Author's Note: This is a complete canon rewrite of Harry Potter and Percy Jackson books. The premise of this fic is about the part Harry and Percy play in each other's lives and their unique worlds, building new friendships and facing betrayals. It will also show their interactions with people who will have a major role in shaping their stories.

A huge shoutout to KingOfTheFall for reading over the chapter and helping me throughout the process of writing.

The beautiful cover art is made by Arishatistic. You can find the artist on Instagram, Tumblr, Facebook and Twitter.

His birthdays have never been normal. They usually involved being ignored by the entirety of his family, spending hot nights locked in the tiny cupboard he had been residing in for a decade, and drawing stick figures of what he decided to call his parents. But his eleventh birthday was far more strange, even by his standards.

Waking up in the middle of the night because of a giant visitor, who all but kicked down their door to kidnap him, was certainly not something he wished would repeat in the remaining years of his life. After all, it's not every day he is announced to be the most famous wizard of his age and then promptly whisked up to shop in the shadiest alley he had the displeasure of witnessing.

However, the most unexpected fact about the entire scenario was discovering the truth behind his parents' death. All his life, he was taunted for his father being an incompetent drunk who ended up killing himself and his wife in a freak car accident. And to realize that they were wizards who died protecting their only child, him, from a psychopath on a quest for dominance. It broke his innocent heart as the weight of guilt burdened him. If it was not for him, his mum and dad would still be alive, living their lives happily and away from all the violence.

And here he was now, standing outside a building labeled Gringotts, staring daggers at the cream-shaded entrance door.

"Hagrid, what is this place?" the young boy asked the oversized hairy wizard, steps faltering as his eyes fell on the high tables running parallel on opposite walls and tiny heads peeking from behind.

Hagrid smiled enthusiastically and replied, "This is Gringotts. The Wizard's bank. If we're going ter be shopping for yer school supplies, we need the money, don' we?"

The pre-teen merely nodded and drank in the elegant structure that he was currently exploring. His messy black hair fell in his eyes with the slightest shake of his head, worn-out round glasses slipping on the oily skin of his nose, and his emerald eyes shifting rapidly in various directions. He could have sworn that nothing would ever beat the intricate designs in the ceiling and the gold that painted the pillars.

Not paying attention to his companion, the boy almost crashed into Hagrid, who had suddenly stopped walking and turned to face what he assumed was a goblin. He had only envisioned them in his mind when he read a fictional story related to the said race. His eyes widened in wonder, and he had to restrain from blurting out anything that could be considered disrespectful. If anything the past decade with Dursley's had taught him, it was that the consequences of his 'unwise' actions can be drastically horrifying.

"Mr. Harry Potter wishes ter take some money outta his safe," Hagrid said, drawing the goblin's attention.

The eerie glint in the goblin's eye troubled Harry greatly. "His key, sir?" the goblin, whose name he did not bother asking, glanced at Hagrid.

He zoned out the words exchanged between the two, only catching the mention of the vault seven hundred and thirteen. The concept of magic was still bizarre and he would have declared himself insane if Hagrid had not presented him with a little glimpse into his parents' world. Lost in his thoughts, he subconsciously rode the cart that seemed to have a mind of its own as it rolled and turned in the presumably right direction without any steering required. The ride was justifiably adventurous, save for the intense gaze a goblin named Griphook had pinned him with.

Almost too early than was expected, the cart came to a halt beside a small door and a strange sensation passed through the young hero. It was a complicated mixture of nostalgia and home. Harry's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as the door swung open and the light reflected off of numerous coins; mountains of currency ranging gold, silver and bronze. He was unsure about what was more shocking, the fact that he finally had some money to spend on himself or the fact that his parents were on the higher end of the wizarding society.

Shortly after they had visited both the vaults, the contents of the latter being a mystery for the Potter heir, Harry and Hagrid went their separate directions, the older wizard heading to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink and the younger walking towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions for his school uniform.

Harry was in awe of all he was witnessing; the crowded streets, the elegant structures supporting the flashy names of the shops and the sheer excitement on the faces of children his age and older. His hesitant feet dragged him along the stone covered path, ceasing only in front of his destination.

Drawing in a deep breath, Harry pushed open the door and a strong fibre-scent overwhelmed him. Without a doubt, he was sure he had made it to the right place and immediately was ushered to a stool by an old woman. The magical measuring tapes sized him up for a well-fitted robe and Harry could not help but be happy upon receiving his first ever set of clothes; he had been wearing Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs for as far as his memory served him.

