The morning sun filtered through the ivy-covered stone of Princeton University's main building, casting a golden light across the entrance as Harry waited under the old oak tree by the east courtyard. He wore his favorite grey jacket, the one Hermione said made him look like a proper Muggle college boy, and he nervously flipped through his notebook. He had just finished a medieval literature lecture when Athena waved him over with her usual calm confidence.
"Harry," she said, her voice like polished marble, "I'd like you to meet someone very special."
Harry looked up—and blinked. Standing beside Athena was a woman dressed simply, yet there was something timeless and serene about her. She wore a long flowing dress in warm earth tones, her auburn hair tied in a modest braid. Her presence was gentle, like the soft crackle of a hearth on a winter night. But behind those calm amber eyes was unmistakable power.
"This is Hestia," Athena said. "Goddess of the Hearth, Home, and Cooking."
Hestia stepped forward with a kind smile and held out a small wooden box tied with red twine. "Harry Potter," she said warmly, "I've heard much about you. I brought something... as a gesture of goodwill."
Harry accepted the box curiously and untied the string. Inside were a dozen cookies, still warm, their scent wafting up like a cozy memory—honey, cinnamon, just a hint of fire-roasted marshmallow.
"Try one," Hestia encouraged, eyes twinkling.
Harry took a bite—and paused mid-chew. The flavors bloomed across his tongue like a spell, comforting yet complex, as if every bite told a story. He blinked, stunned.
"This is... this is insane," Harry mumbled with his mouth full. "I mean—this is the best thing I've ever tasted!"
Hestia chuckled. "That's kind of you to say. I baked them myself."
"You—seriously? Did you enchant them or something?"
"I don't enchant food. That's cheating," she replied with a wink. "But I use ingredients that aren't exactly... ordinary. Which brings me to my request."
Athena raised an eyebrow and stepped aside, letting her elder sister speak.
"I want to cook more with magical ingredients," Hestia explained gently. "The things you wizards grow and cultivate… I haven't tasted such wonder in eons. Would you help me obtain some?"
Harry nodded eagerly. "Of course! I know just the place. It's a magical shopping center—Doce Encanto. You'll love it. It's got everything from dragon-basil to floating creamberries. I can take you today, if you'd like."
"I'd love that," Hestia said, her expression glowing like a warm fire.
---
They arrived an hour later at the enchanted entryway of Doce Encanto, nestled within a hidden courtyard in Newark. Harry led the way through the golden revolving door that shimmered with subtle wards, and Hestia's breath caught as they stepped into the vast, multilevel wonder of the wizarding mall.
Glowing lanterns floated from floor to ceiling, aromas from half a hundred magical kitchens wafted through the air, and creatures made of chocolate and sugar darted through enchanted displays.
"By the Fates..." Hestia murmured.
Harry grinned. "Yeah, I had the same reaction. Come on—we'll start with Moonroot Market. They sell the best baking ingredients."
Over the next few hours, Hestia explored every inch of the culinary section like a child in a toy store. Harry watched her marvel at grindstone-heated cinnamon bark, stormflower petals that added spark to frostings, and flour made from crushed sun-dried puffwheat enchanted to stay warm.
She sampled ice creams that shimmered with flavor charms and stocked up on crystalized nectar, mistberries, powdered unicorn milk, and even an elusive bottle of Phoenix Fire Honey.
By the time they left, Harry was weighed down with floating shopping bags charmed to follow him like loyal pets.
"I'm going to need help cooking all this," Harry admitted as they stepped outside into the late afternoon light.
"Where do you live, child?" Hestia asked.
"I stay with Hermione at a house near the university... but I think the best place to take you is the Black Mansion. It's where my godson Teddy lives with his grandmother. Andromeda Tonks—she's an excellent cook. She could help."
Hestia smiled softly. "Then let's go meet her."
---
The hearth in the Black Mansion roared to life with green flame as Harry stepped through with Hestia close behind. The elegant parlor quickly filled with the scent of fresh cinnamon from the bag trailing him.
"Teddy!" Harry called, placing the shopping bags down on the sofa. "I brought a guest!"
A flash of laughter echoed from the hallway as one-year-old Teddy Lupin toddled in, wearing a mismatched pair of socks and hugging a plush Hippogriff to his chest. His hair immediately shifted from brown to bright pink in excitement.
"Teddy, meet Hestia," Harry said.
Hestia knelt immediately, a soft warmth pouring from her presence like a protective blanket. "Hello, little one," she whispered, offering him a small cookie from her satchel.
Teddy's eyes widened as he accepted it and took a bite. His hair turned golden. "Mmm! Coo-kie!"
The goddess laughed gently, placing a kiss to his forehead. "You are too precious."
Andromeda soon joined them, wiping her hands on an apron. She raised a brow as she noticed the goddess in her home but curtsied respectfully. "Lady Hestia... I wasn't expecting Olympian company."
"At ease, Andromeda Tonks. I've come to learn," Hestia replied humbly. "Your grandson has captured my heart already. And your grandson's godfather has promised me help in learning how to cook with magical ingredients."
"Well then," Andromeda said, smiling, "I hope you're ready to be put to work. We start with unicorn-cream pudding and firefruit pie. Let me fetch my recipe scrolls."
