I've settled in, and small update

Heyyyy, my pretty patrons. Hope you've been enjoying your lives! I've had a very busy but productive month. I'm finally completely settled in, and my writing has never been better. Not in quality perhaps, but definitely in smoothness. I'm not quite finished with SOW chap yet, though I will be in a couple of days. Everything just feels so peaceful now. Though furnishing the house did take a lot of my time (it was completely and utterly naked, it's only been a week now that I didn't have to face the Sun's full glare without a curtain).

I wasn't able to properly concentrate on my main works, but I did whip up something else in the last couple of days. Just a plot that has been bouncing around in my head for a long while now. This, along with an Avengers fic ( Spider-man time-travel with maaaybe Gamer) and that HP/GOT fic that I'd promised you months ago, would probably be my new pet projects. Though don't worry, my main three are still very much my first priority. These ones I'll only work on in moments of...temporary boredom.

Also, March payment is paused. Maybe even April if I don't post at least 4-5 chapters (of my main three, consider these ones more side-fry than anything for now).

This fic is HP/PJO, btw. Also, its unpolished and unbeta'd. Just a test post to see if the premise brings any interest.

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Prologue

Harry Potter had always known he was special. Sure, his Aunt and Uncle had called it ‘Freakishness’ once, but he knew better now.

He was different. In more ways than one. Powerful, in a fashion he'd never seen anyone else before. He had thought the mystery solved when that tawny owl came barging into the Dursley residence, bringing the first ever letter to his name, but it was clear now that he was wrong.

There was something else afoot.

The signs had been there from the very start, though masked underneath the cover of his more obvious power, which always seemed to show its presence with much more willingness. Turning his teacher's hair blue, fixing a broken vase, Apparating upon the school roof to win another round of 'Harry Hunting', freeing that poor python...all of it obvious cases of accidental magic.

It wasn't a surprise he'd logged the other 'oddities' along with them, no matter how unique and...drastic their effects were.

The first time he'd consciously felt its presence was on Dudley's tenth birthday.

The day his life had changed for the better.

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It had been a brutal day for Harry, crueler than usual. Then again, all of Dudley's birthdays were the same, always reminding him of his parents absence more painfully than others. He should've probably gotten used to it by now.

This day, however, had proved to be a touch more cruel than usual.

It started with another day of frying perfect scrambled eggs and bacon, followed by a devilishly boring visit to Mrs. Figgs, the mad old lady that lived two streets away, while the Dursleys went about their merry way—probably to that adventure park Dudley had been gloating about all week.

Along with Aunt Marge. Couldn't forget that infernal woman—Fat Marge, Harry had graciously dubbed upon her—and her fat ugly dog, Ripper.

While he usually hated being left behind with Mrs. Figgs—her whole house smelled of cabbage and the woman made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned—it was still preferable to spending an entire day with Fat Marge and her sneering taunts.

Unfortunately, the Dursleys had come back early this time, so he couldn't do anything but bear it in silence. Especially when they began drinking, a malady that gave their cruelty a new height; any sound of protest, or even gritting his teeth, would invite the fat woman to wack him on the shins with her walking stick. She'd always been the most vicious of the lot, even more so than her brother.

Harry absently wondered if the woman had shared a similar relationship with Vernon in their childhood as he and Dudley did; from the slight flinches from the man when she got particularly loud, Harry was willing to bet so.

By the time a deeper phase of Twilight set in, Harry had already received a burning calf, a stinging wrist, and a bruised shin from the woman's fearsome weapon.

So as his walrus of a cousin ripped apart gifts after gifts, he cleaned up the mess in absolute silence, ignoring everything that came out of her mouth as well as he could.

"...and look at his face, pale as a chalk. You can recognise them by the skin. See Dudley's pink cheeks, Petunia? That's the color you want, healthy and innocent. It's all in the breeding really..."

Well, he tried at least.

But as the woman went on and on about the lower breeding of his parents, he couldn't help a wisp of anger from igniting within his heart. Yes, they may've been drunken louts who'd died in a car crash, and shoved his puny existence into the hands of people who never wanted him, but they were still his parents. They were his. His, and no one else's. The Dursleys couldn't take that away from him. And he didn't like people disparaging something that belonged to him. His anger, he felt, was justified.

Of course, he still didn't want to be hit by the stick again.

So before the anger could show on his face, he quickly distracted himself by staring at Dudley's large collection of already opened presents, which included three racing cars, a pair of kid's boxing gloves—which would soon be used on Harry, no doubt—along with a multitude of toys that he couldn't recognize.

