Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

Harry gave Chrysa a hug around the neck and whispered in her ear. "I'll go back on my own. Do you want to wander around or stay in the ball?"

Chrysa gave a glance at the Premier Ball hanging from his belt and shook her head firmly.

Harry smiled and told her, "Go and play then."

Chrysa chuffed happily and within the blink of an eye she was gone, running deeper into the forest. She'd probably annoy the centaurs or something. Harry could already imagine their exasperated expressions when a golden blur started racing circles around their camp.

His chi was bent into azure flames that sent him soaring into the skies. In an instant he exceeded even Chrysa's speed, crossing the Forbidden Forest at such a pace that it didn't even take eight seconds for a kilometer to go by underneath his feet.

The trees became an ocean of green below him as he pushed his flight to its limits.

Soon he was hovering over Hogwarts, looking down at the castle that had been his home for most of his life. Students were walking around the halls below, tiny figures going about their daily routines.

None of them looked up. None of them realized that someone was flying overhead without a broom.

Harry appeared at Dumbledore's office window in another flash of fire.

He knocked lightly on the glass, then pushed it open without waiting for permission.

Dumbledore was indeed sitting at his desk, quill in hand as he worked through what looked like Ministry correspondence. The old wizard smiled up at him in greeting, but Harry noticed how that smile froze slightly when their eyes met.

Can he sense something different about me already? Or is it just the look on my face?

Harry sighed and stepped through the window. "I can give you the memory of Rakepick's assault now, Grandpa. And after that, I have something to discuss with you."

"Of course, my boy." Dumbledore set down his quill and reached for his wand.

"Now then, if you would focus on the memory of Professor Rakepick's attack..."

Harry closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to the Buried Vault. The moment when Rakepick had turned on them, the green light of the Killing Curse, how he had blocked the Cruciatus Curse….

He could still remember the shock on her face when he'd remained standing.

Oh? What was this?

He could feel the memory-copying magic trying to do its work, but it couldn't penetrate into his Heaven-Earth Soul's Heaven to do so. Its lack of potency meant that it was stalling on the outskirts of the metaphysical Egg itself.

That was very interesting...

Didn't that mean he was immune to mind magic below a certain potency level?

Harry tried to 'push' the memory he was concentrating on outside of Heaven and into the non-space between Textures, and luckily succeeded in doing just that. The non-space was accommodating enough to his memory as he continued to push it towards the shell of the Egg that was his Heaven-Earth Soul.

When it was fully on the outskirts, the magic could finally do its job.

The silvery strands of memory gushed from Harry's temple into the crystal vial Dumbledore held. The old wizard sealed it carefully with a cork and set it aside on his desk.

"There," Harry said, opening his eyes. "That should show you everything that happened with Rakepick."

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore's blue eyes stared at Harry. "Now, what did you wish to discuss?"

Harry didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I want to buy a wand from Ollivanders."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "You are well aware that you must wait until you are officially eleven, are you not? Ministry regulations are quite clear on the matter."

"I know what the regulations say." Harry crossed his arms. "But when I became a World and established my first small world, the Laws of Magic gave me a small benefit. My soul's capacity for the casting of spells in our world was forcefully matured to the point of stability."

"In other words, I can now use a wand and cast spells just fine. There's no longer a need to wait. And I do not wish to wait any longer." Harry had a serious look in his eyes. "I might get dragged away to another world at any time, and the magic of our world would be of great assistance to me, for its utility if nothing else."

The truth was, Harry had been thinking about this for many years now. His firebending and lightningbending were incredibly powerful, sure.

But there was something to be said for the sheer convenience of wizarding magic.

Want to clean your clothes? A simple spell.

Need light in the dark? Another spell.

Want to repair something that's broken? Magic could handle it in seconds.

Harry had watched the Flamels use magic for countless everyday tasks during their travels. Nicolas would transfigure rocks into comfortable chairs when they needed to rest. Perenelle would charm their tent to be larger inside than outside, or cast warming charms when the weather turned cold.

Those were the kinds of problems that wizarding magic solved elegantly. And Harry was tired of not having access to that convenience.

And he was also curious about what kind of wand would choose him.

