"A hero of war

Is that what they see

Just medals and scars

So damn proud of me"

---

Song: Hero of War, Rise Against

---

XXVI - Heroes and Saviours

Two Days Later

---

"It's...charming," Percy commented, looking up at the black building that had sprouted between the two other houses. Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Home of the Order of the Phoenix.

"If by charming," Piper commented, "You mean an ugly mess worthy of the underworld, I would agree."

"Hey!" Nico and Hazel said at the same time.

"C'mon, c'mon," The gruff man called Alastor Moody said, pushing past them and opening the door. They quietly filed in, taking in the dark interior. They set their bags on the floor, eyeing the shadowy place.

Suddenly a door opened, and a cheery woman with Red hair burst through, smiling. "Hullo, dears!" She said, before addressing Moody, "Arthur just arrived home, a week before Christmas!"

Moody grunted, and the woman turned back to the transfers, semi-awkwardly huddled close. "I'm Molly Weasely. It's lovely to meet you!" They all gave awkward waves.

"Leave your bags dears, lunch is almost ready. I'm sure you're famished!" The group nodded and set down their bags, quietly following her as she led them to what they assumed to be the main room.

They stepped through the door and saw a sea of faces, some familiar most not. The Weasleys were all there, of course, as was Hermione and Harry, the latter of which looked beyond troubled and was sitting slightly away from the rest of them.

But there was also a rather handsome man with hair just brushing his shoulders and tattoos all over, sat next to a roughspun man in a tweed coat with scars all over. There was also a woman with hair the colour of Bubblegum.

In the corner, there was a couple, a man, whose red hair suggested he was also a Weasley, and a beautiful woman, whose beauty had the same haunting eldritch of the demigods themselves. Shifting eyes, both warm and dangerous, a sly smile, too sharp features in some lights.

The group smiled.

The greatest heroes of an age had met the only hope for the Wizarding world.

---

XXVII - Survivours

Evening

---

Percy and Annabeth were sitting on the back stoop, looking at the setting sun and watching the snow gently fall.

"Thalia's birthday is tomorrow," Percy said.

"And today would have been the festival of Poseidon back in ancient times," Annabeth said.

"Why?" Percy asked.

"It's the solstice," Annabeth said quietly. Percy's hand tightened in hers.

"I hate this time of year," he muttered, bowing his head, fighting the tears.

Annabeth sounded choked up, "I do too. And poor Nico—" She paused as a sob came out.

"Sometimes," Percy whispered "I'll dream I'm on Mount Tam again. But I can't hold the sky, I'm not strong enough. And sometimes, in the worst ones, you couldn't either."

"But we did," Annabeth said. "At least we did."

They sat there for a few more minutes, watching the world. Suddenly they heard shouts, followed by a slamming door. Looking to their right, they saw Nico stalking out of another door that led to the backyard.

His hood was up, casting his face in shadow but from the scrunch of his shoulders and the way his feet were angrily kicked up the snow, it was obvious he wasn't in a good mood. They exchanged a glance.

"Nico?" Annabeth said loud enough to get his attention, but still with gentleness and warmth in them. He froze, back to them.

Now that he wasn't moving they could see the shaking of his shoulders. They exchanged a glance and quietly walked over to him.

Annabeth reached him first, gently touching his shoulder, yet he still flinched away. He shook his head. Annabeth retracted her hand, stuffing them both into her pockets. "Hey." She said gently.

"Hey, Annabeth," His voice cracked halfway through.

"What's going on?" She said. Percy placed a hand on her shoulder, watching in silence from behind her.

He shrugged, wiping away at something, possibly tears. Percy spoke next, "You wanna talk to someone?" His hand gently sat on Nico's back. Nico flinched, the hot tears dripping down his face even more.

He shook his head. "Do you want us to go?" Annabeth said, voice as soft as always. Nico didn't answer for a few silent beats but then, he shook his head.

"Okay," Annabeth breathed. Carefully and gently, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the stoop she and Percy had been curled up on only minutes before.

He was leaning slightly on her, and Percy was on his other side, leg pressed to his as he leaned back, eyes closed. Nico's hands were pressed to his eyes, elbows resting on his legs in front of him. His shoulders still shook.

They sat there until they were called for dinner.

Silent.

Mourning.

Survivors.