Chapter Text
“We have a pressing problem,” announced Severus without preamble as he swooped into the office.
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, held off his usual games, put down the quill he had been using for some paperwork, and simply asked, “What is the matter?”
After all, Severus Snape, his Professor of Potions, and double-agent within the ranks of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, was not one given to hyperbole. Unless it involved one Harry Potter. If he believed the matter was grave, then it was very serious (although he never said that word, due to his teenage years with a certain Black child) indeed.
His concern rose a few notches when Severus took a visible moment to compose himself. For a man of his mental discipline, that was the equivalent of running around screaming while waving your arms.
“Voldemort has a child.”
For the life of him, Albus had no recollection of how he came to be slumped in his chair, eyes blinking rapidly without their usual twinkle, and mouth hanging loose in shock and horror.
In four words, over a century’s worth of self-control had been robbed from him. He who was the man heralded as the Defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, Grand Sorcerer, ex-Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, ex-Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and, most importantly right now, founder and leader of the Order of the Phoenix in its opposition of the Dark Lord in question.
“What!?” he gasped out.
“Precisely,” gritted out Snape. “I don’t know the details—”
“This is a disaster!” cried Albus, shooting out of his chair. He rushed to some of the instruments he had to the side, all custom built, and scanned some particular ones for any alerts. Thankfully it appeared nothing out of the ordinary was happening. So far. “Tom has always sought immortality, but if he’s aiming for heirs now, and if they inherit even half of his power—!” He could hardly voice his fears at what Lord Voldemort, more accurately Tom Riddle, could accomplish.
“I’m not finished!” barked the spy, jolting the older man back to his senses.
He drew in a quick breath to compose himself, before turning back to Severus with sharp eyes, and a rueful expression. “Ah, my apologies for the interruption. I confess I let my emotions get the better of me.”
“Quite alright given the circumstances,” Snape conceded. “I don’t know the details,” he repeated, “but apparently they were born during the previous war, and are an adult now. The reason it took him this long to find out, was because they’re a squib. So at least they won’t be as much of a threat.
“Which is indeed important, since Voldemort has already acquired them, although I’m unsure for what purpose exactly.”
Disaster.
“Did Voldemort do this personally?” he asked, as he tried to hide his concern. “Where has he been during this?”
There was no sign Severus caught the signs of how dangerous the situation was, when he said, “He sent Lucius to handle it, along with a few others. The Dark Lord has been absent since he learned the news.”
Allowing a grimace to show, Albus nodded. “Then he is likely off preparing a ritual. There are Dark ones he could perform on a child of his own blood. Even if they were a squib.”
Despite what muggle fiction would tell you, there was —Thank Merlin!— no magic to be gained from sacrificing a newborn. Such pure innocence would cause a fatal magical backlash against the parent. An adult though, one who had grown and absorbed ambient magic throughout their life, was another story. This was a natural process in life, with the power only accessible through circumstances like this; drawn out through misery, despair, and the vilest of taboos. While the secrets of those rituals had largely been lost to time, and Albus had destroyed a few copies himself, it was too dangerous to assume Voldemort had not heard of them. Or even independently reproduced them. Indeed, an offspring without any magic they could use to oppose him, would be perfect for Tom’s intentions. It was even possible he could get the same results as if they were a regular wizard or witch.
“Is there any way you could free them yourself?”
The double-agent gave a sharp shake of his head to say no. “Lucius had too many guards on her. Although obviously they are not for her safety. The Dark Lord has been gone for hours though, and may soon be done.”
Pacing in thought, Albus worked to break the problem down, even while his wand automatically started repeatedly shooting out the Patronus Charm, carrying messages to the members of the Order. Fast as lightning he concocted various plans, except he knew he was unfortunately restricted by both such a short timeframe, and the nature of their objective.
A full-out assault on Malfoy Manor, especially an improvised one, could be disastrous. Particularly since Voldemort would be prepared. Many of his followers would be present as a precaution, including his most fearsome of Creatures.
