Percy Jackson X Harry Potter

TWENTY THREE: The Same Dude But Last Year

Harry's POV

HARRY RECOGNISED THIS PLACE. The same dark skies. The same number of mossy gravestones. The same Grim Reaper statue that held him in place, choking him as Voldemort returned to life.

The day he had learned of his Greek heritage was the same day that Harry started having dreams. Percy had warned him about the nature of demigod nightmares. They were prophetic, precognitive, and left the demigod waking up in a cold sweat. Either that, or they pulled your consciousness back in time to witness past events such as this.

In the past, he didn't really notice them. He thought he was paranoid. But it was always weird for him to dream of something so eerily distinct, and wake up; only for the events in his dream to happen a few hours later. But it was never more than seeing a prank that the Weasleys would pull the following day, or Hermione fussing over her Transfiguration essay.

But now, as soon as he found out the truth, they became more severe, more prominent – happening almost every night. Ron had worried about him for the first week, since he couldn't help but jump awake and give a small yelp.

Harry knew this place from last year. From the Triwizard tournament's final task – the hedge maze. He remembered it clearly, as if it were yesterday: he and Cedric both facing the cup, almost glowing on the stone block it was placed upon. Them, both running and grabbing hold of either two handles... Them, being whisked away to this very graveyard. The graveyard where Cedric-

Oh, Cedric. Harry turned his head (as much as he could from the statue's grasp) and stared at the lifeless body beside him, and his eyes welled up with tears of regret. This was the place that they both entered, and only he returned to Hogwarts alive.

'Such a minor inconvenience.' Voldemort said while staring him down. 'The boy is dead, Harry. Now, you will die with him.'

A gust of wind blew up the back of his shirt and up his sleeves, giving his goosebumps and sending a frozen chill down his spine. He struggled against the Grim Reaper gravestone's grasp. This might have just been him, but he felt the scythe shift in its place. He gasped silently.

Voldemort raised his wand. 'AVADA KEDA-'

Harry pulled with all of his strength and the scythe tore loose of the statue. He swung it, following his instincts, somehow knocking away the killing curse with the blade.

Despite it being a few decades old and made of stone, the scythe was surprisingly durable. He wielded it as if he had used it his whole life, as if it were a part of him.

Harry spun the scythe in his hand. 'I dare you.'

The expression of pure 'What the heck' on Voldemort's face was almost laughable.

He felt an intense tug in his stomach, and suddenly the huge cauldron next to Voldemort completely exploded, flooding the area around it. Peter Pettigrew, who had been practically hiding behind said cauldron yelped as litres and litres of boiling liquid pooled around his feet, burning him.

'IT BURNS! IT BURNS! IT BURNS!' Pettigrew squeaked. 'IT BURNS!' he added for extra emphasis.

And Harry collapsed with the scythe still in his hand.

────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────

As said in the last chapter, I altered the story slightly.

In this story, basically, Harry caused Peter Petttigrew's cauldron to explode with his Poseidon powers, unbeknownst to him. Voldemort died from the boiling liquid. (Pretend he can die right now. I genuinely can't be bothered to fix it.)

Don't kill me.

-GingerNinja4573