Percy Jackson and the Olympians © Rick Riordan
Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

Desperate Scene
Chapter I.

He has always been drunk on power.

Flashes of a handsome boy with dark eyes pass through a million miles a minute through his looking-glass. Slowly, the Caucasian skin becomes paler, and those eyes that bewitched and haunted turned into pale red slits, resembling the serpent that the boy descended from. He became older, merciless, his mind switching from the most mundane tasks to ones that would simply make him the one on top in the end.

Nico has never seen someone so vile in his life.

He tries not to be judgmental (after all, that is not his job) but the more that he gets on his file of Tom Riddle (still growing every moment—it seems as though there seemed to have been a lag as his enchanted papyrus started to bring things together in their order) the more he believes that he should send this man straight to the Fields of Punishment, or even Tartarus. If he was unlucky enough (which he probably was) then Nico would send Tom Riddle right to his father...who would then proceed to through him in Tartarus.

Maybe Kronos would eat him from the eternal prison that was left there. Gods know that both of them would be good matches for one another—both disgusting creatures that were drawn to power that they knew were far out of their reach.

Nico missed Aunt Sally's cooking. And, even though he would not admit it (in a million fucking years) he missed Percy and Thalia too. He missed the people that actually cared about him, because it's rather obvious that Hades doesn't give a damn and Persephone is much too much like a stepmother with an unwanted love-child. Which he is. From eighty years ago.

Nico already met all the people that were here—names swirled around in his head like an endless whirlwind—but somehow, she still can't seem to bring himself to care. It's not like he would ever actually see these people again. Why did he have to learn their name? (Well, he supposed that calling every single redhead "Oi, you redhead!" would be a little difficult considering how much redheads there were in this damn house.)

He wished he was back home. Sometimes he didn't like it all the much, but it was much easier to process things there...where he actually understood things. Here, the most unnatural thing seemed to the descents of Hecate, who managed to keep her secrets safe (though he had no idea how).

Nico was in his room when a he turned around to hear the sound of rushing water. It came from the bathroom, and he could see the glint of water, telling him that it was something more. Standing up, he went to confront it.

As soon as he came in, there was a soft, pleasant voice saying, "Please insert one drachma to receive call from: Percy Jackson, apartment 2B, Fifth Street." Nico's eyes widened and he reached into his jacket, searching quickly for a drachma. He managed to fish one out from the midst of wrappers and loose change.

Throwing it in the water, he absentmindedly locked the bathroom door behind him. Leaning against the door, the Iris Message lit up in the dark of the bathroom and then faded into a foggy picture of Percy. He was grinning, looking back ever so often.

"Hey," he greeted. "Mom's been freaking out. Aren't you coming?" He seemed to take notice of Nico's surroundings, the dilapidated setting, the peeling paint of the walls. "Where the hell are you, Nico?"

"London," the son of Hades confessed. "Dad needed another job done."

Percy frowned, a crease between his eyes. "Alright. Don't think you can make it?" When Nico shook his head, Percy sighed in disappointment, but gave him a reassuring smile anyways. "That's cool. Finish up whatever you need to do, Death Boy, and then come on over. I'm sure mom's gonna save leftovers." He rolled his eyes when Sally shouted something from the kitchen.

"Yeah, thanks," Nico replied distractedly. Then, he hesitated. Should he say it or not? "Actually, I might not come for a while."

"Why?" Immediately, Percy's demeanor changed from one of easiness to the war leader that Nico fought alongside with. His eyes took him in critically. "What's wrong? You're not being held somewhere, are you?"

Nico snorted. "I just told you that I was doing a job for my dad. No, it's..." he ran a hand through his hair. "It's complicated. I'm supposed to collect a soul, but he's not here, so now I have to go on a wild goose chase lookin' for him." Yeah, that was good. Just the usual. "It's just gonna take a while before I catch him."

Percy's eyes were irritatingly knowing. "Okay," he nodded. "Come back whenever you can. Remember, Nico: if you need help, just call. Me and Thals are always here to help."

Nico nodded, but both of them knew he was grateful. "Thalia's in New York?"

