The month slipped by faster than any of them could believe. Black Mansion, usually a place of quiet halls and the occasional chaos of Olympian visitors, had been filled with the sound of boys' laughter. Teddy and Percy had run through the gardens, played near the pool, fought mock battles with enchanted wooden swords, and even fell asleep in the same room more times than Andromeda could count.
But every story has a turning point, and for Teddy, this one arrived too soon.
Harry found Teddy sitting by the big bay window in the east hall, his small hands pressed against the glass as he watched the car being packed outside. Sally was making sure the last of her bags were tucked neatly into the trunk, and Percy was kicking at the gravel driveway with his sneaker, looking just as reluctant to leave as Teddy was to see him go.
Harry crouched beside his godson. "Teddy," he said gently.
Teddy didn't answer at first. His little mouth trembled, and finally he whispered, "I don't want Percy to go."
Harry sighed, brushing a hand over the boy's soft, ever-changing hair—today it was a deep ocean blue, just like Percy's eyes. "I know, champ. But he'll visit. You'll see him again soon."
"Not the same," Teddy muttered stubbornly, hugging his knees. "He sleep here. He play here. Now he go away."
Harry's chest tightened. The words were simple, childlike, but they cut with truth. For Teddy, who had lost his parents before he could even know them, bonds mattered more than anything. And now, one of the strongest bonds he'd made was walking out the door.
Andromeda appeared behind them, her expression warm but practical. "He'll be fine, Teddy. Percy's mother is proud, like all good mothers are. She doesn't want to live on someone else's kindness forever. She wants to build a life for them both."
Harry nodded. It had been Sally's decision, not his. She had been grateful for the roof, the safety, the food. But she wanted to stand on her own. And Harry understood. More than once in his life, he had despised being treated like a burden, like a charity case.
So he had done what he could: arranged a modest but comfortable apartment for Sally and Percy, close to her new job at a restaurant. He paid for the first year's rent in advance but never told her. He simply told the landlord that it was "settled."
Sally had hugged him fiercely when she found out about the apartment. "Harry, I can't thank you enough. But this is my chance to give Percy a real home. One where I'm the provider, not a guest."
Harry smiled at her determination. "You'll do just fine, Sally. You're stronger than you think."
Outside, Percy finally looked up at the window, spotting Teddy's sorrowful face pressed against the glass. He waved, then shouted, "Teddy! Promise I'll come back, okay? I'll visit lots!"
Teddy shoved the window open and leaned out. "Promise?"
"Promise," Percy said firmly, lifting a hand to swear it. "Cross my heart."
"Okay…" Teddy mumbled, but he still looked ready to cry.
Percy ran up the steps, ignoring Sally's half-hearted call for him to stay near the car. He burst through the door and flung his arms around Teddy. "I'll visit. Don't you dare forget me, Teddy-bear."
Teddy clung back fiercely, whispering into Percy's ear, "You my brother now."
Percy pulled back, surprised, then grinned. "Yeah. Brothers."
Harry, watching from the hall, felt his throat tighten. Merlin, these kids…
When Percy finally pulled away and trudged back outside, Harry followed Sally quietly to the car. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silver pendant shaped like a trident, simple but carved with ancient runes.
Sally's eyes widened. "What's that?"
"A ward," Harry said softly. "It'll keep monsters at bay. They'll sense it and hesitate, or avoid him altogether."
Her hand trembled as she took it. "You mean… Percy's really in danger? I thought—well, I hoped—maybe we had more time before…"
Harry laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "He's Poseidon's son. That paints a target on his back. But with this, at least, he'll be safer. Don't tell him what it is—it's better he doesn't know yet. Let him think it's just a gift from me."
Tears filled Sally's eyes, but she smiled bravely. "Thank you, Harry. For everything. You've done more for us than I ever dreamed someone could."
Harry shook his head. "No. You've done the hardest part—you've raised him with love. That's more powerful than anything I could give."
When it was finally time to leave, Teddy clung to Percy one last time. "Don't forget me," Teddy said again, his little voice breaking.
Percy ruffled his hair. "Never. I'll be back before you know it."
Aphrodite, who had slipped into the driveway to watch the farewell, muttered under her breath, "Mortals and their goodbyes… so dramatic." Yet even she dabbed at the corner of her eye with a silk handkerchief.
Sally buckled Percy into the car, gave Harry a last grateful look, and they drove off down the lane. Teddy stood in the driveway long after the car disappeared, staring at the empty road.
Harry crouched beside him, wrapping an arm around his small shoulders. "Come on, Teddy. Let's go inside."
Teddy's hair shifted color again, from sea-blue to dull gray, reflecting his mood. "House too big now."
Harry kissed the top of his head. "Then we'll just have to fill it with more laughter, won't we?"
That night, as Teddy slept clutching one of Percy's toy cars, Harry stood by the window, staring at the moonlit garden.
Life at the Black Mansion would go on—Olympian visitors, quests, classes, laughter, chaos. But the absence of Percy's voice in the halls was already felt.
The Black Mansion had felt quieter ever since Percy and Sally moved into their new apartment. Teddy still played in the gardens, still fed his bowtruckles, still ran around with his little phoenix chick, but his laughter wasn't as bright.
One afternoon, Teddy sat cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, sulking. His hair, usually a vivid kaleidoscope, had turned a muddy brown. Hera, who had come down from the home theater after finishing yet another mortal movie, arched a brow.
