AN: I have no words to give you for how it feels posting this chapter. At many points, it felt like I was done for good, that this would be yet another unfinished story. There may be some point that I truly must give up on this, but it's not today.

This chapter is very short by this fic's standards, but I hope you like it all the same.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Waking Up in the Ash and Dust

A gusty wind swept through the streets of London, sending hats flying and loose hair fluttering. It was overcast — not much of a surprise — but the clouds were thinning instead of darkening.

In a hidden section of the city, a newspaper tumbled down a narrow pass between closed kiosks. It eventually settled again when a corner dragged in a puddle of yesterday's rain, splaying itself against the curb. On the front page read:

—

the

DAILY PROPHET

* Wizarding Britain's Premier News Source *

(November 22, 1997)

A GODDESS REBORN?

By Groundsel Eisman

Two weeks ago, an anonymous tip informed us at the Prophet that the Ramon Llull ward of St Mungo's Hospital was hosting an astoundingly high-profile patient. Healers are on record of signing waivers and making Oaths before being allowed to attend to the said patient. It was only when certain known persons were seen coming and going that this reporter dared to suspect who exactly it was being treated with such secrecy.

It was too impossible. I told myself I was foolish for the thought to have even crossed my mind.

After several days of no comments when being questioned, it was revealed that my suspicion — unthinkable as it was — was correct: The resident of St Mungo's most private ward is none other than Heri Potter.

You read that correctly, dear reader. The Girl Who Lived lives again!

Investigations into public files revealed. . . .

March 26, 1998

Three people occupied a brightly lit hospital room; one was tucked into the bed, dead to the world despite her pulse; the other two stood vigil, waiting for had been declared medically impossible. Sounds of other people coming and going about their business could be heard beyond the closed door, but they were muffled, and the only other audible noise was the shallow breathing of the two standing watch.

In the opinion of the one standing at the foot of the bed, the thick quiet within the room was more back-bending than true silence might have been.

"It'll be today," said the one seated to the side of the bed, making her companion start. "It's too bad none of the others will get here in time."

Neville Longbottom, the young man on his feet, tucked his arms behind his back and sighed gustily through his nose.

"It's not that I doubt you, Luna," he began, brows furrowing, "but how are you so sure?"

"They'll all be held up in their own ways," said Luna, smoothing a bit of blanket near the pillow. "All at just the wrong time, throwing off their schedule by a few minutes at the very least. A pity, really. The Fates are against them today."

Neville's nose crinkled.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Luna shrugged, the most flippant and purposely so she'd ever been. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

"I know because I know," she said, her tone almost impatient. "Sometimes, what I know becomes different than what is and what happens, but, to date, none of the others have altered what I know happens by their own efforts alone. Hannah will be held up by a fellow trying to chat her up; Ernie will be stuck at home for a bit trying to find the Floo powder he bought yesterday and forgot to put at the mantle; Hermione will take longer than she expects to turn in her application to join the Department of Mysteries; Mr Black will —"

"Alright! Alright!" Neville threw up his hands in surrender. "I get it!"

"Heri could change it," Luna murmured, not looking away from the figure in the bed. "She even changed events I thought were set in stone. What many gods couldn't, she could."

Neville shifted, a grimace on his face.

"When did the gods decide to participate in society again?" he grumbled, mostly to himself. "Before he came back . . . they might as well have not existed! And now the Fates take a personal interest in inconveniencing a person turning in their resumé?"

Luna looked at him carefully out of the corner of her eye.

"It's not like the Fates are actively picking and choosing — they just weave the threads as they come. And the gods are as they always are. It's just that you are now aware of them."

"Doesn't mean I can't point out how odd it is they decided to dip their fingers in now. When's the last time any of them got so interested like this?"

Luna canted her head to the side.

"Have they though? I suppose it must seem like essentially the same thing from a point of view, but the most divine of interventions that happened came from semidieous beings — the most we can truly claim the gods interfered was in making us, and they've been doing that as they always have."

Neville frowned at the floor. After a pause, he moved around the bed and sat at the edge.

"I hear what you're saying," he said, resting his elbows on his knees. "It just feels like all of this wouldn't have been as — as enormous as it's been if it was purely mortal affairs."

Luna hummed.

"I can't say I would want it that way even if it would have been more simple. Not that I can say definitively that it would be simpler.

"I spoke with Gran-Gran once," Luna revealed. "In a dream, that is. She told me a bit about possibilities that never came to pass within this timeline. I asked about Heri since she'd just saved me from at least three years of being an outcast within Ravenclaw. . . . She told me that this was one of the rare, rare timelines that Heri was anything other than human.

