Chapter 3: A Letter from Britain
On July 31st, 1991, Hazel turned eleven years old.
By that time, she had five SPQR lines inked onto her forearm—the most of any legionnaire her age. Impressive, right? You'd think that would earn her respect.
Wrong.
Instead, Hazel held the distinct honor of being the most avoided person at Camp Jupiter. Even the lares—the camp's ancient Roman house ghosts—gave her a wide berth. Vitellius, the ghostly guardian of the Fifth Cohort, could never be spotted within ten feet of her. And when he did appear, it was usually by accident and followed by a swift and very ghostly exit.
(To be fair, if a glowing eleven-year-old with divine parentage and a tendency to shoot fire-tipped arrows strolled around your neighborhood, you might ghost out too.)
Hazel, however, was perfectly fine with all this. Despite the sideways glances and unspoken rumors, she actually liked her life at Camp Jupiter.
It wasn't that the camp hated children of Neptune—more like they collectively winced when one walked by. Romans had always been a little twitchy about the sea. Unlike the Greeks, who viewed Poseidon as a chill beach dad with a trident, Romans thought of Neptune as the moody uncle who could ruin your life (and your entire city) with one bad wave.
The paranoia peaked in 1906, when a descendant of Neptune—Shen Lun—was allegedly involved in triggering a massive earthquake. Ever since, his children had been labeled bad luck. Not great PR for the Earthshaker's kids.
Still, Hazel Lily Potter found ways to enjoy herself.
She enjoyed practicing her magic in any of the temples available—usually Trivia's, Diana's, or Apollo's, depending on her mood, alignment of the stars, or which deity's vibe she was feeling that day. Trivia's temple was best for spell refinement and theory; Diana's was peaceful and wild and perfect for nature magic; and Apollo's... well, Apollo's had the best lighting for dramatic spellcasting. And occasional impromptu poetry.
But every now and then, she'd sneak into other temples too—just to see if their magic "tasted" different. For fire-related spells, she'd respectfully use Vulcan's temple (after triple-checking for flammable scrolls). For earth-magic or mineral-based enchantments, she tried Ceres' or Pluto's. For wind and sky magic, she'd once sat in Jupiter's temple for a whole afternoon until lightning crackled in her hair. She took that as either encouragement… or a polite warning. Hard to say with the king of gods.
Of course, she cleaned up before and after every session. Re-aligned the offering bowls. Polished the altar. Dusted the cobwebs, if any. Swept away any magical residue, like lingering sparkles or scorched flagstones. She always left a proper offering—flowers, bread, a prayer, or the occasional shiny rock with sentimental value. Hazel was nothing if not polite to gods. Especially Roman ones. You didn't want to offend a Roman god. They held grudges like champions.
But her magic? That she kept to herself. Only the praetors knew. It wasn't exactly forbidden at Camp Jupiter—but it wasn't exactly encouraged either. The Romans didn't take well to magic. Too unpredictable, too unstructured. They preferred things to be disciplined, militaristic, and neatly filed into categories like swordsmanship, formations, and approved divine blessings. Hazel's magic… wasn't any of those things. It sang when it should've been silent, danced into places it wasn't invited, and—on more than one occasion—exploded without warning. Just like everything else about her, it didn't quite fit. And around here, that kind of not-fitting wasn't always safe. So, she kept it hidden—quiet and close—except, of course, from the praetors.
Her chores were simple enough: caring for the unicorn enclosure (easy with her horse-speak and water tricks), maintaining Neptune's shrine (who else was going to do it?), offering quick daily prayers to Apollo and Diana, and occasionally subbing in for other minor duties—usually because someone else had faked a stomach bug.
Then came the rest of her schedule:
Morning training with her cohort.
Afternoon classes in Roman history, war tactics, and mortal subjects like math, science, and economics (because nothing screams "battle readiness" like understanding compound interest).
Evening games and events like Tactical Senate, Lupa's Hunt, and of course, the ever-chaotic Field of Mars: War Games.
Oh—and let's not forget mandatory dinner every night with your cohort. Which, for Hazel, meant awkward silence, a few mumbled comments about the weather, and watching Rufus try to flirt with anything that moved.
Hazel's unpopularity wasn't entirely about Neptune and her magic. There were…other factors.
For one, she wasn't great at the War Games. Her best weapons—a celestial bronze whip-sword and her bow—weren't exactly team-friendly. The whip-sword terrified most of her teammates, and the bow was heavily discouraged at the time unless you were a child of Apollo. (Weapon elitism was alive and well.)
Also, she was just too young for most legionnaires to take seriously. Too small to assign major roles in simulations. Too quiet to command. Too polite to argue.
But did Hazel care?
Not really.
Introverted by nature, she was perfectly happy doing the grunt work. She didn't want fame. She didn't need attention. She just wanted to do her job, blend in, and maybe—maybe—have one normal day without someone calling her cursed.
So she didn't complain. Not when she was passed over for team missions. Not when she was left behind during scouting drills. Not even when Vitellius physically evaporated through the ceiling just to avoid eye contact.
Hazel Lily Potter—the wallpaper of Camp Jupiter.
And proud of it.
Anyway, back to the point.
On July 31st, 1991, Hazel Lily Potter turned eleven years old.