It was always said the wand chooses the wizard, but what did that mean for him?

"If you wish to get a wand, that's fine," Dumbledore said finally. "I will monitor you in the beginning to make sure that there's no chance of any accidents, of course. But I don't expect that to happen."

Harry smiled and nodded.

Dumbledore glanced at the unconscious Rakepick in the corner of his office. The traitorous professor was still slumped against the wall where Harry had left her after their interrogation in the vault. Her breathing was steady but she showed no signs of waking up anytime soon.

"I will have to bring her to the Ministry today," Dumbledore said, "but I can imagine you don't need my help to visit Diagon Alley."

"No, I can get there just fine on my own."

"Excellent. I'll write you a letter for you to give to Ollivander. He will surely agree to provide you a wand."

Dumbledore pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began writing. The letter was brief but official-looking, with Dumbledore's long signature at the bottom.

"Grandpa, are you an expert in Legilimency? Capable of teaching it?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly at the question and put away the letter for now. "Yes, I am quite proficient in Legilimency and could certainly teach it. Why do you ask?"

Harry felt a spark of irritation flare in his chest. "Because you never mentioned it to me. Not once in all these years."

"I didn't think it was particularly relevant to your studies," Dumbledore said carefully. "You've been learning Occlumency, which is the art of defending one's mind. Legilimency is the opposite, the art of invading another's thoughts."

"But it would have been useful to know." Harry crossed his arms. "Especially when you somehow knew that Charlotte had potential for Legilimency. How did you figure that out?"

"I observed certain signs during her time at Hogwarts. Miss Whitewood has mentioned hearing voices within the Cursed Vaults that nobody else could hear, so I speculated that this was because of her natural talent for Legilimency. Her brother, Jacob, similarly had a natural talent for the art."

That calmed Harry down slightly. So that was why Dumbledore had known about Charlotte's abilities. It wasn't some secret knowledge he'd been hiding, just careful observation over the years.

"And why did you tell her that the Cursed Vault would need Legilimency?" Harry asked. "Was it also because of the fact she heard these voices within the Vaults?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Precisely. The voices she described hearing suggested that the Vault's defenses might be designed to interact with mental magic. It seemed logical to assume that Legilimency might be the key to accessing whatever lies within."

Harry sighed. "Okay, that's understandable. It would've been useful to know that you could teach me Legilimency if I ever wanted to learn it..."

"Would you like to learn?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry paused for a moment, considering the offer. Learning Legilimency would definitely be useful. The ability to extract secrets directly from someone's mind would be incredibly valuable, especially when dealing with enemies.

He wouldn't need to rely on Veritaserum or torture to get information if he could just take it.

And there was the potential for using it as a weapon too.

If he could forcibly invade someone's mind and utterly ravage their memories during combat, it could easily give him an advantage against those without the ability to shield themselves.

But right now, he had other priorities.

"I'd like to learn it eventually," Harry said, "but my focus is on getting my wand and learning regular magic first. Legilimency can wait."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. The offer remains open whenever you feel ready."

Harry took a breath and looked straight at Dumbledore. "Speaking of learning magic... I want to attend Hogwarts in the next school year."

The old wizard's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh?"

"You know that if I wait much longer, I will be too old for Hogwarts," Harry continued. "I already look fourteen or fifteen because of my body's immense chi. By the time I'm actually eleven on paper, I might look eighteen or older. At that point, it would be... awkward."

Dumbledore was frowning, and that wasn't the reaction Harry had expected.

"Harry," Dumbledore said slowly, "I'm not entirely certain that attending Hogwarts is the right move for you."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Did Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, just tell him NOT to attend Hogwarts?

"I don't understand," Harry said. "You're the Headmaster. Why wouldn't you want me to attend your own school?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of him. "Tell me, Harry, what is the purpose of education?"

"To learn things." Harry said.

"Precisely. Education exists to provide knowledge and skills that a person lacks, and to help them mature into a functioning adult." Dumbledore's blue eyes peered at Harry. "But what happens when someone no longer needs what the education system offers?"

Harry frowned. "I still need to learn magic."

"Do you?" Dumbledore asked. "You've already mastered all the theoretical components of a Hogwarts education. I've tested you myself on Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, History of Magic, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes. There's no doubt you could easily pass your theoretical NEWTs at this point."

