John woke the next morning to find Harry sitting at the kitchen table, carefully copying letters from one of John's old newspapers with painful concentration. The kid had been at it for what looked like hours, his tongue poking out slightly as he worked to make each letter perfect.
"Morning," John said, shuffling toward the coffee maker with the urgency of a man whose blood was ninety percent caffeine.
"Morning, John," Harry replied without looking up. "I'm practicing my writing. But some of these words are really hard."
John glanced over Harry's shoulder and felt his stomach drop. The kid was trying to copy an article about a particularly grisly murder case, complete with words like 'dismemberment' and 'ritualistic.' Not exactly age-appropriate reading material.
"Right," John said, quickly moving the newspaper away. "Maybe we should find you something a bit more... suitable for practice."
Harry looked up with confused green eyes. "But this is the only reading material you have. Except for the magic books, but those are even harder."
John looked around his flat with fresh eyes, seeing it from the perspective of a child's education rather than a bachelor's convenience. Books on demonology and binding rituals. Newspapers filled with crime and politics. Empty bottles and takeaway containers. Not exactly a nurturing learning environment.
"Harry," John said slowly, "what did the Dursleys teach you? About reading and writing and... normal things?"
Harry's expression grew carefully neutral, the way it always did when discussing his relatives. "Aunt Petunia said I didn't need to know much. That freaks like me weren't meant for proper learning. She taught me enough to read cooking instructions and cleaning product labels."
John felt that familiar surge of rage at the Dursleys, but pushed it down. Getting angry wouldn't help Harry now.
"What about numbers? Maths?"
"I can count money and measure things for cooking," Harry said quietly. "Uncle Vernon said that was all a freak would ever need to know."
John rubbed his face, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility in a way he hadn't before. He'd been so focused on keeping Harry safe and managing his magical development that he'd completely overlooked the fact that the kid was basically illiterate.
"Right," John said, stubbing out his morning cigarette with more force than necessary. "We need to fix this."
"Fix what?" Harry asked, looking worried. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, kid. You didn't do anything wrong. But you're six years old, and you should know how to read properly. And write. And do sums that don't involve measuring ingredients." John started pacing, thinking aloud. "You should know about history and science and geography and all the things that make the world make sense."
Harry watched him pace with growing anxiety. "Do I have to go to school? Please, John, I don't want to leave—"
"No," John said quickly, stopping his pacing to crouch down beside Harry's chair. "You're not leaving. But you do need proper education. The question is how to manage it without putting you at risk."
John lit another cigarette, thinking hard. Regular school was out of the question—too many variables, too many ways for Harry's magical nature to be exposed or for him to be tracked by the wrong people. But the kid needed more than John could provide on his own.
"Tell you what," John said finally. "Today we're going on a shopping trip. Books, proper writing materials, maybe even some of those educational things they make for kids."
Harry brightened immediately. "Really?"
"Really. But first..." John looked around the flat again, noting the various magical implements, occult texts, and general bachelor squalor. "We need to make this place more suitable for a proper education."
Three hours later, they stood in the children's section of Waterstones, both looking slightly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of educational material available.
"Right," John muttered, scanning the shelves. "Reading books for six-year-olds. How hard can it be?"
A helpful shop assistant appeared at his elbow—a young woman with the patience of someone who'd dealt with confused parents before.
"Looking for anything specific?" she asked.
"Educational books for my... nephew," John said, the word coming more naturally now. "He's six, but his previous schooling was... inadequate."
The assistant's expression softened with understanding. "Of course. Let's start with the basics and work our way up. Has he had any formal education at all?"
"Some," John said carefully. "But we need to fill in the gaps."
An hour later, they left the bookstore laden with reading primers, basic mathematics workbooks, children's atlases, science books written for young minds, and even a few storybooks that had nothing to do with education and everything to do with wonder.
"This is brilliant," Harry said, clutching a book about dinosaurs to his chest. "I can learn about everything."
"That's the idea," John said, though he was already wondering how exactly he was supposed to teach subjects he'd never paid much attention to himself.
Back at the flat, they cleared space on the kitchen table and began sorting through their purchases. John felt a moment of panic as he opened the first-year mathematics workbook and realized he couldn't remember how to do long division.
"Problem?" Harry asked, noticing John's expression.
"Slight issue," John admitted. "Turns out my own education has some gaps when it comes to... conventional subjects."
Harry looked worried again. "Does that mean we can't do this?"
"No," John said firmly. "It means we need help."
He picked up his mobile and scrolled through his contacts, looking for someone who might be willing and able to assist with a six-year-old's education without asking too many questions about why the kid wasn't in school.
His finger stopped on a name he hadn't called in months: Dr. Sarah Chen, a former university lecturer who'd left academia after a rather unpleasant encounter with a possessed textbook. She owed him a favor, and more importantly, she was trustworthy.
"Sarah? It's John Constantine... Yeah, I know it's been a while. Listen, I need a favor. An unusual one."
Twenty minutes later, John hung up with a satisfied expression.
"Right," he told Harry. "Dr. Chen is going to come over tomorrow to assess where you are academically and help us set up a proper curriculum. She's good people—used to teach at university before she had a run-in with something nasty in the archaeology department."
"She knows about magic?" Harry asked.
"She knows enough not to ask awkward questions," John said. "Which is almost as good."
They spent the rest of the day organizing Harry's new study materials and setting up a proper workspace. John cleared off one end of the kitchen table permanently, bought a desk lamp, and even managed to find a comfortable chair that wasn't covered in cigarette burns.
"There," John said, surveying their work. "Proper learning environment."
Harry sat down at his new study space and opened the dinosaur book with reverent care. "John? Why didn't the Dursleys want me to learn things?"
