Basically, I saw a Percy/Tonks fic, but it seems to be abandoned. I was like, aw man, I was reading that. Then I was like, hey, I'm a fanfiction writer, why don't I try write a Ponks (yes that is now the ship name) fic? So here I am. I will give the title of the fic and author at the end of the chapter.
I decided to just let myself go crazy on a word doc. The result is about 20k words and 4 chapters, so here is chapter one of The Pen Is Mightier.
Important Info for this AU: Percy still has the Achilles Curse, and he's 20. Just some little changes, y'know?
THE PEN IS MIGHTIER
CHAPTER ONE: THE SUN AND THE STARS
"You guys are going to read about how I died in agony, and you're going to be like, "Wow! That sounds cool, Magnus! Can I die in agony, too?" - Magnus Chase, The Sword of Summer
The last thing Percy remembered was the unbearable heat of Tartarus closing in around him as a lucky monster landed a hit from behind.
And then he was dead.
No theatrics, no epic monologue about how he'd fought valiantly or made some grand sacrifice. Just the sickening crack of his spine, the burning in his chest, and then... nothing.
But that wasn't the end. Not for Annabeth, at least.
He had chosen to sacrifice himself. Not because he was a hero, no, he was no longer sure if that word even meant anything anymore. He had chosen it because it was the only way to save her. The only price he could pay.
Percy could still picture Annabeth crying as she tried to break the chains in the elevator.
He could almost see Bob running to fight Tartarus. "Tell the sun and stars hello," Bob had said.
The price was too steep. But he would pay it again, a thousand times over, if it meant saving her.
Percy's eyes snapped open, but the world around him wasn't the one he had gotten used to. There was no fiery abyss, no monstrous howls, no walls of crushing, stinking darkness. Instead, he was lying on cold, damp ground, and above him stretched a sky that was familar.
Grey, oppressive, and sad. Yup, that confirmed it. He was in the underworld. Percy Jackson was offically dead.
Percy groaned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, taking in his surroundings. The ground beneath him was stone, and a mist hung in the air, swirling lazily around his body like it had a mind of its own. Everything was quiet, eerily so.
That was when Death spoke.
"Perseus." Thanatos said, appearing beside Percy.
Most people would have jumped at literal death deciding to have a leisurely conversation with them. Percy just groaned.
"Not again," Percy muttered, rubbing his forehead as he pushed himself upright. Talks with gods were never good. "I swear, I'm starting to think you're stalking me, Death."
Thanatos didn't look amused. Then again, he never really did. "You risk your life daily. Perhaps you are the one stalking me."
Percy sighed. "Fair point. But I still think I deserve a break from the whole 'death' thing. Especially after freeing you. You'd think I'd get at least a few years of peace, right?"
Thanatos's expression remained neutral. "You are not dead in the traditional sense, Perseus Jackson. You have not yet crossed fully into the Underworld. You have been... temporarily removed from the cycle."
"Great," Percy muttered, sitting up fully now, taking in the mist around him. "So, what? I'm like a ghost? Or a half-dead, half-living thing now?"
"Not quite," Thanatos replied. "Your soul is not yet bound here, nor is it returned to the mortal realm. You remain in a state of limbo, between the two."
Percy's head spun as he tried to make sense of it. "So, I'm stuck in the middle of... whatever this is, until what? Until you figure out what to do with me?"
"That is correct," Thanatos said, his cold eyes unblinking. "You have an unfinished purpose, Perseus. There are debts to be settled. Your actions have consequences, as does the choice you made."
"Consequences?" Percy repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. "You mean dying for Annabeth? Or choosing to sacrifice myself so she could live?" He let out a frustrated noise.
"And that is why you are not truly dead," Thanatos replied, his voice lower, more solemn. "You died in Tartarus. Your kind are not meant to be there."
Percy clenched his fists, frustration building. "So, what? I just sit here in limbo, waiting for whatever god or fate wants to throw at me? This is ridiculous."
"Patience, Perseus," Thanatos said, his tone almost... sympathetic. "All things come in their own time."
