A Magical Summer

IM Me- Maybe

Percy's POV

I could hear The Fates laughing on top of Olympus as they knitted more unnecessary magic into my life. If there was one aspect of the mythological world that made me ~really~ anxious, it was magic. 

Magic was such a broad term, but to be honest,
very little of it was actually helpful (or pleasant). The Mist, something magical that has acted as a relative constant in my life, brought a multitude of inconvenience with it. Plus there was the whole magically making all the mortals in New York lose consciousness thing, during the Titan War. Not to mention the more recent Egyptian Magicians, Norse magic, magic curses (not to mention the Death Mist). Some of these things were so alien to me that I barely understood them, even though I witnessed them first hand.

   But, this magic, the magic that the 'wizards' used, was complicated. Really, their whole lives revolved around 'magic'— like that wasn't weird at all.

During the Uber ride to the restaurant we were stopping at for lunch, Mom and Paul filled me in on what was going on with my cousin. Paul was sitting close to my mom, his voice raised slightly higher than normal as he attempted to both talk and (not so) discreetly examine her for damage.

    Meanwhile, I snapped my fingers and concentrated on what would've been an enthralling conversation about the weather, chess and our President, Matthew Ellis. I crossed my fingers, hoping that my slight application of the Mist, combined with the driver's rap music would prevent the driver from listening in on our conversation . I didn't think that the wizardry was automatically covered by the Mist.

"—So pretty much there's a wizard Hitler," I summarized,"Who's set on killing Harry and basically everyone who isn't a 'pure' enough wizard?"

   Mom sent me the stink eye at my crude summary, while Paul let out a small, derisive laugh at my words-

"Lets just hope that they don't let history repeat itself-"

We all looked at each other for a moment, the driver's rap music continuing to blare over the car's speakers eerily as we turned down another street. Mom interrupted, rolling her eyes and gave a small, incredible snort.  

"Don't be dramatic; these Order Of The Phoenix people must know what they are doing,"

   The car slowed to a stop, parking on the street next to the restaurant. The driver begrudgingly lowered the volume of his music, looking almost pained as he turned around to give us the bill. I sat, turning my own wallet around in my hand, as Paul handed a £20 note to the driver

   I felt torn, as Paul automatically paid. On one hand, I appreciated not being expected to pay automatically. On the other hand, there were plenty of other uses for his money– like his future daughter.

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"What's the plan for the next two days?" Paul asked suddenly as we flipped through our menus at the restaurant.

   It was a quaint place with contemporary, blue decor, pleasant wait staff and inexpensive pricing. All in all, my kind of restaurant. Too bad it wasn't located in New York City, though, that would be the real cherry on top.

"We should probably head back to Surrey to —talk— with Petunia," Mom said, pausing for a moment.

Paul nodded his head in agreement, oblivious to the bing of my phone in my pocket as I quickly silenced it.

"It would be nice of you to speak with Dudley, Perce," Paul encouraged, "It would do him some good to have a positive influence."

"Me, a positive influence?" I gasped dramatically, ignoring continued buzzing of my phone, "Have you seen my record?"