Chapter I
“No man ever steps in the same river twice. For it's not the same river and he's not the same man.”
-Heraclitus
If Percy didn't know better, he could've been an amnesiac escapee from some state penitentiary. His clothes were dirty and torn, his left shoe was holding on by a thread, and he didn't even want to think about how bad he smelled.
The fact that Percy actually didn't know better and could've been an amnesiac escapee from some state penitentiary did not help the crazed look he had going on. Blood shot eyes from sleepless nights probably painted the picture of a crackhead desperate for his next fix.
He'd woken up in a forest somewhere with no idea of who he was, let alone why he was there. Besides his first name, everything else was a blank. He couldn't recall any memories, and if he tried too hard, he got a wicked headache. His saving grace had been his instincts.
When the first monster with large teeth and lots of fur tried to take a bite, Percy had cut them down with a glowing bronze sword before he even knew he owned one. Imagine his surprise when it doubled as a pen! Then a few bat-like creatures swarmed him and the nearby river kind of exploded?! At one point, Percy really did think he was on drugs because how was this his life?
To make things even crazier, nothing could pierce his skin. Neither monster teeth nor the stupid pinecones he stepped on could hurt him. As far as he could tell, his whole body was invulnerable, head to toe. Percy also tired quickly. Sure, he was roughing it a bit, which would slow anyone down, but he wanted to take a nap after most run ins with the creatures that saw him as a tasty snack. His endurance needed some serious work because this trek was taking forever.
If he’d kept track of the days correctly, he'd been wandering around the woods discovering water powers and sword skills for nearly a week. Food was scarce, but at least he could sense where fresh water was. With no idea how big the forest was or if anyone else was even remotely close by, Percy decided to keep heading east so the sun would be behind him for the second half of the day.
Thank the gods his strategy pulled off. By sunset, he could see the spires of a castle in the distance. Of course, that was exactly when an arrow embedded itself in the tree by his head. Percy had enough sense to know what a stampede sounded like, and if the other arrows coming at him were anything to go by, these people were not friendly.
Percy sprinted hard towards the castle with the last remnants of his strength. Even if the arrows couldn't get him, Percy was sure they'd find a way if he were caught. Percy jumped over fallen logs and dodged the trees towards a clearing he could just make out up ahead. A quick glance back told him he was being chased by a herd of half-horse, half-man beings. Centaurs, his mind supplied.
The centaurs were gaining on him quickly. He could hear their hollers as they tried to surround him. From his left, a large net came flying. If Percy had been a split second slower, they would've had him. But the simple rope had nothing on his bronze sword. The net fell away uselessly, and Percy never stopped running. Only a few more yards and he'd be out of the forest.
Logically, Percy knew nothing was stopping the centaurs from following him into the open, but he hoped they wouldn't like to get too close to whatever or whoever was in the castle. A centaur on his right made one last ditch effort and shot an arrow at his neck. It shattered upon impact and Percy crossed the tree line. He didn't stop to see if they were following as he was barreling forward towards a set of large oak doors.
Doors that were probably heavy to normal people opened easily for him. Whether because of his adrenaline or his invulnerability, Percy wasn't entirely sure. Maybe a mix of both? He slammed the doors closed behind him and listened for hoofed feet, but all he heard was his own heart racing.
Percy forced himself to breathe deeply and take stock of his surroundings. Lifting his sword, he advanced down the wide, long hallway. He could hear voices in the distance. Most were the high-pitched timbre of adolescents. Kids or not, Percy knew better than to think himself safe. He crept along the wall and stuck to the shadows as he approached an entryway. The sound of running feet had him hiding behind a stone brazier.
“Come on,” a boy said to two others racing after him. “We're already an hour late to dinner, and I'm starving.”
The girl beside him huffed as they ran past Percy's hiding spot. “Honestly, Ron, when are you not hungry?”
Percy couldn't hear anything else as they ran into what he guessed to be a dining hall. Inching closer, he saw kids of all ages. A row of adults sat at a table in the front. Food was piled high with a range of healthy and hearty meals. Everyone wore strange clothes like they were graduating college. Some of the teachers even had matching hats. The longer he observed the more he dreaded what he'd stumbled into... a school.
It was just his luck that the first place he encountered from the woods was a boarding school. He couldn't remember ever attending one, but the pit in his stomach told him he wasn't a fan. Or that he was hungry. Probably both.
Percy had two options. No one had seen him come in, so he could either (a) exit the castle and hope a town was nearby that could help him, or (b) bite the bullet and ask for help. Pros of walking out included no school. Cons, he remained lost and hungry and homeless. Pros of asking for help, he'd get help from these people or directions to where he could get help. Cons, he'd probably have to go to school.
Sighing in defeat and cursing whoever got him into this mess, Percy set his shoulders and marched through the doors.
In hindsight, Percy should've also put away his sword because as soon as people saw it, they stood up and pointed at him with wooden sticks. He wasn't exactly sure what the sticks did, but no one held something in such a threatening manner if it couldn't do damage. Unless desperate times called for desperate measures, but if that were the case there were a lot of metal cups and plates that they could've reached for which would've been more effective than a stick.
