Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, the man who killed you… wasn’t a man at all?”

The ghostly form of the eighteen-year-old girl shimmered as she nodded her agreement, “No, indeed. My murderess clearly had the form of a woman, but I have no idea who it was that pierced me with the blade, for they wore a cloak that concealed their face and hair. I recall no one with such a grudge that they could do this, either, so I cannot guess their identity or motive. All I can relate to you is that they were a few fingers shorter than myself and their cloak was of fine cloth and make.”

Nico di Angelo; Hero of Olympus, Son of Hades, Ambassador of Pluto, Veteran of the Second Titan War and the Second Giant War, Prince of the Underworld and Ghost King, let out a breath as he considered this new information and the ghost who had given it.

She was pleasant looking, in a summery sort of way with long, wavy, dark brown hair, the edges of which were pulled behind her head, so it wouldn’t bother her but was also free to fly through the air as she ran across sunny fields. Though it was difficult to tell with her ghostly pallor, Nico suspected that her shrewd, but kind, eyes had been a deep chocolate colour in life. Her skin was also a slightly darker shade than was common to find in genteel ladies from 19^th century, England, but not so much that it couldn’t be explained away as a sun tan if her family grew uncomfortable – though that wasn’t too likely since, although her clothes showed she obviously came from wealth and class, they were not so ostentatious as to suggest true political power of influence. No, her dress was a pleasant scheme of what Nico guessed was white and forget-me-not blue that was too fancy to be worn by anyone less than a gentleman’s daughter, but too simple for someone of higher station than one of the lower ranking genteel families.

Yes, Miss Amelia Berkeley was the second child and first daughter of one, Mr Oliver Berkeley and his wife, Mrs Christine Berkeley. On October 19, 1872, Amelia had accepted the marriage proposal of one Mr Hugh Norton. Three days later, she was found by her mother on her bedroom floor, a stab wound visible on her left side, just below her ribcage. There were no suspects, and no one was ever accused substantially – in fact, the murder or Amelia Berkeley was still a mystery over a century later.

Nico had to admit that it was an interesting case that had been brought to his attention by the rogue spirits of Christine and Oliver Berkeley before he had put them to rest. He’d promised the couple that he would do his best to discover what had happened to their daughter, sparking his investigation which had lead him all the way to England. The case had proved more challenging to solve than Nico would have suspected, but he had had considerable advantages on his side. For one, the case itself had become quite famous in the village of Little Hangleton and the surrounding area, so it hadn’t been too hard to find information, despite the general mistrust that was to be found of a 14-year-old dressed in black wandering around the village and asking about murder. Of the information he had found, Nico had suspected that it was actually Hugh’s younger half-brother, Eldon who had killed Amelia.

But he could now dismiss that theory, thanks to his other main advantage; his ability to commune with the dead.

“Thank you, Miss Amelia. You have been most helpful,” Nico eventually said, still considering what she had told him as he politely dismissed her.

Amelia dipped her head respectfully in return, “No, thank you, My Lord. I shall rest easier knowing that my Prince is searching for my justice.” And with that, the ghost of the young lady vanished, returning to the Underworld.

Nico remained for a moment longer, before turning his back on the grave and preparing to make his way back to the village. It’d probably be a good idea to rest the night there before attempting to shadow travel, after he’d expended so much energy that day. Will would probably kill him if he didn’t-

WHOOSH

Nico jumped behind the nearest grave at the sudden noise, his battle reflexes already ensuring that his Stygian iron sword was drawn and ready for use should he be attacked. Nico drew in a silent breath, gathering the nearby shadows so that they concealed him as he risked a glance around the edge of the massive headstone. He hoped that it would be enough to not alert any potential monsters to his position, since he’d had a long, exhausting day and really didn’t feel like fighting at the end of it if he could help it at all. He hoped, but he didn’t really expect it to be that simple.

Fully prepared to see some foul creature with a taste for demigods as he glanced in the direction of whatever had made the whoosh noise, Nico paused in surprise at the sight of two teenage boys sprawled on the grass. What in Hades…? It was hard to see in the dim light, but both looked to be about his age or older, one with messy, black hair and a red and black shirt, the other with what looked like dark hair and a yellow and black shirt that was similar to his companion’s in style. They both had a sweaty, frazzled look that was common among his friends who’d just finished a battle with some heinous creature that had decided that it would like a taste of demigod. Or who’d just come out of a free-for-all sparring session with Clarisse and Reyna.

Truth be told, they both seemed to be just as surprised at their sudden appearance as Nico was. Which raised another question: how did they get here? Although, maybe discovering who they were and what they were doing should have been higher on Nico’s list of priorities. Nico decided to observe them for now – if he deemed they weren’t a threat and they appeared to require assistance, well… he’d go from there.

Eventually, Black-and-Red stood up shakily.

“You OK?” Asked Dark-and-Yellow.

“Yeah. You?” Was the reply, that was in turn answered by a nod.

“Where are we?” Dark-and-Yellow said after standing up, proving to Nico that their arrival was accidental.

Black-and-Red didn’t answer for a moment, instead moving past the grave that Nico was hidden behind, towards the large one situated in the centre with the massive statue of a grim reaper-like figure and an empty cauldron.

“I’ve been here before,” Nico frowned at Black-and-Red’s statement, but his attention was soon drawn to Dark-and-Yellow, who was crouched over a glowing, blue trophy that Nico had failed to notice before.

“It’s a portkey,” he could hear the grin in Dark-and-Yellow’s voice as he said this, “Harry, the cup’s a portkey!”

Subconsciously, Nico filed Black-and-Red’s name as ‘Harry’, but his attention had been caught by the word ‘portkey’, which was a term he recognised. Suddenly the identity of the interlopers clicked into place. Nico had been told by his father of an underground magical society that – much like that of the gods and demigods – had been hidden away in plain sight from the eyes of mortals (or ‘no-majs’, as they were apparently called in the wizarding world).

Apparently, when Prometheus had given humans the flame, he had also thereby awakened the magic of the Earth in them, so that even now, every human had magic in them. But the magic of each human was usually much too dilute to be of any consequence, and so only those whose magical core was condensed had the potential ability for magic, which had often lead to explosive responses caused by emotional stress, such as feeling angry or scared.

Hades had also said that eventually Hecate discovered what had happened – that mortals without her blessing were using magic unconsciously and therefore unintentionally disrespectfully. He said that for a while he’d believed that she would purge the ability from them in order to prevent this, but that instead she had viewed it as their birthright and resolved to teach them to use their magic properly. She showed them how to make wands and how to write spells, giving them the basic tools to build their own society.

Which they apparently did, away from the knowledge of demigods. When Nico had asked Hades why he hadn’t heard of them before, he’d discovered that the two communities had never met. Apparently, after all the war and bloodshed between the Greeks and the Romans, the gods had thought it best for everyone if both demigod groups and the magical community remained ignorant of each other. Nico had seen the wisdom in that, since at the time he’d just been appointed the Ambassador of Pluto at Camp Jupiter and he’d already noticed the prevalent hatred towards the Greeks that the Romans – particularly Octavian – seemed to harbour. Adding a third group to the mix didn’t seem like a smart idea at the time.

It had also not escaped his notice, that Hades appeared to have made a transgression by revealing to him the existence of not only the Romans but the magical as well. Nico would have asked why, but he suspected that Hades would not tell him if he did.

Since finding out about the magical society, Nico had been fringing the community back in America. He had interacted with the witches and wizards a few times, and he had gained a very basic understanding of common spells as well as the generic politics, the governmental and legal systems and a few other bits of culture. Nico had found infiltrating the society to be both easier and more difficult than doing it to Camp Jupiter. Easier because most people weren’t constantly suspicious of him like in New Rome and it was easier to blend in. More difficult because, unlike in Camp Jupiter, his common knowledge of Greek Myths and Ancient culture was practically non-applicable there. Everything was completely different in the wizarding world, although Nico was quite used to it by now.

Even so, after realising that the teens in the graveyard weren’t a threat but were just wizards here by coincidence and with a portkey to transport them elsewhere, Nico resolved to just stay hidden where he was until they were gone.

It had only taken Nico a second to identify the boys as wizards and to decide on his plan of action (or rather, non-action), but almost immediately he felt concern grow again as ‘Harry’s’ voice grew agitated and he said again, “I’ve been here before! In a dream.”

…That seemed rather ominous. And alarming. As far as Nico knew, wizards didn’t have prophetic dreams the way demigods did, although they did have some form of rather rudimentary fortune telling. Divination? He didn’t think that those incorporated dreams very much though. Perhaps Harry had had a dream about some other graveyard?

But the way the boy glanced at the name on the grim reaper statue with a horrified expectant acceptance said otherwise. Nico resolved to stay further on his guard after that. It seemed that trouble was likely brewing, and even if it wasn’t his own, it was likely he’d become involved in it soon enough.

“Cedric,” Harry addressed Dark-and-Yellow with a very deliberate sort of calm, but with a tinge of dread that suggested both that he was becoming scared and that he was used to situations like this, “we have to get back to the cup. Now!”

‘Cedric’ (gods, Harry and Cedric, could they be any more British?) moved forward so he was only a few feet away and the both of them were standing in front of the cauldron with the grim reaper statue to their backs. He looked at Harry in concerned alarm, clearly picking up on his tone, “What are you talking about?”

Before Harry could answer, their attention – and Nico’s - was drawn to the crypt just in front of them, where there was a slight creaking noise as a door opened, and a soft, orange glow spilled out from a room onto the previously dark, stone walls. They all watched as two men appeared in the light. One was short and paunchy, with rat-like features, a tattered, brown outfit and carrying a small, black bundle of cloth. The other was only slightly taller and slightly thinner, with blunt, crooked features, and a shabby, black attire.

As soon as they appeared, Nico became very aware of something completely wrong emanating from the bundle that the Rat-Man was carrying. It felt both tortured and torturous, like someone had ripped a black soul apart. Maybe someone had.

Nico was aware of flames alighting below the cauldron at the appearance of the men, but his and Cedric’s attention was more focused on Harry, who had cried out, hands clutching his head as though in severe pain, at the appearance of Rat-Man. He collapsed to his knees and Cedric, clearly confused and concerned for his friend moved to him.

“Harry! What is it?” He asked.

“Get back to the cup!” Harry ordered staunchly, which Nico had to admire as he was clearly still in pain.

The two men advanced, satisfied grins in place. As they did, Cedric pulled out a stick – his wand, Nico reminded himself – and faced them, ready to defend his friend.

“Who are you?! What do you want?!” Cedric bravely demanded of the clearly dangerous men, his wand moving from one to the other so as to be ready for either of them if they attacked. Nico was impressed by his bravery, as he didn’t hesitate, and his voice didn’t shake.

Several things happened next. First, a high, rasping voice shrieked, “Kill the spare!” – and Nico vaguely realised that the voice had come from the bundle Rat-Man was carrying, rather than either of the men. Secondly, Rat-Man immediately obeyed the voice, raising his own wand and yelling “Avada Kedavra!” and shooting a bright, green light towards Cedric, as Harry cried a denial.

Lastly, Nico – who had begun moving as soon as he heard the voice’s order – jumped through the air so he was between Cedric and Rat-Man and prayed frantically to both his father and Hecate that deflecting the spell with his sword would work. He remembered his father telling him about the Avada Curse, since it caused instant death and was therefore the most dangerous- but not necessarily the worst.

Since Nico was still alive by the time he landed, he figured that blocking the curse with his sword had worked. He had no idea if it was because the curse hadn’t been able to go through the metal or if it was because the spell had been absorbed by the Stygian iron, but he wasn’t in a hurry to test that out.

Instead, he took advantage of the four (five? Five-ish?) wizards’ shock as he landed in the middle of their confrontation, to straighten, ready himself for battle and order in a low, deadly voice, “Stay behind me.”

Nico didn’t have time to check on the teens to see if they understood, because the next moment he was engaged with Blunt-Man as he apparently got over his surprise enough to start firing curses. He responded by blocking with his sword as much as he could and gathering shadows, so he could retaliate. Blunt-Man soon noticed how he was effectively blocking all his attacks and sent a red spell towards him. Nico blocked it, as he had the others, but he felt his sword try to fly from his grip – it had probably been a disarming spell. Quickly, he formed shadows into shields that bound his sword to his hand and would hopefully absorb anymore spells attacking that region.

There had been a slight lull, as Blunt-Man had clearly expected that to work, but as soon as it was evident that it had not, the barrage of curses resumed. Nico knew that if he wanted to end this anytime soon, he’d need to get to cover and try something from there. But he couldn’t do that at the moment because moving now would leave the two boys open to attack. He’d have to get them out of danger first.

“Is he able to move?” Nico called to Cedric, referring to Harry.

“Uh-”

“I’m fine!” Harry cut over instead.

“Good, because you need to get back behind a gravestone before one of us gets hit, and I don’t know where Rat-Man went,” Nico responded, still not taking his eyes off Blunt-Man.

“We’re not just going to leave you!” Harry yelled.

“If you want to help, get away from the line of fire and see if you can find Rat-Man!”

“But-”

“Now!” Nico said with a tone that brooked no argument. He added some of his death aura into the mix, both to try and convince the teens to run and to help in his battle against Blunt-Man.

“We’re going!” Cedric called to him, and Nico spared less than a moment looking to see the blond stabilizing Harry before pulling him behind a gravestone as he’d instructed. Nico had a feeling, however, that it wasn’t his death aura but rather common sense that had convinced the teenager to do as he said.

With that out of his mind, he returned his attention to the fight. If he’d had more energy, he would have been able to finish it. As it was, he didn’t have time to block with his blade and send counterattacks with his powers. Blunt-Man was faster than he looked, and obviously an experienced spell-dueller, as he hadn’t hesitated of faltered yet. Nico knew, however, that he had the advantage in this fight, because he was something completely foreign and unexpected to the wizard and he had many tricks up his sleeve.

Now that the boys were behind cover, Nico knew he could afford to find some himself. He waited until Blunt-Man fired off another curse – this one purple – but instead of blocking this one, Nico dodged, and shadow travelled to the headstone he was behind before. He could here his opponent cursing as he thought that he had gotten away. Nico rested the back of his head against the stone for a second and took a breath before glancing to his left where Harry and Cedric were staring at him from behind a set of family graves. He nodded to them and prepared to give them further instructions, but they got there first.

“How did you do that?! Who are yo-?”

“Does any of that really matter right now?” Nico interrupted, not unkindly.

They hesitated, clearly curious but also realising that they had more important things to worry about.

“I suppose not,” Cedric eventually replied. “What do we do now?”

“You have a portkey, yes?”

Harry nodded, “What about Wormtail?”

“I don’t know who that is, and I don’t have time to care. When I say, you need to summon the portkey-”

“Stupefy!”

A red light suddenly hit Cedric in his chest, and Nico cursed himself as he realised that he still hadn’t accounted for Rat-Man’s position. It was a fool’s error, as the man had reappeared from behind the other side of Harry and Cedric’s grave. He must have been watching as they had made for cover before and had been lying in wait. Fortunately, due to his position not giving him a clear line of sight, he hadn’t expected for Nico to be there as well.

“Cedric! Rennervate!” Harry quickly cast the counter curse on his friend, as Nico shadow travelled past them to face Rat-Man, who was no longer holding the bundle. Nico wondered distantly in surprise if that was because he no longer had his right hand. How in Hades had that happened?

Rat-Man’s eyes widened in obvious fear at Nico’s sudden appearance before him, and he stumbled backwards as the son of Hades advanced. It was for naught, however, as Blunt-Man reappeared and yelled, “Diffindo!” and a pale green light flashed across Nico’s torso, creating a shallow, but long, cut.

Nico hissed in surprise, and stumbled for a second, forgetting about Rat-Man completely for a moment. Instead, he focused his anger and pain into solidifying the surrounding shadows into a spike which he then shot straight at Blunt-Man. Nico felt satisfaction as he heard a choking gurgle as the man was impaled. A few moments later he felt them man’s aura flicker out and knew that he would be headed to the Fields of Punishment when he finally reached the Underworld.

He heard a yell of pain from behind him, which sounded as though it had come from one of the teen wizards. Quickly, Nico absorbed whatever shadows he could in a sloppy but efficient way the stop the bleeding. It would definitely need better attention later, but it was good enough to see him through the fight.

Nico turned then, Stygian iron blade raised, to see Harry pressing on the underside of his forearm, which was clearly bleeding, implying that it had been his cry of pain that he’d heard. Searching for Rat-Man, Nico saw him on the ground next to the grim reaper statue, grappling with Cedric. It looked as though the latter had tackled him away from Harry and they’d ended up in the clear area right near the cauldron. Nico wondered why neither of them were using their wands, when he saw two on the ground by Harry – probably his and Cedric’s – while, Rat-Man was holding a bloody knife in his only remaining hand. Nico had a moment of panic, before he realised the blood was most likely Harry’s and not Cedric’s. But why wasn’t he using the knife on Cedric…? Oh.

Oh.

“Kill the spare!” Nico remembered what the cruel voice had said. If Cedric was a spare, then Harry was supposed to be here. Their attackers had needed Harry alive… for his blood? A spell, perhaps? Nico ran through everything he knew about blood magic in his mind when it clicked into place. Resurrection.

Oh Hades.

That had only taken Nico a second to work out, but by that time it was too late as Rat-Man stunned Cedric with his only fist to his temple, before leaping to the cauldron and flicking in the blood from the knife.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you shall resurrect your foe!”

Chapter Text

Cedric stared in horror from where he was sprawled on the ground as the rat-faced man, who’d attacked Harry with a knife, shouted what was obviously the end of a spell. His mind was having a hard time processing what had happened over the last five minutes. One minute he’d been staring a Hogwarts victory in the face, Harry by his side, and the next he’d been transported to a foreign graveyard and had been attacked - and almost murdered – by a pair of evil-looking wizards.

And then he’d been saved by some random teenager wearing dark clothes who looked younger than Harry and appeared to be umbrakinetic.

Cedric had heard the spell, had seen the flash of green and known it for what it was. He’d thought for sure that the curse would kill him. So, the thirteen-year-old appearing out of nowhere and deflecting the most powerful Unforgivable Curse with a sword was completely unexpected. Unfortunately, due to the impending likelihood of their deaths, Cedric was unable to question his saviour about… anything really. He just had to trust him and hope they got out alive.

As soon as the rat-faced man finished the ritual there were dozens of cracks and pops, signifying the apparition of various wizards in dark robes and masks who circled the clear area of the graveyard. Cedric would have been more focused on them, but he was too busy staring in utter horror, at the indescribable atrocity that was the rebirth of… the Dark Lord. His mind struggled to comprehend it, searching for any other explanation, but Cedric knew, in his soul, that that was what he was witnessing.

He couldn’t – was unable to - look away as the cauldron set itself alight and melted into the darkness. He couldn’t look away as a grotesque, foetus-looking, pale… thing appeared in the air, forming and moulding into a skeletal, corpse-ish imitation of a human. He couldn’t look away as the shadows, hovering around it, surrounded it - him, now – and assembled to create pitch black robes. He couldn’t look away as the magic finally settled, and the Dark Lord – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – took his first steps to greet his surrounding followers. He couldn’t look away as he prayed that Britain’s most feared wizard, who was only a few feet away, didn’t notice him and was distantly glad that he wasn’t facing him, so he didn’t have to look at his face.

Cedric was dragged out of his loop of horror as the unknown teenager, who had just saved him before, ran and planted himself between the evillest people in Britain’s history and the two Hogwarts students.

“Cedric, you and Harry need to go,” the dark teen hissed the order, not glancing at him as he glared at the congregation, readying himself for further battle. “Right now.”

The reminder of Harry was enough to cause Cedric to glance behind at the other boy. Harry was barely standing on his own, grasping at the famous scar at his head. His face was showing fear, horror, anger, determination and pain all at once and Cedric vaguely wondered if it was remembered trauma or something more magical and sinister that was causing him pain. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was the latter, considering Harry’s past and recent history with the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord who was standing right in front of him, and who was probably going to kill them all.

It was that last thought, strangely enough, that caused a wave of… not quite calmness, but… smoothness. Clarity. A wave of clarity to flood his mind, and with that clarity came a sense of determination and certainty that they weren’t going to die, or at least, if they were, they wouldn’t do so on the ground.

With that, Cedric had just enough time to catch Harry’s eye with a meaningful look, flick his own eyes in the direction of the portkey that had transported them, nod his head minutely before tilting his head backwards slightly, in the direction of the boy who had saved them, and receive a one-second stare followed by a determined nod, before he returned his attention to the… to Voldemort.

In the back of his mind, Cedric hoped that the younger boy had understood what he’d been trying to communicate, but he figured that he would, considering he was a quidditch player and would therefore be used to plans being similarly communicated on the spot. Cedric rose slowly, so as not to attract attention to himself just yet, as Voldemort spoke for the first time.

“My wand, Wormtail.” His voice was a cold, malevolent rasp, but Cedric’s attention was caught on the name ‘Wormtail’ as he recognised the name that Harry had mentioned earlier. It turned out Wormtail was the rat-faced man who had tried to kill him earlier, as he quickly stepped forward with the white, bone-like wand. Voldemort took it without a word and, in one graceful move, swiftly turned to face the teen who was standing against him. Cedric quickly took in the pale, serpentine features, the snake-like slits where the nose should be and the blood-red, burning, evil eyes of the Dark Lord, and was absently surprised at – and proud of - himself for not breaking down in terror. This time, when he spoke, Voldemort addressed his followers – his Death Eaters – although his words seemed directed at Cedric, Harry and the other boy.

“Well, my friends, look at what we have here. Three school boys who managed to kill one of my Death Eaters. What should we do with them, do you think?” The tone was cold and mocking, meant to scare them – and it probably would have worked but Cedric had already combatted his terror enough to put it away for the moment. His mind was calmer with the knowledge that he had a plan of escape, and a plan to die if they didn’t.

The Death Eaters laughed and jeered, with calls of “Kill them!” or “The Cruciatus!” but everyone’s attention was soon caught by the boy, who spoke confidently in a low voice with an accent that Cedric was not familiar with and couldn’t place.

“Are you done with your mobster impression?” Cedric noticed that the Death Eaters seemed both surprised and a little unnerved at the comment, which was completely devoid of fear. He himself felt his own eyes widen in surprise as he wondered how the boy could sound so assured of himself in this situation and marvelled at the bravery he was witnessing by a thirteen-year-old in the face of such evil.

Voldemort’s eye’s flashed with anger and he snarled as the boy talked back, but he quickly replaced his enraged expression with one of threat and a hint of amusement. His new demeanour was reflected in his voice when he spoke again.

“You must be very brave, boy, or very stupid. But I must admit, I find you intriguing. You managed to block Wormtail’s kill and hold your own against one of my Death Eaters.” His eyes narrowed, “But show me such disrespect again and I will not hesitate to kill you.” He continued again in what he must have thought was an amiable tone, “I will forgive you your previous transgression, generous as I am, and in return you may pledge yourself into my allegiance. I can always use strong fighters, especially ones so young.”

Cedric wanted to look at Harry to gauge his reaction, but he didn’t dare risk bringing attention to either himself or The Boy Who Lived, for fear of compromising their one escape plan. He was slightly nervous at the offer being made to the boy. He didn’t think that the boy wanted to be a Death Eater – he had just saved him and Harry, after all – and judging by his confident tone and battle stance, he would fight if he needed to… but if he had an option to survive, would he really pass it up for the sake of a couple of students he’d just met?

“Yeah… Nah. Pass. Hard pass, in fact.”

Apparently he would. Cedric felt relief wash over him at the boy’s easy and instant refusal of the Dark Lord, but that was accompanied by the beginnings of an adrenaline rush (he’d had a lot of those today, what with everything that had happened and was not looking forward to when he eventually crashed) as he knew that Voldemort would definitely attack after this. He prayed that his plan would work as he subtly readied himself for action and listened as the boy continued to metaphorically spit in the Dark Lord’s face.

“I mean, just because I always wear black, doesn’t mean I want to join a cult.” Cedric had a hard time not snorting at the boy’s comment there (and at the look of shock and belayed anger on Voldemort’s face) and then had to wonder what was wrong with himself for finding anything about this situation amusing.

“How dare you-?!” Voldemort snarled in fury, but the boy interrupted.

“You know, I actually get asked that quite a lot,” he mused nonchalantly. It was then that Cedric noticed how the shadows at the edge of the clear area of the graveyard were thickening, and he realised that the boy must be stalling for time; trying to gain enough power to stand a chance. Yep, he was definitely umbrakinetic. But how was he doing that unnoticed? Surely the Death Eaters would see him if he was waving his wand? Did it have something to do with that sword? Cedric was forced out of his pondering as the boy continued, “I guess I just like messing with evil twats.”

“You are a fool, boy,” Voldemort sneered, his red eyes blazing. “You have insulted me twice now, and I will not forgive you the second time.” He glanced to the Death Eaters then, “Kill them! But leave Potter! Let him watch his friends die! I want to have a word with him.”

Cedric couldn’t help but flinch as the Death Eaters immediately fired a barrage of curses in his and the boy’s direction. He would have cast a protego, despite knowing it would most likely be useless against the majority of the dark spell the Death Eaters were casting, but he was still missing his wand from where he had dropped it when he tackled Wormtail away from Harry. It didn’t seem to matter anyway as, before the first curse even came near them, the shadows he had noticed the boy manipulating before flew in from the periphery, creating a wall of darkness between them and the Death Eaters, which lasted for about two seconds, before dissipating. It had done its job though, as the majority of the spells had been sent in that time and were blocked by the wall, and those that hadn’t missed them anyway.

Before the wall had disappeared, however, Cedric had seized the opportunity and called, “Harry! Now!” He had then rushed to the umbrakinetic boy just as they were re-exposed and placed his right hand steadily, and with a firm grip, on his left shoulder. He could feel the boy start slightly in surprise at the unexpected touch, but a moment later he heard Harry’s shout of “Accio portkey!” just before his friend reached them and grabbed the boy’s other shoulder with his right hand. A fraction of a second later Cedric saw the cup zoom to Harry, who was facing Cedric side-on with his left hand in the middle of the three. The cup flew straight into his hand, coming into contact with Cedric’s right arm and the other boy’s back.

Cedric felt imtense, panicky relief as he instantly felt the familiar tug on his navel and they disappeared. The last thing he saw of the graveyard was Voldemort’s furious face and his red eyes full of hatred as he screamed “No!” in rage-fuelled denial.

0~0~0~0~0~0

Harry, Cedric and the other boy landed on the grass at the edge of the quidditch pitch just before the spectator stands for the Third Task and were immediately accosted by the sounds of cheering and trumpets. Harry was distantly relieved to hear the boisterous sounds of his schoolmates, rather than the cold jeers of the Death Eaters, but his mind was focused more predominantly on what he had just witnessed. On the fact that Voldemort was back.

He lay there, sprawled on the grass for a moment longer, before he felt something shift under him and he realised that he had landed on the mysterious boy who had saved them. That was enough to draw him out of his numbness for the moment, as he quickly moved to get off him. He was about to apologise, still reeling, when he felt Cedric – who was right next to him – grip his arm. He was looking at him with a concerned intensity which brought him out of his shock.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

“Y-yeah.” He took a breath, pushing his tumultuous thoughts back to deal with as soon as he could talk to Dumbledore, “Yeah. Are you? What about…?” He trailed off, glancing at the unknown boy who slowly turned himself over and began to rise.

