Chapter 1 – Dumbledore's Quiet Preparations
The evening firelight flickered through the staffroom windows, casting long shadows across the ancient oak table. Dumbledore stood at its head, hands clasped serenely, but his eyes glimmered with a private urgency.
"My friends," he began, voice carrying both warmth and command, "I must ask of you something that requires your greatest craft and your deepest trust."
The professors glanced at one another, curiosity sharpening.
Sprout's Task
"Pomona," Dumbledore said gently, "your expertise with magical flora is unparalleled. I would ask that you prepare a defense chamber — one that only those with both knowledge and nerve can pass."
Professor Sprout's cheeks flushed with pride. "Something alive, then. A plant that reacts to touch, perhaps? Devil's Snare, yes… it hates light and warmth. Students would need wits, not strength, to manage it."
"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed, eyes twinkling. "A snare to capture the careless, but merciful to those with wisdom."
Sprout frowned a little. "Albus, you sound as though you're designing a classroom, not a fortress."
"Learning," he replied smoothly, "is the greatest defense we have. And the greatest preparation for what may come."
She nodded, though unease lingered in her eyes.
Flitwick's Chamber
Dumbledore turned to the tiny Charms Master. "Filius, you have always delighted in flight and finesse. Could you perhaps weave something… aerial?"
Flitwick perked immediately, his sharp eyes lighting up. "A flock of flying keys, perhaps! Each enchanted differently. One alone would open the door. To succeed, they would need agility, a keen eye, and a good charm or broomstick."
"Marvelous!" Dumbledore said, clapping once in delight. "A challenge for both hand and mind."
Flitwick hesitated. "Headmaster, if this is for staff training exercises, surely such… complexity isn't necessary."
Dumbledore's smile deepened, unreadable. "Ah, but complexity, Filius, reveals character. Would you not agree?"
The Charms Master tilted his head, then chuckled softly. "I suppose it does."
McGonagall's Chess
"Minerva," Dumbledore said next, his tone one of respect, "I would ask you to lend your discipline and strategy. Something that demands foresight."
Her lips thinned, but she inclined her head. "Transfiguration is versatile enough. But if it's strategy you wish, a life-sized wizard's chessboard could suffice. Players would have to command pieces — and risk them."
"Sacrifice," Dumbledore said softly, "is an important lesson."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Albus. This doesn't sound like mere protection. It sounds like you intend this… gauntlet to be solved."
A pause. The fire popped.
"Every defense," Dumbledore said smoothly, "has its weakness. But if the unworthy falter, the worthy may learn in triumph."
She did not look convinced, but after a moment she inclined her head.
Quirrell's Troll
Quirrell shifted nervously in his seat, his turban askew. "A–a defense, Headmaster? W–well, I could conjure a beast. A troll, perhaps. N–not a particularly bright creature, b–but large enough to be… effective."
McGonagall stiffened. "A troll, Albus? Inside Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore raised a calming hand. "Contained, Minerva. Perfectly contained. Professor Quirrell assures me he can manage it."
Quirrell nodded weakly. "Y–yes. Yes, of course. Absolutely contained."
The others exchanged doubtful looks. Dumbledore's gaze, however, lingered on Quirrell's pale face for a long, measuring moment.
Snape's Potions
"And Severus," Dumbledore said last, turning with deliberate slowness.
Snape sneered. "Let me guess. You expect me to brew poisons and their antidotes?"
"Not poisons," Dumbledore corrected mildly. "But yes — an array of potions, some harmful, some harmless, one that allows the drinker to move forward. A puzzle of logic."
Snape's lip curled. "Few students could manage it. Not without discipline. Not without cunning."
"Which," Dumbledore replied, "is precisely why it will serve."
Snape leaned back in his chair, dark eyes narrowing. "And tell me, Headmaster — who exactly do you expect will be 'tested' by these little trials?"
For a moment, silence fell.
Dumbledore smiled faintly, not answering the question. "The unworthy will falter. The worthy… will endure."
Snape's suspicion sharpened, but he said no more.
Dumbledore's Mirror
When the others had departed, leaving only the crackle of the fire, Dumbledore walked slowly down to the deepest chamber.
