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kindness-ricochets · 5 years ago

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The Feast of Sankt Nikolai

Working title: Sinterklaas in Ketterdam

Corporalki: @flowerboynoah @sassysaltysarcasticstupid

Materialki: @imjustsomebodyelse @rootcellars [x] @sargents

Summary: Several years have passed since the Ice Court job and the winter holidays are approaching! For Jesper and Wylan, this means a chance to take a break from business and spend time with family—including Marya; Colm, visiting from Novyi Zem; Inej, on a brief stop from hunting slavers on the True Sea; and Wylan’s half-sister. But Ketterdam never stops. Wylan should be focused on convincing the rest of the Merchant Council to approve spending for public education… and he would be, if he weren’t distracted by a body on the docks in Hanraat Bay.

Merriment, merchers, and murder—’tis the season, Ketterdam-style.

Ao3 Link

In four and a half years, many things had changed for Jesper Fahey. He no longer lived in the Barrel, though he still lived in Ketterdam, and he was no longer a university dropout, but approaching completion of his degree. His body had taken pity and finally allowed him to grow a beard, though he was clean-shaven for now. It was more the knowledge that he could, if he wanted, have a beard. He kept his hair long, in Zemeni-style braids.

As he strode past two members of the stadwatch, he nodded in greeting and the men nodded back, familiar. He did not pause his stride. That was one thing that hadn't changed: as ever, Jesper was running late. He hurried up the stairs to the second story.

Jesper still dressed Barrel-bright, though. He had lost his jacket somewhere—in the pub? By the time the cold pierced his shirt, he had been too far along to turn back, already behind schedule—but his wine-red shirt and plaid trousers set off his paisley brocade waistcoat delightfully. A man could be a responsible university student and maintain his style!

Even as he heard voices spilling out from the theater where the Merchant Council held meetings, Jesper continued to lament the loss of his jacket. It wasn't a particularly nice jacket, but it was a particularly chilly corridor.

Sodding Kerch, he thought.

Six years of living in Ketterdam might have made him as familiar with the city as any nativeborn Kerch, but he would still curse their tight-fistedness on the heating budget. It was a government building, for the Saints' sake!

Jesper opened the door and slipped onto the balcony. Other observers crowded in; though he tried to edge closer, he knew he wouldn't be getting a prime spot. Instead, he craned his neck to get a view. At least the acoustics were good. The moment he opened the door, a crisp voice had washed over him, pitched to reach the rafters. He knew for a fact that voice was pitched to reach the rafters. He had been present for the elocution lessons.

"…that this proposal diverts badly needed funds away from the city, away from Ketterdam's hardworking denizens, on a project we do not need!"

"Do not need?" repeated another member of the Council. Jesper recognized the voice—Hiram Schenck. Voice like a frog, with a face to match. Schenck was true Kerch. All that had value had value in coin.

"Podge," Jesper muttered.

A second Councilman added, "Kerch needs its defenses. Kerch needs its safety. Or we may as well call ourself Shu Han!"

Boreg's logic sounded good, at least enough to earn murmurs of disapproval from the gallery. They did not wish to be called Shu Han. Well, neither did Jesper. He still woke up in a cold sweat sometimes from dreams about the kherguud. It didn't matter how many reasonable intellectual arguments he heard; Jesper did not hate the Shu, but their Fabrikator-modified soldiers left him with a deep fear of them.

"We have the Council of Tides," replied Wylan.

"Clever thing."

"Shh!" whispered someone beside Jesper.

Jesper didn't care. Wylan was clever, and just as Jesper needed reminders from time to time that he was safe, Wylan needed reminders that he was smart. Some wounds took a long time to fade. The Council of Tides and Merchant Council had their own power struggles, but those were carefully concealed from the public.

When he first saw Wylan, Jesper thought of him as a lost prince. He still saw Wylan that way, in his more romantic moments, simply no longer lost—found, cleaned up, made a man but never made a king. And today, Saints, his prince was shining.

"We have a more than formidable arsenal! What do we show the Zemeni and the Southern States if we insist our trade routes need more protection? They are our allies! What do we show the people of this city if we bankrupt their children's schools to pay for weapons to sit and wait for a war that may never come? Kerch must learn its lessons from Ravka, see how that country suffered from its wars and learn not to court our own."

"And if the Fjerdans should recover well enough to enter the fray?" asked Naten Boreg.

Fjerda was a changing country, but its strong military tradition prevailed. Had he not been over the figures again and again to prepare Wylan for this, Jesper might have felt the fear of that statement. He knew Wylan was frustrated down there. He must want to throw out the arguments he used with Jesper when they were alone: Kerch had a strong enough military now, they were strong at sea, Schenck's arguments had more to do with his mines than his fears! Jesper simply saw it as a sound approach. When you have Kerch's sole ruthenium mine, naturally, you argue that Kerch needs ruthenium. Needs weapons. Made sense. But his sweet, optimistic revolutionary continued to believe people ought to think of the greater good.

"We trust our allies in Ravka—"

"After what they did just a few years ago?" Schenck cut in. Jesper nodded to himself. He didn't like Schenck, so he had been particularly amused when the man thought he had pulled one over on the king of Ravka and brought home false submersible plans.

"Even so," Wylan insisted.

"The Ravkans have no love of the Fjerdans, either," offered Karl Dryden. "If Fjerda builds up its weapons again, Ravka is at the greatest risk."

"Our junior members seem to forget that the duty of this Council is to protect Kerch," sniped Boreg.

Jesper smiled. "Idiot," he muttered happily, earning himself another shush.

"My esteemed colleague," Wylan said, addressing Boreg with those silly, adorable merch manners, "the schools you would take these funds away from for one more submersible, they have already shown to benefit the children of Ketterdam. Fewer children are dying and more are finding their way into apprenticeships with even a year or two of education. Do we want to protect against an attack we might not face instead of continuing to fight dangers we do? Dangers like malnutrition and disease? These programs do protect Kerch, because what is Kerch—"

"If not her people!"

The line had put Wylan's name in the paper a few years ago. Years on, they still weren't tired of it. They broke the protocol of silence to shout it at him. With him.

Wylan had timed his speech perfectly. The bells announced three-quarter chime. The Merchant Council would be getting restless, would want to get home to their warm parlors and suppers.

Jellen Radmakker banged his gavel and called a vote.

Jesper already knew how Wylan would vote, and Dryden would follow as he often did. Dryden was not an impressive man in his own right, so he followed after Wylan—not openly, he was clever enough to deviate some and not look like a follower, but only on the smaller votes. When Wylan was this worked up, Dryden would follow. Similarly, Schenck and Boreg would oppose. Hoede would probably follow Wylan's side, Smit the opposing. Hoede, Dryden, and Wylan had come into their positions at close to the same time, but only Wylan, the youngest by far, had anything to bring besides more of the same. Hoede and Dryden tended to follow him more often than not.

