Harry Potter: Alchemy by Shamrock Holmes



Summary: After twelve years with his foster family, the time for Harry Potter to return to Britain and begin his journey towards his destiny!
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarhalf-star
Categories: Alternate Universe, Cursed Child and beyond
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: Harry Potter and the Last Daughter of Krypton
Published: 2021.04.14
Updated: 2021.05.28


Index

Chapter 1: A Long Road
Chapter 2: The Sunflower State
Chapter 3: Diagon Alley
Chapter 4: Dogs of War
Chapter 5: The Hogwarts Express
Chapter 6: Flying into Danger
Chapter 7: Trail of the Madman!


Chapter 1: A Long Road

Author's Notes: The Last Daughter of Krypton Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and at least one character from the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.
Due to features peculiar to this fic that well become evident as it progresses, some technologies and practices are more consistent with real world technologies of the 2010s.
Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on this chapter.


82 South Main Street,
Smallville,
KS 67524.
June 23, 01:00 CDT.
Team Year Eleven.

The ringing of the phone roused Lana from her sleep before her husband managed to snag the handset and answer it.
“Kyle Cushing here,” he said in a groggy whisper. “What?! I’ll be right there!”
“What’s wrong?” asked Lana, sleepily, clinking on her bedside lamp.
“That was the fire-house,” replied Kyle, as he leapt out of bed and started to scramble into his clothes. “There’s a fire over at the LoveCorp Fertilizer Plant, the chief is mobilising everything we’ve got to fight it.”
Lana sat up, startled. “If that plant goes up…”
“Yeah,” agreed Kyle.
“Has the chief contacted the Justice League for help?”
Kyle’s frown was just about visible. “I think we can handle a simple fire without any outside help.”
“But…”
“I don’t have time to discuss it!” Kyle hissed, as he turned towards the door, now fully dressed. “Get some sleep.”
Like that’ll happen, thought Lana to herself as she heard her husband rush as quietly as possible down the stairs and out of the front door. After fighting with herself for a few moments, she reached over for the phone and dialled a Connecticut area code.
Lane-Kent Residence, Lois Lane speaking.”
Lois, it’s Lana.”
It’s two in the morning,” said Lois, with a bite to her voice. “This better not be a social call, Lana.”
“It isn’t,” Lana assured her. “Is Clark with you?”
No, he’s off planet,” Lois replied. “Is something wrong?”
“LCFD has just issued an ‘all-hands’ to a fire at one of LoveCorp's local fertilizer plants,” Lana answered. “Kyle thinks they can handle it but…”
You’re worried and you want him to have some back-up,” finished Lois.
“Yeah, is that wrong?”
I don’t think so,” Lois confirmed. “I’ll try and get hold of Jeff and see if he can send someone out.
“Thanks Lois,” said Lana. “I’ll let you get started.”
After she hung up, Lana turned out the light and tried to get some sleep, but it didn’t come. She was still trying when the sun peaked through her curtains a few hours later.

****
0705 CDT.

Lana was setting out the breakfast next morning, only for two as Kyle hadn’t returned from his callout, when Hank ran into the kitchen waving his Q-Pad in the air. “Mom! Mom!”
“What is it, honey?” Lana asked.
“The Outsiders were in town last night! They saved some firefighters out at the fertilizer plant!”
Lana’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly crossed over to her son. “Does it say who?! Was Kyle…?”
Harry paused, “I don’t think so…” he said. “The article says that the driver-engineer… that’s Kyle’s job, right?”
“Normally,” Lana agreed. “This was off-shift callout though, so…”
“Well, the driver-engineer was on his rig when part of the plant went up,” said Hank. “Kid Flash managed to get four firefighters — a fire captain called Jack Miller and three of his firefighters, it doesn’t say who — out before drums of ammonium nitrate exploded and Thirteen was able to contain the explosion before anyone outside was hurt.”
Lana relaxed, then doubt began to creep in. If Kyle was alright, why hadn’t he let her know he was okay? She crossed to the kitchen phone and dialled his cell-phone. But a moment later she nearly cursed under her breath when she heard his ringtone from upstairs. He must have left it behind. She hung up and rang the station’s number, but that rang out without anyone answering.
She glanced back at Hank, who was watching her. “Eat your breakfast,” she told him. “Pa’s busy today, so I’m going to send you over to the Hub and you can hang out there?”
“That’d be cool!” Hank exclaimed. “Karen’s been talking about challenging Cassie to a rematch for a while. Maybe she’ll do it today and I can watch it!”
At that, Lana almost changed her mind, but decided that it wasn’t a battle that she needed to get into.

****
First Kansas Bank,
509 Main Street,
Smallville.
KS 67524.
13:20 CDT.

“Would you like to take a seat, Herr Mueller?” Lana asked the swarthy farmer when he entered her office. “What can we do for you today?”
The middle-aged man looked a little embarrassed. “I had a little health issue last spring so I vas not able to plant as I needed to.”
Lana nodded to herself. This was a familiar story in the isolated farming community that she lived in, so without asking any more questions, she pulled up the man’s record on her computer. “Let’s see… Well, your credit history could be better, but it’s pretty good… you’ve had a couple of deferments and temporary overdrafts but that’s not unusual… What do you need?”
After a pause, he told her, and she was about to run the numbers when her phone rang. Throwing the farmer an apologetic look, she picked up the handset. “Lana Lang.”
Lana, call for you on line two,” said the receptionist. “Some sort of family emergency?”
“Did they say what, Holly?” Lana asked.
No, but it’s a California area code if that helps?”
“It does,” Lana confirmed. “Can you tell Fred I might need to duck out and check on my son?”
Sure, Lana,” confirmed the receptionist. Then with a click, she transferred the incoming call.
Lana, it’s Sue,” said a familiar voice over the phone. “Can you come to the Hub?”
“Is it Hank? Is he okay?!” demanded Lana, panicking a little.
He’s fine, but there’s been an… incident,” replied Sue. “So, I think he and Kara could do with a friendly face right now.
Lana paused for a moment, considering the question. “I’ll be a few minutes, but I’m on my way.”
I can send Forager with the Bio-Ship if that would help?”
Lana thought about it, “No, that’s okay, thanks… I’ll make my own way. Maybe fifteen minutes?”
I’ll see you then,” replied Sue and hung up.
When Lana looked up again, she saw Jonas Mueller watching her with a compassionate look on his swarthy, wrinkled face. “Herr Mueller…”
“Don’t worry, Frau Lang,” he replied. “My need is not urgent, look after dein Sohn.”
Danke,” said Lana and rose from her seat and then grabbed her purse and jacket as she moved from behind her desk.
Outside her office, she met up with the bank president, the elderly Fred Cramer — the father of a late schoolmate of hers — who had a worried expression on his perpetually harassed face. “Holly says you have a family emergency?”
“Yeah, Hank and my niece have been caught up in an incident,” Lana explained. “I left Jonas Mueller in my office…”
“I’ll take care of it,” promised the elderly man.

****
The Hub,
Hollywood.
CA 90069.
11:50 PDT.


“Recognised, Lana Lang A14,”
announced the Computer as she reappeared inside the penthouse that served as the headquarters of the Justice League’s West Coast team.
A short brunette woman — Sue Dibny, the Outsiders’ current ‘den mother’ and for Lana’s money probably one of the top ten criminal investigators of any stripe in the world — was waiting for her.
“Where are they?” asked Lana.
“In the kitchen area.”
Lana nodded. Regardless of where they were… at home; Pa’s house — especially when Ma was still alive; Sullivan Place; Jeff’s house in Freeland; the lighthouse in Amnesty Bay; or anywhere else for that matter… her son always tended to gravitate towards the kitchen when there was a problem.
“Dinah wants a word with the three of you in my office when you’re ready,” added Sue.
“Give me a couple of minutes?”
“Of course,” Sue assured her. “There’s no hurry.”
Despite that assurance, Lana hurried towards the kitchen area, past several people — mostly Outsiders but also a few of the school-age associates too — and soon spotted ‘her kids’. They were sitting on one of the red leather sofas just outside the kitchen area. As far as she could tell, Hank was fine and had his arms wrapped around the taller Karen, who it appeared was not, as she was sitting curled up with her elbows on her knees and her hands over her eyes and appeared to be crying.
“Kara, what’s wrong?” she asked, sitting down on the other side of the teenager from her son and mirroring his hug around the girl.
Karen took her hands away from her eyes, tears streaming from them and what looked like mild burns around the sockets. “I… I…” the fifteen-year-old tried to say, then threw a glance at Hank that she couldn’t catch.
But Hank, who was face to face with her, had no problem both seeing and understanding the glance. “I’ll tell Mom what I saw…” he told her comfortingly. “But I’m guessing that you’ll have to talk to Aunt Dinah about it soon.”
Karen nodded silently.
“Sue says we can take our time,” Lana assured the pair. “But Dinah does need to talk to you… us.”
“Well, she challenged Cassie to a rematch like I thought she would…” Hank began.

****
13:25 PDT.


“… and when Cassie snagged me around the wrists with her lasso, I got a flashback to Lashina pulling off the same move in the training grounds on Apokolips and panicked…” said Karen as she came to the end of the story. “… then before I knew it my heat vision activated and blasted Cassie full power…”
Dinah, who was sitting at Sue’s desk while the trio shared a sofa, sighed and nodded. “That’s what I thought happened.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” asked Karen.
“Well, fortunately Cassie will be fine… she’s pretty tough,” Dinah paused. “Although I’d avoid any thunderstorms for a while…”
Karen smiled a little at the joke. “I’ll try to.”
“Your flashbacks and loss of control do concern me though…” Dinah mused. “… but with the Justice League still short on heavy hitters and Cassie side-lined for the next few weeks I can’t afford to bench you.”
Karen relaxed a little more at that answer. “But…?”
“Neither Megan nor I have the time for any formal sessions at the moment…” admitted Dinah. “… and Lilith is busy setting up the new group in Metropolis for Loren Jupiter. And in any case, I don’t want to make any firm decisions until your cousin is back from Rann.”
Karen nodded. “But for now?”
“I’d like you to spend some time with Neut at the Metahuman Youth Center,” replied Dinah. “He knows what it’s like to lose control and he was imprisoned and tortured by the Reach as well.”
“I can do that.”
“And once Simon LaGrieve, our new psychiatrist, joins us from Langley, I like you to see him regularly.” Dinah told her. “Perhaps he can help you.”
“That would be good,” said Karen with feeling, setting back into the arms of the two Langs.

****
Meta-human Youth Center,
Taos.
NM 87557.
July 7th, 08:23 MDT.

“I think part of the problem is that so much of that time is a blur,” Karen admitted to Neut. “I mean I remember pretty much everything about Krypton. Its destruction… the Argo dome… but other that, everything’s a blur, even my parents putting me on the pod and sending me to Earth…”
“Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem,” admitted Neut, then took a hearty bite out his breakfast burrito and paused to chew it. After a moment or two of thought and chewing, he swallowed the mouthful and added. “One of the versions you remember is your father sending you to kill your cousin, right?”
“Yeah,” admitted Karen after taking a few bites of her own breakfast. “I’m pretty sure that that was part of the brainwashing scenario that Desaad put me through.”
“Black kryptonite, wasn’t it?”
Karen paused, clearly a little uncomfortable, but replied. “Not just that… that… ‘man’ may be evil, but he enjoys his work and believes in being thorough.”
Neut hissed in anger at that. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay,” Karen assured him. “I survived. Many didn’t.”
“That’s true,” Neut admitted. “But it doesn’t make what you suffered any less important.”
Karen gave him a look that clearly said that she understood what he was saying but didn’t necessarily agree.
Neut was about to say more, but the intercom blared into life. “Supergirl, report to the Zeta Room. Priority Red!
“I guess we’ll have to pick this up later?” said Karen, rising to her feet.
“Of course,” agreed Neut.
It only took her a moment to reach the Zeta Room. The room was empty other than the director, Eduardo Dorado Sr.
“You need me, Doctor?” she asked.
“The Chicago PD have a meta on their hands that they need help with,” replied the scientist. “The responding officer called him Death Mask… Oracle’s managed to get a surveillance drone over there and captured this just as an officer went down…”
He turned to the computer bank and manipulated one of the keyboards. A picture appeared on the monitor showing a man in a tan jacket, a wide-brimmed hat and a glowing-green skull for a face pointing a finger at a stocky man who promptly collapsed on the ground. The image reversed a few frames, then a coloured box highlighted the villain’s hand and then the image zoomed in and then she could make out tiny darts flying from the finger.
“Poison?” she suggested.
He shrugged. “We won’t know until the Cook County Medical Examiner can examine the body, but that’s the theory.”
“So, you want to me to go in because you think my invulnerability will protect me?”
“We can’t force you. The Commissioner is confident that his people can handle him, but the potential loss of life…”
“Say no more,” Karen told firmly. “Have we got any Zeta tubes nearby?”
“STAR Labs doesn’t,” he confirmed. “The closest Tube we have is Detroit and that’s down as part of the refurbishments.”
“Can you bring up a map?”
“Of course.”
Karen glanced over it for a moment. “If I Zeta to The Barn that’ll cut my flight time by two-thirds.”
“That seems reasonable,” agreed the scientist and moved to another console and his fingers ran across the controls for a moment. “Done.”
“Tell them I’m on my way!” said Karen as the tube spun into life.
Recognised, Supergirl B40,” declared the Computer as she ran into it.
As soon she cleared the Tube, she made a trio of signs. “Lor Do Nu!” she declared and shot off into the air, heading towards Chicago at top speed.

****
Chicago.
IL 60614.
09:45 CDT.


“Squad, this is 5221 Mike!” hissed the detective into her radio, as she took shelter behind another parked car, desperately trying to spot the meta that had been taking pot-shots at her for the last half-hour. “10-1, 10-1… 2100 block North Fremont!”
21 Mike, back-up inbound, standby.”
“Times up!” declared a voice from behind her, and she tried to turn around, but her crouch put her off-balance and she fell to the ground, her gun arm trapped underneath her, and she watched helplessly as the skull-faced meta pointed a finger at her.
But before he could kill her, a figure — a slim, tall teenage girl in white and blue exercise gear with a choppy blond bob — blurred into view, blocking his aim.
The villain cursed, but his attack on her saviour was unsuccessful and by the time another unit arrived, he was cuffed and ready for transport.
“Thanks for the save, Supergirl,” said the detective.
The teenager made a face. “It’s all part of the service. But you can call me Kara, Detective…”
“Colvin,” replied the woman. “But you can call me Teresa if you like, Kara.”
“I’d love to,” Karen replied with a grin, but it quickly faltered. “I’m not particularly fond of ‘Supergirl’… that’s what he called me.”
“Then why not change it,” asked Teresa. “After all, your younger cousin changed his recently.”
Karen nodded. “He’s still as boyish looking as ever, that’s his Kryptonian genes. But he didn’t think a married man should be going by ‘Superboy’.”
Teresa agreed that made sense. “What about Superwoman?”
Karen shook her head. “That one’s tied up with time-travellers and alternate realities, some of them… not good. Hard pass.”
Teresa nodded. “That makes sense,” she agreed. “I’ve got nothing else, but I can drop you a line if I have any suggestions?”
“Sure,” Karen agreed. “I’m on the Team Super feeds on 1K Wordsworth and Flitter-International. I’m also at the Hub or the Meta Human Youth Center fairly often so you can contact me there.”

