Harry had been living with John for exactly one week when the knock came at the door.
It wasn't a normal knock—soft, patient, but carrying an unmistakable weight of authority that made the wards on the flat hum with nervous energy. Harry looked up from where he'd been practicing his shielding exercises, meeting John's sharp gaze across the cluttered living room.
"Expecting anyone?" John asked quietly, already reaching for his coat where he kept the nastier bits of his magical arsenal.
Harry shook his head, pressing himself back into the corner of the sofa. "I didn't do anything," he whispered automatically.
"I know you didn't." John's voice was calm, reassuring. "But someone's here who thinks they've got business with us. Stay quiet, let me handle this."
John peered through the peephole and froze. Standing in the hallway was exactly the person he'd been expecting and dreading in equal measure—Albus Dumbledore, looking every inch the powerful wizard in his midnight blue robes and half-moon spectacles.
"Bollocks," John muttered under his breath.
"Who is it?" Harry asked, though part of him already knew. The same part that had learned to recognize the particular tension that came with authority figures.
"The headmaster," John said, stubbing out his cigarette. "The one I told you about. Big cheese in the magical world."
John checked the wards on the flat with a gesture that made the air shimmer slightly, then opened the door with the expression of a man who'd rather be anywhere else.
"Professor Dumbledore," John said, not bothering to hide his wariness. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Mr. Constantine." Dumbledore's voice was warm but tired, carrying the weight of someone who'd been making difficult decisions for far too long. "I believe we have much to discuss regarding young Harry Potter."
"Do we now?" John stepped aside to let the old wizard enter, noting how Dumbledore's pale blue eyes immediately swept the flat, cataloguing everything from the protective wards to the pile of Harry's new clothes still waiting to be put away.
"Tea?" John offered with false politeness.
"That would be lovely, thank you."
As John busied himself in the kitchen, he could feel Dumbledore's attention like a physical weight, but it wasn't invasive—more like someone taking careful stock of a situation before deciding how to proceed.
"You have done something remarkable, Mr. Constantine," Dumbledore said as John returned with two mismatched mugs. "Harry looks... healthier than he has in years."
"Amazing what happens when you feed a kid regular meals and don't lock him in cupboards," John replied flatly.
Dumbledore's expression flickered—genuine pain, quickly controlled. "I fear that in my efforts to ensure Harry's protection, I may have... failed him in ways I never intended."
"Failed him." John sat down across from the old wizard, studying his face. "Right. You had watchers on him for years and somehow missed the systematic abuse."
"My watchers were focused on external threats," Dumbledore said quietly. "Death Eaters, dark creatures, anyone who might seek to harm the Boy Who Lived. I... I did not think to watch for threats from within his own home."
The simple honesty in his voice caught John off guard. He'd been prepared for manipulation, for attempts to justify the unjustifiable. He hadn't expected genuine remorse.
"So where does that leave us?" John asked.
Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, stirring his tea with unnecessary care. "Perhaps I should explain why Harry was placed with the Dursleys in the first place. The reasoning was... complex."
"I'm listening."
"Harry's mother died to save him," Dumbledore began. "That sacrifice created a protection, one of the most powerful magical defenses known to our kind. But it required very specific conditions to remain active."
John leaned forward despite himself. This was the kind of magic that interested him—ancient, powerful, running on rules that were absolute.
"The protection was keyed to blood," Dumbledore continued. "Lily Potter's blood, shared by her sister. As long as Harry could call his aunt's house 'home,' as long as her family took him in willingly—however reluctantly—the protection would hold."
"And this protection does what, exactly?"
"It makes Harry untouchable to Voldemort and his followers," Dumbledore said simply. "They literally cannot harm him while he can claim sanctuary there."
John considered this. "That's... actually quite impressive magic. But it doesn't require him to live there full-time, does it?"
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly. "You have done your research."
"I've researched a lot of things," John said. "Including exactly what was done to Harry and what's still living in his head."
Both men were quiet for a moment. Then Dumbledore asked, very carefully: "What do you know about Horcruxes, Mr. Constantine?"
"Enough to recognize one when I see it," John replied. "And enough to know that the fragment in Harry's head is what was driving him toward becoming an Obscurus."
"Sweet Merlin," Dumbledore breathed. "I hadn't considered... but of course. The emotional suppression, the abuse, the constant message that his magic was wrong..." He closed his eyes. "How close was he?"
"Six months, maybe less." John's voice was grim. "All that power, all that pain, being told constantly that everything magical about him was evil? Classic conditions."
When Dumbledore opened his eyes, they held a pain that seemed to age him decades. "Then I owe you a debt I can never repay, Mr. Constantine. You have quite literally saved Harry's life."
From the direction of the bedroom came a small sound—a muffled thump, followed by Harry's voice saying "Sorry" very quietly to what was presumably his teddy bear.
Both men turned toward the sound. Dumbledore's expression softened with what looked like genuine fondness.
"Perhaps," he said gently, "I might meet the young man in question?"
John hesitated, then called out: "Harry? Come here for a minute."
Harry appeared in the doorway, trying to look like he hadn't been listening at the door. His hair was still messy from practicing magic, and he was clutching the teddy bear John had bought him, though he tried to hide it behind his back when he saw they had company.
"Harry," Dumbledore said warmly, "it is a pleasure to meet you properly at last. I am Albus Dumbledore."