When it came to the final vote, there were six for the military expansion and five against, with Van Aakster abstaining. Jesper still felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, barely down from the kick it got when Van Aakster abstained. Abstained! Wild card!

A man could have as much fun at a political debate as he could at the card table if he looked for it.

The final vote cast was Radmakker's, and it drew an uncertain reaction from the crowd.

"Draw," announced Radmakker, "the Council will reconvene for an emergency session to resolve the matter at seven bells and half chime tomorrow. So ordered."

He banged his gavel, and with that, the meeting was adjourned.

"What was that?" someone in the gallery muttered.

"Waste of time," replied another.

"A damn show," complained a third.

Jesper let the crowd carry him along, listening as the discussion continued. Overall the people seemed malcontent with the outcome. He was inclined to agree. All the build-up to a cliffhanger? He was ready to be elated! He was ready to be furious! He was not ready to be postponed for a day. The Council would be especially fussed at the loss of a holiday. Sacred is Ghezen, but the winter holiday was apparently even more sacred than commerce.

On the first floor, Jesper fell back and let the crowds thin before starting against the tide.

He wasn't actually allowed in the Council chamber. No one was but the Councilmen, despite the stadwatch posted by the door recognizing Jesper. He didn't bother arguing. A few of the Councilmen passed, greeting him by name. Even those who didn't like Jesper or didn't like Wylan had accepted that the two were a pair. Merchers to the last, they kept their manners. Jesper was almost impressed not only by how many cast nervous glances at his revolvers, but how many managed to greet him anyway. Just for Wylan, Jesper did not antagonize the merchers. He could have casually pushed up his sleeves and given a glimpse of the crow and cup tattooed on his right arm—but the weather today was too cold for that, and Jesper was actively trying not to alienate the people Wylan had to work with.

Speaking of whom…

"Jes!"

Wylan's face lit up, a sight Jesper only had a moment to enjoy before Wylan was hugging him like it had been weeks rather than hours since they were last together. Jesper would never get tired of that.

"How was it?" Wylan asked, pulling back, searching Jesper's face for answers. He was sweating, pupils wide, marked the way Jesper used to be after an hour at the tables. The only difference was that once Wylan's jitters wore off, Jesper knew he would want—need—holding and soothing. Wylan didn't actually like public speaking. It happened to be necessary to his aims and he was good at it, but he didn't like it.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine now that you're here, my blessing," he said, pressing a kiss to Jesper's knuckles.

The endearment had rankled some the first time Jesper heard it. He knew Wylan meant it literally. Wylan had always accepted Jesper's powers more easily than Jesper himself accepted them. Maybe from someone else it would have been too much, but this was his Wylan, coupling the term with an open, adoring look, and Jesper had seen no choice but to accept that to Wylan, Jesper was a blessing.

"Come on," Wylan continued, "tell me everything. Where's your coat?"

The words were barely out but Wylan began removing his own coat. He had changed in the past few years, too—grown in confidence and just grown . Now they could kiss without Wylan standing on tiptoe.

By size alone, the idea of Jesper borrowing Wylan's coat was not absurd.

For every other reason, it was absolutely absurd.

Jesper stopped Wylan with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't need your coat," he said, straightening the lapels. He let his hands linger, brushing a fingertip against the necklace tucked under Wylan's shirt, eliciting a soft sigh from Wylan. Then he resettled the coat. The cold might bother him, but it wouldn't make him susceptible to illness. He was zowa. He was Grisha. Whatever you called him, that seed of magic kept him immune to germs and other feeble nonsense.

"Right, right," Wylan said. "I want to hear all about your exam!" he concluded, lacing their fingers together.

Jesper laughed. "No, you don't," he said.

"I do!"

No, he didn't.

"You've been waiting for the end of the semester since two weeks in," Jesper retorted. Usually Wylan had eagerly helped him study, listened to Jesper read off his class notes and textbooks and latched onto the information as easily as he had reports and business correspondence. This semester's course in public administration had challenged both of them to the edges of their patience. Necessary, for his goals, but dull as rocks.

That wasn't fair. Wylan liked rocks for their history. Jesper was less impressed with sedimentary striations, but he appreciated the shiny rocks they sometimes gave one another.

"Then I'm pleased it's here," Wylan said.

"I passed and it's over?"

Wylan brought their linked fingers to his lips for a kiss as they stepped outside. Jesper swallowed a shiver. The kiss was nice. The air briefly made him wish he had accepted Wylan's coat.

"You did great."

"You always say that."

Wylan shrugged. "You always do great."

"Excuses."

"I'm sorry you're so brilliant, Jesper."

And with that, their game had begun.

"I'm sorry you make such a great study buddy."

They had a lot of games between them. Mostly they were things Jesper did, like when he would hold Wylan and demand a toll to release him, but this one Wylan had invented. The apology game. No one stated the rules. They simply evolved and were and Jesper loved it. He loved how fun their games could be in better times and the framework those games gave them when bad memories threatened to overwhelm either of them.

Wylan snickered. "Study buddy," he repeated.

"One of your many talents."

"Unlike wordplay, which is clearly your kingdom."

"Mm," Jesper replied, feeling Wylan begin to lean against him. The adrenaline was fading. Jesper unlaced their fingers to wrap his arm around Wylan's shoulders, inviting Wylan to lean more into him. They had been together for nearly a year when Wylan finally hit his growth. He was still the smaller of the two and fit tidily under Jesper's arm. Very convenient, especially at times like this. The public meetings were necessary but they wore Wylan out—not that Jesper had any complaints, either about his closeness, or about the warm windbreak he made. This was truly not the weather in which to skip one's coat.

When Jesper directed them toward a coffee house, Wylan shook his head. "We can't, Jes. Let's stop off at home instead. You need a coat."

"I'll be fine," Jesper objected, though he wanted his coat. Stubbornness required him to object.

"Jesper Llewellyn, we are going home or I will buy you a new coat, but we will not go to Second Harbor without a coat on you."

"You're not fun when you call me Llewellyn."

"I'm sorry, my love. One of us has to be practical and it's not going to be you."

Jesper snorted. "Sure, Mister Practical, the guy trying to convince the Kerch Merchant Council to invest in its schools over its weapons."

"Just you wait, that vote's going my way tomorrow morning."

"Mm, all right. Home it is. Just think what people would say if Councilman Van Eck went around with his husband in a shabby coat."

"You're not my husband yet."

Jesper laughed. "Of course, gorgeous. Just one more ring and I'll stop being hilarious."

