When Wand and Sword Collide || Percy Jackson/ Harry Potter

Thinking is Dangerous

Swirls and patterns danced across my vision, my conscience burst into awakening. Splotches of black and grey rushed in a twister, rapid, a void flushing down a toilet. I slowly opened one of my eyelids, and clawed at the already weak memories I had, to remember what had just happened.

Alright, I wasn't on my broom anymore. Hades, I wasn't even on the Quidditch pitch, and indigo no longer coloured the sky.

I stared in a ceiling above me – I was in a tall room, no doubt, as the white paint seemed miles above my head. I could feel the scratchy covers of a bed under and on top of me, and it clocked that I was in the hospital wing.

I hadn't ever been to the Hogwarts hospital wing, but from all the adventures I'd heard from Ron and Hermione, it wasn't a place I wanted to be.

Only then did it occur to me that, although I appeared to be insulated in a bed, no part of my body was in pain. In fact, I felt rather angelic and unreal. I blinked back the dancing spots and forced myself into a sitting position. The hospital wing is exactly how I would expect an infirmary to look like – quiet, beds tucked in rows, nurses waltzing around with dodgy-looking bottles and trays, coughing students spreading their nasty germs all over the shop. The dude next to me hung precariously over a bucket, green as a vat of toxic waste.

The bed lulled me into its clutches and I flopped back down again. I scrambled through my mind – the best way to remember everything that had happened whenever. Quidditch, Malfoy being a jerkbag, then us flying into the air and beginning the game.

My eyes widened – demigod.

How much a single word could make the difference between amnesiac and a defining trait. A demigod. I was a demigod. Half boy, half human… all hero… (alright, maybe not that last part… yet. Give me time). But I hadn't been any sort of hero when I dropped from the sky at rocket pace like a useless sack of potatoes.

I couldn't focus myself on that at the moment, though – millions of questions ran through my head. If I was a demigod, who were my parents? Did I have a godly mother? A godly father? I tried to reach for a ledge out of my grasp – even after recalling something as significant as being a demigod, I struggled to remember even the simplest details of my past life. Although, if there was one thing I could remember, it was that Zeus was definitely not my dad. Otherwise, I'd have had no fear of the sky in the first place.

Instead of running through a mental list of gods, I raised my hands into the air and stared at the thin callouses shaping my palms. Another question plagued my mind: if I was a demigod, why was I here?

At that moment, a nurse whirled passed the bed at a blinding speed, only to appear with a moonwalk backwards two seconds later.

"Ah, Mr Jackson," she shrilled, "You're awake. That's good. Although, what's not good is playing supposed unauthorised Quidditch matches," she huffed as she mooched into the area, throwing open the cabinet by my bedside and sifting through bottles and brews and weird stuff, "Drink this."

She held a weird cream potion which bubbled like over-carbonated soda, and I cringed, "I'm feeling much better now, though."

"Well, I'm not risking it. If you catch a dizzy spell, then you're going to be in here a lot longer than twelve hours."

"Twelve hours?!" I almost jumped up from the bed, "I've been here for twelve hours?"

"And, like I said, a lot longer if you decide to jump ship now," she forced the glass into my hands, "So, please, drink this."

Before I could protest with banners and signs she scuttled away, arms flapping, to handle the student next to me who was choking up slugs. Luckily, he had turned away so I couldn't have a special close-up of the mollusc family.