Harry sat in the den, suffering through what could only be known as the worst film ever created.

"Praise me, demigods!

I made you this helpful film.

Trust me. It's awesome."

"Trust me, it only gets worse," muttered Nico. He offered a bucket to Harry, "Popcorn?"

"No, thanks. Just tell me how long this thing is," Harry groaned, rubbing both his hands against his face. Nico chortled at his suffering and drank a sip of his juice.

"It lets the demigods in! It shuts the monsters out! It keeps the half-bloods safe, but turns mortals all about! It's Misty, and it's magic, and it makes me want to shout: the border is all about!"

"Who is that, anyway?"

"That's Apollo, god of the sun. And poetry and music, as you can tell."

Harry cringe-watched as the blond man on screen performed a song-and-dance number with dull and unenthusiastic campers in the background. Of all the images of a god he could have had, that was the last one he wanted to see. "Are all gods like…" he gestured to the screen, "this?"

"No," Nico assured him. "Most are cranky and uptight, you have nothing to worry about."

Harry groaned. He couldn't take one more second of this. The orientation film was ninety percent Apollo praising himself through various forms of terrible haikus, and the other ten percent was information that Harry already knew. "I thought this would be useful to watch. I should've listened to you when you warned me."

Nico grumbled, fidgeting with the fringe of his jet-black hair, "Let this be a lesson to you: always listen to Nico di Angelo."

Both left the dark room, the orientation film still playing behind them. Chiron was outside in the central room, drinking pumpkin juice and reading a thick book written in foreign Greek words. He looked comfortably snug in a fluffy blue blanket and striped red-and-white PJs. Closing his book, the centaur peered up at Harry and Nico and looked amused. "You are out earlier than expected."

"I couldn't handle Apollo's awesomeness," Harry joked, rubbing his eyes in the sudden light.

"Ah, yes," Chiron chuckled knowingly. "You are not the first, and you certainly won't be the last." He took a sip from his goblet and made a small noise of approval. "Now, it's getting late. Harry, the Hermes cabin will have open beds for you."

The three said their good nights, and Harry and Nico began walking through the chilly night air. The torches lighting the pathway to the cabins burned brightly, casting a warm tinge against the grass and dirt. Harry combed his fingers through his hair, which was beginning to reach the nape of his neck. "There wouldn't happen to be hairdressers in the camp, are there?"

"You can ask an Aphrodite kid. They love styling hair," Nico answered, kicking a pebble.

The floppy balloon man waved at him from a distance. It was quiet—only the small gurgle of a nearby creek and chirping crickets followed them. Harry yawned and paused to take a deep stretch, cracking the bones in his sore back with a satisfying pop!

As the two neared the neatly arranged cabins, Harry's serene walk was interrupted with the same odd feeling from dinner. The hairs on his arms and neck stood to attention, and the wizard straightened his back, brows furrowed and muscles tense. That thing—it was here again. And it was watching him.

The air felt heavy. Harry almost imagined it vibrating with an angry, ferocious energy he had never encountered before. Glancing at Nico's casual stride, Harry realized that the goth boy didn't feel a thing.

He palmed his holly wand stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans, straining his ears and eyes flicking to every moving shadow in the vicinity.

Behind him!

He whipped his head around with his wand out, a blasting spell on his lips.

There was nothing.

"Harry?" Nico asked from his side. They had stopped walking. The boy's eyebrows knit together, but he looked just as tense. "What's wrong?"

There was something here—Harry was certain. But he couldn't see anything.

Shaking his head, Harry quickly jammed his wand behind his jean pocket again. "C'mon," he said, lips thin. "I'm tired, let's walk faster."

Nico's eyes strayed to where Harry had stuffed his wand. His skull chains rattled against his black pool noodle, and he looked like he had a million questions running through his mind. But with one look at Harry's expression, Nico snapped his mouth shut and quickened his pace to the cabins with the wizard following closely behind.

