PERCY

It was apparently just too much to ask of the Fates (or Morpheus? Percy didn't know) for just one night of peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The dream was disjointed and confusing, a bunch of jumbled sounds and pictures. They flashed by in a series of images: A beautiful, dark-haired woman; three blue planets hurtling towards each other at an alarming pace; a flashing dagger. They moved too fast for Percy to comprehend.

Suddenly, everything slowed down. A scene came into focus, as if his dream had finally decided on one thing to show him.

He was standing on a weird white platform that stretched out on either side of him seemingly forever. 3D figures and structures stood around him, life-like but all solid white and unmoving, like unfinished sculptures. A thin golden haze clouded the air.

And then Percy saw the Mist. It was like a huge spiderweb, woven intricately from glimmering white threads of moonlight that were constantly threading and braiding themselves in an almost mesmerizing cycle. In some places there were small moving images hanging like dewdrops, where the string would shimmer and send a ripple of silver down into the image, making it dissolve instantly as if it had never been there. In other places the threads carefully unraveled and slipped together again to form a glittering image — a figure, a landscape, an object. The whole structure hung like a thin yet impenetrable veil of starlight from a colossal, gracefully curving archway that must have stood fifty stories high. A statue stood at the top, a figure with long hair and a flowing dress holding two torches in outstretched hands.

But when he drifted a little closer, Percy realized that the veil was threadbare. In countless places the closely intertwined strands of silver light seemed to fray and recoil; in others too many collided and tripped into a knot. Strange light filtered through the empty patches from the other side. Where the veil was attached to the arch, some of the corners were hanging off helplessly. And as he studied it a little longer, he saw that there was actually one long, jagged tear slashed diagonally through the silver curtain, as if someone had slit it with a knife. The cracks and gaps all cobwebbed ominously from the slice. Someone had attacked the Mist. There had to be some clue as to who had done it —

Just then, he was whisked away in a blur of colors.

Next Percy dreamed that he was falling. He was in a long, dark vertical tunnel, wind whipping at his hair as he plummeted. His stomach leapt into his throat — he had never really liked roller coasters since being dropped six hundred and thirty feet from the St. Louis Arch. But he kept falling, and falling, and falling…

Percy twisted himself around midair, trying to see below him. Except there was nothing below him, only more of the square gray tunnel walls and darkness.

A nauseating sense of claustrophobia came over Percy. He couldn't help it, not when he was stuck in a bottomless pit, apparently doomed to fall forever. There was nothing above him, either, so no one would hear him if he called for help.

And he was still falling.

Percy reached into his pocket for Riptide, uncapping it just so that there would be some familiar light in the darkness. Hopefully it wouldn't be ripped out of his grasp. Then again, it wouldn't really matter if he was stuck in here forever.

Just as he thought he was going to puke (not a pleasant sensation when falling thousands of feet in the air), Percy woke up.

Sunlight was peering through the curtains in his room. The clock on the wall next to him read 9:13 AM. A knock came on his door, and the innkeeper's voice called in merrily. "Feel free to come downstairs for breakfast — best meal of the day!"

Percy yawned and stretched before sliding out of bed reluctantly, promising himself that if he remembered it, he'd describe the dream to Chiron in the next letter he sent.

Percy was still pretty sure only really ancient people, like Shakespeare, ever sent letters.

There was a thick lamb stew served for breakfast, paid for with two silver coins. As far as it was from the (blue) pancakes he normally ate at camp, Percy ate it enthusiastically; he hadn't eaten dinner yesterday and his stomach was craving food. As he ate, he forced himself to take a look at the envelope with the official-looking document. The print was small and basically torture for a dyslexic demigod like Percy, but he made it through after plenty of squinting and deciphering.

The Othiryian School Of Magic

To Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

I am writing this letter authorizing a formal transfer of one of my own students, Perseus Jackson, from the Othiryian School of Magic to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although I am aware that transfer students are rare, this development has been the consequence of unforeseen events and I ask that Mr. Jackson may be accepted as a student of the sixth year. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to divulge other information concerning this matter as it may endanger my own students.

M. Dionysus

Merlot Dionysus
Headmaster of Othiryian School of Magic

Percy snorted into his stew. So Mr. D was a headmaster now, apparently. An image of the pudgy god in a formal outfit keeping a large group of kids disciplined popped into his head, and he nearly fell out of his chair laughing. A few strange glances were shot his way. He ignored them, still grinning at the thought. The god of wine would probably turn all the misbehaving students into dolphins. Or drive them mad. Or both.

