A: Catie Cat and Sherlock Harry Winchester are right. The mind link or as it is canonically called 'Empathy Link' was still there right up to Son of Neptune. Awesome!

Thank you for the comments, they boost my spirits when I read them! You are the best!

Note: Keep track of the chapter titles. I like putting little clues in them. And the poll! Check it out if you haven't, already.

Warning: Underage drinking

Listening to – BagBak by Vince Staples

Saturday, Nov 3
Dynasty Apartment, Manhattan

The session with Dumbledore had been swift. Harry watched the memory of one of Tom's school days, a seemingly innocent boy who charmed his way through all the mock relationships he'd ever formed. Everything was a calculated move, intended on achieving an end, no matter how far away it was. There was always an ulterior motive for his smiles, winks and agreements because Tom would never smile, wink or agree with anyone wholeheartedly. His cold gaze could cut glass and freeze a room if anyone was unlucky enough to rub him the wrong way. And once, Harry had even seen a reddish glint light up in his eyes, displaying unrestrained and manic power behind his constructed charisma.

He'd been close to that. Years ago, just fresh from Halloween of 2002, when he remembered that torture and pain of death, when he wanted to lash out at them. At the age of five, Harry had been unlike any normal five year old. He was closed off, detached and clinical, and he too his time to understand how adults functioned, planning out exactly how to track people, to find the right people and deliver justice.

And he'd left no trace of his presence behind, except for Robert McCallister.

Harry was in a daze ever since he'd taken back that slip of paper from Dae Iseul's hand, walking away from her, unaware of his surroundings. He had gone up to the Headmaster's office and didn't question the sombre atmosphere of the portraits, the empty stand of the phoenix or the sagging wrinkles on the man's face. They talked briefly after the memory, both clearly distracted by other matters. Dumbledore hadn't even stopped him on his distanced attitude. Harry had nodded, and shrugged all through the short conversation, finally leaving at six in the evening.

The sun was low in the lavender sky, the wind from the north blowing colder with every passing day. Harry hadn't even stopped to think. He had walked right onto the grounds, and used the oak tree by the Black Lake to travel to Central Park.

Instead of setting off for the Jacksons', Harry turned from the gate and walked in the direction of a building closer to the park. The Dares were based in their apartment named Dynasty, home to only Rachel.

She would listen if he told her, wouldn't she? Harry couldn't imagine telling anyone about this. DJ would be terrified, Percy would be in shock. Sally too and Sirius and Remus. Ron and Hermione would be speechless and horrified by the truth.

Would Nico understand? Would Harry be able to convey that he had been young and stupid when he went and murdered ten men?

But Rachel? She was his sister, wasn't she bound by blood to support him no matter what? Harry was being stupid again. DJ should also follow this logic if it was true…

And besides, Rachel had made it perfectly clear that she was unimpressed by his actions the other day. Harry cringed as he thought back to the day when he'd twisted Ward's arm. He was sure that would hurt for a while. It had been so energizing and empowering to do that, though. Ward deserved that kind of pain. Anyone who thought they could get away with hurting people deserved –

Harry stopped in front of the gate. It was lunch time on the east coast. The security guard wasn't there. The steps leading up to the doors reminded him of Goode's entrance. Rachel would be at school…

Or at home, considering it was a Saturday. Harry took out his phone and switched it on, tapping on her icon to call her.

It rang a few times before she picked it up.

"What?" Her voice was brusque. She was still pissed at him.

Harry closed his eyes. "I want – … I mean, I am… I'm in New York."

"I thought there was no session today."

She was taking about Mantis.

"There wasn't. Nobody knows I'm here."

He was done lying. If he was going to tell Rachel the sordid truth, he might as well not hold back at all.

"Harry, for the gods' sakes! You're asking for trouble, you know that?"

"I know. I want to tell you something."

"Are you here to apologize?" Her voice turned a little sardonic.

"Not if you don't want it. I just have to talk to you."

She sighed. "I don't want to see Percy."

"I'm not at Percy's. I'm outside your house."

That must have made an impact because he could hear a lot of rustling over the line. There was a smooth click of the opening of a well-oiled window and he looked up. Seven floors above the stairs, he spotted a red mass of hair poke out from one of the balconies.

"Dodo." She said. "Wait a minute."

Rachel cut the call and Harry stood in front of the gates, rooted to the spot as though obeying every command. There was an electronic beep before the gate opened on its own. He caught one of the bars and let himself in.

She waited by the doors, raised eyebrows and judgemental stare. She wore a large white t-shirt that had strokes of blue paint over it.

"You've been painting?"

"You've been breaking laws?"

Harry tried to smile. "The usual."

Rachel exhaled. "I'm letting you in only because you look like shit."

That did make him smile. They walked into the silent house. When Harry noted the absence of the house staff, Rachel mentioned that they were on their once-a-month paid leave. Rachel preferred to spend quiet days like this, working on sketches in her art room.

"You don't mind being alone?"

"There's nothing wrong with be alone. Everyone needs time to themselves."

They went up to her room where Bolt, in her tiger form, was stretched out on the bean bag. The bag looked like it could break at any moment.

Rachel dropped into the chair by her bedside table, sitting in a pose befitting a princess. "So…you look like you've had a dance with death."

"Interesting way of putting it."

She glared at him. "Harry, why the hell are you here?"

He stood there, watching her closely. She and Bolt were staring back with equal curiosity though Rachel's was tinged with annoyance.

