Title: Headmaster Snape and The Percy Jackson Books

Rating: T

Summary: Harry, Hermione, the Weasley's, the Malfoy's, and the Order land in a room that was once used by the Founders. They were summoned by Headmaster Snape and told, in-order to leave, they must read the five books that detail Percy Jackson's adventures. Why does Snape want them to read these books about some kid? In the end, they will all find out. Crossover of Percy Jackson.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Rowling or Riordan's characters and I'm making nothing from this.

Chapter 8: I Play Pinochle with a Horse

"What is Pino-?"

"Pinochle," Hermione said, "It's a card game."

"And why would he be playing it with a horse?"

"I don't know," Harry said.

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off of my chin with the spoon.

"Being dependent on someone isn't right, or proper," Malfoy said.

"I'm sure you tell your mum that all the time," Harry said.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

"I think that we would all like to know that," Hermione commented.

She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I don't…."

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes-at least a dozen of them-on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

"That's way too creepy," Ron said.

"I'm going to agree," Lucius said.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was use to. I was setting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries."

"I'm getting hungry," Ron moaned.

"Do you ever stop eating?" Hermione asked him.

"Hay, I'm a growing boy."

Everyone snorted at that.

There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

"And I thought breaking my arm was painful," Harry said.

"It seems like Percy's life is going to be filled with nothing but pain," Hermione stated.

On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

"I hope its Grover," Hermione said. "I'm starting to like him."

"Hagrid would like him," Kingsley said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box.

"What's a shoe box?" Ron asked.

"Honestly, Ron, you should have taken Muggle Studies," Hermione told him.

"And why would I want to do something like that?"

"Because you wouldn't off asked a dumb question," Malfoy said. "A shoe box is a box that holds shoes."

Everyone, minus the Professors, all stared at him.

"I took the course," Draco told them.

McGonagall went back to the book.

He was wearing blue jeans, converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover. Not the goat boy.

So maybe I'd had a nightmare. Maybe my mom was okay. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And…

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I...well, the least I could do..I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Minotaur," I said.

"Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea-."

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" I demanded. "The Minotaur. Half, man, half bull."

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom. Is she really…"

He looked down.

"Poor Percy," Hermione moaned.

Mrs. Weasley blew her nose.

I stared across the meadow. There was groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm-I'm the worst satyr in the world."

He moaned, stomping his food so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

"Grover has a strange way of talking," Luna remarked.

Ron snorted at her statement.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, Well, that settles it.

Grover was a satyr. I was ready to bet that if I shaved his curly brown hair, I find tiny horns on his head. But I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even Minotaur's.

All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

I was alone. An orphan. I would have to live with…Smelly Gabe? No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I was seventeen and join the army. I'd do something.

"And I never thought I would encounter someone that's just as bad as the Dursley's," Harry said. "Don't blame him for not wanting to live with someone that made his life hell."

"I'm going to agree with that," Hermione stated.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid-poor goat, satyr, whatever-looked as if he expected to be hit.

I said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least…I was."

"But why…" I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here."

He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

"I can't believe that he blames himself," Hermione said. "It wasn't his fault."

"That I'm going to agree with," Ron said.

I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies-my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips just melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but it felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay.

"How can a drink do that?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Must be magic," Mrs. Weasley concluded.

"Or a potion," Fred said.

"Still magic," Hermione said.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

"That's a dumb question to ask," Kingsley said.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, I felt guilty.

"Sorry," I said. "I should've let you taste."

His eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just…wondered."

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I said. "My mom's. Homemade."

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards."

Everyone laughed in the room.

"That's good," he said, "That's good. I don't think you should risk drinking any more of that stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"Grover is just confusing here," Hermione said.

"I think the author is confusing," Kingsley remarked.

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

"What the heck did they give him?"

"Something that most likely is dangerous," Hermione told Mrs. Weasley.

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I held on to it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I wasn't going to let it go.

"I would have tossed it," Ron said.

"Yeah, but he lost his mum," Hermione told him. "I doubt that he would think the way that you do."

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath. We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture-an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena-except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kings in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooden trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

"The horses sound like something Madam Maxim had," Lucius commented.

