A/N
Sorry for a bit of a late upload. I think I'll change my "Saturday" upload to just weekends in general. I borrowed a bit of writing from Rowling on this one, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Disclaimer: Rowling and Riordan wise, not me. Own books they do.
Annabeth's POV | Hogwarts
Annabeth was at the top of the Empire State Building.
It was eerily quiet, the soft crackling of fire in the braziers the only thing to break the piercing silence. A light breeze swept the aerial walkway and lifted a strand of hair into Annabeth's eyes. She impatiently brushed the hair away and looked around.
Mount Olympus was completely deserted. The streets were empty and dark, the doors shut tightly with shuttered windows. Even the normally bright parks seemed dismal and dim. Annabeth's hand went instinctively to her side, but neither her knife or wand met her grasp.
"Not pleasant, is it?"
Annabeth started and whipped around. Athena was standing behind her, dressed plainly in a silver stola and purple sash. On her shoulder rested a large great horned owl, gazing fixedly at Annabeth with large amber eyes. Her hands were empty.
"Mom?" Annabeth asked blankly.
Athena arched an elegant eyebrow.
"Evidently," she replied coolly. "Any more pointless questions?"
Annabeth bit back her tongue and clasped her hands tightly behind her back.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. "I'm dreaming, right?"
"Of course," Athena sighed, ignoring the first question. "Which means we only have a minute more; so listen very carefully." She leaned forward and Annabeth impulsively mimicked her, straining to catch her words. "You have been careless, Annabeth." Athena continued. "So careless, in fact, that you may just be the cause of your friends' demise if you don't heed my words—"
"What do you mean?" Annabeth asked at once. "What did I miss?"
A rainbow had appeared behind Athena, faint, but growing brighter by the second. Athena glanced back at it before returning her gaze to Annabeth, the owl swaying slightly on her shoulder.
"Take nothing for granted," she continued urgently. "Trust no one."
"But my friends—"
"Trust. No one." Athena repeated. "And nothing."
"But why?" Annabeth asked. "You're not making any sense! What did I miss?!"
Athena gazed remorselessly down at her.
"How should I know?" she replied coldly. "I'm not even there."
Annabeth woke with a start. She was back in Ravenclaw Tower, her midnight blue covers tangled in her legs. A faint grey light was peeking through the gap in the blue and bronze silks covering the arched window. The time on the ornate bronze clock hung from the wall read 5:42 AM.
Annabeth sighed and let her head rest once again against her pillow, eyes closed. Her mind was racing. Why did her mother insist upon being so cryptic all the time? Would it hurt for once to just say what was actually going on?
She felt guilty, cheated even. Nothing extreme had happened yet, but she still had managed to go wrong already. After another half hour or so of stewing, Annabeth finally gave up and got out of bed.
She was one of the first people at breakfast. A few older students already sat at the Ravenclaw table, but only one or two Hufflepuffs and Slytherins had arrived. The Gryffindor table was completely empty. Annabeth sighed and pulled out her copy of Hogwarts, A History.
The Great Hall slowly filled as she read. At 7:30, Artemisia arrived with The Daily Prophet, swooping down among the other owls and landing gracefully in front of Annabeth. Annabeth took the newspaper from the drawstring pouch at her leg and dropped a few coins in its place.
Artemisia hooted softly and Annabeth fed her a few bites of toast before she took off again, blending into the mass of brown and grey owls. Annabeth could've ordered the prophet by post owl, but she almost never had letters for Artemisia to carry, plus she knocked off a few knuts from the cost by using her own owl.
Annabeth unfolded the newspaper, taking a sip from her glass of orange juice. After scanning the front page and finding nothing interesting, she flipped lazily through the rest of the paper until a small picture and article cramped at the bottom of a page caught her eye.
The picture was of a handsome man smiling blandly up at her. He had serious eyes and thick, shoulder length hair that curled up at the ends. The article next to him read in bold, block letters:
JAMES EDWARDS TAKES HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF INTERNATIONAL MAGICAL COOPERATION
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge announced last night that James Edwards (age 32) will be replacing Mr. Clement Bennet as head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This decision was made following Bennet's announcement of his premature retirement. "It was a bit unexpected, yes," said Minister Fudge last night. "But we're handling the situation smoothly. James is more than qualified for the position." Despite this statement, Edwards will only be the second ever head of department to not have a Ministry position prior to their assignment, the first being Barry Wee Winkle in 1931. Mr. Clement will retire to his countryside home in Ireland, where he hopes to open an ice cream parlor with his wife. Edwards was unavailable for comment.
"What's this?" Leo asked, sliding into the seat next to Annabeth and peering down at the article.
"Nothing," Annabeth sighed. She closed the paper and tossed it to the side. "I thought it would be something important."
Leo shrugged and began piling hash browns and sausages onto his plate.
