Death's child at Hogwarts

Chapter Six - Nico Di Angelo, AKA Your Personal Therapist

Chapter Six - Nico Di Angelo, AKA Your Personal Therapist

Disclaimer: *blah blah blah* Rick Riordan owns this *blah blah blah* J.K.Rowling owns that *blah blah blah* I only own the plot etc. etc.

Nico had laughed when Hecate first proposed her idea of kidnapping The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Goddess did not follow suit.

So several days and innumerable arguments later, a plan was devised. Nico would get Harry to go on a walk with him, at a time when nobody would be out in the corridors, and promptly drag him into the Room of Requirement. He would then (somehow) persuade him to explain what was wrong with him, and thus the problem would be solved, and the son of Hades could get back to searching for Horcruxes and finishing randomly-scheduled homeworks.

But first, he had to figure out how the Hades to work the bloody device that had been sent to him.

It came at breakfast, as one might expect, in the form of a black orb, but after leaving it alone in his dormitory for a few hours, it had somehow shifted into the form of a blank, marble slate, the kind that people years ago used to use to write things down.

The note had merely said that in order to activate the device, he needed either a piece of Tom Riddle's past, or some of his DNA.

Finding either of those things was 100% easier said than done, and the Demigod had no time to dwell on the possible locations of such things when his classes had grown disappointingly boring, and yet had more homework and general work than he'd experienced in his life.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was arguably one of his favourite classes, but then again, only Malfoy's gang of friends seemed to genuinely dislike it.

The otherwise annoying Slytherins, when not complaining constantly about Harry, weren't actually that bad. Sure, they were pretentious and spoilt, but they had a cunningness and ambition that matched Nico's own, and so he found himself drifting off from the Golden Trio more and more, with hastily muttered excuses.

His favourite class, however, was Potions, despite how Snape was constantly pissed off with everyone after finding out about Neville's Boggart and how he conquered his fear. The son of Hades knew full well that if he ever expressed this that Ron and Harry would both probably stand with their mouths gaping open for the next few millennia, and so wisely kept his mouth shut. That didn't stop him from perusing his book avidly at night, head tilted as he absorbed the recipes for poisons, healing potions, potions for transfiguring things, and Zeus knows what else. The main reason he liked the otherwise loathed subject was simply that it made sense. All the other subjects were simple waves of the wand, or endless repetition which dulled his interest. Potions was almost akin to Science, when compared to other subjects in normal schools.

It was strange, how foreign the very idea of 'normal' was.

What was also strange, was how the other subjects at a magic school had suddenly gotten so boring.

Nobody liked Care Of Magical Creatures anymore, since after the first 'exciting' (awful) class, it had become painfully dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.

"Why would anyone bother looking after them?" said Ron, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms' slimy throats.