#grishabigbang #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #Jesper Fahey #Wylan Van Eck #Ketterdam Politics #my writing #gvbbcreation

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aj-artjunkyard · 5 years ago

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I think this is going to be a bit of a one shot series. There might be some time skips and not every chapter is a continuation of the same storyline. I like this better as if I ever go off writing this, you won’t be left on a cliffhanger. Every chapter has a complete story, so it’s also longer, which is a bonus.

There is a four year time skip. Apollo is now a fourth year.

My gold and black robes billowed behind me as I sprinted up another staircase and hung a left, barreling through some unfortunate first years as I made my way up to the hospital wing.

I’d began training with the Hogwarts matron in my first year, ever since I’d learned a particularly nifty healing spell that had popped a fellow student’s dislocated shoulder back into its rightful place. The Hogwarts matron had seen me and was impressed by my potential - and nearly four years later I was still being taught between classes. Today, they started at 1:55PM. It was now 2:15 (What? I had missed a staircase. Nothing to do with my poor awareness of schedules).

I readjusted my grip on my leather satchel and rushed past the little plump lady standing in the doorway of the hospital wing, smiling a greeting. She kept her ever-present stern facade intact as she shooed me inside.

“Don’t you be late next time young man, or I’ll be having a word to your father about your punctuality!” She called after me, slamming the door behind her. I smiled at the empty threat. There was no way she would tell my father about my secret lessons, or else both our heads would be on a stick. Headmaster Zeus had some pretty questionable ideology when it came to assigning genders to their copybook jobs. Nursing was a woman’s world, not a man’s.

I came to a halt at the trolly that overflowed with a mix of different overhanging herbs, anthropomorphised plants and some questionable-looking dried out slug-type creatures. Conical flasks hung suspended in the air, swishing their contents around in miniature whirlpools of colour. This, I’d been told, kept the contents oxygenated. The matron appeared beside me, her wrinkled features comparable to the severe expression of a weathered military general.

“Today is simple,” she barked. “Damage to the left arm due to a high fall. Broken humerus, dislocated shoulder, shattered clavicle. The patient is in bed A6. Collect what you need and do what you have to. No lollygagging!” She turned on her heel and marched to a patient who had managed to have the placement of their hands and feet switched. I stifled a grin. My younger brother, a third year Slytherin named Hermes, got a kick out of forging fake love-heart shaped chocolate boxes filled with enchanted candies and leaving them to be found by his unfortunate targets. His spells were never actually dangerous per se (however I would not put it past him. He is unnervingly clever), but they tended to land the non-willing participant in the hospital wing until the matron could figure out how to undo them, which was usually a few weeks. Hermes was a complete ferret of a person, and I always told him so, but he was undeniably good at his craft. I sniggered to myself. As soon as I worked out how to fix the enchantments, I’d have potential blackmail against my darling little brother. I planned to get him do give me something in exchange for me not immediately healing his targets and ruining his fun.

After choosing a few conical flasks and a vial of my experimental Skele-Gro (just in case) I jogged to bed A6 and slipped out my private notebook of healing spells from my satchel. As I flicked through the pages, I didn’t give the red-clad student a second look. It was just another reckless Gryffindor who had probably jumped from the astronomy tower for fun while testing out their friend’s levitating spell (that obviously hadn’t succeeded). I found the right page and set the notebook on the bedside table. Only then did I glance down at the the boy strewn on the bed. He was well-built and broad shouldered, even for a seventh year. His muddied, black hair was chopped in a military buzz cut, and his face and arms were littered with old and new scratches, some much deeper than the others. He wore the scarlet robes and leather armour of a Gryffindor Beater, though his uniform was torn and caked with mud and soaked through from the December rain. He looked like the definition of a stereotypical high school bully. His face held a permanent scowl. I gulped.

“Hey Ares,” I greeted weakly. His scowl deepened. I tried to ignore that. “Um, I just need to check your arm…” I edged around my older sibling like he was an angered boar, waiting to run me through with its horns. I all but hid behind my clipboard while I examined the twisted arm.

Let me be crystal clear with you, reader. I was not scared of my brother. He was violent and reckless, yes, but a coward. I knew that if he bothered me, I only needed to poke his shoulder and he’d be wailing for an hour. However, do you recall how I was trying to keep this little side gig a secret? For years I had been keeping track of the quidditch games and taking note when any of my siblings got injured in one, so I could avoid the hospital wing until they were healed. I was usually quite on top of the Hufflepuff games (as I was their seeker), and Artemis, who happened to be the seeker for the Gryffindor team, helped remind me when her matches were. If any of my dear half brothers or sisters found out that I was learning a ‘woman’s trade’, they’d either tell father (resulting in my death) or use what they’d found as blackmail, threatening to tell father if I did not do their dirty work (resulting in my drawn out, much more embarrassing death). Of course, there had been a few close calls and a few accidental slips of tongue. My best friend Meg (a first year Gryffindor that I had met back in September of this year, while she was stealing my bag) knew. So did my twin, Artemis, and my aforementioned brother, Hermes. I had sworn them all to secrecy, but I did not trust Tell-Tale Ares one little bit. I did not even know how I had forgotten today’s Gryffindor v Slytherin match, but it had crossed my mind that the corridors were emptier than usual.

I copied down useless bulletpoints on the clipboard, such as ‘broken arm’ and ‘ouch’, while my mind wandered down the dark paths of my anxiety, each thought more desperate and panicky than the last. What will father do when he finds out? Will he give me a lifetime of detentions? Will he expel me? Would my uncles and aunts step in? Probably not. Would I have to leave the country to go to a different wizarding school? Would I have to give up learning magic entirely? Will I-

“Apollo!” The matron hollered across the room at me. “Stop your clowning around! Treat the patient!” I wondered if she even knew Ares’ relation to me. My dad had so many kids with so many women that we were admittedly hard to keep straight, and I certainly did not act like Ares did. I was far more - how do I put this - refined.

Ares snickered at the matron’s tone.

“Stupid little Sunny can’t even do a girl’s job,” he taunted.

I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the task at hand.

“Okay,” I said, starting as I would with any other student. “I am going to use the Brackium Emendo charm to fix your humerus and clavicle. I assure you that I am well trained in this charm, otherwise I would not be allowed to practice it on students. I then have to-”

“Get on with it, Sunny.” Ares growled, his mood swinging faster than the Whomping Willow’s branches. Wanting to give him the best hospital experience ever and possibly convince him not to blab, I obliged in silence. My hopes of getting out scot free were demolished when I was straightening out the newly mended arm a few minutes later. “Dad’s gonna love this one, Sunny,” Ares grunted through the pain. His face was tense with restraint, his forehead glistening with sweat and rain from outdoors. “If you’re lucky, you’ll even make it onto the papers. ‘Loser Son Disappoints Dad Yet Again’. Yeah, that’ll be fun.” I tried my best to bite down on my tongue, let it wash over me. I tried not to get angry. I tried not to scream at Ares to shut his face, and I almost failed. Luckily, I was distracted.

