Chapter Text

Part One: First Summer

Summer is where it all began and everything changed.

i. First Week

Monday: To Claim a Son

“Hail, Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Aphrodite, lady of the doves, goddess of love.”

The pronouncement echoed in his mind. He stood frozen, as the people around him stood up from kneeling, cheering at the reveal of his godly parent. Beside him, Blackstone gently pushed him towards McLean, who was supposedly his sister, and counsellor – whatever that meant.

“Hey,” McLean smiled at him. “I know it all seems strange, but if you have any questions, just ask me or Mitchell. We’re your counsellors.” A boy with particularly bright cyan hair waved before kneeling down to listen to a little boy and girl — more siblings? Or just other campers? Draco wasn’t sure. “Come, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Draco hesitated, looking back to Blackstone, who was already in a conversation with one of her siblings. He took a deep breath and followed his… sister. Merlin—gods, that was weird to think. He could feel everyone else’s eyes on him… he did his best to ignore their curiosity. He wondered if he would need to prove himself in some way. What was expected of him as a son of Lady Aphrodite?

“Everyone, Draco.” McLean gestured to what Draco assumed were their siblings. “Draco, everyone. Be polite,” she hissed, eyes landing particularly on a girl with short, straight black hair, who scoffed.

“Oh please,” the girl rolled her eyes, and gracefully stood up. Draco had to crane his head up to meet her eyes. “I’m always polite, Piper… to the ones who deserve it, at least.” She looked him up and down, “ You are still up for debate… little brother.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “And who are you to judge? You don’t seem to hold any power here.”

The air became tense and she leaned over, looming over him. Her eyes were sharp and her smile was full of teeth and promise, though still very beautiful. “Mom blessed me with charmspeak. I can make you do whatever I want.”

Charmspeak. Draco did not know what that was, but it sounded dangerous. “And I can turn you into a frog. So I repeat, who are you to judge me?”

She looked at him and he looked back. The tension increased and for a moment he thought McLean was about to interfere, when suddenly it seemed to disappear. The girl grinned and extended a manicured hand.

“I’m Drew Tanaka.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

Behind Tanaka, one of their siblings whispered, “Is this… friendship?”

Tuesday: Who's the Father?

“Lucius is not your father.” Mother’s words reverberated around in his mind. Draco had left the infirmary not long ago, leaving her to rest, and to clear his own head. He couldn’t be near Mother right now. Not after she had lied to him and Father for years.

He was a demigod. A son of Aphrodite, one of the Twelve Olympians, the eldest of the Twelve. He was not meant to be alive. Nobody in this camp should be alive. Demigods were extinct. Obviously not, his mind mocked him. After all, Draco was alive, and so was everyone else here. He didn’t know how to feel. Blackstone had said that the gods left England and, as their children, they followed. What did that mean for Draco? Would he be able to return to England? Would he have to cut off all connections from everyone back home? From his friends? From Father ?

“Hey! You’re Draco, right? Piper’s new sibling?” Draco frowned slightly, unused to being recognized for something other than being the son of his father and mother. To being seen as someone other than the Malfoy heir, at first glance. The girl — and her bright red hair made Draco wonder if the Weasleys had family in the States — noticed and grimaced. “Sorry, do you prefer another term? Brother? Sister?”

He blinked, perplexed. “Brother is fine… or sibling. I am… not used to being referred to as someone's brother, that is all.”

The girl grinned and Draco was certain her hair seemed to become brighter and frizzier, briefly, her eyes sparked green. Maybe another of Blackstone’s siblings? He was certain he’d met them all during his first night, but it was a possibility that she was new.

“Sorry! I didn’t introduce myself,” she laughed and brushed her hand against her pants, which Draco noticed were covered in paint, before extending it to him. “Rachel Elizabeth Dare.”

Tentatively, he shook her hand. The name sounded slightly familiar, but Draco could not quite place it. “And who is your godly parent?”

She laughed, it sounded like wind chimes and hissing all at once. It was unsettling. “I’m mortal. No godly parent,” her eyes sparkled with mischief and Draco felt a shiver go down his spine at her next words. “I’m the host of the Oracle of Delphi.”

(“That is basically everything you need to know,” Blackstone had said near the end of the tour. “Well, you still need to meet Rachel, but she is coming back a bit later.”

“Who?”

She’d never answered his question. But Draco remembered the shark grin and glint of her eyes vividly.)

The Oracle of Delphi. A mortal with divine protection and the ability to see the future. A mortal who had paved the path for some of the most famous heroes. A mortal who not only worked close with Lord Apollo, but the Three Sisters too. A mortal who spoke the Fate’s will.

A mortal who stood in front of him, covered in paint, a wide smile, and an inexplicably odd aura that now had a very logical and dangerous explanation. Whatever insults he had about her outfit, hair and potential relation to the Weasleys vanished. Draco just knew that he should not anger someone who hosted the spirit that could speak his future.

