Well, this is the start of the story. Still not really happy with how it turned out. I'll probably return to change it in the future, but till then you'll just have to deal with it. I tried to bring a bit of Greek mythology into the Harry Potter universe. You'll find out that I'll do the same to some of the other cultures. Especially when it comes to spells. The Harry in my story is quite different from the one in canon, he likes to learn new things and has because of his childhood a bit of a different view on certain things. You'll see that when the other schools arrive. There probably won't be a lot of conversations till then. Like always, constructive feedback would be appreciated since this is my first ever fanfiction or story and English isn't my first language.
Disclaimer - J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, I am just using her world as a playground, since I have nothing better to do
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The temple of Hephaestus was a wonder of magic. Older than even Hogwarts. It's magic even more primal.
Said to have been visited by Hercules himself, it's not just a school but a testament to ancient powers. Back when Greece still was the centre of magic. Where new knowledge and innovations roamed the market streets and men wiser than the rest discussed their findings and understanding of magic. An age of knowledge.
The place where it all began. Many of the books one finds within the library of Hogwarts are written in ancient Greece, only waiting to be translated and used once more. Yet for all that Magical Britain boasts with its castle and the 'largest library' in the world, the temple of Hephaestus comes a close second.
Knowledge and books written by Archimedes, Euklid, and even Heron, the inventor of the first real ward. A ward still present at the gates of the temple, meant to hide two giant twin statues guarding a hidden door, tiny in comparison to its guardians. Statues said to have been built by Phidias of Athens, a magical and artistic wonder, they are. Flexing muscles seldom seen in modern men and sporting giant xiphos, ancient Greek swords, made out of obsidian black steel and told to be able to pierce even dragon scales, the hardest natural material in the known world. They don't need shields for they are the shields. Built out of white marble with not the slightest crack or scratch even millennia after being created. But perhaps the most fascinating thing about them are their eyes. Red ruby gems bigger than an adult's hand and with a shimmer to them, almost intelligent in its nature.
Said to see through anything, the twins of Hephaestus, known as the Dioscuri – Castor, whose mother was Leda and son to the king of Sparta Tyndareus and Pollux, the divine son of Zeus -, guard perhaps the oldest magical school after Uagadou, the sole school of Africa.
Even under my invisibility cloak, their eyes seemed to focus on me, testing and ready to strike at any moment. The air is palpable in tension and nerves for but a moment, and then…it stopped, and the gleaming eyes lost their shine and seemed to become normal gems again.
The school, quite different from Hogwarts actually hadn't had many wards or protections besides the Dioscuri. Sure, there were muggle-repellent, anti-apparation, and quite a few notice-me-not wards placed, with a few enchantments woven into the walls for better structural protection against nature and beasts alike. But that was it, after passing the twins he didn't come across anything else that could be labeled as being meant to protect. And why should there be, he still felt the fear in his bones, gleaming and judging eyes still etched to his memory and swords only waiting to strike.
They weren't just gargoyles or statues imbued with intelligence like the Sorting hat, no they were so much more. They were… whole? Like its creator had sacrificed not only blood, sweat, and tears to its creation but also his soul.
Theoretically, everything possessed a soul. It's why objects won't ever stay transfigured for long because their souls remember their true shape and yearn to turn back. But there's a difference between the souls of men and objects. Anything living really, had a different feeling to them. He still wasn't that good at sensing magic, so he couldn't truly describe what he felt, but he knew, just knew that they were as fundamentally different as night and day, sun and moon, and muggle and wizard.
Those statues though, they felt like wizards, almost. It was fascinating. He had read of course about creations like those.
An artist's greatest creation, statues, paintings, and weapons said to house the soul of the artist themselves and therefore their dreams, emotions, and thoughts, called labrys. Named after the Greek god of blacksmith and fire, Hephaestus's first weapon, the axe labrys.
They are the magic of Old. Not meant to be understood but appreciated. Works of wonder and beauty. His cloak was one, he could feel it. Just like the twin statues.
But alas, perhaps such thoughts are better meant for another time, for we arrived at the location which made me visit in the first place, the Hall of Muses. Perhaps the biggest public magical library besides the one in Hogwarts. Actually, only meant for students and teachers, but who could resist a place like that when in the country, right?
Sad, that the holidays are almost over, I just know that I could spend months and perhaps years in here, but home calls and mysteries await. Perhaps another time, till then I'll keep a few souvenirs, after all, Numbers of Divine and Incantation or Intent by Archimedes are just too tempting to leave behind.
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Ah, home sweet home. Muscles stretched after eight grueling hours spent in a train compartment with so many notice-me-not charms on it that even the trolley lady walked past without a single glance at it.
And so, a new year begins, and new adventures wait. It was raining, dark and the path to the carriages was covered in mud, but even that couldn't dampen the excitement I felt.
Like a person returning home after a week spent abroad. The house only waiting to be returned to once again. Hogwarts felt inviting and… was that yearning?
Emotions were hard to feel, especially ones coming off from places like Hogwarts so full of magic, but perhaps Hogwarts had missed its students as much as they missed it? A sweet thought, he mused.
After a short petting session with the Thestrals and the funny looks he received from the others in his carriage, he was in Hogwarts once again. Halls waiting to be roamed, rooms yearning to be stumbled upon and mysteries looking forward to being discovered. It truly was a magical castle and the one place he could always call home.
