#and then at the end of the chapter alecto is like 'did you ever find out what happened with your accident'

[zevranunderstander]

okay time for my daily "i stand with john gaius" post but tamsyn muir did not write a bisexual maori man who was a renowned scientist who had dedicated his life to saving the earth and exposing the schemes of the ultra-rich who was then made out to be a terrorist and global threat when his only goal was to help and who ultimately was brought down by his own character flaws and shortcomings while under immense pressure in a situation where everyone he ever loved was being executed in front of him and seconds before death did something he - to our knowledge - could barely control, just for the entire fanbase to go 'yeah he's like a cartoon villain. he's an irredeemably shitty person and everything he does is inherently evil and manipulative'

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 28 of Nona the Ninth

A broken Sixth skull this time, but I'd guess probably not for any kind of deception

Honestly curious about who Gideon thinks Nona is at this point. I guess it's plausible that she does know Nona is Alecto since she did think Harrow was in love with Alecto

Are we ever going to find out what happened? Because I would like to know

Also, this kind of raises the question of why Alecto forgot she was Alecto here? Did she forget when John put her in the tomb? But even if she forgot who she was at that point, she spent all of Harrow the Ninth interacting with Harrow and even giving her advice (and her advice to lie to Mercy about her age indicates that she remembers something about who she is, at any rate) and Nona doesn't remember anything about Harrow here. So did something that happened at the end of Harrow the Ninth cause her to forget?

A ward of some sort, I guess

This reminds me of the whole "why does Ross, the largest friend, not simply eat the other friends" thing. Maybe this isn't just because Alecto has a resurrection beast perspective but also because this story is actually full of people eating each other, also, can you really blame her for making this assumption?

So the resurrection beast doesn't just drive necromancers mad, it also makes doing necromancy dangerous, at least for regular necromancers anyway, this didn't seem to be an issue for the Lyctors at the end of Harrow the Ninth

Camilla is like, half-dead in this scene, but she's still making jokes

So if I understand this correctly, they're making plans to somehow travel physically through the River in this BOE truck to Pluto, which for some reason isn't going to be dangerous the way it usually is, but no one has explained why yet

Something that's slightly confusing to me here is that they're talking about Gideon telling them things, and We Suffer is part of this conversation, and I think later GIdeon is outside the truck and sitting up and all, but at the beginning of this chapter Gideon claimed she was still pretending to be dead. So does We Suffer and the rest of BOE know that Gideon isn't really that dead right now, or what?

I think after the last John chapter, it's been sort of established for me that there isn't a right way to do Lyctorhood and there was never any kind of "perfect" Lyctorhood like whatever Mercy and Augustine though John was hiding from them. I guess Pyrrha wouldn't know, though, even if she does somehow remember the story John told, she wasn't alive at the time that John ate Alecto

I guess this is the gay sense and not the political sense?

This is mouth-to-mouth kiss #2, and so far neither of them have been between characters who actually have any kind of romantic hinting

Who is "she"?

I guess Camilla saved some of Palamedes' bones just so that she could eat it to fulfill the cannibalism part of the Lyctorhood ritual?

I don't think we've actually seen what happens during the standard Lyctorhood process looks like - we didn't see Ianthe's, we didn't get a detailed description of Harrow's, and everyone else's happened 10,000 years ago, so I have to wonder how this differs from the others, other than obviously they would usually wind up in the necromancer's body

Also, this seems like possibly a worse or at least not better version of what happened to the other Lyctors, since it seems like both Camilla and Palamedes died and they have become someone new instead

I mean, maybe for Ianthe, but I think Babs is long gone at this point, no?

I guess Ianthe noped out because she realized that there was no way she was going to be able to get back to the shuttle and therefore return with either Gideon or Pyrrha or the Sixth House, and she's obviously been aware of what's going on. But this also means she knows the approximate location of the Sixth House and what their plans are for Gideon's body, which I'm sure will be of great interest to John

[racefortheironthrone]

Hey there,

So I read the Locked Tomb series a few months ago and one thing that occurred to me after reading Nona the Ninth was that the John Gauis’s account of the end of the world could not be fundamentally trusted.  While I believe that Tamsyn Muir intended for these passages to be “true” or “Accurate” to what happened I found unable to accept the chapters due to the number and severity of lies told by John.  It also led to me notice any inconsistency, irregularity, or any implausible scenario and to see it as evidence of another lie by John. 

My question I suppose is if an author uses an unreliable narrator when (or if) should the audience trust said narrator again.  

In part my extreme skepticism started when John mentioned the oxygen crisis, that such a scenario would be so sever and immediate that there would be little time for John’s necromantic schemes.  It was further stoked by John’s impractical cryogenic plan (why would you send frozen people to the Kuiper Belt), and later on John’s  mis-remembering when and how original-Gideon died and that he was telling this story to Harrow hark trying to convinced her to join him.

I am quite certain that my extreme distrust is unwarranted and that Muir intended for us to believe John’s tale but I cannot help but notice the inconsistencies and find John utterly dishonest and unbelievable.

I'm glad you asked this question, because it allows me to talk about how to apply historiographical methodology to literary analysis.

One of the terms that I was exposed to during my training as a historian is the "hermeneutics of suspicion" - the practice of reading texts such that the on-its-face meaning of the text is false and that you have to read the text solely for its deeper, hidden meanings. The problem with the hermeneutics of suspicion is that, taken to a logical conclusion, all texts and meanings become false, and for lack of evidence, all academic inquiry shuts down and we wind up sitting on the floor with our hands over our mouths.

Now, this doesn't mean that you have to take texts as 100% valid either, but rather that good methodological practice requires a careful weighing and balancing of bias, rather than simplistic binaries.

So in the case of John's narrative in Nona the Ninth, is John meant to be an unreliable narrator? Yes. However, because Tamsyn Muir does actually play fair with the readers, she makes it quite clear when John is lying to Harrow/Alecto:

"I said I made a mistake. She let it go eventually because the others were telling her to lay off. Just said Guys as careful as you shouldn't have accidents. If you've got a gun learn how to aim it. This is too big for fuckups now... "Did you ever find out what happened? With your accident?" He turned to her and he smiled a funny little smile. It only used one half of his mouth. In the dream his new eyes did not show happiness or unhappiness. And he said, "Come on, love. Guys as careful as me don't have accidents."

And here again:

"I did need to do it, Harrow. There was no other way. Once those bombs were going off, there was no hope for Melbourne anyway-- G- was dead meat." She said-- "You said that G-'s bomb went off first." "Yeah, it did," he said impatiently. "Of course it did...Look-what does it matter? In the end, why the hell does it matter?"

Unfortunately for John Gaius, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is smarter than he is when she's in her right mind and she catches the discrepancies in his story - just as we are meant to do.

So what I would say is that, unless it's something where Tamsyn Muir gives us clues like this where other characters are calling John out on his bullshit, you should treat worldbuilding issues like the population of Earth, or the logistics of cryocans, or the speed of shuttle transports in the Nine Houses, etc. as either mistakes on the part of the author (when they actually are mistakes) or just part of the overall willing suspension of disbelief that comes with speculative fiction.

[waitingandwishing]

The Clay Girl - The End of 'Em'

(Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3)

Prev - Next Chapter

“Hey, Grover… Something wrong?” Odyssa asked, placing a hand on Grover’s shoulder. His eyes were watery as he smiled slightly at the statue in front of him.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m alright.” He sniffed and Odyssa gave him a tight hug.

“You’re a good satyr protector, y’know that?” Odyssa asked and Grover nodded. She placed both of her hands on his shoulder, “You’re a good friend too. You’ve been trying to keep this whole thing together while it was falling apart. Annabeth and Percy may not see it but they’ll appreciate it when they realize what you’ve done for them.”

“You’re a good friend too. You’ve been nothing but nice and kind like always.” Grover smiled, “You didn’t have to stay up that late, y’know?”

“I was on patrol. I got about thirty minutes before we woke up. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” She said with a tired smile and Grover shook his head.

“This time, we’re taking turns.” He said and Odyssa nodded.

“What is it?” Annabeth asked, appearing downstairs with Annabeth.

“Uncle Ferdinand.” Grover swallowed.

“Oh, no… Grover, I’m so sorry.” Percy stood beside him.

“This is as far as he got on his quest. We aren’t even to Trenton. But look at him.” Grover chuckled softly, “He’s not like the others, he… He doesn’t look afraid.” The satyr smiled softly before clearing his throat, “You used the, um, you used the head to get rid of Alecto?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That was the right move. Uh, we probably should get going. It’ll be dark soon.” Grover wiped his eyes and Odyssa patted him on the shoulder.

“Fengári,” Odyssa said and her bow and arrow turned back into a necklace. She laced it around her neck before looking at Percy, who was already staring at her. She smiled and Percy smiled back before almost dropping the head.

“Uh, so, what are we gonna do with the head?” Percy asked, “I just took down a Fury with it, and I wasn’t even trying. We can’t just leave it for someone to find. Leave the hat on and bury it in the basement, that oughta keep it safe.”

It was funny because Percy was named after Perseus, who used Medusa’s head to kill his enemies. History always repeats itself, huh? Odyssa turned to Annabeth and the girl shook her head. She knew how much that cap meant to her, she was willing to sacrifice it for the sake of the mission though.

“Sure.” Annabeth finally said, “Now, can we talk about the bigger issue here?”

“What bigger issue?”

“‘You could have saved your mother.’” Annabeth repeated the Gorgon’s words, “That’s what she said to you like you discussed it already. Is your mother still alive?”

“She’s with Hades. But I appreciate your concern.” Percy sassed and Odyssa sighed, again, when were they going to stop bickering?

“Guys, just please stop.” Grover sighed.

“Oh, I'm concerned. What are you actually doing on this quest? And why did I have to hear about this from Medusa?”

“Okay, while we’re at it, ‘You should have accepted my offer?’” Percy frowned, restating Alecto’s words. “What’s that about do you think? And why did we have to hear it from Alecto?”

“Enough!” Grover yelled.

“The hat was a gift from her mother. It means a lot to Annabeth.” Odyssa crossed her arms, “She may be willing to sacrifice it for the mission but I’m not willing to see her lose the only thing that connects her to her mother.”

“Okay, but how are we gonna make sure this thing is safe?” Percy asked.

“Mail it to Olympus. I mean, it’d be karma. She was going to mail us to Olympus after turning us into stone, y’know.” Odyssa pointed out and Annabeth shook her head with a sigh.

“And you, really? His mom’s alive. Can you imagine how confusing that must be for him? Feeling like he may have to choose between the fate of the world and the fate of the only person who's ever cared about him?” Grover scolded Annabeth.

“Why are you guys talking like this?” Annabeth asked, confused at Grover and Odyssa’s sudden anger.

“Because all day Odyssa and I have been trying to keep this quest on track without upsetting either of you!” Grover huffed, “But maybe things need to get a little upsetting before they move forward.”

Odyssa turned to Percy, “Anna asked you a question back in the woods, yet you never answered. What are you so afraid of?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Odyssa crossed her arms.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Grover interjected.

“You’ve been fighting with her, you’ve been fighting with me. And soon enough you’re gonna start fighting with Odyssa and she’ll start to fade out again.” Grover defended.

He was right, she’d been starting to fade in and out of her emotions more quickly than usual. Usually, it was when she was stressed or something overwhelming happened but nothing out of the ordinary really happened. She’d just been… Fading out.

“Because the Oracle said one of you would betray me. Okay?!” Percy yelled and Odyssa snapped her head to Percy.

“What?”

“‘You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, and you shall fail to save what matters most in the end.’” Percy repeated the Oracle's words, “That’s the rest of what she said to me.” 

Percy pointed to Annabeth, “I chose her because I couldn’t imagine we’d ever be friends.” Percy gestured to Grover, “I chose you because I thought if I can count on anyone to be on my side, no matter what, it was you.”

Percy turned to Odyssa, “I chose you because you were one of the only people who hadn’t shunned me out because I was the son of a stupid father who didn’t have time for his kid. Because you would burn the world for any of us. And now, I'm feeling so alone. I don’t know what to think or who to trust.”

Odyssa swallowed before nodding, he was right. As long as the people she cared about were, the world could go fuck itself. After all, what did the world ever do for her?

Percy looked at Annabeth, who looked down at the ground. “I didn’t mean it that way…”

“Alecto offered to help our quest if I gave you up to her,” Annabeth admitted.

“What did you say?”

Annabeth smiled slightly, “I killed her sister.”

“Medusa offered to help me save my mom if I turned on the two of you,” Percy admitted as well.

“And what'd you say?”

“I cut off her head.” He smiled and Odyssa chuckled softly.

“You didn’t choose to be demigods. We didn’t choose this quest. But we can decide that as long as the four of us are together, none of us are gonna be alone. And if we can’t do that, we might as well just head back to camp right now. 'Cause we won’t make it.” Grover reminded them.

Odyssa turned to Percy and Annabeth before thinking, “Well, like I said earlier, why not give Medusa a taste of her medicine?” She walked over to a desk and took out a box and a roll of tape, “She was going to send us back to Olympus as statues, why not send them her head? Hermes Express could help.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened at the suggestion, “Dessa, you cannot ship Medusa’s head to Olympus.”

“Why not?” Percy asked as he placed Medusa’s invisible head on the table.

“Because the gods won’t like it.”

“At all. 'At all' at all.” Grover added.

“Why? That’s what you do with dangerous stuff. Like batteries, you just send 'em back where they came from.” Percy grinned, looking at Odyssa.

“Personally, it’s more of a tribute,” Odyssa added as she opened a box large enough for Medusa’s head.

“Okay. Look, this is a bad idea. They will see this as impertinent.” Annabeth remembered and Odyssa thought for a moment before shrugging.

“We are impertinent.” Percy grinned before looking at Odyssa, “Right?”

“I wouldn’t say that… I would say more of… Mischievous.” She smiled.

“Yes, but we’re not.” Annabeth gestured to her and Grover.

“Really, very not,” Grover added.

“Look. Medusa tried to derail our quest. She’s got serious beef with your mom.” Percy handed Odyssa Medusa’s head. “When you look at it that way, this seems kinda like tribute or something, doesn’t it?”

Odyssa nodded, looking away as she uncapped the monster's head and quickly closed the boxes, “On the plus side, you can keep your hat.” She handed Annabeth her Yankee’s cap with a smile.

“Thank you.” Annabeth smiled.

“You’re my sister. We look out for each other.” Odyssa reminded her.

“So this isn’t exactly what I meant. By choosing each other.” Grover interjected and Odyssa shrugged. “There are actual dangers involved here that cannot be…”

Percy started to clap as Grover gave him a deadpan stare. “You're gonna sing the song, aren't you?”

Percy started clapping faster, Odyssa clapping as well and Grover rolled his eyes. “♪Oh, golly. The road’s gettin’ bumpy'. Consensus! ♪”

Odyssa laughed at the irony before catching herself, “Alright, well, I heard there was a train we could catch.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Annabeth asked.

“I took a glance at the map on the bus.” Odyssa said, “Anyways, from the train, we could probably get to Los Angeles in about… A few days?”

Percy and Grover looked at each other, “Alright, sounds good to me.” Grover smiled and Percy nodded.

_____________________________________________________

“Hey, you asleep?” Percy asked Annabeth, who was sleeping on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed. He was sleeping next to Odyssa, whose back was turned to him.

“Yes,” Annabeth answered after a long silence.

“You and Thalia were really close, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What was she like?”

“Why?”

“She was the last forbidden kid before me, right? She must've dealt with the same kind of stuff.” Percy said, trying to connect with the forbidden-turned-tree child of Zeus.

“She was tough. I mean, she knew she was a forbidden kid, she just didn't care. When Luke and Thalia found me, Luke cared for me right away. And when we found Odyssa, she was my sister. But Thalia… She made me earn it.” Annabeth explained.

“Is that why you give me a hard time?” Percy asked, “I gotta earn it with you too?”

Annabeth sighed, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I gotta say, that doesn't make a lot of sense to me.”

“What doesn't make sense to you?”

“The way you guys all talk. The way the gods want us to think. Gotta burn an offering to get a parent's attention. Gotta beat up on Clarisse just to get my father to admit he's my father. It isn't supposed to work that way.” Percy rambled, “People who are close to you aren't supposed to treat you that way.”

“You wanna know how I ended up alone on the road in the first place?” Annabeth asked. Percy stayed silent so Annabeth continued, “I started out as a gift to my father. That's how it works with Athena. We're born from a thought in her mind, and then given to a partner she feels connected to.”

“And for a while, I was treated like a gift. My father cared for me. He loved me. I knew it…” Annabeth reminisced, “Then he met a woman. They had their own kids. And to her, I-I wasn't a gift. I was a problem. So I left… I was seven.” 

Annabeth swallowed, “It isn't the gods who think that way. It's everybody. But at least with the gods you know the rules. Show them respect and they'll be in your corner, no matter what.”

Percy nodded, turning his head to see Odyssa, “Does she always do that? Sacrifice her health for the mission?” He asked and Annabeth nodded though he couldn’t really see her.

“She’s always been like that. Too selfless for her own good, too focused on others safety that she ends up not caring about her own.” Annabeth explained, “She’s a good hunteress. But sometimes her emotions get in the way or just cease to exist. It makes her reckless.”

“Is the fading in and out thing known for that?”

“Zeus breathed life into her. She’s still perfectly human although sometimes the emotions are like bursts for her. They’re too loud and too strong for her to handle so they fizzle out before she can register them.” Annabeth explained, “At least, that’s what she always says.”

Grover groaned from the top bunk, rubbing his face. “You awake?” Percy asked.

“Well, I am now. Thanks.” The satyr snapped.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked.

“He's super grouchy when he doesn't get enough sleep.” Annabeth smiled fondly.

“‘He's super grouchy when he doesn't get enough…’ Nyeahh!” Grover mocked, still slightly annoyed.

“Wow,” Percy said. He was not expecting a grouchy Grover.

“You've never been on the road with him before. A little different than a froofy boarding school.” Annabeth grinned.

“Who's froofy? You're froofy. What's froofy?” Grover grumbled before sighing, “I think I need to eat…”

“Hey, Odyssa. Come on, we gotta wake up.” Annabeth snapped her fingers, leaning over to wake up Odyssa. The Artemis girl groaned before running her hand through her hair with a groan.

“Hey…” Her voice was soft and slightly raspy as she looked around with a slight smile, “How long was I out for?”

“Long enough to earn back those hours of sleep you lost.” Annabeth pointed out and Percy chuckled.

“Mhm…” She nodded as she stood up, stretching with a groan. “Alright, well, I’m gonna get ready…”

“Yep, see you at breakfast.” Percy smiled and Odyssa nodded, walking away with a stumble.

Annabeth turned to look at Percy, who was still looking at Odyssa walk away, before looking back at Odyssa with a knowing smile.

[iviarellereads]

Full TLT series to date thoughts on rereading Gideon the Ninth, chapter 36, through Harrow the Ninth, Parodos

A probably semi-regular weekly bonus to my reread blog, since sometimes you realize things on reread that just make you need to yell in a full spoiler space.

The way Cam's attack is described, "like the wrath of the Emperor", gives me some real big feelings about where Paul is headed in Alecto. I'm still not ready to go into my whole ramble about the ramifications of that choice of name, it'll come when it's time in Nona coverage, but wow.

I don't have a lot to say about the end of the book, really. Just… all the feelings. I had to go literally lay down and stare at the ceiling after the bit about Harrow under the big blue sky with Gideon's remains.

The glossary poses some questions I hadn't considered before. Not by way of things I think the story will end up doing, but now I can't get it out of my head that necromancers can't be born outside the home system, literally outside Dominicus's significant gravity range. Even as far out as Ninth, we might infer that Pelleamena's difficulty conceiving could have been down to reduced thanergenic influence from Dominicus. A baby's death releases enough power to destroy the planet… but what would it take to get a fraction of the power of the Sun?

Not much to say about the rest of the bonuses except that I hadn't thought about "Gideon is a prophetic name, someone named their own demise in her", and how Jod named G1deon. I have so many questions I want answered about the renaming and how that worked and how much of each version of the Resurrection story is true… but this one's sticking out to me today.

The way she points out so casually that Camilla and Palamedes share the "am" in their names in a specific, resonant way because necromancer and cavalier pairs in the book who love each other share a sound in their names. Abigail and Magnus revolve around their Gs, Camilla and Palamedes around the "am". But also, given where they end up in Nona, as Paul… "am" as in the conjugation of "to be" is hitting me as SUPER powerful in context.

The Doctor Sex Lyctoral love letter conundrum. I don't see it discussed very often, the short story only seems to come up in context of Juno Zeta being a bamf. How does this fit in with what we know of the official, and unofficial, accounts of the Resurrection? It bears thinking about, for certain.

Harrow's prologue offers a few truly choice nibbles of revelation. One of the big ones standing out to me is how Harrow thinks that Ianthe is beautiful, as a contrast to how Nona judges Ianthe at the end of the next book.

Also, Ianthe offering to undo what was done, the lobotomy. I wonder if and how much she really cares for Harrow, and if and how much she genuinely cares for her sister.

Ianthe showing exactly how little she ever cared for Babs. I love all the posts I see about how Babs is only there to be consumed, first Ianthe taking his flesh during the aftermath of Abigail and Magnus's murders, and then being the lamb to the slaughter for her Lyctorhood. Did she ever really care about him? Is that lack of love why she's a weaker Lyctor than the others?

Ianthe saying "Choke me, Daddy" when, in context, they're all about to find out Gideon, our Gideon, was in fact John's child all along. Chef's kiss, no notes.

The three different syllables always murders me. Gid-e-on. Sobbing forever. Not even death, not even lobotomy, can separate their love for one another.

Lastly for this post, do we think Alecto's spirit was really appearing in the River with them, or is the Body in the River sequences just a manifestation of Harrow's waking relationship with her?

[ninthhousedyke]

Nona The Ninth Live Blog #9

Okay yes it has been FOREVER but I can explain: I’m lazy. Also like…I sadly had to do human things like finals and not killing myself so I’m just getting back into everything. I also already do know most of what happens in the end because spoilers exist and I read them, but I still want to finish the book and catch any details I haven’t seen on my dash. Okay let’s begin!

Gideon just….playing dead….while Pyrrha carts her around like a sack of potatoes is such an image and I love her.

No I wanna know what Cam said to Gideon in that truck! Was she yelling at her for stupidly thinking Harrow hates her? Was she asking “bro wtf”? Was she trying desperately to jab more needles into her as Gideon just laughs? WHAT DAMMIT!

Okay so I do know that Pash and Gideon are cousins, but is THIS the moment Pash realizes it? Is her “oh fuck no” because she sees the ginger hair and knows it’s Wake’s DNA?

Nona worried Pyrrha will flirt with Pash is so cute.

“I hate to agree with Pash but she’s right.” “Thank you; fuck you.” Everyday I am more and more glad I wrote a hatesex fic about these two because every interaction proves just how much it was needed.

Wow so BOE cannot control their people at all! Merv Wing is just doing their own thing with the Sixth House basically?

Aweee Hot Sauce and Nona made up!

Hot Sauce being named Hot Sauce because she likes hot sauce is such a non-binary mood.

AHHHH WAKE HAD PASH’S PICTURE ON HER!!

So will Pash ever know Gideon is her cousin? Is that coming next?

Oh never mind there’s a resurrection beast now

I love how the most dangerous thing Nona can think of is Cam

The resurrection beast spoke THROUGH Judith!?!

I know Nona is Alecto but DAMN that conversation with Varun and the “And I never was” at the end are still so damn powerful.

“Is anything ever really truly ready to die?” TAMSYN STOP IT RIGHT NOW

Gideon just taking a nap through all of this lmao

I just read the John chapter and I’m gonna need a minute…..or five.

Okay let’s talk about John!

The moral grayness of the entire backstory to this universe is insane. Blood of Eden are the descendants of the top 1% who fled the climate disaster they caused, and John was one man with an insane gift granted to him by a dying planet’s soul. Is there really a correct way to handle that situation?

So he threatened to set off all the bombs if the trillionaire ships were allowed to launch, and then not only did he actually set the bombs off, but he took the souls of the dead and literally Adam and Eve-ed up a body for Earth’s soul just to try and catch the fleeing ships. And he didn’t even get them all! This man ate the souls of the universe to stop some rich assholes from running away!