****
London,
W1F 8HW.
July 20th, 08:00 BST.

Given her relatively light schedule as Flying Instructor and Game Referee, it was unusual for her to get any letters from Hogwarts, particularly over the summer break.
So Rolanda Hooch was very surprised when the headmaster's phoenix appeared in her living room with a letter, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing it and having it open before the bird had even disappeared in another flare of magic.

Dear Rolanda,

An urgent matter has come up that I believe that you may be able to help me with. Can you come to Hogwarts and discuss the situation as soon as possible? The Floo is open.

I am most sincerely yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Now wavering between apprehensive and curious, she took a moment to gather some necessities, then threw a handful of Floo Powder into the grate and declared, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

****

Headmaster's Office,

Hogwarts,

Scottish Highlands.

0805 BST.

The headmaster was standing at his bird's perch when she slid out of the fireplace. "Welcome back, Rolanda," he said, and after giving his pet a final caress, he crossed to his desk and slipped into his chair.

"Well, you did say it was urgent, Albus," she reminded him.

"I did," he agreed, and motioned for her to take a seat. "Sherbet lemon?"

"No, thank you."

"As you wish," said Albus, leaning over to help himself. "Are you ready for the next term?"

She nodded, relaxing back into her chair. "I'll be refereeing a few matches overseas for the next few weeks, but I'll be back in time for the Opening Feast."

Albus nodded, "It is one of your overseas trips that I wanted to ask you about. I believe you are in North America this weekend?"

"Yes, I'm refereeing a match between the Poseyville Pukwudgies and the Sweetwater All-Stars at the Death Valley Stadium next Saturday."

"Are you expecting a long match?"

"Not particularly," she replied. "The Pukwudgies are heavily outclassed. We should be done by midnight."

"Would you be willing to make a short detour to Kansas afterwards?"

She blinked. She'd considered a number of scenarios for what the headmaster wanted, but this wasn't one of them. "If it would help, Albus. But can I ask why?"

"Naturally," replied the headmaster brightly.

She raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.

"Minerva has been compiling the letters to be sent to the new students over the next week or so…"

Rolanda nodded, while the deputy covered most of the chore herself as the headmaster had before her, she and a few select staff members had helped out on occasion if the crop of Muggleborns was particularly large… that seemed unlikely in this case though…

"Most of them were ordinary enough… mostly British, one or two Irish ones…"

Rolanda nodded, so far so normal, "But…"

"Halfway through, Minerva noticed an exception."

"For Kansas?" asked Rolanda. "They would be down for Ilvermorny or maybe Guahadahuri if they wanted to stay closer to home, surely?"

"Ordinarily, yes," Albus agreed. "But I believe we have a prior claim on this particular student." He picked up a parchment envelope and tossed it to her.

Decades of Quidditch allowed her to catch it easily. She scanned the envelope:

Hank Lang
82 South Main Street,
Smallville,
Lowell County,
Kansas.

"I don't recognise the name?"
"Neither did I initially," admitted Albus. "And Lang is still unfamiliar. However, after obtaining a list of students that had been sent or were due to be sent letters, I recalled that Hank is often used in as a nickname…"
"For Henry, yes," agreed Rolanda, then realised what he was getting at. "Or Harry."
"Precisely."
It took a moment for it to sink in, but eventually she spoke again. "We've found Harry Potter."
It was a little difficult to tell, but the glint in his eyes suggested that Albus was smiling as he replied. "Yes, I believe we have."


****
The Barn.
Smallville.
KS 67524.
July 25th, 08:00 CDT.


"Recognised, Supergirl B40,” declared the Computer as Karen staggered out of the Zeta Tube.
After collecting herself briefly against the frame of the barn door, she continued her weary way towards the house. But when she arrived at the back door, the kitchen was empty as was the rest of the house. By the time she made it to her room, she was nearly unconscious with pain and exhaustion and she only just managed to change out of her ruined costume and get into bed.

****
11:05 CDT.



The creak of the door as Pa Kent returned from church woke her from her doze.
She sat up in bed and considered her condition, her cuts and bruises weren’t hurting as much as they had been when she got back, but she was still weak as a kitten after her clash with the latest Parasite.
But it was her birthday party today and she had an announcement to make. So, she braced herself and slipped out of bed, then put on her robe and slippers and left her room in search of food and sunshine.

****
1410 CDT.


A good brunch and some sunbathing gave her enough energy for her party, and it was with a far stronger heart than before, she returned to her room and took out her new costume, ready to change into it for the big reveal. Which had ironically — despite weeks of back-and-forth messages between Teresa and herself about that and other subjects — been inspired by one of Liz Lochlin’s articles in the Lake Shore View instead.
But before she could change, she was distracted by the rumble of a powerful car engine approaching. She crossed to the window and was able to concentrate long enough to make out a battered hatchback coming down towards the house from the road.
*M'gann?* she asked. There was no response. *M’gann… M’GANN!!*
*What is it, Kara?* replied the Martian. *I can barely hear you.*
*There’s a white hatchback with Kansas government plates coming down the drive,* Karen replied. *Can you intercept it and find out what they’re after?*
*Will do.*

Back to index


Chapter 2: The Sunflower State

Author's Notes: The Last Daughter of Krypton Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.
Due to features peculiar to this fic that well become evident as it progresses, some technologies and practices are more consistent with real world technologies of the 2010s.
Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on this chapter.



Death Valley Stadium,
CA 92328.
July 24, 20:00 PDT.

The American Quidditch League's portkey dropped her in front of the Players and Staff Entrance to the Stadium. A second or two after her appearance, two swarthy men headed towards her, one — a slim man about four inches taller than her — wore the drab robes and cloak that appeared to be standard for Ministry personnel worldwide, whereas the other — who appeared to be the younger of the two — wore what she guessed was traditional Native civilian clothing and towered over her by a head.
The older of the two men spoke first, “Rolanda Hooch?”
“That’s me,” she confirmed with a grin.
He didn’t return it. “Zachariah Lopez, I’m with the MACUSA Department of International Magical Co-operation. This is my colleague, Sergeant Sebastian Little Wind, he’s with the Kansas Magical Investigation Division. We’d like to talk with you about your enquiry into Lang family if you can spare a moment?”
“Of course,” agreed Rolanda. “What do you need to know?”
“What is the nature of your interest?”
“The boy, Hank, has an invitation to attend Hogwarts,” Rolanda replied. “The headmaster was curious why, so he asked me to look into it. I thought it would be polite to check in with MACUSA and the Kansas authorities before approaching the family in case there was anything that I need to know?”
Lopez had an excellent poker face, so it was hard to tell, but she thought he was surprised and even a little impressed. “I see,” he replied eventually, “MACUSA is not aware of any issues regarding that family specifically, so I am happy for you to proceed.”
“Thank you, Senor Lopez,” Rolanda said, then she turned to the younger man. “And the KMID?”
“We believe that the mother is distantly related to the Potter family,” replied the sergeant. “But recent generations have been No-Majs.”
Rolanda nodded. “That fits with the headmaster’s theory about Hank Lang’s history.”
“I had a feeling it might,” said the sergeant with a slight smile. “However, we do have concerns about the town… Smallville and the surrounding area has a considerable history of odd occurrences, even by our standards, so we would prefer if I escorted you.”
“No problem,” said Rolanda. “Do you like Quidditch?”
“I prefer the Wakarusa Wampuses,” admitted the sergeant.
Senor Lopez?”
No, gracias, senora,” he replied. “I will return to New York and make my report.”
Once he had departed, Rolanda and Little Wind turned back to the stadium and entered.

****
20:45 PDT.


"Hello everyone, in today's semi-final match the heavily-favoured All-Stars take on the Pukwudgies! I’m your announcer, Marcus Garde," declared the announcer. "And I’ve got today’s line-ups for you… Playing in red and blue today for All-Stars today are… Olafsen, Valquez, Westfield, Westfield, Walker, Stoakes aaannnd CONROY!"
The All-Stars' supporters cheered loudly. "And in orange and black, for the Pukwudgies are… Blade, Quinn, Heidler, Oldham, Naga, Wilson aaannnd NEEDLES!"
A smaller crowd wearing orange or waving orange-and-black banners cheered.
“Today’s match-day referee will be Rolanda Hooch of Hogwarts School,” continued Marcus. "She has released the Bludgers... and the Golden Snitch. The Quaffle is in the air... and they're off. The All-Stars immediately take possession, Conroy with the Quaffle, passes it back to Walker, who takes off on a breakaway… Boy, she can really fly – the superior speed of the Nimbus 2000 is really making a difference here – she ducks a Bludger, sent her way by Beater Wilson of the Pukwudgies. Pukwudgies’ Chasers Blade and Quinn are attempting to get her alongside her, but a Bludger from Beater Olafsen of the All-Stars forces them back just in time. That girl has some arm on her."
Rolanda snorted, while she was sure they weren’t related, the announcer strongly reminded her of Lee Jordan, the Hogwarts’ announcer.
"Walker executes an impressive vertical loop to avoid another Bludger, hit her way by Captain Miles Needles... she shoots... Keeper Naga dives to intercept... but Walker takes her first goal for All-Stars and they now lead ten to zero!"
The All-Star’s early lead appeared to infuriate the other team and moments later she spotted two of the Pukwudgies’ Chasers barrelling into the All-Stars Keeper, nearly knocking him off his broom. She blew her whistle, but not before the third Chaser, Heidler, managed to slot the Quaffle in one of the hoops.
"Pukwudgies score, bringing it to ten-ten.”
“Penalty to All-Stars for Stooging,” Rolanda declared, then watched with a certain amount of satisfaction as their captain, Gordon Conroy, easily put it away and then one of his fellow Chaser snagged it as it fell.
“The All-Stars still in possession, Walker with the Quaffle, she passes to Stoakes, who takes aim at the Pukwudgies’ goal. Hey that's a foul! Chaser Stoakes is down…”
“Penalty to the All-Stars for Blatching!” declared Rolanda.
Rather than take it himself, Conroy gave the nod to his female winger, Lyla Walker.
"Excellent Porskoff Play by Walker, and she scores again,” confirmed Garde a few seconds later. “That brings the score to forty-twenty to the All-Stars. The Pukwudgies take possession… but Heidler loses the Quaffle to Walker… she reverse-passes to Stoakes, who puts it through easily. All-Stars now lead by thirty, at fifty-to-twenty and are still in possession. Walker with the Quaffle again. Oh… she drops it as Pukwudgies execute a Dopplebeater Defence against her! Blade snags the Quaffle and flies for the All-Stars’ goal... Heidler, Quinn and Stoakes in pursuit. The Pukwudgies’ Chasers form up in a classic Hawkshead Attacking Formation and zero in on rookie Keeper Jimmy Westfield. Heidler shots and Westfield blocks it. He throws it right into the air, deflecting it off the broomstick off All-Stars’ Seeker, Anne Westfield, and towards Peter Stoakes... who immediately shoot up the field and passes it to fellow Chaser, Lyla Walker, who shoots… and just barely slips it past the Pukwudgies’ Keeper."
That’s a new one… mused Rolanda. I wonder what it’s called?
"The Pukwudgies are in position, Heider on a breakaway up the centre of the field, he shoots... and scores. The Pukwudgies narrow the point's gap to thirty and bring the score to thirty-to-sixty. All-Stars are possession."
"Chaser Blade snatches the Quaffle from Walker, dodges Stoakes… and Conroy…. and scores again, bringing it to forty-to-eighty. The All-Stars are back in possession... Walker with the Quaffle... passes to Conroy... reverse pass to Stoakes... he shoots, and scores! All-Stars now lead ninety-to-forty."
Glancing over the players, she could tell many of them were flagging, so when Conroy signalled for a time-out, she granted it.
Mercifully, the match lasted only a few minutes after that and ended with the All-Stars on two-hundred-and-ten to the Pukwidgies’ forty.

****
La Cáliz Vacío,
Los Angeles.
CA 90012
July 25, 08:40 PDT.




When Rolanda made it down to the dining room for breakfast the next morning, the sergeant was already waiting for her at one of the tables. “I prefer a light breakfast myself,” Little Wind said, indicating the bread and fruit juice in front of him. “But the kitchen can do most things if you’d prefer something else, ma’am.”
Rolanda sat down and helped herself to some juice, then when the waitress came over to their table, she ordered a full American breakfast.
“What?” she asked, when she noticed Little Wind looking at her plate in askance a few minutes later. “I’m over a hundred years old, I don’t exactly have to worry about my girlish figure.”
“Really?” said her temporary partner. “I wouldn’t have put you much over fifty, ma’am.”
“You’re cute,” replied Rolanda as she dug into her breakfast.
“I was thinking about our visit to Smallville, and I think we should wait a few hours.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ll admit it’s a little different in the magical areas — particularly on the reservations — but most of the No-Majs, especially the families attend church on Sunday mornings,” explained the sergeant. “So, there’s probably no-one at home right now.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Rolanda. “When would you suggest?”
“Well, we’re two hours behind Kansas here,” Little Wind explained. “So, I suggest we play tourist here for a few hours and then Apparate back to my station. We can pick up a car there and drive the rest of the way to Smallville.”
“I was planning on Apparating directly there,” said Rolanda. “There’s an enchantment on the letter for that.”
The sergeant shook his head, “Not a good idea, ma’am. We’re not like Britain where you can just show up, folks can be pretty trigger-happy if they’re startled.”
“Very well,” agreed Rolanda. “I bow to your superior local knowledge.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” said Little Wind. “I aim to please.”

****
Lowell County,
KS 67524.
14
:05 CDT.

A slightly smoky smell greeted her as she drifted into conscious. “What’s the smell?”
The sergeant sniffed and pondered for a moment. “Grass fire probably,” he replied. “We get them fairly often. This one’s probably been put out. We’re almost there, by the way.”
Rolanda looked up and saw a blue sign on the left side of the road with a pair of sweetcorn ears on it with the legend “Welcome to Smallville, Kansas. The Creamed Corn Capital of the World! Population 45,000.
“Only a couple of minutes now, ma’am,” Little Wind told her as they passed the town’s park. A moment later he turned the car to the left, heading back towards the farmland. “What’s the house number, ma’am?”
Rolanda fished into her bag and drew out the envelope, “82 South Main Street.”
Little Wind nodded and drove for about a minute, passing through several junctions, before slowing their car and parked it outside a low wooden house set well back from the road. “We’re here.”
The pair got out of their vehicle and walked up to the door, Little Wind knocked on it.
At first there was no response, so he tried again without any success.
However, a third attempt brought a middle-aged man in black trousers and a crumpled blue shirt with a metal badge on it to the door. “What?!” he demanded, groggily. “Can’t a man get some sleep around here!”
Rolanda resisted the temptation to comment on that and focused on their purpose. “We’re looking for Hank Lang and his legal guardian? Is that you, sir?”
“Nope,” slurred the man. “That’s my wife’s business. She and the boy are out at the Kent farm today.”
“Do you know the address, sir?” asked Rolanda.
“Three-twenty-one Hickory,” supplied the man. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to bed!”
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped back and slammed the door in their faces.
“Pleasant man,” noted Rolanda drily, as they returned to their car. “Did he seem drunk to you?”
Little Wind shook his head. “I wondered that… but that’s a firefighter’s uniform he’s wearing. If he was fighting the grass fires, he could have been on the go flat out for days.”
Hooch nodded, a little relieved.
They got into their car and Little Wind pulled up the directions to Hickory Lane on the car’s navigation system, then they set off.

