S E V E N T E E N
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It was Tuesday. That meant a lot of things.

For starters, it meant that the seventh year Gryffindors were to start with Defense Against the Dark Arts, a double period no less with the infamous Professor Trintheus. Hermione most definitely did not want to see what she had in store for the day. That came a surprise to her friends because normally she was always excited to see what her teachers had planned.

Secondly, a Hogsmeade trip had been announced for the weekend, earlier than it usually would be, and most of her peers had overreacted greatly, claiming it was because of the sorting hat's premonition– Hermione could only sigh and shake her head. She supposed they were Gryffindors and not Ravenclaws for a reason. The genius girl had taken the time to think the matter through and come to the conclusion that all of the conspiracy theories presented by the other students were completely and utterly false. Even after Harry had shown her his findings from the library– the answers were always at the library –she still didn't see how a minor thing such as a Hogsmeade trip could have anything to do with it.

And the third thing on the day's agenda; Ron and Harry were nowhere to be found. Hermione had checked their dorms, once, twice, and even three times. She wasn't expecting them to just magically pop out of thin air– okay, maybe she was, but that wasn't the point and besides no matter how many times she checked, their beds still remained unmade and empty.

She'd admit, she felt clingy, but her persistence was only because Ron had suggested that the two of them go down to breakfast together the night before, because wasn't that what couples did? He didn't say the last part but she knew he was thinking it.

Instead, he and Harry had both vanished together.

Truthfully, sometimes around Ron and Harry she felt like a third wheel, a stupid brainiac who only cared about her grades. She was surrounded by two brave wizards and what was she? Smart. That's all she felt like she had going for her. When Harry had started excelling in potions she felt like she'd been beaten at the one thing she was good at it. Wow. She was more insecure than she thought.

Hermione sighed and spared a glance outside the window. Maybe she was just overreacting. She glanced down at Hagrid's cabin, faint in the distance and shielded by fog. Was she imaging it? Or was that a flash of red? She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Yes, there was someone in Hagrid's pumpkin patch and he had red hair.

So Ron, had gone to see Hagrid– probably with Harry –instead of going to breakfast with her.

So be it. She would go breakfast without them.

As it turned out, they had already gone down to breakfast without her, which didn't make sense because she thought she'd just seen Ron at Hagrid's ten minutes ago. It doesn't take that long to walk to the castle from Hagrid's cabin, she told herself.

She walked over to the Gryffindor table, albeit somewhat grumpily, and found that Ron, Harry and Ginny were already in the midst of their meals, sparking light conversation.

"Ron, you're pathetic," Ginny was saying, "you don't need relationship lessons from Harry and I." If Hermione had been paying attention, she would have heard this comment. However she was too annoyed to care what they were talking about.

"But I do," Ron mumbled, "I'm an idiot," he moaned. This was when Ginny noticed Hermione drawing near, and nudged him under the table. The three of them instantly pretended like they were talking about something else.

"Hey Hermione," Ron greeted, oblivious to her annoyance.

"What happened to wanting to go down to breakfast together?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms and hoping she didn't sound too peeved. "Something about wanting to spend time with your girlfriend?" She added, switching her tone to something lighter, not wanting to show that Ron ditching her had really struck a nerve. Was she really that horrible? No wonder she barely had any friends. She was a know-it-all, show off, and now she could add clingy to that list.

Stop, she told herself. You are an independent woman who doesn't need a man. You don't need to be one of those girls who's main mission in life is to glue themselves to their boyfriend.

The use of the word boyfriend, even if it was just in her thoughts, triggered something in her brain and the full impact of what she'd just said to Ron sunk in. Girlfriend. She had just herself his girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

She couldn't stop the blush forming on her cheeks. The feeling of embarrassment was enough to take her mind off her annoyance at being forgotten.

