Chapter Text
Something was wrong with him.
Apollo knew it was a risk to run so far away from Olympus, his family, his throne, and his home. He is most powerful wherever the heart of the West and Olympus is. But out in Magical Britain, he’s so far from his divine throne and homeworld, it was putting a heavy strain on his body and mind. As a god, Apollo doesn't need to eat or sleep. But lately, he’d been feeling as tired and fatigued as a mortal human. Apollo was having a hard time focusing and keeping himself from accidentally releasing any of his godly aura. These days, his cheerful smile and energetic attitude which should've been easy to keep up was now a full on act when all he actually wanted to do was go pass out in bed for a century. He felt as if his very essence was draining and his powers weakening each day he didn’t ride his Sun Chariot.
What’s wrong with me? Apollo thought as he rushed from Hagrid’s cabin to the privacy of his personal room behind the DADA classroom. He’s a god, he can conjure whatever he wants from thin air. That potion for Ron’s sickness should’ve taken no more than a few seconds, yet Apollo found himself straining to produce even that single vial of healing potion.
After pushing himself to create the gods-cursed potion for multiple minutes, Apollo felt absolutely wiped and dizzy, a fiery burning feeling in his veins boiling his blood like acid. He was barely clinging to consciousness as he shakily gave Ron the potion. He knew at any second now, he would pass out and he needed to be in complete privacy when that happened.
Apollo ground his teeth together as a migraine-inducing pressure telling of a nasty headache built in his head. He dashed into the empty DADA classroom and stumbled into his private room, slamming the door shut behind. Apollo locked the door just in time before he could feel a nauseating, sickening feeling in his stomach. He collapsed to his knees and keeled over in pain as he spat out a mouthful of blood all over the floor.
Oh, That can’t be good. Apollo thought, horrified as his blurry eyes attempted to focus on the ichor now covering his shaking hands and the floor. Reality began warping and his vision began clouding with green smoke. No, please no. A vision? Now? Seriously? Apollo let out a strangled, pained cry as fire filled his veins, the room blurred and tilted, the green smoke blinding him as he slumped on the gold splattered ground and blacked out.
For a while, all Apollo could see was pitch-black darkness as he aimlessly floated in the emptiness. He was tense, eyes darting around in apprehension. He didn’t often get visions that knocked him out. What he usually got was quick, blurry flashing images and scenes of the future, but he’d still be conscious. The rare times he’d get a vision that forced him unconscious, they were always also the big world-ending ones like the Great Prophecy or Prophecy of the Seven. Whatever this vision was about to tell him was certainly going to be important if it needed to personally drag Apollo into unconsciousness to warn him.
Then, three old ladies with thousand-year-old eyes suddenly appeared in front of him, towering over Apollo’s hovering form. They were holding a golden thread that Apollo had a gut wrenching feeling was his. Ice cold dread filled Apollo as he realized he was looking at the three goddesses of fate and destiny, The Fates. But why? What is it that they want from me? Apollo watched in horror as The Fates opened their wrinkled, toothless mouths in spoke in unison:
“The fall of the sun,”
What? Are they reciting a prophecy? Apollo thought, alarmed. The Fates all watched Apollo with unnerving, empty stares as they continued.
“The final verse,”
As if they were one being, all three goddesses stretched out a thin, bony hand holding the golden thread. Apollo held his breath, transfixed.
“Bear the weight of the withering curse,”
They simultaneously dropped the golden thread into the endless abyss below.
“Strike arrow to the serpent’s eye,”
Apollo let out a silent scream as he watched his own thread of fate disappear into the infinite void
“Gold and red paint bleeding sky,”
Suddenly, The Fates vanished and darkness took over his vision again.
“WHERE IS HE?” A thunderous voice bellowed in Apollo’s mind. The darkness receded to show an image of his father, Zeus, sitting in his throne in the Olympus courtroom surrounded by the entire Olympic counsel, including Hades and Hestia.
“WHERE IS THAT COWARD? HE DARES DEFY ME? TO RUN AWAY?” Zeus roared at the other gods. Dionysus lay across his throne, lazily drinking a can of diet coke. Poseidon brooded on his throne, looking about done with Zeus. Hades had a similarly annoyed look on his face. Hermes at least looked a bit worried. Ares stared at the walls in boredom and Athena seemed like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Hestia, being the best Aunt ever, looked troubled and concerned. Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hera all seemed perfectly calm and quiet. Hephaestus sat in complete silence. Artemis, however, looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown.
“IT’S BEEN MONTHS! WHEN I FIND THAT BRAT, I’LL CAST HIM DOWN TO EARTH! I DECLARE PHOEBUS APOLLON BANISHED!” Zeus furiously yelled, voice echoing like thunder in the giant courtroom. Multiple gods winced and tried to discreetly cover their ears from Zeus’s furious rambling. Artemis twisted her hands with an anxious and distressed expression on her face that Apollo just knew was his fault.
I’m sorry, Sis. I promise to return home one day, Apollo swore in his mind, unable to verbally speak it in the vision, not like she’ll be able to hear it anyway. But strangely, Artemis seemed to react to his thoughts because she lifted her head and stared directly at where Apollo had been watching the scene in the vision. Her downcast expression instantly turned hopeful as she silently mouthed just one word to him.
Brother?
Apollo startled awake on the ground in a puddle of his own ichor with a gasp. He lifted himself up and dragged himself to the couch, heavily plopping down. Apollo had been trying to bury the memories of his furious father and his dark thoughts about how he essentially self-exiled himself ever since he left. But now, Apollo knew his father had officially banished him from Olympus for an indefinite amount of time. He always knew he was going to be exiled, but to now know for sure still stung. Apollo isn't sure if he can ever return home now. Not anytime soon, that was obvious.
Artemis . His brilliant sister. How he missed her and all his wonderful demigod children so much. Artemis is immortal, so he's sure he'll see her again one day. But Apollo may never see his mortal kids again, not while he's banished from Olympus. It was a horrible thought that Apollo hadn't dared consider before but he doesn't have a choice anymore. It's the truth, and he hated it.
Then there was that horrifying prophecy The Fates recited. Apollo did not like the sound of the prophecy at all and had a feeling it wasn’t even complete. The first line had an unfinished rhyme and the whole prophecy was missing something, but he didn't know what.
Apollo had no idea for most of the lines, but he did have an idea for at least two of them. He had a terrible feeling that the line “fall of the sun” had something to do with him. He also had a clue to what “bear the weight of the withering curse” meant, which was probably his weakening divinity problem.
Speaking of his weakening divinity, it was going to be a problematic issue. Exiled and so far away from home, Apollo was not doing so well. This was a whole other world and will never be his home. It just isn't sustainable for a non-native god to stay here for a long time without daily visits to replenish his power in the world of Mythical Greek.
Apollo knows he can't stay here forever. He'll have to eventually return home. But for now, even if it's burning him inside out, he'll have to hide here for however long until either Zeus revoked his banishment or Apollo is weakened to the point he will be forced to return. He hopes it never comes to the second option, though. He can only imagine the horrible punishment Zeus will inflict on him if he ever dares to show his face again.
Apollo let out a deep, tired sigh as he rubbed his throbbing forehead. Luckily, he'd only been out for about an hour. No one should notice anything wrong. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. It would be best if he refrained from using his godly powers too often to avoid burning himself any further. Muttering “ Evanesco ”, Apollo vanished all evidence of gold ichor from the floor and his robes. This was going to be a long, miserable year, he just knew it.