Chapter 3 — The Thread of Every Choice

~ The grass led me to the sea. Waves murmured against the shore, their rhythm a song older than memory. A woman stood there, her hair catching the sunlight like threads of spun gold. She turned, and her eyes found mine—ancient and kind, fierce and soft, as if the world itself had wrapped me in its gaze. ~

Coldness crawled across Harry's skin, tugging him from sleep like an unwelcome ghost.

He blinked at the dim light seeping in through the dormitory curtains, shivering as the cool air clung to his face and neck. This wasn't the comfortable chill of Aeaea's sea breeze, the kind that smelled of salt and the laughter of nymphs—this pressed against his skin like the edge of a blade, as if it were Kronos' scythe biting into his neck. The brittle air shattered around him as his lungs dragged it in, the cold working its way into his ribs like time grinding stone to dust.

Harry got up and threw on his robes, their fabric smelling of the herbs mom had sewn into the lining, and snuck out. No reason to wake up his fourroommates—and wasn't that a shock, he had to share a room with four other guys—just because he was an early riser.

Few students roamed about the Great Hall when Harry got there, most of them from Ravenclaw.

The enchanted ceiling soared above, its magic weaving a tapestry of the clear morning sky, sunlight spilling down in golden rivers that danced along the polished wood below. Platters and goblets sat untouched, their surfaces catching the light and gleaming like scattered treasure hoards waiting to be claimed. The scent of beeswax and lingering hearth smoke mingled faintly with the promise of breakfast—fresh bread, roasted sausages, and the sharp tang of pumpkin juice. The banners of the four houses hung high, their colors rich and defiant against the ancient stone walls.

Harry plopped down at the end of the Gryffindor table, from where he could see the whole Hall.

The place buzzed with a magic different from Aeaea's wild, living energy. This magic felt structured, bound by walls and rules, its edges carefully filed down. Back on Aeaea, the air thrummed with life, every leaf and breeze singing with untamed power. Here, the magic coiled and quivered like a caged animal eyeing its keeper. Would he ever feel at home in a place so contained? Could he thrive here after growing up under the sun of Olympus?

The clatter of footsteps pulled him out of his musings, echoing like a flint striking stone.

The lightness and eagerness of the footsteps reminded him of mom's garden fox, its red form darting between shadows with wide eyes and a tail that refused to still. The image slipped into reality as a shock of red hair bobbed into view—a lanky boy, his face freckled, with a hesitant yet eager grin.

"Harry Potter!" The sat down next to Harry with an energy that made him wince. "I can't believe I get to eat breakfast with the Harry Potter! You don't mind, do you?"

"Uh… sure…" Harry blinked. "Sorry, who are you?"

The better question was 'how come you're already here even though you were supposedly asleep when I was leaving the dorm room', but Harry was too tired to bother with that particular can of worms right now.

"Oh! Right." The boy flushed slightly, offering a sheepish smile. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. First year, Gryffindor, just like you. My brothers are too actually. Fred and George, they're twins, and Percy, he's kind of boring."

"Right…" Harry tried to summon a smile that didn't look forced.

He wasn't sure whether he'd succeeded, but, even if he hadn't, Ron didn't seem to notice. Instead, his chatter turned into a stream of words—talking about Quidditch, talking about Hogwarts, talking about his brothers, his family, what Harry might think of magic. The words poured on like waves during a storm, battering and relentless, and the beginnings of a headache were already creeping up on Harry.

"You know…" Ron scratched his nose. "I think you might be the biggest student to come to Hogwarts since Dumbledore. Well, Dumbledore wasn't big until he left Hogwarts, but I still think it counts. Do you?"

"I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore is a fantastic wizard…" Harry couldn't help the frown that twitched across his face. "… but I can't speak about myself. I've never encountered this kind of magic before."

Ron nodded at that with the seriousness of someone who had just heard a great truth. What that truth was, Harry had no idea and didn't care that much to find out. Still, he kept his polite smile on as Ron talked about his family, his little sister and her obsession with Harry—which was another thing Harry chose to simply ignore at the moment—and all about the Chudley Cannons. Harry was fairly sure there were a few jokes about Percy's newest badge obsession thrown in there somewhere.

