Athena, goddess of wisdom, strategy, and warfare, prided herself on knowledge more than any of her many divine domains. She had libraries hidden in realms even the other gods dared not enter—vaults of scrolls and tomes, manuscripts lost to mortal time, secrets buried by civilizations long turned to dust. But even with all her knowledge, there was one realm that had always eluded her: wizardry.
Not sorcery born from divine lineage or gifts from the Fates—but mortal, structured magic, the kind practiced by the hidden wizarding world.
She had only heard whispers. Bits of information teased from demigods, the occasional anomaly at the edge of the Mist. But one name now echoed repeatedly in divine circles: Harry Potter. The boy who once vanquished a dark lord, now the man who enchanted Camp Half-Blood with wards so impenetrable that not even a god could cross the threshold without announcement. That level of magic intrigued her deeply.
And so, Athena descended to Camp Half-Blood, donning a mortal form woven of divine glamour, a scholar's shawl over her olive-green robes. She arrived on a quiet afternoon, the sun draping golden light across the woods and training fields.
"Mother?" came a voice from behind her.
Athena turned and saw her daughter approaching—Annabeth Chase, sharp-eyed and proud, her long blonde hair tied back, a sword slung across her shoulder. Annabeth, though mortal, carried herself like a general.
"Annabeth," Athena said with an approving nod. "I trust your studies in architecture and strategy are progressing?"
Annabeth nodded. "They are. What brings you here?"
Athena's eyes wandered to the sparring arena.
"I came for knowledge," she said simply.
Annabeth followed her gaze. Thalia Grace was dueling in the training ring. Her electric-blue lightsaber clashed violently against the brutal swings of Clarisse LaRue, daughter of Ares. Sparks flew in the air. Clarisse swung her electric spear with a guttural roar, but Thalia danced around the strike with unearthly precision. She was laughing as she moved, her lightsaber crackling in elegant arcs.
Clarisse grunted, "That glowing stick's just a toy."
Thalia's grin widened. "Then why are you losing, LaRue?"
With a final sweeping blow, Thalia knocked Clarisse's spear from her hands and held the blade of her saber against her throat.
Clarisse cursed loudly and stormed off.
Thalia was showing off her lightsaber to a few curious half bloods—carefully glamoured to look like a high-tech fencing foil. Her movements were sharp, clean, and efficient.
"Harry taught me to control the discharge rate of the lightsaber," she said proudly. "If you overcharge it, it gets unstable. He said it's kind of like magical overreaction—think of it like wand backfire."
A girl raised her hand. "Did you say wand? Like, magic wand?"
Thalia blinked. "Uh. Just a metaphor. Don't think too much."
Athena's lips curved into a smile. Thalia was reckless, but loyal. She would never betray Harry's secrets easily.
That only made Athena more determined to uncover them herself.
She would not confront Harry directly. Not yet. Knowledge, after all, required patience.
But the hunt had begun.
And this time, it was Athena who was stalking her prey.
Annabeth smirked, folding her arms. "They spar every day. Clarisse still thinks she can win."
Athena narrowed her eyes. "That weapon. It is not of Hephaestus's forge."
"No," Annabeth said. "It was made by a wizard."
Athena turned to her daughter. "A wizard?"
"Harry Potter," Annabeth replied. "You've probably heard of him by now. He enchanted our camp, remember?"
Athena's interest sharpened. "And this... Harry Potter—he built that weapon?"
Annabeth nodded. "Built it by hand. Thalia stayed with him over the summer. Trained with him too. She says he knows more about enchantments than any Greek God."
Athena stared at the lightsaber, calculating. "Fascinating…"
Annabeth arched a brow. "You're going to want to meet him, aren't you?"
"I already do," Athena said. "And you, daughter, are going to help me."
Later that week, under the shimmering veil of divine concealment, Athena arrived at Princeton University. She took on the form of a respected scholar—Professor Athene Wise, newly appointed to the faculty of medieval literature and mythological warfare. Her name on the staff list raised no questions; her credentials were immaculate, forged through divine trickery and ancient authority.
Her first goal was not to teach, however. It was to observe.
She spotted him before long—Harry Potter, sitting with Hermione Granger on the steps outside the library. Harry was dressed in a clean button-down shirt and jeans, his eyes scanning a parchment filled with medieval rune structures. Hermione, meanwhile, was rambling enthusiastically about Anglo-Saxon siege defense tactics.