"You're going to be a first year student as well?" asked a platinum-haired boy. The slight sneer on his lips was the only giveaway of his emotions on his otherwise expressionless face.

Harry threw him a short glance, guarded and cautious. He nodded and the boy launched into a tale of his aspirations of being sorted into something he called Slytherin. Harry had no idea what it meant but he made a mental note to inquire about it with Hagrid. If there was someone who could explain magical terminology to him, it was the giant man who invaded his uncle's house the night before.

However, the longer Harry listened to the rude boy beside him, the more he was flinching away from learning magic. He hoped there were wizards different from the one he encountered because the way things stood right now, he did not have the most impressionable view of the wizarding world.

Hagrid was waiting for the young boy, two cones of ice-cream in each hand. The grin on his face betrayed the intimidating aura he exuded as heimpatiently waited for Harry to try the piece of dessert he had more-or-less chosen himself. Sometimes, the Grounds-Keeper of Hogwarts acted more childish than the eleven-year-olds. The earlier interaction with the snobby boy, whose name Harry did not bother remembering, suddenly came to mind and he decided to ask for clarifications.

"Hagrid," Harry began slowly. "What's Quidditch?"

For a fleeting moment, shock registered in Hagrid's eyes before realization at his lack of magical knowledge settled in. He cleared his throat and explained, "Quidditch is a wizards' sport, Harry. It's played in the air, on brooms, with seven mates in each team. Kind o' like muggle football."

The comparison between the two sports brought forth a hint of mirth on Harry's face. It was ridiculous to think that enchanted brooms could even resemble the aggressive exercise the normal one promoted. Although the confusion still remained, the adolescent was only glad to be able to understand the world that seemed to worship him.

The nervousness of entering another shop and being recognized by strangers evidently shone on his face. There was a hint of agitation on the young boy's face and he was sure that he would not be able to adapt to the newfound fame for the remainder of his life.

Silently, Harry moved towards the door of a shop that sported the Flourish and Blotts sign. He had heard from Hagrid that this was the place that would give him the texts required for his first year of magical education. The giant, on the other hand, had decided to buy the boy a birthday present; a pet who would make for a great companion, he had claimed. It had not mattered that the young child had denied the need of one.

As he entered the slightly old building, a whiff of old, yellowed papers filled his nostrils, nearly suffocating him at the expired smell. If he had a doubt before entering the place, the sight that greeted him would have been a dead giveaway of the bookstore.

The long walls were covered in all sorts of books, resembling nothing short of an extensive library. The rows were divided according to the schools and the seven years and at least two versions of each topic were available for the students. In the far corner, the Advanced and Dark Arts Texts label caught Harry's eye, who instantly began walking towards the darker section of the shop.

As he neared his destination, he realized that he was not alone. Another boy, who appeared to be his age, was carefully observing a thick ancient tome and furiously flipping the folios faster than Harry could say 'magic'. And Harry could not help but think that the boy was not reading the book, but only staring at the intriguing diagrams littered across the publication.

The boy had messy jet black hair, much like his own, but was evidently taller than the bespectacled boy. Since the stranger's back was turned towards Harry, the latter could only assume that the former was just as lost as him. The bright t-shirt and the faded pants indicated that he might be a muggleborn or muggle-raised, since every wizard Harry had come across supported an abhorrent sense of fashion.

As if sensing a presence behind him, the boy turned around and Harry froze on his spot. The resemblance in their features surprised him. The boy, as Harry had come to call him in his head, had a natural tan which appeared to shine under the single candle floating above their heads. However, it was his eyes that caught Harry's undivided attention. The sea-green pupils could have been referenced to describe the colour of the ocean. And they seemed to sparkle in the sun!

The boy's eyes were wide and he looked equally as shocked at the emerald-eyed boy's appearance. Gaining his wits, Harry cleared his throat and apologized, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

The boy blushed in light embarrassment and replied, "It's okay. I wasn't really paying attention either."

If his facial features surprised Harry before, his accent simply shocked him. It was evident that his mirror image was not from the land. But he could not place the boy's exact country of origin. So, he decided to ask, "Your accent…"

"Oh yes, I'm from America," was the answer he received.

