Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     The words don’t stop repeating.

     They keep filling his mind until there’s no space left to dream of anything else. ‘One shall be lost in the land without rain.’ Vivid images of Bianca being crushed to death, the helplessness he felt in that moment taking the form of a dull, incapacitating ache. Nico gazing up at him with tears packed with guilt, frustration, and fury. He wasn’t able to help these children when he had the chance to. He let her die. 

     It’s getting tougher to breathe.

     ‘And one shall perish by a parent's hand.’ Gods, Zoë deserved justice. And just when he was finally getting on her ‘good’--well, tolerable side. Seeing the life leak out of her eyes and into the stars up above was definitely not a pleasant experience. It hurts to see her lifeless body lying limp on the ground again. The image never disappears, just sticking around in this cruel dream to constantly remind him of the losses he experienced. Grieving hurts–especially when he should’ve been able to prevent this. He let them die. He ruined their lives; he ruined the quest that wasn’t even his to begin with. He needs to learn how to stay out of events he’s not meant to be in.

     It’s too hard to breathe.

     No, hard is an understatement. It feels like he’s failing to climb out of a bottomless pit where the walls are covered with vines full of prickly thorns, his hands bleeding furiously at each grasp it takes to pull himself up. Still, there’s no end, and it ends up tearing up his palms until he gives up from the radiating pain and falls back down into who knows where. 

     Oddly specific scenario, but he’s dreamt of it before as well. Thankfully, he has no clue what falling through a bottomless pit feels like; otherwise, these nightmares would be 10000x worse by being more realistic.

     He’s shaking–not from the fear, to clarify. It feels unnatural to feel his body shake this violently, but he doesn’t know how to stop it–especially since he can’t tear his gaze away from the image of his friends dying in front of his eyes. Demigod nightmares are usually this horrible, but feeling the grief for the people he could’ve known more if he only had more time with them hits him harder than anything else he’s felt in the past. He could’ve had that time if he just wasn’t—

     “Percy. Percy. By the gods, Seaweed-brain, wake up!” Annabeth groans half-heartedly, trying her best to grip her friend’s shoulders as tightly as she can to wake him from his nightmare. It’s clear he’s deep in one at the moment, but that matters less than the news she has to deliver to him at this moment.

     Besides, he slept in, so he needs to get up regardless. Though the number of nightmares Percy has been having has increased dramatically recently, and that does worry Annabeth. 

     Percy feels the shaking cease as he, unintentionally, lets out a low grumble while his eyes peep open.

     Thank the gods, that was starting to make me sick, he complains silently in his thoughts.

     “..Wise Girl,” he acknowledges her presence, the drowsiness heavily affecting his speech, leading him to slur a bit. “--what’dya want? ‘s early.” He frowns.

     Annabeth looks at him, appalled. Jeez, he wonders if he said something horribly wrong just then. “It’s like the dead of the afternoon right now, Percy. Get up quickly. Chiron wanted you in the Big House approximately–” she gazes out the gaps through the front of Cabin 3, almost as if she was measuring what time of day it was by simply looking at the placement of the sun in the sky. Huh. “--like, an hour ago.”

     Percy does not know anything about such news. He jolts up, kicking the blanket sprawled on him towards the end of his bed as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Dude, what? Since when? I swear, I haven’t even talked to Chiron since we came back from Olympus.”

     Annabeth ignores the rest of his protests, silently sliding off Percy’s bed to head out of the Cabin with clear haste. “Hurry up, Seaweed-brain. It’s urgent,” she firmly states. There’s a tiny hint of desperation behind her words; something rare for Annabeth Chase.

     “Oi! Annabeth!” Percy yells after her, immediately launching himself out of his bunk, faced with the numerous other empty bunks across him. He doesn’t bother changing out of his fish-themed pajamas. Instead, he hastily slides on the closest Camp Half-Blood t-shirt to him. Before sprinting out of his Cabin, he chucks Riptide into his pajama-pant pocket, hoping his speed will aid in catching up to Annabeth.

     He doesn’t exactly swear often with the regular mortal words, but he genuinely is wondering what the fuck is happening that's just so urgent. Emphasis on the sarcasm of ‘so.’

     By the time Percy arrives at the Big House, there’s already a crowd of people waiting for him. Okay, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration. More like a surprising lack of Annabeth, Chiron, and two random wizard-looking guys standing next to the centaur. One actually looks like a billion years old, based solely on the length of that grey beard, while the other has greasy dark hair and a permanent sour expression that sort of resembles the look Smelly Gabe always had back when he was alive. Percy definitely knows which one he’d rather not talk to right now.

     But that’s besides the point. ‘They both have to be some sort of.. Demigod of some sort. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have gotten through the barrier. And Chiron is clearly tolerating them, so surely they’re to be kind of trusted,’ his thought process goes on. ‘Wait. I haven’t said anything yet, I’m just staring.’

     “Uh. Hi?” Percy prompts, unable to hide his extremely confused expression as he addresses the multiple elephants in the room, one by one. “Who are you guys? What’s happening, Chiron?” 

     Percy turns his head towards the mentor centaur, his expression almost shifting into one of worry. What if this is a secret attack from Kronos–or maybe something has shifted in the war? Fuck, what if he’s getting into more trouble? Or even worse… It’s another quest. It’s barely even been a month since the last quest happened. If he has to handle some more quest bullshit again, he just might accidentally cause a tsunami.

     Chiron starts to slowly pace around the area of the room, his hooves rhythmically clicking on the wooden floorboarding. “Percy. About time you’ve woken. I have sent Annabeth to collect the satyr. Do not be alarmed, this is not another quest.” 

     That made Percy sigh in relief. 

     “Well, rather, it’s different from the standard demigod quests that you have withstood in the past. It’s… a request for help from our best.”

     Nevermind. That’s arguably worse.

     “Our best? From who?” Percy questions, a sense of panic slowly rising through his chest. He has developed a hatred for all sorts of quests ever since the last traumatic few. It doesn’t help that his 15th birthday is yet to pass. Just a year till the date the Great Prophecy is meant to happen. Another quest means another huge chance of dying–he can’t let the prophecy be passed down. More than just that, he can’t leave his friends, his mom, his home.

     Chiron presents his usual soft smile while continuing the horrid news. “Of course, the best is you. But I suspect that sending you off to England alone wouldn’t be the best experience for you, would it? Hence, I’ve gathered Annabe—”

     “Huh? England?” Percy exclaims, his eyes widening at the sudden news. Fuck, what happened to telling the children what’s happening? “You’re shipping me off to the Brits? Since when?”

     Chiron sighs heavily. “Let me explain, Percy. Do not succumb to your panic just yet. I’ve gathered Annabeth Chase and Grover Underwood to help you with this journey. You see, there is more to the magical world than simply our small bubble of mortals and immortals. There’s more to this world than simply what the mist hides.”

     “You better not be breaking more news to me that there are like, what, wizards and elves out there?” Percy jokes lightly, trying to crack the tension building up. He keeps an eye on the two men in the corner of the room.

     “Ah, how wonderful, you already know.” Chiron’s eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief, not unnatural for the man, but it always appalls Percy when the centaur pokes fun at the things that make a kid like him panic the most. However, he catches where Percy’s gaze lies. “Would you introduce yourself, gentlemen?”

     Percy just prays Annabeth hurries up and appears out of nowhere to argue their way out of this... or something. He's not ready for this yet.

Chapter Text

     Chiron moves himself out of the way, allowing the two strange men--wizards-- to fully come into view.

     “Perseus, I presume?" The older man steps forward, eyebrow raising, almost amused. His accent is painfully English. The entire gesture feels almost mocking, meaning to be sickly-sweet. Percy is in half the mood to call it out, but can’t be bothered.

     “Well, yeah. There’s no one else here, is there?” Percy quips, realising he’s coming off a little bit snarky. Definitely not his intention of a first impression to old British men—shit, not just that, they’re wizards. They could probably hex him to Hecate if they want.

     Percy clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “But yes, that's me. Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon,” he extends his hand out for a loose handshake as he allows a grin to spread on his face. Surely, he can mend his first impression while avoiding being called ‘Perseus’ once again.

     “But do call me Percy. Only monsters trying to kill me call me Perseus. It’s honestly terrifying,” he chuckles awkwardly, shaking the older man’s hand before taking a deliberate step back. He’d rather not be so close to strangers at the moment.

     The man nods gently, a shine similar to Chiron’s appearing in his eyes. To Percy, this man seems to generously remind him of the centaur, especially in the way he carries himself. Or maybe it’s just old age.

     “Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But then, please, call me Albus. After all, we are working together for the next while, are we not?”

     ‘Hogwarts? Kind of a stupid name, honestly. Even a generic name like ‘Wizard School’ would be better. Wonder which buffoon named it. Hah. Buffoon sounds like a British word. Maybe I’m already fitting in.’ 

     Percy’s strange thought process is thankfully interrupted by the next, younger man clearing his throat. “Severus Snape,” the greasy-haired man sneers. He strides closer, standing by Albus, seemingly uninterested. However, Percy has a hunch that the greasy-haired man—jeez, that’s a handful to say. Maybe just ‘grease-hair,’ more accurate—grease-hair is secretly sizing him up. It’s honestly a bit intimidating.

     Once more, Percy extends a hand to shake as a courtesy, a weaker smile appearing. When the man doesn’t take it at first, he quickly retracts his hand. At the same moment, Annabeth enters the Big House with Grover right behind her. She makes quick eye contact with Percy before starting a conversation.

     Or rather, attempting to. Grover beats her to it. “Percy! Have you been filled in? ‘Bout the new quest?” He chirps while grinning nervously, scooting over to where Percy is standing. 

     Percy attempts his best smile. “You already know?”

     Grover sighs, heavier than usual. “Was filled in by Annabeth. Guess it’s just us three again, as always, huh…?” He weakly smiles, but offers a little bit of sympathy. He probably senses the deeper distress Percy feels through the empathy link. 

     Aware of the tension, Annabeth cuts in, stepping to the other side of Percy so that he’s centred. She tries to ease the tension through other means—by continuing the information gathering, really. “So. When are we leaving?”

     Albus locks eyes with Chiron, nodding solemnly. Old men always seem so somber when serious; it’s scary. “As soon as we can,” the Headmaster explains. “You see, the Wizarding World is in rather a… tough situation. As we gather, both our supernatural worlds are not in the best of places at the moment. However, we need more aid than we can produce. I will fill you in when we arrive in London.”

     “Won’t that take a while though?” Annabeth raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. She’s holding the Yankees cap her mother gifted her years ago in her hand. “And also, we need to like, pack our belongings, don’t we? Where will we stay? Also, how long?--”

     Percy drifts out of conversation for a moment, zoning in on one thought. ‘If we’re travelling by air, Zeus wouldn’t like it--oh, man. I’m so fucked. Imagine if I die before the quest even starts. Honestly, hilarious–’

     “How are we getting there?” Grover asks before Percy can, probably according to his own curiosity, but Percy silently thanks him. 

     Albus smiles softly, but makes direct eye contact with Percy instead of Grover. Odd. “No worries, boy. It has nothing to do with flight. Due to time constraints, we might apparate you to London. However, intercontinental apparition with passengers might be tougher than simply alone…” He seems to mutter the part to himself, in a small moment of thought before returning to his normal demeanor. 

     It didn’t click in Percy’s mind that Albus practically read his thoughts out of nowhere. Perhaps it was simply a coincidence.

     “Perseus—Percy, I mean. Excuse me. Since it is particularly risky to travel with more than a singular passenger when apparating across continents, I believe we should simply transport you for the time being. To minimise injury for… all parties involved. Severus.”

     Snape’s head snaps to where Albus addressed him, managing a small head tilt. “What is it, sir?” His voice is uncomfortably monotone.

     Albus simply smiles in return. “Take Percy with you back to London. You know the place. For the time being, I will sort out the logistics of this ‘quest,’ as the halfbloods say, with Chiron and the other two.”

     Percy is truthfully too dazed to even protest. Snape grumbles incoherently to himself before extending an arm towards Percy.

     He addresses Albus first. “Make haste. You have a trial for a certain boy who, unfortunately, lived in the next few days. Remember, time zones exist.” 

     Then, he wastes no time snapping at Percy. “Well? Boy? Hold on.” He snorts coldly.

     Percy decides he’s not exactly fond of grease-hair. “Wait. What about my belongings? You’re asking me to head to a new country with nothing!” He huffs slightly, the thought coming to mind. 

     Snape narrows his eyes, grabbing onto Percy’s arm for him. “That will be sorted, Jackson. Now hold on. I don’t want you to lose an arm. It would be… unfortunate.” He says with a bit of distaste.

     Oh.

     Percy has zero clue about what’s about to occur, so for the first time in a while, he decides to play safe and grab onto grease-hair’s arm, practically hugging it tightly. ‘I mean, he did say hold on tight, didn’t he?’ He silently thought to himself.

     The man paid no attention to the gesture as if it wasn’t out of place for either of them. 

     Suddenly, the strangest moment occurred to Percy. Almost stranger than when he first found out that children of the gods exist, and he was one. 

     It’s like everything started warping. Like, everything. In the blink of an eye, it was all gone, but it was like the warping sensation washed over him, and all his body went through a wormhole. He found himself holding on tighter, unable to look away from reality bending itself into little folds as the space around him felt mushy. Like he’s no longer in that area, but instead squeezed into a bottleneck, unable to get out.

     The ground reaches his feet, like he wasn’t on any surface to begin with. That’s when a sudden burst of nausea settled in, the tight warping sensation leaving his body and returning to plaguing his vision as he held onto grease-hair for dear life. He doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings at the moment.

    “Holy—Hera—By the gods, what in Hades was that?” Percy mumbles under his breath, just loud enough for Snape to hear. He silently apologises to the gods for his use of their names for that string of curses.

     “Apparition. Get used to it, Jackson, you’ll be doing it a lot more soon,” Snape sneers, the usual snarky, cold demeanor back in play. He is stiff—but he’s not yet shoving Percy off his arm.

     Percy is so goddamn thankful for that. His legs feel so weak that if he were to walk on his own, he fears he would’ve face planted into the ground and made a fool of himself all over again.

     “Y’know, you can just call me Percy,” he grumbles, trying to break through the man’s cold persona. “It’s not like I’m your student or somethin’. We’re working together, are we not?” He mirrors Albus’s words with a slightly smug smile.

     Snape barely rolls his eyes, tone sharp. “Percy. Boring name, if I do say so myself. I'd rather stick to Jackson. We are not friends, child. Coworkers, at the most," he sneers.

