At first glance, Percy Jackson is the son of Poseidon, the Hero of Olympus, survivor of Tartarus, the defeater of Monsters; but deep within his roots stems magic that reaches into another world: the world of wizards and witches and dark lords and on...
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The visit from the Death Eaters had been unexpected, to say the least.
It had been a normal evening at the estate - or, as normal as two demi-wizards could have asked for. They ate dinner together before settling down in the lounge on the sofas where Annabeth buried her nose in her book and Percy stared at the ceiling, content with Annabeth nestled close beside him.
And then all hell broke loose. The fire pit suddenly exploded with green flames and Death Eater after Death Eater came tumbling out into their home. They were quickly surrounded and their wands were confiscated by one of the dozen hooded figures. However, neither Percy nor Annabeth made a move in protest. Though their hearts beat quickly with anxious nerves and adrenaline, they kept their faces empty of emotion, keeping still, quiet and compliant.
Percy made the first move. He stood up slowly, holding his hands up.
One of the Death Eaters moved forward, slapping a pair of magic-restraining cuffs around Percy's wrists. Immediately, Percy felt his energy drain and let out a small groan.
Annabeth followed his lead, setting down her book before standing and holding out her arms compliantly. They had prepared for this.
Soon, they left the Jackson Estate, unsure whether they would return or not.
On the other end of the green flames, Percy and Annabeth found themselves in the home of the Malfoy's. It was the same room that in which they had had their first meeting with Narcissa, Severus and Dumbledore, but it now seemed to have been confiscated by none other than Tom Riddle himself.
Percy was dragged forward first by two of the Death Eaters and thrown to the floor before the figure sat by the fire, who was stirring a cup of tea. Annabeth fell next to him with a thump and they glanced at one another, hoping for reassurance. There was none.
There was a long stretch of silence save for the slurping of the liquid as Voldemort finished his tea and placed the empty cup on the coffee table. After, he stood up. The Death Eaters circling the fireplace backed away warily as Voldemort towered over Percy and Annabeth, wand drawn at his side, ready.
"I heard you were looking for me," his voice finally broke the silence. It's hissing tone reminded Percy of so much, but he could not afford to remember. Not his best friend's cold, lifeless eyes, or the torture he endured by Tom Riddle's hand.
"Yes," Percy answered, "my Lord."
"And tell me why I should have allowed this? Tell me why I should not kill you both where you kneel."
"Because then you would lose your vantage point," Annabeth said.
"Oh?"
"She's right," Percy commented, "with us, you are closer to Harry Potter than ever before, and he won't even know it."
