From Hogwarts To Olympus: A Demigod's Odyssey Ch.4 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 4- A Night of Revelations

AN: Beta'd by Kaladin and Deathwish. 

Later than expected, tho hopefully its sufficiently big to buy me another couple of days to finish MS. This is the last chapter in Hogwarts, and we're about to move to PJO in the next one. 

Hope you like it. Enjoy!

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The Headmaster’s office, Harry silently observed—stepping past the entrance—reflected the man to a tee.

It was strangely flamboyant in a complicated, albeit mystical way. But no one could deny it held a unique charm of its own that Harry could see himself getting used to. Of all the offices he’d visited in his entire stay at Hogwarts, it was certainly the largest; of a curiously beautiful, circular design that made it seem they were inside a large floating sphere.

To the left, spindle-legged tables clattered with weird silver instruments—occasionally emitting tiny puffs of smoke and funny, little noises—followed by an entire shelf full of threadbare, ancient texts whose titles he couldn’t help but try to make out; if the restricted section alone contained such rewarding treasures, Dumbledore’s personal library would surely be worth every pound of its weight in Galleons.

The right side was relatively bare, with the wall covered in a handful of snoozing portraits, along with a massive claw-footed desk that showcased the shabby Sorting Hat sitting on a shelf behind it. There was also a large, golden perch to the back corner, but it lay empty.

Lastly, embedded high up in the walls at all three sides, were a trio of large clerestory windows of arched shape, washing the entire office in the ethereal blue glow of the moon.

Throughout his inspection of the office, the Headmaster had stayed sitting quietly behind his desk, observing him in return. Only when their eyes met did the ancient warlock smile.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter." The man's eyes twinkled. "I've heard you had quite an eventful day today."

Harry nodded back, a little nervous and already attempting to clear his mind. “Professor Dumbledore.”

The calm cover of Occlumency was slow to spread through his mind this time. In the last few hours, he had utilized it far more than he’d ever done in entire weeks, on top of which he was still being hounded by a faint sense of fatigue from the day’s events.

The Headmaster must’ve seen through it, for he dipped his head slightly. "I apologise for the urgent nature of this meeting. But I'm afraid we simply cannot delay this subject any longer."

Harry scrunched up his brows at the visible solemnity in the man's words. His mind tried dissecting them in more depth, but aside from the latest events, he couldn't recall any other 'urgent' matter.

"What can I do for you, Professor?"

He readied himself to defend his actions if it came to that, though he doubted the man would expel him, let alone Jane, for literally saving the school.

"Before we start," Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, extending a small bowl of yellow, sugary beads seemingly out of thin air. "Would you fancy a lemon drop?”

“...No, sir. Thank you.”

“Very well then, “ He set the bowl aside, an inscrutable look flashing in his eyes as he leaned forward. "There are a few matters I must trouble you with, Mr. Potter, beginning with what happened today in the Chamber.” He paused, before gently broaching the subject, “Your sister…left a few details of your adventure out in her recounting of the tale. Deliberately so, I'm afraid."

Harry frowned, confusedly suspicious. "What…details, sir?"

The half-moon spectacles seemed to gleam in the moonlight as the man peered over its edges. "Why, details of your battle with the Basilisk, of course. You are a brilliant wizard, Mr. Potter, and an even brilliant Duelist…but I’m sure we can both agree you did not, in fact, defeat the memory of Lord Voldemort single-handedly, followed by the slaying of a millennia old Basilisk…all with but a few expert swirls of your wand.”

Even with an occluded mind, Harry fought very hard not to gap like an idiot. “Jane…uh, said this?”

The old sorcerer looked as if he was trying to suppress a smile. "Of course, if you did do so, I must simply apologise. I suppose you could be a better wizard than most of your professors already." He leaned closer, as if imparting a great secret. "Between you and me, I must say that feat will safely make you the greatest wizard ever born."

Harry tried not to blush.

He couldn't quite fathom why Jane would speak so highly of him all of a sudden. While their shared experience in the Chamber seemed to have bonded them closer, he doubted he'd be blindly singing her praises any time soon…

…And then it hit him like a pile of heavy rocks. What could possibly be so damaging about their battle in the Chamber that the Golden girl herself would lie to conceal it from the Headmaster?

'The Skeletons.'

Harry was already being heralded as the second coming of Voldemort simply for knowing a lost magical language. How much worse would his situation be if people knew he could now raise the dead as well—without a wand, at that?

'Merlin, I could kiss her right now.'

He glanced back up at the Headmaster, forcing a smile whilst his mind worked in overdrive to save the situation. "Well…she did leave out some details, professor. She forgot to mention we duelled Riddle together. And I only managed to kill the Basilisk because she transfigured a rock into a rooster—wasn't as effective as the real deal, but it allowed me to injure it's eyes. Oh, also, I don't know if she mentioned this but…Jane was the one to figure out the connection between Riddle and his Diary." He gave an exaggerated shrug. "I guess humility isn't a quality she lacks in."

Look at him, blindly singing her praises already…. Honestly, he felt his attempt should've been lauded by an audience all around the world; it wasn't easy to come up with top tier bullshit at a moment's notice—the best lies were often drenched in truth, after all.

And yet, the longer he'd talked, the more of Dumbledore's twinkle seemed to vanish from his eyes, leaving behind only the regal vestige of a wizard widely regarded as the one whom all Dark Lords feared.

"Are you absolutely certain there is nothing else, Mr. Potter?" The Headmaster asked calmly, steepling his fingers under his long, flowing white beard. "Nothing else that helped you defeat the beast?" Added with his piercing blue stare, Harry couldn't help but liken him to the Slytherin’s statue.

He throttled the urge to gulp.

There was a subtle knowing gleam in the old warlock’s eyes, and for a moment he could almost believe the man somehow knew the truth.

'But how could he?' His brain quickly dismissed it away.

Even Harry had no clue of what he'd done. There was no reason for Dumbledore to suspect anything, apart from the sheer unrealisticity of the feat they'd performed. But that could just as easily be dismissed away as luck; maybe the Basilisk went mad and chewed up its own master—it was a wild magical beast, after all—or maybe Harry just got a lucky shot in…whatever the case, it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility for two young, precocious wizards to survive against a magical beast.

Even if people did suspect them of lying, there was absolutely no reason for anyone to believe anything other than magic had taken place in the Chamber. Albus Dumbledore might've been a wizard the likes of which they may never see again, but unless the man was actively reading the minds of his students, his boney-secret should be safe…

Then why did he feel like the Headmaster's eyes were currently trying to bare the deepest corners of his soul?

"No, sir." Harry stood his ground steadfastly, letting his Occlumency chase away the doubts and uncertainties. "Nothing at all."

The ancient warlock kept him pinned under his piercing stare for a few more agonising seconds, before finally leaning back with a sigh, seemingly losing all his strength.

It was shocking for Harry to witness someone quickly go from looking the part of the fearsome defeater of Dark Lords to being a weak, old man carrying a burden too heavy for his age; almost like the breaking of a fantasy.

Even the most powerful wizard in the world was prone to weakness.

"I suppose it is not your fault.” The said wizard uttered softly, glancing out at the star-strewn sky. “You learn to cherish your secrets when they are all you have.”

Harry blinked, taken off guard. That hit a little too close to home…

Sighing, the Headmaster focused back on him, a thousand-year old stare glimmering behind his spectacles. “It seems the adults around you fail time and again to earn your trust, Mr. Potter. Understandable, of course, considering your history. But I had hoped Professor Snape's attempts would've had some effect—thawed out the edges somewhat, so to speak."

"Professor Snape—?" Harry stared back, flummoxed. "What does he…wait, you asked him to help me!?"

"I asked him to look after you." Dumbledore corrected. "I predicted a Potter in Slytherin might prove to be a very bad idea indeed. I, however, hadn't expected him to take such a…liking to you. I'd wager you remind him of himself a little—he too hadn't had a very peaceful stay in his first few Hogwarts years…what with his friendship with your mother."

