The Aftermath

Chapter 7

Grief and Relief

April 7th 2009

Teddy Lupin looked at all the varieties of animals in the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley, trying to pick out what he wanted the most. There was the cute kittens in the corner, ugly bulbous toads, and pompous looking owls. There were rats and rabbits and snakes. To tell the truth, Teddy had already chosen what animal he wanted, but he was terribly conflicted, because he had also chosen the animal that he needed, and they were two different things. The day before had been his birthday, and for once his whole family—Michael, James, Frederick, Lily, Simon, Sofia, and their mum—had gone through the Floo to Uncle George and Aunt Alessa's. Travis and Connor were already waiting for them by the fireplace, and as soon as Teddy had gotten through they had sprayed him with copious amounts of silly string. They had also charmed his shirt purple with lime green polka dots—which, to Teddy's eternal shame and his family's endless amusement, his hair had changed to match automatically.

Usually birthday parties were done at his home, but to Teddy's confusion, his mum had insisted that for his eleventh they go to Uncle George and Aunt Alessa's. Teddy thought that perhaps it was because Aunt Alessa was getting so big in her pregnancy—apparently she was having twins again, which was hardly unbelievable considering the father had been a twin himself. Then during present opening a handsome tawny owl had come through the window, flown over to Teddy, and dropped a letter in his lap. (Then the owl had looked at his mum imperiously until she had paid him; he had flown off without a hoot of thanks, much to Teddy's disgust.)

His mum had looked at him in excitement. She had been wearing the proud smile she wore whenever she was looking at him or one of his siblings, the one that always made Teddy feel warm and reassured that he was good enough, and that she didn't love his siblings more than him just because he wasn't technically her son. When Teddy had opened his letter and found that it was his acceptance letter to Hogwarts he had stared at it in shock for a moment before whooping in happiness. His mum had told him that his letter would come when he was eleven, but he hadn't expected it on his birthday. It made sense to him now why his mum had insisted on coming to Uncle George's—imagine the flight the owl would have had to take to deliver him his letter!

Of course, then James and Frederick started to ask why they hadn't gotten theirs yet, and Lily looked over Teddy's shoulder to read what supplies they would all need for their first year at Hogwarts. Teddy had just asked his mum when they would be going shopping. She said that she would take them all—Teddy, James, Lily, and Frederick—to Diagon Alley the next day to get all of their school supplies. Teddy had wanted to protest—he wanted to go shopping with just his mum, and he was the only one who had gotten an acceptance letter—but as if his mum had read his mind, she told him that she didn't want to have to take two trips to buy the exact same things, and it would be much busier in the Alley when the triplets got their letters.

So Teddy had let it go; it did make a reasonable sense, it was only practical—and his mum was nothing if not practical.

Later that night, when Teddy was supposed to be sleeping but was unable to because of excitement, a terrible thought had hit him: he was going to have to leave his mum. He had never spent more than a day away from her; she was a constant throughout his whole life so far, and she wasn't like the other kids mums he had observed at school. She was easier to talk to and she answered his questions truthfully. She didn't keep secrets or try to shelter him from his parents' deaths. Sure, she didn't say all of the details, but those were things that nobody needed to know—Teddy got the feeling she wished that she herself was ignorant.

That was when Teddy decided that he would get an owl. It would be the easiest way to stay in contact with his mum, and he would just address the letters to Uncle George so his owl wouldn't have such a long flight. It was a great plan. It was a smart plan. There was only one slight problem.

Teddy hated owls.

They were loud and messy and ungrateful and proud and stared at you as if you lived to serve them instead of the other way around. His mum had always talked of her late owl, Hedwig, with great fondness, and it had sounded like a wonderful relationship. Hedwig sounded affectionate and tolerant—though his mum had admitted that Hedwig had had terrible hubris and could hold quite the grudge.

Still, as Teddy was stared down by a fat brown owl that he was sure was scowling at him, Teddy couldn't see any commendable qualities in the birds, no matter what his mum said. Oh, he was sure that Hedwig had been amazing and he wished that she hadn't died—maybe then she could have persuaded him from being so put off by owls—but Teddy wanted something to cuddle with. You couldn't cuddle with birds.

Yet Teddy stood there still, looking straight into the bad-tempered owls round yellow eyes, trying desperately to find it within himself to like this… thing.

"How are you doing Teddy?" His mum startled him out of his thoughts. He turned away from the stupid bird thankfully. His mum was wearing robes, and it never failed to surprise him how seamlessly she could go from looking like a regular muggle to a witch who had been in the Wizarding world her whole life. Teddy always had to remind himself that she had had a life—a tragic, horrific, grief-filled life—before he and his siblings had come along.

