The ritual chamber Constantine and Giovanni had prepared in Wayne Manor's east wing looked like something between a surgical theater and an arcane sanctuary. Bruce had cleared out what had once been a ballroom—high ceilings, marble floors, excellent acoustics that would contain magical resonance without amplifying it dangerously. The space had been meticulously prepared over the past three hours, transformed from elegant entertainment venue into a facility designed for one of the most delicate and dangerous magical procedures either practitioner had ever attempted.
The ritual circle dominated the center of the room, inscribed directly onto the marble floor using dragon's blood ink that gleamed with its own internal luminescence. The geometric precision was absolute—Constantine had used a combination of magical and mechanical tools to ensure every line, every curve, every runic symbol was positioned with mathematical perfection. The circle itself was approximately fifteen feet in diameter, large enough to contain the magical energies they'd be working with but small enough to maintain focus and control.
Within the primary circle, a secondary pattern had been inscribed—what Giovanni called a "soul stabilization matrix." It looked like a mandala designed by someone who understood both sacred geometry and quantum mechanics, with layers of interconnected symbols that seemed to shift and breathe when viewed peripherally. At the center of this pattern was a simple cushioned platform where Harry would lie during the procedure.
Around the perimeter of the main circle, Constantine had placed seven wardstones—crystalline structures that pulsed with different colors, each keyed to a specific type of magical protection. The stones had been positioned according to precise astronomical calculations that Giovanni had insisted were crucial for optimal magical flow during the integration process.
"Right then," Constantine said, stubbing out what must have been his twentieth cigarette of the day in a crystal ashtray that Alfred had pointedly placed outside the ritual space. "Let's go over this one more time, Potter, because I need to be absolutely certain you understand what's about to happen."
Harry stood at the edge of the ritual circle, dressed in simple white robes that Giovanni had provided—natural fibers, no synthetic materials that might interfere with magical conductivity. His dark hair was even more disheveled than usual, standing up at odd angles that suggested nervous energy despite his outwardly calm demeanor. Those green eyes were focused and alert, tracking every detail of the ritual space with the systematic attention of someone who understood that his survival might depend on proper understanding of the process.
"I'm listening," Harry said with that characteristic blend of seriousness and barely contained curiosity. "And please don't skip the technical details. I'd rather understand too much than too little."
Constantine's mouth twitched into something that might have been approval. "Fair enough. Here's what's going to happen, step by step, with all the gory details you could want."
He gestured to the ritual circle with one hand while lighting another cigarette with the other—a multitasking feat that suggested years of practice. "Once you lie down in the center of the matrix, Giovanni and I will activate the circle using a combination of runic activation and directed magical energy. The circle will create what we call a 'soul space'—essentially a pocket dimension where your consciousness and the soul fragment can interact directly without interference from external magical or physical forces."
"A pocket dimension inside my own soul," Harry said thoughtfully. "That's... actually rather elegant from a theoretical standpoint. How stable is this soul space? I'd hate to have it collapse halfway through the integration process."
"The wardstones prevent collapse," Giovanni explained, moving to stand beside Constantine. His stage magician's presence somehow made even technical magical discussion seem dramatic and important. "They anchor the soul space to multiple points in conventional reality, creating redundant stability. Even if one or two wardstones fail—which they won't—the others maintain structural integrity."
"Redundant systems," Harry said with obvious satisfaction. "Excellent planning. What happens once the soul space is established?"
Constantine took a long drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around him like a particularly cynical halo. "That's where it gets interesting, Potter. Your consciousness will perceive the soul space as a physical environment—probably something drawn from your own memories or subconscious imagery. A room, a landscape, whatever your mind decides makes sense for containing a confrontation with a piece of dark wizard."
"Confrontation?" Harry's eyebrows rose. "I thought we were integrating, not fighting."
"Integration *is* a kind of confrontation," Giovanni said gently. "You must face the soul fragment directly, understand what it is and what it represents, and consciously choose to make it part of yourself rather than letting it remain separate. This requires acknowledging its nature—including the darkness it contains—without being consumed by that darkness."
Harry nodded slowly, processing this information with visible concentration. "So I'll be conscious during the integration? Aware of what's happening?"
"Partially conscious," Constantine corrected. "You'll be in a trance state—aware but not fully alert, able to interact with the soul fragment but protected from being overwhelmed by the experience. Giovanni and I will be maintaining that trance state from outside the circle, monitoring your magical and physical responses, ready to intervene if anything goes wrong."
