One year later, Harry Potter woke up on his seventh birthday to the smell of something that was definitely not breakfast burning in the kitchen.
"Bollocks," came John's voice through the thin walls, followed by the distinctive sound of a smoke alarm having an existential crisis.
Harry grinned and rolled out of bed, no longer the terrified, malnourished child who'd huddled in a cupboard for most of his life. A year of proper meals, regular sleep, and constant magical training had filled him out considerably. He was still small for his age, but there was a confidence in his movements now that spoke of someone who'd learned he had power and knew how to use it.
"Morning, John," Harry called, padding into the kitchen in his pajamas. "Having another fight with the cooker?"
"Cheeky little sod," John muttered, but he was smiling as he surveyed the remains of what might have been pancakes. "Happy birthday, by the way."
Harry's grin widened. The Dursleys had never acknowledged his birthday—had actively pretended it didn't exist. But John had been planning this day for weeks, and Harry could feel the excitement radiating off him despite his attempt at casual indifference.
"So," Harry said, eyeing the smoking pan, "are we having cereal for my birthday breakfast then?"
"Actually," John said, looking pleased with himself, "I ordered proper breakfast from that café down the street. Should be here any minute."
As if summoned by his words, there was a knock at the door. John returned with bags full of warm pastries, scrambled eggs that weren't burnt, and actual orange juice instead of the instant stuff they usually managed.
"This is brilliant," Harry said, diving into a chocolate croissant with the enthusiasm of someone who still wasn't entirely used to having good things happen to him.
"Wait until you see what else I've got planned," John said, lighting his morning cigarette. "Tim's coming round this afternoon, and we're going to take you somewhere special."
"Where?" Harry asked, though he was learning that John's surprises were usually worth the wait.
"You'll see. But first, we need to talk about your lessons."
Over the past year, Harry had thrown himself into his education with the same intensity he brought to everything else. Dr. Chen visited twice a week, and Harry was already working at a level that would put most eight-year-olds to shame. But it was the magical education that really made him shine.
"Right," John said, settling back with his coffee. "Show me your morning exercises."
Harry closed his eyes and extended his magical senses, feeling for the wards on the flat, the background hum of London's supernatural community, and most importantly, the contained but still present fragment of Voldemort's soul in his scar.
The Horcrux was still there—would always be there until they found a permanent solution—but it felt different now. Quieter. Like a caged animal that had learned its keeper was stronger than it was.
"All clear," Harry reported, opening his eyes. "The fragment's dormant, the wards are holding, and there's something magical about three blocks east that feels... twitchy."
"Good lad." John's pride was evident. "What kind of twitchy?"
Harry concentrated, extending his senses further. "Nervous magic. Like someone who's scared and doesn't know they're doing it."
"Accidental magic," John confirmed. "Probably another kid like you were. We'll check it out later if it doesn't settle down on its own."
Harry nodded, already reaching for his schoolbooks. The routine was comfortable now—morning magical exercises, academic lessons until lunch, then practical magic training in the afternoon. It was structure without suffocation, guidance without control.
Three hours later, Harry had worked through a mathematics lesson that would have challenged students twice his age and was deep into a science book about the solar system when Tim Hunter knocked on the door.
At sixteen now, Tim had grown into his power in ways that made even John occasionally nervous. He could weave light and shadow like most people breathed, and there was an otherworldly quality to him that suggested he was already more than entirely human.
But when he saw Harry, his face lit up with genuine affection.
"There's the birthday boy," Tim said, ruffling Harry's hair in a gesture he'd picked up from John. "How's the studying going?"
"Did you know that Jupiter has over seventy moons?" Harry asked without preamble, the way seven-year-olds did when they'd just learned something fascinating.
"I did not," Tim said seriously. "But I know something even better. Want to see some real magic?"
Harry's eyes lit up. Tim's magic was always spectacular, but more than that, Tim understood what it was like to have power that scared adults, to be constantly watched and measured against impossible expectations.
"Right then," John said, stubbing out his cigarette. "Time for your birthday adventure."
They took the tube to Central London, Harry practically vibrating with excitement between John and Tim. He'd learned to keep his magical signature damped down in public, but his emotional state was still obvious to anyone who knew him.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked for the fifth time as they emerged from the station.
"Patience, grasshopper," Tim said with a grin. "The best surprises are worth waiting for."
They walked through the city for ten minutes before John stopped in front of what looked like an ordinary office building. But Harry's magical senses were immediately alert—this place thrummed with power in a way that made his skin tingle.
"Welcome," John said formally, "to the London Sanctum of the Order of Mages."
Harry blinked up at the unremarkable building. "There's a magical society? Here? In London?"
"Several, actually," Tim said. "But this one's special. It's where people like us go when we need resources, information, or just to remember that we're not alone in the world."
