📖 Private Drive Arc – Scene 1: The Arrival
Privet Drive was a street that prided itself on normality. The hedges were clipped to identical heights, the cars washed until they shone, and the houses—brick boxes, each with tidy windows and spotless lawns—were indistinguishable from one another. To live here was to be ordinary, respectable, predictable.
And then the cars came.
It began with a low hum, growing louder until every curtain on the street twitched aside. A procession of sleek, black vehicles turned onto Privet Drive, their polished exteriors gleaming in the afternoon sun. They did not belong. They belonged in London, ferrying diplomats, or outside five-star hotels—not here, where the flashiest car usually belonged to Vernon Dursley's company.
Neighbors whispered. Children pressed their noses to glass.
The convoy slowed, pulling up before Number Twelve. Everyone on the street knew Number Twelve. It had always been… ordinary. But now it was not. Where once there had been a modest brick home, there now stood a mansion. White stone walls gleamed, the roof tiles glistened like polished obsidian, and tall iron gates coiled with patterns too elegant, too foreign, for any suburban street. It was as though the house had grown overnight, flawless and untouchable.
The first car door opened.
From it stepped a boy—no, not a boy, though his age suggested it. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair glinting in the sunlight, his sea-green eyes carrying an impossible depth. Percy Jackson. His presence was not loud, not boastful, yet it drew the eye as surely as the tide pulls the moon.
The second car door opened, and the air seemed to still.
Artemis emerged first, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight. She wore mortal clothing—jeans and a fitted shirt—but on her it looked ethereal, as though the fabric itself worshipped her. Her eyes, gray as starlight, swept across the street with a predator's wariness.
Then came Athena, her golden-brown hair tied neatly, her sharp eyes gleaming with intelligence that seemed to strip the world bare. Her sundress fluttered in the breeze, yet her stride was purposeful, commanding.
Together, they were unreal. Too perfect. Too beautiful.
And the street reacted as one.
Curtains snapped fully open. Murmurs rippled from one house to another. Mrs. Number Six nearly dropped her teacup. Mr. Number Nine pulled his car hastily into the garage as though ashamed.
At Number Four, Vernon Dursley stood stock-still by the window, his moustache quivering with rage. "What in blazes—" he muttered.
Petunia leaned forward, lips parted. She wasn't looking at Percy, though his presence radiated wealth and command. She was staring at Artemis, at Athena, at their impossible beauty. Her eyes narrowed, lips thinning with envy she would never admit aloud.
Dudley waddled into the room, a half-eaten chocolate bar in hand. "What's going on?" he mumbled, then stopped. His tiny piggy eyes locked on Percy and the two women. He frowned. For the first time in his spoiled life, Dudley Dursley felt something sour bloom in his chest. Not just dislike—envy.
And Harry…
Harry Potter, small and thin, was crouched on the edge of the window ledge, watching. His heart thumped strangely. He had never seen anyone like them. They didn't look like neighbors, like teachers, like anyone at all. They looked like they belonged in a world he could only dream of.
"Scandalous," Vernon huffed, tearing the curtains shut. "Look at them. Cars, gates, strutting about like royalty. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."
Petunia said nothing, but her eyes lingered on the closed curtains, her jaw tight.
Outside, Percy offered a hand to Artemis. She took it, and he leaned down, brushing a kiss against her temple. Then, without hesitation, he turned and did the same for Athena. His arms curled comfortably around both, guiding them toward the gates.
Gasps erupted from every window.
"Shameless!" cried Mrs. Number Seven, fanning herself with a magazine.
"Immoral," sniffed Mr. Number Eight, though he leaned further out his window to see.
Teenagers across the street whispered furiously, a mixture of awe and scandal lacing their words.
The gates swung open soundlessly, as though obeying an unseen command, and closed behind them. Within seconds, the three disappeared into their mansion.
But Privet Drive was not the same. Not anymore.
Privet Drive thrived on gossip. It was the invisible currency of the street, traded across neatly trimmed hedges and exchanged with forced smiles over tea. And after the arrival of Percy and his two breathtaking companions, the street was positively drowning in it.
By the very next morning, every household had its curtains pulled back, eyes squinting toward Number Twelve. Some lingered by their mailboxes longer than necessary, others pretended to water flowers that had been watered twice already. But all of them wanted one thing: a glimpse, another piece of the mystery to add to their growing tales.
Mrs. Figg, carrying her usual shopping bag, paused at Number Six, where Mrs. Ellis was pruning roses. "Did you see them?" she whispered conspiratorially. "Three of them! Just children, really, but looking like… well, like film stars!"
Mrs. Ellis pressed a hand to her chest. "Children? Those two girls? Nonsense. Models, more like. Did you see their clothes? Not from around here, that much I'll say. And the boy—" she hesitated, lowering her voice. "I've never seen anyone walk like that, as if the whole street belonged to him."
"And the way they carried on!" Mrs. Figg huffed, adjusting her shopping bag. "Right there in front of everyone, not a care in the world. Hand-holding, kissing on the cheek—like they were on some foreign beach! Not in Little Whinging!"
From her window, Mrs. Number Seven was on the telephone. "Yes, Mabel, I swear it—he kissed them both. Both! At the same time. Oh, the shamelessness. Yes, right in the open, where anyone could see. What will the children think?"
The "children" of Privet Drive, in truth, thought very differently. Clusters of teenagers loitered by the corner, whispering and nudging each other.
