A/N: Hello, people who don't know me...*gulp* this is my first crossover, and I'm a noob at the whole 'publishing' act...please review...?

*Bursts out laughing and grinning like a madman* Just kidding. Actually, I was telling the truth. I'm a noob. But, please try to review this as much as you can? I'm juggling so many things here I can't keep track - exams, my mortal enemy, my classes, laptop time (Friday, Saturday and Sunday) and different time zones, since I live in Malaysia. I'm only ten, so this thing has absolutely no flames except for the normal pairings such as Percabeth, Jasper, Caleo (haha, I'm making a prequel on that), Frazel and a splash of Reynico, so on, so on..anyways, help my ten-year old life by commenting, reviewing...okay, this A/N is getting huge. On with the HP/PJO crossover.. DUN DUN DUN!

CHAPTER 1: PERCY: I Get a Fourth July Present in My Mailbox

HMM...YOU CAN DO MANY THINGS WHEN YOU'RE A DEMIGOD.

You can get ripped, you can find new worlds and apparently die from whoozits who are your cousins. You could also lose your memory, go on headache-inducing quests and finally go to hell (literally). It just works that way, doesn't it? Anyways, I'm Percy Jackson and that is basically my life. Savior of Olympus, Second of Hecate and yadda yadda yadda. My titles give me a headache. I need Shelby's coffee. If you want to access my story which is told in, like, eleven creepily accurate books (?) written by this stalker at my camp for demigods - the Greek one, I mean. Just then I found myself smack in the heart of another hair-raising adventure in a bunch of...what are they called? You know what...I'll just start from the beginning.

So, all the craziness happened when I got mail one day. Seriously, who sends mail these days? I wouldn't mind if it were, like, mail with Celestial bronze animal legs and hooves, but mail and a stamp? I don't even know where to get a stamp.

I'm not so sure about my feelings on that, unless it was a spider-legged mail automaton, which would totally send my fiancée (read: Annabeth) into shock. Maybe not so much now, but with our re-visions of Tartarus combined with Athena's horrendous least-favorite animal, I don't think Annabeth would give a 'welcome home' present set with bugs or whatever spiders eat to it.

Anyway, long story short: Annabeth sent me to check the dusty mailbox (it was kinda reduced to a place for Shelby, our 6-year old adopted kid to store stuff like her favorite crayons) that was given to us by Athena during our engagement party (uhm...another very long story) and I did, because you simply do not mess with Annabeth when she's in the kitchen. Or maybe in range of anything un-childproofed like the Celestial bronze butter-knives she usually puts in the cupboard.

I stopped binge-watching TV and hastily got up to head to the entrance. When I stepped out of our apartment in New Rome, I breathed the air. It smelled salty that day, like Poseidon (if you don't know who that is, that's the Greek god of the Mediterranean and my dad) just decided to spritz some Sea Febreeze into New Rome's aqueduct. It also smelled like one of those magical insta-clean sand dollars he sent last one he sent me helped me clean the Thames and the Hudson River (side note: never go to those rivers if you want a bath. I spent most of the five days after the Titan War cleaning the dirt out of my places).

Stepping on the matted lawn, I felt at peace. I went to Athena's engagement crayon storage box and pulled down the flag. That peace was ruined when I accidently hurt my finger while I was unlatching the damn thing, but I didn't really pay attention once I opened the mailbox. It was riddled with little dents and a few feathers (along with a melted pink substance – probably Shelby's pink crayon).

Inside, there was a twisted stick and a letter sealed in wax (wax? These people need to get into the 21st century), and a separate package that oozed sparkly firework-effects like a kindergartner's project.

I wrapped a paper scrap that I found in the mailbox around my finger (apparently, someone or something had used the mailbox as a trashcan) and opened the entrance arch, into my apartment. Annabeth proudly did the designs herself with a little help from the Hephaestus/Vulcan kids in New Rome/Camp Half-Blood/Camp Jupiter (two words: more names. That's the only problem when you save the world from sweet Mother Earth).

'Annabeth,' I started cautiously. 'You might wanna see this.' A few hurried footsteps echoed from the cute Roman kitchen, followed by the appearance of my fiancée. Her really curly blond hair was tied in a messy bun with dangling hair untucked around it, making her curly locks look like spiders - I wisely chose not to mention that. It also made her grey eyes look more striking, but I decided not to make them look stormy. Annabeth wore an apron, a pair of denim shorts and a purple tee that said, "CHILD OF ATHENA", followed by a picture of an owl that wore a monocle. Her hand, tanned by all our quests (read: sunny dates) together, held a cookbook in Ancient Greek, and in the other was a Spongebob-style Celestial bronze spatula.

