7

Chapter 7

Night had fallen, and little Harry Potter moved through the darkened temple by the light thrown from Hestia's conjured braziers. The Goddess of the Home had visited earlier, even taking the time to cook with him, before taking up her duties at the camp.

He put a small plate, holding three donuts, down in front of the large statue of Helios. Grinning up at the titan-god that was sheltering him, the young boy said, "I made some donuts, Mister Helios. I hope you like them."

The donuts immediately vanished, making him laugh. "I guess you do," he said, picking the plate up again. After returning it to the kitchen, he took the plate holding the 10 or so donuts he had left, and installed himself in the living area.

Picking up a book, he nestled by the fire of the hearth, and started reading, while munching on the donuts.

His eyes slid over the same paragraph, over and over again, his mind wandering. How long had he been living in Helios' Temple now? He knew he turned eight not too long after he first settled here and met Hestia.

His birthday had never been a major concern, not to the Dursleys, so he was perfectly fine with ignoring it.

He had lived here for at least six months before he had been caught during the Winter Solstice. He'd been allowed to stay, thanks to Hestia intervening for him. More months had passed, then he'd had his first survival test, and Hestia had introduced him to camp.

That was a few weeks ago now. He had lost track of dates, because as good as Olympus was, it seemed to be sadly bereft of calendars.

He had talked with a couple of the campers he had met, like Louis and Silena, but things were… awkward. Or so it felt, anyway. He was living by himself, in a temple on Olympus. They weren't. Maybe they were jealous. Or maybe the didn't want to appear jealous. Whatever the case may be, conversations felt somewhat awkward.

He sighed, and put the book away. He wasn't going to get any reading done tonight. Instead, he grabbed another do… apparently he'd eaten all the donuts already. Sighing, he put the empty plate in the kitchen before settling back in front of the hearth.

Gazing into it, he attempted to clear his mind. Indistinct voices muttered in his ears, the conversations being held by people near their fires. He could not discern what they were talking about, the muttering both quiet and jumbled together with thousands of others voices. Like being at a party where everyone was whispering, it was impossible to make out where one conversation started and another stopped.

The sensation, the urge, in his gut to listen more closely appeared out of nowhere. It surprised him greatly, and he lost his focus on the fire. Suddenly, he was back in the living area of Helios' temple, and the voice were gone.

The intense sensation in his gut remained. Harry frowned; the sensation had warned him against bad people, and it had gotten him into Olympus and meeting Hestia. The last time, it had recommended he build a spear – a spear that had failed him, and caused him to fight a juvenile boar.

The feeling could be both good or bad, it seemed, and Harry wasn't sure what to make of it returning now, urging him to listen closer to the fire.

He sighed. Listening couldn't hurt, could it?

He focused back on the fire.

Unless it would cause him to hear something he wasn't supposed to hear – like seeing Mister Zeus and that nymph, he wasn't supposed to see that, either. It had gotten Mister Zeus really mad at him, and the King of the Gods still hadn't forgiven him for revealing it.

He that ruined his focus again. The feeling remained. Harry sighed, took a deep breath, and focused back on the fire, trying to figure out why the feeling wanted him to listen to it.

The temple dropped away, and Harry found himself, once again, floating on the sea of voices. The feeling urged him on, and Harry's mind listened closer.

Suddenly, he heard it. The sound of crying. It sounded like a girl, but Harry couldn't be sure. The instinct, the urge seemed satisfied that he had found the sound of this crying girl. Now, it urged him on to travel to her, to help her.

Once, Harry wouldn't have hesitated. That instinct had guided him to Olympus and to Hestia. Now, however, he was more restrained. The instinct had caused him to make a spear, a plan that had ultimately ended up with him fighting for his life against a juvenile boar.

What if this was more of the same? Maybe there was a balance to things, both good and bad, and the good of him being on Olympus, at Helios' temple,with hestia looking after him, needed to be balanced out by bad stuff?

If so, wouldn't the 7 years with the Dursleys have been enough bad stuff?

Harry hesitated. The urge to travel to the sobbing girl increased. Harry still hesitated. What would he find? And what could he say when he arrived? Traveling through fire wasn't something people knew about. He couldn't just pop up in front of this girl, and not tell her anything. He was sure that Mister Zeus would be even more upset with him if he popped up in front of some random girl and let out the secret of the gods…

Athena, the girl whispered as she sobbed. I'm scared, Athena. Please help me.

This girl knew about the gods! And that tone of voice, he remembered that tone of voice. It was the one that he himself had used when he desperately wanted someone to come and save him, take him away from the Dursleys. Whoever this girl was, she was praying to Miss Athena, she knew about the gods, and she wanted someone to come and help her.

Harry pulled back. His decision had been made, he realized. Drawing a breath, he stood up, and waved his hand at the fire, causing it to turn green.

The next moment, he stepped through.

He emerged out of a fire, in the back parking lot of some abandoned industrial complex, somewhere in a nondescript city, built out of a wooden pallet and some random planks.

There was no sobbing girl in sight. Harry frowned, then remembered his own first meeting with Hestia. Part of him smiled at the similarity.