Her robes were black, making her paler than normal. It also brought out the red in her hair. His mum had her hair down today, and she was constantly sweeping stray hairs away from her forehead. Every time she did this she would get an odd look of wonder on her face that Teddy didn't understand. His mum was also holding a little kitten in her arms. It was grey with a white patch taking up the entirety of its face. There were also patches of white on its paws. As Teddy watched, the kitten turned orange with black stripes, like a tiny tiger.

"Oh, where did you find him?" Teddy asked, and took the kitten from his mother's arms, snuggling the animal to his chest. The cat purred.

"It's a she," his mum corrected, "and I was talking to the owner about what species of cats they had, because I thought that you might like a kneazle, but when he showed me this little one I knew that you would like her. She was only recently delivered. She can change her fur into any color she pleases, just like you." She ruffled his presently-turquoise hair.

"A—a cat?" Teddy stuttered. "But I was thinking about getting an owl." Even as he spoke the words, he clutched the kitten tighter. She licked his chin.

"Why would you do that?" His mum looked at him in concern, "Teddy, you hate owls."

Teddy spluttered something about wanting to be able to write to her, wondering if he had really been that transparent.

His mum nodded, "I've got something for you." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a black book with his initials, T. R. Lupin, on it. She handed it to Teddy. It was a nice leather journal, but Teddy had never been one to write about his day. His mum's lips twitched when she saw the look on his face, "It's a start of school present I've been working on for you, Frederick, Lily, and James for a while," She started to explain. "When you write in that book it will also appear in mine," here she pulled out an identical journal but it had her initials, A. L. Potter, instead. "And I can write back to you."

Teddy looked at his mum in shock. He knew that his mum was a brilliant witch, but she didn't use magic that much unless it was necessary or she was feeling lazy. Once, when James had been eating too fast and started to choke she had cast anapneo which unblocked his throat and stopped him from choking—then as a lesson she had made him look up the charm and write ten instances for when the charm would be useful. James had whined at first, and to spite his mum, he wrote down ridiculous examples, like if he accidentally tried to swallow an elephant but it was going down the wrong way. He had ended up having so much fun that he went overboard and wrote twenty possibilities instead of ten. When he gave it in to Adelaide, she had kissed his forehead and taught him the Levitation Charm. (James ate at a much more sedate pace now.)

Then there was that time where Michael was packing for camp and she had simply wave her wand, without speaking, and everything had folded and packed itself.

So yeah, Teddy knew that his mum was a good witch, but these journals seemed like some serious and complex magic. It made Teddy want to learn how to do things like what his mum did. It made him want to understand magic. Teddy wondered where she had gotten the idea for the journals; he concluded that it must have been the Marauders Map that had inspired them.

He looked down at the little cat he was holding in relief. He wouldn't have to get a stupid owl like he thought. "Thanks mum."

She looked at him warmly, touched his cheek lightly. "You're welcome. Just remember to write." She paused, "And don't tell your siblings; I want it to be a surprise when they get theirs."

A thought hit Teddy. "Will they be able to see what we write to each other?" He loved his family, but he liked to have some privacy, and he found that with his mum and their talks. Like when she tells him about his dad and birth mum.

She laughed, "No, love. I have separate books to connect with them. It'll just be us."

He sighed. Thank the gods.

"Now let's go see what your brothers and sister picked out."

Lily, as it turned out, was having trouble deciding between a black rat that danced, a fluffy white rabbit that kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise, and a small turtle with a jewel-encrusted shell that glittered in the sunlight streaming through the window. "Not the rat Lily," mum said firmly—a voice she didn't use that often—and Lily obligingly set the rat down with its companions, where it huffed and started to skip rope with its own tail.

She also set down the turtle.

"Okay," Lily said. That was what Teddy liked about Lily the most: she never pried. She knew that her mum must have a good reason for not allowing the rat, so she did not protest. No doubt she would ask later why her mum was so against it, but she did not make a scene like most kids would by demanding answers.

James had picked out a long blue-black snake with smooth scales. He carried it around his shoulders and was speaking Parseltongue to it like they were already best friends. Ever since James found out he could speak to snakes he had become obsessed with them. He read books about different species, went out of his way to look for them at school on the field—always coming back empty-handed, but smiling from his latest 'adventure'—and whenever they were at the mall he would beg to be able to go to the pet store so he could talk to the snakes in the reptile section.

"She's an Indigo snake," James was saying, "She says her name is Zeta. Indigo snakes are non-venomous."