That line about John caring more for vengeance than salvation hits harder now that I know HE MURDERED THE ENTIRE SOLAR SYSTEM!

RIP Cristobel

He also watched all his friends get murdered which has gotta take a negative toll on someone. Cassie and Nigella had JUST gotten married!

Like I’m finding it really hard to feel upset at his actions. What was he supposed to do? Let the rich live and the poor die? On the other hand, I’m a huge proponent of murder is always the option but nuking the entire world and building a Barbie doll body for Earth was a bit much.

Alright done with John! Back to my babies!!

“Kind of pretending to be dead here.” Oh Gideon I cried reading that. I’ve missed you so much.

Gideon asking Alecto if she loves Harrow is so painful and I just want these two to kiss for real when they’re both back in their correct bodies and states of mind.

Palamedes really is THAT BITCH. He has no formal training in the River or how it works but he’s like “yes this is a good solution”

Cam has two dads AND a sister?! Why is this information I’m just now hearing about! Oh god she’s gonna die isn’t she.

“We were children playing with reflections of stars in a pool of water thinking it was space.” OH GOD TAMSYN STOP THEYRE GONNA DIE

So that’s who Paul is….huh…the spoilers did not prepare me for that one. So we just lose both of them at once? We now have this third thing who is a Lyctor and is neither of them? No go back. I don’t want this. Take it back now!!

So Pash and Aim and Noodle are going to the Nine Houses. So we’re gonna get more Pash in book 4? Please don’t kill Pash. Let one person in this series have a happy ending and get to live without any body-soul fuckery.

WHO TF IS AIM

River time!

Okay I should really go to bed now but hopefully I actually finish this book in the near future.

[ledbiantastic]

Okay, it's time for my Harrow The Ninth read through post. Spoilers, obviously. Thanks to @shakespearerants, @irascibubble, and @mayasaura for encouraging me to keep going. Enjoy!

I am on page 33 of Harrow the Ninth and I am making a prediction. I initially thought the Body referred to the dead girl in the locked tomb, but now I think it's Gideon. We'll see if I'm right.

Page 44 says it is the dead girl in the tomb, but I'm not convinced it isn't also Gideon

Gideon must be important to have to be erased from Harrow's mind like that, right?

Did Ortus the First kill/try to kill Gideon's mom? The timeline adds up, they said he messed something up nineteen years ago, Gideon was 18 in the last book and time has passed

In the weird retconned memories, after every death, or during, someone says "is this how it happens" which makes me think it's, like, Harrow's brain asking that

Who are those notes from and to? What's up with that?

I love seeing Harrow spend time with Magnus and Abigail. I liked them

If Harrow is haunted, but this is not the real version of the past, is her mind creating the ghost? Is it Gideon? I don't think Gideon would write notes like that though...

Page 291 is Ortus talking to her like she's Gideon's mother? IS HE ASKING WHY SHE BROUGHT ALONG THE BABY?

Is Ortus' cavalier more active or something? Like he doesn't remember because she takes control?

Page 315 "he had seen me" who is he and who is me? Who is narrating this to Harrowhark? Is. It. Gideon? (Later I decide it's Palamedes seeing the Sleeper, who is also narrating and is possibly Gideon. We'll see if that's right.)

Is the poster on page 318 Gideon? Is It? IS IT? But Gideon's hair didn't go down to her shoulders. Is it her mom?

Are Camilla and Coronabeth on the side of the rebellion? BOE? Is old Harrow? I KNEW IT! But I'm sad they're on different sides.

Is Ianthe the spy? Is that how she knew Coronabeth was alive?

Does the Sleeper represent the part of Harrow and/or her brain that erased her memories and it's cleaning up the debris in her psyche? OR IS IT GIDEON? AKA the DORMANT part of Harrow-as-Lyctor? When the Sleeper is unmasked, will we see Harrow or Gideon?

Did Gideon's mother start the rebellion or something? Is that why they had a poster of her? Was she Eden?

So, Canaan house was on earth then?

Did Harrow (old Harrow) tamper with her own temporal lobe? Did Mercymorn? Ianthe?

Whose idea was it for Ortus to kill her then? John? Augustine? Mercymorn? Someone else?

Did Harrow break into the locked tomb? I want to believe she did, because I support her. But if not, who is the Body?

Shit, I can't remember what color Gideon's eyes were. Page 363 when Harrow's eyes are two different colors, black and gold

Ianthe wants to marry Harrow? Weird. I don't ship it. But I'm kind of stuck on Gideon and if I wasn't, maybe.

See a man about a queen? What does it mean? What is Ianthe doing? Also love that she cursed Harrow's hair to grow extra, just to be petty.

I'm so confused by chapter 40. What the hell is going on? Why is Harrow trying to be a cavalier? The fuck? Role swapped false memory? What is even happening?

Is Harrowhark's brain just, like, randomly spit-balling while she's dying or something? Love that Abigail and Magnus seem to be aware that it's not real.

OH OH OH THAT WAS GIDEON! SERVING THE COFFEE AND MAKING HARROW BLUSH IN THE THIRD(?) FALSE MEMORY OR DREAM OR WHATEVER! I love that Abigail is NOT having this, like, no I'm not gonna watch your romance novel version unfold.

I think I've noticed that the ones who have speaking roles the weird memories are the ones who died in the last book.

Are they all taking active part in these false scenarios? All the dead from Canaan house?

Oh my god oh my god here it is she remembers and she's so sad!

So she erased Gideon to save her soul. Nope nope nope nope nope I can't. I can't deal with these feelings. Y.Y

Who the fuck is the angry spirit?!?!

Who fucking stabbed her?

IS GIDEON DRIVING HARROW'S FUCKING BODY AROUND DURING A FIGHT? HELL YES! AND THAT MEANS I WAS RIGHT THAT SHE'S NARRATING!

OH AND I PREDICT THE GHOST IS CYTHERIA!

I'm still thinking about what Harrow did. It's so sweet and so sad and she's so lonely and she didn't even know how lonely she was.

Also I'm already excited to reread this series.

Oh yeah, this is GIDEON in here, swearing up a storm and trying to use a sword.

Okay, first I'm getting emotional just from heading Gideon's voice, then I'm emotional about what it was like for her to be in Harrow's body/mind, then I'm emotional about all the things she wanted to say but didn't have time, AND THEN I'M EMOTIONAL when Gideon says why she thinks Harrow did it and I'm like baby nooooooo it was because she loved you, not because she didn't want to rely on you! Honey, baby, no!

"Harrowhark, I gave you my whole life and you didn't even want it." HARROWHARK, I GAVE YOU MY WHOLE LIFE AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN WANT IT. 💔💔💔😟😟😟😭😭😭 Excuse me while my heart breaks.

Oh, also a bigger issue in this book is the whole concept of the afterlife? And it's messed up because of the emperor? I don't know why I wasn't prepared for that but I wasn't.

Ortus holding Harrow and pointing out that she and Gideon were neglected children is making my therapist soul ascend.

I'm such an idiot. His name wasn't Ortus, it was Gideon. He did kill Gideon's mother, that's why she shouted his name. Or they were in love? One or the other... Or both?

Harrow did a find and replace in her brain and it had unexpected consequences.

I've been leaning more and more towards the Sleeper and ghost being Cytheria.

Oh my sweet sword lesbian himbo, how I've missed you. "The sword I had to hold overhead in one hand as I used the other to keep everything inside you; stuff was coming out, Harrow, I don't know precisely what stuff because I'm not a goddamn necromancer."

Gideon is OCCUPYING HARROW'S BODY during a deadly invasion and is like, 'I'm gonna shut my eyes to reach under the shirt and get rid of encumbrances. I tried not to touch you, so don't get mad.' I feel like Harrow would be the first one to say 'do whatever you have to do to stay alive, you imbecile!'

So Mercymorn stabbed Harrow... So the heralds would eat her as a way to buy time? Was that the plan? Gideon calling her "my necromancer" made my heart do a thing.

I want to understand what she's saying about Gideon's mother. Was Gideon a science experiment? Like Kipo?

Where. THE FUCK did Cytheria get the gun?

Dulcie is *horny for revenge* Abigail is a BAMF and my new (and final?) prediction is that the Sleeper is Gideon's mom.

Gideon and Ianthe is a fun dynamic. I love how protective Gideon is, that she's mad at Ianthe for hurting Harrow's heart.

Gideon must have her mother's eyes to be freaking all the lyctors the fuck out.

"I wanted you to use me... I wanted you to live and not die... Harrow. I already gave my flesh to you, and I already gave you my end. I gave you my sword. I gave you myself. I did it while knowing I'd do it all again, without hesitation, because all I ever wanted you to do was eat me." Why am I crying? 😭😭😭😭😭 Why is this the most romantic thing when it's also full of insults and curses and is followed by a your mom joke? What a Gideon thing to do, be so romantic and gross and sassy all at once. I love her, I want to be her. Gideon forever.

Love that Ianthe also thinks Harrow got rid of Gideon because she didn't want her. /s I'm starting to worry that it's silly for me to hold onto the 'because she can't live without Gideon' explanation.'

"But Nonagesimus, you hating me always meant more than anyone else in this hot and stupid universe loving me. At least I'd had your full attention." That's why indifference is the opposite of love, hate is still passionate attention. But this also makes me feel so bad for Gideon because she deserves to be loved, dammit!

Okay, "gall on gall" is pretty hilarious. Good job Ianthe.

Love that the ghost of Matthias Nonius speaks in meter because he's been so deified by the Ninth house, and he's confused by it. It's like people in a musical being aware they're in a musical, like, why am I singing?

Ortus' poem was important after all!

Is it the sword? Does Harrow have to destroy Gideon's sword? Because that would break my heart a little.

"It bewildered her, back at Canaan House, how the whole of her always seemed to come back to Gideon. For one brief and beautiful space of time, she has welcomed it: that microcosm of eternity between forgiveness and the slow uncomprehending agony of the fall. Gideon rolling up her shirt sleeves. Gideon dappled in shadow, breaking promises. One idiot with a sword and an asymmetrical smile had proved to be Harrow's end." I just... This is so beautifully written. And describing Gideon as one idiot with a sword is so perfect and right and I just... 🖤🖤🖤😭😭😭

No no no I hate this either/or bullshit! I know I'm a sappy optimist, but I want both of them to survive, damnit! I want Harrow to be able to go back to her body without losing Gideon's soul. I want Gideon to keep existing.

What does Dulcinea know?!?!

Commander? That's Gideon's mom, right? Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity

What does that all mean? Are those Eminem lyrics? What other language is in there?

WHAT'S ALL COME OUT?

I knew she was in the sword.

Oh my god, if you need John to get in the tomb, and she was trying to get in the tomb and had something, a tool... Samples... She was armed with the baby... Is Gideon's father John? Is Gideon the fucking child of God?

She named the baby Bomb... This whole series could have been Bomb the Ninth... Bomb Nav...

Yep yep called it, child of God. The first time they put that plan in action was to get sperm to make Gideon. The second time was so Harrow could kill the first Gideon.

A dad joke?! A DAD JOKE?!

Gideon and Harrow were so cruel to each other as kids. It just makes me so sad.

Was Harrow able to get into the tomb because she made Gideon bleed?

So is Alecto John's cavalier? Annabel and Alecto... Are the same person? I'm so confused. She's the body in the locked tomb? But how is that related to her eyes being in his genes?

Wait, the eyes switched? I continue to be confused. Did he do the lyctor thing but also put a part of both him and his cavalier into the cavalier's body? But she was never human? What's going on? Why do they think she never had genes?

Oh cool, Mercy killed God and now everyone's gonna die... ... ... Ooooor not.

I love that beating up Harrow is Gideon's job AND saving Harrow is Gideon's job. Very cute.

Sooooo Gideon the OG and Pyrrha both fucked Gideon's mom... With the same body...

Gideon, such a romantic, wishing she had Harrow's name on her lips as she died. "I mean, yeah, I was thinking about you too; if I could've turned that off I would've turned it off years ago" HAHAHAHAHA You can't stop thinking about Harrow even if you want to! God, what a sweet himbo.

"Yes, well, jail for mother" says Gideon... Is she referencing Miette? Jail for mother for one thousand years!

Okay, so we have definitely confirmed that the Body is Alecto/Annabel/God's cavalier.

What did Dulcinea tell her? That Gideon is moving her body around? Doesn't she know that? Shouldn't that not be a surprise?

Okay, so, wait, what happened to Harrowhark?

ARRRRRGH I'm not smart enough for this book! Or I'm not visual enough! I know I should recognize the description of bobbed hair and "lambent" eyes but I have no idea who it is and also WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO GIDEON AND HARROWHARK?! UGH NOW I HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE NEXT BOOK AND I'M GONNA BE SO IMPATIENT AND CONFUSED!

Well that was fun to reread. Impressed I got some things right, but mostly I was very wrong.

[soapdish290]

Harrow the Ninth may be one of the best books I’ve ever read.

Under the cut for some of the questions I need the answers to, as well as me mulling some implications / potential theories.

Harrow the Ninth is horrifically, horrifically dense, and is the first book I’ve ever read that made me take actual honest to god notes on first reading, but my entire GOD is it worth while.

I’ve never ready anything with a form / point of view quite so immensely complicated whilst still adding to and complimenting the narrative. Absolutely masterful shit.

I’m going to go hog wild with spoilers under the cut.

Edited in a probably fruitless attempt to make the formatting not The Worst on Mobile

IT WAS NEVER IN SECOND PERSON OEFHAUIOFNBaufbhAPIhbaip

It was always Gideon. I kind of jokingly wondered if it was back when I first heard it was going to be written partially in second person, but I didn’t BELIEVE it!

Things we should have known

1. There are so many clues that Harrow has inexpertly switched her cognition of the very word ‘Gideon’. I mean we know she’s wiped HER Gideon out of her head way back in Chapter 2 when John talks about Harrow’s Cav, name drops Ortus, and Harrow notices “As he spoke, his mouth looked strange.” Well yes, hearing something out of sync with what’s actually spoken will do that!

But we can actually see that it’s MORE than that way back in the Dramatis Personae. Everyone has their name, written out grammatically and normally, and then we have ORTUS. All in caps.

Obviously the real tell however is the codenames in Chapter 36. We know from Cytheria’s funeral that the Lyctors are naming themselves [Necro first name] [Cav first name]. The codename’s reflect this - apart from ‘Ortus’s’, which is G.P. P for Phyrra, G for Gideon. That’s when I got it.

What I MISSED, is that this tells us, right there and then, that he was very involved with our Gideon, who is named for her mother’s last word. Her mother whose last word was for OG Gideon.

2. Palamedes knew there was a perfect Lyctorhood and outright told us way back in chapter 33. “Tell me you [became a Lyctor] correctly. [...]Tell me you finished the work. You out of everyone could have worked out the end to the beginning I was starting to explicate”. I had to stop and stare at a wall for a bit with the implications of this one, at the time.

Things we now know

1. The thing for me, the real thing, is how goddamned casually the answer to one of the biggest mysteries is dropped. It’s an afterthought. Chapter 51:

“You clawed my face so bad that my blood ran down your hands; my face was under your fucking fingernails. When I let you go you couldn’t even stand, you just crawled away and threw up. Were you ten, Harrow? Was I eleven?

Was that the day you decided you wanted to die?”

Gideon is trying to work something out. She’s trying to parse together how Harrow opened the locked tomb. The entire opening part of this chapter is Gideon’s brain, whirling, working, following the reveal that the Necrolord Undying’s “unbreakable ward” was a blood ward. Rightfully, a ‘cell’ ward. And that Gideon is God’s blood.

So what have we learned?

In order:

We've learned that only John could open the ward. That Harrow couldn't possibly. That the latter half of her life has been a tragedy based, as is oft the case, on a misapprehension.

Then we learn that God is wrong, because he doesn't understand blood wards as well as he thinks he does.

We learn at the same time, through implication, that the locked tomb is blood warded (and think back to Gideon Prime's advice to Harrow RE warding).

Then we learn that our Gideon was birthed to be a weapon used to open the locked tomb. She is the blood of God.

And here, casually, that when Harrow decided to commit suicide by ward, she did so with our Gideon's fresh blood underneath her fingernails.The locked tomb has been open for 8 years.

(as an aside this is ‘casual’ because Gideon’s entire goddamn existence has just been torn asunder by learning her parentage and hearing what might become known, in the literary canon, as The Dad Joke Undying. It’s casual and seemingly disconnected because Gideon is dissociating to FUCK and Muir is a damn MASTER of linguistic form echoing narrative function).

2. “Alecto had your eyes from the moment any of us first saw her.” Harrow, who is in love the the body in the tomb, would have seen this, too. A 10,000 year old body with the same exact eyes as Gideon Nav. Nothing specific to add here. Just... worth noting. There are potential implications.

3. Oh yeah, Wake’s spirit was in the sword as well as Cytheria sometimes. OG Gideon probably knew this when he was macking on the corpse, seeing as both he and his Cav were fucking her. Although she ALSO very much tried to kill OG Gideon, so go figure. Wake was haunting Harrow and trying to steal her body. Apparently people were having trouble with this.

Things we do not know, but would like to.

1. ‘“Augustine”, he said, “if the man you were - the man you were before you died, before the Resurrection - could hear what you just said to me, he’d tear your throat out.” Augustine said, “Thanks for confirming that.” And then he was silent.’

So, this has some pretty legit implications right? Augustine has just told John to give up on his ‘invasion force’. So either Augustine has changed over 10,000 years and John hasn’t, or else Augustine was LITERALLY someone else before the resurrection. This leads in to the next thing that I Would Very Much Like to Know:

2. What the BALLS caused the Resurrection. What WAS the resurrection. Why was it necessary. Why does John need an invasion force? What, succinctly, the fuck is going on?

3. John says that he will forgive OG Gideon for failing to “fix or put down” Harrow. A scant page later he says that he “was trying to save her”. Save her. By ‘putting her down’. That’s not the language you use for someone you’re trying to save. That’s the language you use to minimise what you’re doing. What the fuck was John doing. Who was he manipulating. He told Harrow he wished she was his daughter. He asked OG Gideon to try and kill her. Why. What the fuck my dude.

3. The Stoma at the bottom opened for John. They’re only supposed to open for the Resurrection Beasts. “some kind of heinous underworld that only opened for the undead souls of monstrous planets”. What the fuck IS John, at this point? I can’t help remember that he had bodies and souls left from the Resurrection - he used them at the start of the book to rejuvenate the Ninth House and ‘buy’ Harrow. I’m reminded of Teacher from Gideon, who was 50 men. Of Harrow herself, who is 200 children. How many is John? Cytheria said she was doing her work on behalf of the 10 billion. The population of earth in the presents near future? of the solar system? Going back around to an earlier point, WHAT DID JOHN DO.

4. Gideon-in-Harrow is saved by the body. By Alecto, who speaks “with the wrong voice twice removed”. Whose voice? Why is it wrong? Who is she talking to when she asks for chest compressions? I assume she’s with Blood of Eden? With the Sixth and Coronabeth?

5. The Harrow who wrote the letters still knows more than we do. She knew that Camilla was around, that Corona was, that Judith was. She knew enough to know that Judith would need to be muted instantly.

6. The Epilogue. To me the implication is that they have Harrow’s body, but do not know who is driving. They give the bones and the sword, and look for a reaction.

7. Gideon’s body. Where is it. The assumption is that Blood of Eden have it. Why.

8. Oh, Gideon outright states that Ianthe was playing games with Harrow, up to and including lying about seeing Cytheria’s body under her bed (fucking nightmare fuel right there by the by). Not surprising, but oddly specific if just doing it for shits and giggles. Could just be that Ianthe assumed Harrow was doing all the made shite on her own and just egging her along, could be something else. Doubt we’ll find this one out, I’m probs overthinking.

I’m definitely missing a lot. I could also list the fucking effortlessly cool shit that keeps happening in this book, but this is long enough.

[bunnymagia]

harrow the ninth spoilers / theory

apologies if this is literally the most basic, already well-understood thing but i was re-reading Harrow the Ninth and something occurred to me that I didn't catch the first time: in the chapter where harrowhark travels into the River to find palamedes, i think we're meant to understand that harrow and palamedes were on the verge of True Lyctorhood back at canaan house. consider the following:

You sat down on that overcushioned bed, and you looked up at his long, grave face; you tried to remember if you had ever seen it, before it was summarily blown off by gunshot. You really did try. When you closed your eyes, there was nothing cauterized upon the eyelids - except a little redness. You said, "A human mind cannot live this way, Sextus. Being stuck in place is any revenant's undoing, unless it has a very specific anchor. Eventually it will lose purchase - it will let go - it will return to the River. I cannot imagine the type of mind that would hold on to that edge, and keep holding."

"I can, and it scares me," he said heavily. "Look. How long have I been dead, Nonagesimus?"

"Eight months," you said, "give or take."

He took off those thick lenses and looked at you with diamond-grey horror. His face was homely; he looked somewhat like a break, a chin, and a jaw put together as a joke - but the beauty of his eyes made the whole attractive, as though they were a mould colonizing the rest of the stratum.

He spluttered, "Eight months?"

"I don't have an exact record, but--"

"What? Why did it take you so long? It should have taken you a week, tops."

"Excuse my apparently sluggard pace," you said, feeling that this was an unjust accusation, "but your cavalier only just brought me your bones, and regarding that I have more than one question to ask her--"

His brows were crisscrossing like swords. "How did you and Cam get separated in the first place?"

"I was not aware I owed a debt of care to--"

"I mean she wouldn't have left your side, if you'd given her half a chance--"

You lost your patience. It was difficult to say if you'd ever had any; you'd just spackled over the hole with curiosity.

"Warden of the Sixth House," you demanded, "why are you acting as though I should know you? Why are you acting as though your cavalier knows me? I am Harrowhark the First, formerly and in everlasting affections the Reverend Daughter of Dearburh: I am the ninth saint to serve the King Undying, one among his fists and his gestures. I did not know you in this life, and I will not know you in the next one."

He stopped dead.

"You became a Lyctor," he said.

"That was always the plan."

"Not for the Harrowhark I knew. Tell me you did it correctly," he said, and there was a quick, questioning eagerness to his voice, something beneath the confusion. "Tell me you finished the work. You out of everyone could have worked out the end to the beginning I was starting to explicate. Your cavalier, Reverend Daughter--"

"Has become the furnace of my Lyctorhood," you said.

The dead Warden stopped. He looked at your face as though his eyes could peel through dermis, fascia, and bone. And he said, quietly: "How God takes - and takes - and takes."

(bold mine)

so this is interesting, right? he finds out that she's a lyctor, and the first thing he does is ask about her cavalier. he would not have done this if he didn't realize there was a way to become a lyctor without eating your cavalier. and his disappointment when harrow says that her cavalier is dead - and the way he turns right to god -

remember that god is not, like, a theoretical concept for them, a stand-in for ineffable fate, but a real, eternally living person who has taken actions that have consequences. the king undying knows that true lyctorhood is possible; he knows that there's another way, and he even let the new lyctors devour their right hands. how god takes, and takes, and takes.

so the sleeper shows up, starts to break into their little river-bubble, and harrow has to leave, but this is how the chapter closes:

Sextus was rubbing his temple and looking at you, awestruck, as though he had seen some stupefying glimpse of the beyond; you did not remotely understand the sharp smile that suddenly crossed his face.

"Kill us twice, shame on God," he said, and he leaned forward, and much to your intense distress he swiftly kissed your brow. Then he said: "Harrowhark, for pity's sake, go!"

You dropped back under, and you did not hear the gunshot; you were, not for the first time, overwhelmed with the suspicion that you were standing in the middle of what you had thought to be scenery, only to reach out and discover that it was all so much flimsy. You were not a central level within a mystery, but a bystander watching a charlatan display a trick. Your eyes had followed a bright light or colour, and you realised with a start that you ought to have been watching the other hand. You were standing in a darkened corridor, and you could not turn around: and then a brief explosion of light revealed to you that it wasn't a corridor at all, and it had never been dark.