Harry's eyes, though, shifted to the head table.

Professor McGonagall was being all stiff and formal as she exchanged small nods with Athena. Snape looked almost predatory, his dark eyes flicking to Hades, jaw clenched like a man who found himself staring into a familiar abyss. The short professor from yesterday—who Harry had since learned was called Professor Flitwick—was happily chatting with Hermes about something. Knowing Hermes—and why was he even there—it was definitely something inane.

Then there was the man wearing the turban

His robes looked disheveled, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. The shadows near him lay sharper, darker, like ink spilled in water. His eyes darted like those of a trapped bird, quick and desperate, but never landing anywhere for long. Each time his eyes went over Harry, a chill bit into Harry's bones. It rained over him like stepping into darkness after basking in the warmth of the sun.

Oh, there was something seriously wrong with that man.

"Harry? You okay, mate?" Ron frowned. "You look like you've seen an inferius."

"Who's that man with the turban?"

Ron turned, peering over at the man. "Oh, that's professor Quirrell. Something bothering you about him?"

"What do you know about him?"

"Percy told me about him… I think…" Ron's brow furrowed, as if he was trying to remember some detail lost in the haze of family gossip. "Said he used to teach Muggle Studies before he went travelling. Came across a vampire or something."

"Used to teach?"

"Yeah, Percy said he just came to class one day last year and said he was going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. No one knows why Dumbledore went with it, it was totally random."

Harry's eyes narrowed, still tracking the professor's awkward movements.

Harry listened, his eyes narrowing slightly, still tracking the professor's awkward movements. The coldness from the dorm room still clung to Harry, biting into him every time Quirrell glanced in his direction. It was more than that, though. Something about Quirrell's mannerisms nagged at the edges of Harry's thoughts—small things, like the way his fingers twitched against his robes and the rhythm of his breathing. It was as if he were taking in two breaths instead of one. He was muttering something Harry couldn't hear, his lips making shapes of words jagged and foreign, like a language made of broken hourglass. A faint prickling sensation crept along Harry's skin, an itch without source.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it wasn't.

"So, you're ready for class then?" Ron spoke with a mouthful of food—when had the food appeared anyway—and looked at Harry. "I heard we might have flying lessons this week! Bet you'll be good at it. You've got that… er… natural flyer look about you."

"Maybe." Harry picked up an apple and took a bite. "Then again, maybe I'll tumble like one of Hermes' bees in a windstorm. Never flown a broom before, you know."

"Never?" Ron looked genuinely bewildered, as if Harry had just admitted to never breathing. "Blimey, Harry. You're in for a treat then. Best part about being a wizard!"

Harry flexed his fingers under the table.

Everything he'd heard from the other students confirmed what he'd felt from the Hogwarts magic. They all told him about wand movements and incantations. No breathing herbs. No song. No dancing under the rain and a sky full of stars. Just formulas and wands pointed like spears.

He glanced at the Head Table again.

The gods seemed at ease here, among the castle's ancient stone and magic—despite the tension of the staff. But the shadow that lingered behind Quirrell's crooked smile wasn't something Harry could just brush off. It slithered through his mind, like the serpents that coiled around the roots of Aeaea—things hidden, best left undisturbed, yet somehow always whispering at the edges of thought.

Harry sighed, finishing his apple, and tried to focus back on Ron's exuberant ramblings. If nothing else, he could use a distraction from the prickling sense of unease running down his spine.

Just as Ron began describing his brother's prank involving Filibuster Fireworks, Hermione strode into the Great Hall, her eyes scanning the tables until they met his. She waved, her face lighting up, and hurried over with Neville trailing behind.

"Morning, Harry! Ron!" Hermione greeted, her robes swishing as she sat down across from them, Neville settling in beside her. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of sharp curiosity, as if every inch of Hogwarts held secrets just waiting to be unraveled. "How are you this fine morning?"

