The Unironic Life of Percy Jackson
So, I don't own Percy Jackson or Harry Potter...Damn.
Thanks to those who have followed, favored, and/or reviewed.
August 13th, 2010
No one in number 12 Grimmauld Place got any sleep that night when the revelation of Lord Voldemort having a grandson came out. Harry least of all. He sat in the kitchen with everyone but Mrs. Weasley and waited for Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall to bring the boy—Perseus Jackson—to the Order's headquarters. Mrs. Weasley was by the door, waiting to let them in, though Harry didn't know why. No one answered him when he asked.
His blood boiled, thinking about Jackson. Was he like his grandfather? Sirius mentioned he was being brought to Order headquarters to keep him from going to Voldemort, which should have said everything about the boy.
"—They didn't have many options," Lupin was saying to Mr. Weasley. Most of the Order had left last night, but Lupin stayed. Harry imagined they would all come back once hearing Jackson was inside their headquarters. "Dumbledore thought about putting the Jackson boy up in Hogwarts until term started, but the Ministry would have found that suspicious."
"Do they know about him?" Harry interjected, not caring that he was sticking his nose into their discussion. He had been kept from things for far too long, and it was getting on his nerves.
Lupin sighed but it was Sirius who answered Harry. "No," his godfather said.
"Though that brings a set of problems for us," Lupin said. "Had they known about Jackson, the Ministry would have forced Dumbledore to hand over the boy, but since they do not know about him, they would have found it strange for him to bring an "American transfer student" into the school before it was time."
It made sense, Harry bitterly thought. Involving the Ministry was more a hassle than it was worth, considering everything that was currently happening. They could take Jackson and blame him for what happened during the third task, which Harry knew wouldn't be right. Jackson hadn't been there, and it wouldn't be fair for him to take the blame for his grandfather's actions. For Cedric's death…
Harry sighed and shook his head, looking down at his hands and wishing he had his wand.
"Does that mean he will be attending Hogwarts?" Hermione asked from her seat on Harry's right.
Harry frowned and he looked up at the Order members present; all three nodded almost in unison.
"He'll be placed in your year," Mr. Weasley said, frowning. "Despite him turning seventeen in five days."
"Why?" Ron asked as he sat on Hermione's other side, much of his breakfast already gone.
Harry wondered that too, as he glanced from Ron to Mr. Weasley, who sighed and started to open his mouth, but stopped in his tracks as his wife could be heard opening the door.
"Oh, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, please come in!" Mrs. Weasley said from outside the kitchen.
Harry's ears perked up upon hearing this. Dumbledore was here? Of course, it made sense that he would be directly escorting the grandson of the wizarding world's worst nightmare to Grimmauld Place. He frowned, wondering if that was why he had left Harry like that, not looking at him during the trial and leaving directly after without so much as a goodbye.
"Thank you, Molly," Dumbledore said. "The trip to New York took longer than Professor McGonagall and I had thought."
"Of course, Professor," Mrs. Weasley said. "We just had breakfast but there's plenty of leftovers if—"
"My apologies for the interruptions, Molly," Dumbledore interrupted. "Professor McGonagall and I have a few matters we still need to attend to but thank you for the invitation. I imagine Percy is starving, though."
"I'm more exhausted, Professor Bumblebore," came the American accented voice of Voldemort's grandson. Harry scowled, angered at the teenager's name for Dumbledore.
Dumbledore could be heard chuckling. "Dumbledore, but you were closer this time, Mr. Jackson," the headmaster responded, sounding amused. "Though, I am genuinely curious; who is Gandalf and why is he a hippy?"
"That's a long story," Jackson said. "I don't think you and Professor...McGonagall has the time to hear."
"A pity, he sounds rather intriguing."
Harry frowned, Dumbledore was acting civil around Jackson, though it didn't surprise him. Dumbledore was...rather strange, even for wizarding standards.
When the front door to Grimmauld Place closed, Harry found himself intently listening to the footsteps Jackson and Mrs. Weasley made. The louder they became, the more Harry wished he had his wand on him. For all he knew, the American could be waiting for the right time to attack everyone. Dumbledore and McGonagall were gone, but he still would be outmatched. Would he, though? What if Voldemort had already gotten to him? Convinced him to join his side? Or maybe he had sought him out, Merlin, anything was possible, and Harry hated not knowing what was going to happen.
When the kitchen door swung open, Mrs. Weasley entered first, and he came in right after her.
He had the same hair color as Harry, but shorter and more wind-blown than Harry's normal mess. Amidst the jet-black locks was a streak of grey, which looked as natural as it was unnatural. His skin was tan, almost like he was from the Mediterranean and not the Slytherin bloodline. His eyes were the most disturbing to Harry, they were as green as the sea, greener than his own eyes. There was almost an inhumane aura around them, he couldn't explain it, nor did he like it.
Harry looked around the room and saw everyone staring at Jackson, none of them giving him particularly positive looks.
As he turned back and gave Jackson his own look of contempt, the teenager awkwardly smiled, betraying a sarcastic, troublemaking persona about him.
