Central Java, Indonesia - Two Months Later
Harry Potter stood in the humid Indonesian heat, watching John Constantine attempt to communicate with a local village elder through a combination of broken Indonesian, aggressive hand gestures, and what appeared to be interpretive dance, and decided that this was definitely going to be one of their more interesting cases.
"Leyak Abu," the elderly man was saying, shaking his head gravely while pointing toward the smoking peak of Mount Merapi in the distance. "Orang-orang menjadi bayangan. People become shadows."
"Right, yes, shadows," John said, nodding enthusiastically despite clearly understanding about half of what was being said. "Supernatural. Tidak natural. Very bad magic, yeah?"
Harry, who had spent the thirteen-hour flight from London reading every book about Indonesian mythology he could get his hands on, stepped forward with a polite bow. "Selamat siang, Pak. Kami di sini untuk membantu dengan masalah supernatural."
The village elder's face lit up with relief at hearing proper Indonesian. "Ah! You speak our language, young man. Thank goodness. Your father here..." He gestured diplomatically at John.
"Guardian," Harry corrected quickly. "Dan ya, saya bisa berbahasa Indonesia sedikit." He turned to John with a grin. "Dr. Chen says proper education includes languages, remember?"
"Show off," John muttered, but he looked relieved. "Right then, kid, ask him about these shadow people. Specifically, are they killing people or just making them miserable?"
Harry translated, then listened carefully to the elder's response. His expression grew increasingly concerned as the man spoke, occasionally pointing toward the mountain or gesturing to indicate people lying down.
"It's not good," Harry said finally. "The ash from the mountain isn't cooling down like it should. It's forming into these ghostly figures that float through the air and drain people's life force when they pass through them. The victims don't die, but they become completely apathetic and eventually fall into a catatonic state."
"Lovely," John said, lighting a cigarette. "And I'm guessing this isn't a natural volcanic phenomenon?"
"The elder says it started after the mining company began their illegal operations higher up the mountain. They disturbed something that should have been left alone."
John's expression darkened. "Course they did. It's always bloody mining companies." He took a long drag and studied the distant volcano. "Right, we need to get up there and see what we're dealing with. But first..." He looked around the village, noting the unnatural quiet and the way the few people they could see moved with listless, mechanical motions. "How bad is the contamination down here?"
"Bad," said a new voice from behind them. They turned to see a young Indonesian woman in her twenties approaching, wearing practical field clothes and carrying what appeared to be scientific equipment. "The ash isn't just draining people—it's poisoning the water supply and killing the vegetation."
Harry immediately noticed that something about her felt different from ordinary humans. There was a fluidity to her movements, and the air around her seemed slightly more humid than it should be.
"And you are?" John asked, his tone carefully neutral but his posture alert.
"Sujatmi Sunowaparti," she said, extending a hand. "Most people call me Cascade. I'm an environmental activist, and I've been fighting this curse for three weeks now."
"Cascade," Harry repeated thoughtfully. "That's not just a nickname, is it?"
She smiled slightly, and Harry felt his magical senses tingle. "Very perceptive. No, it's not. I have certain... abilities that help with environmental cleanup work."
To demonstrate, she gestured toward a patch of blackened earth nearby. Water seemed to seep up from the ground, pooling in her cupped hands before flowing out in clean, clear streams that washed away the ash contamination.
"Hydrokinetic," John observed with professional interest. "Useful skill set for this kind of work. How much of the area can you keep clean?"
"Not enough," Cascade admitted, her expression growing frustrated. "I can purify water and create safe zones, but the scale is too large. The cursed ash falls faster than I can clear it, and it's spreading down the mountain toward the populated areas."
"Right," John said, stubbing out his cigarette. "So we've got life-draining ash-ghosts, environmental contamination, and whatever's causing it all is somewhere up a bloody great volcano. Fantastic."
"Actually," said another voice, this one coming from above them, "I think I can help with the transportation problem."
They looked up to see a man descending from the sky, moving with the kind of controlled flight that spoke of considerable experience. He was clearly Indonesian, perhaps in his early forties, with an athletic build and an aura of quiet confidence.
"Gatotkaca," Cascade said with obvious relief. "I was hoping you'd show up."
