Chapter 18 – Carpe Noctem

For what seemed like an age, Harry could only stare at them in disbelief.

"A Squib?" he repeated, flatly, once he'd recovered.

They nodded. The boy in question, Phoebus, glanced at Annabeth first before nodding along with them.

Out of reflex, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes, finishing the movement by running his hand through his hair, a gesture he'd acquired recently whenever stress started frying his neurons.

"May I ask what the hell you were thinking bringing a clandestine Squib into Hogwarts?" he asked, not bothered by the fact that he sounded as cold as a frozen Snape on skis.

Percy cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but Annabeth spoke for him.

"Actually, he came to us."

"But you brought him into the castle?" Harry asked.

Annabeth hesitated, but nodded.

"Then you brought him here. Only someone with inside help can penetrate this place." Harry said. He knew all about that.

"We just need somewhere to let him stay," Annabeth continued, her chin slightly thrust out in subconscious reaction to Harry's less-than-pleased behaviour.

"I suggest anywhere that isn't here," Harry said coolly. "Unless Filch needs an assistant."

Hermione looked uncomfortable.

"Harry, you're being the wizardly equivalent of racist." She mumbled.

"Racist? Hermione, he's a Squib. This is a school for wizards! Again, what the hell were you thinking bringing him here?" he asked, directing his final question at Percy.

The guy looked as uneasy as Hermione.

"Harry, dude, he needs help…"

Harry snorted.

"Don't we all."

"No, really, he does. If the wrong people find him, there's no telling what might happen-"

"So he's a fugitive as well?" Hermine asked sharply.

Percy hesitated.

"Not exactly…"

"He's an exile." Annabeth said.

Harry gave her a look, then threw his hands up in the air, snorting.

"Of course he is."

Once, just once, couldn't Percy and his merry band of doom-harbingers bring him good news?

"He's been cast out by his family, and people are out there to get him." Annabeth continued angrily.

"What people?" asked Ron, who'd been silent until now.

"People none of us want to meet."

"Death Eaters?" Ron guessed.

"In a way. Given the chance, I'm sure they would be." Annabeth said with an expression that left little doubt in Harry's mind that she was telling the truth.

Harry sighed.

"Look, what do you want us to do? Give him food and lodging? Fine. But he'll be caught in a matter of days. You know how Hogwarts works, by now."

"And Dumbledore knows everything that goes on here." Hermione added gravely.

Annabeth gave her a shrewd look.

"And you believe that? Really?"

"The guy doesn't even have CCTV," Leo pointed out in a reasonable tone.

Ron opened his mouth, presumably to ask for clarification, but Hermione cut across him.

"He's the most powerful wizard in the world!"

"And that gives him omniscience, does it?" Annabeth shot back.

Hermione bristled, but Percy's girlfriend turned back to Harry.

"He can stay in here, in the Room of Requirement. You said yourself nobody else knows about it."

"Except Dumbledore," Hermione snipped.

Annabeth ignored her. She was still watching Harry, who in turn was watching the exchange, biting his lip. After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke slowly.

"Why come to me for help? Isn't there anywhere else he can go?"

"No," Annabeth said firmly.

Harry sighed again. He glanced at Percy, who, hands in his pockets, was letting his girl do all the talking.

"What's your view on this?"

Percy looked surprised at the question, then shrugged.

"I've learned to trust Annabeth's judgment on these things. She's never been wrong before."

Harry looked down at his hands. Without realising it, he'd pulled his wand out of his pocket and had been fiddling with the smooth wood. This was the wand that had duelled with Voldemort just a few months ago, and come out unscathed. Sirius had been the first to recognise the effect Harry had described afterwards, in the surreal, warm safety of Dumbledore's office. Priori Incantatem. His godfather had been as much of an exile as ever, that night. And a couple of hours later, Dumbledore had asked the Order to accept him within their ranks.

An exile no longer. A rebel.

After another long silence, during which Ron fidgeted and Hermione watched him anxiously, Harry pulled out of his reverie and looked up at the other ten serious faces watching him.

"All right. He can stay."

There was a visible sigh of relief from some of the Americans, though curiously Phoebus looked as lost as before. But Annabeth was watching him still, her eyes narrow.

"There's a condition, isn't there?"

Harry nodded, firmly. He thrust out his chin and crossed his arms.

"The DA is a secret and underground organisation. He may be a Squib, but magic still recognises him, or he wouldn't be here at all. He'll sign the list, and he'll complete any training we ask him to."

Percy nodded, then nudged Phoebus in the ribs, who winced.

"Er, yes, all right," he stuttered, his voice higher than Harry had expected, "Sounds fair."

Harry met his eyes, and already there was a voice in his head, wondering if he had made the right decision.

"Furthermore," he continued, "Since he's the only one in the school who won't be missed if he leaves, he will complete any reconnaissance missions we need doing." Harry jerked his head towards Ron. "Ron's father works at the Ministry. There's a lot going on in there I'd like to know more about."

Ron glanced sharply at his best friend.

"Harry, what are you saying?"

"Arthur told us over the summer that employees suspected of dissent were being watched," Harry continued calmly, "maybe there's a way of making Phoebus here a likely candidate for an apprenticeship under Mr Weasley. An employee the Ministry's elite could rely on to pass along information on your dad's activities."

"Like a double agent?" Ron looked worried. "Mate, that's seriously shady stuff you're talking about there, the kind the Ord-" he cleared his throat and blushed, then finished in a rush. "And I don't think they'd hire a Squib, either."

"Actually they might," Hermione said, her voice cautious, though she kept glancing at Harry as though uncertain of what he was doing. "He looks seventeen at least, and the Ministry have to fill a certain quota of Squib employees every year."

Harry nodded, and looked a pale, lip-trembling Phoebus in the eye.

"It's settled, then. If you're going to stay here and put us all at risk, you're going to make yourself useful. That's the deal - take it or leave it."