"Define 'goes wrong,'" Harry said with the precision of someone who insisted on complete transparency about potential disasters.
Constantine and Giovanni exchanged glances, clearly debating how much detail to provide to a six-year-old about the various ways soul magic could catastrophically fail.
"If the fragment tries to assert dominance," Constantine said finally, "if it attempts to take control rather than integrate peacefully, we'll need to either strengthen your consciousness enough to resist or abort the procedure entirely. If your magical core becomes unstable during the integration, we'll need to provide external stabilization using our own magic as a temporary support structure. If the soul space begins to collapse—"
"We pull you out immediately," Giovanni finished firmly. "Your safety is more important than completing the integration, Harry. If at any point we determine the risks have become unacceptable, we terminate the procedure. There's no shame in that—only wisdom."
Harry considered this for a long moment, his expression serious but not frightened. "And what happens if we abort the procedure? The fragment just... stays as it is?"
"Essentially, yes," Constantine confirmed. "Though attempting integration and failing does carry some risks—increased magical sensitivity, temporary personality fluctuations, vivid dreams as your consciousness tries to process the incomplete merger. Nothing permanent, but potentially uncomfortable for a few weeks."
"Uncomfortable I can handle," Harry said with characteristic pragmatism. "Permanent damage or death would be significantly less acceptable. What about the integration itself? Assuming everything goes according to plan, what will I experience?"
Giovanni stepped closer to the ritual circle, his dark eyes warm with understanding and something that might have been paternal concern. "The integration will feel like... like remembering something you've always known but had forgotten. The fragment's knowledge and memories will become your knowledge and memories, but filtered through your own perspective and values. You'll understand things you didn't understand before, but you won't become someone different."
"Unless I choose to," Harry said quietly. "Having access to someone else's thoughts and strategic thinking... that could change how I approach problems, how I think about the world."
"It could," Constantine agreed without sugar-coating the reality. "And it should, Potter. That's rather the point. You're choosing to integrate this knowledge because you recognize that your current capabilities aren't sufficient for the threats you're facing. The question isn't whether having Riddle's knowledge will change you—it absolutely will. The question is whether those changes make you more effective at protecting people while keeping your fundamental moral compass intact."
Harry looked around the ritual chamber at the assembled group—Bruce standing near the far wall with his arms crossed and his expression carefully neutral, Selina beside him with one hand resting lightly on his arm, Alfred positioned near the medical supplies with his characteristic calm efficiency, Zatanna sitting cross-legged near the doorway with her stuffed rabbit and her dark eyes wide with fascination and concern.
"I understand the risks," Harry said finally, his voice steady despite his youth. "I understand that this could change me in ways I can't fully predict. But I also understand that staying as I am—limited to six-year-old knowledge and abilities—means I'll be constantly reacting to threats instead of preventing them. I'll be dependent on luck and other people's intervention instead of being able to protect myself and others."
He straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin with that characteristic determination. "I want to proceed with the integration. I want to become someone who can actually make a difference instead of just hoping I survive long enough for someone else to solve the problem."
Bruce's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and Selina squeezed his arm with obvious understanding of what this moment meant to him—watching another child commit to a path that would fundamentally change them, knowing the dangers that path represented but also recognizing the necessity of the choice.
"Right then," Constantine said with satisfaction that was equal parts professional and personal. "Let's get you positioned, Potter. The integration will take approximately six hours once we activate the circle, during which time you'll be completely unconscious to external stimuli. Your body will be in a deep trance state—breathing slowed, heart rate reduced, magical energy focused entirely on the internal process."
Harry moved toward the center of the ritual circle with careful steps, clearly aware that crossing the boundary was a commitment that couldn't be casually reversed. When he reached the cushioned platform, he settled onto it with surprising grace, arranging himself on his back with his arms at his sides and his eyes fixed on the ceiling's elaborate moldings.
"Comfortable?" Giovanni asked, moving to one side of the circle while Constantine positioned himself opposite.
"As comfortable as one can be while preparing to have a dark wizard's soul surgically attached to one's consciousness," Harry replied with that characteristic dry humor. "Though I have to say, the cushions are excellent quality. Alfred's influence, I assume?"
"Master Harry," Alfred said from his position near the medical supplies, "even magical procedures should maintain certain standards of comfort. There's no reason to endure unnecessary discomfort simply because one is engaging in arcane soul manipulation."