BANG!

The hospital wing door flew open, and a young girl sprinted in, looking around wildly until her cat-eye glasses landed on me. I recognised her as the one and only, bag-stealing, meat-scoffing ragamuffin Meg McCaffrey. She, like Ares, was soaked to the skin, her lenses dotted with raindrops and steaming up from the indoor heat. She wore her red high tops over her uniform grey tights, an obvious infraction of the school dress code (the teachers had already given up, and she had only been here for just over three months, which I think sums her character up very well). Her black and red Gryffindor robes were wrapped around her torso in a useless attempt to keep in heat. We shared a look of dread.

“You can go,” I said defeatedly to the healed Beater, all the angry wind gone from my sails. Ares stood, sneered at me and sauntered out, flicking Meg in the head as he passed her. She hissed, which I thought was an appropriate response. I kept staring at the empty hospital bed, my eyes fixated on the dent in the mattress where Ares had lay, slowly inflating itself. I heard the loud squelching of wet shoes approach me. Meg appeared at my side.

“I’m sorry,” She muttered. “I didn’t realise he was injured enough to go to the hospital wing. I was too far up the stands. By the time I noticed he was already on his way.” She lowered her head. “I didn’t warn you in time.”

I sighed. “It’s quite alright, Meg. You weren’t to know about the extent of my father’s strictness. Thanks for trying so hard though. It means a lot.”

“I know what it’s like.”

I turned to face her. Her glasses were still steamed up, and I couldn’t see her eyes. The expression she wore was blank and unreadable. I wanted to know more, but I didn’t want to push too much. I simply asked, “Your father?”

“Step-father,” she replied plainly.

…

Meg scoffed down her eggs and bacon like there was no tomorrow. I sat between her and Artemis at the Hufflepuff table. This was an advantage to all of us. Artie and I got to eat where the rest of our family didn’t bother us and Meg got to inspire terror into the meek Hufflepuff first years with her champion eating skills. Win-Win. Also, it was good to have two bodyguards from a house that was known for being protective and rash after the proceedings of yesterday afternoon. The enchanted roof was dull and grey with clouds, a reflection of my tense and dreading mood. I was awaiting the call to go to my father’s office, where my sentence would be given. Needless to say, I was not excited.

Nothing happened at breakfast. No word at lunch. By the time dinner rolled around at 6pm, I was almost gaining a little ray of hope that Ares had forgotten, or maybe held back in order to threaten me with it later. Then all conversation died around me at the Hufflepuff table. A low, gruff voice sounded from behind me, making me jump a metre and drop my fork.

“Apollo.”

My stomach sank to my feet while my heart leapt to my mouth. I turned to meet the stone chiselled, bearded face of Headmaster Zeus.

“Sir,” I squeaked.

“My office. After dinner. Do not be late.” He moved on to the teacher’s table at the back of the hall, leaving me pale and faint, unable to eat another bite of chicken pie without feeling like I was going to hurl, despite Artie and Meg’s attempts to reassure me.

Dinner ended so much quicker than it needed to. Students and teachers started filtering out as soon as 6:45. By 7, the hall was practically empty except for a couple of teachers and some Gryffindors, who were celebrating their quidditch win against Slytherin. I knew my time was running out. Father had stomped out a few minutes ago, glaring holes into me as he passed. Meg and Artie had stayed with me, but even now they seemed to be on edge about my punctuality. They wanted me to go and get things over with, while I just wanted the ground to swallow me. But eventually, even I could not make up another excuse. I stood and bade them farewell, then made my way towards my executioner on the seventh floor.

Reaching the headmaster’s tower had never been so exhausting. Every step reminded me of what and who I was waltzing toward. Questions burned through my head, demanding attention. I ignored them and instead focused on striding briskly through the hallways, trying my best not to get lost and be even later. I turned a corner and saw the gargoyle entrance to the office awaiting my arrival. The regal stone eagle had already leapt aside, the rotating staircase revealed. I stepped on and waited. The grinding of stone against stone grated my ears as the the stairs moved up the walls. It was an agonising wait. But of course, it ended.

I stepped into the silent office. It was small enough, but not cramped. Certainly smaller than father’s office at home. It was a round room, decorated with waist-high pedestals that held marble busts of past headmasters. The left wall had a large rectangular indent in the stone, which showed shelves that were stacked neatly with different objects, some I recognised as my father’s belongings (a bronze shield carved with the twisted face of Medusa and some bronze rods - his renowned enchanted lightning bolts), and some of which had obviously been confiscated - a stack of chocolate boxes that glowed a dim green (Hermes’ little experiments), a bunch of sharp iron weaponry, enchanted to drip blood and gore (Ares’ favourite toys) and a bottle of Dio’s Delectable Delight (an alcoholic drink made by my Gryffindor first year brother, Dionysus, that gave a bunch of Slytherins and Gryffindors sick with poisoning while they were having a drink-off between the houses. I remember because I had to treat them all).

At the back of the room, behind an intricately carved wooden desk, sat my father.

He was a six foot five giant of a man, muscular and powerful. His middle age eye creases and greying black hair did not distract from his obviously handsome features. His salt and pepper beard covered the bottom half of his face, and reached down to the base of his throat. His hair was long and slightly wavy, like mine, but less flamboyant and stylish. He wore a smart grey pinstriped suit, with dress shoes and a black tie. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed in anger over his striking blue eyes. He gestured to the small wooden seat opposite him.

“Sit,” he commanded. I sat. My palms were damp with sweat, so I rubbed them on my robes and folded my hands in my lap, fidgeting and changing their position constantly. My head was lowered and my golden hair swept down the side of my face, blocking my peripheral vision. I locked my sight onto a dark circle on the table before me. I could feel my fathers stormy eyes on my seemingly insignificant frame.

His voice thundered; “You know why you are here.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear nervously and chanced look up into the eyes of my father. They were a bright electric blue, and seemed to flash a warning, daring me to speak out of place. I looked down again.

“Yes, sir,” I muttered.

Zeus leaned over the table. It made a loud creak, and I wondered whether or not it would be able to support his weight.

“Do you know who told me?”

I nodded. “It was Ares. I healed him after the quidditch match yesterday.”

“Then you know that he is not innocent either.”

I looked up at him again, confused as to why I had not been zapped yet. He seemed to be…giving me a chance? No, that was impossible. And yet…

“Sir?” I asked, daring to ask for some clarification. Zeus narrowed his eyes and sat up straighter in his chair, increasing his height. His hands rested on the desk, his fingers laced like a top boss talking down to his lowly employee.