"When my homeland is threatened, I answer the call," he replied, landing gracefully beside them. He studied John and Harry with curious but friendly eyes. "You must be the foreign magic workers Cascade mentioned. I am honored to meet you."
Harry found himself staring with fascination. This was his first encounter with a genuine superhero—someone with powers who used them to protect people as a matter of course.
"You're the one with super strength and flight?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Among other things," Gatotkaca said with a modest smile. "Muscles of wire, bones of iron, immune to most forms of supernatural attack. Though I must admit, this particular curse has me puzzled. I can shatter mountains, but I cannot punch a curse."
"Yeah, well, sometimes the best superpower is knowing when not to punch things," John said dryly. "Speaking of which, we should probably get up there and see what we're dealing with before—"
A keening wail cut through the air, and suddenly the sky above them began to darken. But it wasn't clouds—it was ash, falling like snow but moving with purpose and intelligence.
"Leyak Abu," the village elder said urgently, pointing at the falling ash. "They come!"
As the ash touched the ground, it began to coalesce into humanoid shapes—tall, gaunt figures made of volcanic dust and malevolent intention. They had no faces, but Harry could feel their hunger radiating outward like heat from a furnace.
"Right," John said, reaching into his coat for his ritual components. "Everyone stay back while I—"
"Wait," Cascade interrupted, raising her hands. The air around them suddenly became thick with humidity, and the approaching ash-wraiths began to slow as moisture made their forms heavy and unwieldy. "My powers can temporarily disrupt them, but it won't last long."
"And I can keep them from reforming," Gatotkaca added, launching himself into the air and creating powerful wind gusts with his movement that scattered the ash before it could solidify.
John watched this display with growing appreciation. "Right, teamwork. I can work with that." He began sketching protective circles in the dirt while calling out instructions. "Cascade, can you keep the air saturated in about a twenty-meter radius? Gatotkaca, I need you to maintain an updraft pattern that keeps any loose ash from settling inside our perimeter."
As the two Indonesian heroes worked to control the immediate environment, John and Harry found themselves in the eye of a supernatural storm. The ash-wraiths circled them like sharks, probing for weaknesses in their defenses.
"Harry," John said, beginning a detection ritual, "I need you to extend your senses toward the mountain. Can you trace this curse back to its source?"
Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his magical awareness, immediately staggering as the full force of the mountain's malevolent energy hit him. The Horcrux fragment in his scar reacted violently to the life-draining magic, and for a moment he felt it trying to feed on the despair radiating from the curse's victims.
"There's something deep inside the volcano," Harry said through gritted teeth, maintaining his mental barriers with considerable effort. "Something old and angry and..." He paused, struggling to interpret the magical signatures. "It feels like a person, but not. Like someone who should be dead but isn't."
"Sorcerer-King," Cascade said grimly. "That's what the local legends call it. Raja Dukun—a ruler who tried to achieve immortality through dark magic centuries ago. He was supposedly sealed within the mountain by the combined efforts of several villages."
"And let me guess," John said with grim humor, "some bloody mining company broke the seal?"
"Three weeks ago," Gatotkaca confirmed, swooping low to scatter another forming wraith. "They were using explosives to clear what they thought was just rock. Turns out it was the capstone of an ancient tomb."
"Brilliant," John muttered. "So we've got an undead sorcerer-king with a grudge, an endless supply of volcanic ash to animate, and he's been building power for three weeks. This just keeps getting better."
"Can we reseal him?" Harry asked, still maintaining his magical scan despite the discomfort.
"Theoretically, yes," John said, pulling out his notebook and beginning to sketch binding diagrams. "But it'll require a massive amount of pure magical energy channeled directly into the heart of the curse. More than any one person could manage safely."
"What about four people?" Cascade asked, gesturing to their impromptu team.
John looked thoughtful. "Actually... that might work. But it'll be dangerous as hell, and we'll all need to coordinate perfectly."
"What's the plan?" Gatotkaca asked, landing beside them as the immediate threat of ash-wraiths diminished under their combined efforts.
"Simple in concept, bloody terrifying in execution," John replied, stubbing out another cigarette. "We go up to the crater, I perform a binding ritual to reseal the tomb, and you three keep me alive long enough to finish it."