Percy slowly capped his sword and slipped the pen into his pocket. He put up his hands sheepishly. “Umm, hi,” he gave a little wave. “Sorry, guys. But I'm a little lost and just escaped from some centaurs. I'm not really sure where I am... actually I'm not really sure who I am either. Umm...”
“An American?” someone interrupted. The boy who spoke was short with blond hair and had a red and gold tie on. Everyone in the room turned toward him with varying levels of curiosity, reproach, and annoyance. “What? I've seen a lot of American films.”
An old man dressed in silver stepped around the long, front table, drawing everyone's attention. “Students, please return to your seats. Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, would you join me in my office to welcome our new guest?”
People seemed content with this and started to go back to their dinner, but one woman in pink coughed a little, “Ahem, Dumbledore, as High Inquisitor, it is my duty to oversee... unprecedented interruptions.”
The old man gave her a genial smile. “Of course, Dolores. But as this young man is not a student, his presence on school grounds falls to me. If you'll excuse us.”
The three teachers swept past the woman who looked ready to blow a fuse. Percy didn't push it, preferring to deal with this grandpa over the pink lady. They walked in silence down a few corridors and up a set of spiral stairs into a very fancy principal's office.
“Please, have a seat, my boy,” the old man offered, presumably the principal. “And perhaps you can start from the beginning?”
Percy did as instructed. It wasn't a long story since he could only remember the past week, but he felt drained by the end of it. “So, yeah. I don't remember much, but I don't think I'm supposed to be in... not America. Are we in England? You all sound British.”
It was the male teacher that answered. “Scotland, though most students here are from England,” the man drawled. He was pale and tall with a long nose and sleek, black hair.
Percy nodded because what else could he do? He wanted to go home but had no idea where home was besides somewhere in America, which was not very helpful. “So, not to be rude, but who are you people? You didn't think I was crazy when I mentioned all the monsters in the forest, but you all also pointed sticks at me. I'm guessing they're more than random pieces of wood?”
The female teacher nodded. “An apt observation, Mr...”
Percy shrugged. “There was an old receipt in my pocket for a dozen donuts when I woke up that said Jackson. My first name being Percy is the only thing I'm certain of, so that could be my last name.”
“Mr. Jackson, then. Those 'sticks' you saw were wands. I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall; this is Professor Severus Snape and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. We teach magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Considering you transfigured your sword and know how to perform elemental magic wandlessly, you must come from a magical background.”
Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhh, maybe? Like the whole magic and monsters thing didn't feel too crazy, so I must've known about it before, right? The only element I've been able to control is water if that means anything. And I don't have a magic wand like you all. My sword just also has a pen form. Anaklusmos is printed on the pen, Greek for riptide. It could be a pen brand, but I think it's the sword's name. If it has a wand form, I haven't figured that out yet.”
The headmaster, having never dropped his smile, reach out a frail hand. “May we see Anaklusmos?”
Percy hesitated but he'd already gone this far, and not to sound too arrogant, but he could probably take down the old man and get his pen back before they could react. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. Dumbledore let McGonagall examine it a little before pointing it away from everyone and taking off the cap.
It immediately sprung out to form a leaf-shaped blade. Its faint, golden glow illuminated the space more than the sparse candles did. Dumbledore had an almost childlike glee as he studied the sword, muttering “fascinating” and “incredible” under his breath. McGonagall was more reserved in her observations. She ran her wand down it a few times, like a magical scanner, and even gave it a few taps. Percy couldn't tell what they could tell from the blade, but something about it was unique. Ya know, other than the fact that it was a magical, glowing pen-sword that had, so far, cut through anything and always returned to his pocket.
When they were both satisfied, Dumbledore touched the blue cap to the tip of the sword and watched as it shrank into a plastic ballpoint pen. He reverently handed it back with twinkling eyes.
McGonagall was first to speak. “The transfiguration is impeccable, imbued so strongly I doubt it'll ever fade. The fact that it always returns to your pocket is even more remarkable. I don't know of a spell that allows for automatic apparition or teleportation of an object.”
“And did you sense a third form?” Dumbledore asked.
She nodded, “Yes and no. There is energy enough for a third transfiguration, but I couldn't force it to materialize. Mr. Jackson, you mentioned knowing how to use the sword and your powers by instinct. Did you ever feel another instinct with your pen? To use it in a different way?”
Percy shook his head. He hadn't examined it much, but he had only ever felt the urge to take off the cap to his pen.
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. “When young witches and wizards first get their wands, they usually have to test out a few. Mr. Ollivander, our most popular and renowned wand maker, instructs his customers to give the wands a swish or a flick. Perhaps try doing the same with your pen?”
Percy stared at it dumbly for a moment. Even knowing the pen turns into a bronze sword, he felt silly waving it around, looking like a dramatic orchestral conductor. He even tried flipping it up in the air but no dice. Then Percy twirled it between his fingers, spinning it once around.
