Anchises

Chapter Eight: The Pyre

Song: Elysium, Bear’s Den

The gods do not care. You are not their children.

Thalia’s words had been echoing in Harry’s mind since her departure and somehow the words seem to hold a deeper meaning once Sirius and Remus told him the contents of the letter. He told Ron and Hermione right after, only once they assured him they would not tell anyone, not even Dumbledore. Surprisingly, it was Hermione who took more convincing than Ron considering the Weasleys always wanted to keep Dumbledore informed, it just made Harry wonder just how important the gods and demigods were to Wizard history and culture.

(“Come to a decision?!” Hermione had managed not to yell, but just barely and only because Ron had been brave enough to cover her mouth with his hand. “Is a war not good enough for them?”

“Didn’t Lady Thalia say they just ended a war?” Ron asked no one. The formality had taken aback both Harry and Hermione, but the title had left Ron’s mouth without hesitation as if it were second nature. “We are not their children, not truly. Lady Magic may have made us long ago, but few of us remember them.”

Harry frowned at the words. “That doesn’t make it right. This is Draco’s world too.”

“Is it?” Ron had whispered.)

For almost a month, Harry watched Dumbledore try to subtly convince Sirius to say the contents of the letter but his godfather never budged once, and neither did Remus once he became the focus of Dumbledore’s attempts. Harry trusted Sirius and Remus to do what was right, and he had never seen them go against Dumbledore as blatantly apart from anything that related to Harry’s own safety, and it made him wonder again just how important the gods and their children are to the wizards who remember.

So Harry continued his days as normal, he even began to join Hermione in her study sessions as a way to get out of cleaning the house and even managed to convince Ron to do the same. Though, Harry wondered how much time Ron spent actually studying and how much of it was reading and writing letters to the Slytherins. Not that Harry could judge much, he himself spent a good part of their supposed study sessions writing in his journal every little detail he could from his dreams.

They had become less often, the Hunter dreams practically stopped since Thalia’s departure. And the ones of Draco still occurred, but Harry could not help but notice that something about them felt different as if there was a countdown he could not see. The dreams were coming to an end, and he didn’t know why or how to stop it from happening. He liked seeing Draco, liked seeing his smile and laughter and joy.

And the training. Harry would not lie and say he didn’t enjoy seeing Draco trained whenever he could.

“It doesn’t change that I like Harry.” Harry couldn’t help but smile. Out of all of Draco’s training sessions, the last one he witnessed was his favorite, not that he saw Draco train, but the words Draco said had been echoing in Harry’s mind for a while now.

He adjusted himself, moving to his side and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly and for his dreams to be of Draco rather than the Door. The sight of it had become more frequent in his dreams, and everyday he felt closer and closer to the Door. SOmething he was trying to stop, because the closer he got, he felt like it was closer to the end of whatever countdown his Draco Dreams suddenly had.

***

The first thing Harry noticed was the amount of people. He had gotten used to the sight of people wearing bright orange and sometimes the occasional other color, but had never seen the color purple and at a closer look… it wasn’t the symbol Harry began to associate with the Camp. For one, the symbol was gold and there was no pegasus, instead at the center were the letters SPQR. He looked to the side and was surprised to find Thalia and her hunters.

She looked the same as ever, but there was something… broken in her expression and Harry wondered if this was a Hunter dream instead. He had yet to see Draco despite recognizing some of the people in orange, but none of them were people he could name. They weren’t Draco’s friends or siblings. Harry decided to follow Thalia, she had begun moving at some point, alone, and the people parted for her.

He watched them, all muttering words in a language he could not understand, but whatever they were saying, it didn’t phase Thalia or if it did she didn’t show it. They were getting closer to the center, or what Harry could only assume was the center. Thalia stopped, right in front of a group of people Harry did not recognize, not until Thalia moved and pulled someone into a hug.

Harry knew the person, it would have been difficult to not recognize the other boy who even through Dreams Harry could feel the sheer power emanating from him, not unlike Thalia’s own. A power that Harry could only assume would feel even more consuming should he ever meet the other in person. After all, he could recognize now that the power he had felt from Thalia through the Dreams was nothing compared to how it felt after meeting her.

It made Harry wonder which of the Three Kings was Nico Di Angelo’s father.

“It is time,” a girl with braided black hair whispered, and Harry wondered how he missed the giant elephant until it began walking.

