Artemis arrived in a green cloak, the scent of pine billowing behind her as though the mall itself made way for a forest. Hestia followed, her warmth akin to a candle lit in a dawn kitchen.
Artemis's gaze landed first on Teddy, her expression softening as she knelt to adjust the leather strap on his sandal. "You've been running," she observed quietly.
"I had to race the elevators," Teddy confessed. "They're fast!"
Hestia gently touched the back of the phoenix chick with a finger, soothing it as its eyes half-closed in contentment. "We're having a conversation," she declared, and it wasn't a question.
Aphrodite's smile gleamed. "Apparently about how irresistible I am, even to toddlers."
Athena exhaled sharply. "We're discussing boundaries."
"Boundaries?" Artemis shot a glance at Harry. "You allowed this?"
Harry met her cool stare without flinching. "Allowed a beach day? Yes. I set boundaries." He nodded toward Teddy. "He and Aphrodite slept on one bed; I slept in the next room. It was just a day at the beach, not something scandalous."
A commanding voice disrupted the fountain's tranquility. "An oath is not a garment to loosen by the shore."
Hera's presence turned heads before her words did; her golden hair was pinned with gleaming clasps, and the air seemed to adjust in her presence. She regarded Artemis and then Athena, her queenly gaze searching for any signs of weakness.
"No one loosened anything," Artemis replied coolly.
Hera ignored her, focusing on Aphrodite instead. "You have never been faithful, nor cautious." Then she moved on as if her words had dismissed the topic. "This disagreement is beneath the roof of mortals. Hestia?"
The hearth goddess shrugged slightly. "We're in a garden. But I care whenever an Olympian is involved."
Aphrodite's expression tightened at "never faithful," but she maintained her bright tone. "So the consensus is: I am dangerous, Harry is helpless. "
Harry rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "No one said—"
Athena's voice sliced through. "I said you created a scenario that prioritizes your relationship Harry and Teddy. It was strategic, Aphrodite."
"Strategic," Aphrodite echoed. "How lovely that sounds when what you really mean is manipulative."
"It was effective," Artemis replied bluntly. "He reaches for you first. I witnessed it yesterday when the chick startled. I gave him the chick, and he should have come to me."
Teddy's face flickered with confusion. "I—sorry?"
Artemis blinked, taken aback by the apology. "You did nothing wrong," she assured him quickly. "I am simply expressing feelings I must monitor like forest borders. They are my responsibility, not yours."
Teddy relaxed. "Okay." He tentatively reached for her cloak, seeking its comforting texture.
Hestia smiled at him. "How about you show the chick its nest for a while? I made the reeds tighter this morning." She pointed to a shallow basket by the bench. Teddy gently lifted the chick and carried it a few paces away, humming a simple tune that Aphrodite had taught him.
Once he settled, Hestia straightened. "Speak your mind," she urged the goddesses quietly. "Without thorns."
Athena raised her chin. "What I mean is: Harry is not choosing a partner. Not now. Perhaps not ever. He is building a life, and we cannot pull it apart to test our significance in it."
Artemis nodded once. "And I will not permit—" she paused, her rare uncertainty making her appear younger than the moon, "I will not allow my oath to be questioned because I enjoy spending time here."
Hera's gaze softened gradually. "The oath persists until it doesn't. Which is not a matter for public discussion."
Aphrodite flicked imaginary dust from her sleeve. "You fear I will alter the game. And you are right. I may do so, but I am not reckless with children."
"You were reckless with perceptions," Athena countered. "And with Harry's word, which should suffice without your caveats."
Harry sighed, "I didn't invite Sally's comment. That was… not helpful."
Aphrodite looked genuinely apologetic for a moment. "No, it wasn't." She glanced at Teddy and continued in a sincere, softer tone, "I often forget how quickly you mortals grow. How significant a single day can be."
Hestia chimed in softly, "Then we have found common ground: days matter."
"Fine," Harry said, hands on his hips, shifting to the practical faster than any god could. "We're discussing time, bonds, and fairness. Let's resolve those. No romance. No innuendo. No—" he gestured, searching for a word and settling on, "messing about. Just… time."
Athena's eyes sharpened. "A structure."
"A rota," Harry said, amusement breaking through. "Yes, thank you, Professor."
"I am not your professor," Athena replied, although the corner of her mouth twitched with a hint of a smile.
Hestia clasped her hands together. "Propose."
