Now that Harry had begun to understand the truth—that his power wasn't just tied to wizardry, but somehow to ancient forces older than Hogwarts itself—he couldn't ignore it any longer. The Deathly Hallows hadn't simply returned to him. They were merging with him.
And the inverted torch… Thanatos… it all pointed to something far beyond British magical lore.
It pointed to the Greeks.
So, Harry did what he hadn't done in years.
He studied.
The high school library wasn't much to look at—two floors, a spiral staircase, dusty shelves, and outdated posters telling students to "READ TO SUCCEED!"—but Harry found it oddly comforting. A quiet place to sit, to think, to pore over books that weren't about potions or hexes, but myths. Old ones.
He spent hours reading. Pages about gods and monsters, war and betrayal, immortals and the mortals who loved or defied them. The Titans, the Olympians, the primordial forces—Nyx, Gaia, Tartarus. All of it was fascinating.
The moment he read about Thanatos again, his breath had caught. Peaceful death. Son of Nyx, twin of Hypnos. A god of silent endings, not violent ones.
Why is he calling me son?
One afternoon, while seated cross-legged on the floor between the mythology and ancient history shelves, Harry was so absorbed in a worn book titled The Deathless Ones: A Study of Chthonic Deities, he didn't hear footsteps approach.
Until a loud voice broke his focus.
"Well, well. Look who decided to become a proper nerd."
Harry looked up to see Dudley grinning at him from across the aisle, holding a sports magazine.
"I'm studying," Harry muttered, not looking away from the page.
"Yeah, you and the Granger chick would've made a lovely couple," Dudley teased. "What's next? Glasses with tape? Pocket protector?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Greek mythology, Dudley. It's important."
Dudley dropped into the seat across from him and raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you into stories about gods sleeping with bulls and starting wars?"
"Since I realized one of them might actually be talking to me," Harry said under his breath.
Dudley blinked. "Come again?"
Harry didn't elaborate. "Never mind."
Dudley snorted. "Well, if you start wearing a toga to class, I'm telling Andromeda."
Harry smirked, shaking his head.
Once Dudley left, Harry returned to his books—but someone else had taken notice.
A few minutes later, a quiet voice spoke from nearby.
"You're reading about the Chthonic ones."
Harry looked up.
A thin boy stood at the edge of the table, a book clutched under one arm and a metal crutch under the other. He wore a gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a baseball cap low over his face, shadowing his eyes. Despite his slight frame and the slight limp in his walk, something about him buzzed. Harry felt it like a pulse—faint, but deep.
Power.
"Yes," Harry said cautiously. "Just trying to learn."
The boy's eyes were curious, sharp. "Most people can't even pronounce most of those words."
Harry closed his book slowly. "You know a lot about this stuff?"
The boy nodded. "More than the average high school curriculum allows."
He hobbled closer and set his book on the table—The House of Hades: Realms and Boundaries. The title made Harry's stomach twist a little.
"I'm Ethan," the boy said. "Ethan Williams."
"Harry," Harry replied. "Potter."
Ethan's brow raised just slightly. "The new guy. Cousin of the boxer."
"Guilty."
Ethan took the seat across from him, adjusting his crutch. "You're looking for answers."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "You can tell?"
"I always can." He leaned in slightly. "Most people come to the library to kill time. You're digging. You've got questions… deep ones."
Harry hesitated. There was something strange about Ethan. He wasn't threatening. He wasn't using magic—at least not overtly. But Harry's instincts flared. The same instincts that had saved him more than once.
Ethan felt magical.
But different.
Not wizard magic. Older.
And his presence… it wasn't just power. It was layered. Heavy, but not burdensome. Like stone buried under sand.
"You know something about all this," Harry said quietly. "Don't you?"
Ethan's lips curled into a cryptic smile.
"I know a lot of things people think are just myths."
Harry studied him. "You're not exactly normal, are you?"
"Neither are you."
They stared at each other in silence, the air between them humming with tension neither fully understood.
Then Ethan stood.
"You want answers, Harry Potter?" he said, gripping his crutch. "Start with the gods. But don't forget their enemies."
He turned and limped off, leaving his book behind on the table.
Harry opened it slowly, his fingers tracing a diagram near the back—an ancient symbol carved into stone.
An inverted torch.
And beside it, a name scratched in Greek letters.
Thanatos.
Harry leaned back in his chair, heart pounding, the words echoing in his head.
You want answers… start with the gods.
Harry had always been a quick learner when he wanted to be. And over the course of two weeks, he devoured every book the school library had on Greek mythology. He filled notebooks with scribbled names, lineages, and battles. He traced family trees that started with Chaos and spiraled into a mess of Titans, Olympians, and forgotten deities with obsidian thrones and golden tempers.
He knew who fathered whom. Who betrayed whom. Who slept with whom. The politics of the gods made the Ministry of Magic look like a kindergarten classroom.
He read of Kronos and his children, of Prometheus chained to a mountain, of Artemis and her hunters, of Poseidon's fury and Athena's pride. He learned about Thanatos, son of Nyx—dark goddess of night—and twin to Hypnos, god of sleep. Thanatos wasn't feared like Hades, but he was revered. He didn't reap lives through chaos. He carried them away in silence.
And Harry couldn't unsee the connection.
The more he read, the clearer it became.
He was becoming something tied to that world.
The dreams. The symbol. The Hallows. The voice calling him son.
And yet… the books only gave him stories. Information. Facts.
They didn't give him answers.
"What am I supposed to do with all this?" Harry muttered under his breath, closing The Iliad: An Annotated Translation and staring out the library window. The world outside moved on—unconcerned with gods and fates and boys touched by death.