Growing up, Harry was not allowed to watch telly or entertain himself. Therefore, despite the exposure of Britain to the Western media, he has never even studied the geographical location of the rest of the world. However, the strange sounding accent was not at all unpleasant. If anything, it was intriguing to have a foreigner so close to home.

The silence that followed was awkward for the boys. Many-a-time, they looked at each other in a curious manner, wanting to say something, but decided against it.

The boy, feeling uncomfortable, suddenly blurted out, "Are you going to be a first-year?"

Harry had never felt more thankful for noise before. And the friendly personality of the boy, who he was yet to ask the name of, helped the situation. "I am. Are you...a first-year, I mean?"

The boy nodded and the attempt at an engaging conversation failed miserably. The air around Harry became thick as the silence once again settled in. The two young children stared at one another for several long seconds before bursting into healthy peals of laughter.

The boy wiped his eyes clean of imaginary tears and exclaimed, "Finally someone who is as strange as me!"

Harry could not control the grin that made its way on his lips. For the first time, he was not cautious around someone his age, and it was a feeling he was unwilling to let go of; the feeling of a new friendship. After years of being tormented by the Dursley's and losing all the potential friendships, thanks to his wonderful cousin, he finally had a friend who was more similar to him than not. Elated at the thought, he forwarded his hand and introduced himself.

"I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

If the boy had recognized him, he gave no indication and simply smiled at Harry, as if the latter was just another regular pre-teen and not some revered celebrity. And it was something Harry found himself feeling grateful for. The boy firmly grasped the offered hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"The name is Jackson. Percy Jackson," the boy, err Percy, replied.

An involuntary chuckle escaped Harry's lips. There was no room for doubt but he needed to do the courtesy. "James Bond?"

If Percy's eyes could widen anymore, they would have excitement shining in them. Harry had not thought it possible, but Percy held a newfound admiration for him and it pleased Harry for some reason. He nodded vigorously and smiled, showcasing his pearly whites.

"It's so rare for someone to get the reference."

"Well, I grew up with non-magical people so it would be a little impossible for me to not know the greatest copper there is." Harry's smile was friendly.

Suddenly, his gaze fell on the crumpled piece of paper in Percy's hand. The taller boy understood the confusion placed on his face.

"Uh...Harry, would you please read this and help me with picking out the school books?" The shy and hesitant voice was uncharacteristic to the energetic boy he was conversing with as he held up the paper.

His eyebrows shot up at the request. Why was Percy asking him to read something? He could not decide whether it was in jest. "You want me to read the list?" he asked to ensure he was hearing correctly.

Percy simply nodded.

"Why can't you?"

His face reddened and he looked away, utterly abashed. His voice trembled as he whispered, "I have dyslexia."

Now, Harry had a vague idea of what that meant and felt a jolt of panic rush through him at the slightly teary eyes that were now staring a hole through the ground. The guilt of potentially hurting the one person he was starting to form a bond with weighed down on his shoulders. His heart constricted painfully at the thought of losing his first friend, all because he could not bury his curiosity.

He rushed to rectify his mistake. "I'm sorry, Percy. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

The sea-green eyed boy turned to him, attempting to gauge the older boy's intentions. And the uncertainty in his expressions broke the young Potter's heart. He did not understand what it was about this American that was affecting him so much, but he knew he wanted to get to know him more. Harry also observed that Percy had been unable to keep still, his fingers fidgeting periodically, but he refrained himself from commenting. He refused to risk any more of his chances with his new friend.

"I'll definitely help you. I need to buy those books too." Harry managed to draw a small chuckle from Percy.

Together, the boys explored the place, keeping an eye out for the books they were required to bring to Hogwarts for their education. However, Harry was concerned for Percy; if he was dyslexic then how was he expected to stay up-to-date with his studies? But he did not allow himself to ponder the thought for long. If he had trouble, Harry would be the one to help him.

The random chatter in the air around them soon dissolved into their age and their eagerness to learn about magic. And the truth had actually surprised Harry.

"You mean you are not eleven yet?"

Percy laughed at the disbelief in his voice and explained, "Not yet. My birthday is in two weeks. But you're eleven, aren't you?"

"Just turned it today, actually."

Now it was Percy's turn to be surprised. "Why didn't you say so before? Happy Birthday, Harry!"

