"Harry, you're drooling."

Half in trance state, thoughts of before clouding my head like a bad smell, I flinched awake, and feeling returned to my fingers and toes. I wanted to sleep, rest myself on this deliciously soft pillow and fall back into dreamland. Even as I closed my eyes and snuggled back into the covers, memory of the night haunted me. I had a really, really weird dream. I mean, it didn't surprise me all that much, because I was pretty sure me and weird dreams are practically married with kids now, but this time it was so... vivid.

A woman in a toga petted my hair down, speaking to me in a gentle voice. Although the voice was pleasant and soothing, she seemed hurried, almost desperate. I couldn't remember a thing she was saying to me either.

And then I'd woken up to this guy shaking me like a martini.

"You'd better get up soon," said the boy, turning away and yawning really loudly. "If you're not up I'm going to breakfast without you."

What struck me most about this boy was his accent: clear-cut British, no doubt about it. Not upper-class BBC presenter British, but, sort of common-like John from down the road. I cracked an eye open and leant to the side – he was tall and lanky, with loose ginger hair spilling to his shoulders, his face and arms covered in freckles.

It didn't occur to me that I had absolutely no idea who this kid was, too tired to do or say anything. I rolled back over, wincing as a sudden and sharp ache shot through my head. Like I'd been banging my head against a wall last night – I dreaded to think why. No actual reason came flooding back.

Knowing that I couldn't miss breakfast – thee most important meal of the day, kids – I sat up, propping the pillow behind me. "Urgh. I feel awful."

Then the scene finally settled – where the Hades was I?

I scanned the room, almost certain I had not fallen asleep here. The room was small and cushy. Five four-poster beds, made of beige oak, lined like a ring around an old clunky furnace that pumped out heat in the centre. Old-style castle windows let the dull morning light flow inside the cold walls, and everything was laden with red-and-gold material; canopies, curtains, chair covers, clothes, you name it.

The ginger kid turned around – his face was scrunched up in equal tiredness and his eyebrows cut through his blue eyes. "You sound awful, too—"

He stopped short when he saw my face, before his own twisted into horrified disbelief, like he'd just seen the dead. Gee, did I look that bad?

"What the—?" The boy seized a long, thin stick from his bedside table and pointed it threateningly at me, his arms quaking but his grip solid. "Who the bloody hell are you and what have you done with Harry?!"

Uh huh, I felt really intimidated by a twig.

He did have a fair point though. Who was I? My brain seemed to sizzle in overdrive, scouring through its roots and storage for something, anything, about my past, my memories. But instead, a name was on the tip of my tongue, ready to blurt.

"Percy Jackson," I mumbled, feeling a rush of nostalgia at the name. Yes, I was certain my name was Percy Jackson. It's a cool name, too, so obviously it's mine. "Yeah, I'm Percy Jackson. Who're you? Where am I?"

"Don't play dumb with me," accused the redhead. "Where is Harry?!"

He seemed to be the same age as me, riddled with acne scars and youthful pride. If pride wielded a stick.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned. "I don't even know who Harry is."

He flinched at my answer, but it was soon replaced with infallible rage. "I said don't play dumb! Are you some sort of an imposter?" He stared at me for so long I was starting to feel self-conscious. "You're sleeping in his bed too. Where is he?!"

I threw up my hands in defeat, only then realising I was casually arguing with a kid I didn't know in my boxers. Probably didn't help.

"I don't know! I don't know how I got here!"

"How can you just not know?"

I rummaged through my memories. How did I get here? But my search proved in vain – I didn't remember anything, the only detail being that my name was Percy. It was like looking into an empty closet, closing the door and hoping that Narnia would appear and then crying when it didn't (totally not from experience).

"I just don't, all right? My… my name is Percy Jackson and that's all I remember!"

The redheaded boy eventually lowered his stick, but still glared at me. "I'll ask Hermione about this… Accio wand."

A similar yet just as menacing stick whistled passed me and into his hand.

My mouth dropped open, but I didn't get the chance to reply as he warned, "Don't you go anywhere!"

He made his escape from the room, gaze never leaving my shocked expression. The stick had just magically flown into his hand with little more than some mumbo-jumbo words! I tried not to dwell on it, seeing as I was in no position to ask what was going on. Not to mention I was still in my boxers.

