Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This wasn’t how things were meant to unfold.

The Chosen One—the boy who had been marked since birth to save the wizarding world—was supposed to fight for the side of light. He was supposed to rise against the darkness, face insurmountable odds, and fall in battle, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

That was the prophecy.

That was the plan.

That was what Dumbledore had prepared him for.

But this… this was not in the plan.

Dumbledore’s pulse quickened as he tried to comprehend what stood before him. The same boy he had trained, guided, and steered towards his inevitable fate—the same boy whose every step had been measured, every choice weighed—was now something else.

Something far more powerful than anyone could have ever imagined.

A demigod.

Not just a wizard touched by fate, but a being who radiated an aura of ancient, raw power, as if the very air around him bent to his will. The oceans seemed to crackle just beneath the surface of his skin, and the ground trembled faintly with each step he took.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was wrong.

How could Harry Potter, the boy who was destined to sacrifice himself, now hold such godlike power? He wasn’t meant for this.

Dumbledore’s mind raced, trying to piece together where he had gone wrong. How could he have missed this? He had prepared for every eventuality, every threat. But this… this was beyond anything he had foreseen.

And then, a voice, soft yet chilling, broke through the silence.

"Oh, but it did."

Dumbledore’s breath hitched as his gaze slowly shifted upward. His heart pounded in his chest.

-A teaser to what's about to come.

(originally an author's note)

Chapter Text

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

"Hullo, Harry," Amelia greeted as Harry entered McGonagall's office. He wasn’t surprised to see McGonagall or the entire Gryffindor team there, but he was taken aback by the presence of the entire Slytherin team.

"Why are they here?" Harry blurted out, quickly apologizing when McGonagall's stern gaze fixed on him. He had been forced to apologize, not wanting to appear rude.

"This time, we’ve decided to hold meetings between the two teams a day before the match for sportsmanship and inter-house unity," McGonagall informed him, her expression unwaveringly strict.

Both teams groaned in unison, complaints immediately erupting as soon as the announcement was made.

"But, Professor!" Malfoy whined. "What if the Gryffindorks—I mean, Gryffindors—curse us before the match begins?"

"Yeah, because Slytherins are just going to be the innocent house they are and sit back," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, I expect you to speak with more decorum," Professor McGonagall admonished. "And as for your concern, Mr. Malfoy, nothing of the sort will happen since I will be present for the entire meeting. Does anyone else have a complaint?"

One of the Slytherin team members raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Warrington?" Professor McGonagall prompted.

"What if we don’t want to be here?" he asked. Fair question, Harry thought.

"Then I’d be happy to request Professor Snape remove you from the Slytherin Quidditch team," McGonagall responded, her tone making it clear this wasn’t an empty threat. The boy quickly shook his head.

The meeting continued, but Harry barely paid attention. Amelia wouldn’t discuss anything truly important in front of the Slytherins anyway. He let his gaze wander around McGonagall’s office. It was immaculate, with several bookshelves—not as many as Dumbledore's—filled with various kinds of books, even some Muggle ones. Who would’ve guessed McGonagall was a fan of One Piece? Her desk was neatly organized, with quills arranged in a precise line and a few sheets of parchment beside them—probably essays from second years. A window behind the desk offered a view of Hogwarts' grounds. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the landscape. Harry thought to himself, he wouldn’t mind coming here again.
`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

"What was the sudden meeting about?" Hermione asked as Harry trudged into the common room, his legs aching like he'd just run a marathon. Was this what girls felt like during their periods? If so, he was incredibly grateful to be a boy. Facing Voldemort was bad enough—he couldn’t imagine doing it while dealing with all that, too. Oh right, Hermione.

"Professor Dumbledore—I'm pretty sure it was his idea—decided that for the sake of inter-house unity and sportsmanship, the teams playing each other have to meet up the day before the match," Harry explained, trying to sound casual, but Ron's horrified gasp gave him away.

"What the bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "Now I really don't want to be on the Quidditch team." He pouted like a child denied his favorite dessert.

"That's the worst thing about Quidditch I've heard so far," Harry laughed, amused by Ron's dramatic response. "Besides, Slytherin’s the only house that’s truly awful."

"True," Ron agreed, furrowing his brow in deep thought. Harry silently hoped the ginger didn’t strain something by thinking too hard.

"We should go get dinner," Hermione suggested, glancing at the clock. It was already seven—no wonder his legs were protesting. They’d been stuck in that meeting for an hour!

The boys nodded, and the trio headed to the Great Hall, where they were greeted by the usual unfriendly glares from the Slytherins and enthusiastic pats on the back from their fellow Gryffindors (though mostly for Harry).

"Give 'em hell, Harry!" Dean called out, halfway through a slice of pumpkin pie.

"He always does," Ron chimed in, ruffling Harry’s hair in that annoying way everyone seemed to love. Honestly, what was it with people and messing up his hair? It already looked like a bird's nest—no need to make it worse. :/

They sat down and started grabbing food that had magically appeared in front of them. Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, some roast beef, and a goblet of pumpkin juice. Ron, as usual, piled his plate high with chicken and everything else within reach. How the ginger didn’t gain weight was a mystery. Harry didn’t really pay attention to what Hermione had chosen as he dug into his meal, already dreading how exhausting tomorrow was going to be.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

The day had finally arrived.

The match against Slytherin. Oh, he couldn't wait to see the look on Malfoy’s face when he beat him to the Snitch! The horror in his eyes as Harry’s fingers closed around the golden ball—it was almost enough to make him giggle like a little girl just imagining it.

The weather was perfect—not too cold, not too hot—just a touch humid, with a refreshing breeze sweeping across the field. The sky was clear, promising no rain, and Harry was immensely relieved. He noticed the mischievous grins on the twins' faces; they weren't plotting a prank this time, though—today, those grins were all about defeating the Slytherins. After all, how could a lion lose to a mere snake?

They stood on the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand, waiting for Madam Hooch to blow the whistle so they could take off. The cold air nipped at their faces, their hair whipping about, but no one cared. This was the most anticipated match of the season, and the tension was palpable. Everyone was sweating despite the chill, the cold air sending shivers down their heated bodies.

“…I expect a fair game,” Madam Hooch finished her instructions. Not that Harry was paying attention; adrenaline was pumping through his veins, making it hard to focus on anything but the impending match. And then, finally, the moment they'd all been waiting for—Madam Hooch brought the whistle to her lips and blew it.

Everyone shot into the air, brooms soaring as high as they could go. Cheers erupted from the stands, though they were muffled by the wind rushing past their ears. From up here, Harry had an incredible view of Hogwarts, but he wasn’t here for sightseeing—he was here to catch the Snit—ZOOM!

A Bludger whizzed past his face, just inches away. That could’ve killed him. Then Voldemort would have to deal with a rogue Bludger for taking him out.

"And Katie scores again! The score is now 20-0 in favor of Gryffindor!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed, filled with excitement.

The Gryffindors kept up their momentum, scoring goal after goal, but the Slytherins weren’t about to give up easily, especially not against Gryffindor. Soon, they started scoring too. The scoreboard now read 70-80, in favor of Slytherin.

It was time to end this. Harry decided it was time to start searching for the Snitch again—for the fifth time. Was it enchanted to be twice as fast today or something?

And then, of course, Malfoy showed up. That git had the worst timing. "Hey, Potter, are you scared?" Malfoy taunted. "Dementors gonna get you!"

Harry was about to retort when, behind Malfoy, he saw it—the tiny golden Snitch, glinting in the sunlight. He smirked, adrenaline surging as he dived for it, the wind howling in his ears. Malfoy noticed and quickly gave chase.

No one in the stands seemed to have noticed that they were both after the Snitch, or maybe the wind was just too strong to hear anything over it.

The Snitch shot up into the sky, darting away with incredible speed. Both Harry and Malfoy immediately gave chase, their brooms slicing through the air as they pushed themselves to their limits. But the Snitch was just too fast, zigzagging away from them and disappearing into the vast expanse of the sky.

They soon realized they were much higher than they’d intended, so high that the sounds of the cheering crowd were barely a whisper below. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who seemed to have the same idea—time to head back down. Just as they turned to descend, something large and dark streaked towards them at an alarming speed. Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he thought it might be a Dementor, but as it drew closer, he saw that it was something far stranger—a grotesque hybrid creature, half-human, half-bat, its leathery wings flapping furiously as it zoomed past them.

Malfoy sneered, muttering a curse under his breath, and sped away, seemingly unbothered by the eerie encounter. Harry, however, couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that washed over him, especially after the creature had fixed them with a cold, menacing stare before disappearing into the distance.

As they flew back down, Harry’s eyes caught sight of a familiar glint—the Snitch, hovering tantalizingly close to the ground.

Both Seekers immediately dived, shoulders bumping as they jockeyed for the lead. The wind roared in Harry's ears, the ground rushing up to meet them as they closed in on the Snitch. Harry stretched out his hand, fingers straining for the tiny golden ball. He barely noticed that Malfoy had either slowed down or stopped altogether—his focus was entirely on the Snitch.

All that mattered was catching it.

With one final push, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the Snitch before closing around it. The rush of adrenaline never got old. He tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop, and the stands went silent—waiting, wondering if he had caught it.

He raised his hand, showing them the Snitch, and the stands erupted into cheers.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS AGAIN!" Lee Jordan shouted, nearly toppling over in his excitement.

The team landed around him, swarming Harry with congratulations, but he could hardly hear them over the roar of the crowd. They made their way to the changing room, the buzz of victory still pulsing through their veins. Harry could barely keep the grin off his face. Today had been a good day.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

"What would we ever do without you, Harrikins?" George said, giving Harry a playful pat on the back as he stepped out of the shower, clad only in a towel around his waist. His abs, no doubt a result of years of Quidditch, were on full display. Merlin, Harry might've blushed a little, but he hoped everyone would chalk it up to exhaustion.

"Come upstairs quickly. You don’t want to miss out on the party, do you?" Fred added, ruffling Harry’s already messy hair.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered as he stepped into the shower, turning the cold water on full blast. The icy chill felt amazing against his skin, soothing away the tension from the day. He could have easily fallen asleep right there under the refreshing spray.

After about ten minutes, Harry reluctantly got out and changed into his uniform, though he skipped the jacket. Wearing that thing felt like being strangled. Instead, he rolled his sleeves up and deliberately ruffled his uniform a bit. He didn’t care much for looking neat and tidy—never had, never would.

Of course, the moment he stepped out of the bathroom, there was Malfoy, as if the universe couldn’t resist throwing them together at every possible opportunity. Malfoy seemed to have made it his life's mission to make Harry feel miserable, and today was no different.

Chapter Text

SECRETS IN THE SHADOW
'it's after us.'
-

---

 

The party had been absolute chaos, a whirlwind of noise and energy that completely transformed the usually cozy common room. What was once a place for quiet study and late-night conversations had turned into a raucous concert-bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweets and butterbeer, and the floor was littered with colorful party poppers, some of which had already exploded in a shower of confetti. Balloons of every color floated lazily above, clearly charmed to hover just out of reach, adding to the festive atmosphere.

Tables that normally held books and chessboards were now covered with an assortment of drinks and snacks. There were tankards filled with Dragon Scale, a fizzy drink that tingled on the tongue, and plenty of Butterbeer for the younger students. The food was equally plentiful, with platters of Treacle Tart, pumpkin pasties, and cauldron cakes spread out for the taking. He couldn’t resist grabbing a slice of Treacle Tart, savoring the sweet, syrupy flavor as he watched the scene unfold.

The older students were gathered in clusters, laughing and talking loudly as they drank something stronger—likely Firewhiskey that the twins had somehow managed to smuggle in, despite the strict rules. The twins were in the thick of it, grinning mischievously as they handed out drinks to their classmates. Meanwhile, everyone below fifth year stuck to Butterbeer, the familiar warmth of the drink making them feel grown-up without the consequences of the stronger stuff.

The music pounded through the room, the beat syncing with the students’ shouts and laughter. Someone had conjured a makeshift stage, and a few brave souls were up there, belting out tunes to an audience that cheered them on. The common room, usually a sanctuary of calm and quiet, had transformed into a buzzing hive of energy and excitement. This was a night they’d all remember—well, most of them, anyway.

But Harry had other things on his mind. As the party roared on, he quietly slipped away to his dormitory. He wasn't planning on sleeping, though—who did they think he was? No, he had Potions homework to finish, and he had a gut feeling tomorrow wouldn’t be the best time to get it done. With detention scheduled for the next night in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid—and worse, with Malfoy—the last thing he needed was another run-in with Snape for missing an assignment.

He pulled out a book from his bedside drawer, a dusty old thing he’d picked up from the library titled A Basic Guide to Werewolves by Silvanus Kettleburn. It had taken ages to find a book that didn’t reek of hatred, one that actually stuck to the facts. But as he reached for his quill, something else caught his eye.

There was another book beneath the werewolf guide, one he didn’t remember putting there. Its title, The Olympian Legacy, was embossed in faded gold letters. Harry frowned. He was certain he hadn’t picked up any Greek mythology books recently. Must have been one of his dormmates, he figured. Maybe they’d slipped it into his drawer as a joke.

He opened the cover and found a note scribbled in familiar handwriting. Dumbledore’s. It read, “From Anonymous to H@/!8.” But the name had been violently scratched out, leaving Harry unable to decipher it. The pages were worse—most had been ripped out, and the few that remained were shredded, as if by sharp claws.

Someone had clearly been furious with this book. Maybe it was a prank, or maybe someone was jealous of him getting a gift from Dumbledore. Then again, it could easily have been the twins, up to their usual tricks.

But just as the book hit the bin, a single page slipped free, fluttering to the floor with a soft rustle. Harry paused, his curiosity tugging at him despite himself. He reached down and picked up the loose page, noticing how it felt different—heavier, somehow, like it carried more weight than just ink and paper.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Chapter Text

Between the Waves and Whispers: A Tale of Secrets and Survival
“Sometimes safety is just an illusion.”
-

"'arry, Malfoy, what are you two doin' here?" Hagrid's voice boomed as Harry and Draco stepped into his small hut, their faces pale, eyes wide with disbelief. It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, leaving them disoriented. Did Hagrid seriously forget that he was the one who'd dragged them into the Forbidden Forest for detention, only to vanish without a trace?

"We had detention with you, Hagrid!" Draco snapped, his voice quivering with a mix of anger and fear. "You took us into that bloody forest and then disappeared! What were you thinking, you oaf? My father will hear about this!"

"Hold on, Malfoy," Hagrid said, raising a hand to calm the agitated Slytherin. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Settle down now. I remember goin' to the forest, but I was alone. You two weren’t there with me."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Alone? What was Hagrid talking about?

A heavy silence fell over the room, so thick it was suffocating. Harry’s thoughts spun in frantic circles, trying to make sense of Hagrid’s words. Could he really not remember taking them into the forest? Or was something far more sinister at play?

“What do you mean?” Harry finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper, every word laced with disbelief.

Hagrid shook his head slowly, as if struggling to piece together a fragmented memory. His brow furrowed deeply, concern etched into every line of his face. “I went there alone, 'arry. Just me and Fang. That’s all.”

“No, you didn’t!” Draco’s voice sliced through the stillness, louder and more frantic than before. “You took us with you! We were there, Hagrid, in the forest, with you!”

Harry felt a chill crawl down his spine. The tension in the air was almost tangible, pressing in on them from all sides. It wasn’t just anger or confusion anymore; it was a creeping dread that clawed at the edges of his thoughts. Could Hagrid really not remember? And if not, what could have caused such a severe lapse in memory? Had the creature they encountered done something to him?

"I almost got attacked, Hagrid!" Malfoy’s voice trembled, his earlier bravado cracking. "By some freakish creature! It nearly killed me!"

Harry remained silent, his mind still reeling from the implications. Malfoy’s self-centeredness was irritating, as always, but this time, Harry couldn’t entirely blame him. Something was terribly wrong.

"Attacked?" Hagrid repeated, his voice laced with genuine concern. He stepped closer, his massive frame casting a shadow over the two boys. "Are yeh hurt, Malfoy? Harry?"

"No—no, we’re fine," Harry replied, though his voice wavered. The memory of the creature—its grotesque form, its menacing presence—still lingered, vivid and horrifying. "But that thing... it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen."

"It was a Fury, Hagrid!" Malfoy cut in, his voice shaking with fear and anger. "A real, live Fury!"

Hagrid’s eyes went wide with shock. "A Fury? No, no, that’s not possible," he said, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the very idea. But something flickered in his expression—a shadow of something Harry couldn’t quite place—as he quickly composed himself. "Listen, Furies are just myths, Malfoy, Harry. They don’t exist. Must’ve been a dark creature, sure, but not a Fury."

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. There was something off in Hagrid’s tone, a note of uncertainty he couldn’t ignore. But he knew Hagrid well enough to realize that pressing him now wouldn’t get them anywhere. "We saw what we saw," Harry said firmly, sharing a glance with Malfoy.

"It was a Fury, Hagrid! I’m not making it up!" Malfoy’s voice rose in pitch, a mix of desperation and frustration. His usual arrogance had crumbled, replaced by something Harry rarely saw in him—genuine fear.

Hagrid sighed deeply, rubbing his temple as if the very idea pained him. He seemed to be grappling with thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp, trying to reconcile what they were saying with what he knew—or thought he knew. "I dunno what yeh think yeh saw, but Furies... they ain’t real," Hagrid repeated, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly, as if even he wasn’t entirely sure.

Harry exchanged a look with Malfoy, and for the first time, they were on the same page. Hagrid was holding something back—something important. Harry could see it in the way Hagrid’s eyes kept darting around the room, avoiding their gaze. The giant man was rarely this evasive, and it set Harry on edge.

Malfoy, who normally would have pushed further out of sheer stubbornness, was uncharacteristically silent, his eyes flicking from Hagrid to Harry, searching for answers he wasn’t finding. It was as if the shock of what they had seen had finally settled in, leaving Malfoy with more questions than his usual bravado could handle.

Hagrid cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. "Yer two should head back to the castle. It’s late, an’ you must be tired," he said, his voice gentler now, but still carrying that undercurrent of something unspoken. He busied himself with the clutter on his table, avoiding their eyes as he shuffled through random objects—quills, parchments, a half-eaten rock cake.

Harry knew Hagrid well enough to recognize that the sudden flurry of activity wasn’t just Hagrid being his usual, distracted self. It was a clear attempt to avoid the conversation, to steer them away from whatever truth was lurking behind his words. "We can talk 'bout this later, yeah?" Hagrid added, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The smile was thin, strained, and beneath it, Harry could see the worry etched into every line of Hagrid’s face.

The room felt colder suddenly, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being pushed away from something vital—something Hagrid didn’t want them to know. "Hagrid," Harry began cautiously, "if there’s something we need to know, you should tell us. It’s important."

"Yeah, you can’t just leave us in the dark about this!" Malfoy chimed in, his voice tinged with irritation, but also an edge of fear that hadn’t been there before.

Hagrid paused, his massive shoulders slumping slightly, as if the weight of the world had settled on them. He glanced at the two boys, his expression softening, but the fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface. "There’s nothin’ yeh need to worry 'bout tonight," he said quietly, though the firmness in his voice had returned. "Just get some rest, an’ we’ll talk more when the time’s right. I promise."

Harry knew better than to argue when Hagrid took that tone, but it didn’t stop the uneasy feeling twisting in his gut. He nodded reluctantly, glancing at Malfoy, who still looked like he wanted to protest but seemed to think better of it.

As they turned to leave, Hagrid’s voice stopped them at the door. "Take care, you two. An’ don’t go wanderin’ off on yer own at night. Not after... well, just be careful, alright?"

Harry nodded again, sharing one last look with Malfoy before they stepped out into the cool night air. The unease hadn’t left him—in fact, it had only deepened. Whatever had happened in the forest, it wasn’t over. And Harry had a feeling it was only the beginning.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

"What was up with Hagrid?" Harry whispered, his voice barely audible as they made their way through the dark, empty corridors of the castle. The silence was almost eerie, the only sounds being their footsteps and the occasional creak of the ancient floorboards. It must be late—way past curfew. Harry cursed himself for not having his wand on him. If he’d had it, maybe he could’ve done something—maybe he could’ve caught that creature. "How... how did he just forget...?" He trailed off, his thoughts spiraling. That vile creature—they had all seen it. Could it have done something to Hagrid? Did it know spells? Was it somehow connected to Sirius Black? Harry shuddered at the thought, a cold dread seeping into his bones. Could his godfather—the man who betrayed his parents—really go so far just to kill him?

"I dunno, Potter," Malfoy whispered back, his tone sharp with unease. He was trying to hide it, but Harry could tell he was scared too. The usual arrogance was still there, but beneath it, there was something raw, something almost vulnerable. It was a look Harry had never seen on Malfoy before, and it unsettled him. "But what if that weird Fury thing made him forget? We don’t know everything about that damn creature, do we?"

Harry glanced at him, startled by the idea. It had crossed his mind too, but hearing it aloud made it all the more real. "I thought that too, but why?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "Why is it after us?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying a hint of the fear that was gnawing at him, though he couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or something deeper. Probably both.

"How should I know, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, his voice low but filled with irritation. He wasn’t used to not having answers, and the uncertainty was clearly getting to him. "But we’re on school grounds. It shouldn’t be able to touch us here, right?" The last part was said with more hope than conviction, and Harry noticed the slight hesitation in Malfoy’s voice. The unspoken doubt lingered between them, heavy and unnerving.

There was a long pause as they walked, the castle’s shadows seeming to stretch and twist around them. Harry could feel the weight of whatever was happening pressing down on them, something dark and ominous lurking just out of sight. "What if Sirius Black sent it after me?" Harry asked suddenly, the thought coming to him with a clarity that sent a shiver down his spine. It made sense—too much sense. "It only makes sense," he repeated, almost to himself.

Malfoy’s eyes widened in realization, but then his expression darkened, a frown creasing his forehead. "If that’s true, then why is it after me too?" he shot back, his voice laced with annoyance. "If it’s Black, why would he care about me? He’s after you, not me."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it, realizing Malfoy had a point. He didn’t like Malfoy—never had—but there was no denying they were both in danger, and for some reason, that danger seemed to be targeting them both. The thought made his stomach churn with unease. "I don’t know," Harry admitted, his voice quiet but firm. "But whatever it is, it’s not just about me. Something bigger is going on, and we’re both caught up in it."

Malfoy huffed, crossing his arms as they continued down the corridor. "Well, that’s just great," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry. "Dragged into some mad plot because of you." His tone was biting, but Harry could hear the underlying fear—the same fear that was gnawing at his own insides.

"Don’t act like you’re the only one in trouble, Malfoy," Harry shot back, the tension between them simmering just below the surface. "We’re both in this mess, whether we like it or not."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Potter," Malfoy sneered, but there was no real venom in his words. It was more out of habit than anything else.

They fell into a strained silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts, the weight of what they had witnessed pressing down on them. Whatever was happening, it was clear that they were in it together now, whether they liked it or not. And as much as they hated to admit it, they were going to have to figure it out—together.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

"-It came out of nowhere, 'Mione!" Harry exclaimed, his frustration evident as he retold the events of the previous night for what felt like the millionth time. He had decided to confide in Hermione and Ron about what had happened during detention—but only part of it. He’d left out Hagrid's strange memory lapse, unsure of how to explain something that still made no sense to him.

Hermione’s eyes were wide with concern, her brow furrowed as she listened intently. “A creature like that... just appearing out of nowhere?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a shadow, Harry? The Forbidden Forest is full of strange things, but—”

“I know what I saw, Hermione,” Harry cut in, a bit sharper than he’d intended. He was tired, and the fear from the night before still clung to him like a bad dream. “It wasn’t a shadow. It was real, and it was dangerous.”

Ron, who had been sitting quietly until now, finally spoke up. “But why would it go after you and Malfoy?” he asked, a confused frown on his face. “It doesn’t make any sense. The Forest is full of dangerous creatures, but they usually don’t come out unless they’re provoked.”

“Tell that to the giant spiders,” Harry muttered under his breath, thinking back to their second year.

“Still, mate,” Ron continued, ignoring the remark, “if it was just some random creature, why would it go after you two? And why didn’t Hagrid see it?”

Harry hesitated, glancing down at his hands. He didn’t want to mention Hagrid’s memory loss—it felt too strange, too uncertain to bring up yet. “Hagrid wasn't with us,” he admitted, frustration lacing his voice. “But it was there, and it was after us.”

Hermione bit her lip, clearly deep in thought. “You said it looked like a Fury,” she said slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. “But Furies are just mythological creatures, Harry. They’re not supposed to exist.”

“Yeah, well, neither are giant three-headed dogs, but we’ve seen one of those too,” Harry retorted, his irritation growing. He knew Hermione was only trying to make sense of it all, but her logical approach was starting to grate on his nerves.

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione, then turned back to Harry. “Look, mate, we believe you,” he said, his tone more gentle now. “It’s just... well, it’s weird, isn’t it? And if Hagrid didn’t see it—”

“Something weird is going on, and it’s not just the creature,” Harry said, cutting him off. He knew he wasn’t explaining himself well, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than they were seeing. “We need to figure out what’s happening.”

Hermione nodded slowly, her worry clear. “We will, Harry. But we have to be careful. If something like this is out there, it could be dangerous.”

“More dangerous than a basilisk?” Ron added, trying to lighten the mood, but his attempt at humor fell flat.

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know, Ron. I just... I don’t know.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over them. They had faced danger before—more times than they could count—but this felt different. There were too many unknowns, too many things that didn’t add up.

But one thing was clear: whatever was going on, they were in it together, just like always. And they would figure it out—no matter what it took.

Would they be able to, though?

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

The sun was setting over the Black Lake, casting a warm, golden glow across its surface. Harry sat close enough to the water's edge that the gentle ripples lapped at his legs. He had finally managed to escape from Hermione and Ron, seeking some solitude. With his trousers rolled up to avoid getting them wet, Harry felt a rare sense of calm. It was as if the world, with all its dangers and worries—Voldemort, Sirius Black, strange creatures, classes, homework, and even the Dursleys—had finally faded away. Here, by the lake, he felt a strange sense of home, a place where he could breathe without the weight of his troubles.

Water had always had this effect on him, though it wasn’t something he ever talked about. People thought they knew Harry Potter, but they only knew the parts of him he allowed them to see. It was frustrating, really—how everyone assumed they understood him when, in truth, they knew so little.

Suddenly, Harry heard rustling in the bushes behind him. Instinctively, his hand went to his pocket, but he cursed under his breath when he realized he had left his wand behind. Panic seized him. What if it was Sirius Black? Had he found him? Was that creature just a scout, leading Black to his location? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t want to die, not now, not when he had finally found a moment of peace.

The rustling grew louder, and Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. Don’t be Sirius, don’t be Sirius, don’t be Sirius, he repeated in his mind.

"Potter?" Malfoy's voice cut through Harry's spiraling thoughts like a lifeline. Relief washed over him—thank the gods, it wasn’t Sirius Black.

"Malfoy?" Harry said, his voice laced with surprise and curiosity. "What are you doing here?"

"I usually fly here," Malfoy said, his tone flat and devoid of its usual edge. Harry noticed the broomstick in his hand, which made sense now. The spot was perfect for flying in privacy. Harry had been surprised when he discovered this place—it was hidden from view, offering a sense of seclusion. The Black Lake stretched out far and wide, and though he hadn’t tried swimming here, it seemed like it would be a good place for that.

Harry had stumbled upon this spot at night when it was illuminated by the glow of fireflies. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful. If this place were a person, Harry thought, everyone would love them. It was like having a friend who’s always there for you, even if others don’t quite understand them. It felt like the kind of place where you could share your deepest secrets, much like a parent who, despite being disliked by everyone, listens to you without judgment. It was akin to a teacher who might be unpopular but always lends a helping hand when needed. It was the favorite person you confide in, the one who truly understands you—the kind of person who seems to belong to just one special someone who knows their true, beautiful self. Harry found it surprising that no couple had yet discovered this hidden gem for snogging.

"-What do you do here?" Malfoy’s voice interrupted Harry’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

"I just… sit here. It’s peaceful," Harry replied, feeling a bit strange sharing something so personal with Malfoy of all people. But for some inexplicable reason, it didn’t feel wrong. In this moment, Malfoy seemed almost… trustworthy.

Malfoy nodded, his expression softer than Harry had ever seen it. "The first thing I’d agree with you on, Potter," he said, his voice unusually devoid of its typical snark. He glanced around, and for a moment, Harry saw the same appreciation in Malfoy’s eyes that he himself felt for this place.

"Hmm," Harry hummed in response, the tension between them easing slightly.

Malfoy then added, with a small smirk, "Although I’d prefer not to get wet. Not really my thing, you know."

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. That comment was pure Malfoy, and somehow, it was comforting to hear. "You should try it sometime," Harry replied, still chuckling. "It feels nice."

They were being civil—actually civil. It was bizarre, but Harry found that he didn’t mind.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Yeah, right. I’ll take your word for it, Potter. But let’s be honest, getting wet isn’t exactly my idea of a good time."

Harry grinned, shaking his head. “Fair enough. But there’s something about this place that just makes everything seem a little bit better, don’t you think?”

Malfoy looked out over the lake, his gaze thoughtful. “I suppose. It’s not as bad as I expected.” He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “I’m surprised you found it. It’s not exactly the sort of place I’d have thought you’d appreciate.”

Harry shrugged, feeling a surprising sense of camaraderie in the moment. “I didn’t exactly come looking for it. I just needed somewhere to clear my head, and this spot... well, it sort of found me.”

Malfoy nodded, still studying the lake. “I get it. Sometimes, you just need to be somewhere quiet, away from everything.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, a rare pause in their usual banter. Harry could sense a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle understanding between them. It was odd, sharing this moment with Malfoy, of all people, but it felt strangely right.

“So,” Harry said, breaking the silence, “what’s been going on with you? Besides flying here, I mean.”

Malfoy looked at him, his expression guarded but less tense than usual. “Same old, really. Trying to stay out of trouble and keep my head down.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very Malfoy-like. What happened to all the bravado and the endless teasing?”

Malfoy’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Maybe I’ve grown up a bit, Potter. Or maybe I’m just tired of the constant drama.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly. “I hear you. Things have been... complicated lately.”

Malfoy’s gaze softened. “Yeah, well, I suppose we’re not all that different, are we? Even if we don’t see eye to eye on everything.”

Harry nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “Maybe we’re not so different after all.”

They sat in companionable silence, the setting sun casting long shadows over the lake. The beauty of the moment was undeniable, and for the first time in a long while, Harry felt a sense of peace that wasn’t tied to escape or hiding. It was a moment of connection, however unlikely, with someone he’d always considered an adversary.

Eventually, Malfoy stood up, brushing off his robes. “Well, Potter, I suppose I should be getting back before I get caught. Don’t want to give anyone another reason to start rumors about me.”

Harry stood as well, the moment of calm slipping away. “Yeah, I should head back too. Don’t want to get caught wandering around either.”

Malfoy gave him a nod, his expression a mix of reluctance and acknowledgment. “See you around, Potter.”

“See you, Malfoy,” Harry replied, watching as Malfoy mounted his broom and took off into the sky.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Harry was making his way back to Gryffindor Tower, the evening air growing cooler as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was just past eight o’clock, and he decided to head up earlier than Ron and Hermione, giving them some privacy—though he knew they were likely still in the Great Hall. It was strange, really, how oblivious they seemed to each other’s feelings despite the fact that their mutual affection was so glaringly obvious to everyone else.

The corridors of Hogwarts felt unusually empty as he walked, a familiar yet unsettling sensation. He climbed the stairs leading up to the Gryffindor common room, but as he reached the first floor, he realized he would have to navigate all the way around to get to the staircase that would take him to his tower. The winding route felt endless, and Harry’s thoughts were preoccupied with the day’s events and his recent conversation with Malfoy at the lake.

As he reached the landing where the staircase began, a hand suddenly clasped around his wrist, yanking him roughly behind a nearby wall. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and he spun around to see Malfoy’s pale face inches from his own.

"Who—" Harry began to say, but Malfoy quickly silenced him with a finger to his lips.

Malfoy’s eyes were wide, his body tense as he pressed his back against the wall, straining to listen to something from around the corner. “Shh,” he whispered urgently. “Listen.”

Harry, still trying to make sense of the situation, turned his attention to the faint voices drifting from the end of the corridor. The conversation was muffled but clearly important. It had the tone of a serious discussion, and Harry could easily guess who the voices belonged to.

“-Are you absolutely sure that they saw the Fury?” The voice of Professor Dumbledore was unmistakable, carrying a tone of deep concern and gravity.

Harry’s eyes widened. He and Malfoy exchanged a glance. If Dumbledore was involved, this was more serious than they’d initially thought.

“A hundred and ten percent,” came Hagrid’s voice, sounding both frustrated and weary. “And I don’t even remember separating with them! I mean, I was with them the whole time—”

“If what you’re telling me is accurate,” Dumbledore continued, “then we must act swiftly. The time has come to take necessary measures.”

Harry and Malfoy stiffened. What kind of measures were they discussing? And why was action being spoken of in such dire terms?

“But, Headmaster,” Hagrid’s voice protested, sounding genuinely concerned, “they’re just kids. I don’t see how they can handle this sort of thing. It seems too dangerous.”

“I understand your concern, Rubeus,” Dumbledore replied, his tone calm but firm. “But if we do not take action, the safety of the other students and staff could be compromised. These monsters pose a serious threat, and we must be prepared to act accordingly.”

Harry’s eyes widened further in shock. Monsters? The term hit him like a physical blow. He and Malfoy exchanged another look, both struggling to comprehend what they had just heard. Were they being referred to as monsters? What had they done to earn such a description?

“We’re not monsters!” Harry whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “Are we?”

Malfoy shook his head, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. “I don’t know, but it sounds like they’re planning something big. We need to find out what.”

Hagrid’s voice lowered, filled with a kind of sad determination. “I just don’t know if they’re ready for this. They’re brave, no doubt, but this... this is serious.”

“The decision is not ours to make alone,” Dumbledore responded, his tone resolute. “We must act for the greater good. We’ve already seen what these creatures are capable of. Ignoring the threat could endanger everyone here.”

Chapter Text

A Final Voyage: The Last Journey Beyond Hogwarts
You made a mistake.
-

---

The two boys sat in silence, the weight of their expulsion hanging heavy in the air. Could they really have done something so terrible that it led to this? It felt surreal, like some twisted nightmare they couldn’t wake up from. The fury hunting them wasn’t their fault—at least, they didn’t think it was. But why had it targeted them? Was this somehow connected to Voldemort?

But even if it was, what were they supposed to do now? They'd been thrown out of the safest place in the wizarding world, supposedly for their own protection. How did that make any sense?

“He can't just do that,” Malfoy muttered, finally breaking the oppressive silence in Dumbledore's empty office. Fawkes was gone too, leaving the room eerily quiet, devoid of the comforting rustle of feathers or the soft hum of magic.

"But he just did.” Harry’s voice was tense, edged with the same dread that tightened in his chest.

"What do we do now?" Harry finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flicked to Malfoy, hoping for some semblance of a plan. "We’re kicked out of the safest place for witches and wizards. How does that even make sense?"

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of defiance crossing his features. "We didn't do anything wrong. We can't just let this happen."

"But it did happen," Harry retorted, his tone sharp with a mix of dread and anger. "And Dumbledore didn’t even bother to explain why. Just like that—we’re out."

"Father will be furious," Malfoy muttered, more to himself than to Harry. "This isn't how things are supposed to go. Not for me."

Harry clenched his fists, trying to suppress the growing sense of hopelessness. "Should we—should we run away?" He looked at Malfoy, searching for agreement or perhaps just confirmation that they were truly out of options.

Harry had just suggested running away, but a sudden pop cut him off. Professor Snape stood before them, his face impassive as ever, dressed in his usual severe robes. Did the man ever sleep? But now wasn’t the time for idle thoughts.

“Professor Dumbledore has requested that you both proceed to the station immediately, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, his voice as cold and detached as ever. Not a flicker of emotion passed across his face, not even for Malfoy.

“We’re coming,” Harry replied, his voice tight with frustration. “Not like we can just disappear.”

“Seeing your record, Potter, I’m sure you could,” Snape sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes, his annoyance flaring. Did Snape not care at all that his favorite student was being expelled for no reason? It was infuriating.

“Before we leave,” Snape continued, his tone almost too casual, “I must snap your wands.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Was that a hint of sadness in Snape’s voice? No, it couldn’t be—Snape was smirking, and Harry’s anger flared hotter. How could he take pleasure in this?

Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock, while Harry was seething inside. First, they’re expelled without explanation, and now they’re about to lose their wands—their only connection to the wizarding world. It felt like the final nail in the coffin.

The two boys stayed silent as they walked, each lost in their thoughts.

“Wands,” Snape ordered, his voice as cold as the dungeon air. He didn’t meet their eyes.

Harry hesitated, his hand tightening around his wand. It wasn’t just a tool; it was a part of him, a connection to the magical world that had become his home. Giving it up felt like surrendering a piece of himself. But what choice did he have?

Reluctantly, Harry handed over his wand, feeling a knot of dread tighten in his chest. Malfoy, though pale and shaken, followed suit, placing his wand in Snape’s waiting hand.

Snape took them both and inspected them briefly. Then, without any ceremony or pause, he raised Harry’s wand and, with a swift, practiced motion, snapped it in half. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and final. Harry flinched, his heart clenching as if it had been snapped along with the wand.

Snape moved on to Malfoy’s wand, repeating the motion. The same harsh crack filled the air, and Malfoy looked away, his face paling even more. The pieces of the wands fell to the floor, lifeless and broken, and Snape regarded them for a moment before turning back to the boys.

“YWe may leave,” Snape said, his voice devoid of any sympathy. He tossed the broken wands aside as if they were nothing more than useless twigs.

They then followed Snape to the corridors. The haunting air filling the castle as it entered this lungs, making them feel as if they were suffocating.

The weight of what was happening was sinking in, and it felt heavier with each step. The silence between them wasn’t just awkward—it was suffocating, filled with unspoken fears and anger. Harry’s mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all. How had things gone so wrong? And why wasn’t anyone telling them what was really happening?

Malfoy seemed equally troubled, his usual bravado gone. He kept glancing at Harry as if trying to gauge whether he was as lost as he was. But neither spoke; it was as if they both knew that talking about it wouldn’t change a thing.

As they passed through the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, every detail seemed sharper, more vivid. The portraits on the walls, the suits of armor—they all seemed to be watching, as if they knew this was the last time Harry and Malfoy would walk these halls as students. The thought twisted painfully in Harry’s chest. He’d never imagined his time at Hogwarts would end like this.

They finally reached the castle’s grand doors, and Harry felt his heart sink even further. They stood there, looming and majestic, just as they always had. But now, they looked different—like the gates of a prison he was being forced to leave. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, and the reality of it all became even more stark.

Was this really the end? Would they ever see this place again?

Hagrid was waiting just outside, his massive form outlined by the dim light of the castle. His face was a mix of sympathy and guilt, and for a moment, Harry’s anger wavered. It wasn’t Hagrid’s fault, not really. But it was hard not to feel a pang of betrayal.

“Hagrid will be taking you two from here,” Snape said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for a response, he turned and swept back into the castle, his black robes billowing behind him.