"In fact, Heri, as we know her, exists only in this timeline. The incidents that led to her birth were one . . . one in . . . I can't remember how many; several million at least. I wasn't told all the details, of course, but if the gods were not as they are, and her parents hadn't invoked for a child, and her divine mother hadn't taken note of their request, Herakles Lilith Potter would have been born Harry James Potter — a fully human wizard."

Neville went wide-eyed.

"How do you just unload information like that just like that?!" he wheezed. "Merlin!"

Luna blinked slowly at him.

"A multiverse isn't a new concept. . . ."

"That doesn't mean I was ready to hear it!" Neville protested. "For go-goodness' sake! It's not something you just sit around thinking about, is it? And — Ugh — I-I can't — I can't even. . . ." — Neville rubbed his face both hands — "I can't imagine how much worse things would be if Heri'd been just a regular w-wizard! A regular bloke — a bloke our age, too — ag-against You-Know-Who? Bloody Hell, we got off easy then!"

"Don't you go underestimating Harry Potter; a fully human wizard is their most common incarnation throughout all realities, and they are nearly always born with the fate to defeat You-Know-Who, even when they aren't marked as the chosen one. They are always a significant addition to their timeline whether against You-Know-Who or for him."

A full-body shudder nearly unseated Neville.

"You can stop right there — I don't even want to contemplate a reality where Heri sides with You-Know-Who."

"To be fair," Luna said reasonably, "in many realities, You-Know-Who is morally grey at most —"

"Nope."

"I suppose you aren't interested in hearing —"

"Likely not —"

"— that you are frequently —"

"No."

"— Boy Who Lived instead of —"

"NO, THANK YOU."

Luna broke out in a quiet, breathy giggle, cutting through the heavy gloom of the room.

Neville's lips twitched upward reluctantly. Now feeling lighter himself, he joined her, burying his face in his hands and laughing helplessly into them. He couldn't say what it was that was funny, or if it actually was at all, but it felt good to laugh again.

A creak from the bed cut them off.

Head whipping up, Neville nearly choked on his tongue when he saw Heri's left hand spasm and tighten into a fist.

"Heri?" he croaked, scrambling to his feet again. Neville didn't know what to do with himself. He hovered frantically as Luna leaned forward in her seat and grabbed Heri's other hand. "W-What do w-w-we d-do?!"

Luna winced when the hand she was holding spasmed as well, clenching her fingers in a vice-grip.

"A . . . a healer?" she suggested, distracted, watching Heri's face obsessively. "They have . . . they have, um, monitoring spells on . . . on her, right? Someone should be —" She cut herself off with a squeak.

Heri's grip tightened again, grinding Luna's bones together. Soon after, it slackened for a second, freeing Luna just before the fingers began twitching erratically. Inhaling a breath so deep that it seemed to possess her, Heri arched up, her head lolling. She remained rigid in that position for two beats, slumping back down like a puppet with its string cut when Neville began to wonder if she would somehow levitate clean off the cot.

Chest heaving, wheezy pants falling from a slack mouth, unfocused eyes slitted open. The familiar, unearthly green filled Neville with awed relief and quite a bit of something that strangely resembled dread.

Blood thudded like a war drum in his ear.

"Heri?" Luna whispered, reaching out again.

Glazed eyes flicked to her. Neville saw something that could have been a smile.

"Oh." Luna gasped, expression twisting. "Oh, no."

Neville couldn't ask what put the look of abject horror on her face — Healers poured into the room, all talking a mile a minute with words that went completely over his head.

"Who was on her vitals?"

"— running a 213 Pith Effusion —!"

"— to the apothecary, fetch the —"

"— limbs unbraced?! Into position! Now!"

"—nd her! Ready the —"

"I'm so sorry," said a Healer urgently, a grimace on his face as he addressed Neville and Luna. His arms were filled with bags of some pale blue liquid. "But this room must be cleared of all non-personnel. Please, wait outside or in the sitting area."

Healers swarming and chattering, Neville ushered the dumbstruck Luna out from the room.

With no chairs in the area, he led her to a waiting area not too far away.

"Luna?" he said carefully. He didn't know what to make of her wide eyes and trembling lip.

"Neville!" she breathed, hands coming up to cover her mouth. "Oh, Neville. . . . Sh-she — Oh, gods, she. . . ."

Well and truly spooked, he sat beside her and rubbed her back.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Skittish as he was, Neville still couldn't imagine what could have possibly have occurred in the split second of eye contact that warranted such a reaction.