Ron murmured something and looked away.

"Eh…" Harry shrugged. "Could be better, honestly."

"You okay, Harry?" She gave him a quick once-over, her gaze lingering. "Did you sleep well?"

Harry bit into the apple again, its crunch echoing faintly under the hum of morning conversation, but the flavor settled dull and lifeless on his tongue. His jaw tightened as he chewed. A restless coil tightened in his chest, one that refused to unfurl no matter how many deep breaths he dragged in. The cold from earlier still clung to him, more stubborn than sea mist on a stormy morning.

Hadn't he been all annoyed with Ron? And why? It wasn't like Ron had done anything besides try to make conversation—and maybe mention one too many broomsticks.

"I… I was cold." Harry blinked down at his plate, the apple wobbling unsteadily in his grip. "Back in the dormitory. Woke up freezing."

"What are you on about, mate?" Ron snorted. "The dorm wasn't cold."

"Are you sure y-you weren't d-dreaming?" Neville was looking at the table as he spoke. "Sometimes I feel cold in my dreams, and it stays with me after I wake up."

"It wasn't a dream." Harry rubbed his arms, the motion automatic, as if trying to erase a memory carved into his skin. "I still feel it now. It's… It's kind of heavy, like an unwanted guest that refuses to leave."

"That's weird…" Ron gave him a puzzled look, his fork hovering mid-air. "Wouldn't we all feel it? Maybe you're coming down with something?"

"The dorms are enchanted to stay perfectly comfortable—warm in winter, cool in summer. I read about it in 'Hogwarts: A History'." Hermione tilted her head slightly, her curls catching the soft glow of the Hall's light. "Were there any other symptoms?"

"No." Harry looked towards Quirrell, who was now fiddling with his turban. "Just the cold. And a bad mood."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah…" He reached for the pitcher of pumpkin juice, pouring some into his goblet and watching the liquid swirl like amber fire. "Maybe I'm just not used to sharing a room. Four roommates, and all of them snore."

"I couldn't s-sleep much e-either. Too e-excited. Plus, Trevor kept hopping out of his a-aquarium. I think he misses the garden at home." Neville looked down at his lap, fiddling with a small piece of toast. "I think I do too, a bit."

Harry's eyes softened.

Wasn't that the truth? As exciting as going to Hogwarts felt, there was nothing Harry would love more than to have woken up in his bedroom, smelling the lemon trees and mom's lilies. To hear the melody of Apollo's lyre and laugh at Hermes' silly jokes.

"The first step in a new journey is always the hardest." He leaned closer to Neville, his voice dropping, as if sharing a secret. "Just think about all the things waiting for you—new spells, new friends… maybe even some adventures."

Neville's expression brightened slightly, and he managed a small smile. "Yeah… I… I g-guess you're right."

"Of course he is. We have to be ready to face challenges. Hogwarts is full of opportunities. The professors, the magic… and just think of the library! I read that it has thousands of books, some that date back centuries." Hermione's eyes shone, and she clasped her hands together as if holding a treasure. "Just imagine what we could learn here!"

"Not everyone wants to spend their time with their nose buried in a book." Ron rolled his eyes. "There's more to Hogwarts than that, you know—like Quidditch! Flying lessons are coming up, and that's where the real fun is."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I think learning to be a skilled witch or wizard is far more valuable than playing some silly sport."

Harry chuckled, nudging an empty goblet across the table with a finger. The silver clinked softly as it rolled.

"Why not both? There's room for books and brooms, right? Besides…" He let the goblet rest. "You never know what might be important. Mom taught me to always keep an open mind—sometimes, the things you least expect end up saving you."

Neville leaned in, interested. "Like what?"

Harry thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to the Head Table where Hestia sat, her warm smile a stark contrast to the cold glances passing between some of the professors. He turned back to Neville, his voice almost a whisper. "Kindness. Understanding someone else's story. You'd be surprised how powerful that can be."

"That's a good point. Speaking of stories, did you see the way Professor McGonagall and Athena were talking? It was almost like…" She hesitated. "Like two generals comparing strategies before a battle."

