At first glance, Percy Jackson is the son of Poseidon, the Hero of Olympus, survivor of Tartarus, the defeater of Monsters; but deep within his roots stems magic that reaches into another world: the world of wizards and witches and dark lords and on...
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The first time he made contact with Harry was on one very cold August night. Percy had fallen asleep on top of the covers of his bed, exhausted from working his intelligence mission, and had left his mind open to all the demigod dreams available. The dream had started slowly: he saw Harry in the park in Little Whinging, cornered by Dudley and his goons who were all laughing as Harry replied with what Percy imagined to be cocky remarks. He watched as Harry raised his wand to Dudley. Dark clouds began to roll in. The gang of bullies scattered down the road, leaving the cousins alone, talking loudly over the wind but Percy couldn't hear their words. Then, they started running. The vision followed them, showing them running into a tunnel as darkness fell. Percy's eyes widened in horror as his brother and cousin were cornered by two Dementors. Questions erupted in Percy's mind immediately but he ignored them, watching as one hovered dangerously close to Dudley and the other separated Harry from him, creating a wall so that Harry couldn't protect Dudley. Percy wanted to yell at Harry, tell him to used magic, but that would do nothing to help. Eventually Harry seemed to remember he was a wizard and tightened his hold on his wand, casting a patronus spell which sent the Dementors off, sparing them time to run with Mrs Figg.
Percy woke up soon after that and sat bolt upright, panting and covered in sweat. Two words escaped his mouth: "Fuck it."
Now, twenty minutes later, Percy was wrapped in his warm traveling cloak and was walking up the path to Number 4, Private Drive. The curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, though he could still see figures moving urgently behind them, one much too large for Percy's liking.
Percy sucked in a long breath and knocked firmly on the door, listening closely as the house went silent. He hadn't been here in... ages. Not since Hera kidnapped him; he had only been a sixth year at the time, barely into sixteen.
Eventually, footsteps were heard and the door opened a tad, Uncle Vernon's massive body peering out carefully. Percy could not honestly blame him for his cautiousness at this point.
"You," Vernon growled. "You're still alive, are you? What are you doing here? Come crawling back, have you? Nowhere to go?"
"I've come for Harry and that's it, Vernon," Percy growled back, his eyes hard. Vernon's own eyes bulged in fear at the glare. "Going to open the door for me or not?"
Uncle Vernon made an odd sound under his breath, opening the door further for him. Percy squeezed past, noting the extra flubber on his walruss of an uncle, and walked ahead into the sitting room without hesitation. Percy saw aunt Petunia and Dudley first, his aunt sitting with a stiff back on the corner of the couch with Dudley leaning on her, a bucket held in front of him and looking ghostly pale. Percy grimaced, recalling the feeling of the Dementors. Cold like ice, real as nightmares. He then turned and saw Harry standing in the kitchen, watching him with wide eyes. No one but Percy would have noticed the glisten in Harry's eyes, nor the slight shake of his hands or the sickly looking color tinting his skin.