He looked to be about Harry’s age, or maybe a bit younger – or perhaps that was just because he was so skinny. He had very pale, olive skin that was almost white, and shaggy, black hair which fell into his eyes and that almost reminded him of his own with how messy it was. His eyes were a dark brown – almost black – and both terrifying and ensnaring in a way that spoke to Harry. They said that he’d seen true darkness and that he’d had walked amongst it. Looking into them, Harry was reminded of a quote he had heard, “If you stare into the abyss, the abyss will stare back into you,” and his instincts seemed confused, because he felt very on-edge and almost scared of what darkness the boy knew and had seen, but they were also urging him to trust and remain near him.

Continuing with his scrutiny, Harry took in the boy’s attire. He was wearing all black (‘well, he hadn’t been lying in the graveyard,’ Harry mused), from his boots to his jeans, shirt and leather bomber jacket – even his sword, lying next to him, was black! The only colour – if it could even be called that – was the silver skull ring on his finger, the white fluff on the collar of his jacket and the white skull print on his shirt, just visible between the edges of his open jacket. Harry stared at that last for a second, before his eyes widened as he noticed the rip, and red stains that had been obscured by the colour of the shirt. He quickly moved over, pulling Cedric with him as he still hadn’t let go, and glanced in concern at the teen, his hands hovering in front of him, unsure with how he should proceed.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, drawing Cedric’s attention and the boy’s surprise. “Are-?”

“I’m fine for now,” the boy interrupted softy. He glanced at them, checking them over quickly, it seemed, before casting a wary gaze around the raucous crowd, which Harry could understand. He somehow didn’t seem like the type of guy who liked being around lots of people, and it must be a shock to be unexpectedly transported into the midst of a group of people you didn’t know. Harry himself was finding it rather jarring, especially after what had just happened.

Although, the crowd did seem to have noticed the boy since, though they were still loud and cheering, Harry could make out a few people staring in confusion and pointing at the unexpected third boy. He looked again to the boy when he heard him quietly, but calmly, speak, “We need to get out of here.”

Harry had to agree. As relieved as he was to be here and alive, the weight of what he had recently witnessed was still very present in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to find Dumbledore and Moody and tell them what had happened – even though he was already dreading their disappointment in him for allowing Voldemort to rise again. It was his blood Voldemort had needed to resurrect himself with after all.

It was that last thought that cracked Harry’s composure. He was the reason that the murderer of his parents and countless others was now properly alive. He was the reason that many more of his friends were now going to die. He let out a dry sob and tried to move away from Cedric – he didn’t deserve his concern or comforting contact – but the older boy pulled him closer in a hug that provided as much physical support as it did emotional. He didn’t try to fight it again, and instead clutched tiredly at Cedric’s back and arm.

A moment later he felt Cedric move his arm and heard a surprised “Uh?” before he felt the unknown boy appear next to him, under Cedric’s other arm, obviously pulled into the impromptu hug by the older Hufflepuff. Harry could feel how tense he was at the contact and felt slightly embarrassed at not only breaking down in front of his saviour, but also for making him join the hug when he clearly didn’t want to be a part of it. After a moment though, Harry heard him take a fortifying breath and felt him forcibly relax himself, though he didn’t make any effort to reciprocate. Harry was more than OK with that, just glad that he didn’t make a big deal about what was happening.

As soon as Harry had regained enough control over his emotions he broke the hug, although he didn’t bother trying to stray from Cedric, who was still gripping him and the other boy in a manner that both provided and received support. He could now see a plethora of adults coming towards them, including Dumbledore, Moody, Snape, Fudge and Amos Diggory, and he was very glad that his little breakdown had not been visible to them. He had a feeling, from the rather urgent looks on their faces, that they wanted to discuss the appearance of the additional member of their party – who Harry realised with a start that he still hadn’t got the name of, although he suspected he’d find out soon enough.

Harry muttered a quick, but heartfelt, “Thanks,” that was meant for both the, as of yet, unnamed boy and Cedric. He doubted he’d be able to say entirely what he meant even if he’d had the time, but he hoped that they both understood what he meant to convey. From the slight, reassuring squeeze Cedric gave his arm and the minute nod he received from the other boy, he believed they did.

Not a moment later they were joined by the crowd of curious, wary, serious and, in Amos’ case, proud faces of the adults. As soon as he reached them, Dumbledore began questioning, but Harry cut him off immediately with the most important matter.

“Harry, what-?”

“He’s back. Voldemort’s back.”

Chapter Text

Harry watched as Dumbledore’s face immediately darkened and turned gravely serious to an extent he had never seen before. For a moment, he thought he would say more, but the ancient wizard just looked him over once, no doubt to assure himself that Harry was uninjured, before quickly passing him over to Moody, who began guiding him away.

“Cedric, wait! Where are you-?” Amos’ voice had Harry twisting around to see Cedric following him and Moody, a determined expression on his face, with his father looking on in slight confusion. Harry also noted that the mysterious, dark boy – whose name he still didn’t know – was walking casually beside him, his pitch-black sword now swinging from his side.

“I need to go with Harry, Dad. I’ll see you later,” the older Hufflepuff said in a deliberately calm voice, not pausing in his stride or bothering to look back. Harry was grateful for their presence. They’d been through a lot together, even though it’d only been a few minutes, and he didn’t particularly want to be parted from them just yet – not with what they had just witnessed.

Harry noticed Moody pause at Cedric’s declaration, and he saw him glance at Dumbledore who nodded decisively once. Moody didn’t seem too happy about the two extra additions, since he grumbled to himself before relenting and resumed pulling Harry off the field in the direction of the DADA room. As they passed under the quidditch stands, Harry could here Dumbledore announcing, to the now-confused crowd, some excuse for Harry and Cedric’s sudden disappearance, but he didn’t even attempt to explain anything about the dark boy. Harry was looking forward to hearing the rumours about that subject.

“Students, staff and other spectators, we appear to have a tie! The two victors will be with us again momentarily, but for now, let’s hear it for Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter!”

At once the thunderous, enthusiastic applause resumed, but Harry knew that their curiosity would not be sated for long. But as the sound tapered off into the distance, so did the thought, and Harry’s mind returned to the graveyard, his mind repeating the same few minutes over and over and over as he wondered what he could have done differently. He felt shame and guilt creeping upon him again, as well as terror for what was to come.

“Watch yourself, Potter!” Moody’s gruff voice cut into Harry’s thoughts and with a start he realised that they were at the door to the classroom. The ex-Auror limped in, leading the way through the class to his office, and was followed by the two Hogwarts students and the… whatever and whoever the other boy was.

“Sit,” Moody ordered upon entering his strange office, and Harry exhaustedly obeyed, flopping into the nearest chair. He watched as Cedric sat for a moment before immediately standing up and pacing, apparently having too much energy to sit still at that moment. The unnamed boy, on the other hand, steadily crossed over to another chair, so he was between Harry and Cedric but furthest from the professor – who had just vanished around a corner and could be heard rummaging for medical supplies. The boy looked around the room with the assessing gaze of someone trying to map out unfamiliar territory, before he too sat. He immediately gave a slight wince of pain before his face went blank, and Harry remembered the blood he had seen earlier.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts once more as Moody began questioning him, still behind the shelf.

“What happened?”

What happened? Harry almost snorted. What hadn’t happened? Voldemort was alive and arisen – because of Harry - and the Death Eaters were already assembling. Wormtail had tried to kill Cedric and had stabbed Harry’s wrist. He’d just come out of a bloody maze that’s sole purpose was to do its best to drive him out of his mind. And, oh, yeah, he’d just been rescued by some random, absurdly powerful teenager who he’d never even seen before.

Luckily, while Harry’s cynical side was ranting to him, Cedric had decided to answer the question.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is…” Cedric took a breath and let out an incredulous, hysterical laugh, “Voldemort is alive. That’s what we just saw, right?”

Harry nodded when Cedric looked to him, and he was glad that he wasn’t the only one who was aware of the implications of that statement.

“Yes,” he croaked, “that’s what happened. And he’s got the start of an army assembled.”

“An army?” Came Moody’s next question.

“As soon as he’d arisen a bunch of Death Eater’s apparated to him,” Harry explained.

“How did you get away? And who’s your friend?”

“Wormtail was there. He… Uh, he…”

“He tried to kill me,” Cedric finished when Harry faltered. At Moody’s questioning silence, he added, “The Killing Curse.”

“Ah,” Moody didn’t seem surprised, but Harry hadn’t expected him to be. The man had seen it all before.

Harry cleared his throat, “So anyway, after that… he saved him.” Harry looked over at the boy, once again wondering who he was and how he’d managed to do what he’d done. “Then he protected us until we got out.” He was about to ask for the boy’s name and an explanation about… everything, really, but Moody’s intense questioning reinitiated before he could.

“He did, did he? How’d a thirteen-year-old manage to escape from the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters with two other kids?” There was something odd about his tone… Harry couldn’t figure it out as he answered.

“He created a shield-” Harry was about to say, ‘out of shadows’, but he saw Cedric frantically shaking his head at him, an almost panicked gleam in his eye. Startled, but trusting the older boy, Harry changed track mid-sentence, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable, “-which managed to block most of the curses until I summoned the portkey.”

Moody finally appeared from behind the shelf, carrying various potions and ingredients, but if he noticed his stumble he didn’t mention it. He shuffled his way over to Harry, but both his magical and normal eyes were fixated on the other boy, who – to his credit – didn’t seem at all flustered under the intimidating gaze of the ex-Auror.

“Not many people would be able to hold a shield against the sorts of curses the Dark Lord would be using, certainly not many thirteen-year-olds,” he commented, and Harry could hear the suspicion lacing his voice.

“Not many thirteen-year-olds would be able to kill a- what was it? A ‘Death Eater’?” The boy met Moody’s suspicious, analysing gaze with one of calm confidence. Harry could practically feel the tension thickening as they stared each other down, before Moody nodded in acceptance for the moment. The boy then shrugged, looking completely unconcerned, before deadpanning, “Good thing I’m fourteen.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

Nico was not in the best of moods.

Getting caught up in the murder attempt of two teens? Meh. Scraping himself from the jaws of death? Done that every other day. Getting sliced along the torso? An irritating, but common, hazard. Failing to prevent the resurrection of an evil wizard or then subsequently killing them before they could do any damage? OK, that one sucks, but not the worst thing to ever happen. But being unexpectedly portkeyed into the midst of a bunch of screaming strangers? An-noy-ing.

And then there was this schist.

Granted, he was glad to be out of the eye of the crowd of spectators and – gods help him – reporters, if that camera flash was anything to go by. But he didn’t particularly feel in the mood to be catering to curious and suspicious adults. He had so many better things to do, like seeing to that gash across his torso, Iris Messaging Will and his friends and looking into that resurrection. He hoped that this wouldn’t take too long so he could get on with that and get out of here.

“You’re fourteen?!”

“You’re my age?!”

The simultaneous incredulous exclamations from Cedric and Harry drew Nico out of his internal grumblings. Instead of answering, he simply glanced at them and raised a brow, causing the tips of Harry’s ears to turn pink and Cedric stammer a quick apology. He gave a slight smirk at their embarrassed expressions.

“Sorry- I-”

“Forget about that,” the gnarled man with the whizzing, electric-blue eye cut across Cedric impatiently. “Who are you, boy?”

Nico didn’t like being talked down to or being called ‘boy’, but other than the slight narrowing of his eyes he managed to ignore the designation as he debated whether to give his name. Nico knew that it might be better to create an alias, but he didn’t normally bother to do that when he went to unfamiliar and potentially dangerous places. Ah, what the Hades.

“Nico,” he replied after a moment. After a moment’s further deliberation, he added his last name as well, because YOLO. “Nico di Angelo.”

The man – Eyeball - appeared frustrated, both at his short, unrevealing answer and at not being able to recognise his name. It didn’t last long, though, as Eyeball decided to ignore him for the moment in favour of discovering more about the night’s events, which was where he slipped up.

Eyeball turned back to Harry, “What did he look like?”

Harry frowned in confusion at the sudden topic change, “Who? Nico-?”

“The Dark Lord!” The man snapped irritably, “What did he look like in the graveyard!?”

Nico frowned, something about that was wrong…

Harry shook his head, clearly unable to describe what was being asked, “I don’t…” Then he paused, before slowly turning to look at Eyeball with sudden wariness and dawning realisation, “Professor,” he began slowly, and Nico noticed his hand creeping towards one of the wands on placed on the desk in front of him, “I don’t believe any of us mentioned anything about a graveyard.” Ah, Nico thought, as he realised the implications of that statement, before he was fighting once more.

Eyeball – who was a professor, apparently – snarled and whipped out a wand and cast a spell to quickly block the red light Harry shot towards him, before disarming the teen. Cedric, whose wand was still on the table where Harry had placed it before, immediately charged the man, who whipped his wand in the direction of the older boy and cast a red light that caused the boy to collapse. He didn’t have time to follow up with any of these, however, as Nico took the opportunity of the Eyeball’s distraction to blindside him with his sword.

He wasn’t trying to kill him, as he suspected that he might be needed for information – especially if he was someone that was apparently trusted around here – so he just tried to level the blade at Eyeball’s throat. But he had seen Nico coming, and twisted away, spitting red and green spells as he went so Nico would be preoccupied with defence.

It was a testament to Nico’s extensive experience in chaotic battles, where just about anything could happen, that he did not startle as what looked like an incredibly delicate metal contraption sailed passed his head towards Eyeball’s. Instead, he took advantage of the man’s fleeting distraction, as he batted it away with a curse (and not a magic one), to get closer, where he would have the advantage with his sword.

He had just come within range of Eyeball, when the man cast a spell that he blocked, but the force of which sent him slamming into a desk next to him. He grunted as he felt the shadows blocking the gash across his chest dissipate, and the wound began to bleed again. From across the room he could hear one of the boys gasp, no doubt signifying that Eyeball was about to murder him. Since this wasn’t how he wanted to next enter the Underworld, Nico pushed away his pain, rolled onto his back, and raised and lowered his sword in one fluid movement, just as the doors burst open with a bang.

“Nice timing,” Nico snorted and drawled sardonically, as a painfully old man, with a foot-long, fluffy white beard and bright blue robes, a severe-looking older woman in dark, green robes with a tight, greying bun, and a pale, vampiric man, with long, greasy black hair and all-black robes burst into the room, wands drawn, before stilling in surprise at the scene.

Nico amused himself for a millisecond by imaging the tableau they must have presented. The boys had just ducked out from (scant) cover and were alternating between staring at Nico, Eyeball and the severed hand on the ground, which was still tightly gripping the wand it had been holding when it was removed from its body. Chasing away thoughts of how this was the second hand-severing he had been associated with when protecting the two boys today, Nico decided that everyone had been staring for long enough.

“Right,” he began, bringing the focus back to him, but not taking his eyes off Eyeball (he was infinitely grateful that no one could here him make that pun in his head) as his sword was currently at his throat and he would most likely use any distraction on Nico’s part to make a break for it, “I imagine we have a few things to clear up, but I’m bleeding rather alarmingly right now, and interrogating Eyeball, here, is probably a priority. So, who wants to take custody?”

~0~0~0~0~0~

Cedric had no idea what was happening anymore, except for the fact that Professor Mad-Eye Moody, esteemed ex-Auror and war-hero, was apparently now in league with Voldemort, who he’d just seen arise and reunite with his army of Death Eaters, he’d been tortured with an Unforgivable by famous seeker and fellow Triwizard champion, Viktor Krum, who had been under the Imperious (most likely cast by the previously mentioned professor), he had almost been murdered twice - along with Harry Potter - in the space of twenty minutes, and he’d been saved both times by an umbrakinetic, sword-wielding, fourteen-year-old who he’d never even seen before.

To put it simply, this was not what he had signed up for when he’d dropped his name in the Goblet of Fire.

But… Even so…

Well.

He found he couldn’t – and didn’t - regret it. Not if his presence there had helped in any way. Not if Harry, and the other boy - Nico di Angelo – were still alive. Not if they – even though it was mostly Nico - had managed to catch Moody before he could do anything else.

No, staring at the sight of Moody, tense but still due to the sword edge sitting next to his neck, snarling as he roughly cradled the stump where his arm once was and said arm lying on the floor in a thick pool of blood, wand along with it, and di Angelo leaning against the back of the table, half arisen from when he’d been tossed – when Cedric had thought he was going to die – by Moody, still holding the unwavering sword and having just snarked at the three famous professors who’d burst through the door, Cedric found he didn’t regret a thing.

Everyone seemed to unfreeze after di Angelo’s statement, and not a moment later Snape was striding forward, wand drawn and wary, to answer the boy’s question by taking custody of their prisoner. He looked almost unsure, an expression Cedric had never expected to see on the potion’s master’s face, about di Angelo and whether he should trust him, but eventually decided to point his wand solely at Moody, before roughly guiding him to the wooden seat set up in the office for meetings. Another moment later and Professor McGonagall joined him, after glancing warily at di Angelo, pointing her own wand at Moody while Snape searched him. Dumbledore stood a few faces back, gazing at di Angelo with obvious curiosity, but it lacked the hostile wariness that the other two professors had exhibited.

Snape pulled out a flask – Moody’s famous flask, Cedric noted – before swiftly opening the top and taking a whiff.

“Polyjuice,” he announced, drawing everyone’s attention away from di Angelo for the moment. Cedric started. He knew what Polyjuice did, and that raised a whole heap of other questions and implications, the most prominent of which being, who it was before them, and, where was the real Mad-Eye?

Dumbledore was able to answer the second question soon enough, as he immediately turned to a formidable, metal chest on the side of the room. He strode over to it, calling, “Minerva,” and McGonagall instantly appeared at his side, her wand trained on the chest as Dumbledore flicked his own and the lid opened. Cedric was surprised to see smaller chests all open one after the other on the inside, like those little Russian Babushka dolls one of his muggleborn friends had once given him for Christmas. When the last and smallest one opened, both McGonagall and Dumbledore cautiously peered inside, before relaxing slightly.

Curious, and not completely aware he was doing so, Cedric sidled over to the chest to see what the professors were looking at. He startled as he felt something move beside him, and when he looked, he saw that both Harry and di Angelo appeared to have the same idea. The three of them peered over just as they heard Dumbledore call down.

“Are you alright, Alastor?”

Cedric was shocked to look down a long, metal shaft, and see the form of none other than Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody slumped in a heap. He was almost unrecognisable, so pale and more unkempt than Cedric had ever seen… well, not him, but whoever was using his body. His hand was covering the side of his face where the blue, magical eye he was renowned for was supposed to go, and he was dressed in faded undergarments. Cedric was horrified as he wondered how long the man had been down there.

“I’m fine Dumbledore, but I’m sorry. I failed,” Moody – the real Moody – said in a voice that was raspy from disuse and full of anger that seemed directed toward himself and his situation. Despite how weakened it was, Cedric noted the undercurrent of strength that laced his voice, proclaiming that he hadn’t given up the fight, and was reminded that this man was famous for a reason. “I’ve been a bloody thing for that Death Eater to harvest all year.”

“Don’t worry, Alastor, it’s not your fault,” Dumbledore reassured in a voice that was neither worried nor pitying, which Cedric suspected was a deliberate choice. No doubt Moody hated being pitied. “We’ll have you out in a second.”

“I can wait a moment, but don’t take too long!” Came the immediate response from the veteran and prisoner.

Without another word, Dumbledore turned back to face the fake Mad-Eye. Without taking his eyes off the prisoner, Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial of colourless liquid, raising it in his hand almost like he was asking a question. Dumbledore responded in that patient tone he always had, “I think veritaserum is required in this case, Severus.”

Snape immediately uncorked the vial and forcefully poured it down fake-Moody’s throat. Cedric swore that, although he wasn’t smiling, Snape was vindictively gleeful at the opportunity to use his truth serum on someone.

Fake-Moody snarled and choked at the potion, but eventually was forced to swallow, looking particularly livid.

“Now,” Dumbledore said calmly, “let’s start with this. Who are you?”

Chapter Text

Well, Nico thought, as he mentally reviewed the last three minutes of dialogue, that was certainly… something.

Nico, Cedric and Harry had watched, the former interested and the latter two transfixed, as the three professors used some sort truth compulsion potion (at least, that’s what he gathered from the effects it had on Eyeball-who-wasn’t-really-Eyeball, as well as his own rough translation of ‘verita’ to ‘truth’ in Latin) to interrogate the prisoner. What had followed was a roundabout, glaze-eyed, discussion of the most convoluted and down right stupid plan that Nico had ever heard, short of his own life and bad fiction.

Apparently Eyeball-who-wasn’t-really-Eyeball was actually one Bartemius Crouch Jr, a crazy mass murderer, torturer and Death Eater, and he had kidnapped, impersonated and harvested from a well renowned wizard cop and war hero for ten months, taken over said wizard cop’s post as a school teacher while keeping him in a magic trunk, hoodwinked a magic cup to make a fourteen-year-old compete in a magic death tournament, and tricked him into winning said magic death tournament, all so Harry could be magically transported to a graveyard, used in a ritual to resurrect an evil cult leader and then be murdered by said cult leader.

(Nico wondered what it said about the security of the school that only the last part of that plan had managed to be foiled.)

Crouch had also admitted to several other crimes he had committed right under the noses of the school, such as casting the ‘Imperius’ (mind control curse) on some other kid and making him torture Cedric as well as stun another competitor, and committing patricide, transfiguring his father’s body into a bone, and burying him somewhere in the woods.

Unfortunately, they had had to stop the interrogation after comparing Harry’s stab wound with the guy’s evil snake tattoo on his remaining arm, which was black and looked to be throbbing. Nico guessed, from the wizards’ and witch’s horrified look, that there was some meaning there that he had missed. After a moment of maniacal laughter (the potion had apparently begun to wear off) at the expressions adorning the other wizards’ and witch’s faces, blood began pouring out of Crouch’s mouth, which shook the others from their stupor. The professor in the black robes quickly used a spell to clean the blood away and examined the prisoner before declaring that he had bitten his own tongue off. After knocking the man unconscious with another vial of unidentifiable liquid and dumping him in the corner, the four wizards and witch had turned to him, bringing Nico out from his thoughts.

Not one who was shy of awkward situations, Nico just raised a brow and awaited the questions.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Harry would say that he couldn’t believe what he had just found out but given his previous experiences with his last DADA professors… well, he wasn’t even overly surprised at this point. His fourth year at Hogwarts had apparently decided to stick to the usual trend: get sucked into and survive mysterious and dangerous events, find a mystery surrounding the new DADA teacher, solve said mystery and fight Voldemort at some point in June. Only, this year he hadn’t managed to stop Voldemort from succeeding.

And he’d managed to find another mystery to solve right at the end of the year. That hadn’t happened before.

Harry saw Nico raise his brow as he, Cedric, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape all turned as one to look at him, the unconscious Death Eater no longer a threat.

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen then. Was Nico going to be interrogated with Veritaserum? Harry wasn’t sure if he liked that idea. On one hand, he could see the sense of it, as everyone had good cause to be suspicious now, but on the other… Nico had saved them, and he didn’t think that he deserved to have his secrets forced out of him by a bunch of strangers. He was drawn out of his thoughts in surprise as Cedric spoke first.

“Are you still bleeding?” The older Hufflepuff asked in concern.

Nico’s analysing gaze turned in Cedric’s direction. After a moment, he nodded, “I don’t have any potions on me…”

“Ah, not to worry, my boy. Severus…” Dumbledore trailed off, glancing at the potions master, who pulled out his wand and approached the teen.

“I was expecting to have to use this spell today, though I had thought it would be Potter I’d be using it on,” Snape as he raised his wand. “Describe the spell that hit you.”

Nico closed his eyes for a moment, before he replied, “Pale green. I think he said Diffindo.”

Snape nodded, and cast a healing spell, “Convervo.” Harry watched as Nico breathed out slowly, before he relaxed imperceptibly.

“We are most fortunate that you were not hit by a darker curse,” Dumbledore said, both warm and concerned. “I must also apologise for not tending to your injury immediately.”

Nico just shrugged, “It was minor.”

Before Dumbledore could reply, McGonagall interrupted with a quick, “Albus,” no doubt to get him back on track.

“My apologies, Minerva,” Harry noticed Nico blink once, in what he construed was shock, before recovering as Dumbledore continued, now again addressing Nico, “I’m afraid that due to recent events, we are all rather on edge and we would appreciate it if you could help us clear a few things up.”

Nico waved his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture and leaned back against the desk.

Dumbledore nodded, looking pleased as always, “Right then, let us start with introductions. My name is Albus Dumbledore, these are Professors McGonagall and Snape,” he gestured to the two teachers, “and I believe you are already acquainted with Mr Potter and Mr Diggory.”

The teen nodded, “Cedric and Harry. I’m Nico di Angelo.”

“Right then, would you boys like to take a seat?” Dumbledore looked at Cedric and Harry, who -surprised at being addressed – simply nodded and moved to a shelf and leaned against it. “Excellent, now, what can you all tell us about what happened tonight?”

So, once again, Harry and Cedric relayed the events of the night, beginning from hearing Fleur’s scream, though this time they were a lot more coherent. It wasn’t until he got to the bit when Nico first appeared that Harry faltered, remembering Cedric’s warning from before and wondering how he would explain the way the teenager had controlled the shadows.

“-and then Nico saved him. He, uh… he…”

“He blocked the spell with his sword,” Cedric put in, and Harry glanced at him gratefully.

In his relief, Harry almost didn’t hear the soft-spoken question that was asked by the potions master.

“And how did Mr di Angelo know to be in the graveyard in the first place?”

Harry blinked, not having thought about that, and he turned with the others to see what Nico would say to that.

“I didn’t know, I was there by coincidence.”

Stunned silence.

“I just often hang out in graveyards.”

Even-more-stunned silence.

Harry stared along with the others in incredulity as Nico di Angelo once again shocked him. He had said that so casually, like it was to be expected, that Harry found himself believing him, despite the craziness of the answer.

“Do you expect us to believe that you accidentally chose to ‘hang out’ in the graveyard that Voldemort was in, just in time for you to witness his resurrection and save Harry Potter?” McGonagall asked in disbelief.

“I don’t care what you believe. You asked the question, I told you what happened; your belief has no impact on my answer,” then Nico shrugged, “and honestly, this isn’t even the weirdest coincidence to happen to me today. I kinda have a habit of showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time, although this time I think my presence was a good thing.” Nico glanced meaningfully at Cedric.

“So you know nothing of Voldemort?” McGonagall pressed.

Nico appeared thoughtful for a moment, before saying aloud, “Vol-de-mort. Flight-from-death. Crude French, and, I’m going to guess, a completely made up name?”

Harry was not the only one shocked, for various reasons. Had Nico never heard of Voldemort before now? What did he mean by ‘Flight From Death’?

“That is correct,” Dumbledore’s voice had turned grave.

Nico nodded, “I’m also assuming he was that fetus thing that the rat dude turned into the gross, bald snake-man?”

Another stunned silence as those present tried to reconcile that description with the most dangerous dark wizard the world had ever seen.

“Yeah,” Cedric said breathlessly after a moment, “that… that’s about right.”

“And he’s the cult head of the wizarding world’s version of the Ku Klux Klan, going by the masks and hoods the other guys were wearing?”

More silence.

“…Yes…”

“That’s good to know, since I essentially just told him to get bent.”

Silence again.

“…..yeah…”

“…”

“…”

“So. Where am I?”