“I wanted to expel you,” he growled. “You embarrass my family tree time and time again. I need solid proof that you belong here. Unfortunately, I cannot put you to work as I would like. The ministry would never allow it. However, I have a different task in mind.”

I held my breath and waited for the verdict of my disproportionate offence. “Impress me.”

“W-what?” I spluttered, choking on the air I’d been holding in. Impress him? Him? My father? The most powerful wizard in my extensive family that could harness lightning? “How?”

“I don’t care for specifics, boy” Zeus scoffed, waving off my question. “This is a magic school, is it not? Prove you have ability. Prove to me that you are not just some filthy squib, destined to become a nanny. Such beings do not deserve to be called my son. If you succeed, which I doubt, you may continue with your hobby. If not…” He left it to me to fill in the blanks, which was almost worse. I just knew my imagination was going to run wild with that unfinished sentence. “You have until the Christmas holidays begin. Do not disappoint me.” He leaned back in his chair. This meeting was Over.

…

“He didn’t expel you?” Artemis exclaimed, looking mildly impressed. “Not even a little zap?”

“No! It was…very unlike him.”

“So you got off easy then,” Meg piped up through her breakfast, spraying me with bacon bits. “That’s good.”

“If you count vague instructions to show off to a guy that has the emotional range of a teaspoon as simple, then sure!” - I glared at Meg - “I got off easy.” Meg rolled her eyes and went back to licking the runny yolk off her sunny side up. I thought that to be selfish. I was the one in peril here! “The deadline is the holidays! We get off on the twenty-first of this month, and it’s already the third! Not to mention that I have the concert on the last day! How am I supposed to learn how to gain fathers respect in seventeen days?”

“Maybe you should start by thanking mother,” Artemis mused. “She is the one who got him to lighten up.”

I looked at my twin questioningly. “How did she know?”

Artie rolled her eyes and Meg snorted a laugh, spewing out half of the contents in her mouth onto the table.

“Honestly Ollie, do you ever listen?”

“No,” Meg sniggered, answering for me.

“I wrote a letter to mother about the whole predicament right after I heard about it. I got her response at lunch yesterday. I gave you her letter to read so you would calm down.”

“What? No you didn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, she did,” Meg mocked in an ‘obviously’ tone. “Check your pocket, dummy.”

I reached into my robe pocket and drew out a few items; a keyring, a harmonica and a folded up piece of parchment. Meg snatched the parchment from my hand and unfolded it roughly, then slammed it on the table in front of me. The ink was fashioned in neat cursive.

“Read it,” Meg stated. I picked it up and scanned down the lines.

Dearest Apollo,

I sincerely hope you are feeling better than yesterday. Artemis wrote to me about what happened. I wanted to tell you not to fret, for I am on my way to purchase a howler as I speak - the quill is writing for me. Please do not worry, darling. Your sister and I will not let that man touch a hair on your head, and from what you have told me about your new friend, Meg, I suspect she will help you too.

The letter went on, more reassurances, more threats at Zeus, more pet names. Yes, this would have helped yesterday. If I had not been so numb to the world around me and taken the time to actually read it. The letter ended;

Love you, Sunshine!

~Leto

“Oh,” I said dumbly, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “I didn’t see that.”

“Yeah, no duh.”

“Shut up Meg.”

I remembered my mother fixing this kind of problem for me before. When I first arrived at Hogwarts, I had been sorted into Hufflepuff - what my father called The Weak House. The Friendly House. The house that none of his children should be put in, especially because he was such a model Slytherin, the house known for storming through the door first, instead of the house known for holding the door open for others. My father had gotten yellow on his ledger, and wanted to wipe it out. My mother shouted him down, and I kept my place in Hogwarts.

A new voice spoke calmly behind me.

“Begin with the library. Information is the starting point of all wisdom.” I spun around. Standing there was the tall, lean form of a seventh year Ravenclaw. Her dark brown hair was gathered into a tight bun on her head, and her arms clutched several dusty old rolls of parchment. Her grey eyes peered down her nose at us. The sapphire and obsidian robes she wore sat perfectly on her form, and her tucked in shirt and neat tie was exemplary of a Head Girl and Prefect - the badges of both gleamed on her lapel. Athena held herself with pride and confidence, knowing well that she was smarter, more privileged and generally better than the rest of us (read: Daddy’s Favourite). She knew rightly that whatever she did, she was untouchable. Thankfully, her freedom included helping me. “I can get you on the list for the restricted section. It is going to take some light-show to get on father’s good side. And,” - she smiled cockily - “some hard work and research.” Of course.

“So you aren’t really going to help me then?” Athena said nothing, but only smiled before turning on her heel and striding out of the hall to her first class. I rolled my eyes. Turning to my teammates, I announced; “I guess it’s just the three of us, then! No worries, I am positive that if we all work together-”

“-Actually Ollie,” Artie interrupted, totally stomping on my Inspiring Speech Hero Moment. “I have a load of stuff to do…with Orion. So…yeah,” she tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. I tried to ignore the blush forming on her cheeks. She gained confidence and stated; “I will not be around a lot this month. Sorry.” My beloved twin stood abruptly and rushed out of the hall.

Naturally. The one time she gets a teeny crush, she abandons me to do my own dirty work. How rude. I was not fond of that tricky fifth year Slytherin boy, and let me tell you, I planned to get rid of him. But that was for later. Right now, I needed to stay on task. Though looking at my only remaining teammate, who was currently showing her chewed-up food to a grossed out Hufflepuff girl, I wondered if that was even worth doing.

…

“This is so boring!” Meg lay with her feet up a against a bookcase, tapping her toes together as she flung another priceless book into the Useless Pile.

“Meg, you aren’t even helping. You’re just looking at the pictures!”

“Even those are dull,” she whined. “It’s so late and the Gryffindor dorms are sooo far from here.”

“It’s only seven o’clock, Meg.”

“It’s dark!”

“It’s winter!”

“Shhhhhhh!” The librarian hushed for the umpteenth time that evening. I whispered our apologies and kept reading about turning people into birds of prey. However I did not think that giving my father another eagle would suffice. I too, chucked my book onto the Useless Pile. It was now the sixth of December, giving me exactly two weeks until the last day school before the holidays.

“Right,” Meg announced, “I’m going back to the greenhouses. Good luck, or whatever.” She grabbed her wand and stuck her hands in her pockets, then disappeared into the maze of the library, leaving me alone in favour of checking on her secret karpos friend Peaches in the herbology classroom.