"Snape was friends with my mother?" Harry shook his head, focusing back on what mattered. "Wait, why are you telling me this? What's this all about, Professor?"

"Oh, just the musings of an old man, I suppose." Dumbledore smiled wryly, slumping even further in his seat, an elbow on the arm of his chair seemingly the only thing to keep his head upright. "Pay no mind to my blathering, Mr. Potter. It seems I've found myself in quite a mood for reminiscing this fine evening."

Harry shifted on his feet uncomfortably. The way the Headmaster talked to him suddenly seemed an awful less like that of a teacher and student, and an awful lot like someone who personally knew him. Of course, that couldn't be further from the truth; this was the first time they’d ever talked in person.

He shook his head, dismissing the conundrum. He was wasting time here. This meeting had taken such a wild turn that for a moment he almost forgot the urgent questions hounding his mind. He needed to be done here as swiftly as possible and get back to the Hospital Wing. Hermione would be unpetrified soon and they could finally begin their search—the sooner he got some answers, the sooner his mind would be at peace.

“Is there anything else, Professor?” Harry asked formally, ready to be dismissed.

To his surprise, the Headmaster straightened up once more, taking a deep breath as if bracing for the last topic he ever wished to discuss. “Yes.” He said simply, looking at him with the same solemnity of the beginning. “Yes, I’m afraid there is, Mr. Potter. Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestured vaguely to his right and a small, wooden chair came skidding beside his leg. “This might take awhile.”

Harry reluctantly sank down, adjusting the chair beneath him, even as a part of him puzzled in a moment of barely suppressed astonishment, ‘…Was that Wandless magic?’

“Firstly, I must stress the importance of this matter, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore started gravely. “The truth, that you seem so desperate to chase after, comes at a very terrible price.”

Harry jerked upright, heart beating wildly. 'Could he truly know…?’

Suddenly all of his impatience vanished away like smoke and he gave the man his utmost attention. He didn't know what the Headmaster knew about his…frea—uniqueness, but if the man truly was willing to divulge the truth, he owed it to himself to at least hear him in full.

'But could he truly know? More importantly, how?’

Only one way to find out.

Taking great care in keeping any further emotions suppressed to a single raised eyebrow, Harry asked quietly, “What truth, Sir?”

Dumbledore tilted his head; there was nothing subtle about the knowing look in his eyes this time. "You know what, of course, Mr. Potter." He leaned closer, a certain sureness infecting his tone. "You saw something down in the Chamber that made you question your reality, did you not? Something that made you suspect the strange happenings around you may not always have been magic. That something…something else resides within your soul. Something that you're now desperate to find…"

Harry knew his mouth was hanging open. The onslaught of sheer shock that spread through his system as he slowly digested the words was like an ocean wave, running roughshod through his Occlumency.

“You know…” He heard his voice whisper subconsciously, almost as if he were speaking to himself, before a spark of suspicious realisation rapidly brought the sense of shock to a hold. "Wait…you are reading minds, then!" He jumped to his feet in an instant, the chair toppling over behind him.

How else could the man know!?

Harry quickly tried to reinforce the cover of the gaping void over his mind, focusing deep to empty his thoughts—even as Dumbledore leaned back patiently, lips quirking up slightly. He promptly found the action to be a lost cause, almost like trying to force on a shirt too short around his shoulders; he couldn't help but tear it in places.

Ahead, the Headmaster gave him a bemused look. "Do calm yourself, Mr. Potter. For all your mistrust, you must at least realise I am still your guardian, for as long as you step foot within this castle." For all his supposed patience, Harry got the feeling the man was still mildly offended.

Huffing frustratedly, he found himself giving up on Occlumency with one last useless attempt; his mind was simply too exhausted right now.

Still, he forced himself to at least calm down. Blowing up like that had been incredibly stupid; either Dumbledore truly was a legilimens with no moral scruples—in which case he doubted the man would at all be hesitant in using a couple memory charms to make sure this doesn’t get out—or he wasn’t, and he’d just accused the Headmaster of Hogwarts of being a creep.

‘Merlin, but I need a good night’s sleep soon.’ The exhaustion from the day’s events was finally beginning to creep up past his neck, affecting his judgement. For the first time in many years, he wasn’t in perfect control of himself—it left him feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever felt.

With the surge of adrenaline finally drowning out, he settled for the next best thing he could do against a wizard of Dumbledore's calibre—dragging the chair upright and taking a seat again.

With a measure of his control back, Harry heaved in a deep breath, dipping his head at the Headmaster. “I apologise for my outburst, Professor,” He started, before delicately raising his worries—it was too late to back down now. “but my accusations still stand. How else could you possibly know what happened in the Chamber? You were sure I was lying before the meeting even started; Jane might’ve hidden some things but there’s no way you could've used that to deduce…well,” He gestured vaguely at the old man. “All of that.”

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to gleam, that strange twinkle returning as if it had never left. “Ah, but you see Mr. Potter…Legilimency is not the only way for one to find the truth. You’d be surprised how exposed a wizard is left when he thinks his mind is shielded.”

Harry's mind boggled. He knew he hadn't even come close to scratching the surface of magic yet, but over the course of two years, he'd made sure to familiarise himself with most of the obscure arcane topics. What else could there possibly be?

He glanced up at the Headmaster cautiously. "Do you mean something like…Soul-reading? Or scrying? I’ve read about them but all the texts seem to suggest they’re either lost arts or completely faux.”

“Well,” Dumbledore looked taken aback. “I meant more along the lines of…body-language, something that muggles have become incredibly proficient in."

"...Right." Harry made sure not to look overly annoyed. "Of course."

A year of struggling to master his mind, only for something as mundane as his body to betray him. How poetic.

"Ah, but more on that later, I’m afraid we've stumbled out of our topic.” Said Dumbledore, bringing back a heavy, foreboding hue to the night. “You asked me earlier how I knew of the Chamber, yes? The truth is, I’ve long suspected something of the kind might happen…since far back when you first stepped foot within the Castle. The years since have only worked to strengthen my belief—your ability to understand Latin, the fact that ghosts seem awfully fond of you…or in some cases, strangely fearful, and while you may have forgotten the Troll corpse you left behind in your first year, I have not. That," He peered down at him dramatically. "was not magic, Mr. Potter. At least…not the Wizard-kind. Added with everything else I know of you and your father…it paints a fairly clear picture."

Silence drenched the room in tenseness, as Harry struggled to wrap his head around the words. He had spent so long in his own company, that the mere idea of someone else actually paying attention to him and his actions had completely slipped his thoughts. But it made sense that Dumbledore would know all that—he was the Headmaster of the castle. He probably even knew exactly which book was taken by whom from the restricted section at any given time.

Then the last bit of Dumbledore's word-vomit hit his brain.

"My father?" He looked up at the Headmaster, brows racing up his forehead.

Dumbledore nodded carefully, looking cautiously sombre. "James Potter…a wizard every bit as talented as you and me. It had always struck me odd how calm he was, inhumanly so, even on his first day at Hogwarts. Of his golden group of rebels, he was the most mature one, certainly far too mature for his age. But if there was one thing that quickly raised my suspicions, it was that he knew things no wizard should. Knowledge that simply being a scion of a Great House wasn't enough to possess…”

The man opened his mouth as if to continue, but promptly shut up, looking at him with pursed lips.

"What—" Harry shook his head, too tired to unravel Dumbledore's cryptic words. "What does it all mean? What did you suspect?"

"I’m afraid we are getting too close to the truth, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore said quietly. "And once we do, you might not like what you find. The life that you’re about to be plunged into is often short-lived and tragically concluded. I cannot speak of it directly, not until you are absolutely certain that you want this."

For a moment, the sheer grimness in his words served for a passable deterrent. And then the moment passed.

Harry shook his head, staring up at him with a fervent fire. "What, do you expect me to just ignore it? Of course I’m certain! I need this. I need to know what–who…I am. I need to know I belong somewhere."

