Three Months Later
Harry rolled to his left as a cushion whistled through the air where his head had been a split second before, came up in a crouch, and immediately dove forward as two more projectiles converged on his position. The movement was fluid now, instinctive—a far cry from the clumsy scrambling he'd done during his first lesson with Jason Blood.
"Better," Jason said, lowering his hands as the floating cushions settled gently to the floor. "Your spatial awareness has improved considerably. You're thinking three moves ahead now instead of simply reacting."
Harry wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing hard but grinning. "I didn't get hit once that time."
"No, you didn't. And more importantly, you maintained your magical shields throughout the entire exercise." Jason straightened his tie, looking pleased. "Three months ago, you would have dropped your defenses the moment you started moving."
"John says I can walk and chew gum at the same time now," Harry said, earning a snort of amusement from his guardian, who was watching from his chair with obvious pride.
"Cheeky little sod," John muttered, but he was smiling. The transformation in Harry had been remarkable to watch. The boy was still small for his age, but he moved with a confidence and awareness that spoke of real training. More importantly, he'd learned to think tactically—to assess threats, plan responses, and adapt when things went wrong.
"Right then," Jason said, pulling out his pocket watch. "I believe that concludes today's session. Same time next week?"
"Actually," John said, stubbing out his cigarette, "before you go, there's something I need to discuss with Dumbledore. Information that came from your... other half. Thought you might want to be there when I share it."
Jason's expression grew serious. "The information about the Horcrux removal?"
"Among other things. Kid, why don't you practice your homework while the adults have a chat?"
Harry looked between them with obvious curiosity, but he'd learned when not to push. "Can I practice the light-weaving exercises Tim taught me?"
"As long as you keep it small and don't set anything on fire," John said.
Twenty minutes later, Dumbledore arrived with his usual punctuality, looking mildly curious about why he'd been summoned on such short notice.
"Professor," John said, gesturing him inside. "Thanks for coming. There's some information about Harry's... condition that I think you need to hear."
Dumbledore settled into his customary chair, accepting the offered tea with a slight frown. "Has there been a development with the Horcrux fragment?"
"You could say that." John lit a cigarette, organizing his thoughts. "Jason here has access to certain... infernal databases through his demonic half. Seems Hell's been keeping tabs on Tom Riddle since his first murder."
"Infernal databases?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.
"Hell keeps excellent records," Jason said calmly. "Particularly regarding those who violate the natural laws of death and soul separation. Tom Marvolo Riddle has been of considerable interest to the underworld since 1943."
Dumbledore went very still. "1943. The murder of Myrtle Warren."
"The murder of his father and grandparents came later," Jason corrected. "But yes, the pattern was established early. What's more concerning is what Etrigan revealed about the broader implications."
John consulted his notes. "According to Hell's own scholar, the Horcruxes aren't just violations of magical law—they're violations of cosmic law. Hades himself is apparently building toward a rage that 'shakes the very ground.'"
"Hades," Dumbledore repeated slowly. "The Lord of the Underworld is personally invested in this matter?"
"More than invested," Jason said grimly. "According to Etrigan, the soul-thefts have 'filled his halls with cursed hell' and stolen from Death 'what Death holds dear.' The implication is that as long as the Horcruxes exist, they're disrupting the fundamental order of life and death."
Dumbledore sat in silence for a long moment, clearly processing implications that John couldn't even begin to fathom.
"This explains certain... anomalies I've observed," Dumbledore said finally. "Divination has been increasingly unreliable in recent years. Prophecies contradicting themselves. Even the portraits in Hogwarts have reported strange dreams."
"It gets worse," John said. "According to Etrigan, if Harry dies while the Horcrux is still in his head, the fragment won't let him stay dead. It would trap his soul 'both near and far'—whatever that means."
"Eternal imprisonment," Dumbledore said quietly. "Neither alive nor dead, but caught between states forever."
From the living room came the sound of Harry practicing his magic—controlled, steady emanations of light that spoke of impressive discipline for a seven-year-old.
"There is some hope, however," Jason said. "Etrigan provided hints about potential solutions. Phoenix tears to heal what magic breaks, and an angelic blade to cut what mortal steel cannot."
Dumbledore's reaction was immediate and startling. He shot to his feet, nearly upsetting his tea, and began pacing the small kitchen with barely contained excitement.
"Phoenix tears," he muttered to himself. "An angelic blade. Yes, yes that could work. The regenerative properties combined with the divine cutting power..."
"Professor?" John asked, confused by the sudden animation.
"I have a Phoenix," Dumbledore said, turning to face them with eyes bright with possibility. "Fawkes has been my companion for decades. His tears have healing properties beyond anything known to conventional magic."
