The golden sun hovered low over Camp Half-Blood, casting long shadows across the hills and pine-strewn trails. A breeze stirred the strawberry fields as laughter echoed faintly from the armory and dining pavilion, but near the Big House, the mood was solemn.
Harry zipped Teddy's baby bag and placed it gently in the trunk of the silver Mercedes. The warding rituals had been completed, and Camp Half-Blood now shimmered with ancient protections that would guard its borders for years to come. His task was done.
But as he turned, he saw the faces that had gathered to say goodbye.
Cassie stood near the porch, holding Teddy in her arms as the baby giggled, his hair shifting colors between bright pink and electric blue. Cassie's eyes, however, were dim.
"Do you really have to go?" she asked softly, bouncing Teddy on her hip. "It's been so fun having you here… and Teddy's just the cutest."
Andromeda, dressed in a light linen coat and looking more at ease than she had in months, walked to Cassie and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"We'll come back, Cassie," she said with a smile. "And listen, you're welcome to visit us anytime. The mansion has enough space to lose yourself in for a week. And if you ever feel like… you don't want to go back to wherever 'home' is for you, then you're welcome to live with us too."
Cassie's eyes widened. "Live with you?"
Harry came closer and gently took Teddy into his arms, the baby cooing and wrapping a chubby fist around his shirt collar.
"It's a big world," Andromeda continued. "And sometimes, family isn't where you're born—it's where you're safe and wanted."
Cassie sniffed and gave a watery smile. "You really mean it?"
"We do," Andromeda nodded. "You've been good to Teddy. He likes you."
"' Cass,'" Teddy burbled.
Cassie's hands flew to her mouth. "Did he just—?"
Harry chuckled. "Sort of. He mimics what he hears sometimes. But yeah, I think he meant it."
As Cassie giggled through her tears, another figure approached from behind the tree line.
Thalia.
Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her tattered green jacket, her eyes fixed on the ground as she kicked at a stone with her boot. She stopped just a few feet away from Harry.
"So," she muttered, "you're leaving."
Harry nodded slowly. "I have to. I was only meant to help with the wards."
"You were never planning to stay long?"
"I never planned to come at all," he said, smiling faintly. "But I'm glad I did."
Thalia's brows furrowed. She looked off toward the horizon, where the sun was dipping below the edge of the woods. "Camp Half-Blood's not exactly… normal. But for a while, it felt like it when you were here. You don't talk down to us. You don't act like you're better."
"I'm not better," Harry replied. "I'm just older. A little more battered, maybe."
Thalia shifted. "You offered Cassie a place. Would you offer me one too?"
Harry hesitated only a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small enchanted coin. He pressed it into her hand.
"Anytime," he said. "If you need a place, a break, or someone to yell at who won't cry about it—call this coin. It'll open a portal to my home. No questions asked."
Thalia looked at it, the metal warm and glowing softly with runes. "And if I just want to visit?"
"Same rules apply," Harry said. "But I warn you, my house is full of magical artifacts, books, and at least one enchanted rocking chair that bites if you sit in it without asking."
Thalia let out a short laugh, then glanced down at Teddy, who was now playing with the strings of Harry's hoodie. "He's going to be powerful, huh?"
Harry looked at his godson, the little tuft of blue hair fading back to soft chestnut. "Yeah. He already is."
Thalia's gaze softened. "I'll miss you."
Harry nodded. "I'll miss you too."
Chiron trotted up with Dionysus following behind, sipping from his Diet Coke can with an expression that was neither amused nor disappointed.
"Everything is stable," Chiron reported. "The wards are holding, and the campers are already sleeping easier."
"I'm glad," Harry said. "They deserve it."
Dionysus gave him a sideways look. "You're not one of us, you know."
"I know," Harry replied, calm and honest.
"But that doesn't mean we don't owe you," the god muttered. "If you ever need something—not wine-related—call on me. I might not ignore it."
"I'll take that as a glowing endorsement," Harry said dryly.
Chiron smiled faintly. "Safe travels, Harry. May your path be clear, and your burdens light."
As Harry walked toward the car, Teddy now asleep in his arms, Andromeda opened the passenger door and slipped in, while Cassie stood with Thalia a little ways off, watching.
Harry paused.
He didn't tell them the real reason he couldn't stay.
It wasn't just that he wasn't one of them.
It was because deep inside—beneath the magic, the scars, and the strength—he carried a truth few would understand.
The voice in his dreams whispered it still.
Thanatos.
The name of death itself. Son of primordial Nyx and Erebus. Not a god of Olympus, not a child of the Twelve—but something older, darker, and more absolute. If that voice was right, then Harry wasn't a demigod at all.
He was the child of a Titan. Of a primordial line.
And if that were true… then he wasn't someone who wanted protection.
He gave one final wave as the engine hummed to life, the silver Mercedes rolling down the path that led away from Camp Half-Blood and toward the world beyond.
In the rearview mirror, he saw them one last time—Thalia standing beside Cassie, both watching with quiet longing.
He pressed his hand briefly to the mirror, and whispered, "I'll be back."
And then the trees swallowed the road.
The camp disappeared behind a bend.
And Harry Potter drove on, toward the mysteries of gods, monsters, and the truths buried deep within his blood.
High above the world of mortals, beyond the gaze of any telescope or enchanted mirror, loomed the shining spires of Mount Olympus. Towering marble columns held aloft great halls bathed in golden light. Cloud paths twisted through radiant gardens, where ambrosia flowed like wine and time moved to the rhythm of the gods.