The ancient wizard stared deep within his eyes; for a moment Harry wondered if the man was about to talk him out of it, but after a long, conflicted second, his eyes firmed and he gave a single nod. “Very well. If nothing else, you may take comfort in knowing you chose this life—many are not fortunate enough to receive such a choice.”

Then, taking a deep breath, he announced grandly, "You are, what many may call…a Demigod."

The word stayed in the air like an ancient chant.

Something steered deep within Harry, like the world finally clicking together in an ultimate crescendo, yet it was fleeting as the running soil and wavering as a sand castle.

"Demigod." He mouthed it, tasting the word as if it held no meaning—only a raw, ancient feel of power and mortality.

Then his brain kicked in motion and the sense of surreality was broken into pieces.

“Demigod.” He muttered far more sceptically this time, scrunching up his face. He'd come across it many times in the old Greek and Latin texts. "You mean to say I'm…half god?" He peered up at the old man inquisitively. "I didn't know you held such high opinion of me, Professor."

He would've found it far easier to believe if the man had said 'Demi-dog' instead. His mother was a bitch, after all.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I do have a high opinion of you, Mr. Potter, though that has nothing to do with your race. But you cannot possibly say someone as well read as you haven’t thought about gods and deities. Are you to tell me you have no faith at all?”

“Well,” Harry frowned, nonplussed. “I know of the myths, of course.”  The Greek and Roman gods were specifically mentioned in some of the older texts he’d read. “But I’d always thought of them as an abstract concept; most of the rituals that involve them never speak of any direct contact, or even prove their existence. And even if they are real, they probably exist in some separate space, right? A spiritual world, or some such?”

"You would be half correct." Dumbledore said, growing serious. "Let me make one thing extremely clear, Mr. Potter; the gods are very much real. I do not know if they truly are some supreme existence who created life, or merely a powerful race of immortal beings…but they exist today, in this time and age. Their presence lingers in the physical world, and their origins can be traced far back in millennia. And like every physical being, they…procreate. Among themselves, among other species…and sometimes, with mortals."

"So whatever catches their fancy." Harry muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the 'gods are real' part.

Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "Quite right."

He found it didn't take too much effort.

A part of him had always yearned for it to be true; to imagine the words of those ancient texts coming to life, the grand stories of demigod heroes and divine sorcerers, who slayed monsters like the Basilisk and Troll in epic tales of heroism…something within him had always resonated with them.

Or, at least, something within him wished to resonate with them.

And now here he was being given it on a silver platter.

Harry leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. It was a lot to take in. He pinched himself, hard, just to be sure this wasn’t some twisted dream his mind had sewn up as comfort under the constant influence of Occlumency.

It wasn’t. And damn Merlin did it sting.

A part of him wished they would continue this tomorrow, with a fresh mind and a new perspective, but the curiosity bubbling within him refused to die.

Rubbing his forehead—which was beginning to pound in a slow, thumping rhythm—Harry opened his eyes. “What about my father? Doesn’t this make him a god then?”

Dumbledore stared down at him with a silent frown. “…Would you like to continue this in the morning, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not, sir.”

After a long, critical gaze, the Headmaster nodded. "Very well. One of the first things you must always keep in mind, Mr. Potter, is that these deities are extremely powerful.” The old man pushed himself to his feet, slowly ambling over to his study, dragging his vibrant maroon robe behind him. “For them to even appear in front of a mortal without disintegrating the world around them is an exercise of restraint.” He peered up at his personal library, speaking over his shoulder all the while, "So they limit their power, taking a lesser form to roam the mortal world, disguising themselves amongst the ordinary.”

The Headmaster reached over the top shelf and pulled out a dusty, ratted book, blowing over its surface to shake off the dust. For a moment, he quietly stared at its dark cover, tracing its harsh spine with a slow finger, before glancing back at him.

“Your father, however, was a mortal through and through.” Dumbledore started again, carrying the book back over to the desk. “Different from a god in their mortal form, James was a piece of a deity's soul that took birth on this world through the womb of Euphemia Potter. There was no divinity in his veins to pass on. After his death however, his children could've gone either way. You could've become a Demigod, or you could've simply stayed a mortal wizard. It is difficult to say, these cases rarely happen, you see. The only one I remember is when Lord Poseidon was banished on Earth to live as a mortal and whelped two children; one, an average mortal, the other a demigod as powerful as any."

He came to stand behind his desk, carefully placing the worn book down, eyes fixed religiously upon its roughly carved title.

"In this case, you seem to have drawn the favour of Tyche and received your Father's reignited divinity, while Jane and Sara remain normal Witches." He glanced up, finally breaking the book's hold with a smile. "Exceptional ones, of course, but mortal nonetheless." Then, with the same gentle care of earlier, he pushed the book over to his side of the desk, sinking down in his seat again. "This is for you. It contains all the information I'd bothered to collect about the hidden world of supernaturals; it will provide you with the help I wish I had when starting out into the world of gods."

Quietly, Harry picked up the book, though his mind roamed another place altogether. "So…my father is alive." He glanced up at Dumbledore.

"Indeed."

He swallowed the news silently. That made both of his parents alive…his fantasy of a loving pair of parents truly never had any chance of surviving, did it?

Sighing, he peeked up at the Headmaster again. "Does Lily know?"

Dumbledore pursed his lips. "No. Once upon a time, I wouldn't have dared hide such information from her. But since the death of her husband, Lily has become...distant. Untrusting, and ever suspicious. It is no longer my place to inform her of the truth. That duty lies solely with you, do with it as you please. Though I would, of course, prefer you informing her right away and ending her relentless pursuit of vengeance."

"Oh, I don't know.” Harry leaned back, smirking, finding a wisp of amusement amid the heavy gloom. “I kinda like the idea of her agonising over some needless war and burning herself up for absolutely nothing."

The old man sighed, the twinkle in his eyes dying down. "It is a sad day indeed when a child wishes such malevolence on his mother."

Harry scowled, opening his mouth to retort but a promptly raised hand cut him off.

"Do not misunderstand.” Dumbledore said firmly. “I don't blame you, Mr. Potter. I can only imagine what you must've felt in all this mess. No, the blame lies solely on Lily. And perhaps me as well. Had I not advised her regarding you, had I not left her alone to wallow in her misery, perhaps things would've been different now. But it is all in the past, something no one can change."

Harry looked at the man with narrowed eyes. He tried to ignore it, tried to forget about Lily Potter altogether…but no matter how much he rebelled, and no matter how much it hurt, his mind refused to move past the subject.

“What advice?” He finally asked the Headmaster warily. “What could you possibly have said that would make my mother abandon me so easily?”

The old man closed his eyes as if he’d feared the exact question, exhaling heavily. “You must realise how dreadful that time was, Harry. The war had reached its peak, people were disappearing everyday…nothing and nobody was safe. Just weeks after your father’s death, when things were finally starting to calm, the news of Frank and Alice Longbottom being tortured to insanity washed through the Wizarding Britain, driving it's people in a fury unmatched…it terrified her. It terrified all of us, truly. And amidst all this were you; magic had suddenly become inimical to you overnight—the effect of your father’s soul becoming whole, I suspect now—but then the best we could do was speculate. Your mother decided, instead, to act."

"By sending me away." Harry snarled, not one bit softened. "By acting like I never even existed; a faulty product, waiting to be discarded like some unwanted trash."

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "She only tried protecting you, Harry. Without magic, even if you had survived, you would have grown bitter and resentful of your siblings had you stayed, envying something that you could never have. She had already seen her sister's hate, she didn't wish to see yours as well."

Harry laughed, the sound so bitter it almost felt alien to his own ears. "I would rather be jealous and envious than hungry and starving, Professor. I don't hate my mother just because she didn't buy me my favourite Christmas present. If she loved me so much, why did she never check up on me? Why did she never come back!?" He didn't realise it then, but by this point, he was starting to scream his words out in genuine fury. "Do you even realise what it's like!? Dreading to wake up in the morning, hoping you don't accidentally turn your teacher's hair blue today? Hoping, even knowing how false the hope, that you aren't thrown in the cupboard for the rest of the weekend, pulling spider-webs off your pillow so you could sleep through the hunger? How could you—!"