I took this time to figure out my surroundings and got out of bed, slipping my feet into a pair of comfy red slippers. There was a chair next to the bed, with a red-and-gold sweatshirt hanging over the back and a pair of thin, round black glasses. Inspecting the glasses with curiosity, I eyed through the lens – wow, this guy was really blind. These must have been Harry's, I thought, delicately replacing them on the chair.

The boy hadn't returned yet and the room was empty. I didn't feel that a half-naked stranger was suitable for another confrontation, so I grabbed the sweatshirt on the back of the chair. The sleeve caught the glasses, sweeping them off the chair and flying halfway across the room. A uncomfortable snick clamoured against the walls, and I shrank at the sound. Daring to peer over the bed, I saw the glasses snapped at the midsection, the lenses fractured with lightning bolt shapes.

"… Uh oh."

Quickly throwing on the sweatshirt (boy, was this guy small because it pinched), I grasped the glasses and scrambled back to the chair, placing them in a way that made them look completely fine. No one would notice the giant crack in the lenses or the wonky bridge, right?

Just then, the ginger kid stormed back in, followed closely behind by a girl with bushy, brown hair exploding from her head in a series of loose ringlets. Her face seemed pulled taut, like she was holding her breath, and she wore typical British school uniform: long charcoal robes with the red-and-gold insignia. Something tugged at the back of my mind – she reminded me of someone, something in my past… but since I couldn't remember squat, I pushed the thought away.

She spoke in a British accent too. "Ron, I don't think—"

Then her eyes settled on me, and her eyebrows lifted onto her forehead so fast, I thought they'd take off into outer space.

"Hi," I said.

"You're… really not Harry?"

"No, I am. Harry, a ten-foot-tall platypus with an obsession with mangoes."

Ron, the ginger, snarled at the comment, but the girl ignored it – not even fazed. She came closer and inspected me like an object at a museum. "Hmm..."

I must have turned a little red. "Okay, sarcasm aside, I'm pretty sure I'm Percy Jackson."

Assessment made, the girl pursed her lips. She turned to Ron. "He was here yesterday, right?"

"Yeah," said Ron, crossing his arms.

"And… you didn't see him leave? Or hear him?"

"No." Ron's forehead creased, and he eyed me as if I was about to steal his wallet and take off. "He was in Harry's bed when I woke up, and he claims he doesn't remember how or why."

"I honestly don't remember anything," I reiterated, "but I do remember that I definitely did not fall asleep in a castle in the middle of England."

"Scotland," the girl corrected, rubbing her chin in that old, wise way. "You have an American accent – New York, I think."

New York – the name sent alarm bells ringing. I felt like I had to be there.

The girl scrunched her face. "I don't know what's going on here… but I'll bet someone will know something." She paused, her eyes glossing over with deep, meaningful thoughts, before he gaze snapped back to me. "Erm, sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Percy Jackson," I said again. "And you guys are…?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," said the girl. "Please to meet you."

Hermione. That name clambered in my mind. My thoughts passed over to Helen of Troy. Yeah, she had a daughter called Hermione, didn't she?

Hermione gestured to Ron. "That's Ron Weasley—"

"Hermione," Ron protested, his face bloating red like a beetroot. "We don't know who this guy is!"

"Apparently, neither does he. And he appears to be telling the truth," she replied.

Ron shot me a look of distrust, and I tried to pretend I didn't see it.

Hermione continued. "Your name doesn't sound familiar and I don't know where Harry has gone, but I'm sure there's an explanation for this. Percy, get dressed – you can borrow some of Harry's clothes. Ron, do the same. Meet me outside in ten minutes."

Without waiting for a response, she nodded doggedly before slipping out of the dormitory.

Ron's glare didn't let up, but he put his evil stick – and the one that had been by my bed – on his desk.

"I still don't trust you," he mumbled, "but if you really don't know who you are and where you come from…" he trailed off, walking over to his closet and yanking some clothes from the hangers, "let's just get this over with…"

Ron pointed me to a set of clothes, and I nearly barfed. It was the same school uniform Hermione was wearing: a white collared shirt, black pants, the red-and-gold tie, black sweater (or 'jumper', as Ron had called it) lined with red and gold, and finally, the long, black and red cloak with the house crest on.