Harry glanced at Teddy, confirming he was engaged with the nest. He was—murmuring to the chick, arranging a feather just so. "Teddy's week is already busy: Andromeda's lessons, visits to Sally and Percy's on Wednesdays, nature walks with Harry on Saturdays. We can share the margins—one afternoon each per goddess wishing to participate. Visible, predictable, bland enough to quell rumors."
"Boring?" Aphrodite gasped faintly.
"Comfortable," Hestia clarified, smirking.
Artemis considered. "What do those afternoons entail?"
"Archery?" Teddy called, still focused on the chick. The phoenix cheeped as if endorsing the idea.
Artemis's expression brightened despite herself. "We can teach you stance and patience." She looked at Harry.
"Deal," Harry agreed.
Athena drummed her fingers against her elbow. "A crafts afternoon," she proposed, already brainstorming. "Not arts and crafts. Actual work. We'll create a small book press. Learn about pressure, patience, and the shortcomings of glue compared to proper paste."
Teddy's eyes widened. "Can we make a book for the phoenix? A tiny diary for her first year?"
Athena blinked, unexpectedly pleased. "We can."
Aphrodite waved her hand lazily. "And we'll have beauty. Not makeup—don't scowl, Athene. We'll explore scents. How to create soaps. How to steep orange blossom and craft a perfume that lasts without overwhelming."
Hestia smiled warmly. "And one afternoon in a kitchen with me—making bread from flour to loaf. Fire managed, not conjured."
Hera said, almost to herself, "Etiquette." When everyone looked her way, she raised an eyebrow, regaining her queenly demeanor. "You may scoff, but the boy will move among gods and mortals. He should learn to welcome guests, how to deflect an insult without a wand, and how to maintain calm at the table without raising his voice."
Teddy, unaware that the queen of heaven was offering to teach him diplomacy, eagerly raised both hands. "Okay!"
Harry relaxed. "We'll create a calendar. No sleepovers. No cabins at beaches. If a day trip occurs, either I or Andromeda will be present, or both. Clear?"
"Clear," Artemis affirmed immediately.
"Clear," Athena concurred.
Aphrodite tilted her head, momentarily mischievous. "And when Harry himself needs some seaside air?"
"Then," Harry replied dryly, "I'll seek permission from the person who is best at providing boring structure."
Athena pretended to contemplate. "Denied."
He chuckled.
Hera's face softened—not quite a smile, but the tension at the corners of her mouth eased. "Very well. The rota is a boundary, not a battleground. Stick to it."
"Agreed," Harry said.
The conversation could have concluded there in a hard-won civility, but Apollo's whistling burst into the garden. "Did I overhear someone planning a band schedule around my nephew?"
"Out," Athena, Artemis, and Hera intoned in unison, and Apollo backed out, amused by his own mischief.
Hestia shook her head with laughter in her eyes. "Harry, create your calendar and provide me with a copy. I'll enchant it with a hearth-charm. When times shift, I'll warm the square as a reminder."
"Thanks," he replied, genuinely grateful.
"Now," Hestia said, tilting her chin toward Teddy, "we have the most crucial task: choosing the baking day."
"Monday!" Teddy exclaimed, because it was the toughest day and bread made it better. The phoenix chick chirped in agreement, which Hestia, being Hestia, considered valid.
Artemis stood. "Tomorrow, then," she told Teddy. "We'll begin with archery posture and breathing."
Teddy bounced on his feet, then remembered bows and stillness, attempting to stand very, very still. He swayed. "Like this?"
"Almost," Artemis said, trying to suppress a smile. She adjusted his shoulder, getting him into position. "You'll get it."
Athena crouched to meet him at eye level. "Choose the color of your book cloth. Don't say red because you feel you should. Say what you want."
Teddy pondered intently. "Blue like the inside of Nana's teacups."
Athena nodded, satisfied. "We'll find that exact shade."
Aphrodite leaned closer, kneeling to match his gaze. "And a bottle," she said softly. "You'll write one wish on a piece of paper, and we'll seal it with scent. It will smell like summer when you open it, even in winter."
Teddy's face lit up with gaps in his smile. "Can I write two wishes?"
Aphrodite's mouth parted; she glanced at Harry, asking without asking.
"One," Harry replied gently. "And you have to tell me what it is before sealing it."
"Okay," Teddy agreed. He instinctively reached for Aphrodite's hand but hesitated. His hand hovered uncertainly as he looked at Artemis, Athena, Hera, and Hestia, anxiety palpable in his wide eyes.
