Nico has another nightmare. Harry... does stupid things...

Chapter Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Content Warning: Violence (mild), Self-Harm (mentioned)

Word Count: 2918

And all the characters are owned by J.K. Rowling, or Rick Riordan.

Credits at the end.

Teddy no longer spoke to Nico. He'd expected it; why should Teddy help a so-called hero who'd betrayed his friends at the drop of a hat? Still, the open rejection hurt. It was yet another reminder of how much the son of Hades failed anyone and everyone who ever helped him.

What's more, Nico no longer could avoid the nightmares. Before, he could train with Teddy from dusk until dawn, tiring himself out so that when he finally did sleep, the dreams--at least most of the time--were harmless.

He should've known he'd pay for such betrayal. Even Morpheus knew how to punish a self-serving hero: give him his worst nightmare yet.

Nico's dream began in familiar surroundings, but, beyond that, he still couldn't pinpoint where it was; the night was too dark to allow much sight. Still, there was some... aura about the place. Like how Nico felt when he approached a Horcrux, but worse, so much worse. Two figures sat near him; one boy around Percy's age, one about his own.

"Where are we?" the younger asked his older companion. Under normal circumstances, Nico would know the voice, but the aura interfered with his ability to think.

The older boy shook his head and stood up, then pulled the younger one to his feet. "Did anyone tell you the cup was a portkey?" the older boy asked.

What's a portkey?

"Nope. Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

"I dunno. Wands out, d'you reckon?"

"Yeah."

So, they're followers of Hecate.

They pulled out their wands, then crept forward into the dark. The younger boy's head whisked to his left. "Someone's coming."

Nico trained his eyes in that direction, forcing his brain to work properly, despite the aura. Yes, there was a figure approaching, walking between stones. Gravestones. He still couldn't make out any face in the dark, but he managed to take in some details. The approaching person was short, with a hooded cloak pulled over his face, carrying... was that a baby?

A high-pitched cold voice filled the air. Riddle. "Kill the spare," he said.

A swishing noise, a scream of "Avada Kedavra!" from the hooded man, and a flash of green light illuminated the night. It hit the older boy square in the chest and he crumpled. There he lay, on cold, hard ground, spread-eagled, mouth half-open in a mixture of surprise and fear.

Dead.

"No!" Nico screamed. He wanted to draw his sword and run to these mortals' aid, but he couldn't move. Just like the old mortal from his last dream. Just like the Potters. They all fell to Avada Kedavra. They all fell to Riddle.

The man in the cloak didn't waste a second. He put down his bundle, lit his wand, and dragged the younger boy towards a marble headstone. Then, he summoned a magical rope and let it coil around the boy, tying him completely, from neck to ankles. He checked the cord, made sure his prisoner couldn't move, gagged him with some black cloth from his pocket, then turned away.

Wormtail.

The name came to Nico as he stared at the hooded figure. Yes, that voice sounded all too familiar; it was the same servant as in his dream before.

But who's the boy?

Nico worked up the courage to inspect the bundle of robes; it had to be the fetal Riddle. The image was still burned into Nico's mind, the unnaturalness of his body, the way its presence washed over Nico, he hated the thing, he hated it, he hated it! But there it was, and there was no mistaking it as the source of the high-pitched voice, giving the order to kill that young follower of Hecate.

How heartless can someone be to take the life of a teenager; a student whose biggest crime was being at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Breathing heavily, Wormtail dragged an enormous cauldron through the dirt, a hundred times larger than anything Nico had ever used in potions. Gallons of water--or what sounded and looked like water, anyway--sloshed around in the cauldron. It could serve as a bathtub for a... for a full-grown man.

No. Hades, no. Don't let this be--

The fetal Riddle stirred, trying to free itself from its bundle of cloaks. Nico gritted his teeth and put his hands up to his ears, wanting to block out the sound, but he couldn't get rid of it. He wished he had his iPod with him; any song in his library would've been enough to block out those terrible, piercing noises.

The popping and crackling of flames filled the air. Wormtail had created a fire underneath the cauldron. The liquid bubbled, faster than it should have, then shot sparks as though it were made of sparklers. Clouds of steam wafted from the top of the cauldron and filled the air.

Riddle stirred evermore. "Hurry!" he commanded.

Now, the liquid in the cauldron sparkled like diamonds. "It is ready, master," Wormtail informed him.

"Now..." Riddle whispered. That aura--that unnatural, angering pit in the bottom of Nico's stomach--exploded. It overcame him, reduced him to an animalistic version of his former self, kept all thoughts from entering his mind, forced him to bear witness to an event he craved to shut out. Something was about to happen that went against Nico's very being, very soul, very point of existence. Something that went against everything Hades and his children stood for.

Cheating death.

