The morning sun filtered in through the large windows of Harry's mansion, casting golden rays across the polished floors and high ceilings. Ethan and Callie were waiting near the grand entrance, bags packed—what little they had—and Callie hugged baby Teddy one last time. Teddy, now giggling in Andromeda's arms, waved his chubby hand as his hair shifted to match Callie's golden locks once more.
Harry stepped down the stairs with car keys in hand, dressed in a black jacket over a simple white shirt. "Alright," he said with a sigh, "Long Island, right?"
Ethan nodded, standing tall now in his true form, his goat legs hidden beneath custom jeans and a long coat. His horns, barely visible under a wool cap, gave him the look of someone halfway between eccentric and mythical.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, slinging a leather satchel over his shoulder. "Northern shore. Montauk. That's where Camp Half-Blood is. It's warded, so mortals can't find it. But you'll see it, trust me."
Callie adjusted her backpack and looked up at Harry. "Do we… really have to go?"
Harry gave her a soft smile. "You'll be safe there, Callie. You'll learn about yourself—things I don't even know. And who knows? You might find people like you. Real friends."
Andromeda stepped forward with Teddy still on her hip. "Take care of them, Harry," she said, her tone warm but firm.
"I will," he promised.
Outside, the sleek silver Mercedes sat gleaming in the driveway. Callie slid into the backseat, while Ethan folded himself awkwardly into the front. "You sure you know the way?" Harry asked, adjusting his seatbelt.
"I've never driven it," Ethan said, "but I've guided a dozen half-bloods to the camp over the years. I know the signs."
With that, they pulled out of the mansion's private drive and into the city streets. The traffic of New York moved around them like a restless tide, and Harry followed Ethan's instructions out of Manhattan and toward Long Island. They passed bridges, busy neighborhoods, and wooded stretches until the concrete jungle gave way to open spaces and coastal winds.
During the drive, Ethan looked at Harry with curiosity. "You really don't know who your divine parent is?" he asked.
Harry snorted. "My parents were James and Lily Potter."
Ethan frowned. "No offense, but that doesn't explain how you rammed a car into a chimera and survived."
Harry smirked. "Magic, maybe?"
Ethan gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Maybe," he muttered. "But you're more than just a wizard. I've never met any wizards. But I don't think they can do what you do. You're something else."
Callie, who had been quiet in the back, leaned forward. "Do you think Harry could be a demigod too?"
Ethan hesitated. "I don't know. He's not... typical. But if he is, we'll find out when we reach the camp. The gods have ways."
Harry stayed silent for a moment, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter. He didn't say it aloud, but he could feel the Hallows pulsing within him again, especially when the sea breeze hit his skin. He felt… drawn to something. Something old and powerful.
"Almost there," Ethan finally said. "Turn left at the signpost… the one that says Delphi Strawberry Service."
Harry blinked. "A strawberry field?"
"Yeah," Ethan chuckled. "Camp's under an enchanted cover. Mortals see a fruit farm. We see the real thing."
They passed through the gates of a large, sun-drenched farm. Neatly lined strawberry rows stretched across rolling fields. A few teens in orange shirts were working the field in the distance.
The moment the car rolled into the lot, something shifted in the air. A shimmer, like heat on asphalt, danced before their eyes—and then the illusion peeled away.
What lay beyond the fields was no ordinary farm.
Tall pine trees bordered a sprawling valley. Wooden cabins formed a ring around a massive central hearth. A sparkling blue lake shimmered in the distance. An archery range, climbing wall, and a massive amphitheater completed the picture. The whole place thrummed with divine energy.
"This," Ethan said with a proud grin, "is Camp Half-Blood."
Harry parked and stepped out, taking it all in. Dozens of kids trained with swords and bows. Others sprinted by, laughing. Creatures of all kinds—pegasi, nymphs, even a centaur or two—mingled with the campers.
Callie's eyes lit up. "It's beautiful."
Ethan turned to Harry. "This is where she belongs. But you…" He paused, watching Harry closely. "You might belong here too. One way or another."
Harry exhaled slowly, the sun warm on his face. He wasn't sure what he was, or why the Hallows were merging into his being. But for now, he had brought them where they needed to be. And somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he knew his journey with the Greek gods was only just beginning.
The warm scent of pine and sea salt drifted on the breeze as Harry, Callie, and Ethan walked past the archway marking the true entrance to Camp Half-Blood. Above them, the pine tree on the hill stood tall and proud, its branches shimmering faintly with protective magic. Behind them, the silver Mercedes sat quietly in the mortal parking lot, hidden behind wards that kept curious eyes far away.
"Alright," Ethan said, his hooves making gentle clops against the packed dirt path, "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. Where your life will always be exciting, and occasionally—though hopefully not today—on fire."
Callie giggled, walking with wide eyes and a heart full of curiosity. Harry kept pace beside her, his wand in his jacket just in case, though he didn't feel threatened—yet.
"So this place," Ethan continued, spreading his arms dramatically, "is where the sons and daughters of the gods come to learn how not to get eaten, cursed, exploded, or vaporized. And, if they're lucky, they also make some friends and learn how to use a sword."
Callie looked around in awe. There were cabins arranged in a large horseshoe formation around the central green. Some were modest wood cabins, others extravagant—one glittered with seashells, another seemed to glow faintly with moonlight. Harry counted twelve.
"Each cabin represents an Olympian," Ethan explained. "Those are the Big Twelve. Apollo, Ares, Athena, Hermes, and the others. Every half-blood gets claimed by their divine parent, eventually. That's when they get placed in the right cabin."