"Did you see her? The blonde one—"
"She wasn't blonde, you idiot, she was silver-haired."
"Silver-haired! Like some sort of—what do you call it? Elf. She didn't even look real."
"And the other one, the brunette? Mate, she looked like she could cut you in half with one look."
"Oi, but the bloke. Did you see his car? Did you see his suit? Bet he's a millionaire."
They laughed, but it was hollow. Beneath the banter lay something rawer: jealousy. Percy wasn't much older than them, but he had everything—wealth, poise, and two women who eclipsed every girl they knew.
Inside Number Four, the gossip hit the Dursleys like daggers.
Petunia had spent the morning with her ear glued to the kitchen window, pretending to tidy. When Vernon finally thundered into the kitchen, his moustache bristling, she burst out:
"Vernon, the whole street is talking about them! Mrs. Ellis swears she saw him holding both their hands at once. Both of them! Right in public."
Vernon went purple. "Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Filthy foreign behavior, that's what it is. This is England! Not… not… wherever they came from."
Dudley slumped into a chair, stuffing toast into his mouth. "They've got a pool," he muttered resentfully. "Saw it through the gate this morning. One of the lads said their house has five floors. Five! And a fountain."
Petunia froze, her eyes narrowing. "A fountain?"
"Yeah," Dudley said through crumbs. "And the girls—" he hesitated, flushing red. "They were sunbathing. In swimsuits."
Petunia's lips tightened to a thin line. Vernon spluttered into his tea.
"In swimsuits?" Vernon roared. "Parading themselves half-naked for all to see? I'll not have it. I'll not have it on my street."
Harry, silent at the corner of the table, felt something strange twist in his chest. He'd seen them too, from his tiny window upstairs. Percy had been laughing with the girls, tossing something between them—maybe a ball, maybe just conversation—but the ease of it, the warmth, had struck him. They had looked happy. Unashamed. Free.
And Harry couldn't stop thinking about it.
By midday, the gossip had grown wings. Rumors spread faster than truth.
"They're royalty," declared Mrs. Number Nine. "I read about them once, in the papers. Foreign royals, probably hiding from the press."
"Rubbish," snapped her neighbor. "They're actors. Models. Filming a show. That's why they've got all the cars."
"No, no," whispered Mrs. Ellis knowingly. "They're foreigners with… unusual customs. You know. Sharing one man. It's scandalous, but you know how things are abroad."
Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: Percy Jackson and his companions were no ordinary neighbors.
Harry found himself drawn outside more often. Not openly—he knew better than to give the Dursleys an excuse—but with small, stolen excuses. Taking the bins out. Fetching the post. Lingering by the hedge. Each time, he caught glimpses: Artemis reading on the balcony, Athena discussing something with Percy by the gate, Percy carrying bags into the mansion as though he were as ordinary as anyone else.
But nothing about them was ordinary.
For the first time in his life, Harry wanted to know more.
Inside, the Dursleys were unraveling.
Vernon couldn't stand the thought of being outshone on his own street. For years, his car, his lawn, his business trips had made him the pride of Privet Drive. Now, no one cared. They wanted to talk about Number Twelve.
Petunia, who had always consoled herself with the idea that she was the tidiest, the most respectable, now found herself staring at Artemis and Athena with an envy she couldn't name. Their clothes, their poise, their effortless beauty—it was unbearable.
And Dudley… Dudley grew silent. For once in his life, no one admired him. No one whispered about him being the best boxer at school, the biggest boy in Little Whinging. Now, he was invisible compared to Percy Jackson.
The Dursleys hated it.
Harry, however, found a flicker of something else blooming. Hope.
The Dursleys prided themselves on being perfectly normal. That was the phrase Petunia repeated like a prayer whenever the world seemed too large, too strange. Normal house. Normal son. Normal life.
But with Percy Jackson and his two companions living down the street, "normal" had begun to unravel.
Vernon's Jealousy
Vernon Dursley was a man who measured success in visible things: cars, houses, business deals. He had worked his way up at Grunnings, and he liked everyone to know it. His shiny company car, his thick moustache, his booming voice—all of them were part of his arsenal of authority.
But Percy Jackson unsettled him.
Vernon had taken the long way home from work that evening just to drive past Number Twelve. He told himself it was curiosity, but when he saw the sleek black car parked in the driveway, his stomach twisted. The car gleamed under the streetlamps, finer than anything Grunnings executives ever boasted about. Vernon slowed down, staring at its polished body, the subtle crest etched into its hood.
He pulled into Number Four with his knuckles white around the wheel.
Inside, he burst into the living room where Petunia was dusting. "It's not right," he barked, face purple. "That boy—what is he, sixteen? Seventeen? Driving around in cars that cost more than my entire salary! Who does he think he is?"
Petunia pursed her lips but said nothing, which only enraged him more.
"And the house!" Vernon's voice rose. "Did you see the windows? Imported glass, mark my words. And the landscaping—professional work. Do you know what that costs? I'll tell you what it costs: more than any decent, hardworking man should pay for something as frivolous as hedges!"
He stomped about the living room, ranting, but beneath the bluster lay something far uglier than irritation. Vernon had always been proud of being the most successful man on Privet Drive. Now, in the span of days, Percy Jackson had made him irrelevant.
And Vernon Dursley hated irrelevance.