He raised his hands half way. "I… am a bad person…"

She didn't blink. "Riveting. Is this a draft for a play?"

He groaned. "Rachel! It's not easy, okay? It's a big problem that could potentially ruin my life but I'm the one who did it! I'm ruining my life! I was an idiot, I couldn't think straight! I just went and did it! I didn't care about what would happen next! And now people could find out and nobody else knows and I have to tell someone or I'm going to explode!"

She shared a look with Bolt. The silence was not helpful. "You're saying… that you have a potentially life-destructive future? Would you look at that, we do have something in common!"

He glowered. "I'm serious. This is worse than anything I've ever done."

"Clearly that's a long list. But Harry, are you aware that you can be a bit overdramatic?"

She was making jokes while he was quite close to a panic attack. Harry took deep breaths. She was still angry, no matter what he'd say. Telling her the truth could wedge a permanent gap. For one terrifying moment, Harry thought he would have to leave, but he looked up and caught her disappointed face.

… Rachel was expecting something from him. Harry frowned. That day in Percy's house, right after the magical meeting, Rachel had accused him of using any means to get help himself.

"You don't really want to get to know me, you just wanted to get out of the castle. But that's Harry Potter, folks. He gets what he wants, whenever he likes it…"

"You said that something's bothering you." He remembered. "You had a bad week. Was it a vision?"

Rachel clutched the chair's arm rests tightly. Bolt's tail started to twitch. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, looking directly at her.

"What happened, Rachel?"

Her irritation was gone. She had a look of alarm. Harry's worry increased. It must have been a really terrible vision –

"You can tell your…your thing first." She mumbled, sitting up.

"Yours obviously important –"

"It is important. But if I talk about it, we won't talk about yours. You go first, Harry."

"Trust me, my secret would eclipse anything else. And you've been wanting to say this for a while now. Is this what you wanted to tell Percy?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Harry, please. I want to hear your sordid little secret, now."

He wanted to coax her into spilling, but felt that it would be crossing a line. May be they could talk about it if she didn't hate him and didn't turn him away.

"Alright… I'm a murderer."

She frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Bolt raised her head as well. Harry remembered when he'd sent her out to take a wash in the stream, claiming that she'd been starting to smell. He'd gone and killed McCallister in her absence. Even when she knew things in his head, Harry never let his mind drift to those thoughts.

"I killed people."

He waited. It was as if the cold winds from Scotland reached him from the Atlantic. Rachel's stare went from confusion to disbelief.

"Like… like in self-defense…? Like at camp? Those kids had to kill the other demigods –"

"Not like that. This was premeditated."

She uncrossed her legs. Her eyes didn't move away from his and he tried to stay still under her examination. She was searching for something on his skin. She was searching for the lie, for the horrible prank he was pulling on her, searching for a rude, ignorant Harry Potter who had the worst sense of humour, joking about murdering people, but she failed.

The truth was a cold and harsh slap to the face. That's how it always had been for him and he was now watching it happen to her.

"Say that again." She commanded. Her knuckles were tight over the arm-rests again.

"I murdered people."

"Death Eaters?"

"No."

"Monsters?"

"No." Not in the way you think.

Silence fell on the room again. No one was breathing. Harry half waited for Bolt to lunge at him and half expected Rachel to throw him out of her life. She'd done it before, she would do it again, properly this time.

Rachel stood up. Her jaw was stiff. She crossed the room, walking away to the door, into the hallway outside.

Harry paused. Was he supposed to leave? Bolt said nothing, but kept watch.

Rachel came back with two heavy glass bottles and two shot glasses. Harry blinked at them.

She sat on the rug and patted the space in front of his feet. He slipped from the bed and sat cross legged opposite her. He watched, bemused, as she opened one bottle and poured out a tiny amount of clear liquid into both glasses.

Handing one of them to him, she said, "Ever had vodka?"

"…no."

"Drink it quickly." She said and took her glass, throwing her head back as she gulped the whole thing.

Harry stared at his shot. The glass was cold to touch.

You learn something new every day.

Harry took the shot, trying to mimic her. The liquid gave a burn as he went down his throat and the base of his skull throbbed a bit. He groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing the cold glass to his temple. It was an odd kind of burn that spread in waves.

Rachel didn't seem affected by it. Harry thought DJ had said something about her drinking, but he couldn't focus on that now. His tongue felt a little numb.

"Why would you say something like that?" She asked.

"W – what?"

"Why would you tell me that?"

He looked down at the empty glass. "I'd have to tell you the whole story."

Rachel raised the opened bottle. "I'm listening."

He told her everything. The frigid truth, the horrifying details, the rash reaction, the subsequent consequences. Rachel drank straight from the bottle, the longer he spoke. And she kept refilling his glass every time he hesitated.

By the time he was done. All three of them were tipsy. Bolt staggered in her puppy form, swaying on unsteady paws towards Rachel who had the hiccups. They merged as one and Harry sighed. He missed that. He missed Bolt so much, he felt like crying.

"She… was…wasn't there?" Rachel asked.

Harry felt incredibly gloomy and blamed the strength of the emotion on the liquor. "I shent her away!"

Rachel nodded, falling sideways into the bean bag. "Ten men."

"Hmmmm."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You can make poison?"

"Yeah."

"That's kinda cool."

Harry was about to nod when he thought there was something odd about that comment.

