Bag of Depravity
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Evening the Odds: Chapter 1 (Teaser)
🕑 Added 2025-02-28 19:29:57 +0000 UTCHecate decides that the fight between her favorite legacies is too unfair. How is a teenager supposed to contend with the most dangerous dark wizard in the world, who has a decades-long head start? Her solution is to call in a somewhat different, slightly more jaded Percy Jackson as Harry's new bodyguard, to help level the playing field. Hogwarts's fairer half are more than grateful to have a new demigod hunk on the premises.
Welcome to a crossover that's been in the works for a long time, but I'm just now ready to start on in earnest. Other than the first chapter, it's set primarily in the Harry Potter world, but with Percy as the MC and narrator.
Paid members currently have access to chapter 2 and the excised portions of chapter 1, with more coming soon.
Chapter 1
That’s Life
Gaea’s army had a little bit of everything. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of clay men that turned to dirt when killed. Then there were the centaurs. Stabbing these made my heart ache. Still, I knew they weren’t Chiron. They weren’t even his party-loving cousins. These half-horses were one-hundred-percent barbarian, ready to rip and tear any demigod they managed to get their grubby hands on.
The ogres were big, but slow. I somersaulted under the swing of one's club, slashing out his ankle on the way. When he dropped to a knee, I put riptide through his neck. I was moving on before he’d finished turning to dust.
Annabeth appeared at my side. Together, we cut our way through a fresh wave of monsters. Campers swarmed around us doing battle. We didn’t have any of those fancy orders and charges that the Roman Legion were pulling off, but we had sharp objects and we were very good at swinging them.
Monsters fell in droves. Just as we were getting into a groove, I sensed something wrong.
I grabbed Annabeth’s hand. With a sharp tug, I dragged her to the side. Three arrows flashed by whre she’d stood.
We spun around. But instead of another monster, it was a guy who looked a lot like me.
He had a black leather vest with old-fashioned pistols tucked under his belt. His eyes were the same shade of green as mine, with a red bandana covering the lower portions of his face. He was human, though, and that was the main thing.
I could tell from the crinkles around his eyes that he was smiling as he drew his bow to fire.
I went right. Annabeth moved left. Somehow, this guy shot at both of us seconds apart.
I deflected the arrow with Riptide. Annabeth ducked behind a clay monster, letting it take the arrow for her. She reached the archer first. He leaned back to dodge a swipe from her dagger, then booted her in the knee. She stabbed his bow, cutting through the wood. He kicked her in the chest. I arrived from his blindside, hitting him in the temple with my sword’s pommel. He crumpled.
I turned around, checking on Annabeth.
She’d fallen back, but was already up on her knees. She looked winded. I stepped toward her. Suddenly, her eyes widened, looking behind me.
I spun back around. Riptide flashed out— the blade, this time. The green-eyed bandit had struggled up, drawing one of the pistols he wore. The pistol fired. Riptide finished him off. Someone hit the ground.
He hadn’t been aiming at me.
“Annabeth…?” I said weakly.
She didn’t answer.
The worst day of my life was a lesson. An awful, unforgettable lesson.
O-O-O
Hecate walked into the pub, pausing once to survey the interior. No one looked back except the barman. What few patrons were eating at tables kept their faces fixed down, toward their food, with one hand close to the pockets that held their wands. The barman paused his work with a rag as Hecate walked forward.
“I don’t recognize you, Miss,” he said. “Don’t come to Diagon often?”
Hecate observed him. What he lacked in teeth he made up for with a compassionate, wise gaze. He looked decently old. For a mortal.
“I do not visit as often as I would like,” Hecate said.
The man hesitated, seeming to ponder what to say next.
“Best be careful. Diagon isn’t what it used to be these days. Shopkeepers started going missing. I swear customers have passed through here, and not come back out. Try not to go alone. Or if you have to— at least be quick about it.”
“I am no easy mark,” said Hecate. Growing bored of this conversation, she turned sharply and moved deeper into the business.
“Just be careful!” The barman called after her.
Hecate scowled. Not because of the warning, but because of what it represented.
When she reached the back alley, the brick wall lurched open the moment she stepped near it. She had no need for a wand. She was magic.
What she found on the other side backed up what the gnarled shopkeeper had implied. She paced along streets that were barren, filled with empty shops. Some merely had ‘Closed’ signs pasted in windows. Others were boarded up, with broken glass visible. The few people that passed her in the street did so quickly, and silently. Finally, Hecate came to a stop in front of a wall with posters pasted to its surface.
The first was of little importance to her. It professed a man missing, and featured a moving photo of him extending ice cream cones to young children. Beneath the photo was his name, Florean Fortescue, accompanied by the last date he was seen.
