Constantine approached Harry's chair with the careful, almost predator-like grace of a man who understood that startled six-year-olds could be surprisingly lethal—especially when said six-year-old had already survived more magical catastrophes than most adult wizards saw in a lifetime. He moved like a cat stalking prey, except the prey in this case was a messy-haired child who looked like he could charm his way out of detention or accidentally level a building with equal ease.
"Right then, Potter," Constantine said, his Liverpool accent cutting through the study's quiet atmosphere like a blade through silk. "Let's have a proper look at that famous scar of yours, shall we?"
Harry tilted his head back, fixing Constantine with a look that was pure skepticism mixed with the kind of weary patience that belonged on someone three times his age. "Oh, brilliant. Another adult who wants to poke at my forehead like it's some sort of magical tourist attraction. Do you need me to charge admission, or are you planning to take photos for your scrapbook?"
"Cheeky little sod, aren't you?" Constantine grinned, cigarette dangling from his lips as he reached out to brush Harry's perpetually disheveled black hair aside. The lightning-shaped scar emerged from beneath the dark strands, pale and raised, glinting under the study's warm light like a brand of destiny that Harry had never asked for.
"Bloody hell," Constantine muttered, half to himself, half in genuine awe as he stared at the mark. "That's... actually quite something. From a magical theory standpoint, I mean. Practically speaking, I imagine living with it has been... less fun?"
Harry leaned back in the oversized leather chair, looking like a particularly dignified young prince holding court, except this prince had grass stains on his jumper and an expression that suggested he'd already heard every platitude in the book. "Less fun? Oh, that's a delightfully polite way of putting it, Constantine. It's been absolutely *charming*. More like constantly feeling like everyone expects me to either die dramatically in some heroic fashion or solve the entire wizarding world's problems before I've even had my morning toast. Sometimes both on the same day."
Constantine raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Toast, eh? Not even breakfast proper? Christ, Potter, they really don't give you much time to be a kid, do they?"
"Kid?" Harry's green eyes sparkled with mischief and just a touch of indignation. "I'll have you know I'm a very mature six-year-old, thank you very much. I read books with words longer than four letters, I can make tactical decisions under pressure, and I haven't cried in public since... well, since Tuesday. And that was only because someone put pineapple on pizza in front of me. Crimes against food should be punishable by law."
"Pineapple on pizza, eh?" Constantine chuckled, settling one hand lightly over Harry's scar. "Well, can't argue with that logic. That *should* be illegal."
The moment Constantine's palm made contact with the scar, the entire study filled with a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the very air itself. It was subtle but powerful, the kind of sound that made your teeth ache and your bones sing, like standing too close to a church bell when it tolled. Constantine's sharp blue eyes narrowed as he focused, scanning the invisible threads of magic that connected the soul fragment to Harry's mind like a detective examining evidence at a crime scene.
Harry, for his part, sat perfectly still but managed to look simultaneously bored and fascinated. "Is it supposed to feel like someone's playing a very large, very out-of-tune violin inside my skull? Because that's what's happening right now, and I have to say, it's not particularly pleasant."
"That's just the magic responding to proper examination," Constantine said, his voice taking on that professional tone that adults used when they were trying to sound reassuring while dealing with something potentially catastrophic. "Think of it as... magical X-rays. Bit louder than the Muggle version, but infinitely more useful."
"Magical X-rays," Harry repeated, nodding sagely. "Right. And I suppose next you'll be telling me I need to hold very still while you take magical photographs of my brain. Shall I say 'cheese' or would 'help, there's a dead wizard in my head' be more appropriate?"
Constantine barked out a laugh despite himself. "Christ, you're quick. Most kids your age would be crying or asking for their mummy by now."
Harry's expression grew momentarily serious, though the sass never quite left his eyes. "Most kids my age haven't had their mummies killed by the very same wizard whose soul is apparently using my forehead as a holiday home. I learned to adapt. It's either that or spend all day feeling sorry for myself, and frankly, that sounds exhausting."
From the doorway, Selina let out a soft whistle of appreciation. She moved into the study with that fluid grace that made every step look like choreography, her dark hair catching the light as she perched elegantly on the arm of a nearby chair. "I have to admit, that's probably the most mature thing I've heard anyone say all week. And I spend most of my time around adults who should theoretically know better."