"I'd like to speed that up if possible," Percy muttered, standing up slowly and dusting himself off.
Thanatos clicked his fingers, and they were at the banks of a murky river.
"The Lethe," Thanatos said as he watched the river flow. "The river of forgetfulness. It can erase memories... or make them fade. It's not a place you want to get too close to if you have something to hold on to."
Percy frowned. "Why are we here, then? Are you planning on erasing my memories too? I've been there, done that."
Thanatos turned to him, his expression unreadable. "No, Perseus. You're here because you have something you need to change. Be reborn."
Percy crossed his arms, eyeing the river. "Are you sure?"
"Your fate has already diverged from the thread the Moirai wove. You are above the Fates. You are above death."
The words hung in the air, heavier than the mist. Percy took an involuntary step back.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"You do not understand yet," Thanatos replied softly. "The Lethe is the river of not just forgetfulness, but rebirth. Souls come here to be reborn."
Percy's stomach turned. "What do you mean, rebirth? I'm dead. I-"
Thanatos raised a hand, cutting him off. "What do you know about wizards?"
Percy blinked, confusion clouding his expression. "Wizards? You mean like," he paused, trying to make sense of the question. "Like the kind who use wands and cast spells?"
Thanatos nodded. "Yes. Wizards, witches, mages. The sort."
"I'm struggling to see how this is relevant."
"You'll find out." Death pressed a finger to Percy's head.
I owe you a debt, Perseus, came the monotonous voice of Thanatos inside his head. Percy wondered if this was about him, Frank and Hazel saving him back in Alaska. So you shall learn the way of this world.
Images flashed through Percy's mind. They hit him like a tidal wave, too fast for him to process. He saw strange, towering structures, castles and hidden chambers deep underground. Faces flickered in and out of view.
He saw flashes of magic - flickers of wands, glowing runes, ancient symbols, and something dark, something powerful, something that called to him from the depths.
His mind was subject to everything this wizarding world had to offer. Percy… understood it.
Percy understood.
He understood everything, from runes, to potions, to-
With a gasp, Percy staggered back, clutching his head as if it might split open. His breathing came in sharp, shallow gasps.
The knowledge Thanatos had dumped into his mind felt like a flood, filling every corner of his brain and threatening to drown him. Names, spells, potions, history, it was all there. And yet, it felt like it didn't belong. Like wearing someone else's armor, heavy and ill-fitting.
"What… the Hades was that?" Percy rasped. His knees buckled, but he forced himself to stand upright, glaring at Thanatos.
"You now possess the knowledge necessary to live in their world," Thanatos said calmly, his tone as impassive as ever. "Their magic, their customs, their conflicts. You will need it."
Percy's head throbbed as flashes of the visions returned: a castle high on a cliff, children in black robes, wands flashing with light. And then the darker images, the labyrinthine halls of a ministry, shadows twisting into monstrous shapes, and whispers of a name that made his stomach churn. Voldemort. Who was that?
"Why?" Percy demanded, his voice sharper now. "Why would I ever need this? I'm a demigod, not a wizard! What's this got to do with me?"
Thanatos regarded him in silence for a moment. "It is either this, or you stay in this half-dead state forever."
Percy shook his head, still trying to process the weight of the words. "This is insane. I didn't ask for this."
Thanatos's lips twitched, just barely. "Do you ever?"
Percy opened his mouth to argue but shut it again. Fair point.
"The choice you made in Tartarus rippled far beyond what you can see. But you will see. You will."
Before Percy could protest further, Thanatos raised his hand again. The cold, murky, sluggish waters of the Lethe rose.
The waters of the Lethe enveloped Percy as he waded in.
A shadow jumped in after him.
He wasn't done yet.
TPIM
Now, for most people, appearing in a busy city during the middle of the night wasn't exactly ideal, especially not when you had just sort-of-died and been sort-of-reborn.
Percy looked up to see a huge tower, with a clock. Big Ben.
"London?" he muttered. "Seriously?"
Something appeared behind him. Percy jumped, half-reaching for Riptide, before realizing it wasn't a monster.
