In the wake of the Winter Solstice, Percy has a dream .

There's some actual mythology in this chapter, or at least references to it. I'll have quick clarifications and sources in the end notes. But, as Percy Jackson put it in "Percy Jackson's Greek Gods",

"There's like forty bajillion different versions of the myths, so don't be all Well, I heard it a different way, so you're WRONG!"

I took a mythology course at my school last semester, and I got really close to the teacher. I literally went in and asked him about the myths I used for this chapter, and he gave me these sources. And yes, he knew it was for a fanfiction. He didn't care, because he's awesome. But, the reason I say this is because some of the versions I use are the ones I think fit best into the PJO universe, and the universe of the fic, but aren't the most well-known versions. So, you probably WILL think I'm wrong, but just wait to be angry until to you read the end notes. If you wanna correct me after that, be my guest.

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

____________________PERCY____________________

It was weird, being back in the Poseidon cabin. Percy had gotten used to sleeping in empty surroundings; he'd stopped noticing the lonely chill that hung in the air, the looming shadows of empty bunks, the constant silence. Even when Tyson popped in for those rare but awesome visits, Percy never got used to the liveliness of his living there. It was a nice side-effect of seeing his brother, but not normal. Never normal.

Hogwarts had changed that.

After the conversation with Nico at the campfire, Percy had gone back to his cabin to get some much-needed sleep. But, for the first time since he was twelve, the lonely aura kept him awake. He was a city boy, used cars honking and pedestrians shouting lulling him to sleep. He'd been able to shift into what he called "summer mode" at Camp Half-Blood, letting the silence and waves of the Sound relax him instead, but, as he found out that night, that didn't work anymore. Hogwarts felt more like camp than Manhattan; he'd started to associate the place with the godly side of his life, rather than the mortal. It made sense--the place was housing him for a demigod quest--but, the side effect was that his "summer mode" had aligned itself with Hogwarts dorm life.

Percy never realized how used he'd grown to the Weasley twins' mayhem until that night. He needed the crazy, magical experiments, the teasing and joking and sarcastic asides. He needed to tire himself out by staying up half the night, watching his friends attempt to charm his quill to write his Charms essay, then giving up and write a shit version of it himself, before peeling off his robe and crashing at three in the morning. The silence no longer calmed him. Instead, it felt ominous.

Lying in bed on December 20th--No, 21st, it was past 12:30 now--Percy couldn't get over the feeling that something wasn't right. No matter how many times he told himself it was just the dark, just the silence, the unexplainable dread washed over him and staved off any chance of sleep. He needed to rest; he had the Solstice meeting at noon, and then he was heading home to the city, where the evening with his mom and Paul was sure to be a whirlwind.

Maybe it's just how peaceful it's been. I'm not used to relaxing so much; I'm just not tired enough to sleep.

That seemed like a possibility. He'd spent most of the last few days just hanging out with his friends: trading stories, competing at various camp activities, competing at extra-camp activities (like snowball fights), and so on. Leo had even taken everyone to Bunker Nine to show off some new gadgets he'd made, like a pair of flying shoes, inspired by Grover's from their first quest.

"It's exactly the same," Leo promised, "Except better. Also, not cursed to drag you into Tartarus."

"Too bad," Piper joked. "I always thought that was their main selling point."

Grover bleated in indignation. "That's 'cause you weren't wearing them!"

Then, there was Annabeth. Without hundreds of students (and Peeves) lurking about, they'd actually been able to spend time alone without interruption. Sometimes, they took advantage of the privacy in a more physical way (they were eighteen, after all), but, more often than not, they'd just enjoyed each other's company, the silence, the freedom. Annabeth would prop one of her mythology books up on her leg and nestle her body into his, then read whatever it was out loud for him, commenting on what she would've done instead in such a dry tone Percy couldn't help but laugh. And make sarcastic quips of his own, of course.

