Chapter 3
the next day would be his last in the camp he grew up in besides the boarding school he had attended since his mother's death. Percy rolled out of bed and downed a pot of coffee as part of his daily ritual to see if the son of the sea could drown himself in caffeine. Evidently, with the slightly more attentive state he found himself in after the second pot he gave up with this new quest he had given himself. He was starting to doubt Triton's words of how mortal children of the sea had a limit to how much liquid they could consume before feeling sick. He couldn’t find the energy in him anymore to wake up without it anymore and the boost it gave him often gave him the edge to wake up every day and go through the motions of his life.
He packed up the few items he kept in his cabin like the repaired shield watch Tyson had made him and got fixed or the minotaur horn. He kept a hers Yankees cap with him at all times and modified it so the enchantment could be turned on and off. Riptide lay in a small pouch, the blade shattered beyond repair and dead like the man who once wielded it. Lighting a cigarette to calm the nerves that were coming upon him he quickly began to calm down. The demigod had died in place of the magician and he would learn to leave his past where it should be. He would soon be a new man in a new country. By the time the campers and the legion wrapped up the sing-along and dinner that evening, Percy was already dissolving his body in a shower of water the essence of his being into the clouds above a forest in England giving way to a flood of water and out from the rain a man stepped out. Mr Moody’s house would not be far from where he now stood and he lazily meandered to a nearby road. Summoning his motorcycle, Percy mounted the mechanical beast. The roar of the engine could be heard all around as he sped off to Moody's house. His motorcycle, a substitute for his constant need for adrenaline and danger to replace his other addiction she made him stop, was an acquired taste he had discovered riding blackjack throughout the East Coast and a Vespa he had commandeered during the battle of Manhattan zipping through the streets to hotspots to continue the fight. He now rode a modified Harley-Davidson Fat Boy with a celestial bronze engine to pump out as much speed as the cycle could handle.
unbuckling the latches that held his luggage and the saddlebags magically modified to handle twice the capacity he pulled out his briefcase and strolled up to Moody's house. It was a summer evening and there was rain in the air. The smell of ozone from the earlier pour brought back fond memories of Talia and Jason and her. Stepping into the warded perimeter of the house Percy pulled his wand out of the holster. He had heard the seasoned auror was a paranoid man who respected people as equally paranoid as him and decided if this man were to be his mentor he would be damned if he wouldn’t leave a good first impression meeting him.
With three knocks on the old oak door, the door flew open with Percy pulled in and a wand quickly out to his neck. Throwing a right hook to the gut and a front kick to push the man away Percy aimed the wand to the man’s head. He was old the oldest demigod Percy had seen that actually looked his age Alastor “Mad-eye” Moody stood scarred a chunk of his nose missing a peg leg and most notable, the blue magical eye whizzing around before coming to a still and he began his staring through Percy before taking a long look that definitely didn’t make Percy uncomfortable when he suspiciously eyed his enchanted briefcase, definitely. The man’s face cracked into a smile, his scars distorting into a look of grudging respect before vanishing off his face into the ever-present scowl, respect for what Percy was still unsure of.
“In all my years as an instructor for the Aurors, I have lectured every single student about constant vigilance a dozen times at least, and yet in all my time few truly practice to the extent I do.” He talked with a deep growl, a gruff manner Percy sometimes found himself falling into.
“ Now I'm not saying I'm doing all of this out of the goodness of my heart. Believe me when I say that if dear old mum didn’t come to cash in those favors I owe from back in ‘82. But believe this kid you got yourself some real potential to become the greatest aurora this world has ever seen and a hero already. Hell if you weren't a damn yank I would’ve sent a resume to Bones herself for you to join the department. Hell, I might still do it!” moody let out a laugh. Percy nervously chuckled along with him. Something about the man put Percy on edge but from feeling his heartbeat he was near certain of this truth. As Moody ambled off into the kitchen returning with a bottle of fire whiskey, Percy cautiously played with the pack of Marlboro reds in his coat pocket. Firewhiskey was a drink Percy adored, always drinking enough to forget but not enough that he would turn into an incoherent mess. not enough that he would turn into Him. But Percy figured that like most things in his life, this was a test. As Moody began pouring two cups for the both of them Percy began his search. Concentrating hard enough he felt around feeling every molecule of the drink, his senses brushing against the magic in it to give it its signature burning sensation that Percy could vividly remember that so very much reminded him of a less potent bottle of Phlegethon water. He finally found what he was looking for when he felt the antidote in Moody's pocket. The antidote for Death's blood in the drink. Enough to kill a wizard in a matter of minutes and enough to make most demigods very sick without the antidote. Pulling on the poison the same way he would extract contaminants and other nasty things in the Hudson Bay or water from the air he began to pull the poison out of the whiskey. Percy curled the few drops into a small stream wrapping around his index finger feeling the burn of the poison against his skin, the poison healing him as fast as it was destroyed. When he finally believed the message got across to the man he finally modeled it into a ball. All the while mad-eye watched with keen interest his magical eye even still as he watched him closely.