The second was marginally more interesting. It bore a large ‘M’ with a wand sticking through the middle, signifying the Ministry of Magic. This post called for trust and support, and it came equipped with a personal message from the newest Minister of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour assured the public that the Ministry would stamp out this menace… provided that the public cooperated with Aurors and other officials. Hecate eyed this one, then sniffed. How brazen. The Fates themselves had woven two souls together, upon which the fates of all these people rested, and a mere minister thought he could play the starring role? Preposterous.
Which brought her to the final poster. This one was the simplest, and the most straight to the point. It bore a description of a hairless, mostly-featureless man with pale skin and flowing black robes. The Dark Lord, it described him as, along with instructions to flee on sight. As if such a thing were so easy.
This was Tom Riddle. Hecate’s heart ached at the reminder of what he had become. Perhaps if she never showed herself to him…
No, the Fates had decided his path long before she revealed her existence. All that remained now was a hollow echo of a man, with power too great for most to handle. The Fates were certainly cruel. They had taken such an opponent, and linked him with a boy young enough to be his grandson. A child, really. How was such a boy ever supposed to prevail?
This would not do. Hecate’s dress swirled around her feet, frightening a lone wizard passing by. Without a sound, she disappeared from the street.
The poor wizard that witnessed this never managed to convince anyone that he watched a woman Apparate through an Anti-Apparition Jinx (without a sound, no less!) but the sight would stick with him for the rest of his days.
Hecate would not remember him at all.
O-O-O
Seven years ago, when I had just saved the world (for the first time), Chiron gave me a choice. He told me that I could go back to my mom, live three-quarters of my life as a regular kid, and enjoy everything that came with it. Or I could stay with him. I could live my whole life as a demigod, training to fight an extra nine months out of the year. If I chose that, he promised I would reach a whole different level.
I picked being a normal kid. But now, I think I understood what he meant back then.
A few tons of scales, claws, and really bad breath was eyeing me like its next meal. We were standing in the middle of an open grassy hillock surrounded by nothing except the skeletons of unlucky cows. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.
Except straight at the monster.
I covered ground quickly. The monster was a green drakon. I didn’t know this one’s specific name, just that it was big, ugly, and had been giving the nearby demigods a seriously hard time. It raised a clawed hand and slashed at me.
I grinned. There was something about the wind in your face and imminent death that just made you feel alive.
The claws descended on me, each long enough for a skateboarder to use as a half-pipe. The points were wicked sharp. Just before they could puncture me, I used the flat of Riptide’s blade to block them.
The force pushed me— but I just turned, allowing it to spin me around once, and kept on running.
I don’t know if I was imagining things, but I swear the monster’s reptilian eyes widened. It swung with its other arm.
There was no deflecting this one. It came straight at me from above. I stabbed Riptide into the dirt.
The sword cut through the ground as easily as it handled monster flesh. I planted my foot on the hilt and pushed off, canceling my momentum and sending me a few feet back.
The drakon’s hand struck the earth just in front of me. Soil puffed up. I could feel the ground shake. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I took off again, vaulting onto the back of its scaly hand and running right up the arm.
This was the trickiest part yet. Think of it like a balance-beam… one that you have to sprint across while it’s soaked with water, because that was about how slippery the scales were. One missed step would see me fall to the ground as easy prey. But it never came.
I reached the drakon’s shoulder and turned. The monster threw its head back, as if I was a bug that could be shaken loose. It had huge curved horns protruding from its temples. When one of these swung by, I grabbed one and held on.
It took both my hands to keep my grip. My legs flailed uselessly as the drakon continued to thrash, stomping in circles. Thankfully, its arms were too stubby to reach its own back. The drakon dipped its head down. When it hurled its head back up, I let go.
I flew into the air. In general that’s a place I try to avoid being, but this was only fifty feet or so. Nothing dangerous.
Because of Zeus, I mean. There were plenty of other ways that being airborne fifty feet above solid ground can be a problem. But I wasn’t worried.
My hand dug through my pocket, drawing and uncapping a pen. Riptide formed in my hand, as if I hadn’t left it in the dirty thirty seconds ago. The drakon’s head leaned back, trying to spot where I’d ended up, and my grin widened.
“Checkmate, Rango!”
Riptide buried itself in its eye, digging straight through the weak point that its scales couldn’t cover. The drakon roared, but the sound was short-lived. It broke apart into dust. I finished my fall and rolled through the impact.
I pressed a hand to my back as I stood up, wincing slightly. That would leave a bruise. Nothing a bath wouldn’t fix, though. I surveyed the poor Bay Area rancher’s field that the drakon had chosen to call home. Spotting nothing but the cows that had become its recent meals, I turned away. It was a short walk to the van I’d been loaned, and an even shorter drive from there to a certain tunnel, guarded by kids my age in heavy golden armor.
O-O-O
In the first war, when my friends and I saved the world from Kronos, I spared lots of people. They were the children of minor gods, fighting on behalf of their parents. One in particular stands out. Ethan Nakamura was someone I tried to help, and he paid me back by trying to stab my back. Literally.