Hestia came to the rescue. She opened her arms. "Come here, little one."
Teddy sighed with relief and launched himself into the safest embrace in the room. Hestia enveloped him warmly. "You don't have to pick favorites," she murmured, ensuring everyone could hear. "You can love different things about different people. We will not force you to choose."
Harry exhaled with gratitude. Athena's tension eased. Artemis focused on the ground, as if she could trace a familiar path. Hera offered the faintest nod.
Aphrodite observed, her eyes shining—not with the usual sparkle, but something deeper. "Right," she murmured softly, feeling reassured. "Right."
The phoenix chick nestled its beak under its wing and slept.
"Tea," Hestia proclaimed, breaking the spell. "There's always time for tea. Harry, would you get Andromeda? I've brought lemon biscuits. We'll discuss schedules over biscuits so that the schedule behaves."
"That's not how—" Athena began, catching the mischief, and held her tongue. "Yes, fine. It will behave."
Harry chuckled again, this time without any guards up. "I'll be back in five." He ruffled Teddy's hair. "Stay with Hestia."
"Okay," Teddy said into Hestia's garment.
Harry turned, and Hera stepped into his path. He paused. She studied him thoughtfully for a long moment.
"Do not let any of us turn your life into a game," she cautioned. "Not even the kinder games. You may be courteous to queens and gentle toward hearths. But you must decide."
Harry met her gaze. "I do."
She nodded slightly. "Ensure you continue to do so."
He nodded and walked away, his footsteps echoing briefly through the garden before the mall absorbed the sound.
Aphrodite settled back onto the bench, staring at her hands. Artemis tested the tautness of the bowstring she had conjured from moonlight. Athena studied the fountain as if it were a chessboard, sorting feelings into neat categories. Hera sat in the chair closest to Teddy, maintaining a steady yet silent presence. Hestia rocked gently, as if her motion was keeping the flame even.
After a minute, Teddy mumbled, "Aunt Hestia?"
"Yes, little oven?"
He giggled. "Can I make bread shapes that look like animals?"
Hestia's eyes sparkled. "You may create a zoo."
"Even a crab?" Teddy asked, recalling the day filled with moats and sand.
"Especially a crab," Hestia replied.
Athena, who frowned upon shoddy creations, added, "We'll provide the crab with a proper proofing basket so it rises evenly."
Artemis unexpectedly chimed in, "And we can take the crab loaf to the river to observe the water flow around the stones."
Aphrodite sighed, a smile finally blooming like dawn. "I will bring butter."
Hera didn't smile, but she allowed it to happen. "And I will provide plates."
When Harry returned with Andromeda and a tin of biscuits, the garden buzzed with the kind of ambiance Hestia always hoped to create—plans being laid, tea being served, and a child learning there would be plenty of hands to catch him no matter which way he raced.
Later, as Harry carefully transcribed the rota in his neat handwriting and made a second copy for Hestia's hearth-charm, Athena lingered while the others drifted off to their tasks and Apollo's distant, merry whistling.
"Harry," Athena murmured.
"Mm?"
"You were right to verify for charms," she admitted softly, knowing that accuracy mattered, even at the expense of pride. "You were also correct in highlighting time and fairness. I will adhere to the schedule."
He studied her. "Thank you."
She hesitated, then added, "If a day comes when you might confuse calm with clarity, please ask me. Clarity is my area of expertise. Even when it's painful."
He smiled warmly. "I will."
Athena nodded, as if a puzzle piece had finally clicked into place, and then she left.
Harry watched as Teddy pressed a lemon biscuit into Hestia's hands, insisting she take the biggest piece because she had the largest capacity for patience. He allowed the moment to etch itself in his memory, like one of Athena's meticulous bindings.
No choices today. No gods to appease. Just a rota, a boy, a chick, and a promise that—at least for now—everyone had agreed to act like adults.
And somewhere far away, the ocean sighed, steady and indifferent. Tomorrow, Artemis would teach Teddy to remain still enough to aim a bow. The following day, Athena would glue book cloth and explain why corners mattered. On Monday, the kitchen would fill with the scent of fresh bread, and in a week, Hera would insist on napkins and teach him how to tactfully redirect an insult like water flowing around a stone.
Aphrodite would provide summer in a bottle, Hestia would keep the squares on the calendar warm, one at a time. And Harry—Harry would keep making decisions.
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