The Lost Prince of Olympus

His crib is empty

Hadrian had been in the realms of Morpheus when he had been taken.

His chubby hands had curled up around him as they gripped his blanket and his eyes closed as he lay in bliss, unaware of the chaos unfolding around him.

He had been taken in the dead of night, on the eve of his first birthday and on a day his fathers would spent the rest of their lives thinking of.

The babes room was elegant, even Nemesis had to grudgingly admit as she surveyed its contents.

The carpet was plush, its texture smooth and soft to the touch, the color a pearl white that shone as it caught the rays of sunlight glinting and peaking through the gaps in the curtains forming a shadowed mosaic on the floor as it fell. Multicolored toy boxes lay on the side, their lids sealed shut with difficulty, the chests unable to hold the quantity of toys laid within. The walls were a dark blue, the color resembling the hue of the sea rather than the blue of the sky.

Her eyes moved, flickering side to side, cautious and awaiting, half expecting a God to fall out through the oversized closet in the side and discover her mission. She could not be caught. The Olympians would have her head and her children's if she was caught in their trap, she was not safe, she was not alone. Carelessness was a luxury she could not afford.

Padded footsteps echoed behind her, the open door she had left allowing the sound to flow and cover the room in its essence. Her eyes closed, a shuddering breath left her lips and she wished, she hoped, desperately that if she waited long enough, if she pinched herself hard enough that when she awoke none of this would have happened.

Her children would have been safe at camp half blood, their fathers alive and whole and their tormentor weakened, unable to rise from the pits of Tartarus where he belonged.

When she opened her eyes, she felt the familiar rush of disappointment and pain fill her, for she was still standing in Hadrian's room, her children were still hurt and her lovers dead. The footsteps had belonged to none other than her corrupt accomplice who grinned, his beard long and his eyes twinkling, doing nothing but quicken her beating heart and scramble her thoughts.

She could not do this. She could not take someone's child. This was not revenge. This was torture.

Her own children's screams echoed in her head, their pleading faces and hollowed cries.

But she had to. She could not afford not to. She did not have the pleasure of choice.

Taking a steadying breath she nodded, her eyes watering and her mind screaming. Her feet moved forward, every shift and step of their own accord and every painstaking movement, every stretch and bend of her arm sluggish and wrong as she picked the babe from his crib, his slumber vanishing and his life disturbed.

Her arms shook, she resisted the urge to put him down, his warm body snuggling up to her, unknowing and innocent, so innocent. The necklace in her pocket felt heavy, it burned and dragged her down, the weight feeling wrong, foreign, traitorous. Her accomplice grinned again, his ghastly expression almost gleeful as he watched her suffer, as he watched her go against her domain and everything she had ever stood for, in the place of his bloodthirsty whims. His arms stretched out, motioning, asking, commanding her to hand him over and to her dismay she found herself complying.

Weakling, coward.

The voices whispered in her head, ashamed and embarrassed to even belong to her. She thought briefly of betrayal, of getting her true revenge, of ripping the babe from his arms and driving a knife through his throat and watching the blood seep out staining the white carpet beneath them. She thought of isolating his master, hurting him and stabbing him, then leaving him and taking pleasure in his screams of agony knowing that her family had been brought justice. But then she jolted back to the present and remembered who the man in front of her was and what his master could truly do. The very thought brought goosebumps to her skin.

"The necklace " The man in front of her hissed, his eyes twinkling harder, his expression more gleeful with each step they treaded.

She nodded hurriedly, her hands thrusting into her pocket, her fingers brushing over the cool metal of the charm and the thin chain that held it together. Lifting it up she held it in front of her eyes, the symbol of her master seeming so much more menacing in the light of the sun. The circle was perfect, a single black dot encapsulated within and the arrow erupting from it pointing upwards. She held it forward, unhooking the clasp at the back and lowering it gently, tightening it and fastening it around the baby's neck.

The symbol glowed, its cool silver morphing briefly to a pitch black as it heated, flames beginning to flicker and fall from it. The baby's chest began to scar slowly , the flames burning his once soft skin, till he had a red burn mark underneath the token and Nemesis knew as she stared, that it wasn't leaving any time soon.

"It'll work then?" Her companions rough voice growled, his eyes narrowing as he stared and his face full of distrust. "It'll hide him?"

"Yes." Her voice sounded distorted, slurred as if she was speaking underwater. "It will hide him. No one will know he is a God. To the rest of the world, he will just be another unclaimed demigod. Our secret will remain safe for as long as we want it. For as long as that necklace stays intact, he will be lost."

"Good." The voice of Albus Dumbledore echoed, his robes billowing after him as he stormed out, the baby in his arms newly named, his identity carved once more.

Gone was Hadrian Olympia. Harry Potter had arrived.