m worried like everyone else at camp. But we can’t all go without an Oracle, and you know that. The quest has already been given, and you’re not part of it,” he hisses with force. Percy flushes with anger before growling.

“I’ll go alone.”

“Congratulations.”

They stare each other down, both clearly furious with each other. Percy had believed Draco would follow without hesitation, and Draco hadn’t expected that boy to see staying here as anything less than sensible.

If he wanted to go and put himself in danger, he could do it on his own. Draco was tired of these adventures.

Percy’s disappointed look, on the other hand, burns and aches somewhere deep inside.

“They look like an old married couple,” Nico whispered, looking uncomfortable at being left out. Percy and Draco turned to him in unison, irritated.

“We’re not!” they said at the same time, then looked at each other, growled, and Percy simply turned away.

“I’ll go alone. I’ll keep my promise, Nico.” He deliberately ignores them as he leaves, and Draco only growls with his arms crossed.

That idiot.

He doesn’t know why he ever thought he might like him. He’s just a spoiled idiot who loves being the center of attention and doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

“You should have gone with him,” Nico whispers.

“Close your mouth,” Draco growls in a foul mood — and for the first time, that’s exactly what Nico does.

The following day an alarm went off in camp because Percy Jackson had disappeared. Nobody seemed particularly surprised.

Draco was bitter about it.

.

.

Percy left, and everything fell to Draco — explaining to Sally that her son was on a mission, who on earth was Paul, dealing with Percy’s homework that landed on him, enduring full-time babysitting duty with Nico, and keeping Will at a safe distance so the two of them didn’t murder each other. His parents were clearly displeased when he told them there was a crisis at camp and he wouldn’t be returning on the planned date. His father in particular made it clear they would be having a long conversation when he returned, and at least Draco was certain he wasn’t going anywhere until Annabeth came back.

Two people might die.

Damn.

Lavender seemed somewhat worried when he called her through the Iris message and told her almost everything. Despite everything, she was friends with Annabeth, and it would all have been very sad — until Nico and Will appeared in the call.

“That’s so cool,” Nico said, pointing at the reflection. Will only grumbled that he was supposed to be in the strawberry fields.

“Babysitter?” Lavender asked in amusement.

Draco growled. Nico shoved Will, who shoved Draco, and he ended up in the mud for the third time that week.

He hated his life.

.

.

He tries to attend his riding lesson with Silena. Nico gets thrown into a bush by a horse. Will grumbles when forced to heal him.

Draco had not signed up for this.

.

.

At lunch he ends up with cheese sauce on his head from the food war between Nico and Will. He simply takes a deep breath before suggesting to Will that he should go back to the Apollo table, to which Will gives him the most illegally puppy-like eyes in existence.

He now has tomato sauce on him as well, courtesy of Nico.

Draco spends the entire lunch feeling tense, counting to a thousand to avoid committing murder.

.

.

He needs at least an hour of peace, so he goes to Michael in the Apollo cabin and hands Will over like a puppy — Will complains but is ignored. Then he goes to the Stoll brothers and hands over Nico, who also complains about being left alone. He promises to come back in an hour or two for Mythomagic, which works well enough. Then he runs — literally runs — to cabin ten, where Silena had been reorganizing a bit of her wardrobe. She looked pensive about something, though the moment she sees Draco her expression shifts to something warm and then amused as she listens to him complain.

“They’re two children — it shouldn’t be this hard. I know I was worse, but I’m genuinely considering throwing myself into a volcano,” he says in horror, after recounting the full story.

He grumbles when Silena holds up a garment, because even if it’s lovely, it doesn’t go at all with the skirt she’d been pointing at.

The Aphrodite cabin has impeccable taste in fashion. Draco is almost tempted to wish he were a child of Aphrodite, because someone as attractive as him should undoubtedly have a beauty deity as a divine parent. As far as he knew it could be Aphrodite — gender wasn’t much of an issue among wizards, and even less so among the Olympians. Though his mother had seemed to hint several times that his biological parent was male, which was a shame.

Silena’s silk clothing was exquisite.

“You’ll get used to it,” Silena says as though it’s already decided, and Draco pouts. “Don’t look at me like that — I’ve been here a while and sometimes the younger ones are trouble.” She gives him a long look that even he understands means herself at some point. “But it passes, and with luck you’ll find one of them with decent taste in fashion,” she says, smiling before placing a green wool hat on his head.

It feels warm and soft, and no doubt looks good on him. Now if only the camp T-shirt weren’t this particular shade of screaming orange.

He sighs before looking at Silena, who seems to be in a better mood — or at least both of them were, until a satyr came running in announcing that Nico was at the Big House with a leg wound.

Draco only growls before running, and Silena makes him promise they’ll continue their conversation tomorrow.

.

.

During the night he feels restless, probably because Nico doesn’t sleep well and talks until he physically can’t anymore. His bandaged leg keeps him immobile, but his mouth remains fully operational. Ignoring the fact that he practically has the cabin to himself, Will has come for a sleepover — apparently, despite his evident dislike of Nico, he doesn’t want to stray too far from Draco. The good thing is that Will is a decent healer and knows he can’t pester Nico while he’s injured. Draco is afraid to sleep, even though the day has been so busy — and included at least four baths thanks to the disasters caused by two problematic children. Sleeping only leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Is Percy alright?

He hopes so.

Though Annabeth worries him more.

He has his eyes closed when a voice comes from nowhere.

“It hurts. Artemis in trouble. My fault… Luke betrayed me again.”

His eyes snap open in alarm.

Was that…?

His breathing quickens, but then Nico’s good arm delivers a punch in his sleep, and at the same moment Will adjusts himself in his arms like a cat.

He sighs.

He looks toward the window where dawn seems to be approaching, feeling guilty. Maybe he should have gone with Percy after all.

.

.

An owl arrives in the morning. Travis makes several comments suggesting this might be a sign that he’s a son of Athena, but when they see there’s a letter, everyone looks confused. Draco growls and pushes everyone aside — especially Nico, who has now beaten him in all four Mythomagic matches they’ve played, which Draco still doesn’t fully understand. Last year his parents had noted that owls usually couldn’t make it through. He wonders what might have changed — either in the environment or in himself — to allow them in now. The letter turns out to be from Theo Nott, which makes him raise an eyebrow and quickly become curious, because as far as he knows the boy is still at Hogwarts, since Draco left a week early. It must be interesting information. Or problematic.

He opens the letter with curiosity.

No other owl had ever managed to reach here.

Why had Theo’s?

Draco,

I have received information that you will not be attending the annual New Year’s celebration at Malfoy Manor, as in previous years. This is curious, since you had assured me you would be there this year, which leads me to think you’re planning something.

Out of fear — Pansy’s — of feeding your obsession, which has admittedly been less of an obsession lately, Potter has been asking about you to some Slytherin students. The fact that you’ve changed a little doesn’t mean the rest of us will make things easy for Potter.

What did you do to him?

Besides saving his life, obviously.

Happy Christmas gift — I expect an Egyptian mythology book from you in return.

Theo Nott.

“Who’s Potter?” Nico asks from his back, making Draco groan.

“Who’s Theo?” is Will’s question from his other shoulder, looking at him with curiosity.

Draco tries to walk while looking for something to say, with Nico laughing on his back while Will tries to figure out how much he can carry of both of them. He isn’t sure whether it’s better or worse that the two of them are actually getting along relatively well that day.

“We should watch Star Wars. I’m fairly sure I can convince Chiron to lend me the television.”

“What’s Star Wars?” Nico seems genuinely curious at Will’s suggestion, which makes Will light up — literally, making both Nico and Draco applaud in astonishment.

Will looks embarrassed, admitting it’s a power he has as a son of Apollo.

“He can do more than you, Draco. You’re a bit useless,” Nico says with mortal seriousness, looking at Draco, then laughing when he sees his indignant expression.

Unlike other times, Will seems to take it more gently and laughs before starting to run, Nico following behind. Both of them stop when they see Draco isn’t following. Draco whimpers when they come back and each grab one of his arms before breaking into a run.

For someone who hurt his leg the previous day, Nico has an awful lot of energy.

.

.

Nico didn’t enjoy Star Wars very much.

Will seemed personally offended by that.

Draco is fairly certain he fell asleep in the middle of the first film, which led to Will and Nico jumping on his back to wake him up, the little menaces.

.

.

Though he usually stayed up late, two days since the Capture the Flag game without sleeping properly made him want to sleep twelve hours straight. He had never pitied parents more — having a child was not easy when that child was Nico di Angelo. Nico of course didn’t want to sleep, seeming annoyed that Chiron hadn’t allowed Will to spend another night in the Hermes cabin, leaving him alone while Draco stamped a book on his head and told him to read. During the dream he felt calm at first, then had the odd sensation of riding a boar, and then he swears he sees Ares.

It’s strange.

Like not being in his own body.

Then he saw her.

A woman.

But she was strange.

She seemed a little masculine — not greatly, but her short, tousled black hair looked familiar. Her skin was lightly bronzed and her eyes were a deep green. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and it was curious, because until a few seconds ago he had been fairly certain he had never felt attraction toward a girl.

For a moment.

He forgot his name. He forgot where he was. He forgot how to form normal sentences.

“Ah, you’re here, Percy,” said the goddess. “I’m Aphrodite.”

Draco came back to reality.

Wait a moment.

Percy?

He tried to move his hands or his face, but it was as though he were only a spectator trapped inside a body that settled into a chair in front of her and said something like:

“Ah… uh… um…”

She smiled.

It was beautiful.

Wait — that’s not the point.

Why was she calling him Percy?

What kind of dream was this?

“Aren’t you precious! Hold this for me, please.”

She handed him a bright mirror the size of a dinner plate to hold. She leaned forward and touched up her lips, even though they were already perfect.

“Do you know why you’re here?” she asked him.

Draco wanted to answer that he had no idea what he was doing here himself. If it were a dream it would be strange, to put it mildly. But as the fog began to clear he filled with panic. There was a bond between Percy and him — a strong one — and he was beginning to worry about just how far it reached.

Before his first year, he was almost certain he had dreamed about Percy once before meeting him.

Perhaps it had been a dream.

What if it hadn’t?

And what if this wasn’t a dream either?

He doesn’t understand how Percy at this moment could be sitting before Aphrodite on his quest, but the idea that Draco can somehow see all of this is terrifying.

The reach of the bond between them.

It was a little frightening.

“I… don’t know,” Percy’s voice came out as though it were his own. He had thought too much, idiot.

“Oh, my dear,” said Aphrodite. “Still in denial?”

It was difficult to separate his thoughts from Percy’s when he heard Ares laugh — Ares was there too? — and felt fury rise in him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Percy replied, obviously lying.

“Then why are you on this quest?”

“Artemis has been captured!”

She rolled her eyes.

Draco did so mentally, and felt Percy raise his hand to his own chest thoughtfully. He wondered if Percy had felt him.

“Artemis! Please! She’s a lost cause. I mean, if you were going to kidnap a goddess, you’d choose one with a certain enchanting beauty, wouldn’t you? I pity whoever has to guard Artemis. What a bore!”

“But she was hunting a monster,” he protested. “A truly terrible monster. We have to find it!”

Aphrodite made him hold the mirror a little higher. Apparently she had found a microscopic flaw near the corner of her eye and was now fixing her mascara.

“Always some monster… But, my dear Percy, that is everyone else’s reason for being on this quest. Your case interests me far more.”

His heart quickened. Percy didn’t want to answer, but his eyes dragged the answer from his lips.

“Annabeth is in trouble.”

Aphrodite smiled with satisfaction.

Draco felt his chest burn with awareness — a faint happiness, but also an uncomfortable sting of jealousy.

“Exactly!”

“I have to help her,” Percy said. “I’ve been having dreams—”

“You’ve even been dreaming about her! How precious!”

“No! I mean… that’s not what I meant.”

She clicked her tongue.

“Percy, I’m on your side. I’m the reason you’re here, after all.”

“What?”

“The poisoned T-shirt that the Stoll brothers gave to Phoebe — did you think that was an accident? And sending Blackjack to you? And helping you slip out of camp without being seen?”

“That was you?”

“Of course! Because honestly, these Hunters are incredibly dull. A monster hunt, blah, blah, blah. Save Artemis! Leave her where she is, for all I care. Now, a quest for love, on the other hand—”

“Wait, I never said—”

“Oh, my dear. You don’t need to say it. You knew Annabeth was thinking about joining the Hunters, didn’t you?”

Percy’s face went red, and Draco felt it, which made him smile with bitterness.

Percy didn’t want him. Had no feelings for him. That was probably for the best. They would only ever be friends, and the sooner he could rid himself of those emotions, the sooner everything would stop hurting.

“I didn’t know for certain—”

“She was about to throw her life away! And you, my dear, can save her from that fate. How romantic!”

“Uh—”

“You can put the mirror down now. I’m satisfied.”

“Listen, Percy,” said the goddess. “The Hunters are your enemies. Forget them, forget Artemis and the monster. None of that matters. Focus on finding and saving Annabeth.”

“Do you know where she is?”

Aphrodite gestured with irritation.

“No, no. I leave the details to you. It’s been an eternity since we’ve had a good tragic love story.”

“Hang on. First of all, I never mentioned love. And second, why does it have to be tragic?”

“Love conquers all,” she assured him. “Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything stand between them?”

“But didn’t they start the Trojan War and cause the deaths of thousands of people?”

Draco narrowed his eyes — or at least felt that he did. The story of the Iliad and the Odyssey was precisely what had helped him understand that the Olympians were idiots.

“Pfft! That’s beside the point. Follow your heart.”

“But… I don’t know where it’s going. My heart, I mean.”

She smiled, compassionately. She was truly beautiful. And not just because she had a pretty face or anything like that. She believed so deeply in love that it was impossible for your head not to spin when she spoke of it.

Draco hated Percy’s thoughts.

“Not knowing is part of the fun,” said Aphrodite. “Isn’t it exquisitely painful when you don’t know for certain who you love or who loves you? Ah, creatures! It’s so beautiful I could cry.”

“No, no,” Percy pleaded. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t worry,” she added. “I won’t make it easy or boring for you. I have some wonderful surprises in store. Heartache. Doubt. Just you wait—”

“That’s alright, thanks. Please don’t go to any trouble.”

“How adorable! How I wish all my daughters could break the heart of a boy like you!” Her eyes were growing dewy. “Now you had better be on your way. And be careful in my husband’s territory, Percy. Don’t take anything. He’s very particular about his trinkets and scrap metal.”

“What?” Percy said. “Do you mean Hephaestus?”

“One more thing,” said the goddess, with a smile that was almost shy. It wasn’t a smile like Percy’s — it was more like… when he was a ferret, he was fairly certain Potter had smiled that way. “Don’t worry, Draco Malfoy. Even though you are a mystery to most of us on Olympus, I assure you I have also prepared a worthy love story for you — full of romance and drama.” She smiled one last time.

“Hey! What?” For a second both Percy’s voice and his own rang out at the same time.

He felt Percy’s disbelief, before something expelled him from the dream with sudden force.

He landed on the floor of the Hermes cabin, while Nico rolled in what had been his bed. Face against the cold floor, he isn’t entirely sure how much of what just happened was a dream.

.

.

He decided to take a night walk.

He had a nightmare and just wants to rest for a while. With Nico claiming his entire bed, it seems easier to take a short stroll. He’s tempted to go to Chiron and explain the strange dream — that might not be a dream — and that somehow he had been sharing Percy’s body for a brief moment. He’s grateful that the harpies, while giving him looks, don’t try to eat him, since it isn’t very late yet.

Or perhaps they just don’t want to.

Both seem equally unlikely.

He drops into a stone chair in front of the bonfire, which, though the area is empty, appears to be lit — by some careless person who didn’t put it out. Though it’s not usually done, it’s said that Hestia likes bonfires.

He lets out a yawn, feeling suddenly somewhat restless.

Percy?

He doubts it. Less than an hour ago he was with Aphrodite — or was it half an hour? He can’t be sure, but he doubts it was soon enough for the boy to already be in trouble. At least the weight on his shoulders that had made him so uncomfortable earlier is gone.

“You look tired.” The voice makes him jump in alarm. He turns nervously and relaxes considerably when the strange red-haired girl is there, watching him with curiosity.

Where does this girl come from?

He shrugs, not making much of it.

Before anyone thinks that’s reckless, he is genuinely tired of the many supernatural things surrounding him — between being a half-blood demigod and a wizard. A red-haired girl hiding around the camp isn’t particularly unusual.

She must be a shy demigod.

Besides, he would have escaped Capture the Flag too, if he could.

“I have a child who won’t let me sleep and talks all day long. I know it’s karma, but I’m fairly certain I’ve helped the gods enough by now that they shouldn’t be torturing me like this,” Draco says, with a slightly dramatic sigh, which fortunately the girl takes with amusement.

She laughs, hugs her knees to her chest, and tilts her head.

He wishes Nico di Angelo were half as adorable as that girl, and half as quiet. She clearly doesn’t have an easy life, but she doesn’t make it obvious.

“Perhaps someone sent him to you. You both might have a great deal to learn from each other,” she says, sounding far too mature for an eight-year-old.

Draco frowns.

“I don’t want to learn patience that way.”

The girl lets out a light, melodic laugh.

It sounds good.

Pleasant to the ear.

“Perhaps you were both alone in a way that the other could help with. Or perhaps in the future you’ll be able to help each other. There are things not even the Olympians could see — but they could suppose,” the girl says, now smiling with something like amusement. Draco sighs.

Apollo’s words come back to him. Curious about what it meant that the prophecies couldn’t see him — and Aphrodite too had said he was a mystery.

Unlike his friends, he had never been to Mount Olympus.

Was he an anomaly in some way?

That didn’t sound good. While he usually loved being the center of attention, being the center of attention in these matters was not a positive thing.

It was dangerous.

Very dangerous.

His thoughts evaporated when the sensation of panic and dread began flooding him. It wasn’t Annabeth, and it wasn’t Lavender — but the feeling struck his chest with alarm. He was in a fight. Percy. He let out a small whimper and the girl looked concerned, dropping to his knees beside him as he gasped, feeling all of Percy’s emotions crash into him at once. He had never felt Percy so frightened, not even when Annabeth was captured, not even during the fight against the cyclops.

He was in danger.

Damn.

He was in real danger. He should have gone to help him. He should have stayed at Percy’s side.

What if he dies?

Two were destined to die, the Oracle said. If Percy died and Draco felt it through the bond — a world without Percy Jackson. His body went cold at the thought. He had been quite selfish in refusing to go on the mission with Percy, tired of having to do the heavy lifting for others, especially the Olympians. Tired of having to trail after Percy, pulling him out of danger or being saved himself, because his friend preferred reckless missions over spending time with him.

He had come these holidays to see him, but Percy had dragged him straight into a mission.

Now he regrets it.

His eyes grow wet, and he doesn’t care if his emotions accidentally trigger a faint burst of accidental magic glowing around him. It doesn’t usually happen at Camp Half-Blood, but his own feelings are drowning him.

“Ah. So that’s why your father hides you.” Small, soft hands lift his face. He was sliding into panic, but looking into the warm eyes of the eight-year-old girl calms him, for just a moment, as strange as that is. “You are a mystery to everyone, but I understand now that perhaps it is better they don’t know the truth, or it will be chaos again — like the Trojan War all over again,” she says, gently stroking his cheeks.

Draco chokes as Percy’s panic surges, but looks at the girl with a sharp gasp.

“Who are you?” he asks, barely breathing.

The girl smiles.

Then he can see it — he wonders whether the girl can also see the dark blue thread in front of them both, appearing to come from his chest and vanishing into the distance, as if its other end were very far away.

“I’m going to help you. This isn’t something that isn’t destined to happen in the future — I’m only moving some things forward. It may be a little more powerful because of the blood in your veins, but I know you’ll make good use of it once you learn to control it. For now, I’ll lend you a hand.” Her voice is almost cheerful for a moment as she looks at the thread, the same as Draco, while Percy’s suffocating fear only intensifies — he’s in danger, and Draco is aching to be there and help him. “Hold the thread, Draco. It will guide you. No one can see it exactly, but I want to believe in a bright future for you. Because today I have chosen you as my hero. My champion,” the girl says, gently taking his hands and guiding them toward the thread. Draco has a hundred questions.

But she only smiles with excitement when he touches the thread and he feels a tug from within.