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” Hagrid said, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

“It’s not your fault, Hagrid,” Harry replied, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. He forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. The truth was, he couldn’t stay mad at Hagrid—no matter how much he wanted to blame someone.

They climbed into the carriages waiting for them. Harry and Malfoy shared one, while Hagrid took another. The ride was quiet, the only sound the creaking of the wheels and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. It felt wrong to be leaving like this, in silence, with so many questions left unanswered.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was staring out of the window, lost in thought. It was strange seeing him like this—so quiet, so subdued. For once, they were both in the same boat, and it was sinking fast.

Chapter Text

In the Fires of Adversity: The Bond That Emerged from Desperation
"You’re not alone, even if it feels like it."
-

---

They scrambled to their feet as the Fury closed in, its wings slicing through the air with a menacing hiss. The sound sent shivers down their spines, the reality of their situation crashing down on them like a relentless wave. There was no escape, no hope for rescue. It was just the two of them against a creature born from nightmares.

Harry and Draco instinctively backed off, gripping their swords tightly. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, adrenaline coursing through their veins, making their hearts pound loudly in their chests. The dim light from the tunnel flickered ominously, casting long shadows that made the Fury seem even more terrifying.

“Do you think anyone’s coming?” Draco’s voice trembled, betraying his fear.

Harry shook his head, his eyes never leaving the creature. “Doubt it. We’re on our own.”

The Fury slithered closer, its serpentine body weaving through the air like a predator toying with its prey. Its eyes glinted with malicious intent, and the closer it got, the more suffocating the air became.

The edge of the rails was right behind them, and Harry risked a quick glance back, realizing how little space they had left. One wrong step, and they’d be tumbling into the dark abyss below. The cold steel of the rails pressed against the backs of their legs, a harsh reminder of their precarious situation.

“You might as well surrender, darling. No one’s coming for you,” the Fury sneered, its voice a high-pitched, grating sound that cut through the air like a knife. It was a voice designed to instill fear, to break their spirits. It felt like nails on a chalkboard, threatening to shatter their eardrums.

Neither of them spoke, too focused on the creature’s every move. Harry silently cursed their lack of wands; those would’ve been far more useful in this situation. The weight of the sword in his hand felt foreign and heavy, a tool he barely knew how to wield. But there was no time to dwell on that now. They had to survive.

The Fury’s wings unfurled wider as it drew nearer, each movement deliberate and slow, savoring the fear it was invoking. The anxiety gnawing at Harry’s insides grew with every passing second, the tension in the air becoming nearly unbearable. His mind raced, trying to figure out a way to escape, to fight back, but the options were limited.

And then, without warning, the Fury lunged at them, a blur of darkness and talons. The suddenness of the attack left them no time to think. Instinct took over as they dove in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike. The creature’s talons sliced through the air where they had been standing moments before, the force of the attack sending a gust of wind that whipped through their hair.

Harry hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, but he forced himself to roll to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through his limbs. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the scene before him. The Fury had already recovered and was zeroing in on Draco, its eyes locked onto its next target.

Something inside Harry snapped. The fear, the anxiety, the hopelessness—it all coalesced into a single, burning rage. And even he didn’t know what happened next.

With a burst of energy he didn’t know he had, Harry sprang to his feet. His sword, which had felt so cumbersome moments ago, now seemed to hum with power, the blade glowing with an ethereal blue light. He charged at the creature with a fierce yell, the sound reverberating off the tunnel walls.

The Fury barely had time to react before Harry was upon it. With all the strength he could muster, he thrust the blade deep into the creature’s chest. The sword pierced through its dark, leathery skin as if it were made of paper. The creature let out a blood-curdling shriek, a piercing sound that reverberated through the tunnel, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.

The Fury’s body convulsed as the blade drove deeper, its wings flapping wildly in a desperate attempt to break free. But Harry held firm, his grip unyielding as the creature began to disintegrate before his eyes. The shriek reached a fever pitch before suddenly cutting off, leaving behind an eerie silence.

All that remained was a cloud of golden dust, swirling in the air where the Fury had once been. The creature was gone, vanished without a trace. Harry stumbled back, panting heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. His eyes were wide with shock as he stared at the space where the Fury had been moments before.

“What the hell was that?” Draco gasped, his eyes equally wide as he took in the golden specks clinging to his clothes.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Harry muttered, before a sudden, inexplicable laugh bubbled up in his chest. He couldn’t stop it, even as Draco shot him a bewildered look.

“What?” Draco demanded, raising an eyebrow, clearly not sharing in the humor.

“I’m sorry,” Harry choked out between breaths, trying to compose himself. “But you—you just look so—damn—funny—”

Draco’s confusion melted away as he glanced down at himself. His usually well-made hair was in a mess, matching the state of Harry’s, and his clothes looked like they’d been sprinkled with dark-golden glitter.

Harry’s laughter died away as he flopped down on the cold stone floor, the adrenaline leaving his body and making way for the pain to settle in. It wasn’t unbearable, but the ache in his bones was a stark reminder of the beating they’d just taken. Still, it was nothing compared to what he’d endured under Vernon’s cruel hand.

As he caught his breath, Harry’s gaze drifted to the wreckage around them. Their trunks—what little they had left—were destroyed, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart sank further when he saw the remnants of Hedwig’s cage, twisted and broken beyond repair. The silence was deafening as he realized what it meant.

“Hedwig…” Harry whispered, the weight of the loss settling in. His chest tightened painfully as he stared at the ruins of the one constant, loyal companion he’d had.

Draco’s sharp intake of breath echoed Harry’s grief. His eyes were wide with shock as he noticed his own owl’s cage, equally destroyed. The loss of their owls hit them both hard, and the reality of their situation came crashing down around them.

“Our owls…” Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure, but the emotion was clear in his eyes.

Harry clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought back tears. Losing Hedwig felt like losing a piece of himself, a connection to the world he’d been ripped away from. It was like losing a friend—no, a family member.

“Well, our trunks are gone,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. “And so are our clothes… and Hedwig… and your owl.”

Draco’s face twisted with a mix of anger and despair. “Now we’ll have to go to Gringotts,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “And if I knew the way to Diagon Alley from here, I might be able to contact my father or mother.” He looked at Harry, hope flickering in his eyes.

“I don’t know the way either,” Harry mumbled, the weight of their losses pressing down on him.

Draco cursed under his breath, his voice full of frustration and sorrow. “Well, damn.”

As Harry absentmindedly pressed the sword to the ground, still pulsing with that mysterious blue light, his thumb brushed against something—a small, almost imperceptible button. Instantly, the sword shimmered and shrank, the glow fading as it transformed into a simple bracelet, still ocean blue in color with a design of the moon etched into it. Harry and Draco both stared at it, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Well,” Draco finally said, breaking the silence, “that’s… convenient.”

“And cool,” Harry added, grinning, the pain forgotten, at least for now.

“And cool,” Draco agreed, nodding.

“Do you think your sword could do that as well?” Harry asked, curiosity piqued.

“I guess.” Draco picked up his sword, scanning it for a similar mechanism. Sure enough, he found a small button and pressed it. The sword instantly transformed into a sleek silver bracelet, adorned with intricate designs of the sun. He held it up, studying the bracelet with a mix of awe and surprise.

“Now that’s something,” he muttered, glancing at Harry. “Who knew these things had tricks up their sleeves?”

"Whatever." Harry said, looking at the new accessory he found. "As long as it's cool, I don't mind."

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Chapter Text

Reflections of a Forgotten Pool: The Unexpected Wonders of a Mystical Lake
“This lake’s magic must be as stubborn as you.”
-

---

Draco’s voice was softer than Harry expected. “You alright now?”

Harry still had his face buried in Draco’s shoulder, the pain ebbing slightly. It wasn’t gone, not entirely—his entire body still throbbed—but compared to the blinding agony earlier, it was more bearable now.

“Mhm,” Harry mumbled, pulling away, though his face probably looked a mess—puffy eyes, flushed cheeks. He felt embarrassed, honestly, but he couldn’t have held it in. Not after everything.

Draco frowned, his sharp eyes scanning Harry’s face like he was looking for more injuries. “Can you stand?” he asked, offering an arm for support but looking doubtful.

“I think…” Harry attempted to push himself up, but the moment he put weight on his legs, his knees buckled beneath him, and he nearly crashed back to the ground before Draco grabbed him.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Draco muttered dryly, keeping a tight hold on Harry. He sighed, clearly not thrilled with the situation but too stubborn to let him fall again.

Harry shot him a sheepish smile. “Maybe not,” he admitted, feeling a little pathetic.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, though not out of anger. “Honestly, Potter. You’re going to be the death of both of us.” He didn’t let go, though. In fact, he readjusted his grip to make sure Harry wouldn’t fall.

Harry tried to laugh, but it came out more as a strained huff. “I didn’t ask to be injured, you know.”

“No, but you always manage to get yourself into these situations. It’s like you attract disaster.” Draco was trying to sound annoyed, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes—concern, maybe? It was hard to tell.

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the sharp pain in his leg. “Well, maybe if you didn’t always drag me into—”

“Me? Drag you?” Draco scoffed, cutting him off. “It was you're fault when we fought.”

Harry gave him a deadpan look. “You were the one who started it.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, then paused, realizing Harry was right. He let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, we’re both idiots. Satisfied?”

“Not really,” Harry muttered, wincing as he shifted his weight. “Where are we, anyway?”

Draco looked around, his brows furrowed. They were in a forest—deep, dark, and unnervingly quiet. The trees stretched high above them, their thick branches forming a canopy that blocked out most of the light. The air was cool and damp, with the scent of earth and pine hanging heavy in the air. Despite the eerie calm, it wasn’t comforting. Something felt... off.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Draco replied, his voice low. “But it’s definitely not Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Harry muttered, glancing around. He felt uneasy. They shouldn’t have been able to just fall into an abyss and teleport into a forest. Not without some serious magic.

Then something struck him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. But—he could see perfectly fine. He squinted up at the branches, then back at Draco.

“Where are my glasses?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to know?”

“No, I mean—I don’t have them on, but I can see.”

Draco blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to suspicion. “Wait, hold on. You can see—without your glasses?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It’s... weird.”

Draco waved a hand in front of Harry’s face, clearly testing his claim. “So, you’re telling me you’re suddenly not blind anymore?”

“I guess?” Harry replied, feeling just as confused as Draco looked. “I don’t know how or why, but... I can see. Perfectly.”

Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Of course. Of course, you can suddenly see without glasses. Because why wouldn’t everything get weirder?”

Harry grimaced. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you sprouted wings and flew us out of here.”

“Hey, that’d be useful,” Harry said, trying to inject some humor into the conversation, though the tension between them lingered.

Draco huffed, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “If only. But since you can’t, we need to figure out what’s going on. First, we get expelled for reasons that make no sense, then we’re attacked by some Greek nightmare creature, and now this.” He gestured to the forest around them. “Where even are we?”

Harry frowned, the realization hitting him again. They were miles away from Hogwarts, possibly even further than that, and there was no telling what had transported them here. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we need to get out of here.”

Draco’s face paled slightly. “And what if—what if it’s Black?”

The mention of Sirius Black sent a cold shiver down Harry’s spine. “You think he’s the one who sent us here?” His voice dropped to a whisper, fear threading through it.

Draco shrugged, though his jaw tightened. “Who else? He’s after you, right? Maybe this is his way of getting you away from Hogwarts.”

Harry’s heart raced at the thought. “But why would he send you with me?”

Draco raised a brow. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because we were both in the same place when everything went to hell?”

“Or he’s just trying to kill us both,” Harry muttered darkly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him harder than before.

“Brilliant,” Draco replied sarcastically. “As if this day couldn’t get any worse.”

Harry groaned, rubbing his temple. “We need a plan. We can’t stay here. We need to find a way out of this forest.”

Draco nodded, though he glanced warily at Harry’s injured leg. “Can you even walk?”

Harry tested his leg, wincing as the pain flared up again. “Not without help.”

Draco sighed, clearly displeased with the idea, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped closer, offering his shoulder. “Alright. Lean on me. But if you slow us down too much, Potter, I’m leaving you for dead.”

Harry snorted, wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders. “Charming as always, Malfoy.”

“I mean it,” Draco grumbled, though his grip was steady as he helped Harry to his feet. “If we get killed because you’re hobbling around, I’m haunting you.”

Despite the pain, Harry managed a grin. “Noted.”

Together, they started moving, though it was slow going. Harry leaned heavily on Draco, each step sending sharp stabs of pain through his leg. He tried his best not to slow them down, but it was hard to ignore the discomfort.

Draco grumbled under his breath but didn’t complain too much. He kept his eyes on the path ahead, scanning the trees as if expecting something to jump out at them.

“Think there’s a road somewhere?” Harry asked, trying to focus on anything other than the pain.

“There better be,” Draco muttered. “Or we’re really screwed.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his voice tense. “Before Black finds us.”

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~


After what felt like hours of trudging through the undergrowth, the trees thinned out slightly, and Draco suddenly froze, his grip tightening on Harry’s arm.

Draco’s breath hitched as they stepped into the clearing, his grip on Harry’s arm faltering slightly as the sight before them unfolded. “Whoa.” His voice came out in a soft gasp, eyes widening as he took in the scene ahead.

Harry followed his gaze, his own pain momentarily forgotten as his eyes widened in awe.

A vast, glistening lake stretched out before them, its surface like glass, reflecting the deep orange and pink hues of the setting sun. The sky above was painted in shades of purple and gold, the sun already beginning to dip below the horizon. Time had slipped away from them—it had been morning when they fought that creature, and now it was nearly evening.

Trees lined the edges of the lake, their leaves rustling softly in the cool breeze, and vibrant flowers of every color framed the scene, creating an almost magical atmosphere. The sight was surreal, like something out of a dream, or maybe a painting—too perfect, too peaceful. It reminded Harry of the Black Lake back at Hogwarts, though this place had a calmness to it that Hogwarts never did.

Near the edge of the lake, there were logs stacked in a neat pile, almost like a forgotten campsite. They looked old, abandoned, but still intact, as if waiting for someone to sit around them again.

Draco stared at the lake in awe, his hand still gripping Harry’s arm, steadying him. "This is... gorgeous," he said, his voice unusually soft.

Harry, too, found himself momentarily lost in the view. The golden-orange hues of the setting sun reflected off the still water, casting the entire area in a warm, almost magical glow. The flowers scattered across the greenery made it feel peaceful—a stark contrast to everything they’d been through.

"It's like something out of a painting," Harry muttered. The tranquility of the place was almost enough to make him forget the sharp pain still throbbing in his leg.

Draco nodded slowly, his usual haughty expression replaced by something softer, more genuine. “I didn’t think we’d stumble across something like this,” he admitted. “After everything... well, this doesn’t seem so bad.”

Harry chuckled, though it came out more as a strained laugh. “If only we weren’t half-dead, wandless, and lost in Merlin-knows-where.”

Draco smirked, a faint flicker of his usual arrogance creeping in. “Yeah, minor details.” But the teasing was lighter, less biting than before.

They stood there for a moment, just taking in the view before Draco cleared his throat. “We should... probably rest. Your leg isn’t going to get any better if we keep walking.”

Harry frowned but knew he was right. His leg had only gotten worse since they started moving, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore. He gave a small nod, and Draco gently guided him over to one of the logs.

As Harry sat down, he let out a long breath, feeling the tension in his body ease, if only a little. “I still can’t believe all of this,” he muttered, rubbing at his aching leg. “Feels like we’ve been tossed from one nightmare to the next.”

Draco sat beside him, staring at the lake. “Yeah, it’s been... insane.” He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “But we survived.”

Harry gave him a tired smile. “Barely.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Draco sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You know... it’s weird. Us, I mean. I never thought we’d be in this situation.”

Harry leaned back against the log, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, same. Never thought I’d see the day when we weren’t hexing each other.”

Draco chuckled. “Well, there’s always time for that later, Potter.”

“Assuming we ever get out of here,” Harry added with a wry grin. "Or if we had our wands."

Draco rolled his eyes but smirked. “We will. Somehow. And about our wands - well, we can fight with these.” Draco said as he pointed at the braclets

"I guess." Harry agreed.

The two boys sat in companionable silence, both exhausted but oddly at peace in the calm of the forest. They may not have had their wands or a clear plan, but at least, for the moment, they weren’t alone.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Chapter Text

Whispers of the Unknown: The Demigod's Night in the Forest
"Hunger’s got your scent, demigod."
-

---

The night clouds had fully covered the sky as the sun set, leaving the forest drenched in darkness, save for the pale light of the moon. The fireflies dotted the air, their faint glow the only real source of light, shimmering around the lake like stars trapped between the trees. It wasn’t the safest place to camp, but it beat wandering around the woods, especially with Sirius Black lurking somewhere nearby.

They’d decided to stay near the lake for the night, hoping the water would offer some kind of refuge. It was colder now, though, the chill in the air biting through Harry’s half-sleeve shirt. Draco, naturally, had his jacket, his privileged upbringing keeping him prepared. Harry, on the other hand, had endured worse. He wasn’t about to let a cold night get to him, not after what he’d survived in the Dursleys’ cupboard.

Harry crouched by the firewood they’d gathered earlier, rubbing two stones together in a weak attempt to create a spark. His hands were already red and sore, but he wasn’t about to ask Malfoy for help again—not until the frustration boiled over.

“Oi. Help me out here,” Harry finally snapped, glancing over at Draco, who was sitting comfortably, barely lifting a finger.

Draco, predictably, rolled his eyes but lazily extended a hand. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Harry. Fine.” He grabbed the stones and took over, muttering, “If you can’t even manage to make a fire, it’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long.”

Harry smirked, settling down on the cold ground beside him. “Funny. A week ago, I wouldn’t have believed I’d be here, sitting by a lake, with you trying to help me start a fire.”

Draco snorted, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Believe me, Potter, neither would I. This would’ve been front-page news in the Daily Prophet.”

They both laughed, a shared moment that, to Harry’s surprise, didn’t feel awkward. It was strange—surreal, really. Sitting here with Draco Malfoy, both of them expelled from Hogwarts, alone in a forest. A week ago, this would have been unthinkable.

The laughter faded, leaving behind a quiet that was more comfortable than Harry expected. He couldn’t help but think about Hogwarts. He stared into the firewood, watching Draco work the stones, lost in thought. “I wonder what Dumbledore told everyone about us,” he said softly, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

Draco paused for a second, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know. Probably something grand and cryptic.” His tone turned sarcastic, though not entirely without the undercurrent of truth. “For the ‘greater good,’ or maybe he told them I’ve finally corrupted you—turned you into the next Dark Lord.”

Harry chuckled darkly. “Yeah, that sounds about right. The Chosen One’s gone crazy, teamed up with Malfoy to take over the wizarding world.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst story they’ve come up with,” Draco said, his lips curving into a smirk. “You know how people are. They’d believe anything about us if it came from Dumbledore.”

The smirk faded slightly as Harry felt a familiar pang of guilt and regret. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to Ron or Hermione. The last time he’d seen them, they had no idea what was coming. “I just hope Ron and Hermione didn’t buy into it,” Harry muttered, almost to himself. “I didn’t even get to explain... didn’t even say goodbye.”

Draco glanced at him, his expression shifting. He didn’t make fun of Harry this time, didn’t make a snide remark. Instead, he just nodded, understanding flickering in his silver eyes. “Yeah,” Draco said quietly. “I didn’t either.”

It was a rare moment of sincerity between them, both of them missing the people they’d left behind. Draco went back to striking the stones together, and Harry watched, his mind wandering.

After what felt like forever, a small spark flickered between the stones, catching on the dry wood. “Finally,” Draco muttered under his breath as the fire slowly grew, the flames licking at the logs, bringing warmth to the cold night.

Harry exhaled, letting the warmth wash over him. He rubbed his hands together, holding them out toward the fire. “Good job,” he said, and he meant it.

Draco shrugged, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “Of course. You didn’t think I’d let us freeze out here, did you?”

Harry smiled, the firelight casting flickering shadows on their faces. The two of them, sitting here together, was strange—yet somehow it wasn’t as strange as it should’ve been. He glanced over at Draco, his thoughts circling back to Hogwarts, to the friends he’d left behind, and the uncertain future ahead.

“I miss it,” Harry admitted quietly, more to himself than to Draco. “Hogwarts. Them.”

Draco didn’t reply right away. He sat back, staring into the fire, and for a moment, Harry wondered if he’d heard him at all. But then, in that quiet, almost reluctant tone, Draco spoke. “Me too,” he said simply. “More than I’d like to admit.”

The fire crackled between them, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Harry didn’t feel the weight of their rivalry pressing down on him. Here, by the lake, they were just two boys—lost, expelled, but surviving together.

As the warmth of the fire seeped into their skin, the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t the same awkward, tense quiet that used to fill the air when they were forced to be around each other. It was a different kind of quiet. One that almost felt... peaceful.

The fire burned on, and for tonight, that was enough.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

As the fire crackled softly, sending up tiny sparks into the star-dappled sky, the warmth began to lull Harry into a drowsy haze. The cold night air still nipped at his exposed skin, but the fire's heat and the exhaustion of the day combined to weigh down his eyelids. It didn’t take long before Harry was curled up on the cold ground, his breathing steady, the tension that usually creased his brow finally easing.

Draco, on the other hand, was still sitting up, staring into the fire. His eyes occasionally flicked toward Harry, watching as the Boy Who Lived—no, just Harry now—slept soundly for the first time since their flight from Hogwarts. It was strange seeing Potter so vulnerable, so… ordinary. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The night pressed in around them, the distant hoot of an owl the only sign of life in the dense forest. The fire flickered, its light casting long shadows against the trees, creating shapes that danced and twisted with the wind. Draco shifted uncomfortably, pulling his jacket tighter around him as the chill began to bite at his skin. He glanced at Harry again, half-tempted to throw a rock at him just to see him wake in panic.

But he didn’t. Instead, Draco leaned back against a large stone, closing his eyes, intending to rest for just a moment. He wasn’t tired—at least, not physically. But mentally… the weight of their situation was wearing him down. Just a few days ago, his biggest concern had been grades, Quidditch, and upholding the Malfoy name. Now he was… here. With Harry bloody Potter.

Eventually, sleep claimed him too, his mind sinking into the dark embrace of unconsciousness, where dreams blurred with the reality of their situation.

But it didn’t last long.

Draco blinked groggily, sitting up as the soft whisper faded into the night. His eyes darted toward Harry, who was still fast asleep by the dwindling fire. Instinctively, Draco shuffled closer, sensing something off, though he couldn't quite place what it was. He had learned to trust his gut these past few days.

A rustle in the darkness made him flinch. Emerging from the shadows was an older woman, stepping lightly between the trees. She had brown hair streaked with white, her skin wrinkled with age. Honey-brown eyes gleamed in the dim firelight, and she held a small pet carrier in her hands, from which a low growl emanated.

"Are you alright, darling?" she asked, her voice soft but dripping with an eerie undertone.

Draco tensed, his senses on high alert. There was something wrong with her—something unnatural. His eyes flicked to the growling carrier, his mind racing.

"I'm fine, miss. Thank you for asking," Draco replied cautiously, keeping his tone polite despite the unease gnawing at his gut.

The woman stepped closer, a strange smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "What are you two sweet boys doing out here in the forest, all alone, in the dark?" Her voice was coated with false concern, as if she were sizing them up for something more sinister.

"Our parents allowed us to camp for the night," Draco lied smoothly, sitting back down next to Harry, trying to shield his unconscious friend with his body.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and the eerie smile widened. "Oh dears, but there are dangerous monsters in forests like these. Especially dangerous for children like you."

It was the way she said "you" that sent chills down Draco's spine, like she didn’t see them as human—like they were prey. Monsters? Was she talking about the creatures that had been hunting them since they left Hogwarts? Draco quickly dismissed the thought, keeping his face neutral.

"We've done this plenty of times, ma'am," Draco said, his voice steady though his heart pounded. "Thank you for your concern."

The woman's smile twitched. "You’re not going to listen to me, are you?" she hissed, the sweetness in her tone evaporating. Her eyes gleamed with malice as she sneered, "Filthy half-bloods."

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Half-blood? The insult hit too close to home, but he knew something else was wrong here. He wasn’t a half-blood, and the woman’s sudden venomous tone unnerved him.

"I'm not a half-blood," Draco stated, trying to regain control of the conversation, but the woman's expression twisted into something almost triumphant.

"Oh dear," she cackled, her voice rising in pitch. She threw her head back in a laugh so deranged it echoed through the trees, making Draco’s skin crawl. She sounded like—Merlin, she sounded like Bellatrix. "No one told you, did they?" she wheezed between fits of laughter.

Draco’s mind raced. No one told us what?

The woman’s eyes snapped back to him, wild and gleaming. "That you’re demigods!" she screamed, her voice shrill with mania. "That scent you carry—it's like a beacon to every monster for miles around!"

Draco felt his stomach drop. Demigods? What was this madwoman on about? Before he could process it, she spoke again, her voice sing-song and lilting as she stroked the carrier. "Either way, my poor baby is so hungry." Her smile returned, that eerie, twisted grin. "And I'm sure he'd just love to have you for dinner."

Harry stirred, but Draco could hardly focus on that. The woman, the wild-eyed maniac, opened the carrier with a snap, and from it emerged a monster straight from Draco’s worst nightmares.

They were outmatched. No wands. No backup. Just two demigods, as the woman called them, and a beast. Draco’s mind raced, but all he could think of was the best option left.

"Fucking run!" he shouted, his voice breaking through the chaos.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He staggered to his feet, heart hammering in his chest, every nerve in his body screaming at him to move. The beast’s roar reverberated through the trees, shaking the very ground beneath them as it charged forward with a terrifying, primal hunger. There was no time to think, no time to strategize—just raw, instinctual survival.

The two bolted, their legs propelling them forward at breakneck speed, feet pounding against the forest floor. The darkness swallowed them whole as they raced through the dense underbrush, dodging low-hanging branches that lashed at their faces like the talons of unseen predators. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of the leaves around them, felt like the creature’s breath on their necks. They could hear it, the relentless thud of its powerful paws behind them, growing louder with every second.

Draco's lungs burned with every frantic gasp of air, his legs screaming in protest, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn’t. The adrenaline in his veins was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. He threw a glance over his shoulder, heart skipping a beat as the hulking form of the monster tore through the trees with terrifying speed. Its lion’s head snarled, fiery eyes locked onto them with deadly intent. The snake-like tail hissed behind it, while the goat's head shrieked, filling the night with a sound that sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

“Faster!” Harry yelled, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the sound of their thundering footsteps and the creature’s blood-curdling roars.

Draco bit back the rising panic. There was no way they could outrun it for long. Every part of his body wanted to collapse, to stop and fight, but that wasn’t an option. Not against this. Not without their wands, not with these makeshift swords that had barely scratched the monster’s thick hide.

Tree branches slapped their faces, tearing at their skin as they weaved through the thick woods. Harry stumbled but caught himself, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged gasps. The scent of earth, leaves, and sweat filled Draco's nostrils as the forest blurred around them. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, each thump a countdown to when the beast would be upon them.

Draco spared another glance back. Too close. Too fast.

The creature let out another roar, so loud and feral it shook the trees. Draco’s breath hitched. It was gaining on them, its huge claws digging deep into the earth with every stride, ripping through the undergrowth like it was nothing. They weren’t going to make it—they couldn’t make it—not at this rate.

Run faster, Draco thought desperately. But how much faster could they possibly go?

Then, as if by some cruel twist of fate, the trees started thinning. The dense foliage that had hidden them for so long began to give way. The canopy opened up, and the moonlight filtered down onto the ground in silver streaks. The ground beneath their feet shifted, turning from rough, uneven dirt to smoother terrain.

Draco’s eyes widened in disbelief. In the distance, beyond the last few trees, he could see light. Artificial light. Not the moon or stars, but something human. He blinked, and then it hit him—a clearing, and beyond it, a road.

“Harry! The city!” Draco gasped, his voice barely holding together as he forced more speed into his legs.

Harry’s gaze shot forward, catching sight of what Draco was seeing. There, in the distance, past the treeline—streetlights, cars, buildings. Civilization.

But the creature was too close. One misstep, one hesitation, and it would catch them. Draco could hear its snarl just behind him, the heat of its breath as it snapped at the air, inches from his heels. The goat’s head screamed again, the sound sending icy fear down his spine.

Just a few more steps. Just a little farther.

They burst from the trees, feet hitting asphalt with a sudden jolt. Draco’s knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to keep going, sprinting across the empty street as the harsh glow of streetlights illuminated the city ahead. New York City. Draco didn't have time to think how on earth  they were here- why they were here. The towering skyscrapers loomed like sentinels in the distance, their lights a beacon of hope. The roar of traffic hummed in the background, distant but real.

But the monster didn’t stop. With a terrifying roar, it lunged from the forest, claws digging into the asphalt, tearing into the road with a screech. Draco skidded to a halt, heart hammering as he spun to face it. The beast stood on the edge of the forest, its three heads glaring down at them, muscles rippling with predatory intent. It was massive, a hulking terror out of nightmares, its eyes glowing with hunger as it prepared to charge again.

The streets were empty—no help, no witnesses. Just them.

“We’re not gonna outrun that thing here,” Harry breathed, his sword still clenched in his hand, but his face was pale with fear.

Draco swallowed hard, gripping his own blade tightly, trying to ignore the searing ache in his muscles. They had to think, fast. But what could they do? They were trapped between a beast and the endless city, and it wasn’t like New York was going to protect them from a literal monster.

The creature's lion head snarled, and it took a menacing step forward, claws scraping the asphalt with a screech that echoed through the empty street.

"Any brilliant ideas, Potter?" Draco asked, his voice tight as he backed up slowly, his eyes never leaving the beast’s fiery gaze.

“Just one,” Harry muttered, raising his sword. “Don’t die.”

Chapter Text

New York Nights and Hogwarts Fights: A Potter-Malfoy Journey
"You drool in your sleep, Potter."
-

---

 

“Oh,” Harry sighed in relief, sinking back into the booth. “I missed food.”

Draco chuckled at him, shaking his head as he stabbed a chip with his fork. They had ordered fish and chips—nothing fancy, but after the chaos they'd been through, it tasted like the best meal they'd had in days. As Harry took another bite, a thought crossed his mind, though he didn’t voice it immediately: How long had it actually been since they last ate?

“We didn’t really check the day, did we?” Draco asked, as though reading his mind. His tone wasn’t mocking, just casual curiosity. Harry glanced up at him, momentarily caught off guard. That was actually a fair question—since when did Malfoy start asking reasonable things?

“Dunno,” Harry said with a shrug, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “Feels like it could be the 10th or 11th of November. Doesn’t seem like we’ve been out here that long, but…”

“Probably, yeah,” Draco replied, taking a gulp of water. He grimaced as the cold liquid slid down his throat, mixing awkwardly with the greasy food. He didn’t admit it, but he was still half-expecting something to jump out at them.

After a few more bites of food, Harry leaned back, glancing at the crumpled bills in his pocket. “Still got 180 dollars left,” he said, more to himself than Draco, pulling the cash out to count it. He couldn’t help but notice the odd stares they were getting from the other diners. Wearing torn, dirt-streaked clothes and carrying that much cash made them look suspicious—maybe even like petty thieves.

“Good. We can rent a room for tonight,” Draco said, ever the practical one. “There’s a motel not far from here. Looked cheap.”

Harry hesitated, twirling his fork absentmindedly. “Yeah… I guess.” His tone wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but he couldn’t argue with Draco's logic.

Sensing Harry’s hesitation, Draco leaned forward, his expression shifting from casual to somewhat reassuring. “Relax, Potter. We’re in the middle of a city. Monsters aren’t going to just show up here and drag us off into the night.”

Harry let out a soft breath, still unsure but trying to hide it. “I know. It’s just—”

Draco cut him off, rolling his eyes in mock impatience. “No ‘buts,’ Potter. We both need sleep, and I need a shower before I actually turn into a dirt sculpture. So get up. Or do I have to carry you like some damsel in distress again?”

Harry went visibly red at that, his face flushing as he sputtered a response. “You didn’t carry me!”

Draco’s smirk grew. “Oh, really? Didn’t I save your sorry ass got your bone broken?”

Harry glared at him but quickly shifted the conversation, not wanting to dwell on that embarrassing fact. “It’s late. We should get moving,” he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet as quickly as possible, his cheeks still pink.

Draco stood up as well, clearly amused but letting it go for now. “Right. Let’s go, then. Unless you’d rather stay here and wait for the waitress to start asking where we got all that money.” He motioned to the woman behind the counter, who was still eyeing them suspiciously.

Draco stood up as well, clearly amused but letting it go for now. “Right. Let’s go, then. Unless you’d rather stay here and wait for the waitress to ask where we got all that money.” He motioned subtly to the woman behind the counter, who was still giving them the occasional suspicious glance.

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, tossing a few bills on the table before the two of them stepped out into the night. They were in the heart of New York City, the streets alive with movement, cars zooming by and clusters of people talking and laughing.

Where were all these people when they were fighting a freaking monster?

Harry blinked at the unfamiliar scene. The constant honking of cars, flashing lights, and conversations all felt so strange after everything that had happened. Some girls nearby were loudly discussing a boy named Justin, two of them appearing slightly drunk. One guy on the street corner looked zoned out, staring at nothing in particular—until his eyes suddenly locked onto Harry and Draco as they stepped out. He eyed them for a moment before walking away, not saying a word.

“Weirdo,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Where’s this motel you saw?” Harry asked, already feeling the fatigue catching up with him. All he wanted was to crash into a bed and forget about the madness of the last few days.

“Down the corner,” Draco replied casually, pointing with his chin. Harry noticed the slight tension in his shoulders as he spoke, but neither of them mentioned it.

They walked in silence for a bit, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. New York was different from Britain in so many ways. It was louder, faster-paced, and much warmer for this time of year. In London, it would already be snowing. They passed by another group of girls, their conversation carrying in the breeze as they giggled about some concert.

“Tomorrow’s the 13th already? Time flies so quick!” one of the girls exclaimed.

“Stop trying to change the topic!” her friend snapped, laughing.

Harry and Draco exchanged glances. Well, at least they knew the date now. Tomorrow was the 13th—so they'd been expelled for more days than Harry had thought. He tried not to dwell on that, focusing instead on the small, glowing sign of the motel that came into view. It wasn’t the most glamorous place—just a red neon sign blinking in the distance—but it seemed manageable. If this had been the Malfoy from two weeks ago, Harry was sure he would’ve complained about its appearance.

The reception room wasn’t much bigger than a cupboard, with a couch in the corner and a flickering TV showing static. The walls were painted a dull brown, and the light above them flickered on and off intermittently. Posters of beaches and waterfalls, looking years old, were tacked onto the walls. A small fishbowl sat on the main desk, next to an ancient-looking music box that was clearly broken. At least it was warm inside.

Behind the desk sat a woman with messy blonde hair, her legs kicked up on the counter and a cigarette dangling from her lips. She wore a white crop top with "Brooklyn" scrawled across the front, paired with a short skirt and leggings. Her black lipstick and heavy blue eyeliner gave her an intimidating, if not slightly disheveled, look.

“Erm—” Harry began, unsure how to approach this. The woman glanced up at him lazily, not moving an inch.

Before he could say more, another woman walked into the room, her eyes widening in alarm when she saw them. She had brown hair tied back neatly and wore a simple uniform. “Oh, dears!” she exclaimed, rushing behind the desk. She whisper-shouted at the first woman, “Emma, get out of here!” The woman named Emma rolled her eyes dramatically but complied, slipping out the backdoor without a word.

The woman turned her attention back to Harry and Draco, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that. Do you two need a room?”

“Uh… yeah,” Harry mumbled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not used to this kind of situation.

“We do, miss,” Draco interjected smoothly, sending Harry a look that practically screamed, 'Honestly, Potter, this isn’t rocket science.' Harry shot him a glare. As if Draco had any room to talk.

“A room for two?” the woman asked, already opening her laptop to start entering information.

“How much would that be?” Draco asked, sounding more professional than Harry would’ve expected.

“120 dollars for the night,” she replied with a polite smile, her fingers poised over the keyboard. Harry’s eyes widened slightly. That was more than half of what they had left!

“And for one room?” Draco inquired quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating the odds.

“60 dollars for one,” she said, her tone still sweet, though now there was a hint of sympathy as she eyed their ragged appearance. At this rate, Harry thought, if the room wasn’t worth it, he’d strangle Draco himself before any monsters got to them.

“Alri—” Draco started, but Harry’s attention drifted away. Something about the fishbowl next to the woman’s desk caught his eye. The way the little goldfish swam lazily in circles was oddly mesmerizing. He found himself staring at it, the simple, repetitive motion calming in a way. The fish seemed content, swimming in its tiny world without a care. A strange thought popped into his mind—did it ever feel trapped in there?

Then, without warning, the fish bubbled up, and for a split second, Harry could’ve sworn it had said, “Hello.” His eyes widened, and he blinked hard. Had that really just happened? No. No way. He wasn’t… Was he able to talk to animals? That didn’t make sense.

“Potter, for Merlin’s sake!” Draco nudged his shoulder hard, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

“What?” Harry blinked, dazed, his focus returning to the room.

“Your name, dear,” the receptionist prompted gently, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh—uh, sorry. Harry Potter,” he replied, still trying to shake off the weird moment with the fish. The receptionist nodded, typing the name into her laptop.

Draco eyed him skeptically, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Getting distracted by a fish now, Potter? Really?”

Harry shot him a glare but said nothing, too rattled to come up with a snarky reply.

Harry narrowed his eyes, shooting Draco a look that would’ve made Professor McGonagall proud. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, the smirk still plastered on his face. "Whatever you say."

The receptionist cleared her throat softly, pulling their attention back to her. “I’ve got you all set. Room 12. It’s just up the stairs and to the left,” she explained, handing Draco a small key with a worn tag attached to it. “Checkout’s at 11 a.m., and breakfast is served in the lounge from 7 to 9. If you need anything else, just give us a ring.”

Harry gave a small nod. “Thanks,” he muttered, still feeling slightly awkward. He was definitely not used to all of this—being expelled, running from monsters, staying in some random New York motel with Malfoy of all people.

As they headed towards the stairs, Draco leaned in, lowering his voice. “Do you think that fish was cursed or something? You looked like you saw a dementor.”

Harry glared. “No, I was just... thinking.” The last thing he needed was Draco knowing that he might’ve just heard a fish speak. “Let it go.”

Draco snorted but didn’t push further. They walked up the narrow staircase, the floor creaking slightly beneath their feet. Room 12 wasn’t far. The door looked old, with peeling paint and a rusted handle, but it was sturdy enough.

“After you, Potter,” Draco said, handing him the key with a sarcastic flourish, as though he were some kind of butler.

Harry gave him another eye roll, but took the key, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The room was... well, not terrible. Definitely not as bad as Harry had feared. There was one king sized bed, a small TV mounted on the wall, and a tiny bathroom tucked into the corner. A window looked out onto the street below, where the city lights twinkled against the night sky.

Harry stared at the single king-sized bed for a moment, his brain refusing to catch up with reality. He could already feel Draco's gaze burning into him from behind. Great.

"One bed?" Draco asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. "You’ve got to be joking."

Draco crossed his arms, glaring at the bed as though it had personally offended him. "I am not sharing a bed with you, Potter. You probably kick in your sleep."