Harry turned to beam at her, clearly pleased with the recognition. "Thank you, Selina. Finally, someone who appreciates my advanced emotional intelligence. Most people just focus on the 'six years old' part and completely ignore the 'survived multiple assassination attempts' part of my resume."
"Multiple assassination attempts," Bruce said from behind his desk, his voice carrying that particular blend of concern and tactical assessment that Harry was learning to recognize. The man looked like he could bench press a small car without breaking a sweat, but there was something about the way he watched Harry that suggested he saw past the child's bravado to the very real trauma underneath. "How many times has someone tried to kill you, Harry?"
Harry began counting on his fingers with the casual air of someone discussing the weather. "Well, there was Voldemort when I was a baby—that's the obvious one. Then there was Uncle Vernon last year, who wanted to kill me because I dropped the pan with his breakfast. There was Aunt Petunia trying to work me to death. Oh, and there was Dudley and his friends, who's favourite activity is "Harry Hunting", so again, I'm not sure of the proper classification."
The room fell silent for a moment as the adults processed this casual recitation of near-death experiences.
Giovanni stepped forward, his presence filling the room with that effortless charisma that made every movement look like it belonged in a film. "Dios mío," he breathed, running a hand through his dark hair. "You speak of these things as though they were... routine."
Harry shrugged, the gesture somehow managing to convey both nonchalance and a wisdom far beyond his years. "When they happen every school term, they sort of become routine. I've learned to plan around them. 'Oh, it's October, I wonder what's trying to murder me this month?' That sort of thing."
"Planning around assassination attempts," Selina repeated, shaking her head with a mixture of admiration and dismay. "Most six-year-olds plan around nap time and whether they'll get pudding after dinner."
"I like pudding," Harry said seriously. "Treacle tart especially. But you can't really enjoy pudding if you're dead, so priorities, you know?"
Constantine finally withdrew his hand from Harry's scar, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his cigarettes with hands that weren't quite steady. The humming in the air faded, leaving behind a silence that felt somehow heavier than before.
"Right," he said, lighting up with practiced ease and taking a long drag before continuing. "Here's what we're dealing with, and Potter, you're going to want to pay attention because this affects you more than anyone else in this room."
Harry straightened in his chair, his small hands gripping the leather arms like a general preparing to receive a battlefield report. "I'm listening. And please try not to make it sound like my life's about to be ruined before lunch. I'm rather fond of lunch, and I'd hate for it to be spoiled by existential dread."
Constantine's lips twitched despite the gravity of the situation. "Too late for that, mate. Welcome to what I like to call the magical equivalent of tax season—confusing, potentially dangerous, and guaranteed to give you a headache."
"Tax season," Harry repeated thoughtfully. "Right. Well, I suppose that's still better than 'welcome to your inevitable doom' or 'congratulations, you're cursed forever.' I can work with tax season."
"You're carrying a fragment of someone else's soul," Constantine continued, his voice taking on that careful precision that meant he was delivering news that could change everything. "Specifically, a piece of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Also known as Lord Voldemort. The charming fellow who killed your parents and then decided that a toddler was fair game for murder."
Harry's green eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something cold and far older than six flickered in their depths. "Yes, I'd rather figured that out on my own, thanks. The nightmares featuring his memories were something of a clue. What I want to know is what exactly this thing is doing to me and how we get rid of it."
"Straight to the point," Constantine said approvingly. "I like that. No dramatics, no fainting, just 'how do we fix this mess?' You've got a good head on your shoulders, Potter."
"Well, technically I've got a good head with a piece of dark wizard attached to it," Harry corrected. "But I appreciate the sentiment. Now, the details, if you please. And do try to use small words—I may be precocious, but I'm still six."
Constantine chuckled, smoke curling around him like a halo of cigarette-scented cynicism. "Right then. The fragment attached to you is what we call a Horcrux—a piece of soul that's been deliberately torn off and hidden in an object to prevent death. Except in your case, it wasn't deliberate. When Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby, his curse rebounded, and a piece of his soul got accidentally lodged in the most convenient vessel available."