"But…it'sh nod cool, it'sh bad! Roberd Macaaaa…McCallisder'sh gonna dell people and I'm gonna go ta Azkaban and then ta hell when I die! And then I'll come back and I'll for-ged everydhing and I'll have ta shdard all over again!"

Rachel yawned. "Start what?"

"Shdard tha whole remembering dhing, remember?" Harry threw his hands up, feeling his head grow heavy and stupid. "I for-ged dhings when I die."

She gave him a lazy grin. "I forget things when I drink."

He leaned against the foot of her bed, running his fingers through the soft pelt of the rug. "Then why ya drinking now?"

She gave another hiccup, "In case I need to forget this… I mean, you confessed to me… if the adults use my memories or somewhat, then you'll fail the trial, na? But if I don't remember what you told, they can't use me."

Harry took a while to really understand that explanation. "But, but, but, but… they can shdill ged the memories… if they force id… ohhhhh! You're underage! They can't dake memories like thad withoud permissions!"

Rachel hooted, raising the bottle again. She said something else but the words drifted away from his ears.

"Wha?"

"I want cake."

"Yeahhhh!"

"You killed them."

"Yeah…"

"With berries…?"

Harry screwed up his face and held out his hand. He concentrated. His arm started to glow, but he refused to get distracted by the colours.

"Like thish!"

Rachel rolled to look at what he'd created.

"Oranges?"

"Hmm? No, itsh baneberriesh."

"Banana?"

"Bane. Berrieshsha!"

"Bane berries." She repeated. "You can make poisonous fruits?"

"Uhuh."

"Whoa. That's intense."

She gave a hiccup and he offered the orange to her. She frowned. "Is it poisonous?"

"I don't know."

"Urgh! Harry, you can kill someone with that!"

Harry pouted. He looked down at the fruit and crushed it in his hand. The juice squeezed out dripping to the floor. Rachel wacked him on the knee.

"Dodo. I want cake."

"I wand dard."

"What's that?"

Harry swayed forwards and face-planted on the rug, between his knees. "Id'sh like lemony, but shweed… I ade id onsh in tha Leaking Cowdron."

Rachel frowned. "Is it like cake?"

"I dunno."

"I want it."

"Yeah."

"We should order one." Rachel sat up and pressed her hands to her head. "I want lemony cake."

"Dard."

"Lemony tart."

Harry agreed wholeheartedly. He felt so relaxed and slow that he couldn't remember why he'd been so worried and terrified. Yeah, sure he killed people. That was bad. But he was getting lemon tart. Nothing's better than that!

Well, except for Fortescue's ice cream…treacle tart.

"Howsh aboud…"Harry struggled to his feet as Rachel stood up. "Dreacle dard cake?"

"I thought that's an icecream?"

"Id ish!"

"I don't know if they have cake… I want lemony tart."

"Okay."

"WAIT!" Rachel shrieked that Harry froze and turned to face her. Her eyes were wide and looked reddish. She was holding the second bottle.

"Whashamader?"

She raised her arms towards him. "I wanna hug!"

He shook his head. "I dun wanna hug!

"But I want!"

"I dun wanna!"

They started to yell at each other. At some point, she was trying to pick up the bean bag and throw it at him. She failed. Harry started to laugh so hard he was bent double over and she took a running leap at him, flinging herself over his back. Her elbow hit ear and he said, "OW!"

"Meanie!" She yelled. She locked her arms around his neck. "There! It's a half hug! Giddy up!"

Harry groaned. It wasn't like she was choking him, although her voice was high pitched and it seemed to shatter his ear drums. But her weight was comforting in an unexplainable way and he walked (or tried to walk) towards the door.

"Where we goin?"

"Kitchen. Card's there."

"Whad card?"

"Bakery's card, dodo!"

Harry reached the door with difficulty. His equilibrium was supremely off course and he only barely managed to reach the corridor outside without tipping over.

"Walk straight!"

"I cand!"

"What? You're not straight?" She began to laugh like it was funny. Harry thought about it. Oh right. He wasn't straight. It was hilarious! He started to laugh too.

He reached the bannister and leaned against it, looking over the circular staircase that went right down to the ground floor where the kitchen was. It looked like a long way down. He didn't think he could make it. He might trip. They might fall.

There was a brief recollection of a moment in the summer, when a bottle of alcohol…firewhisky? Beer? Something. A bottle had hit him in the head… no, Ajax had hit him in the head with a bottle and he'd fallen down the stairs… Rachel was holding a bottle.

He shuddered. No steps for him. Harry looked over the balustrade and swung his legs over it, balancing carefully on the edge of the platform. He held the rail tightly and looked seven floor down to the ground. He could jump. It was no tall order.

Rachel let out an Eep! And clung her legs to him like a little monkey holding on to the back of its mother.

"What're ya doing?!"

"Going down." He said, ready to let go.

"But we have a lift!"

She pointed behind them, where there lay waiting, an elevator at the end of the corridor. Harry stared at it.

"Oh." He said and swung back to the hallway and walked towards it. Rachel exhaled in relief and he wondered why she'd been so stressed.

"You do stupid things, Harry." She told him. He pressed the down button.

"Not always."

"You killed people."

"Not always. And only the bad ones."

"Hmm." She said. She didn't let go, instead snuggling to his back. "You're not a bad person."

Harry grinned widely at that. The doors to the lift opened and both teens stopped and stared at the inhabitant in it.

There was a mummy in the lift.

