For the first time in living memory, all twelve Olympians descended upon Camp Half-Blood in their full divine forms—glorious, radiant, and unmistakably powerful. The sky shimmered with golden light as they arrived, a rolling thunder echoing in the distance as if the heavens themselves bowed to their presence. The demigods, usually battle-hardened and half-jaded by daily training and monster hunts, stood frozen with wide eyes and open mouths.
It was rare to meet one's divine parent face-to-face. Rarer still to meet all of them together.
Campers began gathering in the central field as word spread like wildfire. Chiron stood tall at the edge of the Big House porch, his eyes watching with cautious reverence. Beside him, Dionysus sipped his Diet Coke and muttered, "Could have given me a warning before descending en masse."
The gods had come to inspect the magical wards placed by Harry Potter—a name that had rippled even through Olympus. Wards of such magnitude were unknown even among the immortals. And curiosity was a powerful motivator, even for gods.
As they approached the shimmering invisible wall that now protected the entire Camp, Athena narrowed her eyes and touched her fingers to the air. A golden ripple pulsed outward where she made contact.
"Ingenious," she murmured. "He's used blood-bonded ward stones. And this matrix... it's anchored across ley lines."
"It's not just powerful," Apollo added, his amber eyes scanning the air. "It's elegant. This wizard knows his craft."
Zeus folded his arms, looking suspiciously impressed. "For someone not of Olympus, he has done what even the gods cannot."
Dionysus cleared his throat. "Technically, you all could. You just never cared enough."
Several gods glared at him. Dionysus sipped again.
"It's remarkable," Artemis said, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. "The monsters can't pass. Not even through shadow or sky."
"And it's stable," Poseidon added, running his hand through the air like a tide. "I feel the pull of the sea... the ley currents are being bent, not broken."
Aphrodite smiled, ever graceful and radiant in a silk gown that shimmered like sunlight on rose petals. "And is the wizard handsome?"
Dionysus gave a disinterested shrug. "He's a teenager, has a godson. Doesn't flirt, doesn't party. Walks around in a suit like a stiff Brit. Too professional, if you ask me."
Aphrodite raised an arched brow. "None of my daughters charmed him?"
"Didn't even bat an eye," Dionysus muttered. "Though, to be fair, he was focused on carving runes and blood rituals."
That piqued her interest.
"Well, if my children couldn't do it, perhaps I should try." Her smile was sly. "A teenager who loves his godson... that's real power. A man with a strong heart... I wonder what other passions he hides beneath that decorum."
"Ugh," Ares rolled his eyes. "Don't start your seduction spree in front of the kids."
They moved on from the wards, choosing to stay longer. After all, it wasn't every day that the Olympians gathered at Camp Half-Blood. A game of Capture the Flag was announced that evening, and the excitement rippled through the camp like a shockwave.
Even the gods found shaded spots and seats to watch the game unfold.
Some parents dared to sit beside their children. Athena stood near the Athena cabin, proud but reserved. Apollo whistled enthusiastically every time his children landed a hit. Hermes played referee, cheating only slightly. Artemis remained distant, nodding approvingly at the Hunters she had trained.
And in the far back, alone, Hades stood by the remains of a long-forgotten cabin.
A burned-out foundation. Blackened stone. His.
He said nothing. No one addressed him.
His eyes, deep and sorrowful, stared beyond the camp borders. Past the trees. Past the mortal world. Toward Las Vegas. Toward the Lotus Hotel. Where his two children, Nico and Bianca, remained frozen in suspended time.
He had hidden them there when the Pact of the Big Three was made—an oath that none of them would sire another demigod. Yet now, Zeus had broken it. So had Poseidon. Their children—Thalia and Percy—were walking, breathing proof. And yet they roamed free, under divine protection.
Would the prophecy choose one of them? Would his own children ever be safe?
No. Not yet.
And until the prophecy was fulfilled—one way or another—he would keep them frozen, safe, and untouched by fate. Even if it meant bearing the guilt alone.
A voice broke his thoughts.
"It used to be a proud cabin," Chiron said gently, approaching. "I remember it."
Hades did not look away. "And it will be again."
Chiron nodded. "They'll need it when they are born."