"Practical wisdom," Harry agreed. "I appreciate it, Alfred. If this goes horribly wrong and I end up as a decorative vegetable, at least I'll have been comfortable during the process."
"Master Harry," Alfred said with gentle reproach, "we don't joke about becoming decorative vegetables. It's poor form and upsets people who care about you."
"Sorry, Alfred," Harry said, though his grin suggested he wasn't particularly sorry. "I'll try to confine my dark humor to more appropriate contexts. Like after successfully surviving dangerous magical procedures rather than before attempting them."
Constantine knelt beside the circle, his weathered hands beginning to trace patterns in the air above the inscribed runes. As he moved, golden light began to emanate from his fingertips, following the path of his gestures and sinking into the dragon's blood ink with a soft hissing sound.
"Once we begin activation," Constantine said, his voice taking on a more formal quality as he shifted into professional practitioner mode, "you'll start to feel drowsy. Don't fight it, Potter. Let the trance state take you naturally. The deeper your trance, the smoother the integration process."
"Noted," Harry said, his voice already sounding slightly distant as the first traces of magical energy began affecting his consciousness. "Don't fight the drowsiness, allow natural trance development, trust the process. Anything else I should know before I drift off into magical unconsciousness?"
Giovanni had moved to his position opposite Constantine and was beginning his own activation gestures, tracing counter-patterns that complemented Constantine's work. Where Constantine's magic was golden and sharp-edged, Giovanni's was silver and flowing, the two energies interweaving like a perfectly choreographed dance.
"Remember that you're in control, mijo," Giovanni said gently, his accent becoming more pronounced as he focused on the magical work. "The fragment cannot take you against your will. You are whole, strong, protected by love and surrounded by people who believe in you. Whatever you face in the soul space, you face it knowing you're not alone."
Harry's eyes were already beginning to flutter closed, his breathing slowing to the deep, regular rhythm of approaching trance. "Not alone," he murmured, the words slightly slurred as magical drowsiness overtook him. "That's... that's actually rather nice. Never been not alone before. Nice change of pace..."
The ritual circle flared to life with sudden brilliance, the inscribed runes igniting in sequence like a chain reaction of golden fire. The seven wardstones around the perimeter began to pulse in synchronized rhythm, each contributing its own frequency to a harmonic that seemed to resonate in the bones of everyone present.
Constantine and Giovanni's voices rose in synchronized incantation, speaking words in a language that predated Latin and sounded like it had been designed specifically for commanding reality to pay attention. The air inside the circle began to shimmer and distort, reality bending in ways that made Bruce's tactical mind insist this shouldn't be possible even as his eyes confirmed it was happening.
Harry's body went completely still, his breathing so shallow it was barely visible, his face relaxed into the peaceful expression of someone in very deep sleep. But around him, visible to anyone with even basic magical sensitivity, his aura blazed like a star—brilliant emerald green shot through with veins of something darker, a sickly purple-black that twisted through his magical signature like oil through water.
"The fragment," Giovanni said quietly, though his hands never stopped their precise magical gestures. "We can see it clearly now—the contamination in his aura, the foreign magical signature trying to maintain its separate identity."
"Not for long," Constantine muttered, his own gestures becoming more aggressive, more directed. "Potter's soul is strong, pure, already starting to assert dominance over the fragment. Look at how the green is overwhelming the purple—the kid's magical core is bloody brilliant even without conscious direction."
Inside the soul space that Harry's consciousness now inhabited, things were considerably more dramatic than the peaceful external appearance suggested.
Harry found himself standing in what appeared to be the Hogwarts library—or at least, a dreamlike version of it drawn from the brief time he'd spent there during his first year. The shelves stretched impossibly high, filled with books that seemed to shift and change when he wasn't looking directly at them. The lighting was soft and golden, coming from no visible source but illuminating everything with warm clarity.
And across from him, standing near a window that looked out onto a landscape that was part Hogwarts grounds and part abstract void, stood a figure that made Harry's breath catch in his throat.
Tom Riddle looked nothing like the snake-faced monster Harry had glimpsed in nightmares and fragmented memories. This version was young—perhaps sixteen or seventeen—with handsome aristocratic features, dark hair perfectly styled, and eyes that were still fully human even if they held depths of cold calculation that no teenager should possess.
"Harry Potter," Tom said, his voice cultured and precise in ways that reminded Harry uncomfortably of his own accent when he was being particularly formal. "How very interesting. I must admit, I didn't expect my fragmented consciousness to manifest quite so coherently, let alone engage in conversation with my... host? Vessel? The terminology is rather unclear in this situation."
