Chapter 10
Author's Note:
Oops, that's nearly three months without an update. Blimey, uni can be captivating in every sense of the word. Mind you, every time I post a chapter I do actually have to write the bloody things first. I'm not the organised kind who writes the story out first and then updates every week :)
Anyhow, thanks to everyone who favourited/followed this story, with an extra special thank you to those who reviewed. If I haven't gotten back to you, it's because (with all possible respect and gratitude) they didn't really have questions or need answering, and I didn't want to sound like an automated answering machine. (You know, like "Thank you for your message. Your support is greatly appreciated.")
However, there was someone with a question which I thought was valid.
Someone asked if I was a Christian.
To which I respond: sort of. Nominally, yes. I was christened as a baby, so I didn't really have a choice in the matter. In practice, however, no. I'm more of an atheist actually, though with a certain fascination in literature for angels and anything having to do with Christian theology.
So, on a following note:
**IMPORTANT NOTICE, PLEASE READ**: This chapter contains some views on Christianity, God, Satan, Hell, etc. These views are purely meant in the context of the story and do not necessarily reflect my own. If you are offended by these, I apologise, it was not my intention. However, this is a story that deals with all sorts of old religions, and Christianity is no exception. There will likely be more of this later on in the story. My advice would be just to lay back and cruise like the words have no influence over you in that aspect.
Jason ran both hands in his rumpled hair for the hundredth time that evening.
"There's no point," he despaired. "We'll never find it. There is literally nothing here that will tell us who the creepy bastard in a skirt was."
"He gave us his name. There's got to be something about Jack of Kent here somewhere." Annabeth muttered, though her eyes were red from lack of sleep and reading in poor light. Nevertheless, she carried on running her hand over a shelf of books, carefully tracing the spine of each one and reading the title before moving to the next.
They were all in the candle-lit library, alternatively researching anything they could about their mysterious rescuer from a few days ago and bashing their careworn heads against the smooth oak of the studying tables. The thudding sound had caused Mrs Pince to hobble out of her booth three times in the past two hours to search for the source, until she finally caught Leo at it and immediately threatened to suspend him permanently from the library.
"Gladly," he'd muttered once she'd stopped whisper-yelling at him, which involved a lot of spittle landing on poor Leo's face, "I've had enough of this place for a lifetime. Why are books so... papery? What's wrong with metal and machines? Couldn't they just scan all this garbage onto a hard drive, then design some magical crystal ball things where you could view them all? Then there'd be no problem translating it, or even finding it." In disgust, he pushed away an ancient tome that described, in intimate detail, the rites of ceremonial waxing and hair dyeing of ancient druids in High Gaelic (the illustrated edition).
"Dumbledore said magic doesn't mix with technology, Leo." Annabeth reminded him , plucking out another tome (Heroes of Olde and their Favourite Pastte-times) and dismissing it in the next beat.
Leo snorted. "Yeah, and Dumbledore's vision of modernity gravitates around what, the nineteenth century?" He leaned forwards, lowering his voice further, his mischievous eyes alight with a familiar fire. "Wanna know what I think? I bet they don't mix because all the technology that wizards tried to co-ordinate with their magic is old - like, really old. Stuff like wirelesses and cord telephones. With all the sweet stuff we have today, soon Dumbledore won't have to worry about Voldemort: he'll have to worry about all the muggle-born kids who figure it out before he does."
"We still use electromagnetic waves." Piper reasoned, glad for a distraction and setting aside the huge book she'd been reading (Figures Moste Famous, and Their Impact On Ancient Civilisations of Bimblewimps (Humans), as Tolde By the Illustrious Goblin-crossed-Pixie, Benwick Fenne). "A lot of the things we have today still work on waves and signals, stuff that magic would interfere with."
Leo scoffed, waving a hand past his shoulder. "Please," he said, "we have computers now; LCD; optic fibre; sensor technology; not to mention all the... you know, godly stuff-" he whispered, "we have at home. If I could just import a few automatons, an Archimedes sphere or two-"
"No." Annabeth said firmly, slamming another book on the table, making the others jump. "No matter how tempting a computerized system sounds right now, we can't risk exposing ourselves with alien technology."
"It's not alien!" Leo spluttered. "It's human, with a few divine tweaks to it, is all..."
"Here even light bulbs are considered ultra-modern," Annabeth answered severely. "To a society that's so averse to change, what do you think screens and instant communication would do to it?"
"Well it would make studying here a lot more efficient, for a start." Leo grumbled, fiddling with a discarded quill. "I swear wizards've never even heard of dyslexia. What does this one say?" he squinted at a large, dusty book with stains on the cover that looked eerily like dried blood, "My Maniacal Coutures Aren't Done?"
"Why Magical Creatures Are Fun," Annabeth corrected, snatching the book back but biting down a smile.
"Does is mention how amusing it is to be attacked by unhygienic centaurs with territorial issues?"
Annabeth's mouth twitched even more. "No."
"Then it's pointless. Now can we call it a day and have something to eat? I'm starving."
Piper sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe he has a point, Annabeth. We've been here hours, even days, and we're no closer to finding anything useful."
"That's only because it takes us twice the usual amount of time to decipher what these say." Annabeth said, her tone both frustrated and stubborn. "If we keep looking..."
"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way?" Percy suggested, having lifted his head from the sanctuary of his crossed arms and rubbed away the sleep in his eyes. "If our problem is deciphering the information, not just finding it, maybe we need help from someone else."
"We could ask Mrs Pince," Hazel proposed, though her tone was doubtful. "I suppose she must've dealt with a few dyslexic students before. Maybe she knows a spell or something."
"As long as-" Annabeth started, looking anxious.
"We won't mention what we're looking for." Thalia assured her friend, her tone understanding but also a little exasperated. "Annie, we need help here. If we can't even look up what we want when we want, we're gonna be in trouble."
When Annabeth reluctantly relented, the demigods asked the librarian for her assistance in helping them alleviate the effects of dyslexia. At first she looked suspicious, because the nine of them were asking for the same thing, but after having looked down her beaky nose at Piper's polite expression and sniffed that she had no idea why they hadn't come to her sooner, she led them to a small shelf near the back of the library's main room and selected a small, slim tome, which she handed to Annabeth.
"Beginner's guide to Hogwarts," she grudged. "Written by muggle-born students over the years. Hasn't been consulted for a few years, but it should help you adapt your researching methods. And as for your disease-"
"S'not a disease." Percy muttered.
"-there are a few simple charms in there that you can apply to anything you read. The spells' effects vary from increasing the size of the writing," she gave Jason's glasses a nasty look, "to changing the colour, style and, with more difficulty, the alphabet altogether."
Genuinely impressed, Annabeth accepted the book with gratitude.
"Mind you don't damage it," Mrs Pince sniffed again, looking supremely wary of lending a library book to a student, "I expect it back in no less than its pristine condition."
Annabeth's sharp eyes noted the scuffed corners, the faded cover, the smudges of ink all over the graffitied spine, but said nothing and instead smiled brightly as Piper assured the librarian that they would treat the book as though it were made of gold.
"Treat as though it were made of paper, girl!" the woman barked (it was impressive how she could regulate her voice to channel all her moods while not speaking above a whisper). "Wouldn't do the book any good if you treated it like gold. Ink doesn't stain gold! Golds pages don't tear! Gold spines don't separate from the cover!"