     Percy scoffs. “Severus is worse, in my humble opinion,” Percy snaps back shortly, finally detaching himself from the man. Snape says nothing to his statement, seemingly blanking out as he begins to walk forward. Percy follows behind him.

     Now that he is well, he gets a gist of his surroundings. It seems to be dark, a bit gloomy due to the cloudy climate, in contrast to the sunnier days Camp Half-Blood was experiencing back in America. Additionally, they were on the pavement, standing by a line of similarly dark housing quarters. They stop in front of one, but Percy’s vision is still too blurry to properly assess the details of where they are.

     He takes this moment to evaluate just what in life he had done to deserve this. And additionally, how is this all even possible? But he shouldn’t be surprised—he’s literally the Son of Poseidon—but wizards are on a whole other level. If he ever means Hecate one day, he would just like to question what other magical things are out there. What’s next? It still doesn't make sense why he was even called for this quest. And for what?

     Wait—

     “How do you even know Chiron?” Percy asks quietly, realising he’s being more hushed than he tends to be. He’s in no mood to be louder. He's just trying to fit together the missing pieces of this puzzle that was handed to him.

     His eyes glance at the number 12 by the building as it shifts to reveal a new area. Percy didn’t even register the chance until the address was visible. He could slowly feel his energy seep away, wanting to claim him. He hasn’t felt so out of it in days.

     Snape doesn’t answer. 

     “You’re tired. Stop asking questions and get your rest,” Snape mutters, eyes narrowed and gaze almost piercing. The man is exhausted as well. The apparition didn’t spare him either, it seems.

     “Your quarters are temporarily here until your friends arrive,” he continues almost bitterly. Oh. Percy didn’t even realise they were already inside the building. He’ll have to explore it later.

     He nods without a word, quickly collapsing onto the nearest bed—not to sleep, but just to close his eyes and push the sick feeling away. He can’t afford another nightmare so soon. It’s barely been… an hour since his last? He can’t remember.

     “…thank you. For the transport,” he makes sure to mumble out, in case he ends up dissociating from reality for longer in a moment. 

     Snape, once more, didn’t respond. But even if Percy couldn’t see it, the man stood by the doorway, overlooking him for a few minutes, before leaving.

Chapter Text

     
     Being woken by intense yelling is never a pleasant experience, to say the least. After all, back when Percy lived with Gabe Ugliano, every morning spent in that apartment was dreadful due to yelling. Gods, the only thing even keeping pre-teen him alive was his mom.

     Percy frowns, shifting once more in his rest. He misses his mom. Originally, he was meant to visit his mom and Paul near his birthday. Then this whole fiasco decides to happen—and now he has been taken to England, for some reason, to a townhouse in the middle of nowhere. 

     The screaming in the background of his thoughts doesn’t seem to stop. It’s a boy, probably around Percy’s age, judging by the weight the voice holds, but Percy has no motivation to get out of bed to see just who it is.

     Percy’s tired. That’s an insane understatement—he’s exhausted to the core. These past few years, he has been working himself to the bone to just have people die and die. He’s getting closer to the birthdate he thought he would never live to. Besides, it’s been set in stone from before he was born to lead that stupid war just because the Titans and gods have to be so immature. 

     He knows he shouldn’t be thinking this way, not to disrespect the Olympians and their history. But by the gods, he hates having to clean up their messes. He loathes how each year, something astronomically worse happens to–not just him–but all the campers, the other demigods, all the children that don’t deserve any of this. Percy can’t even find a way out of this endless cycle of suffering that all halfbloods are pushing through in this moment. He can rarely even find a way out of death in his own quests.

     His hands throb with the ache caused by the demigod dream he had those hours ago. Maybe it was even a day ago. He honestly can’t tell the time here.

     A sharp knock forces Percy to shift his line of sight a bit more towards the doorway in the corner of the rather rickety room, noticing a tall figure standing there–none other than Severus Snape. Honestly, Percy can’t expect anyone else at this point. He might as well use this opportunity to question the man as much as he can. 

     The only problem is that he’s struggling to find his voice. It feels like his voice has just been locked away in a part deep inside of himself. ‘It would be a bit awkward to clear my throat right now, to add to that. Might as well wait.’

     “You slept the entire day,” Snape’s monotone voice echoes slightly through the hollow room. He doesn’t take a step further into the area, sticking to his position by the doorway. 

     Percy is unable to hide the drowsy groan that escapes his mouth. He turns his body over, barely extracting himself from the bed as he forces himself into a sitting position. His hair sticks up in all awkward places, extremely ruffled from his slumber. He mutters his questions. “What time is it..? Are my friends here yet?”

     “About nighttime. It’s the 6th. And no, not quite. Albus doesn’t seem to be back either.” Snape straightens his posture, if even possible, still wearing the same pitch-black robes he was wearing when they had their first meeting just hours—days ago.

     Percy winces at the thought of sleeping for practically days. However, he is unable to ignore the worry bubbling in his chest at the mention that his friends aren’t here yet. Surely, nothing absolutely dreadful happened.

     “2 days?” He’s more shocked at his lack of an exclamation than at the actual time he’s been sleeping. Regardless, this much sleep is honestly a record. Demigod nightmares tend to ruin nice experiences like that.

     Grease-hair rolls his eyes. Gods, that’s the most expressive Percy’s seen the man. 

     “No, it’s the 6th of September, it’s been a month,” he states as an attempt at sarcasm. Heavy on attempt. “Obviously, it’s only been 2 days. Fortunately. Thought you’d be dead,” he snorts, as if the simple idea of that is amusing. “Magical travel is not exactly advised for non-wizards.”

     Percy scoffs, but decides not to spend his well-earned energy back into arguing with this infuriating man. “On that topic, though, why exactly am I here? I haven’t exactly gotten the reason why you wizards need aid. If there’s a threat or a war or somethin’, can’t you just, magic your way out of it?” He smirks a bit cheekily at his own words, not intentionally trying to come off as a total dumbass. 

     After all, out of everyone, he should definitely know that even if you have the power to end a conflict, it doesn’t mean it’ll end. It’s hard to change the will and ideals of the fighting parties when you’re not in their position. You’ll never know the challenges all sides face until you fight for that side yourself.

     Snape sneers, once again. “Jackson. I would say that it’s not your place to ask about these matters. However, I believe the situation at hand concerns your well-being—only because Dumbledore decided to bring your kind into the mix,” his voice drops to a lower, more distasteful tone. He doesn’t seem particularly fond of the topic at hand, but he seems to tackle it nonetheless.

     “Tell me. What do you already know of the magical world, boy?” He raises an eyebrow, slowly approaching Percy. Before he can reach the bed, however, Percy hurries to pull himself off. The bed creaks as he shifts even a little bit, speaking volumes for just how old and weak it must be. He wonders just when exactly this place was built. It’s clearly older than Albus himself—however many years he is.

     Percy tries to connect the dots of the information he already knows about this ‘Wizarding World.’ To his knowledge, there isn’t much. Their society seems to work a bit differently from the regular mortal society, and their lives seem different—more orderly, in comparison to that of a demigod. There’s a magic school, which might serve as their ‘Camp Half-Blood’ for young wizards, witches, whatnot, and there’s some sort of conflict going on in which they need his help. That’s all at the top of his head.

     “Not… much. Like, there’s the magic school with the weird name that Albus said he’s the headmaster of. Uhm,” he hesitates a bit, slightly intimidated by grease-hair’s unwavering gaze, but continues. He clears his throat, “Like, you guys have your own society and world. And you need our help for something?”

     There’s a brief, painfully awkward silence.

     “How… descriptive.” 

     Snape’s blunt sarcasm still doesn’t sit right with Percy. He has a feeling he’d have to get used to dealing with it.

     Snape continues. “Hogwarts is the name you’re looking for—for the school. You’ll be headed there soon. And yes, we need your aid with an upcoming war,” he glances off to the side, seemingly in silent thought, before swiftly turning around, the robes billow and almost wack Percy in the face.

     “Follow me. There’s not much time to explain the entire situation, but you’re required to attend our meeting. That’s why I woke you in the first place,” he states coldly, not bothering to look at Percy while the boy picks himself off the bed.

     Percy has the urge to protest against attending another “meeting,” but knows that if matters in the Wizarding World are this dire, he can’t stall it.

     He needs to help these people, even if he doesn’t know them yet.

     Percy silently falls into a walk behind Snape, wary of the old, creaking architecture they’re walking on. The place they're in is clearly centuries old, as conveyed by the peeling wallpaper, dusty shelves filled with only burnt-out gas lamps and ancient books titled in unreadable font, and the cold feeling that washes over you when simply walking from one end of a corridor to another.

     He hears the same voice from earlier, the one that was yelling and woke him up, in one of the rooms just across where he’s walking. A few other voices are overlapping it, but the conversation seems deliberately hushed. He’s tempted to enter, to find someone else his age and dealing with this magic crap, but he should probably get grease-hair off his back before that.

     The silence surrounding them as they walk makes Percy a tad bit uncomfortable. He sighs wearily, still behind Snape, but attempts to engage in a conversation. 

     “So, what exactly does this meeting entail? What’s happening? I’ve asked like, three times, and you still haven’t told me,” he frowns, crossing his arms as he tries to catch up to the man and walk beside him. It seems as if Snape is purposely keeping a fast pace to avoid talking to Percy face-to-face.

     Snape snorts bitterly, as if something Percy said was amusing to him. “You’re persistent. Fine. This meeting is simply discussing the conditions of the situation our dear Harry Potter is in—you could say this mess started and revolves around him. You’ll meet soon enough.”

     “Harry Potter?” Percy raises an eyebrow, curious about the new mention. “Who is this guy? Good or bad?”

     “Up to perspective,” Snape says cryptically. 

     “That doesn’t help, you know,” Percy groans. “Look, just tell if he’s on our side or not. Assuming there are sides in this war.”

     “Unfortunately, this side of the war is meant to protect him,” Snape says with noticeable distaste. It takes no genius to realise this man really does not like this Harry guy.

     “What is he, like some sort of celebrity?” Percy quips, half joking. Currently, he’s imagining a British man being protected by bodyguards holding sticks and shooting beams of light out of them.

     ‘I mean, those are basically what wands are. Kind of stupid. I prefer swords; they’re much more effective when fighting. Huh, do you think my curse with archery would apply to aiming spells?’

     “He is simply but a child that lived past the time fate set as his death date,” Snape scoffs, as if the Harry guy’s mere existence is offending him. Odd. He’s excited to meet this guy, if the mention of his name is enough to indirectly piss off grease-hair.

     Snape opens another rickety door, leading into the kitchen of this grim townhouse. Inside, there are a bunch of different people—to specify, adults. None of his friends have arrived yet, and neither is Albus present. Hopefully, they randomly appear soon; he’s getting a bit anxious about their safety.

     Before he can even take a good look at the people collected, a shrill voice of a woman slices through his thoughts.

     “Dumbledore brought a child to aid us?”

     Percy winces at the volume. 'Well, at least someone finds forcing a child to fight someone else’s battles absurd. You know, maybe the gods need to learn a thing or two from her.'

Chapter Text

     Percy freezes at the woman’s shriek, wishing he could sink straight through the cracked floorboards. Every head in the room swivels toward him, expressions ranging from surprise to suspicion. The air goes thick with tension. Percy shifts uncomfortably under their stares, trying not to fidget. 

     ‘Great. First impressions: absolutely nailed it, huh?’

     The woman starts again. “He’s a child! This is ridiculous!”

     She’s on the shorter side, plump with fiery red hair, her gaze oddly protective as she stares directly into Percy’s eyes. Percy feels intimidated by the tone of her words and her glare, which flickers around the room, warning anyone who dares to defy her words.

     “He may be young,” growls a scarred man with a spinning, unnatural eye, “but if Albus sent him, the boy must be useful.” 

     Percy’s head whips around to view the new man talking. All these unfamiliar voices are confusing his mind beyond what he already didn’t understand, but that’s just the story of his life. However, being described as useful feels a bit dehumanizing at times like these; not saying that he’s not useful, but rather maybe if he wasn’t useful, he could’ve not ended up in this mess.

     “Useful?” the woman repeats furiously. “He shouldn’t even be here, Alastor!”

     ‘These people have such weird names. First “Dumbledore,” then “Severus Snape.” I mean, who names their child “Severus Snape?” That’s like, asking to get bullied. And now this one-eyed guy is named Alastor. Huh.’

     Before Percy can decide whether to defend himself or stay quiet, Snape’s voice slips into the conversation like a butter knife. “Trust me, Molly, no one is more displeased by his presence than I am.”

     ‘Wow, rude. I didn’t know we’re already at the level of friendship to be able to publicly hate on each other.’ Percy forces himself not to jab out his sarcastic thoughts but instead shoots him a glare. “You’ve made that clear, thanks.”

     The silence that follows takes Percy aback, but he realises this is the first time these people have heard him talk. Well, other than Snape. Some adults—like Molly, he’s presuming the woman is called, and another few men across the room—are staring at him with a sense of concern and pity. They probably realised how old he truly is just by his voice. But Percy hasn’t been treated like his age for years; there’s no way he’s going to allow this to start now by some total randos.

     Percy clears his throat, not hiding the sharp tone of his voice. “Look,” he starts, realising he doesn’t know how else to continue. Opening up to strangers is not a great first—second, actually—impression, but might be required in this case.

     He shudders unnoticeably, taking a shaky deep breath. 

     “I might not understand all your rules, but I’ve handled things before, okay? Hard things that no one my age should deal with. If you think I’m going to sit in the corner while everyone else fights, you’re wrong. I’m clearly here for a reason, and not by my own choice. So please, can somebody just tell me what’s been going on that’s so dire and requires my, uh, people’s help?”

     While pouring it all out, he’s not sure if he should disclose his godly status yet; specifically, he’s unsure if anyone other than Snape knows about halfbloods. 

     The silence that follows his words is denser than lead. Some people blink at him like he’s sprouted another head, while others exchange side glances.

     A tall man with faint scars across his face studies him carefully. His amber eyes don’t feel as judgmental as the rest—more calculating, as if Percy’s some puzzle he’s trying to piece together.

     “He doesn’t speak like someone inexperienced in matters as dark as these,” the man says, cutting through the tension. His voice is soft but steady, like he’s used to keeping the peace.

     “That’s because he’s a child who’s been forced into things he shouldn’t be anywhere near,” Molly snaps, whirling back to glare at him. Jeez, she’s terrifying. “Remus, you of all people should—”

     “Spirit like that can be useful,” the scarred man with the spinning eye—Alastor, apparently—cuts her off, still attempting to justify Percy’s attendance at this meeting. His magical eye zooms in on Percy like it’s trying to drill straight into his skull, making him feel a bit uncomfortable. “Doesn’t matter the age if the lad can hold his own.”