I peered at the crest, admiring the gold pattern weaved with the red. "Gryffindor," I read from the crest.

Ron looked up from his underwear drawer, sullen.

"Yeah, our school house," he said, his voice jumping up and down with uncertainty. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. Four houses."

"Sounds like names for a bunch of mushrooms…" I said, throwing the cloak around me. "The wild toadstool, Gryffindor."

"I don't see it."

"Not a fungi, are you?"

Ron sent me an icy glare. All right, awkward. I turned away to let him change, fiddling with the uniform. "Why so much red and gold anyway?"

He didn't seem pleased with my attempt to get to know him, but didn't hold back. "Red and gold is our house colour."

I nodded before realising that I'd forgotten one crucial question.

"Where am I, exactly?"

Ron adjusted his tie, the collar undone, the shirt peeking from underneath his sweater. Again, that hostility, and time stretched along as I waited for an answer.

"Hogwarts," he finally said. "Hogwarts—"

"That's gotta' be a foreign disease…"

"— School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He lifted his nose. "It's the best wizarding school in the world."

My mouth nearly dropped open. Whoa, back up. Witchcraft and wizardry? The memory of the stick shooting towards him with no strings attached flooded into my mind. "But… that's the stuff of myths and legends, right?"

Ron sighed. "You must be a Muggle or something…"

He plucked the stick from his desk and rounded the room to the chair, and pointed the stick at Harry's glasses.

I swallowed. Oh gods, he noticed that I broke them.

Clearing his throat and flicking the stick, Ron said something like, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Bless you?"

But behind me, half of Harry's glasses floated into the air, obeying Ron's every command. My mouth dropped like a brick again as he made them levitate in front of my face and take a joy ride around the room. Eventually, he put half of the spectacles down on the chair again.

"It's magic," he said, like I'd asked what channel the football was on. "This is my wand."

"Well, excuse me if I haven't been making glasses float my whole life." I cringed. "Uh, yeah, about that. Sorry, I kinda' broke them."

Ron strode over and inspected them, his lower lip rising on his face.


Light burst from the tip of his wand, and the glasses crackled like electrical energy before sealing themselves together again. I think my eyeballs would have dropped from their sockets if I hadn't understood the concept of magic yet.

Ron didn't bat an eye. "Hurry up. We have to meet Hermione."

So the other, black wand was Harry's, right? I jerked my head towards it. "Don't I get to use that?"

Ron snatched it up and shoved it into his pocket. "No. You don't."

He said nothing else, leaving me in the dormitory to frown. Apparently he didn't believe me to let me have one myself – but fair enough, I wouldn't exactly know what to do with it anyway. I'm guessing hocus pocus wouldn't work.

Dressed, I proceeded to follow Ron outside of the dormitory where we ended up on a solid wooden landing that overlooked the lounge area. I almost did a double-over – it was huge and round like a tower, with red, plush sofas dotted around a fireplace, tables and chairs tucked into corners and a few small shelves looming over the thick, lush carpet. The walls had multiple paintings and wall-hangings. Other students, dressed like we were, sat around, reading, chatting or playing chess.

I was about to comment when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a painting move. It depicted an old man sitting poised in a chair, and he regarded me strangely.

A painting just moved.

I didn't think my jaw could survive so many drops. "Did I have too much sugar?"

The man in the picture gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "Close your mouth, boy. It's terribly impolite."

Hermione shooed us down the stairs. "Don't get on their bad side. They take offence for ages and then the rest of the paintings gang up on you."

Ron snorted. "I should know."

"Wait, there's more?" I said.

Ron sighed, and it grated like nails to a blackboard. "Can we go to breakfast now and find out about Harry?"

We descended a winding staircase before finding ourselves in the lounge area, and leaving the common room through the back of another painting (I made sure not to open my mouth). A huge tower yawned around us, and I had to wait a minute to comprehend what I was seeing – staircases shifted to different levels and positions every time you looked their way. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. The stuff of fantasy and dreams. And sugar.

Ron and Hermione didn't slow up, probably used to it, and padded ahead, discussing in hushed whispers and occasionally glancing back at me. Hermione's hand flickered in and out of her robes, and I spotted the topper of a glass bottle, but she pocketed it before I could do or say anything.