“I just came back, and I thought I would introduce myself.” She continued to shake his hand, either unaware of the fear gripping him, or ignoring it. Draco was not sure which was worse. “Not sure if you were shown, but my place is up that cave over there —” Draco looked over where she was pointing. It was high up a hill, surrounded by trees, and if he squinted he could just make out an opening on the side. “Every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday I have art sessions. You don’t even have to come every day, just whenever you want, to de-stress, or just be.”

“You’re… mortal.” Draco closed his eyes in regret. He wished for the world to open up and swallow him whole. Mother’s stories, whenever the Oracle was present, emphasised on how respected the Oracle was. She would be so disappointed in him.

But Mother had also lied to him and Father for years. He was not sure how he felt about her hypothetical disappointment.

“Yeah, I am.” The Oracle — Dare — laughed, finally letting go of his hand. “But I don’t feel mortal. And you don’t feel it either.” No, he didn’t. It was odd. She wasn’t a demigod, it didn’t feel right, but calling her a mortal didn’t either. “I have to go, but it was great meeting you, Draco.”

Numbly, still very much in shock, he waved and as she continued towards the forest, she froze. Draco frowned as she turned to face him, a small smile on her lips. “I know everything seems confusing now, and I get it. You don’t have to feel fine now or in a week. But we are here for you. We’re just one big family, here at camp.”

He stayed put on the spot even long after Dare disappeared among the trees. Her words echoed in his mind. So maybe he still didn’t know how to feel, but… he had others who had felt the same at some point. That was a start.

And hey! Maybe everything would be fine, after all.

Wednesday: Magical Bonding

Today was Wednesday, his third day at Camp Half-Blood, and Draco had plans to stay in his cabin where he wouldn’t be disturbed, and quietly freak out in his bed all day in between bouts of sleep. But it seemed that Blackstone had other ideas. She barged into his cabin, and dragged him into hers. He tried the excuse of training, but apparently she had already talked to Chiron and Piper to give him the day off.

“Julia is taking charge of our siblings so it is just us. We are going to be teaching you about magic!” She grinned, shoving him past the door.

“Pardon?” We?

“Don’t forget about proper terminology!” Lopéz yelled from across the room, “Or the Trace! We need to explain the Trace.”

“Oh, right!” Blackstone grinned. “Basically, the magical borders that surround the camp also block the Trace. So any magic you do here won’t be detected by MACUSA. Or the Ministry of Magic, I guess.”

“The Mist does it too!” Todd piped up from his bed above Draco. “Of course, it only works for us.” He winked, grinning widely.

Draco blinked, processing the information. The trace was blocked . He could do magic outside of the Manor, and he wouldn’t be expelled. Did this only work in the States? Or was it worldwide? A loud thud took him out of his musings. Lopéz gave him a sheepish smile as she righted the chair she had dropped, before sitting down.

“Alright,” she grinned as Blackstone sat down beside her, and Todd grudgingly left his bed to sit beside Draco. “Before we start, my name is Flavia Antonella Lopéz. Feel free to call me either Flavia or Antonella, or a variant of them. But don’t call me by my last name.”

Draco wanted to deny and insist on following what he had been taught, but… she, along with Blackstone and Todd, had taken time out of her day to teach him magic. To teach him things that he would need to know, not only as a wizard but a demigod. And Flavia Antonella was a respectable name…

“Very well.” Draco conceded, and a rush of happiness and relief went through him. He could tell it wasn’t his own. He guessed Flavia Antonella really hadn’t wanted him to use her last name.

“Great!” Flavia Antonella grinned. “Lou?”

“Got it!” Blackstone triumphed, waving a notebook and pen before flipping it open. “Alright, I made a list of what we need to go over. We can add from there. We explained the Trace… Do you know what the Mist is, Draco?”

“Uh. A force that twists Muggles’ perspective into something their minds can understand.” He quieted down, trying to remember Piper’s explanation. “Some Muggles can see through it. As demigods, we can see through it, but if it’s strong enough, it can fool even us.”

“Mortals. Not Muggles.” Todd corrected, seeming amused at the term. “Muggles are mortals, but so are wizards and witches. They are just mortals who can use magic — mortal magic, but magic nonetheless.”

“Right.” That was something Draco needed to get used to. To… to view wizards and witches at the same level as… Muggles. As mortals. All of them.

“So you know about the Mist,” Blackstone muttered after the silence lengthened. “Right, so no-majs — that's our term for mortals without magic, if we need to be specific — in general cannot see through the Mist. Mortals with magic have an easier time, since the supernatural is natural for them, but some can see more than others. Usually, they’re thought to be a bit… odd.”

Or loony, Draco thought absentmindedly. Can Lovegood see through the Mist?

“Trace.. Mist…” Todd cocked his head to the side, leaning forward to see his sister’s notes. “The pureblood thing would be good too.”

“But I know what a pureblood is.” Draco frowned, “The Malfoys and Blacks come from a long line of purebloods.”

“ Pretty sure you’re the only one in a long time, actually,” Flavia Antonella looked at him, before turning to her sister. “I am right about that, right?”