"It is unknown where Merlin came from, or how he achieved what he did on a magical level," Annabeth read from one of Bagshot's textbooks. "However, by 450 C.E., Merlin, twelve years of age, had enough followers to begin pushing the Romans off the British Isles. The Roman Empire and the last of Roman influence in Britain fell in 476 C.E., at which time Merlin proved to be the most powerful wizard in all of history by inventing the Philosopher's Stone to heal sick and injured wizards. In 476 C.E. he took his place as the first and longest-reigning king of the wizarding world, instituting the beginnings of common wizarding law (including a proto-Statue of Secrecy in response to growing wizard-muggle tensions), and founding a series of schools for young witches and wizards, many of which still stand as primary schools. He abdicated his throne in 925 C.E., at age four-hundred-eighty-seven, after his famous scandal. His star student, Morgan le Fay, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Less than a year later, Merlin was found to have fathered a bastard child, Salazar Slytherin. Rumors circulated that the mother of this child was Morgan le Fay, though the legitimacy of these rumors are disputed among historians. When Slytherin co-founded Hogwarts in 990 C.E., Merlin entered the Slytherin house and taught students a variety of subjects until his death in 1002 C.E. Until the 1300s, some claimed Merlin had become a god and worshipped him as such."

"He died at... um math... almost six-hundred years old?" Percy had asked.

"Yeah," Annabeth said.

"He must've looked like the Kindly Ones on a bad day."

Everyone had arrived for the next day's camp meeting. Reyna, Hazel, and Frank had all arrived the afternoon of the 19th, to a happy reunion of the former seven, complete with that high-pitched squealing Piper and Hazel always made fun of other girls for doing. The Hunters had arrived that afternoon, with instructions from Artemis that Thalia should represent her girls in the meeting, and for them to stay in Cabin Eight until she returned from Olympus. The Grace sibling reunion had been heartwarming, with hugging and laughing and then Thalia pretending she didn't have tears in her eyes. Then, she turned to Piper, and began what Percy and Jason had dubbed "the customary Thalian greeting of the girlfriend."

Thalia: "Jason looks happy. You're fault, I guess?"

Piper: "I try."

Thalia: "Just make sure he stays that way, or..."

*Lightning sound.*

Piper: (with a smile) "Yes, ma'am."

Though everyone knew Thalia was joking, it was always somewhat threatening to any non-Pipers in the audience.

Hazel hadn't gotten that same reunion with Nico; he had vanished on Bianca's death day. And, while it did put a slight damper on things, everyone both expected it and knew it was temporary. Nico needed to deal with his grief in his own way, which meant rejecting society for a day or two. He always returned for the meeting, though still somber--but Hazel, Reyna, Jason, and the others always managed to pull him out of it by Christmas. And, now that Nico had become a kind of son to his mom and Paul, Christmas would be an even happier affair.

The cabin's just messing with my head; nothing's wrong.

That thought finally lulled Percy to sleep. Which was the worst thing that could've happened; the one thing that a demigod should never, ever think before dreaming is "nothing's wrong." Because the gods always, always love to prove their children wrong. Always.

The glittering, black, obsidian walls and polished bronze floor of Hades' throne room were as impressive and terrifying as ever. Hades himself, however, didn't sit on his throne. He stood beside the throne instead, both hands on its side, supporting his weight by leaning on his arms. Next to him stood Queen Persephone, but he'd turned his back on her. His jaw clenched; his movements angular and too controlled; that purple fire in his eyes burned hotter and brighter than Percy had ever imagined it could. Hades looked downright furious.

That wasn't even the scary thing. In the six years he'd known of the god, Percy had never, ever heard of him hiding any kind of emotion--in any legend, not in any story of Nico's or Hazel's, not in Percy's own personal experience. And now, despite the intensity of his eyes, he kept the rest of his face unreadable, kept himself from screaming at Persephone, kept himself calm to the point of danger... and that set off an immediate red flag in Percy's mind.

Even if it hadn't; the trepidation on Persephone's face would've.

"Husband," Persephone begged, her voice hushed and imploring. "Please."

"My mind's made up, my dove," Hades responded; though his teeth were clenched, his words were monotone, even through the supposed term of endearment for his wife. "I won't change it."

"My lord, listen to me--"

"I have."

"You can't do this--"

"Yes, I can."

