**Coast City, California - Ferris Aircraft Testing Facility**
Carol Ferris was reviewing flight specifications for the new F-35 prototype when her ring screamed.
Not literally—Star Sapphire rings didn't scream. But the burst of violet light that erupted from her hand, accompanied by a wave of *emotion* so intense it made her gasp, might as well have been a scream.
*Another Star Sapphire has been chosen on Earth,* the ring announced, its feminine voice tight with something that might have been urgency. *Sector 2814. France. Gabrielle Delacour.*
Carol's coffee mug shattered on the floor.
"Another one?" she said aloud, staring at her ring. "There's another Star Sapphire? On Earth? Since when does Earth get two Sapphires?"
*Since the universe decided Earth needed more representatives of love,* the ring said, which was typical ring non-answer. *She is young. Sixteen Earth years. Newly matured. Her love burns bright but undisciplined.*
"Oh no," Carol breathed. "Oh no, no, no. She's a teenager? With a Star Sapphire ring? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"
She remembered her own early days with the ring. The way it had amplified her feelings for Hal Jordan—twisted them from love into *obsession*. She'd done terrible things under the ring's influence, convinced that forcing Hal to love her back was justified because their love was "destiny." It had taken years to learn control, to understand that love wasn't about possession or control.
And now some sixteen-year-old girl was wearing a ring that could warp her emotions and give her the power to reshape reality around her fixations?
*You must go to her,* the ring insisted. *Guide her. Before she makes mistakes that cannot be undone.*
"Agreed." Carol stood, already moving toward her office window. "But I need backup. Ring, contact Hal Jordan. Tell him—"
*Green Lantern 2814.1 is currently in transit,* the ring interrupted. *Transporting a new Green Lantern recruit and a Blue Lantern to their respective training facilities. Estimated time to communication range: four minutes.*
Carol paced, violet energy crackling around her fingers as anxiety manifested as power. A teenage Star Sapphire. With undisciplined love burning bright. That was a recipe for catastrophe.
Star Sapphire rings chose people who had great love in their hearts—but they especially chose people whose love was *complicated*. Unrequited. Painful. The kind of love that hurt so much it could be weaponized.
What kind of love would make a sixteen-year-old girl a target for a ring?
*Four minutes,* Carol thought. *I can wait four minutes. Then I'm going to France, and I'm going to make sure this girl doesn't accidentally mind-control half of Europe because she has a crush on someone.*
She touched her own ring, remembering. Remembering the power. The certainty. The absolute conviction that what she felt was right, was *justified*, because it was love and love conquered all.
Except love didn't conquer all. Not when it became obsession.
*Please,* Carol thought, *please let me reach her before she learns that lesson the hard way.*
Her ring pulsed, and suddenly Hal's voice filled her office.
"Carol? What's wrong? Your ring's been pinging mine for the last three minutes."
"Hal." Carol's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank God. We have a situation. There's another Star Sapphire on Earth. A sixteen-year-old girl in France. She was just chosen."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Shit."
"My thoughts exactly." Carol moved to her window, looking out over the airfield. "I need to go to her, Hal. Now. Before she does something we'll all regret. But I could use backup. Someone who understands cosmic power rings and teenagers who don't know how to control them."
"I'm in the middle of transporting recruits," Hal said. "Harry Potter—long story, I'll explain later—is heading to Oa for Green Lantern training. Luna Lovegood just got dropped off on Odym with the Blue Lanterns. But Carol, if this is as serious as you think—"
"It is," Carol interrupted. "Hal, you remember what I was like. In the beginning. Before I learned control."
Another pause. "Yeah. I remember." His voice was gentle now. "You were terrifying, Carol. Beautiful and terrifying. And you nearly killed me twice."
"Exactly. Now imagine that, but the Star Sapphire is a teenage girl whose emotions are already unstable because that's what being sixteen *is*. Hal, she could accidentally mind-control her entire school. She could rewrite reality to make someone love her back. She could—"
"Okay. Okay, I get it." Hal's voice took on the clipped efficiency of someone making command decisions. "Here's what we do: I'm about three hours from the edge of Sector 2814. Meet me at the boundary coordinates—I'll transmit them now. We'll go to France together, extract this girl, and take her to Zamaron for proper training."