"Hello?" Harry asked the thin air. "I'm not here to harm you."

The parking lot was deserted, and remained deserted. Harry curiously looked around. "If I were hiding, where would I hide…?" he asked semi-out loud.

Noticing a stack of abandoned machinery and building supplies, leaning against the wall of the abandoned building, in an an otherwise empty car park, Harry grinned.

"I just want to be your friend," Harry said as he approached the stack carefully. "I heard you crying, and came to help."

"I wasn't crying!" a girl's voice shouted from behind the stack.

Harry stopped, not having expected an actual response. "Oops," the voice muttered.

"Hi there," the young boy said, trying desperately not to smile, as he leaned against the stack from the other side. If the girl didn't want to come out, he wouldn't force her. He could just as well talk to her from here, without seeing her. Hopefully, he'd be able to convince her to accept his help – he could get her to Camp Half-blood quite easily, and she'd be safe there.

The girl remained quiet.

"So, as I said," Harry continued, "I heard you crying through the fire and I came to help. I know I'm not Miss Athena, but I can get you to someplace safe."

Silence.

Harry sighed. Okay, so his first strategy hadn't worked. Not knowing what to do, but remembering how Hestia had confronted him in person, he decided on doing the same.

He stepped around the pile, only to dodge back when his instincts clamored a high alert. It was a good thing they did, too, because the next thing he knew, a little blonde girl had swiped a clawhammer through the space his head would have occupied.

"Whoa," Harry said, startling back as the girl took another swipe at him, this time aiming for his chest. "I'm not here to hurt you, I promise!"

The girl stopped, eyeing him suspiciously for a moment. Her intense gray eyes reminded him so much of Miss Athena right now that there was no question in his mind; this girl was a daughter of Athena.

"How did you do that?" she asked, suddenly, still hefting the clawhammer.

His eyes locked on the tool, Harry asked, "Do what?"

"The traveling through fire," the girl stated, still staring at him.

Harry nodded, understanding her question now. "It was something I was taught by the goddess Hestia, the Goddess of the Home and the Hearth."

"You're from… them?" she asked, suddenly hopeful.

Harry smiled faintly. "If you mean the gods, then yes, somewhat," he confirmed. "Like I said, I heard you crying-"

"I didn't cry!" the girl protested again. Harry was silent for a moment, looking at her eyes, which were bloodshot and puffy.

"I heard you through the fire," Harry said, not wanting to get into an argument. "So I thought I could help. I can take you someplace safe, through the fire."

The girl's eyes narrowed and she looked suspiciously at the fire she had started. Now that she wasn't trying to kill him with a hammer, Harry studied her closer.

The still unnamed girl was blonde, had Athena's intense gray eyes, and looked to be about the same age as Harry, seven or eight or so.

"I'm Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter." He held out his hand.

The girl still stared at him for a few moments, making him uncomfortable, before relaxing slightly, and accepting his hand. "Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena," she introduced herself.

"Will you come with me?" Harry asked, motioning to the fire.

"No," Annabeth replied immediately. "I don't know you, and I don't trust you."

Harry sighed. He could have expected that. "I just want to help, Annie."

Annabeth scowled deeply. "Annabeth," she corrected.

Harry's shoulders slumped. That had set him back, no doubt. "Sorry," he muttered, scuffing the ground with his shoe. He really wasn't very good at this, it seemed.

"Come, let's stand around the fire and talk," he offered, motioning to the fire. "We can get to know each other. Maybe you'll trust me, then."

Annabeth scowled, but went to stand around the fire regardless.

Knowing that Annabeth wasn't going to volunteer anything, Harry sighed and stared at the fire, recounting some of the things that had happened while he was with the Dursleys. There was a time where he would have told everything – that was the time where he didn't know just how wrong his upbringing had been.

The longer he was with Hestia, the more people he talked to, the more he realized just how bad the Dursleys had treated him, and the more reluctant he become of talking about them.

In this case, he had to. So he told Annabeth about some of the things that happened to him.

She volunteered some information when she saw how much it affected him. Athena had intended for her to be a 'gift' to her father, whom she had befriended at some university. Her father hadn't seen her that way. That had to hurt, and left Harry commiserating with Annabeth.

Recognizing the pattern they had fallen into, Harry shared how the Dursleys had taken him to New York, and abandoned him.

Annabeth looked highly upset, then explained how she had been attacked by spiders, them being sent by Arachne, her mother's nemesis. She explained how the spiders would attack her, and bite her, but hide when her stepmother came to look. In the morning, their bites would have healed, leaving only their webs as very flimsy evidence.

Then, she explained, she ran away.

Harry nodded. "I understand. Grown-ups can be evil," he said. "I made plans. I don't want to be with evil adults ever again. I got some training, so I can go live in the woods."

"I would have preferred the woods over my stepmother," Annabeth commiserated. "But I keep being attacked by monsters. It's why I was so high strung. Sorry about taking a swing at you."

Harry grinned at her. "No problem, you didn't hit me, so no harm, no foul."