"That's it?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Well, there's also the part where I'll need someone to channel a massive amount of pure, life-affirming energy directly into an active volcano while fighting off an undead sorcerer and his army of life-draining ash-ghosts," John said casually. "But I figured we'd work out those details as we went along."
Cascade and Gatotkaca exchanged glances. "You know," Cascade said slowly, "when you put it like that, it actually sounds achievable."
"Speak for yourself," Gatotkaca said with a grin. "I just have to fly around and punch things. That's the easy part."
Harry found himself laughing despite the gravity of the situation. "Right then. When do we leave?"
"Now," John said, gathering his equipment. "The longer we wait, the stronger the curse gets. Gatotkaca, think you can carry passengers?"
"Two at a time, easily," the flying hero confirmed. "Though I should warn you—the air currents around the mountain are... unpredictable."
"Define unpredictable," John said suspiciously.
"Well, yesterday I got caught in a thermal that was simultaneously scalding hot and freezing cold while being pushed upward by winds that smelled like rotting flowers and sounded like screaming children."
John stared at him. "And that's what you call unpredictable?"
"To be fair," Cascade added helpfully, "that was a good day. Yesterday the mountain only tried to drive him insane twice."
"Bloody hell," John muttered. "Right, kid, remember what Jason taught you about maintaining mental barriers during flight?"
"Use them?" Harry suggested.
"Use them a lot."
Mount Merapi Crater - One Hour Later
Standing on the rim of an active volcano while cursed ash swirled around them and an undead sorcerer-king raged somewhere below, Harry reflected that he'd definitely moved well beyond normal childhood experiences.
"Right," John shouted over the supernatural wind that howled around the crater, "everyone remember the plan?"
"Gatotkaca creates an atmospheric shield to hold back the ashfall," Cascade called back, her voice barely audible above the noise. "I maintain humid safe zones and purify any water sources. You perform the binding ritual."
"And I channel pure magical energy into the heart of the curse," Harry added, though he was still unclear on exactly how he was supposed to manage that part.
"Simple!" John said with entirely unconvincing cheerfulness. "What could possibly go wrong?"
As if in answer to his question, the crater began to glow with an ominous red light, and the temperature around them spiked dramatically. From deep within the volcano came a voice like grinding stone, speaking in an ancient dialect that nonetheless conveyed its meaning perfectly clearly.
"WHO DARES DISTURB THE ETERNAL REST OF RAJA DUKUN?"
"That would be us!" John called back, beginning to sketch binding circles in the volcanic rock with a piece of consecrated chalk that was already starting to smolder. "John Constantine, professional pain in the arse to undead royalty!"
"YOUR INSOLENCE WILL BE PUNISHED! THE LAND WILL BURN WITH MY HATRED UNTIL ALL LIFE IS ASHES!"
"Yeah, well, we'll see about that, won't we?" John replied, lighting several incense sticks that immediately began producing smoke that glowed with protective energy. "Gatotkaca, now would be good!"
The Indonesian hero shot into the air, his powerful flight creating wind patterns that held back the increasingly aggressive ashfall. But even his considerable strength was being tested by the supernatural forces swirling around the mountain.
"The ash is getting heavier!" he called down. "And it's starting to move independently of the wind!"
Cascade was already working, drawing moisture from the air and ground to create barriers of saturated air that the ash couldn't penetrate. But Harry could see the strain on her face as she fought to maintain multiple safe zones simultaneously.
"Constantine!" she shouted. "Whatever you're going to do, do it fast! I can't hold this much longer!"
John was deep into his binding ritual now, speaking words in a dozen different languages while tracing complex geometric patterns in the air with his hands. But Harry could feel the resistance from below—the sorcerer-king was fighting back, and his centuries of accumulated power were formidable.
"Harry!" John called urgently. "I need that energy surge now! The binding won't hold without it!"
Harry looked down into the glowing crater, feeling the malevolent presence rising from its depths like a physical weight. The Horcrux fragment in his scar was reacting violently to the concentration of dark magic, and he could feel it trying to overwhelm his mental defenses.
