The air shimmered faintly as Hera descended into the mortal world. The Queen of Olympus seldom lowered herself to wander among mortals, but paranoia had driven her here. She had learned enough whispers: Aphrodite absent for days, Artemis unaccounted for, and Athena hiding among mortals.
If anyone will not betray me to Poseidon, it is Athena, Hera thought. The gray-eyed goddess despised her uncle, and she would never support him as king. That made her the safest ally Hera could reach for.
Hera walked across the campus, cloaked in a simple guise: an elegant woman in her early forties, sharp-eyed and regal even in mortal clothes. Students passed her without suspicion, though some glanced twice at her commanding aura.
She followed the thread of divine power she could sense, faint but precise, until she reached the medieval studies building. Inside a classroom, Athena stood before a blackboard, chalk in hand, explaining the Byzantine strategies of Emperor Basil II to a room full of eager students.
Her disguise was perfect—a professor with neatly tied hair, glasses perched on her nose, and a cardigan draped over her shoulders. But Hera knew her sister well. That voice carried the weight of centuries.
The lecture ended. Students gathered their things, and Hera waited in the corridor until Athena stepped out, holding a stack of notes.
"Athena," Hera said sharply.
The goddess froze, then adjusted her glasses before turning. "Hera." Her tone was neutral, but her eyes flickered with calculation. "This is unusual. The Queen of Olympus visiting my classroom?"
"I require your help." Hera's voice was clipped, her suspicion leaking through. "You know why I am here. Too many of our sisters are absent at once. Aphrodite, Artemis—even Hestia spends her hours elsewhere. I will not sit idle while they conspire behind my back."
Athena's expression softened into feigned patience. "Paranoia does not suit you, Hera. Not every absence is a plot."
Hera stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Do not play games with me. You hate Poseidon. You would never support him if he sought my husband's throne. That is why I came to you. Tell me the truth. What are they doing? Who is this mortal they all keep circling?"
Athena held her silence a beat too long. Her lips pressed thin, her wisdom battling with the need for secrecy.
Finally, she said, "It is not Poseidon you need fear, Hera. But neither will I betray those who have chosen their paths."
Hera's eyes narrowed. "So it is a mortal. I knew it. Aphrodite's long absence, Artemis' strange hunts, even your time here among men—it all connects."
Athena's gaze was steel. "If you value Olympus, you will let this go. The moment you dig too deeply, you will force what you fear most into reality. You know prophecy has a way of fulfilling itself."
Hera's jaw clenched. She turned on her heel, her golden earrings catching the light. "If Olympus crumbles because of your silence, Athena, the blame will rest on your shoulders."
Hera had been about to leave when her sharp eyes caught movement at the end of the corridor. A young man—no, a boy by her measure—approached with a confident gait. He was no ordinary mortal. Hera's instincts prickled immediately. She knew she had seen that face somewhere before, though she couldn't place it.
The boy smiled warmly at Athena, who was still standing stiffly outside her classroom.
"Professor, I just wanted to remind you—Teddy's birthday is coming up. We were thinking about celebrating it at Disneyland. If you'd like, I can book your ticket too."
His tone was casual, almost familial, and it set Hera's teeth on edge. Why would a mortal speak to Athena as if she were a family friend?
Athena's expression flickered. She hesitated, just a fraction too long, before answering, "Yes… very well. I'll be there." Her voice carried that reluctant acceptance, as if agreeing cost her more than she wanted to admit.
The boy nodded. "Great. Oh—and what about Artemis and Hestia? Should I arrange tickets for them as well?"
Athena shifted her stack of notes to hide her discomfort. "I will… ask them. Do not worry."
"Perfect." The boy gave her a smile and waved politely before walking down the hall.
Hera followed him with her gaze until he disappeared from sight, and then her attention snapped back to Athena. Her voice dripped suspicion.