One very similar to what he feels when he uses a portkey, or when his father has side-along apparated with him.

It’s impossible.

He has no time to think. He only sees the girl’s face for a moment, and then he isn’t there anymore.

.

.

Draco crashes before reaching the end of the thread. It’s as though something blocked his path, or perhaps the nerves of apparently apparating without having the faintest idea how to do so. Everything may have gone wrong because he’s a thirteen-year-old child rather than a sixth-year Hogwarts student who’s just barely learned to apparate. He crashes into something that seems to be metal, grumbles as he hits the floor, and everything is unbearably hot — like being inside an oven.

“What on earth are you doing here?” shouts a sharp voice he doesn’t recognize at first. When he looks up after vomiting — of course he was going to vomit from that journey — he finds himself looking at the incredulous face of Bianca di Angelo.

Wait.

Bianca?

It worked.

He apparated directly to where Percy and the mission team were. He may not have landed beside Percy to help him directly, but Percy can’t be too far if—

He stops that thought when he takes in his surroundings. It seems like some sort of metal chamber — like a control room. Like those places where everything is monitored, the kind from films or video games — he doesn’t fully understand them. Percy isn’t good at them either, though Sally laughed at both of them when she beat them at Mario Party by stealing their star. It wouldn’t be so bad if warning lights weren’t flashing everywhere.

What he had thought was dizziness from the apparition turned out to be because wherever they were was in motion.

Where was he?

He shrieks when the space lurches to the left, then the right. Something that seems like an enormous fist punches through the wall nearby.

“Where the hell are we?!” Draco shrieks in disbelief, just as something like an explosion sounds and everything spins again.

Damn.

They’re going to die.

Two people would die on the quest, the Oracle had said. For a moment it seemed like it was going to be the two of them.

Bianca shrieks when the space lurches again and falls against him. Their heads collide and he gets a sharp headache, which he ignores as another explosion sounds and for a moment the ceiling seems ready to fall on them. He stops thinking for a second and tries to remember what the girl told him, attempting to picture a blue thread, but he can’t find it. Around him he can see many threads of different colors, some almost transparent and seeming to have no end.

Not blue.

The ceiling is coming down and it’s going to crush them. Draco instinctively grabs Bianca and takes the first thread he sees — nearly transparent, but with a faint reddish tinge.

A warm shade of red he has never seen before.

The void inside him says he is apparating again.

.

.

He hits the ground with force, because he still hasn’t had any lessons and managing two apparitions must be a miracle in itself. He is a demigod and has never truly felt exhausted, but right now he is completely drained, without a single gram of magic left in his body. He trembles before trying to vomit, but then what seems like a blizzard slams him against the ground. Snow — he’s not surprised; it’s winter. But everything around him is white. He freezes almost immediately and is simply grateful that no wall or ceiling is going to fall on him right now.

He hears a gasp for air and turns to find Bianca groaning against the snow-covered ground.

She has a warmer jacket than the orange camp T-shirt Draco used to sleep in, or his joggers. He’s horribly alone in a pair of any old trainers he’d worn for his nighttime walk. He shudders, thinking of the coat beside the bed that he’d simply ignored because he thought it would be stupid to delay himself over something so trivial.

It wasn’t trivial now.

It was cold.

Very cold.

“C-cold,” he stutters, his teeth chattering. Bianca finally manages to get to her knees, somewhat disoriented, but also clearly trembling. When she gets to her feet she walks toward him and offers him a hand.

If he were somewhere warm, back at camp, he would have pushed it away with a look of disgust. He takes it and hugs her, even as she protests, because he is far too cold and his body is rattling.

“How did you do that? Where are we?” she asks, pulling him closer. Both of them walk unsteadily through what appears to be a snowy forest. “You may have just saved our lives, but we’re going to die of hypothermia and I’m not going to thank you if that’s the case,” she adds, now panicked, cold, and a little angry.

He gives her a withering look. Ungrateful little menace.

Before he can complain, something barks and draws both their attention. When they look up, a large black dog watches them from a distance. The cold must be making him delirious, because he swears it’s the same dog he gave a bit of food to before leaving for home a few days ago.

It feels like a lifetime.

Bianca, however, starts walking toward it. Draco follows, shivering, and as they walk everything seems to grow even more unfamiliar.

The dog barks when they fall too far behind. It may have been moments, or hours — but when they finally reach what looks like an old cottage, the dog is gone, and Draco freezes.

It’s impossible, he thinks in horror, when the door opens and a very large man steps out. The man looks at them and goes completely still.

“Draco Malfoy?” is the question that falls from Hagrid’s lips.

The groundskeeper of Hogwarts.

Because this cannot be happening.

If it were true, that would mean that when he apparated, he arrived somewhere that could be just a few kilometers from Hogwarts — a place it is impossible to apparate to — and more importantly, on the other side of a continent. Bianca, who was helping him walk given that she is an immortal girl with far warmer clothing than him, makes a sound of surprise.

It doesn’t matter.

He is very sleepy.

“Wait, Draco—” He hears Bianca say something else, but his body stops responding to him. He just needs a little sleep.

A little.

He falls unconscious into the girl’s arms, and has a strange dream of a black dog that transforms — into Annabeth crying in a cave — and he almost seems to see Percy desperately searching through a pile of scrap and junk before beginning to cry.

Chapter Text

Unlike the “dream” where he had watched Percy speak with Aphrodite, he now finds himself in a strange place — something like a celestial hall with many thrones and people sitting in them, all slightly blurred as though a mist hangs over everything. He had seen Annabeth’s drawings of how she described Mount Olympus out of curiosity, and it gave him an idea of what this place might be.

Being a demigod might surprise you at first, but in the end everything always comes back to the Olympians.

Someone was saying something. It was very hard to understand, and Draco feels as though he’s swimming through fog.

“It’s an anomaly — my prophecies have never been wrong, but it appears his presence caused this one to fail,” said one voice, sounding somewhat indignant, before being quickly silenced by another.

A woman.

“Look who’s talking. Didn’t you help that group of children travel quickly by train?”

“Well, but my little sister—”

“SILENCE!” A voice rose above the rest, thunderous as a falling lightning bolt, and Draco covered his invisible ears. “We are not here to discuss that half-blood. We are in the middle of an important meeting, and if Artemis does not present herself soon, we will have to take a side with or without her.”

Then everything went blurry. He fell onto his back, everything dark, and a woman’s laughter somewhere far away.

.

.

He gasps when something wet hits his face. He grumbles before shivering, still cold, and is startled to find Bianca in front of him, looking clearly worried. They’re in a small room with a fireplace, and Draco already considers it the best place in the world. There’s an enormous fur coat — not his size, but fur nonetheless, which is more than enough to keep him from freezing to death. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Hagrid sitting uncomfortably on a chair by the fire, with the stupid dog at his side that had once accompanied him to the Forbidden Forest during his detention in first year.

“Thank the gods you woke up. You were unconscious for an hour and we really need to leave. Now,” the girl growls, with evident irritation.

Draco curses as he sits up, still shivering but more alert.

He wants to demand she thank him for the fact that they’re alive, but he settles for grumbling as he gets to his feet on legs that are somewhat numb.

He pushes the dream aside.

There’s no time for that.

Strange things always happen to him. Curiously, that itself isn’t so strange anymore.

“Are we at Hogwarts?” he asks, glancing at Hagrid, who nods, looking just as confused as they are. Draco grumbles before looking at Bianca.

Of all the places he could have ended up, he doesn’t know whether this is the worst or the best.

He had seen a red thread.

He doesn’t know what that means.

Bianca’s face demands an explanation he doesn’t want to give. Until now only Percy knows who he truly is, and apparently he’ll have to explain to this girl who he is — though before that there are many things to figure out.

The first is how to get out of here.

His parents.

That’s all he knows. Though he’ll have to explain a great many things about why he needs to get back to the United States — and also why he’s on this side of the world in the first place.

“Right — we need Severus,” Draco decides with a nod, since that was the first step. He has no fondness for Hagrid the groundskeeper, but the man had done him a favor by saving his hippogriff that attacked him. Though technically that debt is now settled, since Hagrid has just saved them from freezing to death.

Details.

“Professor Snape is in his quarters. I could take you.” The groundskeeper begins, still confused, but Draco shakes his head.

“We need to avoid drawing attention. Just as I said nothing about your killer chicken, I’d very much appreciate it if you said nothing about having seen us.” It should be a request, though it comes out more like an order. He watches the giant’s face twitch at the mention of the hippogriff.

But he nods.

Good.

Perhaps he’s not a complete idiot after all.

He takes off the coat, shuddering immediately, remembering that there should be some clothing down in the dungeons. It doesn’t matter now. His head also won’t stop throbbing, and it feels as though he barely has the energy to walk.

“Thank you for this.” It’s a poor-quality coat, it smells awful, but it was warm and it saved him from hypothermia.

The giant takes it hesitantly, but before he can say anything more, Draco is already heading out, with a Bianca who makes a small bow of thanks before following. If he was unconscious for an hour, he supposes they talked about something during that time — though he prefers the image of them spending an hour watching him sleep until they were forced to wake him up.

It’s nighttime here, though dawn is approaching if the light is anything to go by. He grumbles at the number of steps between here and Hogwarts. There’s no blizzard, but it’s cold enough that he’s fairly certain certain parts of his anatomy have retreated in protest. They enter the castle, which fortunately has no harpies on watch duty. He thinks he hears a wolf howl in the distance — the thought passes through his head without registering as important.

He has things to do.

What does one stupid wolf matter?

“The man spoke about wizards,” Bianca says when silence falls between them as they move quickly but quietly through the corridors.

He curses the groundskeeper.

He couldn’t keep that information to himself.

The brief moment of solidarity he’d felt for the man evaporates.

“Did he?” He tries to sound indifferent. Bianca simply sighs.

“He asked if I went to the American wizarding school when I explained where we were coming from — before he realized we seemed to be in the United Kingdom.” Draco continues cursing the loose-lipped giant internally. “I told him I was a half-blood. He seemed to think I was — I’m not sure what. I’m not an expert in these things. But I didn’t know wizards existed,” Bianca murmurs, with a surprise that holds something of her younger brother’s guilelessness in it. Draco only smiles tensely.

That’s because she wasn’t supposed to know.

Amos told him that the wizarding world must remain hidden. His mother warned him never to say he was a wizard. If Percy knows, it’s because of the bond.

And now Bianca.

The girl he dislikes most — even more than Clarisse, who has recently moved into the category of pleasant acquaintances he can practice his spearwork with.

“Because nobody is supposed to know — demigods can’t know about them, and you mustn’t say anything, or I’ll have to silence you,” he growls in a low, threatening voice. Bianca looks at him, unimpressed.

Yes.

Between the two of them, she’s the immortal one. His brain reminds him.

Shut up, useless brain.

Some footsteps make him curse. If it were Filch he’d be in serious trouble, but if it were a professor doing their rounds, he could only pray it was Severus. To his misfortune it turns out to be neither — with his stupid glasses and a lit wand held up, Harry Potter appears at the worst possible moment.

Damn.

There’s a dead silence, before Potter flinches and when Draco turns, he winces to see Bianca pointing a bow and arrow at him.

“Really?” he asks in disbelief. Bianca flushes slightly and lowers the bow.

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

Force of habit after three days?

Doesn’t matter.

“Malfoy.” His name on Potter’s lips sounds almost like a question. “I thought you’d gone for the holidays — not that I’d been keeping track,” the boy adds quickly, looking embarrassed, tucking into his pocket what appears to be an old piece of parchment.

Yes.

He was supposed to not be here, and he supposes that by morning everyone will know.

You know what — he doesn’t care.

Though Percy’s worry seems to be diminishing, there’s now a great weight of grief in his chest and he can’t talk to him. Apparently neither he nor Bianca has a drachma on them, and he left nothing in his Hogwarts room because he hadn’t thought it would be necessary.

Everything is at Camp Half-Blood.

New rule.

Even in pajamas, he must always have a drachma on him.

“It’s none of your business, Potter. We’re just passing through,” he says with bitterness. Bianca nods, eager to leave.

Then Potter looks at him — really looks — and Draco goes pale. He can only imagine what he looks like: the camp T-shirt, the joggers, a pair of worn trainers, his hair unstyled, his skin pale from cold. His lips must be blue or purple. And—

Does he have a black eye?

Probably.

He’d hit his head when he fell beside Bianca against a wall.

But most importantly.

He must look like a muggle. A wounded muggle, very similar to a demigod after being in the middle of a mission he was never called to.

“Draco,” Bianca hisses, gesturing for him to move. But he can’t.

He feels humiliated for some reason.

Of all the people in the world, the very last one he wanted to see him like this was Saint Potter. He was tempted to throw himself off the tallest tower in the castle.

He took a step, wanting to leave, but before he could do anything his legs gave way. It’s Bianca who quickly catches him by the waist, and he curses as she puts one of his arms over her shoulders to keep him upright. The magic deficit is still palpable — though now that he knows he traveled across an entire continent doing it, he’s not particularly surprised to have not a gram of magic left.

He’s sleepy again.

Very sleepy.

Bianca’s fist connects with his cheek and he whimpers in pain.

“That wasn’t necessary,” he grumbles, tears stinging his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I panicked — but you can’t fall asleep. We need to get to San Francisco as quickly as possible, and I doubt you can do your magic trick again,” the girl says, looking genuinely guilty about having hit him.

Idiotic knuckle-dragger. No wonder Nico is the menace he is.

“San Francisco?” Potter asks. They ignore him.

“Where’s this Severus you keep mentioning?” Bianca says, alarmed, trying to hurry him along. Before Draco can point the way, a deliberate cough makes everyone turn.

Draco could weep with relief to see Snape walking toward them — then freezes when he notices McGonagall is with him, looking horrified at the sight of all three of them.

Well, yes.

Draco technically shouldn’t be here.

And Bianca.

Right.

This just got complicated.

.

.

There’s a systematic scolding for all three of them. Bianca seems increasingly stressed and nearly tempted to fight her way out, until Draco’s look calms her. He begged to contact his parents first before the reprimand, since it was an emergency — but even so, Professor McGonagall managed to scold all three of them on the way to the headmaster’s tower. Especially Potter, for not respecting the curfew during the holidays. The boy seems resigned to it, but he keeps glancing at them sideways, and Draco keeps walking with Bianca’s help. They were nearly taken to the hospital wing, but both demigods had pleaded to see the headmaster first.

They need to leave now.

Albus looks mildly surprised to see them. His eyes move quickly to Potter, then for the first time in three years, Draco realizes the man’s primary attention is on him — then on Bianca. He narrows his eyes as though noticing something unusual about the girl, who simply sits with her body held taut.

As though she senses his power. Or his danger.

Albus Dumbledore is the most dangerous and powerful wizard in the room.

Bianca is a Hunter — she must feel something of that strength in him.

In the end it’s McGonagall who is instructed to contact his parents, though she huffs somewhat when she goes to do so.

Severus stays.

Wonderful.

“What a surprise, young Malfoy. As I understand it, your parents arranged for you to be home early this holiday,” the old man says, and Draco smiles tensely. “I see there’s a young lady I haven’t met before — a charming surprise, though I’m afraid I’ll need to speak with her guardians. Entering Hogwarts without permission isn’t permitted,” he explains patiently, without seeming particularly upset by the intrusion.

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Severus scorching him with a glare, and Draco shrinks in his seat.

“It was… an emergency,” the girl says, mildly awkwardly. It isn’t bad — given everything she knows, she’s managing admirably.

Draco feels restless inside. He can almost feel Percy’s question through the bond — Percy is still bitter with grief, but seems desperate to focus on something else. Sadly this is a terrible moment to try to communicate. Percy must be desperate to feel Draco through the bond, to sense him somehow and seek comfort.

Not now.

He pushes Percy’s thoughts aside with some force. The last thing he feels from him is resentment.

Percy probably thinks Bianca is dead or missing.

Damn.

He has so much to do, but right now he needs to think quickly.

Well, when there’s no time to plan a lie, what’s left is to tell the truth in a somewhat intricate way.

“I went to America for the holidays with my friends,” Draco says quickly, immediately becoming the center of everyone’s attention. Potter’s eyes are fixed on him, which makes him flinch a little. He holds the same pleasant smile he used when speaking with Hades all that time ago. If he could manage Hades, Albus was nothing — and that gives him the confidence he needs. “Bianca is a half-blood. She’s been studying at home, but then it was proposed that she work with my former tutor — the one who taught me during my second year — because her parents are dead.” He hasn’t said so many outright lies, but they’re hidden within truth.

She is a half-blood, just not the kind they’re imagining.

“A tutor?” His headmaster is somewhat dry — he doesn’t even offer a token apology for Bianca’s dead parents.

Nobody seems to notice.

Good.

He smiles, because knowing your opponent is the best way to form a strategy.

That he didn’t ask about Bianca’s dead parents. That he didn’t ask about how they came to be here. That he didn’t seem to care whether Draco was injured or not.

It’s interesting, learning more about the headmaster.

His father had been right. The man was warm to those he chose to be warm to, but he was undeniably someone to be treated with caution.

“Amos Kane.” He says it with a smile. For an instant Dumbledore’s face flickered with recognition and something like unease, which made Draco smile inwardly. Amos would probably help him if he begged, but the man was oddly difficult to reach and tended to be the one who sought others out rather than the reverse. “An Egyptian wizard — do you know him?” he asks, in an almost affable tone.

Bianca’s sideways look is inquisitive. He can feel it. He keeps his focus on Albus.

“A remarkable man. Though it’s curious that he would take a pupil — the House of Life is very selective about its secrets.”

“He’s an excellent teacher. He taught me quite a few things, and well — a small incident sent us into an involuntary apparition just outside the Hogwarts grounds.”

It’s not entirely a lie.

When he felt a faint flicker in his mind, he immediately blocked it with Occlumency, incredulous that Albus was attempting to read him — and somewhat fascinated. He was surprised by how easily the skill settled in his head, easier than he had ever felt it before. He wonders if it has something to do with being a demigod. The man smiled pleasantly when he felt the barriers. Draco took Bianca’s hand, gently ensuring she looked at him rather than at Albus. When he shares a look with the girl, he doesn’t know whether she understands or not.

But she simply keeps staring at their joined hands with something like distaste.

Hunters, he thinks in mild irritation.

He wants to announce that he only likes boys, but this is not the moment.

“That’s quite a considerable distance,” Severus says, looking genuinely concerned, to which Draco gives him a slight smile that grows a little more weary, because he is genuinely exhausted.

Percy.

Thoughts of his friend worry him.

Now he’s worrying about Nico too — when the boy wakes up and doesn’t find him there. He’s only had the responsibility of that child for two days and already he’s worried. Will too will go into chaos when he isn’t found. Without his intervention, those two could very well kill each other.

He shifts nervously.

“I probably don’t have a single gram of magic left right now,” he admits aloud, with a smile, sharing a look with Bianca who smiles back in the same manner. “Which is why I wanted to speak with my parents — they can sort everything out.” The slight squeeze he gives Bianca’s hand seems to settle her a little.

Albus watches him steadily, then shares a look with Severus, who appears to sigh with the weariness of someone already anticipating a very long conversation, and—

The office door flies open.

Everyone jumps — except Dumbledore — as Narcissa Malfoy strides in with a decisive and commanding expression, as though she owns the place. Behind her comes a slightly tired Lucius — at least if you know him well enough to read him — who looks mildly astonished that Draco is genuinely there. He had probably assumed it was some kind of bad joke.

His mother runs to embrace him, and Draco melts into her arms and hugs her back with feeling.

“Mum,” he whispers, and Narcissa pulls back to cup his cheek. Her hand passes gently over his bruised eye and she looks full of worry. “It’s alright, Mum — it was a small accident, but it’s better discussed at home. Soon,” he adds with a sideways glance at Bianca, who, like Potter, watches the exchange with something between surprise and longing in their eyes.

He doesn’t have time to analyze things today, and his head aches.

“Of course, my little dragon — we’re leaving right now,” the woman says confidently, rising to her feet but rather than releasing him, simply holding him firmly against her side.

She notices Bianca, blinking in surprise.

Bianca smiles awkwardly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy,” she says clumsily. Draco gives her a dark look, because when they first met, this sycophant had treated him as barely passable at best.

“Your girlfriend?” Lucius asks curiously, as he comes forward.

Bianca’s expression of horror perfectly mirrors Draco’s.

