▬▬▬ CHAPTER THIRTY ▬▬▬

Happy Fourth of July to my American readers!

THERE WAS A BUZZ IN Harry's ears as he stood in Dumbledore's office. His hands were shaking and he couldn't get them to stop, not like he wanted to. He was too scared to even look at them. They were still covered in blood—Esmerelda's blood.

He could barely recall how he even ended up here. He remembered Esmerelda's death though, he had that memory locked up in his head in full detail and he was almost tempted to Obliviate himself from where he stood.

He remembered trying to stop the blood, but there was already too much. The knife—her knife—must have stabbed into a vital organ to cause it to bleed so so much. Sirius was beside him, healing spells spilling from his lips as he tried desperately to save her. He could recall the spells never working, but he didn't know why. Didn't care why because all he could really focus on was the blood pouring out from her body and the way the light left her once bright green eyes.

After that... everything else was blurry. He was pretty sure he heard Bellatrix Lestrange curse at him and Sirius before fleeing the building with Voldemort.

(Voldemort had escaped once again, but for once he didn't care because his friend was dead.)

Ministry officials had entered the building... There was a lot of screaming after that, or maybe it came from him, he didn't know. He remembered watching them drag Sirius away from his niece's body and him trying to reach for him, but Dumbledore held him back. And then... Dumbledore sent him here through a portkey.

The last thing he saw before being transported were the people surrounding Esmerelda's dead body, gawking at it like she was some sort of fucking display on a museum.

And then he ended up here, and he still didn't know why.

Suddenly the fireplace burst into emerald green flames. Harry flinched away from it, reminded too strongly of what Esmerelda's eyes used to be before he watched the life fade away from them.

Dumbledore stepped out of the fire, and the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls jerked awake. Many of them gave cries of welcome.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said softly.

He did not look at Harry at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood.

"Well, Harry," he said, finally turning away from the baby bird. "You will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

Essie's my 'fellow student', he wanted to say. And she's dead because of me.

Because it was the truth. Her death was all his fault. The woman—that mysterious, powerful, terrifying woman—had even said it herself.

"I thank you for being fooled so easily. My original goal was just to torture Sirius a little bit and have Esmerelda come running to save him, but your Dark Lord already had something similar to that so I just sat back and let him do all the work for me. I knew you would be tricked, I knew Sirius would come to save you, and I knew Esmerelda would come to save him. So really, thank you. None of this couldn't have happened if it weren't for your participation."

He barely understood what she saying. He didn't know who she was, where she and the other man came from, how she even knew about Voldemort's plan or why they wanted to hurt Esmerelda so badly, but they had succeeded all because of him.

Esmerelda Black was dead. Sirius had lost his niece. And it was all his fucking fault.

"Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," Dumbledore continued. "Ginny Weasley and Cedric Diggory may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems that they will make a full recovery."

Harry contented himself with nodding at the carpet, which was growing lighter as the sky outside grew paler. He was sure that all the portraits around the room were listening eagerly to every word Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been and why there had been injuries.

"I know how you are feeling, Harry," Dumbledore said very quietly.

"No, you don't," Harry shook his head, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong. White-hot anger leapt inside him. Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings.

"You see, Dumbledore?" Phineas Nigellus said slyly. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own—"

"—That's enough, Phineas," Dumbledore interrupted.

Harry stared at anywhere but him, but it was hard to do. His office was so full of color, and he couldn't bare to look at the colors red and green anymore, not when it reminded him too much of Esmerelda's blood and eyes.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," Dumbledore murmured. "On the contrary... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

And suddenly the anger was back, blazing the terrible emptiness within him. He hated how calm he sounded, hated how empty his words were.

"My greatest strength, is it?" Harry echoed, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. "You haven't got a clue... You don't know..."

"What don't I know?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage.

"I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human—"

"—THEN—I—DON'T—WANT—TO—BE—HUMAN!" He roared, his emotions finally exploding.

He seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, "Really!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE—"

He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions.

"You do care," Dumbledore said. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

"I—DON'T!" Harry screamed, feeling like his throat might rip apart from how much he had been using it.

Tears were streaming down his face, but his chest was still burning with anger as he glared into Dumbledore's eyes. It was as if the man was looking at him through a microscope, like he was some sort of bacteria to analyze.

"Oh yes, you do," Dumbledore objected in his usual calm manner. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and one of your closest friends. Of course you care."