“The terms changed after the gods left.” Blackstone explained before turning to Draco. “What’s the definition you grew up with? Just so I can know how far off it is.”

Draco bristled, but conceded. “A wizard or witch from a magical family that has been part of the wizarding world for four generations or more without being tainted by Mugg—no-maj blood.” No-maj, no-maj, no-maj, he reminded himself.

Todd snorted, mouthing tainted mockingly. “That’s the definition you began to use once the gods left England. The actual definition is this: a wizard or witch with the blood of the gods. You, Draco, are the only remaining pureblood — true pureblood, anyway — from England now.”

What?

“There are very few of us now,” Blackstone continued, unaware or uncaring of just how… life changing the news Todd had just imparted was. “Me, Flavia, Peter, two or three of our Roman siblings, and now you are the only true purebloods in the world.”

“As far as we know,” Flavia Antonella sang with a grin. “Maybe Mom or another god has another pureblood demigod that hasn’t made their way to either camp yet.”

“Or that. But that’s unlikely.”

“So… Mother is not a pureblood. Not a true one, at least.” The Hecate siblings all shook their heads. “And neither is Father.” Again, they shook their heads. Does that mean that the Weasleys are not blood-traitors? Are there no half-bloods? Or mud—Muggleborns? “I am a pureblood. Mother is not, she’s a mortal. Like everyone else.”

The words felt heavy on his tongue, but not untrue. They felt right.

“Anything else?”

“There’s the healing. With spells and potions,” Todd pointed out, once Blackstone shook her head.

“Yeah, but I need to talk to Will about that. Draco has mortal magic, but only mortal magic. His godly abilities come from Lady Love, not Lady Magic,” she explained, after packing up the notepad. “And it has been a long time since a true pureblood wizard was born from a god that is not our mom.”

“What difference does that make? I’m a demigod, shouldn’t everything that heals a demigod be able to heal me too?”

Flavia Antonella frowned, tapping her finger against the side of her chair. “Not necessarily. Ambrosia and nectar will heal you like any demigod, and too much will kill you. That doesn’t change. But, for example, take Percy. Water heals him just as well as ambrosia, but only because he’s the son of the Sea God, it won’t heal anyone else.”

“So, something that may heal you, doesn’t necessarily mean it will heal me. Even if we both have magic.” Draco concluded. “How do we figure it out then?”

The three grimace. “We would need to do testing. It’s why I need Will, he’s the best healer at camp.” Blackstone sighed, “That way it’s more… controlled. But! Let’s not think about that. Do you have any questions? Before we begin with magic!”

“I met Dare, yesterday. She said that she is not mortal, but she is not a demigod either.”

“Rachel is a unique case,” Todd began slowly. “ Technically, she is a mortal, but she is blessed by the Sun God and has divine protection because she’s the Oracle. It was by accident that we found out she has become less mortal…” he grimaced, and Draco felt a small wave of guilt come from him.

Blackstone continued once it was clear her brother would not, Flavia Antonella squeezed Todd’s hand. “Uh. Well, long story short: Peter wanted to see if he could control his throwing knives with magic. He can, and is super efficient at it now, but he accidentally used a bit too much force—”

“Rachel was walking by when I lost control of one of them and it flew right at her—”

“To be fair,” Flavia Antonella sent Draco a tight smile, “all of our demigod weapons go through mortals. It can’t harm them, and Rachel has said she met Percy when he tried to cut her in half with Riptide and it went right through.”

“I’m guessing it did not go through her,” Draco forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. It worked, though only slightly.

“Yeah, no.” Todd sighed. “It hit her right on the shoulder, nothing fatal, thank the gods, but she couldn’t move that arm properly for a week. It could have been less than that, but no one wanted to test out if she can survive consuming ambrosia or nectar. We still don’t know.” Remembering his first day at camp, after the hellhound attack, Draco nodded in understanding. It was not exactly a test that could be proven without casualties. “We’re calling her God-touched now. She is not a demigod, but she is less mortal than before.”

The rest of the day went by in a blur of magic and sharing comparisons between Magical Europe and Magical Americas. Draco could safely admit that for the first time since arriving, he had never had so much fun.

Thursday: No Place for Mortals

On his fourth day, Draco had almost become used to the craziness that was everywhere—and every thing —at camp. He had two counsellors, unlike the rest, with only one, or at least three, like the Hermes cabin (Draco wasn’t sure exactly how many counsellors there were, but they seemed to take turns). He came to understand that they were like Prefects, or Head Boy and Girl back at Hogwarts. And just like at Hogwarts, they had meetings that were just between the counsellors and Dare, and, depending on the issue, Chiron would join.

Which was why Draco was confused when Mitchell told him that he would be joining that day’s meeting. It wasn’t unusual for campers to join meetings, but normally that was brief, and mainly just to send quick messages. This didn’t sound like that.

