Chapter 3 – Whispers and Shadows
(Block 2)
The Gryffindor common room was noisier than usual that night. The fire roared, throwing sparks that danced across the stone hearth, but its warmth did little to soften the mood.
Seamus had launched into another rant, voice raised so loudly that even the Fat Lady in the portrait frame frowned. "Did you see him? Did you see that ward? Show-off. And then Athena in History? Hermione's the best in our year, but she looked like a first year compared to her."
Hermione bristled but said nothing, which Harry found more surprising than Seamus's rant. Normally she'd defend herself on instinct. Tonight, though, she only stirred her quill against parchment, chewing her lip with a mixture of irritation and reluctant admiration.
Dean cut in. "You're just jealous."
"Jealous?" Seamus scoffed. "Of what?"
Dean gestured toward Percy, Artemis, and Athena, who weren't even in the common room. "Of everything. They're smarter, they're stronger, they're… well…" He trailed off, ears reddening.
Ron finished for him. "They've got two of the most beautiful girls in the school hanging off Percy like it's nothing."
A ripple of agreement moved through the boys, a mix of awe and bitterness. Lavender giggled. "You're all just sulking because you've got no chance."
The common room erupted into laughter, but underneath, the tension remained.
Harry sat quietly in his armchair, staring into the fire. He wanted to feel the same resentment, but something inside him resisted. Percy's ward had been more than just impressive. It had felt right, as though for the first time since stepping into this castle, the world wasn't out to swallow him whole.
Dumbledore's Frustration
High above the castle, in his circular office, Albus Dumbledore sat hunched over parchment. His quill scratched without rhythm, blotting ink in frustrated bursts.
The transfer students unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He'd allowed them through—against his better judgment—because the wards had not rejected them. The castle itself, which was older and more willful than any headmaster, had accepted their presence. That, in itself, was rare.
But their effect was becoming disruptive. Quirrell was shaken to his core. Minerva reported that even Professor Binns, who barely noticed living students, had faltered in his lecture. And the students… the students were already orbiting them as though they were the true center of Hogwarts.
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his gaze falling on the gleaming instruments that whirred and clicked on his shelves. They, too, hummed differently now, their readings unsettled, as though the very balance of the castle had shifted.
"Percy Jackson," he murmured. "Artemis. Athena. Who are you really?"
The twinkle in his eye, once so ready to sparkle with amusement, was absent. In its place lay only calculation.
Voldemort's Unease
Far from the castle, in the cold recess of a forest cave, Voldemort's voice hissed within Quirrell's skull.
Fools… meddling fools…
Quirrell knelt, sweating. The faint echo of Percy's ward still lingered in his mind, though he hadn't dared mention it aloud.
Three of them, Voldemort seethed. Their auras burn through the veil like torches in the dark. The boy I could have crushed, but these… these are not ordinary interlopers.
For the first time in years, unease wormed its way into Voldemort's withered soul. He had faced gods before, in whispers of old magic, and he knew their scent when it clung to the air.
This complicates everything.
Quirrell whimpered but did not respond. He could feel his master's anger trembling through his veins like poison.
After Curfew
Later that night, when the castle settled into quiet and the portraits dozed in their frames, Percy, Artemis, and Athena slipped from the Gryffindor dormitory. Their steps were silent, practiced.
They climbed through hidden staircases, passed by wards that parted like curtains, and reached one of the abandoned towers—a place students had long forgotten. Moonlight streamed through a cracked window, painting silver across the floor.
Percy leaned against the wall, exhaling a long breath. "Quirrell is weaker than I expected. If he's the one carrying him…" His voice trailed off, but both Artemis and Athena knew who he meant.
Athena moved closer, her eyes sharp as ever. "It confirms what we feared. The prophecy is unfolding sooner than Dumbledore imagines."
Artemis placed a hand on Percy's arm, her touch softening the hard edge of his words. "We'll guide Harry through it. Together."
For a moment, the war and the whispers of dark lords faded. Percy drew both of them closer, their shoulders pressing against his. Artemis tilted her head against his chest, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. Athena, always more reserved, allowed herself the briefest smile as her fingers brushed his.
The castle was silent save for their breathing. Outside, the world whispered of jealousy and suspicion, but here, in the quiet of the forgotten tower, they were only three souls bound together.
Athena broke the silence at last. "The students will grow restless. Their jealousy could become a weapon if Voldemort exploits it."
Percy's eyes glinted. "Then we make sure their loyalty falls to Harry instead."
The three exchanged a look that carried the weight of centuries.