The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of dew and summer blooms. Privet Drive had never looked so small and suffocating as it did now, with trunks packed and a sleek black carriage waiting at the curb. It wasn't pulled by horses but glided forward on silent wheels, its wood dark and polished, its windows shimmering faintly with protective enchantments.
Harry stood awkwardly by the curb, clutching his Hogwarts letter like a lifeline. The Dursleys were nowhere in sight. Uncle Vernon had blustered and shouted until his face went purple the night before, declaring Harry wasn't going anywhere, only to slam the door and retreat when Percy's calm stare silenced him. Petunia had watched from the corner, thin-lipped, while Dudley hid behind his mother, pale and trembling at Percy's presence.
Now, Harry felt torn between nerves and awe. For once, he wasn't being shoved into a cupboard or dragged by the arm. Percy, Artemis, and Athena treated him as though he mattered.
"Ready?" Percy asked, his voice calm but steady with an authority that made Harry's stomach unknot.
Harry nodded quickly. "Y-yeah."
Percy gave him a reassuring smile and gestured to the open carriage. Artemis was already seated, one long leg crossed over the other. She wore fitted black trousers and a loose white blouse that shimmered faintly, her silver circlet glinting against her auburn hair. Her gaze softened as Harry climbed in, and she shifted to give him space beside her.
Athena, sitting across from her, was dressed in a pale dress that hugged her curves, the neckline dipping just enough to hint at her confidence. She leaned against Percy when he entered last, his arm slipping easily around her waist. The intimacy of it—the unashamed touch, the way Artemis reached to take Percy's free hand—was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. At Privet Drive, affection was hidden or scorned. Here, it was as natural as breathing.
The carriage began to move, gliding down the street without a driver. Harry pressed his face to the window, marveling at how the world outside seemed to shimmer faintly, as though veiled by magic.
"Is this… normal?" he asked in a low voice.
Percy chuckled. "Not for everyone. This carriage is a gift, charmed to carry us swiftly and safely. But in time, Harry, you'll see stranger things than this."
Harry glanced between them, chewing his lip. "So you've… been to places like Hogwarts before?"
Athena's eyes glittered with amusement. "We've walked in halls older than Hogwarts, Harry. But your school is… special. It is one of the great anchors of magical learning in this world. And soon, it will be yours as much as this letter."
Artemis tilted her head, studying Harry with a mixture of warmth and severity. "Do not shrink yourself there as you did here. Wizards can be just as cruel as Muggles, perhaps crueler. But they will only have power over you if you let them."
Harry swallowed hard, her words piercing. "That's… what Percy said yesterday. About not letting people treat me like I don't matter."
Percy squeezed Athena's waist gently, then leaned forward so Harry could see him clearly. "And I meant it. You are not a burden, Harry. Not a freak. You are heir to a legacy greater than you know. This journey is the beginning of claiming it."
The words sank into Harry's chest like fire and ice all at once. Nobody had ever spoken of him that way—not even Hagrid, who had given him his letter but left too soon. Percy spoke as though Harry's worth was a fact, not a favor.
The carriage turned sharply, the houses of Privet Drive fading into countryside. Rolling fields stretched into the horizon, and the air seemed to hum with energy. Harry leaned forward, heart pounding.
Artemis shifted, resting her hand lightly on Percy's thigh. Athena smirked, leaning closer against him until her dark hair brushed his jaw. Their closeness was unashamed, a dance of affection that Harry tried to ignore politely, though it left him both awkward and strangely comforted. They weren't afraid of love, not like the Dursleys.
After a long silence broken only by the hum of wheels, Harry whispered, "What's it like? The place we're going?"
Percy's gaze drifted to the horizon. "Potter Manor is… more than a house. It is history etched in stone, built by generations who carried courage in their blood. You'll see its halls, its portraits, its vaults of knowledge. And when you walk through its doors, you'll feel it—it's yours. You belong there."
Harry bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back a sudden tightness in his throat. Belong. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard that word applied to him before.
Athena leaned forward, her tone softer now. "You've been lied to, Harry. But lies cannot erase truth. Today, you'll begin to learn who you really are."