His mum looked at him, then turned to Zeta and started hissing a conversation. At first Teddy had been jealous that he wasn't a Parselmouth like his mum, but then she had told him that it was a special talent, just like how he's a Metamorphmagus, and that Lily, Frederick, and James never begrudged him that even though they themselves were not able to change their appearance. He still felt a bit of envy whenever they speak to snakes, but that's mostly because it makes him feel a bit left out.

"Alright," James looked at his mum expectantly when she started to speak. "You can have Zeta. She seems like a good pet."

"But I thought that we weren't allowed to have a pet that wasn't a cat, owl, or toad." Teddy pointed out, looking at Zeta and the rabbit-hat that Lily was holding.

"It also says that brooms aren't allowed, but in my first year I was able to have one because I was on the Gryffindor Quiddich Team. And a friend of mine had a rat." She said, "We'll just have to bend the rules a bit."

"You mean break them." Said James, grinning wickedly.

"Exactly."

Just then Frederick came bounding over. He was grinning, his blue eyes glittering like the turtle shell had been. Perching on his arm was a not yet fully grown snowy owl. Her white plumage looked silky and soft, which was perhaps why Frederick kept petting her. She looked to be enjoying it.

"I've named her Silva," Frederick said proudly, and the newly proclaimed Silva nipped his ear affectionately.

Teddy looked at his mum and saw her eyes were misty. He knew that she didn't care what kind of pet they got, but he suspected that Frederick getting a snowy owl made her very happy.

August 17th 2009

On the suspension cables of Williamsburg Bridge perched Michael Yew. Percy Jackson and Kronos were fighting on the bridge below. Michael had notched his last arrow, and stared at the ground below him in dismay. The pavement was cracked; the road had been melted by Greek fire. The bridge had taken a beating from Kronos when he blasted his power in an effort to defeat Percy, and that combined with the exploding arrows that had volleyed down onto it had made sure that it would collapse.

Michael had urged his siblings back, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He had never considered himself that brave, and he wasn't much of a leader. He didn't inspire followers like Percy did, and he didn't make people believe like his brother Will did. Michael had honestly not wanted to take the role of leadership after his brother Lee Fletcher had died in the Battle of the Labyrinth. In fact, though Michael was older, he had looked to Will. But Will hadn't felt it was right to be cabin leader when the role had always been for the oldest, and he had told Michael privately that he hadn't felt ready for that kind of responsibility.

Michael could understand that. He hadn't felt ready for it either.

But no, Michael didn't consider himself brave. He liked to think of himself as a protector. He was constantly watching over his siblings to make sure that they were unhurt, and he always took on the hardest and most dangerous job. And wasn't that what family did for each other? Wasn't he supposed to protect his family? Michael knew for certain that his mum would give her life for him in a heartbeat, and he would do the same for her, no matter how much she hated it.

And Percy Jackson was a part of his messed up family. Poseidon was Apollo's uncle, so that made Percy Michael's cousin—at least Michael thought so; he had always gotten confused with his godly family tree. So Michael stayed where he was on the suspension cables, his arrow notched, even though his legs felt like jelly, his heart was hammering so loudly he was sure it would leap out of his chest, and his blood was singing in his ears with terror.

Even when Percy did his stupid self-sacrificing thing and screamed, "Michael, go!"

"Percy, the bridge!" Michael called back, not obeying, "It's already weak!"

The son of Poseidon stared at the bridge before and under him, not understanding what Michael was getting at. Michael almost growled; he understood why Annabeth called Percy Seaweed Brain.

"Break it!" Michael yelled. "Use your powers!"

Percy stabbed his sword into the bridge, the magic blade sank into the asphalt to the hilt, and a geyser of salt water burst from the crack. This was exactly what Michael had wanted, but what he hadn't counted on was the shaking. It seemed like a controlled earthquake to Michael, contained solely to the bridge. The Williamsburg Bridge shook and began to crumble. Huge, house-sized chunks fell into the East River. Demigods cried out in alarm and scrambled backwards; some were knocked off their feet. And within a few seconds, a fifty-foot chasm opened up right between Kronos and Percy.

Michael didn't see any of this though, because as soon as the first vibration had come, he had gone. He couldn't keep his balance on the suspension cable. His arms had flailed, dropping his bow, and he had fallen towards the East River. Even as he fell his arms reached out for something that would save him; his right arm and leg hit a part of the Williamsburg Bridge that was still standing and they broke sharply—probably in more than one place, the back of Michael's mind registered through the pain and terror; the part of him that aspired to being a doctor.