Nothing world-shattering happened—no lightning bolts, no divine proclamations, no earthquakes (thankfully). Just a surprise cake from the cornucopia at dinner that startled half the mess hall. It appeared with a little pop! and a suspicious puff of powdered sugar, followed by confused murmuring as everyone stared at it. For a moment, no one was quite sure whose birthday it was. Then Hazel, cheeks already starting to turn pink, reluctantly raised her hand. That was all it took. The entire legion launched into an awkward, slightly off-key version of "Happy Birthday."
She tried not to look too mortified. She mostly succeeded.
As soon as the last note trailed off and someone tried (and failed) to start a round of "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow," Hazel grabbed her plate—loaded with a whole roast chicken and some token vegetables and a slice of cake—and quietly excused herself.
She made her way to Temple Hill, heading for the one place where nobody would question her presence or try to make her blow out birthday candles.
Vesta's temple.
The flame greeted her like an old friend. It flickered gently, casting soft shadows along the marble walls as Hazel stepped inside. The familiar warmth seeped into her bones like a cozy blanket. She could practically hear it whispering, "Welcome back, sweetheart. Rough day?"
She settled onto the smooth stone floor with her plate and began her quiet ritual. With careful precision, she sliced her chicken into five parts, like always.
One piece for her father. A soft prayer and a promise to keep going, even if he'd never said a word to her.
Two more for Apollo and Diana—her sunshine and moonlight, her warmth and wildness. They always got extra. Apollo liked food offerings (he once appeared mid-rhyme during a solstice to snatch a honey-glazed ham), and Diana... well, Diana appreciated the thought, even if she probably pretended she didn't.
The fourth piece she cut into smaller chunks and offered in a series of whispered names—Jupiter, Mars, Minerva, Mercury, Fortuna, Victoria, Pluto. She'd get the rest of them tomorrow. Daily divine devotion, Hazel-style.
She pushed the last bite of her cake into her mouth—chocolate, of course—and leaned back with a soft sigh.
In the hush of the temple, the fire crackled gently. It didn't judge. Didn't speak. Just existed.
And for Hazel Lily Potter, on her eleventh birthday, that was enough.
The next day was definitely unusual. It started normal enough—she received her daily chore: clean the sauna (a task she could practically do in her sleep by now). But as she was heading into the city for her classes, something brown smacked her square in the face and sent her sprawling.
For a split second, Hazel feared the worst, her sense of touch lagging behind her brain. She scrambled to her feet, groaning, and reached for what she thought was a feather duster.
It hooted. Loudly.
Startled, she dropped it instantly, then snatched it up again as though the owl might take offense if she didn't treat it with some dignity. The owl glared at her, unamused, for a few moments before sticking its leg out at her with what could only be described as... purposeful intent.
"Whoa, what? A letter? From an owl?" Hazel muttered to herself, blinking. "Since when was that a thing?"
She placed the owl in her lap, carefully untied the red string from the letter, and just as she was about to open it, another owl landed beside her. This one was calmer, a darker brown with spots along its wings, and decidedly less ragged than the first. The first owl, meanwhile, had begun preening itself, clearly feeling a little insecure about its more dignified companion.
Hazel took the second letter, then held both in her hands, staring down at the two owls. Both of them stared back at her, expectantly.
"What, you want food or something?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
To her surprise, both owls nodded. Nodded.
She blinked at them, then glanced around. A few legionnaires were loitering a little way off. Close enough to snicker at the sight of her, sprawled on the ground, talking to two owls—but far enough that they wouldn't hear her.
Sighing, Hazel took a deep breath and hummed for a moment before muttering an incantation. "Let prey appear in nature's flow—swift and soft, no trace of woe."
Almost immediately, two rats scampered into view. The owls darted forward in unison, devouring the rats with a level of efficiency that made Hazel think she might've just witnessed a very unsavory magic trick.
"Oh, okay, didn't need to see that," Hazel grumbled in her head.
"Anyways," Hazel said, shaking her head. "Mind if I read these later? I've got class."
The two owls hooted, hopped closer, and stared at her with an expression that clearly said, Nope. Read them now, and respond.
"Alright, alright," Hazel muttered, standing up and brushing off her pants. "Guess I'm getting demerit points today for skipping class."
She was pretty sure she could hear some of the nearby legionnaires snickering. Hazel gave them a pointed look, then tore open the first letter. After all, it looked like this was going to be a much more important distraction than anything class had to offer.
The first envelope was thick and creamy, like parchment had been given a spa treatment. It smelled faintly of ink, old libraries, and something vaguely owl-ish. On the front, in deep emerald green ink—written in an elegant, looping hand—was her full address:
Miss Hazel Lily Potter
Corner Bottom Bunk, Fifth Cohort (Ladies Section)
Camp Jupiter, Oakland Hills
Near San Francisco, California
United States of America
There was no postage stamp, of course. Just a small wax seal on the back, deep red and stamped with a badger, lion, eagle, and serpent twisted around a large capital H—the Hogwarts crest.
Hazel wasn't entirely sure how the owl found her. Probably some kind of magical postal bloodhound with wings. Calyra would've been mildly insulted.
The envelope contained two parchment sheets, neatly folded, and as soon as Hazel opened the first one, the letters shimmered briefly—like the magic was stretching its legs—before settling into place.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Professor Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Term begins on 1 September. Enclosed you will find a list of all necessary books and equipment. Please note that first-year students are expected to arrive at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters no later than 11:00 A.M. on the day of departure.
