So. I'm back-ish. I deeply apologise for the long wait (almost three years, wtf) At first, it was because the turns that were taken in the Trials of Apollo-series really threw me off. Then my life threw me curve ball after curve ball, and I've been constantly in some state of recovery. We almost lost our youngest son (Emphasis on the almost, he's alive and kicking – hard) but after that, it was as if all my creativity just withered and died. I decided to fight for it now, and I never gave up on my stories. I would really love to get some feedback from you guys though.

Leo

Finding a suitable back story for Zeus proved to be a challenge. The proverb "Too many cooks spoil the broth" came up in Pipers head too many times to count.

"Why couldn't it be Hank? It's a good strong name, I think it suits him." Frank shrugged

"It also rhymes with Frank, and we already have one of those." Leo rolled his eyes.

The Chinese-Canadian huffed "That's your argument? Really?"

"What about Bruce?" Hazel suggested.

"But what kind of Bruce? Willis? Springsteen? Lee?" Leo asked, full of nervous, frustrated energy.

They couldn't even come up with a name. Piper was dangerously close to exploding, when Reyna sighed.

"We'll call him John."

And like that, the argument was resolved. No charmspeak involved. Piper admired the way Reyna could just rule a room without tricks, but after a while she noticed that because of the way that Reyna seemed to be able to call the shots, that also meant that people expected her to have all the answers. She was happy not to feel that kind of responsibility.

"Where should he be from?" Percy asked the room, which was awkward since the room they were sitting in, belonged to the person they were talking about and he was still occupying the bed in his magical slumber.

"I think New York would be easiest to lie about. That's where Olympus is, after all." Jason said, his eyes fixed on his father's face.

Piper could objectively say that his father was handsome in whatever form he chose to be in. Should he be turned into a pig, she was sure to be the most attractive piece of bacon the planet had ever seen.

Lester had been pitiful. Zeus – or John had sandy hair, perfect complexion, was athletically built with that kind of healthy glow obtained by exercising daily out in the sun, even though he had been asleep inside for weeks.

Jason was both looking forward to, and dreading Zeus waking up. He was looking forward to getting to know his dad and what he might be like as a person, without the whole "Lord of the Skies" thing coming between them. He was excited to see if they were at all similar. At the same time, he was dreading it, because how do you deal with your dad being an amnesiac, having to lie to him, being the same age with him and having to teach him about humanity?

Simple – you don't. At least not alone.

One of the hardest lessons he had to learn over the years was, that he wasn't a one-man band. He couldn't do everything by himself and he didn't always have to be the leader.

Piper squeezed his shoulder, somehow knowing that he needed support. She was really amazing.

"Then let's do that." She smiled at him gently, making him feel all warm inside.

"What about the rest?" Annabeth asked.

Leo shrugged "We'll wing it"

Jason chuckled at Annabeths baffled expression, which turned thunderous when Leo turned and left the room. The rest of them filed out with him, Annabeth following no doubt intending to scold him for his blasé attitude. The only ones left were Piper, Reyna and Jason. Reyna sent them a small smile, squeezed Jason's shoulder and left them alone with 'John'

Jason leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

"Do you think I'm too close to this?" He asked his girlfriend.

She smirked at him "The question you should be asking is whether you could even stay away."

He kissed her gently "Probably not, but I think we need a better strategy than 'winging it'"

…

From he was a very young boy, Draco had been taught to hate. Hate the muggles, hate the poor, hate the Gryffindors, hate the world. Since his father had been sent to Azkaban, he had sworn not to hate anything anymore and that promise had already been broken.

By traffic. He hated traffic with a passion.

He had been allowed to take the floo to MACUSA, but he still needed to get from New York to Long Island Sound. In a bus. Just getting out of New York took forever and the bus was smelly, it made funny noises, it was rattling and vibrating and there were other people there. The air felt stale. The people coming in, were wet from the rain outside. They would then deposit all their wetness in the bus, making it so humid that the windows became all fogged up. He wished he could fly or apparate, but it would be too risky when he hadn't seen the place before. Instead he had to settle for drawing images on the windows. He started by drawing a sun, which sent a small burst of happiness from his stomach and all the way to his fingertips and he couldn't help the small smile that graced his face.

Since he was technically a mortal, he wasn't allowed within the camp's borders and shouldn't even be able to see it – much like how Hogwarts was for muggles, but Apollo had given him something that looked like a permission slip. The demigods who had been refugees at Camp Jupiter were travelling in small groups of three, crossing the country from west to east the slow way, by train, car or bus. He did not envy them, but he did feel apprehensive about going to this other camp alone. He had gotten to know the demigods at the House of Ten quite well over the last few weeks, but now he was starting over again, getting to know new people. He was supposed to meet their head of security at the bus station, who would then bring him the rest of the way to camp where he was supposed to meet Kayla – another child of Apollo. She would then pick a few flowers for him and send him on his merry way. Or that was the plan – but as everyone knows, things rarely go according to plan.

