Chapter 3 – Whispers and Shadows
(Block 4)
The castle seemed different in the days that followed. The enchanted ceilings, the shifting staircases, even the portraits—everything carried a strange hum, as though Hogwarts itself recognized that something had shifted with the arrival of the transfer students.
Harry felt it most in small, quiet ways. When he passed Percy in the corridor, their eyes met briefly, and Harry swore it felt like the other boy knew exactly where he'd been, what he was thinking, and what dangers might lie ahead. Once, while crossing the moving staircases, Harry nearly tripped—but Percy's hand shot out, steadying him with the kind of reflex that didn't belong to a normal teenager. Percy said nothing, only nodded, but Harry carried that nod with him for the rest of the day like a shield.
Hermione noticed too. "It's almost as if he's… watching you," she whispered one evening in the common room, quill pausing mid-sentence. "Protecting you."
Harry had no answer.
Dumbledore's Calculations
High in his office, Albus Dumbledore stood at the window, watching owls swoop in the night. The candles flickered, casting shadows across his lined face.
The trio unsettled him more each day. They were not merely talented; they were extraordinary. Too extraordinary. Quirrell had reported shaking in their presence, and even Severus—ever composed—had remarked, with no small amount of disdain, that "their arrogance reeks of something far older than youth."
Dumbledore's fingers drummed against the sill. He had worked tirelessly to shape Harry's path, nudging events, guiding the boy toward the prophecy's design. But these three strangers had inserted themselves into the narrative like pieces that did not belong on the board.
And yet… the castle had accepted them. Its wards sang in resonance when they passed, a sound only he could hear. That troubled him more than their brilliance.
"They are not ordinary students," he murmured into the empty room. "But whether they are allies… or obstacles… remains to be seen."
Voldemort's Agitation
Meanwhile, deep within Quirrell's skull, Voldemort's presence grew more volatile.
They are not mortals, he hissed, his voice so sharp that Quirrell winced aloud. *Their power leaks through every wall of this castle. Do you think I cannot feel it? It burns. It judges."
Quirrell stammered, "M–master, perhaps they are only… skilled wizards—"
Silence.
The Dark Lord's fury reverberated like a physical force. I have walked among gods before, and these stink of divinity. This changes the game, fool. The boy was mine to shape, to crush at my will, but now… now there are guardians at his side.
Quirrell swallowed hard. "Then what do we—"
We wait. We plan. And when the time comes, we strike where even gods are blind.
But the words rang hollow. For the first time since his downfall, fear gnawed at the Dark Lord.
Hogwarts by Night
On the fourth night since their arrival, Percy, Artemis, and Athena returned to the abandoned tower once more. The room had become theirs in truth now: blankets stolen from the common room draped across the floor, a lantern glowing softly, parchments and books scattered in a way only they could make sense of.
Artemis sat with her back against Percy's chest, his arms folded securely around her. Athena lounged nearby, book forgotten, her sharp eyes softened by rare contentment.
"The students are restless," Athena murmured. "The boys, especially. Jealousy is a dangerous seed."
Percy chuckled low. "Jealousy doesn't concern me. Voldemort does."
At his name, the air in the room seemed to chill. Artemis tightened her grip on Percy's arm. "He's stirring. I can feel it."
"Good," Percy said simply, though his gaze was heavy. "It means we're forcing him to react sooner. That's our advantage."
For a while, they sat in silence, the castle hushed around them. Artemis turned her face upward, her lips brushing Percy's jaw with quiet tenderness. Athena shifted closer, her hand finding Percy's and lacing their fingers together.
It wasn't about spectacle here, not about envy or whispers—it was the comfort of touch, the reassurance of being bound together when the world outside sharpened its claws.
The war might be waiting, Voldemort might be plotting, and Dumbledore might be scheming—but in that forgotten tower, the three of them created a sanctuary that nothing could breach.
Harry's Unease
Down in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry lay awake long after Ron's snores filled the room. He stared at the canopy above his bed, thoughts circling like restless owls.
Percy's gaze. Percy's hand catching him on the staircase. The way Artemis had looked at him once in class—not like he was a child, but like he mattered.
For so long, Harry had felt invisible, neglected, forgotten by the world. But now, for the first time, he wondered if someone had stepped into his life for the sole purpose of keeping him safe.
And in the darkness, he whispered to himself, "Why me?"
No answer came. But far above, three figures in a tower kept their vigil.