They talked like this all the way to our next destination, leaving me to saunter awkwardly behind them. Not that I minded. I was far too busy being a tourist to care.

The Great Hall was an even bigger shocker than the staircase room. House banners fluttered from the walls, and four long tables stretched down the hall, two to the left and two to the right. At the very back of the hall was an elevated platform with a table sitting horizontally. Older men and woman wearing bizarre clothing ate their breakfast and conversed, and I could only assume they were the teachers. Behind them was a stain-glass window depicting four people that looked like they'd been ripped from Game of Thrones. The colours painted the room in vivid hues.

And the ceiling… it was the sky, I swear it. Thousands of wax candles danced limply in the air, underneath a skin of grey clouds, thick and bulbous. It was hard to picture anything more spectacular than this.

Ron and Hermione found seats on the Gryffindor table. I followed them wordlessly, about to sit next to them – but Ron eyed me. I grimaced and sat opposite instead. Did I want to cross him? Yes. Did I want to cross him when he had the magic stick? Less yes. The table was mostly empty, except for a few stragglers, hurrying their dishes.

It was a feast prepared for gods. Portions of every breakfast dish in the universe sat upon this table – toast, cereal, pancakes, ham, cheese… you name it, it was here. My mouth watered. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until now. I took a plate of pancakes, drizzled it with blue syrup and tucked in.

Ron was less modest about his portion. He had taken four slices of buttered toast, a thing called a crumpet, a bowl of cornflakes, and a goblet – stylish, much? – full of orange juice.

I took a goblet too, only to realise this definitely wasn't Tropicana. "What the heck is this stuff?"

Hermione ignored me. "Who are you?"

My knife carved into the pancakes, and the syrup oozed over the edges. "Percy Jackson, for the bajillionth time. I don't remember anything else. My memory's all misty—"

I froze mid-bite. Misty… mist… why was that all so familiar?

Hermione swished her spoon into her Cheerios. "It's possible someone cast a Memory Charm on you, but that doesn't explain why you were in Harry's bed." She leant back. "You do look a lot like him. Black hair, green… green-ish eyes. You even have the same shape face, I would say."

"Harry's less rough-looking," Ron said.

My eyes twitched on instinct, but I tried not to let the passive insult get to me. It was pretty weird that I'd woken up in his best friend's bed, after all. I smiled, my eyes fixed on Hermione. "Since you seem to be the smart one here, Hermione," – Ron clenched his toast at the words, heh – "what would you suggest we do next?"

She pressed her lips together. "Well, Ron and I have class now, but if we show up with Harry, everyone's going to wonder where he is—"

"I'm going to pretend to be him, right?" I asked. "Better practice my British accent… what ho, old chaps?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling exasperatedly. "No need for that." Her expression hardened. "There's no point pretending this isn't bizarre. So, I suggest… we go see the headmaster."

Naturally, when Hermione said headmaster I wanted to hightail it out of there and run into the Scottish countryside. He was going to accuse me of being an imposter, a fake, and then throw me out with a bag of tea and a roll of toilet paper to survive on. I'd have rather shoved a wand up my nose.

Ron and Hermione seemed perfectly relaxed, though, after we had guzzled up breakfast and made our way up too many sets of stairs of a tower. This, of course, lead to an alcove with a statue tucked inside.

"We went all that way just to reach a dead end?" I asked.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Sherbet lemon."

"If you're offering," I replied, but instead of her taking the candy from her pocket, the statue rumbled to life. It twisted on its foundation, rising up a chute. Underneath was a set of stairs, escalating upwards.

Dread coursed through me. "Oh, yay. The headmaster lives in a secluded tower." I glanced at the other two. "Did you know, in space, no one can hear you scream?"

"Oh, relax, Percy," Ron snapped. "Dumbledore isn't going to eat you."

"Well, he might. No one can hear me scream."

He ignored me, ushering me onto the steps as he and Hermione jumped on. I reluctantly followed, and the stone began to whirl upwards. It was, admittedly, really fun – and I didn't have to walk, which was nice. The stairs eventually grinded to a halt at the top, opening to a corridor with a solitary door at the end.

The knock echoed eerily against the silence.

"Come in," answered a raspy voice.

Ron pushed open the door, holding it for Hermione, but letting it slam into my face. It collided with my nose.

