Apollo was the first to notice something was... off. His twin sister had always been a fortress—stoic, cold, and unwavering in her vows. But ever since they returned from the Alps, there had been a flicker of something beneath the marble mask Artemis wore. It started small—an extra moment watching the sunrise, a strange softness in her tone, and, most shockingly, giggling. Real giggling. When one of her hunters cracked a dry, half-baked joke about centaurs and lost arrows, Artemis giggled. Not smirked. Not rolled her eyes. Giggled.
Apollo blinked. "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"
"Nothing," Artemis said too quickly, brushing her silver hair behind her ear and turning to walk faster through the silver halls of Olympus.
That "nothing" became a trend.
She disappeared more than usual. Not the usual silent departures into the wilderness with her Hunters—but quiet vanishings where not even the hunters knew where she'd gone. And when she returned, she'd seem… lighter. Not glowing with divine wrath, but glowing with something else entirely. Like the soft light of the moon caught on a quiet lake.
"Where were you this time?" Apollo asked, lounging on the marble bench outside her temple, tossing a golden sunbeam like a baseball.
"Just patrolling the mortal realm," Artemis replied, too nonchalantly.
"Mhm," Apollo hummed, squinting at her. "You smell like leather and smoke. That's not very 'moon goddess' of you. Are you… hanging out at motorbike rallies now?"
Artemis gave him a warning glare. "I'm working, Apollo."
"Riiight. Working." He tapped his chin dramatically. "Or maybe you're visiting someone."
"I'm not."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Absolutely?"
"I said yes."
"That wasn't a 'yes' yes. That was a 'shut up before I turn you into a jackalope' yes."
Artemis's silence confirmed it.
Apollo leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. "Breaking a vow, sis… that's heavy."
"I haven't broken anything," she snapped, though her eyes flicked toward the edge of the clouds, toward the mortal world.
Not yet, maybe.
Apollo let the silence hang for a moment longer before he stood. He tossed the beam of sunlight into the air, where it spun like a coin before dissolving.
"Fine. But next time you sneak off? I'm coming with."
Artemis stiffened. "No."
He grinned. "Too late. You're being watched. Big bro's got eyes everywhere."
"I'm your twin."
"Exactly. That makes me exactly qualified to know when you're being weird. And you, dear sister, are being very weird."
Artemis turned on her heel, silver cloak billowing behind her. "Go write more bad poetry, Apollo."
But the sun god only chuckled.
"Oh, I will. I'm calling the next one Moonlight and Moody Boys. Inspired by you."
Apollo leaned on the rail of his solar chariot that floated idle above the clouds, eyes cast downward toward the mortal world, watching. He wasn't just being nosy anymore—he was worried. Deeply. Uncomfortably. The kind of worry that twisted in your gut and made old memories surface, sharp and aching.
He had seen this before.
A long time ago—so long it felt like a dream now—Artemis had laughed like this. Had smiled like this. Back then, it was Orion. The half-giant son of Poseidon. Tall, bold, and full of charm. A hunter who could match Artemis in every way. They had hunted together for months, chasing monstrous stags through the forests of Hyperborea, laughing beside ancient rivers, whispering stories beneath the stars. And Apollo had seen it—the way she looked at Orion. The flush on her cheeks, the subtle tilt of her head when he praised her aim, the rare softness in her eyes.
Back then, Artemis had said nothing. She didn't have to.
Apollo had panicked.
His sister had sworn on the River Styx—unbreakable, sacred, absolute. A vow of eternal maidenhood. Virginity not only in body but in spirit, in soul, in allegiance. And Apollo, with all the arrogance of the sun and the cruelty of fear, had acted.
He had tricked her.
"See that speck in the sea?" he had said one afternoon, as the sun sparkled off the Aegean waters. "Bet you can't hit it."
Artemis had never turned down a challenge. She had drawn her silver bow, nocked an arrow, and fired.
It wasn't until the sea turned red that she realized what she'd done.
Orion's body washed ashore the next morning.
The wail Artemis released that day had torn through Olympus like a hurricane. Even the Fates had turned their heads. She hadn't spoken to Apollo for centuries. And though she eventually forgave him—or at least stopped trying to shoot him—Apollo never forgave himself. He remembered her face, her silence, her rage.