“Oh, good, everyone’s here,” Chiron greeted them with a smile. “We can start. Draco, you’re probably wondering why we asked for you. Well, that would be because the meeting is about your mother.”

Draco sat up straighter, and possible scenarios began to play out in his mind. Is Mother sick? Did her wounds not heal properly?

“Nothing bad has happened to her, Draco,” Jackson sent him a reassuring smile. Draco relaxed, and didn’t bother to correct Jackson. He had learned pretty quickly that no one at camp really called anyone by their surname. “It’s just… she can’t stay here.”

“Why?”

“She’s mortal. Doesn’t belong here.” La Rue shrugged, bold in a way that Draco had become used to from children of Ares. He bristled.

“If Mother goes back to England, then so will I.”

“Nobody is saying that she returns to England, Draco.” Piper jumped in, glaring at La Rue. “And you can’t leave until you have enough training. We can’t keep you here, but leaving now is a death sentence. Monsters will come after you.”

“Then what? I will not allow Mother to live in the streets and beg for food like some plebeian.” Around him, some campers mouthed the words, amusement clear in their eyes. It only angered Draco further.

“My mom is offering her a place.” Draco turned towards Jackson. “Your mom can’t stay at camp and doesn’t have her own place in NY. We have a guest room your mom can use.”

“Then why is Dare still here? She’s a mortal!”

Dare, who Draco still could not believe was also the Great Oracle of Delphi, leaned forward. “Sure, but not a mortal like me. ” He furrowed his eyebrows, and gave her his complete attention. “I’m the Oracle of Delphi. I’m part of the pantheon now, but your mom is not. Draco, when you’re around me, how do you feel? Like, emotionally?”

He frowned, ready to tell her how odd of a question that was, but he stopped himself. He may have only been at Camp Half-Blood for four days, but he’d come to learn that every odd question had more importance than he thought. 

“Normal.”

“And what about your mom?”

“... Normal.”

She smiled, “Not before . How do you feel when you’re around her now? At camp.”

He was ready to say normal again, but stopped himself. That wasn’t true. It… it didn’t feel normal. It felt like an intrusion. It felt like using the Floo Network, like something like nausea, and a twist in his gut he’d come to learn only appeared when something particular wrong was in the air. Except, with the Floo Network, the feeling vanished eventually, but not when he was around Mother.

He had thought it was the leftover anger and resentment of being lied to about his parentage, but that had dissipated a long time ago, hadn’t it. He just hadn’t noticed.

“Weird,” Draco concluded. “Intrusive.”

Dare nodded, satisfied. “It’s because she’s just mortal. She doesn’t have any godly blessing, or any godly connection other than you . I’m blessed by Lord Apollo, and his Oracle. So while technically, I am mortal, yeah, I have a godly blessing that made me part of the pantheon.”

Draco closed his eyes, it pained him, but he nodded. Blackstone’s words finally made sense. Rachel is mortal, but she is the Oracle. God-Touched. “If your mother has no issue, Jackson, then I do not see why I should deny your offer.”

“It’s decided then. Narcissa will remain in the Jackson-Blofis household. Travis? Can you bring her?” Travis Stoll froze, mid-way through teasing his brother Connor Stoll, who was blushing bright red and looking anywhere but Mitchell. Draco forced down his smile at the sight. Piper and the rest of the counsellors didn’t bother.

“Right!” Travis grinned, and with a speed that Draco knew only children of Hermes possessed, he was out of the door and back with Mother in tow. She looked slightly disgruntled, but managed to hide it well.

Draco watched Mother closely as Chiron explained the situation. Her expressions were miniscule, barely there, but Draco knew his mother. He knew the slight scrunch of her nose and the tightness of her shoulder were of hidden disgust, unwilling to show such expression around company she considered important and powerful. So while nobody else saw it, Draco saw and felt — well, Mitchell and Piper probably felt it too — the slight disgust of his Mother at the prospect of having to live with Muggles. Draco found that he was not disgusted by the idea. He was not… pleased, but this was a Muggle who caught the attention of one of the Three Kings, and sired the most powerful demigod of their time. A demigod of two Great Prophecies, and who had argued openly with the gods — and lived.

“Very well.” Mother shook hands with Chiron before turning to Jackson. “When will we be leaving?”

“Now,” Jackson smiled and stood up with Chase. “We were going to pay mom a visit after the meeting anyway. We’ll take Mrs. O’Leary.”

Draco grimaced, remembering his own meeting with Mrs. O’Leary, the friendly hellhound. He remembered how his first thought had been that Mother would hate her, especially. As Jackson whistled and Mrs. O’Leary appeared, Draco could tell his prediction had been correct. The moment that Mother saw her, she grew pale, and barely managed to keep a blank expression. Chase helped her up, before sitting down herself. Jackson sat in front of them, right behind Mrs. O’Leary’s gigantic head.

“Goodbye, Draco, darling,” Mother said quietly, and he blushed, but sort of hugged her waist goodbye. He promised to come visit her soon enough, and let go. 