"I noticed." Harry chuckled. "If I were a betting boy, I'd say Athena's giving Professor McGonagall advice on something Professor McGonagall thinks herself to be the expert."

"I don't think she'd appreciate that…"

"She's not going to complain though, is she?" Ron shook his head. "Not after yesterday…"

The hum of the Great Hall wrapped around them—dishes clinking, conversations blending into a comforting murmur. Above them, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the clear sky outside, its light spilling onto the house banners and casting soft golden ripples on the stone floor. Hermione's gaze flicked back to Harry, breaking the calm like a quill scratching across parchment.

"Seriously, Harry." She leaned forward, her curls brushing the edge of the table. "If you keep being cold, you need to go to Madam Pomfrey."

Harry's lips twitched upward. "It's probably nothing, Hermione. Maybe I just need a thicker blanket."

"It's enchanted!" She glanced around, her cheeks coloring as she lowered her tone. "If the dorm felt cold to you, then something's off. Madam Pomfrey will know if it's magical—or something else."

"Alright, alright…" Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. "If it happens again, I'll go to Madam Pomfrey. I promise."

The warmth of the drink chased some of the lingering chill from his chest, but it didn't quite reach the place it needed to.

For now, though, it was enough.

The clatter of breakfast faded into an echo behind Harry as he followed Professor McGonagall through the winding corridors of Hogwarts. The morning light cut in through tall windows, splitting into beams that painted the stone walls in hues of gold and shadow. The air had a weight to it. It wasn't the playful softness of Hestia's hearth, but a looming presence, something both monumental and hollow, like the echo before a storm. His boots clicked on the stone floor, and he couldn't help but feel the vibration, each step reverberating like ripples over a still lake.

"Professor…" Harry's voice barely carried over the thudding rhythm of his footsteps. "What's this about?"

"Professor Dumbledore will explain everything, Mr. Potter."

Harry frowned, watching her shoulders stiffen. She didn't say more. The silence between them thickened as they approached a stone gargoyle. McGonagall muttered something under her breath—a word like a breeze lost in a canyon—and the statue moved aside, revealing a spiral staircase twisting upwards.

The steps seemed endless, each one winding tighter than the last, until they finally reached a polished oak door. McGonagall gave a quick knock and stepped back. Once a voice called 'enter' from within, she gestured for Harry to go in.

Harry stepped into the office, the air pressing against him like the low rumble of a storm waiting to break. The room pulsed with energy—glass orbs spun on polished pedestals, gears ticked softly inside brass mechanisms, and strange instruments clicked like beetles trapped in a jar. The faint smell of old parchment mingled with the metallic tang of something sharper, like a forge cooling after its work.

Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk.

His half-moon glasses caught the sunlight, flashing faintly as he tilted his head toward Harry. His eyes, bright and calculating, tracked Harry's approach like a falcon judging the flight of a sparrow. Behind him, the painted phoenix on the wall shimmered in the flickering firelight, the rich red and gold feathers seeming to stir as if alive.

Ares, surprisingly enough, stood near the fireplace, a stone statue brought to life.

The flames behind him danced and leaped, their light painting his bronze armor and crimson robes with molten edges. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his shoulders like mountain peaks cutting into a fiery sky. Then again, Ares was Harry's Head of House now. It made sense that he'd be here for whatever the Headmaster needed.

Ares' gaze lay upon… Snape?

Snape lingered behind Headmaster Dumbledore, his black robes pooling around him like a shadow stretching across stone. His pale hands remained clasped behind his back, his knuckles taut and bloodless. His eyes darted to Harry once, before settling back into their flat, unreadable darkness.

"Mr. Potter." Headmaster Dumbledore's voice echoed like the first ripple on still water. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Harry hesitated.

What in Hades' name was this? Ares was standing there like he was preparing for war, Snape looking like he'd rather be anywhereelse, and Headmaster Dumbledore just sitting there, watching, as if he already knew how this would play out.

He sat down, his fingers brushing the grooves in the chair's armrests.

