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Lucas flinches, and he wants to shy away from the voice, from the voice that he’s pretty sure is Narcissa Malfoy. It’s too soon. Yes, Hecate had said that he’ll meet his new family by the end of the day, but what is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to do, dressed in simple muggle clothes and without the faintest idea of what it’s like to be wealthy?

Still, Lucas turns. He turns because he has no choice, and well, he might as well give it a shot, right? He’ll have to do it sooner or later.

Narcissa Malfoy is quite an impressive woman, with her thin and tall stature. She towers over Lucas, and he supposes they could be related. Their blue eyes mirror each other—a clear, bright blue, reflecting the glare of the sky—and her hair, while a paler shade of blonde, isn’t too different from his. But there’s a proud way that she holds herself, and it gives Lucas the feeling that he’s inferior to her.

It feels like every interaction Lucas has ever had with the gods, and that should irritate him, but when Narcissa smiles at him, the irritation melts away. It’s warm and loving and everything that Lucas had ever wanted, back in Connecticut. 

It’s everything he ever wanted from May.

“Where have you been?” Narcissa asks near immediately, brushing back a strand of Lucas’s hair. She frowns, looking like the epitome of a concerned mother. It resonates within Lucas, and he wants nothing more than to accept this as his new life, to find a new home with the Malfoys.

No. He shouldn’t. You have a family, Lucas tells himself. He has Luke, and the rest of Cabin 11, and all of Camp. They are his family. Who is he to leave them behind after a gentle smile from a woman he bears no relation to? 

Luke is more than enough. And what of Annabeth? Thalia may be gone, but it doesn’t erase the memory of her. They were family. What gives Lucas the right to abandon them at the drop of a hat?

“Draco, are you alright?” Narcissa asks. Her voice is gentle and warm, and Lucas tells himself that it doesn’t matter.

It’s not real. It’s just the Mist. And if she actually knew him, knew that he is not her son, that she doesn’t have one and never did, she would not be treating him this kindly.

“I’m fine,” Lucas says, a little snappy. He’s entitled to that much. 

Narcissa’s smile falls. That’s fine. Lucas doesn’t care, either way.

“You always say that,” she murmurs, “but it’s not always true. You should have brought your crutches, anyway.”

“I’m fine,” Lucas repeats, just because he can. He doesn’t want to talk about the crutches. He doesn’t want to talk about the pain that follows him, showing its ugly head without warning. He doesn’t want to talk about the constant medication, the ambrosia and nectar that he has to take.

This is what the gods do to demigods. They are only pawns, and who cares if a pawn gets hurt or dies?

In a blink of an eye, Narcissa’s face changes, and instead of a loving, caring mother, she’s a cold stranger. A godly parent who cannot interfere in her children’s lives, no matter what.

Lucas is far more bitter than he has any right to be. There’s a reason why gods aren’t allowed to interfere.

(But why does that have to stop them from saying a quick, “Hello, how’re you doing?”)

“Come, Draco,” Narcissa says. “Your father is waiting for us at Flourish and Blotts.”

With nothing else to do, Lucas follows her.

^^^

Lucius Malfoy is… something else.

Where Narcissa was caring, albeit reserved, Lucius is… emotionally stunted. There. He said it. Lucius Malfoy doesn’t understand emotions. He’s cold. He’s awkward. He’s… trying?

Is that the correct word? Trying? Lucius is not the best at emotions, but Lucas somehow gets the feeling that he tries his best. It’s not as great as it could be, but he’s getting there.

Still, Lucas takes great care not to get on his bad side. Who knows what will happen? Kids have been hurt for less.

They leave Diagon Alley. Lucius and Narcissa bring him to a large manor, with elaborate gardens and an iron-wrought gate. From the misty gloom, the dark walls of the manor towered in the sky, diamond-paned windows glinting strangely and a strange feeling in the air.

The feeling is thick. It’s suffocating, and Lucas almost buckles under the pressure. It’s Ladon’s poison, working its way under his skin, burning pathways through his body. It reminds him faintly of Diagon Alley, of Camp Half-Blood, of the Garden of the Hesperides. It’s the feeling of magic, magic that screams and writhes, begging to destroy. It’s angry and vengeful and Lucas isn’t sure why he’s the only one that feels it.

