Zatara Penthouse - Three Days Later
Harry had just finished his morning mathematics lesson with Dr. Chen's correspondence materials when the doorbell rang, followed immediately by what sounded like a small hurricane entering the apartment.
"Zatanna!" a voice called out in an American accent tinged with excitement. "I got your letter! Is he really here? Can I meet him? I brought cookies!"
"She's here!" Zatanna announced, bouncing up from where she'd been helping Harry with his algebra. "Harry, you're going to love Serena. She's like the big sister I never had, she's four years older than me and way more adventurous than any normal person should be."
Harry looked up from his workbook to see Zatanna dragging a tall, athletic girl into the living room. The newcomer had platinum blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, bright gray eyes that seemed to take in everything at once, and was wearing clothes that suggested she'd come straight from some kind of outdoor activity.
"Serena Malfoy," the girl said, extending her hand with a wide grin. "And you must be Harry! Zatanna's told me so much about—" She stopped mid-sentence, her expression shifting to one of confusion. "Wait. Harry... Potter?"
Harry felt his stomach drop. After years of John's training, his first instinct was to reach for defensive magic, but something about the girl's expression—surprised but not hostile—made him pause.
"You know that name?" Harry asked carefully, unconsciously running his hand through his hair to make sure his fringe was covering his scar properly.
"Of course I know that name," Serena said, her tone carrying more curiosity than menace. "The Potters are one of Britain's old magical families and your reputation's made it across the ocean. But more importantly…" Her gray eyes sharpened. "Are you alright? Being in Britain during… well, with You-Know-Who running around?"
Harry blinked. "You know about Voldemort?"
"Don't say it!" Serena cut in instinctively, then let out a self-conscious laugh. "Sorry, old habit. My grandmother still jumps every time someone says it out loud. Back in his first rise to power, he put a jinx on his own name so that speaking it acted like a beacon—it let his followers or worse, him, track you down. Even after he fell, people kept avoiding it. Safer that way, you know?"
"Serena," Zatanna interrupted, looking between them with growing curiosity, "why are you acting like Harry being a Potter is such a big deal?"
Harry's past wasn't a mystery to her; she'd learned it from him and from his father. But she had no idea about the fame of the Potter family.
"Because it is a big deal," Serena said,"The Potters aren't just some well-off wizarding family, they're one of the cornerstones of magical Britain. Old bloodline, impeccable reputation, a fortune built over centuries… and a history so tangled with major events that you can't talk about wizarding Britain without their name coming up."
Her eyes flicked to Harry "Back during Grindelwald's rise in the '40s, your great-grandfather was one of the loudest voices in the International Confederation of Wizards calling for action against him. While half the Ministry wanted to stay 'neutral,' the Potters were openly funding resistance groups, smuggling Muggle-born refugees out of Europe, and if the rumors are true, sneaking supplies right under Grindelwald's nose."
"They've always been like that. Taking sides, standing up, making enemies for the right reasons… and making history while they're at it." Her gaze lingered on Harry's face. "So tell me Harry, how old are you?"
"Nine," Harry said, still trying to process that this American girl seemed to know more about his family history than he did.
"Nine," Serena repeated slowly. "And you're here in America instead of Britain, barely a decade after the war with Voldemort ended." Her expression grew thoughtful. "If your parents were alive, they'd be keeping you close. Probably in hiding, just in case any of his followers came looking."
The words hit Harry like a physical blow. For a moment, he couldn't speak, old grief and newer guilt tangling together in his chest.
"They're dead," he said quietly. "Voldemort killed them when I was a baby."
Serena's face went pale. "Oh, Harry… I'm so sorry.I forget, I didn't mean to—"
"It's alright," Harry said quickly, recognizing genuine distress in her voice.
But something was nagging at him, and after a moment he realized what it was. "Serena... did you say your last name was Malfoy?"
"Yes?" she said, looking confused by his sudden tension.
"As in... the same Malfoys from Britain?"
"Well, originally, yes. But that's a long story." Serena noticed Harry's wary expression and her eyebrows rose. "Harry, what do you know about the British Malfoys?"
Harry thought about how to answer that diplomatically. Dumbledore had taught him about the major pureblood families during his education about wizarding politics, and the Malfoys were definitely on the list of families to be cautious around.
"They're purebloods," Harry said carefully. "Old family, wealthy, politically connected. And they're... not exactly known for being friendly to people with non-magical parents."