That was true. He probably knew more magical theory than most Hogwarts graduates.

"And I'm quite sure your skill with practical magic will similarly skyrocket once you get your wand," Dumbledore continued. "Whether it will even take you a full year to surpass what the school can teach you is something I'm very doubtful about."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore held up a hand.

"But let's set aside the academic component for a moment," the old wizard said. "What about maturity? Schools also exist to help children grow into adults, to learn social skills and emotional regulation."

"I still need to learn those things," Harry protested.

"Do you?" Dumbledore asked again. "Let me paint you a picture, Harry. The average eleven-year-old entering Hogwarts has lived a sheltered life with their parents. They've never faced real danger, never made life-or-death decisions, never been responsible for anything more serious than their homework. They cry when they get homesick. They have tantrums when things don't go their way. They make friends and enemies based on the most trivial of reasons…"

Harry could see where this was going, but he let Dumbledore continue.

"Now consider the average seventeen-year-old leaving Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "They're legally adults, but many of them are still incredibly impulsive. They make rash decisions based on emotion. They get into fights over romantic jealousy. They choose their career paths based on what sounds exciting rather than what they're actually suited for. They think they know everything, when in reality they've barely begun to understand the world."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "Now, compare either of those groups to yourself. You've traveled to other worlds and survived encounters with ancient spirits who tried to break you with fear. You've made strategic decisions that saved lives and ended conflicts. You've faced down dragons, defeated experienced enemies, and navigated complex political situations. You didn't act impulsively with that Fire Lord, did you? You knew that could've led to suffering on an immense scale without proper plans put in place. When you're angry, you don't lash out blindly… you calculate exactly how much force is necessary to achieve your goals."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. When Dumbledore put it like that...

"You've killed people, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "Not in a moment of panic or rage, but after careful consideration of the consequences. You've weighed the value of lives and made choices that most adults would struggle with. You've taken responsibility for the safety of entire communities."

That was all true. Harry had executed the child-eating hag after confirming her crimes with Veritaserum. He'd killed eight rebels in the Avatar world to prevent them from destroying the Fire Nation capital and murdering tens of thousands of innocent people.

He'd made those decisions calmly and logically, understanding exactly what he was doing.

"When was the last time you made a truly impulsive decision?" Dumbledore asked. "When did you last act without thinking through the consequences?"

Harry tried to think of an example, but he couldn't come up with anything recent. Even his decision to accept the Tyrannical and Oppressive Presence had been carefully considered. He'd weighed the pros and cons, thought about how it would affect his future, and made a rational choice based on logic rather than emotion.

Maybe what happened recently where he forcefully withstood the Killing Curse and the Torture Curse could count… but no, it didn't. Harry had known that he was immune to both curses, that there wasn't any true risk tied to it.

Even Dumbledore had nothing to say about his decision, because they all knew there was no risk.

Was it truly impulsive if he had utter control over the situation?

Harry could still remember both Bill and Charlotte being upset with him faking his death, but if he had to be utterly honest with himself, he would've made the exact same decision if it happened again. He had agreed with them at the time for the sake of their feelings, but who was truly being the mature one there?

How could he possibly warn them in advance that he was going to fake his death?

Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of doing so in the first place?

A case could be made that he could've informed them both that he was immune to such curses, but why would such a thing be brought up in the first place?

No, the closest thing to true impulsiveness he could remember was his initial reaction to Pettigrew's confession, the moment when he'd nearly burned the man alive were he not blocked by Dumbledore.

But even then, he'd controlled himself when Dumbledore reminded him they needed Pettigrew alive for true justice.

"You see my point," Dumbledore said gently. "In terms of maturity, you're already far beyond what most Hogwarts graduates achieve. You make decisions like someone with decades of experience, not like a child."

The words stung, but not because they were cruel.

They stung because they were true.

"I suppose you're right," Harry said slowly. "But I still want to experience Hogwarts somehow. I've been living here for years, but always as someone separate from the students. I want to understand what it's like to be part of that world, even if I've outgrown it academically."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "That's a very human desire, Harry. The wish to belong, to share experiences with others your apparent age. But tell me, when you observe the students here, what do you see?"