He stood before the Mirror of Erised, its gilt frame gleaming in torchlight. The Stone nestled behind the enchantment, hidden yet waiting.
Dumbledore looked into the Mirror. His reflection smiled back — empty-handed, calm.
"Not for me," he whispered. "Never for me. Only for the one who seeks it but not for himself."
The Mirror shimmered faintly, as if acknowledging the spell.
Back in his office, Fawkes sang a melancholy note.
"Do not look at me so," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. "These trials will shape him. They must. Only then will prophecy be fulfilled."
The phoenix lowered his head, wings folding in solemn silence.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the dark window.
"The boy must be tested. And Percy Chronos," he whispered, "must not be allowed to interfere."
Chapter 2 – The Absent Professor
The empty chair at the staff table had been there since the start of term.
Students had noticed it immediately during the Welcoming Feast, though the chatter about private quarters and Percy Chronos' arrival had drowned out most of the whispers that night. By the following morning, however, the silence around that one chair grew louder than the clatter of cutlery.
"Still no Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Blaise Zabini murmured at the Slytherin table, his sharp eyes flicking to the dais. "They announced one in the notices this summer. Quirrell, wasn't it?"
"Quirinus Quirrell," Daphne Greengrass supplied, her tone measured as always. "Father said he was appointed in July. Yet not a single sighting since."
Tracey Davis leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Maybe he quit before he even started. No one lasts in that position anyway."
Harry frowned, glancing up at the empty chair. "So he wasn't at the feast? I thought I just missed him."
Percy shook his head, calm as ever. "No. That seat was empty the whole time. Strange that a professor would take leave before even teaching his first class."
At the Gryffindor table, Ron's voice cut through the buzz. "Bet he's run off already! Can't blame him — that job's cursed."
Hermione huffed, arms crossed. "Honestly, Ronald. You can't possibly know that."
"Can too!" Seamus chimed in, eager for drama. "Seven years, seven professors. That's a curse if I've ever heard one."
Even some of the older students turned heads, muttering. No Defense professor for the opening of term? Unheard of.
Professors' Discussion
Later that day, in the staffroom, the professors had the same discussion — albeit with sharper words.
"It undermines the school's authority," McGonagall said crisply, her lips a thin line. "The post is cursed enough without the man vanishing before term begins."
Snape sneered into his teacup. "Perhaps he realized he was unfit for the task. Or perhaps," his eyes flicked to Dumbledore, "the truth is being concealed."
Dumbledore's expression was mild, but his tone cut off further questioning. "Professor Quirrell is attending to research abroad. He will return when his work is complete."
Flitwick frowned. "Research that keeps him from his students? In September?"
"Magic calls us in strange directions, my friends," Dumbledore said softly, eyes twinkling — though none of his colleagues missed the strain in his voice.
Student Gossip
By the second week, Quirrell's absence had become the castle's favorite riddle.
In Gryffindor Tower, Seamus insisted the man had been attacked by vampires. Dean argued he was off hunting Dark creatures. Ron swore blind he had bolted after hearing Voldemort's name whispered in Knockturn Alley.
In Slytherin, the tone was colder, more calculating. Blaise speculated Quirrell was chasing obscure magical artifacts. Pansy Parkinson claimed the Ministry had "borrowed" him for some secret work. Draco, smirking, announced that the professor had realized Hogwarts was beneath him.
Harry, caught in the middle of the chatter, frowned more than once. One evening in their quarters, he finally asked Percy, "Do you think something's happened to him?"
Percy leaned back, thoughtful. "Something has. Professors don't simply miss feasts and vanish in September. But whatever it is, it isn't for us to solve — not yet."
Artemis gave Harry a pointed look. "The lesson here? Don't waste time chasing rumors. Half this castle survives on them."
Athena smirked faintly. "The other half spreads them."
Dumbledore's Office
That night, high above in his office, Dumbledore sat with parchment scattered before him. Fawkes rustled uneasily on his perch.
"Yes, my friend," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. "Professor Quirrell is… away. But he will return when the time is right."
