Chapter Text
Septimus Heap woke to his House Mouse tapping on his nose. "Alright, alright," he said as he shooed it off and read the note in its hands, his eyes immediately drawn to the elegant purple script.
Dear Septimus,
Please meet me in my study at noon exactly. There is something urgent I want to discuss with you.
Marcia
Septimus glanced at the clock. It was nine o'clock. He had only three hours until his 'appointment'. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands, what Marcia wanted to talk to him about. Something told him it wasn't something good.
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"Alright. Percy Jackson, stop bringing the poodle. I don't know why you think it's okay, but it's not allowed!"
I was in theater, practicing for my school's production of Romeo and Juliet, which wasn't really a play but a , when my teacher yelled at me. I glanced at the teacher and saw Mrs. O'Leary chewing on the curtains.
Well. This was going to be fun.
"Hey, I don't control the, ahem, poodle," I said, "and I have no idea why she's here but I'll take it outside. Come on, Mrs. O'Leary!"
I heard the other kids snigger at the name, but I was more preoccupied by the fact that Mrs. O'Leary had came to my school. Which was definitely unusual. But whatever. Another day in the life of a demigod.
Mrs. O'Leary followed me out of the theater as I walked to the parking lot. Weirdly enough, I couldn't stop thinking that something was bound to go wrong at any minute.
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"Harry! Get up, we're going to Diagon Alley today."
Harry Potter sat up abruptly and almost smacked Ron, who had been the one to wake him, in the face. He rubbed his eyes and fumbled for his glasses. "What time is it, mate?"
"It's three to eight. Mum was getting worried about you sleeping in, she wants to get there early. Here's your breakfast." said Ron, handing him a tray. He apparently didn't notice the orange juice spill over the cup slightly.
"Thanks," Harry said between bites.
A while later, Mrs. Weasley called everyone down. "This time, we'll be using the Floo network to get to Diagon Alley," she said. "Arthur couldn't get us a car."
"I liked the cars though," Fred complained.
"Shut your mouth, you know that you didn't like the cars," George said.
"And how do you know that?"
"Because you were complaining to me."
Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Harry, dear, you first. Fred, George, stop bickering."
Harry reached in the flowerpot, threw the powder in the flames, carefully folded his glasses and stuffed them in his pocket, and stepped forward. Suddenly, a sense of foreboding overcame him. He shook off the feeling and stepped in the flames. "Diagon Alley!" he shouted as the green whirled up around him.