Harry thought about it. He'd spent years watching students in the halls, listening to their conversations, seeing their daily dramas develop. First-years crying because they were homesick. Second-years panicking over a failed Transfiguration assignment. Third-years gossiping about who was dating whom. Older students stressing about career choices or arguing over Quidditch teams.

"I see children," Harry said slowly.

"And how do you feel when you watch them?"

Harry paused, really considering the question. How did he feel when he saw a first-year burst into tears because they'd received a Howler from home or when he observed fifth-years having complete meltdowns over their OWL exams?

The honest answer was... it reminded him of watching Chrysa when she was still a cub.

Back then, everything had been monumentally important to her. If her favorite sleeping spot was occupied by another creature, it was a tragedy of epic proportions. If Harry was five minutes late with her dinner, she'd act like the world was ending.

He even remembered that when she'd gotten a small scratch during play, she'd limped around dramatically for hours, trying to get more attention from him.

At the time, Harry had found it endearing. Chrysa's little concerns and dramas had been sweet to watch. He'd understood that from her perspective, these things genuinely mattered.

But had he ever truly related to them?

Had he ever felt the same level of distress over such small things?

Even as a four-year-old, Harry had been more concerned with power dynamics than with whether someone had taken his favorite toy.

"I find their concerns... sweet," Harry admitted. "But not relatable."

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "And that is precisely why attending Hogwarts as a student would not give you what you're seeking. You cannot experience childhood by surrounding yourself with children when you are no longer a child yourself. You would be like an adult trying to play with dolls, going through the motions but never truly feeling the joy that comes from genuine innocence."

Harry stared off to the side as his hand moved to hold his chin. The office around them seemed to fade away as his mind turned inward, grappling with something far more fundamental than whether he should attend school.

A full minute passed without either of them speaking.

When Harry finally looked back at Dumbledore, his green eyes held a weight that seemed far too heavy.

"Grandpa," Harry said slowly, "what does it mean to be human?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly. He'd clearly expected many possible responses to their conversation, but not that particular question.

"That's quite a philosophical question, Harry. What brought it to mind?"

"You just made me realize that I can't relate to the students here anymore," Harry said. "Their concerns seem... childish to me. Sweet, but not something I can truly understand on an emotional level. And that makes me wonder that if I've already moved beyond relating to children, how long will it be before I can't relate to humans at all?"

Harry ignored the whispering portraits as he continued. "I can create true life, Grandpa. I can literally make people from nothing but some World Power. I'm going to be so long-lived that the entire human race will become nothing but children to me. I contain entire worlds within my soul. At what point do I stop being human and become something else entirely?"

Dumbledore was clearly considering the question carefully. "…I'm not certain I have a complete answer to that question, Harry. But I think the fact that you're asking it suggests you're still human in the ways that matter most."

"But for how long?" Harry pressed. "Think about it logically. Right now, I can't relate to children because I've experienced too much, seen too much, been responsible for too much. But what about in a hundred years? Will I still be able to relate to adults who worry about their jobs or their relationships or whether they can afford a new house? What about in a thousand years? Ten thousand?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a satisfactory answer to that question either, Harry," Dumbledore said slowly. "What you're describing... it's the fundamental challenge of immortality, isn't it? The gradual separation from humanity that comes with outliving countless generations."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just about time. It's about power too. Every day I become more capable of things that normal humans can't even imagine. I can create life, manipulate time, travel between worlds. How long before I start thinking of humans the way humans think of... I don't know, ants?"

"An uncomfortable comparison," Dumbledore murmured.

"But an accurate one," Harry pressed. "Think about how humans interact with ants. We might admire their industriousness, we might even find their little colonies interesting to observe. But do we truly care about their individual struggles? Do we relate to their concerns about finding food or protecting their young? Or do we just see them as... simple creatures going through the motions of a life we've long since transcended?"

"I suppose the question becomes whether power and longevity necessarily lead to that kind of detachment. Must godhood always mean the loss of empathy?" Dumbledore asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Harry said. "Because I can already feel it starting. When I watch first-years crying over homework, I don't feel sympathy anymore. I feel... fondness, maybe. The way you'd feel watching a kitten struggle with a ball of yarn. It's cute, but it's not something I can take seriously."