Harry groaned, kicking off his shoes and heading towards the bathroom. "Well, you could sleep on the floor, then."

"Me? On the floor?" Draco sputtered, his tone as indignant as ever. “Absolutely not. I am not a peasant.”

"Fine," Harry called over his shoulder. "Then stop complaining and deal with it. It’s just one night."

"I'm going to take a shower," Draco muttered.

"Good luck with that," Harry said, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones. He moved towards the edge of the bed, glancing around the room like it might magically sprout another mattress. It didn’t.

With a resigned sigh, Harry collapsed onto the bed, letting out a long groan as the lumpy mattress greeted him. The bed wasn’t bad per se—just not what he wanted to be dealing with right now. He stared up at the ceiling, mind wandering back to the insanity of the past few days: being expelled, running from monsters, and now sharing a room—and a bed—with Draco Malfoy.

Brilliant, he thought sarcastically.

A few minutes later, Draco emerged from the bathroom, looking noticeably fresher, a towel draped around his shoulders. “Shower’s yours,” he said, drying his hair with a flick of his hand as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Harry got up reluctantly, dragging himself toward the bathroom. "Try not to hog the bed, Malfoy," he muttered, too tired to argue or come up with a clever retort.

The shower was surprisingly decent, though Harry didn’t stay in long. He was too exhausted to enjoy it properly. When he returned, Draco was sprawled across the bed, flipping through channels on the tiny TV.

"Anything interesting?" Harry asked as he tossed his towel onto the chair, eyeing Draco's position on the bed.

"Not unless you want to watch some American sitcoms," Draco replied, his voice laced with disdain. "Honestly, how do these people live with this much noise all the time?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Move over. You’re taking up the whole bloody bed."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You’re joking, right?"

"Afraid not," Harry said, crawling into the bed next to Draco, both of them doing their best to stay as far apart as possible. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, and Harry could already feel the tension settling in.

"I can’t believe this," Draco muttered, glaring at the ceiling. "Sharing a bed with you. Merlin help me."

Harry scoffed, pulling the thin blanket over himself. "You think I’m enjoying this? Trust me, Malfoy, this isn’t my idea of a fun night either."

There was a brief pause. The room was quiet, aside from the low hum of the TV. Harry shifted awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable spot without getting too close to Draco.

"Do you think we’ll ever figure this out?" Draco asked suddenly, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

Harry blinked, turning his head to look at him. "Figure what out?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, his gaze fixed on the TV. "You know. Why we’re being attacked. Why we got expelled. All of it."

Harry frowned, the weight of the question settling over him. "I don’t know, Malfoy." He paused, biting his lip. "But... I’m not giving up. There’s got to be a reason for all of this."

Draco didn’t respond right away, just nodded slightly. "Yeah. I suppose there is."

The silence stretched on for a moment longer before Draco suddenly smirked, glancing over at Harry. "By the way, I wasn’t kidding about the damsel thing. If you break something or pass out again, I’m leaving you behind next time."

Harry grabbed the pillow next to him and smacked Draco squarely in the face. "Shut up, Malfoy."

Draco, to Harry's surprise, just laughed—an actual, genuine laugh—and threw the pillow back at him. For a split second, they both forgot about everything else: the monsters, the expulsion, the questions still looming over them. It all faded away as they laughed, their banter feeling oddly familiar, almost like normal. Almost.

But as Harry turned to settle into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest, he muttered under his breath, "Just... don’t steal the blankets, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. "As long as you don’t snore, Potter. I’ll hex you if you do."

"You need actual wands to do that, Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Then I'll stab you in your sleep." Malfoy replied almost instantly.

Harry snorted, letting his eyes drift shut, a small smile on his face. Despite everything, despite how utterly bizarre this situation was, the comfort of Draco’s sarcastic remarks was a strangely welcome distraction.

The bed was big enough, but the space between them felt like an unspoken truce. Maybe, for tonight at least, things weren’t so bad.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

"WAKE UP, POTTER!" Malfoy’s voice pierced through Harry’s dream, dragging him back to the waking world with a jolt.

Harry shot up in bed, eyes still bleary. "WHAT?" he shouted, heart pounding, blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim light of the room. "Can’t I get a peaceful night’s sleep for once? Ughhh..."

Draco was standing beside the bed, arms crossed, looking like he was seconds away from hexing something. "It’s 7 a.m. It's practically morning. You lazy bastard -and you’re drooling on my side of the bed!" he snapped, pointing to a small wet spot near the middle of the mattress.

Harry groaned, wiping at the corner of his mouth as he slumped back against the pillow. "Oh, come off it, Mal—Draco. It’s barely even your side."

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "The drool says otherwise."

Harry glanced at him, still too sleepy to care. "You woke me up for this?"

"No," Draco said, now leaning over the bed, his tone more serious. "You were flailing in your sleep, muttering something about monsters. It was either wake you up or risk getting kicked again."

Harry blinked, his brain catching up. "Oh." He frowned, sitting up again and rubbing his eyes. "Didn’t realize..."

"Yeah, well, now you know," Draco said, sitting back on his side of the bed with a huff. “So, are we getting breakfast or not?”

Harry yawned, running a hand through his messy hair. "I guess we should. Better than lying here, thinking about what we’ve got to face today."

Draco gave a tight nod. "Agreed. But next time, I’m claiming all of the bed."

Harry rolled his eyes, tossing back the covers. "Fine. Next time, you can handle the nightmares." He swung his legs off the bed, stretching out his aching muscles with a groan.

Draco smirked, crossing his arms. "Can't wait, Harry. Now, come on—I'm starving."

Before either of them could move, there was a knock at the door. Draco, being closest, opened it, revealing the kinder of the receptionists standing there with a warm smile.

"Good morning, dears! I thought you might appreciate some fresh clothes," she said, and Harry finally noticed the neatly folded bundle of clothes in her arms. "No need to pay—consider it a gift from me."

Draco accepted the clothes, offering a rare, polite smile. "That’s generous of you, but really, you didn’t have to, ma'am."

"You can call me Alice. 'Ma’am' makes me sound far older than I am," she chuckled lightly. "I'm only 20."

Draco nodded. "Thank you, Alice. We appreciate it."

"Anytime," Alice replied cheerfully. "Let me know if you need anything else." With that, she turned and left, leaving Draco to close the door behind her.

Draco glared at him, but there was a hint of a smirk. "Please, Potter. Unlike you, I actually have standards."

Harry laughed softly, grabbing his own set of clothes. "You think you're bad? My shirt's got more holes than actual fabric at this point." He slipped into the plain grey t-shirt and jeans, the fit comfortable but reminding him just how torn up his old clothes were.

Draco, admiring the clean white shirt and jacket Alice had provided, glanced at Harry. "For once, Potter, I might actually agree with you. This is a massive improvement."

"Yeah," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "We can pretend to look normal. At least for a while."

"Atleast I wouldn't have to go around looking like a madman." Draco said as he put the shirt on.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You? A madman? Thought that was just your usual aesthetic, Malfoy."

Draco glared at him, but there was a hint of a smirk. "Please, Potter. Unlike you, I actually have standards."

Harry laughed lightly, glancing at the clothes Alice had given them. He grabbed the plain grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans. “Standards, huh? You mean like wearing muddy shirts and torn jackets?”

Draco glanced down at himself, brushing some of the dirt off his white shirt. "It’s called surviving in style, Potter. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Right,” Harry muttered, pulling the t-shirt over his head. It was soft, but his worn jeans were still torn in a few places. “I think we’re both past looking stylish. But I guess these are an improvement.”

Draco grinned, slipping on the leather jacket Alice had provided. It was still a little worn but better than the shredded robes they'd been running around in. “This’ll do. Now, can we go eat? I’m about five minutes away from passing out.”

Harry grabbed his wand, slipping it into his back pocket. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. But don't expect a feast. We’re still in a budget motel."

Draco scoffed. "After what we've been through, I'd be happy with a half-decent breakfast."

They made their way downstairs, passing through the narrow halls of the motel. As they entered the small lounge area, a few other guests were scattered around, munching on toast and drinking coffee. It was quiet, with a hum of low conversation filling the air.

Harry glanced around, spotting a buffet-style setup with basic breakfast items. He grabbed a plate and handed one to Draco. "This is your idea of five-star dining, right?"

"Potter, you have no idea how low my standards have fallen lately." Draco smirked, piling toast and fruit onto his plate. “But this… it’ll do.”

They found a table near the window, the morning light filtering through as they sat down to eat. For a few moments, there was only the sound of clinking plates and quiet munching. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

After a while, Draco broke the silence. "So, any ideas what we do next? Besides the obvious 'survive the day' plan."

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Not really. We’ve got no leads, no help, and we can’t go back to Hogwarts.”

Draco nodded, poking at his toast with his fork. "You know, for someone who usually charges into danger headfirst, you seem a bit... defeated."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Defeated? No. Tired? Absolutely."

Draco paused, then nodded again, quieter this time. "Yeah... me too."

They sat in silence again for a while, the weight of everything they’d been through starting to settle in. Harry looked out the window, the bustling streets of New York feeling so distant from the world they came from.

“We’ll figure this out,” Draco said suddenly, his tone softer than usual. “I mean… we have to.”

Harry glanced at him, caught off guard by the shift in Draco's voice. For a brief moment, the usual arrogance was stripped away, revealing something more genuine. It was strange, almost comforting, to see that side of him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly. "But first, how on earth did we magically end up in New York, of all places?"

"Oh yeah, that," Draco muttered, taking a bite of his omelette. "Kind of slipped my mind."

Harry gasped dramatically, throwing a hand to his chest. "Draco Malfoy, forgetting something? Truly, the end of the world."

"Shut up, Potter. This is important," Draco snapped, rolling his eyes, though his lips twitched slightly as if suppressing a smirk.

"Sure, sure," Harry said, grinning. "Go on, then. What’s your brilliant theory?"

Draco paused, chewing thoughtfully, but before he could speak, Harry cut in, an idea sparking in his mind. "What if... it was that bull creature we fought? You know, after we fell into that weird abyss thing?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, but he seemed to be considering it. "Maybe... But why New York?"

Harry shrugged, biting into his toast. "I don’t know. Maybe he likes the city lights?"

Draco gave him a deadpan stare. "Oh yes, Potter. I'm sure the magical bull man is a huge fan of Broadway and Central Park."

"Could be," Harry quipped. Then, with a more serious tone, he added, "Or it could've been random. Maybe he didn't have full control over it, and we just got thrown wherever."

"That sounds... plausible," Draco admitted, though he didn't seem entirely convinced. He shifted in his seat, frowning. "But what about that woman? She called us 'demigods.' What’s that about?"

Harry shook his head. "No clue. It sounds like something out of a myth, but..."

"But what?" Draco pressed, clearly just as lost.

"But I’m starting to think it might be real," Harry said, his voice low. "Everything’s gone completely mad lately. First, we get expelled, then we fight monsters, and now people are calling us demigods. None of this is normal."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I hate not knowing what’s going on."

Harry nodded, feeling the same weight of confusion. "Yeah. Me too."

"Whatever." Draco said. "For now, I want to eat food in peace."

For now, they focused on the small victories—like surviving the night and getting a decent meal. Everything else could wait.

Harry let out a small chuckle, surprised by how easily Draco seemed to shift from frustration to focus on his food. "I didn’t know you were so protective of breakfast, Malfoy."

Draco shot him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Potter, if you'd been through what we’ve been through, you’d appreciate a decent meal too."

"You are saying it as if I was not there with you" Harry rolled his eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Fated Encounters: The Battle Against Shadows And Mortals.
"He's special."
-

"Camp Half-Blood?" Draco mumbled under his breath, curiosity flickering in his eyes. What could it possibly be?

"Maybe it’s somewhere Dumbledore intended us to go when he expelled us?" Harry suggested, trying to sound casual but feeling a hint of anxiety creeping in. Draco shot him a look that clearly screamed, Oh my God, Potter, I could've never figured that out. Harry chuckled nervously, sensing the tension.

"Although, it could’ve been Dumbledore who sent those monsters after us," Draco mused, and Sirius’s eyes widened in shock.

"Monsters?" Sirius asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Oh yeah, we’ve been fighting monsters since we were expelled," Harry said, almost casually, as if that was just a normal part of their lives now. The weight of the situation felt oddly familiar.

Sirius was momentarily speechless, his mouth hanging open as he blinked in surprise. When he finally found his voice, "I—" Or maybe not.

"So you’re telling me you’ve been attacked by monsters since you were expelled?" Sirius repeated, his tone incredulous. Both boys nodded, and Sirius rubbed his temples as if trying to process this absurdity. "Did no one ever see?"

"Well, technically, no one was usually around when we fought them," Harry said, though memories of the restaurant flickered in his mind. The chef had been there. How had he not noticed the chaos?

"But at the restaurant, the chef didn’t seem to care," Draco pointed out, as if reading Harry’s thoughts.

"So you’re saying you’re fighting invisible monsters?" Sirius asked, skepticism in his voice. "And how on earth did you get those swords?"

"Dumbledore," the two answered in unison. It clicked into place—Dumbledore must have known they’d be attacked, maybe even orchestrated it somehow.

Sirius’s expression darkened. "That son of a bitch," he cursed, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. He had a knack for cursing, and somehow it felt right in this moment.

"The bull-man we fought at the restaurant—at least we assumed he was the reason we ended up here. It was like he apparated us," Draco explained, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "But now we have to consider Dumbledore might also be behind it."

"Why would he want us to go to this camp?" Harry wondered aloud, anxiety tightening in his chest.

"Yeah. Why you two, specifically?" Sirius asked, looking between them with a frown. "Were you friends before all this?"

Draco and Harry burst into laughter, the absurdity of it all hitting them hard. Sirius looked at them as if they’d lost their minds, which, given the circumstances, was entirely possible.

"We were practically arch-enemies," Harry wheezed, finally catching his breath.

"We fought every time we glanced at each other. It was like a law or something," Draco added, shaking his head at the memories.

Sirius sighed dramatically, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Oh. Well, that just debunks my theory."

"We also had a theory that you were the one sending all these monsters after us," Harry chimed in, a teasing glint in his eye.

Sirius merely shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Well, I suppose my reputation does make it a valid theory. I’m known as a mad serial killer, after all."

Draco rolled his eyes, a faint smirk on his face. "But back to the Dumbledore thing. Why would he want to send us to this camp? And why are we still standing in this alleyway?"

"I don’t think it’s safe for a serial killer to be wandering the streets. Even in New York, people recognize me. The news was everywhere," Sirius explained, his tone matter-of-fact but tinged with the weight of his situation.

Draco nodded slowly, brow furrowing in thought. "So Dumbledore... he could have just wanted us to die??" Harry blurted out, feeling the ridiculousness of the question wash over him.

Draco just rolled his eyes at the stupid question, and Sirius replied, "Harry, if possible, the old bitch could just force you to be in antartica just to see how it affects you." He looked furious. "He treats you as if you were some rat to be experimented."

Harry looked down, his voice barely a whisper. "What do we do then? Find this place? We don’t even have enough money to stay at the motel for two nights…"

"You don’t have money?" Sirius asked, concern knitting his brow.

"Only 120 dollars," Draco replied, his tone laced with frustration.

Before Sirius could respond, a young police officer approached them, his expression shifting as he recognized Sirius. The officer, probably in his thirties, had brown curls and piercing bluish-grey eyes. He held his gun in a relaxed grip, but his posture conveyed a readiness for action.

Chapter Text

Specters of Torment: The Demigod’s Struggle and the Rise of Darkness
“This is only the beginning.”
-

---

Harry woke up to a haze of confusion, his body aching as if he had been through a relentless battle. His vision flickered in and out of focus, a jumbled mess of shapes and colors, and for a moment, he thought he might need glasses again—though the sensation was far from the familiar sting he remembered.

As he tried to rise, a sharp wave of pain coursed through him, forcing him to wince and draw back. The room around him came into view slowly, revealing shadows and dim light that danced like phantoms. Each movement felt like a reminder of some hidden ordeal, and a gnawing sense of dread settled in his stomach. What had happened? He took a deep breath, the air thick and heavy,

He looked down to see a pool of blood, his blood. The blood seeped through is abdomen, it was dried off now and his wound was treated properly. how had he gotten hurt? A more important question, where was Draco?

Harry blinked, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the walls of what felt like a basement—an unsettling realization began to take shape. He wasn’t gifted with Draco’s intellect to deduce his exact location, but the dusty air and the oppressive atmosphere screamed captivity. The throbbing pain coursing through his body had dulled a bit, yet it still gripped him tightly, anchoring him to the moment.

He scanned his surroundings, his heart pounding as he discovered the ropes binding his wrists. They dug into his skin, a painful reminder of the kidnapper’s precautions. Panic surged as he recalled the last encounter: a hulking figure, strong hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing the breath from him. Had Draco been left behind?

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps sent a chill down his spine. Even a five-year-old could tell it was a man—heavy, deliberate strides. The door creaked open, and Harry’s breath caught as a tall figure stepped inside. He was imposing, with dark curls pulled back and piercing blue eyes that glinted in the dim light. A tight black shirt clung to his muscular frame, and Harry’s gaze was inevitably drawn to the gun tucked into his waistband.

The man entered whistling, a casual demeanor that belied the threat he posed. Harry instinctively held his breath, adrenaline coursing through him.

“Ah! Harry Potter is awake!” The man’s deep voice resonated in the cramped space, and Harry’s skin crawled at the sight of his unsettling smirk. He looked like a villain straight out of a horror film.

“How do you know my name?” Harry croaked, the rasp in his voice making it hard to sound defiant.

“You’re quite the celebrity, aren’t you?” The man leaned down, producing a knife and rubbing it against another one with a chilling ease. He settled cross-legged in front of Harry, his expression gleeful as he continued. “At least in the wizarding world.”

Harry’s heart raced. He had expected danger, but this? This felt personal. The mention of the wizarding world ignited his anxiety. “What did you do to Draco?” he growled, fury igniting within him.

The man erupted into maniacal laughter, bending close enough for Harry to see the gleam of the blade. “Why do you care so much about that weak boy? Is he your boyfriend?” The mocking tone threatened to unravel Harry’s composure.

If circumstances were different, he might have blushed, but right now, anger fueled him. “So what if he is? Your life is so boring that you’re interested in teenagers’ love lives?”

“I like you already, son of Poseidon,” the man retorted, a sinister grin splitting his face.

“Son of who? I’m no son of Poseidon,” Harry snapped, wincing as pain flared anew in his body.

The man’s expression shifted from amusement to bewilderment, and then he laughed softly. “You don’t know?”

Harry’s heart raced as he glared at the man. “Know what?” he demanded, a heavy sense of dread creeping in. The man’s smile widened, shadows pooling ominously around them.

“So you don’t,” he replied, amusement flickering in his eyes. Harry’s anger flared again. “Know what!?”

The man leaned in closer, his grin turning sinister. “You wouldn’t want to keep that attitude, Potter.” With a swift motion, he dragged the knife across Harry’s chin, a thin line of blood seeping from the cut. Harry clenched his jaw, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of his pain; he had endured worse.

“And why should I listen to you?” he shot back, gritting his teeth.

The man let out a low, mocking laugh. “Voldemort would love to torture you now that you’re a demigod. He’d relish the chance to kill you!”

A chill washed over Harry. How could he have forgotten that monster? Was this man a follower of Voldemort? He had never met one bold enough to speak the name. The Dark Lord had failed to kill him as a baby; why did this man think he could succeed now? Still, fear gnawed at him. Voldemort was immortal, while Harry was not. What did they mean by calling him a demigod? Who was Poseidon? Where was Draco? Questions swirled in his mind, relentless and painful.

“What are demigods?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn’t want to provoke the man any further.

The man’s grin only widened. “Do you even know anything, idiot?”

“N—” Harry winced, taking a shaky breath that made the pain sharper. “No, I don’t, sir. Please, tell me.”

“Trying to be polite now?” the man taunted, stepping back with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “A demigod is a child of a god and a human. They are born when gods get horny, alright. Now stop asking stupid questions, and maybe I’ll show you some mercy.”

The weight of his words crashed down on Harry. A child of a god? His whole world felt like it was spinning out of control. He couldn’t let this man see his fear. “What do you want from me?” he pressed, desperate to steer the conversation away from violence.

The man leaned back, his grin never wavering. “Oh, I have plans for you, Potter. But first, let’s see how much you can endure.”

Harry steeled himself, forcing his breathing to even out. He wouldn’t let this man break him, no matter how impossible the situation seemed. "You won’t get away with this," he declared, though doubt flickered in his voice like a flame struggling to stay lit.

The man across from him sneered, a cruel glint in his eyes. "I already have, Potter." His smirk deepened, eyes narrowing with twisted amusement. "Think your boyfriend's gonna come rescue you? He's probably dead by now."

Harry’s heart stopped. His mind stumbled. “What?” The word barely escaped his lips, soft, vulnerable. It felt wrong. This had to be a lie. Draco couldn’t be dead. No—Draco wouldn’t be dead. Draco was strong, stronger than anyone gave him credit for. Stronger than Harry, even. Harry couldn’t let himself believe it. Draco was too stubborn to die like this, too powerful. He couldn’t be gone—no, not Draco. Please not Draco.

But the panic came anyway, a suffocating wave that wrapped around his chest, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. He didn’t care about Draco Malfoy—he didn’t, not like this. Malfoy was a git, a snide, arrogant prick. And yet, the thought of him being gone, truly gone, made something break inside Harry. Draco was the only one he had left, the only one who—

No. Nonononononono. He couldn’t lose Draco too.

"Draco isn’t weak," Harry spat out, his voice shaking despite the defiance. His body was trembling now—whether from fear, anger, or something else, he wasn’t sure. The tears burned at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall, but he forced them back. He couldn’t break down, not now, not here.

The man’s face twisted into a sneer of disgust. "Oh, but he is. Pathetic for a son of Zeus to be so weak." His voice dripped with disdain.

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. Zeus? What was it with this guy and throwing around names like they meant something? "Who the hell is Zeus? And Poseidon?" Harry’s words were laced with frustration. "I’m not the son of Poseidon," he added, though his confusion was palpable.

The man let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes dramatically. "For fuck’s sake, do you know anything?" He glanced up as if pleading with the sky for patience, his hands planted on his hips.

"NO, I FUCKING DON’T, SO JUST TELL ME!" Harry roared, straining against the ropes that held him in place. He hated this, hated feeling helpless, hated that this man had the upper hand. As soon as he got out—if he got out—he’d make sure this man regretted every moment of it.

"Stop shouting, or you’ll regret it, you little bitch!" The man’s face contorted with rage, and without warning, he hurled a knife directly at Harry.

The blade sank into Harry’s stomach with terrifying accuracy. The pain was instant and overwhelming, a white-hot shock that shot through him like lightning. He gasped, coughing up blood, but somehow, he remained conscious, though his vision swam and blurred around the edges.

"Now," the man said, his tone abruptly shifting as he approached with an unnerving calmness. "I’ll explain, since you’re so desperate to know." His smile—or was it a frown? Harry couldn’t tell anymore—wavered as Harry’s vision darkened.

"You," the man continued, his voice sounding distant, "are the son of Poseidon, god of the sea. One of the Big Three. They’re not supposed to have children, but it seems your father couldn’t resist breaking the rules." The man’s words were laced with mockery, but Harry could barely process them. Everything was too much—the pain, the exhaustion, the confusion.

Harry's mind reeled, trying to grasp what the man was saying. Gods? Poseidon? None of it made sense, but at the same time, it seemed terrifyingly real. His thoughts grew hazier, his body heavier. He couldn’t fight it anymore. Sleep tugged at him, pulling him down into the darkness.

"Sleep well, Potter," the man said, his voice fading into nothing as Harry finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Again.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Chapter Text

Shadows of Vengeance: The Battle Beyond the Dark Lord
"You're not a god, I am."
-

Harry woke up again. Same room. Same cold, oppressive walls. He blinked slowly, trying to piece together why he kept finding himself in this place, but the answer eluded him. It was a nightmare he couldn't wake from. His thoughts were sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion and confusion. Did no one hear him? Was there no one out there who cared? Or was he simply despised that much?

His head throbbed, but it wasn't just his head—every part of his body screamed for relief. Pain radiated through his limbs, a dull, relentless ache. He glanced down at his hand, which now lay limply across his thighs. The ropes binding him were looser, not biting into his skin like before. He flexed his fingers slowly, wincing as pain shot through his arm. The bandage on his right hand was stained and frayed. The man—the one who had done this—hadn’t bothered to change it. The wound on his abdomen was worse, the bandage crusted with dried blood. Clearly, the man hadn’t cared enough to tend to it properly. He’d probably just slapped it on in haste.

The room was eerily silent. No footsteps. No movement. Harry’s eyes darted around, scanning the shadows. The man wasn’t here. For the first time in what felt like hours, Harry was alone.

He shifted cautiously, his muscles stiff and uncooperative. The world tilted violently, his vision swimming with dark spots and flashes of color. His head throbbed harder, a sharp, pulsing ache that made him want to lie back down and close his eyes. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when this might be his only chance.

Hell. This had to be hell.

Then it hit him. This was it. The perfect chance—maybe the only chance—to escape this nightmare. His heart began to race, the pain momentarily forgotten in a surge of adrenaline. He had to move, but he had to be careful. Too fast, and he’d pass out; too slow, and he’d lose the opportunity.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and began to inch forward, testing the ropes that still loosely bound him.

As Harry suspected, the ropes were weak, frayed enough that they could be broken with little effort. But breaking them would make a sound. A noise that, without a doubt, would alert the lunatic who had tied him up. And then... another injury. Maybe something fatal this time. If not the injury, the blood loss would finish him off for sure.

He managed to get to his feet—surprisingly easily. The ropes were looser than before. The man must’ve tied them in haste. But how could he break free without making any noise? He didn’t have a weapon, and—

Wait. He did. His sword. How had he forgotten that? His mind felt clouded, scattered, but now it hit him with a surge of clarity. His wrist. His bracelet. It was still there. The lunatic hadn’t realized it was more than just a bracelet, despite seeing the same tool being used during his fight with Draco. That oversight worked to his advantage now. A serious advantage.

Harry pressed the tiny button on the bracelet, and with a soft click, it expanded, transforming into his sword. The blade glowed faintly in the dim light of the room, casting long shadows. He worked quickly, slicing through the rope binding his left wrist, then the right. The second one was tougher, but he managed, gritting his teeth against the pain that flared through his injured body.

Free at last. He flexed his wrists, wincing at the sharp twinges, but the pain was bearable compared to the relief of finally being able to move. His body was screaming at him to stop, to rest, but he had no time for that now. He had to get out. Now.

His vision was still blurry, and every step sent fresh waves of nausea through him, but he forced himself to keep going. He staggered forward, using anything in the room for support—an old couch, a table, random objects that looked vaguely familiar but blurred in his pain-ridden mind. Blood was smeared everywhere, creating a grotesque scene. It looked like a crime scene. Maybe it already was one.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, the word barely escaping his lips. This was far harder than he had anticipated. His legs trembled with every step, and his stomach wound burned, threatening to send him collapsing to the floor.

But he made it to the door. It was unlocked. Relief flooded him, but only for a moment. A chilling thought crossed his mind. What if this was a trap? Surely, no kidnapper would be careless enough to just leave the door unlocked, right? It seemed too easy. Too obvious.

Was this all part of the plan?

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if the real danger was on the other side?

Chapter Text

Wrath of the Demigods: Shadows Rising
"Run like the cowards you are."
-

Voldemort’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise flashing across his gaunt face as he watched the scene unfold before him. He had known, of course, that Harry Potter was a demigod, but the sheer force of the power radiating from him now was beyond anything he had anticipated.

This wasn’t the boy he had faced before.

Harry stood tall, the ocean swirling behind him as if tethered to his very being, responding to his every move. The raw, unbridled energy crackled around him, causing the very air to hum with tension. This was no ordinary demigod. He was something more—something Voldemort had not prepared for.

The Dark Lord’s lips curled into a snarl, his red eyes narrowing in displeasure. He flicked his gaze toward the man who had been tasked with breaking Harry down, the one who was supposed to have kept a close watch. His servant stood frozen, trembling under the weight of his master’s fury, knowing full well the consequences of his failure.

The one he had placed so much trust in, tasked with keeping Harry’s rise under control. The man, cowed and trembling, refused to meet his master’s eyes. He had failed. The power coursing through Harry should have been noticed long before now. This shouldn’t have happened.

"Master," came a shrill voice from behind Voldemort—Bellatrix, her devotion palpable as she clutched her wand. “Master, finish him! Prove to them all that you are—"

“Silence,” Voldemort snapped, his voice colder than ice. Bellatrix, taken aback, bit her lip, her wild eyes never leaving Harry, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

But this… no one had foreseen this.

Meanwhile, Harry could feel the power coursing through his veins, a primal surge that made his skin tingle and his heart pound. The ocean whispered to him, ancient and vast, like an old friend beckoning him forward. His muscles thrummed with energy, each wave of adrenaline pushing him closer to the brink of something he didn’t quite understand.

But it felt good. It felt right.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The fear he had once felt when facing Voldemort was gone, replaced by a deep-rooted confidence that bordered on arrogance. The great and terrible Dark Lord, the wizard who had terrorized the world, was standing before him—and Harry wasn’t afraid anymore.

“You’re not looking so smug now,” Harry said, his voice laced with mockery as he watched the confusion twist across Voldemort’s face. "Come on, fight me. What’s the matter? Scared?"

Voldemort’s expression darkened, the anger bubbling beneath the surface now palpable. “You think this is a game, Potter? You think your tricks make you invincible?” His voice was low, a dangerous hiss.

Harry tilted his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Tricks? You know, I’ve fought a lot of people who think they’re special, Voldemort. You’re just another guy with a wand. Trust me, I’ve seen scarier things.”

Voldemort’s red eyes flared with fury. “I am no mere man!” he roared, his wand snapping up with blinding speed. “Avada Kedavra!”

The killing curse shot toward Harry, but he didn’t flinch. The ocean roared in response to his unspoken command, a wall of water rising between him and the deadly green light. The curse slammed into the water, fizzling out with a hiss before dissipating into nothing.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh, the sound sharp and biting. “Was that it? I’ve dodged way worse.”

Voldemort’s lip twitched, the familiar coldness of his demeanor faltering for the briefest of moments. He hadn’t expected this. Harry was supposed to be the boy who cowered, who stumbled his way through victory. But here he stood, commanding the elements like it was second nature.

“I don’t need tricks to defeat you, Potter,” Voldemort spat, venom lacing his words. He raised his wand again, the air around him crackling with dark magic. "You are nothing compared to the power I wield."

Harry shrugged, casually. "Yeah, you’ve got a fancy wand, dark spells, and… what? A snake face? Cool. Let me know when you have something interesting.”

Voldemort’s face twisted in rage. "Crucio!" he screamed, the curse flying toward Harry with deadly precision.

Pain exploded through Harry’s body as the curse hit, dropping him to his knees. His vision blurred, and for a moment, the searing agony drowned out everything else. He gasped, struggling to stay upright, to keep control. The ocean, once so attuned to him, now seemed distant, its whispers faint as his concentration wavered.

Voldemort approached, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “How does it feel, Potter?” he sneered, watching Harry writhe. “To be powerless. To know you’ll die at my hands.”

But even as the curse wracked his body, Harry could feel something stir deep within him—a spark, faint but steady. He clenched his teeth, refusing to give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him scream again.

“You talk too much,” Harry managed to grit out, his voice strained but defiant. His vision swam, but through the haze of pain, he could still feel the pull of the ocean behind him, waiting for his command.

“Still trying to play the hero, I see,” Voldemort said, his tone dripping with disdain. He raised his wand higher, preparing for another strike. “Let’s see how brave you are when—”

Harry’s hand slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave through the sand. The ocean surged in response, a tidal wave rising from behind him, crashing down toward Voldemort with unstoppable force.

Voldemort’s eyes widened, and for a moment, true fear flashed across his features. He barely managed to apparate out of the way as the water roared past him, smashing into the ground where he had stood only moments before.

But Harry wasn’t done.

Struggling to his feet, Harry wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his breaths heavy and ragged. “Come on, Voldemort,” he called, his voice rough but unwavering. “Is that all you’ve got? You’re supposed to be the most powerful wizard in the world. Prove it.”

Voldemort reappeared a short distance away, fury etched into every line of his face. “You insolent child!” he spat, his voice shaking with rage. “You will beg for death before I’m finished with you.”

Harry grinned, though his body screamed in protest. “You know, that’s kind of your problem. You’re always so dramatic. It’s exhausting, really.”

With a flick of his wrist, Harry commanded the ocean to rise again, the water responding to his will like an extension of his body. This time, he didn’t just create a barrier—he attacked, sending torrents of water crashing toward Voldemort in a relentless barrage.

Voldemort’s wand moved furiously, blocking and deflecting the onslaught, but each wave pushed him back, closer to the edge of his control. The Dark Lord snarled, his composure crumbling as the overwhelming force of the ocean threatened to consume him.

“Crucio!” he bellowed again, sending the curse flying toward Harry with a desperate edge.

But Harry was ready. He sidestepped the curse with surprising agility, his instincts sharper than ever. “Missed me,” he taunted, his smirk widening. “I expected better.”

Voldemort’s chest heaved, his eyes wild with fury and something else—something darker. Doubt. For the first time, he wasn’t sure he could win.

“Come on,” Harry urged, his voice almost playful now, though the strain of the battle was starting to show. “You can’t really think you’re going to beat me, can you?”

Voldemort’s face twisted in rage, his wand shaking in his hand. “I am Lord Voldemort!” he screamed, his voice hoarse, almost desperate.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, waving his hand dismissively. “You keep saying that, but honestly? It’s getting a little old.”

Another wave rose behind Harry, its size dwarfing anything before it. The ground trembled beneath them as the ocean responded to his call, swelling with power. “You’re not a god, Voldemort. You’re just a guy who made some really bad choices.”

And then, with a final flick of his hand, Harry sent the massive wave crashing forward.

Voldemort’s eyes widened in terror, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone—apparated away just before the water could engulf him.

Harry stood there, alone amidst the chaos, the ocean slowly calming around him, its roar fading to a murmur. The beach was eerily silent now, save for the distant wail of sirens—the muggle police, drawn by the destruction.

Bellatrix let out a shriek, her eyes wide with fury and disbelief as she raised her wand, spitting venom in every word. “You filthy half-blood! I’ll make you—”

But she never got to finish.

Harry’s hand shot forward, the movement almost instinctual. The ocean obeyed his command, twisting and coiling like a massive serpent, its frothing tendrils wrapping around Bellatrix with alarming speed. “Don’t you dare,” he snarled, his voice laced with a cold fury that he didn’t quite recognize as his own.

Bellatrix froze, her maniacal confidence wavering for the first time. Her wide eyes darted from Harry to the swirling water that now encased her, the violent waves hissing at her feet like an animal ready to strike. She looked… afraid.

Bellatrix Lestrange, afraid? Harry almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Master!” she shrieked, her voice breaking in panic. Her bravado crumbled as she realized the position she was in—she was trapped, outmatched. But even in her madness, she knew when to retreat. With a desperate pop, she disapparated, leaving only the echo of her voice and a faint shimmer in the air where she had stood.

And just like that, the other man, the one who had been lurking in the shadows, watching, followed suit. One moment he was there, trembling with fear, and the next—gone.

The water splashed harmlessly back onto the sand, now left without a target, while Harry staggered to his feet, groaning from the effort. His vision swam, his body protested every movement with a dull ache that spread from his head to his toes. The concussion wasn’t helping either. 

“Stupid rock,” he muttered, glaring at the offending piece of jagged stone that had nearly made him fall. The ocean might have been willing to obey him, but it sure wasn’t doing anything about the throbbing pain in his skull. "You'd think with all that power, I’d get some sort of healing. Rude."

He glanced around the beach, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to breathe. The chaotic roar of the ocean was calming, the waves now lapping gently at the shore as if nothing had happened. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins was ebbing away, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that threatened to drop him where he stood.

For now, he had won. Voldemort had lost.

But it didn’t feel like much of a victory.

Harry looked down at the sword still clutched tightly in his hand. It felt heavier now, as though the blade itself was protesting the weight of everything he had just been through. His muscles ached from the strain of wielding it, and his fingers were numb from gripping the hilt so tightly. The sword glinted in the faint light, a reminder of the battle he had just fought. He let out a breath, the tension in his body slowly releasing.

Then, like a rude interruption to the fragile peace, a loud voice boomed from the distance, making his head throb even more.

“LOWER YOUR WEAPONS! I REPEAT, LOWER YOUR WEAPONS!”

Harry winced, his ears ringing. Could they yell any louder?

Through his still-blurry vision, he could make out the silhouettes of police officers in the distance, descending onto the beach with their weapons raised. Flashing blue lights illuminated the area, casting eerie shadows across the sand. A growing crowd of Muggles stood beyond the police line, some with their phones raised, recording everything. Their eyes were wide, faces pale with terror and confusion.

Harry sighed. “Of course. Just what I needed—more attention.”

The sword felt like a dead weight now, every second he held it like some kind of cosmic joke. Harry was exhausted—beyond exhausted, really. His muscles burned, his brain throbbed, and the world felt tilted, all he wanted was to collapse right there on the beach and let the sand swallow him up. A nap for a week sounded great, maybe two.

The distant wail of the sirens grew louder, and Harry's stomach sank. The police. Of course. Guns, shouting, and confusion would only make this worse.

Harry groaned inwardly, adjusting his grip on the sword as he stumbled forward. “How do I even explain this? Hi, I’m Harry, just destroyed a bit of your beach, but hey—sword’s cool, right?”

His mind raced as panic surged through him. Muggles had seen everything—Voldemort, Bellatrix, the waves bending at his will. Running wasn’t an option, and his body felt like it was on the verge of collapse. His vision blurred, and the pounding in his head was unbearable. The sword slipped from his grip, hitting the sand with a dull clatter, too heavy for him to hold any longer.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around his waist, yanking him off his feet. The world tilted violently, and Harry barely managed a grunt as he was dragged behind a thicket of bushes. For a second, instinct kicked in, and he fought back, his body jerking against his captor.

“What the—” Harry slurred, his words stumbling as he struggled to figure out what was going on.

"Stay still, dude," a voice muttered. “You’re concussed.”

Harry blinked, trying to focus on the boy who had dragged him away. He had ginger hair, heterochromatic eyes—one blue, the other brown—and he was wearing a white top under a black jacket with matching pants. The red bucket hat perched on his head looked absurd, but it covered a mass of fluffy hair. Taller than Harry, probably by a good few inches—maybe 5'9" or so.

The boy scanned their surroundings, his eyes sharp, clearly looking for something. Or someone.

“You alright?” the boy asked, his voice distinctly American, which only added to Harry’s confusion.

Harry grunted in response, feeling a swirl of suspicion mix with his dazed thoughts. Who the hell was this kid, and why did he feel so weirdly trusting of him? Was it the concussion messing with his head? Probably.

The boy sighed. “So you are concussed,” he muttered, sitting next to Harry and casually pressing two fingers to his forehead. “That explains the lack of coherent sentences.”

Harry jerked back, swatting his hand away. “Who are you?” he slurred, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his vision. His mind screamed at him to be cautious, to not trust anyone this easily.