I sighed. Admitting defeat for the night, I grabbed a thick book I had read many times before. The leather bound book was emblazoned with silver text in ancient greek, a language every member of my family was fluent in, and I was no different. The title read ‘θεός’. I flicked through the weathered pages. Every chapter was a different relation, introduced with a detailed portrait - It was a family tradition to get one done one your twenty-first birthday, when you are your in prime stage of life. I saw my father’s, my uncles’ and my aunts’ portraits, and stopped at the chapter entitled ‘Hecate’. Her mother was sisters with my own mother, making her my first cousin. She was extremely experienced in charms and transfiguration, one of the best witches in the business. I figured I needed some inspiration, so I sidled through the mess of ancient greek and scribbled diagrams. I found that her specialty was inventing new spells. Then I came across a very interesting quote from some guy named Hesiod who had wrote a different book:

“Zeus, Cronus’ son, honoured [Hecate] above all others: he gave her splendid gifts - to have a share of the earth and of the barren sea, and from the starry sky as well she has a share in honour.”

My eyes lit up. That’s exactly what I needed. Well, maybe father wouldn’t ‘honour me above all others’, but he might at least give me a pat on the back, and to get that from my father would be good enough for me. Inspiration struck as I slammed the book shut and began my hunt for any information that might be of help.

By ten o’clock, I had been chased out of the library and back to the Hufflepuff dorms. I went to sleep cosy and content, knowing that all I needed to do now was invent a new spell.

Apparently, this is harder than it sounds. Drat. Even thinking of a new spell took me all Sunday, but at least there was no classes. Meg and I spent all day outside by the lake, sitting underneath a laurel tree while I poured over a seemingly endless stack of books, eliminating spell ideas as I saw them mentioned. I knew I wanted something flashy, something I could add into my concert - which was a great opportunity to show it off in front of the whole school. But alas, as I crossed off ‘self playing violin spell’ I began to loose the inspirational buzz I’d started the task with. Meg leaned over and swiped my list of possible spells from my lap.

“‘Poetry generator spell’? Really?”

“Gah! I don’t know!” I wailed, waving my arms desperately and throwing down my quill in defeat. “I can’t think of anything else! There is not a single spell out there that has not already been created!”

I slumped back against the tree and sighed, watching Meg make a dandelion grow with ten times the regular speed. She had a real knack for herbology and garden magic, just like I did for divination. Divination class had never steered me wrong, especially because the professor is my grandmother, Phoebe, who says I’ve inherited her talent. I had stayed behind after class last Friday to ask Professor Phoebe about the future outcome of my little trial, and she’d told me to grab a crystal ball and see for myself. All I had gotten was the mist in the ball turning gold.

I glanced over to the lake where my uncle Poseidon was lobbing fish for the giant squid. He was wearing his usual attire; a loud Hawaiian shirt and tan kakis with loafers and his signature fishing cap, even in the cold winter weather. As his bucket emptied, he turned to stroll back into the castle when we locked eyes. Noticing my distress, he ambled on over to us, his hands in his pockets and his kind, sea-green eyes twinkling.

“I heard you’re in a bit of hot water with my dear little brother again, Apollo.”

I blew out my cheeks in exasperation and slumped even further down the tree, making Poseidon chuckle. “I know the feeling.”

“He’s impossible!”

“What have you got so far?”

I handed him my list of possible spells, which he read through with careful consideration.

“I want to invent a new spell for dad. Like Hecate did. But every spell is already taken! There’s nothing to invent!”

Poseidon scratched his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully.

“Well, when people want to sell a product, they usually want the product to solve problems.”

“So?”

“So what problems - besides the whole ‘Impress Zeus’ chore - do you have that can’t be solved with magic right now?”

I furrowed my eyebrows in concentration.

“I have a gig on the last day of class. I have this one song prepared that requires a whole congregation of different instruments, and I still can’t find anyone else with the mere skill set to play with me, so I had to enchant the whole orchestra to play itself. There’s no backup singers either, since all the muses are doing their own parts, and if they play every single song they’ll be exhausted.” I huffed. “Mnemosyne remembered her girls coming home to her in first year after the concert, and she banned them from doing it again. And she never goes back on a rule.”

“Enchanted backup dancers,” Meg snorted. Poseidon raised an eyebrow at my young friend, smirking at her humour.

“Yes,” I mumbled, my mind running at full speed, giving me the ideas and inspiration I had spent a week looking for. “Yes, that could work.” I grabbed my quill and ripped out a new piece of parchment and began scribbling like a madman, muttering and blocking out everything in my peripheral vision.

“Well!” I heard Poseidon say, his voice retreating and getting more distant. “Glad I could help.”

“Don’t Bother,” Was that Meg? I couldn’t tell, I wasn’t paying attention. “He’s gonna be in that trance for hours.”

…

It was 9pm on the eighteenth of December. Exactly seventy-two hours until the concert began. I stood in an empty classroom that was packed with grimy wooden crates that had probably been there for years. A few of the stacked crates acted as Meg’s high throne, where she proceeded to look down upon myself, who trying feebly to summon my incantation. I glanced yet again at my jotter, which was propped open on top of a crate to my left. On it was my scrawled notes on my new spell: the Golden Charmer. The incantation words were translated into ancient greek: Χρυσεαι Κηληδονες, or, Chryseae Celedones. Their purpose was to act as my backup group, to sing, dance and play whatever I asked of them. They amplified my own voice, but in any voice type (tenor, soprano, bass, you name it) or gender that I pleased. They were also supposed to have a golden form, but so far, I had only accomplished a yellow wisp protruding from the end of my wand.

“Be more magic,” Meg suggested unhelpfully before stuffing another fistful of popcorn in her gob. I rolled my eyes, turned back to the empty room, set my jaw and tried again. I pointed my wand at my voice box, uttered “Χρυσεαι Κηληδονες!” and flicked my wrist until the wand tip was pointed away from me. I then drew a steady line downwards with my wand, the golden mist following in its wake and sculpting itself until a beautiful apparition stood before us, casting out warm light and an aura of grace. Her detailed face held an impassive expression, like she could just as quickly bare her teeth in a growl as she could in a smile. Her sleeveless dress was draped across her shoulders and flowed majestically down to the floor. Her hair was folded in a loose bun on her head, the fibres drooping but far from messy or unkempt. She was perfect. I could feel my heart rate rise unnaturally with unbound excitement. I had done it!

Meg, whose mouth was hanging open and spilling chewed kernels all over the place, quickly shut her trap and made an effort to look unimpressed.

“Does it work?”

I glared at her, thinking about that bat-bogey hex Hermes had just taught me, and how many times I would get to use it on my young friend by the end of the school year.

“I just invented a charm, Miss McCaffrey. Can you be impressed for a little bit before ruining my fun?”

“Nope,” she stated, twisting to lie upside-down on her crate, her glasses falling up to her forehead. “Get her to sing.”