"They'll need more than a cabin," Hades said. "They'll need strength. Trust. And a father they've never known."
Elsewhere, Aphrodite sat amongst her children, gleaming with affection.
"You're all beautiful," she declared proudly. "But none of you caught Harry Potter's eye?"
A few of her daughters shook their heads.
"He was polite," said Callie, a daughter with soft red curls. "But... distant."
"He bought his godson and his aunt," added another. "He's... not like the others."
"No, he's not," Aphrodite mused. "That makes him all the more intriguing."
As the game drew to a close, and the stars blinked into the twilight sky, the gods lingered.
They spoke to their children. Some gave gifts. Others gave warnings. Artemis offered silver trinkets to her huntresses. Apollo recited poetry no one wanted to hear. Hermes gave everyone a free packet of enchanted gum.
But it was a day no camper would ever forget—the day the gods came to Camp Half-Blood.
The day they saw just how powerful protection could be—not from Olympus, but from a mortal wizard with a son and a past full of pain and love.
Aphrodite looked to the horizon and whispered softly, "Harry Potter… I wonder what your heart truly desires."
The gods had returned to Olympus, thunder and pomp replaced by silence and divine contemplation. But not all immortals were content to resume their usual affairs.
Aphrodite reclined in her radiant palace—drifting clouds of perfume curling above her, soft lyres playing in the distance, and a distant ache of curiosity pulling at her immortal heart. Harry Potter. The name echoed like a whisper in ambrosia.
The wizard who raised divine wards to protect her children.
The mortal teenager who resisted the charms of her bloodline.
The man who had become… interesting.
Just then, a shimmer lit the air near her reclining couch. A glowing Iris Message took form, colors swirling above a crystal bowl. Dionysus's pudgy form appeared, looking equal parts annoyed and begrudgingly impressed.
"You asked for information," he grumbled, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand. "So I asked around."
Aphrodite's eyes lit with mischief. "Did you now? I hope that means you're ready to cash in that favor I promised."
He snorted. "Not yet. But it's good to have one tucked away."
She leaned forward, an elbow on the armrest. "So? Where is he? What does he do?"
Dionysus looked off-screen. "You know the satyr—Ethan—and Callie, one of your daughters? They're the ones who brought Harry Potter to Camp Half-Blood."
Aphrodite arched a brow. "Callie? My sweet girl with the curls and confidence?"
"The very one. Turns out, both of them met at the school—Harrison Wells Memorial School."
"Normal school?" she said, surprised. "He's a wizard and yet...?"
"He lives like a Muggle," Dionysus said with a shrug. "Or at least tries to. He's raising a child—his godson. Apparently, he left Britain to live a normal life, but trouble found him anyway. That's how he met your daughter and the satyr. They were being chased by monsters when they ran into Harry. He helped them fight off some Chimera."
Her lips curved into a slow smile. "Now that's poetic."
Dionysus continued, "They bonded, brought them to Camp Half-Blood, and the rest is history. I still don't know exactly where he lives, but Callie said it's somewhere secluded—he has a mansion outside the city, full of wards even she couldn't see through."
Aphrodite's fingers traced a slow circle in the air. "And his godson? Teddy?"
"Seven months old. Adorable by mortal standards. And, surprisingly, his priority."
A pulse of intrigue glimmered in her chest. "So he's not the usual foolish mortal driven by glory or desire."
"Nope," Dionysus said. "Apparently, he's more focused on protecting his boy than falling for anyone."
"That," she said, standing with a deliberate grace, "makes him even more tempting."
Just then, a lazy voice came from the bed behind her.
"So," Ares said, one arm slung over his head, "you're going after the wizard now?"
He sat up, blinking through tousled hair. The war god looked more amused than surprised.
"I might," Aphrodite replied, not even looking at him. "I've never had a wizard before."
"Isn't he a bit young?" Ares said. "Eighteen? Seventeen, Maybe?"
She glanced back with a smirk. "And what of it? I'm older than time, and you've never complained about that. Age is... flexible, darling."
Ares scoffed, reaching for his breastplate. "Just don't bring him back here. I'd rather not start another decade-long feud because you thought a wizard was cute."