Harry straightened his shoulders, refusing to be intimidated by someone who was, technically speaking, just a piece of himself that hadn't been properly integrated yet. "Tom Riddle, I presume. Or should I call you Voldemort? I'm not entirely clear on the etiquette for addressing fragments of dark wizards' souls that are currently living in my forehead."
Tom's mouth twitched into something that might have been amusement. "Tom is fine. 'Voldemort' was always rather theatrical, don't you think? A nom de guerre designed to inspire fear in the ignorant masses. You and I can dispense with such pretensions."
He moved closer, his movements fluid and confident in ways that suggested he was entirely comfortable in this strange soul space. "So, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The child who somehow survived my Killing Curse and destroyed my body in the process. I've been... aware of you, in a fragmented sort of way. Your thoughts, your experiences, your rather impressive survival instincts. You're considerably more interesting than I expected."
"And you're considerably less terrifying than I expected," Harry replied, studying Tom with open curiosity rather than fear. "I was expecting something more... monstrous. All the nightmares featured snake faces and red eyes and the general aesthetic of someone who made very poor life choices regarding personal appearance."
Tom laughed, the sound genuinely amused. "Ah yes, my later form. Rather unfortunate, that. Splitting one's soul repeatedly has certain... side effects. Physical degradation being among the more obvious. This," he gestured to his teenage appearance, "is what I looked like before I decided that immortality was worth sacrificing my humanity for. In retrospect, perhaps not my wisest choice."
"In retrospect," Harry repeated dryly. "That's quite the understatement. You murdered my parents, Tom. You tried to murder me. You terrorized the magical world for years and created a legacy of fear and trauma that's still affecting people a decade later. 'Perhaps not my wisest choice' doesn't really capture the magnitude of those actions."
Tom's expression grew more serious, though there was something in his eyes that might have been respect. "No, it doesn't. But then again, I'm not apologizing, Harry. I made the choices I made for reasons that seemed valid at the time—power, immortality, control over a magical world I believed was fundamentally corrupt and in need of strong leadership."
He paused, studying Harry with sharp intelligence. "The question isn't whether I regret those choices—fragments of souls aren't really capable of genuine remorse. The question is what you're going to do with my memories, my knowledge, my strategic thinking now that you've chosen to integrate them with your own consciousness."
Harry considered this carefully, recognizing the fundamental truth in Tom's words. This wasn't about redemption or forgiveness—Tom Riddle the person was long gone, fragmented beyond any possibility of reform. This was about Harry choosing what to do with the tools and knowledge this fragment represented.
"I'm going to use your knowledge to protect people," Harry said firmly. "To understand how dark wizards think so I can anticipate and counter their strategies. To learn the magic you mastered so I can defend against it and, if necessary, use it myself when the alternatives are worse."
"Noble intentions," Tom observed with something that might have been approval. "But nobility alone doesn't guarantee success, Harry. You'll need to be willing to make difficult choices, to accept moral compromises, to recognize that protecting people sometimes requires actions that most would consider dark or questionable."
"I understand that," Harry said quietly. "I've already had to make some of those choices, and I'm only six. I imagine it will only get more complicated as I get older and the threats I face become more sophisticated."
Tom moved to the window, gazing out at the abstract void beyond. "Then let me give you your first lesson, Harry Potter. The most important thing I learned during my years of pursuing power and immortality—the thing I wish I'd understood before I went too far down the dark path to return."
He turned back to face Harry, his expression serious. "Power without connection to humanity inevitably leads to isolation and, ultimately, to becoming something less than human. I split my soul believing it would make me stronger, more resilient, more capable of achieving my goals. Instead, it fractured my ability to understand or care about other people, which made me increasingly ineffective as a leader and strategist."
"You're saying that caring about people actually makes you stronger?" Harry asked, clearly testing whether this was genuine insight or manipulation.
"I'm saying that understanding people—caring about their motivations, their fears, their hopes—is essential for any effective strategist," Tom corrected. "You can't manipulate or inspire or protect people you don't understand. And you can't understand people if you've deliberately excised your own capacity for human connection."
He gestured at the library around them. "All this knowledge I'm offering you—the dark magic, the strategic thinking, the understanding of how to acquire and use power—it's only valuable if you maintain the context that makes it useful. Lose your humanity in pursuit of power, and you'll end up like me—fragmented, diminished, reduced to a barely conscious remnant of what you could have been."