"Wait just one more day--"

"I won't wait one more minute, Persephone," Hades snapped, his voice so devoid of emotion it made Percy want to run and cower. In his fury, Hades turned to his queen, and finally saw the panic in her eyes.

For the first time since he'd opened up a mythology textbook, Percy understood why people regarded the King and Queen of the Underworld as the only godly couple still in love. In maybe thirty seconds, they had the kind of exchange that only came from a bond made invincible from decades of communication and knowledge of the other. Even he and Annabeth hadn't gotten anywhere close to that.

Hades met Persephone's eyes and saw what Percy had noticed before--her fear. But, her husband saw more than that. In a glance, he did what Percy could only characterize as probe her thoughts. He didn't look past her anxiety, but deeper into it, like he was reading her mind and searching for the source of her uneasiness. After a brief moment, Hades seemed to find what he was looking for. His eyes didn't soften, but widened a bit, in realization and understanding.

"I have nothing to give my brother. He'll never stand beside me without a reason to."

Persephone's face shifted from pure panic to clarity, then concerned determination. She suspected why he wouldn't listen to her pleas, and it wasn't irrational anger. Her eyes locked on his own, daring him to deny her what she wanted as she probed his mind, as he had probed hers ten seconds before. Hades let his iron curtain collapse, revealing the true motivation behind his actions:

Terror. Animalistic, desperate, hopeless terror.

Persephone took a step towards her husband; its echo bounced off the obsidian walls and hung in the intensified air. She lifted her palm, placed her fingers on Hades' shoulder, brushed them down his arm, and let her hand settle in the crook of his elbow. All the while, she kept her eyes on his, this time in a more tender reassurance. It did nothing to quell the fierce alarm in his eyes, but that didn't seem to be her intention. Instead, it acknowledged his fears and told him she'd stand beside him, no matter the fallout.

"Keep me sensible," Hades breathed.

"Always," she promised him.

All that, in twenty words, and thirty seconds. Even through his dread about whatever they'd been talking about, Percy knew that wasn't the kind of interaction most people--godly or mortal--ever got to have.

A fluttering of wings revealed the three Kindly Ones, descending into the throne room. They landed at the foot of the thrones and assembled themselves into a triangle with Alecto at the point. They all kept their heads bowed to the floor out of either respect for the god and goddess, or fear of them; none seemed to realize how vulnerable a moment they'd walked in on. "My lord Hades, your guest has arrived," Alecto announced.

Persephone gave the slightest nod in Hades' direction. He took a millisecond to gather his revealed weakness back to where no one could see it, and fix his face into that steely rage. Persephone dropped her hand and morphed her expression to meet her husband's violent indifference. Together, they parted, walked to their thrones, and sat, resuming their tenure as King and Queen of the Underworld.

"Send her in," Hades' voice boomed, gilded with power.

Even though he'd never seen the goddess in person before, Percy knew exactly who that was. She'd been mentioned in Nico's "A History of Magic" textbook, as a supposed fictional patron of the magical arts. Hazel had never seen her, since the Mist always obscured her appearance, but today Hecate chose to reveal herself. When Matilda Bagshot--or whatever her name was--reasoned that her fictional image came from the powerful witch Morgan le Fay, Percy could see where she was coming from. He'd seen pictures of that woman, and if she wasn't at least a descendant of the goddess, Percy was a codfish.

Hecate looked exactly like her; she looked no older than twenty-one, and was definitely gorgeous enough to fit a seductress stereotype.

Glossy raven locks, thick and wavy but somehow smooth, fell down her back, ending at the bottom of her rib cage; the last inch of her hair flickered like green flames... Greek Fire. As she walked towards Hades and Persephone, a divine, invisible wind pushed her locks behind her, making the fire flicker even more; the rest of her hair looked the way models' did when people shoved fans just behind the camera.

In her hair was a Greek headdress, the crown Rowena Ravenclaw modeled her diadem after; twin torches made of bronze twisted around the back of her head, forming a circlet, and crossing in the center, where Ravenclaw put her eagle. Instead of a sapphire, a large, thick glass case shone in the heart of the twin torches, filled with more Greek Fire. Hanging from the gem was a smaller jewel that rested on the center of her forehead. It showed the three periods of the day Hecate represented: morning, noon, and night. Since it was midnight, a dark night sky took up most of the jewel, with only a hint of a dawn on the bottom left of the circle, and a small sun on the bottom right.