The boy was in the midst of opening Fat Marge's present, a computerized robot glinting red and blue. From the look on his face, Dudley obviously loved it. Harry had gotten a present of his own from Marge, a packet of dog biscuits that he'd quickly hid in his cupboard, under the torn bedsheet that made up for his bed. He intended to save it for desperate times.

Harry must've spent a little too long looking at the presents, for suddenly his neck was greeted by a harsh slap from Marge's walking stick, the sudden pain making him wince and stumble back.

"Hah! I bet you want to steal his presents too, don't you boy!? Keep your beady little eyes away, I say, ungrateful little urchin..."

The walking stick came swinging back for another hit straight at the face, but Harry suddenly found himself ducking down on pure instincts, feeling the air rush over his head, his feet automatically stepping back to make some distance...

From Marge's wide and enraged eyes, she clearly hadn’t expected his actions, nor did she find them as impressive as he did.

For a second, he simply stood there, marveling at the feat, but the look on Marge's face promised much more painful things, and he was beginning to realize perhaps he should've just taken the hit after all.

A swollen face or broken tooth wasn't anything new to him.

The sheer unbridled rage on Fat Marge's as she pushed herself up her feet was. "You—!"

Harry scrambled back, throat constricting in dread when things went from bad to worse, his heel landing upon something soft and squishy—which, after a quick glance downwards, he realized was a lolling Ripper's tail.

At any other time, he would’ve taken great pleasure at the bulldog’s surprised and painful howl. Sadly, this time he was standing right next to it, and the four-legged canine had correctly identified the cause of its pain. So when the creature scrambled around, straightening his fat bulk on his little legs, saliva-dripping mouth snarling towards Harry, pleasure was the last thing on his mind.

But of course, the same couldn't be said for others. There was nothing but pure glee on Marge's face now. "Bite, Ripper!"

Harry took off instantly. A moment later, a blood-thirsty Ripper was on his tail, barking like a crazed murder-dog.

The next few minutes passed in a miserable game of tag for Harry. It must've been quite entertaining to see his scrawny body getting chased around the house by a wild dog, for his audience of Dursleys and Fat Marge did nothing to help, their laughter like salt on his hammering heart,

"Get a good chunk out of him!"  Marge hollered at the dog.

With the house's main door closed shut, and the living room barely enough for them, he knew he didn't have enough room to escape. He knew he was about to be caught.

He was proven right.

Cursing the unfairness of his existence he took refuge behind a wooden chair, holding it in the front to keep the snarling dog away. It barked and clawed but Harry somehow managed to make use of a pretty heavy chair as an adequate shield, reluctantly turning his pleading eyes on his Aunt. She was no saint, but she usually made sure Vernon never went overboard with his actions.

"...Marge, dear, perhaps this is enough?" Case in point as she slowly stood up, her face pinched in petulant reluctance, before giving him a glare that wanted to shred Harry to pieces.

He'd never really understood that aspect of her. She supposedly hated helping him, and yet she did it without a grumble. Even if it did look so very forced.

Still, he'd take any help to get away from the large canines currently trying to wiggle their way through the gap between the chair and take a bite out of his leg.

"What?" Marge exclaimed, startled. "Nonsense! The boy stepped on his tail, my baby deserves a bite!" Then, with sickening sweetness, she turned to his cousin. "Dudley, love, take that chair from the freak, would you? I'll give you two more presents in the morning."

"...Two more, so that would mean, thirty-thirty…" The cogs on his head turned, the dumb walrus slowly pushing himself up with a wide grin. "Thirty-nine presents! More than ever!"

"Dudley, no." Petunia sounded genuinely scared, but she'd never once disciplined her son.

Dudley didn't fear her, nor did he recognize her authority.

Harry's heart dropped. Then his fat pig of a walrus came stampeding towards him like a boar, and Harry had never hated anyone more in his life.

The chair was knocked out of his hands, and for one horrifying moment Harry entertained the thought of truly dying...and then Dudley tackled him to the ground, and Ripper's snarling jaw came straight at his throat.

Something in him…snapped.

Time slowed. A tug in his gut. A crack, a sizzle, something horrible. A scream. Something dark. The wood rotted beneath his hands and feet; the walls crumbled behind his head.

It came from within him, Harry knew with certainty. His vision blackened in its presence; a blindness so dark the world seemed to shudder in place. When he came to be, the sight in front of him was…powerful.

Ripper was dead, terror clear even in its animalistic eyes, its tongue rolling past its sharp canines. Dudley was lying on his own piss, mouth wide open, dripping snot and saliva as his stretched fat mass trembled.

Harry backed away from the horrid smell.