~0~0~0~0~0~

So, Nico was apparently in a magic school in Scotland, called Hogwarts.

Good to know.

After gleefully reducing the three professors to shocked silence with his descriptions of the evil wizard, Nico had found out a bit about where he was, and who the professors were. Dumbledore had informed him of the basics about how he had ended up there and what was going on and any other time Nico would have taken the opportunity to ask more. But, as it was, his thoughts were more focused on the resurrection and what he should do about it.

Apparently, Voldemort’s resurrection would have major political effects on wizarding England, which would most likely prompt a war, so it wasn’t like he really had to do anything. Others would handle the situation. But… that wasn’t really Nico’s style and… he was kind of curious. Maybe he would help out a bit by seeing what he could find out about Voldemort.

“So you were really at that graveyard by complete coincidence?”

Nico blinked once, letting go of his rumination, before turning to Cedric and Harry, the former having asked the question. The three adult magi (Nico had decided to use a gender-neutral term) were grouped together, falsely believing they were out of earshot of the three teens, as they discussed the information they had just received and the implications it would have on their world, et cetera, leaving the young wizards and the demigod to half listen in and talk among themselves.

“Yes.”

Cedric nodded, looking like he was actually considering that as a reliable answer, while Harry just stared at his friend.

“Oh, OK. Cool.” Nico waited a moment, brow raised, before Cedric eventually shook his head, “Nope, I don’t get it. Why?”

Nico allowed himself a moment of amusement at the older boy’s attempt at normalcy and the fact that he’d decided to ask such a perfectly reasonable question without a hint of suspicion. He truly sounded as though he were asking out of mere curiosity.

“I was being completely serious when I said I hang out in graveyards a lot,” Nico inwardly smirked as he saw Cedric and Harry do their best to not show their incredulity, before deciding to give them a little more information, “but, in this case, I was visiting a specific grave.”

“Whose?” This time it was Harry who spoke, and Nico turned amused eyes on him too before continuing. It wasn’t anything relevant to what was going on, and it wouldn’t do them or him any harm to know.

“Amelia Berkeley: died on the 22^nd of October, 1872, at age 18, and buried in the Little Hangleton Graveyard. She was murdered three days after getting engaged to Hugh Norton and the killer was never identified.”

“That’s horrible.”

Nico nodded in agreement.

“I agree, but why were you visiting her specifically. Is she a distant relative of yours?” Cedric asked.

Nico shook his head, “No, I’m just good at playing detective. You might say I have a certain affinity for solving cold cases,” he shrugged, “It’s a family thing.”

“Why-”

“Potter! Diggory!” The boys’ attention was instantly caught by McGonagall’s thick, Scottish brogue as she cut Cedric off. “Come now… and you better bring Mr di Angelo, I suppose.”

The wizards immediately walked to the witch, Nico following slightly behind.

“Where are we going, Professor?” Harry asked.

“You three are going to be looked over in the infirmary while we deal with… the prisoner and Professor Moody.”

Nico inwardly groaned. He hated being a patient, and this infirmary didn’t even have the incentive of his boyfriend’s presence… but he also knew that being checked up was probably a good idea. His knowledge of spells was limited, and Will was in a completely different continent but would still kill him if he found out that Nico had not gone to the infirmary when it had been offered. And despite Snape healing his wound, Nico knew that he had exhausted his powers after the long day he’d had, and the two fights against wizards. He felt dull and his senses were off, so he conceded his need to get some rest, even if he didn’t want to.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one displeased by their intended destination, as Harry asked, completely aghast, “Do we have to? I feel completely fine!”

McGonagall cut off any further complaints with a quelling look that reminded Nico of Annabeth. “Mr Potter, you have just participated in an extremely dangerous tournament and have been attacked twice in the past half an hour by fully-trained wizards. You, Mr Diggory and Mr di Angelo will go to the infirmary where Madame Pomfrey will look you over thoroughly and make sure you aren’t suffering any injuries that you may not have noticed.”

After that they walked in silence, the three teens each deciding it would be in their best interests not to argue further with the strict woman.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Cedric glanced at the two dark-haired, fourteen-year-old boys again for the sixth time in one minute, before doing what he could to deliberately tear his eyes away. He had been doing so for the last fifteen minutes since they had been left in the infirmary, and he wasn’t entirely sure what his problem was… but every time he took his eyes off them he was soon assailed by panic and just needed to know that both were beside him, that both were OK.

Which was completely absurd, right?! Yes, they were only fourteen and yes, they had just been attacked by a teacher, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and yes, they had even saved his life, but he barely knew either of them! He hadn’t felt this way when he and Harry had been doing the tasks, despite the tentative friendship that he’d felt he’d managed to cultivate with the younger boy, and he knew that Harry was more than capable of defending himself. And Nico… he had literally known Nico for less than an hour, and he’d definitely seen that Nico was able to take care of himself. So why was he so worried about losing sight of either of them!?

Cedric couldn’t answer that as he felt his gaze, once again, trail back to where Harry and Nico were sitting side-by-side on the hospital bed across from him and started slightly when he noticed the latter’s dark eyes catch his own.

“It’ll wear off,” Nico said after a moment, drawing Harry’s attention to them both.

Cedric himself blinked, “What? What will wear off?”

“The post-battle nerves,” Nico explained. “I’m going to guess that this was your first firefight? Probably your first time being tortured, too. It’s only natural for your senses to be overworking right now and for you to be jumpy or not want to lose sight of your allies. Even seasoned soldiers still get post-battle nerves, but it will eventually wear off.”

Cedric stared at Nico, wondering how the boy had realised that was what he was feeling, and also slightly horrified that a boy so young had such extensive knowledge on the subject. How many firefights had Nico been in for him to know the correct term for it? Trying not to let any of those thoughts show on his face, Cedric simply nodded, “Thank you.”

Nico nodded in acknowledgement, before woefully glancing down at the vial Madame Pomfrey had ordered him to drink and sighing.

“Wish me luck,” he joked, before downing the vial. A few moments later he sat up with a new energy while steam blew out his ears. “What the schist was that!?”

Cedric choked on a laugh at the startled expression on his face before replying, “Pepper-up potion. It’s fairly invigorating.”

“No way,” Nico muttered sarcastically, causing both Cedric and Harry to laugh again.

“We’re going to have to go back soon, aren’t we?” Harry said reluctantly.

Cedric nodded, “Yep. Though I don’t particularly feel like basking in any glory any time soon.”

“Me either.”

“Basking in glory?” Nico asked, his eyebrow raised.

“Remember what Professor Dumbledore said about the Tri-Wizard Tournament?” Cedric asked, and Nico nodded, “Well, it’s kinda a big deal. We’ll be expected to show up and celebrate our ‘victory’,” he said the last with air quotes and an eye roll, before sighing, “I would have almost been eager a few months ago… but after…”

Harry grimaced in obvious agreement and Cedric remembered the rumours surrounding his young friend’s first two years at Hogwarts, as well as the fame he received for surviving a murder attempt as an infant – a murder attempt wherein his parents were killed.

Nico nodded understandingly, “Yeah. I know what it’s like to not want to celebrate after a supposed triumph, especially when it feels like you’ve lost more than you’ve won. Good luck with that, by the way.”

Cedric snapped his attention to Nico again, this time in panic, and he saw Harry do the same, “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

Nico blinked in apparent surprise and Cedric realised that his reaction may have been a little strong, “Uh, no... Me and large, unfamiliar crowds where I’m the centre of attention don’t get on so well. Besides, I’m not actually, you know, from here, so I’ll probably have to clear off soon.”

All excellent points, a miniscule voice conceded in Cedric’s mind, but was squashed by his greater need to keep both Harry and Nico close, despite everything.

“Are you sure…” he asked desperately and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t whining.

“Don’t leave!” Harry blushed when their attention was brought to him after his outburst, “I- I mean… Even if you don’t come with us now… you can still stay after…” he trailed off hesitantly.

Nico looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with their reactions, but Cedric felt hopeful when he saw a considering expression appear on the boy’s face. He saw Nico open his mouth, probably prepared to ask question when suddenly his whole demeanour changed, freezing and stiffening. Cedric sat forward in alarm as Nico warily ran his eyes over him, then Harry, pausing for a long moment on the famous scar. This wouldn’t have been odd, except it had been visible before and Nico hadn’t reacted to it and he hadn’t shown even a hint of surprise before when Dumbledore introduced the Boy Who Lived. A quick exchange of glances with Harry showed the boy had had a similar line of thought.

“I have to go,” Nico said suddenly before rising from where he was sitting on the bed beside Harry. Cedric, who had just been about to ask what was going on, was startled into silence.

“Wait, what!?” Harry rose too, staring at Nico in confusion and concern. Cedric followed his lead as he saw Nico swiftly walk towards the wall of the infirmary. “Nico!?”

Nico stopped in shadows by the wall and turned to regard the two extremely confused and worried boys he had saved twice in the last hour. He made eye contact with Cedric, before shifting his gaze to Harry.

“If none of us die an unfortunate and untimely death, we’ll meet again. Hopefully soon,” Nico intently before turning and walking into the shadows, before Cedric or Harry could say anything in response.

Cedric stood in shock as he watched his new friend melt into the shadowed wall of the infirmary and disappear, his mind automatically going back to the unfathomable depths he’d seen in his dark eyes before he vanished and wondering what the hell had just happened.

Chapter Text

“If none of us die and unfortunate and untimely death, we’ll meet again. And hopefully soon.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean!?

Harry was sitting on his old bed in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive and agonised once again over the last words Nico di Angelo had spoken before disappearing into the shadows.

It had only been yesterday that he’d met the boy, but Harry had been unable to stop his mind from running over every interaction he and Cedric had had with him, trying to figure out what had happened for him to suddenly leave. And also who the hell he was, because he had soon noticed that he didn’t actually know anything about Nico, and what he had gleaned was actually highly suspect in retrospect, though Harry somehow still was unable to doubt it as truth.

Leaving the infirmary hadn’t been fun. Harry and Cedric had spent the first few minutes panicking slightly and trying to figure out what exactly had happened and where Nico had gone, and when McGonagall returned with Madame Pomfrey and they had eventually explained how and why the strange boy was no longer with them, both witches began freaking out and spent ages trying to discover how Nico had managed to apparate within Hogwarts. And as enjoyable as it was being questioned relentlessly by his Head of House, Harry and Cedric had eventually had to leave for dinner, which was far less tame.

All the champions had had to sit at a special and secluded table up the front, along with the various VIP guests and the Heads of their schools, and while Harry was guiltily grateful for the fact that it held off the questions that he knew his friends would want to ask, he found that the stares from everyone as well as the open curiosity displayed to be quite distracting. He could only be thankful that Cedric had refused to leave his side, despite the unhappy looks his father had sent him, and the not-so-subtle comments he’d made to simultaneously praise his son and mock the Boy Who Lived.

Harry had spent the entire celebratory feast miserable and wishing he were somewhere else, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to see the other champions looking similar. After all, at the end of the day the only victor had been Voldemort.

The only good thing to come out of the feast was when Viktor solemnly approached Cedric around the middle to quietly apologise for torturing him. Harry had felt Cedric stiffen in surprise (although he suspected that had more to do with being drawn from his own thoughts than anything) before softening and telling the Bulgarian that he was in no way at fault for being Imperuised by a Death Eater. In response, Viktor had given a slightly sad smile and replied that Fleur had said the same thing. Hearing her name, the French champion had looked up from where she was despondently twirling a fork through a Caesar salad across the table, before standing and moving over to sit with them, the movement drawing the hall’s attention to the small gathering of champions. The four ignored the whispers and the looks, however, and simply sat in silence that was only occasionally broken by one of them quietly asking the others a question. There was an unspoken sort of comradery that formed then, bonding them together through their shared misery.

But even then, Harry had been unable to keep his mind off the resurrection and the mysterious boy with the dark powers who had saved them, only to disappear just as suddenly and outlandishly as he’d appeared. What was worse was that he couldn’t help but think that it was his fault Nico had left.

It was obvious from his abrupt change in demeanour that Harry’s scar had triggered some sort of reaction in the other boy. It made Harry feel like even more of a freak than he usually did, and even more of a failure than he was for letting Voldemort rise again. Had his new friend suddenly realised what a waste of space Harry was and left because of that? He knew those old insecurities were ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop them when they reared their heads.

A part of him wanted to be angry at Nico’s abrupt disappearance, and although he logically felt that he had the right to be mad, he always found himself unable to linger on the emotion whenever he concentrated on it. He had seen the stiffening expression on Nico’s face, after all, so he knew that something must have happened. He just wished that the other had stayed to explain rather than vanishing into he shadows with a cryptic promise.

But on another note, it seemed as though Harry had made more than one new friend.

Cedric had sought him out before they’d left on the train to say goodbye and essentially declared that he would stand beside Harry with whatever came next. Harry didn’t know if he or Ron and Hermione had been more shocked by that, when the older boy had promised to correspond with him over the Summer and be there for whatever Harry needed. Even though he didn’t feel he deserved it, he couldn’t help but feel grateful. He was sure he’d go mad without some point of contact with someone who had gone through the same thing as him, since he couldn’t exactly talk to Sirius about it through a letter and he was being forced to go back to the Dursleys for the Summer.

(He was still feeling some resentment towards Dumbledore for that, no matter that everyone had tried to assure him that the Headmaster must have a very good reason.)

Harry sighed again. He still hadn’t had a chance to properly talk to Ron and Hermione about what had happened, as they’d been joined in their compartment by Neville, Seamus and Dean and Harry hadn’t wanted to go through that with them there. Hermione had seemed particularly frustrated by their presence, obviously wanting to be able to question Harry about what had occurred and Harry himself wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or not for the disturbance. He knew that he should probably talk to his friends as they deserved to know exactly what had happened, but he hadn’t felt like talking about it and reliving it with people who had no idea what it was like. As much as he loved Ron and Hermione, and despite all they had been through together, neither of them could truly understand what facing Voldemort actually meant.

Being trapped in Little Whinging was not really helping matters. Harry needed to know what was going on. He wasn’t stupid – he knew with Voldemort’s resurgence that there would be war, but he had no idea what was going on, what preparations were being made, or how they were going to fight him. Yes, it had only been a day, but Dumbledore had already sent Sirius off to ‘gather the old crowd’, so he knew that something was happening, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t be a part of it.

“-we’ll meet again. And hopefully soon.”

“I hope you’re right about that, Nico,” Harry muttered.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“So, Harry is a vessel for a part of Voldemort’s soul, which is how he’s been cheating you for the last however many years?”

Hades nodded, and Nico sagged almost imperceptibly, “Yes, I believe the term in their world is ‘horcrux’.”

Nico frowned, “Horcrux. Boundary… between life and death? And… pain?”

Hades shook his head, “It’s Old English and means ‘evil container’.”

“Because the soul must be evil in order to do what is needed to create it in the first place,” Nico added in understanding, to which Hades nodded.

“They are rare and extremely difficult to create, part of which can be attributed to how difficult it is to find information on them in the first place. There have only been two successful attempts in creating horcruxes in the last thousand years.”

“But the piece of soul in Harry was so small.”

“Tom Riddle must have split his soul more than once,” Hades said darkly.

“What?!” Nico looked up in alarm.

“I can feel it when a soul splits, though I can’t tell who it belongs to without further investigation, and whenever a split soul arrives in my realm Charon always informs me and it is destroyed in the Styx. Two years ago a part of Tom Marvolo Riddle’s soul arrived and was burned, and I realised that it must have been the disturbance I felt from fifty years prior, since that was the only horcrux I’d felt be created in many, many years.”

Nico felt his eyes widen, “But then…”

“But if Harry Potter has a piece of soul attached to his own, then Riddle must have created more.” Hades frowned unhappily, “And it would appear that beyond the first split, I am unable to detect what happens to the soul.”

Godly father and demigod son sat in silence, with unhappy thoughts, and were completely unaware of how similar their expressions were. Eventually, however, Nico looked up again.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle? I knew Voldemort was a fake name.”

“Yes, it is a rather ridiculous thing to call yourself,” Hades nodded in agreement. “He’s not even French.”

“Can you get rid of the horcrux?” Nico asked.

“I could, but if you wanted me to leave Potter alive, you’d have to bargain with the death of a soul who has cheated me.”

Nico closed his eyes in dismay, “And I’m guessing I couldn’t use Voldemort because I’d need to have all of his soul and I can’t get all of his soul because A, I have no idea how many pieces it’s in, and B, a piece is in Harry.”

Hades nodded in confirmation, “A bit of a paradox. I can only bend the rules so much.”

“What about Daedalus? I didn’t ask for Bianca when I released his spirit… do you think…?”

Hades shook his head, “It was only due to that that I was able to turn a blind eye to Hazel’s resurrection.”

“Is there anyone else that has cheated death that I can hunt down? Anyone that isn’t Leo,” Nico hurriedly added when his father opened his mouth.

“There are always others, but none that I can tell you about, otherwise I’d have already sent you after them,” Hades replied, although he did seem sympathetic. “But there may be another way for the horcrux to be removed without killing the host. You will have to find it, however.”

Nico sighed, but nodded. He was about to ask for permission to leave when another thought struck him.

“You said that when the pieces of split soul reach the Underworld they are destroyed by the Styx, does that mean that my sword would be able to destroy the horcruxes?”

“That has never been tested before, but I suppose that would work.”

“Well that’s something, I guess,” Nico muttered before hesitating over something else he needed to say.

Hades clearly noticed, as he raised his brow, “Nico?”

Making a decision, Nico looked directly towards the god, “Father, I’m going to get involved in that mess.”

Hades looked surprised, “Beyond the horcrux, which I understand, it isn’t your fight. It isn’t even your country or really a part of your world,” he commented.

“There’s going to be a war there, and I don’t know how prepared the magi are for that,” Nico replied calmly.

“Not your war, though.”

“Then I’ll make it mine,” Nico said. “Bridging gaps seems to be a thing that I do now, and like it or not, I am a part of the mortal world – even if that involves magic. There’s going to be a war due to a lack of acceptance and if I feel that I can make any sort of difference then I need to be there.”

Hades looked at him for a long moment, but although Nico couldn’t tell what he was thinking he stood his ground by holding his gaze.

“I understand, and I appreciate the reasons for your choice,” he finally said, “you are right about it still being a part of your world as that is both the curse and blessing of the demigods, especially children of mine. Belonging in both worlds and neither.”

Nico nodded, intimately familiar with the sentiment.

“Thank you, father.”

Hades shook his head, “It is your choice, Nico. But… I want you to know that I am proud of you… You have already been through too many wars….. and… your mother would be proud of you too,” he added quietly, almost too quiet to hear. Almost.

Nico froze, his eyes snapping to his father who was now looking away from him. He… had no idea what to say to that.

“Thank you,” he got out again after a moment.

“Be careful, Nico,” his father said again after a moment.

Recognising the dismissal, Nico nodded, and his countenance hardened with his resolve as he pulled himself back from the vulnerability the praise had caused. He and Hades nodded at each other one more time in farewell, before he turned from the room in the palace and shadow travelled back to Little Hangleton – he wasn’t going to get involved in this war without some research of who he was up against after all.

But it was only after half an hour that he realised that he was still smiling.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“How is Harry?”

“I can confirm that he made it back to his Aunt’s house safely,” Albus responded to Minerva’s question.

“Good,” a little of the tenseness disappeared from his colleague’s posture, although it soon returned at what she said next.

“We still haven’t been able to discover anything about that boy, or how he managed to disapparate from Hogwarts.”

Albus inwardly sighed, “I had expected as much. It would seem that Mr di Angelo holds power of a nature that we are not familiar with.”

“It has to be dark magic,” Severus announced once again with his constant scowl.

The three of them were sitting in Albus’ office, both for the security it provided and for the alibi, as most of the teachers who still hadn’t departed for the holidays would automatically assume that a discussion about the house rivalry was taking place in the office. In reality, the three professors were trying to figure out as much as they could about the events that had taken place in the last few days – so far with little success.

“Perhaps, but even if it is, we have never come across it before,” Albus replied like he had every time the Slytherin Head had brought it up, “and since we were unable to find any faults in the wards, we can only assume that Mr di Angelo has some way of counteracting them.”

“Either that or whatever he did didn’t fall under anything the wards are set up to stop,” Minerva added and Albus nodded in agreement.

“If that is the case, then this may not have been disapparition, but a new form of travel entirely. In any situation, it is a hole in our security, and one that we must find a way to overcome.”

In a rare show of agreement, both Minerva and Severus nodded and Albus had to refrain from chuckling at the unconscious similarity the two were currently displaying. He knew that neither of them would appreciate the comparison, and as nice as it was when they agreed upon something, Albus never liked it when their ire both united against him. Turning serious again, he turned to Severus.

“I have no doubt that you will be busy in the coming weeks, but if you are able to spend any time on finding out who Nico di Angelo is and how he managed to do what he did, I would appreciate it.”

Severus nodded, and Albus knew that the potions master was just as curious as he was about the boy who had slipped through all of Hogwarts’ substantial wards with seemingly no problems. He would undoubtedly want to know how he had accomplished what had been an impossible feat.

“Do you think it is likely that he is working for Voldemort?” Minerva asked, and Albus took a moment to appreciate how his deputy didn’t doubt for a moment that the Dark Lord had returned. He wished that everyone could be that prepared for the idea, but alas he feared that it was a fruitless wish.

“I think that if Voldemort had been able to get through our wards with the ease that Mr di Angelo did, then he would have had no need for Crouch to disguise himself as Alastor, as he would have been able to send someone to kidnap Harry at any point of the year.”

Minerva reluctantly nodded, seeing his point, “Yes, but still… We can’t actually believe that it was a coincidence that the boy was at the graveyard that Voldemort resurrected himself in, can we?”

“Stranger things have happened, Minerva,” Albus knew his eyes were twinkling by Minerva’s annoyed huff and Severus’ eye-roll. “I cannot say whether or not it was a coincidence, or what it is, exactly, that Mr di Angelo wants, but I do not believe him to be in league with Voldemort.”

“He could be a spy,” Severus pointed out, before pausing, “but I doubt that he would send a fourteen-year-old who we’d obviously suspicious of, only to then pull him out immediately before he’d gleaned any useful information or managed to sabotage us.”

“But just because he may not be working for Voldemort himself, it doesn’t mean we should trust him,” Minerva said.

Albus nodded, “True, we do not know where his allegiances lay, and he could still be a threat. Wars often have more than two sides to it, after all.”

They all paused to consider that.

“But he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back, not after disappearing in such a suspicious way,” Severus eventually broke the silence and both Albus and Minerva looked at him.

Albus shook his head, “I do not know, Severus, however I do have the suspicion that we haven’t seen the last of Mr di Angelo.”

“You think he will come back?” Minerva questioned.

“I have an odd feeling that he will play a major role in the events of the years to come, although to what end, I cannot say,” Albus replied, his voice growing distant as he thought about the strange character that was Nico di Angelo. He was still present enough, however, to note as his two friends, colleagues and comrades, exchanged glances filled with worry that ran deeper with the uncertainty of what would come next.

War was on the horizon, of that they were certain. But they still had yet to identify all the players.

Chapter Text

Draco was bored.

You wouldn’t think that would be possible, considering all that had happened in the last week, what with Dumbledore announcing at the start of the holidays that the Dark Lord had re-arisen in the middle of the Third Task and that war was afoot. It had certainly come as a shock to the majority of the British wizarding world and had sparked grand shifts in the political landscape. The press had had a field day with the chaos that had resulted from the Ministry’s damage control, wherein the old coot had been removed from his position as Chief Warlock – something that his father was endlessly pleased about.

But despite all that was happening around him, and all that changes that were being made – changes that he had advocated to all his fellow Slytherins on more than one occasion in the common room – Draco still couldn’t help but feel bored. And, if he were honest, a little bit scared.

As much as he enjoyed participating in the politics that his House was renowned for, Draco had never had much patience for sitting back and watching others. His father had insisted on him becoming more involved in the workings of the Malfoy family in the world, so he had been forced to come to the Ministry with him while the patriarch easily manipulated their fool of a Minister, Fudge. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had been allowed to witness the real discussions that he knew were taking place, but his father wouldn’t allow it, informing him that his presence would put other people off when less than legal deals were being made or valuable information being shared. So he had only been able to shake hands with stuffy old men who all told him that he looked just like his parents and that he should be very proud to have such a great man as his father, before brushing him off in what they thought was a subtle manner, so they could speak in private with said father. It wasn’t exactly the most entertaining way to spend his holidays.

As for the fear, well, Draco wasn’t above admitting to himself that he was afraid (he wouldn’t be a very good Slytherin otherwise), but Draco had never quite felt this kind of fear before. All his life he’d been educated to believe that anyone not pure of blood was beneath him and should be culled so they didn’t infect the true wizards and witches with their genetic stain. He had promoted those values at school, in front of both his friends and enemies and he had revelled in his victories whenever he had managed to ‘win’.

But that had been school.

This, this was real, and despite what the rest of the world thought, Draco knew the truth. He was back, and those schoolyard battlelines and alliances were suddenly a lot more tangible, and people were going to die over them. His political positioning among the Slytherins, where he was a leader, was now an asset that he couldn’t afford to lose. Those beliefs that he’d spouted at anyone who’d listen, over blood-purity, was suddenly a creed that he would now have to live by if he didn’t want to bring the Dark Lord’s wrath down on him and his family.

(And though he’d never, ever admit it, there was a tiny voice – barely kindled – that wondered whether he was OK with that.)

But that fear was currently dormant in favour of the boredom as he stood outside some courtroom in the Ministry, waiting idly for his father to reappear from where he was speaking to someone no-doubt important before some trial was supposed to take place.

“Is this where Jenkin’s trial is going to be held?”

Draco looked up quicker than he would have liked at the sudden voice. He hadn’t noticed the other approach and he found himself further surprised to see some kid, probably just a year younger than him, only a few feet away. His dark hair was shaggy, and he was dressed in a dark pair of pants, a black shirt with a grey skull design, and a long, black trench coat. This appearance had Draco automatically wrinkling his nose as they were obviously both muggle and plebeian. Looking at him and meeting a steady, dark gaze, Draco raised a haughty eyebrow.

“And why would you want to know about that?” He sneered on the word ‘you’ and looked the boy up and down to clearly show that he wasn’t going to entertain some mudblood kid looking for directions.

But the boy didn’t bat an eye at the obvious disparagement, though Draco knew the other must have noticed it, since he wasn’t trying to be subtle.

“Why? You too good to talk to me?” There was a glint of amusement in those dark eyes, and the boy’s lips slipped into a small smirk, however Draco could tell that it was an invitation, which surprised him. Happily intrigued and glad that he might have found something in the boy’s unusual reaction to stave off the boredom, Draco sniffed imperiously.

“Probably,” he replied, satisfied when the boy smirked again, not taking insult. “I am the heir to House of Malfoy, after all.”

The boy snorted in amusement, and the two stood there in companionable silence for a moment, each considering the other. Despite his appearance, Draco was now able to see something else in his demeanour that spoke of… something interesting. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the other was an heir himself, albeit a foreign one. Draco knew all the heirs in England and the boy did seem to have some sort of accent, but he found himself unable to quite place it.

He was about to ask where the other was from when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He turned around to see who it was and was met by the sight of a man in dark robes and with long, brown hair tied back in a pony tail, purposely walking toward him. Not recognising the person, but able to tell from the quality of his robes that the man was working class with little money, Draco allowed a frown to form on his face.