"Zamaron?" Carol's voice rose. "Hal, the Zamarons are beautiful and wise and absolutely *batshit* when it comes to love. They once tried to kidnap you and make you my eternal consort. They think love justifies anything."
"You got a better idea?"
Carol wanted to argue. But the truth was, she didn't. The Star Sapphire Corps was based on Zamaron. The Zamarons—ancient beings who had split from the Guardians of the Universe billions of years ago specifically because they refused to suppress their emotions—were the ones who had created the violet rings. If anyone could train a young Star Sapphire, it was them.
Even if their methods were... unconventional.
"Fine," Carol said. "But I'm staying with her. I'm not leaving a sixteen-year-old alone with beings who think kidnapping someone is a valid expression of love."
"Agreed. Carol?" Hal's voice softened. "Thank you. For caring about this. A lot of people wouldn't."
"A lot of people weren't corrupted by a Star Sapphire ring," Carol said quietly. "I know what she's going through. Or what she's about to go through. Someone should have been there for me, in the beginning. Maybe I can be that person for her."
"You're a good person, Carol Ferris."
"I'm a person who made a lot of mistakes and learned from them," Carol corrected. "There's a difference. Send me those coordinates. I'll meet you in three hours."
She disconnected, then looked at her ring. "Show me this girl. Gabrielle Delacour. What's her story?"
The ring projected a hologram—a beautiful girl with silver-blonde hair and features that were almost too perfect to be entirely human. Veela, Carol's ring helpfully supplied. Part-human, part-magical creature. Known for their beauty and their ability to attract mates.
And her emotional profile—
Carol's breath caught.
The girl's love signature was *massive*. Not in intensity—she'd seen stronger loves, deeper devotions. But in *complexity*. There were layers to it: desperate longing, biological imperative, adolescent infatuation, genuine affection, and underneath it all, a Veela mate-bond that was screaming because its target was absent.
"Oh, honey," Carol whispered, looking at the holographic girl. "You're in so much pain, aren't you? You found your mate and he's gone, and your instincts are tearing you apart, and then the ring found you and promised it could help."
*She requires guidance,* the ring agreed. *Her love is pure but undirected. Without training, she will—*
"Become what I became," Carol finished. "Obsessed. Dangerous. Willing to hurt people because she's hurting and the ring tells her that's justified."
She clenched her fist, violet light flaring. "Not on my watch. Ring, prep for travel. I'm going to France, and I'm bringing this girl back to Zamaron if I have to carry her the whole way."
*Acknowledged. Warning: the subject may be resistant. Her emotional state is volatile.*
"Yeah, well. So was mine." Carol smiled grimly. "The difference is, I'm on the other side of that volatility now. And I remember every mistake I made. Which means I can help her avoid them."
She changed into her Star Sapphire uniform—not the revealing costume the ring initially tried to give her (she'd had *words* with the Zamarons about that), but a practical combat suit in violet and black that protected while still channeling the violet light effectively.
Three hours until she met Hal at the sector boundary.
Three hours to prepare herself for meeting a girl who was probably about to make all the same mistakes Carol had made a decade ago.
*Please,* Carol thought as she rose through her office ceiling, violet light carrying her into the sky, *please let me reach her in time.*
Behind her, on her desk, her abandoned coffee mug lay in pieces.
Much like what a Star Sapphire ring could do to a teenage girl's life if no one intervened.
Carol flew faster.
---
**Beauxbatons Academy, Gardens - Twenty Minutes Earlier**
Gabrielle stood in the smoking crater, violet light still crackling around her, and faced down half the school's faculty.
Madame Maxime had recovered from her initial shock and now loomed over the crater's edge, her half-giant frame making her more imposing than any headmistress had a right to be. Behind her, three other professors had arrived—Dubois (Combat Magic), Archambault (Transfiguration), and Giroux (Charms). All of them had their wands drawn.
All of them looked terrified.
"Mademoiselle Delacour," Madame Maxime said, her voice carefully controlled. "Please step out of ze crater. Slowly. And explain what 'as 'appened."
"A ring chose me," Gabrielle said, holding up her hand. The Star Sapphire glowed, pulsing with her heartbeat. "I am now a Star Sapphire. A warrior of love."