But you were always too quick to mourn your own ignorance. You never could have guessed that he had seen me.

so my question is, like... what, exactly, did palamedes see that made him realize that gideon was still in there somewhere? and - if that is the case, if gideon is not only a thanergy furnace and set of sword-related muscle memories but an actual soul inside of harrow (and considering gideon narrates half the book in the third person, i think that's a reasonable read) - did harrow achieve true lyctorhood? without knowing it, without realizing it, is harrow one step away from the terminus of this process?

anyway alecto the ninth when. please my crops are dying

[zenosanalytic]

Harrow the Ninth: The Ending

OK this one’s pretty short it’s just a breakdown of how I read the ending.

So we’ve got two bits: we’ve got three people taking care of an invulnerable amnesiac in a conflict-ridden city on a world with a carbon economy, and then we’ve got Harrow in the River.

First Bit

I think this one’s rather clear. Camilla(the one who looks after me), Corona(the one who works for me), and Judith(the one who teaches me[only one who can do necromancy]), are taking care of Harrow’s body and whatever/whichever soul(s) are currently inside it. I’m pretty sure it’s Gideon, but with amnesia from the trauma of being deep within, and somehow exiting, The River. I feel like the last bits of Chapter 52 are clear that Gideon didn’t die even if she THINKS she did, if you read between the lines. The last section starts with

“...if you die by drowning your whole life flashes before your eyes?”

and that doesn’t happen for Gideon. Instead, she sees a fading visitation by Alecto(did Alecto perhaps come back to her in those final moments and push her out of The River?), and then Camilla trying to save her life(and apparently succeeding). Also as I’ve written before(and wrote after reading Gideon the Ninth but cant seem to find X| X| X| probably did it on Twitter their search function is CRAP >:( >:() I really don’t see Muir killing Gideon off.

It could also be a merger of Gideon and Harrow’s souls, but I don’t think that’s the case. To begin with the treatment here isn’t nearly commiserate to that particular development, and I trust that if Muir went in that direction, she’d do it justice(I mean: Look at Harrow the Ninth; it’s all ABOUT doing justice to characters and premises). More practically tho Chapter 52 brings up the concept in discussing “life flashing before your eyes” and dismisses it. There IS the implication that the person can do Necromancy, which points in that direction, but the above, combined with my reading of Harrow’s situation, makes me doubt this outcome.

The last possibility is that it could be Alecto in Harrow’s body; there is that vision, and the necromancy(and given Alecto’s ease navigating The River, I’m assuming she’s Necromantic[as are all Planet-Souls hinthinthint]). I doubt this mainly cuz as above I don’t think Muir would kill off Gideon like this and if it were Alecto then where’s Gideon? I suppose it COULD be a triple-soul bodysharing and/or merging situation though.

Second Bit

Harrow chose not to go to her body because she KNEW Gideon was in her body currently and this would displace her, leading to Gideon’s consumption and making all she’s done to keep Gideon alive for naught. She chose NOT to stay in her Dream-Bubble because this is Harrow: OF COURSE she wouldn’t take security, surety, and comfort over the Hard, Chancy, Self-Risking, “Right” course. So:

Harrow destroys her Dream-Bubble(don’t try to argue with me that’s absolutely what it is >:|)

She goes into The River

Then a flash of her hallway, the same one from Ch. 33 when traveling back to her body

Then she’s back in her memory of Gideon dunking her. To be clear: this is a baptism analog.

Then she breaks the surface of the water and she’s back in Drearbruh, back at it’s heart, back in The Locked Tomb; finally “Home”

Alecto’s tomb is Bare(She is Risen!), a two-hander lies within the hollow of the bier, and so does Gideon’s fantasy of a Cohort titty-mag.

I think there are three possibilities here.

One: The Tomb represents her mind/soul and she’s in a modified version of the position Gideon was in throughout Harrow the Ninth. I don’t think this is likely because Harrow explicitly rejected returning to her body, and going into The River was presented as a separate choice from returning. HOWEVER the Hallway(returning to her body) and the dunking(Gideon was underwater, “surfacing”; now she’s pushing Harrow underwater) can be read as evidence of it. As to the Alecto set-dressing, I don’t really think these signs of escape really subtract from this idea as we know Alecto has a spiritual connection to Harrow, and they could be read as symbolizing that.

Two: Harrow has traveled through The River back to Alecto(so to Drearbruh since that’s where Alecto is), through an act of spirit-projection similar to what Alecto was doing with her throughout the book. I think this is a more plausible read given the setting and the possible explosion(the sounds of Alecto escaping), but there are a couple facts which push me in another direction; some quotes I’ll bring up later, the sword(why would Alecto leave her sword?), and Frontline Titties of the Fifth. As has been repeatedly belabored; that’s not even a real publication, Griddle!(though I will say, if she’s spirit-projecting she’s probably in some extra-liminal space btw The Shore and the world of The Living, and maybe thoughts&desires can manifest as spiritual objects within that place. Given all the similarities The River has to The Immaterium in the Warhammer universe and how that plane is directly shaped by thoughts, it’s not entirely out of the question)

The reading I hold to most strongly is this though:

“floundered not to the shore but to the island in the center...”

The Shore has been mentioned throughout HtN as a sort of transitional part of The River which the living arrive at when they either die or project to The River, and here the book is explicitly saying she’s refusing to return to The Shore. She swims across the water to a place on the other side of it; an “island in the center”. And, while the place she arrives is familiar and sentimental to her, it is also, explicitly and textually,

“faraway in a land she had never traveled”

Drearbruh is her home; she opened The Locked Tomb when she was 10; the scene Harrow is in is as familiar as it can be for her and yet the book calls it “a faraway land she [has] never traveled”. She’s home yet she’s faraway. She’s laying in a tomb of ice, glass, and iron and yet it’s warm and soft as cotton bedding to her(someone who has refused such comforts her whole life). It is COMFORTING and COZY to her! A two-hander lays within

“that final resting place of Harrowhark’s one true love”.

Which is HILARIOUS and sneaky ambiguity if you ask me. I mean: obvsl the surface read is Alecto’s “final resting place” cuz that’s literally what it is in the story, but it is the sword that is “finally resting” there now; the sword that can represent both Alecto and GIDEON(and, if we want to go even further beyond getting super-symbolic with it, the hard path of conflict, justice, and suffering Harrow has ALWAYS chosen throughout her life[1]). Anyway the more immediate point is: this is the grave/home/bed of her Love. She finds a magazine that doesn’t exist there; one made up by Gideon which warmly recalls Gideon to her mind as she drifts to her rest.

This book is HEAVY with Christian, specifically Catholic, reference and symbolism. In Christianity God is Love and God’s Home(Heaven) is a “Home of Love”. In Christianity Heaven is(among other things) a place of rest; when one goes there one’s burdens stay behind. This is the first place we’ve ever seen(aside from her “warm” attraction upon meeting BARIstar Gideon) where Harrow’s emotional and physical state is described as “warm” and “comfortable” and the Christian Heaven is a place of comfort. Drearbruh is Harrow’s Home; “Home” is a common Christian synonym for Heaven and “coming Home” is a common Christian synonym for going to Heaven. 

Harrow has Crossed the River, and come Home, to Rest, in a Heaven of her own making.

[1]And also, just cuz I refuse to be unthorough, European two-handers are perennially cruciform. Harrow, by embracing it, is, by necessity, embracing a cross.

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Daffodils.

Chapter 16: Ally (part 2/2)

Hermione and Ron were revising her purse, making sure that they hadn’t forgot anything... Not that they could go back and look for it right now but whatever. Harry supposed that it calmed their nerves. Him and Nott were sitting by a tree, they had agreed between the three of them to keep watch of him just in case, although Nott hadn’t made any kind of attempt to escape since they had released him.

The silence was awkward but Harry guessed that talking would be even more so. Apparently the other boy didn’t think the same.

“Are you together now?” Nott’s voice sounded flat for the most part, maybe if he tried he could catch the little tinge of jealousy that intermingled with his words.

Harry knew that he was asking about him and Draco, it was obvious, but he didn’t know what was he supposed to respond. He never had a talk with the blond boy about what was going to happen to them when Nott appeared in the picture again. It was kind of a given that there wasn’t going to even be a ‘them’ anymore... From time to time, Harry let himself imagine that there was going to be one... Even in secret, even in stolen moments.

“He misses you.” Was the only thing that Harry responded, hoping that it would do. Nott let out a snort.

“I really doubt that, Potter.”

Harry turned around to look at him. Was he stupid or something? Did he not know...? But his thought were interrupted.

A bright silver light appeared to be coming towards them. Every fiber in Harry’s body stiffened. Nott seemed to realize this and tightened his fingers around his wand. Of course he would think that what was coming was a threat... It couldn’t be any more further from the truth.

The lion ran wildly, approaching them. It was amazing how it reflected the blond boy, his moods... everytime he saw the Patronus, something flipped inside his belly. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the unmistakeable need to have Malfoy with him, of kissing him and hugging him, trying to apologize for all of this.

‘I had to do it, they could take you, they could kill you... I couldn’t allow it.’

The lion stood in front of them, in all its majestic glory. Harry took a deep breath before it began to speak to them. Or, well, yell at them was a more accurate term.

“YOU BLUNDERING IDIOTS” The sound of Draco’s voice echoed in their wards. Ron and Hermione ran to meet the patronus too. “HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME BEHIND.”

“Oh, shit.” Ron muttered as he held Mione’s hand, looking for comfort. Harry wished to have some kind of comfort himself but the only comfort he had was looking at the silver lion in front of him.

“IT TOOK ME TWO WHOLE HOURS TO BE ABLE TO CONJURE THIS, NOT EVEN WHEN I ALMOST DIED IN DECEMBER DID I HAVE THIS KIND OF STRESS! COME BACK OR I SWEAR TO MERLIN THAT I WILL NEVER SPEAK TO EITHER OF YOU EVER AGAIN.”

Harry felt like his heart was being squeezed to death as he heard those words.

“Harry...” Hermione called for him but her voice was interrupted by Draco’s again.

“POTTER: YOUR FATHER IS HEART BROKEN AND SIRIUS IS WRECKING THE HOUSE JUST WITH ACCIDENTAL MAGIC. HE ALREADY FACED AZKABAN, HE DOESN’T NEED FOR HIS GODSON TO BE AN ARSEHOLE AND RUNAWAY.” And yes, Harry knew that. “WEASLEY: YOU ARE THE WORST ONE. YOU GAVE ME YOUR WORD AND LIED TO MY FACE. ‘I’M SORRY, FERRET. IT WASN’T MY CALL??’THEN WHOSE THE FUCK WAS IT? IF IT WAS YOURS GRANGER, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT THIS IS NOT LIVING UP TO THE SLYTHERIN-CODE OF FRIENDSHIP.”

Harry heard Hermione let out a little sob and when he turned around tears were coursing down her cheeks. Actually, it had been Harry the one who had asked to leave the necklace at the mansion. He knew that Ron always carried it with him and Malfoy was very aware of that.

“IF YOU DON’T COME BACK IN LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, YOU CAN ALL FORGET ABOUT MY FRIENDSHIP AND GO FUCK YOURSELVES.” The lion ended up the monologue and faded away.

The uncomfortable silence surrounded them. Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He needed to reply, and he couldn’t do that if he couldn’t achieve his happiest memory. He turned to Nott and glared at him.

“Don’t even try to talk. If he hears you, he will put two and two together in a matter of seconds.”

“I think I know one or two things about him, Potter. I don’t want him in the Manor any more than you do.”

The pang of jealousy was unmistakable. ‘Throw it in my face why don’t you.’ He turned around and breathed in deeply. He tried to picture the first hug that he got from his father after the department of mysteries, so warm and welcoming...

“Expecto Patronum.” He casted waving his wand and his stag appeared in front of them. “Find Malfoy and tell him this: I’m sorry, we can’t. Don’t send another Patronus, we were alone right now but it’s dangerous. Please don’t hate us. Dad, Padfoot: I’m sorry too, please be safe.” And he sent the stag away.

—————————

Harry couldn’t fucking believe that he was going to drink the essence of the disgusting rat. He was pretty sure that Nott was doing it on purpose just to torture him.

He looked at the three passed out death eaters again and pulled a face. They had already stole their clothes and apparently the plan was to leave them here, in the middle of the forest, tied to a tree and wandless. Nott even had suggested to imperious them so they wouldn’t try to escape anywhere... Hermione wasn’t on board, though. Said that if they gave them a very large amount of Sleeping Draught, that they should be on that tree at least until tomorrow.

Ron and Hermione were going to polyjuice as Alecto and Amycus Carrow. Harry thought that it was pretty creepy for them to be ‘siblings’, even if it was temporary, but Nott had chosen the Death Eaters that normally wouldn’t talk as much in meetings or were assigned the lesser tasks.

“Which one are you?” Harry had asked, arching an eyebrow defiantly. Nott snorted as a response.

“What do you think, Potter? I feed the prisoners, and sometimes the dark lord sends me to feed Nagini because he finds it hilarious, the fact that I’m scared shitless of his murderous snake. And at the meetings I just sit there. After what happened last year: I’m a joke.” He said as he was applying the Draught in Amycus mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, being useless means that you don’t get certain privileges that I’m not particularly interested in having.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked looking at him with the over sized clothes that belonged to Alecto.

“You know, killing and torturing.” He said shrugging as he stood up. “Which brings us to a very important subject: you already know the backgrounds of these ones, but let’s go over the way that they behave. The Carrows are normally at Hogwarts but they come for meetings because they like to kiss the Dark Lord’s arse.” When he saw the panic flashing through Ron’s eyes, Nott calmed him down. “He is not going to be there. Most of the times we don’t know where he is, the meetings are basically to check everyone’s business. If they ask you something you respond that the Dark Lord’s plan is going fantastic and that’s it, maybe mention that you casted a cruciatus on a half-blood third year if it gets to that.” He flinched. He was starting to think that things were actually worse at Hogwarts than outside. “Avoid talking, the two of you.” Then, he turned to face Harry. “You, on the other hand... You’ve met Wormtail before, haven’t you? He is afraid of every single fucking thing, don’t look at anyone directly at their eyes. He only acts cocky if the Dark Lord is around because, for some unknown reason, he kind of likes the piece of vermin.”

Harry knew why Voldemort liked him, it was because he handed in their location, back in the first war, and because he was the one who helped him come back after the triwizard tournament.

“Okay, are you going in first?” Harry asked and Nott shook his head.

“You and me are going in first, the Carrows always go in together and that way we can sense how everything is inside before Weasley and Granger enter.” He saw the brunette cross his arms and take a deep breath. “They are going to catch you. There is no way around it. Try to be as quick as you can, and be near the fireplace, you can apparate safely once you are inside the floo because technically you are not inside the wards. You could be tracked, though... But I don’t have a better idea.”

“What about Luna?” Ron asked quietly and he could see Nott tensing before responding.

“She is not the only one there... You should take Olivander and Griphook too, if you can. I know which spells open the cellars... If Potter comes with me, or one of you two, it could seem like you rescued them without my help. I’m going to receive a Cruciatus but whatever.”

And, suddenly, he understood why Draco was in love with Nott, much to his dismay. He had another type of bravery, the one that Harry lacked, the one that Draco and Hermione also had: you do what you have to do, don’t matter the costs. The only thing that the brunette was trying to avoid was getting himself killed, something that Harry was grateful for because if he died, then Draco would die too. And that wasn’t an option.

After that, they took the polyjuice and used the distance from the forest to the manor to practice the way that these three people normally walked. Nott kept giving Ron and Hermione advise, Harry was the one who nailed his imitation of Pettigrew in the first try because he would never forget the few times that he had met him.

It kind of bothered him that Nott was pretty fucking funny sometimes. He had not believed Malfoy when he told him that... It sucked, each moment that he saw how the brunette really acted, was a moment were Harry was reminded that he loved someone who didn’t love him back. Not the way he should... And seeing the brunette telling Hermione ‘No, Granger. Walk like you have a broom up your arse, it’s like she is always constipated and wants everyone to know it’ was a pretty honest reminder of why Draco found Nott hilarious; he had the same sense of humor that Padfoot had... And Malfoy always laughed until tears came out of his eyes with Sirius.

“Weasley, even though I suspect that the Carrows have a thing going on, I highly recommend that you don’t look at Granger every two minutes.” Nott said and Ron, wearing the face of this grown up man, blushed terribly and said ‘I wasn’t ‘ in such indignant tone that the only logic explanation was that he actually was. Hermione was the only one to reply.

“Ugh, they are brother and sister” But the brunette shrugged, giving the impression that it wasn’t as crazy, not in their circles. Harry couldn’t help but to pull a face at that.

Once they got to the entrance, Harry took a deep breath. They were supposed to not have a problem to enter at all, but, you know, it all seemed a pretty bad idea overall. The best one that they had but still a bad one. It surprised him that everything was lugubrious to the point where it seemed almost cartoonish.

“Well, let’s try not to die, right?” Ron joked and Hermione punched him in the arm and his friend cried in pain. Harry took another deep breath.

“This is going to work, we are going to be fine.” Was what he replied, trying to calm everyone down, even if he didn’t believe that at all.

[thanzag]

a (not!fic) trial

please enjoy my rambling not-a-chapter summation (can we call it a summation if it’s 3k words?) of zagreus’ time in athens and the trial against the furies

fic masterlist here

CW for discussions of past abuse in this chapter, and i’ve got some notes at the end regarding it as well.

it takes zagreus about four more days to make it to athens. he definitely has his first real mortal contact by asking someone for directions, but he’s so amiable that it’s not really a big deal. to the mortal, anyway. he, personally, is thrilled to speak to another person. secretly, he’s starting to think that that delight isn’t going to go away any time soon. long periods of solitude do not suit him, he is discovering. no matter how much time he spent sulking in his rooms at the House, before

but anyway, he makes it to athens. has to stop and get more directions, though this time he is more confident in it. definitely passes the public baths somewhere along the way and yearns to give them a try. baths aren’t really a thing in the underworld! the blood of the river styx just wicks itself off of him every time he’s died, after all, and that’s the closest he ever gets to water.

he does make it to the areopagus, though, sometime after the sun’s highest point in the sky. he’s not sure what he was expecting, but to find Hermes and the person that must be Athena standing there, waiting for him — well. that was never in the cards.

‘cousin, it is good to see you,’ athena says when he approaches, meets him half way. hermes has already flown almost directly into him and wrapped him into an eager hug, which — hermes is just great, zagreus has decided.

‘and it is good to see you, Lady Athena’ he answers, taking a knee in front of her. she laughs, a little, at him.

‘that’s not necessary, zagreus. you are family, not a stranger. don’t forget that,’ and then she’s helping him back to his feet. ‘i got your message from hermes. we can have a trial by this time tomorrow, if it suits you.’

‘oh, i mean — that’s great! if. if it suits you? any time is fine, but as soon as possible would be ideal, i guess —’

hermes bumps his shoulder from his place at zagreus’ side, drawing his attention.

‘if it’s alright with you, boss, i could represent you in the trial. i mean, i think i know more about what you’re going through than any of the others, just by virtue of being down there so much!’

zagreus can’t keep the grateful smile off his face. he doesn’t know what being represented means or requires, but he is so thankful for hermes.

‘i’d really appreciate that, hermes. thank you.’

athena leaves shortly thereafter, citing a need to pull together the jurors for the trial. but not before she clasps him on the shoulder one last time and calls him cousin, again. just another reminder that he is, in fact, family to her. not related, but family.

hermes leaves not long after that, too, because someone has to take a message to the furies to let them know they’re being summoned for the trial. but now, standing alone on the top of this hill, in the (metaphorical) shadow of the acropolis, he does not feel quite so lonely as before.

zagreus ends up finding somewhere to camp out and rest — he doesn’t know enough about mortal customs to even think of asking to stay the night with someone, and i don’t know enough about ancient athens and their customs to know how they would take to a visitor. i’m assuming pretty well? like it’s something in the vein of the christian idea of ‘any stranger could be an angel in disguise’ kind of thing, but. this is not!fic for a reason, i didn’t want to try to look it up. i’ll be honest.

anyway. zagreus, camping out for the night. despite the fact that he’s been roughing it for the last week and a half, a) being on the surface has given him opportunity for the most rest he’s had in months and b) sleeping in nature is GREAT to someone whose previous ideas of nature was, like. tartarus, and asphodel, and elysium. which is to say, not real nature. there’s no animals in the underworld! it’s just not the same.

i think that someone shows up, before the night is out. i’m spitballing, but it’s either hermes coming back, or thanatos making another showing. i’m on the fence. i’m thinking it’s thanatos, because — he promised, and hermes happened to run in to him when he was delivering his message to the furies, anyway.

so than appears, while zagreus is awake this time — he’s laid out on his back, looking at the stars. he’d be reading the codex if the light was better — achilles had a surprising lot to include on the surface world. there’s a part of zagreus that wonders if, maybe, achilles put it in just for him, for when he finally escaped.

but anyway. than appears, standing looming while zagreus is stretched out on his back with his arms beneath his head. he’s a visual picture of calm, though his mind is whirling. the idea of just — letting whatever is going to happen, happen, tomorrow, well. zagreus has never liked having a hands-off approach to his own fate. but athena and hermes are gone, so he’s just internalizing it.

‘what in the world are you doing, zag?’ than asks instead of saying hello, and zagreus turns his eyes from the stars to the god of death, who is in the middle of phasing his scythe into nonexistence.

‘looking at the stars, of course,’ he replies, and despite all his worry, he can’t help but smile. he sits up. ‘it’s good to see you, again,’ he says. makes as if he’s going to stand, but than just holds a hand out to him.

‘well, don’t let me interrupt your stargazing,’ than says, voice dry but with his lips quirking up into a little smile. he takes a seat of his own and, with zagreus watching him, lays out beside him on the ground. ‘how are you liking athens?’ he asks, as if this is a normal situation, and zagreus gives him a strange look before eventually giving up and laying back down. he turns his eyes to the stars again.

‘it’s alright. i mean, it’s beautiful. and the mortals are… interesting. people are so different as shades.’ he sighs. ‘i met with athena, and hermes. there will be a trial tomorrow.’

‘it’s okay to be nervous about it,’ than says, shifting a little on his back. ‘i’ve never seen a trial before, but i’m sure athena would talk you through it if you asked her.’

‘but what if i —’ zagreus huffs out a sigh. he doesn’t really want to talk about this, doesn’t want than to know how insecure he’s feeling about it, but — what other options does he have? he could talk to the thin air, later, but that won’t help him. ‘what if i’m not good enough, and they let the furies drag me back to the underworld?’

‘i can’t imagine that’s going to happen, zag.’ than shifts again, and now they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. ‘you’ve got two olympians on your side, not including any of the ones you’ve yet to meet. they had faith in you to escape, and you have to have faith in them to help keep you out, if it comes to it.’

‘you think it’s that easy?’

‘i didn’t say it was easy. just that you have to.’ than laughs, a little, but it’s something kind. ‘i guess you’re right,’ zagreus agrees after some time, and turns away from the sky to look at than. ‘we talk enough about me, though. how are you?’

‘i don’t think that’s true,’ than says, snorting. it doesn’t make any sense to zagreus, but than carries on anyway. ‘i’m good. busy, because ares’ war doesn’t show any sign of stopping, but these things happen.’ he shrugs. ‘i haven’t been back to the house much, but hypnos did ask me to tell you hello. and achilles says he’s very proud of you.’

something squeezes zagreus’ heart at that, and he rubs at his eyes with the palm of one hand. ‘i’m glad you’re here,’ is what he eventually says, when his eyes are no longer so wet. achilles is proud of him, and than is here.

i think that than (much like zagreus) does not actually know anything about constellations, but they lay there in silence (or mostly silence) for a long time before than announces that he has to go. this time, zagreus is already on board with a ‘proper farewell’, and is hugging than close and tight, for as long as he dares to, as soon as they’re both standing.

than tells him one last time to have faith, and then he’s — gone.

the trial is, of course, an Ordeal.

there are twelve mortal jurors, athena as judge, hermes representing zagreus, and the furies (mostly meg) representing themselves. in what counts as an audience are much of the rest of the pantheon — zeus and poseidon, hephaestus and aphrodite, hera and dionysus. ares is busy with the war, of course. apollo is, naturally, pulling the sun across the sky. artemis is tied up with something that no one can put name to, and the same applies to demeter.

the highlights of the trial, i think, are this —

the furies state that their call to Torment zagreus is because of filial betrayal, which is countered by hermes because of, you know, the verbal and emotional abuse. alecto pipes up and says that that behavior is normal for hades, that he treats everyone that way, and besides, zagreus deserves it, which REALLY wins her points with the jury. (it doesn’t. that’s sarcasm.)

athena asks, as softly and gravely as she has ever spoken, if he could share some of the abusive experience with the jury. hermes starts to rattle off things that just he has seen, in that fast-paced, nearly-tripping-over-his-words way, but zagreus puts a hand on his arm to stop him short.