He was about to open his mouth to address the man’s presence when he saw the man’s eyes flicker around the chamber, a small smirk forming briefly on his lips. Draco felt his own eyes widen as he realised that he was in trouble, caught alone in a chamber with no witnesses and no backup. He was quick in drawing his wand, thanks to the duelling holster he had purchased a few days ago, but not quick enough.

The last thought he had before the red stunner hit him was that he really needed to invest in some body guards.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“…about…Lucius…our Lord…”

“…favourite…coward…return…”

“…heir… What do you…”

“…witness…identify us…”

Draco was lulled back into awareness by the distant voices, and he felt his nose scrunch up at the uncomfortable position he found himself laying in. A few moments later he remembered what had happened, and he felt his eyes snap open in alarm.

Surreptitiously glancing around the room, Draco was pleased to find he was alone. He was laying slumped on the hard floor of a darkened room, with no windows and a musty, wet smell that made him immediately place his location as a cellar.

Well, he had definitely been kidnapped in the most cliché way possible. Really, he was almost embarrassed, and had his captors been in the room they would have been subjected to the haughty disappointment that Draco had learnt to display from both his parents. Sitting up, Draco was surprised – and a little insulted – to find that he had not only been left alone, but without any form of restraint, as though they didn’t consider him a threat. In fact, he almost wondered if it would be worth searching for his wand, but he knew that no one could that lucky.

But the despite the apparent unprofessionalism of his captors, Draco was still able to feel a thrill of fear run up his spine. After all, he was being held in an unfamiliar place after having been taken from the Ministry of Magic itself. Whoever it was who had taken him was bold, and that meant that he was in a fair amount of danger.

Deciding that he needed to know more about his enemy, Draco moved closer to the sounds of voices, moving his head closer to the door in order to hear better (although his dignity forced him to refrain from actually pressing his ear to the door). From there he was able to hear the conversation better.

“…don’t want to have to kill you boy, but I will if you try my patience!” An angry male voice growled.

“Right. You sure about that? Because I believe you, but you don’t seem too convinced yourself,” Draco was shocked to hear the strange accent of the boy he had been talking with before he had been kidnapped. Why had he been taken? And how come he managed to sound so nonchalant!?

There was a groan from another man, “What the hell are you going on about now?”

He heard the boy sigh apologetically, “Look, I can see you’re putting in the effort and I didn’t want to say anything because I can see how hard you’re all trying, but… well, the death threat would probably work better if you were a little less loud in your discussion about why you had to keep me alive until you know who I am.”

One of the men swore.

“Yeah, it kind of ruins the whole act. But, y’know, props for your first attempt and all that. I especially like the touch of the abandoned house…”

“…..”

“…Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your interior decorating. I honestly didn’t think that any of you would live here-”

“Oh shut up!”

“A little touchy about the gloomy house? My bad. I did apologise though-”

“Oh, for the love of-! That’s it, I’m done trying to get anything out of him. Chuck him back in his room and then check on the Malfoy brat. If he’s awake, bring him out.”

“Are you tired of my company? Am I annoying you? Because, you did just kidnap two teenagers and bring them to your house, so you probably deserve it and so I’m not really sorry-”

“OUT!”

Hearing the sound of someone approaching the door, Draco quickly moved to lay down in the position he’d been in earlier, faking sleep and hoping that his raging heartrate didn’t give him away. He felt himself panic slightly when he heard the door open, not sure what he would do if they decided to bring him out, but after a cursory glance where the light from the door spilled over his form, he heard it close again.

“He’s still out,” he heard a masculine voice call out, walking away. The reply was muffled by the stone walls of the cellar, but he managed to catch the words ‘hour’ and ‘wake’. He was able to guess what was said from that.

Slowly, he rose from his slightly curled up position, wondering what he could do – unarmed, alone and without the necessary information – within the next hour. Draco wasn’t sure who had taken him, but he had a feeling that he was being held for leverage over his father. The timing was suspect, considering what was currently going on in the world after Dumbledore’s announcement, so he inferred that this had something to do with politics. Ergo, he was either being held by people who wanted to cripple his father or blackmail him, or someone had paid them to take him prisoner, so they could do so.

Either way, it was not looking good for Draco Malfoy.

He was sufficiently distracted from his thoughts when the boy he was talking to earlier materialised out of thin air. It was a near thing, but he managed to withhold the high-pitched yelp that threatened to come out.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the boy said softly, “Good, that means we can leave now.”

……………………………..

………….Wait.

Hold up…

“What!?” Draco’s (reasonably) hysterical voice cut through the silence of the room as he felt his mind began to work again after the sudden numbness.

“You. Me. Leaving.” The boy explained, but Draco was having a hard time dealing with that at the moment.

That boy had just appeared out of nothing!? Did he seriously just wandlessly apparate into the room he was being held prisoner in!? Why was he so calm!?!

And apparently, he had said that all aloud, because the next coherent thought he had was that the boy had clapped a hand over his mouth. Perhaps he had been a bit loud.

“I can do things,” was the lamest explanation that Draco thought possible, but that the boy deemed an acceptable answer. “Including teleporting. But, I have a really bad headache so we’re not going to be doing that.”

Draco stared.

And stared.

And continued to stare.

Before he decided to just accept it.

“Well how are we getting out of here then? We’re unarmed, I have no idea where we are, and I am still unsure as to why we were kidnapped,” Draco informed the boy, ignoring the… everything else.

“Well, you were taken because there was an opportunity to grab you, something, something, leverage against your father, something, something, pleasing the Dark Lord. I was just… there… and I didn’t see the other one coming from the back until I was already unconscious, and they couldn’t kill me because they had no idea who I was, and they weren’t dumb enough to just off some unknown kid in the Ministry.”

Draco, who had felt himself pale at the knowledge that he had been taken by followers of the Dark Lord, found himself blinking at that. Oh yeah, he thought as that reminded him, and he quickly interjected before the boy could continue speaking, “Actually, I don’t know who you are either.”

“Nico di Angelo,” he immediately introduced himself, but Draco didn’t recognise the name. “Any other questions about me are a bit more complicated. Draco Malfoy, right?”

Draco simply nodded, and di Angelo continued.

“Right, well, as for being unarmed…” Draco stared as the other pulled a long, black sword from his side.

Where the HELL had that come from!?

“Is this one of those things that’s a bit more complicated?” he heard himself ask. Di Angelo simply shrugged non-committedly. “OK then, moving on. Escape plan.”

“Sneak out and hope for the best,” di Angelo informed him.

Draco stared, horrified.

“It usually works in these situations,” Nico said in an unapologetic response. And then he began making his way to the door, “Let’s do this.”

Draco stood in stupor for a full eight seconds. Then…

“Fine. Why the hell not,” he muttered.

And he followed.

…Without a wand.

~0~0~0~0~0~

This is getting ridiculous, Nico thought as he snuck out of the cellar. Seriously, I get that I have a bad case of demigod’s luck, but accidentally finding myself in the centre of an intrigue twice in less than a fortnight is a bit much.

Still. I did get some interesting information from these guys.

He felt the boy – Malfoy – appear by his side, as he glanced around the room, making sure that no one was there.

“Do you know how many there are?”

“Three that I saw, but I think there’s one or two more,” he whispered back. The room was clear, so he continued on, walking quietly through a door and down a corridor.

“So how exactly are we supposed to take on five adults without a wand between us?”

Nico held up his sword.

“You can’t be serious. You can’t- How is a sword supposed to do anything against a wand!?”

Nico smirked at the incredulous tone, “By the end of this my sword will make your wand feel inadequate.”

“…Did… Did you just make an innuendo?” Malfoy said in disbelief, “Right now? As we sneak our way out of a house of kidnappers?”

“You sound flabbergasted,” Nico replied, then paused as he heard the sound of voices from a nearby room. Satisfied that they weren’t in their path to freedom, he continued on walking.

“I sound… You aren’t the usual sort of person, are you di Angelo?”

“I doubt it.”

The door next to them opened and the lackey of the guy that had been questioning him before – who he’d dubbed Ponytail - stared at them.

“Schist.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

Half an hour later, Draco was standing outside a an old and rather decrepit house, clutching his recently regained wand and panting slightly. Annoyingly, di Angelo looked completely collected leaning against a wall, long trench coat swaying slightly in the breeze and that bloody sword hanging from his side.

“I cannot believe I went along with that,” Draco said after a long moment, clear disbelief colouring his voice. He blinked, “I cannot believe that actually worked.”

Di Angelo smirked, “It worked for us, but I doubt those guys are going to be happy.”

Draco snorted. That was certainly an understatement. He still wasn’t completely sure how half of that had happened, but somehow di Angelo had managed to block the spells the kidnappers had been shooting at them with a sword. He’d thought that had been a pretty intense thing to watch. But then di Angelo had started controlling the shadows.

Umbrakinesis was not a power that you saw every day, even among the darker parts of the wizarding world. So for a boy his age to be wielding it with that degree of control… Draco was half impressed, half terrified.

It spoke of an enormous power, as well as insane amount of control, but Draco didn’t know what it meant. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that an umbrakinetic teenage shows up just as the Dark Lord returned, could it? But… if he was an ally of the Dark Lord, then why had he not killed his followers? Draco had been told that when the Death Eaters fought among themselves, it was acceptable to their Lord for them to… finish their opponents if they had the opportunity. So long as the Dark Lord’s agenda were not affected, he didn’t care who stood beside him. Besides, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be happy to follow the Dark Lord.

But that begged the question; if di Angelo was not working for the Dark Lord, then what the hell was he doing in London?

“When you get back to the Ministry, make sure you alert the Aurors to the pile of idiots locked inside their own basement.”

Draco blinked.

“Wait, what? What do you mean when I get back to the ministry?” He asked.

Di Angelo looked at him as though it were obvious, “We missed the trial and I have things to do; I’m not going back. Besides, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s bureaucracy, so I’ll skip the stage where we get questioned endlessly by the same incompetents who let two teenagers get kidnapped in their headquarters, thank you very much.”

“But-” Draco would forever deny that he sputtered – Malfoys didn’t sputter. “Why-? Wh-? Will I see you again?!”

Di Angelo paused at that, as though seriously considering the question, which left Draco relieved – he had been afraid that the other would just take off, leaving Draco with no way to ever get any of his questions answered.

“Probably,” he eventually decided, “I’m going to be sticking around a while, so it’s likely we’ll run into each other again.”

Draco breathed out in relief, glancing down the street. He was vaguely surprised to see that it was still morning – it felt as though a lot more than a few hours had passed since he’d been waiting for his father outside the courtroom. Turning back to di Angelo, he opened his mouth to ask another question-

-only to stare at the empty space beside him, a group of shadows at the wall lightening as they dissipated. Draco glanced around, but he already knew that the other had left.

“Seriously!?” he asked the now completely normal shadows on the now completely normal wall.

When no answer came, he sighed in vexation, before turning and walking back into the house. He figured the least the kidnappers could do was lend him the use of their Floo.

Chapter Text

Two weeks really wasn’t enough time to properly get to know the nuances of an entire foreign society, Nico thought ruefully. He would have preferred to have a few more months in which he could learn more about the culture and the history, as well as the technology – or the magical substitutes – but his instincts, carefully honed as only someone who grew up with social and political tension constantly leering over them (yes he was young at the time, but he hadn’t forgotten the fear in the streets during Mussolini’s reign, however much his mother tried to shield him from it) told him that action needed to be swift. So, regretfully, Nico found himself having to wing it.

Since his talk with his father, Nico had known that Harry was going to be deeply involved in the coming war. Both he and Hades suspected that a prophecy was in play, especially considering the fact that Harry was carrying part of another’s soul. That was part of the reason why Nico decided to make contact with him before he went to anyone else. He wanted to talk to the other boy about what was going on.

That was how he found himself, a little over a week into July, sitting in the back of Jules-Albert’s car as he drove through disgustingly boring suburban streets. Tracking down Harry had been annoyingly difficult, and Nico had had to resort to breaking into one of the record files at the Ministry of Magic, but even that had been a piece of cake compared to finding the ‘Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,’ and yes, Nico had snickered at the overly dramatic name. Honestly, they should have just called themselves the ‘Freedom Club’ or the ‘Libertines.’ Perhaps the ‘Dumblets.’

He’d only found out about the elusive group’s existence from carefully whispered rumours in seedy alleys and (almost) deserted corridors, but what he’d heard had been enough to snatch his attention. After a lot of digging, and several revelations, such as the belief that Dumbledore was the leader - and that the members included the Professors and the real Moody - he’d come to the conclusion that it was the best group to ally with at the moment and the most likely group that Harry and Cedric would go to for the same reason. Of course, tracking them down had proved to be nigh impossible, until Alecto had shown up with a slip of paper revealing their location; a favour from his father. Apparently, they were based somewhere in London, but were hidden by a very strong type of cloaking spell.

After he’d met with Harry, Nico was planning on paying the Order a visit, even though he figured that he’d have to face many paranoid questions about who he was – especially if the rumours were true and its members included the Hogwarts staff. He doubted they would have forgotten his disappearing trick.

Nico got out of the car immediately as Jules-Albert pulled up to Number 4 Privet Drive, a boring white-picket house in amongst a bunch of other identical boring white-picket houses. The heat was insufferable, and the sun was as bright and obnoxious as one of Apollo’s haikus. Shuddering at the scene, Nico rapped on the front door.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Petunia was having an awful week. Between the return of her sister’s horrid little son and the repulsive heat that had plagued them that summer, she barely mustered the energy to leave the house, much less socialise as she usually loved to do. It wouldn’t have been so bad if only Vernon had listened to her and fixed the air-conditioning sooner, but as it was Petunia felt herself wilting as much as her beloved flowers outside in the heat.

All of this had of course contributed to Petunia fraying her nerves, giving her a fuse much shorter than usual. Vernon had already felt the affects of her wrath as she had taken to ignoring him whenever he made excuses for himself not getting the air-conditioner fixed when she had first suggested it.

So, when the knocking on the door came in the late afternoon that day while she was fanning herself from the couch, Petunia simply shot her husband a scathing glance, unwilling to relinquish her meagre comfort for the sake of her usual propriety. To his credit, Vernon merely grumbled under his breath before rising to get the door.

It proved unnecessary, however, when they heard their charming son – apparently already on his way out – open the door and they could make out how he greeted the stranger.

“Who’re you?”

Normally Petunia would have taken that moment to appear and do her best to smooth over any offense that her Dudley’s bluntness may have caused their guest in case it was one of Vernon’s business partners, but when the person at the door replied, she realised that it was simply a teenager and therefore of no consequence. It wasn’t until the voice made a second claim that Petunia finally reacted.

“Nico. I’m here to see Harry – he lives here, yes?”

Petunia exchanged an alarmed look with her husband before scrambling up, feelings of fear and anger rolling through her. If he was here to see her sister’s son, then the boy was most likely a friend of his – and the only friends the little freak had were other little freaks!

Petunia and Vernon arrived at the door just in time to hear their son ask the boy why he wanted to see that freak.

There was a silence that comment garnered, which neither adult quite recognised the calculating intensity of until they peered out the doorway.

The boy standing there was a skinny, wretched-looking thing with dark, shaggy hair that was frankly disgraceful in its appearance. His clothes were so barbaric that had Petunia seen him walking around the neighbourhood, she would have called the police. But none of those thoughts actively engaged her when she caught his dark, shadowed gaze. She felt her breath leave her in a gasp at the sheer, directness of it.

But then she remembered herself and that this was her threshold they were standing on – where her neighbours could see her – and snappishly told him to get in, closing the door with a suspicious glance around the street to make sure that nobody had seen.

“Your kind is not welcome here!” She heard her husband hiss harshly, his face turning red with rage while the boy stood, unaffected apart from some unreadable expression tingeing his face. “The boy is not to have any of his- his- freak friends in this house! I demand that you leave this house at once!”

The silence turned ringing after Vernon finished, the boy utterly still as he gazed at them. Petunia could see that the complete non-reaction was leaving both her husband and her son feeling greatly unsettled. She felt the same.

Finally, after what felt like half an eternity had passed, the frozen silence was broken by a soft accented lilt.

“‘Freak.’”

Dark, dark eyes stared at them, so dark they were almost black. It felt like those eyes were staring through her flesh and into her mind – her very soul, even - just to see what was there. A glint of something was present in that gaze. There was another long pause that, despite herself, Petunia was too afraid to break. A glance at Vernon showed that he was feeling the same, although there was also a large degree of confusion over what it was about this child that was causing him to feel that way.

But then, like turning off a tap, the intensity of the gaze shut off and instead of a dark, unknown power, there was simply an impudent teen standing before them, glancing around the living room as though trying to commit it to his memory. But still, Petunia couldn’t help but shiver.

“I’m taking Harry.”

Petunia blinked a couple of times, surprised at the fact that the silence had been broken again before she finally processed what was said.

“Now wait just a-”

The boy cut Vernon off simply by glancing at him.

“When I arrived here, I planned on asking. Or cajoling, more like. I would have tried to be persuasive but polite at the very least, respecting your authority in his life. But, now there’s no way I’m leaving here without him. You won’t stop me – it’s clear you don’t want him here – and I doubt Harry will argue much, despite the fact that he’s only known me for a couple of hours in total.”

Petunia could feel herself shrink – felt herself be swept away by the tone of quiet certainty within her own home.

“Is he here?”

No one spoke.

But the boy did not repeat himself, he simply stood calmly, a spark burning in his eyes as he waited for the compliance that Petunia gave not a moment later. At this point she didn’t care what happened to her nephew – she just wanted to escape the dark power of those eyes.

“I don’t know, he might- he might be upstairs…” Petunia trailed off as the boy’s face singled her out for a moment before turning to Dudley, who looked quite unsure about what was going on.

He nodded at her son, “Go see if he’s there. Bring him out if he is.”

Dudley gave her and uncertain glance, juvenile fear and anger and confusion clear on his face. She gave him what she hoped was a confident nod and watched as he turned toward the stairs.

The silence was stifling.

“I am not planning on either of us returning,” the boy announced, drawing the gaze of both Dursleys. “And I truly hope for both your sakes that the worst thing you have done to him is neglect. That will be bad enough, for you. But…”

Petunia met her husband’s eyes as he paused and shuddered. She had no idea if the coldness she was feeling was some kind of magic on the part of the boy, or just a natural intensity. She had no desire to know, either.

“We will never meet again like this. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Petunia froze entirely when they were addressed. Fear flooded her and triggered her flight instincts, but she found herself unable to move.

But, once again, the boy did not repeat himself. Staring, staring, staring until, silently, Petunia nodded.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Harry was lying spreadeagled on his bed, watching a fly crawl along the ceiling, when he heard the front door open and close. Truthfully, the fly was a rather poor excuse for a distraction but, other than the brief moment half an hour ago when he’d heard someone’s car backfire, it was the most interesting thing around him. Thinking the slam of the door was either Piers coming in or Dudley going out, he simply rolled his eyes but did not bother to move.

So, when Dudley shoved the door to his room open a few minutes later, Harry was quite surprised. But before he could do more than startle upright, his cousin spoke.

“You need to come downstairs.”

Harry frowned, but it was in perplexity rather than annoyance or apprehension. The reason for this was Dudley’s own confusion, painted across his face and seeping through his tone quite blatantly. Something was going on beyond his aunt and uncle wanting to yell at him for something.

“…Why?”

Dudley frowned a stupid frown, “I dunno. I think one of your freak friends are here-”

Harry was up like a shot, ignoring Dudley’s startled yell. Was this it? Had Dumbledore sent someone to collect him in preparation for the coming battle?

He stumbled through the door to the hall, accidentally clipping his cousin with his shoulder as he did so, and almost tripped down the stairs in his haste. He was halfway down the stairs when he glanced into the living room and halted in stupefaction at the sight below.

“Nico!?!”  (He tried not to focus on how high-pitched his voice was, with marginal success.)

Nico di Angelo was standing in the Dursley’s living room and facing off against Harry’s relatives with a coldness on his face and in his eyes that reminded Harry of when Sirius was thinking about Wormtail. Even from all the way up there, Harry could feel the rather frightening aura of deadly, precise control that the other teen was exuding, and he wasn’t surprised to see that Petunia and Vernon were fearful of him. But all of that (mostly) vanished when Nico looked up at Harry’s cry.

“Hey Harry,” Nico nodded in a reserved but friendly greeting, as though it was perfectly acceptable for first contact after disappearing out of the Hogwarts infirmary. “Pack your stuff; we’re leaving.”

Harry blinked.

Then blinked again. Several trains of thought as to why this was a crazy, stupid, dangerous thing to do crashed blaringly through his mind. However, after being left alone in a house with people he hated for a week and with no contact with his friends or godfather and no knowledge of what was going on in the wizarding world, each of these were unable to get passed the most important barrier: the boredom of a frustrated teenager loaded with angst.

Harry looked from Nico to the Dursleys, back to Nico, then to the Dursleys and back to Nico again.

Eh, it beats sticking around here.

Harry turned right around to his room and grabbed his trunk.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Nico began walking out of the revolting household as soon as Harry reappeared from his room, dragging a large case behind him and holding an empty bird cage.

This… was an unexpected development, although Nico found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been. Almost all his friends’ human parents were dead, and about half the ones left alive were either physically and/or emotionally abusive, neglectful or just a plain deadbeat. Unfortunately, not everyone could cope with being on the fringes of a world of monsters and magic and raising a powerful, endangered child as well as Sally Jackson could, and he didn’t doubt it was similar for magi with non-magical parents. Really, he should have seen it coming as soon as he stepped onto the street.

Although, it did raise a few questions, the first of which being why nobody in the magical world had done anything about it when Harry was supposed to be their saviour. If he was as famous as Nico had been led to believe, there should be plenty of alternate custody arrangements available – it wasn’t like those… people were going to put up a fight for him.

Ugh, he’d have to throw it on the question pile for later. As much as it sucked, there were more important things to focus on right then.

It was then that Nico realised that Harry was no longer next to him, and he turned to find the boy staring at Jules-Albert’s car, mouth agape.

“You… You own a limo?”

Nico shrugged, “I can’t teleport around all the time. You coming, or what?”

Harry snapped out of it and continued lugging his gear towards the vehicle. “Teleporting? Is that how you… disappeared like that?”

“Well, the technical term is ‘shadow travel,’ but it still fits the definition of teleportation. It’s funny, all my childhood I wanted to live in an ancient adventure with swords and magic, but now that I do, I keep catching myself making sci-fi references.” Nico sighed, “I blame Will.”

He could see that Harry had no idea what to say to that statement, and decided to spare him the effort by grabbing his case and shoving it in the car – there was plenty of room left, after all, and the sooner they were out of there the better, as far as he was concerned. With that in mind, he shoved Harry in after the case, before following himself.

“Harry, Jules-Albert. Jules-Albert, Harry.”

Thankfully Harry didn’t get a good look at Jules-Albert when the driver nodded in the mirror in greeting before pulling out, since Nico didn’t fancy having to explain the zombie on top of everything else. When he finally looked over at the other boy, he found himself looking at a pair of bright, green eyes that were almost as round as they glasses they were sat behind.

Nico looked back out the window and paused for a moment.

“I’m gonna guess you have questions.”

There was a brief moment of startled silence before Harry burst out a, “You think?! Nico, what the hell is going on!?! Where the bloody hell did you disappear to!? Where are we going-!?”

“Alright! Alright!” Nico cut Harry off, before huffing a breath. “Hades. Ok, first things first. I’ve been looking around magical England for the last week – seeing what I can find out about the current political climate, trying to get an idea of what Voldemort’s up to, that sort of thing. I also had to contact a few people about something – which I will need to talk to you about later. Right now, though, we’re on our way to meet with the next people I was planning on visiting. Here,” Nico pulled out the slip containing the written location for the Order of the Phoenix and handed it to Harry, who frowned as he read it.

“What’s the Order of the Phoenix?”

“It’s a secret resistance group rumoured to be dedicated to fighting Voldemort. Those rumours also say that it’s led by your Headmaster and that it’s made up of some of your teachers.”

Harry looked up, alert, “Dumbledore leads it?”

Nico shrugged. “Supposedly, yes. I guess we’ll find out when we arrive. I haven’t exactly met them yet, myself, but we at least know that they’re real.”

“How did you find out where they were anyway? Y’know, since they’re supposed to be a secret organisation and all?”

“Scoured everywhere for a location, and when that didn’t pan out, I called in a favour – don’t worry, though. I know for a fact that no one else can find out the same way I did.”

Harry jolted, as though that hadn’t occurred to him yet, which, fair enough. There was a lot to heap on the kid already. But then he paused.

“Wait, so if you haven’t met any of them, do they know we’re coming?”

Nico froze.

Harry stared.

Nico stayed frozen.

“…Nope.”

“…Will that be a problem?”

“…”

“…”

“…Nah, it should be alright.”

Chapter Text

“So… not that I’m not incredibly happy to be out of the Dursleys’ house but, how come you decided to come back?” Harry’s question had a careful note to it that Nico recognised, as though he was worried that the query may be more delicate than anticipated. He blinked once, gathering his thoughts, before answering.

“I never left- Well, I guess I did leave for a little bit to visit my father, but I was back in Magical Britain within two or three hours. I wasn’t going to leave for good, though, after all that crap in the graveyard. Resurrections of Nazi leaders who already have a faction ready to follow them seemed like something I should stick around for. Besides, I know a fair bit about the combative and diplomatic/political areas of waging war, which, from what I’ve seen so far, is probably going to be useful.”

This time Harry was the one to blink, probably not having expected the nonchalance, or perhaps the Nazi reference wasn’t as commonly made as Nico expected. Even back in the US people were more likely to reference Nazis than Klan members when faced with classism, racism, ableism, or any of the other ‘isms.’

“Um,” Harry began, before he faltered. “I actually meant, why did you come to me? You just said that Dumbledore didn’t send you, after all, so…”

Oh.

“Actually, I have a few… well, quite a lot of things I wanted to talk to you about first. I wasn’t originally planning on semi-kidnapping you – not today, at least.”

“That’s… reassuring?”

“Eh, take it how you will. Nah, I wasn’t going to leave you in that mess. Come to think of it, I’m surprised there wasn’t a guard at your house-”

~0~0~0~0~0~

It was at that moment in time that Mundungus Fletcher returned from his marginally successful, definitely illegal, transaction in Knockturn Alley, still grumbling to himself about the steep price the vampire had placed on the amulet he’d purchased. Even in the relative safety of the muggle suburbs, however, Dung did not vocalise his complaints – not about someone of his kind.

But all grumblings about hard-bargaining bloodsuckers were forgotten when, after fifteen minutes, Dung noticed that Harry Potter was no longer in his room. Dung sighed to himself in aggravation at having to relocate the kid, but he still moved to find him – even if half-heartedly. It wasn’t really concern for the boy’s safety that fuelled his diligence, nor the implications his disappearance – if nefarious – could hold toward his stake in the war. Hell, it wasn’t even what he thought the Order would do to him if and when they learned he had abandoned his post guarding the Boy Who Lived…

Well, actually it was that. More specifically, it was what would happen to him if Sirius Black found out he’d lost the boy.

Dung renewed his search with a little more fervour.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“-But whatever.”

Harry blinked, “Do you think there should have been a guard?”

Nico shrugged. “I wouldn’t risk not placing one. Personally, I can’t see Voldemort wanting you to end up dead right now.”

Harry looked at him as though he was crazy, “He’s tried to kill me every time we’ve met!”