He cut himself off, taking deep, calming breaths to press down upon the bubbling emotions, even as his eyes grew hot and damp. It took a precious few seconds of desperate attempts at Occlumency to stop the flow of tears on their track.

He didn't like exposing himself like thus, to show such…vulnerability. Hermione was the only one who even had an inkling of his life, and that was far less than what he'd already blabbered to the Headmaster.

“I’m sorry.” Genuine regret seemed to tinge Dumbledore’s voice. “I wouldn’t claim to understand your pain, Harry, and neither am I trying to excuse Lily's actions.” He sighed deeply. “I wish I could say your life will only improve from now, but that would be a lie. The life of a Demigod is wreathed in tragedies; it is a curse as much as a blessing." Pausing, the headmaster took a deep, halting breath. "You have suffered more than most, that is true, but the Fates are a cruel bunch and the Half-bloods are their playthings. Now that you're aware of who you are, you no longer have the luxury of avoiding them."

Harry swallowed the implications quietly.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he should suffer more after everything he'd been through, but that was life. He’d been long disillusioned with the world since far before he joined Hogwarts; life just wasn’t fair.

But if that was the price for knowing the truth, so be it. The pages of history were filled with grand quests immortalised within time, yet behind every great hero was a tale woven in blood and suffering. Why should his be any different?

For he now knew, without any shadow of doubt…come what challenge may, he would rise up in the end. Greatness was all he’d ever desired; by the time death claimed him, the world would know his name, one way or the other.

Harry sat there for a long moment, wreathed in the silence of the Headmaster’s words and his own grit, absent eyes fixed upon the book in his lap as he realised his world was about to completely change once again…

Behind him, the silvery instruments in the room gave soft, rattling chimes and wicked, cackling chuffs every once in a while, providing a strange sort of comfort to him.

He glanced up at Dumbledore, back in control of himself. As biting as the subject of his mother had been, it came second to what was truly important now…

What comes next?

He opened his mouth at the Headmaster, though before he could utter a word, a stark realisation suddenly hit him like a lightning bolt out of nowhere, recalling the Headmaster's earlier words…

He whipped his head up at the old wizard. “You said this book will provide me with the help you wish you’d received when starting out…what do you—”

A low smile had spread across the man’s face, of cheeky mirth that seemed to scream ‘finally!’ as if he’d just about managed to stumble upon a secret. Harry wagered he was just as happy to move on from their earlier subject.

"You as well?" He whispered at the man uncertainly.

Dumbledore nodded, wistful nostalgia tugging at his tone, "I was lucky enough to complete my Hogwarts education before I finally began suspecting the truth. It…may have something to do with a chance meeting with a certain someone, but the fire of curiosity it lit within me…" He sighed, shaking his head. "But yes, Mr. Potter, the reason I was so quickly able to identify your situation is because I have once felt as you now feel. I have been in that world, lived and learnt its secrets…it isn't very difficult for someone in my position to recognise a kindred soul."

Harry moved to the edge of his seat, barely stopping his knees from bobbing in excitement. "Prove it."

"Do you truly still doubt my words, child?" The headmaster frowned reproachfully. "I find that quite wounding, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to know this is real.” He insisted fervently. "I don't want to wake up in the morning wondering if all this wasn’t just some hyper-lucid dream or…mind-magic. I'd appreciate anything, really."

Dumbledore hummed, stroking his flowing, white beard. “Well…I do feel quite miffed at the acute lack of an audience who could properly appreciate my mastery over Mystiokinesis…” He reached into his robe pocket, fishing for something. “Very well then, Mr. Potter. You’ve got a deal. Prepare yourself to meet…Andronikos.”

Harry waited with bated breath, the name sending shivers down his spine…

And then the old sorcerer whipped out a small, three by five inch card, glinting matte black in the moonlight.

Harry blinked, disappointed. “What is it?”

“This…” Dumbledore announced grandly, “is my Mistform.”

"…Okay?"

"I created him with my own two wands. After over a decade of hardwork and a river of sweat and passion—"

“Gross.”

"—and true mastery over souls at a level even Hecate would be dumbfounded at…and finally, with an expert touch as a child of Hephaestus, I crafted this beauty. Alas, I have never gotten a chance to properly make use of him."

"Soooo…what is it?"

As if aware of his growing scepticism, the headmaster smiled, primly lifting a finger to stab the card in the middle.

“Whoa—” Harry jumped up as white and gold smoke drifted out of the card, gathering in a living swirl on the floor beside the desk. Then, in front of his very eyes, the smoke began solidifying into a hulking suit of armour that towered over him by at least a foot and a half.

On its back poked out a behemothic sword of glowing bronze that the being unsheathed in one swift motion—its flat glittering a beautiful dark gold beneath the single ray of moonlight—cutting through the air in a lethal whoosh, before slamming it down as he knelt in supplication.

To Harry’s great surprise, and slight bit of alarm, the bronze sword had sunk straight down into the ground. He'd reached for his wand already, but the sound of concrete tearing apart like a piñata beneath the golden-white warrior's feet made him hesitate, its great weight echoing within his chest like a thunder clap.

Taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart, he slowly turned to Dumbledore. “What on Merlin’s damned earth, Professor?”

The old man pinched the bridge of his nose. “I apologise…I forgot how dramatic he used to be. It has been years since the last time I let him free.”

Harry shook his head incredulously. “What is he?”

“A mistform.” The Headmaster repeated. “A being of magic that I created to protect me. Even as a Demigod, I have never been too keen on the…physical side of a battle. A very damning weakness, if an opponent realised it, especially in the world you’re about to enter. This is where Andronikos comes in.” He turned to the monstrous being of glinting metals. “This gentleman here can tear through a Troll like wet paper. It is every bit as fast and strong as the mightiest Demigod, and certainly far more durable…with him by my side, there are very few beings in this world who could defeat me.”

Harry looked at the golden-white knight, its visor a band of darkness that stared back at him like a silent wraith. He could've sworn there was a conscious glint of intelligence in its depths.

"Well," He turned back to Dumbledore, jabbing his wand back in his pocket. "That does it. Where do I sign up?”

The Headmaster smiled.

By the time Harry took his leave of Dumbledore’s office, his eyes were half-lidded and heavy with sleep, and his wobbly feet dragged themselves straight back to the Slytherin dorm, yawning along the way on every other step.

They had talked well into the witching hour of midnight, jumping between a varied variety of subjects; Dumbledore felt it crucial to give him a crash course over the world of gods and monsters, and how wizards fell into the mix.

Apparently since the World Wars, the little occasional contact between Demigods and Wizards had crumbled down completely in a number of countries…save, perhaps, for the United States.

The reason, he was quite surprised to hear, was Grindelwald; the former Dark Lord and part time Demigod—a child of Hades to boot, which was supposed to be a big thing according to Dumbledore. He was alleged to have been the main instigator of the wars, and the devastation it caused was enough to attract even the attention of gods.

Though for some reason, that wasn’t what really bothered Harry.

"So what?” He questioned, a little miffed. “Are all powerful wizards secretly demigods now?"

"Dear Merlin, no.” Dumbledore chuckled easily. “Only the unlucky few. Those who are destined never to live a simple life of love and peace. Those cursed to die young or spend the rest of their days in fear…or, in rare cases, simply grow strong enough so nothing may kill them anymore. You could see which path I chose."

‘The path of power.’ Harry knew at once. ‘The same path I will follow.’

“But how many…Demi-wizards are there, exactly?”

Dumbledore quirked his brow amusedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t know, of course…but at a guess? In my century of breathing upon this land, the ones I’ve encountered can be counted on one hand.”

“What about Voldemort?” Harry asked eagerly.

