The remainder of the school year went by with ease. Harry and Daphne continued their lessons under Jophiel's guidance, honing their magical abilities and deepening their understanding of the subject. Meanwhile, Jophiel kept a vigilant eye on Quirrell, always on the lookout for any suspicious behaviour or movements.
As the end of the year drew near, Harry, Daphne, Susan, and Hannah gathered in the cozy Hufflepuff common room. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the group as they huddled around a large table. On its surface lay a tangle of textbooks and notes, evidence of their dedicated study for the upcoming exams. The faint scent of parchment and ink filled the air as they pored over their materials, determined to excel in their studies.
"Harry, a little help here, what is the final step when brewing a forgetfulness potion?" asked Daphne.
Harry glanced up from his notes, a faint smile playing on his lips as he saw Daphne's expectant expression. The Hufflepuff common room had become their sanctuary of knowledge, a place where they could study without the pressures of the outside world.
"The final step," Harry began, leaning closer to the table, "is to stir the potion counterclockwise seven times with a silver stirring rod. It helps to solidify the effects and ensures the potion is properly mixed."
Daphne nodded, scribbling down Harry's explanation in her notebook. "Got it. Thanks, Harry."
Susan Bones looked up from her own textbook, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Do you think we'll be ready for the exams? I mean, we've been studying so hard, but it still feels like there's so much to cover."
Hannah Abbott gave her a reassuring smile. "We've been doing great, Susan. We've got each other to lean on, and we've been learning a lot. We just have to keep pushing through."
"Harry, what is the incantation for the mending charm?" asked Susan.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before responding, "The incantation for the mending charm is 'Reparo.' You point your wand at the broken object and say the spell clearly. It should fix any minor damage instantly."
Susan nodded, making a note in her textbook. "Thanks, Harry. I feel like I can never remember that one."
"Harry, I need help, I got all the steps written down but I feel like I did something wrong when I was writing the steps for the hair-rising potion, can you help me?" asked Hannah.
Harry smiled at Hannah, reaching for her notes. He scanned through them, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see... for the hair-rising potion, you start with a base of flobberworm mucus, then add powdered bicorn horn. Did you get that part?"
Hannah nodded, her eyes focused intently on Harry's face.
"Okay," Harry continued, "after that, you need to add three drops of essence of murtlap. That's where it gets tricky because too much or too little can affect the potency."
Hannah's eyes widened, and she quickly jotted down the correction. "I see, I had five drops written down. Thanks, Harry."
(Line break)
The next day, Harry sat in Professor McGonagall's classroom, waiting to be called for his final exam. The Transfiguration classroom was filled with the nervous murmurs of students, each one fidgeting in their seats, reviewing notes, or staring off into space, trying to calm their nerves. The walls, adorned with diagrams and magical artifacts, seemed to loom closer as the moment of truth approached.
Harry glanced around, catching sight of Daphne, who gave him a small, reassuring smile from across the room. Susan and Hannah were whispering to each other, probably going over last-minute details. The sight of his friends, so dedicated and supportive, gave him a sense of calm amidst the brewing anxiety.
"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall's voice called, breaking through the hushed atmosphere.
Harry stood, smoothing down his robes, and made his way to the front of the class. He felt the weight of everyone's eyes on him but focused on the task at hand. Professor McGonagall, with her stern but fair expression, gestured for him to take his place at the desk.
"Today, Mr. Potter," she said, "you will be performing a series of transfigurations. We shall start with something simple and gradually increase the difficulty. Are you ready?"
Harry nodded, gripping his wand tightly. "Yes, Professor."
"Very well. Please begin by transforming this matchstick into a needle."
Harry took a deep breath, focusing on the matchstick in front of him. He remembered the technique they had practiced, the precise movements and incantation. With a flick of his wand, the matchstick shimmered and morphed into a slender, gleaming needle.
Professor McGonagall nodded in approval. "Excellent. Now, I would like you to transfigure this teapot into a tortoise."
This was a more complex task, but Harry felt confident. He waved his wand with a flourish, muttering the incantation under his breath. The teapot wobbled, its spout shrinking and its body reshaping until, with a pop, a tortoise sat on the desk, blinking up at them.