Harry met her gaze, then Artemis's, then Percy's steady eyes. For the first time, the knot of fear in his stomach loosened. He wasn't alone anymore.
The carriage surged forward, faster now, the road turning to ancient stone. In the distance, through a haze of enchantment, towers began to rise.
Percy leaned back with a small smile, Artemis and Athena nestled against him in quiet confidence. "Welcome to the start of your real life, Harry."
The carriage slowed as the enchantments around the countryside thickened, the very air tingling with hidden wards. Ahead, rising like a vision from mist, stood Potter Manor.
It was no simple house—it was a sprawling estate of pale stone, its towers cresting above emerald hills, windows glowing faintly with golden enchantments. Ivy curled along the outer walls, and silver gates swung open of their own accord, recognizing Harry's blood before he even set foot on the path.
Harry's breath caught. "This… this was my parents'?"
Percy smiled faintly, watching the boy's reaction with quiet pride. "And their parents, and theirs before them. This is the heart of your family, Harry. Potter Manor has stood for nearly a thousand years."
The carriage rolled through the gates, crunching across white gravel until it stopped before the grand entrance. Two enormous oak doors, engraved with the Potter crest, waited at the top of a flight of marble steps.
Harry stared, frozen in place. "I… lived in a cupboard." His voice cracked, too raw to disguise. "And all this was mine?"
Artemis's eyes softened. She rose gracefully, stepping out first. The sunlight caught her auburn hair, and her blouse clung as the breeze teased it. She turned back, holding out a hand for Harry. "You lived where others placed you. That is over now. Walk where you are meant to."
Harry swallowed hard, staring at her hand as though it were a lifeline. He took it, her grip firm and warm, pulling him up the steps beside her.
Athena followed with Percy, her arm sliding possessively around his waist as they ascended. Percy glanced down at her with amusement, dropping a kiss against her temple without hesitation. Artemis smirked, half-exasperated, half-indulgent, as though their rivalry for Percy's casual affection was a familiar dance. Harry tried not to stare, cheeks burning, but he couldn't deny the odd sense of safety their bond projected—unashamed, unhidden, almost defiant against the world's judgment.
The doors creaked open without touch, revealing a grand hall lit by floating candles. A marble staircase curled upward in twin arcs, portraits of solemn Potters and fierce-eyed witches gazing down at them. The air was heavy with history, with belonging.
Harry stepped inside, his trainers squeaking faintly on the polished floor. A warmth spread through him, as though the house itself recognized him.
"It feels…" He pressed a hand to his chest, struggling for words. "Like it's alive."
Percy's expression softened. "That's because it is. Old manors like this are bound to the family's blood. They guard their heirs, whisper in their walls. You've been away, but it remembers you."
Harry turned slowly, eyes wide at the floating chandeliers, the polished suits of armor, the tapestries shifting subtly to show scenes of past victories. He almost didn't notice when Percy slid an arm around both Artemis and Athena, drawing them close as if grounding himself.
Athena leaned into his chest, tilting her head up with a sly smile. "So, how long before the pureblood vultures realize Harry isn't a half-forgotten orphan anymore?"
Percy chuckled low in his throat, a sound that made Artemis's lips twitch in amusement. "Not long. But let them come. Harry won't face them as a boy lost in shadows—he'll face them as heir of Potter."
Harry turned, blinking at him. "Do you really think I can?"
Artemis squeezed his shoulder firmly. "You will. Because you are not alone anymore."
For a moment, Harry stood there, the weight of their words and the warmth of the Manor pressing into him, pushing out years of neglect.
Behind him, Percy lowered his voice, his lips brushing Athena's ear. Harry didn't hear the words, but Athena's soft laugh and the way she tilted her neck in invitation made heat crawl up Harry's collar. Artemis rolled her eyes and smacked Percy lightly on the chest, though her smirk betrayed her approval.
Harry coughed, pretending to study a nearby portrait as the three gods shared their quiet, intimate moment—so different from the cold silence of Privet Drive.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt that maybe he truly was stepping into another world.