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" Harry roared. "YOU—STANDING THERE—YOU—"

More flashes of Esmerelda's dead eyes haunted his mind and he let out a pained scream, wanting the memories to just leave already.

"SHE'S DEAD!" He cried out hoarsely. "ESSIE IS DEAD! SHE'S DEAD! AND SIRIUS SAW IT, HE WAS THERE, HE WATCHED HER DIE AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

His mind went back to the pair who infiltrated the Ministry. He remembered the woman's maddening eyes and the fearsome aura the man radiated with, he remembered the death maze they had trapped them all in, the beast chasing them, and the fact that even Voldemort and his Death Eaters weren't spared.

It all came rushing back to him so fast that he felt his brain was splitting two.

He clutched his head, his body racked with sobs.

"No, no, no, I can't!" He choked out. "Monsters, they're monsters! They wanted to kill us all, even Voldemort!"

That—that beast  pushed her down until she was impaled by her own knife. But they didn't want to kill her, they wanted to use her and somehow that was so much worse.

Dumbledore straightened up, his calm expression replaced by a sudden alertness from his words.

"Harry, what are you talking about?" He asked.

But Harry had had enough. He ran to the door, seized the doorknob, and wrenched at it.

But the door would not open.

Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Let me out," he said. He was shaking from head to toe.

"No," Dumbledore replied simply.

For a few seconds they stared at each other.

"Let me out," Harry said again.

"No," Dumbledore repeated.

"If you don't—if you keep me in here—if you don't let me—"

"By all means continue destroying my possessions," Dumbledore said serenely. "I daresay I have too many."

He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry.

"Let me out," Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.

"Not until I have had my say," he said.

"Do you—do you think I want to—do you think I give a—I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!"

"You will," Dumbledore said sadly. "Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it."

"What are you talking—?"

"—It is my fault that Esmerelda died," Dumbledore said clearly. "Or I should say almost entirely my fault—I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Esmerelda was a young girl who did not deserve to pass at such an early age. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Esmerelda would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone."

"No," Harry denied, his eyes clenched shut. "No, no, it's my fault, she said it was..."

"Who?" Dumbledore asked, his back straight. "Who told you that, Harry."

"I don't know," Harry whispered, shivers crawling up his body as he thought of her and her partner. "These two people showed up at the Ministry, and the woman said that they had been planning on torturing Sirius so Esmerelda would come to them. But—but she found out about Voldemort's plan instead and decided to wait and let him do it for her—"

"—They were working together?" Dumbledore interrupted.

He shook his head. "No, they weren't. She—she didn't even care about him. She tortured him too just like with the rest of us. They... turned the Atrium into a maze—Essie called it a Labyrinth—and we were all trapped inside of it, even the Death Eaters. Our magic wouldn't work, but Essie was still able to use hers, but she said it was... weaker. Essie was... there was this green mist thing coming from her, and it was destroying the maze. Once it was destroyed we grabbed the Order members and tried to escape through the floo, but... but Sirius was left behind. Essie and I stayed to grab him and that was when we got trapped."

That was when everything started to really fall downhill.

"I don't know who they are," he said, his breathing heavy as his eyes started to shed with tears once more. "But—but they were powerful. I-it was like I could feel how powerful they were. They were worse than Voldemort, so much worse. They wanted to break Essie, so they tried to make her kill Sirius, but she resisted. The—the man, the monster, he—he kept her trapped and then he... pushed her down. She stabbed herself instead of Sirius."

For some odd reason, Dumbledore looked quite shaken by this.

"Harry," he said slowly. "Do you know their names?"

Harry was about to answer no until he remembered that Esmerelda had called the woman by her name just once.

"Pasiphaë," he answered. "I heard Essie call the woman that."

If it was possible, Dumbledore grew more faint upon hearing that.

"The original Pasiphaë?" He heard Dumbledore whisper and something like dawning horror settled on the old man's face.

"She said it was my fault," Harry said shakily. "Because she knew I would fall for Voldemort's tricks. She thanked me. I shouldn't have... I should've listened... Essie warned me... She said Voldemort was going to use our connection to fool me and—"

He broke down once more.

The room was silent save for his cries. Dumbledore was staring hard at his desk, his mind going a mile a minute while the portraits gazed at them in horror.

"...Please sit down," Dumbledore finally spoke up.

Body still trembling, Harry walked slowly across the room and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk.