Professor McGonagall's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Well done, Mr. Potter. You have performed admirably. You may return to your seat."
Relieved, Harry nodded and made his way back to his seat, his friends beaming at him with pride. He felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. The hard work and countless hours of study had paid off.
(Line Brake)
The next final exam was Potions with Professor Tonks. The atmosphere in the dungeon classroom was markedly different from McGonagall's Transfiguration room. The dim light and the cool, damp air added a layer of intensity to the already nerve-wracking situation. The students gathered around their cauldrons, murmuring nervously to one another as they awaited their instructions.
Professor Tonks, with her usual cheerful demeanour, stood at the front of the class, her bright pink hair a stark contrast to the gloomy surroundings. She clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, everyone, settle down. For today's exam, you'll be brewing the Wiggenweld Potion. It's a calming potion, but don't let that fool you—it requires precision and patience. You'll find all the ingredients you need at your stations. Remember to follow the instructions carefully. You've got two hours. Begin!"
The students moved quickly to their stations, the sound of clinking vials and rustling pages filling the room. Harry exchanged a glance with Daphne, who gave him an encouraging nod before they both turned their focus to their cauldrons.
Harry took a deep breath and began, methodically adding the ingredients: a handful of salamander blood, a pinch of powdered moonstone, and a dash of syrup of hellebore. He stirred the mixture clockwise, keeping a careful eye on the colour and consistency. The potion started to turn a shimmering turquoise, just as the textbook described.
Daphne worked diligently beside him, her movements precise and confident. They had practiced this potion many times during their study sessions, and Harry could see that the practice was paying off. He added the final ingredient, a sprig of dittany, and watched as the potion turned a perfect shade of emerald green.
Professor Tonks wandered around the room, occasionally peeking into cauldrons and offering bits of advice. She paused by Harry's workstation, peering into his cauldron with a critical eye.
"Looking good, Harry," she said with a smile. "Just make sure to let it simmer for the full five minutes before bottling it."
Harry nodded, feeling a surge of confidence. He set a timer and continued to stir gently, ensuring the potion stayed at a steady simmer. Around him, the other students were at various stages of their brewing, some looking more confident than others.
As the timer beeped, Harry carefully ladled the potion into a vial, corked it, and labelled it with his name. He glanced over at Daphne, who was just finishing her own potion. She looked up and gave him a thumbs-up, and he couldn't help but grin.
"Time's up!" Professor Tonks called out. "Please bring your vials to the front and leave them on the desk, and don't forget to label your potions. Well done, everyone."
Harry and Daphne brought their vials forward, placing them carefully on the desk alongside the others. As they walked back to their seats, Harry felt a wave of relief. The Potions exam had gone well, and he felt a sense of accomplishment.
(Line break)
The next final exam was Charms, taught by Professor Flitwick. The atmosphere in the Charms classroom was a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows, casting cheerful patterns on the stone floor. The desks were arranged in neat rows, each one equipped with a single feather for the students to practice their spells on.
Professor Flitwick, standing on a stack of books to see over his desk, gave the class an encouraging smile. "Welcome to your Charms final, everyone! I will be calling each person individually and you will perform the following charms; Softening Charm, Unlocking Charm, Locking Spell, Mending Charm, Box Blasting Charm, Severing Charm, Knockback Jinx, and the Ice Jinx"
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as he waited for his name to be called. He glanced around the room, seeing his friends also preparing for the exam. Daphne was reviewing her notes one last time, Susan was practicing wand movements under her breath, and Hannah was whispering a few incantations to herself.
"Potter, Harry," Professor Flitwick called out, his voice carrying across the room.
Harry stood up and walked to the front of the class, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. Professor Flitwick gave him a reassuring nod. "Ready, Mr. Potter? Let's start with the Softening Charm. Please perform it on the feather in front of you."
Harry nodded, raising his wand. "Spongify," he said clearly, pointing his wand at the feather. The feather shimmered slightly before softening, its texture becoming more pliable and cushion-like.
"Excellent," Professor Flitwick said with a smile. "Now, the Unlocking Charm. Please unlock this chest."