They scuttled off before she could get truly passionate in her book-loving rant and found a more secluded area where they could discuss their findings as they wished. The beginner's guide, as it turned out, was little more than a list of handwritten tips from hundreds of different students who had attended Hogwarts before them, some of them dating back from the mid-nineteenth century. Annabeth was disappointed to find that a lot of the advice had nothing to do with adapting to the lack of technology at all, but rather offered tips on how to navigate the ever-changing layout of the castle, tricks to get out of doing homework, even pranks to play on unsuspecting teachers. There were also a few hand-drawn plans to map out little-known shortcuts to the Great Hall, the dungeons and the kitchens, but overall little of real worth.
About to return the book to Mrs Pince and complain that she hadn't found the spells she'd spoken about, the book was snatched from Annabeth's hands by Leo, who, instead of starting at the beginning of the book, flipped the pages straight to the end. Such actions were against Annabeth's every instinct, and she was about to loudly protest against this unethical bout of disrespect when Leo gave a quiet "Ha!" of triumph and laid the thin guide back onto the table.
"If we want guidance about technology, better to look at the end of the book," Leo said with a small smirk, "where the tips are most recent and written by students who've been exposed to the same technology as we have."
Annabeth nearly voiced her opinion anyway, but chose to shrug and pointedly draw the book back towards her instead. No matter how more practical, page-skipping was simply not within her ability to condone.
"Okay. Point made." she scanned the first page, and frowned because she couldn't easily make out the scrawly handwritten notes. Frustrated, and tired of being blocked every few feet because of their combined demigod and wizard legacies and their clashes, Annabeth looked up at Jason. She had an idea. A slightly crazy, wistful idea, but one she really wished would work and was tired enough to attempt.
"Jason, what's the Latin for 'find'?"
The son of Zeus tilted his head to the side, a pained expression on his tired features. "Depends on the context. Latin's a bastard that way."
"The imperative form."
"Oh, er... Invenī, I think."
Annabeth cleared her throat, feeling a little foolish, because she'd never really attempted anything like this before. She pointed her wand at the thin, potentially life-saving but incredibly obscure book in front of her.
"Invenī Incantatores," she said, speaking the words with as much command as she could muster. With surprise, and no small amount of delight, she felt a rush of magic shimmer down the length of her wand, and the pages of the book whipped to the side, as though flicked one by one by a strong gust of wind, before coming to rest on one of the last pages of the volume. At the top of the page, written in clear, square letters, was an entry that listed several different latinized phrases. They were clearly spells, and all the demigods present regardless of their level in Latin could tell they referred to language and alphabets.
Annabeth laughed, both at her success and at her friends' astonished faces.
"I didn't know you could make your own spells." Percy said, his slightly accusing tone only the mark of how much he hated spending hours doing things the hard way.
"Neither did I." Annabeth admitted. "But I think I just got lucky. I bet as soon as I try another one my magic's gonna fail me."
"Well, it's brilliant. Why the hell didn't I think of that?" Leo beamed, pulling out his own wand. He grabbed the small guide and started to decipher the anti-dyslexia spells. "Lit- Litteris Mutare, um... Fieri...?" He faltered. "It just stops here for this one, but it doesn't feel finished."
"Fieri Graecum." Hazel supplied, leaning over to examine the entry for herself. "The first bit means 'change the letters', and then it says 'become'. I think you have to fill the last part yourself with whatever you want the writing to change to."
"Great! What's the Latin for 'hot dog'?" Percy asked, entirely serious.
Annabeth smiled, but pulled the book back towards her. They had work to do, and it suddenly seemed a whole lot easier. There was no time for snacks. She looked up at her friends, wordlessly asking for permission to alter the text, for while the Romans among them also struggled somewhat with dyslexia, they would find it even more difficult to decipher Greek, since their preferred font was Roman capitals. Unfortunately for them the Greeks present outnumbered the Romans, so Hazel and Frank - and perhaps even Jason - were going to have to leave the translation to them.
Receiving several eager nods in response, she pointed her wand at the text again, really hoping this was going to work as well as her last attempt.
The little stunt she'd pulled just then had been as much of a surprise to her as it had been to the others. Until two minutes ago, she'd had no intention whatsoever of creating her own spells, let alone inaugurating them in front of witnesses. The very thought of attempting magic and failing to succeed left Annabeth wanting to bury her burning face in her arms - or possibly Percy's - so that it was a wonder she had even tried it at all. Annabeth had to fight a grimace whenever she thought of the blow her confidence had taken since their immersion in the magical world. She had once been Athena's chosen one, twice-saviour of the world, and a leader at Camp. Now she was reduced to practising first-year spells in secret, blushing whenever a teacher asked a question she couldn't answer despite her best efforts to do the research, and utter terror at what would happen should she attempt a spell and make a mess of it.
Her dratted pride, she knew, was the source of it all. For her, as for many children of Athena, success was absolutely everything. And everything had to be solved, planned and defeated, or be unworthy of the goddess of wisdom and her patronage. There was a legacy to live up to, a mantle to take up, expectations to match and outstrip, a constant pressure to succeed where everyone else failed. Sometimes, when she was walking with Percy on the beach, or helping Piper pacify discontented campers, Annabeth foolishly felt confident enough to feel that was possible. That if she studied hard, kept her wits and friends about her, tackling the world and its problems would all fall into place.
Of course, that was just wishful thinking, as Annabeth often bitterly reminded herself. Those fleeting feelings of complete power over her mind and others' were breathtaking, addictive, wonderful, but also completely out of touch with reality. After the Nuckelavee's attack the other day, when they were discussing the motives of Albus Dumbledore in letting them attend his school, she'd chided Percy for underestimating the powers of reality, and failing to see how very divergent and disappointing it could be from one's visions and fantasies.
The truth was, she'd been a hypocrite in that moment. In the minutes before the attack, she'd been starting to adjust to their new life, taking it more and more into her stride, acclimatising to the differences in culture and expectations of those around her. She'd memorized the first three floors of Hogwarts so that she would no longer get lost and be late for lessons; she'd committed half of all their textbooks to memory so that, at the very least, her knowledge if not her technique was up to scratch; she'd been quietly planning how, as a group, they could upset Umbrige's hold on the school, and even researching notable figures they could contact - figures who, Chiron had once said, were like him in their awareness of both the classical and magical worlds.
And then the Nuckelavee had burst out of the forest, and once more her patchy, cautious optimism was shattered to leave behind an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and fish-out-of-water terror of the unexpected.
At least now they had clear goals. And were doing their utmost to achieve them. They had spent days in the library looking up anything they could find on Jack and the demonic centaur, but the dark circles under her friends' eyes weren't just due to exhaustive reading. They had all, following their close shave with the Nuckelavee, been practicing magic with a seriousness to rival Percy's attention given to breakfast. Nothing complex or even fifth-year level was attempted, but every minute of their spare time together was spent rehearsing simple charms and useful jinxes out of a nameless second-year book Piper had found on the grounds. For her part, Annabeth was convinced magic was one of those disciplines where the more practised and fluid the basics were, the easier it was to build on them. Therefore it had become their policy to memorise and file away every spell they heard uttered by younger students, whether it was used for mending a shoelace or tripping a bully. The more, the better, and the easier it would get to produce spells.