"Who're you rooting for tomorrow?" he asked around a mouthful of potatoes.
"What?"
Leo swallowed and took a gulp of juice.
"The Quidditch game tomorrow," he repeated. "Slytherin vs Gryffindor."
"I'm not sure," said Annabeth. "I haven't really given it any thought."
"Well my bets are on Slytherin," Leo announced.
"Why?" asked Annabeth curiously.
Leo shrugged.
"Piper let me borrow her scarf."
Defense Against the Dark Arts was terrible as usual. Annabeth had never had trouble reading a book before, but Slinkheart put all other authors to shame. She was tempted to read her Transfiguration textbook instead, but the prospect of carving absurd phrases into her hand like 'I must read Slinkheart' or 'Umbridge not McGonagall' detained her.
The rest of the day dragged on slowly. With Hermione's extra help, Annabeth prowess in practical spell work had steadily improved. In fact, all eight of the demigods had managed to perfect the silencing spell after only an hour of tutoring from Hermione. Annabeth was not the top of the class, but she was definitely no longer at the bottom.
When dinner arrived, Annabeth and the rest of Ravenclaw house followed the delicious smells of baked pumpkin down the many stairs and into the Great Hall.
Thousands of glittering golden plates and sparkling utensils adorned the house tables. Pumpkins bigger than her were scattered along the walls, cobwebs draped artistically across them. A hundred live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a hundred more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter.
Annabeth took her seat, looking around in wonder. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Dozens of pasties and potatoes piled high on top of the platters, the tables groaning under their weight.
Annabeth snagged a sweet potato and a Lancashire pasty from the plates in front of her and dug in. It was quite possibly the best meal she'd ever had. Halfway through the feast, Annabeth and the other demigods joined Piper at the Slytherin table.
A snotty looking girl with a pug face glared at Annabeth the entire time, but she didn't care. The eight were together again, and that was all that mattered.
Frank's POV | Hogwarts
The morning of the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin dawned bright and cold. Frank bundled up in his robes and cloak and wrapped his scarf, which Hermione had charmed gold and red for the day, around his neck. Jason mimicked him across the dormitory with his own scarf, which Hermione had reluctantly agreed to turn green and silver for the match. Nico, who had yet to reveal who he was rooting for, refrained from wearing a scarf at all.
The three of them had a quick breakfast and then joined the crowd flocking towards the pitch. Jason split off with Piper and Leo to join the mass of green and silver but, surprisingly, Nico followed Frank towards the Gryffindor side of the stadium.
There, they met up with Hazel, Percy and Annabeth, who had taken the seats beside Hermione. She was biting her nails anxiously, gazing down at the field.
"You okay?" Annabeth asked her.
"Me?" replied Hermione, flustered. "Oh, I'm fine, you?"
"I'm good," Annabeth replied, still looking concerned.
Hazel laid a reassuring hand on Hermione's arm.
"They'll do fine, don't worry."
Their conversation was interrupted by Luna Lovegood, who had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head. It roared loudly and Frank jumped, surprised. Luckily nobody noticed as just then, the teams marched onto the field.
The two teams walked in single file towards each other, brooms shouldered. They met in the center of the field, the lines of scarlet and emerald facing each other on a mass of white frosted grass.
"Captains shake hands," ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch.
The Gryffindor captain Angelina shook hands with Slytherin Montague.
"Mount your brooms…" Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upward.
"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me—"
"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.
"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest — and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and — nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away—"
Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium. Hermione had forgone her nerves and was dancing on top of seat, cheering along with the rest of the crowd. Hazel let out a whoop beside Frank, joining the din of yelling and booing and singing—
"—dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger — close call, Alicia — and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"
And as Lee paused to listen the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.
Weasley was born in a bin,
He always lets the Quaffle in,
Weasley will make sure we win,
Weasley is our King.
"—and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, trying to drown out the sound of the singing. Hazel looked at Frank, mouth agape in horror. "Come on now, Angelina — looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! — SHE SHOOTS — SHE — aaaah..."
Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zigzagging in between the two Gryffindor chasers; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron—
Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He always lets the Quaffle in,
Weasley is our King.
"They can't be serious!" Hazel shouted over the roar of the crowd.
"It's Malfoy," spat Hermione, looking livid. "He and his stupid Slytherin cronies—"
Frank looked towards Ron; a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goal hoops while the massive Warrington pelted toward him…
"—and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead—"
A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring...
"—so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team — come on, Ron!"
But Ron dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle soared between them, straight through Ron's central hoop. The Slytherins on the other side of the stadium screamed in delight.
"Slytherin score!" came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin — bad luck, Ron…"
"Come on," Annabeth announced, getting to her feet and dragging Percy up with her.
"Wha—?" he said.
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN...