Harry thought he had seen grandeur when Potter Manor revealed itself to him. But as the group walked past the edge of its wards, Percy slowed, pressing a hand into the air.
The very world seemed to shudder.
A ripple spread outward, like a stone dropped into a pond. The sunlight bent strangely. Then, in silence that made Harry's ears ache, the veil tore away.
Where moments ago there had been rolling countryside, there now towered Chronos Manor.
The estate dwarfed everything Harry had seen before. The building itself rose like a fortress-palace, its obsidian walls etched with glowing veins of silver runes. Its many spires seemed to pierce the heavens themselves, their tips wreathed in faint blue fire. Gardens sprawled around it, not tamed and neat like Potter Manor's, but wild, full of ancient trees that looked older than time. Rivers of silver mist wound through the grounds, flowing upward into the sky like waterfalls in reverse.
Harry's mouth fell open. "That—That was hidden? The whole thing?"
Percy's voice was low, almost reverent. "Chronos Manor was veiled by the strongest Fidelius in existence. Not even whispers of it survived outside the bloodline. Until I claimed it, no one could have known this place was real."
Artemis's lips curved in a proud, secretive smile. She leaned against Percy's arm, sliding her fingers along his sleeve as though to remind him she was part of this revelation. "It always did like to be dramatic," she said, her voice silky.
Athena chuckled softly, eyes gleaming as she gazed up at the impossible architecture. "Dramatic, yes—but it suits you, doesn't it?" Her hand rested on Percy's chest, her touch casual but lingering.
Harry, red in the face, quickly looked back at the Manor itself, pretending not to notice the way Percy turned his head to brush his lips against Athena's hair while Artemis's hand trailed further down his arm. They don't even think about it… it's just who they are, Harry thought, bewildered.
The massive gates ahead creaked open without a sound. Each bar of wrought black iron shimmered faintly, alive with runes Harry couldn't begin to understand.
They stepped through, and Harry gasped as the air itself changed. It was heavier, thicker, but not suffocating—alive, like every breath carried whispers of ages past.
Inside the manor's courtyard, the scale was staggering. Columns carved with scenes of gods and battles loomed overhead. The cobblestones beneath their feet glowed faintly with old magic, pulsing gently as if recognizing Percy's tread.
Harry whispered, "It's like walking inside a storybook…"
Percy glanced at him, a faint smile tugging his lips. "Not a storybook, Harry. A legacy. My family's magic doesn't just dwell here—it is the foundation of this place. Stone and spell, bound together for eternity."
Artemis leaned closer, her voice husky, intimate despite Harry's presence. "And eternity always comes with its temptations, doesn't it, Percy?"
Harry flushed again as Percy's arm shifted around her waist, tugging her against him in a motion so smooth and natural it was almost unconscious. Athena's smirk deepened as she joined his other side, fingers brushing his knuckles. Their closeness, their quiet murmurs, their laughter—it was as though the house itself approved, responding with a faint shimmer along the walls.
Harry tore his gaze away, heart thundering. He didn't understand it, but he couldn't deny the bond between them felt… otherworldly.
Inside the entrance hall, the contrast to Potter Manor was staggering.
Where Potter Manor was warm and noble, Chronos Manor was vast and awe-inspiring. The walls were lined not with portraits, but with living murals—moving depictions of stars being born, galaxies swirling, titans striding across primordial landscapes. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, painted with constellations that shifted slowly in real time with the sky outside.
Harry felt very small.
"This is…" he began, struggling for words.
"Older than wizarding Britain itself," Percy supplied, his tone calm but weighted. "The Chronos line predates much of what you know about wizarding history. That's why most of this is kept secret."
Harry frowned, brow furrowing. "But—why keep it hidden? Why not… show everyone?"
Athena's sharp laugh cut the silence. "Because power attracts vultures, little one. And this house holds more power than most governments could dream of."
Artemis's hand slid across Percy's chest, her voice low, sultry, but carrying sharp truth. "If they knew half of what Chronos blood can command, they would burn down the world to take it."
Harry shivered at the way she said it.