Luna actually began to cry, head bowed, shoulders shaking. Lost, bewildered, Neville could only continue soothing her as best as he could. This was how the others found the two of them when they finally began trickling in.

"What's happened?" Hermione demanded as she and Sally-Anne exited the lift.

Zacharias had demanded the same not a minute after when he, Hannah, and Ernie Floo'd in with lunch.

Neville didn't know what to tell them; he poorly articulated it the first time he was asked as well.

"She . . ." he began again, "she woke up —"

"Heri?!" Sally-Anne cried, the sentiment being echoed by Hermione. "Heri woke up?!"

"Is there anyone else we know who's been comatose?" snapped Zacharias, though it was obviously half-hearted at best. His face was pinched and tight.

"Yes, well, she had a bit of a fit," said Neville, raising his voice to divert any argument. "Bent her spine damn near in half and squeezed Luna's hand almost to the breaking, but I think we can agree any sort of action is better than nothing. She opened her eyes a sliver after that, but. . . ."

He looked at Luna in askance, not certain how to explain what happened next.

"Well, something weird happened, and then the Healers came in and made us leave," he concluded lamely. "Still checking her over, too, from what I understand."

"Here, Luna," said Ernie, who had been trying to get the girl to drink something since he arrived, "what has got you like this?"

"What did you see?" Hannah asked sharply. Her arms were crossed, head tucked, looking barely leashed as she stared daggers at their weeping friend.

Neville wanted to rebuke her for taking that tone, but he held himself back. Hannah didn't really look like she was in any state to handle any sort of correction.

All eyes fell to Luna.

"She's not in there," she warbled, voice thin and reedy, "not really."

"What do you mean she's not in there?!" thundered Hermione, hysteria creeping into her tone.

A passing Healer frowned at them. Sally-Anne noticed and nudged Hermione with a stern look. Hermione huffed and glared, but pulled herself together.

They prodded Luna for answers, but she proved reticent. Nothing they did could prompt her though they all gamely attempted to do so right up until the Healer who had ejected the two of them originally came to fetch them.

He gave them a weary smile.

"Visitors for Lady Potter-Black?"

They all stuffed themselves into the room, bodily ejecting the lingering Healers via sheer physical mass.

Heri was staring blankly ahead, blinking slowly.

None of them knew what to say, what to do. Hannah had tears dribbling down her chin, clinging to Sally-Anne who was shaking, hands clasped over her mouth.

Neville's mouth was dry. He gulped painfully, his throat aching. The sound was uncomfortably audible in the wordless room.

Heri's head turned at the sound. Her eyes landed on Neville. Those same eyes, so hazy and dimmed before, widened and focused at the sight of him. The most guileless smile broke across her face.

Too bright, too earnest; Neville had never seen such an unburdened look on her face.

"Neville," she sighed, laughing a little. She tried sitting up but immediately fell back.

Ernie, the one closest to the head of the cot, sprang to help. The rest of them flitted around, hovering anxiously. Ernie resettled her as she took in the room again with fresh eyes, like she'd never seen it before, and everyone started talking all at once.

Neville watched, mute, as she smiled and giggled at then, calling out the names of whoever diverted the attention to themselves.

As her eyes slid from Zacharias and moved to Hermione, they landed on Neville again, standing in the back next to the still crying Luna. She beamed at him again and chirped his name.

And he knew then she truly wasn't in there.

On a remote back-road, a sleek city car was zipping pass stretches of sprawling hilly forest. No other car was around — indeed the passengers of this car had not seen another vehicle for at least an hour now.

In the back seat of this car, Allie Torrington blinked open his eyes blearily when he felt them coming to a stop. The hum of the engine cut off as he sat up as best as he could in his booster seat, wriggling his arms out of his blanket.

"Are we there yet?" he asked in his sleepy voice, a yawn erupting out of him as he rubbed his eyes with his fists.

His father was in the driver's seat, still looking forward at . . . Alabaster craned his neck to see what his father was looking at. It looked like a big hill — the biggest they've come across yet.

"Yes, we're here," his father said, turning his head. Alabaster saw the edge of a smile curving his father's cheek up.

Allie eyed the hill dubiously. He turned this way and that, looking out the side windows as well. There wasn't anything around but a bunch of trees!

"I thought I was going to camp?" he said, a whine leaking into his voice.

"You are! It's a special camp, remember? With lots of other kids just like you."

"They see the monsters, too?"

His father didn't reply for a moment. The corners of his eyes tightened.

"That's right, they do," he said eventually, smile back on his face but somehow off. "And there are lots of them that are older and know how to keep everyone safe, too, so they can teach you how to be safe when you're at home as well."