Percy and Annabeth, the apparent leaders of the group that evening, were watching Phoebus as he heard Harry's ultimatum. The boy looked so terrified that for a moment Harry felt guilty for the huge demands he was making, and almost relented. But remembering the guy's status as an exile, he hardened again, and ignored Ron and Hermione's frowning, worried glances. If he was going to lead the DA, he was going to do it to the best of his ability. That meant hard decisions and high expectations of his crew.

Phoebus glanced at his friends, adam's apple bobbing, eyes wide and a sweaty sheen on his spotty forehead, apparently panicked beyond reckoning. He really did look like a sheep, Harry thought with pity. The kind that simply did not seem able to leave lambhood behind and become a fully-fledged ram.

Finally, seeing the steely glances and raised eyebrows of his companions – it was almost like they were testing him - Phoebus gulped, then took a deep breath.

"All right," he said, "I accept."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Truly, Piper thought for the tenth time that morning, there was nothing more tedious than sitting through hour-long lectures of history by someone who, by all accounts, was history.

Professor Binns droned on and on… and on. It was a wonder he was still here, really. Piper had heard from Nico that the poor ghost had been quite shocked to have the Lord of the Dead's son amongst his pupils. One would think such an event would help shake him up a little. Unfortunately, like the rest of them these days, Nico was very careful not to draw much attention to himself, and had given absolutely no sign that Binns was to stand to attention any time soon. Shame.

Piper was letting her eyes wander over the backs of her classmates' heads, the way she usually did when she could. There was an empty space by her seat, like there was whenever she didn't have her friends in the same class, either because the Slytherin girls didn't consider her worth their time – she was still a stranger, despite having joined their house two months ago – or because she glared hopeful teenage boys away. The last bit was mostly for Jason's benefit, she admitted to herself, since he always laughed when she told him about it, but there was something uneasy about letting people sit next to you, maybe try to make friends with you – or more - when you were essentially a spy. In her case, a double-spy.

What would these people think, or do, Piper mused, playing with one of her braids to make the feathers change colour, if they knew that I was reporting back to Umbridge every couple of days?

Probably applaud her, said a cynical part of her mind. After all, these were people who respected strategy and shady behaviour, and were the students who were the least likely to be affected by the current atmosphere. Most of their parents held important positions, either socially or at the Ministry.

Piper sighed, flicking the braid back over her shoulder. Who knew school could be so political?

Professor Binns hiccupped slightly, causing several dozing heads to perk back up into semi-awakeness, but all he did was change paragraphs on his long sheaf of lecture notes, sending everyone back to sleep again.

Utterly bored, Piper started watching others again. She was one of the few left with her eyes open. A boy at the back of the class was making shapes out of dust specks floating through a beam of light from the window, another was doodling on his sleeping friend's forehead, and a girl with light hair kept glancing around the class, as though hoping someone would finally jump up and take charge of the rest of the lesson.

Looking closer, Piper realised it was Robyn Carey, the girl she'd tried to talk to in the Slytherin common room all those weeks ago. Her friend, Calliope, had since then pointedly prevented any sort of future encounters by turning Robyn the other way or dragging her by the arm into the next room every time Piper was in proximity. But now Calliope was proving just as prone to the soporific effect of Binns' voice as everyone else, her head lolling over her shoulder, propped up by a fist that loosely held a quill. Robyn, however, did not appear sleepy in the least. A spark of vague interest flickered in Piper's mind. What was she looking for?

A few seconds later, Robyn turned her head, and made direct eye-contact with Piper.

Tilting her head in curiosity, Piper watched as the girl's eyes widened slightly. What do you want? She wanted to mouth at her.

Then, without any warning at all, Robyn doubled over and let out a cry of pain, arms clutched around her stomach.

The effect was like that of a foghorn. Once more, students jerked awake, looking for the source of the noise. Professor Binns looked up from his notes, stunned.

Piper's eyes had never left Robyn. The girl was now kneeling on the floor, clutching her middle. Strangely, her gaze was still fixed on Piper. Calliope rose from her seat, flustered like a mother hen around her chicks, and rushed to Robyn's side.

"Where does it hurt? Are you all right?"

She tried to lift Robyn off the ground, but the girl gave another pained cry, causing her friend to stop immediately.

There was something about her gaze, Piper noticed, frowning slightly. It was too direct. And the eyes weren't all that creased, the cheeks were still pink…

And still Robyn held her gaze, watching and watching.

Calliope, oblivious to her friend's strange behaviour, was pleading with Professor Binns. The ghost looked at her with balmy, unfocused eyes, like even his ghost form couldn't anchor him to the real world.

"Sir, Robyn's ill, she needs to go to the hospital wing…"

"Ill?" the ghost echoed, his transparent gaze sliding over to Robyn, who was still lying prostrate on the ground, very obviously unwell. "My goodness… Ill. Yes, I suppose she does look somewhat indisposed… Go with her, er, Miss…?"

"Hawthorne," Calliope supplied, bending down to help Robin up. "Yes, sir. Come on, Robyn, we need to get you some help…"

"I'll go with them," Piper volunteered, having finally understood Robyn's strange behaviour. She got up from the seat and brushed her books into her bag in one smooth motion.

"What?" came Calliope's sharp voice. "Why? We don't need you."

"Good luck carrying her all the way to the hospital wing when she can't even get off the ground," Piper said calmly, swinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

"But-"

"Enough." Professor Binns said in a final tone, his voice as dry as windblown leaves. "Go with Horsestone, Miss Clean, so we may resume our lesson." He tapped his sheaf of papers on his desk pointedly.

"Yes, sir." Piper said, nodding meekly.

She went to join a scowling Calliope and the prostrate Robyn. Together, they managed to heave Robyn off the ground, then half-shuffle, half-carry her out of the classroom. The walk to the hospital wing was short, but felt tediously long to Piper due to the weight of a faintly groaning Robyn and the sullen silence of her friend the entire way.