Harry looked between John and Dumbledore uncertainly. "Are you here to take me away?"
"No, my dear boy," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle. "I am here to make sure you are happy and safe. And from what I can see, Mr. Constantine is taking excellent care of you."
Harry moved closer to John, still wary but no longer actively frightened. "John says you're important. In the magical world."
"I suppose I am, to some people," Dumbledore agreed. "But what matters most is what you think, Harry. Are you happy here?"
Harry's response was immediate and certain. "Yes. John doesn't hurt me or lock me up or tell me I'm a freak. He says my magic is a good thing."
"Your magic is indeed a very good thing," Dumbledore said seriously. "And Mr. Constantine is quite right to help you learn to use it properly."
He turned back to John. "Which brings me to why I'm here. I cannot, in good conscience, ask you to return Harry to a situation that was actively harming him. But I also cannot simply ignore the political realities of our world."
"Political realities?" John asked.
"The Ministry of Magic has... opinions about Harry Potter," Dumbledore said carefully. "There are those who see him as a symbol, others who see him as a threat. And there are still Death Eater sympathizers in positions of power who would be all too happy to see him placed somewhere they could influence or harm him."
John was beginning to understand. "So you can't just officially place him somewhere else."
"Precisely. Any official change to Harry's custody would require Ministry approval, committee hearings, paperwork that would be reviewed by people who may not have Harry's best interests at heart." Dumbledore's expression was grim. "Some of whom actively wish him harm."
"So what are you proposing?"
Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with what John was beginning to recognize as a dangerous gleam. "What I'm proposing, Mr. Constantine, is that we work together to give Harry what he needs while maintaining the fiction that he remains with his relatives."
"You want to lie to the Ministry."
"I want to protect a child," Dumbledore corrected. "The Ministry's bureaucracy, while well-intentioned in some respects, is not equipped to handle Harry's unique situation. Too many competing interests, too many people who see political advantage in controlling the Boy Who Lived."
John studied the old wizard's face. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Dumbledore said, "is that this arrangement must remain absolutely secret. If discovered, the political ramifications would be... severe. For all of us."
"And the blood protection?"
"Will require periodic visits to Privet Drive," Dumbledore confirmed. "Brief ones, closely supervised. Perhaps once every few months, just long enough to renew the charm."
Harry made a small, unhappy sound. Dumbledore noticed immediately.
"I know you do not wish to return there, Harry," he said kindly. "And I promise you, any visits will be as short as possible, and Mr. Constantine will be with you the entire time."
"Promise?" Harry asked in a small voice.
"I promise," Dumbledore said solemnly. "And Harry? If you ever feel unsafe or unhappy here, you need only ask, and we will find another solution immediately."
John was still studying Dumbledore with narrowed eyes. "What do you get out of this? Why help us?"
"Because," Dumbledore said simply, "I have spent too many years making decisions for Harry Potter without considering what Harry Potter actually needed. This is my chance to correct that mistake."
He stood, placing his teacup carefully on the table. "If you're willing to work with me, Mr. Constantine, I can ensure that my watchers report directly to me rather than to the Ministry. As far as official records are concerned, Harry remains with the Dursleys under my oversight. No committee hearings, no bureaucratic interference, no politicians using a child as a chess piece."
John considered this. Having Dumbledore as an ally rather than an obstacle would solve a lot of problems. And the old man, whatever his flaws, clearly had Harry's best interests at heart now.
"Conditions," John said finally.
"Name them."
"First, Harry's education and training remain my responsibility. You can advise, but I make the final decisions about what he learns and when."
"Agreed."
"Second, the Dursley visits happen on my schedule, my terms. Any sign that they're mistreating him, any sign at all, and we find another way to maintain the protection."
"Agreed."
"Third, if this arrangement ever puts Harry in danger—political or otherwise—we extract him immediately and find a better solution."
"Agreed." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Constantine."
"I've had practice." John glanced at Harry, who was watching this exchange with wide eyes. "One more thing. Harry needs to know there are others like him. Other young wizards. Not immediately, but eventually."
"When he's ready," Dumbledore promised. "And when it's safe to do so."
Harry tugged on John's sleeve. "What does this mean?"
John knelt down to Harry's level. "It means you get to stay here, with me. And this nice old wizard is going to help make sure nobody tries to take you away."
"Really?" Harry's voice was small and hopeful.
"Really," Dumbledore confirmed. "Mr. Constantine has given you something I failed to provide—a home where you can be yourself. I have no intention of taking that away from you."
After Dumbledore left, John and Harry sat in contemplative silence for several minutes.
"He seemed nice," Harry said finally.
"Yeah," John agreed. "And smart. That's either very good for us, or very dangerous."
"Which do you think it is?"
John considered this, watching the London skyline through the grimy windows. "Honestly? I think it's both. But for now, it's working in our favor."
"John?" Harry said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For not letting them take me."
John ruffled Harry's hair, a gesture that was becoming their own small tradition. "Nobody's taking you anywhere, kid. Now we've just got a very powerful wizard helping to make sure of it."
Outside, the watchers remained at their posts, but their orders had changed. Instead of simply monitoring, they were now actively protecting. And their reports would go to only one person—a man who had finally learned that sometimes the best way to protect someone was to let them choose their own guardian.
The game had just become much more interesting.