If you want to read ahead by 20+ chapters you could take a visit on my patreon Or check it out.
http://patreon.com/SageOf016
--------
Percy just shrugged his shoulders again, that "why not?" expression still on his face.
"Because..." Harry started, then he hesitated, looking over at Hermione for help. She always had the sensible answers.
"Because it would be highly irresponsible, Harry," Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed with serious thought. "We would be putting Sirius in even more danger if we even imply that we know where he is. Plus, if we suddenly start telling everyone he is innocent without any real proof the Ministry will accept, they might suspect we are in contact with him. They could have us followed, or track our communications, leading them right to him and putting him in further danger. It is too risky right now."
Percy listened, then nodded slowly. "Okay... that makes sense. Then," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world, "just tell everyone after 'e is already at my place, safe and sound, with my aunt looking after 'im. Duh."
Harry looked at Hermione, his smartest friend, expecting her to find a flaw in Percy's new, simpler plan. But Hermione just blinked, her mouth slightly open. She did not have anything to say against that logic. It was... surprisingly straightforward.
Fleur sighed dramatically, shaking her head with a little smile. "You Engliz' people," she said, her voice full of amusement. "Alwayz failing to zee the most obviouz, simple zolution when it is rig't under your very nozez."
The next day was a Sunday. Percy spent it like he usually did when there were no classes. He was outside on the school grounds, near the Black Lake.
He was patiently helping some of the younger, smaller kids learn how to ride his magical, flying skateboard. Giggles and happy shouts filled the air.
Nearby, Kelly, his enchanted shrunken head companion, was grumbling loudly from where she was perched on a rock, complaining that she was "terribly bored" watching the "little ankle-biters."
Later, when it was time for breakfast, Percy entered the Great Hall. The smell of bacon and toast filled the air. He quickly found Fleur sitting at the Hufflepuff table and joined her.
They chatted quietly for a while, enjoying the peaceful morning, when the daily delivery of morning newspapers arrived. Owls swooped through the hall, dropping rolled-up copies of the Daily Prophet onto the tables.
Percy noticed a few people around him grabbing their copies, their eyes widening as they read, and then immediately turning to stare right at him with shocked expressions.
Percy let out a long, tired sigh. "Alright," he said, putting down his fork. "What is it now? What did I supposedly do this time?"
"Percy," Cedric Diggory called out from a bit further down the Hufflepuff table, his voice loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Did you... did you actually curse Rita Skeeter into being constantly attacked by owls?"
"What? Owls?" Percy frowned. "Show me that paper," he said, reaching out. Someone passed him a nearby copy, and he spread it open, his eyes quickly scanning the main headline on the front page:
CURSE OF THE FEATHER: RITA SKEETER UNDER SIEGE?
By Robin Goodwell
The article went on: As many of you loyal readers may have now realised, one of our top, most celebrated reporters, the wonderful Rita Skeeter, has been unseen in the public eye for some time now.
She still sends in a few articles she has written, usually through special couriers or other, rather unusual means, but never, ever using an owl delivery.
This reporter, however, grew quite curious as to Rita's peculiar actions, as she never behaved this way before. She always proudly sent her brilliant works through the standard owl post or delivered them in person with her usual flair.
Growing worried for her well-being, and also intensely curious, I was asked by our editor to make sure she was alright. And what I saw, dear readers, frightened me to my very core.
Her wonderful, usually pristine apartment, which I myself had been graciously invited to several times in the past for delightful tea and supper, was now in utter ruins.
It looked similar to a filthy hag's den one might find in the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. Her windows had been boarded up with rough planks of wood, and her front door was chained shut from the inside.
I knocked loudly on the door and called out for Rita, but I found it impossible to get in. I did hear Rita reply from somewhere deep inside, her voice shaky and panicked: 'Go away, Robin! The birds! The terrible birds! They're always watching!'
At first, I did not understand what she meant by 'the birds'. But then I saw them a large, menacing flock of birds, mostly owls but other types too, circling ominously over her house. I was truly worried.
The way they looked down at me and at the house was disturbingly similar to how a hungry dragon eyes its next prey before attacking. I quickly left the front door and moved away to a safer distance.
And just then, I saw Rita crack open her chained door just a tiny little bit, frantically motioning for me to come inside.
I quickly ran in, though it did take some time to get past the chains. But before Rita could slam the heavy door shut behind me, a single, determined owl managed to fly in through the gap. It immediately began to peck viciously at her skin and eyes.
Rita shrieked and killed the poor bird with a powerful blasting hex, then angrily threw its smoking corpse into her kitchen oven. Only then, in the dim light, did I truly notice her horrifying condition.