When they reached the hospital, there was no sign of Madam Pomfrey. They carefully steered Robyn onto one of the immaculately-made beds, then stood apart, with more than a little awkwardness in the air. Calliope was still stubbornly silent, and looked at anywhere but Piper's face.

Not really fazed by this, Piper went to Robyn's other side, straightening a pillow for her.

"How do you feel?" she asked, trying to sound kind enough that Calliope wouldn't bite her head off.

It didn't work. Before Robyn could answer, Calliope answered angrily, tossing her dark hair.

"She's obviously unwell, she needs Madam Pomfrey!"

"Where is she, then?"

"I don't know," Calliope admitted, looking away. "She's usually here." She glanced around, and Piper recognised the look of someone trying not to appear helpless. "What do we do?"

Piper couldn't resist.

"You're British aren't you? Make tea!"

"I… need.. pain potion," Robyn grunted out, licking her dry lips. "Please go find her."

"How bad is the pain?" Piper asked, "Maybe we can give you something while we wait-"

"Didn't you hear? She needs a potion," Calliope snapped. "You need to find the nurse; not sally about with medicine you don't understand."

"Me? I wouldn't know where to start."

Calliope snorted.

"Well I can't go with you; Robyn needs someone to be here while she waits."

"How do you suppose I find a nurse I've never met in a huge castle I hardly know any better?" Piper asked, trying to keep her temper in check. Gods, why were people this stupid sometimes?

"Try a locator spell!" Calliope snapped, grabbing Robyn's hand as though she wanted to protect her from Piper's inadequacy.

Piper clenched her teeth. It wasn't so much the fact that she couldn't cast a locator spell – Hermione might have mentioned it in a DA meeting a while ago, something about the risks of Death Eaters casting one on people they needed to keep an eye on – it was the tone Calliope kept using when speaking to her. Like she had personally done her best to offend her. What was her problem?

"I can't, they're not legal until we turn seventeen." She fibbed, hoping the girl wouldn't catch on it.

Calliope was about to retort, but Robyn grabbed her arm. The dark-haired girl looked down at her friend, all hostility wiped off her face in a split-second.

"Please," Robyn rasped, "go find her. I'll wait, and Piper can stay in case anything gets worse."

"But-"

"Please," Robyn asked again, her eyes pleading.

Calliope's face turned blank. Then she turned away and walked out of the hospital wing. The two girls watched her go.

When the sound of her footsteps had faded away, Robyn sat up. Piper settled down on the bed opposite hers.

"You know," she said, her tone friendly and conversational, "if you wanted to speak to me alone all you had to do was come to our common room. I imagine you made sure Madam Pomfrey would be away this period?"

Roby tucked her legs underneath her and grinned, a little sheepish.

"She does her rounds twice a week at this hour. I used to help her out in here during the holidays, so I can still remember her schedule."

Piper nodded, impressed. Then, before she could stop it, a small smile stretched the side of her mouth.

"What?" Robyn asked, a little frown on her forehead.

Piper's shoulders shook a little, then the laugh burst out of her.

"It's just… the setting! The drama! The preparation that went into it!" she shook her head in wonderment. "Slytherin through and through. Again, all you had to do was come to see me while she was in the shower or something."

Robyn shrugged.

"It's less obvious this way. And you don't know Cal like I do. She's a bloody menace when she has her sights set on something."

"So she doesn't want us talking? Why not?" Piper asked, genuinely curious.

Robyn shrugged again, but it was smaller, and she curled forwards a little.

"How to put this… I don't think she likes strangers very much." She surmised. Seeing Piper's raised eyebrow, she quickly amended. "Not in the sense that you're foreign. No, it's more like – well, you may have noticed that Slytherin house can be a pretty shady place…"

Piper snorted.

"Yes, well, Calliope isn't into the whole my-dad-is-way-more-important-than-yours or our-families-must-be-allies-at-all-times thing that the others have got going on - she calls it 'boys compensating' – but… she's not exactly easy to get close to either. She doesn't trust easily."

Piper nodded. "I get that."

More than you know, she added silently.

Robyn nodded back, a little awkward again.

"We've been friends since we were tiny. She… I think she just wants to protect me."

"From the claws and evil intentions of strangers?"

"From people who want to find my levers and pull them," Robyn said without missing a beat, meeting Piper's eyes directly.

Seeing Piper's expression, she smiled, a little dryly.

"My dad's head of an important campaign in the Ministry," she explained. "Maybe you don't realise, but the pressure that puts on our family is…. immense. None of us can do anything without his express permission, especially if there's any chance it might reflect on his work or persona."

"Famous parent, huh?"

Oh, honey, you have no idea.

Robyn gestured the affirmative, then hunched her shoulders more, rocking backwards and forwards, trying to appear light-hearted when her words were anything but.

"Daddy's campaign means everything to him. If certain people were to find out certain things about his family – about me – then said people could use that to their advantage, and to great damage."

Piper cocked her head.

"And that means no new friends?"

Robyn smiled shyly.

"Calliope seems to think so. But I think what set her off was… you know, that thing you talked to us about in the common room the other day."

Piper nodded. She remembered.

Robyn blushed.

"It's only a crush. I know it is. And I'm a Slytherin, so it's not like it could ever…" she trailed off, saw Piper's sympathetic expression – the girl had just tricked about twenty people just to have a private conversation - then cleared her throat. "But Cal's worried that boys might only ever get interested in me because of what my father's doing. She doesn't want that to hurt me."

"To the extent that you end up alone but for her? That doesn't seem right." Piper said softly.

Robyn nodded, then blushed again.

"So, what that whole thing was really about is," she mumbled, looking at her knees, "can you help? You know, with the whole," she waved her hand in complicated move above her shoulder, "crush thing?"

Piper relaxed, and gave the girl her best smile.

"Of course I will." She gave a small laugh, then paused before continuing. "I won't pretend to be as immediate or effective as a love potion, but I can promise to be entirely more ethical."