The adults were barely any better. Vernon had taken a tactical retreat behind the couch, crouched like Harry used to when shielding from his beatings. His hands were shaking, tears covering his shuddering face.

Marge was a drooling mess, retaining consciousness only until his eyes fell upon her. Then her chin cracked into the floor, and she moved no more.

Petunia took it the best, in that she still stood. White in the face, frozen in place like a stone statue, but still conscious and alive.

Harry didn't know what he had done. Another one of his…freakish bouts, no doubt.

'God, Vernon's going to kill me.' The thought wasn't new, it came every time he did something freaky and Dudley was there to catch it.

But looking at the cowering man behind the sofa, it didn't carry the same fear it used to.

'Or maybe I'm going to kill him.'

That thought was much more enjoyable. Harry smiled. He wasn't a freak.

He was something much more special.

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The days after the entire spectacle were perhaps some of the bests in his life. Marge was admitted to a local hospital, while the Dursleys treated him like some wild animal, unwilling to touch him with a ten-foot pole. Knowing their terror would be temporary, Harry secured himself a new bedroom, was relieved from his house-cleaning duties, and didn't have to cook a single thing for anyone but himself.

It would seem the Dursleys no longer trusted him not to poison their food with his darkness. Oh, the heartache.

Surprisingly, he'd found out in the coming months that their terror wasn't temporary at all. At least, Vernon's wasn't. The first time the man spoke to him after the incident—in the form of a terse snap for bringing in dirty shoes after school—Harry had merely scowled down at the mudded footwear, being reminded exactly why he didn't like rain. When he'd looked up, however, Walrus Sn. had gone white in the face and quickly waddled away as if he didn't just raise a perfectly valid complaint.

When Harry finally familiarized himself with the concept and realized that he'd given P.T.S.D to the Dursley patriarch, he made sure to exploit it for all it's worth. Frowning when there wasn't much left for him to eat—the fridge was full the next day; scowling pointedly when his shoes no longer fit him—a new pair appeared outside his bedroom the following morning; sometimes even directly demanding money—the fat man would wag his meaty finger and stumble a few words of protest out, but a simple displeased look would send him cowering back in his chair.

He never once felt guilty, of course. The Dursleys had more than earned their fair share of justice, and there was no one in this world who could nurse a grudge like Harry Potter. He remembered every word of abuse, every bit of pain and misery like it were a most cherished memory, and he made sure to repay it in full whilst it lasted.

His reign of terror continued unimpeded for almost two more years.

When the letter from Hogwarts came, declaring him a wizard and answering all the questions about his mysterious powers, the Dursleys were more than happy to let him go.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss his abilities as 'Magic'. Especially when he'd brought some specific books from Diagon Alley, struggling through the flying words of 'Introduction to the Magical world'. It took him over a week to completely understand some of the more difficult paragraphs, but he'd found no mention of accidental magic that could induce such terrible terror that the victims were left with drastic mental trauma.

That should've been a good clue that there was something wrong.

But the true first clue came before all this. Before his trip to Diagon Alley.

It came from the red-haired pretty woman that smiled at him hesitantly, and the bespectacled man standing on his doorsteps awkwardly.

It was here he found out his entire life was a lie. His parents didn't belong to him. His parents didn't die in a car crash.

They simply abandoned him like trash.

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AN: It's not much, and like I said, I haven't polished it yet. It's also incomplete, and I'll probably change some things (like Idk when I want him to meet the Potters and his siblings) but I wanted to give you at least something this month instead of just pin drop silence or another apology.

The actual prologue (much bigger in size) will be just crumbs of his life until we get to the actual plot: the end of 2nd year. It won't take long; the prologue is just him recalling the instances when he'd confused his Divine powers with his magic.

You'd probably already guessed, but Harry's the son of an Olympian (I have an explanation on how that came to be), with an added WBWL cause I plan to play with both sides of the fandom. I'm just time-skimming the first two years of his life, things will go normal after that. I'll be alternating between PJO and HP, so summer holidays in camp-half blood, rest of the school year in Hogwarts. Feels pretty perfect.

I always wanted to see what a Demigod of big three (you can probably guess who too) could do with the powers of a wizard. Though if you have a good fic recc, pls do share.

PJO is really lacking in good fics (there are good ones, of course, but I feel it deserves so much more), and I feel like with all my growth in character and plot planning now I can do the fandom some justice (I love MGO but there are a lot of things I would've changed if I could go back to the past).

Anyway, lemme know what you thought of the prologue, and I'll see you in a day or two. No more than 3, SOW's finally entering the Tri-Tour stage, and I want the time-skip till then to be perfect.

Good day to you all, and see ya soon!