Petunia's Jealousy
Petunia Dursley had spent years cultivating her image: tidy, respectable, the very picture of suburban propriety. But when Artemis and Athena walked past her window, that image cracked.
It wasn't just their beauty, though that was unbearable enough. Artemis with her sharp, otherworldly grace, Athena with her serene intelligence—it made Petunia feel washed out, plain. Their clothes were modern, elegant, nothing like the catalogues Petunia ordered from. Their hair shone, their posture flawless, as if they belonged to another world entirely.
Petunia found herself lingering by the curtains, staring.
Once, she caught Artemis laughing as Percy whispered something in her ear. The sound floated across the street—light, genuine, the kind of laugh Petunia hadn't allowed herself in years. She jerked the curtain closed with a snap, but the image lingered.
Later that evening, she stood before her mirror, smoothing her dress. Her reflection looked tired, her features sharp. The memory of Artemis's laughter returned, and for the first time, Petunia admitted it: she envied them. Their youth, their freedom, their effortless confidence.
At dinner, her envy turned bitter. "It's scandalous," she snapped as Vernon ranted about cars. "Those girls, flaunting themselves like that. No shame at all. And the neighbors gossiping—it's indecent. Everyone thinks they're perfect. Perfect house, perfect clothes, perfect looks."
Her voice caught on the word perfect. Harry, sitting quietly in his corner, noticed.
Petunia stabbed at her potatoes as though they'd wronged her.
Dudley's Jealousy
Dudley Dursley had never felt second-best. At school, he was the biggest, the loudest, the one boys followed and girls whispered about. His parents worshipped him, teachers feared him, and he'd grown up convinced the world owed him attention.
But Percy Jackson shattered that illusion.
The first time Dudley saw Artemis and Athena walking past Number Four, something primal had stirred in him. He'd nudged Piers Polkiss, stammering, "Did you see that? They're… they're—" Words failed him. He had never seen girls like that outside of glossy magazines.
And worse—much worse—they weren't looking at him.
They were with Percy. Always with Percy. Laughing with him, touching his arm, leaning close as though no one else in the world mattered.
Dudley began spending more time outside, lingering by the street with his gang. He swaggered, louder than ever, hoping they'd notice. Once, he even tried shouting across the road: "Oi, fancy a chat?" But Artemis had given him a look—just a look—that froze him in place. Cold. Sharp. Like being weighed and found wanting. Dudley had laughed it off, but inside, he burned.
That night, he raged to his parents. "Why does he get them? He's just some… some kid! They should be—" He didn't finish. The words sounded weak even to him.
For the first time in his life, Dudley Dursley knew what it felt like to be small.
Harry's Quiet Thoughts
Harry sat through all of this in silence, as he always did. He listened to Vernon's bluster, Petunia's bitterness, Dudley's sulking.
But unlike them, he didn't feel anger.
He felt curiosity.
The Jacksons—if that was even their name—were unlike anyone he'd ever known. They weren't afraid of standing out. They didn't shrink themselves to fit into Privet Drive's tidy boxes. Percy walked with confidence Harry had never dared imagine for himself, and the girls—Artemis and Athena—they didn't care who stared.
For a boy who had grown up shoved into cupboards and treated like an embarrassment, their unapologetic presence was… intoxicating.
One night, lying in bed, Harry whispered to himself: "I want to be like that."
He didn't know what "that" meant yet—bold, free, untouchable—but he knew one thing. Percy Jackson was different. And Harry wanted to know why.
It was a Saturday morning, warm and bright, when Harry finally met Percy Jackson properly.
The Dursleys had sent him outside to weed the garden—a job they considered fitting for a boy like him. He knelt in the dirt, sweat already prickling at the back of his neck. Dudley and his friends were off somewhere smashing things with sticks, and Vernon had gone to work on "important drills business."
Harry didn't mind. The quiet suited him. At least no one was shouting at him.
But as he tugged at a particularly stubborn weed, a shadow fell across the lawn. Harry glanced up.
Percy Jackson leaned against the fence, hands shoved into his pockets, the sunlight catching the dark strands of his hair. Beside him, Artemis and Athena stood like sentinels—one sharp and amused, the other calm and watchful.
"Need a hand?" Percy asked, his voice easy.
Harry blinked. No one had ever offered to help him before. "Uh—no. I mean… I've got it."
Percy hopped over the fence in one smooth motion, ignoring Harry's protest. "Looks like slave labor to me," he said, crouching beside him. "You're Harry, right? Harry Potter?"
Harry froze. "How do you know my name?"
Percy shrugged, tugging the weed free with surprising strength. "You live here. I live there. Neighbors talk." He grinned. "Besides, you don't exactly blend in. Always skulking around with chores while the rest of the world gets to enjoy summer."
Harry flushed, embarrassed and defensive all at once. "It's not skulking. I—" He stopped. The truth was too humiliating to say.
But Percy didn't press. Instead, he tossed the weed onto the growing pile. "You're quiet," he observed. "Not shy, though. More like… waiting. Watching."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. No one had ever noticed him like that before.
From the fence, Artemis called, "He notices everything, Percy. He's like you were once."
Percy shot her a look, but there was no anger in it. Only affection. "Maybe," he admitted. Then, turning back to Harry: "You want to come over? We've got a pool. And food that doesn't taste like cardboard."
Harry hesitated. The Dursleys would never allow it. But as if reading his mind, Percy leaned closer.