Harry moved to the small chest on the table. "Alohomora," he intoned, and the chest's lock clicked open with a satisfying sound.
"Well done. Now, lock it again with the Locking Spell."
Harry pointed his wand at the chest. "Colloportus," he said, and the chest's lock sealed shut with a faint squelching noise.
"Very good, Mr. Potter. Next, the Mending Charm. Repair this broken vase, please."
Harry turned to the shattered vase on the table. "Reparo," he said, and the pieces of the vase flew together, mending seamlessly until it looked as good as new.
Professor Flitwick nodded in approval. "Now for the Box Blasting Charm. Aim it at this box."
Harry took a deep breath. "Bombarda," he said, and the box exploded into small pieces, scattering across the table.
"Excellent control. Next, the Severing Charm. Please cut this rope."
Harry pointed his wand at the thick rope. "Diffindo," he said, and the rope split cleanly in two.
"Very precise. Now, the Knockback Jinx. Use it on this dummy."
Harry turned to the dummy standing at the side of the room. "Flipendo," he said, and the dummy flew backward, hitting the wall with a thud.
"Finally, the Ice Jinx. Please freeze this bowl of water."
Harry focused on the bowl of water. "Glacius," he said, and the water quickly froze into a solid block of ice.
Professor Flitwick clapped his hands together, clearly impressed. "Excellent work, Mr. Potter. You may return to your seat."
Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as he walked back to his seat. His friends gave him encouraging smiles and thumbs-ups, and he felt a sense of accomplishment.
(Line Brake)
The week continued in a similar vein, with each final exam bringing a mix of nerves and triumphs. Finally, the last of Harry's exams loomed ahead: Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell.
The atmosphere in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was tense. The room was dimly lit, with shadows dancing across the stone walls. Students whispered among themselves, their voices hushed with apprehension. Professor Quirrell stood at the front, his turbaned head and trembling demeanour adding to the unease in the room.
Harry glanced at his friends, who all looked equally anxious. Daphne, Susan, and Hannah each gave him small nods of encouragement. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he waited for his name to be called.
"Potter, Harry," Professor Quirrell called out, his voice barely audible over the murmurs of the class.
Harry stood and made his way to the front, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on him. Professor Quirrell gave him a shaky smile and gestured towards a series of magical creatures and objects arranged on the tables.
"For your final exam, Mr. Potter," Quirrell began, "you will need to demonstrate your ability to handle the following spells; Knockback Jinx, Red Sparks, Verdimillious Charm, Verdimillious Duo Spell, Verdimillious Tria, Wand-Lighting Charm, Smokescreen Spell, Green Sparks, Curse of the Bogies. Are you ready Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded, gripping his wand tightly. "Yes, Professor."
"Very well," Quirrell said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Begin with the Knockback Jinx on this target."
Harry took a deep breath, aiming his wand at the wooden dummy set up on one of the tables. "Flipendo!" he said firmly. The dummy was propelled backward, hitting the wall with a satisfying thud.
"Good," Quirrell said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Now, create some Red Sparks."
Harry focused, picturing the vibrant red sparks in his mind. "Vermillious," he intoned, and a shower of red sparks erupted from his wand, lighting up the dim room for a moment.
"Very good, Mr. Potter," Quirrell said, though his voice remained devoid of enthusiasm. "Next, the Verdimillious Charm, followed by Verdimillious Duo and Verdimillious Tria."
Harry nodded, concentrating hard. He cast the spells in succession, each one producing a stronger burst of green light than the last. By the time he reached Verdimillious Tria, the room was filled with a dazzling display of green sparks that lingered in the air.
"Well done," Quirrell said, his expression unreadable. "Now, the Wand-Lighting Charm."
Harry pointed his wand upwards. "Lumos," he said, and the tip of his wand lit up with a bright, steady light.
"Excellent," Quirrell muttered. "Now, create a smokescreen."
Harry hesitated for a moment, then raised his wand again. "Fumos," he cast, and thick, swirling smoke began to fill the air around him, obscuring everything in a dense cloud.
"Clear it with the Green Sparks," Quirrell instructed.
