Zatara Penthouse, New York - December 1990
It had been two weeks since the emergency alert from Romania—two weeks since Harry had felt the magical signature of the battle and two weeks of carefully worded updates from Dr. Fate that told him almost nothing about John's actual condition.
Harry Potter was attempting to balance three of Zatanna's magically animated juggling balls while simultaneously solving a complex transfiguration equation—anything to keep his mind occupied—when the apartment's wards chimed with an arrival pattern he'd never heard before. The balls promptly fell to the floor and rolled under the sofa, apparently deciding that gravity was more interesting than defying it.
"That'll be our guests," Giovanni Zatara said, rising from where he'd been reviewing stage notes at the kitchen table. His expression was carefully neutral, but Harry could see the relief around his eyes that had been building ever since Dr. Fate's last communication: Constantine stable enough for transport. Bringing him home.
"It's John, isn't it? He's here," Harry said, his stomach flipping as understanding dawned. After weeks of worry, of brief magical communications that told him John was alive but little else, he was finally about to see his guardian.
"Among others," Zatara confirmed gently. "Harry, Dr. Fate insisted on personally ensuring John's recovery, and he wanted to meet you properly. Are you ready for that?"
Before Harry could answer, the air in the living room shimmered and three figures materialized in a column of golden light. Harry immediately recognized the distinguished form of Dr. Fate, his golden helmet gleaming despite the apartment's soft lighting. Beside him stood a man Harry didn't recognize, and supported between them was...
"John," Harry breathed. Without thinking, he launched himself across the room.
John Constantine looked terrible—far worse than Harry had prepared himself for. His face was gaunt, his usual sardonic expression replaced by bone-deep exhaustion, and he was leaning heavily on a walking stick that definitely hadn't been part of his appearance weeks ago. The confident, dangerous man who'd left had been replaced by someone who looked like he'd fought death itself and barely won.
But when Harry reached him, John's face lit up with the first genuine smile Harry had seen from him in months.
"Alright, kid?" John said gruffly, managing to ruffle Harry's hair with his free hand despite clearly needing it for balance.
"Are you?" Harry asked, studying John's face with the worried intensity of someone who'd spent weeks fearing the worst.
"Getting there," John said honestly, and Harry could hear the effort it took to keep his voice steady. "Might take a bit longer than usual, but I'm too bloody stubborn to die before I see you graduate from wherever you end up going to school."
Dr. Fate cleared his throat gently. "Perhaps we should move this reunion somewhere more comfortable. John needs to rest, and there are things we should discuss."
The elderly man stepped forward with a warm smile. "You must be Harry. I'm Kent Nelson, when I'm not wearing the helmet. It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly."
Harry found himself shaking hands with someone who radiated the kind of quiet power that made his magical senses tingle. "Dr. Fate? I mean, Mr. Nelson? Sir?"
"Kent is fine," the man said with gentle amusement. "And yes, sometimes I am Dr. Fate. It's... complicated."
"Most things involving magic are," a voice chimed in from behind him. It was Zatanna, appearing at his elbow with the casual confidence of someone who'd grown up around powerful magical beings. "Hi, I'm Zatanna Zatara. Thanks for helping John."
Kent's expression grew warm as he shook her hand. "Giovanni's daughter. I can see the family resemblance—not just in appearance, but in magical signature. You're going to be extraordinarily powerful someday."
"I know," Zatanna said matter-of-factly, then grinned. "Dad says confidence is half of good magic."
John snorted with amusement, which turned into a cough that made everyone wince. "Kid's not wrong. Though in this family, confidence might be an understatement."
"Right then," Zatara said with the brisk efficiency of someone taking charge of an increasingly chaotic situation. "John, you're staying in the guest room until you're properly recovered. Kent, you're welcome to stay as long as needed. And everyone is going to sit down before John falls down."
As they settled into the apartment's comfortable living area, Harry found himself studying John with the careful attention of someone trying to catalog exactly how much damage had been done. His guardian was definitely thinner, moved with the careful precision of someone whose body had been pushed past its limits, and there were new lines around his eyes that spoke of pain endured.