She had taken Orion's soul and placed it in the stars, where he still hunted the heavens. But her heart… her heart she buried with him.
Now, watching Artemis slip away again into the mortal realm, watching her act lighter, brighter—happier—Apollo felt the familiar dread. What if it happened again? What if she fell too far this time? What if, in letting herself feel again, she shattered the vow that defined her entire existence?
He clenched his fist.
"I can't let her make that mistake," he whispered to himself, golden eyes burning with ancient guilt. "Not again. Even if it makes her hate me again. I have to stop this before it's too late."
His gaze followed the moonbeam streak that trailed in the sky—Artemis, descending again to the mortal realm.
And Apollo's resolve hardened like the sun at noon.
He would follow her. Watch her. And if needed… intervene.
Apollo shimmered into the mortal world just as the morning sun crested over the horizon, its golden rays cloaking him in familiar warmth. He had adopted a new form—taller than most, broad-shouldered, lean and golden like summer. His hair was styled with the careless perfection of someone who'd never had a bad day in their immortal life, and his smile, dazzling as always, could melt hearts at a glance. He blended in among the mortals with ease, wearing jeans, a fitted olive-green jacket, and sunglasses perched lazily atop his forehead. College student chic.
He trailed Artemis carefully through the streets of Princeton, watching from across the road as she walked like any normal young woman—her new form nearly unrecognizable. Gone was the silver circlet, the hunting braid, the glowing eyes. Now, she wore a Rutgers hoodie over a tank top, high-waisted jeans, and sneakers, her silver hair turned dark brown and tied in a loose ponytail. Her eyes still shimmered faintly with that telltale moonlight glow if one knew to look.
Apollo narrowed his eyes. This isn't just reconnaissance. She's embedding herself in mortal society.
At the university gates, he watched her flash a student ID and wave politely to a group of professors. They responded as if they'd seen her a dozen times already.
Then came the moment that made Apollo pause.
In the window of the lecture hall, he saw Artemis seated beside a striking young woman—brown hair cascading over her shoulders, warm chocolate-colored eyes focused intently on their conversation. The mortal girl laughed, and Artemis—Artemis—laughed with her. Genuinely. Easily.
Apollo's curiosity deepened like a plucked string. He turned toward a student walking by with a half-finished coffee and a laptop under his arm. "Hey, mate," he said smoothly, slipping into a perfectly American drawl. "Who's the brunette in there? The one talking with the girl in the Rutgers hoodie."
The student looked up. "Oh, that's Hermione Granger. She's a transfer student from England. Crazy smart. People say she already knows half the syllabus."
"Hermione Granger," Apollo repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue like honey. "Pretty name."
The student shrugged and moved on, but Apollo stayed rooted to the spot, suddenly watching with more interest. Hermione Granger… that girl is practically radiant. She had a presence about her. Not divine, but powerful in a subtle way—like a book that whispered secrets or a spell waiting to be read.
Then, the door to the classroom opened again, and someone walked in.
Apollo's gaze snapped to the entrance—and everything around him seemed to slow. It was a young man, black messy hair and bright green eyes, dressed casually in jeans and a black leather jacket. His expression was relaxed, confident. And the moment he stepped into the room, both girls turned toward him in unison—Hermione with a warm, familiar smile, and Artemis…
Artemis blushed.
Blushed.
Apollo's brows rose high.
The man approached their desk, leaning down slightly as Hermione handed him a book and Artemis looked away, her cheeks still tinged pink. The three exchanged words Apollo couldn't hear, but the comfort between them was obvious. And when the man laughed at something Hermione said and nudged Artemis gently on the shoulder, Apollo saw her roll her eyes—but not before smiling again.
Apollo stepped back, hiding behind the wall of ivy growing over the side of the building. His heart pounded once, unusually unsettled.
So… this is him.
And it was clear now—Artemis wasn't here to watch Hermione. She was here because of him.
But now things had taken a turn Apollo hadn't anticipated. Hermione Granger, the radiant mortal girl with eyes full of fire and logic, had captured his attention as well. And if she was close to Harry… hurting the boy wouldn't win her favor.
So Apollo smirked, tilting his head in consideration.