"Ah," Serena said with understanding. "Right, you've heard about the British branch. Yeah, they're pretty awful. Arrogant, prejudiced, completely obsessed with blood purity." Her expression grew disgusted. "They're exactly the kind of wizards who give purebloods a bad name."
"But you're a Malfoy too," Harry pointed out, still confused.
"I'm an American Malfoy," Serena said with obvious pride. "Very different family tree."
She settled back in her chair, apparently warming to the topic. "My great-great-grandfather was Aldric Malfoy, younger son of the British family head back in the 1840s. He got himself disowned for the terrible crime of falling in love with a woman who was a Squib."
"They disowned him for that?" Zatanna asked, looking shocked.
"Oh, it gets better," Serena said with dark humor. "When Aldric married his Squib wife anyway, the British Malfoys declared them both blood traitors and tried to have his magical abilities bound. Permanently."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "That's... that's horrible."
"It's illegal," Serena said firmly. "Or at least, it should be. But this was the 1840s, and the British magical establishment was even more backwards than it is now." Her gray eyes flashed with anger. "So my great-great-grandfather and his wife fled Britain with nothing but their wands and whatever money they could carry."
"And they came to America?" Harry asked, fascinated despite himself.
"They did. And you know what they found here?" Serena's expression brightened. "A magical community that didn't care about their blood status or their family history. They cared about what Aldric and his wife could contribute."
She stood up and began pacing, clearly getting excited about the story. "Aldric was brilliant at business magic—charms for preservation, transportation, security. His wife Eleanor even thought a squib was a Potioneer whose experimental techniques revolutionized magical medicine. Within twenty years, they'd built one of the most successful magical businesses on the East Coast."
"So the American Malfoys are rich too?" Harry asked.
"Incredibly rich," Serena confirmed with a grin. "But we earned it through innovation and hard work, not inherited wealth and political manipulation. And more importantly, we use our money to support magical education, research, and immigrant integration programs."
Zatanna was listening to this with obvious fascination. "I never knew any of this history."
"Most people don't," Serena said. "The British magical world pretends we don't exist, and we're generally happy to return the favor." Her expression grew more serious. "Though we do keep track of what's happening over there. The war..."
She looked directly at Harry. "Is that why you're here? Are you in hiding?"
Harry considered how much to tell her. Serena seemed genuine, and her family's history of being outcasts from British magical society suggested she might be sympathetic. But John's training made him cautious about revealing too much.
"Something like that," he said finally. "My guardian thought I'd be safer here for a while."
"Your guardian?" Serena asked with interest.
"John Constantine. He's... not exactly a traditional wizard."
"Oh, I know that name!" Serena said immediately. "He's famous in American supernatural circles. Some of the professors at Ilvermorny use his case studies in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes."
"He's famous here?" Harry asked with surprise.
"Are you kidding? Constantine's legendary. There are stories about him solving supernatural crises that other wizards wouldn't even attempt." Serena looked at Harry with new respect. "If Constantine is your guardian, no wonder you seem so comfortable with magical discussions. He must be teaching you amazing things."
"He is," Harry said, feeling a familiar pang of missing John. "Though right now he's... working on something that required me to stay somewhere safe."
"Well, you're definitely safe here," Serena said firmly. "The Zatara apartment is warded better than most government buildings, and if anyone tries to cause trouble..." She grinned, and Harry caught a glimpse of something fierce beneath her cheerful exterior. "Let's just say American magical law enforcement takes a very dim view of people who threaten children."
"It's different here, isn't it?" Harry said thoughtfully. "The way magic and politics work."
"Completely different," Serena confirmed. "American magical society was basically built by people who didn't fit into the old European mold—refugees, outcasts, anyone sick of the rigid hierarchies back there."
She leaned back in her chair, voice taking on a thoughtful edge. "Even now, years after your war with Voldemort, we still see people coming over from Britain. Muggle-borns who got tired of being treated like second-class citizens. Squibs who can't make a life in a country that only values magical ability. Families who want their kids to grow up without wondering if their bloodline will get them killed or ignored."
Harry glanced at her, startled, but she went on. "It's not new for us. When Grindelwald was on the rise in Europe in the '40s, thousands of magical families fled to America—pure-bloods who opposed blood supremacy, Muggle-born wizards escaping persecution, mixed families who weren't safe anywhere. We took them in, all of them. And when Grindelwald tried to extend his war here, he ran headfirst into a magical community built on cooperation and inclusion—and that turned out to be stronger than he expected."