The ginger raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than offended. “Your savior, apparently. Relax, I’m not going to eat you.” He stood, glancing over his shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a second.”

Harry blinked again, trying to process what had just happened. Who was this guy? His gut told him to be wary—this could be some kind of trick. What if he was a Death Eater? Or worse, some other kind of monster? The fact that Harry didn’t immediately distrust him was unsettling in itself.

While the ginger vanished into the bushes, Harry clicked the small button that turned his sword back into a bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist. He leaned back against the tree, still trying to make sense of everything. This was not how he expected his day to go, and trusting random strangers definitely wasn’t on the agenda. Yet here he was, waiting.

He wondered, how Draco would be. Was he actually dead? Harry shoved the thought away as soon as it came to his mind. Draco wouldn't be dead, he's strong. But the way everyone was talking about him..it was making the point quite obvious.

Minutes later, the boy returned—surprisingly—without any ambush or backup. “Alright, coast is clear. Police are out of sight. We should move before they circle back,” he said, yanking Harry to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

Harry stumbled, half leaning into the boy for support. “You’re... really strong for someone with a stupid hat.”

The boy chuckled, not at all fazed by the insult. “Thanks, I work out. Name’s Noah, by the way. Noah Carter.”

"Right," Harry muttered, still not feeling particularly trusting, even if Noah seemed oddly relaxed about the whole situation. “Harry,” he replied, not offering anything more.

Noah nodded, wrapping an arm more securely around Harry’s waist to stop him from tipping over. “So... Montauk, huh?” he said after a beat of silence. “Camp’s pretty far from here. It’ll take days if we walk.”

Montauk? He was in Montauk? How did the lunatic even manage to drag him here- That was such a long distance from Manhattan! Also, he needed to find Draco (if he was alive, that is) And what's this, camp, the boy talked about. Camp. Was there something Harry was supposed to remember about some camp? He felt like it was neccesary information, but he couldn't remember! Nothing even crossed his stupid mind.

"What camp?" Harry asked, turning towards his direction.

"I mean camp. Oh-" the ginger said, seemingly remembering something, "I forgot you're new, shorty."

Hah!? What did he mean by shorty? Harry wasn't short out of all things! He was average for someone his age, and with the amount of nutrients given to him as a child, he's definatly tall.

"I'm not short, stupid ginger." Harry grumbled.

Noah snickered, clearly amused by Harry's grumbling. “Alright, short-ish then. My bad.” He shot Harry a quick glance, his mismatched eyes glinting under the streetlights. “And it’s Camp Half-Blood, if that rings any bells. You know, place where people like us go so we don’t get killed by monsters?”

Harry frowned. "People like us?" He muttered under his breath. Nothing was ringing a bell yet, and the fog of exhaustion wasn’t helping. His mind was still a muddled mess from everything that had happened—Voldemort, the waves, the sword, and now this random American kid pulling him around like it was no big deal. The pieces weren’t adding up, and Harry wasn’t in the mood to just blindly trust a stranger, no matter how helpful he seemed.

"Alright," Harry said, straightening up a bit to shake off some of the dizziness. “Let’s back up. Who exactly are you, and why should I believe a word you’re saying?” He wasn’t trying to sound like a paranoid nutter, but he’d been burned before, and trust didn’t come easy.

Noah stopped walking for a moment, then turned to look at Harry more seriously. “Look, I get it. Weird guy shows up after you fight off a bunch of stuff that shouldn’t exist, and now I’m saying more stuff you’ve never heard of. I wouldn’t trust me either. But,” he pointed over his shoulder toward the distant woods, “that camp I mentioned? It’s where you’ll be safe from... well, all of this.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Safe from what? Death Eaters? Voldemort?”

Noah blinked. “Uh... no." He was clearly confused about what Harry meant from Voldemort or Death Eaters, "More like from the things that follow demigods around. The monsters, the freaky magic, all of it. I’ve seen you handle a sword, man. You’ve got something going on. You’re probably... what, son of a god or goddess, right?”

Harry’s stomach dropped. Son of a god? The memory of the man’s words on the beach came rushing back. Poseidon. He barely remembered the name, but it had stuck with him.

“Who told you that?” Harry demanded, the grip on his sword bracelet tightening.

“No one had to tell me. I just... know,” Noah said, his tone a little softer, but not apologetic. “I’ve seen enough new demigods to spot one. And trust me, if you stay out here too long, the monsters will come back, and you don’t want to fight them alone. I sure wouldn’t.”

Harry felt a mix of anger and confusion rise up inside him. Demigods? Monsters? Camp Half-Blood? And yet, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe—just maybe—Noah wasn’t lying. “Alright, say I believe you,” Harry said, eyeing Noah cautiously. “You said ‘people like us’. You’re one of these... demigods too?”

“Bingo,” Noah said, grinning now. "Son of Ares, god of war. Not as fun as it sounds, but hey, it explains the muscles, right?” He flexed his arm with a wink, clearly pleased with himself.

Harry rolled his eyes. Great, he thought sarcastically, I’m stuck with a ginger Malfoy. Still, there was something weirdly reassuring about Noah’s confidence. Like he actually knew what he was talking about. And for some reason, Harry’s instincts weren’t screaming at him to run. Yet.

“So, you’re taking me to this camp,” Harry said, sighing. “And I’ll be safe there?”

Noah nodded. “Safe enough. Safer than out here, at least. But... we need to get moving. You’ve got a pretty big target on your back now.”

Harry swallowed hard, still uncertain but too tired to argue. He let Noah guide him, still not entirely sure he wasn’t making a mistake. But what choice did he have? The world was spinning out of control, and this might be the only place left that made sense.

And he desperatly hoped that Draco was alright.

Chapter Text

Demigods and Dilemmas: Navigating a World Gone Mad
"Oh, you're in for a good ride"
-

“So… why were the police after you?”

Noah’s question sliced through the air, so casual it nearly gave Harry whiplash. He blinked, staring at Noah like he’d just asked if the weather was nice. Hadn’t he seen the beach? The chaos? Harry figured Noah already knew what had gone down. I mean, seriously, who else causes that much destruction and lives to tell the tale?

“I, uh…” Harry hesitated, feeling weirdly exposed. His gaze dropped to the ground, where he kicked a loose pebble, trying to stall. How did he even explain this? “I destroyed… a quarter of the beach. Fighting… the Dark Lord.”

He said it flatly, almost like it wasn’t a big deal. But deep down, his chest tightened at the memory of Voldemort’s twisted, snake-like face. The Dark Lord had been inches away from killing him, again, and now Harry was dodging police? Talk about a crappy day.

Noah just stared, brow furrowing, his face a mix of confusion and amusement. “Dark Lord?” He repeated, like Harry had just told him he fought a cranky librarian. “Is that... another monster?”

Harry blinked. Was this guy serious? How did Noah not know who Voldemort was? He wasn’t just any wizard—he was Voldemort. The Dark Lord. The scourge of the wizarding world. But then again, Noah was a demigod. It made sense he didn't know about Voldemort.

“No,” Harry muttered, his voice taking on a sharp edge. “He’s not a monster. He’s a dark wizard. The darkest wizard. From where I’m from.”

Noah’s face scrunched up in confusion, his lips twisting into an amused smirk, like he was trying not to laugh. “Wizards?” he asked, half-chuckling. “Oh, you mean those mortals with the wands?”

Harry’s heart stuttered. Mortals? Wands? He glanced at Noah, half-expecting him to break out into laughter and say it was all a big joke, but no—Noah just looked like he had casually explained what he had for breakfast. Maybe he drank milk. Milk made him high. What would happen if he drank alcohol? Ok, back to the topic.

“Yeah, sure. I guess,” Harry snapped, feeling his frustration spike. “How do you even know about wizards? You’re a demigod, not a—”

“Shh,” Noah interrupted, waving Harry’s words away like an annoying fly. “You ask too many questions, shorty.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “I’m not short,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Noah snickered. “Sure, buddy.”

Harry forced himself to let it slide. Noah was—what?—a foot taller, anyway. Stupid demigod genetics. Or maybe Noah drank a lot of milk.

As they walked deeper into the alley, Harry felt his thoughts spiraling again. Demigods. Gods. Wands. Wizards. Everything he thought he knew was crumbling into this absurd reality he hadn’t asked for. How could he be related to a god? His parents were James and Lily Potter—there wasn’t any room in that story for some random, sea god. It was insane. And it didn’t make sense. Was Posieden even powerful? He didn't sound like that. Maybe he was just some weak god with a cool name.

Also, what did gods do anyway? Did Poseidon just sit in the ocean all day, sipping on coconut water and bossing sharks around? Was there, like, a god office where they handled complaints?

Harry’s head hurt.

“You alright?” Noah’s voice snapped him back to reality. His usual smirk had softened, and his cocky edge was missing for once.

“Yeah, fine,” Harry lied, though the words tumbled out too quickly. He cleared his throat, trying to cover it up. “Just… processing.”

Noah shrugged, unconvinced. “Right. Well, how much do you actually know about this stuff? Like, about gods and demigods?”

“Nothing,” Harry blurted, a little too defensively. He quickly backpedaled. “I mean, not much. I was busy with… other things.”

“Other things?” Noah’s brow shot up. “Like fighting evil wizards?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Something like that, yeah.”

Noah stopped walking, eyeing Harry with mild disbelief. “So, you’re telling me you have no clue what a demigod is?”

Harry could feel his face heating up. He crossed his arms, gripping his wand tightly for comfort. “Is it that obvious?”

Noah barked out a laugh. “Yeah, a little. Alright, I’ll break it down for you.”

Harry gave him a wary glance. He wasn’t sure he trusted Noah’s version of "breaking it down," but he didn’t have many options.

“So, demigods,” Noah started, leaning back against a wall like he was about to deliver the most fascinating lecture ever. “Basically, you’re half-mortal, half-god. One of your parents is a human, the other is, well… a god.” He paused, giving Harry a lopsided grin. “Simple enough for you?”

Harry blinked. That was it? That was the grand explanation? “Wait, so you're saying a god just… what? Shows up, has a kid with a human, and then bails? That sounds… terrible.”

Noah snorted. “Yeah, pretty much. Gods aren’t exactly the ‘stick around for your school plays’ type. They’ve got bigger things to deal with. Like, you know, running the universe and all.”

“Right. Of course,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He tried to picture it—some god just rolling into a town, having a kid, and then peacing out to go manage the tides or the weather or whatever. It sounded absurd.

“And that sword you’ve got?” Noah continued, eyeing Harry’s wrist. “Where’d you get it?”

Harry hesitated. The bracelet hung heavy on his arm. “My… headmaster gave it to me,” he said slowly. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Noah’s eyes darkened, and his carefree attitude vanished. He stepped closer, too close. Harry stiffened as Noah’s hand gripped his arm. Hard.

“That’s Thalassa’s blade,” Noah whispered harshly, his eyes flicking between Harry and the sword. “It’s one of a kind. A gift from Poseidon to Artemis, and it’s been missing for ages. If Poseidon finds out you have it…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Poseidon. His so-called father. He wasn't even sure he was his father! The lunatic’s voice echoed in his mind, the words twisting in his chest like a knife. Poseidon. The god of the sea. Was he even the god of the sea?

“No,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, as if that would somehow change things. He couldn’t be Poseidon’s son. That lunatic had tortured him. He couldn’t be telling the truth. Could he?

But before Harry could dive deeper into his spiraling thoughts, a flash of blue caught his eye. Down the street, a group of police officers were showing a picture of him to random passersby.

Oh no.

“We—uh—we should go,” Harry stammered, panic tightening in his throat. Without waiting for Noah, he spun on his heel and took off down the alley, his feet pounding against the pavement.

As they moved, the sword weighed heavier on his wrist, its presence impossible to ignore. This was all too much. Too fast. He wasn’t just a wizard anymore. He was a demigod? He barely knew what that meant. And Poseidon—Poseidon—was supposed to be his dad?

He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. And yet… everything was pointing in that direction.

Great. As if fighting Voldemort wasn’t enough. Now he had to deal with gods too.

His thoughts swirled around like a whirlwind as he glanced at Noah, who was easily keeping pace. Could he trust Noah? The guy seemed like he knew more than he let on. But he also acted like an arrogant git half the time, so who knew?

And Draco—where was Draco? Harry’s chest tightened at the thought. He hadn’t seen Draco since the beach, and the fear gnawed at him. What if something had happened? What if Draco was—no. No, he couldn’t think like that. Draco was fine. He had to be fine.

“You alright? You’ve gone pale,” Noah’s voice broke through Harry’s spiraling thoughts, and the concern in his tone surprised him.

“Yeah,” Harry lied, his voice sounding shaky even to himself. “Just… thinking.”

“Well, stop thinking so hard. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Noah teased, but his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

Harry tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a nervous huff. “How did you know you were a demigod? You didn’t just figure it out, right?”

Noah grinned, though it was more subdued now. “Nah, Ares claimed me when I turned fourteen.”

"Claimed?" Harry raised a brow, not fully understanding. “What, he just shows up and says, ‘That one’s mine’?”

Noah let out a low chuckle. “Not exactly. It’s more complicated. Gods usually claim their kids when they’re around our age, between thirteen and fifteen. Some demigods stay unclaimed for years, though. You have to do something important to get their attention. Something that makes them notice you. Maybe go on a quest.”

A quest? Harry blinked, trying to keep up. His mind still felt foggy from the chaos of the past few days. He didn’t know how any of this worked—demigods, gods, quests. It all felt like a bad dream he couldn’t wake up from.

“What’s a quest?” Harry asked, his voice quieter now, unsure.

“It’s like… a mission,” Noah said, his tone slightly more serious. “ It’s like a mission the Oracle gives out. Prophecies and all that crap. Three demigods get picked to go and complete whatever the prophecy says. It’s dangerous, though. Most kids don’t come back."”

Harry stared at him, trying to piece together what he was saying. It all felt so… impossible. So distant from the life he knew. But here he was, walking through an alley with Noah, evading police, with a sword in his hand that supposedly belonged to a god. His head hurt just thinking about it.

He managed a quiet, “Oh,” which, in his mind, seemed like the only appropriate response. All this talk of quests and prophecies reminded him of his life at Hogwarts. It was like being with Ron and Hermione on another adventure—except this time, there was no Dumbledore, no magical school, no familiar faces. Just a world he barely understood.

Great.

Harry felt his head spinning again. Demigods? Ares? Claiming? None of this made sense, and he felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him, leaving him flailing. He wasn’t even sure what a demigod was just a few hours ago. And now he was expected to… what? Go on quests? Get claimed by a god?

“Okay,” Harry muttered, trying to piece it all together. “So, the gods claim you by... flashing a symbol over your head? Like, that’s how they... acknowledge you?”

“Yup.” Noah nodded, eyes flicking towards Harry’s expression, clearly enjoying the confusion on his face.

“Great,” Harry grumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So, what—am I supposed to wait for some magical headlight to flash on me? Like a neon sign? ‘Son of...’”—he hesitated—“whoever?”

Noah chuckled but didn’t seem too bothered. “Pretty much. But it’s not just any god that can claim you. There’s a hierarchy, y’know?”

“Hierarchy?” Harry repeated, his mind going blank. “What, like, some gods are more important than others?”

“Exactly.” Noah gave him a sly grin. “There are three types of gods—Major, Minor, and Olympian."

Harry blinked. “Right. And by Olympians, you don’t mean the people in the Olympics?”

" No, not the athelets." Noah said as he gave him a look. "The Olympians are the most important. They’re the Big Twelve. You’ve got Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, and the rest. They sit on Mount Olympus and make all the big decisions.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. "Mount Olympus? Isn’t that, like... a real mountain in Greece?"

“Well, yeah,” Noah said, shrugging. “But the gods’ version moves around. Right now, it’s on top of the Empire State Building in New York.”

"Of course it is," Harry muttered under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is mental. So the Olympians are like... the ruling council?"

"More or less." Noah gave him a nudge, clearly enjoying Harry’s cluelessness. "Then you've got the Major gods, like Dionosys Demeter, and the others who aren’t technically on the Olympian council but are still super important."

Harry nodded along, even though he barely understood a word of it. “Right. Major gods. Sure. Makes sense.” It didn’t, at all. “And then the Minor gods? They’re… what? The understudies?”

Noah snorted. “Something like that. Minor gods have less influence, but they can still have kids. Most demigods are children of Minor gods. You don’t see many of us running around as sons or daughters of Olympians.”

Harry chewed on that for a second. His brain felt like it was short-circuiting with all this new information. Olympians, Major gods, Minor gods—it was like trying to learn a new subject at Hogwarts. Except this time, there were no books to explain any of it. Just Noah, whose confidence was both reassuring and irritating.

“And the Big Three?” Noah continued, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more serious. “They’re the most powerful. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. The gods of the sky, the sea, and the underworld. They made a pact after World War II not to have any more children.”

Harry blinked. “Why?” 

“Because their kids are too powerful.” Noah’s voice was low, like he was revealing some ancient, dangerous secret. “When their children are born, they disrupt the balance. Cause massive problems. Monsters are drawn to them like moths to a flame. So they swore an oath: no more demigod children.”

"Wait," Harry said, suddenly feeling uneasy. His dad -claimed by the lunatic- was Posieden. One of the big three. He wasn't just some weak god with a cool name, he was a powerful god with a cool name. Who wasn't allowed to have children. But then again, harry wasn't even claimed till now, so he might not even be Posieden's child! “So, no one’s allowed to be... a son of Zeus or Poseidon or Hades?”

"Not anymore," Noah said. "They broke that rule a couple of times, but it's rare. If a Big Three kid shows up, it means trouble.”

Harry felt his stomach twist. Trouble. That was the last thing he needed. But he shoved the thought away. There was no way he could be connected to any of this. Poseidon? Hades? Zeus? No, it couldn’t be possible. He wasn’t that important. He was just... Harry. And besides, what did any of this have to do with him? He hadn’t seen any magical neon signs hovering over his head.

Still, a flicker of doubt crept into his chest. The sword on his wrist—the one Noah had freaked out about earlier—was supposedly connected to Poseidon. Maybe that meant something. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. After all, water. Poseidon. That wasn’t too hard to connect... right?

Harry swallowed hard, trying to keep his expression neutral. “So… what happens if you are a child of one of the Big Three? Do you just, like, get thrown into the deep end with a bunch of monsters chasing you?”

Noah’s expression darkened. “Pretty much. It’s not easy being one of them. Those kids have it rough.”

Harry gave a weak chuckle, feeling more unnerved than ever. “Sounds fun.”

“Trust me, it’s not,” Noah said, eyes narrowing like he was recalling something unpleasant. He seemed to be studying Harry now, as if trying to figure something out. “But enough about that. You’ll figure it out soon enough. If you’re a demigod, you’ll be claimed eventually. And then you’ll know exactly where you stand.”

Harry forced a smile, even though his stomach was still doing flips. Great. Just what he needed. Another mystery, another life-altering revelation hanging over his head. He didn’t even know who his parents really were—at least not his real parents, apparently. Lily and James Potter were supposed to be his family. Not some god who lived on top of the Empire State Building.

But here he was, sword in hand, running from the police with a demigod who called him “shorty.” Things couldn’t get more confusing, could they?

As they rounded the corner and continued through the alley, Harry couldn’t help but think, This is going to be a long day.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

"How much longer?" Harry groaned, his feet dragging along the pavement. They’d been walking for what felt like forever—W-A-L-K-I-N-G. His legs were going to fall off at this rate. And what was this "Camp Half-Blood" place? The name rang a bell, but Harry had no idea why. Honestly, where was Draco when he needed him? Thinking was his job.

“We’re almost there, you impatient brat,” Noah teased, his voice carrying that familiar playful edge.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not a brat," he muttered under his breath, though he couldn't deny the impatient part. His legs felt like jelly at this point. "Mhm," he added, his voice filled with exaggerated disinterest. "Where are you even taking me again?"

“Bus stop,” Noah replied casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry blinked. “Huh? There are bus stops everywhere. Why are we—" He waved a hand toward the vast, empty stretch of road in front of them. "—here?”

“The bus stop here is the closest to camp,” Noah said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

Harry shot him a skeptical look. "Riiight. Because clearly, when I think of buses, I think of the middle of nowhere."

Noah just smirked, walking ahead without bothering to explain further. The guy had a talent for leaving Harry confused and frustrated in equal measure. They kept walking in silence for a while, the only sound the faint crunch of gravel under their shoes.

Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the conversation they'd had earlier. Noah had explained some things, but it was all still jumbled in Harry’s mind—gods, demigods, monsters. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, but the worst part? It all seemed to make sense to Noah.

"So," Harry began again, attempting to sound casual, though he immediately regretted it. "This camp place... it’s for people like you? Demigods?" Idiot, he thought to himself. You already asked that!

Noah shot him a quick glance, his teasing smirk softening. “Yeah, it’s a safe place for us. Keeps us hidden from monsters, trains us to use our powers.”

"Powers," Harry repeated, unable to shake the memory of controlling water during that battle with Voldemort. He still didn’t understand how he’d done it. "You mean, like, magic powers?"

Noah’s expression grew more serious. "Sort of. Depends on who your godly parent is. Everyone’s powers are different."

Harry frowned. He could do all sorts of things with a wand. What made this any different?

"So, about that Big Three thing..." Harry hesitated. This topic made his stomach twist. "There seriously hasn’t been a kid? I mean, from them?"

"Technically, there was one," Noah admitted, grimacing as if the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. His voice lowered, hesitant. "She was the daughter of Hades. Came to camp a couple of years ago, got claimed, but... disappeared."

Harry’s throat tightened. Wasn’t he supposedly a child of one of the Big Three? The lunatic had said so. And if this girl had vanished... What could that mean for him? "What happened to her?"

Noah sighed. "No one knows for sure. Some say she died. Others think she left to protect the camp."

He glanced down, that nostalgic grimace deepening into something sadder. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to pry more, but thankfully—or maybe not—Noah cut the conversation short. "Well, anyway, we’re here."

Harry blinked, realizing for the first time they had reached some sort of broken-down bus stop. Why here? Of all places? He took a breath of relief, though, glad the police hadn't tracked them down.

“The bus should be here in about 15 minutes,” Noah said, sitting down on a bench that looked as if it would collapse under his weight. “Got any more questions?”

Harry hesitated before blurting out, "About those magic powers... Can everyone see them?"

Noah chuckled. "Nah, mortals can’t see them. It’s the Mist. Hides our powers—and the monsters—from their sight."

Harry nodded slowly, remembering how that chef at the diner hadn't been able to see the giant bull-monster charging at them. "Myst. Right." He paused. "You ever fought any monsters?"

The question slipped out before he could stop it. He winced inwardly, but Noah didn’t seem bothered. He smiled, a wistful, almost proud look crossing his face. "Yeah, first time was when I was coming to camp. We’ve had a few battles here too, but none were as bad as when I fought on the way here with Raven."

“Raven?” Harry asked before he could catch himself.

Noah’s smile faltered, a sadness creeping in. His mouth opened to respond, but just then, the bus arrived, screeching to a stop in front of them.

Harry had never been so grateful for a bus in his life.

It was an old blue bus, its faded color giving it a certain charm that felt comforting in the night. The streets were quiet, the kind of stillness that usually accompanied the dark hours. Yet, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. People typically moved about at night, but the bus sat empty, devoid of passengers. It was strange, but he welcomed the solitude.

As he and Noah climbed aboard, Harry scanned the interior. “Empty,” he muttered, realizing this was the first time he’d ever had a bus all to himself. A voice nagged in the back of his mind, ‘Don’t be so arrogant, Potter.’ It was funny how much Draco’s voice had stuck with him over the past two weeks. The annoying blonde had a way of leaving his mark, even from miles away.

“The usual,” Noah said to the driver, who turned in his seat to assess the new arrivals. Harry barely had time to process his words before he was struck by an unexpected sight.

The driver was an older man with hair turning white and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a blue shirt and pants—nothing too out of the ordinary, until Harry's gaze fell to the man's legs. He was sporting goat legs. A freaking furry! Harry blinked, trying to comprehend the absurdity before him. “Wha—Hu—” were the only sounds he could muster as he pointed at the driver's unusual appendages.

“Newbie, eh?” the driver chuckled, glancing at Harry with a knowing smile.

“Yup,” Noah replied, a grin spreading across his face as he pulled Harry further into the bus. “Welcome to our world.”

As they settled into their seats, Harry struggled to process what he had just witnessed. “Why does he have… well… goat legs?” he finally managed to ask, bewilderment lacing his voice.

“Because he’s a satyr,” Noah explained, clearly enjoying Harry’s confusion. “They’re nature spirits, protectors of the wild and all that. He’s David, the driver of the bus.”

Harry tried to picture it. A camp full of goat-legged people, well...er..yeah. ANd David? Well.  “Right. And I suppose we’re just supposed to accept that as normal?”

“Pretty much,” Noah said, leaning back in his seat with an air of casualness that Harry envied. “You’ll get used to it. Trust me, after a while, goat legs won’t even make you blink.”

Harry groaned, sinking lower in his seat. “What else should I expect? A centaur at the front desk? Mermaids in the restroom?”

“Hey, you never know!” Noah laughed. “Just remember to be polite. These creatures are our allies. Besides, I think it’s cool. We’re surrounded by magic and mystery! That’s why we’re on this bus, after all.”

“Right,” Harry replied, still feeling the absurdity of the situation weighing down on him. But as the bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb, he felt a flicker of excitement mingling with the confusion.

Perhaps this was just the beginning of a bizarre adventure.

Chapter Text

Demigods and Drama: Surviving Monsters, Friendship, and the Most Awkward Moments in History
"You're a god-"
-

The bus doors hissed open, and Harry stumbled out like he'd just been saved from drowning. The awkward silence inside had been unbearable. Who knew quiet could be so... suffocating? He took a deep breath of cool night air, the kind that made his lungs tingle and his brain feel less foggy.

Finally. Freedom. He might've died in that bus if they hadn't gotten off. Then again, he might still die. You know, demigod life and all.

Noah clicked his tongue and handed the driver some weird coins, which looked like something out of an ancient history exhibit. Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Drachmas," Noah said like that explained everything.

Oh sure, of course. Totally makes sense, Noah. Harry gave him a look. "Right... what are drachmas?"

"They’re the gods' currency, like dollars but, you know... magical."

"Ah." Harry nodded as if that was the most obvious thing ever. Magical money for magical people. Makes perfect sense. They did have gallons for witches and wizards, after all.

As they started walking down the deserted road, Noah threw out a random observation. "You're definitely not a son of Athena."

Who’s Athena again? Harry had no idea if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment, so he just shrugged. "Uh, thanks?"

The woods loomed around them, trees bending in the wind like something out of a creepy horror movie. Harry couldn’t help but think back to the last time he saw Draco. Where the hell is he? His gut twisted with worry for a second, but he forced it down. Draco was fine. That lunatic they fought was barely a threat—Draco could probably take him out with his eyes closed.

The sound of leaves crunching brought Harry back to the present. He stopped, listening. There it was again—something moving in the bushes. Great. He might’ve spoken too soon about the whole no monsters for three days thing.

Noah’s quiet "shit" confirmed Harry wasn’t hearing things. A bull-man—yes, with actual horns and everything—stepped out of the trees, glaring at them like it had something to prove. Drool dripped from its mouth, and Harry instinctively reached for Thalassa. He really needed a better name for that sword. Something less... mermaid-y. But that was a problem for later.

“Is it just me, or do these guys never get the hint?” Harry muttered, sizing up the monster. Was this the same one he and Draco had taken out earlier? Did it have brothers or something? Or maybe these bull-men just had a union.

Noah pulled out a dagger from seemingly nowhere—show-off—and squared up beside Harry. The bull-man snorted, pawing at the ground like it was prepping for a showdown. And then Harry noticed something that made him do a double-take. The thing was wearing underwear. Just... underwear.

A snort escaped before Harry could stop it. He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Seriously? A bull in underwear? Noah shot him a glare that screamed, Not now, shorty, but it only made Harry’s shoulders shake harder.

The bull-man, probably insulted by Harry's lack of fear, let out a guttural roar and charged straight at him. Harry’s heart was pounding, but not from nerves—this time, he was ready. The adrenaline surged through him, sharpening his focus. Bring it on, beefcake.

As the bull closed the distance, Harry sidestepped, just barely dodging its horns. Noah lunged with his dagger but missed. The monster growled and came at Harry again, faster this time. He swung Thalassa—okay, seriously, he needed a new name for this thing—but the bull-man knocked it right out of his hand, sending it clattering across the road.

“Perfect,” Harry muttered. “Thanks for that.”

Before he could react, the bull’s massive arm collided with Harry, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground with a hard thud. He groaned, trying to shake off the stars dancing in his vision. Note to self: don’t get hit by a bull-man again.

The monster loomed over him, drool still dripping.

“You know,” Harry said, looking up at it with a grin, “you should really consider pants. The whole bull-in-underwear thing is a bold choice, but maybe rethink it.”

The bull-man roared in his face.

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t take fashion advice.”

Before it could swing at him again, Noah came out of nowhere, slashing at its leg with his dagger. The monster stumbled, growling in pain. Harry used the moment to roll away, scrambling back to his feet. His sword was still too far, so he grabbed a rock. Because, sure, that’ll help.

The bull-man recovered, its eyes wild with rage, and charged again, this time at Noah. Harry’s heart raced—Noah might not dodge this one.

Without thinking, Harry shouted, "Hey! Beefcake!" The bull hesitated, turning just enough for Noah to dive out of the way. Harry hurled the rock with everything he had, aiming for the monster’s head. It bounced off the bull’s skull with a satisfying clonk, and the creature stumbled.

Okay, maybe rocks aren’t so bad.

“Get your sword!” Noah yelled, already sprinting toward the monster again.

Harry bolted toward Thalassa—we really need to rename you—and snatched it up just as the bull-man turned back toward him. Its eyes were blazing with fury now, but Harry felt that same rush of adrenaline, like he could predict its every move.

The bull charged one last time, and Harry didn’t wait. He dodged to the side, brought his sword down hard, and with a sickening crack, the bull-man crumpled to the ground.

But he still didn't lose hope of dying, it seems. 

"Alright, Beefcake, let’s finish this." Harry’s heart pounded, adrenaline surging through his veins. He could feel every movement, the rain pouring down, the mud squelching underfoot. The bull charged, horns down, and Harry dodged to the side, bringing his sword down hard across its back. The blade bit deep, but it wasn’t enough to stop it.

The monster roared in pain, but instead of falling, it turned faster than Harry expected, swinging its arm wide. This time, Harry wasn’t quick enough. The impact sent him flying, crashing into a tree with a sickening thud. His head spun, stars dancing in his vision.

The bull-man was on him before he could even think about moving. It grabbed for him, but Harry managed to roll out of the way just in time, slipping through the mud. Desperation took over as he scrambled up the monster’s back, clinging to its neck in what he quickly realized was a terrible idea.

"Can’t see you! It can only smell you!" Noah shouted through the rain.

"Great timing!" Harry shouted back, gripping onto the bull’s wet fur as it bucked beneath him. He wasn’t sure what his plan was—he just needed to not die right now.

The bull-man roared again, trying to throw him off, and Harry’s fingers slipped on its slippery hide. He tightened his grip just as the beast swung its head back, slamming Harry hard into the tree again. His vision exploded into bright stars.

Somehow, through sheer panic and desperation, Harry managed to yank hard on one of the horns. It didn’t come off—thank the gods, he wasn’t that strong—but it was enough to throw the bull off balance. It staggered, roaring in confusion.

“Okay, bad plan,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth, his head throbbing. He had no idea what he was doing anymore, but he was out of options.

With a final burst of strength, he stabbed Thalassa down into the bull’s back, aiming for the heart—or whatever passed for a heart in a bull-man. The creature let out a bellowing scream, thrashing wildly before collapsing to the ground, dissolving into golden dust as it fell, leaving only his horn behind, which had somehow broken.

Harry, covered in mud and monster dust, stumbled back, gasping for breath. His vision swam, the rain pouring harder now, and his body screamed in protest as he tried to stay on his feet. He took one shaky step forward—and the world tilted.

The last thing Harry saw was a figure approaching through the storm, someone with brown hair, maybe two people? And then everything went black.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Harry could proudly announce that he had very weird dreams over the last few hours, or maybe days, of unconsciousness.

He saw strange creatures—should he even call them strange anymore?—chasing him, trying to kill or eat him. Why was he dreaming about these things? He had no clue. Maybe he was delirious.

He had woken up a few times, although none of it made sense. He'd open his eyes, feel the softness of a bed beneath him, then pass out again. In fragments, he recalled a girl with curly brown hair asking him strange questions.

"What was lost?"

What kind of question was that? He wasn’t exactly in the lost and found department.

“M’sorry... wha...?” he mumbled, disoriented.

“Quickly! What was lost? What happens on the winter solstice?” she pressed, her tone urgent. Before Harry could process any of it, a knock on the door interrupted, and whatever else she meant to say was left unsaid.

After that? Nothing.

He woke up again briefly, hearing Noah rambling about god—no, wait, gods, plural. What was that about? Harry had only just learned greek gods were a thing, and now Noah was throwing around names like Aphro... Aphrodite? Why did Noah feel the need to mention how hot her daughters were? That was information Harry definitely didn’t need.

When Harry finally came around for good, the world seemed... normal, for once. Except this place was a lot nicer than he was used to. Way nicer. He was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills. The air smelled like strawberries, and a blanket was draped over his legs. A pillow supported his neck, but his mouth felt like a desert—dry and sore, like something had been nesting in it.

This was all strange. After fighting monsters for weeks, why did he feel so... taken care of? And how had the bull-man done this much damage? He couldn’t remember much after the fight.

On the table next to him was a tall glass of something that looked like grape juice. It practically screamed at him to drink it. Harry’s hand was still a little shaky, but that didn’t stop him from reaching out to grab it. The glass slipped slightly in his grip, and before it could tumble, a familiar voice spoke behind him.

“Careful,” Noah said calmly.

Harry's first thought was Draco. But, no. Of course, it was Noah.

Noah wasn’t bad, not by a long shot. He had this natural confidence that Harry couldn't help but admire, and he’d saved his life more than once by now. Harry just didn’t know what to make of him. Noah seemed older, more grounded—definitely more experienced at handling the crazy world they’d been thrown into. Harry, on the other hand, was still figuring it all out.

Turning to face him, Harry noticed that Noah had changed into an orange shirt with "Camp Half-Blood" written on it, brown pants, and—still—the ever-present bucket hat. That’s when Harry caught something he hadn’t noticed before. A faint scar ran along Noah’s cheek. How had he missed that?

"Bro, you were incredible out there," Noah said, sitting down next to him. His tone was calm but filled with genuine respect. "The way you handled that Minotaur... man, you’ve got instincts. You could be a real pro."

So the beefcake had a name after all. Minotaur. That meant all of this wasn’t just a messed-up dream. Great. And why on earth was Noah so scared when he said the name?

But what about Draco? Where was he? The anxiety stirred up again, rising in Harry’s chest.

As if reading his thoughts, Noah smiled and pulled out a shoebox. “I went back to the hill and grabbed this. Thought you’d want to see it.” He opened the box, revealing the Minotaur’s horn. “You’re kind of a big deal now.”

Harry blinked, staring at the horn. Popular? That sounded like trouble. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that at all, and where was Draco in all of this? He just hoped he was okay.

"You were out for two days," Noah continued, watching him carefully. "How much do you remember?"

"That I killed the Minotaur," Harry replied with a shrug, as if slaying mythological creatures had become routine.

But Noah’s reaction caught him off guard. He looked horrified, his voice dropping into a sharp whisper. "Don’t say names like that! It's not a good idea to throw names around carelessly."

Harry frowned. "But you were saying them!"

"That's different. I was explaining Greek mythology," Noah said, trying to stay patient, though there was a warning in his tone.

Harry muttered something under his breath, annoyed. Great. Another universe where names had too much power. As if one Voldemort wasn't enough.

Noah laughed softly, ruffling Harry’s already messy hair. "Alright, alright. Now go get ready. I need to take you to Chiron."

"Who's Chiron?" Harry asked, still feeling out of the loop. "And where are we, exactly?"

Noah flashed him a grin as he closed the shoebox, setting it aside on the table. "Camp Half-Blood."

Oh. So this was the camp. The summer camp that sounded like the one Dudley always raved about. Except, this was… different. A lot different.

"So..." Harry began, trying to make sense of everything, but his vision suddenly swam, and he felt lightheaded.

“Don’t push yourself,” Noah said, pointing toward the drink on the table. “Drink that.”

Harry reached for the glass, expecting grape juice, but the taste caught him off guard. It was like melted treacle tarts—sweet, warm, and utterly nostalgic. He hadn’t had treacle tarts in ages, and the flavor hit him with a wave of homesickness.

Before he knew it, he’d downed the entire glass. Harry stared at it, still tasting the sweetness, but somehow the ice cubes hadn’t even melted. Weird.

"Good, huh?" Noah asked with a knowing grin.

Harry nodded, still processing the strange drink.

"What did it taste like?" Noah sounded genuinely curious, his expression eager, and for some reason, Harry felt a little guilty. He wasn’t sure why.

"Treacle tarts," Harry replied before realizing Noah probably had no idea what that even was. "They’re a type of dessert we had at my old school—Hogwarts."

"Oh, the wizard school?" Noah said as Harry nodded. “How do you feel now?”

“Like I could toss that bull-man halfway across the world,” Harry quipped, maybe exaggerating a little, but he felt a lot better than before.

Noah chuckled, though he eyed the empty glass warily. “Alright, but don’t make a habit of that stuff.” He gently took the glass from Harry’s hand, treating it like it was fragile or dangerous, setting it back on the table as if it might explode.

Harry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean by that?"

But Noah didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up, brushing off his pants. "Come on, let's go. They're waiting."

"Who’s ‘they’?" Harry asked, confused.

Noah just smiled, tapping the brim of his bucket hat before heading toward the door.

Harry's legs felt wobbly as he tried to walk that far, but he refused to give in. Noah had offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but Harry held on to it tightly. He’d paid for that souvenir the hard way and wasn’t about to let it go.

As they rounded the opposite end of the house, Harry caught his breath. They had to be on the north shore of Long Island(he had seen Dudley's pictures here.), because from this side of the house, the valley stretched all the way to Long Island Sound, which glittered about a mile away. The scene before him was almost too much to process.

The landscape was dotted with buildings resembling ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—but all of them looked brand new, their white marble columns gleaming in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a group of teenagers and satyrs played volleyball, while canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts, just like Noah's, ran around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods, some shooting targets at an archery range, others riding horses down a wooded trail. And unless Harry was hallucinating, some of those horses had wings.

"Wha-" Harry said, but Noah shushed him as they continued to walk.

 Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The brown-haired girl who’d asked him those stupid questions was leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing Harry was small but porky, with a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it almost had a purple sheen. He looked like one of those baby angels in paintings—what were they called? Hubbubs? No, cherubs. That’s it. A cherub who'd hit middle age, then moved into a trailer park and picked up a tiger-patterned Hawaiian shirt along the way. Classy.

“That’s Mr. D, camp director. Be polite,” Noah informed him like he was passing along the secret to life. Yeah, thanks for the tip. “And that’s Charlie Miller, one of the campers. She’s been here since she was seven.”

