Harry learned that the red-haired man was named Arnie.
He had eagerly led him to his cramped apartment, on the corner of whatever London suburb Harry had accidentally landed himself in. Bumbling apologies all the way—from his previous mishap with Harry to the utter disarray of his home, which didn't quite look like a home at the moment but a wreckage passed by a tornado—Arnie and Gracie beamed with welcoming smiles.
Harry stepped on a lego, cursing under his breath and grasping at his foot. Gracie, who Harry was quickly learning was a little twerp of a child, shrieked maniacally at his pain, spritzing her Brown Cow Cho-Co Milk across the room—a room Harry couldn't have guessed was the kitchen if it wasn't for the stove hiding in the corner, under a mountain of Amazon and TruckMovers boxes.
Arnie ordered pizza by computer, claiming that the use of cellular devices was one of the big no-no's in the unwritten demigod handbook. Something about signals attracting monsters. What kind of monsters? Harry had no clue. But it did remind Harry of the fact that wizards themselves couldn't use electronic devices, because magic and "eckeltricity," as Arthur Weasley liked to put it, didn't mix.
Maybe this world wasn't so different after all.
Arnie had insisted that they wait for the food to be delivered before delving into the "big stuff," as he had called it. Harry didn't know what to do.
It wasn't as if there was a big variety of options given to alleviate Harry's impending boredom, and thoughts that he did not want to dwell on yet. Harry couldn't even stretch his legs fully, lest he knock down the carefully balanced box mountains.
"Sorry about the mess," Arnie apologized for the millionth time, pulling up a chair next to Harry's. "We just moved in."
"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "I sort-of intruded."
"And I sort-of choked you," Arnie shot back in return, scratching his head. "This is the least I can do."
Harry grunted in reply. He was The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Beat-Voldemort, and he was manhandled like some kind of common criminal. He was even more sore that he let it happen in the first place.
When the pizza finally came, Harry had stepped on his fourth lego. He was beginning to suspect that the devil by the name of Gracie was secretly levitating them under his feet wherever he walked.
While they ate, Arnie tried to clarify whatever Harry didn't know. And Harry didn't know a lot.
So Arnie had to explain everything. Not that he seemed to mind.
He talked about Greek gods, Camp Half-Blood, and demigods. Arnie tried to name all the gods that Harry shouldn't anger (and, Harry noticed, seemed to list every single god in existence), what activities they did in camp (archery, sword fighting, Capture the Flag, and scaling a climbing wall that spilled...lava?), and a strange phenomenon called the Mist. Arnie had apparently decided himself that Harry would go to Camp Half-Blood, nodding into his pizza like there was no possible reason Harry would not go to such an amazing place that spilled scorching lava on its own campers.
"Our camp director is Dionysus, the wine god. But he doesn't really direct the camp, per se…" Arnie grumbled, "More like directs himself getting drunk on Diet Coke…" He then hurriedly looked up at the ceiling, as if he was afraid that he would be blasted out of his seat.
Harry stared at him. They had a Greek god as a bloody camp director.
Harry still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the existence of gods. He could understand why people would believe in God, capital G, because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would sometimes forced him into Dudley's old Sunday attire to attend church, lest the neighbors pin him with the label "un-Christian" and them by association.
But that was a common belief. Greek mythology was not. It was just that—mythology.
"...and he made Zeus swear on the River Styx! Now the gods have to claim their children!" Arnie chuckled into his sixth pizza. Gracie giggled with him, face scrunched up behind her own slice. "So anyway, that was the Second Titan War. That reminds me—do you know who your godly parent is?"
Harry paused, then he shook his head. He didn't have a godly parent. His parents were wizards, James and Lily Potter. "No," Harry still said, "I don't know who my godly parent is."
"Oh… That's strange. You'd think that after what Percy did, they'd…" Arnie tapped his chin, leaving shiny grease stains on his skin. He wiped it with the sleeve of his shirt. Harry remembered the moments when Draco pitched a fit about 'pureblood etiquette' when he had caught Harry doing the same.