"Which was my head," Harry said matter-of-factly. "How perfectly typical. I can't even be cursed in a normal, straightforward way. It has to be some sort of unprecedented magical accident that makes me a walking, talking dark artifact."
"That's... actually a remarkably accurate assessment," Giovanni said, his accent adding a musical quality to his amazement. "You truly are extraordinary, young Harry."
"Extraordinary," Harry repeated, rolling the word around like he was tasting it. "That's one way to put it. I prefer 'magnificently inconvenienced,' but extraordinary works too."
Bruce leaned forward, his massive frame somehow managing to look both protective and slightly predatory. "What are the dangers? To Harry specifically, but also to anyone around him."
Constantine took another drag from his cigarette, considering his words carefully. "The good news is that the fragment is too weak and degraded to take control of Potter here. Too damaged to influence his thoughts in any meaningful way. The bad news is that it's still connected to Riddle's magical signature, which makes Harry a walking beacon for any other pieces of Voldemort's soul that might be floating around."
"A beacon," Selina said, her voice taking on that sharp edge that meant she was already running tactical scenarios in her head. "So if Voldemort comes back—"
"When he comes back," Constantine corrected grimly. "And he will come back, because I guarantee you he made more than one Horcrux. Probably several. The level of soul damage I'm detecting suggests multiple splits. Which means that somewhere out there are other pieces of Tom Riddle's soul, just waiting for the right opportunity to resurrect their master."
Harry absorbed this information with the kind of calm that was frankly unnerving in someone his age. "So let me see if I understand this correctly," he said, his voice taking on the patient tone of someone explaining something obvious to a particularly slow adult. "There are multiple pieces of Voldemort's soul hidden in various objects around Britain, possibly the world. As long as even one of those pieces exists, he can't truly die. And as long as I have this piece attached to me, I'm essentially a magical GPS system that he can use to track me down."
"That's... disturbingly accurate, yes," Constantine said, looking like he wasn't sure whether to be impressed or concerned by Harry's quick grasp of the situation.
"Right," Harry said, nodding briskly. "Well, that's obviously unacceptable. I refuse to spend the rest of my childhood—or my life, for that matter—looking over my shoulder for a homicidal wizard with poor social skills and an unfortunate fashion sense. What are our options?"
Alfred, who had been quietly arranging documents on Bruce's desk with his usual impeccable discretion, spoke up in his measured, cultured voice. "Master Harry, your ability to assess and adapt to extraordinary circumstances continues to be remarkable. Most adults would require considerably more time to process such information."
"Most adults haven't had their entire lives shaped by extraordinary circumstances," Harry replied with a slight smile. "When weird becomes your normal, you learn to adapt quickly or you don't survive to complain about it."
Constantine stubbed out his cigarette and immediately reached for another one, which Harry took as a sign that the really complicated part was coming. "Here's where it gets interesting, Potter. We've got two options for dealing with your unwanted passenger."
"Option one," he continued, lighting up and taking a quick drag, "we remove the fragment entirely. Rip it out, destroy it, job done. You go back to being a perfectly normal, non-cursed six-year-old wizard. No more connection to Voldemort, no more beacon effect, no more nightmares featuring other people's memories."
Harry tilted his head, considering. "That sounds almost too good to be true. What's the catch?"
"The catch," Constantine said with a grin that was all sharp edges and dangerous humor, "is that you lose access to all the knowledge and magical ability that comes with having a piece of Voldemort's soul attached to you. And believe me, Potter, there's a considerable amount of both."
"Knowledge and magical ability," Harry repeated slowly. "You mean I've been... what, unconsciously absorbing his memories? His spells?"
"Something like that, yes. The fragment's degraded enough that it can't control you, but it's still there, still connected to everything Tom Riddle ever learned. Dark magic, advanced spellwork, strategic thinking—all of it just sitting there in the back of your mind, waiting to be properly accessed."
Giovanni let out a low whistle. "That would explain the boy's remarkable intuitive grasp of complex magical theory. And his... tactical mind."
"Tactical mind?" Harry looked pleased. "I do like the sound of that. Much better than 'weird kid who knows things he shouldn't.'"
"You definitely qualify as tactically minded," Bruce said, and there was something in his voice that suggested recognition—one strategic thinker acknowledging another. "The way you've handled everything that's been thrown at you, the way you think several moves ahead... that's not normal for your age."
