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Chapter Text

Remus was yelling something—probably about not doing anything rash or suicidal. But honestly, when you see your godfather—your only family—get sucked into an ancient, creepy archway, you’re not exactly in the mood for a chat. So I did what any sensible wizard would do: I shook him off and bolted for the Veil.

“Harry, no!” Remus’ voice was desperate, but I was beyond reason. I had to get to Sirius. I had to save him.

Before I knew it, I was diving headfirst into the Veil, half-expecting to find myself in some otherworldly nightmare. Instead, I got this weird, misty realm that felt like I’d stumbled into someone’s really bad dream.

And then, like the universe hadn’t done enough to me already, I wasn’t alone. A twisted, shadowy version of myself was standing there, grinning like he knew all my worst secrets. Which, it turns out, he did.

“Well, well,” the shadow me said, his voice oily and venomous. “Finally figured it out, did you, Potter?”

“Figured out what?” I snapped, because seriously, this guy was pissing me off already.

“That you’ve been a pawn all along,” he sneered. “Dumbledore’s little lamb, led to the slaughter. You never wondered why he kept you so close, yet so uninformed? Why he left you with those Muggles who hated you?”

I felt a pit open in my stomach. “Shut up,” I muttered, but my voice lacked conviction.

“Oh, but it’s the truth,” the shadow continued, his voice dripping with malice. “He knew all about me—about the piece of my soul lodged in your precious little scar. He knew you’d have to die to defeat me, and he kept it from you. He raised you for one purpose, Potter: to be a sacrifice.”

I wanted to shout him down, to tell him he was lying, but there was something sickeningly logical about what he was saying. It was all clicking into place, and that scared me more than anything.

“And the Dursleys,” he went on, because of course he wasn’t done. “That wasn’t just negligence, Potter. That was strategy. Dumbledore wanted you broken, desperate, and easy to control. Every bruise, every insult—they were all part of the plan.”

Scenes flashed in front of me like a horror film: Uncle Vernon’s fists, Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice, the cupboard under the stairs. Each memory dug deeper, each one reinforcing his twisted narrative. 

“Stop it!” I shouted, clenching my fists. “Just… stop!”

“Why should I? I’m just telling you the truth,” he said, smirking. “Face it, Harry. Dumbledore never cared about you. You were just a tool—a means to an end.”

For a second, I felt myself slipping, the doubt and anger boiling over. I could feel him, this piece of Voldemort, trying to take control, using my emotions against me. His voice grew louder, more insistent, whispering dark promises, trying to twist my thoughts.

“Give in, Harry,” he coaxed. “Let me take over. It’s the only way to end the pain.”

But then, something snapped inside me. Maybe it was the thought of my friends, of the people who actually cared about me. Or maybe it was just sheer stubbornness. But I wasn’t about to let Voldemort win, not like this.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said suddenly, cutting him off. “Dumbledore is a manipulative old git.”

The shadow version of me blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“But you know what? So are you. And you’re worse,” I continued, feeling a surge of strength return. “You’re a murderer, a psychopath, and I’m not letting you take me down with you.”

With that, I pushed back with everything I had, shoving him out of my mind, out of my scar, out of my life. I focused on the faces of everyone I loved—Sirius, Ron, Hermione, even Remus—and used that to fuel my resistance.

“Get. Out!” I roared, and the shadow let out a final scream before dissipating into nothing.

The misty world around me shattered, and suddenly I was falling, fast. I braced myself, expecting to hit cold stone, but instead, I landed face-first in sand. Hot, dry, and utterly endless sand.

I groaned, trying to push myself up. “Of course… it’s a desert,” I muttered, barely able to move. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I managed to roll onto my back, staring up at the impossibly bright sky. My body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of Hippogriffs, and my magic—well, it was pretty much gone.

“Great,” I said to no one in particular. “Out of the frying pan, into the… Sahara? Really?”

Just as the irony of it all hit me, the world tilted, my vision blurred, and the last thing I saw before blacking out was that vast, empty desert stretching out endlessly around me.

"Brilliant," I muttered to myself. "Absolutely brilliant." Then everything went dark.

—

Waking up in a chamber filled with gooey, transparent liquid wasn’t exactly how I pictured my next adventure starting. I couldn’t move—heck, I could barely think straight—but I could hear voices. Muffled, but close enough for me to catch bits and pieces.

“...found him in the Nevada Desert...”

Wait, what? Nevada? I was in London—last time I checked, the Ministry of Magic didn’t have any Portkeys leading directly to Vegas. How in Merlin’s name did I end up in the Nevada Desert?

“...barely alive... unique DNA structure... perfect for Project Chimera...”

Chimera? That didn’t sound good. I tried to focus on the voices, but the thick goo surrounding me made it feel like I was underwater. My brain was working at half speed, and I couldn’t even see where I was. This was bad, like, being-locked-in-the-broom-cupboard-for-three-days bad.

“...spliced Wonder Woman’s DNA... still no idea who this person is... but the results are... unexpected...”

Wonder Woman? That sounded like something out of one of Dudley’s comic books. And what did they mean by “spliced DNA”? I was pretty sure that wasn’t something Madam Pomfrey would approve of. 

“...multiple creature DNA... anomaly... latent within him...”

Creature DNA? My sluggish thoughts started connecting the dots. It had to be because of everything that’s happened to me over the years. Let’s see, there was that time I got bitten by a Basilisk, which was fun. Then Fawkes decided to cry into the wound to save my life—definitely a highlight of my second year. Oh, and let’s not forget last year, when a Hungarian Horntail tried to turn me into dragon sushi. 

I guess that explains the “anomaly” they’re talking about. I’ve basically been a magical creature pincushion for years, so of course my DNA isn’t normal.

“...Project Chimera... has potential... we need to monitor the subject closely...”

Okay, time to panic. I was their subject—not a student, not a wizard, just some sort of lab experiment. And this whole “Project Chimera” sounded like it was straight out of a mad scientist’s playbook. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I was going to end up as some Frankenstein’s monster with a weird mix of superpowers and magical creatures.

I had to get out. Now.

Except... I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even twitch a finger. I was trapped in this goo, surrounded by people who thought playing mix-and-match with my DNA was a good idea. My thoughts were fuzzy, my magic felt distant, and the more I tried to fight it, the more the goo seemed to tighten around me.

I wasn’t giving up, though. I’d been through too much to let a little thing like being turned into a human science experiment stop me. If I could just figure out what was going on, maybe I could find a way to break out of this nightmare.

“...need to proceed with caution... the subject’s potential is... unpredictable...”

You’re telling me, I thought grimly. Unpredictable didn’t even begin to cover it. But if they thought I was just going to lie here and let them poke and prod at me like some kind of magical guinea pig, they had another thing coming.

Now, if only I could remember how to get my body to listen to me again…

—

I was floating in the goo again, which wasn’t exactly my idea of a fun time. The voices around me had faded into background noise, but then a new commotion started up. There were raised voices, hurried footsteps, and the unmistakable sound of something getting smashed.

“...we’re raising the lab...”

“Raising it? As in, lifting it up? What does that even—” 

The conversation was interrupted by a sudden burst of activity. The lab was in chaos, and the voices were becoming more frantic. I caught snippets of conversation that made me wonder if things were about to get even weirder.

“...Justice League...”

Justice League? Didn’t sound like something that would be on the Hogwarts curriculum. I was starting to get the feeling I was about to meet some very powerful people.

A new voice, fast and sharp, cut through the confusion. “The subject—he’s some sort of metahuman. Luthorcorp found him barely alive in the desert and started experimenting. Added your DNA to his—”

Before the voice could finish, another figure burst into the room. This one had a presence that practically screamed strength. I could just make out the silhouette of a woman, and from the snippets of conversation, she had to be the Wonder Woman they’d mentioned.

The Flash—he was the fast guy, if I was piecing this together correctly—was rattling off details at lightning speed. “—Project Chimera, they spliced your DNA with his. He’s essentially your... son. Or as close as it gets. But we don’t know what else might’ve been added to him.”

I tried to piece this together. Wonder Woman was my... what now? The concept was so far out there it was almost absurd. But before I could dwell on it, the scene turned into a full-blown action movie. I felt a sudden jolt as the glass of my tube cracked, and the next thing I knew, Wonder Woman was punching a hole right through it. 

The gooey liquid poured out, and I tumbled out of the shattered tube, landing on the cold floor. The fall was dizzying, and my vision swam. I was barely conscious as strong arms lifted me. Wonder Woman’s face was the last thing I saw before everything went black again.

“Easy, young one,” her voice was soothing, and despite my condition, it brought a strange sense of comfort. “You’re safe now.”

As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I could just make out the figures around me—Wonder Woman’s calming presence, and the blur of someone who moved so fast he was just a streak of color. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything: being in a desert, being experimented on, and now being told I was somehow connected to this superhero named Wonder Woman. 

In my half-sleeping state, I had no idea what was coming next, but it felt like my life was about to get a whole lot more complicated—and a whole lot more interesting.

Chapter Text

When I woke up this time, I wasn’t floating in goo, thank Merlin. No, I was in a bed, but not the lumpy, uncomfortable kind you find in the Hogwarts hospital wing. This was the kind of bed you’d see in one of those sci-fi shows Dudley used to hog the TV for—shiny, sleek, and way too clean.

I blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the situation. The walls were all white, with gadgets beeping and blinking like they had nothing better to do. It was the sort of place where you expected a robot to pop out and start scanning you for alien life forms.

Then I noticed the window. And by window, I mean the gigantic viewing port showing off a lovely view of Earth, just hanging there in the middle of a whole lot of nothing. 

Yep. I was in outer space. Because apparently, jumping through a magical death curtain wasn’t dramatic enough for one day. 

“Well, Harry,” I muttered to myself, “you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

—

So there I was, staring at the mirror, trying to figure out who the heck that tall, muscular guy was. This wasn’t the scrawny, pale kid I was used to seeing every morning. No, this guy looked like he could bench press a hippogriff—or at least win an arm-wrestling match with Dudley, which is saying something. The only thing that hadn’t changed were my emerald green eyes—still just as bewildered as ever.

“Okay, Harry,” I muttered to myself, “either you’ve had the mother of all growth spurts, or something extremely weird is going on.”

Before I could come up with any theories involving radioactive spiders or magical protein shakes, the door slid open, and in walked someone who looked like she’d just stepped out of an ancient epic. Tall, strong, and exuding an aura of “don’t mess with me,” she had a presence that made you want to stand up straighter. She looked like she could bench press a dragon—and do it with perfect form.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice calm and soothing, which was a welcome change considering I had no idea where I was or what was happening.

“Uh, confused?” I said, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I now had actual muscles. “And slightly concerned that I woke up looking like I could join a professional Quidditch team.”

She gave me a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes showed a flicker of concern. “That’s understandable. You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m starting to get that,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Could you maybe explain what’s happened? Last I remember, I was jumping through a Veil in the Department of Mysteries, and now… I’m here?”

She took a deep breath, as if preparing to drop a major info bomb. “You were found in a place called Luthorcorp. They labeled you as ‘The Subject’—part of something they called Project Chimera. They… experimented on you.”

My stomach did a somersault. “Experimented? What kind of experiments?”

“They altered your DNA. Combined it with mine,” she said, her tone serious but kind.

I stared at her, trying to make sense of it. “Your DNA? How does that even work? And… who are you?”

“My name is Diana,” she said, with a touch of hesitation, “but some people know me as Wonder Woman.” She paused, clearly noticing the blank look on my face. “I’m… from a place far from here. The people who did this to you, it wasn’t something I would’ve chosen.”

“Right. Wonder Woman,” I repeated, still confused. “And you’re saying I’ve got your DNA now? And who even is Luthorcorp? I was in London a minute ago. How did I end up here?”

She nodded, her expression softening with sympathy. “You were found in the Nevada Desert about a year ago. You were barely alive. Luthorcorp took you in, realized your DNA was different, and decided to experiment on you. They combined my DNA with yours, trying to create something… new.”

“A year?” I echoed, feeling like the floor had just dropped out from under me. “I’ve been here for a year?”

“Yes,” she said gently. “But you’re safe now. Whatever they did to you, it’s over. And you’re not alone in this.”

Safe, huh? Sure, I’d love to believe that. But a whole year? And I still had no clue who these people were, what they’d done to me, or why I suddenly looked like I could take on Grawp in a wrestling match. This was all so far beyond the usual weirdness that followed me around, it wasn’t even funny.

“Thanks,” I managed to say, unsure what else to add. I was thanking her for saving me, I guess, but also for not treating me like a complete freak.

And then there was the whole issue of not having heard of Wonder Woman or anyone like her before. With all the strange stuff in the Muggle papers, you’d think a hero like her would’ve made a splash. But no, nothing. It was like they were from a completely different universe—or maybe just a whole new level of obscure.

I didn’t know much about what had happened to me or what was going to happen next, but one thing was clear: life had just gotten a whole lot stranger. And given my track record, that was really saying something.

—

Diana settled into the chair opposite me, her posture as regal as a queen’s, though she was giving me a look that suggested I was about to be the subject of an intense interrogation. “So, Harry, tell me about yourself. Start from the beginning.”

I took a deep breath, hoping my life story wouldn’t sound too much like a bad soap opera. “Alright, here goes. I’m Harry Potter, and I’m from England. Or, at least, I was. I grew up with my aunt and uncle, who were… less than thrilled about having a wizard in the house. They weren’t big fans of magic. They preferred a more conventional life, like, I dunno, never having fun or breaking the rules.”

Diana looked intrigued, so I continued. “My parents were killed when I was a baby by a dark wizard named Voldemort. He was like the worst kind of bad guy—think of the biggest, baddest villain you’ve ever heard of and multiply that by a thousand. I survived his attack, which gave me this lovely lightning-shaped scar on my forehead.”

I paused to see if Diana’s expression was going to morph into total confusion, but she remained attentive. “Anyway, I went to a magical school called Hogwarts. It was like if a castle and a theme park had a baby. I made friends—Ron and Hermione—and we got into all sorts of adventures. We fought dark forces, dragons, and occasionally tried to stay out of trouble.”

Diana raised an eyebrow at the mention of dragons, but I pressed on. “Last year, I was in the Department of Mysteries, trying to save my godfather, Sirius Black, who got trapped behind this Veil—a magical curtain separating life from death. I jumped through after him, and, well, the next thing I know, I’m waking up here, in this… place.”

Diana’s eyes widened with realization. “You’re from a parallel Earth.”

I blinked at her. “A parallel what now?”

“Your story,” she said slowly, “doesn’t match anything we know from our world. The magic, the wizards, the Veil—these are all new to us. It sounds like your reality is entirely separate from ours.”

“Fantastic,” I said, rubbing my temples. “So my life is basically a cosmic glitch. I should’ve known.”

Diana smiled, a mix of sympathy and determination in her eyes. “It’s a lot to take in, I understand. But you’re not alone. We’ll figure this out together.”

I gave a wry grin. “Well, if anyone can handle a cosmic mix-up, it’s probably me. After all, this is just another day in the life of Harry Potter.”

Diana’s reassurance was oddly comforting. At least I wasn’t stumbling through this mess alone. With her help, maybe I could get a handle on this new reality—no matter how bizarre it turned out to be.

—

Diana took a deep breath, looking like she was about to deliver a punchline to a joke I didn’t quite get. “Harry, there’s something important I need to ask you. Given that you have my DNA, it technically makes you my son. I’d like to know if you’d want me to officially adopt you.”

If my brain were a computer, it would have displayed an error message right then. Adoption? Like, the dream of every orphaned kid ever? The very notion seemed both ridiculously amazing and overwhelming. 

“I—I don’t know,” I stuttered. “I mean, having a mother sounds great and all, but... it feels like it would somehow diminish what my birth mother, Lily Potter, did for me. She sacrificed everything.”

Diana’s eyes softened like she was trying to tell me she really, really got it. “I understand. This isn’t about replacing her or taking away from her sacrifice. It’s about offering you a different kind of support. If that’s something you’d want.”

I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how my life had turned into one big, tragic soap opera. “And then there’s the Dursleys. They were awful. And Sirius—he was like a father to me. Losing him... It feels like everyone I care about ends up hurt or worse. How do I even believe that anyone would genuinely want to care for me without it all going south?”

Diana nodded, her face a mix of compassion and determination. “Life can be tough, Harry. I can’t promise you it will be free of pain or loss. But I can promise you that there are people who want to support you. You’re not alone in this.”

I sighed, feeling like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into an abyss of decisions and emotions. “I really need to think about this. It’s not just about me. It’s about what this means for everyone, including you.”

Diana gave me a reassuring nod and a smile that was both encouraging and a little bit like she was giving me room to breathe. “Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”

As she walked out, I was left alone with a whirlwind of thoughts. It was like I’d been handed the world’s largest puzzle with a piece missing. But at least I wasn’t completely lost in this crazy new world.

—

Diana took a moment to collect her thoughts, and I could tell this was going to be a big deal. “Alright, Harry, here’s the deal,” she said, her voice steady and reassuring. “I need to take you to meet some people. They’re part of a group called the Justice League.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The Justice League? Sounds like something out of a comic book.”

Diana chuckled. “In a way, you’re not far off. The Justice League is a team of heroes who come together to tackle threats that are too big for any one of us to handle alone. Think of them as the ultimate team-up.”

“Okay, so who’s on this team?” I asked, already feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Diana nodded, ticking off names on her fingers. “There’s me, Diana. Then there’s Superman, known for his incredible strength and ability to fly. Batman, who’s got the brains and the gadgets—kind of like a superhero Sherlock Holmes. The Flash, who’s super fast, faster than anyone you could imagine. Green Lantern, who has a ring that can create anything he can think of. Martian Manhunter, who’s got abilities like shapeshifting and telepathy. And Aquaman, who rules the ocean and talks to sea creatures.”

I blinked, trying to take all that in. “Wow, that’s quite the lineup. And you want me to meet them?”

“Yes,” Diana said with a nod. “They’re the founding members of the Justice League. They handle global threats and work to keep the world safe. It’s important that they know about you and your situation. Plus, they can help you adjust to this new world.”

I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Meeting superheroes wasn’t something I’d ever expected to be on my to-do list. “Got it. Let’s go meet the Justice League.”

Diana led the way, and I followed, trying to mentally prepare myself for what was to come. This was definitely not the sort of thing I’d read about in the Muggle papers. But if meeting these heroes could help me figure out my place in this bizarre new reality, I was all in.

—

So, there I was, floating in the most epic sci-fi set ever. Picture the Starship Enterprise, but with a superhero twist and minus the Klingons. We were in the Watchtower, a massive satellite hanging out in space like a giant metal donut. It was exactly the kind of place that made me think, “Yep, I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.” Or London. Or wherever I’d been before jumping through that Veil.

Diana led me into the medical bay of this celestial fortress. It was like walking into the future—if the future was filled with cool gadgets and walls that glowed more than a disco ball at a dance party. Earth was a beautiful blue marble spinning below us, and I found myself doing that awkward thing where you try to look cool while your jaw is practically scraping the floor.

Then, it was time to meet the Justice League. You know, the superhero squad whose action figures were probably collecting dust in toy stores across the multiverse. I was introduced to each of them, and let me tell you, they were every bit as impressive as their reputations. Superman stood there like a beacon of hope and muscles, Batman was all brooding intensity, the Flash had that manic energy like he’d just had triple espresso, Green Lantern was glowing green in a way that made me wonder if he was radioactive, Martian Manhunter had that alien cool factor, and Aquaman was, well, totally Aquaman.

“Welcome to the Hall of Justice,” Diana said, with a tone that made me feel like I was in some sort of VIP superhero lounge. “This is where we handle the world-saving stuff.”

Batman, ever the intimidating force, wasted no time. “Harry Potter. Tell us everything. And I mean everything.”

I blinked. “Uh, sure. Where to start? I’m Harry Potter. I grew up in a cupboard—literally—thanks to my wonderful relatives, the Dursleys. I went to Hogwarts, had some magical adventures, and then jumped through a Veil to save my godfather, Sirius. And now I’m here, in what I’m guessing is a different Earth. I’ve got to say, this place is a lot cooler than my old one.”

Diana stepped in, clearly trying to help me out. “Harry’s story is strikingly similar to what we know, but with some key differences. We believe he’s from a parallel Earth, which explains why his experiences are both familiar and foreign.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed, like he was mentally compiling a dossier. “And how do we know he’s not a threat? Just because he’s from another Earth doesn’t mean he’s harmless.”

Wonder Woman, looking like she was ready to take on a horde of villains single-handedly, stepped in. “He’s not a threat. He’s been through enough. He deserves a chance.”

The discussion turned into an intense debate, with Batman playing devil’s advocate and Wonder Woman defending me with the ferocity of a lioness. It was like a high-stakes courtroom drama, but with more capes and fewer legal briefs. Wonder Woman’s passionate defense was heartening—she was clearly treating me like a kid she’d do anything to protect. And while Batman’s skepticism was a bit intimidating, it was clear they were both fiercely dedicated to making sure I got a fair shot.

Eventually, Superman intervened with a resolution. “We’ve decided to give you a chance to live your life as you wish, but there are conditions.”

“Conditions?” I echoed. My stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels. “What kind of conditions?”

“We’ll need to document the scope of your abilities,” Superman explained. “And Martian Manhunter will perform a telepathic scan to ensure you’re not a danger.”

The mention of a telepathic scan made me want to bolt. My experiences with Occlumency had left me with a serious aversion to anyone poking around in my mind. It felt like being asked to open up my brain to someone who might be a lot less gentle than Snape.

“I’d really prefer if my brain stayed private,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. “But I suppose I don’t have much choice.”

Wonder Woman put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s for your safety and ours. We need to understand your abilities and ensure everyone’s well-being.”

Martian Manhunter nodded solemnly. “I will proceed with the scan. It will be as non-invasive as possible.”

As I prepared for the telepathic scan, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just another bizarre twist in an already crazy day. But if the Justice League was giving me a chance, maybe—just maybe—I could find a place where I finally belonged. Assuming, of course, that I survived the mind probe.

—

So, there I was, about to get my brain probed by the Martian Manhunter, a guy who could probably read my mind faster than I could say “Quidditch.” I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it—imagine being a contestant on a super-intense game show where the grand prize is your own personal mental breakdown. Yeah, that’s what it felt like.

At first, it was like flipping through the best of my life’s blooper reel. There was Hagrid, grinning like a giant teddy bear, telling me I was a wizard. I remembered the cake he handed me—my very first birthday cake ever. Diagon Alley appeared next, all magical and twinkling like something straight out of a fantasy film. The moment Hagrid gave me Hedwig? Classic. I had never seen anything cooler, and she became my best feathered friend.

Then came the Hogwarts Express, with Ron and Hermione making their debut. Meeting them on that train was like stumbling into a buddy cop movie where I actually got to be the hero. And Hogwarts? Seeing that castle for the first time felt like stepping into the pages of a storybook. Learning to fly a broomstick and getting on the Quidditch team felt like winning the lottery, except with more soaring through the air and less paperwork.

But then, just like a rollercoaster that suddenly takes a turn for the worst, the happy memories started taking a dive into the abyss. I found myself reliving the Dursleys’ abuse—the sort of treatment that makes you wish for a giant, magical reset button. The feelings of being ostracized at Hogwarts came next. Everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin in second year. It was like being stuck in a never-ending nightmare. By fourth year, people accused me of cheating my way into the Goblet of Fire, and fifth year? Oh, that was the peak of everyone thinking I was a nutcase who invented Voldemort’s return.

The Third Task was like something out of a horror movie—watching Cedric die and Voldemort’s return felt like someone was twisting a knife in my gut. And the Dementors? They were like the creepy old uncles of the magical world, bringing back the worst memories of my mom’s death.

Umbridge’s blood quill was the stuff of nightmares—writing “I must not tell lies” until it left a scar on my forearm was her way of making sure I never forgot her twisted idea of discipline. Snape’s Occlumency lessons felt like mind-melting exercises in psychological warfare. And Sirius’s death? Let’s just say it was the final boss level of my emotional hellscape.

As the memories crashed over me, I felt like I was sinking in quicksand. I hit the floor, overwhelmed and gasping for air. Diana, being the goddess she is, swooped in and wrapped me in a hug. She held me like a protective shield, her presence a warm anchor in the storm of my memories.

Martian Manhunter floated nearby, looking like he’d just realized he’d accidentally triggered a personal crisis instead of a simple psychic scan. I could sense his guilt, and it was almost palpable.

“I didn’t think it would be this intense,” I managed to croak out, my voice a ragged whisper.

Diana’s arms tightened around me. “You’ve been through more than anyone should ever have to. But you’re not alone anymore. We’re here.”

In that moment, through the haze of my past, I felt a tiny flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, in this bizarre new world, I could find a place to heal and be more than just the sum of my painful memories.

—

The door to the Medical Bay slid shut, leaving the remaining founding members of the Justice League in a silence that was far too heavy for a room full of superheroes. They gathered around the central table in the Watchtower’s briefing room, each lost in thought. Even Superman, the man of steel, looked like he’d just had an unpleasant brush with kryptonite.

Martian Manhunter stood apart from the group, his usual calm shattered like a dropped crystal ball. Whatever he’d seen in Harry’s mind had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

“So, J’onn,” Superman finally broke the silence, his voice as steady as a locomotive, “what did you see in the boy’s memories?”

J’onn J’onzz, usually the epitome of composure, took a moment to collect himself. “What I saw… well, it was like getting a front-row seat to a tragedy marathon. From the day he was dumped on his relatives’ doorstep like an unwanted package, his life has been one long series of unfortunate events. And I don’t mean the fun kind with wacky hijinks.”

The Flash, who had been nervously tapping his foot at super-speed, blurted out, “But he had some good times, right? Friends, adventures, you know, the usual magical boarding school stuff?”

J’onn nodded, though his expression remained grim. “He did, but even those moments were overshadowed by constant danger and loneliness. His friends helped, but they couldn’t shield him from everything. The magical world revered him as a hero, but just as quickly turned on him whenever things went wrong.”

Batman, ever the skeptic, leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “And the abuse? How bad was it?”

J’onn sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand bad memories. “Let’s just say, if there were an award for ‘World’s Worst Relatives,’ the Dursleys would win it hands down. They starved him, locked him in a cupboard, and did everything short of sending him to prison. And even at Hogwarts, his so-called sanctuary, he was ostracized, accused, and manipulated by those in power. The boy’s been through more trials than most seasoned superheroes.”

Aquaman, who had been brooding quietly, spoke up with a low growl. “The kid’s been to hell and back, no doubt. But can we trust him? Can he handle the kind of power he’s got?”

Batman crossed his arms, his expression as unreadable as ever. “It’s not just about power. It’s about resilience. He’s survived all this time, and from what we’ve seen, he’s done it while trying to protect others. That tells us a lot about who he is.”

Superman turned his gaze back to J’onn, his voice filled with the kind of hope that could lift an entire planet. “What do you think, J’onn? Can we help him?”

J’onn’s usually stoic face softened, his red eyes reflecting a deep sense of empathy. “I think… no, I know he needs our help. But we must tread carefully. His mind is fragile after everything he’s been through. He needs time to heal, and more than anything, he needs to know he’s not alone anymore.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of the decision pressing down on them. Batman, ever the strategist, finally broke the silence. “We’ll document his abilities, keep an eye on him, but we’re not locking him up. He’s been through enough. If anyone knows what it’s like to fight their own demons, it’s us.”

Superman nodded, his expression resolute. “Then it’s settled. We’ll give him the support he needs, the life he deserves. Maybe, just maybe, we can show him that being a hero isn’t just about fighting battles—it’s about finding a place where you belong.”

With that, the League members dispersed, each carrying the weight of Harry’s memories with them, but also a spark of hope. Because if there was one thing they all believed in, it was that even the most broken of heroes could still shine.

—

So, there I was, sitting in a high-tech medical bay that looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie, feeling like I’d been hit by a Hogwarts Express full of emotions. Not my best day, to be honest.

Diana sat beside me, radiating calmness and strength, like she had this whole ‘comforting warrior goddess’ thing down to a science. Which, considering she’s Wonder Woman, I guess she does. I was trying to keep it together, but it was tough when every good and bad memory I’d ever had had just been sifted through like pages in a particularly depressing photo album.

“You’re not alone, Charis,” Diana said, her voice as gentle as a warm breeze.

Wait—hold up. Charis? Did she just call me by some weird name that definitely wasn’t Harry?

“Charis?” I asked, doing my best to keep up with whatever Greek thing she was about to lay on me. “Did you just call me Charis?”

She smiled, and I swear, it was like the kind of smile you’d expect from someone who could bench-press a mountain but also knit you a scarf. “Yes, Charis. It’s a Greek word. It means ‘grace’ or ‘kindness.’”

“Okay…” I said slowly, still not quite seeing how that had anything to do with me. “And you’re calling me that because…?”

“Because that’s what you are, Harry,” she explained, her tone so sincere it made my heart do this weird flip-flop thing. “You’re a grace or a kindness of the Gods, a blessing in my life and, perhaps, to this world as well.”

Alright, I’ll admit it—that hit me right in the feels. I wasn’t exactly used to being called a blessing. Back in my world, I was ‘The Boy Who Lived,’ which, trust me, sounds way cooler than it actually is. Mostly, it just meant I was the guy everyone expected to save the day, usually at the expense of my sanity and a good night’s sleep.

“Um… thanks?” I managed, feeling about as awkward as a Hippogriff in a china shop. “I mean, that’s nice of you to say, but I’m just Harry.”

She gave me that smile again, the one that could probably make flowers bloom and all that sappy stuff. Then she reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, which, for some reason, made me feel like I was five years old again, wishing for a family that actually gave a damn. “You may think you’re just Harry, but to me, you’re Charis. And I believe you’re here for a reason, a kindness of the Fates.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On one hand, it was nice to be seen as something good. On the other hand, my track record with being ‘chosen’ wasn’t exactly stellar. Still, something about the way she said it made me want to believe her.

“Oh, and by the way,” she added with a chuckle, “it’s convenient that ‘Harry’ is also a perfect nickname for Charis. It’s as if you were meant to be called that.”

I couldn’t help it—I actually laughed. A real, genuine laugh that felt like it had been buried under all my worries for way too long. “Well, if you put it that way, I guess I can get used to it.”

She pulled me into a hug then, one of those warm, comforting hugs that made you feel like everything might actually be okay for once. “You’re strong, Charis. And you don’t have to face this alone anymore. We’re here with you. I’m here with you.”

I nodded against her shoulder, not trusting myself to speak. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was carrying the weight of the world all by myself. Maybe, just maybe, in this crazy new world with these insanely powerful people, I could find a bit of peace.

Or at the very least, I thought with a wry smile, try to avoid getting into too much trouble. But knowing my luck? Yeah, I wasn’t holding my breath on that one.

—

As if the day couldn't get any more surreal, far above the mortal realm and tucked just out of sight, Hermes, the fastest messenger this side of Olympus—and arguably the biggest gossip in existence—hovered invisibly in the medical bay, witnessing the tender moment between Diana and Harry. He'd only intended to peek in on Diana (nothing like a quick visit to see what Zeus's favorite daughter was up to), but what he found was... juicy. So juicy, in fact, that he could hardly believe his winged sandals.

Diana, the Wonder Woman herself, was comforting a young man as if he were her own son. And that boy? He wasn't just some random mortal; he was radiating with some serious power and—wait for it—demigod DNA.

"Well, well, well," Hermes muttered under his breath, his invisible form shaking with barely contained excitement. "Isn’t this just the cherry on top of the chaos sundae?"

He grinned wickedly, already imagining the drama that would ensue once this news hit Olympus. The idea of Zeus learning that his mighty Amazonian daughter somehow had a son—despite the complexities of how exactly Harry acquired Diana's DNA—was enough to make the messenger god practically giddy. Zeus, of course, would be thrilled at first. A grandson! The mighty Zeus’s lineage continued! But oh, the implications...

For starters, Hera, Zeus's ever-jealous wife, was going to lose her mind. Not only was there a new demigod to add to her ever-growing list of reasons to be angry at her husband, but this one was different. This one was connected to Diana, Zeus’s favorite demigod daughter. The fact that this child—okay, technically a teenager—existed was proof of more divine meddling, and Hera’s wrath was practically a guarantee.

"Oh, I can already hear her screaming," Hermes chuckled, imagining Hera’s inevitable fury. "And then there's Themyscira..."

The very thought of the Amazons learning that their precious princess had a child—a male child, no less—was enough to make Hermes laugh out loud (still invisibly, of course). Themyscira was the ultimate 'no boys allowed' club, and now their most revered warrior had a son? Oh, the drama would be delicious!

With a sly grin, Hermes decided it was time to do what he did best—spread the news. He zoomed off in a blur, zipping past the mortal world and straight to Olympus at a speed that would leave any Quidditch Seeker in the dust.

First stop, Zeus. The King of the Gods would need to hear this, and Hermes could already imagine the stunned look on his face when he found out he was a grandfather. And not just any grandfather—a grandfather to a boy who somehow, magically, carried Diana's DNA.

And then? Off to Themyscira. Not that Hermes was allowed on the island, but he knew a few ways to spread the word. Maybe drop a hint here, a whisper there. Let it slip to a gossip-hungry Amazon or two. The news would spread like wildfire, and the whole island would be in an uproar before sundown.

As for Hera? Hermes decided to let that bombshell drop on its own. She’d find out soon enough, and when she did... Well, that was a mess Hermes would enjoy from a very safe distance.

"Let the games begin," Hermes said with a gleeful smirk, speeding away to Olympus, where a storm of divine drama was about to brew. 

Oh, how he loved his job.

Chapter Text

Hermes arrived at Olympus with a grin that could only mean one thing: gossip. The other gods barely had time to look up from their celestial activities before he was flitting from one to the next, spreading the latest juicy tidbit. 

"You'll never guess what I just saw!" Hermes exclaimed, pausing in mid-air to hover dramatically. "Diana, our very own Wonder Woman, has a son! And guess who the father is—oh wait, it's not what you think. It's more complicated than Zeus's last three affairs combined!"

A ripple of shock moved through the gathered deities. Apollo nearly dropped his lyre, and Artemis, who rarely showed much emotion, actually raised an eyebrow. Even Poseidon, lounging near a fountain, looked intrigued.

"Whose son did you say?" Ares, ever the skeptic, demanded, crossing his arms. "And how in Hades did that happen?"

"Well, that's the fun part," Hermes replied, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Apparently, it's a bit of a scientific miracle. No mortal father involved—at least, not directly. Diana’s DNA mixed with some outside influences, and boom! Instant demi-god son. And he's got a bit of fire in him—literally. Phoenix tears and Basilisk venom, all wrapped up in one very complicated package."

As expected, Zeus’s expression darkened. "Another demigod? I suppose you think this is amusing," he grumbled, though he couldn't entirely mask his curiosity.

Before Zeus could continue, Hera appeared, her presence instantly chilling the mood. Her eyes narrowed as she processed what Hermes had just said. "Another child of Zeus? Or should I say, another reminder of your endless indiscretions?" she snapped, her tone like venom.

"No, dear Hera, don't get your peacock feathers ruffled," Hermes interjected with a wave of his hand. "This one isn't Zeus’s doing... at least, not directly. Though, knowing how you feel about your husband's demigod offspring, I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know that the boy's existence is already stirring up trouble. And—get this—he’s a boy! Imagine how that’s going to go down on Themiscyra."

A murmur of unease spread through the gods as they imagined the reaction of the Amazons. An island of fierce warrior women, many of whom harbored deep-seated resentment towards men, learning that their beloved princess had a son? The drama practically wrote itself.

Hera's eyes flashed with a dangerous mix of anger and disdain. "This will not stand. I will not have another reminder of your... legacy," she hissed, clearly struggling to contain her fury. 

But before Zeus or Hera could launch into a full-blown argument, Athena, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward. "Enough," she commanded, her tone calm but firm. "What’s done is done. The boy is here now, and whether we like it or not, he’s Diana’s responsibility. We must consider what this means for Olympus and for the mortal world."

"Exactly," Hermes chimed in, not one to let things get too serious. "After all, where’s the fun in a world without a little chaos? This could be just what we need to shake things up."

