Privet Drive, Little Whinging - November 1990
Harry Potter, now nine years old and considerably more self-assured than the frightened child who'd once called this place home, stood in the doorway of Number 4 Privet Drive and tried not to let his amusement show. Vernon Dursley was attempting to hide behind his newspaper while simultaneously watching Harry with the wary attention of someone expecting supernatural disaster at any moment.
"Right then," John Constantine said, stubbing out his cigarette on the Dursleys' pristine front step with deliberate insolence. "Quarterly blood ward renewal. You know the drill."
Petunia appeared from the kitchen, dish towel clutched in her hands like a weapon. "How long this time?" she asked tersely.
"Hour or two," John replied casually. "Just long enough for the magic to recognize that Harry still calls this place home, however bloody reluctantly."
Harry stepped into the hallway, noting how small everything seemed now. The cupboard under the stairs looked like it could barely fit a large dog, let alone a child. The oppressive atmosphere of rigid normalcy that had once crushed his spirit now felt merely... sad.
"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Harry said politely. "Uncle Vernon. How's Dudley?"
"At school," Vernon grunted from behind his paper. "Where normal children belong."
"Language, Vernon," John said mildly, but there was steel beneath the casual tone. "Wouldn't want to give the boy the wrong impression about family values."
The next two hours passed with the usual uncomfortable dance of minimal interaction and maximum tension. Harry spent most of the time in his former bedroom—now converted back to Dudley's second storage room—reading one of Dr. Chen's advanced mathematics texts while the blood protection renewed itself around him.
He could feel the ancient magic settling into his bones, recognizing his presence and strengthening the barriers that had kept him safe for nine years. It was powerful protection, but it came with a price he was increasingly reluctant to pay.
"All done," John announced as they prepared to leave. "See you in a few months, assuming the world doesn't end in the meantime."
"Don't say things like that," Petunia snapped, though her voice carried more fear than anger. "You'll... you'll bring bad luck."
John paused at the door, studying Petunia's face with unexpected seriousness. "Mrs. Dursley, luck's got nothing to do with what's coming. But for what it's worth, the blood protection will hold as long as Harry can call this place home. That's a promise."
As they walked away from Privet Drive, Harry noticed John checking his watch repeatedly and smoking more than usual—sure signs that his guardian was worried about something.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked as they settled into the taxi that would take them back to London.
"We need to have a conversation," John said grimly. "With Dumbledore. Tonight."
Constantine's Flat - That Evening
Professor Dumbledore arrived precisely at eight o'clock, carrying himself with the kind of gravity that suggested this wasn't a social call. Harry, who'd learned to read the subtle signs of adult tension, immediately set aside his homework and prepared for bad news.
"Albus," John said without preamble as he let the old wizard into the flat. "Thanks for coming on short notice."
"Your message suggested urgency," Dumbledore replied, settling into his usual chair and accepting the offered tea. "Though I confess, I'm curious about the nature of this emergency."
John lit a cigarette, his movements sharp with nervous energy. "I've been tracking something for the past six months. Something that's been moving through the supernatural underground, leaving a trail of very dead practitioners in its wake."
"What sort of something?" Dumbledore asked carefully.
"The kind that eats magic," John said bluntly. "Specifically, the kind that hunts down children with unusual abilities and... harvests them."
Harry felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. "Harvests them how?"
"Don't want to know the details, kid," John said quickly. "Point is, this thing's been working its way across Europe, and it's heading for Britain. I've got maybe two weeks before it arrives, and when it does..." He took a long drag. "It's going to come straight for Harry."
Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "You're certain of this?"
"Dead certain. The pattern's too clear—it targets children between the ages of eight and twelve who show extraordinary magical potential. And Harry..." John gestured helplessly. "Kid's practically a bloody beacon to anything that feeds on magic."
"So what's the plan?" Harry asked, though he suspected he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
"The plan," John said, "is that I'm going to hunt this thing down before it gets anywhere near you. But to do that properly, I need to go places and do things that..." He paused, meeting Harry's eyes directly. "That are too dangerous for a nine-year-old, no matter how well trained he is."
"How dangerous?" Harry pressed.
"The kind where I might not come back," John said quietly.