"Am I to understand," Phineas Nigellus said slowly from Harry's left. "That my great-great-great granddaughter—one of the last of the Blacks—is dead?"

"Yes, Phineas," Dumbledore whispered.

"I don't believe it," Phineas said brusquely.

Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place. He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Esmerelda through the house...

"Harry, I owe you an explanation," Dumbledore murmured. "An explanation of an old man's mistakes..."

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS!
HOGWARTS STUDENT MURDERED SOON AFTER!

In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named has returned to this country and is active once more.

"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord—well, you know who I mean—is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord—Thingy."

Upon being asked about the deceased student, Fudge answered, "The identity of the deceased is Esmerelda Black. She was found dead—and all signs point to her own father, Sirius Black, as the murderer."

Esmerelda Black was a fifth year student of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. She was often described to be a bright and lovely young lady, with great aspirations and ideas just like every student in her school year. Unfortunately, she was killed by her father, Sirius Black, during an attack in the Ministry building, found bleeding out by Ministry officials. Our thoughts go to her grieving friends and family.

"We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month."

The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the Wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more."

Details of the events that led to the Ministry turn-around are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.

Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards, and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. He has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile the Boy Who Lived—

Harry stopped reading after that. The whole article infuriated him and filled his once numb body with hate. Voldemort had never died, and just last year he was brought to full power, but nobody believed him. He spent a whole year suffering Britain's ridicule and mockery, and now they decided to open their eyes to the truth.

And as if to add salt to his wounds, they even dared to talk about Esmerelda in such a positive light after spending a whole year slandering her just as badly as they had with him. A whole year of labeling her as a lunatic or a whore, and now that she was dead they were pretending as if they never spewed out such insults in the first place. They didn't even bother to give her more than a paragraph of mention.

Then there was Sirius. Dear Merlin Sirius... The whole wizarding world still believed that he was a Death Eater, and even worse, they thought he was Esmerelda's murderer. He could picture his godfather now, rotting away behind the bars of his prison cell all the way in Azkaban, grieving his niece. It was already bad enough that people blamed him for the deaths of his dearest friends, and now they thought he killed his own 'daughter' too.

The very thought of it made bile crawl up his throat.

He wanted a restart button. He wanted to go back in time before he made the fatal decision of falling for Voldemort's trick—no. He wanted to go farther than that. He wanted to go all the way back when he was eleven, back to the day he got that dreaded Hogwarts letter. He wished he could've ripped it all up in pieces and rejected Hagrid's offer of attending Hogwarts. He would be wasting away with the Dursleys, but he would deserve it, and all of this death and pain could be avoided.

Harry crumpled the Daily Prophet article in his fists before whipping out his wand, ready to burn it to ashes when—

"Don't," Hermione cautioned, grabbing his wrist and pulling it back down. "You know we can't risk using our magic anymore. You'd just end up setting yourself on fire... or worse."

Harry quietly lowered his wand.

Ever since that Friday night, weird things had happened with... well, anything magic related.

It started early in the morning the next day, when everyone was ready for breakfast. Except... the house elves refused to serve them, too busy crying in the kitchens over something that only the House Heads knew about (he could tell, he saw the realization in their faces but he didn't bother to ask. He didn't care anymore).

Then came Monday and that was when things started to take a turn for the worst.

They started to notice it in the beginning of class, when lessons went into disarray because all the magic was malfunctioning. He remembered in his first period transfiguration class when he tried to transfigure a rat into a goblet but ended up exploding the poor thing into pieces. Everyone in the class suffered the same result, and Harry had to run out of the classroom because the blood made him sick.

Then he found out that the first period herbology class got attacked by the wild plants in the greenhouses and even Professor Sprout couldn't calm them down. Then Snape's classroom had to be closed off because everyone's potions exploded and started melting the walls even though they were just making wide-eye potions. Flying lessons for first years were cancelled because the brooms were becoming unruly.

And it wasn't just Hogwarts being affected by whatever was happening. The entire country seemed to be suffering too, from floo networks spatting people out in unknown locations, aurors getting injured because their spells would backfire, and even magical products destroying themselves and becoming contaminated.

It was Monday afternoon and things hadn't gotten any better. Everyone was too afraid to use their wands now, which only increased their fears because if they couldn't rely on magic, how could they protect themselves from Voldemort and his Death Eaters? Unless they were also suffering from this...

Luna speculated that this was the cause of a curse from some higher being, but nobody was really listening to her theory since Dumbledore stood up from his seat in the Great Hall, making everyone fall silent.