As the gods continued to debate the implications, Hermes couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He’d done his part to stir the pot—now it was only a matter of time before the drama really began to unfold.

—

After stirring the pot on Olympus, Hermes wasn't about to stop there. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he zipped down from the celestial heights, heading straight for Themyscira. If spreading news among the gods was fun, delivering it to the Amazons was going to be downright explosive.

As he approached the hidden island, lush with greenery and steeped in ancient history, Hermes slowed his flight to a casual glide. Themyscira was a place of honor and respect—two things Hermes typically had little time for, but even he knew better than to rush into an Amazonian council unannounced.

He touched down lightly on the marble steps of the palace, where a few Amazons were busy training in the courtyard. They looked up, surprise quickly turning to wariness as they recognized him. Hermes, after all, wasn’t exactly a frequent visitor, and when he did show up, it usually meant trouble—or at least, a very interesting day.

“Ladies,” Hermes said with a broad smile, tipping an imaginary hat. “Is your Queen around? I’ve got some news that’s going to shake things up around here.”

The Amazons exchanged looks before one of them stepped forward. “What business do you have with Queen Hippolyta, Messenger?” she asked, her tone formal and cool.

“Oh, just a little update from Olympus. Nothing major… except that your princess has a son,” Hermes replied, his voice dripping with the kind of casualness that suggested this was anything but a small detail.

The Amazon warriors stiffened, and a murmur ran through the group. “A son?” one of them echoed, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard. “Princess Diana… has a son?”

“Yep, you heard me right. And not just any son—he’s got a bit of Phoenix fire and Basilisk venom in him. Quite the mix, really,” Hermes said, clearly enjoying the shock value of his words. “But I suppose it’s best if I deliver the full story to Queen Hippolyta herself.”

Without waiting for a response, Hermes sauntered past the stunned Amazons, making his way into the palace. Inside, the atmosphere was serene, the air filled with the scent of fresh flowers and the distant sound of the ocean. It was almost a shame to disrupt the peace with what he was about to drop on them.

Queen Hippolyta was in the throne room, deep in conversation with one of her advisors. When Hermes entered, she looked up, her regal composure unruffled. “Hermes,” she greeted him, her voice calm but with a hint of curiosity. “What brings you to Themyscira?”

Hermes gave a theatrical bow. “Your Majesty, I come bearing news—big news, actually. You might want to sit down for this one, though I suppose you’re already doing that, so let’s just dive right in. Your daughter, the mighty Diana, has a son.”

For the first time, Hippolyta’s stoic expression faltered. “A son?” she repeated, disbelief lacing her words.

“Yes, indeed! A fine young lad, though the circumstances of his arrival are… let’s just say, unconventional. A little bit of magic, a dash of science, and voilà—an heir to Themyscira who’s part demigod, part… something else. And before you ask, no, there wasn’t a father involved in the traditional sense. It’s complicated, but he’s very much Diana’s son.”

Hippolyta’s eyes narrowed as she processed the information. “And how, exactly, did this come to pass?”

“Oh, you know how it is with heroes—things just sort of happen,” Hermes replied with a shrug, trying to keep the mood light. “But the important thing is, he exists. And, well… I imagine the rest of the Amazons are going to have some strong opinions about that.”

The queen sat back in her throne, her mind clearly racing. “This will change everything,” she murmured, more to herself than to Hermes.

“Indeed it will,” Hermes agreed, his tone almost cheerful. “The question is, how will Themyscira react to having a male heir? I’d bet my wings it’s going to be quite the spectacle.”

Hippolyta’s gaze sharpened, and she looked directly at Hermes. “Leave us, Hermes. This is a matter for the Amazons to discuss.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Hermes said with another bow, though the twinkle in his eye suggested he’d be keeping an ear out for the fallout. As he turned to leave, he couldn’t help but think that this little revelation was going to stir up even more drama than he’d anticipated. And for Hermes, the god of mischief and messages, that was just the way he liked it.

—

As the news of Diana’s son rippled through Themyscira, it was like throwing a stone into a still pond—at first, just a few ripples, but soon, the entire island was caught up in the waves of conversation. The Amazons, usually so focused on their training, crafts, and governance, were suddenly abuzz with one topic: Diana’s son.

In the training grounds, warriors paused their drills to discuss the shocking revelation. Some were curious, wondering how a man—a boy, even—would change the dynamics of their all-female society. Others were more apprehensive, recalling the traumas inflicted upon them by men in the outside world. These were the ones who, while they didn’t hate men universally, preferred their lives on Themyscira to remain untouched by the presence of any male.

But then, there were those whose views were far more severe. These Amazons held onto a deep-seated hatred for all men, seeing them as the embodiment of everything wrong with the world beyond their shores—greed, deception, cruelty. And for them, the idea of a male heir, even one born of Diana, was nothing short of an abomination.

As the debate grew louder, more heated, it was only a matter of time before the news reached the ears of Aresia. Unlike the others, who were merely reacting to the sudden appearance of a male on Themyscira, Aresia’s response was one of cold, calculated fury.

Aresia, the adoptive daughter of Hippolyta and the adoptive sister of Diana, had long harbored a deep hatred for men. Her past had been marred by the violence and betrayal of men, and it had shaped her into a woman who saw them as the root of all evil on Earth. Where others saw hope or neutrality, Aresia saw only corruption and destruction.

When the news finally reached her—brought to her by one of her loyal followers, who had heard it firsthand—Aresia’s first reaction was a chilling silence. She stood alone in her private chamber, the marble walls echoing the distant sounds of the sea, as she processed what she had just been told.

“Diana… has a son?” she repeated, her voice barely more than a whisper, though it carried a weight that could crush mountains.

“Yes, sister,” the Amazon confirmed, her voice trembling slightly as she gauged Aresia’s mood. “Hermes himself brought the news. They say the boy is part demigod, like Diana. But… he is still a man.”

Aresia’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. The idea of her beloved sister, the embodiment of everything pure and strong, being associated with a male—let alone giving birth to one—was an affront to everything Aresia believed in.

“Where is he?” Aresia asked, her voice now cold and sharp, like a blade.

“In the palace, with the queen. They are… deciding what to do.”

Aresia’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, she was silent. Then, with a sudden, fierce determination, she turned and began to gather her weapons—her sword, her armor, her shield. If the Amazons were going to debate the boy’s fate, then Aresia would make sure her voice was heard loud and clear.

“This… this thing must not be allowed to remain on Themyscira,” Aresia declared, her voice filled with venom. “Men are a blight upon the Earth. They bring nothing but suffering and ruin. I will not allow our island—our sanctuary—to be tainted by one.”

Her follower nodded, though the fear in her eyes was clear. “What will you do, sister?”

Aresia paused, her gaze hardening as she strapped her sword to her side. “I will do what must be done. If the queen will not rid us of this threat, then I will. For the sake of Themyscira… and for the world.”

With that, Aresia strode out of her chamber, her resolve as unyielding as steel. The news had spread, the debates had begun, but Aresia had already made her decision. And in her heart, she knew there was only one way to ensure that Themyscira remained untainted by the presence of any man.

No matter who that man was.

—

In the grand hall of the palace, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Queen Hippolyta sat at the head of a long marble table, surrounded by her most trusted advisors. To her right stood her sister, General Antiope, arms crossed, her expression as sharp as the sword she always carried. To her left, Phillipus, the ever-loyal general and the Queen’s chief counselor, sat with her brow furrowed in concern. Althea, the royal physician, watched quietly, her eyes betraying the worry she felt. Across from them, Melanippe, the Oracle and messenger for the Gods of Olympus, stood tall and regal, her eyes distant as if she was gazing into a world beyond this one.

The conversation was as serious as it could be, given the circumstances. The news that Diana, their beloved princess and champion, had a son—a son!—had shaken the island to its core. And now, they had gathered to discuss the implications of this revelation.

“The boy is of divine heritage,” Melanippe said, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of prophecy. “His blood carries the essence of the Gods, just as Diana’s does. He is not to be taken lightly.”

Antiope grunted, her voice firm. “Divine or not, he is still a man. And you know as well as I do, sister, what that could mean for Themyscira.”

Hippolyta remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the table before her. Her mind was racing. She had known this day might come—Diana was not like other Amazons, after all. But to hear it confirmed, to know that her daughter had a son, was something she had not fully prepared herself for.

Phillipus reached out, placing a hand on Hippolyta’s arm. “My Queen, we must decide what is to be done. The council is already divided. Some wish to welcome the boy, to see what he might bring to Themyscira. Others… well, you can imagine.”

Hippolyta nodded slowly. “I know, Phillipus. I know all too well.”

Before she could say more, the heavy doors of the hall burst open with a loud crash. All heads turned as Aresia stormed in, her face a mask of barely contained fury. The room seemed to grow colder with her presence, the light dimming as if in response to the dark storm brewing within her.

“Aresia,” Hippolyta greeted her, though her tone carried a warning. “What is the meaning of this?”

Aresia’s eyes blazed as she marched toward the table. “The meaning, Mother,” she spat, the word dripping with disdain, “is that there is a man—a son of Diana, no less! And you sit here debating what to do, as if there’s any choice in the matter.”

Antiope straightened, her hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of her sword. “Watch your tone, Aresia. You speak to the Queen.”

But Aresia was undeterred. “And what would you have me do, Antiope? Stand by while a man, a creature that has brought nothing but ruin to this world, is allowed to walk among us? To corrupt our land with his very presence?”

Phillipus rose to her feet, her voice calm yet firm. “Aresia, you know nothing of this child. He is Diana’s blood—our princess. He deserves a chance to—”

“To what?” Aresia interrupted, her voice rising. “To live among us? To bring the same greed, the same cruelty that all men carry within them? I will not allow it!”

Melanippe, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up, her voice filled with a quiet authority. “Aresia, your fears are understandable, but you are mistaken. The boy is not here on Themyscira.”

Aresia faltered, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

Melanippe’s gaze was steady, almost serene. “Hermes brought us the news, yes, but Diana has yet to return. Her son is not here.”

Aresia blinked, her anger wavering as confusion set in. “Then… where is he?”

“We do not know,” Phillipus replied. “But wherever he is, it is not within our borders.”

The revelation seemed to deflate Aresia’s rage, but only slightly. “And you trust Hermes?” she asked, her voice still laced with suspicion.

Melanippe inclined her head. “I trust that the Gods have their reasons for informing us of this now. But we must not act rashly. The boy’s fate—and Diana’s—will unfold in time. We must be patient.”

Aresia’s eyes narrowed, the fire in them dimming to a simmer. “So, what then? We wait? And do nothing?”

Hippolyta finally stood, her presence commanding the room. “We prepare,” she said, her voice resolute. “We will remain vigilant, and we will not act out of fear. But make no mistake, Aresia—Diana is my daughter, and that boy is my grandson. I will protect Themyscira, as I always have. But I will not harm them without cause.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Aresia might argue, her hand twitching toward her sword. But then, with a visible effort, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the hall, the doors slamming shut behind her.

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of Aresia’s words hanging in the air.

“Do you think she will listen?” Phillipus asked quietly, her gaze still on the doors.

Hippolyta sighed, her shoulders heavy with the burden of leadership. “I do not know. But we must be prepared. Themyscira faces a challenge unlike any we have seen before. And how we handle it will determine the future of our people.”

The others nodded, though the tension in the room remained. Decisions would have to be made, and soon. But for now, all they could do was wait—and hope that Aresia’s anger would not lead to something far more dangerous.

—

So there I was, having what was turning into a surprisingly normal conversation with Diana about her childhood tales, when Hermes decided to crash our little chat. And by "crash," I mean he practically stormed in with all the subtlety of a marching band in a library. If there was a “Most Dramatic Entrance” award at the Olympus Oscars, Hermes would have it in his trophy case.

“Hello, mortals!” he bellowed, flinging his arms wide like he was the star of some grand performance. “Guess who’s about to drop some serious cosmic tea?”

Diana gave him a look that could probably freeze lava. “Hermes, what do you want?”

Hermes leaned against the nearest console like he owned the place, which, knowing him, he probably thought he did. “Oh, nothing much. Just came to share some news that’s going to shake up both Olympus and Themyscira.”

I could feel my curiosity piquing. I’d read enough Greek mythology to know that when Hermes showed up with news, it usually meant trouble. “And what’s this news?”

Hermes’ grin could have been seen from space. “Oh, just that your existence has now been broadcasted to the divine realms. Olympus is buzzing, and Themyscira is in full panic mode. Turns out, you’re officially a grandson of Zeus.”

I blinked, feeling my brain try to wrap around this new information. “Wait, what?”

Diana’s expression shifted from mildly annoyed to “I’ve got to deal with this” mode. “Hermes, you didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did!” Hermes replied, practically dancing with glee. “Hera’s probably sharpening her thunderbolts as we speak, and the Amazons are re-evaluating their ‘no men’ policy.”

I ran a hand through my hair, which felt like it was going to fall out of sheer disbelief. “So, I’m a target for both divine and Amazonian wrath now? Sounds like just another Tuesday in my life.”

Hermes gave me a friendly thump on the back, which almost sent me flying. “Exactly! Hera’s not exactly known for her warm and fuzzy feelings about Zeus’ demigod children. And Themyscira? They’re not thrilled about your arrival.”

Diana shot Hermes a look that could have turned him into a pile of dust. “Hermes, you need to stop making trouble.”

Hermes just smirked and looked completely unfazed. “I’m just delivering the news. The rest is up to the gods, the Amazons, and you two. I’ll be here if you need more gossip or a divine favor.”

With that, Hermes vanished in a swirl of divine light, leaving Diana and me to process the fresh wave of chaos. 

“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath, “that’s one way to start the day.”

Diana placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get through this. We always do.”

I nodded, trying to keep my cool despite the whirlwind of new complications in my life. “Okay, let’s tackle this like we will tackle everything else—together.”

As the last traces of Hermes’ dramatic exit faded, Diana and I faced the new mess we had to handle. With divine drama heating up and a lot more chaos on the horizon, we were in for one wild ride. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that facing trouble head-on with the right people by your side makes all the difference. And right now, that meant Diana and me against the world.

—

Diana strode into the Watchtower's main briefing room, her usual grace tempered by a serious urgency. The core members of the Justice League—Superman, Batman, Green Lantern (Hal Jordan), the Flash, Martian Manhunter, and Aquaman—were already gathered, discussing the latest developments in their ongoing battles for justice.

"Everyone," Diana began, her voice commanding immediate attention, "we have a situation."

Superman turned to her, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What’s happened?"

Diana took a deep breath. "Hermes, the messenger of the gods, just arrived with some significant news. It seems that Olympus and Themyscira are now aware of Harry's existence. As my son, he is technically the grandson of Zeus."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Batman’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And this is problematic because...?”

Diana nodded gravely. “Because Hera, Zeus’s wife, has a notorious dislike for his demigod children. Her anger could lead to significant trouble. Additionally, Themyscira, while home to many who might be indifferent to men, includes factions like Aresia—who despises men and would see Harry as a threat.”

The Flash’s eyes widened. “So, things could get pretty chaotic.”

“Exactly,” Diana confirmed. “I need to go to Themyscira immediately to address the situation and try to contain the fallout. But I can’t be in two places at once.”

Superman stepped forward, his cape fluttering slightly. “We’ll handle things here. You can count on us to look after Harry.”

“Thank you,” Diana said, her tone softening with gratitude. “Please ensure he’s protected and comfortable while I’m dealing with this.”

Green Lantern, his ring glowing faintly, nodded in agreement. “We’ve got this. What’s the best way to keep him safe?”

Diana’s gaze swept over the group. “Keep him informed and secure. Ensure that he knows he is under our protection and that we’re here to support him.”

Martian Manhunter’s voice, calm and measured, added, “We’ll make sure to be vigilant. If anything unusual occurs, we’ll address it immediately.”

Aquaman, his presence as commanding as ever, simply nodded. “I’ll help coordinate our efforts.”

The Flash, ever the optimist, grinned. “And I’ll keep an eye out for any unexpected visitors.”

Diana smiled, her resolve unwavering. “Thank you, all of you. I’ll keep you updated from Themyscira.”

With that, Diana headed to the teleportation platform, ready to face the storm brewing on her home island. The Justice League members exchanged determined looks, ready to fulfill their roles in keeping Harry safe while Diana tackled the divine drama awaiting her.

—

Diana materialized from the Zeta Tube with a crackle of energy, landing gracefully on the shores near Themyscira. The cool breeze ruffled her hair as she soared skyward, her red and gold armor gleaming in the sunlight. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her shoulders. Her son—Harry—was not truly her son by birth, but a child of destiny shaped by extraordinary circumstances. Found on the brink of death and spliced with her own DNA, he had become her son by a mere twist of fate.

As Diana approached the palace, the sounds of heated debate grew louder. The majestic structure of the royal palace loomed ahead, and she landed softly on the marble steps. The grand hall was filled with Amazonian warriors and council members, all engaged in a fervent discussion about the startling news.

“The princess has a child! This defies everything we stand for!” one voice exclaimed, barely concealing the outrage.

“It’s a challenge to our traditions, a disruption we can’t ignore,” another voice countered, filled with unease.

Diana stepped through the ornate doors of the royal palace, her regal presence commanding immediate attention. The hall, filled with the murmurs of Amazonian council members, fell silent as she approached the center where Queen Hippolyta, Antiope, Phillipus, Althea, and Melanippe were deep in discussion.

“Mother,” Diana greeted, her voice steady despite the weight of her task. “Ladies, I come to address the concerns raised by Hermes’ news.”

Hippolyta’s gaze softened as she took in her daughter’s resolute stance. “Diana, you have returned. The Amazons are deeply troubled by the revelation.”

“I understand,” Diana said, raising her hand to calm the gathering. “But there are details that must be explained. Harry, the boy in question, is not of our world by birth, but he is linked to us in ways that go beyond mere coincidence.”

Antiope’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And just how is this child connected to us?”

Diana took a deep breath, preparing to unravel the complex story. “Harry was found on the brink of death, having leaped into something known as the Veil of Death. This event transported him from his original world to ours. He was discovered by Luthorcorp, who saw in him an opportunity for experimentation. They used his body as a vessel for their own dark ambitions.”

A murmur rippled through the assembly. Diana continued, “In their twisted efforts, they spliced his DNA with mine. This was not done with any intention of creating a child, but the result was that he became my son in a technical sense.”

Phillipus leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. “And what does this mean for us?”

“It means,” Diana said, “that while Harry is not my biological child in the traditional sense, he is the product of my DNA and has been brought into our world under extraordinary circumstances. His existence is a result of a convergence of fate and experimentation rather than anything of our making.”

Althea, always practical, raised a hand. “What about the child’s role? What does he represent for our people?”

Diana’s expression softened. “Harry is a link to a broader world, one that faces challenges far beyond our own. His presence here is a reflection of the interconnectedness of our fates. He is not merely a child of my blood but also a symbol of the extraordinary intersections that define our reality.”

Melanippe, the oracle, spoke up. “The omens regarding this child are indeed mixed. There are signs of both great conflict and potential unity.”

Diana nodded, acknowledging the weight of Melanippe’s words. “That is why I seek your support. We must address this matter with both wisdom and compassion. Harry’s arrival is a challenge to our traditions, but it is also an opportunity to show our strength and grace.”

Antiope’s stern expression softened slightly. “If we are to accept this child, we must ensure that it aligns with our values and ideals.”

Diana’s gaze was unwavering. “I believe it does. By accepting Harry, we embrace the complexities of our world and affirm our strength in adapting to new realities.”

With a heavy sigh, Hippolyta stood and addressed the council. “Let us consider Diana’s words carefully. We must balance our traditions with the demands of our changing world.”

As the council members began to discuss Diana’s revelations, she knew the path ahead would be challenging. Yet, she remained resolute, determined to protect her son and guide her people through the turbulence of change.

—

I was still reeling from the news about my new and technically complicated family tree when I stumbled into a green-skinned teenage Martian in the Watchtower. She was cheerfully humming a tune that sounded like it had been pulled straight from a sitcom—something called “Hello, Megan!”

“Hello, Megan!” she chirped, flashing a grin that could only be described as full-on Martian sunshine. 

I blinked, trying to make sense of the scene. “Uh, hey there. I’m Harry. Did I miss the memo about this being a musical?”

The Martian—who had red eyes and a shirt with the same “Hello, Megan!” slogan—laughed, clearly used to this reaction. “No memo needed! I’m Miss Martian, but you can call me Megan. I’m a big fan of that show. It’s got this amazing mix of adventure and comedy. You know, a bit like life here on the Watchtower, but with fewer explosions and more laugh tracks.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, attempting to get my head around everything that was happening. “I could use a laugh right now. Everything’s been a bit... intense lately.”

Megan nodded, her expression sympathetic. “I hear you. Sometimes, even superheroes need a break. That’s why I binge-watch 'Hello, Megan!' It’s a great way to unwind. Plus, it has some pretty hilarious characters. Not that we have any of those here...”

“Right,” I said, trying not to laugh. “I’m still adjusting to the whole superhero thing. Any advice on how to handle it?”

Megan’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Just roll with it! And remember, if you need a distraction from the high-stakes hero drama, ‘Hello, Megan!’ is always there for you. I’m basically an expert on the show, so if you want recommendations, just ask.”

I grinned, feeling a bit better. “I think I’ll take you up on that. At least it sounds like a good escape from all the hero business.”

Megan gave me a thumbs-up. “Awesome! I’m sure you’ll love it. And don’t worry, you’ll find your way around here. If nothing else, you’ve got me to help you navigate the craziness.”

As she bounced off, I couldn’t help but smile. With friends like Megan around, maybe I could survive this chaotic new world after all. And who knows? Maybe a few episodes of “Hello, Megan!” were exactly what I needed to keep my sanity intact.

Chapter Text

In the grand, marble-floored palace of Themyscira, the air was thick with the kind of tension that usually comes with family secrets and epic Greek drama. Diana found herself in a quiet corner with her mother, Hippolyta. The regal queen’s face was a study in contemplation, though not exactly in a relaxing way. 

Diana started, her voice wavering a bit as if trying to balance on the tightrope of her emotions. “So, I’ve been thinking... about naming him Charis. It’s a Greek word for ‘Grace’ or ‘Kindness,’ and it seems to fit.”

Hippolyta’s eyes softened, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. “Charis is a lovely choice, Diana. It’s fitting, given the circumstances.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “Though he may not be allowed in Themyscira due to our strict laws—being a man and all—he is still family.”

Diana’s brow furrowed. “I know. I mean, technically, he’s not even a man yet—just sixteen. But it’s hard knowing he can’t be here.”

The Queen leaned back, a contemplative look on her face as if weighing the balance of ancient traditions against new realities. “It’s true. Our customs are what they are. Men have no place here, and there are many who would rather not change that, especially given past grievances. But despite all that, he’s part of our bloodline. He’s my grandson, even if by the thinnest of technicalities.”

Diana took a deep breath, trying to wrap her head around the reality of it all. “I just want him to know that he belongs somewhere, even if it’s not with us.”

Hippolyta’s hand reached out, resting gently on Diana’s. “We can’t change the laws, but we can make sure he knows he’s loved. We can find ways to honor him from afar.”

The two shared a quiet moment, framed by the grandeur of the palace. The idea of Charis, or Harry as he was known outside their world, was a bittersweet reminder of the complexities of their lives. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole—neat and tidy, but never quite right. 

Yet, despite the rules and the drama, the bond of family held firm, a golden thread tying their hearts together. And somewhere between the strict customs of Themyscira and the shifting sands of their own hearts, a place for Harry was carved out.

—

Diana took a deep breath. She had just navigated a heart-to-heart with her mother, which, honestly, had gone better than expected. But now she had to face an even more daunting challenge: her adoptive sister, Aresia. If there was a ranking of people most likely to be difficult about a sixteen-year-old boy suddenly becoming part of the family, Aresia would top the list, no contest. 

Aresia’s quarters were exactly what you’d expect from someone who could win a staring contest with a stone statue—regal, organized, and with the kind of sharp edges that said, "I’m a warrior, don’t mess with me." Diana walked in, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her stomach. Aresia was standing by the window, gazing out at the island like she was expecting trouble to float in on the next wave.

“Diana,” Aresia said, not even bothering to turn around. Her voice had that suspicious edge, like she was already mentally preparing her battle strategy. “What brings you here?”

Diana took a moment to pull herself together. “We need to talk about something important. It’s about the boy, Harry.”

That got Aresia’s attention. Her posture snapped into battle-ready mode, like she was bracing for a fight. “What about him?”

Here’s where it got tricky. Diana sighed. “He’s... well, technically, he’s my son. I found him on the verge of death, and Luthorcorp—being the bastion of good decisions they are—decided to play mad scientist and spliced his DNA with mine. So, technically, he’s my son.”

Aresia whirled around, eyes narrowing into what could only be described as the Amazonian version of the death glare. “A man? You brought a man into this world?”

“Not exactly by choice,” Diana said quickly, holding up her hands in surrender. “He was practically dead when I found him. Now he’s a sixteen-year-old boy who’s really going to need some help figuring all this out.”

Aresia’s expression was somewhere between "Are you serious?" and "I’m about to throw something." “So he’s part of your DNA but not part of our world. Why should we care?”

Diana softened her tone, going for the heartstrings. “Because he’s family, Aresia. I know how you feel about men, but he’s not just any man. He’s part of our bloodline, and that means something.”

Aresia’s eyes narrowed as she considered this. “So, we’re supposed to accept him as part of the family, just like that? And what about the problems he might bring? He’s a man, after all.”

Diana was ready for this. “He’s not coming to Themyscira. I’m just asking for your understanding and support. We can’t change our laws, but we can acknowledge that he’s connected to us. He deserves to know he’s not alone in this.”

Aresia’s expression didn’t give anything away. “I’ll think about it. But if his presence puts us in danger or disrupts our way of life, I won’t hesitate to act.”

Diana nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. “Thank you, Aresia. I really appreciate you hearing me out.”

As Diana left Aresia’s quarters, the tension in the air didn’t exactly vanish. She knew this was only the beginning of a long, complicated journey. But if there was one thing Diana had learned over the years, it was that sometimes the hardest battles weren’t fought with swords or shields, but with understanding, patience, and a whole lot of heart.

—

So, here’s the thing: when you’re suddenly the son of Wonder Woman (on a technicality, but let’s not split hairs), your life gets... weird. I’m talking “falling through a magical death portal and waking up in a whole new world” kind of weird. But I’ll tell you what’s even weirder—binge-watching a 1980s TV show with a teenage Martian.

Yep, you heard that right. A Martian. And not just any Martian—M'gann M'orzz, or as I like to call her, Megan, because honestly, trying to pronounce her full name without butchering it is like trying to recite a tongue twister with a mouth full of chocolate frogs. She’s cool though, super friendly, and totally obsessed with this TV show called Hello, Megan!

Now, before you judge, let me explain. The show is one of those cheesy, feel-good sitcoms from the 80s. Think laugh tracks, bright clothes, and catchphrases galore. And Megan? She’s totally hooked. She even modeled her entire Earth persona after the main character, also named Megan. So when she suggested we binge-watch the entire series together, how could I say no?

“Harry, you’re going to love this episode,” Megan said, her eyes practically glowing with excitement as she hit play on the next episode. We were on the couch in the Watchtower’s lounge, surrounded by enough snacks to fuel a Quidditch team through a double overtime match.

I grinned, popping a handful of popcorn into my mouth. “I’m ready. Bring on the neon colors and over-the-top life lessons.”

The opening credits rolled, complete with the show’s catchy theme song. I have to admit, there’s something oddly comforting about the predictable plotlines and the way everything wraps up neatly in twenty-two minutes. It’s like taking a break from the chaos of my life, which, believe me, has been pretty chaotic lately.

As the episode played out, I found myself laughing along with Megan. She knew every line, every gag, and every silly dance move. And honestly? It was kind of infectious. We were halfway through the series now, and I could see why she loved it so much. It was like a slice of pure, unfiltered joy. 

“‘Hello, Megan!’” Megan chirped, mimicking the main character’s catchphrase as the episode ended.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know, I never thought I’d be here—watching old sitcoms in space with a Martian. But I’m glad I am.”

Megan beamed at me. “I’m glad you’re here too, Harry. You’re kind of like the brother I never had.”

That hit me right in the feels. After everything I’d been through, finding a friend like Megan was... well, it was pretty great. And if binge-watching Hello, Megan! was what it took to forget about the craziness for a while, then so be it.

“Thanks, Megan,” I said, meaning it. “Now, let’s see what Megan gets up to next.”

And just like that, we dove back into the world of laugh tracks, neon scrunchies, and the weirdly wonderful life of Megan Wheeler. Because sometimes, when life throws you a magical death portal and a bunch of unexpected new family members, all you really need is a good TV show and a friend who makes you feel at home.

—

Lex Luthor sat in his meticulously organized office, surrounded by the cold glow of monitors that made him look like a supervillain straight out of a comic book. Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t far from the truth. On the screens, data from Project Chimera scrolled endlessly, taunting him with what should have been his greatest achievement. Instead, it felt like the universe had served him a giant slice of humble pie.

The Subject—a nameless kid who had somehow ended up half-dead in the Nevada Desert—was supposed to be Luthor’s magnum opus. A weapon so powerful it would make Superman look like a kid with a slingshot. Luthor could still remember the day his team had found the boy. The kid was barely hanging on, but he was radiating energy like a malfunctioning nuclear reactor. And no one could figure out what the heck it was. It wasn’t Kryptonian, Martian, or anything else on the intergalactic bingo card. Whatever it was, it had "game-changer" written all over it.

Luthor’s brain had gone into overdrive. The boy’s DNA was like a treasure map with no key, full of ancient secrets and hints of something big, something primal. Luthor had toyed with a bunch of wild theories: Maybe the kid was the last of some ancient race. Maybe he was some mad scientist's lab experiment gone wrong (or right, depending on your perspective). Whatever the case, the potential was clear. And Luthor was not the kind of guy to let potential go to waste.

So, what did he do? He decided to play mad scientist himself. The kid’s mysterious powers combined with the DNA of an Amazon? Jackpot. Wonder Woman’s blood was just the ticket. After all, she could trade punches with Superman on a good day. Mix that with the boy’s strange energy, and Luthor would have the ultimate weapon. Something even the Justice League couldn’t handle without losing a few teeth.

But, of course, Luthor wasn’t just interested in making a powerful being. He wanted the ultimate control. The cherry on top of his diabolical sundae was supposed to be a little something he liked to call the "subliminal codephrase." Just a simple phrase, but one that would turn the boy into Luthor’s personal attack dog. Imagine having that kind of power: a living weapon that could take down Superman with just a word. It was the kind of thing that made Luthor want to do an evil laugh.

But then—plot twist! The Justice League, in all their righteous glory, had to crash the party. Somehow, they’d gotten wind of Luthor’s plans and swooped in like the world’s most annoying party crashers. Superman, Batman, the Flash, and Wonder Woman had busted into his facility, freed the boy, and poof!—months of work down the drain in less time than it takes to microwave popcorn.

Now, all Luthor had left was a bunch of data and a bad case of what-could-have-been. He didn’t even know who the boy was or where he came from. The mystery of the kid’s origins was like a puzzle missing half the pieces, and it bugged Luthor almost as much as losing his chance to control him.

But if there was one thing Lex Luthor was good at, it was playing the long game. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in that classic villain pose. Project Chimera was a bust, sure. But this was just a minor setback. There’d be other projects, other chances to create the ultimate weapon. The Justice League might’ve won this round, but Luthor knew the game was far from over.

For now, he’d regroup, study the data, and bide his time. The world didn’t know it yet, but Lex Luthor wasn’t the kind of guy who accepted defeat. He was the kind of guy who thrived on challenges, who turned obstacles into stepping stones. And one day, when the time was right, he’d show the world—and the Justice League—just what Lex Luthor was capable of. And trust him, it was going to be big.

—

Diana stepped out of the Zeta Tube and into the Watchtower, her boots clicking on the polished floor. After her intense Amazonian family drama, the cool, techie vibe of the space station felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air. Here, it was all straightforward—stop the bad guys, save the day, maybe grab a cup of coffee. No political minefields or sibling rivalry.

She was barely two steps in when a red blur zipped past her, then screeched to a halt right in front of her. Enter: the Flash, always moving at the speed of light, both physically and verbally.

“Diana! You’re back!” Barry Allen grinned, his enthusiasm practically crackling in the air. “So, how was the whole Amazon family reunion thing? Lots of heartfelt talks and ancient grudges?”

Diana managed a small smile. Barry had this way of making even the most exhausting day seem a little brighter. “Something like that. What’s happening here?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Barry said, waving his hand like he was swatting away a mosquito. “A couple of alien invaders plotting world domination, Batman doing his best Dracula impression in the dark corner—just another Tuesday in superhero land.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But here’s the kicker: guess what our boy Harry is up to?”

Diana tilted her head, curiosity piqued. The last time she saw Harry, he was supposed to be recovering from his latest ordeal. “Hopefully something restful?”

Flash leaned in like he was about to drop the juiciest secret ever. “He’s binge-watching some 80s sitcom with J’onn’s niece, Megan.”

Diana blinked, momentarily thrown. “He’s what?”

“Yep, you heard me right. It’s called Hello, Megan!” Barry’s grin widened. “Apparently, it was all the rage back in the day. Harry and Megan are cozied up in front of the screen, and she’s giving him the full retro experience. I think J’onn’s a little worried she’s corrupting the kid’s taste in TV, but hey, who can resist some good, cheesy nostalgia?”

Diana couldn’t help but laugh. The image of Harry—who had seen more than his fair share of life’s darker side—sitting there, getting schooled in 80s teen drama by a Martian’s niece, was as heartwarming as it was unexpected. Honestly, it was probably just what he needed: a slice of normal in the middle of his not-so-normal life.

“Thanks, Barry,” Diana said, her smile now genuine and a little wider. “I think I’ll go see for myself.”

“Tell Harry I said hi!” Flash called out as he zipped away, likely off to raid the snack stash or finish a dozen tasks before anyone else could blink.

As Diana made her way to the rec room, she felt a bit lighter. Sure, there were big battles ahead, and the universe was always on the brink of some crisis or another. But right now, the idea of Harry finding some joy in an old sitcom—of all things—felt like a small but significant win. And in the grand scheme of superhero life, those were the moments that really mattered.

—

We’d just wrapped up our marathon of Hello Megan!—all 22 episodes of it. To say my brain felt like it had been stuffed with 80s sitcom fluff might be an understatement. Megan, my Martian friend, was practically vibrating with excitement as we finished, and I was sprawled out on the couch, feeling like I’d just run a mental marathon.

“So, Megan Wheeler,” I said, rubbing my eyes, “is she always this perfect? Cheerleader, straight-A student, cookie-baker extraordinaire?”

“—and all with a side of heroic adventures!” Megan chimed in, clearly still buzzing from the binge. “Episode 17, where Megan tried to bake one giant cookie instead of a batch? Classic! And the school frog episode? Absolute gold.”

“Seriously,” I agreed. “Megan’s balancing act between babysitting a frog and preparing for the school show? That’s sitcom gold. And Conner Manley! The guy’s living in his own world, totally missing Megan’s obvious crush until the very end.”

Before Megan could launch into another enthusiastic rant, the door slid open, and Diana walked in, her presence practically filling the room with a regal air. She glanced at us, taking in the scene of snack wrappers and soda cans strewn around.

“Harry,” she greeted, her voice warm but with an edge of curiosity. “Megan. What’s the occasion?”

I looked up, trying to hide my embarrassment. “We just finished watching Hello Megan!—all 22 episodes. Megan’s been showing me the ropes of 80s sitcoms.”

Diana raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “All 22 episodes? Impressive. Did you survive the nostalgia trip?”

“Barely,” I said with a grin. “Turns out, watching Megan Wheeler’s epic cheerleading adventures is way more entertaining than I thought. I’m now a big fan of giant cookies and clueless love interests.”

Diana sat down, clearly interested. “And what did you think of Megan’s world? Did you have a favorite episode or character?”

“Definitely the giant cookie episode,” I said, recalling the chaos. “It was hilarious and kind of brilliant. And Conner’s obliviousness to Megan’s crush? Totally classic. But I have to say, Rita Lee is my favorite. She’s the perfect mix of smart and grounded.”

