Chapter 2 – Settling In
(Block 4)
The castle was never truly silent. Even past curfew, whispers threaded through the stones—the groan of pipes, the creak of staircases, the occasional moan of a restless ghost. But there were corners of Hogwarts that even Filch and Mrs. Norris rarely touched.
One such corner, deep behind the tapestry of a forgotten battle, had become the trio's refuge.
Percy had found it within days of their arrival. The chamber was little more than an abandoned classroom, its desks stacked and forgotten, its windows coated in dust. But when he laid his hand against the wall and murmured words in the language of eternity, the air shifted. Time folded. And the space became theirs.
The dust vanished. The windows gleamed open to the starlit grounds. A fire crackled in the hearth though no wood was added. Shelves stocked themselves with books in Greek, English, and scripts older than either. A bed large enough for three spread across one wall, its sheets woven in midnight-blue and silver.
Here, the gods could breathe.
Hidden Routines
Their days looked like any other students'. They rose with the others, ate in the Great Hall, attended classes with a calculated mix of brilliance and restraint. Percy answered just enough questions to avoid suspicion, Artemis hid her sharpest instincts behind quiet grace, and Athena wielded her knowledge like a blade honed just short of deadly.
But nights were theirs.
Artemis preferred the silence of the firelight, curled against Percy's side as she read ancient texts the Hogwarts library had never dreamed of. Athena often sprawled at the desk, quill scratching furiously, occasionally leaning back to argue a point with Percy until their debates turned into kisses.
Sometimes they simply lay together, a tangle of limbs and warmth, whispering plans of how best to guide Harry. Other times, Percy froze the hours themselves, giving them nights twice as long as they should have been, nights that vanished by dawn as if they had never existed.
It was dangerous, intoxicating. A secret they clung to fiercely.
The Student's Eye
From the outside, Hogwarts watched.
Neville, nervous and clumsy, admired how Artemis seemed to steady plants with a mere glance in Herbology. He told himself it was just talent, but a part of him felt calmer simply standing near her.
Hermione, for all her brilliance, felt a pang of inadequacy every time Athena raised her hand before she could. She tried harder, studied longer, but Athena's answers always came like a tide Hermione could never quite outrun.
Malfoy seethed openly. He hated the way the trio made him look small, hated the whispers in the Slytherin common room that Percy's smirk outshone his own. Daphne Greengrass, however, spoke softly of admiration rather than envy—though she kept her words carefully to herself.
And Harry… Harry felt the strangest pull of all. He couldn't explain why Percy's presence calmed him, why Artemis's smile in passing felt like a shield, or why Athena's sharp eyes seemed to weigh him and find him worthy. It was as though invisible threads tied them to his fate.
Professors Watching
The staff table told its own story.
Flitwick bubbled with excitement, already predicting their marks would outstrip even his best Ravenclaws. Sprout muttered about how Artemis's way with plants was uncanny, almost unnatural. Snape brooded darker with each passing day, convinced they were mocking him with their flawless brews.
And Dumbledore—Dumbledore's smile strained further. His eyes followed them always, searching for cracks. But time and again, they moved as though beyond his grasp, their secrets locked in a language older than prophecy itself.
The Shadow's Restlessness
Far away, Voldemort coiled tighter. The more he stretched his will toward the school, the stronger their auras pressed back.
"Time," he hissed into the dark. "Time and silver flame… They are not of this world."
He dreamed of Percy's gaze and shuddered. He felt Artemis's presence like moonlight against his rot. He recoiled from Athena's mind, sharp as a spear.
And though he whispered to himself that they were children, he could not banish the gnawing truth: they were not.
Curfew Whispers
Back in their hidden chamber, the three sprawled across the midnight-blue bed, laughter low in their throats. Artemis's hair spilled like silver fire across Percy's chest as Athena traced idle patterns on his hand.
"You felt him tonight, didn't you?" Athena's voice was low, sharp, unyielding.
Percy's eyes closed briefly. "Voldemort? Yes. Restless. Watching. He doesn't understand us, and that terrifies him."
Artemis lifted her head, her eyes fierce even in the soft glow of firelight. "Let him fear. It will make him reckless."
Percy's hand brushed through her hair before he reached for Athena, drawing her close as well. "And while he thrashes in the dark, we'll keep Harry safe. One day at a time."
They kissed, first one, then the other, lips tasting of warmth and promise. Outside the hidden chamber, time ticked on as usual, but inside it bent, stretched, and lingered.
For them, the world could wait.
Closing Beat
The next morning, as the school stirred awake, rumors still buzzed of the mysterious transfer students. Harry, yawning into his porridge, couldn't shake the sense that their presence meant something enormous—something that had already begun to change the course of his life.
And far away, in a place where shadows writhed, Voldemort whispered his hatred into the void.
The year had only just begun.