Robyn inclined her head towards her.

"That," she said, "is more or less the exact reason I chose to ask you."

0o0o0o0o0o0

The winter sun sparkled on the white buildings of New Rome, setting off its magnificent arches and columns like a painting on the night of its revelation. The legion's purple tents flapped gently in the morning breeze, no doubt freezing the hairs off their occupants' legs, but looking very scenic as Percy took in the sight from somewhere that was neither above nor high, but some place where only dreams took you – sort of everywhere at once, except you could only focus on a single detail.

That detail was Reyna. As the image zoomed in – kudos to the dream cameraman, Percy's subconscious vaguely observed – the praetor marched out of her rooms, a deep frown on her face, the lines of which were etched with worry and dotted with shadows under her eyes.

Despite the early hour of the morning, Reyna was in full uniform, her golden cuirass glinting faintly as she passed through the dappled courtyard and the shadows of the Senate's columns, and her purple cloak floating behind her as though Bellona's blessing had given it permanent life. She climbed the stairs of the Senate three at a time, and Percy followed as closely as a shadow, though with half the power to prevent it should he wish to.

Inside the Senate, only three other people were present. Two Lares, and a man who looked in his sixties. None looked particularly happy to be there, but Percy suspected the cold was for nought. Their business had brought them here early in the morning for a single reason, and when their eyes narrowed as Reyna approached them with her chin held high, that reason was apparent.

"Gentlemen," Reyna said coolly, letting her eyes slide over the senators as she marched past them, "to what do I owe the honour of your request for my presence on this otherwise serene morning?"

One of the ghosts' chest inflated significantly with pompous indignation, while the other's disdainfully cold expression became blank but for a lingering trace of hauteur. Percy recognised the latter from his first senate meeting: Cato, the stubborn Lares who'd tried particularly hard to keep two probatio kids from going on their quest. Before the first ghost could let all out in a stream of reproach like a punctured balloon, the only living man of the room spoke instead.

"The hour grows late, Praetor Ramírez-Arellano," he said, his bushy eyebrows clustered tight in the middle of his brow.

Reyna held his gaze, her expression cold. Nobody who ever said her full name in front of her stayed in her good books for long.

"Does it? And here I thought it was only past dawn."

The senator's frown deepened.

"It has been two months since Praetor Zhang's disappearance, with hardly a word of explanation-"

"Frank Zhang has answered the call of duty," Reyna interrupted, her fists on the table of the podium, "our new alliance with the Greeks comes with many new responsibilities, which Praetor Zhang has taken upon himself to endorse."

"Without senatorial approval? This is highly irregular." The man replied archly.

"Senator Vitellino, I'm sure you will understand that duty comes in all shapes and sizes, and occasionally in the dead of night as well. I am regularly updated on Praetor Zhang's whereabouts and activities, the details of which I am not at liberty to share." Reyna fixed him with a carefully blank eye, her voice no less passive. "Now, I ask again, in what exactly may I assist you?"

"The absence of your co-praetor-" Vitellino started to argue, but was cut off by one of the Lares.

"Never mind about Frank Zhang!" he burst out, his considerable belly still heaving with blustering indignation. "The issue we wished to discuss with Praetor Ramírez is precisely Praetor Ramírez herself!"

He had been a powerful man, clearly fond of wine and good food. His toga, the back of which looped over his head like a hood, marking him out as a Pontifex Maximus, sported large silver stains that suggested he had been brutally murdered, but his cheeks were still ruddy, and his jowls quivered with emotion as he struggled to reign in his temper.

Reyna was fixing him with the same cold stare.

"And why have my recent actions attracted the wrath of the illustrious Scaevola?"

The consul flushed opaque, and started gesturing with his hands at Reyna's calm, poised figure.

"Why? Where to start? You disappear for over a day without providing adequate explanation, leaving New Rome leaderless at a time when she is still weak; you refuse to tell the Senate about anything concerning your lack of action regarding Frank Zhang and Hazel Levesque's desertions; you do nothing to arrange for a new praetor; you sit idle as reconstruction continues, content to watch as the legion decrepits to a shadow of its former glory; you-"

"Consul," Reyna interrupted – she was very good at that, Percy noticed, she even managed to still sound polite even when she was giving you a look to turn you into a popsickle – "correct me if I am mistaken, but your concerns do seem to revolve around the sudden and prolonged absence of my colleague."

"Why… yes!"

"Then may I enquire as to how I failed to make myself clear? I have informed you on the situation as fully as I could: Praetor Zhang and Hazel Levesque are away on a military mission. As Senator Vitellino will remember from his own days in the legion," she inclined her head towards the glowering old senator, "military affairs and their specifics are only ever shared with the Senate in extreme emergencies. Forgive me, gentlemen, but I fail to see the urgent nature of this meeting."

The fat Lares, Scaevola, spluttered in outrage, but Cato glided out in front of him.

"You are right, of course," he said, his voice suddenly a lot smoother and amiable. Percy watched as Reyna also registered the change, narrowing her eyes slightly. Honey was a sweet substance, but poisonous sap could smell just as sweet.

"As military leader, you occupy a position that is equal to that of the Senate, and all military decisions ultimately lie with you." Cato continued, inclining his silver head of hair respectfully. "Yet as former consul, and as present advisor, it seems prudent to me to share what little detail you know with the Senate. Times are still uncertain, and as my esteemed colleague has noted, New Rome is still weak – and getting weaker by the day as new recruits and full legionnaires defect in favour of higher education."

"Your point?" Reyna demanded, nostrils flaring, her only visible sign of impatience.

"My point," Cato answered, calm as before, "is that one person cannot endorse the full responsibility of the entire legion alone."

Reyna let out a sharp breath through her nose.

"Consul, if this is about my being of the female persuasion again-"

"Dieus-Pater! Heavens, no." Cato assured her, his voice smooth as a mirror, "you have proved your worth as a woman of Rome time and again, Praetor. But… perhaps it is time to accept that… no matter how capable, one must accept to share power?"