“Of course not,” Draco says at the same time that Bianca looks indignant and says, “I would never date him.” Which offends him for some reason.

“There are strong rumors that he’s with Miss Brown,” Severus comments, and Draco knows perfectly well the man said it only to make his life difficult, or to collect payment for whatever involvement this little situation will require of him.

Bianca looks at him in amusement. Draco goes red with disbelief.

Lucius makes a face — probably not pleased about that particular prospect — and Narcissa looks as though she doesn’t believe it for a moment.

“She’s just my best friend. We’re not together,” he squawks, slightly flustered. Albus gives a small cough, and Draco hears Potter whisper something like “they’re always together” — he scorches the boy with a glare, and Potter has the decency to turn away, flushed with embarrassment at having spoken aloud. “Can we go now?” he asks impatiently, meeting his father’s eyes. Lucius shares a quick glance with Narcissa before nodding.

His body relaxes. Good — that means they’ve cleared the first major hurdle.

When he gets to his feet, he takes Bianca’s hand. She simply watches him steadily before nodding and taking it in return.

A truce, he supposes.

He doesn’t have many options.

As the headmaster kindly offers them the Floo Network, he hears Professor McGonagall speaking to Potter.

“Oh no, Mr. Potter — you will be receiving a punishment for being out of your dormitory at this hour of the night.” That is the last thing he hears as they step into the fireplace.

Good.

At least something went right today.

.

.

Narcissa sits them both in the sitting room, where, after one uncomfortable moment, Draco quickly recounts the beginning of the story, and Bianca takes over when it’s her turn to describe the mission. Skipping past the encounter with Luke, a man they call the General, the part where they rode on top of a boar, and the fact that they were literally inside a giant robot — they paused to explain the term to his parents — that nearly crushed them when Draco apparated in.

“He saved my life,” Bianca admits, with slightly less reluctance than usual. His mother turns to look at him, alarmed.

Clearly, she has no desire to hear about all the adventures and missions he’s been through up to now. He is usually vague about it, but she needs to understand the dangers they have faced.

“Now we need to get to San Francisco,” Draco adds, confused about why that location specifically, but shrugging in the face of the things they encounter.

Narcissa speaks quickly.

“No,” she says firmly. Draco curses internally and Bianca becomes agitated. “You were close to death. Draco, that place was supposed to be safe — I am not sending you back there.” And that is exactly why he never told her about ending up in the Underworld during his first mission, or about fighting cyclopes and other monsters the previous summer.

“Mrs. Malfoy—” Bianca tries, but Narcissa is stubborn. Draco knows because he inherited that from her.

She looks worried — both for Draco and, surprisingly, for Bianca.

“You should both stay here. It’s dangerous for you to go back. I’ll speak to that centaur and tell him I’m not letting you go,” she says with firm dignity, though clearly exasperated at the lack of safety measures.

Bianca sends Draco a panicked look. He nods.

“Percy is in danger, Mother.”

“I know he’s a good boy, but—”

“He’s my bond.” From the look on Bianca’s face, he knows he’ll have a great deal to explain to her about that as well. His mother falls silent. “We don’t know what might happen to me if something happens to him. I want to go to him. I want to help him and help the others. Annabeth has disappeared. If I’d acted sooner, we might all be safe with them now.” Or dead with Bianca — he doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter.

His mother’s face turns thoughtful, clearly not ready to surrender, until it’s Lucius who lets out a sigh and rises to his feet, drawing everyone’s attention.

His gaze fixes on Bianca.

“Miss di Angelo, you’ll understand that we need you to swear by anything sacred to you that you will never reveal the truth about my son Draco. It is dangerous for his world to know that an Olympian fathered a child with a witch or wizard.” His tone is professional, almost contractual, and everyone seems confused by it.

Bianca especially, who nods with some fear.

“Draco saved my life.” She glances sideways at the boy, who only huffs with a slight blush of embarrassment. “I don’t know much about this world, but I can swear as the Hunters taught me,” she says shyly, before taking a breath and meeting their eyes with resolve. “I swear on the River Styx that I will not reveal the truth of Draco Malfoy’s birth.” It is a genuinely weighty oath, Draco thinks, watching her in surprise.

Oaths of that kind are extraordinarily binding — nearly fatal if broken, or so Chiron had explained.

He stares at her, astonished.

Bianca remains composed, and she doesn’t take back her word.

Lucius watches her with mild curiosity before looking at Draco for a moment, then nodding.

“Very well — then get up. We’ll need to go to the Ministry for an emergency portkey. And fill out paperwork.” He seems almost resigned at that last part. Narcissa rises in disbelief.

“Lucius.” It sounds like a rebuke. But he simply walks to Draco and places a hand on his shoulder.

Draco swallows, nervous.

“Promise me you’ll come back after New Year’s.” His voice sounds a little tired, but Draco only blinks before stepping forward to hug him tightly, and his father doesn’t pull away.

He doesn’t say anything about how undignified Draco looks. He doesn’t scold him for wearing muggle clothes. He doesn’t label him as someone needing protection. He’s trusting him.

“It’s a promise,” Draco whispers. When Lucius touches his face, he smiles brilliantly.

.

.

Mr. Baddock, who usually helped him in moments like these, blinked in surprise when they all appeared at the Ministry in the small hours of the morning. His mother seemed indignant that they couldn’t even stay one night, and Draco insisted they needed the fastest possible route. He was probably going to be grounded until he came of age, but it didn’t matter. Mr. Baddock is some kind of divine creature in his own right, because even though Draco technically should not have re-entered London, and their mass apparition should have flagged every anomaly detector in existence, nothing seems to register.

Well.

He obtains another slightly illegal portkey. Lucius shrugs and says he has money. Bianca’s mouth hangs open for most of the walk through the Ministry.

“Send word the moment it’s all over — or I swear, Draco Malfoy, I will come to America myself, and you will not enjoy what follows,” is his mother’s warning before she gives him an enormous hug, which Draco returns with a smile.

His father pats his shoulder, and he’s surprised when Narcissa also hugs Bianca, inviting her to visit the manor whenever she can. She seems fascinated by the idea of the Hunters, which earns a huff from Lucius before both his parents stand watching as the portkey activates and sends them to New York.

Good.

Now they only need to cross half the country.

Though Draco has an idea.

“Maybe we should go to camp first, to let them know we’re alive,” Draco says, using his wand — which he’s only permitted to use around Bianca, or Percy, since no one else can know he’s a wizard — to summon the Enchanted Carriage. Bianca looks uncertain before getting in, and after he explains why only she can be told — nobody else can know he’s a wizard — she accepts it.

They won’t take them all the way, regardless.

The driver informs them that all routes are blocked into San Francisco because there seems to be some kind of disturbance in one of the areas, and the furthest he can go is Las Vegas. Draco gives a grumbling nod, thinking he’ll need to work out how to get to San Francisco from there on his own. He also wonders what kind of Mist surrounds the area that prevents them from getting closer.

Bianca is tense, but her bow is held firmly. Draco knows he at least has his spear.

He hasn’t managed to get any drachmas at the manor — they’re all at camp, and he hates himself for it. He hadn’t planned ahead, though in his defense, apparating across the world hadn’t seemed like a realistic prospect a few hours ago. But at least he has obtained clothing and a bath — very much against Bianca’s wishes to rush everything along — something comfortable for a fight and a jacket, because he is not dying of cold again. His bag is packed quickly by his mother and they have food, which he shares with Bianca as the carriage moves with some roughness.

It will take an hour.

The time seems absurd, but it’s a magic carriage.

“They must be well ahead by now. We need to catch up. I have to help them.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“I stole the figurine. It was my fault. If someone died back there, it was my fault.”

Draco nods. He won’t lie to her — that had been very much her fault, and now she’s living with the guilt. At least Percy is still alive if the bond means anything. He feels that if someone were going to die, he’d feel it somehow. Which doesn’t really help. Right now he has to deal with a girl only slightly younger than him who is carrying guilt she can barely look at.

Since when is it Draco’s responsibility to look after younger children?

He really needs to have a serious conversation with Chiron about this.

“We all do stupid things. Don’t think about it too much — it was a mistake. Just don’t do it again,” he says, indifferently.

In fact, he’s glad she made that mistake. Even though it nearly killed them both, it makes him think that Bianca did care about Nico after all. She may have been selfish — and she even put everyone in danger for her brother — but Draco is the kind of selfish person who can be glad of that.

Bianca smiles in amusement, as though she can read his thoughts.

For the rest of the journey, Draco talks about his family, because Bianca doesn’t seem to remember much of anything before the casino. The girl seems a little confused by wizarding terms, and Draco finds himself explaining things that even a muggle-born child would already know.

“Do you like Harry Potter? Because you mention him a lot,” Bianca says when they step out of the carriage.

Draco stares at her in indignation.

Why does everyone say that?

Ignore that.

Right now they’re in Las Vegas and have nothing to work with.

.

.

He had kept the Lotus Hotel card as a souvenir — Annabeth had left it behind, and by some miracle Draco had it at Malfoy Manor and was able to bring it along. A taxi to San Francisco could take up to nine hours. The driver gives him a withering look, but when the card is presented again it’s accepted without much fuss. He verifies it works, and that is more than enough.

They could fly, but Draco flagged that as a bad idea.

Zeus is not particularly friendly when strangers enter his domain.

“That’s a lot of years,” Draco admits, as Bianca explains a little of her history at the casino with Nico.

It’s nine hours. They burned through most conversation topics in the first hour — favorite colors, favorite weapons, Percy’s stupid missions, the terrible education system of Long Island — and had stopped at McDonald’s because the driver was also hungry. He did some quick mental arithmetic and worked out that was approximately seventy-three years stolen from the children, which explains why Nico looked confused every time Will jumped excitedly at some piece of technology.

He had thought Nico was just being odd like himself.

But this was a strange new level of odd.

He didn’t want to feel so much empathy for a girl he had hated mere days ago — but certain things forced on you in fewer than twenty-four hours tend to bring people together, willingly or otherwise. It had been somewhat similar with Nico, who had ended up in his care even though nobody had wanted it that way. With others like Will, Annabeth, and Percy, everything had been more natural and organic.

Strange, in its own way.

“The world is bigger than I imagined,” Bianca says, looking out the window with a strange sense of nostalgia. Draco nods.

“I know.”

The girl glances at him sideways before smiling.

Draco thinks about the first time he stepped into Camp Half-Blood, and how after that day everything had only kept growing. He looks out the taxi window and accepts Bianca’s offer to let him sleep the first hour, but after closing his eyes and dreaming of Grover shouting something like “burrito war” while throwing food, he wakes up and tells Bianca he doesn’t want to sleep for a while.

.

.

Mount Tamalpais. Draco raised his face when the taxi driver left them almost five kilometers away, because the Mist was thick and this was as close as the money could tempt him. They climbed out in an somewhat unusual fashion — the trip had been extended by food stops and bathroom breaks, but now that they were here, he wondered where everyone else might be. Were they already up there? Bianca pulled out her bow while Draco summoned his spear as they started walking quickly toward the place. It was the last location Zoë had mentioned to Bianca as their destination, and Draco supposed his friends had probably had a less complicated journey here — perhaps because Bianca was listed as missing.

Dead?

They didn’t even know Draco was here.

He wondered what Nico and Will were thinking. What the rest of camp was thinking. He had promised Silena they would go flying together — she hadn’t stopped talking about a boy from the Hephaestus cabin. Curious, he had thought she and Clarisse were — well, it doesn’t matter now.

The closer they got to the mountain, the larger it seemed.

Percy felt distracted and tense, but hadn’t tried to send him any kind of emotion, and Draco was simply too tired or too occupied to do so either.

“There’s a white ship — it looks like the one the human was on,” Bianca says when they spot the nearby water.

Luke.

They had found Luke again.

Draco shuddered. A storm was advancing faster than it should — but the weather couldn’t disguise it. The Princess Andromeda.

Luke’s ship.

“We need to hurry,” Draco said quickly, and Bianca tensed at his side, falling into a run with him.

That was the plan.

Until a skeleton appeared — a literal skeleton, barely any flesh on it — and Draco had wanted to shriek in alarm. The skeleton lunged at them, but rather than killing him, it simply put a hand over his mouth. He didn’t scream, because opening his mouth would have meant touching the bone, and just feeling it was already bad enough. Bianca, for her part, only growled when another skeleton did the same to her — but rather than attacking, they simply pointed at her head.

Which was glowing.

Wait.

She was being claimed.

Right now?

Draco gave her a look that was rather heavily loaded with jealousy, because even the new children were claimed before Draco, and— he froze when, after a few moments, he recognized the symbol hovering over Bianca’s head.

“What’s happening?”

“Hades.”

“Hades what?”

“He’s claiming you. Right now. That useless idiot is claiming you now, and—” Draco stops talking as the skeletons throw them both into some bushes. There are footsteps — people who appear to belong to Luke, or monsters that advance almost like silent shadows.

Right.

Setting aside Bianca whimpering with no idea what’s happening.

Better this way.

The important thing is that the skeletons seem to be on their side. He curses Hades in the Underworld, remembering their conversation a few summers ago, and however ridiculous it sounds, they follow the skeletons when they signal toward a small cave they have to enter on all fours.

It’s not as though they have anything better to do.

Everything is already madness, and Draco is in a foul mood.

Everyone is claimed except him.

His Olympian father is an idiot.

“Isn’t Hades the king of the Underworld?” Bianca whispers behind him, as though she doesn’t quite want it to be true. The skeletons are still crawling ahead of them.

Just when he thinks his life can’t get any more ridiculous, he’s always proven wrong.

“Yes — welcome, princess. You’re probably part of the end-of-the-world prophecy now,” he keeps crawling, and yelps when Bianca jabs him in the backside with her bow.

He looks at her as best he can in the darkness, but she still looks indignant.

They crawl a little further, and everything seems to be erupting into chaos ahead of them. Sounds are reaching them and that worries him a little. He knows the skeletons seem to be on his side, but now he may have trusted them too soon — even if they seem to be saving him. Just as the skeleton seems to disappear into the earth, Bianca and Draco tumble down what appears to be a kind of slide together, spinning in a tangle of limbs that land on the ground.

Draco lands on Bianca’s back.

Everything falls silent, and Draco thinks he had been hearing things a moment ago. He lifts his head in confusion.

Oh no.

“Draco?” Percy asks, bewildered, sword raised and frozen like everyone else as the two of them appear. “Bianca?” he gasps, catching sight of the girl as she rises behind Draco.

They had somehow arrived at the summit. A few meters away, grey clouds swirled overhead in a violent vortex, creating a funnel that nearly seemed to touch the peak — but rested instead on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old girl with reddish-brown hair, wearing the tattered remnants of a silver dress. Artemis, yes — there she was, bound to the rock with chains of celestial bronze.

Artemis appeared to be holding something up.

Wait.

The sky?

“Like Atlas,” Draco says, snapping his fingers. Suddenly several things make a little more sense.

Wait.

Let’s rewind to where they were.

Artemis looked exhausted and drenched in sweat. He had never seen a goddess suffer in that way. The weight of the sky was clearly too much for her.

They weren’t alone.

There stood a terrifying-looking man in a brown silk suit.

Luke was at his side, along with half a dozen dracanae carrying the sarcophagus of Kronos. Next to Luke stood Annabeth, hands bound behind her back and a gag in her mouth. He held the tip of his sword at her throat.

They had just arrived at the worst possible moment.

“Luke,” Thalia growled — after a confused glance at them, to which Draco gave a small wave, while Bianca helped him to his feet — “let her go,” she said, pointing at Annabeth.

Annabeth looked as though she wanted everyone to leave and let her handle it alone.

Idiot.

Draco felt fury in every part of him.

Luke gave a thin, pale smile. He looked exhausted, and each word seemed to cost him effort, as though it were painful to speak. If he hadn’t hated him so much, he might have felt something like pity. “That decision is in the General’s hands, Thalia. But it’s good to see you again.”

Thalia spat at him.

The General laughed quietly.

“So this is what’s become of that old friendship. And as for you, Zoë — it’s been a long time. How is my little traitor? I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“Don’t answer him,” Artemis moaned. “Don’t challenge him.”

“Wait—” Percy interrupted, looking just as confused as everyone else. “You’re Atlas?”

The General looked at him with something approaching disbelief — as did almost everyone in the room. Even Draco, who knew nothing of what had been happening, could piece it together from his surroundings.

The only way Artemis would be holding up the sky was if her previous carrier was no longer doing so. It was simple arithmetic. Percy was just slow sometimes.

“Ah! So even the most witless of heroes is finally capable of a deduction. Yes, I am Atlas — general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I’ll deal with you shortly, as soon as I’ve finished with this wretched girl.”

“You’re not going to hurt Zoë,” Percy said. “I won’t allow it.”

The General smiled disdainfully.

“You have no right to interfere, little hero. This is a family matter.”

“A family matter?”

“Yes,” said Zoë, desolately. “Atlas is my father.”

My.

Draco coughed beside Bianca, who looked just as uncomfortable as he was. They exchanged a look that clearly said they had arrived at the absolute worst moment of the entire confrontation — though not too late for the fight. Percy glanced uncomfortably at Zoë, and Draco could feel the concern inside him. It seemed that apart from Bianca and Draco, they weren’t the only ones who had developed an unexpected closeness over the past few days.

“Release Artemis,” Zoë demanded.

Atlas turned toward the chained goddess.

“Would you like to take the weight of the sky from her shoulders? Go ahead.”

Zoë opened her mouth to say something, but Artemis cried out:

“No! Don’t you dare offer yourself, Zoë! I forbid it!”

Atlas smiled mockingly. He knelt beside Artemis and tried to touch her face, but she snapped at him and nearly took his fingers off.

That actually made him like the goddess a little better.

“Ha,” Atlas laughed. “You see, daughter? Lady Artemis enjoys her new occupation. I think when Kronos rules again I’ll have all the Olympians take turns carrying my burden. Here, at the center of our palace. That will teach that feeble rabble a lesson in humility.”

Draco looked at Annabeth. Percy hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and now Draco noticed part of her hair had turned grey.

“It’s from holding up the sky,” Thalia said, as though she’d read his mind. “The weight should have killed her.”

Draco froze for a moment.

Weight.

He touched his shoulders, remembering how for the past few days he had been unable to shake the pain in his back. It was— he looked at Annabeth, who glanced at him sideways as though apologizing for something.

Fool.

It wasn’t her fault.

The cold fury returned so powerfully that Annabeth’s eyes opened wide in surprise. Percy even gasped looking at him. Whatever anger he’d felt before didn’t matter now. Only his own mattered.

They had hurt his friend.

His fingers tightened hard against his palms.

“I don’t understand,” Percy said. “Why can’t Artemis just let go of it?”

Atlas laughed.

“What a simple mind, boy! This is the point where sky and earth first met — where Ouranos and Gaia gave birth to their mighty children, the Titans. The sky still yearns to embrace the earth. Someone must hold it back, or it would collapse and crush the mountain and everything within a hundred leagues. Once you have taken that burden, there is no escape.” Atlas smiled. “Unless someone takes it from your shoulders and takes your place.”

He moved toward them all, and his gaze lingered on Draco curiously for a moment, then on Bianca, who couldn’t stop trembling.

“So these are the greatest heroes of this age. They don’t seem much of a challenge — though there is one half-blood who is clearly a mockery of the pantheons. Tell me, little boy.” He stares directly at Draco, who shudders slightly at being stared down by a Titan — something to add to the list of worst moments in his life. “Have the Olympians figured out who your father is yet? Probably not — though I can form a guess about the idiot who thought having children with someone of your kind would be a good idea. There’s only one person arrogant and foolish enough — and I can’t wait to see him dead, like his stupid brothers,” he adds, which causes Draco to freeze.

Seriously?

Even the Titans have a better idea of who his father is than Draco does.

He wants to tear his hair out from the stress.

“Fight us,” Percy challenged, stepping in front of Draco as though to block him from Atlas’s view — because that was the kind of thing Percy would do. “And we’ll see.”

“Have the gods taught you nothing? An immortal does not fight a mere mortal. It would be beneath our dignity. I’ll let Luke crush you.”

“So you’re a coward too,” he said, without filtering himself.

Draco set aside his fury long enough to give him a look that said “seriously?” — but Percy’s own look back said “I’m glad you’re here, friend,” and it was so sincere that being angry with him became considerably harder.