It was a pegasus. A huge, magestic, pure-black pegasus.
"Blackjack?" Percy asked incredulously.
Said horse ruffled his feathers indignantly. Who else?
Percy stared. "How are you here?"
Blackjack whinnied in what sounded suspiciously like a sigh. Don't ask me, boss. One minute I'm talking to this smoking hot mare, and then a guy with a scythe brings me here.
He blinked. "Thanatos dragged you here too? What, is this some kind of joke? 'Bring the demigod and his flying horse to London' day?"
Blackjack stomped a hoof, his black feathers catching the moonlight in an almost ethereal glow. Beats me, boss. But you look like you're about to do something stupid again, so I figure I should tag along.
"Well, you're not wrong," Percy muttered, glancing around at the busy streets.
Blackjack shifted, his massive wings flexing slightly. So, what's the plan? 'Cause standing here gawking at a clock tower doesn't seem fun, ya know?
"I don't know yet," Percy admitted, his hand instinctively brushing against his pocket. Riptide was still there, one small comfort in this madness. "Thanatos didn't exactly give me a roadmap. He just dumped a bunch of wizard trivia into my head and shoved me out of limbo."
Blackjack tilted his head. Wizards? Like wand-waving guys in robes?
"Yeah," Percy said with a sigh. "Apparently, they're real, and I'm supposed to..." He trailed off. "...fit in? Learn their ways? Save the world? Probably something vague and impossible like that."
Sounds about right for you, Blackjack snorted. So, where do we find these wizards?
Percy scanned the area, trying to remember something useful from the deluge of knowledge Thanatos had dumped into his mind. A name surfaced: The Leaky Cauldron.
"I think I know where to start," Percy said, determination sparking in his sea-green eyes. "Let's find this Leaky Cauldron place."
Blackjack huffed. Lead the way, boss. But if you get killed again, I'm out.
"Amazing advice, I'll try not to get killed just for you."
I'm just sayin'. Blackjack said, lowering himself so Percy could climb onto his back. But I expect extra donuts for this.
Percy rolled his eyes, hoisting himself onto Blackjack's back. "Yeah, 'course."
With a powerful beat of his wings, Blackjack took to the skies, the wind whipping past them as they soared over the quiet city. Below, the lights of London stretched out like stars.
Stars.
He looked up at the sky, at the constellation of a Huntress that logically should not be here, if his hypothesis was correct, but was there anyway.
"Bob says hello." Percy whispered. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away.
Blackjack tilted his head slightly mid-flight, his ears twitching as if he'd heard Percy's whisper. Bob? Who's Bob? And why's he saying hello?
Percy's grip tightened on Blackjack's mane as they soared through the night. "Bob was... he was a Titan. A good one. He helped Annabeth and me in Tartarus." His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through. "He sacrificed himself so we could make it out. He... he asked me to tell the stars and the sun hello."
Blackjack didn't respond immediately, gliding silently through the air as Percy fought to steady his breathing. After a moment, the pegasus huffed, his voice softer than usual. Sounds like he was a good guy. I'll bet the stars remember him.
Percy nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah. He was."
The lights of the city twinkled below them, but Percy's thoughts were far away, in the crushing darkness of Tartarus, with Bob's silver eyes and his broom sweeping away endless horrors. He clenched his fists, the familiar feeling of guilt and loss settling over him like an old, heavy coat.
Focus, he told himself. One thing at a time.
"Let's find this place," Percy said aloud, more to himself than Blackjack.
Blackjack soared over the city, his massive black wings cutting through the damp London air. The chill of the night bit at Percy's skin, but he barely noticed. His focus was on the streets below, scanning for any sign of the place etched into his freshly-overloaded mind: The Leaky Cauldron.
So, uh, do you even know where we're going? Blackjack asked.
Percy frowned. "Sort of? I think it's near Charing Cross Road. Thanatos dumped a lot of wizarding geography into my head, but I'm still working out the details."