     ‘Not the most comforting endorsement, but I’ll take it. What am I, a gladiator up for auction? Well, a gladiator is Roman. I’m Greek, so probably not the best comparison.’

     Percy fidgets idly, hating the way they’re talking about him like he’s not standing right here. He catches another woman leaning lazily against the wall, bubblegum-pink hair falling into her eyes.

     “Well,” she grins, “at least he’s got some snark. I like him. Reminds me of me at his age.”

     Percy blinks. Did she just… compliment him? He’s not used to getting those from adults that aren’t at least a little backhanded.

     “Snark is not a skill,” Snape cuts in smoothly, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s an irritation.”

     Percy snickers at that. “Speak for yourself.”

     That gets a ripple of stifled chuckles from a few people. Snape’s glare could probably cause wood to combust. Totally worth it.

     Sirius, who’s been pacing like a restless wolf behind a chair, finally speaks up. His grey eyes narrow as he studies Percy, weighing something unseen. “I agree with Molly. He’s too young for this. Like Harry—we shouldn’t throw another teenager into fire!” He firmly argues.

     Molly jumps on his side instantly. “Exactly! He belongs nowhere near this war.”

     Percy’s throat tightens; the word belongs digging deeper than he expects.

     ‘Wouldn’t be the first time I didn’t belong anywhere. But truthfully, I wish I didn’t belong in this war. Unfortunately, my fate has already been sealed.’

     Before the argument can explode again, the door creaks open.

     Every voice cuts off.

     Dumbledore steps inside. His presence alone pulls the room in with silence. Even the air itself is holding its breath. Percy studies him instantly—the flowing robes and the eyes that twinkle like they know every secret in the room—the older man consistently reminds him of Chiron. It’s impossible to decide if the guy looks grandfatherly or terrifying. Maybe both. ‘Actually, old people are terrifying in general. Maybe that’s why the Fates take form as three old grandwomen.’

     “Thank you,” Dumbledore says gently, like he’s walked in on a polite tea party instead of a near shouting match. “I see you’ve met our guest.”

     Molly steps forward, face flushed. “Albus, he’s a boy—he shouldn’t be dragged into this!”

     “Molly,” Dumbledore replies, soft but firm, “your compassion is invaluable. But Percy is no ordinary boy.”

     Percy bristles. He doesn’t like how that sounds. Not one bit.

     ‘Yeah, can we like, not announce that like it’s a big neon sign over my head?’

     “What is he, then?” Alastor growls, his magical eye swiveling furiously. Despite the misleading tone, he truly isn’t furious at the boy, but rather fired up from the previous string of arguments.

     Dumbledore’s gaze sharpens, though his smile never fades. “A reminder that our war does not have to be confined to the wizarding world. There are powers older than Voldemort watching these events. Percy’s presence is proof of that.”

     The room shifts uneasily. A few murmur under their breath. Snape scowls deeper, though Percy swears he sees confusion flicker in those cold black eyes.

     Percy himself feels quite uncomfortable with the increasing attention drawn to him. He often finds himself in positions like this—such as the time he got claimed after Capture the Flag. That memory still sticks around his head to this day, holding a special place close to his heart. It wasn’t necessarily great, especially not at the time, but at least it gave him an identity.

     An identity that continuously makes him regret even living through this life.

     Finally, Dumbledore looks at Percy, those piercing blue eyes locking onto him. “I will explain more in due time. For now, I ask only for patience. And trust.”

     Patience. Trust. Two things Percy’s always been terrible at—whether it’s that he trusts too easily but is too impatient, or vice versa. He can never find the middle ground. Still, something about the man’s voice makes it hard to argue.

     “…Fine,” Percy mutters, though the word burns on his tongue.

     Dumbledore inclines his head, satisfied, then sweeps his gaze back to the Order. “That will be sufficient for tonight. Percy will not be judged by age alone. His worth will become clear in time.”

     No one argues. Not out loud, at least. 

     But the stares return, weighing him like he’s some experiment. Percy sits stiffly in the nearest chair, though it doesn’t feel like solidarity—it feels like being put on display. And for the first time since he got here, Percy wonders if he should’ve fought harder to stay at camp.

     Molly clears her throat, arms crossed like she’s ready for round two. “With all due respect, Albus, the boy is exhausted and far too young to sit through your…deliberations. He belongs upstairs, not in this room.”

     Sirius nods sharply. “She’s right. Let the kid rest.”

     Percy doesn’t have the heart to explain that he’s already rested. But regardless, he’s more exhausted from this argument about his forced involvement in the conflict brought to him.

     A few others murmur their agreement. Alastor grumbles under his breath but doesn’t push back.

     Dumbledore regards Molly for a moment, then raises his head. “Very well. Percy, you may go upstairs. Your friends arrived safely simply moments ago—they’re waiting for you now.”

     Percy freezes. His heart skips a beat. Friends?

     “Annabeth and Grover,” Dumbledore adds, with that same calm twinkle in his eye.

     Percy exhales, relief washing through him like a tidal wave. For the first time in days, his chest loosens, the tension regulating.

     “…Okay,” he mutters, standing quickly. He needs to get away from all the staring, or else he will literally explode. Not an exaggeration.

     As Percy follows Molly toward the stairs, he feels Snape’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. Half the room seems to be dissecting him with suspicion, while the other half watches with pity. Percy doesn’t know which is worse.

     But if Annabeth and Grover are really here—safe—that means he’s not alone.

Chapter Text

     ‘This townhouse would be so charming if it weren’t built like a cheap haunted house.’

     It’s not Percy’s personal favourite, to say the least.

     As Percy slowly creeps up the stairs, trying his best not to trip over the uneven boards, he hears every creak echo through the silence. He half expects the staircase to collapse under him simply, but decides not to get too caught up in the noises it's making. He’s appalled at how the wizards can call a place as ancient as this safe—but then again, he does call ‘Camp Half-Blood,’ a camp defended by children, with a border that has proven in the past to be flawed at times, safe.

     After making it to the top, he’s in half the mind to explore the place while he’s all alone, but reminds himself that he needs to find his friends first. They matter more than his curiosity.

     The dim lighting upstairs barely helps. Shadows stretch weirdly across the torn wallpaper; Percy swears he hears whispers, though it’s probably just the house settling. 

     ‘Or maybe the house is alive. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised. Wizards are weird. Still better than the gods, though.’

     Percy starts to hear faint voices. Hopefully, real voices—he doesn’t want to be going insane already at such a young age. He pauses his exploration, heartbeat picking up. He can hear the same voice of the boy who was screaming earlier; however, he can also notice the voices overlapping him. They’re of, clearly, not adults, which is a bit comforting at this point.

     He tries his best to lean back flat against the wall by the doorway, trying to hear the conversation.

     “…—not fair!” a boy’s voice protests. 

     Another, higher-pitched voice chimes in, clearly a girl, equally annoyed but more controlled in her tone. Their words blur together the closer Percy creeps to the doorway. He slows his steps, hovering outside the doorframe, unsure if barging in is a great idea.

     Spoiler alert, it’s not.

     Because, unfortunately, it gives his presence away. He hears it.

     “Percy?”

     That voice—assertive but somehow soft at the same time—makes him freeze. He lets out a sigh of relief, hearing the terrifying, familiar voice of Annabeth.

     Thank the fucking gods.

     He doesn’t even think anymore; he pushes the door open, no longer peaking in like a lost child. 

     Annabeth’s standing there, arms crossed, trying her hardest to look annoyed instead of worried. But the second she sees him, the act fails.

     “You absolute Seaweed Brain!” she blurts, marching over and pulling him into an uncharacteristically tight hug before she can stop herself. “Two days, Percy. Two! And you just vanish? With those strange men—well, wizards? Do you have any idea what—”

     “I could ask you the same thing!” Percy argues back, but he’s grinning like an idiot even as he squeezes her tighter. “I wake up in England, alone, with stupid, grease-hair Snape as my babysitter. You think that was fun?”

     Before Annabeth can retort, Grover leaps into hugging him next, almost knocking him over. “Dude! You’re alive! Thank Pan, I thought you got, like, exploded or something.”

     Percy laughs weakly, tightly embracing him back, feeling at home more so than ever. “Exploded? That’s your bet?”

     “Well, yeah! You’ve got a track record!” Grover laughs, pulling back to grin just as brightly at him. “Seriously, though, what happened? Were you immediately taken here?”

     They’re both talking at once. Annabeth is trying her best to scold him while acting like she truly doesn’t care about how long it took to travel and find him after he was taken, while Grover continues rambling on with further questions. Percy is trying to answer neither and both—it’s a tricky task for one person, to be honest—and it’s only when someone loudly clears their throat that the three of them realize the room isn’t empty.

     Five kids—red hair, bushy hair, messy black hair, more red hair—are staring at them like they’ve sprouted extra heads.

     ‘Woah, I didn’t realise how many gingers there are here.’

     “…uh,” Percy says, straightening and rubbing the back of his neck cheekily. “Right. Yeah. Hi. Guess I should, uh, explain myself.”

     Annabeth sighs, already pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s with us,” she tells them firmly, before Percy can make it worse. “We got separated when… being taken here. He got here first.”

     Percy groans, not being as awkward as he would be when alone, mainly because he has his best friends by his side, and immediately tries to mend his first impression. He already ruined the earlier two; he can’t let this one slide.

     “Unfortunately. Are those guys downstairs always shouting at each other like that when talking about a—what—war? What in Hades is going on in your world?” Percy tilts his head to the side, rhetorically asking what he presumes are wizards in front of him. However, he wouldn’t mind an answer, but knows he should introduce himself first.

     He clears his throat, ignoring the blatant, empty glare Annabeth is giving him. “Sorry. I’m Percy, by the way. Nice to meet you guys! Under not the best circumstances. I swear, I’m usually more orderly when not destroyed by timezone differences,” he chuckles awkwardly, giving his best smile. Well, he wouldn't know, he's never travelled out of the country, so he never experienced significant timezone differences.

     “That’s an absolute lie,” Grover chimes in, playfully teasing him. Percy scoffs dramatically. “Hey, dude, don’t diss me like that. I’m so cool.”

     One of the gingers snorts at that. Percy can’t tell the difference between two of the taller redheads, but one of those laughed. 

     ‘You know what—I’ll name that one Ginger 1. The other taller one can be Ginger 2. And then the one by the other guy and girl shall be called Redhead. Just to be different.’

     “Perhaps introducing yourself as ‘I’m Percy and I’m so cool’ isn’t the most trustworthy thing to say,” Ginger 1 snickers, but smiles widely. “You’re already much better than our Percy. Fred, by the way,” he extends a hand out.

     Ginger 2 pushes the extended hand down before Percy could even react, snickering as well. They sound almost identical—oh gods, Percy is going to have a headache from that in the future. 

     “And I’m George. Thrilling to meet ‘ya, Percy,” Ginger 2—George, he means—winks.

     Percy blinks at them, trying to process identical gingers with matching smug grins. “Fred and George,” he repeats slowly. “Got it. They’re like… if Connor and Travis had British accents,” he says to Annabeth, already dumping his lighthearted thoughts on her once more. 

     She rolls her eyes but smiles fondly. “You’re not wrong, I suppose.”

     The twin gingers look delighted at the comparison, even though they have no clue who Connor and Travis are. Percy decides it’s probably better that way.

     His gaze finally shifts to the other three. Redhead is tall, kind of standing awkwardly, like he hasn’t figured out how to use his arms yet or something. The girl next to him has wild, frizzy brown hair and the kind of sharp eyes that remind Percy a little too much of Annabeth—like she’s already dissected every word out of his mouth and filed it away as evidence. That’s a bit terrifying. And then there’s the black-haired kid, scar on his forehead, staring at Percy like he’s deciding whether Percy’s dangerous or just an idiot. Honestly, fair. Percy would do the same.

     Percy clears his throat again, trying to control his tone not to seem too disinterested, or even worse, monotone. Sounding like grease-hair seems like a nightmare. “Uh. And you guys are…?”

     The bushy-haired girl jumps in first. “Hermione Granger.” She says it firmly, seemingly deciding whether to intimidate him or not. She smiles politely, but stands tall, clearly showing she’s the type of person who doesn’t take bullshit. Reminds him of Annabeth even more.

     “Ron Weasley,” Redhead adds quickly, jerking a thumb at himself. 

     ‘I can’t really explain it, but he does seem like a Ron.’

     “Harry,” the black-haired boy says simply. No last name. Just Harry. Percy files that away as a bit suspicious, but even he can still piece together puzzle pieces. Snape mentioned something about a certain ‘Harry Potter’ earlier, complaining that this side of the war is meant to protect him. He didn’t know that Harry was a literal child his age, though. 

     But who knows, maybe it’s a name coincidence. However, Percy is not going to fall for his thoughts, attempting to convince him into denial once again. Fallen victim to that trick too many times.

     Before Percy can dig himself into another hole with questions, Fred—maybe George, actually, who even knows—claps him on the shoulder. He flinches, his attention on whichever Ginger it is. “See? Told you. Already cooler than our Percy.”

     “Low bar,” George mutters with a bright grin, leaning casually against the wall.

     Ron scowls. “Oi! Don’t start that again. We’re already over this!”

     “Relax, ickle Ronniekins,” Fred drawls. “We’re only saying he’s got style. Percy,” he says while pointing at Percy with a grin, “Seaweed Brain, was it?”

     Percy feels the colour drain out of his face and immediately shoots Annabeth an embarrassed glare. But before he can even start a ramble, Annabeth cuts in, a smug smirk slowly growing on her face.

     “Hey, your own fault for not meeting these guys earlier.”

     Percy scoffs, crossing his arms, fully facing her.

     “Oh, c’mon, I was busy downstairs! Snape dragged me there against my will. It was horrid!” He exaggerates, but he desperately needed to complain about the past hour to someone anyway.

     He smirks. “Besides, Wise Girl, I’m not the only one with a nickname here.”

     She rolls her eyes, unbothered. “Oh please, that name holds no power now that only you use it, Seaweed-brain.” 

     Another clearing of a throat interrupts their banter. Hermione, looking faintly suspicious of their behaviour, cuts through the noise. “So you three are… American? Why exactly are you needed for the battle against Voldemort, assuming that’s what you’re here for?”

     Percy chokes on air. “Voldemort? What kind of a name is that?” 

     “Sounds French?” Grover offers. 

     “Oh no. Are the French attacking the British again?” Percy gasps dramatically, joking, but keeping his voice hushed so it’s just in response to Grover. They giggle together.

     Annabeth, on the other hand, decides to be the one questioning them here. “We haven’t been briefed on anything yet. They’re keeping secrets from us, too, and this is the first we’ve heard of this guy. Voldemort, you said?”