****
14:11 CDT

They were drifting to a stop just inside the open gates of the property when a young woman — a tall redhead that looked around nineteen but had the confidence of someone slightly older — walked up to them. “Megan Morse, can I help you?”
“I hope so, Miss Morse,” replied the sergeant. “We’re looking for Lana Lang, we’d like to talk to her about her son Hank’s education?”
“Really?” replied Megan, then paused as if considering something. “Well, she’s in the kitchen helping Pa get ready for the party.”
“What party?” asked Rolanda, wondering if they’d made a mistake coming that day.
“You didn’t,” Megan assured her confidently.
“Didn’t what?”
“Make a mistake,” replied Megan as she opened the front door and lead them through the house towards the kitchen. “We’ve got plenty of secrets of our own, yours aren’t going to be a problem.”
For some reason, the explanation didn’t make her feel any better.
As they wandered through the house, Rolanda glanced over the photos on display, which showed a huge variety of different faces which she was easily able to separate into three generations: the oldest featured a married couple, who were later joined by a tall, dark-haired boy with startlingly blue eyes, sometimes accompanied by a blond-haired boy, a red-headed girl or both in his teens, a brunette wife at some point in his twenties. Comparatively recent photos added a timeline of shots of a black-haired, green-eyed boy that she assumed was her ‘target’; a teenage boy who could — other than age — have been a twin of the older one; Megan Morse; a truly enormous wolf; a green-skinned pre-teen and later teen boy; another baby boy with the two brunette boys’ blue eyes, and finally a tall, auburn-haired girl whose round glasses hid similar startingly blue eyes to most of the males.
“Uh, Miss Morse?”
“Yes?”
“The green-skinned boy…” Rolanda said, then trailed off, not sure what to ask. “One of your secrets?”
Megan shook her head. “That’s Garfield Logan, my adopted brother. We don’t make a big fuss about it, but it’s not secret. He had a medical incident a few years back and ended up looking like that and gained a couple of special abilities.”
This was an explanation, but it was equivocal enough that her feeling of unease still remained. The feeling wasn’t improved when the first person that she encountered as she entered the kitchen was a tall, regal-looking, red-headed woman in her mid-thirties, who positively exuded power second only to the headmaster, who was sitting at the scrubbed pine worktable in the middle of the room.
Rolanda swallowed and looking up a little at the woman and tried hard to keep the nervousness from her features. “Lana Lang?”
“No,” she replied. “I am Mera Orinaina, Hank’s mentor.”
Then she motioned towards the other red-head in the room — a slightly older woman of perhaps forty-five years, and a little taller and heavier than she, but not unusually so, who wore jeans, a check-shirt and an apron — who was standing beside the older man from the photos in the hall at the large range that dominated one wall of the kitchen.
“My name is Rolanda Hooch, Mrs Lang,” said Rolanda. “And this is Sergeant Little Wind…”
“Have a seat, Miss Hooch,” said Mrs Lang as she moved into the middle of the room and took one herself. “And it’s Mrs Lang-Cushing, Ms Lang or you can just call me Lana. What can we help you with?”
“Madam Hooch, please, Mrs Lang-Cushing,” Rolanda clarified. “The sergeant is here as my escort. I’m not particularly familiar with the area and it apparently has something of a reputation?”
The locals — including Megan Morse, who’d gone around the table and taken a seat opposite Rolanda’s own — exchanged significant glances at this comment but said nothing.
“Before I can answer that…” continued Rolanda. “I have a couple of questions of my own if you don’t mind?”
“Okay,” agreed Mrs Lang-Cushing, comfortably. “Go ahead.”
“First of all,” said Rolanda. “We believe your son, Hank, was born under a different name and if you can confirm this, my headmaster and potentially the Ministry would like to know how he got here. And secondly, do you believe in magic?”
Mrs Lang-Cushing smiled. “Well, I’d be a fool not to believe in magic considering that my son, one of his best friends, his friend’s mother…” At this she nodded to the regal-looking woman. “… several of his babysitters and friends of my childhood best friend Clark all have magical powers.”
Rolanda considered this, nodded, and relaxed a little. “And your son?”
Mrs Lang-Cushing nodded. “I assume you think that he’s Harry Potter?”
Roland nodded. “Is he? How did he get here?”
“He is,” confirmed Mrs Lang-Cushing. “I was in London for a conference on advanced technologies in October of eighty-one, when I was approached by one of Clark’s friends Dinah Lance and a Surrey police detective who told me that another of Clark’s friends, Giovanni Zatara…” she broke off as Little Wind made an odd noise. “Is there a problem, Sergeant?”
“Not a problem, as such, ma’am…” he replied, then turned to Rolanda. “Zatara is known to us… he’s a formidable talent, rumoured to be even more powerful than your headmaster. In my opinion we can trust his findings and I believe that the government would agree.”
“What can you tell about the school you represent, Madam Hooch?” asked Mera Orinaina. “I would have preferred to teach Harry alongside my son and my other students… but his talent for elemental magic is limited… so I am willing to support him going elsewhere.”
Rolanda bristled a little at the suggestion that Hogwarts should be anyone’s second choice, but she’d learned enough diplomacy not to voice her concerns — though she got an odd look from Miss Morse that reminded her a little of the ones that preceded some of the headmaster’s uncanny declarations — and chose to answer the question in good faith.
When she finished, the three women had a range of expressions, Miss Morse was relatively indifferent; Mera Orinaina was pensive; Mrs Lang-Cushing conflicted, but at the same time a little resigned. “I’m not entirely convinced,” declared the latter. “But if Hank wants to go… I’ll support him.”
Again, Rolanda was tempted to argue, while the potential involvement of MACUSA complicated things — she wasn’t sure what their rules on the subject were — as far as she and the Ministry were concerned, muggle parents didn’t have the right to prevent their magical children from attending and adoptive parents even less so.
At that moment, the back door creaked open and two teenagers walked in, both smiling and curious and dressed for a summer party. The boy, unmistakably a Potter, was a couple of inches shorter than she was, with the scruffy, black hair, lean build and knobbly knees of that family and his birth mother’s startlingly green eyes; while the girl, who stood a head taller even barefoot, had a voluminous curtain of chestnut hair, bright blue eyes and wore similar round glasses to Harry.
“You’ve got an adventure for me, Megan?” he asked eagerly.
The youngest of the three redheads smiled slightly. “Madam Hooch wonders if you’d be interested in attending the school she works at in Britain. They specialise in teaching magic, and she thinks that it will be more your thing than Mera’s classes.”
“That sounds like fun!” declared the boy, then his mood dipped a little and he glanced at the older girl beside him.
She appeared to immediately understand his thoughts and offered him a reassuring smile and nod.
Harry turned back to her and beamed. “How do I sign up?”

****
Atlantean Embassy,
Plymouth PL4.
July 31st 04:30 BST

"Rise and shine, Hank," said Karen as she shook him firmly on the shoulder, her curtain of curly dark brown hair framing her face as she bent over.
"What time is it?" murmured Harry.
"Four-thirty," Karen replied.
"Four-thirty!" exclaimed Harry and sat up abruptly. "Why are we…?" Then he paused. "I remember now."
"You've got fifteen minutes to get dressed," Karen told him. "We'll be waiting in the car."
Harry paused for a moment until she was out of even her hearing unless she was paying attention. "Kryptonians…" he muttered darkly, as he scrambled for his clothing. "Far too energetic this early in the morning."


****
London WC2,
09:55 BST.


The air was still a little cool, but not unbearably so, when they exited the Tatra 613 — on loan with a driver from the Vlatavan Embassy — in a garage behind Charing Cross Road. Neither Mera nor Karen seemed to be bothered by it at all, but Harry huddled into his jacket and jammed his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. Smallville got a lot cooler than this in winter but this was July!
It took a little backtracking, but Karen eventually spotted their destination and headed over to it. The Leaky Cauldron, a tiny, grubby-looking pub, was sandwiched between a big bookshop and a music store that was thoroughly ignored by the patrons of the surrounding businesses.
Karen opened the door for them, and they went in, Mera in the lead with Harry behind her and Karen bringing up the rear.
Harry glanced immediately glanced around the dark and shabby interior, trying to pick out Madam Hooch… but while he was able to note a group of old women — one of them was smoking a long pipe — sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry; a pale young man in dark robes; a little man in a top hat; and the old barman — who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut — before the silence distracted him… she wasn't in sight.
"Can I help?" asked the barman. Then he paused to consider something. "Good Lord. is this… can this be…?" He paused again.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Mera shifting her weight, he guessed that she was a little anxious.
"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter... what an honour." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry, dodged around Mera, and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."
Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out.
Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."
"Always wanted to shake your hand… I'm all of a flutter."
"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."
This went on for ten or fifteen minutes and if hadn't been for the arrival of a massive, but relatively amiable man that claimed 'Hogwarts business' in a booming voice, then Harry rather suspected that one of his companions — probably Karen — might have done something rash to get them out of it.
"Thanks for the save," said Karen, between breaths to steady herself. She stepped up to the large man and glanced him over. "You said something about Hogwarts… do you know where we can find Madam Hooch?"
The giant chuckled. "Knew I fergot summat. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Key an' Grounds." He held out an enormous hand and shook her whole arm, and then promptly repeated the process with Harry. He paused in front of Mera, apparently considering doing the same, but changed his mind and grasped her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it. "Hooch is busy with a family emergency. As I was comin' down to run an' errand fer him anyway, Professor Dumbledore asked me to step in."
"Lead the way then, Mr Hagrid," said Mera, after she reclaimed her hand.
"Call me Hagrid, ma'am, everyone does," replied the giant. "Where's me umbrella?"
He started counting bricks and after a moment he told them to stand back and tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.
The brick he had touched quivered… it wriggled… and then in the middle, a small hole appeared… it grew wider and wider… a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
Hagrid paused for a moment for effect, and then spoke, "Welcome… t' Diagon Alley."

Back to index


Chapter 3: Diagon Alley

Author's Notes: The Last Daughter of Krypton Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and at least one character from the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.

Due to features peculiar to this fic that well become evident as it progresses, some technologies and practices are more consistent with real world technologies of the 2010s.

From this chapter onwards, some of the content is adapted from both the book and movie versions of
Philosopher’s Stone.

Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on this chapter.


London WC2,
July 31, 10:10 BST.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop:

Cauldrons -- All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring — Collapsible

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid. "But we gotta get yer money first."
Despite his previous adventures with the ‘play-date group’ and others, Harry was pretty impressed. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...."
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Further down the street, several kids — mostly boys but also a couple of girls if he was any judge — of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it.
"Look," Harry heard one of them say. "It’s just come out… start-of-the-art prototype… fastest broom in the world.”
“Individually selected birch twigs,” added another. “Honed to aerodynamic perfection… unsurpassable balance, pinpoint precision…”
“A hundred-and-fifty miles an hour in ten seconds with an Unbreakable Breaking Charm,” said a third.
“Price on request though,” mused the first. “Is it really worth it?”
"The Irish International Side's Just put in an order for seven of these beauties!" the proprietor of the shop told the crowd. "And they're favourites for the World Cup!"
Harry and his group moving on with Hagrid in the lead, parting the crowd like an icebreaker.
There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....
Eventually, they reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops, emblazoned with the legend Gringotts’ Wizarding Bank over its burnished bronze doors. Standing beside them was a tiny, swarthy-faced man with a pointed beard and long fingers and feet wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold…
"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So, if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.
A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these.
The group made for the counter, Hagrid still in the lead. "Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's vault."
"You have his key, sir?"
"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.
"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.
The goblin looked at it closely. “I see… Ragnok has left instructions that he wishes to speak to anyone requesting access to that vault personally.”
"An' I've also got a letter here from Perfessor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."
The goblin read the letter carefully.
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you to Ragnok and then down to the vaults. Griphook!"
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and Harry followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.
"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.
"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts’ business. Dumbledore's trustin’ me. More 'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."
Griphook held the door open for them and ushered the group into another marble corridor lined with office doors. Once they were through the door, Griphook closed it, then trotted forward until he was at the head of the group and lead them down the corridor to the final door which had the name ‘Ragnok’ etched on the glass.
He knocked on the door frame and received a “come in” from inside.
Griphook opened the door slightly so that the elderly goblin inside was visible. “A young wizard and his escort are requesting access to the Potter Vault. You wanted to see them?"
“Send them in,” said Ragnok. “You and the groundskeeper can stay outside.”
Hagrid didn’t seem entirely keen on this suggestion, but after a moment he shuffled aside so that Harry, Karen and Mera could enter the room, and handed the key over to Mera as she passed.
“Please be seated,” offered Ragnok. He glanced at Harry. “Mr Potter, I presume?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Harry replied. “I’ve been going under another name for the last ten years.”
“That would explain one or two points,” mused the goblin. “And your companions?”
“My mentor, Mera Orinaina… she’s standing in place of my adoptive parents who are busy back home…”
“Mera, wife of Orin…” translated the goblin, a slight tremor in his voice. “Headmistress of the Odeío tis Mageías?”
“I am.”
When the silence stretched beyond a few seconds, Harry indicated his second companion, “And this is Karen Kent, an honorary cousin.”
The goblin nodded. “I asked to see you because in the last ten years there have been several attempts by various parties to seize the Potter Vault and have its contents redistributed to ‘worthy causes’. Fortunately, Fleamont Potter left sufficiently clear instructions that I have been able to ensure that these attempts have been thwarted so far. However, as a result — particularly as you didn’t have the key in your possession — I require certain bonafides before I can allow you to access the vault.”
“Who has…?”
“A variety of different players for what I believe to be nearly as many reasons,” Ragnok replied. “There is no need to be concerned… such intrigue has been… more common than Gringotts is comfortable with in recent years.”
“What do you need me to do?” asked Harry.
“Is it dangerous to him?” asked Karen, her tone indicating that for everyone’s sake, the answer had better be ‘no’.
“Nothing to be concerned about,” Ragnok assured them. “I just need him to write a short declaration on some special parchment… A sharp scratch is normal, but it heals immediately.”
Harry glanced over at Mera, she paused to consider it, but then nodded.
“Please write ‘My name is Harry James Potter, son of James Potter’,” requested Ragnok.
Harry obeyed the instruction, picking up the handsome scarlet quill and scratched out the desired missive, noting with interest that the red ink quickly filled out into a family tree.
“Excellent,” said Ragnok. “Griphook!”
The other goblin eased open the door and poked his head in. “Yes, sir?”
“You may take Mr Potter and his party down to vault six-hundred and eighty-seven.”
“Immediately,” agreed the younger goblin. “Follow me, please.”
As they rose to their feet, Ragnok picked up a folder stuffed with parchment and handed it over to Harry. “These are copies of your bank records, if you have any further questions, send me an owl.”
Griphook led them back to the main hall, then down into another passageway — this time a narrow stone one lit with flaming torches with a series of railway tracks set into the floor.
Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in — Hagrid with some difficulty — and were off.
At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.
Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late… they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.
Harry enjoyed the ride and from what he could tell, Karen did too. Mera on the other hand exuded an air of casual indifference, while Hagrid clearly had not enjoyed the trip as he looked very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.
Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped at the sight. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze ones.
"All yours," smiled Hagrid.
“Impressive,” allowed Mera.
"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained as Karen joined Harry inside the vault and helped him pile some of it into a bag. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"
"One speed only," said Griphook.
They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Karen pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. “You’re not missing much,” she assured him as he scowled at her.
Vault seven-hundred-and-thirteen had no keyhole.
"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.
Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least… but at first, he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was but knew better than to ask.
"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