The younger of the two rummaged through his pant pockets, searching for something. He pulled out a decent sized bar of chocolate and presented the birthday boy with it. Harry had not realized it but a tear rolled down his cheek, with several others following. This was the first gift, however small it is, he had ever received for his special day. His own family did not care to celebrate the occasion, instead loading him with chores and locking him away in his tiny room.

However, the boy he had met mere minutes ago was much more considerate than the people he shared a residence with. Resisting the urge to throw his arms around Percy, Harry wiped the wetness on his skin and smiled graciously, one rivaling the grin on the younger boy's face. This was the best birthday, ever.

Before long, Harry and Percy purchased the texts, the duo resting against the wall for their companions to catch up. It had been a pleasant revelation that Harry's parents were wizards and so was Percy's mother. They had multiple common grounds to connect on and could hardly wait until Hogwarts to explore it.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry noticed a ginormous figure approaching the shop he was standing beside; Hagrid had returned with an owl in his right hand. As he turned to bid his friend goodbye, a sweet feminine voice calling for Percy caught his attention. He could only manage a glimpse in her general direction and noticed an average-height woman with long and wavy brown hair.

Percy faced him for the last time and said, "Looks like mom's finally here."

"It was nice meeting you, Percy."

"See you soon Harry, Harry Potter," Percy joked about his initial introduction and winked playfully at the gaunt boy.

The two shared a smile and parted ways; Harry went to where Hagrid was patiently waiting for him, while Percy stayed in spot as his mother caught up to him. Despite not wanting to leave, Harry could only hope this would not be their final meeting. He really liked Percy. The light eyed boy was different from the snarky boy he had met prior, in the robes' shop.

He turned around to spare one last glance in the direction of the strange American boy who changed his mind about children his age. And all he could think of was that maybe learning magic would not be all that bad.


The said boy turned to his left, only to see his mother walking towards him, wearing the warmest smile she reserved only for him. Expecting a tongue-lashing for disappearing on her without warning, the adolescent pulled on his best guilty look, knowing she would not be able to resist him.

His mother, Sally Jackson, was the best person to have ever walked the earth. It might seem to be an exaggeration, but not for Percy. Despite his limited exposure to the parents-children relationship, he had no doubt that he was one of the lucky few to have her as his mother. There was not a single person who knew her and was not impressed by either her personality or her looks.

Which is why it broke his heart that she was cursed with a painful life. She had to work odd jobs and even weekends to raise him in a comfortable environment. He knew he was not the easiest child, but his mother never complained. She put up with all sorts of lecherous pigs who he happened to piss off. And for that, Percy would never be able to forgive himself.

A sharp tug at his earlobe snapped him out of his daze. "Ouch!" Percy winced at the light pain.

"Percy, what did I say before we came here?" questioned his mother, her lips pulled into a small frown. He knew she was not angry with him, but her concern pinched at his heart. He did not mean to worry her, but she had been busy reminiscing of her first time in Diagon Alley that he could not find it in him to bother her.

"To not wander off on my own, without telling you first," he mumbled, staring guiltily at her.

Her stern face melted in a gentle adoration and she shook her head at his curious nature. It was because of his infuriatingly adorable face, which he had inherited from his father, that people found it difficult to stay furious with him.

While ruffling his hair and adjusting the collar of his button-down shirt, Sally asked, "So, what were you doing?"

The twinkle in his eyes was hard to miss as he related the entire story to his mother. "I bought the school books!"

"You did?"

"Yeah," Percy exclaimed proudly. "I went to the shop and looked through the bookshelves by myself. Then I paid the cashier the right amount of money."

"You're such a smart boy, aren't you?" The loving smile on Sally's face was all he needed to feel happy.

He nodded enthusiastically and began dragging her in the direction of where he assumed the wand shop to be. This was the most awaited part of the trip to Diagon Alley. The mother-son pair halted outside a dilapidated store that barely held up the golden letters spelling Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

It was a tiny place with only a frail chair for furniture that his mother sat on to wait. Percy was awed by the thousands of narrow boxes stacked up to the ceiling. He had heard fascinating stories about the place from Sally, but to witness it with his own eyes was a different experience.

Percy was too engrossed in his thoughts that he threw all caution to the wind and did not realize someone's presence behind him. He turned around and nearly fell over, startled at the proximity with an old, wrinkled face. Shrieking loudly, he scrambled backwards to put an appropriate distance between himself and the doddering man who he could only assume was the owner of the shop.