Harry looked up from his sandwich—it was all Hogwarts could really serve them since the house elves weren't cooking for them anymore—and sucked in a breath when he looked at Dumbledore.

He was still angry at him—he didn't really know why anymore—but he was more numb than anything.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Dumbledore addressed them softly, his eyes scanning each student behind his half-moon spectacles. "I'm sure you are all aware of what transpired last Friday night, and the fellow peer that we lost."

Harry didn't know why, but his stare drifted off to the Slytherin table where he found Draco. For some odd reason, the other boy looked just as sickened as him. Draco's face was drained of color and he looked to be drowning out all the other noises around him.

Harry's face curled into a sneer. Served him right. His father was there when the attack happened, when Esmerelda died. And now he would be rotting in a cell in Azkaban like he rightfully deserved.

"I wish to never have to announce the death of a student," Dumbledore continued. "But alas, this, I must do. On Friday night, we have lost Esmerelda Black."

One of the students started sobbing at the mention of her name. Harry looked for the source and saw Cedric, head bowed down and back hunched over as he cried into his hands. For the first time since what felt like forever, Harry felt his heart break into two.

"Esmerelda Black was killed by the Death Eaters," Dumbledore stated, and Harry wondered why he was lying. Why wasn't he talking about the two monsters who broke into the Ministry and tortured her—broke her down and forced her to try and kill her own uncle?

"But," Dumbledore began. "She was not killed by Sirius Black."

There was a tense silence as everyone stared at him, and then a moment later they all broke out into panicked whispers and mutters.

Dumbledore raised a hand to silence them before going on, "Sirius Black is not a Death Eater and he never was. Nor was he to blame for his original crime of killing twelve muggles or the deaths of Lily and James Potter. The real culprit for that crime is Peter Pettigrew, who is not dead."

The whispers came back again, louder than ever, but he kept talking.

"Sirius Black is, and always has been, innocent and has never once received a trial. Now that I have been given my previous title as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I was able to request for Sirius Black to be given a fair trial. However, due to magical communication being down, this news will not spread throughout the populace and I fear with this going unnoticed, the Ministry could take advantage of it. So I implore you all to spread the word. Sirius Black's trial will be on the fifteenth of April."

The fifteenth of April, Harry repeated in his head. That would be Sirius' 'fair' trial. But what was fair to the Ministry at this point? Especially with Fudge still in charge. Would Sirius even get an actual lawyer? One who genuinely wanted to help him? He doubted it. Everything was so fucked up nowadays.

(Or maybe it had always been this way, and he was just realizing it now because the rose tinted glasses were off him and he no longer had the same childlike awe as before.)

Once lunch was over and classes began, Harry went straight to Dumbledore's office rather than his next class. Dumbledore must have been expecting him because he was already waiting outside the door.

"Harry," he greeted jovially as if he didn't just announce super depressing news. He motioned for him to follow him inside the office, where the two took a seat across from each other.

"Why did you lie?" Harry asked, and it was only until the words left his mouth did he realize he sounded a little accusing.

"Lie?" Dumbledore repeated politely.

"You know what I mean," he said lowly. "It wasn't the Death Eaters who killed her. It was Pasiphaë and whoever else that other man was. They weren't Death Eaters, in fact they even tried to kill them too so clearly they weren't on the same side. Why didn't you tell everyone the truth about that?"

While he was glad that Dumbledore was telling people about Sirius' innocence, it didn't make sense to him why he would bother covering up the crimes of Pasiphaë and the mystery man. Why pin the blame on Death Eaters? Why didn't he mention those two at all?

"Because those two people are... higher beings, ones we cannot meddle with," Dumbledore said carefully, folding his hands over the table. "Nothing can be done with them. I believe you, Harry, when you told me they were powerful, and that is exactly why I kept the truth a secret. If the wizarding world were to find out about these higher beings, it would not end well for us. Do you understand me, Harry?"

He did, he really did this time because he was one of the only people who had first hand experience on just how powerful those higher beings were. He didn't exactly know what Dumbledore meant by 'higher beings' but the label kind of fit.

"Alright," he said slowly. "And what about Essie's funeral? She is having one right?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "It will be held over the weekend. Andromeda Tonks has arranged it and she has invited you and your friends along with the Order members to attend. However, it will work more like a memorial service as we no longer have a body."