Draco watched as they disappeared into the shadows, and soon, all that remained was the dark spot where they had once stood, as the oddness Draco had felt ever since coming to Camp Half-Blood finally dissipated. Everything felt right, and the guilt was eating him up. He turned to look down at the camp, though, watching as the rest of the counsellors made the walk down, and it felt right.

Camp Half-Blood was no place for mortals.

Friday: Swords and Flags

Draco was not ashamed to admit that when he was first told about sword fight training, he had laughed. He’d only stopped because he realised that his siblings were not joining in on his amusement. Then he remembered that every demigod, even when they were just casually walking around, had some sort of weapon, but he rarely saw a sword. Jackson and di Angelo were the only ones who came to mind if he really thought about it, so while he no longer thought it was a silly idea, he still wasn’t quite sure if this wasn’t just part of some elaborate joke.

And then Friday came along.

Throughout the days leading up to his first lesson with his cabin, his siblings and other demigods had been very clear on who exactly the teacher was: Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, and the best swordsman in the last three hundred years.

(Draco had asked who had held the title before Jackson. His siblings had told him it was someone named Luke Castellan, son of Hermes.

“You’ll learn the story soon,” Mitchell had told him after a long and uncomfortable silence. “Every new camper learns about the wars at one point. Just, be aware that not all the stories will be… in favour of Luke, or some of the other demigods here.”)

And while he had yet to know about the wars, the specific details at least, he knew Jackson was revered at camp, at least in part, because he played a major part in both of them. That was enough to make Draco nervous as he and his siblings approached the training arena. It did not help that Jackson was standing in the centre surrounded by all different kinds of swords. If he had not already been told that Jackson was a demigod, Draco would have confused him for a god. The sun shined down on him perfectly, making him seem bigger than the world and his eyes looked as if he had the ocean trapped in them. And the aura he radiated! The brief introduction that happened in Draco’s first day was nothing compared to the otherworldliness Jackson emitted now.

For a moment, Draco was sure he and his siblings—the children of the eldest Olympian—were just mortals in the presence of Jackson.

If Draco had been nervous before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

“Alright everyone,” Jackson clapped his hand, the grin on his face wide and feral. Draco felt his excitement mix in with his siblings’. “Since Draco is new, we’re going through the basics. You all know the drill, get your swords out and find a spotter. Make sure you have a good distance between yourself and everyone else. We do not want another incident.”

Beside him, Timothy tried his best to hide his laugh behind a cough, but his amusement rolled from him in waves. Draco raised an eyebrow, but he soon noticed that everyone else also seemed highly amused. He wondered about the story behind that.

“Draco,” he jumped, eyes wide, as Jackson suddenly appeared before him. “Come with me. We need to find a sword that fits you.”

Jackson led him to an almost empty rack of swords. Around them, Draco’s siblings were in fighting positions and doing repeated movements of what Draco assumed were the basics. He didn’t understand what movements were good and which were bad, but his siblings clearly did; every so often, someone would stop what they were doing and correct the person beside them.

“Hold out your dominant hand,” Jackson instructed, bringing Draco’s attention back to him, and he held out his hand with only slight hesitation. “Okay, not too long and definitely not a broadsword. How about—” Jackson picked up a sword that was shorter than most of the others around them, and sleeker than the swords most of the Ares cabin kids carried around. It almost reminded him of Father’s cane.

Draco grabbed it and stumbled, surprised by its weight. Jackson steadied him before he could hit the ground and guided him into a proper stance, and Draco forced his embarrassed flush down. He stood patiently, and Jackson surveyed him before stepping back and met his eyes. They were bluish-green and looked like Draco could drown in them, and he suddenly understood why his siblings waxed poetry about them—if only out of the earshot of Annabeth Chase, his girlfriend.

“Alright, how does the sword feel? Balanced?” Jackson interrupted his thoughts.

Draco frowned, looking down at the sword and swung it forward. It was heavy, heavier than a wand obviously, but not impossible to lift. He would just have to get used to it. “Heavy, but not too bad, I suppose.”

Jackson nodded and took out his own sword. Draco had been fascinated to learn that Jackson’s pen was able to turn into a sword. (He’d also been fascinated to learn what a pen was at all, a lesson that had come immediately after the Jackson-sword one.) He’d gone straight to Blackstone’s cabin to discuss the possibilities of doing something similar with mortal magic.

Theoretically, as they’d had to specify when they heard thunder in a cloudless morning and too much sun that Draco was not used to. His siblings had practically showered him with sunscreen before letting him leave, not that he minded. He would not look good with a sunburn.

“I’m going to do some basic moves, and you're going to copy me, okay?”

And that was exactly what they did, for the next fifteen minutes. Every stab and slash Jackson made, Draco copied to the best of his abilities, and whenever he stepped wrong, or used the wrong amount of force, Jackson was there to correct him. Corrections that included Jackson stepping far too close to his personal space, and Draco having to look away as to not stare for far too long to be socially acceptable.

