Chapter 3 – Whispers and Shadows
(Block 3)
The weekend arrived, but Hogwarts hardly slowed. Students spilled across the grounds, filling the courtyard with chatter and the lawns with laughter. The September sun was warm enough that cloaks were shed, and the lake glittered as though daring someone to take a swim.
Harry trailed behind Ron and Hermione as they made their way toward the courtyard. His eyes, almost against his will, drifted toward the far end where Percy, Artemis, and Athena sat together under the shade of a beech tree.
It wasn't the first time they'd claimed that spot. Somehow, without words, the entire school had conceded it to them—as though the trio had carved their own invisible boundary no one dared cross.
Percy leaned back against the trunk, his posture relaxed yet watchful. Artemis rested against his shoulder, her silver hair catching the sunlight like strands of starlight. Athena sat close on his other side, a book open on her lap, though her eyes flicked toward Percy and Artemis more often than the page.
The sight drew attention like moths to flame. A cluster of Hufflepuffs whispered as they passed. A pair of Ravenclaws lingered, debating whether to approach with questions about class notes. A group of older Slytherins snickered, though the tightness in their voices suggested irritation rather than amusement.
Ron noticed too. "They think they're kings and queens, don't they?" he muttered, kicking a stone across the path.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh honestly, Ron. They're brilliant, yes, but it's not as if they've asked for worship."
"They don't have to ask," Ron said darkly. "Everyone just gives it to them."
Harry stayed quiet, watching as Percy murmured something to Artemis that made her laugh softly. Athena, usually composed, smirked in response, and Percy's hand found hers briefly, reassuringly. The air around them seemed… lighter, as if the whole world bent toward their orbit.
Harry's chest tightened, though he couldn't decide if it was jealousy, admiration, or something stranger.
In the Library
Later that afternoon, Hermione dragged them to the library under the pretext of "keeping up with assignments." Harry expected silence, but the library was unusually busy. Whispers rose like the rustling of wings, and every second table seemed to be turned toward one corner.
It was no surprise who sat there.
Athena's quill scratched smoothly across parchment as she drafted an essay that made Hermione gnash her teeth in quiet frustration. Artemis leaned over Percy's shoulder, scanning the page of a spellbook he held open, her hair brushing against his cheek. Percy's free hand tapped idly on the table, his rhythm steady, as though it matched a beat only he could hear.
Harry and Ron sat across from Hermione, though none of them were truly studying. They pretended to, but every so often their eyes strayed.
"They're impossible," Hermione muttered finally. "Athena writes like she's lived through the Goblin Rebellions. And Artemis—did you see her cast the Lumos charm earlier? It wasn't even just light, it looked like moonlight."
Ron groaned. "Don't remind me. Even when they sneeze, it's probably more impressive than anything we do."
Harry tried to hide his smile, though inwardly he felt a pull again—that same strange gravity that made it impossible to ignore them.
Evening Jealousies
By dinner, the tension had grown sharper. At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy slouched dramatically.
"It's sickening," he announced, loud enough for half the Hall to hear. "Parading around like they own the place. Dumbledore's pets, probably."
Pansy Parkinson tittered, but Daphne Greengrass, seated further down, rolled her eyes. "You're only cross because Artemis didn't bother to look at you when you tried talking to her."
Draco's ears reddened. "That's not—"
But Blaise Zabini cut in smoothly. "Face it, Malfoy. No one can compete with that." He gestured with his fork toward Percy and the goddesses, who were, as always, drawing attention without seeming to try.
At the Gryffindor table, the boys' side of the bench seethed in a quieter way. Neville kept sneaking glances, shaking his head in disbelief. Seamus muttered something rude every time Artemis laughed. Even Fred and George, who usually thrived on stealing the spotlight, sat in uncharacteristic silence, their smirks dulled by a hint of envy.
Harry caught it all. The Great Hall was full of clashing emotions—admiration, resentment, longing—and at the center, Percy, Artemis, and Athena remained untouchable.
After Curfew
That night, when curfew silenced the castle, Percy, Artemis, and Athena returned to the forgotten tower they'd claimed as their sanctuary.
The moon hung high, spilling silver across the stones. Percy stretched, loosening his shoulders after the day's constant scrutiny. Artemis slid gracefully onto the windowsill, gazing at the night sky, while Athena carefully set aside her books.
"Do you ever tire of it?" Percy asked, his voice low.
"Of what?" Artemis tilted her head, moonlight painting her features ethereal.
"The stares. The whispers. The jealousy."
Athena answered first, her tone measured. "It's natural. Mortals always look with envy upon what they cannot understand. But it serves its purpose. Their eyes are on us, which means less suspicion on Harry."
Artemis's gaze softened as she turned back to Percy. "Besides," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "let them envy. It changes nothing of what we are."
Percy stepped forward, slipping his arm around her waist, drawing her close. She leaned against him, her hand resting over his heart. Athena joined them a moment later, folding into their embrace with quiet certainty.
The weight of the day, of Voldemort's shadow, of Dumbledore's watchful eyes—all of it fell away in that shared silence. For a little while, it was only the three of them, bound together against a world that could never truly know.