Megan nodded enthusiastically. “Rita’s the best! And that episode with Grammy Jones’s cookie recipe? Totally a highlight.”

Diana chuckled, her eyes softening. “Sounds like you’ve had a good time. Sometimes, diving into something light-hearted is just what you need.”

“Absolutely,” I said, stretching. “Though I’m definitely ready for a break from the theme song—it’s been stuck in my head all day.”

Diana laughed, a sound that made the room feel a bit warmer. “It’s catchy, isn’t it? But don’t worry, we’ll find something else to keep us entertained soon enough.”

As Diana settled in, I felt a little more at ease. Sure, I was still figuring out my place in this superhero-packed world, but moments like these—just hanging out, talking about a goofy TV show—made everything feel a bit more normal. And sometimes, normal was exactly what I needed.

—

Megan and I were deep in the "Can Megan Wheeler's oversized cookie disaster beat Conner Manley's cluelessness?" debate when Batman's entrance cut through the room like a dramatic thunderclap. He walked in with that trademark cape-swoosh and a look that said, “I’m here to be serious. Try not to mess it up.”

“Time for the assessment, Harry,” Batman intoned, his voice as gravelly as a cat in a blender. It wasn’t a question—it was a command, and let’s be honest, it was hard to ignore a guy who looked like he stepped out of a noir film.

I shot a look at Megan and Diana, who both seemed to get the memo instantly. Megan’s eyes widened like she’d just been asked to bake a giant cookie for the entire Justice League, and Diana looked like she was about to give me one of those epic pep talks.

“Power assessment?” Megan asked, leaning forward with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for spoilers about her favorite show.

“Yep,” I replied, shrugging. “It’s like a superhero version of a fitness test, but with fewer sweat stains and more chances of blowing things up.”

Batman didn’t even flinch. “We’ll be testing the range and control of your abilities. Understanding your powers is crucial.”

“Oh, great,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just what I always wanted—more ways to embarrass myself in front of a guy who thinks a bat costume is practical.”

Diana stood up, giving me a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging but felt more like a pre-game huddle. “You’ve got this, Harry. It’s just about figuring out what you can do.”

“And not causing a total disaster,” I added, following Batman out of the room. “Because, you know, I’m really good at that.”

Batman’s face remained as unreadable as ever, but I could have sworn there was a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s just get this over with.”

As we walked through the corridors of the Watchtower, I couldn’t help but feel like a kid heading to the principal’s office, except this principal could bench press a car and had a thing for stealthy entrances. 

“Here’s to not blowing up anything,” I muttered under my breath. Batman didn’t answer, but I could feel the weight of his silent judgment. 

Guess that’s how it goes when you’re about to have your powers scrutinized by the Dark Knight. Here’s hoping I survive with my ego—and the Watchtower—intact.

—

The first test was a strength test. I stood in front of this hulking hydraulic weight machine, which Batman had apparently borrowed from a sci-fi movie set. It looked like a cross between a medieval torture device and a really angry robot.

“Alright, Harry,” Batman said, like he was about to give a lecture on quantum mechanics. “Time to see how strong you really are.”

I glanced at the machine, then at Batman, who was giving me his “serious and slightly intimidating” look. Megan and Diana were hanging back, looking like they were waiting for a magic trick to go horribly wrong.

“Ready?” Batman asked, his voice as deadpan as ever. 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s do this,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. I had this sinking feeling that my superpowers were about to become public knowledge.

I approached the machine, which had more levers and dials than a space shuttle. I took a deep breath, placed my hands on the handles, and braced myself. 

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, feeling like I was about to lift the entire weight of the world—or at least, a small moon.

I started lifting, and immediately, the gauges on the machine began to spin like the wheel of fortune on a game show. The weight felt ridiculously light, like I was picking up a pile of feathers instead of a truckload of bricks. I could almost hear the machine groaning in protest.

Batman’s eyes widened ever so slightly, which is basically his version of a jaw-drop. Megan’s mouth hung open in surprise, and Diana looked on with a mix of pride and amusement.

“Alright, let’s see how you handle the maximum setting,” Batman said, not looking entirely pleased but not totally disappointed either. 

The machine made noises that sounded like it was trying to have a nervous breakdown as the weights were adjusted. It looked like it was gearing up to test the strength of someone who could bench-press a battleship.

I gripped the handles again, and the weight felt just as light. I wasn’t even breaking a sweat, which was probably not normal for anyone else. I had this weird feeling like I was cheating, but I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why.

Diana gave me a reassuring smile. “Looks like you’re stronger than we expected.”

“Yeah, guess so,” I said, trying to play it cool. “But who needs to enter a weightlifting competition when you can just move buildings around, right?”

Batman scribbled some notes, his expression as unreadable as ever. “We’ll need to do more tests to get a complete picture. But you’re definitely not lacking in the strength department.”

I let go of the handles, and the machine emitted a relieved sigh, like it had just been given a long-awaited vacation. I wiped a nonexistent bead of sweat from my brow and looked around at everyone. Megan looked like she was about to ask a million questions, and Diana was giving me a look that was somewhere between impressed and mildly amused.

As we moved on to the next test, I had this nagging feeling that my strength was just the beginning. There were more tests to come, and I had a sneaking suspicion they’d reveal a lot more about me than I was ready to handle. Buckle up, Harry, because this was just the start of what promised to be a very wild ride.

—

The Sahara Desert wasn’t exactly my idea of a fun vacation spot, but when Batman says “testing flight,” you don’t ask questions. You just hop through a Zeta Tube and end up in the middle of the world’s largest sandbox.

I turned to Wonder Woman, who was floating next to me with that effortless grace that made it look like she had wings sewn into her boots. “Ready for this?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with a mix of challenge and encouragement.

“You bet,” I said, trying to contain my excitement. Ever since my first broomstick ride, I’d had a natural knack for flying. But this? This was about to go full superhero mode.

With a mental push, I leapt into the air. Instinct kicked in like it always did when I was on a broom, but this time it was off-the-charts exhilarating. I felt a burst of heat and, whoosh—flames erupted from my back, forming wings of fire. It wasn’t until Diana’s surprised shout cut through the air that I realized just how epic this was.

“Harry, you’ve got flaming wings!” she called out, clearly impressed. I tried to focus on the flight, but it was hard not to get distracted by the sheer awesomeness of my new look.

“Not sure if this is a good thing or just an awesome side effect,” I shouted back, grinning like I’d just won the lottery. The feeling of flying was pure magic—freedom, exhilaration, and a rush that made me feel like I could conquer the world.

The Sahara stretched out below like a gigantic golden rug, and the speed I was hitting was absolutely mind-blowing. It felt like I could fly forever. Diana stayed effortlessly by my side, her flight smooth and controlled.

As we soared, Diana’s gaze grew serious. “Harry, your skin is holding up remarkably well. There’s no sign of burning, even with the intense speeds and the flames. It looks like the Phoenix Tears and Basilisk Venom are really kicking in.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it,” I said, focusing on keeping my flight steady. The combination of Phoenix Tears and Basilisk Venom was clearly doing its thing. Batman and Diana had speculated that Luthorcorp’s DNA tinkering had stirred these dormant powers.

Diana, ever the expert, flew next to me, her eyes full of thought. “The combination of your magic, my DNA, and these other factors is creating something extraordinary. Those fiery wings aren’t just for show—they’re a manifestation of raw power. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I took a moment to soak it all in—the sprawling desert below, the sun casting long shadows, and the pure thrill of the flight. “Thanks, Diana. This is amazing. It feels like I’m finally tapping into my full potential.”

Then, I decided to really push it. I performed a series of daring maneuvers: sharp turns, sudden climbs, and a thrilling dive toward the dunes. Each move was met with a burst of speed and a dazzling display of fire. It was like I was testing the limits of what was possible.

Diana kept up effortlessly, her focus never wavering. “Your control is impressive,” she said, her voice cutting through the wind. “The Phoenix Tears are boosting your speed to near light speed levels, and the Basilisk Venom is giving you incredible durability. This combination is extraordinary.”

As we began our descent back to where Batman and Megan were waiting, I landed with a smooth touch, my fiery wings flickering out as I touched down. Diana landed next to me, her face a mix of admiration and satisfaction.

“You’ve done exceptionally well, Harry,” she said, her smile warm. “You’ve passed the flight test with flying colors.”

Batman, ever the stoic observer, approached with his usual no-nonsense demeanor. “The data confirms your capabilities. Your flight skills are off the charts, and your durability is impressive. Next, we’ll be testing your endurance. But for now, it’s clear you’ve got some serious flying chops.”

I nodded, feeling a rush of accomplishment. If this was just the beginning, I couldn’t wait to see what other powers were in store.

—

As we zoomed back to the Watchtower via Zeta Tube—because apparently, the universe loves making grand entrances—Wonder Woman and I landed in the Watchtower’s docking bay. The place was buzzing with the usual superhero hustle and bustle, and I was still riding high from my flight test. I felt like I had wings even when I wasn’t flying.

Superman and Martian Manhunter were waiting for us, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement. It was like they knew something epic had just gone down and were eager to hear all about it.

Megan, who had been buzzing with excitement ever since our flight test, practically bounced over to them. “Uncle J’onn! Superman! You will not believe the stuff Harry just did! The flight test was amazing!”

Superman raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really? Do tell.”

Megan launched into an enthusiastic recount. “Harry had these incredible wings of fire! They were blazing and—”

“Fiery wings?” Martian Manhunter interrupted, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, and his flight was off the charts!” Megan continued, not missing a beat. “He was zooming around like he had rockets in his boots. Diana had to keep up, and let me tell you, it was a challenge!”

Superman’s expression turned from curiosity to outright interest. “Sounds like he’s got some impressive abilities.”

“Impressive doesn’t quite cover it,” Megan said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Harry’s durability is through the roof. He’s got some serious strength and speed too. It’s like he’s a walking, flying powerhouse!”

I couldn’t help but grin at the enthusiasm. “Yep, apparently I’ve got a bit of everything going on. Feels like I’m in a superhero movie, only without the script.”

Superman chuckled. “Well, you’re certainly fitting in with the team. How did the tests go overall?”

I gave him a thumbs up. “So far, so good. The strength test was a blast, and the flight? Let’s just say I could get used to this whole soaring-through-the-sky thing. It’s like being a bird, but way cooler.”

Martian Manhunter nodded, still looking contemplative. “And the theories on your abilities? Any new insights?”

Wonder Woman, who had joined the conversation, jumped in. “Based on our observations, it seems Harry’s Phoenix Tears and Basilisk Venom have amplified his powers significantly. His flight capabilities and durability are extraordinary, even beyond what we initially anticipated.”

Superman’s gaze shifted to me, impressed. “That’s quite the power set you’ve got there, Harry. You’re going to be a valuable asset to the team.”

“Well, I’m just trying not to mess things up,” I said with a chuckle. “But I appreciate the confidence.”

As we all headed towards the main operations room, the conversation continued, with Megan filling in the details and everyone mulling over the implications of my new abilities. With each step, I felt more like I was finding my place among these legendary heroes. If this was just the beginning, I was definitely ready for whatever came next.

Chapter Text

We’d barely set foot back on the Watchtower before Batman decided it was time for the next test. Seriously, no rest for the weary—or, in my case, the slightly overpowered wizard-kid-who-just-discovered-he-can-fly-with-wings-of-fire.

“Next up, endurance,” Batman announced in his typical gravelly, no-nonsense tone. You know, the kind of voice that makes you feel like you’re about to run a marathon right after you’ve just finished a triathlon.

Superman and Martian Manhunter exchanged a look, which I’ve come to realize is superhero code for “We’re in, and this is going to be interesting.”

Superman stepped forward, a grin spreading across his face that could only mean one thing: fun for him, pain for me. “Endurance, huh? Mind if we join in?”

I tried to keep my cool. After all, it’s not every day Superman asks to join in on your workout. “Sure, the more, the merrier. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some company while I die of exhaustion.”

Megan, who was still buzzing with excitement from my earlier fire-wing debut, practically bounced on her toes. “I can’t wait to see this! Harry’s been handling everything like a pro so far.”

“Endurance is critical for any hero,” Martian Manhunter said in that calm, wise way of his. “It’s not just about speed or strength. It’s about lasting power—how long you can keep going when the odds are against you.”

Superman grinned at me, clearly enjoying himself. “And with everything we’ve been hearing about your durability, Harry, this should be pretty revealing.”

Oh, revealing. Great. Because if there’s one thing I needed more of, it’s revelations about how weird my powers are.

We headed over to the training room, though calling it a “room” is like calling the Grand Canyon a “hole in the ground.” This place was straight out of a sci-fi action movie, with enough gadgets and gizmos to keep Batman busy for a lifetime.

Batman, ever the control freak, stepped up to the panel. “The endurance test will push your physical and mental limits. We’ll be testing strength, speed, resilience, and stamina.”

I glanced at Superman, who gave me one of those “you’ve got this” nods. “Just remember, Harry, endurance is about pacing yourself. Don’t burn out too quickly.”

Wonder Woman laid a hand on my shoulder, her touch reassuring. “You’re more prepared than you realize, Harry. Trust in your abilities—they’re a unique blend of power and resilience.”

“And don’t forget your magic!” Megan chimed in with a grin. “With all that going for you, it’s almost unfair to the rest of us.”

“Almost,” I said with a smirk. “But let’s see what I’m really made of.”

Batman hit a few buttons, and the room transformed into a series of holographic environments, each one more ridiculous than the last. Dense jungles, icy tundras, scorching deserts—it was like someone had taken every bad vacation spot and crammed them into one nightmare scenario.

“Ready?” Batman asked, his voice echoing through the room like the Grim Reaper offering you a cup of tea.

“Let’s do this,” I said, trying not to sound too much like I was about to hurl.

The first challenge was a set of physical obstacles, designed to test speed and agility. I zipped through them like a kid on a sugar high, my magic and supercharged DNA working overtime. The heat, the cold, the never-ending marathon of bad ideas—none of it slowed me down. Diana’s demigod endurance and the Phoenix’s crazy healing powers made it feel like I could keep going forever.

Next up was a stamina test: wave after wave of holographic enemies charging at me from all directions. I blasted them apart with my hand like they were nothing more than overgrown piñatas. It wasn’t just about brute force—it was about keeping my head in the game, staying sharp as the fight dragged on.

Superman watched with a thoughtful expression, occasionally nodding like he was mentally adding me to the “No Need to Save” list. “Impressive. Most would’ve started slowing down by now.”

“Thanks, but I’m just getting warmed up,” I said, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Martian Manhunter floated beside Superman, his gaze as calm as ever. “Your mind is as strong as your body, Harry. Remember, endurance isn’t just physical—it’s mental, too.”

That struck a chord. They were right—this wasn’t just about how many bad guys I could zap or how long I could run. It was about pushing through, even when every part of me screamed to stop.

The final challenge was a simulated battle against the League’s most notorious foes. Batman had dialed up the difficulty to “Nope,” but there was no way I was backing down. My magic flared, my body moved with an ease that was both thrilling and a little scary, and every time I thought I was reaching my limit, something deep inside pushed me further.

When it was finally over, I stood in the center of the room, breathing hard but still upright. My skin was slick with sweat, but exhaustion? Nowhere to be found.

Wonder Woman was the first to approach, her expression full of pride. “You did it, Harry. You pushed through every challenge.”

Superman crossed his arms, looking as satisfied as if he’d just bench-pressed the moon. “You’ve got more endurance than most seasoned heroes, Harry. Whatever’s in your blood, it’s made you one of the toughest.”

Batman nodded, his face unreadable as always. “You passed the endurance test, Harry. We’ll continue to monitor your progress, but for now, I’d say you’ve proven yourself.”

Megan practically vibrated with excitement. “You were amazing, Harry! I knew you could do it!”

I couldn’t help but grin back. “Thanks, everyone. Guess I’m more of a superhero than I thought.”

As we headed out of the training room, one thought kept bouncing around in my head: this was just the beginning. There was so much more to figure out about my abilities, and I couldn’t wait to see how far I could go. With the League by my side, I knew I was ready for whatever came next.

And if that “whatever” involved more cookies, well, who was I to complain?

—

As Megan and I left the training room, the rush of adrenaline started to fade, leaving me with that warm, fuzzy kind of exhaustion you get after a day well spent. The kind that says, “Yeah, you just kicked some serious butt.” Megan, of course, was still bouncing beside me like she’d downed a gallon of coffee.

“That was amazing, Harry! You really handled everything like a pro,” she gushed, her eyes practically sparkling.

“Thanks, Megan. But it was definitely a team effort,” I replied, flashing her a grin. “I couldn’t have done it without all the backup.”

She giggled, clearly still on a high from the day’s events. “You know, all this talk of endurance has got me thinking… I want to try making cookies!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Cookies? That’s where your mind goes after all this?”

“Yeah! From Hello, Megan!” she said, absolutely glowing with excitement. “There’s that episode where Megan bakes those chocolate chip cookies, and I’ve always wanted to try making them myself. You can be my taste-tester!”

I laughed, picturing us covered in flour and chocolate. A baking session with Megan sounded like exactly the kind of low-stress activity I needed after Batman’s marathon of doom. “Count me in. I could definitely use some cookies after all that.”

As we headed off to find the kitchen and engage in some serious cookie-making, the Watchtower’s most serious members were busy having their own powwow. Batman, Superman, Martian Manhunter, and Wonder Woman had gathered in one of those super-secret briefing rooms that probably had more security than Fort Knox. Soon enough, the Flash, Aquaman, and Green Lantern joined them, and suddenly, it was a full-on superhero summit. 

“So, how did Harry hold up?” the Flash asked, zooming into the room like a kid who just heard the ice cream truck. “From what I’ve heard, the kid’s got some serious chops.”

Superman leaned back in his chair, doing his best impression of a concerned dad. “Harry performed exceptionally well. His flight was impressive, and the endurance test showed that he can push himself far beyond what we’d expect from someone his age—or even someone with his powers.”

Wonder Woman nodded, looking like a proud mentor. “His strength, speed, and resilience are far beyond what I anticipated. The combination of his magic, the Phoenix Tears, Basilisk Venom, and the demigod DNA has created something… unprecedented. He has the potential to be one of the most powerful beings on the planet.”

“Potential, huh?” Green Lantern said, crossing his arms like he was ready to challenge me to a duel. “That’s good, but potential isn’t everything. We need to know he can control it, that he won’t be a liability when the chips are down.”

Batman, of course, was already ten steps ahead of everyone. “He’s shown remarkable control so far. His understanding of his abilities is growing, but we need to be cautious. Luthorcorp’s experiments may have unlocked these powers, but they also could have triggered something we don’t fully understand yet. We need to keep monitoring him, especially as his powers evolve.”

Aquaman, who had been sitting there like the wise king he is, finally spoke up. “Harry’s endurance is what really stood out to me. He went through those tests with barely a sign of fatigue. That kind of stamina is rare, even among us.”

“And it’s not just physical,” Martian Manhunter added, his voice calm and otherworldly. “His mental fortitude is just as impressive. He stayed focused and calm throughout each test, even when he was pushed to his limits. That’s not something you can teach; it’s something you either have, or you don’t.”

The Flash leaned forward, unusually serious for once. “So what’s the plan? Do we keep training him, let him in on more missions?”

“We keep training him,” Batman said, in that tone that brooked no argument. “But we do it slowly, carefully. We need to make sure he’s ready for whatever’s coming. Harry’s a powerful asset, but he’s also young, and we can’t afford to rush this.”

Wonder Woman glanced around the room, her eyes locking with each of her teammates in turn. “Harry has already shown that he’s willing to learn, to work hard, and to be a part of the team. We owe it to him to help him become the best hero he can be.”

Superman nodded in agreement, looking every bit the iconic hero. “We’ll keep an eye on him, guide him, and make sure he’s prepared. But from what I’ve seen today, I’m confident that Harry’s going to be a great addition to the League.”

Green Lantern smirked, unable to resist a bit of friendly banter. “Just as long as he doesn’t outshine the rest of us, right?”

The Flash grinned, the tension in the room breaking like a burst of sunlight. “I dunno, I think I could use a little competition.”

Batman didn’t smile—does he ever?—but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Approval, maybe? “We’re all on the same page, then. We continue his training, monitor his progress, and integrate him into the team when the time is right.”

The meeting wrapped up with everyone on board, knowing that they had something special in me—Harry Potter, part wizard, part superhero, and all-around mystery box of potential. They were determined to help me figure it all out, and I was grateful for that. 

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Megan and I were blissfully unaware of the serious discussions happening elsewhere in the Watchtower. We were too busy getting covered in flour and chocolate, laughing as we tried to recreate a cookie recipe from a 1970s sitcom. It was nice to have moments like this, where I could just be Harry—part wizard, part superhero, and 100% cookie enthusiast.

—

Megan’s first attempt at baking cookies was, well, let’s just say we both learned a valuable lesson: baking is hard. The smoke alarm screeched like it was auditioning for a horror movie as the kitchen filled with the unmistakable scent of burnt sugar and something that might have once been chocolate. When I opened the oven, what greeted me were blackened lumps that bore a closer resemblance to volcanic rocks than anything edible.

“Oh no!” Megan groaned, her shoulders slumping like a deflated balloon. “I was so sure I got it right this time.”

I bit back a laugh, not wanting to add insult to injury. “Don’t worry, Megs. It happens to the best of us. Baking is an art, and, well, art takes practice. How about we give it another shot?”

She looked up at me, her expression flipping from defeated to determined in record time. “You really think we can fix it?”

“Absolutely,” I said, rolling up my sleeves like I was preparing to battle the kitchen itself. “This time, we’ll make cookies so good the Justice League will demand the recipe.”

Just as we started gathering ingredients for round two, the kitchen door slid open. I turned, expecting one of the usual suspects from the Watchtower, but instead, in walked Diana—Wonder Woman herself—followed by Batman, who looked like he was brooding extra hard today. And bringing up the rear was a kid in a bright red, green, and yellow costume that screamed, “I’m here to save the day!” or possibly, “I’m here to distract the bad guys with my wardrobe choices.”

I blinked. Okay, maybe the costume was a little much, but the way the kid carried himself? Pure confidence. Must be Robin.

“Hey,” Robin said, his sharp eyes immediately zeroing in on the tray of failed cookies. “Whoa. What happened here? Looks like someone tried to bake cookies with a blowtorch.”

Megan blushed the color of a ripe tomato. “I, uh… might’ve overestimated the baking time.”

Robin grinned, clearly enjoying this. “No biggie. First batch is always ‘whelming.’”

Megan frowned, confused. “Whelming?”

Robin shrugged like this was obvious. “You know, not overwhelming, not underwhelming—just whelming.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that even a word?”

“In my world, it is,” Robin said with a smirk. “Trust me, it’s a thing.”

Batman, who had been silently observing the disaster that was our baking, decided to chime in. “You two are making cookies?” he asked, and for a second, I could’ve sworn I heard a hint of curiosity.

“Trying to,” I said, half-shrugging. “It was Megan’s idea. I’m just here to make sure the kitchen survives.”

Diana, always the diplomat, picked up one of the charred cookies and gave it a cautious sniff. “Baking is a valuable skill,” she said, placing the cookie back down with the gentleness of someone handling a live grenade. “It’s good to see you both learning together.”

Robin glanced between us, clearly intrigued. “So, what do I call you?” he asked, fishing for my superhero name.

And here’s where I realized I had a tiny problem. I hadn’t really thought about a superhero name before. Up until now, I’d just been Harry—plain old Harry. But if I was going to be hanging out with the Justice League, I figured I needed something a bit more… heroic.

“Good question,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “I haven’t really come up with one yet.”

Megan, ever the optimist, clapped her hands together like she’d just had the best idea ever. “What about ‘Wonder Boy’? You’ve got the magic, and you’re learning from Diana. It fits!”

Robin, who had been leaning casually against the counter, immediately perked up. “Wonder Boy? That’s… well, it’s definitely whelming.” He shot me a look, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

“Gee, thanks,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m glad my potential superhero identity is so inspiring.”

Robin chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “No offense, but you might want something with a bit more edge. Something that says, ‘I’m awesome, and I know it.’”

Batman, who had been quietly observing the whole exchange with that usual stoic expression of his, finally spoke up. “Choosing a name is important. It’s how the world will know you. Take your time and make sure it’s something that represents who you are.”

Diana nodded in agreement. “And don’t feel pressured to decide right now. The right name will come to you when you’re ready.”

And that’s when it hit me—a spark of inspiration, like the ones you get when you remember where you left your keys after searching for an hour. “How about… Shadowflame?”

Megan’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. “Ooh, that’s good! It’s mysterious and powerful.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed despite himself. “Not bad. It’s got the right balance of cool and intimidating. Definitely not whelming.”

Batman gave a rare nod of approval. “Shadowflame. It’s unique, and it suits you.”

Diana smiled warmly, like she was already proud of me. “I like it. Shadowflame it is, then.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little swell of pride as the name settled into place. Shadowflame—it had a nice ring to it. Powerful, with just the right touch of mystery.

“All right, Shadowflame,” Megan said with a grin that was almost as bright as her energy. “Let’s finish these cookies. We need to celebrate your new name properly.”

And so, we dove back into the baking, the kitchen now filled with a renewed sense of excitement and teamwork. Even Robin, who I’d just met, fit right in, offering tips on how to get the perfect balance of chewy and crispy in our cookies.

By the time the new batch was in the oven, we were all laughing and joking like old friends. And as the sweet smell of baking cookies filled the kitchen, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, I was starting to find my place here—among heroes, as Shadowflame.

—

As soon as the cookies came out of the oven—golden brown and smelling like something straight out of a bakery commercial—we all descended on the counter like a pack of starving demigods. Robin was the first to grab one, biting into it with a dramatic “Mmm,” nodding so hard I thought his head might roll right off his shoulders.

“These are amazing,” he mumbled through a mouthful of cookie, which came out sounding more like “Mhrff-muhhhrff.” He swallowed and added, “Way better than that last ‘whelming’ batch.”

Megan giggled as she snagged a cookie for herself. “I’m just glad we didn’t set off the fire alarms this time. Thanks for your help, Harry.”

“Anytime, Megs,” I said, taking a bite of my own cookie. “It was a team effort.”

Diana picked up a cookie too, her smile warmer than the oven we’d just pulled them from. “You both did very well. These are delicious.”

Robin leaned back against the counter, grinning like he’d just won the Great Cookie Lottery. “Too bad Batman bailed before he could try one. Typical Bats—always ‘doing that thing he does.’”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, he’s got the disappearing act down to a science. You think he’s here, then—poof!—he’s gone. Like a ninja. Or a dad trying to avoid diaper duty.”

As we kept munching on our victory cookies, a thought popped into my head. “Hey, what’s today’s date?” I asked, suddenly realizing I’d lost track of time. Not that time makes much sense in space, but still.

Diana glanced at the clock on the wall—because apparently, space stations have those—and then back at me. “Today’s July 24th.”

I froze mid-bite. July 24th. Which meant my birthday—my seventeenth birthday—was in exactly one week. July 31st. How had I forgotten that? Then again, when your life is a constant stream of superhero shenanigans, things like birthdays kind of get shoved to the back of your mind.

“Wow,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Robin, who I’m convinced has some sort of built-in mystery detector, raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, Shadowflame? Got some big plans?”

I hesitated. “Uh, not really. It’s just… my birthday’s next week. I’ll be turning seventeen.”

Megan’s eyes went wide. “Really? That’s so exciting! We should totally do something special!”

Diana’s expression softened, like she was about to go full mom-mode on me. “Seventeen is an important age, Harry. Especially for someone like you.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess so. Just hadn’t really thought about it until now.”

Robin, never one to miss a chance for a quip, grinned. “Well, now that we know, don’t worry, Shadowflame—we’ll make sure your birthday’s anything but whelming.”

I couldn’t help but smile. It was weird, though—this would be my first birthday not spent at Hogwarts or the Burrow with the Weasleys. But maybe, just maybe, it could still be something special.

“Guess I’ll just have to brace myself for whatever you guys are planning,” I said, keeping things light.

“Speaking of planning,” Robin said, with a mischievous glint in his eye, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you guys.”

Megan and I exchanged curious looks. “What’s that?” she asked.

Robin leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was about to share the secret to world peace. “My real name. It’s Grayson. Dick Grayson.”

There was a beat of silence before I blinked. “Wait, your name’s Dick?”

He grinned like this was the best joke ever. “Yep. And yes, I’ve heard all the jokes. Especially the Tom, Dick, and Harry ones.”

Megan practically snorted, trying to hold back her laughter. “Oh my gosh, that’s perfect! All we need is a Tom, and we’ve got the full set.”

I couldn’t resist joining in. “So we’ve got Dick and Harry. Now all we need is a Tom and some really bad puns.”

Robin chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, I’ve heard them all. But hey, it’s kind of fitting, right? The world’s most famous wizard and Batman’s sidekick—Dick and Harry. We’re like the ultimate duo.”

Diana rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Just remember, Dick, you’re still responsible for keeping this ‘ultimate duo’ out of trouble.”

He saluted with a cookie. “Yes, ma’am. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

As the laughter died down, I couldn’t help but feel a little better about the whole birthday thing. Sure, I wasn’t at Hogwarts or the Burrow, but with friends like these, maybe this year would be something special after all.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to brace myself for whatever you guys have planned,” I said, pretending to be nonchalant.

Diana placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, her smile warm and sincere. “Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll make sure it’s a day you’ll never forget.”

I nodded, feeling a swirl of emotions—excitement, nerves, and maybe a little bit of homesickness. But mostly, I felt grateful. I might’ve been far from the home I knew, but with Diana, Megan, and even Robin—sorry, Dick—here, I wasn’t alone. And who knows? Maybe this birthday would be one for the record books.

—

In the shadowy depths of the Batcave, Bruce Wayne was at it again—channeling his inner control freak while sitting at his massive computer terminal. The screens cast a glow that made him look like he was in a noir film, but instead of battling mobsters, he was battling his own paranoia. 

Today’s task: Starting a new file on Shadowflame. You might be wondering why Batman would need a file on one of his own allies. Trust me, if Batman isn’t already planning for every conceivable outcome, including the apocalypse caused by a rogue toaster, he’s not doing his job right.

The new file was labeled *Shadowflame*. Bruce had seen Harry Potter (sorry, Shadowflame) show off his impressive Demigod powers and magical tricks. But impressiveness aside, Batman knew all too well that even his own team members needed a thorough analysis—just in case things went sideways. 

The file was like an encyclopedia of Harry’s strengths and weaknesses. 

Strengths: Super strength, speed, flight, and some seriously cool magic. I mean, who wouldn’t want to have the power of a phoenix at their disposal? Talk about a fiery comeback.

Weaknesses: Emotional ties. Ah, the classic Achilles’ heel. Because nothing says “weak spot” like caring about your friends. And let’s not forget, magic can be a bit unpredictable—like trying to control a dragon with a lasso.

Bruce scrolled through a map of the Watchtower, with colorful markers indicating points of interest. This was no ordinary map; it was Batman’s way of saying, “I’ve got eyes everywhere, so don’t even think about sneaking up on me.”

He then turned to another file—this one was titled Covert Operations Team. Bruce was assembling a squad for the covert missions that required stealth and subtlety, like retrieving a lost cat without anyone knowing. The dream team included Robin, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, and of course, Shadowflame. Each hero was evaluated on their abilities, trustworthiness, and whether they’d freak out if Batman sent them on a “secret” mission to pick up groceries.

Bruce’s latest note read: Caution advised. Monitor Shadowflame closely. Gradually assess his potential for covert operations and avoid triggering any magic-induced meltdowns.

As he saved the file, Bruce’s mind was already shifting gears. The Batcave was its usual quiet self, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of keys and the occasional murmur of Bruce’s inner monologue. He knew that being prepared for every twist and turn—whether it was a hero turning villain or a hero becoming a household name—was just part of his job description. After all, if Batman isn’t ready for everything, then who will be?

—

Diana arrived at Hephaestus' forge with the sort of purpose you usually reserve for, well, saving the world or asking your dad for an epic birthday present. The forge was a firestorm of activity: molten metal bubbled like a giant cauldron of lava, hammers clanged out a rhythm that could make even the grumpiest god tap his foot, and the heat made the place feel like a dragon's oven.

Hephaestus, looking like he’d just wrestled a Titan (and probably had), glanced up from his workbench. “Diana!” he boomed, his voice as deep and rumbling as an erupting volcano. “To what do I owe this fiery pleasure?”

Diana, always the embodiment of grace under pressure, strode closer. “Hephaestus, I need a favor. My son Harry—also known as Shadowflame—could use your legendary touch. His wand got, well, vaporized during a little interdimensional hiccup, and now he needs a new suit of armor and a magic focus.”

Hephaestus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Harry, you say? Hermes has been chatting my ear off about him. Apparently, the kid’s making waves all over Olympus.”

Diana didn’t even flinch at the mention of Hermes’ gossiping ways. “Yes, he’s quite the character. The armor should be durable enough to handle both physical and magical threats, and the focus must be able to channel his magic effectively. He’s got magical roots but is in need of something that fits his new heroic role.”

Hephaestus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “A focus for magic and armor that’s both symbolic and functional? Sounds like you’re asking for a unicorn’s tears mixed with dragon scales.”

Diana chuckled. “Something like that.”

Hephaestus surveyed his forge with a grin. “Alright, challenge accepted. I’ll whip up something that’s both awe-inspiring and practical. But don’t expect it to be ready by lunch.”

Diana smiled, relieved. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Thanks, Hephaestus. I know your work will be worth the wait.”

As Hephaestus got back to his forge, Diana turned to leave, knowing that with Hephaestus on the job, Harry’s new gear would be more than just functional—it would be a testament to his journey and the incredible world he now navigates. She left the forge feeling confident that, soon enough, Harry would have exactly what he needed to face whatever came next.

—

In the year since Harry Potter had disappeared through the Veil, Wizarding Britain had descended into a dark, twisted version of itself. Voldemort’s reign of terror had gone from bad to “please-can-we-not” as Dumbledore’s death a month ago was like throwing gasoline on a roaring inferno. For the surviving members of Dumbledore’s Army, life had turned into an endless battle of trying to stay one step ahead of despair.

Inside the maze-like corridors of the Department of Mysteries, the team looked less like a group of students and more like a ragtag squad of last-ditch heroes. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbot were navigating the place with a kind of grim determination that made them look like they’d seen one too many dark days. They were joined by Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis, whose addition was like throwing a couple of extra sparks into the fire. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were also with them, looking like they could use a nap, a good meal, and a few more hours in the day.

Hermione, the ever-reliable strategist, was clutching a map that looked like it had survived a few too many spills. “Luna and I think the Veil might be more than just a gateway to death. It could be a portal to another dimension. If we’re right, it’s our ticket out of this mess.”

Ron, ever the class clown even in dire circumstances, gave Fred a nudge. “So, basically, we’re putting all our bets on a magical ‘get out of jail free’ card?”

Fred, trying to match Ron’s grin but falling a bit short, replied, “That’s about the gist of it. Here’s hoping the new dimension is full of sunshine and unicorns rather than more Death Eaters.”

Neville, who had transformed from the shy kid who once worried about his herbology grades to a full-on warrior, nodded with a serious expression. “Anything’s got to be better than the hell we’re living through here. I say we go for it.”

Tonks, her ever-changing hair reflecting her nerves, chimed in. “We’ve got to try. It’s not just about escaping. It’s about finding a place where we can actually fight back.”

Ginny, gripping her wand like it was the last thing she’d ever hold, looked at the group with steely resolve. “If this is our only shot, we’re taking it. We owe it to Harry and to ourselves to make a stand.”

As they approached the Veil, its ghostly, translucent fabric seemed to hum with a strange energy, almost as if it were alive and waiting. Hermione’s voice was calm but her eyes showed the nerves they all felt. “We don’t know what’s on the other side, but we need to be ready for anything.”

With a collective deep breath and one last determined look at their old world, they stepped through the Veil. It felt like jumping into a giant, swirling blender of uncertainty. The world they were leaving was crumbling, but in that dizzying plunge into the unknown, there was a flicker of hope—a glimmer that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance for refuge or even a way to turn the tide. Their old life might have been falling apart, but ahead, the unknown held a promise of something new and, hopefully, better.