Wormtail took the robes off the fetal Riddle, allowing Nico his second full-on view of the thing. It was hairless, scaly, and a dark reddish black. Its arms were thin and feeble, its face flat and snakelike, its eyes glowing and gleaming red. Nico's eyes burned at the sight of the ungodly, unnatural thing, but his body stood, frozen in place; he couldn't tear his eyes away, even though the pain of looking at it made his body shake and throat burn. Through red-tinted vision, Nico saw Wormtail carry it to the cauldron, then dump it into the diamond water with a soft thud.

For the first time in a long time--maybe even his entire life--Nico prayed--no, begged--his father for some sort of comfort. Tears streamed down his face in pure agony, and the shaking made it hard for him to stand. He wanted to fall, but he couldn't move. So, he cried out to Hades louder.

Please, Father, let him drown! Let him drown, let him die, please! Stop this!

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

No, no, please, Father, make it stop!

"Flesh-- of your servant-- w-willingly given-- you will-- revive-- your master!"

Father! You can't let--

"B-blood of the enemy... forcibly taken... you will... resurrect your foe!"

Please! Kill him!

The liquid in the cauldron morphed into a blinding white, shining with the power of Apollo and Artemis combined. A thousand Celestial Bronze arrows pierced Nico's body. He screamed from the torturous pain, so blinding he couldn't even wish death upon his enemy, much less upon himself. The shaking turned into convulsions, and, at last, his legs gave way and he fell, fell into fetal position on the ground, his arms clutching his stomach, his eyes fixed on the cauldron at a sideways view with black spots dancing through the red.

Without thinking, wholly unable to think, Nico somehow managed to scream out one last time. "I'll kill you! My father is the Lord of the Dead! I'll kill you!" His voice sounded raw, rabid, yet his words were empty.

The dark outline of a man, tall and so thin he could be a skeleton, rose from the cauldron. "Robe me."

Nico turned his head from Riddle, not wanting to see the man alive again, so unnatural and half-human already. Upon doing so, he realized that he could, in fact, move his body again. The convulsions had stopped, the torture reduced to that Horcrux-like aura. Nico had never felt so happy to feel sheer anger.

He laid on the ground for whole minutes, maybe hours, trying to catch his breath and dull the pain. He had no sword with him, he couldn't cut, so he dealt with it all in the usual--but much less efficient--way. After his ADHD took over again, and he couldn't lie still anymore, he slowly pushed himself off the ground. A minute later, he was standing again, on two weak yet stable legs.

Nico trained his eyes on the young, tied up boy, forcing the red and black spots to clear from his gaze. He made out curly hair, glasses, and a small scar on his forehead. Finally, Nico realized why that boy's voice was so familiar. "Harry Potter?" Nico whispered.

Harry paid him no attention. His terrified eyes remained fixed on Riddle, talking to a group of hooded men, encircling him, clutching to his every word. Now that his eyes were working properly, Nico focused on his ears, and caught the end of Riddle's speech.

"Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger." A snake glided through the grass, wrapping around Riddle's feet. "Just a little longer, Nagini," he promised it in a ghostly whisper, then returned to his followers. "Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."

By the look of it, Harry felt no stronger than Nico on his own two feet; he couldn't even support his own weight. Despite his hatred of that particular follower of Hecate, Nico felt scared for him. He was about to die, murdered by Tom Riddle, just like the older boy he'd come to the graveyard with, just like the old muggle, just like his parents. No wonder Harry reacted the way he did when Hagrid mentioned the death he'd seen when Hagrid brought the thestrals to class; he was suppressing memories of Riddle's... resurrection.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Riddle asked. Harry said nothing. "We bow to each other, Harry," Riddle continued in the silence. He bent half an inch, then crooned, "Come, the niceties must be observed... Dumbledore would like you to show manners... Bow to death, Harry..." The others, watching them, laughed. "I said, bow." Riddle raised his wand, and Harry bent by force. "Very good," Riddle complimented him, a chill in every word, every breath. "And now you face me, like a man... straight-backed and proud, the way your father died... and now--we duel."

Riddle raised his wand, and before Nico had time to take another breath, Harry fell to the ground, body twisting at unnatural angles as he screamed in pain. Harry's moans stopped after a long ten seconds, and he scrambled to his feet. "A little break," Riddle said, "a little pause... That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?" Silence. "I asked you whether you want me to do that again. Answer me! Imperio!"

Harry fought against an invisible force, then shouted, "I WON'T!"

"You won't?" Riddle asked, voice almost inaudible. "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die... Perhaps another little dose of pain?" Harry dodged with reflexes that, though a little slow to Nico, were good enough to catch Riddle off-guard. He dove behind the marble headstone, out of sight, no doubt catching his breath and one final moment of peace. "We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," Riddle chided. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry... come out and play, then... it will be quick... it might even be painless... I would not know... I have never died..."

Riddle approached the headstone, but Harry jumped out, wand at the ready, and exclaimed, "Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle cried; green light met the red from Harry's wand. A narrow beam connected the wands together, a deep, golden ray of light. Both of them, Riddle and Harry, were lifted off the ground as Riddle's servants shouted to him, requesting orders from their master. "Do nothing!" Riddle shrieked. "Do nothing unless I command you!"