Except, of course, Albus had no choice but to act. If Voldemort succeeded in performing a Dark ritual of such magnitude, it would be a disaster on par with Voldemort acquiring the Prophecy!
Whatever else happened, he had to keep Harry out of this!
Focus.
The child would be held at Malfoy Manor, with its formidable defenses. However Voldemort would be temporarily elsewhere, as the large estate would not have the necessary qualities, or proper location for any rituals like this. It was a full moon though, so tonight would be when he wanted to do it, leaving a short window of opportunity. He would have to rally together the Order, while also ensuring ‘Professor’ Umbridge did not notice his absence, nor that of Minerva. Severus would need a proper alibi as well, except for his ‘master’ as well. Some prank which could be attributed to the Weasely Twins? One significant enough Severus could claim he was temporarily incapacitated? Yes, they would happily take credit, and it might even serve as the distraction for the Ministry spy.
It was a distressingly hasty plan, and while he had come up with eleven contingencies for it so far, he knew in his bones that one way or another, this crisis would have a defining impact upon the future of the Wizarding World.
Wait . . .
“You said ‘her,’ Severus?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?” It was important to not lose focus of her as a person. “And where was she. Any other family?”
“Only a husband, I believe, in New York, America.” Severus was quite aware Albus knew where New York was. “They grabbed her without seeing him.” A mercy for the man, even if he was undoubtedly frantic right now over the fate of his wife.
“As for her name, Sally Jackson.”
“I see. Hopefully we can save her in time.”
-0-0-0-
Lucius Malfoy sneered down at the huddled, terrified figure.
Good, at least the squib knew its place before its betters. While she might be the child of the Dark Lord, it was only with her death that she would serve any meaningful purpose.
It was only a pity she apparently had had no children of her own. Otherwise they would have provided further enrichment to the upcoming ritual.
Despite her powerlessness, he and his fellow Death Eater had still tied her hands with conjured ropes, just to drive home her predicament. But honestly, the four guards on hand behind him were more to stop any attempted rescues, than to keep an eye on her.
“There is no need to worry,” he silkily told her. “Soon Lord Voldemort will finish his preparations, and you can then repay him for giving you some taste of life all these years. Your suffering will not last long. Only a few hours.”
Ah, that was a nice flinch there. Delicious. After this, he would have to go grab a few muggles for some more personal entertainment.
Although, he had to admit, that might not be enough to match the heady feeling he was feeling now though. squib or not, this was the child of Voldemort laying at his feet. There was something . . . seductive about that. Especially given how . . . atypical his Lord had been since his return.
Drawing further entertainment from her, Lucius reached down to grab her blouse, and heaved her up onto her knees. Wisely, she kept her head bowed down.
He ran his hand through her hair, relishing in the sensation of her shivering. “It is sickening,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, “to think you have our Lord’s blood in you. Doubtless he will be disappointed when he finally meets you. Somehow even more than he already is at your powerlessness. Truthfully, your fate tonight is a mercy really; I would prefer to die than be like you.”
A harsh crack of noise startled him, just as he registered a burning sensation in his groin.
Legs turning to jelly, he collapsed just in time to realize the ropes tying the prisoners wrists were cut —a slim knife on the ground— and her hands were raised cradling something which flared with fire once more, and made his chest feel strange.
A gun!? he recognized. Of course a squib would use something so inelegant and clumsy like the rest of those who writhe in the mud! I’ll kill her for this insult! he vowed, even as his body felt strangely weak.
He saw the muggle weapon flashing more, except now it was quiet at least. For some reason, none of the other Death Eaters were stunning her. They must be waiting on his example.
But why’s it getting so dark? I need to avenge the Mal . . . foy . . .
-0-0-0-
Taking a deep breath, Sally Jackson steadily took in the sight of the dead ‘wizards’ littering the floor. Thankfully she had gotten them all before running out of bullets. Her pistol may be small enough to conceal, but that meant it did not have a lot of shots. Probably just as well, given how rare those celestial bronze bullets Percy had gotten her were.