     ‘Ah, smart move, Wise Girl. Appealing to their issues to gain trust. That’s the right wording for that, right?’

     Hermione’s eyes narrow, like she’s trying to decipher if Annabeth is lying or just underinformed. “You mean Dumbledore hasn’t told you anything?”

     “Not a thing,” Annabeth says flatly, crossing her arms. “Unless you count Snape’s delightful personality as educational.”

     Percy shudders, raising a hand. “Zero out of ten, do not recommend.”

     Ron snorts a laugh before Hermione elbows him in the ribs. Harry, though, doesn’t laugh, already in a pissy mood from before. He leans forward slightly, still studying Percy like he’s some puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.

     “You really don’t know who Voldemort is?” he asks carefully, a bit shocked.

     “Not a clue,” Percy spells out, emphasising each word.

     The three friends look at each other, looking like they’re telepathically communicating. Percy catches his friends’ eyes at that split moment.

    Finally, their quest has begun.

Chapter Text

     Percy struggles to wrap his head around what the fuck was just explained to him. To be honest, he’s been through just as bad, but this situation still sucks.

     He sighs heavily, eyeing the boy in front of him—Harry. 

     After a long, deep talk on who this dark wizard, Voldemort, was, Annabeth and Grover had been ushered away by Hermione and the gingers with promises of “showing them around the house.” Percy wasn’t that much of an idiot; he knew what that really meant. Leave the two guys alone so they’ll actually talk instead of glaring at each other like angry cats.

     The door shuts behind the last of them, and suddenly the room feels way too quiet. Percy shifts on the nearest bunk, the mattress squeaking under him. Harry sits on the other end, hands fidgeting in his lap, shoulders tense. Neither of them speaks for a moment.

     Finally, Percy leans forward, elbows on his knees, sitting criss-crossed. He might as well get comfy. “Okay. So that was… a lot. They kept talking in circles out there, but I still don’t get it. Voldemort and his Death Eaters, whatever that is, and some war in the past? Why does it feel like everybody’s got half the answers and nobody wants to say the rest?”

     Harry glances up, studying him, like he’s deciding how much he wants to share. But even Percy can tell that, despite all this conflict surrounding him, Harry knows next to nothing. “Because that’s how the adults work. They think if we don’t know everything, we’ll be safer.” He shakes his head, bitter. “It’s rubbish. Voldemort doesn’t care about that; he won’t hesitate to kill you.” 

     There’s something deeper underlying Harry’s statement, as if he knows from experience. Percy won’t doubt that Harry has probably suffered a great deal from this whole ‘Voldemort’ thing, but it feels almost like peering into a mirror image of himself—a similar experience in a different font.

     But the climax in Percy’s own journey is yet to come. For a while, hopefully.

     The words hang heavy. Percy swallows. “Yeah, I figured that much.” He hesitates, then adds, “So what is he really after? The others said power, but… c’mon, there’s always more to it than that. This whole thing seems to be centred around you.” That comes out blunter than he intends.

     Harry stares at him for a long moment, his green eyes staring into Percy’s sea green; both pairs of eyes almost seem to reflect the other’s colour. They are very similar.

     “He wants control. Over everything. Wizards, witches, even Muggles—the non-magical, like you. He thinks only certain people deserve magic for some reason, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make the world fit that view.” His jaw tightens. ‘Jeez, sounds like every corrupt dictator out there in history.’

     “And he wants me dead.”

     Okay, that doesn’t exactly shock Percy to the core, but the finality of the statement surprises him.

     “Is that why everyone is trying to protect you?” Percy raises an eyebrow, feeling a bit disgusted that, no matter which world he’s in, there’s always some adult with a lot of power trying to destroy a kid who doesn’t even know what is going on. “I mean, I get it, but why is he going after you? That’s kind of ridiculous. Has he been going after you the entire course of your life?” He asks incredulously.

     Harry glances to the side, avoiding eye contact purposely now. “Well, it’s complicated.” He hesitates. “He tried to… kill me at numerous points in my life, but he actually wasn’t technically even alive for a while. Up until last year, he had no physical form. Up until I started at Hogwarts, I had no idea who he was. I had no idea what everything would… become.” He shudders. 

     Percy frowns, leaning forward a little. “If he wasn’t even alive until last year… why you? Why start with a kid?”

     Harry’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer right away, staring at the floor like it’s suddenly interesting. “He came after my parents in the first war. They were fighting against him, part of the resistance, right? He killed them both.” His voice goes quiet. “And then he tried to kill me, too. I was just a baby. I don’t know why, but the curse he used—The Killing Curse—didn’t kill baby me.”

     Percy blinks, thrown. “Wait—you remember that? From when you were, like, one? Also, the Killing Curse? Jeez, intimidating.”

     Harry nods stiffly, fingers digging into the blanket on the bunk. “Not all of it. But enough. The screaming. The light. Him. It’s… It’s always there, no matter how much I try to forget it.” He doesn’t address anything further.

     Percy doesn’t crack a joke this time. The heaviness in Harry’s tone hits too close to home. He just mutters, “That’s… gods, that’s awful.”

     Harry swallows hard, like he’s debating saying more. “But last year… he came back. Properly. Not just a shade or whispers. He killed my friend. Right in front of me. Because of me. There was nothing I could do. One second we were running, the next…” He cuts himself off, voice catching in his throat.

     Percy’s throat goes dry. He looks down at his hands, flexing them uselessly. This hits way too close to home, and he’s surprised that Harry is even being this open with him. Maybe he should share back.

     “I know what that’s like.” He empathises, voice quiet.

     Harry glances up sharply, curious. “You do?”

     Percy hesitates. He can’t tell the full truth—not about gods, not about the prophecies or quests. Not yet.

     But he also can’t just brush this off. “Last summer… on a trip I took… some people I cared about didn’t make it back. That was it, and they were gone, despite everything I could’ve done. Everything I should’ve done.” The nightmare he had just the other day replays in his mind, so he lowers his gaze, not wanting the other to see what he’s feeling right now. 

     “Doesn’t matter how much training you’ve got or how ready you think you are. Sometimes, it just happens—lives are lost, because man, are we such fragile things. And it’s not fair. At all.”

     For a moment, they both sit in silence, the weight of what they’ve said pressing down heavier than the stench of the musty walls around them.

     “...it stinks,” Percy tries to lighten the mood, breaking the solemn tension.

     Harry sniffs the air at that, grimacing. “You’re right. We should probably get out of this room.”

     Instead of it being tense, now the silence is just awkward. Neither boy moves at the mention of getting out of the room. Percy shuffles a bit, and Harry finally picks up his gaze to look at the other.

     “...So, where exactly in America are you from? You’re not a wizard, right?” Harry questions, with most suspicion in his voice gone. 

     Percy shrugs, secretly grateful for the shift in subject. “New York. And no, definitely not a wizard. Trust me, if I could wave a stick around and fix all my problems, I would’ve by now.”

     Harry huffs a short laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Yeah, I get that.”

     Percy leans back against the wall, stretching out his legs. “But… I’ve seen some weird stuff. Stuff that doesn’t exactly make sense in the normal world as well. Guess that’s why I didn’t totally freak out when Snape suddenly teleported me to London in like, 5 seconds.”

     Harry raises an eyebrow, but slightly smiles. He hasn’t smiled much before this conversation, clearly not having a great day, or year, but it’s a nice, warm smile. “You didn’t even flinch when the Order brought you in. Most Muggles—non-magical people, by the way—would be losing it.”

     Percy smirks. “What can I say? I’m adaptable.” Then, softer, “Forced to be.”

     That earns him a look—like Harry wants to press, but decides against it. He knows enough about keeping secrets. And he’s been in Percy’s place before.

     Percy tilts his head, changing the topic once again. “So… you’ve got a whole school for this magic thing? Hogwarts, right? Stupid name. No offense.”

     Harry quirks a smile. “None taken—but yes, Hogwarts. It’s a great place, usually. It definitely feels like home to me. You should see it one day,” he sighs, content. But something shifts, like a thought or a memory came to his mind. “I’m unsure if I want to go back. After… last year.”

     ‘Right, that whole thing. Hogwarts sounds a bit like how camp feels to me. I wonder if I’m going to be forced to go to school here, like some secret spy mission. That wouldn’t make much sense, though. I’m not a wizard, so I’d just flunk out of this school like every other. Maybe blow up a bathroom or two.’

     Percy frowns at the mention, but nods solemnly in understanding. “If it’s your home, then it’s worth protecting from the terrible stuff that keeps happening. I’d love to check the place out. Maybe when the full reason I’m even here is briefed to my friends and me.” He shrugs.

     Harry finally pushes himself off the creaky bunk, offering a hand to Percy to pull him up. Percy takes it, noticing that the other’s hands are rough—not as rough as his own, but still have seen a few fights.

     They can hear a few muffled voices outside the closed door of the room, leading to the end of their personal moment. A distinct voice cuts through the chatter and calls out, “Dinner’s ready!” 

     Harry lets go of Percy’s hand and steps back, expression neutral again, but not unfriendly. “Guess that’s our cue to actually leave now.”

     “Guess so,” Percy says, brushing his palms on his jeans.

     They step out into the hallway, and instantly, Annabeth and Grover move toward Percy. Annabeth gives him a look that’s both knowing and impatient. “Good, you’re out. And alive. We’ll fill you in on what we’ve learned from the others—at dinner.”

     Harry’s already being swept up by his own group—Hermione asking him something, Ron clapping him on the back. He glances once over his shoulder at Percy, and Percy gives him the faintest nod. Then they’re both pulled in separate directions toward the dining room.

     For the first time since arriving, Percy doesn’t feel like a total outsider. Maybe there’s something good about this quest, after all.

Chapter Text

     Before they could even start heading off to dinner, Annabeth drags alongside Percy and Grover to discuss what they know so far; especially since none of the adults have bothered to fully explain the situation.

     Annabeth crosses her arms, lowering her voice. “We need to piece this together ourselves. The Order clearly isn’t going to hand us the full story, and the others clearly don’t know more than just the context, which did help, but…” she trails off, before asking. “Did you learn anything from the other guy?”

     Percy thinks back to the quiet conversation with Harry, his expression a bit grim at the thought. “A little, but definitely enough to know he’s been through… a lot. And that this Voldemort guy is like, genuinely horrifying. There was a war that happened before this, and then the guy disappeared. But his disappearance is like, connected to Harry?”

     Percy pauses his ramble for a moment, connecting back to all the information he learned. He’s unsure how much he should share—if half of it is relevant information, or simply Harry’s personal life. Well, if the guy was telling him all about it right there and then, surely it’s known information. If a dark wizard can know, Percy can too.

     ‘That’s not great logic to go on, Percy. Shut up.’

     “As in like—that guy killed his parents, for seemingly unknown reasons. But that's in the past. Right now, what happened is that, after that, he disappeared. And then boom! He came back some months ago and uh, killed a bunch of people. I think. I kind of already forgot what we talked about,” he smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. His hands linger by the back of his hair for a moment, noticing that it’s starting to get a bit longer down his neck.

     Annabeth curses under her breath before returning to regular volume. “Great, we’re dealing with some mass murderer and dark wizard waging a war. We already had our own to prepare for as well,” she says bitterly.

     “Maybe we won’t be here for too long? Like, maybe this war might be easier to deal with than our own–” Grover offers before Annabeth quickly cuts in.

     “Speak quieter,” she hushes them, huddling them closer. She glances at both sides of the dimly lit hallway before returning to her whispers. “We shouldn’t talk about our own conflicts and world here. They know we’re not wizards, but they can’t know what we are—not yet. We can’t even trust the wizards yet.”

     Percy frowns slightly. “Fair point, but Chiron knows that great-old-wizard man. And also, clearly, both he and grease-hair know what’s going on in our world, too. If we need these kids to trust us, maybe we need to expose a bit about ourselves, too?”

     Annabeth narrows her eyes, then slips into Ancient Greek, her tone quiet but sharp. 

     “Καὶ ἆρα χρὴ μνημονεύειν τοὺς θεούς, τὴν δύναμιν αὐτῶν, καὶ τὸ ὅτι ἐγγὺς ἔρχονται τὸν πόλεμον ἑαυτῶν; Ὅτι ὁ Κρόνος πάλιν ἀνατέλλει, καὶ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους οἵτινες ἤδη τεθνᾶσι διὰ τοῦτο;” 

     (“And is it necessary to mention the gods, their power, and the fact that they are approaching their own war? That Kronos is rising again, and the people who have already died because of this?”)

     Percy blinks as his mind almost has to adjust to the minimal change made. Annabeth often tries to teach him how to speak in Ancient Greek; however, he just as often forgets she can speak the dead language fluently. He’s not confident in his ability to reply in the language, but settles on a very soft whisper. The quietest he could do.

     “I-I don’t think…” By the gods, he can’t even form a proper reply, not knowing what to say. 

     Annabeth continues, back in English. She mutters the next words, solidifying her point of view. “We can’t just involve them in another conflict when they clearly can’t fight their own. It’s too much on them, and it’s too dangerous to let them know about the fatalities happening behind the Mist.”

     Her voice breaks a little at the mentions of the deaths they’ve already faced, and the many more to come.

     But she’s right—we can’t just let these wizards know what’s happening behind the Mist. It’s too big a risk right now. 

     However, Annabeth’s not done speaking, resurfacing back into Ancient Greek.

     “Πόλεμος ἐστὶ πόλεμος, εἴτε ἡμῶν εἴτε οὐκ ἡμῶν. Ἔσονται κατασκόποι. Ἐὰν ἡ κακὴ πλευρὰ γνῶσιν περὶ τοῦ κόσμου ἡμῶν, ἀπόλωλεν.”

     (“War is war, whether it is ours or not ours. There are going to be spies. If the evil side knows about our world, we are done for.”)

     Percy takes a moment before answering, his throat dry. Annabeth’s words hang in the air heavier than the stone walls around them. Spies. Our world. Done for. The phrases echo in his head, twisting with images of their possible futures. ‘Gods, always Annabeth with the logical thinking.’ It gets to him sometimes.

     Finally, he clears his throat. “You’re right. But… if we shut them out completely, doesn’t that just make us look like the enemy, too? I mean, Harry—he’s already carrying this Voldemort nightmare by himself. What if keeping quiet only makes it worse?” His voice is quiet but edged with frustration, the kind born of not knowing which disaster is worse to risk.

     Percy notices he’s empathising almost too heavily with Harry.