"Periculum," Harry said, sending a burst of green sparks into the air, cutting through the smoke and dissipating it.
"Finally, the Curse of the Bogies," Quirrell said, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "On that dummy, if you please."
Harry took a deep breath, focusing on the dummy. "Mucus ad Nauseam," he incanted, and the dummy began to twitch as if it were afflicted with a severe cold, its head bobbing and green goo running from its nose.
Quirrell's eyes flickered with an odd intensity. "Well done, Mr. Potter. You may return to your seat."
Harry returned to his seat, feeling a mix of relief and triumph. His friends smiled at him, their support a comforting presence in the tense classroom.
(Line break)
Once class was over, Harry took a little longer than usual to pack up his belongings in his book bag. By the time he was ready to leave, the classroom was already empty. He got up and walked out without noticing Quirrell behind him with his wand raised.
"Stupefy," muttered Quirrell and the next thing Harry knew, everything went black.
As Harry's consciousness slowly returned, he became aware of his surroundings. His eyes flew open to find himself tightly bound in a small, dimly lit room. Panic coursed through him as he frantically surveyed his confines and struggled against his restraints.
Desperate for help, Harry closed his eyes and focused on opening his mental connection with his mother, the powerful goddess of the hunt, and his guardian angel Jophiel. "Jophiel, Mum, please help me. I've been kidnapped and I'm trapped in this dark room with a strange mirror," he implored in his mind.
With a creak, the door slowly opened and Professor Quirrell strode into the room. The dim light from his wand revealed his twisted, grinning face to Harry, who struggled against the chains binding him to the chair.
"You!" gasped Harry, fear and hatred coursing through him.
Quirrell's smile widened, but there was no trace of a twitch in his face. "Yes, it is I," he said calmly. "I needed you, and I have been waiting for this opportunity. Master commanded it, after all." He leaned in closer to Harry, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Who would suspect poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell?"
Harry's grip on the chains tightened as rage and disgust bubbled up inside him. "I knew your stutter was fake," he growled through gritted teeth. "I take it was you who tried to kill me. It was you who poisoned my food, and it was you who jinxed my broom. I would not be surprised if it was you who let the troll in."
Quirrell's eyes gleamed with malevolent delight. "Indeed, Potter. You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for. But now, it is too late. Master will reward me greatly for this."
Harry struggled against the chains, his mind racing to find a way out. He could feel the faint connection with Jophiel and his mother, but it was weak as if something was interfering with it.
Quirrell's gaze shifted to the strange mirror in the room, and his expression grew almost reverent. "The Mirror of Erised," he murmured. "I found it hidden in this very castle. It shows the deepest desires of one's heart."
Harry's eyes followed Quirrell's to the mirror, which reflected not only himself but also Quirrell standing beside him. Quirrell seemed to be entranced by the image, his eyes fixed on something only he could see.
"Master desires the Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell continued his voice barely above a whisper. "And it is hidden within this mirror. I have tried many times to retrieve it, but it eludes me."
Harry's mind raced. He needed to buy time and figure out a way to escape or to contact his mother and Jophiel.
"What do you see in the mirror, Quirrell?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Quirrell's eyes flickered with something like madness. "I see myself with the Stone, immortal and powerful, standing beside my Master, who is restored to his full strength."
Harry swallowed hard. He needed to think quickly. "You know the mirror can show many things, but it won't give you the Stone. It reflects desires, not reality."
Quirrell's face twisted with frustration. "You think you can outsmart me, Potter? Do not underestimate the power of my Master." He raised his wand, and Harry braced himself for the worst.
Before Quirrell could cast a spell, a brilliant light filled the room. Harry's heart leaped as he recognized the presence of Jophiel, her presence filling the room with an overwhelming sense of peace and strength.
Jophiel stood tall and imposing in her full suit of gleaming armour, her shield raised protectively in front of Harry. In her other hand, she held a shimmering seraph blade, ready to strike at any moment. "Release the boy now, or face the consequences of your actions," she commanded sternly.
A deep, otherworldly voice filled the air, causing Harry to shudder. "Let me speak to them," it demanded.