"So which one is yours?" Harry asked.
Ethan smiled and pointed at a modest cabin made of ash wood, with ivy crawling up the sides. "Cabin Eight. Satyrs don't stay here long, but that's my rest stop when I'm not on the road."
As they passed by, campers called out to Ethan and Callie, a few offering waves or friendly nods. Some paused when they saw Harry, eyes lingering.
"New half-blood?" someone asked from behind the Apollo cabin. "He looks… old for a camper."
Another girl walking by whispered to her friend, "Did Zeus have another secret son? He's kinda cute."
Harry chuckled under his breath and leaned closer to Ethan. "Seems like I'm already a mystery."
"You have no idea," Ethan muttered.
They reached the Big House—a sky-blue building with a wraparound porch and white columns. It looked more like a countryside villa than a war headquarters. As they stepped up onto the porch, Harry noticed a large, worn chalkboard on one side and a stack of armor near the door.
And then, the door opened.
A centaur stepped out—tall, regal, and striking. His lower half was that of a chestnut horse with powerful legs and a gleaming coat. His upper half was that of an elderly man, though his posture and gaze held the poise of a warrior. His eyes were intelligent, calm, and old—very old.
"Ah," the centaur said warmly. "Visitors. Ethan, you've returned."
"Chiron," Ethan said with a respectful nod. "This is Callie. Aphrodite's daughter. And… this is Harry Potter. He's... a special case."
Chiron stepped forward and extended a hand to Harry, who shook it.
"Harry Potter," the centaur repeated thoughtfully. "I've heard that name somewhere…"
"I get that a lot," Harry said. "Nice to meet you. I've met centaurs before, in a forest back home. No offense, but they were not nearly as well-groomed."
Chiron laughed, a low and rich sound. "I shall take that as a compliment."
Callie looked up at Chiron with wonder. "You're really a centaur?"
Chiron bent slightly with a smile. "Indeed. I've served as a teacher, healer, and trainer to many heroes—Achilles, Hercules, and now campers like you."
"And Dionysus?" Harry asked. "Isn't he supposed to be the camp director?"
"He is," Chiron said, his tone turning a bit dry. "But he's currently attending a… rather long-winded council on Mount Olympus. Something about nectar tariffs. He may return in a few days. Until then, I keep the camp running."
Ethan leaned in. "You should see him when he's grumpy. He turns the strawberries sour."
Chiron gave Ethan a look, then gestured for them to follow him.
"Let me show you the training grounds," he said.
They passed the amphitheater, the dining pavilion overlooking the lake, and the forges near the Hephaestus cabin, where sparks flew and metal clanged as demigods worked with glowing tools. The smell of smoke and molten bronze filled the air.
Next came the archery range, where a group of campers lined up with bows of celestial bronze, aiming at moving targets that blinked and shifted.
"Combat and archery training every morning," Chiron said. "Followed by lessons on Greek, survival tactics, and monster lore. The afternoons vary—sword drills, capture the flag, or team quests."
"And what about monsters?" Harry asked, remembering the chimera.
"They can find us," Chiron admitted, "but the camp is heavily protected by the campers and spells woven by Hecate's children keep us hidden from most threats."
"Sounds like Hogwarts," Harry murmured, almost nostalgically.
They circled back to the cabins, where Chiron turned to Harry. "Are you planning to stay, Mr. Potter?"
Harry shook his head. "No. I've got a family to take care of. My godson, Teddy. And I've already done my fair share of saving the world. I'm here for Callie. I want her to be safe."
Chiron regarded him for a long moment. "I understand. But should you ever wish to return, know that you are welcome. Some doors cannot be closed once opened, Harry."
Harry had seen many magical places in his life—Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, even the Veil Room in the Department of Mysteries—but Camp Half-Blood was something else entirely. The mix of divine ancestry, ancient rituals, and casual chaos reminded him of a more primal, rough-edged Hogwarts. There were fewer rules and more blades, but the same spirit of camaraderie ran through every tent and cabin.
He had stayed longer than intended. Hours melted into moments while demigods sparred, laughed, and shared tales of monster encounters over roasted marshmallows and enchanted nectar. The children of Athena had shown him hand-drawn maps of the Underworld. The Ares kids challenged him to a duel (he politely declined). The Hermes cabin tried to charm him out of a few dollars. Even the Apollo kids admired his archery skills with enthusiasm usually reserved for hit pop stars.
But now the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting shadows long and cold across the pine trees that surrounded the camp. The world had turned quiet, the golden sky turning dusky purple. Despite their pleas for him to stay the night, Harry had a gnawing feeling in his gut—a whisper in the back of his mind that said: leave now.
He had learned to trust that voice.
So he did.
With a polite farewell to Chiron, Ethan, and Callie, Harry made his way toward the perimeter. The forest was dense, tangled, and brimming with ancient magic. But Harry didn't mind. A floating orb of silver-blue light hovered beside him, born from his wandless Lumos, lighting his path as he walked with quiet determination. Twigs snapped under his boots, and the trees creaked in the cool breeze.
Just as he spotted the shimmer of his silver Mercedes through the trees, he heard it—a crash, followed by a shriek.
Then came the booming thud of heavy feet. Trees splintered. Branches cracked.
Harry froze, turning toward the sound. In the distance, four small figures tore through the forest, stumbling over roots and fallen branches. Behind them, three massive Cyclopes bellowed in rage, swinging clubs of stone and tree trunk as they gave chase.
The children were demigods, clearly. One had a bronze dagger, another a slingshot. One of them—no taller than Harry's waist—had the shaggy lower half of a goat. A young satyr.
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