As soon as Lucas gets the chance to, he runs. He runs past old paintings and dimly lit corridors. He runs from the screams and the anger and he runs up a winding marble staircase, intuition guiding him until he bursts into a sparsely decorated room.

It’s supposed to be a bedroom, that much Lucas can tell. There’s a grand four-poster bed and the room is decked in green and silver. A large balcony spans one side of the room, and a darkly-coloured desk is placed in a corner.

It’s lifeless. Cold. Empty.

But it feels relieving, a safe place away from the oppressing aura in the air. So Lucas stays in this empty room, and waits. Eventually dinner is called, and Lucas wanders the halls before arriving in the dining area. It’s large, and the imposing feeling is back. After a quiet meal, Lucas excuses himself, and rushes back upstairs.

Lucas curls up in the bed, a tremor in his limbs. He doesn’t know how things went downhill this quickly. Is it the aura? The screaming? The unfamiliar environment?

With the echoes of screams ringing in his ears, Lucas falls into an uneasy sleep.

^^^

Lucas falls.

He falls and he falls and he falls.

He’s ten and Brynn’s launching him into the air as they attack Ladon, isn’t she? Lucas is ten and Brynn screams and Lucas screams too, and he’s falling…

Lucas falls. He falls and he falls and he falls.

He’s eight, a little younger, a little more naive, but Lucas remembers falling. He remembers seeing open blue skies and nothing but air beneath him. He’s falling, and there are rough rocks beneath him, and—

Lucas falls, and he crashes through levels and levels. He falls, stone encasing him. He falls, crashing through piles of gold and silver and bronze.

Lucas falls, and he crashes on hard, cold stone. It’s dark, and a hooded, cloaked man stands in the room that Lucas now recognizes to be a Gringotts vault. 

There’s something in the air. It’s heavy and nauseating and oppressing and Lucas wants it to go away. He turns away as the man paces, hissing and cursing a man named Dumbledore and…

Something screams. It’s horrifying and like the echoes captured in the halls of the manor, and Lucas wants out.

He falls again.

He falls, and he’s no longer in the vault. Lucas is seven again, lonely and scared. He pushes himself up and May his mother stares at him.

They’re blank. That’s what scares him. There’s no feeling behind those eyes—no thoughts, no emotions. Her eyes are white walls. Even at her worst, May had always had a sort of maniacal and desperate feel to her. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, bursting out at inopportune moments. It terrified Lucas, yet this seemed just as terrifying.

All Lucas wanted was to have a normal family for a change. Was that so hard?

May advances as Lucas gets up to his feet. They’re not at the house that Lucas grew up in. They’re in an attic.

(The Big House, something within him whispers.)

Lucas backs up. Green smoke clouds around them.

“Ladon’s namesake dwells beneath lake and stone,
The orphan begins his trials alone. 
The outcast shall gain a ferocious beast,
An exchange that only ends in defeat.
The lost one travels through wood and blaze,
The treasured stone to repossess or raze.”

It’s a prophecy. Lucas shouldn’t be surprised. He’s on a quest—of course the Oracle of Delphi had managed to send him a prophecy. Still, the Oracle never fails to make him uneasy. Why did have to hijack his dreams with a personal vendetta? Why did it have to speak with his mother’s face?

Lucas falls, once again as the attic dissolves around him, and green smoke burns into his brain.

^^^

Lucas wakes. He doesn’t want to. Then again, falling back asleep is an option that Lucas would rather not take. 

His leg aches. It aches and it burns and Lucas scowls, poking at it. If only the pain would go away if he scowled hard enough. It would solve nearly all of his problems.

There are too many problems to count. Lucas shoots a glance out the window. It’s still dark out. Go figure. He feels no more well-rested than he did before. If anything, he feels more drained than before. Not to mention the shaking. Gods, he hates the shaking. He hates how it makes him feel helpless, weak.

With a sigh, Lucas drags himself out of bed, stumbling over to the pile of stuff that had miraculously appeared sometime while he was sleeping. He grabs a canteen of nectar, downing a quarter of it.

This quest is feeling more and more unappealing by the minute.

^^^

Months pass. After what seems like centuries of waiting, it’s September 1st. Lucas wakes up with his leg throbbing, once again, and he forces himself to make sure that he looks well enough for Lucius’s standards. The hair gel is the most uncomfortable thing that Lucas has ever had to face, but whatever makes Lucius happy, he supposes. 