"A warrior of—" Madame Maxime's eye twitched. "Gabrielle, you are sixteen years old. You cannot be a warrior of anyzing. Please remove zat ring and—"
"I can't," Gabrielle interrupted. "Ze ring cannot be removed. Not now. It 'as bonded to me." She smiled, and violet light sparkled in her eyes. "And I do not want to remove it. It will 'elp me find 'Arry."
The professors exchanged glances.
"'Arry?" Professor Archambault repeated carefully. "'Arry Potter? Ze British wizard who defeated Voldemort?"
"*Mon cœur,*" Gabrielle said, and her voice went soft, dreamy. "*Mon âme soeur.* My soulmate. 'E is mine, and I am 'is, and ze universe 'as seen fit to give me ze power to reach 'im."
"Oh no," Madame Maxime said faintly. "She 'as completed 'er maturity. Ze Veela bond 'as activated."
"And 'Arry Potter is 'er mate," Professor Giroux added. "Zis is... complicated."
"Complicated?" Gabrielle's voice rose, violet energy crackling dangerously. "My mate is on another *planet*. Learning to be a 'ero while I sit 'ere and *ache* because every Veela instinct I 'ave is screaming zat I should be wiz 'im. And you call zis *complicated*?"
The violet light intensified, and suddenly the professors weren't just facing a teenage girl. They were facing something that radiated *power*—cosmic power, far beyond anything their wands could match.
"Easy," Madame Maxime said, raising her hands. "Easy, child. We understand you are in pain. But zis ring—it is not somezing you can simply put on and expect to control. Zese cosmic artifacts, zey are dangerous. Zey can corrupt—"
"Zey can 'elp," Gabrielle countered. "Madame, wiz respect, you do not understand what ze mate-bond is like. You 'ave never felt it. But I 'ave, and it is *agony*. Every moment 'Arry is away feels like part of my soul is missing. Ze ring found me because my love is strong enough, pure enough, to wield its power."
"Or because your love is obsessive enough to be weaponized," Professor Dubois said bluntly. "Girl, I 'ave studied ze 'istory of zese Power Rings. Ze violet ones—ze Star Sapphires—zey are powered by love, yes. But zey also amplify ze worst aspects of love. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Ze need to control."
"I do not need to control 'Arry," Gabrielle said, but even as she said it, something flickered in her chest. A whisper from the ring: *But wouldn't it be easier if you did? If you could make him understand what you are to each other? If you could ensure he never left you again?*
Gabrielle shook her head sharply. "No. Zat is not love. Love is... is trusting. Is waiting. Is—"
"Is hard," a new voice said.
Everyone turned.
A woman floated above the crater—American, beautiful in a sharp-edged way, wearing a uniform of violet and black that matched Gabrielle's but somehow looked more *earned*. Another Star Sapphire. Her ring glowed with the same violet light, but steadier. Controlled.
"Who are you?" Madame Maxime demanded.
"Carol Ferris. Star Sapphire of Sector 2814." Carol descended slowly, landing on the crater's edge. She looked at Gabrielle with eyes that held understanding and sympathy and something harder. "I got the alert from my ring the moment you were chosen. Came as fast as I could."
"Zere are two Star Sapphires on Earth now?" Professor Archambault said faintly.
"There are exactly two Star Sapphires in this entire sector," Carol corrected. "Me and her. Which means I'm the only person who can help her understand what she just signed up for." She looked at Gabrielle. "Because honey, I've been where you are. I know what the ring is whispering. I know what it's promising."
"Zen you understand," Gabrielle said desperately. "You understand zat I must reach 'Arry—"
"I understand that you're sixteen, in love, and wearing a cosmic artifact that can rewrite reality to match your emotional state," Carol interrupted. "And I'm here to make sure you don't accidentally mind-control half of France because your boyfriend went to space."
"'E is not my boyfriend," Gabrielle said stiffly. "'E does not even know I exist. But 'e is my *mate*. My Veela senses are certain."
Carol's expression softened. "Okay. Okay, I get it. Biology and magic and cosmic power all telling you the same thing. That's rough. But Gabrielle—" She stepped into the crater, approaching carefully. "—the ring can't fix this. It can't make Harry Potter your mate if he doesn't feel the same way. It can't force love. And if you try to use it for that, it will corrupt you. Trust me. I learned that the hard way."
"I would never—"
"You would," Carol said gently. "Not now. Not intentionally. But when you're in pain, when the mate-bond is screaming, when you see him happy without you—the ring will offer solutions. It will whisper that you could *make* him love you. Make him understand. Make him *see*. And in that moment, when you're desperate and hurting, those whispers will sound like salvation."