Just like that, it elongated into an elegant wand. The handle was wrapped in leather up to a flat, gold top. It extended fourteen inches, was slightly oblong, and tapered to a fine point. If not for rounded edges, it could've been mistaken for a thin, bronze dagger. The gold inlay down the metal shaft looked like waves or flowing water depending on the angle and made it all the more alluring. A soft, golden glow emitted from the wand, and Percy could only stare in awe and surprise.
“I've never seen a wand made of metal like that,” McGonagall said. She looked shocked and Percy had a feeling the stoic woman was hard to surprise.
“Ollivander uses wood because they have different magical properties that complement the user,” Snape explained. “But any magical medium, in theory, can be used to craft a wand. Whatever this material is, it's certainly magical.”
“And quite powerful too,” Dumbledore added. “I've only ever seen it once when I was in America many years ago. It was a scrying bowl, similar to my pensive. I never knew memories could be so clear.”
Percy perked up at that. “You can look at my memories? Can you try to find mine?”
A slow nod. “Yes, I hope we can. I asked Professor McGonagall here to look over your sword because she teaches transfiguration. Professor Snape teaches potions, but is a very skilled occlumens and legilimens, the art of shielding one's mind and reading others'. If you're agreeable, he could try it now.”
“Yes! Please, if I can get my memories back, that'd be awesome.”
Snape gestured for him to stand and move to the center of the room. He stood a few paces away and raised his wand. “Try to keep your mind open and body relaxed,” he instructed.
Percy took a deep breath to brace himself, letting his tight posture loosen and mind go blank. He heard a faint “leh-JILL-ih-mens” before he doubled over in pain. It felt like the headaches he got every time he tried recalling memories but 100x worse. Percy gripped his head and breathed through the pain.
“-cy? Percy? Can you hear me now?” McGonagall was asking. He had no idea how long she'd been trying to get his attention, but he came to kneeling on the floor with the professor rubbing his back. Snape was similarly in pain, sitting in a chair rubbing his forehead, a tight grip on his wand.
Percy started to nod, but the burst of nausea dissuaded him from that. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok. What happened? Are you ok?” he asked Snape.
Snape waved him off. “I'm fine, just a headache.” Percy didn't believe him if the professor's headache was anything like his own. “You are either a very strong occlumens, or someone has blocked your mind very well,” Snape told him. “Either way, I cannot access your memories. Not even the Dark Lord could occlude his mind so well.”
Percy sagged down, now holding his head for a different reason. “What do I do now?”
“That's simple,” Dumbledore said. He waved his wand towards a stack of papers and took a sheet as it floated towards him. The headmaster used a quill and ink to write something on it before handing the paper over to Percy.
Dear Mr. Jackson,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please see your Head of House for all necessary books and equipment.
Yours sincerely,
Professor A. Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts
Order of Merlin, First Class,
Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump,
International Confed. of Wizards
Percy furrowed his brow. “You're letting me stay?”
“Of course. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. And you've shown a great deal of trust and bravery to ask for it.”
“Does this mean I need to talk to that inquisition lady?”
Dumbledore laughed lightly. “High Inquisitor,” he corrected gently, “and no. She has power over enrolled students but does not control who is enrolled. That power still remains with me.”
“That's another thing, what's a house? And who is the head of it that I need to speak to?” Dumbledore was about to explain, but Percy's stomach chose that moment to growl. A blush crept up his cheeks. “Sorry, I haven't eaten in a while.”
This kicked McGonagall in gear. “I believe all further questions can wait until the morning, Albus. The lad needs rest. It's only Friday,” she said to him, “so you'll have the weekend to get oriented and settled. Dinner would've ended by now, so I'll have supper brought to a guest room for you. There should be a spare set of robes you can borrow too.”
Percy wasn't thrilled about the dress-like attire, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Room and board with the chance to learn magic and actual help to get his memories or get home or something. He didn't need his memories to know this was a good deal. “Thank you, for everything. I don't have anything to repay you with, but I can work off whatever it costs.”
“Nonsense, my boy. We're in the business of education. And this school has been around for centuries. It can surely cover the cost of one student.” Dumbledore smiled over his half-moon glasses. “Professor McGonagall is right, of course. It's been a long day. We can continue discussions tomorrow.”
With one last thanks to the headmaster and Snape, Percy followed McGonagall out. He didn't even bother trying to keep track of where they were going, too tired to put in the mental effort. She led him to a modest room with an adjoining bathroom. A bed and running water sounded absolutely fantastic. Percy couldn't wait to wash away all the grime he'd collected over the past week.
“Breakfast is in the Great Hall where we just came from. I will fetch you in the morning.” McGonagall, sensing Percy had little energy for much else, pointed out where the spare clothes were before leaving him to retire for the night.
It wasn't long before Percy was clean, sated, and climbing under the covers of a nice, soft bed. The world faded to black as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.