By the end of the class, Draco could not bring down his blush. Thankfully, he could excuse it because of the sun, but his siblings would not stop laughing. And either Jackson was oblivious or steadily ignoring it, because he left with only a reminder—a warning, really—that he would see them during Capture the Flag.

“I cannot enter this arena again,” Draco groaned to his siblings as they left the arena.

Piper laughed, and Mitchell pushed him gently. “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. At least you have no intention of trying to break Percy and Annabeth up.”

Draco stopped short, processing the information. “Who would be idiotic enough to do that?”

Drew snorted. “Some mortal, an, ahem, friend of Rachel. That’s a story for another time, though. Right now, we have to prepare for Capture the Flag.”

“And our expected defeat!” Sabrina cheered and Draco shook his head. Capture the Flag wasn’t that predictable… right?

***

Draco decided that less said about his first Capture the Flag, the better. Never again would he play against Jackson and Chase. It was a guaranteed loss, and meant he was given a shower without the soaps and shampoos that he needed to maintain his perfect appearance.

“Hurry up, Timothy !” Drew growled, hand itching towards her pocket, where Draco knew she had her nail guards which were specifically designed to cover her hand in intricate designs, which were both stylish and deadly. As long as you had celestial bronze and an idea, the Hephaestus children would make it. “I am dripping in river water and I need my warm shower !”

“Wait your turn! This skin does not get perfect on its own, okay? It takes time !” Timothy yelled back, and Draco was sure he would have continued with the dramatics had it not been for Drew’s yell and a sudden hole in the bathroom door.

Draco groaned. Never. Again.

Saturday: Children of a Bygone Era

Draco huffed, wiping the sweat of his brow before standing at the ready again. It had taken a while for Jackson to find a sword that felt balanced in Draco’s hand. He repeated the motions and steps from the previous lesson, and distantly, he heard the familiar clank of metal against metal. Di Angelo must have moved to using the training dummies. When Draco entered the arena some time ago, di Angelo had already been there, and Draco had debated whether to leave and return later. In the end, he’d decided to stay. No one else was in the arena yet, and Draco could practise on the opposite side. There would be no need for interaction, and if they were to interact, Draco had no problem with asking for suggestions. After Jackson, di Angelo was the best swordsman at camp.

And anyway, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to be on good terms with the son of one of the Three Kings. So when Draco noticed that di Angelo was heading towards the water bottles, he took his chance. Good terms would be good, but for that to be true, Draco needed to at least speak with him.

Maybe he could fill up their water containers and pass one over to di Angelo, maybe even ask for some tips on his sword fighting. That could start a conversation. Before Draco could make up his mind, though, something appeared before him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Water?” Di Angelo asked, eyebrow raised, and intimidating despite being at least one or two inches shorter than Draco. Draco stared at the bottle, fascinated. Usually water would be in a glass or some other container… not in whatever this was. 

“I was shocked, too.” Draco glanced at di Angelo, and confusion must have been clear on his face, because di Angelo wiggled the bottle in his hand. “The plastic bottles. When I was born, they didn’t exist.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, grabbing the offered bottle. “When you were born?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, chugging down some of the water before continuing. “I’m from 1932, Italy. I was born before the Second World War, before The Oath.”

The Oath. His siblings had explained it to him. Apparently, Muggles, no, mortals had had two big wars, and children of the gods had gotten involved, but it was the children of the Three Kings that had had the biggest impact — children of Zeus and Poseidon, against children of Hades. Allegedly, the Great Prophecy had been spoken immediately after the war ended, and the Big Three had sworn an oath on the River Styx to no longer have demigod children, in hopes of preventing the Great Prophecy. And then Percy Jackson had been born, and he’d become the child of the Great Prophecy and killed Kronos. Draco knew more had happened, he had heard the name of Thalia, the daughter of Zeus who’d been born before Jackson, but that was the quick summary he was given. But he had seen some of his siblings talking with Jackson, Chase and Grover something about quests and campfires, and Draco had a feeling he would be learning a more detailed version during the campfire that night.

But yes, Draco knew about it all. But how was Nico still alive? Demigods did not exactly have the longest lifespans, even considering the less-lengthy lives of no-majs, and di Angelo did not look a day over fifteen, and certainly not around eighty years old.

“Long story short, Father put me and my sister in the Lotus Hotel for a few decades before taking us out during Percy’s third quest. So yeah, I know how difficult it is to learn that everything is so different.”

Sure. Why not? Time defying hotels. Draco hesitated before: “My siblings talk about com-pew-ters and fo-nes, but I do not even understand what elec—eleck—”

“Electricity.”

“Yes, thank you. I barely understand what e-leck-tri-ci-ty is.”

Nico stared at him and looked down at his bottle, muttering something which Draco was certain included curses towards Solace, son of Apollo, before he seemed to ready himself. “I can help you. I mean, I was born in 1932 so the technology I grew up with is probably the closest you’ll get to what you’re used to.” He shrugged, “Magical America is much more modern than Magical Britain, or that’s what Lou Ellen and her siblings say, anyway. They’re advanced enough that I think you’ll still get lost. So I can help you catch up before jumping into the more… complicated modern advances.”