Great. Love flying blind through a city full of mortals. Really gets the adrenaline pumping, Blackjack grumbled, though he adjusted his course obediently. What's this Leaky Cauldron thing anyway? Sounds like a bad plumbing issue.
"It's some kind of pub," Percy explained, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of the mental map in his head. "A wizard hangout, I guess."
Of course it is, Blackjack said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Nothing's ever simple with you, is it, boss?
"Hey, I didn't ask for this," Percy shot back. "I was perfectly fine being a demigod, thanks."
Define fine, Blackjack quipped, diving lower to get a better view of the streets. I could write a best-selling book series on all the times you almost died. Maybe I'd call it Percy Jackson and his near-death experiences.
"Not helping," Percy muttered, though he couldn't argue with the pegasus. His life was a series of increasingly insane events. Why should tonight be any different?
I've got it! Blackjack said. Percy Jackson and the Olympians. What a name, am I right?
"Just focus on flying, or no more donuts."
Needless to say, there was no more talk after that.
After a few more minutes of flying over the streets, Percy's eyes caught something, a small, nondescript alley tucked between a bookstore and a record shop. It was easy to miss, but something about it felt... off. Familiar, in the way only magic could be.
"There," Percy pointed, leaning forward. "I think that's it!"
Blackjack angled his wings, descending swiftly but carefully to avoid attracting too much attention. He landed lightly in the alley, his hooves clopping softly on the cobblestones. Percy slid off his back and looked around.
The entrance to The Leaky Cauldron was exactly as Thanatos's vision had shown him: a shabby black door with a weathered wooden sign hanging above it, faintly swinging in the breeze.
Didn't exactly scream magic! but Percy supposed it was like the Mist - letting people see what they wanted to see.
He approached the door.
"You coming?" Percy asked, glancing back at Blackjack.
The pegasus ruffled his wings. Inside? No thanks, boss. I'll keep watch out here.
Percy nodded. "Fair. I'll holler if I need you."
Don't have to tell me twice, Blackjack replied, settling himself into the shadows. Good luck, boss. Try not to get cursed.
Percy shivered at the mention of curses, remembering the Arai.
With a deep breath, Percy reached for the door handle. The cold metal sent a shiver up his spine as he pushed it open and stepped into the dimly lit interior of The Leaky Cauldron.
The air inside was warm, filled with the hum of quiet conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the faint smell of something roasting on a hearth. Wizards and witches of all shapes and sizes sat at mismatched tables, their robes of varying colors and styles.
"Well," Percy muttered under his breath, forcing himself to move toward the bar. "Here goes nothing."
The bartender, a bald, wiry man with sharp eyes looked up as Percy approached. His hand paused mid-polish on a glass. "Evening," he said in a gruff but not unkind voice. "You look like you've had quite the night."
"You could say that," Percy replied, offering a small, awkward smile. His eyes flicked briefly to the assortment of mugs and strange magical knickknacks lining the shelves behind the bar. "I'm, uh... looking for Diagon Alley."
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "First time?"
Percy nodded. "Something like that."
The man set the glass down and jerked his thumb toward the back of the pub. "Through the brick wall, out back. Three up, two across, give it a tap, and you're in."
"Thanks," Percy said, turning to head toward the indicated spot.
"Hold up," the bartender called, stopping him in his tracks. Percy glanced back, his hand instinctively brushing against the pen in his pocket. The bartender's sharp gaze softened just a fraction. "Careful out there, lad. There's been some rumours about dark wizards and such."
"Noted," Percy said, his voice quiet but steady.
As he made his way through the pub, he felt the weight of curious stares following him. Whispers hummed at the edges of his hearing, but he didn't stop to listen.
The back door led to a small, enclosed courtyard. Percy stood for a moment, taking in the ancient brick wall in front of him. His hand slipped into his pocket, drawing Riptide. He clicked the pen into sword form, the bronze glinting faintly in the moonlight, and then tapped the wall.
Three bricks up, two across.
The wall trembled, then began to shift. Bricks folded and slid, rearranging themselves until a wide archway appeared, spilling golden light into the courtyard. Percy took a step back, his breath catching at the sight of the bustling street beyond.