Nico nodded, “Yeah, but that was before he needed your warnings to not be taken seriously. So far, he’s kept his resurgence a secret, using the Ministry’s reluctance and the general population’s wilful ignorance to gather resources and shore up allies uncontested, and the best way to remain in the shadows until he’s ready to strike is to keep the nation in denial. Now, as with most political issues, there is no shortage of powerful people in key positions in the government and the media who use said positions and influence to deny the issue and maintain the status quo, either because they don’t want to believe in change, or they don’t want other people to.

“In this case, Fudge is one of the former, a shitload of his advisors are the latter, and he basically owns the media and therefore what information the public is fed and how it is portrayed. People are dumb sheep for the most part and will believe whatever they hear, except in this case we have a couple of things working in our favour. You and Dumbledore have had years of God-tier positive press that have been embedded in people’s minds – making you both out as wise, heroic saviours the last time the threat was around. Everyone in Magical Britain knows who both of you are and either remember or have been taught about horror of the last war and Voldemort’s political ideals. So, while Dumbledore has been a bit too slow to effectively use the media and draw upon his goodwill capital, his and your reputations have been able to, somewhat, stave off some of the media spin thrown by Fudge.

“But fame is fickle and, if nothing else, Fudge knows how to run a smear campaign. So, suddenly in the public eye you are no longer presented as The Boy Who Lived – Britain’s Saviour – but The Boy Who Lied - an attention-seeking teenager, and Dumbledore is either a doddering old fool or on a manipulative bid for power,” Nico noticed Harry’s wide eyes and the way his lost look began the transformation into outrage, so he swiftly continued. “However, the smear was not as conclusive and one-sided as it could have been, since Cedric – someone who had supposedly every reason to accuse you of ‘stealing his glory’ – has made corroborating statements. There was a few nasty debates in the news about the worth of his statements which gained a lot of attention and managed to take some of the power from the Daily Prophet’s campaign, but unfortunately the narrative of a naively loyal ‘Huff-in-puff’ - or whatever it was - who has been tricked by his old Headmaster and childhood hero seems to be preferable to the return of magical Hitler for most people.

“But that was a heap of digression from the original point which was that Fudge and the media have been rather successfully discrediting you and Dumbledore in the eyes of the public, which is allowing for Voldemort to re-establish himself in the world, build and re-build alliances, gain resources and infiltrate the Ministry, et cetera, without having to worry about resistance or response from the Ministry or wariness from the public. Really the last thing he needs at the moment is you turning up dead, because then you go from being a disgrace to being a martyr, and all of a sudden everyone is going to pay a lot more attention to what you were saying earlier, so I doubt he’d actually have tried to assassinate you at the moment. The only way your death could play into his plans right now would be if it was made to look like a disgraced celebrity committing suicide, but even then there is too high a risk of that backfiring, especially with the actual Death Eater penetration into the Ministry not being far enough along so as to ensure all key roles on the team sent to investigate your death would be guaranteed to them, particularly since you are a high-profile target.”

Nico hadn’t noticed the suddenness of the silence after that spiel or the fact that he’d been silently looking at Harry for the past five seconds until Harry himself looked back up from where he, with a pale, pinched face, was staring at the floor. The realisation left him with a bone-deep exhaustion that swept through his body, a culmination of two weeks of work with little sleep.

Ah… Right. Harry had just gone from two weeks of mind-numbing isolation in his house to being injected with a crash-course on the poor state of the political side of the war that he was already invested in, with great highlights as to where he and his side where already falling behind. Maybe… maybe he should give him a sec? How the Hades should Nico know – he spent most of his time around dead people who had long since become desensitised to the horrors that could be inflicted on people, and the rest of his time either alone or around vets who planned war and strategy for fun and for survival. Don’t even get him started on what is considered ‘appropriate dinner conversation’ by the King of the Underworld.

(Although, Nico had to admit that even by the heaviest standards that demigods were held to, he was pretty fucked up.)

That moment of pause also gave Nico the chance to remember three things. One; he still had a lot more he needed to talk to Harry about at some point relatively soon. Two; one of those things was the discussion he needed to have about Harry having part of the soul of the genocidal maniac who murdered his parents and tried to kill him two weeks ago attached to him (and by the gods Nico hoped that Harry already knew that and that this wasn’t going to be a fresh revelation for him). And three; Nico had just picked Harry up from a neglectful household and, while he wasn’t quite as thin as Nico, he was skinny enough to suggest that he hadn’t been eating enough and was more likely than not starving. So, deciding to throw a stone and see how many birds he could kill with it, Nico decided to address the latter problem first.

“But before we prep for a war with a fake-French, ex-fetus, Nazi/Klan lovechild slash fanfiction crossover, we’re going to take my dad’s limo through the McDonalds’ Drive-Thru and get, like, thirteen Happy Meals.”

~0~0~0~0~0~

Cedric wanted to bash his head through the nearest wall.

Normally he’d be the one to smile gently at people who made such dramatic statements and try to make them see that not everything was nearly so bad as it looked, but the last fortnight had made him deeply, intimately aware of the freedom that came from expressing one’s frustrations with drama. (Although, that might have just been his recent exposure to the Sirius/Remus dynamic, which he’d not even get started on or he’d be thinking about the incredulous friendship between the infamous falsely convicted murderer and his old Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher.)

Professor Dumbledore hadn’t had to convince him to tell the world about what he had seen in Little Hangleton or the murder attempt by Barty Crouch Jn. It was the right thing to do, it was the necessary thing to do, and despite the unexpected and devastating decimation their attempts to tell the truth had been met with in both the public and the media, Cedric would never be able to regret speaking up. He couldn’t.

No, Cedric’s frustration was not born of being disbelieved, slandered or doubted. In fact, it wasn’t even due to Harry and Dumbledore facing the same thing. It was the result of betrayal.

Everything he’d grown up knowing as the truth was a lie. The vigilant government he’d believed would prepare to defend its people. The honest, impeccable justice system he’d learnt would always reach the right verdict in the end. The newspapers he’d always thought would try to print the truth. The staunch community that he’d trusted would band together, protect each other in times of hardship and stand against intolerance. The world that had won the war against Voldemort and that would never be taken off guard by him again. Everything he’d been told by his parents, taught by his teachers and promised by everyone.

And, apparently, it was all… fucking… bullshit!

He’d originally just been naively upset by Crouch Jn. being accidentally Kissed by the unrestrained dementor brought to the school to take him prisoner. Even though the man was a crazy murderer who had tried to kill him and his friends, the thought that something so awful as a Kiss could occur by accident made him feel sick – what if the dementor had gotten loose at the school, or what if there had been other prisoners this had happened to, prisoners who hadn’t yet gone to trial, even? He’d also been upset because, despite the man’s clear lunacy and the fact that he’d bitten off his own tongue, Crouch could have been able to tell them more about Voldemort.

Hindsight, fresh cynicism and bitterness, however, had pushed Cedric into the realisation that Crouch’s death was a coverup, not an accident. Fudge was obviously controlling what the Daily Prophet wrote, and their articles on Harry and Dumbledore had been brutal, accusing their attempts at warning the public of Voldemort’s return to be lies for their own gain. He himself had been painted as an idiot taken in by their deception and his own naivety. The Minister of Magic, Magical Britain’s leader, was wilfully ignoring the threat to the populace who had elected him to serve and protect them.

To make matters worse, his own father didn’t seem to know what to believe, although he had spent a week worrying about him and continuously questioning him about whether he was sure about what he’d seen. After he’d made his statements to the press his father had seemed caught between confusion and embarrassment, between defending his son against accusations of stupidity and chiding him for his claims.

He’d received many letters, too, in response to his statements. Very few were supportive, but there was no shortage of pitying advisory letters informing him that he was being played by Dumbledore and Harry Potter, and there were more than a few angry letters demanding he retract his statement and stop stirring up trouble where there is none to be found. Worse, though, were the letters from his friends and schoolmates. Their responses were mixed enough that Cedric knew a lot of them did not believe him and while the general consensus seemed to be that he was a fool, there was a great diversity in which were angry, which were pitying or supportive, and which were confused and undecided. There were a few of his friends who claimed to believe him, his best friend, Matt, being one (and very welcome), but every time he received a letter from a familiar owl or with handwriting he recognised, he felt a sinking pit of dread bloom in his stomach at the thought of another friendship being burnt by a war that hadn’t really begun yet.

And he still hadn’t heard anything from Cho.

He knew things would be very different when he finally got back for his last year at Hogwarts. He’d have lost many friends and his relationships with all of them would have changed. The lack of trust between him and his friends and family had hurt, a lot, and he suspected that he’d not yet encountered the worst of the pain in that regard.

However, it hadn’t all been bad. Between his dad’s indecisions, his friends’ letters and his own lonely and miserable wallowing, Cedric had jumped at Dumbledore’s invitation to join – and move in with – the Order of the Phoenix. Apparently he’d proven his worth by surviving an encounter with Voldemort (even if that was just thanks to Nico) and shown his loyalties with his media statement (but he’d only been telling the truth) and four days ago – three days after the media statement, giving it time to die down a bit and make Dumbledore’s approach less noticeable – he’d told his dad he needed to get a break from the media and anyway, he was supposed to spend the Summer ‘finding himself’. A day later and he was moving in with the Weasleys, his old DADA professor, Sirius Black, a blood-purist house elf and whoever else showed up every now and then for a night or two in what seemed to be a definitely-evil, maybe-partially-sentient house, which, of course, was booby trapped, infested with semi-dangerous pests and belonged to the only (apart from Mundungus Fletcher) convict of the group’s family, who, despite being very thankfully dead, were more than happy to scream reviling comments whenever they were woken up. (Did he mention that he was learning how to deal with stress from Sirius’ reactions to life? He personally admired the way he had only tried to burn the house down twice after some of the comments he’d heard made by his own mother.)

So the induction into the secret society who happened to be the only group trying to prepare for the coming war was a great way to stave off the utter hopeless uselessness he was feeling on his own. It gave him allies and the opportunity to do something more to help his country and his friends and family who, despite being stubbornly reticent to Voldemort’s return, were still in grave danger from him. However, it did come with a really annoying catch.

Dumbledore had made him promise not to contact Harry. He knew that Fred, George and Ron were feeling similarly frustrated by the same instruction, but apparently Harry couldn’t be brought for another four or so weeks and any communication with him would be a very high security risk for both the Order’s activities and Harry’s location.

Cedric had really hated that clause. He’d promised Harry he’d stay in contact with him over the Summer, and he’d already suffered through a small taste of the isolation that Harry must be feeling, wherever he was. He didn’t want to imagine how lonely and betrayed Harry would feel when he stopped replying. It was already bad enough that he had no idea what had happened to Nico, he didn’t want to stop communicating – or even hurt – the only other person that had been with him when the single worst day of his life had occurred. Hell, the only relief from that anxiety came in the form of letters from Matt, Viktor and Fleur – all of whom were able to understand him on some level – and distraction by the happenings and people residing within Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

But while he was never bored in the Order’s HQ, he couldn’t help but wish that Harry would arrive sooner. For both their sakes.

~0~0~0~0~0~

They only ended up getting six Happy Meals.

Harry had never actually eaten fast food before as it was one of the few things that Dudley never tired of eating so there had never been any scraps for him to scrounge like there were occasionally with his more temperamental favoured foods.

He thought it tasted alright – especially since he was so hungry – but he didn’t really get what all the hype was about. He’d prefer a home-cooked meal, generally, and while he soon found a fondness for the chicken nuggets, he thought that Mrs Weasley and the Hogwarts house elves made much better food. Still, he was glad to have been able to try McDonalds and satisfy that young part of him that had always wanted to be able to eat the foods that the Dursleys had gloatingly consumed in front of him.

Another thing the meal afforded him was time to think as they both ate slowly and silently. Harry would admit that Nico’s analysis of the media representation he had been receiving had left him lost. Apart from Rita Skeeter’s articles the previous year, Harry hadn’t really understood how important and damaging the portrayal of the truth could be, which he knew was naïve of him. He had always thought that politics was reserved to the selfish like Malfoy or the idiotic like Fudge, but Nico and Dumbledore were neither of those things.

It was the first time that it fully sunk in to Harry that the coming war with Voldemort wasn’t going to be like his previous encounters with him. The intrigues he’d foiled had been small-scale, single-minded attempts to regain power (and most occurring from within Hogwarts), but now that he had finally succeeded – now that Harry had finally failed – the fight had grown so much bigger and would be fought on so many different planes. He wasn’t sure that he would be enough this time.

The silence lasted for a couple of minutes as Nico stared out the window. Harry was doing the same as he considered what could happen upon their arrival at Dumbledore’s HQ. He knew that the old headmaster would likely be disappointed that Harry had disobeyed him by leaving his uncle’s house, but frankly Harry couldn’t spend another moment there. Especially not when another option had so readily presented itself in the form of Nico offering (…well, it was more of a command, really) to take him away.

And besides, any reservations Harry had about letting down Dumbledore were quite easily swept away when he realised that he might get to see Sirius again.

With that happy thought to bolster his confidence at the decision, Harry turned back to Nico in order to draw the other boy away from the dragging silence…

…And stared at the sight of the fourteen-year-old completely passed out and leaning against the door. Harry vaguely wondered how long he had been asleep.

It was then that his brain caught up to him and Harry suddenly remembered that it was quite unusual for one to randomly fall asleep in the middle of the day whilst driving with a companion who you were taking to a secret organisation’s lair. He looked at the other boy in concern before he noticed the dark smudges underneath Nico’s eyes and took in the extent of how pale and thin his body was. Harry frowned when he realised that he was smaller than he himself.

He was clearly exhausted and malnourished, but Harry was unsure whether or not that was normal for Nico, considering he didn’t look all that different from what he had seen of him the previous weeks.

He wondered again about the boy across from him and what he had been doing for the past two weeks… and the rest of his life. He still knew… nothing, really, about Nico di Angelo, and yet he hadn’t hesitated to get in his car when he offered. The boy was, objectively speaking, suspicious as hell, considering the way he had shown up at the graveyard and fought with apparently Dark, shadow-powers that were normally hallmarks of Dark wizards.

But maybe that was part of why Harry so instinctively trusted him. Because, despite still-largely-unexplained aspects of his new… friend, he still seemed like a good guy.

Because, even with the Dark nature of his abilities, Nico had chosen to stand against Voldemort and save him and Cedric.

Like Dumbledore had said, back when Harry was doubting his own character because of the way he had been shunned for his parseltongue, what someone does matters more than what they can do.

The memory of the way everyone – apart from his closest friends – had all believed him to be evil just because he could talk to snakes only helped to solidify his belief that he should trust Nico. Harry never wanted to become the sort of person who would judge and dismiss – or even hate – someone based on something they couldn’t control, like Hagrid’s size or Professor Lupin’s lycanthropy. He didn’t want to be like Malfoy and his cronies, or Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Even Dumbledore and Professor Lupin had done the same thing; leaving Sirius to rot in Azkaban, tormented by the dementors, for twelve years because they decided not to ask for his side of the story and just assumed he was the traitor. He didn’t want to end up like Lupin, forever living with the guilt and regret that came from blindly following others’ prejudice to the point where he persecuted his innocent friend. No, Harry wouldn’t allow himself to form opinions about anyone based only on what they could do.

Harry, filled with the righteous determination that epiphany resulted in, focused his gaze back on the small boy across from him, a small smile beginning on his lips which died a premature death.

Nico was still asleep but, unlike before where he seemed to be completely unconscious, it was now obvious that he was dreaming. His pale-olive face, which had seemed so young and relaxed just minutes before, held a tension now that spoke of a nightmare. His left hand, which had been resting on the upholstery, was now tightly gripping it, muscles taut, and every now and then his whole body would minutely shudder, starting from his chest. Tiny movements beneath closed eyelids betrayed a roving gaze, and Harry watched as each of Nico’s breaths become more sudden and controlled, not quite delving into panicked bursts, but not easy and relaxed as they should have been in sleep.

Without thinking, Harry quickly called out to wake him.

“Nico!”

The change was so immediate that it was startling to Harry, who lurched back as Nico sharply jolted forward, eyes blowing wide open and arms leaping up to… Harry wasn’t sure if they were to strike or block or both, but it only lasted a second before Nico was jerked back into his seat as the limo made a sudden turn.

He seemed to lay there, stunned, for a few seconds before Harry saw dark, dark eyes flick around the car and awareness return to his features, which lost their intense amalgamation of fear and fierceness. He slowly sat up, breathing deeply with a clear sense of relief, before looking back at Harry the same as he did before falling asleep. As though nothing had happened.

“…Are you ok?” Harry asked eventually. He could feel his own eyes stay wide from the display. Something told him that whatever Nico’s nightmare had been about, it was something truly terrifying.

Nico’s eyes flitted to his own green ones and lay there for a few full seconds, before Nico’s voice – a little quieter and a little darker than before – finally replied.

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever been alright, and it seems as though every time I finally get to the point where I think things can’t be worse… things get worse. But I’ve been getting better. Relatively.” Nico’s gaze turned a little distant then and his tone lightened, while his eyes gave a little squint, “Honestly, though, I think the Fates have money riding on how torturous my life can be. I mean… yeah.”

Harry could tell that Nico had stopped himself from saying more there, but he was unable to focus on that in light of the rest of Nico’s statement. It was obvious, from the way stood against Voldemort and fought, and from the intense nightmare he just exhibited, that Nico had lived a heavy life. It was at that moment that he realised that Nico had likely even faced terrors even greater than he had at his age, which was both a relief to Harry as well as a sadness. He wouldn’t wish the burdens of his past on anyone, but at the same time, he was incredibly grateful to have a friend who could understand… what it was like. Ron and Hermione, as fantastic and stalwart and courageous as they both were, still hadn’t ever directly faced down evil, knowing they were the only things to stand in its way, and as such, weren’t able to completely relate to Harry where he sometimes needed them to.

But Nico – and Cedric – were two people that Harry would be able to… just talk to. Something he had never been able to do before where the other person just… got it.

But those thoughts were put away in place of concern and a desire to be there for Nico at that moment, when he had just awoken from a nightmare. For that reason, he didn’t try to push the other boy into talking about what he had just seen – knowing how he often resented well-meaning probing when it was delivered to him – and just offered a silent companion, only asking whether he wanted him to do anything for him before nodding in understanding when Nico looked at him.

Nico had already been such a great friend to him – saving his life twice and taking him away from the Dursleys. Harry just hoped that he would be able to be a good friend in return.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Nico was infinitely grateful that Harry didn’t prod him about his nightmare – he didn’t feel like dodging unanswerable questions, which would only serve to make his mind delve deeper in something he would rather forget (Tartarus). No, the other boy just provided a silent, unpitying support that reminded him of Jason (once he realised what Nico needed was not to talk) and Percy (once he knew what he was reliving).

In fact, he was so comfortable in the company he had as he wrestled to pull his mind away from his memories of the pit that he didn’t even notice that they were in the right area before the limo suddenly stopped. Blinking away the last of the dark thoughts, Nico looked outside into the evening sky to realise they were in the right place – Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Glancing past Harry’s head, Nico quickly thanked Jules-Albert before swiftly exiting the vehicle, Harry scrambling to do the same behind him – remembering to grab his case at the last minute.

The two boys looked up at the tall, dark building as the limo drove away, the glow from its taillights eventually disappearing.

“Ok, so-”

Nico and Harry jumped about a foot in the air at the sudden loud wingbeats as a white blur swooped in from behind them and landed on Harry’s shoulder.

Nico stared at Harry and the owl perched on his shoulder while Harry just stared at the owl perched on his shoulder.

“Hello, Hedwig. You startled me, girl.”

Nico stared at Harry.

Ok, apparently they had an owl now.

Although, the empty bird cage suddenly made more sense. As soon as he’d met the Dursleys, Nico had assumed that any more obvious types of magic (read: owls) would not have been permitted in his… living arrangements. He wondered how the Dursleys had handled that.

“…Right. Anyway… actually, screw it. I don’t have a plan. Let’s just do this.”

Nico strode towards the secret HQ, knocked on the door and waited. He looked back at Harry, who stared at the spot he had just been standing in and blinked a few times, before shifting his gaze to where Nico was now and dragging his case with him as he slowly made his way towards him. He’d just reached the front step when Nico heard the sound of the door opening and he looked back in time to see a pink-haired young woman with a heart-shaped, yet oddly aristocratic, face pointing a stick at him.

“Who the-” The woman, as he had expected, began to suspiciously demand something – probably their identities.

However, Nico did not expect the woman, upon opening the door, to over-balance and stumble forwards… right into Harry’s case…

…Which she tripped over with a yelp…

…Face-planting on the pavement outside…

Nico stared straight ahead into the dark hallway in front of him – which was giving him some weird vibes - and did his best to ignore the groan intermingled with vicious cursing emanating from the ground behind him. He didn’t succeed, but he tried, out of a professional courtesy and a desire to pretend that that… had not happened. He felt more than saw Harry glance uncertainly at him and then at the woman behind them, and without looking he reached out and grabbed Harry’s arm before he could move to help.

A moment later and the woman was edging her way – with painstaking carefulness – between him, Harry and his case, back to her position as a guard to the house.

“Now, as I was saying, who the hell are you?”

Well, Nico had to give her points for not blushing in embarrassment. Although, that could just mean it was something that happened a lot. It almost reminded him of Percy.

…It definitely reminded him of Percy.

“Our names are Nico di Angelo and-”

“Harry Potter!” The woman practically yelped, finally catching sight of Harry next to him and recognising him. Then she seemed to remember herself and raised her wand more determinedly. “Bullshit! Harry is in his safehouse – who are you both really and how did you find this place!?”

Nico subtly sighed. He couldn’t blame the woman for being suspicious. This was supposed to be a secret base, and there was a war brewing. Plus, she had every reason to doubt that Harry’s presence. But even so, he wasn’t looking forward to playing 20 questions with her and everyone else in the HQ. Maybe he should have made a plan for this meeting… Nah, that would have gone to Hades within the first two minutes.

“I’m totally fine with you being suspicious of our suspicious arrival, but can you please get someone who can verify that this is, in fact, Harry Potter so we can get off the doorstep of your top-secret lair? Seriously, I just picked him up and we drove.”

The woman squinted at them in almost comical suspicion.

Nico stared blankly ahead.

The woman squinted harder.

Nico tilted his head to glance at her.

Harry coughed nervously.

The woman was still squinting.

Nico was still-

“REMUS!!” The woman finally hollered behind her as an exemplary example of keeping a secret hideout secret. “REMU-!!”

CRACK!

Nico’s hand flew straight to his sword at the sound and sudden appearance of a greying-but-sandy-haired-and-otherwise-surprisingly-youthful man with what looked like old claw scars covering his face, before he relaxed as he realised it was just another Order member apparating. Harry looked like a gun had just gone off in front of him.

“Tonks! What-?” The alarmed voice stopped as he took in the two teenagers standing on the doorstep. A moment later and he had his wand up and ready just like ‘Tonks’ had done only moments before. “What form does Harry Potter’s boggart take?”

…Ok, Nico was stumped for that one…

Luckily Harry, despite his clear confusion at the question, seemed to know the answer.

“Er? A dementor? Professor, what-?”

He was cut off as the ‘Professor’ grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him into the house. Nico, rolling with the… whatever that was, jumped in himself before he could be given similar treatment. He swore that Tonks looked slightly put out by the missed opportunity, which made his lips tick upwards. Slightly. For a moment.

But then he was distracted by malicious, decaying feeling that seemed to soak the walls of the hallway. Never had he felt like his life was more of a horror movie cliché than when he heard the door shut behind him.

“You mean that’s actually Harry Potter?!” Tonks’ incredulity was clear in her demand of Remus.

Remus looked like the whole world had just tried to take a dump on him. It was a feeling that Nico was intimately familiar with and he could readily sympathise for.

“It would appear so.” He then turned to Nico with a clear, wary, but non-hostile stare. “Although I have no idea who you are.”

Nico shrugged, “Feeling’s mutual.”

“Professor Lupin, this is Nico-” Harry cut in, glancing between the two.

“Nico di Angelo!?” The mage’s exclamation interrupted the introduction Harry was trying to make in obvious shock.

Meanwhile, Nico reassessed the claw scars covering his face and the glaring etymological references to be drawn from the names ‘Remus’ and ‘Lupin,’ and felt his eyebrows fly to the top of his head.

“’Remus Lupin?’” His voice dripped with incredulity. “What, was ‘Wolf McWolf’ already taken?”

Apparently that was enough to draw the man out of whatever path his thoughts had taken as he just stopped and blinked.

“…What?”

“Well, I’m going out on a limb here and guessing those scars are due to you being a lycan, which, could happen to anyone. But you are literally named after a dude who was raised by wolves, with your last name being a Latin variant for wolf. It’s a bit on the nose.”

“……”

“…So, is the rest of the house as creepy and borderline malicious as this hallway?”

Chapter Text

So apparently the whole house was a festering black pit radiating darkness and evil intent. Nico felt it was important to differentiate the two, as one of the most common misconceptions was that darkness was synonymous with bad and light automatically equalled good. It was the same underlying assumption that led to the misconception that Hades and the Underworld were both entirely negative, and that Zeus and Olympus were epitomes of righteous might. Personally, Nico thought of both gods and both locations as… not neutral, as that would imply that neither place nor person was influenceable or biased towards their rulers and their natures, but he did believe both were in a middle, nebulous area of the moral spectrum – the same area as most people. Both were flawed, with good parts and terrible parts – although, and Nico would fully admit his biases before thinking it, he did think Hades was by far a better person than Zeus.

(Something about his uncle attempting to murder he and his sister when they were children and his mother and a hotel full of innocent people dying as collateral damage had not endeared the king of Olympus to Nico.)

So no, Number 12 Grimmauld Place didn’t feel evil because it felt like dark magic. It felt evil because the walls were seeping spite and hatred and rage. The house had a consciousness of sorts that Nico, with his unfortunately practiced abilities (don’t think about it), could feel emanating bitter intent. He wasn’t sure if the malice he could sense was caused by an abnormal amount of dark magics and artefacts being left to rot and decay within the walls, or if it due to a series of magi stewing in their hatred until it was imprinted in the very rooms they plotted in. Nico absorbed the feeling, reading what he could of the purpose in the aura, before deciding the best thing he could do would be to ignore it and try not to think about the last time he was in a situation where the entire environment surrounding him had a similar agenda. Even so, there was a part of him – always, always ignored – that couldn’t help but feel of the familiar energy and raise the question that made his blood chill like nothing dead ever could. The question that haunted him sometimes, plaguing his dreams or his mind any time he was left too alone.

(“Are you sure you got out?”)

The sound of Remus Lupin’s jaw snapping shut from where he’d been gaping at Nico’s comment about his name was blessedly effective at ejecting him from the memory. It would have been really unfortunate if his first meeting with the Order of the Phoenix included a PTSD attack. Before he could either answer or ask a question, however, Harry spoke up.

“Lycan? What’s that?” He looked like he already had a vague idea about the answer to his query, but was just asking for confirmation. In that case, Nico opted to raise a brow at Lupin, who looked like he’d been pulled out of his own course of action. He cleared his throat before responding.

“It’s another term for a werewolf, Harry. Lycan is short for lycanthrope, which is the technical term for… what I am,” he finished, before turning curious but cautious green eyes towards Nico. “Although I don’t believe I’ve ever been diagnosed quite that quickly. Not by someone who didn’t recognise my name from either Rita Skeeter’s article or general gossip.”