Ron too went slightly pink at the word girlfriend, and Harry and Ginny exchanged knowing smiles. Everyone it seemed, knew of how unsure each of them were in their relationship. They were still getting used to the fact that they were dating. Most of the time they acted like they were still just friends with no romantic ties– that was until one of them mentioned the g-word or the b-word and they both transfigured themselves into tomatoes.

Hermione liked Ron. She would even go as far as to say loved. The problem was the two of them were so edgy about their relationship it was hard to tell that they'd upgraded the status of friendship. Or maybe they had always acted like a couple without realising it and that was why it didn't seem like much of a difference. Ginny used to always say they acted like an old married couple with their bickering. Either way, Hermione just wanted to get out of the uncomfortable phase. It had been months and she most certainly did not want to be that awkward couple who only talked about the weather.

Hermione supposed it was partly her fault as well. She was just so hung up on the idea of being clingy that she was hesitant to move forwards in her relationship.

There was one of those words again; relationship. She was in one of those now.

Hermione tried to pretend she wasn't blushing like crazy, and slid into her seat, offering Ron a small smile, causing both of them to turn an even deeper shade of red. They were both probably looking like overripe tomatoes now.

After a few seconds of silence, Ron spoke. "So, uh, the weather is looking pretty good today," he commented.

Whoop, there it was. At least she wasn't the only one who was hesitant, but at the same time she just wished Ron would put in more effort.

What about you? He's not the only one in this relationship.

Across the table, Harry and Ginny both face-palmed with the latter letting out a small snicker.

Hermione ignored them and spared a glance outside the windows. It had begun pouring. The grounds were soaked, and faintly in the distance she could still see Hagrid's cabin looking like a haunted house shrouded by grey fog, a few shades darker than the sky. The weather was not looking 'pretty good,' as Ron had so nicely put it. If she had looked closely, she would have noticed the red headed boy still in the pumpkin patch. But she didn't. 

"Lovely," she agreed, bitterly, facing away from the window.

That was how all of their conversations went when the topic of relationships was brought up. They both tried to dash away, and strayed to things like 'what fresh produce was in season,' or 'how blue the lake was' and her least favourite topic; the weather.

Ginny kicked Ron under the table and he yelped. "What was that for?" he demanded. She tilted her head towards Hermione in a not-so-subtle manner.

Hermione's boyfriend– there was that word again –looked down at his plate and stared at his food in deep concentration. Finally he looked up again, looking somewhat lost and staring at Hermione in a daze with the faintest trace of a smile on his face.

Harry cleared his throat and Ron snapped out of it. The ginger's eyes kept darting to the door like he wanted to make a mad dash for it. Had Ron only asked her to be his girlfriend because he felt sorry for her? She felt the urge to slap herself again. Since when did she act like this? Why were her insides constantly feeling like jelly? Why was she always overthinking and making a fool of herself?

"Hermione," Ron began. Then the next part came out as one huge mouthful. "Wouldyouliketogoonadatewithmethisweekend?" he blurted.

She blinked, not having understood a single word. "Pardon?"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, this weekend?" Ron said, slower, the tips of his ears turning a rich shade of crimson. Hermione pretended not to see the thumbs up Harry was throwing his friend.

"I'd love to," she said. Hermione didn't even need to fake a smile. She had always found the ginger adorable when he was nervous. At her words, Ron looked positively relieved. Like she would have denied a date with her boyfriend. The term made her blush even more, but all the same, she couldn't help herself, and intertwined her hand with Ron's, forgetting about how he'd forgotten her that morning. They stayed that way till the end of breakfast, with Harry and Ginny beaming at their accomplishment. Sure, now they wanted to play matchmakers.

Even that thought couldn't dampen her mood. Hermione was happy.

She had a date with Ron.

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Annabeth was at a funeral.

That much was obvious. There were no chairs but the presence of the colour black was enough to give it away.

She donned a black knee-length dress, with no sleeves and a hem decorated with fine lace. Her heels were the same shade of black, and she wobbled in them awkwardly.