He paused, eyes darkening as though the words carried a weight he alone could feel.
"And when he does… the board will already be set."
Chapter 3 – Shadows of Occlumency
The Great Hall was filled with chatter, laughter, and the clatter of cutlery, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.
Every time his eyes flicked up to the High Table, they seemed to meet Dumbledore's gaze. The old wizard's half-moon glasses glinted, his expression twinkling and genial — but the stare was too steady, too intent, like sunlight burning through glass.
It made Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat.
Beside him, Percy noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed.
"Don't look up," Percy murmured, his voice low and steady. Artemis and Athena, flanking him, leaned in subtly as if sharing the same thought. "Tell me, Harry — what do you feel?"
Harry frowned. "Like he's… digging through me. Like he knows what I'm thinking."
"Exactly." Percy pushed his goblet aside, the silver flashing in the candlelight. "That, Harry, is called passive Legilimency. Dumbledore skims people's minds without consent. Most don't even realize it's happening."
Harry blinked. "That's allowed?"
Athena gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Allowed? Perhaps not. But when one is Dumbledore, people rarely question the rules."
Artemis tilted her head, her silvery eyes narrowing toward the High Table. "It's clever in its way. He doesn't need to interrogate anyone when their own thoughts betray them."
Harry felt his stomach drop. "So… he can read my mind? Just like that?"
Percy leaned closer, his expression calm but firm. "Only if you let him."
Harry's eyes widened. "I don't know how to stop it."
"That's why I'll teach you." Percy's voice dropped lower, carrying an authority that made Harry straighten. "Occlumency, Harry. The art of shielding your mind. Pureblood heirs learn it young, precisely because of men like Dumbledore. That's why you'll never see him controlling a Malfoy, or a Greengrass, or a Nott. They've been trained from the cradle."
Harry exhaled slowly. It wasn't fair — Dumbledore could pry into his mind whenever he wanted, while others had shields?
"What do I do?" he asked quietly.
Percy smiled faintly, but it wasn't unkind. "First lesson is imagery. Close your eyes."
Harry did as told, though he felt faintly ridiculous in the middle of the bustling Hall.
"Imagine a wall," Percy instructed softly. "High and unbroken. No windows, no doors. Just solid stone between you and the outside world."
Harry pictured it — a great stone wall, grey and massive.
"Now," Percy continued, "imagine him knocking. Trying to push through. He wants to see, to know. You keep the wall standing. No cracks. No entry."
Harry's brow furrowed as he focused. The stone wall grew taller in his mind, stretching until he felt small beside it, but safe.
"Good," Percy murmured. "That's the first step. Over time, we'll use stronger images — labyrinths, rivers, shifting skies. But for now, the wall will hold."
Harry opened his eyes, feeling oddly steadier.
Across the Hall, Dumbledore's gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer — then slipped away.
Percy chuckled under his breath. "He tried just now. Couldn't get through. You felt it, didn't you?"
Harry hesitated — then nodded slowly. There had been a faint pressure, like fingers brushing against the edge of his thoughts, but the wall had held.
Artemis smirked. "He'll be unsettled by that. He's used to minds opening like books for him."
Athena leaned in, her voice sly. "Which means he'll try again, harder, when you least expect it. So you'd best practice, Harry."
Harry swallowed, but a grin tugged at his lips. For once, it didn't feel like he was at the mercy of powerful wizards' games. He had a weapon now — and Percy had given it to him.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Percy only raised his goblet again, eyes glinting. "One day you'll thank yourself. I'm only showing you the door. You'll be the one to walk through it."
The corridors of Hogwarts were hushed after curfew, torchlight flickering on the stone walls as Percy led Harry down into Slytherin's common room. The emerald glow from the underwater windows painted everything in shades of green and silver.
A handful of Slytherins eyed them curiously but made no move to interfere. Percy's presence was enough to keep tongues tied — though whispers would surely ripple later.
They stopped at the newly revealed portrait of Salazar Slytherin. The founder inclined his head respectfully.
"Lord Chronos," the painted Salazar murmured. "And your companions. Will the boy join you tonight?"
