The Sea Reaper

XVII

I wake up crying.

Not the best start to any day, but especially not when I had training and traveling planned. I try to pull myself together but the tears kept slipping. I just...I miss her so much.
Dreams as a demigod are always difficult. They're either showing you how you might die or making you revisit trauma you wish you'd never lived through. But after Annabeth, dreams have become unbearable. Watching her die in my dreams is horrible. Reliving memories of her? That's worse. Every time those dreams start, I get so happy. I'm with my wise girl again. We're fighting together or goofing off at camp or kissing at our cabins. We're together and, for a split second, I forget that she's really gone. Then I wake up. And every time I wake up, I have to say goodbye.

I wipe off the tears and slump out of my bed, a bitter chuckle rising from my chest. A soft feeling on my arm makes me look up. Breen stares at me, nudging my thigh. "Hey Breen, you hungry?" I ask, my voice gruff from sleep and tears. Breen seemed to shake her head before hopping on my thighs, curling up in my lap. She starts purring and I can't help but stroke her soft fur.

I don't know how long I sit there, petting Breen and trying to pull it together. I just let her comfort soak in for as long as I can but eventually I have to go. Reluctantly, I heaved myself up to feed the girls and get ready for today. After I was showered, dressed, and packed for the trip I headed out of the box. I needed to do some investigating.

I know that learning to do magic takes time but I just feel like I've been doing nothing since I got to England. It's time to use my natural talent of attracting trouble to do some snooping. And what better place to find out more about the dark underbelly of magical UK than the area Hermione described as "the darkest collection of businesses in the entire British wizarding world."

—————————————
Knockturn Alley is gross.

I don't know what I was expecting from an alley dedicated to the dark arts, but all my expectations were surpassed in the worst way possible. Knockturn Alley was dingy and decaying. It felt like it was forgotten, left to rot right off to the side of the
gaudy, elaborate Diagon Alley displays. Where Diagon was bright and colorful Knockturn was moldy and dark. It was...actually really sad.

As I walked through the grimy streets, I noticed another obvious contrast to Diagon. Most of the foot traffic was non-human. Hag, ghosts, and particularly fat goblin bustled through the streets, often giving wary looks and wide berths to me and the other few witches and wizards passing through. The wariness was soon proved warranted when a hag stumbled over her robes a little too near a witch. The woman sneered and spat at her, the hag cowering away and the witch carrying on as if nothing had happened, dusting her shoulder like she might be infected just from standing near the hag.

Now that I think about, I hadn't see one non-human the entire time I was walking through Diagon alley. Did all of the not-so-human magicals live here? Were they not welcome in the shinier Diagon? And why were they treated so much worse than humans?

The blatant discrimination was getting on my nerves real quick. To avoid a magical assault charge on the second week of knowing wizards exist, I decided to duck into the nearest shop.

Talk about heebie-jeebies. Every inch of shelf space was crammed with bones, ash, and what looked like vials of blood. Candles littered the store, melted wax blending into the seemingly ancient wooden floor boards. Surprisingly, not a speck of dust in sight. Thinking back on it this only added to the creep factor, though, because it meant the shop was in use enough to stay clean.

As I peruse the shelves in awe and slight horror, I hear someone clearing their throat behind me. My hand shot to my pocket as I whipped around. Instead of some Grecian monster or British boggart, there's a lean, good looking in a kinda-dead way guy about my age. The corners of his pale lips were upturned in a slight smirk, amusement in his kohl-lined eyes.

"Jumpy much?" He asks, looking me up and down. I slowly move my hand away from my pocket.  "Not many people can sneak up on me." I say, kind of impressed. "Not many people like you come to this shop" he shoots back, kind of intrigued. "People like me?" I ask, kind of offended.

"Half bloods."

Ah. This may be a problem.