****

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.
"Might as well get yer uniform next," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."
He did still look a bit sick, so Harry nodded agreement and followed Mera into the robe shop, with Karen bringing up the rear.
Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch who was dressed all in mauve. “How can I help, ma’am?” she asked in brisk, no-nonsense tone.
“One for Hogwarts, please,” Mera replied, ushering Harry forward.
“Very good, ma’am,” said Madam Malkin with a nod. “We’ve got the lot here… there’s another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." She signalled for one of her assistants — wearing a name tag of ‘Raine Goldfinch’ who towed Harry over to a stool next to a boy with a pale, pointed face.
Harry heard Madam Malkin asked Mera if she or Kara wanted anything but missed their response as the blond boy spoke up.
"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.
“No," said Harry.
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No," Harry said again, but inwardly made a mental note to ask Madam Hooch about the possibilities.
"I do,” said the blond boy, smugly. “Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree… Do you know what house you'll be in yet?" asked the boy.
"No…” Harry replied, feeling more stupid by the minute. “But from what I’ve heard, no-one really does until they get there… Do they?”
"Not for sure,” agreed the blonde boy. “But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been… imagine being in Hufflepuff… I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
I think that would be a bit of an extreme reaction, thought Harry, but politely said nothing.
The blonde boy looked like he wanted to say more, but the assistant had finished with him, so she prodded him off the stool and back towards the front of the shop.
Raine didn’t take long to finish up his own measurements, so they were back out on the street about ten minutes later, where Hagrid — carrying a handful of ice-creams — met them with a smile.
“What were you and that boy talking about?” Karen asked him as they walked up the street, eating their ice-creams.
“Quidditch and the school houses,” Harry replied. “He thinks it would be a ‘crime’ if he’s not picked for his house team.”
Karen snorted. “Arrogant, much?”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “He also said that he ‘knows’ he’ll be in Slytherin.”
“Stay away from tha’ one,” said Hagrid. “After t’ war, anyone who wants ter be in Slytherin is a bad un. You-Know-Who was one.”
"Vol… sorry… You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"
"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.
They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all.
Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients, Harry and Karen examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop) and many more.
Outside the apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again. "Just yer wand left… and yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. You should get an owl, all the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing.
Harry glanced at Karen… she was frowning.
“What’s up?”
“I can’t remember the details, but Clark did an article about illegal pets a while ago, and I’m not sure if snowy owls are allowed.”
“Really? Why didn’t you…”
“I’m sure any problems can be resolved,” stated Mera in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Just Ollivanders’ left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand," said Hagrid.
A magic wand... Harry knew that it wasn’t the only way to do magic… but even so, this was what he’d really been looking forward to.
The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid beckoned Mera into to wait.
Harry felt strangely as though he had entered an extremely strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped, and for a moment he sensed the fizzing sensation of Karen pulling up her magic, but then it faded.
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.
"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon… Harry Potter."
It wasn't a question.
"You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.
"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it… it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where..."
Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wand, very powerful… and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...."
He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted the rest of the group.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy… wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"Good wand, that one,” said Mr Ollivander, but then suddenly became stern. “But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?"
"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet, then added brightly. "I've still got the pieces, though."
"But you don't use them?" said Mr Ollivander sharply.
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.
"Hmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. Then he turned his attention to Mera and Karen. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure, ma’am… I would certainly remember someone with your…” he paused, then apparently reconsidering his word-choice, he added. “Presence.”
“I practise the techniques of the Odeío for the most part,” Mera replied. “I do not require a wand.”
“Indeed not,” agreed Ollivander, then turned towards Karen. “And you, my dear?”
“I prefer sigilomancy,” Karen told him. “My family has their own personal take on it.”
“Sigilomancy… interesting,” mused Ollivander. “But you are not here to indulge my personal curiosity, so let us see what we can do for young Mr Potter.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"
"Er… well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.
"Hold out your arm. That's it."
He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."
Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, causing most of the boxes to come flying out of the shelves and come crashing down. Harry jumped and hurriedly puts the wand back on the counter.
“Apparently not,” said Ollivander, dryly, then returns to his stacks. After a moment he produced another wand. “Perhaps this… ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Try…"
Harry waved at a vase, which shatters, startling Harry.
“No, no, definitely not!” insisted Ollivander. “No matter... Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere… I wonder, now… yes, why not… unusual combination…” After searching his selection, he selected a third wand, but stopped and became thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder…” Coming to a decision, he hands the wand to Harry. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
As soon as his fingers closed around the handle, Harry felt a sudden warmth in them, he raised the wand above his head and it suddenly began to glow under it, a mysterious draft blowing his hair up and causing several sheets of paperwork in the background to float around the room.
Ollivander’s expression shifted to one of surprise and he lapsed deep into thought. “Curious, very curious…”
"Sorry," said Harry. "But what's curious?"
Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather… just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother… gave you that scar."
Harry swallowed. Glancing at his companions, he got the idea that they weren’t too thrilled at the information either.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things… terrible, yes, but great."
Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
The sun was at its height as the group wound their way back down Diagon Alley and back through the wall, into the Leaky Cauldron, now well into the lunch trade.
Initially, Mera had wanted to head back to the Embassy straight away, but once she realised that the pub’s patrons were content to ignore them this time she agreed to a late lunch, which Tom quickly provided.
A few minutes later, Harry paused in the middle of eating his soup. “Hagrid?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Madam Hooch hinted at some sort of story behind how I became an orphan when she came to Smallville last week, and Mera and Karen have both done some digging, but…” He paused again. “But you know the whole story, Hagrid? You know why I’m famous!”
“I'm not exactly sure I'm the right person to tell you tha’, Harry,” replied Hagrid. “And truth be told, I’m not sure anyone knows the whole story, even Dumbledore… But yeh can’ go to Hogwarts withou’ knowin’ the story…” He paused to take a fortifying swallow of his mead. “First, an’ understand this, Harry, 'cause it's important… Not all wizards are good. Some of them go bad.”
Harry nodded here, while his personal experience of such people was limited, he’d heard plenty of stories from his ‘babysitters’ over the years.
“A few years ago, there was one wizard who went as bad as you can go. And his name was V... his name was V...”
“Voldemort?” offered Karen. “Constantine was able to tell us that much.”
“That’s the one,” agreed Hagrid, with evident relief. “It was dark times, Harry… dark times. You-Know-Who’d gathered some followers — Death Eaters he called them — and brought 'em over to the dark side. Anyone that stood up to ‘im ended up dead. Your parents fought against ‘im, but nobody lived once ‘e decided to kill 'em.” Here, he paused again for effect. “Nobody... not one. ‘Cept you.”
“Me?” repeated Harry, puzzled. “Voldemort tried to kill... me?”
“Aye,” agreed Hagrid. “There’s a lotta mystery ‘bout the details even now… but that ain't no ordinary cut on your forehead, Harry. A mark like that only comes from being touched by a curse...and an evil curse at that.”
“I assume from your description of the attack you are referring to the Killing Curse?” asked Mera.
Hagrid nodded.
Mera turned to Harry. “I think we need to investigate your scar more thoroughly than we have…”
Harry nodded, then turned back to Hagrid. “What happened to...to Voldemort?”
“Well, some say ‘e died…” replied Hagrid. “Codswallop in my opinion. Nope, I reckon he's out there, still… too tired to go on. But one thing's absolutely certain. Something about you stumped him that night. That's why you're famous. That's why everybody knows your name. You're the Boy Who Lived.”

Back to index


Chapter 4: Dogs of War

Author's Notes: The Last Daughter of Krypton Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and at least one character from the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.

Due to features peculiar to this fic that well become evident as it progresses, some technologies and practices are more consistent with real world technologies of the 2010s.

From this chapter onwards, some of the content is adapted from both the book and movie versions of
Philosopher’s Stone.

Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on this chapter.



Smallville,
KS 67524.
August 15th, 1210 CDT.
Team Year Eleven.

Karen was escorting Pa Kent down the stairs of the church and out to the farm truck when a familiar voice caught her attention. “Karen!”
Karen broke into a smile, stepped away from Pa and folded the boy in a hug once he got within arms’ reach. “Hi, Hank. Good to see you.”
“I missed you yesterday,” Harry said. “Were you out with the Outsiders?”
Karen nodded against the top of his head. “If you’re coming to the farm for lunch, I’ll tell you about it later?”
Harry smiled, then broke away at his foster mother’s call, hurried over to their sedan and got in.
“I reckon you’re gonna miss that boy come September,” observed Jonathan as they made their way to his own truck.
“And you aren’t, Pa?” countered Karen as she opened the passenger door and helped him inside.
“That’s true,” Jonathan agreed. “I’m gonna miss the kid too. Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I think so,” said Karen, as she slipped into the driver’s seat. “Hagrid and Hooch are both there if he needs someone to go to for advice… and it’s not like it’s the first time he’s been away from family.”
Jonathan chuckled, “Yeah, and look how those usually turn out.”
“To be fair, that’s usually not the kids’ fault, Pa,” pointed out Karen. “And if it is… Mike or Anissa are as likely to be responsible as he is.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Yeah,” Karen agreed after a moment’s thought. “Maybe not.”

****
Kent Farm,
Smallville, Kansas.
1520 CDT.

“So are you going to tell me now?” asked Harry as he and Karen settled in at one of her favourite sunbathing spots with drinks and plates of peach cobbler. “Please?”
Karen grinned. “I was helping Pa get dinner ready on Friday when I got a call from the Bunker asking me to come in for a mission briefing…”

****
The Bunker,
Detroit,
August 13, 1830 EDT.
Team Year Eleven.

Recognised Sunstone B40,” declared the Computer as I exited the Zeta Tube into the Outsiders’ Midwest site.
The base’s ‘caretaker’, STAR Labs scientist Dr Paula Holt — sometimes known as Miss Terrific for her "a natural aptitude for having natural aptitudes" — was waiting for my, as were local heroes Victor Stone, Cindy Reynolds and Cisco Ramone and the Los Angeles-based hero Tara Markov.
I crossed the meeting area to stand between Cindy and Tara. “Hi girls.”
“Hi Kara,” replied Cindy.
“Hi,” offered Tara.
“Do you know what’s up?”
Cindy shook her head. “I think we’re waiting for some information from Oracle.”
Tara nodded. “Paula’s not talking, I think she’s waiting for the others to turn up too.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. “Do we know who’s coming?”
“I’m not sure,” admitted the Romani girl.
Tara shrugged.
Recognised Green Arrow B50,” declared the Computer as another hero arrived.
Connor had just settled in next to the Detroiters when the Zeta Tube spun up again and the Computer announced. “
Recognised Shifter B48, Downpour B49.
Once the two albinos were settled in, Paula called them to attention. “Thank you for coming… Two days ago, Overwatch was contacted by King Faraday of Interpol for assistance in a repatriation of one of his agents back into the United States. I forwarded the request to us.”
“Don’t Interpol have their own people for that?” asked Connor.
Paula didn’t answer immediately, presumably the answer was complicated. “They do, Connor. But Faraday was concerned that the agent’s target might have compromised those systems…”
Given that we’re here, that probably a good guess… I thought.
“Artemis and the Team were dispatched to Freeland to provide over-watch,” continued Paula. “Unfortunately, it appears Faraday’s concerns were justified, and the agent was shot dead by an assassin.”
“Was it the League?” asked Tara.
“We’re not sure,” admitted Paula. “He wasn’t in costume, and he died while trying to escape. I’m expecting an update from Artemis any time now.”
As if on cue, the monitor bank beeped a signal and flared into life, projecting the image of the Team’s leader, Artemis Crock, also known as Tigress.
“Tigress, good to see you,” said Paula, a greeting that was echoed by the rest . “Do you have any news for us?”
Not as much as I would like,” replied Artemis. “We’ve located some of the papers that Agent Trench was bringing back to the US. Arsenal is copying them to Oracle right now, but it looks like he was trailing word of a new player, going by either Ydra or the Oi Polloí Epikefalís tou Enklímatos.”
“That sounds Greek?”
I thought so too, Sunstone,” agreed Artemis. “But I don’t speak it. I’m sure Oracle will be able to confirm.
At that moment, the monitor bank beeped a second signal and the picture split into two halves, revealing Oracle on the other half.
“Oracle, good to see you,” said Paula. “Have you found anything?”
Well, Tigress was right about the group’s name,” replied the redhead. “It is Greek, it translates roughly to ‘the many heads of crime’ which I assume is a reference to…
“The Hydra of Greek Mythology,” I finished.
That’s right, Sunstone,” agreed Oracle. “I’ve also managed to decode several locations that should be investigated.”
I’d like to stay in Freeland and continue the investigation from this end,” said Artemis. “How many locations do we have?”
Five,” replied Oracle. “There are three confirmed Ydra locations in Europe and two locations in Asia which I want to look into.
Artemis paused, she appeared to be scanning the line-up at our end. “
Let’s split up into another two squads to spread the load out.
For the Asian sites, I suggest that Cyborg, Green Arrow, Nomad and Vibe form Delta Squad,” Oracle offered. “They’re better suited to transporting themselves if needed.”
Agreed,” said Artemis. “Cyborg, you have Delta.
“You got it,” said Victor and lead his squad towards the Zeta Tube, which began to spin up at their approach.
Recognised Cyborg B35, Vibe B43, Nomad B47, Green Arrow B50,” declared the Computer as one by one they disappeared in a flash of light.
After a moment, Artemis spoke again, “
Terra, you’ve got Eta Squad.”
“Are you sure I’m ready, Tigress?” asked Tara.
You were born ready, Terra,” the veteran archer assured her. “Your training over the last two years has only made you better. It’s time.
“All right, I’ll do it,” agreed the Markovian exile, then she turned back to me and the twins. “Let’s go.”
We agreed and followed her into the Zeta Tube, disappearing seconds later in a series of blue-white flashes.