     Grover fiddles nervously with his fingers, his eyes darting down the hallway as though spies might materialize out of nowhere at their mention. “I don’t like any of this,” he admits in a whisper. “But Annabeth’s right—if the wrong person even hears the word ‘gods’ out of us, we’re toast. Maybe… maybe we wait. See who we can trust before saying anything more. We’ve already faced a lot so recently.”

     Percy exhales sharply through his nose, fighting down the urge to argue. Part of him hates being patient—waiting never saved anyone. But another part of him knows Annabeth and Grover aren’t wrong.

     'Why does life have to be so tricky to deal with?'

     The unmistakable sound of a door opening pauses their conversation. All three freeze, turning their heads toward the shadow stretching from the cracked doorway of the room parallel to the room they just exited moments prior.

     A girl with long, fiery red hair—once again, a seeming trend among all the people he’s met so far—steps into the dim hallway. She can’t be much younger than Percy, though her presence isn’t too intimidating, but not weak.

     “Oh, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ginny,” she says plainly, her voice low but steady. She smiles politely, “Ginny Weasley.”

     There it is, the familiar last name that the woman—Molly Weasley—had. The other gingers are probably also her children. That’s… a lot of siblings. They all seem kind of nice, though.

     The three exchange quick glances before Percy blurts, addressing the elephant in the room, “Uh… hey. How long were you standing there?”

     Ginny shakes her head slightly, leaning against the doorframe. “Long enough to know you’re not exactly thrilled with being kept in the dark. Don’t worry—I didn’t catch the details. Just the tone.” She gives a half-smile that softens her words.

     Annabeth studies her carefully, arms still crossed. “So… you didn’t hear what we were actually saying?”

     “No,” Ginny replies, matter-of-fact but not defensive. “And even if I had, I’m not in the habit of running to my mum with every secret I overhear. Trust me, if you’re frustrated, I get it. The Order leaves us out of things, too.”

     ‘By the gods, have I heard about it. Hey, at least she’s most likely not a spy, I suppose.’ 

     Percy tilts his head, curiosity bubbling out before he can stop himself. “So, uh… are you siblings with the other gingers?”

     Ginny raises an eyebrow, her mouth twitching like she’s fighting a grin. “Other gingers? You really are American.” She says it with faint amusement, not unkindly, before nodding. “Yes, they’re my brothers. All of them. I’ve got… well, a lot more too. You’ll probably meet them sooner or later.”

     Annabeth’s eyes narrow slightly, her tone measured but carrying a faint edge Percy doesn’t quite catch onto. “That’s… a big family. So they’ve all been involved in this Order, too?”

     Ginny shrugs, brushing a strand of red hair from her face. “More or less, I suppose. Some are older, some are here, some are… elsewhere.” She doesn’t linger, just gives a small, polite smile. “Anyway, I should head off. Mum wants me asleep early since I’ve already eaten.” Her gaze lingers a little longer on Annabeth than Percy or Grover, though, before she adds warmly, “I’ll talk to you both later.”

     She slips back down the hallway, the soft sound of her steps fading, and the three demigods exchange another quick look before heading toward the dining room. Annabeth, barely noticeably, scoffs and mumbles something under her breath before leading the way to the kitchen.

     As they approach, the clatter and chaos are obvious; shouts, laughter, and the sound of dishes clanging echo down the hall. Something zips through the air—maybe a plate? Percy can’t tell—followed by a distant familiar voice yelling, “Not that one!”

     Grover hesitates just outside the doorway, tugging Percy lightly by the sleeve. “Hey… mind if Annabeth goes in first?”

     Annabeth raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, stepping ahead and slipping into the storm of noise with an expression halfway between curiosity and suspicion. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.

     That leaves Grover and Percy outside. Grover’s voice lowers. “How are you… holding up? Like, actually?”

     Percy scratches the back of his neck, letting out a little laugh. “Confused, yeah. But… surprisingly not losing my mind.”

     Grover frowns, face full of concern. “I dunno, Perce… I’m kind of freaked out. This isn’t like Camp, or quests we’ve had. This is… different. Wizards, dark lords, prophecies—it’s a lot.”

     Percy reaches out and places a hand on his friend’s shoulder, a bit hesitant but continuing regardless, offering a lopsided grin. “Hey. We’ve faced worse, remember? Just the three of us, that’s all we need. Original squad. We’ve made it this far—no reason to stop now.”

     Before Grover can reply, a smooth, cutting voice interrupts.

     “If you’re that unconfident, then perhaps you should rethink why you’re here at all, Jackson.”

     Both turn to see Snape standing partially in the shadows. His dark eyes lock on Percy, unreadable, his tone as annoyingly bitter as always.

     Percy stiffens, feeling an unwanted scowl starting to form. He forgot grease-hair was still here. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     Snape steps closer, his voice dripping disdain. “It means that if you’re not made for this mission, you’d best run back to whatever corner of America you crawled from. We don’t have time for… more liabilities.”

     Percy bristles instantly. He folds his arms, glaring back. “Yeah? Well, I’ll show you who’s not made for this. You don’t even know me.”

     The air between them thickens, the tension unbearable. For a second, Percy thinks Snape is going to lash out, but instead the man’s expression shifts into something so subtle Percy nearly misses it. A flicker of something softer, unreadable.

     There’s a long, uncomfortable silence as their staring contest persists.

     “Stay safe,” Snape says finally, voice quieter but no less firm. “I’ll be gone for some time. Don’t get into… stupid things with scruffy people.” His lip curls slightly at the word scruffy, like it’s a jab to someone specific. “I expect you to still be here when I return.”

     And just like that, he sweeps past them, disappearing down the corridor with the same eerie silence he arrived with.

     Percy exhales, muttering under his breath, “What is with that guy?”

     Grover shrugs, exhaling deeply, like he was holding his breath. “I don’t know, man, but that was intense. We should probably head in and, uh, avoid any more weird encounters.”

     Percy chuckles weakly, standing closer to him as they slowly walk in. “You’re right, I’m too tired for this absolute bullshit.”

     A familiar, shrill voice shrieks once more, but in a more motherly tone, hearing his curse and chastising him. It’s the same woman—Molly—”Language!”

     Percy smiles sheepishly at her as she spares him one stern glance before looking away, continuing to set the dishes. Everyone’s starting to take their seats at the centre table, with all the people he’s met so far in the same room. He glances at Grover, making brief, awkward eye contact, before taking their seats beside Annabeth.

     “Uh, thank you, uhm, for the dinner.” He smiles politely, clearing his throat to sound less awkward as he addresses Molly. Everyone else are in their own separate conversations for the time being, with a few of the adults staring at him for a brief second, not as suspicious as they were previously.

     Molly’s expression softens at Percy’s fumbling thanks, her lips twitching into the briefest smile before she shoos him with a wave of her wooden spoon. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength!”

     The plates on the table begin to fill almost magically—well, yes, magically--dishes sliding onto the table, steaming bowls hovering for a moment before clattering gently into place. Percy stiffens at the sight, not used to this sort of display. ‘Holy Hades, this is insane.’

     “Man,” Percy mutters under his breath, watching a loaf of bread float by on its own. “Camp kitchens have nothing on this. I love how extra this is—by the gods, this is just their regular lives,” he whisper-talks to Grover, eyes on the food, excited. He wonders if they could conjure up some blue-coloured food for him.

     Annabeth elbows him lightly, clearly hearing his “whisper” with her expression somewhere between fond and exasperated. “Oi, Seaweed-brain. Don’t gawk. You’ll look more suspicious than you already do.”

     “Me? Suspicious?” Percy whispers back, grinning crookedly. “Please. I’m practically invisible.”

     “Sure,” Annabeth says dryly, but there’s the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.

     Percy glances to see who’s sitting right in front of him, making eye contact with none other than Harry Potter and his bright green eyes. And when he says bright, he means bright. He swears they could glow in the dark. 

     Without even realising, Percy flashes a smile at him; to his surprise, the guy, for the first time since he’s gotten here, mirrors it back just as softly. Seems his mood has improved—and so has their relationship, thankfully. It would’ve been a real pain to be fighting a war for this guy if he hated him entirely.

     ‘Maybe that’s how Snape feels. Eh, but that’s mutual hatred. At least I actually try to get people to like me, whether it works or not.’

     Harry takes a sip from his goblet, eyes flicking toward Percy again, like he’s debating on speaking to him or not. Finally, he mutters just loud enough for Percy to catch through the loud chaos surrounding them, “Rough first day here?”

     Percy raises an eyebrow, slightly smirking. He ignores just how much that phrasing sounds like Luke Castellan back in his first few days at Camp Half-Blood, hating the connection his thoughts made almost immediately.

      ‘He’s not him, and that’s a fact. No betrayals this quest, hopefully.’

     “You mean the whole ‘let’s interrogate the new kid who doesn’t know a thing about what’s happened’ thing? Yeah, kinda. I mean, you didn’t help with all the glares.”

     Harry huffs through his nose, a half-laugh. “They do that to me, too. Oh c’mon, don’t take it too personally. I suppose I’ve also had a rough day. You’re not so bad. I guess,” he says in a joking, grudging tone.

     Percy nudges his fork toward Harry’s plate. “So, uh… what’s the deal with the weird black pudding thing? Is that just a British thing, or did someone hex it before dinner? Is that what you wizards say? Hexes?”

     Harry actually laughs this time, quiet but real. “You get used to it.”

     “Great,” Percy mutters, though he’s grinning too. He finds the other’s smile a bit contagious.

     Annabeth shoots Percy a look, her expression a mix of don’t get distracted and well, congrats on making progress.

Chapter Text

     The first few moments of dinner are boring, but Percy finds himself feasting on the magical food to pass the time.

     He stabs a piece of roast potato with his fork, half ignoring the conversations around the table. The food is delicious, but the talk surrounding him is much harder to digest. Names he barely recognizes fly back and forth: some guy named Mundungus is telling the others about something boring, and everyone Percy saw when he first arrived at this place is eating with him as well. Well, everyone but the weird-eyed one. 

     And, thankfully, there’s actually a handful of people his age for once.

     Percy can’t stop accidentally making eye contact with Harry Potter. Well, they’re sitting directly across from each other, and Percy isn’t talking to his friends at the moment, so he’s half tempted to start a conversation. But the fifth time they make eye contact, Harry quickly avoids his gaze. Percy barely notices his own eyes widening a bit at the gesture.

     Annabeth is clearly too exhausted to start a conversation, briefly glancing over all the unfamiliar people in the room before returning to the food on her plate.

     Grover’s just eating loudly.

     Percy is about to tune out everything when he notices the shift. The air around the table grows heavier, quieter, with a sudden tension. Several sets of eyes land on him.

     ‘Huh. Seems I missed something. Curse you, zoning out.’

     Lupin’s voice breaks through, calm but edged with something deliberate. “We still don’t know much about you or your friends. Why don’t you introduce yourself to the rest of us? Perhaps share what Dumbledore has told you.”

     About why you’re here? is left unsaid.

     Percy freezes mid-bite, fork hovering uselessly. His throat goes suddenly dry. He clears his throat to stammer out, “Well, uh, I’m Percy. Percy Jackson.”

     Annabeth snorts and straightens beside him, her expression carefully blank, though Percy catches the flicker of wariness in her eyes. Grover fiddles nervously with the edge of his napkin.

     The room stays quiet for a beat too long after Percy’s name. He shifts in his seat, glancing between the adults like they’re about to start interrogating him. Harry offers Percy a short, apologetic smile. 

     Molly clears her throat and offers a polite smile. “Well. Thank you for that, dear.”

     Before Percy can relax, the scruffy-looking man leans forward, resting an elbow on the table. His dark eyes gleam with something sharp. “That’s not enough. If Dumbledore trusts you three with this, then we should know why. Don’t you think?”

     ‘He kind of reminds me of grease-hair, but like, better. Mainly because he doesn’t speak like his lips are sewn shut and his teeth are glued together.”

     Annabeth cuts in smoothly, her voice level but firm. “With all due respect, we’ve been given our orders by Dumbledore. If he hasn’t shared the details, then maybe that’s because we’re not supposed to yet.”

     That’s when Harry cuts in, finally, with his tone sharper than before. “Then why am I not allowed to know what’s going on yet? Everyone keeps acting like I’m too young or too reckless, but I’ve been directly involved in this mess since I was born. I deserve to know.”

     The tension at the table snaps like a rubber band. Molly’s face hardens, her spoon clattering against the table as she seems to force herself not to stand. “Enough of this nonsense! Harry, or any child, is not to be dragged into every plan and dark secret. He’s just a boy, Sirius, he doesn’t need more battles!”

     Sirius fires back, his voice rough. “He’s not a boy! He’s James’s son, and you can’t keep him wrapped up like one of your precious teacups, Molly. He has a right to know what he’s fighting for.”

     Molly’s eyes darken. “He is not James, Sirius! Snap yourself out of it!”

     Sirius doesn’t flinch, his voice cutting through the tension. “I’m perfectly sure I know who he is, thanks.” He glares across the table, jaw tight. “And I also know he’s not a child anymore, no matter how much you want to pretend.”

     Molly throws her hands up, exasperated. “Not a child? He’s fifteen years old! Fifteen! That doesn’t make him an adult, and it doesn’t mean he should be dragged into this war!”

     Percy gets hit with a strong sense of deja vu. He swears he’s heard something like that said to him before, somewhere. Maybe back at Camp, in one of his earlier quests. Maybe when it was first revealed to him of his godly status.

     He knows it hurts to be withheld from information in a war you are forced to partake in, regardless of who says so.

     Harry has been forced into this war, much like Percy has been forced into his own. Percy can’t help but empathise once more with the guy.

     Sirius fires right back. “No, it doesn’t make him an adult. But it doesn’t make him a child either. You’ve seen what he’s been through, Molly. What he’s faced. Tell me one child who’s gone through half of that.”

     But Arthur hesitates. He glances at Molly, then down at his plate, lips pressed into a thin line. The silence is answer enough. “Dumbledore—” He starts, but before he could continue, Harry speaks once more, voice low.

     “I’d rather hear the truth here than be left to get it from the wrong places. If I’m already a target, I should know why. And I’ve been involved in this war no matter what. I was the one who saw Voldemort—” there were a few gasps at the name, mainly from Molly and Arthur, “--when he came. I’ve been the one, over and over again, dealing with him. More than you have, in the past decade!”

     A few heads nod around the table, mainly just the other kids in the room. Lupin adds gently, “He has a point. Better he gets his facts here, with us, than rumors out there. Besides, you know what’s happening in the Ministry with You-know-who.”

     ‘Huh? I know what now?’

     Molly looks furious, but it’s clear she’s outnumbered. Her lips thin, and she snaps, “Fine. But the rest of you, aside from our guests, are done here for tonight! Out—all of you!”

     A few groans and bold protests start, but she shuts them down with a fierce glare.

     Lupin steps in smoothly, his tone calming. “Because of Percy and his friends’ arrival, it complicates things. That’s why the others can’t stay. They’ll hear what they need to know, in time. But not tonight.”

     As their new friends (?) shuffle out of the room and the door closes behind them, it leaves the table smaller, quieter. The tension still hasn’t dropped, with half the eyes on Harry and the other half on Percy.

     It’s Lupin who speaks first.

     “Did Dumbledore tell you anything of what’s to come?” His eyes flick from Percy to Annabeth to Grover. “Why you’re here?” He clarifies.

     Percy shifts in his seat, fork idle on his plate. He doesn’t want to say too much—gods, he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to say, but sitting in silence feels significantly worse. 

     “Sort of. Not really in detail, but he said we’d be needed, that we could help. That’s… about it.” He clears his throat, forcing himself to keep eye contact. “But we’re not from the, uh, as you say, ‘Muggle’ world, either. We’ve got our own kind of… magic, I guess. Different, but real. And it’s been in use for, uh, longer than I’ve been alive.”

     ‘Phew. Carefully avoiding revealing everything. Annabeth would be proud.’ He glances at Annabeth at the thought, noticing her expression is guarded. Percy knows that means she’s listening carefully to everything he’s saying, making sure there’s no slip-ups. He gains a bit of confidence at that, wanting to keep it smooth.

     That gets a stir from the adults. A few eyebrows rise. However, Percy presses on before anyone can cut in. “We’ve fought our own battles. My friends and I—we’ve been through just as much in the past few years as Harry has, and I–we know we can help, okay?” 

     It feels like a bit of a repeat of his argument in the Order meeting he got brought into just hours before.

     Molly narrows her eyes. “And how old are you, exactly?”

     “Fourteen,” Percy admits, then quickly blurts, “But I’m turning fifteen soon. So, y’know, basically already there.” He gives her a weak smile that doesn’t really land.

     Across the table, Lupin mutters under his breath, “So he’d be in Harry’s year when he goes…”

     Percy stiffens, uneasy. ‘When he goes where? That’s too ominous for my liking.’ His mind instantly jumps to the worst-case scenarios. You never know what can happen in a world full of wizards, but before he can spiral, Harry leans forward to stop the tense silence, his expression softer.

     “I get it,” Harry says. “Fighting battles before you even knew what you were really in for. Losing people and… carrying all of that with you.”

     Percy catches his eyes, and for a brief moment, they share something unspoken, once more. A mutual understanding Percy hadn’t realized he wanted. ‘I mean, of course, I have Annabeth and Grover, but finding something like this outside of Camp? A non-halfblood?’ 

     He smiles faintly, and Harry mirrors it.

     An elbow jabs into his side, disrupting his thoughts. Percy flinches, but smiles sheepishly at his friend. Annabeth rolls her eyes, but then locks eyes with the adults, her voice cutting in. “What about the Ministry? ‘You-Know-Who’? Why is Harry so directly involved? What exactly is happening?”

     The questions hang in the air, and for once, the adults don’t dodge them. Sirius leans forward. “We’ve got spies, and people. Tonks—” He points to the same woman who complimented Percy earlier. Percy smiles at her, and she winks back, “--and others, watching, waiting. You'll know more in the coming weeks. We'll brief you, since it's clear Dumbledore didn't. Voldemort clearly has spies as well. But the Ministry refuses to believe he’s back. Fudge--The Minister of Magic, for your information--is burying his head in the sand.”

     Arthur nods grimly. “Dumbledore has been discredited. They’ve demoted him. And Harry’s trial is set for next week–the one for the Dementor attack.”

     “That’s ridiculous,” Annabeth snaps before Percy can.

     But Percy does speak, blurting out the first thing that hits his brain: “Wait—what’s a dementor?”

     The adults blink at him, a few looking exasperated, but Sirius chuckles under his breath. “Nasty creatures, sucks the soul out of you in an instant.” Percy almost takes a double-take at the lightening up in the demeanor of the scruffy man, already appreciating him more than Snape. “You’ll hear about them sooner than you’d like.”

     From there, the adults’ voices shift away from Voldemort and the Ministry, Sirius steering them toward something lighter. “Speaking of nasties, there’s a boggart upstairs in the writing desk. Tonks nearly jumped out of her skin earlier. Looked like a banshee.”

     The older witches and wizards dive into the tangent, voices overlapping about warding charms and storage cupboards.

     It leaves Harry, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover in a quiet little bubble at their end of the table.

     Grover’s already out of conversation, continuing his food. Annabeth stays quiet, seeming in deep thought.

     Harry lowers his voice. “It bothers you too, doesn’t it? That no one believes. That he’s back.”

     Percy nods quickly, a bit of anger curling in his chest. He only knows the worst of this moly-vort guy, but those things are just horrible. To think that someone isn’t facing retribution for that—or even the fact that the entire wizarding government is refusing his return…

     “Yeah. It’s… it’s messed up. He’s out there, and people are just pretending he isn’t? It’s like begging for more people to get hurt.”

     For a while, the two of them just sit there, understanding in the silence. Then Harry breaks it. He leans forward slightly, voice quiet but curious, a faint gleam sparking in his green eyes.

     “Assuming we’ll be alive for the next few weeks,” he says wryly, “are you coming to Hogwarts this year?”

     Percy blinks, mid-sip of some sort of orange-coloured juice that tasted nothing like orange juice, and nearly chokes. “I’m—Hogwarts? Like, your wizard school?” He coughs once, then tries to play it cool, failing spectacularly. “Uh, I don’t know, I’m no wizard. It’d be crazy. I mean… maybe? It’d be boring to be just here, while you and your friends are off wherever that is.”

     He pauses awkwardly for a moment before continuing.

      “And I’m not even sure I could pull off a wand without, you know, poking someone’s eye out. Safety hazard to bring me to a school I can’t even thrive at! You have no idea just how many schools I’ve been expelled from.”

     Harry rolls his eyes but smirks slightly, tilting his head. “You’d get used to it, trust me. Besides, if you’re here to help us, I think it’s best if you come to Hogwarts. You’ll be able to protect me more there.”

     Percy forces a laugh, his brain already spinning. Hogwarts? Him? He can practically hear Annabeth groaning in his head already. Another school to mess up. Not that he minds, he finds a bit of fun in that, but he has no idea just how the monster situation in this country works.

     ‘Maybe because they’re farther from Olympus, there are gonna be less monsters, right? And all the magic and stuff clearly must stop them from coming near. But I'm a son of Poseidon, most monsters sniff me out within hours, the most being days. I'll just endanger more people if I go somewhere.’

     He scratches the back of his neck to pull himself out of his thoughts and mutters under his breath, “By the gods, what even is my life anymore…”

     Harry’s smirk softens into something more genuine. The gleam in his eyes doesn’t fade, but in fact becomes much clearer. It reminds Percy of how Annabeth looked at him for his first week at Camp after the minotaur stuff—you know, excluding all the jealousy and glares. It’s just pure curiosity.

     Maybe something else, but Percy can’t tell.

Chapter Text

     After that painfully long and tense conversation, the dinner finished smoothly, with the rest of them being excused to their rooms. Percy learns that the bedroom he originally slept in was, indeed, Severus Snape’s room (technically a guest room, but that man slept in there too many times), and is now glad he no longer has to sleep there knowing this information. 

     On the bright side, he shares a room with Harry and Redhead, which is great because he knows that they’re most likely not people who’d harm him. Though Annabeth seemed mildly upset when she was told she had to sleep in the same room as Hermione and Ginny; she seems to mildly dislike them, but to be fair, she mildly dislikes everyone to a certain extent.

     Sleep doesn’t come easily. Percy lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the uneven snores of Harry and Ron, but the blanket feels too heavy, the room too quiet, his brain too loud. He tries to close his eyes, but the thought of another demigod dream ruins any semblance of a thought about sleep, forcing him to slide himself out of the bunk and get out of the room.

     He needs to breathe. He won’t see others die again.

     He’s not sure he can handle watching someone else he cares about get torn apart, not when he’s only just met these new people and already knows how dangerous their world is.

     ‘Maybe finding a bathroom will help. Though, now that I think about it, do wizards even pee? Maybe they just wave a wand and it disappears into sparkles or something.’

     The hallway is dim and quiet, as always. He’s gotten used to the eeriness of this house by this point, finding the situation he’s in more dire over the condition of this ancient house he’s stepping through. Though every floorboard making a creaking noise under his weight is a bit concerning, considering the sheer number of people living in this house right now.

     Percy turns a corner and nearly jumps when he spots movement ahead.

     Percy recognises him as the tall, scruffy man from dinner. He’s leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed, dark hair falling into his face. His eyes flick up when Percy approaches, glinting in the faint light. Seems he was lost in thought.

     “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

     Percy blinks. “Uh—yeah. Restless. You know, big journey, jetlag, and all that stuff.”

     The man smirks faintly and straightens. “I never properly introduced myself. Sirius Black. Harry’s godfather. Sorry you had to watch us all tear each other apart at dinner.” He offers his hand.

     Percy grins despite the grogginess threatening to embarrassingly slur his speech. “Percy Jackson, but you already know that. And don’t worry, uh, let’s just say I’ve seen worse family moments from personal experience.”

     Sirius chuckles at that. “Fair enough. You’re tough, kid. Not many can handle when they’re put on the spot like that. I still find it quite odd that you don’t exactly know why you’re here. You’re from America, right?”

     Percy nods tiredly, trying to hold eye contact despite the restlessness claiming him. “Yeah, New York. And you’re from…” he gestures vaguely around them. “Here?”

     Sirius barks a laugh, grinning. “Yes, here. This exact place, actually. 12 Grimmauld Place. Family home of the Blacks, you could say.” 

     Percy raises an eyebrow. “Blacks? Is that like, uh, a family name then?”

     Sirius tilts his head, amused. “Exactly. Old pure-blood family name. Most of them were obsessed with blood status and marrying their cousins to keep the family tree nice and rotten.” He gestures to the wallpaper behind him, covered with burn marks. “Mum even blasted my face off the family tapestry. Didn’t exactly get along with the whole ‘we’re better than everyone else’ bit.”

     ‘Okay. There’s a lot to unpack there, and I’m not talking about the incest. Yet.’

     Percy pauses the man for a second. “Wait, wait, hold on there. Pure-bloods? Not familiar with this world, uh, what is all that terminology?”

     Sirius snaps his fingers and grins. “Right, you don’t know. Pure-bloods are just a bullshit way of saying a wizarding family with no, well, recent Muggle ancestry. Basically, I’m a pure-blood, meaning I have not been birthed by Muggles, and like, none of my extended family by blood are Muggles. ”

     Percy nods, trying to act like he understands. “Woah. Wizard racism. So your family condoned incest to not have ‘dirty blood?’ Offended.”

     Sirius snorts. “Yeah, precisely. Blood purity is a large discrimination issue in the wizarding world. There are also halfbloods, who are basically like, half and half.”

     Percy’s eyes widen. “In uh, my world, we also have halfbloods. I’d be considered one. Pretty much the same way. Half mortal blood, erh, what you’d call muggle blood, and half blood of… let’s just say, a powerful figure.”

     Sirius raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Powerful figure, huh? I won’t question it yet, but I am curious about ‘your world,’ mate. Ey, to save yourself from the persecution when you go to Hogwarts, you should probably say you’re from an American half-blood family. It wouldn’t be a lie, if you catch my drift.” He winks cheekily.

     Percy clears his throat, getting the confirmation he needs. “You guys are sending me to Hogwarts? But I don’t even know any magic. Isn’t it, like, a magic school?”

     Sirius grins. “Oh, but that’s the fun in it! I mean, it’s no fun for a kid as bright as you staying in this dusty old place all year. If you want to help us, help us from the inside.”

     Percy catches himself about to giggle. “Dude, bright? Me? Surely, you’re sending my friends with me, too. I’m not being the only ‘American transfer’ alone.” He scoffs.

     Sirius reaches out to ruffle Percy’s hair out of nowhere. “Jackson–Percy, I mean. I’d say we’re on a first-name basis, now, if we are to work together. But Percy, we need you in the school. If you’ve noticed, none of us in the Order itself are exactly…children. Sure, some act like it,” he’s clearly thinking of a particular person, glancing off to the side before continuing, “but they’re not. And I don’t trust that person to keep tabs on Harry like I’m trusting you to.”

     Percy blinks in silence for a moment. “Wait, you’re like, totally overestimating me here. I just met him, like, two days ago. Don’t trust me right away.”

     “Two days,” Sirius echoes him dryly, “And yet you’ve already been a part of our Order meeting. And dealt with the terrible Severus Snape.” Percy manages a chuckle at that, but Sirius continues.

     “You already know of our plans and the darkest parts of the wizarding world without even diving into it. You better be trustworthy, or else we could all be in graver danger,” he states grimly.

     Percy is about to protest again when another voice drifts from the shadows at the far end of the hallway.

     “That’s quite enough, Sirius. You should be asleep.”

     Both of them turn to see Lupin emerging from the dim light, a mug of tea in hand like he’s been up for hours. His expression is calm, but his eyes are tired and thoughtful. “You’re trying to recruit him before he’s even unpacked?”

     Percy defends. “To be honest, I’m unsure if I even have stuff to unpack. I was brought here on a whim.”

     Sirius manages a snort before addressing Lupin. “He’s not a baby. He can handle the idea of a new school and a new world. Did you see him at dinner? He can defend himself just fine.”

     ‘Well, I only really spoke once, but go off, I guess.’

     Lupin comes closer, the smell of tea following him. “Yes, but unlike you, I prefer asking before assigning responsibilities.” He looks at Percy then, softer now. “Forgive him. Sirius has a habit of throwing people into the deep end.”

     Percy scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, I noticed. But hey, dire times call for dire measures…? I think?”

     That earns a faint smile from Lupin. “Correct, you are, unfortunately. I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself, as you said, you were thrown into this mess on a whim. Remus Lupin, Former professor at Hogwarts. Friend of Harry’s parents.” He tilts his head. “I imagine this is overwhelming for you.”

     “You think?” Percy mutters before he can stop himself. “You’re planning to drop me into a British magic school I’ve never heard of with people trying to kill you. And, for the record, I don’t have a great track record with schools. Kicked out of every place.”

     Lupin chuckles quietly, though there’s no mockery in it. “Fair, but trust me, it’s very hard to get kicked out of Hogwarts if you’re under Dumbledore’s headmastery. Unsure if he’s staying due to the Ministry being, forgive my language, a bitch. But Sirius isn’t wrong. If you’re here, you’re already involved. And Hogwarts would be safer than this house in the long term.”

     Percy huffs, half in annoyance but half in amusement. “Everyone who says I’m safe here also attempts to kill me after.”

     That earns him a look of concern from Lupin, but a bark of laughter from Sirius, who claps him on his back. “I love your comebacks, Percy. You’ll fit right in with Harry. I bet you’ll be a great Gryffindor.”

     “A great whatcha-ma-call-it?” Percy blinks, stunned in surprise.

     Sirius groans. “Right. Muggle. I’ll have to educate you before we get you a spot at Hogwarts. Gryffindor is one of the houses at the school. There are four—Gryffindor, the best one, Slytherin, the worst one, Ravenclaw, the nerds, and Hufflepuffs, the forgettable ones.”

     Lupin rolls his eyes at the scruffy man’s words, elbowing him lightly in the side, causing him to let go of Percy. “Explain them properly—preferably at a time when we’re all not sleep deprived.”

     Percy pauses the conversation once more. “Wait, houses? What are those?”

     There’s a brief silence, the two adults gazing at each other.

     Lupin starts first. “Seems the American school system is… odd. Okay. They’re like these factions that people from the school are sorted into. In Hogwarts, you get sorted by a magical sorting hat, which sorts you based on personality traits. These are the people you have classes with and competitions for, basically.”

     Percy almost scoffs at how it sounds like Lupin is trying to dumb his language down to talk to a toddler, but it is, unfortunately, helping Percy understand. “Ah, alright. That honestly sounds fun. We have a similar system back at Camp–uh, basically where the kids in my world live. But we’re sorted based on our, uh, parents, let’s say. I’m alone in my Cabin, usually, unless my half-brother gives me a visit.”

     Somehow, that earns a look of sympathy from both of the adults. ‘I didn’t really think it’s that sad, but okay.’

     Lupin clears his throat. “Well, regardless, you should head back to bed. It was wonderful to chat with you, Percy. Meet with one of us tomorrow, if we’re not busy. It’d be lovely to have you in more Order meetings to get more informed about our threat.”

     Sirius butts in. “And I’ll teach you more about the wizarding world and how to handle it. Trust me, I know my way.”

     Lupin wraps an arm around the scruffy man’s shoulders, smiling at him before they engage in their own conversation, leading him away and leaving Percy alone.

     Percy decides maybe he should try falling asleep. If he thinks about it, the last time he fell asleep here, he didn’t have demigod dreams. Well, he woke up to Snape at his door, which is arguably worse. 

     He starts walking back to the room where his new friends are located, glimpsing back at the tapestry with burnt-out faces in the room he was just in. His eyes linger a bit on the name of ‘Sirius Black.’ The branches above the burnt-out picture of the man he just met read the name ‘Regulus Black,’ who would logically be his brother. 

     Percy drifts his attention back to the bedroom, entering it, the names circling in his mind. He’ll explore the family history of the Blacks later. For now, he should probably get some sleep before he starts hallucinating and mistaking it for magic.

Chapter Text

     Percy spends the next week being tutored on the ways of the wizarding world by the man he met in the middle of the night.

     Which sounds more formal than it actually is. In reality, Sirius Black is attempting to be a “wise” mentor. Attempting. His lessons tend to revolve around dramatically re-enacting Hogwarts stories from his school years (which Percy assumes were like 3 decades ago) by acting out duels with imaginary wands. Additionally, the man decided to tell Percy all about his old friends from school, who basically, as Percy understands it, were either pranksters or bullies; probably both, but that’s a conversation that the man is clearly not ready for.

     Regardless, Percy’s learned a few things. One, Sirius clearly holds his past close to his identity—he remembers almost every detail vividly. Whether it comes to all the pranks his old friend group pulled in his glory days, or the quieter memories with Lupin afterward, Sirius remembers every detail so vividly it’s like he’s still living it.

     Two, Sirius seems to skip over everything between “then” and “now,” ruining the timeline Percy was piecing together in his mind. When Percy asked him a few days ago what happened after he finished school, Sirius just muttered something about being wrongly accused and that he’d prefer not to talk about the consequences, which pretty much slammed the brakes on the subject.

     Three, Sirius used to be best friends with Harry’s parents. Apparently, James was part of their group, and the two were basically like brothers. From there, Lily became practically family to him. Now it’s clear to see that Harry reminds Sirius so much of James; Percy originally didn’t understand what Molly meant by ‘He’s not James!’ back at the dinner, but now he does. Though it gets worse, because somewhere in the middle of one of these rambling stories, Sirius offhandedly mentioned that when he first met Percy, he thought Percy looked like James too—but the more he got to know him, the more Percy reminded him of himself when he was younger. Percy still isn’t sure if that’s a compliment or a threat. The man still scares him.

     And fourth: Sirius really likes Lupin. Like, really likes him. Percy’s lost count of the random little facts Sirius slips in during conversations. The way Lupin smells (apparently like old books?), his favourite foods, the texture of the sweaters he wears. It’s… a bit silly, actually. Percy’s tempted to start asking more to keep a tally of everything Sirius knows about him, but he’s worried Sirius would actually notice. Or worse, that Lupin would notice.

     ‘See? I can be observant. Annabeth would be so proud of me for keeping track of random facts about an old man I met barely a week ago.’

     Speaking of Annabeth, she’s been spending the past few days restlessly spending time in the ancient library of the house. She’s not desperate at all to go out into the murky streets of London and explore the area, but she is desperate to read through the pieces of information hidden in the ancient texts of magic that she’s never read before. Also, she’s started to get along a bit with Hermione, which is progress!

     Unfortunately, that means that Percy has been subjected to double the amount of lectures because they always, and he means always, hang around each other. To be fair, Percy is glad that Annabeth has found her own friend in this mess of a situation, so he can withstand the horrible lectures for the price of her happiness.

     Meanwhile, Grover has been spending most of his time trying to figure out a way to send an Iris Message to Chiron–or really anyone at camp. It seems like some sort of supernatural force is blocking the signal from inside 12 Grimmauld Place, but that just might be the magic surrounding the place. If Percy recalls from the night he arrived at this place, half dead in Snape’s arms (ew), the house practically appeared from thin air. It’s clearly guarded by some sort of magical barrier, reminding him a bit of the safety barrier back at camp. However, these safety guards never end up well, just like what happened at camp periodically last summer when Thalia came back. 

     He hopes with all he has that nothing attacks them at this safe place. 

     Percy’s been trying to talk to Harry more, finding himself craving a conversation with the guy. But for approximately a day and a half, he’s been off at some sort of ‘trial’ like he’s a child criminal or something. It was related to the soul sucking monsters that he questioned about days ago, but whatever it is, Percy would be on Harry’s side regardless. 

     ‘I mean, that guy is basically my age, there’s no way he’d be in the wrong in some life-threatening situation like that.’

     About age, Percy is also turning 15 soon. There’s been so much going on that he’s completely forgotten what date his birthday is.

     Well, not completely, because it’ll always be engraved in his mind that it’s going to be one year till the great prophecy occurs. A year closer to death. A lot of death.

     Every once in a while, Percy faces this unbearable amount of overwhelming sadness washing over him. He doesn’t know why it’s happening, but he has a hunch it's related to the fact that he’s been involved in way too many dangerous situations with high chances that he’s going to end up dead as a result of them. If it’s not him who will die, it’s going to be someone else; someone who doesn’t deserve it as much as he does.

     Because if he causes another person’s death (again), just how does he deserve to live his own life?

     It’s the night of August 12th. Before dinner starts, Percy decides he should ambush Grover to question if the Iris Message system is working yet. But when he enters the usual bedroom and finds Harry Potter instead of his best friend, he decides to approach him instead.

     Harry’s sitting hunched at the edge of the bed, fiddling with his glasses in his hands. He looks up when Percy enters, blinking as though he hadn’t noticed the door creak open, quickly putting them back on.

     “Oh. Sorry,” Percy says, scratching at the back of his neck, trying to play it off cool. “Was looking for my friend–uh, Grover. Thought he was here.”

     Harry snorts, the smallest bit of a laugh escaping him. “He’s downstairs. Maybe raiding the pantry, since it’s almost dinner. Your friend eats like Ron, honestly.”

     “Yeah, that tracks,” Percy admits, grinning a little. He steps further in and leans against the wall. “So… uh. How’d it go? With the whole trial thing?”

     Harry’s smile wipes from his face as he stares down at the floorboards. “Could’ve gone worse. They wanted to expel me. Said I broke the law by doing magic outside school. Except it was either that, or get kissed by a Dementor.” His voice sharpens on the last word. “And apparently saving your own life doesn’t count as a good enough excuse.”

     Percy blinks, almost stunned into silence. “What? They wanted to—what? But you’re like, not even, what? That’s just not fair!” He huffs, stammering himself into a coherent response, feeling a bit pissed off at these Ministry guys.

     “Pretty much.” Harry sighs, slipping his glasses back on. His eyes are tired, older than fifteen should look. “Dumbledore defended me. I got cleared. But most of the Ministry still thinks I made the whole thing up.”

     “That’s actually stupid!” Percy sighs furiously, taking a seat on the bunk by him with a bit of a thud. He definitely understands the feeling of that. It takes him back to when he was 12 and accused of stealing Zeus’s lightning bolt. Like, that can’t happen, he was literally 12. “You’re like, what, 15? And basically threatened to ruin your life over you defending your own?”

     Harry sighs heavily as well, glancing at him from the side. “Yeah, recently turned last month. You 15 too?”

     Percy nods, attempting a smile. “Well, kind of. I will be next Friday, the 18th,” he clarifies.

     Harry hums softly at that, shifting like he’s surprised they’re so close in age. “Huh. So we’re basically the same. Figures.”

     Percy shrugs, leaning back on his elbows. “Guess so. Not that age really matters when you’re constantly being thrown into death traps.” He says it like a joke, but the laugh that follows is hollow. It’s clear he was originally trying to lighten up the mood, but relates too deeply to actually continue the intention.

     Harry doesn’t laugh. Instead, he studies Percy’s face, quiet for a moment too long. “You’ve… been through a lot too, haven’t you? It’s clear by our, uh, earlier conversations.” He glances at the closed door, as if someone is listening behind it.

     Percy feels his throat tighten without wanting it to. He wants to deflect—make some dumb joke once again—but the way Harry’s watching him, it’s clear he already knows the answer. So Percy just says, “Yeah. Enough.”

     There’s a pause. It’s not uncomfortable, unlike the other times they’ve stopped their conversations, but it’s charged. Percy can feel it almost buzzing under his skin, this weird recognition between them making him feel something else this time. Like, he doesn’t really know this guy, but somehow he just does, you know?

     Their eyes meet, and everything else blurs out. Sea-green to emerald, like the ocean to forest. For a moment, Percy feels like seeing a reflection of himself through just those eyes, and he’s unsure if he hates or likes this feeling. He feels caught by Harry’s gaze; it’s holding him there, like it’s a challenge to look away. While the sea doesn’t like to be restrained, he doesn’t move. 

     The silence stretches, not awkward but thick, heavy with something Percy doesn’t have the words for. He tells himself he should blink, or smirk, or break it with a joke—but he doesn’t. Only when he realises just how embarrassingly this moment of silence is can he feel his heartbeat suddenly grow loud in his ears.

     ‘Oh. That’s what–’

     It’s Harry who breaks the silence suddenly. His eyes drop quickly, almost too quickly, as he clears his throat and finds the closed door a sudden interest once again. Percy lets out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, running a hand through his messy hair like it might shake off the tension.

     “...glad your trial went well, Harry,” Percy mutters, hiding a bit of a soft smile starting to grow on his face.

     Harry makes a noise of a mix of acknowledgment and content, before suddenly smiling back at him. “We should head to dinner, you know. You’re making us late,” he jokes quickly.

     Percy welcomes the easing of tension immediately, cracking a chuckle. “Oh, how devastating that is!” He rolls his eyes, lighthearted, before getting up from the bunk to open the door for the other as he follows. Percy steps aside to let Harry pass through in a moment of silence.

     As they walk down the dim hallway toward the dining room, Harry glances sideways at him. “So… Sirius told you pretty much everything already, right? About Hogwarts and all that?”

     Percy frowns thoughtfully. “Yeah… well, almost everything. He kept on about everything, but when school actually starts.”

     Harry shrugs. “Hogwarts doesn’t start for a couple more weeks. The letters and all the prep stuff… you’ll get that soon enough, considering that your birthday is like, next week. Originally, I thought they’d just forge you an admission, but it seems they’re authentically forging you one.” He jokes before pausing, a faint curiosity in his voice. “Did he tell you about the sorting? The houses?”

     Percy nods quickly. “Oh, yeah. Gryffindor, Slytherin, the lot. Sirius had a lot to say about how I’d fit in, apparently predicting my whole year before I even got there.” He chuckles softly. “Says I remind him a bit of himself. I think he’s mostly just humouring me.”

     Harry smirks, a trace of warmth in his expression. “Well, it’s Sirius; he probably sees some truth in that. He’s a great man, trust me. And for Hogwarts–You’ll figure out the rest soon enough.”

     The hallway stretches in quiet steps as Percy considers how much he’s been thrown into in the past week. ‘Wait–jeez, it’s already been a week here? I mean, I haven’t been counting, but there’s just so much new stuff I’ve almost completely forgotten about my old worries back at camp.’

     He thinks out loud. “I wonder if the people back at camp know why we’re gone. You know, we were also prepping a bit for a war back at home, too. In my world,” he clarifies.

     Harry glances at him, not sure how to respond. “I… didn’t know that. I hope everything’s alright there, but I’d guess they’d be worried, though. Camp… that’s your safe place, right?”

     Percy shrugs, a little uneasy at how quickly he’s been pulled into comparing worlds. “Safe… yeah, kind of. It’s supposed to be. But even there, stuff goes wrong. Always does. Monsters, quests, stupid stuff like that—I just hope they’re not panicking too much. I mean, I guess I’m kind of like the, uh, you of my world. So just imagine if I went missing.” Percy doesn’t even realise that he’s revealing more than he should have.

     Harry nods slowly, frowning, as if imagining the chaos Percy’s describing. “Oh, that’d be… hopefully they’re informed then. Huh. Monsters, quests, and stuff?” He questions subtly.

     Percy rubs the back of his neck, realizing he might be giving too much away but not knowing how to stop. “Yeah… you know, creatures that shouldn’t exist, prophecies, people trying to kill me for reasons that don’t really make sense until later. It’s… complicated.” He shrugs again, trying to make it sound casual.

