Solace of Slytherin; a grandson of Voldemort Story

High Horse

A/n: hello, to anyone who's stayed with this fic for so long. I want to say how thankful I am for having you all on here. Wether it's for the new (I think it's new, I haven't seen anyone doing it before), the story writing (aww, look, I'm blushing-), or for the crack, you've all kept me inspired and stubborn. Even as some parts hit a snag, or didn't flow well, or my brain just wasn't braining, you're comments really got me through it, made me laugh, made me fell warm, and made me learn things I never thought I'd learn before. So please keep up the comments on whatever- theories, crack jokes, kind (please be very kind or I will cry) criticism, and any facts that you found interesting in the story.

I'd also like to thank my beta reader for encouraging me and helping me make this story as enjoyable as possible for all you guys. Anyways, enough mushy stuff, back to the death kids.
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Nico relaxed unto the giant comfy cushion in the middle of the cozy room, staring into the dying embers of the fire as a little of it flickered to life at his attention. He stroked the newly named 'Cat' as it curled around his arm like a band. Letting out weird vibrations like purring. Hazel sat adjacent to him, lounging on the loveseat like one would at a Roman banquet. No doubt it felt more familiar then sitting for so long on a long table, trying to keep up with modern references in British culture and trying to blend in, only to end up blending to the background once the novelty of exchange students were forgotten in exchange for the food.

'Why was recon so much harder than fighting for your life?' Nico mused, his hand toying with one of his rings as if it wouldn't turn into a silver dagger at the wrong move. He decidedly stops playing with it after that particular thought.

Instead snaked his arm into his long robes, and pulled out a piece of beef and bread he had been able to sneak out, trying not to shiver in disgust with the feeling of it on his skin. He walked slowly to the dying fire, and he tossed the half-haphazardly made sandwich into the flames, and watched as it hungrily devoured it.

"To Hades, and to Hestia," he whispered, "guide us in this unknown, and guide our way back home after." The smell of sweet-savory meat and smokey bread wafted into the air, fading away as quickly as it came. From there, Hazel joined him, taking a pack of pastries swiped from the table out of her pocket. Throwing them cautiously to the fire, Nico could catch Trivia's name in her prayer, but he kept that to himself. Staring at the flames as it slowly dwindled down, like a face of ash slowly succumbing to sleep.

"How do you think Will is doing right now?" Hazel whispered, leaning into him and tried to soak up more of the fleeting warmth to her perpetually cold limbs. Nico wondered if they would warm up once she collected a fragment of the soul for her father, or if she would stay forever shivering from 'poor blood circulation' as Will called it. The same thing that makes Nico shiver and wear such large aviator jackets for warmth when alone.

"He's probably being murdered right now for being so weird and annoying," he says half heartedly, knowing that he wouldn't be half as nonchalant if he really thought it true. He was followed by a ghost, a ghost that was very much still in Hades domain despite being in Hecate's play world, and if Will was hurt under her watch, she would know the consequences first hand.

"Geez, you look constipated," Hazel flicked his ears playfully, "this is why people are so scared of insulting William at both camps now, you're the only one allowed to do it 'cause you're so possessive,"

"Pfft-no, I'm not-I'm not that possessive," he defends, crossing his arms haughtily. "The man can go choke for all I care," he stretches before grabbing unto a wool blanket off one of the couches, wrapping it between the two of them and snuggling next to his sister.