The large animal was pulling a body, he watched in horror and dread as Thalia and Nico joined a group at the front, while everyone else walked behind them. Harry could only move and at that point it wasn’t because he wanted to, it was as if a force, not unlike the elephant, was pulling him along to follow. His eyes remained on what little he could see of the body.

He was blond, pale probably from the loss of blood. Harry could only wonder the type of weapon that could impale someone fully, a sword? A spear? Maybe it was something else entirely, a monster only found in the world of the gods. He wondered what was the color of the boy’s eyes, maybe blue, that seemed to fit.

Sky blue. It seemed right.

The walk seemed eternal, and every step brought them closer and closer to a temple. It was magnificent in sight, the columns so tall as if trying to reach the sky through will alone. Everything about it was pure white, and Harry could not help but think of Gringotts when trying to find a word to describe the presence the temple gave.

Once they reached the temple, Harry watched as thunder boomed and lightning crackled, and suddenly, a woman stood at the front. She was tall and graceful, blond hair the same shade as the boy’s was braided in plaits with blue ribbons (a shade of blue that Harry imagined on the boy). Her eyes shone with tears, and there was no smile on her face, it was stony blank, but the tears showed the sorrow. Her dress was black and simple, somehow shimmering in dull colors as if it was mourning too.

Hera. His mind supplied. A goddess, it screamed.

She spoke, the words in the language he heard Draco speak almost constantly in his dreams. Thalia too. But then it switched, into what he recognized as Latin, none of it making since, he only recognized the sound of some vowels because of spells. Harry wondered what she said, wondered why the goddess known for only having godly children was speaking at a funeral of a demigod. Of a demigod, she held some likeness too.

Harry was sure she knew he was there. He was certain she met his eyes at some point, and something had crossed her gaze at the sight of him. He didn’t know what, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted the attention of a goddess.

Everything else after the speech seemed to go in a blur for Harry. A shroud was placed over the body at some point before cremation, and he looked away, not wanting to see the body burn. The funeral continued on, but the next time Harry looked up, the temple was empty, the only people remaining were Thalia, Nico, Will, four people he had never seen, Hera the goddess, and Draco. Thalia, Nico, and another boy, who held some physical resemblance to them were holding each other close. Will was watching Nico, his hand on his shoulder for silent support, while another girl, blonde, had her face pressed against the neck of the boy hugging Thalia and Nico. There were two others, a boy with messy brown curls, and a girl who Harry recognized as one of Draco’s sisters. Harry just could not remember her name at that moment.

Draco muttered something before walking away, eyes darting around and for a moment Harry was certain that those eyes landed on him. Harry followed, unsure of what else to do, but hoping that maybe his silent presence could bring some comfort to Draco while he mourned the loss of… a friend? Companion? Fellow camper?

“I don’t know how you are doing it Harry, but why now?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry said, aware that Draco would not hear his response. He hadn’t before, why would it be different now. “It just happens.”

Draco froze, turning around so fast Harry was shocked he didn’t trip. “You--”

“You can hear me?”

He laughed, and despite the situation they were in, Harry could not help but think that was the best sound in the world. What he would not give to make sure that light remained in Draco’s eyes for a bit longer. “You truly are exceptional Harry.”

“Is that a good thing?” Draco smiled, it was small but beautiful, then it disappeared.

“I’m sorry.” Draco nodded and they were in silence for a moment. “Who…” Harry cleared his throat, suddenly feeling nervous. “Was he close to you?”

“Not me, but he meant a lot to my friend and my sister.”

The silence stretched. “Where are you Draco? This isn’t the usual place.”

They were the wrong thing to say, Draco tensed and Harry could already feel the world falling away. “I will not say. But you have to go, Harry, you don’t belong here.”

“Draco--”

“Goodbye Harry,” Draco backed away and when Harry tried to follow, with every step he took the dream fell away.

“Draco!” He screamed, startling awake. Light was creeping from the curtains, at least he woke up the next day rather than the middle of the night.

Without waiting another second, he stumbled out of his bed, already feeling the dream trying to slip away from his memories. His dream journal laid open in front of him, and he hesitated. He was at a funeral, it didn’t feel right to write down the details of something like that. Harry had never even gotten the name of the fallen hero, everytime it seemed someone was saying it the words were muffled as if going through cotton or he was underwater.

He looked down at the empty page and wrote four simple words: funeral of a hero.