They moved deeper, into a great hall so vast it could have swallowed Privet Drive whole. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling, glowing with eternal flame. Long tables stretched into the distance, though not a single plate or goblet marred their surfaces.
At the far end of the hall rose a throne of black stone and crystal, its surface carved with spiraling runes that pulsed faintly as Percy approached.
The moment his foot touched the dais, the throne flared to life. Light coursed through the veins of the hall, traveling up the walls, across the ceiling, and down the columns. Harry's jaw dropped as the entire hall lit with a heartbeat, as though the house itself acknowledged Percy's presence.
Athena's voice was hushed, reverent. "It remembers you."
Harry swallowed hard. "This… this makes Potter Manor look small."
Percy glanced back at him, his eyes calm but firm. "And yet, Harry, you must remember—your family's name, your bloodline, has its own weight. Don't think yourself lesser."
Harry looked down, struggling to reconcile his cupboard under the stairs with the two palaces now laid before him.
Artemis stepped forward, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. Her voice softened. "One does not erase the other. Potter Manor is yours. Chronos is Percy's. Both legacies walk together now."
Harry nodded, though his mind swirled with too many questions. His gaze lingered on the throne again, awe and fear warring in his chest.
Behind him, Percy sat upon it for the briefest moment, Artemis perched easily on the armrest, Athena standing behind with her hand resting on his shoulder. Their bond was so casual, so physical, that Harry felt heat rush to his cheeks. He quickly looked away again.
They're not just close, he thought. They're… something else entirely.
For the first time, Harry wondered if Percy's presence in his life might change everything—and not just for him.
Albus Dumbledore rarely admitted defeat — even to himself. For decades, he had danced threads of influence through the wizarding world, weaving politics, secrets, and prophecy into a tapestry only he could read. The Ministry deferred to him, the Wizengamot bent around his quiet suggestions, and even the most stubborn of pure-blood lords had learned that resistance was, more often than not, futile.
And yet, tonight, as he sat in his office beneath the slow tick of his instruments and the watchful eyes of past headmasters, his fingers curled too tightly against the armrests of his chair.
The boy was slipping from his grasp.
Harry Potter — the boy who lived, the prophecy's subject, the tool around which all of his carefully laid plans revolved — was meant to arrive at Hogwarts malleable. Eager. Ignorant. Grateful for crumbs of kindness, so that Dumbledore could shape him into the weapon the wizarding world required.
Instead, the boy had Percy Jackson.
The name alone soured his mood. A boy of the same age, arriving without fanfare yet commanding power and presence that unsettled even Albus's considerable instincts. That might have been tolerable, had he been ordinary — a useful friend, perhaps, someone Dumbledore could turn toward his ends. But Percy was not ordinary.
Chronos.
The word hissed through his mind like venom.
When the wards of that manor flared back into existence, the magic had shaken half the ley lines across Britain. He had felt it even from Hogwarts — old wards waking, claiming dominion, magic so ancient and dangerous that even he dared not probe it too closely. And it all bent now to Percy Jackson.
Dumbledore exhaled sharply through his nose. Percy's wealth, influence, and — worse — his personal magnetism, all wrapped around Harry like armor. And then there were the women. Artemis. Athena. He grimaced. Their names were mythological, but their presence was all too real. Cold, sharp, beautiful in a way that made the whispers of pure-blood society both scandalized and envious. The trio's public intimacy should have isolated Percy. Should have made him a laughingstock.
But instead… it drew Harry nearer.
The boy saw in Percy and his companions a kind of freedom, a kind of family, that made him far less desperate for the fatherly hand Dumbledore had planned to extend. Where Harry should have looked to him for guidance, he was learning to stand straighter at Percy's side.
The real knife to the heart, however, was Ollivander's letter.
Dumbledore's hand twitched as though to crumple the memory itself. He could still hear the words, every line etched in his mind:
The wand chose Potter instantly. One I had long forgotten. Its reaction was not merely acceptance, but recognition — as though boy and wood had been waiting for each other all along. Your suggestion of holly and phoenix feather was tested, but rejected outright. He would not, could not, take it. It is as though fate itself spat in its face.