Atlas’s eyes flared with hatred. Making an effort, he turned his attention to Thalia.

“As for you, daughter of Zeus — it seems Luke was wrong about you.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Luke managed to say. He looked terribly weak, and every word seemed to cost him pain, as though it were agony to speak. If Draco hadn’t hated him so much, he might almost have pitied him. “Thalia — there’s still time for you to join us. Call the ophiotaurus. It will come to you. Look!”

Ophiotaurus?

He waved his hand and at his side a pool of water appeared, bordered in black marble, large enough for the creature.

Whatever that was.

Was there a story about it?

“Ophiotaurus?” Bianca whispered beside him. Draco shrugged.

They had clearly missed part of the story here.

“Thalia, call the ophiotaurus,” Luke insisted. “And you’ll be more powerful than the gods.”

“Luke…” Her voice carried immense pain. “What happened to you?”

He’s mad.

That’s what happened.

Completely mad, and they should kill him, as they should have yesterday.

“Don’t you remember all the times we talked? All the times we cursed the gods together? Our fathers did nothing for us. They have no right to rule the world!”

She shook her head.

“Release Annabeth. Let her go.”

“If you join me,” Luke promised, “everything could be like it was before. The three of us together again. Fighting for a better world. Please, Thalia. If you won’t—” His voice faltered. “It’s my last chance. If you won’t, he’ll resort to other means. Please.”

His fear was real.

But Draco simply raised his spear a moment, thinking.

“Don’t do it, Thalia,” said Zoë. “We must fight them.”

Luke made another gesture and fire appeared from nowhere — a bronze brazier like the one at camp. A flame for making a sacrifice.

“Thalia,” Percy said, alarmed. “No.”

Draco admired the hesitation on Thalia’s face. She was clearly weighing her choices, which irritated him a little. Of course she hated the Olympians — but Luke was not the better option. For a second the girl turned to look at him. Draco made a face that seemed to bring her back to her senses in some stupid way, but for a moment when she looked at him, she seemed briefly confused.

What could she have seen?

Draco noticed the slightly nostalgic look on her face before she turned back to Luke.

Behind Luke, the golden sarcophagus began to glow. As it did, it seemed as though everyone could see a series of images in the mist surrounding them — black marble walls rising, ruins growing back into a beautiful and terrible palace around them, a palace made of fear and shadow.

“Here we will raise Mount Othrys,” Luke promised in a voice so strained it barely sounded like his own. “And once again it will be stronger and more powerful than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We have no shortage of strength.”

He pointed toward the ocean. Draco’s heart sank: from the beach where the Princess Andromeda had docked, climbing up the mountainside, came a great army in formation. Dracanae and Laestrygonians, monsters and half-bloods, hellhounds, harpies, and other creatures he wouldn’t even know how to name. They must have emptied the entire ship, because there were hundreds — far more than he had seen on board the previous summer. And they were marching toward them. In a matter of minutes they would be at the summit.

That must have been what almost caught them a few minutes ago.

“This is only a taste of what’s coming,” Luke continued. “Soon we’ll be ready to march on Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help.”

For one terrible instant, Thalia wavered again. She looked at Luke steadily, with eyes full of pain, as though all she wanted in the world was to believe him. Then she raised her spear.

“You are not Luke. I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Good. He had let her make the choice — it was better that way, rather than having her always wondering. Part of Thalia had wanted to believe Luke was still good, just as all of them had. It was better she came down from that cloud as soon as possible.

“Please, Thalia,” he begged. “Don’t make me — don’t let him destroy you. Time is running out. If that army reaches the summit, it would overwhelm us.”

Right.

So be it.

Everything fell completely silent for a moment. But then the whistle of a spear embedding itself in Luke’s right shoulder was the sound that broke it, followed by the grotesque sound of skin being pierced. Everyone turned in shock as Luke staggered back, gripping his arm in disbelief. Draco shrugged when everyone looked back at him.

“You were all taking too long,” he muttered with a defiant air.

Pandemonium broke open.

.

.

Thalia went straight for Luke. The power of her shield was so tremendous that the dracanae guarding him dropped the golden sarcophagus and fled in terror. But despite his sickly appearance and a shoulder — you know — pierced through, Luke was still very fast with a sword. He growled like a wild animal and launched a counterattack.

When his sword, Backbiter, clashed with Thalia’s shield, a great fireball spun between them, sending burning tongues of flame twisting through the air.

Draco and Bianca ran toward Annabeth. He was surprised that Bianca ran with him, but the girl seemed ready to fight at his side.

Percy, committing the greatest act of stupidity in his life — which was saying something — attacked the Titan. Lord Atlas.

He ignored them while Thalia hurled his spear back at Luke, who growled, blood flowing from his arm. Draco used his spear to cut Annabeth’s bonds. Bianca used her bow to dispatch the remaining monsters scattered around the area.

“Percy,” Annabeth whimpered, pointing toward their friend, because Atlas was already fighting back, and both of them were idiotic enough to worry about each other rather than survive.

Not that Draco wasn’t worried — but after seeing Annabeth unharmed and in his arms, he sighed before meeting Bianca’s eyes. A plea in his expression.

“Look after her.” It wasn’t a request. It was a plea.

Bianca’s eyes blinked for a moment before she smiled fiercely and nodded.

“With my life.” It was a promise — not across the Styx, just something they would do because they were the kind of idiots who did things like this, but something important to both of them. Draco almost choked with laughter when the damned bond formed between them in that instant.

Out of nowhere.

Appearing without permission.

Simply forming because it seemed it had to be that way.

Of course it had to happen in this moment. Whether Bianca feels it or not doesn’t matter.

Draco launches himself into the fight. He can’t analyze all of it right now.

Right — he had gone from challenging Hades to save his friends, to navigating the Sea of Monsters and fighting cyclopes, to now challenging a Titan. His life had not been short of madness since he met Percy Jackson.

“Fool!” Atlas roared, brushing aside one of Zoë’s arrows contemptuously. “Did you think that because you once defied that insignificant little war god you could face me?”

Draco launched himself quickly to intercept the blow aimed at Percy, slamming into a wall. The air left his lungs, but Percy didn’t take the worst of the impact. He takes a second to think that he’s an idiot.

It hurts.

Like — a lot of pain.

Percy’s concern followed with a shout of his name.

The fight goes on — a dance, a waltz, a massacre. Percy was no match for a Titan. Draco did little more than throw himself in to catch whichever of them went flying, and use his spear, which was deflected without the slightest effort.

Weak.

Pathetic.

Even if he fought, Draco wasn’t truly strong.

But they had to keep charging, again and again. At one point he managed to brace himself, but when Percy came flying into him, the impact sent them both rolling toward where Artemis stood.

“Run!” she gasped. “Run!”

Atlas advanced without hurry. Percy had lost his sword, and Draco’s spear was barely steady in his grip.

Luke and Thalia battled like demons while lightning crackled around them.

Annabeth was on the ground beside Bianca, who was using her bow to drive back the monsters clearly advancing toward them.

“Die, little heroes,” said Atlas.

He raised his javelin to run Percy through.

“No!” Zoë cried.

In an instant, several arrows buried themselves in the Titan’s armpit, right at the joint of his armor.

That looked painful. And rather revolting.

“Arrrgh!” With a roar, the Titan turned toward his daughter.

She was dead, Draco didn’t want to think about it any further — he was focused on surviving and keeping his friends alive, which apparently now included Bianca.

He didn’t want anything to happen to her.

“The sky,” Percy said to the goddess. “Let me take it.”

Draco groaned into both hands covering his face.

Can one be any more of an idiot?

“No, boy,” Artemis replied. Her forehead was beaded with something like mercury sweat. “You don’t know what you’re saying. It would crush you!”

That was a fair point.

Draco would have accepted that point and walked away.

“Annabeth held it!”

Because she was extraordinary — that didn’t mean he had to do the same.

“And she barely survived. She had the spirit of a true Hunter. You won’t last as long.”

“We’re going to die anyway,” he replied. “Take the weight from me and look after Draco!”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He drew Riptide — which had kindly returned to him, unlike Draco’s spear, which required his magic to return — and cut the chains.

Then he positioned himself at Artemis’s right side and braced himself with one knee on the ground, wearing the most stupidly resolute expression Draco had ever seen in his life. Draco thought that expression could make him fall a little more in love — but mostly it just made him think Percy was the greatest idiot who had ever existed, and also his stupid best friend. Draco stared at him. The boy fully intended to do this, even if it killed him. Being a demigod might help somehow.

He wasn’t afraid.

It was a task to be done, and his Hufflepuff heart of self-sacrifice was going to do it on its own terms.

He was an idiot.

But he was Draco’s idiot best friend.

He groans internally, then sighs before positioning himself at Artemis’s other side — almost resigned. Percy gives him an incredulous look while Artemis seems to whimper slightly.

“What are you doing?” Percy asks, as though they have time for this.

“Helping you, birdbrain. Two is better than one — basic mathematics. Now shut up,” he growls, not knowing quite what to expect, only that this was going to hurt.

A lot.

Can two people hold up the sky?

He raised his hands and touched the cold, thick clouds. For a moment, the three of them held the weight together. It was the heaviest thing he had ever endured — like a thousand trucks pressing down on him. He thought he would faint from the pain, but he breathed deeply and steadied himself, knowing the worst was still to come.

I can’t leave him alone.

Then Artemis slipped free of the burden, and the two of them held it alone.

Why had he agreed to this?

He had never felt anything like it. His legs buckled against each other several times before he managed to plant himself and not fall flat on his face. Every muscle in his body caught fire, and his head could barely stay on his shoulders. It was as though his bones were melting. He wanted to scream, but had no strength to open his mouth. He began to give way little by little, until he remembered he wasn’t alone. The weight of the sky was crushing him.

He doesn’t think even the Cruciatus Curse could generate this pain.

Nothing in his life could.

Not the terror of the Underworld.

Not a cyclops beating you.

Not falling from the sky while catching an idiot during a Quidditch match.

No.

This pain was… unbearable.

It hurts. It hurts so much. Everything burns.

Percy’s thoughts were blurred, because they were the same as his thoughts, and for a moment both of their thoughts were between them as though they were one.

They weren’t, at the same time.

Everything was confused.

They were themselves, but not entirely.

Damn it hurts. Close it, Jackson. Hold on. You’re not leaving me alone here.

There was no humor between them — it was almost unthinkable that they could laugh with the sky on their shoulders. But between all the pain he could feel a small thread of it inside himself.

Percy seemed grateful he was at his side, and accepted that this was selfish of him. Draco was sending feelings of regret and at the same time of certainty about his decision.

Then neither of them understood how Annabeth had endured this.

Annabeth is incredible for bearing this.

Lovesick idiot.

It hurts so much. Everything hurts, Draco.

Hold on, idiot. Or better yet don’t, if you fall I’ll win.

This had never happened with the bond before. Neither of them was speaking — no mouth could open, and they were both focused entirely on breathing — but it was as though their thoughts were traveling between them as though in mental conversation.

Not even Legilimency works without eye contact, yet here they were, practically back to back, holding up the sky.

His mother was going to kill him when she found out.

His vision was growing blurrier by the moment. Percy was sending desperate pleas not to be left alone, and Draco had no intention of doing so. It was because of Percy that he was in this, and he wasn’t going to abandon him. Everything was tinged red. He caught glimpses of the battle but couldn’t make anything out clearly. He thought he could see Atlas in full battle armor with his javelin, laughing like a madman as he fought. And beyond, what seemed to be Artemis — a silver blur.

She wielded two great hunting knives, each as long as her arm, and thrust at the Titan with fury while dodging his blows and leaping with astonishing grace. She seemed to change form as she moved.

A tiger, a gazelle, a bear, a hawk. Perhaps that was a product of his fever-addled mind. Zoë kept shooting arrows at her father, finding the gaps in his armor. Atlas roared with pain each time one hit, though for him they were no more than insect bites — which only infuriated him further.

Bianca, to his surprise, let out a battle cry and summoned the undead.

That must be his imagination.

She had been protecting Annabeth one moment, and then suddenly from the ground rose corpses that launched themselves at the attackers like an army of the living dead.

Are those skeletons?

Yes. Bianca is a daughter of Hades.

How did that happen? Gods, my back is killing me. I want to die. How did you find Bianca? Draco, I’m scared.

Just hold on, Percy. A little longer. We’re in this together and I’m not leaving you alone. Don’t you dare leave me.

Never.

Thalia and Luke battled, spear against sword, lightning sparking between them. With the halo of her shield, Thalia drove him back. Not even he was immune to that power. He stepped back several paces and growled in pure frustration.

His arm was still bleeding.

Percy made a pathetic attempt at mental applause, but his knee buckled slightly, which made them both groan mentally. He managed to recover, but it was no better.

Everything hurt, everything burned in his chest.

“Surrender!” Thalia shouted. “You have never managed to defeat me!”

He gave a sardonic smile.

“We’ll see about that, my old friend!”

His face was covered in sweat. His hands were slipping. His shoulders would have screamed in pain if they could. He felt as though all the vertebrae of his spine were being welded together with a blowtorch.

Atlas pressed on, pressing Artemis back. The goddess was quick, but the Titan’s strength was overwhelming. His javelin buried itself in the ground, splitting the rock right where Artemis had been a second before. Atlas leaped over the fissure and continued pursuing her. It seemed as though she was drawing him toward them.

Get ready, she said to them mentally.

The pain left him incapable of thought.

Percy said something like “Agghhufff-uaaaaa.”

Draco only gasped.

“You fight well for a girl,” Atlas said with a laugh, “but you are no match for me.”

He feinted with the tip of his javelin and Artemis dodged it. Quickly, he reversed the javelin and knocked the goddess off her feet by sweeping her legs. As she fell to the ground, Atlas prepared to deliver the killing blow.

“No!” cried Zoë.

She leaped between her father and Artemis, shooting an arrow into the Titan’s brow, where it lodged like the horn of a unicorn. Atlas roared with fury. He struck his daughter with a backhanded blow that sent her crashing into a cluster of black rocks without mercy.

He didn’t even see where she’d landed. Atlas turned toward Artemis with a triumphant expression. She must have been injured, because she didn’t rise.

“First blood in a new war,” Atlas said, very pleased with himself.

And he brought his javelin down.

Faster than thought, Artemis rolled on the ground. The weapon scraped past her and she seized the shaft. She used it as a lever and delivered a kick to the Titan that sent him flying through the air. He saw him falling toward them, and Draco understood with Percy what was about to happen. He eased the pressure of his hands beneath the sky slightly, and the moment the Titan came down on top of them, they didn’t try to hold on.

Draco let himself be carried by the impact and rolled with what little strength he had left. His foot feels like a sprain — not that it matters.

He breathed.

Air.

His lungs could breathe again.

The weight of the sky fell directly onto Atlas’s back and nearly flattened him. He managed to get to his knees while struggling against that crushing force. But it was already too late.

“NOOOOO!” he bellowed with such force that the entire mountain shook. “NOT AGAIN NOOOOO!”

Atlas was trapped once more beneath his ancient burden.

Draco tried to get up, but couldn’t. Every part of his body burned with pain, and it was only then he realized, belatedly, that his magic deficit had still not replenished itself — which was rather important and something he hadn’t considered when he put himself in this position. The sky had probably drained whatever effort remained. Percy was at his side, whimpering his name.

But everything was very blurry.

His head hurts.

Is he seeing two Percys?

One of them seems to be smiling — like when Draco was a ferret — and he’s probably hallucinating, because when he blinks there’s only one person beside him.

Percy.

“Potter?” he asks in confusion, at which Percy tilts his head. Then everything around Draco goes black.

Chapter Text

“He’s just a boy, Patroclus.”

“Oh please — he’s strong and brave. He reminds me a little of you.”

“This is our moment. I can only see you here, and you’re going to help him — for what?”

“Oh, Achilles, don’t look at me like that. It’s his destiny, and perhaps someday we’ll be together again. But right now we need to help him.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Perhaps someday you will.”

“You’re far too kind.”

“Shh — let him look. If you knew him, I know you’d like him.”

.

Everything seemed blurry inside his dream, as though there were voices all around him. But as always, he stopped dreaming and began to see things around him — as though somehow he were in the presence of something vast. Mount Olympus, he guessed in mild confusion, since for a moment he had felt like he was somewhere else entirely. He tried to walk, but his body was like a specter that no one seemed to notice. In the worst case, he felt like one of Hogwarts’s many ghosts — so he tried to navigate, but ended up circling pathetically without anyone seeing him.

Or helping him.

He was still somewhat dizzy from his loss of magic, from apparating to the other side of the world, and from holding up the sky with his arms.

Confused by the earlier conversation.

But well — if this was happening, or was a dream, at least Draco could understand a little.

His body must be unconscious somewhere.

In the dim light of dawn, the torches and bonfires made the palaces built into the mountainside gleam in twenty different colors, from blood-red to indigo. Apparently no one on Olympus ever slept. The winding alleyways were crowded with demigods, nature spirits, and minor gods coming and going — some on foot, others in chariots or carried in sedan chairs by cyclopes. Winter did not seem to exist up there. He caught the fragrance of gardens full of jasmine, roses, and other flowers even more delicate than he could name. From many windows drifted the soft sound of lyres and reed pipes.

At the mountain’s peak rose the greatest palace of all — the gleaming home of the gods.

Twelve great thrones formed a U around the central fire, just like the cabins at camp. On the ceiling glittered all the constellations, and every seat was occupied. The gods and goddesses stood roughly four meters tall.

It seemed some greetings had already been made.

Percy was there with Thalia and Annabeth. Both Bianca and Draco’s body were not. He also noticed Grover with — a strange serpentine cow. He didn’t know what to make of that.

Interesting.

There was a sphere of water suspended in the center of the room, near the bonfire. The creature swam cheerfully inside it, swishing its serpent tail and poking its head out from the sides and bottom of the sphere. It seemed to enjoy the novelty of swimming in a magic bubble.

Draco thinks this is ridiculous, and the worst part is that he gets used to it quickly.

“Heroes,” Artemis began.

Oh, something was starting.

He tried to make some movement, but no one could see him. For celestial beings, they left much to be desired in the area of astral projection.

How had he managed an astral journey?

The goddess stepped down from her throne and, adopting human size, became a girl with reddish-brown hair who moved with ease among the grand Olympians. When she approached in her shimmering silver tunic, he saw that her face betrayed no emotion. She seemed to move in a halo of moonlight.

“The assembly has been informed of your deeds,” Artemis said. “They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the west. They know of Atlas’s attempt to free himself, and the size of Kronos’s army. We have voted to act.”

There were some murmurs among the gods, as though not all of them were entirely pleased with the plan, but no one protested.

Such power, and they didn’t use it.

What a waste.

“On the orders of my lord Zeus,” Artemis continued, “my brother Apollo and I will hunt the most powerful monsters, to bring them down before they can join the Titans’ cause. Lady Athena will personally ensure that the other Titans do not escape from their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury against the Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my dear heroes—”

She turned toward the other immortals.

“These half-bloods — and the other two who are not here due to their injuries — have rendered great service to Olympus. Would anyone dare deny it?”

She must mean Bianca and Draco.

They were the only ones who weren’t there.

Well.

Physically.

Draco was a kind of astral projection.

Artemis surveyed the assembly, examining each face in turn. Zeus wore a pinstripe suit. His black beard was perfectly trimmed and his eyes crackled with energy. At his side sat a very beautiful woman with silver hair braided over her shoulder and a multicolored dress like peacock plumage — Lady Hera.

To Zeus’s right sat Poseidon. Beside him was a large man with a steel brace on his leg, a misshapen head, and a tangled brown beard, with flames flickering from his mustache — the lord of the forges, Hephaestus.

Hermes winked at Percy and Annabeth. He was in a suit this time and kept checking messages on his caduceus, which doubled as a mobile phone. Apollo lounged on his golden throne wearing sunglasses, his iPod earbuds in — so it wasn’t clear whether he was even listening. But he looked over at the group and gave a thumbs up.

Dionysus looked bored and fiddled with a grape vine. And Ares — well, Ares was on his throne of leather and chrome metal, staring at Percy with a scowl while sharpening his knife.

On the ladies’ side, beside Hera sat a dark-haired goddess in a green tunic on a throne of intertwined apple branches — Demeter, goddess of the harvest. Then came a very beautiful woman with grey eyes in an elegant white dress — she could only be Annabeth’s mother, Athena. Next to her sat Aphrodite, with her tousled black hair and large green eyes, who smiled at Percy conspiratorially.