Inside the central chamber, the annual Council of the Olympians had commenced.
Twelve thrones, each more magnificent than the last, formed a circle around a table carved from celestial bronze. The air shimmered with divine energy as the gods took their places—some lounging, some brooding, some already arguing.
"Order!" boomed Hera, her voice echoing through the chamber like the toll of a temple bell.
"As if that ever helps," muttered Hermes, sprawled upside down in his throne, flipping a golden drachma through his fingers.
"Watch your tongue, messenger," Hera snapped, glaring.
Across from her, Zeus sat with his fingers laced, thunderclouds crackling faintly in his beard. His regal robes shimmered with lightning-threaded fabric, but his gaze was cautious, wary of what would come next.
It was Hades who spoke first.
Dressed in somber robes, his expression dark and regal, Hades leaned forward, voice cold and calm.
"I invoke the matter of broken oaths," he said. "Oaths made by us. Sworn upon the River Styx."
The room fell silent.
Zeus straightened, his fingers twitching.
"Oh no," Hermes whispered, now sitting upright. "Here we go."
"I speak of the pact we made," Hades continued. "The vow that we—the sons of Kronos—would sire no more demigod children. That we would not bring further instability to the mortal realm."
"Must we do this every year?" Zeus grumbled.
"Yes," Hades snapped, "because every year you avoid accountability! You sired a daughter—Thalia. And I have heard she yet lives, under protection at Camp Half-Blood."
"So?" Zeus folded his arms. "She was nearly dead. That should satisfy your obsession with technicalities."
"But she lives," Hades said coolly. " And the pact remains broken."
"You speak of law and fairness, brother," Poseidon interjected, his voice like the roll of distant surf. "But your hands are not clean either."
Hades narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"
"You wish punishment for Zeus, but do not ask my support as if I am innocent. I too have broken the pact." He sighed. "I have a son…Mortal-born."
There were murmurs around the table.
Hera rolled her eyes. "Men. Always so dramatic when their trousers are involved."
Athena frowned, her owl perched on her shoulder. "If you cannot keep your vows, perhaps do not make them. Or at least, do not expect others to uphold them when you yourselves cannot."
Zeus bristled. "Enough. The matter stands as it is—yes, the oath was broken. But the children live. And they are protected. Shall we move on?"
"I'd like to discuss my library," Athena said, with a touch of exasperation. "The current one is insufficient for my growing collection. I've recently acquired a shipment of texts from India—Vedic magical treatises, alchemical scrolls, and several manuscripts bound in enchanted silk. I want an annex carved in diamond."
"Diamond?" Apollo lifted his sunglasses. "Can it be made into a disco ball?"
"No."
Artemis, calm and stoic, leaned forward next. "The Hunt continues. Monsters are growing bolder across the western territories. I slew three drakons and two empousai last moon alone."
"Charming," Dionysus muttered from his seat near the edge. He looked bored, sipping his Diet Coke, eyes barely open.
"And you, Dionysus?" Hera asked. "Anything to report from your realm of summer camps and whining children?"
Dionysus yawned and sat up slightly straighter. "Actually… yes."
This piqued their interest.
Dionysus brushed the crumbs of a pastry from his robes and continued, "Camp Half-Blood has been reinforced with new magical protection—comprehensive warding over the entire perimeter. The most powerful protective enchantments the camp has ever had."
There was a pause.
Then murmurs of disbelief.
"What?" Artemis asked, narrowing her eyes. "How?"
"You can barely enchant your coffee mug," Hermes quipped.
"I didn't do it," Dionysus said, waving off the comment. "We hired a specialist."
Zeus raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"His name is Harry Potter. A wizard."
Several gods sat forward.
"Harry Potter," Hecate whispered, her voice carrying across the chamber like silk sliding on marble. She stood slowly from her seat. Her robes shimmered with arcane sigils, her eyes glowing faintly. "You brought him to Camp Half-Blood?"
"You know of him?" Dionysus asked, surprised.
"Know of him?" Hecate murmured. "I know him. He is the chosen vessel of magic from the Old World. A mortal born of power, shaped by death and sacrifice. There are few as touched by fate as he."
Athena's eyes narrowed. "And you allowed him to work on the camp?"
Dionysus shrugged. "He didn't just work. He delivered. The camp is wrapped in a chain of wardstones, carved by his hand, activated with ritual, blood, and sacrifice. He withstood a horde of cyclopes and didn't flinch."
Poseidon leaned back, stroking his beard. "That level of magic… it would rival the protections of Olympus itself."
"And the cost?" Hera asked, skeptically.
"Forty thousand drachmas," Dionysus replied lazily. "Paid in full. Worth every coin."
"He accepted drachmas?" Athena asked. "I thought the wizards dealt in galleons."
"They do," Dionysus replied. "But Harry has both feet in two worlds. He accepted the payment in drachmas, likely as a courtesy. Or maybe just for the fun of confusing goblins."
Hecate's smile returned. "Clever boy."
"Well," Zeus said finally, folding his arms. "At least you've done something worthwhile, Dionysus. I assume we owe no favors to this Harry Potter?"
Dionysus considered that. "I wouldn't say owe… but I wouldn't cross him either."
The meeting drifted to other topics, but Hecate remained silent, her thoughts elsewhere.
Harry Potter. The boy who lived. The man who defied fate.
And now… he had begun walking paths that intertwined with those of the gods.
She could feel it in the air—something old stirring.
And it had his name written all over it.
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