Annabeth remembered this outfit. She'd worn it to another funeral– a relative of her stepmothers who's name she couldn't remember.

That funeral had been so long ago, and the dress had been sitting in her wardrobe back in San Francisco since then. She was surprised it still fit.

The shoes were uncomfortable and she could already sense blisters forming,
so she pulled them off and tossed them as far away from herself as she could, praying they'd stay buried in the sand somewhere.

With her shoes disposed of, Annabeth took a minute to survey her surroundings. She was clearly on a beach. The sand was a large body of sparkling white, fine to the touch. It tingled between her toes, nestling in the gaps until it was whipped away in the sullen breeze. To say it was a windy day was an understatement. The sand smacked against her legs with tremendous force, and small sand tornadoes swirled about, though despite the weather, the sky was still the kind of blue you'd see on a postcard.

And the ocean...

The smell of it drafted through her nostrils. She inhaled the familiar scent. It was calming. Tilting her head and facing the horizon, she watched as a fresh set of waves crashed against the beach in distress. Somewhere far off in the distance, a yacht was tossed about, fighting the raging ocean. The sea was angry, but it was also sad. Her eyes welled with tears. They slipped down her cheeks like rain on a windshield and fell to the ground leaving no indent; the sand soaked up all moisture.

Who's funeral was this? Why was she feeling so sad? And where were the people? She was sure they had been their moments ago.

Annabeth blinked twice and there they were; a huddle of people swathed in black.

No, she corrected herself. Not just people– there were satyrs, dryads and a few nymphs who had climbed out of the sanctuary of the water.

"Hello?" Annabeth called, searching for a familiar face. The crowd all had their backs turned to her and remained as frozen as ice. She took a few steps forward so she was standing behind a tall gentleman in a suit. His dark hair was all over the place and she couldn't help but smile. "Percy," she called. He did not move.

She gingerly took another step and reached out to tap Percy on the shoulder. Quick as lighting, he whipped around and snatched her hand from the air. Annabeth couldn't help herself; she screamed, a long ear piercing shriek for the man she had thought to be Percy had no face.

No eyes, no mouth, no nose, no distinguishable features, absolutely nothing. Where a face should have been sculpted was one massive skin-toned blur.

But, it was him. How could it not be? That dark windswept hair of his she was so fond of...and she could just imagine his green eyes, that looked like they held a thousand oceans. And his mouth, always twisted into that smile of his that made her heart pound. She would have gotten lost in her thoughts if not for the tightening of Percy's grip on her wrist, his fingers pressing into her skin, turning it red.

No, this wasn't Percy, she told herself. Percy wouldn't hurt her.

She tried to pry the man's fingers off of her but it did nothing. With an irritated growl, Annabeth kicked the faceless man in the knee, hoping to stun him but he remained unaffected, only tightening his grip some more. "Let go of me!" she shouted, doubling her efforts. She fought to pull her hand away but she couldn't. It was like fighting against solid stone. "What do you want with me?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

Frustrated with receiving only silence as an answer, she used her free hand to punch the man in his abomination of a face. The pain was unbearable. It burned. It felt like knives slashing apart her hand from inside and out. It felt like her skin was slowly being burned away.

Annabeth quickly recoiled, nursing her hand and stared in horror at the creature before her. Her hand was smoking and her knuckles were blackened, raw and bleeding. Trembling, she repeated her previous request. "What do you want?" she asked again, her voice cracking.

Once again, the man didn't answer; how could he? He had no mouth. She focused harder and stared into the void where his face should have been. He seemed to be telling her something. Look. Over there.

Dreading what could possibly be 'over there', Annabeth turned, slowly, very slowly to where the monster appeared to be telling her to look. She fought back a scream. Her breath caught in her throat, as she recalled a childhood memory.

Her father had taken her to an art gallery when she was younger. That was before her stepmother had waltzed into her life and unhinged everything.