“He, thankfully, remains a mortal.” The Headmaster replied with pursed lips, before pausing a brief moment, a subtle frown flickering on his face. “Well, as mortal as a wizard such as he could be.”

There were hidden implications in his tone that Harry wasn’t quite ready to dive in yet. He was more interested in their current subject anyhow.

"I can see why people say you're the only wizard Voldemort ever feared.” He commented flippantly. “You’re literally half-god compared to the poor guy…why didn’t you kill him far before Jane ever had a chance again?”

The sharp graveness they’d left behind with Lily’s topic suddenly crept up on them like an unwanted guest.

“Harry…” Dumbledore said, sounding about as sombre as he did every time they skirted around his father’s topic. “Lord Voldemort is the greatest Dark Lord, and possibly the greatest wizard, to ever walk the earth. Many would disagree, and I'm flattered many would consider me the greater, but it is my honest belief that without my mastery over Greek magic, Voldemort would've been ruling Great Britain by now. Even then, the most I could do is hold him at bay. It is fortunate the fates have made him such a coward at heart; even the thought of someone capable of resisting him frightens his soul to the very core. But should push come to shove, there is every possibility that in a direct confrontation I may not always come out on top."

The words washed over him like a bucket of blistering cold water. Dumbledore's feats were absurdly legendary; after Merlin and Morgana, he was likely the most well-known wizard in the world for his sheer power. To hear from his own mouth that another wizard—a Dark Lord Harry had always assumed to be even lesser than Grindelwald—was capable of defeating him in a straight duel was…shocking, to say the least.

But that was far lesser a shock to what he’d finally discerned.

On their way back from the Chamber, he’d lent half an ear to Jane who’d peppered him with the tales of Tom Riddle the dastardly, and what had really happened in the 3rd floor corridor last year…Voldemort being alive was the only thing coming out of her mouth that momentarily broke his then on-going mental breakdown.

The fact that Albus Dumbledore himself confirmed it two times in less than a minute—no matter how indirectly—was more than enough to settle it.

So there was a mass-murdering Dark Lord equal or superior to Dumbledore currently in possession of the Philosopher’s stone, plotting his grand return in some abandoned corner of the world. How much worse could things get?

Yet, for all the bundle of shocks this night insisted on dropping upon him, it wasn’t enough for him to divert his attention from what really mattered; Camp Half-blood.

“When do I have to go?” Harry asked, barely keeping a hold of his excitement.

The little the Headmaster had already described had been enough for his blood to begin boiling in sheer anticipation. A Summer camp full of kids like him? All learning to master their skills in secret, away from the public eyes? And no Dursleys for the entire Summer to boot!?

A more perfect paradise had never existed for Harry.

“As soon as possible.” Said Dumbledore, gently stroking his long, monkish beard. “While you’re shielded within the Castle walls, no other place on earth is as safe for you anymore…save, perhaps, for the Camp. You could wait till your summer holidays start before leaving, but I would be far more comforted if you left as early as tomorrow.” The Headmaster peered down at him with great significance. “It is very important that you learn to control your powers as soon as you can, Mr. Potter. I have a suspicion it won't be long before you’re called upon to utilise them in full."

Harry swallowed slowly, mouth parched and thirsty from hours of ceaseless talking. “Can I wait until the afternoon? I don’t want to leave without even saying goodbye.”

“That, I would recommend highly. Rest, gather your strength; you’re about to enter a world whose laws will often leave you dumbfounded or outright disgusted. It is essential that you evolve to accept them. The Greeks are a primal bunch—those who struggle to indulge that side of themselves tend not to survive long within it. When you’re ready, find me back here in my office before break-time. Until then…a very Goodnight to you.”

The walk back to the dorm, while painfully tiring, passed in an unexpectedly quick blur, his mind simply too preoccupied with all the revelations of the day. He wondered, should he use a Time-turner and explain what was about to go down this day to the past Harry, would he believe it? Having his first civil conversation with Jane, accompanying the Ginger-duo in search of the legendary Chamber of Secrets, greeting and slaying teenage Dark Lord and his pet serpent, and then finding out he was the son of a Greek god…

He doubted it. He very much doubted it.

"Bubbling Alihotsy." Harry uttered upon reaching the sleeping snakes guarding the Slytherin Common Room. The door swung open at once and he made way straight to his bed, flopping down immediately—piling head-first into the softness of his bed.

He didn't even feel his face hitting the mattress before his eyes closed and his body finally gave up, embracing the deepest part of the sleep with heavenly relief.

That night, he dreamt of a beautiful Horse and a golden Eagle battling upon the surf of a beach, completely unaware of the dead lurking beneath the sand…and the malignant laughter that goaded them on.

----------------------------

The news of the Heir being caught spread through the walls of Hogwarts like wildfire. By the time Harry pulled himself off his bed—absurdly late in the morning—every student was busy chattering away excitedly on what may have gone down in the Chamber.

No one knew for certain of course, but that didn't stop rumours from growing; coupled with the 200 points apiece the Headmaster had apparently seen fit to award him and Jane, they mostly centred around the two. The same students who'd glared at him suspiciously a day prior now approached him like they were the best of friends, asking who the Heir was and how he defeated them.

Most, Harry simply brushed off, though a particularly stubborn bunch of 2nd years decided his evasiveness was an invitation to further poke their noses into his business.

"Can you at least tell us about the Weasley girl?" Greengrass needled from beside him, leading her group of narks as the chief nose-poker. "None of the professors said anything about her, just that the Heir is caught and the school won't have to be shut down."

Harry ignored her for the moment, eyes flickering through the many faces lingering within the Dungeon, a little surprised to see so many students out and about in the castle, roaming freely with rushing jubilance. Classes should’ve started hours ago.

He glanced back at Greengrass, shrugging. "I don't know. Last I saw she seemed to be breathing.” Sticking with the route to the Great Hall, he expertly avoided a gaggle of giggling girls—there must be something quite funny about him today, for that was the third time it had happened—with the group of four 2nd years keeping pace by his side. “If you want to know more, how about asking her yourself?"

Greengrass rolled her eyes.

“C'mon, Harry.” Tracey Davis whined from her friend's side, poking her head in the front to stare at him with doe-eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know we love you, right?”

“Oh, I know.” He looked at the chipper girl blandly. “You all love me so much that no one cared enough to even visit me in the Hospital Wing.”

Davis gasped comically. “You can’t blame us for that!” She hurriedly moved to a side to let a couple of Slytherins pass through, before getting right back on track. “We didn’t know where you’d run off to, and Snape nearly blew a gasket when he realised you were missing. Wouldn’t even let us out of the Common room until Jason Harper wet his pants.”

From his right, a bored Zabini let out a snort. “You should’ve seen them. Snape genuinely looked like he was trying very hard not to kill the kid." The boy scrunched up his face in a thunderous scowl, deepening his voice in a silken soft, nasally tone that promised great pain. “ ‘And what, Mr. Harper, gave you the idea that relieving yourself here was the best way to leave the Common Room?’ ” Beside him, Theodore Nott gave a dry chuckle.

Harry's lips twitched. For the most part, he held no love for his classmates' antics, but he had to admit Zabini's impressions were always on point. Shame the boy himself held such a high self-opinion; of all his peers, he was the only one Harry could've seen himself being friends with.

As the group of five left the Dungeons, climbing up the Grand Staircase, Davis once again turned to him, cow-eyed and pleading. "So…"

Rolling his eyes, he finally gave up beneath the combined power of eight hopeful peepers, coming to a halt beneath one of the moving staircases. “Fine, but this stays between you four.”

The group gave their assent easily—likely because they held no intentions of following through.

Harry looked up and down the stairs to make sure no lingering student was around to eavesdrop, before turning back to the expectant group.

"It was Tom Riddle." He revealed unceremoniously. "He was a student here, long time ago. Got himself trapped in some dark magic and came back to Hogwarts as a ghost."

Silence reigned supreme as all four digested the 'secret' in varying degrees of incredulity, ranging from Zabini's passing surprise to…well, some outright disbelieving faces.