I sighed. Tapping my wand on a crate for the golden being’s attention (which was most likely unnecessary, but still, delightfully dramatic), I held my hands up like a conductor with my wand as his baton. The Celedon sang in tune to my gestures.

“Aaaaaaaaaah!”

I smirked at Meg, deciding I had every right to be cocky. The celedon’s voice was pristine. It carried brilliantly, and was as clear as day.

“Are you just gonna conduct, then?” Meg asked. “Like, you’re not actually singing?”

“No, no, no. I’m singing and playing violin for this particular piece,” I said, loosing a bit of my confidence. Did the Celedons need me to conduct them? If so, id just created a whole new problem. “I’m sure if I just…” I turned once again to the Celedon and cleared my throat. “Ahem. Celedon, sing Greensleeves.” Thank the heavens, it seemed to understand. She burst into a rendition of the mournful tune. Meg’s eyes turned glassy with tears that threatened to fall, her soul plunged into the despair of loosing a loved one. I, on the other hand, felt the sound was empty. It was good, yes. But it could be better. I held a hand up for the spell’s sound to cease. It obeyed.

Meg stared at me, wiping her eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

“One moment…” I performed the spell’s gesture thrice more (now knowing the correct way to cast the spell), and soon had a quartet of golden women before me, awaiting my command. “Let’s try that again, shall we?” This time, the song was flawless. The first Celedon took the lead, while the other three vocally danced around the first’s notes, emphasising the main tune. Even I had a tear in my eye by the end. I was glad I had soundproofed this classroom beforehand, or I might have reduced the transfiguration class down the hall into a sobbing wreck.

“Ah ha!” I exclaimed. “Fantastic!” My mind raced for something else I could give them to do. “Uhhh…here! Try this! Accio violin!”

Whoosh - craSH.

A violin smashed through a window, and flew into my open hand.

“Couldn’t you have just went and got your violin?” Asked Meg. “I thought the Hufflepuff dorms were like, a floor down from here.”

“Pizzaz, Meg.”

“You’re dumb.”

I handed a Celedon the violin and announced; “Celedon, play Swan Lake.” But instead of Tchaikovsky’s magical piece, a sound not unlike a spiteful cat dragging its claws down a chalkboard screeched from the instrument. Meg fell off her wooden throne in surprise, clutching her ears and screaming at the charm to stop. The Celedon, obviously not used to being hated on by twelve year olds (despite her limited existence time) paused her torturous tune and glared holes into the red-clad preteen. After the ringing in my ears subsided, stared into space wearily, knowing that I now needed to teach a spell to play expert level violin. And I had less than three days.

…

I tugged nervously on my blazer sleeve as Calliope finished up her last song. I had decided to wear my usual house uniform, but instead of the cloak, I had donned a sharp black blazer with a bright yellow lapel. I smiled at my half-sister as she jogged offstage and joined me behind the great hall’s doors.

“You’re up next, Ollie,” Calliope panted, her sweat dampening her brow and coming through the folds of her stylised Ravenclaw-blue t-shirt dress. Black skin-tight jeans clung to her legs and her socks had sunk below the rim of her pastel pink converse boots. She grappled blindly for her water bottle before dumping the contents on her face and chugging the rest of it. Her wavy caramel hair straightened and darkened under the weight of the water. Cal and I were the main participators in each year’s Christmas concert. And every other concert at the end of a school term. She had just finished her version of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’, and just before that, had sang a variation of ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’ with me and her other eight sisters. She had also sang the song before that, and after three songs with hardly a break, she was rightfully exhausted. No wonder her mother had banned her from playing every song (a rule that my mother had belatedly decided to enforce on me too). Once she caught her breath, Calliope straightened up and patted me on the shoulder. “I hope this last one goes well for your sake, Ollie.”

I blew out my cheeks. “Me too.”

“It’s not a Christmas song though, right?”

“No, It just packs a punch. I wanted something that could really wow someone, y’know?”

Calliope nodded solemnly. “Of course. No one can do that with ‘Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree’.”

I knew she’d get it. Still, from behind the doors to the great hall where the tables had been cleared and a stage set up, I questioned every decision I had made leading up to this moment. Every face in the crowd was blurred together, but somehow I could easily see my father, reclining in his chair and glaring at the empty stage as if that would make the acts happen faster. I was terrified, and I do not get stage fright. I love being the centre of attention, especially when it’s for something I’m brilliant at. I did not doubt my own ability to put on a show. I only doubted my ability to read my father.

But of course, that did not matter. I had to start anyways.

As I sauntered out and onto the stage, I felt the heat of the room smack me dead in the face. The chatter of the crowd lowered to a mumble. I turned from my spectators and waved my wand at the hoard of unmanned instruments packed at the back of the stage, which sprung to life and readied their first notes. I then turned to my side and muttered “Χρυσεαι Κηληδονες!”. Twice before turning to my other side and doing the same again. I now stood between four Golden Charmers, readily holding matching violins. I silently prayed they had picked up the song I had attempted to teach them. Anything could’ve gone wrong at that point, and I could do nothing about it. I heard gasps and mutters go up from the students, but did not dare look. They may have been laughing - or something worse. Instead I focused on grabbing my own violin - whistling a single low note to signify that I was starting - and played.

As soon as my bow hit the strings, I felt the adrenaline flood my being, filling every bone in my body. I was no longer apprehensive. This was the feeling I lived for, and I intended to let it take over. My fingers flew across the strings, and at just the right moment, the Celedons joined in with perfect synchronisation. Everything was going to plan. The operatic voices of the Celedons joined the choir, singing along with the notes. “Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

The first verse arrived and the Celedones ceased their play, as planned. I continued with my violin, belting out the lyrics with all my heart and soul. The instruments gradually picked up, and I sang louder and louder, summoning all the melancholy I could muster. I could feel my musical magic making the audience break into tears. The exhilaration fuelled me. I could feel no exhaustion.

As soon as the last note evaporated, I felt my energy drain, my shoulders and head suddenly becoming a lot heavier. I wanted to heave for breath, but I simply could not allow myself to do so while still onstage! So I shortened my breath to what I hoped was normal, and not a person who had just ran several marathons back to back. My brow and torso were sticky with sweat and I had the urge to rip off my blazer for some relief from the overwhelming heat. I could hardly hear the applause that had erupted until I actively forced myself to listen. I was too busy scanning the audience to soak up the praise, but my eyes only landed on the unreadable, impassive expression of the headmaster.

…

I would have liked to be able to truthfully say that I spent most of the night celebrating the deadline of my trial and the end of the term with the muses, my twin, and all my good friends, partying to Pompeii by Bastille until the little hours of the morning, not bothering to concern myself with past mistakes or future hardships, drink too much butter beer and pass out on the Hogwarts Express the next morning. You know, the good life. But alas, that was not the case. For one, we were told to trot off to bed right after my final song, which was only a couple of minutes past ten o’clock, and warned that our heads of houses would be checking that we were all asleep by ten-thirty. If we were not, we would receive a detention for the first day back.