"Master, you are not strong enough," Quirrell replied fearfully.
"I have strength enough for this," retorted the inhuman voice.
As Quirrell turned away from the mirror and began unwrapping his turban, Harry's heart raced with fear and confusion. Should he try to escape? But before he could make a decision, his attention was drawn back to Quirrell as he revealed a terrifying chalk-white face underneath the wrappings. It was Voldemort himself. As he slowly opened his eyes, they glinted with malice and recognition.
"Harry Potter, we meet again," sneered Voldemort.
"Voldemort," spat Harry.
With a smirk on her face, Jophiel spoke up. "So Quirrell, your master is a dead man who has earned the ire of Lord Hades." Her tone dripped with disdain as she stared down their enemy.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, a mixture of fury and fear flickering across his ghastly face. "Hades will have no power over me once I regain my full strength," he hissed.
Jophiel's serene smile did not waver. "You underestimate the divine. You are but a shadow of your former self, clinging to life through dark magic. Hades knows of your transgressions, and your time is limited."
Quirrell's hand trembled as he tried to steady his wand, clearly unnerved by Jophiel's presence. "What do you want?" he demanded, his voice cracking with fear.
"I want you to release Harry and surrender peacefully," Jophiel said firmly, her blade gleaming in the dim light. "But I doubt you will choose the path of wisdom."
Harry's mind raced. He could feel the connection with his mother strengthening now that Jophiel was here. "Jophiel, can you reach my mother?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and desperation.
Jophiel nodded, her eyes never leaving Quirrell and Voldemort. "I am already reaching out to her, Harry. Stay strong."
Voldemort's face contorted with rage. "Enough of this!" he snarled. "Quirrell, kill the boy!"
Quirrell raised his wand, but before he could cast a spell, Jophiel moved with lightning speed. Her blade slashed through the air, sending a wave of divine energy that knocked Quirrell back, his wand flying backward with his hand still attached.
"Your fight is with me, not with Harry," Jophiel said, her voice resonating with celestial power.
Voldemort's eyes burned with fury as he stared at Jophiel. "You dare challenge me?" he hissed, his voice echoing with malevolence.
Jophiel stood firm, her armour gleaming with an ethereal light. "You are a mere shadow, Voldemort. Your dark magic is no match for the power of the divine."
Quirrell, struggling to regain his balance, looked at Voldemort for guidance. "Master, what do we do?"
Voldemort's face twisted with hatred. "We fight. We will not be defeated by a mere angel."
With a swift and precise movement, Jophiel turned around and plunged her gleaming sword into Quirrell's chest. The sound of metal piercing flesh echoed through the room before she swiftly withdrew the blade, leaving behind a lifeless body on the ground. The spirit of Voldemort, trapped within Quirrell, saw no other option but to flee. With a final haunting laugh, he phased through Harry's unconscious body, knocking him to the ground.
Jophiel wasted no time and ran to Harry's side, placing a gentle hand on his forehead. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin and knew he needed immediate help. With skilled fingers, she traced an angelic rune onto the chain that bound him, causing it to unlock with a soft click. She then carefully lifted the limp boy into her arms, cradling him as if he were made of glass.
"Take him to Madam Pomfrey, you can reveal who you are to him but not me," said Artemis telepathically to Jophiel.
Jophiel nodded, her serene expression masking the urgency she felt. She knew that time was of the essence. With Harry secure in her arms, she vanished from the dim, oppressive room in a flash of divine light, reappearing in the quiet, sterile surroundings of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.
(Line break)
Madam Pomfrey, who had been bustling around the infirmary, nearly dropped her tray of potions when Jophiel materialized before her. Recovering quickly, she rushed to Jophiel's side.
"What happened to him?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her voice a mix of concern and professional calm.
"He was kidnapped and attacked by Professor Quirrell, who was possessed by a wrath," Jophiel explained, gently laying Harry on one of the beds. "He's unconscious and feverish. I suspect dark magic is at play."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened at the mention of the wraith, but she immediately set to work, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she examined Harry.