Nico shrugged, “I know what animalistic scars look like and I probably could have figured it out from them alone, eventually. But two direct wolf references in the name? Kinda smacked me in the face.”

Nico had expected the explanation to be enough, but there was still a tension in the air and a wariness in Lupin’s expression, resulting in the four of them standing awkwardly until Lupin finally broke it with a benign question that obviously contained a lot of baggage.

“And you… are ok with…” He looked like he was forcing his hands to not make an awkward ‘in-between’ gesture, perhaps in the hopes that it would come across as non-threatening. The resulting jerky stillness of his hands, however, was more alarming to someone very much used to the sudden drawing of weapons, although Nico managed to not react to that. It helped that he now understood what question Lupin really wanted to ask.

Looking Lupin dead in the eye, Nico cut through the roundabout query with a firm “Yes.” And he was. Just because the only (live) lycanthropes Nico had personally met had been Lycaon and his pack, didn’t mean that they had coloured Nico’s perception of the entire species (or subspecies, since there were some slight variances in the virus as far as Nico had been told). Lycans had their own minds and should be judged by their own merits, just like any other person. Because that’s what they were. People. Of all demigods, Nico would be the last to judge someone for something as trite as their species. Lycans may be classed as Dark beings, but again, dark didn’t necessarily mean bad. But while this was as clear to him as architectural history was to Annabeth, communicating it had a way of being done right.

The tone and expression of his answer were frank, saying that he got what he was asking and why, but also that any doubt about his response or further investigation into the subject would be freaking dumbass. It was the look of someone who knew exactly what they were talking about and had been on their side of the wary bullshit that came with being a perceived ‘dangerous’ minority. One victim of society’s prejudging to another, Lupin would get all of his meaning with the one-word answer.

The slight slump in posture and relaxation of facial muscles betrayed Lupin’s automatic response of relief, but there was a widening of his eyes that belied his shock at the rest of the message as he realised Nico was telling him undoubtedly that he understood his predicament on a level of intimacy only possible through experience. He knew the older man was startled at the thought – and probably at his perceptiveness – and was likely racking his brain for clues about what that implied.

Before that could go any further, however, his eyes slid over to Harry, causing Nico to follow his gaze. The other boy was looking pleased to be there, if also slightly curious and confused about the interaction before him. Tonks stood beside him, her eyes flicking between the two of them with an incredulous frown and her mouth half-open in bewilderment. Nico guessed that Lupin had only just remembered that they had an audience.

“You better come through, Harry. You’re really not supposed to be here yet – and I think I’ll want to hear the story about that fairly soon – but since you are, there are some people who’ll definitely want to see you.” Lupin then nodded at Tonks and the two led them through the hall, oblivious to Nico’s surprised brow raise. He’d expected to be questioned a little more and he wondered if the Order considered not being blatantly human-supremacist to be good enough of an entrance test into their secret base. Harry noticed his surprise and looked at him in askance, but Nico just shrugged and nodded at the other boy to lead the way. He noticed that the snowy owl was no longer on Harry’s shoulder and vaguely wondered if it also could sense the malice of the building.

Being led deeper into the house did nothing to help the bad feeling emanating from the walls, and the further they went the more Nico felt as though he was being sealed in a room with a limited air supply. It was all he could do to not flash back to Tartarus or that freaking jar that Otis and Ephialtes had trapped him in. Luckily, Nico had ample experience with pushing back his trauma, and aside from the possible malicious sentience of the house which was what was really triggering him, Nico was well used to locations as dark and dangerous as this. He knew that it wouldn’t take long for him to become relatively comfortable (relatively being a relative term) in the building.

They eventually arrived in what looked like a kitchen that been something’s lair for fifty years. Lupin paused before entering, shooting Harry quietly joyous smile before stepping through the threshold. He, Harry and Tonks stepped through after him and took in the sight of a man lying sprawled on his back across a counter top, staring up at the ceiling.

“The twins kidnapped our new friend, Moony. I’d almost pity him except I think he needs to be distracted almost as much as I do.” The man stated with lacklustre, not moving as he addressed whoever he thought was in the doorway – probably Lupin. The guess was confirmed when the man rolled his head in the direction of the door, “What did my baby cousin want?”

The man froze in obvious surprise at the sight of them in the doorway, his eyes alighting on Harry, before a delighted grin rushed through his features. He jumped up and off the counter – probably faster than necessary – before greeting the subject of his gaze with a warm, affectionate tone, “Harry.”

“Sirius!” Harry’s voice was very pleased and excited as he bounded towards the man and all but flung himself around his waist. It was clear that the two were close and cared for each other very much and Nico felt a relieved weight fall from his chest at the knowledge that Harry had an adult in his life that cared about him. Even if the exclamation of his name had him shooting his eyebrows to the top of his head. Two years after his escape and the story of Sirius Black’s breakout from Azkaban was something brought up a lot during his two weeks of intel gathering – especially due to his supposed ties to Voldemort.

Although it was definitely looking like there was more to that story than he knew.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, though I can’t say I’m not glad about your sudden and definitely-against-the-rules visit.” The man Nico was pretty sure was the infamous escaped convict, Sirius Black, spoke with a voice that held an audible smirk.

Harry shrugged from within the hold the other man had him in before they released each other. He smiled slyly up at Black, “It can’t count as breaking the rules if I wasn’t actually told them.”

Black barked out a surprised laugh at the comment before his expression softened into a smile, “I’d say that kind of attitude belonged more to your father, but considering the trouble you managed to get into the last two years…”

From beside him, Nico heard a faint snort and looked up to see a faint smile and a glimmer of tears adorning Lupin’s face. Surprisingly, it appeared as though Black had also heard the noise as he glanced at the werewolf before his eyes slid to the rest of the people in the doorway. He paused when his eyes landed on Nico before a bewildered expression appeared on his face. Taking Black’s confusion as his cue, Nico approached with a witty one-liner.

“Well this is a plot twist. I guess you’re not Voldemort’s main bitch.” He stopped in front of Black, taking in the short, dark hair, pale skin and aristocratic features. He noticed that he was receiving a similar examination in turn, although there was a slight pause where Black’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head at the second line. “Nico di Angelo,” he introduced himself, gaze finally directing to meet the mage’s.

It was the moment dark, dark eyes connected with piecing grey that it happened, and Nico realised both that his initial scrutiny revealed nothing compared to what he found in his stare, and that whatever similarities there were between he and Lupin or he and Harry, the man before him was a kindred spirit. Neither of them quite froze as their eyes met, but there was a recognition in what they each saw that kept their gazes locked in place. There was a darkness present, not so much in colour as with the ghosts of things seen and experienced in the real world and inside the mind. Pain and desperation and loneliness as well as faint and battered hope peered out, and the deeper he looked, the more similarities he was able to detect. There was a familiar spell in those eyes that Nico was used to seeing and feeling in himself. The glint of madness. Nico knew, then, that Black was someone who had suffered and felt as he had. Had been tortured physically and psychologically by others, by the world, and by himself.

The main difference between this interaction and the one he’d had with Lupin was that, unlike with the lycan, Nico knew – because he knew himself – that Black had seen everything he had in him. They knew each other, without context, and neither could quite guess what that would lead to.

The entire moment took place in just a few seconds, with the interaction ending as Black’s lips twitched into a crooked half-grin. “You’re one to talk about plot twists. Half the Order’s been in a panic about a Nico di Angelo appearing and disappearing through the Hogwarts wards.” His smirk turned gleefully vindictive, “Ol’ Snape’s been in a right state. Trying to figure out who you are and what you can do.”

Nico paused just long enough to make his response appear considered, rather than as automatic as it really was, although he doubted it fooled Black. “He can try.” He didn’t need to add anything else to convey his predictions on the success the professor would have in his endeavours. Honestly, while Nico was famous (or infamous, in some cases) in the Greek and Roman mythological circles, his lack of open involvement in the USA’s magical community, and his century of origin, made it extremely unlikely that the mage would be able to track down any real information about him by magical or mortal means. And that was with Nico handing out his real name. The part of him that had spent his first few days at Camp Half-Blood living in the Hermes Cabin wondered if he shouldn’t see what would happen if he made Snape think his name was just an alias.

It was a cruel, vicious thought that Nico decided to save for later, both because he figured he’d have a hard-enough time trying to convince the Order to work with him and, well, because adding that element later in the game would make it way funnier. The Stolls would be proud.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Harry hadn’t known how much he’d missed Sirius until the sight of his Godfather, safe, relatively healthy and sprawled across a counter had cause a physical wave of relief to sweep through him, lifting a burden he hadn’t realised he was carrying in his chest. The visage of Sirius’ bright grin alighting at the sight of him – Harry – and the instant erasure of his morose posture felt like stepping in sunlight after a cold winter. Was this what it would have been like if Sirius had had the chance to raise him? He didn’t let the thought linger, but he couldn’t stop himself from the quiet wonder.

Although, in his joy at the reunion Harry may (completely) have forgotten that Nico was unaware of the escapee’s innocence. Fortunately, Nico seemed to go along with the revelation with the same ease that he took everything else with. Well, almost everything. Harry remembered that he still wasn’t sure what had caused the other to bolt from the infirmary at the end of school.

There was an odd moment, though, when Nico and Sirius had stared at each other for a couple of seconds, interrupting the more general examinations they were giving. It was almost eerie, the way the action was so similar and Harry couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed something in the interaction, although he wouldn’t be the only one going by Professor Lup- Remus’ furrowed brow. Before he could ponder that further, however, Sirius turned back to him and he was recaptured by the happiness he felt about seeing his godfather.

“Interesting friends you’ve made, Harry,” he remarked with a light grin. “Cedric told us a little about this one, though he was a bit cagey about some things.”

Probably about Nico’s shadow powers, Harry thought before he realised what Sirius had said. “Wait, Cedric? Is he part of the Order?”

Sirius arched a brow and asked a question that was half amused, half genuine. “How do you know about the Order?”

Harry slowly turned his head towards Nico, only for everyone else to do the same so that the four of them were staring with varying expressions at the other boy. To his credit, but not Harry’s surprise, he didn’t seem at all intimidated or ruffled by the sudden attention.

“What were you expecting? Only one person answered the unexpected knock on the door of your secret lair, and literally the first thing she did was trip over Harry’s suitcase. I’ve been trying really hard to pretend it didn’t happen but, dudes, the only thing I can say about your security is that you’re hard to find.”

Harry blinked, Remus looked appalled, Tonks scrunched her face in consideration, and Sirius tilted his head in thought. Before anyone could respond, Harry remembered his original question hadn’t been answered.

“Is Cedric here?”

Sirius flashed a grin, “Our newest and youngest recruit. Dumbledore brought him in a couple of days ago, although there’s been some contention about whether he can be a fully-fledged member or not until he’s graduated. The Weasley family are all here, too, and Hermione should arrive within the week.”

There were a mix of feelings that bubbled up at that revelation. On one hand, he was glad that his reunion with his two best friends would be occurring so soon, but that was also tempered by a slight apprehension. He’d received a couple of letters over the last two weeks from them, and while any distraction from life in Privet Drive was heaven sent, he couldn’t help but feel as though they were… forced. Like they were keeping something big from him, but didn’t want him to feel left alone. Now it seemed that he knew what that was, and he couldn’t help but feel just a little betrayed. He got why they couldn’t have told him through the mail since, again, in was a secret organisation, but couldn’t they have found some way to send word? Paid him a visit in person to let him know what was happening? Couldn’t he have just come with them from the start?!

But more than that slight anger there was also a faint sense of guilt for not trying harder to tell them about what had happened during the Third Task before they had parted for the Summer. He knew he hadn’t had the opportunity, but perhaps he could have made one? Harry never liked it when the three of them weren’t on the same page, and he hated the feeling of disconnection between them now.

“I also see you’ve met my baby cousin,” Sirius’ words snapped Harry out of his thoughts. Cousin? He followed Sirius’ gaze to Tonks, the woman with the bubble-gum pink hair that had tripped over his trunk and stared in shock. “She’s another white sheep of the Black family.”

Tonks grinned at that, “Wotcher, Harry. Pretty sure we’re also some sort of distant cousins.”

“H-hi!” Harry stammered over his surprise before a smile of his own broke out shyly. He had family? Distant though she may be, he already liked her a lot more than the Dursleys. “Sorry, I had no idea that I had any other living relatives.”

Tonks shrugged, “Pretty sure that all of the pure-blooded old families are related in some way by now.”

Harry wondered if that meant he was related to any of the people he knew, like the Weasleys, but he quickly abandoned that line of thought when he realised it was just as likely he could be related to Malfoy.

“And with this talk heading towards a discussion of incest in the wizarding world, I vote we stop right here,” Sirius cut in lightly, and Harry screwed up his nose. He definitely didn’t need to think about that.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Albus had had a plan.

It was a plan he’d laboured over, considered and reconsidered the potential benefits and losses of, and that he couldn’t help but continue to debate about with himself over its implementation. Every time he reaffirmed his decision in his mind, he seemed to find another doubt slipping its way in. But, every time, he managed to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

Keeping Harry Potter at a distance was harsh, but necessary. With the mental link between the boy and Voldemort suddenly strengthening with the tyrant’s return to power, he didn’t want to risk Harry’s soul to a complete invasion of the darkness should Voldemort discover the nature of the connection, and he feared that limiting his exposure to the boy was necessary to reducing that risk.

He wasn’t blind, of course, to the potential harm that could be done to Harry due to the sudden isolation. Merlin knew that the neglect from both his relatives and his friends would take a toll on his mental health, but the likelihood of Voldemort becoming aware of their connection and exploiting it was too great to risk allowing communication with the Order.

Hence, the plan to avoid Harry and to limit his interactions with the Order to just the week before he returned to school.

The plan that had just become complicated with the arrival of Phineas Black from his portrait in Grimmauld Place with the news that Harry was currently in the Order’s kitchen with Sirius, Remus, Nymphadora and one Nico di Angelo.

Now that was a wrinkle.

Had it simply been a case of Harry arriving early, Albus would simply have been left with the task of finding elaborate ways of avoiding contact with the boy for the duration of his stay – as well as delegating someone (probably Minerva) to figure out exactly why and how Harry had managed to find his way there – but the fact that he was accompanied by di Angelo further complicated the issue. Namely that he was a wild card – a very powerful wild card if his displays from a few weeks ago had been any indication – and so far, Severus had been unable to find anything more about him or his abilities other than a few sightings within the Ministry and some of the less reputable areas of wizarding Britain. If Nico di Angelo had come to the Order, then Albus would need to be one of the ones to talk to him, even if simply to get a better understanding of who exactly he was.

Even if that meant seeing Harry as well.

Chewing that thought over in his mind, Albus made a decision.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Severus apparated to the doorstep outside Order HQ and flinched as a familiar crack emanated behind him. He jerked around, his wand already slicing through the air in preparation for an attack, only to halt at the sight of Minerva. He lowered his wand and scowled, but couldn’t help the faint feeling of relief that his cover had not been compromised. His frown was alleviated somewhat by the apologetic look his old professor sent his way at the unfortunate timing. Silently, they both stepped inside.

The summons he had received directly from Fawkes had not said anything beyond requesting his presence for an urgent Order meeting, although Severus knew that it most likely meant something big had changed. It had irked him to be drawn away from his attempts at researching obscure magical transportation – his efforts in that regard were both vital for the war and for his own sanity at this point, since they needed to know how bad the ward breaches were – but the swift and unexpected call to meet could not be ignored if something serious had happened.

Stepping through the dank hallway, both he and Minerva were silent as they made their way in the direction of the dining room where most meetings occurred. The excuse of avoiding the awakening of Walburga Black was useful in this way, as it meant that the lack of conversation would not be deemed awkward or hostile by either of them, when in reality neither had much to say to the other. Although, Severus would not be afraid to admit that his silence was also in part due to wariness of the building. The entire house was a contradiction of being too dead and too alive at the same time. It was the opposite of Hogwarts, which at times felt like a benevolent grandparent, caring and watching over her charges. Hogwarts was warm and encouraging, where Grimmauld Place was menacing and with a stickiness to the air that Severus couldn’t stop his mind from associating with the coagulated blood clinging to corpses. If he didn’t hate Black so much, he would almost pity the mutt being forced to stay there, trapped inside these insidious walls.

It wasn’t until they arrived in the kitchen that they encountered the first people in the house. Unfortunately, those people included Black, Lupin and Tonks.

And Harry Bloody Potter.

He didn’t even have the chance for his outrage at the boy’s unsanctioned presence to be made vocal before Black cut him off with some nonsensical chattering greeting for Minerva.

“Minnie! What a simply delightful surprise!” He shook his head in mock censure, and the teasing tone made Severus vaguely ill, “If I’d known that such a lovely lady was planning on gracing this house with her presence, I would have changed the wallpaper, at the very least.”

McGonagall had an odd expression on her face at the banter, but a moment later it was replaced by a flat look, “Why thank you, Mr. Black. It’s always nice to be met with such a courteous reception when visiting one’s former students,” she looked around the room and raised a brow. “Although I must admit that I wouldn’t mourn the loss of this particular décor.”

Black – of course - appeared delighted by the response, but it was Lupin who replied.

“How do you feel about pastels, Padfoot? I think some blues and pinks would lighten the place up. Or maybe yellow?” There was a sly glint in his eye that betrayed his nauseating attempt at an innocent expression.

Black grinned almost savagely, “Definitely yellow. My family would hate yellow.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure the entirety of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black would roll in their graves at your renovation plans, but if we can get back to the matter at hand, namely Mr. Potter’s unwelcome presence?” Severus turned directly to the boy and gave him his nastiest glare.

Black finally glanced at Severus, but didn’t speak until after a long enough moment had passed that it was clear that their dislike was mutual. To be fair, Black’s expression was perfectly neutral, although his eyes were cold and resentful.

“Snape.”

The greeting was tossed out without the pettiness Severus had expected in the form of a paltry nickname or childish insult, which meant that he couldn’t be the one to initiate the name-calling. This time.

“Black. Lupin.”

Tension seemed to eat through the air like acid, until it was interrupted by a jarringly cheerful voice.

“Wotcher, Professor!”

Severus slowly turned his head towards the pink-haired witch. To be entirely honest, he didn’t quite know what to do with the cheerful greeting interrupting his gloomy looming but, knowing that it would be a defeat to ignore the girl, he settled for a simple reply.

“Miss Tonks.”

Merlin, the girl beamed at him. He stared at her for a moment, suspiciously waiting for her to do something disrespectful (he knew that she had no love for him) before he realised that her game was to unsettle him with her happiness. To escape the situation before it could devolve any further, Severus reignited his attentive ire on his previous target.

“What, do you think you are doing here, boy?”

His brusque demand was rewarded for its suddenness with a startled jerk from Potter. There, that made him feel a little better.

“…Honestly? I’m just being confused.”

Severus opened his mouth to retort-

-and paused. Blinked.

What in Merlin’s…?

But his years of teaching scores of brats to not maim themselves by crafting basic potions had him adjusting quick enough to the odd answer.

“You were not supposed to be here for weeks- How did you even discover the Order-?”

“What does it matter, Snape?” Black rolled his eyes like the immature idiot he was. Severus seethed. “He’s here now.”

“His presence could have compromised this entire operation,” Severus ground the words out slow and low through gritted teeth. “There was a reason he hadn’t already been brought in. How do we know he hasn’t blabbed anything like a blithering idiot? Potter’s presence is a security risk we can’t afford, or has wallowing around your old house the past few weeks caused your brain to rot even further than it had in Azkaban?”

Severus felt more than saw the others’ reaction to that comment; from Minerva’s slight flinch to Lupin’s blindsided jerk, Tonks’ sudden gasp and Potter’s startled outrage. He kept his eyes on Black and savoured the flash in his eyes, signalling the loss of control in the face of a soft spot.

“And what have you been doing the past two weeks, Snape? How’s your hunt for the fourteen-year-old coming along? He still eluding your grasp?” Black leaned towards him with a patronizing smirk, which enraged him, but he could still see the anger from the madness comment, “Have you managed to find out more than his name – which, I might add, he told you himself? No wonder you’re only a wannabe Defence teacher.”

The barb only struck because he himself was frustrated with his lack of progress into anything related to Nico di Angelo. He drew back a little, the angry flames in his eyes simmering to fiercely hot coals. He gave a small sniff of disdain.

“Uncovering what appears to be hidden Dark magic is hardly the work of a few weeks, Black – not that you’d know anything about that. And finding information on a Dark prodigy with the power to defy the Dark Lord to his face and get away with his life is another matter itself.” As much as he hated to admit it, Severus didn’t think he’d be able to do much in regards to discovering di Angelo’s abilities or anything else about him with the limited information he had. “It’s not likely that someone with that kind of power – no matter their age – will slip up easily enough to get caught. We’d have better luck waiting for him to knock on the door!”

Severus expected one of two things to happen – for Black to reply with more childish antagonism, or for Minerva to finally get fed up with their exchange. What he wasn’t anticipating was for Black to pause, an odd look appearing on his face which then morphed into an expression of undulated glee.

Severus was confused by the way his childhood enemy appeared to be forcefully clamping down on a burst of laughter – and by the very deliberate blankness of Lupin’s face, which was incriminating in itself.

“So, from the soap drama – as entertaining as it is – I’m going to assume you two don’t like each other much,” the voice was young, confident and very deadpan.

Severus really didn’t want to turn around.

So he did it very, very slowly.

Standing in a corner of the room that would have been out of his line of sight when he made his preliminary glance around at the occupants of the kitchen, blending almost seamlessly into the shadows where he stood until his voice had revealed his position, was Nico di Angelo.

Merlin, why?!

He couldn’t think of worse circumstances, considering his present company and the timing of his previous remark.

Black finally burst out laughing, “He- He literally,” Black gasped in between his breakdown of laughter, “knocked on the door!”

Severus closed his eyes. Never mind, it could get worse.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Cedric didn’t think he had ever been more horrified than when he was kidnapped from the kitchen by the notorious Weasley twins, Sirius ignoring his eyes pleading for help with a bright, shameless grin from his brooding position on the counter. He’d had enough experience with Fred and George and had heard enough rumours of their escapades to know that whatever they had dragged him out for could bring no good to him, after all.

Although, being suddenly shanghaied by two ginger tornadoes of chaos did serve as a nice distraction from his recent thoughts. That was actually the reason he had gone searching for Sirius and Remus in the first place, but that plan had fallen flat since Sirius appeared to be in his own depressive mood, with Remus providing him company. At least there was a sort of solidarity to be found in that room.

The twins were careful to avoid the bedroom that their mother was trying to clean to a state of being habitable, so the only person they ran into was Ron, who took one look at the three of them before giving a small, satisfied smirk that implied he was glad to not be in Cedric’s shoes. By the time they had finally dragged him into the room they were sharing and had made a show of dumping him on a bed and closing the door, Cedric had fallen into a state of resignation about his new lot in life as a future victim.

“Diggory-”

“-Cedric-”

“-New friend-”

“-Pal-”

“-Compadre-”

“Brother in arms-”

“-Fellow veteran of Grimmauld Place-”

“Honoured companion of circumstance-”

Cedric sighed, “What’s this all about?” He’d get dizzy from watching them and he knew from (unfortunate) experience that they could keep that up for a long time. It didn’t do anything to prevent the curl of dread as he was suddenly faced by two identical, enormous grins.

“We have a predicament-”

“-A quandary, if you will-”

“A dilemma.”

“A complication.”

“But, like all difficulties-”

“-The solution provides an opportunity-”

“-For outsourcing, leading to a potential-”

“-Mutually beneficial relationship between all parties.”

“A partnership, of sorts.”

“An alliance.”

“An agreement allowing for the satisfaction of all.”

Cedric had a very bad feeling about this. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“We are so glad you asked!”

“Indeed we are, tremendously so!”

“For we have a proposition for you!” The twins suddenly speaking together after alternating phrases was very effectively jarring, and caused Cedric to blink.

“At least buy me dinner first,” his brain spat out and he went with it, years of friendship with Matt having trained his brain to make good comebacks. Occasionally.

Fred and George both seemed surprised, because they paused suddenly, before delighted smiles broke out across their faces.

“That was unexpected-”

“-But beautiful-”

“-And it perfectly illustrates the point we were getting to.”

“That is, that the Golden Boy of Hogwarts is-”

“-Smarter-”

“-More interesting-”

“-And more troublesome,” they synchronised again, seemingly for emphasis, “than he looks.”

“Thanks,” Cedric replied, then reconsidered what was actually said and amended it, “for some of what you just said anyway.”

The twins exchanged a sly look that said the backhand behind the compliment was intentional. Cedric didn’t mind, since it was known that the infamous Weasley Twins’ approval was mercurial and excessively difficult to cultivate – even just a sliver of respect from the two was something not to be taken lightly, so even a backhanded compliment was worth something.

Still, he somehow had the feeling that gaining the twins’ favour – even if only just a bit – was somehow going to make his life a lot more complicated.

With that in mind, Cedric resolved to just move along with his inevitable fate, “What kind of agreement do you need to outsource for?”

The way each face before him lit up in brilliant grins was almost scary.

“We are so glad you asked that, aren’t we Forge?”

“Indeed we are, Gred. Indubitably so.”

“You see, Mr. Diggory, we have been thinking a lot about our futures lately-”

“-And we have come to the conclusion that said futures lie in the arms of what we hold dear.”

“Mischief!”

“Pranks!”

“Not slips of paper that the Ministry thinks they can categorize our potential by,” there was a strange sort of almost-solemnity in that last bit, uttered with an almost-seriousness by, Cedric thinks it was George, while the other twin gave a nod. But he may have been mistaken, because it was gone again in a flash.

“You see, dearest Cedric, Mr. Weasley and I-”

“-Mr. Weasley-”

“-Intend to seek our own fortunes-”

“-By founding our own path.”

“Trailblazing a new-”

“-Different-”

“-Better future for ourselves-”

“-And using all our potential.”

Despite the jumps and switches in who was talking and the general cryptic-ness of the speech, Cedric thought he might have just been able to parse out exactly what his classmates were telling him.

“Are you saying you want to go into business? As the new Zonko’s?”

The twins exchanged a glance that Cedric couldn’t tell if it was serious or for effect, but a moment later they both turned back to him and shrugged.

“That’s essentially what we’re saying.”

“Huh, ok, I can see that.”

Two pairs of eyes blinked at him simultaneously, “Well, that was rather anticlimactic.”

It was Cedric’s turn to shrug, “What, were you expecting me to be surprised that the Weasley Twins were planning to open a joke shop?” There was a boatload of emphasis on the phrase ‘Weasley Twins,’ which seemed to please them, but they had earned their reputation over their time at Hogwarts. Yes, he could easily see them running a very successful joke shop in a few years.

“We had anticipated more disapproval-”

“-Or at the very least apprehension, not so much surprise.”

Cedric raised a brow, “What else are you going to do? You’ve been orchestrating pranks and inventing spells and items to assist for years.”

Cedric guessed it was Fred who hummed in thought while George cocked his head in consideration. After a moment they both returned and had each seemingly decided that it was a fair assessment.

“So, what did you need my help with?” He still wasn’t sure what part he was expected to play in this venture of theirs, but he hoped it didn’t have anything to do with convincing or distracting their mother.

The twins regained their manic looks of joy.