Harry stood up and began pacing in front of Dumbledore's desk. "And that scares me, Grandpa. Because if I'm already losing the ability to relate to children, what happens when I lose the ability to relate to adults? What happens when I look at someone like you and think 'how quaint, the little mortal is worried about his little mortal problems'?"

"The key could be not in maintaining the ability to relate, but in choosing to value others despite that inability," Dumbledore said carefully.

Harry stopped pacing and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Consider how you interact with Chrysa," Dumbledore explained. "You cannot truly relate to her concerns as a Nemean Lion. When she's upset about something in her territory or excited about a particular hunt, you don't share those feelings. But you still care about her wellbeing, don't you? You still value her happiness."

"That's different," Harry said. "Chrysa is my companion. We have a bond."

"But why is it different?" Dumbledore asked. "What if the solution isn't maintaining relatability, but rather choosing to form bonds despite the lack of relatability? What if godhood doesn't have to mean isolation, but rather a different kind of connection?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Think about it this way," Dumbledore said. "A parent doesn't relate to their infant's concerns about whether their toy is within reach. The parent has moved far beyond such simple needs. But a good parent still cares deeply about meeting those needs, not because they share them, but because they value the child's wellbeing."

"So you're saying I should think of humans as... children to be protected?"

"Not exactly," Dumbledore said, then paused. "Actually, I'm not certain what I'm saying. This is rather beyond my experience, Harry. I've never faced the prospect of true immortality or world-creating power."

Harry appreciated the honesty. "At least you're not pretending to have all the answers."

"I suspect the answers you're seeking don't exist yet," Dumbledore admitted. "You may be the first being to face this particular challenge. The gods of ancient mythology were just normal wizards in the end..."

"That's a terrifying thought," Harry said. "That I'm walking into completely uncharted territory…"

"Maybe. But consider this," Dumbledore said. "You mentioned your Virtue cultivation earlier. Doesn't that suggest a possible path forward?"

Harry tilted his head. "How so?"

"Well, what are virtues but chosen principles that guide behavior regardless of personal inclination?" Dumbledore explained. "Justice, Fortitude, and whatever other virtues you develop... these aren't emotions or natural responses. They're conscious choices about how to act."

"You think I can choose to remain connected to humanity through virtue?"

"I think virtue might be the only thing that can maintain meaningful connection across such vast differences in power and perspective," Dumbledore said. "When you can no longer relate to human struggles, you can still choose to act in ways that honor human dignity. When their concerns seem trivial to you, you can still choose to treat those concerns as important because the people experiencing them are inherently valuable."

Harry considered this. "But what if my understanding of virtue changes as I become more powerful? What if what I consider 'just' or 'good' becomes something humans would find horrifying?"

"That's..." Dumbledore paused, looking genuinely troubled. "That's a very disturbing possibility. I don't know how to guard against that."

"Exactly," Harry said. "The Virtue cultivation forces me to think deeply about moral questions, but it doesn't guarantee that my conclusions will remain... human. What if I decide that the greatest good requires eliminating human free will? What if I become the kind of god who thinks mass sacrifice is justified for some greater purpose?"

The office fell silent. Even the portraits had stopped their whispering.

"I don't have an answer to that," Dumbledore said finally. "I wish I did, but I simply don't know enough about the nature of divinity to guide you."

Harry slumped back into his chair. "So I'm alone in this."

He couldn't help but think back to the alternate world again. That world had been filled with cultivators who lived for thousands of years, some had even been rumoured to achieve true immortality.

How had they handled this exact problem?

The more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that maybe they hadn't handled it at all. In those memories, he could recall stories of cultivators who treated mortals like insects. Entire sects would be wiped out over minor slights because some ten-thousand-year-old monster decided their existence was annoying.

It felt like they hadn't matured at all…

But there were also stories of benevolent Immortals who protected mortals and guided them. The question was, did those Immortals actually relate to mortals anymore, or were they just following principles they'd established when they were still human?

Maybe the answer was that Immortals didn't relate to mortals.