All the Olympians gathered together — all that power in a single room. It seemed a miracle the entire palace didn’t blow apart.

Wait — someone was missing.

Where was Hestia?

“I must say,” Apollo broke the silence, “these kids have been absolutely magnificent.” He cleared his throat and began to recite: “Heroes who win their laurels—”

“Yes, first rate,” Hermes cut in, apparently eager to spare them Apollo’s poetry. “All in favor of not disintegrating them?”

A few hands went up tentatively — Demeter, Aphrodite…

“Hold on,” Ares growled, pointing at Thalia and Percy. “Those two are dangerous. It would be a great deal safer, now that we have them here — not to mention the girl claimed by Hades, and the other half-blood whose father nobody knows.”

“Ares,” Poseidon cut him off, “they are worthy heroes. And we are not going to blow my son to pieces.”

“Nor my daughter,” Zeus grumbled. “The other two don’t matter much. She has done very well.”

Thalia flushed and stared at the marble floor.

Draco wanted to complain — he wasn’t there, but they were talking about him.

The goddess Athena cleared her throat.

“I am proud of my daughter as well. However, in the case of the other two, there is an obvious security risk.”

“Mother!” Annabeth exclaimed, indignant. “How can you—”

Athena silenced her with a calm but firm look.

“It is a misfortune that my father Zeus and my uncle Poseidon broke their oath not to have more children, including Hades, who has now demonstrated with this girl that he too has broken his word. As we know from the Great Prophecy, the children of the three elder gods — such as Thalia, Percy, and now the girl Bianca — are dangerous. As insufferable as he may be, Ares is right.”

“Bianca is now a Hunter,” Artemis says firmly, chin raised, making Athena huff.

“Precisely — they’re dangerous!” Ares said. “Hey, wait. What did you just call me?”

He started to rise, but a vine wrapped around his waist like a seatbelt and forced him back down.

“Please, Ares!” Dionysus exhaled. “Save that bravado for another time.”

Ares cursed and ripped the vine off.

“And who are you to talk, you old drunk? Do you really want to protect these brats?”

Dionysus looked at them wearily from atop his throne.

“It’s not that I feel any fondness for them. Do you truly think, Athena, that destroying them is the safest option?”

“I make no recommendation,” Athena said. “I only point out the danger. What must be done is for the assembly to decide.”

“I would not punish them at all,” said Artemis, “but rather reward them. If we destroy heroes who have done us great service, then we are no better than the Titans. If this is the justice of Olympus, I would rather do without it.”

“Calm down, little sister,” said Apollo. “You need to relax, honestly.”

“Don’t call me little sister! I would reward them.”

“Well,” Zeus grumbled. “Perhaps. But the monster must be destroyed. Are we agreed on that?”

Nods all around.

“Bessie? They want to destroy Bessie?” Panic broke through Percy’s voice. He clearly had feelings for a cow.

“Mooooo!”

Poseidon frowned.

“You named the ophiotaurus Bessie?”

“Father,” Percy said, “it’s just a creature of the sea. A truly beautiful creature. You can’t destroy it.”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably.

“Percy, the power of that monster is considerable. If the Titans were to capture it—”

“They won’t, Father,” his friend insisted. “Trying to control prophecies never works, does it? Besides, Bess— I mean, the ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing someone like that is wrong. Just as wrong as Kronos devouring his children for something they might do. It’s wrong!”

Zeus seemed to consider Percy’s words. His eyes rested on his daughter Thalia.

“And what of the risk?” he said. “Kronos knows that if one of you were to sacrifice the entrails of the beast, you would have the power to destroy us. Do you think we can allow such a possibility to exist? You, daughter, will turn sixteen tomorrow, just as the prophecy foretells.”

“You have to trust them, my lord,” Annabeth pleaded, raising her voice. “Trust them.”

Zeus twisted his expression and fixed them all with a severe look.

“Trust a hero?”

“Annabeth is right,” said Artemis. “And that is the reason I must grant my reward to one of them now. My loyal companion Zoë Nightshade has joined the stars. I need a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose her now. But first, Father Zeus, I must speak with you in private.”

Zeus signaled her to come forward. He leaned in and listened to what she said in his ear.

A feeling of panic struck him.

It was Percy — who had turned toward Annabeth.

“Annabeth,” he said in a whisper. “Don’t do it.”

She frowned.

“Don’t do what?”

“Listen — I have to tell you something.” The words came tumbling out. “I couldn’t bear it if — I don’t want you to—”

“Percy,” she said, “you look like you’re about to faint.”

Draco could see it clearly — what Annabeth might not have been willing to see, or perhaps hadn’t let herself. It was difficult to make out Percy’s eyes entirely, but the desperation was there — the terror of losing Annabeth. Percy wasn’t even sure of his own feelings, but the desperation of losing her without fully knowing that he loved her made Draco’s heart break into pieces.

He had always known.

Always known that Annabeth and Percy were something more.

Last year he had decided to put those feelings to rest.

But it still hurt.

Almost resigned to it, having expected it — but it still hurts.

He had been convincing himself for over a year that he was fine, that being friends was better, but god, how it hurt to watch Percy plead with his eyes for Annabeth to choose him. Draco wanted to shout right then that he would choose him — but it didn’t matter, because even if Percy turned and looked at him, he wasn’t going to choose Draco.

Not the way Draco wanted.

This was a declaration of love, whether Annabeth or Percy knew it or not. And it burned like hell to watch.

He touched his chest and saw two threads leaving it — the blue one that represented Percy, and now he knew the purple one was tied to Annabeth. Both were his bonds, but nothing more.

They were his family.

They were his.

But not in the way he wanted, and that was alright. It hurt, and he wanted to cry, because he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

He smiles without humor.

Maybe Aphrodite was wrong. Maybe Draco’s fate wasn’t to love — or at least, not to have love returned.

Everything slowly evaporated and he could see Annabeth’s face relax into a smile when he heard in the distance that Thalia was joining the Hunters — because she wasn’t leaving Percy’s side. And perhaps Draco should start keeping a little more distance from now on.

.

.

He opened his eyes slowly, as though waking from a very long sleep. When he sat up partway, he still felt as though a meteor had hit him, but he could feel a little of his own magic beginning to return. Glancing sideways, he saw he was in Camp Half-Blood’s hospital wing — he had been here more times than he cared to admit. In one of the beds nearby, Bianca di Angelo slept quietly. He supposed he wasn’t the only one who had depleted all their reserves on the mountain.

Summoning an army of skeletons was probably quite exhausting.

He sits up in his bed, noticing the daylight outside the window.

He’s tired.

But he’s home.

He thinks of the memories within the dream — how he had been able to see something that happened even though he wasn’t present.

That had been strange.

“Draco.” The sound of a voice made him turn, before he found himself surrounded by two small figures, one of whom grabbed him with considerable force.

“Will — Nico,” he says, almost voiceless.

Neither boy pulls away quickly. Instead, they cling to him before launching into complaints — how he vanished without warning, the chaos at camp, no one could find him, and they had only arrived on a winged horse some time later, tied to it with ropes, chaos breaking out trying to keep them both alive. Only a few hours had passed and it was the day after all the madness of the battle against the Titans, which was a relief. He hated losing too much time to this sort of thing.

Bianca only looked exhausted.

Percy and the others had arrived half an hour ago and were with Chiron going over everything after coming to check on them.

“I heard you held up the sky with Percy,” Nico says, excited, eyes bright. Draco grumbled at the memory, while Will pouted and called him an idiot. “I heard you saved my sister, even though nobody knows how,” Nico adds, now thoughtful.

Yes.

Draco doesn’t entirely know how that happened either.

“Your hair seems to have white streaks in it now — Annabeth and Percy looked similar,” Will notes, a little calmer now, and hands him a green apple.

Right.

That was from holding up the sky.

The memory of the conversation between Annabeth and Percy made him sigh. Both boys looked at him curiously before the sound of someone else made them all look up. Bianca had sat up after stretching her arms above her head, then turned to look at them in a daze. When her eyes met Nico’s, she let out a choked laugh, and the small dark-haired boy launched himself at her, wrapping her in a near-deadly embrace.

Watching the boy cry in her arms, and Bianca returning the hug.

Draco smiled.

Feeling the warmth Bianca had for Nico — so strong and enormous — he felt a little guilty about the things he had said days earlier.

Days.

Only a few days had passed.

It felt like an eternity since then.

.

.

The Hunters don’t linger long after Bianca gets back on her feet. When Draco steps out of the hospital wing with her, he growls at Artemis to let Bianca at least say goodbye to her brother. Contrary to the hatred he thought he felt for the goddess, she nods before giving him one last look. Thalia — now a new Hunter — smiles as she approaches Draco and bumps her fist against his. They weren’t especially close, but they had fought together in some way during the final battle, and she seemed to acknowledge it. Draco smiled back, feeling mildly heartened — even though she was a daughter of Zeus who had just condemned Percy to probably being the child of the prophecy.

Well.

She was still pretty cool.

Zoë had died, and while the Hunters and Bianca seemed affected by that, Draco felt a small pang of guilt at feeling nothing in particular. He had barely known her.

Less than an hour passed, and after an emotional goodbye between Bianca and Nico, nearly everyone at camp was there to see the Hunters off. He noticed Clarisse out of the corner of his eye — she seemed relaxed looking at him, with no intention of putting him in a rubbish bin.

Nico was crying, but that was alright. He was just a kid.

Though Chiron seems to think that now it’s been revealed to everyone that Bianca is a daughter of Hades, it naturally follows that Nico would be as well — which means another child of the Three to keep a very close eye on.

What a headache.

“Draco.” He’s surprised by Bianca’s voice as she steps in front of him. She had said her goodbyes to Percy’s group, said goodbye to Nico, and he had expected only a brief wave before she left. “I’ll keep the promise I made you, but I hope it’s not too selfish to ask one of you in return.”

Well.

It wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do — but he couldn’t deny that now, with the bond between them, it was impossible not to want to help her.

“I’ll charge the Hunters a steep price for it,” he says with amusement, looking at the others. Thalia laughs, looking far more relaxed than he’s ever seen her. Artemis only tilts her head.

He still doesn’t like her.

“Look after him,” Bianca requests solemnly, looking at Nico, who blinks in confusion before looking from his sister to Draco, curious.

Oh.

Those words.

They were the same words Draco had used in the middle of the fight, when he thought Annabeth was in danger if he left her alone, and— he smiles.

“With my life.” Because that’s all he can say. Because Bianca smiles at recognizing his oath, at recognizing her own words returned to her.

Then.

They hug.

It’s so anticlimactic, so strange — that the two of them, after their first encounter, are sharing an embrace like old comrades, simply through a strange twist of fate that ended with them bound to each other for a few hours.

But what hours they had been.

What fights they had lived through. They had left each other’s backs in each other’s care and trusted because they had no choice.

And only like that, Draco felt he could trust her.

Maybe he was a little of an idiot in a Hufflepuff way. He blames Percy for that.

“Good luck with Potter — though he does seem a lot like Percy,” Bianca whispers in his ear. Draco shoves her indignantly, and she just laughs before running back to the Hunters.

When she turns, she waves at him with a radiant smile, and he waves back with genuine warmth.

Madness.

“You may have held up the sky, but I don’t think you’re strong enough to look after me,” Nico says, eyes red from crying as Bianca leaves.

Draco only laughs and pats the boy’s shoulder.

Whatever.

.

.

For the next few days Draco spends his time quietly in the hospital wing. Will usually comes to help him feel better. Nico decides he’s bored with the Stoll brothers and stays with him in the hospital wing. He talks with his parents, promises to keep drachmas on him from now on, and assures them that everything is fine. His father notes his differently-colored hair and aside from a tense laugh says little — for his own good, or Narcissa will murder him when she finds out the truth. Lavender seems to be in a state of chaos. She had been talking to Silena and heard what he got himself into, and she is fully prepared to make him spill everything when he gets back to school.

He sends several letters via Hermes’s messenger service to his parents, hoping to forward them to his classmates. He still doesn’t understand how Theo’s owl managed to get through, since when he tried to send one it didn’t work. He decides not to think about it too hard.

If Potter said anything about his visit to Hogwarts with Bianca, well — there was a great deal to explain and he has no desire to do so.

“I won again.”

“It’s not fair. Apollo literally glows.”

“Hades is the strongest.”

Draco lets both Will and Nico distract themselves at his side. It’s a little comforting having those two little nuisances nearby, and he may have been avoiding Percy.

Just a little.

It doesn’t last forever.

.

.

“You’re avoiding me, Draco.”

“I’m recovering, Percy.”

It was the morning of December twenty-fourth, and Percy was getting ready to go to his mother’s, looking troubled when Draco — after nearly ignoring him for several days — announced he was going to stay at camp for the holidays. Will had been radiant — almost literally — and was convincing Chiron to allow another sleepover. Nico seemed a little more cheerful that someone close to him would be spending Christmas here now that Bianca was off somewhere fighting.

With a group of maidens.

And a goddess.

Nico didn’t want to be alone.

Which was why, when he walked to the Hermes cabin, he hadn’t expected to be ambushed by Percy. He should have known him better by now.

He had been working over these past few days on closing the floodgates of the bond — not severing it, just making it less easy to feel each other’s emotions. Curiously, like the Occlumency he had learned from his mother and from Amos, the process turned out to be much simpler than he’d expected — though a little uncomfortable, since he was so used to Percy’s floating emotions being there.

All of his other bonds were faint. They only became noticeable when something was very strong; otherwise they were just a presence at the back of his mind.

But Percy was like having him always at his side, feeling everything for him. Cutting off that part was difficult after almost two years.

It felt strange.

“I told Mum you were coming — you had promised.” He looks angry now, and Draco smiles a little awkwardly.

He should feel better that Percy is worried about him, almost angry at being ignored — but he doesn’t. It meant things were exactly as they always had been. Nothing had changed. At no point had Percy been tempted toward him.

He had always wanted Annabeth.

It hurt to know it — or rather, it hurt to acknowledge it in a final kind of way.

He hadn’t meant to hold onto hope, but it had been there before. Now it wasn’t.

“I can’t leave Nico and Will alone — I’m their new babysitter. Ask Chiron.” He intends to keep walking, but Percy steps back into his path.

Draco growls at him.

“Then bring them. But you’re not leaving me alone this Christmas, Malfoy,” Percy growls back, arms crossed and stamping his foot.

Draco groaned.

Damn.

Percy Jackson was a massive pain in the backside.

.

.

His hopes of avoiding the situation die when Chiron accepts the idea. Draco says a near-tearful goodbye to Silena, who laughs in the most charming way as she waves him off. The journey to the Jackson house passes with Draco practically asleep and drooling against Percy’s shoulder — all the exhaustion from these past days still hasn’t fully left him. Sally is an angel who accepts them all, which also includes Annabeth and Grover for Christmas. The small apartment becomes far too noisy and full of people, especially because Paul is there now. Draco forgets his plan to keep his distance from Percy — both of them exchanging a nod as they position themselves protectively around Sally.

That man still has to pass their standards first.

Will runs with Nico growling behind him, the two of them unexpectedly becoming friends by the second. Draco is glad his original idea worked.

They nearly kill each other more than once.

Look at the results, not his methods.

Annabeth seems a little shy around Sally. Draco simply swallows his bitterness, because when Annabeth comes bounding over to talk to him, she’s so charming and warm and grateful — because despite everything, he had gone for her — and that makes him feel bad.

He almost hadn’t.

He hugs Annabeth and she laughs, delighted.

“You like him too, don’t you.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement, when they’re alone in the breakfast nook, watching Percy play Mario Kart with the other boys and Paul.

Draco simply drinks his tea calmly.

They called him English for that.

Uncultured.

“Yes — but it doesn’t matter. I’m not the one he likes.” He nudges Annabeth with his elbow, a sincere and gentle smile on his face.

If he has to lose Percy to someone, well — Annabeth is the best possible option. At least he likes Annabeth.

Annabeth flushes slightly.

“I was thinking about the Hunters — giving you a clear path. I — you matter to Percy in a way none of us quite understands.”

“The bond.”

“No — it’s not the bond. I know because I have one with you. And for that I apologize. I didn’t want you to feel that weight — I tried, but sometimes I failed.” Draco makes a dismissive gesture. He points at the white streaks in his hair and she smiles bitterly. Both of them understand each other a little better now — Draco having been with Percy, Annabeth having held on alone. “What I mean to say is — you matter to Percy in a way that I don’t.”

“He was terrified of losing you.”

Annabeth smiles at his words.

“I know. And I didn’t want to leave him. I’m glad to see he didn’t want to let me go either. And maybe what he feels for me isn’t the same as what he feels for you, but you matter to him. In your own special way.”

Draco watches her thoughtfully, before looking over at Percy, who jumps up in outrage when Will unexpectedly wins the race. Nico is laughing among everyone.

“Is this a declaration for some kind of polyamorous arrangement?” He receives a smack from Annabeth for that. She laughs when Draco clutches his arm in pain.

“What I mean is — I’m not going to take your best friend away from you. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m also your friend, and you’ll always be there for us the way we’ll always be there for you,” she says with seriousness. Even though he doesn’t want to feel it, there’s relief in her words — that he won’t be left completely behind by them if they get together someday. “So don’t pull away from him. These past few days he’s been unbearable — thinking you’re pulling away, jealous of Nico and Bianca. Something about you calling him Potter.”

He flushes slightly with embarrassed emotion at how much that makes him feel, but then nods.

Ignoring the Potter part, which he genuinely doesn’t remember clearly.

He looks at Annabeth — the girl Percy is clearly in love with, who is telling him that even knowing Draco is attracted to Percy, she’s not going to push him away from their friend. They’re all still friends, and that makes him feel a little emotional.

She also doesn’t tell him he’s strange for liking Percy.

“DRACO, IT’S YOUR TURN!” Percy shouts, waving his arms energetically, looking at him like a puppy. Draco smiles.

He glances at Annabeth, who nods and gets up to join him.

The girl takes a seat beside Percy, who gives her a warm smile. But when Percy sees Draco, he gives him a radiant smile too — genuinely happy to have him there.

Draco loses the race.

But he feels like he’s won something else.

That night Percy sleeps with Grover and Annabeth in the same bed, while Draco manages to have Nico kicking him as usual and Will at his side. But despite everything, he feels happy.

Especially because Paul sleeps on the sofa.

And doesn’t go near Sally.

That suits five trained demigods and one very alert satyr just fine.

Even if Paul doesn’t know it.

.

.

They were watching television the next day, with Will complaining that they should be doing something healthier like playing outside. Nico jumped excitedly when he spotted what appeared to be a video game with strange creatures. Will and Percy seemed to know a little about the game called Pokémon. While Nico commented that it looked interesting, Percy quickly said it would be much better if Pokémon had weapons. Will mentioned having played one of the games called Ruby a while back.

He didn’t understand it.

Why those names?

Colors and gemstones.

Someone lacked imagination.

“Sorry, Nico — I don’t have my console with me,” Will says, looking genuinely apologetic as Nico pouts on the edge of a tantrum.

He seems a little sensitive since his sister left. And while he seems fascinated by Percy, he keeps ending up at Draco’s side, almost demanding hugs. When Draco doesn’t give them, Nico complains that Bianca always used to.

So as not to make him cry, Draco does it.

Reluctantly.

His foot taps uncomfortably as he looks at Percy, who seems equally uncomfortable with Nico’s mood. They both regret having let Sally go shopping with Annabeth and Grover that morning. Suddenly his friend seems to spring to his feet, grab Nico by the shoulders, and shove him into the pillow nest they had arranged that morning to watch television.

“Nico — I choose you,” Percy says, making an imaginary cap-adjusting motion on his head. Everyone looks confused.

Then Percy looks at Draco beseechingly. Draco sighs and grabs Will by the waist before depositing him in front of Nico.

“Will — it’s time to fight,” he says with less enthusiasm, though a slight smile when Will turns to look at him.

Both boys look confused. They look at each other, then back at the older two. Then, when Percy gives two thumbs up, Nico smiles brilliantly and launches himself at Will. The poor son of Apollo doesn’t stand a chance as Draco begins laughing hysterically and both older boys start calling out random attacks that no one understands.

“Nico, use your bite attack.”

“Will, use your cuddly bear-hug attack.”

“Nico, defend yourself.”