Their demigod powers had, to some extent, facilitated the process. For the eldest among them, like Percy and herself, starting the spells was rarely easy. There was always that little spark missing; a spurt of will that was forceful enough to make magic react and obey their wishes. Annabeth, Percy, Jason and Thalia all struggled to kick off their levitating charms, whereas Hazel had managed it on the second try. It was hard work, but, strangely, they found that maintaining the spell wasn't at all as difficult: it was a matter of keeping the same frame of mind for long enough, sometimes nudged along with extra input from their individual demigod sources of power. For the youngest of them, notably Hazel and Nico, the extra powers rarely made maintaining the strength of the spell easy, but there was something about their powers that made igniting the magic spark almost automatic - Annabeth suspected it had something to do with the fact puberty hadn't finished with them yet. Piper and Leo were doing well enough as well, though their patterns of success were too irregular to conform to the vague theory forming in Annabeth's mind.
Strangely enough however, Frank always seemed to hover in the middle ground. On some days he could start a spell but only get wisps of smoke in response, and on others it took him a dozen tries to produce any effects at all. But once the spell unlocked itself to him... Holy Hera, the power of it was something to behold. Since they hadn't yet mastered the Restoration spell, their common room's rug still bore marks of the twelve-foot long blue flames that had shot out from Frank's wand the day before. Leo's eyebrows were still singed - something that surprised everyone including him; it seemed the great Leo Valdez had at last found a form of fire that didn't treat him like a living doll of CalypsoClothTM.
Shaking her head to rid herself of all distracting thoughts - nearly impossible to manage for an ADHD person, but it was the effort that counted - Annabeth read and re-read the incantation before her, picturing every letter of the Greek alphabet one by one in her mind while holding her wand steady and firm, loosening her grip like Professor Flitwick had taught her. Like a conductor's baguette, not a chopping knife, he'd said. As though she'd ever held either.
Annabeth took a deep breath, closed her eyes and spoke the words on the page, again mustering all the will she had in her to see the penned letters transform into a format that was readable.
She felt the spell work before she saw it. The now familiar pulse of magic ran down her forearm and shot out of her wand; her eyes flew open and caught sight of the last tiny blue sparks whizzing around the page before they died out and vanished. Annabeth grabbed the book and held it close to her face. The entry title jumped out at her immediately, clear and easy to read. The language was recognisably still English, which felt odd considering she only ever read Greek in...well, Greek, but the letters were suddenly as easy to read as Leo's face when he was planning something amusing on the subject of Umbridge.
She glanced back up at her friends, grinning, thrilled at her success. Finally, something they'd learned that was actually useful!
To her surprise, most of the others were still looking at the book, their faces all expressing varying degrees of disappointment.
"Shame. I really thought it would work this time." Leo muttered, rubbing at his mussed hair.
Annabeth spluttered.
"But... it did. Look!" She held out the book to them, and they leaned in, mystified, identical frowns of confusion creasing their brows. After a couple of seconds, Leo shook his head.
"Nope. Still looks like Incan mathematics to me."
Intrigued, Annabeth looked back at the page. The writing on it was clear and perfectly readable, still written in blue ink and as aesthetically pleasing to the eye as its former shape.
"Must work on an individual level..." she murmured. "Looks like you have to cast the spell yourself in order to read it. Here," she said, more loudly, pushing another book towards Leo. "Try with this one. The spell's Litteris Mutare, Fieri Graecum."
Frowning in curiosity, Leo pulled out his wand and pointed it at the page. His grip on the wooden handle was too tight, and his hand had a slight tremor to it; it was clear he too was feeling the pressure of being called up on the spot to perform in front of others - probably because his spells also tended to cause explosions or random objects to burst into flames. Though she sympathized, Annabeth was too curious to see how this would turn out. Leo cleared his throat, shifted his grip, frowned at the open pages, and spoke the words of the spell while his friends looked on.
Small sparks shot out of Leo's wand, zooming across the page for a second before, like Annabeth's before him, vanishing entirely. After a second of stunned surprise, Leo was grinning, though still anxious with anticipation. He lowered his wand and peered at the book, scanning the top few lines before letting out a delighted whoop of triumph, causing a dozen students to look up from their own books (it should be mentioned, at this point, that the only reason he wasn't shouted at to shut the bloody hell up was that all said students were British, and thus far too polite to do such a thing. They settled instead for pointedly glaring at him over the tops of the books until he shrugged in apology, after which they pursed their lips and resumed reading, mentally muttering about uncivilised barbarians).
"Works, does it?" Annabeth whispered, grinning.
"Oh man, this is so cool!" Leo murmured back, while Percy leaned over his shoulder to try it for himself, curiosity having replaced the bafflement.
Five minutes later, all nine demigods had performed the spell without incident or, strangely enough, much difficulty. The change this made in their research methods was incredible: exhilarated at their modest but life-changing success with the spell, with a new spring in their step, the demigods returned to leafing through the thick tomes of their selection with more drive and determination than ever, combining their new ability for reading with modified versions of Annabeth's earlier improvisation to find entries and specific words faster. The only drawbacks were the limits that Latin imposed on their hastily cobbled-together 'Ctrl+F' spell, as they'd named it, and the fact that the alphabet spell had to be re-applied to every page. On the plus side, this meant plenty of practice, and within half an hour they had not only mastered both spells, but also exhausted their current choice of volumes, no closer to finding anything about Jack o' Kent or the Nuckelavee, but flushed and pleased with the amount of research they'd completed.
"If we don't get full marks in our next test," Piper sighed with tired satisfaction, dropping her huge tome of Magycall Creatures and The Beste Waye To Keepe Them Alyve, "I'm going to charmspeak Grubbly-Plank into giving them to us anyway."
"Good plan." Thalia said, rubbing her eyes. "Could you by any chance also persuade McGonagall not to give me detention for forgetting about that essay?"
"I'll do my best, but I swear that woman would be immune to my mother's skills, let alone mine."
"Hang on, there's a thought," Leo said, rubbing his chin. "D'you think... Pipes, you heard how Umbridge is encouraging students to tattle on anyone? Well... D'you think you could do that?"
There was stunned surprise at his words, and a crash as Hazel's grip on her books loosened in shock and sent them tumbling back onto the desk, followed by Nico's hiss of pain as one of the heavy ones landed on his foot.
"What? What for?" she asked, aghast. "I thought you hated that woman."
"Oh, Honey I do." Leo assured her, the wicked gleam in his eyes, always smouldering these days, flaming anew. "Which is why we need someone to pretend to be on her side, and feed information back to us." He turned back to Piper. "Think about it. She told students to come to her if they were worried about their friends and what they're doing. She's not asking for facts, she's asking for rumours. Accusations. Gossip. Gods know that's the only way the Daily Puppet is functioning these days." he said, muttering the last bit more to himself than his friends.
"Daily Prophet." Piper corrected him absently, though her expression said she was actually thinking on what he was saying. "So... If I fall under her wing, make her rely on me for information, make her trust me... I could tell Umbridge about, oh I don't know - how I think the ghosts are planning a revolution, and she'll act on it?"
Leo nodded, his grin so wide he was starting to look like the Joker.
"In doing so making a fool of herself, and with luck completely disillusioning the Ministry of her competence."
Percy laughed and clapped Leo on the back. "Dude, I would pay to see that happen!"
"That's...actually not a bad idea." Annabeth said cautiously, wary of potential eavesdroppers but knowing it was now fully dark and the library almost empty since students were off having dinner. "In fact, it's great. Even if she doesn't act on the information, telling her lies will make it harder for her to distinguish them from the truth if it gets leaked."
Piper was biting her lip while packing her bag, hesitation in her every move, yet Annabeth could see it wasn't from reluctance, or even from fear of discovery. Knowing Piper, she was wondering if she was up to the task. Jason seemed to have noticed as well.