Reyna' mouth dropped open slightly at the implication of Cato's words. She was silent for a few seconds, but then straightened to her full height. Her eyes could have shot daggers and killed Cato all over again.

"For all our sakes, I hope I understand you correctly, Consul." She said, hands behind her back and rigid as a statue. "You believe that I profit from – nay, arranged – the absence of my co-praetors all because I would keep all the power for myself?"

Cato made a delicate move with his shoulder. "You would have to admit that the situation tends to… repeat itself under your praetorship." he said, extremely courteous in tone if not words.

"Situations called for by war, I will remind you!" Reyna called sharply. "Not by any doings of mine!"

Cato inclined his head.

"Be that as it may, there is the matter of how the whole thing looks." He said, spreading his hands in a gesture of sympathetic and false regret. "For nearly two years now, the legion has been answering almost solely to you."

Reyna narrowed her scathing eyes at him.

"How odd. I recall Octavian nearly leading them to destruction entirely without my help just two months ago." She said, her voice acid.

The other two men looked at Cato uneasily. Perhaps they could sense that he was reaching dangerous ground here.

"May I also remind you, orator Cato, that as part of the Senate you hold as much power to this day, if not more, as an assembly than I do as sole leader. Such does the Roman Republican system function. Need I also make you recall what an utter farce the Senate became when Rome started answering to one man only?"

For the first time, Cato looked uncertain. Also for the first time, Reyna's mouth twitched into a small smile, though there was about as much humour in it as there was sugar in the sea.

"Horses raised up to consulship; senators and soldiers declared emperor only to be murdered days later; debates and demands ignored in favour of orgies and leisure; opinions and questions ignored," Reyna paused, and pointedly looked at each of them in the eye, "all but for those of the emperor. Oh yes, I know what you have been thinking, gentlemen. That I am not worthy of the degree of power vested in me. That I am perhaps not suited to be Praetor at all, or at least that I am no longer fit to lead by default of having been here too long. The legion needs a strong, dynamic leader after all."

The three senators started to speak and huff in protest, but Reyna held up a hand.

"No, believe me or not, I understand your concerns. Perhaps I have been here too long."

They stared at her, bemused. She smiled again, almost genuinely, but her face soon turned grave.

"But let me pose you this, gentlemen. Suppose I were to step down? How many officers in turn would be elected to take over? Indeed, how many would volunteer in the first place?"

Seeing Scaevola's fidgeting hands, Vitellino's scowl and Cato's impassive face, Reyna inclined her head and started pacing along the podium.

"How many praetors would be raised up by your good selves, only to be replaced by another as soon as you start squabbling again? Please," she said, waving their protests away, "politics remain the same throughout the ages. Praetorship elections are military affairs, but only a fool would be unaware of your influence and bribes among my legionnaires. War is over now, the immutable nature and results of battlefield elections will be rare."

She stopped pacing and turned to stare at them again. Only Cato looked composed.

"So to your questions, I answer this: If not me, who? If not a praetor, what? If not a Republic," she paused, her eyes glittering, "how?"

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the amphitheatre by the backstage, her dark cloak swishing and fluttering at her feet. Had she been able to hear him, Percy would have applauded.

However, as soon as Reyna left the huge space of the Senate, she leaned against the wall of a small corridor that lead out into the forum of the building. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, in the dim light of a few lamps and faraway sunlight, she looked almost ill. Her chest heaved slightly, and Percy knew there would be a swelling lump in her throat. His chest ached along with her, and he wished he could touch her shoulder, reassure her that Frank had her covered, that a word from her and he would come back.

Reyna opened her eyes, staring up at the white marble ceiling.

"Please," she whispered, "if anyone can hear me… I need help. New Rome needs help."

Percy wanted to shout out to her. He tried to. His voice came out silent as the single tear that leaked out of Reyna's eye. He watched, helpless, as the girl who had already suffered so much and so needlessly continued staring at the ceiling for a few more moments, as though hoping against hope to see godly writing on there, telling her what to do.

After a little less than a minute, Reyna sighed and pushed herself off the wall, the weight of everything settling on her shoulders as though she had never stood up straight as an arrow in front of New Rome's crescent opposition. She started walking down the corridor again, deeper into the building.

Still in his dream, Percy followed her, powerless in his movements like a feather in a torrent.

Reyna walked on and on, until she reached a T-junction, where she turned left. As expected, Percy followed her, but when he turned around the corner Reyna had disappeared. Instead, Percy found himself in a darker corridor, of similar proportions to the one he'd just seen in New Rome, but infinitely longer and more sombre. Silvery doors lined each side, stretching on in countless numbers, the dark tiled walls winking and glinting faintly in the weak light of many flaming torches fixed between each door.

Had he been corporeal in this dream, Percy would have stopped dead and stared in wonder. As it was, he glided slowly along the corridor, passing each door as silently as the wraith he was, wondering why the sudden change of scenery.

The place was nothing like New Rome. The materials were darker, almost black, and the silver adornments of the doors and wall linings gave the place a distinctive funerary feel.

Unable to struggle or do anything other than be carried along with his dream, Percy relentlessly went down the corridor, seriously beginning to question his presence there. The place felt empty, old, and full of things that were kept down here for a reason. He'd never seen it before.

Down and down he went, gliding past each silver door without so much as a pause. At times, Percy thought he could hear… no, feel a presence beside him. Almost as though someone were there with him, just beyond his sight at the corner of his eye. The second time it occurred, Percy tried with all his might to twist and see who was there, if only to satisfy his burning curiosity. But his gaze stayed resolutely forward, and a moment later he could have been alone in the world.

Just a trick, Percy thought, seriously wishing he was going to wake up soon. Just my imagination taking advantage of the fact that I'm alone in a creepy place.

Finally, he reached the end of the corridor, a stretch of black tiles punctuated by yet another identical silver door, and stopped. He stood there – floated, whatever – just looking at it.