Pain spritzed through me. "Jerk…" I mumbled, rubbing the sore area and making my way in myself.

Two floors glittered with cupboards, filled to the brim with odd trinkets and weird and wonderful devices. Golden stairs lined the room, shimmering against the solar system mobiles hanging from the ceiling. The room could easily make any principal of a normal school jealous, even though it didn't look like an office at all – rather, an antique shop.

An old man occupied a mahogany desk, complete with midnight blue robes, freckled with stars. He poised a quill in one hand and petted a bird in the other – the bird cooed softly at our entrance, its feathers like the hues of a sunset. A… phoenix? It certainly matched the ones in the myths.

I was starting to believe that those myths were real.

"Ah," said the old man, whose brittle beard must have won a Guinness World Record. "Come on in, Ron, Hermione, Percy."

Hermione and Ron exchanged surprised glances.

"You mean you knew Percy was here, Professor?" Hermione said.

Dumbledore smiled, and it accentuated the contour of wrinkles of his cheeks and forehead. "Of course. I know all of my students." He faced me. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Percy. I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore – I hope you enjoy your stay."

I couldn't help but think about a hotel receptionist, the way he said it. Like I wasn't going to be here for long.

"Uh, thanks," I said – my tremoring hands betraying my true feelings.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Have you come to ask why you're here, Percy?"

Ron flinched, and he stumbled over his words. "Professor, we found Percy in Harry's bed. Where's Harry?"

Dumbledore lifted his craggy fingers from the phoenix, placing it on his desk – a gesture that made me think about how wisdom was about to pour from his mouth.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Ronald."

I nearly choked. All that build up.

Even Ron seemed put out. "You… don't know?"

"Unfortunately not," Dumbledore replied. Then his eyes settled on me again. Sweat trickled down my back, and I became acutely aware at how I was wearing not clothes of my own, but Harry's. "Percy, you were sent here with a purpose. When you fulfil it, your memories will be returned to you and you can return home."

My heart thumped erratically. This guy knew about me. He knew about my lost memories. He knew I was here and that I wasn't going to stay for very long.

"Why am I here?" I demanded, "What purpose do I have to fulfil? Why—"

"That, Perseus, is something you will have to find out yourself. I shouldn't worry – Ronald and Hermione here will help you."

Words died in my throat. I needed to know why he was holding back, what I had to do to leave, but something flashed in my mind – a memory of times before.

"Like a… quest?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, like a quest. You'll make friends and enemies on the way, but, it is the journey that matters more than the destination."

He was sending me on a quest to find out who I was – why, I didn't know. Was it his doing, that I had forgotten my memories? His doing, that Harry was no longer here?

Hermione stepped in for me when I didn't say anything. "Professor, what are we going to do about lessons?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Why, go to them of course. You can't learn if you aren't taught."

"But, Professor," she said more firmly, "Percy isn't Harry."

"Of course, Percy is his own unique person." A twinkle of mischief captured his eyes. "Saying that you are an exchange student is not entirely a lie."

Ron snickered suddenly. "You can say you came from Salem."

Hermione glared at him, but said nothing.

There were so many questions left unanswered, that it let my mouth burning.

"I would start your search in the library," Dumbledore said, breaking me from my reverie. "Good luck, you three. You may go."

"But—" I began to protest. "You're not going to tell me anything, except go to the library?"

Dumbledore focused on me, glassy. "That is all I can provide, support wise."

Anger boiled within me. This man probably knew everything that I had to do, but was deliberately keeping quiet for the sake of us 'discovering more about ourselves', or making it a learning process, or something. I clenched my sweaty palms, feeling like a volcano about to erupt.

"You're not going to tell us anything, because you can't, or because you won't?" I ground my jaw. "That's stupid."

Ron whipped to face me. "Percy—!"

But Dumbledore leant back in his chair, unfazed by my words. "I'm afraid… it is that I literally cannot tell you." He took a shaky breath, lifting his bony hand to stroke the phoenix again. "I am bound."

"Bound—?!" Hermione echoed.

"It is nothing that can be helped, and it isn't hostile, so please don't worry," he said. A smile lifted his cheeks. "The only advice I can suggest is that you take your search to the library." He paused, his gaze lingering on me. "There are always… dark secrets, lurking in the shadows."