Hecate's pale skin shone with power, giving her whole body a bronze glow. Thick, angular eyebrows framed vibrant green eyes, so bright they glowed like a cat's in the dark. Her eyelashes were so thick and black they made it look like she'd spent hours applying some kind of makeup, and her lips were a dark red, the color of blood. The stark contrast of her eyes and lips to her alabaster skin made them both seem even more intense, even more mesmerizing.

Her dress was the same color as her lips, hugging her skin and outlining her figure so Percy could see the slight side-to-side sway of her hips with each step. The top was strapless and cut into a V-neck in the front, but dipped in the back so the dress began where her hair ended. The skirt fell down to the floor, and dragged for about three inches behind her, then erupted into emerald flames that trailed another six. Only the tips of her shoes peaked out under the skirt, black as her hair, though, from the tap of her steps, Percy deduced they had some kind of heel.

Hazel had described a she-dog and meerkat running beside the goddess, but she must've not taken them into the Underworld with her in their natural form. Instead, they were either represented by or transformed into two magical tattoos, etched in that vibrant green on the skin of her sternum, moving like the portraits at Hogwarts. The she-dog chased its tail while the meerkat laid beside it, either watching the chase, or sleeping. Two twin emerald tattoos also flickered on both her wrists, a bangle-like line half an inch thick filled the bottom half of her wrist, then turned into actual Greek Fire at the top, so she seemed to wear torches as bracelets.

She took each step towards Hades and Persephone like she was walking down a runway, eyes fixed on the Lord of the Dead. When she reached the foot of his throne, she gave a slight curtsy and dip of the head, saying, "Lord Hades," in a surprisingly kind and pleasant voice. Not that Percy assumed the goddess would act like Morgan le Fay, but with Hades' anger, he expected some sort of animosity. She then turned to Persephone and did the same, "Queen Persephone."

"Lady Hecate," Persephone echoed, her voice more emotionless than unkind, but Percy could still hear their bite. If Hecate did, though, she didn't acknowledge them. She directed her attention back to Hades.

"I assume you invited me here to discuss your quest?" Even though it was a statement, Hecate phrased it like a question, again without any kind of distrust, anger, or anything but genuine kindness. "Or, maybe you decided to listen to my prophecy and let my champion, Harry Potter, defeat Lord Voldemort in his time?" Even that comment, while snide, seemed more playfully teasing then angrily mocking.

What in Tartarus is Hades so worked up about?

"No," Hades answered in a dry tone. "I only listen to Apollo's prophecies, and that's just because I have to."

"Well, then, don't blame me because the quest is taking longer than you expected," Hecate concluded in that playful tone, then gave a good-natured smile at Persephone. "Quite stubborn, isn't he?"

"At times," Persephone agreed, her voice short.

Hecate glanced from Persephone to Hades in confusion, picking up on their hostility. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"My son has run off again," Hades replied. "I hoped you'd know where he is, seeing how he's helping you restore peace in your realm."

"I'm afraid not," Hecate apologized, and she really did sound sorry. "I have a hard enough time keeping track of my children... I could use my magic to locate him for you if you're too busy to do so yourself."

"I'm not," Hades informed her, the indifference in his tone shifting to anger. "In fact, I tried what I knew, then Persephone, then her nature spirit handmaidens tried variants of nature magic. Nothing even came close to working; were I not the King of the Underworld, I'd think he was dead."

What?!

"That's... unfortunate," Hecate said, speechless from shock. "But,--forgive me if I offend you, Lord Hades--isn't your son a bit of a flight risk? I'm sure everything's all right, he likely found and taught himself a charm at Hogwarts, to try and give himself time alone. I'm sure it'll wear off soon; there's no cause for alarm, these things rarely last long."

" 'Flight risk?' " Hades questioned, his temper rising. " 'Found and taught himself a charm?' That's awfully convenient, it all being blameless happenstance."