‘i think it will mean more from me,’ zagreus says, and steps forward to address the jury and the furies and athena and half the pantheon.

zagreus talks about — everything that can come to mind, without really thinking about whether it benefits his case or not, because he’s out of his comfort zone, here.

he mentions the guilt trips that he puts cerberus in the middle of, as if it’s zagreus’ fault that the hound had been left ignored and to his own devices to tear up the house. he mentions the way that, if anything can be made into his fault, it is. he mentions the way that he is never even remotely treated as an equal — always as a child. and he has not been a child for a long time, had once upon a time held responsibilities in the house, but hades never talked to him the way he talked to megaera or thanatos or even hypnos, or achilles. was never once given an ounce of respect or even a begrudging moment of his time that was not laced with ‘why are you bothering me’ attitude. is that truly family? if it is, is that not its own filial betrayal, to treat someone bound to you by blood as if they are the scum upon the bottom of your shoe, for no reason other than existing?

aphrodite sniffles in the audience behind him when he does finally stop talking. meg is watching him, face steely except for her eyes, which are — softer than he’s ever seen them. though maybe that’s just a trick of the light — the sun can do so many things. tisiphone is standing at the back of the fury trio, quiet and watching, but alecto tries to jump in with an invective tirade that has meg putting her hand out to stop her. even the jurors are watching him with strange, pitying expressions.

but he doesn’t want pity. he wants to be free.

the jury goes to deliberate, and zagreus and hermes linger together while they wait. he wants to talk to meg, but of course he can’t talk to meg. she’s on the job, like this, and he doesn’t want that meg. and he doesn’t want to get her in trouble. hermes must see him looking, though, because he gets an elbow to the ribs for it.

‘you and the fury megaera, really?’ he asks. ‘that must make things quite complicated, huh?’

‘something like that,’ zagreus answers, but meg has turned her eyes to him at the sound of her name, and he looks away from her.

the olympians are talking, too, though athena stays separate from all of them, and none of them come down from the clouds zeus had pulled up for them to rest in. it’s a low murmur of voices, of voices that he’s familiar with and some that he doesn’t know, but the pity in their words is audible far beyond how their voices carry. he hates it, but he’s getting what he wants, so — he can’t complain.

the jury returns after some time, and things fall back into place, into silence. the olympians know better than to disrespect athena’s process, here.

the jurors rule in zagreus’ favor. it’s — so simple. it seems too easy. but the furies are told to lay off  his back, and (though zagreus doesn’t know this) they don’t get half the effort to soothe ruffled feathers as they did during orestes’ trial. probably because meg doesn’t push for it — because alecto is going to be pissed one way or the other, and tisiphone doesn’t really care since zagreus himself has not murdered anyone. it’s — unnervingly easy.

alecto leaves immediately, in a rage, and tisiphone makes her own way toward what must be the entrance to the underworld that is nearby. zagreus, through a complicated series of eyebrow movements and head gestures, gets meg to meet him alone.

‘meg, i —’he stops, tongue-tied. she doesn’t look mad, not like alecto, but she’s not happy, either.

‘what, zagreus.’ there’s a strange tone to her voice.

‘meg, i can’t thank you enough for — for helping me like this. i know you never pulled your punches when we fought, but this is… different.’

‘tch. maybe i shouldn’t have.’ as a sentiment, it’s not one he was expecting.

‘what? why! i thought you’d be happy you didn’t have to stand miserable guard in tartarus with your sisters anymore.’

‘you realize we aren’t going to see each other again after this, right, zagreus? it’s not like i’m thanatos, who can just leave the underworld at will to come see you.’ she scoffs in disgust, whether with herself or him he doesn’t know, and crosses her arms.

‘i’m… i’m sorry, meg. you know i had to do this.’

‘i know, i know, you need to find your mother.’ it sounds like she’s brushing him off, but it doesn’t feel like it. no one is ever going to understand his need to find persephone, and he’s starting to realize that. no one else feels adrift like he does.

‘it’s not just about that,  meg. i mean… if someone talked to you — if i talked to you or treated you the way that my father treats me, what would you do?’

‘hmpjh. you wouldn’t live through it.’ she’s at least looking at him again, though, which is a win of its own.

‘right. exactly. and i — may not agree with everyone that called it abuse, but i… i’ve been alone for the most part for the last week and a half, up here, and i’m happier than i’ve ever been. and it’s not because of the fresh air and the sunlight, meg.’

he sighs when she doesn’t say anything, and reaches out to touch her arm, her wrist. that she doesn’t flinch away is its own win. ‘i care about you, meg, and i’m going to miss you. and i’m sorry that you — you’re going to miss me, too.’

she makes defensive noises that amount to ‘as if,’ but she drops her whip to the ground and curls her hand around the wrist of the hand that’s touching her. her fingers are cool and a little rough. her bright-pink lips are a wry smile.

‘you’re really doing this, aren’t you?’ she asks, touching him and looking at him in such a weighted way that it settles, like a warm weight, on his shoulders.

‘i think it’s too late to go back, now, isn’t it?’ he answers, and she laughs. he knows now that her expression before, during the trial, wasn’t a trick of the light. her eyes are damp. so are his.

‘good luck, zagreus,’ she tells him. ‘maybe you’re the god of stubbornness, but i don’t think anyone else will be able to do it if you can’t.’

‘thank you, meg. if you do end up on the surface and ever want to find me —’ she shakes her head, and he thinks a tear might track its way down her face.

‘don’t count on it.’ she squeezes his wrist, once, and then pulls away. ‘i’ve got to go.’

zagreus watches her leave, fluttering up into the sky. when he turns his gaze back to the ground, her whip is still there, coiled on the ground. he picks it up and tucks it into his tunic, and hopes that she won’t be too angry when she realizes she left it.

NOTES so, zag’s descriptions of his experiences in hades’ house come from conversations from the game itself, but i also projected hard onto this scene and a lot of my headcanons everywhere else, too. the same thing goes for zag’s idea of -- that what happened to him doesn’t count as ‘abuse’. it took me years to realize that being afraid when someone passive aggressively folds socks in your direction, or does paperwork in your direction, for zag, is not normal. and i don’t think zagreus reacts to these things with fear -- i don’t think at any point he’s really shown fear of hades, and this is where he and i are different. he’s going to get mad before he gets upset, IMO.

but. anyway. before i accidentally ramble another thousand words in the AN, i just wanted to say that -- not all of my descriptions come from canon, here, but the ones that don’t are from my own, literal experiences.

[evienott]

( CISFEMALE , SHE/HER ) EVELYN “EVIE” NOTT is a GRYFFINDOR whose favorite subject is ANCIENT RUNES, maybe because they are FREE-SPIRITED but also RECKLESS. They might be so popular because they look like DANIELLE CAMPBELL and they are a PUREBLOOD, can you believe they are a SIXTH YEAR? rumors say they support NEUTRAL. where do they go from here? ( asbury, 25, they/them, est )

basics  —

Full Name: Evelyn Matilda “Evie” Nott

Age: Sixteen

Birthday: November 11; Scorpio

Blood Status: Pureblood

personality  —

(+) Positive Traits: Free-spirited, curious, steadfast, confident

(-) Negative Traits: Reckless, hedonistic, petty, vindictive

life at hogwarts  —

House: Gryffindor

Year: Sixth

Wand: Blackthorn wood, 8 and ½ inches, with a phoenix tail feather, slightly swishy. 

Best Class: Ancient Runes

Worse class: Arthimancy

Pets: A skunk named Priscilla (the sprayer has been removed), an arctic fox named Ghost, a puffskein named Arizona, and a giant purple toad named Magnolia (sorry to everyone in Gryffindor tower)

Boggart: Herself soaked in water after drowning

Patronus: Unknown (she hasn’t been able to produce one)

Extracurriculars: Gryffindor Quidditch team (beater), dueling club

biography —

(tw: pregnancy)

Chapter 1.  

 Growing up as the youngest child in a family that belonged to the Sacred 28 wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. From a young age, Evelyn realized to tread lightly, to watch her step and to hide behind her mother for protection. Her father wasn’t the most empathetic of individuals, or empathetic at all, and she had learned that the silence in their house was a bad sign very quickly. When she and her brother were in trouble, their father didn’t raise his voice, which only made him more menacing. And it didn’t take much for him to get angry. Unfortunately, his temper was something Evelyn had inherited. Despite her mother continually telling her not to cause an argument or to talk back, Evelyn never listened and always let her short fuse get the better of her. Growing up meant she was forming her own opinions and becoming her own person and, while her mother still held onto her pureblood ideals, she was far more tolerant than Evelyn’s father. Once, while her mother was out shopping, she’d ignored the calls to go inside and continued playing. Her father was angry at her behavior and locked her outside while thunderclouds began to roll over the area, despite her horrible fear of drowning. 

Her parents had only been teenagers when they had her, unprepared to raise two children when they hadn’t even loved each other to begin with and when Evelyn was old enough, they divorced. Where her brother chose to stay with their father, Evelyn went with their mother. She’d always been closer to her to begin and she begged Leo to join them, but he had refused and stayed with their father. That had been crushing to her as a seven year old, but nothing she said had changed his mind. Despite their separation, she did her best to stay close to her brother, writing letters as often as she could and eagerly awaiting a letter from him in return. Other than Alecto Carrow, who she had spent a lot of time with, getting shoved into a room together during dinners with their parents, Leo was her best friend and being away from him hurt. 

Chapter 2. 

It was almost with a sick sense of satisfaction that Evie got sorted into Gryffindor. It would have given her father a heart attack if she knew and remembering that he wasn’t a good person and her brother had chose to stay, she wished it would. Being the kind of person he was, she had very clear desires that she wanted from her father: for him to die. That Hat had almost a genuine hatstall, trying to figure out where to put her. Her curiosity spoke to Ravenclaw, her propensity towards nursing animals back to health to Hufflepuff. Slytherin was briefly considered but she firmly asked not to be placed there, because it would mean she was the type of person her father wanted her to be and that was the last type of person she wanted to be. At every point the Hat made, she argued against it, not even sure what she was arguing for. Fed up, it had asked where she wanted to be put and she said Gryffindor, without hesitation. Why? Because it would make a large majority of the Sacred 28 angry and that was fun for her (despite the Hat saying that was a very Slytherin reason). It had called out Gryffindor four minutes after Evie had the Hat placed upon her head. 

The first animal she brought in with her was a toad, named Magnolia, and it was her best friend for the first few months of school. The toad usually perched on her head and she took to wearing her hair in a manner that helped her rest comfortably. Spring break of her first year, she returned with a rabbit she had saved from a polecat and nursed back to heath. No one had known she snuck it in until one of the older girls noticed it had escaped from the first year dorms. Even her mother thought it had been released into the wild. That started the long standing (six years as of the beginning of school this year) tradition of her seeing how many animals she could smuggle into the castle. The girls in her year have generally agreed that as long as she cleaned up after them, they didn’t have an issue and the girls in the years below were thrilled to be involved in such a secret. This is the first year she’s ever been so brazen as to enter the castle with three pets that aren’t allowed. (Although a bat was probably her most ambitious of them, but it escaped after Peeves startled her. Rumour has it, the bat is still flying around the castle somewhere.) 

Chapter 3. 

Though her father was a Death Eater, her mother had never gotten a Dark Mark herself. She followed the ideals, though not as stringently, and as distance passed and she was separated from her ex-husband, her mother’s views had opened up far more and she’d proven to be kinder and more tolerant than her ex. That had introduced a whole new set of ideals for Evelyn. Despite having grown up best friends with one of the Dark Lord’s more devoted followers, she firmly doesn’t believe in the ideas he preached. Part of her chalks it up to having had her mother’s influence affect her, but a small part of her knows that even if she’d been raised by both of them and her father was in her life, she wouldn’t have become a Death Eater purely out of spite. They both had tempers, their anger clashed. Evie never took it lying down as a child and had found hatred for him very young. Anything she could do to piss him off, she would.

It didn’t even hit her until her fourth year that she was living out of spite and to anger a man who didn’t give a damn about her. Who probably had never heard about any of the things she had been doing. Or rather, the people she had been doing. But by that point, it had been too late for her to change her ways, because she found herself throwing up one morning and realized with a horrible thought that she was late. An emergency trip to St. Mungo’s confirmed that she was pregnant. And despite her trying to convince her mother to let her stay in the castle over breaks so she didn’t have to admit the truth, she had to return home. Though her mother would have allowed her to be homeschooled for the rest of the year so she didn’t have to attend school pregnant (as she had done with Leo), Evie went back and had her daughter, slightly premature, three days after the end of her fourth year. Despite how badly she wanted to keep her daughter, the adoption had already been planned out. 

Chapter 4.

Any therapist worth their salt would say that she channeled the pain from giving up her child into taking care of animals and, if she wasn’t still upset over it, Evie would probably agree with them. But she had never been the type to slow down and being pregnant had kept her from the dueling club, from playing quidditch, and generally being comfortable. She pretends that she isn’t upset, that the year and a half it’s been has been enough time to heal the hurt, but it hasn’t. She just allows herself to find new things to fill the gap, keep her entertained, and maybe she can pretend it didn’t happen. At the very least, news of the Dark Lord falling had distracted her over the summer. Her mother had reached out to her brother, and she’d even heard that her father wasn’t doing too well. A very large part of her was glad. He didn’t deserve to be doing well. 

But she was worried about her brother. Leo, who had stayed with him, who had conceivably joined the Death Eaters in their father’s footsteps. It doesn’t seem like him, like the Leo he was behind the mask, when they were together, but people did what they had to do to survive and her brother was no exception. Frankly, she’s glad he’s dead, but primarily because she had a vendetta against anything that made her father happy. Despite knowing that she hasn’t seen or heard from him in years or that he doesn’t care how she’s doing, she still wants him to suffer in every way imaginable. If she has to, she’ll even take matters into her own hands. 

[dialux]

made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

APOLOGIES!! For the late update! Life got in the way, yada yada yada.

Content warnings for this chapter include: child abuse (of the emotional/magical/quasi-physical kind, because Blacks R HERE), redemption arcs Like Whoa, and lots of allusion to the casualties of war. The only POVs are the marauders and Lily and YEESH ARE THEY ANGSTY. I promise that next chapter will have more action tho. This one got long enough on its own!

Poem in the middle comes from Ulysses, of course, by Tennyson. Yes, James is a poetry buff, why are you asking?

Enjoy!

...

Peter is cold. So cold. Straight down to his bones, like all the brightness and warmth in the world has been carved out of him. He shudders and looks above him to the cliffs- the brothers Lestrange and the siblings Carrow are watching him on top, and Alecto Carrow is many things, one of which is sadistic and the second of which is in possession of a tremendously unfair ability to aim accurately and precisely at what she wants.

Right now that means Peter, if he doesn’t move fast enough.

The cliffs are sheer, though, and even a rat would find it difficult to find a hold. All that’s keeping him from breaking his neck is a wavering leviosa. 

Slowly, squeaking in the part of him that’s still a rat, that terrified quaking animal that cannot believe he’s actually doing this- Peter lowers himself.

It’s ridiculous, in all truth. He’d betrayed James to the Dark Lord and ever after, he’s needed to plumb deeper depths of courage than ever before. The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to people remaining in his presence after he’s dismissed them. Even if he’s just crucioed you to hell and back. Peter would have said it was impossible to stand up after that particular torture, but he’s seen others do it. He’s done it himself. Falling down a cliff, trying to find Rowle- it isn’t nearly the hardest things Peter’s done in just the past week alone.

Finally, finally, wrists aching, Peter thumps onto the hard-packed ground. 

He inhales through his teeth, like the opposite of a whistle, at the pain. Then he gets up, muscles protesting. Gives himself a moment’s break to adjust to the new surroundings. 

The North Sea is loud here. The waves break just a little farther away- but before Peter can reach the beach there’s a ward. Slowly, Peter palms his wand and approaches it. Risks a look over his shoulder; the others are so far away that they might as well be simple black dots. Takes a deep breath. The ward’s easy to identify- the delineations, the smell like salt and rotting bone- but Peter doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know what it’s supposed to keep out.

Or, he thinks sharply, heart jumping in his throat, what it’s supposed to keep in. If the dementors are rioting-

Well, if they are, then Peter’s well and truly dead. The Dark Lord’s displeasure on that point would be- something magnificent. Peter breathes out instead of panicking, shivering and drawing his cloak tighter around him in the vain hope it might keep him warmer.

I did this so I could survive, he reminds himself. Everything. 

Everything else, Peter can redeem. Forgiveness- of himself, by himself, forget all others- might be a long road; might be an impossible road; but Peter has it, for so long as he draws breath. The moment that breath is taken from him it will all cease to matter. All the sacrifice. All the death. 

(He’s seen the blood in Godric’s Hollow. He’s seen the destruction. Nobody loses that much blood and lives. And without James, Lily wouldn’t get far. But: the blood. Peter can forget Harry and Lily and the pain woven into their once-beautiful home’s walls. He can’t forget the blood. He cannot forget-)

Head cocked, wand in bloodless fingers, Peter paces the length of the ward. His shoes don’t leave marks in the soil. His back throbs with every movement. 

Then the ward goes sharply inwards, following the natural path of an estuary bracketing the sea. The water’s not very deep as far as Peter can see, but it is cold, and it is fast. He walks forwards, the ward on one side and the rushing water on the other, towards the beach. Something quails inside of him. Something that’s stood before a Dark Lord, tortured and exhausted and unbroken- something that almost withers away now, for some eerie reason.

The first thing that Peter sees when he tops the bluff is Rowle’s body. 

Oh, Merlin, thinks Peter, horrified. 

Rowle’d been a wild man, prone to a madness that Peter’d only ever seen mirrored in the Blacks. He’d never been a good man but-

But the man in front of him is cleaved in half. The ward had caught him around the middle. The blood is soaked into the sand at his feet; his legs are on the far side, his blank eyes facing up to the sky. Peter stumbles forwards, coming to a halt at the point where Rowle’s corpse lies. The blood-

James, James, James-

The hair on Peter’s arm bristles. He looks up and sees something white; something getting closer. The sea churns louder, higher, and Peter scrambles for his wand. Points it at the ball of light. Swallows and doesn’t breathe, even as the light falls and lands, gracefully, at the beach where Peter cannot go because of the ward.

The light fades a little to reveal a slim, dark-haired man. He holds something too large to be a wand in one hand. Otherwise, he wears robes in the cut of aurors, but black instead of their red. He turns, sweeping over the beach for a brief moment, before he lifts the object in his hand to the heavens.

It’s all the warning Peter has before the world explodes.

He’s aware of something screaming- he becomes aware, slowly, that it’s him- and then Peter realizes that his wand’s still in his hand. He looks up. He’s fallen to his knees; the sand is gritty under his knees. The lightning is too bright for him. For a brief moment, Peter feels blind.

But then the light darkens for a brief moment. Even half-blind, Peter would have known that angled face. The withered thing inside of him shrivels further in on itself. All his sins come to roost- all his grief-

Because there, face illuminated from within, brighter than even the sun, stands James Potter.

...

Light streaks the stone near his hands. Pain lashes down his spine. Someone screams, far in the distance, and he is aware of a woman with thick red hair fighting desperately to get to him. But there is a man between them, and he is busy minding the woman’s spells. He’s already ignored the shell that’s slumped against the wall.

Pain, thinks Sirius, and for the first time in weeks feels something catch in his chest. Something hot, like an ember on the verge of breaking into flames. Oh, mate, this is your fucking mistake.

The red-haired woman is being driven backwards. She’s not quite so good at dueling as the man in front of her. But that doesn’t matter; because all it takes is one heartbeat of inattention, and Sirius has it-

He leaps.

Mid-air, his skin turns to fur. His face elongates. His jaw becomes stronger. His ears become better. The cold lessens. 

And between breaths, Sirius tears out Theodore Nott’s throat.

...

A calling card to all the Death Eaters in the area.

James drops the lightning; it takes more energy than it’s worth, even if he’d been careful to only call it from the already ever-present storms above the North Sea. A flick of his wrist makes the axe disappear. Another, and his wand’s in his hand. 

There’s a shuffling sound behind him, and James snaps his wand around. He’s an auror, at the end of the day, and that training’s embedded into his muscles. The roll of his body out of the way, the punishing angle of his wrist as he aims it blindly at the spot- it’s the work of a moment, all instinct.

But then he sees.

Fuck, thinks James, swallowing hard. Peter’s at the other end of his wand, and he looks like he’s shitting himself. Like he’s scared. Like he’s scared of James. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Peter,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to do. 

“This’s impossible,” whispers Peter. He’s gone deathly white. “Ghosts don’t- you can’t- he killed you!”

“Who?” asks James, dangerously soft. Something’s thrumming in him, thinking about Lily, about dementors, about a Patronus that no longer brands her as his. “Your master, Pete?”

Peter flinches, whole-bodied. “Don’t- don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer Wormtail?”

“You’re a ghost,” says Peter, tilting his chin up. There’s something there- some courage- that he hadn’t had before. James wants to snarl at it. “You can’t hurt me-”

James slashes his hand down and, in a flash of something hot and bright, Rowle’s body disappears. Peter quails at it. The cold, vicious hole in James’ belly gnaws a little further. A little deeper. 

“I’m dead, am I?” he asks, hissing. “I can’t hurt you? Oh, I’m so sorry, Peter, to disappoint you.”

Peter presses himself further into the sand. James advances on him, the sand under his feet turned to glass, crunching under his boots.

“You betrayed us,” he whispers, and there are sparks haloing his vision. Not from his wand; from lightning, summoned, held in check by his will alone. “You betrayed Lily. You gave Harry up to Voldemort.”

“I know,” says Peter. “I’m so sorry, James, I had-”

“Sirius paid for your crimes, you fucking bastard!” James shouts, and he is shaking, nearly vibrating. “Do you know what we’ve lost, because of you- because-”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You did! Don’t lie to me! Don’t you dare! You stood in front of him and you fucking told him, and you probably laughed when you did it!”

“If you’re going to kill me,” says Peter abruptly, “I’d want you to do it quickly.”

He doesn’t move this time, but Peter’s eyes meet James’ and hold. That chin lift, that blank face- those are all things that came after he joined the Death Eaters. Those are all parts of him that James doesn’t know. But the way Peter looks at James now, it’s how he’d looked when his father died, their fourth year. 

Fifteen years old and bearing his mother’s weight on his shoulders as she wept over the grave. James doesn’t know why he remembers it, but he does, so well: the misting rain, the sobs, the look in his eyes, like all the despair and loss in the world couldn’t turn him colder than he already was. It’d been the first and only time Peter ever allowed any of them near his blood family. And Mrs. Pettigrew hadn’t ever really recovered, but Peter hadn’t let on, not really. He’d just- continued grinding away, quiet, unnoticed, burdened and colorless until he wasn’t any longer. Those eyes, watery, bulging, ugly.

Level. Everything else about him is quivering; but his eyes remain unflinching.

The other Death Eaters are coming; James can see them descending the cliffs. Surely this is enough time for Lily to escape- even burdened with Sirius. Even as he thinks it, there’s a shift in the wards- something breaking. The anti-apparition ward is still up, James realizes, but the anti-disapparition ward was just taken down. Lily must have just escaped. And by the time the others manage to break through the general ward, his trail will have gone cold.

But still he lingers. 

James makes a choice.

“I’m not going to kill you,” says James savagely, free hand closing into a fist and opening compulsively. “You’re my brother.” And whatever else I am, I’m not a kinslayer.

“I killed you,” says Peter, looking aghast. “I killed you, James-”

“I know what you did.”