The words tumbled through my head, and, knowing I couldn't squeeze anything more from him, I turned and left the office.

The corridor seemed thicker with stale air, but I still lapped up the air in greedy breaths. Dumbledore couldn't tell me who I was or what my purpose here was… because he was bound? By what? Oath? Faith?

… Magic?

Even keeping the whereabouts of the famed Harry under wraps seemed like a jerkish thing to do, and if he really cared for his students, he would spill the beans then and there.

Ron shut the door, then whirled to Hermione, eyebrows raised.

"Er, bound?!" he hissed. "That sounds pretty hostile to me! He's the most powerful wizard in the world! Who could have bound him?"

Hermione wrung her hands together. "I don't know, but if he says it's not hostile, then… I believe him." She wiped away her frown, replacing it with an easy smile. "Don't worry, Percy. We'll help get your memories back."

It didn't make me feel any better. "Is Dumbledore always this cryptic?"

She faltered. "Well… yes, but if what he says is true…" She perked up, butting her chest with a fist. "Don't worry, Percy. Ron and I will help you. Won't we, Ron?"

Ron snorted as he made his way to the magical spinning staircase. "Sure. Then we can get Harry back."

Hermione scowled at him. "Percy has lost his memories and we've lost our friend – we're working towards a common goal."

Ron crossed his arms. "We don't have a clue what the link is! Why is Percy here and Harry not? What's the connection between them? What's his purpose?"

The two of them looked at me – hoping, I could see, that the answer would jump out at them. But the silence that followed said otherwise, and I knew it would be a long task ahead, even if I wanted to know. More than anything.

Finally, Hermione spoke up. "I don't what the connection is, and I don't know what his purpose is, but if Dumbledore says you have something to do, we better start finding out what it is." She loosed a breath. "We should go to the library and start our search there, after lessons."

If there was anything I was least concerned about, it was class. At this point in time they were as unnecessary as Ron's snarky comments. The staircase rolled down, and Ron grunted.

I turned around – he held in his hand Harry's black, sleek wand, offering it to me.

"You're gonna' need this, since you don't have your own."

I took the wand gingerly – it was supple, and sleek, and yet, entirely foreign in my hands. "I thought you didn't trust me."

"I don't," he said. "But if Dumbledore does then… I guess I have to roll with it."

I slipped the wand into my pocket, and it felt like a leaden weight thieved from someone in another universe. A precious thing. "Well, thanks. I guess you don't suck as much as I thought."

He deadpanned, but didn't comment. If I was honest, I still didn't care – about Ron, the wand, or classes. Anything. I just wanted to go to this library and leave as soon as possible.

Find out what I was meant to do… what I did in the past.

And, most importantly… who I was, once before.

A/N: Hi all! Green here, with a Harry Potter and Percy Jackson crossover!

Some important things to note: this is an alternate timeline story, taking place in November. For Percy's world, the story takes place after the war with Gaia, however, this is written as if I have not read the House of Hades or Blood of Olympus. It assumes everyone survived unscathed. This is because this story was published after Mark of Athena was released, and I didn't want to prevent those that hadn't read HoH from continuing to read this. Subsequently, there is no canon from the Magnus Chase or Trials of Apollo series either.

For Harry's world, it's around the start of his sixth year. However, the events of Half-Blood Prince have yet not occurred (i.e. Snape is still Potions Master and Draco has not been chosen to kill Dumbledore).

HP takes place in the 1990s, and PJO the 2000s, but here they take place around the same time period. Percy and Harry are also around the same age. Chapters alternate between Percy's POV (written in 1st Person) and Harry's POV (written in 3rd Person).

Hope you enjoyed this one! So next chapter from Harry's point of view, and I'm sure you can guess where he is!

Thanks for reading! All reviews, favourites and follows appreciated!

EDIT 3rd September 2022: So this fic is over TEN YEARS OLD now. Wow. I'm still gobsmacked when I see the views on this. Thank you so much. I've decided to update the fic to make it more readable, so I've done some minor edits to the prose and grammar, because teenage me didn't know how formatting dialogue worked lol. I'm slowly updating the other chapters as well. I won't be doing any major edits so the original voice and style of the fic is preserved.

Thanks so much again, and I hope you enjoy When Wand and Sword Collide!

~ Green