Dumbledore's lips tightened into a thin line. He had arranged for that phoenix-feather wand to be the boy's. It was part of the design, subtle threads connecting Harry's destiny to his own. And yet the wand had rejected him. Instead, the boy carried a weapon whose bond was frighteningly strong — a wand even Ollivander himself seemed unsettled by.
And Percy? Percy and his women had claimed wands Ollivander swore had never answered to anyone. Relics so powerful the old wandmaker himself whispered they might rival the Elder Wand.
That was not coincidence. That was disruption.
"This was never part of the plan," Dumbledore muttered aloud, his voice harsher than he intended.
Fawkes gave a soft, pitying trill. It only deepened his irritation.
He rose, pacing the office, robes whispering across the stone. His mind spun through calculations, possibilities. Could Severus lean harder on the boy? No, Harry would push back — not when Percy was there to shield him. Could he use Ron Weasley's influence to keep Harry tethered to someone pliable? Perhaps, though Percy's circle was already pulling Harry away from that tether. Could the Ministry be turned toward limiting Percy's reach? Dangerous. The boy's bloodline gave him rights even the Wizengamot could not strip easily.
For the first time in many, many years, Dumbledore's plans felt… fragile.
A slow dread crept into his chest. Percy Jackson was not merely a complication. He was a variable outside calculation, a storm in human form, bringing with him two companions who were more than they appeared. Dumbledore could sense it in the way magic bent subtly around them, the way even seasoned wizards hesitated in their presence.
They unsettled him.
And that was unacceptable.
Dumbledore stopped at the window, staring out across the darkened grounds of Hogwarts. "You will not take him from me," he whispered, voice low but sharp with determination. "Harry Potter is the key. Not yours. Mine."
The words echoed, hollow and unsatisfying, in the empty office.
Fawkes shifted again, feathers ruffling in a sound that almost resembled disapproval.
Dumbledore ignored him. He could not afford doubt. He could not afford hesitation. Plans would have to change, yes, but one truth remained constant: Harry must stay on the path of sacrifice. And if Percy Jackson stood in the way of that truth…
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and the twinkle that so many mistook for kindness burned cold instead.
…then Percy Jackson would have to be removed.
The decision crystallized as he returned to his desk. When direct control faltered, subtle influence must tighten. Harry's loyalties could be swayed, if not by Percy directly, then through those who would smother him with the right kind of "guidance."
He drew parchment toward himself, the quill hovering for a moment as his mind sharpened.
The first letter flowed quickly.
To Molly Weasley,
My dear Molly,
I trust this summer finds you and your family well. I write with a matter of delicate importance. Harry Potter will soon begin his time at Hogwarts, and I am certain you understand what it means for him to find not just friendship, but family, among good and wholesome company.
There are… influences about the boy already. Troubling influences. I need not burden you with detail, only to say that young Harry is in danger of falling into circles not best suited for his upbringing. What he requires most is steadiness, warmth, and maternal guidance — the sort you provide so naturally.
I would encourage you, therefore, to extend to Harry every kindness. Draw him close, make him feel part of your family, and remind him that the Weasleys are always there for him. Should others seek to claim his loyalty, your care will anchor him where he truly belongs.
Your devotion to the greater good has never gone unnoticed, Molly. In this, you can serve that good more than ever before.
With trust and gratitude,
Albus Dumbledore
He sealed it with a flick of his wand, satisfaction curling at the edges of his mouth. Molly's unquestioning devotion had always been useful. She would smother the boy with enough mothering affection to become a tether he could not easily cut, even with Percy whispering otherwise.
The second letter demanded a different tone. He pulled fresh parchment forward and pressed the quill harder this time, as though bleeding irritation into ink.
To Severus Snape,
Severus,
Harry Potter enters our world soon, and I know your feelings toward him — and toward his father — remain as sharp as ever. Yet I must ask you to channel them wisely. The boy must be tested, but not broken. Watch him. Challenge him. Keep him small when he grows too proud. His arrogance must be checked before it festers.
