So it turned out that ADHD heroes and control freak teachers didn't mix well. Go figure.

Percy Jackson had always been lacking in impulse control, something is girlfriend was always keen on pointing out. That and his hard-line loyalty, and apparently neither could be blamed solely on his demigodliness, because "the others don't have that problem" and "ADHD is more a convenient cover for the mortal world than an actual diagnosis." According to Annabeth, anyway.

Both of those things were what landed Percy in detention. Standing up for that Potter kid was worth it, though; Percy felt an odd sort of kinship with the younger boy, who had very clearly not been lying about his encounters with He-Who-Apparently-is-an-Enormous-Dickface, if Percy's trauma-dar was in working order. He'd seen the same look in plenty of campers' eyes after the Battle of Manhattan, and Harry reminded him too much of himself to be the "attention-seeking brat" everyone was making him out to be. Annabeth agreed, of course, but he still got the whole "this-is-technically-a-quest-and-we-really-need-to-be-keeping-our-heads-down" rant after class. But Percy liked to believe that he'd at least gotten some of their classmates to stop and think that maybe the "savior" they'd adored when he'd started school during their second year hadn't gone and spontaneously descended into madness and brattery over the course of a single summer. Besides, they were supposed to be checking up on the boy wonder, weren't they?

Annabeth argued that "checking up" and "trying to help" were two very different things. Percy shrugged her off. It wasn't like Hecate had been very specific in the first place, and if the Mist was going to be helpful enough to make them students in a school of magic they might as well take advantage of it.

But it hadn't just been Harry's ostracism that put Percy on the defensive either. That stupid, no-good, Echidna-esque, pink, toad-faced bitch who talked like Hera when she was ordered to be nice rubbed him the wrong way as well. She was like Alecto and her now honey's, only he was pretty sure that even dear old Uncle Hades and his Furies wouldn't be able to stand the candy floss terror that was Dolores Umbridge.

Percy idly wondered how long it would take before Hades gave up and tossed the woman into the Fields of Punishment. Probably only a couple minutes.

Anyway, that was how Percy found himself meandering through the corridors, hand trailing against the stone torchlit walls, toward certain doom. Well, detention, but there was really no difference. Percy would've rather taken on the hordes of the Underworld again than be in detention, particularly with the pink menace, but that didn't seem very likely. Reaching the toad's office, Percy knocked rhythmically and received permission to enter.

Percy almost took an unconscious step backward upon seeing the interior of the office. If he'd thought Umbridge's wardrobe was pink, well, it had nothing on her workspace. All of the walls, the carpet, even the cloth draped over her desk made him think he had entered some haunted Barbie dollhouse. Plates with pictures of moving kittens adorned the walls and some giant doily monster had vomited on ever flat surface in the room.

"Ah, Mr. Jackson, I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost," the witch-with-a-B said, giving a simpering smile. Her eyes were left untouched.

"Just stopped to smell the roses," Percy shrugged, watching a plate-kitten entangle itself in a ball of yarn.

"You would do well to be on time to your detentions, Mr. Jackson, particularly as there are no roses in Hogwarts. As it is, I shall be adding fifteen minutes to your detention and taking ten points from Gryffindor," Umbridge said promptly, nose in the air.

"There are in portraits," Percy said vaguely, still watching the kitten wrestle with the yarn. It seemed it was nearly unable to move. Umbridge followed his gaze.

"Ah, it seems the enchantment has become defective," she said, waving her wand so the plate came to rest on the desk in front of her. "And defective things must be fixed." Her pointed gaze returned to Percy, who felt a familiar anger bubble up in his stomach. He clenched his fists. He'd spent his entire childhood enduring less than subtle comments about his ADHD and dyslexia, and having yet another teacher bring it up at a magic school of all places scratched at old wounds.

"But that's enough time wasted," she continued crisply, corners of her mouth upturned in an infuriating smirk. "Sit. You will be doing lines tonight, Mr. Jackson." Hands still in fists, Percy took the indicated seat, turning his attention to the parchment and sharp black quill before him. I wonder if she'd accept them in Greek…?

"Don't these things need ink?" Percy asked, picking up the quill and tapping it on the desk. He'd been using regular pens for his homework, and despite Annabeth's best efforts had so far failed to take notes in any class.

"Not this particular quill, no," Umbridge said sweetly. "Now, I want you to write 'I will respect my superiors.'"

"How many times?" asked Percy, now trying to twirl the quill between his fingers. He saw a muscle ticking in Umbridge's forhead.

"Oh, we'll see," she replied, waving her hand. "However long it takes for the message to sink in."

Alright then, thought Percy. Someone would make a good Disney villain.

Percy lowered the quill to the parchment, very conscious of Umbridge's eager gaze, and began the downstroke for the I.

The quill refused to move. Percy pushed harder. It didn't move.

Percy blinked and looked up at Umbridge, who was still staring expectantly at him. He blinked again, looked back down at the parchment, and increased pressure.

The quill didn't move.

"Well, Mr. Jackson?" Umbridge asked. "The longer sit there the longer your detention will last."

Percy's knuckles were turning white, but the quill still wouldn't move. He picked it up from the parchment.

"It's not working," he told her flatly, staring at the black feather in his hand.

"Nonsense Jackson, ten more points from Gryffindor," she snapped. "Now start your lines."

He returned the quill to the parchment and tried again, but it was no use. Percy began tugging with his entire arm, trying both to make the quill give in and to convince Umbridge that he couldn't write with it. He was failing on both counts, and the teacher was glaring at him.

"Enough of this foolishness, Mr. Jackson—"

"It's not working!" Percy insisted, standing and throwing his body back against the quill's grip.

Snap!

Crap.

"Mr. Jackson!" yelled Umbridge, flabby face turning red as he stared at the broken quill. She snatched up the feather halves, strode to her desk, and produced a new one. She shoved it at Percy. "Now sit down and do your lines or I will take this to your head of house! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

Percy sat down.

He put the new quill to the parchment.

He began to write.

"JACKSON!"

"It's not my fault, your quills aren't working!" Percy snapped back, tugging again on the errant feather.

"Twenty more points from Gryffindor!" Umbridge yelled, cheeks still ruddy. "Now do your lines!"

"I can't!"

Umbridge snatched the quill from his hand, ranting as she did so.

"There is nothing wrong with this quill, Jackson, I will show you—"

She stopped with a gasp of pain, having dragged the quill across the parchment in anger to prove herself. Percy stared with wide eyes as a slash of red appeared on both on the parchment and on the back of Umbridge's hand.

She threw the quill back onto the desk, hiding her hand away. Where there had been a scratch it simply looked red and irritated—much like her face.

"Now write, Jackson!"

Percy tried again.

He also failed again. The quill remained perfectly stationary, and his hand remained smooth.

Oh.

Oh!

He smirked. He tugged hard. The quill snapped.

"Get out."

"But what about my detention, Professor?" Percy asked innocently.

"I said GET OUT! 50 points from Gryffindor!"

Percy stuffed his uninjured hands into the pockets of his robes, grinning at the teacher. "Looks like there's another enchantment you'll need to get fixed, Professor." He could hear her throwing things as he strolled out of the blindingly pink office.

He'd really have to thank Nico for that one.