“Thanks to a start-up recently provided by a very generous investor-”

“-And a hopefully successful attempt at taking out a small loan from Gringotts-”

“-Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes will be making her debut in September-”

“-Or more precisely, when Hogwarts lets us back in.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, you’re already running?” Cedric knew he was projecting his surprise, but also an admiration at their efficiency. As well as the fact that they already knew what they wanted to do with their lives and were already doing it.

“We started with mail orders last year.”

“Boy, did mum flip her lid when she found out,” the twin shook his head in remembrance of what was obviously a harsh memory.

“But that brings us to our little complication.”

Cedric frowned in confusion.

“You see, Mr. Diggory, while my brother and I are well-known-”

“-Well-liked-”

“-And semi-trusted by the Gryffindors and some parts of the other houses-”

“-We discovered that a large portion of the school believed the sales themselves to be a part of a prank and thus refuse to buy from us.”

“We’re sure you can see why that is bad for business-”

“-Especially since we’re still in the infancy of our shop’s growth-”

“-And school kids make up the majority of our target clientele.”

“That’s where you come in.”

Cedric blinked, “Me?”

“Yes, you,” the twin rolled his eyes, “Golden Boy of Hogwarts-”

“-Hufflepuff Prefect-”

“-Probably Future Head Boy-”

“-Quidditch Starling-”

“-Uncontested and Unhated Triwizard Champion.”

“We need someone with your kind of good PR and who everyone in the school trusts-”

“-Just to let people know that our business is good and genuine-”

“-And in exchange, we’ll provide you with a couple of free samples of every product we put to sale.”

“So? How about it?”

Cedric… wasn’t sure.

He was fine with it in theory – in fact, with the war he knew was coming boiling below wizarding society, he actually approved of the idea of the twins starting early. In a year’s time it would be more important than ever to have simple expressions of growth – simple signs of joy and laughter and hope in a decaying society. Something the twins had dedicated their lives to providing.

But a lot could change in a year. For instance, last year Cedric would have had the standing the twins were looking for, and he would have wished the twins luck, but ultimately refused on account of knowing that if his father found out, he would be disappointed in him for making what he would deem to be immature decisions. But since the end of the Third Task, Cedric’s priorities had changed. He still cared for his father and his opinion of him, but it was no longer something that would control his life the way it had been. That epiphany, or rather the reason for it, had also come with the loss of the school’s confidence and trust in him, due to his statements to the press. He wasn’t sure he could give the twins what they needed anymore.

He was about to tell them something along those lines, but they beat him to it.

“Look, we know the media has been less than flattering to you lately-”

“-What with making you out to be a dunce and all-”

“-Not to mention all that lovely fan mail you’ve been getting-”

“-But believe us on this. When it comes down to it-”

“-The school still trusts you and what you have to say.”

“Not like poor Harry.”

“We’ve already run the risks, we just need you to agree.”

“And besides, if this goes well, our business reputation might not be the only thing to be recovered.”

Cedric honestly didn’t care about his reputation or how popular he was – he just didn’t want to lose his friends, either through their disbelief or from them being in danger. But it was also in his nature to help his friends, and the Weasley Twins, while wily, unpredictable and wild, definitely had the potential to be friends. And they needed his help – wanted his help, despite the risks to their dream by trusting its advocacy to someone whose social standing had been scorched by the media.

There was a familiar surge of loyalty and determination – it felt like running a perfect drill after weeks of practice with his entire Quidditch team. It felt like deciding that not only he, but Harry and Nico were going to escape the graveyard all over again.

“Alright,” Cedric said and just before the twins could respond he added something else, partially because he knew their surprised reaction would be a rare and treasured sight, “And you can put down half my Triwizard earnings as an investment.”

As anticipated, their eyebrows flew up and their mouths dropped open, truly speechless. They stayed like that for a long moment before finally Fred broke out of his shock, “250 Galleons?!”

George looked at him, “You sure, Diggory?”

Cedric smiled, then shrugged, “What else am I gonna do with it?”

There was a moment before each of his hands was grasped by a jubilant twin in a vigorous handshake.

“This looks like the start of a glorious friendship.”

Cedric couldn’t help but laugh. Indeed it did. Matt was going to love this story when he told him.

The establishment of their new and glorious friendship was interrupted fairly swiftly however by a knock on the door before Mr. Weasley’s head poked through.

“Boys, Cedric, good to see you’re all getting along,” there was a somewhat hasty tone that had Cedric straightening and Fred and George directing curious glances at their father. Before either of them could interrupt, however, Mr. Weasley had already moved on, “Sorry to break this all up, but a meeting has just been called and Cedric, you were specifically asked for.”

Cedric blinked, “Uh, sure.” He knew that his admittance into the meetings had been a point of contention among the Order, and he had been under the impression that he would only be called on if they needed some information he could provide from the night in the graveyard. Suddenly feeling a sense of urgency, Cedric stood, nodded quickly to the twins and followed a cautious-looking Mr. Weasley down into the dining room where the Order meetings were apparently taking place.

It seemed that while he had been held hostage by Fred and George half the Order had used the Floo Network to arrive, since Mrs. Weasley was fluttering around, gathering chairs, while Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Sturgis Podmore and Professor Dumbledore all sat around the table. He and Mr. Weasley arrived just in time to hear Mrs. Weasley ask if she should go and fetch the others in the house.

“There’s no need for that, Molly. I believe Minerva will be able to advise them. She has always preferred apparition to Floo travel.” It was impossible to tell if the twinkle in his eyes was natural or the result of recollecting a particular story attached to the comment.

“What is this meeting about anyway, Albus?” It was almost uncanny how similar the real Moody appeared to be in comparison to the deranged Polyjuiced Death Eater. Both their default emotions in just about any situation appeared to be gruff irritation.

“Easy, Alastor,” Dumbledore chided in a friendly manner, his eye on the door that connected the dining room to the kitchen, “I believe our current vexation and reason for meeting will become clear very soon.”

It was then that Mrs. Weasley noticed his presence and began to frown disapprovingly. She was perhaps the most vocal dissenter of his admittance to the Order. Luckily, Dumbledore appeared to also notice her. “Molly, I believe that Mr. Diggory’s presence in this meeting is essential.” Mrs. Weasley huffed, but didn’t comment. A moment later they were all distracted by the opening of the kitchen door and the brightly laughing face of Sirius Black, which was a welcome change to the morose figure he had been earlier.

Sirius staggered into the dining room, still laughing, and was promptly followed by one Remus Lupin who looked as though he had just seen something hilarious but wasn’t sure how to react. Professors Snape and McGonagall came after them, seeming quietly devastated and utterly perplexed, respectively, then Tonks managed to dart in, grinning, just on their heels, and after her…

Cedric had only just sat down, but he leapt up, chair clattering behind him.

Harry- and Nico.

He didn’t pay attention to the variety of surprised exclamations behind him – it was all background noise as his legs strode towards the two boys who he had stood with during his most terrifying experience. He didn’t stop to pause or say hello, just swept the nearest – Harry – into an embrace, reaching out behind him and pulling Nico in too.

Harry was definitely surprised by the move, but Cedric felt his arms come up in a genuine reciprocation. He felt Nico sigh, but the younger boy didn’t pull away, so Cedric held them both for another second before releasing them and giving a smile. Harry smiled back and Nico, Nico rolled his eyes and shook his head fondly.

“Glad to see you didn’t die an unfortunate and untimely death.”

Nico looked at him, something amused in those dark, dark eyes, “It wasn’t for lack of trying on anyone else’s part.” He looked behind Cedric then, glanced once more at both Cedric and Harry, and stepped forward, leaving them at his back. They exchanged a look of their own and stayed right where they were.

~0~0~0~0~0~

The entire world existed in the dark, dark stone. At least, it seemed like it did.

Flashes of light flew and blasted through the air, off the walls, lightening shadows or disappearing in them. Consuming or being consumed. There were shouts – cries of words and of battles – but it was all muffled. Drowned by the whispers that belonged to nothing but the mind and the arch and sent chills running through every living thing that heard them.

The dark, dark stone surrounded it all, encased it all, claimed it all. Tiny shifts and tremors ran through the ground and… he was kneeling. Staring at the stone arch with the tattered curtain, dread and hope blending and mixing in his head and while the fear was killing him, it was the only thing that stood in the way of the loss. While he still feared, there was hope and the loss couldn’t touch him.

It couldn’t touch him-

It couldn’t touch him-

It couldn’t touch-

It couldn’t-

Dark, dark eyes, so sad and hopeful and dead and alive. So much pain and madness and anger. Such precious love and freedom and-

How would he find the dark, dark eyes in a world of dark, dark stone?

When his fear finally died, then came the loss.

Will awoke with a gasp.

“Nico!”

Chapter Text

Nico had the awful feeling that his acquaintance with Cedric was going to result in a lot of hugs from the older boy. It was the last random thought that popped into his head as he stood forward to face the Order. Cedric and Harry remained at his back as though to either back him up or pull him with them in a retreat. He almost smiled a little in memory of the graveyard, where they had orchestrated their escape via portkey to include him, and he recognised that either way they would not leave him out to dry.

Not that he needed that kind of support here. After all, traipsing into a semi-secret organisation’s hidden lair unexpectedly had nothing on being the first Greek to walk into a Roman camp in years, nor on his admittedly less than cleverly conceived plan to frisk the edges of Tartarus and, hey, he’d survived both of those-

(Did you?)

-although the sentiment was appreciated. A year ago, he would have recoiled from the prospect, but his relationships with Reyna, Jason, Will and even Coach Hedge had opened him up to accepting assistance from others. Most of the time.

…Some of the time. (He was working on it.)

“How could they possibly have found their way here without some form of Dark magic we have no knowledge of!?” The yelling hadn’t yet quelled since he and Harry had walked into the room.

“Di Angelo has already proved that the transportation wards at the castle impose no barrier to him,” Snape replied firmly, as if in agreeance with the first statement made by who Nico recognised to be Mad-Eye Moody.

His electric-blue eye had been trained on him the moment he stepped into the room, but at Snape’s seeming confirmation of his suspicions his regular eye flashed and there was soon a threatening wand being aimed at him.

“Uh, Moody, do you maybe want to not start a stand-off with some kid with unknown origins to match his unknown powers in the middle of my dining room?” Black queried and Nico wondered again at both his story and what exactly his connection was to the house, other than being its seemingly-reluctant owner. “I mean, if you do break out in a fight, could you at least try and destroy anything that would have appealed to my family?”

A plump, red-headed woman yelled in outrage, “Alastor! He’s only a boy! Put your wand down!”

“He could very well be a spy, Molly! And the fact that he was able to get in already proves that he’s a security risk!”

“I think, Alastor, that we may have a better chance at assuaging all our fears if we have this discussion without weapons,” the old, powerful voice gently shut down anyone else before they could speak, and Nico recognised the Headmaster from two weeks ago, Albus Dumbledore, who’d been making a lot of headlines lately in what he could tell was a smear campaign, and who was supposedly the leader of the Order. The way everyone stopped and looked to him as he spoke just about confirmed those rumours.

“To be fair, this is pretty much the closest thing I’ve encountered to reasonable caution since showing up, unannounced, in the headquarters of your secret vigilante organisation,” Nico deadpanned, to the various reactions of surprise, amusement and embarrassment held by those around the long table. Nico looked straight at Harry, “To be completely honest, I was not expecting a ‘can-do’ attitude to get us this far. I was completely winging this whole thing and it worked way too well.”

There. That seemed to have sufficiently bewildered and unbalanced mostly everyone at the table, and it was fascinating to watch Moody try and decide whether he was pleased or even more suspicious that he had commented on their lack of aggressive security. From the way Black, Lupin and McGonagall were watching the grizzled mage, it appeared as though they agreed with his assessment of the entertainment value.

Finally, Dumbledore, who had also paused in apparent surprise at his unexpected remark, tried once again to defuse the situation.

“Be that as it may,” the piercing blue eyes that passed over Nico held a curious twinkle, “I believe that this conversation has been a while in the making and will be significantly more productive and enlightening with the absence of threats.” He then stared, long and hard, at Moody until the other mage finally relented, grumbling harshly as he slowly lowered his wand. Dumbledore did an admirable job of ignoring the vicious glare that was sent his way by his agent (just as Nico resolved to ignore the suspicious squint he received), and as soon as the wand was out of sight the old mage gave a happy smile. “Wonderful,” he gave a twinkling glance at Nico, Cedric and Harry, “now, if you three would take a seat, there is a lot I believe should be discussed, and quite a few concerns to be allayed.”

Nico took a half-second to observe the layout in front of him. The Order was arranged around one of the far ends of a pretentiously long dining table that filled a lot of the room and was perpendicular to the entryway that they had just entered. He threw another glance back at Harry and Cedric and noted that the former seemed quite bemused by his first glimpse of the dynamics of the Order, while the latter was looking at him as though wondering what was about to happen. Turning back to the table, Nico met Dumbledore’s eyes and gave the slightest inclination of his head to show his acceptance of the offer, before proceeding to walk over to the table.

To be entirely honest, Nico just wanted to see how the adults before him would react to a bit of basic unorthodoxy, so instead of claiming a seat Nico leapt onto the table, pausing only to nudge the salt and pepper shakers out of the way, and sat cross-legged, facing everyone with a height advantage, if nothing else. He left about a half-metre’s distance between himself and the nearest occupied seat, which was taken by Snape, who looked like Nico had just drowned his pet plant in front of him.

In the moment of incredulous silence that followed, Nico glanced back at the boys, shrugging at their looks before they decided to follow him over and take the seats next to Tonks. He then returned his attention to the Order, taking a moment to absorb the general appalled/shocked gaping that his move had elicited, although Black provided a splitting grin that told Nico he both knew and approved of his reasons behind the motion.

Dumbledore was seated clearly at the end of the table and now opposite himself, to his right there was a blond man Nico didn’t know, Moody, a red-headed pair, and a tall man in the detective – Auror – robes that Nico thought he might’ve seen around the Ministry once. Next to him sat Snape, who he guessed had chosen the seat to be as far away from Black and Lupin as possible. The left-hand set of Dumbledore’s agents were made up of McGonagall, sitting primly beside the old man, Lupin, Black – who had grabbed Cedric’s rogue chair and turned it around so he was sitting on it backwards – and Tonks. Beside her were Cedric and Harry.

Only just over half the seats at the table had been filled and Nico wondered how many people were absent from the meeting.

“My name is Nico di Angelo, and basically my deal is that, while chilling in a graveyard, I somehow got roped into preventing a resurrection-slash-assassination plot, which, clearly, was only semi-successful, since I am standing in your secret hideout. So, I’m here to help with bringing down the off-brand Hitler and his cult following of knock-off Nazis.”

To their credit, the only people who were left stunned and blinking at the introduction and its attachment were the ones who hadn’t heard similar stuff from him before, with the exception of Black, who just barked out a series of laughs, and Lupin, who seemed to be adapting rather quickly to Nico and tried to disguise his own laugh as a cough, but everyone who looked – which was limited to just Nico, really – could see the smile curling out behind his fist.

Dumbledore gave a slight pause – to give those inexperienced the time to recover – before trying to speak.

“I am glad to see you again, Mr. di Angelo, and I must say that your appearance here with Harry is quite as unexpected as your arrival at Hogwarts.”

Nico shrugged at the light examination, “At least I’m not getting predictable.”

There was an uptick of the old mage’s lips at that, almost imperceptibly so, “No, I must say you aren’t. However, I do believe there is a lot we need to discuss, and a number of answers that we need you to provide.”

Dumbledore paused here, as though waiting for a sarcastic bite in avoidance, or a reluctant agreeance, but since that was part of the reason he’d shown up that day, Nico just quirked a brow and dipped his head.

“Now that we’ve finally got that sorted,” Moody’s voice cut through, his mismatched eyes fixed on Nico in a glare, “how about we start with how you managed to find this place, and how you broke through the Hogwarts wards?”

Dumbledore shot his man a disapproving look for the snarled interjection, but apparently realised that the retired Auror would only keep returning to that point if it wasn’t addressed soon. Snape’s dark eyes were set on him intently and Nico remembered Black’s words about the professor sending himself half-mad trying to discover how he had transported himself out of Hogwarts. They were fair questions, too, considering the anti-apparition wards could one day be the only thing standing between Hogwarts and an attack.

“It’s called Shadow Travel.”

There was a multitude of blinks around the table at the entirely unfamiliar name. There also appeared to be a few wary looks.

“It does what the name suggests; allowing me to transport myself from one shadow to another.”

Dumbledore looked extremely curious, “I’ve never heard of such an ability.”

Nico looked at him, “It’s not exactly common, but I’ve always had an affinity for shadows and darkness. You could say that it’s my domain.”

(But not always)

The unease that his first mentions of shadows had generated seemed to grow further on a few faces at that statement. A chance glance at Cedric showed the older boy staring at him in stressed incredulity. Harry was looking at Cedric in concern.

“You’re umbrakinetic?” The question was asked, slow and cautious, by the tall Auror whose face, to his credit, gave nothing away about his thoughts on the possibility. Cedric made a tiny noise like he was dying that had Black raise an eyebrow.

“Yep.” The answer had a lot of exchanging glances being thrown and more than a few at the table appeared to be quite uncomfortable with the revelation. A tiny thunk alerted him to Cedric’s head meeting the table.

“Huh. That explains why Diggory over there was so cagey about the details of your escape from the Death Eaters.”

Everyone turned to look at said Diggory.

“Ugh.” His head didn’t raise form the table.

“Oh. Sorry, Cedric,” Nico apologised, realising that the older boy had likely spent the better part of his acquaintance with the Order trying to protect the nature of Nico’s powers from them. It was rather heart-warming, actually, even if it hadn’t been necessary.

Everyone turned back to him.

“That’s Dark magic,” The red-headed man stated, apparently unsure about how he felt about that.

Nico stared at him, “Well, yeah. Shadows are literally just patches of darkness.”

For some reason that seemed to take everyone aback, as though they hadn’t expected such an obvious, factual answer.

“How did you come to learn this ability?” Dumbledore questioned. “I know of no schools that allow their students to learn such branches of magic.”

“It’s genetic. Don’t worry about the wards. The only other people that I know can shadow travel – and I know a lot about the subject – are… well, if you somehow manage to make an enemy out of them, then you’ll have bigger problems to piss yourself over than that.”

…Ok, to be fair, that had sounded a lot better in his head.

While half the table stared at him in incredulous horror, the others appeared to break out in furious whispers. Molly, the red-headed woman, was almost as easy to pick out as Moody.

“He’s just admitted to being practiced in Dark magic! And it sounds like he’s just a novice! What if You-Know-Who tries to recruit the others he just mentioned!? He’s just a child, but already he can do things we have no idea was possible!”

“Molly’s right, Albus. I see we bring him down and interrogate him with veritaserum!”

“I appreciate your concerns, Molly, Alastor, however I do not believe it is wise to jump to conclusions. Nico di Angelo is here of his own free will, after all. I don’t know how he found us, or what the full extent of his capabilities is, but I do not believe him to be an enemy at this time. It would be best, I feel, to finish our conversation before forming judgements.”

And then there was Cedric bemoaning to Harry while Nico pretended he couldn’t hear.

“I cannot believe he just told Headmaster Dumbledore, half our professors, Mad-Eye Moody and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix that he’s umbrakinetic. I managed to hide that for weeks, panicking that someone would see through my story, and he just up and tells them!”

“What’s wrong with umbrakinesis?”

There was a sigh, “It’s… well, it’s Dark magic…”

“But-”

The sound of a very distinctive throat clearing had everyone shut up and turn to Professor McGonagall – half of those present as though it was an ingrained reaction.

“If we are all quite done, I believe that chattering in our own corners is counter-productive to the purpose of this meeting?” The Scottish brogue bordered on the edge of legendary in terms of effectively communicating contempt.

“Minerva is, as ever, correct,” Dumbledore responded, and really, thank her for that. Then the old man sighed. “With that said, however-”

“He’s a Dark wizard, Albus!” Moody burst through Dumbledore’s calm tones.

The red-headed man nodded in agreement, “I have to agree; we all know what Dark magic is capable of – the damage it can do. It’s too dangerous to trust a wizard who dabbles in such arts.”

Nico, who had found that watching the back-and-forth between the more conservative of Dumbledore’s agents swiftly lost its entertainment value when they simply repeated the same points, sighed deeply and rested his cheek on a fist. He put on a show of lazy boredom and decided to move the topic along a little.

“You! Ginger dude! Tell me, why are you a mage?”

The ginger dude in question appeared quite startled at being addressed directly and he floundered for a moment before recovering.

“What do you mean?” The question was tinged with a wariness, but nothing as paranoid as the likes of Moody.

“What makes you a mage? What makes anyone magical?”

It was obvious that he was confused, and a glance around the table showed that many were equally unsure at what point Nico was trying to make. To the man’s credit, however, he answered the question. “It… We’re born with it.”

“Ok, so you and your community are all born with a connection to magic; it’s not something you have a say in or that you can control?”

There were more than a few frowns around the table now, but when Nico’s eyes slid over Dumbledore, he caught something like pleased interest in his blue eyes that led him to believe that the old headmaster had a good idea of where he was going. He felt his lips twist slightly in acknowledgement that he was fairly certain was caught.

“Why did normal people hate mages in the Middle Ages? Or even now, in the much rarer occasions when their discovery goes poorly?”

The sudden change of topic was jarring to most of the mages before him, but Nico wasn’t surprised by that.

“Because they’re scared,” every head swivelled to Tonks, who only blushed a little at the sudden attention. “Or they’re resentful, or jealous. There can be any number of reasons, but a lot of the time it comes down to that, or fear of things they don’t understand.”

“Amen to that,” Black interjected. “I’ve never met a species, magical or otherwise, that didn’t fear the unknown to some extent. I’d even say it’s instinctual on some level, and what are our instinctual responses to fear?”

“Flight or fight,” Lupin finished, almost automatically.

Nico smirked, “Do you think fight, or rather exterminate, was a justified response by the people who decided to murder magi based only on fear of what they are?”

There was silence this time.

“Something they had no more choice in than you did? Unless any of you were able to consciously genetically modify yourself at your conception, in which case please speak up now.” He waited a beat before continuing, “I didn’t get to pick my genetic abilities either, for the record. I control shadows because I can – because it’s a power that I was born with, same as you cast magic because it’s an ability you were born with. And if you’re sitting in this particular meeting, I highly doubt you believe in judging your own kind based on whether or not they have magic, but rather on what they use it for.

“In other words,” and here Nico made direct eye contact with the red-headed man, “form your opinion not on what I am, but what I do. Because I am sick and tired of swimming against the current of other people’s issues.”

There was no intensity behind the words – not like there would have been just a few months ago, before he had realised that Will, Reyna and Coach Hedge, Jason and Percy and Annabeth and many others from both camps could accept him. Before he realised that he could accept himself, for his parentage and abilities at the very least. So, when he spoke, it didn’t sound like he was chafing against an injustice. Just that he was speaking a truth. Even so, the silence from before was maintained for a full few seconds, probably due to the processing of his words.

“Well, that sounds fair enough,” Black shattered the heavy mood, seemingly completely unaware of it. Nico figured that that particular mage was probably more impressed by the way that Nico had delivered his point, rather than the point itself. In fact, he thought that Lupin and Cedric were in similar boats to him.

“I have to agree there,” Lupin stated, looking pointedly at all sitting at the table. Nico supposed he was reminding everyone of his condition, which was a pretty effective display of their judgement of him for who and not what he was. It at least seemed to sway Tonks and a few of the others, while McGonagall, the Auror and the blond man all looked thoughtful. The red-headed man was looking at Nico with a strange expression that he guessed was the result of him testing Nico’s words against everything he had believed to be true about Dark magic in the past. Fair enough.

“Speaking of your actions,” Dumbledore snapped up everyone’s attention once more, “you saved young Harry and Cedric, by their account, from Voldemort and his followers, then again from Crouch Jr. You have certainly done us a great service with these actions, but what you have yet to reveal is why. Why you got involved in the first place. Furthermore, there is the question of what you have been doing in the weeks since Voldemort’s rise, and the reason behind your bringing Harry to us.”

“And how he not only knew of us, but managed to show up on the doorstep of our headquarters – a location that is protected by the Fidelius that you are the Secret Keeper for,” there was a barely restrained venom in Snape’s addition. He sounded really salty about that.

Dumbledore nodded his head graciously, “Ah, that too is a compelling query.”

Well thank the gods we’re finally getting somewhere! Sort of.

Nico brought his head off his fist, surveyed the table once, and began to speak.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Sirius was having a truly spectacular day.

Ok, sure, maybe it hadn’t started great, what with his attempts at maintaining a cheerful spirit slowly but surely succumbing to the terrible, oppressive, evil weight of his family’s house.

(Honestly, sometimes he wondered if he wasn’t mad. If he wasn’t still in Azkaban, and everything he was experiencing was just the memories of his deranged past coupled with his own delusions. It wouldn’t really surprise him, truth be told.)

Even Moony’s presence hadn’t been enough to dispel the sickness of his past, surrounding him, choking him, but he tried to stay aware. He knew his last remaining best friend felt unfair guilt for what had happened to him, and he was doing his best to not allow it to worsen with his obvious damage.

He couldn’t always help it – especially not here – but when he slipped up, he always blamed it on his memories of his family. He knew it didn’t always work; that Remus knew that half the times he was lost in his head it was due to his past in Azkaban and the things the dementors and his own solitude had inflicted on his mind.

A part of him – that he tried not to acknowledge – was worried, frightened, that one day Remus, who was not bound to this… hellish site as he was, would leave and only return when he had to for Order business. It wasn’t that he thought that his friend would decide that his problems were too much of a burden for him to handle and abandon him; he knew he’d never do that. But he was scared of the possibility that if he didn’t manage to pull himself together when the other Marauder was around, then Moony’s self-inflicted guilt would lead to the man convincing himself that Sirius would be better off with him around less.

It was a small fear – one he didn’t really think Moony would ever enact – but it was enough to spur him to at least try and stay afloat in the sea of Dark madness and hatred that his ‘home’ never failed to flood him with. He couldn’t really explain it. The others, he knew, were uneased about the creepiness of Grimmauld Place, but they all put it down to disturbing décor and knowledge of what it all stood for. He was also aware that they blamed his own hatred of the house on years of trauma and abuse taking place there. They weren’t wrong, exactly, but they also weren’t entirely right.

He could feel the malice embedded in the walls, dripping from the ceilings and infecting every artefact of his family’s. When he told them that the house was evil, he wasn’t just referring to his memories or the atrociousness of the décor. Of course, no one ever quite seemed to take him seriously or understand what he meant on that account. He didn’t really blame them – they all saw a traumatised madman whose years in Azkaban were unlikely to have lessened said madness, which was possibly inherited from his pure-blooded, inbred family of psychotic murderers, whose home he had been forced to return to, heedless of the years of trauma that had taken place there for him – but it didn’t do much to make him feel less isolated.

So really, he didn’t see much difference between being trapped in his childhood home and being a prisoner of Azkaban. He was about as useful in both locations, too.

And wasn’t that a good explanation for his near-constant depression?

But when he looked up from his sprawled wallowing upon the kitchen bench to see Harry, his dearest godson, Sirius’ mood turned around fast. Harry - the son of James and Lily, the little baby that had grown into a boy who was strong and kind, the embodiment of the best parts of his parents but with something precious that was all his own – was the most important thing in the world, not that there was a whole lot of it left for Sirius.

