39. coolest person ever

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Percy's skin was a mosaic of her life, both of her past and present. There was a scar above her knee from her first picnic at the beach. There were the relatively even lines that were sewn by Coach Hedge to cover the worst wounds from her unplanned trip to Hell.

Her figure wasn't merely a canvas of decisions made by the Fates. Not at all, with the frequency she has defied the destiny written for her, the tragic masterpiece has its own strokes painted by the bearer.

Frank thought she was the coolest person he has met. She was invincible in his view, like that of a god. She was a god for him once. That belief faded with the battles fought with her. Never could she be so withdrawn, untouched, distant.

Instead, she took form in her own right. As someone that cannot be compared, as a warrior in all ways, as family in the way she lends her shoulder and occasionally leans on his as well.

He still thinks she was the coolest demigod he has met.

And one of the things that led him to consider her cool was her tattoos. The beautiful designs along with her blatant joy at having them was a sight to withhold.

Yet, he doesn't think he has ever wanted to see them like that. He has been curious about her tattoos yes, but he has never remotely wished for them to be exposed to the harsh sting of saline solution and the sharp needles to be sewn.

Her ever animated figure lay still. In the oddest times of the night, she trashed in her sleep. She chants the name of  the girl in the last silence left behind her. She stays indisposed in the infirmary cot for weeks.

The Argo II reflects her absent state of motion, alternating between floating on the dark water and hovering among the clouds as she did with screaming herself hoarse and whimpering like a wounded animal.

Seventeen days since her exit from Hell, Percy opens her eyes. Jason knows, he has been counting. He has been ruminating over the probable disappointment of Annabeth at their delay but he was sure that she would have chosen to throw away the quest at her girlfriend's state. She would have summoned Apollo himself and demanded him to heal her, without doubt.

That was the problem, wasn't it? That Annabeth wasn't there, neither to summon gods nor to hold her hand.

Percy has had eyes that had appeared to shine in the dark, almost luminescent. They hardly seemed alive when she opened her eyes then.

She began to hold out her hand to halt their rushing hands when she could manage that. Her body healed in the embrace of the ocean albeit slower than usual. Mentally? No one could say. Perhaps her awful nightmares were an indication but those were nothing new. The only difference was that her suffering was more palpable to the eye and the ear.

With time her mumbled monosyllables became heavy silence. She could be seen sticking to the walls sometimes, utterly careful of the volcanic ground only she could see. She did talk but they lacked the animation she had possessed before. Unknown to them, she had assumed what was dubbed as her 'Commander Role'. They weren't to be blamed, even her most familiar acquaintances would balk at that version of her.

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40. a danger of course

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Percy scratched away on a piece of parchment with her pen. The usual murmur of her housemates in the common room and Pansy's warm fingertips tracing figures on her forearm were a soothing routine, unlike the contents of the letter she had received that morning.

The very thought of it makes her pause. Arithmancy problems be damned. Not only would she probably not use it anywhere but also she couldn't hope to solve it within the night anyway.

The other very real problem conveyed in the letter on the other hand is something that she can at least try to solve without going mad.

"Are the problems that hard?"

"Or is your face doomed to look like a troll confronting a pocket watch?" Theo's addition to Blaise's veiled concern is not unwelcoming in the least.

She smiles, allowing Pansy to continue to trace the waves on her arm after the latter had paused at her sudden stillness. "That's so very specific. Familiar with the trolls, aren't you? Too familiar?"

Draco snorts but he doesn't offer anything else. Theo rolls his eyes, taking his books to a group of third years with a vague excuse of having to help them with Astronomy.

"I was waiting for that," Blaise heaves a sigh. That makes her grin. "Really though, you need the answers?"

"It's not that," she hesitates, looking around their little group.

Pansy keeps tracing the waves and skimming through a book. Millicent had forsaken her assignments and lay on the floor. She seems to have come out of her dreams of marrying a rich man as she had proclaimed. She's wide awake now, grinning at Theo suffering their juniors' awe at his expertise in Astronomy. Draco stares at his parchment, looking distant and untouchable for the world to see.

"It's the letter," Blaise still has his steady gaze set on her when she speaks. He nods, smiling at her thorough inspection of the gathered. They have been deemed trustworthy enough.

"There's this," she trails off, rubbing the back of her neck. She trusts them enough but to share someone else's problem to them would mean she would be betraying their's on her. "Problem,"

"Figured that much dumbass," Millicent has evidently given up her thoughts of her marriage after all. "What is it and what can we do about it?"

Percy smiles, small and astonished. "There's this case we're trying to get a retrial for,"

Blaise, who has seen a fair amount of trials thanks to him mum, sits up. "Why can't you get it?"

"They fucked up the first time and did not actually get a trial,"

Pansy hums, "Ask for a record of the first trial,"

"When they don't find it, they'll have to give another trial," Blaise finishes.

Draco though frowns at the plan, his attention grabbed from his text that he wasn't concentrating on anyway.