"Have you had any signs?" Arnie asked.
"Er—what?"
"Demigods typically have special traits passed down from their godly parent. Like Apollo's kids are wicked at archery and poetry. Athena's children are smart—and blonde, if you count that as a skill… Gracie and I are descendents of Hecate ourselves, the goddess of magic. Gracie is more of a second generation descendent, so Hecate is her grandmama." He swooped in to poke the devil child's nose. "Isn't that right, Gracie?" he cooed.
"Yep!" she cried out cheerfully, fiddling with a blue lego. There was tomato sauce in the ridges. "Grandmama Hecate!"
Harry shuddered when she pointedly smiled at him, proudly showcasing her lego piece curled between her fingers, just like she showcased the empty hole in her front teeth.
Harry wretched his attention away. "Magic?" he managed to voice.
"Yeah!" Arnie beamed. "Children of Hecate can do wicked, wicked things. Like controlling the Mist and turning people into animals—"
Harry leaned in. He didn't know that demigods had abilities resembling a wizard's, besides Gracie's whole levitating-thing. "You can turn people into animals?"
"Well, I can't," Arnie said, ducking his head. "It takes centuries to be able to do that. Though I can use pig bombs." Harry didn't ask what pig bombs were. "Circe, one of the most powerful children of Hecate, can do it. She's a sorceress…"
Harry leaned back. So abilities here were different after all.
Arnie continued. "Percy told us about her—apparently she tried, well, did actually turn him into a guinea pig—or was it a hamster? Oh, oh! Speaking of talents, Percy Jackson can control water, 'cause he's the son of Poseidon. It's really, really cool to see him bring up huge waves and twirl it behind him like it's nothing—I saw him do it during a game of Capture the Flag. Real cool powers. Real cool guy too."
Percy Jackson. That name was coming up often. Son of Poseidon, was it? Apparently a big deal, since the Poseidon was one of the three major gods.
Harry rubbed his eyes. What a long day. Gods. He was thinking about gods so casually like he had already accepted it as a fact. Merlin, he was tired.
Arnie bumbled, "Gods, sorry! It's getting late and I'm babbling on and on." Arnie glanced at Harry and coughed into his hand. "I-I think I know who your godly parent is."
Harry blinked. "I really doubt it."
"No, no! I really think I do. Back there, at the park? That feeling, when you told me that you were a demigod too? I didn't believe you and I was about slice you in half—" Harry sputtered. "—but I stopped because there was that…" Arnie scratched his head. "...that feeling." He cleared his throat. "Charmspeak."
"Uh…"
"Of course, you don't know what charmspeak is," Arnie hurriedly said. "It's like a thing when someone talks and you feel a need to comply. There's a girl—Drew Tanaka, I think?—who can do the same back at camp, though her's isn't quite as strong as yours..."
Harry leaned back on his folded hands, remembering what exactly the redhead was talking about. Arnie had felt the Compulsive Charm. And he thought that it was some ability called charmspeak.
"Ah...that wasn't the only clue…" Arnie trailed off.
"What other clue? And what god does charmspeak point to?"
Arnie paused. "You know what? Nevermind," Arnie said. "Forget I said anything."
"C'mon," Harry chortled, albeit sincerely curious on who Arnie's positively wrong guess was, "I want to know who my godly parent is."
"Nevermind it! Um, I'm going to go IM Chiron and tell him that I found a demigod in Britain. You have to meet him, he's amazing. He'll teach you how to defend yourself. By the way, you're amazing, y'know?" The redhead barked a laugh, massaging his left muscular shoulder with his right hand. "Demigods usually don't last this long by themselves, even if there are fewer monsters here. Ah, anyway, how old are you, Harry?"
"I'm eighteen."