Dumbledore's chair creaked softly as he leaned forward, his fingertips pressing together in a loose steeple. "Thank you for coming. As you remember from yesterday, we have an issue that requires resolution."

"Issue? You would call this an 'issue'?" Ares' arms dropped to his sides, and the firelight caught the hard lines of his knuckles as his hands curled into loose fists. "He tried to invade the brat's mind! That is treason!"

Oh, right…

In all the fuss about the Sorting, Harry had completely forgotten Snape's mind probe from yesterday. Now it made sense why this was happening right after breakfast, though Harry did wonder who had told Ares.

"You have every right to be angry, Lord Ares." Headmaster Dumbledore dipped his head toward Ares. "Professor Snape's actions were a grievous violation of trust—one that I deeply regret."

"I do not care! He did it!" Ares stepped forward, his boots smashing into the floor with the force of rumbling war machines. He stopped only a few feet from Snape, his shadow looming over the man. "I have shown patience. More patience than you deserve. Feel gratitude that I stayed my hand!"

The fire crackled louder, its flames leaping higher. The heat spread through the room, brushing over Harry's face and neck like the desert winds he remembered from the stories Hestia told. Snape stood rigid, his jaw tight and his gaze locked somewhere just past Ares' shoulder.

"Yet, stay your hand you did." Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes flicked briefly toward Snape, then back to Ares. "You understand, as I do, the importance of abiding by the laws set for us. Zeus—"

"Your teacher lives because my father gave no orders. Because his ruling on how much we limit ourselves was unclear." Ares' fingers flexed as if he were gripping the hilt of a sword. "You must punish him to the full extent of Hogwarts' rules. I will accept no less!"

"Lord Ares—"

"No! If you do not, I will go to my father. I will gain understanding of what divine power I may unleash upon this school, and you will bear the brunt of the Thunder Bringer's ire for making him do something he did not deign to himself."

"Hold on, Hothead." Harry sat up straighter. "Before you rain fire, let's hear what the Professor has to say for himself. Professor?"

"What did, I did for Hogwarts." Snape turned his head toward Harry, his expression carved in stone. "You, Potter, are an anomaly and—"

"Spare me your excuses!" Ares snarled. "Your reasons were notaltruistic! You are coward! You could not resist sticking your hooked nose where it does not belong! I will have you punished!"

"Hold on, Ares." Harry looked up at him and winked. "Punishment won't change what happened."

"Very well, brat. What's your master plan?"

Harry's fingers tightened on the armrests of the chair. A flicker of something hot and sharp rose in his chest as he glanced at Snape. A part of him—a loud, fiery part—did want to see Snape punished. He imagined the satisfaction of watching Ares unleash his fury, imagined Snape stumbling under the weight of it, his sneering arrogance burned away by the god's wrath. The thought coiled in his mind like a serpent, tempting and dangerous.

It would feel good. It would feel right. But Athena would have his hide if he handled this situation like that. If he gave into his base urges without looking for something to gain.

Harry forced a breath through his nose.

What couldhe gain from this? How could he turn Snape's attempt at violation into something that could serve him later? Violation… That was the keyword here. Snape did do something serious, and Headmaster Dumbledore was protecting him, nonetheless. Snape, for whatever reason, was valuable enough to the headmaster for him to ignore basic morality and decency. Athena had told him that the best weapon was the one forged from an enemy's mistake. Therefore…

"I want a favor." Harry looked at Headmaster Dumbledore with a smile. "One favor from you, Headmaster. No limits. No conditions. No questions asked. I ask for it, you grant it."

The room stilled. The orbs on their pedestals clicked faintly in the silence, their spinning slowing as if they, too, were waiting. Ares turned his head sharply toward Harry, his brow furrowing, but said nothing. Headmaster Dumbledore's fingers pressed together, the soft creak of his knuckles breaking the quiet. His bright blue eyes sharpened, narrowing as they studied Harry, the usual twinkle extinguished. He leaned back in his chair, the firelight catching in the silver threads of his beard as he shifted.