“Will, use your electric light bulb attack.”

When Sally arrives shortly after with Annabeth and Grover and the shopping bags full of lunch and sweets, they freeze in the doorway at the sight of Draco and Percy shouting while Will and Nico roll around the living room in an enthusiastic tangle.

They ask what on earth is going on.

Draco doesn’t understand what they expected. They were left unsupervised.

What did they think would happen?

.

.

That same night, with everyone asleep in the living room after a very long afternoon where each person chose a film and none of them were allowed to leave before watching all of them, Draco lies in a pile of cushions with Nico’s arm wrapped around his, and Will unconscious with his head against Draco’s thigh. When he opens his slightly drowsy eyes, he finds Annabeth sitting beside him, hugging her knees, while Percy and Grover’s snoring reaches almost epic levels.

When she notices him looking, she seems thoughtful. Draco raises an eyebrow.

“I won’t hold it against you, whatever you tell me. I’m just curious.”

“Say it, Chase.”

“You had a perfect shot. I could see it in your eyes — you wanted to hurt him. But instead of killing him, you threw it consciously at his shoulder.”

Then Draco is back in the cave, in the fight, holding the weight of the sky — but also back to the moment before all of that, when he had been watching Luke before he was the first to attack.

And he had.

But he hadn’t gone for the kill.

He could give a moralistic speech about how he had never killed anything before, that he had no desire to kill anyone — but that doesn’t quite ring true either. In that moment he had wanted to hurt Luke, but not kill him.

He swallows.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, mildly nervous. But Annabeth gives him a look that says she understands, before sending through their bond a warm wave that tries to comfort him — though it works better when she gently strokes his forehead.

“I wouldn’t know if I could do it either. That’s why I was curious,” she whispers, as though it’s a secret. And maybe it is.

For both of them, at least. Nothing more is said for the rest of the night.

Draco takes Annabeth’s hand, which she uses to intertwine their fingers. It feels good to have her there for him.

.

.

Saying goodbye is never easy. They go to a bus station to see their friends off early on December twenty-sixth. Will seems sad that his mother is looking for him so soon, since he had wanted to spend New Year’s with them. Annabeth had shyly mentioned the idea of going back to her father. Grover needs to get moving as quickly as possible because Pan is waiting. There are hugs everywhere. It feels good that when he watches Annabeth and Percy hug, the mild ache in his chest doesn’t show — and instead he fills it with warmth when he hugs Will, who has grown so close to him.

It’s difficult not to think of him as family.

Everyone at camp is family in some way, but Will has earned a place in his heart for putting up with him from the very beginning.

The real surprise is when Nico and Will say goodbye.

“You have to message me — there’s still so much Mythomagic I need to teach you,” Nico says, sadness barely concealed, and Will smiles brilliantly back at him.

“Just you wait, Nico — I’m going to make you a Star Wars fan,” Will says, chin up, before the two boys share an awkward but genuinely emotional hug.

Draco feels like he might cry.

“Are you crying, Draco?”

“Shut up, Percy. Our babies are growing up.”

Grover is much easier to say goodbye to. He hopes this journey takes him to his destination and that he stops dropping them into last-second missions. Annabeth wraps him in a hug, promising to see him next summer. Draco can only hope his parents will allow it.

When only Percy, Draco, and Nico are left at the stop, they feel a little adrift.

He had an idea. He glances at Nico, who jumps excitedly to Percy’s side.

It might work.

It might not.

He walks forward before Percy climbs on his back like a koala, with Nico on top of Percy. He thanks whatever demigod strength he has, or they all would have ended up on the ground.

Though he had held up the sky.

This was child’s play.

.

.

His mother arrives on December thirtieth at the Jackson family home. To his surprise, his father is with her — who, while clearly wishing he were anywhere else, agrees this time to sit on the family sofa. Percy seemed downcast at the idea of Draco leaving again, almost hopeful that once more they might share the school year. Nico was also interested in secondary school — or more accurately, he was more interested in the Hunters and complaining that his sister hadn’t visited him since she left camp.

He doubted that would change soon.

Nico couldn’t stay with the Jacksons. Percy was the son of one of the major gods, and Nico was too. Both of them outside camp together was only a matter of time before someone attacked them.

So Draco had thought.

Who has an enormous house with new wards to keep monsters away?

Also, Bianca already knew the truth about Draco.

Right — this could go very badly in every way possible. Better to get to the point.

“Father, Mother,” he says with a smile, before hoisting Nico up under the arms. “I’ve just adopted a child,” he adds, smile intact.

Narcissa freezes. Percy snorts. Sally simply shakes her head.

Lucius, for his part, partially drops his composure to press a hand over his face in irritation.

“A ferret is one thing, Draco. But this is a child.”

“Yes — and he’s a son of Hades,” Draco says with a radiant smile, making both Narcissa and Lucius stare at him in disbelief.

Yes.

This negotiation was never going to be easy.

.

.

In the end, Draco has probably indebted himself for life. His father is a considerably better negotiator than he is, but he admits Lucius was in a weakened state because he genuinely wanted to take Nico home. Percy looks sad to be losing two friends at once, though Draco doesn’t know how to explain that Nico seems to be more of a fan than anything else. Aside from his already-standing demands to place first this year, participate in certain social events throughout the year, improve his relations with the Slytherins and other heirs at Hogwarts, his parents also manage to convince him to agree to meetings about marriage prospects.

He isn’t required to choose anyone — his mother would murder his parents if that were the case — but certain pureblood families are pressuring him to at least explore the possibility of a betrothal arrangement.

He doesn’t tell Percy. His best friend must never know.

Percy is the kind of person who believes love is something special — even if he himself doesn’t seem fully aware of his own feelings for Annabeth — and that every person has the right to choose who they marry. Arranged marriages among purebloods aren’t unusual — they’re the norm. And Draco, even though he doesn’t enjoy women, knows he’ll need to produce an heir eventually, which means a wife is necessary. Both parties in such marriages probably have lovers on the side anyway.

It might be a great deal to be thinking about at thirteen years old, but children raised in these families understand it the way others understand the weather.

Blaise used to joke about his mother. Pansy was well aware of her parents’ lovers. Theo would only sigh during these conversations.

He was supposed to wait until fifteen, but now he has promised to meet at least three girls this year. His mother seemed to want to say something more but kept her expression neutral, and Draco accepted the arrangement so long as it meant providing Nico with protection until summer. The idea of leaving him at camp — where sometimes very few children stayed year-round — felt lonely. There was also the fact that even though Hades had claimed Bianca, or rather, claimed her through her, he hadn’t come for Nico.

He can’t.

Percy said his father couldn’t look after him. Hades wouldn’t be able to either.

He wasn’t going to leave Nico behind. He had promised Bianca, and something inside him genuinely wanted to look after the irritating child. Nico was family, in some way.

Weren’t they all, from camp?

Sons and daughters of Olympians — claimed or not — all family in some form. A little like the purebloods among wizards, though Draco had never felt any real attachment to them.

Camp Half-Blood was different.

They were his.

That thought was terrifying.

So when his mother agreed, and his father agreed — with his conditions — it was time to go. After a quick explanation to Nico about wizards in a room to themselves, the boy looked surprised but intrigued. Part of Nico clearly wanted to stay with Percy, but even as an irritating child he seemed to understand it wouldn’t be wise — though he looked very thoughtful about it, which was unlikely to lead anywhere good. Draco secures his silence by threatening his Hades figurine, which wasn’t the most moral method but was very effective.

Time to go.

“I’m not letting you leave,” Percy growls, clinging to Draco koala-style at the building’s entrance.

Sally laughs beside him, while Nico jumps excitedly behind Draco, his parents ready to head to London.

“Percy — I have to go,” Draco sighs. He thought he’d enjoy the closeness more, but in truth it was a little suffocating.

“We barely spent any time together.”

“Yes, well — there was a near-fatal mission, but we knew the time was limited.”

“I’m getting in your suitcase. Nobody will notice.”

“They will.”

“I want you to stay. You’re my best friend. We now have two children together. You can’t abandon me.”

“I’ll still be your best friend. Next summer we’ll go find death again.”

“No, you will not,” say Sally and Narcissa at exactly the same moment, making Draco smile apologetically, his father Lucius looking almost tired.

After Sally gets hold of Percy and Draco manages to escape, he promises they’ll talk more often, even though they already talk every day. Percy stays behind making puppy eyes as they say goodbye. He thinks of Annabeth’s words — how she said that even if it isn’t in the way Draco wants, he still matters in Percy’s life. And even if Percy doesn’t return his confused feelings, Percy is still one of the most important people in Draco’s life.

He gives him a small smile. His friend smiles back, almost teary, because the idiot is sentimental.

It hurts to leave, but the hope is that he’ll be back soon.

They always have next summer.

But for how long?

Bianca and Thalia are now Hunters. Nico is young. Percy is fourteen and approaching sixteen — only two summers left before a world-ending prophecy probably begins.

His life was so much easier when he was ignorant.

.

.

Nico’s mouth hangs open when they arrive at the manor. He probably hadn’t expected this much money. But nothing compares to when he sees a house-elf for the first time and practically leaps in the air. Having grown up many decades ago, many old-fashioned things seem to make more sense to the boy, who quickly claims the bedroom next to Draco’s. As much as Draco might want the boy to sleep alone, the first few nights he ends up with Draco, remembering Bianca. He seems deflated at the idea of Draco going back to Hogwarts and leaving him behind.

Nico can’t attend a muggle school, but his mother intends to teach him a great many things and is prepared to hire muggle tutors if Nico wants to learn about anything.

That is admirable. He’s surprised by how much his parents have changed. Well — Lucius is still a very clear example of someone who places purebloods above all others, even with a clearly non-pureblood son in the house. So occasionally when he says something dismissive about muggle-borns, Narcissa’s gaze stops him. Lucius’s argument is that Draco as a son of gods is even superior — but that isn’t entirely honest.

He has lived in the muggle world. Even without enough time to discuss it fully with his parents, he had always talked about the muggle world during his year at muggle school. Something of it must have stuck.

Nico is the son of a muggle woman. If Lucius says something about it, Draco would deploy the argument: “She may have been a muggle woman, but she was beautiful enough to make one of the three most powerful Olympians fall in love.” He hasn’t had to do that yet, but he knows it may come and he likes to be three steps ahead of his enemies — or fathers with superiority complexes.

Draco read about the Holocaust and the Second World War at his muggle school. They hadn’t covered it in class, but he’d found it in the library, and it horrified him to see how much it resembled blood purity ideology.

Killing because you think you’re superior.

It’s not something he likes to think about.

Not since the Underworld.

“You have to write, send Iris messages, do lots of things — or I’ll come and get you,” Nico says, bouncing on the bed after another game of Mythomagic.

Draco manages to find a magical catalogue — he had heard about it from Lavender — a catalogue you can order by owl that mysteriously carries muggle items. He buys almost the entire Mythomagic card range, just so Nico can’t intimidate him anymore, which turns out to mean Draco still plays terribly but at least now has a quality deck.

That makes Nico happy.

Not as much as the pegasi in the stables, but it does.

His parents had already thrown the New Year’s celebration before he arrived — they held it a few days early so they could spend the holidays with Draco.

They’d be heading to Italy in a few hours. Nico seemed fascinated by the idea, apparently that was his mother’s birth country.

He wondered if Narcissa had chosen it for that reason.

Another thought that settled in his mind: despite the years, Nico’s mother must have had family. There were probably descendants out there somewhere, or so he hoped. He wondered how Nico might feel about finding people who had lived in that era, or some descendant scattered around. It would be nearly impossible for anyone to recognize him after so many years.

“I sometimes wonder about Mum. I’m a son of Hades — I should know about that sort of thing,” Nico says, face thoughtful.

Draco thinks about that — about the Underworld, about whether if Hades had truly loved that woman he would have kept her alive. But he hadn’t. There must be a reason. Life and death seem to be something very delicate among the Olympians, something to be handled carefully. He only wishes Nico would stop dwelling so much on his past.

Every day he seems increasingly interested in recovering those old memories.

That was dangerous.

“Time to go,” his mother says, appearing with a smile. Draco smiles back, but for just a second he catches the look of jealousy — or rather, longing — on Nico’s face.

He hopes bringing Nico here doesn’t become some kind of catalyst. The boy seems to think more and more about his mother, and he wonders whether his idea of protecting him might be dragging him toward something else. Fortunately for Draco, his mother is a charming woman with a natural maternal instinct who insists on Nico taking her hand and smiles warmly at him every time they pass through some city in Italy.

Long live portkeys and money. His father has the Ministry in the palm of his hand.

The next day his father gets a copy of the Daily Prophet — it even arrives in the magical towns of Italy — where there are rumors about the Malfoy family and about a child traveling with them. He wonders why being in the USA didn’t seem to attract attention like this, but it’s probably the Mist around camp. He needs to learn to control it.

“Niccolo will be a distant relative on the Malfoy side. His parents have passed away, and while he isn’t pureblood, there are one or two family members I can use to support the story. It will help raise the family’s standing. Given that he’s a son of one of the three major gods, he should have powers that will allow him to pass as a wizard,” Lucius decides calmly over his tea.

Draco wonders why his father can’t just say “Nico” like everyone else — but he’s too busy deflecting bread pellets being launched at him by Nico. His mother seems unperturbed without calling for table manners. It’s only a matter of time before she forces Nico into them.

She has a gift for subduing people.

His father, on the other hand, has a gift for bending stories to his advantage and coming out ahead. At least it would mean Nico could be with them without anyone treating him badly. Something about the whole situation gives him a mild sense of unease — his father despises half-bloods and children of muggle-borns as though they were inferior, unless they can be of use to him. And yet, he’s willing to have Nico in the family as one of them, purely because Draco asked.

He hopes someday his father might meet Annabeth. She was charming — even Lucius, through Percy and the bond, had come to accept Percy and had even spoken with him when he came to collect Draco from the manor a few days ago.

“It would be brilliant to do magic — it would raise my attack points,” Nico says with excitement. Lucius and Narcissa glance at him sideways in confusion. Draco just smiles faintly.

“I think we should go to Rome,” Draco suggests, earning three pairs of eyes. He coughs, mildly awkward. “I’d like to see some of the Roman architecture. When I spoke with Annabeth she asked me to bring photos,” he admits reluctantly, making Nico burst out laughing.

“She’s Percy’s friend. She’s not as brilliant as he is, although he did defeat a Minotaur when he was only twelve,” Nico says conversationally to Draco’s parents. Narcissa looks surprised.

Lucius looks horrified.

“Oh no — it’s like Draco with Potter all over again,” he hears Lucius whisper, and Draco just buries his face in the table as Nico launches into a monologue about Percy.

It’s not the same.

It wasn’t that bad.

The looks on his parents’ faces tell him that yes, it was.

He takes photographs of the monuments with the camera Sally gave him for Christmas. He won’t be able to bring it to Hogwarts, but when he shows Annabeth the photos that evening, the girl admits she’s enchanted and can’t wait to see him in summer. He has to talk to Percy — at which point Nico shoves himself into the call excitedly. Percy, hearing that Draco had spoken to Annabeth, calls Will, and Nico pushes Draco aside to talk to Will about everything he’s been up to.

He should say it’s charming.

He would like to be able to say that. But the child has just kicked him with his foot and his stomach hurts. Stupid brat who is nothing but a nuisance.

.

.

Draco is shoved out of his dream in the middle of the night, falls to the dark floor, and is fairly certain he had been dreaming that he was a hero acclaimed by everyone around him. He could swear that even Harry Potter in the distance was applauding, saying with the crowd that Draco was great. After months of strange dreams, just when he has an exciting one, it ends abruptly.

Or not so abruptly.

Far from the woman who usually haunts him in dreams, when he gets to his feet, he sees an elegant man sitting just a few meters away on what appears to be an enormous throne.

He has seen him before.

He lets out a small groan of discontent. So much for one normal night in his life.

“Hades,” he says, flatly. Fair enough, the man had not killed him and had even treated him with a measure of normalcy when he was a hostage at one point.

That doesn’t mean he enjoys seeing him regularly.

Or at all.

“I don’t particularly want to see you either, Malfoy.” The mocking way he says his surname makes Draco huff. Idiot. “I’m only here to warn you of something,” he says calmly. Draco raises an eyebrow.

The gods — always so demanding, always expecting him to perform ridiculous tasks while offering no help in return. Supposedly they’re powerful.

They’re lazy.

That’s what they are.

Except Hestia. He likes her.

“As if I’d want to listen to you.”

“You owe me one.”

“You son of a—”

Hades doesn’t react to the insult. He simply walks toward Draco with calm, bringing his face close to his. For a moment Draco swallows hard, intimidated by the aura the man radiates — reminding him that in this moment, the one who is an insect is not the lord of the dead.

It’s Draco.

He hated feeling like that.

“You saved my daughter Bianca. I congratulate you. The Fates were astonished that a half-blood managed to change the course of the life that had clearly been destined for her. For that I will always owe you.” That surprises him. He hadn’t expected gratitude — the Olympians don’t usually trouble themselves much over their children. “There is a new destiny for a daughter of the underworld — something that isn’t usually possible. A long and beautiful life. But now you have my son as well, and you had better look after him,” he adds, stepping slightly back with an amused smile. “My brother Zeus was furious at your very existence — as was Apollo. A half-blood who can work against the prophecies. I knew I shouldn’t kill you. You are interesting, Malfoy,” he continues, still saying his surname with that mocking lilt, which Draco ignores, far more interested in the information.

Information was always interesting.

“Apollo said something about prophecies. He wasn’t very fond of me.” Not that any Olympian had been particularly fond of him before, but it seemed they took against him with greater ease than they did against Percy.

Hades nods.

“There are prophecies — there are always prophecies, and they govern us. But you exist outside them. Probably because of the curse within you,” he says, pointing at Draco’s chest.

A curse.

He thinks back to what Chiron said some time ago.

“The curse of Patroclus,” he whispers, thoughtfully pressing a hand to his chin. Hades nods.

“Nyx created it an eternity ago. She wanted to balance the world — wanted Achilles not to grow greater than the Olympians or the descendants of Chaos. But ironically, that same curse has formed in you again, in the expectation that it would destroy you as it did Patroclus. It seems everything has turned out differently from what she anticipated.” Hades seems almost entertained now, hands in his pockets — he looks a little like a muggle. “The curse, while it binds you to people and may become dangerous in the future, has also somehow caused your very existence to fall outside the prophecies. No creature has ever existed beyond their reach, and for that reason the gods of Olympus won’t be happy with you either. Something they cannot control is never good.”

“You seem amused by that.”

“It’s hilarious — because no one can lay a finger on you without knowing what might happen, because it isn’t written, and it probably never will be. Even so, it’s likely there’s a prophecy about you somewhere that may guide you someday — though I only overheard from Persephone that Apollo knows it, and he hasn’t told anyone.” Now Hades seems almost intrigued, and Draco huffs.

Olympians.

Always being idiots.

A prophecy about him, but the other prophecies don’t affect him.

What does that mean for the prophecy that might involve Percy?

Does staying close to him change something?

He has a great deal to think about — but not now, not in front of Hades. He wants to sleep and have cheerful dreams where everyone adores him, because he is a genuinely great person.

“Well — whatever the case, I saved your daughter. Which means you owe me one.” Draco points a finger at Hades, who simply rolls his eyes. “I’m also looking after your son, who is a menace. That’s two favors,” he mutters with a slight pout.

“Accept that I’m not killing you as one,” he curses at Draco’s words, but Hades only watches him with amusement. “As for the other — perhaps we’ll speak of it in the future, Draco Malfoy,” he adds with a smile that looks rather conspiratorial.

Before he can say anything, he’s back in reality.

.

Nico has hit him and he’s fallen out of bed.

Idiot.

Chapter Text

The return to Hogwarts came with a tearful Nico who wouldn’t stop hugging him — similar to Percy when they left the Jackson house. It was remarkable, but Nico’s tears managed to convince his parents to keep him for at least two more days after the start of term. Draco fully supported this abuse of privilege — if you have it, it’s foolish not to use it to your advantage. Lucius even seemed somewhat delighted at the idea of irritating the professors by taking those liberties, even if it only meant Draco would have to scramble to catch up on the missed days. Nico had been thrilled to have him for two extra days and talked about Percy constantly — even with the little time he’d had to get to know him.

His mother delighted in this, saying Draco had been exactly the same way with Potter as a child.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

It isn’t pleasant.