"Oh, I apologize," the man, Mr. Ollivander, whispered. "Those eyes are...peculiar."

Percy gulped and spared a glance at his mother who was appearing to be quite pale at the words of the wandmaker. He was constantly staring at the boy, eyes unblinking. Something about the man was unsettling, and he was not in any hurry to figure it out.

"No time to chat. Let's get you a wand, shall we?"

A measuring tape floated around Percy's arm, drawing random measurements of his dominant hand and chest. The longer he stood there, the more uncomfortable he felt by the piercing gaze of the silvery eyes.

Mr. Ollivander moved through the shelves, sifting for wand boxes. "Each Ollivander wand uses one of the three cores of powerful magical materials gathered from a magical creature; unicorn hair, heartstrings of dragons and phoenix tail feathers. All wands are unique and match with a particular wizard. Now, grab this one and try it."

Hesitantly, Percy nodded and grabbed the first wand presented to him. A small current zapped through him, causing him to drop the wand abruptly with a yelp.

"No, definitely not the right one," the wandmaker mumbled and passed another one to the young customer.

Percy had lost count of how many wands he was forced to try, a number that pinched at his insecurities. Maybe, I was not meant to have a wand or even be a wizard, he thought despairingly. Lost in his pondering, he failed to see the twinkle in the glistening eyes of Mr. Ollivander, who made to open an old, tattered black box and pulled out a half-matte wand.

"Maybe - yes, why not - let's see now," he muttered under his breath and urged Percy to hold the wooden stick.

The moment he grasped the wand firmly in his hand, a warm wave of energy seeped through his bones. He gasped, inaudibly, at the familiarity he experienced in his fingers. Percy gently flicked the wand, a soft ripple of blue and grey tumbled from the thin end of the wood. The visual was mesmerizing as the cool shades danced across the shop, leaving no traces where they made contact with the outdated furniture.

He could vaguely hear the gruff voice saying, "Yew wood and phoenix feather core, twelve and a half inches, unbending - how unexpected," but he paid no attention to it, his eyes transfixed on the beautiful colours leaving the weapon in his hand.

As his eyelids drooped shut at the briefest touch of the swaying energy, he could not help but feel a missing piece in his chunk of memories. It was an unsettling sensation, and a deep, affectionate voice that whispered incoherent words. However when he forced his eyes open, the echo of the past was pushed to the depths of his unconscious mind, leaving no recollection of the guiding voice behind.

He turned to his mother, only to see her teary-eyed and beaming at him in pride. It was enough for him to feel joyous at his little achievement. And just like that, all his insecurities of being different vanished into thin air and he felt like he belonged in this world of magic. Percy turned to face Mr. Ollivander but the ghoulish smile that the frail old man was staring intently at him with, terrified him.

"What is it?" Percy asked, his voice a little hesitant.

The wrinkly wandmaker adjusted a thread of his hair and remarked, "It's rare for a child to have a wand similar to that of his grandfather."

Percy dropped his wand at those words and Sally gasped loudly, fear visible on their pale faces. Their stance turned defensive - despite his size, the young boy shielded his mother - towards Mr. Ollivander, as if expecting him to suddenly attack them.

"How do you know my grandfather?"

The guarded question only amused Mr. Ollivander. "I remember everyone I have ever sold a wand to. Your grandfather was one such person. And the wand that chose you is not unlike his, the only difference being the phoenix that provided the feather for the core and the overall size."

Apprehension clouding their minds, Sally pulled her son into her arms, in an effort to protect him from the shadow of her father. There were things she had not yet shared with him, and the last thing she wanted was for a stranger to deliver the news. Percy did not know what to make of the situation so he did not protest and let his mother take control.

He heard her breathe deeply, before asking, "But how do you know who his grandfather is?"

"Ah, Sally dear," he began, his eyes twinkling in excitement. "It feels like yesterday when you were here, purchasing your first wand with so much thrill on that little face."

"Please, Mr. Ollivander. Just answer the question."

His face smoothed and the wrinkles near his eyes lightened noticeably. "Of course, it's because I know everything."

The answer did not seem to satisfy Sally, but Percy knew she would not be pushing it. But it only served to unnerve him that there were wizards who knew a part of his life he did not wish to broadcast.

Maybe, coming to the wizarding world was not a great idea after all, he thought as his mother grabbed his arm, practically dragging them out of the shop. But not before a final warning from the wandmaker.