"Stopped by," Percy grinned. Then it vanished off his face when he heard someone knocking at the door faintly; Nico heard it too, and a look of annoyance flashed across his face. When Percy spoke next, his words was carefully placed. "Alright then, I'll leave you to your job. See ya soon, kid." He slashed his hand through the message, and it broke.

Nico opened the bathroom door and then went over the main door that led into this empty bedroom. When he opened it, there were two redheads on the other side. Oh, great, just what I need. More technicolored freaks. Nico scowled. "What do you want?" he demanded harshly.

They both raised their eyebrows in perfect union. Nico was creepily reminded of the Stoll Brothers.

"His name is Fred—"

"And his name is George—"

"And we're here to make you feel welcome, mate!"

At the last word, something seemed to react. From behind them there was an ear-popping sound which caused Nico to wince. Black confetti popped out from behind them and they held out their hands and arms in a show-girl sort of manner, grinning widely and deviously. No doubt that it wasn't their only purpose here, but to both Fred and George's surprise, the corner of Nico's lip twitched.

"Nico Di Angelo," he said. "And if you want to impress me, you have to do better." Black eyes glittered before he slammed the door short. Fred and George Weasley stood stock still at the front door, blinking at where the son of Hades once was.

Then, slowly, a grin formed on both of the redheads' faces. "I think we're going to have some fun this year, dear brother."

Meanwhile, Nico pondered if he should IM the Stoll Brothers to see if they had any pranking tips. It had been so long since his last prank. Which, thinking back on it, didn't really turn out all that great. Nico frowned and was about to flop down on his bed, but a knock was administered at his door; he stared at the wooden barrier for a moment before groaning.

This time, it was a bushy-haired girl with brown eyes, reminding his slightly of Annabeth in the way her eyes ticked away in curiosity. "Hello," she started, "You must be Nico. I hope you're all settled in; the house can be rather disconcerting, I understand, and if you cause a ruckus—"

"Is there a reason you're here?" Nico interrupted rudely, "Or are you just running your mouth because you're bored?"

The girl flushed darkly. "Mrs. Weasley called for dinner," she said, her voice stiff. "She told me get you."

Nico rolled his eyes. "Tell her that I'll come down in a moment." Besides, it's not like anything these people make will compare to McDonalds. Whoever invented that is a complete genius and should be revered as a god. The girl nodded, sheepish, and hurriedly walked away while hiding her face. Nico may have felt a little bad for treating her like that...but it disappeared as soon as he closed the door behind him and made sure his sword was out of sight. (These wizards seemed to be affected by the Mist as well).

The dining room was half-full when Nico appeared downstairs, and no one really payed attention to him when he arrived. He found a nice corner by the side for himself and sat down, playing with the skull ring on his finger. He really wanted to be back in New York. He felt...off here in London. There was magic, thick in the air, and it was suffocating him.

He wondered if he could go off by himself and just cut the damn guy's head off. It was that easy the other two times. But no, apparently, there was some Prophecy that said another guy—a teenager if he was correct—was supposed to defeat him, and Nico couldn't get in the way of prophecies. Although...he'd have to ask Apollo—as in, ask Percy to ask Rachel who would ask Apollo—about Wizarding prophecies. Gods know that Dumbledore wouldn't tell him—Nico was fairly certain that the old man was holding back on him.

He was disrupted by Remus Lupin sitting right across from him, a haggard Sirius Black following afterward. Sirius stared at him and then gave a little grin, but Remus seemed to be a bit uncomfortable; Nico could see them sitting together like this when they were kids.

"Hello," Remus greeted amiably. "Nico, right?" Nico nodded, absentmindedly noting how they said his name; like a cutoff of Nick, adding an 'o' at the end. It brought up memories of his mother, and how she used to say it like that as well.

"You hungry, kid?" Sirius asked, waving his hand over to the flying platters that were laden with food, coming their way. Nico's eyebrows raised, but he did nothing more. He hoped there was a fireplace, but with the looks of this place, it might just burn down if he tried to lit it up. Three empty porcelain plates dropped in front of them. "Dig in," Sirius said, almost to himself, before licking his lips and grabbing something. Remus only rolled his eyes.

