The Sweetest Sin
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Harry Potter' or 'Percy Jackson. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Two:
To Gwen, the concept of sacrifice was not something new. Her grandfather, Charlus, had laid down his life for her, her father, James, had quit the Auror Corps to raise her, and Gwen herself had sacrificed the prospect of a (relatively) normal life to be a hero, to fight the good fight, and what have you.
That said, she'd thought the days of other people sacrificing themselves for her were over, and a part of her silently raged at the injustice of it all.
She'd not even known Morris for a week.
With a grimace, and her breaths heavy, Gwen settled herself at the base of the Camp Halfblood pine tree, her bag strapped to her back, and her daggers gripped in an unrelenting hold. They'd been lifelines in these last few days, and she'd not let them out of her sight anytime soon.
She waited for what seemed an age, but blessedly, Morris appeared through the undergrowth, munching an apple, cool as a cucumber, and as though he'd not just willingly kept himself within a ring of up to thirteen monsters - just to keep her safe.
Gwen wasn't sure how she'd ever be able to repay him that debt, but as he approached her, and Gwen smiled, she thought she could start by keeping him as a friend for life. He'd gone above and beyond the call of duty - for her - and besides that, he was a pretty cool companion, with a thing for classic rock, and saving the planet.
"You didn't have to wait for me," Morris said, "But no matter. Are you ready to enter Camp Halfblood?"
"You bet," Gwen replied, "There's a hot shower calling my name."
Morris smiled, and led her down the other side of the hill.
Gwen herself took in the site of Camp Halfblood as she descended, and the view took her breath away. It was almost ageless in the noonday sun, Grecian architecture like she'd never seen before, and a sight to behold besides.
"We're going to see Chiron and Mr D," Morris explained, and he guided her towards a big blue house, three storeys high, with a wrap around balcony, and two men on the porch. "They've been waiting for you."
Gwen grimaced, subconsciously reached for her braid, and was summarily swatted for the effort. it wasn't the first time - evidently, Morris took offence to the concept of tidiness - but this time, she conceded, and begrudgingly followed her new friend up the porch steps, and towards the two men quickly introduced as Chiron, activities director, and Mr D, camp coordinator.
"This is Gwen Potter," Morris informed them, "Safe and sound."
Gwen strained a smile, and Chiron welcomed her kindly. Mr D only grunted, and asked if she played Pinochle. She didn't - more familiar with the different poker games Sirius had inevitably taught her, but she was willing to learn, and that seemed to please the coordinator, who seemed to eminate a power far stronger, and far older, than magic.
"Did you encounter any monsters?"
"Five before we left London," she answered laconically, "Five more before we reached Manhattan. Morris held off thirteen just beyond the camp's borders. It's as though they were actively hunting me."
"I would not be surprised," Chiron answered, "You carry the strength of Lady Athena and Lady Hecate in your veins. And that is, of course, disregarding your mother."
Her father, James, a son of Athena. Her grandfather, in turn, a son of Hecate. She'd known for as long as her own divine parentage, and yet, she could barely wrap her head around the concept.
Perhaps, with time…
"You will be very powerful," Chiron observed, "And your scent indicates that. No doubt, the Olympians will expect great things from you. After all, not everyone is marked by the fates."
Gwen remembered another conversation with another old man, and shivered minutely.
Great things, indeed.
"Morris, perhaps you can show Guinevere around the campgrounds? I'm sure she's curious. Cabin 10 is ready for you, Gwen, when you wish to settle in."
Morris acquiesced, and Gwen followed him off the porch. Her shoulders eased the longer they walked, and Gwen took in the sites with curious eyes. Morris babbled ceaselessly beside her, pointing out landmarks, and what have you, apparently oblivious to the scrutiny they were both under.
Gwen eyed the campers, blonde and brunette, redheads and ravenettes, pale, olive toned, and darker, blue eyes, green eyes, brown and grey and purple. She smiled at those who smiled at her, and watched the others who watched her in turn, and wondered idly what they thought of her.
"You're not what they expected," Morris told her, and Gwen reminded herself of the empathy link they shared, "They didn't think you'd be so different from your sisters."
Gwen glanced down at her feet, caught sight of the wound she'd received at the teeth of the hellhound, and mused over how much it had healed. A gift from the phoenix tears still in her bloodstream, but always a marvel to look at.
"A princess," she deadpanned, and Morris rolled his eyes.
"You'll never let me live that down, will you?"
"Not a chance, Mr Tumnas."
She'd opened the front door of her father's Mayfair townhouse, had stared at the satyr there, and had called for her father. The satyr, still a stranger then, had mumbled something about Gwen and 'pretty as a princess', Gwen had chuckled, and shortly thereafter, she'd learned the truth of her parentage.
A part of Gwen still couldn't believe it, and yet, the truth was all around her, and her father had never lied about her mother before. Gwen had known that her mother was alive, but had not been able to keep her, and she had not asked anymore questions.
As a camper approached, clad in a Camp Halfblood tank top, and a camouflage jacket over it, Gwen pulled herself from her thoughts, crossed her arms over her chest, and warily eyed the stockier girl.
"Clarisse," Morris greeted, "Is this really necessary?"
"Is what really needed?" Gwen enquired, but judging by Morris expression, it couldn't be anything good.
"We have a tradition for new campers," Clarisse answered, "A rite of passage, if you will. And you, my dear, are a new camper."
Uninterested in finding out what that was about, Gwen infused her magic into her voice, met CLarisse's gaze, and took advantage of what her father had once explained was called her 'charm speak'.
"Thanks, but no thanks."
Gwen took hold of Morris' arm, marched past the campers, and made her way to the clearly labelled cabin 10. It was a hideously bright shade of pink, but the door was open, and something sweet wafted out from within. She looked at Morris, strangely anxious, and he gave her an encouraging grin.
"They're waiting for you, Gwen. Go on, you won't regret it."
Gwen nodded slowly, smiled at her friend, and made to step onto the porch. Before she stepped inside, however, she turned, and addressed him. "And Morris?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks - for everything."
Morris grinned. "What are friends for?"