"Oh please," she laughed, wrapping herself in a sheer silk robe that glowed with pink light. "I don't bring them home unless they earn it."
"Earn it?" Ares echoed.
"He built divine wards that impressed even Athena. Protected a whole camp from monsters. Resisted my daughter's charm. That's worth a closer look."
"You're really going to chase this one, huh?" Ares asked, shaking his head.
"I'm going to observe him," she said coyly. "And maybe... enchant him a little. See if his heart can be stirred."
With that, she walked toward the fading iris mist—bare feet silent on the marble floor. A trail of roses bloomed behind her with each step.
Ares leaned back on the bed with a groan. "Poor guy doesn't even know what's coming."
And in truth, he didn't.
Somewhere far below Mount Olympus, Harry Potter was preparing breakfast for his baby godson, completely unaware that the Goddess of Love herself had taken an interest in him.
And Aphrodite? She was already planning her descent.
Aphrodite stood beneath the shade of an oak tree just outside Harrisonville Memorial High School, the early morning sun casting golden flecks through her dark curls. Her appearance today was crafted carefully—radiant skin, casually perfect waves of hair, and a school-issue backpack slung loosely over one shoulder. She wore the local style: high-waisted jeans, sneakers, and a dark blue varsity jacket over a fitted white tee that made her look effortlessly like a student… albeit an unusually stunning one.
She could feel the eyes on her.
Boys nudged each other, girls whispered to one another, and a few teachers paused in their routine. The pull of her charm worked instinctively on everyone. Everyone except the one she was here for.
The silver Mercedes turned into the parking lot, sliding into a space with practiced ease. Aphrodite's heart fluttered—an unfamiliar sensation she hadn't felt in centuries. The driver's door opened, and out stepped Harry Potter.
His tousled black hair was as unruly as ever, and he wore a simple hoodie over jeans. Slung over one shoulder was a worn leather satchel that didn't match the rest of his polished car or calm demeanor. He moved with the relaxed gait of someone too used to being watched, though utterly uninterested in the attention.
"That's him," whispered a girl beside her, pushing her glasses up her nose. "That's Harry Potter. The British kid."
She already knew. She remembered that moment vividly—months ago at the bag store, She'd gone incognito to pick up a man and saw a charming little handbag on the window of a store. She had seen him admiring the same piece. And when she approached and smiled at him with her most dazzling look, asking politely if she could have it—
He had simply replied, "I've already bought it," and walked off.
No pause. No double-take. No nervous smile. Not even a hint of blushing or stammering. Just… no.
Aphrodite. The Goddess of Love. Rejected.
The memory still irritated her.
Now, here he was again. The same boy who defied her allure. She had planned this meeting meticulously. She had worn the perfect face. She had rehearsed the casual lines. She had considered approaching him at his locker, in the hallway, or maybe even at the vending machine between periods.
But as he stepped out of the car, the confidence that had carried her through ages seemed to evaporate like mist in sunlight.
Harry slung his bag, yawned, and walked toward the entrance. A group of students waved at him; one of the girls even ran up and started talking about some science assignment. He nodded, offered a crooked smile, and replied with a "Yeah, I finished it last night. You want a copy?"
So normal. So human. And yet… not.
Aphrodite's feet refused to move.
She watched as he entered the school, holding the door for two younger students behind him without even realizing it. There was no flash of power, no aura of magic around him. And yet, his very existence seemed to ripple against the strands of Fate she could feel dancing around his form.
"How…?" she whispered.
She glanced at her reflection in the school window. The disguise was flawless. The power that shimmered beneath her mortal facade was undeniable. So why—why—did she feel like he wouldn't care at all?
Taking a breath, she steeled herself. This isn't about conquest. This isn't even about love. This is about her pride. A mortal—or demigod, or whatever he was—refused her. That had never happened. Not once. Not even the aloof gods of the old pantheon could resist her.
But he had.
And now, she had to know why.
She stepped away from the tree and walked toward the school slowly, pretending to scroll on a smartphone she had magicked up just that morning. A few boys whistled. One asked for her name. She didn't even hear them.
Instead, her mind echoed with one question: What makes Harry Potter immune to a goddess?
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