Diagon Alley was like nothing he'd ever seen. And this was coming from a born-and-bred New Yorker.
Narrow cobblestone streets twisted and turned, lined with shops that seemed to compete with each other for attention. Brightly painted signs advertised everything from magical pets to enchanted sweets. Wizards and witches bustled through the street.
"Whoa," Percy muttered, stepping through the archway.
For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. Then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped fully into the crowd.
"Okay," he said under his breath, his eyes scanning the street for any clue on what to do next. "Showtime."
Almost immediately, a wizard handed a newspaper to Percy, thrusting it into his hands with a hurried mutter of, "Keep up, mate. Big things happening."
Percy blinked, confused, but accepted the paper. The headline of The Daily Prophet blared out in bold, moving type:
"Ministry in Turmoil: Dark Forces on the Rise?"
Below it, a moving image of a gaunt-faced man with hollow eyes glared out at Percy.
"Dark forces, huh?" Percy muttered, scanning the article quickly. Names like
'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' and 'Death Eaters' leaped out at him, but the details were murky. Thanatos's info dump hadn't mentioned too much about the current state of the wizarding world.
Percy leaned against a lamppost in the bustling Diagon Alley, flipping the newspaper open again. Something felt... off. The moving pictures were strange enough, but as his eyes scanned the smaller print near the top corner, he froze.
Thursday, August 18th, 1994.
"Wait... what?" Percy whispered, staring at the date. His fingers tightened on the paper as his heart skipped a beat. He was in the past. Go figure.
Although he wasn't as surprised as he might have been. He was already in a world full of wizards, being a few years in the past wouldn't change anything.
Percy folded the paper, tucking it under his arm as he began to walk through the crowd.
As he walked, Percy saw a shop - Ollivanders. Reaching into the depths of his mind, he pulled out the info that Thanatos had forcefully crammed in. Wands, wizards needed them for casting spells. And this was the place to get one.
The building was ancient, leaning slightly as if it had been nudged by centuries of neighboring structures jostling for space. Its windows were coated with a thin layer of dust, but a sign in elegant gold letters read:
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
"Well, guess I start here," Percy muttered.
Pushing open the door, he was met with a faint jingling sound, like chimes stirred by a breeze. Inside, the shop was dimly lit and smelled of wood shavings and something faintly magical, like ozone. Hundreds of narrow boxes were stacked in towering shelves that seemed to stretch infinitely.
"Ah, a new customer." A soft voice made Percy turn. An old man with silvery hair and pale eyes stood behind the counter. "Good evening. I am Garrick Ollivander."
"Uh, hi," Percy said, feeling slightly out of his depth. "I need a wand."
"Of course you do," Ollivander said, stepping closer and studying Percy. "Every young wizard does. But finding the right wand… that is an art. Tell me, young man, what is your name?"
"Percy Jackson," he replied cautiously. Mysterious people selling things were high on his do not trust list.
"Jackson… Jackson…" Ollivander murmured, as if testing the name's flavor. "Not a wizarding family, I presume? No matter. Step forward, and we shall see what the wands have to say."
Percy followed Ollivander to the counter, where the wandmaker retrieved a thin measuring tape from his robes. The tape began measuring Percy on its own, fluttering around his arms, hands, and even his forehead.
"Hmm," Ollivander mused. "Unusual energy about you. Something ancient. Something… dangerous."
Percy shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
Ollivander didn't respond, already pulling down boxes from the shelves. "Let's try this first: Ash wood, phoenix feather core, eleven inches. Swishy. Excellent for charm work."
Percy took the wand and waved it as instructed. A vase on the counter exploded into a fine powder.
"Not that one," Ollivander said, snatching it back and replacing it with another. "Perhaps this: Elm, unicorn hair, twelve inches. Rigid."
This time, the wand sparked violently, and a stack of papers ignited. Percy hastily dropped it on the counter, and Ollivander extinguished the fire with a flick of his own wand.
"This might take a while," Percy muttered.
"Patience, Mr. Jackson," Ollivander said, already selecting another box. "The wand chooses the wizard."