"They don't own you, you know," he said quietly. "You're allowed to have friends."
Something stirred in Harry's chest. No one had ever spoken to him like that—like he mattered.
Before he could answer, the back door slammed open. Petunia's shrill voice cut across the lawn. "Harry! Back to work! And you—" Her eyes snapped to Percy. "—don't you have somewhere else to be?"
Percy straightened, his expression polite but firm. "Just helping out," he said smoothly. "Wouldn't want Harry to hurt himself. These weeds can be vicious."
Petunia's lips thinned. "Harry doesn't need your help. He has chores."
Harry's face burned with shame, but Percy didn't flinch. He just smiled that easy, confident smile. "Then I'll help with the chores too. Two hands are faster than one, right?"
Petunia sputtered, caught between outrage and the knowledge that arguing would make her look foolish. With a sharp huff, she retreated into the house, slamming the door behind her.
Harry gaped. "You—you stood up to her."
Percy shrugged again. "So? She's not scary."
"She's terrifying," Harry muttered.
"Only if you let her be." Percy clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. Finish this, and then you're coming over. No excuses."
At the Jacksons' Estate
That afternoon, Harry found himself walking up the manicured path to Percy's new home. His heart hammered with nerves—partly from fear of the Dursleys finding out, partly from awe at the sheer size of the mansion.
Inside, the place was brighter and warmer than he'd expected. Artemis was curled on a sofa with a book, Athena arranging papers on a polished desk. Both looked up when Harry entered, and to his surprise, they smiled.
"Welcome, Harry," Athena said, her voice calm and melodic. "Percy's told us about you."
"He has?" Harry blurted.
Percy laughed from the kitchen, carrying in a tray of sandwiches. "Relax. I just said you seemed like someone worth knowing."
Harry sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, unsure where to put his hands. Artemis studied him with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through him. "You've had a hard life," she said simply. "But you're stronger than you think."
Harry swallowed hard. He didn't know how she knew, but the words struck deep.
They ate together, Percy filling the silence with stories—some true, some exaggerated for Harry's amusement. Artemis rolled her eyes at his embellishments, Athena corrected his "creative interpretations," and Harry laughed more than he had in years.
The First Spark of Friendship
When the food was gone, Percy leaned back, watching Harry. "You've got questions," he said. "About us. About… everything."
Harry nodded slowly. "Why are you… different?"
"Different how?" Percy asked.
Harry hesitated. "Everyone else here—they care about being normal. Fitting in. But you don't. You don't hide who you are."
Percy's smile was softer this time. "That's because I learned the hard way that hiding doesn't make you safe. It just makes you small. And you—" He tapped Harry's chest. "You weren't meant to be small."
Harry blinked rapidly, heat pricking behind his eyes. No one had ever said something like that to him.
Percy stood, offering his hand. "Come on. I want to show you something."
The Garden Secret
He led Harry through the back doors into a sprawling garden. At its center was a fountain carved with intricate designs, the water sparkling in the sunlight. Percy reached into the stream, and for a moment, Harry swore the water obeyed him—shifting, dancing around his fingers like it was alive.
Harry gasped. "How did you do that?"
Percy only winked. "Let's just say… there's more to the world than Privet Drive. A lot more. And when the time comes, you'll see it for yourself."
Harry stared at the fountain, his heart racing. He didn't understand, not yet, but something inside him knew Percy was right.
The world was bigger. Stranger. And maybe—just maybe—it had a place for him.
Back on Privet Drive
That evening, Harry returned to Number Four glowing with something new: hope.
The Dursleys noticed immediately. Vernon narrowed his eyes at his cheerful expression. Petunia sniffed at the faint scent of expensive food clinging to his clothes. Dudley scowled at the idea of Harry spending time in the mansion.
"Where have you been?" Vernon demanded.
"Visiting a friend," Harry said simply.
The word friend hung in the air like a weapon. The Dursleys had no reply.
Harry's Thoughts That Night
Lying in bed, Harry replayed the afternoon over and over. Percy's confidence, Artemis's piercing gaze, Athena's calm wisdom—it was like stepping into a different world. For the first time, Harry felt seen.
He whispered into the dark: "I'm not small."
And he believed it.
Privet Drive prided itself on being ordinary. It was the sort of street where cars gleamed from weekly polishing, lawns were trimmed to regulation length, and neighbors competed for the most respectable garden display. Anything out of the ordinary was frowned upon—and usually discussed over hedges in voices pitched just loud enough to be overheard.
So when Percy Jackson and his two breathtaking companions moved into the mansion at the end of the street, Privet Drive went into shock.
At first, the neighborhood tried to treat it like any other move-in. Mrs. Number Seven baked a casserole. Mr. Whitby from Number Nine offered gardening tips. Both returned flustered, murmuring about how "intimidating" the trio seemed. Soon after, no one else dared make polite calls.
But what truly set tongues wagging wasn't their wealth. It was the way they lived.
A Stroll Too Perfect
One evening, Percy, Artemis, and Athena strolled down Privet Drive arm-in-arm. Percy wore casual jeans and a fitted shirt, his easy grin lighting the street brighter than the lamps. Artemis, in sleek shorts and a fitted top that showed off her toned legs, looked like the embodiment of untamed elegance. Athena, in a flowing dress that caught the breeze, moved with regal grace that made her seem less mortal and more myth.