Chapter Text

The surviving members of Dumbledore's Army, along with Remus and Tonks, were unceremoniously spat out of the Veil and onto something cold and hard. It took them a moment to realize that they were no longer in the Department of Mysteries. Instead, they found themselves on the edge of a cliff, with the sound of waves crashing far below. The Cliffs of Dover? 

Neville, who had grown from the shy student who feared his own shadow into someone who could stand tall even in the face of Voldemort himself, was the first to speak. “Are we... at the Cliffs of Dover?” he asked, sitting up and blinking at the landscape like he’d just woken up in a very strange dream. Which, given recent events, wasn’t entirely out of the question.

Luna Lovegood, always the least surprised by anything, stood up and dusted herself off as if teleporting across the country was just another day in her magical, slightly off-kilter life. “It seems the Veil has a rather dramatic sense of direction,” she observed, her voice calm as ever. “It must like a good view.”

Hermione, still clutching her wand like it was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality, shook her head in disbelief. “This... this is impossible. We were in the Department of Mysteries. How did we end up here? Did we even go anywhere?”

Ron groaned as he sat up, rubbing his head. “If this is a new dimension, it sure looks a lot like the old one. Except, you know, we just teleported across the country. No big deal.”

Fred, helping George to his feet, flashed a grin that didn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. “Guess we should be grateful we didn’t end up in the middle of the ocean,” he said, trying to keep things light. As usual.

“Small mercies,” George replied, though his voice lacked its usual humor.

Tonks, her hair now a steady shade of blue to match the freezing wind whipping around them, looked over at Remus. “So, we’ve gone from a spooky curtain to the edge of England. What next, Moony? Tea and scones?”

Remus, ever the calm in the storm, took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the horizon. “We need to figure out where we are and when we are. If this is our world, things could be very different from when we left.”

Ginny, her fiery determination unshaken even after being thrown through a magical death curtain, stood close to Hermione, her eyes scanning the cliffs. “It’s not exactly the escape we were hoping for, but at least we’re not dead,” she said, offering a smile that was more defiant than relieved.

Daphne and Tracey, who had been quietly observing, exchanged a glance. “We should probably find shelter,” Daphne suggested, her voice practical. “And figure out our next move before something else finds us.”

As the group slowly gathered themselves and looked out over the seemingly endless stretch of the English Channel, they couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. They were alive, together, and apparently still in Britain. But this wasn’t the Britain they had left. It felt different, like a shadow of their world that was just out of sync.

Luna, her gaze faraway as if listening to something only she could hear, suddenly smiled. “You know,” she said, her voice filled with quiet certainty, “I think we made it. We’re not where we used to be, but we’re exactly where we need to be.”

Hermione frowned, about to argue, but something in Luna’s tone made her pause. “You mean...?”

“We’re in a new world,” Luna continued, her smile widening. “Harry’s world. I can feel it.”

As the reality of Luna’s words began to sink in, the group exchanged looks of cautious hope. Maybe, just maybe, they hadn’t failed. Maybe they had landed exactly where they needed to be. And if this was Harry’s world, then they were about to find out just how different things really were.

With the cliffs at their back and a new world ahead of them, the last remnants of Dumbledore’s Army steeled themselves. They hadn’t just survived the Veil; they’d crossed it. And now, they were ready to face whatever this new world had in store—hopefully, with a certain messy-haired wizard leading the charge.

—

Martian Manhunter was having one of those days. You know the kind—sitting in the Watchtower, minding the never-ending parade of global crises, and trying not to lose faith in humanity when—bam—something weird pops up on the radar. And by "weird," I mean the kind of weird that makes even a seasoned superhero like J’onn J’onzz sit up a little straighter.

This wasn’t just any blip on the instruments. Nope, this was an energy signature that had him flashing back to that whole Luthorcorp fiasco a year ago. You remember—the one where they found Harry Potter in the Nevada desert, looking like he’d just gone twelve rounds with a Basilisk and lost.

Martian Manhunter squinted at the readings, his mind racing faster than the Flash after a triple espresso. This could be a false alarm, sure, but something in his gut said otherwise. Time to call in the big guns—or, in this case, Wonder Woman. 

He reached out with his mind, finding Diana with ease. She was always nearby, ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. “Diana,” he said telepathically, his voice as calm as ever despite the oddball situation, “I’ve got something you need to check out. We just picked up an unknown energy signature. It’s... well, it’s almost identical to the one we saw when Luthorcorp found Harry.”

There was a moment of silence as Diana processed that. Then, in her usual cool, collected way, she replied, “Do you think it’s someone—or something—from his world?”

“Could be,” J’onn answered, careful not to jump to conclusions. “And if it is, Harry might be the only one who can make sense of it. You should bring him along, just in case.”

With that, Martian Manhunter leaned back, still keeping one eye on the instruments, his mind already running through a dozen possible scenarios—none of them simple, and all of them potentially world-ending. But hey, that’s just a regular Tuesday when you’re a superhero, right?

—

Wonder Woman’s voice echoed through the Watchtower, sounding like the world’s most intense school bell. “Harry, we’ve got a situation. Suit up and meet me at the hangar. We’re going on a little field trip.”

Now, when Wonder Woman says "suit up," you don't ask questions. You just do it. So, I was out the door faster than you could say "Expelliarmus," because let’s be real, any excuse to escape the Watchtower is a good one. Don’t get me wrong, the Watchtower is cool—if you’re into floating space stations, panoramic Earth views, and Batman’s permanent scowl—but sometimes a guy just needs to stretch his legs, preferably somewhere with gravity.

As I jogged to the hangar, my mind was doing its usual thing: jumping to conclusions. Given the tone in Diana’s voice, I had a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill superhero mission. No, this felt personal. And by personal, I mean that it had something to do with that energy signature. The one that nearly flattened me in the Nevada desert like a Harry-shaped pancake. Fun times, really.

When I got to the hangar, Diana was already there, looking like she could take on the entire Justice League with one hand tied behind her back—and still have time to get her nails done. She gave me one of those knowing smiles, the kind that made me think she was about to drop some serious wisdom—or possibly sarcasm. You never know with Diana.

"Let me guess," I said, trying for casual but probably landing somewhere around mildly panicked, "we’re tracking down some cosmic breadcrumbs from my home dimension?"

Diana’s smile widened just a smidge, which was all the confirmation I needed. "Something like that. And considering the last time we encountered this energy signature, it nearly killed you, I’d say it's worth checking out."

Ah yes, the memory of almost becoming a Harry pancake came rushing back, and let me tell you, it wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy feeling. My smirk faltered, just for a second. But I recovered quickly because, hey, what’s a little near-death experience between friends, right?

I gave her a quick nod, trying to sound braver than I felt. "Well then, let’s go see what the universe has cooked up for us this time. Maybe it'll be dessert."

With that, we boarded the jet, leaving the Watchtower and its many, many rules behind. Somewhere down on Earth, that energy signature was waiting, probably laughing maniacally like a Bond villain. And whether it was going to give me answers or just pile on more questions, I was ready. Or at least, I was pretending to be. Because in this line of work, if you’re not ready for the unexpected, you’re toast. And I’ve had enough of almost being toast for one lifetime.

—

The survivors of the Veil stumbled out onto the Cliffs of Dover like they’d just been ejected from the world’s worst rollercoaster. There was salt in the air, wind in their faces, and absolutely no clue where—or when—they were. Hermione, of course, was already trying to piece it together with that brilliant mind of hers, but even she looked a little lost, which, let’s be honest, is never a good sign.

“Anyone else feel like we just got spat out by a dragon that didn’t like the taste of us?” Fred muttered, shaking his head like he was trying to clear out the cobwebs.

Before anyone could crack a joke, Remus Lupin’s head snapped up. His werewolf senses were tingling—always a good indicator that something was about to go very, very wrong.

“Get down!” Remus barked, his voice cutting through the confusion like a knife through butter. They all hit the ground just as a strange, low hum filled the air. You know, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and start doing the cha-cha.

Hermione squinted up at the sky, her eyes widening as something descended toward them—something shiny, sleek, and so out of place it might as well have come from a sci-fi movie. “That… that can’t be real,” she whispered, looking like she was torn between excitement and the urge to hide behind the nearest rock.

The jet—because what else could it be?—landed with all the grace of a bird, if that bird was made of metal and designed by someone who really liked the future. A hatch opened with a soft hiss, and two figures stepped out. The first was a woman who looked like she’d just stepped off a mythological battlefield, complete with shiny armor and an aura that screamed do not mess with me. If Hermione didn’t know better, she’d have thought the woman was an Amazon—like, an actual one from the history books.

But it was the second figure that made everyone’s jaws hit the ground. Tall, broad-shouldered, with messy black hair and those piercing emerald green eyes that were all too familiar. Yeah, that’s right—it was Harry. The Harry they’d all thought was gone, standing there looking like he’d just walked out of some heroic adventure they hadn’t been invited to.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice was barely more than a squeak, which, for Hermione, was practically a full-blown scream.

Harry stared at them, his brain doing the kind of mental gymnastics usually reserved for an Olympic event. Because, really, what were the odds that his friends—the ones he thought he’d never see again—would just show up like this? And sure, he’d changed a lot since the last time they saw him, but from the way they were staring, you’d think he’d sprouted an extra head or something.

Fred was the first to find his voice, which was a miracle considering how shocked he looked. “Blimey, Harry, what have you been eating? You look like you could bench-press a hippogriff!”

Harry let out a laugh, though it came out more like a breath of relief. “It’s really you guys… You’re really here.”

Ginny, who had been staring at him like he was a particularly interesting ghost, finally stepped forward, her eyes wide with a mix of emotions. “You’re alive,” she whispered, sounding like she was about to either hug him or punch him—maybe both. “After everything… you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that they were all standing there, on some cliff in the middle of nowhere. “And so are all of you.”

The tall warrior woman—who had been watching all this with a mix of curiosity and something that might have been amusement—gave Harry a small smile. “Looks like you have some catching up to do.”

Harry nodded, glancing back at his friends. “Yeah… a lot of catching up.”

And just like that, it was clear that whatever strange new world they’d landed in, they were going to face it together. Because if there was one thing Harry knew, it was that life had a way of throwing you into the deep end. But with friends like these, he figured they’d find a way to swim—or at least keep each other from drowning.

—

As everyone settled into their new surroundings on the Cliffs of Dover—thanks to Remus, Tonks, and the twins for whipping up some makeshift furniture out of thin air—I was about to dive into a story that made a soap opera look like a Sunday morning cartoon. I mean, seriously, who even has time for ordinary drama when you’re dealing with aliens, ancient prophecies, and, oh yeah, a lot of goo?

“Right,” I said, clearing my throat and channeling my inner storyteller. “So, I arrived in this world about a year ago. My grand entrance was a bit of a mess. Picture this: I crash-landed in the Nevada Desert, practically a walking pile of used up spell components.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Nevada Desert? That’s not exactly a welcome mat.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get a choice. I was found by a company called Luthorcorp.” I paused for dramatic effect, like a magician about to pull a rabbit out of a hat. “They’re run by Lex Luthor, who’s basically this world’s version of Lucius Malfoy, but without the hair and with a majorly over-inflated ego.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged confused looks. “Luthorcorp?” Ron asked, clearly lost. “And what’s this about Luthor?”

I shrugged. “Think of him as the top villain here. He’s like Malfoy if he had a billion-dollar company and a laboratory that could give your worst nightmares a run for their money.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Okay, I think I’m starting to see where this is going.”

“Right,” I said, nodding. “So, Luthorcorp decided that I was their new science experiment. They spliced my DNA with Wonder Woman’s.” I pointed to Diana, who was standing there looking calm and collected. “She’s a demigod, daughter of Zeus and Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Basically, if Greek mythology had a supermodel, she’d be it.”

“DNA?” Ginny asked, looking bewildered.

Hermione jumped in, her teacher mode fully activated. “DNA is like the instruction manual for how we’re made. For wizards, it’s like our magical blueprint. Muggles have it too, but it’s what makes up everything about us.”

“Exactly,” I said, glad Hermione was on my side. “So, Luthorcorp decided to mix me with Diana’s DNA, which made me sort of her son. And because of that, it also woke up some dormant stuff in me—Basilisk venom and Phoenix tears.”

Fred’s eyes widened. “You’re telling us you’ve got snake venom and magical bird tears running through your veins?”

“Yep,” I said, giving him a thumbs up. “And no, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. I was stuck in a gooey tube, being poked and prodded like a science experiment gone wrong.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice soft but with a steely edge, “how did you get out?”

“Diana and the Justice League swooped in and rescued me just in time,” I explained. “So, I guess the gooey tube wasn’t the end of the story.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed this. It was like a collective brain freeze, only with more epicness and less brain freeze. I could see the shock, the concern, and the disbelief flashing across their faces.

Remus finally broke the silence, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’ll figure this out, Harry. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”

I nodded, appreciating the solidarity, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of yet another wildly convoluted chapter in my life. Because, let’s face it, the universe seems to think it’s hilarious to throw me into the most absurd situations possible.

—

So, once I’d managed to get through my own epic saga, it was Hermione, Tonks, and Lupin’s turn to drop some knowledge bombs on me. I was ready for a story—hopefully with fewer gooey tubes and more heroic rescues.

Hermione was the first to speak, her eyes serious but not without a glimmer of the Hermione I knew. “After you disappeared, things went south in a big way. Voldemort’s been running amok, committing war crimes like he’s trying to set a record, and he’s taken over the Wizarding World.”

“War crimes?” I echoed. “Sounds like Voldemort’s auditioning for a spot on the Dark Side’s Most Wanted list.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. “Pretty much. And the biggest blow—Dumbledore’s dead.”

My gut twisted at that. Even though I’d learned about Dumbledore’s not-so-nice plans for me, I could tell this was a big deal for everyone else. I mumbled, “Dumbledore? Man, I don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.”

Tonks gave me a sympathetic look. “It’s a lot to take in. We’ve been running on fumes, hoping this crazy plan of Hermione and Luna’s would work. It was a suicide mission, based on a theory that most people thought was just plain bonkers.”

“A suicide mission?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, that sounds promising.”

Lupin gave me a wry smile. “We were the advanced party. Our job was to figure things out here and pave the way for reinforcements. Fleur managed to get the Veela Enclave on board. Bill rallied the Goblins. Charlie convinced the Dragonkeepers and dragons to join us, and Hagrid got the Centaurs and other magical creatures to agree to come if we made it.”

Hermione pulled out a shiny little gadget and waved it around like it was a treasure map. “This is the Deluminator. Dumbledore’s invention. It’s supposed to let us send a signal to everyone waiting back there so they can come through.”

I took the Deluminator and examined it, feeling its weight. “So, this thing is our ticket to bringing in the cavalry?”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “If we can make this work, we’ll be able to pull everyone through and finally get out of that mess.”

I looked at the faces around me—exhausted but determined. “Alright, so we’ve got the allies, the gadget, and a pretty messy world to fix. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Tonks gave a tired smile. “That’s the spirit. We’re not alone, and if we’re lucky, we’ll make it through this in one piece.”

“And if we don’t,” I said with a grin, “at least we’ll go down with some epic stories to tell.”

Laughter bubbled up among the group, a welcome break from the tension. We had a mountain of problems, but at least we had a plan. As we huddled together to figure out our next moves, a small spark of hope flickered through the darkness. If there was one thing I’d learned from my wild ride so far, it was that hope could turn even the most hopeless situations into something worth fighting for.

—

Diana, ever the picture of grace under pressure, quietly excused herself from our little powwow, leaving the rest of us to debate strategies, battle plans, and whether or not we’d actually survive this crazy adventure. While we were busy conjuring up new ways to not get ourselves killed, I noticed Diana pulling out this shiny, high-tech communicator. It looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie—definitely not the kind of gadget you’d find in your average wizarding kit.

She moved off to the side, just enough to keep the conversation private but still within view. With a quick flick of her wrist, she activated the device. “This is Diana. I’m sending an update on our current situation,” she said, her voice low and serious, like she was ordering takeout for the Justice League. But, you know, way more intense.

I could only imagine what was happening on the other end of that line. Batman was probably scowling into his cowl, mentally drafting a dozen backup plans for every possible scenario. Superman was likely ready to swoop in and save the day (because that’s kind of his thing), while Flash was pacing like he’d downed a few too many espressos. Green Lantern? Probably cracking a joke or two to keep things light. Martian Manhunter was no doubt analyzing everything with that super-calm vibe of his, and Aquaman—well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if he was already planning how to get some sea creatures involved.

“Harry has provided us with more context about his arrival,” Diana continued, sounding like she was giving a TED Talk rather than filling in the world’s most powerful heroes on our latest existential crisis. “We’ve also encountered his companions, who’ve managed to cross dimensions, albeit in a rather unconventional manner. They’ve brought with them a device—a ‘Deluminator’—which, if their plan works, could bring more of their people here. Their goal is to rally forces to combat a mutual threat.”

The communicator buzzed with responses, but whatever was said was lost on us. Still, I had a pretty good idea of how the conversation was going. Batman would be dropping caution bombs left and right, while Superman would be all about the big-picture heroism. Flash was probably halfway through a joke, and Martian Manhunter? Analyzing everything like a super-cool, super-calm alien Sherlock Holmes.

Diana listened closely, her expression giving nothing away. She was like a statue, but, you know, one that could kick your butt halfway across the planet if she felt like it. “Understood,” she said finally, giving a small nod. “I’ll keep you all updated as the situation evolves. For now, we’ll remain on-site and assist where necessary.”

She turned back to us, her face as unreadable as Professor Snape’s during a pop quiz. I caught her eye, silently asking, “So, how’s the Justice League feeling about all this?” She just gave me a small, reassuring nod—the kind that said, “We’ve got this,” without actually saying anything at all. Classic Diana.

With the League involved, I felt a spark of hope. Sure, our situation was more tangled than a three-headed dog’s leash, but with the world’s mightiest heroes backing us up, maybe—just maybe—we had a shot at coming out on top. Of course, this being my life, I knew the path ahead was still murky, full of surprises, and probably a few near-death experiences. But hey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you’ve got to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. And maybe crack a joke or two along the way—because, seriously, what’s life without a little humor?

—

So, Hermione plops this enormous trunk in front of me, and the moment she opens it, it’s like the Pandora’s box of my past life. Only instead of unleashing chaos, it’s unleashing a bunch of really useful stuff.

I’m staring at my Firebolt, which, let’s face it, is basically a luxury broomstick with a turbocharger. I mean, who needs that when you’ve got fire wings, right? Still, it’s weirdly nostalgic, like finding a dusty old comic book you loved when you were a kid.

“Oh great,” Ron says, eyeing the broom like it’s some alien technology. “You can fly with fire wings now? Are we talking dragon-level fire, or just enough to roast marshmallows?”

“Dragon-level,” I confirm, trying not to sound too pleased with myself. “But, you know, with less marshmallow roasting and more ‘don’t get too close unless you want a face full of flaming doom.’”

Hermione rolls her eyes but manages a small smile. “Just think of it as a bonus power. You know, in case you need to incinerate something while you’re flying.”

Then I see my Invisibility Cloak. I’ve missed that thing more than I realized. It’s like an old friend who’s always there to get you out of trouble. I fold it up carefully, almost reverently. It’s seen me through more shenanigans than I can count.

And there’s Hedwig, looking as serene as ever. Hermione must’ve used some fancy spell to keep her safe and sound. Seeing her like this makes my chest tighten. She’s been my steadfast companion through so many adventures, and knowing she’s alright tugs at my heartstrings.

“Thanks, Hermione,” I manage to say, my voice a bit gruff. “This means more than you know.”

Hermione gives a modest shrug, but I can see the pride in her eyes. “Just doing what I can. We need every advantage we can get, after all.”

And then, as if that wasn’t enough of a treasure haul, Hermione reveals the bottom of the trunk where a mountain of Galleons is stacked. This is not just a bit of gold; this is a small fortune. I mean, talk about going from rags to riches, but with a lot of magic and a trunk involved.

“Whoa,” I say, trying to wrap my head around the pile of gold. “That’s... a lot of Galleons.”

Hermione nods. “The Goblins moved all your gold here before closing Gringotts. They didn’t want it falling into Voldemort’s hands.”

I give a low whistle. “And here I thought I’d left all that behind.”

“Not quite,” Hermione says, giving me a reassuring look. “It’s just as well. You never know when you’ll need to buy an army of dragons or something.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, or maybe just a really big coffee machine for all the late-night planning.”

As I close the trunk, feeling a strange mix of relief and nostalgia, I’m reminded of the world we’ve left behind and the challenges that lie ahead. But seeing everything laid out like this, it’s a comfort. It’s a piece of my past and a sign that we’re going to tackle this new world with everything we’ve got.

“So,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, “who’s up for a little world-saving adventure? Because I’m ready to put this treasure to good use.”

Everyone laughs, and for a moment, it feels like we’re just a group of friends gearing up for another wild ride. Maybe this new world has its own challenges, but with old friends, some cool new abilities, and a trunk full of magical goodies, I’ve got a feeling we’re going to make it through just fine.

—

As the second jet touches down, it might as well have been a spaceship from another dimension—because, well, that’s kind of what it is. Out steps Giovanni Zatara, dressed in a suit that looks like it cost more than my entire collection of magical textbooks. Right behind him is Zatanna, his sixteen-year-old daughter, who’s sporting an air of cool confidence that’s practically radiant. 

Then there’s Batman, arriving with his usual “I’m-so-serious-it-hurts” vibe. And beside him, Robin looks like he’s just walked into a room filled with giant chocolate chip cookies. I almost feel bad for him—almost. 

“Hey, Miss Martian!” I shout, waving like we’re on a beach and not in the middle of a high-stakes superhero mission. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hey, Harry!” she responds, her green face lighting up with that friendly smile of hers. “Ready to dive back into action?”

“Always,” I reply with enthusiasm. “And Robin, you still thinking about those cookies?”

Robin grins. “Definitely. They were legendary. If you ever need a side gig, you could make a fortune as a baker.”

Batman, trying his best to look like he’s not amused, gives me a nod. Giovanni Zatara steps forward, his curiosity barely contained. “Harry, it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I say, offering a handshake. “I hope the rumors are all good.”

“Mostly,” Zatara says, with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve also heard you’ve got a rather intriguing codename.”

I give a dramatic shrug. “Yep, it’s Shadowflame.”

The faces of the Wizarding World members light up with confusion. Hermione’s brows knit together as she processes this new piece of information. “Shadowflame? That’s quite the name. What’s the story behind it?”

I can’t help but grin. “Well, it’s inspired by my Marauder roots. You know, trying to sound all mysterious and cool. Makes me sound like I should be in a comic book or something.”

Remus bursts out laughing, his amusement echoing around the hangar. “Shadowflame? That’s brilliant. It’s like something straight out of one of our Marauder pranks. It suits you perfectly.”

Tonks, always up for a laugh, adds, “Oh, I can totally picture it. Just don’t start every heroic entrance with ‘The Shadowflame is here!’ or something equally cheesy.”

“Deal,” I say, playing along. “But you never know—I might add a little extra flair to my entrances just for kicks.”

Hermione shakes her head, though she’s smiling now. “Well, if it helps you feel like a superhero, who am I to argue? It’s certainly memorable.”

With everyone finally starting to settle in, the banter about my codename adds a much-needed touch of levity. The arrival of the League’s reinforcements and the buzz of reuniting with friends make the atmosphere crackle with energy. Shadowflame might be a name that sounds like it came straight out of a superhero comic, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the perfect fit for the wild ride that’s about to unfold.

Chapter Text

So, there we were—stuck in another universe, with a magical lighter that could suck up light and, apparently, transport us back home if we gave it enough time to “absorb dimensional energy.” Yeah, I wasn’t sure what that meant either, but when you’re dealing with magic, you get used to things sounding like they belong in a bad sci-fi movie.

Hermione, ever the encyclopedia of magical knowledge, was explaining the Deluminator to Zatanna and her dad, Giovanni Zatara. “It looks like a Muggle lighter,” she said, holding up the little device, “but it’s a lot more complicated. It can remove, store, and return light. Dumbledore—our old headmaster—also enchanted it to act as a beacon. Right now, it’s linked to Remus here and Charlie Weasley back in our universe.”

Zatanna nodded like she understood exactly what Hermione was talking about, which made sense—she was a magician herself. Giovanni, however, wasn’t just going to take our word for it. He started muttering under his breath, which sounded like random gibberish, until I realized he was casting spells backward. That’s how his magic worked, apparently. I was just glad I didn’t have to do the same. I can barely handle the normal spells, thank you very much.

After a minute of mystical diagnostics, Giovanni looked up and nodded. “It will work,” he said, his voice all serious and professional. “But it will take time—at least two weeks for the Deluminator to absorb enough dimensional energy.”

Two weeks. Great. That was enough time for something to go terribly wrong. I glanced at Batman, who already looked like he was planning six different ways we could all be secretly evil.

“We can’t just sit around for two weeks,” Batman said, his voice dripping with suspicion. He crossed his arms, glaring at me like I was going to pull out a Dark Mark any second.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Wonder Woman replied calmly, though I could tell she wasn’t thrilled about it either. “The wizards need time, and we need to trust that their magic will work.”

Trust. Yeah, that’s Batman’s favorite word. I was pretty sure if the man smiled, his face would crack.

“They’ve been running from a dark wizard who’s destroyed most of their world,” Zatanna added. “They’ve got nothing to gain from deceiving us.”

Fred leaned over to George. “So, we’re hanging out with superheroes for two weeks? This is the best vacation ever.”

“Even if one of them looks like he wants to drop us off a cliff,” George whispered back, nodding toward Batman.

Before anyone could argue further, Wonder Woman did the most logical thing—offering us sanctuary with the Justice League while we waited. Naturally, this annoyed Batman to no end. He glared at Wonder Woman like she’d just suggested hosting a tea party with Voldemort.

“Fine,” Batman growled. “But I’m watching all of them.”

“Oh, goodie,” I muttered. “A bat-shaped babysitter.”

Miss Martian, ever the sunshine in the room, suddenly perked up. “Hey, Harry! Isn’t your 17th birthday next week?”

That got everyone’s attention, especially the wizards. Hermione’s brain started ticking, doing the math. “Wait, your birthday is next week? That means time is passing the same here as in our universe. Your 17th birthday was supposed to be about a week away when we jumped into the Veil.”

“Good to know,” Ron said. “So, no weird time-travel nonsense to worry about.”

“Well, except the whole jumping into another dimension thing,” I pointed out.

Wonder Woman smiled at me like I was the world’s most adorable inter-dimensional refugee. “We’ll make sure you have a safe place to celebrate.”

I raised an eyebrow. “First birthday without the Dursleys? I’m counting that as a win, even if I’m stuck in another universe.”

“You’re welcome,” Miss Martian beamed.

Fred smirked. “Could be worse. At least we get to spend the time with superheroes.”

“Yeah, until someone tries to kill me again,” I muttered, throwing a quick glance at Batman, who still looked like he was ready to pounce on us at any second.

“You say that like it’s a regular occurrence,” Robin said, grinning.

“It kinda is.”

Everyone eventually agreed to wait out the two weeks—although I’m pretty sure Batman was plotting some sort of background check on all of us. As the meeting broke up, I couldn’t help but think: two weeks with the Justice League. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, right. Everything.

—

The moment we set foot on the Watchtower, Ron’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head.

“Blimey, Harry… this place is—”

“—a giant bloody spaceship!” Fred cut in, giving George a nudge. George, naturally, looked equally gobsmacked.

“Think we could launch a few fireworks from here? Maybe give Voldemort a real send-off?” George grinned, elbowing Fred back.

Ginny, meanwhile, had the look of someone who’d just seen a Nundu. “This… this is mental.”

“This is the future!” Hermione’s voice shot up an octave, her eyes practically sparkling. “We’re on a technological marvel—a space station orbiting Earth! Oh, Harry, do you realize what this means?”

“Uh, yeah. No need for Floo Powder to travel in style?” I grinned, earning a playful smack on the arm from her.

“No, you dolt!” Hermione bounced over to Batman, her excitement practically radiating off her. “How do you maintain the energy grids up here? The gravitational stabilizers, the air filtration—oh, and do you use nanotechnology for the repairs?”

Classic Batman. Not a twitch. Just that brooding face with maybe, maybe, a flicker of amusement. “We manage.”

Robin sidled up beside me, smirking. “Hermione might give Bats a run for his money in the tech department.”

I grinned back. “If she had a utility belt, we’d all be out of a job.”

Fred overheard and burst into laughter. “Hermione with a Bat-belt! She’d put Mad-Eye to shame!”

Meanwhile, Tonks was spinning in circles, eyes wide. “Wotcher, Harry! Didn’t realize you had this kind of setup! Beats Grimmauld Place any day.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, scratching the back of my neck. “Weird to think of this place as home, though. I’ve spent the last day baking cookies with Miss Martian and binge-watching retro TV shows. Not exactly the grand adventure I expected after jumping through the Veil.”

“Wait, you made cookies with a Martian?” Ginny arched an eyebrow.

At that exact moment, Miss Martian floated over, landing beside us with a beaming smile. “Yup! Best chocolate chip cookies ever! Harry’s pretty good at mixing batter, even if he did make a bit of a mess.”

“Did not,” I protested. Okay, fine, I did, but still. “Strategic flour sprinkling. Adds character to the cookies.”

Fred and George snickered. “Sounds like someone’s found their inner house-elf,” Fred quipped.

“Better watch it, Harry, or Hermione’ll make you join SPEW,” George added with a grin.

“Oh, I think Harry’s done more than enough housework, don’t you think?” Hermione shot me a knowing look, but before I could respond, Batman cleared his throat. It’s amazing how the guy could silence an entire room with just a sound.

Zatanna, standing with her dad, tilted her head toward the rest of us. “So, this Deluminator thing… it’s gonna take two weeks to power up?”

Giovanni Zatara nodded solemnly. “Yes, it requires time to absorb the dimensional energy here. At least a fortnight.”

“A fortnight,” Ron muttered under his breath. “Sounds like a vacation in space to me.”

Wonder Woman—who, by the way, is about seven feet of pure intimidation—crossed her arms. “The Justice League will offer you sanctuary during this time. You’ll be safe here.”

George snorted. “Safe in a space fortress. Well, that’s something I never thought I’d hear.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Safety is not a guarantee.”

Hermione muttered, “Yeah, we’ve noticed.”

Tonks, still spinning around in awe, suddenly stopped and grinned at me. “So, Harry, dear… Seventeen, huh? That’s a big deal. In both universes, apparently.”

Fred and George exchanged their signature mischievous looks, and I knew I was in trouble. “We’ve got a few ideas brewing for a proper inter-dimensional birthday bash,” Fred said, rubbing his hands together.

“Absolutely,” George added with a smirk. “What better place to prank Harry than a space fortress?”

I groaned. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Don’t worry, Shadowflame,” Ginny teased. “We’ll make sure it’s a memorable seventeenth.”

Hermione raised a finger like she was about to launch into a lecture. “Just no fireworks or explosions, please. The Watchtower’s delicate systems can’t—”

“Relax, Hermione.” George waved her off. “We wouldn’t dream of damaging anything. We’re professionals.”

“Right,” Hermione muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Robin, who’d been listening in with a grin, chimed in. “A birthday party in space does sound kinda awesome. I’m in.”

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow, though there was a hint of a smile on her face. “As long as the festivities don’t interfere with the League’s operations.”

“Of course not!” Fred said, hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “We’re very respectful of superhero protocols.”

Batman glanced over, his expression unreadable. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Fred and George both paled slightly. “On second thought,” Fred muttered, “maybe we’ll keep things low-key.”

The rest of the group erupted into laughter, already discussing plans, potential pranks, and how exactly we were going to pull off the universe’s first inter-dimensional birthday bash.

And as chaotic as it all sounded, for the first time in a while, I felt a weird sense of normalcy. Even if “normal” now involved space stations, superheroes, and the looming threat of Voldemort in another universe, it was still us—my friends, my family—planning something together.

Whatever comes next, at least we’d face it head-on. Probably with cake and fireworks. Because honestly, that’s just how we roll.

—

In the fiery heart of his celestial forge, Hephaestus was hard at work—though calling it “work” might be an understatement. This was more like an epic quest, complete with glowing embers, magical materials, and enough divine energy to power a small city. The god of fire and craftsmanship was crafting something special for Diana’s son, Harry, who had a knack for getting into trouble—and Hephaestus admired that kind of dedication.

Surrounded by a whirlwind of sparks, Hephaestus was deep in the creative zone, surrounded by blueprints sprawled out like a magical treasure map. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here,” he muttered, scratching his head as he scrutinized his sketches. He needed to design armor that would fit Harry like a glove—an epic glove that screamed, “I’m a demigod who can punch you into next week, and I do it with style!”

This was no ordinary armor. It had to be sleek, dark, and imbued with powers that would make even the gods raise an eyebrow. He pictured Harry wearing it, the armor’s black surface shimmering with gold accents. “Too much gold? Nah, you can never have enough bling when you’re a son of a demigod,” he chuckled, recalling the last time he had tried to impress a certain goddess with a flashy shield. Spoiler: it didn’t end well.

At the center of the armor’s design was a massive crimson gem that looked like it was stolen straight from the treasure hoard of a dragon. This wasn’t just for show; this gem had some serious magical chops. “This little beauty is going to absorb energy and magical abilities from anything it touches,” Hephaestus mused, rubbing his hands together. “Harry will be able to take a spell right out of the air, channel it through this gem, and unleash it with a punch! Talk about a game changer.”

But wait, there was more! He had a brilliant idea for Harry’s gauntlets. These would be the pièce de résistance. “No need for a wand, Harry! Just punch your way through problems like a true hero!” He envisioned the gauntlets snug against Harry’s forearms, covered in runes that practically screamed “magic at your fingertips!” With these bad boys, Harry could channel spells straight through his fists. He’d be a one-man wrecking crew with style points, too.

Hephaestus could practically hear the cheers of his fellow gods as Harry delivered a knockout punch, sending a blast of magic flying through the air. “You just can’t lose when your armor is as cool as this,” he said to himself, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured Harry on a battlefield, the gem glowing like a disco ball every time he absorbed an enemy’s spell. “Bam! Take that, sorcerer!” he imagined Harry shouting, right before sending a wave of magic back at his opponent, who probably wasn’t prepared for such a dramatic turn of events.

As he sketched away, Hephaestus added protective enchantments to the designs. This armor needed to withstand both physical attacks and magical blasts—like a superhero whose costume could survive a burst of flame without looking like last year’s prom dress. “You can’t have a demigod running around looking like a hot mess!” he said, shaking his head in disapproval.

With every strike of his hammer, Hephaestus poured divine energy into the design, imagining how the armor would resonate with Harry’s spirit. He pictured Harry donning it for the first time, feeling the weight and power of it. “Dude, I’m about to become a legend,” he imagined Harry saying, a smirk plastered on his face.

But this wasn’t just armor; it was a legacy waiting to happen. With each piece forged, Hephaestus felt the excitement building. Harry was destined to be more than just a kid in a magical world; he was about to become a powerhouse. “Just wait until Diana sees this! She’ll be over the moon, and Harry will be unstoppable!” he said, his heart swelling with pride.

As the flames danced around him, Hephaestus set to work, hammering and shaping the first piece of armor with a newfound enthusiasm. This wasn’t just another job; it was a chance to craft a hero’s fate. He smiled, thinking about the adventures that lay ahead for Harry, armor-clad and ready to take on anything life—or the gods—could throw at him. “Welcome to the family, kiddo,” he said to himself, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now let’s make some magic.”

—

Meanwhile, in the training room of the Watchtower, I was about to learn something that could either change my life or make me look like an absolute idiot. Diana—yes, the legendary Wonder Woman herself—was going to teach me Pankration. Now, when I heard “Pankration,” I pictured something like a cross between a medieval tournament and a chaotic game of dodgeball. Apparently, it was a mix of wrestling and boxing, and let me tell you, my track record with self-defense wasn’t exactly stellar.