"Your path is difficult, Mr. Jackson. The choices you will be forced to make will not be easy. But you must persevere." The vague words and meaning behind them confused Percy, but he felt the hand on his forearm stiffen. His mother was scared. And that did not settle well with the young boy.

He turned to further interrogate the old man, only to be silenced by the firm grip of his mother and her stern gaze drilling holes into him. Percy could do anything but disobey Sally. However, the cryptic message left behind was a little troubling. There was not much left to purchase for his first year at Hogwarts, so the pair entered a secluded alley and grabbed onto the pendant hanging from Sally's neck, disappearing into thin air.

Percy had been lost in his thoughts that he did not even realize when they reached a run-down apartment in the heart of New York City - a place Percy had never called home. The building was fairly old, covered in various shades of dirt and moss. The neighbourhood was loud and a little sketchy given the amount of break-ins and robbery it had witnessed, and Percy could not wait until the day he would be able to move away with his mother.

Together, they walked into their apartment and immediately, a foul odour assaulted their senses. It seemed to be a mixture of unwashed socks and centuries-old stale beer. The smell was something he was familiar with, considering he had been living with it for years now. And it could only mean one thing; his stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, was home.

Smelly Gabe, as Percy liked to address him, was the worst kind of man to have ever existed. He was a lazy, good-for-nothing man with no goals or motivations. In his eyes, Gabe was the equivalent of a walrus. But that was not the reason why the young boy harboured such deep feelings of loathing for his stepfather.

No, those feelings didn't even come close.

Words could not describe how much he hated Gabe. Percy might've been young, but that didn't mean he didn't understand what went on in his own household. His mother tried her best to hide it, brushing off all she had to tolerate; she always tried to do the best she could for him, and Percy was forever grateful for her. Not a day went by that he didn't think of how lucky he was to have her as his mother.

Lucky and indebted. Guilty.

It was because of him that Sally Jackson, the kindest woman in the world, had to put up with Gabe and all of his misogyny. Gabe treated his mom like an object, ordering her around, taking all of her hard earned money and wasting it on beer and his stupid poker games. Not a day went by without him disrespecting her at every turn, and sometimes even in front of his friends.

Percy felt his throat close up remembering the times she was treated as entertainment. His blood boiled, chest tight with anger and shame. He felt useless for never having been able to do a thing to stop it.

She deserved a life free of hardship and struggle. She deserved peace of mind. She deserved quiet mornings where she could sleep in and not have to run to work a double shift. She deserved to have free time where she could work on her novel or take those college English courses or spend time with her friends. She deserved the world and more.

But all she got was a husband, who would have valued a rat more than her.

As they turned to the corner, the crinkling of glass bottles echoed in the quiet space. A cold fear settled in Percy's heart and his grip tightened around his mother's arm. The shattering sound and overwhelming smell meant that Smelly Gabe was home, and quite possibly drunk.

"Percy, go to your room," Sally commanded with a hard edge in her voice.

The young boy froze in his place when his eyes met the red ones of his stepfather. To say Smelly Gabe was angry would be an understatement. And Percy felt terrified of the endless possibilities, all of which ended in pain.

"But mom-" Percy tried to object but his mother's stern gaze was enough to shut him up. He nodded in defeat and reluctantly did as his mother asked. His footsteps were heavy on the floor as he dragged his feet across the wooden tiles.

"Where do you think you're goin', punk?" Gabe growled as he stalked towards the young boy. "We're not done here—"

"Gabe, don't speak to my son like that!" Sally rebuked, placing a firm hand on Percy's shoulder. "Go on, sweetheart."

"Mom..." Percy trailed off, worried.

"I'll be along in a minute, baby."

Percy ran to his room and locked the door, crawling into his bed to hide from the terror of yet another fight. He heard his name being thrown around in the argument, both as an accusation from Gabe and a defense from his mother. The voices became louder, and a sharp crash sounded before it was all silent. Almost too silent for it to be natural. And Percy feared for the worst to have befallen his poor mother. But he was terrified to even peek out of the thick blankets he had cocooned himself in.

For the first time in his life, Percy wished for his father to be there.

Author's Note: If you're interested, join the discord servers HMS Harmony (exclusive Harry/Hermione community) and Percabeth to discuss these ships to your heart's content. Link is in my bio.