Dinner was polite but heavy with unspoken tension. Harry sat at the end of the Grangers' table, Teddy beside him in a high chair, happily smearing mashed potatoes across his plate with the gleeful abandon of a two-year-old. Every so often, Teddy would chirp, "More! More!" and Mrs. Granger would oblige, though her gaze often flicked toward Harry with a sharpness that made him feel as though he were being tested.
"So, Harry," Mr. Granger began at last, breaking the silence with a tone that was meant to sound casual but carried a pointed edge, "you've always been close to Hermione. Don't you think, given… circumstances, that it's time you two formalized things?"
Harry nearly choked on his water. Hermione immediately jumped in, her voice firm. "Dad, no. We've already discussed this. Harry isn't—"
But Mrs. Granger interrupted smoothly, "It would put everyone at ease, Harry. Responsibility is important, especially now."
Harry set his fork down carefully. "With all due respect, sir, ma'am… I love Hermione like family, but Teddy is my responsibility. I'll always take care of Hermoine and the child. But I can't pretend to be something I'm not."
Hermione placed her hand over his. "Exactly. Please stop pressuring him. I'll explain everything when the time is right."
The tension broke for a moment when Teddy decided to show off. His hair shifted from jet black to a familiar graying brown, and suddenly his small face mirrored Mr. Granger's almost exactly.
"Me grandpa!" Teddy squealed, clapping his little hands.
Mr. Granger blinked in surprise as his own likeness grinned back at him in miniature. Mrs. Granger gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Dear Lord…"
Harry managed a triumphant smile. "See? Metamorphmagus. It's his gift. He does it whenever he wants. Teddy isn't my son by blood—he just chooses to look like me, or anyone else he likes."
Mr. Granger exhaled slowly, some of the suspicion draining from his features. Teddy, delighted with the attention, switched his hair to a shocking bubblegum pink and giggled when Mrs. Granger chuckled despite herself.
By the time dessert was served, Teddy had half the family laughing as he shifted through appearances—Mrs. Granger's curls, Harry's messy black hair, even Hermione's bushy mane. It broke the wall of tension in a way nothing else could.
After Teddy had been put down with some toys in the living room, Harry pulled Hermione aside.
"You know your parents are still hoping I'll step up," Harry said quietly. "Why are you not telling them the truth?"
Hermione shook her head, her expression troubled. "Not yet. They've only just gotten their memories back, Harry. They're still struggling with the magical world. If I tell them about Apollo, about gods… it will break them. They'd never understand."
Harry rubbed his face. "So you'd rather they keep thinking I'm the father?"
"For now," Hermione admitted softly. "I'll tell them when I know they can handle it. Right now… they need stability, not confusion."
Harry sighed. "Then at least consider coming back with me. To America. You'd have a home at Black Mansion, with Andromeda and Teddy. You wouldn't be alone."
But Hermione shook her head firmly. "No, Harry. I've missed too many years with Mum and Dad. I need this time with them. Maybe later—but not now."
Harry looked into her determined eyes and knew there was no convincing her.
When it was time to leave, Teddy ran back to Mrs. Granger and threw his little arms around her neck. "Bye-bye, Nana!" he babbled, mispronouncing the word but earning a soft laugh from her.
Mr. Granger offered a stiff nod toward Harry. "Take care of the boy."
Harry nodded. "Always."
Hermione walked them to the door, hugging Harry tightly. "Thank you… for understanding."
"Just promise me one thing," Harry murmured. "If it ever gets too much, you'll call. You'll come back."
Hermione smiled sadly. "You'll be the first I call."
With that, Harry and Teddy stepped into the cool night, leaving behind the lingering scent of dinner and the heavier weight of secrets still unspoken.
Kreacher stood stiffly in the entrance hall, arms folded, his batlike ears twitching as Harry, Andromeda, and little Teddy prepared to leave. The ancient elf's eyes, still watery and sunken, glistened faintly in the dim light of the hall chandelier.