Harry had been nodding along to what he was saying until his mind just barely registered the last part.

He nearly shot out of his seat. "No body?! What are you talking about?!"

Dumbledore raised a hand to calm him down. "It is not what you think. The body has been given to Esmerelda's family and friends over at New York. They were very... insistent that we give them the body."

Insistent wasn't really the word he would use, it was more like 'threatening total decimation of his people until they gave up the body', but 'insistent' sounded more polite.

"But—but can't we attend that funeral then?" Harry asked.

"They have refused," he replied.

Harry stared at him hopelessly, unable to say anything else.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "But there is nothing that can be done."

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

There was a dark cloud over Camp Half-Blood on the day of Esmerelda Black's funeral.

Losing her was like a blow to the stomach. It was like losing Charles Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard, Luke Castellan, and all the other demigods who died young all over again. For months since the end of the Second Titan War people were finally starting to believe in the hopes of a better future, and receiving the news of Esmerelda's death was like the Fates' way of reminding them that demigods would never live happy lives and that they would always die young.

It was just the way of a demigod, the way of a hero. You live a life of tragedies and then finally succumb to one. There was no way around it. It wasn't anything new. Esmerelda was just another fallen hero to add on the list, another Greek tragedy like all the others.

Only few were blessed enough to have a happy ending, and the Fates decided that Esmerelda wouldn't be one of them.

It's not fair, Ethan thought as he dragged his feet to the amphitheater where the funeral would be held.

Out of everyone, Esmerelda deserved to stay alive. She had already suffered so much, and the Fates went and gave her such a brutal end.

He remembered the day he found out. Night was fast approaching and Esmerelda had yet to show up at the penthouse to get ready for their Valentine's Day date. He paced around the house for hours, the Stolls becoming just as worried later on.

And then... and then Chiron IM-ed him. He said he had been contacted by Dumbledore. Told him that Esmerelda was dead, killed by Pasiphaë and possibly (what Chiron believed) one of the Gigantes. They had... forced her to try and kill her uncle and she resisted before finally stabbing herself.

He hadn't really been listening much to details. All he could really recall was a crying Stoll brother (he couldn't tell which one) had dragged him to the couch since his legs had grown unsteady. Then he remembered just... blowing up. He was practically inconsolable, bawling in the middle of their living room and trying to get up and just blow up even more, but the Stolls kept holding him back, kept their arms wrapped around him as they cried and tried to keep him from leaving.

For the first few days he had been completely distraught. He didn't eat, sleep, or do much of anything anymore rather than stare off with a blank gaze. It was only until he came to Camp Half-Blood for to help Lou Ellen prepare Esmerelda's burial shroud did his cold body start to burn with rage.

His mind flashed back to the dream he had. Esmerelda had bled out on top of him, and when he pulled her back, he saw that she had been clutching a knife that was embedded into her flesh. The exact same way she had died in reality.

And her dream... her dream was nothing but her fears. It wasn't going to happen at all, not when the Fates already cut Esmerelda's string so long ago. Sirius was never going to die, it was always going to be her life that would be taken. The Fates were cruel to make them think there were two possible outcomes, Esmerelda's death had already been set in stone.

He was right. He was right, he was right, he was fucking right.

It was Esmerelda's string that had been cut, not Sirius'. She was the one in danger and he let her fucking go. Let her worries for Sirius fester until it completely blindsided her. He should've been less lenient with her, he should've forced her to just stay with him, he should've destroyed her relationship with her uncle right from the get-go instead of his slow manipulation, and he never should've let her go.

Harry—her mortal friend—had been so easily fooled. He dragged all of his friends in danger, including Esmerelda's uncle, who recklessly went after him. And because of Esmerelda's unwavering loyalty and love for him, she went after him and got killed as a result. She had saved everyone's life but her own.

Recklessness and loyalty. Like he said, it was a terrible combination.

Why did she love him so much? Ethan thought angrily. After all the horrible things her uncle had done, and she still went after him to save him—to die for him. He should've died, not her.

"Ethan?" A quiet voice called out to him.

He looked up and spotted a red-eyed Lou Ellen.

"Can I walk with you?" She asked.

He nodded silently, and the pair of them walked together towards the amphitheater.

"Have you contacted Nico about this?" She asked him.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I sent him a letter since we can't reach him through IM. I dunno if he saw it, but... he knows. He's the son of Hades, he can sense when this sort of thing happens."

