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Draco tried to avoid staring at the fireplace, but he kept anxiously sneaking glances at the slowly dying embers on the hearth. He knew nothing would keep his unwelcome guest away, not even a dying fire.
The missive had arrived minutes ago, damning his efforts at finishing the potion he’d been brewing. The message had sent his concentration out the window as he worried over the words scrawled on the piece of muggle notebook paper.
Draco,
I know it’s been a couple of years since we’ve seen each other, but I need your help. You know I wouldn’t ask if there were any other way. I’ll be coming in through the study floo in a few minutes.
-A
Draco’s skin crawled at the use of the single letter as a signature. He felt appalled at the apparent muggle ink that stained the paper. It had always been the same, every time he received letters from his-
The floo roared to life, green flames drawing his attention. He turned to look at the thin figure that landed on all fours on the floor of his study.
The girl, clad in a dirty orange t-shirt and muggle jeans, coughed, swiping her long blonde hair away from her face. She stood, without looking at Draco, and swatted the soot off her filthy clothes.
Draco took a heavy breath, steeling himself for the encounter. Seeing his sister was never a good sign.
“Lyra,” he stated, attempting to take control of the conversation.
Her hands stilled, and her stormy greys eyes, exact mirrors of his, shot up to stare menacingly at him.
“That is not my name,” she growled, visibly frustrated.
Draco didn’t react to her tone; she was probably expecting to get a rise out of him.
“It’s the name you were born with.”
The girl let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head. “It’s the name I dropped when your father shipped me off to Olympus in a basket with a note saying he wouldn’t raise a Squib.”
Her accusation aimed daggers at Draco. She was made to believe that he’d be affected by them.
“Father thought he had no choice,” Draco pressed, resting himself elegantly on his chair. “He didn’t expect that a child he sired with the goddess of wisdom and war would turn out to be unmagical, Lyra.”
“My name is Annabeth,” she said, standing up straighter. “Annabeth Chase, the name I was given by the man who raised me and loved me unconditionally no matter what.”
Draco rolled her eyes at the girl sizing herself up to him. Secretly, he had always been thankful that his sister had turned out to be a Squib and was therefore banished. If Lyra had gone to Hogwarts, she would have undoubtedly been a Gryffindor, bringing more shame onto the family.
They stared each other down, a quiet battle of wills to see who would cave first, but Draco had both maturity and proper pureblood upbringing on his side.
Eventually, his sister dropped herself down on a chair opposite his desk.
“Why are you here?”
She sighed defeatedly, her head hitting the back of the chair with a soft thud and her hands rubbing furiously at her face.
“I need your help getting somewhere.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at her. Twining his finger together, he rested his hands on his desk. “Why can’t your mother help?”
Annabeth groaned. “She is currently indisposed.”
Draco let out a loud amused cackle. Of course, it had always been that way. He remembered the early years of the war. A four-year-old girl, hidden away deep in the manor, praying to the goddess, Athena, to take her away from her home as Death Eaters and beasts infested it. The goddess never answered. It was only after the war ended when Lyra had turned five that Lucius sent her away.
“You mean she’s not answering your prayers?” The last word rolled derisively off his tongue.
Annabeth sat up straight in her seat, her hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. Draco could see her knuckles turning white.
“Look, Draco,” she pleaded. “I know you don’t like me. I know we have never seen eye to eye, and you don’t think I could ever live up to the Malfoy name. That doesn’t mean I haven’t made a name for myself somewhere else because I have—”
He scoffed, “You mean at that silly camp of yours?”
Annabeth’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she stared daggers at him.
“It’s not some silly camp. It’s my home.”
Draco shook his head, rolling his eyes as he sighed. This girl was delusional; she always had been. He remained quiet, resting back on his chair, and staring her down, just like his father had each time she came seeking help.
Annabeth reached for her bag and quietly rummaged through it. She pulled out the strangest things; a small rectangular muggle device, a larger square one, a cap with the letters NY embedded on them, and a bronze dagger. Away she pulled, clothes and bottles and muggle shoes until finally, she reached out with a photograph in her hand.
She stood and showed him the picture. His stomach immediately dropped. He felt panic slowly rising in his chest, and his ears hollowed out the subtle sounds of the room, the cracking of the fire, or the low boiling of his potions.
It took a moment for Draco to compose himself. He opened and closed his mouth several times before finally taking a gulp. “Who is that?”
Annabeth sighed, but she didn’t move.
“That’s my boyfriend, Percy,” she said in a small voice. Draco had never seen his sister show anything other than defiance towards anyone in his magical world.