The camp's oracle stood in the elevator as though that's where she had been stored for more than seventy years. Her bandages were dirt ridden with a green tint as though her magic had soaked through them. The strip of cotton over her eyes had two black burns for eyes and they gave a green glow.

Harry couldn't tell who exactly she was looking at, him or Rachel, but he knew that she knew where she was and she was very much aware of who she was facing. His skin prickled, hair standing on end. She had asked him to do something, a while back. He hadn't done it.

Rachel leaned to the side to face her properly. "Going down?"

The Oracle tilted her head. Then she shuffled her feet and moved, giving them space. Harry entered the lift and stood beside her.

"Ground floor." Rachel said. The Oracle didn't move. Harry leaned across her and pressed the right button.

It was just past two when the lecturer entered the class for the last hour of the day. Sally was glad. Community college was well and all. But with all her added commitments, she caught herself wishing she'd chosen a correspondence course which, as it turned out, Sandra's had a capability of providing.

She sat with about thirty other students, most of them working two jobs during the week. About ten or so were her age. There were a handful older than her, making her feel better about the situation. Most were still nineteen and twenty, having preferred to stay in the city near their parents to sort out their lives before setting out on the world. Sally appreciated that. There was so much pressure on youngsters having to get into white tile or red brick colleges, bearing the loans with part time jobs, the study hours, the hazing, everything that a high-schooler looked forward to. It had been her dream too, once upon a time. She'd had a lot of dreams.

"Nice!" One of the kids in front of her hissed, giggling at whatever his friend was showing him on his phone. The two boys snickered under their breaths and Sally sighed. College was still like school, sometimes.

"This kid's gold!" The first guy whispered. "I'd have paid money to see that."

"Send it to me!"

"You don't have LINE." He reminded him. "But don't worry, it's on YouTube. Just search 'Kid beats up jock for racist comments' or something like that."

They raised their heads and Sally caught a sight of whatever the first kid had been showing on his phone. Her heart fell when she caught sight of dark and messy hair. It looked too familiar.

He put his phone aside and Sally turned back to the board where the lecture on Print Journalism began. She couldn't concentrate. She tapped her fingers impatiently, trying to push it out of her mind. It couldn't be him. He knew better than to make an exhibition…

She took out her phone and went on YouTube. Sally prayed she was wrong as she typed 'Kid beats up –

A list of video popped up as recommendations. They were all of the same thing. Sally stared in shock as she recognised Harry immediately in the thumbnails. She clicked on the one which seemed the clearest. The phone was on silent so she could only watch the scene play out.

Harry was in his Hogwarts uniform, thankfully, without the robes. He had twisted the arm of a boy in a jersey, while the crowd stood around. There was a harsh look on his face. The video was unsteady and as it shook around, Sally saw Nico standing very close to three young kids, one of them in tears.

And then, Rachel burst into the shot and mutedly yelled at him. Harry waited arguing back before he finally let go of the boy, who was much taller than him, she realised belatedly. Rachel and Harry started to argue and a Native American girl came in view, trying to shoo everyone away. The video ended, frozen on a blurry image of Harry and Rachel.

It had been uploaded nearly a week ago. Neither Harry nor Nico had told her or Sirius about this. The school hadn't called her either. Sally knew that Nico had had a bully harass him, but he'd assured her that it wouldn't happen again and here, it was clear that something had happened and he hadn't told her. Sally went through the comments, many of which praised Harry for taking action and condemned Rachel for stopping him.

It was a trending topic. She wondered how Sirius would react, imagining that he would ground Harry, finally.

Annabeth read through the list Travis and Connor had given her. Their handwriting was awful. She had already planned on how to lure them into shark sacks.

Music
Speakers
Food&Drinks
Glitter
Vines
Night vibe
Decorations (Balloons, but not too much)
Air freshener
Med kit
Shields
Spears
Swords
Knives
Daggers
Bow&Arrows
Mints
Party theme

This was a terrible party list. They hadn't even included napkins or ice buckets, instead jumped straight to weapons and first aid. Annabeth was tempted to rip the page, but then just dropped it on the table and stretched. She needed to de-stress. Her ire was liable to explode one of these days. Most of her dreams were about Luke and none of them helped her in the quest of forgetting him and concentrating on the war.

And in the middle of all that, people wanted a party.

The problem was that as logical it was to not have one, there were enough reasons to have one. One being that Annabeth wanted a party. Percy wouldn't like it. She had seen the look on his face when he'd said the word himself. The Hufflepuff witch, Susie or Susan, had been talking about Ministry Balls, giggles had erupted around that conversation and Percy and introduced the dreaded P-word which was now a fancy of everyone's.

So, instead of planning various defensive strategies to ensure camp's safety and decide where exactly the battle zone would be, campers were now discussing what theme would suit best.

Annabeth really needed a break. She had thought about going back to LA, but knew it would be too dangerous. She thought back to the talk she'd had with Percy more than a month ago. She had explained about the frequency of monster attacks and her reasons for dropping out of school…

She stood up and got ready. She was supposed to meet Percy for some knife and dagger practice.

Annabeth frowned at the memory. It had been a chore to convince him to stick around for the weekend. Percy had been adamant on going back to New York, but she had had a feeling that he would only fester in gloom and despair from worrying about Grover. Nico had told her in secret about how Percy would leave the house and skip school, disappearing for hours, sometimes even overnight. Annabeth didn't want to think how much he was risking, traveling on his own.