Gabrielle's hand clenched around her ring. Because Carol was right. Already, she could feel it—the subtle suggestions from the ring. The ways she could use its power to reach Harry. To make him notice her. To ensure he never left again.
"So what do I do?" Gabrielle whispered. "If I cannot use ze ring to find my mate, what purpose does it serve?"
"You learn control," Carol said. "You train. You become a real Star Sapphire instead of a girl with a cosmic weapon she doesn't understand." She held out her hand. "Come with me. I'll take you to Zamaron—that's where the Star Sapphire Corps is based. They'll teach you to use the ring properly. To channel love without being consumed by it."
"And 'Arry?"
"Is on Oa, learning to be a Green Lantern," Carol said. "Which means eventually, your paths will cross. The Corps work together sometimes. But Gabrielle, you need to meet him as an equal. As someone who chose to be strong on her own, not because she needed him. That's the only way this works."
Gabrielle looked at the ring. At the violet light that promised so much. At this woman who understood what she was feeling.
"'Ow long?" she asked. "On Zamaron. 'Ow long must I train?"
"Depends on you," Carol said. "Could be weeks. Could be months. But I'll be with you the whole time. And when you're ready—when you can wear that ring without letting it control you—then we'll figure out how to introduce you to Harry Potter properly."
"Properly," Gabrielle repeated. "Not as obsessed girl who cannot control 'erself."
"Exactly."
Madame Maxime stepped forward. "Gabrielle, if you leave wiz zis woman, you will miss ze rest of your education. Your N.E.W.T.s—"
"Can wait," Gabrielle said firmly. She looked at her headmistress, at the professors, at the school she'd attended for six years. "I am Veela. I 'ave found my mate. Everyzing else is secondary until I can be wiz 'im wizout ze mate-bond driving me mad. If zat means going to space and learning to be a cosmic warrior—" She smiled slightly. "—zen zat is what I must do."
"Your sister," Madame Maxime said. "Fleur. She should be consulted—"
"I will send 'er a message," Gabrielle promised. "But Madame, Fleur would understand. She is Veela too. She knows what ze mate-bond is like. And she would tell me to do whatever is necessary to survive it."
Carol pulled out what looked like a small crystal. "This is a communication relay. Connects to Earth's telecommunications network. She can call her sister from Zamaron, video chat, the whole thing. The Zamarons are archaic about a lot of things, but they understand the importance of family."
Madame Maxime looked like she wanted to argue more. But she was also half-giant, which meant she understood what it was like to be driven by biology and instinct. To have needs that normal humans couldn't comprehend.
"Very well," she said finally. "But Gabrielle, you must promise to return. When your training is complete. Beauxbatons will always be your 'ome."
"I promise," Gabrielle said, and meant it.
Carol activated her ring, and violet light enveloped them both. "We're meeting Hal Jordan—Green Lantern 2814.1—at the sector boundary. From there, we'll take a direct route to Zamaron. Pack light. The Zamarons will provide everything you need."
"I 'ave everyzing I need," Gabrielle said, touching her ring. "Zis, and ze knowledge zat I am doing somezing instead of just waiting in pain."
"Good attitude," Carol approved. "You're going to need it. The Zamarons are... intense. But they mean well. Mostly."
They rose from the crater, violet light streaming behind them. Students and faculty scattered, staring up at the two Star Sapphires ascending into the darkening sky.
Gabrielle looked back once—at Beauxbaurs, at France, at the planet that had been her home for sixteen years.
Then she looked forward, toward the stars.
Toward Harry.
*I am coming,* she thought fiercely. *I do not know when we will meet, mon cœur. But when we do, I will be strong. I will be worthy. I will be somezing more zan just a girl who loves you.*
*I will be a Star Sapphire. A warrior of love.*
*And I will show you zat love is not weakness—it is ze strongest force in ze universe.*
Her ring pulsed with approval, and Gabrielle flew faster.
---
**Sector 2814 Boundary, Deep Space - Two Hours Later**
The edge of a space sector wasn't marked by signs or barriers—it was more like a shift in the cosmic background radiation, a subtle change that only power rings could detect. Hal Jordan floated there, waiting, his green uniform gleaming in the starlight of a dozen nearby systems.