"Yes," Percy said simply. "He's under my protection."
The portrait swung open. Harry followed, still awed that the castle itself seemed to bow to Percy.
Inside, the Chronos quarters were warm and luxurious — deep green velvet curtains, carved wooden furniture, shelves already half-filled with books. Kaal, the phoenix-dragon hybrid, stirred from his perch by the fire, his golden eyes gleaming as he spread his wings. Hedwig, proud and regal, was perched beside him, the golden eagle's feathers catching the firelight.
Harry swallowed. This place felt like another world compared to his own cramped dormitory.
"Right," Percy said, snapping Harry's attention back. "We'll start your first proper lesson now. Occlumency isn't learned in a day, but you can lay your foundation tonight."
Artemis stretched out gracefully on one of the couches, propping her chin on her hand. "And we'll enjoy the show when he botches it."
Harry grimaced. "That's encouraging."
Athena laughed softly, brushing her dark hair back as she sat beside Artemis. "Ignore her. Percy will make you sweat, but it will be worth it."
Percy gestured for Harry to sit opposite him. "Close your eyes. Build your wall again."
Harry obeyed. In his mind, the great stone wall rose up once more. But this time, Percy didn't simply instruct — he pressed.
Harry felt it — like pressure at his temples, a subtle push, a voiceless hand trying to pry open his thoughts. His wall cracked almost instantly.
Harry flinched, opening his eyes. "That felt—"
"Invading?" Percy supplied calmly. "Good. That's exactly what it is."
Artemis tilted her head. "Pathetic wall. I could stroll right through."
Harry flushed. "I'm trying!"
"Then try harder," Percy said evenly. "Close your eyes again."
Harry huffed but obeyed.
"Picture it not as stone," Percy instructed, his voice low, steady, almost hypnotic. "Stone cracks. Stone erodes. Picture water instead — a deep lake. Still, unmoving, endless. He pushes, and his reflection stares back. Nothing else."
Harry's brow furrowed. The pressure came again — but this time it slipped against the surface of his lake. Ripples stirred, but the depths held.
Percy nodded approvingly. "Better."
Athena leaned forward, smirking. "Not hopeless after all."
Harry cracked one eye open at her. "You sound surprised."
"I was," she admitted, amused.
They went again and again. Percy varied the pressure, sometimes soft and probing, sometimes sharp and sudden. Each time Harry's mind faltered, Percy calmly pointed out the weakness. Each time Harry improved, Artemis and Athena chimed in with playful, cutting remarks.
By the end of the hour, Harry's face was pale with concentration, but his wall — now a lake — held firm.
Percy finally leaned back, satisfied. "That will do for tonight."
Harry let out a breath, sagging against the couch. "That… was harder than flying a broom."
Artemis smirked. "You didn't nearly fall on your face as many times, though."
Harry shot her a half-hearted glare. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Immensely," she replied, without shame.
Athena handed him a goblet of water, her tone softer. "But you did well, Harry. Truly. You're learning faster than most."
Harry sipped, the tension in his chest easing at the unexpected praise.
Percy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Dumbledore will try again. Soon. He'll find your mind harder to touch and grow suspicious. That's fine. Let him. By the time he realizes you're slipping out of his grasp, you'll already be beyond him."
Harry nodded slowly, determination sparking in his eyes.
For the first time, he felt not just defended — but armed.
Chapter 4 – Rumors and Schemes
The castle always hummed with gossip, but in the days after Percy began training Harry in Occlumency, it seemed louder than usual. Conversations turned corners before the students speaking them did, carrying whispers from one corridor to the next.
"Dumbledore's at it again," a Hufflepuff muttered in the Great Hall one morning. "He's having professors set enchantments in the corridors. It's not normal, is it?"
"Not normal at all," a Ravenclaw replied primly, adjusting her spectacles. "I heard Flitwick himself muttering that he wasn't told what the spells were for. That means even he doesn't know!"
Across the hall, Percy sat with Artemis and Athena, the three of them as calm as ever. Kaal was perched unseen in the rafters above, while Hedwig, regal as always, settled near Harry's plate. Their presence only added to the aura around them — students craned their necks, lowering their voices whenever the quartet passed.