See, my previous experience with fighting consisted of dodging the Dursleys’ fists and getting my wand out to do some fancy spellwork. And honestly? The Wizarding World didn’t prepare me for actual punches. I mean, they thought a simple Stunning Spell was enough to keep the bad guys at bay. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

“Alright, Harry!” Diana said, her voice ringing with that same confidence that made her a legend. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

I nodded, pretending I wasn’t terrified. “Right! I can totally do this!” I mean, how hard could it be? I had the strength of a demigod, the durability of a Basilisk, and the fiery spirit of a phoenix. I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and lunged at her like I was going for a gold medal in a very confusing Olympic sport.

Bad move.

My fist went flying, and I ended up face-first on the mat, dust clouds swirling around me like a cartoon character who just hit a wall. I could almost hear my friends in the background stifling their laughter.

“Nice power! But remember, control is key!” Diana grinned at me. Honestly, I was half-tempted to get up, brush myself off, and declare that I was totally practicing my dramatic fall. “Try to use your legs next time.”

“Got it! Less dramatic, more ninja!” I said, giving her a thumbs-up that probably looked more like a salute.

I felt like a total klutz, but then I remembered my friends were watching. Hermione’s eyes were wide with excitement, Luna was… well, Luna, gazing dreamily, and Ginny looked like she might jump in any second to show me how it’s done. Meanwhile, Fred and George were at the sidelines, cheering for me like I was their personal hero.

“Come on, Harry! Show her what you’ve got!” Fred yelled, practically dancing with excitement. “Just don’t break anything… or yourself!”

“Yeah, mate! We need you in one piece for the next adventure!” George chimed in, and I could hear the teasing in his voice.

With renewed determination and a dash of bravado, I got back up, shaking off the embarrassment. I was not going to let a little tumble ruin my chance to learn from Diana. So, I focused on her movements, the way she shifted her weight, the fluidity of her strikes. It was mesmerizing.

“Okay, let’s try again!” I said, adopting a battle stance that I hoped looked somewhat intimidating.

Diana nodded, a spark of encouragement in her eyes. “Good! Now remember, use your opponent’s energy against them!”

I lunged again, this time channeling every ounce of that newfound strength. My punches felt sharper, more precise, and surprisingly powerful. I could sense my friends rallying behind me, their support wrapping around me like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

“Go, Harry!” Ginny shouted, and I felt my confidence swell. I was actually starting to get the hang of this. Maybe I wasn’t destined to be the world’s clumsiest hero after all!

“Remember to breathe!” Diana reminded me, her tone both serious and playful. “And try not to make that face when you punch. It’s a bit scary.”

I shot her a look, half-amused, half-embarrassed. “What? This face is my best feature!” But I took her advice to heart. Each punch felt stronger, fueled by my determination and the cheers of my friends. With each swing, I could almost feel the energy of the Phoenix stirring within me, mingling with the strength of a demigod.

As I executed a final series of punches, I realized something: I was no longer just Harry Potter, the kid who once hid under stairs. I was becoming something more—stronger, fiercer, ready to face whatever came next.

“Fantastic, Harry! You’ve got potential!” Diana praised, and I couldn’t help but beam.

With a heart full of determination and a group of friends cheering me on, I was ready to embrace my new role as a warrior. The world was an adventure waiting to unfold, and I was finally ready to take it on, one punch at a time.

—

Meanwhile, in the dimly lit lab of the Watchtower, Remus Lupin and Giovanni Zatara were elbow-deep in a magical experiment with the Deluminator. The device sat between them like a shiny toy, full of potential yet weighed down by the urgent mission they were on. You’d think being wizards would mean they had all the time in the world, but no—time was slipping through their fingers like sand, and on the other side of the Veil, Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were gearing up for an exodus. Goblins, Veela, and all sorts of magical creatures were waiting for the signal to escape Voldemort's grim clutches, and every second counted.

“Alright, Giovanni, let’s brainstorm,” Remus said, tapping his fingers against the table. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, but the nervous energy radiating from him made it hard to focus. “If we can amplify the Deluminator’s energy absorption, we might actually send a message across the Veil faster. Time is of the essence, my friend.”

“Absolutely!” Giovanni replied, his eyes practically sparkling at the challenge ahead. “We can’t leave them hanging like a bad cliffhanger. We need to turn this device into a magical vacuum cleaner for dimensional energy! Harnessing the magic of this universe could speed things up considerably.”

He dove into a collection of colorful crystals and magical artifacts from the shelves, spreading them out like a kid in a candy store. Each item glimmered with possibilities, just waiting to be put to use. “Okay, here’s the plan: what if we link the Deluminator to the ley lines of magic in this realm? If we tap into that energy, we’ll boost absorption rates like crazy!”

Remus’s excitement matched Giovanni’s, his mind racing with possibilities. “That’s a genius idea! If we synchronize the Deluminator with the ley lines, we’re practically creating a magical power grid. It’ll channel energy straight into it! This is a wizard-level power-up we’re talking about!”

They sprang into action, rearranging crystals and murmuring incantations like a pair of mad scientists. The air around them hummed with energy, vibrating in tune with their combined efforts.

“Ah! This crystal right here!” Giovanni exclaimed, pointing to a large, shimmering gem. “This beauty is from the Dreaming Realm. It resonates with both magical and dimensional energies. Infusing it into the Deluminator will definitely enhance its absorption capacity!”

With a mix of nervous excitement and determination, they carefully placed the crystal into the Deluminator’s core. The device responded with a soft glow, sending ripples of energy that danced in the air like tiny lightning bolts. Remus felt a rush of adrenaline, watching the Deluminator pulse with life.

“Now, let’s see if we can amplify the signal,” Giovanni declared, determination etched on his face. “We can’t let Bill and Fleur down. They’re counting on us to get this message through!”

Fueled by adrenaline and a shared sense of purpose, they launched into a series of incantations, pouring their magical energy into the Deluminator. The room crackled and popped with energy, every chant echoing with hope and urgency.

“Bill! Fleur!” Giovanni shouted, his voice rising above the crackling energy. “If you can hear us, gather everyone and get ready to cross over! The Deluminator is primed and ready to guide you!”

As his words filled the room, the Deluminator glowed brighter, bathing the lab in a radiant light. Remus and Giovanni exchanged glances, their hearts racing as they awaited a response, every second feeling like an eternity.

Just as doubt began to creep in, a shimmering portal began to form in front of them. “Look!” Remus exclaimed, his pulse quickening with excitement. “It’s working!”

Giovanni grinned, practically bouncing on his feet. “Now we just have to keep it open long enough for them to respond! Let’s channel everything we’ve got!”

With determination fueling their every word and gesture, they poured their magical energy into the Deluminator, the portal stabilizing before them. They could feel the weight of countless lives depending on their success. This was it—the moment they’d been working toward. Together, they were ready to bridge the gap between worlds, lighting the way for those desperate to escape the darkness.

—

So, picture this: I just survived a training session with Wonder Woman—Diana herself—and by survived, I mean I got my butt handed to me for a good half of it. She made me look like a kid trying to fight an angry rhino with a pool noodle. But then, out of nowhere, I started picking up her moves. And before I knew it, I was actually making her work for a win! Yeah, you heard me right—Wonder Woman had to try. Even I didn’t see that coming. Honestly, neither did anyone else. You should’ve seen their faces. It was like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of my hat. Except the rabbit was my sudden ability to fight like a demigod.

Anyway, after that borderline-miraculous comeback, I headed to the showers. I was all sweaty, bruised, and pretty proud of myself. Time to rinse off the day and feel human again. Or, you know, as human as you can feel after getting drop-kicked by an Amazon.

So, I’m walking into the shower area, towel over my shoulder, when I push open the door and—BOOM—naked girl. Like, right there.

My brain immediately freezes. If you’ve ever seen a computer crash with the blue screen of death, that’s what happened to me in that moment. The girl turns around, blonde hair wet, casually standing under the shower like this is the most normal thing ever. And I’m just... standing there. Towel in hand. Probably looking like a deer caught in headlights. Or worse, a deer that’s forgotten how headlights even work.

“Uh... hi?” I manage to squeak out, because clearly, my social skills are on point today.

The girl doesn’t even blink. Not a flicker of surprise or embarrassment. Just a friendly smile. “Oh, hi! You must be Harry Potter! Everyone in the Watchtower has been talking about you for the past day!” she says, like we’re meeting at the coffee shop and not, you know, both naked in a communal shower. “I’m Kara. Kara Zor-El.”

Okay, so now my brain has two things to process: (A) There’s a completely naked girl in front of me, and (B) her last name is Zor-El. As in, Superman’s cousin. Because clearly, my life isn’t complicated enough.

“Kara... Zor-El?” I repeat, because apparently my brain thinks it’s helpful to just parrot back the obvious.

She nods, still all smiles, completely oblivious to the fact that this is hands-down the most awkward situation I’ve been in all week. “Yeah! I landed here about a month ago. I’m still getting used to Earth stuff. Like gravity. And showers. Earth showers are really nice.”

“Right,” I say, still frozen in place. “Superman’s cousin. In the shower. Naked.”

She tilts her head at me like I’ve just said something super weird. “Yeah, that’s correct. Is there a problem?”

At this point, it hits me—she’s from Krypton. She has no concept of how awkward this is. Like, zilch. To her, this is probably the equivalent of saying, “Oh, hey, nice weather we’re having.”

“No, no problem,” I squeak, my voice cracking like I’m a 12-year-old. “Just, uh, gonna go... find another shower. You know, one that’s... not occupied.”

Kara blinks at me, still totally calm. “Oh, do humans not like sharing showers? I’ve noticed you guys get shy about stuff like that. It’s a cultural thing, right?”

Cultural thing. Right. I am definitely not explaining Earth teenage hormones to Superman’s cousin.

“Yeah, it’s... definitely a cultural thing,” I mumble, backing out of the room like a total dork. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”

As soon as I’m out of the shower area, I lean against the wall and let out a huge breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. My heart’s still pounding, my face is probably red as a tomato, and Kara’s still in there, humming some Kryptonian tune like nothing weird just happened.

First impressions, right? Nailed it.

—

After taking what could only be described as the world’s coldest shower (because, you know, nothing screams awkward like walking in on a very naked, very Kryptonian girl mid-suds), I trudged down to the mess hall. Breakfast would help, I thought. Maybe eggs. Something normal. Something that would erase the memory of earlier from my brain.

I was wrong. So, so wrong.

Megan was valiantly trying to make breakfast, and by "valiantly," I mean it looked like a scene straight out of a cooking disaster show. Pancakes were burning, eggs were some shade of radioactive green, and the entire room smelled like defeat.

Across the table, Fred and George were whispering to each other, grins plastered on their faces like they’d just found their next victim. Ron was staring at the so-called food, pale as a ghost. Neville? The poor guy was trying to help, but he looked like he might pass out from the smell alone.

Robin was just watching the chaos unfold with that smug grin of his, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t. Meanwhile, Wonder Woman looked totally calm. Like, of course, burnt pancakes and green eggs were a normal breakfast experience. And Superman—Superman—was sitting there, sipping coffee like it wasn’t the most intimidating sight ever. Because, obviously, this is my life now.

Which, of course, was the exact moment Kara Zor-El walked in.

I froze mid-spoonful, praying to every god, wizard, and Kryptonian in the universe that she wouldn’t say anything embarrassing. She was thankfully fully dressed, but my brain was still replaying, well, the earlier incident.

“Good morning, Kal-El! And good morning to you, friend from the shower!” Kara chirped, beaming like the sun itself.

Cue me choking on my cereal.

Fred and George’s heads snapped up like they were synced to some invisible prank radar. Their grins stretched even wider (which I didn’t think was possible), and Ron? Ron dropped his toast, eyes bugging out of his head.

“Friend from the what now?” Fred asked, his voice practically gleaming with mischief.

“Yeah, Harry,” George chimed in, “anything you’d like to share with the class?”

I could feel my face turning a shade of red normally reserved for Weasley sweaters. “It’s not—it’s so not what it sounds like.”

Naturally, this was the exact moment Superman decided to join the conversation.

“Kara, what do you mean by ‘friend from the shower’?” he asked, voice calm but with that slight edge that could cut through steel. Uh-oh.

“Oh, right!” Kara said, still smiling like nothing in the world was wrong. “Harry walked in on me while I was showering earlier. It was a bit surprising, but he was really polite about it!”

Dead. Silence.

Ron’s fork clattered to the floor. Fred and George just stared at me, jaws hanging open like they’d just won the prank lottery.

“Blimey, mate,” Ron muttered, “how do you always end up in these situations?”

I opened my mouth to explain (bad idea, really), but Fred beat me to it.

“So, Harry,” Fred began, barely containing his laughter, “you’re saying you had a run-in with Superman’s cousin...”

“In the shower?” George finished, looking far too delighted.

Neville, bless him, was trying to throw me a lifeline. “I’m sure it was just an accident, right, Harry?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, heat creeping up my neck. “Total accident.”

“An accident where you walked in on her naked, and she’s just... fine with it?” Fred raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got better luck than a leprechaun at a casino,” George added with a wink.

Across the room, Superman put down his coffee. He was no longer sipping. He was staring. At me. Oh no.

“Kara, why exactly did Harry walk in on you in the shower?” he asked, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Kara blinked, like she was confused why this was even a question. “Well, I didn’t lock the door, so I guess that’s why. But it’s okay! We’re friends now!”

The grin on Fred’s face was so wide I thought his cheeks might split. “Friends, huh? That’s one way to start a friendship, Harry.”

“Oh yeah, I always make friends by walking in on them naked,” George added, clearly loving this.

My face was now approximately the temperature of the sun. “Guys, it wasn’t—nothing like that! It was a misunderstanding!”

Superman’s eyes narrowed just a little. “Harry,” he said slowly, “we’re going to have a conversation about boundaries.”

“Kal-El, it’s really fine!” Kara insisted, still oblivious to the nuclear-level tension in the room. “Harry didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a good friend!”

Good friend. Yeah. Just let me crawl into the earth and disappear now, thanks.

Diana stepped in, ever the calm voice of reason. “Kal, it’s just a misunderstanding. No harm done.”

Superman exhaled through his nose, clearly not entirely convinced, but letting it go. “Fine. But no more... incidents.”

Fred snorted. “Hear that, Harry? No more sneaky peeks.”

George elbowed him. “Yeah, mate. Gotta leave some mystery!”

“Would you two please shut up?” I hissed, absolutely mortified.

Kara, still completely oblivious, gave a cheery thumbs-up. “Got it! No more naked human encounters.”

Neville, bless his soul, tried one last time to change the subject. “Er, maybe we should... talk about something else?”

But Fred wasn’t done. “So, Kara, what exactly did Harry say when he saw you?”

Superman’s jaw clenched. Diana gave him a look that said, don’t murder the child.

“Fred!” I groaned. “Just... stop, alright?”

Fred raised his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. No need to embarrass you further.”

I glanced at Superman. Yeah, he was done. Standing up abruptly, he gave me one last look before marching out of the room.

As soon as he was gone, Fred leaned in with a smirk. “Well, mate, at least you’re making new friends. Naked ones, no less.”

“Fred!” I groaned, burying my head in my hands.

Ron shook his head, still grinning. “Mate, you really need to work on your timing.”

Neville gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. “It’s alright, Harry. Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah?” I asked, peeking through my fingers.

He nodded. “You could’ve walked in on Superman instead.”

And with that mental image, I decided it was time to excuse myself before my life got even weirder.

Chapter Text

Okay, so here’s the thing: I never thought I’d be the center of a scandal involving showers, the Justice League, and pretty much every girl I’ve ever known, but apparently, I have a talent for making my life infinitely more embarrassing. Enter the saga of Showergate.

You’d think after fighting Voldemort and literally jumping through a veil of death, I’d catch a break. Nope. Not how it works. Instead, I end up on the Watchtower with way too much free time for Fred, George, and Robin to start stirring up trouble. And boy, did they stir.

So, remember that one time I accidentally walked in on Kara in the shower? Yeah, apparently, that’s prime material for gossip, especially when you’ve got two pranksters like Fred and George ready to broadcast it to the world. They wasted no time telling all the girls from the Wizarding World about it. And because Robin has no sense of self-preservation, he spread it to the League. Everyone knows now.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Or, you know, disappear into the Phantom Zone. Both were equally appealing.

But Kara? She didn’t get what the big deal was. At all. Like, the girl has no filter. Instead of being mortified, she actually went around giving a detailed—emphasis on detailed—description of what she saw. I’m talking full-on breakdown of my, uh, physique. Including certain… appendages.

Yeah. That’s my life now.

“It’s not a big deal,” she told Zatanna while I was sitting there, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. “Harry’s really well-built, and honestly, humans are so weird about nudity. On Krypton, it’s—”

“Kara!” I squeaked, practically jumping out of my skin. “Please, please, stop talking about that.”

Kara blinked at me, completely innocent. “What? I’m just being honest. It’s not like anyone doesn’t know now. Besides, you should be proud of how you—”

“Merlin’s beard, Kara, just—no. No.” My face felt like it was on fire, and I could feel every girl in the room staring at me, trying to hold back their laughter.

“Well,” Zatanna smirked, “I mean, she’s not wrong, Harry.”

Kill me now.

Diana—bless her—gave me a sympathetic look. “For once, I’m glad I didn’t stick around for that conversation. I don’t need those details, thanks.” She patted my shoulder. “I think of you as my son, anyway.”

“Thank you,” I groaned. “At least someone here has some sense.”

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. Zatanna and Black Canary were clearly enjoying the show, and Kara was still happily giving her TED Talk on my anatomy. Meanwhile, I was trying to remember the last time I felt so humiliated. Oh right, that time Gilderoy Lockhart made me pose with him for an impromptu photoshoot in front of a crowd of people at Flourish and Blotts. This was worse.

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione piped up, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face, “it’s not that bad. Kara’s just… well, she’s Kara.”

“I’d rather face a Basilisk naked than go through this,” I muttered under my breath.

Fred, of course, was having the time of his life. “Come on, mate. Don’t be so shy. I’m sure the girls are all grateful for the mental image.”

“Fred, I swear to Merlin, I’m going to hex you into next week.”

But did he stop? Of course not. He and George were practically in tears from laughing, and Hermione wasn’t far behind.

“Kara’s just being thorough,” Black Canary said, her lips twitching into a smirk. “You should take it as a compliment.”

Compliment? More like a death sentence. I wanted to disappear into the astral plane and never come back.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Robin—because of course—strolled in with the biggest grin on his face. “Hey, Harry! Just told the Flash about your little shower mishap. Nice job, dude.”

“Remind me to never, ever take a shower on this blasted Watchtower again,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

I could feel the stares. The teasing wasn’t going to end. I could already see it. From now on, I wouldn’t be Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the guy who helped save the world. Nope. I’d be the guy who accidentally starred in Showergate.

Lovely. Just lovely.

—

Meanwhile, just one day before Harry’s seventeenth birthday—a day that was supposed to be filled with cake, presents, and the occasional existential crisis—Remus Lupin and Giovanni Zatara were knee-deep in a magical science project that could easily be mistaken for a chaotic episode of “Mythbusters: Wizard Edition.”

After days of trial and error, not to mention a few heated debates that probably should have been recorded for posterity, they were finally ready to see if their tinkering with the Deluminator would bear fruit. You know, just your average lighter that doubles as a dimensional energy vacuum. No big deal.

“Alright, Giovanni,” Remus said, gripping the Deluminator like it was a baby dragon about to breathe fire. “This is it. If this doesn’t work, I might just resign from all magical duties and take up knitting instead.”

Giovanni, the most powerful Homo Magi this side of the multiverse, shot him a cocky smile. “Knitting? You? You’d just turn those yarn balls into tiny magical creatures. Let’s be real. Besides, I’m here, and I haven’t blown anything up yet.”

“Fingers crossed we keep that record intact,” Remus muttered, glancing nervously at the various magical gadgets scattered around them. “Now, let’s get this thing lit.”

With a flourish that would make any stage magician jealous, Remus flicked open the Deluminator. Instead of a flicker of flame, a warm light poured out like the sun had decided to take a personal interest in their project. It was all very impressive, almost as if the universe had decided to throw them a cosmic party.

“Here goes nothing!” Remus declared, channeling his best dramatic energy. “Let’s hope this works, or we’ll have to find a new hobby.”

“Dude, it’s going to work. We’re like the Avengers of dimensional travel right now!” Giovanni replied, practically buzzing with excitement. “Think of it as a magical crossover episode.”

With a surge of energy, the light within the Deluminator exploded into a radiant glow, filling the room with what looked like tiny sparkly stars. Remus felt like he was standing in front of a kaleidoscope of magic. “I think we did it!” he shouted, trying not to sound too shocked.

Giovanni punched the air triumphantly. “Yes! Take that, dimensional physics! Now what’s next?”

Remus grinned, still slightly in disbelief. “Now we send a signal to Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour so they can lead the great exodus of magical beings from our world to this one. No pressure, right?”

“Right!” Giovanni agreed, though he wasn’t entirely sure who these Weasley and Delacour folks were. “Just another day in the life of an interdimensional superhero.”

With one final flash, the light shot out of the Deluminator like a comet, racing through the dimensions and disappearing into the ether. The room fell silent, and both men stood staring at where the light had been, half-expecting something dramatic to happen.

“Did it work?” Giovanni asked, his excitement dimming slightly.

“Only one way to find out,” Remus replied, his voice dripping with both hope and a touch of anxiety. “Let’s just hope they’re not caught in a troll stampede or something.”

Giovanni raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Are there really trolls? Like, the ones under bridges?”

“Let’s just say the magical world has its fair share of weirdness,” Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “But if they can manage to lead a bunch of goblins and Veela through the Veil, we should be in good shape.”

As they waited, the weight of their mission settled on Remus like a warm blanket. They had opened a path for refugees, magical creatures, and anyone else who needed a new start. And as they stood there in their makeshift lab, Remus couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope.

With Giovanni’s incredible powers and Remus’s own knack for surviving even the wildest of adventures, they were ready for whatever this dimension could throw at them. After all, they were not just two guys messing with a magical lighter—they were about to embark on a quest that could change the fate of entire worlds. And who wouldn’t want to be part of that?

—

Meanwhile, in their original dimension, Bill Weasley found himself in the most chaotic of war rooms. Picture this: a ragtag group of wizards and magical creatures trying to save their skins while eating yesterday's baguette because, well, times were tough, and they needed the carbs. Bill sat at the head of a makeshift table littered with maps, half-empty mugs of lukewarm coffee, and that aforementioned baguette, which looked more like a wand than an edible item at this point.

To his left, Charlie Weasley was pacing like a caged dragon. “We can’t just hide in these tunnels forever! I feel like we’re a bunch of gnomes hoarding treasure!”

“Right? Just a bunch of magical hoarders,” Percy chimed in, adjusting his glasses. “And I’ll bet gnomes have better snacks than we do. This is not a winning strategy, Bill!”

Fleur Delacour, perched on the edge of her seat, ran a hand through her long hair, looking more like a warrior than a damsel. “We have to secure our last haven. If Voldemort finds us, it’s over.”

Ragnok, the king of the Goblins, nodded gravely. The Goblin’s piercing gaze could probably cut through steel. “Our tunnels will be a fortress, but we need to act now. The longer we wait, the more likely we’ll be discovered.”

Margot, the Queen of the Veela Enclave, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “We need a distraction, not just tunnels. Otherwise, we’ll be caught with our metaphorical pants down!”

“Okay, okay!” Bill interjected, trying to regain control of the increasingly rowdy group. “We have a plan to breach the Department of Mysteries. The Goblins and wizards are working together to dig a path to the Veil, but—”

Before he could finish his thought, the room erupted into noise, every voice overlapping like a magical cacophony. It felt like trying to herd cats, which was never going to end well.

Suddenly, the air crackled, and a blinding light flooded the room, washing over them like a tidal wave of hope. Everyone froze, mouths agape. It was like someone had just cast a Patronus in the middle of a dark alley—definitely not expected.

Fleur’s eyes lit up with recognition. “C’est la lumière! The Deluminator! It means Remus and the others have succeeded!”

Bill felt his heart leap. “They did it? They made it through the Veil?”

A collective sigh of relief swept over the group, and the tension that had been building for what felt like ages melted away like ice in the summer sun.

“Now, we have to act fast!” Bill said, feeling a surge of energy. “We’re not just surviving anymore; we’re taking the fight to them! This is our chance!”

Charlie grinned, a wild look in his eyes. “So, we get to throw down with some Death Eaters before we escape to a new world? Count me in!”

Percy nodded, adjusting his glasses like he was prepping for a big exam. “Let’s finalize the plan. Ragnok, can you get the Goblins ready?”

Ragnok’s expression hardened, determination sparking in his eyes. “We’ll be ready. Our tunnels are strong, and we’ll turn the ground into our weapon.”

“And the Veela?” Margot asked, her voice a melody of power. “We will summon a storm, one that will sweep through our enemies like autumn leaves.”

“Perfect!” Bill exclaimed, feeling his spirits lift. “Let’s secure the way for everyone to escape. This is our shot at freedom!”

As the light from the Deluminator still shimmered in their minds, the room erupted with a whirlwind of ideas. Plans flew around like Snitches during a Quidditch match, and laughter broke through the tension, transforming fear into resolve.

This wasn’t just about a final stand; it was about hope and new beginnings. Together, they would rise against the darkness that had haunted them for too long.

And if it took chaos and bravery, they were ready. After all, heroes were born in the trenches, and this motley crew was about to show the world just what they were made of. They were not just fighting to survive; they were ready to claim their future—and they were going to make it spectacular.

—

Meanwhile, in the labyrinthine tunnels of Gringalt—think a magical hamster maze but with goblins, refugees, and enough magical mischief to fuel a hundred wizarding wars—Charlie Weasley dashed through the crowded corridors like he was dodging a rogue Bludger. He had just received the news of a lifetime, and the only thing standing between him and sharing that news was a sea of chaotic commotion.

“Excuse me! Coming through!” Charlie shouted as he narrowly avoided a goblin who was enthusiastically trying to barter a dragon’s tooth for what looked suspiciously like an ancient toaster. Honestly, who even knew magical toasters were a thing?

Finally, he skidded to a halt in front of the pantry—an enormous, bustling kitchen that resembled a cross between a Muggle military mess hall and a wizarding feast. Molly Weasley, armed with a wooden spoon and wearing an apron that could probably withstand a troll’s wrath, was orchestrating the whole operation with a fierce maternal love that could rival any superhero’s power.

“Mum!” Charlie exclaimed, bursting into the room, where a dozen house-elves were whipping up sandwiches faster than a Quidditch team could score points. “You won’t believe the news!”

Molly whipped around, flour flying like confetti. “Charlie! Mind the food! This isn’t a Quidditch match; we can’t afford to lose the entire pantry!”

“Right, sorry! But this is huge!” Charlie insisted, his voice bubbling over with excitement. “Remus and the others made it through the Veil! They sent the signal!”

Molly’s eyes widened as she dropped her spoon. “Really? They did it? Just like that?”

“Yep! We can finally escape this place and start over!” Charlie said, grinning like he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “No more hiding out like we’re on some magical reality show!”

“MOLLY!” Arthur Weasley, still trying to mediate a heated debate between a very stubborn goblin and a rather annoyed Veela, hurried over, his curiosity piqued. “What’s going on?”

“Charlie just said—” Molly began, but Charlie cut her off, eager to share the good news.

“Remus and the team made it! We can lead the evacuation! No more running, no more hiding!”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s fantastic! But wait, we can’t just pack our bags and leave. We need a plan. This is not a picnic; we have a small army of magical creatures here!”

“I can handle that!” Charlie declared, brimming with enthusiasm. “Let’s divide everyone into groups. Goblins over here, Veela there, and whoever else we can rally up. We’ll create a safe passage out of this magical mess. It’ll be just like planning a Quidditch formation!”

Molly and Arthur exchanged glances, a mix of admiration and the slightest hint of worry flickering in their eyes. Their children were growing up fast and stepping into a leadership roles, and they couldn’t have been prouder.

“Let’s do it!” Molly said, her face alight with determination. “We can make this work. We’ll ensure everyone gets out safely, no matter the odds!”

With renewed energy, the Weasley family sprang into action. They weren’t just trying to survive anymore; they were preparing to lead an entire community out of the chaos and into a new world filled with possibility.

As Charlie grabbed a quill and parchment, ready to sketch out a plan that would make even the smartest Slytherin jealous, the air crackled with a mix of excitement and urgency. It was time to turn this disaster into a daring escape.

In the heart of Gringalt, amidst the aromas of enchanted food and the buzz of magical beings, the Weasleys rallied their allies. They were ready to take on whatever lay ahead, fueled by hope and the promise of a new beginning. After all, when it came to magic, family, and adventure, they were more than ready to write their own epic story.

—

I woke up on my 17th birthday, in the Watchtower, the high-tech fortress that felt like something straight out of a comic book (which, to be fair, it kind of was). The first thing I thought was, “Please, no one mention ‘Showergate’ today.” I’d like to think I was a lot of things—a wizard, a hero, an accidental model for a superhero action figure—but the guy who forgot to check if the shower was occupied or not before walking in? Not my finest moment.

After a quick stretch (and mentally promising myself to be less of a disaster today), I swung my legs over the side of my bed. The scent of breakfast wafted through the air, and my stomach immediately kicked into overdrive. I could practically hear it begging me to hurry up and get to the kitchen.

As I made my way down the gleaming corridors, dodging a few stray beams of light from the Watchtower's overly enthusiastic security systems, I could already hear the sizzle of something delicious. I was thankful to find that Black Canary was in charge of breakfast instead of Megan. I loved her, but I still had nightmares about her “motivational oatmeal.” It tasted like glue mixed with regret.

When I reached the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of Black Canary flipping pancakes like a culinary superhero. “Happy Birthday, Harry!” she called, her hair swinging as she moved. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Or you’d be stuck with some mystery gruel.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” I said, grabbing a plate and loading it up. “I’m not sure I could survive another day of that stuff.”

More of the team trickled in, each wishing me a happy birthday. Flash zipped past me, wearing that goofy grin of his. “Happy Birthday, Harry! Did you know you can legally do whatever you want now? I mean, you could probably even eat a whole cake by yourself! Just think of the possibilities!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Great, I’ll just add ‘cake monster’ to my list of life goals.”

Green Lantern nodded from across the room, and Aquaman flashed a thumbs-up, probably in support of my cake-related ambitions. Everything felt normal, until I remembered the one person missing from our breakfast party.

“Hey, where’s Diana?” I asked, looking around. I knew Wonder Woman wouldn’t miss my birthday celebration without a good reason.

Flash shrugged, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, she mentioned something about picking up your birthday present. She said it would be ‘epic’ and required her to go ‘retrieve’ something special. I’m not sure what that means, but knowing Diana, it could be anything from a new sword to a giant inflatable unicorn.”

“Great,” I said, my curiosity bubbling over. “As long as it’s not a giant inflatable unicorn, I think I can handle it.”

Just as I contemplated what kind of surprise Diana had in store for me, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be something memorable—especially with the way my life seemed to spiral into chaos at the slightest provocation. But hey, with a team that felt more like family, I was ready for whatever adventures lay ahead. After all, if anyone could turn a birthday into an epic quest, it was definitely the Justice League.

—

The kitchen was a full-on party scene, with practically the entire cast of characters from the Wizarding World crammed in. Remus, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Susan, Hannah, Daphne, and Tracey all chanted in unison, “Happy birthday, Harry!” Their voices combined in a chaotic symphony that felt like an over-caffeinated choir.

I beamed, overwhelmed by the attention, but then my gaze drifted to Kara. Cue the flashback: me, walking in on her in the shower. Yes, that shower. Cue my face heating up to the temperature of a small sun. Just perfect. I could feel my friends trading glances, each one of them struggling to hold back their snickers like they were all in on some cosmic joke I hadn’t received the memo about.

“Come on, man, focus,” I mentally chastised myself. “It’s your birthday! No dwelling on shower-related horrors.” Luckily, the awkward tension in the air was diffused by the grand entrance of Superman himself, who strolled in looking slightly less than thrilled.

“Good morning, everyone!” he boomed, his voice echoing off the walls like a superhero megaphone. “I hear it’s a special day for someone.” His gaze zeroed in on me, and I could practically feel the scrutiny. His expression said he was still a bit miffed about Showergate—I mean, can you blame him? That was his cousin I had accidentally seen naked.

“Just the usual superhero birthday,” I said, trying to sound casual, which was about as easy as riding a unicycle on a tightrope. “You know, cake, candles, and an embarrassing amount of attention.”

Superman raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed. “Sounds perfect. Just remember, try not to wish for world peace during a battle, okay?” He grabbed a plate of pancakes with the same intensity a gladiator might reserve for a fight.

“Noted!” I shot back, my voice a little too high-pitched. That was definitely going to be a weird memory to unpack later.

As laughter erupted around the table, I could still feel Superman’s intense gaze on me, like I was a science experiment he needed to analyze. I had half a mind to wear a T-shirt that read, “Please Don’t Mention the Shower.” But as I scanned the faces of my friends—some chuckling, some cheering—I realized I was in good company.

Sure, I’d just dodged a major bullet by avoiding a Showergate retelling, but I could handle whatever chaos the day had in store. I had a birthday cake, a whole crew of misfits, and a world of adventure waiting for me. What could possibly go wrong?

Spoiler alert: everything. But for now, it was my birthday, and I was ready to embrace the chaos. After all, surviving a day in this superhero universe was basically a rite of passage, right?

—

Meanwhile, Diana—better known to most as Wonder Woman—walked with purpose into Hephaestus’ celestial forge, a workshop that was like stepping into a mythological blacksmith’s Instagram feed. If the gods had a Pinterest, this would be their “Home Improvement” board. Sparks flew around her as Haephaestus, the god of blacksmiths and awkward social interactions, was hard at work, hammering away at something that looked like it could take down a small mountain.

“Diana!” he boomed, a grin splitting his face. “You made it! Ready to see your birthday gift for Harry?”

Diana tried to contain her excitement, but honestly, who wouldn’t be thrilled? Harry was about to turn seventeen—an age when wizards often went through more changes than a superhero in a costume fitting. Plus, after his wand had been tragically destroyed when he crash-landed in this universe through the Veil, he needed a serious upgrade.

“I’m here for the goods, Hephaestus!” she said, crossing her arms in an attempt to look tough. It didn’t work. She was just too eager. “No exploding hammers this time, okay?”

Hephaestus laughed, the sound echoing around the forge. “No promises! But I think you’ll find this a bit less explosive. Behold!” With a flourish that would make any magician jealous, he unveiled a sleek black-and-gold amulet. The centerpiece was a deep red gemstone, glowing as if it had its own inner sun. “This baby is special!”

Diana leaned in closer, her interest piqued. “What’s so special about it?”

“This amulet isn’t just for show,” Hephaestus said, practically dancing with excitement. “It contains a full suit of armor that will flow around Harry when he presses the gemstone. Think celestial nanotech, but cooler!”

Diana’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounds incredible! But what about his wand? He needs something to channel his magic!”

“Right! The gauntlets of the armor will serve as magical foci. They’ll work just like a wand, letting him cast spells without missing a beat.” Hephaestus beamed, clearly proud of his work. “And here’s the kicker: the gemstone absorbs spells and magical artifacts, which means it’ll boost the armor’s energy and abilities.”

Diana felt a rush of excitement at the possibilities. “So it’s like a magical battery? That’s genius!”

“Exactly! Just make sure he knows to use it wisely,” Hephaestus cautioned, suddenly serious. “Seventeen is a dangerous age for wizards. With great power comes great responsibility… and potential chaos, especially for a teenager.”

Diana chuckled, nodding. “I’ll have a chat with him. He needs to know this isn’t just a cool gift; it’s a serious responsibility.”

“Good luck with that!” Hephaestus said, waving her off. “Now go deliver that gift before I get sidetracked and decide to forge something else—like a toaster that shoots fire!”

With the amulet safely in her hands, Diana stepped back into the world outside, heart racing with anticipation. Harry was going to flip when he saw this! His birthday was about to go from zero to hero in no time flat.

As she headed back to the Watchtower, a smile crept onto her face. A magical armor suit? For a birthday? This was going to be the highlight of Harry’s teenage years. She just had to keep it a secret until the big reveal. No pressure, right?