Allie puffed his cheeks out.

"What if Luke comes and I'm not home?"

"Well, Luke knows you'll be here, right? We told him last time he came by that you were going. Luke can come by here if he wants to."

Allie mulled that over as his father got out of the car and came around to unbuckle him as well.

Instead of putting him down right away like usual, Allie's father perched Allie on his waist instead, hugging Allie to his body.

"Daddy?" said Allie, a little confused. It wasn't that his father wasn't affectionate, but he made it a point to have Allie walk by himself as much as possible.

His father sighed into his hair.

"It's nothing, little man," he said, pressing a kiss Allie's forehead. "I just miss you already."

They made their way away from the side of the road they had parked and closer to the hill looming ahead of them. As Allie's father walked, a strange feeling puddled in Allie's belly, something he couldn't name. Though it hadn't looked far to begin with, every step closer made it seem like they were moving in slow-motion, like they were trodding knee-deep through a wading-pool of honey.

Allie's father stopped just before the ground inclined up. He frowned up at the top suspiciously.

"Is anyone there?" he called, his voice bouncing through the trees.

A pair of birds that'd been in a nearby flew off in alarm.

There was no other sound after that, no breeze, no animal noises — just their breathing. Allie could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

He must have blinked too slowly or looked away or something, because when Allie's eyes returned to the top of the hill when his father's breath hitched, there was something standing there, looking down at them.

Something that was too tall and had too many legs to be human.

Allie tensed instinctively, his eyes going wide. He smacked his father's shoulder urgently, but his father only shushed him and rubbed his back with a steady hand.

The whatever-it-was — it had the legs of a horse — descended from the hill, its motions calm, unaggressive. Allie wasn't much reassured by that though — there'd been monsters before that tricked him into thinking they were nice.

Allie's father squared his shoulders.

"Are you Chiron?" he asked, his work voice on.

The creature — tall, far taller than Allie's father — smiled at them with its human face.

"I am," it said with a nod. Its eyes fell on Allie. "Here to drop off a child?"

"I was told. . ." Allie's father paused to swallow. "I was told he could stay here for the summer and I can come get him again when the school year starts?"

"A bit early for summer," it — Chiron — observed, tilting . . . his? — his head. "It's only the second decan of April."

"Yes, well, there was an, um, issue at the Pre-K, and I have to look for a new school now, so. . . ."

Despite Chiron standing there, being all horsey, Allie had trouble keeping interested in the conversation. He didn't like thinking about school — no one believed him when he talked about the monsters, and the picture books had too many words he couldn't read. He ended up inspecting the trees instead. Allie liked trees; sometimes they'd talk to him.

"Well, then!" Chiron said, clapping his hands together, making Allie jump, snapping him out of his daydreaming. "Are you ready to go, young man?"

Allie didn't know what to do. He wrapped his arms around his father's neck and buried his face there.

"Is there maybe someone close to his age around?" he heard his father ask. "Allie's a little shy around adults."

"Ah, that's alright! If you'll wait here, I'll go fetch some campers then. Hopefully, they'll put him more at ease."

The clip-clop of Chiron's hooves was noticeable to Allie now that he wasn't too anxious to pay attention. The sound was calming for some reason, and Allie didn't notice right away that his father was putting him down until his feet were already touching the ground.

His father crouched down in front of Allie and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"You ready to make some new friends, champ?"

Allie fidgeted with his sleeve him. He'd been excited to come, but now that he was here, it was more than a little scary.

"Hey," said his father, bumping foreheads with him. "It's going to be great! You'll have some friends to play with that understand you. You'll get to hang out and play games all summer until school starts back up! That's going to be lots of fun."

That was true. Allie had been looking forward to meeting people like him, that didn't think he was weird for seeing things they couldn't see.

With Allie feeling a little better, they went back to the car and got Allie's things from the trunk.

His suitcase came first, followed by his backpack, but Allie only had eyes for the thick, furry rectangle growling in the back corner. When she saw him peeping over the edge of the trunk at her, she perked up and waddled forward like the hairiest penguin that ever existed.

"It wouldn't do to forget poor Poof, now would it?" murmured Allie's father, laughing when the living book snorted at him.

Poof blinked all four of her eyes at Allie as he did his best to haul her out of the trunk. This was difficult because she was as squirmy as a cat, half Allie's size, and was, like, two phone books thick, but Allie didn't let that stop him. He gripped her to his front, eyes side out, and teetered back to the hill with his father.

They waited at the base only for a moment before Chiron returned, two people with him.