She picked up the knife, and sucked her finger which was bleeding a little. Her grip had slipped when she was told her intended fate, and had cut herself before she finished dealing with those ropes.
A part of her remained mildly offended; they had never even searched her for a weapon. Now all she had to do was get away from here, and find the nearest teleph—
“You know—”
Sally did not flinch or otherwise react to the voice behind her, even before she recognized it. She refused to show any lack of self-control.
“—I was just about to find some way to tell you to hold on a little longer. To reassure you everything would be alright. Except I see you were perfectly fine on your own.”
Turning around, Sally gave a small smile at the individual before her, “Poseidon.”
The father of her son gave her that godly smile of his, which even now made part of her tingle. “I barely beat out Apollo being the one to be here,” he said, light and easy-going. Yet she could feel the scrutiny under his eyes. Fair enough, she doubted she had ever shown him precisely this part of herself before.
“Paul Blofis and your children are perfectly fine,” he reassured her, knowing what her first question would be. “I have to ask though, and not that I’m complaining of course, far from it, but, why the gun?”
Knowing she was not in immediate danger, she sighed. “During the Battle of Manhattan, I was nearly helpless to help Percy. I was right there, and I couldn’t help my own son in a way which truly mattered. The best I could do was grab a shotgun, and shoot some monsters.”
It looked like he was about to say something before that last part.
“Also, well, Paul found out about Gabe—” she noticed the tension between his eyes, “—he argued I should get a concealed firearm. Although he mainly convinced me by coaching it in terms of me being able to protect my children and myself.”
“Ah, I was distracted at the time with calming things down from a near war, meeting Percy, and worrying about my dear father, but what happened to that man again?” Poseidon asked casually. Despite his performance, she could still see the leviathans lurking beneath that seemingly calm surface.
Meeting his eyes squarely, she answered, “Once I no longer needed him to hide Percy, I used the head of Medusa he sent me to turn him to stone. I then sold him to pay the deposit for a new apartment, my first semester's tuition at NYU, and another deposit for a good school for my son.”
Sally delivered this without a hint of guilt, nor any concern for how he might respond.
His laughter still surprised her though, rich and loud as waves on a cozy beach.
After she patiently waited, Poseidon calmed himself down, and gave her a knowing smile. “People keep comparing Percy to me. Saying how he is my child. All the while failing to recognize how much he gets from you. Endlessly loyal to those you love, kind, and people keep underestimating you. Mistaking those traits as weaknesses, instead of strengths, and only finding out how dangerous you are when it’s too late. How intense and absolutely ruthless they can make you.”
A little uncomfortable with this line of discussion, she changed the subject. “You said I just had to wait?”
“Ah, yes. Our son and his friends will be here momentarily.”
She felt an eye twitch at hearing her darling son was heading into a combat situation again. That was not “perfectly fine!” Somehow she held her tongue though, aware the god of the sea likely had a better idea than she did of what kind of danger was involved, and what her son could handle. “Is there anything I should be worried about?” she calmly asked.
“Well,” he admitted, ruefully scratching his head, “You will have to make up some of your seven-layer dip for someone. It was the price Apollo negotiated for getting Percy here so fast. I’ll handle your trip home though.”
While the lack of ambrosia meant it was hardly nutritious to gods, she knew from experience they could still enjoy the taste of mortal foods.
“Then I’ll have to make up a batch for you as well,” she smiled, “and Apollo too.” After carefully measuring to ensure every god got precisely the same amount.
“Thank you, I’m looking forward to it,” he winked. “In all honesty though, you needn’t worry about our son. There hasn’t been such an uproar since Helen of Troy. Voldemort has no idea what he has unleashed by taking you.”
With a glance up, he added a bit rushed, “I’ve got to get going, but the cavalry’s here. Be sure to save some wizards for the rest of them.” In a sparkle of light, he was gone.
