Chapter Three:
As he sat on the cold bench, he tried to force his mind to blot out what the hat had dragged to the surface. He was already dreading the year ahead. The hat had said he was a Gryffindor for staying sane, but Nico wasn't so sure. When Bianca had died, he'd gone crazy. He'd wanted nothing more than to rip the world apart for taking her from him.
After the war, he had distanced himself from everyone but his cousin (at Percy's persistence, not Nico's choice), reluctant to get attached to anyone in case they left, just like his sister. Of course, he had gone back on that here, but perhaps that was because he had no relation to these people. They weren't family on either his mother's or father's side, and while most demigods ignored relation on their godly parent's side except for their half-siblings, Nico counted them as family. His family always left; even Percy, after finding a girlfriend. He didn't blame them, but he was afraid of it happening again. So he didn't let anyone close enough for that.
He turned to his plate, wondering how to get food. Perhaps it worked in the same way as those at camp? He was about to order a McDonald's Happy Meal with extra fries, when he noticed that none of the others were doing this. Instead, they were looking at the empty trays around them expectantly. Raising an eyebrow, he copied them, finally understanding when food appeared in front of him. It looked vaguely tasty, but he couldn't see any McDonald's here.
He began to pile food on his plate, missing his Happy Meal, and glanced around for a brazier. His eyes widened when he realised there wasn't one. And no brazier meant no sacrifice. No sacrifice meant no food for Nico. No food for Nico meant very grouchy Ghost King. He stood up, leaving his plate, and stepped up to the high table. Completely ignoring the bearded guy, whom he assumed was the Headmaster, Dumbledore, he moved towards the Athena-like woman.
"Excuse me, Professor, but is there any way I can have some sort of brazier? My religion means I have to sacrifice some food every meal."
The woman blinked slowly at his unusual request. The man beside her, a man impersonating a bat, snorted indignantly.
"Is there a problem, sir?" asked Nico, gazing at him with cold, hard eyes. The man just sneered.
"Severus, please," said McGonagall, breaking the glaring contest. "I apologise, Mr di Angelo. I will have one charmed for you tonight. For now, you will have to do without."
Nico thanked her, but it was half-hearted. She clearly thought little of this ritual, and didn't realise that Nico genuinely could not eat without offering a sacrifice, unless he wished to be vaporised. Demigods who did not know of their heritage could get away with it, but he most certainly couldn't. Even on a quest, an albeit smaller portion had to be given if you valued your life.
Sighing, he walked back to the Gryffindor table, and took his place, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be eating tonight. Instead, he glanced around, searching for a familiar blonde head. He saw it at the Ravenclaw table, isolated from the rest. Luna looked up, and waved brightly. He waved back, if a little less enthusiastically. Although he counted her as a friend, he was in a very bad mood at his lack of food.
After a while, the meal finally disappeared, giving him a little relief. But almost as soon as he thought this, the deserts appeared. Nico groaned, slamming his head into the table repeatedly, and gaining even more attention than he had before. Apparently, the first transferee in a thousand years was insane. Wonderful.
When the plates were finally scraped clean, and the Ghost King had a large, slightly swollen bruise forming on his forehead, Dumbledore stood to give a speech. He only gained Nico's attention twice. Once, was when he mentioned the Forbidden Forest. It sounded like the perfect place to train; secluded, and probably teeming with creatures to practise on. The second was introducing the new DADA teacher.
Dolores Umbridge. Chiron had warned Nico about her. She was the ambassador of the Ministry of Magic. They were interfering with affairs at Hogwarts, and by extension, Nico's quest. She would have to be watched, before she stuck her nose too far into his business. If the Ministry knew what he was up to, so would Voldemort.
It was a well-known fact that the Minister, Fudge, was in the pay of Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater. However, few were aware that the Minister himself was an unmarked follower, and not just a bumbling, power-hungry fool. He took that image to hide his true allegiance from the Order of the Flaming Chicken, and to keep the public unprepared. The Order was working to keep the Ministry out from under Voldemort's control, but it already was. Old Tommy just wasn't yet powerful enough to make it public.
She started her speech: Ministry taking over, you have to do what we tell you to, blah blah blah. Nothing new to add, but it seemed like it was news to the rest of the school – well, most of them. One blonde boy was smirking like he knew all and owned the place. What a moron, Nico thought. The kid was going to get himself killed.