But then he remembered what he'd learned in Argentina—that accepting the darkness within himself didn't mean being controlled by it. And he remembered Tim's teaching about magic being creative rather than destructive.
Instead of fighting the Horcrux fragment, Harry embraced it. He pulled on its power, drawing the raw magical energy into himself while maintaining absolute control over its purpose. Then, channeling everything Tim had taught him about light-weaving and everything he'd learned about Intent being greater than classification, he began to shape that dark energy into something pure and creative.
Light erupted from Harry's hands—not his usual golden butterflies, but something vast and magnificent. A enormous bird made of pure radiance, with wings that stretched across the crater and eyes that burned with hope and determination. It was a Garuda, the mythical bird that was Indonesia's national symbol, and it sang with a voice that carried all of Harry's love for the people they were trying to protect.
The Light-Garuda spread its wings and dove directly into the crater, carrying with it a wave of pure, life-affirming energy that made the mountain itself ring like a bell.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. The sorcerer-king's screams of rage turned to howls of pain as the positive energy burned away centuries of accumulated malice. The cursed ash began to fall like ordinary volcanic debris, and the oppressive weight of despair that had hung over the mountain lifted like a breaking fever.
"Now!" John shouted, pouring all his concentration into the binding ritual. "Cascade, I need purified water in the crater! Gatotkaca, help me anchor these symbols!"
Working together, the four of them completed the binding. Cascade sent streams of cleansed water flowing into the crater, washing away the last of the cursed ash. Gatotkaca used his strength to carve John's binding symbols deep into the volcanic rock. And Harry maintained his Light-Garuda until the very last moment, ensuring the sorcerer-king was thoroughly contained.
Finally, with a sound like a great door slamming shut, the binding snapped into place. The mountain fell silent, and a peaceful stillness settled over the crater.
"Well," John said, slumping against a rock and lighting a cigarette with shaking hands, "that was thoroughly unpleasant. Everyone still alive?"
"Define alive," Cascade said weakly, though she was smiling. "I think I just purified half the mountain's water table. I'm going to be dehydrated for a week."
"I may have accidentally rearranged some of the local weather patterns," Gatotkaca admitted, landing heavily beside them. "Sorry about that."
Harry just sat down hard on the crater rim, feeling completely drained but oddly satisfied. "Did we win?"
"Kid," John said, ruffling Harry's hair, "you just turned dark soul magic into a giant bird of hope and used it to defeat an undead sorcerer-king. I'd say we definitely won."
"It was a very impressive bird," Cascade agreed. "Though I have to ask—where did you learn to create constructs like that?"
"My brother Tim taught me the basics," Harry said. "But the rest I just... figured out as I went along."
"He does that," John said proudly. "Kid's got a gift for improvisation."
As they made their way back down the mountain, Gatotkaca carrying the exhausted magic-users in relay flights, Harry reflected on what he'd learned. This had been different from their previous cases—less about individual understanding and more about teamwork, about different people with different abilities working together toward a common goal.
"John?" he said as they approached the village, where people were already beginning to emerge from their homes with expressions of confused relief.
"Yeah?"
"Next time we fight an undead sorcerer-king, can we do it somewhere that isn't an active volcano?"
"Kid," John said with a tired grin, "next time we fight an undead sorcerer-king, remind me to retire first."
"Where would be the fun in that?" Cascade asked with a laugh.
As they reached the village and were immediately surrounded by grateful residents offering food, drink, and what appeared to be several small children who wanted to touch Harry's hair for luck, Harry decided that international magical cooperation was definitely something he wanted to do more of.
Even if it did involve the occasional undead royalty and volcanic ash storms.
At nine years old, Harry Potter was starting to understand that the magical world was vast and connected in ways he'd never imagined. And he was looking forward to exploring more of it.
Preferably somewhere with better weather and fewer active volcanoes.
"John?" he said as they were led toward what appeared to be an impromptu feast in their honor.
"Yeah?"
"Dr. Chen's going to want a very detailed report about Indonesian geology and mythology after this."
"Kid," John said, accepting a cup of what smelled like very strong coffee, "after today, I'm pretty sure Dr. Chen's going to want to add 'supernatural disaster management' to your curriculum."
Harry grinned. He couldn't wait.