But he was alive. He was here. And most importantly, he was looking at Harry with the same mixture of pride and protective affection that had made a frightened six-year-old believe, for the first time, that someone actually wanted him around.
"So," Harry said, settling cross-legged on the floor beside John's chair because he wasn't quite ready to be more than arm's reach away, "how bad was it really?"
John and Kent exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
"Bad enough that it took eight of us working together to bring down," John said finally. "And bad enough that I'm going to be taking things easy for a while."
"How easy?" Harry asked suspiciously. He'd learned to read between the lines when adults talked about John's health.
"Doctor's orders are bed rest, minimal magical exertion, and no supernatural investigations for at least six weeks," Kent said firmly, his voice carrying the authority of someone who expected to be obeyed.
"Which means," Zatara said quickly, "that you'll both be staying here while John recovers. Harry, you'll have plenty of time to catch up with your guardian, and John, you'll have help ensuring you actually follow medical advice."
"I don't need—" John began.
"Yes, you do," Kent interrupted firmly. "John, you died. Briefly, but definitively. It took the combined efforts of eight practitioners to bring you back, and your life force is still stabilizing. You push too hard too fast, and you'll undo everything we've managed to accomplish."
Harry felt the blood drain from his face. "You died?"
"Just for a minute," John said quickly, shooting a glare at Kent that promised retribution later. "Barely counts, really. More of a... temporary inconvenience."
"John Constantine," Harry said, his voice carrying a stern authority. "If you ever do something that stupid again, I'm going to learn every healing spell in existence and use them to keep you alive just so I can kill you myself."
The room fell silent for a moment, then John burst out laughing—the first truly relaxed sound Harry had heard from him since his return.
"Bloody hell, kid," John said, wiping his eyes. "You've been spending too much time with these Americans. That's definitely not a British threat."
"I learned it from Serena," Harry said with dignity. "She's very creative with intimidation techniques."
"Serena Malfoy?" Kent asked with interest. "The American branch?"
"You know her family?" Zatanna asked.
"I know of them. Remarkable people—they've done extraordinary work in magical refugee assistance over the past century." Kent's expression grew thoughtful. "Actually, Harry, I'd be very interested to hear about your experiences with the American magical community. The differences in approach and philosophy compared to British traditions."
For the next hour, as John dozed fitfully in his chair and Kent occasionally made subtle adjustments to the healing magic surrounding him, Harry found himself telling him about his American friends. He described Mason's enthusiasm for Ilvermorny, Serena's fierce pride in her family's choices, Nathan's brilliant theoretical mind, and the collaborative approach to magic that seemed to be uniquely American.
"It's like magic here is meant to be shared," Harry said thoughtfully. "Not hoarded or used to maintain power over other people. Everyone I've met wants to teach me something new or learn about what I can do."
"That's the fundamental difference between Old World and New World magical philosophy," Kent said approvingly. "European magical traditions developed during times when power meant survival, when keeping secrets could be the difference between life and death. American magic grew up in a land of abundance, where cooperation was more valuable than competition."
"Is one approach better than the other?" Harry asked.
"Different tools for different situations," Kent replied diplomatically. "Though I will say, watching young magical practitioners work together the way you did in Indonesia suggests that collaborative magic may be the way forward."
"You heard about that?" Harry asked with surprise.
"The magical community is smaller than you might think," Nabu's voice said, now speaking through Kent's form. The tone was formal, echoing with a different, more powerful kind of authority. "Your work with El Dorado, Cascade, and Gatotkaca has been noted with considerable interest by those who monitor such things."
"Good interest or bad interest?" Harry asked, unconsciously echoing one of John's favorite questions.
"Good," Kent assured him as his normal personality reasserted itself. "Very good. There aren't many practitioners your age who could have done what you did—transforming dark energy into a Light-Garuda was theoretically impossible according to most magical frameworks."