John considered his answer carefully. "Some people are afraid of others getting smarter than them. They think if you don't know things, you can't question them or think for yourself."
"But you want me to learn everything?"
"I want you to understand the world, kid. All of it. The magical bits and the mundane bits. Because the more you know, the better choices you can make." John lit a cigarette and leaned against the counter. "And because you're smart enough to handle it all."
Harry beamed at the praise, then grew serious. "Will learning normal things interfere with learning magic?"
"Opposite, probably," John said. "Magic works best when you understand how the world normally operates. Can't break the rules properly if you don't know what they are in the first place."
That evening, as Harry practiced writing his letters in a proper workbook instead of copying from crime reports, John reflected on how much his life had changed in just a few weeks. A month ago, his biggest concern had been keeping himself alive long enough to handle the next supernatural crisis. Now he was worried about teaching fractions and making sure a six-year-old had a proper bedtime routine.
"John?" Harry called from his study corner.
"Yeah?"
"This book says that dinosaurs lived millions of years ago. But some of your magic books talk about dragons like they're real. Were dragons just people remembering dinosaurs wrong?"
John paused, considering the question. It was exactly the kind of thinking he wanted to encourage—connecting different types of knowledge, questioning assumptions.
"Bit of both, probably," John said. "Some 'dragon' stories are definitely folk memories of finding dinosaur bones. But some dragons are real too. Just rare, and good at staying hidden."
"Have you ever met a dragon?"
"Once. Welsh Green, up in Snowdonia. Stubborn as anything and twice as proud. We had a disagreement about territorial rights."
Harry's eyes went wide. "What happened?"
"I convinced her that I wasn't worth the effort of eating, and she convinced me that her mountain was a bloody uncomfortable place to camp." John smiled at the memory. "Mutual understanding, you might say."
Harry giggled, then grew thoughtful again. "So the normal world and the magical world aren't really separate? They're all mixed up together?"
"Exactly," John said, impressed by how quickly Harry was grasping the concept. "Most people just choose not to see the magical bits. Makes them feel safer."
"But we see both?"
"We see both," John confirmed. "Which makes us responsible for both."
The next morning, Dr. Sarah Chen arrived promptly at nine o'clock, carrying a briefcase full of assessment materials and wearing the expression of someone who'd dealt with unusual situations before.
She was a small, neat woman in her forties with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her handshake was firm, and she looked around John's flat with the kind of professional assessment that took in both the protective wards and the scattered takeaway containers.
"So," she said without preamble, "this is the young man who needs catching up academically."
Harry, who'd been hiding behind John, stepped forward with the careful politeness he showed all new adults. "Hello, Dr. Chen. I'm Harry."
"Hello, Harry. I'm going to find out what you already know so we can figure out what you need to learn. Is that acceptable?"
Harry nodded, charmed despite himself by her straightforward manner.
For the next two hours, Dr. Chen put Harry through a series of gentle but thorough assessments, testing his reading comprehension, mathematical understanding, general knowledge, and reasoning skills. John watched from across the room, trying not to hover while mentally cursing the Dursleys with every question Harry struggled with.
Finally, Dr. Chen sat back and made some notes in her folder.
"Well?" John asked, unable to keep the tension from his voice.
"He's behind, but not as severely as I expected," Dr. Chen said. "His reasoning skills are excellent, and he's clearly intelligent. The main issues are gaps in basic knowledge that should have been filled by now, and some confidence problems when it comes to academic work."
She turned to Harry with a smile. "The good news is that you're a very bright boy, and with proper instruction, you should catch up quickly."
"Really?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Really. In fact, I suspect that once we get you properly started, you'll be working above grade level within a year or two."
John felt a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying lift from his shoulders. "So what do you recommend?"
"A structured but flexible curriculum," Dr. Chen said. "I can design lesson plans that Harry can work through mostly independently, with regular check-ins from either you or me. We'll focus on building strong foundations in literacy and numeracy first, then expand into other subjects as he progresses."
She looked around the flat again, taking in the magical paraphernalia with the calm acceptance of someone who'd seen stranger things.
"I assume traditional schooling isn't an option for... practical reasons?"
"You could say that," John said dryly.
"Then home education it is. I'll need to come by twice a week to monitor his progress and adjust the curriculum as needed. And Harry," she turned to him with a serious expression, "you'll need to commit to doing your lessons every day, even when John's work takes him away. Can you manage that?"
Harry nodded solemnly. "I want to learn everything."
"Good attitude. We'll start with basic literacy and numeracy, then add in science, history, and geography. By the time we're done, you'll know enough to hold your own in any conversation."
After Dr. Chen left with promises to return in two days with a proper curriculum, Harry threw himself into his new books with the enthusiasm of someone discovering that knowledge wasn't something to be ashamed of.
"John?" he called from his study corner, where he was working through a reading comprehension exercise.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For making sure I can learn things properly."
John looked at the small boy bent over his workbook, tongue poking out in concentration, and felt something shift in his chest. Taking care of Harry wasn't just about keeping him safe from magical threats anymore. It was about giving him every opportunity to become the person he was meant to be.
"You're welcome, kid," John said quietly. "Everyone deserves a proper education."
"Even freaks like me?"
"Especially smart kids like you," John corrected firmly. "And Harry? Stop calling yourself that word. You're not a freak. You're extraordinary. There's a difference."
Harry smiled and turned back to his workbook, but John could see the subtle change in his posture—a little straighter, a little more confident.
Outside, London continued its daily chaos of mundane and magical crises. But inside the flat, Harry Potter was learning that knowledge was power in its own right, and that understanding the world—all of it—was the first step toward changing it.
It was, John thought as he lit another cigarette, probably the most important lesson he'd ever helped teach.