Annabeth scowled at what she thought was a jab at her skills. "I could so hit you," she muttered.

The boy nodded. "No doubt. I don't want to get hit, though," he answered. He looked from the fire, to her, "will you come with me?"

Annabeth still hesitated. "My mother's been guiding me. I don't know where. Maybe I shouldn't. Where would you take me, anyway?"

Harry gratefully took the offered olive branch, and ran with it. "There's a camp, for demigods. It's called Camp Half-blood. Basically, it's protected by the gods, so no monsters can come in, and it's a place where they teach demigods to fight and to protect themselves. It's also got things like canoeing, Pegasus riding, and arts and crafts, so it's got all sorts of activities."

"Learning to fight sounds useful," Annabeth mused. "But Pegasus riding? Really?"

Harry grinned. "A friend of mine, Silena, is really good with them. I'm not so much – I think they hate me for some reason. They glare at me, I swear it. But with Silena there? They're like putty. She can do what she wants with them."

Annabeth opened her mouth to say something, when she closed it, and looked up sharply. Harry turned around, noticing a man grinning at them, from where he had just rounded the corner.

"Lookie here, two kids, after dark," the man said. He was huge, and bulky, and bald. He was dressed like a normal man, harry supposed, with a t-shirt, pants, and shoes. A man like that shouldn't be dressed so normally, harry decided, and the icy sensation in his gut, warning him, seemed to agree with him.

The man was striding forward, not in the least bit concerned, apparently. "So whatcha doin' here, kids? All by yer lonesome?"

"Just… talking," Harry muttered, shifting closer to Annabeth, who seemed to be ready to bolt herself.

"Talkin', eh? Is that what they call it these days?" the man chuckled to himself, and had neared the kids. "So, how's about you two come with me? I got sum food, and a spare roof fer the two o' ya. Little kids shouldna be on the streets after dark."

"Perhaps… that's not a good idea," Annabeth volunteered. Harry saw her hand clench the handle of her clawhammer so tight that her knuckles were white.

"Oh?" the man asked, still holding that creepy smile. Suddenly, he lunged. One arm encircled Annabeth, grabbing her and holding her tight so she couldn't even swing her hammer. Harry shouted, and ran to the creepy guy holding Annabeth, only to get a thick, fat, fist to his face.

The man was laughing. "Beat it, boy. I jus' wan' me the girl." Annabeth screamed, and Harry felt his chest twitch – that kind of scream was one he hadn't heard before.

Harry shouted, and jumped at the man, flinging his little fists as hard as his eight-year-old body could manage. The man laughed harder, and one punch to the face dropped Harry to the ground. "Ya act like yer da never taught ya ta throw a punch," the man taunted.

Harry grunted, and got up.

Or tried to.

As he was on hands and knees, the guy launched a kick at the boy's ribs. Harry felt something give, then something crack, then redhot agony bloomed in his chest. It felt like the broken rib that one guard on Olympus had given him – only this time there was no Hestia to make it better, no Mister Apollo to heal him.

He grunted, and tried to get up. The guy kicked him again. Harry screamed. Annabeth screamed.

"There. Stay down," the guy said, and turned.

"Please," Harry coughed.

"Wassat?" the guy asked, stopping, and looking over his shoulder.

"Please," Harry repeated, before coughing violently. "Just let her go. We won't say anything. Just let her go."

The man laughed. "Letting go of this here pretty? You're dreamin', boy!" He turned, and started walking again, laughing as he did so. He wasn't walking to the corner. He was walking to the building.

Harry shouted, as loudly as he could, forced himself to his feet, and took four loping strides, ignoring the blooming pain, and jumped at the guy's knees. If he could bring him down, maybe Annabeth could escape.

His shouts had alerted the man to his arrival, and he just sidestepped, lodging the heel of his boot deep into Harry's back. More pain bloomed. Faintly, he heard Annabeth scream his name.

He coughed again. Blood stained his lips and the floor in front of him. The man was still laughing, creepily. His laugh was receding. He was walking away, carrying Annabeth.

He'd learn, though. Harry always learned. He wrestled himself to his feet, wavering like a drunk as he did so, and jumped. Not for the guy's knees. For the guy's neck.

Wrapping his arm around the guy's neck, and holding it tight with his other arm, Harry attempted a desperate stranglehold to bring the hulk of a man down. The unknown assailant grunted, and grabbed for Harry with the hand that wasn't holding Annabeth – Annabeth who had redoubled her struggles to break free.

Struggling for purchase, fighting to hold on, Harry tried desperately to ignore the pain and hold on long enough for Annabeth to break free.

The man's fist connected heavily with his hip. Harry yelped.

Remember thy knife, boy!

Why he heard Miss Zoë's voice at that instant, he would never know. But it did remind him of when he desperately fought that boar. His right hand grabbed for the knife holder on his hip, releasing the clasp, and drawing the razor-sharp hunting knife.

The next moment, the guy sagged to his knees, then toppled over. Harry fell to the ground with a grunt. He was covered in blood. So was Annabeth.

Harry just stared. Like the boar, it was as easy as the boar. Knife goes in throat. Knife leaves throat.