In the Slytherin common room, the speculation ran hotter. Draco slammed his hand on the armrest of a leather chair.
"It's obvious. Dumbledore's building a fortress. Why else would he hide things? He's protecting something valuable."
Blaise Zabini, lounging with calculated ease, gave a cool smile. "Or perhaps, Draco, he's protecting someone. You've noticed the way his eyes linger on Potter, haven't you?"
The words made a ripple through the gathered Slytherins. Some snickered, others fell silent. Harry Potter already drew attention wherever he went — but sitting beside Percy Chronos, the name whispered like an old legend reborn, he looked untouchable.
Daphne Greengrass leaned in, her expression sharp with thought. "It doesn't matter what Dumbledore hides. What matters is that Potter isn't just the boy-who-lived anymore. He's… changing. And Chronos is the reason."
"Changing?" Draco scoffed, though unease tugged at his tone. "He's just getting lucky. That broom incident—"
"Wasn't luck," Daphne cut across him. Her calm voice drew the attention of half the room. "You don't challenge Malfoy on his own turf and win unless you're more than luck. Potter has confidence now. And confidence draws allies."
The boys bristled. More than one pair of eyes flicked toward the hidden entrance to Percy's private quarters, sealed behind Salazar Slytherin's portrait. That doorway was a constant reminder: the castle itself had bent to Percy's presence, giving him and his companions a place no one else could touch.
"They won't last," one older Slytherin boy muttered darkly. "Percy's just flaunting riches and women. Girls like Artemis and Athena always come around when they see true bloodlines."
"Do they?" Blaise asked smoothly, his smirk widening as the boy faltered. "Because so far, I've seen nothing but humiliation for anyone who's tried."
The conversation splintered then, half into brooding resentment, half into reluctant admiration. The younger years whispered of Percy like he was a storybook figure, while the older boys schemed ways to challenge him, or worse, steal away the girls at his side.
Meanwhile, in the Hufflepuff common room, the tone was softer but no less curious. Susan Bones leaned against a cushion, voice hushed but eager.
"Did you see the way Percy looked at Dumbledore the other day? Like he wasn't even impressed. Who looks unimpressed at the Headmaster?"
Hannah Abbott giggled. "Percy, apparently. And those girls with him — they don't act like they're afraid of anyone. I can't tell if it's terrifying or inspiring."
The other Hufflepuffs murmured agreement, secretly thrilled by the drama unfolding in Slytherin and Gryffindor. Hogwarts always had its rivalries, but now the air seemed thicker, charged with something new.
In Percy's quarters that night, Artemis stretched lazily on the couch, a sly grin tugging her lips. "They're all buzzing like bees. Pureblood heirs gnashing their teeth, little Gryffindors swooning at Harry, and Dumbledore pacing in his tower."
Athena smirked, brushing her hair back as she flipped a book closed. "It's almost too easy. They're already writing stories about us, and we've only been here a week."
Percy chuckled, his arm sliding around Artemis' waist. "Mortals thrive on rumors. Give them half a truth and they'll invent ten lies around it."
Harry, sitting cross-legged on the rug, watched them with equal parts amusement and exasperation. "So what do we do about it?"
"Nothing," Percy replied simply. "Let them talk. Their whispers will shape their choices, and their choices will reveal them."
Artemis winked. "And in the meantime, Harry, you just keep practicing. Every rumor they tell about you will only make the truth sting sharper when you prove them wrong."
Harry grinned at that, already imagining the next challenge.
And outside the sealed walls of the Chronos quarters, Hogwarts simmered with restless speculation, the beginnings of schemes that would ripple far beyond the stone corridors.
Chapter 5 – The Unseen Threat
Hogwarts thrummed with life, its corridors thick with chatter about who was rising, who was falling, and what secrets Dumbledore was hiding. By the second week, it seemed every House had their own version of events.
In Gryffindor Tower, Ron puffed up his chest by the fire.
"Harry's bound to be the next Quidditch star — McGonagall practically said so. And don't forget, he's my best mate."