"And the angelic blade?" Jason asked.
"Potentially, yes. The Sword of Gryffindor—one of Hogwarts' most precious artifacts. Legend claims it was blessed by angels during its forging, and it has the unique property of absorbing only that which makes it stronger." Dumbledore's excitement was building. "If it could be enhanced with Phoenix fire..."
"Hold on," John interrupted. "You're talking about using a sword on Harry. He's seven years old."
"Not immediately, of course," Dumbledore said quickly. "The process would require precise timing, specific conditions, and..." He paused, looking thoughtful. "And someone skilled enough to wield the blade with the precision of a surgeon."
Jason straightened with understanding. "You're suggesting he learn swordplay."
"Among other skills, yes. If the ultimate solution requires blade work, then Harry should be prepared to participate in his own salvation rather than being a passive recipient."
John looked skeptical. "Kid's already learning magic, academics, combat awareness, and tactical thinking. Now you want to add sword fighting to the list?"
"I want to give him every possible advantage," Dumbledore said seriously. "John, what Etrigan revealed changes everything. We're not just dealing with a magical problem—we're dealing with cosmic consequences. The more skills Harry possesses, the better his chances of survival."
From the living room, Harry called out: "John? I think I accidentally made the light butterfly talk. Is that normal?"
All three men looked toward the living room, then back at each other.
"Right," John said, stubbing out his cigarette. "When you put it like that... Jason, any chance you know anything about teaching sword work to children?"
"As it happens," Jason said with a slight smile, "I've had some experience with bladed weapons over the centuries. And Etrigan, despite his demonic nature, has a peculiar fondness for classical combat techniques."
"Then we have a path forward," Dumbledore said with satisfaction. "I'll arrange for Fawkes to visit regularly—Phoenix exposure may help strengthen Harry's resistance to the Horcrux fragment. And when the time is right, I'll bring the Sword of Gryffindor for examination."
"And I'll begin incorporating basic blade work into Harry's physical training," Jason added. "Starting with wooden practice weapons, naturally. Focus on balance, distance, and timing rather than strength."
John looked between them, feeling slightly overwhelmed by how quickly his life kept expanding to accommodate Harry's needs. "Right then. Magic training, combat training, sword fighting, and somehow fitting in normal childhood. This should be interesting."
"John?" Harry appeared in the doorway, a small butterfly made of pure light perched on his finger. "The butterfly says its name is Minerva and it wants to know if Professor McGonagall would like to meet it."
The three adults stared at Harry, then at the clearly sentient light construct on his finger.
"Kid," John said slowly, "when did you learn to make talking familiars?"
"Just now?" Harry said uncertainly. "I was trying to make it more realistic like Tim showed me, and suddenly it started asking questions. Is that bad?"
Dumbledore chuckled, his earlier tension replaced by genuine delight. "Not bad at all, my dear boy. Though I suspect we may need to add 'advanced magical theory' to your curriculum as well."
As the impromptu meeting broke up, John reflected on how Harry's education was becoming increasingly complex. The kid was learning things that most adult wizards never mastered, and doing it with the casual ease of childhood.
"John?" Harry asked as Jason and Dumbledore prepared to leave. "Are you going to teach me to use a sword?"
"Jason's going to teach you," John corrected. "I'm just going to make sure you don't cut anything important off."
"Like what?"
"Your head, for starters."
Harry giggled, the light butterfly on his finger apparently finding this hilarious as well, judging by the way it began performing tiny loop-de-loops.
"Don't worry," Harry said seriously. "I'll be careful. Besides, if I'm going to help save myself, I should learn everything I can, right?"
John ruffled the boy's hair, struck once again by how readily Harry accepted new challenges. Most seven-year-olds would be overwhelmed by the scope of what they were asking him to learn. Harry just saw it as another interesting problem to solve.
"Right, kid," John said. "But first, let's see if we can manage dinner without setting anything on fire."
"That's not much of a challenge anymore," Harry said with a grin. "I've gotten really good at putting out your cooking disasters."
As evening settled over London, Harry practiced his new talking light-butterfly while John made yet another round of phone calls to arrange expanded training schedules. Outside, the city hummed with its usual mix of mundane and magical chaos, but inside the flat, a young wizard was growing stronger, smarter, and more capable with each passing day.
Whether it would be enough to face what was coming remained to be seen. But John was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, they were building something unprecedented: a child who could face cosmic-level threats and still remember to do his homework.
The trick would be keeping him alive long enough to use all these skills.
But that, John reflected as he watched Harry make his light-butterfly teach itself to juggle, was what family was for.