Great, Percy thought. All this drama for a locked door.

He tried to examine the door, see if it had any hinges or handles, but found it extremely difficult. The dream was different here: less life-like and nothing like his usual demigod dreams, where he could usually see from various angles. He was sort of transfixed, as though he were staring at a picture for hours but only registering it for a split-second.

Here, the dream looked almost too smooth to be real. There was no rhythm to his movements to indicate walking, the lines of every tile too precise and easy to make out, the transition from door to door too seamless to be real. There was no sound, either. Nor silence, which is essentially an absence of vibration, but rather anti-noise, where some quality in the air suffocated the merest possibility of sound and transformed it into a velvety vacuum. If space could not sound like something, it would be like that corridor.

I'm in someone else's dream, Percy realised.

Then, just like that, he woke up.

0o0o00o0o0o0

"Malfoy!"

Nico sprinted down the path towards Hagrid's hut. Well, 'sprinted'. It wasn't a jog and it definitely wasn't walking, but there was a part of him that winced whenever he pictured himself running like one of the Apollo kids whenever someone stole their harp. So yeah, sprinting. In, like, an urgent and business-y way.

The other Slytherin boy turned around, an eyebrow arched in mild surprise. He probably wasn't used to people shouting out his surname like that, accustomed instead to curt nods of greeting or glowering, resentful looks of acknowledgment.

Malfoy smirked when he saw Nico. The latter noted with interest that the guy had shadows under his eyes. He was also alone, which was like seeing a pirate without an eyepatch or a pet parrot: it was almost wrong. Still, it was part of the reason Nico had decided to catch up with him.

"Di Angelo," the boy greeted, turning back to watch his step as they clambered down the steep hill that led to the grounds, "What can I do for you on this depressingly mundane morning?"

Nico scowled. He was breathing a little more heavily than usual, his cheeks probably flushed pink with haste; he didn't want Malfoy to think he'd been anxious to see him – it had been three days since their last encounter and the subsequent DA-coin drama.

"What did you mean the other day?" Nico asked without preamble. Small-talk wasn't his style. At all.

"You'll have to be a bit more precise, I'm afraid."

"Cut the crap," Nico snapped. "What did you mean by flicking a random coin at me and walking away like you held all the cards?"

Malfoy gave him a sly, sideways glance.

"I assumed my meaning was clear." He said.

"Well it wasn't," Nico said stubbornly, not caring if he sounded childish.

Malfoy sighed.

"And here I thought you were going to be one of the few people I wouldn't have to spell everything out for. Honestly, I have enough on my hands with two quasi-illiterate thugs without your tenuous grasp on diplomacy as well."

Nico spluttered.

"Diplomacy? That was practically blackmail!"

"Ah, so there is something you're hiding," Malfoy said, the merest suggestion of triumph in his otherwise perfectly level tone. "I had wondered. Three whole days."

Nico spluttered again, flushing. Finally, he answered angrily.

"You're pulling conclusions from thin air. I'm not doing anyth-"

"And had that been true you would have looked at me with raised eyebrows and that clueless expression you always wear whenever a teacher asks you a question."

Nico's jaw dropped open in sheer speechlessness.

Apparently expecting a reply, Malfoy turned his head with faint surprise on his face.

"It's not like it's a big deal," he said, slowly, as though he were teaching Nico how to use crayons, "we've all got something to hide. Our House just tends to be better at hiding it."

"Then why are you so intent on finding something out on me and my friends?" Nico hissed.

Malfoy shrugged.

"One does need distraction from time to time in this sorry excuse for a school. And besides, you have to admit the equation was intriguing."

"Equation?"

Malfoy's lip twitched, and he tutted faintly. They were now almost at Hagrid's hut.

"Again, spelling things out for you." He drawled. When Nico did not answer, he sighed and ploughed on. "Nine new exchange students arrive overnight without a word of warning, when the entirety of last year was a blaze of publicity for the fact that two foreign schools were meeting ours in a tournament. Said students were clearly unexpected, given that they were given their own dormitories and common room. Now, these students are spread across all four houses. All well and good – in a manner of speaking, of course. But these students all share the trait of being uncommonly clueless on every subject, perpetually clustered together whenever possible, giving vague answers to every prying question-"

"So that's all we are to you? An anomaly? A little puzzle?" Nico snorted. He should have known.

"Then there's the fact that Potter and his little fan club already seem quite attached to you," Malfoy continued as though Nico had not spoken, "or familiarised, at least. Given that you and I conduct civilised conversations on a regular basis and that McLean is never out of our High Inquisitor's office, I'd say that was quite a puzzle, yes. Certainly an achievement. There may be hope for you yet."

Nico stopped walking and stood, arms held loose by his side, staring at Malfoy and shaking his head in incomprehension. After a few moments, he managed to speak again, though it wasn't anything special.

"You… are…" he shook his head again, at a loss for the right word. "Insufferable. So… insufferable."

It was weak, and they both knew it. Malfoy just smiled, then turned around again and started walking.

They walked in silence for a few more moments, during which Nico re-evaluated his entire existence. Why was he here? Why had he chosen to speak to this jumped-up little git? Why were any of them here, in this mess? Because of some old spirit that liked to spout poetry every so often?

"So what were those coins for?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

Nico almost choked on air.

You mean… you don't know? he almost said. He recovered as quietly as possible.

"Buying things. Obviously. You have money, you should know. Or does Daddy control everything so that you don't have to?"

"Ho ho," Malfoy said in a bored tone. "Your turn to - ah, 'cut the crap'." He held up his fingers as quotation marks, his features twisting slightly in disdain at the commonness of it.

Nico stayed silent. Malfoy heaved a sigh.

"Come now, you can tell me, surely? I've no doubt Granger and your other clever friends have mapped out and eliminated every possibility of my still having the bloody thing – smart spellwork, by the way, impossible to create a lasting copy; the mudblood's work I imagine? Well here you go, me voilà coin-less." He spread his arms for effect.

