Unknown place—

"Perseus Jackson, age 17, reported dead." Percy murmured, looking down on a newspaper. "Well, that's nice. Whoever faked my death did me a great favor." He peered among the bushes that were behind a low wall, hidden in the shadows of night. A street was before him, dark with only the dimly lit streetlights. He sighed in relief as he pulled down his hood. No one could see him now, not at this hour.

He nearly jumped as he heard footsteps and the sound of something large and heavy scraping down the sidewalk. A boy, looking about 13 years old sat down on the wall, panting heavily. Percy stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. If he got caught, then that would certainly put the CIA—or whoever was the police here in this country—on his tail.

The boy looked panicked, as if he was lost. Percy very carefully stepped forward, making sure not to make a sound. He glanced over the boy's shoulder and found that he was carrying a rather large trunk with an owl.

An owl.

Percy cursed silently. He absolutely hated owls.

The hairs on his back rose suddenly as his demigods sense went full-on alert. Someone—something—was watching him. Apparently, the boy had noticed this too and stood up suddenly. He clutched something in his hand, glaring into the darkness before muttering something under his breath. A light suddenly shone in his hand.

His...stick was glowing?!

And he also was wearing glasses. He looked like a mini-Percy with round glasses, in fact. Green eyes, tousled black hair.

The boy immediately saw Percy and yelped.

"Gah!" The boy stumbled back onto the pavement. Percy nearly fell over too, but he resisted the urge to shout.

"Shh!" He hissed, snatching a look over his shoulder and then fell over.

A huge, black dog gazed down at them. At first, he thought it was a hellhound and nearly took out his sword in defense, but the dog had vanished.

"What the—" Percy was cut short by a large BANG!

A bright light blinded both of them, making Percy's head spin.

A voice penetrated his sudden headache. Percy cracked his eyes open and saw a purple bus.

A freaking Barney the Dinosaur color bus.

A man's silhouette stepped out of the bus and a man, not much older than Percy, dressed in a purple uniform started to speak loudly.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve—" His thick British accent trailed off as he saw the two boys. The boy grabbed at his stick and clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"What you two doin' down there?" He asked teasingly. The boy looked cross.

"Fell over." He said matter-of-factly, also donning an accent.

"I—also fell over." Percy added sheepishly, trying to do an accent as much as he could. Turns out, it was pretty convincing.

"'Choo fall over for?"

"I didn't mean to." Both of them replied, shooting each other annoyed stares. The young man named Stan looked quite amused.

"'Choo lookin' at?" Stan asked. Percy was barely able to distinguish the words.

"Him." The boy pointed at Percy.

"I saw a hell—I mean, a dog. It scared me." Percy shrugged, dusting his hands off.

Stan gazed at the boy.

"Woss that on your 'ead?" He asked.

This guy's really nosy, Percy decided. The boy quickly flattened his dark colored hair.

"Nothing." He muttered.

"Woss your name?"

"Why would I tell you?" Percy asked defiantly as the boy said, "Neville Longbottom." Stan flicked his gaze to Percy.

"Coz you're a wizard, aren't ya? Only wizards can see this bus." He patted the purple metal affectionately. Percy paled. Wizards were real?!

"Of course I am." He lied. "What did you think?"

"Then woss your name?" Stan pressed.

"Percy Jackson."

Neville looked at Percy in surprise.

The conductor looked mildly interested, if not at all. "'Ere,' he said, looking suspicious again, 'you did flag usdown, dincha? Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?'" Neville nodded quickly.

"Yes. How much would it take to get to London?" He asked, rummaging through his trunk.

"Eleven Sickles." Stan replied. "But for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and forfifteen you get an 'ot-water bottle an' a toofbrush in the colour of yourchoice." Percy shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't call the Knight Bus." He admitted. "I think Neville here did. I'm fine, thanks. My house isn't far from here." Stan shrugged and held out his hand as Neville dropped some silver coins into his hand. Percy waved and quietly slipped away as Stan and Neville pushed his trunk on board.

He padded through the streets, trying to process what just happened. Wizards?? Magic sticks that light up like Will?? What the fuck was happening?

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn't realize that someone was watching him.

"Gah!" He yelped as a large black furry thing pounced on him, making him tumble over the edge of the wall into the bushes. Then he realized it was a man. Wait, what?

"What the hell?!" He spluttered. "Get off me, dude!" He could barely make out the man's features, but he saw shaggy, unkept long hair and a scowl on his face.

"I thought your kind was destroyed or imprisoned." He squinted. "And you're awfully young. What on earth was the Dark Lord thinking?" Percy opened his mouth to protest, but the man's hand slapped over his mouth.

"Don't talk." He hissed. "You'll give us away. I know who you are. You're one of the Death Eaters."

"Mmmph?!" Percy tried to say. The man sighed.

"Don't try to lie. You have the dark mark on your forearm." His hand reached to Percy's sleeve. Percy being Percy, he did the sensible thing.

He disappeared.

"What the—?!" The man stumbled back in surprise as Percy vaporized underneath him and reappeared behind him.

"I'm not a Thanatos Eater, mister." He crossed his arms indignantly. "Why the hell did you do that? Heck, I'm not even a murderer." The man growled, taking his magic stick out.

"You're a threat to Harry. I might not have killed anyone before, but I can if I want to." He pointed it at Percy.

"Who?" He frowned. "Who's Harry?" The man's grip on his wand faltered.

"You don't know—oh God, who am I kidding? You're a murderer. Why wouldn't you lie?" The man muttered. Percy rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, he certainly is a murderer." A voice whispered. Percy spun around and was faced with a goddess.

"Oh shit." His jaw fell open.

It was Hecate.

AHH THE TEMPTATION OF A CLIFFHANGER

He glanced at the man. He was frozen, as still as a statue.

"What did you do to him?" Percy demanded. Hecate shrugged.

"Just a simple freezing spell. Nothing serious." She glared at him. "The gods believe you have perished." He avoided her stony gaze.

"Yeah. I can't go back."

"Why not?" She asked.

"Because of the things they've done to me." A tiny prick of resentment stabbed his heart as he remembered the shouts and names they called him.

Monster!

You'll never fit in!

You're a beast.

Killer!

Murderer!

They weren't wrong, though...he was a monster. He could bloodbend. Kill someone with a snap of his fingers. And he hated himself for it.

And all the lives he had ended with it...the sick way he strangled them. He had enjoyed it.

"They think you're a monster." She guessed. Rage boiled in his veins as he remembered the rejections he had gotten.

"Yeah." He clenched his fists.

"What will you do about it?" She asked gently. He closed his eyes.

"I'm going to prove them right." He said, the ghost of an insane smile on his lips.