There was no way Mr. D had actually written that thing. It had probably been Chiron, signing it with Dionysus. Still, Percy found the idea hilarious.

Another slip of paper attached to the envelope confirmed Chiron's hand in all of this. Written on the paper in a neat scrawl were the words:

Percy—
Send this letter by owl post. The owl will find you, and she will know where to go.
—Chiron

He found it funny that the centaur's handwriting was infinitely neater than the god of travel's.

Reading over again, Percy frowned. The owl hadn't arrived yet; maybe it had been delayed.

He shook his head and flipped over the envelope. It was addressed to "Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry".

The names in the wizarding world were all so strange.

When Percy went back upstairs to his room, an owl was standing in the windowsill. He smiled a little when he saw it; he'd never actually seen one up close. Unless you counted the times owls had ambushed him on Athena's gracious (cough cough, not) orders. But that didn't count, seeing as he wasn't exactly admiring their plumage when that happened. More like he was cursing them in Ancient Greek for making him drop his books.

(And in case anyone was wondering, "Owls stole my papers" had about as much credibility as "my dog ate my homework".)

So it was nice to see an owl without it attacking him.

This one seemed slightly smaller than average, but had piercing eyes and pretty grey feathers that it ruffled proudly. It stuck out one leg, which had a paper tied to it. Percy took it, thanking the owl and unraveling the little scroll with a little apprehension.

Percy—
This is Rue. She is a (reluctant) gift from the Goddess of Wisdom. Send the transfer letter by her; she will deliver it safely. When you need to send a letter at Hogwarts, she will be in the owlery. Remember to buy her owl treats from Diagon Alley, as well.
—Chiron

P.S.
Lady Athena wishes to inform you that if any harm comes to the owl, she will personally murder you and ban you from talking to her daughter ever again. She does, however, also wish you luck, and tells you to stay alive and not break Annabeth's heart.

Percy had to grin at the last part.

"I will," he promised the air.

Stuffing the note in his pocket, Percy turned his gaze to Rue. He stroked her feathers, which were pretty soft, and she preened. "Can you deliver something for me?"

The little owl seemed to stand up straighter and puffed out her feathers.

He grinned again, and tied the letter carefully to her leg. "Chiron said you'd know where to go."

She bobbed her head, but didn't take off just yet.

"What is it?" Percy hummed thoughtfully. "Are you waiting for a treat? I have to go back and buy some. I guess they'd be in that owl shop, huh?"

Rue gave a little hoot in happiness, following him out of the inn on dark-tinged wings.

Eeylops Owl Emporium was a small, dark place. Percy wandered in cautiously, Rue on his forearm, slightly unnerved by the bright owl eyes that watched from the cages lining the walls.

Quickly, he bought a large bag of Eeylops Premium Owl Treats and left the store. He let Rue eat two, after which she fluttered her wings and flew off into the sky. He watched her go, wondering how he could introduce her to Blackjack.

When he got back into his room in the Leaky Cauldron, Percy took out his books, determined to study. Yeah, yeah, Percy Jackson studying? Well, he could be responsible when he wanted to be.

Plus, he really just wanted to be able to tell Annabeth that he had listened to her advice for once.

Settling down at the wooden desk with Encyclopedium, Percy took out Riptide and fiddled with the pen as he read. There was some stuff about different schools of magic across the world, but it focused mainly on Hogwarts, the one Percy was going to. "Students," it read, "Take the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Station to the highlands of Scotland where the great castle is located. This school of magic was founded by four of the greatest witches and wizards of all time: Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar Slytherin.

"Each of the four founders established a house, or division, within the school. Each is known for specific qualities and traits. Those in Hufflepuff are kind and loyal; Ravenclaws are intelligent and have a thirst for knowledge; Gryffindors are brave and fierce of heart; finally, Slytherins are cunning, ambitious, and often house the most famous dark wizards. In fact, there has not been a single dark wizard in the history of Hogwarts graduates who has not been from Slytherin. Despite this, not all the students in the Snake House are evil, and should not be prejudiced against."

Percy could almost hear the insincerity of the last statement. He guessed the Slytherin house was like the equivalent of the Ares cabin at camp: bad rep, superior attitude, but not all evil.

"The headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, is perhaps best known for defeating the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. He was also recognised in his work with Nicholas Flamel, the highly esteemed alchemist. Another significant accomplishment of Dumbledore was his role in the First Wizarding War, forming the first resistance against…"

His eyes skimmed over the rest of the chapter, already tiring from reading the small print. Seriously, someone needed to find a way to cure dyslexia and ADHD in a demigod-friendly way. Still, Percy forced himself to concentrate, steeling himself to the torture that was textbooks. To refocus his attention, he turned his gaze to another section titled "SPELLS, POTIONS, AND MAGIC". That was where it began to get a little more interesting.

