Disclaimer - I own neither Percy Jackson and the Olympians nor Harry Potter.

AN: For ages and appearances of characters I have chosen to go mostly with the film version of Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, as the ages match up easier and it is easier to depict and so descript characters. In terms of everything else it will be a bit of a mash up, depending on what I feel like.

The War of Gods

Chapter 1

Mankind and other sentient creatures have always believed in the gods, they carve them out of Nature with each god representing a small piece of the larger picture. They are attributed appearances, characters and names to suit with what they represent; gods of the sea then to be powerful and ever-changing yet at the same time dangerous and capricious, as is the case with the sea itself.

Gods do not need food or drink as mortal man requires, rather they are nourished and strengthen by worship, be that in the form of prayers, offerings or curses. The more worshippers a god or goddess has the more powerful they become and so gods rise and fall with the nations and civilisations that worship them. A god without followers fades out of existence, until he is little more than a memory, a memory that is ready to return yet still a shadow of his former glory.

As mankind was often formed in the image of gods, the gods display characteristics and habits that can be found among mortal men. They hate, they lust, they fear and they fight. The gods all desire power and are willing to use trickery, deception or outright violence to gather the worshippers they need to achieve that power.

Yet as much as the gods tricked, despised and manipulated mankind they would come down sometimes and sleep with them, and sometimes fall in love with them. Thus copulating creates the demi-gods, men and women who would live their lives manipulated and in fear because of who they were, constantly in danger from both their fellow man and their godly relatives. This is the story of one particular demi-god and the fate that he was chosen to bear.


Harry Potter sat crouched over a flower bed in the hell hole that was Privet Drive. It was mid-July and the sun was currently baking his back, he could already feel the sting of emerging sunburn on the back of his neck. It was the summer holidays, a time that Harry normally despised above all other because it meant returning to the Dursleys, yet this time was different.

Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, was dead. He had died in the Ministry of Magic, lead there by the fear that Harry was in danger. It was Harry's own fault that his godfather, one of his last links to his parents and the man who was going to rescue him from the Dursleys forever, was dead. All Harry wanted to do was to be left alone to deal with that by himself, yet at Hogwarts he had never been able to do so. Over the month since the true had emerged Harry had been constantly harangued by people trying to say that they had believed in him along and that the Ministry were just a bunch of incompetent liars. Not only that but school was also full of things that just made Harry even more depressed or angry. Every time Harry had seen Dumbledore he had been reminded of the Prophecy and the thought of the fate that was now hanging over him was enough to sour his mood. To make matters worse, his friends were trying to get him over it but Ron's attempts to make him forget by playing Quidditch and chess were useless and Hermione's pity filled gazes only irritated him. Here, at the Dursleys, at least he could be left in peace.

A small rustling in the bushes destroyed that illusion. It seemed that Dumbledore still insisted that one of the Order guards continue to follow Harry around the place, when last summer had proved how incapable they were. Harry could tell from the smell of tobacco and alcohol that it was probably Mundungus Fletcher who was on duty at the moment. Sometimes Dumbledore took his second chances ideology way too far. Harry resisted the temptation to throw the trowel in his hands at the bush to wake the obviously sleeping Mundungus up.

It was a week before the Order came to collect him, currently the plan was to go to Grimmauld Place instead than the Burrow. Dumbledore had sent Harry a note saying that he would be coming in person to collect Harry, which struck Harry as a bit presumptuous for although he had kind of forgiven the Headmaster because he had to, he was no hurry to see him again and Dumbledore must have known that given their words at the end of the last year. Hermione had made it her personal mission to meddle in his life as much as possible 'for his own good' and had persuaded Mrs Weasley and Dumbledore that Harry 'needed to confront his sorrows' instead of allowing them to 'well up inside him'. Either way it was decided that Harry would be spending the last month of the summer at Grimmauld Place, that dreary house which reminded him so much of Sirius. As depressed as Harry was going to be at Grimmauld Place there the atmosphere at least would reflect his mood and so he wouldn't feel like he was ruining the party so to speak as would have been the case at the Burrow.

Reaching towards one of the rose bushes than Aunt Petunia was having him prune, he cut his finger on one of the thorns. Deep red blood ran down into his palm and pooled there. Harry inspected it fascinated, playing with it by tipping it from side to side so as to send the blood trickling all over his palm. Suddenly he was interrupted.

"Boy, your aunt wants you to lay the table!" Uncle Vernon's barked from the living room window where he and Dudley were occupied watching a boxing tournament on the television.

Lazy buggers, Harry thought angrily to himself, why couldn't they do it?

Pulling himself to his feet Harry hurried inside before his aunt found an excuse to give his food to his cousin instead. Harry missed the small wound on his finger slowly closing up so that by the time he had gone ten metres it had totally gone.

In such a hurry was he that Harry missed a man leaning against a fence on the opposite side of the road watching him closely. The man made no sign of going after Harry went inside rather he transferred his gaze to the window of Harry's room and continued to wait. The asleep Dung would prevent any news of a suspicious looking man standing outside number 4 Privet Drive.


Harry returned to his room after he had finished laying the table for the Dursley's lunch, he had chosen instead to make himself a sandwich and eat up here rather than force himself to endure another meal in their presence. Harry's room was a mess, he knew that but he really had no desire to get up and make an effort to tidy up. Hedwig's cage was a mess, something she was in a bad mood about judging from the disgruntled hoot and the peck Harry received when he let her out of his cage, and his school trunk was lying still packed in a corner of the room where he had thrown it when he returned from school.