Additionally, we are aware that your current circumstances are somewhat nontraditional. Please be assured that special arrangements have been made for transportation. Your Hogwarts liaison will meet you shortly with further instructions.
Congratulations, Miss Potter. We look forward to welcoming you into the wizarding world.
Warm regards,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hazel then picked out the second paper inside to see the list of supplies
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
First Year Supply List
One Wand
(You will be receiving a wand from Ollivanders, Diagon Alley.)
A Cauldron
(Standard size 2, Pewter.)
A Set of Brooms
(For flying lessons, provided by Hogwarts.)
Books:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
The Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emmerich Switch
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Tales of Beedle the Bard (Required reading)
A Set of Robes
(For everyday use.)
A Set of Protective Clothing
(Including gloves and a hat, to be worn during Potions lessons.)
A Pair of Boots
(For protective footwear.)
An Owl
(For communication with others at Hogwarts, or a toad/frog as an alternative.)
Parchment, Ink, and Quills
(For writing assignments.)
Note:
Transportation will be arranged by the Hogwarts liaison. If you have any special requests, please let us know well in advance. It's easier to avoid curses than it is to get rid of them.
Warm regards,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Huh.. Interesting. Next letter.
The envelope is sleek and professional, with the words "Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" embossed across the front in shiny silver ink. It has a modern feel—no wax seals, just the distinct, clean lines of a modern institution. The stamp reads "North American Magical Bureau of Transportation", with a subtle image of an enchanted flying serpent curled around a set of stars. The address is written in a neat, official font:
To:
Hazel Lily Potter
Camp Jupiter, Oakland Hills
Near San Francisco, CA
The letters themselves are printed on thick, high-quality paper, crisp and white with a sleekness that feels entirely modern, no parchment here. It doesn't smell like old magic, but instead, faintly of fresh paper and a whiff of something metallic, like the tang of a lightning storm. Hazel opened the letter and pulled out a folded paper.
Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Office of Admissions
Headmistress Seraphina Garrison
July 31, 1991
Dear Hazel Lily Potter,
It is with great pleasure that we extend to you this formal invitation to attend Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for your first year of magical education. We were thrilled to learn of your acceptance through your connection with the magical world and your immense potential.
As a student of Ilvermorny, you will be joining a vibrant community of witches and wizards from all across North America. The school's grounds, nestled deep in the Massachusetts hills, are as enchanting as they are vast, with each of our four Houses offering a unique approach to magical education. Your sorting will take place on the first evening of your arrival.
Please find below a list of required supplies for your first year at Ilvermorny. As a reminder, some of the listed items may be acquired upon your arrival, though we encourage you to bring everything necessary to ensure a smooth start to your year.
First Year Supply List
Required Texts:
"Introduction to Spellwork" – by Gwendolyn Serpens
This book covers the fundamentals of casting and controlling spells. We recommend reading Chapter 1 carefully before your arrival, though no one expects you to master levitation on your first try.
"Beasts of the Americas" – by Miranda Goldfoot
A comprehensive guide to magical creatures found across North America. Some creatures you'll study live on the grounds of Ilvermorny itself—try not to befriend any unexpected visitors.
"History of North American Magic" – by Desmond Penn
A deep dive into the fascinating (and often chaotic) history of magic in the Americas. Bonus points for extra credit if you can finish this book without starting a magic duel in your head.
"Charms and How to Use Them" – by Jeremiah Quickspell
A no-nonsense guide to charms. Very straightforward, unless you're trying to charm a broomstick to make you breakfast. (It rarely works.)
"Wand Lore: The Secrets of Wood and Core" – by Orville Hawthorne
This book is essential for understanding the relationship between your wand and your magic. We're not saying your wand chooses you, but it might just become your best friend.
Required Equipment:
1 Wand
We have already notified our trusted wandmaker, Holt Pendergrass, in Salem, who will be waiting for you to select your wand upon arrival. He's known for his unique and, at times, unpredictable approach. If he offers you any strange advice about your wand choosing your destiny, don't worry, he's just being his usual quirky self.
3 Sets of School Robes
Black with white trim, to represent your magical potential. (The color is inspired by our very own Ilvermorny House colors.) Don't worry about fitting—you'll get a magical resizing spell during your first week.
1 Cauldron
Standard size for beginners. A simple one will do. We recommend you avoid the shiny ones—they tend to distract from the actual potion-making process.
1 Pack of Enchanted Quills
To ensure your notes are legible and well-formed (even in the most stressful of lectures). They might also help you with your homework when you're running late—no promises.
1 Crystal Ball
Don't panic. It's mostly decorative. Though it might come in handy in case you want to practice a bit of divination or just impress some new friends.
1 Set of Protective Gloves
For handling dangerous magical ingredients and creatures. Some students use these for practical jokes, but we don't recommend it unless you're particularly good at hexes.
Optional Equipment (But Strongly Recommended):
1 Pocket-sized Grimoire
For the aspiring witch or wizard looking to dabble in their own spells outside of class. You never know when you might need to impress a professor or stop a magical creature from causing chaos.
1 Book of Enchanted Recipes
Because what's magic without a little bit of food magic? We've heard good things about making enchanted cookies that float. Always impresses your Housemates.
Important Notes:
You will receive a letter detailing your House assignment upon arrival. Please don't worry if you don't know your House yet—we have a magical system for that.
We also suggest you pack a light travel bag, as you will be transported to Ilvermorny via broomstick caravan on the 3rd of September.