He'd dropped Harry Potter off at Oa forty minutes ago. The kid had been terrified but trying not to show it, which Hal respected. Walking into a facility filled with seven thousand alien Green Lanterns, all of whom were staring at you because you were wearing a legendary ring that shouldn't exist anymore—that took guts.
Harry Potter had guts to spare.
Now Hal was waiting for Carol, trying not to think about the last time they'd dealt with Star Sapphire business together. That had ended with Carol mind-controlling half the Justice League because she was convinced Hal's relationship with her was destiny and everyone else was getting in the way.
They'd worked past that. Carol had gotten therapy—actual therapy, not just "willpower your way through trauma" like the Guardians recommended—and learned to separate her feelings from the ring's influence. She was one of the most stable Star Sapphires in the Corps now.
But a sixteen-year-old girl with a fresh ring and no training?
That was a disaster waiting to happen.
Violet light blazed in the darkness, resolving into two figures. Carol, looking tense but determined. And beside her—
Hal's breath caught.
The girl was beautiful. Not in a human way—in the way that made you think of myths and legends, of creatures that lured sailors to their doom with promises of paradise. Veela, his ring identified. Part-human, part-magical creature. Known for their beauty and their ability to form powerful mate-bonds.
And she was staring at Hal with an intensity that made him deeply uncomfortable.
"Is 'e 'ere?" Gabrielle demanded. "Is 'Arry 'ere? Your ring said you transported 'im—"
"Whoa," Hal said, raising his hands. "Easy. Harry Potter is on Oa. That's about three sectors away. You can't just—"
"I can fly zere," Gabrielle interrupted. "Ze ring will take me. I need to see 'im. I need to tell 'im—"
"That you're his soulmate and your Veela biology says he belongs to you?" Carol cut in sharply. "Gabrielle, we talked about this. You can't ambush him like that. He doesn't know you exist. He just fought a war. He's traumatized and grieving and trying to figure out how to be a Green Lantern. The *last* thing he needs is a Star Sapphire showing up and claiming they're destined to be together."
Gabrielle's face crumpled. "But ze bond—it 'urts so much—"
"I know," Carol said, softer now. "I know it hurts. But Gabrielle, love that's forced isn't love. It's possession. And you're better than that."
Hal watched the girl struggle—saw violet light flare around her, then bank down. Saw her hands clench and unclench. Saw her force herself to nod.
"You are right," Gabrielle said finally. "I know you are right. But it is so 'ard. 'E is *right zere*. Just three sectors away. So close, and yet—"
"And yet you're going to Zamaron to train," Carol finished. "Because when you meet him—and you will meet him, I promise—you want to do it as someone who's in control. Someone who chose strength. Not as someone who couldn't handle a power ring."
"Okay," Gabrielle whispered. "Okay. I will trust you."
Hal let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Good. Because Carol's right—Harry Potter is dealing with a lot right now. Adding a Veela mate-bond to the mix would probably break him."
"Is 'e well?" Gabrielle asked suddenly, turning those too-intense eyes on Hal. "My mate. Is 'e 'appy? Safe?"
"He's as well as anyone can be after fighting Voldemort," Hal said carefully. "He's alive. He's strong. He's one of the bravest people I've ever met, human or alien. And he's going to make an incredible Green Lantern once he gets proper training."
Something in Gabrielle's expression softened. "You admire 'im."
"I do," Hal admitted. "Kid walked into a forest to die for his friends. That's... that's real heroism. The kind the Corps was founded on."
Gabrielle touched her ring, and violet light swirled around her fingers. "Ze ring shows me 'is emotional signature. Even from 'ere. 'E is... sad. Grieving. But also determined. Resolved. 'E will not break."
"No," Hal agreed. "He won't. Harry Potter doesn't know how to break. But Gabrielle—" He moved closer, making sure she was really hearing him. "—that doesn't mean he doesn't need support. It doesn't mean he's not hurting. And when you eventually meet him, the best thing you can do is be someone who makes his life easier. Not harder."
"I understand," Gabrielle said. She looked at Carol. "Will you 'elp me? Truly? Or are you just saying zis to keep me away from 'im?"