Harry gave a half-hearted nod, not really paying attention to the girl, when Noah pointed at a guy in a suit. Brown hair, medium length, with a beard that matched, though lighter than Charlie’s hair color. “That’s Chiron, trainer of all heroes. He even trained Hercules.”

Hercules? That’s the guy, right? The super-strong dude with the muscles and the twelve…something? Harry vaguely remembered learning about him in third grade. Good ol’ British education—real handy when you’re on a different continent.

“Ah, Harry. We’ve been expecting you,” Chiron said, and though his smile was warm, his eyes were unnervingly sharp, like he was dissecting Harry down to the last crumb. It wasn’t the typical Dumbledore, 'Can I trust you?' look either—it was more like, 'I know what you had for breakfast last Tuesday.'

He gestured to a chair next to Mr. D, who looked at Harry with bloodshot eyes and sighed like he was being asked to do something horribly inconvenient. “Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now don’t expect me to be grateful.”

“Uhh… thanks?” Harry muttered, scooting as far away from the man as the chair allowed. If there was one thing he’d learned living with Vernon, it was how to tell if someone liked their drink. And if Mr. D wasn’t on first-name terms with alcohol, Harry was a Hufflepuff.

“Charlie?” Chiron called, his tone softer. The girl stepped forward, and Chiron introduced them. “Harry, Charlie helped Noah nurse you back to health. Charlie, can you check Harry’s bunk in Cabin Eleven for me?”

Charlie nodded, her stormy gray eyes giving Harry a once-over like she was sizing him up for a fight. She was probably his age, though more athletic, and taller by a few centimeters. Brown curls tied back in a ponytail, deep tan… yeah, she practically screamed “California dreamin’,” except for her eyes. Those eyes were more “I could break you.”

She glanced at the Minotaur horn in Harry’s hand, then back at him. Harry braced himself for the inevitable: 'Oh my gods, you killed a Minotaur!' or maybe a 'Wow, you’re so cool!' But instead, she said, “You drool in your sleep.”

Ugh—low blow. Draco had said the same thing to him in that hotel, and for some reason, it still stung. No one was going to ask why he remembered that?

Before Harry could muster a reply, she ran off, leaving him standing there, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Great. Just what he needed.

“I must say, Harry, I didn’t expect you to survive,” Chiron said, almost casually, like he was talking about the weather. Harry blinked—wait, what? “But I’m glad you did.”

Harry forced a smile, swallowing the urge to respond with something snarky, and turned back toward Mr. D.

“Err… is ‘D’ supposed to stand for something?” Harry asked, immediately regretting it. The look Mr. D gave him made him feel like he’d just asked why the sky was blue.

Mr. D stopped shuffling his cards long enough to sneer, “Young man, names are powerful things. You don’t just go around using them for no reason.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Harry,” Chiron cut in, “I believe you’re unfamiliar with gods, especially Greek ones. After all, where you come from, Christianity is the majority religion.”

Isn’t that true for New York, too?

Chiron continued without waiting for a response. “It’s quite the miracle you made it here alive. That was the first test.”

“Are you playing or not, Noah?” Mr. D snapped, as if the conversation bored him to tears. Noah, who Harry had completely forgotten about, just nodded calmly.

“Yes, sir,” Noah replied. Was Harry supposed to be scared of this guy? The man looked like a washed-up beachgoer.

“Do you know how to play pinochle?” Mr. D asked, now staring directly at Harry.

“I’m afraid not,” Harry answered.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Mr. D corrected with an annoyed glare.

“Sir,” Harry repeated, his patience wearing thin. He was liking the camp director less and less by the second.

Mr. D stared at him for a moment longer, his expression one of pure disdain, like Harry had just insulted the entire game of pinochle itself. He finally looked away and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Kids these days."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of all the mythical creatures he'd imagined meeting, a grumpy old guy in a Hawaiian shirt wasn’t high on the list.

“So,” Harry said, glancing over at Noah, “how long have you been here?” He wasn’t really interested, but anything was better than sitting in awkward silence.

“Six years,” Noah said, shuffling his cards, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Got here when I was ten.”

“Right. And you’re… what, sixteen now?”

“Yup.” Noah flashed him a quick grin. “Old enough to give you advice, young enough to still get into trouble.”

Okay, Harry thought, I like this guy.

Before Harry could ask him more, Chiron cleared his throat. “Harry, there’s something important we need to discuss.” His tone had shifted, becoming more serious. “You are no doubt aware that you’ve been brought to Camp Half-Blood because of who you are.”

Harry felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Here it was. The talk.

Chiron continued, his sharp eyes never leaving Harry’s. “You are a demigod, Harry. One of your parents is mortal, and the other… well, they are not. But, the parent would surely reveal themselves soon enough.”

Harry clenched his fists, instinctively tightening his grip around the Minotaur horn. Oh, I know, he thought bitterly. That lunatic had told him. That torture. The idea still made his stomach churn.

“I don’t—” Harry started, but Chiron raised a hand gently, cutting him off.

“I understand this must be difficult to process,” Chiron said, his voice calm and understanding. “It often is. But denial won’t change the truth.”

“Denial?” Harry blurted out, unable to stop himself. “I’m not in denial.” He paused, then added under his breath, “I just think this is all a bit much.”

Chiron’s smile softened, but his eyes remained fixed on Harry. “I know this is overwhelming, but you’re safe here. Camp Half-Blood is your sanctuary. And soon enough, you’ll learn to accept your heritage.”

Harry glanced over at Mr. D, who was now focused entirely on his card game, shuffling and re-shuffling the deck like the conversation didn’t concern him in the slightest. Harry couldn’t help but think that this place—this camp, these people—felt about as safe as the Forbidden Forest at night. And yet, somehow, there was a part of him that believed Chiron.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the fact that he seemed to know exactly what Harry was thinking without even trying. Either way, Harry didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Fine,” Harry muttered, leaning back in his chair. “So, what now? You gonna tell me who my parent is?”

Chiron’s smile flickered slightly. “That, I’m afraid, will depend on your godly parent. It’s not always immediate, but in due time, the truth will reveal itself. Until then, you will stay in Cabin Eleven.”

Cabin Eleven. Harry’s mind wandered briefly to what kind of place that might be. He imagined rows of bunk beds and kids running around like it was some kind of holiday camp. But then again, this wasn’t exactly a normal camp, was it?

“You’re placing me with the rest of the unclaimed kids, aren’t you?” Harry asked, his tone dry.

Chiron gave a small nod. “For now, yes. But I have no doubt that you will be claimed soon.”

Great. More waiting, Harry thought. But before he could dwell on it, Mr. D broke the silence, finally looking up from his cards.

“Well, if we’re done with the heartwarming talk, I’d like to get back to my game,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Noah, are you going to play or not?”

Noah chuckled, picking up his hand of cards. “Yeah, yeah, I’m in.”

Mr. D glanced at Harry one more time, his expression unreadable. “And you, Perry,” -who the hell was perry?- “try not to die before your parent claims you. It’d be a shame, considering all the paperwork.”

Harry blinked. Paperwork? He had no idea if the guy was joking or not, but something told him Mr. D really wouldn’t care either way.

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Harry muttered, not sure whether to laugh or be insulted. He stood up, giving one last glance to Chiron, who nodded reassuringly.

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Harry muttered, unsure whether to laugh or be insulted by the whole situation. He stood up, casting one last glance toward Chiron, who gave him a reassuring nod.

“Remember, Harry,” Chiron said, his voice steady but with a weight that felt ancient. “This is only the beginning of your journey.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, that’s what they said at Hogwarts too.”

Mr. D snorted, rolling his eyes. “This is going to be way harder than Hogwarts, kid. That school’s good for nothing.”

Harry threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t get any of this. How are gods—Greek gods—alive? Aren’t they supposed to be, I don’t know, dead or something?”

Chiron leaned back, his voice smooth and calm, like he had given this speech a hundred times. “Harry, you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is, immortal means immortal. Can you imagine never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?”

Harry hesitated. “You mean, whether people believed in you or not?”

Chiron nodded. “Exactly. If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth? An old story to explain thunder? What if I told you, Harry Potter, that someday people would call you a myth, created to explain how a boy could fight a dark wizard?”

Harry’s heart pounded. Chiron was trying to make him angry for some reason, but Harry wasn’t about to take the bait. “I wouldn’t like it. But I still don’t believe in gods.”

Mr. D chuckled darkly, not looking up from his card game. “Oh, you’d better. Before one of them decides to incinerate you.”

Noah, who had been playing, interjected, “Sir, please, he just fought a Minotaur!”

Mr. D waved a hand dismissively, still focused on his game. “A lucky thing, too. Bad enough I’m stuck in this miserable job, dealing with boys who don’t even believe!” He flicked his wrist, and a goblet appeared on the table, filling itself with red wine.

Harry stared in shock, but Chiron barely blinked.

“Mr. D,” Chiron warned, “your restrictions.”

Mr. D feigned innocence, glancing at the sky. “Old habits! Sorry!” He waved his hand again, and the goblet morphed into a can of Diet Coke. Sighing dramatically, he cracked it open and sipped.

Chiron shot Harry a knowing glance. “Mr. D offended his father some time ago—fell in love with a wood nymph who was off-limits.”

“A wood nymph?” Harry repeated, still staring at the can of soda like it might explode.

“Yes,” Mr. D grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Father loves punishing me. The first time, Prohibition—ghastly, horrid ten years! And then, well, there was the second time. She really was quite pretty, and I couldn’t resist.” He sighed dramatically. “So, here I am, stuck at Half-Blood Hill. ‘Be a better influence,’ Father said. ‘Work with youths instead of tearing them down.’” He scowled, looking like a sulking child. “Absolutely unfair.”

Harry stammered, still struggling to process. “And… your father is…”

Mr. D turned to Chiron, exasperated. “Di immortales, I thought you taught this boy the basics! My father is Zeus, of course.”

“You’re Dionysus,” Harry realized, don't ask how he knew. “The god of wine.” Somehow, the name floated up from the depths of his memory.

Mr. D rolled his eyes dramatically. “What do they say, Noah? Do the children say, ‘Well, duh’?”

“Yes, Mr. D,” Noah mumbled.

“Well, duh, Perry Trotter. Did you think I was Aphrodite?”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “You’re a god.”

“Yes, child.”

“A god. You.”

Mr. D leaned forward, his eyes flashing with a purplish fire that sent a chill down Harry’s spine. Behind the lazy, petulant exterior, Harry glimpsed something terrifying—visions of grapevines strangling people, warriors driven mad with battle frenzy, and sailors screaming as they turned into dolphins. If he pushed, Harry knew, Mr. D could do worse. Much worse.

“Would you like to test me, child?” Mr. D’s voice dropped, cold and dangerous.

Harry shook his head quickly. “No. No, sir.”

The fire faded from Mr. D’s eyes, and he turned back to his game. “I believe I win.”

“Not quite, Mr. D,” Noah said, setting down his cards with a sly grin. “The game goes to me.”

Harry half-expected Mr. D to explode, but instead, he just sighed through his nose, clearly annoyed but used to losing to Noah. He stood, and Noah rose as well.

"Well then, i'll leave. I've got to do some work." Mr. D said, "Jasper needs help." Who the hell was jasper? Another god Harry had no clue about?

Noah also followed him as he left, and the Harry blinked at Chiron, clearly giving a look that said 'Please-explain-I-don't-undertsand-a-single-thing'

Chiron leaned back, as though preparing for a lecture, his tone smooth, like he’d had this conversation a thousand times. “Come now, Harry. What you call ‘Western civilization’—do you think it’s just an abstract concept? No, it’s a living force. A collective consciousness that’s been burning bright for thousands of years. The gods are a part of it. You could even say they’re the source of it, or at the very least, bound to it so tightly they can’t fade unless all of Western civilization is wiped out.” He paused, as if making sure Harry was following. “The fire started in Greece, and as you might know—at least, I hope you do since you passed my course—it moved to Rome. And so did the gods. Different names: Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, but the same forces. The same gods.”

“And then they died,” Harry muttered, though even he wasn’t convinced.

“Died? No. Did the West die?” Chiron’s eyes gleamed with something Harry couldn’t place. “The gods moved, to Germany, France, Spain—wherever the flame was strongest, they followed. They spent centuries in England, and you can see it in the architecture, the art, the culture. People don’t forget the gods. For three thousand years, they’ve left their mark: in paintings, statues, the most important buildings. And yes, Harry, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbols—Zeus’ eagle, the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center. The Greek facades on your government buildings in Washington. There isn’t a single American city where the Olympians aren’t present in some form. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty didn’t love Rome either—America is now the heart of the flame. It’s the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here.”

Harry blinked. He’d gotten lost somewhere between “Zeus’ eagle” and “Olympians in D.C.” Chiron said we like Harry was part of this weird, ancient world—like it was all just supposed to make sense. But it didn’t. Not even a little.

“Who are you, Chiron?” Harry’s voice came out quieter than he meant. “Who... who am I?”

Chiron smiled at the question, shifting in his wheelchair. He looked as though he was preparing to rise, but that was impossible, right? He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you? Well, that’s the question we all want answered, isn’t it? But for now, let’s focus on getting you a bunk in Cabin Eleven. You’ll meet some new friends and have plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. And there’ll be toasted marshmallows at the campfire tonight, which I absolutely adore."

Chiron began to rise from the wheelchair, and something about the way he did it immediately struck Harry as strange. The blanket around Chiron’s legs slipped to the floor—but his legs didn’t move. Instead, his waist seemed to stretch, rising higher and higher above his belt. At first, Harry thought Chiron was wearing long, white velvet pants. But no, the longer Chiron grew, the more obvious it became that the “pants” weren’t pants at all. They were part of an animal’s body. Muscle and sinew rippled beneath coarse white fur.

Harry’s brain struggled to catch up with what he was seeing. Chiron wasn’t sitting in a wheelchair at all. He’d been hiding in some kind of magical box on wheels. And now, a long, knobby-kneed leg emerged—polished hoof gleaming. Then another leg. Then hindquarters. Finally, the box was empty, nothing but a shell with fake human legs attached.

A huge white stallion stood before Harry, but instead of a horse’s neck, there was Chiron’s human torso, seamlessly grafted onto the animal’s body.

"What a relief!" Chiron—no, the centaur—said, flexing his legs as though shaking off years of confinement. "I’d been cooped up in that thing so long my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Harry. Let’s meet the other campers."



what the actual fuck was he getting into?

Chapter Text

Welcome to Cabin Eleven: Where Demigods Play, and Heroes Trip
“Just think of it as a ‘demigod starter pack’—batteries not included.”
-

Once Harry got over the fact that their camp director was a god, and that he was casually walking with a talking (and that rhymed) horse—well, half-horse—he had to admit, the tour wasn’t half bad.

But this camp wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. Shouldn't it be more of a battle zone? It was for the children of gods, after all. And from what he knew about gods, they were pretty fond of fighting. Yet here he was, surrounded by volleyball pits and campers who looked like they belonged at a normal summer camp, not training to fend off monsters. It felt... off.

They passed by one of those volleyball pits, and Harry couldn’t help but notice several campers nudging each other. One pointed directly at the Minotaur horn Harry was still lugging around, and another whispered, “That’s him.”

Did he do something he wasn’t supposed to? He glanced down at the horn, unsure if it screamed, “look at me, I just fought a monster” or “I stole this from a museum.”

Also, why was everyone staring at him like that? It felt like Hogwarts all over again—people expecting him to pull off something impossibly heroic at any second.

Harry looked back at the farmhouse they had just passed. Now that he really studied it, he realized it was a lot bigger than it seemed at first—four stories tall, painted sky blue with white trim. It kind of looked like one of those fancy seaside resorts. While he was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on the roof, something in the topmost window caught his eye. A shadow moved, just briefly, and Harry had the distinct impression that someone—or something—was watching him.

“What’s up there?” Harry asked, squinting at the attic gable.

Chiron followed his gaze, and the friendly smile he’d been wearing faded. “Just the attic,” he said.

“Someone live there?” Harry pressed.

“No,” Chiron said firmly. “Not a single living thing.”

Harry believed him—or at least he thought he did. But something had definitely moved that curtain.

“Come along, Harry,” Chiron said, his cheerful tone returning, though it felt a bit forced this time. “Lots to see.”

They made their way through the strawberry fields, where campers were busily picking bushels of berries. A satyr off to the side was playing some upbeat tune on a reed pipe. Chiron mentioned that the camp exported the strawberries to fancy restaurants in New York and even Mount Olympus. “It pays our expenses,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “And the strawberries practically grow themselves.”

He also explained how Mr. D—who Harry was quickly learning had a very strange existence—had a weird effect on fruit-bearing plants. Grapes, especially, but since he wasn’t allowed to grow those anymore, they settled for strawberries. Apparently, when you’re a god, you can be banned from your own realm of power.

Harry snorted quietly at the idea. A god who couldn’t drink wine? The gods really were a strange bunch.

As they walked, Harry overheard some kids talking about archery, which made him think of Dudley. His cousin had once tried archery—well, been forced to try it by Aunt Petunia—and had somehow managed to hit the TV with a rubber arrow. Impressive in its own way, though Aunt Petunia hadn’t seen it like that.

Then Harry spotted Noah. He was chatting up a girl with long black hair, clearly flirting. She had to be one of those Aphrodite kids Noah had mentioned. Harry rolled his eyes. Noah was sixteen, and apparently already an expert in the art of charming girls.

Speaking of Noah, something clicked in Harry’s mind. “Chiron…” Harry started, glancing up at the centaur. “Who’s Raven?”

Chiron’s smile faltered slightly. “Harry, I believe that is a topic best left for another time,” he said, his tone careful, like he was tiptoeing around something delicate. His expression was similar to the one Noah had when he’d mentioned her.

Dead or something? That was the vibe he was getting.

“Now come along,” Chiron said, changing the subject as swiftly as possible. “Let’s take a look at the woods."

Chapter Text

Harry handed Charlie the Minotaur horn, wiping sweat off his forehead, and turned to face Cassidy. Before he could even blink, she had her iron grip around his neck, dragging him toward a crumbling, graffiti-covered brick building. It took Harry a second to realize it was the bathroom—of course, the girl's bathroom.

Great. Just great.

He fought back, kicking and twisting, but Cassidy’s hands were like vice grips. Harry had been in his fair share of brawls, but this girl had a grip like she’d been wrestling dragons since birth. She slammed him through the door, and Harry’s eyes darted around at the dingy stalls and suspiciously sticky floors. If this place was supposed to be “god-level,” they should’ve at least splurged on cleaning supplies.

Cassidy’s crew of wannabes snickered behind her, egging her on. Harry tried to summon that adrenaline he’d had fighting the Minotaur, but nothing happened. That inner well of strength? Totally dry.

“You think he's Big Three material?” Cassidy sneered, tossing Harry towards one of the toilets with a shove that made his head spin. “Minotaur must've died laughing—seeing your dumb face.”

Her friends cracked up, their laughter bouncing off the grimy tiles.

Charlie, arms crossed, watched from the corner, her eyes darting nervously, but she didn’t step in. Harry didn’t blame her—Cassidy had a temper like a volcanic eruption.

Before he could throw out a retort, Cassidy had him down on his knees, shoving his face toward the toilet bowl. The smell hit him like a slap—a mix of rusted metal and… well, bathroom things. Harry winced, his head an inch from the toilet water. Was this really how he was going out? Death by public restroom?

His is not sticking his head in there. No way.

Then it happened. A tug at his gut, like something inside him snapped. The pipes groaned, water rushed up from the toilet—right over his head, splashing Cassidy square in the face.

Harry, blinking, found himself sprawled on the bathroom floor, Cassidy screeching like a banshee behind him. He rolled over just in time to see another gush of water shoot out from the toilet, smacking Cassidy straight in the face again, knocking her on her butt.

The best part? The water didn’t stop. It blasted her, pinning her to the wall like a fire hose on full blast. Her friends ran to help her, but that’s when the other toilets joined in—exploding in their faces. Showers kicked in too, turning the bathroom into a chaotic hurricane of water, spraying Cassidy’s crew so hard they scrambled for the door, spinning around like they’d been caught in a water tornado.

Harry, now sitting in the only dry spot in the whole bathroom, just stared.

Well, that was… new.

Cassidy was still trying to pick herself up, soaking wet, hair plastered across her furious face. The smell of sewage clung to her like a second skin. She shot him a look of pure, unfiltered hatred.

“You are so dead, Potter,” she spat. “Totally, absolutely dead.”

He should’ve let it go. He really should have.

But no.

“You want another round with the toilet, Cassidy? Keep talking.”

Cassidy’s friends had to drag her back, practically lifting her off the ground as she thrashed and flailed, her shouts muffled by the dripping hair covering her mouth.

Outside, a crowd had gathered, campers staring wide-eyed at Cassidy’s soaked state. The girl was a walking sewage disaster.

Charlie, drenched but standing in the same spot as before, stared at Harry, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. She hadn’t been washed out the door with Cassidy’s crew, but she was soaked from head to toe.

Harry stood, wobbling a little as his legs felt like jelly. The dry circle around him made him feel like he’d just pulled off the most insane magic trick ever.

She raised an eyebrow. “How… did you…?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, shaking his head. “I really don’t.”

This felt like the beach all over again, but Harry actually felt better fighting Cassidy than Voldemort.

They walked to the door together. Cassidy and her friends were being dragged away, a mixture of mud and sewage following them. Harry was half-expecting Cassidy to explode like one of those toilets, but instead, she just glared over her shoulder, fuming.

Charlie kept glancing at him like he’d grown a second head. He couldn't tell if she was mad at him for soaking her, or just in shock.

“What?” Harry asked, annoyed. “What are you thinking?”

Charlie finally cracked a smile, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“I’m thinking,” she said slowly, “that I definitely want you on my team for Capture the Flag.”

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

The word of the bathroom incident spread like wild fire throught the whole camp. And it had been only a few minutes! The rumor mill here was faster and better than Hogwarts.

Charlie showed him around a bit more, and wherever Harry went, everyone seemed to murmer something about toilet water. Or maybe they were staring at Charlie, who was still dripping wet.

Charlie showed him a few more spots: the metal shop (where kids were hammering out their own swords), the arts-and-crafts area (where satyrs, who were the ones who protected demigods, Charlie explained, were busy sandblasting a giant marble statue of some goat-man), and the climbing wall. But, of course, it wasn’t just any climbing wall—this one rumbled and shook, spat out lava, and dropped boulders if you didn’t move fast enough. And if that didn’t kill you, the walls smashed together like closing jaws.

By the time they circled back to the canoeing lake, the trail leading back to the cabins, Harry could tell Charlie was done with the tour.

“I’ve got training,” she said, flat, not bothering to look back at him. “Dinner’s at seven thirty. Just follow your cabin.”

"Charlie, I’m sorry about the toilets,” Harry said, cringing a little. It wasn't exactly the best icebreaker, but it had to be said.

“Whatever.”

“It wasn’t really my fault, you know.”

Charlie gave him a side-eye so sharp it could’ve cut through metal. He realized then—yeah, it kinda was his fault. The toilets had responded to him, like he had somehow become one with the plumbing. Ugh.

“You need to talk to the Oracle,” she said after a beat.

“The Oracle?” Harry asked. "Who's that?"

“Not who—what. The Oracle. I’ll ask Chiron.” She turned and left him there, looking back at him for just a moment as if to say, Don’t make any more waves.

Harry stood there, staring out at the lake, wishing for once someone would give him a straight answer without the cryptic hints. His life had turned into some bizarre mythological guessing game. All he wanted was to understand what was happening to him, why everything kept spiraling into madness.

He wasn’t expecting anything to happen, let alone for anyone to be looking back at him from under the water.

His heart skipped a beat when he spotted them—two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the bottom of the pier, about five meters below the surface. They wore jeans and shimmering green shirts, their brown hair floating like seaweed around their heads as minnows swirled and darted in and out. They smiled up at him, waving like he was an old friend, as casual as if they were waving from across the street.

Harry blinked, caught completely off guard. He had no idea what else to do, so he awkwardly raised his hand and waved back.

Of course. Because why not? Two girls at the bottom of the lake waving at him like this was all perfectly normal.

Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, indeed.

"Don't encourage them," Charlie said, looking unfazed. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

"Naiads?" Harry repeated, feeling the weight of everything hitting him all at once. Monsters, gods, naiads—was there a list? He was starting to miss Hogwarts, and that was saying something, given how that turned out. "Is this camp the only place where demigods are safe?"

"Yeah." Charlie sighed, like she’d answered that question a hundred times before. "For kids like us, this is the only place where monsters can't get in."

Kids like us. Harry stared at the shimmering water, still trying to process the fact that he was part of this 'us.' "How can someone possibly be half-god? It's just… crazy."

Charlie folded her arms, clearly unimpressed. "Is it? Gods in old stories were constantly falling in love with humans. You really think they’ve changed their habits in a few millennia?"

Millennia? That’s longer than he wanted to think about. Still, something clicked. "So… who's your dad?"

"My dad was a police officer," Charlie said, deadpan. "Back in Watertown."

Wait. Harry blinked, confused. "So… not a god?"

"What? You think it has to be a male god finding a female human attractive?" Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Wow, Harry. Sexist much?"

He blinked again, completely thrown. "So… who’s your mum, then?"

"Cabin six," Charlie replied, like that was supposed to mean something.

"Wha—?"

"Athena," Charlie said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Goddess of wisdom and battle strategy."

Oh. Harry nodded like that made total sense. Except it didn’t, not really. Charlie was smart, sure, but still. Wait—what about what Noah said? That “child of Athena” thing wasn’t a compliment after all!

"And my… whoever?" Harry muttered. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of having a godly parent. He had parents—two of them, actually. Or he did.

"Undetermined," Charlie said with a shrug. "Like Aditi told you, nobody knows."

"But wouldn’t one of my parents know? I mean, shouldn’t someone have told me?"

Charlie gave him a pitying look. "Gods don't exactly put on name tags."

Harry’s frustration bubbled over. "Then how do I get claimed?"

"It depends on your parent," Charlie explained. "Sometimes it happens early, sometimes it happens late."

"Or not at all," Harry muttered under his breath. Perfect. He wasn't even really a demigod—just some freak who could control water thanks to whatever magic thing he still didn’t understand.

"The gods are busy," Charlie said, like that explained everything. "They’ve got a lot of kids, Harry. Sometimes they just… forget."

Wow. What a heartwarming family reunion that would be. "But the Big Three…?"

"The Big Three?" Charlie’s tone turned serious. "If a Big Three kid shows up, it’s a whole different story. They attract the most monsters."

"Great. So I’m stuck here," Harry sulked, feeling the weight of his situation more heavily now. "For the rest of my life."

"It depends," Charlie said, sounding like she’d had this conversation before. "Some campers only stay for the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you’re probably not a big target. You can get by with a few months of training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for others, it’s too dangerous. We attract monsters. Most of the time, they ignore us until we’re around ten or eleven, but after that? You either make it here, or… well, you don’t."

Harry grimaced. That was encouraging. "So… monsters can’t get in here?"

"Not intentionally." Charlie shook her head. "Unless someone lets them in."

Harry blinked. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

Charlie smirked. "Practical jokes, mostly. Or practice fights."

Practical jokes. Really? That sounded like something Draco would pull in first year. Or maybe even Lockhart, trying to be clever and making an absolute fool of himself.

“The point is,” Charlie pressed on, “the borders are sealed. Mortals and monsters can’t get in. From the outside, this place just looks like a strawberry farm.”

“Strawberries,” Harry muttered, still trying to comprehend how strawberries hid a camp full of demigods. “Of course.”

Charlie gave him a look, clearly unimpressed by his inability to grasp the magic of fruit-based camouflage.

"So… you’re a year-rounder?" Harry asked, hoping to change the subject before his brain imploded from all the weirdness.

"Yup." Charlie casually pulled a necklace from under her shirt, revealing six colorful beads. "I came here when I was seven. At the end of every summer, you get a bead if you’ve survived another year."

Oh. So that’s why some of the cabins looked empty. Like the Hermes one—he'd expected it to be packed, but it was half-full at best. Most of the kids must’ve gone home, back to their families... wherever that was.

"I’ve been here longer than most of the counselors," Charlie added, flipping the necklace in her hand. "They’re mostly in college."

"Why’d you come here so young?" Harry asked.

"None of your business," Charlie snapped, her tone suddenly cold.

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Oh…kay," he muttered under his breath. So she could pry into his life, but he wasn’t allowed to ask about hers? Rude. He suddenly found himself missing Draco’s brand of snark. At least Draco didn’t act like he was guarding some huge secret all the time.

Trying to shake it off, Harry asked, "Back in the sick bay… when you were feeding me that, uh… stuff—"

"Ambrosia."

"Yeah, that. You asked me something about the winter solstice?"

Charlie’s posture stiffened, her eyes sharpening as they met his. "So you do know something."

"No, no, I don’t," Harry blurted out quickly. "I just wanted to know what you meant."

Charlie let out a disappointed hum, her gaze losing some of its intensity. "I wish I knew. There’s something going on in Olympus. Everyone’s worried—even the satyrs are on edge. I only know that something important is missing, and if it isn’t found by the winter solstice… something bad might happen."

Harry gulped, thinking of the sword strapped to his wrist. "What if… what if it’s a sword?"

Charlie rolled her eyes, not even glancing at his wrist. "No, not that sword. Thalassa was lost centuries ago. Trust me, it's not that."

Harry sighed in relief. The last thing he wanted was to be blamed for losing some godly artifact before he even figured out how this world worked.

Charlie’s gaze drifted, her expression thoughtful. "Last time I was in Olympus, everything seemed fine. But now… the weather’s been changing so much, it’s obvious the gods are fighting again."

Harry perked up at that. "Wait—you’ve been to Olympus?"

Charlie nodded like it was no big deal. "Yeah. Some of us year-rounders get to go. Aditi, Cassidy, me, a few others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. It’s when the gods hold their annual council."

Cassidy? An all-rounder? Harry inwardly groaned. Of course she was.

"How did you even get there?" Harry asked, trying to picture the logistics of such a trip.

Charlie smirked. "The Long Island Railroad, obviously. Get off at Penn Station. Special elevator in the Empire State Building takes you right up to the six-hundredth floor."

Harry stared at her, utterly baffled. "The Empire State Building?"

“Yeah. Duh.” Charlie tilted her head, looking at him like he should’ve known that already. “You are a New Yorker, right?”

“No… I’m from Britain.” Harry frowned. Was his accent really that hard to place?

“Oh.” Charlie blinked, clearly caught off guard. “That explains the accent.”

Harry felt a wave of frustration wash over him. Everything here was way too overwhelming, and he didn’t even want to ask more questions anymore. He just wanted to find his footing in this chaotic new world.

"I've wanted to go on a quest," Charlie muttered, her eyes narrowing as if she were already plotting her next adventure. "I'm not that young."

The smell of barbecue smoke wafted through the air, tantalizing and distracting. Harry’s stomach let out a low growl, as if to echo Charlie’s earlier sentiments.

She must’ve heard it because she smirked. “Go on, grab something to eat. I’ll catch you later.”

He left her on the pier, where she traced her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan, her mind clearly racing with thoughts of glory and adventure. He turned away, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. The atmosphere buzzed with the energy of campers preparing for dinner, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever fit in here.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Back at cabin eleven, the atmosphere buzzed with chatter and laughter as everyone horsed around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, Harry noticed that many of the campers had strikingly similar features—sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, and mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids teachers would instantly label as troublemakers. Thankfully, nobody seemed to pay much attention to him as he walked over to his spot on the floor and plopped down with his Minotaur horn, feeling like a curious outsider.

Aditi, the counselor, strolled over, her resemblance to the Hermes family apparent in her sharp features.

"Found you a sleeping bag," she said with a grin. "And here, I stole some toiletries from the camp store."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t quite tell if she was kidding about the stealing part.

"Thanks," he replied, taking the items with a half-smile.

"No problem," Aditi said, her smile brightening. "Tough first day?"

"Yeah, I don’t belong here," Harry admitted. The monsters were probably after him because he was the chosen one, not a demigod. "I don’t even believe in gods."

"Hey, lighten up," Aditi said, patting his back as she plopped down beside him. "Everyone’s like that on their first day. You’ll understand later."

She was cool, he thought, feeling a little more at ease.

"So, your dad’s Hermes?" Harry asked, curious.

"Yup," she replied, sounding a bit more upbeat. "God of travelers, medicine, thieves...whatever you wanna say."

"Who do you think my parent would be?" Harry asked, even though he had a hunch.

"Probably... not Athena," she said with a teasing lilt. What was it with everyone insulting him? But then she chuckled, adding, "I have no clue, Harry, in all honesty. But with how you are, it would be someone powerful."

"Hmm." Harry hummed, with his luck, it would probably be some minor god that isn't even powerful.

Just then, Aditi’s voice brightened. "Don’t worry about it, kid. Now, come on, it’s dinnertime."

As soon as she said it, a horn blew in the distance. Harry recognized it as a conch shell, even though he’d never heard one before.

Aditi yelled, “Eleven, fall in!”

The whole cabin, about ten of them, filed into the commons yard, lining up in order of seniority. Of course, Harry ended up dead last. Campers streamed in from other cabins, too, except for the three empty cabins at the end and cabin eight, which had looked normal during the day but was now glowing silver as the sun dipped below the horizon.

They marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion, where the scent of food wafted through the air, making Harry's stomach growl loudly enough for a few heads to turn. Satyrs joined the procession from the meadow, while naiads emerged gracefully from the canoeing lake. A few other girls appeared from the woods—when Harry said out of the woods, he meant it literally. He watched in disbelief as one girl, about nine or ten years old, melted from the side of a maple tree and skipped up the hill, her laughter ringing like chimes.

“Okay, that’s new,” Harry muttered under his breath, shaking his head. This was quickly becoming the weirdest day of his life. But somehow, amidst all the chaos, a flicker of excitement sparked within him. Maybe this place was just the chaos he needed.

In all, there were maybe a fifty or forty campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads.

At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns, casting flickering shadows against the stone. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty, but cabin eleven’s was way overcrowded. Harry had to squeeze onto the edge of a bench, half of his butt hanging off awkwardly.

He spotted table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyrs, and two of plump blond boys who looked just like Mr. D. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table barely big enough for a centaur.

Charlie sat at table six with a group of serious-looking athletic kids, all sharing her grey eyes, though their hair colors varied like a box of crayons.

Cassidy and her minons sat behind him at Ares’s table. She’d apparently gotten over being hosed down, because she was laughing and belching right alongside her friends.

Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. “To the gods!”

Everybody else raised their glasses, echoing, “To the gods!”

Wood nymphs glided forward with platters overflowing with food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and yes, barbecue! Harry glanced down at his empty glass, feeling a bit like an outsider, but Aditi nudged him playfully. “Speak to it. Whatever you want—non-alcoholic, of course.”

“Anything?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Anything.”

“Pumpkin juice.” The moment he said it, the drink appeared! He took a sip, and it tasted just like the pumpkin juice from Hogwarts. An idea struck him, and he smirked, “Blue pumpkin juice.” To his delight, the juice transformed to a vivid blue, still retaining its familiar flavor.

Perfect. He couldn’t help but wonder what Draco would’ve chosen if he were here. Probably something overly sophisticated, like elderflower champagne or some nonsense.

“Here you go, Harry,” Aditi said, handing him a platter piled high with mac and cheese—the kind that could make anyone drool.

He loaded his plate, ready to dig in, when he noticed everyone rising from their seats and carrying their plates toward the fire at the center of the pavilion. He raised an eyebrow. Were they initiating some kind of weird group dessert?

“Come on,” Aditi urged, nudging him forward.

As they got closer, Harry squinted to see what was happening. Everyone was taking a portion of their meal and tossing it into the flames: the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.

“Uh... what’s going on?” he asked, half-expecting a marching band to spring out of nowhere.

Aditi leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell.”

Harry blinked, still processing. “The gods enjoy the smell of burnt mac and cheese? That’s their idea of divine cuisine?”

Aditi chuckled, giving him a playful shove. “Hey, if it keeps them happy, who are we to judge? I mean, it’s a lot easier than cooking up a five-course meal, right?”

As they walked toward the fire, Harry couldn’t shake his curiosity. Why would powerful, immortal beings enjoy the scent of burnt mac and cheese—or any food, for that matter?

Aditi approached the flames, bowed her head, and tossed in a cluster of fat, juicy grapes. “Hermes.”

Harry hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment. He wished he knew what name to say, what god might be watching over him. So, he closed his eyes, made a silent plea, and thought, Whoever you are, please tell me.

He took a deep breath, and as he stood there with his heart racing, he finally tossed in a handful of the most buttery roll, whispering, “To whoever’s my parent.”

Harry scraped a big slice of mac and cheese into the flames. As he caught a whiff of the smoke, he didn’t gag. Instead, it smelled nothing like burnt food. It was an enchanting mix of hot chocolate and freshly baked brownies, sizzling hamburgers on the grill, wildflowers, and a hundred other delicious scents that shouldn’t have harmonized but somehow did. He could almost believe the gods could thrive on that smoke.

Once everyone had returned to their seats and polished off their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof against the ground, commanding their attention.

Mr. D stood up with an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, I suppose I’d better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, informs me that the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin five currently holds the laurels.”

Ugly cheers erupted from the Ares table, their raucous noise filling the air.

“Personally,” Mr. D continued, “I couldn’t care less, but congratulations. Also, I should inform you that we have a new camper today. Jerry Totter.”

Chiron murmured something under his breath, sounding slightly exasperated.

“Er, Harry Potter,” Mr. D corrected himself, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on!”

The crowd cheered, and everyone headed down toward the amphitheater, where Apollo’s cabin led a lively sing-along. They belted out camp songs dedicated to the gods while toasting marshmallows and trading jokes. The funny thing was, Harry didn’t feel anyone staring at him anymore. For the first time, it felt like he belonged.

Later in the evening, as the sparks from the campfire curled into the starry sky, the conch horn blew again, signaling it was time to return to their cabins. Harry didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he collapsed onto his borrowed sleeping bag.

His fingers curled around the Minotaur horn, and his thoughts drifted to Hogwarts, the only place that had ever made him feel safe. He also thought of Draco, wishing to whatever god was his parent that he'd be safe too.

When he finally closed his eyes, sleep enveloped him instantly.

That was his first day at Camp Half-Blood. If only he had known how fleeting his time in this new home would be.

Chapter Text

Beneath the Surface: The Lies We Live and the Truths We Fear
"All hail Hadrien Potter."
-

The world blurred around me as I ran, my breath coming in jagged, uneven bursts. Each inhale burned my throat, the sting of pain flaring from cuts and bruises scattered across my body—some deep, some shallow, but all of them screaming at me. Blood dripped from places I couldn’t even pinpoint. And worse, I didn’t know where the hell I was.

Nothing but sand stretched endlessly in every direction, the sky an overcast gray, smothering the sun. No sound, no wind—just silence. It was the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl, like the world had ended and I was the last person left. Thalassa was clutched in my hand, the hilt warm, vibrating with the same nervous energy buzzing under my skin. My eyes darted wildly, scanning the desolate expanse, desperate for something familiar, but there was nothing. Just emptiness.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t real—but it was, wasn’t it? Every breath felt too sharp, every ache too vivid. A dream, maybe. But somehow, worse. I wasn’t in control—just a passenger in my own body, forced to feel every terrifying second.

Then, the sand began to shift.