They didn't walk hurriedly, the way proper Privet Drive residents did when exercising. They glided. And worse—they laughed.
"Did you see Whitby's face when the sprinkler nearly hit him?" Artemis teased, leaning into Percy's side.
"I thought he was going to faint," Percy chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her hair.
Athena, on Percy's other side, rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. "Honestly, you two encourage each other far too much." Yet her hand stayed linked with Percy's, her thumb tracing lazy circles against his palm.
Windows twitched open all along the street. Curtains fluttered. The residents of Privet Drive peered out in horrified fascination at this brazen display of affection.
Three young adults—living together, openly affectionate, dressed like film stars instead of sensible Britons. It was scandalous. It was shocking. It was… riveting.
The Dursleys' Outrage
At Number Four, Vernon nearly choked on his evening tea.
"Disgraceful!" he spluttered, face turning the color of boiled ham. "Parading themselves up and down our street like—like Americans!"
Petunia, who had been peeking from behind the lace curtains, pressed a hand to her mouth. Her eyes gleamed with equal parts horror and envy. "Did you see her legs, Vernon? And the other one—what kind of dress was that? It hardly covered her knees!"
"Not proper," Vernon growled. "Not proper at all!"
On the sofa, Dudley sulked. "How come he gets two girlfriends? I don't even have one. They're all fit. Way fitter than Piers's sister."
Petunia gasped. "Dudders! Don't you dare talk like that." But she couldn't help glancing back toward the window, cheeks tinged pink.
Vernon puffed himself up, fists clenched. "Mark my words, Petunia. People like that bring trouble. They think they're better than us with their mansion, their money, and their… indecent behavior."
Harry, who had been tidying up in the corner, bit his lip to stop a smile. For once, the Dursleys weren't focused on him—they were too consumed by jealousy.
The Gossip Mill Turns
By the next morning, the entire street was buzzing.
Mrs. Figg, shuffling along with her cats, told Mrs. Whitby, "I saw him kiss one of them on the lips! Right there in public!"
Mrs. Whitby gasped theatrically. "And the other one didn't mind?!"
"They all three seemed perfectly happy about it," Mrs. Figg declared, scandal dripping from every word.
By noon, the tale had twisted. According to Number Eleven, Percy was some sort of exotic prince. Number Six whispered that Artemis and Athena must be actresses. Number Nine insisted they must be foreigners, because no decent British girl would behave like that.
Yet for all their outrage, none could look away when the trio appeared.
A Garden Scene
One particularly sunny afternoon, Percy and his wives lounged in their garden. Harry, sent outside to mow the lawn, tried not to stare—but it was impossible.
Artemis stretched out in shorts, sunbathing with the careless confidence of someone who knew she was being watched. Athena sat beneath an umbrella with a book, her sundress draped elegantly over crossed legs. Percy strummed a guitar, humming under his breath.
From the adjoining gardens, whispers carried.
"Shameless, absolutely shameless," sniffed Mrs. Number Five.
"Terribly romantic," sighed Mrs. Number Eight.
"Wish my husband looked half as good with his shirt off," muttered another, earning a scandalized gasp.
Harry caught himself grinning. For the first time, Privet Drive wasn't suffocatingly dull. It was alive.
Jealousies Laid Bare
The Dursleys' envy festered like a wound.
Vernon stewed every time Percy's car—a sleek black machine none of the neighbors could identify—purred down the street. His company car suddenly seemed pathetic.
Petunia fussed with her hair and makeup, though she insisted it was only because "appearances matter." Deep down, she hated how effortlessly radiant Artemis and Athena looked.
Dudley whined constantly about how "unfair" it was that Percy had two girlfriends. He started trying to mimic Percy's swagger, which only made him look more ridiculous.
Even Harry wasn't immune—though his feelings weren't jealousy but longing. He longed for a life where he could laugh openly, where affection wasn't punished, where wealth wasn't hoarded but enjoyed. Watching Percy, Artemis, and Athena, he felt for the first time that such a life might be possible.
A Bold Display
The final straw for Privet Drive came one evening when Percy and his wives shared a dance on their lawn. Music drifted from the mansion's windows—soft, romantic, utterly out of place in the prim neighborhood. Percy twirled Artemis, then Athena, switching between them with easy grace. Their laughter rang down the street, scandalous and intoxicating.
Curtains twitched furiously. Tongues wagged. But no one could deny it: the trio looked happy. Radiantly, enviably happy.
Harry, perched on the garden wall, couldn't take his eyes off them. Something deep inside whispered: That's what freedom looks like.
The Dursleys' Boiling Point
Later that night, Vernon slammed his fist on the dinner table.
"I won't stand for it!" he roared. "This is a respectable neighborhood! We can't have—have that sort of thing flaunted in front of us!"
"What will the neighbors think?" Petunia fretted, though she had been one of the most avid watchers.
"They already think it," Vernon snapped. "We'll have to keep our heads down. Show them we're the proper family on this street."
Dudley sulked, stabbing at his pudding. "Bet everyone wishes they were them instead of us."
Harry hid his smile behind his glass of water. For once, he agreed with Dudley.
Harry's Reflection
That night, lying awake, Harry thought of Percy's laughter, Artemis's sharp wit, Athena's calm wisdom. He thought of the way they touched each other without shame, the way they lived without fear.
The Dursleys would call it scandalous. Privet Drive would call it improper.
