Hello? Anyone still here?

No?

Guys I can't apologise enough. I'll be surprised if there's anyone still reading this tbh. I'm not even gonna bombard your lovely minds with stupid excuses because I'm SO. EFFING. SORRY.
Also, apologies for the confusion in the last chapter. I'm Irish so I use the British vocabulary 😬😳. Leave it to an idiot such as yours truly to confuse her readers.
Today's story is told by Sydney Chadwick! Thank you, @taniapayne602 for helping me out. Again, sorry if you don't like it. I was in a rush to get another chapter up so yeah...
(It's also AU.)

Chapter 7: Sydney

Have you ever watched someone grow up?
It's funny, how it makes you feel. You see them grow, you witness how their personality develops; and it makes you sort of proud, as if they were your own child.
And yet, at the same time, you miss the way they'd bring their LEGO everywhere and build a Hogwarts for their Harry Potter figures. You miss their endearing impatience, their bright, eager eyes, their buzz, their bliss.
And yet, you love how you can talk to their older selves, know that they'll understand straight away what you teach them.
I watched Percy Jackson grow up. I watched as he saw a grand piano up close for the first time. His sea-green eyes widened; his jaw dropped, and the one word which he breathed summed up everything he was feeling:
"Wow."
I taught him to curve his fingers when he played, to play many techniques, from tenuto to trills. I watched his fingering, phrasing, pure ability to be at one with the music. I marvelled at his wonderful ear.
I also, however, watched as he was joined not only by his mother when waiting outside the classroom, but by a little blonde girl who studied flute with a close friend of mine.
"That's Annabeth," a twelve-year-old Percy informed me. "She's in my theory class."

It's extraordinary how much one can pick up from a few moments peeking outside a classroom door. I watched as they grew closer, something not thought to be possible to observe from my position by many, but somehow blatantly obvious through the smallest gestures.
I had predicted this moment long before it happened, but still I practically jumped for joy inside when I saw them kiss. Percy was seventeen; it was the last lesson of the year and he was nervously awaiting his exam results.
When I opened the door of the room to let him in, he was sitting on the bench in the corridor, tense, his nails in ruins, Annabeth's arm around his shoulders. I couldn't bear to watch him suffer for any longer than necessary, so I gave him a smile and whispered the figure he had been waiting for anxiously for a week: "Ninety-seven."
His face simply lit up - I'd never seen anything like it. "You hear that, Wise Girl? I didn't fail!" And with that, he threw his arms around Annabeth and his lips met hers. I didn't dare interrupt; there was so much meaning to the moment, it would've been cruel.
He then leapt to his feet and - to my surprise - hugged me. I was startled at first, but snapped out of it and hugged him back. I was strangely proud of him, as if he were my own son.
"Thank you, Sydney," he said quietly.
The weight of the whole thing suddenly dropped upon me like a ton of bricks. This was my last lesson with Percy Jackson, young man and piano extraordinaire.
"Thank you, too, Percy."

I continued to teach piano until my fingers became stiff and slow. I'll always remember, not long after Percy finished his Grade Eight once and for all, Eliza, the little girl who came in and sat on the stool for the first time. Her blonde curls seemed all too familiar.
When I dismissed her, I was greeted outside by a young woman with honey-blonde hair and storm-grey eyes.
"Annabeth?" It was almost too good to be true.
"Sydney! Oh, it's been years!" We embraced warmly.
"The cycle repeats itself, I see," I chucked softly. "She's got your hair, anyway."
"Indeed," Annabeth laughed in reply. "And her father's eyes."
I looked at my new student's face ... her eyes were bright blue.
That was when I noticed the tall, built man standing next to Annabeth. His hair was sandy-blond and, sure enough, his eyes were the same sky-blue as Eliza's.
"Sydney, this is Luke. Luke, Sydney."
It was lucky that Eliza Castellan was my last student of the day. I wouldn't have been able to teach a thing.
Sometimes it's the things you aren't prepared for that linger longest in your heart.

Idk...
Comment, vote and point out any foreign words!
-Rose.