“Then-”

Whatever else you have done, you are my brother. Whatever else we are, we are family. And that means that I cannot give up on you.

“If you want to make it up to me,” says James, “you’ll go to your flat.”

“My... flat?” 

“Your birthday. It’s next week.” 

“I know that.”

“Yeah, well, I had a plan for it.” At Peter’s continuing look of confusion, James drags a hand down his face. “Gifts, Peter, Merlin. So. Get there. Pick ‘em up. Promise me.”

“You’re absolutely mad,” breathes Peter.

James grins, and feels the lightning around him fade, his heart pick up. “Birth defect, Wormtail. You know how it is, I’m sure.”

“James,” says Peter, quietly. “I don’t-”

“Promise me,” says James.

Peter flinches. His hands are shaking. James exhales sharply. The others- Lestrange, he thinks, and another that he doesn’t know- are coming too close for comfort. 

Time’s up.

“That’s your price, Pete,” says James, before twisting on his heel, darkness swallowing him whole. “Remember that.”

...

Lily hadn’t known how afraid she was, not until James stumbles into their little cave, swearing under his breath and viciously yanking the little dried burrs from his robes. She surges to her feet as soon as he enters; sees the flicker of lightning around his wild hair and lunges, grabbing his shoulders and dragging him into an embrace.

“I was-” so afraid, are the words that come to her mind, but she cannot say them. Not say them and keep her composure, and Lily’s holding onto that with everything she has. “-well. You took a long time.”

“I got held up.” James eyes flick away for the briefest moment before returning to her. “I met Peter,” he says quietly, and doesn’t move an inch when Lily stiffens in his arms. “He looked- bad.”

“Good,” says Lily venomously.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Good,” she repeats. “I hope he chokes on what he’s done- I hope they kill him slowly, those fucking bastard Death Eaters-” 

Slowly, she realizes that James hasn’t moved. Her heart thumps against its ribcage. 

“James. James, tell me you didn’t-”

He lets go of her and steps back. “Didn’t what?”

“Let him go!”

“Lils,” he says, and it sounds tired. “What did you think I’d do? Kill him?”

“It’s what I would’ve done,” replies Lily. James shudders, and her fragile hold on her temper breaks. “You know what he’s done!”

“I do,” says James. He runs his hand through his hair and makes it stand straight up. “But-”

“No buts,” exclaims Lily. She is shaking; she cannot look James in the eye. How dare he! thinks Lily, and she is crying as well, now, helpless little jerks that burst out of her chest in gasps. How dare you! “What he would have done to our son, our son, you would forgive that? You would forgive what he did to Sirius?”

“He’s my brother,” says James quietly. “When you chose to forgive Petunia, I didn’t do anything.”

Her wand is in her hand, and it takes all of her control not to raise it. Not to hex James until he’s bleeding from every single orifice, and a few more besides. “Petunia’s never tried to kill me!”

“D’you know what she’d have done if asked to choose between you and her family?” asks James. “Because I don’t.”

“I can’t do this right now,” says Lily, stepping back. All she can see is the deadened look on James’ face; the way he stands, the fact that just a few moments previous, he let a man who would’ve killed their son get away. “I can’t- we can’t do this now. 

“You’re right.” James pulls away, face closing off even further. “Where is he?”

“Inside.” 

The sunlight had hurt Sirius’ eyes when Lily apparated them away from Azkaban, so Lily’d guided him inside and called up wards to keep the cave dark. Seeing one more person like this- shattered from within- just reminds Lily of the cost of this war. Of the mindless cruelty. Of all the loss.

Lily’s certain she won’t ever forget the trembling and half-swallowed whimpers from his throat. 

“He needs help.”

Something flashes in James’ eyes, brighter than Lily’s seen since that dementor nearly Kissed him, there and gone in a heartbeat. But he only jerks his head in a nod. Says, “I’ll manage,” with a voice as uneven as the rocks around them, and heads inside.

This world isn’t safe, she thinks, and grips her wand even tighter. We must make it safe, and it is difficult at times; it is terrible at times. 

But- oh- that does not mean we shrink from it. 

...

Peter, hunched over half of Rowle’s corpse, does not move, not even when Lestrange swears loud enough to make a flock of birds take flight nearby. He does not move. 

They apparate to their lord, and kneel, and the others tell him tales of lightning sprung from Azkaban, howls and other eldritch sounds from that island- and Peter does not speak, does not move, not until the Dark Lord takes his chin in his hand and wrenches it up to meet his red gaze.

“And you, Peter,” he says. “What did you see?”

He’s been afraid for so long. Peter twitches, full-bodied, and then he thinks about Rowle, about light swallowing him whole. About the blood. James. His lord’s red eyes. The red, red, red-

“Death,” he quavers, and the Dark Lord growls in frustration before releasing him. 

Peter lands on the floor, knees bruised. He presses his head to the cool marble stone and doesn’t dare to move until all four of them are dismissed. His world is a haze of red, blood and guts and the taunting scarlet of Gryffindor, until he apparates away to his flat.

One breath. Two. It isn’t his flat any longer, not for two weeks now, but Peter had bought it in a muggle part of London and it takes nothing more than a simple alohomora to break in. A slash of his wand, a magiea revelio, and a heavy package thuds to the floor.

His heart aches. There had been a chance that he’d hallucinated that entire conversation on the beach. But now... hands trembling, Peter opens it.

It’s three books. One’s a joke manual, hand-written by Remus. Another’s a textbook on the Black Plague, with helpful annotations in the margins by Sirius; Peter flips the pages slowly, something bitter spreading through his chest. Look into this, Sirius has written, underlining it thrice: rats. Maybe we can kill some Death Eaters, yeah, Wormtail?

A helpless laugh tears out of him. 

Finally, Peter puts it down. Reaches for the last book: a leather-bound journal, his name carved into the front. It’s slimmer than Sirius’ but thicker than Remus’ and blank, all of the pages, except for the very first.

“’Come, my friends, it is not too late to seek a newer world. Though much is taken, much abides; and though We are not now that strength which in old days  Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;  One equal temper of heroic hearts,  Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’ - To my quietest friend and dearest brother. I do not know what will come, Wormtail, but I know that I’ve asked more of you than anyone should ever ask anyone else. I know that this war is difficult on all of us. I know that the worst is yet to come, but I know that we’ll get through this, together. Here’s to ten years spent together and a lifetime more! Wishing you the best birthday anyone can ever have, Prongs”

“Though much is taken, much abides,” whispers Peter, tracing the letters written in James’ scrawling script. “That which we are, we are. Oh, damn you, James Potter. Damn you.”

He cannot act against the Dark Lord. The mark on his arm alone precludes that action. But so long as he does not know anything, and only suspects, then there is a chance. A chance to hide it all, the entirety of the failure of the Dark Lord’s plans. The dizzying magnitude of that failure.

Because if James is alive, then Lily is alive. And if Lily is alive, then there is every chance that Harry is alive as well. And if that is true...

It turns this entire war on its head.

But only if.

A nebulous possibility, all told, but Peter’s a survivor. And if the winds of war are shifting to help them- then, then, Peter’s going to live. No matter what it takes.

Not to yield, thinks Peter, and rises to his feet. 

One act, then, for James’ mercy. Nothing much. Nothing ever changed because of an owl. Nothing ever changed because of an unsigned, four-word message. This war won’t hinge on it. But what Peter has torn asunder, he can mend; and that, maybe, hopefully, will be enough.

...

A brown-feathered owl wings over to a camp ringed with silver. It is small, light and excitable; it still barely makes through the sheer number of protections layered on the camp. It alights on man’s shoulder and pecks at his ear. He opens the envelope the owl offers him. Reads what’s written on the page, in large, blocky letters:

THEY’RE ALIVE. COME BACK.

The sun sets that night on a gibbous moon, and a loud crack splits the silence apart.

The werewolf camp never sees Remus Lupin again.

...

Fuck. Swimming up from the aches, Sirius realizes two things: one, he feels like absolute shit and two, he’s safe. James is the person next to him, James-the-deer-the-man-the-brother, and something heals like sunlight falling on Hogwarts’ turrets: irrevocable, deep and true as his oldest convictions. Then memory returns, and the warm feeling stops like someone’s just stamped on a candle wick. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Pads?” he hears, from a man that sounds too much like James for him to let lie. “You awake yet?”

Sirius breathes, shallow and measured. Catalogs his pains. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in a fugue state; but he remembers Godric’s Hollow very well. He remembers Azkaban, too, and either Sirius has gone entirely mad or this is reality.

Can’t help it if I’ve gone mad, he thinks. So reality it is, then.

Someone’s rescued him. Someone who looks scarily like Lily, but Sirius doesn’t trust his vision entirely. Red hair and a high voice don’t Lily make. Plus, everyone’s certain that she’s dead. That ruin of Godric’s Hollow... nobody lives through a magical explosion that large. So someone’s rescued him, and they sound like people he trusts, but he’s pretty sure they’re not said people, which makes them untrustworthy by definition.

Slow breaths. Even. The barest opening of one eye, to see rough stone all around him. Thank Merlin he’s in his dog form; it has better night vision. It also means that the person who’d just spoken- who’d just sounded like James- is human, and at a distinct disadvantage in the dark. It’s too hot; stifled. Wards. A mental snarl. He slits open the other eye, lazy, slow, not shifting one other muscle. Sees the shadow of the man slumped against the opposite wall. Breathes. There, there, there, a wand dangling loosely from the impostor's fingers. One more breath, then two.

Checks his magical reserves.

He’s got enough. More than enough, considering his starved state. Not enough for a pitched battle, so Sirius can’t stay and fight. He needs to think. The war’s still on. He needs to keep a cool head. To think-

No.

He needs to escape.

Sirius is a Black and a Gryffindor. He does not lie down, and he does not surrender, and it is the space of nothing, absolutely nothing, to shift, to seize the wand, to dig the point straight under the man’s chin.

“You’re going to take down these wards,” he whispers hoarsely. The red-haired woman’s going to be around; it’s vital that this escape remains quiet. “Quickly, now.” The man inhales as if to speak, and Sirius flicks a mild stinging hex at his shoulder. “No, I don’t want you using your head. Just take these wards- down-” 

Sirius doesn’t need him in the end. It’s simple- almost muscle memory, more than knowledge. The ward falls with his first diagnostic charm.

“Silencio,” he mutters, and steps back, stumbles. 

Inhales the air- tastes salt. Brine. 

Too similar to Azkaban. 

The man waves his arms wildly. There’s something familiar to the curve of his shoulders, to the flash of light off his specs, but Sirius knows better than to be caught unawares by something so simple. He only adjusts his grip on the wand. Inhales, deep as his lungs can go, and apparates away. 

Lands in a clearing in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Grits his teeth; rolls his shoulders; gets to work.

He’s got a lot to figure out in the next few hours. 

A lot to figure out, and not a lot of time.

...

Remus swears under his breath as he jimmies the lock to his apartment. The keys work, but it tends to get stuck if left unused for long periods of time. And Remus hasn’t come home in- Merlin, months. Peter hadn’t looked too good after his mum broke her leg, so Remus had gone to stay with him for a couple weeks. Then Dumbledore had asked him to go to the werewolf camps to either get their allegiance or- if that was impossible- act as a spy.

He’d known when Lily and James died, of course. Greyback had made sure of that. But he’d also known that stupid little bird, fluttering about his head like a stray wind might blow it away. He hadn’t known the writing, but the Marauders have always been good at hiding their tracks.

The key finally just breaks off inside of the lock; Remus growls and snaps the handle before slamming into the house. 

It’s musty inside. He kicks the door closed behind him and drops his bag on the creaky shelf that serves as his dining table. Remus opens the windows, grimaces at the smoke that enters- he’s close to the full moon, and his nose is far more sensitive than he’d like for this part of the city- but the smoke carries with it fresh air and the flat itself is too full of dust for him to live with. Two flicks of his wand and the furniture’s dust-free. Another, and the kitchen looks practically spotless. 

Slowly, Remus gets through the motions of settling back into the house.

It’s a few hours later that his stomach protests the lack of food. Remus sighs; he has some food packed from the camp, but he doesn’t particularly want some more bloody meat, barely cooked. There’s a good takeout place just a few blocks away that’s not too expensive- the issue is that Remus doesn’t have much money to start with, and he’s not sure how long it needs to last. 

Fuck it. He’s just spent hours hop-scotching from one end of Europe to another. I deserve a hot meal tonight.

It’s not too far, though not all that close either. By the time he returns with the covers crinkling in his fingers, there’s sweat darkening his shirt and making him uncomfortably damp in the cold winter. He’s cursing mentally and juggling the stupid cartons and trying not to make enough of a racket to let his landlord know that he’s back- a month’s missing rent tends to have that effect- and it’s why he’s halfway up the stairs by the time he realizes that there’s someone in his home.

Remus freezes.

He stacks the takeout on the landing and takes three quick, quiet steps up the stairs to drag in a breath. Smoke, dust, piss, and underneath it: a scent he knows all too well. 

This time, the door doesn’t survive his strength.

Sirius, stretched out languorously on his couch, jerks upright. Remus disarms him before pointing his wand directly between his eyes.

“Don’t move,” he says softly.

Sirius swallows. He ignores Remus- he usually does- did, did, goddamn, not does anymore- but only moves enough to sit up properly. “Moony,” he says.

“Give me one reason not to kill you,” says Remus.

“If you want to do it, then do it.” Sirius tilts his head back to meet the light from the streetlight. A faint smile makes his eyes look even darker. “I won’t stop you.”

There’s a catch.

There usually is, with Sirius.

“But?” asks Remus slowly.

“But I didn’t do it. If you want revenge, you should probably aim for any rats you see, not me.”

“You didn’t do it?” demands Remus. “You were the secret-keeper. Who else could have-” he breaks off; tries to breathe. Tries to focus on Sirius, who’s spread out on Remus’ couch like it’s just another day. Like they haven’t lost what they’ve lost. Like Sirius isn’t the reason they’ve fucking lost it. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Black.”

He flinches. “We switched.”

It takes a moment for Remus to make the mental jump. 

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Lily watched Dumbledore set it up with me as the keeper. Then she put up another herself, with Peter. You know how good she was with wards.” Sirius’ eyes, those lovely eyes, those eyes like black fire, haven’t dimmed at all. “I insisted. I thought- who’d suspect Peter? Everyone’d think it’d be me. Never thought it’d end like this.”

“You never thought anything would end,” Remus accuses sharply. “You were always too cocky. I told you-”

“Give me veritaserum, then, and be done with it,” says Sirius, slumping in his position. “But there’s a war on, Moony, and I can’t spend as much time mourning as I’d like. If you won’t trust me, then trust in how much I loved James. I’ll walk into Azkaban the morning we win if you’ll help me now, I swear it. I swear it.”

Looking closer at him, Remus realizes: Sirius looks like absolute shit. 

He’s very pale, but his entire throat looks shadowed with the start of bruises. His jaw’s even sharper than usual and he’s lost more weight than he can afford. Sirius has always been broad and powerfully built, but now he’s sort of- crumpled in on himself. His robes are in tatters and he’s unshaven and he looks like he hasn’t slept in at least half a month.

“Where were you?” he asks. “I thought- someone mentioned-” meaning Greyback, though of course Sirius wouldn’t know that, “-Azkaban, but you wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

“It was true.”

Remus stares.

Sirius elaborates: “Someone did it for me. I escaped ‘em, though, not Azkaban. Nicked that wand off the guy.” He nods to the wand clutched in Remus’ white-knuckled grip. “Spent the day apparating around to throw off their scent, then came back here.” He shrugs, a carefree lift of one shoulder that shouldn’t leave Remus’ mouth as dry as it does. “Thought I could rest for a few hours. A safehouse, as it were.”

“Someone?” Remus asks carefully.

“Me,” says a voice behind them.

It’s instinct. 

Remus whirls around, the world going white around the edges with panic. He doesn’t realize that he’s tossed Sirius his wand until he sees the shield go up around them, right on the heels of his blasting spell. There’s a shower of plaster and wood as the door Remus just broke down spins into the intruder. A second later and Sirius is standing beside him, body a line of warmth at his right.

“Breathe,” Sirius mutters, nudging him. “This’s still muggle London. They won’t try anything big.”

“Apparition wards?” 

“None.”

“Can you smell who-”

“I don’t trust it,” Sirius says grimly. “I keep thinking-”

“That I’m alive?” A voice that Remus knows too well, a voice that shouldn’t exist any longer, speaks up. Remus’ hand is trembling; Sirius’ breath is harsh and uneven in his ear. Then someone picks themselves up out of the debris, and Remus knows that lean line of shoulder and neck. That careless angle of his wand. That fucking hair. “I thought you’d have more faith in me, both of you.” 

James Potter grins at them, glasses dusted white and mostly blind but also-

Alive, thinks Remus numbly. Alive. Alive. Alive-

“I’m a fucking marauder, you morons,” he says, taking off the specs and trying to wipe the dust off. “It takes more than a dark lord to kill me.”

There’s breathless silence for all of a heartbeat, and then Sirius gives a wordless, inchoate scream of something that might have been anger or relief or pain or some Black malady of too much emotion and lunges straight at James. He punches James straight in the jaw, and after that both of them are shouting and grunting and rolling incomprehensibly over each other.

It’s ugly. Sirius tends to be stronger than James, but James keeps his head about him even in the worst situations. There’s a lot of clawing and kneeing and yanked hair strewn about the opening of his flat.

It gets even worse when Lily enters. 

Remus chokes on his spit when she does; she looks- like the rest of them- exhausted, but also alive, which means it’s an exponentially better situation than Remus had thought just a few minutes previous. But it’s bad because she brings with her Remus’ landlord, and he looks pissed to high heavens- his expression goes darker when he sees James and Sirius banging about as they are. 

“Goodtoseeyouweshouldgetoutofhererightnow,” Lily says quickly, eyes flicking between the two white-covered lumps still making loud, intermittent noises that could have been charitably called grunts and Remus’ shabby flat. Then, a little slower, with a meaningful look at the landlord: “I think there’s people around.”

That’s the breaking point for Remus’ landlord. His face goes puce. He bellows, loud enough to make Remus’ ears throb and- more importantly- to get Sirius and James to pause, “Out! Out! If yer not out in a minute I’ll call the coppers and have ‘em twist yer ears ‘til they bleed!” 

He’s not sure when they bundle themselves down the stairs, nor when his entire life’s belongings return to his mildly-charmed knapsack, nor when James apparates them to a seaside cliff. It all goes a little bit numb there; Remus breathes when his chest hurts and moves when prodded and otherwise just panics very, very quietly in the privacy of his mind.

Panics.

Because if Sirius switched, then Peter was the traitor. Because if Peter was the traitor- is the traitor- then Remus’ entire task to the werewolves has been in vain. Because there’s only one way Remus could have swayed any of the werewolves to the Order’s side, and that’s by sneaking it under the alpha’s notice. If Greyback hadn’t known, then it should have worked. But if Peter had told Voldemort and if Voldemort had told Greyback...

Not panic, then. Not truly.

Rage.

Remus holds onto the fraying strands of his control. 

Years lost to a fruitless task. A big bonus, too, to Voldemort’s side: Remus is a good dueler, almost on par with Sirius even if neither of them are quite as good as James. With him tied up in dealing with Greyback, it means one less wand attacking the Death Eaters. 

Years. 

All that sacrifice- kneeling, that very first moon, to Greyback; Remus tends to forget most of his time as a wolf but not that, not that painful humiliation- eating raw meat- watching werewolves turn helpless children, marking them- 

“Remus? Rem- Moony? Moony-”

Remus flattens his hands on the soil. 

“Get back,” he growls. There’s someone touching him on his shoulder, but his irritation flares; that person yelps and backs away. 

He hasn’t had an incident like this since he was very young; years before Hogwarts. But he can feel it- the way the magic rises to match his fury- and Remus knows better than to try to suppress it. Not now, so close to the full moon, and especially not after he’s nearly drained himself with the travel across Europe. He doesn’t have the control to do much more than direct the magic. Hopefully it’ll be enough. Remus inhales, and on the exhale, pushes his magic into the earth.

It goes. Deeper and deeper and deeper. Down to the roots of the trees clinging to life on wind-battered cliffs. 

So few people know who Remus is. His father’s story is well-known: a muggleborn speaking out against Greyback, whose son was brutally attacked. A muggleborn who married a pureblood McKinnon, against all the people trying to convince her otherwise. Remus is a Lupin because that is his father’s name. But his mother’s blood flows through him as well and he has always, always, had an affinity to the earth.

It had always been a sore point between him and Sirius- what Remus could possibly have to talk to with Marlene. All those long hours in the greenhouses ought to have meant something, though it would never have occurred to Sirius that they’d passed the time simply talking about family. Family that Marlene loved, and Remus’ mother loved as well.

Syllables spurt from his tongue, ancient, guttural. Remus closes his eyes and bends forward, presses his forehead to the earth.

What we have come from, we shall return to. That which is given can be taken. The earth can take this rage within me, for it is stronger than those I love can bear. 

Tiny fissures in the earth form. Coalesce. Deepen. Remus digs his fingers into the soil, claws at it, feels his nails start to tear, and the cracks deepen. 

He thinks about Peter, smiling tearfully in his family home, yellow curtains blowing in the wind. He thinks about burying Marlene and Martin and nearly fifty McKinnons, saying an eulogy and a prayer and a blessing for them all, because there’s nobody else to do it. He thinks about Caradoc Dearborn, who’d offered Remus a job in his law firm just hours before he was chopped into pieces by Death Eaters. 

He thinks about Greyback.

The wind howls, and the trees shake, and slowly, inexorably, the cliff is sheared away from the land. It stops at the point where his forehead touches the earth, as the ritual is meant to do, and when Remus rises, he sees that the sea’s churning angrily like a large mass of earth has just been dropped into it.

“Remus?” asks Lily, uncertain and more than a little taken aback. The others look the same, so he supposes it must have been an unnerving display.

Remus turns. “I was angry,” he says hoarsely. Swallows. “It- I couldn’t bottle it up, either, because my magic was so drained. I lost control. And earth magic’s my... forte. So I made sure it didn’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s a good thing we’d packed it up, then, or everything’d be drowned,” says James, lips quirking. 

He blinks. “You were staying in a cave?”

“It was a good cave,” says Lily dryly.

“Lily-”

“We have to leave anyways,” she continues, speaking over him. “The magic- if the Ministry figures it out...” 

Sirius jams his hands in his pockets. He looks the most weary of all of them, like a stiff wind might just carry him over. Remus looks away from them. He’s so fucking exhausted himself; all that rage has died down to a small kernel in his gut, and now he’s just cold. 

“Yeah,” he says and stands. “Got any ideas?”

Remus manages one step, then two, before the dizziness hits. He staggers. Darkness flashes at the corners of his eyes as he tries to get his balance back. A moment later, Sirius’ face, white and strained, enters his field of view.

“Magical exhaustion,” Remus grits out as reassuringly as he can manage. “Just- need-”

Rest, he thinks, but words swim away from him before he can voice it.

The blackness swallows him up. Remus, almost gratefully, surrenders to it.

...

“Most people get exhausted from just five apparitions.”

Sirius glances up at James. Remus’ head is resting in his lap, and though he’s got more scars and too-ragged hair, he looks good. Warm. When Sirius saw that blood in Godric’s Hollow, he’d never even dreamed this might happen again.

“It takes at least ten to make it from Albania,” Sirius agrees. “I don’t know how he managed.”

“Yes, well.” James grimaces. “He’s always got such control over it, you know. I never could manage it even a little.”

“Takes breaking a cliff to make him faint. Not exactly easy.”

“Earth magic?”

“Mm. He always did like those ‘Puffs.”

“Marlene was a Gryffindor.”

Sirius narrows his eyes. “Bastard never told me.”

“You know Remus, though,” James points out.

Which is fair. Remus doesn’t tell people things. He holds onto his secrets like they’re going to kill him if he lets go even a little. If you confronted him, he’d admit to only just enough to get you off his back. Asking him about his werewolf thing had been like pulling teeth; asking him about why he’d given up being prefect in their sixth year had been even worse; he’d just flat out refused to tell by the time they’d graduated.

It’d been half the reason why Sirius suspected him, by the end.

Not the end, he reminds himself. 