Millicent gets the meaning of it. "Unless the charges are too serious and the Ministry doesn't want people to know,"

"That's the problem actually." Percy admits, glad they have put things together without her having to say it out loud. "We've been trying for a while but they are not hearing a thing. Thought we can get some strong evidence to force them but—"

"That's useless without a trial to accept it,"

"The House of Jackson is well respected," Draco speaks up and though he doesn't do it often these days, it is easy to get his implications. The Jackson family is well respected enough for them to obtain favours with the mere name. "Use that,"

Percy frowns at him. If it's for the idea or the fact this is the first time he has spoken since she found him two weeks ago is unknown to either of them.

"Yes," Blaise nods, deep in thought. "You can file for retrial under your name or you can simply hire a lawyer for your friend."

"If it's known that you're taking care of the galleons behind the case," Pansy nods along, "they'll understand they're under your protection."

"I haven't been here too long. Won't that be a problem?"

"There are no known heirs for the Jackson family," Draco pokes at his memory for it among the hundreds of other family trees he had known by heart since he was five. "No one has claimed it for the last two centuries."

"All the better," Blaise smiles.

Draco turns to Percy with a critical eye. He peers inquiringly, seemingly seeing beyond her flesh. "You're the only known Jackson here. You have the magic in your veins and the name." He nods slowly. "That'll be enough."

"How?" Even to her ears, she sounds out of breath. Her hand had flown to her heart, a weak defense against the odd force that had seemed to rip her apart.

Pansy's mindless drawing ceases to wrap an arm around the girl. "There Perce," she purrs. "Draco here, saw your magical aura. As a Heir, he can do that but he's also a rude arse that did not ask permission to do so," she directs a glare at him to which he holds up his hands.

"She knew what I was doing,"

"Kinda," she admits, regaining her defenses. "Didn't know everyone can do that though."

"Not everyone," Blaise corrects, in that way of his where no one can say if he's being condescending or merely helpful.

"Only the Heirs and the Heads."

She nods at Millicent and before she could think to say anything, Blaise crosses the distance to the couch to drop on her other side. "Can you see others' then?"

"Kinda," she repeats and when she looks at him, it struts into her vision. A sort of a cloud of magic that she cannot see but can feel. Something exuberant and fluid about it and if she closes her eyes, she could picture something resembling honey.

Blaise laughs and she sees the cloud dancing with it. "You're doing 'the squint', you surely can see it,"

"I do not squint," Draco sighs. The argument clearly as old as time.

"You do." Inter house unity was thoroughly appreciated but the prefects do regret everything when they chorus against them.

"The case," he remind whether for the severity of the situation or to escape clear defeat in the debate is another topic for a debate.

The latter is squashed with Percy's question, "Seeing auras is not enough, is it?"

Draco nods approvingly. It's for getting him out of the pointless argument of course. "No, you'll have to lay the claim,"

"Join the House too," Blaise suggests, "it'll be nice for us to have more powerful friends,"

"You're royalty Blaise, you don't need any more powerful allies,"

"How do you think we became royals Millie,"

"You're royalty?"

"Keeping who you want in positions of power and manipulation yeah yeah yeah," Pansy rolls her eyes. "Back to the case,"

Percy though is occupied with frowning at Blaise. 'The squint' was being directed at him with full force.

"We're allies Percy,"

His reassurance makes her blink in surprise. "How does all this work again?"

"Draco,"

The blond had long since went back to pretending he was reading. "What,"

"Explain about Heirs and their capabilities dear,"

"No Pansy,"

"Please,"

Draco does, glaring at his fellow prefect the whole time. When Pansy says please, it's never a show for request, it's merely a warning that she can and will unleash her clingy self upon them. That's dangerous. Anyone who doesn't even know her could say that.

As someone who's well aware of it, he speaks to a slightly smiling Percy, "The Heirs are chosen to succeed the House Heads—"

"The Houses are families right?"

"Families bound together by choice. The Heads are responsible to oversee their safety and protection—"

"This Heir system is hereditary? Father to son and then grandson type?"

Draco sighs but does not rebuke at her constant interruption. For someone that grills him about the simplest charms, he expects no less. "Mostly but not necessarily,"

"The Houses chooses its Heads," Pansy elaborates. "Draco here was accepted as Heir but in case he can't claim the Head position for whatever reason, another from the House can try,"

As Percy ponders about it, she looks over to Draco's tensed figure.

"That's impossible though," Pansy continues. "Draco's clearly the one for the position. We don't want anyone else either,"

Percy looks closer between the two, murmuring, "You two are of the same House,"

"Yes," Looking far more relaxed, Draco acquiesces. "The House of Malfoy cares for the Parkinsons among others,"

"Do you know which one's mine does?"

For the first time since the conversation began, Draco's indifferent mask falls to display horror. "How can you be so clueless and ignorant?"

"I've told you! I was raised the muppet way,"

"Muggle Percy," Blaise amends absently. "Still, you should know all that,"

"Well I don't,"

"We can fix that!" Pansy tugs her arm. "Draco knows all that. He can help,"

"No." Said blond is on his feet and already retreating to his room before there are attempts at manipulation.

Percy's own displeased frown at being poked at her ignorance is yet to clear. Her excuse of being raised the muggle way and that America was different haven't held up for so long. Her clear chagrin at not knowing has helped though. Now, not so much.

