Chapter 5: The Orphan and the Awakening
He had been here for months now, his infant body adjusting to the routines of the orphanage. Though he couldn't speak, he had retained his consciousness, his mind a swirl of memories and emotions from his past life. He had long since come to terms with his rebirth, but the weight of his old world still lingered in his heart.
Percy Jackson was no longer just a demigod—he was a baby in a world of magic.
At first, he had struggled. He had no control over his body, and the frustration of being reduced to infancy gnawed at him. But he adapted, as he always had. He observed, he listened, and most of all, he waited.
His magic, however, was another matter entirely.
He first noticed it one rainy night when he was about six months old. A storm raged outside, and the sound of thunder echoed in the distance. As the rain pelted against the windows, Percy felt something inside him stir. The water called to him—it sang in a way that only he could hear. Instinctively, he reached out with his mind, feeling the connection he had once wielded so effortlessly.
A single droplet on the windowpane trembled before slowly rolling upwards, defying gravity. Percy's heart raced. His power—his gift—was still with him.
Over the following months, he experimented in secret. He was careful not to draw attention to himself, but in the quiet moments, he would test the limits of his abilities. A cup of water would ripple when he focused. A damp cloth would dry a little faster when he willed it. Small things, but proof that his magic was awakening.
But his control was imperfect.
One night, when he was just over a year old, he had a nightmare. Memories of betrayal, of Annabeth's accusations, of his mother's broken body haunted his dreams. In his distress, he lost control.
A loud crash woke him. The water from the basin across the room had risen into the air, swirling chaotically before splashing onto the floor. The sudden noise startled the matron, who rushed into the room, her eyes wide with concern.
Percy froze, pretending to be asleep as she examined the mess. He could hear her whisper, "Strange… there was no breeze, and no one else was awake…"
He had been careless.
From that night forward, he resolved to be more cautious. He had no idea how magic worked in this world beyond what he had read in the Harry Potter books. He didn't have a wand, and he didn't know if his abilities would be seen as a gift or a curse.
But he would learn. He would grow. And when the time came, he would be ready.
Percy was four when he first saw magic beyond his own.It was a cold winter morning, and the children had been taken to a small park nearby. Percy, as usual, kept to himself, preferring to observe rather than participate in the raucous games of the other orphans.
That was when he saw it.
A man in a long, flowing cloak stood near the entrance of the park. He was old, with a beard that reached down to his chest, and eyes that twinkled with something Percy couldn't quite place.
The man waved his hand subtly, and just like that, the frost covering the nearby bench melted away. The snowflakes around him seemed to pause in midair before softly falling to the ground. It was done so naturally, so effortlessly, that no one else seemed to notice.
But Percy noticed.
His heart pounded. This was it. Proof that the wizarding world truly existed.
Before he could react, the man's gaze flickered toward him.
For a brief moment, their eyes met. The man's twinkling blue eyes seemed to assess him, and Percy felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, as if he were being measured and understood all at once.
Then, just as quickly as he had arrived, the old man turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner.
Percy exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
This world was about to get a whole lot more interesting.