"Piper, you're the most powerful charmspeaker in the world." he said, "No-one can resist you when you want something. It'll work, I know it will."
Piper sighed. "Actually," she said, "I do too. I think it's a very good idea. I just... I have to figure out what makes Umbridge click. These things only work when you pretend to play in their absolute favour. I'll also have to be careful not to hang around you guys too much - 'cause no offence, but you don't have the best record with her-"
"Thank you." Leo said, perfectly sincerely.
"-and I'll have to be really careful what I say, and when I say it. It's going to be difficult and dangerous, especially if the Ministry is increasing its authority here. "
Piper worried her lip again, the previous look of tired contentment on her beautiful face disappearing to leave room for a thoughtful gaze and a preoccupied frown.
"I'll think about it." she promised. "I'll do my best to... prepare for it, and stuff."
"And stuff?" Leo repeated.
Piper gave him a shrewd look.
"I can't just go charging into her office and tell her the first lie that comes to mind. The time for improvisation is over, guys. Now that we have time to make plans, we have to take it."
"You're right." Annabeth agreed, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "And now: dinner. I'm starving."
They loaned out a few more books for the sake of it, then trudged out of the warm library into the cold and drafty corridors that, no matter how many torches were lit on the walls or how many warming charms were cast on the stones, never seemed to heat up once the calendar had gone past mid-September. Leo had used to tease Nico it was because he was walking with them that the lingering cold refused to dissipate, especially at night. But with the number of deferential ghosts drifting about the castle, that had become uncomfortably close to what may have been the truth, and so they settled for light talk about the weather instead.
Dinner was a merry affair. The demigods were happy with their progress and new ideas for the day, and the sudden golden warmth of the Great Hall was like a hot bath after a trip through one of Khione's temper tantrums, making many students pleasantly sleepy and cheerful. There was also an extra buzz in the air, for Umbridge's especially sour face at the multicoloured congregation at each table fanned the flames of a rumour that she had failed to introduce another Educational Decree, one that would have banned inter-house sittings at meals. Perhaps even paranoid Minister Fudge had failed to understand how apparently unhealthy it was to have friends sit with each other, or else Dumbledore had had a part in it. Whichever it was, Umbridge's pursed lips and untouched food were an even more welcome sight than the rich stews and soft bread rolls served that night. The only one who was dismayed to see their least favourite teacher's lack of appetite was Leo, who had somehow, he informed them, managed to spike her food with something that would have made dinner all the more entertaining, though he refused to tell them what it was.
Later that evening, Annabeth was in their private common room, alone for the moment since the others had gone to bed and Percy had been waylaid by a few Gryffindors wanting to know if he would consider trying for reserve any time soon. Annabeth didn't know why they were so insistent, given that a) they'd never seen Percy so much as touch a broomstick before, and b) Gryffindor already had a reserve player for each position. In any case, she wished them luck trying to convince Percy to fly - poor guy still went slightly green whenever he thought too much about people flying a hundred feet up in the air on sticks of wood. "As though pegasi weren't enough," he'd vented at her a few days ago, "I mean yeah, horses with wings, I get why people would want to ride them. But broomsticks? Man, that's just giving Zeus the opportunity to play Whack-a-Mole."
Annabeth pulled out her laptop. She'd received it that very morning from Chiron at her request, causing quite the commotion among the Ravenclaws at breakfast, because apparently none of the three owls carrying it had any concept of co-ordination. They'd screeched, flapped and darted their way across the hall and, by some miracle, managed to deliver it to the right person, though Annabeth had had to climb onto the table to calm and detach the birds from their heavy burden. Their behaviour was so different to the owls her classmates used that she suspected they weren't rightly postal birds at all. Instead, they eerily resembled the owls usually depicted in her mother's shrines - and on the silver coin that had weighed on her for months before her quest. Fortunately, thanks to her heritage and her mother's affinity with owls, she was finally able to calm them down and send them on their way (though them actually finding a way was another matter entirely; one of them ended up flying up to the staff table and knocking off Professor Dumbledore's hat).
The parcel, though, she was glad to see. It had been a gift from the gods a few weeks after Gaea's defeat, as a reward for the completion of Olympus' reconstruction. It was silver, sleek and shiny, with an owl encrusted on the lid and about as thick as her thumb.
It wasn't Daedalus' laptop by any means. It couldn't fold into a wafer-thin, card-sized tablet, it couldn't make you coffee, and it certainly didn't have the thousands of brilliant schematics that the genius architect had constructed. But it was smooth, more powerful than any normal computer she'd ever used, lightning-fast, and within half an hour of first exploring it, Annabeth reckoned she would be able to program it to perform most of the tasks she'd completed with Daedalus' laptop - except produce credit cards, because that was nothing short of divine in the literal sense.
She opened up the lid and ran her fingers across the matte black keys. The letters and numbers were from the Greek alphabet, but would look like English to any mortal. Entering the security code into the privacy programme she'd designed herself, the screen lit up immediately and Annabeth set about trying to connect it to any network around. There were no immediate Wi-fi signals, but then she'd expected nothing less, since the nearest village was entirely magical. There was, however, something she was hoping to see: a network that had been set up by the gods who, after many years following WWII during which they continued to work Hermes off his feet to get messages around, decided some changes were worth considering. It was fast, powerful, and in theory available all around the world, on the condition that you were entitled to use it (that is, if you had godly blood or were a mythological creature).
But as she'd suspected from the start, no such network appeared on her computer as it scanned around for available hotspots. Hogwarts' magical aura was no doubt interfering with the divine internet provider, big time. There wasn't a single bar of signal anywhere.
Disappointed, but far from surprised, Annabeth shut it down and lay back to think about this new major obstacle. Leo's words from earlier kept coming back to her. I bet they don't mix because all the technology that wizards tried to co-ordinate with their magic is old - like, really old.
Could he have been right? Were satellites and such other relatively new inventions the key to making technology work alongside magic?
Technology worked well enough around the gods and their powers. In fact, it had been improved and even perfected by Hephaestus and Daedalus. Surely Hecate's magic could also be persuaded to go around a few loopholes?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Percy as he stomped into the room, grumbling about crazy people poncing around on cleaning equipment, and she smiled, glad at least that some things still were and would always be predictable.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Leo let the hot water rush over him as he stood in the shower. Steam spiralled to the top of the cubicle, spreading out into the cooler air near the ceiling before vanishing, only to be replaced by new waves of undulating tendrils, like ghostly fingers trying to catch the droplets of water condensing on the smooth tile surface. It was all rather mysterious and beautiful, Leo thought as he contemplated the sight, the simple presence of heat being enough to loosen molecules and levitate them into the air, until they became part of the air itself. And yet the absence of heat could also make them liquefy and harden, turning the sweet, cleansing rivulets of that life-giving substance to shards of ice, as cold and hard as any steel weapon.
And here he was, the son of fire, standing like a flamingo among penguins, somewhere surprised that water even considered working the same for him as it did for everyone else. Fire had always been his companion, welcome or otherwise. First a cradle, then a curse, and finally his saviour. Who was he to judge water for being so versatile in its forms? The heat swirled around him, responding to his will just as easily as his fingers were, idly twisting and turning, sending tendrils veering to the ceiling, pushing others and espousing a hundred different forms at once. Fire and water. Two opposites, two enemies, two companions.
There really was a lot of steam in there. Leo's head was getting foggy just standing there, breathing it in along with the over-heated oxygen of the cubicle. He had been in here for too long.