The words hung in the air like a physical weight. Harry had always known that John's work was dangerous, but this was the first time his guardian had explicitly acknowledged the possibility of not surviving a case.
"How long?" Harry asked, his voice smaller than he'd intended.
"Don't know," John admitted. "Could be six months. Could be a year. Could be..." He didn't finish the sentence.
Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. "John, what exactly are you asking of me?"
"I'm asking you to help me find somewhere safe for Harry to stay while I deal with this," John said. "Somewhere outside Britain, with people who can protect him and continue his education."
"The Weasleys would be happy to—" Dumbledore began.
"No," John interrupted firmly. "Nothing against the Weasleys, but they're too well known in British magical circles. If this thing has contacts in the wizarding world, it'll find Harry there within days."
"Then what do you suggest?"
John was quiet for a moment, then looked directly at Harry. "Kid, how would you feel about staying with the Zataras for a while?"
Harry's eyes lit up despite the gravity of the situation. "Really? With Zatanna?"
"Really. Giovanni's one of the most accomplished protective ward-crafters in the world, their apartment's basically a fortress, and..." John's expression softened slightly. "You'd have a friend your own age. Someone who understands what it's like to live with magic."
"But the blood protection," Dumbledore said with concern. "If Harry leaves Britain for an extended period—"
"Will hold," John finished. "I've done the research, Albus. The protection is tied to Harry calling Privet Drive home, not to him physically being there. As long as he comes back for the quarterly renewals, it'll remain active."
Dumbledore considered this carefully. "The Ministry will ask questions if Harry Potter simply... disappears from British soil."
"That's where our existing arrangement becomes useful," John said. "You've been maintaining the fiction that Harry lives with the Dursleys under your oversight for three years now. Far as the Ministry knows, Harry Potter is a quiet, well-behaved boy who stays out of trouble and never leaves Little Whinging."
"Ah," Dumbledore said slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're suggesting we extend that fiction."
"Exactly. The Dursleys continue to tell anyone who asks that Harry's at boarding school. Your monitoring reports continue to show Harry as 'progressing normally under family care.' As far as official records are concerned, nothing changes."
Harry watched this exchange with fascination and growing apprehension. They were talking about his life, his future, with the casual efficiency of people who'd dealt with political complications before.
"But what about the quarterly visits?" Dumbledore asked. "The blood protection renewals?"
"We maintain those," John said. "Harry comes back every few months, spends a day or two at Privet Drive for the magic to recognize his presence, then returns to America. To outside observers, it looks like a normal child visiting relatives."
"It could work," Dumbledore said slowly. "The existing secrecy protocols would cover international travel. And since officially Harry has never left his relatives' care..." He paused, his expression growing thoughtful. "Actually, this maintains the protection while removing Harry from immediate danger. Quite elegant, really."
"How long would this take to arrange?" John asked.
"The beauty of it is that it requires no official arrangement at all," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "As far as the Ministry is concerned, Harry Potter remains exactly where he's always been—under my oversight with his relatives. What they don't know about his actual whereabouts is simply... none of their concern."
"Right," John said, looking relieved. "So we're doing this?"
"We're doing this," Dumbledore confirmed. "Though I do have one condition."
"Name it."
"Regular communication. I want weekly reports on Harry's progress and wellbeing. And at the first sign of trouble..." Dumbledore's expression grew stern. "At the very first sign, Harry comes home immediately."
"Agreed," John said. "Kid?"
Harry looked between them, feeling the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. The rational part of his mind understood that this was necessary—that John couldn't hunt a magical predator while protecting a nine-year-old. But the emotional part of him was terrified of being separated from the only real family he'd ever known.
"How will I know you're safe?" Harry asked quietly.
John's expression softened. "I'll find ways to get messages to you. Can't promise regular contact—staying hidden is part of staying alive—but I'll let you know I'm still breathing."
"And if something happens to you?"
"Then you'll have Dumbledore, and the Zataras, and Tim, and Jason," John said firmly. "You'll have people who care about you. But Harry... nothing's going to happen to me. I'm too bloody stubborn to die before I see you graduate from whatever passes for magical university."
Harry nodded, blinking back tears he was determined not to shed. "When do I leave?"
"Soon as I can arrange travel," John said. "Probably within the week."