Through some miraculous lifeline, it isn’t the end.

“Any clues on when we’re leaving?” he asks. 

It’s not a subtle change of topic, but both of them are tired. Better to talk about necessities than life-changing secrets. Better yet to not talk, Sirius thinks to himself. He’ll run his mouth as much as shout in this state, and with Remus unconscious and Lily nervy herself, it won’t end well. Remus had the experience enough to ground his magic into his element; Sirius is fairly certain that if either he or Lily do it- both of them strong, and violent, and even worse, flashy- they’ll blow a hole in the land that’d rival the size of Manchester.

James- bless his heart- seems to realize that. He glances back at Lily, who’s pacing the edge of the cliff, muttering to herself. She doesn’t look too good.

“Where, not when,” he corrects. “If we had a clue... well, we’d be gone by now. But we need wards and, preferably, a library. We have clues on how to go forward, but no information. It’s driving Lils mad.”

Wards. Library. Something sifts through Sirius’ mind. Funerals and articles and pitying looks in the middle of Diagon. 

This is a bad idea.

“’s it about dark magic?”

James frowns. “Yeah. Think so.”

Oh, this is a bad idea.

“I’ve got a place, then.”

...

Breaking into Grimmauld Place is... not difficult.

Sirius winces as they enter- it’s moldy and dusty, but the worse part is the Dark magic, humming in the very air like an army of locusts. But both the homenum revelios that he and James cast return nothing; his mother’s left the house, it seems, and even Kreacher isn’t there.

More importantly, the number of wards cast over the house ensure it’s practically unassailable. And the library is one of the finest in all of Europe.

That first night, Sirius puts James and Lily in Regulus’ rooms, because if there’s one room that his mother wouldn’t have spelled with traps it would be that one. He levitates Remus into his own rooms. A few cursory waves of his wand ensure that there aren’t any unpleasant surprises on the bed. And after that, he doesn’t get much beyond spelling his shoes off before he falls asleep, stretched out loosely next to Remus.

...

Lily hates it. 

Grimmauld Place is unfriendly, from the house elf straight down to the very walls. James and Sirius don’t see it; they’re purebloods, and all those little pinpricks of magic and spells that remind her that she wasn’t born into this world don’t even seem to register. That’s not entirely a surprise, of course. Lily’d expected that when she began dating James and had accepted it quietly when she wed him. But she’s also always had friends to complain with- Mary, and Colleen, and Jenna, who was in Ravenclaw but liked Lily enough to invite her into their common room when she wanted the company- and Remus, as well, to a certain extent.

Remus is too frail to even think about any of that now, though. 

Three days passed, and he spends most of his time sleeping. It’s getting better, of a sorts, in that Remus wakes for longer intervals; but that’s only from what Sirius reports to them. Apart from eating and ensuring that Kreacher can’t spill their secrets to others, Sirius stays shut in his old room with Remus, and nothing Lily or James do can coax him out.

It’s even worse now, because she and James are fighting. It isn’t a proper fight, exactly, not like some of the raging rows they’d had in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. 

Maybe we’ve grown up, thinks Lily wryly. Maybe we’ve moved past shouting at each other.

Because this isn’t a battle to be won with harsh words or screams. There’s too much hurt on both sides- hurt pride, hurt love, and outrage as well, because Lily knows that James thinks he’s as right in his actions as Lily’s certain he’s wrong- and if it isn’t a loud fight, it’s something like milk left on the stove and forgotten. It boils over. It stinks up the entire house. It’s a pain to clean up.

So Lily doesn’t bother. She’s already wasted two days trying to get the Black wards to untangle for her before leaving it for a lost cause. Azkaban’s wards had been far more complicated, but these knots can only be loosened with Black blood, and Lily doesn’t have any of that in her veins. Instead, she settles into the library and lets herself research, properly research, like she hasn’t been able to do in years.

...

It is- a week, or perhaps more, when Sirius is kidnapped.

Not kidnapped, not exactly, but he wakes in a different place than where he went to bed. He remembers sleeping beside Remus. He remembers the moonlight shafting through the window, the curtain stirring in the chill wind. He remembers...

Silver fingers and the call of a wind so harsh it bruises-

Black robes cut flawlessly-

A voice of contempt and thunder-

His wand leaps to his fingers and slashes a line of fire at the figure standing behind the desk. Sirius growls, low in his throat, as it dissipates before ever reaching the man’s face and rolls out of the chair he’d been sitting on to come up just in front of the fireplace.

Arcturus Black, Sirius’ grandfather and Head of House, doesn’t even flinch. “Sit down, boy,” he says levelly. 

“Let me go,” whispers Sirius. 

Distantly, he realizes that his wand is trembling. 

“I think not. Sit down.”

“I will not,” Sirius retorts. His wand might tremble; but his voice doesn’t. “I am not yours any longer. You’ve no power to compel me, not since I turned sixteen. Five years have passed, Grandfather.”

“I’d known you to be a Gryffindor, not a fool.”

“And I’m alive when your precious son and son’s favored son are both dead,” Sirius says, letting his voice turn ugly. “Let me go.”

“Sit down,” snarls Arcturus, suddenly sharp, and Sirius flinches. He finds himself obeying, too, with an alacrity that makes old rage sing in him like a honed sword. The anger in Arcturus’ face fades, though, replaced with thoughtfulness. Sirius rather dislikes the latter more than the former. “And so it is shown at last,” he says. “I could not have commanded your cousin so easily, had I a mind to try.”

Slytherins. Sirius can feel his breath rasping in his chest. Can feel the ache in his lower back, from sitting so stiffly. He lets his own eyes narrow and inspect Arcturus closely. Always saying one thing, meaning another.

“You think Andromeda would have let you?”

Sometimes the only answer is to force the truth out of them.

“When you are disowned, there is nothing that can be done,” says Arcturus. “That is the ritual that you demanded your parents perform in place of the Heredis Familias, is it not?”

Sirius bows his head. He hates thinking about that night. His father wanted to name him the heir to the Heir of the House of Black, or more properly- the heir to the Heredis of the House of Black, which is a role of itself with different responsibilities and powers than that of the Head. But while magic protects the Heredis from manipulation and magical cruelty at the hands of both Head and other family, the heir to the Heredis is given none of those. Sirius knows, knows, down deep in his bones, that his father would have bound him with such familial magics as to leave him a shell, barely able to do what he’s ordered.

“Yes,” he replies, and looks up to meet Arcturus’ gaze. If his grandfather hadn’t wanted him disowned, then he should have interfered earlier. “Now, let me go.”

“And yet I can command you. With great strain, but it is possible. You could walk into the London home, when the wards ought to have drowned you alive.” Arcturus doesn’t even seem to register his words. “Can you imagine why?”

“No,” snaps Sirius.

“Because Orion and Walburga never disowned you.”

Sirius jerks a hand up. “Impossible.”

“Oh, they did it legally. But magically? Orion was never a fool.” Cold satisfaction gleams in Arcturus’ eyes. “He was waiting for his second son to prove himself worthy. A pity they both died before that could be finished.”

A pity? A pity!

“Your only son and his only son are dead, and you don’t even care?” Sirius’ lip curls. “I’m glad I fled when I did, rather than remain in a home like this.”

“You wish to leave?” asks Arcturus.

“I think I’ve made that pretty fucking clear!”

“You enter one of my homes,” muses Arcturus, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. “You bring a werewolf with you. You have the absolute gall to desecrate the homes of your ancestors by ruining those portraits. And when I call you here to question you, you think yourself in the right?"

“Who’re you to question me?”

“The owner,” says Arcturus silkily, “of the home you’re currently staying in.”

Sirius jerks his head away. Thinks, furiously. Finally, he says, more sulky than he likes, “I needed a safe place. I thought- we needed a place with wards. And better we die quick with the Black wards than slowly outside.”

“Death, Grandson? I would’ve thought you too Gryffindor to give up so easily.”

“War teaches you things.” Sirius shrugs. 

Slowly, Arcturus inclines his head. “Indeed. In light of that- an equal bargain, then?”

Sirius stares at him. 

Equal bargain? Sirius flexes his fingers over his wand, as much for reassurance as to ensure he’s ready for anything else Arcturus throws at him. What the hell’s he playing at?

An equal bargain, after all, can only be done between equals. That is how the magic works, it only ensures the truth’s spoken when it’s equals. It can’t be used by a teacher to find out if a student’s cheating; it can’t be used by a general to make deals with spies; it can’t be used by a Head to bring an errant family member to heel.

I’m not a Hufflepuff to trust you blindly. I’m a Gryffindor, and that means I’ll drag you out of the shadows.

“Why?” Sirius asks, tilting his head to stare at Arcturus. Arcturus lifts an eyebrow, deliberately obtuse, and Sirius snarls internally. “The ritual’s meant for merchants. Won’t take hold if we’re not equals. If we don’t think of each other as such.”

“There are many books in the Black libraries,” says Arcturus. Holds up a hand at Sirius’ snort. “Let me finish,” he says, and it’s so dangerous that Sirius finds his mouth snapping shut of its own volition. “Many books, and many tales. A ritual for merchants, you say, and it’s used this way today- but once upon a time, it wasn’t. Once, it was used between generals. Between the left hand of Lady Genevieve and the first Minister of Magic, more than seven hundred years ago.” Sirius swallows, hard. Arcturus is staring at him so intently. “It was that agreement that allowed us to leave the muggles behind. Four hundred years we’d been separated before even the Statute of Secrecy. A monumental moment. ‘Tis fitting that this be another such meeting.”

“It won’t work if we don’t think of each other as equals,” Sirius retorts. “The history’s fine and all, but I’m not sure how you think that holds true for us.”

Arcturus smiles, slow, thin-lipped. “Was this not your oldest grievance against us all, Grandson? That we did not treat you as you ought to have been, with the rights that were yours by virtue of birth?” He nods. “Accept, now, and clasp my hand- and see if that has changed.”

The oldest wrong.

Because Sirius hadn’t been the faultless son, and his father had retaliated by removing him from those privileges that an heir ought to have had. Because Sirius has learned right and wrong and a hundred other things in the years away- seven in Hogwarts, and five past it- but before that, always, has been his pride and his love and his rage, simmering underneath as a flame too low to see until the pot’s a burnt mess.

Not a Head to his family. Sirius breathes in, and it shakes. One general to another. Hope sings in him like a fresh dawn. If this is true-

He reaches out one palm. Feels Arcturus’ grip it. Stares into his grandfather’s eyes.

“Information,” he agrees, carefully, “for information.”

The magic slots into place above them like swords made of blue light. Sirius rips his hand from Arcturus to pace on the carpet, restless energy in his veins, before he turns back to grip the back of the chair he’d been sitting on.

“You’re starting,” he tells Arcturus.

Something shadows Arcturus’ face. “My heir is gone, and my heir’s heir." His voice is perfectly inflectionless. “I know their murderer. I know that House Black has call to declare a blood feud with a Dark Lord, and the only reason we have not done so is because we are not powerful enough for it.”

“You think Volde-”

“-do not use that name!” 

“-You-Know-Who, then,” Sirius says impatiently, “you think he killed my- father? And Regulus?”

“Enough to declare a blood feud.”

Strong evidence, then. 

Blood feuds are bad business. Rivers have literally run red with the blood of feuding houses. For Arcturus to even think about declaring one...

Well.

They have an ally, now, and though Sirius will have to watch for betrayal- it is still better than the previous morning, when it would have been the four of them against all of the world.

“There is a prophecy,” he says casually, watching Arcturus’ face for the effect of the revelation. “Regarding his defeat.”

“Do you know it?”

“Yes.” Sirius pauses just long enough to ensure it’s clear that he won’t elaborate. “Tell me why I’m here.”

“Because I need an heir,” says Arcturus simply. “As it stands, the heir shall be a Malfoy, through Narcissa, and I’ve no wish to see that occur.”

My turn.

Do I trust him? Oh, Sirius doesn’t, and he’s certain that he shouldn’t. But information for information is a time-honored truce. And Sirius recognizes that vicious desire for vengeance, singing rich in Arcturus’ blood. That same blood that runs in Sirius, twice over from both mother and father. Carefully, then.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,” he recites, not looking away from Arcturus. “Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.”

For just a heartbeat, so quick that Sirius would have missed it had he not been looking so closely, triumph flashes across Arcturus’ eyes like sunlight off frozen stone. But it fades, and is replaced by his calm mask once more.

“The Dark Lord thinks it speaks of the Potter boy?”

“Or Neville Longbottom,” says Sirius slowly.

Arcturus closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Light fractures off his face, like something seen through a kaleidoscope. Sirius sees something that he hadn’t ever seen before: relief, and hope, burning bright as dawn’s first rays. He can’t help but think that he’s missing something.

“Another trade, I think,” says Arcturus. Sirius jerks and stares. That voice- it’s rich, deep, forceful. Arcturus hasn’t sounded like that in Sirius’ entire lifetime. “Not truth for truth, but rather a gift for another.”

“I’ve nothing to offer,” says Sirius.

A razor smile, thin, bladed. “You have not a name or allies,” he agrees. “But your word? For all that your parents doubted of you, your honor was never one of them.”

Irritation flickers in Sirius’ mind. “Just because I wasn’t as cold as they wanted-”

“Become the Heredis, and all shall be forgiven.”

“I’ve done nothing to forgive!”

“Accept my offer,” says Arcturus, unmoved. “If not for yourself, then for those who depend upon you- that werewolf, for instance, who yet seeks shelter in my home.”

The fireplace behind him roars into being so loudly that it deafens Sirius for a moment. He hisses, fingers digging so hard into the chair’s arm that the wood crumples inwards. Sirius feels the fury in his chest at Arcturus’ implicit threat, takes that fury, caresses it into something as sweet and palatable as wine. 

“You think I’d give up freedom for the use of one house?” he asks, and then smiles at the brief hesitance in his grandfather’s eyes. Yes. I am not tame, no matter how much you wish otherwise. “I am a Gryffindor, yes, and that should’ve warned you, Grandfather: if you touch Remus, if you even try, I’ll not stop until I’ve ripped you limb from limb and then shredded every piece of the Black legacy into dust.”

“Two gifts then,” says Arcturus after a pause. His lips are pressed so tightly together that they look bloodless. “One, to use Black properties as you wish. Second, access to the gold of all the Black vaults of Gringotts. And in return, you’ll allow yourself to be named the Heredis of House Black at the end of this war.”

Sirius exhales slowly. “One gift cannot match two.”

A spark, buried deep in Arcturus’ eyes, flares and dies. It looks like approval. Because Sirius remembers the traditions? Because he’s spent years trying to forget, and all it’s taken is a room of dark mahogany and cold words to roll all those years back?

“No,” says Arcturus softly. “It cannot. The second shall be a vow, to defeat the Dark Lord or die trying.”

I am already trying to do that. Why would you waste another gift?

He is definitely missing something. But Sirius knows that he won’t be able to find out; if nothing else, Arcturus will deny it to his last breath. All he can do is hope that he won’t be caught blind by his vow.

All he can be is brave.

“Very well,” says Sirius instead. “I accept.”

The magic above them dissolves in a shower of dust. The cool edge to the room that had come from the ritual fades as well, until all that’s left is the study and its smoking fireplace. 

“Then it is done.” Arcturus bows his head and rises, heading to the fireplace. He opens an ivory box and reveals the green Floo powder in it. Sirius rises, hand almost brushing the powder, when Arcturus pulls it away, just enough for Sirius to look up at him. “But there is a chance for more, is there not, Grandson?”

“More what?” Sirius asks warily.

“One last bargain. A challenge, let us say, to see who you are: the puling brat of your mother’s words, or the man who survived Azkaban with both mind and body intact to a surprising degree.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“Then you may go. But I have information that might be... interesting to you. On the Dark Lord.”

Sirius’ hand clenches. “You want him defeated just as much as I do.”

“That need not mean I spoon-feed you answers,” says Arcturus airily. “Tell me, now, whether you accept the challenge or wish to flee it.”

If I don’t take it, he’ll think me a coward. If I do take it, he’ll think me reckless. There’s no way I can win.

Not unless I do this for myself, and ignore what he thinks.

And Sirius would give much to know what his grandfather knows. He’s certain that he won’t die in this challenge; that would negate this entire conversation, the effort that Arcturus has gone to ensure this occurs. Even more, pain is something Sirius can handle.

“Tell me, then,” Sirius says abruptly. 

This time, it’s unmistakable in Arcturus’ eyes: approval, bright and cold as the stars around them.

“Follow me.”

Arcturus walks out of the study, not looking behind if Sirius follows. After a brief hesitation, Sirius does, inspecting the rest of the house curiously. The study’s the only room that he remembers of Nox Aeterna, the ancient home of the Head of House Black, and the rest of the house is fascinating in it’s own way. Not so dark and gloomy as Grimmauld Place, but rather airy, with large windows and curtains that shine in shades of blue and silver.

They stop at a balcony, overlooking a choppy sea far beneath.

Arcturus leans forwards and grips the balustrade, knuckles bleaching of color. 

“Trust is in little supply and great demand,” he says quietly. Sirius can barely hear him over the roar of the ocean. “And the only truth that is of import now is that of magic.” His gaze swings back to meet Sirius’. “We do this the old way, that which has been forgotten for long years: prove yourself, if you are to be named Heir.”

Sirius lifts his wand and takes one step forwards. Arcturus matches that move. He, too, reaches up; but only to grip Sirius’ chin, bruising in its strength.

Then he twists and in a flash, Sirius is braced over the railing. He yelps in shock, straining for his magic. But Arcturus is older and more prepared- he presses, so that Sirius is nearly bent in half backwards, head pushed so far that he sees the endless grey of the ocean instead of Arcturus’ cruel face.

“You called flame when threatened,” Sirius hears him say, as if from a long distance. “But you are a Black and our home has never been that. It has always been that water from which we first emerged, dripping, to conquer the earth. Call the water beneath you, if you do not wish to be swallowed by it!”

...

Arcturus observes his grandson passionlessly.

He’s shaking, the boy; he’s an undisciplined mess, and an idiot, and a blood-traitor to boot. But he’s clever. Even now, his magic surges around him like an uncontrollable tempest. Even now, terrified and half-broken from Azkaban, Sirius is powerful.

The waves so far beneath them rise, slowly, in response to Sirius’ call.

The ancient call of the Blacks. 

Arcturus watches the glittering rainbow strands of water spiraling up to the balcony. He hadn’t done this for Orion or Regulus, too afraid that the ritual would damage them beyond all recognition. He regrets that now. There’s much he regrets, but most of all the ruin of the House of Black in less than five years.

It all began with Sirius’ flight from London in the dead of night. It will end today, with Sirius’ return.

Do you know what you will become? Arcturus shoves forwards, grim and harsh, and feels satisfaction like silk on his spine at the way the water almost touches Sirius’ palms. Do you know what you represent?

For too long has there been two sides in war: Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, with the nebulous Ministry a coin tossed and used by both. But now Sirius is in a Black home of his own volition, and hope lives in Arcturus once more. A boy born at the end of the seventh month, to parents who’ve defied the Dark Lord thrice over? Oh, there has always been more to the magic of prophecy than anyone can put into words, and Arcturus will not let the flame of hope gutter out because of other’s plots. 

Between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, Arcturus knows whom he shall side with. Between the Dark Lord and another side, one where the Blacks can stand tall and proud... 

I am a Black. And for too long, the world has forgotten what that means. It is time for us to step out now.

The world shall change, immeasurably, and Arcturus will be there to see it happen. 

He’ll be there to make it happen.

No matter what it takes.

...

James is in the kitchen, curled over a mug of tea, when Sirius floos into it. He stumbles in and sits down, hard, on a chair.

“I didn’t know you’d gone out,” says James slowly.

Sirius makes a face back at him. “Wasn’t by choice. M’grandfather kind of... kidnapped me.”

“Arcturus?” asks James, startled. Half-rises out of his chair. “Do we have to leave?”

“No.” Sirius shakes his head. “It was- weird. He was- weird.”

James looks at him closer. But that answers fewer questions than it raises; Sirius is white, bone-white, and shaking, and his hair is-

“Did you go swimming?”

“I wish,” snorts Sirius, leaning back in the chair and pressing a wrist against his eyes. “The bastard shoved me off a fucking balcony, ‘cause it’d prove something to him. Guess he was angry I hit him with incendio."

“Incendio?” asks James, morbidly fascinated. He’s never fully understood the Blacks and their family; how they’re so cruel to each other all the time, for no reason other than that they can. “Did he need healing?”

“Like he’d have let it touch him.”

And it’s anger that James sees now, crystallized and frozen. His hand drops and reveals Sirius’ eyes, shining like slate-stone: unyielding. He’s not shaking from fear or adrenaline. It’s just rage, pure as diamond crystals. And though he’s soaked through from his hair down to his clothes, he also looks far better than he’s done for the past week while they’ve hidden and scrounged around the house.

Rest isn’t something that either of them are good at.

“He treated me like a respected opponent,” says Sirius flatly. “Information for information, gift for gift, and finally: assurance for assurance. He spoke to me- one leader to another. Offered me the Black money and properties if I took the name.” He looks at James. “I took it.”

“Sirius-”

“I told him the prophecy, too.”

James inhales sharply. “That was a good idea?”

“I don’t fucking know, do I?” Sirius waves his wand and grabs the firewhiskey bottle that breaks out of the cellar before it can shatter against the table. Another flick, and the bottle’s opened, and he takes a deep swig of it. “But I did it.”

And now we have to live with it.

“Why’d he push you off a balcony?” James asks softly.

Sirius tips his head back. “Because he wanted to give me something and couldn’t think of a way of doing it without being a horrible fucking human being.”

“Sirius,” says James.

“A book. That’s what he gave. For proving myself worthy of his fucking House, I got a book.” From under Sirius’ robes, he reveals an old tome. Slams it onto the table. “You-Know-Who asked for it. That’s how my dad died, apparently, getting this back into the Black library. The curses You-Know-Who put up around it shriveled his heart into ash, but he got away. Got back home. Here. And that’s how he died, the stupid son of a bitch.”

James steps forwards and presses his hand against Sirius’ shoulder. He can feel the tremors through it- aborted as soon as Sirius can manage, but not truly hidden. Not to James, who knows Sirius almost better than he knows himself.

“I’m going to take that to Lily,” he says quietly. “And then I’m coming back here with Remus, and we’re gonna forget everything else. One night, Sirius. I think we’re owed that.”

No, thinks James, tightening his grip on Sirius’ shoulder, sadness a gulf beneath him that can swallow him if he allows it. We’re owed far more. But this is what we have. And we’ll live with that. Like we have, for so long that we forget how to ask for more.

But there are things that cannot be forgotten, no matter how long they take to return. And James is alive, and his friends are alive, and that is all that matters. So long as they live, they can do more. So long as they live, they can hope.

They can dream.

...

Remus watches James watch Sirius.

Sirius is good at hiding his emotions from everyone who’s not James, and James is notoriously bad at keeping his feelings off his face. Add alcohol to the mix and it’s like taking candy from a child. Remus feels a vague sort of guilt for taking such shameless advantage, but it’s James who’d invited him to a party consisting of hard alcohol while Remus is incapable of consuming it with all the healing potions running through his system. 

“One day,” says James, words all slurring together, “we’re gonna get away to a nice place. Have a vacation. The four o’ us. Somewhere warm, where it isn’t raining. No Lily, no kids. I just want-”

“Three,” says Remus quietly.

James looks back at him, eyes blinking. For less than a heartbeat, his eyes look like the firewhiskey in his hand, gold and glittering and inhuman. “Wha’?”

“Three of us, James. Not four.”

“You’re backing out?” he demands, with all the fervor of a person who’s properly sloshed. “Well, fuck you too, Lupin. Making our schedules line up’s hard enough without you being such a bore.”

“I’m not talking about our schedules,” says Remus, with considerably more patience than he’d ever thought he had. “And I’d be happy to come. But Peter’s... not around anymore.”

“I’ll pound that bastard’s face in,” mumbles Sirius from the other side of the table, head pressed against the wood. “Next time I see ‘im. Straight in. No magic. I want to see it happen.”

“Yes, well.” Remus turns back to James, whose glaring intently at Sirius. “Jam- Prongs, look-”

“That’s not nice,” says James, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve seen him, you know, and he looks like absolute shit. Doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him, I don’t think, the poor bastard.”