It shouldn't be that easy.

Harry turned, and vomited. The donuts were unrecognizable. So was his dinner.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, his eyes filled with tears. Tears of pain at his injuries. Tears of misery at being ill and vomiting. Tears of sorrow and self-loathing at having killed a man.

Annabeth knelt down next to him. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered, her tone showing just how inadequate she felt the words were, but still needing to say them.

Harry coughed. More blood. "Glad… you're okay," he whispered.

She gave him a tired, shaky, smile. "We need to get you looked after, you look awful."

Harry nodded, and tried to stand up. His face was a mass of bruises, so was his hip. His ribs were broken. He was sure of it. He yelped as he tried to stand, the pain driving away his exhaustion, bringing the world into focus, a focus so sharp that it hurt to even look.

"What do we do?" Annabeth asked, her voice starting to slip into hysteria. "You're injured, and we have a dead body…"

Harry grunted, the swelling in his face making it hard to speak now. He drew a breath and ignored the aching in his ribs. Closing his eyes, gritting his teeth, holding his breath, he forced himself to his feet. The moment he stood still, the ache in his ribs was manageable.

"Fwije," he lisped through swollen lips. Annabeth frowned at him, not understanding. Harry couldn't blame her, he hardly understand himself. He motioned to the fire with his right hand. "Fwije," he repeated, then noticed the hand he had used. The right hand that was covered in blood, but the right hand that wasn't holding the knife, Zoës gift that had saved his life. He looked around, and found it lying on the ground.

He grunted. This was going to hurt.

Annabeth, noticing his gaze, didn't hesitate. She snatched it up, and put it in the sheath for him, clasping it shut. "Tanke."

She understood him anyway, and offered a shaky smile. She was close to him as he hobbled to the fire, hovering, but unsure of what to do to help. Truthfully, harry didn't know how she could help either. He was in pain, but wasn't sure that supporting him would even help. So he grit against the pain and stumbled to the fire.

Camp Half-blood, he thought as he waved his hand. The fire turned green. He looked at Annabeth. She nodded.

He wanted to smile, but his swollen face made that impossible. He held out his left hand. He was relieved when she took it.

He stepped forward, knowing that she'd be with him.

He stumbled out of the fire, the travel having sapped the last of his strength. He screamed when the ground met him. Concerned eyes were immediately in his field of vision.

He just wished that the first person to meet him hadn't been Hestia. She was going to hate him for getting into a fight – and worse, killing someone.

"Help," he whispered weakly, right before his lights went out and darkness claimed him.

00000

Harry woke up, curiously in no pain. Then he tried to move, and there it was.

He let out a groan, drawing the attention of the person sitting in a chair next to his bed.

"Harry!"

It was Annabeth; Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or upset that it wasn't Hestia. Relieved, because he wasn't looking forward to facing her, not after what he'd done, or upset that she wasn't there to take care of him. Then again, hestia was a goddess and probably had better things to do.

"Hi Annabeth," he said, voice breaking with lack of use. He offered the Daughter of Athena a weak smile, which was the best he could do at the moment, he supposed.

The blonde girl looked incredibly relived. "I'm so glad you're up," she said, sounding as relived as she looked. "When you passed out, I was so worried. And then I had to explain things to a lot of people – and you could have warned me about the Centaur and the fact that there was a very upset goddess here, waiting for you!"

harry winced. "Sorry," he muttered. "We had not a lot of time, you know?"

She sighed, and nodded. "You were out of it the moment we came through the fire. They took you straight here, and a son of Apollo prayed to his father to heal you. There was a light show and everything, he said it was the strongest reaction he'd ever gotten from Lord Apollo."

Harry offered another weak smile. The God of the Son seemed to have liked him, perhaps that was the cause.

"Anyway," Annabeth prattled on, "that took care of most of your major wounds, like the broken bones, broken ribs; broken skull, your concussion, and the major bruises in your face. Louis said the rest were 'minor' things that would take of themselves after a week or so in bed. I hate to see what he would call major, if a week in bed is 'minor'."

Harry nodded feebly, vividly recalling how Chiron had said wounds 'usually' weren't fatal. Since fatal wounds occurred often enough to be mentioned, he expected some pretty gruesome wounds at this camp.

"I'm just glad you came out of it, Louis said so, but you looked so horrible when they put you in here, and I'd never seen Godly healing before," the young girl went on. "Oh! And I was supposed to give you this," she finished, and taking a large glass off the nightstand, and holding it up while putting a straw in between his lips.

For one fleeting moment, Harry didn't mind being put up like this, if it meant people would wait on him. Then he remembered the pain of trying to move, and the pain of the injuries when he got them.

He sipped. The nectar still tasted like that soup hestia had given him that first time he met her. To him, it wasn't the taste so much as it was the feeling of comfort and of caring that he got from it.

He finished the glass, and Annabeth put it back.

That was going to be in the past now. He'd killed a man. Hestia hated violence, she was going to hate him now. He sighed; it had been nice while it lasted. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

Annabeth, recognizing that something was amiss, but not knowing what exactly, stood up. "I should… let the others know you're awake," she said, softly. "It was my turn to sit with you." she offered him a final, tentative, smile, and vanished.