Annabeth took a blade for me then. She lived, though. And in the end, Ethan came around. I’m not sure we would have won without him. I know now that I took the wrong lesson from this.
We’d just been lucky. Before his heroic turn, Ethan could have killed Annabeth. He almost did. But I ignored it because everything worked out.
Fast forward to the battle against Gaia, who also had mortals fighting for her. The boy in the bandit mask was named Sciron. He was just a resurrected spirit, basically a ghost, but he looked human, and that made me go easy on him.
I hit him with Riptide’s pommel, not the blade. For that, I lost everything. So I promised myself— never again.
I didn’t want anybody to hurt the way I hurt. I didn’t want anybody to feel the way I had to feel. So I dedicated myself to making that a reality. For the last two years I sought out anyone who needed help. I did all kinds of things. Sometimes it meant wiping out a pack of hellhounds before they could turn a twelve year old into their next meal. Sometimes, it meant helping a nymph chase off a beaver that had been giving her funny looks. I don’t regret any of it. Helping is helping.
But I won’t deny, some tasks leave a better taste in the mouth than others.
“It’s dead?” asked a girl with tanned skin and long, straight black hair, sitting atop a fancy golden chair. There was an identical seat beside her, but it was empty. The only ones in the room were me, her, and the identical silver and gold dogs sitting by the girl’s feet.
“Certifiable dust,” I reported. “Nothing but decorations for the dirt. One massive ashtray, minus the tray. So… ash, is what I’m getting at. It won’t bother Camp Jupiter again, Reyna.”
Reyna Ramirez-Arellano stared at me a moment longer before smiling. She had a pretty smile. She showed it more often now, too. After Gaia’s defeat, some of the constant pressure she always put herself under alleviated, allowing her to express herself more easily. I was happy for her.
“Camp Jupiter is in your debt, Percy.” She snorted. “As if we weren’t already.”
She paused here, still smiling. Reyna was pretty. Her sharp nose brought out the best in her eyes, and she had strong, almost aristocratic features. Like a princess. A warrior princess. Her sister was a warrior-queen, so maybe it ran in the family.
“You know, Percy,” she said slowly, “Frank has been expressing an interest in stepping away as Praetor to attend college with Hazel. It wouldn’t be permanent, however, if anyone was fit to stand in for him…”
I knew what she was trying, and it was sweet of her to offer. But I didn’t hesitate to shake my head.
“I’m not looking to settle down right now,” I said.
Reyna tilted her head, sending dark hair cascading over the shoulder of her white toga. She looked sad, although she continued to smile.
“That Drakon put five of my best gate guards on medical leave. Soon, it don’t doubt it would have claimed a legionnaire's life. There must be some kind of way to thank you.”
I felt my back ache, still bruised from my harsh landing. The ache was something I could ignore, but it would be nice to get rid of it.
“A bath would be good,” I admitted.
Reyna’s smile grew as she nodded.
O-O-O
I stretched my arms out, resting them on the marble ledge behind my back, everything below my chest submerged in hot water. Even as a self-admittedly biased Greek, I had to admit that Camp Jupiter had Camp Half-Blood beat in a few ways. The bathhouse for one. It was mainly the bathhouse, now that I thought about it.
This was the Caldarium, a pool with heated floors and walls to keep it toasty at all times. You were supposed to stay in here for a while, then transition to two other pools that got progressively colder, but I usually didn’t bother. An enormous hot tub was good enough for me on its own.
I shut my eyes. Already I felt my back healing. I relaxed, sinking down until my butt rested on an underwater bench sculpted out of the marble. I just sat there, smelling the steam and enjoying the moment.
As I was doing this, someone entered the room. I heard them stepping over my clothes, which were scattered by the door. Considering this was a private bath for use by Praetors only, I knew who it was long before I cracked open my eyes.
(Scene removed to keep this public post SFW so Patreon doesn't ban me.)
O-O-O
Hours later, I sat in the same position I’d been in when Reyna entered the bath. Except now, the Praetor was tucked against my side, her head laid flat on my bicep. I was looking up at the ceiling. For the first time in ages, I wasn’t smiling.
This was exactly the kind I’d gotten used to— hot, exciting, and temporary. I’d be gone in the morning, off to find someone else to help and another problem to hurl myself at.
It was good work. I meant it when I said I didn’t regret anything that I’d done over these last two years.
So why did it feel so… hollow, sometimes?
“Because you lack a purpose.”
It’s a testament to what my life has been like that the woman’s voice didn’t make me jump. I looked to the side, finding a woman with straight dark hair and impossibly pale skin. She wore a purple… dress? No, it was more similar to robes, like you might find a priest in.
“Hecate. Did you need something?”
The goddess tilted her head. “Perseus Jackson,” she said. “I am in need of your services.”
“You’re in luck, then.” I smiled. “That’s kind of my thing, these days…”