Nico also took heaping portions, unnerved and aware of how Mrs. Weasley beamed at him. At least the only other two people enamored with him was Sirius and Remus. He didn't think he could take a whole crowd all closing in around him with their questions. Nico shuddered just thinking about it.

The son of Hades really wanted to go find this Voldemort guy out and just suck his soul away. Unluckily, Dumbledore wouldn't allow that—in course of their Prophecy. He really had to go and find this Prophecy of theirs. Sooner of later, he would. Right now, all he needed was information. Nico recalled a moment where one of the redheads said that they needed to go to the "Ministry" for work. That was a good place to start. People from the government gave the best information, whether they knew it or not. He figured that it must've been Arthur Weasley, seeing as how Molly was a stay-at-home mum and he didn't see anyone other redhead that went to the Ministry.

Luckily for him, Arthur Weasley was right next to Sirius Black, who was across from him. It was almost as if they were placed in order of gloominess; Nico at the head, while Sirius and Remus sat beside him and then the colorful redheaded Weasleys afterward.

"So," Nico started conversationally, hoping he didn't sound too thin, "What can you tell me about how things run in the Wizarding World?"

Thank god it worked on the first hook. He must've been granted luck today or something. Remus wrinkled his nose slightly and said, "Well...most of the Wizarding affairs are taken care of by our Ministry...load of things they're doing," he snorted. Sirius hummed in agreement. "That's why this Order was created. The Ministry took no heed to the warnings of You-Know-Who rising and tried to cover it up when he did."

"So...they're the bad guys," Nico surmised slowly, a crease in his brow. He got two answers; while Sirius snorted out, "Yes!", Arthur Weasley (who had been listening in to their conversation) said, "Not all."

Nico gave him an inquisitive look and the man smiled.

"I work in the Department or Muggle Artifacts, and I'm a part of the order. Some of the Ministry workers are spies for us, and some are spies for You-Know-Who. Recently, I think it's going to be taken over soon, but most of the lower ranks are part of the Order. And even if they're not, they're still against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so it's still counting."

"Really," Nico said, pretending to be interested. (Well, he was, a little bit.) "Back in America, you could say we have something like that..." He thought to Camp Half-Blood, the one place where he could (start) to call home, and Camp Jupiter, a Roman camp that his father demanded he be a part of despite the fragile balance. He thought of the organization there and here.

"Like what?" Sirius perked up, eager to hear about the other countries outside of his carefully boxed-in home. Nico's mouth twitched; which should he tell? Camp Half-Blood (which he had given small, sterile hints upon so that their reasoning could be like the Romans), Camp Jupiter (whom he still didn't like all that much for their frostiness—they were colder than him!), or his father's realm? It was all too complicated. Not to mention he would have to reveal some things about himself that he didn't want to.

So, instead, he waved it away. "It'll take a long time," he said truthfully. "Perhaps next time." Nico turned back to the Ministry official. "Is all research facilities controlled by the Ministry as well?" He needed to know so that he wouldn't be caught getting some things done—perhaps illegally—when he went looking for the Prophecies.

"I wouldn't know," Arthur frowned. "Though I'm sure that most researching goes through to the Department of Mysteries. They hold the Unspeakables, which, like their name, do not speak of what they do inside it's chambers. They study upon celestial matters like the mind, love, death, space, prophesying things..." Arthur shook his head. "My head gets all jollied when I think about it."

"Hm," Nico said in reply, trying to hide his surprise and thrill. "Interesting..."

"Why do you want to know about the Ministry, Nico?" Remus asked, a tad bit suspicious.

Nico felt his lips twitch. "Curiosity, actually. I know nothing of the Wizard world, and it's...fascinating, I guess you could say." He fiddled with his fork and didn't see Remus, Sirius, and Arthur share a knowing look. Despite his large power (they assumed he had) he was still a boy, as it showed in his physical appearance. No doubt that he was a bit overwhelmed with this; they were too. So, ignorantly, they let the topic go.

Meanwhile, Nico smirked.

.:.

