Harry had often reassured himself with a comforting notion: monsters targeted demigods, shadowing the offspring of deities, the gods themselves, and anyone entangled enough in Greek mythology to attract notice. Ordinary mortals were merely background noise. Even witches and wizards largely remained unbothered; perhaps the Mist categorized their magic as "quirky weather," or maybe Fate had more pressing matters than to cross-reference pantheons. Regardless of the explanation, it had provided him solace.
So, when Andromeda took Teddy to the nearby shopping mall for a short errand to buy butter, milk, and fair-trade coffee, on a bright morning with the pavement still warm from dawn, and when Kreacher complained he should join them while Andromeda reassured him, "We'll be five minutes," Harry simply kissed Teddy's hair and cautioned, "Watch the crossings."
He did not shield them with wards nor did he even keep an eye on them from the window.
Later, Artemis would remark that, "Comfort is the most dangerous trap." He would also learn how a mother sounds when acid perilously draws near her child. But on that morning, he was preoccupied with an upcoming lecture and whether Rose would appreciate the knitted lamb made by Hestia.
Andromeda held Teddy's hand as they walked, prompting him, "Repeat after me."
"Left, right, left. No running. No crossing without you," Teddy echoed, then looked up with a smile. "And no sugar before lunch."
"That's new," Andromeda replied, amused. "Who set that rule?"
"Hera," he said seriously. "She said teeth are crowns and must be protected."
"Sounds like you have quite a few queens now," Andromeda noted, squeezing his fingers gently.
The neighborhood was vibrant: dog walkers strolled with coffee, delivery trucks navigated the curbs, and a woman shook her doormat from a second-story window. The shopping mall awaited just two blocks ahead, its glass glinting in the sunlight. Teddy alternated between trotting and walking, balancing the drowsing phoenix chick in his arm like a warm ray of sunlight.
As they crossed a side street, the air shifted oddly.
Andromeda would later describe it as a coolness without measurable temperature—a disconcerting chill like a cellar door swinging open on a summer day. Teddy experienced it differently: his scalp tingled, the tiny feathers on the phoenix chick fluttered, and something inside his chest that had learned to respond to divine voices trembled.
"Nana?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Almost there, love." Andromeda's gaze darted to a van approaching down the road. "Let's step up onto the curb, please."
They obeyed, but the curb felt slick beneath their feet.
"There must be spilled soda," Andromeda stated briskly, though she hadn't witnessed anyone spilling anything. The viscous liquid trailed towards the storm drain. She instinctively pulled Teddy away from it, a move that saved his left shoe.
Suddenly, the grate bulged upwards.
It should have been solid metal and darkness, not something that breathed. The cover bent like a pot lid before snapping open, releasing something thick and pale—a throat-like entity, slick and scaled, ending in a triangular head that snapped at the air as if testing it.
Andromeda couldn't perceive it in its true form; the Mist distorted it into a clumsy imitation—a wild dog, a plumbing accident, an optical illusion. Yet, her instincts recognized the danger—her magic understood the new threat. Her wand was in hand before thought even registered.
"Teddy, stay behind me," she instructed calmly, just as she'd once told a flustered Healer trainee to apply a stabilization charm. She used her forearm to guide him back until he pressed against the bakery's brick wall.
The grate crashed onto the pavement. Another pale throat emerged, snapping in anticipation. The unsettling chill intensified.
The hydra smelled of dampness and metal.
Teddy witnessed everything. He saw the first head turning toward the warmth of his small body. He felt the second head's tongue testing the air, tasting him. A third head burst from the drain, scraping against the metal with its scales. His mouth dried, and the phoenix chick nestled tightly against his ribs and squeaked in distress.
"Nana," he whispered. "It's a hydra."
The term reverberated through the Mist, reaching Andromeda like a coin sinking to the bottom of a pool—distorted and far away. Yet, she was a Black matriarch, Harry would later reflect—she didn't need names to act correctly. She flicked her wand, declaring, "Protego Totalum!"
Her shield manifested, forming a steady dome of invisible force between her grandchild and the monster. The first head collided with it, scraping its teeth against the barrier. The second head drew back with a hissing sound—Teddy caught the scent of acid. A drop fell to the pavement, eroding it and producing faint wisps of smoke.
"Don't take deep breaths," Andromeda instructed, her voice unnaturally calm as her focus zeroed in on movements, not shapes. She could see the snapping motions and the pressure in the air—the signals were enough.
A deliveryman across the street called out, "Hey!" mistakenly thinking a pipe had burst or that two dogs were fighting. The Mist skewed his perception. "Hey!" he repeated, trying to contain what he could not see.
The fourth head surged forward, transforming the sidewalk into a writhing mass of serpentine forms. Andromeda's shield absorbed another blow. Then a third; her arm heated with strain as she sustained it. Teddy's back pressed against the bricks. He tried to swallow but found himself unable.
"I can help," he whispered.