He continued his journey to the water, and when he hit it he found it to be unforgiving. It grinded his broken bones together, making him cry out. He was already fully submerged, so as soon as he opened his mouth, water choked him. He couldn't see. The salt stung his eyes. He couldn't breathe. His vision was darkening from both asphyxiation and the pain that radiated from his right side. But somewhere in the haziness of his mind he remembered the last gift his mother had given him…

Michael tried to smile for his mum. He didn't want her to know that he was worried. He didn't want her to know about the war that was coming about. He didn't want her to know that this could be the last time he would see her.

They were standing at the camp border, saying good-bye for the summer, and Michael was having trouble not coming clean to her. He knew that he should have told her the danger that he was in—after all, she had gone through a war herself—but whenever he tried he found himself unable to utter a word. His time with his mother was his sanctuary, his reprieve, and if she knew then she might want to talk about it. She would want to help him, and that would taint everything. He wanted things to be like how they were when he was younger. He wanted to be ignorant again.

But he couldn't, so he let his mother. It was his gift to her.

"Bye mum," Michael hugged her especially hard. "I love you."

"I love you too, love." If Michael didn't know better he could have sworn that there was worry in her voice, and tears in her eyes. But there couldn't be. There would be though, Michael thought, if I told her I would most likely die. She held him at arm's length, her hands set firmly on his shoulders; a comforting weight. "Now, I've got something for you."

She pulled out a length of yellow ribbon, and tied it around his neck. He looked at her, completely mystified. "Mum?"

"I'm no Seer," she smiled sadly, "but I had a feeling that you would be needing this."

"But it's a ribbon."

"If you say my name it will bring you to me from wherever you are. Use it when you are in dire need." Michael looked at his mum apprehensively, hoping that she didn't know about the second Titan war. To his relief, all he saw was sadness, no anger at him for lying to her.

She hugged him again, and this time it was her that gripped harder than usual. "Come back to me."

Heart in his throat, Michael managed to choke out, "Of course."

Surrounded by water, his vision blackening, Michael said with the last remaining air in his lungs, "Adelaide Potter!" and though it was unintelligible within the water, magic obeyed. It knew, and in the next second, Michael was slamming onto the familiar wooden floor of his home, and just before he blacked out he saw a flash of red fire surrounding a pale face, and though he believed in the gods and he knew that when he died he would go to the Underworld and hopefully Elysium, he involuntarily thought in his delirium of pain, angel.

2007 (Before the Battle of the Labyrinth; after Luke asks Annabeth to run away with him.)

Luke didn't know why he was here. The last time he had been here he had been thirteen and less bitter. But with the enormity of becoming the vessel of Kronos hanging over his head, and Annabeth's rejection to run away with him, he had felt the need to seek out the place he was most happy. Now that he was here though, all he could do was stare at the door. What would he say? How would he explain what was going on without her looking at him in disappointment?

Luke scowled at his insecurity. Why did he care so much about her opinion anyway? He had known her for… what? A couple months? It shouldn't matter as much as it did. He raised his hand and knocked. It didn't take long for her to open the red door. She looked just as Luke remembered her, except smaller.

When Luke had been thirteen, Adelaide Potter had seemed so impossible big and brave. She was still brave, but now that Luke was twenty-one and nearly six foot, he found himself looking down at Adelaide. She was short and delicate looking, almost fragile. Though Luke knew that she was far stronger than she appeared, it didn't stop him from wanting to shield her from horrors. It would be a pointless task; she had already seen too much.

Adelaide looked at him quizzically, trying to think of where she knew him. Luke stayed silent, secretly hoping that he would have been memorable. After a moment more of studying his still and haggard form, Adelaide's face cleared and she looked at him with a growing smile. "Luke?"

He sagged in relief and smiled as well. To his astonishment, he felt tears come to his eyes. Adelaide immediately went to hug him, and for the first time in years, Luke allowed himself to cry. He didn't have to be strong for his makeshift family on the run; he didn't have to stay strong for siblings in a cabin which he wished he didn't belong to; he didn't have to be cruel and authoritative and strong for forces of monsters and discontented demigods and malicious Titans. He let his walls down and wept into the shoulder of the one adult he had ever trusted. He allowed himself to be weak.

She had made him lunch. Tomato soup with crackers crumbled into it, a hotdog with just mustard, and some lemonade. Luke wondered how in the world she still remembered his favorite meal after all these years. He sat at the dining room table, slurping soup in between bites of his hotdog, and let Adelaide tell him all about how James, Frederick, Teddy, and Lily were. She had also introduced him to Simon and Sofia before the two had gone to play, quickly getting bored with the novelty of having a new adult in their home.

"Sofia is a daughter of Athena?" Luke asked when Adelaide told him how she had come to have both Simon and Sofia. He was once again appalled at the gods; how could they use someone like Adelaide? "I didn't know that she had kids with woman too. No one in the Athena cabin said once that they had two mothers."