And thus began a culinary evening like none other. Hestia learned, laughed, and listened—discovering tricks of magical cookery passed down through wizarding kitchens. Teddy sat on her lap during breaks, feeding her bits of cookie as if trying to impress her in return.
And Harry, from the archway, watched as a goddess of old became something simpler, something sweeter—an honorary member of his strange and growing family.
College life was never Harry's favorite thing. He didn't like waking early, didn't enjoy crowded lecture halls, and most of all, he hated feeling like just another name on a professor's attendance sheet. He came and went irregularly, his mind often elsewhere—usually in the magical world, or at home with Teddy, or plotting his next invention.
But Hermione Granger—Hermione Jean Granger—never missed a class if she could help it. Rain, cold, late nights, or ancient curses wouldn't keep her from a lecture. She had planted herself firmly in the mortal academic world and thrived there. It gave her purpose, structure, and, in a strange way, peace.
And lately, something else had made her mornings more tolerable—Lester Popolodobas.
At first, Hermione had been suspicious. No one named Lester Popolodobas should have that much confidence or charm. He had the aura of someone who didn't belong. And he didn't. Because he wasn't a college student. He wasn't even mortal.
One day, while walking back from the university café, their coffee cups still warm in hand, Lester finally told her the truth.
"I'm not who you think I am," he said, looking unusually serious. "My name isn't Lester. I'm Apollo."
Hermione stopped mid-step. "Apollo. As in—"
"The god. Yes."
She stared at him, mouth slightly open. "And you expect me to believe that?"
Apollo didn't reply with words. Instead, he lifted his hand, and the golden light of the sun itself danced across his palm. It shimmered, warm but not burning, glowing with divine purity. In the sunlight, his form shifted for just a heartbeat—his golden eyes gleamed like twin stars, and a faint outline of a laurel crown appeared above his head.
Hermione staggered back, clutching her coffee cup tightly. "Bloody hell…"
Apollo let the light fade, his features returning to the charming mortal form he wore in university. "I didn't want to lie. But I didn't want to scare you either."
Hermione didn't speak for a long moment. Then, very quietly, she said, "Why me? Why follow me around like some lovesick student?"
His expression softened. "Because you remind me of the things I value. Wisdom. Strength. Grace. Because you're kind, even when you're hurt. And because… I wanted to help."
Hermione didn't trust easily. But Apollo was patient. He didn't press her with flirtations after that—he simply showed up when she needed help, and over time, she found herself warming up to him. Especially when he did the one thing no wizard had been able to do.
It happened late one evening.
Hermione had invited him to her shared house, the one she and Harry rented near Princeton. Teddy was asleep in his room, and Harry had left to tinker with some magical enchantment at Doce Encanto.
She sat on the couch, legs tucked under her, a thick photo album in her lap. Her parents' faces stared up from the pages—smiling, captured in moments long before the war. Before the memory charm. Before she'd made them forget she ever existed.
"I tried everything," she whispered, voice trembling. "Counter-charms, memory recovery rituals… nothing worked. They knew their names but didn't remember me. They didn't remember their only daughter."
Apollo sat beside her, his golden hair catching the light. He didn't interrupt.
"I brought them back to Britain. I got them a house near my childhood neighborhood. But they still don't look at me like they used to." She wiped her eyes. "It's like I'm a stranger now."
"I can help," he said gently.
Hermione looked up. "You can try. But I don't—"
"No. I can help." Apollo reached out, his fingers hovering just above the album. "I'm not just the god of the sun. I'm also the god of healing. And I've seen this kind of damage before—self-inflicted major trauma, layered with guilt and rushed decision changing life."
Hermione's heart raced. "If you mess it up—"
"I won't," Apollo said firmly. "But I'll need something personal. Something of theirs."
Hermione stood, disappearing into her bedroom. She returned a few minutes later with a small carved elephant, something her father used to keep on his desk. "They had this since I was six."
Apollo took it gently, whispering in Ancient Greek. His eyes glowed as he placed the elephant on the photo album, and then, he placed a hand over both.
Golden threads of light slipped from his palm, sinking into the wood, the paper, the air. The room smelled suddenly of oranges and honeysuckle. Hermione watched, mesmerized, as her parents' faces in the photographs seemed to brighten—as though they were waking from a long sleep.
"It's done," Apollo said softly. "They'll remember you. Not everything at once—it'll come back slowly. But the barrier is gone."
Hermione broke down. She didn't mean to. Tears flowed, and she wrapped her arms around Apollo, burying her face in his chest.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Apollo held her quietly, saying nothing.
The next day, Hermione packed a small bag and portkeyed to Britain. She didn't say much—just that she needed time. That she missed her parents. That she had to help them transition.
Harry understood. He hugged her tightly before she left. "Tell them I said hi."
"I will," Hermione smiled. "And Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Be nice to Lester. He's… trying."
Harry laughed. "I'll try. No promises."
As she vanished with a pop, Harry leaned back on the couch and sighed. "Bloody gods…"
In truth, even he didn't know what the Olympians were planning. But he had a feeling things were only going to get more complicated.
And far, far more interesting.