After pulling on his school robes and grabbing his crutches, Lucas stumbles his way downstairs. The corridors still make his skin crawl every time without fail, but after the first few weeks, it had become easier to ignore.

At the table is the usual breakfast—an omelette paired with toast. Lucas scarfs it down before being handed two potions: an Invigoration Draught and a Pain-Relieving Potion.

They both taste horrible. Lucas supposes that it can’t be helped.

“Come on, Draco,” Narcissa says, after Lucas has drunk both potions. “We don’t want to be late.”

Lucas grabbed onto Narcissa’s arm, bracing himself. Apparition is something that Lucas will never become used to. They spinon the spot and everything goes black (not that the Manor was bright enough, to begin with). Lucas feels like he’s pressed from all sides; he can’t breathe. It’s as if iron bands were tightening around his chest and his eyes, as well as his ear drums, were being forced into his skull.

Before long, it stopped and as Lucas's vision clears, he can see that they’re on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. They had travelled from the Malfoy Manor, all the way to Kings Cross. More accurately, they had travelled directly into the platform. Lucas’s luggage is also with them, which Narcissa had vanished before they arrived.

“Have a fun time, alright?’ Narcissa asks. “I’ll see you for Christmas.”

Lucas nods. He stares at Narcissa’s retreating back as she finds a more secluded area to apparate away. Then, he takes in the platform for the very first time. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to the platform, with a sign above him saying Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock. Lucas glances behind him, seeing a wrought-iron archway, with the words Platform 9 3/4 written on it. 

Smoke from the engine drifts lazily above the heads of the chatty crowd, while cats of every colour dash here and there, between their legs. Owls hoot to each other grumpily, over the babble and scraping of the trunks.

The first few carriages were already full of students, some looking out of the windows to talk with their families, some fighting and bickering over seats. Lucas dragged his luggage down the platform, trying to find an empty compartment. Most of them were packed full, and despite Lucas’s love of chaos, he desperately wanted some peace and quiet.

Lucas presses through the crowd, finding an almost empty compartment in the middle of the train. Only one boy is sitting in it. He looks maybe two years older than him, with long, dark dreadlocks.

"Can I sit here?" Lucas asks him, having shoved his trunk onto the train, with Willow perching daintily on it.

The boy glances up. “Uh, sure!” he says. “Need a hand? That trunk seems packed.”

“It’s alright,” Lucas replies. “It’s not actually that heavy.” There has been heavier stuff. Dumping Willow and his crutches on the seat, Lucas lifts the trunk into the train, climbing in after it.

“I forgot to introduce myself,” the boy says. “Lee Jordan. What’s your name?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“A Malfoy,” Lee mutters. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You do look like one.”

Lucas stays silent. What is he supposed to say?

“Sorry,” Lee says. “I sometimes run my mouth. Do you want to sit? I promise I won't bite.”

With a snort, Lucas plops down, setting Willow on his lap. She purrs. Then, a whistle sounds, echoing throughout the station.

"That'll be the signal for the train to leave," Lee informs him.

He huffs. "I know," he replies. "Just because I'm a first-year doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

The train takes off and he can see the sets of houses out of the windows. An uneasy feeling had begun to set in. Lucas is now on a quest, something that had only ended in disaster last time. Who’s to say that it won’t end the same, this time as well?

The compartment door slides open and two red-headed twins burst in. They look almost completely identical, and about the same age as Lee. They both had freckles and had a short, stocky build.

"Lee!” they both greet in unison. 

They give off an air similar to Travis and Connor Stoll, Lucas’s half-brothers. They have that prankster air to them. It’s uncanny how similar yet different they are, and Lucas can’t help but feel that if they ever met, the world would go up in flames and explosions.

Perhaps that’s why Hecate had cautioned against letting the two worlds mix. Lucas can’t help but snort at the thought.

They turn, looking at him. "Is this—" the one on the right says.

"—a Malfoy?" the other one finishes. Lucas assumes that the one on the right is the older one.

"Draco Malfoy," he replies, bored. Gods of Olympus, he hates that name. Of all things, why does he have to be named after Ladon? Ladon? He hates Ladon.