Explosions and screaming cut off any else she might have said. As those in pain sounded distinctively like adults, she was not concerned just yet.
Howling of what she assumed were wolves, the noise of many feet running even from outside, and the building rattled as a monstrous roar was cut off by several even more fearsome ones.
Not wanting to disturb anyone, Sally hid her gun again, and started to drag the bodies out of sight.
Only a few minutes had passed from when Poseidon had left, when the door slammed open with the sound of breaking wood, and four or so teenage girls barged in, weapons drawn. Seeing the bows and arrows along with the white shirts, she smiled and said, “Ah, the Hunters of Artemis! Oh, Thalia! How are you doing?” She and other Hunters dropped by now and then, and while they kept giving Paul suspicious looks, it was always a pleasant time. They would trade recipes and stories, let the girls have a hot shower (which they rarely had while on the hunt), and they were all angels around Estelle.
“Sally,” grinned the demigod in question. “Good to see you’re alright!” Taking in the bodies around them, she added, “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. You know your daughter already has a standing invitation, right?”
“Yes, thank you.” It really was reassuring to know Estelle had that option available to her if she chose. “Parthenos, Febe, thank you for coming to save me too.” She then noticed how one of the ladies had two metal dogs with her, one silver, one gold. “And you must be Reyna. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Uhm, thanks,” she answered, a little bemused, if also impressed, by the sight. “C’mon, your son’s in a panic.”
Frowning, Sally nodded and hurried out with them. “How is he?”
“He’ll be fine once he sees you,” was the evasive reply.
It was only then that Sally noticed the few small splotches of blood staining those otherwise pristine white shirts. “None of that blood is from demigods, right?”
“Oh no,” grinned Thalia in a manner Sally could only describe as ‘wolfish.’ “We’re perfectly fine.”
Reassured by that, Sally put aside Deal-With-Everyone-Threatening-My-Family mode, and thankfully went fully back to Mother-These-Children.
Coming upon an oversized foyer, they looked down a flight of stairs to a scene of carnage as an army of teenagers navigated around the wreckage of a manor, and lots of corpses.
The last few wizards standing, were wildly and desperately shooting coloured lights at her son while screaming at him. In hatred and fear of an unstoppable force of nature as he advanced by dodging around spells, or swatting them aside with Riptide.
While snarling.
Honestly, Sally was concerned at how feral Percy seemed right about now, only to be distracted as he manifested what looked like a hurricane of water which he unleashed to throw the robed kidnappers through what sounded like several walls.
“Percy!” she called.
“Mom!” he cried in joy. In a blur he was up the stairs, giving her a desperate hug, which she gratefully returned.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m here. You saved me from the people who kidnapped me.”
“W-why did they—?”
“Something about my father? It wasn’t very clear to be honest. Nothing to do with Olympus. I honestly think they somehow didn’t even know I had children.”
Sally pecked his cheek, and then took another look around, only now processing just how many people were present.
Apparently Percy had brought a small army with him. More Hunters, at least two dozen demigods from Camp Half-Blood given the orange shirts and armour. Dozens more of what must be Romans from Camp Jupiter over there, efficiently stabbing down wizards to make sure they stayed dead. Oh, and that was Tyson! How nice. Was Nico here too?
Mrs. O’Leary hurried over, with Annabeth right beside the massive hellhound, both liberally splattered with blood. Hmm, she would have to get them all somewhere to wash up.
“Alright,” said Annabeth. “Let’s get out of here before any more show up. Leo! Set this place on fire! We need to hide the evidence. Just don’t let the trees catch on fire.”
“Roger!”
Without protest, Sally let herself be placed on Mrs. O’Leary to be ridden out of the place. Her hand never left Percy’s shoulder, reassuring him she was here.
Maybe a hotel for them to rest at? That way he and the others can get some sleep somewhere comfortable. There’s enough of them to take shifts, and I can stay up all night to make sure they’re actually getting some rest.
To Be Continued . . .