The next time that an Order meeting was arranged, Nico Di Angelo pulled aside Minerva McGonagall and gave the others a glare. The professor, of course, was much too shocked to say a word and allowed herself to be cast aside to talk to a twelve-year old boy with a death glare.

"May I help you...?" she inquired after she had gathered her wits. The boy in front of her seemed to radiate some sort of power; it made her feel sick, however, looking at those dark eyes. Like endless, bottomless pits.

"Yeah, you could," Nico started out humbly. "I'd like to talk to Dumbledore about something."

At this, McGonagall frowned. "Professor Dumbledore is a very busy person, young man. I'm afraid I'll have to know your purpose to actually consider an appointment with him."

Nico twitched in annoyance; how much could one old guy do? He frowned darkly, emotions flitting across his face. He was fighting himself with his own decisions—should he go ahead and tell her? But the less people that knew, the better. Should he ask Dumbledore or whoever was in the Order (he had a limited knowledge of who was there) if this woman was trustworthy? Nico had no idea what to do.

McGonagall saw the conflict on his face like and open book and was about to suggest something when Nico sighed and said lamely, "I can't tell you. I'd have to talk to Dumbledore about that." Suddenly, he became inquisitive. "When is he going to be free?"

The Transfiguration professor raised an eyebrow. Although she had always said that the Headmaster was busy, no one really took her seriously and asked for Dumbledore anyways. It was irritating after a while, and now someone was willing to give her the time of day to explain things through. A thin smile passed her lips. "I shall let you know, mister...?"

"Di Angelo," Nico replied absently. "I can wait. But it'd be great if it was in the week...or earlier."

"This weekend there is a Hogsmeade trip," McGonagall informed. "The Headmaster will be free then, most likely. I'll inform you if there is any opening to his plans. May I know where I can contact you?"

Nico scowled slightly at this; as far as he knew, he was supposed to keep the location of that Grimmauld Place quiet. But McGonagall seemed trustworthy, and she was the Deputy Headmistress...(he had been told this by the Weasley twins), so she should know about Dumbledore's involvement, right? Going out on a whim, he said, "Order Headquarters."

It took a moment, but McGonagall blinked before her eyes became slightly rounder. She pulled Nico away to the side, whispering, "Don't speak of it so loudly, mister Di Angelo." There was a gleam in her eyes, and Nico knew that he had gotten this one right. "I'll send the note to you. But as a member of the Order..." She straightened. "Are you the lad that dropped in a day or two ago?"

Nico noticed that there was a Scottish brogue to her accent when she said 'lad', and then he balked at the small observation. Answering her question, he replied, "The one and only."

McGonagall gave him another thin smile, and Nico knew that he would be meeting the Headmaster soon.

When Nico returned to the Order—taking careful note to appear at the front door, like Dumbledore instructed—he found himself the sudden subject of interest as soon as he walked through the door. Of course, he had stuffed his hands in his pocket and fingered the stygian whistle that Percy gave him ages ago; a precaution, apparently, a call that only Mrs. O'Leary would hear. He had half a mind to blow (for he had no idea what to do) but then he stopped when he looked up and saw that everyone was staring at himin a peculiar way.

Nico raised a petulant eyebrow. "Can I do something for you?"

A gruff man that Nico remembered as Alastor Moody glared at him, the whole business with his mismatched eyes disconcerting. "Where were you, boy? You were gone for nearly two hours." Oh, so that was how long I slept, Nico thought absentmindedly. It took him about fifteen minutes in all with the ordeal with Professor McGonagall, but he had slept outside of an alley to get his strength back. He didn't have enough to get past magical wards and appear without passing out.

"Hey, you're not my mom or dad, alright?" Nico said, rolling his eyes. "I was out."

"Definitely a teenager," he heard Molly Weasley mutter to her husband.

"You could've been a spy for the Dark Lord!" Moody whispered fervently, walking forward toward him with limping steps. "For all we know, there could be an attack the next moment, anytime soon! Where were you, boy?"

Nico narrowed his eyes. "Hogwarts," he spat out, to the surprise of others. "With Professor McGonagall. Is there anymore questions or assumptions you'd like to make about me, or is that all?" He finished, smiling with a tinge of nastiness laced in his voice like poison darts. Many people flinched. "You can ask her, if you want. Question her under that...potion thingy that makes you tell the truth."

