Chapter 2 – Settling In
(Block 1)
The second day at Hogwarts began in a haze of half-remembered dreams and the smell of stone and candle wax. For Harry Potter, it was the first morning he had ever woken to voices not belonging to his aunt and uncle. Instead, he heard the sleepy grumbling of boys his own age, the shuffle of slippers across wood floors, and the echo of running water in the washroom.
Neville was fumbling with his tie, muttering under his breath. Ron snored until Seamus lobbed a pillow at his head. Dean hummed as he sketched something on parchment before breakfast. Harry sat up slowly, blinking against the thin shafts of dawn seeping through the tall windows.
Hogwarts, he realized, wasn't just strange at night when staircases shifted and ghosts drifted through walls. It was strange in the morning, too—because he didn't have to cook for anyone. No Dudley thundering down the stairs demanding bacon, no Aunt Petunia shrieking about burned toast. Just boys laughing, stretching, and heading toward breakfast together.
And for the first time, Harry felt like he was part of the noise.
The Great Hall
The Great Hall buzzed with life. Dozens of owls swooped overhead, scattering feathers and parchment. The four long tables stretched beneath banners of scarlet, green, blue, and yellow. Plates filled themselves with sausages, eggs, and porridge as students poured in.
Harry slid onto the Gryffindor bench beside Ron and gaped. He could have stared at the enchanted ceiling for hours, clouds drifting lazily in the morning light. But the room was alive with another kind of storm—whispers.
At first, Harry thought they might be about him. The Boy Who Lived. He had caught enough stares the night before to know his name carried weight here. But the way heads tilted, the way eyes tracked across the room, told him otherwise.
Everyone was watching them.
The three transfer students.
Percy Jackson sat with careless ease, a goblet in one hand, the other arm resting casually on the bench behind Artemis. She leaned into his space, silver eyes calm and unreadable, as if the chaos of the hall couldn't touch her. Athena sat on his other side, her posture straight, her gaze sharp as she read through a roll of parchment even as she ate.
It wasn't only their beauty—though Artemis's silver hair gleamed like moonlight and Athena's features carried an ageless poise that made Ravenclaws gawk openly. It was the way they existed as a unit. The way Percy's hand brushed Artemis's wrist as though by habit, the way Athena leaned close enough that their shoulders brushed, the quiet smiles exchanged when they thought no one noticed.
It was… intimate.
Too intimate.
And the school didn't know what to make of it.
Harry found himself staring before he realized it, his toast halfway to his mouth. Artemis tilted her head, almost catching his eye. Heat rushed to his face and he dropped his gaze quickly. But not before Percy's blue-green eyes flicked toward him, warm, steady, almost reassuring.
Harry swallowed hard. The look felt like a promise.
Jealous Whispers
Around him, the whispers grew sharper.
"Who are they?" hissed a Hufflepuff girl two benches over.
"Foreign royalty, I heard," a Ravenclaw replied knowingly.
"Nah, they're spies," muttered a Gryffindor. "Look at the way they stick together—planning something."
The boys were the loudest.
"Bet they think they're better than us," Seamus said darkly, stabbing a sausage with his fork.
"They act like they're already married," Dean added with a grimace. "It's disgusting."
Ron leaned in. "They're probably just showing off. Look at the way she—she leans on him." His ears went red.
Hermione, though she didn't lift her eyes from her porridge, muttered, "Maybe they've just known each other a long time."
Harry didn't answer. He risked another glance across the room. Artemis was smiling faintly at something Percy whispered, her hand brushing his. Athena rolled her eyes at both of them but reached for Percy's arm all the same, her fingers lingering for a moment too long.
The envy around the hall was practically tangible.
Professors' Reactions
At the staff table, Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, her sharp eyes lingering on the transfer students. Flitwick, normally cheerful, tapped his quill against his notes, frowning as if calculating something. Even Hagrid, huge and looming, gave them a puzzled look before returning to his breakfast.
Only Dumbledore's eyes shone with their usual twinkle—or almost usual. Behind the spectacles, a shadow of frustration glimmered. His plans depended on careful timing, on nudging young Harry toward the challenges that would shape him. But already, with these three unknowns sitting like bright stars in his Great Hall, the current was shifting.
And Dumbledore hated currents he couldn't control.
Snape scowled openly, his gaze flicking between Percy and Artemis with something dangerously close to jealousy. He caught Percy's lazy grin and looked away quickly, his expression thunderous.
Harry's First Sense
Harry pushed his plate away, appetite dwindling under the weight of the whispers. He didn't understand why he kept watching them, why Percy's gaze felt like a shield. But when the three stood to leave the hall, Harry felt an odd tug in his chest.
As if something important had just brushed close. Something that might change everything.