'What is it? Did Shelby splash the TV remote with pink paint again? If she did that on your watch, Seaweed Brain…' She did a snapping motion with both of her hands, like she was going to snap her trailmix recipes in half. Annabeth was protective of Shelby that way. 'No,' I answered immediately – as I said, she held a Celestial bronze spatula (perfect throwing range). 'It's the mailbox, Wise Girl.' Annabeth narrowed her eyes, but followed me out anyways.

After I opened the mailbox, she looked quizzical. I guess anyone would've been if they saw a mini-firework show inside their mailbox. Annabeth frowned. I knew she hated new. So, I started to explain. 'It just popped out of nowhere, don't-blame-me-'

'Shut up,' she snapped as she examined the wax seal on one of the letters. Hecate had given an anti-dyslexic pill to Annabeth so she could read English without consulting Frank, our Roman buddy back at Camp Jupiter (since all he has is the intolerance to icecream).

She broke the seal and took a letter out of it while analyzing everything on it, and quickly explained. My eyes widened as my fiancée said, 'It says that you've got to find some initiates in some Brit academy, and you're supposed to leave tomorrow, on September the 1st. It also says in Greek…'

'—Consult Chiron,' I interrupted. 'Uh...I always thought you would get your job first, right?' I honestly did - it didn't really make any sense.

'I did, you dummy.' Annabeth bopped her recipe book on my head. 'I designed Mount Olympus!' I nodded, which made my black hair shift and bob like a really hairy boat. Annabeth pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the hardcover Greek cookbook – classical demigodishness.

Before I ran to the bathroom, Annabeth caught my sleeve. 'What's in the poppy one?' I picked up the little package that was having a late Fourth of July party all by itself, and opened the self-reseal package.

Inside was a tiny pill, but it was as long as my eighteen-year-old pinky. The pill was an odd shade of pond-scum green that reminded me of a certain blond-haired scarecrow. A letter 'H' was branded in the prime front of the pill, so it was either from Hecate or it was an English Hephaestus trap for whoever. I pocketed the pill, unsure if I should keep it. I even grabbed the stick.

So, after all the mushy stuff (ahem, we're engaged) I quickly went to the bathroom and made a misty rainbow and I-Med Chiron. I felt like I wanted to call Fleecy's direct number, but I settled for tradition (another long story shortened: I don't want the drachma flipping through the rainbow automatically disabling it without refunds like the last time I tried it). 'O Goddess of the Rainbow, accept my offering,' I muttered, and down the rainbow message it went. 'Show me Chiron, Camp Half-Blood.'

The mist changed, and suddenly there was a middle-aged man with kind, surprisingly concentrated eyes and smile lines in front of me. Then I realized that Chiron was in the rec. room (because I could hear a leopard roaring) and also because Chiron was playing ping-pong on something - I couldn't watch behind the rainbow, because my face was there. Chiron was momentarily confused, and then caught a ping-pong ball just before it hit the video-rainbow. He waved his hand, and I managed to see a blond head sighing as he went out of the rec. room.

Chiron seemed to sit down. I knew he wasn't really sitting down, since he was a centaur that had to stay in a wheelchair when he played ping-pong. But he had good, strong legs (four of them) that could magically fit into a really uncomfortable wheelchair-

'Percy,' he started, shaking me out of my ADHD thoughts. 'Why in Tarta—Erebos, would you I-M me in such a time?' He was avoiding Hell's name, but it made sense. 'I'm late for lunch, Percy. You're a college man, engaged no less - keep your priorities straight. You should focus on your studies in New Rome-'

'Alright, alright, I get it.' We both grinned and shared a laugh. 'I wanted to message you because I got a…a letter from Camp, saying that I would have to talk to you.' It all came tumbling out – not that there was much to tumble. The letter contents, the stick, and I even included the pill Annabeth found in the firework-show letter. He just nodded, like hearing people find melted crayons and random sticks in dusty mailboxes happened to his Greek students every August.

'I suspected as much. Now listen carefully, Percy...'

A/N: HAHAHAHAHAH Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I have a life. Please review! Peace, Love and Pizza! -Without any wax at all, Shasha!

STATUS: Edited. Plot = same, words = updated, facts = straightened.