Teddy reached down from Harry's arms, waving a tiny fist, "Bye-bye, Kreecha!"
Kreacher's scowl deepened, but his lips trembled. "Master Teddy speaks too kindly to an old elf," he muttered, voice raspy but not without affection. "Kreacher will miss the little master."
Harry crouched slightly, balancing Teddy on his hip. "You don't have to stay here, Kreacher. Come with us. The house doesn't need to be lived in for you to take care of it."
Kreacher shook his head furiously, his long nose nearly touching his chest. "No! This is the House of Black. Kreacher was born to serve it, and Kreacher will die in it. Master Regulus… Mistress Walburga… all the Blacks would curse Kreacher's name if he abandoned these walls."
Harry sighed. He had expected this answer, but it still stung. "I'm offering you freedom, Kreacher. A chance to live with us, with Teddy. You'd still be part of the family."
"Family?" Kreacher's voice cracked, and for a moment, the bitterness slipped. He looked at Teddy, who had shapeshifted his hair into silvery curls and was giggling at the elf. Then Kreacher straightened. "Kreacher has his duty. The House of Black will not be left to rot while one Black still draws breath."
Harry hesitated, then tried another approach. "What if I gave this place to Hermione? She could—"
Kreacher let out a noise like a kettle boiling over, his face twisting in outrage. "No! Never! Not to the Mudblood girl. Kreacher has tolerated much since Master Harry took charge, but Kreacher will not allow the sacred house of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to be passed to her!" His gnarled fists clenched, and for a moment, Harry saw the same fierce loyalty that once bound him to Sirius's mother.
Harry raised a hand, calming. "Alright. I won't give it away if it upsets you that much. But promise me one thing—you'll at least visit us. A couple times a month. Teddy would love that."
Kreacher's expression softened only slightly. "Kreacher… Kreacher will visit the little master. Once or twice. But the house will remain Kreacher's charge. Always."
Harry gave a small smile and ruffled Teddy's hair. "Then it's settled."
Teddy clapped his little hands. "Kreecha come soon!" he chirped, and for once, Kreacher allowed himself a faint, crooked smile.
The flight back was uneventful, almost too quiet for Harry's liking. Teddy, who usually pressed his tiny nose and hands against the plane window and filled the air with squeals of "clouds, clouds!", had instead curled up on Harry's lap and slept soundly through the entire journey. Harry kept glancing at him, half-expecting the little metamorphmagus to stir awake and demand a view, but Teddy snored softly with his hair fading to a calm, sandy brown.
"That's odd," Harry muttered to Andromeda as he stroked Teddy's hair. "He never misses a chance to watch the clouds."
Andromeda smiled knowingly. "Children surprise you. He probably tired himself out with all that running in Britain."
Harry hummed but still couldn't shake the thought.
Ten days after they'd left America, they finally stepped through the familiar gates of the Black Mansion in New Jersey. The stone façade loomed up proudly, unchanged, and yet there was a strange feeling of warmth that Harry couldn't quite place. He carried a drowsy Teddy up the path, while Andromeda already muttered about cleaning supplies and dust charms.
"You'd think ten days without us, this place would be overrun with dust mites," she sighed. "And with a toddler, we can't take any risks."
Harry pushed the door open, wand at the ready in case they had intruders. Instead of silence, however, a soft voice floated from the sitting room.
"Welcome home."
Harry blinked and stepped inside. There, curled comfortably in the armchair by the fireplace, was Hestia, a book open in her lap. The warm glow of the fire danced across her serene face, making her look exactly like the goddess of the hearth she was.
"Aunt Hestia!" Teddy squealed suddenly, fully awake now. His hair flashed bright turquoise as he wriggled out of Harry's arms and toddled toward her.
Hestia closed her book and opened her arms. "And there's my little firebrand," she cooed, lifting Teddy easily into her lap. "Did you miss me?"