Zatanna tilted her head. "How so?"
"For one thing," Serena said, "our magical government actually represents all magical citizens, not just a pure-blood elite. Grindelwald's agents couldn't even figure out how to infiltrate it—they didn't know who to bribe or threaten. And for another, American magical education produces wizards who can adapt. We learn multiple magical traditions, study magic from different cultures, and train alongside non-magical technology."
"Non-magical technology?" Harry echoed, curious.
"Sure," Serena replied. "Radios, telephones, automobiles—American wizards don't see a problem mixing magic and Muggle innovation. Why fly across the country on a broom when you can take a magical airplane that's faster, more comfortable, and has room for your luggage?"
Harry frowned slightly. "But… I thought magic and technology can't work together. Electronics break if they're near too much magic. How do you make it work here?"
Serena's lips curved in a knowing smile. "That's true in Britain—they keep magic and Muggle things in separate worlds. Here? We've been finding ways around that for decades."
She ticked points off on her fingers. "First, shielding. Not just simple charms, but complex runic dampeners worked right into the design of the device. They block the background magical interference that would normally fry circuits.
"Second, integration. We don't just bolt magic onto existing Muggle tech—we design them together from the start. Spell-etched wiring, enchanted metals in the casings, runic stabilizers in the cores.
"Third, infrastructure. Magical cities here have what we call 'warded grids'—a network of enchantments tied into both the ley lines and the electrical system. It keeps the local magic field steady enough for technology to run normally."
Harry tilted his head. "So it works everywhere?"
"Not everywhere," Serena admitted. "Out in wild magic zones, on ley line nexuses, or in the middle of heavy spellcasting? Your tech is as good as dead. But in most American towns, you can ride in a magical bus with working radios, send typed letters by enchanted typewriter, and watch magical television without it going up in smoke."
Harry tried to imagine John Constantine's reaction to the idea of a magical airplane and nearly snorted with laughter.
"It sounds brilliant," he said honestly. "Much more... sensible than the British approach."
"It is," Serena said with satisfaction. "Though it drives the European magical establishments absolutely mad. They think we're corrupting magical traditions by making them practical."
"Speaking of British magical families," Zatanna said with a sly grin, "Serena, didn't you say you had a friend Harry should meet?"
"Oh! Right!" Serena's eyes lit up with excitement. "Harry, you absolutely have to meet Mason Potter. He's thirteen, goes to Ilvermorny with me, and he's basically the nicest person you could ever hope to meet."
Harry went very still. "Potter?"
"Yeah! Mason's from the American Potter branch. His family emigrated from Britain in the early 1800s after some kind of political disagreement with the British magical government." Serena's expression grew thoughtful. "Actually, you two might be related. Distantly, but still family."
Harry felt like the world had tilted sideways. He had family? Real family, not just the Dursleys who hated him, but actual magical relatives who might understand what it was like to be a Potter?
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice smaller than he'd intended.
"Pretty sure," Serena said, noticing his emotional reaction. "The Potter family tree is pretty well documented in American magical records. Mason's great-great-grandfather was Charles Ignatius Potter's younger brother, I think?"
Harry had no idea who Charles Ignatius Potter was, but the possibility of having family—real family who chose to be in America, who might understand magic and wouldn't see him as a burden—was overwhelming.
"Could I... could I meet him?" Harry asked.
"Of course!" Serena said immediately. "He's actually supposed to visit New York next weekend for some kind of family business. I could arrange for all of us to meet up."
"That would be brilliant," Harry said, and meant it completely.
Zatanna was watching this exchange with obvious delight. "This is perfect! Harry gets to meet family, we get to meet one of Serena's Ilvermorny friends, and I get to take more pictures for the scrapbook."
She stood up, apparently energized by the planning possibilities. "Right then! I'll send Mason a letter tonight, set up a meeting for next weekend. Nothing too formal—maybe just lunch and some exploring around the city."
"Serena," Zatanna said with a grin, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
As Serena launched into enthusiastic planning for the upcoming meeting, Harry found himself feeling genuinely excited for the first time since leaving London. The idea of meeting another Potter, someone who might understand both the weight of the family name and what it was like to live in a magical world that was more flexible and accepting than Britain's, was almost too good to believe.