"Eighteen! Do you live with your dad? Or Mom?"
Harry rubbed his chin. What was the appropriate response? "Never knew them. I used to live with my uncle and aunt, now I live alone."
Arnie looked like he was conflicted between asking more questions and giving Harry space. Merlin, was the redhead an open book. He settled for: "That's okay. I guess we'll find out soon enough who your godly parent is, right?" Then he backed away awkwardly into another room, blabbing something about Chiron and rainbows and drachmas.
Harry just sat there, next to a partially opened Amazon box with a Poseidon action figure, while Arnie undoubtedly floundered somewhere down the hallway.
When Arnie didn't come back after two minutes, the child she-devil spoke up from behind her soggy pizza, "Daddy's weird today."
"Got that," Harry muttered, silently pleading to whatever god listening that that would be the end of the conversation.
"You're making Daddy weird."
"Okay."
Her cheek grew puffy and ruddy from his lack of response. "You can do charm'eak?"
"That's what your dad said," Harry said slowly, staring at his folded hands, avoiding her intense gaze.
The child was apparently unused to not being the center of attention. She threw her pizza on the floor. "Stupid Aphrodite! All Aphrodite children dumb! Dumb, dumb, dumb!"
Harry jumped in his chair when he heard a deafening clap of thunder, a strangled yelp stuck in his throat. He frantically scrambled next to the window and peered out. The sky was a crystal blue and clear of clouds. Didn't Arnie say something about not insulting the gods if he didn't want to be burnt to a crisp?
"Dumb Harry! Dumb, dumb, dumb Aphrodite!"
Harry cursed a word that made Gracie shriek in response. "Please don't, Gracie," Harry pleaded.
The devil child apparently took a particular delight in Harry's reaction. "Dumb Harry! Your charm'eak doesn't work on me!"
"I'm not using bloody charmspeak," Harry whimpered, feeling the hair on his arms rise. Merlin's beard, he could feel an ominous, heavy atmosphere swirling around his very core.
The sky thundered again. Harry's nostrils flared. Was that...ozone he smelled? Merlin, it was a sunny day out and the sky was rumbling and growling as if it had an empty stomach.
If he didn't believe in gods before, he sure as hell did now.
Gracie clapped in amusement, giggling at her newfound attention. She shrieked, "Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb Aphrodite!"
Harry gritted his teeth, arms tense as he debated whether he should whip out his wand and Stupefy the devil-girl right then and there. Somehow he doubted that Arnie, who Harry had taken a particular fondness of, would be happy to find his daughter knocked unconscious. But if he didn't shut her up in the next three seconds, the man's house would probably be struck by lightning and burned down—and the occupants of said house would burn along with it. Harry could already see it on the telly: "Freak accident of lightning causes three deaths. Bodies found charred, unrecognizable, and gross."
Palming his wand, Harry breathed the Compulsive Charm under his breath. Gracie abruptly stopped her chant, eyes glazed over.
"Stop," Harry said, eyes narrowed. He had to wrestle down a smirk when she stared at him with avid focus. "Stop saying that."
"Okay," she breathed adoringly, eyes wide.
Harry couldn't stop the vindictive smugness blossoming in his chest. Little prat had it coming. "Be nice to me. No more legos under my feet."
She nodded briskly.
"And apologize to, er, Afrodee-tee?" he stuttered. He wasn't terribly knowledgeable in Greek mythology. He had no idea who the god Afrodee-tee was. Hogwarts didn't teach him such things. And he left muggle school before that sort-of curriculum was introduced.
"M'sorry, Miss Aphrodite," Gracie echoed. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
Miss Aphrodite. So Aphrodite was a goddess, not a god.
The angry, rolling thundering didn't stop, but it did soften.
Harry sighed in relief, collapsing back on the kitchen chair. Merlin, potential death-by-lightning-and-fire averted.
"I IM'd Chiron."