We look forward to welcoming you to Ilvermorny!
PS: Please send a reply back if you wish to contact us for any reason. The owl, Sarah, will wait for your reply.
Yours sincerely,
Seraphina Garrison
Headmistress, Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Hazel sat there for a long moment, blinking at the two letters in her hands as if they might disappear if she looked away. Two magical schools had written to her. Her. She wasn't sure whether to feel honored, confused, or just plain overwhelmed. A part of her wanted to laugh—of course, her life couldn't just be normal demigod weird. No, it had to be extra. British magic school with a train that left from a fake platform? Sure. American castle with a broomstick caravan and a wandmaker named Holt Pendergrass? Why not.
She glanced at the owls still waiting beside her, one now grooming its feathers with theatrical pride, the other staring at her like it was silently judging her indecision. Hazel let out a soft huff of air and muttered, "Great. I finally get invited to school, and now I've got to pick which continent I want my magical trauma on."
She tore two pages from a notebook in her bag. Addressing them by the respective names from the envelopes, she writes back, asking them to please meet with her tomorrow and the day after.
1st August 1991
Camp Jupiter
Oakland Hills, California
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Thank you for your letter and for the rather dramatic owl delivery. It certainly made an impression. I am honored by the offer to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Receiving such an invitation was unexpected, and I would very much like to speak with someone from your school to understand more about what attending would entail.
Would it be possible to meet with my Hogwarts liaison the day after tomorrow? Moving to a whole other country is a pain, but I'd like to know my options.
Sincerely,
Hazel Lily Potter
On the other sheet, she wrote,
1st August 1991
Camp Jupiter
Oakland Hills, California
Dear Headmistress Garrison,
Thank you for your kind invitation to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I'd love the chance to ask a few questions about Ilvermorny and its programs before making any decisions. Would it be possible to meet with a representative from your school the day after tomorrow? I'll be in the same place, and I'll try to provide snacks for the owl if she's sticking around.
Looking forward to learning more,
Hazel Lily Potter
"Okay, that's done," Hazel muttered, brushing her hands together. She glanced down at the owls still watching her like they expected more. "So… should I tie these to your legs or—?"
Before she could finish the sentence, both owls promptly snatched the letters right out of her hands and took off into the sky with the grace of seasoned postal professionals.
Hazel blinked. "Rude. But efficient."
She stood there for a moment, watching the specks disappear into the horizon, then glanced at the sun's position and sighed. "Welp. Missed class. Again."
After a moment's internal debate, she dusted herself off and turned toward the Principia. "Guess I'd better go explain myself to the praetors before they think I got kidnapped by fawns or something."
Hazel jogged over to the Principia, Camp Jupiter's command center and official headquarters for All Things Serious. The building itself looked like someone had challenged an architect to make a Roman villa scream "authority" without yelling. Tall columns framed the entrance, polished bronze doors glinting in the California sun, and laurel vines clung dramatically to the walls like they were auditioning for a toga commercial.
She knocked twice—firm but polite—and stepped inside.
The interior was just as intimidating. Cool marble floors stretched across the room, with imperial purple banners hanging from the ceiling and flickering torches casting golden light on the stone walls. A massive map of the Roman territories hung on one side, enchanted so that little golden figures moved across it like they were reenacting a very strategic game of tag. The centerpiece was a raised dais with a long table behind it, where the praetors sat like judgmental demigod royalty. And of course, everything smelled faintly of leather scrolls, weapon polish, and the kind of incense that made you feel like confessing to crimes you hadn't committed.
Inside, as expected, were the praetors: the two people in camp you did not mess with unless you had a really good reason, like a monster attack, a prophecy, or, say… two magical owls divebombing you with acceptance letters to rival schools.
Praetor Marcus Kutcher sat at the long table like he'd been born to lead a Senate meeting. He was sixteen, already taller than most of the legionnaires, and carried himself like a marble statue that had just been asked to run a war. A son of Victoria, the goddess of victory, which explained why he always looked like he was mentally winning something. His purple-lined toga was, of course, perfectly creased, not a wrinkle in sight. Hazel wasn't sure if that was a power of his lineage or if he just ironed it every morning while plotting winning battle strategies.
Next to him lounged Praetor Junia Smith, a seventeen-year-old descendant of Mercury with the smirk of someone who could either rob you or promote you depending on how well you answered her next question. Her dark eyes flicked up from the silver coin she was flicking between her fingers—click, spin, catch, repeat. She was all sharp edges and quicker comebacks, especially when stressed. Hazel respected her. Feared her just a little. And maybe once tried to figure out if she was actually telepathic, because Junia had an annoying habit of knowing exactly when you were about to lie.
Hazel gave a quick salute and tried to look like she hadn't just skipped class because of surprise owl mail. Which, to be fair, sounded a lot less believable out loud.
Marcus looked up from a stack of reports. "Hazel. You're late for class."
Junia, lounging behind the reports, raised an eyebrow. "Unless you've discovered time travel and already gone to class in the future. In which case—impressive."
Hazel gave them both a sheepish shrug. "Not quite. I got… interrupted."
Marcus exchanged a quick glance with Junia. "Is this a demigod emergency or a 'Hazel's definition of normal' emergency?"
Hazel stepped forward and placed her envelopes on the table. "Two magical owls delivered letters to me. One from a school called Hogwarts. The other from Ilvermorny. Apparently, I've been invited to both."