****
Europol Headquarters,
The Hague.
August 14, 0100 CEST.

Due to the late hour, there was only a skeleton staff on site when we arrived. A uniformed Hoofdagent showed us into the bureau chief’s office.
“Have a seat, everyone,” said the chief, a stern-faced elderly man, motioning us into comfortable seats behind his desk — probably made of native Scot’s pine — and waiting for a moment for us to do so. “My name is Hans Haasen, I am the Bureau Chief for the Netherlands.”
“Terra, Outsiders,” confirmed Tara, then turned to back to us. “I also have Downpour, Shifter and Sunstone.”
Groeten, Outsiders,” replied Chief Haasen. “We are of course glad to have you.”
“Oracle said you have a lead for us?” asked Tara.
Ja,” confirmed Haasen. “It was found on a man caught in a robbery at a diamond exchange last night.”
“Is it reliable?”
“What is the American expression… ‘trust but verify’?” asked Haasen, picked up a small scrap of paper and reaching over to hand it to Tara.
“Interesting timing…” I mused.
“I did wonder about that,” admitted Haasen. “But Faraday believes that we may be a tight timescale, so…”
“We will be careful,” promised Tara. “Chief, have you had any thoughts about the ‘X’ as a clue for the location?”
“I did,” he replied. “I believe that it refers to a windmill… the sails often a form that shape.”
“That makes sense…” agreed Tara. “But the only General Sherman I’ve ever heard of was American…”
“That also confused me,” confirmed Haasen. “Perhaps it’s a riddle?”
A riddle… that would make sense… I thought, out of the corner of my eye I saw the twins exchange looks. “Have you got an idea…?”
“Half a thing, maybe,” replied Zan. “We think we’ve read about a really big tree named after the general… but we can’t remember what sort of tree it was…”
“Maybe Oracle can find out,” said Tara. “Oracle, do you copy?”
Go ahead, Terra.
“Can you do a records search for trees named an American general called Sherman?” Tara asked. “We think it might be a clue to the Dutch
Ydra hideout.”
On it,” declared Oracle. After about a minute, she came back on the line. “Found it. ’The General Sherman’ is a sequoia — or giant redwood — found in the Sequoia National Park in Tulare County, California.
Tara paused for moment, then turned back to Haasen. “Have you got a ‘Redwood Mill’ anywhere near here?”
“I’ve never heard of one,” admitted Haasen. “Perhaps my assistant can find out?”

****
Leidschendam,
0130 CEST

Predictably, the windmill was easy enough to spot from a good distance away due to its position at the top of a grassy hill. We hid our bikes and approached as quietly as possible.
The moon-less night both helped and hindered us, and I spotted a potential problem before it became one. I hand-signalled to the rest of the group to stop.
“What is it, Kara?” asked Tara.
“We’ve got the right spot,” I told her.. “But there’s a lookout on the balcony.”
“I see him now,” confirmed Jayna. “He’s going to spot us if we get much closer.”
“We could try going around?” suggested Zan.
I glanced at Tara, she didn’t look like a fan of that idea. “There could easily be a lookout on that side too,” the Markovian exile pointed out. “Jayna, can you transform into an owl? Fly up close and then get the drop on him?”
“I think so.”
“Kara, can you get up there fast to back her up?”
“Easily.”
“Zan and I will wait until you’ve neutralised the lookout and then attack from below.”
“On my way,” confirmed the albino shapeshifter and set off at a run parallel the windmill, transforming into a snowy owl mid-stride and then flew upwards and arced towards the windmill, wheeling around one of the vanes and once he was in line with the lookout, he transformed back and landed feet first on the man’s back, knocking him forward onto the walkway with a grunt that was loud to my keen senses but hopefully not to anyone inside.
“Kara, you’re up,” said Tara. “Give us a couple of minutes to get into position then hit them from above.”
I nodded, then sketched out three hand-signs, and I declared, “
Lor Ul Do!” The sigil materialised, then I was drawn upwards and drifted towards the windmill.
A few seconds later, I reached the balcony level and saw that Jayna was already applying flex-cuffs to the unconscious lookout. I was about to congratulate her when I heard a clatter of footsteps on the stairwell and by the time I landed and dismissed my sigil, a trio of reinforcements burst out of the open doorway and pointed guns at us. I quickly sketched another pair of hand-signs and then raised my arms to shoulder height, declaring “
Ur Do!” My outstretched armed funnelled a blast of air at the gang, knocking them over like ten-pins. “Terra, you need to breach now!”
“Breaching!” confirmed Terra from below and seconds later I heard the thud of rocks hitting the front door of the windmill, smashing it inwards.

****
Europol Headquarters,
The Hague.

August 14, 0630 CEST.

Chief Haasen was still in his office when we returned. “Welcome back,” he said as we helped ourselves to some of the bread and cheese, cold cuts and hot drinks that he’d had laid on for us, then we took our seats. “Trusted forensics officers are still going over the site, but we’ve found several caches of stolen goods including diamonds. We’ll be able to put them away for a long time.”
“Excellent,” said Tara. “Oracle, we’re finished here. What next?”
Good timing, Terra,” said Oracle. “Delta Squad just reported in from Singapore, a senior figure within Ydra — possibly even one of the ‘heads’ themselves — is believed to be staying at a guesthouse in Athens. Tigress wants you head there and pick him up.
“Do we have time to finish breakfast?” asked Tara.
As long as you’re quick,” confirmed Oracle.
“We will be,” Terra assured her.
I’m forwarding further identifying information to your HUDs,” said Oracle. “I’d like you to leave for Greece within half-an-hour.

****
Kent Farm,
Smallville, Kansas.
1520 CDT.

“Wow,” said Harry. “They were totally screwed, weren’t they?”
“Yep,” Karen agreed with a grin. “And not for the last time. It continued when we travelled to Athens…”

****
Vlatavan Embassy,
North Athens.
August 14, 0805 EEST.


After borrowing civilian clothing from the embassy, we set off on our bikes for the Antisthenes Guesthouse, arriving outside about five minutes later.
“According to Interpol’s information, the target likes to sit on the patio for a while after breakfast,” said Terra. “Hopefully, he’s still there.”
“Hopefully,” I agreed.
However, when the patio came into view… a very different man than they were expecting was sitting there.
“Wasn’t the target supposed to be a
thin man?” whispered Zan.
Tara nodded, “Maybe the information was wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” I declared after a moment scanning him. “That’s him.”
“How do you know?” asked Zan.
“Because there’s no way that that old chair could support him if he’s as heavy as he
looks,” I replied. “My guess is that he’s wearing padding… maybe even the counterfeit money he’s supposed to be transporting, otherwise the chair would be kindling.”
Tara nodded, “We hold position and follow him if he makes a move.”

****

When the ‘fat man’ finally got moving, I followed him on foot at close range — my blond hair hidden with a curly black wig — along the main road west, while the others kept their distance on the bikes.
He followed the main room west for about two hundred and fifty yards, he branched off the main road
When he left the main road, Jayna turned into a dog and traded places with me in the close observer position, and continued to follow him, landing briefly behind a bush and transforming into a gull when he started to climb up the heights.
It only took Oracle a few seconds to identify to the two men that was meeting as former leg-breakers for the
Shepit Banda — a group once based in Gotham but driven out by the ‘freaks’ — with Interpol Red Notices and warrants in several countries.
Eta Squad posted up behind a pile of rubble and switched our civilian clothing for our costumes. “What’s the plan?” asked Jan.
“One of us could approach them first…” pondered Tara.
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“I’m the leader,” insisted Tara. “I should do it.”
“No offence, Tara… but I’m practically invulnerable and the ‘S’ has a lot more recognition and persuasion value than you do.”
“True,” admitted Tara. “Take point then. The rest of us will back you up if needed.”
“I doubt it,” I said, forming the hand-signs for my flying spell again. “
Lor Ul Do!”
I floated into the air and then flew around for a moment to get behind the two thinner men — although the ‘fat man’ wasn’t carrying I wasn’t sure about them — and then hovered in place. It only took a few seconds for the ‘fat man’ to glimpse me out of the corner of his eye and then look up.
I smiled to myself and struck a pose in mid-air. “Hi boys, word is you’ve been naughty… Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”
The fat man barked something in a language I didn’t know at the two men, who turned to face my, guns clearing from hidden holsters at what was a remarkable speed for a human…

****
Kent Farm,
Smallville, Kansas.
1530 CDT.

“But that wasn’t enough, was it?” asked Harry. “Because you’re not human.
“Unfortunately for them,” agreed Karen.

****
The Acropolis,
Athens.
August 14, 0835 EEST.


Before the guns were even half-way into firing position, I had released my old spell and was dropping to the ground, meaning that the first volley passed harmlessly over my head.
“Don’t you know you shouldn’t play with guns?” I told them as I formed another set of hand-signs. “
Lor Da Em!”
The magic hit the two men just as they were about to adjust their aim and open fire again, then they went stiff as a board and collapsed.
The ‘fat man’ tried to run while I was dealing with his thugs, but he only made it a few yards before Jayna — back in dog form again — caught up with him and brought him down.
“I had him, Jayna,” I told the other girl when I caught up with her.
Jayna transformed back into my normal shape and smirked. “Why should you have all the fun?”

****

We were watching the three Ydra thugs being loaded into a van by a combined Hellenic Police-Interpol taskforce when a signal came in across our commlinks.
“Go ahead, Oracle,” said Tara.
Are you finished up in Athens?”
“Pretty much,” Tara confirmed. “Do you need us for something?”
Crimson Fox managed to roll up the Ydra cell in Paris while you’ve been busy in Athens,” replied Oracle. “So, when you’re ready, I’m rerouting you to the Chateau until Gamma and Delta Squads have finished their investigations.
“Understood,” agreed Terra, then switched her attention to the plain clothes officer that was approaching us. “Chief.”
“Outsiders, thank you for the assistance,” replied the officer, then held out a disk. “We’ll take from here.”
“You’re welcome,” said Tara, accepting the disk from him and tucking it into a compartment on her bike. “If you need us, we can be reached at the Prudential Building in Hollywood or the STAR Labs branch in Detroit.”
“Understood.”

****
The Chateau,
Brittany.
0930 CEST.


Thanks to your excellent work rolling up Ydra cells and distracting the true target, the other teams have managed to track down the real target — the master criminal Karabi — and some indications of his plan,” announced Oracle from the Chateau’s viewscreen.
“What’s the next step?” asked Tara.
Tigress is picking up another Javelin at Ferris Aircraft at the moment,” replied Oracle. “Once she’s airborne she’ll fly your way and pick you up and transport both squads to Vietnam to link up with Delta Squad and take Karabi’s compound.
“How much co-operation are we excepting from the local authorities?” I asked.
Not as much as I’d like,” admitted Oracle. “The League has the legal authority to operate in Vietnam, so you’re covered there, but with anti-Western sentiment as high as it is… However, Tigress has some contacts in-country that she thinks can facilitate matters.
“How long until she arrives?” asked Tara.
She should arrive at about midday, your time.”
“We’ll be waiting,” promised Tara and cut the channel.

****
Hanoi,
2015 ICT.


A moment after landing, Artemis left the pilot’s seat, walked over to the cabin door and opened it. We joined her and left the plane with Artemis and Tara in the lead. As we expected, Cyborg and his squad were waiting for us, arrayed either side of a distinguished-looking man in his early forties. “
Xin Chào, Chu Dung,” said Artemis, reaching out to joining hands with the older man and bowing slightly.
Xin Chao, Artemis,” repeated the Vietnamese man, mirroring my slight bow in turn. “Is your mother well?”
Artemis nodded. “Uncle, may I introduce the rest of my team?”
“Of course.”
Artemis broke away from Dung and indicated each of us in turn. “Arsenal, Livewire, Lodestone and Mist have been on the case from the beginning… Terra, Downpour, Shifter and Sunstone have been following leads in Europe and have joined us for the final assault.”
“Everything is prepared,” said Dung. “I have my own agents — Thunder and Lightning — watching the compound until our arrival. I have two helicopters standing by to take us there.”
“Then let’s get moving,” declared Artemis. “We don’t want our target to be warned, he might step up his timetable.”
Bang Long,” said the colonel, and lead the way to another part of the airport.

****
Cát Bà Island,
Ha Long Bay.
2100 ICT


When our gunships set down about a hundred yards from the target in the nearest clearing, Tara and I got out and joined Colonel Dung, Artemis and Victor in conference, leaving the rest of our team-mates and the colonel’s security squad on board the helicopters.
We were joined a moment later by the colonel’s two agents.
“Have you anything to report?”
The blue-and-purple clad twin — who appeared to be the dominant partner — replied. “Nothing since our last report, Colonel.”
“Very well,” replied Dung, he turned to Victor. “Can you?”
“Already on it,” Victor replied. “I’m into their network… accessing surveillance and security systems.”
“Excellent,” said Dung. “Are they ready to launch?”
Victor didn’t answer for a moment. “Not quite, but our intel was correct, they are planning on launching two ballistic missiles at rival nations in region, hoping to touch off World War Three.”
“That is not acceptable,” affirmed the colonel.
“No kidding,” added Artemis. “How long have we got?”
“Not sure,” admitted Victor. “Maybe an hour.”
“Then we should move in immediately,” said Dung. “How many forces do they have?”
“About a hundred in total as far as I can see,” reported Victor. “But most of those are scientists and technicians. I’d say we’ve got similar numbers.”
“Good,” said Dung. “If we make a big enough impression going in, they might even surrender.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it, Uncle,” said Artemis. “But I agree it’s worth a try.”

****
Hanoi,
2215 ICT.


They just surrendered?” repeated Oracle, sounding a little incredulous.
“Pretty much,” confirmed Artemis. “The first couple of guards tried to put up a fight when Sunstone, Thunder and Lightning bust in, but once the rest of us were inside and Karabi’s lieutenant saw what he was facing he ordered them to stand down.”
It’s always a nice surprise when that happens,” Oracle declared. “Did you find anything interesting in Karabi’s files?”
Victor stepped into view at that moment. “I’m still going through them, but I did find one thing that needs acting on immediately.”
Go on…
“I had a hunch and started reading the log backwards,” Victor explained. “And his last log entry mentions that he was considering depositing his ‘war chest’ in a Swiss bank…”
“Why is that interesting?” Tara asked. “I thought that was fairly common. Slade has several accounts there.”
Victor nodded, “That’s true… Which is why the reason it’s interesting is why he didn’t.”
Tara made a wry smile and looked away, a little embarrassed.
Which was?
“One of his informants got wind that
Ydra were planning to rob the place,” replied Victor.
Do we know when?” asked Oracle.
“Yeah, his log includes timing and tactics too,” confirmed Victor. “They’re going tunnel in from the curio shop next door, probably around eight pm local time.”
That gives us a little under three hours,” said Oracle, I glanced off-screen for a moment. “Vixen and Zatanna are in Milan on personal business, I could ask them to take care of it. Aquaman and Plastic Man are also available for back-up… or you could go yourselves?”
Artemis thought about for a moment, then looked at Victor. “Could you Boom us there?”
“In theory, but it’s far enough that I’d rather not if possible.”
Artemis turned to me, “Kara?”
“I agree with Victor,” I replied. “My standard portal spell isn’t powerful enough. I’m working on a long-distance one, but it’s not stable yet.”
“What about Cisco?”
I wasn’t sure, so I let Victor answer. “Probably the same as me.”
Artemis paused for a moment, then input a couple of queries into a secondary console. “It’ll take us at least ninety minutes to get there any other way.”
Sounds like Theta Squad is the best option then,” concluded Oracle.
“Agreed.”
I’ll make the arrangements,” said Oracle.
“We’ll finish up here and head back to the Bunker then,” said Artemis. “It’s been a pretty long couple of days.”

