Ok, so I forgot to put this on the first chapter, but it takes place after the war with Gaea. Also, I do not own Percy Jackson or Harry Potter (the characters or the series). I've decided to post Chapter 2, and I hope you like it. Warning: Major trio bashing in this and rest of story!
Chapter 2:
Nico di Angelo
So that's how Nico ended up sitting on a tiny, rickety stool with a thousand-year-old hat on his head, being 'Sorted,' whatever that was. He really didn't care to find out. Nico sat there, bored out of his mind, when a nasally voice whispered in his ear.
Impatient...dangerous...hmmmm, where to put you? Oh? A child of the gods...Hades, to be exact...how interesting...very powerful...can hold a grudge...
Being a child of Hades required Nico to have complete control over his emotions – and more importantly, facial expressions – so Nico showed no shock at the talking hat. Upon hearing the thing start talking, Nico immediately put up his mental shields.
You'll have to let me in eventually, Son of Death... the hat whispered as it prodded at his wards. But Nico was adamant.
No. He thought back forcefully.
Hmmmm, then I'll be forced to sort you based off stereotypes and prejudices. How you're always viewed as dark and Goth, the loner who has no friends, no purpose in life... the hat trailed off. The hat was starting to piss him off.
It'll have to be...
"SLYTH-"
You want my past? You want my background? Fine; Nico succumbed, letting down his shields and revealing the years of death, the bloody, devastating wars and the gruesome tasks from his father. Memories of him raising armies of skeletal dead soldiers, of being punished in the Fields after he'd angered his father, the outcome of the Second Giant War, all the bloodshed came pouring into his brain, and thus, into the hat. The hat was cut off by the overload of memories, thoughts, sights, and pasts. Everything was silent, when...
"AIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE! BLOOD! WAR! PAIN! DEATH, SO MUCH DEATH! ARMIES OF THE DEAD, BODIES PILED UP, SO MUCH LOSS! HOW ARE YOU STILL SANE? GRYFFINDOR! GRYFFINDOR, FOR GODS SAKES! ANYONE WHO COULD SURVIVE THAT IS GRYFFINDOR! GET ME OFF THIS WACKJOB'S HEAD!" the hat screamed to the hall, causing Nico to smirk. Heh, Nico thought, and you haven't even seen my memories of Father. The hat was snatched off of his head; he stood up and faced Dumbledore, who motioned for him to go sit down at the table nearest to the West wall, all wearing red. The hall was silent as Nico made his way to the table full of red and gold. As he neared, he sent out another Death pulse and he saw someone at the table he was supposed to sit at feint.
"Wimp," Nico stated coolly. Immediately, three people sitting near the boy glared at him.
"Neville isn't a wimp!" a bushy-haired girl said venomously, and Nico raised an eyebrow. Instead of answering, Nico sat down across from the girl and her two friends, a ginger and a dude with glasses.
"If he's not a wimp, then what is he?" Nico questioned challengingly, leaning forwards, arms folded on the tabletop.
"He's a Gryffindor. He's brave and courageous, unlike you, intimidating the Sorting Hat to put you in this house, when you clearly belong with those slimy snakes." The ginger spoke up. Nico gazed at him, unimpressed.
"You do realize," Nico started frostily "that I have no idea what in my Father's Name you're going on about." He smirked as the ginger's ego was brought down a few notches.
"Yeah, well -" the ginger stuttered for a comeback. Nico sat back, satisfied.
"What he means to say, is that he's Ron Weasley, this is Hermione Granger, and I'm Harry Potter." The trio winced, waiting for something.
"Good for you," Nico said, uninterested. The trio deflated, he obviously didn't react the way they'd wanted.
"Don't you know who he is?" Bush-Beaver (honestly, her hair was a fucking rat's nest) asked.
"Should I?" Nico drawled.
"He's The-Boy-Who-Lived! He's faced off against You-Know-Who countless times, fought a basilisk -" Ginger started rambling.
"And I should care why?" Nico interrupted. Ginger and Bush-Beaver swelled in anger. Gods, Nico thought, they clearly worship the ground this kid walked on.
"Because -" Bush-Beaver (as Nico had now dubbed her) started, nearly sputtering.
"No, 'Mione, it's fine. I'm more than glad to have found someone not obsessed with a scar on my forehead," Glasses stated, and Nico internally snorted. People were still staring at Nico, and he sent them glares. He didn't like people who stared.
"So, where did you come from? Your accent sounds American, but not completely American," Bush-Beaver started in an I-Know-Everything voice.
"It's called a 'none-of-your-business' accent," Nico replied and she glowered at him. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb looked at Nico, aghast and impressed. Nico wasn't at all threatened. After all, he lived part-time with his Father, the king of Death glares.
"You don't have to be so rude," Bush-Beaver snapped and folded her arms. Nico then looked down at the piles of food, noticing no fire for sacrifices. Nico nearly groaned out loud. As he sat there, looking at all the students eating, his stomach practically snarled.
"...Aren' 'oo 'oing 'o ea'?" Ginger asked around a stuffed mouth. Nico glared at him.
"I can't, if you really must know," Nico said, looking at him with disgust as he chewed with his mouth open.
"What do you mean, you can't?" Bush-Beaver asked annoyingly. Nico was tempted to shut her up himself using a very physical means – including his fist coming in contact with her ever-moving jaw – but he figured his Father would not be too pleased with him. His Father also wouldn't be very merciful if he didn't do his sacrifice. As Nico looked at the food thoughtfully, an idea came to him. He quickly piled a huge amount of food onto his plate. He grinned devilishly as he conjured up a handful of midnight black Hellfire.
Again, tell me what you think. :D Good, bad, errors, anything is helpful.