Harry held his gaze, his chest tight with the strain of keeping still.

He knew Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't agree lightly. A favor without limits was no small thing, especially not from someone like Headmaster Dumbledore. Whatever the Headmaster saw in Harry's face, it kept him silent for longer than seemed necessary. The old man's eyes didn't leave his, though Harry thought they'd flicked briefly toward Ares at one point.

Ultimately, it would come down to agreeing to Harry's terms or sacrificing Snape. Ares would agree to nothing less.

At last, Dumbledore let out a slow breath. His shoulders relaxed by a fraction, though the lines around his mouth stayed taut.

"An unusual request, and not one I would agree to lightly. A favor without conditions... it is no small thing to grant." He paused again, his eyes scanning Harry's face as if searching for some hidden motive. The he sighed and nodded. "But if that is what it takes to save Professor Snape from this… misunderstanding, Mr. Potter, then I will agree."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Of course, I will expect you to keep the incident in your confidence."

Harry shrugged. "What incident?"

The twinkle returned to the Headmaster's eyes.

"Clever brat." Ares' hands relaxed. "If that is settled, we must speak of his potion lessons."

Headmaster Dumbledore blinked, shifting in his chair. "I'm afraid I do not follow?"

"He will not be in contact with Snape any longer." Ares' words fell like a headsman's axe. "I forbid it!"

"Yes, I see how that could be problematic…" Headmaster Dumbledore's expression grew more thoughtful, his fingers tapping together as if calculating something. He gave a slight nod. "That might be possible. I could arrange for private instruction—"

"No!" Ares crossed his arms. "Olympus will conduct his potions instruction."

"I see. In sight of the… incident, I will not challenge you on that." Headmaster Dumbledore frowned. "But you may organize instruction to Mr. Potter alone. I will not have you undermine the autonomy of Hogwarts by challenging my Potions teacher."

"I accept."

Harry met Ares' eyes and gave a small nod. He had always understood Ares' way of showing care—rough around the edges, but as loyal as any of Hestia's flames.

"Very well." Headmaster Dumbledore sighed and extended his hand toward Harry. "Mr. Potter, I appreciate your patience in this matter. I give you my word—a favor owed, without question."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Harry shook his hand and turned to Ares. "You really are a little ball of sentimentality today, aren't you?"

"Insolent runt." Ares huffed. "I'll see you in practice."

Harry shuddered.

"Well, now that the matter is concluded, I do believe we needn't keep Mr. Potter away from his friends anymore." Dumbledore smiled.

Harry gave a slight bow before turning and walking out of the office. The door clicked shut behind him, the echo of it reverberating down the stone staircase. Each step he took away from Headmaster Dumbledore's office bore the sweet and saccharine scent of victory, yet the pressure in the air swirled as if he were the epicenter of some magical storm.

He had a feeling today was going to be a great day.

That's a wrap for Chapter Three. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you thought about it in the reviews. I look forward to every single one.

For anyone worried that there will be too much gods in the story, don't be. They're there to act as mentors and guardians, not to solve Harry's problems for him. Don't worry about the power scaling either. I don't see any of the gods actually fighting any of the mortals. When the time comes for Harry and Voldie to duke it out, there won't be any convenient divine intervention. What Ares does in this chapter is, in my opinion, what any Head of House should do and what McGonagall should've done if she weren't too busy worshipping the ground Dumbledore walks on.

Also, if anyone wonders why Harry is so loose with Ares and calls him hothead, it's because they're pretty much best friends. This is unique among all the gods, the rest of whom all keep that formal distance between themselves and Harry, Hestia included. Ares, however, really does consider Harry to be his best bro. Again, this does not mean Ares will solve Harry's problems for him, he won't, which will become readily obvious as the story moves on.

Chapter 4 — Professor Horace Sicklebrook is available now on my p. a. t. r. e. o. n. at: user?u=53437875 (just paste that after p. a. t. r. e. o. n. / (don't forget to remove the spaces)). I'll be posting some cool stuff on there, and plenty of it will be free.

See you at chapter four!

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