Seamus snorted into his butterbeer. "If you say it enough times, maybe people will believe you." Dean grinned beside him, adding, "Best mate or not, he's the one people keep talking about — and so's Percy with his… arrangement." He waggled his eyebrows, sending the younger boys into laughter.
Hermione rolled her eyes from her corner chair, though she bit back a smile. "Honestly. You're all acting like gossiping Slytherins."
At the mention of Slytherin, the common room quieted. That was the word on everyone's lips: Slytherin. Not the House itself, but its newest occupants — Percy Chronos and his wives, whose quarters behind Salazar's portrait had turned into the stuff of fireside tales.
In the dungeons, the tone was different. Blaise Zabini leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, speaking as though he already ran the place.
"Chronos unsettles them all, you know. He unsettles even the professors. That makes him… dangerous. Or useful."
Draco snarled from his seat. "Useful? He's flaunting everything! And Potter too — walking around like he owns the place just because of a broomstick stunt."
"Which impressed half the school," Daphne Greengrass pointed out coolly. "Potter is no longer just the boy-who-lived. He's becoming… magnetic." She paused, her eyes glinting. "And with Chronos beside him, they're shaping the balance. We can't ignore that."
Draco muttered curses under his breath, but the common room had already shifted. The older Slytherins whispered of Percy as a rival too ancient to challenge and Harry as an unknown variable. The younger ones, meanwhile, stared at Salazar's portrait and wondered why it bowed for Percy and not for them.
Politics brewed in quiet corners. Align, oppose, or wait — that was the question on every ambitious mind.
And far away, across the seas, in crumbling castles and candlelit caves, a very different set of whispers stirred.
Quirinus Quirrell stumbled through a ruined chapel in the Carpathian mountains, clutching a torch. His face was pale, his body trembling with exhaustion. But his eyes — when they opened — glowed faintly red.
The voice inside his skull hissed with contempt.
"Fools. All of them. They think power is in gossip, in school rivalries. Power is blood, fear, and death. And I am their true master."
Lord Voldemort had wandered like a shadow since his fall at Godric's Hollow, clinging to whatever hosts he could find until Quirrell, desperate and weak-willed, offered himself.
Through him, Voldemort hunted rituals: serpent venom boiled under new moons, necromantic scrolls smuggled from Albania, curses whispered by warlocks in the Balkans. Each failed to restore him. Each deepened his fury.
And yet, with every attempt, a new feeling gnawed at him. A premonition, a chill at the edge of thought.
Something is here… in Britain… older than prophecy. Older than me.
Quirrell whimpered aloud, clutching his turban as the voice raked his mind.
"Master, please—what is it you feel?"
Voldemort did not answer. He could not. He only knew that somewhere across the sea, a presence pressed against him — vast, timeless, immeasurable.
At Hogwarts, children plotted with gossip and petty envy. In Europe, Voldemort clawed at the roots of forbidden magic. And between them, unseen, threads of fate began to weave together.
Chapter 6-Feast of Introduction
The Great Hall glowed with warmth. Candles floated lazily, casting golden halos on the enchanted ceiling, while the four tables buzzed with laughter and gossip. It was the kind of night when Hogwarts felt less like a castle and more like a festival.
At Gryffindor's table, Seamus was elbowing Harry.
"Face it, Potter, you've got fans already. Half of Hufflepuff looks ready to embroider your initials on their scarves."
Harry, cheeks pink, tried to scowl. "You're imagining things."
Susan Bones waved from across the hall, and Harry's scowl fell apart. Dean Thomas grinned so wide his cheeks nearly split.
Meanwhile, Percy sat at the Slytherin table between Artemis and Athena. The two goddesses leaned into him with easy confidence, their soft laughter carrying across the hall like a chime. More than one boy glanced their way, trying to look subtle; more than one girl frowned at Percy with thinly veiled envy.
Then the doors creaked.
The noise didn't stop immediately — it faltered, then frayed. Quirrell shuffled inside, wrapped in a ridiculous purple turban. A few Gryffindor first-years giggled. Someone muttered, "That's our new Defense professor?"
But Percy didn't laugh.