Finally, after what felt like eons, the bus turned and stopped at a small bus station. It was more of a bus stop really – no shelter, no small kiosk where one could buy a warm croissant while waiting for the bus. Instead he was met by an odd blond guy, holding up a sign saying, "Welcome Draco". They were the only two people at the bus stop, so Draco felt like it might be a bit redundant. The guy was wearing sunglasses even though it had been raining for several hours.

"You must be Argus, right?"

The man nodded but didn't speak. He motioned for Draco to follow and walked towards a white SUV. Draco hesitated, but realized that the weird man was probably the only shot he had at getting into the camp. He had no idea where it was and no idea if it had other defenses than the magical border, so going with the head of security was probably his best bet.

They rode in silence and Draco felt supremely awkward. It was like going in the elevator with a stranger at the ministry, except at the ministry you spent one minute at the most. Here they sat in the small enclosed space for what felt like half an hour. Sharing silence.

How did muggles do this? How did they survive the frustration of going so slowly? He spent the time studying his companion discreetly out of the corner of his eye. What was most strange about him, other than his silence was maybe the many small slits that littered his skin. They didn't look like scars – he had seen enough of those, but what were they?

Argus turned onto a dirt road and they continued for a minute or so until they reached the bottom of a large hill. When Draco got out, he saw the most imposing statue he had ever seen before, and that said something. He had been to one unveiling after another of busts, statues and other artwork, depicting horrible people and gruesome scenes. So far, the one that had been haunting him the most was the one of his great-grandfather, but this statue of Athena made him check his shirt for dirt. He couldn't look directly at it, but at the same time he couldn't look away.

Argus motioned for him to follow and they started walking up the hill, their shoes and pants getting soaked by the long grass.

Suddenly, Draco felt a burning hot sensation on the back of his left arm. He hissed and heard Argus making a grunt somewhere to his right. He turned around and spotted the cause. Avery was standing near the car, wand in motion, ready to send the next hex their way. What was worse was that he wasn't alone. Two others, one who might have been Rosier and a woman he didn't recognise.

"BLOOD TRAITOR!" Avery screamed before sending another slicing hex. This time he meant business. Draco tackled Argus just in time before the mute man became decapitated. They both got up and Draco threw up the largest shield charm he knew to protect the both of them, but he was too slow. The woman had sent a hex directly at Argus, nearly taking off part of his leg. He looked like a bad splinching accident. He went and slung Argus' arm over his shoulder and hobbled with him, one arm supporting the blond man, and waving his wand with the other, sending hex after hex at their pursuers. They had just reached the magical borders, when Avery sent another slicing hex, this time getting Draco's right thigh. He watched as blood flowed much too fast, turning his blue pants dark in seconds. He knew that bastard had nicked the artery. With one last grunt of effort, he threw Argus towards the tree he had been told was the border of the camp and thereby sending him to safety, before losing consciousness himself just outside the borders of the camp. His last thought was a hope that the campers would be able to transport the flowers quickly and safely, even without his stasis charm and that Hermione or Calypso would be able to decipher his notes so Will would still be saved, even if he would never have the chance to see it for himself.

…

"Do you think we should take water from Mnemosyne right away or do you think we should wait until we actually need it? It's some dangerous stuff just to have lying around" Hermione asked Nico. She was levitating a small bottle into the Lethe to collect some of the water without touching it.

"I think it's fine. What's the worst it can do?" He shrugged.

"Well, does it just give you your memory back or does it sharpen the memories you already have as well?"

"Hades if I know." He shrugged again. "You know I decided a long time ago that I'm not going to try it."

She just nodded. They had been through that argument in the past, many times before. Hermione thought it would have been good for him to remember his mother, but he had rather wanted to move forward with his life. He was afraid of getting stuck in the past memories of people who would never return.

She had been stubborn and insistent, which she regretted. He obviously knew himself better – he was definitely thriving better now, still without his memories.

She levitated the bottle out of the river, now full of the white water from the Lethe.

"Can it restore memory no matter the way it was lost?"

"What's with all the questions?" He asked her, his right eyebrow slightly raised.

"I was thinking about using some on my parents, to restore their memories." She smiled ruefully at him. She was after all the cause of their recent memory loss.

He gave a gentle smile in return "I think you should speak to my father about that. He will help you any way he can. You know he will."

His smile suddenly turned into a frown and he stood up straight like a dog at attention.

"Something's wrong"