There was currently fifteen of them in Hogwarts, including Heri. Two had graduated the year before — the frightening Marcus Flint was a thirteenth generation legacy of Mars, and Head Girl Penelope Clearwater was a second generation legacy of Concordia — while the others that were known and of school age weren't capable enough to attend Hogwarts. They were expecting a handful more in the coming years, but their number had never exceeded thirty at any time. A good half of them were Greco-Romantic (as to be expected), but nearly every pantheon had been represented over time, this year's bunch having representatives of African and Asian pantheons.
"So-oo . . ." said Heri grasping her hands behind her. "What's going on?"
There was a moment of silence wherein those in the know look at each other. They hadn't decided yet who would inform Heri about the truth of her birth. None of them really wanted to be the one to tell their orphaned tyrant-vanquisher that her mother who had been all but sainted wasn't as faithful as she had thought.
"Your dad isn't really James Potter but a god or goddess. That makes you a demigod like the rest of us here."
Eyes flew to Zarcharias, standing just off to the side of where Heri was standing, hands in his pockets, and scowling at the wall. He shrugged as everyone else gaped.
"Just thought you should know," he said, looking over at Heri.
Heri's face was slack. She quickly blinked twice.
"Excuse me?"
"We know it's hard to believe," Ernie chimed in, giving Zacharias a hard look. "But it's true! I'm a legacy of Clio, Muse of History, and Zach's the son of Pheme, goddess of fame and notoriety. Our families have been interacting with the Gods for ages! We all know the signs, and there isn't a doubt that you're one of us!"
Ernie pushed Eddie Carmichael, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, to the forefront.
"Carmichael's family descends from Oghma," he chattered on, "a Celtic god of communication and writing, so he's the expert on demigod spotting! Go on, Carmichael, tell her who you think her father is!"
Carmichael floundered at being put on the spot in front of a still not reacting Heri Potter, but he did as he did best and started spewing out facts.
"Right! From the traits I've observed, especially the-the war hammer we saw during the First Task — w-well, it might have been a club or, um, a pernach or something — I-I-I didn't really get a good look at it — but I, um, I've narrowed it down to gods of battle. There's Thor, of course — his symbol's a hammer — he's a Norse god of war and storms; there's Belatucadros, a Gaulish war god; Agrona, a Proto-Celtic goddess of war and strife; Haphaestus or Vulcan, again because of the hammer; Hercules, the Greco-Romantic god of heroes — his symbol's a club; Aeron, a Celtic god of battle and slaughter; erm, basically any of the Egyptian deities; the Morrígan, an Irish triple goddess of prophecy and death on the battlefield; Durga, the Hindu goddess of—"
"My mother would have told me if I had an older sister," cut in the former newest addition, Nandini Johar. (She reminded Heri a bit of the Patil twins, but with stronger features.) She crossed her arms and gave a pointed look. "Your panicking is doing nothing to assure her."
It was then that the door opened again. Coming through the door Ernie was certain he had bolted, Luna Lovegood made her ditsy way in, humming and bouncing as if she was frolicking through a field of flowers.
"Luna?" said Heri, expression finally returning to her face.
"Hello, Heri. Congratulations for being claimed. I've never seen such a beautiful mace before. Your father must be very picky when having children."
"It was a hammer, Lovegood," said Zarcharias, a bored look on his face.
"Most likely a war hammer," Carmichael corrected. "As I said, we were a bit too far away. It could've been a battle axe as well."
Heri gave them doubtful looks before turning back to Lovegood.
"You're, erm, you are a . . . a demigod as well, Luna?" She sounded still unconvinced.
"I suppose that's a word for it," Lovegood replied, twirling a strand of hair. "Gran-gran is one of the Morai, the Mother of their Maiden-Mother-Crone. I'm not sure if they're true goddesses or personifications. Gran-gran's the allotter of the threads, Lachesis."
"So . . . Did you see me coming?"
Lovegood hummed.
"I didn't actually. Your lines of Fate are nearly impossible to follow. Always doubling back or changing altogether. Have you been initiated into the Order of the Oddfish yet?"
There was a loud groan. Another second-year Gryffindor girl, Romilda Vane, moved forward, her hands on her hips. She was a third generation legacy of Bia, minor goddess/personification of forcefulness.
"For the last time, Lovegood!" the curly-haired brunette snapped. "We're not calling ourselves that! It's absurd and has nothing to do with what we are!"
"I'll thank you to not use such a tone when talking to one of my friends," Heri said in response, her lips flattening into a straight line.
Ernie and Zacharias winced at her stringent tone. Heri was only ever this formally-worded when she was ready to smack a bitch.
"If you can't maintain a civil tongue while in a public forum, it's best to keep your ill-tempered mouth shut."
Heri stared the younger girl down until she bowed her head, cowed.
"Now." Heri crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Jokes aside, what's this about my father not being my real father? Not only is that insulting beyond words, it isn't true."
"Heri—" Ernie tried again.
"Ernie." Her tone was adamant. "The genealogy tapestry at my godfather's house declares me the flesh and blood child of both Lily and James Potter. No doubt you already know that if any sort of magic would be a fool-proof judge of familial relation, it would be Black family magic."
"Wha—?" Ernie gaped. "But . . . You're a demigoddess! There's no doubt about it!"
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