Despite the news about the missing satyr, people were hopeful these days. One good thing the prospect of a party had created was the uplifted mood. Annabeth walked by the mess hall, nodding towards Clarisse and Adam who were on their way towards lance class. Travis and Katie were hanging around by the brazier, about to be unsuspecting victims of the kids from the Hermes cabin who were lurking behind them. It felt like an ordinary day, ready to go bad.

She headed for the training halls. Some of the younger children were practice shield engagements, picking up the moves fast. Kayla and Miranda were overseeing them while Silena and Malcolm were calling out names for one on one fights on the other side. None of the Hephaestus kids were in yet, they must have still been working in the workshops. She walked right towards the solo spaces, marked out for heavier work and found Percy practicing his dagger throwing skills at straw dummies.

"You're early." She told him. He stopped and looked at her with a weary smile.

"Surprised?"

"No." A bit. "Just wondering… how long have you been here?" Annabeth noticed his t-shirt was already showing sweat stains. The orange top had torn sleeves, showing off his biceps and the bronze armlet which clung to his left upper arm as it always had done. Her eyes glanced over them, trying to enjoy the view, but Percy turned to face her and she noticed an odd mark on his shirt.

"Is that a burn?" She asked, reaching a hand out to touch a slightly dark smudge on the centre of his orange shirt right below the silhouette of Pegasus. Percy moved back to avoid her fingers.

"Huh? Oh, didn't notice that. Must have happened while climbing the lava wall."

His voice relaxed and didn't send up any flags but Annabeth frowned at the mark. The heat from the lava couldn't have made the stain. This looked like something exceptionally hot had touched the shirt momentarily and made the threads turn into smoke.

"Ready to spar, Wise Girl? Or are you stalling? I can give you more time, if you'd like." He said, flashing a smile and stepping back, swaggering. His anxiety from yesterday was all but gone.

She narrowed her eyes and unsheathed her knife. "Real blades, Seaweed Brain. You ready?"

"No armour?"

"Why, you scared?"

Percy raised an eyebrow. Annabeth sighed. "No, you're right. Armours' necessary."

He made all sorts of dramatic sounds as he said, "I'm right?!"

They strapped on their bronze plates, fixing the straps. Annabeth finished hers first and she helped Percy with his, pulling on the heavy metal to fit his torso perfectly. He look at her, eyes tender. She smiled. Their little ritual took her back to the first time he'd worn the armour when it had been ridiculously big on him.

He slipped out his dagger from the armlet. The blade was nearly fourteen inches in length, dwarfing her knife by four inches. The celestial bronze metal looked tarnished and Annabeth frowned, nodding towards it.

"Is that blood?"

"Huh?" He looked at the blade. Pulling his t-shirt from under the armour, he tried wiping the metal. The dull look stayed.

"It wasn't like this before…" he murmured. He pressed the tip of his thumb, carefully over the blade. It made a small slice in the skin.

Annabeth tried to clear the frown from her face. That was a bad way of checking the sharpness of a weapon and Percy knew that. Why would he try it?

"Seems fine." He concurred, shrugging. "I'll try washing it later."

Both knew that celestial bronze did need to be sharpened or 'washed'. Annabeth couldn't tell exactly what, but something was off about Percy. It obviously had to do with Grover, so she brushed it away for now.

"First to strike armour wins." He said and she grinned.

Percy could wield the blade with both hands. She kept that in mind, looking at which of his legs bounced higher as he hopped on his feet. He charged first, striking with a clenched fist at her left. She deflected it with a defensive arm and brought her knife to his exposed thigh.

He moved fast. She could feel the wind ruffle her curls as he dodged her strike, turning and ducking to aim low.

Copycat, she thought, dancing out of the way. She couldn't hold in the laugh that bubbled out of her. He looked up, eyes sparkling. His answering grin was followed by a switch of blade to the right hand and she parried his blow, their blades catching each other near the tips.

The swift contact shook her arm and she retreated, expelling air out of her lungs to roll to the right and avoid his charge again. Percy was going on the offensive, knowing that Annabeth would be able to wait forever if he stood on defence. She loved sparring with him. He knew exactly how to read her moves, even with the surprises she kept, and she kept a lot of them.

Annabeth deflected a kick, but immediately locked her right ankle over his left knee, pushing off of him to fly over his head. Percy dropped to the ground to avoid contact. Her knife grazed the lip of his armour.

He threw his dagger at her and she ricocheted the blade away from her with a smart swipe of her knife. But he had already ducked and run at her, grabbing her unarmed arm and pulling it behind her back. Annabeth gritted her teeth, expecting the ache. She let him twist her arm but also turned to the right bringing the blade down to his side.

His hand caught her wrist and he twisted it away from his body. Annabeth had wondered if he could retaliate that fast. Since he had, she took a different direction.

She used her fingers to toss the knife in the direction of his face. Percy jerked back, still keeping her arms trapped. While he was caught off guard for the millisecond, Annabeth threw her head back as hard as she could.

Their skulls banged, bouncing off of each other. Percy yelped, letting go of her and Annabeth grunted, turning around and delivering a running kick.

He tried to swerve away, but she was already in motion, her right calf coming over his shoulder as he bent to avoid her left foot.

Annabeth grinned. She used the momentum to launch over him, arms coming to grab his neck. Her legs circled his waist, trapping his left arm to the side. With her weight, she yanked him to the side and they both fell on the mat, his left shoulder hitting the ground with a solid thud.

