AN: Sorry it took so long to upload. For those of you who didn't read my last Author's Note, I was busy for the past couple of days. This is a little short, but I wanted to get something decent up quickly, so I wasn't so behind in writing. Thanks to anyone still reading this story, and I hope this chapter is up to standard.

Chapter Six:

Things didn't start getting interesting again until after lunch. Herbology was painful, with all of the plants being used as Persephone's revenge for his existence: he was constantly being attacked by the various shrubs in the greenhouse while Professor Sprout rambled on about O.W.L.s. He dreaded to think what they would have done to him if he wasn't on a quest. It may seem vain, but he hoped his death would be a little more exciting than death by flower. It would be bad for his reputation, and no one got into Elysium for the lamest death imaginable – indirect homicide or no.

Lunch was a quiet affair; just the usual meal in his usual seat at Gryffindor table. Of course, he'd asked Dean (whom he'd caught up with on the way to the Great Hall) if students were allowed to sit at different tables at meals, but all he had received in answer was the knowledge that it was almost a taboo idea, what with the old House rivalries. It was the same for all Houses, even if they got along. Normally, Nico would disregard the prospect of a strain on his social life completely, but now was not the time. Judging by the stormy skies reflected in the ceiling, the gods were growing impatient for news. He had to find that room on the seventh floor; then he could think about breaking the status quo in this place.

When lunch was over, it was time for Divination. Nico had picked this class as a joke, wondering what these mortals had to rely on without Rachel. He knew that the Professor would be a fraud – after all, there was only one true Oracle, and she was a red headed artist in some prestigious snob school. It would be interesting to see what the wanna-be psychic came up with.

Divination was way up in the north tower, far from civilisation. He guessed this was to add to the effect. This idea was confirmed, and pushed to breaking point when he reached the actual classroom. The trapdoor alone was a bit much, as was the silver ladder that descended by itself. Ah, wizards. So much flair for the dramatic. The room, on the other hand, was either a torture chamber or a scene from a B-rated movie.

The scent of perfume and cooking sherry filled the air, choking him. Heavy pink shawls covered everything, with low lamps and candles all over the place. It was like the Aphrodite cabin, only worse. He vividly remembered waking up tied to the ceiling of the cabin when the Stolls decided to pull a prank on him. Of course, he shadow-travelled them to China afterwards, and left them to think things over for a few hours, but still. The cabin was a nightmare made real, and this room was even more terrible.

Skirting round the edge of the place, trying hard not sprint back to his dormitory and curl up into the foetal position, he took a seat near the exit, and slammed his forehead into the table, hiding his face and, by extension, protecting his poor eyes from the glare of pink. It was for this reason that his first impression of the Professor, Trelawney, was a misty voice right in front of him. He tried, and to a point succeeded, to blot out what she said, until she started passing round crystal balls. Apparently, her 'Inner Eye' told her that although the class (besides Nico) had already learnt crystal balls two years ago, they had to do the course again. Load of old hydra dung.

Nico barely glanced at his ball, instead scratching a tiny chip in the table, watching as it grew larger and larger. He couldn't see the point of doing this – if you wanted to know the future, you asked Rachel for a prophecy, or talked to one of the Apollo kids. Speaking of Apollo, Nico wondered what he would say if he were here. This entire practise was a very elaborate and ridiculous insult to him, after all.

When he got bored of scratching the chip, he just looked around, gauging the reactions of the rest of the class. The majority seemed just as miserable as he was, finding no point to the study of the glass balls of fog. Others had screwed up their faces in a fruitless attempt at seeing something. Only two looked like they could make anything out, and even with them, Nico was sure that it was just wishful thinking on their part. If any of it actually happened, it would be coincidence, and a lucky guess.

Then again, it was probably very hard work to appear to be a diviner. You would have to keep careful watch over everyone and everything around you, to make guesses at a future that might happen. Although, wizards as a whole were rather predictable, so steeped in their old traditions that you pretty much knew who they would become just from their last names. At least, you would if you had some prior connection to the wizarding world and knew about the old families. Which Nico didn't. No invented predictions for him, then.

Shaking his head clear, he looked back at the crystal ball, and blinked. Where there had once been fog, there was now a very familiar face. A cousin of sorts, one Nico had only just been considering. Apollo.

The god of Prophecy was grinning, his face alight with mischief. In the background, Nico could see the interior of the glowing Maserati, the sky whizzing past in the windows. This had to be the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. Stranger still, however, was when the god's voice warbled out of the ball, filling the room.

"Hey cousin! How's it goin'?" Everyone jumped as one, swinging round to face the crystal ball. Evidently, getting a message from your cousin through a divining medium was not a normal occurrence.

"Hi, erm, what are you doing in my crystal ball?" Nico asked, regaining his composure.

"Just thought I'd drop by, see what they've been doing here. By the way, what is this stuff meant to be? I'm pretty sure I never made anything like this to tell the future," Apollo replied, looking a little confused.

"This stuff is supposed to help you see with your 'Inner Eye', whatever that is. But, why are you messaging me? You never bothered to before."

"Well, yeah, but now you're the next big thing. This whole thing with your half-brother has the whole place buzzing, and I wanted to know how it was going. We might be able to see what's going on outside, but we can't tell what you've figured out. Besides, I always wondered what the mortals thought about Prophecy. It's kinda a hobby of mine. Killing two birds with one stone." Apollo looked sheepish. Nico just shook his head, checking to see how everyone had taken this event.

Trelawney had fainted, looking for all the world like a dead insect; as had the two Divination fanatics at the front. The rest were just gaping at Apollo, throwing the occasional nervous glances at their own crystal balls, as if some relative would suddenly appear in the depths. It would have been funny if he wasn't so worried about how he would explain this one. Dean was trying to smother a laugh, waving at Apollo.

"Hey, Uncle A. How're things at the Empire State Building?" Dean called, grinning like a maniac.

"Dean Thomas. Good to see ya. Your dad's been up to his old tricks again, turning your stepmother's house into one huge tripwire. Genius, that one. I think you know the rest from the sky outside?"

"Yup. Not exactly a secret."

"Wait, wait, wait," Seamus interrupted, looking livid. "I thought you didn't know who your dad was? You told me that our first day, and never said anything different. We're meant to be best mates, and you don't bother telling me something this important? What the hell, Dean?"

Dean looked ashamed, but determined. This was not looking good. The Professor was still out cold from shock, and the rest of the class wasn't about to get in between the two friends. Nico, supporting his cousin but knowing that anything he said would make things worse, waved goodbye to Apollo and climbed the ladder, back into the hall. What had originally been a lesson just for kicks, had turned into one big argument, and he did not have time for anything this petty, not when he had a job to do.

He snuck through the corridor, down a dozen flights of stairs, until he found the seventh floor. Going back to class wasn't an option he favoured, and he needed to get in this room. Chances were nothing would happen, but it couldn't hurt to try. After all, he had nothing better to do.

The wall opposite the portrait of trolls learning ballet was blank, as he knew it would be. The hallway was empty, what with it being class time, and the lack of classrooms in this part of the school. He stared hard at the bare stretch of wall, tapping his foot as he thought. Nothing much sprang to mind, so he just tried every idea he had found so far in the magical world.

He tried running into the wall – almost breaking his nose – and tapping it with his wand. He tried asking it politely and tickling it at random (he'd overheard the Weasley Twins talking about the kitchens). It was soon clear that none of these ways was going to work, and he needed to get creative. Unfortunately, creativity had never been his strong point, especially since he lost Bianca. Things were looking bleak.

He started pacing in front of the wall, thinking hard about the tiara and how he might get to it. So deep was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice when a door faded into being.