The process continued, each rejected wand leaving Percy more annoyed and Ollivander more intrigued. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ollivander paused, his pale eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
"Curious," he murmured.
"What's curious?" Percy asked, warily eyeing the newest box in Ollivander's hands.
"I have a wand here," Ollivander said slowly, "crafted from Thalassa wood, a rare material found in the depths of the Aegean Sea. Its core is a strand of hippocampus mane. Twelve and a half inches. Very powerful, some might say it cannot be restrained."
Ollivander opened the box to reveal a wand of deep blue-black wood, its surface faintly shimmering. Percy hesitated but took it.
The moment the wand settled in his hand, a rush of warmth coursed through him. The air around him seemed to hum softly, and the tip of the wand glowed faintly with a pale, oceanic light. It felt… right.
"Ah," Ollivander said, a smile tugging at his lips. "The wand has chosen you."
Percy exhaled. Finally. "What does it mean?"
"This wand," Ollivander said, "is deeply attuned to the sea and its mysteries. A powerful match for you."
Percy nodded. "Thanks, I guess. How much?"
"Seven Galleons," Ollivander replied.
It was at that point that Percy realised he had no money. Well, no magical money.
Hey, nothing the a healthy dose of the Mist couldn't fix. It wasn't really stealing, right?
After 'paying', Percy tucked the wand carefully into his pocket. He stepped out of the shop and back into the chaos of Diagon Alley. He had a wand now.
"Showtime," he whispered again, heading back into the bustling street, ready to face whatever came next.
Percy found himself back in the Leaky Cauldron.
Back in the dim, warm parts of the bar, Percy slipped into a corner booth. The quiet hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs created a sense of normalcy, or as normal as a wizarding pub could get. He had a wand now, but no plan, no guide, and no idea how to fit in to a world where magic didn't come from gods but from sticks.
"Alright, Jackson," he muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the rough wooden table. "Step one: Don't look like an idiot. Step two: Figure out what the hell you're supposed to do next."
His stomach growled, cutting off his train of thought. He'd have to eat something before diving headfirst into wizarding society. With a sigh, he flagged down a server, a cheerful young witch with curly hair and a slight limp.
"Menu?" Percy asked awkwardly, realizing he didn't know what wizards even ate. For all he knew, lunch could involve potions or something that still moved.
"Of course, love," the witch said, handing him a small, enchanted card. The letters shimmered as he looked over the options: stew, pies, something called Toad-in-the-Hole (which he decided not to question), and desserts that made his mouth water just reading about them.
But before he could order, a wizard who was very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, and half-moon glasses sat next to him.
Percy stiffened as the old wizard settled into the seat across from him without so much as a hello. The man radiated calm authority, and his piercing blue eyes, magnified slightly by his half-moon glasses, locked onto Percy's.
"Good evening, Mr. Jackson," the wizard said. "I trust your journey to our world has been... enlightening."
Percy blinked, caught completely off-guard. "Uh, who are you, and how do you know my name?"
The wizard's lips curved into a faint smile. "Forgive my manners. I am Albus Dumbledore, and I believe you are here by... unique circumstances."
Dumbledore. Thanatos's info dump had mentioned him briefly: Headmaster of Hogwarts, a legendary wizard, and apparently a big deal in this world. Wizard Jesus, basically. No, that would be Merlin, right?
Percy frowned. "Right. You're, uh, in charge of the big wizard school."
"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, steepling his fingers. "And you are Percy Jackson, a son of Poseidon, if I'm not mistaken."
Percy's hand twitched toward his pocket, but he forced himself to relax. No use pulling out the sword just yet. "You don't seem all that surprised."
Dumbledore's smile deepened, his eyes twinkling with an almost mischievous light. "Surprise is a gift I rarely receive, though your presence here does intrigue me. It's not every day we welcome someone touched by both the mortal and divine."
"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly want for this," Percy muttered. "Thanatos thought it'd be fun to throw me into the deep end. Something about wizards needing help."