Even though Ethan felt pretty much dead inside, his heart still ached for the boy. His only living family member was dead and he was now the last of his family left. He wondered how much pain he was in, how he felt when he first sensed Esmerelda's soul leave her body, and he wondered if he was already trying to break into the Underworld to find her.

Lou Ellen sucked in a breath, like she was trying to brace herself.

"Do you..." She hesitated. "Do you think she'll come back? The Doors of Death are still open..."

Ethan fell quiet at that.

She said she was going to come back, he thought. But she wasn't here.

Jason Grace died and came back to live within a matter of seconds, but it had already been days since Esmerelda died and she was still dead.

She wasn't coming back. Not when she would be given eternal peace after death (and he had no doubt that she would be granted Elysium).

He tried not to feel so upset about it once it dawned on him that she was never coming back. Esmerelda lived a life of strife and she deserved nothing but the best; Elysium was where all the good people were and she deserved a spot there.

"I don't think she will," he told her as gently as he could. "I'm sorry, Lou."

Her eyes started to water and her lips started to tremble. She took a sharp intake before rubbing her eyes.

"Don't apologize," she said in a warbled voice. "You're grieving too."

He turned away, not knowing what else to say to that.

"I talked with Essie's aunt, Andromeda," Lou Ellen mentioned. "They're having a memorial service for her tomorrow. And... and she said Essie's uncle, Sirius, was put back in jail. They managed to get him a trial, but I heard the lawyer he was given isn't really a good one since he was provided by that corrupted Ministry."

Ethan tensed up at the mention of him, and he could feel his anger beginning to boil once more.

"Everyone thinks he killed her." She said.

"He did," Ethan snapped, unable to control himself. "It's all his fucking fault that she's dead. We wouldn't be here right now getting ready for her funeral if he hadn't been so fucking stupid and weak. He deserves to rot in that jail."

Esmerelda had told him all about it. How awful Azkaban was and how poorly the prisoners were treated. He hoped Sirius was suffering, hoped he was rotting away and dying on the inside just like he was.

But... it wasn't enough. It would never equally make up Esmerelda being dead and the terrible way he treated her back when she was still alive. He needed to suffer more pain than that. It was only fair after everything he had done.

Lou Ellen didn't talk after that and he felt bad for snapping at her, but he was just full of so much rage right now that he was feeling like he was losing control over himself. He only started to cool down once they reached the amphitheater and he was nearly smacked by the depressive state of the entire camp.

The little campers looked absolutely lost like most children during funerals did when they just didn't understand what death meant yet. They were staring off at the shroud with wide, innocent eyes, as if waiting for Esmerelda to wake up and give them a batch of freshly made cookies.

The older campers though were more noticeably distraught. The Stolls were uncharacteristically quiet, just staring off at the center of the amphitheater with devastated looks on their faces. Over at the satyrs side, Basil was loudly weeping into a handkerchief someone had given him. He spotted the Aphrodite kids (save for Piper) quietly sobbing to themselves with Drew sobbing the loudest. Clarisse was crying too, and she looked more smaller and vulnerable than she had ever been. Annabeth was solemn, her nails digging into the surface of her seat and a pale sheen over her face. Beside her was Jason, who just looked shocked as if he couldn't believe Esmerelda was really dead. Leo was next to him, his hands trembling as he fumbled with a small piece of machinery as if to hopefully distract himself from the atmosphere.

The two demigods sat at the front, where a silent Damien had saved him a seat.

Ethan couldn't bear to look at his half-brother. He hadn't really been treating him like a brother would. He was almost negligent at best, though a part of it was because the two of them went to separate schools and couldn't see each other as much.

Damien had went to Camp Half-Blood as soon as he found out about Esmerelda's death, and Ethan knew it was because he wanted to check in on him. It only furthered his guilt because he hadn't even talked to his half-brother at all, too busy mourning and throwing himself into building her shroud.

"Thank you for coming," he told the boy, truly grateful for his efforts.

Damien looked away awkwardly. "It's, um, no problem."

The funeral was, well... as miserable as a funeral could be. Chiron brought Ethan, Lou Ellen, and several other of Esmerelda's loved ones up to the stage to give their eulogy which brought another fresh round of tears for everyone. At this point, the younger campers were finally understanding what was happening by the time the torch was brought up to set the shroud on fire. That was when the kids started to cry.

"Why are they doing that?" He heard one of them—Tanvik—say in a frightened whisper. "What if Miss Essie gets burned?"