Draco stared at him, and he knew he was smiling widely. “Yes. That would be wonderful.”

Nico gave a small, almost shy smile. The rest of the day was spent sitting down on the floor, swords discarded and training forgotten, discussing what baffled them most about technology.

Sunday: More Than Magic

Draco should have run the other way when Blackstone had approached him and demanded his presence in the infirmary. Really, he should have, because maybe then he would have gotten away from her tedious—and sometimes painful—experiments to figure out what could or could not heal him.

(The whispers and the fact that Blackstone dragged him and Solace to the most isolated corner of the infirmary was indication enough that what she was about to do was not approved by Chiron. Really, he should have made a run for it.)

The glint in her eye should have been warning enough. “Okay, first on the list is… healing spells against a wound made by celestial bronze.” She raised her wrist, showing a silver spiked bracelet with the specific glint that Draco recognized came from celestial bronze only.

He scooted back on the bed, eyes wide in alarm as he tried to find the nearest exit. “Whoa, whoa. Blackstone, be reasonable. You cannot just hurt me and hope that I am healed. What if it does not work? Too much ambrosia or nectar and I will burn up, and, quite frankly, I like myself alive.”

Blackstone rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “That’s what Will is for. Best healer at camp.” Her expression became serious, her eyes solemn, and Draco suddenly felt a wave of protectiveness and sadness. “And this way, we also know what to do, if…”

A tense silence seemed to fall over them at the reminder of what was at stake. The only noise came from Solace, rearranging some medical supplies to distract himself. Draco gulped and nodded. He scooted closer to her and gave her his hand. “Alright. Go for it.”

“Not the hand!” Solace interrupted and they turned to look at him. “Do you have any idea how many nerves the hand has? Just, like, lightly stab his fingertip or something. I don’t think we need a deep wound.”

Blackstone blinked and shrugged, and without warning she stabbed Draco’s forefinger. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but it definitely was not a burning sensation that went from his finger, up his arm and settled in his very core. Briefly, he wondered what a deep wound from celestial bronze would feel like. Hopefully, he would never have to learn, but from the little he knew about the life of a demigod so far, one day he probably would, whether from training, or fighting for his survival.

Blood poured from his finger, and Solace handed Blackstone her wand. Draco wondered if he would ever feel comfortable enough to just hand his wand to anyone at camp. Then he stopped thinking, as she cast the most basic healing charm: episkey .

The expected outcome was that the bleeding would stop and his skin would stitch back together. Instead, Draco watched in slowly dawning horror as the wound opened up more as if it was tearing itself apart. The burning pain he had felt came back, much stronger. Maybe this is what a deeper cut would feel like. Tears blurred his vision as Solace pushed Blackstone away and began trying to stop the bleeding. His healing song slowed it down, but the wound was too deep, and Blackstone rushed to the back before coming back with some ambrosia. Draco hesitated. He wasn’t sure how ambrosia would react with the spell, but with one look at the wound and Solace’s reassurance, Draco took the chance. At least it couldn’t make it worse, right?

It was slow, but Solace let the ambrosia do its work. The wound stitched itself back together, the blood stopped dripping and soon all that was left was a small, circular dent the shape of the tip of Blackstone’s bracelet. A reminder of what to never do again.

“I’m guessing that’s not normal, not even by demigod standards.” Draco breathed, still reeling from what had just happened.

Blackstone wordlessly shook her head. Solace replied in her stead, wiping the blood that remained. “Lou Ellen and her siblings—the ones who are also witches and wizards—aren’t affected by healing spells. At all. If the wound inflicted by something from the pantheons, at least. Anything else, the spells work just fine.”

“But I am not a child of Lady Magic,” Draco concluded. “Instead of being neutral, the healing spell worsened the wound because I’m a son of Lady Love.”

Blackstone nodded, “It’s the only thing that makes us different. We’ll have to assume that it will do the same thing if it’s a metal from another pantheon… or a monster.”

“What about demigods with no mortal magic?” Draco asked, wondering if he could use a spell or potion if he did not have ambrosia or nectar on hand.

The air grew suddenly tense, and Draco dreaded the answer. Blackstone frowned, “The spells do not affect the wound, just make them slightly sick. Potions… they’re poison for them. Giving a demigod a potion can kill them, depending on the dose and the purpose of the potion.”

“Has anyone—”

“Not in many years, but during the Civil Demigod War…” the sentence hung unfinished, and Draco did not urge Solace to finish it either. He got the idea clear in his mind. Either Romans had used them against the Greeks… or Greeks had used them against Romans, both equally as likely. And equally horrific. Draco wondered if anyone from the Roman side who had fought or remembered the war was still alive.