"Normal is overrated," Harry said with conviction. "Normal kids don't get to have adventures or save people or learn magic. Normal sounds rather boring, actually."
Selina laughed, the sound warm and genuinely amused. "I have a feeling you'd find a way to have adventures regardless of whether you were cursed or not. It seems to be your natural state."
"Adventure does seem to follow me around," Harry agreed cheerfully. "Like a very persistent, occasionally homicidal puppy."
Constantine blew out a stream of smoke, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. "Which brings us to option two, Potter. Instead of removing the fragment, we integrate it properly with your own soul. Do it right, and you get all the knowledge, all the magical ability, all the strategic thinking—but without letting the nasty bits of Riddle's personality take over."
The study fell silent except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the faint rustle of Alfred organizing papers.
Harry broke the silence, his voice thoughtful but determined. "Integration. That means I'd have access to everything Voldemort ever learned, but I'd still be me. Still be Harry Potter, just... more so."
"That's the theory, yes," Constantine said. "Your soul is whole, pure, stronger than his ever was even when it was intact. Integrate properly, and his knowledge becomes your knowledge, his abilities become your abilities, but filtered through your personality, your moral compass, your essential... Harry-ness."
"My essential Harry-ness," Harry repeated, clearly delighted with the phrase. "I do like that. It sounds rather important and mystical."
Bruce leaned forward, his expression serious but not unkind. "Harry, this isn't a decision to make lightly. We're talking about giving you access to decades of magical knowledge and experience. That kind of power... it changes people."
Harry met his gaze steadily, and for a moment, he looked less like a six-year-old and more like someone who had already been changed by power he never asked for. "Bruce, I've been dealing with power I never asked for since the day I was born. The only difference is that this time, I get to choose what I do with it."
"Power corrupts," Giovanni said quietly, though there was no judgment in his voice. "It's a risk that must be considered."
"Power corrupts people who want it for the wrong reasons," Harry replied with startling insight. "I don't want power for its own sake. I want it to protect people. To make sure no other kids have to grow up the way I did, wondering if today's the day some maniac tries to kill them for something they can't even remember doing."
Selina studied him for a long moment, her cat-like eyes missing nothing. "You really mean that, don't you? You're not just saying what you think we want to hear."
Harry's expression grew solemn, and suddenly the weight of everything he'd been through seemed to settle on his small shoulders like a cloak. "I dream about him sometimes. Voldemort. I see his memories, feel his thoughts. I know what it's like to enjoy causing pain, to see other people as nothing more than obstacles or tools. It's... horrible. Cold and empty and wrong in ways I don't have words for."
He paused, gathering himself, and when he continued, his voice was steady but fierce. "That's not who I am. That's not who I'll ever be. But if I can use his knowledge to protect people from becoming like him, if I can use his own power against him and people like him... then that's what I'll do."
Constantine studied the boy for a long moment, then slowly began to smile. "You know what, Potter? I think you might just be the right kind of crazy for this job."
"Crazy?" Harry's indignation was immediate and theatrical. "I prefer 'creatively determined,' thank you very much. Crazy implies a lack of planning, and I always have a plan."
"What's your plan now?" Bruce asked, and there was something in his voice that suggested he already knew the answer.
Harry straightened in his chair, his chin lifting with that characteristic mix of determination and sass that was becoming his trademark. "My plan is to proceed with the integration. I want Voldemort's knowledge, his abilities, his strategic thinking—all of it. And then I want to use it to make sure he never hurts anyone ever again."
"Bold words," Constantine said, cigarette dangling from his lips. "You sure you're ready for what that means, kid? We're not talking about advanced potions classes here. We're talking about understanding the darkest magic ever created, knowing things that would give most adult wizards nightmares."
Harry's green eyes blazed with something that was part determination, part mischief, and part something far older and more dangerous. "Constantine, I've been having nightmares about dark magic since I was old enough to dream. The difference is that now, instead of just surviving it, I'll understand it. I'll know how it works, how to counter it, how to use it if I have to."
"If you have to," Selina repeated. "You understand that having that knowledge means you'll always be tempted to use it, even when you shouldn't?"