****
Kent Farm,
Smallville, Kansas.
1530 CDT.

“Did Theta Squad catch the robbers?” Harry asked.
Karen nodded, “It took until about nine pm Swiss Time to sort it out, so it was about two am before we took off from Hanoi.”
Harry made a face, as if he was trying to figure something out. “When did you get back?”
“About five pm yesterday,” Karen replied.
“So, in other words, you travelled back in time by ten hours over a two-hour flight?” said Harry with a grin.
“Pretty much,” agreed Karen, echoing his smile with one of her own. “Time zones are weird.”

****

Back to index


Chapter 5: The Hogwarts Express

Author's Notes: The Last Daughter Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011),) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.

Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on revisions to this work.

There are two “timeline mistakes†in this chapter, these are intentional and part of this AU.


Granger Residence,
Oxford OX4
September 4th 1993, 2130 BST.


Hermione was about to head to bed after her shower, when she noticed a ‘new message’ indicator on her computer. Retightening the belt of her robe, she slipped into her desk chair and clicking on the alert.
As she expected, a videocall window popped open and the screen filled with the face of her cousin Dawn. “Hermione, I have great news!”
“What is it?” Hermione asked, quickly deciding that allowing the older girl a few minutes would be the best option.
“They’ve just sent out a notification that the company is going to be doing Swan Lake this season!”
“They’ve done it before, haven’t they?” Hermione asked, a little puzzled at her cousin’s excitement.
On the screen, Dawn rolled her eyes. “Of course, it’s one of the main performances that all troupes do.”
“Then what’s different this time?”
“This time,” echoed Dawn. “I could be up for the part of Odette.”
It took Hermione a moment to make the connection, despite Dawn’s fondness for it, it wasn’t something she’d read herself. “You’re up for the lead! That’s great news!”
“It’s not confirmed yet,” Dawn admitted. “But I’m pretty confident.”
Hermione’s reply was cut off by a third voice that echoed from outside her room. “Hermione, get to bed… You’ve got an early start tomorrow!”
“Yes, Mum!” Hermione yelled back. “Sorry Dawn, I’ve got to go. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Hermione. Enjoy school.” said Dawn and closed the videocall from her end.
Hermione quickly shut down her computer and within seconds her lights were out, and she was in bed.

****
September 5th 1993,
0700 BST.

Hermione’s alarm woke her from a dream that faded from her mind in the seconds it took to silence the alarm. She slipped out of bed, put on her dressing gown, stuck her feet into a pair of slippers and then padded quickly down the stairs to the kitchen.
Her mother was there, her father was not.
“Where’s Daddy?” Hermione asked as she helped herself to some muesli.
“I’m sorry, darling,” replied her mother. “But Wendell had to go into the surgery, one of his patients called in with possible pericoronitis. So, it’ll just be the two of us.”
Hermione nodded. It would’ve been nice to have both her parents there to see her off, but she’d realised from an early age that sometimes their patients’ needs came ahead of her own.
After breakfast, she headed upstairs and washed up. Then she changed into casual clothes for the journey, and within an hour of waking she was in the back of her parents’ Mondeo as it was heading towards London with her mum at the wheel.


****
1025 BST

Hermione had her door open as soon as her parents’ Mondeo slid to a halt and was waiting on the pavement with her trunk beside her by the time her mother had got herself sorted out and got out of the car. Monica Granger smiled at her daughter, then locked the car and they walked towards the station.
After stopping at one of the ticket booths so that Hermione’s mother could get a platform ticket, they passed through to the western concourse easily enough, where logically they should have been able to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Unfortunately, there they hit a slight snag.
There was a Platform Nine and a Platform Ten, but no Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
“Did Professor McGonagall say how to get onto the platform?” asked her mother, as she glanced dubiously around the station’s western concourse. “Because I can’t see it.”
“I can’t either,” agreed Hermione. “So, it’s not just hidden magically like the Leaky Cauldron.”
Her mother nodded.
Hermione paused to think for a moment, trying to remember everything that the professor had said. “She something about the wall between the platforms…”
“That would make sense,” agreed her mother, as she continued to glance around.
A moment later, Hermione spotted a boy about her own age with chestnut hair flanked by a pair of adults she assumed were his parents walking towards one of the brick pillars. “Mum, over there!” she whispered urgently, pointing towards the trio, who disappeared into the wall a few seconds later.
“Huh?” exclaimed her mother. “That’s seems simple enough.”
Hermione nodded, “Let’s go.”
Her mother mirrored her nod and lead the way across the concourse.
Moments later, they passed through the barrier onto the packed platform sign-posted ‘Hogwarts Express, Eleven o’clock’. A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people.
Hermione glanced around, taking in the wrought-iron archway behind her where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.
The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats, so Hermione pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. She and her mother pressed on through the crowd until found an empty compartment towards the back of the train. They were trying to lift the trunk up the steps into the carriage when a tall, burly boy of about sixteen with chiselled features, dark hair, and bright grey eyes looked down at them from inside the train. A shiny yellow and black badge with a badger and the letter ‘P’ on it was pinned to his chest. “Can I help?”
“Certainly…” replied her mother.
“Cedric Diggory, ma’am,” replied the boy, bending to pick up the trunk and heaving it onto the train. He indicated the closest compartment and turned to Hermione who had followed him onboard. “Is in here, okay?”
“That’ll be fine,” Hermione agreed, and in a moment her trunk was tucked away in a corner of the compartment.
“I’ll let you say your goodbyes,” Cedric told her. “Maybe I’ll see you in Hufflepuff.”
“Maybe,” agreed Hermione politely, as the older boy turned and walked back up the train. She returned to the door to say goodbye to her mother.
“He seems like a nice boy,” observed her mother. “Which house is he in?”
“Hufflepuff,” replied Hermione. “I doubt we’ll be in the same house… I’m aiming for Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.”
“Well, which ever house you end up in, try and make a couple of friends at least,” her mother urged her.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I try, Mum. But it’s not always easy.”
Whatever her mother would have said in reply was drowned out by the loud screech of a train’s whistle and a yell of “All aboard, all aboard!”
“Goodbye, Mum!” shouted Hermione as the train’s doors slammed shut by themselves.
“Goodbye, Hermione!” replied her mother, waving as the train as the train began to move.
Hermione stayed at the window waving back at her mother as the train eased out of the platform and headed into the first corner outside the station. Once the train had cleared the station, Hermione sat down and cracked open her copy of Hogwarts, a History and began to read, looking up only briefly a little after midday when an elderly witch wheeling a trolley knocked on the door and asked if she wanted anything.
Hermione declined, then after the trolley-witch had moved on she hunted in her bag for her own lunch and snacked on it as she continued reading.
She was interrupted a little while later when a round-faced, chubby boy put his head in the compartment, introduced himself as ‘Neville’ and asked if she had seen a toad.
“No, I haven’t,” Hermione told him. “I could help you look?”
Neville broke into a smile and nodded. “That’d be great, thanks.”

****

Neville’s toad was a far more elusive quarry than she expected, not helped by a less than warm welcome from the occupants of some of the compartments.
She repeated the same question to what must have been at least the twelfth time to another negative reply when the battered, raised wand in the hand of the taller of the two boys inside distracted her from her quest. "Oh, are you doing magic?” she asked, as she sat down. “Let's see it, then."
The gangly, ginger-haired boy looked taken aback. "Er… all right," he agreed and cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."
He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The rat stayed grey and fast asleep.
Hermione wasn’t impressed. "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard… I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough… I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”
The two boys shared expressions that were all too familiar to her from primary school, but the redhead — a lanky boy about half a head taller than she — still replied, albeit in a mutter. "I'm Ron Weasley."
Hermione glanced at the other, a black-haired, tanned boy about her own height. "I’m Harry Potter," he added, a slight American touch to his voice.
Hermione was a little surprised at this, she’d never met anyone she’d read about before. "Are you really? I know all about you, of course… I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”
Harry’s expression changed, he nodded. “Interesting reading… if you like speculative fiction.”
Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Hermione, I didn’t have any contact with British wizards between Halloween of eighty-one and about two months ago when Madam Hooch delivered my Hogwarts letter.”
“So?”
“So, there’s the no way for anyone to actually know what happened at Godric’s Hollow… so they’re guessing,” Harry explained. “And if they’re guessing about me then…”
Hermione caught on immediately, “You think they might be mistaken about other parts as well?”
Harry nodded. “Hence ‘speculative fiction’.”
Hermione nodded, she had to admit that his argument was logically sound. So, rather than arguing she decided to retreat to safer ground. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best… I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad...”
She waited for a moment, but neither boy replied, so she decided that she should probably move on, so she stood up again. At the door, she paused. “Anyway, I'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."
Neither Harry or Ron said anything until she was outside and had met up with Neville into the corridor.

****
2025 BST.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
Hermione closed her book and put it back in her trunk, then rose and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.
The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Hermione shivered in the cold night air, then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Hermione heard a booming voice call out of the buzz of the crowd. "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!” boomed the figure, whose big hairy face towered over the sea of heads. “All right there, Harry? C'mon, follow me… any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"
Slipping and stumbling, they followed the giant down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Hermione thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville sniffed once or twice.
"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "Jus' round this bend here."
There was a loud "Oooooh!"
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side — its windows sparkling in the starry sky — was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.
"No more 'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hermione followed Neville, Harry and Ron into one of the boats. "Everyone in?" shouted the giant who had a boat to himself. "Right then… FORWARD!"
The fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.
They clambered up a passageway in the rock after the giant's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.
They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door, the giant raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times.
The door swung open at once. Professor McGonagall, looking stern and imperious in emerald-green robes stood there.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit her whole house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Hermione could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must have beaten them there — but the professor showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. The teens crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said the professor. “Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you’re here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you house points. Any rule breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the house cup.”
“Trevor!” exclaimed Neville and lunged forward to grab his toad that had escaped again and was sitting at the professor’s feet.
Professor McGonagall stared down at him, prompting Neville to murmur a quiet apology and retreat back to Hermione’s side, his face beet-red with embarrassment.
To Hermione’s relief, Professor McGonagall continued without comment. “The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily,” she announced and then turn and entered the doorway that the sounds of students were coming from.
The group was silent for a moment, then a nasty-looking boy with short, blond hair stepped out of the crowd and spoke up. “It's true then, what they're saying on the train…?” he asked, scanning their group and focusing on Harry Potter. “… Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”
This started many of the students into whispered muttering.
"Harry Potter?" asked the blond. When Harry nodded, he continued. “This is Crabbe and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy... Draco Malfoy.”
When Ron Weasley snickered, he rounded on him and snarled, “Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours… Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe… You must be a Weasley.”
Clearly not one of the shining lights of the year, thought Hermione to herself.
“Well, you’ll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter,” continued the blond, and extended his hand. “You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
Hermione glanced at Harry Potter. She couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think the other boy was buying the blond’s ‘pitch’, which was confirmed by his next words. “I think I can tell for myself who the wrong sort are, thanks.”
Draco Malfoy glared at Harry, but any further response was prevented by Professor McGonagall returning and tapping the blond on the shoulder with a scroll of parchment. He gave Harry another glare and then returned to the crowd.
“We're ready for you now,” McGonagall announced. “Follow me.”
Hermione joined the crowd as they surged out of the entrance hall and into what appeared to be a large dining hall.
It was a strange and splendid place, even compared to the highlights of Diagon Alley. The room was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over tables laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.
Professor McGonagall led the first years up to the teacher’s dais, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.
The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. When she saw Harry Potter glance at the enchanted ceiling, Hermione told him in a whisper. "It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Her mother would have thrown a fit if she’d seen it.
For a few seconds, there was complete silence as the crowd stared at the hat. Then it twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, but don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find, a smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black, your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you, where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid! And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
"We've just got to try on a hat!" Ron Weasley whispered to Harry Potter from behind her. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."
Hermione glanced backwards, Harry Potter was smiling weakly. She agreed that trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell — although she had been looking forward to trying — but she wasn’t sure about trying it on without everyone watching.
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. After a moment, the Hat declared. "Hufflepuff!"
The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down as the ghost of a rotund priest — presumably the ‘Fat Friar’ that Hogwarts, A History talked about — waving merrily at her.
"Bones, Susan!"
"Hufflepuff!" shouted the hat again and the girl scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.
"Boot, Terry!"
"Ravenclaw!" The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry Boot as he joined them.
Mandy Brocklehurst followed Terry Boot into Ravenclaw to a similar reception, but Lavender Brown became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. A pair of twins that slightly resembled Ron Weasley catcalled.
Millicent Bulstrode, a stocky, squared-jawed became the first Slytherin of the year and Justin Finch-Fletchley became a Hufflepuff.
Unlike some of the others, the next student — a sandy-haired boy called Seamus Finnegan — sat on the stool for almost a minute the hat declared him a Gryffindor.
Then it was her turn.
She ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.
"Hmm," said a voice in her ear. It took a second to realize it was the Sorting Hat. What an exceptionally bright young lady… you’re a shoo-in for Ravenclaw and will do well… but…
Hermione's heart sank. Not Ravenclaw… Please! I rather be in Gryffindor!
The hat made an agreeing sound and then fell into silence. Hermione waited as the minutes ticked by until it spoke up again. "You’re right…” admitted the hat. “You’re intelligent, but you want knowledge for the fame, not for its own sake. That’s brave for a Muggleborn… so, I will sort you into… GRYFFINDOR!"