Shaking his head to clear the water from his face and the mist from his brain, Leo stepped out and grabbed a towel. He snorted softly. The things one could find themselves thinking about in the shower. No wonder so many writers and scientists had hit the jackpot while in the bathroom. Archimedes, Luther, Wilson... Maybe if more people had lived the hygienic life, they would have experienced brainwaves like those more often and put them to better effect, historically speaking. Leo for one had been surprised Hogwarts actually had plumbing, considering doorknobs and keyholes were still made of cast iron and the sole sources of light in the Potions dungeons were burning sticks on the wall.
As he dried off, he recalled what he'd been thinking of before the whole water cycle drama. His chosen quest. The Great Question. Wizardry's Most Handicapping Pickle.
Why in the name of zapping Zeus did technology refuse to work here?
Instinct told him that he'd been on the right track earlier when suggesting that the changing nature of muggle technology possibly made it increasingly more compatible with magic. Although he still wasn't quite so sure about the reason for that early lack of compatibility - namely perhaps the use of too many waves in twentieth-century tech - he felt sure there was a link somewhere. Old forms of communication had functioned on the principle, generating of and use of different types of waves. In other words, on vibrations and distortions of matter that in all likelihood were too easily warped by the intervention of magic, hence the one-time traumatic chaos of trying to use talkie-walkies in the Ravenclaw common room even with only five feet between the pair (not something Leo wanted to dwell on right now). Magic was, as Leo had sensed since he first stepped foot in Hogwarts, pure energy. And a sentient form of energy, at that, like the Mist. If it could be bent to perform the will of wizards, what was stopping it from co-operating with the latest forms of muggle technology, which no longer made so much use of crude signals or waves?
The answer, Leo could feel, though frustratingly evasive at the moment, lay somewhere in the way that machines were made to function. Not the mechanism, for he suspected he had a firm grip on pretty much any design the wizarding world could throw his way, but the spark, the little zap that made cogs and coils jump into action. In the muggle world, electricity sparked everything no matter which fuel was used to produce it. In the wizarding world, it seemed magic itself was the stimulus for machines to work.
Modern, efficient means of communication, or rather the lack thereof, were currently Leo's main concern, though he had other questions as well. He had seen some of his housemates working the common room wireless; with a flick of their wand, a word or a simple gesture, the radio would burst into song. He himself had dismounted the whole thing twice, to the growing alarm and curiosity of his classmates, only to find the mechanism inside to be perfectly akin to the ones used by Muggles - admittedly of the kind used seventy years ago, but the principle remained the same. How could the wireless work if if wasn't receiving a signal of some sort?
Perhaps it did. Perhaps it was a kind of magical pulse generated by the Ministry or whichever institution produced wizarding radio. But something didn't feel right: if a wireless could receive a magical signal from a whole country away, why wasn't it (the signal) bothered by the immense number of waves and signals emitted by muggle technology that it had to travel through? And besides, those kinds of devices only worked well with the use of satellite-relayed signals; the slightest movement of an antenna could send a tune to being a programme about dragonfly mating habits. Yet the clarity of the voices and music coming from the Ravenclaws' wireless was such that the presenters could have been in the room with them. Even muggle radios had been grainy when satellites were not yet the embryo of an idea. Hell, they still were.
The example of the not-quite-radio made Leo seriously rethink his theory on waves and vibrations, and instead focused on the other half of the equation: current. Muggles used electricity, and wizards magic. Made sense, really. But could one not replace the other?
Leo, remembering what Professor Dumbledore had once said, and after much cajoling, got hold of an electric toothbrush from a suspicious second-year muggle-born, and emptied it of its batteries. The kid had dismissively informed Leo that the electric function wouldn't work whatever he did, but that it was still a good toothbrush, which made Leo was curious to see if he could disprove that (the electric bit, not the brushing teeth bit). He replaced the battery socket with a simple power cell of the kind he always kept kicking around in his tool-belt (the kind that could power bronze automatons, only much less powerful, though it could keep a smartphone functional for a week). But, after prodding it with his wand and muttering a few guesses in Latin, no matter how carefully he placed the cell or how tightly he twisted the screws, the electric toothbrush refused to vibrate and revolve the way it should. Instead, it started whizzing round the bathroom, knocking beauty products off the shelves and cackling madly every time Leo made a lunge to grab it. Eventually, the perplexed second-year had gotten a very giggly toothbrush back, and Leo was back to step one:
What the freaking hell was making things work around here?
0o0o0o0o0o0
"Hey, careful! That's slug repellent juice, not water!"
Hazel jumped and snatched away the jug she'd just been about to pour over the leafy plant before her. Frank was holding her wrist, which he'd grabbed a split-second before her mistake. Professor Sprout did not take kindly to students sabotaging her little green children, even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally. The first rule in Herbology, they had learned in their very first lesson, was 'Pay Attention'. Not just because you might miss a few details of what the teacher was saying, but because a sentient carnivorous plant might suddenly decide you have too many fingers, or a Venomous Tentacula would sneak up behind you and poke your ears with thorny tendrils. A sharp mind and keeping your eyes peeled were therefore job 'musts' for Sprout's students, though at the moment Hazel could barely follow a conversation, let alone fend off bits of offensive plant.
She sighed, and touched Frank's shoulder briefly in thanks. That had been her third mistake that lesson, and this was only the second period. This was going to be a long day.
Unfortunately, she'd been this distracted for a while now. Ever since the Nuckelavee attack nearly a week ago she kept losing track of conversations around her, sprinkled sugar on her food instead of salt, and once she'd even called Leo "Sammy".
It was that blasted Jack of Kent and what he'd said that kept coming back to her. His careful dodging of any pointed questions, his refusal to give straight answers, and, especially, his ridiculous claims about dealing with the devil.
Because they had to be ridiculous, didn't they? What other words could describe what he'd said about Lucifer, and the Fall, and God, and... Urgh.
Hazel kept shaking her head. There was something just so fundamentally wrong about talking so casually about the Fall of Lucifer like it was an unusual shower of meteors for the time of year. Surely something like that ought to be talked about with a little more... oh, what, respect? Sensitivity?
Elaboration? she thought, almost regretfully. Their strange saviour had disappeared two minutes after shooing off the Nuckelavee, leaving them gobsmacked after the bomb he'd just dropped. You'd think a guy would stay a bit and bother to explain why he'd suddenly turned your earliest childhood upside down.
Jack had to have been lying. There was just too much smoothness in his smile, and his eyes had been too knowing, there was no way the guy could be human, not the way he'd fought the centaur off like he was swatting aside a mildly irksome fly. There was something about him, and Hazel couldn't quite put her finger on it.
To be quite honest, she wasn't surprised they hadn't found anything about him in the library yet. He'd implied he was no wizard, which left the unlikely options that he was either a god or a muggle. Certainly not the latter, since he was within Hogwarts boundaries, and... well, gods didn't strut around wearing skirts and claiming to be on friendly terms with one of her dad's supposed rivals. She supposed there was always the possibility of him just being a mythological person, like Icarus and Romulus, but they were in the highlands of Scotland: somehow, the idea of a William Wallace lookalike being on nickname terms with her father didn't seem entirely likely. Not to mention the fact that their respective mythologies were as alien from each other as the Chinese were to the Australian Aboriginals.
Then again, who he was wasn't Hazel main problem with him at the moment. No, her problem was that he talked about Satan and angels and gods as though they were all... normal. Common knowledge. Almost dismissible.