"She... um, won't feel it. Don't worry, Tanny," one of the older campers assured them.

Ethan was handed the torch of enchanted flames. Chiron gave him one last look of empathetic understanding, before stepping away.

He let out a shuddering breath before approaching the shroud Esmerelda was wrapped in. It was woven in a charmeuse silk that was colored a deep violet color, just like the tanzanite ring that was now dangling around his neck. He and Lou Ellen added a secondary fabric over it, a sheer glittery piece that shimmered brilliantly under the torchlight.

He was just a foot away from her body now, and he was shaking from head to toe. The torch nearly slipping from his sweaty hold. He tried to regain his breathing, his other hand reaching up to grasp the ring he had turned into a makeshift necklace.

And then he brought the torch down and set Esmerelda's burial shroud alight. He stepped back, watching silently as her body burned away and suddenly he felt like breaking down again.

Instead, he took in another unsteady breath and went back to his seat, joined with the other eulogy givers.

He had no idea how long he just sat there, watching his girlfriend cremate. It was like he could feel the flames eat him away too, because suddenly he felt like he was burning alive. Like his wrath was swallowing him whole and setting his body on fire too.

Slowly, he stood back up and started to walk away.

"Ethan?" He heard Damien call after him. "Where are you going?"

"Britain," he answered.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Just a foot away from the camp's border, Alabaster could be found standing on the highest branch of a tree that overlooked the amphitheater. He could barely see what was happening, but he saw the glittering purple shroud—recognized it as Esmerelda's favorite color—and saw the bright flames eat away at it.

"Alabaster," Dr. Claymore said quietly. "Are you alright?"

"...No," he answered honestly.

No he was not fucking okay. He almost wanted to scream it at him.

A few weeks after he managed to get Étienne to Camp Jupiter (which was an adventure he did not want to talk about) he suddenly felt this painful ache around his chest where his heart was, followed by a feeling of pain similar to when he lost all his siblings in one day.

He hadn't realized what it was until he got Ethan's letter telling him Esmerelda was dead.

And he felt absolutely devastated by the news.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand her. He had tried so hard to forget about her, to replace that love with hate, and use her as a scapegoat for all of his faults. But yet he still ended up bawling on the ground when he finished reading Ethan's letter.

Seventeen became two, and then two became one. They were all gone now. Everyone was dead and now he was all alone and he wished he had let Étienne kill him that night if only to end this grief he was feeling.

Why didn't mother save her? He kept on asking himself. Esmerelda faced not just any giant, but their mother's own bane. There was no way Esmerelda could've defeated Pasiphaë and a giant all on her own. She would've needed a god's help. Hecate's help. 

She... could've been saved. 

He felt the doctor place a hand on his shoulder.

"Go," he told him. "You should be there."

But Alabaster shook his head. "They banished me."

"The gods banished you, not them," Dr. Claymore corrected. "You deserve to grieve too, Alabaster. I know you loved your sister. You deserve to give her your last words."

"No I don't," he denied. "I can't."

He knew she deserved better. He knew he needed to go down there and apologize for everything he had done, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. What could he even say? She was already dead, it was too late, nothing could be done now. 

His actual last words to her were filled with nothing but hate and the last thing he had done was try to savagely murder her. It was too late for him to rectify it now, not when he would just be talking to an unresponsive corpse.

He looked away from the camp, from the burning purple burial shroud, and silently melted into the shadows with Dr. Claymore.

He was always going to be too late.

— author's note —

* I'm not good with writing heartfelt eulogies so I'm sorry if you guys were looking forward to hearing them!! 😓

Okay, so I was REALLY fucking pissed when I read the scene in the books where Dumbles talks to Harry after Sirius died. Like... WTF. That is NOT how you behave towards someone who just lost a father figure, what the absolute fuck were you thinking, Dumbledore?!

I'm pretty sure we can all agree that Dumbledore is very manipulative in canon, but fuck even manipulative people know how to behave in those situations! The calmness??? The lack of care??? The whole "oh but u grieving means you're human, so hurray!" like... WHAT?

I could never get it, because Dumbledore is supposed to be cunning and smart, acting so insensitive and calm when Harry's clearly fucking suffering is just... Dumbledore, no. No. At least be good at manipulating him, omg🤦‍♀️

Anyways, here's a meme from TheOGholycookies :D

Here's memes from Aszeleas:

AND HERES MORE FROM STINK: