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Chapter Text

ALBUS WULFRIC PERCIVAL BRIAN DUMBLEDORE 

Albus Dumbledore was one hundred and eleven years old. He did not get surprised very easily.

But learning that Lord Voldemort, the pale, red eyed man with no nose, had been able to attract someone enough that they wanted to have sex with him was enough to make even his eyes widen with shock.

However, learning that that person was Bellatrix Lestrange made the idea much more sensical. The woman had always had a fanatical obsession with the Dark Lord.

“Thank you for contacting me, Madam Bones,” Dumbledore said, spreading the papers across the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s desk. There were three letters beneath his fingers, correspondence between Voldemort and his apparent lover, although the relationship was probably more along the lines of master and servant.

The first read:

My Lord,

The child is a squib. What should I do with it?

Bellatrix Lestrange

The second, in reply to the first:

Get rid of it, but don’t kill it. It may prove useful later.

Finally:

Of course, my Lord. It is at Wool’s Orphanage, as you have ordered.

“Dumbledore,” Amelia Bones whispered, “a child. How will we deal with this information?”

The professor didn’t answer. Wool’s Orphanage was the one that Tom Riddle had been at when Dumbledore had met him. He had learned many things over his lifetime, and one was that coincidences very rarely existed. 

Madam Bones started muttering to herself, worried about the implications of this new discovery. The child was around thirty years old by then, able to join the remnants of the Death Eaters after their leader’s… death? Disappearance?- twelve years ago.

“I will go to the orphanage,” Dumbledore answered abruptly. “There will be records there, and from their information, we will create a plan.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “Yes, that makes sense. When will you be going, Dumbledore?” She looked up from the papers, blinking as she realised that the professor was no longer there. “Dumbledore?”

She shook her head. Eccentric old man.

***

Dumbledore appeared in front of a decrepit orphanage. He walked past the old, rusty gates and entered inside, locating the office with a bit of effort. Inside sat a woman who was taking a swig from a water bottle that was obviously not filled with water.

“Who the hell are you?” she rasped, giving the Auror a disgruntled look. “How’d you get in here?”

Dumbledore raised a thin, white eyebrow, gazing at the woman coolly. Her breath reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. He looked into the woman’s beady eyes, scanning her surface- most memories, such as one of her signing papers. “Ms. Cole” he said, using the name that was on the paper in the memory, “I’d like to look at your old records. Where do you keep them?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” she sneered.

Dumbledore raised his wand in the air. The woman sneered at it, eying it warily. “What’s that?” she asked, “Some kind of long-ass pipe? What kind of shit do you smoke with that?”

The professor ignored her. “Confundo.” The owner of the orphanage shuddered, and her eyes became foggy. “Show me any records that have to do with the name Riddle.”

She slowly opened his file cabinet and pulled out a fat folder labelled with the name he asked for. Dumbledore took it from her, then said, “I will be taking these, although I was never here and it’s not odd that these files are missing.”

The woman nodded woozily and Dumbledore weighed the heavy file in his hand. He would want a second opinion on what he found in these folders. He had faith that his two most trusted colleagues would have insights on this dilemma.

When he returned back to his office at Hogwarts, he wrote a letter to both Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. “Fawkes,” he called. The fiery bird swooped in through an open window. “For the two of them, please.”

The two professors arrived quickly: Severus, swooping in with his cape flowing behind him, and Minerva, striding briskly into the room, mid-conversation.

“I’m still missing vital ingredients from my storage cabinet after that Potter boy stole them! And still, you place no consequences on the boy-”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d enjoy punishing him, maybe making him collect a few of those ingredients from dangerous creatures! Well, I’ll have you know, Severus-”

“I would like your opinion on these files,” Dumbledore interrupted. “Read them with me, if you would?”

He opened the folder and laid it out on the desk. The two teachers stopped arguing and came over to the table, sending glares at each other. The first few files were about Tom Marvolo Riddle. Albus saw descriptions of “charming boy” alongside descriptions of “terrifies the other children” and “looks like he could kill you with a glare.”

The next files were on a Sally Riddle. There were whispers of excitement among the three: They had found her! It seemed like she was named Sally after being found on the doorstep by one of the older kids there, who really liked the name and refused to call her by any other name. The name Riddle on a notecard was the only thing that she was found with. She was described as a “sweet girl” who “liked everybody and everybody liked her.” She was adopted by Laura and Jim Jackson when she turned nine.

The handwriting changed in the next files. It’s more jagged and less neat, and there were cigarette burns and stains that smell suspiciously of alcohol. They’re signed by a Mallory Cole instead of Amelda Cole, indicating a change of ownership over the orphanage. And the files were on a Perseus Jackson Riddle. 

“A grandchild,” Minerva whispered. “He came to the orphanage when he was twelve, which means that Sally Riddle died or was otherwise unable to take care of Perseus. He’s going to turn thirteen in about a month.”

“And look here,” Snape added on. “He’s a loner and some of the children hate him and some of them worship him. Seems like he’s very similar to the Dark Lord, unlike his mother.”

The three teachers exchanged wary looks. No one wanted a new Voldemort.

Dumbledore nodded. “Seems like I’ll be paying the orphanage another visit.”

Chapter Text

PERSEUS JACKSON RIDDLE

Perseus- no, that was not his name, his name was Percy , how many times did he have to say that?- was hiding in the closet again.

The closet was where he hid all of the stuff he cared about. The picture of his mom, a shell from when she and him had gone to the beach in Montauk when he was ten. His necklace with the single trident bead from Camp Half-Blood. The Minotaur horn, a spoil of war from the monster that had killed his mother. Sometimes he hid himself in the closet, although he wouldn’t put himself above the last memories of his mother. And Blackjack, the darkly colored snake that he had found about three months ago. 

Percy was hiding in the closet because Ms. Cole was drunk again. When Ms. Cole was drunk, she got angry. When Ms. Cole was angry, she liked to take it out on her least favorite ward- Percy. He didn’t know why she hated him so much. His top theories were his sarcasm, his comebacks and his American accent. That last one was slowly slipping away from him, much to his dismay.  But whatever the reason, if Ms. Cole found him, he was in for a world of pain that he knew well from his time with Gabe. So he was hiding in the closet so she wouldn’t give him any more cigarette burns. It was hard to heal with water at the orphanage. Ms. Cole only allowed a shower a month, and washing your hands after going to the bathroom was punished with dish duty. Ms. Cole didn’t think that one through very well.

This all seemed like he was being very calm about this whole thing. He was not. His breathing was heavy and fast, like he couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. His hands were tangled in his hair, pulling at it so that he felt something other than overwhelming panic that’s filling his body and making him want to scream. He had thought that he would never have to feel like this again after he had made Gabe stare into Medusa’s dead eyes, but the stupid government had sent him to this weird British orphanage. He pressed his feet into the ground, trying to root himself in it, but the pressure was just building higher and higher andhigherandhigherand-

He felt the brush of scales against his leg and his eyes snapped open. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. As Blackjack hissed comfortingly and wrapped his short body around Percy’s hand, his breathing became more even. The snake somehow always knew when Percy needed him. That’s why Percy loved him so much, and counted him among his favorite beings. 

He remembered when he found Blackjack a few months back. It had been one of the rare days when Ms. Cole wasn’t so drunk that she forgot that children needed fresh air and sunlight to stay healthy, and that she needed the kids healthy if he wanted his money from the government. So Percy had been wandering the streets of London- Ms. Cole didn’t care about the kids enough to supervise them-  and had found a group of kids huddled in an alley. He had brightened, hoping to meet kids who maybe wouldn’t hate him. 

Instead, he had found them poking at a small, scratched up black snake. It squirmed pathetically, cowering away from the mob. Percy had swelled up with anger. He felt a sort of kinship to the snake- no one liked it either. 

“Hey!” he had yelled without thinking, “What are you doing?”

One of the kids, an older boy, probably about fifteen, sneered at him. “Who the hell are you?” He had looked disdainfully at the orphanage uniform that they have to wear when they go outside. “An orphanage brat and a Yank, too, by the sound of it.”

Now, Percy can take a lot of insults, but Yank, for some reason, rubs him the wrong way. Maybe because his New York accent is one of the few things that still connects him to his mom. But his eyes narrowed and he shoved past the boy into the circle of kids.

The poor snake had been terrified, and Percy’s heart had broken for him. “ Leave him alone!” he yelled. 

As the words had left his mouth, Percy noticed that they had had an odd, smooth quality to them. His voice had a strange effect on most of the gathered kids, some of whom he now recognized from the orphanage. Their eyes grew glassy and their heads snapped towards Percy. They stepped away from the snake and formed a straight line in front of him. 

The older boy who had been rude to him earlier now looked terrified. “What are you doing to them, you freak? Stop it!”

Percy had been shocked. “I don’t know! I’m sorry, I don’t know!!”

The boy had started towards him, raising a fist. Percy knew what a fist meant. Gabe loved to beat him up whenever he lost a hand of poker. “ Go away! ” he had screamed, squeezing his eyes shut to brace for the punch. 

It never came. When Percy had opened his eyes cautiously, the boy was walking robotically out of the alley, his eyes the same clouded color as the rest of the kids who were still standing in the line, as if waiting for his next words. 

The familiar feeling of terror had greeted Percy as his breath grew shallower. What had he done? What did he do to these kids? What was wrong with him? Did this have something to do with his father? What was he?-

The cool slide of scales coming up his leg shocked him out of his thoughts. Percy almost screamed at the feeling of a snake slithering up his leg.

But the snake had spoken before he could. Thank you, Boss! You’re the best!

That time, Percy really did scream. The sound had caused the foggy eyed children to stiffen and surround him, seemingly trying to protect him. That had just made him freak out even more. Too much was happening all at once: he had somehow controlled kids with his voice , a snake was talking to him, and now the kids who had hated him were trying to protect him. It was overwhelming, even coming back from a summer where his mother died and he was introduced to a world of gods.

He had run back to the orphanage as fast as his feet could carry him, and Percy could have sworn that sometimes he had blinked and he was yards away from where he was when he had closed his eyes. He had arrived at the door, and then suddenly he was in his room, in front of the closet. He had dived inside, shaking and scratching at his skin, trying not to think about what had just happened.

Hey, Boss, are you okay?

The snake’s voice hadn’t freaked him out this time. Percy gently unwrapped the snake from his ankle, letting it slide around his wrist.

“How are you talking to me?” he had asked. “You’re not a water snake, are you?”

No, I’m not a water snake. I don’t really know how you can speak with me. You were breathing real heavy, though. You all good?

Percy had laughed breathlessly. “What’s your name?”
Someone called me Blackjack, once. I like that name. You can call me that.

“Hi Blackjack. Do you maybe want to- to be my friend?”

I thought we were already friends, but yeah, I’d love that! 

Happiness flooded Percy’s body. He’d never had friends at the orphanage. 

Blackjack was always very helpful for when Percy felt like everything was too much and he couldn’t breathe. Percy ended up in the closet a lot now, because that’s where Blackjack was.

That did, however, mean that it was easy to find him. 

For example, the day of August first.

Chapter Text

ALBUS WULFRIC PERCIVAL BRIAN DUMBLEDORE

Albus dressed sharply in a plum velvet suit, knowing that Ms. Cole was not the most accepting woman and wanting to make her slightly uncomfortable. Minerva was giving him the end of her lecture about how “Perseus is just a boy, and you should not judge him on his grandfather.” 

Dumbledore nodded at her. “Calm yourself, Minerva. I know how it feels better than most to be compared with your family.”

Dumbledore Apparated directly to the orphanage as soon as he made it off school grounds. Mallory Cole startled awake as the wizard appeared in front of her. “How the fuck…? Who the hell are you?” 

Dumbledore sighed, feeling deja vu. He had had this conversation with this woman about three days ago. “That doesn’t matter. Just show me to Perseus Jackson Riddle, if you would.”

Ms. Cole looked like she was about to continue pursuing the subject, but apparently the mention of Perseus was so vile that she had to follow that topic instead. “Why would you want to visit that little shit? He’s the worst kid in this bloody orphanage, I swear to god. All the other kids used to think so too, but then after one of their outings, suddenly there were some of them that do whatever he tells ‘em to. He’s a freak, that one. I tell you, I think he did something to ‘em.”

Albus blinked, not expecting the outpouring of vitriol from a fully grown woman. “I would still like to see him.”

She scoffed. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Ms. Cole led the wizard down the corridor, which got darker and darker as they moved along. Finally, at the very last door of the hallway, where it was almost pitch black, Mallory pulled out a ring of keys and, grumbling, found the one that fits in the door. Dumbledore disapproved of the thought that this child was being locked in the darkest room in the orphanage.

“Brat!” Ms. Cole shouted into the room. “You’ve got someone here to see you!”

There was a rustling and an opening and closing of a door before a boy appeared in the doorway. He looked unhealthily skinny, obviously not getting enough food. The most striking part of Perseus Jackson Riddle was his eyes. They were a strange blue-green colour that seemed to pulse with new shades every second. They were mesmerising, and in the dark, his eyes even seemed to be glowing.

Ms. Cole leaned into the room, yanking the boy towards herself. She whispered, in a voice that Dumbledore was obviously not supposed to hear, “This man might take you away from me. Better not mess this up, boy.” She turned and stomped away back towards her office.

Perseus just sneered at her, the expression looking unnervingly like one the Headmaster had seen on Tom Riddle's face before.

But when he looked at Dumbledore, his expression became wary. “Hello, sir. I’m Percy.”

“How do you do, Perseus? I am Professor Dumbledore.”

The boy’s nose scrunched up. “My name’s Percy, not Perseus.”

“You dislike the name ‘Perseus’?” the professor asked after they had finished shaking hands.

“It’s a weird name,” Percy muttered. “No one else has it and everyone thinks I’m weird.”

“The name of a powerful Greek hero. He killed Medusa.”

Percy scoffed. “Like that makes it better.” He kicked at the ground, then seemed to remember that the old man was there. His head shot up, and his odd eyes pierced into Dumbledore’s own. “What are you here for? Did Ms. Cole send you to tell me I’m crazy? I’m not crazy!”

“No, my dear boy, I’m not here for that.”

Percy’s eyes shuttered, and he looked distrustful of the man. “I don’t believe you. She’s always wanted to get rid of me, and she’s using you to do it, isn’t she? Tell the truth! ”

Dumbledore’s infamous calm was already shaken by the conversation’s eerie similarity to the one he had had with Tom Riddle so many years ago. From the child’s dislike of his name to his fervent belief that Dumbledore was there to harm him, he mirrored his grandfather in many different ways.

There were two clear differences. 

The first was obvious. Their dislike of their names was for different reasons. While Tom scorned his name because it made him too similar to others, Perseus– Percy– hated his name because it set him apart from others. It made him different, and it probably had made him feel alone. 

The second was the power in this child’s voice and body. Tom Riddle’s command to tell the truth was like a vague mental push against Dumbledore’s vast reserves of power. Percy’s voice made him want to immediately tell him everything- about Hogwarts, about his grandfather, about his hopes for the prophecy and for the war. His eyes bored into the professor’s, and Albus immediately began the process of Occlumency just to guard against the child’s accidental magic. Dumbledore had never seen anyone with such an amount of power at such a young age.

It took Dumbledore about three seconds to realise that words– about Hogwarts, about magic– had been coming out of his mouth since the boy had commanded him to tell the truth. Percy now looked horrified, hands over his ears. “I’m sorry!” he yelled, “I didn’t mean it! Stop talking, please!”

With some effort, Dumbledore channelled some magic to his mouth and forced it closed. He strode across the room and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Percy looked up at the professor with watery eyes. His mouth fell open in shock. “You’re normal!”

“What do you mean, Percy?”

“The others… they kept doing what I told them too. But you’re not! You can stop me!” Percy’s eyes were alight with a manic glee. “Teach me how to turn it off!”

Dumbledore’s brows furrowed. Tom Riddle would never have asked how to get rid of something that could give him more manipulative power.

“I can teach you how to turn it off, or failing that, control it,” Dumbledore said. “Come, my boy-”

“I’m not your boy,” Percy snapped, his eyes flashing. Then he looked down, contrite. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean that.”

But Albus hadn’t minded. “Come then, Percy. We will arrive shortly at Diagon Alley.”

Chapter Text

HARRY POTTER

The Boy Who Lived thought that accidentally blowing up his aunt might have been the best thing he had ever done.

Harry was very much enjoying his time in Diagon Alley. He was doing his homework without hiding under the covers- in fact, for the first time ever, he was getting help from older wizards on his summer homework. Florean Fortescue was particularly helpful, as he knew quite a bit about witch burnings, and he also gave Harry a free ice cream sundae every half an hour.

You know, to keep up his energy.

On August first, a month before the first day of school, Harry finally mustered up enough going-back-to-school spirit to actually go supplies shopping.

He looked down at the list that Professor McGonagall had sent along with his still unsigned Hogsmeade form. The list read: 

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 by Miranda Goshawk

Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky 

Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

The Monster Book of Monsters

The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts by Arsenius Jigger

Well, it seemed like there was no new supplies besides books. Seems like Flourish and Blotts was the most obvious place to go.

Harry located the shop with minimal struggle, even though the book store hadn’t exactly been his most visited destination. He had found every book on his list except The Monster Book of Monsters when suddenly he saw an old man with a long white beard. 

“Professor Dumbledore!” he cried out, shocked. 

The headmaster turned around, smiling pleasantly at the boy. “Oh hello, Harry. Just now starting your school shopping?”

Harry blushed, a bit embarrassed. “Yes, sir. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just bringing young Percy shopping for supplies, like you. Would you mind showing him around?”

“Percy Weasley?” Harry asked. He would have thought that the Head Boy bought his supplies about a year before the next school year started.

“No,” Dumbledore said, stepping back. “Perseus Jackson.”

The boy who was behind the headmaster scowled up at him. “My name is Percy! Dear gods, I’ve told you this like, five times!”

“Ah, yes. I apologise. Since I was introducing you to someone new, I thought it would be appropriate to use your full name.”

Perseus- Percy?- rolled his oddly green eyes and walked up to the other boy, sticking out his hand. “I’m Percy. Who’re you?”

Harry blinked. It was rare that he met someone in the wizarding world who didn’t already know his name. It felt refreshing. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “I heard someone talking about you when I was buying my giant metal pot.”

Harry felt a bit off-kilter. “Sorry- Did you just call a cauldron a giant metal pot?”

Percy brightened. “Oh yeah! That’s what it’s called. Sorry, why did I hear your name again?”

Harry sighed. “I’m kind of… well known around here.”

Percy looked him up and down, then nodded. “That sucks. Sorry, man.”

What sort of answer was that? Harry had never heard anyone respond to knowing that he was famous in such a- an empathetic and correct way. Normally people thought it was cool, but this boy who he had just learned the name of had sized him up perfectly. 

Wait… Had Dumbledore said that Percy was going to be new this year?

“Percy,” Harry said slowly, “why are you just joining Hogwarts if you’re my age?”

Percy’s smile flickered and died. “I don’t think he knew I existed until recently. And I have nowhere better to be, so might as well come here.” He grinned weakly. “And Dumbledore just keeps disappearing whenever it's convenient.” He points behind him, where the headmaster is indeed gone. “Guess he wants you to show me around?”

Harry grinned back, trying to cheer Percy up. “Guess so. Have you gotten all your books yet?”

Percy scanned his list quickly. “Yeah… seems like the only thing I have left is a- a wand.” He looked up, his eyes sparkling again. “This is so cool.”

“So you already got a pet, then?” Harry asked.

Percy smirked, nodding. He shook his arm and said, “Blackjack, come say hi!”

A black shape twined down his wrist out of his sleeve. A shiny snake flicked its tongue at Harry, seeming to wink at him.

“This is Blackjack,” Percy explained. “He’s my friend, and he gets jealous, so I’m not getting any more pets. He’d probably eat them.”

Hey! said the snake. I’m never jealous!

Harry was about to ask Percy why his snake disagreed when Percy raised an eyebrow at him. “You ate a rat because I gave it cheese a couple days ago.”

It was my cheese , the snake hissed indignantly. You aren’t supposed to give my food to other random animals .

Harry stared at Percy, in shock. “You’re a Parselmouth?” 

Percy looked at him blankly. “What did you just call me?”

The Boy Who Lived faltered. “A Parselmouth- you can speak to snakes?”

“Well, Blackjack’s the only one I’ve ever talked to, so maybe? Or he could be special.”

Harry shook his head, exasperated by this kid’s strangeness. “Let’s just go get you a wand, shall we?”

Percy smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Yes! I’ve been waiting for this all day! Dumbledore said I wasn’t allowed to get my wand until I got all my other stuff, but I did, so let's go!”

Harry managed to slow Percy down enough to grab a copy of The Monster Book of Monsters and pay for his other textbooks, but he did end up leaving Flourish and Blotts dragged by the arm. He eventually ended up walking next to Percy, after the boy realised that he didn’t know where he was going.

Percy and Harry’s chatter died down as they made their way towards Ollivander’s. Harry could feel the frenetic energy from the boy next to him die down a little, and Percy seemed to straighten up, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the streets warily.

Harry nudged the taller boy. “You alright, mate?”

“It feels weird here,” Percy answered. “I don’t like it.”

There was an uncomfortable silence until they reached the old, dusty shop. Harry pushed the door open, and the other boy waited for Harry to enter before cautiously sliding into the shop.

“Hello?” Harry called out. “Mr. Ollivander?”

There was no reply.

He smiled nervously at Percy. “He’s a little odd, sometimes. He’s definitely here, though.”

“Yes, I am here,” a thin whispery voice said. A ladder slid out from behind a large shelf stuffed with long boxes. “Perseus Jackson Riddle,” Ollivander said, staring at the sea-green eyed boy curiously. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Chapter Text

PERCY JACKSON

Percy had been on edge since stepping into the stupid dusty shop. But the sudden appearance of an old man who knew his name turned his nervous energy up to a ninety-eight out of a hundred. 

Riptide was in his hand immediately, and Percy’s thumb was poised on the cap, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. The only thing that stopped him was Harry beside him. The other boy was calm, looking at the white-haired man with something bordering on fondness. 

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander,” he said.

The man’s unnerving silvery eyes stopped boring into Percy’s and flicked over to Harry. “Mr. Potter,” he whispered. “It has not been that long since you last graced my shop. I assume you are here to help Mr. Riddle get a wand?” 

“Stop calling me that!” Percy interrupted. “That’s not my name!”

The old man’s gaze went back to the son of Poseidon, and he immediately regretted speaking up. “I see,” he said softly. 

He turned back to Harry. “If you could, Mr. Potter. I think this wand will more easily choose the wizard if he is alone.”

Harry nodded, but there was concern in his green eyes. He backed out of the wand shop, waving at Percy, but there was some hesitation in his movements. A distrustful look flashed over his face as he turned away.

Percy ignored the swift pang of hurt. Why should it matter what this random boy thought of him? He’d only known him for a couple hours, anyway.

As soon as the door closed, Percy glared fiercely at Ollivander. “Who are you? Why are you calling me Riddle?”

“I apologize if my words have upset you, child,” Ollivander says, his pale eyes staring unnervingly into Percy’s own green ones. “I meant no offense. I thought perhaps Dumbledore would have informed you of your heritage.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, my heritage?” How could Ollivander know about the gods?

“Your grandfather, child.” The old man paused, seeing Percy’s suspicion. “The Dark Lord.”

Percy blinked twice. “Who?”

One of Ollivander’s eyebrows quirked up. “Ask Albus when he comes back,” he said. “For now, we have a wand choosing to attend to.”

The son of Poseidon frowned, unsatisfied, but he acquiesced, making a note to ask Dumbledore who the Dark Lord was. It sounded suspiciously like a nickname for the Titan King who was probably rising.

“Your wand arm, Mr. Jackson?”

Percy cocked his head, confused. “My what?” But he didn’t say anything else before a flying tape measure lifted up his left hand. “Oh, but I’m right-handed?”

Ollivander looked unconcerned. “Some wizards find it easier to use their wand with their non-dominant hand. Now, let us see which wand chooses you…”

He disappeared into the shelves stacked high with black boxes, then reappeared moments later.

“Here you are,” he said, pulling a slim stick out of the box. “Dogwood and unicorn hair, 10 inches. Give it a try.”

Percy hesitantly reached out towards the wand, but before his hand even made contact with the wood, it began to quiver and then suddenly exploded.

Percy yelped. “Oh my gods! I’m so so sorry. How much is that wand? Oh, no, I’m really sorry. That is my bad.” He tried to scoop up the splinters of the wand, but they turned to dust in his hand. “Oh, that’s just making it worse. Oh gods. I’m really so sorry.” He backed up as far as he could from the dust on the table.

Ollivander looked unconcerned. “You apologize quite a bit, Mr. Jackson.”

“Sorry,” Percy said. Then he blinked. “Oh, I see what you mean.”

The old man looked amused. “Very interesting. Let me try another core. Unicorn hair doesn’t seem to hold the power you need.”

The white-haired wizard disappeared back into the shelves, and Percy could hear him muttering to himself. “Not dogwood, I don’t think. Not elm. Perhaps laurel…? Oh, but then again, maybe not.”

He came back with a stack of five boxes. “Wonderful, wonderful. Try some of these. This one is pine and phoenix feather, 12 inches. Here you are.”

Percy carefully stretched a finger towards the wand, but as soon as his finger grazed the mottled wood, Ollivander snatched it away. 

“No, no, no,” he mumbled to himself. “That’s not right. Well, maybe the next one, then.”

Percy went through the remaining four boxes quickly. Then another stack. And another. Not one of them was good enough for Ollivander. One of the wands had made it into his hand, but it soon heated up and launched a blast at a stack of wands, toppling and creating a huge mess. Another had frozen, literally iced over, and almost gave Percy frostbite in the process. But every failed wand seemed to give Ollivander more energy.

“Oh, this is quite, quite interesting. You, Mr. Jackson, are by far the hardest customer I’ve had since before Mr. Potter, who came in with you.”

Percy gave a weak smile. He looked around at the destruction he had caused since entering the shop and felt horrible. He was definitely more trouble than he was worth. He had probably destroyed a good third of Ollivander’s stock, and he definitely didn’t have the money to pay for all of it.

Ollivander came back with two more wand boxes. “Here you are, child. Try these.”

Percy lets out a sigh, emotionally preparing himself for the wands to reject him, like the others did. But as his hand hovered over the boxes, he found himself drawn, as if by a magnetic force, towards the box on the left. He opened the box and pulled out a wand with two different colored woods twining up the length. The handle had what looked like vines or kelp etched onto it, and it was inlaid with small blue stones.

Percy wrapped his hand around the wand. It fit his hand perfectly. The wand began to quiver, then glow. A blue light shot out of the wand, and the smell of sea air filled the wand shop. Memories of his mother and Montauk flashed before Percy’s eyes, and when the shop went back to normal, he noticed his face was wet. He quickly wiped away his tears, aching for his mom.

Ollivander hummed, delighted. “Ah, Mr. Jackson. This wand, the wand that chose you. It is made out of a mix of blackthorn and holly wood, inlaid with lazulite, dragon heartstring core, thirteen and a half inches, unyielding. It’s been a pleasure having you here.”

He waved his own wand, and everything that Percy had done to the shop became undone. Percy heaved a huge sigh of relief. He would not have to pay for all the damages, thank the gods.

Chapter Text

HARRY POTTER

Harry was still a bit shaken from the warning Arthur Weasley had given him. It was never fun to know that one was being hunted by a powerful Dark wizard. And Sirius Black looked particularly crazy in his mug shot.

And he was still thinking about that odd boy he had met recently. Percy Jackson. Riddle? The last name that Ollivander used unnerved him after his experience with the ghost of one Tom Marvolo Riddle the year before. 

But he didn’t have time to think about anything now, because it was time for the scramble for seats on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn’t find an empty compartment, but they managed to find one with a sleeping man inside. 

“Who is that?” whispered Ron.

“Professor R.J. Lupin,” responded Hermione.

Ron looked at her, his jaw dropped. “How is it that you know everything?”

“I read, Ronald,” Hermione sighed.

Harry was about to interrupt Ron’s probably indignant response, but his job was done for him when the door to the compartment slid open and a familiar face peeked in.

Percy Jackson’s (Riddle’s?) eyes lit up when he saw Harry. “Oh! Harry! I can’t believe I found-” But he interrupted himself when he saw Harry’s slightly suspicious face. He scanned the rest of the little room and saw the grown man and the two other kids. “Oh,” he said again, this time less excitedly. “Sorry, this one’s full. I’ll find another one.”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry blurted out. “You can sit with us.”

Ron and Hermione looked at him, wide eyed. Harry was surprised at himself too. 

Percy’s entire face brightened. “Really? Gods, thank you so much.” He sat himself down across from Harry, squished in next to Hermione. “I hate being the new kid. I always have to find people, but I already know you, so that makes things so much easier.” He turns and nods politely at Hermione and Ron. “Hi, I’m Percy. Who are you?”

Harry’s friends introduced themselves to the strange American boy.

“So,” Harry started awkwardly, “how have you been doing?”

Percy smiled, confused. “Um. Pretty well. I got to stay in this inn instead of going back to-” he cut himself off. “Well, the wizarding world is pretty cool.” His smile became more genuine.

“Why did Ollivander keep calling you Mr. Riddle?” Harry blurted out. He stared meaningfully at his friends, who immediately caught his drift, stiffening warily as they recalled the name of Voldemort’s younger incarnation from last year.

Percy rolled his eyes. “Gods, I don’t know. That’s not even my last name, it’s Jackson. He said something about my grandfather, but I don’t even know who that is.”

“How do you not know who your grandfather is?” Ron asked curtly.

Percy smiled brittlely. “My mom was adopted and my dad’s lost at sea. Don’t know my family tree very well.” His eyes suddenly sparkled with hidden mirth. “Well, I guess-” he cut himself off, smirking. “Anyways. How strict is this dress code at school?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject, “Because to be honest, I’m not feeling the robe.”

“Most people follow the dress code, so I don’t know. I’ve never seen someone try to break it,” Hermione answered.

“Guess I’ll be the first,” Percy said, smirking. “There’s no way I’m wearing this for an entire school year.”

That led to Hermione giving him a lecture on the importance of following the rules, and Percy purposefully riling her up a bit every now and then. Ron and Harry fell into their own conversation about Quidditch.

The trolley lady came by with the cart full of snacks, and Harry took it upon himself to introduce Percy to wizarding snacks– he had a lot of fun with Chocolate Frogs. Malfoy and his goons came into the compartment at one point, but they left quickly when they saw the new professor. 

When Ron discovered that Percy didn’t know even the basics of the game, he stopped talking, absolutely scandalised. He then began immediately explaining the rules of the game, all thoughts of Percy being related to Voldemort forgotten. 

Percy had just started justifying why he would be bad at Quidditch– something about not liking to fly– when suddenly the Hogwarts Express stopped moving. All the lights blinked out. The cabin went absolutely silent.

“Umm,” Percy’s voice rang out. “This… isn’t a normal thing, right?”

“No,” Harry answered. “This is odd.”

The door to the cabin burst open, and Percy’s silhouette jumped up, whirling towards the door. “Who’s there?” he growled.

“Hi!” a voice squeaked, “Sorry! It’s me! Neville!”

“I’m here too,” said a voice that Harry recognized as Ginny’s. “Do you lot know what’s going on?”

“Nah, we’re just as confused as you are,” Percy replied.

“Who are you?” cried Ginny.

“Quiet!” rasped a hoarse voice from the corner. It seemed that Professor R.J. Lupin had finally woken up.

The cabin was suddenly illuminated by silver flames, cupped in the professor’s hand. His face was weary and stubbly, haggard in the way of a man who had given up on looking good. 

“Nobody move,” he said, standing up and approaching the door.

 But the door slid open all by itself. In the doorway was a strange, tall, cloaked figure. The air became abruptly frigid, and frost began forming on the windows. 

A rotting, blackened hand emerged from underneath the cloak for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for the image to be seared into Harry’s memory. Whatever this- this thing was, it would never leave him.

And then Harry looked into its face.

Well.

It didn’t have a face.

Instead of a face, there was just a horrible, swirling vortex of darkness. 

A buzzing noise began to build in Harry’s ears, and in the blurry dimness, he saw Percy slump over in his seat, his back arching as he screamed, the sound full of rage and fear. 

That was the last thing he saw before buzzing and the screams took over, and the world faded to black.

Chapter Text

PERCY JACKSON

Percy was screaming.

All he could see, over and over, was the Minotaur snapping his mother’s neck. Rage filled him, and his sight turned red, and then suddenly–

His uncle Hades shook his head, looking almost remorseful. “Your mother is dead. I am grateful that you returned my helm, but I cannot bring her back.” His heart crumples and tears–

Gabe, coming towards him, fists flying and knuckles bruised. A belt, swinging down and striking skin–

The boy’s eyes going glassy as his body mechanically straightened, his legs leading him out of the alleyway–

He’s in the Underworld, and there’s awful laughter as gravity pulls him into the dark, dark pit–

Luke disappearing as he lay on the forest floor, scorpion venom coursing through his veins, dying, dying, dying –

Percy gasped awake, his hand snapping out in front of him to grab the hand that was slapping him.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said the scraggly man who had been sitting in the corner of their car. “Here, take some chocolate.”

Percy released Ginny’s wrist, both of them exchanging apologetic looks. He sat up and reached for the chocolate the man was offering him. He gave it a suspicious glance.

“It’ll help with the aftereffects of the dementors,” the man explained. “It’s normal otherwise.”

Percy shrugged and took a bite. He loved chocolate, so even if it had no effect, at least he got chocolate. Luckily, the moment he swallowed, the chill the dementor had left lifted, and he felt much more energized.

He looked across the train car and met Harry’s green eyes. They held eye contact for a moment, and then shared a nod of “we-both-passed-out-reliving-traumatic-experiences”. 

“You alright, man?” Percy asked.

Harry nodded slowly. “I’m okay. You?”

Percy smirked drily. “I’ve been better, but also definitely been worse.” His mind flashed to the last days of summer, when he had almost died because of Luke’s treachery. 

“That was awful,” whispered Neville. “It got so cold.”

“It was like I’d never be happy again,” Ron agreed.

They fell into a pensive silence for the rest of the train ride. When it finally ended, Percy stood up so quickly that at least six pieces of candy fell off his lap onto the floor. He winced at the wasted food, but he needed to get out of the stifling quiet of the car. He slipped out of the compartment, the stupid robe brushing the ground behind him.

He followed Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the carriages a bit away from the train. He stopped, staring in slightly frightened awe at the corpse-like horses. 

“What’s wrong, mate?” Ron asked. “You feeling alright?”

“What are those?” Percy breathed.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a confused look. “The… carriages?” the girl asked. “They do move by themselves.”

“No, not the carriages,” Percy scoffed. “The- the weird flying death horses!”

Harry stared at him. “What?”

Percy stared back. “What?”

“It’s okay,” said a small voice behind them. “I-um. I can see them too.”

Percy and Harry spun around, only to come face-to-face with Neville. “They’re-they’re called thestrals.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. “Thestrals? But you can only see those if you’ve seen someone die. Neville, who-?”

“My grandfather,” he replied, his voice barely audible. “It wasn’t bad or anything. He was old.”

There was silence for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Neville,” Hermione said. “We didn’t know.”

Neville gave a broken smile. “It’s okay. It’s been a while.”

“Percy,” Ron said hesitantly, “what about you? Who did you see-?”

“No one,” Percy snapped, his eyes refocusing. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine. The visions of his mother’s neck being snapped came back into his mind’s eye. He desperately held back tears as he got onto the death-horse carriage. The ride was an awkward one, where Percy and Neville didn’t speak and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny tried to make small talk.

When the carriages came to a stop, Percy was the first one out of the carriage. He stopped dead, looking up at the castle in front of him. “Damn,” he whispered, “Annabeth would love to see this.”

Then Hermione and Harry were pulled away from their group by a stern-looking woman, and he was quickly ushered into a hall. He was pushed into line behind a bunch of scared looking kids, probably only a year or two younger than him. He smiled at them, but they were distracted by the ghosts flying through the walls.

To be fair, that was pretty distracting.

And then the line of kids was led out into a giant room with a ceiling that looked like the sky, and candles floating in the air that were definitely a fire hazard.

The room went silent, and suddenly a voice started singing a song. Percy looked wildly around, searching for the source. Finally, his gaze landed on a hat that seemed to have a face.

The hat.

Was singing.

And then, one by one, kids were called up to the chair the hat sat on. The hat was placed on their head, then a few moments or minutes later it called out one of four strange, made-up words. Percy felt like maybe he had heard Dumbledore or Harry mention them at one point. The kid then went to one of the four tables based on what thing the hat said.

Finally, at the very end of the list, after a kid with the last name Zeigler was called, “Perseus Jackson!” was summoned to the chair. Percy assumed it was because he was the oldest and new, because unless his dyslexia had really, truly screwed him over, z came before j.

He took a seat on the chair, and then the strict looking teacher lowered the hat onto his head.

Oh, hello, half-blood, an old voice whispered in his head. Aren’t you an odd one?

Percy jumped. Oh.

Son of Poseidon. Slayer of Alecto, of the Minotaur, of Medusa, of Procrustes. Retriever of the Master Bolt. Defeater of Ares.

Oh, Percy thought again. Um. Thanks?

You are quite impressive, boy. Now. Where to put you?

There was silence for a while, and Percy began to fidget awkwardly. Um, are you do-

You are brave, said the hat. Almost recklessly so. But you are loyal, and you are cunning, and you are clever.

Clever? scoffed Percy. Sure.

You would not be alive if you were not. But you are right. Ravenclaw would not suit you. Although you are clever, you would not fit in with their kind.

Okay, Percy agreed. 

Brave, and loyal, and cunning. Interesting, interesting. You could fit anywhere, Mr. Jackson.

Thank you for getting my name right!

Your bravery and your loyalty are very strong traits. However, your cunning, your ambition, your willingness to do what it takes to reach your goals. All very Slytherin.

Percy shrugged. Maybe it was. He wouldn’t know.

Where would you like to go, child?

Percy blinked. I don’t know. No one told me what’s going on.

The hat sighed. Well, if I can’t base it off of what you want, I wonder which house will allow you to realize your potential.

Percy’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment as the hat wrenched control of his mind. Quick images flashed before him: waves cresting, swords gleaming, green liquid streaming like a river.

You are very intriguing, Perseus Jackson.

Percy.

Yes. Percy. You would thrive in almost any house. You would fit in all of them. But I think that you would do best in…

“SLYTHERIN!”

Chapter Text

HARRY POTTER

Harry and Hermione rushed from the infirmary to the Great Hall as fast as they could, but they only got back in time to see a kid named Ziegler get sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Oh, drat,” Hermione whispered, “We missed it.”

Harry shook his head. “But they’re not putting it away?”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and lifted the name scroll one last time. “Perseus Jackson!”

Harry and Hermione exchanged loaded looks, then snuck into the hall to sit next to  Ron. Percy jumped as soon as the hat hit his head, probably surprised by the voice. The hall was silent for a minute or so, waiting for the hat to make its decision.

And then thirty seconds…

And then fifteen more…

And then whispers started to break out. It had been a while since a Sorting had taken this long. It had been at least three minutes already.

“It’s not much longer until he’s a Hatstall,” Hermione whispered. “I think McGonagall was one. They’re quite rare.”

“That’s true,” confirmed Ron. “I think my dad’s said it’s been about twenty years.”

Percy began twitching up on the stool, and Harry squinted, concerned. “Is that… normal?”

“It’s not that weird,” shrugged George from a bit down the table. “Happens sometimes.” He narrowed his eyes at Harry. “I always forget you’ve missed the last couple Sortings.”

Harry was about to reply, but the whole hall suddenly fell silent again, as if they sensed the imminent announcement.

“SLYTHERIN!” cried the Hat.

All of Harry’s mistrust that he had pushed aside on the train came rushing back. The boy who had been addressed with the last name Riddle had just been sorted into Slytherin. There were simply too many similarities to not become suspicious.

The green and silver table across the hall began clapping for the Hatstall. Percy shrugged and took off the hat. His robes rippled, and changed to match those of his house. He walked over to the table, hesitating before sitting down next to a blond girl who’s name Harry vaguely remembered as Daphne Greengrass, and a tall, dark-skinned boy named Blaise Zabini. He looked a bit uncomfortable as he began talking to them, and he spun around on his bench, trying to catch Harry’s gaze. Harry avoided eye contact.

“I wouldn’t’ve expected that,” Ron said. “I thought he’d be Gryffindor for sure.”

“Oh really?” Hermione said, surprised. “I assumed he’d be Hufflepuff, given how much he talked about his friends on the train. I certainly didn’t think he’d be a Hatstall, though.”

Neville looked over from where he was sitting with Ginny, and his eyes widened comically. “What are you doing here?”

Everyone who heard him looked in the direction of his gaze and either fell silent or began whispering. Percy Jackson, dressed in green and silver, with the badge of a snake on his chest, had just walked over to the red and gold Gryffindor table.

Percy cocked his head at Neville, seemingly confused. “Well, I didn’t really know anyone over there? And, I mean, I was really hungry, so I already ate. I wanted to come sit with you guys?” He looked around him, noticing for the first time that all the tables were monochromatic. “Is that… not allowed?”

“I’ve never read anything that said it’s not allowed,” Hermione replied. “It’s simply not done.”

Percy blinked, wavering in the middle of the floor. “Okay. I’ll go back then.” He gave a weak smile and walked back across the hall to his table, eyes following him as he passed. He went to sit back down, but everyone had shifted over so that the only spot left was at the very end. Harry saw Percy look at the situation, then give a small nod and sit down, alone.

That made Harry sympathise a bit. He had been ostracised last year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Of course, Percy’s shunning was because he had tried to sit with the Gryffindors. He felt a pang of guilt. Maybe they should have explained how things worked before Percy was just thrown into Hogwarts and its fierce rivalries.

***

Harry tried not to think too much about Percy, but it was harder than he expected. The Gryffindors had quite a few classes with the Slytherins, and Harry’s gaze was drawn to Percy, as if by a magnet. The new boy also generated quite a few rumours. 

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“The new boy? No, have you?”

“I have! We were paired up in Herbology one time. He has an American accent. He says he’s from New York!”

Another conversation Harry overheard was more interesting to him.

“Isn’t he a Slytherin?”

“He is, but he’s really nice. It’s odd, I think when the others are around him they get nicer too.”

The first class that the Gryffindors shared with the Slytherins was Care of Magical Creatures, with Hagrid as the new professor. After the whole trouble of the class trying to get their murder books open, Hagrid revealed the subject of their first lesson.

“Hippogriffs!” he roared, beaming, “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

The entire class stared in silence at the half-horse, half-bird creatures. They were kind of lovely, but in a way that seemed rather murderous.

Hagrid explained the Hippogriffs’ obsession with respect and politeness, and then asked if anyone would volunteer to go first.

“I’ll do it,” Harry blurted out, when no one else stepped forward.

Percy Jackson (Riddle?) stumbled forward, obviously pushed from behind. Crabbe sniggered at him, Goyle joining in moments later. Draco cracked a weak, almost conflicted smile. Percy looked at the three of them for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. Miraculously, they shut up.

“I guess I will too,” he said, smiling at Hagrid.

“A’ight! Now you gotta let ‘em make the firs’ move. Yeh bow, and then you wait for ‘im to bow back. If he don’, walk away real slow, you got it?”

Both black haired boys nodded, then with a glance of shared disbelief, started towards the Hippogriffs. Almost in unison, they bowed, Harry in front of one named Buckbeak and Percy in front of one Hagrid called Stormswift.

There was a tense minute of silence where both boys were making intense eye contact with eagle heads. No one moved. 

And then Buckbeak knelt. Harry and the Gryffindors breathed a sigh of relief.

Stormswift remained stubbornly standing.

Chapter Text

PERCY JACKSON

Percy’s first couple days at the wizard school had been odd, although, to be fair, he’s had worse first weeks. At least he didn’t blow up any part of the school.

He had History of Magic, which was somehow so so boring, even though the teacher was a ghost. Herbology was pretty cool; he liked all the plants and how sunny the classroom was. Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was also good. She was strict, but a good teacher. Percy had never picked up on a subject so fast.

His housemates were… weird. Some of them were pretty nice, like Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, who had shown him around the first day. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were both cordial as well. Adrian Pucey, a fourth year, had been helpful too.

And then there was Malfoy and his crowd.

Percy didn’t like Malfoy. He bullied the first years, especially the ones who didn’t have two magical parents. He had two henchmen named Crabbe and Goyle who were the brawn of the operation. And there was Pansy Parkinson, who draped herself all over Malfoy whenever she could.

The first night in the Slytherin dormitory, Malfoy had come right up to him as soon as he caught him alone, a sneer on his pale face. “Well then. What are you?”

Percy had raised an eyebrow, feeling panic rise inside him. Had he been found out that quickly? How could they possibly know about the mythical world already? But his face remained cool. “I’m human. What are you?”

Malfoy’s lip had curled. “I’m a pureblood,” he said with pride. “You can’t say the same, I’m sure, given your answer. A mudblood, probably.”

Percy’s eyes had narrowed at the offensive sounding word. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your parents are muggles,” Malfoy spat.

Percy nodded, finally understanding. “Yes, yes! My mom was a normal person, yeah.”

“And your father?” Malfoy had asked disdainfully.

“I don’t see how that’s your business, but I don’t know about him.”

Malfoy had scoffed. “I knew it. A filthy mudblood, that’s what you are-” He stopped abruptly, seeming to register that Percy had spoken about his mother in the past tense. He decided to double down. “And your mother is dead, because she couldn’t defend herself. Muggles are truly useless creatures-”

Percy’s eyes had flashed and he began to laugh, the sound sounding far more angry than amused. “Oh really! You discover my mother is dead, and the first thing you decide to do is insult her! How high class of you!”

Malfoy stepped back. The fear in his eyes made Percy feel vindicated.

“My mother,” he had hissed, “is- was - a goddess among women. And I won’t let a pale, scrawny, rich boy who can only defend himself with a stick insult her!” Percy knew he was going too far, he knew this wasn’t like him, but something inside him, the part of him that loved his mother so much that he snapped off the Minotaur’s horn with his bare hands, didn’t let him stop.

“Well?” Percy breathed. “Aren’t you gonna say sorry?”

Despite his obvious fear, Malfoy had bristled. “I will not-”

“Apologize!”

And just like with the kids from the alley, the word had come out in a lilting, silky tone. Percy could see the moment that Malfoy’s eyes had glazed over. He knelt to the ground, Crabbe and Goyle doing the same behind him. “I am sorry,” he had said, and then he said it again. “I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry…”

Percy had blinked, and suddenly Malfoy shifted to be himself, younger, sobbing apologies up at Gabe. Another blink, and the scene had returned to what it was: Percy, looming over the other boys, on their knees, begging for forgiveness.

“Oh gods.” Percy had stumbled back, tears filling his eyes. “What did I do?” The boys hadn’t stopped their monotone chanting.

Percy had heard footsteps down the hall, and he almost burst with panic. No one could see this. No one.

“ Get up, ” he’d whispered frantically, forcing the feeling of power into his voice. “ Stop apologizing, and forget this ever happened.”

The three boys had moved robotically to their feet and slowly turned around. Their eyes still glazed over, they walked out of Percy’s room. They ran into Blaise and Theodore on their way out.

The two boys gave them curious looks. “What happened to them?” asked Theodore.

Percy gave a weak smile. “I have no idea.”

He had fallen asleep sobbing that night, trying to figure out how to turn off his weird Voice, trying even harder not to think about how he was turning into Gabe.

And now he had Care of Magical Creatures. He had been shoved forward by Crabbe and Goyle, who didn’t seem to have the lasting effect of the Voice that Malfoy, who gave him a frightened look, had. So now he had to approach the half horse-half eagle creature.

‘Fantastic ,’ said the hippogriff sarcastically. ‘This giant man is at it again.’

‘I know,’ Buckbeak replied. ‘Mine’s polite, at least.’ He had knelt down in front of Harry.

‘Rude,’ Percy interjected. ‘I am so polite.’

Both hippogriffs’ heads snapped towards him, in shock. Harry leapt backwards, and the class gasped behind them.

“Oh damn,” Percy said out loud. “Sorry you guys, didn’t mean to scare you. They just called me rude.”

Hagrid stared at him incredulously, looking very similar to how the hippogriffs’ general mood felt. “Can yeh- can yeh understan’ ‘em?”

Shoot. Another thing he had revealed about himself. Even among these magic people, he’s a freak. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

Muttering from the peanut gallery.

‘What are you?’ demanded Stormswift. ‘’Wizards don’t talk to us. ’

‘My dad’s Poseidon,’ Percy explained to the hippogriffs, no longer worried about them exposing him. 

‘ Poseidon!’ exclaimed Buckbeak. ‘You’re a demigod!’

“-fantastic!” cried Hagrid, beaming. “What are they sayin’? Can yeh ask ‘em if they’ll let you an’ Harry ride ‘em?”

“Yeah, sure,” Percy answered distractedly, trying to keep up with Hagrid’s request while the hippogriffs shouted excitedly about him being the son of Poseidon and the nephew of Zeus.

‘ Hey, hey, ’ Percy hushed them. ‘ I was wondering. Could Harry and I ride you two?’

‘Harry is this one?’ Buckbeak asked, gesturing towards the Gryffindor boy. 

‘ Yeah, that’s him.’

The two hippogriffs exchanged looks before giving their approval. 

Percy turned to Hagrid. “They said yes.”

“Great!” Hagrid exclaimed. “Alrigh’ then, let’s get you two on their backs…”

It took a bit of time, but suddenly the two green eyed boys were shooting off into the sky, laughing delightedly. Percy had never felt so comfortable in the air. He had never known what he was missing. 

“This is bloody fantastic!” screamed Harry, a smile so wide on his face it looked almost uncomfortable. 

“I know!” Percy screamed back.

They exchanged exuberant grins, as if all their problems had been left on the ground beneath them.

Chapter Text

HARRY POTTER

The next class Harry shared with Percy Jackson was Potions. Now, Harry absolutely despised Potions with the Slytherins. Class with Malfoy and Snape? He’d rather serve detention with Filch.

But Potions with Malfoy, Snape, and Percy Jackson?

That was a whole different story.

Malfoy came in with a sling on his arm. After Buckbeak had gotten him with his claws, Percy Jackson had laughed at him so hard that his face had turned bright red. “How dare you laugh at me, Jackson! I am injured !”

Percy had raised an eyebrow. “Oh please. That’s barely a papercut.”

Malfoy, although very embarrassed in the moment, wasn’t deterred during Potions class. He had a great time ordering Harry and Ron to cut up his ingredients for him. His fun was ruined, however, by Percy making snarky comments under his breath the whole class.

“Awwww, does wittle Mawfoy not know his way around a blade?” he whispered cheekily, a glint in his eye. “I suppose you might not have much experience.”

Malfoy’s pale face turned red. “W-well it’s not like you’re doing much better, Jackson!” he hissed, pointing at the uncut pile of daisy roots on his worktable.

Percy raised an eyebrow, then turned to his partner, Neville. “Hey, Nev,” he asked kindly, “I know we said you’d cut the roots, but would you mind if I did it? You can stir, if you want.”

Neville blushed as Percy spoke to him. “Yeah, that would be fine,” he said shyly.

Percy smiled at him. “Thanks, man.” The kind expression dropped off his face as he turned back to Malfoy. “Watch and learn.” He drew his knife, and quickly and impressively cut the daisy roots into clean, even strips. 

Percy smiled cockily at Malfoy, but his smile slipped off his face as Snape appeared behind him. “Well, Jackson, if you have time to chat, you have time to cut Malfoy’s roots and your own. You can join Weasley and Potter in helping Malfoy with his potion.”

Percy narrowed his eyes at Snape, but didn’t argue. He picked up the knife again and began to slowly and precisely slice the roots, staring into Malfoy’s eyes with a slightly frightening look on his face. Malfoy paled, avoiding his gaze. His eyes darted around the room and landed on Hermione, who was working with Parvati Patil on their picture perfect Shrinking Solution. He smirked, his obnoxious arrogance returning to his face.

“Patil,” he sneered. Parvati looked up, startled. Malfoy usually didn’t talk to her. “How does it feel to need help from a mudblood?”

Parvati’s jaw dropped open at the slur. Hermione bit her lip and averted her eyes, trying not to cry. Harry and Ron both jumped up with cries of outrage. But Percy’s reaction was the most interesting.

“Draco,” he said quietly, “that was not okay.”

Malfoy’s contemptuous smile faded away. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Percy sighed, and for a moment Harry thought he saw fear flicker over his face. “You should say sorry to Hermione.”

Ron scoffed at the very idea, but then the room went silent as Malfoy looked at Hermione and quietly whispered “Sorry, Granger.”

No one moved. This was absolutely unprecedented.

Malfoy glanced at Percy, as if searching for his approval. Percy nodded at him. “Thank you, Draco.”

The class remained silent until the end, everyone half focused on their potions and half marvelling at the thought of Draco Malfoy apologising to a muggleborn. Finally, Snape came around to check the potions.

“Well done, Draco, as always.” Malfoy gave a weak smile.

“Adequate,” was all he said to Hermione and Parvati’s perfect potion.

He didn’t even deign to comment on Harry and Ron’s potion, scoffing at its light pink shade instead of the green it was supposed to be because they had to spend their time helping Malfoy instead of working on their own.

When Snape stopped at Neville and Percy’s potion, a brief flicker of surprise ran over his face before it returned to its regular impassive expression. “Well,” he said after a pause, “I’m not surprised that it took a Slytherin to make Longbottom’s potion… satisfactory.” He looked at Percy and nodded. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

He went to move on, but Percy spoke up. “Wait, hold on. Neville made this with me. He should get points too.”

The room burst into noise, the Slytherins yelling at Percy for asking to give points to their rivals and the Gryffindors agreeing with him. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, appreciating Percy’s efforts.

“Quiet,” Snape muttered, and despite the low volume of his voice, everyone obeyed. He glared disdainfully at the green-eyed Slytherin. “You think to tell me how to teach my own class?”

Percy shrugged, holding the professor's gaze. “It’s only fair.”

“Fair,” Snape sneered. But as he stared into Percy’s eerie sea green eyes, almost glowing in the darkness of the dungeons, his own black eyes seemed to cloud over, then soften. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

He then stalked out of the classroom before anyone could react. And react they did.

Neville’s eyes teared up, and he stared at Percy for a moment before throwing his arms around him and burying his head in the green-eyed boy’s shoulder. Percy looked surprised for a moment, then softened and brought his arms around Neville, patting him on the back. The rest of the Gryffindors burst into raucous applause. 

“The first time Snape’s given a Gryffindor points!” Ron crowed, “and to bloody Neville, too! Who would’ve thought?”

“Oh, Neville! I’m so proud of you!” Hermione cried, beaming. Neville, who had finally taken his head out of Percy’s shirt, leaving behind a damp spot, blushed so red Harry was slightly worried.

Harry felt a grin stretching across his face. Even the darkness of the dungeons felt brighter. The Slytherins were all standing still, still shocked by their Head of House’s sudden change of heart. Surprisingly, instead of the rage that Harry had expected to see on their faces, only Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson really looked mad about what had happened. Most of the other Slytherins looked somewhat… relieved?

Harry shrugged it off. He was now quite excited for his next class: Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Chapter Text

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM

Neville didn’t usually like many of his classes at Hogwarts.

He loved Herbology, but that was because it seemed to be the only thing he was good at. He liked Professor McGonagall, but sometimes she could get pretty annoyed at him when he messed up in Transfiguration. That was pretty true of most of his classes, actually. The teachers weren’t always the nicest to him when he needed extra help.

And then, of course, there was Potions. 

Neville hated Potions. Before every class, he had to gather all his courage so he could actually walk into the dark, cramped dungeon and face Professor Snape.

Neville sometimes had nightmares about Snape. He would dream that his parents were out on a mission, and that Snape would appear out of the darkness with a cruel smirk on his face. Neville knew that it was Bellatrix Lestrange who had tortured his parents into insanity, but while he was asleep, it would be Snape who cast the Cruciatus Curse over and over again.

He knew it wasn’t real, but Neville was still really scared of Snape. Of all the teachers he had, Snape was the worst: constantly embarrassing him and sometimes even threatening him. He had never once had a Potions class he had enjoyed.

Well.

Not until yesterday, at least.

Neville had been apprehensive when he had been paired up with Percy Jackson, the new boy from New York City. Despite the rumours that he was actually quite nice, Neville didn’t have very many good experiences with Slytherins. But to his surprise, the first thing the green-eyed boy had done was smile good-naturedly, stick out his hand, and introduce himself.

“Hey! I’m Percy. Who are you?”

“Neville Longbottom,” Neville had replied shyly. Percy’s hands were big and calloused, with long fingers. His own hand almost disappeared.

“Nice to meet you, Neville.” He rolled up his sleeves and turned to face the board, squinting. “I’m– um. Sorry, I’m having a hard time reading that, could you help me out?” Percy half whispered to him.

Neville gave him a curious look. They weren’t that far from the board, and Snape’s handwriting wasn’t that bad. After reading out the instructions written in chalk, he asked, “Did you forget your glasses?”

Percy gave him a confused look. “I… don’t wear glasses?”

Neville blanched. “Oh, sorry. It’s just that you couldn’t read the boa-”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s dyslexia. It’s harder for me to read than the normal person.” Seeing Neville’s blank stare, Percy raised an eyebrow. “Do you not know what dyslexia is?”

Neville shook his head, shrinking in on himself. “Sorry.” 

Percy looked at him, concerned. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I swear most teachers haven’t heard of it either, they never give me my accommodations.”

Before Neville could ask what accommodations were, the door slammed open and Malfoy strutted in. He was late, but of course Snape didn’t deduct any points or even say anything. When he started telling Harry and Ron to do his work for him, Neville turned away so he could roll his eyes discreetly.

Percy had no such qualms. He was snickering and sniping at Malfoy the whole class. The other boy tried to retort, but the New Yorker was much quicker on his feet with insults, and Malfoy’s face ended up red with anger and embarrassment. Neville tried to focus on the potion, but it was harder than usual, and he kept glancing over at the laughing black-haired boy. When he was finally able to concentrate on stirring the right number of times in the right direction, Percy nudged him.

Biting back the urge to sigh dramatically, Neville turned to his partner, who smiled at him. “Hey, Nev, I know we said you’d cut the roots, but would you mind if I did it? You can stir, if you want.”

For some reason, hearing the way Percy’s voice shifted between talking to Malfoy and talking to him, seeing the way his eyes softened from the flint-hard, almost glare pointed at the blonde boy, brought a blush to Neville’s cheeks. “Yeah, that would be fine,” he replied, voice coming out quieter than he meant it to.

“Thanks, man!” Percy said, before turning back to Malfoy.  “Watch and learn.” He started cutting the roots, clearly comfortable with the feel of a knife in his hand. Neville watched his deft motions for a moment, slightly mesmerized. He noticed a strange, asterisk shaped scar on his palm and stared at it for a bit. How would he even get a scar in such a weird shape?

Neville was lost in thought for a bit, mindlessly stirring the potion, but he was shocked back to life at the word “mudblood.” There was outcry in the classroom, but Neville was distracted by the sudden, slight glow in Percy’s green eyes as he said, “Draco, that was not okay.”

Malfoy’s eyes clouded over. He swayed, as if dizzy. “Oh.”

Percy let out a breath, and Neville watched a strange string of emotions fly across his face before he spoke again. “You should say sorry to Hermione.”

Neville almost laughed. Percy was new, so maybe he didn’t know how things worked yet, but–

“Sorry, Granger.”

What? What? What?

Absolute silence in the dungeons. Even Snape, who Neville could see out of the corner of his eye, seemed startled, his usually unflappable demeanor clearly flapped. 

The stillness was broken as Malfoy looked at Percy, looking a bit like a child who knew they had done something wrong.

“Thank you, Draco,” Percy said, nodding at the boy.

The rest of the class seemed to pass by both in the blink of an eye and interminably slow. Percy would sometimes do something to the potion that was not in Snape’s instructions, and Neville would grimace, imagining the teacher’s harsh words at the end of class. But by the time the greasy haired man was making his rounds, Neville and Percy’s potion looked more like Hermione’s than anyone else’s in the class.

Snape arrived in front of Neville, ready to cast judgement with his usual asperity, but his expression changed when he saw the potion. “Well, I’m not surprised that it took a Slytherin to make Longbottom’s potion… satisfactory.” He looked at Percy and nodded. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

Neville felt the bubble of tension in his stomach he’d been harboring since the beginning of class pop. Snape didn’t say anything mean, or threaten him. He’d even called the potion satisfactory. This was the best Potions class ever!

“Wait, hold on,” Percy said, his voice sharp, “Neville made this with me. He should get points too.”

Cacophony. Neville could barely keep himself from laughing at the idea of Snape giving any Gryffindor points, let alone him.

“Quiet,” Snape snapped, and the room fell silent. He glared at Percy. “You think to tell me how to teach my own class?”

Percy shrugged, his green gaze digging into Snape’s black eyes. “It’s only fair.”

Snape’s face contorted. “Fair.”

There was silence again, and Neville became worried for his new friend’s wellbeing. Standing up to Snape never ended well. But then he noticed Percy’s eyes seeming to glow again. Like Malfoy, Snape’s eyes clouded over. Then he spoke softly. “Ten points to Gryffindor.” Then he turned and strode out of the dungeons.

Neville’s eyes started burning. He could feel a lump growing in the back of his throat. He looked at Percy, the boy who had stood toe-to-toe against Snape for him and won. Then he was moving, almost without meaning to, wrapping his arms tightly around Percy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered.

He felt Percy’s arms wrap around him, patting him on the back. “Of course, Nev. I mean, you did do half the work. Couldn’t even read the board without you.”

Neville stood in the dungeons, surrounded by cheering Gryffindors and feeling proud in Potions class for the first time ever. He looked up at the green-eyed Slytherin hugging him.

He would follow Percy Jackson anywhere.

Chapter Text

PERCY JACKSON

Given his track record, going on a field trip on the first day of class had to be highly inauspicious.

Percy was half excited about Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had liked Lupin on the train, if only because the man had given him chocolate. But there was no way leaving the classroom was going to end well for him. Or the school.

Okay, but maybe he should think positive. It wasn’t really a field trip. They weren’t leaving the school, just wandering through the hallways until Lupin found whatever he was looking for. Maybe whatever god was causing his terrible field trip luck wouldn’t count that.

Lupin led the Slytherins through a hallway, shepherding them towards a small door that looked like it opened to a closet. The students exchanged wary looks. 

“Is this… normal?” Percy asked Blaise Zabini, one of the students who didn’t seem to hate him after the whole situation in Potions class with Neville.

Blaise shook his head. “No. Bloody typical, though. Our Defense teachers are always batty.”

Percy blinked, unused to the British slang, but he got the gist. No one understood the struggle of crazy teachers more than him. But Lupin’s presence was especially odd. It set Percy on edge, his instincts tingling that he was a threat, but at the same time, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. But he had thought Luke was nice too, at first. He resolved to keep an eye on the scarred professor.

Lupin turned to face the class. “Now,” he said, “in this broom closet, there is a boggart.”

There were quite a few gasps, and a girl who Percy thought was named something like Patsy or Pansy or something let out a frightened screech. 

“Oh, gods,” Percy muttered. “What is it now?”

“A boggart is a shapeshifter,” Theodore Nott whispered to him. “It changes into whatever you fear most.”

Percy did a double-take. “Wait, what? Isn’t that a little personal? Why would we do this in front of everyone else?”

Before Theodore could answer, Professor Lupin spoke again, having let the murmurs settle down. “The boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.”

Percy narrowed his eyes, confused. “But there are so many of us here…” he muttered.

Lupin’s eyes snapped towards him. “Say that again?” he trailed off, seeming to ask for a name.

“Oh- uh, yeah sorry. I’m Percy. Jackson,” he added on, remembering that British people really liked last names for some reason.

“What was it you said about the boggart?”

“I mean- just that there are a lot of us here? So how will the boggart know what to change into?”

Lupin nodded, approval flashing across his face. “Very good, Percy. Ten points to Slytherin.” He turned to the rest of the class and continued, "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake– tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.

“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.

"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… Riddikulus!"

There were some snickers from the class, especially from the corner where Draco was standing, but in general there was a mumble of the incantation from around the room.

“Very good,” Lupin said. “But of course, the hard part is casting it with intention.” The professor looked around the room. “Can I get a volunteer from the class, please?”

All the Slytherins looked at each other warily. No one wanted to volunteer to be attacked by their worst fear. Percy, in particular, knew that his fear would be something Greek. He couldn’t reveal his godly side to everyone, especially not in such a vulnerable way.

Finally, Draco pushed one of his henchmen– Crabbe, Percy thought– towards the front of the room. Lupin nodded. “Yes, thank you, Vincent. Now, what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

Crabbe– Vincent, maybe? – Percy had never thought about him having a first name– stared blankly at him. “Errrrr. Maybe, like, dying?”

A shadow crossed Lupin’s face. “Ah. I see.” He looked over the group of students. “Does anyone else have a different fear? One that is perhaps a bit more concrete?”

There was movement from everyone, until someone’s hand hesitantly raised in the air. “I don’t like zombies,” Tracey Davis said quietly.

“What’s a zombie?” asked Theodore Nott.

“It’s an undead creature,” Tracey replied. “I saw a muggle movie about them last year and I’ve disliked them ever since.”

Lupin exhaled, relieved. “Yes, good, Tracey. Thank you for volunteering.” He gestured for her to walk forward, which she did, hesitantly.

Percy looked at the girl, quietly impressed. It took a lot of courage to admit your worst fear in front of a whole group of people. Tracey Davis was not only nice, but brave. 

“Now, Miss Davis,” Lupin said, “think of a way that you could make a zombie comical. Some way that you could laugh at it. That is what truly defeats a boggart, class,” he continued, turning towards everyone, “Laughter.” 

Tracey shut her eyes, clearly imagining something that could make her laugh at a zombie. Percy, who had seen quite a few terrible zombie movies, could think of quite a few ways, but he stayed quiet. 

“I would like you all to think of the thing you are most scared of, as well as a way that you could make it funny. When I open this closet door and the boggart comes out, if Tracey is successful at using the spell, it should turn its attention to each of us in turn. I will call you forward so you have a turn fighting against the boggart.”

Percy resolved to stand far back in the pack of the class, hoping that the teacher wouldn’t call on him.

“Alright, everybody ready?”

There was a general murmur of hesitant assent. 

“On the count of three, then, Miss Davis.”

Tracey straightened up, steeling herself, her face growing determined. 

“One. Two. Three!”

Lupin waved his wand, and the door burst open. Out from the darkness of the closet staggered a rotted corpse, its arms stretched out in front of it. Several Slytherins screamed, and even Percy, who had seen worse monsters, stepped back. “Gods,” he muttered, “what movie is this from?”

Tracey’s face turned white, but she thrust her wand forward anyway. “Riddikulus!” she shouted, her voice quivering.

One of the zombie’s arms lifted into the air, the other dropping to its hip. Disco music began to play as the zombie danced jerkily. Percy let out a surprised snicker, echoed by many other students in front of him. The boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Millicent! Your turn!”

But as the stout girl walked towards the boggart, the creature ignored her. Instead, its head swiveled unnaturally far, its eyes landing on Percy.

“Shit.”

The zombie-boggart staggered its way through the crowd, its arms moving in a mockery of the Macarena. Other kids dove out of its way, shrieking. 

And suddenly, Percy was staring into the eyes of Luke Castellan.

Chapter Text

DRACO MALFOY

As soon as the professor had said there was a boggart in the broom closet, Draco had decided to stand near the back of the class so as not to get called on.

He was no idiot. He knew exactly what the creature would turn into, and it would not do for a member of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to be seen flinching from his father, especially in front of a group of other Slytherins. Don’t show weakness, Draco , his father said in his head.

He watched as Davis caused the frightening corpse to dance. Quite impressive, especially for someone who wasn’t a pureblood.

But then as the Bulstrode girl was called forward, the rotted thing didn’t even turn to her. Instead, it looked at the strange new Slytherin, Percy Jackson.

Draco didn’t know what to think about Jackson. His first interaction with the American had gone… rather poorly. Draco had insulted his dead mother, which he could admit was in bad taste. Jackson had then gotten justifiably angry, and Draco had-

“Forget this ever happened.”

Anyways, Draco was fascinated by the boy. Something about him, his shockingly green eyes, or his low, silky voice, maybe, drew him in like a fish on a lure. Whenever Jackson spoke, Draco found himself leaning in, trying to hear him better. It was odd.

And especially odd was what had happened during Potions. Percy Jackson had been teasing him, his wit sharper than that of his usual sparring partners, Potter and Weasley. Draco had often found himself stuttering and blushing, humiliated. That won’t do , he had heard his father say. Do not show weakness, Draco .

And so he had looked around the room and found someone he knew he could insult– Granger, who despite all her brains, was still a muggleborn. Of course, the Gryffindors had started shouting– such a sensitive bunch– and Granger had looked on the verge of tears, but at least no one was hearing Jackson verbally rip him to shreds anymore.

But then the green-eyed boy had looked at him. “Draco, that was not okay,” he said softly.

And suddenly Draco had felt off-kilter. Perseus’s eyes were so green, so blue, so beautiful. His voice was like rushing waves. Draco knew, he just knew , that if he listened to Perseus’s beautiful voice, everything would be good. He just needed to listen.

“You should say sorry to Hermione,” the boy suggested. His voice floated in the air like music. Draco wished he could wrap himself in the words. Of course he needed to apologize to Granger. Perseus wished it so. 

And so Draco did. “Sorry, Granger.”

“Thank you, Draco,” the green-eyed boy said, nodding at him. 

Draco had been filled with euphoria. Perseus had approved of his actions! He had done well. Draco had never felt so pleased, so at peace.

Draco knew that he should be highly suspicious of Jackson, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. Besides his lovely voice, he just seemed like a nice person. Woefully naive, perhaps, but nice. His father would hate him.

Draco snapped back to attention when he heard Jackson shout. “No, no no!” The black-haired boy was stepping away from a tall blond man with a deep scar cutting down his face. Draco had never seen anyone look so afraid.

“Oh, come on, Percy,” the scarred man said. His mouth quirked into a mockery of a smile. “What’s a little scorpion venom between friends?”

“Get away,” Jackson warned, reaching his hand into his pocket.

“I paid your mother a visit after our chat in the woods,” the man said. A two-coloured sword appeared in his hands, dripping with red blood. He pointed it at the ground in front of Jackson, and a brown package materialized on the floor. “A gift for you.” The blond man grinned maniacally. “Like the one you gave the gods.”

Jackson stumbled backwards, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “No…” He looked up at the older boy, shaking his head frantically. “Luke, please, no.”

The entire room was frozen, silent, watching the scene play out. The professor kept trying to get in front of the boggart to get it to change shape, but the boy with the sword– Luke– wouldn’t let him.

“Who should I visit next?” Luke mused. “Grover, maybe? Annabeth?”

A few things happened in short succession.

First, Jackson froze, his entire body locking into place, his eyes flashing with panic.

Next, his face darkened with rage, and the air seemed to grow colder.

And then, Percy Jackson screamed .

The sound exploded into the air, forceful enough to knock the other students back a few steps. Draco watched as all around the room, his classmates’ faces went slack, their backs straightening as they stood stock still. He could feel his own body moving to match them, his thoughts slowing down and coalescing into one objective: protect Perseus Jackson.

The man with the sword took a step towards Perseus, and Draco bristled, moving to put himself in front of the boy with the enchanting voice. The boggart-man slashed his sword at the students approaching him. Draco saw a girl get slashed across the arm, and red blood spilled from the wound.

“No!” cried the green-eyed boy. He turned away from Luke to face his classmates, and Draco leaned forward as those glowing eyes glanced at him. “Stop,” he commanded, “back up. Don’t come near Luke.”

In unison, all the Slytherins stepped back from the blond man, leaving the two boys in a ring in the center of the room.

All at once, the professor leapt across the room, lunging in front of Perseus. Luke shrieked, reaching for Lupin, before he shriveled and turned into a glowing moon, hanging in the air. Professor Lupin jabbed his wand, shouting the incantation. The moon turned into a balloon, which quickly deflated, whistling away.

As if the presence of a threat had been the only thing keeping him standing, Perseus crumpled to his knees, his chest heaving with breath. Draco immediately moved towards him, wanting to help him up. But the green-eyed boy held out a hand. “No,” he said harshly. “Don’t– don’t come near me.”

Draco and the others who had started forward stopped. Draco felt a sense of loss as Perseus’s blue-green gaze returned to the floor, his alluring voice falling silent and being replaced with the sound of deep breaths.

“Perseus,” Professor Lupin said hesitantly, crouching down next to him, “are you alright?”

“Percy,” said the boy quietly. He looked up at the professor, his eyes bright with tears. “Please. You have to help me.”

Chapter Text

REMUS LUPIN

Remus had hardly made note of Perseus– or Percy, as he preferred– Jackson at first. He had noted the problem of the boggart facing multiple people before Remus had even asked, which was clever, but hardly a reason to separate him from the crowd. He was more impressed by Tracey Davis, who had volunteered to face her fears in front of her probably judgemental class.

But Remus had never seen a boggart ignore a target in front of it in favor of someone much further away.

And the way the boy had reacted to the vision of that blond boy with the sword– the one who clearly threatened people important to him. 

And the final nail in the coffin: that scream.

When Perseus Jackson had let out that scream, the wolf in the back of Remus’s head had snarled so loudly that it had been hard to think. Threat! shrieked the wolf. Kill! Run! Fight! Escape! It was rare that he had to concentrate so hard to ignore the animal, but he managed to focus on trying to help his student instead of mauling him.

Remus was finally able to jump in front of the boggart, causing it to turn into a full moon, which he dispelled with a flick of his wand. Next to him, Percy fell to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, struggling to breathe. A few of the students stepped forward to help him– Tracey Davis and a boy who looked like a young Lucius Malfoy, plus others he didn’t yet recognize– but the black-haired boy threw up a hand. “No,” he pushed out, “Don’t-don’t come near me.”

The students returned to the perfect circle they had been standing in. It was only then that Remus realized how unnaturally the rest of the Slytherins had been acting. It was as if they were trying to protect Percy, and then had been following his commands.

Remus slowly lowered himself to Percy’s eye level, trying not to be suspicious of this literal child. “Perseus, are you alright?”

“Percy,” breathed the boy, almost instinctively. He looked up, his odd blue-green gaze meeting Remus’s own. “Please, you have to help me.” His eyes welled up, but then he looked down at the ground, and when he looked up, the tears were gone. 

Remus stood up, reaching down a hand to help Percy up. He surveyed his classroom, studying to blank eyed children all around them. “What did you do to them?”

Percy flinched. “I don’t–” he swallowed harshly– “I really don’t know.”

“Have you done something like this before?”

“…Yeah,” came the whispered answer. “It’s not on purpose though, I swear.” The boy looked up at Remus, his gaze hopeful and piercing. “Why doesn’t it work on you?”

“I’m not certain.” Technically not a lie. He suspected it was because the wolf protected him from most magical manipulation, but he wasn’t sure.

“Can you fix them?” Percy looked out at his classmates, riveted to their places. “Or! Actually maybe Dumbledore can help! He said he could!”

“I’ll call him here.” Remus quickly wrote a note to Albus on a piece of parchment, then cast a spell to send it off. Then he turned back to Percy. “When did this first happen?”

Percy looked away. “Some kids were throwing rocks at a snake. I made them stop.” He shook minutely. “This is the first time it’s happened without words. Usually I have to say something. But I didn’t even say any words and this happened!” Fear flashed over his face. “Should I just… not use my voice?”

“Let’s see what Dumbledore has to say.”

An eerie hush fell over the classroom. It was just Remus and Percy standing in the center of a circle of blank-eyed students. Remus stared, fascinated, while Percy looked down at the floor, avoiding looking at his peers.

“What happened here?” Dumbledore’s voice cut through the silence like a thunderclap.

Percy started, whirling towards the door where the headmaster had come in. In unison, the circle of students followed his gaze.

“Perseus. What have you done to them?”

The black-haired boy shrank back. “I didn’t mean to. It’s-” he swallowed, putting a shaky hand to his throat, “I think it’s getting stronger.” Percy took a stumbling step towards Dumbledore. “Please, you told me you could turn it off.”

Remus could feel the desperation wafting off the boy. Clearly, Albus could too. His fearsome mien softened. “Come here, my boy.”

Percy slipped his way out of the circle of students, stopping in front of Dumbledore. The headmaster looked down his long, crooked nose at the green-eyed boy. “I see,” he said softly.

He pulled out his wand and flicked it at the circle of students. Slowly, they all lost their stiff posture, light coming back to their eyes for the moment before they slid to the floor.

“Will they be okay?” Percy whispered.

“Yes, of course. They are just sleeping now. We will need to replace their memories of this class, but that will not be terribly difficult.”

“And…my voice? Can you turn it off?”

Dumbledore looked down at the boy with the sea-green eyes, his face impossible to read. “Come with me.”

Unease slithered up Remus’s spine. He trusted Albus almost unconditionally, but something in him warned him that the headmaster would not hesitate to sacrifice the boy for the greater good.

Dumbledore strode out of the classroom, Percy following closely behind him. Remus made to go with them, but the headmaster shook his head. “Stay with the children, Remus. Facilitate the memory change.”

Remus halted, his stomach churning. But he did need to make sure the rest of the Slytherin students were alright. He turned back to the children on the ground, feeling his failure to protect them deeply. 

He took a deep breath, flicking his wand and casting a Confundus Maximus. He told the kids that the class had been uneventful, that Tracey Davis had defeated her zombie boggart before four other students had gone. He didn’t want to take Tracey’s moment of bravery away from her.

The kids walked out of the classroom, slightly dazed, rubbing their eyes and mumbling about how tired the class made them. Remus shook his head, running a hand over his face. Playing with children’s memories didn’t sit right with him, but neither did leaving Percy isolated from peers, looked at as dangerous and threatening.

Suddenly, Remus’s instincts screamed at him. “Oh no,” he whispered, “It’s Percy.”

Filled with adrenaline, Remus bolted through the halls, the portraits yelling after him. He got to the griffin statue in front of Dumbledore’s and choked out a “Mars Bars,” running up the stairs. His breath caught.

Albus Dumbledore was pulling magic through the air, a lovely blue-green light streaming towards him and shattering into the air. And on the floor, Percy Jackson was screaming like his heart was being pulled out of him.