"How does that mortal know Hestia? And Artemis?" Hera's eyes blazed as she leaned closer. "So this is the boy you all are circling like vultures? This… human child?"
Athena's composure never wavered, though her knuckles tightened against the folder she carried. "It is not what you think, Hera."
"Oh?" Hera's laugh was sharp, mocking. "Not what I think? Then explain. Why does a mortal boy speak to you as if you were his friend? Why does he invite Hestia—Hestia, who never leaves her hearth—to some carnival of children? And Artemis, your sworn sister, the virgin huntress—since when does she lower herself to chase after mortals?"
Athena finally met Hera's glare, her gray eyes unflinching. "He is not just any mortal. You know of him, even if you don't remember him. His name is Harry Potter—the wizard who forged the magical barriers around Camp Half-Blood. The only wizard who could."
For once, Hera was silent. The name stirred recognition deep within her mind, a thread connecting whispers she had overheard: Aphrodite's absences, Artemis' strange hunts, Athena's long stays in the mortal world.
Harry Potter, the Wizard.
For the first time in her eternal life, Hera, Queen of Olympus, stood at the gates of Disneyland. The air was alive with laughter, music, and the strange yet dazzling inventions of mortal imagination. Brightly colored rides twisted high above the park, while children ran past her clutching balloons shaped like mice and ducks. Hera's sharp eyes, so accustomed to the majesty of Olympus and the solemn grandeur of temples, widened with shock.
"So this… is how mortals entertain themselves?" she murmured, her voice dripping with a mixture of disdain and reluctant wonder.
From her vantage point, Hera scanned the crowd. Her breath caught as she spotted familiar figures: Athena, Artemis, Aphrodite, Hestia, and even Apollo—all gathered together, blending into the mortal throngs. They were not meeting as solemn Olympians debating divine politics; they were laughing, eating spun sugar, and riding strange contraptions powered not by magic, but by mortal ingenuity.
And at the center of it all was Harry Potter.
Hera's gaze fell upon the boy they were all gathered for—Teddy Black, Harry's godson. The child's face lit up as a phoenix-shaped balloon bobbed in his hand. The sight tugged at something deep inside Hera, though she quickly suppressed it. Beside Teddy was his grandmother, Andromeda, a proud, stern woman who reminded Hera of the matriarchs of old noble families.
Then, Hera's eyes narrowed. A young pregnant woman walked into view, supported by her parents. Hera recognized her from whispers she'd overheard: Hermione Granger. So this was the mortal woman tangled in Apollo's affairs, and perhaps in Harry's as well. She could see the tension in the Grangers' stiff shoulders, though they smiled politely for Teddy's sake.
Other faces flickered through the crowd: Neville Longbottom, whose quiet aura of strength reminded Hera of the true warriors of Olympus; Luna Lovegood, dreamy and strange, yet with eyes that saw more than most; even demigods Harry had befriended from Camp Half-Blood. A satyr played his flute, entertaining the children while Apollo clapped along.
For a moment, Hera stood frozen. This gathering felt more like family than Olympus had in centuries.
Her gaze shifted back to the goddesses. Hestia, usually so quiet, laughed aloud as she rode a carousel with Teddy perched in front of her. Artemis, the eternal virgin huntress, actually allowed herself to be strapped into a mortal "roller coaster," her silver eyes flashing with a thrill Hera had never seen in her before. Athena, of all people, was holding a mortal storybook she had just purchased, showing it to Andromeda as if she were an ordinary aunt. And Aphrodite—Hera expected to see her preening, but instead she was bending down, tying Teddy's shoe with an indulgent smile.
Hera's fists clenched at her sides.
"They should be in Olympus," she hissed under her breath. "They should be at my side, serving the throne, not… not here. Playing with mortals."
And yet, as she watched Apollo coax Hermione's parents into tasting some ridiculous fried pastry, and Athena actually accept a pair of mouse-shaped ears from a vendor, Hera felt something she had not felt in centuries—envy.