Harry looked around – this was obviously the camp's infirmary. It hadn't been part of the official tour, but he recognized the architecture, and from Annabeth's ramblings, it became even more obvious.

He swallowed. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't.

He closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind. It wasn't working. His thoughts just kept coming back to him killing that man. He was a murderer now. And Hestia was going to hate him over it. He was going to end up alone again.

The door opened, and Harry opened his eyes to look. Part of him hoped it was Hestia. Part of him dreaded it was Hestia.

Instead, he found Annabeth, along with Louis and Silena. He wondered vaguely about Chiron, but focused instead on his visitors.

Louis grinned, and ruffled his bed hair. "You gave us all a fright when you stumbled out of the fire, Squirt," he said with a grin.

Harry tried to smile back. "Sorry," he muttered.

The son of Apollo stepped aside, letting the daughter of Aphrodite at him. To his immense surprise, the girl gave him a hug. He hugged back, despite the discomfort it was causing him – because he really really needed a big hug right now. Silena seemed to recognize his need, because she held him for longer than as normally accepted.

"I'm glad you're alright, Harry. Like Louis said, you scared us when you arrived," she said, finally releasing him. Harry missed the hug already. "What happened?" the daughter of Aphrodite asked.

"Subtlety," Louis said with a cough.

Silena stuck out her tongue at the son of Apollo, who laughed back. He turned to harry, suddenly serious. "You're still healing, despite the biggest healing Dad ever helped me give, so I don't want you excited. If you don't feel like telling, it will keep."

Harry nodded. "I heard Annabeth cry-" he started to say, before the girl coughed, loudly. "I heard Annabeth asking for help," he corrected, earning a firm nod from the daughter of Athena. Silena looked strangely upset at Annabeth, but Harry had no idea why.

"So I went to help her. I messed up, and just asked her if she wanted me to take her someplace safe. Of course, she didn't know me, so she refused. We started talking, but then this guy shows up, and he wants to take Annabeth, and I try to stop him," Harry rushed out. "And he hurts me, but won't let Annabeth go. And then I jump him, and remember my knife."

He swallowed again, looking at his hands, folded on his sheets. "And then there was so much blood."

Silena had her hand in front of her mouth. Louis looked understanding. "It's never easy when that happens, especially not your first time," he said, leaning over to squeeze Harry's shoulder.

"I told you what happened," Annabeth said, snappily.

"And now we know things from Harry's perspective," Louis said, before Silena could say anything. The daughter of Aphrodite looked really angry for some reason.

Annabeth pouted, and crossed her arms. "It's best to have things from multiple perspectives, one person can always miss something, or misremember something," Louis went on. Annabeth didn't respond, and just looked away.

"Chiron will want to talk to you as well," Louis went on to say, after turning to Harry. "But I'll keep him off your back for a few days more, so you'll feel better. He's real in-depth about after-action reports, always trying to teach you something and make you better."

Harry frowned, and wanted to sink into his pillow. He didn't want to remember what happened. He didn't really want to talk about it at all. The only reason he talked to Louis and Silena was because they were friends, and because Annabeth was there.

"Don't worry, harry," the son of Apollo said, squeezing his shoulder again. "In the end, you'll be better for it. Take it from someone who's been there."

Harry looked at the older demigod. Louis just nodded once. "taking a life isn't easy, and it shouldn't be easy. It's what makes us good guys," he said, and Harry had the impression that Louis liked talking about his experience as much as Harry liked talking about his own. He could understand that, and just nodded; he wasn't going to press, and he appreciated the fact that Louis wasn't pressing him either.

The older demigod stepped back, just as the door opened. Again, Harry had the dreaded dichotomy of wanting and fearing Hestia's arrival.

It wasn't Hestia, but he wasn't sure if this was better, or worse.

Because the person who strode in was none other than the Goddess of the Hunt herself, shadowed by her trusted Lieutenant.

"Artie!" Harry greeted, ignoring his strange feelings towards Hestia, and instead focusing on the here and now. "And Miss Zoë!"

Louis seemed to shrink back from Harry's bed, and Silena seemed to make herself very small in the comfy chair standing next to his bed. Annabeth just looked confused.

"Harry," Artie said, eyeing him with that predatory gaze she was so very good at. Zoë simply gave him a nod of her head.

Harry smiled at her, ignoring the look. "Artie, these are Annabeth, daughter of Athena, Louis, son of Apollo, and Silena, daughter of Aphrodite. Annabeth, louis, Silena, this is Artemis, goddess of the Hunt, and her Lieutenant, Miss Zoë Nightshade."

Annabeth suddenly turned white, and seemed to be doing a remarkable copy of the way Louis and Silena were shrinking. The demigods offered polite, yet fearful, greetings.

Zoë kept her eyes locked on him. Artie glanced at each of the demigods in turn, nodded at their greetings, yet focused on Annabeth just a fraction longer than the others.