"A ghost did all that?" Greengrass was the first to voice her dissent in the silence, frowning sceptically. "What, did it possess a student or something?"

Harry kept his face carefully neutral, resuming his walk up the stairs. "Or something, yeah."

She shook her head, following after him slowly, clearly unsatisfied. "But—what about the Chamber then? And Slytherin's monster?"

"Pile of rubbish." Harry scoffed. "He just took Weasley to that abandoned shed at the edge of Hogsmeade. Jane and I got there quickly enough to rescue her. After that? We just ran like hell. Luckily the Headmaster arrived back in time to exorcise Riddle's spirit. As for the petrification?" He shrugged, "Some sort of Curse, I think. Tom Riddle was as dark a wizard as any…who knows what else he could've done."

“So you didn’t—" She shook her head, swallowing the rest of her words. "So the Chamber doesn’t exist?” The girl looked visibly struggling to wrap her head around it.

“I wouldn't know.” Harry said indifferently, waiting a moment for the stairs to readjust before racing up the rest of the way.

Sadly, Greengrass was quick to follow.

Sighing, he glanced back at the girl. "All I can say, Greengrass, is that the Chamber has nothing to do with what's been happening in the castle all year. Barring that, I know nothing about any Heir, monster, or hidden Chamber."

"And you never even—"

"No."

She frowned, annoyed eyes jerking away to the side. “I see…”

A part of him disliked the need for such lies. Surely Hogwarts deserved to know the truth? Deserved to know exactly what went down within the insidious depths of its walls, what Jane and him had gone through to save it? How close they'd come to losing their lives?

He still remembered the bloodied face of Lockhart, as clear as the dawning sun. His existential crisis had served as a suitable distraction from yesterday's events, but there were moments when he would look at his blonde Housemates and the eyes that stared back were Lockhart's baby blues. His hunched body, shivering in terror a second before it was torn in half by razor sharp teeth…Should the castle not be made aware of this?

'And more importantly,' A selfish part of him couldn't help but whisper, 'Do I not deserve it?'

After everything he'd done to prove himself worthy of staying within these walls, should he not be guerdoned befittingly? For the people to finally realise his worth?

Sadly, it was not to be. For this time, logic won the battle in his mind handily, coming to the lone conclusion: It simply wasn't worth it. It would be far more advantageous if the Chamber remained a mystery to the Castle, so no part-time adventuring student would try to hunt for it. It could serve as his own personal little kingdom, where he could practise the darkest of magic if he so pleased.

Thankfully, the others proved to be more accepting of his lies than Greengrass; Harry was sure the word would soon spread through the Common room by mid-day.

“You must be talking about the Shrieking Shack then.” Said Nott musingly, having quickly caught up with the two. “It’s been haunted for a very long time. Even Hogwarts’ ghosts don’t go in there.”

“Makes sense.” Zabini shrugged, lingering a pace or two behind. “This Riddle’s ghost must’ve been trapped in there for a long time until something shook him loose. And, no offence to you Potter, but your version is just far easier to believe than some of the things people have come up with in the Common Room. A thousand-year-old Basilisk? Seriously? What did it eat, dust and stones?"

Harry chuckled along with the boys, sticking his hands in his robe pockets to hide the clenched fists.

"Well…I'm still glad you saved the girl, Harry." Davis said lightly, shooting Nott and Zabini a stink-eye. "I can think of a few who'd have happily let her die."

Nott looked not one bit fazed, while Zabini gave an annoying, little smirking shrug.

The group of five went on to discuss the pros and cons of saving Gryffindors as they made their way to the Great Hall. Harry had hoped the four would disperse away after satisfying their curiosity, but found, to his surprise, that he didn't resent their continued presence as much as he'd thought he would.

While none would be considered a friend anytime soon, their presence had the added benefit of keeping the rest of the Castle's curious inhabitants at bay, letting no further queries about the Chamber incident reach his ears—finally giving him a moment of peace ever since he'd left his room’s premises. He supposed Slytherins just had that effect on people.

It was almost an hour to the noon break when they reached their destination. Surprisingly, dozens of students still roamed the Great Hall, all dressed in informal garbs, a couple even sporting their night clothes and pyjamas. They lingered around their house tables, laughing and cheering, making sure not a single crumb of the delectable food arranged on the tables went to waste…

‘What in the world…?’

It was only then Harry’s gaze went to the chock-full of steaming hot food piled up in droves on all four House tables, easily surpassing any feast the Castle had seen in his time. Even the walls and ceiling were decorated in celebratory colours, as if Christmas had come to grace the halls of Hogwarts early this year…

"What in Merlin's name is this all about?” He turned to Davis slowly, flummoxed. “And why are all the students out of their classes?"

"You didn't know?" The beaming girl turned to him in surprise, before glancing at the students around them. “That’s just…” She trailed off, as if only now realising they held the attention of many since having entered the Great Hall. Fidgeting on her feet, she turned back to him, a touch more subdued. “Well, the Headmaster gave a holiday today. You know, for everything that’s happened recently? All the exams are cancelled too, and the feast’s been going on since early morning.”

“...Riiiight.” Harry slowed nodded. “Of course.”

So while he was snoring into his bed, tired out of his mind, Hogwarts was celebrating the spoils of his victory.

'Worse, I'm not even gonna be here long enough to enjoy it myself.' Harry sulked, trailing behind the rest of the gang as they made for the Slytherin table.

The reminder of his impending change in life suddenly jogged his memory anew. He halted in place, remembering his original purpose with a start—somehow, the stark change in the state of the Castle had made it slip his mind briefly—and quickly looked over at the Lion’s table.

Try though he might, he found neither hide nor hair of any bushy-haired Gryffindor, and considering Creevey was back at it again with his flashing camera, and Sir Nicolos was yanking at his half-attached head on the other side of the Hall, it was safe to assume all petrified patients were cured by now.

Coincidentally—or perhaps, not so much—he also failed to locate his twin and her loyal gingerline.

Interestingly, however, he did catch the eye of a different Gryffindor girl, Parvati Patil, if he remembered correctly, who gestured at him vaguely for a few moments—none of which he even tried to understand—before frustratedly giving up. She then quickly stood up, whispered something in her friend’s ear, and proceeded to exit the Great Hall in a hurry.

Without thinking much, Harry immediately made to follow.

"Wait, where're you going?" Davis’ voice called out from behind him.

He hesitated, lingering a brief moment to see what direction Patil was headed to, before turning around. "I've…got a task at hand. Why don’t you lot go on? Maybe I'll join you later."

Behind Davis, Zabini and Nott exchanged a couple knuts, with the former flashing a triumphant smirk, muttering beneath his breath—for some reason, Harry heard him clear as crystal. "Told ya."

Pursing his lips, he promptly left the gang of snakes, bidding them no farewell. He'd already wasted a minute too long on them.

Heading straight towards the Hall’s exit, Harry took a quick, passing look at the Staff table, which lay suspiciously empty of its Headmaster. Considering it was nearly an hour or so from break time, he wagered Dumbledore might soon begin anticipating his presence.

He hurried his pace.

His path through the Entrance Hall took him out of the Castle and into the Viaduct Courtyard—though not before seeing the massive Hourglasses on either side of the door, showing Slytherins to be in a clear lead for the House Cup this time.

Contrary to the time of the year, chilly gusts of wind were running roughshod through the grounds like vengeful wails of the dead. It reminded him uncomfortably of the strange dream he'd woken up from today; something about Horses and Eagles, and a whole bunch of distinctly familiar Skeletons…

Harry shook his head, forcing away the rapidly building unease. His heart was already a restless mess right now—from sheer anticipation of what direction his life was about to take—he didn’t need the added stress of bizarre dreams into the mix.

As he began traversing through the Courtyard, he kept an eye out for a mane of red or brown, or even the Patil girl who’d gone missing on him, though it wasn’t as easy a task as he’d imagined.