"What in the name of the gods is that?!" blurted the taller of the two people, a girl with brown hair wearing an orange t-shirt and jeans. She might have been a teenager — Allie wasn't that good with age yet — but the wide-eyed expression on her face made her look especially childish.

Chiron and the other kid — slightly younger than the girl? Maybe just a bit older than Allie? — gaped, but had no words.

Allie ducked behind his father's legs, not liking the reaction. Poof growled warningly in his arms, the sound loud enough that it made her shake.

Allie's father chuckled a bit awkwardly.

"No worries, no worries!" he said, coaxing Allie forward again. "Poof was a gift from this nice young lady from England we had as a babysitter one summer. Heri was her name! Another Half-blood apparently. Left Poof with us to guard Allie when she had to go back for school. I think Poof used to be one of her textbooks? Apparently, there was a class for that. . . ."

"My goodness," said Chiron, regaining his voice. He came closer and peered down carefully. "Is that . . . is that truly a book?"

The girl was called Katie and the boy was Charles; they sputtered and goggled as Chiron soon concluded that Poof counted as a pet and was perfectly fine to join Allie at camp even if she hadn't.

"Alright, champ," said Allie's father, kneeling down to give him a hug. "I'll see you when school starts again."

Allie wasn't happy that his father apparently couldn't go beyond the hill with him, but he girded himself up and didn't complain. Allie was going to be the biggest of big boys now — big boys didn't cry to their daddies over things that couldn't be helped. He made it over the hill and into the camp with Chiron and the other two children without a tear, not even when some mean looking kids came around, ugly looks on their faces.

Besides, Allie had Poof with him now and was allowed to keep her with him at all times, unlike when he was at school. So, even with those mean kids there —

"ARGH! What the FUCK?!"

— Poof could and would take a bite out of anyone she didn't like.

"Mind your language, young man!" scolded Chiron. He grimaced at the mess. "My goodness —! Katie, show Alabaster to his cabin. You go with them, Charles."

Allie couldn't help but smile as he was herded off away from the bigger boy now bleeding from his hand. He stroked Poof's bloody fur as Katie and Charles kept a careful distance.

—

the

DAILY PROPHET

* Wizarding Britain's Premier News Source *

(August 3, 1998)

GODDESS ON THE MOVE

By Taha Akawala

Recent rumours of the release of re-embodied deity the Marchioness of Swetechester — popularly known as Heri Potter, The One Who Died Yet Lives — from St Mungo's Hospital after her extended stay have been the hot topic in court rooms and drinking halls alike for several months now. What's to come after this blessed resurrection? Would she finally answer the call of the International Confederation of Wizards? What of the talk of the Aurors fast-tracking her through training to have her join their ranks as soon as possible? Would she be off to see her foreign suitor, the illustrious Viktor Krum of the Bulgarian National team? Was there any truth to the notion that she would be appointed to an overseeing position in the ministry, adjacent to the minister himself?

However, none of our whimsy hit upon the true sequence of events unfolding now that she is 100 percent cleared for travel.

Three days ago, on the lady's 18th birthday, her first day out of the hospital, supplicants of her cult swarmed around London in the largest threat of wide-scale breaching of the Statute of Secrecy since November of 1981, after her first triumph over He Whom Must Not Be Named. With her family residence still hidden under the Fidelius Charm, they flooded locations where she has been known to visit in the past, presumably in an attempt to initiate contact. Law enforcement offices and Obliviators were soon on the scene for damage-control, patrolling the streets as discreetly as possible.

When questioned, several petitioners — numerous from other countries — revealed they meant to invite Lady Herakles to take up residence within the temples built in her honour, amongst other things. While all the high adepts present for interview admitted the desire for her to chose their own over others, all agreed they mainly wanted to have a definite location for pilgrimage should she indulge their plea for ceremonial edification.

For two breathless days after that, there was no response, public nor otherwise. Cultists set up camp where they could when what accommodations available locally were filled.

It was only just this morning that a spokesperson — identified as Ms Luna Lovegood, daughter of the editor and owner of The Quibbler, known friend of Heri Potter — made herself available to address the masses.

"Heri is not as she was," Ms Lovegood said when asked about her ladyship. "We are lucky to have had any part of her returned at all. Veneration might improve her — there's no way to tell yet."

When questioned on the possibility of her ladyship taking up residence within one of her temples, Ms Lovegood had this to say:

"That's ultimately up to Heri, but she isn't lucid enough to decide. It's not unlikely though — as I said before, such a thing might improve her state."