The silence laid heavy between them and Draco began to play with the sleeves of his shirt. The shirt belonged to Mitchell, who was the closest to his size. He wished he had his own clothes, but Mother had not given him enough time to pack, and Draco was still unsure about going to the… mall . He had never needed to try various clothes to find his perfect size before, everything had just been fitted to his body perfectly. But Drew had mentioned that part of his power as Aphrodite’s son was to adjust clothes to his liking, though Draco had yet to figure out how to do it. Piper thought it might be because he was still too used to using specific words and a conduit to make things happen.

He could probably start with something simple. Maybe change the colour of the shirt he had gotten when he was claimed? That could work—

“Draco,” Solace met his eyes, “did you ever fight a monster before coming here?”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows, “No? The first one I’d ever seen was when I came to camp. Unless it happened when I was a baby, then Mother would know.”

“Then… what are these?” Gently, Solace pushed up his left sleeve. Blackstone gasped in horror, and Draco looked down. On his forearm there were four distinct long jagged lines, clearly caused by sharp claws. The hippogriff scars, which had never healed properly, for some reason.

“Oh, our… professor had us interact with hippogriffs, once.” Draco hesitated. He wasn’t proud of what he had done, and though he had had no problem lying and getting what he wanted before coming to camp, he doubted Solace or Blackstone would appreciate it very much. Especially since Solace, as a son of Apollo, would be able to call him out on it. “I will admit that I was not as… respectful as I could have been. The hippogriff attacked me.” He shrugged, and nodded down at the scars, tugging the sleeve back down. “They never healed properly. Nobody understood why.”

Solace frowned and shared a brief look with Blackstone, who looked deep in thought. Draco scooted furthered back into the bed, suddenly feeling his own discomfort, but also the worry and anger from the other two. He didn’t understand it. Blackstone, maybe he could see why she would be worried: they both had wizarding parents, so she might feel some sort of kinship with him, or she was worried the same might happen to her. But Solace? They had just met! Even if they were both demigods, Draco did not think that was enough to justify Solace’s worry and anger for Draco’s wellbeing.

“It might be because hippogriffs and other magical creatures are much more connected to the pantheons than magical mortals are,” Blackstone hummed absentmindedly. “Yeah, actually that makes sense. I think one of my Roman siblings had something similar. The spell they used, it didn’t make their wound worse, but it didn’t heal it either? Did your potions just do nothing?”

“Yes,” Draco recalled the memory. Mother and Father had been furious, and Pomfrey had never looked so worried and confused. “Ms. Pomfrey, our Healer, had to do it the Mugg—no-maj way. Bandages and all.”

It had not been a fun week. Despite what the other houses, especially the Gryffindors, especially Potter, had said, he hadn’t been exaggerating his pain and discomfort. Even the slightest touch had brought a sharp pain up his arm, which made moving his arm an awful ordeal. Pansy had exaggerated a bit, but that was just her being herself, really, and he would rather let everyone think it was his own dramatics than have anyone speak ill of his oldest friend. An older Slytherin student who was practising to become a Healer had offered to try a spell, but nothing happened. It was as if the wound was mocking him. In the end, what worked the best was a salve that Tracey asked her parents to send to her. It was a no-maj cream, and while the scars remain no matter what spells or potions Draco, Mother and Father used, the cream had sped up the process a little bit.

“Hippogriffs,” Blackstone hummed, turning to Solace. “Those are related to griffins right? It seems like the Magical World also has Egyptian influence.”

“How should I know?”

Blackstone raised an eyebrow. “Nico talks to Walt, doesn’t he? He, Percy and Annabeth go to the Brooklyn House almost every weekend. Doesn’t one of the kids there have a griffin for a pet?”

“Freak the Griffin, yeah.” Solace smiled, a smile Draco had come to associate with di Angelo. He hadn’t known it could appear with just his name. No wonder his siblings were losing their minds about how slow Solace and di Angelo were at realising that their feelings for each other were so obviously mutual . Draco wanted to tear his hair out.

“A griffin probably mated with some magical creature, and hippogriffs were born,” Blackstone shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Magical creatures tend to avoid demigods, we scare them.” Her grin was feral. “Chances are, the hippogriff attacked you because it sensed your true nature and wanted to get away… acting disrespectfully probably didn’t help though.”

“And centaurs?” Draco thought back to his first detention back in First Year. The centaur he’d met hadn’t hated him, he’d just been indifferent. But that might have been because he was more focused on Potter than anyone else. Had he sensed Draco was a demigod at all then? Or had he been still too young for it to be obvious?

“They love us. Centaur cannot stand mortals, much less magical ones. But we’re demigods, we know exactly what centaurs are capable of. We don’t underestimate them, and they give us the same respect.” Blackstone turned to face him as she cut the tip of her finger with her bracelet. “Try and heal me.”

Draco sighed, but he laughed as he took out his wand and performed the spell. Solace shook his head in disbelief. Blackstone may have been crazy to let him do this to her, but Draco was enjoying this far too much to stop her, and Solace's smile betrayed his own amusement.

Being a demigod definitely made life much more interesting.