"So…" Jackson said as he waved his hand, with the other rubbing at the back of his head. "I take it none of you want me here, huh?"
"That's putting it lightly," Harry said as he glared at Jackson, who nodded.
"I bet…ah," Jackson agreed, his eyes glancing at Harry for a moment too long before looking away. Harry frowned, guessing that he was staring at his scar but didn't say anything on it. Did he know how he got his scar? Did he even know who Harry was?
"Harry," Harry said. "My name's Harry Potter."
He was shocked when Jackson grinned at Harry, as though he were happy to see him.
"Nice to meet you, Harry," Jackson said. "My name's Percy Jackson." His smile began to disappear. "Though, judging by the looks you and everyone else has been giving me, you already know who I am."
"Yeah," Ron said, sounding uneasy. "But don't you know who he is?" Harry glanced at his friend, who was pointing at him, which he had expected.
When he looked back at Jackson, Harry was shocked to see the confused look on his face.
"Should I?" he asked as his eyes met Harry's.
The room he was given was cramped and filled with dusty furniture, but Percy didn't complain. He had slept in worse places than the little room, and if he were to compare his past sleeping arrangements, this room was as glamourous as some high-end hotel suite he'd never visit without destroying first.
He was tempted to Iris message Annabeth and tell her what was going on. He didn't have any time when he was at home, especially not with the wizards watching his every move.
Percy sighed, doubted it would be worse here until he went off to…what was the school called again? Pigfarts? Hogwash? Hogshits? No—the last one wouldn't make any sense, no matter how hilarious it would have been. He doubted anyone here would laugh, though, if he were to say the word out loud in place of the actual school name. They clearly didn't like him, and he didn't want to ruffle any more feathers.
It was clear they didn't know he was a demigod. Percy knew they would have at least mentioned it last night, he thought they were going to until they started talking about magic and wizards and the whole nine yards. Considering no mentions of the Gods came up nor did they reveal any monstrous attributes about themselves that would have caused Percy to fight them in his mother's living room, they knew nothing about Olympus or Camp Half-Blood or anything like that. And he was going to keep it that way for as long as he could. He doubted the wizards would trust him even more than they already were if they knew he was the son of Poseidon.
Percy wondered if anyone other than his mother knew where he was. He'd like to imagine his father knew, but he only kept that thought off to the side. If Poseidon knew, then the other Gods could know, and Percy didn't feel like having to deal with them.
He had gone home to rest. That was all he wanted, and he got it. For a week. Before Hippy Gandalf and Gothic Mary Poppins knocked at his mother's door and told him and her that they were related to a stick-wielding maniac who had returned from the dead, or wherever he had previously been. Percy still didn't understand that, and he didn't bother asking twice because he didn't want to seem like he hadn't been paying attention at the time, he was, but they were telling him and his mom years' worth of information in a couple of hours and Percy quickly grew bored.
The idea of magic bored him. After all, he had seen in his five years at Camp Half-Blood and traveling across the United States in a never-ending fight against monsters who've fought literal Gods; magic was like worn-down textbooks filled with outdated information that he could only partially read because of his dyslexia. It wasn't interesting, at all.
He was more troubled by the thought of having another evil grandfather. Lord Moldyshorts or something like that. And according to the professors at Hog-whatever, Moldyshorts was after Percy because apparently, he had a powerful form of magic that was untraceable until June 24th.
At first, Percy had no idea why that date was important until he remembered that was the day, he became the new praetor for Camp Jupiter.
Glancing down at his SPQR tattoo, the trident looking as though it had been burned into his skin yesterday. He rubbed at it with his left thumb, tracing along the line underneath it and taking in the irony of a Greek demigod having a tattoo signifying his allegiance to the Roman legion.
Nothing important had really happened that day. Other than him leading an army of Romans against Polybotes and becoming praetor. He felt fine that day, all things considered. Hades, one of the best days of his life had happened the next day when he was reunited with Annabeth. Of course, nothing had changed. Gaea was still wreaking havoc, or at least she was preparing to.
His nose was bloody. Annabeth was bleeding. They were in Athens and it was too late.
When Gaea rosed, she was in their home and it was because of them.
Percy suddenly became aware of the light footsteps coming towards his room, he slowly made a reach for Riptide, reaching into his pocket as he stood up and pulled out the sword disguised as a ballpoint pen. He kept his eyes on the door, his senses kicking in as the footsteps stopped and a knock came from outside the room.
"Percy?" he heard a girl's voice call out, her English accent sticking out to Percy, causing him to quickly shove Riptide back into his pocket as he said, "come in!"
The door opened and the girl with brown hair entered. Herme-something, he partially remembered.
Her brown eyes glanced at him; he could see the distrust in her but something else. Something he saw whenever he looked into Annabeth's grey eyes.
Tears, fear. That's all he saw in her eyes.