There is now talk from the Department of Travel that others of her ladyship's circle were seen talking to staff who handled international travel. Could this be a hint that The One Who Died Yet Lives will be relocating in another nation? Has one of the foreign branches of her cult made an offer too good to refuse?

[Continue on pg. 4]

The late summer day found Neville Longbottom mindlessly tending to his greenhouse, elbows-deep in potting soil. He could not recognize the plant before him, not entirely certain what section of his little haven he was even in. It didn't matter though — he needed the mindlessness of the task.

He feared he was going insane.

Everywhere he went, the darkness of crooks and crannies were deeper than they ought to be. Figures shifted in the corner of his vision. Shadows grew long as he walked by them, his own swelling them, feeding them. And eyes . . . . eyes he could feel but never find prickled his neck when his back was turned.

Even now, in the open, airy structure within the backyard of the estate, under am uncovered sun and idyllic clouds, something moved at the edge of his line of sight, something was staring out at him.

He'd thought it was nothing before. He'd thought it was just stress making his mind act up.

The ring in his pocket felt unbearably heavy. He'd been ever aware of it since it started following him around.

It'd been a whim to put in on that first time. He didn't know why he thought to do so — he didn't even wear his House ring beyond hanging it on a leather strip from his neck.

It was the ring Heri had worn since . . . since fifth-year — no, since before she even left after fourth-year. Heri's cracked stone ring. He couldn't really remember when he'd first noticed it on her, it just seemed like something that belonged there, like the scar on her forehead. It'd sat so innocuously amongst her House rings, he wouldn't have registered its existence if it hadn't been the ring of which the removal had caused Heri to surge into combustion.

But then he'd put in on.

He'd been fidgeting with it for a while at that point; a few months since the battle at Hogwarts. It was physical proof of Heri's faith in him, that she trusted him with such a monumental task. It was sized to fit Heri, so he slipped it on his little finger, the only finger that fit.

He'd thought the terrible chill that filled him was from knowing the owner was dead.

The odd phenomenons that arose after that weren't overt nor startling, so it took a while for Neville to realise something was off. But when Heri was re-embodied, it grew worse.

A tickling touch brushed against his ankle; cold, almost wet.

Neville kept his breathing measured, side-stepping. He moved to a different spot as if he hadn't noticed.

The ring grew heavier still.

He found his hand moving towards the pocket it was sitting in before he could stop himself, his hand already halfway in. He snatched it away, heart in his throat.

But you want. . . .

This wasn't the first time he heard the voice, but it was unwelcomed as ever.

But you want. . . .

"I don't want anything, thanks!" he muttered furiously, power-walking over to his Mimbulus mimbletonia. He pulled on the gloves waiting there with what he thought was just the right amount of enthusiasm.

Neville doggedly ignored everything outside of his work with his prized plant, tuning out all sounds, flickers, touches, and urges. He didn't allow himself any thought beyond in response to the fussy specimen in front of him.

He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.

His clippers slipped from his hand when the Mimbulus mimbletonia jiggled in a way he hadn't expected. Cursing, he bent to pick it up off the ground, but then the glove on that hand slid off as well, loosened from the sweat on his skin. Before he could pull back again, his hand shot into his pocket and hooked the ring around his little finger.

Panicked, Neville made to yank it off again, but this time it stuck. It refused to be lifted. Pulling at it was like trying to rip his own skin off.

But that was soon the least of his problems.

A glint of silver, something metallic, flashed. Neville whipped his head up to see a curve of . . . a knife tip? A sharpen wedge of metal hung in the air as if it was thorn caught in cloth.

Before he could blink, it came slashing down, growing as it went, tearing in rent in the fabric of reality. A harvesting scythe emerged from the chasm of an abyss, a hulking, bohemoth void of vaguely humanoid shape escaping after it. The echoes of screams followed it — thousands, millions, all in wordless terror.

Neville wanted to say something — anything — wanted to ask what, why, who? But he already knew. Viscerally, instinctively, Neville knew what he'd unwillingly summoned.

Death.

Death stood in his grandmother's decorative plot of begonias.

"AT LAST," said a voice that came from everywhere, resonating in every part of Neville's body. "YOU'VE MADE ME WAIT, STUBBORN AVATAR."

Neville fainted dead away into a row of budding buttercups.

"What will you do with her?" a quiet voice asked, falling flat in the hush of the room. "What have you done with her already?"

The creak of a body shifting against furniture.

"You ask this yet again?" said another voice, just as soft. "It's unlike you to care so much."

"It's unlike either of us to care," the response was mild but had a pointed undercurrent. "Will you answer me properly this time?"