Jophiel stepped back, her presence still radiating calm and strength. "I'll stay with him until he wakes," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
Madam Pomfrey nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of Jophiel's words. "Very well. I'll prepare some restorative potions and keep an eye on his condition. Thank you... who are you, if I may ask?"
Jophiel gave a small, enigmatic smile. "Get Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Pomona Sprout here so I can only have to explain this once."
Madam Pomfrey bustled out of the hospital wing to fetch the requested professors, leaving Jophiel alone with Harry. She watched over him, her celestial presence filling the room with a soothing light.
Minutes later, the doors to the hospital wing swung open, and Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Sprout entered, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with their usual depth of understanding, while McGonagall's stern face softened slightly at the sight of the unconscious Harry. Sprout, looking worried, wrung her hands together.
"Thank you for coming," Jophiel said, her voice serene and authoritative. "I am Jophiel, I am an Archangel, I will only explain this once, long ago someone invoked a piece of protection, and this bound me to Harry in order to protect him. I was sent by a Deity to train, teach, guide, protect, and help Harry whenever he needed it. I am one of several beings who has a vested interest in Harry's wellbeing."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a deeper understanding as he stepped forward. "An Archangel," he said softly, his tone respectful. "I had suspected there was something extraordinary about Harry's protection, but this is beyond even my expectations."
McGonagall's stern expression softened further, and she nodded. "Thank you for your timely intervention, Jophiel. Harry's safety is of utmost importance to us all."
Sprout looked between Jophiel and the unconscious Harry, her worry giving way to a tentative smile. "He's lucky to have you watching over him."
Jophiel inclined her head. "Thank you. I will remain with Harry until he wakes. But first, let me tell you what happened, I had my suspicions about Quirrell for a while now, first someone poisoned his food, then someone let a troll in, then I found a dark artifact that lord Hades wanted for a very long time. then his broom went crazy. Today after Harry's final exam with Quirrell he stunned him and brought Harry to a room with a mirror that I have destroyed."
Jophiel's words hung in the air, casting a solemn silence over the room. The professors exchanged concerned glances, their worry for Harry deepening with each revelation. "After that, I confronted Quirrell and killed him, you will find his body on the ground where those traps were, he will have a missing head and a hole in his chest from where my sword plunged into his body. He was possessed by a wraith, and well when you do piss off several gods you do not tend to live for very long"
Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Sprout exchanged grave looks at Jophiel's revelation.
"Thank you for your intervention, Jophiel," Dumbledore said, his voice filled with gratitude and concern. "We will take care of Quirrell's remains and investigate further. Your presence here has undoubtedly saved Harry's life."
McGonagall nodded, her stern demeanour softening further. "We are indebted to you. Harry has faced so much danger already, and it is a relief to know he has such powerful protectors."
Sprout's eyes were filled with worry, but she managed a small, grateful smile. "We'll ensure Harry receives the best care. Please, keep us informed of anything else you discover."
Jophiel inclined her head. "I will. I will remain by Harry's side until he awakens. Thank you for your understanding."
The professors nodded and quietly left the hospital wing, leaving Jophiel alone with Harry once more. She took her place by his bedside, her serene presence a beacon of light and comfort in the dimly lit room.
As the hours passed, Harry's fever began to subside under Madam Pomfrey's care. Jophiel's soothing presence seemed to aid in his recovery, her divine energy radiating warmth and healing.
Eventually, Harry stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked, disoriented until his gaze focused on Jophiel's serene face.
"Jophiel?" he croaked, his voice weak.
Jophiel smiled gently, her hand resting lightly on his forehead. "Yes, Harry. You're safe now. Rest and recover. Everything will be explained when you're stronger."
Harry nodded weakly, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. He closed his eyes, the comforting presence of Jophiel lulling him back into a restful sleep.
(Line Break)
A/N: This concludes the second arc, The next arc will be a short arc that will include some Hera and Harry Bonding, Jocelyn and Clary Fairchild will make an introduction. And more.
For the last poll Asteria won so when Harry is in his female form he will be called Asteria thank you to everyone who commented.
As for reviews, please review. I read and try to reply to every review.
As I said last week this fic will go on a month-long hiatus as I write the third arc. If you have Ideas for the third arc please put it in the comments. Thank you.