John placed his hand on what looked like an ordinary door handle, but Harry could see the wards recognizing him, layers of protection and identification magic that would have turned away anyone without legitimate business.
The door swung open to reveal a world that definitely hadn't existed from the outside.
The interior was vast, with soaring ceilings and galleries that stretched impossibly far into the distance. Mages of all ages moved through the space with purpose, some carrying books that floated obediently behind them, others engaged in quiet conversations over tables that adjusted their height automatically to accommodate the speakers.
But what caught Harry's attention immediately were the children.
There were perhaps a dozen young people scattered throughout the space, ranging in age from what looked like five to fifteen. Some were reading, others practicing minor spells under careful supervision, and a few were simply talking with the easy camaraderie of people who understood each other's struggles.
"Harry," John said quietly, "I'd like you to meet some other kids who know what it's like to have magic that's bigger than they are."
A girl who looked to be about Harry's age approached them with a shy smile. Her magic felt warm and controlled, like a fireplace rather than a bonfire.
"You're Harry Potter," she said without preamble. "I'm Lucy. I heard you live with Constantine."
"Yeah," Harry said, suddenly feeling awkward. "Is that... weird?"
"Are you kidding?" A boy who looked to be about ten joined them, his magical signature crackling with barely contained energy. "Constantine's a legend. He once banished a demon that was possessing the entire city council."
"That's bollocks," Harry said automatically, then caught himself. "I mean, that's not... John doesn't like people making him sound more impressive than he is."
"Did you just say 'bollocks'?" Lucy asked with fascination. "My mum would wash my mouth out with soap."
"John says if you're going to swear, you should do it properly," Harry said with a grin. "But he also says there's a time and place for everything."
Tim and John exchanged looks. Harry was handling this better than either of them had hoped—confident without being arrogant, friendly without being desperate for approval.
"Want to see the library?" Lucy asked. "It's got books on everything. Even stuff that's supposed to be forbidden."
For the next two hours, Harry explored the Sanctum with growing wonder. It wasn't just the magic—though watching a group of teenagers collaborate on a spell that made flowers bloom in complex geometric patterns was undeniably impressive. It was the community. The sense that magic was normal here, something to be celebrated rather than hidden or feared.
"Having fun?" Tim asked, finding Harry in the library with Lucy and two other children, all of them working together to levitate increasingly complex objects.
"This is brilliant," Harry said, carefully maneuvering a stack of books through an obstacle course of floating cushions. "They all understand about the magic, but they're still just... kids."
"That's the point," Tim said gently. "Magic doesn't make you less human, Harry. It just makes you different. And different doesn't mean alone."
John appeared with a cake that was definitely not from his own kitchen—elaborate, professionally decorated, and bearing seven candles that lit themselves as he approached.
"Right then," John said, setting the cake down with ceremony. "Birthday tradition says you make a wish and blow out the candles."
Harry looked around at the assembled children, at Tim's encouraging smile, at John's carefully hidden but obvious affection. For the first time in his life, he was surrounded by people who wanted good things for him without expecting anything in return.
He closed his eyes, made his wish, and blew out the candles with a small puff of controlled magic that made them explode into sparkles instead of simply going out.
The other children applauded, and Harry felt something settle in his chest—a warmth that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with belonging.
"What did you wish for?" Lucy asked.
Harry glanced at John, who was trying to look like he wasn't hanging on every word.
"I wished that this could last," Harry said simply. "All of it. The learning, the magic, the people who understand."
"Course it'll last," John said gruffly, but his voice was gentler than usual. "You think I'm getting rid of you that easily?"
As they walked home that evening, Harry between John and Tim in the gathering dusk, Harry felt more settled than he had since... well, since ever.
"John?" he said as they climbed the stairs to the flat.
"Yeah?"
"That was the best birthday I've ever had."
"Good," John said, ruffling Harry's hair. "Because you're stuck with me for a lot more birthdays, kid."
"Promise?" Harry asked, the question smaller than he'd intended.
"Promise," John said firmly. "Now come on, let's see if we can manage dinner without setting anything on fire."
"No chance," Harry said with a grin. "But I'll get the takeaway menus ready just in case."
As they settled into their evening routine—homework for Harry, case notes for John, comfortable silence for both—Harry reflected on how much his life had changed. He had a home, an education, friends who understood him, and a guardian who saw his magic as a gift rather than a curse.
The Horcrux fragment stirred slightly in his scar, responding to his contentment with its usual resentment, but Harry barely noticed. He was stronger now, more confident, more himself.
And tomorrow, John had promised, they'd start working on some of the more advanced protective magic that Tim had been teaching him.
Life, Harry thought as he drifted off to sleep, was getting better all the time.