But that wasn’t what unnerved him most. The boy in the picture, this Percy that his sister spoke of, was the spitting image of Potter. And it wasn’t just the jarring similarities like the color of his eyes and the jet-black hair, no. It was everything about this boy. The small round nose and the high cheekbones, the shape of his face, and the hair stuck out at odd angles. If Draco didn’t know any better, if he weren’t absolutely certain that James Potter had died in 1981, he would be shocked if this boy wasn’t his son.
Even his smile was enough to warm Draco’s insides. He fought back the smile that tried to sneak up on him when the thought that he and his sister had very similar taste in men crossed his mind.
“He’s been missing for days now. We woke up one day, and suddenly he wasn’t at camp anymore. Search squads have been deployed up and down the country. Our friend Nico went down to ask his father, Hades if he was dead, but he’s not. We can’t find him anywhere. Artemis and her Hunters have been searching every night. We have Satyrs and Nymphs searching the woods, but there is no sign of him anywhere on land. This is my last resort, but I need to get to Olympus to ask his father if he’s anywhere underwater.”
Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, “Underwater?”
Annabeth smiled, although it didn’t reach her eyes, and Draco noticed for the first time that she had dark circles marring her otherwise flawless skin., and the frown seemed to be etched permanently on her face. He mirrored it, and he would never admit that it was out of concern for his sister’s well-being.
“Percy is the son of Poseidon,” she explained. “He thrives in water, but the children of the other gods don’t have the same benefit—especially children of Athena. My mother and Poseidon have been fighting for eons.
“So, I can’t go underwater to find him myself, but I have to ask Poseidon for help. I’ve tried Iris Messaging him; it’s like a Floo Call,” she added, presumably at the confusion that must have shown in his face, “only instead of fire, we use water to create a rainbow, and the goddess Iris is the one that connects the message. Anyways, I also tried marching up to Olympus myself, but the doors are closed. We can’t get in through the front gate.”
Draco sat forward, placing his elbows on his desk and resting his chin on his clasped hands. “If you’re the daughter of Athena, and you can’t get into Olympus, how could I possibly help you? Aren’t I just a mere mortal to you?”
Annabeth rolled her eyes. “All magic comes from Circe. All wizards are her descendants, so no, you are not a mere mortal, just a presumptuous idiot,” she smirked, and it was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “I need you to apparate me into Mount Olympus.”
Draco’s eyes widened at his sister’s request. He didn’t even know if Apparating to Mount Olympus was possible. He didn’t even know if he had enough magic to make it there.
“Look, I know it’s a stretch, and I’ve researched Apparition extensively, I even visited the Salem Witches Institute,” all of this she said in haste. “I know you need to have been there, and I know cross-continental apparition is extremely dangerous especially with a side along, but MACUSA connected this floo to the one at camp, which is how I was able to get here and if you just floo with me to New York, we could try the apparition from camp, and you don’t need to have been to Olympus before because Olympus isn’t a physical place it’s more abstract than anything.”
“Lyra—”
“Annabeth,” she corrected.
Draco sighed. He stood up and crossed the room, facing the fireplace.
“Annabeth, I don’t know if I could manage this, even with all your careful planning. Apparition is a very precise craft; the smallest miscalculation and we could both end up dead.”
He turned to look at his sister, only to find her swatting away tears. She took a couple of short heavy gasps as she wrapped her arms around herself. When her breath finally evened out, she spoke again, “Draco, please. I’m desperate. Imagine it was you. Imagine there was something I would do to help save your wife—”
“I have a husband,” he corrected. Annabeth stared up at him in curiosity, her eyes wide.
“Oh, I… I didn’t know. Does Lucius know?”
Draco nodded, a blank expression on his face. “He does, and we haven’t spoken since.”
Annabeth’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Draco thought she would stand. Her hand did seem to have reached for him briefly. Draco stood, considering if the information that danced on the tip of his tongue would somehow help his relationship with her.
“I married Harry Potter, which was offensive to Lucius in more than one way, as you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered, and Draco knew from her pained expression that it was sincere. “I know what it’s like to be on Lucius’ bad side.” She paused and took a heavy sigh. “Maybe now that he's out of the picture, you and I could try to get to know each other better. I would love to meet him after I find Percy and save the world, that is.”
Draco laughed; it bubbled from his chest and burst through his mouth without him having much control over it. “I think I’d like that.”
Draco thought he must have turned mad, maybe the elves had put something in his tea, or he’d sniffed one too many potions because what he said next completely took him by surprise.
“Come on, let’s apparate you to Mount Olympus.”
Annabeth stared at him, her eyes sparkling with hope and a smile spreading across her face. “Really?”
Draco nodded, “Quickly, before I change my mind.”
Annabeth reached for the Floo powder, threw it into the fireplace, and yelled, “Camp Half-Blood.”