Athena tilted her head. Hermione Granger had sharp eyes and a sharper mind. Her wit, quick tongue, and analytical nature reminded Athena of her own daughters. But it was Harry who held her true curiosity.
"Power... raw and unstructured," she murmured to herself, watching how Harry casually scribbled notes that glowed faintly with magic, concealed just beneath mortal sight.
She was about to approach when a familiar presence arrived—Apollo, disguised as Lester Popolodobas, the ridiculous alias he wore with ironic pride. He gave her a smug glance as he passed by, humming a tune under his breath.
Athena sighed. "Of course he is here…"
Annoyance flickered through her expression. If Apollo was involved, then the situation was likely more complicated than she had anticipated.
Still, she bided her time.
So, when she finally caught Harry alone—leaning against the tall windows of the university library, a book titled Byzantine Tactics in the Crusades open in one hand—she stepped forward, and without pretense or warning, declared:
"I am Athena, daughter of Zeus, goddess of wisdom, war, and knowledge."
Harry blinked. Then looked around to make sure no one else was nearby.
"Well," he said carefully, closing the book and setting it on the sill, "that's one way to introduce yourself."
"I seek knowledge," she said simply. "Your kind—your world—it is hidden from Olympus. Even my sight is clouded by your enchantments. I know of your feats, Harry Potter. The wards around Camp Half-Blood are your work. You've enchanted territory even gods can't cross."
Harry gave a modest shrug. "I had help."
Athena narrowed her eyes. "Humility doesn't suit you."
"It's not humility if it's true."
She stepped closer, speaking low. "I cannot access your libraries, your records, your magical circles. Wizardkind has built walls even Olympus cannot breach. I've read about your kind—fragments, relics—but never experienced it firsthand. You… you are the only entry point I have."
At that moment, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Hermione appeared, carrying a stack of books pressed to her chest, her chocolate-brown eyes lighting up when she saw Harry.
"There you are. The professor—oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"
Harry smiled and stepped toward her. "Not at all. Hermione, meet Athena. Yes, the Athena."
Hermione stared, then looked between them.
Athena gave a small nod. "You're not surprised."
Hermione blinked. "Harry don't keep secrets from me."
Harry chuckled. "Told you she'd be fine."
Hermione stepped forward. "I've studied your myths. Greek strategy, war councils, your intervention in the Trojan War. Fascinating use of divine manipulation and mortal leadership dynamics."
Athena's expression shifted. For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she spoke, with something close to awe. "You're remarkably perceptive."
Hermione smiled. "Comes with being the clever one in the trio."
And as Athena observed her further, something inside her stirred.
The way Hermione carried herself—her poise, the precision in her language, the fire in her eyes when she spoke of battle tactics and historical shifts—was uncannily familiar.
She had many daughters, demigod offspring hidden across the world. But this girl, this mortal girl who bore no divine blood, carried the same spark.
"You remind me of one of mine," Athena said quietly.
Hermione blinked. "Really?"
"Too much, perhaps," Athena murmured.
Harry cleared his throat. "We were just talking about magical places. We can take you to one. A bookstore."
Hermione nodded, her face brightening. "There's a magical street in New York called Doce Encanto. It's like Diagon Alley but American. Enchanted bookstores, magical artifact shops, enchanted libraries—though they're quite snobbish about lending books."
Athena's eyes gleamed. "Take me."
"Tomorrow evening," Harry said. "I'll adjust the wards to allow you through."
As they stepped out of the library, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus, Athena turned her head slightly. She had noticed it earlier but hadn't said anything yet.
Behind them, under the archway near the student center, stood a tall young man in a denim jacket, trying far too hard to look casual. He was watching them, or rather, he was watching Hermione—with that same glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.
Athena's jaw clenched. "Apollo."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I've known him for eons," Athena muttered. "He's disguised as a mortal again. But I can always tell. And he's watching her."
Harry glanced at Hermione, who was reading about medieval inventions from a small book, unaware of the tension between the two behind her.
Athena's voice was a whisper, dangerously sharp. "I don't want him near her."
"She can take care of herself," Harry said quietly.
"I know. But she shouldn't have to," Athena replied.
Then, Harry said something offhandedly, something that made Athena stop mid-stride.
"You're the third goddess I've met this year," he said casually. "It's becoming a habit."
Athena turned, eyes narrowing. "Third?"