Nico still did not answer.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and let the silence get louder as they approached Hagrid's hut.

"But… come on!" Nico finally burst out, spinning around and stepping in front of Malfoy to stop him in his tracks. "All this drama for a single effing coin? Why would you think it was special anyway?" And what were you thinking when you gave it back to me?

Malfoy met his eyes.

"I found it odd how that group of stupid Hufflepuffs kept whispering to each other during Herbology, constantly pulling out a coin from their pocket and looking at it so closely it could have been a monocle. Naturally my first thought was that, for once in their lives, one of them had gotten hold of a galleon," Malfoy's mouth twitched into a sneer, "but despite his rather… uncouth origins, McMillan is in fact – for lack of a better term given the context – loaded."

Nico watched, eyes narrowed at the smirking blond's face as he kept talking. He wanted to punch that face. He wanted to see it bruised and broken.

"So my next thought was a rare coin. But that didn't fit either, because the idiotic oaf kept pulling it out and showing it to his friends, as though once wasn't enough. Oh, under the table," he said, seeing Nico's arched eyebrow and suspicious expression, "but there's a lot to be said for watering the plants conveniently situated just behind them. After that, it was child's play to slip the coin from McMillan's robes as he and his pathetic team took over the Quidditch changing rooms after our practice."

Malfoy smirked and crossed his arms, his expression smug and triumphant.

"So, di Angelo. Have I proved my worth as a detecteror? Will you at least satisfy my academic curiosity on the matter?"

"As a detective?" Nico corrected absently, his mind whirring in the background, trying to discern hidden meanings, or perhaps a threat. Trying to understand. This was Draco Malfoy, after all. "Yeah, I guess."

He paused, then his mind lit up, having hit upon a realisation. And 'hit' in the sense, really, of a sledgehammer falling off a cliff and landing on something squidgy and tanned.

"It's just a shame," he said, more lightly than he'd had in the entire conversation, starting to walk again.

"Shame? How?" Malfoy asked sharply, following.

Nico heard with satisfaction the note of uncertainty in his voice.

"And here I thought I wouldn't have to spell everything out for you," he said for the pleasure of it, almost teasingly, relishing the anger behind Malfoy's narrowed gaze as he caught up with him.

The Slytherin studied him for a moment, watching Nico's impassive face with a calculating expression.

"You're bluffing. You're… relieved, aren't you?" he said, after a while. "You're pleased that I don't know what the coins are for, which means they do serve an ulterior purpose. Which means that now you're playing with me. Making me guess."

Nico arched an eyebrow.

"Am I?"

Malfoy stayed silent as he studied Nico again, chewing his lip in prolonged consideration. After another long moment, Malfoy ran a hand through his white-blond hair and around his neck, before turning back towards the path and walking away.

"Damned if I know," he muttered.

And for the first time in three days, Nico smirked.

He reflected, later on that day, that perhaps he had made a mistake taunting and baiting Malfoy like that. The guy would surely be keeping a weather eye open wider than ever now. But, he decided, it had been worth it in the end. They still held most of the cards, if not all. All Malfoy had was suspicions and half-hidden conversations, whereas Nico, through Leo's ingenuity, had solid proof in his pocket.

His arrival in their private common room was like a hero's homecoming. He was clapped, pounded and punched repeatedly on the arm and back, his ears ringing with the sound of whoops and cheers. Everyone was there, even Apollo – fully known as Phoebus now – and Harry's little trio.

"Did you get it?" Leo asked eagerly, standing atop the coffee table in a Columbus-worthy pose.

Nico pulled out the small device from his pocket and dropped it at Leo's feet, and grinned.

"Yep."

Leo punched the air, letting out another whoop that would have put a banshee to shame.

"Now we've got him! If we go down, he gets dragged down with us!"

"I still can't believe you managed to do it," Hermione said, her face and tone envious.

"Hard work and relentless experimentation, darlin'." Leo replied happily, scooping up the little black object and holding it up like the Holy Grail. "Behold, the common sound recorder!"

"But I thought your tecmopology didn't work in Hogwarts?" Ron asked with a frown, a little behind the troops as usual.

"Not the ordinary kind," Leo replied, his face lit up with the triumph of success. "When I first got here I thought that magic had to have some sort of scientific or mechanical source, but as it turns out it's a lot like electricity except in the ways that matter…"

There followed a ten-minute lecture that nobody followed, which included words like 'sentience', and 'magical core', even 'parallels' and 'twin forces', but altogether amounted to the result that, basically, magic could be persuaded to work alongside technology if the right 'environment' was provided.

Nico was lost within thirty seconds of Leo's passionate litany, and even Hermione's brow creased as she tried to keep up with the unfamiliar terminology, but it ended with a beaming Leo and a few glazed-over but impressed looks.

"So, if I understand correctly," Hermione said slowly, "Magic and electricity are both forces with enormous potential, but either cancel each other out or make the other go haywire, as it were, unless a certain degree of… of insulation is present?"

Leo's lips moved silently, and he cocked his head to the side, staring up at the ceiling with slits for eyes as he compared Hermione's words to his thesis.

"Er… yes," he said finally, looking a bit sheepish. "Yes, I guess you could say it like that."

Hermione nodded, already lost in thought.

"Fascinating…"

Phoebus-Apollo looked uncomfortable.

"Yes, that's all very well and good, but could someone please explain what's going on? Only I was in the middle of a particularly inspiring ode, and-"

"It means, mate," Ron said with a grin, "that we've got the upper hand over the Snakes! No offence meant, of course." he added hastily in Nico and Piper's direction, who shrugged.

"Yes, but-"

"Never mind about politics, let's celebrate!" Percy said quickly, clapping the former god on the back, effectively winding him.

His words were greeted with a cheer, followed by a flurry of activity centring on bringing out their last goodies from Hogsmeade and trying to explain to Ron the concept and utility of a sound recorder.