He groaned. "Annaaaa!"

"Don't call me that." She sang, tightening the choke hold she had over his neck. His right arm was free, though. In a real fight, he would have had Riptide out in a flash and she'd be dead. But a real fight would never end with an opponent attacking Percy at such close range. Everyone knew that his sword would always come back to him.

His free hand caught her right elbow, trying to dislodge her hold, but no dice. He groaned again.

"I win." Annabeth gloated. "But you had some sweet moves, don't worry, babe."

Percy coughed. "Fine. Let me out, now."

"You can get out yourself, Seaweed Brain."

"I give. You win."

Annabeth frowned again. He was giving off that negative energy again. This time, there was a distinctive tone of loss underneath it. There was something worse than Grover's predicament weighing on his mind.

"It's not over till blade strikes armour." She reminded him. He stilled for a moment and tried to turn his head to look at their weapons strewn about ten feet from them.

That was another thing that bothered Annabeth. He'd thrown his dagger at her, a move she had easily avoided. And he knew that she could avoid it. The move hadn't been a distraction for a proper attack, but he'd continued to let her gain the offense…

Annabeth glared. "You let me win!"

"No!"

"Yes!... Damn it, Percy! Why would you do that?!"

She grabbed his ear, giving it a painful twist. Percy tried to shake her off, but she clung on fast, even as his free arm came to grab her hair.

"It's not over." He snarled, suddenly sounding very enraged but that didn't throw her off. What did startle her is that he used his free legs to bend them towards him and then launch himself back onto his feet, taking her weight along with his upper body. She felt his muscles under the armour contract and expand, working flawlessly for him to land on point.

But his hand had gripped her head hard and she had to let go of his neck, bring her arms up to twist away from his grip. She landed a few feet from him, having leaped away. The top of her head ached the hair sat tenderly on the scalp.

She massaged her head, assuming that he would go for the weapons that lay behind her, but Percy simply clenched his fists. His mirth was gone, mood having changed abruptly.

"You let me take you down." She said, adrenaline still flooding her limbs. Her breaths came in long winds, and she catalogued his stance, taking note of the faux at-ease position he was in.

"Or maybe you just got better."

"Or maybe you think I'm an idiot." She hissed.

Percy pressed his lips together. "I'm not on my game, today. I'm not in the mood."

"You'll never be in the mood if you don't push yourself, Percy. Grover is not –"

"It's not about Grover!" His yell was so loud and sudden that Annabeth froze. The kids practicing at the other end of the hall stopped in their tracks and looked over them.

Something was wrong. Percy was breathing hard, arms at a distance from his body like he needed to punch a hole in a wall. That position was foreign to him. Annabeth knew that Percy was never one to display anger in physical and violent ways.

"It's not…" Percy tried to say, but he stopped abruptly as though his voice was gone. His eyes widened and Annabeth took a step forwards, worried that he needed his inhaler.

"Percy… come here, sit down. Do you want some water?" She said, trying to speak in a soothing voice. But he brought his fists to cover his face, pressing them into his closed eyes.

He didn't move, so Annabeth waved her arm at Malcolm to get a bottle. Percy was taking loud and deep breaths, almost panting. He sounded like he might retch at any moment. Annabeth knew not to touch anyone who was on the verge of an anxiety attack. He looked like he was having one and she dug through her mind to recall everything she knew on the topic.

A soft voice to guide the person, if necessary. Decrease sensory input to reduce pressure.

That one should work. The hall was already quiet enough. The fight must have put him on edge.

"It's okay, Percy. Malcolm's getting water. Do you want to sit down?" She said, as his breathing became slower.

"It's not okay." He whispered.

Annabeth nodded. "We'll find him. Next time you go, I'll come with you. We can cover more ground –"

"Were you ever gonna tell me about my dad?"

She stared. "What?"

Percy dropped his hands. "You knew that Poseidon's kingdom was attacked."

Annabeth nearly gasped. Percy…knew? How did he…? Had Poseidon been able to send him a dream? An IM? The last anyone had heard from Atlantis was when Artemis had sent word through the Hunters that the underwater castle had been engaged in battle with some old monsters and Titans of the deep. Athena herself had contacted her, letting her know that Olympus' army had been depleted by a substantial percentage with Poseidon's absence from the Council. There was no Iris Messages from the water and Annabeth should have known that Percy would find out, or at the very least, known that Poseidon's fight might have affected his son to some degree.

"Gods, Percy… I didn't know you'd found out –"

"What was the point of not telling me?" His face crumpled, eyebrows meshed up in the middle. "Did you think it would be alright if I didn't know?"

"You were stressing so much about Grover! Plus, I thought you might already know but you didn't want to tell anybody and I didn't want to pressure you!"

He was already shaking his head, "That's a lie, Annabeth. You didn't tell me about my dad. I heard Adam talking about it. How many campers know about this?"

Malcolm rushed over to them, holding up a bottle of water but Percy was staring at Annabeth and she couldn't do anything but look back in silence.

"Most of us." She finally relented. "The last message we got was from Triton."

The green of his eyes seemed to turn blue, the colours swirling together like waves below the surface. His gaze never wavered from her, not even when he asked the next question.

"Why'd you leave LA?"

He knew. Annabeth forced her body to stay still even though every nerve in her wanted her to run away from his accusation. Her skin was hot even despite the cold sweat that made strands of her hair stick to her face and neck in uncomfortable clumps. What was more disconcerting was the look in Percy's eyes.