"I'm saying it because I nearly destroyed my relationship with Hal when the ring first chose me," Carol said honestly. "I became obsessed. Possessive. I told myself it was love, but it was really just fear—fear that he'd leave, that I wasn't enough, that I'd lose the one person who made me feel complete." She paused. "And ironically, acting on those fears is what almost made me lose him for real."
"But you did not," Gabrielle said. "Lose 'im."
Hal and Carol exchanged glances.
"We're friends now," Hal said carefully. "We both moved on romantically. But Carol's still one of my closest allies. One of the people I trust most in the universe. Because she did the work. She learned control. She became the hero she was always meant to be instead of letting the ring make her into something she'd regret."
"And I want zat for me," Gabrielle said. "I want to be 'ero. Someone 'Arry can admire. Someone 'e might... might love." Her voice cracked. "Even if ze mate-bond means nozing to 'im. Even if 'e chooses someone else. I want to be worthy of ze ring. Of ze title Star Sapphire."
"Then let's make that happen," Carol said. She activated her ring. "Zamaron is about six hours from here at standard flight speed. We'll use the transport window—cuts it down to three hours. And Gabrielle? Fair warning: the Zamarons are going to immediately try to turn you into their vision of what a Star Sapphire should be. Don't let them. You decide who you want to be."
"I will remember," Gabrielle promised.
They formed a flight pattern—Carol and Gabrielle in the center, surrounded by violet light, Hal flanking them in green. Standard Corps escort protocol for transporting new recruits.
As they accelerated toward Zamaron, Hal found himself thinking about Harry Potter. About a kid who'd just survived a war and was now learning to wield cosmic power. About Gabrielle Delacour, a girl whose biology insisted Harry was her perfect match.
About how complicated everything was about to become.
*Poor kid,* Hal thought. *First he gets the Starheart. Then the Guardians. And someday soon, he's going to meet a Veela Star Sapphire who thinks he's her soulmate.*
*Being Harry Potter just gets harder and harder.*
Behind them, Earth spun in its orbit, unaware that one of its newest heroes had just attracted the attention of cosmic love incarnate.
And on Oa, in his small barracks room, Harry Potter slept and dreamed of green fire.
Unaware that somewhere in space, a girl with silver-blonde hair and a violet ring was thinking of him.
Thinking, *Soon, mon cœur. Soon we will meet. And when we do, I will show you what love truly means.*
The universe, vast and patient and infinitely amused by the chaos it created, watched and waited.
This was going to be *interesting*.
---
# The Green Lantern of Hogwarts
## Part Three: The Corps
**Oa, Training Complex Alpha - 0600 Hours**
Harry woke to an alarm that sounded like a klaxon having an argument with a banshee.
He shot upright in bed, heart racing, hand instinctively reaching for a wand that wasn't there. The Starheart flared on his finger, responding to his panic, and suddenly the alarm was encased in a glowing green box that muffled the sound to a bearable level.
*Good reflexes,* the Starheart observed. *Though perhaps overkill for a simple wake-up call.*
"Could've warned me," Harry muttered, dismissing the construct. The alarm immediately resumed its assault on his eardrums. He found the control panel—mercifully labeled in English, his ring translating—and shut it off.
Silence. Blessed silence.
Then a voice boomed from somewhere outside his door: "ROOKIE! YOU GOT FIVE MINUTES TO GET YOUR SCRAWNY BEHIND TO THE TRAINING YARD! MOVE IT!"
Harry moved it.
He'd fallen asleep in his clothes—the simple gray uniform the Guardians had provided, similar to what he'd seen other trainees wearing. No shower, no breakfast, just a splash of water on his face from the small basin in his room and then he was out the door, following the glowing green path his ring helpfully projected.
*Left, then right, then straight for 200 meters,* the ring supplied. *Training Yard Alpha. Your instructors are waiting.*
"Who are my instructors?" Harry asked, jogging through corridors that all looked identical—gray walls, green lighting, the occasional window showing Oa's geometric landscape.
*Kilowog of Bolovax Vik, Green Lantern of Sector 674. Tomar-Re of Xudar, Green Lantern of Sector 2813. Both are senior Lanterns with extensive teaching experience.*
Harry emerged into what he'd expected to be a training yard and found himself in something more like a small arena. The floor was some kind of metallic alloy that gleamed green. The ceiling was open to Oa's sky—currently showing three moons and a sunrise that was the wrong color. And waiting in the center were his instructors.
Kilowog was *massive*.