He set down his goblet without a sound. The chatter all around blurred as his gaze sharpened. Artemis' smile vanished in an instant; Athena's hand, resting lightly on Percy's arm, stilled.
Kaal, perched high in the rafters above the staff table, gave a low, rumbling trill — not loud enough to alarm the students, but deep enough that Percy's companions heard it like thunder under their ribs.
Hedwig, settled near Harry, spread her golden wings briefly, feathers bristling as if against an unseen wind. Harry blinked, unsettled by her sudden restlessness.
Artemis leaned in closer, her voice almost inaudible:
"Do you feel it?"
Percy's jaw tightened. His eyes tracked Quirrell as the man bowed awkwardly to Dumbledore and shuffled toward his seat. "Yes. Something rides within him."
Athena's lips curved faintly — not in amusement, but in cold recognition. "A parasite. It reeks of desperation."
They said no more. The words dissolved into silence, but the tension between them was palpable, invisible wires strung taut.
Harry noticed the shift, though he didn't understand it. The warmth of the feast seemed to drain when he looked at Quirrell, replaced by a cold prickle down his neck. He glanced at Percy, wondering if he should ask — but Percy's eyes were fixed too intently to interrupt.
The rest of the hall moved on. Students whispered about the turban, about Quirrell's stammer. Ron Weasley snorted into his pumpkin juice. Pansy Parkinson giggled that he looked like "a scared rat in robes."
Only three in the hall saw the truth, and their familiars echoed the warning in feathers and flame.
Within Quirrell, Voldemort coiled like a serpent around prey. He felt it again — that dread, the ancient pressure that had haunted him since returning to Britain. And now, as Percy Chronos sat across the hall, calm and unreadable, that pressure pressed harder, whispering inevitability.
The Great Hall clinked and laughed and schemed as though nothing had changed. But Percy, Artemis, and Athena knew: everything had.
Harry shifted on the bench, eyes narrowing at Quirrell. His eagle shifted with him, golden feathers catching the firelight like molten coin. "There's something wrong with him," Harry muttered under his breath, leaning toward Percy. "Did you see Hedwig? She—"
Percy cut him off gently, laying a steady hand on his shoulder. "Not every strange thing needs chasing, Harry," he said, voice calm but firm. "Hogwarts is full of oddities. Some are harmless. Some aren't your battles."
Harry frowned. He hated being brushed off — Percy almost never did that. Artemis, sensing Harry's stubbornness, leaned in with a smile that carried just enough warmth to soften her words.
"Your eagle has sharp instincts. Trust her, yes. But there's a time and place to follow every shadow."
Athena picked up the thread, her tone teasing, though her eyes remained coolly analytical.
"And besides, tonight is about beginnings, not monsters under the bed. Do you really want your
feast to be spent glaring at a professor's turban?"
Harry cracked a reluctant grin, but his gaze flicked once more to Quirrell. "Still… something's not right."
Percy let his hand linger on Harry's shoulder, his expression unreadable for a beat too long. Then he leaned back, deliberately lightening the air.
"Then you'll just have to get better at spotting what is right — friends, allies, people who matter. Start with your tablemates."
At that cue, Seamus raised his goblet with a grin. "Hear, hear! To Harry not crashing any more flying lessons!"
Dean whooped, Ron gave an exaggerated bow, and soon Gryffindor's table roared with laughter again.
The tension broke for Harry — swept away in noise, teasing, and chatter. He smiled, red-cheeked, shaking his head. Percy, watching him, finally allowed himself the faintest exhale of relief.
Artemis tilted her goblet toward Percy, lips curving in a knowing smirk. "You're getting better at this," she murmured.
Athena's hand brushed Percy's under the table. "He asks the right questions. But not yet."
Above them, Kaal's wings spread once, flame-tipped feathers glowing briefly in the rafters before settling again. Hedwig ruffled her feathers beside Harry, calmer now, as though reassured by Percy's presence.
Across the hall, Quirrell sat twitching under his turban. Voldemort stirred within him, unseen — except by three gods who smiled and laughed like ordinary teenagers, while already setting the stage for war.