****
2050 BST

As the last first year — Blaise Zabini — made his way to the Slytherin Table, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and then picked up the Sorting Hat took it out of sight.
Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Hermione heard Harry Potter ask the redheaded boy next to him whether the headmaster was a bit mad, which struck her as somewhat disrespectful, she was about to speak up to tell him off when the older boy replied that Dumbledore was a genius, the best wizard in the world, but to Hermione’s surprise and dismay agreed with him that Dumbledore was a bit mad, then he offered him potatoes as if he hadn’t said anything unusual.
After starting a little at the ‘potatoes’ comment, Isn’t the table empty? Hermione turned her glaze to the table and to her surprise found that it wasn’t.
The dishes in front of her were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
Hermione helped herself to an appropriate selection and began to eat. A moment later, her attention was draw to a conversation between Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and one of the ghosts.
"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you… you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
Nearly headless, thought Hermione. How can you be nearly headless? She was trying to remember whether Hogwarts, A History had said anything about the ghost when Seamus Finnegan echoed her own question.
Hermione glanced over and in her opinion Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted. "Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly.
Hermione grimaced in disgust. A feeling not improved by the pleased expression on Sir Nicholas’ face when it returned to his neck. The ghost coughed and continued speaking. "So… new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable… he's the Slytherin ghost."
Hermione followed Harry’s gaze over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
The talk died down for a while after but picked up again over desert. "I'm half-and-half," announced Seamus. "Me Da's a Muggle… Mam’s a witch… didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out.”
The others laughed. Hermione didn’t think it was that funny.
"What about you, Neville?" asked Seamus.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville. "But the family thought I was a Squib for ages. Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me… he pushed me off the end of one of the piers in Blackpool once, I nearly drowned… but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road. All the family were really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here… they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."
Hermione turned to the redheaded boy, and after establishing that his name was Percy, he was the Head Boy and the third eldest Weasley boy, commented that she was anxious to get started due to how much there was to learn, particularly in Transfiguration which she thought might be her favourite subject.
Percy Weasley told her that they’d be starting small initially but was distracted from elaborating further by a yelp of pain from Harry Potter.
"What is it?" asked Percy Weasley.
"N-nothing," replied Harry Potter.
Hermione thought unlikely but didn’t interrupt.
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?"
"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you?” asked the redhead. “No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to… everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the dark arts, Snape."
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again.
The hall fell silent. "Ahem… just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
"He's not serious?" he muttered to Percy.
"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere… the Forbidden Forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told me at least."
"On a happier note," Professor Dumbledore continued. "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year: First, Professor Quirrell, who some of you will remember from his previous tenure as Muggle Studies Professor, has agreed to return from his sabbatical and fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause, mostly she suspected from older students that had him previously.
"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Quirrell died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by Professor MacFusty who comes to us from the Hebridean Dragon Sanctuary."
Predictably, the young woman — in her early thirties with dark brown hair and dark eyes — was greeted with rather more enthusiasm than Professor Quirrell had been, but in turn this too dissipated.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.
Hermione glanced over the rest of the teachers and noted that their expressions had uniformly taken on a rather fixed smile.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone, pick your favourite tune…" said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
At this the school began a raucous cacophony as they sang:
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling with some interesting stuff,
For now, they're bare and full of air, Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So, teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot.”
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the redheaded twins were left singing along to a slow funeral dirge. The headmaster conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest. "Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
The Gryffindor first years followed the junior prefects — a stocky boy called Kenneth Towler and a tall, black girl called Angelina Johnson — through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Hermione was tired enough that although she noticed that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice the prefects led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.
They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in mid-air ahead of them, and as Angelina Johnson took a step toward them, they started throwing themselves at her. "Peeves," Angelina Johnson whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." She raised her voice, "Peeves… show yourself!" A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered. "Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
"Ooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!" He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!" barked Angelina Johnson.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville Longbottom's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.
"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Angelina Johnson, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him… well maybe the headmaster was well. Nobody opposes him openly if they can avoid it. Here we are."
At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. "Password?"
"Caput Draconis," said Kenneth Towler, speaking for the first time since introduced himself, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it — Neville needed a leg up — and found themselves in the Gryffindor Common Room, a round room full of squashy armchairs with two sets of stairs branching off, both heading upwards.

Back to index


Chapter 6: Flying into Danger

Author's Notes: The Last Daughter Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011) and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.



Thanks to mystic_magic88 and other members of the Caer Azkaban group for their help on revisions to this work.


****
Gryffindor Common Room,
Scottish Highlands.
September 11th, 0953 BST.
Team Year Eleven.

When Harry saw the notice on the way out to his Monday morning Potions class, he groaned. Sharing Potions class with the Slytherins — thanks to Snape’s attitude something of a wash anyway — was bad enough, but to shareflying class which he’d been looking forward to…
“What’s wrong?” asked Ron, hearing his groan.
Harry pointed to the notice.
Ron scanned the notice and quickly figured out the problem. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured Harry. “I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."
After a moment’s thought, Harry agreed. However, on balance he thought that — given Ron’s own tall tale of nearly hitting a hang glider on a flight with his second oldest brother’s broom — the comment was a bit rich if not exactly unusual for British wizard-borns. The only wizard-born in his year that didn’t boast of flying adventures was Neville Longbottom, whose grandmother had — not unfairly in Harry’s opinion — ruled him too accident-prone on the ground to risk on a broom.


****
Hogwarts Great Hall,
Scottish Highlands.
September 14th, 0745 BST



Despite agreeing with his chubby classmate’s grandmother, Harry did spend some time over the next few days trying to reassure Neville as much as he could, but oddly found himself losing more and more sympathy for Hermione Granger, whose fruitless attempts to learn flying from books cumulated in her holding court and boring most of them stupid with tips from Quidditch Through the Ages. A book that he thought probably was a good read, but wholly unsuited for the task she was using it for… so like everybody else he was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.
With Hedwig still winging her way towards Karen in Smallville, Harry wasn’t expecting any mail himself, so his attention was caught by a small package being dropped in front of Neville by his grandmother’s eagle owl. Neville opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke. "It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things… this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red… oh..." His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "You've forgotten something..."
Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.
Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash. "What's going on?"
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," replied Neville, resolutely.
Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table. "Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

****
Hogwarts Grounds,
Scottish Highlands.
1530 BST.


Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left, and a glance over the selection proved that their allegations were not unfair.
Madam Hooch arrived a moment or two later. Her yellow hawk-like eyes flashed, and she barked at them to stand by a broomstick.
Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up’!"'
"UP!” everyone shouted.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry. There was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground thank you very much.

Once all of them finally had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.
Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle, three… two…"
But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips. "Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle… twelve feet… twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and…WHAM!
There was a thud and a nasty crack, and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch hurried over to Neville, then bend down to his side, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy… it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! Leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'.”
With this terrifying ultimatum, she turned back to Neville and put her arm around him. “Come on, dear."
Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch.
No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins joined in.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."
"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
Malfoy snickered, “Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze… he'd have remembered to fall on his fat arse.”
The laughs of Malfoy and his goons drew everyone else’s attention and they stopped talking to watch.
"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly.
Malfoy smiled nastily, then hopped onto his borrowed broom. “No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find…” Then took off and soared around, then through the group. “How about on the roof?”
Malfoy pointed his broom upwards and climbed until he hovered level above the treeline. “What’s the matter, Potter… a bit beyond your reach?”
At this point, Harry had had enough and grabbed his broom.
Hermione Granger moved to his side in an instant, her face stern. "No! Madam Hooch told us not to move… you'll get us all into trouble."
Harry momentarily observed that it was a reasonable attempt at asserting authority… but he’d seen better, so he ignored her.
Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him — and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught — this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.
He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in mid-air. Malfoy looked stunned.
"Give it here…" Harry called, "… or I'll knock you off that broom!"
"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.
Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady.
A few people below were clapping.
"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called.
The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy in that moment, and with a shouted challenge, he hurled the Remembrall into the air, like a baseball, then turned and dived towards the ground.
Harry zoomed after the ball, speeding towards one of the school’s towers. Just as he was about to hit the window of Professor McGonagall’s office, he caught it and was able to bank around to safety.
The Gryffindors all cheered as Harry landed back on the ground at ease and ran towards him. The Slytherins on the other hand remained silent and sullen in the practise area.
“Good job, Harry!” said Dean Thomas.
"That was wicked!” said Ron, slapping him on the back.
But the celebrations were cut short moments later with a shout from the castle.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Harry’s heart sank faster than he'd just flown. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. "Never, in all my time at Hogwarts…!" She was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "… how dare you… might have broken your neck…!"
"It wasn't his fault, Professor…"
"Be quiet, Miss Patil.”
"But Malfoy…"
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall. “Potter, follow me, now."
Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up.
Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes.Well, Smallville High wasn’t as exciting as Hogwarts, but it wasn’t all that bad… he thought. It would be nice to share classes with Chloe and PJ again…
Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore.
I wonder if Artemis would agree to take me onto the Team… or will I have to make do with occasional sessions with Aunt Mera and Karen…
Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"
Wood?thought Harry, bewildered. Corporal punishment is banned in British schools… isn’t it?
To Harry’s relief, Wood turned out to be a person, a burly seventeen-year-old boy who came out of Flitwick’s class looking confused.
"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and as they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry. "In here."
Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard. "Out, Peeves!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swept out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood… Wood, I've found you a Seeker."
Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"
"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"
Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but it didn't seem like he was being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.
"He caught that thing in his hand and turned away from my window with only inches to spare," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."
Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once."Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.
"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light, speedy… We'll have to get him a decent broom though, Professor. A Firebolt’s a bit much for a beginner, even if he’s as good as you say… but a Nimbus Two Thousand and One or a Cleansweep Nine should be fine."
“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule,” said Professor McGonagall. “Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks...." She turned towards Harry and peered sternly over her glasses at him. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you." Then she suddenly smiled. "Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

****
Hogwarts Great Hall,
Scottish Highlands.
1730 BST.


"You're joking," replied Ron, so shocked that he actuallystopped eating for a moment. "Seeker? But first years never… you must be the youngest player in about…”
“A century,” finished Harry, between bites of pie. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."
Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.
"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over. "Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too… Beaters."
"I tell you… we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."
"Anyway, we've got to go,” said George. “Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."
"I bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week,” argued Fred. “See you."
Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up... Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. Little was of course relative, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.
"I'd take you on any time on my own," said Malfoy firmly. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only… no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
"Of course, he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. "Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."
When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. "What is a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.
“You’re joking, right?” asked Harry, concerned.
Ron glanced back at him, and catching the look on his face, he added quickly, "But people only die in proper duels… you know, with real wizards.”
Harry considered that for a moment and nodded.
“The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage.”
Harry wasn’t sure that was true, he might not have learned any combat spells in class yet, he did have a few tricks from Aunt Mera and Karen and given how confident the blond boy had seemed about the duel, he wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy had a surprise or two up his sleeve either.
“I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
Harry nodded, that did make sense.
"Excuse me," said a voice from behind them.
They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron, irritably.
Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying…"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered.
"… and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you'rebound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"And it's really none of your business," said Harry, firmly.
"Good-bye," said Ron.
Hermione Granger, clearly sensing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this line of argument, sighed in frustration and then returned to her own meal.

****
Gryffindor Dorms,
Hogwarts,
Scottish Highlands.
2328 BST.


A bit of a mixed day, all in all, Harry thought, as he lay awake listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep — Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing — Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them."
Harry wasn’t overly worried about that, he had plenty of practice dodging and a trick of Karen’s that should do the job against any of Malfoy’s spells…
However, after thinking about it, he was in two minds about the whole thing… There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking two school rules in the same day… On the other hand, Malfoy’s sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness, this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face… He was still mulling it over when Ron spoke up, breaking his train of thought.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."
They pulled on their dressing gowns, picked up their wands, and crept across the room and down the spiral staircase into the Gryffindor Common Room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing gown and a frown.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother, Percy," Hermione snapped. "He's a Head Boy, he'd put a stop to this."
Harry growled under his breath. There was a time for debate and a time for either stopping something or getting out of the way… and Hermione couldn’t seem to grasp the distinction. "Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose. "Don't you care about Gryffindor… do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."
"Go away," hissed Ron.
"All right,” Hermione agreed with resignation. “But I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so…"
But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a night-time visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower. "Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go or we’re going to be late."
They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly.
"You are not," insisted Ron in a far quieter tone.
"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me?” said Hermione, still a good deal louder than Harry would have preferred. “If he finds all three of us, I'll tell him the truth… that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."
"You've got some nerve!" said Ron, raising his voice for the first time.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. I just heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer. "Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours… I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."
"How's your arm?" said Harry.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."
"Good,” said Harry. “Well… look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later…"
"Don't leave me!" wailed Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."
Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville. "If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you.”
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.
Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

****
Trophy Room,
Hogwarts.
September 15th, 0005 BST


"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.
Harry was about to nod in agreement when a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak… and it wasn't Malfoy.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room. "They're in here somewhere… probably hiding."
"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others, and petrified they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armour.
They could hear Filch getting nearer.
Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run. But he tripped before he got very far, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armour.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled.
The four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following… they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going… they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.
“I… t-t-told… you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I… told… you."
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron. "As quickly as possible."
"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that… don't you? He was never going to meet you… Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Let's go."
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled, and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight. "Shut up, Peeves… please… you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves. This was abig mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!!!"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door -- and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves' shouts.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She pulled out her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open. They piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please’."
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice. "All right…” Even through the door and his panic, Harry could sense the reluctance in the caretaker’s voice. “Please."
"NOTHING!” exclaimed Peeves. “Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't saynothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!"
And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay… get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's dressing gown for the last minute. "What?"
Harry turned around… and saw, quite clearly, what.
For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare -- this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.
They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor… The Forbidden Corridor on the third floor… and now they knew why it was forbidden.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads… three pairs of rolling, mad eyes… three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction… three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs… It took a moment for the name to come to him from Cassie’s stories.
It was a Cerberus… an honest of gods, Cerberus…
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise. But it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.
Harry groped for the doorknob… between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.
The four teens fell backward, and once he had his balance again, Harry lunged forward and slammed the door shut.
Fortunately, Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because he wasn’t in sight, but they hardly cared… all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster that some lunatic had brought into the school.
They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor. "Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their dressing gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that… pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the Common Room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in aschool?" said Ron finally, echoing thoughts that Harry had been having himself. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?”
After a moment’s thought Harry was about to admit that he hadn’t when Ron beat him to it. I wasn't looking at its feet! I was a bit preoccupied with its heads. Or maybe you didn't notice, there were three!”
Harry nodded, as much as he was a little irritated at himself for not taking in the whole picture, Ron did raise a valid point.
"No, not the floor,” replied Hermione, scornfully. “It was standing on a trap door. Which means it wasn't there by accident. It's guarding something.” She stood up, glaring at them. I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed… or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."
Ron stared after her, his mouth open. "No, we don't mind," he said, shaking his head in annoyance. "She needs to sort out her priorities!”
Harry didn’t necessarily disagree with Ron, but at the same time, what Hermione said reminded him of something that he’d been told weeks earlier…
It wasn’t until he was nearly asleep that he remembered.
Hagrid had said it during his visit to Diagon Alley. “‘Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide… except perhaps Hogwarts.’”
Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.
But he was still no closer to figuring out what it was.

Back to index


Chapter 7: Trail of the Madman!

Author's Notes: A/N: The Last Daughter Series diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potterseries from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011),and may adapt elements and characters from the comics and several additional other media instalments including but not limited to Smallville (2001) and the upcoming Superman and Lois (2021) and relocates the series to the Eighties and early Nineties rather than the New Tens as screened and includes several 'legacy' and original characters as a result.


Hogwarts Great Hall,
Scottish Highlands.
September 14th, 08:05 BST


Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful.
Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous," asserted Ron.
"Or both," said Harry.
But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.
Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.
Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus. All they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.
As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls.
Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.
Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand and One, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick, or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet
you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.
Professor McGonagall

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read.
"A Nimbus Two Thousand and One!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."
They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the Entrance Hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle.
Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it. "That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."
Ron couldn't resist it. "It's not any old broomstick," he said. "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy... a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as Nimbuses."
"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."
Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. "Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.
"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.
"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. "And what model is it?"
"A Nimbus Two Thousand and One, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.
Harry and Ron headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion. "Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team...."
"So, I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.
"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.
"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron. "It's doing us so much good."
Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

****
Kent Farm,
Smallville.
KS 67524.
19:30 CDT.

Karen was washing up after dinner with when Hedwig swooped in through the window and landed on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. The snowy owl had a letter in her claws which she allowed her to remove before flying out to her aviary to rest for a while. Karen tore open the envelope and withdrew a small sheet of parchment.