"That's good." Though how the man instant messaged anyone, Harry didn't know. The computer was directly in Harry's line of sight, and the only time he had seen Arnie use the device was for ordering pizza.
"Wait, wait," Arnie muttered, slapping his forehead. "I forgot—didn't you say that you could do magic? Back at the park? Did you have signs? I don't think you've mentioned yet."
"I guess so."
"What kinda signs?"
Harry didn't know what to say. It seemed as if every demigod had different abilities according to their godly parent. And Harry didn't have a godly parent. He was a mortal, a wizard. "Oh...just the general sense of the word. Like…" Harry was at a loss of words.
"Like charmspeak?" Arnie supplied helpfully.
"Yes!" Harry exclaimed, perhaps a little too excitedly. "Like charmspeak. I didn't really know what it was that made people do whatever I told them to do. I knew it wasn't normal. I just called it magic."
Arnie nodded understandingly. "So you saw Gracie's levitation and connected it to your...speaking abilities?"
Harry nodded, swallowing inconspicuously.
Please buy it. Please buy it. Please buy—
"That's amazing!" Arnie concluded excitedly. Harry resisted the urge to sigh. Arnie wasn't the smartest tool in the shed—but it served Harry's intentions well, so he couldn't complain. "You must be really smart."
Harry just nodded. He wasn't really. Hermione...she was the smart one.
"Ah!" Arnie exclaimed eagerly, eyes lifting from his watch to Harry's face. "Your ride'll be here soon."
He stood up abruptly, lugging Harry with him by the arm. Holding onto Harry's wrist, Arnie kicked away the boxes in his way and walked briskly toward the door.
"Gracie, honey, stay here for your dad, will you?"
"Yessir!" She saluted comically.
"Wait! What ride—?" Harry's wrist was tugged by Arnie's insistent hand.
"C'mon!"
They burst out the apartment door. Harry's arm was practically wrenched out of its socket when Arnie rushed enthusiastically down the stairs, passing the community pool, and down another set of stairs leading to an underground parking lot.
Finally, they came to a stop. They were in a dark and musty parking lot, sparse of any cars except the few in the corner.
There was bright sunlight streaming from the wide entrance, where Harry assumed cars entered and exited the lot. It was gently sloped, leading from the ground-level streets to the underground lot.
"It's empty most of the day," Arnie bestowed unhelpfully.
"What—? What are we—?"
A loud crash interrupted Harry's queries. And loud neighs. Of horses.
Horses in bloody urban London.
There was vehement bickering sounding from the same direction.
"You can't drive a chariot if your useless life depended on it!"
"Shut up! At least I have a life!"
The faint squabble grew louder and closer, along with a grating noise of wood on cement and multiple horses' trotting and clip clops.
The entrance's streaming sunlight was briefly obscured when a large form slid into the lot.
Harry saw horses with wings. And a white, aging chariot that looked like it belonged several hundred years in the past.
One pegasus huffed.
Harry blinked, heart palpitating like he was a middle-aged man with cholesterol problems. His mouth was dry.
Sure, he had seen magical creatures way, way weirder than a pegasus. Like bloody dragons, giant spiders and its little spider children, and merpeople with razor-sharp teeth that did not resemble the Little Mermaid at all.
But he hadn't seen something so obviously and blatantly magical and not muggle in two months.
Harry croaked, "What...what is this?"
Arnie clapped him on his back, grinning widely and white teeth gleaming like a thousand suns. He flourished with a sweeping gesture to one of the majestic, silvery beast with all the pride the world had to offer. "Your ride!"
Arnie never mentioned anything about a ride. Or horses with wings and an ancient chariot being that "ride" for that matter. "Arnie, I'm bloody confused right now. Ride to where, exactly?"
Arnie tilted his head, looking at Harry curiously. "Ride to Camp Half-Blood, of course! You have to learn all the demigod shebang and how to defend yourself. What do you think I Iris messaged Chiron for?"