"Of course I'll be tempted," Harry said with the kind of brutal honesty that adults spent years learning to avoid. "Power is tempting. That's rather the point. But being tempted doesn't mean giving in. It just means I'll have to be very, very good at making the right choices."
Alfred cleared his throat softly, drawing everyone's attention. "If I may," he said in his perfectly modulated voice, "Master Harry has already demonstrated a remarkable ability to make difficult moral choices under extreme pressure. His track record, while admittedly brief, suggests a strength of character that bodes well for his ability to handle such responsibility."
"Thank you, Alfred," Harry said, beaming. "It's nice to have someone recognize my excellent moral fiber. I do work quite hard at it."
Giovanni chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. "This child... he speaks of moral fiber and strategic planning like other children speak of sweets and toys."
"I like sweets too," Harry said defensively. "And toys. I'm not completely weird. I just happen to also like not being murdered, which requires a certain amount of strategic thinking."
Bruce stood up, his considerable height making him tower over the room like a protective mountain. "Harry, if we do this—if we proceed with the integration—you need to understand that there's no going back. Once that knowledge is part of you, it's part of you forever."
Harry nodded solemnly. "I understand. But Bruce, there's already no going back. I'm already the Boy Who Lived, already the target of every dark wizard who wants to make a name for themselves, already carrying a piece of Voldemort's soul around in my head. The only question is whether I face that reality with six-year-old magic and good intentions, or whether I face it with every tool at my disposal."
Constantine blew out a stream of smoke, his expression thoughtful. "You know what the really interesting part is, Potter? Most people in your situation would be terrified. But you're not, are you?"
Harry considered this seriously. "I'm not terrified, no. Concerned, certainly. Aware of the risks, absolutely. But not terrified. I think... I think I'm actually excited."
"Excited?" Selina's eyebrows rose. "About having a dark wizard's memories integrated with your soul?"
"About finally having the tools to fight back properly," Harry corrected. "About not having to rely on luck and help from adults every time someone tries to kill me. About being able to protect people instead of just hoping I survive long enough for someone else to save the day."
He paused, then added with a grin that was pure mischief, "And about finally understanding all those advanced magical theory books in the Hogwarts library. Some of them looked absolutely fascinating, but half the concepts went right over my head."
"Magical theory books," Giovanni repeated weakly. "Most children your age are excited about picture books."
"I like picture books too," Harry said reasonably. "But magical theory books have pictures as well, they're just usually of spell matrices and runic configurations rather than talking animals. Different kinds of pictures, same basic appeal."
Constantine started laughing, a sound that held equal parts amusement and something that might have been pride. "Christ, Potter, you really are one of a kind, aren't you?"
"I certainly hope so," Harry replied with dignity. "It would be rather disappointing to go through all this trouble of being special only to discover there were dozens of other boys with pieces of dark wizards in their heads running around Britain. The novelty would wear off quickly."
Bruce moved around the desk to stand closer to Harry's chair, his expression serious but warm. "Harry, I need you to promise me something. If we do this, if we give you access to all this knowledge and power, you promise me you'll still ask for help when you need it. You won't try to handle everything alone."
Harry looked up at him, and there was something in the boy's face that suggested he understood exactly why Bruce was asking. "I promise I'll ask for help when I need it. But Bruce, you have to understand—there are going to be times when I won't have the luxury of waiting for help to arrive. Times when I'll have to make decisions and take action on my own."
"I understand," Bruce said quietly. "I'm not asking you to be helpless. I'm asking you to remember that having the ability to handle things alone doesn't mean you always have to."
"That's... actually quite wise," Harry said, sounding genuinely impressed. "Most adults either want me to be completely dependent on them or completely independent. Not many understand that the trick is knowing when to be which."
Selina stood up, moving with that fluid grace that made every motion look deliberate and elegant. "Harry, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Harry blinked, clearly not having expected the question. "When I grow up? I... I want to be someone who makes things better. Someone who protects people who can't protect themselves. Someone who stops the bad things before they happen instead of just cleaning up the mess afterward."
"That's a good answer," she said softly. "Hold onto that. When all this power and knowledge starts feeling like too much, remember that answer."
Harry nodded seriously. "I will. Though I have to say, the idea of stopping bad things before they happen rather appeals to me. I'm getting rather tired of being reactive all the time."
Constantine stubbed out his cigarette and immediately reached for another one, which seemed to be his standard operating procedure when dealing with particularly complex magical situations. "Right then, Potter. You're absolutely certain about this? Because once we start the integration process, there's no stopping it halfway through. It's all or nothing."
Harry met his gaze steadily, and there was something in those green eyes that seemed far older than six years. "I'm certain, Constantine. I've been thinking about this since you first explained the options, and I know what I want. I want to proceed with the integration."
"Even knowing the risks?" Giovanni asked. "The possibility of magical overload, personality changes, the temptation of dark power?"
"Even knowing the risks," Harry confirmed. "Giovanni, I've been at risk my entire life. The only difference is that this time, I'm choosing the risk. I'm making an informed decision about what dangers I'm willing to face in order to become who I need to be."
Alfred stepped forward, his expression warm with something that might have been paternal pride. "Master Harry, your courage and wisdom continue to astound me. I have every confidence that you will handle this responsibility with the same grace and intelligence you've shown in everything else."
Harry beamed at the praise. "Thank you, Alfred. That... that actually means quite a lot to me. You're rather good at this whole 'supportive adult figure' thing."
"I have had considerable practice," Alfred replied with a small smile.
Constantine lit his cigarette and took a long drag, studying Harry through the smoke. "You know what I think, Potter? I think you're going to be absolutely terrifying when you're older. In the best possible way."
Harry's grin was pure mischief and barely contained power. "I certainly hope so, Constantine. After all, if you're going to be someone, you might as well be someone worth being afraid of. Assuming you're fighting on the right side, of course."
"And you're sure you'll always know which side is the right side?" Selina asked, though there was no real doubt in her voice.
Harry's expression grew serious, thoughtful. "I'll know because I'll remember what it felt like to be helpless. I'll remember what it was like to be small and scared and dependent on other people's kindness. That's not something you forget, even with access to all the dark magic in the world."
He paused, then added with characteristic insight, "Besides, Voldemort forgot what it was like to be human. That's why he became a monster. As long as I remember what it's like to be human—to care about other people, to want to protect instead of control—I'll be fine."
The room fell quiet for a moment, each adult processing the profound wisdom that had just come from a six-year-old boy.
Finally, Bruce spoke, his voice carrying the weight of someone making a momentous decision. "Then we do this. We proceed with the integration. But Harry, you're not doing this alone. We'll all be here to help you through it, to make sure you don't lose yourself in all that new knowledge and power."
Harry's smile was radiant, full of gratitude and determination and something that might have been relief. "Thank you. All of you. I... I know this isn't exactly normal, but then again, nothing about my life has ever been normal. At least this way, I get to choose my own version of abnormal."
Constantine chuckled, smoke curling around him like incense in a particularly irreverent church. "Choose your own abnormal. I like that, Potter. That's going to be my new motto."
"Feel free to use it," Harry said generously. "I'm sure I'll come up with plenty more before this is all over."
Giovanni shook his head, still looking slightly stunned by the whole conversation. "Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable. Harry Potter, you are going to change the world."
Harry considered this seriously. "Well, I certainly hope so. It could use some changing. Preferably in directions that involve fewer people trying to kill children and more people having reasonable conversations about how to solve problems."
"Reasonable conversations," Selina repeated with amusement. "Revolutionary concept."
"I'm full of revolutionary concepts," Harry replied cheerfully. "Wait until you hear my thoughts on educational reform and the proper treatment of house-elves."
Alfred cleared his throat softly. "Perhaps we might save the educational reform discussion for after the soul integration, Master Harry?"
"Quite right, Alfred," Harry agreed. "One revolution at a time. Though I do think the house-elf situation really does need addressing sooner rather than later. The working conditions are simply appalling."
Constantine was openly grinning now, and there was something in his expression that suggested he was already looking forward to seeing what Harry Potter would become once he had access to centuries of magical knowledge. "Oh, Potter," he said with genuine anticipation, "this is going to be absolutely brilliant."
Harry's answering grin was fierce and joyful and full of barely contained power. "Yes," he said with satisfaction, "I rather think it is."
---
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