American Royalty III

Part 15: Bye Bye Grim Old Place

Connor sat in the dim study of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. The others had left half an hour ago to break into the Ministry for the locket, leaving just him, Percy, Jason, and Valerie behind. Yet even with their presence elsewhere in the house, the quiet felt deafening. It wasn't just the absence of noise—it was the absence of her.

He wasn't sure why he'd brought it out, but with the oppressive silence of the house pressing down on him and the ache of missing her so sharp it almost hurt to breathe, he couldn't resist opening it. The album was a time capsule of their shared history, moments frozen in ink and paper that brought her back to life, if only for a moment.

Connor brushed his thumb across the cover, hesitating. A part of him wanted to slam it shut, to bury it back in her trunk and pretend he wasn't unravelling without her. But he couldn't. Not tonight. With a shaky breath, he flipped to the first page.

The photo stared back at him: Kit and Percy surfing, their movements so fluid it was as if they belonged to the sea itself. Kit's dark hair whipped behind her as she rode the wave, her face alight with exhilaration. Percy was grinning beside her, the two of them perfectly in sync. They looked unstoppable, untouchable, like they could take on the world.

Connor's hand trembled as his fingertips grazed the edge of the photo. The memory hit him like a wave, pulling him under.

Flashback

It was their second summer at Camp Half-Blood, and Connor had been sitting on the shore, arms crossed, watching Percy and Kit carve through the waves with effortless ease. Connor was hopeless at surfing. His pride had taken a serious hit after several failed attempts, and now he sat scowling at the two Poseidon kids who looked like they'd been born with saltwater in their veins, that wouldn't surprise him.

"Come on, Connor!" Percy shouted from the water, his voice carrying over the sound of crashing waves. "You can't be worse than me!"

Connor narrowed his eyes. "Dude you are literally the son of the sea god, I'm definitely worse than you."

Kit paddled toward the shore, her grin wide as she reached him. "Still sulking?" she teased, water dripping from her hair as she propped herself up on her surfboard.

"I'm not sulking," Connor shot back, though his tone betrayed him. "I'm just taking a strategic break."

Kit rolled her eyes. "Strategic, huh? You've been sitting here long enough to grow roots. Come on, I'll teach you."

He scoffed. "Teach me? You'll probably drown me just for fun."

"Tempting," she said, smirking. "But nah, I'll be nice. Besides, you can't get any worse."

Connor groaned, but her determination was relentless. Against his better judgment, he let her drag him back into the water. She was patient—surprisingly so—guiding him through the basics. He wiped out twice before he even managed to stand, and on the third try, he toppled headfirst into the waves.

When he resurfaced, sputtering and gasping, Kit was waiting for him, laughing so hard she nearly fell off her own board. "Okay," she said between giggles, "maybe you really are hopeless."

"I'm blaming you for this," Connor grumbled, though he couldn't help but grin. Her laughter was contagious, and for a moment, the sting of failure didn't matter. He'd do it all over again just to hear that sound.

End of Flashback

Back in the study, Connor blinked, the memory fading like mist. He turned the page, revealing a photo of Kit and him at a campfire. She was mid-laugh, her head tilted back, her dark hair catching the light of the flames. Connor couldn't tear his eyes away. She was radiant, her joy so palpable it practically jumped off the page.