"There were monster attack –"

"Were they? I would have thought he would make them leave you alone."

There was steel in his voice that made even Malcolm flinch. Annabeth's back straightened and she glared at him.

"It wasn't safe."

"He'd never hurt you."

"Stop that."

"Luke cares about you –"

"Percy –"

"And you still care about him after everything he's done!"

"Shut up!" She snapped.

Percy looked like he was about to advance on her but Malcolm took a step forward, placing an arm to stop him in his tracks.

"Go to the Infirmary." He said, voice slicing the tension. "Percy, I'm not joking. You're bleeding."

Annabeth blinked away from his face and looked at where Malcolm was staring. He was looking right in the centre of Percy's armour.

"I'm not bleeding." Percy muttered.

"You're breathing's too measured, you're holding your chest to carefully while the rest of you is shaking. You're cold and you're bleeding. Go."

Malcolm was right. Percy was standing far too still even for a demigod in danger. He was standing like he'd gotten burned.

Percy stopped glaring and looked away. He snatched the bottle from Malcolm and with one last look at Annabeth, he retrieved his dagger and left the hall.

She exhaled, grabbing her shorts and making fists of them. She'd hoped to never let anyone know about it, yet Percy had attacked her in one swoop. She knew that the gods would not be pleased with Luke's visit to her, especially Hermes, but she'd also been worried about Percy and Thalia's reactions. It hadn't gone well with him.

"You talked to Luke?" Malcolm asked in a whisper. She grimaced.

"Don't tell anyone, please Mal? I'll tell Thalia first… and try to get Percy to see…"

"If he'll listen to you. Percy's always hated Luke." Malcolm said with a sigh. "Ever since that thing with the scorpion."

Annabeth cringed. She'd recalled that now. Luke had tried to kill Percy several times. Their hatred of each other was not misplaced. But it wasn't as if Percy was entirely innocent. She could still remember the call Nico had made, asking her about her, Grover and Percy's first quest. She'd told the boy about Percy's killing of Medusa and Nico had cut the call almost immediately. Something had spooked him. Something about Percy had scared him into acting fast. That had been right before the monster attack that had nearly killed Nico.

And since the son of Hades couldn't actually recall what had happened that day, Annabeth knew she needed to ask the other person who had been there, and that was Percy.

Percy with his strange behaviour and new secrets and growing distrust that made him feel cold to her even when she could tell that he was trying to shove it down and pretend that everything was fine. But, it was obvious that there was something wrong.

"I found it! I found it!" Rachel sang gleefully. Harry hummed. They were in the kitchen and Rachel had been searching through a small shelf where all the business cards had been stored. She'd spilled several of her parents' older visiting cards on the gleaming platform and some reputed establishments' as well.

Harry had been looking through the fridge, searching for a more sober liquid than the one that sat on the table. He was extremely thirsty. The Oracle, in the meantime, stood beside him, waiting to talk to him. It seemed like a very odd and polite fact.

"Sweet on America." Rachel read. She held a slightly worn card in her hand and fumbled for her phone to type in the number. Harry listened as she called the bakery and ordered a large lemon tart, enough for a birthday party it seemed. That reminded him of something.

"Hey, Rach?"

"Harry, they're asking for the address."

"We're ad your house."

"What's my address?"

The Oracle turned around and reached for one of the cards on the table, pushing it towards her. Harry had an odd urge to giggle at the action.

"Ooh, thanks!" Rachel told the mummy. She held this card up and started to speak into the phone, "Beatrice Taliare Dare, Founder and CEO of Reine Terre Fashions,… Home Address! Dynasty Apartments, Avenue Road…"

The landline rang, loud and shrill. It was so close to the kitchen wall where Harry was, that he jumped and his head smacked the top of the fridge, upsetting the entire thing. He clutched his head and groaned.

Rachel glared at the ringing phone, and said, "Harry, get that!"

"Owww…"

"Hey, Mummy, get that!"

He took a step back and closed the fridge's door carefully, leaning against the wall. The ringing stopped and he was glad for that, eyes closed as he rubbed the top of his head gently.

Something poked him in his arm. He opened one eye and saw the mummy looking right at him, holding out the phone to him. He stared at her, she stared at him. There was a voice issuing from the handset, words unclear.

Rachel walked over from the shelf and took the device from the mummy's hand. "I have to do everything here! Hello?"

Harry watched as her face went from annoyance to downright crazed. "FOR THE LAST TIME, THERE IS NO EVANS HERE! STOP CALLING OR I'LL PHONE 911!"

She dropped the phone its set and looked back at him. "Tart'll be here in a minute. Would you like some more vodka?"

"Acdually, I'm just a liddle thirsdy."

"OJ's still left, I think. More vodka for me then. How about you, Mummy?"

The mummy didn't say anything.

"I totally get it." Rachel nodded, empathetically. "Would you like to join us at the table? We were talking about Harry and his murder."

"Murders."

"Right, sorry. Not his murder, no, he murdered like ten people. We're not talking about the fact that he got murdered like ten times."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I god murdered only three dimes!"

Rachel growled. "I can't keep up with your drama, Harry! I need my drink! And my tart!"

Harry stuck out his tongue at her. "Id hurd, okay? Don't make fun."

"What hurts? Murdering or getting murdered?"

This was, hands down, the weirdest conversation ever.