"What's a pavilion?" Ron asked them.

"I'll get you a book on ancient Greek buildings," Hermione promised.

"Like I would read it."

"Then you won't find out, will you?" Hermione countered.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, that is enough," Snape's voice said and they all turned to see him standing there. "Merlin, you both can give a sane person bad thoughts."

Harry glared at him.

"Let's get back to the story, please," Mrs. Weasley demanded.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple.

"Reminds me of my uncle," Draco said.

Harry was shocked that Malfoy had any other relations.

He looked like those paintings of baby angels-what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherub. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park.

"What's a trailer park?" Ron asked.

"It's where poor people live," Snape answered.

He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my stepfather.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron…"

He pointed to the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cried.

"Sounds like Percy found another friendly face," Remus said.

"Thank Merlin for that."

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Like him already," Fred Weasley said.

"Merlin, never thought I would encounter someone in a book that reminded me too much of the Weasley twins."

Harry glared at Snape when he spoke.

"Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Rude," Tonks said.

"Um, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult had been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr."

"Happy-."

"Booze, Mr. Weasley," Snape cut in.

Ron glared at him, but said nothing.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health. Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go and check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron."

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole long more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

"Sounds like my kind of person," Hermione said.

"I'm shock, Miss Granger, you like violent people," Snape said to her.

"There's a lot of things about me that you don't know."

"Getting back to the book," McGonagall said and she started to read again.

She glanced at the Minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, You killed a Minotaur! Or Wow, you're really awesome! Or something like that.

Instead she said, "You drool when you sleep."

Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"Sounds like something my stupid fan club would say," Harry said.

"Yeah, like Colin Creevy," Ron remarked.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject. "You, um, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex-Mr. Brunner said, "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym."

"What the heck is a pseu-whatever?"

"It means that it's not his real name," Snape said. "Honestly, Potter, Granger, how the hell do you put up with dim wit of the century?"

Harry got mad, but Ginny said, "He does have a point."

"I'm not a dim-whatever," Ron protested.

"I think I've proven myself correct," Snape said.

McGonagall glared at him and continued.

"You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D…does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Piece of advice that you should have been using," Snape told Harry. "The Dark Lord chose that name because he was powerful."

Harry didn't want to hear anything that Snape had to say. To him he killed Dumbledore and nothing that he said Harry would listen to.

"I'm afraid that Snape does have a point," Kingsley said. "His name is very powerful and when you use it, bad things happen."

Harry chose to ignore this as well.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron-Brunner broken in. "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?"

"I'm confused," Ron said.

"Yeah, you're not the only one," Harry said.

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to..ah, take a leave of absence."

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancey just to teach me?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"What the bloody hell is Camp Half-blood?" Ron asked.

"Ronald, watch your mouth," Molly demanded.

"I guess where he's at," Harry said.

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, 'are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir! "Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I said.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he said.

"Reminds me too much of Snape," Ron said.

"No, of Umbridge," Harry corrected.

"Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules."

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun-Chiron-why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," He said, "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said…" I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"I feel sorry for her," Molly said.

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"Rude," Hermione said.

"What?" I asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"They have a film," Harry remarked.

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"- he pointed to the horn in the shoe box- "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods-the forces you call the Greek gods-are very much alive."

"He has got to be joking," Draco said. "The Greek gods are real. Myths that stupid muggles believed in are presented as fact."

"Draco, you forget that our Wizarding ancestors believed in those same gods," Snape said. "Don't insult their memory by making stupid comments."

"Oh come on, Uncle, you believe in this-."

"Their beliefs aren't harming you or anyone else," Snape cut off, his eyes narrowing and Harry had only seen him this angry, which usually involved him.

"Fine, whatever."

McGonagall shook her head and returned to the book.

I stared at the others around the table.

I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, 'Oh a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points.

"That man is way too obsessed with that game," Hermione said.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"How can he eat that?" Ron asked.

"Because he can," Hermione answered. "His stomach processes things differently."

Ron rolled his eyes and said, "Please, don't use long names around me."

"And I wonder how you managed to even get past your sixth year," Tonks remarked.

Ron ignored her.

"Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron said, "God-capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Meta-what?"

"Outside the realm of the normal," Harry answered.

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about-"

"Ah gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class."

"Zeus," I said. "Hera, Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again-distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual throwing those names around, if I were you."

"But they're stories," I said. "They're myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D. scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"-I flinched when he said my real name, which I never told anyone-"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now? Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals-they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if…he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut.

"Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

I was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made me hesitate.

"You mean, whether people believe in you or not," I said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people will call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you."

"That's being rude," Remus remarked.

"I think that Chiron does have a point," Hermione said. "I mean, people don't believe that we're real and we know we are."

"Point taken, Granger," Kingsley said.

Grover said, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!"

He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

My jar dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up.

"Mr. D," he warned. "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me. "He looked at the sky and yelled. "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

"How the bloody hell did he do that?" Ron asked.

"Ron, language," Mrs. Weasley scolded. "But I'm going to say that he's right. How did he do that?"

"Must be some kind of spell," Harry said.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"What's outer space?" Ron asked.

"Honestly," Harry said, "You really should have taken muggle studies."

"Not how the Professor taught it," Snape remarked, "Can't even say the name of muggle things right."

Harry sighed.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time-well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away-the second time, he sent me here. Half Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. "Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha! Absolutely unfair."

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid.

"Well, how he acts, he deserved what he got," Hermione said. "Upset that daddy punished him."

"Well you can tell that he's not really bright," Snape said, "He did it because he knew that his father would make some noise."

"And how do you know-?"

"How it's written," Snape cut in.

"I'm going to agree with him," McGonagall said and then she went back to the book.

"And," I stammered, "your father is…"

"Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said, "I thought you taught this kid the basics. My father is Zeus, of course."

I ran though D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger, the satyrs that all seem to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master.

"Your Dionysus," I said, "The god of wine."

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, "Well duh!'?"

"Y-yes, Mr. D."

"Well then, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines coking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straightjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child" he said quietly.

"No, No, sir."

"He's also the god of madness," Hermione said.

"And you wonder where insane people come from," Lucius said. "Though, if the gods were real that would explain why Bellatrix is a bitch."

"I'm going to agree, dear," Narcissa said.

"So he could make a bloke mad," Ron said.

"Insane, thinking that things are talking to them when they're not. Centuries ago it was believe that anyone that was mad had been punished by Dionysus."

"What strange things muggles believed in?"

"Wizards believed in them too," Hermione countered.

"Can we get back to this book?" McGonagall demanded.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered.

The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me."

I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But, first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

"That's totally unfair," Hermione remarked. "He didn't do anything wrong."

"Sounds like a big bully."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been..ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I said. "You're telling me there really is a place there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which indeed use to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect for the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just like the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like…in America."

"Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West."

"The what?"

"I'm confused," Ron said.

"Yes, Ron, we all know that you're confused."

Ron went a bit red.

"Come, now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all the Western civilizations were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then you know-or as I hope you know, since you passed by course-the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps-Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on-but the same forces, the same gods."

"And then they died."

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to dis look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle for Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it, or not-and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either-America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"That has got to be the best speech that I've ever heard," Kingsley said.

"He's very passionate about this," Hermione said.

It was all too much, especially the fact I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if I were part of some club.

"Who are you, Chiron? Who…who am I?"

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight s if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you? he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunch in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate.'

"Sounds like you and he would get along well," Tonks told Remus, who went pink.

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the hair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

"HE'S A BLOODY CENTUAR!" Everyone, including McGonagall, yelled out at the same time.

"Now I remember," Hermione said, shock in her voice, "Chiron is the trainer of heroes and he's a centaur."

"You muggles know this stuff."

Hermione gave Draco a look and said, "Yes, Draco, we savages have museums filled with things from ancient Greece and we have people that dig up the past to understand it."

I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair; a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks have fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers.

"Alright, I'm done," McGonagall said, "Who wants to read next?"

"I will," Narcissa said and McGonagall handed her the book "I Become the Supreme Lord of the Bathroom."

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A/N: Finally, after months I got this chapter done. I will be working on two pages from the book per day so that you all don't wait so long for a new chapter. Thanks for staying with me.