Junia sat up straighter. "Wait. Owl-mail? Like British-style wizard schools?"
Hazel nodded. "Yup. Full-on magical institutions. Invitations. Supply lists. Sorting ceremonies. One of them offered broomstick caravans. The other practically sent a Victorian-era scroll."
Marcus raised an eyebrow and picked up the Hogwarts letter, unfolding it with the care of someone handling a minor curse. Junia snagged the Ilvermorny one before Hazel could offer it, already scanning the clean white paper with practiced speed.
"Okay," Junia muttered as she flipped the page. "This one has a crystal ball on the supply list and a wandmaker named Holt who sounds like a used car salesman."
Marcus rubbed his temples, eyes narrowing at the parchment. "Standard Book of Spells, cauldrons, enchanted quills, a set of robes… this one sounds like it hasn't updated since the 1500s."
Hazel locked her hands behind her back. "To be fair, I think that's part of the charm."
Junia leaned back, flipping her coin into the air. "You didn't say yes to anything yet?"
"No," Hazel said. "But I sent replies asking to meet with their liaisons—tomorrow and the day after."
Marcus leaned forward. "Good. At least you're thinking things through. You're still legion. We don't just vanish without warning. Even for magical academia."
Hazel hesitated, then added, "I'll go to the meetings. Ask questions. If it turns out I have to go… I'll make sure the Fifth has time to adjust."
Junia's coin stopped mid-spin in her palm. She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're not getting rid of us that easily, Hazel."
Marcus stood, straightened his toga, and nodded solemnly. "We'll mark your absence tomorrow and the day after as 'special diplomatic leave.' But we want a full report. And if one of those owls shows up again, send it to Junia. She's always wanted to interrogate a bird."
Hazel smirked. "Thanks. I'll try not to defect to a castle without saying goodbye."
"See that you don't," Marcus said. "Dismissed."
Hazel turned to leave, already feeling the weight of what came next. As she pushed open the door, Junia called after her, "And if either school gives you a sword, make sure it has a return policy."
A few moments later, Hazel popped her head back through the doorway, one hand still on the frame. "So… do I get permission to skip class today as well?"
Junia let out a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, fine. Go light a candle to Trivia or whatever it is you do. But you are not getting out of chores or homework. I'll have someone bring it over."
"Yes!" Hazel grinned, already halfway turned around. "Bye!"
After a quick detour to grab her camp-issued offering kit—a little satchel that smelled faintly of old incense and ash—Hazel made her way up the stone path that wound behind the Principia to the small temple complex nestled in the trees. Camp Jupiter didn't believe in flashy shrines—unless you were a war-related god and/or some of the twelve major gods. Everyone else got quiet, weatherworn altars and a whole lot of ambiance. Which, honestly, suited Hazel just fine. She preferred a little quiet over all the drama and celestial spotlight anyway.
First stop: Trivia. Hazel knelt at the triple-faced statue, placing three lavender sprigs on the offering dish. "Hey, Lady Trivia. Thanks for the owl-mail, I guess? You've always had a flair for timing, and I'm gonna assume this is part of your 'mysterious but well-meaning' aesthetic."
The incense sparked to life, which she decided to take as a "You're welcome."
Next, she headed to Apollo's sunlit column, already warm with afternoon light. She set down a small scroll of handwritten song lyrics (he appreciated originality) and murmured, "Just in case I need healing from exploding cauldrons or overly dramatic British professors. You know. The usual."
Finally, Diana's shrine—cooler, tucked into a moonlit grove even at midday. Hazel placed a silver coin and a feather she'd found near the owls. "For guidance. And strength. And maybe a little extra patience if I end up rooming with broomstick-obsessed eleven-year-olds."
She stood, dusted off her knees, and slung her bag over her shoulder with a sigh.
"All right," she muttered to herself. "Gods consulted, chores next, and then homework. Because apparently magical destinies don't come with free periods."
The next day dawned bright and warm, with a breeze that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and summer. Hazel waited on a tree at the entrance to Camp Jupiter, where the gravel road melted into wilderness and mist. She wore a short-sleeved blue shirt tucked into cream jeans, her shoes scuffed from running up and down the cohorts. A simple blue braided hairband kept her shoulder-length dark hair out of her face, and she swung her legs absently from the low branch of a nearby tree, sea-green eyes scanning the treeline with the patience of someone used to weird things happening, just not always on time.
Then, precisely at 10:00 AM, the air shimmered like heat off asphalt. A sharp crack! echoed through the woods, and a tall man in a tailored dark coat and polished boots stepped through the shimmer as if walking out of an invisible doorway. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed neatly back, and he wore square glasses that gave him the perpetual look of someone unimpressed by everyone and everything.
"You must be Miss Hazel Potter," he said, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. His voice was deep and clipped, the kind that could hush a room full of rowdy magical teenagers. "Jackson Rivers. Ilvermorny. I'll be accompanying you today to acquire your academic materials."
Hazel hopped down from the branch and offered a small, polite smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr Rivers. I'm Hazel Lily Potter."
He gave her a once-over, then nodded stiffly. "Right. Let's not dawdle."
Hazel gripped the brass door knocker as Professor Rivers gave a quick warning. A sharp tug yanked her off her feet, and the world spun wildly around her. Colors and sounds blurred together, a dizzying rush that made her stomach lurch. Just as quickly, everything snapped back into focus. She landed hard on the cobblestones of a modern magical street in Salem, disoriented but steady. Rivers was already moving, unaffected by the portkey's disorienting effects.