Chapter – Shadows, Fire, and Resolve
The door sealed shut with the heavy scrape of stone, Salazar's portrait bowing once before fading into silence. Their quarters glowed in emerald firelight, shadows dancing along walls hung with green and silver.
Artemis unpinned her silver hair, letting it fall free as she turned on her heel, tension sharp in her movements. "That man," she hissed, her lips curling. "That shell. Something vile rides inside him. I could have drawn an arrow and ended him across the Hall."
Percy leaned against the mantle, his eyes following the flames. "And in ending him, you might have ended more than him. You know why we cannot."
Athena slipped nearer, her fingers brushing Percy's arm with deliberate slowness. "Can't? Or won't? Even you flinched when his presence scraped against our senses. Something dark, something ancient — but not older than us."
Percy caught her wrist, tugging her closer. "It isn't ours to fight. This is Harry's war. Hecate warned us — too much of our divinity, and this world collapses. Mortals must win their own battles. We're only shadows on the wall."
Artemis stepped in, pressing her palms flat against his chest. "Shadows? No. We're fire. And you — you cage yourself too tightly." Her lips brushed his throat. "Chains are meant to be broken."
Percy's control slipped. He bent, seizing her mouth in a kiss that burned. Artemis melted into it, fierce and wild, her body arching against his.
Athena circled behind, her hands sliding down Percy's shoulders, then lower, her lips grazing the line of his jaw. "We remind him," she whispered to Artemis, though her breath was hot on Percy's skin, "why eternity is bearable."
Garments loosened quickly, falling to the floor in a careless trail. Percy's calloused hands explored every curve, sliding under Artemis's tunic, squeezing, caressing, as she gasped against his lips. Athena's fingers tangled in his hair, guiding his mouth to hers, then sharing him with Artemis, their kisses tangling three ways.
Their bodies pressed together, bare skin against bare skin. Percy's hands roamed — cupping Artemis's breast, then sliding to Athena's thigh, stroking higher until she moaned softly into his kiss. The rhythm of their centuries-long bond surged alive again — urgent, hungry, tender.
Artemis straddled his lap, hair tumbling like moonlight, his hands gripping her hips as she rocked against him, the heat between them undeniable. Athena leaned forward, her lips capturing Artemis's, their kiss deep and wet while Percy's mouth moved down, tracing fire along Artemis's throat, her chest, lower still, until she gasped his name.
The three of them moved as one — moans, laughter, whispered teases filling the quarters. Every sigh of pleasure, every shiver of touch, was both primal and reverent, as though gods themselves celebrated in flesh.
When finally their frenzy slowed, they lay tangled in sweat and silk, breathless. Artemis draped across Percy's chest, hair damp, skin glowing. Athena curled at his side, one hand stroking lazy patterns over his stomach, her lips brushing his shoulder.
It was Athena who broke the silence, voice husky but thoughtful. "We could crush all of this in seconds. Pureblood schemes, Voldemort's shadow, Dumbledore's manipulations. But that would be our war, not his."
Percy kissed her temple, then Artemis's damp hair. "Harry must walk his own path. He must make his own choices. If we carry him, he'll never grow strong enough to break destiny."
Artemis raised her head, a wry smile tugging her lips. "So we… what? Live as students? Pretend at their jealousies, their gossip, their petty crushes?"
Percy chuckled, his hand tracing the line of her back. "Why not? It amuses me already. Let them scheme, let them envy. We'll play their game — while guarding Harry from the shadows. Only when it's absolutely necessary will we step in."
Athena leaned in, kissing Percy again, slow and lingering. "Then let us enjoy this farce of youth. Flirtations, rivalries, romances. If the world wants us in masks, let us wear them beautifully."
Above, Kaal let out a long, low cry — fire and thunder entwined. Not warning. Not judgment. Simply acknowledgment.
Entwined in firelight, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed close, Percy, Artemis, and Athena sealed their vow in passion: gods masquerading as students, lovers entwined in eternity, protectors guarding a boy who must learn to fight his own war.
And outside their chamber, the castle slept, blissfully unaware of the storm of shadows and desire brewing within its heart.