Annabeth had been scared of a painting. It had creeped her out. The people in the painting had no faces and she'd hid behind her dad, claiming that the people in the painting were watching her.

"It's just a painting, Annie," he had said. "It won't scare you if you don't let it."

"But where are their faces? Why are they so scary?" she had sobbed.

Her dad had thought about it a bit before saying; "I think that you're scared of them because you don't know what they're thinking. Faces let you see emotion and feeling. They tell you things. You're a thinker, Annie, and a reader. When you can't understand what someone is thinking, it scares you. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's just a painting."

And it was just a painting. She hadn't been scared any more. But this wasn't just a painting. It was real. It was terrifying. It made her want to collapse on the floor and cry.

Before her stood a hundred or so figures, dressed in inky black suits and dresses, all without faces. Her fear of just the one faceless person had been strong. Now it had been doubled, tripled, multiplied.

She screamed and stumbled backwards, falling to the floor with her arm still dangling from the first creature's grip. It still didn't release her, but lowered its head so it was appearing to look down at her.

The creatures made no move to advance but even without eyes, she could tell they were looking at her. "Stop!" she pleaded. Her voice sounded weak. "Please–please, stop."

Then the monsters began to melt. Their skin peeled off and caved in on itself. Their clothes turned to oozing black goo, forming a puddle on the sand which began creeping towards her. The monster holding her loosened its grip and its hand began dripping inky black droplets, joining with the black substance. The creature completely disintegrated, the entirety of its body mass forming goo. Annabeth realised it wasn't just goo. It was spiders. Thousands of them. Inching towards her on their spindly little legs. She screamed and shielded her face with her arms, waiting for them to submerge and suffocate her.

Screaming. It was all she could hear. The sound of her own screams, drowning out the sounds of the spiders.

Abruptly, Annabeth's screaming stopped. She opened her eyes and dropped her arms. She was still alive. The spiders were gone. 

She was still on the beach. The wind had picked up. A swirling sand hurricane circled around her. Everything was gold, the colour of the sand. She took a step, fighting against the aggressive wind. A few more steps and the wind picked up. She caught a glimpse of something blue. The sand was getting in her eyes. Another tentative step forwards and she could see it. Amidst the swirling sand was a pedestal. On the pedestal was a sea green shroud, covering something that was unmistakably a body.

"Percy..." she whispered. "No, no, no..IT CAN'T BE!" she shouted. Her voice was extinguished by the loud, raucous wind. "IT CAN'T BE HIM. IT'S NOT HIM! HE'S NOT DEAD! HE'S NOT DEAD!"

It's your fault, an eery voice whispered. All your fault...

"–Annabeth. Annabeth!" Someone was shaking her. "Annabeth, wake up!"

Annabeth's eyes snapped open and she sprung up out of bed, instinctively reaching for her dagger on her nightstand. It wasn't there, she remembered. It was still in Tartarus, and her sword was in her luggage.

She hasn't realised she was crying, until she felt the damp tears trailing down her cheeks.

"Are you okay?"

Annabeth looked up. It was the blonde girl she shared her dorm with; Luna Lovegood. They'd talked a few times, but Annabeth didn't know all that much about the girl. She knew they weren't in the same year but the Ravenclaw dorms had a strange set out. She recalled Percy having said he shared a dorm with a few other boys, and they were all in the same year level.

Percy.

The onslaught of tears fell heavier now. "It was just a nightmare," she told herself. "Just another nightmare."

"Hey," Luna whispered, sitting down on the edge of Annabeth's bed. She placed a hand on her shoulder. Annabeth found the action reassuring.

"I'm sorry," she gulped, wiping her eyes. "It's just–"

"You don't need to explain anything," Luna told her, wrapping her in a hug. "I understand."

Annabeth didn't see how anyone could understand. She didn't even understand herself, after all, she had never had a nightmare like that. It wasn't even a demigod dream, those were usually the only dreams she ever had. She could only nod.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Luna gave her a dwam smile. She always looked like she was lost in her thoughts. Still, Annabeth found her comforting.