"He's nice for a Malfoy," Lee comments offhandedly. “Uh. No offense.”

"Well," the older one says. "I'm George—"

"—and I'm Fred Weasley," the other one finishes.

Lucas smirks. "Nice to meet you, Fred," he nods at the one who called himself George, "and George."

An uncomfortable silence rings out as the twins stare at him.

“Was I not supposed to tell?” Lucas asks, after a few moments pass.

“No?” Fred replies.

“No one has, until you,” George adds.

Well, that wasn’t sad and pitiful at all. Lucas snorts, sitting back. “You remind me of two of my friends,” he explains. “Mischievous and annoying.” Yes, the Stolls are his half-brothers, but they are just as much his friends. Lucas finds that smaller lies are easier, anyway.

"Well," George says, sitting down beside him with Fred on the other side. "Looks like this is the beginning of an excellent friendship."

"Just a quick question before we start planning the wondrous pranks," Fred adds. "Why aren't you sitting with the other purebloods?"

Lucas groans, falling onto the table. Willow hisses and jumps away, glaring at him. “I’ll suffer later,” he says with a muffled voice. “Not now. I’ll pay for it later, but if it allows me one moment of peace—”

“Someone’s dramatic,” Lee comments. “You’ll fit right in.”

Naturally. Who doesn’t love a dramatic friend? Lucas stays on the table for a while longer before sitting up. A double-ended, colour-coded chew finds its way into Lucas’s hand. He lifts it up, examining it. “So, what’s this?” he asks. “Some sort of new candy that you’ve invented? Or perhaps stolen from some poor bloke’s candy shop?”

“We’re not thieves,” George refutes. “This is—”

“—a puking pastille.” Fred grins. “An invention of our own design. Want to try it?”

“I wouldn’t,” Lee interjects. “It induces nausea and puking. They’ve been trying to start up a joke shop, but they haven’t got a name for it.”

“Or the funds,” Fred adds.

“How about Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Lucas suggests. Alliteration and catchy. Take that, Ms Ackley. 

“A fantastic name!” George exclaims.

Sometime during their chat, the Hogwarts Express had taken them out of London. Now they’re speeding past fields of cows and sheep, and their conversation has taken a more serious turn. A piece of parchment sits on the table in front of them, with the words Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes on it and a quick sketch of a logo that Lucas drew. The Weasleys start writing ideas of items they could make, with suggestions from Lucas and Lee.

Around half-past twelve, a loud clattering comes from the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slides back their door, asking, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Lucas, Fred and George stay put, but Lee jumps up, pushing past Fred and going out into the corridor. A minute later, he comes back with his arms full with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

"Lee does this every year," George explains. "Dunno why."

"Every year?" Lucas repeats.

Lee shrugs. “Sometimes you just feel like it, y’know?” he says. 

“Sure,” Lucas says as Fred reaches for a Pumpkin Pasty. Whatever. He won’t say no to free candy. When was the last time he had something even remotely unhealthy? 

Lucas takes a Chocolate Frog, removing the packaging and eating it, hiding his surprise at the moving treat. A card falls out of the packaging, and he picks it up, examining the woman’s face drawn on there. She had pale skin, a purple cloak and she held a crystal ball between her hands. Underneath the picture is the name Cassandra Vablatsky.

The card read:

Cassandra Vablatsky was a celebrated seer and author of 'Unfogging the Future', a guide to all basic fortune-telling methods, including palmistry, crystal balls and bird entrails.

Interesting. Still, Lucas can’t deny that the card does send an uneasy feeling through his body. He can’t help but picture the white fog depicted on the card as green smoke and a hissing presence in the back of his mind. He can’t help but be years younger, staring as his mother is plagued with fits and visions of what is to come.

Lucas has never liked divination, or any form of prophecy. He might even go as far to say that he despises it.

"Have you ever eaten a Chocolate Frog before?" Lee asks, noticing how he was looking at the card.

"No," Lucas replies. "I normally don't eat sweets."

Fred stares at him. "You're joking," he says.

"Nope. I haven’t eaten one for…” Lucas trails off, attempting to count the years. “I don’t know. A long time?”

"It's just surprising, that's all," Lee says.

"Right," Lucas replies. "What house are you all in, anyway?"