"Yes! Phoeny?" Teddy asked hopefully, remembering his earlier obsession.
Hestia chuckled. "Not yet, little one. But I'll see what I can do."
Harry stepped forward, shaking his head in amusement. "Hestia… what are you doing here? We've been gone for days."
She smiled warmly. "And I've been keeping your home safe, Harry Potter. You didn't really think I'd let this place collect dust while you were away, did you? The hearth should always remain tended."
Andromeda's stern expression softened. She placed her bag down and bowed her head slightly in respect. "Thank you. Truly, thank you, Lady Hestia. I was already planning to clean the whole house from top to bottom the moment we landed. But it looks… perfect."
Hestia waved a hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it. This house is more than brick and stone now—it is a hearth. And hearths must always be warm and welcoming, even in their master's absence."
Harry looked around. It was true. Every corner gleamed as though it had been polished just that morning. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and baking bread. A pot simmered in the kitchen, sending mouthwatering aromas into the hall. It felt less like a dark, brooding ancestral mansion and more like… home.
Harry gave her a grateful smile. "Then thank you, Hestia. You've done more than just tend to the house—you've made it alive again."
She reached over and squeezed his hand. "And that, Harry Potter, is why the hearth chose me. Now, sit down. Supper is ready."
Things settled back into their peculiar rhythm—or at least what counted as normal for Harry Potter. Each morning he would step through the Black Mansion's great fireplace, sprinkle a pinch of floo powder, and in a flash of green flame, he'd emerge inside the modest brick house near Princeton University that he had purchased months ago. From there, he walked or sometimes drove his car onto campus like any other student, blending into the bustling crowds of young faces carrying heavy backpacks and coffee cups.
Of course, the difference was that Harry's house was not entirely mundane. Its basement hid the locked floo chamber that only he and Hermione could access, and the faint wards he had placed around the property shimmered quietly—enough to deter wandering monsters, but subtle enough that no mortal neighbor noticed.
That was Harry's version of "normal."
What truly made life less than ordinary, however, was the constant presence of the Olympians. Athena would drop by between her lectures disguised as a visiting professor, always armed with a new book she insisted Harry must read. Aphrodite would stroll in as if the house were her own, leaving behind perfume and laughter, while Hestia kept the hearth in both houses burning warm, ensuring Andromeda never had to worry about cooking for Teddy alone.
Harry often joked to himself that if any of his Muggle classmates knew the goddesses of Olympus visited him more than the average postman, they'd have him locked up in an asylum.
Yet amid all this bustle, there was one absence that Harry could not help but notice.
Artemis.
He hadn't seen or heard from her in weeks. Normally, she would appear every few days—sometimes disguised as Annie Green at the university, sometimes in her divine form at the Black Mansion. Teddy adored her visits because she always brought wild stories of her hunts or small trinkets from faraway lands.
But now, nothing. Not a whisper.
One evening, Harry sat in the living room, pen in hand, his notebook filled with notes on medieval manuscripts. He leaned back, rubbed his tired eyes, and muttered, "It's been over a month…"
As if reading his mind, a soft voice answered from the floo behind him.
"She's on a long hunt," Hestia said, stepping gracefully into the living room. She placed a basket of baked bread on the table and gave him one of her warm, knowing smiles. "The kind that tests even Artemis's patience."
Harry frowned. "What are they hunting?"
Hestia's expression softened into something more serious. "None of us know for certain. Artemis rarely speaks of her quarry until the hunt is done. But she has taken all of her hunters with her. That alone should tell you how grave the threat is."
Harry tapped his quill against the table, uneasy. "And she's been gone for a while? No word?"
Hestia placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She'll return. She always does."
Harry nodded slowly, though in his heart he felt a weight pressing down. The last time Artemis had disappeared for this long, it had ended with cyclops army in New Zealand and a near disaster. He pushed the worry aside—for now—but it lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind.
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