Seeing the boy that he had loved from the moment James had told him of Lily’s pregnancy had drawn him out of the torments of his own mind. Then, of course, his day had got even better. Nico di Angelo was something else; something he had never quite seen before, but that he had recognised instantly. There was suffering, blame and madness in those dark, dark eyes. It was like gazing into an interactive mirror. What was more was that he found the same recognition there as well.

He might have pitied him – having the same look in his eyes as he… Sirius wouldn’t wish that on any kid. But then, he’d been that kid once. And he was revolted at anyone’s pity for his life. Yeah, it was shit, but it was still his and nothing was going to change that through pity.

So he went with it. Di Angelo was a snarky, quick thing, with a witty attitude and devil-may-care countenance that spoke of more experience than anyone so young should have. Plus, he completely managed to mess with Snape, so that was another point in his favour. It might’ve been disturbing to see similar ghosts and masks on the face of a kid, but the familiarity of it all ended up winning out.

And in the end, he wasn’t even that surprised by the revelation that the kid was an umbrakinetic. He’d known Cedric had been hiding something whenever he was asked to retell all his information on the events of the Third Task. It was like looking at himself and the other Marauders when they were in school and asked about Remus’ frequent absences and apparent illnesses, except a lot more obvious.

Sirius had a lot of experience with a lot of areas of magic, what with his upbringing, his inventive years at school, and then fighting a war. He’d been exposed to more than his fair share of Dark curses; whether he cast them, or they were used on him. He knew he had quite a lot of controversial opinions about the limits the Order placed on themselves about what they could cast, though he never did much more than hint at them (the first time because he knew everyone was already suspicious of his last name and this time because everyone already thought he was a crackpot), and he honestly didn’t begrudge the kid’s umbrakinetics. He was good enough with them that he managed to beat out fully trained, murderous Dark wizards, so why not use them? He’d saved his godson after all, as well as Cedric – who he’d grown quite fond of.

He knew that the Order would have objections to the use of Dark magic, and he understood why. Propaganda and instilled family values did a hell of a job at combatting logic, and the simple fact of the matter was that just as most of the Dark families taught their children that the Light was weak and that muggles carried a taint, the majority of the people in the Order had spent their lives being taught by their parents, their professors, their government, their books, that Dark magic was evil and corrupting.

Power was corrupting. That was the real conspiracy – whether it was political, personal, magical, financial or whatever else, power corrupted easier than anything. The reason that power in the form of Dark magic was so vilified – aside from the whole theme of light-vs-dark being so well inserted into nearly every society - was because it wasn’t understood. Just as how not everyone was born with magic, not everyone could effectively cast Dark magic, whether they found the studies too gruelling and demanding, or their cores just not suited to it.

He found it ironic that he, the more-than-likely madman, was the only one to see so clearly through the bullshit of the ‘generally accepted opinions’ held by both sides of the fence. (It was one of the reasons he was able to get on so well with James – even as a kid, James had more of an open mind about magic, if not society.) But maybe he really was just crazy.

“Ah, that too is a compelling query,” Dumbledore added after Snape’s comment. Sirius watched as the di Angelo enigma pulled his head away from where it had been lazily resting on his fist, giving another glance around the table at each of the Order members assembled.

“It’s not that hard to pin down the ‘whys’ behind my interference in Magical England,” di Angelo was calm, his charming sarcasm now gone as though rewarding the more resistant members of the Order for moving on from the shadow thing. Sirius thought it was quite effective, the tonal change from irreverent to serious distracting the previously fuming agents. “Deciding to save the lives of two teenage boys from a being that was choking the air around him with an aura of foulness was hardly difficult. I happened to be there, so I helped.”

Mad-Eye scoffed a little, “As simple as that, is it?”

Di Angelo looked at him and confirmed, “Simple as that.”

Kingsley shook his head at that, “And you just so happened to be in the right place at the right time to rescue Harry Potter from the most feared Dark Lord of all time, just as he resurrected?”

The kid paused for a moment, then shrugged, “Yep. Pretty much, except, I didn’t know I was saving a national icon at the time,” he threw a glance at Harry, who rolled his eyes.

“How do you expect us to believe that?” Arthur put in, face incredulous, “There’s not a witch or wizard in England who wouldn’t recognise Harry on sight!?”

Di Angelo raised a brow, “Do I look like a local to you?”

No one said anything for a moment. Sirius didn’t think any of them had assumed he was from Britain, but Arthur’s scepticism wasn’t unwarranted with the strangeness of the boy.

“Where are you from?” He ended up asking, realising he was really curious. “Your name’s Italian, and there’s some of that in your voice, but that is some weird sort of hybrid accent you’ve got.”

The teen briefly looked at him, “Italian, a bit of Greek, but most of my life’s been spent in the US.”

Huh, ok then. He wondered at the ratio of that, since he could readily tell that the kid was no one anything.

“I believe we may be getting off track again,” Professor Minnie interrupted the increasingly-veering conversation, prompting Dumbledore to abandon his thoughtful look in place of once again steering the conversation.

“Yes, thank you again, Minerva.” He looked directly at di Angelo, “I believe the reasons behind your involvement in the events during and after the Third Task are somewhat clear. Enough so, at least,” the old wizard’s voice took a slightly higher power as he gave Mad-Eye a warning glance as the retired Auror opened his mouth, “that we may move on. I am more interested in your continued activities after the immediate danger had passed. Why have you made this fight your own.”

“Because I can,” the kid returned Dumbledore’s direct look. “Why else? What else? I’m willing and capable, and there’s a resurrected fascist leader about to make a bid for power so he can go back to purging or enslaving people as he wishes. It doesn’t matter where this war is taking place – that’s not the kind of fight I’m willing to stay neutral in.”

Watching this kid whose conviction and nerve were strong and balanced enough to allow him to meet Dumbledore’s gaze like he was made it impossible for Sirius to be unimpressed. He couldn’t help but swing his head back and forward to watch the two of them stare at each other in their addresses. He noted that Harry, Cedric and his baby cousin were all doing the same thing. Sturgis Podmore was staring in astonished awe, while everyone else’s gazes were either intently focused, or somewhere distant.

The scene ended when Molly Weasley had finally had enough, shaking her head in some kind of despair, “You’re still just a child…”

Dumbledore shook his head, awakened from the previous moment, “Molly is right in this. I’ve no doubt that you are an incredible and intelligent young man, and very powerful in your own right, however war is not the same as a scheme or a battle.”

It was funny, really, how Sirius couldn’t help but think that despite the direction the words seemed to be leading, it felt more like a warning and confirmation than a denial. The kid was powerful. Useful. And, after all, they were preparing for a war.

But maybe he was the only one to think so.

Or maybe not.

A strange (familiar) expression crossed di Angelo’s face then, his lips twisting in something like a small smile (with a slight touch of a snarl). It was like something remembered, but it was hidden well.

“I know that better than most,” and Sirius couldn’t help unleashing his own, dark smile, for the truth of that alone.

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean,” poor, ignorant Snape. So slow on the uptake.

Di Angelo just smiled. “I’ve been around war my whole life. I was just a silent witness to its effects on a home front as a child, though that’s nothing special. But I’ve also been a soldier during battle, a prisoner of war, an agent moving in the background, and an ambassador between two groups with an ancient hatred. This was my life from when I was ten, and I did most of it alone.

“That’s what I’ve been doing the last fortnight. Gathering intelligence, getting a background on everything I can for the war that is most definitely on its way here. Honestly, I would have preferred to have more time to research before making any move, but moving too slowly would be a death sentence. Learning is all well and good, but establishing is key right now. The albino snake-twat’s forces and influences are growing, and anyone who opposes him… now’s the time to get our own alliances and networks.”

“And that’s why you came today,” Sirius put in, and every eye turned to him. “Early enough to establish contact and maybe lay the groundwork for a possible alliance, but not so early that you know nothing beyond us.”

Arthur frowned, “You’re looking to join the Order?”

“As of now? Nope. I’m just here to meet y’all. Establish contact, make it clear I’m not a neo-Nazi and that I’m going to be sticking around for a while – in the country, but also with them,” he jerked his head at Harry and Cedric. “I’m not looking for approval, permission or even a blessing, but I think it’d be better if we didn’t rule each other out as allies on principle.”

There was a beat wherein everyone looked to Dumbledore to see how he’d react, but his normally twinkling blue eyes were now clouded in thought.

“If it helps,” Cedric’s voice, slightly hesitant but pushing on, garnered all the free attention left, “I know I’m not really, uh, inducted yet, or anything, but I do think this is a good idea. Nico saved my life – he saved both of us, but the first thing we saw of him was when he blocked the killing curse that was aimed at me. Because I was ‘the spare.’”

There was something both chilling and humbling about hearing that from the mouth of the one who would’ve been the first victim of the re-emergence of this war that had been a part of Sirius’ whole life. He could see that Arthur, Minnie and Sturgis all appeared to be affected by the words, and Molly Weasley naturally softened.

“Cedric, dear, I understand that you – and you as well, Harry,” she added as Sirius’ godson opened his mouth. “You both experienced a terrifying ordeal where you had to rely on each other, but you’re still so young-”

Sirius thought that Molly was probably about to say more to placate the youth in the room, but the lull in her last word – which was probably for effect – gave Cedric an opening to argue without making it seem like he was interrupting. He had to give the kid points for tact.

“With all due respect, Mrs. Weasley – Molly,” he corrected earnestly, “but that’s precisely the reason I need to speak. This is a civil war. The threat we face isn’t something outward, that our parents and elders can protect us from. It is us; it stands among us, beside us, behind us. The destinies of the people I learn, play and live with, are to kill each other. You-Know-Who won’t hesitate to recruit from us, just as he didn’t hesitate to kill us, and I doubt he will hesitate to enslave us.”

Well, shit. That’s twice in one meeting that some exponentially verbose kids had silenced everyone with a very interestingly insightful speech on the nature of the world.

“He’s right,” Moony said, pulling eyes towards him and working with the momentum Cedric had gathered. “This war among our own people, it’s theirs as much as ours. I’m not saying that we should invite anyone underage to fight or plan a war, but their opinions should be heard when they’re offered.”

Molly seemed doubtful and uncertain, which Sirius knew was because all of her children were the sort to ‘get involved’ – even Percy had left to place himself in politics – but she didn’t say anything.

“Our children can only make peace if they know what their parents are fighting against and what they are fighting for,” Dumbledore put forward, a twinkling smile directed at Cedric.

“And what it will cost,” di Angelo added, and there was something dark and real in his voice that was proof more than anything else that he was indeed familiar with war.

There was another moment of pause from everyone as that was digested, but di Angelo was the next to claim the new direction.

He pulled out a scrap of parchment and offered it to Dumbledore who, in a casual display of wandless magic, summoned it so it whirled through the air and into his hand. After glancing at the slip, he turned his gaze back to the other end of the gathering.

“Well, this explains how you and Harry were able to find your way to Grimmauld Place.”

He held up the parchment to reveal, in the Headmaster’s own handwriting, the written location of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius heard more than a few startled exclamations.

“How did you come by this,” the old wizard asked, his voice inscrutable.

“An associate delivered it to me not long after I decided to track you all down. I don’t know exactly how they retrieved it, but they are extremely resourceful and it is quite likely that nothing would have been capable of stopping them.” The way di Angelo held Dumbledore’s gaze to imply that not even the famed wizard would have been capable of preventing the theft was extraordinarily chilling. “They won’t do it again; they only act on the wish of their employer, and their employer has no interest in Magical Britain’s affairs, so this was done as a favour to me. A favour that would not be repeated with anyone else. This location will never again be discovered the way I found it.”

You could hear a pin drop, the room was so utterly silent. It stayed like that for several countless seconds, until the parchment in Dumbledore’s hand burst into flame.

“I believe you.” There was apparent shock at their leader’s proclamations, but Dumbledore ignored it all. “We will work on improving our security – in all areas – and we will attempt to find ways to counteract your abilities as I cannot trust that you are the only one with such unexplained powers, and the next one we meet might not be so benevolent to us as yourself, but I believe you.”

Di Angelo nodded, “I hadn’t expected anything less, but I will ask that you keep the advantages of my uncontested transport capabilities in mind when you are attempting to design blocks.”

Dumbledore – naturally – only smiled at the request, “You may trust that I will not, Mr. di Angelo. I suspect that there will be many surprising talents of yours that I will need to keep in mind.”

The kid shrugged, “Well, I doubt anyone would believe me if I disputed that at this point.”

Sirius grinned. It seemed like this wretched house finally had something to sufficiently distract its poor occupants.

Chapter Text

Nico did have to admit that this initial meeting with the Order was going better than he should have expected, at least in terms of actually opening a dialogue with the group. That, however, was not quite sufficient at stemming the pooling frustration he felt at dealing with the magi.

“So. Let’s talk war. Most of my intel comes from Voldemort’s-” Nico paused in surprise as the majority of those at the table collectively flinched or gasped. “What?”

There was a second of shifty looks being exchanged around the table while Dumbledore observes quietly before the blonde man finally spoke up. “It… It’s a taboo. To say his name.”

Nico frowned at that. He had noticed over the last couple of weeks that anyone who he questioned directly immediately became extremely paranoid and frightened, but he had put that down to natural nervousness at speaking of such a dangerous topic. “Why is that?”

The man didn’t quite seem to know how to respond to that, but he was saved from trying by the old man speaking.

“There are many who believe that speaking his name aloud gives him power. Almost everyone in the country will only refer to him by other monikers. It is quite the cultural phenomenon.”

Nico nodded in slow consideration, “Names do have power. I wouldn’t have thought that someone so close to human could be invoked like that though. Has he cast some kind of magic that lets him draw power from his name? Or, wait, do you mean magical or psychological power?”

Moody raised his brows, apparently surprised by that line of thinking. “Voldie cast a taboo curse in the last war. Let his Death Eaters pinpoint the location of anyone daring to use his name. Lots of brave people were wiped out by groups of the buggers apparating in unexpectedly and attacking like that.”

“He can’t pull that kind of magic now, though,” Black put in thoughtfully. “Not only would it blow the cover he’s trying to keep and waste his current fighting wizards, but the public fear of him isn’t enough at the moment for him to start that ritual in the first place.”

“How did that work if someone in a different country said his name? I know there are some distance limitations on apparition, but European countries are pretty close together. Did other magical communities get involved?”

Black shook his head, “Nah. Voldemort had plenty of foreign recruits over illegally, but the taboo didn’t cross Britain’s borders since he was mainly focused on securing England at that point and hadn’t quite become the terror anywhere else. The taboo is self-sustaining and only effective as long as the fear is strong enough to maintain. It also didn’t hurt that we’re an island.”

Lupin nodded. “There’s also the fact that to help alleviate illegal immigration in the wizarding countries there are anti-apparition boundaries surrounding certain territories. They’re easy enough to cross, but it does stop straight apparition across most countries’ borders.”

“Well, that’s another advantage of Shadow Travel, then. So basically: Magical Britain has a Pavlovian flinch-response to hearing the guy’s name.” Nico noted the uncomfortable looks on the faces of some of the people around the table, but he was surprised that most of that seemed to be directed at Black.

Moody just shrugged then nodded.

“Great. Anyway, pretty much all my useful intel is about Voldemort’s recent actions and the government’s politics. All I have on him from past that comes from occasional whispers in the streets and old newspapers.” Not that it was easy to read them – the animated pictures and unnecessarily-complicated fonts were not friendly with his ADHD or Dyslexia. “So tell me about what they were like – goals, ideals, tactics, internal conflicts, recruitment strategies, sympathisers, anything like that is likely still relevant if they’ve got the same leader as before and have many of the same members.”

Molly tensed in shock, “That-”

“Molly,” Dumbledore cut her off.

“They’re children, Albus! Political opinions are one thing, but they shouldn’t hear anything about-”

Nico raised a brow as Black, Moody and Snape rolled their eyes, Lupin sighed wearily, the red-headed man winced, and Tonks shifted uncomfortably. He flicked his eyes over to Cedric and Harry and clocked the latter’s wide-eyed bewilderment from the previous subjects. Cedric had an intently focused expression and Nico figured that he was following the discussion and absorbing it like a sponge. Something told him that Cedric was going to discover and hone a great amount of skill in planning.

Looking again at Harry reminded Nico that there were other things he needed to do. The entire table’s attention was caught by him sliding off the table.

“Forgetting all that, it might actually be a good idea to reschedule this for tomorrow. Get all your resources and intel together and bring in any other agents who should be a part of this conversation. I have things to do as well.”

Dumbledore paused for a moment with everyone else, but recovered fast enough. “That is perhaps a good suggestion. We will meet again the day after tomorrow.”

Nico nodded in agreement.

~0~0~0~0~0~

If the order didn’t want anyone to listen in to their secret meetings, they needed to get better security. And maybe they should try not announcing they were about to have a secret meeting in front of people they knew would try to snoop. That was Ron’s amateur opinion on the facts anyway, when he had first scrambled along with his brothers and sister to monitor the secret meeting they’d invited Cedric Diggory to. In front of the twins.

Come on, Dad. You should know better than that by now.

But his imaginary digs at his dad’s abysmal lack of information control were completely drowned out once he heard what the catalyst for the sudden meeting had apparently been. He had to clench his fists to stop himself from running over to Harry himself, and he felt his siblings breathing halt in similar surprise. He froze completely when he heard Moody snap out the name, Di Angelo, though. Just a second before the Order deteriorated into havoc – more than it normally did. He noticed the twins exchange wide-eyed looks with each other as they noticed this too, but he could only shrug when Ginny raised a brow in his direction. He didn’t know who Di Angelo was either. Not really, anyway.

Judging by the reactions of the adults, though, his presence was a large and contentious issue.

Listening to the guy give absolutely no shits when talking to them made Ron realise why. He’d never seen these particular brothers of his so slack jawed, like they were experiencing a revelation. Ginny seemed just as riveted, only she was a little more intense about it, like he himself, and Ron was left with the odd impression that he and Ginny were in some ways older than Fred and George.

(Fred and George were incredibly independent, genius innovators, and magical prodigies with brilliance and fame clearly in their future, but they were rulebreakers. Ginny and Ron were lawbreakers. Fred and George were the freest people he knew and they trailblazed their way through the life they chose while grinning at anything that dared call itself a trial or tribulation. Ginny and Ron were shoved over the edge, unable to rely on anyone but themselves and their friends, doing what they had to in order to stay alive.)

The point was, while listening to the guy dress-down the Order’s appalling security was incredibly entertaining and vindicating, and while the philosophy lesson on the dogmatic stereotyping of magic was very interesting, Ron was a lot more focused on the practical things that Di Angelo brought up.

Ron’s mind was spinning rapidly over a dozen thoughts of the implications of Shadow Travel and Di Angelo’s admitted information gathering at once as he awkwardly crouched by Fred and George; Ginny having just ducked entirely underneath the twins in order to catch what was being spoken behind the door.

“Shit, they’re about to leave. Move, people!”

“Go, go, go, go!”

Ron almost crashed into Ginny as he and his siblings realised they needed to flee before their cover was blown. As the four of them did their best to silently run up the stairs, he saw George stuff the weird ear thing they were using to eavesdrop down his shirt and decided then and there that he needed to get one for himself and find away to stop others from using it on him or his friends. It would be more necessary than ever to ensure that he, Harry and Hermione were able to talk freely without risk of being overheard when they returned to Hogwarts.

He had spent the entire holidays so far mentally engineering different safeguards to protect his friends. Everything was now a lot more dangerous for everyone, whether they knew it or not, but while Ron had his status as a Sacred 28 Pureblood (if a dirt-poor blood traitor), his friends lacked such shields, Hermione – as a muggleborn – was the target demographic of genocide for the enemy and Harry was, unfortunately, Harry Potter. That’s not even considering the fact that Hermione was her own brand of threat with her intelligence and increasingly distant relationship with legality, while Harry was, again, Harry Potter, and had spent every year at Hogwarts being Harry Potter as hard as he could.

A part of this was paranoia born of remorse, Ron knew. He couldn’t help but feel like a part of this whole thing was his fault. It was stupid, he knew, as there was no way that You-Know-Who was going to continue to allow himself to get his plans wrecked by the same three teenagers every year. But still.

Every year he and his friends had been shoved into deadly mysteries, and every year they managed to thwart – or at least uncover (Pettigrew got away, after all) – those responsible, to some extent. But last year they had been divided – because of him. His idiotic and childish jealousy at his best friend, and his belief that Harry had once again broken the rules and come out a winner – this time without telling Ron – had led to the fracturing of their small, wonderful team. And in the end they had missed the mystery in front of them – and after three consecutive years of being attacked by their DADA teachers, you’d think they would know better.

If Ron hadn’t been such a fool, would the three of them done what they had always done and found something about Moody’s impostor that didn’t add up? If they weren’t distracted, would they have figured out he’d been the one to endanger Harry in time? Considering how absolutely bat-shit bonkers Crouch Jr.’s plan for kidnapping Harry to resurrect You-Know-Who was, he doubted that any of them – even Hermione – would have guessed that part. But if they’d been able to sniff out Moody as suspicious – if they’d been united and together like usual – maybe they could have stalled stopped the war.

He knew he was probably giving himself too much credit here, by thinking that this was his fault or responsibility – and he was determined to never let Hermione or Harry know about these feelings (Harry’s hero complex was bad enough). It wasn’t like Dumbledore had been any use in this area either over the past few years. Honestly, the man runs a castle with sentient paintings lining the walls and gossiping, ghosts roaming the halls, and who knows what else enchanted to do his bidding, but he doesn’t have a decent enough spy network to let him catch the three crooked infiltrators (four, if you count Sirius, which Ron does) that he’s invited into his damn school?

Ron paused as he shut his bedroom door at that last thought. That was a good point. What the fuck was Dumbledore doing?

~0~0~0~0~0~

What the fuck was Albus doing?

The only reason Alastor wasn’t gaping at the old coot right then was because he was being rapidly inoculated to the absolute lack of Constant Vigilance being displayed by this utter sham of an Order. Even so, he was having a hard time believing that they were seriously going to allow the incredibly suspicious child to wander around their main fucking base right now.

(He was going to kill Fletcher for letting him get anywhere near Potter’s address. Even if – IF – the kid turned out to not be a threat, there was NO FUCKING WAY he should have been able to traipse over to their chosen twit’s house and take the brat without any of the Order being the wiser. That was beyond unprofessional.)

Seriously, though. He was starting to think that their leader was slipping. Not just now, but for the last few years. The thing with the Philosopher’s Stone made sense, but why had it been Potter dealing with the fucking basilisk from the goddamn basement? How had no one noticed that Arthur’s youngest girl was possessed by a teenaged version of Voldie? How did Gilderoy Lockhart get hired? He didn’t blame Albus for Pettigrew hiding or getting away (that last bit was on Remus), he didn’t even blame him for Sirius running around Hogwarts unopposed for the whole year (he’d helped train that brat after all, and he and James had already had significant skills at carrying out secretive operations when he’d met them. Merlin, they were a good team – even better with Lily).

But what the fuck was that dumbass fucking tournament last year? With the last few years’ track records, as soon as Potter’s name had been spat out by the Fire Cup (or whatever the damned thing was called) Albus should have torn his room apart and shoved veritaserum down that changeling Death Eater’s throat. He should have done the same for Karkaroff, just to be sure, and he should have told Potter to forfeit at the beginning of every event. Fucking Gryffindor tryhards; this is why the Order needs more Slytherins. So the obvious solutions aren’t ignored in favour of some kind of stupid honour code or chivalry or anything equally ridiculous.

Alastor tracked Di Angelo with his flesh eye as the kid moved towards the door, Potter and Diggory close behind, while his magical eye followed the quick departure of the Weasley brats up the stairs. He grumbled a little at the fact that the fucking kids seemed to be better at running a successful spying operation than most of the adults in the Order – the twins had even invented an ear thing that could serve as a prototype for enhanced hearing prosthetics (not unlike his eye, actually). Their fledgling skills were half the reason he never called the kids out when they listened in (after he’d done extensive background checks on each of them).

The other half was that - no matter how much Molly railed against it - these kids were going to be fighting, killing and dying in this damn war. Hell, the girl had already been possessed by Voldie himself, and the youngest boy was a baby strategist who was best friends with Potter and had been involved with just about every incident Potter himself was involved in. It was not just wasteful to ignore such tenacity in potential soldiers, but dangerous for the kids’ sakes to leave them blinded when they were already involved – more deeply than even their parents were.

“I’m not bringing any agents in – no need to give this kid more intelligence on us and our movements than he already has,” Alastor stated before Albus could even open his mouth. “I’ll see who’s willing to talk that has anything worth saying.”

“Thank you,” Alastor.

Alastor huffed, still disgusted by the whole thing. Diggory was leading the other two boys up the stairs now, and Potter seemed excited. Diggory was a good acquisition, he knew. Loyal, smart, talented, charismatic. The last thing was something they lacked at the moment.

“Are we seriou- Are we honestly allowing this security breach go?” Snape seemed just as mad as he was about this. Much as he didn’t trust the man (at all), he could at least appreciate the other Slytherin’s displeasure at the lack of security being displayed.

“I’m afraid,” Albus did that stupid twinkling thing, “that there is not a lot that we can do. We will simply have to do as we have been bid and hope that our next exchange of information goes just as smoothly. I do not believe that we have to capacity to stop Mr di Angelo if we wished to as of now.”

Minerva raised a brow, “Friends close, enemies closer?”

“Ah, perhaps, although I am not sure that I would classify him as either friend or foe to us at this point of time.”

“He is friends with Harry and Cedric though,” Sirius pointed out, like there was a distinction that mattered in there. Then again, Potter wasn’t exactly part of the Order himself, for all that they were dedicated to protecting him and had the same enemy. He eyed Sirius and wondered what his half-mad old protégé was thinking.

“We don’t know that. We don’t know anything about him,” he pointed out.

“Neither does Voldemort,” was the reply.

“Neither does anyone,” Snape muttered with tired bitterness.

“What he said about his umbrakinesis… do you think he’s right?” Arthur finally piped up from where he’d been stewing. Honestly, while Arthur was a good man, he let his trappings of honour influence his thinking way too much to be an effective agent for an organisation of this sort.

Dumbledore looked at the man, “There are some truly horrific genres of magic that are practiced for many reasons. However, there are also several branches that have unfortunately suffered something of bad press over the years – not unlike myself and Harry right now, in fact. Umbrakinesis by itself is not inherently an evil magick, however it is often associated with great and dangerous madness. Whether this is caused by umbrakinesis or merely a prerequisite is unknown, nor is the trend definite.”

“If he’s telling the truth about it being genetic, then it’s probably like Harry’s parseltongue.” Remus spoke thoughtfully. “Something neutral with a bad reputation caused by bad wizards misusing it.”

“Could be a different version of umbrakinesis too. If its genetic, then it might not have come with whatever costs people need to pay to learn it,” Sirius concurred. “Still Dark, but not evil.”

Unless he’s already mad, he didn’t say, but Alastor heard it anyway. Sirius would know. Between growing up in this place and then getting shoved in Azkaban, and that’s on top of the genetic disadvantage he was already at with being a Black and having first cousins for parents. It was really a miracle that he wasn’t the one with ‘mad’ in his moniker.

Arthur listened intently to the discussion, finally nodding silently while he spaced out to ponder. Where was the constant vigilance in this man?!

There was a part of Alastor that wondered if he shouldn’t revaluate his threat priority to place the Order’s own incompetence on top.

At this rate, Nico di Angelo might never get the chance to betray them before they got themselves killed.