Easily eight feet tall, built like a tank had married a bulldozer and decided to have a very large child. His skin was reddish-pink, his jaw was pronounced enough to be a weapon in its own right, and his Green Lantern uniform strained against muscles that looked like they'd been carved from stone. Small tusks protruded from his lower jaw, and his eyes—surprisingly gentle for someone who looked like he could punch through a planet—were fixed on Harry with an expression of deep skepticism.
"This is the Starheart kid?" Kilowog's voice was a rumble that Harry felt in his chest. "Guardians said you beat a dark lord. You look like a strong wind could snap you in half."
"I get that a lot," Harry said, trying not to feel defensive. He was thin—years of the Dursleys' idea of portion control would do that—but he'd thought the battle would've at least earned him some respect.
"Yeah, well, we're gonna fix it." Kilowog crossed his arms. "I don't care how powerful your ring is, poozer. If you can't throw a punch without breaking your own hand, you're useless in a real fight. Constructs are great. Will is important. But sometimes, you just need to hit something the old-fashioned way."
*Poozer?* Harry thought at his ring.
*Kilowog's term for new recruits. Roughly translates to 'inexperienced one who will probably do something stupid but might survive long enough to learn better.'*
"Charming," Harry muttered.
"What was that, poozer?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Not 'sir.' Kilowog. Just Kilowog." The massive Lantern turned to his companion. "What do you think, Tomar? Can we work with this?"
The second instructor stepped forward, and Harry's first thought was: *bird*.
Tomar-Re resembled an anthropomorphic fish-bird hybrid—if such a thing could be elegant. His skin was a reddish-orange, scaled in a way that caught the light beautifully. A prominent fin-like crest ran from his forehead to the back of his head. His eyes were large, intelligent, and currently studying Harry with the intense focus of someone conducting a scientific analysis.
"He survived a war at seventeen," Tomar-Re said, and his voice was surprisingly melodious—each word precisely articulated. "He bonded with the Starheart despite having no prior training. And according to Hal Jordan's report, he demonstrated construct formation and spell redirection that would challenge veterans." He tilted his head. "I think, Kilowog, that we can work with this quite well."
"Hmph." Kilowog didn't look convinced. "Constructs don't mean nothing if he passes out from exhaustion five minutes into a fight. Kid looks like he's never lifted anything heavier than a book."
"I've lifted plenty of things," Harry protested. "I was on my house Quidditch team. That requires fitness—"
"Quidditch?" Kilowog repeated the word like it personally offended him.
"It's a sport," Harry explained. "Flying. On broomsticks. Very physical, actually—"
Kilowog held up one massive hand. "Let me get this straight. Your idea of 'physical fitness' is sitting on a stick while it does all the work?"
"It's not— there's strategy and reflexes and—"
"Drop and give me fifty."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Push-ups, poozer. Fifty of 'em. Right now." Kilowog pointed at the ground. "Let's see how 'fit' you actually are."
Harry looked at Tomar-Re, hoping for support. The fish-bird alien just made a gesture that clearly meant *you should probably do what he says*.
Sighing, Harry dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups.
He made it to twenty before his arms started shaking.
Thirty before they felt like overcooked noodles.
At thirty-seven, his arms gave out completely and he collapsed face-first on the metallic floor.
"Thirty-seven," Kilowog said, not unkindly. "Better than some. Worse than most. Tomar, what's your assessment?"
Tomar-Re had been scanning Harry with his ring—green light playing over Harry's prone form. "Malnutrition in his developmental years. Calcium deficiency. His bone density is below optimal for a human his age. Muscle mass approximately sixty-three percent of what it should be." He paused. "His magical core, however, is extraordinarily developed. And the Starheart integration is... remarkable. I've never seen anything quite like it."
"Can we fix the physical issues?" Kilowog asked.
"With proper nutrition and training? Absolutely. Humans are remarkably adaptable when given the resources they need." Tomar-Re looked down at Harry, who was still trying to catch his breath. "Harry Potter, are you capable of standing?"
"Give me... a minute," Harry gasped.
"You've got thirty seconds," Kilowog said. "Then we're moving on to sparring."
"Sparring? I just—"
"Thirty seconds, poozer."