"You slept in, I think you missed breakfast. I'll get you some water, fresh from a flumpostepus stream. They're quite rare but I found one near home and–" Luna's words were soothing and calming even though Annabeth didn't understand the half of what she was saying.

Annabeth found herself lost in a daze, Luna's words becoming no more than background noise. She was aware of the younger girl turning her back and rummaging through her luggage, pulling out a flask, saying something indistinguishable, and that was all...before everything slowly started turning black.

Black. The same shade as the dress she'd worn in her dream.

Black. The same shade as the clothing of the faceless people.

Black. The same shade as the oozing, sticky goo.

Black. The same shade as the hairy, monstrous spiders.

Black. The last shade she would see.

Luna looked up, glass of water in hand, just in time to see Annabeth crumple to the floor in a heap, a steady stream of blood trickling from her nose.

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Harry was on his way to first period when Luna Lovegood walked past him, appearing to be a thousand universes away. The usual daydreaming look she wore had been multiplied, and she looked lost in her thoughts, completely out of focus. As dazed as she was, there was still the trace of a frown on her pale features.

"Luna," Harry called, as she walked by. She didn't seem to hear him. "Luna!" he repeated.

She jumped, startled. "Oh! Sorry Harry, I didn't hear you."

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned. She shook her head, not really concentrating. "I'm fine, but that girl...she..." Luna trailed off.

"What girl?" Harry asked.

"The blonde one, Annabeth," she answered, her eyes focusing on a point far off in the distance.

"Percy's girlfriend?"

Luna nodded. "She's hurt." She didn't go into any further detail. "I should get going now. It was nice talking to you, Harry."

Before Harry could protest, Luna had turned the corner and disappeared.

He blinked, trying to make sense of what she'd just told him. Annabeth was hurt. What had happened to her? There was that guilt again. He'd treated her and her friends as suspicious without even knowing them and now something had happened to her. It didn't matter whether she was a suspicious character, something had happened to her. Harry hoped it wasn't anything too serious and that she was okay.

He resumed walking, until he reached the first classroom on the right. The door had been left unlocked so most of the class had already filled out the seats, chattering quietly amongst themselves whilst they waited for Professor Trintheus to arrive.

"What do you think we're going to do this lesson?" someone asked.

"That crazy old bat is probably going to make us go for a swim in lava!" The two students laughed at the ludicrous idea as Harry walked past them, taking a seat in the middle row, behind Ron.

As he sat down, his eyes searched the room, eventually landing on Percy in the front row. Why had he showed up to class? Shouldn't he be with his girlfriend?

The last of the class trailed into the classroom, the door thumping shut behind them with a bang. Harry, along with many others, jumped and was temporarily distracted from his thoughts.

"Silence!" a voice barked. The students who were still standing scurried to find their desks as the class whipped around to find a slender, lean man standing at the back of the room. He hadn't been there before. Dressed in a crisp white shirt with suspenders, and polished black shoes, the man strode forward to the front of the room, his ginger moustache wobbling above his mouth like a squirrel.

No one spoke.

"Today, we shall be revising the principles of the dark arts." He lifted up a piece of brand new chalk and printed a heading with slow, enduring movements. Each scratch of the chalk against the board rang out in the classroom.

"Can anyone tell me–"

"Excuse me, sir, where is Professor Trintheus?" someone called out.

The imposter scowled. "Miss-?"

"Syrenx," the olive skinned girl spoke. "Calligaris," she added, realising he'd been asking for her last name.

The man took a few steps forward so he was leaning over her desk with his bald head shining in the light. "I am Professor Trintheus," he drawled out. Syrenx squeaked and sunk lower into her chair.

Harry was confused to say the least. This sullen old man was nothing like the plump, quirky lady who'd taught them the week before. How could he possibly be Professor Trintheus who was a she?