Harry called it freedom.
And he wanted it more than anything.
Harry had lived at Number Four for nearly eleven years, and in all that time, no one had ever knocked on the door for him. Delivery men, salespeople, nosy neighbors—they came for the Dursleys. Never for Harry.
So when a sharp rap echoed through the hallway one warm evening, and Petunia called in her usual nasal voice, "Vernon, someone's here," Harry didn't stir. It couldn't possibly be for him.
But then a second knock came—firm, deliberate, almost… expectant.
Petunia peeked through the glass and went rigid. "It's them," she whispered, eyes widening. "The scandalous ones."
Vernon lumbered forward, already purple in the face. "What in blazes do they want here?"
The door swung open, and there stood Percy Jackson, hands shoved casually into his pockets, an easy grin on his lips. Behind him, Artemis leaned against the porch rail, her golden hair catching the sunlight, while Athena stood poised in her usual dignified calm.
"Evening," Percy said smoothly. His voice carried warmth and confidence that filled the Dursleys' prim little hallway. "I was hoping to borrow Harry for a bit."
The Dursleys' Horror
"Borrow?" Vernon barked. His moustache twitched violently. "He's not some—some thing you can borrow!"
"Could've fooled me," Percy replied lightly, his gaze flicking over Vernon's sweaty brow, Petunia's pinched mouth, and Dudley's sulking bulk in the background. "You keep him locked away like one."
Petunia bristled. "We most certainly do not! Harry is… is—"
"Family," Percy finished for her, his tone edged with steel. "Then maybe you should treat him like it."
Harry, standing frozen at the foot of the stairs, felt his throat tighten. No one—no one—had ever spoken to the Dursleys like that on his behalf.
Vernon's fists clenched, but Artemis's sharp eyes slid over him like blades. "Careful," she said softly. "You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself further."
Petunia paled, recognizing the dangerous glint in Artemis's expression. "Vernon," she hissed, tugging at his sleeve. "Let the boy go. Just this once."
Vernon sputtered but backed down. "Fine! Take him. But don't think this means—"
"Thanks," Percy cut in, already gesturing for Harry to follow.
Harry Steps Outside
Harry hesitated only a heartbeat before hurrying to Percy's side. The air outside felt fresher, freer, as if the simple act of leaving Number Four under Percy's invitation had loosened invisible chains.
Artemis gave him a small nod, her usual coolness softened with approval. Athena offered a faint smile, reassuring and calm. For reasons Harry couldn't explain, that smile made his chest unclench.
Percy clapped a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. Walk with us."
A Conversation Like No Other
They strolled down Privet Drive, the scandalous trio once again under the watchful eyes of twitching curtains. Harry walked between Percy and Athena, feeling simultaneously exposed and protected.
"You're quieter than I expected," Percy said after a moment, giving Harry an easy sidelong look.
Harry shrugged. "They don't… usually let me talk much."
"That's going to change," Percy said firmly. "You've got more voice than you realize. You just need to use it."
Harry frowned. "They say I'm… nothing special. Dudley's the one they care about."
Artemis snorted. "Dudley? That lump of spoiled pudding?"
Harry choked on a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth. "If they heard you—"
"They'd what?" Artemis cut in, arching a brow. "They're bullies. Bullies hate being called what they are. Doesn't make them less true."
Athena's voice followed, calm and clear. "Listen to her, Harry. The first step to defying bullies is recognizing their words as lies. You are not what they say you are."
Harry blinked up at her. "How do you know?"
Athena's eyes softened. "Because I've seen your eyes, Harry Potter. There's bravery there. Pain, yes—but also the will to rise above it. That is rarer than you think."
The Seed of Confidence
They stopped at the edge of the cul-de-sac, where the late summer sun painted the sky orange. Percy crouched slightly so his gaze was level with Harry's.
"You've had a rough deal. I can tell. But here's the thing: your story doesn't have to stay that way. You're going to a school soon where the whole world will be bigger than this street, bigger than these walls."
Harry swallowed. "School?"
Percy's grin widened. "Exactly. And when you get there, you're not going to be the scared little boy the Dursleys tried to make you. You're going to walk in with your head high, because you're Harry Potter—and you're worth more than every ounce of their bitterness combined."
Harry's heart thudded. No one had ever spoken to him like this. Not with such certainty, such faith.
The Neighbors' Gossip
From behind twitching curtains, Mrs. Number Six hissed to her husband:
"Look at them—parading with that poor boy as if he belongs to them now!"
"He looks happier with them than he's ever looked with those dreadful Dursleys," her husband replied.
"And the way that tall one—what's his name? Percy?—the way he puts his arm on the boy's shoulder! It's like…" She faltered, scandal and admiration warring in her tone. "Like family."
Returning to Number Four
When they finally returned, Percy crouched again by the steps of Number Four. "Remember this, Harry. You don't owe them anything. Not their rules, not their insults. You're more than what they tell you. You hear me?"
Harry nodded, fiercely. "I hear you."
Artemis's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Good. Then keep that fire. You'll need it."
Athena placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "And remember—you are not alone anymore."
Harry stared at her, throat tight, and whispered, "Thank you."
The Dursleys watched from the doorway, faces twisted with resentment. To them, this was the beginning of losing control.
To Harry, it was the beginning of everything else.