"I understand you're staying at some… orphanage?" he said, glancing at a scroll he produced from his coat. "Jupiter Orphan Initiative. Odd name. And stranger still, your funding isn't coming from the usual North American orphan support account. Your name was marked for a Vault 003 access." He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly fishing for answers.
Hazel just smiled a little too broadly. "No clue what that means. Maybe it's a legacy thing?"
Jackson Rivers frowned but said nothing more.
They went through the shops in an efficient blur. Two sets of neatly tailored Ilvermorny uniforms—black with white trim—were magically adjusted to fit her on the spot. The robe sleeves even shrank to accommodate her preference for mobility. Books were stacked and shrunk into a charmed satchel. They picked up everything from Beasts of the Americas to Wand Lore: The Secrets of Wood and Core, plus a few more subject-specific tomes—Charms and How to Use Them, The Enchanted Kitchen: Recipes for Bewitched Bites, History of North American Magic, and Introduction to Spellwork, which honestly sounded like something that should come with a legal disclaimer. They even picked up a pair of thick protective gloves, a set of shimmering enchanted quills, a few rolls of parchment, and a few regular notebooks.
When they reached the wand shop—an austere little building with smoke gently curling from a chimney—Hazel stopped at the threshold.
"I'm gonna wait on the wand," she said.
Jackson Rivers turned, clearly puzzled. "Excuse me?"
"I got another invitation. From Hogwarts. British school. Their liaison's coming tomorrow. I just… want to weigh my options before committing to a wand. Seems like kind of a big deal."
Rivers narrowed his eyes. "Miss Potter, wands are not toys. They are essential conduits of magical focus and power."
"Yeah, which is why I'm waiting," she replied evenly. "Just until tomorrow."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but after a tense pause, he simply sighed. "Very well. I'll inform Mr. Pendergrass to hold your session. I assume your Hogwarts liaison will be equally thorough."
Hazel gave a tight smile. "I'll let you know."
The second portkey was just as jarring. In an instant, the world twisted, and Hazel felt herself yanked through a blur of motion. She hit the ground hard at the entrance to Camp Jupiter, dizzy but on her feet. Professor Rivers gave a brief nod and turned to leave. Hazel took a steadying breath, the familiar sight of the camp gates grounding her.
"I trust you'll keep us informed of your final decision," he said.
"Of course. Thanks for everything."
Once he shimmered away into the mist, Hazel adjusted the strap on her bag and made her way straight to the Principia.
Junia and Marcus were inside, as always, surrounded by maps, scrolls, and enough paperwork to choke a minotaur.
Hazel dropped her satchel on the table. "Mission report: Ilvermorny edition."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
Junia leaned forward, spinning her coin on the table in front of her. "Was there a test? Do they make you ride a sasquatch to prove you're magical?"
Hazel grinned. "Nope. But I met a guy -teacher- who looked like he hadn't smiled since the invention of brooms. We picked up supplies—uniforms, books, the whole lot. But I didn't get a wand yet."
"Why not?" Marcus asked.
"I told him I got a Hogwarts invite too. Waiting to hear what they offer before I pick anything permanent."
Junia's coin stopped and fell with a clatter. "Smart. Make them compete for you."
Marcus nodded. "Just make sure no one brainwashes you into a House you can't escape from."
Hazel smirked. "I'll let you know if I get sorted into House 'Not A Cult.'"
Junia held out her hand for the shrunken supply satchel. "We'll catalog this with your cohort quartermaster. Anything weird happen?"
Hazel hesitated. "Just one thing. They took me to a special vault in their bank. Vault 003. He said it wasn't the normal orphan account. Oh, and the bank had human tellers, but everything was clearly run by Goblins. Little angry-looking grumpy things—like someone had given a porcupine a tie and a bad attitude."
She added, "They're not to be harmed, by the way. Apparently, if even one goblin is killed, the entire magical economy of America collapses because they go out to seek revenge. They've got their own language too—lots of hissing and clicks—but they speak English just fine when they want to threaten you with legalese."
Marcus and Junia exchanged a glance.
"Noted," Junia said. "We'll look into it. Good work, Legionnaire. Dismissed."
Hazel gave a small salute and turned to leave, heart thudding just a little faster than usual.
Tomorrow would be Hogwarts. And she had a feeling things were only going to get stranger.
The next day, Hazel was back at her favorite spot in the tree, munching on nuts and absently watching the flow of the River Little Tiber. It was a perfect morning, the breeze gently rustling the leaves and the sun casting dappled shadows across the camp. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when, suddenly, a figure appeared before her with no warning.
Hazel blinked, her mouth half-full of nuts. The man in front of her was tall, with long, silvery hair and a long, flowing beard that made him look like something out of J.R.R. Tolkien's books. In fact,if you added a staff or a walking stick, he would look exactly like how she pictured Gandalf. He wore deep blue robes adorned with golden stars that sparkled faintly in the sunlight. His half-moon glasses perched precariously on his nose, and his eyes twinkled with a knowing, mischievous glint.
"Ah, Miss Potter, I assume? Albus Dumbledore, at your service," he said with a soft voice, bowing slightly. Hazel stared down at him, slightly awestruck but also wondering how he'd managed to find her so easily.