When she had finally stopped croaking in that ridiculously high voice, Dumbledore let them go. Nico followed the sea of red and gold out of the Hall and through the corridors. He gazed around, recognising the movement of the portraits as a common occurrence in the Hecate cabin. It seemed that what little time he spent in there, helping with the construction, would be his guide in this school.
At last, when Nico was bored of looking around, and sinking back into his depression, the crowd stopped in front of a portrait of a fat woman in a pink dress. A bushy-haired girl with a small badge stepped up to her. On closer inspection of the badge, it read P, probably a Prefect. Dumbles had mentioned them in his long, droning speech.
"Mimbulus Mimbletonia," she said in a bossy voice. Nico cringed, realising this was a password. How was his ADHD mind meant to remember a password, let alone one in a foreign language? Some part of him acknowledged it as being Latin. Trying hard to keep the word in his mind – an impossible task, it seemed – he watched as the portrait swung forward to admit them, then clambered through the hole behind the rest.
When Bushy pointed out the boys' dorms, he sprinted up the stairs, checking which door held the label 'Fifth Years'. Finding it, he slammed the door open against the wall, rushing over to the only empty bed. He mostly ignored the greetings of his new roommates, half-heartedly learning their names, and dug through his new trunk. Only two names caught his interest: Harry Potter and Dean Thomas.
He knew Harry, of course, because he had cheated death, and his father liked to complain about him almost as much as he did Tom. But Dean was far more familiar. He was a son of Hephaestus. The outcast of the lot, in fact, as he preferred to create things with a pencil and paint, instead of a hammer and tongs. Nico knew now that there was another reason: magic.
"Dean? Since when did you have magic?" he asked, pausing in his packing to greet his distant cousin.
"I've had it my whole life, Death Boy. What are you here for?"
"My father. Problems with my half-brother, apparently. He sent me out this way to deal with it."
"You here to kill him?" he asked in Greek.
"'Course. What else would Hades want with him? Cheating death, honestly. Who in their right mind wants to do that? Are you the only one here?"
"One daughter of Aphrodite, by the name of Cho Chang. Useless in any form of conflict, so I couldn't use her for training. I've been having withdrawals."
"We'll go down to the Forest tonight then, get some work done." Nico had never really spoken to Dean before, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The other boys in the room were staring at them in confusion. Nico had to hold back laughter. It was evident that they had never heard a word of Ancient Greek in their lives, let alone known that their friend was fluent.
Nodding to Dean, Nico turned back to his trunk. Filtering through it, he found several sets of robes, books translated into Greek, a box of weird ingredients, and a large cauldron. He guessed there had been some kind of charm to make his trunk resemble the TARDIS in Doctor Who. He only knew what that was because the entire Apollo cabin had gone through a phase, and dragged the rest of the camp down with them.
At the very bottom, however, was a thin, velvet drawstring pouch. He pulled the strings, and tipped it upside-down, allowing a slender black stick to fall out into his palm, along with a note. He opened out the paper, revealing Greek in his father's handwriting. It read:
This wand is made from Stygian ebony and Thestral hair. It will channel your magic.
That was it. No 'good luck, I love you son', or anything remotely fatherly. Nico sighed. He had no idea what he would have to do to earn his father's approval. As vehemently as he would deny it, that was something he craved. And it was something it appeared he would never receive.
Packing his things away, he swung himself into bed. He pulled the curtains taught, and waited. Fidgeting constantly, he tried to pretend to be asleep until the others drifted off. This seemed to be impossible, but somehow he managed to pass for a restless sleeper. As far as he knew, anyway. When at last snores filled the room from all but one bed, he yanked the hangings apart.
Scrambling out, he grabbed some training clothes and threw them on. Dean, who was doing the exact same thing, grinned as he pulled out a tiny celestial bronze hammer. Nico, knowing that this hammer most likely had a thousand contraptions attached, pulled out all eleven of his knives (he'd hidden them in various places about his clothes that day) and his Stygian iron sword. Grabbing Dean by the arm, he ran into the shadows, melting into them just before he crashed into the wall.
He felt slight tugs of resistance as he travelled, which he guessed were the wards around the school. He thanked the gods that they didn't extend to shadow-travelling. After moments of nothing but shifting darkness, he found himself surrounded by dense trees.