Maybe they related to other Immortals instead. It could be that the only beings you can truly connect with are others who've walked the same path.

That was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because it meant he might not be doomed to eternal isolation. Terrifying because it meant his connection to humanity really was temporary.

What was the life of an Immortal actually like? Did they spend their time in some higher realm, discussing higher principles with other immortal beings while the mortal world spun on below them? Did they even remember what it felt like to worry about mundane things?

Harry tried to imagine himself in a thousand years, sitting with other god-like beings and talking about... what? The rise and fall of civilizations? The proper way to manage universes?

Would he look back on his current concerns as quaint childhood memories?

Maybe only an Immortal God or Immortal Cultivator could truly guide him on this path, but he didn't know any Immortals…

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I'll have to continue thinking about this by myself for now, I suppose."

Dumbledore gave him a fragile smile. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help with this particular challenge, Harry."

"It's not your fault," Harry said. "This isn't exactly covered in any textbook."

Dumbledore nodded, then seemed to deliberately shift his tone to something more practical. "Well, let's return to the matter of Hogwarts for a moment. I may have a solution that doesn't require you to attend as a student."

Harry somehow wasn't all that interested anymore, but he still paid attention.

"We have enough connections to arrange for you to complete your OWLs and NEWTs independently," Dumbledore explained. "The Ministry allows for exceptional circumstances, and your situation certainly qualifies. You could take the exams whenever you feel ready."

"That makes sense," Harry said.

"But more importantly," Dumbledore continued, "if you wanted, you could sometimes act as an assistant to some of the teachers and help students who are struggling. It would relieve some of their burden and give you a chance to participate more directly in the lives of students. It wouldn't be exactly the same as being a student yourself, but..."

Harry considered this. It wasn't what he'd originally wanted, but it might actually be better. He could interact with students without having to pretend to care about homework assignments and house points.

"I'm not sure how much time I'd have for that," Harry said slowly. "I have my own training to focus on."

"Actually, that brings up an interesting point," Dumbledore said. "Teaching others often improves your own understanding. When you're forced to explain magic in simple terms that struggling students can grasp, it makes you reflect on your own knowledge in new ways. You might discover gaps in your understanding that you didn't know existed."

That was a compelling argument.

Explaining firebending principles to Azula had helped him deepen his own foundation…

"Plus," Dumbledore added with a slight smile, "it might help with your earlier concerns about maintaining connection to humanity. Working with students would keep you engaged with human struggles, even if you can't fully relate to them anymore."

Harry nodded slowly. "Alright, I'm interested. Which subjects would need the most help?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, certainly. Our current professor is... adequate, but not inspiring. Potions as well, Professor Snape is brilliant but not particularly patient with struggling students. And I suspect you could be quite helpful in Transfiguration and Charms."

"I'll think about it," Harry said. "After I get my wand and spend some time practicing actual spellcasting."

Dumbledore's expression grew slightly more serious. "There is one other matter we should discuss, regarding your potential role here."

"What's that?"

"Your possible relationship with Miss Whitewood."

Harry's eyes sharpened. He'd been wondering when this would come up.

"People would look oddly at such a relationship," Dumbledore continued carefully. "Not just because of the apparent age difference, but also because a romantic relationship between someone in a teaching role and a student wouldn't be considered appropriate by most."

Harry thought back to his decision in the Forbidden Forest, when he'd accepted the Tyrannical and Oppressive Presence. He'd already decided he wasn't going to let society's ignorant judgments dictate his life.

His eyes hardened. "I'm not going to tolerate anyone speaking out of line about that."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the steel in Harry's voice.

"If they have problems with it," Harry continued, "they'll have to face the consequences. I'm not going to hide what I am or pretend to be something I'm not just to make other people comfortable."

Dumbledore's expression grew troubled. "Harry, that kind of thinking..."

"What about it?" Harry asked, his voice remaining steady but with an edge that hadn't been there moments before.

"The willingness to make others 'face consequences' for their opinions... it sounds rather close to what we were just discussing about the dangers of godhood."

Harry crossed his arms. "No, it doesn't."

"Doesn't it? The idea that those who displease you should suffer for it?"