"She is safe and hidden — that's all you need to know."

"But for how long?"

"Why does that —?"

"For how long, Mother?"

A charged silence. Neither breathed.

The sound of footsteps on stone.

"For as long as necessary."

June 21st, 2006

Imagine the largest concert crowd you've ever seen, a football field packed with a million fans. Now imagine a field a million times that big, packed with people, and imagine the electricity has gone out, and there is no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Something tragic has happened backstage. Whispering masses of people just milling around in the shadows, waiting for a concert that will never start.

If you can picture that, you have a pretty good idea what the Fields of Asphodel looked like.

The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the spirit of a swamp breathing out. Black trees — poplars— grew in clumps here and there. The cavern ceiling was so high above, it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed faint gray and looked wickedly pointed. Dotted around the fields were several that had fallen and impaled themselves in the black grass.

Annabeth, Grover, and Percy tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls. Percy couldn't help looking for familiar faces among the spirits of Asphodel, but the dead are hard to look at. Their faces shimmer. They all look slightly angry or confused. They will come up to you and speak, but their voices sound like chatter, like bats twittering. Once they realize you can't understand them, they frown and move away.

The dead aren't scary, Percy concluded. They're just sad.

They crept along, following the line of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates toward a black-tented pavilion with a banner that read:

JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION

Welcome, Newly Deceased!

Out the back of the tent came two much smaller lines.

To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path toward the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance, a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas. Even from far away, they could see people being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cactus patches or listen to opera music.

Percy could just make out a tiny hill, with the ant-size figure of Sisyphus struggling to move his boulder to the top. And he saw worse tortures, too — things he didn't want to think about.

The line coming from the right side of the judgment pavilion was much better. This one led down toward a small valley surrounded by walls—a gated community, which seemed to be the only happy part of the Underworld. Beyond the security gate were neighborhoods of beautiful houses from every time period in history, Roman villas and medieval castles and Victorian mansions. Silver and gold flowers bloomed on the lawns. The grass rippled in rainbow colors. There was laughter and smell barbecue cooking.

Elysium.

In the middle of that valley was a glittering blue lake, with three small islands like a vacation resort in the Bahamas. The Isles of the Blest, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times, and three times achieved Elysium. Immediately, Percy knew that's where he wanted to go when he died.

"That's what it's all about," Annabeth said, echoing Percy's thoughts. "That's the place for heroes."

They left the judgment pavilion and moved deeper into the Asphodel Fields. It got darker. The colors faded from our clothes. The crowds of chattering spirits began to thin.

After a few miles of walking, they began to hear a screech in the distance. A familiar screech.

Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark bat-like creatures: the Furies. Percy couldn't help but feel the creatures had been waiting for them.

"I suppose it's too late to turn back," Grover said wistfully.

"We'll be okay," said Percy, trying to sound confident.

"Maybe we should search some of the other places first," Grover suggested. "Like, Elysium, for instance. . . ."

"Come on, goat boy." Annabeth grabbed his arm.

Grover yelped. His sneakers sprouted wings and his legs shot forward, pulling him away from Annabeth. He landed flat on his back in the grass.

"Grover," Annabeth chided. "Stop messing around."

"But I didn't—"

He yelped again. His shoes were flapping like crazy now. They levitated off the ground and started dragging him away from us.

"Maia!" he yelled, but the magic word seemed to have no effect. "Maia, already! Nine-one-one! Help!"

Percy made a grab for Grover's hand but too was late. He was picking up speed, skidding downhill like a bobsled.

Percy and Annabeth ran after him, trying to keep up.

Annabeth shouted, "Untie the shoes!"

It was a sound suggestion but wasn't so easy to do when your shoes are pulling you along feet-first at full speed. Grover tried to sit up, but he couldn't get close to the laces.

They kept after him, trying to keep him in sight as he ripped between the legs of spirits who chattered at him in annoyance.

Percy was certain Grover was going to barrel straight through the gates of Hades' palace, but his shoes veered sharply to the right and dragged him in the opposite direction.

The slope got steeper. Grover picked up speed. Annabeth and Percy had to outright sprint to keep up. The cavern walls narrowed on either side, and Percy realized they'd entered some kind of side tunnel. No black grass or trees now, just rock underfoot, and the dim light of the stalactites above.

"Grover!" Percy yelled, his voice echoing. "Hold on to something!"

"What?" Grover yelled back. He was grabbing at gravel, but there was nothing big enough to slow him down.