The opening feast was skipped once again, and his feet followed the long-memorized route to the kitchens with a few turns into a new hall or the opening of a worn wooden door along the way. After all, who knew what one could discover in a place like Hogwarts?
The castle though, seemed to just want him to go to the kitchens and didn't show him a new room or shortcut that would distract him from his journey. It seemed to know Nitwit's mood swings since as soon as he arrived the old house elf threw him a thick book in his hands and grumplingly told him to sod off and learn its contents before even thinking of returning again. He didn't want to imagine the kind of speech the grumpy house elve had prepared for him, were he not to immediately head to him after arriving. It seemed he owed the castle a favour.
Hmm, he did have the talking portrait of a rich hoplite, an ancient Greek warrior, which he found within a ruin hidden by surprisingly still strong standing notice-me-not wards. He had almost passed it without noticing it, but instincts drove him, and before he could think he stood in front of the only still standing room of the mansion, protected by enchantments which had long since faded away and two heavy wooden doors. Inside he found a treasure trove of old tomes and books looking to be a millennia old, at the very least. The portrait hadn't taken to him kindly. It ranted about thieves and how only his descendants were supposed to be allowed to enter. After he did explain to the portrait how times had changed and that his family was probably long gone, the portrait made him an offer.
It apparently wanted to no longer be alone and so he was allowed to keep the books if he took him somewhere where he could teach the young ones the art of battle, like his father before him.
And what better place than a school full of pompous little shits whom the warrior could hopefully reform and pass down a bit of discipline. Merlin knew Malfoy needed it. Sure, he needed to learn English, but that was easily solved by asking a few of the portraits he knew for a few favours in exchange for a few spicey details about some of his housemate's secrets. He was after all in the house of cunning and ambitious, where everyone tried to get one up on the other. They would surely understand, he had to make a sacrifice after all.
And Hogwarts loved the weird and quirky. It surely would warm up to the portrait in no time.
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Turns out the book Nitwit gave him was a recipe book on French and Bulgarian dishes. Seemed like his education would finally go past the traditional English dishes, which he apparently still hadn't mastered if the insults Nitwit gave him every time, he tasted them were an indication.
Better get some practice then. Wouldn't want to anger the old elf after all. Merlin knew the little gremlin had some nasty magic for those not 'worthy' of his time.
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Cooking had always been more than just an activity to me. It was art. The epitome of it to be exact. Not only beautiful to the eye but to the nose and tongue as well. Two senses more than any painting could give you.
In its worst moments, it could make you sick, and in its best, a memory to always remember.
Cooking dealt in the market of memories. It could bring nostalgia, by making a dish your parents would make, or happiness at the memories of a family happily eating and talking of things long lost to memory, except the food. It could also bring sadness, grief, and anger. Anything really.
Like music, it was a magic not many appreciated or truly understood. That didn't make it less though. A good cook could with but a single dish sculpt a memory into your mind that you would never forget.
Like music and painting, there were a lot of different styles to it. Right now, he was trying to make a dish the French were rather fond of. Bouillabaisse, a fish soup, is a classic among the haughty French. The trick was to take the green part of a leek and together with a multitude of spices wrap it up and set it aside to drink up the spices and different tastes.
When cooking certain dishes, one had to be focused. Too long on the fire and it would be burned, too short and it would be raw, you had to find the middle. Perhaps he could do too, if the old fossil behind him didn't distract him the whole time.
"My, I haven't smelled this particular dish in quite a long time. It brings back fond memories. Of days when age still hadn't taught me prudence and rashness and confidence blinded me. Days spent discovering the wonders of Alchemy and conversations with one of the wisest men I have the fortune of knowing."
"Hmm, food does that with you. But that's not really why you are here, right? Certainly not to just taste and talk about the past."
"Ah, you see right through this old man. Excuse me, but through the years I have learned to veil my intentions behind a multitude of words. Rhetoric, they say, is a politician's greatest weapon after all."
"With your many titles and positions, you certainly needed it. So why are you here then? The opening feast? You do know why I don't attend them."
"Yes, I fear that particular topic is a hopeless debate with you. But no, I did not come because of your attendance issues but rather the information you have missed by participating."
"Oh, and pray to tell what I missed?"
"I'm quite certain you would have heard about it soon anyways. But call it a headmaster's duty to inform his students about such events. This year our school will be the host of the newly reinstated Triwizard tournament. Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have agreed to participate and will send their delegation on the first of October, a month before the Choosing of the Champions, who will represent their schools within this tournament."
"The Triwizard tournament, huh? I read about it, wasn't it cancelled because of the high number of death tolls?"
"Indeed, it was, which is why we have made it safer than ever before."
"So, did you come here to gauge my reaction and see if I wanted to participate? Well, if so be assured that I won't be participating in this Panem et Circenes of yours. After all, there's still so much to learn and discover, why waste it pleasing the crowds, right?"
"Ah, forgive an old man for his manipulations. I simply needed to be sure. And worry not, I will personally make sure that only those of age will be allowed to participate."
"Reassuring."
"Well, while I would surely enjoy testing your always-improving cooking skills, I, like you have said have many positions that need to be taken care of."
And with that, the old fossil was gone, and any thoughts of tournaments were forgotten as the Bouillabaisse slowly simmered in the pot.
And so, the year had begun and already things were seeming interesting. Who knew, perhaps among the plots and schemes, his goals would be coming closer to achieving.