“Do you like Potter? I thought it was wrong for a boy to like a boy,” Nico had said the day before he left.

Draco had tugged at his own hair in irritation at the whole mess.

“I don’t like Potter.” He didn’t understand why everyone kept asking. “But there’s nothing wrong with liking boys. I only like boys,” he says, a little more calmly, surprised at how easily the words came out, even though he had only ever said them to Percy.

Well, Lavender knows — but Lavender is Lavender.

And Annabeth seemed to know, because she was Annabeth. She was sharp, after all.

Nico had been thoughtful for quite a while afterward, as though that night had reframed his entire world around something new.

“Your parents want you to marry a girl.”

“Yes, well — that’s because I’m pureblood. But even so, it doesn’t change anything. I’ll still like boys, even if I have children. That doesn’t mean I won’t love my children. It’s complicated for me.”

They didn’t talk about it further, but he noticed Nico’s curious look and figured that when he got back to Hogwarts, the boy would ask more about it.

Good for him.

.

.

Severus receives him at the fireplace looking ill-tempered, and the bastard doesn’t wait for Draco to even settle before handing him a mountain of parchments — he continues to think that notebooks and school books from the muggle school are more practical, boo to the orthodox wizards who don’t know the advantages of muggles — covering every class he missed in the week before he left and the days he now owes. Flint fires daggers at him when he walks into the common room. Apparently there’s a match against Ravenclaw the following Saturday — Hufflepuff seemed to have had a problem with one of their players and a last-minute Dementor, nothing serious, but enough to demand early participation — and Flint is furious at the idea that Draco didn’t appear before the date.

Overdramatic.

He’d need a bit of practice, but his abilities were in perfect condition.

Probably sharper now after his last near-death mission, actually. Playing Quidditch compared to fighting Atlas shouldn’t be that hard.

“You came back late.” That’s all Theo says, raising an eyebrow. The other boys don’t give him many looks, and Draco drops onto his bed.

He wants to sleep.

But he has a great deal of material to cover, so sleep in the coming days is probably nothing more than a fantasy. He also has to improve his relations with certain Slytherins — well, that could wait until after the match. When they win, thanks to him no doubt, everyone will be in a good mood and that’s when he should strike. He’s not an idiot.

The meetings with girls his father has arranged could wait until Lucius plans them. He’ll go — it doesn’t mean he has to want to go.

“Could I copy your homework?” he asks, somewhat hopefully. Theo is brilliant.

Theo gives him a curious look.

“What will you give me in return?”

He’s tempted, but shakes his head. He’d rather not sleep than owe anything to Theo Nott.

.

.

“Draco!” Lavender’s shrill scream in the middle of the Great Hall is rather loud and makes everyone turn to look at him.

He winces as she gets up and runs toward him, nearly knocking him to the floor. Fortunately Draco is strong, though he notices that Lavender’s strength has also been growing. The girl bounces around him, excited but also worried, and it’s only for that reason he doesn’t protest when she drags him to the corner of the Gryffindor table, earning skeptical looks from all around.

Longbottom gives him a shy wave, and the impact is so unexpected that Draco gives a slightly awkward wave back.

He’s a pureblood.

This should work in his father’s favor somehow, even if Longbottom’s parents fought against Voldemort. He’s still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

One of the twins made a rude comment, but Lavender gave him the middle finger. Nobody said anything further. Lavender reminded him that he had saved Potter, which Draco had entirely forgotten. In truth, that was before the holidays, and the holidays had clearly brought far too many other things to think about than the idiot Potter.

Like keeping the idiot Percy alive.

And Bianca.

And Annabeth.

And looking after Will.

And Nico. Well, they’d all understand by now.

In the corner of the table Lavender quickly starts hissing.

“I was talking to Silena — you know how Drew has those spiral curls, well I wanted to know because Mitchell once commented that they looked nice on someone—” Lavender starts quickly, but Draco stops her.

“Isn’t Mitchell that cute boy with the brown hair?” he whispers hurriedly, and Lavender forgets for a moment what they were talking about.

“Oh Draco, I knew you’d noticed him — I mean, everyone in cabin ten is quite attractive, and they all have that stupid idea about having to break someone’s heart as an initiation, but never mind, I’m not going to try anything with Mitchell. But that’s not the point.” She seems to find her original train of thought. “Talking with Silena, she told me everything that happened. Seriously? You can’t have a normal holiday — fighting Atlas, and the whole thing with the Hunters,” she whispered furiously. Draco lets out a sigh and presses a hand to his forehead in exhaustion.

It’s true. Only a few days had passed, and yet it feels like an eternity since he left for the holidays, given everything that happened.

Far too long of a holiday.

“Everything happened so fast — first Annabeth goes missing and Percy was a disaster, then there was what happened with Bianca.” He waves a hand dismissively.

Lavender looks confused.

“The Hunter?”

“Yes, you know — what happened before Christmas.”

“What thing?”

“Well, what happened with her and—” Draco stops talking because Lavender looks genuinely confused, which doesn’t make sense. “Forget it,” he whispers, thoughtful.

He had assumed that by now Potter would have told someone about how he had appeared out of nowhere at Hogwarts with a demigod girl — though a different kind of demigod from what they knew. While Bianca and Nico had sworn — some under threat — to protect the secret of the wizarding world in the demigod world, he hadn’t spoken with Potter about keeping Bianca’s secret. That’s why he had introduced her as a half-blood.

But Potter hadn’t said a word.

Why?

Draco had prepared plans, ideas for what to say when the rumors spread. With Nico being introduced by his father as a distant relative, Bianca would fall under the same umbrella — just studying elsewhere in the world with other wizards, rather than running around with a group of immortal girls hunting monsters.

It wasn’t a favor. Draco hadn’t asked him for one, so he couldn’t be held to any debt. Still, it made no sense.

He turned to look for Potter at the same table, only to find the boy staring at him from a few meters away. When he realized he’d been caught, Potter looked away quickly and tried to appear indifferent. But Draco narrowed his eyes.

Why was Potter watching him?

Strange.

“You have to tell me everything, or I’ll speak to Percy — we both know he tells it better. And why on earth do you have white streaks in your hair?” she growls the last part, incredulous.

Right — at night it wasn’t very noticeable since his hair was naturally platinum blonde, but in daylight it was far more obvious. He took one of the white strands between his fingers, the memory making him shudder. Percy at his side while for a few moments both of them held the weight of the sky above them.

It had felt like an eternity.

The unbearable pain.

He smiles tiredly.

“You’re not going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

Lavender gives him a brazen smile, which Draco mirrors with a lazier one that makes the girl squeal with excitement.

They nearly miss class, but by the end of the day Lavender is clutching a pillow in his Slytherin dormitory as he tells the story. He also recovered his ferret — Goldstein, like most people at Hogwarts who came near him, spent far too long staring at his hair. But he was a Ravenclaw and didn’t ask questions. Smart boy.

Sparky seemed sad to be back with Draco, which made him feel personally offended by his stupid ferret.

“It was so romantic — both of you holding up the sky, both of you bonded,” she says dreamily, hugging the pillow and rolling onto her side.

“Yes, well — the only problem is that he loves Annabeth and she loves him too. Maybe I’m not destined for love,” he says dramatically. He remembers what Aphrodite said, but ignores it. The goddess probably forgets about him the way everyone usually does.

Lavender growls.

“Love is a funny thing, but if you don’t want to fight for Percy—” she says as though it were simple, when he’s spent nearly an entire year fighting his own feelings. “Maybe you could try going out with someone. Not like those arrangement meetings your father has planned — you could try asking some cute boy out.” She winks excitedly, to which Draco raises an eyebrow.

Right. That’s not going to happen.

But when Lavender leaves, Draco lies staring at the ceiling with Sparky at his side. Even though they don’t entirely get along, the ferret likes sleeping next to another living thing.

Going out with boys.

It couldn’t happen. He has an image to maintain, and going out with a boy — if anyone would want to — would mean telling everyone he’s gay, which is terrifying. He might have told Percy, and perhaps Nico and Lavender know, and Annabeth seemed to figure it out because she’s Annabeth. But that doesn’t mean he wants everyone to know.

He hugs his pillow, thoughtful.

Just be yourself.

He smiles when he feels Percy’s presence inside him. They hadn’t used the bond much like that, but Percy must have sensed his insecurity and responded. It made him smile.

His friend was brilliant.

He was an idiot.

But he was his brilliant, idiotic friend.

.

.

The following days were a little dull and exhausting. He spent most of the time in the library trying to catch up. Lavender would join him for the first few days but eventually got bored and left. Theo was usually the one who spent the most time with him, and occasionally Goldstein would take a casual seat nearby. All the Ravenclaws always seemed to be there, as though being clever was part of their job description. They didn’t talk much, but the boy’s notes worked wonders for speeding up his backlog. In the evenings he couldn’t train as he would have liked, because Flint had forced him into Quidditch practice since he needed to be at full readiness for the match.

On the day of the match.

Draco stretched calmly, feeling a strangely exciting sensation coursing beneath his skin.

Flying was exciting.

This was his moment, his habitat, and he was going to tear apart anyone who stood in his way.

This time there would be no Potter to rescue. No — this time it would be only Draco.

His thoughts took a back seat when he walked out onto the Quidditch pitch and glanced toward the staff section. His initial surprise was seeing his parents had come to another of his matches, but the greater surprise was that they weren’t alone. Nico di Angelo stood beside Narcissa, jumping up and down in small bursts, and when he caught Draco’s eye he began waving his arms enthusiastically to be noticed. Draco raised his hand, frozen.

It was Nico.

Nico was here.

Irritating, annoying, insufferable Nico.

“We need to destroy them,” Draco says with blazing eyes to Flint, who raises an eyebrow in excitement, though Draco ignores him.

They have to win — destroy Ravenclaw — and he’ll prove to Nico that he’s better than Percy Jackson. Call him jealous if you like, but he wants to show off in front of the boy who has become something like family. A younger brother.

He smiles with predatory intent when he sees the Ravenclaw Seeker.

Fourth year, Asian — he thinks for a moment of Drew Tanaka from the Aphrodite cabin, but Drew, while a little haughty, is a thousand times more objectively beautiful — and she watches him with serious eyes. Draco smiles in a way that borders on predatory when both teams greet each other, because he plans to make that girl look ordinary and be the best one there.

He hadn’t been planning to play quite so intensely.

But now — damn it — he was going to give a performance.

The match begins in fairly standard fashion. The weather is decent, and Draco rises into the sky without hesitation. When he played with Potter the weather was far worse, and it would be a blasphemy now not to spot the Snitch. Cho seems to keep her distance but glances at him frequently. Draco ignores her. She’s irrelevant, and he observes as his team seems to be having a few difficulties.

He’d mock them later.

The Snitch — the damned thing wouldn’t appear.

He grew tense as the game progressed past the half-hour mark. Some matches can last for hours, and while he wanted to fly past Nico more than once, he decided to focus more on his game. His thoughts scattered when a golden glint appeared. He spotted it before Chang — which was obvious, because he was far too good, and he launched without hesitation.

The girl wasn’t entirely bad, he had to admit. Not better than Potter, but difficult to shake at his side.

Draco made sharp cuts, and Chang kept up, looking determined to win. A pity. If this were a battle of wills, he had her.

His will to win.

He has to win.

He wants to win.

He’s going to win.

His flying grows bolder — sweeping turns, ignoring the blur of the stands rushing past, eyes only on the Snitch and only the thought of winning in his head. There’s almost a full circuit of the stadium, weaving around Bludgers and teammates, but in dodging a Ravenclaw Beater, Chang surges ahead and Draco growls before accelerating. He’s only a few centimeters behind Chang when the Snitch dives sharply toward the ground.

It’s dangerous. Chang decelerates slightly. Draco passes her without hesitation.

It’s dangerous, his well-trained instincts whisper, refined by too many brushes with death. But his desire to win crushes it.

He stretches his hand out because he can see the Snitch — but he’s also stopped noticing how far the ground is from where it was, which means it’s close.

Danger.

He catches the Snitch just as the tip of his broom buries itself in the ground. The momentum of the movement sends Draco flying. They’re also close to the Hufflepuff stands, which means after several rather unpleasant rotations on the ground — producing cuts, scrapes, and almost certainly bruises, if not something more serious — he crashes into one of the stand’s support beams.

He groans with no air in his lungs. But his hand is still holding the Snitch.

He gasps for a few moments, looking at his aching, cut hand, and laughs in delight when he sees the tiny golden ball in it.

There are shouts everywhere — from the stands, from the players.

With some difficulty he gets to his feet. It’s absurd that both of his matches have ended with him on the ground. He raises his slightly trembling hand and shows the Snitch, which causes the Slytherin stands to erupt in roaring cheers. He walks a little slowly — his back burns slightly — but the pain is nothing compared to holding up the sky in his arms. Even without having been alone in that.

The thought of Annabeth doing it alone makes him shudder.

He walks awkwardly toward his broom, which is still intact. Several Slytherin players have come down from their brooms as have the Ravenclaws, but when they approach to celebrate, he ignores them and picks up his broom. Flint huffs when he takes flight, and even though he knows all the spectators must be watching him, he ignores them and flies at a decent speed toward the staff box.

There’s a gasp when he steps nimbly onto the thin railing separating the staff from a long drop. It’s narrow, but he’s done worse exercises at Camp Half-Blood.

Nico is looking at him with enormous eyes full of admiration.

Take that, Jackson. Draco is the cool older brother.

“Better than Percy?” he asks. He can feel a little blood in his mouth, but doesn’t seem to have lost any teeth.

He hears Severus sighing behind his parents. His mother gives him a look that clearly says he should go to the hospital wing. His father has his chin up, smug about his son’s achievements.

“No. Percy is better than you.” He gasps in offense at the sight of the boy. “You did nothing for half an hour.” Nico shrugs, and Draco is on the verge of strangling him — then stops when he sees the boy’s amused smile. “You’re not better than Percy, but that was pretty cool,” he adds now, excited.

Fine.

You won this one, Jackson, you really did. But Draco is proud of what he accomplished all the same.

He takes the Snitch, which seems to have calmed, and tosses it to Nico. The boy blinks in surprise but catches it between his hands and stares at the small golden ball in disbelief. He had given his first Snitch to his mother. He glances apologetically at his father — he had wanted to give it to him — but his father simply gives a light, easy shrug.

The next one — that’s a silent promise his father seems to understand from his smile.

“Shall we?” he asks, mounting his broom and offering a hand to Nico. The boy now looks slightly hesitant, but his own childlike desire to try new things seems to tempt him.

“Young Malfoy, you shouldn’t be taking a child on a broom,” McGonagall says quickly. Draco ignores her.

Nico jumps on, and though he nearly tumbles, Draco catches him easily. The boy laughs breathlessly, whispering something about wishing he could tell Will — though Percy might hear about it, and they both know he’d die of envy.

Even if Percy isn’t exactly a fan of the sky.

“I’ll go celebrate with the Slytherins for a bit. I promise to come to Professor Snape’s office soon,” he says to his parents. Narcissa looks like she wants to fight him into going to the hospital wing, but Lucius simply nods with confidence. Draco dives quickly downward over the protests of several professors.

His parents are the best.

Nico lets out a joyful and slightly terrified shriek at the fast dive. Draco pulls up in front of his team, who eye the boy on the broom with some uncertainty. Nico looks delighted. During the holidays he should make time to let Nico ride around on a broom — not too high, since Zeus probably doesn’t want a son of Hades in his domain. Let the senile old man deal with it.

“Who’s that?” one of the Beaters asks. Draco simply gets off the broom, Nico still on it.

He doesn’t take his hand off the handle, and that’s what keeps the magic flowing to hold the broom steady. The boy looks clumsy on it, but grips it bravely.

He looks at Nico, who turns to look at him.

He smiles.

“He’s a member of my father’s family. He’s like a brother to me.” He smiles slowly and with amusement, which makes Nico’s eyes light up in return.

Before they head off to celebrate, Lavender comes running and leaps on his back, shouting about what an idiot he is and how brilliant that was. After a quick introduction between Nico and Lavender — Nico nods happily when she tells him Lavender also goes to that camp — everyone walks to the Slytherin common room, Draco swaggering as the star of the night.

Nico bounces around excitedly the entire time. Lavender keeps hugging Draco and telling him he’s brilliant. Some Slytherin girls watch him with interest, and from Pansy’s expression he knows she’ll be calling in her favor soon.

Theo greets Nico, but Nico just jumps back over to Draco. Even when introduced to others, he doesn’t seem nearly as receptive as he was with Lavender.

In any case.

Draco keeps him close all night and shows him around the entire Slytherin common room.

Toward evening he takes Nico to Severus’s office, where he spends time with his parents before they have to say goodbye to Nico, who clings to him as though he doesn’t want to let go.

“You have quite a number of close people around you. Very… interesting,” Severus observes with some disbelief when everyone has left. After a sigh, he sends him to the hospital wing.

Pomfrey is rather harsh with him for not coming immediately.

When he lies down to sleep, he reflects on the match, on his day, and on how brilliant it is to be him.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so focused, he might have noticed a pair of green eyes watching him the entire match from a distance.

.

.

“Do you like Mythomagic?” Draco asks, horrified, a week after the match.

To his surprise, Goldstein didn’t seem as bothered as the rest of his house about Ravenclaw losing to Slytherin. To his further surprise, not only did children from his house admire his good performance — some from other houses did too.

Especially girls.

It was strange.

He was usually ignored or looked down on by others. Some envied him, but they didn’t admire him.

The world was odd.

He had taken advantage of it, naturally — he’d been quietly basking in recognition among his housemates, but also speaking gently and diplomatically with heirs in other houses. Not Gryffindor. His father couldn’t force that and he wouldn’t do it. He had even been having ongoing conversations with Daphne Greengrass. They both knew she was likely to end up engaged to Theo eventually, but since nothing was official, some preliminary meetings could happen. Meetings in their first phase were always between the parents, but the individuals involved usually had a few introductory ones first, so that the person of greater importance in the arrangement — in this case Draco — could give his father the go-ahead, or not, to continue. Draco was the one who mattered, and he was the better prospect by any measure. He had no real intention of saying yes to anyone, but that didn’t matter much.

He had given his word.

So Daphne would be one of his “outings,” which in practice meant something more like a compatibility assessment than an actual date, which in pureblood circles wasn’t particularly important depending on your standing.

Returning to the topic at hand — when he arrived at the library and saw the boy with that abomination in his hands, waiting for Draco to work on their Runes project, he cursed Lavender for not choosing Runes and cursed Theo for having rushed to work with Blaise. Goldstein had seemed perfectly willing to work with him.

But now—

“Do you know what Mythomagic is?” the boy asks, eyes bright. Draco growls and sits down across from him.

“My — brother.” It’s strange to call Nico that, but in some way it feels right. “He’s a Mythomagic fanatic. It’s a strange game, but he’s forced me to play it with him all through the holidays. I have a deck in my room,” he says with some hesitation as the boy’s eyes light up with excitement.

At their next playdate for Sparky and the strange ferret — Thorin — Goldstein forces Draco to stay for a few rounds. The boy won and made Draco use his name as they had agreed.

He cursed Goldstein for becoming Anthony.

.

.

“Potter has been watching you. A lot. He’s barely even pretending anymore,” Theo says one morning as they walk to their next class. Draco is juggling a Rubik’s cube in his hands — he had taken it from Anthony the day before.

Percy and he were in a competition to solve it first the next time they saw each other, after being humiliated by Annabeth when she casually mentioned she was the fastest of them all. Nico had called her a nerd. Will, wisely, was helping Draco while talking about his last trip to the beach.

The idea of all of them going to the beach together was tempting. He wouldn’t go in the water, but playing in the sand with everyone would be fun.

“Yes, whatever,” he grumbles as he turns the cube, but doesn’t get the color he wants.

He curses in Greek, drawing Theo’s attention.

“That’s muggle.” Theo points this out as though warning him he’s done something wrong, but doesn’t criticize too harshly.

Draco takes a seat in the back for Defense, thinking Lupin would be horrified by yet another class he ignores. It’s true that now he has to self-study doubly hard. He sometimes sends letters to Amos begging for advice, and Amos doesn’t reply as quickly as he’d like. He also uses this class to work on other projects, so that when he has free time he can study Defense properly.

He also needs to train some evenings. Lavender grumbles about it but has gotten used to it and is becoming quite good at dodging his attacks.

