The Lost Dark Lord (Percy Jackson Grandson of Voldemort)

The Worst Things Always Happen During Free Period

Harry's POV:

I walked into the common room to find Hermione and Ron sucking face. "Aaugh!" I shrieked, covering my eyes dramatically. Hermione and Ron sprung apart, Hermione blushing furiously.

"Oi, mate, you really couldn't have picked a better time to come in, huh?" Ron cried indignantly. I sniggered at his choice of words. 

"So, Ron," I flopped down next to him on the couch and propped myself up on my elbows. "Is Hermione a good kisser?" Ron turned red. "How soon do I need to give you the Talk?" 

"Shut up, Harry. Just because you can't ge-" His sentence cut itself off when Percy strolled into the room, his face stoic save for a few tear streaks. Ron watched, envy written on his face as Hermione jumped off the couch and hurried over to Percy. I leaned closer to Ron.  

"Somebody's jelly!" I whisper-sang.

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Percy's POV:

Hermione hurried towards me with a sympathetic expression. I turned away slightly, irritated. I knew company was the thing I needed most right now, but I couldn't bear the sympathy of others.
Even if they know what I've been through, their emotional experiences are nothing like mine. I held back a shuddering sob. 

"Percy, what's wrong?" She reached for my hand, but I jerked away, as if she had stung me. Her gaze flickered from eye to eye, and it softened even more, if possible. I couldn't look at her. "Oh, Percy, please, just..." She spread her hands out, and took a step back. "If you need to talk to anyone, I'm here."

They don't know what I've been through. No one knows what I've been through. No one has faced the pain I have. I want to talk to someone, anyone, but no one would understand. So I can't. They would give me sympathy, pity. All of it, real, fake, it wouldn't matter. I only need one person. 

I knew exactly what I needed to do. Wrenching my wrist out of Hermione's grasp (when did it get there?), I dashed for the stairs. Ignoring Hermione's soft gasp of pity, Harry's scrutinizing stare, Ron's envious glare, I ran up, bolted into my room, snatched up a sack of drachmas, and hurtled into the bathroom. Gasping for breath, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, then pressed my hand against the sink. The cold water handle flew off, and the water started spraying everywhere. Unbothered, I summoned some sunlight and fished out a drachma from the sack. 

"O Fleecy, do me a solid. Show my Annabeth Chase in Camp Half-Blood." The rainbow shimmered as I hurled the drachma into the mist. My Annabeth's face appeared, smiling. Who was she smiling at? Jason. The Jason Grace. Not helping. I clenched my jaw. "Wise Girl!" I called. Her smile faded, then reappeared, wider and more genuine. 

"Seaweed Brain!" She shrieked. Jason laughed behind her. 

"Hey, bro." He grinned at me, and started to drape an arm around Annabeth, then thought better of it. 

"Hi Sparky." I mirrored his grin halfheartedly, overjoyed just by seeing my Annabeth's face again. Yeah, let's get the weird Roman dude out of the convo. I hope this will work. Concentrating, I imagined a direct passage from my mind to Annabeth's mind, opening up. 

I could faintly hear Annabeth's voice, drifting in and out of hearing. "Percy? What are you doing? Why are your eyes squeezed so tight? Are you okay?" 

Hi Wise Girl.

"What the actual-?" Annabeth yelped. She stared at me, and I smirked back at her, eyes open again. Jason looked between the two of us. 

"Is there something I'm missing?"

Hi. Say something. I blinked.

Are you seriously talking to me in my head? She looked around incredulously.