The days following Percy's bold intervention became some of the strangest Harry had ever known.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't invisible. Percy, Artemis, and Athena seemed to make it their mission to involve him in their daily walks, their conversations, even their occasional meals. It was subtle at first—Percy tossing Harry an apple over the low garden hedge, Artemis inviting him to help carry shopping bags, Athena asking his opinion on a book she was pretending to struggle with.
To Harry, it felt unreal. For the Dursleys, it was intolerable.
The Dursleys' Mounting Ire
Vernon's face turned progressively redder with each passing day. He glared from behind his newspaper as Percy leaned on the garden fence, talking with Harry about things no one else dared mention in that house.
Petunia sniffed constantly, muttering to the neighbors about "improper influences" and "shameless displays."
And Dudley—well, Dudley simmered. His gang used to jeer at Harry on the street without consequence. Now, under Percy's watchful gaze, they barely dared to sneer. Dudley hated it. He hated the way Percy stood tall, the way Artemis and Athena's presence turned heads, the way Harry seemed… less cowed.
The First Hint
One late afternoon, Harry sat on the low wall outside Number Four, pretending to doodle in the dirt with a stick. Percy plopped down beside him, stretching out his long legs.
"You ever feel like you don't fit here?" Percy asked suddenly.
Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"
Percy gestured vaguely at the street—the neat lawns, the identical houses, the twitching curtains. "This place. The way everyone acts. Doesn't it feel… too small for you?"
Harry laughed nervously. "Everything feels too small for me. Mostly my cupboard."
Percy smirked, but his eyes softened. "Not what I meant. I mean—you've felt it, haven't you? That tug. Like you're meant for something bigger. Something they'll never understand."
Harry frowned. "Sometimes. But… the Dursleys always say I'm just a burden."
Artemis approached, carrying two bottles of lemonade, and set one in Harry's hands. "People who fear greatness often try to convince others they're worthless. It makes them feel safer."
Harry stared at her, the bottle cold in his palms. "So… you think I'm meant for something?"
Athena's calm voice drifted from the garden gate, where she stood watching them. "We don't think, Harry. We know."
The Library Visit
Two days later, Athena asked Harry if he wanted to come along to the public library. Dudley scoffed at the idea—books bored him—but Harry leapt at the chance.
Inside, Athena guided him toward sections he'd never dared enter before. Not the children's corner. Not even the fiction shelves. Instead, she led him toward history, philosophy, old myths.
"Why here?" Harry whispered.
Athena's eyes glimmered. "Because stories carry truths. Sometimes the greatest truths hide in myths—tales of ancient families, of power, of sacrifice."
Harry traced the spine of a book about medieval Britain. "Do you believe in magic?"
Athena didn't smile, didn't scoff. She simply said, "The world is far wider than the Dursleys would ever admit."
Harry's heart pounded. He wanted to ask more, but she closed the book gently and placed it back. "Soon," she promised. "Very soon."
Artemis and the Sky
That evening, Percy and Harry sprawled on the grass behind Number Four. Above them, the sky burned crimson with the dying sun. Artemis appeared, silent as ever, and pointed at the stars just beginning to prick through.
"Do you know the constellations, Harry?" she asked.
He shook his head. "The Dursleys never let me… stay out much at night."
Artemis lay down beside them, her hair spilling like molten gold. "That one is Orion. The Hunter. Strong, but foolish. And over there—Cassiopeia, the queen who paid for her arrogance."
Harry stared at the stars, wide-eyed. "They all have stories?"
"All of them," Artemis replied. "Stories of heroes and monsters, gods and mortals. Some say they're just tales. But sometimes, Harry… sometimes they're warnings. Reminders that there is more to the world than what you see on this tiny street."
Harry shivered. "Like magic?"
Artemis only smirked and said nothing.
The Neighbors Gossip Again
By now, Privet Drive was buzzing. Mrs. Number Seven swore she'd seen Percy light a lantern without matches. Mr. Number Nine muttered about how Artemis's beauty couldn't possibly be natural. Children whispered about the strange trio who never seemed to fit in but commanded attention wherever they walked.
And through it all, Harry found himself standing a little taller.
The Dursleys' Breaking Point
One dinner, Vernon couldn't hold it in any longer.
"You stay away from those people!" he roared, jabbing a sausage-stained finger at Harry. "They're trouble. Filling your head with nonsense."
Harry, normally silent, surprised himself. "They're nicer to me than you've ever been."
The table froze. Petunia dropped her fork. Dudley gawked.
Vernon went scarlet. "How dare you—"
But Harry didn't back down this time. "You heard me. You can't stop me from talking to them. You can't stop me from thinking."
He fled upstairs before Vernon's temper exploded, but his heart raced—not with fear, but with exhilaration. Percy had been right. His voice mattered.
The Last Hint Before the Birthday
The night before his birthday, Percy caught Harry alone by the fence. His expression was uncharacteristically serious.
"Tomorrow's going to be big for you," Percy said quietly.
Harry blinked. "Why? It's just my birthday. They never celebrate it."
Percy leaned closer. "This one will be different. You'll see. But promise me something, Harry."
Harry swallowed. "What?"
"When it comes—when the world finally opens up to you—don't let fear close it again. Don't let anyone tell you you're less than what you are. Not the Dursleys. Not anyone."
Harry nodded slowly, though confusion prickled at him. "You sound like you know what's going to happen."
Percy's smile was small, secretive. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. Just… be ready."