The tunnel got darker and colder. The hairs on their arms bristled. It smelled foul down there, a strange combination of things Percy didn't know that could only be described as 'evil.' It made him think of things he shouldn't even know about — blood spilled on an ancient stone altar, the foul breath of a flesh-eater.

Then Percy saw what was ahead of them. He stopped dead in his tracks.

The tunnel widened into a huge dark cavern, and in the middle was a chasm the size of a city block.

Grover was sliding straight toward the edge.

"Come on, Percy!" Annabeth yelled, tugging at his wrist.

"But that's—"

"I know!" she shouted desperately. "The place in your dream! But Grover's going to fall if we don't catch him!"

She was right, of course. Percy booked it down the tunnel once more.

Grover's predicament was dire. He was yelling, clawing at the ground, but the winged shoes kept dragging him toward the pit, and it didn't look like they could possibly get to him in time.

What saved him were his hooves.

The flying sneakers had always been a loose fit on him, and, finally, Grover hit a big rock and the left shoe came flying off. It sped into the darkness, down into the chasm. The right shoe kept tugging him along, but not as fast. Grover was able to slow himself down by grabbing on to the big rock and using it as an anchor.

He was ten feet from the edge of the pit when they caught him and hauled him back up the slope. The other winged shoe tugged itself off, circled around them angrily and kicked at their heads in protest before flying off into the chasm to join its twin.

They all collapsed, exhausted, on the obsidian gravel.

Percy's limbs felt like lead. Even his backpack seemed heavier, as if somebody had filled it with rocks.

Grover was scratched up pretty bad. His hands were bleeding. His eyes had gone slit-pupiled, goat style, the way they did whenever he was terrified.

"I don't know how . . ." he panted. "I didn't . . ."

"Wait," Percy said, going still. "Listen."

He heard something — a deep whisper in the darkness.

Another few seconds and Annabeth said, "Percy, this place—"

"Shh!"

Percy stood.

The sound was getting louder, a muttering, evil voice from far, far below them. Coming from the pit.

Grover sat up.

"Wh-what's that noise?"

Annabeth heard it too, now. Percy could see it in her eyes.

"Tartarus," she breathed. "The entrance to Tartarus."

Percy uncapped Anaklusmos. The bronze sword expanded, gleaming in the darkness, and the evil voice seemed to falter, just for a moment, before resuming its chant.

Percy could almost make out words now, ancient, ancient words, older even than Greek. As if. . . .

"Magic," he croaked.

"We have to get out of here!" cried Annabeth.

Together, the two dragged Grover to his hooves and started back up the tunnel. Percy's legs wouldn't move fast enough. His backpack weighed him down. The voice got louder and angrier behind them, and they broke into a run.

Not a moment too soon.

A cold blast of wind pulled at their backs, as if the entire pit were inhaling. For a terrifying moment, Percy lost ground, his feet slipping in the gravel. If they'd been any closer to the edge, they would've been sucked in right away.

They went struggling forward, Grover nearly falling backwards several times because of his hooves' lack of purchase. Panic was setting in, their breathing growing ragged, when —

A force shoved them forward, distinctly warm in contrast to the chilling wind. Propelled with unnatural speed, they finally reached the top of the tunnel, where the cavern widened out into the Fields of Asphodel.

The wind died.

A wail of outrage echoed from deep in the tunnel. Something was not happy we'd gotten away.

"What was that?" Grover panted when they'd collapsed in the relative safety of a black poplar grove. "One of Hades' pets?"

Annabeth and Percy looked at each other. He could tell she was nursing an idea, but she was too scared to share it. That was enough to terrify him.

"And what was that other thing?" Grover continued, throwing a glance back to where they'd escaped. "I wasn't the only one that was all but thrown out, was I?"

Percy swallowed uneasily, capping his sword and putting the pen back in his pocket. They were running out of time; a freak-out would have to wait.

"Let's keep going," he said instead. He looked at Grover. "Can you walk?"

Grover swallowed.

"Yeah, sure. I never liked those shoes, anyway."

He tried to sound brave about it, but he was trembling as badly as Annabeth and Percy were. Whatever was in that pit was nobody's pet. It was unspeakably old and powerful. Even Echidna hadn't given Percy that feeling.

Percy was almost relieved to head back toward the palace of Hades. Anything in comparison felt like a walk in the park now.

Despite himself, Percy looked back to the entrance of the tunnel.

A figure of a girl stood, staring at them blankly.

In the next blink, she was gone.

AN: If you don't know already, I'm on Tumblr! Hit me up at hi-pot-and-news. I post about writing, fandom, talk about my progress occasionally, and answer questions.

This is also cross-posted on AO3 if you prefer that.