It was dinnertime at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Suddenly, the loud chatter was interrupted by the doors to the Great Hall banging open and a person entering. This person was a tall, lean looking teenage boy of about fifteen with shoulder length black hair and eyes so dark they resembled abysses. He wore a black t-shirt with dancing skeletons on it, with black jeans, a chain belt and a worn out brown aviators jacket with scuffed up black combat boots. He walked down the aisle between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, his stride was graceful yet full of purpose. He stopped in front of Dumbledore's seat at the staff table.
"Albus Dumbledore?" the boy asked; his voice was strange, quiet and as smooth as velvet. The headmaster looked at the boy with thinly veiled curiosity, as the boy reached into his jacket and pulled something out. He leaned over the table and slid the thing towards Dumbledore. Dumbledore picked up the object, which turned out to be a letter.
"I suggest you read that now, Professor," the boy said, his voice low and urgent, turning a bit mocking as he said "professor." The headmaster consented and ripped open the letter.
The letter read:
Dear Mr. Dumbledore,
If you are reading this, then my son must have done his job correctly. I have been informed of your current position in your war, and I have decided to send you help in order to lower the amount of paperwork from all the casualties that are to come and could be prevented. On an opposite note, Tom Riddle has escaped Death for far too long, and I will not stand for mere mortals to mock the balance between life and the afterlife as he does. My son, Nico di Angelo, is there to make sure that he does not elude my capture again. Allow him to help and do not interfere with his Quest, which he will explain to you as he sees fit.
God of the Dead, God of Wealth, Lord of the Underworld
Nico di Angelo
Nico waited impatiently for the old coot to finish reading.
"I demand to know your business here, young man," a stout, ugly, toad-like woman garbed in a hideous pink cardigan demanded of him in an impossibly sweet, squeaky voice that made him want to puke just at the sound of it.
"My task is of no concern to you, Ma'am," Nico replied. He could tell his voice, again, held that polite taunting that he was known for at home, the voice that challenged whomever he was speaking to of their position or authority.
"On the contrary, Mr.-" the woman looked at him for a name, and flushed an angry prune colour when he stayed silent, quietly smirking at her, before she started talking again, much to Nico's chagrin.
"It is very much so my concern. As High Inquisitor of Hogwarts-" Nico cut her off, sounding almost impossibly bored.
"Yes, well, you see, my business is with the headmaster, not the High Inquisitor, I'm afraid," Nico said, and the pink lady swelled up in anger.
"Just who do you think you are?" she screeched. Nico grinned sinisterly, all boredom gone.
"I'm your worst nightmare," he declared in a deadly voice barely above a whisper, sending out a pulse of Fear and Death so powerful that even the most menacing looking kids in the hall – all conveniently wearing green – quailed at the feeling. The woman's eyes widened, and despite her fear, yet again opened her large, frog-like mouth to talk. Nico almost groaned. Just then, Dumbledore (who seemed impervious to his Death pulse) looked up from the letter.
"Very well, Mr. di Angelo, we will speak-"
"Now; we will speak now," Nico interjected quietly but forcefully, his tone leaving no room for argument. He could faintly hear the gasps from the students when he interrupted their headmaster. Seriously, these people were idiots. Dumbledore nodded somewhat gravely, and stood up from his seat. He led Nico towards a door that presumably led off of the hall. Once the door was closed, the old man turned to Nico.
"What is your Quest, Mr. di Angelo?" Dumbledore asked, staring at him intensely. Nico didn't want his total Quest to be revealed just yet. He looked at the headmaster defiantly.
"I must aid you in your war, being a veteran of two wars myself," Nico chose his words carefully. The old man looked shocked, and Nico slyly poked into his mind; a talent he had learned from his father.
How could a boy who couldn't be over the age of sixteen have participated in two wars and lived? Let alone come out of them with his sanity intact?
Nico let the man's mind go. He wasn't fond of trespassing on other's privacy, so he didn't do it often. Even on weird old dudes with long facial hair.
"Is that all?" Dumbledore asked.
"For now," Nico replied, going to turn back to re-enter the hall, before Dumbledore called him back.
"Mr. di Angelo."
Nico paused, still facing the door.
"Yes?" he asked, his accented voice strained.
"If you are to stay, you will need lodging and the school rules state that if you are lodging on campus and under the age of eighteen, you will have to attend classes."
Nico turned sharply, somewhat – ok, let's not kid, very – annoyed.
"What do you mean; I'll have to attend classes?" Nico asked, his voice (not to mention temper) rising. But Dumbledore looked at him placidly.
"It is a school, Nico," Dumbledore said calmly, despite the death glare being sent his way via the son of Hades.
"Don't call me that. Only friends and family are able to use my first name; and I'm not here to go to school," he grit his teeth, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His hands slowly curled into shaking fists. The last time he went to school...was with her.