It had been weird enough to accept Roman gods as real, and then recently Annabeth had casually informed her that Egyptian and Norse gods also did, in fact, exist. The truth was, even after all she'd seen and done, Hazel still could not find it in herself to take this in her stride. Roman and Greek gods, fine. They were ancient and remote and mythical, a little like fairy tales. Learning of their existence was actually quite cool in many ways, and not just because New Rome's famous glazed dumplings were now famous in Camp Half-Blood as well. But the training, the adventure, the whole world that came with them made the blood and loss of demigods' lives almost bearable. They were like action heroes come true. Ish.
But the real God - as in, the God everyone in the Western and Middle-Eastern world had been harping on about for millennia - the God who was famous for never showing up or interfering - him, exist? It was... unthinkable. Hazel wasn't an atheist in the strictest of senses (there were gods out there after all, she'd had ample proof) but somehow the simple stated fact - even if it had been implied - that He existed sent alarm bells ringing off the Carmina Burana in her mind.
God was a relatively new invention. A Christian invention (at least, the version of Him she'd been taught about). A deity that emerged from beliefs taken off a few scribbles and engravings on bits of broken rock. The nuns at her old school were always imploring Him over this, that and the other; warning the children that they would go to hell if they didn't do as they were told; comforting grieving people with the soft words of assurance that it was God's will. God, in many ways, had been a tool to control people and tell them what to think and feel and do - though that was a grown-up argument she'd heard formulated only when she'd been brought back from the Fields of Asphodel, in a debate held by members of the senate and the more intellectually-orientated demigods and legacies.
Now, as far as Hazel was concerned, she had been religious in much the same way that a frightened soldier went over the top: not really by choice, but willing to follow the crowd if it kept the peace with his superiors and he was not marked an outsider.
Hazel had been odd enough as it was, with her unpopular mother, her own cursed abilities and her different attire. As a child, she'd learned very quickly that fitting in was all to do with imitation, even if it meant integration in only the smallest of ways. The nuns had been notoriously severe at any allegation - even unproven - of blasphemy and heresy. So, out of self-preservation as well as a vague sense of obligation borne from her mother's sporadic attendances to church when she was younger, Hazel had accepted her Christian upbringing with as much meek grace as she could.
Not that it had left her with much of an impression. The nuns had been mean and hard-faced, her mother's fellow churchgoers contemptuous and judging, the other schoolchildren no less bullying for all her obedient prayers and hymn singing.
All of that to say, Hazel was not by any means a Christian, let alone a practising one. The idea of Satan, or God for that matter, existing in much the same way that Jupiter and Gaea existed was too much to wrap her head around. This was the God, Elohim, Allah, the one who popped up all over the Old Testament but had remained strangely silent since. The one who delighted in confusing and second-guessing everyone with His plan, saturated with ineffability and alleged purpose, the one who had razed cities to the ground for disobeying some of His rules. The one who had allowed the world, His supposedly most cherished creation, be torn apart by humans, the new kids in town. The one who had probably stood by and watched, shaking His head, as infants were snatched from their mothers' arms as their parents were carted into slavery; as naked and terrified children were ushered into the gas chambers of Auschwitz; as countries tore each other apart out of ill-borne allegations and suspicion. The one who had gifted humanity with free will, and stepped back to watch the results.
Yes, if he existed, God had a lot to answer for in this world, and a lot of bitterness to make up to.
Which was why Hazel - like many others in the twenty-first century, she'd found out - was having trouble believing that a God with as many powers as he was said to have would be capable of such things.
She was also having trouble believing that Lucifer existed, to be honest, and that the primal gods had originally been angels. But, well... Somehow the idea that Hell existed was easier to accept. Hell was universal in terms of belief; it was one of the most common traits between most religions, the idea that you would be punished for your sins for all of eternity seemed to have been popular among early humans, and had passed on its legacy. There was even a Greek/Roman version of it, which made the idea a lot easier to digest. But the Fall and Heaven, on the other hand, were a different matter. True, Elysium 'existed', if that was the proper term, but that was a land originally reserved for heroes covered in glory and - usually - a lot of blood. She had read The Odyssey, and knew enough about the Iliad to know that if heroes ended up in Elysium it wasn't because they'd given out candy to kids or been merciful to their enemies.
Had Jack been lying about the Fall? Had Uranus originally been an angel? Did that make gods - and demigods by extension - some kind of... of nephilim?
She supposed the quickest way to find out would be to just ask a god. Sure, they weren't exactly great at regular contact, or very chatty the rare times they did appear, but they did pop up once in a while. Maybe Ven- Aphrodite would know; Piper had mentioned once how she was technically the eldest of the gods, being the result of Uranus' remains falling into the Cyprus sea.
Someone snatched a pair of cutters from the pot of tools in front of her, snapping her back to reality. Hazel jumped back as the someone in question proceeded to hack at some tentacular vines that had wrapped themselves around the torso of another student with great speed and urgency, causing such a commotion that several students backed away in alarm. The boy trying to cut loose the plant's victim, Hazel realised, was Harry Potter, and his poor friend who was starting to look like a mummy was Hermione Granger, recognisable by the long brown strands of frizzy hair sticking out of the green wrappings. Their ginger friend was helping them, pulling and hacking at the vines while cursing at the top of his voice.
The poor girl endured this for a few more moments, visibly trying not to panic - where the hell was Professor Sprout when you needed her? - before finally flinging out her arms on either side.
"Stop it!" she shouted, her voice muffled and breathless behind the coils around her face, which did not, thankfully, yet prevent her from breathing. "Are you two wizards, or not?"
The two boys locked gazes and shared a grin, like this was reminding them of another time gone by. The ginger-haired boy pulled out his wand and, apparently trying not to laugh, patted Hermione where her shoulder was supposed to be under all the plant material.
"We'll get you out of there Hermione," he said with barely a straight feature, "just 'try to relax', okay?"
Hermione made to kick him, but Ginger dodged, laughing in earnest now. Harry, to his credit, had not become so distracted, and though there was a big grin plastered across his own features, his wand was aimed steadily at the writhing mass of vines.
"Relashio," he said, giving his wand a flick.
Immediately, the vines started to loosen and slip off their victim, unravelling slowly and awkwardly so that it was still half a minute before Hermione could so much as wrench an arm out, but she was safe and sound, if a little dishevelled and more than a little miffed at Ginger, who was smirking as she stepped out of the messy pile.
"Not so easy keeping your cool when you're being strangled, is it?" he remarked.
Hermione settled for pointedly ignoring him and focusing instead on smoothing her hair and jumper while thanking Harry. Hazel could definitely sense some sort of history there.
"Ron, you are an insensitive twit whose misery loves company." she said finally, not even glancing at him.
Ron the ginger scoffed, but Sprout re-appeared before he could retort, an armful of different plants in her short arms and a couple balanced on her head.
"Right, you lot." she called out, bustling around the pile of vines left in Hermione's wake without so much as a twitch of surprise or concern, "End of lesson, see you next week and all that. Cheerio."
"Amazing," Frank muttered as he and Hazel followed the little trio back up the trail towards the castle, "someone nearly gets suffocated in her class, and not only does she not care, she acts like it's a daily occurrence."
Hazel gave him a wry smile. "It probably is," she remind him. "This is a school of magic, not Health and Safety."
They were about to enter the school through the door into the Great Hall, but before they could so, an annoyingly familiar voice rang out and made their little group stop in their tracks.
