Percy Jackson AND Harry Potter crossover book/chapter 3: An unexpected run-in with a future enemy (Ending at when they entered Madam Malkin's)

The next morning, a weary Percy dragged himself out of bed, still groggy from yesterday's revelations. He stumbled into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes, but when he looked in the mirror, his breath caught in his throat.

The reflection staring back at him was not his own—or at least, not the one he remembered. Instead of his usual tanned complexion and sea-green eyes, he saw a pale, scrawny boy with hidden muscle, messy jet-black hair, and piercing emerald-green eyes. Panic set in as he reached up, running a hand through his unruly hair. This wasn't possible.

Then, as he squinted at the mirror, he realized his vision was terrible. His surroundings blurred at the edges, like he was underwater. Frowning, he turned to the shelf beside him and spotted a pair of round glasses. Hesitantly, he put them on.

The world snapped into focus.

Before he could even process what was happening, an impatient voice called from downstairs.

"Are you done yet, Percy?" Hecate's tone carried an edge of amusement, though there was an underlying impatience.

Snapping out of his daze, Percy hurriedly got dressed, shoving all his swirling thoughts to the back of his mind. There would be time to freak out later. For now, he had a trip to Diagon Alley.

They arrived inside a dimly lit pub, and Percy glanced around, taking in the warm, bustling atmosphere. The innkeeper, a bald man with a toothy grin, looked up and immediately brightened.

"Madam Daly! Here for a meeting?"

Hecate shook her head. "Not today, Tom. Just taking care of some business with Harry."

Tom nodded absentmindedly before suddenly stiffening. His eyes flickered to Percy, widening in shock.

"Harry? As in Harry Potter?" He gaped, his voice barely above a whisper, though the entire pub seemed to hear him anyway. A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to Percy.

And then—chaos.

Chairs scraped against the floor as people rushed toward him, hands outstretched, voices overlapping in excitement.

"The Boy Who Lived!"
"I can't believe it—he's real!"
"Bless you, lad, bless you!"

Percy instinctively took a step back, overwhelmed. He had faced monsters, gods, and titans, but this? This was a whole new level of uncomfortable.

Luckily, Hecate intervened. She raised a hand, and the air seemed to hum with power. "I'm sorry, but we have important matters to attend to. Perhaps another time."

With that, she grabbed Percy's wrist and steered him toward the back of the pub.

As they stepped into the alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron, Percy exhaled sharply. "Okay… I totally get why you didn't want to talk about this before. Those guys were nuts! Ever heard of personal space?"

Hecate smirked but said nothing as she pulled out a wand and tapped a brick on the wall—three up, eleven across.

The bricks shuddered before shifting and folding away, revealing a breathtaking sight.

Diagon Alley.

Percy's jaw nearly hit the floor. The street was alive with people, lined with towering, crooked buildings, and overflowing with shops selling everything from cauldrons to enchanted pets. Owls hooted from their perches, robes swished in the breeze, and the scent of parchment and fresh-baked goods filled the air.

"This place is insane," Percy muttered, eyes darting everywhere.

Hecate allowed him a few moments to take it all in before nudging him forward. "Come along, we have much to do."

Their first stop was Ollivander's. The shop looked ancient, its once-golden lettering now faded, the windows dusty. Stepping inside, Percy was immediately hit with the scent of old wood and parchment.

A thin, silver-haired man emerged from the shadows, his pale eyes studying Percy with unnerving intensity.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Ollivander murmured. "I knew we would meet soon enough."

Percy shivered. This guy was creepy.

Without another word, Ollivander turned and began plucking wands from the towering shelves while, unnoticed by Percy, a measuring tape had begun sizing him up.

As the old wandmaker searched, he spoke in a quiet, almost wistful voice. "You look just like your father… except for your mother's eyes. Ah, yes. James Potter—his wand was eleven inches, mahogany, pliable. Excellent for transfiguration. Your mother, Lily, favored willow—ten and a quarter inches, swishy, good for charms."

Percy swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Instead, he focused as Ollivander handed him a wand.

"Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Give it a wave."

Feeling ridiculous, Percy flicked the wand. A nearby shelf trembled violently before Ollivander snatched it back.

"No, no. Not that one."

And so the process continued. Wand after wand, each one failing spectacularly, either shooting sparks or knocking over furniture. After what felt like an eternity, Ollivander finally hummed in satisfaction and retrieved a wand from the highest shelf.

"Try this, Mr. Potter. Twelve and a half inches. Holly, celestial bronze, imperial gold, and copper beech tree wood. Dual cores—phoenix feather and a heart-of-the-sea sea silk strand. Nice and flexible."

The moment Percy's fingers closed around the wand, warmth spread through his hand, rushing up his arm and flooding his entire body with energy.

A shower of golden sparks burst from the tip, illuminating the dim shop.

Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "Curious… very curious."

Percy narrowed his eyes. "What's curious?"

The wandmaker hesitated before speaking. "Of every wand I have sold, there was one other that contained a feather from the same phoenix as yours. That wand belonged to… well, to the one who gave you that scar."

A chill ran down Percy's spine.

Hecate, sensing his discomfort, quickly stepped in, handing over ten Galleons. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. We'll be on our way."

Percy wanted to ask more, but something in the old man's gaze told him he wouldn't get any real answers. So, with his new wand in hand, he followed Hecate out of the shop.

They spent the next hour weaving through the alley, picking up books, potions supplies, and other school necessities. Percy got his first taste of wizarding money, galleons gleaming in his pouch, and even tried some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans—regrettably landing on a vomit-flavored one.

Finally, they arrived at Madam Malkin's.

The shop was warm and inviting, bolts of fabric floating in the air, enchanted needles stitching away at robes on mannequins. But before Percy could admire the place further, an irritated voice rang out.

"I said I wanted the finest robes, not whatever this is!"

A blond boy stood at the counter, sneering at a frazzled Madam Malkin. Percy raised an eyebrow.

Well, this should be interesting.

And with that, he stepped inside.

I am stopping here for today and will continue with the story another time. For now, this is all you are getting currently. Have fun!

Signing out, BlossomAftonJackson…