Dark Phoenix (Nico Di Angelo & Harry Potter)

9

The screams echoed somewhere in the crevices of Nico's memory, and he could already taste the bitterness of the warm blood pooling under his tongue.

It was a memory that replayed time and time again when he chose for it to resurface.

The tug – the tug was taking it away from him once more.

No matter how hard Nico tried to remember the events leading up to his arrival in the world of magic, he could only hear the wailing a mile away, and see bright red and green lights burrow into his corneas.

And then he was back – standing in front of Chiron, getting the list of Gods requiring their stupid action figures, hearing the centaur drone on about strawberry season, and then of course – there was Will Solace watching him leave the camp with the same hollow gaze and hollower words.

And then the sirens.

It was pissing Nico off to no end.

When he was sure dawn had broken, the son of Hades wordlessly followed a drowsy Ron Weasley as they both freshened up and put on their jumpers, against an unexpected September chill, and trundled down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

Hermione was still staring at him – smart girl. He knew to expect questions once they were in Hogwarts and out of Sirius's watchful gaze. He hoped that Draco, the unofficial king of acceptable excuses, had found something he could tell the girl without feeling her hydra-like stabbing gaze on him at every waking moment.

Tartarus, he couldn't even look her in the eye without choking on his toast.

The silence over the table that morning was deafening; Nico could feel the pricking gaze of Mr Weasley who was sitting across him and pretending to tuck into his own plate of eggs and toast while his other hand hovered over a fresh newspaper.

Nico expected the heat, but Mr Weasley seemed to have been deliberately avoiding any mention of the subject of Harry Potter winding up on the front page (not the headlines per se, but it was easy to spot his name somewhere down the bottom in its glorious print), and Harry's friends on the table had surreptitiously decided that Nico had done no wrong – it was either that or they wanted in no way to have been associated with the incident.

"Aren't you early up early? All set to leave then?" Mr Weasley asked the table politely, his voice jarring, and careful at the same time.

Nico chewed on the same bolus, and it was now a tasteless paste coating his tongue as Ron's voice floated in and out of his conscious.

He hadn't a clue where Mrs Weasley was that morning, but he did hear the man with the shaggy brown hair and white scars comfort her as she wept over something the night before. It didn't cross him to intrude on the conversation although he was sure he'd have gotten something interesting and revealing out of it.

Nico, already on his third egg, nodded in reply to Mr Weasley and shoved another slice of buttered bread into his mouth.

"Ron's given me a thorough description of everyone who's ever set foot into Hogwarts," he supplied helpfully, hoping that the man wouldn't bring up the whole fiasco of his name somehow being associated with a violent encounter on the paper – one he did not incite, thank you very much.

"Malfoy included, that git," said Ron over a plateful of mostly canned ham. Unlike Nico, he thought airily, with no regard to the news. "But I'm sure you found it a task to forget him."

"He'll make sure of that, you mean," said Nico in reply. He wondered if Draco would suddenly materialise in front of him after days of going stag.

"Ha! Want to wager on him pissed by your indifference?"