"That's not what I said." Harry's green eyes flashed. "I said I won't tolerate people speaking out of line about my relationship. There's a difference between having an opinion and actively harassing someone I care about."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "And who decides what constitutes 'speaking out of line'?"

"I do." Harry's answer came without hesitation. "If someone wants to quietly disapprove, that's their business. But if they start spreading rumors, trying to get Charlotte in trouble, or making her life miserable because of her connection to me? That's crossing a line."

"And what would these 'consequences' look like?"

"That depends on what they do. If someone writes a nasty article in the Daily Prophet, I might visit them and let them feel exactly what they're dealing with. Give them a chance to understand the situation better and reconsider their choices."

"You mean intimidate them."

"I mean educate them." Harry's voice remained calm. "Most people who would cause problems don't actually understand what I am. They see a birth certificate with one number and make faulty assumptions based on that. If they could feel the truth of my nature, they'd realize how foolish their concerns are."

Dumbledore was frowning now. "Harry, using fear to silence criticism..."

"Is something normal humans do all the time," Harry interrupted. "When someone threatens your family, you defend them. When someone tries to destroy your reputation with lies, you fight back. The only difference is that I'm more capable of defending myself than most people."

That gave Dumbledore pause.

Harry continued passionately. "You think this is about godhood? About me losing touch with humanity? No, Grandpa. This is about the most human thing there is. Protecting the people you care about."

"But the power you'd use..."

"Doesn't change the principle." Harry stood up. "If some drunk in a tavern started spreading lies about Charlotte, calling her horrible names, what would a normal boyfriend do? He'd probably punch the drunk in the face. Maybe get his friends to help throw the guy out. Society would call that defending his girlfriend's honor."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Now, if a newspaper editor decides to write articles calling Charlotte a predator, what's the difference? The harm to her reputation is much worse than anything some drunk could do. The reach is wider, the damage longer-lasting. Why should my response be less proportional to the threat?"

"Because of the power imbalance," Dumbledore said. "The drunk and the normal boyfriend are roughly equal. You and a newspaper editor are not."

Harry looked Dumbledore directly in the eyes. "So I should let people hurt Charlotte just because I'm too powerful to fight back fairly? That's not justice, that's cowardice."

"I'm not saying you should let people hurt her. I'm saying there might be better ways to handle it."

"Like what? Legal action? How well do you think that would work when the entire legal system is made up of people who share the same ignorant assumptions?" Harry shook his head. "No, sometimes the only language bullies understand is strength."

"You mentioned warning them first. Giving them a chance to understand."

"Of course." Harry sat back down. "I'm not interested in unnecessary violence. If I can solve problems legally, I will. If I can solve them with a simple demonstration of what they're dealing with, even better."

"And if they don't listen to warnings?"

Harry's expression hardened again. "Then they've made their choice. I'll do whatever it takes to protect those I care about from harassment. One way or another."

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I don't approve of this approach, Harry."

"I didn't ask for your approval."

"But I understand it," Dumbledore continued. "And I suppose... if someone were threatening you, I might find myself making similar choices."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. This isn't about power corrupting me or losing touch with humanity. It's about being human enough to protect what matters."

"I just hope it doesn't come to that."

"So do I," Harry said. "But if it does, I'll be ready."

"You're quite certain about this path?"

"Completely." Harry's voice carried absolute conviction. "Even if things don't work out between Charlotte and me, I would never tolerate anyone harassing her because of her connection to me. She doesn't deserve that."

"And you believe intimidation is the answer?"

"I believe clear communication is the answer," Harry corrected. "Most people respond well to understanding exactly where they stand. When someone realizes they're picking a fight they can't win, they usually choose not to pick that fight."

"And those who don't respond to clear communication?"

Harry's smile was sharp. "Well, then we find out how much they really care about their opinions."

Dumbledore sighed again, but he seemed to understand that Harry's mind was made up. "Very well. I hope your confidence is justified."

"It will be." Harry stood up again. "Now, I should probably go get that wand. The sooner I start learning proper magic, the sooner I can focus on more important things."

"Indeed." Dumbledore picked up the letter he'd written. "Give this to Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure he'll find your case... interesting."

Harry took the letter and tucked it into his pouch. "Thank you, Grandpa."