Percy Jackson: An Endless of Dreams (BL)

Naxos, 1979

The war in the wizarding world was accelerating, whispers of betrayal and death weaving through every alley and household. But amidst the darkness, small lights still flickered—flickers like James Potter and Lily Evans, who had joined the Order of the Phoenix alongside their closest friends: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

It had been a hard year for James. In 1978, his parents—Fleamont and Euphemia Potter—succumbed to a virulent strain of dragon pox, and though they passed peacefully in their ancestral home, the loss cut deep. James had loved them fiercely. Their absence marked his heart. With their passing, he inherited more than grief. He became Lord Potter, head of the oldest magical family in the world.

Yet, even among his friends, there were truths he had kept hidden.

Sirius had lived with the Potters since his sixth year, but he had never ventured far beyond the castle's familiar halls. The grounds of the Naxos estate—enchanted and veiled by ancient magic—were vast and secretive. Neither Remus nor Lily had ever been allowed to explore its depths. And none of them knew the truth of how old the Potters truly were.

James had made a decision: before he married Lily later this year, before the war consumed them all, they deserved to know.

So one clear morning in late spring, James led Sirius, Remus, and Lily through the winding marble corridors of Potter Castle. At first, it felt like a simple tour of dusty relics and old portraits, but then he brought them to a part of the manor none of them had ever seen before.

A sealed golden door awaited them, runes shimmering across its frame. With a drop of blood from James's palm, the runes clicked and pulsed, and then the door slowly creaked open.

The chamber inside took their breath away.

It wasn't just a library—it was a cathedral of knowledge.

Shelves stretched higher than the eye could follow, filled with tomes bound in dragon hide, stardust, and spells written in languages long dead. Magical flames flickered gently over ancient reading tables. In the center of the room, resting upon a velvet-draped pedestal, was the Potter Grimoire—a sentient, living book that only opened for those of Potter blood.

"This," James said softly, reverently, "is where the truth of my family begins."

Remus stood frozen, mouth parted in awe. "Some of these books… they're supposed to be lost."

Lily, ever the scholar, darted toward one of the shelves. "Merlin's Second Codex… The Writ of Morgana… Even the Scrolls of Leto? This is impossible."

But it was Sirius who stood silent, staring around in quiet shock.

"I… lived here," he murmured, "and I never even knew this was under my nose."

James smiled, a little wistfully. "My parents didn't let just anyone near the family secrets. Not even you, Padfoot. But I trust you all now. You need to understand who we are."

He gestured toward the grimoire.

"This belonged to Eirenaios—the son of Orpheus—and the first Potter. We've been around since 5 BC. My family's magic goes deeper than any wizarding line alive. The Potters aren't just old blood... we're the oldest."

They stayed in the library for hours, drinking in the history, flipping through ancient spells, lost rituals, forgotten truths. But James wasn't done yet.

"There's something else you should see," he said.

He led them through the western garden and beyond the protective mists to a path that shimmered with enchantment. The land changed as they walked—trees more primeval, flowers older than Britain, the air humming with divine energy.

They arrived at a marble temple nestled in a grove of silver olive trees.

It was unlike any wizarding structure they'd seen—more like something from Olympus, not Hogwarts. Pillars carved with constellations and dreamscapes spiraled into the sky, and at its center sat an altar veiled in silks and shadow.

Sirius glanced around warily. "Why is there a Greek temple on your land?"

Remus furrowed his brow. "What's it for?"

Lily said nothing. She simply watched James, eyes sharp, sensing something sacred.

James only smiled. "You'll see."

They stepped into the temple, and there—resting upon the central pedestal—was the preserved, serene head of a man with curling dark hair, crowned with golden laurels.

The three visitors stared.

It didn't move. It didn't blink. For a moment, they thought it was a statue.

Then—

"Boo."

The three of them screamed.

Remus stumbled back. Sirius tripped over his own boots. Lily's wand was in her hand in a flash, pointed at the head.

And then it laughed. A deep, mirthful laugh that echoed like music.

"Gods above," Sirius gasped. "It talks!"

"Of course I talk," the head replied, grinning. "It's quite boring otherwise."

James finally broke into a full grin. "Everyone… meet Orpheus. My many-times-great-grandfather. Son of Apollo. He lives here. Sort of."

Orpheus's eyes glinted. "Welcome, children of the waking world. I've been waiting for some new faces."

The three friends stared at James, eyes wide, mouths agape.

"Is this a joke?" Remus finally said.

"I assure you," Orpheus replied smoothly, "I'm very real."

"And very bored," James added with a chuckle. "Thought I'd finally let you meet him."

Lily lowered her wand, breath catching. "This… This changes everything."

"Yeah," Sirius muttered, still wide-eyed. "No kidding."

James walked forward, placing a hand on the pedestal.

"This is who we are and what we are. A line full of history and knowledge, " he said softly. "This is what I'm protecting. What we're fighting for. Not just bloodlines or honor. But history. Legacy. Magic and the honor to be able to use magic, from being a goblin, muggle born, half blood, to pure-blood."

The temple was silent for a long moment. Then Lily stepped forward, eyes fierce and full of wonder and full of questions.

"Thank you, James showing us this."