"Both, acdually. But geding killed actually hurts more. Id's like…it's like dying."

Rachel gave a gasp. She walked forwards and tried to hug Harry but he moved out of the way, standing behind the Oracle.

"No hugs." He reminded her.

"Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it."

"Why not?"

Harry grabbed the Oracle's shoulders and stood on his tip of his toes to look over her head, "'Cause I said so."

Rachel sniffed and turned her back on him. "Fine, be like that. I'll hug DJ."

"DJ isn't here."

"Then… I'll hug the Mummy!"

She started towards her but the Oracle stuck her hand out like a stop sign and Rachel had to stop immediately.

"Hey! You almost touched my boobs! You're supposed to ask!"

But the Oracle was done with their silliness. Harry watched, with low brain power, as her bandaged arm reached backwards and held Harry's wrist in a tight grip. She lifted it off her shoulder and he tried to yank his hand away but her hold was taut.

"Ow, what?!"

"Where is she?" The double timbre voice echoed from the Oracle, green mist flooding the room and freezing the twins. Harry struggled against her immortal strength but she didn't budge. Her words nearly knocked him out from his inebriated state. His head started to spin.

"I…I don't know!"

"You know."

"No, I really don't!"

His arm was in pain. Her dead fingers were tight enough to cut off circulation. She raised her other hand, index finger outstretched. The green smoke swirled around him. Rachel was suddenly hid from view. The tip of the bandaged digit touched the space between his eyebrows.

Harry was alone. He was in an unfurnished room. It felt familiar. He looked around, searching for something that could help. There was a recliner and a table, the only movable things in the room. The windows were locked, though one of them was broken. The glass had cracked and a few shards had fallen out, leaving a space large enough for him to poke his hands out without getting cut.

He turned around and saw a red piece of cloth about as large as a pillow. The colour had faded and he saw strange markings on the material that shown when exposed at the right angle. Harry walked towards it. He could make out the inscription.

Who is your patron?

"I don't know." He muttered.

Someone tutted. Harry looked up and found Ajax looking at him. He was the same, tan and sickeningly happy person. He was wrong. He was bad.

"You're really good at hiding information, it would seem." Ajax said. Harry reached for his wand.

"Don't bother." Ajax continued. "Besides, you'll remember what you need to when the time is right. We'll come for you then. Or even before if things go to plan. See ya!"

He tossed something in Harry's direction, something glittering. Harry ducked behind the recliner, falling to the ground as the building exploded.

.

.

.

He woke up in a meadow. The grass was soft and bright green like artificially constructed turf and not naturally occurring grass. The flowers, the babbling stream, the tall trees, the warm sunlight… it was too perfect.

Was this a dream?

No, it was something by the Oracle. She was doing something to him. She was showing him this. What was this?

He'd been here before. Harry recalled this, lying on his back and looking at the heavenly sky. He sat up and looked around.

There it was. The house.

He knew this. He'd been here right after the third task. After he'd died then. He'd seen James. Talked to him. He'd talked to his dad.

After he died in Rome, the same thing had happened, except this time, Lily was there too.

They're laid out food, expecting him. He sat down and they had a picnic outside their house, on a blanket spread out in the garden. Lily's favourite song was Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin. James had never once used his dad's hair products. Lily could read Egyptian hieroglyphics (she had had visions of going to Egypt). James had once led a Death Eater group away from the Order as a diversion (he was good at distractions). Lily missed her sister. James missed his brother. Even though Jacob was dead. Even though he was in Elysium, but apparently, Lily and James weren't in Elysium.

They were alone on an island, dead but not judged and not in peace. They were in the Underworld, but had never been to Charon's lobby. Someone had sent them to the island, where they'd lived for years, ever since they'd died.

And Harry had been the first visitor.

Harry cried out, "Relashio!", finally managing to pull his arm away from the Oracle's steel grip. The green of the mist dissolved from the purple sparks of his spell and he fell down, clutching his head again, this time in the agony from remembering what exactly had happened after Rome. His breaths came in short gasps and he felt light headed, close to faint.

Rachel's hands caught his arms. "Wait! Shh. Harry!"

He pushed her away, shutting her out, trying to breathe. It felt like he couldn't. He was about to be sick. He'd died and seen his parents. They weren't in Elysium, but a prison.

Someone was singing. It was a low voice, not musical, but Harry had an inkling as to the words…they were French. A year ago, he could read, write and converse well in the language, but ever since the Third task, his proficiency in memory keeping had dwindled.

But this song was melodic.

…Dodo, l'enfant do
L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Une poule blanche
Est là dans la grange…

He could recognize the gist of the lyrics. Rachel was basically asking him sleep. The irony made him chuckle.

She stopped singing and he looked up with a sigh.

"Better?"

"No. You know I have problems with sleeping. Why would you pick this song?"

She stared, "I…was trying to help."

"You're drunk." He told her, trying to stand up but falling again.

"So're you."

"I'm not the one slurring."

"You were."

The doorbell rang. Rachel sprang up. "TART!"

She flew out and Harry sat against something. He didn't know what to think.

The Oracle was gone.

And that was loooong! Sorry for the unreliable schedule. It's going to stay like this for a while. I'm super busy and I don't get enough time to type out the chapters. But they will be posted when I finish each chapter, so never fear. Stay tuned!

And readers, what did you think about the fight scene? Was my writing alright? Action is a tetchy point for me.

Q: How many horcruxes are intact in this story, at this point?

Cabba.