"I heard you got into a fight," Artie said, focusing again on the boy in the bed. "Which, needless to say, disturbed me. As one of the few decent males out there, you getting into a fight was not what I wanted to hear. And then I heard it was to protect someone, and my hopes were restored."

She leaned closer, and Harry's world was suddenly filled with those intense silver eyes of hers. "Tell me what happened, Harry."

The young boy swallowed, and told the story again. He didn't want to, not really, but this was Artie, and when she got like this, 'no', wasn't really an acceptable answer.

When he finished, she studied him for a few moments longer, then sighed.

To his immense surprise, she leaned over further, and pulled him into a hug.

It was the first time that she hugged him. Sure, she hugged back when he hugged her, but it had always been him to make the first move. He hugged her back.

"I am sorry that you had to go through that," the goddess whispered in his ear, then pulled back.

He just looked at his hands. "I'm a murderer," he said, softly, as if to himself.

Artie looked at the demigods. "Please leave," she told them. Despite the words, it wasn't really a polite request. It was a command. The three demigods managed a remarkable goodbye, and left as quickly as could politely be called 'walking'.

Artie sighed, and sat down in the comfy chair. Zoë took up position near the end of his bed, and patted his foot. Strangely enough, that simple gesture meant as much to him as Artie's hug earlier – Zoë never touched him if she could avoid it.

"Thou survived, thy enemy did not," Zoë said. "Thou protected an innocent. 'T is not easy, to take life, but sometimes, there is no choice."

"Zoë is right, Harry," Artie said, from right next to him. He had to turn his head to see her, seated right next to his head. "A first time is never easy, but you can comfort yourself in the knowledge that you did a good thing." The goddess of the Hunt looked away, staring at the door. "There is a daughter of Athena that is now whole and hale, and able to enjoy her life because of your actions. Take comfort from that."

Harry thought that Artie was a bit biased, considering that she was the Goddess of Maidens and disliked men. But still, it did ease his discomfort a bit.

His eyes drifted to the hunting knife that lay on his nightstand, between himself and the chair where Artie was perched. Literally, as the Goddess of the Hunt seemed ready to stand at any moment.

"Miss Zoë," Harry said, looking from the knife to the Hunter in question. "Thanks."

Zoë blinked. "What for?" she asked, confused.

Harry glanced back at the knife. "Your knife," he replied. "It saved my life. When I was hagning on, I heard you telling me to remember it – when I was fighting that boar."

Zoë gave a faint grin, and strode over. Picking the knife up, she unclasped it. For a moment, harry remembered it how he had last seen it, covered in blood and dirt from where he had dropped it. When the Hunter drew it, he was relived to see it sparkling clean; whoever had put it there had done a marvelous job cleaning it.

"Remember that it is thy knife now," she told the boy. "'T was a gift, and I am pleased that it was able to save thy life."

She sheathed it, and put it back on the nightstand, before turning to face him. "Since thou art now in the business of saving people, I believe 't would be time to start giving thee combat lessons. Next time, I shall start training thee."

Harry still didn't like the idea of fighting, now even less than before, but he could see the need for it. "Thanks, Miss Zoë," he whispered softly. The Hunter gave a sharp nod, and took her position at the end of his bed again.

Harry suddenly realized something. "Hopefully we can still do that," he said.

Zoë shared a confused look with Artie, then looked at him. "Pardon?"

Harry sighed. "Hestia hates me now," he admitted.

There came a curious noise from Zoë's throat, while Artie made good on her 'perching', and suddenly jumped to her feet.

"Harry," she stated, coolly, "what makes you think that?"

Harry stared at his hands, clenching, and uncleching, before taking a deep breath. "Hestia hates violence, and what I did yesterday..."

Zoë made that noise again, and Harry looked at her, curiously. She seemed to stunned with disbelief.

Artie, meanwhile, was pinching the bridge of her nose. "Harry," she repeated his name, suddenly looking at him with an intense stare. "Violence is all around us. Everyone involved with the gods will eventually encounter violence. Aunt Hestia does not hate you – anymore than she hates myself, or Zoë, or any of my Hunters. Or any of the other gods, for that matter."

She drew a deep breath, and released it, then sat down on the edge of his bed, so they could lock eyes more easily. "Aunt Hestia does not have it in her to hate anyone. Why would you believe something like that from her?"

Harry swallowed, feeling rather ashamed of himself now. "I ki-" his voice broke and his throat suddenly seemed full. He swallowed, and it hurt."I killed someone," he whispered. "I'm awful. I'm a monster." Somewhere, deep down, a part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge, reared its head. "The Dursleys were right to keep me locked up."

He was just stared at his hands now. Zoë and Artie shared a look. Finally, the Goddess of the Hunt placed her hands on top of his worrying hands. "Harry, Aunt Hestia does not hate you. Neither do I, or Zoë. What you did was necessary. If you had gone out and killed an innocent, and felt no remorse, than you would have been a monster. But you went out to help someone who asked for it. You protected her, defended her, and were forced to do something very violent and incredibly awful, but in the end, you did it for the right reasons; you did it to protect someone. And the way you're feeling now? That's why you know you're not a monster. A monster wouldn't feel regret."