There is another matter. A boy named Percy Jackson — I suspect you have already heard whispers. He will be in Slytherin, no doubt, and already gathers too much attention. His family ties are ancient, his resources vast, and I fear his influence over Potter could be… corrupting. You must be vigilant. Subtly undermine that bond wherever possible. Humble Jackson when opportunity presents itself, but carefully. We must not reveal too openly our concerns.
Trust that I ask this not only for Harry's sake, but for the stability of Hogwarts itself.
I rely on you, as always.
Albus Dumbledore
The scratching of the quill stilled. He sat back, steepling his fingers, eyes narrowing as the ink dried. Two seeds, planted in the right soil. Molly's suffocating kindness, Severus's scornful hostility — twin levers that would keep Harry from drifting too far from the role destiny demanded of him.
Yes. This was the way forward.
For a brief moment, his gaze drifted to Fawkes, who had turned his head away on the perch, feathers puffed as though in silent reproach.
Dumbledore ignored it.
He blew across the parchment, sealed both letters, and rang a charm for the owls.
"Harry Potter," he murmured into the stillness, "you will walk the path I have chosen. One way or another."
Molly Weasley's POV
The Burrow bustled with morning noise: pans clattering, gnomes screeching as Ginny chased them from the garden, and Fred and George's muffled laughter from upstairs — trouble brewing, as always.
Molly wiped her hands on her apron when Errol dropped, wheezing, onto the table with a letter sealed in Dumbledore's careful script.
Her heart leapt. The Headmaster rarely wrote unless it was important. She broke the seal eagerly and read every word with reverence.
"…Harry Potter will soon begin his time at Hogwarts… influences… troubling influences… what he requires most is steadiness, warmth, and maternal guidance — the sort you provide so naturally…"
By the time she finished, her chest swelled. Of course. Of course Albus is right. Poor boy… growing up without family, without proper care. And now there are… influences? Dangerous ones?
Her lips tightened. Whoever these "troubling influences" were, she would not allow them to have Harry.
"Oh, Arthur," she muttered under her breath, clutching the parchment to her chest. "That poor dear boy… he'll have us. He'll have a mother."
Already she was planning — extra servings at dinner for Harry, a sweater knitted with his initial ready before Christmas, Ron paired close at his side to make sure no outsiders got their claws in too deep. Ginny, too — she would simply adore Harry. It was meant to be, surely.
If Albus Dumbledore asked this of her, then it was not just kindness. It was duty. It was the greater good.
She folded the letter carefully and placed it in the family clock's drawer, where she kept the most important things. Harry Potter would be hers to protect, to guide — to mother — whether he realized he needed it or not.
Severus Snape's POV
The dungeon was cold, damp, and comforting — the one place that dulled the sharp edges of memory. Snape sat at his desk, quill scratching across a stack of essays until the faint hoot of an owl cut through the silence.
He scowled. Midnight deliveries seldom boded well. He slit the seal, eyes narrowing as he read.
"…Harry Potter enters our world soon… you must be vigilant… subtly undermine that bond… humble Jackson when opportunity presents itself…"
A low, bitter laugh escaped him. "Potter," he hissed, venom thick on his tongue. So, the boy is coming at last. James's spawn. And now with Jackson at his side? Perfect. Just perfect.
He crushed the parchment in his fist, pacing the length of the room. The arrogance of James lived again in that child's eyes — he could already see it, though the boy had yet to step foot in his classroom.
And Jackson… Snape's lips curled. The whispers were already in the air: ancient bloodline, wealth that rivaled even Malfoy, power so raw it unsettled even Dumbledore. That one would strut into Slytherin as though he owned it.
But Albus's instructions were clear. Watch. Undermine. Keep the boy in check.
For all his contempt, Snape did not disobey the Headmaster. Never the Headmaster.
He sat again, fingers tightening on his wand until his knuckles whitened. Yes. I'll humble them both. Potter will learn quickly what it means to step into my classroom. And Jackson — if he thinks he can parade about like some ancient prince, I'll remind him that even royalty can bleed.