"What is with that face, little one?" Hera asked, her voice proud, almost dismissive. "You look as though the world has ended."
Teddy shot her a sharp look that startled even her. "It's because you."
"Me?" Hera tilted her head, her regal presence filling the room. "What nonsense are you speaking, child?"
"It's your fault Percy left!" Teddy shouted, fists balled. His voice was high and trembling, but his eyes blazed. "You never liked him. You made fun of him. You said bad things his daddy. You made him bad. That's why they left!"
For a moment, Hera's face was unreadable. She had never been shouted at by a mortal child before—let alone accused. Then her lips curled into a cold smile. "Do not dare put blame on me, boy. Percy left because his mother wished to stand on her own. Not because of me."
"You liar!" Teddy snapped, his hair flashing red in anger. "Athena hates Percy's dad, but she was nice to Percy! You—you were mean!"
The room went silent. Hera's hands clenched at her sides. For centuries, she had been feared, respected, avoided. And now here was a three-year-old boy accusing her to her face.
Andromeda, who had been in the kitchen, hurried in at the raised voices. "Teddy—!" she began, but Teddy stood his ground, glaring up at the Queen of Olympus as if she were nothing more than another adult to scold.
Harry entered then, sensing the tension like a crackling storm. He crouched down beside Teddy, putting a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's going on here?"
Teddy pointed at Hera furiously. "She made Percy leave! She was mean to him! She didn't want him here!"
Harry sighed. "Teddy, no. That's not true."
"But she—"
Harry shook his head. "Listen to me. Percy and Sally left because Sally wanted to live on her own. She wanted to work, to take care of Percy herself. That's what mothers do. They didn't leave because of Hera."
Teddy's lip trembled. "But she was mean…"
"Yes," Harry admitted, glancing at Hera, who stiffened. "Sometimes Hera says things she shouldn't. Sometimes she acts… cold. But that doesn't mean she made Percy leave. Percy's mom made her choice, and we have to respect it."
Teddy's little shoulders slumped, but he wasn't convinced. "Still her fault…" he mumbled.
Harry pulled Teddy into his arms. "No, champ. It's not. Life isn't always that simple." He kissed the top of Teddy's head. "You'll see Percy again. He promised, remember?"
Teddy sniffled. "Yeah."
Harry looked at Hera then, his green eyes sharp. "And Hera—you'd do well to remember Percy is just a child. He's not Poseidon. Don't punish him for the sins of his father."
For once, Hera didn't argue. She stared at Harry for a long time, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, then swept from the room without another word.
Teddy had been spending more time around Aphrodite lately, laughing and reaching for her hand without thinking, showing her crayon drawings, and running to her first when his phoenix-feather pen wouldn't work. It should have brought Athena joy to see the child cherished, yet it unnerved her that the goddess of love was the first he sought.
She pondered this for a day, then for an hour, and finally made her way from her chair in the library at Doce Encanto after just three breaths. The warded space thrummed softly around her, filled with books and scrolls she had quietly donated during anonymous visits. The delicious scents of cinnamon and coffee floated up from the food court, but Athena dismissed them, her demeanor cool and footsteps purposeful.
In the indoor garden beneath the glass roof, she found them: Harry kneeling next to a shallow fountain, encouraging the phoenix chick to drink, while Teddy stood on tiptoe, grasping a saucer. Aphrodite lounged on a marble bench, her hair loosely tied back and her smile bright as the sun. She didn't acknowledge Athena, directing her warm gaze down at Teddy, who beamed back with an affection that set Athena's jaw tight.
"Harry," Athena spoke lightly, masking her unease. "I need to talk to you."
Harry looked up, his palm still under the saucer, sensing her mood immediately. "In a minute? She's still hesitant about the water. Teddy's helping."
"We can talk here," Aphrodite chimed in sweetly, "unless you think it's a conversation for adults only."
Teddy glanced between them, trying to gauge the atmosphere. The phoenix chick sneezed a tiny spark into the saucer, startling itself and fluffing its feathers.
Harry set down the saucer and stood. "Let's talk here."
Athena clasped her hands. "I understand you had a day at the beach."
Teddy's eyes lit up. "We built a sandcastle with three moats! Aunt Ditee said the moats would fool any monsters that came!"
"Aphrodite," Athena said, keeping her gaze fixed on the boy. "What did you give Harry?"
Aphrodite placed her hand on her heart. "Affection? Attention? A well-applied sunscreen charm?"
Harry met Athena's eyes steadily. "Nothing inappropriate occurred."
Aphrodite tilted her head. "Nothing… dramatic."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Aphrodite."
"What?" she feigned innocence, wide-eyed like a cat by a broken vase. "If Sally Jackson hadn't need help, we might have had a conversation, Athene. You know, the kind adults sometimes have—"
"A conversation," Athena echoed dryly. "Yes. And where would the boy have been?"
"With us," Teddy piped up cheerfully. "We watched crabs!" He wiggled his fingers like claws, and the phoenix chick chirped in response.
Athena's patience began to wear thin. "You didn't consider optics, Aphrodite. You never do."
"Oh," Aphrodite replied, her smile sharpening. "Now it's about optics. Not about hearts. Not the small boy who needed a day that felt like summer. We are counting… optics."
"It matters," Athena said quietly. "For him. For Harry. For the others."
"The others," Aphrodite repeated musically, with a hint of mockery.
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