ϟ ψ ΡΣΓCY JΔCΚSΘΝ GΘΣS ΤΘ ΗΘGΨΛΓΤS ψ ϟ

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟- ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕠𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

When Percy Jackson opened his eyes after making his choice, he had expected to find himself lying awake in the river where he had taken his final fall.

He didn't expect to find himself standing in an sunny, open clearing, sun shining overhead, something so blissful that in such desperate times there was no way it could prove to be anything but a dream. What's with all these endless dreams and hallucinations, he asked himself, disgruntled. I chose to come back to life!

"And the correct choice you made."

Percy spun around to find himself face to face with a woman, who even though she may have been unrecognizable visually due to her ever-changing appearance, their presence had become all too familiar in recent times.

"Lady Hecate," he replied stiffly, not quite certain how to feel towards her arrival. She had dragged him into another war just for her selfish gain, and he didn't quite forgive her for that, but no matter the hatred he felt towards the goddess, he now had personal attachment to the people in this fight, and he couldn't just abandon them now. She stood still for many moments, head held high, her long, black hair flowing elegantly behind her in the gentle breeze, eyes scanning him with pity.

"It is no lie that you have been through much, young hero, but I must inform you the worst is to come, and I need you prepared if we are to have any hope of success. You have missed much in your absence, and that needs to be rectified." She moved closer to him and, without the slightest bit of warning, placed a icy cold palm on his forehead. He flinched at the contact, not having too long to feel confused when suddenly images began pouring into his mind faster than he had any time to process them. He collapsed to his knees just as she stepped back, hands pressing against the side of his head, feeling as if his brain was threatening to explode with this overload of information. It wasn't painful as such, but more disorientating to someone who hadn't used their brain for any functions for the past two years. It felt like hours until he finally had the strength to stand again, beginning to try and make sense of all the foreign memories he had no had access to.

To say he was horrified by what he saw would be an understatement. Even Percy Jackson, who had seen more despicable horrors than anyone of his age ever should, couldn't begin to comprehend the madness the wizarding world had descended into, one that had seemed so peaceful before. To see Harry, Ron and Hermione on the run like that, desperate and fearful, no idea of what lay around each turn, was difficult to bear. They were good people, they didn't deserve all that hardship. But that's just the way it is, Percy thought, depressed. The best people always have the rottenest luck.

It was when he reached the last stop in the timeline, however, that he realised how bad things really had gotten.

"Harry Potter is dead?" he asked, eyes wide with shock. "But he was the key to defeating Voldemort, the prophecy said so. We're hopeless without him!" She shook her head softly, making Percy grow impatient; why was the woman always so insufferably vague? A typical God, he thought angrily. "Well then, if the only person with the power to defeat Voldemort is dead, how are we meant to succeed? Wait another seventeen years until Voldemort just so happens to mark another July baby as his equal?" Hecate pursed her lips; this wasn't the time for joking.

"Simple," she replied. "Harry isn't dead."

That only confused Percy further.

"He was hit with the killing curse! He can't not be dead!" Percy could practically hear Hermione correcting his grammar in his mind, and while that brought some laughter it was soon replaced by an aching sadness; only if Voldemort, a man who the thought of sharing DNA with was simply appalling, was defeated would this muggleborn prejudice end, and she would final be safe.