Right in front of me, the ground collapsed, a gaping hole yawning open, sucking the desert into its depths. I froze, the air caught in my lungs as if I was the one sinking. I stumbled backward, the sudden jolt sending a spike of pain through my side. My knees buckled, the sharp, metallic taste of fear thick on my tongue.

And then I saw him.

Draco.

He was there, his figure blurred and distorted, falling. His mouth moved, his voice carried by nothing, just the distant echo of a scream. My name. He was screaming my name.

How? Why? What the hell was he doing here?

“Draco!” My voice tore from my throat, raw and frantic. I reached out, my hand trembling, desperate to grab hold of him, to stop him from vanishing into the churning sand. My fingers clawed through the air, barely missing his outstretched hand. The void swallowed him, pulling him down, dragging him away from me.

“DRACO!” I screamed again, my voice breaking as I lunged forward.

Over the next few days, Harry tried to settle in, though the nightmare still clung to the back of his mind like an annoying fly he couldn't quite swat away. December had already rolled in, bringing winter break for most schools, so the camp was buzzing with energy. And of course, word of him beating the Minotaur spread like wildfire—again. Popularity, huh? Not really his thing.

Still, he got into a routine. Or at least, as normal as it could get in a camp full of mythical creatures. His mornings were packed with lessons from satyrs (who were always twice as old as they looked), nymphs, and centaurs. He even met a satyr twice his own age-although mentally the same age- named Ethan. Sweet kid, curly blonde hair, tiny beard, blue eyes, and always sporting a beanie. If anyone mentioned he looked suspiciously like Draco, Harry was not going to entertain that thought.

In the afternoons, he had Ancient Greek lessons with Charlie, who insisted on drilling the gods and goddesses in the present tense. Weird, right? Like, shouldn't they be past tense? But that wasn’t even the strangest part. Apparently, Charlie was right about the dyslexia thing. English was always a struggle, but Ancient Greek? He could read it like it was the Sunday comics. His grades at Privet Drive were suddenly making a lot more sense.

After a few lessons, he was already reading Homer—some poet dude, obviously—without stuttering. Not that Charlie missed an opportunity to tease him.

The rest of the day was filled with trial and error. A lot of error. Campers rotated him through different activities to try and figure out his parent. He bombed archery, missing the target and almost hitting Chiron’s tail. (Thankfully, Chiron didn’t seem too bothered, probably just glad it wasn’t worse.) He was rubbish at foot racing too, since the wood nymphs left him eating their dust every time. They said it was centuries of practice, running from lovesick gods, but still. Getting dusted by a literal tree was a new low.

Wrestling was even worse. Whether it was Cassidy or Noah, they wiped the floor with him. Every. Single. Time. No matter what he did, he ended up face-first on the mat. He was basically a walking punchline at this point.

The only thing he was decent at? Canoeing. Yeah, real heroic. Not exactly the skill you'd expect from someone who bodied the Minotaur. (Also, when did he start saying “bodied”? Must be hanging around too many Americans.) And of course, the older campers and counselors watched him like hawks, trying to place their bets on his godly parent. They couldn’t pin him down. He wasn’t as strong as the Ares kids, or as good at archery as the Apollo kids. He wasn’t brainy like the Athena crew, and he definitely didn’t have the charm or looks of Aphrodite’s kids.

Not that he was complaining. Most of the camp was betting on Aphrodite, with a few thinking he might be Zeus’s kid—which was laughable. Draco was more likely to be Zeus’s spawn, if anyone.

Aditi suggested he might be the child of Hermes, the jack-of-all-trades type, but Harry knew she was just trying to make him feel better. She didn’t really know either.

Despite the chaos, Harry liked camp. Maybe he didn’t love it, but there was something about the misty mornings by the beach and the smell of strawberries in the afternoon that made him almost feel at ease. Dinner with cabin eleven was always a highlight, as Aditi filled him in on all the little details about the world of gods and monsters. He even started scraping part of his meals into the campfire, hoping for a sign. Anything. But all he ever got was a vague feeling, like a distant memory of a blurred smile.

Honestly, was it too much to ask for a simple sign? If his parent was Aphrodite, maybe she could send him some lipstick? Or, if it was Zeus—Gods, no, please no—he wouldn’t mind a little lightning bolt or something. Just, y'know, a heads-up.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

It was Friday afternoon, four days after he had arrived to camp, and he was sitting was Ethan near the lake.

"I heard that you wanted a searcher's license?" He asked. He had no clue about what it was.

"O-oh..Did Chiron told you about that?" Ethan mumbled.

"Yeah." Harry said, "I'm sure you'll be able to do that, you're like, the coolest saytr I ever met."

"Really?" He said, his eyes twinkling, "But.."

He waited for the blonde to continue,

"I can't really have it." He said, "Mr. D said that if I go on a quest and protect a demigod, the one which I share a fate with, which can be anyone, I'll get the searcher's lisence. Untill then, I'm suspended."

"Suspended?" How can someone be suspended from getting a freaking license?

"Long ago...I failed a task appointed to me." Ethan sighed, sounding miserable, "The saytrs had a meeting, the result that came was me going to get a second chance to protect another demigod, and bring them here safely, or go with them on a quest and bring both of us back alive. If that happens, maybe, just maybe, Mr.D would allow me to get a searcher's license."

"Well, that's not so bad, right?" He said.

"Bla-ha-ha!" Ethan made that weird goat noise, "How?"

"I'd take you if I get a quest."

"But..Well, you getting a quest..the chances of it are quite low..and even if you did, you'd take me, out of all people?"

"Of course I will, Ethan, I like you alot." Harry said, "And I'd be happy to help if it gets what you want."

"Basket weaving..must be a nice skill to have." Ethan sighed.

Harry tried to reassure Ethan that he had plenty of talents, but it only seemed to make his friend look more miserable. They lounged on the edge of the canoeing dock, the sunlight glinting off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. They talked about their successes in swordplay and canoeing, debating the merits of different gods in the pantheon.

Finally, Harry decided to tackle the elephant in the room—the four empty cabins lining the far side of the camp. “So, what’s the deal with those?” he asked, nodding towards the silver cabin that stood apart from the rest. “I’ve heard a few things, but…”

Ethan leaned back, resting his hands on the dock. “Number eight, the silver one, belongs to Artemis. She vowed to be a maiden forever, so, of course, no kids. The cabin’s honorary. If she didn’t have one, she’d be furious.”

“Got it. But what about the other three?” Harry prodded, tilting his head toward the three cabins at the end of the row. “Are those the Big Three?”

Ethan stiffened slightly, a sign that they were treading into touchy territory. “Nope. Well, one of them, number two, is Hera’s. That’s another honorary deal. She’s the goddess of marriage, so she wouldn’t go around having affairs with mortals. That’s her husband’s job.”

“Classic,” Harry chuckled, then asked, “So, when we say the Big Three, we mean…?”

“Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades,” Ethan replied, a hint of a frown on his face.

“Right. After the whole Titan battle, they took over the world from their dad and drew lots to see who got what.” Harry leaned back, recalling the details he’d learned in the past few days. “Zeus got the sky, Poseidon the sea, Hades the Underworld.”

“Exactly.”

“But Hades doesn’t have a cabin here, right?”

“Nope. He doesn’t have a throne on Olympus either. He kind of does his own thing down in the Underworld,” Ethan said, shuddering at the thought. “If he did have a cabin here…” He glanced at Harry, and the expression on his face said everything: Let’s just not think about it.

“Right. Let’s leave it at that,” Harry agreed, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for a Hades cabin tour.”

Ethan laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. “Yeah, definitely not on my bucket list.”

"So what if they do have children?" Harry asked, a question that had been lingering in his mind since ages, "What if they broke their oath, the one they swore on the River Styx?"

The oath of the River Styx was the most powerful oath one could make, it was even more powerful than an unbreakable vow.

Ethan’s expression darkened. “Seventeen years ago, Hades fell off the wagon,” he began, his voice low. “There was this TV starlet with a big, fluffy eighties hairdo—he just couldn’t help himself. When their child was born, a little girl named Raven… well, the River Styx is serious about promises. Hades himself got off easy because he’s immortal, but he brought a terrible fate upon his daughter.”

Harry’s stomach knotted. So this was the story of Raven. For some reason, it resonated with him—like déjà vu that he couldn’t quite shake. “But that isn’t fair! It wasn’t the little girl’s fault,” he protested, his voice rising slightly.

Ethan hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Harry, children of the Big Three have powers greater than other half-bloods. They have a strong aura, a scent that attracts monsters. When Zeus found out about the girl, he wasn’t too happy about Hades breaking his oath. A satyr was assigned to be her keeper when she was thirteen, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to escort her here with a couple of other half-bloods she’d befriended. They almost made it. They got all the way to the top of that hill.”

Harry felt a chill run down his spine.

"She..she dissapered. Into thin air, no one knows where she went. Some say she knew about the monsters that were after her, so she dissapered. And some say..well.." Ethan gulped and harry understood what had happened.

He meant to say that Raven had died sacrificing herself. That made his victory feel like a small feat infront of her. A girl his age, faced a whole army of monsters(he kind of did too, but no one knew about that) and ended up missing.

“Ethan,” Harry said, leaning in closer. “Have heroes really gone on quests to the Underworld?”

“Sometimes,” Ethan replied with a serious nod. “Orpheus. Hercules. Houdini.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “And have they ever returned someone from the dead?”

“No. Never. Orpheus came close… Why, are you thinking—”

“Of course not,” Harry lied, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. “I was just wondering. So… is a satyr always assigned to guard a demigod?”

Ethan studied him warily, clearly not buying the act. “Not always. We go undercover at a lot of schools. We try to sniff out half-bloods with the makings of great heroes. If we find one with a strong aura, like a child of the Big Three, we alert Chiron. He keeps an eye on them since they could cause really huge problems.”

“Then why was there no one in hogwarts?” Harry said, crossing his arms. “It is a big school.”

"There is a saytr assigned there aswell." Ethan said, "He told Chiron about you and another kid, that's why Noah found you."

"You said Saytr's only inform Chiron when they are children of big three though.."

Ethan’s expression shifted, as if Harry had led him into a carefully laid trap. “I didn’t… Oh, listen, don’t think like that. If you were—well, you know—you’d never be allowed a quest, and I’d never get my license. You’re probably a child of Hermes or maybe one of the minor gods, like Nemesis, the goddess of revenge. So, don’t worry, okay?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. He got the feeling Ethan was trying to reassure himself more than him. “Right. Because who wouldn’t want to be the kid of a god known for revenge?” He shrugged, but deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

That night, after dinner, the energy in the air crackled with excitement. It was finally time for Capture the Flag.

Once the plates were cleared away, the conch horn blasted through the pavilion like a war cry, and we all leaped to our feet. Campers erupted into cheers as Charlie and a couple of her siblings charged into the pavilion, hoisting a silk banner that glimmered in the torchlight. It was about three meters long, a shimmering gray with a barn owl perched above an olive tree—classic Athena.

But from the opposite side, Cassidy and her gang stormed in, waving a banner of the same size, though theirs was a gaudy, blood-red, emblazoned with a spear dripping ominously next to a boar’s head.

Harry turned to Aditi, yelling over the commotion, “Those are the flags?”

“Yep,” she replied, barely containing a smirk.

“Are Ares and Athena always leading the teams?”

“Not always,” she said, “but most of the time.”

“Great. So if we capture one, do we have to repaint it? Because I’m all for a creative rebranding.”

Aditi chuckled, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You’ll see. First, we need to get one.”

“And whose side are we on?”

She leaned closer, her expression turning sly, as if she was privy to a secret. “We’ve made a temporary alliance with Athena. Tonight, we’re going to snatch the flag from Ares. And you, my friend, are going to help.”

As the teams were announced, Harry's mind buzzed. Athena had allied with Apollo and Hermes, two of the biggest cabins. Privileges had been traded like baseball cards—shower times, chore schedules, and the prime spots for activities were all up for grabs. Meanwhile, Ares had cobbled together a ragtag alliance with the rest: Dionysus, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes; Dionysus's kids were decent athletes but only had two members. Demeter’s kids had nature skills but lacked aggression. The Aphrodite kids were too busy perfecting their hair to even care about the game. And then there were Hephaestus’s kids—big, burly, and definitely intimidating. But nothing compared to Ares’s crew: a dozen of the biggest, ugliest, meanest kids on Long Island, possibly the planet. Expect for Noah, of course.

Chiron pounded his hoof on the marble to grab our attention. “Heroes!” he announced. “You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magic items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed but may not be bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!”

He spread his arms wide, and suddenly, the tables overflowed with equipment: helmets, bronze swords, spears, and oxhide shields coated in metal.

“Whoa,” Harry said, eyes wide. “We’re really supposed to use these?”

Aditi looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Unless you want to get skewered by your friends in cabin five. Here—Chiron thought these would fit.” She handed him a shield that felt like it belonged in a museum, not on a battlefield. It was the size of an NBA backboard, emblazoned with a big caduceus in the center. “You’ll be on border patrol.”

Harry nearly toppled over under its weight. “This is a shield? It’s like carrying a small car.” He could probably snowboard on it, but running? Not a chance. His helmet, complete with a blue horsehair plume that made him feel like he was auditioning for a bad history play, was a stark contrast to the red plumes of Ares’s team.

“Blue team, forward!” Charlie yelled, rallying her troops. We cheered, swords clashing in the air, as we followed her down the path into the south woods. The red team yelled taunts as they made their way toward the north, and Harry couldn’t help but smirk at their predictable bravado.

He finally caught up with Charlie, dodging the thick foliage and trying not to trip over his ridiculously oversized equipment. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual.

She kept marching, determination etched on her face.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Got any magic items you can loan me?”

Charlie grabbed her hand on instinct, where there was a braclet, and sighed. Did she think that Harry had stolen something?

"Just watch Cassidy." She warned him, "Stay away from her spear, otherwise, you'd be fine. Has Aditi assigned you your duty?"

"Border Patrol, whatever that means."

"It's easy, stand by the creak and keep a watch on the flag. Leave the rest to me, Athena always has a plan." 

And the she went ahead, leaving him in the dust.

"Okay." Harry mumbled, "Glad you wanted me on your team."

Chapter Text

When the Sky Falls: A Prophecy Unfolds Beneath the Weight of the Heavens
"I didn't steal anything!"
-

The next morning, Harry was shifted to Cabin Three—the one for Poseidon’s children.

This place was like a beachside mansion compared to the crowded chaos of Cabin Eleven. Four bunks, and they were all his. The whole cabin seemed to pulse with ocean energy. Dark blue walls made it feel like you were underwater, and smack in the middle, a massive trident symbol loomed. Plants dotted the space too, probably the kind you'd find thriving near a sea cave. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful—like the calm before a storm.

Not that any of this made Harry feel better.

He had all the space in the world, all the solitude he could handle. No roommates. No awkward small talk. No one to complain when he decided to call it a night. And it was absolutely miserable.

Right when he thought he was blending in, he was tossed back into the role of "the freak with too much attention." Alone, again. Draco should've been here. What was up with him? Had he gone back to Hogwarts? Was he that satyr Ethan kept talking about?

Everyone was whispering about him, but never to his face. Like Hogwarts all over again—except no Ron and Hermione to back him up. This wasn’t a "slight" change; this was game-changing. Life-altering. He was a kid of Poseidon now, the Sea God. And yeah, he hated it.

Then there was the hellhound attack last night. Oh, yeah. That was fun. The creature was locked onto him like a shark scenting blood in the water. Of course. Why wouldn't the hellhound want a piece of Harry Potter? He’d gotten some good hits too, which everyone seemed to be chatting about. No big deal, just another night with everyone tiptoeing around him.

Two things were clear after the attack: One, Poseidon really was his dad. (Yippee for him.) And two, monsters wanted him dead. The whole "safe camp" thing? Apparently, not so safe anymore.

The other campers stayed as far away from him as possible. Cabin Eleven didn’t want to spar with him after the whole Ares-woods incident. Noah would talk to him sometimes, but there was this nervous energy, like Harry was radioactive. Aditi still pushed him in sword training, maybe even harder than before. Less breaks, more fighting, like she was testing him for something bigger.

Charlie still tried to teach him about Greek mythology, but she was distracted. Half the time, she mumbled to herself about quests and Poseidon, glaring at Harry like he’d interrupted some grand scheme. Athena’s kids avoided him too—big shocker there.

Even Cassidy had toned it down. Sure, she still threw some snark his way, but she hadn’t physically hurt him in days. Honestly, he’d take a punch over the weird, silent judgment everyone seemed to be throwing at him. Being ignored was worse.

He missed Draco. He’d probably insult him, call him an idiot, but at least Draco would say something. Anything was better than the suffocating silence.

And then there was the newspaper.

One night, while walking into his cabin, a rolled-up copy of The Daily Prophet smacked him right in the face. Classic. He fumbled it open, but reading it took a good hour because every word made him angrier, and due to that, every single word seemed to float even more.

THE SAVIOR MISSING!

The wizarding world has been plunged into a state of anxiety and confusion as the mysterious disappearance of Hadrien Potter(how did she know his real name?)—better known as The Boy Who Lived—enters its fifteenth day. Potter, aged 13, vanished from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under highly unusual circumstances, along with Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, a prominent figure in the Ministry of Magic.

The boys’ wands were found shattered near the Forbidden Forest, sending shockwaves across the wizarding community. Speculation about their fate has run rampant, with many fearing the worst, including theories about dark magic or sinister plots involving dangerous magical creatures from the forest. Adding to the alarm, rumors have surfaced about the involvement of the notorious fugitive, Sirius Black, who escaped from Azkaban prison earlier this year. Authorities have yet to confirm any connection between Black and the boys’ disappearance.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, in a rare public statement, has urged calm, assuring the public that every measure is being taken to locate the boys. “Harry is a remarkably strong young wizard,” Dumbledore stated. “I have every reason to believe he is safe.” However, Dumbledore's reassurances have done little to quell the rising fear among the magical community, as time stretches on with no sign of either Potter or Malfoy.

"Harry's really strong. I'm sure he'll be fine," stated Hermione Granger, widely rumored to be his girlfriend. However, despite her brave words, the muggle-born witch looked visibly distressed.

Ron Weasley, a pure-blood wizard and Harry’s closest friend, expressed more confidence: "I trust Harry to be safe, wherever he is."

The reactions from the boys' families have been mixed. Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, appeared deeply concerned during an interview, her usual composed demeanor cracking under the weight of worry. Lucius Malfoy, however, maintained a cold and rigid posture throughout, refusing to speculate on what might have happened to his only son.

On the other hand, Potter’s Muggle relatives—the Dursley family—have painted a different picture. In a recent interview, Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle and legal guardian, described his nephew as a "troubled and violent child," noting that Harry had been expelled from several schools prior to his admission to Hogwarts.

The wizarding community holds its breath, praying for the safe return of the Boy Who Lived, whose disappearance has cast a shadow over everyone’s hopes. As the search continues, one thing is clear: the world is watching, waiting, and worrying.

—Rita Skeeter

Harry stared at the crumpled paper in his hand, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Rita Skeeter. Of course. Who else would have the nerve to ship him with his best friend in the middle of a missing persons case? He wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to start a rumor about him and Draco dating next.

He crushed the paper into a tight ball and launched it across the room, his body falling back onto the bed with a huff. His face was still burning with fury.

"Dumbledore said we were missing? Are you kidding me?" he grumbled, glaring at the ceiling. "He expelled us. And Snape broke our wands! Why don't they just admit it?"

He stared blankly ahead for a moment, a wave of exhaustion crashing over him. "Lights out..." he mumbled, utterly defeated.

And that night, his dreams took him somewhere else entirely.

`~`~`~`~`~`

The streets of New York City were eerily empty. Harry recognized the place immediately—they’d wandered through these parts a few days ago, but now, the city looked abandoned. Deserted. Not a single light flickered from the shops, the roads were still, and the air had an icy edge to it. His breath misted in front of him as a chill ran down his spine.

He felt it before he saw her.

A woman appeared, walking towards him with dark red hair tied back into a messy bun, strands escaping to dance in the wind. Her eyes were a vivid, impossible green—the kind of green people always said Harry had, but his were more like seafoam. Hers were the real thing. She looked young, barely in her twenties, her long, sleeveless red dress swaying lightly with every step. It was simple, elegant, free of any sparkles or glitter. But she... she wasn’t quite there. She shimmered, like a reflection on water, almost transparent.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

Mum.

She didn’t look exactly like she did in the photo album Hagrid had given him—she seemed younger. Healthier. The way she must’ve looked when she died at 21. It was like looking at a distant memory brought to life, and suddenly Harry felt the weight of a thousand buried emotions resurface.

He managed to choke out, "Mum?"

The woman turned to face him, a soft, warm smile gracing her lips. It was a smile that made Harry feel like he was back on the beach—that beach—the one he’d visited with the Dursleys once. The one where, just for a moment, he’d felt peaceful, as if the waves could wash away all his troubles. The memory of that day swirled in his mind, the salty air, the rhythmic sound of the ocean, and the way the sunset kissed the horizon.

Her smile was like that, calming and nostalgic, like it had always been there, waiting for him. It made his heart ache for something he couldn’t remember but desperately wanted to.

And then the scene shifted, the city melting away into that very beach, bathed in pale moonlight. His mother stood there, illuminated by the silvery glow, her presence somehow both comforting and heartbreaking.

"Harry," she said, her voice like honey, sweet and soothing, wrapping around him and pulling him closer.

Tears stung his eyes. He wasn’t crying—not really—just... well, maybe he was. He took a step toward her, feeling like a child again, every inch of him screaming for the warmth of a parent he barely remembered.

"Mum," he whispered, his voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over.

She knelt down, lowering herself to his height, and in an instant, Harry was in her arms. Her embrace was everything he’d ever wanted. Warm. Safe. Like nothing in the world could touch him as long as she held him. He buried his face in her shoulder, and the tears came freely, years of pain and frustration flooding out all at once. It felt like he cried for hours, releasing everything he’d kept bottled up.

Her hand gently stroked his hair, and after what seemed like forever, she whispered, "I love you, Harry."

The words hit him harder than he expected, his chest tightening. "I love you too," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his again, but this time, there were tears in them, too. "Then protect them for me. Please, Harry."

Harry blinked through his confusion. "Protect who?" He didn’t understand, but there was no question in his mind. If his mother asked him to protect someone, he would. He had to. It was the least he could do, after everything. "I will," he promised, his voice raw and broken.

She smiled again, but this time it was tinged with sadness. And then, just like that, she began to fade, her image dissolving into the moonlit night.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

He woke up with a start, heart pounding, the echo of her words still ringing in his ears.

It had only been a dream, but it felt more real than anything he’d ever experienced.

He laid on the bed for a while, embracing the warmth he had, even if it was fake.

He liked that.

He was still in cabin three, he realised. It was morning, his body seemed to tell him. Although darkness had englufed the sky outside, as dark clouds covered it. A storm was brewing. He hadn't dreamt that.

He got up, groaning a bit. He heard the sound of clopping outside the door, a hoof knocking on the threeshold.

"Come in." He said, wincing slightly at how raspy his voice was. Probably because of lack of sleep.

Ethan -he honestly didn't expect him to be there, out of all people- trotted inside, and informed him, "Mr. D wants you."

"Oh." Harry said, "Why?"

"He wants to kill...I mean, it would be better if he told you" Ethan said as he smiled feebly, a smile that felt a bit too sympathetic.

Harry nodded, informing him that he'd be there in five. Nervously, he got ready. He was sure he was in trouble. For days, he had been expecting a summon to the big house. He was the Son of Poseiden, declared Son of Posieden. One of the big three gods who weren't supposed to have kids. He was probably doing a crime by just existing. The other gods were probably having a debate over how to when to torture him to death, and now Mr.D was going to anounce the verdict.

Over Long Island Sound -the island where Camp was present, harry found out- the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction. He asked Ethan if they needed an umbrella.

"No." Ethan replied, "It doesn't rain unless we want it to."

Harry pointed at the storm. "What the fuck is that, then?"

He glanced uneasily at the sky. "It’ll pass around us. Bad weather always does."

And then, Harry realized he was right. In the week I’d been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I’d seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley. But this storm… this one was huge.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo’s cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus’s twins were walking around in the strawberry
fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm. Ethan and Harry walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on his first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents – two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity."

He waited.

"Come closer," Mr D said. "And don’t expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A jagged streak of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder that rattled the windows of the house.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Dionysus muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Chiron pretended to focus on his pinochle cards, though the tension in the air was palpable. Ethan shifted nervously near the railing, his hooves clacking uneasily on the floorboards.

“If I had my way,” Dionysus continued, “I’d ignite your molecules and watch you turn to ash. We’d just sweep you up and be done with all this nonsense. But Chiron insists my mission here at this wretched camp is to keep you little misfits safe from harm.”

“Spontaneous combustion definitely qualifies as harm, Mr. D,” Chiron interjected calmly.

“Nonsense,” Dionysus replied with a wave of his hand. “You wouldn’t feel a thing. Still, I’ve decided to hold off on that idea. Instead, I’m considering turning you into a dolphin and sending you back to your father.”

“Mr. D—” Chiron cautioned, his tone firm.

“Oh, fine,” Dionysus relented, rolling his eyes. “There’s one more option, but it’s absolute madness.” He stood, letting the invisible cards slip from his fingers to the table with a dull thud. “I’m off to Olympus for an emergency meeting. If that boy is still here when I return, I’ll transform him into an Atlantic bottlenose. You get that, right? And, Hadrien Potter, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll see that’s a much more sensible choice than what Chiron thinks you should do.”

Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it in his fingers until it morphed into a sleek plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass.

With a snap of his fingers, the air around him warped and shimmered. He became a hologram, then a gust of wind, before vanishing entirely, leaving only the faint scent of fresh-pressed grapes lingering in the air.

Chiron smiled at him. “Come, Harry, Ethan. Sit.”

They complied, thunder rumbling slightly in the background.

Chiron laid his cards on the table, revealing a winning hand he hadn’t gotten to use. “Tell me, Harry.” He gulped. “What did you make of the hellhound?”

Just hearing its name sent chills down Harry's spine. Chiron probably wanted him to respond with some bravado, like, 'Hell, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds like those for breakfast.' But the truth was, he didn’t feel like lying.

“I... It scared me,” Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you weren’t there, I’d probably be dead.”

“You’ll meet worse, Harry. Far worse before you’re done.”

“Done... what?”

“Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?”

Oh. Harry glanced at Ethan, who had his fingers crossed. His expression summed it up perfectly: he knew something Harry didn’t, and that was never a good feeling.

“Erm... sir,” Harry ventured, “you haven’t told me what it is.”

“That is the hard part, Harry.” Chiron explained, his posture as composed as ever. “Explaining the details.”

Thunder rumbled across the valley, and the storm clouds were closing in on the beach. The sky and the sea looked like they were locked in a chaotic dance, boiling together in a tempest.

“Poseidon and Zeus,” Harry said, his brow furrowing. “Are they fighting? Is it because of whatever was lost?”

He’d picked up a few things in class with Charlie, and one glaring fact stood out: the three brothers—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—never got along. They were basically the reason for every World War and civil war that had ever happened. No pressure.

Chiron and Ethan exchanged looks that sent a spark of anxiety through Harry.

“How do you know?” Chiron asked.

Harry felt heat rush to his face. “Charlie told me about something being lost…” he mumbled. “The sky and the sea look like they’ve been fighting since last June. Plus, I’ve been having these weird dreams since I got here.” What was he doing? Don’t spill your secrets like a broken vase.

“I knew it!” Ethan whispered, barely containing his excitement.

“Hush, satyr,” Chiron said, though his voice held a hint of amusement.

“But it’s his quest!” Ethan complained, waving his arms dramatically. “It has to be!”

“Only the Oracle can determine that,” Chiron replied, stroking his beard. Then he continued, “Nonetheless, you are correct, Harry. On the last summer solstice, Zeus lost something very important. The gods, at least, came to that conclusion. But that was until you were claimed.”

“They’re fighting over something valuable that was most likely stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt.” Chiron said, and the words hung in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

Harry almost choked. “A... what?” he sputtered, disbelief creeping into his voice. 'Is that a joke? A lightning bolt? That’s what they’re squabbling over? I thought Zeus had more taste than that!'

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned."‘I’m not talking about some tinfoilcovered zigzag you’d see in a second-grade play. I’m talking about a two-footlong cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus’s master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packsenough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"And it’s missing?"

"Stolen," Chiron said.

"By who?"

"By whom" Chiron corrected. "By you."

His mouth fell open.

"At least’"– Chiron held up a hand – "that’s what Zeus thinks. During the summer solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterwards, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now a god cannot usurp another god‘s symbol of power directly – that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it. Other gods and goddesses disagreed, due to lack of evidence, hence the result being that Zeus misplaced it. Although, Zeus still believes that some hero had taken it."

"But I didn’t –"

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother’s lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn’t sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son, hence Zeus blames you." 

"But I’ve never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

Chiron and Ethan glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn’t seem to be parting around them, as Ethan had promised. They were rolling straight over their valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, 'arry…?" Ethan said. "We don’t use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I beleive Charlie told you about that?"

How could anyone accuse him of stealing a god’s weapon? Harry couldn’t even manage to swipe a slice of pizza from Uncle Vernon’s poker night without getting caught. Chiron was staring at him expectantly, his expression a mix of concern and urgency.

“Something about a golden net?” Harry ventured. “Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus until he promised to be a better ruler, right?”

“Correct,” Chiron replied, nodding gravely. “Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon vehemently denies stealing the master bolt. He was quite offended by the accusation. The two have been bickering for months, threatening war. And now, you’ve arrived—the proverbial last straw.”

“But I’m just a kid!” Harry protested, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Harry,” Ethan cut in, his voice steady. “If you were Zeus and already thought your brother was plotting against you, only for him to suddenly admit that he’d broken a sacred oath and fathered a new mortal hero who could potentially be used against you… Wouldn’t that put a twist in your toga?”

“But I didn’t do anything! Poseidon—my dad—he didn’t really have this master bolt stolen, did he?”

Chiron sighed heavily. “Most sensible observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon’s style. However, he’s too proud to convince Zeus otherwise. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the winter solstice—December twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by that same date. I hoped that some diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia could help the two brothers see reason. But your arrival has only inflamed Zeus’s temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, war is imminent. Do you understand what a full-scale war would mean, Harry?”

“Bad?” he guessed.

“Imagine the world in chaos. Nature itself at war. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction, carnage—millions dead. Western civilization would turn into a battleground so vast it would make the Trojan War look like a game of water balloons.”

“Bad,” Harry repeated, swallowing hard.

“And you, Hadrien Potter, would be the first to feel Zeus’s wrath.”

Just then, dark clouds rolled in overhead, and rain began to pour. The volleyball players on the hill froze mid-game, staring up at the ominous sky.

Harry felt the weight of the storm settle on his shoulders. He had brought this upon Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of him, and the anger boiled inside him.

“So I have to find the stupid bolt,” he said, frustration lacing his voice. “And return it to Zeus.”

“What better peace offering,” Chiron said, “than having the son of Poseidon return Zeus’s property?”

“But if Poseidon doesn’t have it, then where is it?”

“I believe I might know,” Chiron said, his expression turning serious. “Parts of a prophecy I received long ago… well, some of the lines are making sense now. But before I can share more, you must officially take up the quest. You need to consult the Oracle.”

“Why can’t you just tell me where the bolt is beforehand?” Harry asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone.

“Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Good reason.”

“Do you agree, then?”

He glanced at Ethan, who nodded in encouragement. Easy for him; he wasn’t the one Zeus wanted to kill.

“Fine,” Harry said, resigned. “It’s better than being turned into a dolphin.”

“Then it’s time you consulted the Oracle,” Chiron instructed. “Go upstairs to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you’re still sane, we’ll discuss more.”

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Four flights up, the stairs ended beneath a green trapdoor.

Harry pulled the cord, and the door swung down, a wooden ladder clattering into place. The warm air from above carried a smell that made his stomach churn—mildew, rotten wood, and something else… a smell he recognized from biology class. Reptiles. The unmistakable scent of snakes. He held his breath and climbed.

The attic was a chaotic museum of Greek hero memorabilia: armor stands draped in cobwebs, shields that had once gleamed now pitted with rust, and old leather steamer trunks plastered with stickers that read ITHAKA, CIRCE’S ISLE, and LAND OF THE AMAZONS. One long table was stacked with glass jars filled with pickled oddities—severed hairy claws, enormous yellow eyes, and various other parts of monsters. A dusty mounted trophy on the wall resembled a giant snake’s head, complete with horns and a full set of shark teeth. The plaque read: HYDRA HEAD NO. I, WOODSTOCK, NY, 1969.

By the window, perched on a wooden tripod stool, was the most grotesque memento of all: a mummy. Not the wrapped-in-cloth kind, but a human female body shriveled to a husk. She wore a tie-dyed sundress, layered with beaded necklaces, and a headband adorned her long black hair. Her skin was thin and leathery, clinging to her skull, and her eyes were glassy white slits, as if the real eyes had long since been replaced by marbles; she had been dead for ages.

Looking at her sent chills racing up his spine. And that was before she sat up on her stool and opened her mouth. A green mist poured from the mummy’s lips, swirling thick tendrils around the room, hissing like twenty thousand snakes. Panic surged through Harry as he stumbled back, trying to reach the trapdoor, but it slammed shut behind him. Inside his head, he heard a voice slither in, coiling around his thoughts: I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask.

He wanted to say, No thanks, wrong door, just looking for the bathroom. But he forced himself to take a deep breath.

The mummy wasn’t alive; she was a gruesome receptacle for something else, the power swirling around him in the green mist. Yet, it didn’t feel evil, like his demonic math teacher, Mrs. Dodds, or the Minotaur. It felt ancient and powerful, reminiscent of the Three Fates he had glimpsed knitting their yarn by the roadside fruit stand—definitely not human, but also not particularly interested in killing him.

Summoning his courage, he asked, “What is my destiny?”

The mist thickened, swirling more densely as it gathered around him and the table of pickled monster parts. Suddenly, four men appeared, sitting around the table, playing cards. Their faces became clearer, revealing the sneering visage of Vernon.

Harry’s fists clenched, though he knew he was just an illusion, a trick conjured from the mist.

Before Harry could say anything, Vernon turned towards him and spoke in the voice of the Oracle, all raspy,

Travel south where shadows lie,
Face the god with a mouth so wide.
In the depths, where whispers flow,
Seek the lost, but tread with woe.

A friend you trust may lead you wrong,
What you love may not stay strong.
In the end, the price you'll pay,
For what you lost along the way.

The figure began to dissolve. At first, Harry was too stunned to say anything, but as the mist retreated, coiling into a huge green serpent that slithered back into the mouth of the mummy, he cried, “Wait! What do you mean? What friend? What will I fail to save?”

The tail of the mist snake disappeared into the mummy’s mouth. She leaned back against the wall, her mouth closing tight as if it hadn’t been open in a hundred years. The attic fell silent again, abandoned, filled only with a collection of forgotten mementos.

Harry had the unsettling feeling that he could stand there until he grew cobwebs, too, and still wouldn’t learn anything more. His audience with the Oracle was over.

Chapter Text

Three Demigods, One Deadly Quest: Buckle Up for the Underworld!
"Did I mention that I'm practically a criminal?"
-

Was it safe to say the whole Oracle thing was weird? Absolutely. It was like the time Professor Trelawney had grabbed him in a trance, muttered something creepy, and left him questioning his life choices. Only this time, it wasn’t just words—it was like he was inside the prophecy. Like, literally in it, watching things unfold as if the world had suddenly decided to run on cryptic nightmare fuel.

By the time he made it back to the Big House, the ancient wooden structure seemed more intimidating than ever, casting long shadows in the fading daylight. He could feel the tension thick in the air as he approached—everyone inside was probably waiting for him to spill some epic, world-shattering prophecy about retrieving Zeus’s missing lightning bolt. The gods were weird. Weirder than Americans, which was saying something. Actually, Americans were kind of cool, he had to admit.

Stepping through the doorway, Harry was immediately greeted by Chiron’s calm but intense presence, and Ethan—who, for reasons beyond comprehension, was gnawing on a Diet Coke can.

"Well?" Chiron’s deep voice echoed in the quiet room, like he was expecting Harry to drop some ancient wisdom. No pressure or anything.

Harry folded his arms and raised a brow. “The Oracle said I'd find what’s lost.” He made sure to emphasize the word "lost" because he hadn’t stolen anything. No way. He wasn’t about to get involved in a feud with gods who could zap him into oblivion for sport.

Ethan’s grin was immediate, or at least as much of a grin as one could muster while biting into an aluminum can. “That’s great!”

Chiron, however, was unfazed. “What exactly did the Oracle say?” His eyes bored into Harry, the weight of centuries of wisdom behind them. “This is important.”

Of course, Harry remembered every word. Somehow, despite having the world’s worst memory, the prophecy stuck in his head like a bad song on repeat. “She said I’d go south and face a god with a big mouth... and that I’d find what was lost.”

“I knew it,” Ethan chimed in, but Harry didn’t miss the nervous edge to his voice as he snapped the Coke can in half with his teeth. Seriously, why was this guy allowed near sharp objects?

Chiron was still studying Harry. “Was that all?”

Harry’s stomach did a nervous flip. Nope. Not even close. But how was he supposed to tell them the rest? About a “trusted one” who would betray him? Yeah, that sounded like the beginning of a really bad day. Who could even betray him? It wasn’t like he had a lot of friends to choose from. And what about the part where he’d “fail”? Was the Oracle trying to give him an existential crisis or what?

“No,” Harry said, lying with practiced ease. Growing up with the Dursleys taught him one useful skill: how to fib without blinking. “That’s it.”

Chiron’s gaze lingered a moment longer, his expression unreadable. He had trained enough heroes to probably spot a lie from a mile away, but he didn’t press the matter. “Very well, Harry. But remember: the Oracle’s words often have double meanings. Don’t dwell on them too much. The truth will only become clear as events unfold.”

Harry nodded, trying to shake the feeling that Chiron saw right through him. “So... who’s this god in the south?”

“Think, Harry.” Chiron’s voice was calm, almost too calm. “If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain the most?”

The answer hit Harry like a cold gust of wind. “Hades,” he breathed. Of course. Lord of the Dead. The god who would probably get a kick out of a global war and a few million fresh souls to add to his collection.

Chiron nodded solemnly. “Yes. Someone who thrives on chaos and death. A war between Zeus and Poseidon would feed his power, and with the dead on his side, Hades would only grow stronger.”

Ethan looked like he might pass out, nervously shredding the remains of the soda can. “B-But... we don’t have proof that Hades is after him, right?”

Chiron’s gaze sharpened, as if he were dissecting the very air between them. “The hellhound that attacked Harry was from the Fields of Punishment. Only someone inside the camp could have summoned it. Hades must have a spy here, and he likely suspects Poseidon intends to use Harry to clear his name. If Hades believes that, he’ll want Harry dead before he even gets the chance.”

Oh, brilliant. Now two of the Big Three were gunning for him. At this rate, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if his own father decided to throw him under the proverbial bus too.

“But couldn’t the bolt just be... you know... lost somewhere random?” Ethan suggested weakly, his voice squeaking with the kind of desperation that only came from chewing metal. “Like... Hawaii?”

Harry couldn’t help it—he rolled his eyes. Yeah, sure, Ethan. The bolt’s probably just chilling on a beach, sipping piña coladas.