"I didn't know it was impossible," Harry said with a shrug. "I just knew what needed to happen and made it happen."
John stirred in his chair, opening one eye to peer at Harry. "Kid's got a gift for ignoring theoretical limitations," he said with obvious pride. "Drives the formal magical community absolutely mad."
"Which brings me to something I wanted to discuss," Kent said, his expression growing more serious. "Harry, your magical education has been... unique. Between Constantine's practical training, Tim Hunter's creative instruction, Professor Dumbledore's formal techniques, and Jason Blood's combat methods, you've received an education that most adult wizards would envy."
"But?" Harry asked, sensing there was more.
"But there are gaps," Nabu said gently. "Areas of magical knowledge that none of your current teachers are equipped to address. Ancient magic, cosmic forces, the kinds of power that exist at the intersection of Order and Chaos."
Harry looked uncertainly between Kent and John. "Are you saying I need another teacher?"
"I'm saying," Kent said carefully, "that if you're interested, I would be honored to contribute to your education. Not as a replacement for your current instruction, but as a supplement. One day a week, perhaps, when my other duties permit."
Harry felt a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension. Dr. Fate was one of the most powerful magical beings in the world—the idea of learning from him was both terrifying and incredible.
"What would you teach me?" Harry asked.
"Balance," Nabu replied simply. "How to work with forces without being consumed by them. How to channel great power responsibly. How to understand your place in the larger magical ecosystem."
"And," Kent added with a slight smile, "how to recognize when theoretical limitations are worth ignoring and when they exist for very good reasons."
Harry looked at John, who had opened both eyes and was watching this exchange with interest.
"Your call, kid," John said. "I'd be happy to have another expert opinion on keeping you from accidentally destroying reality."
"Could Zatanna sit in on some of the lessons?" Harry asked impulsively. "She's brilliant at magic, and I... I learn better when I'm not the only one asking questions."
Zatanna's face lit up with excitement. "Really? You want me there?"
"Of course I do," Harry said, surprised that she'd need to ask. "You're my best friend. Besides, you probably understand cosmic balance better than I do anyway."
Kent looked between the two with something approaching delight. "Actually, that's an excellent idea. Magical education has traditionally been very isolated, very individual. But some of the most powerful magic is collaborative."
"Like the Light-Garuda," Harry said, understanding immediately.
"Exactly. Zatanna, would you be interested in joining these lessons?"
"Are you kidding?" Zatanna practically bounced in her seat. "That would be amazing! Dad, can I?"
"If Kent is willing to take on two precocious magical children instead of one," Zatara said with amusement, "I think it would be an excellent addition to your education."
As the conversation continued, the apartment door burst open and a new wave of visitors arrived.
"Right then," Serena Malfoy announced with her usual dramatic flair. "We heard Constantine was back and nearly died saving the world, so we brought cookies and are demanding a full explanation."
She was followed by Mason Potter carrying what appeared to be a care package large enough to feed a small army, and Nathan Wesley clutching a notebook that was already bristling with prepared questions.
Harry looked up from where he'd been helping John with some gentle magical exercises—simple light-weaving designed to help stabilize his magical core—and felt his face light up with genuine joy.
"You came," he said, perhaps stating the obvious but unable to hide his delight.
"Of course we came," Mason said, immediately moving to help John back into his chair. "When family nearly dies, you show up. That's how it works."
"Honorary family," Serena corrected firmly. "Anyone who raises Harry Potter gets automatic inclusion in our social circle. Plus adoption privileges if anything happens to you."
"Good to know I'm expendable," John said dryly, but Harry could see he was pleased by the easy acceptance.
Nathan had already settled cross-legged on the floor with his notebook open. "Mr. Constantine, I've read three different accounts of the Romanian incident in the news, but they all contradict each other. Could you clarify exactly what type of entity you were dealing with?"
"Nathan," Mason said with fond exasperation, "the man nearly died. Maybe give him time to recover before the interview?"