With each step they took to the Hermes' cabin, the air grew angrier and thicker. Black clouds began to swirl above in an unnatural formation—that, even Nico could notice.

"What the hades?" Nico cursed.

Nearing the central courtyard of the omega-shaped cabin formation, Harry and Nico speed-walked to Hermes' cabin. Right before they reached its door, the dark sky rumbled ferociously, and a bolt of lightning struck the ground in front of them. Sparks flew in all directions. The grass was fiery red, turning to black embers in a matter of seconds. Nico yelped, eyes clamped shut and both of his hands pressed against the sides of his head. Harry's ears felt like they had exploded, and his vision momentarily doubled.

Harry heard a horse's speedy gallop behind him, coming closer and closer—Chiron, no doubt to investigate the lightning.

"H-Harry, you…" Nico gasped, pointing to the top of Harry's head.

Chiron arrived still sporting his fluffy PJs, slightly out of breath from his rush to Harry. He, too, was looking above the wizard's head with a surprised expression.

Harry peered up. There was a flickering, holographic sign right above his head. A fading image of a pair of black torches sprouting green light stared back.

"Hecate," Chiron declared. "Goddess of magic, mist, and crossroads. Harry Potter, son of magic."

Harry couldn't sleep. He laid wide-awake in the empty Cabin Number Twenty—Hecate's cabin. He had taken a twin bed that was smartly lofted above the main rooms. The cabin itself consisted of four rooms and four different entrances. There was a gym, dining room, ping-pong table and arcade room, and a space just for a larger-than-normal hot tub. When Harry had first entered, he couldn't believe his eyes.

The wizard shifted under his sheets. He hoped that he wasn't taking anyone's bed.

Apparently, the head counselor, Lou Ellen, and Hecate's few other children were in school, leaving the whole cabin to himself. Some guidance would have helped, but he was in no position to complain.

Why? Why was he claimed? Flipping restlessly to his side, Harry stared into the wall with scrunched eyebrows.

Once he was done drilling holes into the wall with his eyes, he tossed and turned in his bed. He tried flipping his pillow to the cool side to help his thinking. It didn't help.

Harry grunted with frustration and kicked his entire blanket to the floor, sitting upright on his mattress. His neon green pool noodle—his knife—mocked him from his nightstand. As if to remind him that as long as he couldn't see, he would never be a part of this world.

Harry grabbed his pool noodle, his hand easily wrapping around where the knife's handle would be. He waved his other hand through the other two-thirds, the sharp-blade-bit. It was fascinating to see, his flesh phasing through the foam like a bleeding shadow. He was still a mortal—still unworthy to be touched by celestial bronze.

Then why?

Tossing the noodle back to his nightstand, Harry groaned and collapsed back on his bed. "Lumos," he whispered, eyes squinting in his wand's light. 2:58 AM, read the small wind-up clock next to him. Sighing, the wizard tried pulling his blanket back on top, snuggled deeper into the soft bed, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Two minutes later, the air suddenly grew heavy with magic. It was suffocating.

Harry's eyes flew open and his breath quickened. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the wand underneath his pillow and he slowly turned his head towards the stairs—the only way into the loft. His body broke out into cold sweat, but he didn't kick the sheets off him. That thing was back.

"Harry Potter," said a voice behind him.

His breath caught in his throat. Harry spun around and jumped upright on his bed, wand pointed at his uninvited visitor.

A pale, ageless woman with flowing dark robes sat rigidly on the twin bed across from him. Her clothes rippled impossibly like spilled ink and it sported patterned gold emblems of twin torches. She had piercing green eyes and long, black hair that cascaded past her shoulders. Her entire person was surrounded by a jade light. Harry had never seen a person so beautiful—it almost hurt his brain to look at her face for longer than two seconds.

"Hecate," he realized. Harry dumbly stared at her with his mouth open. Shaking his head and snapping his lips shut, he hurriedly shoved his wand in the back waistband of his pajama pants. "I—"

"There are two things in this world that I despise," she spoke suddenly. Her cold gaze seemed to bore into his soul. "Percy Jackson, and contradictions."