"Are you going to let this continue?" asked Annabeth incredulously. "This isn't about winning the match anymore. No one should have to suffer through that."
WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING…
"Right," Hazel agreed, standing as well. Frank quickly followed her.
"What are we going to do though?" he asked, gazing down at the mass of emerald and silver.
"—and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch—" cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.
"Let's find Piper and the others." Annabeth said firmly. "Are you coming?"
Hermione looked bewilderedly up at her.
"What're you going to do?"
"We'll figure that out when we get to it," replied Percy, waving a gloved hand dismissively.
"But—"
"Are you coming or not?" Hazel asked impatiently.
Hermione glanced back towards the game, where Harry was desperately circling the pitch, looking for the snitch. She nodded.
"Nico?" Frank asked.
Nico shot him a glare and stood.
"Of course I'm coming."
WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN…
The six of them made their way down the stands and alongside the front of the crowd, headed towards the Slytherin end of the stands. Frank could see Pansy Parkinson at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the roaring Slytherin supporters.
"There!" Hazel shouted over the din, pointing at the stands.
Piper, Leo, and Jason were standing near the bottom of the crowd. Piper appeared to be talking angrily to a Slytherin beside her. The Slytherin tossed her head and turned back to towards the pitch, singing loudly.
WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING…
Percy led the way towards them, the only red among a sea of green. The Slytherins they past glared disgustedly at them, but were too intent on singing to say anything. Hermione trailed behind Frank, biting her nails and glancing around nervously.
"—and it's Warrington again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now Angelina, you can take him — turns out you can't — but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh who cares, one of them anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell — er — drops it too — so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!"
"What're you guys doing here?" Leo asked, looking up at them.
"Oh thank gods," said Piper breathlessly. "I've been trying to talk some sense into them, but no one will listen to me…"
THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING:
WEASLEY IS OUR KING.
"Don't worry," Annabeth said. "I have a plan."
"When did you come up with one?" asked Percy indignantly.
"On the way here; listen…"
"—and Pucey's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"
The Slytherins around them roared and screamed in delight as Ron again missed the save. There was a great groan from the Gryffindor end.
The nine of them lined up alongside the side of the stands, wands out and facing the crowd.
"Alright!" Annabeth shouted. "Just like Flitwick— and Hermione —taught us!"
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,
WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN—
"Now!"
They raised their wands, pointed at the crowd of singing Slytherins…
WEASLEY IS OUR—
"SILENCIO!"
The crowd was suddenly silenced. A few people that their spells had missed continued singing loudly, but they quickly died out as they realized they were the only ones. At the bottom of the stands Pansy shouted soundlessly at them, pointing.
"Quickly, Frank!" Hazel hissed.
"I can't, they're all watching—"
Hermione pointed her wand at a burly looking seventh year.
"Rictusempra!"
The Slytherin collapsed into fits of silent laughter. Catching on, Nico stepped forward and shoved him into the crowd.
The Slytherin tumbled into the rest of the crowd, his flailing arms knocking people over like bowling pins as he went. The pack of students led by Pansy were sent falling back down the stairs, Pansy silently shrieking the entire way.
Over the cover of the silent chaos, Frank transformed into a ferret and scurried into the crowd.
Harry's POV | Hogwarts
"—Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey — Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good — I mean bad — Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again..."
The song from the Slytherin end had suddenly stopped, the roar from the Gryffindors the only sound on the pitch. Harry didn't have time to figure out why, however; he had spotted the Snitch.
Harry dived…
In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green-and-silver blur lying flat on his broom.
The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off toward the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer. Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck.
Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching toward the Snitch… To his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, reaching, groping...
It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds— Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball — Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly — Harry pulled his broom upward, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval.
WHAM!
A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forward off his broom; luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch.
He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice.
"Are you all right?"
"'Course I am," said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet.
Madam Hooch was zooming toward one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was at this angle.
"It was that thug, Crabbe," said Angelina angrily. "He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch — but we won, Harry, we won!"
Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by; white-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper…but then he was born in a bin... Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
Harry did not answer; he turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
"Your little sidekicks are really going to get it," Malfoy continued. "Look."
Despite himself, Harry looked towards where he was pointing. Among the mass of green at the Slytherin end were several scarlet figures and one person dressed in unmistakable pink. There was a sinking feeling in Harry's chest. What had they done?
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see—"
"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.
"—we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know —"
Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy.
"Leave it," said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little—"
"—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay —"
Harry grabbed hold of George; meanwhile it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly.
Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.
"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away. "You can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"
Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach—
"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!"
He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled "IMPEDIMENTA!" and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach…
"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet again; it was she who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx.
She was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background.
"I've never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"
Harry and George marched off of the pitch, panting, neither saying a word to each other. Harry through one final glance back at the crowd, where he could see hundreds of eyes staring at him, before he entered the Great Hall.
A/N
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