However, I still attempted to force my way through the swamp of students making their way to the doors so I could talk to my father, and perhaps get some clarification on my fate. However, my plans were spoiled when I couldn’t get past a particularly moody cow.

“Bed, Goldilocks!” Hera commanded, her hatred for any children of Zeus that were not hers abundantly present in her poison tipped words. “That husband-stealing mother of yours may cause Zeus to lighten his punishments, but don’t think for a second that I will have any displeasure in seeing you in detention for the rest of your years at this school!”

I leaned past her and searched around, not really taking in her threats (this is a common and practised reaction to children of Zeus), and tried once again to slip past her.

“I just need to talk to father real quick, then I promise I will be out of your…” I glanced up at her. “rapidly greying hair. Won’t be a moment.” At that second, Hera grabbed my wrist and yanked me backwards, almost pulling my shoulder from its socket. She sneered down at me, bearing her teeth and pointing to the exit. I realised it was not worth my trouble. I huffed and, turning on my heel, strode back to the Hufflepuff common room.

If nothing else, being in the common room was always a nice experience. The whole place radiated a calm laziness, the ever-burning fire in the fireplace keeping the temperature cozy in winter months. The low ceilings were just above ground level, so the highest windows let in the sweet smell of cut grass towards the end of the school year. A few older students were lounging on the comfortable yellow sofa facing the mantelpiece and the dozen beanbags scattered throughout the room. These were the students who were staying over the winter break, and had few concerns over the timing of their retirement to bed. Some congratulated me on my performance. A couple gave a thumbs-up and nothing more - I returned these with an added smile, of course. I took a crumb of shortbread (which I had stuck out of the kitchen on the way to the dorms) out of my pocket and tossed it to Badger, the friendly mouse who lay reclined on one of the low tables in the centre of the room (I had found him in first year and the whole Hufflepuff house had unanimously adopted him as our secret mascot). Then I slipped through the rounded, honey-gold wooden door that lead to the boy’s dorms and threw myself onto my mattress.

Was I off the hook? Did I pass the test? Did father approve? Did he hate it? It looked like he hated it. Why is it always me who’s on the wrong side of father? Would it have been different if I was in Gryffindor? Is that why he hates me? Does he hate me?

Fathers words rang in my head. “If you succeed, which I doubt, you may continue with your hobby. If not…” WHAT DID HE MEAN BY “IF NOT”? What did that IMPLY? Does it mean detention, expulsion or worse? Should I be terrified?

…

Why was I still worrying? Everything was out of my hands. I had done my best.

…

BUT WHAT IF-

The anxieties didn’t cease all night. I do not know when I finally managed to drift off.

…

I hurriedly stuffed my trunk full of the belongings I would need for the two week break. Artie and I were staying with our mother on Delos for the duration of the holiday, and I did not intend to miss the train. When all my things were safely tucked away, I slammed the trunk shut and hauled it out of the dorms and through the earthen exit of the Hufflepuff common room, bidding my farewells to the few students who were staying.

Due to my late night worries, I had woken up late and already missed breakfast, so I took the obvious solution to a Hufflepuff. I lay down my trunk at the end of the corridor and tickled the pear - the entrance painting to the kitchens.

I left ten minutes later, licking my fingers which were sticky from strawberry juice and greek yogurt. The house elves had been grudgingly generous, having just finished cleaning up for the winter. Smirking as they chased me out of the kitchen, I grabbed my trunk and began dragging it up the stairs and towards the castle grounds. Halfway there, I ran into a slight problem. Well, we kind of ran into each other.

The headmaster, my father, stood in all his muscular, bulking glory, blocking the way to freedom. He looked as authoritative as always, his grey-streaked beard and hair well-kept and neat, his navy suit and tie clean and imposing, his eyes a sharp shade of piercing blue. I backed off a few steps and tried for a chill smile, but I had a strong feeling that it looked more like a pained grimace. Father straightened his back, rolled back his shoulders and rumbled;

“So. You made… a singing spell.”

I gulped down the bile that was fighting its way up my throat. I hated the way he oversimplified things. It made all my achievements look so much smaller in comparison to their real gargantuan importance. For instance, take that time I recorded a mashup of myself and the muses singing to hit tracks in howlers, and installed the howlers in between walls - our own in-built speaker system! Genius! Unfortunately, a few party-poopers (cough, Athena, cough) complained and had father tell me to ‘Take the paper planes back’, which, frankly, is an utterly ridiculous understatement of the hard work and effort put into that project. But the past is the past. In the present, Zeus was still waiting for an answer.

Oh reader, I so desperately tried to tell him of the wondrous things even a single Charmer could accomplish! They were not merely singing spells! They could entertain, play for those who were lonely, fill vacancies in choirs or orchestras in emergency last-minute cancellations! They could solve more problems for a showman than there are notes on sheet music!

But Zeus would have none of it. He stopped me halfway through my righteous rant. Rude.

“Enough,” he commanded somewhat wearily, holding one hand up for silence and rubbing his temple with another. “It is too early for your passionate outbursts.” I may have pouted slightly at that. It’s not important. Zeus regained some of his intimidating authority and continued, “I have already decided the outcome.” I knew it. I was expelled, I was dead I was- “You were not at breakfast. I was on my way to your common room to inform you of your success before you depart.”

My face paled. I dropped my heavy trunk with a loud thump.

“My… success?”

Zeus grunted.

“Yes. It was… a good show. Many staff and students were moved to tears. That would be the sort of reaction I cannot ignore in my decision making. Spells are typically not simple to create from scratch. And to have seen someone pull such things off in a few short weeks was…” he paused, considering the right word to use. He begrudgingly settled on: “…impressive.”

Let me tell you, if I had still been holding onto my trunk, I would have dropped it all over again. I swallowed, struggling to process a compliment coming from the lips of the toughest, most powerful wizard in the family. My heart was buzzing, my head was light, my breathing was uneven (though I tried my best to hide it). My brain worked overtime to somehow comprehend these impossible words. Impressive. Dad…impressed. I was impressive. I had done something worth being impressed over. For him. He was impressed. Eventually I managed to croak a measly “Thank you.”

It could’ve been me hallucinating, but I could’ve sworn I saw the slightest smirk underneath the greying beard, and a minuscule spark of pride in those electric eyes.

“Ten points to Hufflepuff.”

@psychologymademeunderstand @go-danielle

#Hogwarts au #toa #trials of apollo #trials of Apollo au #my au #apollo #meg mccaffrey #pjo #artemis #zeus #athena #hermes #Poseidon #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #story

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