"Veritaserum," said a pink-haired lady he remembered as Tonks. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. He was reminded slightly of Annabeth, though he didn't know why.

"Did you just finish an Order meeting?" Nico asked, curious; he recognized some faces that usually didn't stay around, and the kiddies weren't here either. Though he could detect their faint presence in the house.

"Yup," Tonks replied, chippy. "You just missed it. Dumbledore came by and left."

Nico felt something akin to ire and irritation raise in the pit of his stomach. He lowered his head a little bit, letting his bangs fall into his eyes. "He did now, did he?" he said ominously, causing a few to look at each other in wariness and suspicion. Then, the teen seemed to narrow his eyes in anger and he pressed his lips tightly together. He muttered something that sounded like it was suspiciously Greek, but then said aloud, "Missed him again."

"You went to Hogwarts looking for Dumbledore?" Remus Lupin asked. Nico nodded. Remus smiled, bemused. "Well, isn't that a bit of unfortunate timing."

"You're telling me," Nico snorted. Suddenly, he seemed to sober. "Okay, since you're all here...I was wondering if I could ask you something concerning your Prophecy including Harry Potter and Lord Vol—" he was shushed by a few of the Order members. Nico corrected himself, "—You-Know-Who, and I was wondering if you guys knew that there was a way to change it."

Tonks gave him a sharp stare. "Prophecies are kept in the Department of Mysteries—"

"—and cannot be tampered with and/or changed, always telling the future of particularly strong, influential, or important wizards." He rolled his eyes. "I know. But I'm saying, who actually said these prophecies?"

Tonks shared an uneasy glance with another woman, dark-haired this time. "Well, most are Seers. They get visions, and like the woman who made Harry's prophecy—Trelawney, right?—and then an orb forms and is charted, named, and placed in the Department of Mysteries. That's as far as I know. The Unspeakables won't say anything else about the topic."

Nico pursed his lips. "So...there's no given...'Seer', you called it, for a particular prophecy?" Nico sounded skeptical and a bit incredulous. "Are you sure about the ingenuity of the Prophecy itself?"

"What are you trying to say?" Arthur Weasley cut in, looking confused and a bit offended.

The son of Hades sighed. "Well, back home, there was one...ah, 'Seer'—we call her the Oracle—and she's been blessed by the god of Prophecies himself. The Oracle of Delphi, to be exact. And she makes most of our prophecies. Yes, where I'm from has prophecies as well," he said to the people who started to look curiously in his direction. "And I don't really trust anything that hasn't been said from her mouth."

There was a silence as the Order mulled his over.

"Oracle of Delphi?" Remus repeated, frowning. "That sounds oddly familiar."

"Muggle Studies," Sirius Black, whom had been quiet through the whole thing, said. "Remember? We'd make fun of the teacher for teaching us Divination shit. Muggle ones, too. Roman, I think?"

"Greek," Nico corrected, remembering his unpleasant experience with the Romans and their way of predicting the future.

"Wait," Another man interrupted, tall and dark-skinned. "Are you saying that the Prophecy might not be real?" His voice was laced with disbelief. Something in his tone told Nico that the Prophecy had a large part to play in this. He looked from one person to another and shrugged.

"Might not be. You'd want to get the Oracle over here and see for herself."

Outbreak of whispers and talking started to ebb around the whole conversation. Nico felt a migraine coming along and narrowed his eyes again. Moody roared at everyone to "shut their potholes"; Sirius grinned and Remus rubbed his temple.

"My cousin knows her," Nico offered meekly. "He could come over."

He had a brief stare off with Moody, blue eyes—one artificial, one real, both eccentric in colour and depth—and then, it seemed as though the war-hardened veteran seemed to soften toward him slightly. "This might be important, boy. Potter might not have to fight after all." At this, Sirius let out a relieved laugh, and Remus sat beside him in stunned revelation. Nico heard a faint thump behind the door. He had a pretty good idea what was going on there.

"I know," he said, shrugging. "You just have to trust me."

.:.

to be continued...