Harry absorbed this, recognizing the profound truth in Tom's words even as he remained wary of potential manipulation. "So your advice is to stay human while using your knowledge and abilities?"
"My advice is to remember why you're acquiring this power in the first place," Tom said with unexpected gentleness. "You want to protect people, Harry. That's admirable and, frankly, more worthy than any goal I ever pursued. Hold onto that purpose. Let it guide your choices, inform your strategies, determine which of my magical techniques you actually employ versus which ones you simply understand for defensive purposes."
Tom moved closer again, his expression intense. "I can give you everything I learned about magic, strategy, power. But the wisdom to use those tools responsibly—that has to come from you. From your experiences, your relationships, your fundamental belief that other people matter."
Harry studied Tom's face, searching for deception but finding only a strange sort of honesty. "Why are you telling me this? If you're really just a fragment of Voldemort's soul, shouldn't you be trying to corrupt me or take control or something properly villainous?"
"Because I'm not really Voldemort anymore," Tom said simply. "I'm what remains of Tom Riddle before he destroyed himself pursuing immortality—the part of him that still remembered being human, that still understood connection and purpose. I've been... diminished by the years of separation from the main soul, stripped down to something more fundamental than the monster I would become."
He smiled, and there was something sad in the expression. "Consider me a warning, Harry. A cautionary tale presented in the most direct possible format—actually experiencing the knowledge and memories of someone who made catastrophic choices. Learn from my mistakes. Use my knowledge. But don't become me."
The library around them began to shift and blur, reality reasserting itself as the integration process moved toward its conclusion. Tom's form was becoming less distinct, bleeding into the golden light that seemed to emanate from Harry himself.
"It's time," Tom said, his voice already sounding distant. "The integration is complete. My knowledge, my memories, my strategic thinking—it's all yours now, Harry Potter. Use it well. Be better than I was. And remember—"
His form dissolved entirely into light, his final words echoing through the soul space as Harry felt the rush of new knowledge flooding his consciousness.
"—power without purpose is just destruction wearing a crown."
---
Outside the ritual circle, Constantine and Giovanni maintained their careful monitoring as Harry's aura shifted and changed, the sickly purple-black of the foreign soul fragment gradually being overwhelmed and absorbed by the brilliant emerald green of Harry's own magical signature.
"It's working," Giovanni breathed, his voice carrying relief and professional satisfaction. "The integration is proceeding smoothly—no resistance from the fragment, no magical core instability, no signs of consciousness fragmentation."
"Potter's doing brilliantly," Constantine agreed, though his hands never stopped their precise magical gestures. "His soul is... bloody hell, it's actually strengthening as it absorbs the fragment. Most people experience temporary weakness during integration, but Potter's magical signature is getting brighter, more stable, more coherent."
Bruce watched from his position near the wall, his tactical mind cataloging every detail even as his protective instincts screamed that watching a child undergo dangerous magical surgery was fundamentally wrong. Selina's hand found his, squeezing gently in silent support.
"He's going to be fine," she whispered. "Look at him, Bruce. Even unconscious, even in the middle of soul magic integration, he looks... peaceful."
It was true. Harry's expression remained calm, almost serene, as the integration progressed. Whatever was happening in his soul space, it wasn't causing him distress or fear. If anything, he looked like someone finally finding answers to questions that had haunted them for years.
Zatanna had crept closer to the ritual circle, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her small hands. "Papa," she whispered, her voice carrying that particular note children used when trying to be quiet during important adult activities. "Is Harry going to be different when he wakes up?"
Giovanni glanced at his daughter, his expression softening despite his focus on the magical work. "Yes, mija. He'll have access to knowledge and memories that will change how he understands the world. But he'll still be Harry—still the boy who argues about chocolate, who makes teapots perform ballet, who believes protecting people is worth any risk."
"Good," Zatanna said with satisfaction. "I like Harry the way he is. Different knowledge is fine, but I'd be sad if he wasn't Harry anymore."
"Master Harry has a remarkably strong sense of self," Alfred observed from his position near the medical supplies. "I suspect it would take considerably more than acquiring additional knowledge to fundamentally alter his core personality and values."
"Let's hope so," Bruce said quietly. "Because the alternative—Harry becoming someone fundamentally different, losing the qualities that make him Harry—that would be a tragedy even if the integration is technically successful."