"Gryffindor," they all answer simultaneously.

Lucas snorts. Naturally. Everyone’s in Gryffindor. What’s so great about Gryffindor, anyway? What makes them better than everyone else? Better than the Ravenclaws, who are always eager to learn more; or the Hufflepuffs, who work twice as hard to make a difference; or the Slytherins, who strive to become the best just because they can?

He says none of this. Not everyone has the same mindset, and there are always outliers in every group. And who is to say that they could help what house they were sorted in? Instead, he stays silent, staring out the window as neat farms turn into wild woods and twisting rivers.

It reminds him of home, in a way. The sun dips, painting the sky orange and purple and pink as darkness creeps upon the earth, and Lucas continues to stare out the window, watching as a large, dog-like creature runs about.

“We should change,” Fred says with a quick glance at the window. “We’re almost there.”

The three of them pull off their jackets and pull on their long, black robes, getting ready for the journey ahead.

“The first years go to the school by boat,” Lee explains to him.

“The rest of us go by carriages,” George adds.

“Er, thanks,” Lucas says.

The train lurches to a stop. People push their way to the exits, entering a small, dark platform. While Lucas’s breath manifests as mist in front of him, he barely feels the chill. Lucas pushes through the crowd, before a lamp comes bobbing over the crowd like a huge firefly.

“Firs’ years!” Lucas heard a gruff voice call out. “Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?”

Lucas watches as a giant beams over the heads of the students, Harry Potter following him awkwardly. 

“C’mon, follow me!” the giant continues. “Any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years, follow me!”

Lucas follows the crowd of eleven-year-olds following the giant. It’s not like he has anything better to do, anyway. 

“Draco!” A dark-haired and green-eyed girl bounces towards him. 

“Pansy,” Lucas greets. They had briefly met over the summer when his parents had thrown a party. He had found her vain and ignorant, but he supposes her presence is tolerable enough. She’s friendly enough—at least, to him, and shouldn’t that be enough? There’s a steadfast loyalty that she holds, and isn’t that enough? 

“Where were you?” Pansy asks.

“Around,” Lucas replies. “Seeing who’s in our year, y’know?”

“I hear Harry Potter is in our year,” Pansy gossips.

“Yeah. Met him in Madam Malkin’s.”

Pansy stares. She stares and she stares and she stares. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she hisses. “Meeting Harry Potter?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Lucas mutters. “We didn’t get off on a great start, anyway. And it’s not like there’s a line of people lining up to become my friend.”

“Their loss,” Pansy dismisses with a sniff.

Lucas stays silent. Back home, it was easy. They were all family, and if someone approached you, you were their friend. Here, Lucas isn’t sure who is really his friend and who just wants the backing of the Malfoys. 

It’s exhausting.

“No more than four to a boat!” the giant calls out.

Lucas glances up. The narrow path they were travelling on had opened up onto the edge of a great, black lake. Perched on a high mountaintop on the other side, its windows gleaming in the night sky, is a giant castle with many turrets and towers. It’s not as great as Olympus, but Lucas hangs out with Annabeth often enough to know this is pure art by mortal standards.

Lucas and Pansy sit down in one of the boats, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Took them long enough. They’re generally pretty dull-witted, but they have their moments. Besides, Lucas can’t really fault them for getting momentarily lost.

“Everyone in?” the giant asks, who has an entire boat to himself. “Right, then—FORWARD!”

The little fleet of boats takes off all at once, gliding across the glass lake. Nobody speaks, all occupied with staring at the vast castle towering over them, seemingly getting larger and larger as they near the cliff it sits on.

"Heads down!" the giant yells as they reach the cliff. They all duck their heads and the boats carry them past a curtain of ivy that hides a large entrance in the cliff face. They were brought down a long, dark tunnel, which seemed to be under the castle until they arrived at some sort of underground harbour, where they clamber out of the boats and onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" the giant asks, checking the boats as people clambered out of them.

“Trevor!” a boy exclaims blissfully, holding out his hands. Soon afterwards, they clamber into a tunnel carved into the rockside, reaching their destination at last as they exit onto smooth, damp grass, Hogwarts casting a large shadow over them.

They walk up a flight of stone steps and huddle around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

The giant raises a ginormous hand and knocks thrice on the door.