“Surely a hellhound attack isn’t enough proof Hades is after me?” Harry said, trying for a chuckle but failing spectacularly.

Chiron didn’t even blink. “It could be a joke, yes. But has any other monster pursued you before arriving at camp?”

“Uh... there was the Fury, a Minotaur, and... something I’m still not sure about.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.

Ethan stared at him, wide-eyed, like Harry had just grown a second head. What? Was there something on his face? He’s the one gnawing on a bloody can!

“That confirms our theory.” Chiron’s voice was too calm, as if the chaos swirling around Harry was just another day at the office.

“Wait—" Harry cut in, “it doesn’t have to be me! Draco was with me during all those attacks! Maybe they’re after him.”

The words felt strange in his mouth. He’d just called Draco his friend. Wow, who would've thought.

Chiron raised a curious eyebrow. “Where is your friend now?”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “He disappeared before my last fight with Voldemort.”

Chiron’s expression softened, but the grim look in his eyes didn’t fade. “The Oracle confirmed it, Harry. The quest is yours.”

Harry’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. He should’ve been scared. And yet, all he felt was a fierce, burning desire. Not fear—anticipation. Hades had tried to kill him four times now. Maybe he had Draco, too. And now, he was framing Harry and his father for a crime they didn’t commit. Oh, the Lord of the Dead was gonna regret it.

Yeah, calm down, hero, a sane part of his brain piped up. You’re just a kid. He’s a god. And immortal.

Ethan, meanwhile, was trembling like a leaf in the wind, nibbling furiously on the mangled can.

“Well, if we’re sure it’s Hades, why can’t we just tell the gods?” Harry asked, crossing his arms like that was the obvious solution.

Chiron sighed, the weight of millennia in his voice. “Knowing and suspecting are two different things, my boy. Even if the gods suspect Hades, they cannot act directly. The ancient laws forbid them from crossing into each other’s domains without invitation. Only heroes can go where gods cannot—heroes like you. No god will be held accountable for your actions, but a hero’s defiance can shift the balance of power.”

“So, I’m basically being used.” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I’m saying it’s no accident your father claimed you now. Poseidon is desperate, Harry. He needs you.”

His father needed him.

The words struck him harder than anything else Chiron had said. A father. He’d never had one, and now, suddenly, he did. But where was Poseidon all these years? Why now? Emotions churned inside him—anger, resentment, and a tiny, stubborn flicker of pride.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Harry asked, eyeing Chiron. “You knew I was Poseidon’s son.”

Chiron gave a slow nod. “I had my suspicions, especially after speaking with the Oracle.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay, let me get this straight. I have to go to the Underworld”—he paused for dramatic effect—“and confront the Lord of Death.”

“Check.”

“And find the most powerful weapon in existence.”

“Check.”

“And return it by the Winter Solstice... which is when?”

“December twenty-first,” Chiron confirmed.

Harry’s eyes widened. “But that’s in ten days!”

Chiron gave him a stern look that screamed no complaining. “Do you accept the quest?”

Harry hesitated. For a moment, the weight of it all hit him hard—two major gods wanted him dead. Hades was pulling all the strings, probably cackling like some cartoon villain in the underworld. But if Harry didn’t do this, the world would plunge into chaos—and guess who’d get blamed for it? Spoiler: him. As usual. And then, there was his father. Poseidon, Harry mentally corrected. Yeah, Poseidon needed him. His dad. First time for everything.

“I’ll take it,” Harry said, the words feeling heavier than a mountain on his shoulders. And just like that, he was officially on a suicide mission.

Chiron smiled like this was great news, while Ethan—his satyr friend—paled even more, if that were possible. He already looked like he’d seen a ghost, and now he was giving off major please-don't-make-me-do-this vibes.

“You’ll need two companions for the quest,” Chiron continued, his arms folding over his chest like he was about to quiz Harry on something impossible. “Tradition. Quests are always taken up by three.”

Harry blinked. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Chiron replied, as though that cleared up everything. “Now, Harry, who do you choose to accompany you on this quest? Who’s your first pick?”

Harry stared at him. And then Ethan, who was also folding his arms but in a way more nervous, twitchy fashion, like he didn’t know where to put his hands. This felt like one of those math lessons where the teacher asks the hardest question in the universe, and everyone stares at you like you’re supposed to know the answer, even though half of them are just as clueless as you. Great.

Then, Harry remembered something: Ethan needed a quest. The poor guy had been talking about wanting a second chance, and he was a pretty decent friend—if Harry was honest. Besides, Noah had been giving him these weird looks for the past few days, like Harry had a contagious disease or something.

“I’ll take Ethan,” Harry said before he could second-guess himself.

Ethan’s eyes widened like Harry had just announced his own funeral. “O-oh,” he stuttered, completely caught off guard. He looked like someone had just handed him a ticking time bomb. Honestly, Harry didn’t blame him.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Harry added quickly, mentally kicking himself for sounding so desperate. Smooth, Potter, real smooth.

“No, no, it’s not that!” Ethan shook his head, his brown curls bouncing. “It’s just… satyrs and underground places don’t exactly mix, you know?”

“So… you’ll go?” Harry asked, still not sounding any less desperate. Wow, fantastic.

Ethan hesitated for a second, then gave a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

Chiron cleared his throat, cutting through their awkward exchange. “Well, your first companion is chosen. Do you wish to pick the second?”

“Pick?” Harry echoed. What other option did he have?

“As it happens,” Chiron said, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement, “someone has volunteered to join you on this quest. That is, if you will accept her help.”

“Wait—who in their right mind would volunteer for a quest like this?”

Before Chiron could answer, a voice spoke from behind Harry, and he spun around. Charlie was suddenly there, materializing like she’d just stepped out of thin air. Her hair was tied up in a bun, stray strands framing her face, and she wore a jacket over her Camp Half-Blood shirt like she was ready to brave the arctic. Given it was winter, Harry supposed that made sense.

“I’ve been wanting to go on a quest for a while,” Charlie said, her voice full of confidence. “Athena isn’t exactly a fan of Poseidon, but if there’s anyone who’s going to keep you from losing your head, it’s me.”

Harry blinked. Wait, wasn’t this the same girl who, like, yesterday, was calling his father ‘the dirty water god’? Oh well, maybe it was a sign. “If you say so,” Harry replied, trying to sound casual. “I suppose you’ll have a plan, Ms. Quicksilver?”

Charlie flushed a little at the nickname, her cheeks pink, but she recovered quickly. “Of course I do. Athena always has a plan.”

Of course, she did. Harry actually felt a bit of relief wash over him. Truth was, he needed all the help he could get, and Charlie’s whole I’m-never-wrong-because-Athena thing was definitely reassuring. Sort of.

“A trio,” Harry said, nodding. “That’ll work.”

“Excellent,” Chiron said with a pleased smile. “This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you’re on your own.”

Lovely, Harry thought. Nothing like being completely abandoned on a quest to the underworld. No pressure or anything. “And about that god in the South?” he asked, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. “How exactly do we get to the underworld?”

“South probably means under the earth,” Charlie piped up, sounding all matter-of-fact. “The underworld is in Los Angeles.”

Oh. Harry blinked. “So… we take a plane?”

“NO!” Ethan shrieked, nearly dropping the Diet Coke can he’d been nervously gnawing on. “Harry, are you crazy? Have you ever flown on a plane in your life?”

Harry thought back to the Dursleys—his ever-so-loving relatives. Yeah, no way those people would’ve let him near a plane, let alone anything that moved faster than Dudley. “Technically… no.”

“Harry, think,” Chiron said, looking at him like he was trying to teach a very slow student. “You’re the son of the Sea God. Your father’s biggest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. You’d be flying straight into his domain. You would never come down again alive.”

Right on cue, thunder cracked overhead. Lightning flashed, as if Zeus himself was trying to get in on the conversation.

Harry cringed. Fantastic. Zeus, the god of dumb moves, he thought. How was I not dead when I flew on broomsticks at Hogwarts? Was Zeus just napping then or something?

“Okay,” Harry said, trying to sound casual. Dear gods, I’m starting to sound American. “We’ll go overland.”

As if Zeus heard him, lightning flared again, and rain started pouring down on the meadows outside, even though Camp Half-Blood was supposed to be weather-proof.

“No time to waste,” Chiron said, his voice calm despite the sudden storm. “I suggest you all get packing.”

Harry gave a nod, feeling the adrenaline pump through him. Great, let’s just hope we don’t die before we even leave the camp.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

He packed up quite quickly—not that he had anything to actually pack—just a set of extra pairs of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack that Ethan found for him. He was kinda glad that it wasn't chewed as well.

The camp store loaned him one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. He honestly had more mortal money when he was on the run with Draco. The golden drachmas were as big as those cookies that that girl scout sold; he only remembered that because Dudley had a crush on one, and when he proposed, she slapped him. Hard. They had pictures of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. They were pure gold. Chiron had told him that they had been silver before, but then the gods decided to use nothing but pure gold. Wow, greedy much? Either way, Chiron said that they might come in use in non-mortal transitions—whatever that meant. He had also given him and Charlie each a flask of nectar and an airtight bag full of ambrosia. He said that it was god food, so if they ate it in high amounts, they might end up feverish, and if they overdosed, they would burn—literally.

Charlie was also bringing her magical bracelet. She told him it was a gift from Athena on her ninth birthday. And the bracelet was Gucci. Damn, Athena was rich. She also carried a book to read whenever she got bored. Harry was surprised she assumed that they might get the time to get bored; they were going on a quest to the Underworld, not a vacation to the Maldives. She also had a long bronze knife—made of celestial bronze, to be precise. Celestial bronze is one of the only metals that can kill monsters, by the way. Thalassa, and probably Draco's sword, were made of celestial bronze as well. And Harry was damn sure that the bronze knife, which she hid in her jacket sleeve, would get them exposed as soon as they walked through a metal detector.

Oh yeah, Thalassa. That was taken by Chiron, by the way. He said that it was better for him to have it rather than Harry, claiming it was something important and Harry shouldn't have it. That was very unfortunate for him.

Ethan wore his fake feet and trousers. Oh yeah, he had goat legs. Did he forget to tell you that? Either way, for him to pass as human, he had to wear them. He wore his beanie, like usual, to hide his tiny horns. They were only visible when his curly blonde hair was reallyyy flattened. He also wore a jacket; guess goats also feel cold. He took a bright orange backpack, filled with apples and tons of different scrap metals he borrowed from the Hephaestus cabin to snack on. He also took a xylophone, something his mommy goat had given him. He hadn't seen Ethan play, so he couldn't really judge.

They bid their goodbyes to the other campers and took one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House. Not that Harry felt nostalgic; at least this was better than getting kicked out of one’s own school without any reason.

They reached the gates of the camp, where a dragon kept guard. Ethan told Harry that he was like a security guard for the camp, preventing any sort of monster from entering. He wished he could stop them from being summoned as well.

There, Chiron was waiting for them in a wheelchair as well, along with a surfer dude. (Bro, this is more proof that he's turning American.) Harry had seen him while he was recovering in the infirmary. According to Ethan, the guy was the camp’s head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body, so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he was wearing a chauffeur’s uniform, so Harry could only see extra peepers on his hands, face, and neck.

"This is Argus," Chiron told them. "He will drive you to the city and, er, keep an eye on things."

The three of them nodded, but he was probably the only one who wasn't aware of this, then heard footsteps coming from behind.

"Hey!" the voice said as Harry turned back to see Noah. "Glad I managed to catch up with you."

Harry smiled awkwardly. What was he supposed to do?

Charlie and Ethan smiled as well, and Noah continued, "Just wanted to say good luck." He ruffled Harry's already messy hair. "You'll do great."

"I know." Charlie said as she smiled. What was up with her?

Noah smirked slyly at her and hugged her as well. "Come on, Charl, don't be so stiff."

Charlie tried to get out of his embrace, but it was obvious she liked it. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Noah also bid the three goodbye as he went back into camp, and Harry said, "You love him, don't you?"

Charlie choked as her face turned bright red. "What?"

Well, shit. He didn't mean it like that—like, brotherly love. Not love love.

"I meant you love him like a brother, yeah, right?" he corrected himself.

"Yeah," Charlie replied, and Ethan probably felt like a third wheel at that moment.

The three of them walked, but Chiron grabbed him and told the others that he'd join them soon.

He probably wanted to talk about something. "I should have trained you better, Harry," he said. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason—they all got more training."

"Oh, that's fine. I just wish—"

Harry stopped himself before he made himself sound like a completely spoiled brat. He was about to say that he wished his father had given him some sort of magical object as well, like Charlie's mother had. Ethan also had the weird ability to tell where they were if they were at a place that had a lot of greenery. Harry had no clue how to even control water—

"What am I thinking?" Chiron broke his trail of thoughts. "I should give this to you."

He then reached into the pocket of the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing, which had a sign saying "My other car is a centaur," and took out a bracelet. At first, Harry was confused, but then realized what it was:

Thalassa.

Shee, he forgot to change its name. Either way, he gasped as he took the bracelet in his hands again, the blue in it reminding him of the oceans. The design made it quite clear.

"This was your father's," he said. "It is rightfully yours, as his son."

"Thanks." Harry was sure he was grinning like an idiot.

"Use it wisely," Chiron said. "Only for emergencies and on monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but this sword wouldn’t harm them in any case."

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"This sword is also made of celestial bronze. I'm sure Charlie told you that," Chiron explained. "Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It’s deadly to monsters and to any creature from the Underworld, provided they don’t kill you first. But the blade will pass through mortals like an illusion. They simply are not important enough for the blade to kill. And I should warn you: as a demigod, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

"Good to know," Harry said as he gulped.

He clicked the button that switched Thalassa—which meant sea, by the way—into a sword and held it in his arm. That sword actually felt balanced now. He couldn't find a sword that was perfectly balanced in his arms during his sword-fighting lessons with Aditi and the rest of the Hermes cabin.

"Now, now turn it back," Chiron said.

He did as told and held the bracelet tightly in his arms. Sadly, it wasn't Gucci, unlike Charlie's, but hey, his was cooler. The main problem? If he lost this, he was a professional at losing things.

"You won't," Chiron said, as if reading his thoughts.

"What?"

"You won't lose it," Chiron repeated. "It would come back to you. You can try it."

Harry nodded as he threw the bracelet as far as possible. He saw it disappear into the grass of the hill. After a few moments, it reappeared in his arms. "Woah, that's cool."

More reason why his bracelet was cooler than Charlie's.

For the first time, the quest felt real. He was actually leaving Half-Blood Hill. He was heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone. (Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if they used one, it would be worse than sending up a flare.) He had no weapon stronger than a sword to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead.

He walked down the hill to catch up with the other two and looked back to see Chiron standing next to the dragon. It was just your typical thirteen-year-old summer adventure with your typical centaur sending you away to the Underworld. So normal.

They got into the car that looked more like a cab, with Argus driving them. He drove them out of the countryside into the western side of Long Island. It felt very weird to be on a highway again, with Charlie and Ethan sitting next to him like normal passengers. After two whole weeks at Camp Half-Blood, the real world felt like a fantasy. He hadn't felt like that after Hogwarts, so it explained how different it was from it. Hogwarts wasn't as shocking as all of this was. And he didn't really have the time to accept the changes.

He found himself staring at every  McDonald’s(gods, he really needed a burger), every kid in the back of his parents’ car, every billboard and shopping mall, as he leaned against the car window, the sunlight directly hitting his face. It would probably snow in a few days or so.

"So far so good." He said to no one particularly, "Ten miles and not a single monster."

Charlie gave him an irritated look, "It's bad luck to talk like that, you dumbass."

"Why do you hate me so much?" Harry complained.

"I don’t hate you."

"Could've fooled me."

She fidgeted with her braclet, "Look, we are not supposed to get along, at all. Our parents are rivals."

"Why?"

She sighed. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena’s temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."

"They must really like olives."

"Oh, forget it."

"Now, if she’d invented pizza – that I could understand."

"I said, forget it!"

In the front seat, Argus wore a subtle smile. He didn’t speak, but one blue eye on the back of his neck gave a playful wink at Harry. Traffic crawled through Queens, and by the time they reached Manhattan, the sun was dipping below the horizon, with a light snow beginning to fall.

Argus dropped them off at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, just as Chiron had instructed. Harry adjusted his clothes and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. In front of him, a poster caught his eye—his photo plastered on it with the words: “If you see this boy, report him to the police immediately.”

A wave of memories washed over him, recalling the frantic escape from the police before arriving at Camp Half-Blood. He turned to the others and said with a smirk, “Did I mention I’m practically a criminal?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Whispers in the Stone: A Demigod's Next Meal Might Be His Last
"Fucking run, Harry!"
-

One good thing about being a demigod? You can just blame the gods for everything.

When a perfectly good bus gets blown to bits by lightning while you're riding it on what should’ve been a vacation, most people would call that really bad luck. But as a demigod? Yeah, it’s just a divine force trying really hard to ruin your day.

Harry was still processing the whole “bus explosion” thing, staring blankly at the smoking wreckage they’d barely escaped from. Zeus  despised him—at least that was one thing he was sure of. Harry glanced at the others, trying to get a grip on his nerves. It had to be around nine o'clock. Probably. They didn’t know for sure because not one of them thought to bring a watch, each assuming the other would. Now, here they were in the middle of a forest in December, with no food, no money, no timepiece, and absolutely no heat. Oh, and it was snowing.

Fantastic.

The moon was their only source of light, casting an eerie glow on the snow-covered ground. Harry was beginning to really hate snow. “Crazy, really, that all three of the Kindly Ones attacked us,” Ethan said, breaking the silence.

Harry blinked. Yeah, sure. No big deal. Just another Tuesday.

“I’m still kinda stuck on the whole ‘bus exploding’ part,” Harry muttered, half in shock, half annoyed. “Zeus seriously hates me.”

Up ahead, Charlie was leading the way, marching through the snow like she hadn’t noticed it was freezing. “We’re almost to the road, probably,” she said. Harry wasn’t so sure she actually knew where they were headed, considering she’d been stuck at camp for ages before this quest. Not exactly an expert in getting out of the woods.

“We left all our money and food back there, you know,” Harry pointed out, hoping she wasn’t leading them to some restaurant they couldn’t even afford.

Charlie turned to him, rolling her eyes. “And whose fault is that? You’re the one who jumped into the fight.”

Harry shot her a glare. “What was I supposed to do, let you get killed by a grandma with wings?”

“I didn’t need you to protect me,” Charlie shot back, voice sharp. “I would've been fine without you.”

“Yeah, sliced up like a sandwich,” Ethan added with a snort, clearly not sensing the tension between them.

Charlie glared at Ethan. “Shut up.”

He did, but only after muttering under his breath, “We lost perfectly good tin cans…”

Tin cans? Seriously? We almost died on a bus, and the only thing on his mind is tin cans? Harry bit back a groan. The snow was falling faster, and the further they walked, the more it felt like trudging through a frozen wasteland. Every step felt heavier, his shoes soaking up the icy slush. Poseidon really couldn’t give me a boost here? Maybe some frost resistance?

After a few minutes of navigating through the trees, they caught up to Charlie, the forest thinning out enough for all three of them to walk side by side. She slowed down, glancing over at Harry, her voice softer this time. “Look...I appreciate you coming back for us. That was really brave.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “We’re a team, right?”

Charlie blinked at him, surprised for a moment before her expression softened. “Yeah. It’s just...if you’d died, my one shot at seeing the real world would’ve been over. This quest would be over.”

“You really haven’t been out in the world since you were seven?” Harry asked, glancing at Ethan, who was distracted, probably by a squirrel or something.

“Not really. Except for some short trips with my dad,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost as if the thought itself was too heavy.

That’s...kinda sad. Not that I’m any better. Harry thought about the Dursleys and how they never let him go anywhere or do anything. It was weird how much he could relate to Charlie. “Yeah, I get it,” he found himself saying before he could stop. “My relatives...they didn’t really let me out much either.”

Charlie looked at him, her eyes softening a little more. “Guess we’re more alike than I thought, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, the word barely audible.

“Cans!” Ethan’s sudden shout broke the quiet moment as he dived into the snow, triumphantly holding up a tin can like it was some rare treasure.

“Don’t eat that!” Charlie screeched, grabbing it from him before he could even attempt something gross. “That’s disgusting.”

“Rude,” Ethan grumbled, shooting her a pout while Harry chuckled.

Harry tripped on a hidden root for what felt like the hundredth time. Being the son of Poseidon should at least come with night vision, right? He sniffed, suddenly catching a whiff of something—something that made his mouth water. Fried food. Greasy, excellent fried food. He glanced up, eyes catching sight of a neon sign flickering in the distance.

Finally, something good! It had been forever since he’d eaten any fast food. Camp Half-Blood’s diet consisted of grapes, cheese, bread, weird nymph-prepared barbeque, and, you guessed it, more grapes. What he wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger.

“There!” Ethan shouted, pointing like he’d just found the Holy Grail. Across two deserted roads was a run-down gas station, and next to it, the fast-food joint with the glowing sign.

It wasn’t quite what Harry had expected. The restaurant looked more like an Indian-style diner, with random statues of people frozen in shock outside. They were incredibly detailed—so much so that whoever made them had serious talent.

“What does it say?” Harry squinted, trying to make sense of the broken letters. “UNAT EAM’S ATSF-ODOF? What?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Oh, right. She had dyslexia too, even though she loved reading. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Draco was dyslexic too. If he was, it was a miracle he still managed to top all their classes.

Ethan, surprisingly, came to the rescue. “Aunt Mea’s Fast-Food,” he translated. Harry hoped it wasn’t secretly Aunt Mae’s Demigod Menu, because he was not in the mood to be the special.

They crossed the road, trudging through the snow toward the statues. Ethan stopped in front of one and tilted his head. “Hey...this one kinda looks like my dad.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. It was a statue of a stern-looking guy with huge goat horns, dressed in human clothes. The face wasn’t terrified like the others. Just stern, trying not to show any emotion.

“Ethan, come on!” Charlie called, already heading for the restaurant. “I’m starving.”

Ethan hesitated, frowning at the statue. “Uh...guys? Maybe we should leave. I think I smell a monster.”

Charlie rolled her eyes and dragged him toward the door. “Your nose is probably clogged with Fury stink. Come on!”

Harry followed, his stomach growling in agreement. Monster or not, I need a cheeseburger.

They knocked on the door, and an old lady emerged. She looked Middle Eastern, her black dress elegant and flowing, a hat with a veil covering most of her face. Her hands, though wrinkled with age, were perfectly manicured.

“Oh, dears,” she said, her voice like a lullaby, “what are you three doing out here so late? Where are your parents?”

Harry almost blurted out ‘dead,’ but bit his tongue, suddenly reminded that, technically, he had a dad now. But Charlie spoke up first.

“We’re...uh...orphans,” she said quickly.

“Oh, you poor things.” The woman’s face softened with sympathy. “How did you end up here?”

“We got separated from our circus caravan,” Harry said, shrugging casually. “Our ringmaster told us to meet at a gas station, but...wrong one, I guess.”

Charlie nodded, trying to look pitiful. “And we don’t have anywhere to stay for the night.”

The woman’s eyes filled with warmth and pity. “Oh, dears, you can stay here! Come inside, out of the cold! I'm aunt Mea.”

They shuffled into the restaurant as Aunt Mea ushered them inside. The warmth hit Harry like a cozy blanket after a freezing day, and he was grateful to be out of the snow. The room was much bigger than he expected, with random pictures of exotic places and loads of chairs scattered about. In the middle of the room stood the biggest table, surrounded by six chairs. Aunt Mea motioned for them to sit, and they didn’t need to be told twice.

The place was odd, though—filled with statues. It was like a gallery mashed with a diner, and Harry could already feel the strangeness crawling up his spine. It almost made him forget how hungry he was. Almost.

Charlie slid into a chair, faking an innocent look. “So, uh, circus caravan, Harry?”

Harry smirked, leaning back like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Always have a backup plan, don’t I?”

“Yeah, a backup plan full of crap,” Charlie muttered, eyeing the statues as if one of them was about to come to life. “This place is weird.”

Meanwhile, Harry’s stomach growled loudly, cutting through the awkward silence. He could practically smell the cheeseburgers coming.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first,” he teased.

Before Charlie could reply, Ethan interrupted nervously, his eyes darting toward the old lady. “Uh, miss… we don’t have any money.”

Oh for the love of Zeus, Harry thought, sending Ethan a death glare that practically screamed really, dude?

But Aunt Mea waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, children. No need for money. This is my treat for such brave little orphans.”

Charlie’s eyebrows raised slightly, her eyes narrowing. Something about the way Aunt Mea said “orphans” rubbed Harry the wrong way, but he shrugged it off. Maybe the lady was just being… I don’t know, polite? Creepy, but polite.

“Thank you,” Charlie said, though her voice sounded strained.

Aunt Mea disappeared behind the snack counter, and soon enough, the smell of burgers and fries hit them full force. Harry’s mouth watered as the old lady came back, handing over plastic trays with double cheeseburgers, fries, and vanilla shakes that looked heavenly.

Harry tore into his burger like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Honestly, he didn’t even care about breathing right now—just food. Sweet, greasy, heart-stopping food. Across from him, Charlie was cautiously sipping her shake, and Ethan was staring at his fries as if they might bite him back.

Ethan’s head suddenly jerked up. “What’s that hissing sound?”

Harry paused mid-bite. “What hissing?”

Aunt Mea, still lurking near the counter, gave a sweet smile. “It’s just the deep fryer, dear. You’ve got sharp ears, haven’t you?”

Ethan blushed. Great, now she’s buttering him up, Harry thought, trying to drown his discomfort in more fries. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Really off.

Aunt Mea just stood there, watching them eat, not touching a single thing herself. The veil over her face didn’t move, and she didn’t even sit down. Just… stared.

Harry swallowed his last bite, ignoring the chills creeping down his spine. “So, uh… you sell statues?”

Aunt Mea’s face brightened, like he’d just asked the most interesting question ever. “Oh yes, dear. I used to run a Garden Gnome Emporium, but that business dwindled when the highway opened up. Now, I make statues and run this little place.”

“Nice.” Harry glanced around again, finally noticing that all the statues looked terrified. Like, frozen-in-horror terrified. One statue of a girl with a dog caught his attention—her face twisted in pure fear. He quickly looked away, feeling a bit queasy. “You, uh… make them yourself?”

“Oh yes, all by myself. I used to have help—two sisters—but they’re gone now. Faded away. Now I only have my statues, my only company.”

Harry paused mid-bite, suddenly uneasy. There was something in Aunt Mea’s tone, something that made his stomach twist, and it definitely wasn’t the burger.

Charlie, always the skeptic, narrowed her eyes. “Two sisters?”

Aunt Mea sighed, the sound so heavy it seemed to make the very air in the diner sag with sorrow. “A tragic story, dear. Not one for children. But, I suppose, since you asked—” she wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye, “Long ago, a jealous woman envied me. She hated that I had a boyfriend, so she set out to destroy me. Her rage, her fury, caused a terrible accident. My sisters—they stood by me through it all, but even they couldn’t escape. They… faded away, one by one. Now, it’s just me. Alone. My statues are all I have left.”

Harry felt an odd mix of pity and… suspicion? It wasn’t the kind of story you’d expect an old lady to drop over a milkshake, and something about it just didn’t sit right. Like when you think you see something in the corner of your eye but then, poof, it’s gone. Or maybe it was just the cheeseburger sitting heavy in his gut.

“We should go,” Charlie said suddenly, her voice tight, her smile strained like a thread stretched to its breaking point. She stood abruptly, clutching her glass as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. “The ringmaster will be waiting.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Ethan chimed in, practically launching out of his chair with a loud screech. His movements were quick, jittery, like something was gnawing at him beneath his skin. “We don’t want him getting mad.”

But Harry couldn’t bring himself to move. His body felt sluggish, heavy, as if every limb had been filled with thick syrup, and his stomach sat contentedly full. The warmth of the diner wrapped around him, lulling him into a sense of safety he didn’t want to shake off. Besides, Aunt Mea had been so kind. She’d given them a feast—why was Charlie being so rude, so... ungrateful?

“Please, dears.” Aunt Mea’s soft, pleading voice broke through the air, and Harry felt a pang in his chest as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I so rarely have visitors. Stay just a little longer. Before you go, won’t you indulge an old woman with a small favor? A pose, perhaps?”

“A pose?” Charlie’s voice was sharp as she froze mid-reach for her coat, her brow knitting together.

“Yes, just for a photograph,” Aunt Mea cooed, her smile widening, revealing too-perfect teeth that gleamed under the flickering diner lights. “Children are such a rarity these days, and a statue of you three would be... divine.”

Harry noticed the way Charlie stiffened beside him, her jaw clenching. “We really need to get going. Thanks for the offer, but—”

“Why not?” Harry interrupted, his own voice coming out sharper than intended. His irritation flared, sudden and hot, as he shot Charlie a glare. What was her problem? It was just a photo, a harmless little picture. “It’s not a big deal. What’s the harm?”

“Yeah, Charlie,” Aunt Mea’s voice took on a sickly-sweet tone, dripping with false kindness. “No harm at all.”

Charlie sent him a look—a look filled with warning—but Aunt Mea had already glided to the backdoor, leading them outside into the biting cold. They stepped into her bizarre garden of stone statues, each one eerily lifelike under the pale glow of the overhead neon sign. The snow was still falling, soft and slow, coating the statues in a thin layer of frost, and the silence was unnerving, like the world had stopped breathing.

Harry shivered as he looked around. The statues seemed to loom over them, their eyes blank and hollow, but... watching. His skin prickled with unease, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, yet the comfortable fog from earlier still clung to him, thick and heavy.

“This is weird,” Ethan muttered, glancing nervously at the nearest statue, a stone satyr with wide, blank eyes. “That kinda looks like... my dad?”

Harry’s stomach twisted at the mention. The satyr’s expression—frozen in terror—was unsettling, but surely, it was just a coincidence.

“Where’s your camera?” Charlie asked, her voice a little too stiff as she stood rooted to the spot, eyes flicking between Aunt Mea and the statues.

“I’ll fetch it in a moment, dear,” Aunt Mea replied smoothly, stepping back to admire them as though she were studying a piece of art. “But first... just a smile, if you would. The face is always the most important part.”

Ethan shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back to the satyr. “Seriously, Harry, this is starting to freak me out.”

“Ethan, dear, eyes on me,” Aunt Mea purred, her voice like velvet, oozing sweetness that left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. His head felt foggy again, the warmth from the diner mixing with the chill in the air, clouding his thoughts. Something was wrong. But it was hard to care.

Charlie moved closer to him, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Harry, something’s not right.”

Not right? What was she talking about? Harry fought against the strange lethargy that weighed down his mind. Aunt Mea was just a sweet old woman, wasn’t she? Charlie was always so paranoid, seeing danger where there was none.

But a small voice, buried deep in the back of his mind, whispered that something was very wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong, dear,” Aunt Mea’s voice hummed in his head, low and soothing, like a lullaby pulling him deeper into the haze. “You’re such lovely orphans. You’ve made an old woman so happy. What could possibly be wrong?”

Harry’s eyelids drooped, his body growing heavier with each second. The cold air wrapped around him, numbing his senses, yet he still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was terribly off.

Aunt Mea stepped closer, her movements unnaturally smooth, her hands lifting toward them with an eerie grace. Harry’s gaze flicked to her fingers—long, unnaturally long, the joints cracking as they bent at impossible angles, the skin splitting and stretching like brittle parchment.

Charlie’s breath hitched beside him. “Harry, don’t look at her! Ethan, don’t—”

Ethan’s sharp intake of breath sliced through the fog in Harry’s mind, jerking him back to reality. “That statue—it’s my dad!”

Charlie’s voice was a panicked hiss, “Run!”

Before Harry could react, she clicked her bracelet and vanished into thin air, leaving a gust of wind in her wake. The next thing Harry knew, invisible hands shoved him hard, knocking him to the ground just as a sharp pain shot through his chest. He grunted, disoriented as his head spun from the fall.

Above him, a rasping sound echoed in the still night, like scales scraping across stone. Dazed, Harry’s eyes drifted upward, toward Aunt Mea’s face—

'No. Don’t look,' the voice in his mind screamed, but the temptation was so strong, the pull so enticing. Just one look... what harm could it do?

“Come now, Harry,” Aunt Mea’s voice was a whisper, sickly sweet and far too close to his ear. “It’s alright. Just one little peek, and we’ll be together forever.”

Charlie’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and desperate. “No! Don’t!”

With a choked gasp, Harry yanked his gaze away at the last second, the trance snapping like a rubber band. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his breath coming in shallow bursts. Something shifted in the air—cold, sharp, dangerous—and that scraping sound, the rasping hiss, grew louder.

Unable to resist, Harry’s gaze darted to the broken car beside him. The fractured mirror caught a glimpse of Aunt Mea’s reflection, and his blood ran cold.

Her hair—if you could even call it that—was a writhing mass of tiny, serpentine creatures, each one slithering and hissing, their dark grey scales gleaming ominously in the faint light. Their eyes, venomous and glistening, moved with terrifying speed, locking onto anything that moved. Aunt Mea’s face—now twisted into something grotesque—was a gaunt, deathly pale mask, the skin stretched too tight, her eyes glowing a monstrous grey. Blood trickled down from tiny bites across her face, staining her cheeks in dark red rivulets.

Harry’s stomach lurched. How could he have been so stupid?

Aunt Mea.

Mea.

Medusa.

Chapter Text

Awakening the Beast Within: A Dance of Destiny and Danger
"You have your father's eyes."
-

How did Medusa die in the myth? How... how was it again?

For fuck’s sake, why did everything important have to disappear when it was needed? Where was Draco when he actually needed him... Oh, right. Medusa died when some hero named Perseus killed her in her sleep. But the real problem was: she wasn’t asleep right now.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. How was he supposed to kill her without looking at where he was aiming? His hands were slick with sweat, and the bracelet felt heavy, so heavy. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but that wasn’t an option.

"The grey-eyed goddess did this to me, Harry," Medusa's voice slithered through the air, sharp and melodic, cutting off his frantic thoughts. Her words sent a shiver down his spine, as he almost—almost—looked directly at her again. Her voice was doing something weird to his brain, like a lullaby designed to drag you under, no matter how hard you fought it. It was dangerous. It was making him want to look at her. "Charlie's mother, the bitch Athena, did this to me. She turned me from a beautiful woman into... this."

Harry blinked, his heart twisting for a moment. He almost felt bad for her. She sounded so... sad. So broken. If he didn’t know about the statues around them—real people, transformed by this wretched woman into stone—he might’ve pitied her.

"HARRY, DON'T LISTEN TO HER!" Charlie’s voice rang through the suffocating silence of the restaurant. Her shout echoed off the stone walls of the cursed gallery, but Harry wished there weren’t so many stupid statues around. If it was a normal restaurant, maybe they could’ve just run away. But no, this had to be a literal death trap.

"Shut up, you insolent child!" Medusa hissed, her voice losing that sickly-sweet tone and becoming something darker, raspy, like nails on a chalkboard. Harry winced as the words dug into his ears. "You see, Harry, this is why I have to kill the girl. She’s as arrogant and prideful as her mother. She is the daughter of my destroyer. I will crush her into dust. But you, Harry, you don’t need to suffer."

"No..." Harry muttered, but it was weak. His legs felt like they were made of stone, and no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t move.

"Tell me, Hadrien Potter," she said, her voice slipping back into that dangerous lullaby tone. It wrapped around his mind like a fog. "Do you really wish to help the gods? Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen when you reach the underworld to find... Don't be a pawn of the Olympians, dear. It’s better to be a statue than to face endless pain..."

Harry didn’t know how she knew about their quest—how she knew they were going to the underworld—but his mind barely registered the thought. Why should he care? Why did it matter? His thoughts were slipping away, his grip on reality loosening, then—

"Fucking duck, Harry!" Ethan’s voice roared from behind him, cutting through the fog in his brain like a sharp knife.

It took everything in him to duck, his limbs sluggish like they were trapped in molasses. He barely processed Ethan flying toward Medusa, his leg connecting with her face. She let out a furious hiss of pain. Harry could only guess that Ethan had his eyes shut tight, somehow navigating by sound and scent alone. Impressive, but Harry was too dazed to appreciate it fully.

"You fucking bastard!" Medusa spat, her voice shaking with fury. "I’ll add you to my collection!"

Harry’s breath hitched, panic rising like bile in his throat. It was like one of those moments in a horror documentary, where the serial killer smiles maniacally, shouting the most vulgar, chilling things as they close in on their victim. He had to move, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Sliding further back, Harry hid behind a table, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His heart pounded so loudly he thought it might burst out of his chest. His vision blurred slightly, but he managed to stay conscious, somehow.

"This one’s for killing my father, you monster!" Ethan’s voice boomed again.

Harry blinked, forcing himself to stay present.

"ARGH!" Medusa screamed in agony, and was it bad that Harry felt a little... relieved? Good, even?

"Harry!" A voice whispered urgently in his ear, making him jump.

"Jeez, Charlie." He whispered back, his voice shaking. His whole body trembled. "Warn me next time."

"Sorry." Charlie’s voice was tight with fear, but she stayed calm. He heard the click of her invisibility charm as she appeared beside him. "You need to kill her."

"What?" Harry almost shouted but managed to keep it to a hoarse whisper. "Me? Why me?"

"Ethan lost his sword in the explosion," she said, her words coming out in a nervous rush, "And she hates me. She’ll cut me to pieces the moment she sees me. You have a better weapon. She doesn’t hate you like she hates me. You’ve... you’ve got a chance."

Harry stared at her, heart hammering in his chest. He knew she was right. She was always right, which made it worse. Why couldn’t she be wrong this time? Why did he have to do it? His thoughts spiraled, but there wasn’t time for a breakdown. Ethan could die. He couldn’t let another person die to save him.

"Okay," he breathed, nodding, even though his stomach churned with fear.

"Good," Charlie whispered, exhaling shakily. She grabbed a shiny green plate lying next to them. "A polished shield would’ve been better, but this will do. The convexity will distort the reflection a little, but it should—"

"Speak in English, will you?" Harry urged, glancing over at Ethan, who was now wielding a tree branch and swatting at Medusa blindly, missing as many swings as he landed.

"I am speaking English!" Charlie snapped, eyes wide and frantic. "Just—just look at the plate. Never look at her directly, Harry. Ever."

She looked at him with a desperate intensity, her fear barely held back. It wasn’t just fear for herself. It was fear for him, for Ethan. She wasn’t thinking about personal gain. She wanted them to survive.

"She’s unconscious, you two!" Ethan shouted from the fight, but then Medusa let out a roar so deep and terrifying that Harry flinched. "Okay, maybe not!"

"Ethan’s good with his nose," Charlie muttered, her eyes darting between Harry and the chaotic fight, "But he’ll eventually crash."

Harry clicked the bracelet on his wrist, and his sword, Thalassa, materialized in his hand. The blade glowed with a soft, blue light that flickered like the ocean at dusk. He gripped it tightly, sweat dripping from his palms, somehow giving him more hold on the sword instead of making it slip.

Why was he so scared? He’d fought monsters before, worse ones than this. But this fear... it felt different. And he knew why. Deep down, he knew.

It was the voice. It reminded him of his mother’s from that dream.