Still, Blaise pats her hand. "We'll get you educated in no time. I'll have to get Ilvermorny's syllabus revised in the mean time. Seriously, what do they teach you there?"

She doesn't bother defending a school she hadn't even attended.

Pansy takes that as a sign of frustration. "He'll come around. He was just raised in —"

"A rather unique way," Millicent offers at her uncertain pause.

"Isn't enough to excuse everything,"

"You would be surprised how much that affects everything though,"

Pansy huffs at her side. "No one tells you to anyway."

Millie hums, "You choose to be here or be gone."

Percy says nothing.

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Blaise is not surprised to find his room occupied when he returns after dinner. It's been a long time coming.

"Oh look what the cat dragged in,"

Draco doesn't even a witty retort nor an annoyed look for that. He stands by the window and gazes into the dark beyond.

"So the lake holds answers to all your queries? Not your not-friend that's occasionally a parchment for all your charms ideas?"

He sighs in return. He seems to do it a lot nowadays.

"Sit down Draco," he sighs as well. He knows the circumstances and all he can do is offer his brilliant idea, "Let's run away to Italy or South of France," again.

The blond tilts his head at the glass separating him from the water. Locks of hair fall cover his eyes. He doesn't turn.

"You, me, Pansy," he continues, "Millie too. I can't handle Pans without her. Hell, Theo as well—"

"My parents," he finally turns to face him.

Blaise swallows. His usual icy mask is fragile at the revelation. He has been right. His friend is no longer the boy he has known for years. He doesn't know the haunted man in front of him. "We'll take them too,"

Draco smiles and it's nothing like he's done before. The glamour charms that hide his sleep deprivation and odd bruises in the day has been dropped. The pristine uniform is ill fitting for it.

He looks ragged. Blaise thinks. He is ragged, in more ways than he wants him to be. "You need water? Tea? Firewhiskey?"

Draco smiles again. His odd tilt grows to resemble more of his usual smirk. "We're underage Zabini,"

He snorts, already summoning two glasses and the bottle stashed behind a loose stone in the wall. "With all the shit we go through, I think this is justified,"

"Blaming it on the circumstances will take you nowhere," Draco tsks but accepts the glass of smoking amber coloured whiskey. He sits on the bed.

He rolls his eyes. "Draco, we've been drinking for ages now,"

Nothing is said for a long while. They sip on their alcohol and gaze out the window. Draco looks at the room as if seeing for the first time or perhaps for the last.

It's a comfortably large room, alike all others. Drapes of charming greens and creams. Shelves and a desk. Blaise doesn't have much for decor except for the plants that he keeps for research.

"He goes through my mind sometimes," Draco breaks the silence, only for another to take its place. It's twin is much more stifling.

Blaise nods but he doesn't understand. Has he been keeping his distance so that he wouldn't know about them? Has he been obliviating himself relentlessly for the fear of the next inspection and has subsequently forgotten his friends?

The latter may seem out of the blue but when Draco summons a vial specifically used to hold memories, it seems all the more likely.

"Percy Jackson,"

"Yes?"

"Do you trust her?"

Blaise is not puzzled by the turn. He has had way too many discussions with him to ever experience another whiplash. "Well, she's an enigmatic individual. I'll not lie. Those arms though—"

"Blaise," it's no secret that a large portion of the castle harboured some sort of attraction for her. She's topped some fuckability list for months supposedly. He only wishes for his friend to drop the pretence for once.

Blaise does drop it, not without a sly smile. "Too many secrets, poor wix is being crushed beneath it all. Still a good friend, stubbornly loyal. Could have been a 'Puff. Gryffindor worthy bravery or stupidity whatever you want to call it. Not your usual sort of wits but that's there as well."

Draco lets him give the impromptu list of observations, nodding along.

"She's dangerous of course," he says it as a matter of fact.

Draco watches the whiskey swirl in his glass, still nodding.

"Deadly, I think. There's her way of wielding magic like she can see the very fibre of it. Her sword of course. Clearly been through some shit."

"It's her unpredictability," he voices a fragment of his own observations.

Blaise toasts to that. "That is it. No one knows what she will do. With the war," even in his intoxicated state, he treads the topic with caution, glancing at his friend. "no one knows what side she'll choose."

"Jacksons stood against him." He throws back his glass.

"She's too good to ever join him anyways."

Draco shakes his head but doesn't disagree.

"I do trust her," he surprises him by confessing, "she's loyal to a fault. She cares, a bit too much maybe but she does. I trust she will not avada' me if I were to ever wear a mask and go against her."

The glass shatters on the floor. He glares at him, his jaw clenched and his nose flaring. Trust Blaise Zabini to uncover the heart of the matter and splay it's ravaged remains to the unforgiving reality.

"Hurting others when wearing said mask is another matter altogether though," he continues, hiding away his own satisfaction and relief at being proven right.

"I'm trying to keep us safe,"

"I know," he tries to suppress a wince but doesn't succeed. "Let's take her with us to France then?"

"Salazar no."