"Introduction to the Spells, Potions, and Magic of the Wizarding World: This is the area which I, Baselweather Whisp, find most intriguing. The magic in the wizarding world is complex and filled with fascinating intricacies. Everything to the silver fog which mists within crystal balls to the simplest accio: these are the witchcrafts and wizardries that are the foundation of our society. In this section, you will find all you need to know of the spells, potions, and other magics that set us apart from the muggle world."

Percy skipped over the three-page, detailed introduction and moved on to the first chapter. It talked for a little while about the "critical nuances of spellwork" before getting onto the stuff he really cared about: how to cast spells.

The book started with what was apparently one of the most basic spells as an example, lumos.

"Lumos, the Wand-Lighting charm, is among the most simple and easy to cast. Before anything, confirm that your pronunciation of the incantation is correct; the accent should be on the first syllable. LOO-mos."

"Lumos," Percy repeated out loud. He was glad the book hadn't used the rune-like accents and upside-down e's that normal dictionaries used; he found that those were useless in figuring out the pronunciation of a word. He always had to look up what the accents meant in the first place.

"Next, the wand motion. Each spell has a unique and specific motion that must be performed in order for the spell to cast properly. In this case, it is a simple upwards flick of the tip of the wand, as if you are flicking up a light switch. Make sure to keep your wrist tight and controlled. Focus on reaching within you and utilizing the magic in your blood, channeling it through your wand."

Percy flicked his wand upwards, like the book instructed. "Lumos," he said confidently.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he tried again, trying to think magical thoughts. Like candy. And pizza. And Annabeth.

He wondered what Annabeth was doing right now, if she was worrying about him at all or demolishing the dummies in the training arena. Hopefully the other girls at camp were keeping her entertained. She always hated it when he went on quests without her. It was a bit of demigod FOMO, he thought, when someone got asked to go on a quest. The more dangerous, the more everyone wanted to go. It was strange, but he'd sort of understood it after his first quest with the lightning bolt; there was this sort of restlessness, a thirst for adventure and heroicness.

Percy had successfully lost focus.

Sighing, he flicked his wand a few more times and closed the book, resigned. He could try again later. Glancing at the clock, he started when he realized that it was already past noon.

Percy really was a slow reader.

He paid for some lunch (a sandwich with a very hard crust), which he then took outside to eat as he explored Diagon Alley. He could tell that the place was much less colorful and lively than it might have once been. A lot of the windows were shuttered, doors boarded across and posters and wanted signs plastered to walls. People walking by certain shops looked frightened, looking around as if they were going to be arrested. The only place that was still vibrant and boisterous was the joke shop Percy had first visited, and after finishing his sandwich, he stopped in.

It was just as crowded as when he'd first gone, the people chattering and laughing loudly. He wandered around for a little while, just looking at the products and chuckling at a lot of them, before finding himself in an emptier area towards the back rooms.

Curious, Percy examined the boxes that lined the walls. "Shield Hats, Shield gloves. Prevents minor hexes and jinxes. Ship to the Ministry."

"Yeah, you'd be surprised at how many Ministry officials can't cast a simple protego," a familiar voice behind him said.

"George, right?" asked Percy as he turned around.

The teen flashed a brilliant smile at him. "Nope. That's my twin — I'm Fred Weasley. You looking for anything?"

"Oi, I think he means Gred Weasley," said another voice, just as an identical red-haired teen appeared beside them with a crack. Percy jumped. "I'm Forge. Forge Weasley."

"Gred and Forge?" Percy repeated with a grin. "Ha ha. So you're Fred and George?"

"Nope, he's George and I'm Fred," one of them said, winking.

Percy blinked.

"So, George, you help this young man here — I've to talk to Verity about the Ministry orders," the other said, and disappeared.

"You can teleport?" Percy asked before thinking. Mentally, he slapped himself. Of course they could teleport.

George raised an eyebrow. "Teleport? Funny, is that what they call Apparating in America? I'm assuming you're a yank, that is, by that accent."

"Um, yeah. So do these Shield Hats really protect you from stuff?" Percy asked, trying to change the topic.

"Sure they do. A simple enchantment, really." At Percy's questioning look, George elaborated. "'Course, it's not all the enchantment's work. I mean, a muggle can't go and use one of these. It really just automatically channels the wearer's magic."

"But it won't work against major things?"