They both hovered for what seemed like years, until Harry shouted, "NOW!" and pulled his wand away. The golden ray of light broke; Harry sprinted towards where he'd come. Curses flew after him, but he dodged them.

"Stun him!" Riddle screamed. "Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!"

"Accio!" Harry yelled, clearly begging for the spell to quicken in his mind. A large, golden trophy flew into the air; Harry caught it by the handle. He disappeared with the older boy's body beside him, somehow recovered in the insanity.

Riddle let out a scream of fury, his face full of rage and insanity.

Nico woke up in a cold sweat, just to see Malfoy scrambling out of the dorm room. He didn't pay much attention; all he could think about was cutting and forgetting that horrible dream. Memory of the morning came back to him, yes, dreamless sleep sounded too tempting. Even as he retrieved his sword and made his way to the privacy of the bathroom, Nico resolved to remember two crucial details from his dream:

Riddle not only cheated death, but cheated death with the senseless murder of a mortal.

There were only four people in the world that had ever witnessed a defiance of Hades and lived... and Harry Potter was the only one who might be on the gods' side.

Harry stumbled into the Gryffindor common room at half-past midnight, white as a ghost. "Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, peering at him over the tip of her quill she'd been using to write an essay.

In response, Harry only gave a half-hearted, distracted shrug.

"What's up?" Ron asked, propping himself up on his elbow to get a clearer view of Harry. "What's happened?"

Harry said nothing, which confused Ron even more.

Did something happen? What could happen between DA practice and--

"Is it Cho?" Hermione prompted. "Did she corner you after the meeting?"

"Well-- er-- yes, but--"

"Did you kiss?"

Silence.

Oh.

"Well..." Harry's voice trailed off; in his eyes, Ron saw he was debating something. "Well, yes, but, that doesn't matter."

Ron snorted. "Might've mattered to Cho."

"Guys!" Harry exclaimed. "I ran into Malfoy on my way back, outside his common room, he told me something di Angelo said in his sleep a few minutes ago. It's..." Harry searched for the right word, his eyes glazing over again in shock... or maybe fear. "...something," he decided.

Hermione glanced up from her parchment for the first time, eyes glowing with concern. "Did he go to any teacher? Did he tell Dumbledore?"

"No," Harry answered. "Only me. You know Dumbledore has a blind spot for the Americans, I dunno why, but... anyway, I got di Angelo to talk today, and--"

"You did?" Ron interjected, cutting him off. "Is that why you were all buddy-buddy with him this morning?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I've got something on him, I can't say, or he might not answer any more of my questions. First, I asked him who he was, and he called himself a monster. It didn't make any sense, but..." Again, Harry let his sentence hang loose. He looked terrified to continue. "Then, I asked him if his father was a Death Eater, and he said death served his father."

"But, Harry, that doesn't make sense either," Hermione pointed out. Ron nodded in agreement.

"I thought so too, until Malfoy told me what he heard. Di Angelo... di Angelo said..." Harry took another deep breath. "Malfoy heard di Angelo say, 'I'll kill you. My father is the Lord of the Dead; I'll kill you... Harry Potter.' "

Hermione turned as white as Harry. Ron, stunned, just said, "He-- he what?"

"Yeah," Harry breathed, wiping his face with his hands. "Please, somebody tell me I'm wrong, that di Angelo's not--"

"Don't say it, Harry." Hermione begged, cutting him off. "Please."

"Don't say what?" Ron asked.

Hermione started crying silent tears of terror as she opened her mouth again, shaking horribly. " 'Angelo' is Italian for angel. As in, an immortal being who reaps souls but never dies itself."

"All right..." Ron replied. He didn't understand what that had to do with anything, unless... "You're saying di Angelo's father is in You-Know-Who's inner circle? That he picked his last name to impress him or something?"

"No," Harry corrected, his almost inaudible whisper shook with fear. "I'm saying he made up a last name, because he couldn't use his real one. Because... he's the son of the Lord of the Dead himself."

"No..." Ron whispered, shaking his head, finally catching on. "Harry, that's mad! That's impossible."

"I know, Ron, I know. But... it all makes so much sense. The hat's scream, the obsession with dead things, no family history, the disappearance... Nico di Angelo came to Hogwarts to deliver me to his father." Harry stopped short, not wanting to voice the unspeakable, certain, final piece to the puzzle. "His father... Lord Voldemort."

And you thought Harry would finally know the truth. Lol.

(And yes, I've been building this up since day one.)

If it wasn't clear, the four people were Harry, Riddle, Pettigrew, and Nico himself.

This week's beta commentary:

STORY: "His father... Lord Voldemort."

SARA: DOING THE DO WITH YOU KNOW WHO

LISSY: OH M Y G O D

GIULIA: But like Voldy was hot when he was young...

Imagine the girl who did the do with you know who.

LISSY: ...and I thought I had morning-after regrets...