No, Percy thought as he shook his head, glancing away at the girl. He didn't see that in her eyes, though he was surprised not to. Considering he was the grandson of a dark wizard or whatever, he should be feared, but the girl in his room wasn't afraid of him. No, he didn't see any fear in her eyes, but intelligence. Intelligence she couldn't hide no matter how much she tried, like Annabeth.
"Are you alright?" he heard the girl ask, causing him to look back up at her as he sat on the bed and she stayed a distance away from him at the door.
"Yeah," he lied, painting a smile across his face as he thought about a certain wise girl and her grey eyes.
He watched as the girl's eyes glanced down at his tattoo. Quickly, he pulled down the sleeve of his hoodie and awkwardly rubbed the back of his head afterward.
"Did you need anything, um..."
"Hermione."
"Hermione," Percy repeated, secretly pleased he partially remembered her name when she said it earlier. "Do you need anything, Hermione?"
"Dinner's done," the brown-haired witch said, curiosity seeping out of her eyes mixed in with even more distrust. Great, Percy thought as nodded and groaned when she left the room.
Slamming his open palm into his forehead, Percy muttered to himself, "good job, idiot," before following Hermione out of the room he was given.
As they walked through the hallway, Percy kept his eyes darting from strange painting to strange painting, his skin crawling every time the person in the paintings blinked or glared at him.
"Your friend with the scar on his head," Percy said to Hermione as he looked away from the painting of a grey-eyed woman holding a dead elf-thing by its neck and back at the witch walking in front of him. "Everyone acted as though I should know him. Why?"
When she looked at him, a frown was on her face. "Your...grandfather murdered his parents," Hermione said, not bothering to sugarcoat her words as she turned her head away from him.
"Oh." He looked away as they descended down the stairs. He didn't talk the rest of the way down, not that Hermione seemed particularly eager to say anything to him.
When they made it to the kitchen door, Hermione looked back at Percy when he grabbed her shoulder. She jumped and Percy immediately let go and stared down at his feet.
"Sorry," he said, guilt rising in his chest like a bad cough. "I just wanted to say something." He looked up at her and saw the wary look in her eyes.
Sighing, Percy said, "I'm not like him, nor would I ever be like him. I don't even consider him my grandfather, he's just some murderer...who unfortunately shares some blood with me." He thought of Kronos, and Gaea and his parents and frowned. "Nor is my mother. She's not some evil witch lady, she doesn't have magic. She's...normal and the best mom I've ever known." He saw the look in Hermione's eyes change, but he didn't ponder upon what she could possibly be thinking. "You and everyone in there can say anything you'd like about me, but please don't bring my mom into this. She doesn't deserve it."
"...And you do?" Hermione asked, her face pale and her mouth forming into an "O" shape.
Percy thought for a moment, before nodding. "Whatever you or anyone has to say, put it all on me. My mom's innocent in this."
He walked past Hermione and pushed the door open, and any conversations happening in the kitchen instantly died, not that Percy cared. He knew they wouldn't trust him, and he was okay with that for now. He could handle the stares, he had before. It was nothing new to him.
As he took a seat at the far end of the long table, away from everyone inside, he hid his shock as Hermione followed him and sat in the empty seat next to him.
"Hermione?" the red hair guy next to Harry said, his dinner surrounding his puffed-up cheeks.
"I'm fine here, Ron," Hermione said as she looked from the redhead to Percy, a small, friendly smile forming on her face. "Your mum, you sound like you're close to her."
Percy, despite himself, smiled. "She's my mom," he said, nodding as he felt the weight of the sky momentarily leave his shoulders. "Her and my girlfriend are my whole world."
"Girlfriend?" Hermione asked, the tone in her voice sounding surprised.
Percy's grin grew. "Yep, Annabeth," he said. "You remind me of her."
"How?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, but your eyes are very calculating like you're always thinking up new ideas that no one's ever thought of," Percy said as he shrugged, ignoring the look Hermione was giving him. "Annabeth's like that. You'd like her, I think. She's into architecture, though, so she likes spending a lot of her time talking about monuments and stuff from Ancient Greece."
"Really?" Hermione asked.
"Yep," Percy answered. "I don't know if you're interested in any of that."
"Does she know anything about Greek mythology?"
"More than I do."
When Hermione's eyes grew like saucers, Percy wondered if he just made a mistake or not.
"And what do you know about Greek mythology?" Hermione asked.
"Ah...I can kinda...read it."
"What?"
"The language," Percy said, feeling like he should start running if only he remembered how to use his legs. "I can read in Ancient Greek. Kind of."
He felt like stabbing himself in the foot with Riptide. The wizards didn't know what he was, and he needed to keep that a secret for as long as he could. The less who knew, the better. And yet, here he was telling a girl he just met, who didn't even trust him a moment ago, that he could read Ancient Greek.
Hades, if Annabeth knew, she'd kill him. Yeah, Percy thought as he looked at Hermione as she began talking faster than his mind could comprehend, even for him, he knew Annabeth was going to kill him the next time he saw her. He wouldn't be able to keep it a secret, not from her.
He was tempted to ask for help from his dad, but Percy could imagine Poseidon's reaction.
Gods, he was screwed.
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