Remus stills. Across from him, Sirius slowly lifts his head. 

“When?” asks Remus, deathly quiet.

“Right before we got Sirius out. Lily was doing that- I was the decoy.” James’ jaw juts forward priggishly, but all that means is that he’s being stubborn. “He was there. I spoke to him.”

“You spoke to him?” 

James nods. 

“Oh, how fucking magnanimous of you,” hisses Remus, hands clenching and unclenching on his wand. “Speaking to the man who gave you up for You-Know-Who! What, did you debate values with him? Tell him that he shouldn’t have, it made your life a little fucking difficult? You absolutely sanctimonious arse of a pureblood, do you even know what he’s done to the rest of us!”

“Wormtail,” says James, soft as a thread of spider silk. “Our friend. That’s who you’re talking about like this.”

“Damn right!” snarls Remus. “The man who betrayed you, who would’ve stood by and killed your son, you, your wife- you ever wonder why you met him there? Because you were rescuing Sirius. Why were you rescuing Sirius? Because Peter put him there!”

“We get to be afraid,” says James quietly. “You can’t demand people not to feel.”

“He chose to be a part of this war!”

“Did he? Truly, down deep, after all of us had made our choices- did he get one?”

“Yes,” says Sirius, so abrupt that both of them startle and turn to him. Sirius’ eyes are red and he looks like he’s been through a whirlwind right before being dumped into the chair, but there’s sobriety in his eyes that hadn’t been there just moments before. “Yeah, Prongs, he did get one. Just ‘cause he was too afraid to take it then doesn’t mean he gets to take this one now.”

“Then that’s your decision,” says James. 

“You’re right.” 

Remus spins around so fast that his back cracks, to see Lily standing in the doorway. Her hair’s thick and loose down her back; her face is as steady as a statue carved of stone.

“We won’t ask you to kill him,” says Lily calmly. “We won’t ask you to hate him. But you won’t ask the opposite of us, either. It is your choice to forgive him; it is ours to not do so.”

“Lils-”

“I found something,” she continues, without missing a beat. James’ mouth clicks shut. “The book that Sirius brought back- I’ve found out what that damned ring is. I thought you lot might want to come to see it.”

“I’d love to, but-”

“But?” asks Lily, dangerously sweet, stone face cracking to show something seething and hot beneath.

That’s when Remus realizes that though she hasn’t demonstrated too much of her anger, that doesn’t mean that she isn’t feeling it. The Lily in front of him right now is frayed over at the seams, held together with sheer determination alone. She’s not in the frame of mind to understand why James wanted a day’s relaxation; Remus rather suspects that Lily’d been even angrier when James told her his plan.

She’s pushing herself too hard, he thinks wearily. And when it becomes too much- and it will, sooner rather than later- she’ll collapse.

Remus cannot stop her. 

But he can hold her together through it, whenever that happens. And that means that he needs to recover quickly- even quicker than he has been- because Merlin knows that Sirius and James aren’t capable of recognizing an impending breakdown until it’s actually happening in front of them.

“But,” he says now, before James can say something unfortunately stupid, “both of these berks are drunk. Anything you say’s gonna fly straight over their heads.”

“Like it doesn’t normally,” says Lily, caustic as acid, but Remus sees her face relax fractionally, and breathes out in a silent whoosh of relief. “There’s sobering potion in that cupboard-” she nods to the third one over and waves her wand, but the lock doesn’t break under her instruction, though the bottles do soar out with the simple expedience of shattering the glass case. “-oh, god, I’ll clean that tomorrow.” She directs them to James and Sirius before fixing James with a beady eye. “You’ll make sure they take it?”

Remus winces. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you in the library.”

Lily turns on her heel and leaves. Remus lifts his brows back at James and Sirius, both of whom are eyeing the potion with distaste.

“Well, get on with it, then,” he says, forcibly cheerful. “Bottom’s up!”

...

Lily would feel more pity for the others if she hadn’t been working so damn hard herself. She knows she’s being unfair. Intellectually, that knowledge is present. What isn’t is her patience. They can rest once this war is over, and wanting to live during it- 

We survive, she thinks, tapping her nails against the book-cover impatiently. We survive, and only once we’ve managed that, we live. 

The memory of James comparing Peter to her sister still blazes, like a hot coal set against her breast. Petunia is nasty and low and mean but she’s not evil. And Peter- what he’s done is evil. Letting Voldemort come after them, betraying them like that... it’s evil, like taking the heart out of an innocent and crushing it to dust.

When Lily closes her eyes, she can hear Harry’s terrified screams; she can smell James’ blood. She’s slept, yes, but only in short stretches, and mostly subsists on Dreamless Sleep once every four days, which is just long enough not to build up either resistance or dependence. She’s furious and exhausted and surviving in a home that she loathes with every inch of her body, and it is all Peter’s fault.

I hate him, thinks Lily, and bows her head, draws that hate into herself like poison sucking out of the wound. This will not hurt me; this won’t be my downfall. But there will come a time when Peter is not on guard, and then I will strike.

A lioness does not hesitate to bring a fawn. And if backed into a corner, a den of loved ones behind her, a lioness is even more dangerous.

She’d joined this war because it was the right thing to do. She’d stayed because she was a muggleborn and a mudblood and in as much danger with her head down as with her head held high, and she’s got enough pride to want her life to mean something. 

It’s never been truly personal.

Not until now.

Voldemort will regret doing that. So will Peter. By the end of this, there will be justice done for all those that she loves. 

Distantly, Lily hears something crack in the kitchens. She tilts her head to the side and listens; she can hear the beginnings of some loud argument, and all it takes is one twitch of her fingers for her wand to roll across the table and straight into her palm.

I swear it, she thinks, before getting up to return to the kitchens. 

James didn’t know how he looked. Remus hasn’t been in England in nearly a year. Sirius is the likeliest to understand her need for justice, but he’s easily distracted.

It’s fine.

Her friends are dead, and her parents are buried in muggle graves that she can’t even visit for fear of leaving wards, and her sister hates her but cares for Lily’s only son because there’s no other option.

Lily will make sure they- the Death Eaters, Voldemort, all those pureblooded lords who dare to think she’ll die easy- will pay for it. For every last ounce of it.

This isn’t her first time cleaning up messes. This won’t be her last.

She refuses to feel regret for any of it.

...

By the time she makes it down to the kitchens again, there’s a full-blown argument happening. 

It’s only Sirius shouting, though; Remus and James have both retreated to the door and are just watching him wearily. It’s almost like Hogwarts, where Sirius’ duels- both verbal and magical- with his family had become legendary by the time he graduated. It only took James and Remus and Peter until third year to stop holding Sirius back, too.

“Remus?” says Lily.

James cuts her a sharp, slightly hurt, look, but doesn’t say anything. Remus sighs.

“A house-elf,” he says. “Apparently his grandfather decided that allowing Sirius access to each of the properties means keeping the properties manageable.”

“Livable,” interjects James. 

Remus shrugs. “And managing means... a house-elf. Though it seems to find the broken glass a little objectionable.”

“So why’s Sirius the one acting like a maniac?” Lily asks helplessly.

“When doesn’t Sirius act like a maniac?”

“James,” whispers Lily, a surge of irritation taking her aback with the depth of the emotion, “will you, please, for the love of god, just shut up?”

“Lily?”

She averts her face when she sees the naked surprise on Remus’ face. Lily can feel the ache in her muscles; she hasn’t moved in days, only from her room to the library to the kitchen and back to the library. Disuse hurts just as much as use.

I hate this.

“Sirius,” she says instead, and steps into the kitchen, wand up. 

Sirius turns to face her. His long hair’s disheveled and his eyes are red. Behind him is a shriveled excuse for a house elf- bulging eyes, furious, twisted mouth, skin the color of copper scale. 

“What are you doing?” Lily asks.

“I don’t want him here,” spits Sirius. Whatever calm came from the hours he’d spent with James and Remus have vanished into thin air; his hands are trembling, and there’s a vicious gleam in his eyes that leaves Lily uneasy. “He’s a spy, a great big spy for my grandfather, and I’m sick to death of this, I am, I cannot- I cannot bear this stupid family again- once was enough, goddammit!”

“Yes,” says Remus softly, slowly making his way into the kitchen. He doesn’t look away from Sirius. “It was. It is.”

Sirius slumps right where he’s standing, like his muscles have just turned to water. The desperate relief in his face, the way something taut and strained softens, leaves an aching pit in Lily’s own stomach.

But that’s when she hears the house-elf’s mutters, which turn abruptly audible: “Mudbloods... desecrating the House... blood-traitors breaking cupboards... Kreacher doesn’t know what Master was thinking, no sir... what would Master Regulus say, Kreacher wonders, oh, yes...”

“Shut up,” snaps Sirius, and though Kreacher’s mouth continues to move, no sound comes out of it. Tiredly, he turns to Lily. “Please tell me you’re going to say that we can leave this bloody place.”

“Soon,” says Lily, lowering her wand and then herself into one of the chairs. It might even make sense to have the conversation here- she’s worn enough not to want to drag herself back to the library tonight, anyways. A glance up confirms that Remus and James are inside as well, Remus with one hand white-knuckled on Sirius’ shoulder and James flanking Sirius’ left. Fine, then. Here it is. “That ring we found? It’s a horcrux."

It’d been far more complex than that, but that’s what her research boils down to. General diagnostic charms revealed nothing but Dark magic; Dark diagnostic charms revealed, in general, nothing. But one had given faint traces of soul magic, and Lily’d jumped onto that trail with zeal. The issue had been that soul magic diagnostics had revealed the ring to have not a soul nor no soul; rather somehow, a mix of the two.

What is neither a soul nor not a soul?

The answer, in the end, being a part of a soul.

From there it’d taken little time to find what kind of magic could accomplish that. She loathes the knowledge that’s sitting in her head now, all the byproducts of her research, but the end is present. Is there. That’s what matters.

“What’s a horcrux?” asks Sirius.

“An object that houses a piece of someone’s soul.” Lily watches Remus’ grip slide down from Sirius’ shoulder to his elbow and dig in. She closes her eyes for a brief moment. “There’s no way of knowing, of course, because it’s destroyed- but I think it’s fair to say that it’s You-Know-Who’s.”

“He split his soul?” asks James, looking sick. 

“To give himself immortality.”

“Ah,” says Remus. “And do we know if there are any other such... horcruxes?”

“According to the book-” Lily shakes her head, “-no. Because only a fool would want to do it even once, and multiple times? The soul is what binds our magic to the physical plane. Take that away and the magic we wield becomes fractured. More powerful, maybe, but less controlled.”

Remus sways, before levering himself into a chair slowly, not letting up on his death-grip on Sirius’ elbow. “Mad,” he says. “That’s what he was, isn’t it?”

“Master Regulus would turn in his grave, yes he would,” mutters Kreacher from behind Sirius, just hidden from Lily’s sight by James and Remus’ chair. “Tries to destroy it... but a mud-”

“Right, that’s it,” snarls Sirius, waving his wand so wildly it looks like it might take Remus’ eye out. “Impugno!”

Lily flicks a shield up quicker than thought, so the yellow birds he conjures erupt out of existence against it. “Stop,” she says into the ensuing silence, eyes narrowed on Kreacher.

“Destroy what, Kreacher?”

His eyes dip away. “The mudblood is speaking to Krea-”

“Don’t address her like that!” James says loudly, but Lily waves him away to step closer to the elf. 

“Destroy what, Kreacher?” Lily asks again.

House-elves aren’t stupid. Purebloods forget that, over and over again; they treat them like particularly faithful dogs, and don’t keep in mind that secrets said in the presence of people who won’t betray you doesn’t mean that there won’t ever come a time in which those people won’t betray you. And there’s intelligence in Kreacher’s eyes, sharp as a blade, for all that there’s hatred as well.

He’s heard what she’s said, and he’s broken through Sirius’ order to reply.

“Answer her!” says Sirius.

Kreacher says, slowly, grounding it out, “Master Regulus’ locket.”

“My brother couldn’t have made a horcrux if his life depended-”

His eyes are glowing when they meet Lily’s. They’re so large; looking closer, Lily realizes that his skin is less the color of copper scale and more that of sea foam, fathomless in its depths. Love, thinks Lily, breathless, certain as nothing else. This is love. In all its terrible, cruel, enigmatic glory. Then Kreacher says, “The locket Master Regulus stole from the Dark Lord,” and Lily’s heart stops.

...

The whole ugly story spills out of Kreacher. The green glow of the cave. The bodies. The potion, like fire down his throat. The high laugh of the Dark Lord, and Regulus’ rage when he left Kreacher to die in the cave. The grief of having no body to bury, and no one to tell the story to, and solely a locket of death and soul magic to remember Regulus by.

He’s quivering by the end of it, trying to repress his urge to both tell the story and punish himself for giving up his master’s secrets.

Sirius takes the locket from him. The metal of the chain is warm in his fingers. Slowly, he lets it drop onto the wooden table and breathes, lungs aching. He cannot cry. He will not cry. All that he has left behind, all this hatred, and his brother-

Their last words had been said in an argument. It hadn’t been in Hogwarts, but that was because it was Easter and Regulus was home for the break. They’d seen each other in Diagon by accident, and Regulus had come over to speak to him, and Sirius cannot- for the life of him- remember why he’d come over or what they’d gotten into an argument about; all he knows is Regulus, young, color flaring high in his cheeks, eyes blazing like the stars he’s named for. Sirius himself, three years older and disgusted, viscerally repulsed with the tender way his brother curled over his left hand.

The only thing you love is yourself, he’d spat, and Regulus had stood there, wand aloft, mouth pulled tight. What would you know of love, you fucking soulless bastard? Only reason you’ll do anything is ‘cause you want to make our parents happy! 

Yes, Regulus had said. Because after all the grief they had with you, I think they deserve better!

No. Because you’re afraid. Sirius remembers that last sentence with shame, vast as his hatred for his family. The hitch to Regulus’ breathing, and the satisfaction that purred up Sirius’ spine in response. And that’s all anyone’s ever going to know about you, Reggie. Regulus had stilled at that name, and Sirius hadn’t known to call it hurt then. He isn’t certain even now, but he hopes. Oh, how he hopes. Your fucking fear.

Sirius had apparated away, then. Hadn’t spoken to Regulus after. Hadn’t known he was dead until he read the Prophet, and hadn’t cared about that until now. He thinks he should have. He thinks, now that he does, that this grief is-

Unending.

...

“Sirius,” says Remus quietly.

Sirius turns, just enough to see him. His head aches. He hasn’t been sleeping well even before this, and now- he’s not managed even one moment of sleep the full night. His body rebels at staying awake, yes, but when he closes his eyes all Sirius sees is Regulus.

How afraid he must have been, he thinks, and grief curdles in him like a cramped muscle. My little brother. 

“I’m tired,” he says hoarsely, throat aching. 

“You should sleep.” Remus enters, and sits gingerly on the side of the bed. His hand hovers over Sirius’ knee before coming to rest right next to it. “You look like you could use it.”

“No, I’m more tired of this,” says Sirius, fingers digging into the coverlet, both angry and exhausted at once. “Of this stupid home. This- this way they act, always, like it doesn’t matter if we survive if the family continues. As if the family isn’t made of people.”

And instead of fixing things, they just want us back. They don’t know how to treat people like they’re people, but they know that they’re doing something wrong. And it’s us who pay the price. Merlin, I hate them. I hate them all.

He doesn’t dare look at Remus. Only tilts his head back, flat on the pillow, so all he can see is the red-charmed ceiling. “He wanted me to stay,” Sirius says soundlessly.

Remus inhales sharply. 

It should be meaningless, and it would be to anyone else- including James, Sirius thinks- but Remus has always known what Sirius means, almost before Sirius knows it himself. 

“It wasn’t my fucking responsibility,” says Sirius, and where he might have shouted it at any other moment, right now he feels like a thread so thin it’s transparent; it exists, yes, but might well not in a heartbeat. 

“Padfoot,” says Remus, voice thick. “It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Isn’t. Whatever. You staying with your family might not have changed anything.”

Something cracks in Sirius’ chest, hot, bleeding. Ruinous.

“Might,” he says faintly.

Remus’ hand closes on his ankle. His bones grate together and Sirius gasps from the sudden, sharp pain.

“Don’t act like an idiot,” says Remus loudly. “You know what I mean. But this isn’t your fault, Sirius. No, look at me.” His other hand reaches and grips Sirius’ chin and forces him to look at Remus’ eyes, blue as- as- as flowers, and gems, and the sky, and still, none of that is as alive as Remus himself. The miserable stone in his belly lightens, just a little. “Who knows what might’ve happened in a different world? If you’d been in Slytherin, or Regulus’d been in Gryffindor, or- or- I don’t know. But that didn’t happen. You didn’t stay. They’d have killed you, or as good as, and I won’t fucking let you feel bad for surviving that. Surviving them.”

“Oh, Merlin,” says Sirius, horrified at himself, at the hot tears rising in his eyes. 

He can’t even move, can only stare at Remus, who’s not letting him up, not even a little bit. Who’s only staring at him so fiercely that it makes the crack in his chest deepen, looking as patiently immovable as any mountain.

“Regulus died a hero,” Remus tells him. “That’s what matters. That’s what you should remember him as: the man who faced Vold- You-Know-Who himself, and decided he wanted no part of it. Who decided to do something, instead of just running.”

“Remus- fucking- let go-”

“No,” says Remus. “Fuck you, I’ll stay like this if I want to.”

Laughter punches through the sobs caught in his chest, like a knife through paper. Sirius hears the horrible sound erupt from his chest and inhales, gasping, razor-edged. Remus immediately lets go of his chin; but just when Sirius starts to curl in on himself, he feels arms come up, swallow him whole in an embrace that shouldn’t be possible when Remus is two inches shorter and nowhere near as broad.

“I hate this,” Sirius whispers, weary, what feels like hours later.

“I know,” says Remus, and he is warm and soft and stroking one hand down Sirius’ scalp. “I know, Padfoot.”

He sleeps, then, and though the world is made of cold, cruel things, Sirius feels none of it that night. Not as he is, safe in Remus’ arms.

...

Lily closes her eyes for just a moment before summoning her courage. The rap of her knuckles on the door shouldn’t feel as momentous as it does. But still she hesitates, even after she hears the muffled “Come in!” from within.

Then, breathing deep, she enters.

It’s James, sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. He’s leaning back so there’s only two feet on the floor, wand spinning in his hand and spitting up sparks. 

“We should talk,” she says.

James wand still in his hands. His chair thuds onto the ground. Then he nods.

Lily clambers onto the bed and folds her legs under her. “Why?” she asks, sharper than she’d meant but still aching.

“Because he’s Peter,” says James quietly. The sparks from his wand light up the bottom of his face- the chin, the juts of his cheekbones. “I’ve known him since he was eleven, Lily. I can’t just- forget that.”

“He tried to kill us,” says Lily. “If you’ve forgotten.”

“Only reason you can think of for me not being a vengeful bastard?”

“He held Harry and swore to protect us and then he gave us up.” Lily runs a hand through her hair, tries to still the tremors. “I don’t know how you can just forget that he gave us up!”

“I didn’t. I can’t forget that. But he loved Harry, Lils. He loved you, and me, and not all of it was a lie.” James looks so earnest. Eyes shining. Face glowing. “I believe that. It’s Peter, for Merlin’s sake! That’s what you, all of you, keep forgetting! He’s pants at lying and shit at acting and if we live in a world where Peter fooled us into believing he loved us for years without us doubting him for a minute- then I don’t know if I can believe anything at all, Lily. Not anything.”

Lily folds her fingers together. She hasn’t forgotten. Hadn’t forgotten. That’s true enough. But Lily thinks that she’d chosen not to dwell on it; because she hadn’t been able to, not in those first horrible days when she hadn’t known if James would survive and all she’d had was Harry and a wand and fear like a steady wolf at her heels.

She thinks: Peter, in Hogwarts, hair a flaxen gold and a laugh softer but far, far more often than all of theirs. He hadn’t liked her much in the beginning, because Lily hadn’t been very nice to James that seventh year before they started going out. But they’d been the only Gryffindors in NEWT Charms and in between tutoring and desperate cramming, both of them had become something like friends. Then had come their training in charm-work, in Brussels for Lily and Antwerp for Peter. And after- the war, the silence, the warmth of his hand over hers as they both waited in the kitchen for James and Sirius to come home.

“Then why’d he do this, Jimmy?” Lily lifts her eyes to James, and doesn’t look away. She can be courageous. Now, with a world balanced on her shoulders and the flames of her rage faded to ash, she can be courageous. “How, if he did not hate us?”

“I think,” says James quietly. “I- I think he was afraid. Always. And Pete was the quietest of us, and we started thinking that if he didn’t say anything that meant he was fine with it.” He stands and makes his way closer to Lily, though he doesn’t touch her. The window behind him limns his body, throws his features into shadow but makes his outline shine. “I miss him, Lils. And I’m furious at what he’s done. Of course I am. But- he’s Peter.”

Oh, but James has never moved past people as Lily has done; he has never had his heart broken like she has. He moves through life as if certain that he won’t be killed by it. 

“What if he’s killed people?”

“I have too,” says James, a little wryly. “But. No. He hasn’t. When I saw him- it’s not the look of a man who’s planned it. He hasn’t.”

Lily reaches up and grips his wrist. She can feel his heart there, in those slender muscles and delicate bones. “If it comes down to you and him, if it’s down to you two-”

“I don’t know,” says James. 

Lily cannot look away. She is caught, is speared, by the old, resigned light in James’ eyes. 

Not as if he won’t be killed, thinks Lily, heart rending in her chest. No. As if he would rather die, than survive in a world like that.

“Jimmy.”

“I don’t know. It depends. But- if it’s just me, Lily, if it’s down to just me and just him, I don’t know if I can kill him.” He leans down, and presses his lips to the very tips of her fingers. “I do not know, and that is the entire truth.”

“I believe you.” Lily twists and grabs James, hauls him closer to her, embraces him so tightly that she cannot breathe. “I believe you, and I hate this, and if you aren’t next to me when this war is over, I’ll kill you myself, you stupid, stupid, stupid man.”

“Ah, Lils,” he says, “I think you’ll have to queue up for the privilege. Merlin knows I’ve pissed enough Death Eaters off to have ‘em ahead of you.”

She burrows closer to him, until James finally gives in and topples onto the bed, half on her, half on the mattress. “I hate you,” she mumbles into his shirt. Then, before he can answer: “If you let a Death Eater kill you, I’ll make sure to have a child just so I can name it Elvendork and imagine your anger from beyond the grave.”

“Now that,” says James, voice like a rich song rising around them, “is definitely a reason to stay alive.”

[dumbledearme]

chapter forty-one—king of the gods

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act V — Walking On Water

Part IV — I hope you're satisfied, but if you ain't, don't blame me. You can blame my friends on the other side...

They emerged in Central Park just north of the Pond. Nico looked pretty tired as he limped over to a cluster of boulders. "The Underworld has two major entrances," he told Andy. "You know the one in L.A."

"Charon's ferry."

Nico nodded. "Most souls go that way, but there's a smaller path, harder to find. The Door of Orpheus."

"The dude with the harp?"

"The dude with the lyre," Nico corrected with a grin. "But yeah, him. He used his music to charm the earth and open a new path into the Underworld. He sang his way right into Hades's palace and almost got away with his wife's soul."

"I remember," she said; Anthony liked telling her about Greek myths. "He wasn't supposed to look behind him when he was leading her back to the world, but of course he did. And so they died. The end."

"Pretty much."

"So this is the Door of Orpheus?" Andy tried to sound impressed but she wasn't really. "How does it open?"

"We need music," Nico said. "How's your singing?"

"Um, no. Can't you just, like, tell it to open? You're the son of Hades and all."

"It's not that easy. We need music. Now sing. I'm pretty sure you can carry some notes."

"Why would you think that?"

"Child of the sea and everything," he shrugged. "Mermaids. Sirens. Naiads. The sound of waves. All music."

"I'm fairly sure if I try to sing, all I will cause is an avalanche," Andy told him. "I have a better idea." She turned and shouted, "GROVER!" Her empathy link was tingling for the first time in months. Grover! she thought more insistently.