"Well, well, Potter, Weasel-extraordinaire and the mudblood," called out Draco Malfoy, bringing up the rear with his two huge goons flanking him on either side, "Out on the grounds at this hour, in broad daylight? Dumbledore's losing his touch, along with his marbles. Shouldn't he be keeping a closer eye on his favourite pet? People are going to think there's no truth to your claim that the Dark Lord's back, Potter."
Harry whipped around, already white-lipped and furious, his eyes cold and hard with rage. He made towards Malfoy, but Ron, Hazel and Hermione held him back, though she felt nothing but sympathy for the boy. She'd seen him lose his temper a couple of times since they'd known him, including the infamous episode with Umbridge, and it wasn't a pretty sight whether he won or lost his fights.
"Shut your mouth, Malfoy." Harry spat, not fighting against his friends' restraints but clearly still itching to punch the little blond jerk.
Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow.
"Mature." he said, glancing down and flicking off a speck of dirt from his sleeve, looking supremely bored. "Insults and violence. My, aren't we creative."
"Pot. Kettle. Black." Harry snarled.
Malfoy looked confused, and Hazel surmised he'd never heard the expression before, no doubt because it was muggle in origin.
"He means that you're one to talk, Malfoy." she spoke up. "Because you're usually the one to initiate with insults, the only difference being you send these two lumberjacks-" she jerked her chin at the two idiots at his side, "-to fight your battles."
"Yeah, how does it feel to hide behind your friends, ferret?" Ron taunted him. "First Daddy, then Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt in a few years it'll be You-Know-Who."
Malfoy's expression darkened, but when he spoke he ignored Ron and focused on Hazel instead, who had no trouble standing her ground and looking defiant. If only the little git knew how much worse she'd faced.
"So, she speaks," he drawled, "and the same language, no less. Tell me Conchita, do your little friends pay you well to speak up for them? Does this oaf even know how?" He gestured towards Frank without even glancing at him.
Hazel could hardly believe the nerve of this guy. She was so furious she couldn't speak, though she needn't have worried. Frank had his part covered. He advanced on Malfoy slowly, step by step, like a wolf measuring up how to dissect and strip a lamb for maximum tenderness.
"Oh, I know how." Frank said, his tone dangerously soft. "In fact I can do a lot of things, want me to show you?"
Crabbe and Goyle tensed and flexed their muscles, in a vaguely menacing way that suggested they'd done it plenty of times before, but had never actually had to go beyond that. Frank ignored them, and instead continued his slow path towards Malfoy as though they were ornamental bushes.
"Shouldn't we stop him?" Hermione whispered to Hazel, who shook her head. She knew her boyfriend well; enough to know that this was all for show - sort of. Worst case scenario, Malfoy would walk off a little shaken up, but having learned a lesson of gold: do not mess with Frank Zhang and his friends.
When Frank was within two feet of Malfoy, Goyle lunged first and swiped at the demigod's temple, but the taller boy had an advantage both in height, speed and experience. He ducked and swung his own arm back up to catch Goyle's at the back, before swinging him down like the mass of fatty muscle was no more than a rag doll, wrenching his arm back until the boy gave a groan of pain. Frank let go immediately, because he wasn't stupid enough to actually hurt Goyle, and because Crabbe was now lunging at him with both arms. The second swipe actually hit Frank's biceps, and a small smirk of triumph stretched Crabbe's brutish face, but it almost instantly morphed into a a grimace of pain as Frank kicked out his legs from under him and swung him down, first to the ground and then on top of his fellow bodyguard, at which both groaned in unison and made no further move to defend their master.
Malfoy, having retained all the arrogance and most of the smugness of his usual demeanour until three seconds ago, took a step back with a look of near terror on his pointed features. But Frank was too quick for him: he grabbed the front of the boy's robes, lugged him over to the castle wall and slammed him against it hard enough to knock the breath out of the cowering little Junker.
"Didn't your father ever teach you," Frank said, lifting the blond up a little higher until his feet no longer touched the floor, not even sounding out of breath, "a real man picks his fights?"
Malfoy gave a little squawk, at which Ron gave a bright laugh. Hazel felt Hermione hit his arm, but she was too focused on Frank and his little victim to pay much attention.
Frank shook Malfoy a little.
"Well?" he demanded. "Didn't he?"
Malfoy, still struggling feebly, finally mumbled something that could have been "might have mentioned it", and Frank gave a little smile.
"Okay, well I'm adding to it. Do not go looking for fights you can't win on your own, but most importantly, do not look for fights with things you don't understand. You got that?"
He gave Malfoy another little shake, and the boy frantically nodded, at which Frank dropped him. The boy crumpled to the ground, coughing and massaging his chest, muttering about "bloody Yanks" and "can't have a civilised conversation".
Frank laughed.
"Tell that to your pet gorillas. I'm sure they'll be plenty glad to fight me - for you - next time."
"My father will hear of this." Malfoy croaked after them as they filed into the castle.
"Aw, no he won't, Chuckie." Hazel said, turning back and sidling up to the boy with a sweet smile and chucking his chin. "Cause, see, that's exactly what Frank just told you not to do: don't go fighting things you don't understand. You think your father will be pleased to hear that my boyfriend trussed his son up? No? Well let me tell you a little secret, Draco: neither will he be pleased about you, cowering away and letting your friends fight your own battles."
She got back to her feet and joined Frank, who put an arm around her waist. They walked inside the castle, pausing as Frank turned around one last time.
"Oh, and Malfoy? One more racist or bigoted word from you in her or my presence again and you'll end up more than a little winded." The warning was delivered with a warm smile and a wave, before Hazel concentrated on the iron and steel hinges of the great doors and brought them to a close with a wave of her hand.
She and Frank exchanged a look and grinned. There was always a warm feeling following the successful dealing of a bully, a certain sense of euphoria particular to defeating the bad for the good. There were so few of such simple instances since they had discovered that not all monsters were evil and not all demigods were good that they were precious and uplifting. Hazel doubted she'd even feel guilty about it. Saving the world did tend to put your moral priorities in order.
They turned around to see the Gryffindor trio gawking at them where they stood.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Harry asked in awe.
"Mate, you bloody jumped Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed with glee.
"You can do wandless magic?" Hermione asked, with a little frown of disbelief.
Hazel grimaced inwardly, and tried not to look shifty.
"Um, yeah. Kind of my party trick," she said. "Learned it from my someone back home."
"But that's something only grown wizards can do," insisted Hermione, "I've only ever seen Snape and Professor Dumbledore do something like-"
"Hermione, who cares? It's cool, and way too brilliant to worry about." Ron said, still grinning like crazy. "And Harry's right. If there's one thing I want to know it's where'd you learn to fight like that, mate? That was incredible."
It was Frank's turn to look embarrassed now. He muttered something about quick reflexes, while Hazel looked on proudly.
"It's just... We could do with training like that." Harry said. He glanced at Hermione, something like an unspoken question in his gaze.
She seemed to get his meaning and frowned thoughtfully, glancing first at Hazel and then Frank.
"Well," she said, slowly like she was calculating what next to say, "it's true we're not going to learn much with Umbridge as our teacher..."
Hazel and Frank both snorted in a tell me about it kind of way, though Hazel didn't think there was much of a chance of anyone learning anything with Umbridge, except perhaps how to despise pink and how not to wear cardigans.
Hermione was still appraising them carefully, then seemed to make up her mind and took a step forward, her hand outstretched and a smile on her face.
"I'm Hermione Granger. I know we've been in a few of the same classes, but I don't think we've been introduced."
"No, we haven't," Hazel said warmly, taking her hand and shaking it. "Hazel Levesque, and this is Frank Zhang."