Despite the turbulent weather, students in casual wear still lingered abound in the Courtyard, sitting on benches or leaning against the pillars. A few played Gobstone to the left, and every single one looked carefree and exuberant—starkly contrasting to the gloomy, downcast air that had perforated the Castle for the last few months.

Things seemed to finally be looking up for Hogwarts.

As he made his way through the cobbled Viaduct Cloister, searching from face to face and behind every pillar of the colonnade, he couldn't help but absently reflect on how awfully similar everything still seemed around him. The Castle and its inhabitants, the chatter of the students, even the air that he breathed and the ground beneath his feet…shouldn't being half a god change your entire perspective on life? Merlin, even thinking about it gave him a headache.

Yet, he felt like he'd always felt—restless and moody. He didn't suddenly gain an infinite well of wisdom and power…or patience, for that matter, as he pushed aside an irritating Firstie wanting to know more about the Chamber. Greengrass' relentless nose-poking had still annoyed him, Zabini's drawling quips had still frayed his nerves, Davis' attempts at conversation still made him tired, and Nott just existed in his periphery like he always did…everything in Hogwarts still seemed so utterly normal, when that was the last thing he wished to feel right now.

He was half a god, for Merlin’s sake!

Then again, he supposed it wasn't them who'd changed. Only he had. He simply couldn't decide how exactly yet.

About halfway through his inspection of the Courtyard, in the midst of interrogating a fidgety Hufflepuff girl, a shrill, excited yell of ‘Harry!’ suddenly reached his ears out of nowhere.

One could put the largest pair of earmuffs on him and he would still recognise that voice anywhere in the world.

‘Found you.’ Or…it looked more like she found him.

With the largest shit-eating grin of the century, Harry Potter turned around, just in time to catch a flying slingshot of bushy-haired parcel that almost took them both to the ground.

"Uff!" His breath left him in a whoosh and a mouthful of brown hair launched an unrequited attack upon his person, flapping in the wild wind like frantic wings, threatening to choke him to an early grave. "—Hermione, lay off!"

His plea went utterly unheard.

"You did it!" Her arms wrapped even tighter around his neck, "You solved it! I knew you would!"

After a moment of desperate struggle, he finally managed to free his face from the bolshie bunch of brown mane, though the soft hands around him had yet to slacken. It took a tiny push from Occlumency for him to awkwardly return his best friend’s hug, patting her on the back, whilst completely ignoring the background pests who didn’t realise how terrible of an audience they made.

Though most of his attention remained in maintaining the hug.

Like a writer knows his characters, Harry had known, in theory, that friends—especially close ones—sometimes tend to show their affection physically…but that did not change the fact that he was still, in the end, woefully inexperienced in this territory himself.

Hermione had managed to discern that about a week into their newfound friendship. So he wasn’t surprised when she quickly stepped back, after only another second or so, still beaming up a storm.

“Jane told me about what happened in the Chamber.” She gushed, a hint of prideful wonderment in her voice. “Harry, you saved Ginny Weasley’s life!”

For a second he simply stared at her in silence—drinking her presence in, and digesting the fact that she really was here; safe and sound—before his mind finally caught up to her words.

“Yeah, well…” He ran a hand through his hair, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe the gingers aren’t all as bad as I once thought…” He trailed off, sudden movement from behind capturing his attention. With an annoyed frown, he peered over Hermione’s shoulder, observing mutely as the scattered vestiges of a crowd suddenly united together, pointing and whispering excitedly—seemingly losing all interest in them.

The reason became starkly apparent, when the most famous ginger of 21st century managed to sift her way through their midst, patiently moving through the thicket of bodies one step at a time, taking her sweet while to greet every question and calls for attention gently along the way, as if she were Mother Teresa reborn.

It would seem the recent events had reinstated Jane Potter’s status as the Wizarding World’s personal champion in the heart of Hogwarts.

Harry grunted. It was easy to understand why, only yesterday, he’d hated her so much he would’ve gladly let her die in the Chamber. It was difficult not to loathe someone who has wronged you—or, at least, you think has wronged you—when they’re constantly treated like a hero by the rest of the bloody world.

Not that he felt the same anymore. Having seen beneath her mask of perfect benevolence and righteousness, he fancied he understood her a little better now. She was about as miserable as any of them.

He turned back to Hermione, whispering. "Speaking of which, here comes Ginge-one."

“Harry!” Jane greeted the moment she managed to escape the clutches of the crowd, who drew back like ants against vinegar as they realised exactly who she’d joined.

Apparently, even saving the school didn’t make Harry any more likeable in the eyes of the rest of the Houses. Oh, the heartache.

…Then again, considering how many of them were forced to take a trip to the Hospital wing this year, it really wasn’t any wonder; he should probably be a little less handsy with his wand next time. Honestly, he blamed the Pit for spoiling him terribly; now anytime even a hint of conflict brewed in the horizon, his first instinct was to blast it into smithereens.

"Jane." He nodded back at his twin as the three moved a little ways away from the crowd, glancing from her to Hermione. "Were you searching for me together?"

Jane was the one to respond, with Hermione simply too busy staring at his face suspiciously closely. "Yeah, and Ron as well. He's probably lost somewhere around the Bell Tower. Thank Merlin Parvati found us in time, or we’d still be searching for you in the Castle."

That struck him a little odd. “Why were you searching for me in the first place?” He asked curiously.

“You weren’t at the feast today.” She replied, frowning. “We asked some boys in your House, but the few who could be bothered to answer straight hadn’t seen you in the Common Room. After everything that happened yesterday, I thought you’d—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “Well, we were worried, is all.”

“I see…” He nodded slowly, strangely lightheaded at the thought of more than one person caring about his whereabouts.

All the while, Hermione’s eyes were boring into the side of his skull blandly.

Sighing, he finally turned to her. “What?”

She said nothing…but the way her eyes darted from Jane to him, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, spoke louder than any words.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Alright, fine. I admit it…maybe she's not that bad, either."

“Why, thank you, Mr. Potter.” Jane curtsied cutely beside him.

Harry smirked back at her. “Anytime, Ms. Potter. Consider it a repayment for lying to the Headmaster for me.”

“ ‘Lying to the Headmaster’?” Hermione finally spoke up, incredulous.

'Figures that's what gets her to talk.'

"Don't worry, he already knows." Harry said soothingly. “Actually, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.” He quickly took a look around them; a few students still milled about, watching them like the most fascinating thing in their life—some shooting subtle glances, others blatantly trying to eavesdrop. He grimaced. “Though obviously not here.”

The three headed out of the Viaduct Courtyard, stepping onto the breezy grounds of Hogwarts. Vast swathes of green land stretched ahead until the foot of the main gate, glinting under the morning Sun; Harry had often envisioned coming here at nighttime, under the cover of darkness; a school broom in hand, so he would simply soar beneath the beautiful moonlight, drinking in the mystical airglow of this incomprehensibly large world.

Alas, some dreams were meant to stay incomplete.

"Well,” Hermione piped up, smiling, as the trio of 2nd years stepped upon the straight, cobbled path leading towards the main Gate. “I'm glad to see you two are…fine now, at least."

Sadly, while the bushy-haired girl was many things, good at poker-faces she was not. The large 'I told you so' that she was gracious enough not to verbalise could be seen on her face as clear as a slab of clean glass.

Harry rolled his eyes at her, before reluctantly forcing himself to grow serious. "Alright, this is far enough.” He took a quick, sharp breath, preparing the words to deliver the news without coming off as a complete nutter. “Listen, I know what I’m about to say might be a little…" He trailed off, suddenly hesitating beneath the sudden interest in Jane’s eyes.

"Oh," She seemed to realise that, quickly backing away. "You want me to leave?" She said so casually, but Harry had come to know her enough to read the crestfallen note within.

"...No." He replied after a short pause. "You can stay. In fact, I prefer you to.” He took another, deeper breath, the restlessness within growing stronger. “Alright, so first…judging by the fact she didn’t know about you lying, I’m guessing you gave her the edited version?”