He had yet to start on any of his holiday work for which he was sure that Hermione would harangue him for when he left Privet Drive but then at least he could use it as an excuse to get away from the others whenever he felt like he wanted to be on his own.

Reaching behind his head for a piece of parchment on his desk so that he could scruple it up and fling it into the bin Harry found his hand grasping empty air. But Harry hadn't touched his desk since he had returned from school, and so it had been a total mess with broken quills and odd pieces of parchment from past years cluttering it. Sitting up Harry noticed that his desk had been cleared, all the papers placed in a neat stack, the broken quills thrown in the bin and a small box had been placed on the now cleared space where previously there had only been chaos. The box was made of some dark wood and had been beautifully carved and was decorated with animals with small coloured stones for eyes and small fragments of bone for teeth and horns. It was just smaller than one of the thick text book Harry used for school and had a whole array of what looked like runes of some sort which had been carefully drawn onto the top.

Harry hesitated for a moment wondering whether he ought to get the Order to check it for curses or enchantments before deciding to go with the Gryffindor approach and just open it anyway. If the person had meant to hurt then he would never have been able to get through the blood wars, or at least according to Dumbledore. Removing the hinged lid, Harry saw that the inside was lined with green felt with was soft to touch and there a stand upon which there was a knife in a leather sheath. The sheath was totally unlike anything Harry had seen before. It was made of black leather and had an elaborately snitched "L" in gold snitching sown onto it. The handle of the knife itself was made up of bone, from what animal Harry could not tell, but there was no lack of gold or precious stones adorning it. Slowly drawing the knife from its sheath Harry examined the blade. Just over 8" long with a slowly curving tip, the very steel seemed to simmer in the evening light. Beautiful Celtic patterns where forged into the metal, giving the blade a swirling effect as well as making it look slightly mystical.

Giving it a few swing Harry marvelled at how natural the blade fitted in his hands as if it had been hand crafted for him, not only that but all his swings felt balanced and perfect. At this point Harry noticed that the box was still not empty, inside there was a strap that looked like it was supposed to fit onto the arm or the leg to which he could attach the sheath for easier use. But that was not all, at the very bottom was a small bit of folded card and on it written in red ink was a note.

To Harry,

This belongs to your father. As I am unable to return it to him myself I thought that by giving it to you, you might been be able to return it to him at some point.

Should you have need of help call me. I still owe a debt to your family


Harry stared at the note in disbelief. Was this some sort of trick of Voldemort's? But that didn't make sense either, Voldemort knew his father was dead, he had killed him himself. How could anyone not know that James Potter was dead, dead for the very reason that Harry himself was known throughout the world? And if they didn't know he was dead then why would they come here to Privet Drive instead of going to Godric's Hallow or wherever his father had lived before moving there.

He considered going straight to Dumbledore with the note but he knew that the Headmaster would force him to hand over the knife and Harry found that he was already slightly attached to it. It was very beautiful after all and if it really had belonged to his father than there really was no reason why Harry should not have it. Harry also suspected that unlike the Firebolt this would not be something that would be handed back in a hurry, Dumbledore would view it as a dangerous weapon which could be used to kill or serious maim anyone who it was used against. And that went against Dumbledore's policy.

Now that Harry had decided to keep it there was now the question of what to do with it, Harry wanted to know more about the knife. After all the person who delivered it was obviously magical as he managed to leave the box in Harry's room without any of his relatives noticing and if it had belonged to a wizarding family like the Potters then it was likely that the knife had some kind of magical enchantments, much like Sirius' penknife had. In which case Harry wanted to know what they were and what purpose Harry could use it for, for all he knew it might be of great help in fighting against Voldemort. What's more was that if Harry was able to figure out more about the knife, it might help to lead him to the person who had delivered it.

Harry considered talking to Mr Weasley, but he would almost be certain to force Harry to go to Dumbledore, for that same reason most of the other Order members were out. Lupin was away on a mission for Dumbledore, Moody was too unpredictable and paranoid so would immediately say it was an attempt to assassinate him whilst Tonks was too inexperienced to be able to tell him what he wanted to know. Bill was a possibility, he had a lot of experience with curses and enchantments, he even worked for Gringotts…..

Gringott's! Harry thought suddenly.

Of course he could go to Gringott's, their confidentiality was famous and as goblins they would be better than any at discerning any magic within the anything that was made of metal. Hell the blade was probably forged by the goblins. Harry remembered Bill talking about the skills of some of the Gringott's crafts-goblins last summer, if anyone could tell what he wanted to know they could. Furthermore it would give Harry an opportunity to get out of the house.

Grabbing a small rucksack Harry quickly threw some stuff into it. It would be good to get out of the house, that at least should stop him moping around about Sirius. As that thought hit him he paused, realising that since he had found the dagger Harry had not thought about Sirius once, this had been the first time since Sirius' death that he had really moved on. Harry smiled a half-smile, perhaps there was still yet some hope.

Going downstairs Harry walked out the door without bothering to tell his aunt where he was going before starting down the road in the direction of the bus stop.

AN: This is just a plot that came into my head last weekend and I have now acted on. I have around five chapters down and will make more if it proves popular.

Please if you notice any plot holes or anything tell me so I can correct them.

I am by no means giving up on my other stories, a chapter of Harry Potter, the Don should be going up this weekend.