“I bring my own drink” Percy easily responded pulling out a flask of butterbeer enchanted to be kept cold. With a bark of laughter moody downed both glasses before pouring another “Cheers”
Percy Jackson didn't know what to make out of Alastor's “mad-eye” Moody. The man was definitely eccentric and he definitely was more paranoid than Percy expected. But if Percy would take offense to his jumpiness then he would be a bigger hypocrite than the gods he once served. But taking into account Percy's paranoia it made sense a grizzled veteran like him would also be a bit jumpy. He was harsher than the trainers in the legion or at least the short time he was in it. He woke up early and trained until he collapsed mainly with dueling as unlike dueling your average mortal magician Percy had to fight tooth and nail to win his duels with the auror. And even after he collapsed Percy wouldn’t be safe from training as now Moody would drill him on spells. They had kept up this training for six weeks of which Percy would expand his already vast mental library of spells to the point where he could fill a whole textbook with all this newly learned magic. And it wasn’t just new spells made from years passed on the second week Moody began to teach Percy the art of spellcraft. This was a quite more difficult task than Percy would like to ever admit and would've been harder if not for the knowledge of Latin and Greek he was born and learned of. He could vividly recall the day he successfully made his first spell.
“Jackson, magic is about will, you have to will the magic to you. Think of it like water.” moody barked at him the same few words he had the whole day
“Interitus” he had roared. But a part of him couldn’t go through with it. Destruction was a part of him but that part was buried deep within. This time a small blast shot out that blew a golf ball-sized hole into the brick wall. But it wasn't enough
“INTERITUS” he roared again pulling more of the spirit of destruction from the depths of his essence and into the spell. His wand glowed and a pulse of destruction shot forth. The brick wall exploded but it wasn’t enough. Apollyon wanted more. Moody stood there, his ever-present scowl and frown leveled at him. They both knew he had more in him. When he pointed his wand once more at a new blank stretch of a wall the one wielding it was not Percy Jackson anymore.
“INTERITUS” Apollyon bellowed. The blast that forced its way out of his wand was a mixture of divine fury and mortal magic. What was once a brick wall Moody had built was now shattered and destroyed so thoroughly that the dust seemed to pulse with magic. The glow in Apollyon's eyes was as bright as the approval in Alastors good eye. And something truly miraculous happened when Apollyon closed his eyes. The man who opened them again was Percy Jackson.
He had been looking forward to this tournament for nearly two years. The international wizarding dueling tournament happened once a year however Percy never expected himself to compete in it. Even though wizards lived for an obscenely long time demigods did not. And for a whole year, Percy was sure he was to die. But months had passed after his sixteenth birthday and Percy had reached an age in which he could finally compete in the tournament. He had been training for a long grueling and often jested between the two men, cruel five months under Alastor's “mad-eye” moody. The tournament was very simple. Two witches or wizards would stand on opposite sides of a platform. They would fight until a yield or until their opponent could not fight. The only rules were basic boring, no maiming, no killing, and no illegal cures. They would also be barred from drinking any potions before the contest. As many people could enter but each person had to pay an enormous entrance fee of a whopping one thousand galleons more than some wizards made in a year and more money than Percy had seen most of his life. however Percy of course procured this money (read steal) from his father's vault in Gringotts. He never said he wasn’t allowed to use it and besides, he was sure his father didn’t even mind. He had even sent him a copy of “A Champion’s Guide to Wizarding Dueling by Julius Grindawald.” an ancestor of the famous dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. Even if his great-great-great-grandson was an evil wizarding megalomaniac it didn’t mean the book would be any worthless. He had even picked up a handful of spells from it. Of course, the prize money would more than makeup for it of a whopping ten thousand galleons, enough to buy Alastor a gift and cover the expenses for his next few bounties and maybe buy that aurora license. He had begun hunting small-time dark wizards and witches for a small bounty but couldn’t make as much until he got his aurora license. And this is where we now find Percy.