But with a group of superheroes around, including the Flash—who had a talent for spoiling surprises—Diana knew it wouldn’t be easy. Let’s just hope Harry could handle the surprise without any awkward “Showergate” flashbacks. Now that would be a birthday gift no one wanted!

—

Meanwhile, deep beneath the surface of the Wizarding World, chaos brewed in the Goblin tunnels, where the air was thick with earth and magic. A motley crew of rebels—wizarding refugees, Veela, Goblins, and an assortment of magical creatures—snaked through the winding passages, guided by their determined Goblin leaders. They were on a mission: to reach the Veil and escape Voldemort’s grim clutches like a bad cold no one wanted to catch again.

“Just a little further!” Bill Weasley shouted over his shoulder, rallying his brothers Charlie and Percy as they trudged onward. The flickering light from the Goblins’ enchanted lanterns illuminated their anxious faces, all of them focused on the shimmering promise of freedom just beyond the Veil. After a year of hiding and running, it was almost within reach.

But just as they broke through into the chamber containing the Veil—glowing and eerie, like a cosmic curtain on a stage—they stumbled right into a plot twist worthy of a bad horror movie. Augustus Rookwood, a Death Eater with a penchant for causing trouble and a former employee of the Department of Mysteries, strutted into the room with a cadre of his fellow Death Eaters. It was like running into the last person you wanted to see at a party, especially when you were about to make a dramatic escape.

“Thought you could sneak past me, did you?” Rookwood sneered, his voice oozing with smugness. “Not so fast, Weasleys!”

“Oh, please,” Bill replied, rolling his eyes so dramatically it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck that way. “We were just here for the scenic tour. Nice tunnels you’ve got!”

With a dramatic flourish, Rookwood waved his wand, and suddenly, chaos erupted. Spells whizzed past like badly aimed fireworks, lighting up the dark chamber with bursts of magic. Bill, Charlie, and Arthur sprang into action, flinging curses and counter-spells as they fought alongside a few Veela and Goblin warriors. It was like a wild family reunion, except with more danger and fewer awkward conversations about career choices.

“Hey, Rookwood!” Charlie shouted, launching a fireball that nearly singed the Death Eater’s eyebrows. “You really need to invest in some fireproof robes!”

“Maybe I’ll add that to my shopping list after I take you down!” Rookwood shot back, a look of annoyance crossing his face.

Amid the chaos, Arthur swung his wand with determination, sending two Death Eaters crashing into the walls. “Isn’t this fun?” he grunted. “Remind me to never attend a family event without a proper plan next time!”

But just when it seemed they were gaining the upper hand, Rookwood slipped away like a bad dream, his laughter echoing ominously. “You may have won this battle, but the Dark Lord will have his revenge!”

“Great. Another bad guy with a flair for drama,” Percy muttered, catching his breath.

With no time to waste—more Death Eaters were probably on their way—the group quickly turned back to the Veil, which shimmered invitingly. “We need to move, now!” Bill shouted, urgency slicing through the air like a well-aimed spell.

Molly Weasley and Fleur Delacour stood nearby, worry etched on their faces. “You can’t stay behind!” Molly cried, her heart racing. “What if more of them come?”

“We can’t leave you here unprotected!” Fleur insisted, her usual confidence faltering.

“We’ll join you once everyone’s through,” Bill reassured them, glancing at Charlie and Percy, who nodded resolutely. “We’ve got this covered.”

“But you’re family!” Molly exclaimed, her voice rising in a mix of desperation and love.

“Which is why we’re doing this!” Percy said firmly. “We’re not letting anyone get left behind. Just go!”

With heavy hearts, the two women had no choice but to accept the inevitable. The tension in the air crackled as the last of the rebels began to step toward the Veil, their only hope for freedom shimmering before them.

As the final families rushed through, the sound of footsteps echoed ominously through the tunnels, growing louder and closer. “Come on!” Bill urged, gripping his wand like it was a lifeline. “We’ll hold them off as long as we can. Now go!”

With one last look, Molly squeezed through the Veil, a swirl of hope and fear in her chest. On the other side awaited a new life—freedom—but for the Weasley men, the battle was just beginning. They stood united, ready to face whatever darkness might emerge from the depths of the Goblin tunnels, their resolve as strong as the bonds of family that held them together. And as they readied for the fight, one thing was clear: they weren’t just defending a passage—they were defending everything they believed in.

Chapter Text

The Death Eaters were coming in fast, and Bill Weasley was seriously regretting not bringing a dragon. He ducked as a curse zipped past his head, singeing the tips of his red hair. Charlie, right beside him, smirked as he blasted a Death Eater back into the hallway with a well-aimed hex.

“You still thinking of that vacation in Romania?” Charlie shouted over the chaos, his wand practically smoking.

Bill flicked his wrist, deflecting another curse. “After this? Absolutely. Maybe somewhere without homicidal maniacs next time!”

Behind them, Arthur Weasley was doing his best to usher the last of the rebels—wizards, witches, Veela, Goblins, and magical creatures alike—through the Veil. “Keep moving, everyone!” he called, waving his arms like a conductor trying to keep a symphony of chaos in rhythm. “Quickly now!”

But Percy, good ol’ overly serious Percy, was off on a different mission entirely. And he wasn’t even wearing a suit for once. With a group of Goblins, Percy was carefully planting magical explosives in all the right spots, courtesy of Fred and George's finest handiwork.

Honestly, if this wasn’t life or death, it would’ve felt like a really twisted family reunion.

“Here,” one Goblin grumbled, tapping his foot like a disapproving professor. “This spot’ll take down the whole room, no problem.”

Percy, for once in his life, didn’t even hesitate. He was focused, determined, and just a little bit terrified. He nodded, planting the charge and trying to keep his hands steady. This is it, he thought. My big moment. Gotta prove myself.

The memory of turning his back on his family for a Ministry job still gnawed at him. But now? This was his chance to make it right. Percy Weasley was going to save the day—or at least blow up a room in a very responsible way.

“You’re doing fine, Weasley,” another Goblin grunted, eyeing Percy like he’d passed some sort of hidden Goblin test. “Just make sure you’re the last one out.”

Percy swallowed and nodded, gripping the trigger that would set off the whole thing. “Ten seconds,” he muttered to himself. “Plenty of time.”

Famous last words, he thought.

The battle was heating up at the doorway. Bill and Charlie were holding their ground, but just barely. Arthur caught Percy’s eye from across the room, a silent look that said, We trust you. You’ve got this. Which, of course, didn’t help Percy’s nerves at all.

No pressure, right?

He glanced at the Veil. People were still pouring through it, escaping to a new world beyond Voldemort’s reach. And that was the plan: Get everyone through the Veil, blow up the room, and make sure no Death Eaters followed them into their fresh start. Simple. Except for the whole “blow up the room” part.

Percy took a deep breath, thumb hovering over the trigger. Here goes nothing. He pressed it.

The timer started counting down.

Ten... nine...

He sprinted toward the Veil, his heart racing faster than his legs.

Eight... seven...

“Percy, come on!” Arthur shouted, waving him forward like a dad calling his kid in for dinner.

Six... five...

The Goblins had already crossed. Charlie threw one last hex before turning and running toward the Veil.

Four... three...

Bill was right behind him, blasting one more Death Eater before bolting.

Two...

Percy launched himself toward the Veil.

One.

He barely made it through before the room behind him erupted in a deafening explosion. Dust, debris, and the shouts of frustrated Death Eaters were left behind as Percy stumbled into the new world, heart still hammering in his chest.

Arthur caught him by the shoulders, a proud smile on his face. “Well done, son.”

Percy, breathless and still slightly in shock, managed a shaky grin. “Yeah. Just another day at the office.”

—

So, you know how birthday parties are supposed to be chill? Maybe some cake, a few presents, hanging out with friends? Yeah, that’s not what happened at mine. Not by a long shot. My party turned into a full-on crossover event between superheroes and wizards. And honestly, I couldn’t decide if I should be excited or terrified. Probably a mix of both.

Take a wild guess how many people were crammed into the room. Go on, I’ll wait. Did you say way too many? Because, yeah. Picture half the Justice League on one side, just casually chatting like this was their Tuesday night, while my wizarding friends—who barely know what a television is, mind you—are over on the other side, trying not to stare at all the capes and spandex.

Over by the snack table, the Flash was in full nerd-out mode, explaining time travel to Remus Lupin. Poor Lupin was doing his best to keep up, nodding politely like he understood what “speed force” and “alternate dimensions” meant. I could see the moment he gave up trying to understand, but bless him, he kept listening.

Meanwhile, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were having what looked like a totally normal conversation with Black Canary and Green Arrow. Ginny, though? She kept giving Green Arrow’s bow that look—the same one she gives when she sees a new broomstick. I could practically hear her thinking, Yeah, I could do that.

Then there was Kid Flash, who had cornered Robin, peppering him with questions about the infamous "Showergate" incident. And let me just say, the less said about that, the better. Robin, of course, was loving the attention and was going into way too much detail about how it all went down.

“So, he just walked in?” Kid Flash asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “Man, he’s living the dream!”

Someone, please, make it stop. I shot Kara a pleading look, but she just smirked, completely unhelpful as always. Thanks, Supergirl.

Oh, and let’s not forget Speedy, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with an expression that screamed, I am way too cool for this. I tried to introduce myself earlier, but I got a grunt. Just a grunt. Classic.

Things went from weird to weirder when Giovanni Zatara, the magician, made an entrance with his daughter Zatanna, who winked at me the moment she walked in. Because, yeah, that’s what I need—another pretty girl to make me feel like a flustered idiot. As if dealing with Kara wasn’t enough.

"Harry, my boy," Zatara said with this warm, charming smile. "Enjoying your magical birthday?"

“Yeah... magical, all right.” I chuckled awkwardly, because what else do you say when your party looks like a scene from a crossover fanfiction story?

Meanwhile, Fred and George were whispering with Miss Martian, Luna, and Neville in the corner. And, let me tell you, when Fred and George are involved, nothing good ever comes of it. I’m pretty sure poor Miss Martian was about to get her first taste of Weasley pranks, and I felt a little bad for her.

“Oi, Harry!” Fred called over, grinning mischievously. “We’ve got a special surprise for you later!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna love it,” George added, looking far too pleased with himself.

I sighed. I was probably going to hate it.

Things took a turn for the surreal when Diana, a.k.a. Wonder Woman, strode over. The entire room went quiet. Because, let’s be real—when Wonder Woman walks into a room, people notice. She smiled at me and handed over this small black-and-gold amulet with a shiny red gemstone in the middle.

“Harry,” she said, in that calm, commanding way she has, “I believe it’s time for your gift.”

Gift? Oh, no big deal, just an ancient magical amulet from an Amazon warrior princess. Totally normal.

I blinked at it. “This… is my gift?”

She smiled wider. “Press the gemstone.”

So, I did. Because what else are you going to do when Wonder Woman tells you to press a button? The amulet suddenly exploded into liquid black and gold, covering me from head to toe in a suit of armor that looked straight out of some futuristic Greek myth. The whole room went silent, which I guess is fair. Even Speedy looked impressed, and that guy hasn’t shown an emotion since he walked in.

Diana nodded approvingly. “This is your new armor. The gauntlets will act as your magical focus. You won’t need a wand anymore—this will channel your spells with greater precision.”

I flexed my fingers, watching the armor move with me like it was part of my skin. “This is… insane.”

“And the gemstone?” she pointed to the red stone on my chest. “It absorbs spells and magical artifacts, amplifying their power.”

“Wait, so… I’m a walking magical battery now?”

Diana chuckled softly. “In a way, yes.”

Before I could process that, Aqualad approached, dragging Princess Mareena, with him. Because of course, the universe wasn’t done embarrassing me yet. Mareena gave me a look that promised trouble and leaned in, whispering in a voice that made my skin crawl with dread.

“Kara told me all about Showergate,” she said, her grin widening.

Great. Just great.

“And she was very descriptive about certain… features.”

I nearly dropped the amulet. My face? On fire. From behind me, I heard Kid Flash laughing so hard, I thought he might pass out.

Why. Does. This. Always. Happen. To. Me?

As the party continued—chaotic and overwhelming as ever—I couldn’t help but think that this was one birthday I was never going to forget.

—

Meanwhile, in a vast, unforgiving expanse of the Sahara Desert, a ragtag group of rebels landed with all the grace of a herd of stampeding elephants. They were a wild mix of wizards, witches, goblins, Veelas, and a few disgruntled dragons, all of whom had just crossed over from the Veil—an experience that was likely on par with getting stuck in a particularly crowded elevator, but with more existential dread.

At the front of this chaotic parade stood the Weasleys, looking like they had just stepped out of a particularly chaotic family reunion. Bill, the oldest and, let’s be honest, the most likely to have a mid-life crisis about his hair, squinted against the relentless sun. “Well, this is just fantastic,” he said, sarcasm practically dripping from his brow. “Anyone want to take bets on how long it takes to get sunburned?”

Charlie, the optimist of the family and usually the one with a dragon-sized chip on his shoulder, smirked despite the heat. “Hey, at least we’re not in the Veil anymore! That’s a win in my book!”

Percy, the ever-worrisome planner, adjusted his glasses and looked around at the diverse crowd of magical beings. “That’s great and all, but we have no idea where we are. And the map is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.”

Arthur Weasley, always the tinkerer, pulled out their enchanted map, which was currently looking about as helpful as a broken compass. It flickered and flopped uselessly, reminding them of that time he tried to use a toaster to make a time-turner. “It seems we’re off the map entirely,” he muttered, scratching his head.

Molly Weasley, the ever-practical matriarch, surveyed her children with a mix of determination and maternal annoyance. “First things first, we need to find some shelter. I don’t want anyone turning into roasted Weasley by noon!”

“Right! Everyone!” Bill shouted, trying to channel his inner general while sounding less like a frantic sheepdog. “We need to stick together and find shade. Keep your wands ready. The last thing we need is to be ambushed by desert-dwelling mummies or worse—sand-dwelling crabs!”

A chorus of grumbles and protests erupted. Goblins rolled their eyes, Veelas exchanged worried glances, and the dragons—who were definitely not here for a picnic—snorted with irritation, sending sand flying as they shuffled their massive feet.

“Is this really what we crossed over for?” one particularly grumpy goblin grumbled, arms crossed as if daring the desert to try him.

“It’s better than being stuck in the Veil!” Bill shot back, trying to keep morale afloat like a poorly made broomstick.

Fleur Delacour, who always managed to look effortlessly stunning even in the harshest of deserts, stepped forward with confidence. “Let’s find a place to regroup. Surely there’s something out here. We cannot be the only ones wandering in this sunburnt wasteland.”

Charlie pointed into the distance, his enthusiasm sparking like a firework on the Fourth of July. “Hey! I see something! Over there!” He squinted at a crumbling pile of ancient stones barely visible through the shimmering haze. “Maybe there’s some water, or at least a nice spot to rest.”

“Let’s approach with caution!” Bill commanded, gripping his wand as they moved closer, because nothing says “we’re totally normal” like a bunch of magical beings walking into the unknown.

As they trudged forward, the heat intensified, and the mirage danced mockingly in the distance, blurring their hopes of finding anything remotely comfortable. Molly conjured up some cooling charms, which helped a bit, but it was like trying to keep a campfire at bay with a single drop of water. Arthur, not to be outdone, tried to conjure a light breeze, which resulted in what could only be described as a very weak puff, like someone blowing out a birthday candle.

Suddenly, the dragon at the back of the group growled lowly, its nostrils flaring. Charlie turned, looking concerned. “What’s got you all riled up? Did someone forget to feed you again?”

The dragon fixed its gaze on a dark figure lurking at the edge of the ruins. “That’s definitely something,” Charlie said, squinting, because staring too hard at dark shapes is what every good hero does, right?

“Or someone,” Bill replied, gripping his wand tighter, because that always helps in tense situations.

Fleur stepped up beside him, her eyes narrowing. “We come in peace!” she called, her voice ringing out with surprising confidence. “We’re just travelers who ended up here by accident. Well, mostly by accident.”

The cloaked figure stepped forward, its voice a deep rumble that could probably scare off a herd of hippogriffs. “Travelers, you say? Few venture into these lands and return unchanged. Why should we not see you as intruders?”

“Because we’re not here to cause trouble!” Bill interjected, trying to maintain the peace while his insides did a little dance of panic. “We’ve just escaped a war, and we’re looking for a safe place to rest. We’re not looking to steal your treasure or turn your desert into a theme park.”

The figure paused, the hood obscuring its face. “And what would you offer in exchange for our hospitality? This is a place of power.”

Fleur stepped up, all charm and determination. “We have skills, magic, and knowledge. We can help you! If you have anything you need, we will do our best to assist.”

A moment of tense silence passed, making everyone more nervous than a house-elf in a wizard’s kitchen. Finally, the cloaked figure nodded slowly. “Very well. You may rest here. But know this: the sands hold secrets, and not all who come to this land have the best of intentions. Keep your wands ready, and you may yet survive.”

With that, the rebels exchanged glances, half-wary, half-hopeful. They had found a potential ally in this strange new world, and maybe—just maybe—they could carve out a new beginning in the heart of the Sahara, far from the shadows of the Veil. After all, it’s not every day you stumble into a new universe while dodging existential crises and potential doom.

—-

At the Watchtower, Batman was enjoying a rare moment of silence in the Control Room. Well, as much as Batman ever enjoyed anything. But then, like clockwork, the alarms went off, because of course they did.

The flashing red lights and blaring sirens were a dead giveaway that something major was happening—again. Batman’s fingers flew across the keyboard with the precision of a world-class pianist, pulling up the alert. A dimensional breach. And not just any breach—the energy readings were almost identical to the ones that had brought Harry Potter and his magical entourage into this universe.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “More wizards.”

The breach was smack-dab in the Sahara Desert, right on the doorstep of Kahndaq. You know, the not-so-friendly neighborhood kingdom ruled by Black Adam, the guy with a temper that made the Hulk look like a meditation instructor.

Batman’s expression didn’t change (because he was Batman), but in his head, he was already running through about fifty different ways this could go south. Rule number one: Don’t let Black Adam get involved. Rule number two: Don’t break rule number one.

He opened a comm line. "Shazam, I need you in the Sahara Desert. Possible dimensional breach. Coordinates incoming. And… it’s close to Kahndaq."

Shazam’s voice came through the line, casual as ever. “Sahara? Sweet. I’ve been meaning to work on my tan.”

Batman didn’t even bother with a reply to that one. “Be careful. If Black Adam shows up, defuse the situation. Fast.”

“Got it,” Shazam said, though his tone was a little too cheerful for Batman’s taste.

With Shazam en route, Batman switched channels to Wonder Woman, who was… right, at Harry Potter’s birthday party. Because why wouldn’t one of the world’s greatest warriors be at a party with cake and balloons?

“Diana,” he said, cutting right to the point, “we’ve got an energy signature in the Sahara Desert, near Kahndaq. Same type as the one that brought Harry and his friends here.”

There was a pause, probably as Wonder Woman processed the sudden shift from party mode to ‘potential world-ending crisis’ mode. She had that gift.

“Understood,” she replied, her voice calm but definitely serious. “Should I gather Harry and his companions?”

“If this is their people arriving, yes,” Batman said. “Be ready. Shazam’s already on the way, but you may need to intervene.”

“Leave it to me,” she said, sounding way too composed for someone about to wrangle a bunch of wizards in the middle of the desert.

Batman cut the comm line, his mind already moving ten steps ahead, as usual. With Shazam heading in, and Wonder Woman about to rope Harry into this mess, he could only hope this wasn’t the beginning of a magical invasion. He sighed inwardly. Why did dimensional breaches always seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times?

But then again, that’s what happens when your life’s a cross between a superhero comic and a magical epic.

—

I stood in the makeshift dueling arena at my birthday party, feeling like the luckiest wizard alive. My new armor, a gift from Diana and forged by Hephaestus, gleamed in the sunlight, and I couldn't help but flex a bit. It was shiny, powerful, and best of all, it made me feel invincible.

“Alright, Weasleys!” I called out, bouncing on my feet like a kid with too much sugar. “Prepare to face the ultimate spellcaster!”

“Ultimate? More like overhyped!” Fred shot back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He and George exchanged mischievous glances, and I could practically see the gears turning in their heads.

“Let’s see if you can handle our new spells,” George said, twirling his wand with the flair of a professional duelist.

With a flick of his wand, Fred launched a jet of neon green slime straight at me. It hit my armor with a splat, and I felt the gooey mess slide down. “Really? Slime?” I laughed, shaking my head in mock disbelief. “That’s your big move?”

“Just you wait!” George called, already preparing his own spell.

“Oh, I’m ready!” I said, raising my gauntleted hands. With a surge of magic, I conjured a wave of colorful sparks, sending them straight at the Weasley twins. They stumbled back, wide-eyed, but I could see the laughter bubbling up in their throats.

“Impressive!” Fred managed, trying to regain his composure. “But can you handle this?”

He countered with a series of colorful sparks that exploded in the air like fireworks. I ducked and rolled, adrenaline pumping through me. This was what I loved about being around friends—pranks, magic, and laughter.

Meanwhile, over by the punch bowl, Kid Flash was pacing like a confused squirrel. “How are you guys doing this?” he asked, scratching his head. “Magic isn’t real!”

“Tell that to the magical armor!” Robin shot back, smirking.

Aqualad leaned against a wall, arms crossed, looking amused. “I’d pay to see you try to replicate that, Kid.”

“Yeah, right!” Kid Flash huffed, trying to keep his cool. Then I overheard Miss Martian chatting with Kara, Zatanna, and Princess Mareena about her fascination with magic. “I love Martian sorcerers!” she said, eyes sparkling.

“Seriously?” Kid Flash perked up, his eyes darting between the girls. “Uh, yeah! Magic! Totally into that!” He looked like he was about to combust from trying too hard.

Zatanna raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? What’s your favorite spell?”

“Uh… the one that makes… things disappear?” He fumbled, and I stifled a laugh. This guy had no clue what he was talking about.

Zatanna crossed her arms, a smirk on her lips. “You know that’s just the Disillusionment Charm, right? It’s not that impressive.”

“I mean, it’s cool and all,” he stammered, “but I’m really into, um, more advanced magic. Like… Transfiguration!”

“Oh, do tell,” Zatanna replied, leaning in with feigned interest.

Just then, Daphne, Tracey, and Ginny were huddled nearby, heads together like they were plotting a heist. “I bet Harry loses in the next five minutes!” Ginny declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“No way! I’ll take that bet!” I shot back, grinning as I dodged another burst of colorful magic from Fred.

“Should we be doing this around superheroes?” Hermione chimed in, looking scandalized, her arms crossed as she glared at the betting pool.

But the Flash, Green Arrow, and Black Canary strolled over, tossing in their own bets like they were at a racetrack. “I’m betting Harry wins,” the Flash said with a wink. “Those gauntlets have to give him an edge.”

“Hey, I’m right here, you know,” I called out, mock indignation dripping from my voice.

“Yeah, but they’re betting on you, not against you!” Green Arrow replied, grinning. “You’ve got this in the bag, kid.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” George shouted, readying another spell. “This one’s going to knock you right off your feet!”

“Yeah, right!” I retorted, gathering my magic for a counterattack. “Bring it on!”

As George unleashed a stream of glittering blue light, I threw up my hands and shouted, “Protego!” A barrier formed in front of me, bouncing the spell back toward him.

“Whoa! Not bad!” Fred shouted, barely dodging the backlash. “Looks like someone’s been practicing!”

“Just trying to keep up with you lot!” I laughed, the competitive spirit igniting in me.

Meanwhile, Ron, Luna, Neville, Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Susan, Hannah, and Tonks were gathered around the betting pool, some looking worried and others gleefully shouting bets. “Ten Galleons on Harry!” Ron called out, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“You’ve got it!” Ginny shot back, handing him a small piece of parchment with her scribbled odds.

“Do you even have ten Galleons?” Neville asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… let’s not worry about that right now!” Ron replied, his face turning a shade of red.

“Classic Ron!” Luna said, her dreamy tone cutting through the chaos. “Always betting on the wrong horse.”

Just as I was about to retaliate against Fred, the door to the party swung open, and in walked Wonder Woman with an entrance that could only be described as heroic. “What’s all this ruckus?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Dueling, of course!” I called out, gesturing dramatically. “Care to join?”

“Only if you’re losing,” she teased, a smile on her lips.

“Not a chance!” I shouted back, my competitive spirit on fire. “Just watch and learn!”

And just like that, the duel was back on, laughter and magic mixing in the air as we cast spells, dodged slime, and celebrated another wild year of my life. What could be better than this?

—

Shazam flew over the Sahara Desert, the hot wind slapping him in the face as if the entire desert was in on some big joke he wasn’t in on. Batman had sent him here to investigate some energy signature, and so far? Nothing. Just an endless sea of sand.

“Awesome,” Billy grumbled under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow. “I could’ve been anywhere else, but nooo, let’s bake in the desert for fun.”

He scanned the area again, still nothing. No glowing artifacts, no hidden temples—heck, not even a cactus. But just as he was about to turn back, his enhanced vision picked up something on the ground. Footprints. And not just a few—more like a stampede had passed through here. Some were normal human-sized, others were… definitely not. Something big had walked this way, and based on the giant lizard-shaped tracks, it wasn’t just a couple of tourists with overzealous pets.

“Okay, this is new,” Billy muttered, floating lower to get a better look. The tracks led off toward Kahndaq. His heart gave a little lurch. Black Adam’s home turf. Great. Just what he needed.

Following the trail, he eventually reached a crumbling structure, barely holding itself together against the brutal desert heat. It looked like the set of one of those old adventure movies—except, you know, minus the cool soundtrack. Billy decided to hang back, hovering higher and using his enhanced vision and hearing. Better to be cautious than to rush in and get zapped by something magical.

What he saw below made his eyes widen. A whole crowd of people had gathered—some of them looked like supermodels. Not that he was distracted or anything (okay, maybe a little), but these women practically glowed. And then there were shorter folks with big ears and grumpy faces. Goblins? He remembered Batman mentioning them during the briefing.

“Oh, this just got interesting,” Billy whispered, trying to take it all in.

But the crowd wasn’t what really caught his attention. Leading the pack were some redheads—like, a lot of redheads—and a blonde who looked like she had stepped straight off the cover of a magazine. The blonde was radiating some serious power. Like, maybe-I-shouldn't-stare-at-her-for-too-long level of power. They were all in deep conversation with a cloaked figure, and even though Billy couldn’t make out everything they were saying, something about the cloaked guy felt… wrong.

And then, the cloaked figure pulled back his hood.

Billy’s stomach dropped.

It was him. Teth Adam. Black Adam. The guy who made most villains look like kindergarten bullies.

“Oh, come on…” Billy groaned. Of course he would be here, playing nice with these people who clearly didn’t know who he was. The wizards seemed to be buying it, too. The redheads were nodding, and even the supermodel lady looked unsure.

Billy tapped his comm, opening a line to Batman. “Uh, Bats? We’ve got a situation.”

Batman’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm as ever. “Report.”

“Black Adam. He’s here, and he’s pulling his ‘I’m a nice guy’ routine on some wizards. They’ve got no clue who he is, and I’m pretty sure they’re about to trust him.”

There was a pause, then Batman’s voice came back. “Hold your position. Wonder Woman and Harry’s team are en route. Do not engage.”

Billy clenched his jaw. Easy for Batman to say from his nice air-conditioned Batcave. Down here, it was about a million degrees, and Black Adam was cozying up to people who had no idea what they were dealing with. The eldest redhead—Bill, if Billy remembered his name right—was actually smiling at Black Adam, like they were about to exchange Christmas cards.

“Stay put, Shazam,” Batman’s voice warned again.

Billy sighed, keeping an eye on the group. Black Adam was laying it on thick, offering hospitality and safety in Kahndaq like he wasn’t the ruler of one of the most dangerous nations on the planet. The wizards didn’t know it, but they were walking right into a trap.

The blonde—Fleur, Billy recalled from the briefing—wasn’t buying it, though. She crossed her arms and shot Black Adam a look that could’ve melted glass. “Zank you for your offer,” she said, her French accent thick with suspicion, “but we will not be staying long.”

Nice. Billy almost cheered. At least someone was thinking straight.

But Black Adam didn’t falter. He smiled—one of those smiles that made Billy’s skin crawl. “You are guests in my land,” he said smoothly, “and it would be my honor to offer you my protection. Kahndaq is… a powerful place. Full of magic. Surely, you understand the value of that.”

“Oh, boy,” Billy muttered, tapping his comm again. “Batman, Adam’s getting all poetic about magic. I don’t like where this is going.”

“Stay. Put.” Batman’s voice was as icy as ever.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy grumbled, hovering in the same spot. “But if this goes south, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Because with Black Adam, things always went south. And fast.

—

You know, birthday parties are supposed to be fun. You eat cake, you open presents, and, if you're me, you show off your new magical armor by pranking your friends into oblivion. Fred and George never saw it coming. One little flick of my new gauntlets and BAM—Disarmed. Literally. Their wands went flying, and they both hit the floor. Total victory. Best. Birthday. Ever.

At least it was until Wonder Woman showed up. Don’t get me wrong, Diana’s awesome. But when she walks in with that look on her face, you know the party’s about to end. And not in a fun, "Let’s blow out the candles" kind of way.

“Harry,” she said, all serious and Amazonian. “We’ve got a situation in the Sahara.”

I blinked. “A situation? As in more important than George trying to sneak a stink bomb into my armor?”

"Oi, that was Fred’s idea!" George called from the floor, still looking winded.

“Not now, George,” Diana said, with the kind of authority that makes even the Weasley twins pipe down. “Your friends from your original world have arrived. But unfortunately, they arrived close to to Kahndaq. Shazam’s already there, but it looks like Black Adam’s trying to convince the wizards that he’s a good guy.”

“Wait, Black Adam?” I asked, suddenly way less interested in cake and pranks. “As in the guy who could punch me into orbit if he wanted to?”

“That’s the one.”

Well, happy birthday to me.

“Right,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “I guess we should go crash the party.”

Diana nodded. “I’ll carry Remus. He can’t exactly fly.”

At this point, Remus walked in, and the moment Diana scooped him up bridal style, the teasing started. Ron almost fell off his chair laughing, and Tonks? She was loving every second of it.

“Looking good, Remus!” she called, practically howling with laughter.

Remus turned about sixteen shades of red. “This is undignified,” he muttered, not looking at anyone.

“Oh, come on,” I said, trying not to laugh myself. “It’s not that bad. Besides, you’re getting a front-row seat to Wonder Woman Airlines. How many people can say that?”

“Please just get us there fast,” Remus grumbled, burying his face in his hands.

With a grin, I activated my wings—yes, wings made of fire because apparently that’s my thing now—and shot into the air. The flames spread wide, lighting up the ceiling as I took off. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel ridiculously cool.

Flying’s like the ultimate cheat code for life. One second, you’re in a room full of people. The next, you’re soaring above them, leaving nothing but a trail of heat and envy in your wake. Behind me, Diana followed with Remus, who I imagined was praying this nightmare would end soon.

“Honestly,” I heard him mumble from somewhere behind me, “I could’ve just Apparated…”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Diana replied, sounding like she was having the time of her life.

As I cut through the sky, my mind shifted back to Black Adam. The guy was bad news. If he was messing with wizards who didn’t know any better, we needed to stop him. Fast. I wasn’t about to let some ancient, power-hungry demigod fool people into thinking he was the good guy.

But I couldn’t help smiling a bit. We had a solid team. Wonder Woman, Shazam, me—and Remus, who, despite the whole "being carried" thing, was one of the smartest people I knew. Whatever Black Adam had planned, we’d figure it out.

As long as Fred and George didn’t try to prank my stuff again while I was gone, this day might even turn out okay.

"Hang on, Black Adam," I muttered to myself, feeling the wind whip past my face as we approached the desert. "Birthday or not, we’re coming for you."

Chapter Text

In the blistering heat of the Sahara Desert, Bill Weasley stood face-to-face with Teth Adam, better known to the world as Black Adam. It was the kind of moment that makes a guy wish he had stayed home with a cup of tea instead of trekking into villain central. Bill was usually a trusting guy, but Teth’s slick smile gave him the kind of chills normally reserved for a Hogwarts ghost story. Beside him, Fleur was practically buzzing with anxiety, her Veela instincts pinging like a car alarm in a quiet neighborhood.

“You see, my friends,” Teth said, arms wide open like he was auditioning for a TED Talk on world peace, “your group of refugees will be safe and secure here. There’s nothing to fear under my watch.”

“Safe? From what?” Fleur shot back, rolling her eyes like a pro. “I’m not impressed.”

Just as Bill was about to congratulate Fleur on her stellar comeback, the air around them crackled like static electricity, announcing the arrival of Shazam—aka the adult version of Billy Batson, who, when not busy being a superhero, was just a regular teenage boy with a penchant for video games and pizza.

“Hold it right there!” Billy shouted, his eyes blazing with the kind of indignation usually reserved for kids who’d just found out the last slice of cake was gone. “You can’t just waltz in here and play the hero. We know what you really are!”

Teth’s charming facade slipped, replaced by an icy glare that could freeze a dragon in its tracks. “And what would a child like you know of the world?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

As the two squared off like titans ready for a comic book showdown, two more figures burst through the clouds above. One had wings that flickered with flames, looking like a celestial being straight out of a myth. The other was a warrior woman in shiny armor, and cradled in her arms was a man who was inexplicably dressed in tweed. Seriously, who wore tweed in a desert?

“Is that—?” Fleur squinted against the glaring sun, a look of disbelief plastered across her face.

“Remus?” Bill shouted, practically pointing at the sky like a kid who had just spotted a unicorn. The scene was utterly ridiculous, and he could feel Charlie suppressing a laugh beside him, a laughter that was definitely not appropriate given the circumstances.

As the armored warrior landed, the Weasleys’ jaws dropped in unison. Remus Lupin, the beloved former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, looked mortified, his face redder than a Gryffindor’s scarf. Bill and Charlie exchanged mischievous glances, their minds already cooking up a lifetime of teasing.

“Remus, nice outfit!” Charlie called out, barely able to contain himself. “Tweed in a desert? Bold choice!”

But the real shocker came when the flames around the winged figure dimmed, revealing none other than Harry Potter. This was not the skinny, pale version they had mourned a year ago. No, this was a taller, more muscular Harry, radiating strength and confidence like he had just walked off a superhero movie set. His lightning bolt scar had faded, and he wore gleaming black armor with ornate gold accents that shimmered like it had been forged in a dragon’s lair. A striking red gem embedded in his chest pulsed with energy, looking like it could power a small village.

“Harry!” Bill exclaimed, heart racing faster than a hippogriff on a sugar high. “Is that really you?”

“Hey, everyone!” Harry greeted with a grin that could probably outshine the sun. “Miss me?”

The air was electric, charged with shock and joy. Bill rushed forward and enveloped Harry in a hug that was equal parts relief and excitement. “You’re alive! But how? We thought you—”

“Long story,” Harry said, his smile radiating warmth. “But it’s good to see all of you.” His armor gleamed in the sunlight, and Bill couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. If they survived today, he might need to borrow it for his next family gathering.

Teth Adam’s expression darkened as he watched the reunion with growing irritation. “This changes nothing,” he warned, his voice low and menacing. “You still trespass in my land.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it!” Shazam countered, standing tall and looking ready for a showdown that would make even the gods raise an eyebrow. “We’re not letting you push these people around!”

As tensions rose, the Weasleys and Fleur stood united, ready to confront whatever chaos lay ahead. Teth Adam might have the power of the gods, but they had something far more potent: their friendship. And if that didn’t work, they could always pull out the Weasley family heirloom: the Weasley charm, which usually resulted in ridiculous hijinks.

“Let’s do this!” Harry declared, flaming wings igniting back to life, which flared dramatically around his armor with a burst of fiery energy.

With hearts pounding and adrenaline surging, the group braced for the conflict, knowing that together they could face any threat. Bill felt a rush of determination. They were family, and no one was going to threaten their own. They had come too far to back down now.

---

So, picture this: it’s my first day on the job as a superhero, and I’m already about to fight Black Adam. Yes, that Black Adam. The guy who’s basically Superman with anger management issues. I’m standing there, trying to look cool and totally not like I’m internally screaming, while Wonder Woman and Shazam give me the “don’t screw this up” look.