"It's alright," John said, lighting a cigarette despite Kent's disapproving look. "The kid's got a right to understand what was at stake."
For the next hour, John gave them a carefully edited version of the hunt for the Devourer of Gifts, emphasizing the collaborative nature of the final battle.
"So Harry was never actually in immediate danger?" Serena asked when he finished.
"Not immediate, no," John said carefully. "But if we hadn't stopped it..." He didn't finish the sentence.
"It would have come here," Nathan said quietly. "To New York. For Harry specifically."
"But you did stop it," Mason said firmly, moving to sit beside Harry in a gesture of support. "And now it's over."
"Now it's over," John confirmed. "Kid's safe, I'm alive, and we can all get back to the important business of making sure Harry doesn't accidentally discover anything else that wants to eat him."
"Speaking of which," Zatanna said, appearing from the kitchen with a plate of the cookies Serena had brought, "Harry and I are going to start studying with Dr. Fate. Cosmic magic and universal balance."
"That sounds amazing," Nathan said immediately, his eyes lighting up with academic hunger. "What's the theoretical framework? Are you studying the intersection of Order and Chaos, or focusing more on practical applications of cosmic forces?"
"Both, probably," Harry said with a grin. "Want to join us?"
"Could I?" Nathan asked, looking between Harry and Zatanna with hopeful excitement.
"I don't see why not," came Kent's voice from the doorway. He'd returned from whatever mysterious errands Dr. Fate conducted when not supervising John's recovery. "The more perspectives we have, the richer the learning experience becomes."
"What about us?" Serena asked, gesturing between herself and Mason. "We may not be as theoretically inclined as Nathan, but we're not stupid."
Kent studied the group of young people with growing interest. "Actually, this is fascinating. Five magical children from very different backgrounds and traditions, all around the same age, all clearly brilliant in their own ways..."
"Oh no," Zatara said from the kitchen, recognizing the tone of someone getting Ideas. "Kent, whatever you're thinking..."
"I'm thinking," Kent said with growing enthusiasm, "that magical education has been far too isolated for far too long. What if, instead of individual instruction, we created a small group program? Collaborative learning, different perspectives, practical applications..."
"A magical study group," Mason said thoughtfully. "I like it."
"More than a study group," Kent continued, his academic excitement clearly building. "A pilot program for a new approach to magical education. Traditional techniques combined with innovative methods, formal instruction balanced with practical application..."
Harry looked around at his friends—at Zatanna's eager enthusiasm, Nathan's intellectual curiosity, Mason's steady reliability, and Serena's fierce determination—and felt something settle in his chest that felt suspiciously like belonging.
"When do we start?" he asked.
Kent smiled, and for a moment Harry could see both the mortal man and the cosmic entity that shared his form. "How about next week? That should give John time to recover enough to contribute his own expertise."
"My expertise?" John asked with surprise.
"Of course," Kent said matter-of-factly. "Practical survival magic, real-world applications, ethical decision-making under pressure—these children need to learn more than just theory and technique."
"Besides," Harry added with a grin that was pure Constantine mischief, "someone has to make sure we don't accidentally summon anything that requires international incident protocols to resolve."
John stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Kid, you've been spending way too much time with Americans. That attitude is definitely not what I taught you."
"Maybe not," Harry said happily, "but I think it's exactly what I needed to learn."
As evening settled over New York and the apartment filled with the comfortable chaos of friends planning adventures and teachers organizing curricula, Harry Potter reflected that being temporarily exiled to America had turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to him.
He had a guardian who'd risked everything to keep him safe. He had friends who saw him as family. He had teachers who wanted to help him grow rather than control him.
And best of all, he had a future that looked bright, collaborative, and full of exactly the kind of magical education that would have made his parents proud.
Even if it did involve the occasional risk of cosmic magical disasters.
Some things, Harry thought as he listened to Zatanna explain her latest theory about collaborative spellcasting while Nathan took detailed notes and Serena planned practical applications, were definitely worth the risk.