And with that, Percy ruffled his hair and left him standing in the twilight, heart pounding with questions he couldn't yet form.
Harry's Thought Before Sleep
That night, Harry lay awake in his small bed, staring at the ceiling. Words echoed in his mind: meant for something… the world is wider… soon.
For the first time in his life, he went to bed hoping for tomorrow.
And in the quiet of Number Four, with the Dursleys asleep and the stars burning bright, the future stirred.
Morning at Number Four
Harry woke on his birthday expecting nothing.
That was the safest way—no disappointment when nothing came. He padded downstairs, hoping for at least toast. Instead, Vernon grunted from behind the paper, Petunia sniffed as if birthdays were shameful, and Dudley smirked, counting his unopened presents.
"Don't expect anything," Vernon growled without looking up. "You don't deserve it."
Harry lowered his gaze but didn't shrink. Not anymore. Percy's voice echoed in his head: don't let anyone tell you you're less than what you are.
He ate silently, ignoring Dudley's taunts, and slipped out into the morning light as quickly as he could.
The Fence Meeting
Percy was waiting by the fence. Artemis leaned against a tree, radiant even in casual clothes, while Athena sat with a notebook, her hair catching the sun.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Percy said warmly, passing him a small parcel.
Harry blinked. "How did you—"
Percy grinned. "We don't forget important days."
Inside was a sleek leather-bound journal and a fountain pen. "To write your story in," Percy explained. "You're going to need it."
Harry swallowed hard, blinking back emotion. "No one's ever… given me…" His voice trailed.
Athena touched his shoulder lightly. "Get used to it, Harry. You're not invisible anymore."
The Strange Letter
That afternoon, Harry returned inside to fetch a glass of water. On the doormat lay an envelope—thick parchment, his name written in emerald ink.
Mr. H. Potter
Cupboard under the Stairs
4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
His breath caught.
He snatched it up, heart pounding, just as Dudley waddled past. "What's that?"
"Nothing," Harry snapped, shoving it under his shirt.
But Petunia had sharp eyes. She spotted the corner of parchment. "Hand it over, boy!"
"No!" Harry blurted, clutching it.
Vernon lunged, purple with rage. In the scuffle, Artemis appeared in the doorway, voice like ice. "Enough."
The Dursleys froze. Something in her gaze rooted them to the spot.
Harry, trembling, tore open the letter. His eyes raced over the words.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The world tilted.
The Dursleys' Panic
"You're not going!" Vernon roared, recovering from his shock. "We swore we'd stamp that nonsense out of you!"
Harry stood taller. "It's not nonsense. It's who I am."
Petunia hissed, "Your mother was a freak—"
"Don't call her that!" Harry's shout silenced the room. For the first time, his voice carried weight.
Percy stepped forward, calm but commanding. "You can't stop him. The world's already chosen Harry."
Vernon sputtered. "And who are you to interfere—"
"Someone who knows more about that world than you ever will," Percy said smoothly. His aura pressed against the room, not magic Harry could name, but something older, deeper. Even the Dursleys shrank from it.
The Revelation Outside
They spilled out into the front garden, the neighbors pretending not to gawk from behind curtains. Artemis and Athena flanked Percy like silent guardians. Harry clutched his letter to his chest.
Vernon tried one last bluster. "We'll keep him here! He won't set foot in—"
The air shimmered. Percy's voice cut sharp. "Then you'll answer to powers far beyond your comprehension."
A silence hung. Even the breeze stilled.
Harry's heart thundered. This wasn't like Percy's playful hints. This was raw authority, like thunder barely leashed.
Petunia's lips trembled. She pulled Vernon back. "Let him go. We can't fight this."
Harry's Choice
Harry turned to Percy, voice shaking. "So it's true? Magic? All of it?"
Percy's eyes softened. "Yes. And tomorrow, I'll take you to see it for yourself. Diagon Alley. Gringotts. The whole world that's been waiting for you."
Harry's knees went weak. "Why… why me?"
Artemis smiled faintly. "Because it's your birthright, Harry. And because you're braver than you know."
Athena added, "But you'll need to learn quickly. The wizarding world is beautiful, yes—but also treacherous. You can't walk in blind."
Harry clutched the journal Percy had given him. For the first time, he wasn't afraid of tomorrow.
The Neighbors' Gossip
By evening, word had spread like wildfire.
Mrs. Number Seven whispered that Harry had been "recruited into some strange private school." Mr. Number Nine muttered about "old money families and their secret societies." Children speculated that Percy and his girlfriends had pulled Harry into their glamorous orbit.
The Dursleys were livid. Vernon drank heavily. Petunia muttered about Harry being ruined forever. Dudley sulked, furious that Harry—Harry!—was suddenly the center of attention.
But Harry, sitting cross-legged on his bed, traced the emerald ink on his letter over and over, a smile tugging at his lips. For once, the future didn't terrify him.
That Night
As the street slept, Percy stood outside under the stars, Artemis and Athena at his side.
"He's ready," Artemis murmured.
"Not yet," Athena countered. "But he will be. He has the spark."
Percy's gaze lingered on the darkened window of Number Four. "He deserves more than lies and chains. Tomorrow, the world begins for him."
Kaal, the great phoenix, materialized silently on Percy's shoulder, its feathers glowing faintly in the moonlight. Its cry pierced the night, a sound both mournful and triumphant.
And in the quiet of Privet Drive, destiny shifted.