Harry just nodded, registering the words, but unable to bring himself to believe them. Not really, not deep down, where it mattered, where the things lie that had been drilled into him as far back as he could remember.

"There is something else, isn't there?" Artie asked, her silver gaze penetrating.

"If Hestia doesn't hate me, why didn't she visit?" he whispered, feeling guilty about even feeling that way. Hestia was a goddess, and had other duties, and he knew he was feeling incredibly selfish. He knew all that. But he still wanted to see her.

Artie sighed. "Despite everything, you are still young," she said. "Perhaps Aunt Hestia is busy. Perhaps she has other duties to attend to. But in the end, you are still young, and all that doesn't matter when you are a child wishing for a mother figure," she said, gently, for more gently than she had ever spoken to him.

Her hand, still on top of his, squeezed. "Harry, Aunt Hestia will come as soon as she is able, have no fear."

He nodded, only halfway believing her. "You were able to come, and Miss Zoë," the young boy whispered.

She gave him a tiny smile. "How could I not come, when one of the few decent males I know was badly hurt protecting one of mine? How could I not come, when I felt him waking up?" her smile grew a tiny fraction. "And I couldn't leave Zoë behind. She had that look that said she wasn't going to complain, but that she would be hurt if I left her behind. It's remarkably hard to deny her something when she gets like that."

"My Lady!" Zoë protested, but there seemed to be a friendly undertone to it, as if Zoë were complaining for form's sake.

The little moment of levity made him feel better. Zoë had wanted to come see him. He offered her a grateful look.

"Thou art my student, I would be a poor teacher if I did not check up on thee," Zoë said, looking away, as if embarassed.

The young boy shifted his gaze to Artie, who was still seated on the side of his bed. "You felt me waking up?" he asked.

Her smile grew predatory. "Harry, I am a Goddess, of course I felt it when one of the people I am attuned to is waking up."

Harry winced. "Sorry," he muttered.

Before Artie could say anything, the door to the infirmary opened and the goddess of the Hunt seemed to teleport away from him and the bed. Suddenly there were two arm's lengths worth of distance between them.

Harry felt the dichotomy well up; Hestia had just walked in. Would she hate him? Despite Artie's reassurances?

The Goddess of the Hearth and Home smiled at her niece. "I'm glad to see you and Zoë came to visit, Artie," the kindest of the gods said.

"Aunt Hestia," Artie replied respectfully. "I'm glad to see you. So is Harry," she teased, sharing a glance with her Lieutenant before shooting a tiny smile in Harry's direction.

The boy frowned and pouted, not knowing what to think, when the Goddess of the Hunt went on to say, "Now that Aunt Hestia is here to keep you company, we should take our leave." She hesitated for a moment, then added, "Feel better soon, Harry."

Zoë graced him with a smile, and another pat on his foot. "Keep thee well, Harry," she said. "Remember that we will up your training when thou visitest next."

harry tried to return the smile, but the worry made it come out as a grimace. Artie's Lieutenant patted his foot reassuringly, then gave an almost-bow to Hestia, before turning to leave with her patron.

Hestia smiled at Harry, and seemed to glide next to the bed. "How are you feeling, Harry? I must say that you gave me quite a startle when you fell out of the fire, injured as you were."

Harry shrunk in on himself, not knowing what to say or how to respond. Something choked up in his throat, and his chest hurt.

Hestia frowned, and sat her nine-year-old mortal form on the side of his bed. "What's wrong, Harry?"

His hands calmped shut, his knuckles white, he muttered something.

"Sorry? I didn't quite catch that," Hestia said, leaning closer. He felt the warmth that always permeated the air around her, reaching out to comfort him.

"You'll hate me," he whispered, just a little louder.

Hestia frowned. "I could never hate you, Harry," she said. "It's not in my nature to hate. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

She leaned closer, and hugged him. He swallowed the tightness in his throat. Something seemed to release with the warmth and comfort of the Goddess of the Home hugging him, and tears leaked from his eyes as he held on for dear life. Crying and hiccuping, the whole story came tumbling out again.

"I tried to stop him. I tried to tell him to leave. I tried, I really did, Hestia," he sobbed, holding on to hear, crying on her shoulder.

Her hands rubbed his back gently. "Oh, Harry," she said. "I am so sorry that had to happen to you. Rest assured, I do not hate you for it."

He clenched harder. He couldn't bear to look at her just yet. "But you hate violence," he whispered, pathetically.

"Yes, Harry, I do," the kind goddess said. "I hate it when violence is perpetrated, and I hate it when violence is required to deal with it. That does not mean that I hate those involved in it."

Harry sighed; her warmth and her sense of comfort was finally releasing the icy grip of fear and hurt that gripped his heart. "But… you weren't here when I woke up. And you didn't come afterwards, either."

Hestia sighed, and her hug tightened. "I heard the story from Annabeth's perspective," she said. "I went to Olympus to find something for you, something that was in my possession, but I haven't had a need of in my centuries." She sounded a bit embarrassed. "I'm afraid I mislaid it, so it took me some time to find."