"I-uh, yes, that's me," she managed, jumping down from her perch and dusting off her jeans. "I was expecting to be taken to Hogwarts, though."
Dumbledore chuckled softly, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Ah, I understand your eagerness. But, unfortunately, we're not quite heading to Britain today. I thought, instead, we might enjoy a quieter chat, just you and I. If you'll come with me?"
Before she could say anything, Dumbledore flicked his wand with a quick motion. A large rock near the tree shimmered briefly, and in the blink of an eye, it transfigured into a cozy little patio area complete with a small table, two chairs, and a stone bench. Hazel blinked, impressed. She couldn't help but notice how peaceful it looked, the nearby trees giving the scene a natural, serene feel.
"Please, sit," Dumbledore offered graciously, already settling into one of the chairs. He gestured for Hazel to join him, and she hesitantly took the other seat, still absorbing the strange but welcoming sight. She wasn't quite sure what to expect, but she was beginning to feel more comfortable in his presence.
With another flick of his wand, a teapot appeared, pouring a steaming, reddish tea into two cups. Dumbledore conjured small plates with delicate pastries—light, fluffy scones, biscuits dusted with powdered sugar, and little fruit tarts, their fillings bursting with color, with a little whipped cream on top.
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his voice softening. "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, and a Transfiguration Master. Hogwarts is an ancient school, founded over a thousand years ago by four remarkable witches and wizards. It's where young witches and wizards are trained in magic—whether they're the brightest minds or those seeking a path toward mastery."
He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "At Hogwarts, you'll study Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures. But it's more than that—it's a place of discovery. You'll explore magic as old as the world itself, uncover forgotten spells, and learn how to live with magic, not just cast it."
Dumbledore leaned back. "There's also Astronomy, Herbology, Charms, even Divination, where you can learn to glimpse the future. But beyond the magic, it's the friendships, the challenges, and the experiences that make Hogwarts so special."
Hazel stirred her tea, unsure what to make of the conversation. "I know a bit about magic," she interrupted, not wanting to be talked down to. "I had a pretty informative meeting with the Ilvermorny liaison yesterday."
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Ah, of course. The magical world is a large place, and you've only just begun to scratch the surface. I imagine you weren't looking forward to a long journey all the way to Britain, though?"
Hazel shook her head, picking at the rim of her teacup. "No, I wasn't. Maybe when I'm older. For now, I think I'll stick with the American schools for now."
"Ah, wise," Dumbledore hummed in response. "But I'm curious, Miss Potter. What kinds of magic are you familiar with? What have you learned so far?"
Hazel paused for a moment, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't sure how to answer, but she'd never been shy about her abilities. "Well… I can talk to horses and snakes. I don't know why, but it's just something that's always been there." She hesitated, then added, "I can control the flow of water, sometimes, and… occasionally, I set my arrows on fire. I haven't tried competing outside the camp because of it."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "That's impressive, Miss Potter. A fine range of talents."
Hazel didn't meet his gaze, shifting her eyes to her cup. "I also know a few small incantations from a grimoire. It was passed down to me by someone from the Jupiter Orphan Initiative. But... I'd rather not show you the grimoire. It's kind of personal." She sipped at the tea, which wasn't too bad; it tasted slightly of chocolate and was sweet, since she had added a lot of cream and sugar to it.
Dumbledore nodded, as if understanding completely. "Very well. But might I see one of these incantations, if you're willing to share?"
Hazel hesitated, then nodded. "Alright." She set her teacup down and drew a slow breath, her hands lightly brushing the stone of the table as she began to speak the words of the first spell.
"Shadows shimmer, figures flare,
Split myself upon the air."
For a moment, nothing happened. But then, in a ripple of shadows, a hazy figure appeared next to Hazel. It was an exact mirror image of her, mimicking her movements, perfectly synchronized but translucent and flickering like a wisp of smoke. Hazel let out a small breath, impressed by her magic.
"The figure's not real," she added, "but it can help confuse people or draw fire away from me. It's a good trick when I want to distract somebody."
Dumbledore looked impressed, his eyes widening. "Fascinating. I did not expect such a spell. Could you show me another?"
Hazel took a deep breath, preparing for the next one. She spoke the words with more confidence.
"From root and leaf, from claw and call,
Let green arise and heed my thrall."
The ground at her feet trembled slightly, and from the earth sprouted a brown root. It slithered along the floor and reached out to grab one of the tea cups, pulling it up before the root began to absorb the tea, as if tasting it.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows even higher, clearly intrigued. "Very unusual. A bit more than what I would expect from your standard spellbook."
Hazel nodded, feeling a little self-conscious now. "I've found it useful in the wilderness, but… no, I didn't read about anything like this in Ilvermorny's books."
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, staring at the root as it slowly retreated into the ground. "That's very interesting, indeed. Something quite unique, Miss Potter."
Hazel shrugged, sipping her tea. "Guess I got lucky," she said with a small smile.
Dumbledore smiled, his expression warm but tinged with an unreadable depth. "I believe it's much more than that, Miss Potter. Your potential is remarkable. Your understanding of magic will evolve in ways that even you can't yet foresee."
Hazel raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Why even bother sending me an invitation, Professor Dumbledore? You should've known there was a very low chance I'd accept. Seems like a lot of trouble."