"No. Hurting him is off the table," he murmured to himself. "I'll just have to outshine him."
His golden eyes flashed.
Let the game begin.
The following morning, the doors of Princeton University opened once again to a new transfer student—or so the records said. Dressed in a sharp blue button-up and khaki pants with a leather satchel slung casually over one shoulder, "Lester Papadopoulos" walked through the ivy-covered arches with the kind of confidence only a god could possess. The name, ridiculous as it sounded, had been given to him once as punishment during a rather humiliating phase in his immortal life. Now, Apollo wore it like armor, a private joke only he understood.
Getting into the medieval studies course was child's play. A quick charm here, a few nudges of memory there, and the administrative office had everything sorted. His file claimed he had just returned from an obscure study-abroad program in Santorini focused on Byzantine war poetry—very niche, very impressive. By midday, Apollo was escorted by an unsuspecting professor to the very room where fate—or something more chaotic—was at work.
The door creaked open mid-lecture.
Inside, a bespectacled professor stood at the blackboard, scribbling something about the First Millennial Conflicts in long, looping chalk. He paused at the knock and turned as the escorting professor spoke: "Sorry to interrupt, Professor Benwick. This is a new transfer student. He's just been placed into your seminar."
Professor Benwick gave Apollo a once-over and gestured to the class. "Come in, come in. We're just getting to the Crusader texts. What's your name, son?"
Apollo stepped forward with an elegant bow—old habits dying hard. "Lester Papadopoulos" he said smoothly, his golden eyes sparkling beneath the illusionary brown contacts. "It's a pleasure to be here."
A few students snorted at the absurd name, but Apollo barely noticed. His eyes scanned the room—until they landed on him.
Harry Potter. Sitting in the second row with his trademark untamed black hair and casual confidence. Next to him sat Artemis, now known as Annie Green, her mortal guise perfectly in place. And next to her—Hermione Granger.
The professor pointed him to the empty seat behind Hermione. "Take the spot back there, Mr. Popolodobas. We'll get you caught up after class."
Apollo made his way through the aisles, every step radiating charisma. As he passed Harry, he offered his hand. "Lester. New around here."
Harry raised an eyebrow at the strange name but smiled politely and shook his hand. "Harry. Welcome."
Then Apollo turned to the two girls. "Annie Green, was it? And you must be Hermione Granger." He gave Hermione his most dazzling grin. "I've read about you. Top of your class from England. Quite the academic legend."
Hermione blinked, flustered by the compliment but managing a modest smile. "Thanks… Lester."
The lecture resumed. But Apollo couldn't stop himself from trying little comments—leaning forward to whisper a witty line about Crusader armor here, murmuring a cheeky joke about medieval hygiene there. Each time, Hermione gave a polite chuckle—followed by a stern "Shhh!" and a pointed glance at her notes.
So close, Apollo mused. She's got a sharp mind. I like that.
After the class ended, Harry, Annie, Hermione, and their new "friend" Lester headed to the student cafeteria. It was packed with students, trays clattering, conversations rising like waves. They claimed a table in the courtyard, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the vines above.
Harry took a bite of his sandwich and raised a brow. "So, Lester. What brings you to Princeton all the way from Greece?"
"Oh, I go where the sun takes me," Apollo replied cryptically, flashing a grin.
Artemis froze mid-bite. Slowly, she raised her gaze and met his eyes.
Harry noticed the look and glanced between them. "You two know each other?"
Artemis forced a tight smile. "No. Not at all."
"I just have one of those faces," Apollo said, playing it off.
Then, seizing his moment, he looked at Hermione, who was picking at her salad, and said smoothly:
"A rose with eyes of flame and wit,
In halls of stone, she dares to sit.
Her mind a blade, her heart a star—
Bright Hermione, know how loved you are."
There was a beat of silence. Then Hermione blinked. "Did… you just recite a poem to me?"
Apollo smiled confidently. "Just a small verse I came up with."
Hermione, equal parts amused and uncomfortable, gave a polite chuckle. "Well… thank you. That was… unexpected."
But Artemis—Annie—was no longer smiling. She set her cup down slowly, her silver-grey eyes narrowing. There was only one being in the cosmos who spoke in terrible, self-written love haikus with that much confidence.
She kicked him under the table—hard.