"Thanatos," Dumbledore repeated, his tone thoughtful. "The Greek personification of death. How fascinating." The wizard extended a hand with a candy. "Would you like a lemon drop?"
Percy almost said yes. Then he remembered Stheno and Euryale, the Gorgon sisters who had tried to kill him with snacks, of all things. He shook his head. "Uh, no thanks."
Dumbledore studied Percy. "You could do so much."
He raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "The wizarding world is facing dark times, Mr. Jackson. A new wave of turmoil brews, and it seems Thanatos believes your unique... talents may prove invaluable."
"Great," Percy said dryly. "Another apocalypse. Just what I needed."
"Perhaps not an apocalypse," Dumbledore replied, his tone lightening, "but certainly a challenge. One I suspect you are well-suited to face."
Percy sighed, slumping back in his seat. "Look, I'm not exactly qualified for... whatever this is. I'm good at fighting monsters, not waving a stick and shouting Latin."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Magic, much like heroism, is not confined to incantations and wands. It is the strength of one's character and the willingness to protect others that truly defines it."
Percy frowned, mulling over the words. He wasn't sure if they were actually meant to be useful or just cryptic. Probably both.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "What do you want from me?"
"I wish only to offer guidance," Dumbledore said, his expression kind but serious. "And extend an invitation," he added, his voice dropping slightly, "have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Percy blinked, the name tugging at his memory. "Can't say I have."
Dumbledore's expression remained calm. "The Order of the Phoenix is a group dedicated to resisting the dark forces threatening our world. It is a society of witches and wizards who have taken it upon themselves to stand against tyranny and oppression. Given your... penchant for heroism, I thought you might find our cause worth considering."
Percy narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess, this is the part where you tell me I don't have a choice."
"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but with a surprising note of empathy. "You are under no obligation to join us. The path you walk is your own to choose, Mr. Jackson. I only offer an opportunity."
"An opportunity to do what?" Percy asked. "Get dragged into a magical war I don't understand?"
Dumbledore's lips twitched with amusement. "Your concern is understandable. However, I believe you'll find that this world's challenges are not entirely dissimilar to those you've already faced. And while I cannot promise it will be easy, I can promise that you will not be alone."
Percy snorted. "Yeah, that's what they all say. Until you're neck-deep in trouble, and suddenly it's all up to you."
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, his expression softening. "A heavy burden, indeed. One that you should not have to bear. But if I may, Mr. Jackson, you have proven time and again that you have the strength to endure, even when the odds seem insurmountable."
For a moment, Percy didn't respond. He wasn't sure if Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him or genuinely saw something in him. Either way, he felt the weight of the old wizard's words pressing down on him.
"How do you know so much about me?"
The wizard's eyes twinkled.
Percy sighed. "I guess I'm not getting a straight answer. So, what's the catch?" he finally asked. "If I say no, do you just... let me walk away?"
"Of course," Dumbledore said without hesitation. "You owe us nothing. But should you choose to aid us, you will have the full support of the Order and its members."
Percy didn't trust easily, and Dumbledore's offer still felt like a trap. But something about the old man's calm certainty made it hard to brush him off entirely. Percy had always been a sucker for the underdog, for the people who needed someone to fight for them.
"Let me think about it," Percy said finally, his tone noncommittal.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "A wise decision. Take the time you need. When you are ready, you will find the Order waiting."
With that, the headmaster rose to his feet, his robes swishing softly around him. "One last piece of advice, if I may," he added, pausing to look back at Percy. "Trust in your instincts. They have served you well thus far."
And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd like a shadow. Percy stared after him for a long moment, the weight of the conversation settling over him.
He sighed and flagged down the server again. If he was going to think this over, he might as well do it with a plate of Toad-in-the-Hole.
He glanced down at his wand, its deep blue-black surface glinting faintly.
"Well," Percy muttered to himself. "Showtime."
That's it. Yes, this will be Percy x Tonks. Any thoughts, suggestions, critique?
By the way, the fic this is sorta-inspired by is The New Gamekeeper by IJustDoThisForFun. Much better written then this, go check it out.