"Any more questions?" The imposter demanded, eyes darting to and fro. "Good." He waltzed back to his desk in two short strides. Sitting in the desk diagonal to Harry, Hermione had pulled out a quill and parchment. She was writing something down exchanging whispers with Ron which he couldn't quite catch.

"Miss–?" The imposter growled, coming to stand behind Hermione. She jumped and stuttered out a small "Granger, sir."

"Well, Miss Grangersir–" No one laughed. "–I haven't asked you to start taking notes. Perhaps you'd like to show me what you've written." He reached over and snatched the parchment off the table. The corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile as he read over what she'd written. "Interesting," he mused.

'Professor Trintheus' pocketed the parchment and said no more of the matter. "What was on that?" Harry leaned over and asked Hermione.

"Details," she whispered. She'd been taking notes of the teacher's appearance and character.

"Now," Professor Trintheus growled. "Miss Caligaris and Miss Granger shall be a pair. They both are very inquisitive. Perhaps they can bounce ideas off each other. And you–" He pointed at two boys in the back of the room. "–are a pair." He continued to rattle off a list of partners. Harry was with Percy. When the professor called their names he narrowed his eyes at the two of them like he had some goal in mind. Once everyone had been put in a pair, Professor Trintheus pondered things for a moment.

Finally, he said; "You are to revise the principles of the dark arts together." The class watched him intently, hanging on his every word, their eyes not once straying. "Well? What are you waiting for? Chop chop!"

Startled, the students hastily made for their partners. Harry weaved in and out of the desks to reach Percy. The green eyed boy offered him a smile.

"Do your teachers normally change their gender, personality and appearance in the span of a week?" he questioned.

"Er, no," Harry said, his thoughts having drifted from the behaviours of the strange teacher. He searched for any sign of worry, anger, or sadness in Percy's expression. There was nothing. Why was he so calm?

"So we should probably 'revise the principles of the Dark Arts,'" Percy said. "Question: what are the principles of the dark arts?" He asked, not noticing the perplexed look Harry was giving him. "I don't– are you okay? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Are you alright?" Harry blurted.

Percy frowned. "I'm fine....?" He trailed off at the end of his sentence, signalling that Harry should elaborate.

Harry's eyes widened and he cursed himself for being so insensitive. Percy didn't know!

Percy waved his hand in front of Harry's face to get his attention.

"Nothing. Forget about it."

Percy raised his eyebrows. He couldn't just keep something like that from him. "Uh, I don't know how to say this, but I heard from someone that..." he trailed off. Harry decided to just stop beating around the bush. "I think your girlfriend's hurt."

"Woah, what?" Percy was sitting up straighter now, much more alert. "What happened to her? What do you mean? Tell me," he demanded, grabbing Harry by the shoulders. His eyes were pleading. Harry registered a million emotions at once. "I-I think she'd be in the hospital wing, first floor," he managed. Percy immediately released him and was dashing out the door before he could get another word out.

"Mr Jackson!" Professor Tritheus barked, "you cannot simply run out of my class! Get back here!" After a moment of no response, he sighed. "Mr Potter, if you will."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He was out the door and racing after Percy. He climbed down the stairs to the next landing, and ran to the Hospital Wing. He arrived, panting and out of breath to be greeted with a strange sight.

Percy was standing in the door, looking stunned, like something had just hit him full force and he was yet to comprehend it. He barely blinked, just stood transfixed in the doorway, staring down at the girl in the hospital bed.

Annabeth's blonde hair was spread out over the pillow, her eyes shut and her skin a sickly white, making the parts of blood that had crusted over look more prominent. The flow hadn't ceased, and was still pooling down the side of her neck. Her arm was red, the indent of nail marks visible and her right fist was blackened and raw. As they watched the dark red blood seeping from her nose became lighter. It turned to gold; the colour of ichor.

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Oops