*He's testing you,* the Starheart observed. *Seeing how you respond to adversity. To being pushed past your limits.*
*I literally walked into a forest to die yesterday,* Harry thought back. *I think I've proven I can handle adversity.*
*Different kind of adversity. Physical challenge versus existential crisis. Both are important.*
Harry forced himself to his feet. His arms were jelly. His chest hurt. But he stood, shoulders back, meeting Kilowog's eyes.
"Ready, sir— Kilowog."
Something that might have been approval flickered across Kilowog's face. "Good. You're weak, poozer, but you're not a quitter. We can work with that." He turned to Tomar-Re. "What's your plan for his training?"
"Construct theory first," Tomar-Re said. "He needs to understand the fundamental principles of Green Lantern energy manipulation before we can refine his technique. His instincts are excellent, but instinct without knowledge is dangerous."
"And I'll handle the physical conditioning," Kilowog added. "By the time I'm done with you, poozer, you'll be able to do a hundred push-ups without breaking a sweat. Maybe even two hundred."
"Looking forward to it," Harry lied.
Kilowog laughed—a booming sound that echoed across the training yard. "I like him, Tomar. He's got spirit. Probably gonna get himself killed, but at least he'll go down swinging."
"Let's ensure he doesn't go down at all," Tomar-Re said dryly. He gestured, and a holographic display materialized in the air—complex diagrams showing energy flows, mathematical equations, and three-dimensional models of construct formation. "Harry Potter, welcome to Green Lantern training. For the next three months, we will push you harder than you've ever been pushed. We will test your will, your body, your mind, and your spirit. You will want to quit. Many recruits do."
"But the ones who don't," Kilowog continued, "they become the best of us. They become the Lanterns who make a difference. Who save worlds. Who stand between civilization and chaos and say 'not on my watch.'"
"That's what you signed up for, poozer," Kilowog said. "That's what the Starheart chose you for. So the question is—" He stepped closer, looming over Harry with all eight feet of his massive frame. "—you got what it takes? Or are you gonna wash out like half the other recruits?"
Harry thought about Voldemort. About Horcruxes. About walking through the Forbidden Forest with death waiting at the end. About Ron and Hermione trusting him. About Fred's death and George's grief and all the people who'd died so he could stand here.
He thought about the Starheart choosing him. About the universe deciding he was worth this power.
"I've got what it takes," Harry said, and his voice didn't waver. "Sir— Kilowog. I'll do whatever it takes to be worthy of this ring."
Kilowog studied him for a long moment.
Then he grinned—a fierce, tusked smile that was somehow encouraging despite being mildly terrifying.
"That's what I wanted to hear, poozer. Now—" He cracked his knuckles. "—let's see if you can back up those words. Tomar, start him on construct basics. I'm gonna go design a training regimen that'll either kill him or make him strong enough to actually be useful."
"Please don't kill him," Tomar-Re said mildly. "The Guardians frown on that."
"Fine. *Almost* kill him."
Kilowog strode off, leaving Harry alone with Tomar-Re and the floating holographic diagrams.
"Is he always like that?" Harry asked.
"Always," Tomar-Re confirmed. "But he's the best combat instructor in the Corps. If he says he'll make you strong, he will." The alien gestured at the holograms. "Now then. Let's begin with the fundamental principle of Green Lantern constructs: will made manifest through focused imagination. Tell me, Harry Potter—when you create constructs with the Starheart, what does it feel like?"
Harry considered the question carefully. "Like... like pulling something from inside myself and giving it shape. Like believing so hard that something is real that reality has no choice but to agree."
Tomar-Re's eyes widened slightly. "That is... remarkably accurate for someone with no formal training. The Starheart has chosen very well indeed."
"Thanks," Harry said. "I think."
"Now," Tomar-Re continued, "let us explore the theory behind that feeling. And Harry? Try not to be intimidated by the mathematics. I know humans find multi-dimensional construct geometry challenging at first."
Harry looked at the equations floating in front of him—symbols he didn't recognize, formulas that seemed to fold in on themselves.
"Right," he said faintly. "No problem. I'm sure I'll manage."
*You will,* the Starheart assured him. *Remember, Harry Potter—you're not just learning to be a Green Lantern. You're learning to be the best version of yourself.*
*And that's worth any amount of push-ups or incomprehensible math.*
Harry took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and prepared to learn how to reshape reality with his mind.
It was going to be a very long three months.
But then again—when had anything in his life ever been easy?
---
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