The first fight of the day was against a German wizard by the name of Erich Müller. He stood at what would be an intimidating six foot two but was nothing compared to Percy’s six-five and built quite literally like a Greek god.
“Present arms” the commenter barked out in a nasal voice. Percy leveled his wand at the man seeing him do the same.
“3, 2, 1” With a crack from the wand like a whip the duel commenced. The man was obviously skilled and was no slouch. But he was nothing compared to Percy. Nonverbally casting a shield before launching a stunner, stinging jinx and expelliarmus the man had barely half a second to raise a shield of his own which quickly broke down. Launched two rapid stunners the first more powerful than the second his next shield shattered and the second stunner hit him square in the side sending him unconscious.
For the next handful of duels, it all continued quite the same. In one duel Percy had to actually build a brick wall to deflect some nasty cures and in another had to transfigure the ground under them into quicksand however the few times he did get hit he could merely shrug it off. He had made it so far that he was already in the top ten and would gain a decent one hundred galleons and a place in the next tournament. But he wasn’t satisfied yet.
His next fight and the last one before he would be in the finals would be against a Brazilian wizard Fernanda Braga. The man was a short five foot six but carried himself with an air of superiority. But that would quickly be dealt with if Percy had a say in this.
“Present arms” a commenter yelled out in a croaky voice.
“three, two, one” and just like that the duel had begun once more. Dodging a flurry of red and blue spells Percy launched a jet of water from his wand hitting his shield with the force of a semi-truck forcing the man to stumble. He quickly recovered and launched a nasty purple curse that shattered Percy's shield and if it wasn’t for the brick wall Percy had summoned he probably wouldn’t be looking all too good. Diving to his right and launching a blasting spell at the man's own brick wall, Percy levitated a brick before launching it at the man hitting him in the chest. The man however would prove a challenge by turning a brick on the floor into a wolf and then lunging at Percy. Blasting the creature into a red mist he fired a fireball at the man before launching a dozen stunners. The man shielding himself from all and dodging a handful of the stunners that made it past had no sign of stopping. Finally, Percy apparated behind the man and in a flash fired a stunner at the man's back. But he had planned for the man to dive away and wouldn’t be wrong in his prediction as the man countered with a stunner of his own. Overcharging his next stunner and blasting the ground where the man just was he forced the man to change his focus to where he just was. Allowing Percy to cast a full body-binding spell against him securing the win.
His last fight for the day and the moment he was waiting for was finally here. His opponent was the current international wizarding champion, the greatest duelist since Albus Dumbledore himself. An Indian American wizard by the name of Michael Shastry. He was scarred from his previous duels and was a massive seven foot. He was the only thing preventing Percy from winning.
“Present arms” the final commentator of the day called out.
“three, two, one” With a crack like thunder the duel began. Percy wasted no time in deflecting the myriad of spells coming his way before launching his own tirade of a counterattack. Launching a brick at the man and transforming it into a snake after he blocked it he sent a wave of stunners and stingers his way just for all of them to be countered by a steel wall he summoned. But the two of them were just getting started. Aparating behind Percy he struck with a stunner and then made Percy stumble before Percy could launch a half-a-dozen stunners and a blasting spell. Even when two of his runners connected he still kept on going. In a massive spectacle of lights and magic, the two men fought. The commentators and the crowd's roar were blocked from their isolated corner of the world but if they could hear they would hear the cheers and shouting from the crowd and the absolute jubilation in the commentator's voice from such a spectacle. An eighteen-year-old American wizard standing up to one of the fiercest duelists the world had ever seen. And on and on they went. Percy blasting spell after spell with more magic than most witches and wizards cast in a month and Michael firing spell after spell at him more advanced than most could ever dream of doing. But both were slowly done and both after taking multiple spells that instead of stunning them stunned the crowd.
As Percy launched a stinging jinx at him before firing off multiple overcharged stunners Michael summoned a brick wall like he had before. However, Percy decided to use his secret weapon. Appolyon took control of his body and now fought with a renowned vigor the likes of which the world had only seen in the likes of Dumbledore and Merlin. With a roar, he fired his secret weapon.
“INTERITUS” he bellowed like the roar of the sea. The brick wall was absolutely obliterated as well as the three other brick walls. The spell even ripped through a steel wall before hitting Michael in the chest and sending him flying ten feet. Five broken ribs and a concussion to boot. As the silencing charm on the area stage faded all Apollyon could hear was the roar of the crowd. He had won and what would he do with his victory? The culmination of all his hopes and dreams over the last year. He did what he always did when too emotional to think. He closed his eyes
And Percy lit a cig