Gone was her impressive, confident smile and her usually charming good looks. Now, her famous blonde hair was matted and covered in bird feces. Her face and arms were covered with painful-looking bite marks and deep claw scratches. She looked as if she had been brutally attacked by a wild hippogryph. But the truth, my dear readers, is much, much more terrifying, according to Rita herself.
Rita claims this all started happening right after the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was when she went to interview the current Hogwarts champion, Percy Jackson the American Hufflepuff student who is currently leading in the tournament scores. She claims that when she interviewed him that day, he somehow cursed her, making her suffer from these constant, terrifying bird attacks.
She claims he performed some kind of incredibly powerful, dark ritual curse, one so subtle and complex that she has not even been able to detect its magical signature. She told me she has spent the last few weeks going to every single healer she knows, spending almost all of her considerable fortune, in a desperate attempt to get rid of this so-called 'curse'. But so far, she has been completely unsuccessful.
Rita Skeeter sticks firmly to her story: that a seventeen-year-old student placed this terrible curse on her person. And given Mr. Jackson's already impressive track record for creating amazing and sometimes alarming magical inventions (see page 12 for a list of his known creations), I am, regrettably, inclined to believe her story.
So, the question remains: what kind of curse did Percy Jackson place on her? And more importantly, how exactly do we reverse it? If anyone out there has any information that could help, please send it over to Rita Skeeter immediately. But please, for her sake and yours, do not use a bird to deliver your message.
Percy finished reading the article and slowly lowered the newspaper. He immediately felt a tiny little pang of guilt. But then he remembered all the nasty, untrue things Rita had written about him, Fleur, and Harry. And then he thought, fuck that bitch. She had it coming.
"So," Cedric asked again, his voice still loud and carrying across the tables, "did you actually put a curse on her, Percy?"
Percy looked up from the paper, meeting Cedric's curious gaze. He then looked around at every other Hufflepuff student who was now staring at him with wide, expectant eyes. A slow, deliberate smile spread across Percy's face.
"Why, Cedric," he said, his voice smooth and innocent, "I have absolutely no idea what you could possibly mean... but," he added, his smile turning a little sharper, a little darker, "she definitely, definitely deserves whatever is happening to her."
And after that, no one in the Great Hall dared to make an argument against that statement. They just nodded slowly and went back to their breakfast, occasionally glancing nervously at Percy.
....
It was a few days after their surprising meeting with Sirius Black in the cave. Percy found himself deep inside the quiet, sun-dappled Forbidden Forest.
He was sitting at his rough wooden work table, which was covered with tools, notes, and strange ingredients. Spread out before him was the worn, magical parchment of the Marauder's Map.
Fleur was leaning close over his shoulder, her silvery hair brushing his cheek, her blue eyes wide with fascination as she looked at the intricate, moving lines and names on the map.
"Thiz map... it iz fantaztical!" the veela exclaimed, her voice filled with awe. "I cannot even begin to imagine w'at it can do with all t'e different layerz of complex c'armz and ancient runez it clearly pozzez!"
Percy nodded, tracing a finger over one of the moving dots on the map. "Yeah, I know. I can not even begin to think of all the ways I could try to replicate this amazing thing... hm, no, wait a second." He frowned, leaning closer to the map. "I think... I think I can see how zey did it." He groaned softly, looking at the map with a new understanding.
Apparently, whoever had created this incredible map had also had a very similar idea to Percy's own "sonar" concept for tracking people. Only, the original creators of this map were much, much more sneaky and clever about how they had implemented it.
Over the past week, ever since Harry had given him the map, Percy had been looking very carefully around the castle.
And he had started to find them: tiny, almost invisible runes etched into the ancient stone walls in hundreds of places.
They were so minute, so cleverly hidden, that one could almost be forgiven for completely looking over them and never noticing they were there at all.
These tiny runes acted like magical sensors, constantly recording everyone who passed by them. They then sent all that collected data, like little magical signals, to the Marauder's Map itself, which worked as the central receiver and display.
"Have you figured out how to... like... piggyback or copy off their existing rune network?" Fleur asked him, switching to French because the English words for such complex magical theory were a little too advanced for her to express easily.
Percy nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Oui... je pense que oui," he replied in his still-improving French. (Yeah... I think so.) His French was definitely getting better... kind of. He still made mistakes.
Percy took out his own wand and then unrolled a large, blank piece of fresh parchment, spreading it out on the table until it was almost the same size as the Marauder's Map. He looked up at Fleur with a hopeful, excited grin. "Tu veux faire les honneurs, mon amour?" (Want to do the honors, my love?)
--------
If you want to read ahead by 20+ chapters you could take a visit on my patreon Or check it out.
http://patreon.com/SageOf016