Ethan knows more, he thought. He feels like someone who's lived it.
Harry had only met Ethan once, but the encounter hadn't left his mind. There was something powerful and unspoken about the boy—wiry and quiet, but with a presence like stone beneath still water. His cane, his watchful eyes, the book he left behind—it was all deliberate.
So Harry decided to find him again.
Since Ethan was a year below him, they didn't share classes, which made timing difficult. But Harry had been sneaking past Aurors since he was eleven. Finding one student in a building of a few hundred wasn't exactly a challenge.
He began observing.
At first, Ethan seemed normal—quiet, punctual, always carrying a book. But there was something odd in how he moved. Even with a crutch, he walked like someone trained for stealth. He was always watching people without looking like he was watching.
And then Harry noticed the girl.
She was young—thirteen, maybe fourteen at most. Always reading. Always alone. Blonde, with piercing eyes and a careful way of walking, like every step was measured.
Ethan, when free, always found a way to position himself nearby.
At first, Harry thought they might be related. But when he asked around—casually, carefully—he found out they weren't siblings. They weren't cousins. In fact, they weren't anything.
No one knew why Ethan always sat near her during lunch, or why he walked past her classes like clockwork. But Harry watched him closely, and the truth was clear.
Ethan was guarding her.
Not like a jealous boyfriend or an overprotective brother. No, this was different. This was intentional. Protective. Like a soldier watching a sacred relic.
And the girl—there was something off about her too.
When she brushed past Harry in the hallway once, he caught a pulse. A ripple of energy. Not like wizard magic. Not like wandwork or spells.
This was something older.
More like what he had felt in his own body.
She's like me, Harry realized. She's not normal either.
But who was she?
And what was Ethan doing with her?
One afternoon, Harry followed Ethan as he exited the library. He waited until the boy found his usual perch under the old tree near the school's rear lot—book open, eyes occasionally darting toward the school gym, where the girl had disappeared.
Then Harry stepped into view.
"You always keep watch from the same spot," Harry said, arms folded.
Ethan didn't flinch. He looked up slowly, adjusting his cap. "And you always walk like someone trained not to make noise."
Harry approached, stopping just a few feet away. "Who is she?"
Ethan's face didn't change. "A student."
"I'm not talking about her name. I felt it. She's not… normal."
Silence.
Harry pressed. "And neither are you."
Ethan finally closed his book and set it down. "Took you longer than I expected."
"So I'm right?"
Ethan didn't answer. But he looked at Harry—really looked—and Harry felt it again. That pressure. That silent weight of something ancient humming between them.
"Tell me what you are," Harry said. "Please. I've read everything. But I still don't understand what's happening to me."
Ethan studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly toward the girl in the gym.
"You want the truth?" he said. "Then you need to understand her. Because if you think you're the only one who doesn't belong in this world…"
He picked up his book and stood, leaning slightly on his crutch.
"…you're not."
Then he walked away, leaving Harry alone under the tree, wind tugging gently at his sleeves.
Four days passed in silence.
The questions weighed on Harry heavier than any school textbook. He kept rereading the passages about the gods, trying to make sense of the dreams, the Hallows, the visions—and now, Ethan and the girl.
But no answers came.
Then, at last, the week ended.
Classes were done for the day, and the hallway buzzed with end-of-day chatter. As usual, Harry made his way to the parking lot, where his sleek black BMW sat gleaming in the sun. Dudley was loitering near the entrance, laughing with a few classmates.
"You heading home?" Harry called.
"Nah, I'm staying," Dudley said. "Party at Nick's place. I'll grab a ride with Collins."
Harry gave him a quick nod, slipped into the driver's seat, and pulled out of the lot.
He had mastered driving weeks ago, and now he drove like it had always come naturally. The road opened ahead as traffic thinned, and he turned onto a wooded side route that led back to the mansion.
And that was when he saw it.
At first, he thought it was some film shoot or hallucination. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the road, and through the golden light, he saw Ethan—running at full speed, no crutch in sight.
Beside him, the girl. She was panting, stumbling slightly as they tore through the trees at the edge of the road.
Chasing them—a hulking creature of terror.
It was a Chimera.
Harry recognized it from the illustrations in his mythology books. Lion's body. Goat's head protruding from its back. A serpent for a tail. It moved with vicious speed and purpose, its massive paws pounding the earth as it closed the gap.
Harry's stomach dropped.
This one isn't peaceful.
Without a second thought, he slammed the gas pedal. The car roared forward like a beast of its own, and Harry aimed straight for the Chimera's back.
The creature didn't hear the engine until it was too late.
With a crunch of steel and bone, the car smashed into the Chimera's rear, flinging it over the hood and into the ditch with a snarling scream. The windshield cracked. Smoke hissed from the hood, but Harry didn't stop. He skidded sideways to a halt just ahead of Ethan and the girl.
"Get in!" he shouted, throwing the passenger door open.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed the girl's hand and shoved her into the back seat before sliding into the front.
Harry hit the gas again just as the Chimera howled, clawing its way back onto the road behind them.
"Hold on!" Harry barked.
The car flew forward, tires squealing. Trees blurred past, and the speedometer jumped higher than it had ever gone.
Harry glanced sideways
"You're not limping," Harry muttered.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Wasn't the time to explain."
"Start explaining now," Harry snapped, weaving between lanes as the Chimera thundered after them.
"She's a half-blood," Ethan said, gesturing toward the girl in the back.
His voice was barely a whisper. "So… am I."
Ethan stared at him. "What?"
"I'm… half-blood too," Harry said. "My parents were James and Lily Potter. Father is pureblood but mother is muggleborn."
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