He shut his eyes tight, walking backward, following the hissing noises from Medusa. When he felt close enough, he opened his eyes, looking only at the plate. Her reflection stared back at him—her terrifying, twisted reflection.

Medusa looked just as broken as the statues she created. Tortured. Hurt. She couldn’t possibly have once been a beautiful woman... right?

Ethan fought on, swiping with the branch, missing almost half of his swings, but still landing enough to make Medusa wince and hiss in pain. Then, with one sudden movement, Medusa caught the branch and hurled Ethan toward a smashed car, half-buried in the wreckage of the gallery. He barely avoided a crash.

"HEY!" Harry yelled as he advanced, his voice shaking but loud enough to catch her attention. He hoped—no, prayed—that Medusa wouldn’t charge him like some kind of lunatic, because defending himself with a plate and a sword while walking backward like Michael Jackson would be a disaster.

Fortunately, she didn’t. She let him approach, her eyes glowing, venomous.

Ten meters turned into five. Five turned into two.

Harry could see her reflection clearly now. Her face... it wasn’t as grotesque as he thought it would be. It was broken, yes, but it almost—almost—made him pity her. She didn’t look like a monster. She looked like someone who’d been tortured and twisted by fate.

"You wouldn’t harm an old lady, would you, Harry?" Medusa crooned, her voice softening. Her eyes, now green in the reflection, looked sad. Kind. Harry felt his resolve waver.

She wasn’t a monster. Was she?

"HARRY!" Ethan’s voice snapped him out of his daze. "DON’T LISTEN TO HER!"

His trance shattered again, shaking him to his core, but not in time to save him from lunging forward. The sword in his hand sliced through the air as he twisted back toward her, eyes clenched tightly shut. It was supposed to be a clean strike, the kind heroes in myths made when they decapitated monsters without a second thought. But it wasn’t. He heard her voice, soft, broken, as the blade hovered just shy of her neck.

"You’re as sweet as your mother."

The words cut through him like ice. His grip faltered, trembling as if the sword had suddenly turned molten hot. Instinct screamed at him to look, to open his eyes and confront her. But he didn’t—he couldn’t. Instead, his breath hitched in his throat, and he forced the words out, low and venomous.

"How do you know her?" His voice cracked slightly, the tip of the blade hovering inches from her throat. Every fiber of his being wanted to lash out, to end this nightmare, but something about her tone—so mournful, so human—stopped him.

"I met her once," Medusa whispered, her words trembling with something that sounded eerily close to regret. "By accident, when you were just a baby. I didn’t kill her... didn’t turn her into stone. She was kind... so kind. She reminded me of myself once, long ago, when I too loved the same god." She swallowed hard, her voice breaking as though the memories were poison. "You may kill me, and I will regenerate, but please... before you do... know this."

Harry’s knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

"You are as kind as your mother." Her voice cracked like dry leaves in the wind. "But your eyes... your eyes are your father’s."

The words hit him like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else. The air around him seemed to freeze, his heart skipping a beat. He’d always heard it the other way around—his mother’s eyes, his father’s everything else. But hearing it twisted like this, from a monster no less, felt like someone had just ripped open an old wound he didn’t even know existed.

"HARRY!" Charlie’s voice rang out, sharp and frantic, barely cutting through the fog of emotions that clouded his mind. "DO IT!"

Harry’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. His grip tightened around the sword, and without a second thought, he plunged it forward, driving the blade through Medusa’s neck. The sickening crunch of bone and flesh met his ears, but he felt... numb. He didn’t feel like a hero. He didn’t feel like anything.

A soft thud hit the floor as Medusa’s head rolled away, lifeless eyes staring off into nothingness. But the body didn’t crumble into golden dust like other monsters. It stayed, solid and grotesque, lying there like a monument to his choice.

Harry staggered backward, breathing ragged, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the world around him. He didn’t feel relieved. He didn’t feel victorious. Just hollow.

"Ew." A voice next to him cut through the silence, startling him. Harry flinched, his head snapping toward the sound. Ethan stood beside him, eyes fixed on Medusa’s beheaded corpse, a look of utter disgust on his face.

"That’s... that’s disgusting."

For a moment, Harry couldn’t process it. The casualness of Ethan’s words jarred against the emotional storm raging inside him. He felt a rising nausea, not just from the sight of Medusa’s body but from the realization that the words she’d spoken would linger, festering in the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

Run for the Trees: A Demigod's Worst Escape Plan
"They're here."
-

They were spending the night at Medusa's house. You know, the same Medusa who had just tried to turn them into stone. As depressing as the thought was, they didn’t exactly have a choice. A snowstorm was raging outside—one of those blizzards that could turn you into an ice sculpture if you even blinked wrong. Ethan had his fuzzy goat legs to keep him warm, but Harry and Charlie? Yeah, they were not that lucky.

Harry could feel the cold seeping through his bones, and he couldn’t figure out why. Britain is colder than the US, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. So why did it feel like he was freezing to death now? Maybe it wasn’t just the weather. Maybe it was the fact that his life had gone from bad to "you’re-about-to-die" dangerous, and the anxiety was making everything feel worse.

Charlie, meanwhile, was shivering like mad, which was probably because she didn’t pack anything warm. Good going, genius. Though Harry couldn’t really throw stones—he hadn’t planned for this either. None of them had.

They decided to sleep in shifts—because, let’s be real, Harry was basically a neon sign for monsters: Demigod here! Come get your dinner! No waiting necessary! Of course, it only made sense for him to stay up first.

“I’m taking first shift,” Harry declared, pulling his jacket tighter around him like that would somehow stop the cold.

“No, you’re not,” Charlie shot back, crossing her arms. She was shaking less now, probably getting used to the cold.

“Why not?” Harry slurred, the words feeling heavy on his tongue.

Charlie gave him a look, the kind that screamed seriously? “Because you’re drugged, Harry.”

“So what?” Harry rolled his eyes—which made the room do a little spin, but he was just gonna pretend that didn’t happen. “I can still watch for monsters.”

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie said, her gray eyes narrowing like she could read all his thoughts at once. “Can you even tell how many fingers I’m holding up?”

She raised her hand—one hand, he thought—but there were too many fingers, or maybe not enough. They blurred together. Two? Three? Five? “Uh, three,” he guessed, trying to sound confident.

“Wow. Nope.” Charlie shook her head, her voice lined with frustration and a hint of worry she probably thought she was hiding. “It’s two. You’re clearly not okay.”

“Can you two shut up for five minutes?” Ethan groaned from behind a pile of cans. Yeah, cans. Apparently, satyrs could chew through them like popcorn. “You’re giving me a migraine, and satyrs don’t even get migraines.”

“Tell Harry to go to sleep, then I’ll shut up,” Charlie huffed, throwing a glare in Harry’s direction.

Ethan stepped out from his trash heap, brushing off crumbs and... whatever else he’d been eating. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Harry crossed his arms, though it was mostly to stop himself from swaying. “It’s only fair I take the first shift.”

Ethan shrugged like he didn’t care. “Yeah, except you’re drugged, and you probably couldn’t tell a hellhound from a police dog right now.”

“I can!” Harry shot back, though now he was genuinely annoyed. He wasn’t that drugged, right?

“You can’t even count fingers,” Charlie deadpanned.

“Exactly,” Ethan added, before grabbing Harry by the arm and half-dragging him to their makeshift sleeping area.

The warmer part of the restaurant—if you could even call it warm—was in the serving area. They’d scavenged random pieces of fabric and old clothes to make some kind of sad, patchwork blanket fort. It wasn’t going to win any awards, but at least they wouldn’t freeze into statues like the guests-turned-stone figures scattered around the place. Ethan had managed to cut himself earlier while wrestling a pillow out from behind one of those unlucky frozen souls. Because why not add more chaos?

“Now sleep,” Ethan ordered. “The last thing I need is you hallucinating monsters and waking us all up.”

Harry wanted to argue. Really, he did. But his eyelids were already starting to droop, and everything was getting fuzzy again.

Just one night at Medusa’s. What could go wrong?

Literally everything, Harry’s brain whispered. But he was already too tired to care.

He passed out anyway.


Harry was back in dreamland. Again.

Of course, he’d have some messed up, totally unnecessary dream, even while drugged by a monster who had a serious crush on his father. Yeah, apparently Medusa was a fan of Poseidon—because that’s just his luck. Even worse, she somehow knew his mother, which made no sense, but here he was anyway. Trapped in some twisted version of dream-hell, like always.

Except this one felt different. More real.

He was in a graveyard. Of course, I am, he thought bitterly. What dream would be complete without creepy gravestones and fog rolling in like a horror movie? It was like his subconscious couldn’t resist throwing in the most cliché backdrop ever. Perfect.

Only, he wasn’t himself. He wasn’t seeing the world through his own eyes, and he hated that. It felt like he was watching from inside someone else’s head. And whoever this person was, they were taller. Much taller. Probably six feet. Great, Harry thought. I finally get to be tall, and it’s in a nightmare. Figures.

The graveyard was cold and eerie, tombstones scattered everywhere, and beyond that? An old, decrepit house. Since when do people build houses in the middle of graveyards But there it was, abandoned and creepy as hell. The person—whoever he was—started walking up the stairs of this haunted house. The wooden steps creaked with every movement, each sound louder than the last. 

As they climbed, the smell of something burning filled the air. Can you even smell things in dreams? Is that a thing? Harry wondered, feeling the strangeness settle into his gut. His host gulped nervously, probably thinking the same thing.

When they reached the top, a door was cracked open, light spilling out through the narrow gap. Voices filtered through the hallway, clearer now. His host inched closer, pressing their ear against the doorframe to eavesdrop.

“Are you sure about the news, my lord?” an annoyingly squeaky voice said.

Harry cringed. That voice... I’d rather gargle nails than listen to that.

Then another voice cut in, cold and sharp. One he’d recognize anywhere. Lord Voldemort.

“Are you doubting what I saw, Wormtail?” Voldemort’s tone was venomous, every word dripping with condescension. “I saw the boy controlling the ocean. He attacked us.”

A loud thud echoed through the room, followed by a muffled groan of pain. Someone had fallen. Someone... fat.

“I apologize for his rude behavior, Master,” a different voice spoke, this one female, young—probably around Harry’s age. Definitely not Bellatrix. This one was softer, yet with an edge to it. “I believe you, my lord. I can sense demigods from miles away. Harry is one of them. I’m certain.”

“I don’t need your help, girl,” Voldemort snapped. “I have my own ways of knowing the difference between a mortal and a demigod with such power.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. Oh, fantastic. Now Voldemort’s got demigod detectors? Just what I needed in life.

“I apologize, my lord,” the girl muttered, her voice losing some of its edge.

Harry couldn’t shake the eerie feeling crawling up his spine. It was as if death itself was looming over him, and yet, he stayed glued to the scene. 

“Are you sure Hades has him?” Voldemort asked, his voice low and dangerous. Hades? How the hell does Voldemort know Hades? This wasn’t getting any better.

“I’m sure, my lord,” the girl confirmed. “I felt his presence.”

And that’s when it happened.

The person Harry was seeing through—whoever they were—suddenly turned, their breath catching as they spotted a massive snake slithering toward them. Its body was sleek and enormous, its scales gleaming under the faint light.

Oh, fantastic. Just a giant snake. Totally what I needed right now.

Voldemort’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “It appears we have a guest.”

The door swung open with a creak, revealing the people inside the room. There was Wormtail, looking as rat-like as ever—balding, with rat teeth and clothes that barely fit his flabby frame. He sat on the floor, his eyes darting around in fear.

Voldemort stood in the center, eerily calm. He looked exactly as Harry remembered—sharp features, red eyes that could pierce through your soul, and a sinister elegance in the way he moved. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, not a hair out of place, his curls meticulously styled.

But then, there was the girl.

She stood beside Voldemort, no older than Harry, dressed in a brown shirt with some weird design on it and gray pants. Her hair, dark and tangled, was tied back in a loose ponytail. Her skin was pale, and her eyes—a disturbing shade of red—weren’t as sharp as Voldemort’s, but they had a haunting look to them.

“I-I’m sorry!” The person Harry was inside stammered, fear twisting their voice.

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort hissed.

Green light exploded into the air, and everything shifted. The world spun, and the scene dissolved like smoke in the wind.

Harry jolted awake.

This time, there was no dramatic gasp, no heart-pounding terror that shook him to his core. He didn’t wake up drenched in sweat or curled up in a ball, clutching his blankets like a lifeline. He just… woke up. And honestly, that was weirder. Voldemort doesn’t freak me out as much anymore, he realized, rubbing his eyes. He’d seen too many monsters for that. Or maybe he was just numb at this point.

He groaned as he sat up, his head pounding like someone had shoved a hammer inside his brain. His vision was still blurry, and his body felt sluggish. Is this what a hangover feels like? he wondered. It was like his brain was wrapped in fog. He couldn’t even remember why he was the only one who got drugged in the first place.

“You alright?” Ethan’s voice cut through the haze, and just like that, the headache doubled in intensity. Fantastic.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry muttered, blinking as he looked up at the satyr. Ethan was leaning against the counter, his expression tired and worn out. He looked sad too, lost in thought. How long have I been asleep?

“You look like absolute shit, you know that?” Harry said, dragging himself to his feet and brushing off the dust from his clothes. His legs were still a little shaky, but he managed to stay upright.

“Thanks,” Ethan said with a snort, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Look at all the trash piling up in the world. It’s getting worse every time I go outside.”

Harry blinked, staring at him. “Wait, are we… talking about garbage now?”

Ethan sighed, hopping up onto the counter like it was his personal thinking spot. “Humans treat the environment like a landfill. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh,” Harry replied awkwardly, not sure what else to say. Why did I say that?

Ethan shrugged. “Didn’t peg you as the environmental type,” Harry added, trying to steer the conversation somewhere less… weird.

“All satyrs are,” Ethan said, scratching his chin with a tired chuckle. “I’m probably the one who cares the least about it, and even I can’t stand it anymore.”

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling a bit out of his depth. “Huh,” he said, not knowing where this conversation was going but feeling like he had to say something. “Humans are pretty messed up when it comes to nature.”

“Yeah,” Ethan sighed again, staring into space. “No one’s going to find Pan if we keep letting forests get trashed like this. There won’t be anything left to find.”

Pan..? Like the thing in which Aunt Petunia forced him to cook food in?

“Who’s Pan?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Ethan chuckled softly, though there was something tired in his eyes. “Didn’t expect you to know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pan’s the god of the wild. The protector of nature. But he’s been missing for, like, forever. Many satyrs have gone searching for him, but no one’s ever found him. Some don’t even come back. And the ones who do? They don’t come back with Pan.”

Harry blinked, still not entirely sure where this was going. “So, like, people just go out into the woods looking for a god and hope for the best? That’s a thing?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. To even go on the search, though, you need something called a searcher’s license.”

Harry frowned, recalling a brief conversation he’d had with Ethan earlier. “That’s what you want, right? The license thing?”

“Yeah.” Ethan’s voice was softer now, almost hesitant. Like he was admitting something he wasn’t sure he should.

Harry crossed his arms. “But why?” he asked, feeling a little hypocritical for questioning it. He risked his life daily, but somehow this sounded worse. “Why risk your life for some missing god?”

Ethan gave him a sad smile, one that tugged at Harry in a way he didn’t expect. “Because,” Ethan said slowly, as if weighing his words, “I want to be worth something. At least once in my life. My dad was this really famous satyr—brave, strong, the kind of guy everyone looked up to. My brother, too. Even my mom. And then there’s me.” He shrugged, his voice small, “I was always the scared one, the weak one. If I could get the searcher’s license, maybe I’d prove to myself I’m not just the coward of the family.”

Harry felt a tug of something deep in his chest at that. He got it. The whole proving-yourself thing. Wanting to show everyone you weren’t just some useless kid. He’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. Yeah, that hits a little too close to home.

“And… if I get the license,” Ethan continued, his eyes distant, “I might find Pan. But more than that, I might find Raven.”

There was a long pause, the name hanging in the air like a weight.

“Raven,” Harry repeated. “She’s the girl you mentioned before. Why’s she so important?”

Ethan let out a snort, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “She was one of the bravest, kindest demigods I ever knew. And trust me, ‘brave’ and ‘kind’ aren’t usually words you’d use for a child of Hades. But Raven was different. She didn’t fit the mold. She just… she cared. About everyone. Even me, and I’m just some dumb satyr. I know she’s alive. Somewhere out there. I can feel it.” He tapped his chest. “Even though we never had an empathy link like some demigods do, I just… I know she’s still breathing. And I need to find her.”

Harry shifted awkwardly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. I get that, he thought, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it out loud. He felt like that about too many people. People he wasn’t even supposed to care about. Like Malfoy. Why do I care so much about that stupid git anyway?

Before Harry could make sense of anything, the blaring sirens filled the room, slicing through the haze of his thoughts like a knife. The sound made him jump, his heart hammering against his ribs as adrenaline flooded his veins.

“What the hell?” he muttered, feeling the panic begin to rise.

The door slammed open with a deafening bang, and Charlie stormed in, breathless, like she’d just sprinted a marathon. Her face was flushed, eyes wide with raw panic.

“The police,” she gasped between ragged breaths, clutching her side as if trying to steady herself. “They’re here.”

Everything went dead silent. Ethan froze mid-step, his eyes snapping to hers in disbelief, and Harry just blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. Police? Why the hell would the police—?

But there was no mistaking the wail of the sirens, growing louder by the second, and judging by Charlie’s face, she wasn’t joking. The noise was too close now. They were coming. Fast.

Great, Harry thought bitterly, his mind scrambling for a plan. Because getting arrested is exactly what I needed today.

His chest tightened. His brain went into overdrive, running through options, none of which were good. He wasn’t about to get thrown in some cell just because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Not again.

“What do we do?” Harry’s voice sounded strained, almost high-pitched as the pressure bore down on him.

There wasn’t an answer. Not at first. Ethan looked like he was calculating a dozen escape routes all at once, his gaze darting between the door and the small window at the back. Charlie’s breath was still coming in short bursts, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the room for any way out. Everyone’s thinking. No one’s moving.

“We run,” Charlie finally said, eyes flicking toward the back of the room where the window sat. “Out the window. It’s the only shot.”

Harry followed her gaze, his heart still pounding. It wasn’t a big window, and it looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. But outside was the cover of trees, dense and shadowed. The forest could give them a fighting chance. He just hoped he could keep his legs from giving out.

Ethan nodded, moving quickly toward the window, but not before shooting Harry a concerned look. “You can walk, right? Or run, I mean?”

“I’m good,” Harry lied, even though his legs still felt like jelly. He didn’t have time to be weak right now. Not with the police practically at their doorstep. “Let’s go.”

Ethan didn’t wait. He yanked open the window, the old wood creaking under the pressure as it slid up, just wide enough for them to squeeze through. The cool breeze hit Harry’s face like a slap, waking him up even more. He could see the treeline now, not too far off, but far enough that it made him question how fast he could actually run.

Charlie didn’t hesitate. She moved first, scrambling through the window with a practiced agility that Harry honestly envied. He could hear the sirens now, louder, so close it felt like they were right outside the door.

“Harry, go!” Ethan hissed, gesturing for him to move.

Harry swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his throat. No time to think, just move. He hoisted himself up onto the ledge, his hands gripping the rough wood as he swung one leg out. For a split second, he felt like he was about to fall, but then he managed to get both feet on the ground.

The cool forest air hit him, carrying the scent of pine and wet earth. He could hear the crunch of leaves under his feet as he stumbled slightly but caught his balance just in time. He was glad the supid snowstorm somehow stopped at the most perfect timing. Ethan was right behind him, landing with a soft thud.

“Go, go, go!” Charlie urged, her voice low but urgent as she started moving deeper into the forest, her footsteps quick and silent like she’d done this a thousand times.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He took off after her, ignoring the screaming protests from his muscles. His legs felt like they were made of lead, but he pushed through it, the adrenaline coursing through him like fire. The sirens were still blaring in the distance, but now it sounded like they were fading. They were in the trees now, hidden by the thick canopy of branches above them.

Ethan was right behind him, keeping pace easily, his hooves barely making a sound on the forest floor.

Of course he’s fine. He’s a freaking satyr.

Branches whipped at Harry’s face as they tore through the undergrowth, the forest swallowing them up. His chest was burning, every breath a struggle, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when the alternative was getting caught.

“Are they—” Harry gasped, glancing over his shoulder. “Are they following?”

Ethan shook his head, barely out of breath. “Not yet,” he said, his voice tense. “But they will.”

“Fantastic,” Harry muttered under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow as he forced himself to keep running. His whole body felt like it was on fire, but he wasn’t about to let that slow him down.

They sprinted through the trees, weaving between trunks and leaping over roots. Charlie was ahead, her blonde hair a blur as she ducked and dodged like a pro. Ethan followed closely, his steps light and quick despite his stocky frame. Harry, on the other hand, felt like a clumsy elephant crashing through the forest. Come on, Potter, keep it together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Charlie slowed down, raising a hand to signal them to stop. They came to a halt in a small clearing, panting and gasping for air. Harry bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Okay,” Charlie said between breaths, glancing back the way they’d come. “I think we lost them.”

Harry straightened up, his lungs still burning. “You think?”

She shot him a look, one that said, don’t push your luck.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but inside, his mind was racing. If they really had lost the police, that meant they were safe—for now. But Harry knew better than to relax. Not when everything seemed to go wrong the second you let your guard down.

“Let’s keep moving,” Ethan said, his voice grim as he glanced around the darkening forest. “We can’t stay here.”

Harry nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. Yeah, because that’s exactly what we need. Another fun-filled night in the creepy woods.

“Lead the way,” he muttered, shooting a glance at the trees surrounding them. Something about the darkness felt… off. Like they weren’t alone.

And in a world filled with monsters and gods? That was never a good sign.

Chapter Text

Handcuffs and Hangovers: Vegas Wasn’t Part of the Plan
"We're gonna rot here forever."
-

The cold air stung Harry’s face, each breath tightening his chest. The snow felt like it was sinking him, each step weighed down, heavy, and sluggish. If a monster decided to charge them now, they’d be done for, especially with him still half-drugged. The two hours of sleep hadn’t done much to clear his head, only leaving him with a hangover he didn’t know was possible with drugs. His legs were jelly, his vision a little off, and every now and then, his head throbbed like someone was hammering his brain from the inside.

"You're tired," Ethan pointed out in that overly casual way of his.

Harry gave him a sidelong glance, too exhausted to roll his eyes. "No 'm not," he muttered, though even he didn’t believe it.

"Yes, you are." Ethan sent him a look, his eyes narrowing as if he could see straight through Harry. "I feel it."

“You feel it?” Harry’s face twisted, trying to work through the fog in his head. "How can you feel it? Isn’t it supposed to be me who feels these things?"

"Empathy link. Obviously," Charlie chimed in, her voice calm and brisk as if this were a lesson he’d failed. Of course she knew all about it—she was probably just thrilled to have something else to hold over him. "Although I didn’t know you had one with him, Ethan."

“I’m meant to be his protector for the quest,” Ethan replied, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Of course I'd have one with him."

They were acting like he was some kind of child. Okay, so he didn’t know what an empathy link was, but they didn’t have to sound so superior about it. Harry grumbled under his breath, shoving the irritation down as he trudged along. He wasn’t a kid—well, maybe he was. But weren't the three the same age? 

“...I still don’t know what that means,” he mumbled finally, hoping they’d skip the lecture.

"I explained it to you already." Ethan’s tone was a mix of concern and exasperation, and Charlie just rolled her eyes. Seriously? She was really pushing it today.

Harry gritted his teeth, irritation flaring despite his fatigue. “Well, I guess I forgot. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, genius.”

Charlie sighed, “Empathy links connect the satyr protector to the godling emotionally. It means that the satyr can sense what the demigod feels like. At least somewhat,” she explained, voice brisk as if she were holding back an eye roll. “And they’re strong enough that, if the demigod dies, it can kill the satyr, too.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s not a burden at all.”

"And I can hear your thoughts, too. Sort of." Ethan looked sideways at him. "But it takes a lot of energy, so I try not to."

"Isn’t that… private?" Harry shot him a look, hoping that was at least a little sarcastic.

“Yeah,” Ethan deadpanned. “You can read mine, too. We can communicate that way, in case, y’know, talking isn’t an option.”

"That’s… actually kinda cool," Harry admitted. A weird, handy trick for a runaway godling.

They trudged on in silence, the snow crunching underfoot as Harry tried to shake off the haze in his head.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Harry wasn’t sure how long they’d been trudging through the forest, but every step felt like wading through molasses. Whatever potion or drug that snake-headed freak had shoved down his throat was still swimming through his veins, clouding his head and making everything ache. He could feel a headache building, pulsing at the base of his skull, each throb making him wince like someone was knocking around a hammer in his brain.

He had heard that certain drugs were supposed to mellow people out, maybe even make them feel a bit better. But this? It just left him more and more confused, mind drifting off to odd places as the cold sunk deeper into his bones.

"Oi, Harry?" Ethan’s voice cut through the quiet. "You alright? You’re shivering like mad."

"'M fine," he snapped back, trying to sound more convincing than he felt. “Just… cold.”

Ethan gave him a long look, one of those grown-up, you’re-not-fooling-anyone looks, but shrugged. “If you’re sure. But if you need a break—”

“I’m fine!” Harry cut in, a little sharper this time. He was determined to keep going, even if it felt like his body was moving through sludge.

"Harry’s right, y’know,” Charlie chimed in, arms crossed and eyes sharp as they scanned the darkened trees around them. “We’d be sitting ducks if we stopped here. Besides, monsters love forests at night."

"Fair enough," Ethan conceded, starting forward again. “But if you start falling over, we’re stopping whether you like it or not, Harry.”

They lapsed into silence, trudging through the thick undergrowth and tangled branches. Under normal circumstances, a nighttime forest might have been a bit magical, with moonlight filtering down and casting strange shadows on the trees. But as a demigod, the forest was just another potential ambush—a place for monsters to hide and wait. Harry kept his eyes on his feet, trying not to trip over the roots that reached up like grasping fingers from the forest floor.

And then his mind drifted to the Oracle’s prophecy, the one that had started this whole mess. Something about betrayal from a friend. But who? Ron and Hermione were a whole world away by now—he doubted he’d see them again anytime soon. Charlie and Ethan didn’t count, did they? They were just here for the quest, probably didn’t even think of him as a friend. Just a… quest companion? A partner, maybe, if he stretched the definition.

Lost in thought, he almost missed the snapping of a twig behind them. Almost.

He tensed, heart pounding as he turned, and there they were—policemen, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, closing in from every direction.

“Drop your weapons! On your knees!” one of them barked, his flashlight pointed directly at Harry’s face.

The three backed into each other, pressing shoulder to shoulder, trying to close any gaps as they looked for some way—any way—out of this. The beam of flashlights cut through the darkness, making everything dizzy and too bright. Harry’s head throbbed worse with every second, like his brain had turned to static and was short-circuiting on him. Great timing.

"I REPEAT, ON YOUR KNEES!" the officer yelled, his voice loud enough to rattle Harry’s eardrums.

Harry’s hands clenched, the urge to run screaming at him, but there was no way they’d get out of this. He could feel Charlie tensing beside him, her arm brushing his as her fingers fidgeted, like she was hesitating about what to do next.

"We…we can't run," Ethan whispered, barely audible. "Do as they say. We’ve got no other choice."

Harry looked at him, desperate for some other solution, but then Ethan dropped to his knees. Charlie followed, her face scrunched up in reluctant defeat as she sank down, almost like she’d been kicked. Harry swallowed and did the same, knees hitting the cold, damp forest floor as he lowered his head. His whole body felt shaky, like he’d run ten miles and was still expecting to keep going.

This was how it ended? Handcuffed, on the side of a forest road, just when they were supposed to be saving the world? What about saving Olympus? What about finding

They hadn’t exactly hidden any weapons—well, any obvious ones, anyway. Charlie’s dagger was still tucked away in the inside pocket of her jacket, concealed and safe. Ethan had his small sword… somewhere, Harry hadn’t asked where. And Thalassa, his own weapon, was disguised and hidden, thank the gods. Maybe there was still hope. If they could just… figure out how to escape once they were inside.

A police officer stomped up behind Harry, grabbing his wrists and snapping cold metal handcuffs over them. “Alright, tough guy. You’re the one who blew up that bus, yeah?”

The officer sounded so amused, like he couldn’t believe it. Harry could feel the sarcasm bubbling up, but he bit it back—probably not a great idea to mouth off just now. Still, part of him wanted to retort, At least we’ve got the guts to do something.

As the officer dragged him up, Harry squinted against the red and blue lights flashing painfully close by. Why couldn’t they turn those off already? His head pounded as he was led toward the car, blinking against the lights and wondering if maybe he looked like some kind of crazed kid who vaped in secret. Great.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Harry's head was pounding as he slowly opened his eyes, feeling a chill from the cold cement floor against his cheek. But, for once, he hadn’t had any dreams. No monsters chasing him, no prophecies echoing in his head, no flashes of gods glaring at him from a mountain. Nothing. Honestly, it felt like Christmas.

“Oh look, the sleeping beauty’s finally awake,” a voice commented dryly. Charlie. She sounded almost relieved, though she'd probably never admit it.

Harry groaned, pushing himself up a bit, shooting her a mock glare. “Do you ever shut up?” He hoped the fake-annoyance came across right. Last thing he needed was to actually hurt her feelings.

“Do you ever stay awake for a whole day?” Ethan shot back, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Duh,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes as he tried to play it cool, though he knew it was a complete lie. Between getting attacked by monsters and drugged up on… whatever snake-head had given him, he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in, well, ages.

Harry’s head throbbed as he looked around the cell, blinking at the dim, gray walls that stretched around them. The barred window let in just a sliver of light, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever, and the single rickety cot creaked with every tiny movement.

“What now?” he asked, feeling the weight of everything start to settle in.

“Rot, probably,” Ethan said, throwing his hands up in mock despair. “What else do you do in jail?”

Charlie huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the cold wall. “I mean, for one, we’re in Vegas, of all places. So there’s that, I guess.”

Vegas? Harry blinked, disoriented. How the hell had they ended up here? “Vegas? Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” she replied, brow furrowed. “When you were busy passing out in the car, there was this giant Vegas sign just a few minutes before we pulled in.”

“So, basically, we’re in the middle of some overpriced tourist trap.” Harry groaned, resting his head back against the wall. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Manhattan,” Ethan chimed in. “That’s the farthest I’ve ever been.”

“Well, I’ve been here before,” Charlie admitted, looking at the floor like she was remembering something, but she didn’t elaborate.

For a moment, silence fell. The only sound was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above, which just made the whole cell feel like a bad waiting room. The weight of their quest crashed back down on Harry, and he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So… about the quest,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are we seriously just gonna sit here?”

“No way,” Charlie snapped, sounding more resolute than she looked. “We are not giving up. We’re getting out of here. Somehow.”

But Ethan shook his head, lips pressed tight. “I dunno, Charlie. We might have to call camp. Just… tell them what happened.”

Charlie immediately stiffened, eyes wide. “No. That’s giving up.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Harry asked, voice a bit sharper than he’d intended. “This place isn’t exactly letting us waltz out of here, and if we’re sitting here waiting for something to happen, we might as well ask for help.”

Ethan’s eyes flared. “We’re not asking for help. Are you kidding me? Do you know what that means? That means we go crawling back to camp like we couldn’t handle it on our own, like… like we’re not good enough!”

“I can’t bloody do this!” Harry shot back, feeling his own frustration boiling over. “I’m not about to sit in here while monsters or who-knows-what are out there looking for us!”

“Then don’t sit here!” Ethan stood up, matching Harry’s tone. “But we’re not calling anyone. We don’t need them!”

Charlie stepped in, her voice hesitant but firm. “Guys, we don’t have to—look, we’re here together, right? Maybe we just… wait it out? I know it sounds crazy, but maybe we don’t have to give up or call camp. We can… figure something out.”

But neither boy seemed to hear her, too busy caught in their own argument.

“Yeah? And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” Harry glared at Ethan. “Just, what, hope the cell door magically opens?”

Ethan threw his hands up. “Fine! Go on and quit then, Harry! Call for help. But I’m not leaving this quest just because you’re tired of it.”

Harry clenched his fists, feeling a sharp prick of anger. “It’s not about quitting, it’s about not getting killed!”

Ethan’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “Then you go back, and I’ll finish it myself. I don’t need camp to tell me I’m worth something, alright?”

That stopped Harry short. Ethan sank back down onto the cot, his shoulders tense, and for a split second, Harry thought he saw a glimmer of something… regret, maybe, or something sad and raw. He’d been so focused on the quest, on proving himself—he hadn’t stopped to see that they were all in over their heads.

Charlie, seeing the tension, crossed the cell and sat beside Ethan, giving him a small, awkward hug. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do this alone, you know. Even if we’re stuck here for now, we’re still in it together.”

Ethan gave a shaky laugh, his voice soft. “Yeah… I guess I needed that.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a pang of guilt. “Sorry, Ethan. I… I forgot it’s not just me out here.”

Ethan looked up, giving him a small nod. “It’s alright, ‘arry. Guess I needed to get that out too.”

They exchanged small, relieved smiles as the tension finally began to ebb.

Harry’s head throbbed as he looked around the cell, blinking at the dim, gray walls that stretched around them. The barred window let in just a sliver of light, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever, and the single rickety cot creaked with every tiny movement.

“What now?” he asked, feeling the weight of everything start to settle in.

“Rot, probably,” Ethan said, throwing his hands up in mock despair. “What else do you do in jail?”

Charlie huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the cold wall. “I mean, for one, we’re in Vegas, of all places. So there’s that, I guess.”

Vegas? Harry blinked, disoriented. How the hell had they ended up here? “Vegas? Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” she replied, brow furrowed. “When you were busy passing out in the car, there was this giant Vegas sign just a few minutes before we pulled in.”

“So, basically, we’re in the middle of some overpriced tourist trap.” Harry groaned, resting his head back against the wall. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Manhattan,” Ethan chimed in. “That’s the farthest I’ve ever been.”

“Well, I’ve been here before,” Charlie admitted, looking at the floor like she was remembering something, but she didn’t elaborate.

For a moment, silence fell. The only sound was the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above, which just made the whole cell feel like a bad waiting room. The weight of their quest crashed back down on Harry, and he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So… about the quest,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are we seriously just gonna sit here?”

“No way,” Charlie snapped, sounding more resolute than she looked. “We are not giving up. We’re getting out of here. Somehow.”

But Harry shook his head, lips pressed tight. “I dunno, Charlie. We might have to call camp. Just… tell them what happened.”

Charlie immediately stiffened, eyes wide. “No. That’s giving up.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Harry asked, voice a bit sharper than he’d intended. “This place isn’t exactly letting us waltz out of here, and if we’re sitting here waiting for something to happen, we might as well ask for help.”

Ethan’s eyes flared. “We’re not asking for help. Are you kidding me? Do you know what that means? That means we go crawling back to camp like we couldn’t handle it on our own, like… like we’re not good enough!”

“I can’t bloody do this!” Harry shot back, feeling his own frustration boiling over. “I’m not about to sit in here while monsters or who-knows-what are out there looking for us!”

“Then don’t sit here!” Ethan stood up, matching Harry’s tone. “But we’re not calling anyone. We don’t need them!”

Charlie stepped in, her voice hesitant but firm. “Guys, we don’t have to—look, we’re here together, right? Maybe we just… wait it out? I know it sounds crazy, but maybe we don’t have to give up or call camp. We can… figure something out.”

But neither boy seemed to hear her, too busy caught in their own argument.

“Yeah? And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” Harry glared at Ethan. “Just, what, hope the cell door magically opens?”

Ethan threw his hands up. “Fine! Go on and quit then, Harry! Call for help. But I’m not leaving this quest just because you’re tired of it.”

Harry clenched his fists, feeling a sharp prick of anger. “It’s not about quitting, it’s about not getting killed!”

Ethan’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “Then you go back, and I’ll finish it myself. I don’t need camp to tell me I’m worth something, alright?”

That stopped Harry short. Ethan sank back down onto the cot, his shoulders tense, and for a split second, Harry thought he saw a glimmer of something… regret, maybe, or something sad and raw. He’d been so focused on the quest, on proving himself—he hadn’t stopped to see that they were all in over their heads.

Charlie, seeing the tension, crossed the cell and sat beside Ethan, giving him a small, awkward hug. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do this alone, you know. Even if we’re stuck here for now, we’re still in it together.”

Ethan gave a shaky laugh, his voice soft. “Yeah… I guess I needed that.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a pang of guilt. “Sorry, Ethan. I… I forgot it’s not just me out here.”

Ethan looked up, giving him a small nod. “It’s alright, ‘arry. Guess I needed to get that out too.”

Harry felt the tension drain a little as Ethan slumped back, a strange heaviness settling over the cell. It was like the last of their adrenaline had just run out, leaving them all feeling raw, uncertain. Harry hadn’t expected to see Ethan like this—he’d always been the one so focused on the quest, on proving himself. It was a bit unsettling, like seeing a crack in armor he’d thought was solid.

Charlie gave Ethan a quick, reassuring squeeze before scooting back to her spot on the floor. She looked between the two of them, her face half-hidden in shadows from the dim cell light. “Look, we'll find a way out of here, trust me."

"Yeah." Harry replied, smiling slightly, "We will. And then we'll find that bloody lightening bolt and prove that you're better than each and every saytr."

Ethan smiled, a flicker of hope in his eyes as he replied, "Yeah. Yeah we will."

Maybe things weren't gonna be too bad.

`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

The boy's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was red—dull, shadowy red light bleeding into every corner. As his vision sharpened, details began to claw their way into focus: the blood-red sofas arranged in a tight circle around a large, roaring fireplace. The room was sweltering; heat seeped into his skin until it felt like his very flesh was melting. His hands were bound tightly behind him, his shoulders aching, each breath dragging against the oppressive warmth.

As he twisted against his restraints, he took in the rest of the room. To his right stood a shelf lined not with books, but with bones—jagged rib cages, polished skulls, and grotesque ligaments dangling from jars. Fragments of life, trapped and arranged with sickening precision. He spotted eyeballs suspended in murky liquid, ears sealed in jars, and—he had to look away before he could confirm what else lay preserved in those containers.

But then his eyes caught on something far more unsettling. A figure sat directly before him on a throne, so still and silent it was as though he’d been there for centuries. The throne was a matte black, the circle of tiles beneath it perfectly aligned in darkness. The man had hair blacker than ink, his skin as pale as frost, and his suit—a disturbingly flawless shade of midnight—draped him like it was made for no other. He held a black cup in his hand, sipping slowly, his red eyes glinting like coals as he watched the boy without blinking.

The man set the cup down, and with a subtle flick of his fingers, it vanished. He rose from his throne, each step echoing in the stillness, until he was eye-level with the boy. Up close, the man's features looked wrong somehow—perfect but unnervingly sharp, his edges almost translucent, as though he were only half-real. His lips were a dark shade of red, and his eyes, cold and scarlet, narrowed on the boy with lethal precision.

"Ah," he said in a voice that slithered through the silence. "It seems you’re finally awake."

A shiver crawled down the boy's spine as the man leaned closer, his gaze unrelenting, lips pulling into a ghostly smile that hinted at all the wrong things.

"People have been waiting for you, Draco Malfoy."