But Percy exchanged a brief glance with his demigod friends. They hadn't gotten round to actually explaining the whole situation to Apollo yet, having only just recently managed to train him into not idly mentioning stuff about Olympus, the gods, and his former life as one of them in public.

Nico had to admit though, considering the former god's utter haplessness in any kind of mortal-related situation, he was doing pretty well. He'd accepted Harry's deal with a surprising amount of grace, kept his word to Percy that he would be present only to aid them, and had overall adapted relatively well to Hogwarts. Annabeth had only had to stun him once, when he'd ventured out of the Room of Requirement in search for companionship, which he'd found in a portrait of nymphs a floor below. When he awoke, his first word had been 'Daphne', whatever that meant.

Since, he had been fairly reserved, singing quietly to himself in a corner, or watching in silence as the demigods did their homework. He'd started to use the Room of Requirement as his preferred means of transport around the castle, something DA members had not yet thought of, leaving him free to visit the demigod common room any time he wished. Still, there was an air of deep sadness around him, which Nico had to admit he understood. The guy had been cast out and exiled by his own father. Hades didn't score so high on parenting standards, but at least he'd always made it clear (admittedly obscurely on occasion) that he wanted Nico around.

They partied on for a while, some non-exhaustive highlights including Leo imitating a constipated Umbridge, a mildly-intoxicated Ron asking to try on Harry's glasses and proceeding to trip over two chairs and someone's legs, Percy recounting some of the (mostly non-deliberate) mischief he'd been caught up in during his hectic academic career, and, lastly, a haunting and plaintive melody sung by Apollo once the atmosphere had turned calm and friendlier than ever. Upon discovering that he was talented in all things musical, Hermione – who could play the piano but had the self-confessed voice of a deaf toad – conjured a beautiful lyre and handed it to him, eyes pleading for a song.

Full of hesitation, and only once Percy nodded reassuringly, Apollo had taken the lyre, plucked a few chords, and started to sing.

And boy, could he sing.

The effect was as captivating as the Bean Nighe's song that day in the forest. The words were Greek, but the melody was so sad and high and hauntingly beautiful that even the wizards in the room had no problem understanding the pain of loss behind them.

Maybe the gods weren't given enough credit for what they did, Nico thought unconsciously as the music washed over him. After all, if they were gods of something, it meant they were good at it, right? For all their frequent silliness and behaviour bordering on the outrageous, they were pretty good at their stuff.

Apollo sang of grief, and loss, and love, as far as Nico could understand. And somehow, perhaps it was part of the magic, everyone in the room felt his song pluck a unique chord in their chests.

When it was finished, Apollo's voice left a vacuum in the room, as though he had unpicked all their emotions from their hearts and spun them into a few, pure notes of sheer beauty. Looking around, Nico saw Hermione wipe a tear from her eye. Harry was sitting with his knees tucked under his chin, gazing at Apollo's still fingers on the strings of the lyre. Even Thalia's gaze looked lost in the distance.

He cleared his throat, hating to break the spell.

"Guys," he said quietly, "It's nearly eleven."

The curfew was generally flouted by students, especially by the DA since a lot of their meetings happened in the evenings and the RoR offered such convenient functions, but being out and about this late would attract the wrath of not just Umbridge but the entire staff.

Stirring, Harry and his friends blinked and landed back in reality. They left, congratulating Nico and Leo once again on their success, and somehow each and every person parted ways feeling much fonder of everyone else, and secure in the knowledge that it was mutual all around.

Just as the trio went through the portrait, once Hermione and Ron had gone through, Harry turned around and put his hand on Apollo's shoulder. With a solemn expression on his face, he addressed a few words to him in a voice low enough that Nico could not make out a single one, then turned and ducked out of the portrait's entrance himself, leaving behind a profoundly relieved-looking Apollo.

Nico thought about asking him what he'd been told, but thought better of it. The least the guy could have right now was some privacy.

He went to sit back down next to his friends around the coffee table. Annabeth had declared this a night off, so for once it was free from the usual mess of parchment rolls, books and stray pens, though there were still bits of paper because there are always bits of paper lying around when they're not wanted. Leo had pulled one of them towards him, and was now sketching idly as the demigods settled into the couches and armchairs around them, dozy but not quite ready to go to bed yet.

"That was beautiful, what Apollo sang earlier," Hazel commented, à propos of nothing.

"Mm," Thalia agreed, fiddling with a strand of her hair. "Made me think of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Hazel asked.

"Stuff."

Nico snorted softly, and turned to look at Percy, who had leant over Leo's shoulder to peer at his drawing. After a second, Nico realised something was wrong. Percy had blanched, his sun-drawn freckles suddenly stark on his white cheeks, and he was breathing heavily.

"What is it?" Nico asked, leaning forward urgently.

"That drawing…" Percy stuttered. "I recognise it… It's – how? My dream... I had a dream about it."

Leo looked up in surprise.

"Did you? So did I."

Nico pulled the small piece of parchment towards him. Leo had etched a perspective drawing, full of straight lines and dark shadows. It showed a corridor panelled with dark tiles and dotted with silver doors.

"Me too," he said quietly.

A/N:

Kudos to Risa Silvara for the dream idea. Thanks, love :-)

A few of you, I think, will wonder at Harry's behaviour in this chapter, but it is intentional, you'll see.

This chapter was quite short, I know, but I just felt that it ended quite well here. Next chapter we will have DA developments, some Umbridge intervention, amongst other things. Chapter 20 will be bordering on Christmassy, I think.

Lake25: Yes to both of your questions, though I'm not sure when yet.

WonderGirl, there aren't any age limits on this site. At least set up an account so that I can contact you, I need your help. Please, please, please?

Mango21: I could not agree more (on the wordiness). Thank you for your feedback, I'll be pruning those chapters, don't you worry. I think I'm learning to cut down on endless monologues (hopefully), so with luck you won't have to trawl through them anymore. Thanks again!