     Harry’s eyes flicker with something—curiosity, worry, maybe both. “Sounds intense… but hey, if I’m being honest, you’re not gonna get much different stuff in this world. You’re a wizard now, whether you like it or not.” He chuckles as they finally reach the dining room.

     Percy manages a small, humorless laugh. “That’s just wonderful. Can’t wait for more danger.” He jokes before glancing at Harry, finally parting ways as they enter through the kitchen to get to the dinner table, where people are collecting once more for another gathering.

     Ever since that first family dinner drama, there haven’t been many others. After all, the children got to know the secrets withheld from them all summer, and the adults got to know about the mysterious American kids appearing at the front door on some random day.

     But during dinner tonight, Percy gets lost in his thoughts. He picks at the edge of his plate, mostly staring into the food rather than eating it. Every so often, a snicker or quiet comment from Annabeth or Grover pulls him back for a second, and he forces a small smile, trying to act present. But his mind keeps wandering back to his conversations with Sirius about Hogwarts, the buzzing feeling during his talk with Harry, and the conversation he had with Severus Snape all those days ago when he first arrived here. Those moments where grease-hair looked almost concerned with him, not because of his worrying behaviour, but rather his lineage. That man knows that he’s a demigod, and he looked worried about even being near Percy.

     Only two men in this new world know of his and his friends’ background. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

     But something is nagging the back of Percy’s mind. That someone else, somewhere and somehow, knows of this. A quest never stays all fun and games; the longer the ‘fun’ part, the longer the ‘hard’ part. 

     Percy’s anxious, because he knows not to deny the inevitable: that he’s not a ‘secret weapon.’

     They already know we’re here.

Chapter Text

     Percy wakes up to the sound of rain.

     Not the light, annoying kind that patters on the windows just enough to stay comforting without ruining the mood; instead, it just had to be the heavy kind, the one that rolls across the sky like a living thing. It’s storming. 

     ‘I wonder if this is my dad’s doing.’

     He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The air in Grimmauld Place feels colder than usual, carrying that strange damp chill that old houses often acquire when the weather outside turns stormy. The floorboards creak when he steps down, and he takes a deep breath before pulling on a clean shirt from his half-unpacked bag.

     A navy one, soft and new. Not the standard, highlighter orange coloured ‘Camp Half-Blood’ t-shirt he always wore. 

     He’s surprised no one has questioned it yet—to his knowledge, no one else wears bright orange t-shirts on a day-to-day basis in their business. Maybe everyone’s been too polite, or maybe they just assume it’s some weird American thing. Either way, it’s refreshing to change out of it.

     His ‘room’ is still half a mess. Yes, he’s now been given a room, upgraded from the living spaces he shared with Ron and Harry. This is only because it started getting crowded in there. The luggage Annabeth and Grover had hastily packed for him before they all got pulled here sits open in the corner, a mix of jeans, snacks, and things he doesn’t remember owning.

     He grabs his jacket and decides to step outside for a bit of air, exiting the room to head straight outside the magically guarded home. Something feels off.

     The street is quiet. The rain is pouring in sheets, yet when Percy steps past the doorframe, not a single drop touches him. Or rather, it feels like a comforting touch on his skin. It doesn’t wet him one bit, instead rolling off him as if it’s guarding him rather than attacking him.

     He smiles faintly, looking up at the heavy sky. It’s not an angry storm. Not like the kind that splits the sea or crashes through the shorelines. This one feels... softer. Almost hesitant. Like it’s holding back its power, choosing instead to just be there.

     For a reason he can’t explain, Percy feels like it’s there for him. He doesn’t say it out loud—he doesn’t have to. But deep down, there’s this quiet pulse in his chest that tells him he knows. His father. Poseidon. The storm isn’t angry today. It’s watching him.

     He exhales slowly.

     Fifteen.

     That’s right, he’s fifteen today. One year closer to the prophecy, one year closer to whatever fate’s supposed to throw at him. It hits him then—how strange it is that he’s even made it this far. After all the quests, all the monsters, all the times he should’ve died... he’s still here.

    ‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’ He can’t help but wonder. What would his world be if he truly ceased to exist when he was meant to? What if that cut string was truly meant for him?

     He should feel proud. He wants to. But instead, there’s this uncomfortable weight in his chest, pressing harder on his lungs the more he tries to ignore it. He stares up in the sky as a last-minute attempt at trying to ditch this dangerous thought spiral, but it continues.

     He’s never really stopped long enough to think about himself before. There’s always been something to fight, something to save, something to fix. But now, standing still, he feels it. 

     His fingers start to fidget with one another, staring off into the heavy clouds rolling high above his head, the sound of thunder trying its best to block out his ability to think.

     How much has he lost over the past few years? How much of himself is still left? He doesn’t even know if he likes himself anymore.

     The thought startles him. He shakes his head like it’s something physical he can throw off. No. He can’t think like that. He’s the son of Poseidon—he’s supposed to hold himself with pride. He’s done so much, lost so much. It has to mean something. Everything, anything everyone has told him has to hold some value. 

     Everything has its meaning, so he can’t pretend like it's all nothing, no matter how hard his mind is trying to convince him.

     He can’t die yet. He can’t let himself fall down that spiral.

     Something in the sky—cutting through the sheets of rain just like it cuts through his train of thoughts, its wings beating hard against the wind. Percy squints. Whatever it is, it’s struggling, probably due to the storm winds, but determined.

     The shape grows clearer, swooping closer until—

     “Woah—hey!” He exclaims as whatever it is crashes straight into his head.

     Percy stumbles back, heart hammering as he tries to defend himself from this–owl? Oh no.

     “Oh, by the gods—Athena better not be sending assassins again—”

     The owl hoots indignantly, shaking off water before fixing him with a pair of huge amber eyes. It’s drenched, feathers sticking up at odd angles, and for a second, Percy swears it’s judging him, reminding him of Annabeth–no, Athena. ‘Always those dam owls.’

     “Uh… sorry?” he says weakly.

     The owl sticks out a leg. There’s a letter tied to it.

     Percy hesitates before untying it carefully. The moment he does, the bird takes off again, vanishing into the gray blur of rain. He steps back under an area of shade by the nearest townhouse porch, wiping the water from his fingers, and stares down at the envelope.

     Thick parchment. Wax seal. His name is written in perfect ink, addressed to 12 Grimmauld Place. A symbol on the letter–a shield divided into four parts, with a different symbol in each quarter. On top of the sigil, it read Hogwarts.

     He slowly opens it, intrigued by the fact that a magic school decided to mail him through an owl. Inside, there’s a letter, beige coloured parchment that looks like it came straight out of the 1800s.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Jackson,

We are pleased to inform you that, on exceptional conditions, you have been accepted for entry into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as a 5th-year student. Please find a list of all necessary books and equipment on the back of this parchment.

Term begins on 1 September. However, we would appreciate it if you would be on the campus by 30 August to organise the logistics of your temporary stay. Professor Snape is to guide you here.

Looking forward to meeting you. We expect great things from you.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

     Percy reads the letter twice—once in disbelief, and a second time because his brain refuses to process the idea that he just got formally invited to the weird-named magic school.

     He stares at the parchment, rain still pattering gently against the edges of the doorstep. “On exceptional conditions,” he mutters aloud, his eyebrows furrowing as he talks to no one in particular. “Yeah, no kidding, I can’t even do magic...”

     He trails off as he gazes back at where the owl once was, his head aching at the memory of that bird crashing into his head. He rubs the side of it idly, looking back down at the letter in disbelief.

     “What does this even mean?” he whispers under his breath. He flips the parchment around, scanning the back where a list of supplies is neatly written in elegant ink: wands, uniforms, spellbooks… all the things he’s heard murmurs of from Harry or Hermione before.

     He lets out a slow breath. His fingers tighten on the edge of the parchment.

     He doesn’t belong here. He’s not one of them. He doesn’t even do magic the way they do—his kind of power comes from storms and tides and the blood of a god, not some spell in Latin. Not that he’s bad in Latin, it was the only class back at Yancy Academy he enjoyed because of the way his brain is wired. 

     ‘No doubt, the worst part of all this is the fact that I still have to deal with grease-hair. As if he’d “guide” me.’

     Percy lowers himself onto the wooden steps, elbows resting on his knees, holding the letter loosely in one hand. For a moment, he just stares out at the empty, glistening street.

     His thumb brushes the wax seal again, tracing the ridges of the Hogwarts crest. The weight of the letter feels heavier than it should, like it’s pressing down on his chest. But to be fair, everything has been taking a toll on his chest as of recently.

     A quiet creak interrupts his thoughts. The front door swings open behind him. Footsteps. Percy stiffens slightly but doesn’t turn right away, hoping the mysterious person will make themselves known first.

     Percy glances back over his shoulder, seeing none other than Remus Lupin. He feels himself lose some tension in his body, scooting over for the man to sit with him. Remus’s expression is curious, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn coat. He seems like he’s holding back from being invasive.

     Remus catches the eye of the Hogwarts letter Percy is holding.

     “Well,” Lupin mutters before pausing, “looks like you’ll be joining us after all. This is quite fascinating. You’re not a wizard, correct?”

     Percy chuckles awkwardly, a bit troubled at the thought. “You got that right. I don’t think I’ll survive, if I’m being entirely honest and just a little dramatic. Why have I gotten a letter anyway?”

     “Formality,” Remus states as if that’s a fact. He smiles softly, extending his hand so that Percy could let him glance at the letter properly. Percy does so. “Hogwarts sends invitations to those who show signs of magic on their 11th birthday. Obviously, it is different for you. Ah, exceptional situation…” He reads out.

     Percy shrugs, glancing off into the empty streets as he starts to talk. “Well, it is my 15th birthday today, so maybe they did it for the fun of it?”

     “Oh, really? Happy birthday, Percy,” Remus smiles, surprised at the new information. “You should’ve told us earlier. That way, at least you’d have a better gift than a Hogwarts invitation.”

     Percy manages a small chuckle, glancing back at the letter Remus is holding. “Guess this is what I get instead of cake, huh? A lifetime commitment to homework. Again.”

     Remus laughs quietly, the sound soft but genuine. “Careful what you wish for. Hogwarts has more than enough of that to go around.” He hands the parchment back, the wax seal still faintly glinting under the gray light. “I’ll see if we can find a way to make this day feel a little less gloomy. Wouldn’t do to spend your fifteenth birthday trapped in a house like this, after all.”

     Percy blinks, a bit thrown by the kindness. “You know you don’t have to—”

     “I insist,” Remus says gently, his smile warm. “Fifteen’s a milestone. You deserve at least a breath of air that isn’t laced with dust.”

     Percy tucks the letter carefully in his jacket pocket, rising to his feet as the rain starts to ease at last. “Thanks, Lupin.”

     “Remus is fine,” the man corrects easily as he steps back toward the door. “Now, go inside before Sirius thinks I’ve lost you to the storm.”

     Percy follows him in and heads straight for the small, dimly lit room that’s temporarily his. When he pushes open the door, he stops short. Annabeth and Grover are both there, sitting cross-legged on the bed like they’ve been waiting for hours.

     “Dude!” Grover bleats, grinning. “We thought you had disappeared again! I was about to send a search party!”

     Annabeth rolls her eyes. “We were waiting for you,” she corrects, though her lips twitch with a faint smile. “And, um—”

     “Happy birthday!” they both exclaim at once.

     Before Percy can react more than just a gasp of surprise, they’re up and wrapping him in a slightly chaotic tangle of limbs, which you could call a hug. Percy hugs his two friends back just as tightly, burying his face into whoever is closest. 

     “You guys didn’t need to…” He starts, feeling strangely loved.

     “Shut up, Seaweed-brain,” Annabeth silences with another tight squeeze. “It’s been a hard few days.. years, actually, but the point still stands. You deserve more than this. The least we can do is spend the day with you.”

     “Yeah, dude!” Grover chimes in, letting go of the hug first to pick up a small, neatly wrapped package. A gift? “And we could never forget a little something for you.”

     Percy feels a shy smile start to form on his face, letting go of the hug fully to step back, registering all of this in his mind. Grover presses the gift into his hands. It’s wrapped in brown paper, tied with a piece of string. He hesitates before carefully undoing the knot. Inside, sitting snug in a fold of fabric, is his Camp Half-Blood beaded necklace he forgot in the rush of that day.

     Percy stares at it for a long second. “I thought I left this… back home.”

     “You did,” Annabeth admits softly. “But I grabbed it before we left camp. Figured you’d want something that still feels like yours.”

     Grover scratches at his curls, smiling sheepishly. “Annabeth made me swear not to tell you. She said it was supposed to be a surprise. I suppose you didn’t notice.”

     “You’re right… I didn’t notice.” He reaches around his collarbone area, only now noticing it’s gone, which is odd. He swears he would’ve noticed; after all, he does fidget with it quite a lot and it holds so much value to him–especially now. But maybe in the midst of everything, he forgot?

     He feels a bit bad for that. The one thing that reminds him of home, other than his obnoxiously orange t-shirt, he left behind.

     Then he notices something else tucked beneath the necklace—a sealed envelope with his name written in Annabeth’s sharp, tidy handwriting.

     “Open that one later,” she says quickly, before he can ask. “When you’re alone.”

     Percy raises an eyebrow but says nothing else, quickly smiling and hugging her once more. “Thank you. Genuinely. You didn’t even need to write me anything, honestly.”

     Annabeth pats his back, giving him another short hug before parting. “It’s nothing, really,” she mutters off to the side.

     He pulls away, hanging the beaded necklace around his neck once more and gently setting down the small package on his bed for later. He stands back up, fixing his posture, unable to find his words for a moment. He simply runs his thumb over the familiar beads.

     “It feels weird, you know,” he murmurs, voice low. “Having something from home when we’re… here. Feels like it shouldn’t even exist in the same place. But strangely enough, I’m getting used to this place.”

     Annabeth glances up at him, her grey eyes steady. “Then it’s good, it reminds you of home,” she says simply. “You have a home with us wherever you go.”

     That catches him off guard. He blinks, a small breath leaving him before he can stop it. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding faintly. “Yeah,” he repeats, his smile soft.

     Grover nudges him with his elbow. “Don’t go getting all deep on us now, dude. It’s your birthday, not your funeral.”

     That earns a soft yet tired laugh from Percy. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for the reminder, G-man.”

     The moment stretches a little longer before Annabeth crosses her arms and asks, “You have anything planned for today or no?”

     Percy hesitates. He remembers Lupin’s promise to organise something, but beyond that—nothing. “No… not really.”

     However, there is something still bugging his mind.

     He remembers the letter stuffed away in his pocket, taking it out and preparing to show the others. “...Actually,” he says, voice low but steady, “there’s something else.”

     “Something I think you both need to see.”