Snape leaned back in his chair, smirking faintly, though his eyes burned. "Enjoy your summer, Potter. When you arrive at Hogwarts, I'll be waiting."
The news spread faster than Fiendfyre.
By the time Percy, Artemis, Athena, and Harry had returned to Chronos Manor, the wizarding world had already begun to unravel in a storm of whispers. In candlelit drawing rooms, in smoke-filled clubs, even in the deepest halls of the Ministry, the words hissed like a curse:
"House Chronos has returned."
The Ministry's Panic
In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Cornelius Fudge mopped his brow with a handkerchief as he listened to his undersecretaries panic.
"Do you understand what this means?" one wailed. "Chronos wealth and lands were thought myth! If they return under a new head, the balance of power shifts overnight!"
"Not just wealth," another muttered grimly. "The goblins bowed. BOWED. That hasn't happened for a wizard house in centuries."
Fudge trembled, torn between terror and greed. "Perhaps… perhaps he'll be persuaded to support the Ministry. Yes, yes, a friendly alliance—"
His advisor cut him off sharply. "Or he'll decide he has no need of us at all."
Pureblood Reactions
At Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy shattered a crystal glass in his hand, blood dripping unnoticed to the marble floor.
"Dwarfs us?" he hissed, pacing like a caged serpent. "The papers dare write that House Malfoy looks like a mere merchant family compared to Chronos. Centuries of power, undone by a man no one even heard of until this summer!"
Narcissa's lips tightened, but her tone was cool. "And yet, he walks in public, holding the hands of Artemis and Athena. The Prophet describes them as 'his companions, his lovers.' It is a scandal that pureblood society will never forgive."
Lucius sneered. "And yet, scandal or not, no one dares move against him. Not when Gringotts itself bends knee."
In darker corners of society, whispers turned toward marriage contracts and desperate alliances. Daughters were suddenly polished like jewels, prepared to be offered at the altar of wealth. But none dared approach when they heard of the two goddesses at Percy's side.
Dumbledore's Office
Far above, in his circular office, Albus Dumbledore sat in silence, the reports spread across his desk like a deck of cursed cards. Fawkes let out a low, uneasy trill, wings ruffling.
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his half-moon spectacles gleaming in the lamplight.
"Chronos," he murmured. "A name from the old records. Older than the Founders, some say. Older than the Ministry itself. And now… this Percy has claimed it."
He thought of Harry, of the wand he had so carefully prepared for the boy, the guiding hand he had expected to mold him. That hand was slipping away. A stranger now sat at Harry's table, whispering truths into his ears, truths Albus had intended to reveal piece by careful piece, only when it was safe—only when it served the Greater Good.
If Harry grew beyond his control… if Harry learned too much, too soon…
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly. This Percy must be watched. Carefully, quietly. If he cannot be bent, then perhaps he must be broken.
Chronos Manor
Meanwhile, far from the whispers, the ancient wards of Chronos Manor thrummed like a living heartbeat as their master walked the gardens.
Percy strolled slowly, Artemis at his left, Athena at his right, their hands entwined with his. The setting sun gilded the marble paths, the fountains sang softly, and the air shimmered faintly with Kaal's presence circling above.
Harry trailed behind, still wide-eyed. "They're all talking about you, Percy. Everyone in the Alley today couldn't stop staring."
Percy glanced over his shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let them stare, Harry. Power draws eyes. Envy draws tongues. You must learn the difference between noise and true threat."
Athena leaned in, her voice silk and steel. "Pureblood society will never forgive you for outshining them so easily. Expect jealousy, scheming, and poisoned smiles."
Artemis smirked, squeezing Percy's hand. "They will whisper about our bond most of all. A scandalous thing, to love openly in their world of shadows."
Percy slowed, turning to look at them both, then at Harry. His voice was steady, unyielding.
"We are not here to rule them. We are not here to play their petty games. But if they threaten Harry…"
The garden's air thickened, the wards flaring faintly in response to his will. Kaal let out a piercing cry that shook the marble tiles.
"…then they will learn fear."
Harry shivered — not with dread, but with awe.
For the first time in his life, he felt safe. Truly safe.