"Perhaps I hoped for a higher chance of acceptance," Dumbledore replied, his tone both amused and earnest. "You see, just the day before yesterday, I received an acceptance letter for a certain someone named Harry James Potter. Your twin brother." He paused, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "He's coming to Hogwarts. He has been living with his aunt and uncle in Britain, and he was very eager to find out that he might have a twin sister."
Hazel blinked, her breath catching. "What?"
"I had to come here for certain matters, which is why your letter was delayed," Dumbledore continued. "Originally, we intended to send it on the first of July. As for your parents—James and Lily Potter—they were tragically killed on Halloween night, when you and Harry were just babies. Harry was placed at his aunt's place for safety, but at the time you were declared missing, presumed to be dead, since we could find nothing to prove your continued existence.. It's been a long road, but now you and your brother are set to meet at Hogwarts."
"So… I have a twin brother," Hazel said, processing the information slowly, "and I'll only get to see him if I go to Hogwarts?"
Hazel's hand drifted to the small golden locket around her neck. She hesitated for a moment before gently unclasping it. The locket was oval-shaped, its chain and clasp charmed unbreakable, always secure. It had always been that way, ever since she could remember.
She held it in her hands, running her fingers over the smooth surface and the ingrained design of the fleur-de-lis, and then carefully pressed the button on top. With a soft click, the locket opened. On one side was an old, non-magical photo of two young, smiling faces— whom she knew guessed were James and Lily Potter. They were vibrant, happy, their love clear even in the stillness of the image. Hazel had never known them, but their faces were familiar, etched into her memory like a whisper from another life. The other side showed a more recent photo—likely her twin brother, Harry. His image had changed over the years, from a small baby to a growing child, and now, in the most recent version, a young boy with the same messy hair and eyes that mirrored her own.
"I don't know them," Hazel said quietly, her voice soft as she glanced at Dumbledore. "But this locket, it's been with me for as long as I can remember. And the picture of Harry—it changes. I've always wondered about him, but I didn't know who he was until now."
She closed the locket with a small click, pressing it tightly in her hand. "It's one of my most prized possessions," she added, looking at Dumbledore with a mix of uncertainty and determination.
Dumbledore's eyes softened as he watched her, understanding the significance of the locket. "I believe it's a connection to your past, Miss Potter. A reminder of who you are and where you come from. You'll meet him soon. And when you do, you'll have a chance to learn more about your family—about who you both are."
Hazel nodded, still holding the locket close to her heart. "Alright. I'll go. I need to meet him. But I can't leave right away."
Dumbledore gave a small, understanding smile. "Of course. I will return for you on August 25th to gather your supplies. You'll leave for Hogwarts on the 1st of September, and that is when you will meet your brother."
Hazel glanced at the locket again before tucking it back under her shirt, out of sight. "Thanks, Professor. That works perfectly."
Dumbledore gave her one last knowing look. "Until then, Miss Potter."
And with that, he left, his figure vanishing with a soft shimmer of magic. The patio and table also turned back into the rock when Hazel finally got up and walked out.
Hazel walked back to the Principia, her mind spinning with the whirlwind of revelations. She couldn't quite shake the image of Harry, her brother, living an entire life without her. She'd have to meet him. There was no other choice.
Arriving at the Principia, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Marcus and Junia were sitting at the large table, papers scattered across it, but they both looked up as soon as she entered.
"Well?" Junia asked, her tone casual, but there was a gleam of curiosity in her eyes.
Hazel stood a little taller, her expression firm. "I'm going."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "Going where?"
"To Hogwarts," Hazel said, voice steady. "I have a twin brother. His name is Harry. He's been living with his aunt and uncle in Britain, and he's coming to Hogwarts too. I… I need to meet him."
Junia's eyes widened slightly, but she kept her cool. "Wait. You have a twin? And you didn't know?"
Hazel nodded. "I had no idea. Dumbledore just told me. He's coming to Hogwarts, and if I want to meet him, I have to go too."
"Wow," Junia muttered, then glanced at Marcus. "What's the plan?"
Marcus sighed and leaned forward, his gaze steady. "You're going to Hogwarts. But we'll need to make sure everything is arranged for your absence. You can't just leave without a word."
"I'm not abandoning Camp Jupiter," Hazel assured them. "I'll be back in time. Dumbledore is coming on August 25th to get my supplies. The train leaves for Hogwarts on September 1st, so I'll be catching it then."
"Alright," Marcus said, nodding. "We'll mark it as your education. You're still part of the legion, and we expect you to check in often by MSS, alright?"
The Mercury Scroll Service (MSS) is the legion's equivalent of express mail, operated by Mercury himself. To send a message, you simply write it on enchanted parchment, drop a coin into a shrine dedicated to Mercury, and with a puff of golden smoke, your message vanishes—delivered instantly to the recipient's nearest shrine or messenger post. While incredibly fast, there's a catch: Mercury, ever the trickster, often demands a fee for his services. Sometimes, this takes the form of a literal payment, but more often, he'll show up in person, asking for snacks, a favor, or some other form of compensation, leaving you with a small sense of unease.
Hazel smiled. "Understood. I'll report back after I meet him. I'll also get the holiday schedule and let you know then. Thanks, Marcus, Junia."
Junia gave a small, teasing grin. "Don't forget about us, okay? You're a part of this too, no matter how far away you go."
"I won't forget," Hazel said, smiling back.
With that, she turned and left the Principia, her steps a little lighter now. She wasn't sure what awaited her at Hogwarts, but one thing was certain: she had a brother to meet.