"Yes, well, apparently she does," Adelaide said. Luke gave her a curious look; this was the most annoyed that he had ever heard her sound. "She didn't tell me who she was," Adel explained, "and she left Sofia on my doorstep. Didn't even have the bloody courage to face me."

Luke knew that courage meant a lot to Adelaide—she had been sorted into Gryffindor after all. "So you're not fond of Athena?" How could she be when the goddess had basically mind-raped her?

Adelaide frowned. "No," she said slowly, trying to put her feelings into words. "I'm thankful to her for giving me Sofia, but in the same way that I'm thankful to my cousin Dudley for giving me Simon. There's no warmth when I think of Athena, but I could never hate her.

"Now, tell me what you've been up to."

They moved to the living room couch, and in between sips of his lemonade Luke outlined the war going on between the Olympians and the Titans, though he didn't tell her what side he was on. He didn't tell her that he was the bad guy. Her face grew steadily darker as he spoke, and he could see the worry that lined her face prematurely.

"Luke, why are you here?"

"W-what do you mean?" He stuttered.

Adelaide grasped his hand in both of hers and smiled gently at him. Luke had never felt so transparent. "As much as I wish you had come here just for a visit, I can tell that you're here because you need something. What's wrong Luke?"

"I don't know what to do!" Luke burst out, feeling his desperation swell within him. "I'm being forced to do something and I don't want to. I made so many bad choices and there's no way to change them." His head hung low. "I'm too much of a coward to change sides and all I want to do is run away."

"Then be selfish."

Luke's neck snapped in her direction, an audible crack, his shock was tangible. "What do you mean?"

"At the Battle of Hogwarts," Adelaide started, "when I had to go face Voldemort and my death because I was a Horcrux, it was very difficult for me. More difficult then I think people realize." Her eyes had clouded over in memory, and Luke hung off her every word. "I was pregnant at the time, so not only would I be throwing my life away, but also that of my child, because I was sure that I would die.

"People think that I did the self-sacrificial move; became a martyr. They thought that I willingly walked to my death so they could live. But I would have given up their lives for the life of my child," she shook her head guiltily, "so instead I made the choice I knew I had to make; a selfish one. Did I want my child to grow up with Voldemort in the world? No. If I did not die, bringing my child with me, they would no doubt be hunted or killed at an early age. Maybe they would even become an orphan like I had. And it would be my fault; I would have condemned my child to a horrible life.

"So I convinced myself that I was doing what was best for the both of us. If Nagini was not killed or Voldemort somehow had another Horcrux out there, I would have saved both myself and my child from living under the rule of Voldemort. I made my decision selfish, and I made myself into a coward. That is how I was able to watch the Killing Curse come at me and not move, not because I was a hero or I loved so greatly that I couldn't conceive the thought of letting others die while I had the ability to stop it with my own death."

Adelaide cupped Luke's face in both hands, "Be selfish Luke. Be selfish to do what is right."

"Alright," Luke said, a new determination coming over him, "Alright, I will… mum."

Adelaide's smile was heartbreaking, as if she had seen into the future and knew that there was no happy ending. And when she hugged him, she whispered in his ear so quietly that Luke almost didn't hear her, "Wait for me in Elysium."

"Thank you."

"I did not do it for you, Lord Hermes."

"I know. He will die."

"There are always sacrifices in the end. There is always death. It is my hope that he will die in such a way that it is impossible for him not to go to Elysium, so that he may have peace in death as he never had in life."

August 18th 2009

Hermes walked through the red door without knocking. He went through the apartment like a zombie until he reached an open door to what looked like a teenager's bedroom. Odd books were scattered on a desk, a dirty clothes pile inhabited a corner, and various weapons were strewn haphazardly around the room. He saw the woman, Adelaide Potter, whom he had only visited once before. She was feeding a blond haired boy various potions, massaging his throat to make him swallow in his unconscious state, looking tired.

The boy, Michael Yew if Hermes remembered correctly, was a son of Apollo and presumed dead by his fellow campers. Hermes cleared his throat, and Adelaide looked up in surprise. "It's done."

There was no confusion on her face; she didn't need any time to think about the meaning of his words. Her face pinched and her shoulders hunched over slightly. "And… and did he… did he get Elysium?" Her voice was thin.

"Yes."

"Good… good…" She focused on Michael's blankets, fussing over them unnecessarily. "Can you—" She broke off and cleared her throat. "Can you tell Apollo that… that Michael will be alright?"

"I will." He could not bring himself to comfort her. He was barely holding himself together as it was.

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me. Please."