Here was joy. Here was belonging. And Hera—queen, goddess, wife of Zeus—had none of it.
Her eyes lingered on Harry Potter. He moved with ease among gods and mortals alike, bridging both worlds as if he had been born to it. Even Zeus, in all his power, could not have orchestrated such harmony.
Hera's chest tightened. "No wonder they spend their time with him," she muttered. "No wonder they defy me."
She remembered the long, lonely halls of Olympus where her title carried weight but her voice carried little. She remembered the way mortals feared her name, but never loved her. And now, looking at Harry, at Teddy, at the family and friends gathered around them, Hera felt an unfamiliar pang.
"I am missing out," she whispered. The words tasted bitter and strange on her tongue. "I, Hera, am missing out."
The fireworks began overhead, dazzling bursts of color painting the night sky. Hera, hidden in the shadows, lifted her chin.
She would no longer be left behind.
If the goddesses thought Harry Potter was theirs alone, they were mistaken. Hera, Queen of Olympus, would get better acquainted with him—and claim her place in this new circle he had drawn around himself.
The marble halls of Hera's palace gleamed with cold perfection, every pillar carved with scenes of marriage, loyalty, and judgment. It was quiet—too quiet. Hera sat on her throne, tall and severe, her golden crown catching the torchlight. She had been waiting.
The doors opened with a creak, and Athena entered, her silver-grey robes whispering against the floor. Her face was calm as ever, but her eyes betrayed caution. Hera rarely summoned anyone privately, and when she did, it was never without purpose.
"Ah, Athena," Hera said smoothly, her voice like silk stretched over steel. "I was expecting you."
Athena inclined her head. "You summoned me, Queen Hera. What is it you wish to discuss?"
Hera leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand. "Did you tell them that I know their secrets?"
Athena's brows lifted. "No. You told me not to."
"True," Hera admitted, her eyes narrowing. "But I wanted to know whether you would betray my command."
"I did not," Athena replied firmly. "I told them nothing."
For a long moment, Hera studied her, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Then, Hera's lips curved into a thin smile. "Good. Because I already know more than enough. I went to that… Disneyland."
Athena froze, her composure cracking just slightly. "You did?"
"Yes," Hera hissed. "And I saw all of you. Celebrating that child's birthday. I saw Aphrodite, Artemis—even you—throwing yourselves at Harry Potter. And yet…" She paused, her eyes flashing with something between fury and fascination. "…he resists you. All of you."
Hera stood from her throne and began to pace, her long gown brushing against the marble. "Do you know how rare that is, Athena? He even resisted Aphrodite's advances. Impossible! And yet, he did. Why?"
Athena clasped her hands behind her back. "That is what we wish to know as well. Why he resists. Why he treats us not as goddesses to be worshiped, but as… equals."
Hera's eyes snapped to her. "Equals? Do not speak such blasphemy. No mortal is equal to us."
"Perhaps not," Athena conceded carefully. "But Harry Potter is not an ordinary mortal. He is a wizard of unparallel skills. That changes things."
Hera's nails dug into the arm of her throne. She remembered the sight of Harry among the gods and mortals, commanding their loyalty with nothing but presence. It unnerved her. It threatened her. And yet—it drew her.
"Whatever the truth," Hera said at last, "I will not remain in the dark. You, Athena, will introduce me to him."
Athena's lips parted. "You wish to meet Harry Potter… personally?"
"Yes." Hera's voice was sharp. "You will bring me to his house. I will become better acquainted with him."
Athena hesitated. "And if he resists you as well?"
Hera's eyes gleamed coldly. "Then I shall see for myself what kind of mortal dares resist the Queen of Olympus."
Athena bowed slightly, hiding the flicker of doubt in her eyes. "As you command, my queen."
And as Hera sat back upon her throne, she whispered to herself, more to steel her pride than anything else:
"He resisted Aphrodite, resisted Artemis… but he will not resist me."
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