"You can stay right where you are," Andromeda replied through gritted teeth, and then she devised a clever strategy. Rather than targeting the heads—she lacked knowledge of the cauterization rule—she recognized the terrain. "Bombarda Maxima!"
The explosion shattered the curb two meters to the right. Concrete flew. A parked scooter skidded, toppling as though a sleeping cow had been disturbed. The hydra flinched at the noise and debris, refocusing on the new threat. Andromeda turned, pushing her shield ahead like a riot officer's barrier. "Into the café," she instructed, with the door just four long steps away.
The door remained locked. "Kreacher," she called out, but he wasn't there; he was back at the mansion, busy counting Teddy's socks. Andromeda flicked at the latch and muttered a charm, but the spell bounced off the ward Harry had set on their first night: Do not open for strangers.
"I'm not a stranger!" she snapped at the sensible ward, then assertively maintained her shield and composure, determined not to show weakness in front of her grandson.
"Teddy." Her voice regained steadiness. "When I say go, run to that lamppost. The one with the Flower Shop sign. Don't look back. Don't come back to me. Don't be a hero. Do you understand?"
Teddy nodded, throat working to form the reply. "Yes."
She smiled at him, and in hindsight, Harry would remember it as one of the most courageous moments he'd ever witnessed. "On three. One—"
The hydra, however, did not wait. The nearest head lunged and spat. The acid hit her shield, fracturing it with a white spiderweb of energy. Andromeda's arm shook under the pressure.
"—three!"
She dove to the left as her shield sliced through the air. Teddy ran, his sneakers smacking against the pavement as he fixed his gaze on the lamppost. He kept his eyes focused, until the hiss behind him erupted into a roar, and he couldn't stop himself from glancing back—
Two more heads emerged from the drain. One charged after the quick and small boy, while the other lunged for the fierce and bright witch. Teddy saw glimmering fangs, and everything narrowed to that menacing mouth.
Silver whizzed through the air.
An arrow zipped past so close to his cheek that it felt like a cool breeze brushing against him, embedding into the hydra's neck. The head recoiled with a piercing shriek; the shaft ignited, and when the intensified head broke free in blind rage, it didn't regenerate.
"Hold the line!" came a voice, clear and commanding. "Archers—second and third necks!"
Then they appeared, like a wave of brightness: girls clad in silver parkas with white laces and eyes that confronted monsters the way sailors face waves—aware of the risks and the way forward. The Hunters of Artemis.
Phoebe's braid snapped as she nocked and released three arrows with such speed that Teddy thought time had stuttered. One head thrashed, pinned against the brick wall, while another arrow rushed into a gaping maw, with acid splattering backward onto the hydra's flank and smoking.
"Shield!" Phoebe shouted, and a short-haired girl with a scar down her cheek raised a shimmering disc of moon-metal, smooth as glass. Acid hit it and slid harmlessly away.
"Andromeda," Artemis announced, her voice transforming the alley into a sacred space.
She was simply there, as if the morning had summoned a horizon. A silver cloak flowed over her shoulders like calm waters. Her bow, taller than Teddy, was not crafted but derived from an idea, with a string made of light.
Andromeda, panting heavily, adjusted her stance to maintain her shield and grip on reality. "I can't see its edges," she admitted, "only its movement."
"Then you're already doing well," Artemis replied, advancing like a skilled hunter, stepping intentionally. "Do not sever without flames. It grows two for one."
"You could have mentioned that sooner," Andromeda muttered, and later Teddy would think: Nana always remembers her manners, even in the presence of gods.
Artemis smiled without revealing her teeth, as time was of the essence. "Phoebe, net."
"Ready!" Phoebe called, and two Hunters prepared to throw a shimmering coil that glowed like moonlight. The net wasn't simple rope; it was a fabric woven from silver and older elements, resilient against poison.
"Now," Artemis commanded. Three things happened simultaneously:
Arrows struck the base of two necks, scorching their stumps into blackened ends. The net expanded, swelling in midair before descending over three thrashing heads. Andromeda dropped her shield momentarily to trace a figure-eight with her wand and hiss, "Incendio Linea!"—fire igniting along the edges of the net, preventing the hydra from escaping.
It continued to writhe. The alley transformed into a whirlwind of scales, gleams, hisses, and girls moving with a practiced grace. Artemis seldom fired her arrows; each time she did, a head fell and remained fallen. She wielded her bow like a staff, redirecting a lunging bite into the wall.
Teddy reached the lamppost, panting hard as if he had just run for his life. He pressed against the post, his wide eyes fixed on the fierce battle. "Nana!" he called once, catching her attention only for her to glance back and confirm he was safe before refocusing.
"Stay!" she ordered with authority, magic infused in her words, affirming her love and strength.
Learning, the hydra adapted. It began spitting at the archers' feet, aiming to slick the pavement and disrupt their balance. Phoebe cursed in a dialect that wafted scents of pine. "Grapples!"