Dear Karen,
I've been Sorted into Gryffindor with four other boys and five girls. My first week of classes have been fairly interesting, the Transfiguration teacher - Professor McGonagall - is a decent sort, definitely not a woman to cross and she seems to be pretty good... she turned her desk into a
pig without saying a word! But she seemed pleased enough when
I managed to turn a matchstick into a needle... I'm not sure the only one of my classmates to do the same -- Hermione Granger, one of the Gryffindor girls -- appreciated sharing the attention though.
Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic are... oddly boring...
our initial thoughts about Professor Quirrell seem to have been correct, he
might
know his stuff, but his stutter is so horrible that it's almost impossible to understand anything he says and Professor Binns -- the History of Magic teacher -- is if possible even worse, he's a ghost and delivers his lecture straight out of the book in a drone that puts you to sleep!

But as bad as Quirrell and Binns are... the Potions teacher, Professor Snape, is
even worse! At beginning of the first lesson, he swooped into the classroom and started taking roll like the other teachers, but he stopped at my name, called me the "new celebrity", then finished the roll and launched into a monologue about the 'subtle science and exact art of potion-making... which still confuses me a little...

Karen paused to considered the question, bristling a little... not so much at the professor's comment per se, but for him singling Hank out for such unprofessional mockery. After a moment, she decided that the phrasing was odd, surely it should be 'exact science and subtle art'? She glanced down at the letter and smiled when she saw that Hank had made the same observation, then continued to read.

At the end of his monologue, he finished by suggesting that we
were all probably a bunch of dunderheads... I'm not sure what
that means but I'm fairly sure he didn't mean it as a compliment.

Karen paused, she wasn't entirely sure herself, but she agreed with Hank's guess.

Then he rounded on me and lobbed a series of questions at me,
ignoring Hermione Granger's attempts to answer any I missed, musing
sarcastically that 'clearly fame isn't everything' and suggesting that I
'didn't open a book before coming', then took a point off Gryffindor
because I 'cheeked him' by suggesting after the third question that I
couldn't answer that he should ask Hermione instead.

Karen paused to consider this. She could see Hank's point... picking on him and ignoring the rest of the class wasn't the best approach... but on the other hand, Harry's comment was a little cheeky, if understandable given the provocation, and a single point wasn't much in the grand scheme of things. However, she revised her opinion about the teacher's reasonableness a moment when she discovered that he'd taken another point from Gryffindor because another student that he wasn't even working with had screwed up!
She rushed up to her room and was about to change into outdoor gear and go over to her aunt's house to share the letter, when she was diverted by a signal from her computer. She flew over to it and activated the video-conferencing app. Paula Holt's face popped up immediately. "Sunstone, Nomad just reported a premonition about the murder of an actor in Chicago, can you look into it?"
Karen thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "Does Nomad want to join me?"
"She does," Paula confirmed. "She's here at the Bunker. Cyborg and Vibe are standing by too. I'm checking with CPD right now..."
"I'll be with you in two," Karen promised and after receiving confirmation from the older woman, closed the link.
Karen quickly removed her new white-and-gold uniform from a hidden compartment in her wardrobe, changed and then after yelling a message to Pa, she left through the window.

*-*-*
The Bunker,
Detroit.
MI 48216.
20:00 CDT


"Recognised, Sunstone B40," declared the Computer as she walked out of the Zeta Tube. Paula and the rest of Beta Squad were clustered around the main computer bank but glanced over in her direction as she came over.
"Nice costume," noted Cisco.
"Thanks," Karen replied. "Have we got anything new?"
"Possibly," replied Paula. "CPD Dispatch has just sent a unit to Lake Shore's School of Drama to investigate a possible suspicious death."
"Do you know which unit?"
Paula checked. "No, but it's in the fourteenth district if that helps."
Karen nodded, then voice-dialled a cell from her commlink.
After a moment, a female voice answered the call, "I'm a little busy right now, Kara. Do you need something?"
"Nomad's had a warning about an actor being murdered Chicago," Karen told her. "Are you at the Lake Shore School of Drama by any chance?"
"Yeah, I am," Teresa confirmed. "The victim, Ron Buxton, died mysteriously on stage in front of several witnesses without explanation."
"Is it okay if I come over and bring some friends?"
"Fine by me, Kara."
"On our way," promised Karen, then turned back to the group. "Teresa's running the show for the moment and is happy for us to help out."
"Let's go then," said Vic, triggering a Boom Tube.
Cisco and Cindy headed towards the Boom Tube, Karen paused to look towards Paula. "Can you do a deep dive on the victim... Ron Buxton, nineteen, sophomore at Lake Shore?"
"No problem," agreed the den-mother and master scientist.

*-*-*
Lake Shore School of Drama,
Chicago,
IL 60614.
20:02 CDT.


As they walked out of the Boom Tube, Karen smiled, the lead detective -- a pretty thirty-year old woman -- who was walking towards them from a knot of young people was a familiar and welcome sight, even if the scruffy-haired rookie detective trailing behind her was somewhat less so. Karen always tried to see the best in everyone, but there was something about the young Polish American detective's attitude that rubbed her the wrong way.
"Kara, we really should stop meeting like this!" joked Teresa.
"You know it's always good to see you, Teresa," Karen returned. "Congrats on the promotion by the way."
"Thanks," replied the older woman. "You've done wonders for our arrest rate."
Apparently deciding that there had been enough small-talk, Victor walked up to the pair. "What have we got, Sergeant?"
"Nothing much beyond what I've already told Kara," Teresa admitted. "Ron Buxton was filming a death scene on the stage with the leading lady -- Kerry Meade -- and the director, when they discovered that he wasn't faking it. They immediately called for the police and paramedics." She consulted her notebook. "No-one has any theories on motive... apparently everyone liked him."
At that moment, a stocky, slightly butch-looking woman in the uniform of a Chicago Fire Department paramedic joined them. "We're ready to load up now, Sergeant."
"Any thoughts on cause of death, Mo?" asked Teresa.
She shook her head. "I can only confirm that there are no obvious injures or vomiting. The medical examiner will be able to tell you more after the post-mortem."
"Have them contact the on-call detective for Violent Crimes, they'll be taking the case if it's ruled a homicide."
"Will do," agreed Mo and headed back towards the ambulance. When she got there, she clambered into the driver's seat and set off.
A moment later, Teresa's radio crackled, "5214 Adam from Squad, we have a lead on your 8-04."
"Go ahead, Squad," replied Teresa.
"14 Adam, 5327 David was just approached by an informant, who has reported that the victim was being targeted for 8-41. The suspect is heading inland on Irving Park. Black Honda Accord, tag Robert Charles Whiskey One Three Niner."
"5214 Adam, 10-4!" confirmed Teresa, signalling her partner to get in the car. "On our way!"
Karen turned to the rest of the squad. "I'm going to follow them. Can you meet us at the Medical Examiner?"
"No problem," agreed Victor. "We'll take a look around here first."
Karen nodded, then cast her flight spell and took off, following Teresa's car onto the main road.

****
Independence Park,
Chicago,
IL 60618.
20:10 CDT.

"I d-d-d-don't know n-nu-thin' about no murder... Honest!" stammered the suspect - identified as one Arthur Colleta of 400 East 41st Street in the city from his licence - after Karen had forced his car off the road and pulled him out. "I only drove over there to pick up my monthly payment from the kid, that's all... Then, I hear the kid conked out before I could even collect! Even my partner thinks I plugged him!"
Karen caught Teresa's glaze and when the detective gave her an enquiring glance, she gave her shake of the head, she hadn't cast a truth spell to be sure, but her instincts were telling her that the man was telling the truth.
"Arthur Colleta, you're under arrest for blackmail," Teresa told the suspect, manoeuvring him so she could apply cuffs. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."
Karen stood and watched as the two detectives manoeuvred the crook into the back of their patrol car. As Jarek closed and locked the door behind him, Karen's commlink beeped. "Go ahead."
"Sunstone, Nomad's had a premonition of another attack."
"Do you have a location?"
"The Industrial Arts Building in Little India," replied Paula. " Units from the twentieth are on the way but..."
"I can probably get there faster!" finished Karen. "Teresa... I've got to go... we think another murder's going to happen soon elsewhere!"
The older woman's eyes bulged in surprise. "Go!"
Karen nodded and raised her hands, summoning a pair of sigils, " Lor Zor!"
The combined sigil expanded quickly after forming, shaping a portal.
After waiting a second for it to stabilise, Karen jumped into the portal and disappeared from view.

*-*-*
Industrial Arts Building,
Chicago,
IL 60626.
20:15 CDT.


As Karen came out of the portal, she rolled into a crouch and quickly scanned the room she'd arrived in.
A loud whirring sound immediately caught her attention and she turned towards it.
To her horror, she saw the potential victim was strapped to an enormous table saw, and he was gradually edging towards the whirring blade.
Deciding that there was no time for subtlety, she thrust her palm forwards with the thumb overlapping. "Ur!" she yelled, sending a beam of pure magical force at the saw blade, shattering it instantly.
She sighed in relief, but this dissipated when she crossed to the prospective victim and then checked him over...
Despite her best efforts, he was dead anyway.

*-*-*
Violent Crimes Division,
Chicago Police Department,
Chicago
IL 60618.
23:30 CDT.


"Well, it's official, both deaths are suspicious... So, I'll be taking over the investigation." Detective Ray Vecchio told the teen heroes assembled around his desk in the bullpen. "Ron Buxton was killed with a doctored facial cream and the fake saw was designed to scare Michael Heimes to death."
"Scare him to death?" asked Cisco, incredulously.
"According to the medical examiner he had a serious heart condition," said Ray, glumly.
"What's wrong?" Karen asked. "You don't sound happy about being on the case."
"I'm not," Ray admitted. "I've already got ninety-five open cases. The last thing I need on my plate is a serial killer."
"Well, anything we can do to help," said Karen.
Ray snorted. "I'll take all the help I can get. Other than them being students, I can't see any connections."
"Paula and I have been cross-checking," Victor added. "Both of them are drama students, so there's that."
The detective perked up. "Have they been in any of the same plays recently?"
"I don't think so," Victor replied. "I'll check."
The group waited for a moment, then Victor spoke up again. "No, they haven't."
"Well, there goes that idea," groused the detective. "Back to square one."
"Maybe not," Victor interjected. "I had a hunch and ran another search. That brought up a match."
"Really?"
Victor nodded. "It might be nothing, but they were both rehearsing for their first lead roles."
"It's not much..." Ray agreed. "But maybe... Is there any crossover between the plays?"
"The university's staging both obviously... Winter Snow and Poison Please," replied Victor. "Nothing obvious..."
"Hang on, that sounds familiar..." ," said Cisco, speaking up for the first time. He moved to the desk and started to type a query into a search engine. After a moment he gave a cry of triumph. "I've got it!"
"What is it?"
"According to Liz Lochlin at the Lake Shore View, the last time the school put on those productions, the same actor -- Basil Rasloff -- performed the lead role in both plays..."
"That's the director for the current plays!" exclaimed Karen. "He must be the killer!"
"That's good," said Ray with a nod, then paused at the look on the Latino hero's face. "Isn't it?"
"Maybe," agreed Cisco. "but the problem is... Rasloff was in athird play. And Frank Morris, another student, is due to remake that for the current season."
"That's not good!" agreed Ray. "We need to find him... and fast!"
"Cyborg to Bunker... Priority Red!"
"Go ahead."
"I need you to find out if a student at the university -- Frank Morris, 19 -- has a cellphone and ping it! His life could be in serious danger!"
"I'm on it!"
While they waited, Ray got on the phone to the police's computer section and gave them the same instructions.
Predictably, the vast computing resources of the Justice League and STAR Labs produced the result before the overburdened police department.
"Morris' number is three-one-two five-five-five two-one-nine-four," reported Victor. "His cellphone last pinged at the building site for the new maths building over in Hyde Park!"
"I'll call the Third," said Ray, reaching for the phone. "Get them to send units."
"We can get there faster," said Victor and turned to his group. "Let's go!"
The quartet hurried out of the room and soon as they were in an open space, Victor summoned a Boom Tube, and they ran into it.

****
Chicago,
IL 60637.
23:40 CDT.


As soon as she was clear of the Boom Tube, Karen cast her flight spell and took off to get a look around.
It didn't take her long to find Rasloff. He was at the controls of a purple crane, and a brown-haired teen in an orange sweater and white jeans was tied to the hook, suspended over a bed of spikes that Rasloff had set up.
Karen signalled to the others.
Cindy dropped her camouflage just outside the cab of the crane and reached into it. With Rasloff distracted, Karen swept in and snatched his victim off the hook, while Cindy dragged Rasloff out of his cab.
The older man tried to struggle for a minute or two, but the fight went out of him when they were joined by Cisco and Victor and he meekly allowed the trio to escort him out to the main road to wait for the police to arrive.

****
Gryffindor Dorms,
Hogwarts,
Scottish Highlands.
18:25 BST.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread. Even Harry -- who knew very little about broomsticks -- thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with an ebony handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand and One written in silver near the top.
After admiring the broom for a few minutes, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. Held never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.
Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling... he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand and One turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.
"Hey, Potter, come down!" said a voice from below him.
Harry looked down and saw that Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate and a broomstick of his own. Harry sweep down and landed next to him.
"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."
He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.
"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play."
Harry nodded, "Madam Hooch explained the basics to me when she visited me in Smallville to give me my letter. I know that the twins are our Beaters..."
Wood nodded. "They're like a couple of Human Bludgers themselves..."
Harry considered Wood for a moment, "I'm guessing you play Keeper... who stops the Chasers from scoring?"
Wood nodded again. "Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell are our Chasers."
"And I'm the Seeker... it's my job to catch the Golden Snitch... which is worth a hundred and fifty points and wins the game."
Wood made a face, "Mostly... catching the Snitch doesn't always win the game, it depends on the score."
"But it usually does?"
"Aye," replied Wood. "Particularly at Hogwarts..." He paused to consider their surroundings, then bent towards the trunk. "But that's enough talking for one night... let's see what you can do."
Wood pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.
Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After about three-quarters of an hour, night had really fallen, and they couldn't carry on.
"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

****
Violent Crimes Division,
Chicago Police Department,
Chicago,
IL 60618.
October 26th, 09:30 CDT.


"Good work on the Rasloff Case. He's not going to be getting out for a long time."
"It was nothing, Lieutenant," Ray admitted. "The Outsiders did most of the work..."
"Does that mean you're reconsidering taking a partner?"
"Maybe," Ray admitted. "But let's be honest, sir, it would take someone very special to put up with me..."
"That's true," admitted the older man, and then walked off. "That's true..."

****
Northwest Territories,
Canada.
April 26th 1994
Team Year Twelve.


An elderly but well-built man trudged through the ice, looking for clues. After a moment, he went down on one knee and scraped away the loose snow with a bare hand until the eye of a caribou frozen under the ice was revealed...
The old man heard something and then began to look around, after a few seconds of searching he rose quickly to his feet and then began to walk up-hill to get a better look. But before he reached the summit, he heard the sound of a rifle bolt locking into place. "You're going to shoot a Mountie?" he said, his voice even. "They'll hunt you to the ends of the Earth."
His answer came as the sharp crack of a gunshot rang out across the quiet gulch and he fell to the ground.

****
A/N: While this chapter takes inspiration from Supergirl vol 1, issue 1, which also supplies the chapter title, the location is intentionally transplanted to the Chicago location of vol 2 (merging the fictional Vandyre and Lake Shore universities and using RW UofC locations) to integrate better with the Outsiders' Detroit sub-team (name TBD, suggestions?)

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