His twin replied in a single nod.

“Wh—Excuse me?”

Ignoring Hermione’s yelp, he kept his eyes fixed on his sister. “I want you to tell her exactly what happened in the Chamber yesterday."

Jane’s eyebrows shot up her forehead, eyes flickering to ‘Mione and back. “...You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Jane nodded, turning to Hermione—

“Not now, of course." Harry interrupted. “Later, after I’m gone. I, uh…don’t have much time.”

Hermione was quick to catch up on the implications. “I’m guessing I’m missing a very large part of your secret, so I won’t even ask.” She shook her head, annoyed and confused. Harry sympathised, honestly; knowing her, a blatant secret like this would eat her up from the inside if it wasn’t disclosed to her soon. “Just tell me…are you in danger?”

“Nothing like that, I promise. It’s just…” He paused, turning to Jane. “What you saw yesterday, what I did in the Chamber…it wasn’t magic.”

“I knew it!” Jane exclaimed instantly, before slapping her mouth shut with a hand.

Harry leaned away, taken aback.

“Continue, continue!” She waved him on hurriedly.

“Well…” He stared at her suspiciously a moment longer, before shaking his head. There wasn’t enough time right now. Turning to Hermione, he tried to find words. “It’s um…”

How do you tell your best friend and sister that you’re half God?

“Well, I don’t know what it is.” He chuckled sheepishly, though a small part of his mind was yelling at him to man-up. “Which is exactly why I’m leaving.” The lie came easily, because he really was a bloody liar, “Dumbledore wants me to come with him today, to some summer camp for people like me. I’ll tell you everything I learn when I come back, but I have to leave immediately.” He stopped the urge to wring his hands, giving what he hoped was a ‘casual’ shrug. “You know, just wanted to say goodbye before I go. I don’t know when I’ll be back in England—”

“You’re leaving the country?” Jane interrupted.

His lips quirked up. “Try a little wider.”

The realisation dawned on Hermione instantly. “You're leaving Europe. But—” She shook her head. “Of course. The Headmaster is Apparating you?”

"Most likely, though it could be a Portkey as well. I don’t know yet." Harry glanced up at the Sun, which had climbed high over their heads by now—silent and steady. “Alright, I really have to go. Maybe I’ll visit you again for the Summer holidays, Hermione, if I arrive back quickly enough. Your parents don’t mind, do they?”

Hermione and Jane exchanged a quick glance, suddenly looking far more hesitant than he’d ever witnessed either of them being.

Harry frowned, confused. “What?”

“Well…Jane here invited us to come over to her house this time. I thought we could both use a Summer of being able to use magic…”

Beside her, Jane nodded; silent and careful. “My, uhh—the manor has wards that prevent the Ministry from being alerted to any underage magic. I would be more than happy to have you there…”

Harry looked from one face to the other, slowly, desperately trying to suppress the ugly monster suddenly rising within his heart, reeking of anger and betrayal. “Sorry, I don’t think so.” His voice was cold and clipped. “Guess you’ll have to enjoy the Holidays without me. Well, see you two around then.” He turned towards the Castle silently.

“Harry, wait!” Jane frantically blocked his path, a hand coming to rest upon his shoulder. “Look, moth—um, she won’t be there at all, after the first few days! I’m not asking you to make friends with anyone. Really. It’s a pretty big Manor, you can literally stay in one section without seeing anyone else. Just…think about it?”

He tugged her hand away, scowling, opening his mouth to deliver a scathing retort that he would likely regret later on—

“But if that’s not what you want,” Hermione hurriedly took over, shooting Jane a look. “We can still spend the Summer at my place, whenever you return. I’m sure Jane would be happy to come over.”

“Sure.” Jane quickly nodded. “Never saw a muggle house before. Could be fun.”

That threw Harry for a loop, coming as an absolute curveball. He paused in place, his misplaced anger slowly vanishing in a vacuum of wary surprise as he observed the two fidgeting girls silently.

“You really aren’t doing this for Lily?” He finally asked, a healthy dose of suspicion ringing in his voice.

“Of course not!” Jane seemed almost outraged. “I haven’t even told her anything about you yet, and not for the lack of asking, mind you. Either way, like I said, she won’t even be there in the Manor once the Holidays start. She’s leaving for Egypt with the rest of my family and won’t be returning until around the start of August. Why would I invite you otherwise?”

“Oh." He slowly turned around to face them fully, the explanation leaving him a little mortified. “Right, of course…sorry, I just—I really want to just stay away from all of them, for as long as possible. In fact, I’d be perfectly fine if we never interact for the rest of our lives."

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like an absolute wanker, but if there was one glaring weakness within him, it was his utter hatred for Lily Potter. And the thought of living inside the same house as her was just…maddening.

Beside him, Jane shook her head. “Harry, whatever problems you have with my family are between you and them. I’m not trying to play some great unifier here. But you are my…friend, at least, right? Fighting together should qualify for that at the minimum, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry snorted lightly. “Sure.”

“Well then, my new friend is just visiting my home, none of them need to know who you are. I already told them I would be staying with some friends—the only adult who’ll even be around is my tutor, but honestly she’s just brilliant. You’ll like her. Either way, I doubt we'd be staying in the Manor for more than a few hours, aside from sleeping of course." She opened her mouth as if to continue but promptly fell silent, waiting on him.

As did Hermione.

Harry sighed heavily, pinching his nose. On one hand, even the smallest risk of crossing paths with his fellow Potters and their extended family made him want to permanently shift his residence to this Summer Camp he hadn’t even known existed until yesterday.

…On the other hand, he would be lying if he said he himself wasn’t curious to check out the place he was originally meant to inherit…before he was thrown away like trash.

Plus, it was pretty clear Hermione was excited to see the fabled Potter Manor, and it simply wasn’t right to deny her that. After everything she’d done for him, he owed her this at least.

Sighing, he looked up at the girls. "You two have really thought this through, huh?"

Jane grinned like a cheshire cat, sensing weakness. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

"Fine, fine.” He rolled his eyes. “I'll write to you the moment I arrive back in England. Expect Hedwig sometime soon, though hopefully before the Summer ends."

And then it was time for him to bid farewell. To his surprise, the walk back to the Castle was far less awkward than he’d envisioned. The girls had all but forgotten about his earlier rebuff—which he was eternally thankful for; he did not wish to leave the country on bad terms with his only friends—too busy planning for the Holidays, which ranged from visiting Godric’s Hollow to Duelling, and Hermione’s favourite, perusing the Potter Library.

Shortly along the way, the male Weasley finally caught up to them. As it turned out, he and his family were also set to join the Potters on their trip to Egypt—courtesy of winning some grand prize in Daily Prophet.

Before long, they’d arrived in front of the Griffin statue. The farewell itself came with the promises to explain everything once he returned, write letters if possible, and bring back souvenirs from whatever new mysterious community he was about to join…

No hugs, thankfully—though the matter had looked a little shaky for a moment, considering how many times Weasley tried to thank him for saving his sister’s life.

And then he was riding up the Gargoyle statue, watching their faces slowly disappear beneath, replaced by the dark walls of the Headmaster’s tower.

In the silence of his own company, Harry took a deep breath. His wand was in his pocket, as was the Cloak of Invisibility. There was nothing else he needed now, nothing else that mattered. 

It was time to embrace the one side of him he had desperately tried to ignore since far before Hogwarts. It was finally time to enter the world of gods and monsters…

Harry had never looked forward to anything more in his life.

----------------------------

AN: And that's Ch.4 done. A lot of talking in this one ik, but hopefully it balances the previous action-packed chaps. 

Next up is Dumbledore taking Harry to the Camp and the start of PJO plot...or, well, my version of it. Let me know what you thought of this chap and feel free to ask any questions regarding it. Also, please vote in the poll for the title of this fic. I want to post the first chap on public, now that we're three more ahead.

I'll see you all in the upcoming MS chap, before starting the work on MGO. Till then, peace!