Heathrow Airport - One Week Later
Standing in the departure lounge at Heathrow, Harry tried to memorize everything about John Constantine—the way he held his cigarettes, the particular angle of his worn trench coat, the expression he got when he was trying not to let his emotions show.
"Right then," John said gruffly, checking his watch for the third time in five minutes. "Flight to New York leaves in an hour. Giovanni will meet you at JFK."
"I know," Harry said. "You've told me six times."
"Smart arse," John muttered, but he was smiling. "You've got your emergency contact numbers?"
"John, Dumbledore, Tim, and Jason," Harry recited. "Plus the emergency magical communication mirror you gave me."
"And you remember what I taught you about—"
"Staying alert, trusting my instincts, and not hesitating to run if something feels wrong," Harry finished. "I remember."
John nodded, then knelt down to Harry's eye level. For a moment, the gruff exterior slipped, and Harry could see the genuine fear and love beneath.
"Kid," John said quietly, "I need you to understand something. This isn't about you not being good enough or strong enough to help. You're one of the most capable people I know, magical or otherwise."
"Then why—"
"Because you're nine years old," John said firmly. "And because part of being capable is knowing when you're outmatched. The thing I'm hunting... it specifically targets children like you. Taking you along would be like painting a target on your back and ringing a dinner bell."
Harry nodded, understanding the logic even if he didn't like it.
"Besides," John continued, his voice growing lighter, "someone needs to keep Zatanna out of trouble. Girl's got even worse impulse control than you do."
"That's not possible," Harry protested with a grin.
"Trust me, kid. It's possible."
The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal, and both of them fell quiet. This was it—the moment they'd both been dreading.
"You'll be careful?" Harry asked, hating how young his voice sounded.
"Always am," John said, though they both knew it was a lie. "You'll write?"
"Every week. More if anything interesting happens."
"With you and Zatanna together, something interesting will definitely happen," John said with a chuckle. "Try not to accidentally summon anything that requires international incident protocols to resolve."
"No promises," Harry said, and was surprised to find he was actually smiling.
John pulled him into a fierce hug that smelled of cigarettes and leather and home. "I'm proud of you, kid," he said quietly. "Prouder than I know how to say. And when I get back—and I will get back—we'll have stories to tell each other."
"Promise?" Harry whispered.
"Promise," John said firmly.
They separated reluctantly, and Harry shouldered his travel bag with the kind of determined efficiency John had taught him. But as he reached the boarding gate, he turned back for one last look.
John Constantine stood in the middle of the busy terminal, looking older than Harry had ever seen him, one hand raised in a small wave. For just a moment, his carefully maintained composure slipped, and Harry could see the pain of letting him go written clearly on his face.
"I'll come back," Harry called out, his voice carrying over the airport noise. "We both will."
John smiled—a real smile this time, warm and proud and full of love. "Damn right we will, kid. Damn right we will."
Harry turned and walked through the boarding gate, not looking back again because he knew if he did, he'd run straight back to John's side regardless of the consequences.
Behind him, John Constantine lit another cigarette with hands that shook slightly, and began planning how to kill something that had been hunting children for over a century.
In front of him, Harry Potter prepared to start a new chapter of his life, surrounded by friends who understood magic and far from the dangers that seemed to follow him wherever he went.
Neither of them knew when they'd see each other again.
But both of them knew, with absolute certainty, that they would.
That was what family meant.
As the plane lifted off into the gray London sky, Harry pressed his face to the window and watched his homeland disappear beneath the clouds. Somewhere down there, John was already beginning his hunt. Somewhere across the ocean, new adventures and deeper friendships waited.
And somewhere in between, a nine-year-old boy who'd been taught to survive anything life could throw at him prepared to learn what it meant to simply live.
It was, Harry thought as the plane banked toward the Atlantic, going to be interesting.
John would have been proud.
After the taxi taking him back from the airport disappeared around the corner, John Constantine stood in his empty flat and allowed himself exactly five minutes to fall apart.
Then he stubbed out his cigarette, gathered his hunting gear, and began planning how to keep his promise to come home alive.
Somewhere in Europe, something ancient and hungry was moving toward Britain.
It was about to discover that taking John Constantine's family was the last mistake it would ever make.
The hunt was on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~