Harry stared at her. "Well, I—uh, I haven't met Percy Jackson yet, but—" he sputtered.

"We have been watching you, in Olympus," she interrupted, standing up with the straightest back Harry had ever seen. "You and your funny little stick. Your instantaneous travel. Your fire spells. Your metamorphosis. Your tricks to the mind and so-called Charmspeak." She walked slowly to the side of the room, picking up a picture frame of one of her real half-blood children from the dresser. "All signs point to godly blood within you." She caressed her finger over the picture's face. "And yet…you cannot see through the Mist. Your pitiable knife passes through your flesh."

"Miss, er—madam Hecate? Missus Hecate? I—"

"A mere mortal has managed to deceive the gods," she said, volume rising. "Except me." Hecate slammed the picture frame down and turned to face him, her expression frigid but somehow full of rage. Harry jumped, his nerves on edge. It was a miracle that the frame and every other glass thing within a mile radius wasn't shattered. "And it was me that you should have been concerned about."

"I didn't intend to trick anyone," Harry promised, his hands slightly in front of him, palms forward. Pure magical energy rolled off the goddess in waves—her aura alone was more powerful than any wizard he had ever encountered.

The goddess of magic took a scathing look at his stance and scoffed, her black hair flowing in dark tendrils around her shoulders. "I will not harm you."

Harry stared, frozen in his defensive posture.

"Last summer, Percy Jackson led a war that killed more of my children than any other god's. My children are more precious to me than any treasure," Hecate said, eyes piercing. She turned to the dresser. With a ghost of a smile, she walked over to a different picture of another one of her kids. "In return for the protection of my remaining descendants, I was forced to side with the Olympians." The smile fell, and Hecate turned her head to glare at Harry. "The Olympians still do not trust me."

"I-I don't understand."

"The gods have seen your powers, and they accuse me of hiding a godly child from them. One to lead a Third Titan War. A child more dangerous than Luke Castellan, more powerful than Circe."

Harry rubbed his forehead. His heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest. A third war? Luke Castellan? Circe? "Then why? Why did you claim me? Why confirm their wrong ideas?"

Her eyes narrowed. "They do not trust my words—a traitor's words. Either I claimed you and you stayed here, indoctrinated into this camp's naive philosophy where the gods and goddesses are good and virtuous..." Hecate scowled. "Or my children lose their amnesty. The choice was obvious."

Harry stood there, silent. His mind was spinning. Hecate watched him as he inhaled deeply to calm his heart. What response was she looking for? A gracious kowtow and a small 'thanks for fake-claiming me'?

"Was the lightning really necessary?" he asked instead. He immediately wanted to slap himself for such a stupid question.

The almighty goddess looked at him with an expression that made Harry want to shrivel up like a roly poly. "That was Hermes tattling to Zeus. He demanded that I claim you before you took a step inside his precious little cabin."

"Oh," Harry said intelligently.

"To the world, you are my spawn. You will not make a fool of this house." The goddess waved her hand with little flourish. Something shifted in Harry's vision, like wiping the fog off the bathroom mirror after a steamy shower. "The Mist will no longer be a hindrance for you. The ability to manipulate it, however, remains a privilege to my true descendents—though I doubt you would need it."

"I—Thank you," Harry hesitated.

"Do not thank me." She walked towards him slowly, looking at him like he was a rat under her shoe. "Return the favor by finding the true reason you were placed in our world. I sense the forces of the universe brewing. We are far from peace." The goddess of magic began walking across the room, and with each step her body faded.

"Another war?" he queried. Wasn't there a huge one just months ago?

"Yes," she said, almost transparent.

"Hecate," Harry urged, taking a step forward, "tell me more."

She paused. "I prefer grapes to strawberries. You should keep that in mind the next time you offer tribute."

And with that, she vanished.