"Ron Weasley," the red-haired boy said, shaking Frank's hand a little longer than was necessary. There was still glee in his features, and for a moment he looked eerily like his twin brothers. "And please, teach me how knock someone over like that any time."
Frank smiled, still embarrassed, but nodded and half shrugged.
"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry in a quiet voice.
"Yes," Hazel said, smiling, "we know who you are. And we know that you're telling the truth, no matter what Malfoy or the Ministry say."
"You're Percy's friends." Harry said
"Yep. Damn good ones, too." Frank said, suddenly a lot more comfortable now that the focus had shifted from him.
"Do you come from the same area, then?" Hermione asked, faithful to her inquisitive reputation.
"Not originally, but we went to the same school, yeah."
The lies and half-truths they'd been telling people in response to polite questions were now so numerous and happened so frequently that they rolled off the demigods' tongues like water off a duck. It was almost alarming how quickly they had all adapted to lying on a daily basis, though Hazel supposed it was only a step further from the previous lives they'd been living.
"Would you, um..." Hermione hesitated, glancing around furtively before resuming in quieter tones, "Would you like to meet us in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"
"Hogsmeade, the village? I thought it was out of bounds?" Hazel asked, confused.
"Tomorrow's an outing weekend." Hermione explained. "Students can go to visit, shop-"
"-drink." Ron interjected, winking.
"-explore,-
"-deal, gamble-"
"Ron, you're giving them the wrong idea!"
"Oh, like what you're doing is any better!" he retorted, though both were still talking quietly enough so as not be overheard.
Hazel was intrigued. She glanced at an equally curious Frank, and took a step closer to the trio.
"Hold on, what's this?"
Hermione looked at pains, and shot Ron an annoyed glance, but he just shrugged.
"Oh, come off it, you were going to ask them anyway."
"Ask us what?" Hazel repeated, sensing that something was definitely up.
"If you'd like to join us for a meeting where we'd be discussing ways in which we could train up without Umbridge knowing." Harry answered, clearly weary of his two friends' bickering.
Hermione turned on him.
"Shh! Not here!" she hissed, gesturing at the wide emptiness of the Great Hall which, while truly empty in terms of human population, was covered in magical portraits.
Harry shrugged and gestured for them to follow him into a narrow corridor, which if Hazel remembered correctly led to several cleaning rooms for Filch to store his equipment. It was darker, and colder, but the walls were bare and there was no-one to overhear.
"Hermione has this idea," Harry explained to the demigods once they'd all huddled inside, "Umbridge is deliberately not teaching us anything useful-"
"-and at a time when defence is so crucial-" Hermione interjected anxiously.
"-we figured we might be able to teach ourselves." Ron completed. He shifted a little awkwardly. "Well, sort of. See, we still need a teacher, and our options are kind of limited, what with the best being taken up in - ow!"
Hermione had kicked him in the shin - again - and was determinedly looking anywhere but at him.
"Anyway," she continued, "we can't teach ourselves per say, but we have the next best thing." She pointed at Harry.
Hazel and Frank looked at the boy in question, then at each other, then at Harry once more. The boy brought up his hands, his expression suddenly defensive.
"Hey, not my idea." he said. "It took weeks for Hermione to get me to even agree to talk tomorrow."
Frank looked sceptical.
"Hey man - look, no offence, but... I know you fought off Voldemort last summer-"
Ron gave a strangled squawk at the name and Hazel poked Frank in the ribs reproachfully. One thing Chiron had forgotten to tell them was the reaction that Voldemort's name elicited from those who heard it. There had already been two occasions on which either Percy or Thalia had forgotten this and either earned themselves unwarranted attention or several docked points.
"Oh, grow up Ron." Hermione said stuffily. "He's back. The fewer people are scared of his name, the stronger they'll be against him."
"Guys, look," Franks continued patiently, "That was a really cool thing to do Harry, and incredible considering he's the darkest wizard of all time and you're a kid, but... D'you really think that's enough to teach a bunch of kids how to do defence? I mean," he looked embarrassed again, "I've taught defence before. What you saw out there, I've been helping kids do the same kind of thing at our school. And it's not easy. Damn hard, actually. Are you sure you're up to the task?"
Harry gave him a small smile, neither warm nor cold nor unpleasant. If anything, he looked satisfied. He turned to Hermione.
"See?" he said, "That's exactly what I've been telling you. People don't want me teaching them. For most of them I'm a nutter, and for the rest I'm a kid."
"Hardly," Hermione huffed, "They just don't know what you're capable of."
She turned back to Frank and Hazel, her expression harder now, and her tone slightly testy when she spoke.
"For your information, Harry stopped Voldemort from getting his hands on the Philosopher's Stone when he was eleven after going through several life-threatening obstacles on the way there; he single-handedly saved Ron's little sister by killing a fifty-foot long basilisk; in his third year he fought off a hundred Dementors at once with a single spell; during the Tournament last year - for which he was three years under the legal age, might I add - he fought dragons, merfolk, Acromantula, and Voldemort himself. And just last summer, he saved his cousin's soul from a couple of rogue Dementors in broad daylight in a muggle street - an action that could have cost him his wand and his life at Hogwarts." she finished coldly. "So I rather think that if anyone's qualified to teach us about Defence Against the Dark Arts, it's him."
Stunned, Frank and Hazel exchanged looks.
"Well, uh... That - that never got to us in America." Frank said weakly. "Dragons; really? Damn."
"It was a dragon." Harry muttered. "And I didn't fight it, I just distracted it while I stole one of its eggs."
After another moment of stunned silence, Hazel clasped her hands together, smiling brightly to dispel any remaining cold undercurrents, and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, noticing as she did so that even then she did not reach the heights of the people around her.
"Well, I don't know about you Frank, but I'm more than willing to give Mr Potter here a try." she beamed.
Frank nodded dumbly. Hazel almost cooed. The only time she'd ever seen him like that was when he had been confronted with true greatness, like when he'd been made centurion or when Leo had flown back to Camp Half-Blood safe and unharmed (though heartbroken at having failed to find Calypso).
"Great." Hermione said, sounding greatly relieved. "Shall we say... Ten? At the Hog's Head?"
"Sure." Hazel wondered if everything around here was named after wild pigs. Maybe it was a culture thing.
"Can we bring friends?" she asked.
The trio exchanged doubtful glances.
"Well... We'll be meeting other people who'd be interested in it too, so I suppose..." Hermione glanced at Harry.
The latter considered the matter for another moment before shrugging.
"Sure, as long as they're not likely to tell Umbridge, and they actually want to come and learn Defence from me."
Hazel smiled brightly.
"Oh, trust me," she assured him, "They'll want to, all right."
PS: Psst! Does anyone else like Supernatural? I've just discovered it - well, relatively - and I'm so hooked I look like a Parma ham.
(Incidentally, it's also the main reason you've all had to be so patient.)
UPDATE: I got the sweetest fanfic-related surprise of my life the other day. A little girl - who I know in real life - reads some of my stories, and she drew me - wait for it - Percy with stick arms and legs, fighting off the giant squid. It's amazing! I don't have deviantart or twitter or anything, so I can't really show it off just yet, but I would like to officially declare a fan-art competition for those of you who like to draw stuff for stories they read. It's nothing compulsory or even very serious, but that drawing had my heart beating like a rabbit's, and I'm still grinning like an idiot while typing this. So if you feel at all inspired to sketch even an emoticon that is related to this story, please! Show it to me :)
Any typos, please point them out to me ;)