Hooks sang as lines tightened; three Hunters worked together to subdue one head for Artemis to strike. Another head broke free, lunging toward Teddy, and Andromeda sensed only the shift in pressure, the change in the air like a storm brewing. She didn't need to see its true form to leap in between her grandson and danger, shield raised.
The force of the impact lifted her.
Her back slammed against the brick wall, knocking the breath from her while behind her, her shield held, its surface cracking with electric light. The head recoiled.
Artemis didn't shout her name. She possessed no names to spare. She pressed three fingers to her bow, uttering a word unrecognizable in both Greek and English, and Teddy would remember how the very air tensed as if in response.
"Down," Artemis instructed, and all the Hunters ducked. She released her arrow.
The arrow, gleaming white rather than silver, made no sound as it soared. It embedded itself in the hydra's central trunk where the necks converged with the ribs. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then a surge of light coursed through the creature. Each head arched, every mouth opened, and the net flared; the stumps where heads had once been ready to regrow blackened and withered.
Artemis advanced, pressing her palm to the shaft, causing the white to turn to ash and disappear.
The alley smelled like rain after a thunderstorm. The acid fizzled in diminishing spurts.
Silence descended as if granted permission to linger.
The deliveryman across the street blinked, turned away, frowning at the empty scene. "Weird plumbing," he muttered to himself and left, pondering sandwiches.
Andromeda slid down the brick wall into a sitting position, laughing a brittle laugh, the adrenaline finally ebbing. Teddy rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, beaming with pride as he exclaimed, "I stayed! I stayed!" which was mostly true.
"You did stay," Andromeda said, holding him a moment longer than necessary, just to ensure he remained warm and lively, as before the encounter with monsters.
Phoebe issued commands: "Ash sweep. Acid neutralization. Mist veil." The Hunters moved with the efficiency of a well-trained kitchen cleaning up a mess—swift and composed. One girl with the scar knelt, pouring a granular substance that hissed upon contact with the acid slick, gradually silencing the hissing.
"Thank you," Andromeda expressed towards Artemis, finding her voice again. She rose, wincing as her shoulder reminded her it belonged to a body. "I—if you hadn't—"
"You would have managed," Artemis replied, and for a brief moment, she appeared as just another woman recognizing another's spirit. "But I'm not inclined to test your 'if' scenarios."
Andromeda chuckled, her laughter turning into a cough. "I couldn't see it."
Artemis nodded. "The Mist is more forgiving toward ignorance than nearly-wise. You exist between worlds now—it's always the most perilous place to be."
"I thought—" Andromeda initiated, but paused, recalling Harry's narrative and how easily she had accepted it.
"You believed they would ignore you," Artemis concluded without softness. "Because you lack the semblance of divine lineage."
Andromeda looked at Teddy, who was preoccupied with the phoenix chick and softly assuring it, "See? Hunters. Aunt Artemis. Everything's fine," as if the little bird needed comfort. She placed a hand on his head.
"Never again," Andromeda declared firmly, and there was resolve in her words. Artemis nodded as if she accepted a solemn promise.
A Hunter approached, breathing hurriedly. "Ma'am, we have an issue."
Artemis's concentration sharpened. "What sort?"
The girl gestured toward the drain. Beneath the distorted grate, the blackness left by the severed trunk was oozing… spreading outward. It wasn't healing; it was contaminating.
"Poisoned runoff," Phoebe stated flatly. "It's infiltrating the infrastructure."
"This city is laced with such threads," Artemis mused, listening not merely with her ears but with an instinct that detects deer trails in wild grass. "It will summon creatures. Not this hour, but later."
Andromeda's wand was already ready in her hand. "Direct me where to aim."
"You won't channel magic into the municipal sewer," Artemis replied, and for the first time that day, amusement tinged her tone. "We'll craft a filter beneath the street. Hunters—moonlace at third depth. Anchor to the river stones."
The girls returned to action. Teddy watched as if it were his favorite movie, where the heroes already knew every line. When he looked up at Artemis, his expression brimmed with admiration and commitment.
"Thank you," he said, "for saving Nana."
Artemis crouched down to meet his gaze. "You did as you were told."
He stood taller, exuding the dignity of a brave six-year-old. "I'll do it again."
"Mhm," Artemis replied, a smile creeping onto her face. "You ought to refrain. Next time, you should flee before anyone instructs you. I prefer courageous children who make it to adulthood unscathed."
"I can be unexciting," Teddy replied, and Andromeda chuckled at the exchange.
Once the last ashes were gathered into a non-leaky bag and the remaining hisses persuaded to quiet, Artemis turned her full attention to Andromeda. "I'll escort you home."
"To the café?" Andromeda inquired. "We ought to warn—"
"The café will have no recollection of a plumbing incident," Artemis declared, waving her fingers as the Mist neatly restored the damaged curb to the city's pretense of forgetfulness. "But we will inform Harry."
They began to walk together, the Hunters fading away to rooftops as smoothly as pigeons. Teddy held Andromeda's hand and triumphantly hopped over a crack in the pavement, proving his agility.
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