"Hmm-hmmmm," something said. An image came into her head. She saw him sleeping above a tree.

"Wake up," she told him.

His eyes shot open.

"What?" Nico asked.

"I got through," she said out loud. "He's... yeah. He's on his way."

A minute later, the tree next to them shivered and Grover fell out of the branches. "Blah-haa-haa!" he bleated.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine," he got up. His horns had grown so much they poked an inch above his curly hair. "I was at the other end of the park. The dryads had this great idea of passing me through the trees to get me here. They don't understand height very well."

"You remember Nico?" Andy said. Grover nodded at Nico then gave Andy a big goat hug.

"I missed you," he told her. "I miss camp."

"I was worried," she said. "Where have you been the last two months?"

"The last two-" Grover's smile faded. "The last two months?! What are you talking about?"

"We haven't heard from you. Juniper's worried."

"Hold on. What month is this?"

"August."

The color drained from his face. "That's impossible! It's June. I just lay down to take a nap and..." he grabbed Andy's arms. "I remember now! He knocked me out. Andy, we have to stop him!"

"Whoa, stop who? Tell me what happened."

Grover took a deep breath. "I was... I was walking in the woods up by Harlem Meer. And I felt this tremble in the ground, like something powerful was near."

"You can sense stuff like that?" Nico asked.

Grover nodded. "Since Pan's death, I can feel when something is wrong in nature. It's like my ears and eyes are sharper when I'm in the Wild. Anyway, I started following the scent. This man in a long black coat was walking through the park, and I noticed he didn't cast a shadow. Middle of a sunny day, and he cast no shadow. He kind of shimmered as he moved."

"Like a mirage?" Nico asked.

"Yes," Grover said. "And whenever he passed humans-"

"The humans would pass out," Nico finished. "Curl up and go to sleep."

"That's right! I followed the guy. He kept looking up at the buildings around the park like he was making estimates or something. I followed him into this grove, to the base of a big elm tree. I was about to summon some dryads to help me capture him when he turned and..." Grover swallowed. "Andy, his face. I couldn't make out his face because it kept shifting. Just looking at him made me sleepy. I asked what he was doing and he said he was having a look around. He said you should always scout a battlefield before the battle. And then... then I had to sleep a little."

Nico exhaled. "You met Morpheus, the god of Dreams. You're lucky you ever woke up."

"Two months," Grover moaned. "He put me to sleep for two months."

"We need to figure out what he was doing here," Andy said.

"He's working for Kronos," Nico said. "We know that already. A lot of the minor gods are. This just proves there's going to be an invasion. We need to get on with our plan, Jackson."

And he was back with the last name thing.

"What plan?" Grover asked. They told him and he started tugging at his leg fur. "You can't be serious. You cannot be serious! Not the Underworld again!"

"You don't need to come," Andy assured him. "We just need you to open the door. With music."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Andy?"

She avoided his eyes. "Please, Grover. Just open the door."

Grover whimpered but took out his reed pipes. He played a shrill, lively tune. The boulders trembled until they cracked open, revealing a triangular crevice. Andy peered inside. Steps led down into the darkness. She looked back at Grover. "Thanks, man.."

"I've got to rally the nature spirits if Kronos is going to invade. Maybe we can help. I'll see if we can find this Morpheus."

"Better tell Juniper you're okay first."

Grover's eyes widened. "Juniper! Oh, she is going to kill me!" He gave Andy another hug. "Come back alive." And he ran off.

"Ready?" Nico asked her. "It'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll keep you safe down there."

Andy liked the promise, but Nico sounded like he was trying to convince himself. She glanced at the stars, wondering if she would ever see them again. Then they plunged into darkness.

They emerged at the base of a cliff, on a plain of black volcanic sand. To their right, the River Styx. To their left, far away, fires burned on Erebos.

Andy shuddered and wished Anthony was there to hold her hand. Nico looked pale and worried himself. Not very heartening. "How do we do this?"

"We have to get inside the gates first," he said.

"But the river's right here."

"I have to get something," he told her. "It's the only way." He marched off without waiting.

Andy frowned. Nico hadn't mentioned anything about going inside the gates. Reluctantly, she followed him. Cerberus let them pass. Andy assumed it was because Nico was the boss's son.

Ignoring the lines of ghosts, they slipped through the security ghouls and into the Fields of Asphodel. They hiked over black fields of grass; Nico trudged ahead, bringing them closer and closer to the palace of Hades.

"Hey," she called him, "we're inside the gates. Where exactly are we-" A shadow appeared overhead. Andy recognized her immediately. "Mrs Dodds."

The Fury bared her fangs. "Welcome back, honey." Her two sisters swooped down and settled next to her.

"You know Alecto?" Nico asked Andy.

"If you mean the hag in the middle, yeah. She was my math teacher."

Nico almost smiled before turning to the Furies. "I've done what my father asked. Take us to the palace."

Andy tensed. "Wait. Nico, what do you-"

"My father wants to see you," he said without looking at her. "I'm sorry. He promised me information about my family."

"You tricked me?" Andy gave him a shove, but the Furies were fast. Two of them swooped down and plucked her up by the arms.

"He just wants to talk," Nico said apologetically.

Andy didn't say anything as the Furies flied her into the palace. Alecto dropped her like a sack of turnips at the feet of Hades. Persephone and Demeter were also there. They seemed to be having an argument.

"Andy Jackson," Hades said with satisfaction. "At last."

"Hmmph," Demeter said. "Demigods. Just what we need."

Nico appeared at Andy's side and knelt. "Father, I have done as you asked."

"Took you long enough," Hades grumbled. "Your sister would've done a better job."

Nico lowered his head.

"What do you want, Hades?" Andy asked.

"To talk, of course. Assuming you can talk. Last time you were here, all you did was shout."

"So this whole thing was a lie? Nico brought me down here to be killed. Awesome."

"Oh, no," Hades said. "I'm afraid my son was quite sincere about wanting to help you. The boy is as honest as he is dense. I simply convinced him to take a small detour and bring you here first."

"Father," Nico said, "you promised that she would not be harmed. You said you'd tell me about my mother."

Persephone sighed dramatically. "Can we please not talk about that woman?"

"I had to promise the boy something," Hades shrugged.

"I warned you, daughter," Demeter said. "This scoundrel is no good! You could've married the god of doctors or the god of lawyers, but nooo! You had to eat the pomegranate."

"Mother-"

"And get stuck here forever."

"Mother, please-"

"Enough, Demeter," Hades said. "You are a guest in my house."

"And what a house it is. This dump. It's August! We're supposed to be up there-"

"I told you," Hades said, grinding his teeth, "there's a war in the world above. You and Persephone are better off here with me."

"Excuse me," Andy broke in, "but if you're going to kill me, I would prefer you did it before forcing me to listen to this squabble."

All three gods looked at her.

"She has a bad attitude," Demeter said.

"Indeed," Hades agreed. "I would love to kill her."

"Get in line," Andy muttered.

"Husband, we talked about this," Persephone chided. "You can't go around incinerating every hero. Besides, she's brave and pretty. Much like myself. I quite like her."

Hades rolled his eyes. "You liked that Orpheus fellow, too. Look how well that turned out. Let me kill her, just a little bit."

"Father, you promised," Nico said. "You said you only wanted to speak to her. You said you'd explain."

"And so I shall," Hades glowered. "Your mother – what can I tell you? She was a wonderful woman." He glanced uncomfortably at Persephone. "Forgive me, my love. I meant for a mortal, of course. Maria di Angelo. She was from Venice, but her father was a diplomat in Washington, D.C. That's where I met her. When you and your sister were young, it was a bad time to be children of Hades. World War II was brewing. A few of my, ah, other children were leading the losing side. I thought it best to put you two out of harm's way."

"That's why you hid us in the Lotus Casino?"

Hades shrugged. "You didn't age. You didn't realize time was passing. I waited for the right time to bring you out."

"But what happened to our mother? Why don't I remember her?"

"Not important," Hades snapped.

"Not important? Of course it's important! It's the most important thing!"

Hades crossed his arms. "As for the lawyer who got you out," he nodded toward Alecto.

"I do lawyers and teachers very well," the Fury growled.

Nico was trembling. "Why did you free us from the Casino?"

"You know why," Hades said. "This ridiculous siren cannot be allowed to be the child of the prophecy!"

"You should be helping Olympus!" Andy told him. "All the other gods are fighting and you're just sitting here-"

"Waiting things out," Hades finished. "Yes, that's correct. When's the last time Olympus ever helped me, half-blood? When's the last time a child of mine was ever welcome as a hero? Bah! Why should I rush out and help them? I'll stay here with my forces intact."

"And when Kronos comes for you?"

"Let him try. He'll be weakened. And my son here," Hades looked at Nico with distaste. "Well, he's not much now, I'll grant you. It would've been better if Bianca had lived. But give my boy another year. He'll be eighteen and he will make the decision that will save the world. And I will be king of the gods."

"You're insane," Andy said. "Kronos will crush you."

Hades pursed his lips. "You'll be waiting out this war, child of land and sea, in my dungeons."

"No!" Nico said. "Father, that wasn't our agreement. And you haven't told me everything."

"I've told you all you need to know, boy. As for our agreement, I spoke with Jackson. I did not harm her, though I wanted to. Bad. You got your information. If you had wanted a better deal, you should've made me swear on the Styx. Now, go to your room," Hades waved his hand and Nico disappeared.

"That boy needs to eat more," Demeter grumbled. "He's too skinny."

"My lord Hades," Persephone said, "are you sure we can't let her go? She's awfully brave."

"No, my love. I've spared her life. That's enough."

Persephone shrugged indifferently. "Fine. What's for breakfast? I'm starving." She took her mother's arm and they disappeared in a swirl of flowers and wheat.

"Don't feel bad, Andy Jackson," Hades said. "My ghosts keep me well informed of Kronos's plans. I can assure you that you had no chance to stop him in time. By tonight, it'll be too late for your precious Mount Olympus. The trap will be sprung."

"What trap?" she demanded. "If you know about it, do something! At least warn the other gods!"

Hades smiled. "You are spirited. I'll give you credit for that. Have fun in my dungeon. We'll check on you again in – oh, fifty or sixty years."

[ayearofpike]

The Immortal

Pocket Books, 1993 213 pages, 16 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-74510-7 LOC: CPB Box no. 705 vol. 16 OCLC: 27434465 Released July 1, 1993 (per B&N)

Did you ever take a vacation because your best friend insisted that you had to? Josie Goodwin is. At the suggestion (or maybe insistence) of her oldest compatriot Helen Demeter, her family is spending two weeks on Mykonos in the Greek isles. Helen’s there too, and she has a lot to show Josie from her trip the previous summer, not the least of which is a sacred island with a plateau that has a mythical connection to Apollo. What Josie doesn’t know is her own connection to Apollo. But Helen does, and it’s a connection that calls for no less than cold vengeance.

I have distinct memories of reading this book on a summer vacation road trip with my dad. But aside from the fate of the main character, I found that I didn’t actually remember that much about this story. Revisited in 2018, this is some Percy Jackson shit. Like, not to the point where Rick Riordan owes Pike some money, but it definitely doubles down on the sex among gods, mortals, and monsters. It’s fitting that I read this one while reading The Sea of Monsters to my kids, because I was already in the Greek gods mode for it. Although enough people have written about Greek myth in modern times that I can’t say anyone is directly ripping anyone else, necessarily. Maybe they just have the same muse.

So, all right, where do I jump in? The beginning is as good a place as any, I suppose. We’re on a plane with Josie and Helen (who, by the way, maybe couldn’t have a more Americanized Greek name) as it descends into Athens. They’re traveling with Josie’s dad, a once-hot screenwriter who is currently struggling, and his current flame, a failed alcoholic actress. Josie wakes up knowing they’re close, with a sense of almost being home. Which is weird, right, because she’s never been to Greece before. Foreshadowey! WOOOOOO

They have to cab to a smaller airport and hop another plane to the island of Mykonos, which is their final destination. Helen can’t warn the Goodwins about the rudeness of Greek people enough, but Josie finds them very pleasant. She wonders if maybe it’s this difference in attitude that makes boys who are initially attracted to Helen eventually want to be with her. Yep, Pike did it again with the accidentally-steal-yo-man girl, only at least Josie is honest with herself and admits that going out with her best friend’s ex makes her an asshole. Not that she’s going to stop. There’s one boy in particular she’s thinking of here, who went with Helen and then with her and then moved away and dropped off the face of the planet. Remember when you could do that, all the way back in the 1990s?

So they get to the hotel, drop their crap, and decide to go snorkeling at Paradise beach. They have to rent motor scooters to get there, but it turns out Helen has an ulterior motive for wanting to go so far away: a guy. Specifically, a British bartender named Tom, whom she met during her trip the previous summer. Of course Josie is instantly smitten, but she’s not immediately planning to steal Tom. They plan to go out later, the three of them and one of Tom’s friends, and then the girls get their snorkeling equipment and get in the water.

It’s when Josie pushes herself too hard that we learn a little more backstory. Seems she had a mysterious heart inflammation the previous summer while Helen was in Greece and almost died from it. The experience has made her appreciate life more, and so she really wants to tackle everything that comes her way. But her endurance is still not where it should be, and she’s been swimming for an hour. As she struggles to get back to shore, Tom plunges into the water (in his full bar uniform, no less) and pulls her in. Interesting that he was watching her swim while he was supposed to be at work, yes?

So they go back to the hotel and Josie grabs a nap, and then she decides to interact with her parentals. She argues with the girlfriend, who is drunk in the bar watching TV, and then finds her dad pecking on his laptop on his room’s balcony. Seems he’s been fighting with a science-fiction screenplay for about a year. Mr. Goodwin has never before had this hard a time unfolding a story; before, they always just came to him, but now he can’t figure out where to take it. He knows that there are humans in an interstellar war with aliens, and that the humans have captured one and are going to make her escort a single pilot on a suicide mission to blow up the alien homeworld, but he doesn’t really know why or what comes next. (I think the screenplay is supposed to have some parallel with the narrative, but it’s a pretty big stretch.) He’s interested in Josie’s ideas, and she tells him she’ll need to think on it.

Right now it’s time for her to meet Helen and the boys for dinner. She finds Helen at a restaurant in town, and they talk about their mutual attraction to Tom, and Helen says she won’t be upset if Tom prefers Josie only she is obviously lying. Tom shows up a little later with his roommate Pascal, a big French dude who works with handicapped kids most of the year but is spending his summer delivering vegetables to restaurants. In fact, he’s got a truck coming in on the late ferry, and he wants to take it for a ride with one of the girls — only (obviously) neither one wants to leave Tom to the other. So he takes off in the truck, and the other three go to a bar, where Helen drinks too much and pukes on Tom’s shoes, so that’s over. Josie takes her home, they fall asleep, and Josie dreams of being a goddess suffused in radiant blue light. When she wakes up she’s totally fine and feeling great, even though she drank at least two bottles of wine and should be a little hungover. Did the light save her from the booze?

Of course, being totally sick doesn’t keep Helen from having an agenda. She wakes everyone up the next day (even Josie’s parentals) and makes them take a boat to the island of Delos. It’s a sacred holy site, which Josie learns about by reading along the way: supposedly it’s the birthplace of Apollo and Artemis, fathered by Zeus and borne by the titan Leto (which I had to look up because I was confusing her with Leda) on an island that was not fixed in place, as Hera had banned Leto from giving birth on terra firma. The mythology of the place made it an important site of worship, even though nobody could live there, and today it is essentially a museum full of excavated ruins. Josie’s dad’s girlfriend thinks it’s junky, of course.

But what Helen most wants Josie to see is the top of Mount Kynthos, where Apollo was supposely born. And it’s true, the sun does feel stronger and more intense up there, and Josie senses a connection to something greater than herself. Helen knows it, and she sprinkles in a little more backstory by saying that when she got out of the hospital she knew that this was a place she had to come, for some reason. We learn that Helen tried to kill herself, not long before Josie had her heart ailment, but we don’t really learn how or why. Josie wonders if the boyfriend they shared was an impetus, but she sure as hell doesn’t ask any more questions about it. Still, they both share that getting so close to death has provided them with a new understanding of what they should do with life. Still, we start to wonder about their friendship. How close are they actually? Do they even still like each other?

Josie doesn’t help matters by immediately going to see Tom at the beach when they get back from Delos. They try to figure out how to get together without upsetting Helen, and don’t come up with much other than everybody hanging out again. After a swim and a stint of topless sunbathing, she goes back to the hotel, where she tells her dad that the suicide pilot in his script has something to live for and then puts off Helen’s attempt to go get dinner, as she needs to wait for her sneaky plan to happen. She dreams of a secret altar to Apollo, where she prays for insight and information to pass along to humans, and then she and Helen go to the same restaurant as the night before, where Tom and Pascal just happen to show up. Only Pascal’s fumbling English gives away that it was all planned, and Helen storms off, but not before revealing to Josie that the reason their mutual boyfriend hasn’t been in touch is because he died at the end of last summer. Helen has known this all along, but she has obviously kept it from Josie out of spite ... or something. I think here their friendship is officially ruined.

Josie and Tom try to salvage the evening by going out on the bay in a rowboat. While they’re out there, though, the temperamental summer winds kick up all of a sudden, and they lose their oar and can’t get it back. Tom jumps in the water to get it, but before he can get back the boat blows out to sea with Josie in it. All Josie can do is bail as it takes on water and pray that the wind stops before she sinks. And, like, literally as soon as she prays, the weather lets up and the water gets calm. She passes out in the boat and wakes up on a rocky beach, which she’s pretty sure is Delos. So she goes to try to find the archaeologists on the island, but before she can she discovers that the ruin is somehow a living city, and they welcome and worship her.

And suddenly we’re flung into a new myth, one of Pike’s own making. We learn about the muse Sryope and her best friend Phthia, granddaughter of Zeus. They are both in love with Aeneas, half-blood son of Aphrodite, and Phthia seduces him and gets him to swear an oath of fidelity before she goes back to fucking around. This pisses Sryope off, and she figures out how to get Phthia to forgive the vow: a story contest. If Sryope wins, Phthia will release Aeneas; if Phthia wins, Sryope will never tell anyone that her father is Alecto, one of the Furies that guards the underworld. Yeah, I know, and so does Pike — Furies in myth are traditionally portrayed as female, but there’s some shape-shifter tales throughout fiction.  Of course Sryope basically goes back on her word immediately, telling a story of a Fury who impregnates a goddess by impersonating a handsome warrior and begats (?) a daughter, just changing the names like that hides anything. Of course Phthia gets pissed and yells at Sryope, then takes off without telling her story, never to be seen again until Alecto finds her dead and floating in the river Styx. Upon which he (she?) arrests (?) Sryope on suspicion of murder.

This is where Josie wakes up with the sunrise in the ruins of Delos. There’s a tiny marble statue of a goddess next to her, which she recognizes as Sryope, so she pockets it, but then she realizes she’s going to get in trouble if she’s found there. She gets out, hides among the tourists, and takes the first boat back to Mykonos, where her father and his girlfriend are anxiously talking to the police on the dock. Seems Tom made it back to shore and warned everyone that Josie was missing, and now that she’s back they call off the search and get everyone ready for a celebratory barbecue at the hotel. But first she tells Tom what happened, and shows him the statue, which has since the morning become flecked with clear crystal somehow. He’s not sure he believes her, but he does promise to stay with her and protect her from any more weirdness.

The girlfriend runs the barbecue, maybe out of guilt of not being more ... motherly? I don’t know. Is that really the responsibility of a thirty-something woman whose boyfriend has an eighteen-year-old daughter? I know, cultural expectations and all that bullshit. But Helen helps make the burgers, and Josie asks for two but can’t finish the first so Tom eats the other one. While she’s eating, Josie talks to her dad some more about his script, and suggests that the pilot plants the bomb on the planet but that the alien is struggling to tell him something that she’s been programmed against. Then Josie goes to bed and  dreams about Sryope’s trial, where she is twisted into lying about knowing Phthia’s parentage and discusses how she shares stories and ideas with mortals, in particular a certain screenwriter and his daughter.

Josie wakes up feeling like crap. The statue is still there, but now it’s totally clear, with a red swirl in the center. She tries to call Tom, but Pascal says he’s too sick to answer the phone. She’s starting to worry about all of it, so she finds her way over to his house and realizes he needs to see a doctor. At the health center, Josie collapses in the waiting room and sees more of the trial, where Minos (the underworld judge) shows Sryope forcing the daughter’s best friend to drink poison, and then sees herself forcing the spirit of Phthia into the best friend’s dying body. Sryope realizes that it’s Alecto impersonating her, but there’s no way to provide a realistic motive without going back on her lies about Phthia and Alecto. So she accepts her punishment, which is to give up her immortality and take the place of the dying spirit in the screenwriter’s daughter.

Josie wakes up with her family around her. She asks to talk to Helen alone, because by now they both know the story. Helen tells Josie that she put ground glass in her hamburgers, and there’s no way to get it out of her system. I don’t know if that’s how it works ... isn’t finely ground glass essentially sand? Snopes says this isn’t inherently fatal, but we didn’t have the Internet in 1993 and so it scared the piss out of me at the time. Helen isn’t really upset about Tom being collateral damage, either, because he treated her wrong. She’s taken a similar revenge on their dead mutual ex, in fact. She tells Josie that this was her plot, abetted by Alecto, and all she has to do to live forever is to sacrifice somebody to the Furies — in this case, Pascal — on the summit of Mount Kynthos.

So with no hope for themselves, there’s no reason to go to the mainland hospital, but there’s still time to save Pascal. Before she goes, Josie leaves a note for her dad that tells him the planet is actually Earth, and the aliens are what humans would have become if they stayed. Then she rouses Tom out of bed and tells him about Helen’s plan, and they sneak out of the health center. They grab Pascal’s gun from the apartment, then steal a boat and rip over to Delos.

He’s already bewitched and is ready to obey Helen. There’s no other option. Josie tries to shoot her but the gun doesn’t go off. Tom (the stupid idiot who thinks he knows better than killing) knocks the gun out of Josie’s hand, and Pascal grabs it. Helen tells him to put it in his mouth and pull the trigger, which he does — but it still doesn’t go off. Josie realizes the safety must be on, but Pascal doesn’t. The gun in his mouth is enough to break his hypnosis, and he faints. Helen doesn’t realize about the safety either (I guess she thinks the gun is busted) so she pulls out a giant knife and literally lifts Tom off his feet, telling Josie she wants her to watch him suffer before she dies too.

But Josie has one more trick up her sleeve: her camera, which is in the pocket of the windbreaker she’s wearing. If she can get one good shot, maybe the flash will distract Helen enough that she can grab the gun and kill her before she kills Tom. And it’s a good shot. So good, in fact, that it lights up the entire island as though from the sun. Helen is momentarily blinded and drops the boy, and Josie has enough light to find the gun, flick the safety off, and fire six shots into Helen’s chest.

So Pascal is now safe, but Josie’s still dying, right? And Tom? Hang on a second. Josie realizes that the red in the little statuette is blood. Her godly blood. In fact, when she takes it out of her pocket, the head has turned into essentially a flip-cap. But there’s only enough for one person, so guess what. Yep, she makes Tom drink it, and once again Pike has killed off the first-person protagonist. Really — he’s done it in literally every single (YA) story written from 1PP so far. I’d say to start expecting it, only the next major one from this perspective is The Last Vampire, so ... but maybe he’s counting that as dead?

Our epilogue finds Sryope at the top of Mount Kynthos, conversing with Apollo, who she has only now realized is her own father. He is interested to know what she’s learned from her time on Earth, and as they arise into the sun she begins the tale of a girl on a plane to Greece.

And hereby we close The Immortal. I have to say I’m not mad at it. The agency of the girls and goddesses is useful, and it certainly does more with the kinky Greek myth sex than anything teachers will let you read. The parallel of the higher being dying after fulfilling an important informational mission between the narrative and the dad’s screenplay is super-thin, and I could have done without that, but Josie and Helen are kind of badasses who don’t apologize for their desires, and I’m glad. I’m also glad that this re-read gave me the thought to check on that ground-glass thing, which makes me more OK with hamburgers.