"I've had tea with Aphrodite and fought Artemis in the Swiss Alps," Harry replied with a shrug. "Gods showing up in mortal disguise isn't exactly shocking anymore."
Athena raised an eyebrow. "You've met both Aphrodite and Artemis?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "Aphrodite showed up at my estate in New Jersey. Artemis tried to kill me. Long story."
Athena studied him for a moment, her eyes sharp and intelligent. "You're not afraid."
"I've seen enough to know fear doesn't help much." He gave a half-smile.
Athena stared at him, the pieces beginning to align. Artemis had been missing meetings. Aphrodite had been unusually quiet. And now both had made contact with this mortal—this wizard.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
She looked up at Harry, thoughtful and suspicious.
"What exactly is going on here, Harry Potter?"
The halls of Olympus echoed with the soft chime of sandals upon marble as Athena ascended the steps to Hestia's hearth. The goddess of wisdom had much to consider.
She could understand why Aphrodite might take interest in someone like Harry Potter—powerful, mysterious, selfless, and surprisingly resistant to her charms. But Artemis?
That made no sense. Why did she fight with him.
And yet…
Athena's brow furrowed as she approached the ever-glowing hearth, its warm fire casting shadows across the chamber's domed ceiling. But as she stepped inside, expecting only the quiet presence of Hestia or perhaps Aphrodite herself, she halted mid-step.
Artemis was there.
Sitting beside the fire, shoulders slightly hunched, speaking in a hushed tone with Hestia. The moment Athena entered, both goddesses went silent. Their conversation snapped shut like a slammed book.
"Artemis," Athena said slowly, her sharp gaze flickering between the two. "Hestia."
"Welcome, child," Hestia greeted warmly, ever the embodiment of peace and hospitality.
Artemis stood a little too quickly. "Athena. I didn't expect—"
"You didn't mention," Athena interrupted coldly, "that you had met Harry Potter."
Artemis stiffened. Her eyes darted to Hestia for a heartbeat—just long enough for Athena to notice the shared look of alarm. "I didn't… I didn't go to the university to meet him," Artemis stammered. "I was tracking monsters. That's all."
Athena's eyes narrowed like a hawk. She didn't knew Artimis went to the university but she decided to play along. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not—"
"I spoke with Apollo."
The words fell like thunder. Artemis paled instantly.
Athena stepped closer, her voice low and cutting. "He told me everything. You fought Harry. You've been to Princeton. You've gone to the mortal realm more times in the last month than in the past decade."
"I didn't break my vow," Artemis said quickly, raising her hands. "I swear it on my name."
Athena's eyes flashed with divine light. "But you felt something, didn't you?"
"I—" Artemis faltered. "It's nothing. Just… curiosity. Maybe admiration. A… a small attraction, nothing more. I've only watched him from afar."
Athena stared at her as if she were seeing her for the first time.
Artemis, the man-hater, the untouched moon, attracted to a mortal man?
Before the silence could settle, a new voice cut through like silk over steel.
"Oh, so now you admit it?"
Aphrodite emerged from behind a pillar with a smirk too satisfied for comfort. Her golden hair shimmered, her rose-colored eyes gleamed with mischief, and she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Artemis.
"You can't have Harry Potter," Aphrodite declared, striding toward them. "Because I already love him. And I plan to make him mine."
Artemis bristled. "You love everyone you meet. You've said the same about the thousand other men."
"This time it's different," Aphrodite said sweetly, with venom in her voice. "He resisted me. Do you know how rare that is? I even asked for a handbag, and he refused me! You think I'd let that slide?"
"Love built on wounded pride is not love," Artemis snapped.
"And love built on spying from the trees is?" Aphrodite shot back.
"Enough!" Athena interjected sharply, but her voice was drowned in the rising storm of arguments.
"You don't even like men!" Aphrodite exclaimed.
"I do when they're not ogling every woman like you do!" Artemis countered.
"You're jealous because you've never known love!"
"I've known loyalty. Which is more than I can say for your endless list of flings."
Hestia sat calmly at the hearth, watching the rising flames reflect in her eyes. She sipped tea from a humble clay cup and said quietly to herself, "And they wonder why I stay out of these things."
The argument continued, the daughters of Olympus clashing in a heated debate over the affection of one mortal wizard. A mortal who, at that very moment, was reading quietly in his living room in New Jersey, utterly unaware that three of the most powerful goddesses in the cosmos were arguing over him.
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Beuwulf