And me? I’m trying really, really hard not to pass out.

Black Adam’s staring right at me like I’m some bug he’s about to squash, which—spoiler alert—doesn’t exactly help my confidence. “You should’ve stayed home, kid,” he growls, all ominous-like. Classic villain talk. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Sure, because telling the villain “I got this” would be super helpful right now. Instead, I blurt out, “I’m not going anywhere, big guy.”

I’m regretting those words immediately.

His response? A lightning bolt the size of a bus—no, bigger. Like, imagine Thor got mad at a building. That kind of big. It hits me square in the chest, and everything goes white. Bright, shiny, oh hey, I think I’m dead white.

I mean, it’s only my first fight—couldn’t we have started with something less... fatal?

But here’s the thing: instead of dying, I feel… awesome. My chest tingles, but not in the “I’ve been electrocuted” kind of way. More like I just downed five espressos and decided to run a marathon. You see, my fancy armor has a crimson gem that absorbs magic. And, well, Black Adam? All his powers come from magic. He doesn’t know it, but that lightning didn’t kill me—it made me stronger.

So, while Black Adam turns around, assuming I’m nothing but crispy Harry toast, I’m standing there thinking, “Wait, did that actually just work?”

I watch him go after Wonder Woman and Shazam next, clearly moving on with his “Destroy Everyone” plan. And honestly? I’m kinda ticked off. He fried me, gave me a power boost, and didn’t even stick around for the encore. Rude, right?

He throws Shazam into the dirt like he’s a ragdoll and then charges at Wonder Woman. She’s doing her best, but Black Adam? He’s fast. Too fast. He disarms her, sends her flying, and—oh, look—he’s monologuing. Because of course, every villain has to monologue when they think they’re winning.

“Kahndaq will remember you as—”

Yeah, no. Not today, monologue man.

I don’t even think about it—I just move. One second, I’m hovering there, fiery wings bursting from my back like I’m some kind of phoenix. The next second, I’m in front of Black Adam, and my fist is connecting with his jaw.

Fun fact: when you punch Black Adam with enough magic running through you to light up the Rock of Eternity, his jaw shatters.

He stumbles back, jaw hanging at a weird angle. I’ve gotta admit, the look on his face? Priceless. He’s staring at me like, “Wait, I thought I killed you.” Nope. Still here. Still kicking. And, oh yeah, I just shattered your jaw with one punch.

I hover in front of him, flames flickering from my wings like something out of a heavy metal album cover. “Surprise,” I say, trying not to sound too smug. “You should probably stop hitting me with magic. Doesn’t end well for you.”

He doesn’t respond—probably because, you know, I broke his jaw. But if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right now.

Before Black Adam can figure out his next move, Wonder Woman’s already back in the game. She tosses her lasso, wrapping it around him like a pro. Shazam’s there too, adding some lightning of his own to the mix. Black Adam’s still glaring at me, but now he’s stuck in place, completely at our mercy.

I touch down next to Wonder Woman, my wings flickering out. “So,” I say, feeling pretty good about myself. “That wasn’t too bad, right?”

Wonder Woman gives me this tiny smile that says, “Okay, maybe you’re not terrible.” High praise from her, I swear. “You did well, Shadowflame.”

Shazam walks over, shaking the dust out of his cape. “Nice punch, man. But next time? Go for an uppercut. Really sells the whole ‘I just punched Black Adam’ thing.”

“Noted,” I say, laughing. Inside, I’m still buzzing from the fight. I just went toe-to-toe with one of the biggest bad guys out there and came out on top. Okay, maybe I didn’t do it alone, but hey—I didn’t die, so I’ll count that as a win.

We all stand there for a moment, watching as Black Adam struggles against the lasso, trying to break free. He still looks mad, but at least now he can’t break my jaw with a single punch.

First day as a superhero? Not bad. Not bad at all.

—

Down below, the Weasleys—Bill, Charlie, Percy, Arthur, and Molly—stood shoulder to shoulder with Fleur and Remus, all of them staring up at the chaos unfolding in the sky. It was like a scene from one of those epic fantasy movies, except this time it was Harry, the boy they thought had kicked the bucket a year ago, fighting alongside some absolute powerhouse they’d never seen before. Thousands of witches, wizards, Veela, Goblins, and even a couple of dragons gawked at the aerial showdown, their jaws practically dragging on the ground.

“Look at him go!” Bill exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with disbelief. “That’s Harry, isn’t it?”

“Yep, that’s definitely him,” Remus said, a cocktail of pride and worry simmering in his chest. “But you’re not going to believe what he’s been through.”

“Tell us!” Molly urged, her voice a mix of excitement and sheer maternal panic. “What happened to him? We thought he was gone for good!”

Remus took a deep breath, bracing himself for the avalanche of astonishment he was about to unleash. “He’s been in this universe for about a year now. He arrived in the Nevada Desert, nearly kicking the bucket.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Almost dead? How did that happen?”

“He was found by a company called LuthorCorp,” Remus explained, which sounded like the name of a villainous organization straight out of a comic book. “They thought he was a Metahuman.”

“Meta-what?” Charlie echoed, his expression a picture of confusion, as if someone had just handed him a riddle wrapped in a mystery.

“Metahuman,” Remus clarified, feeling like he was about to teach a Potions class to a bunch of first-years. “It’s a term for people in this universe who have superpowers. Some are born with them, some get them through... well, accidents. It’s not magic, though—it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Percy asked, the gears in his brain visibly turning as he tried to process the information.

“Well, LuthorCorp didn’t know Harry was a wizard or that he was from another universe,” Remus continued, glancing up at the epic battle above, where Harry and his new friend were holding their ground against a formidable foe. “They thought he was just another Metahuman and decided to experiment on him.”

“Experiment?” Molly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as if to prevent her heart from leaping out. “On Harry?”

“Yeah,” Remus sighed, the weight of the situation heavy on his shoulders. “They spliced his DNA.”

“Spliced? What do you mean?” Fleur asked, her wide eyes making her look like she was about to explode with curiosity.

“Splicing means they mixed his genetic material with that of another individual,” Remus explained, trying to simplify things for his bewildered audience. “Think of it like a potion gone horribly wrong, except with DNA instead of dragon liver and powdered unicorn horn.”

“DNA?” Charlie echoed, still not quite on board. “What’s that?”

“It’s, um, like the very essence of a living being,” Remus said carefully. “Think of it as a blueprint for life, like the instructions on how to build a LEGO castle, but way more complicated.”

“Still not helping,” Bill interjected, scratching his head as if trying to figure out a particularly tricky spell.

“Let’s just say they messed with his biology,” Remus summarized, hoping that would suffice. “And the DNA they spliced with belonged to a superhero named Wonder Woman.”

“Superhero?” Fleur echoed, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Remus replied, feeling more than a little flustered. “There are people in this universe with powers—flying, super strength, that sort of thing. They’re often known as superheroes, and they fight for justice.”

“Justice?” Arthur questioned, his brow furrowing deeper, as if he were trying to solve a particularly tricky riddle. “And this Wonder Woman—who is she?”

Remus hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the sky where Harry and Wonder Woman were restraining Black Adam, who looked like he had skipped leg day for a few too many months. “She’s... a demigod. The daughter of Zeus.”

“Zeus?” Molly’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “As in, gods?”

“Yes! And no,” Remus quickly amended, noticing the shocked reactions. “There are real gods in this universe. Demigods are part human, part god. Wonder Woman’s abilities come from that heritage. Think of her as a superhero with divine perks.”

“Blimey,” Charlie said, his eyes darting back to the sky. “And you say she was carrying you earlier?”

“Yeah,” Remus admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “Bridal style, in fact. But that’s not the point—they make quite the team.”

“Well, that’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” Arthur mused, shaking his head in amazement. “And how did Harry escape this LuthorCorp?”

“Thanks to a group called the Justice League,” Remus answered, preparing himself for another round of incredulous expressions. “They’re like a team of superheroes who fight together for good.”

“Justice League?” Charlie echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like something out of a fairy tale.”

“More like a comic book, really,” Remus said, giving a wry smile. “They saved Harry and helped him escape.”

“Harry’s a superhero now,” Charlie muttered, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. “First he’s the Boy Who Lived, now he’s fighting in the sky with demigods and superheroes?”

“It sounds absurd, I know,” Remus said. “But if anyone can handle this crazy world, it’s Harry. He always was destined for greatness.”

As the battle raged on above them, the group turned their eyes skyward once more, a mix of hope and admiration swelling in their hearts. Harry had risen from the ashes, stronger than ever, and this time, he had allies that might just help him save the day—if they could stop gawking long enough to figure out how to join in!

—

As I stood there, my fists still buzzing from delivering that jaw-shattering right hook to Black Adam, I couldn’t help but admire Wonder Woman as she expertly bound him up like a Christmas turkey. With Black Adam now gagged and looking thoroughly disgraced, Martian Manhunter and Flash swooped in, ready to take him to a Black Site facility. Apparently, that’s superhero-speak for “a really secure place where we can keep the bad guys.” Diana turned to me, a glint of satisfaction in her eye. “This should keep him from causing trouble for a while.”

I nodded, still riding the adrenaline wave from the fight, but my attention was drawn away from our not-so-friendly neighborhood villain. The Zeta Tube hummed to life, and out popped Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione like they were extras in a superhero movie. The air around us suddenly crackled with the kind of awkwardness that only family reunions can provide.

Molly Weasley stood at a distance, her expression looking like a mix between a thunderstorm and a hug. I’d heard all about the epic showdown she’d had with Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny—something that had escalated from “You’re being reckless!” to “You’re grounded for life!” when they decided to join Remus’s team. I mean, it’s not every day you volunteer to go through a Veil that everyone thought could lead to certain doom. Seriously, it felt like signing up for a really bad reality show where you could get eliminated forever.

Watching her now, I could see that storm finally break. “You foolish children!” she shouted, charging toward them like a maternal tornado. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I thought I’d lost you all!”

Fred and George, always the charmers, raised their hands in mock surrender. “Mum, it was just a little adventure!” Fred said, trying to defuse the situation like he was defusing a bomb.

“Adventure?” Molly’s voice pitched higher, the concern etched on her face. “You think this is a game? You’re not invincible!”

“We wanted to find Harry!” Ron shot back, defiance burning in his eyes. “We thought we could help!”

“And we did find him!” Ginny exclaimed, waving her arms in my direction like she was trying to prove a point on a game show. “He’s right here!”

Molly’s gaze landed on me, and it was like a light bulb switched on. All that worry seemed to melt away, replaced by the kind of warmth that felt like being wrapped in a giant quilt. “Harry!” she cried, rushing over and pulling me into a fierce hug that nearly knocked the wind out of me. “Oh, Harry, we thought you were gone forever!”

“I’m back, Mrs. Weasley,” I said, forcing a smile through the bear hug. “Did you really think I’d miss out on all this family drama?”

Tears of relief started to spill over her cheeks. “You have no idea how close I came to losing my mind worrying about you!”

At that moment, Shazam zipped into view, bouncing around like he just drank five cups of coffee. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was just a fifteen-year-old kid stuck in a muscle suit, and somehow, acting like an adult superhero. “Hey, dude!” he shouted, grinning like he just won the lottery. “You won’t believe what just happened! I totally took down some of Black Adam’s henchmen back there. It was epic!”

“Glad to hear it, man,” I said, unable to suppress a grin. “Did you need a little magic to pull that off?”

“More like a lot of lightning!” he exclaimed, flexing his muscles like he was auditioning for a superhero calendar. “Bam! Pow! You should’ve seen me!”

In that instant, the heavy emotional atmosphere lightened just a bit. Shazam’s enthusiasm was contagious, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

As the Weasleys embraced, their teary reunion a testament to how far we’d all come, my mind wandered back to Black Adam. The battles were far from over, and the shadows were still lurking. But with my friends and family gathered around me, I felt ready to take on whatever came next. Together, we would confront our pasts, our fears, and whatever this crazy new world had in store for us. Because at the end of the day, we were a family, and this time, we were stronger than ever.

—

At the far end of the world, buried deep inside a top-secret ARGUS facility (seriously, this place was so classified the janitors probably thought they were cleaning bathrooms on Mars), Amanda Waller sat in her dimly lit office, eyes glued to a screen. She’d been replaying the same footage for hours. And, yeah, it was worth watching again.

On the screen, a kid—a teenager, to be exact—threw a punch that would’ve made Rocky Balboa reconsider his life choices. And the punch landed squarely on the jaw of none other than Black Adam. You know, the guy who could smash buildings for fun on his day off.

But here was the thing that made Waller hit the replay button over and over: right as the punch connected, the kid’s wings—yep, wings—made of literal flames unfurled from his back, turning him into some kind of firebird superhero. Black Adam hit the ground like a ton of bricks while the kid hovered above him, probably thinking, Did I really just knock out the guy who wrestles gods?

Rick Flagg, who was standing behind Waller with his arms crossed, looked like someone who had been dragged to a meeting they really didn’t want to be in. “So, what’s the deal with the kid? They’re calling him—what? Shadowflame?”

Waller didn’t even glance up. “Wonder Woman and Shazam were with him.”

“Yeah, I caught that,” Flagg muttered, rolling his eyes. “Also caught the part where he’s clearly not the bad guy. What exactly are you getting at here, Amanda?”

Waller, master of the dramatic pause, leaned back in her chair like she was about to drop a bombshell. “I’m thinking he’d be perfect for Task Force X.”

Flagg blinked. Once. Twice. Then he laughed, the kind of laugh that says, I can’t believe I have to say this out loud. “Task Force X? Amanda, Task Force X is for villains, not… this kid. He’s working with the Justice League. You can’t exactly stick a bomb in someone’s neck when they’ve got flaming wings and are friends with Wonder Woman. What are you planning, exactly? A ‘Welcome to the team, by the way, we might explode your head’ cake?”

Waller didn’t even flinch, just kept staring at the screen. Shadowflame, mid-punch, his wings glowing like he was some kind of fiery bird of legend. “Everyone has a price, Flagg. Even heroes.”

“Oh, sure,” Flagg said, his sarcasm level maxed out. “Because when you’ve got a literal demigoddess and a guy who says ‘SHAZAM!’ and summons lightning on speed-dial, what you really need is Amanda Waller making you a shady offer.”

Waller paused the footage on the moment where Shadowflame’s fist connected with Black Adam’s face, the flames from his wings lighting up the whole scene like the Fourth of July. “Power like that doesn’t just show up unnoticed. We keep tabs on him. When the time’s right, we make our move.”

Flagg sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he had a tension headache that wasn’t going away anytime soon. “Amanda, you’re missing the point. This kid’s on our side. He’s not Harley Quinn swinging around a mallet. He’s with the Justice League. You think Superman’s going to be cool with you borrowing his new friend for your little suicide squad?”

Waller gave him a look—one of those classic Amanda Waller looks that made you feel like maybe breathing was a mistake. “Superman doesn’t need to know. Neither does the League. The kid’s young. Young people make mistakes. We wait for him to make one, then offer him something no one else can.”

Flagg stared at her like she’d suggested they invite Godzilla to the company picnic. “This isn’t some video game, Amanda. You can’t just wait for him to trip up and then offer him a shady ‘Press X to join Task Force X’ deal. He’s a hero. And if he figures out what Task Force X really is, those flaming wings of his are going to turn this place into a barbecue.”

Waller’s lips twitched like she was about to smile but decided she wasn’t in the mood for that. “That’s why we’re careful. We gain his trust first. When he needs help, we’ll be there. Make it so he has no choice.”

Flagg shook his head, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Right. Because Amanda Waller is the definition of trustworthy.”

He turned back to the screen just in time to watch Black Adam—Black Adam—drop like a sack of potatoes. Above him, Shadowflame hovered, those fiery wings still glowing, like the world’s most intimidating nightlight.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Flagg muttered to himself.

Waller didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. In her head, the plan was already moving along. And when Amanda Waller had a plan? It didn’t matter if it was dangerous, reckless, or downright crazy. She had a way of making people believe they had no choice. Even if that someone happened to be a teenager with wings made of flames who could knock out Black Adam with one punch.

—

Meanwhile, up in the Watchtower (yes, the actual Watchtower in space), Batman sat in front of his computer, brooding like only Batman can. He was two steps ahead of Amanda Waller, which—let’s be real—wasn’t exactly a challenge. The woman practically had “I’m going to do something morally questionable” written on her forehead.

As soon as Shadowflame (a.k.a. Harry Potter, but Waller didn’t know that yet) knocked Black Adam out cold with a punch that would make Superman jealous, Batman had one thought: Waller’s going to want him. She always went for the big guns. The problem was, Batman knew the real threat wasn’t Harry. It was the army of magical people—wizards, witches, dragons (because what’s a magical army without a few dragons, right?)—who’d just popped into this universe like it was no big deal. If Waller got her hands on them, she’d be like a kid in a candy store. Only the candy could explode and start magical wars. No biggie.

So, what did Batman do? He hacked into every satellite in that area, of course. Deleted every single frame of footage that might give Waller even the tiniest clue about the magical newcomers. Easy. He’d done harder things before breakfast. But the real fun? That was step two.

Waller had no idea who she was messing with. Sure, she thought Shadowflame was just another Justice League rookie. But what she didn’t know was that Harry—thanks to some really creepy LuthorCorp experiments—had Wonder Woman’s DNA. Yep, that Wonder Woman. Which technically made Harry a Prince of Themyscira. Batman knew what you were thinking: But dudes can’t even go to Themyscira! True. But rules were rules, and Harry’s new title came with diplomatic immunity. Waller couldn’t touch him. No blackmail. No bombs in his neck like the rest of her Suicide Squad rejects.

And Batman? Oh, he was just waiting for her to make a move. He had plans on plans on plans. He might’ve even cracked a smile—well, as close to a smile as Batman ever got—thinking about it.

Just then, Wonder Woman walked into the room, her gaze sharp as always. She didn’t need to say a word, but of course, she did. “You’re planning something.”

Batman didn’t bother to deny it. “Waller’s going after Harry.”

“Harry?” Diana’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s that foolish?”

“More predictable than foolish,” Batman corrected. He didn’t need to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.

Diana crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve hacked into ARGUS again, haven’t you?”

Batman let the silence speak for itself. That was a “yes.”

“Well, don’t wait too long,” she said, already halfway to the door. “When you’re ready, we’ll take her down.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Batman to his scheming. He glanced at the screen one more time, the plan clicking into place in his head. Waller had no clue what she was walking into.

And when the Dark Knight was involved, that was never a good thing.

—

G. Gordon Godfrey was in rare form, but then again, when was he not? His voice boomed through the GBS studio like a carnival barker selling tickets to the world’s most disastrous show, oozing just the right amount of smug superiority. His blindingly white teeth gleamed as he leaned toward the camera, making it feel like he was speaking directly to every single viewer. Honestly, he probably believed he was.

“Folks, I hate to say I told you so—actually, who am I kidding? I love saying it,” he said, his smirk widening into something that could only be described as “punchable.” “Once again, the Justice League has let some random kid with superpowers run wild. Case in point: this so-called hero they’re calling ‘Shadowflame.’ And if you’ve been living under a rock, don’t worry, I’ve got the footage right here.”

The screen behind him flared to life, showing the now-viral video of Shadowflame—a teenage boy with literal bird-like wings made of flames—throwing a punch that sent Black Adam’s jaw rocketing toward the stratosphere. Oh, and Wonder Woman and Shazam? Just hanging out nearby, like they were watching some kind of weird superhero training montage. Meanwhile, Shadowflame? He wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Godfrey continued, his voice dripping with mock understanding. “You’re thinking, ‘Wow, incredible! A new hero who can knock out Black Adam with one punch AND has fire wings! How cool!’ But let me tell you something, people—this is not ‘cool.’ This is terrifying.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms, his face settling into that “I’m about to drop some hard truths on you” expression. “We have no idea who this kid is, where he came from, or what his deal is. All we know is that he’s strong enough to take down one of the most dangerous villains on Earth with a single punch. And the Justice League? They're just letting him run around with flaming wings like it’s no big deal. Typical.”

The footage behind him paused on the moment Shadowflame’s fist collided with Black Adam’s face, and Godfrey's eyes gleamed. “Let’s be clear here—this is a teenager. And those wings? Those aren’t for show, folks. They’re made of actual flames. Imagine that soaring above your neighborhood, or worse—flying toward it.”

He let that hang in the air for a second, as though he were giving his audience a moment to absorb just how horrifying that image was supposed to be. “So who is this Shadowflame, really? Why is he chumming it up with Wonder Woman and Shazam? And what happens when he decides he’s had enough of playing nice? These are the questions the Justice League doesn’t want you to ask.”

Godfrey leaned forward again, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “But don’t worry, folks. I’m asking. I always ask the tough questions.”

The screen behind him switched to a live feed of a correspondent standing on the bustling streets of Metropolis, microphone in hand. You could hear the usual background noise of cars honking and people minding their own business—until, of course, they were roped into giving their two cents on the flaming-winged teenage superhero.

“Thanks, Godfrey,” the reporter said, flashing a smile that practically screamed, I’m being paid to stand here. “We’ve been talking to folks here in Metropolis about Shadowflame, and let’s just say the reactions are... mixed.”

The camera panned to a middle-aged woman clutching a shopping bag, who looked like she’d won the lottery just by getting on TV. “Oh, I think it’s amazing! That boy has wings of fire! And he knocked Black Adam out cold! If he can do that, we’re safer with him around!”

The reporter nodded, then moved to a businessman in a suit whose face was set in a permanent scowl. “Safer? Are you kidding me? We don’t even know what this kid is capable of. He’s got wings made of flames! One punch, and Black Adam goes down. What happens when he decides we are the problem? Who’s keeping him in check?”

Back in the studio, Godfrey’s grin widened like a predator circling its prey. “Well said, sir. Well said.” He folded his hands on the desk, that same smarmy smile plastered on his face. “You heard it here, folks. The people of Metropolis are divided. Some of them are ready to crown this kid the next big thing, and others? Well, they’re thinking exactly like me. Shadowflame could be just as dangerous as the villains he’s supposedly fighting.”

And what no one on Earth knew—least of all the poor viewers hanging on Godfrey’s every word—was that while his mouth was busy slandering teenage superheroes, his mind was already working on a plan. A plan that involved a certain dark overlord who wouldn’t mind hearing about a kid with godlike powers and fiery wings.

Darkseid is going to love this, Godfrey thought, his grin never wavering as he signed off. “Stay tuned, folks. I have a feeling this story is just getting started.”

Chapter Text

Lois Lane was sprawled on the couch, cross-legged, with a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap and the remote in one hand. Her face was lit up with the kind of grin that usually followed a front-page scoop. She was watching the footage for the hundredth time, and honestly, it got better every single viewing. Shadowflame—a kid who looked barely old enough to vote—was in midair, his wings blazing like two giant birds on fire, and then bam, he clocked Black Adam with a right hook so solid, you could practically hear it from Metropolis.

Not just any punch—this one had "where did the lights go?" written all over it. Wonder Woman and Shazam were hanging out in the background, looking like this was just a regular Tuesday. Lois? She was still picking her jaw up off the floor.

“I need an interview with this kid,” she muttered to herself, her eyes glued to the screen. A teenage wizard-slash-superhero who could knock out Black Adam like he was swatting a fly? Yeah, that had Pulitzer written all over it.

And here was the kicker—it wasn’t just any teenager. Nope, this was Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. You know, kid from another universe, a magical world, gets picked up by Luthorcorp, experimented on, and boom, suddenly has Wonder Woman’s DNA mixed into his own. Meaning, technically? He was Wonder Woman’s son now. Yeah, just your average day in the world of superheroes.

Between that and the gossip she’d been picking up from Queen Mera and Iris West-Allen, Lois could write a novel. And the cherry on top? The latest scandal—Showergate. Apparently, Harry had accidentally walked in on Kara—Clark’s cousin—while she was in the shower. Let’s just say it was awkward for everyone involved. Like, painfully awkward.

Lois snickered. Oh, she was definitely going to tease Clark about that one.

Right on cue, the sliding glass door opened, and in swooped Superman, his cape billowing behind him like he’d rehearsed it. (He probably had. Guy was a perfectionist.) He landed with a soft thump on the balcony, gave her a smile that could melt icebergs, and started peeling off his suit.

“You’re home early,” Lois said, barely glancing away from the screen. She tossed another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Just in time for the Shadowflame highlight reel. Kid’s got wings made of fire, Clark. And that right hook? It could probably send the moon into orbit.”

Clark, now halfway into his favorite plaid PJs, raised an eyebrow. “I saw it. He’s... impressive.”

“Impressive?” Lois whipped her head around, looking at him like he’d just called Mount Everest a molehill. “Clark, he knocked out Black Adam. With one punch. And oh yeah, he’s Wonder Woman’s son. How is this not the biggest story in the universe?”

Clark gave her one of his classic, slightly-too-amused smiles. “You’re not wrong.”

“I know I’m not wrong,” Lois shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to get an interview with him. You think Wonder Woman could help? You know, maybe convince Harry to sit down and chat about the whole ‘I’m a wizard with flaming wings and I punch out evil demigods’ thing?”

Clark finally settled on the couch next to her, trying to look serious but clearly failing. “You know he’s been through a lot, Lois. Maybe give him some time. Besides, if anyone’s getting the exclusive, shouldn’t it be Clark Kent?”

Lois rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Like you’ve got a better shot than me. You know the lengths I’ll go to for a scoop.” She gave him a mischievous look and, in one fluid motion, let her robe drop to the floor, revealing the very strategic lingerie underneath.

Clark blinked. Once. Twice. “I—uh...”

Lois smirked, enjoying the moment. “See? Total Lane charm. How could Harry possibly resist?”

Clark just sat there, completely floored, his usual superhuman composure thoroughly shattered.

Leaning down, Lois kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll talk about the interview later,” she whispered. “For now, I’ve got other plans.”

—

Klarion, Lord of Chaos (and yes, he gave himself that title, but come on, who’s going to argue?), was currently sprawled on his ridiculously oversized couch, lazily watching a floating screen. On it, the latest superhero brawl played out like a pay-per-view event. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the head of his familiar, Teekl, a cat who had long since learned that there was no escaping Klarion’s constant need for head pats and general chaos. Resistance was pointless.

"Boom! Right in the kisser!" Klarion cackled as Shadowflame—some kid who didn’t look a day over seventeen—punched Black Adam so hard the guy flew through the air like a rag doll. Klarion’s grin stretched ear to ear, like someone who just discovered the ice cream shop was offering free refills. “Now that’s what I call entertainment!”

He looked down at Teekl, who was purring in that begrudging, “I guess I’ll tolerate you for now” kind of way. Klarion gave her a little tap on the head—just enough to keep things interesting.

“Oh, don’t be such a diva,” Klarion said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Besides, check out that kid! He’s got magic. And not just any magic—serious magic. We’re talking ‘Oops, I accidentally blew up half the universe’ kind of power here.”

On the screen, Shadowflame swooped through the sky with giant, flaming bird wings—because, of course, the guy had wings made of fire. Why wouldn’t he? Klarion’s eyes gleamed with a new kind of excitement, the same kind he got whenever he found a shiny new toy to play with.

He leaned in, chin resting on his palm as he watched Shadowflame knock Black Adam out cold for the second time. “Hmm... what if I gave him a little... nudge?” Klarion muttered to himself, which in Klarion-speak meant, “Let’s throw a match on this gasoline and see what happens.”

“This kid’s got potential,” Klarion continued, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Chaos potential.” His grin turned wicked. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head—or rather, the flaming, out-of-control pinwheels that passed for his thought process.

Teekl flicked her tail, clearly unimpressed with Klarion’s grand ideas. But Klarion wasn’t the type to plan things out. To him, long-term thinking was boring. Why play chess when you could just flip the board?

“Come on, Teekl, don’t be such a buzzkill,” Klarion said, scratching behind her ears. She purred louder, but if cats could roll their eyes, Teekl would’ve done it by now. “We’ll just throw a little chaos his way. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Teekl gave him a pointed look, clearly indicating that so much could go wrong, but Klarion wasn’t listening. He was too busy imagining the fun. Shadowflame, with those flaming wings of his, flying around wreaking accidental chaos while Klarion sat back with a bucket of popcorn? Oh, it would be glorious.

Klarion shot to his feet, practically bouncing with excitement. “Let’s see what kind of fun we can stir up, Teekl,” he said, giving his familiar one last pat before vanishing in a puff of smoke. “Things are about to get very, very interesting.”

Teekl sighed, finally free to sulk in peace. Somewhere out in the universe, the delicate balance between order and chaos tilted just a little bit more, and Klarion? Well, he couldn’t have been more thrilled.

—

Meanwhile, in the rather ominous but ridiculously cool Tower of Fate, Dr. Kent Nelson—also known as Doctor Fate—was having one of those “I really should’ve brought snacks” moments. At 106 years old, he’d seen a lot: ancient battles, cosmic disasters, and the occasional cat video. But nothing prepared him for the spectacle unfolding on the glowing orb in front of him.

Shadowflame, a kid who looked like he just came from a magic convention and not a day over seventeen, was delivering a jaw-shattering right hook to Black Adam—yes, that Black Adam, the guy who could level cities with a glare. But it wasn’t just the punch that caught Kent’s attention; it was the flaming wings that flared majestically from the kid’s back. Seriously, who even has flaming wings? Kent couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy.

"Wow, talk about a dramatic entrance," Kent muttered, leaning closer to the orb. He squinted as he watched the footage on repeat. “If I had wings like that, I’d never need to take the stairs again.”

Just then, the air in the room shifted, and Kent felt the familiar presence of Nabu—the ancient, wise, and sometimes annoyingly serious Lord of Order. Nabu’s voice echoed in Kent’s mind, sounding like a librarian scolding you for not returning your books on time.

"This boy possesses a remarkable power, Kent. You must pay attention."

“Thanks for the reminder, Nabu,” Kent replied dryly, crossing his arms. “I was just about to grab a coffee and ignore the impending doom.”

"He is filled with potential," Nabu continued, ignoring the sarcasm like a pro. "But potential unchecked leads to chaos."

Kent nodded, suddenly all business. He watched as Shadowflame, in a burst of fiery glory, sent Black Adam flying across the screen. The kid’s power radiated with a chaotic energy that felt both exhilarating and dangerous. It was the kind of magic that could turn a game of charades into an epic battle royale.

“Okay, so he’s strong,” Kent said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But does he know how strong? Because last time I checked, blowing up the universe wasn’t on any hero’s résumé.”

"Precisely," Nabu agreed. "He does not yet realize the extent of his abilities, nor the responsibility that comes with them."

Kent sighed, feeling the weight of the world—or maybe just a lot of bad decisions—resting on his shoulders. “Great, so it’s up to us to babysit the next superhero who thinks he can take on the world with a punch and some pretty wings.”

As he continued to study Shadowflame’s antics on the orb, Kent noticed the boy’s flaming wings weren’t just for show. They pulsed with energy, almost alive, like they were cheering him on. If Kent squinted just right, he could see the kid was channeling chaos and order all at once, which was like mixing chocolate and pickles—dangerous and unpredictable.

“Why do I feel like this kid’s about to set the world on fire?” Kent mused, shaking his head. “And not in the metaphorical ‘you’re on fire’ way. More like ‘let’s roast marshmallows over the ashes’.”

"He must be guided," Nabu said with a hint of urgency. "Chaos cannot exist without balance. We must ensure he finds his way."

“Right, because I’m just brimming with advice for teenagers,” Kent replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s next? A heart-to-heart on managing power and emotions? I can already hear the eye rolls.”

"It is essential," Nabu insisted. "The Lords of Chaos will not sit idly by."

Kent sighed again, realizing there was no escaping the cosmic game of babysitting he had signed up for. “Fine, but I’m bringing snacks next time. Kid’s got potential, but I need some pizza to cope with this.”

With a determined nod, Kent’s mind raced with plans. He wouldn’t just stand by while a powerful kid hurtled through the universe, potentially unraveling reality. No way.

“Alright, Shadowflame,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of resolve and a hint of excitement. “You’re about to get some guidance—whether you like it or not. Let’s see if you can handle the fiery rollercoaster of being a superhero.”

And just like that, the Tower of Fate felt a little less ominous and a lot more like a superhero hub. Kent was ready to dive into whatever chaos awaited him, all while hoping he’d get a chance to enjoy a slice of pizza along the way.

—

Meanwhile, in a hidden lair tucked away in Gotham’s darkest corners, the Joker and his ever-loyal sidekick, Harley Quinn, were glued to a flickering screen. The footage looping before them featured none other than the new teenage superhero, Shadowflame. This kid was making waves—not just in the superhero community, but in the villainous circles as well. Why? Because he’d just delivered a jaw-shattering punch to Black Adam in the Sahara Desert that sent the mighty antihero soaring like a rag doll. Talk about a hero with flair!

“Look at him go, Harley!” the Joker cackled, bouncing in his seat like a kid who just discovered candy for breakfast. “That little flame-bird can throw a punch! Black Adam didn’t see it coming! If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was auditioning for a superhero movie!”

Harley Quinn clapped her hands in glee, her pigtails swaying wildly. “He’s like a fiery little phoenix! Can we keep him? I promise I’ll teach him how to juggle and throw pies! Who doesn’t love pies?”

“Keep him? Sweetheart, we’re not running a petting zoo here!” The Joker’s eyes sparkled with mischief, already plotting the chaos he could unleash. “No, no, my dear Harley, we’re here to add a little pizzazz to our lives. Imagine this: a new hero, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, thinking he can take on the world. We simply have to twist that innocence into something fun!”

Harley raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “You mean corrupt him? Like turning a sweet little cupcake into a bomb with sprinkles?”

“Exactly!” The Joker rubbed his hands together, his grin widening like a Cheshire cat. “We’ll make it a delightful game! All we need to do is orchestrate a few ‘accidents’ here and there to lure him in. Think about it—a bank heist, a couple of exploding cakes… it’ll be chaos wrapped in glitter!”

“And if he doesn’t want to join the fun?” Harley asked, tilting her head in that adorably innocent way that only made the Joker chuckle harder.

“Oh, he’ll want to play! Who wouldn’t want to join the most entertaining circus in Gotham? Batman’s too busy brooding in the shadows to notice our little flame-wielding prodigy. When he does show up, we’ll be right there with popcorn, enjoying the show!”

Harley giggled, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of impending chaos. “Can we throw confetti, too? I love confetti! It’s like fireworks but without the fire department involved!”

“Confetti? Oh, darling, we’ll throw in everything but the kitchen sink! Maybe even the sink—who knows?” The Joker twirled around dramatically, his mind racing with ideas. “Imagine the drama, the excitement! We’ll turn Gotham into a carnival of chaos, and our little flame-boy will be right in the center, wondering how he got caught up in our delightful mess!”

As they watched Shadowflame soaring through the air, wings made of flames flickering behind him, the Joker leaned back, a sinister grin plastered across his face. Gotham was about to get a whole lot more interesting, and he couldn’t wait to see how this new player would fit into his endless game with Batman.

“Let the games begin!” he declared, the manic laughter echoing through the lair. With the flick of a switch, the Joker began to plot his next move, ready to introduce a new kind of madness to Gotham City—one that would blur the lines between heroism and villainy in the most entertaining way possible.

“Time to bring our little bird into the fold! Who knew being a villain could be this fun?” And just like that, the wheels of chaos were set in motion, and the Joker’s plans for Shadowflame began to take flight.

—

The next day at Big Belly Burger, things were buzzing. Not just because of the smell of fries or the fact that Victor Stone was practically drooling over the menu, but because summer vacation was in full swing, and the place was packed with teenagers who had nothing better to do than gorge on burgers the size of their heads.

Fifteen-year-old Dick Grayson lounged in the booth, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “Vic,” he said, eyeing his friend, “if you get the double burger, I will make fun of you when you can’t finish it.”

Victor, unfazed, pointed at the menu like he was declaring war. “I’m hun, dude. When you drop the ‘gry,’ it’s a whole new level of need.”

Barbara Gordon, scrolling through her phone, shook her head. “I don’t think that’s how it works, but you do you, Vic.”