Inside the soul space, Harry was drowning in memories that weren't his own—or rather, were now his but came from a life he'd never lived. Childhood at an orphanage, learning he was magical, discovering he was descended from Salazar Slytherin, the growing obsession with blood purity and immortality. The creation of the first Horcrux, the horror and exhilaration of deliberately fracturing one's soul. The years of building power, gathering followers, waging war against those who opposed his vision of magical supremacy.
But alongside these memories, filtered through them like light through a prism, was Harry's own perspective—the clarity of someone who understood the fundamental wrongness of Tom's choices even while comprehending the reasoning behind them. He could see how a lonely, ambitious child had slowly transformed into a monster through a series of decisions that each seemed logical in isolation but combined into something horrifying.
He understood now how dark magic worked—not just the mechanics of spells and curses, but the psychological framework that made them effective. The understanding that fear and pain could be tools for control. The recognition that some battles were won through intimidation rather than direct violence. The strategic thinking that turned individual magical abilities into coordinated campaigns of terror.
But he also understood the cost. The gradual erosion of Tom's humanity as he pursued power without purpose. The way each Horcrux fractured not just his soul but his ability to understand or care about other people. The isolation that came from treating everyone as either tools or obstacles rather than as human beings with their own worth and agency.
Harry wouldn't make those mistakes. He had Tom's knowledge, his magical abilities, his strategic brilliance. But he also had something Tom had lost—genuine connections to people who cared about him, who saw him as more than a tool or a symbol. Bruce and Selina, Alfred and Constantine, Giovanni and Zatanna—they were his anchor to humanity, his reminder that power without purpose was just destruction wearing a crown.
The soul space dissolved entirely, and Harry's consciousness began the slow journey back toward waking awareness. The last thing he felt before the trance released him was a sense of profound rightness—of pieces that had been separate finally fitting together properly, of knowledge that had been fragmented becoming coherent and accessible.
He was still Harry Potter. But now he was Harry Potter with the accumulated knowledge and magical understanding of one of the most brilliant and dangerous wizards in history. The question wasn't whether that would change him—it already had.
The question was whether those changes would make him more effective at protecting people while keeping his fundamental moral compass intact.
He thought, remembering Tom's final warning and the warmth of the people waiting for him outside the soul space, that the answer was yes.
---
The ritual circle's golden light began to fade gradually, dimming from brilliant radiance to soft glow to barely visible shimmer. Constantine and Giovanni maintained their positions for several more minutes, carefully managing the deactivation sequence to ensure Harry's consciousness returned smoothly rather than being jolted awake prematurely.
"Integration complete," Giovanni said finally, his voice carrying professional satisfaction mixed with obvious relief. "Magical signature stable, soul structure coherent, no signs of fragmentation or rejection. Harry Potter is one person again, properly integrated, with full access to the merged knowledge and abilities."
Constantine lowered his hands slowly, the golden light around his fingers fading as he released his hold on the ritual magic. "Bloody hell," he muttered, reaching immediately for his cigarettes. "That was... actually brilliant. Potter took to the integration like a duck to water—no resistance, no fear, just perfect acceptance and conscious integration. Never seen anything like it."
"How long until he wakes?" Bruce asked, moving closer to the ritual circle now that the magical energies had dissipated enough to make it safe for non-practitioners to approach.
"Could be minutes, could be hours," Constantine replied, lighting up with obvious relief. "Integration is exhausting—his consciousness needs time to process and organize all that new information. He'll wake when his mind has finished cataloging and contextualizing the memories and knowledge he absorbed."
"But he will wake?" Selina pressed, her voice carrying that particular edge that meant she needed reassurance despite her outward calm.
"He'll wake," Giovanni confirmed with absolute conviction. "And when he does, he'll be himself—still Harry, still the remarkable child we know, just with considerably expanded knowledge and magical capabilities."
Alfred moved forward with his characteristic efficient grace, carrying a blanket that he carefully draped over Harry's still form. "Master Harry seems to have a talent for exceeding expectations," he said quietly. "I have every confidence he'll handle this transition with the same grace and intelligence he's shown in everything else."
Zatanna had crept even closer to the ritual circle, studying Harry's peaceful face with obvious concern. "He looks like he's having good dreams," she observed. "Not scary ones. That's a good sign, right Papa?"
"Very good sign, mija," Giovanni agreed, settling into a chair that Alfred had thoughtfully positioned near the circle. "Bad integrations cause distress even during unconsciousness—nightmares, physical tension, magical fluctuations. Harry is completely calm, which suggests his consciousness is processing the integration smoothly."
---
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