Harry finally – finally – lifted his head off her shoulder, and looked at her in confusion. "Something for me?" he asked.

Hestia smiled, and released him. She took something out of her pocket, and presented it to him. On the palm of her hand was a simple silver-colored ring.

"A ring?" he asked, still confused.

Hestia's smile widened slightly. "It is more than just a ring, Harry." She held her hand closer. "It's for you."

He hesitated for a moment, then took it. It didn't feel like regular silver. It felt… softer… somehow.

"Put it on," Hestia instructed.

Harry shrugged, took the ring in his left hand, held out his right, and made to slip the ring on his ring finger. Hestia stopped him, her smile definitely amused now. "No, harry. Never put a ring on your ring finger, either on your left or your right hand. A ring on those fingers indicates engagement or marriage."

"Oh," Harry said. He slipped the ring onto his middle finger instead, and felt it immediately resize to fit him comfortably and securely, but not tightly. He looked at Hestia, as if to ask 'what's next?'

"Spin the ring with your thumb," the goddess instructed.

Harry shrugged, put his thumb on the ring, and spun it around his finger. Suddenly, his hand was filled with several loops of brightly spun gold rope of some kind. "A rope?" he asked.

Hestia giggled, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she did so. "It is a lasso," she explained. "My lasso, in fact. Made by Hephaestus, it will bind any target, including gods. It will change its length depending on the situation, will capture and bind and hold any target, and it compels the truth from those bound by it."

"Whoa," Harry said, studying the lasso he was holding.

"After what happened, I thought that having a weapon that will allow you to immobilize an opponent would be helpful," Hestia went on to explain. "That way, you have an option to bind an adversary instead."

Harry nodded mutely. "Does it really make people tell the truth?" he asked.

The goddess grinned in a conspiring manner. "Yes, it does. Be careful with it, because the truth can be as dangerous as any weapon."

Harry frowned, not understanding. "Stick your hand in the loop," Hestia instructed.

The young boy shrugged, and held the lasso by the loop at the end.

"How do you really feel about the situation?" Hestia asked.

"I'm relieved that you don't hate me, but I'm still sure that you'll grow tired of me one day and abandon me like everyone else." Harry looked horrified. "That wasn't what I wanted to say!" he shouted, immediately dropping the loop of the lasso.

Hestia looked sadly at him. "And thus, the power of the truth," she said. She leaned closer to him, and threw one arm over his shoulders. "You know I will not abandon you," she reassured him. "I, Hestia, Goddess of the Home and the Hearth, the Last Olympian, swear on the River Styx that I will never abandon you."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but Harry didn't hear it. He was gaping at her, as if unable to believe what he had just heard.

"Isn't that the oath you can't break?" he finally whispered.

Hestia smiled gently, and patted his hands, hands that were still holding the lasso. "It invites grave misfortune upon yourself, and in some cases, even your family, should you break it," she explained. "I do not make oaths I don't keep, so there will be no misfortune to be had."

Harry kept gaping at her, unable to believe just what had happened. The Goddess of the Hearth let her smile deepen, and hugged his limp form. "Trust me, Harry. I will not abandon you."

He just hugged her. "Thank you," he whispered.

He could hear her smile when she answered him back. "You're welcome, Harry."

When he finally released her, he just wiped at his eyes with the back of his left hand, while his right still clutched that awesome lasso Hestia had given him.

"Let's put that away, and I'll make you some food," Hestia said. "You'll be recovering for a while, and you should rest."

Harry nodded mutely, and Hestia showed him how to turn the lasso back into a ring. She then conjured him some food, watched him with a pleased smile as he ate, and then helped him lie back in the bed. She even helped him pull the covers up over him, which he found both strange and oddly reassuring.

It took him close to a week to recover fully; the first few days he could hardly leave the bed to use the bathroom. After those first few days, he felt ready to go back to Helios' temple, but Hestia preferred it if he stayed at the camp a while longer. Since it was Hestia asking, Harry agreed.

He spent quite a lot of time talking with Silena, Louis, the two guys, as well as Annabeth. Strangely enough, Annabeth and Silena had trouble being in the same room together, and neither would tell him why when he asked. He just added it to the 'girls are weird' category.

He also spent quite some time on the beach. For a boy who had seen the ocean for a grant total of two times, every minute spent on the beach was a good one in his opinion. He made sure to thank Poseidon, though – he liked the God of the Sea and wanted to make sure he stayed on his good side.

Regardless of the copious amounts of sleep, rest, and relaxation he got at the camp, by the time he was able to return to the temple he was relieved. There was always so much activity going at camp, and he was looking forward to some time by himself, just living in the temple, cooking in the kitchen, reading the books Hestia had given him.

He had just settled in, a nice pot of mac and cheese heating up on the stove, his book selected, when pounding on the double doors of Helios' Temple interrupted him.

With a small frown, wondering who it was, Harry walked to the door and pulled them open. Of the few people he had expected, the god that he saw was very far down the list.

"Ah," Harry stammered for a moment, before managed to get a hold of himself. "Good afternoon, Mister Ares."