"Nah. Its strength really depends on the wizard's — or witch's, we don't discriminate against the ladies here — magical potency. It'll never do anything for any of the Unforgivables, though." George grinned widely. "Want a cloak? It's only fifteen sickles, a real bargain. Who knows, it might even get you out of a rough spot in the future."

Percy hesitated. "I don't really need—"

"Aw, c'mon, seven Sickles then, if you're that stingy," amended George, already heading over to the rack of cloaks.

Percy found himself unable to protest as a black cloak was thrust at him. He caught it quickly, and the store owner looked vaguely surprised.

"Nice catch," he said. "Whenever I throw things at Ron — our little brother — it always ends up in his face." He winked. "Now that you've touched the cloak, though, you've got to buy it. Don't want your customer germs all over our products."

It was a Stoll-worthy trick, and Percy shrugged as he handed over seven silver coins. He still had plenty of money left and not many things he needed to buy. Besides, like George had said, it might even come in useful in the future. Especially considering that he'd failed in his attempt to cast what was supposed to be one of the most basic spells.

When he left the shop, it was already two in the afternoon. Reluctantly, Percy made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron to do some more studying. He really needed to look up the word muggle; everyone here used it so often and he had no clue as to what it meant.

It sounded like some kind of spell.

According to Encyclopedium, though, it was the term for a person without magical blood. So a mortal, in demigod terms. Apparently magical blood was a big thing in the wizarding world; there was a whole chapter on "blood status". Percy managed to read the basics.

"There are five separate types of blood status, in the eyes of the typical witch or wizard. The first, pureblood: a wizard who has been born into a family of witches and wizards. Their parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, great-great grandparents, and so forth were all of magical descent. Purebloods are sometimes considered the 'clean' ones of the magical society, given that their blood is untainted by nonmagical heritage. This is not, however, a reasonable measure of one's potential in magic prestige; blood has nothing whatsoever to do with a witch or wizard's ability to use magic.

"Despite this, purebloods sometimes use their blood as a bias against 'less clean' blood types. In the most pureblood elitist families, children are more often than not taught to hate those with muggle parents. Within these circles, other pureblood families who do not share this unethical mindset are labeled as 'blood traitors'. (A vulgar term, and nearly as inappropriate as other epithets such as 'mudblood'.)

"The next blood status is halfblood, a wizard who has been born by one magical parent and one muggle, or a nonmagical side of the family. This could mean that a grandparent, or great-grandparent, or great-great-grandparent came from muggle heritage. Either way, this person's blood is not completely 'pure'.

"The last magical blood status is muggleborn. This wizard does not have magical parents, nor any members of their family of magical blood. Rather, it is by pure fortune that they have been born with magic. These often have no knowledge of the wizarding world until receiving their Hogwarts letter, at which point they are introduced to our world and taught to hone their powers. This book is, in fact, directed to those who may be new to the wizarding world and are in need of guidance.

"As mentioned before, purebloods and even sometimes halfbloods harbor a prejudice against those of 'lower' blood status than their own. One of the most cruel terms one can call a muggleborn is 'mudblood', implying that their blood is dirty and that they are the swine of the society. Use of this word is highly inappropriate and should never be used in a school setting.

"The fourth type is muggle; simply, a person without magic. Muggles are not bad people, though the wizarding world ought to be kept a closely guarded secret from them. Should they find out about the existence of magic, utter chaos would ensue. Many muggles in the past have had to have been Obliviated, or wiped of a certain portion of their memories. This is often necessary if a muggle has witnessed a magical event.

"The last, and perhaps most unfortunate, blood status is Squib. A Squib is born into a magical family, with two magical parents, but does not inherit magical blood. Due to blood prejudices, Squibs are often seen as the most unclean and dirty of society. However, this is not the case; no person, magical or not, should be discriminated against for something they cannot control. A Squib born into a prejudiced pureblood family is often disowned or ostracized; during the Dark Times, many were even killed."

"Geez," Percy said aloud. "That's… harsh." He wondered what it would be like if the gods killed their children if they were born without inheriting some sort of power or trait.

Actually, he wouldn't put it past them.

That was what made it alarming.

Hello again! It's still kind of setting up for when Percy gets to Hogwarts, so sorry about that. Give it just one more chapter—we'll get to see Harry and his lot in the next update.

Also: about the last bit where Percy is just reading about blood statuses, that actually isn't really important to this storyline. I wrote these earlier chapters back when I had a plan for the storyline that I've discarded, but when I was editing this chapter this week I was a bit too lazy to take it out. You can just read it as Percy finding out more about the wizarding world.

Thank you to all who reviewed/favorited/followed, and stay well everyone!

unfinished . nocturne