She keeps talking about getting an axe.

Brilliant.

“Yes — Goldstein gave it to me. I’m in a competition with my friend. Don’t interrupt,” he grumbles irritably. Lavender takes a seat on his other side.

“Oh, I heard Annabeth set it as a challenge. Really, Percy and you need to calm down,” she says cheerfully, giving Theo a vague wave. She notices with mild surprise that he waves back.

Those two are strange.

They’re not friends, but they talk. Odd.

“He’s always talking about this Percy person. Is he imaginary?” Theo jokes, but Draco shoves him. There are still a few minutes before Lupin arrives, and Draco just feels livid.

He starts speaking in Greek, and only Lavender laughs at understanding him.

“Kataraménos gios tis skýlas,” he growls under his breath.

“Ypomoní agapité Ntráko, den théleis o agapiménos sou Pérsi na se vlépei étsi,” Lavender replies fluently, making him hiss at her like a ferret. She only laughs in delight.

“That was Greek,” says a new voice, which freezes Draco for an instant. He looks up with a frown.

Theo and Lavender quickly raise their eyebrows in surprise as Hermione Granger takes a seat beside Neville Longbottom — whom Draco hadn’t noticed was sitting in front of them. He had heard from Lavender that there had been some kind of falling out between Granger, Weasley, and Potter over a broom. He had been too busy that day arguing with Percy about whether it was even possible for a horse to swim across the sea simply because Poseidon was fond of equines.

Percy’s points had been ridiculous and kept him distracted all day.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Potter sitting further away with Weasley, staring at them fixedly, which unnerved him.

Why hadn’t anyone told him Potter was watching him?

“Do you know Greek?” Lavender asks with feigned sweetness. She clearly doesn’t like Granger, but it’s possible they need to know this to avoid speaking it in front of her.

He hates that others know this about him.

“No,” Granger admits, going slightly pink. “I know a little French, but not much Greek. My father had been to some lectures where I heard the language — I just recognized it.”

“So you wanted to show off that you knew something. What a surprise,” Draco says before he can stop himself, then curses inwardly as he watches Granger’s expression close off. He was insulting her.

Which yes, he may have been, but he does that with everyone.

He called Percy “that water-obsessed idiot” just yesterday. He calls Annabeth “the nerdy little know-it-all.” He calls Nico “gum on his shoe.” He calls Will “living lightbulb.” Sometimes he calls Lavender “insufferable gossip.” Theo is “idiotic library mouse.”

“Whatever,” Granger mutters, averting her gaze. He receives an amused look from both Lavender and Theo, but it’s Longbottom’s slightly disappointed expression that makes him groan.

Percy would have made exactly that face.

“Look, Granger,” he begins. She glances at him sideways, and Draco is tempted to kick her chair. He doesn’t. “Don’t take everything I say personally — it’s just how I am. Here.” He turns to look at Lavender, who, while seeming mildly put out, smiles brightly at him anyway. “You’re an insufferable gossip of a friend, but you’re the closest friend I have and I’d give my life for you — even if I’m not going to fetch a book from the library no matter how much you beg,” he says dramatically, making Lavender break into a delighted smile.

“Oh, dear Draco. You always know how to make a lady’s heart flutter.”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t go out with you even if you didn’t have fleas.”

“Keep talking about my bleached blonde hair and I’ll tell Percy about how you ate the bread roll that Goyle had been saving with such devotion. It’ll break his heart.”

“It was blue. He’ll take my side.”

Lavender laughs warmly before looking at Granger with a slightly exasperated but warming expression, then strokes Draco’s cheek a little too hard.

He makes an attempt to bite her hand. Lavender pulls it away quickly.

“What my dear friend means,” Lavender says, “is that he’s an idiot. His insults are just how he talks. But believe it or not, he doesn’t actually want to insult you — that much. He’s just an idiot.” She blows him a kiss, which Draco mimes swatting away in disgust, making her laugh.

Granger makes a somewhat reluctant expression, but sighs.

“I suppose. You haven’t called me a mudblood this entire year.” She doesn’t seem particularly affected by the words, though Longbottom flinches. “You also helped Neville and Harry, which makes me want to know — why?” The girl has a lot of nerve.

He admires her for a moment, thinking he would have approached it more subtly, but she wasn’t a quiet Ravenclaw for nothing — she was a reckless Gryffindor.

He shrugs.

“It’s what Percy would have done.” It’s not an answer that satisfies her — he can see from her dissatisfied expression — but it’s the truth.

That’s what Percy would do. That’s what made Percy proud. That’s what made Percy smile. And Draco, even if he could never be Percy’s lover, wants to be someone who makes his best friend smile.

“Who is Percy?” Theo asks again, now genuinely curious, and Lavender’s smile grows enormous.

“Trust me, Nott — you don’t want to know. It’ll make Draco talk for hours and hours about Percy Jackson,” she says tragically, one hand on her head. “Oh, Lavender — Percy got a good score on his workshop this week. Oh, Lavender — Percy told me I should improve my right sweep. Oh, Lavender — you know Percy loves blue food. Sure, it doesn’t matter that he says it seven times a day, he’s still perfect.” She dissolves into laughter at the end.

Theo looks surprised.

“That’s what he used to do with Potter when he was little,” he whispers, and Draco can only hope he’s the only one who heard it. He kicks Theo under the table and Theo complains audibly.

“Stop saying it like that,” he grumbles, red-faced and indignant.

Lavender smiles like a predator.

“Lavender, I told you about how I had to watch The Little Mermaid with Percy for the fifth time because it’s his favorite film.”

“Shut up.”

“Then there was the Spirit thing. And let’s not even start on the whole strange dynamic between them over their time together in the summer.”

“We were training.”

“Sure.”

Draco growls at her. Lavender laughs, and when he turns to look, he notices Granger staring at him with an intense expression. He raises an eyebrow, to which she simply shakes her head curiously.

“Films are something muggle,” she says, slowly and carefully, which — again — is information Draco would use far better in private, when it became necessary, and not at the exact moment it was discovered.

He tenses. Lavender looks horrified at having made a mistake. Theo looks as though he wants to devour him whole, having apparently uncovered something. There’s a full minute of silence between them, even as everyone else in the classroom continues talking, and Potter’s gaze from across the room remains steady. His body slows its breathing for a moment — not for his own sake.

“Draco?”

He feels it. Percy sends waves of concern and a desire to calm him. Not just Percy — he can feel Annabeth faintly trying to soothe him too, and he almost laughs feeling a confused Bianca who hadn’t been reached by the bond until that moment.

His panic must have broken through his emotional control.

Even during Quidditch or with his friends he kept himself contained enough not to let his emotions show. But he was startled for a moment, and—

What does it matter?

Percy had told him — just be Draco. Don’t rely only on his surname. And while there’s a very real chance of scandal if it becomes known that the pureblood Draco is a lover of muggle things, which could cause chaos—

It’s what’s true.

Is it part of him?

Not being gay — though he was — but being part of the muggle world now. That was also part of him. The laughter and experiences with Percy during his year in the muggle world. The moments with Will watching films at camp. Annabeth’s explanations of how the world worked. Grover talking about better parks. Silena talking about hair products.

His parents were trying to understand.

He may not be ready to let others see all his preferences, but this — this was something he shouldn’t be afraid of.

It was him.

Even when Lupin intimidated him. Even when he feels somewhat exposed. Even when it could go wrong.

I’m fine, Percy. Just a little scared. I think I just let some of my muggle knowledge slip out and it’s supposed to be a secret.

They hadn’t done this often. Only once when they were holding up the sky, both of them with the bond more connected than ever.

Maybe the message wouldn’t come through fully.

Just be yourself, Draco. You’re brilliant. You’re my best friend. And if anyone says something bad, I’ll come all the way there to kick them because nobody mocks my friend. Property of Percy Jackson — that should be tattooed on your forehead so no one messes with you.

The response is long, immediate, and honest.

He lets out a nearly breathless laugh, surprising everyone around him — Granger especially.

“Yes — films are something muggle,” Draco admits, with a smile that feels almost free. He doesn’t know if it’s entirely his, or Percy’s, or the hesitant warmth Bianca is attempting to send through the bond.

Annabeth seems relieved. He feels it at a distance — he didn’t speak to her, but he felt her calm.

Granger narrows her eyes with many unspoken questions.

He glances sideways at Longbottom, who looks at him with curiosity but gives a faint smile before turning back to face the front when Lupin arrives. He goes back to his Rubik’s cube and writes Lavender a note when she looks nearly on the verge of tears for having done something wrong.

Everything is fine.

He leaves class with Lavender smiling in mild relief that they’re still friends. Theo says nothing — but the fact that he stays at Draco’s side might be his greatest show of support, or just curiosity. Out of the corner of his eye at the end of class, he notices how Potter launches himself at Granger the moment they leave. He swears he catches a glimpse of Granger’s exasperated expression, giving Potter an annoyed look as though it were somehow her fault.

What has Draco done?

Nothing.

Idiot.

.

.

“Five minutes.”

“Damn you, Percy. It’s impossible. You’re an idiot.”

“Your words hurt me.”

“You cheated.”

“…”

“…”

“I asked Annabeth for help.”

“You son of a — don’t look at me like that. Sally Jackson is a saint. I’m talking about your father.”

Percy bursts out laughing, which makes Draco smile as well. He ends the call because tonight he has training with Lavender. Percy is left complaining like a scorned spouse left behind by their lover, and Draco pretends he doesn’t feel as much about that as he does.

.

.

He tries to ignore Anthony as much as possible. He’d already gone a little mad at his mother’s comment the previous day — after he explained that Nico kept disappearing for a few hours without being found, then reappearing with a face of “pure innocence,” which was worrying him. His mother had the theory that Nico was slipping away somewhere, and she kept asking questions — about magical forms of travel, about whether demigods could teleport or travel in similar ways. Nico was clearly hiding something, and to get it out of him Draco had to spend an entire night talking nonstop about Mythomagic. Nico seems just as jealous as Percy when Draco mentions that Anthony is also a fan of the game, and now he has to convince both of them that Anthony is just a friend.

Not that Anthony was unpleasant to look at.

Fine.

Draco had to look at him more carefully on several occasions, actually paying attention, to notice that Anthony wasn’t exactly horrible to look at, nor just another face in the crowd. The boy had dark, almost brown-blonde hair and light eyes. He wasn’t taller than Draco, but his features were fairly regular. Not everyone stood out like a child of Aphrodite — that was clear.

He was average.

But he was intelligent, and Draco could appreciate that intelligence added points. Besides, he’d only been thinking about it at all because Lavender had casually pointed it out. The boy was clearly heterosexual — there were rumors he was interested in Padma Patil — so Draco wasn’t entertaining any unusual thoughts. Lavender was simply a little mental worm with manipulative powers.

He wasn’t going to try anything.

He wasn’t desperate, and he had plans this weekend. There was a Hogsmeade trip, and Pansy had called in her favor — as expected. Madness. She wanted to be first on his list of planned outings for potential betrothals. Being first would give her a certain status among the other families, as the most interesting prospect the Malfoy family might consider. His father had looked curious when Pansy requested this, given that Draco had barely tolerated her as a child — but his father agreed.

He had to have these meetings. Pansy would raise her status, everyone would gain something.

“Wait — just tell me if he really has the Hades figurine. It’s like, super rare,” Anthony says with excitement when Nico slipped into conversation by accident.

He doesn’t understand why Nico is so defensive. If those two could talk to each other, they’d probably be the greatest geek friends or something.

“He has it. His sister — found it?” Draco says with some bitterness, remembering that it was the reason they nearly both died.

Absolute madness.

Anthony nods enthusiastically. They’re heading into the library because it’s the only place they actually talk together, outside of the weekly playdates for Sparky and the strange ferret — Thorin — where they play Mythomagic. That damned game will pursue him eternally. He notices Granger is again alone at a table, looking bad-tempered. It seems whatever is going on between her and her friends is fragile because of a rat and her large fluffy cat.

He gives her no more than a glance — but noticing that no other table besides hers seems to have free chairs, he’s tempted to leave. Anthony walks over anyway, ignoring Draco’s reservations. He grumbles, because Anthony has some summaries he genuinely wants. He could make his own, but lately his spear training at night takes up most of his evenings.

He gives Granger a grumbling nod. She simply says hello without minding his presence, deep in her books.

Right.

And he still has to beat her this year.

“It must be pretty impressive — they stopped producing those figurines years ago. They’re extremely expensive,” Anthony murmurs with a slight pout, a little more open than he was when they first met. “I have a Zeus figurine my dad got before he died.” Another interesting thing was how he talked about his dead father without seeming particularly wounded, which — well — at camp there were enough children with parental issues to fill a catalog.

“Zeus is the worst of all of them,” Draco says, waving a dismissive hand, smiling when Anthony slides over his parchments, which Draco begins copying at speed.

He notices Granger’s look that clearly says you’re cheating and ignores it.

He’s a Slytherin for Hestia’s sake, not a Hufflepuff.

“In Greek mythology, Zeus is a deity sometimes referred to as ‘father of gods and men’ — he governs the Olympians like a father governs a family, so even those who weren’t his natural children address him as such. He is the king of the gods and oversees the universe. He is the god of the sky and thunder and therefore of energy,” Granger recites as though she’d pulled the information directly from a book. Curious, given that Hogwarts covers almost nothing about the Olympians. She must be a nerd purely by choice.

How revolting.

“Do you want points for that, Granger?” he asks with amusement. She growls, but doesn’t seem to take it as personally as she did in Defense a few days ago.

“He is actually the strongest Olympian,” Anthony adds, looking mildly offended at the criticism of his favorite deity.

See.

This, precisely, is why — even if Anthony wasn’t entirely heterosexual — there were clearly far too many differences to even consider anything between them.

He’d heard Anthony liked Star Wars.

It was a terrifying combination of Will and Nico.

“A nightmare of a father by most accounts,” Draco says, thinking of Thalia. The man turned her into a bloody tree. “Though it’s not exclusively his fault — all the Olympians are probably bad parents, self-absorbed and foolish. Except Hestia — she’s lovely,” he adds with a thumbs up, making Anthony laugh slightly and Granger give him a long look before sighing and going back to her book.

That seems to be a signal to study. Curious. Granger — a Gryffindor who studies as much as a Ravenclaw. Anthony — a Ravenclaw who does credit to his house. And Draco — who is obsessed with winning.

It’s addictive.

When he won his Quidditch match, it was total euphoria.

He had grown so used to his disastrous first year at Hogwarts, and then at Camp Half-Blood where he generally isn’t — good at things. In general, it’s Percy dragging him along to keep him alive, learning everything about this new world, discovering people and who he is when he’s just himself.

Without his parents. Without the wizards.

Winning something. Being good at something. It’s addictive.

“This Runes essay is actually quite impressive,” Anthony murmurs, mildly astonished and only slightly jealous, which makes Draco celebrate in a very obvious way.

He knows.

He’s completely remarkable now.

Granger has no sense of subtlety or decency, he thinks bitterly, as she snatches the Runes essay to read it rapidly. He can see her eyes track the words at an impressive speed. He glances with some concern at Anthony, who wears a similar look, as Granger mutters a few sounds before handing the essay back.

Then she searches through her own papers, clearly looking for something. Draco notices out of the corner of his eye that it’s her own essay.

He looks back at Anthony with an amused smile. Anthony averts his gaze slightly, going a little pink. Draco tilts his head, curious.

.

.

Just like all the other times, this time was no different. He was walking with Lavender toward the bathrooms during a free period, and Draco had nearly walked into the wall while waiting for her to finish. She always spent too long looking at herself in the mirror in the girls’ bathroom. It was while standing there that he saw it. He looked in every direction, relieved to find no one nearby, and walked nervously toward the tall window which, instead of reflecting the outside, showed the image of Percy Jackson. The boy seemed to be moving his hands while sitting at a desk with what appeared to be schoolwork in front of him. It might sound ridiculous, but Draco could almost swear he could hear Percy singing a song.

Lady Gaga?

”…You’re so fine, I want you mine, you’re so delicious
I think about you all the time, you’re so addictive

Don’t you know what I can do to make you feel alright?

Don’t pretend, I think you know I’m damn precious

And hell yeah, I’m a motherfucking princess

I can tell you like me too and you know I’m right…”

Draco watches slowly with a blank expression, not knowing how to let Percy know he’s being observed. Thanks to some Olympian — probably Hestia or someone agreeable — he doesn’t have to. Percy, spinning on his desk chair, lets out a shriek when turning his rotating seat he apparently sees Draco.

Right.

That’s probably either a very good imagination on his part, or he’s not going mad.

“Draco?” For the sanity of both of them, he’s going to ignore what he just witnessed and focus on yet another piece of madness.

Why is he seeing Percy in Hogwarts?

Looking at the image it seems like the boy is in his bedroom, far away — as in different continents far away — and dressed in comfortable clothes.

“I think I’m going mad,” Draco whispers in confusion, but feeling the bond between them, he knows there’s confusion on Percy’s end too.

Can this actually be real?

“Hell — I thought I was going mad, but no — you’re really there.” Percy jumps excitedly out of the chair. If he’s not mistaken, Percy is walking toward a mirror in his room — the one placed there at Draco’s insistence, because he was a bit of a diva about his appearance. “I thought I’d seen you once or twice before. I assumed I’d bumped my head or something,” he adds, looking quite relieved about it.

Yes — that might explain the incident in Potions class at the start of the school year. Draco admires the image again.

He touches the reflection, but it’s not as though he can pass through it like some kind of magic portal.

“It must be the bond,” he concludes after working through the possibilities. Percy nods as though he’s arrived at the same conclusion.

“Talking mentally was already strange enough, but this is even more so. Can you do it with others?” he asks, overflowing with curiosity. Draco shakes his head.

He doesn’t have to try to know. Until now these incidents have only ever happened with Jackson, so it must be because their bond has always been stronger than the others, for better or worse.

First the emotions.

Then the magic of the apparition.

Speaking mentally, and now — this.

“I think we should tell Chiron.” This is getting out of hand. Percy pouts as though someone has cancelled Christmas on him.

“Why? I already have prank plans for the Stoll brothers.” And it’s somewhat wonderful being able to see him make those faces, without needing an Iris message.

This could be more cost-effective too — after all, Percy is the one he talks to most.

“You don’t sleep next to them all summer,” Draco complains, thinking that if the Stoll brothers ever found out they were involved, they would be vengeful and creative about it.

Percy shrugs.

“You can stay in my cabin if you want. Poseidon owes me a few, so he can’t complain.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I have my own shower.”

“Status update — I’m now very interested.”

Percy smiles brilliantly, which makes Draco smile back. It was impossible for anyone who knew Percy not to smile when he did. He could be a child of Apollo for how often his smiles lifted people’s spirits.

Will’s smiles were warm like sunlight too.

Percy’s smile dims slightly before he glances sideways as though looking past Draco’s shoulder, seeming only mildly amused. He doesn’t seem the slightest bit rattled by this new development in their bond, as though both of them can no longer be surprised by the things that happen around them.

“There’s a boy standing behind you holding a piece of parchment,” Percy says with an amused smile.

Draco startles and spins in alarm at being caught, as though he were doing something wrong — which he wasn’t, it was just very strange. His face goes pale when he sees Potter tucking what looks like old folded parchment into his robes, watching him with eyes that are mildly irritated and somewhat confused. He spins back quickly, but Percy’s reflection has vanished, replaced by the ordinary exterior view of the castle.

Typical. Abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Idiot.

He turns back to face Potter with an expression of perfect calm, entirely fabricated. His working assumption is that if it’s through the bond, no one else would have perceived Percy — just him. To anyone else he would simply have looked like a madman talking to a window on his own.

Inside, he’s horrified.

Why did it have to be him of all people?

His breathing was marginally faster, but no one would be able to tell. Not even Percy — who the damned idiot was apparently mocking him for through the emotional bond, enjoying his panic.

He’d kill him slowly when they next saw each other. That was a promise.

“Potter,” he says, though he never does. From the mildly surprised and incredulous look on Potter’s face, it’s clear Potter knows this isn’t something they do.

But then, he’d just made himself look like a lunatic talking to glass with no one present, all because Lavender takes forever in the bathroom.

“Malfoy,” Potter says, looking just as uncomfortable as Draco feels. Draco averts his gaze, freeing both of them from any unnecessary conversation.