Before anyone could argue the finer points of wordplay, the bell above the door chimed, and in walked their friend Bette Kane. She wasn’t alone. Next to her was a girl none of them had seen before—tall, blonde, and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hey, guys!” Bette waved, practically bouncing over to their booth. “Sorry I’m late. This is Artemis Crock, new scholarship student at Gotham Academy. She’ll be joining us next month, and since I’m the super awesome Student Council President, I thought I’d introduce her to you all. You know, make her feel welcome.”

Artemis gave a tight smile and a quick nod. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you!” Victor said, grinning like he was trying to sell her a used car.

Barbara offered a wave and scooted over to make room. “Glad you could join us.”

Dick flashed his signature Grayson grin. “Hey, Artemis. No pressure, but we’re kind of a big deal. You’ll fit right in.”

Artemis blinked. “Huh?”

Bette rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. Dick thinks he’s invented a new language.”

As they settled in and placed their orders—burgers, fries, and sodas bigger than their heads, naturally—Bette wasted no time bringing up the latest hot topic.

“So,” she said, leaning in like she was about to share the secret to life, the universe, and everything, “have you guys seen the new Shadowflame video? It’s all over the internet. He took down Black Adam! Black Adam! Who does that?”

Victor’s eyes went wide. “I saw that. Dude punched Black Adam through a wall. I didn’t even think that was possible.”

Barbara, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “Are we sure it wasn’t, like, a movie stunt or something? I mean, I’ve heard about him, but...”

She didn’t finish the thought, mainly because Dick shot her a quick look that said don’t say anything. She’d heard plenty about Shadowflame, thanks to Dick. Specifically, she’d heard about something called Showergate—an incident that involved Harry Potter (aka Shadowflame) walking in on Supergirl while she was in the shower. Awkwardness, blushing, and a lot of League gossip followed.

But there was one problem: they couldn’t exactly spill the beans. Being trained by Batman meant one thing above all—keep your mouth shut about secret identities. And considering Dick knew Shadowflame—personally—it was taking everything in him not to drop some major gossip.

“Oh, he’s real,” Dick said, doing his best to sound casual. “And... yeah, pretty flame. Really... flame.”

Victor frowned. “Is that another one of your weird word things?”

Dick winked. “Maybe.”

While Bette and Victor continued to rave about Shadowflame’s epic showdown with Black Adam, Dick and Barbara exchanged subtle glances. Talking about him without giving away too much was like walking a tightrope. They both knew way more than they were letting on, but telling their friends that they were actually Robin and Batgirl? Yeah, that was a solid no.

Meanwhile, Artemis quietly sipped her soda, eyes darting around the group. She seemed tense, like she was waiting for something to go wrong. What Bette didn’t know—what none of them knew—was that Artemis Crock came with a lot of baggage. Like, “my dad’s a villain” baggage. Her father was Lawrence Crock, better known as Sportsmaster, and her mom? Former criminal Huntress, now paralyzed from the waist down. And her sister? Jade Nguyen, a.k.a. Cheshire, a world-class assassin.

But none of that was something you dropped casually over burgers. Instead, Artemis was determined to get out from under her family’s shadow and become a hero herself. Which, sitting here with a group of seemingly normal kids (who she had no idea were anything but normal), felt a little surreal.

“So, Artemis,” Bette asked, turning to her, “what do you think of Shadowflame?”

Artemis took a moment to answer, swirling her straw in her soda like it held the secrets of the universe. “He’s... intense.”

Barbara smiled. “Yeah, Gotham’s got plenty of that. Intense is basically the city’s slogan.”

Victor laughed. “If it’s not intense, is it even Gotham?”

Artemis managed a small smile, though she still seemed a bit on edge. “Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

And with that, the conversation drifted into lighter topics—school, summer vacation, and how many fries Victor could realistically eat before he passed out. But underneath the laughs and banter, every one of them had something to hide.

Dick and Barbara, both secretly superheroes. Artemis, with her family’s criminal past. And the shadow of a boy who was making waves as the world’s newest hero, despite his own long list of secrets.

This was Gotham. And here, secrets were just part of the deal.

—

Lex Luthor had watched the footage of Shadowflame approximately 367 times in the last 24 hours. The exact number didn’t really matter, but it felt worth noting. He had an entire empire to run, endless meetings to attend, and, oh yeah, plans to take over the world. But no, here he was, stuck in a loop, obsessing over some teenage superhero like a high schooler re-watching a viral TikTok. He barely even noticed the door to his office slide open.

“Coffee, Mr. Luthor?” Eve Tessmacher, his assistant, asked with a forced smile. She set down the cup—his billionth of the day—on the desk. Lex didn’t even look at her.

“Ms. Tessmacher,” he said, voice tight, “why do I feel like you’re questioning my obsession with Shadowflame?”

“Well, because I am,” Eve answered, crossing her arms. “You’ve been watching the same five seconds on loop. What’s so special about him? Besides, you know, the cool powers and the fact that he just threw Black Adam through a brick wall.”

Lex finally tore his eyes from the screen and gave Eve a look that suggested she’d just insulted his entire existence. “Special? Ms. Tessmacher, Shadowflame isn’t just some teenage vigilante with a cool name and questionable fashion sense.”

“Okay, but the black armor is pretty cool—” Eve began.

“Ms. Tessmacher, focus!” Lex snapped, pushing back from his desk. He stood and began pacing dramatically. It was a thing he did. “Shadowflame is the result of Project Chimera.”

“Chimera? Like... the weird lion-snake-goat monster thing?”

Lex sighed. “No. Well, kind of. A year ago, my scientists found a boy on the verge of death in the Nevada desert. His DNA was... unique.”

“Unique?” Eve repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Like, ‘He needs extra vitamin D,’ unique? Or—”

“Like ‘he’s got some kind of ancient creature spliced into his DNA,’ unique,” Lex interrupted. “That’s when I had a brilliant idea—obviously. We spliced his DNA with Wonder Woman’s.”

Eve blinked. “Wait, you did what? You created a superhero smoothie?”

Lex ignored her. “The boy, Shadowflame, was meant to be my perfect weapon. A soldier designed to take down the Justice League’s biggest guns—Superman, Wonder Woman, Shazam... But there was a tiny problem.”

“There always is,” Eve muttered.

Lex threw his hands up in frustration. “Before we could implant the subliminal commands to ensure his loyalty, the Justice League found out about the facility and raided it. They took him. They rescued him. And now, that boy is their new poster child.”

“Yikes,” Eve said, looking back at the footage. “So… what’s the plan now? You can’t just clone him or something?”

“If only,” Lex grumbled, sinking back into his chair like a deflated balloon. “The creature DNA inside him deteriorates when we try to replicate it. Without him, Project Chimera is a dead end. My perfect weapon—gone.”

Lex Luthor didn’t admit defeat. Not ever. But here he was, sitting in his penthouse office, lamenting over his grand plan like a supervillain who’d misplaced his evil remote control. For the first time, the man who always had a backup plan looked... stumped.

“Well, can’t you, like, cover your tracks?” Eve asked, clearly trying to keep the conversation from spiraling into Lex’s version of a therapy session.

Lex perked up a little. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He straightened in his chair, his brain working at a million miles per hour again. “Wipe all records of my involvement. Blame the scientists. I’ll send Deathstroke to take care of the loose ends.”

Eve winced. “Loose ends? You mean—”

Lex waved a hand dismissively. “Eliminate them, Ms. Tessmacher. It’s not like I need them anymore. The Justice League already knows they found the boy in a Luthorcorp facility, but they won’t be able to pin it on me.”

Eve scribbled something down on her tablet. “Sure. Anything else?”

Lex’s mood shifted as a smug smile crossed his face. “Begin preparations for Project Kr.”

“Project Kr?” Eve asked, scribbling furiously. “What’s that?”

Lex’s smile grew wider, and somehow even more sinister, which seemed like an accomplishment. “If they think Shadowflame was a problem, wait until they meet my next creation. This time, I won’t lose. The League has no idea what’s coming.”

With that ominous declaration, Lex turned back to the screen and hit play. Shadowflame’s face filled the screen again, but this time Lex wasn’t brooding. Oh no, now he was plotting. And Lex Luthor, in full plotting mode, was the kind of nightmare that even Batman lost sleep over.

Well, probably.

—

In the shadowy halls of Nanda Parbat, Talia al Ghul was on a mission. It wasn’t the usual mission of global domination or assassinations, though those were definitely on her father Ra's al Ghul’s to-do list. No, today she was here to check on a very special “guest”—one who had quite literally crashed into their lives.

“Fell from the sky” might be an exaggeration, but the guy had shown up a year ago, battered and barely breathing, a cosmic gift-wrapped bundle of potential. Ra’s, sensing the immense power radiating from him like an overcooked burrito, had ordered him dragged off to the Lazarus Pit. The result? Resurrection, of course! But, as with most things in life, there were side effects. Turns out the pit had a nasty habit of fracturing minds and creating uncontrollable chaos.

Now, the man—who Talia had affectionately dubbed the Grimm because of his ability to shift into a large, shaggy black dog—was stuck in a cot, drugged and restrained, with bizarre and unexplained phenomena happening all around him whenever his emotions flared up. She’d seen enough strange things in her life to know that was a recipe for disaster.

As they approached the chamber, Talia shot a worried glance at her father. “Father, maybe we should—”

“Nonsense!” Ra’s interrupted, his voice like gravel. “He is an asset, Talia. We can mold him into a weapon for the League. He’s a tool, nothing more.” His expression was stern, but Talia could see the flicker of something softer in his eyes. Perhaps a hint of paternal concern? Nah, probably just gas.

The Grimm lay on the cot, looking less like a weapon and more like a very confused puppy. His shaggy hair covered most of his face, and when he blinked awake, Talia felt a pang of protectiveness. This was no mere tool; he was a person, one who had suffered greatly.

“Hey there, big guy,” Talia said, her voice soothing. “How are you feeling today?”

He blinked up at her, his eyes a mix of confusion and curiosity. “I think I’m… well, I’m here, which is an improvement, right?”

Ra’s made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of derision. “You should be focusing on remembering who you are.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Father,” Talia shot back, rolling her eyes. “You’re so inspiring.”

Ra’s merely grunted, surveying the room with an air of detached interest before taking his leave. “I expect progress, Talia.” The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Talia alone with the Grimm.

Finally! She had the chance to connect with him without her father breathing down her neck. “I have something that might help you remember,” she said, her heart racing a bit. This was it! Time to show him the outside world. Maybe it would spark something in him.

She pulled out a small device and activated it. A holographic image flickered to life, displaying a clip of a new superhero—Shadowflame—charging into battle against Black Adam. Flames danced around Shadowflame like he was auditioning for a part in a superhero movie.

As the footage rolled, Talia watched with excitement, hoping this glimpse of the world would help awaken the Grimm’s memories. But suddenly, she noticed a shift in him. His eyes widened, and for a moment, it was like a light bulb turned on in his head.

“Harry!” he gasped, his voice cracking with emotion. “That’s my Prongslet!”

Talia’s heart skipped a beat. “You recognize him? That’s great!”

“Yeah, but he looks… different.” Sirius Black, or as he had become known, the Grimm, looked almost panicked. “He’s taller, more muscular, and—wait, does he have wings?!”

“Uh, yeah. That’s a thing now, apparently,” Talia said, trying to sound nonchalant. “So, what’s the deal? You remember him?”

“I need to protect him!” Sirius insisted, urgency flooding his voice. “I don’t care what I have to do. He’s my responsibility.”

Talia couldn’t help but smile at the fierce determination in his eyes. “Okay, we’ll figure this out together. We’ll find a way to reach him. I promise.”

In that dimly lit chamber, a plan began to form, forged in shared concern and the budding connection between them. Two unlikely allies, ready to take on the world—and a mysterious new superhero—together. Who knew how wild this adventure would get? But then again, when had life ever been boring for Talia al Ghul?

—

In the heart of the desolate Department of Mysteries, Lord Voldemort stood among the rubble that had once housed the Veil of Death, looking like a kid who just found out that his birthday cake was a lie. His crimson eyes narrowed, glaring at the debris around him, each broken stone a reminder of his grand plans gone up in smoke. Seriously, was there a “how to conquer death” manual somewhere that he’d missed?

Just a few days earlier, he’d been in Nurmengard, chatting—well, more like arguing— with Gellert Grindelwald about the Deathly Hallows. Picture this: two dark wizards, one a self-proclaimed master of the universe, the other a charismatic madman, throwing around spells like they were playing wizarding catch. The conversation had gone downhill fast, ending with Voldemort firing off a killing curse that might have been a bit too enthusiastic. But hey, when the fate of immortality is at stake, you don’t exactly hold back. Unfortunately, while he was busy with Grindelwald, Dumbledore’s little fan club—the Weasleys—had decided to throw a surprise party for him, and it was anything but friendly.

These so-called “blood traitors” had stormed through the Veil with thousands of wizards, witches, goblins, Veela, and even a few dragons. Who knew a family reunion could look so chaotic? The result? His empire had been reduced to rubble and ashes, with more Death Eaters missing than Voldemort cared to admit. The thought made his blood boil.

As he scanned the remains of his plans, his gaze landed on Lucius and Draco Malfoy, who were grinning like they had just won the wizarding lottery. Seriously, did they not get how dire the situation was? Bellatrix Lestrange was cackling nearby, though whether her laughter was joyous or mournful was up for debate—her husband Rodolphus had been among the fallen. Nothing says “team spirit” like laughing in the face of death.

Then there was Antonin Dolohov, lurking like a gloomy cloud. “My Lord,” he said cautiously, “the Unspeakables believed the Veil was not just a portal to death but to another world entirely.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, which was quite the feat for someone with no eyebrows. Another world? Now that was intriguing. He could already feel the gears turning in his mind, spinning faster than a wizard on a broomstick. The Elder Wand was firmly in his grasp after taking it from Dumbledore—thank you very much, and the Cloak and Stone were still out there, just waiting for him to claim them. It was like a game of magical Monopoly, but he wasn’t about to pass Go without collecting all his properties.

“Clear away this rubble!” Voldemort commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a poorly aimed curse. “I want access to the Veil—now!” His tone left no room for debate, and his followers scrambled to obey, looking like anxious house-elves during spring cleaning.

As they worked, Voldemort imagined the Cloak and Stone lying on the other side of the Veil, just out of reach, taunting him like a particularly smug snitch. He could almost hear the Weasleys’ laughter as they believed they’d thwarted him. They had unwittingly opened a door to a new world, and Voldemort intended to walk through that door like he owned the place.

“Once I obtain the Hallows,” he mused, excitement bubbling beneath the surface, “I’ll be unstoppable! The world will fall at my feet, bowing before their new lord.”

He could already picture it: the great Voldemort, master of death and ruler of all. The vision was as sweet as a Butterbeer on a hot summer day.

“Make haste!” he shouted, his heart racing at the thought of immortality. “I will not be denied again!” The thrill of it was intoxicating, sending sparks of energy racing through him.

As the dust settled, a sinister smile crept across his lips. The world beyond the Veil awaited him, and this time, he wouldn’t be a mere mortal. Oh no, this time, he’d seize it all. It was time for Voldemort to show the world just how serious he was about his plans. And maybe, just maybe, he’d finally get his hands on those Hallows and give death a run for its money.

Chapter Text

So, here’s the thing about becoming a superhero: it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Sure, punching Black Adam so hard I broke his jaw was awesome in the moment—like, “Did I seriously just do that?” levels of awesome. Diana wasn’t as impressed. Something about “excessive force” and “you can’t just punch gods.” Whatever. The guy had it coming. But after that little debut, my life got real complicated, real fast.

Now I live at Mount Justice, which used to be a superhero hangout but is now… basically a magical refugee camp. We’re talking witches, wizards, Veela, goblins, magical creatures and even dragons. Yes, dragons. That part is cool, but also mildly terrifying. There are thousands of us, all crammed into expandable tents because apparently, no one thought to build actual houses before dragging us into a new dimension. Welcome to wizard planning 101.

The Justice League had to pull some serious strings with the UN to make this whole thing happen. The world’s governments weren’t exactly thrilled about a bunch of magical weirdos showing up with no passports and a questionable grasp on “don’t set things on fire.” But thankfully, the goblins rolled in with all the gold from Gringotts—and I mean all of it. They even threw in the confiscated Death Eater vaults to buy us a set of islands to live on. That’s right, the goblins bought islands. Say what you will about their customer service, but they know how to close a deal.

Right now, Bill Weasley and his team of curse-breakers are throwing up magical wards all over the place to keep our new home hidden. They’re making it unplottable, invisible, and basically as hard to find as a clean sock in my dorm room back at Hogwarts. Meanwhile, King Ragnok and his goblin crew are busy digging tunnels deep into the islands. Apparently, the plan is to make underground cities where we can live comfortably for generations. Sounds a bit like a Tolkien fever dream, but who am I to judge?

And then there’s me. Because apparently, juggling superhero duties and helping rebuild a magical civilization wasn’t stressful enough, I’ve decided it’s time to catch up on my sixth-year Hogwarts curriculum. You know, studying—the stuff I’ve been mostly ignoring for most of my life. Brilliant plan, right?

Luckily, I’ve got Hermione, Daphne Greengrass, and Susan Bones to help me cram. It’s like having my own personal tutoring squad—except instead of being patient and encouraging, Hermione mostly just looks at me like she wants to hit me with Hogwarts, A History. I can’t blame her. Trying to learn a year’s worth of lessons in a few months? Not exactly my finest moment.

Oh, and did I mention I’ve decided to pick up Runes and Arithmancy? Yeah. Because clearly, I thought, “Hey, why not add two entirely new subjects to my plate?” I skipped them in third year, so now I need to learn four years' worth of material before the next academic year starts. No pressure or anything. But hey, at least I’ve got my amulet—a sleek little thing in black and gold with a crimson gem in the middle. It holds my armor, lets me cast any spell I want, and generally makes me feel like a badass. Too bad it can’t do my homework for me.

Meanwhile, the Hogwarts professors are finally waking up from their suspended animation. Long story short: when Voldemort decided to turn Hogwarts into his personal battlefield, things got ugly fast. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Hagrid, along with some of the other professors survived, but they’re still recovering from their injuries. The healers stuck them in the Draught of Living Death to keep them stable while they made the jump to this dimension. Now that they’re awake, they’re already talking about setting up classes again. Because, obviously, running a school in the middle of a superhero HQ is totally normal.

We lost Dumbledore, Snape, and Trelawney during the attack, though. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. Mostly, I try not to think about it. There’s too much going on to stop and dwell.

So yeah, between superhero training, magical lessons, and trying to build a new life for a few thousand refugees, things are… busy. But it’s not all bad. I mean, sure, the world’s gone a bit mad, but at least I’m not stuck at Durzkaban anymore. And hey, I punched Black Adam in the face. That’s gotta count for something, right?

—

Meanwhile, at Nanda Parbat, Sirius Black—known around here as “The Grimm” because no one had quite caught on that he was, you know, a wizard—was working himself to the bone under the watchful eyes of the League of Assassins’ trainers. It felt a little like being stuck in a really intense episode of a reality show, where instead of a cash prize, he was earning a lifetime membership to the world of brooding vigilantes.

"Again!" barked an assassin whose name was as forgettable as the food at a roadside diner. Sirius ducked under a swinging blade, his heart racing. The thrill of danger was still new to him, especially since he was now fully aware that he was a former prisoner of Azkaban with a penchant for turning into a big black dog and maybe—not that he would ever admit it—some latent memory of being a hero. Or a villain. It was hard to tell when you were hanging out with the League.

"Is this a training session or a personal vendetta?" Sirius grumbled, dodging yet another attack. “Because I didn’t sign up for this boot camp.”

The trainer simply glared at him, his eyes narrowing. “Stop talking. Fight!”

Great. Just great. He thought he was signing up for a workout regimen, not a therapy session. It didn’t help that he was still adjusting to the flood of memories that had come rushing back, and only Talia, the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul and his unintentional confidante, knew the truth. Meanwhile, Ra’s himself had taken a keen interest in Sirius's training, apparently convinced that Sirius’s unique abilities would be a perfect asset for the League.

When the training session finally concluded—thankfully, without Sirius being permanently maimed—he stumbled over to a secluded corner of the courtyard, panting like he’d just run a marathon. Talia was waiting for him, looking far too composed for someone who just survived a session of medieval torture disguised as exercise.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her expression a mix of concern and mischief.

“Fine, just training with the world’s angriest gym instructor,” Sirius replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “You know, the usual.”

Talia smirked. “I think you’re overreacting. You didn’t even cry this time.”

“Please, I’ve been through worse. Like that time I had to eat Kreacher’s cooking.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her tone turned serious. “We need to talk about our plan.”

“Is this the part where I get to wear a mask and run away with you?” he joked, but his heart raced with the thought. The truth was, he was desperate to escape, not just the League, but also the tangled web of Ra’s al Ghul’s manipulations.

Talia nodded. “I’ve been in touch with Batman.”

Sirius blinked. “You mean the guy in the bat costume? The one who doesn’t kill people?”

“Yes, that Batman. He’s a founding member of the Justice League,” Talia explained, watching his confusion with a hint of amusement. “He can help us.”

Sirius scratched his head. “Look, I’ve heard a lot about wizards and magical creatures, but superheroes are a whole different ball game. Are we really trusting someone who dresses like a flying rodent?”

“Trust me, he’s more than that,” Talia assured him. “He’s also fiercely protective of his friends. Just like you.”

Sirius’s heart warmed at the comparison, but then he shook his head. “And what about Harry? He’s my godson, and I want to see him. What if we never get out of here?”

Talia stepped closer, her gaze steady and unwavering. “We will get out. Together. I have feelings for you, Sirius. I’m not leaving this place without you.”

Sirius’s heart did a little flip. “Feelings? Really? Are you sure it’s not just the adrenaline from nearly getting stabbed?”

Talia smiled softly. “It’s definitely not just the adrenaline. I promise.”

“Okay, then. Let’s do it,” Sirius said, his determination solidifying. “Let’s get out of here and find Harry. He deserves to know his godfather isn’t dead.”

With a shared glance that could light a fire, they plotted their escape, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them—bat-costumed heroes, the League of Assassins, and perhaps even a few misunderstandings about Sirius’s past that they’d rather keep buried. After all, every great adventure begins with a little chaos, right?

—

I stood in the training area at Mount Justice, decked out in my armor—this sleek black suit with gold accents that made me look like a wannabe superhero from a slightly questionable comic book. Seriously, who thought looking like a cross between a knight and a superhuman was a good idea? My chest gleamed with a ruby-red gemstone that pulsed with energy like it was auditioning for a role in a sci-fi movie.

Across from me stood Black Canary, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and determination. I could practically hear the theme music ramping up as she sized me up. “Remember, Harry, this is all about control,” she called out, her voice steady like she was giving a TED Talk on how to not accidentally destroy your training partner. “Don’t let your powers dictate the fight.”

Control. Right. Easy for her to say. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I now had the strength of a Phoenix on top of Wonder Woman’s abilities. Seriously, I could probably lift a cargo ship—or three—without breaking a sweat. But that didn’t mean I could just go around throwing punches like I was in a boxing ring. After all, my last bout with Black Adam ended with me accidentally turning his jaw into an abstract art installation. “No jaw-shattering today, got it!” I quipped back, trying to keep it light even though I felt the weight of my powers like an elephant sitting on my chest.

“Alright, let’s go again,” Black Canary said, adopting her fighting stance, and I mirrored her with all the grace of a startled gazelle. “This time, think finesse, not force. You’ve got the strength; now show me some skill.”

I nodded, trying to channel my inner martial arts master, focusing on her movements as she launched into a flurry of punches and kicks. I countered, reminding myself like a mantra: “Control, Harry. Control.” I slipped in and out, trying to match her speed without, you know, sending her flying into the next dimension.

Then Wonder Woman entered the fray, her gaze sharp and focused. “You can do this, Harry,” she said, her voice ringing with encouragement and that no-nonsense vibe she’s known for. “Think of it as a game of chess. You want to outmaneuver your opponent, not crush them.”

Chess? Great. I was terrible at chess. I could hardly keep my pawns straight, let alone strategize against an assassin. But I got it—outsmart, don’t overpower. So, I feinted left, swerved right, and landed a light jab on Black Canary’s shoulder instead of the knockout punch I was tempted to unleash. “Like that?” I grinned, sweat trickling down my brow like I was in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, surprise flickering across her face. “Good! Now let’s see if you can do it again.”

With every round, I felt the rhythm of the fight, like a dance or an epic showdown in a movie. I could hear Wonder Woman’s voice echoing in my head, pushing me to find that balance, and the thrill of the challenge ignited something deep within me. Maybe I was a half-blood wizard infused with superhuman strength, but out here in the training arena, I was finally carving out my identity—one punch at a time.

After a few more exchanges, I caught her off guard with a swift spin, and before I knew it, I had her arm. “Ha! Got you!”

“Not bad, but you’ll need to be faster than that if you want to take me down,” she shot back, grinning like she was a cat toying with a particularly slow mouse.

As we continued sparring, I couldn’t shake the exhilaration buzzing through me. Maybe I had the power of a Phoenix and the abilities of a demi-god, but today, it felt like I was doing more than just training. I was becoming something greater—one punch, one lesson, and one surprise jab at a time. Who knew learning to control your strength could be this much fun?

—

Dr. Fate stood in the flickering light of the mystical realm, his golden helm gleaming like a disco ball at a retirement party. He paced back and forth, eyeing Giovanni Zatara, the renowned magician who had this aura of casual coolness, leaning against a stone pillar with his arms crossed. Honestly, Zatara looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—like, say, at a pizza joint enjoying a slice instead of having this serious conversation.

“Giovanni,” Fate began, his voice echoing with the kind of weight you usually only hear in a dramatic movie trailer. “I need your help to arrange a meeting with the Justice League. Specifically, I want to meet Shadowflame.”

Zatara raised an eyebrow so high it almost disappeared into his hairline, a mix of amusement and skepticism plastered across his face. “You want to meet Harry? You do realize he’s just a kid, right? A good kid, but still just a kid.”

Fate’s eyes sparkled beneath his helm, a flash of impatience creeping in. “That ‘kid’ possesses powers that could tip the scales of balance between Order and Chaos. He is more than he appears.”

Zatara let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his dark hair like he was trying to untangle a particularly stubborn knot. “Sure, he’s powerful,” he conceded, “but he’s also had a rough time. I’ve spent weeks with him and the Wizarding refugees from his universe. He’s still adjusting to everything. Are you sure he’s ready for whatever this ‘balance’ entails?”

“Harry—Shadowflame—has the potential to surpass even the greatest among us,” Fate insisted, his voice rising a notch, sounding like a teacher who was about to give a pop quiz. “His experiences, his lineage, and his resilience make him uniquely qualified for the training I can offer.”

Zatara pushed himself off the pillar, mulling over Fate’s words like they were a particularly spicy burrito. “Alright, but I know you. You’ll throw him into the deep end and expect him to swim. He needs guidance, not just challenges.”

“Which is precisely why I need to meet him,” Fate replied, his tone softening just a bit. “To understand his mindset, his struggles. I believe that with the right mentorship, he could master his powers and restore the balance we desperately need.”

Zatara sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, like he’d just agreed to take on a stray puppy. “Fine. I’ll talk to the League. But if you push him too hard, you’ll have to answer to me.”

“Agreed,” Fate nodded, the burden of his mission heavy on his shoulders, like he was carrying around a ton of bricks. “Now, let’s make this happen.”

With a shared understanding that resonated like an epic soundtrack in the background, the two men exchanged nods. They knew that what lay ahead wasn’t just for Harry, but for the fate of the world itself—a weighty task, indeed, but one they were ready to face together.

---

So, there I was—flying over Jump City with my wings made of literal fire, keeping an eye on things with Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad, and Speedy. I know, "Shadowflame" sounds a bit dramatic, but trust me, it fits. The armor? Pretty sweet, right? (I mean, if you’re going to rock enchanted black and gold metal, you might as well do it properly.)

Robin, the eternal optimist, was chattering over the comms about some new back-formation he’d invented. “Guys, if you can be overwhelmed and underwhelmed, why can’t you just be whelmed? Seriously. This is important.”

Kid Flash, never one to miss a joke, zipped through an alley below me. “I think I’m whelmed all the time, Rob. But only when I hang out with you.”

“Whelmed or not,” I cut in, “keep your eyes open. It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

Aqualad’s voice, calm as ever, came through the comms. “We’re patrolling. If there is trouble, we will find it. Just be prepared.”

Speedy grunted. “I hate it when it’s quiet. Feels like we’re sidekicks running errands.”

Robin snorted. “Don’t say the ‘S’ word, Speedy. You know how that sets you off.”

As they bickered, I floated a little higher, scanning the skyline. That’s when I saw it—a meteor, burning through the atmosphere, heading straight for the shopping district. Because of course, a peaceful patrol wasn’t in the cards for us.

“Uh, guys?” I said, trying not to sound too annoyed. “We’ve got a meteor. Shopping district. And it’s coming in hot—literally. Clear the area. I’ll intercept.”

“Intercept a meteor?” Kid Flash’s disbelief practically oozed through the comms. “Okay, Shadowflame. Sure. While you’re at it, maybe you can put out the sun and fight gravity too.”

“Magic,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “Just accept it, Kid. It’ll save you so much energy.”

“I’m telling you, it’s gotta be science—”

“Focus, Kid!” Aqualad interrupted. “We have civilians to evacuate.”

Robin and the others sped off on their bikes, weaving through traffic as Kid Flash left a trail of dust behind him. Meanwhile, I pumped my wings and shot through the sky toward the incoming meteor.

I could feel the heat radiating off the thing long before I got close. And you’d think being part Phoenix would make me immune to this stuff, but no—still uncomfortably warm. I pushed forward, the flames on my wings flaring brighter as I braced myself to slow the meteor’s descent.

All I had to do was catch it, divert it, and keep it from flattening half the shopping district. Simple, right?

Right. Just another day in the life of Shadowflame.

—

I soar through the air, eyes locked on the fiery streak hurtling towards Earth like a bat out of hell. But hey, it's just another Tuesday, right? As the blazing object barrels toward the shopping district, I brace myself, flexing muscles that feel like they could crack mountains—thanks to that whole DNA-splicing thing with Wonder Woman and a Phoenix. Yeah, not your typical wizard problem, but I guess I’m not your typical wizard.

“Shadowflame, you got eyes on that thing?” Robin's voice buzzes in my ear through the comms.

"Yeah, Bird Boy, I see it," I mutter, already pushing myself higher. The heat from the so-called meteor is intense, but I can handle it. I’ve got the strength of a goddess, the carrying capacity of a magical bird, and the hide of a bloody Basilisk—nothing’s getting through me today.

Just as the thing is about to hit, I reach out and catch it mid-air, like some overblown game of Quidditch. The impact vibrates through my arms, but it’s manageable. For a second, I’m genuinely impressed with myself—until I realize this isn't just some rock. Nope. It’s a ship. An alien ship. Because why would anything ever be simple?

“Uh, guys?” I say, still hovering a few hundred feet in the air, clutching what I now realize is some high-tech extraterrestrial junk. “This isn’t a meteor.”

“What do you mean, ‘not a meteor’?” Kid Flash asks, his voice crackling with disbelief. “It looked pretty meteor-y from down here.”

I grunt in response, casting a quick Freezing Charm with my gauntlets to cool the thing down. Flames are one thing, but melted alien tech? That’s above my pay grade. As I freeze the outer layer, I feel the fire being absorbed into my wings—Phoenix powers for the win. The flames actually make them grow, which is a pretty neat party trick if I say so myself.

"Trust me," I mutter, starting my slow descent. "Not a meteor."

Carefully, I lower the ship into the empty space Robin, Aqualad, Kid Flash, and Speedy have cleared below, thanks to a last-minute evacuation. Honestly, what would they do without me? Just another day saving the world—again.

"Shadowflame, what the hell is that thing?" Speedy’s voice cuts in through the comms, echoing my own confusion.

“Wish I knew," I reply, setting the ship down as gently as possible. "But if I had to guess, we're about to have some very unwelcome guests.”

I glance at my teammates as I touch down, my wings still flickering with leftover flames. "So... anyone up for a little intergalactic diplomacy?"

Robin groans through the comms. "Why do you always get us into these situations?"

I smirk. "Because I make them look good."

—

The metal groans under the force as I pry open the side of the alien ship like it’s a stubborn tin can. There’s a satisfying clang as the hull gives way, and I toss the scrap over my shoulder. Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad, and Speedy are standing behind me, watching with wide eyes.

"Nice," Robin mutters, arms crossed. "Remind me not to challenge you to arm-wrestling."

I grin, brushing off my gauntlets. "That would be smart."

Then, the ship hisses like an angry cat, and the next thing I know, someone stumbles out—a girl.

And, oh boy, what a girl.

She's gorgeous in a way that makes it really hard to concentrate on anything else. Bright orange skin, fiery-red hair that falls all the way to her waist, and these huge green eyes that seem to glow, like they could see right through me. Her bodysuit—if you could even call it that—hugs her figure in a way that could cause a traffic accident if she walked through Gotham. Dark purple fabric, gold accents, and just enough of a cut to leave nothing to the imagination. Kid Flash is already making that low whistle that tells me exactly how much trouble we’re in.

"Hi," I try, raising my hands in what I hope is the universal sign for I come in peace. "Are you okay? Can you understand me?"

The girl tilts her head, looking as confused as I feel, and then—before I can even react—she lunges at me.

And kisses me.

Full. On. The. Mouth.

Now, here’s the thing: My first—and only—kiss was with Cho Chang almost a year and a half ago. She was crying, still mourning Cedric, and honestly, the whole thing was wet and awkward and not what teenage me imagined. This? This is a whole other story. It’s soft, intense, and leaves me completely stunned. It’s like kissing a literal star—warm and electric, and yeah, maybe I’m not complaining.

The kiss lasts long enough that my brain finally kicks in with, Hey, maybe stop enjoying this so much, right when Robin coughs loudly behind me.

"Uh, yeah," Robin says, smirking like he’s just won the teasing lottery. "Not to interrupt your... moment or anything, but we’ve got company."

I pull back, my head spinning, and the girl smiles, looking pleased with herself. I can already tell from the way Robin’s eyebrow quirks that this is going to be worse than Showergate—the time I accidentally walked in on Kara while she was showering.

"Who...?" I start, a little breathless, and the girl finally speaks.

"Greetings," she says, her voice regal and melodic but oddly formal. "I am Princess Koriand’r of Tamaran." She pauses, then offers a small, radiant smile. "But you may call me Kori. Or Starfire, if you prefer."

Her English is flawless, but she speaks without contractions, like she learned it from a textbook... or, well, by kissing it out of someone.

"Did you just—" I gesture vaguely toward my lips, still processing.

"Yes." She nods, as if that explains everything. "It is the customary way for my people to acquire new languages. Your Earth tongue is quite curious."

"Right," I mutter. "Of course it is."

Behind me, Kid Flash nudges Aqualad. "So, uh, does she need to kiss all of us to learn more languages? I volunteer as tribute."

Kori doesn’t even glance at him, her gaze locked on me like I’m the only person in the room. "I do not require further assistance," she says simply, much to Kid Flash’s disappointment. "I have learned all I need from Shadowflame."

Robin stifles a snort. "Looks like she’s got a favorite already."

I shoot him a glare, but he’s grinning so hard it’s like Christmas came early. Meanwhile, Speedy crosses his arms, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "So… what’s the plan? We’re just taking in space princesses now?"

"We should probably bring her to the Justice League," Aqualad suggests. "They’ll know what to do."

"Yeah," I agree, still trying to wrap my head around everything. Alien princess? Check. Random kiss that unlocks new languages? Check. Trouble? Definitely check.

Robin claps me on the back as we get ready to head out. "C’mon, lover boy. Let’s introduce her to the big guys before Wally starts asking for a second kiss."

"I heard that!" Kid Flash yells.

As we take off toward the nearest Zeta Tube, Kori floats beside me, her fiery-red hair streaming behind her like a comet. She looks at me again, smiling softly.

I have no idea what I’ve just gotten myself into, but one thing’s for sure: life just got a lot more interesting.

—

Right, so here I am, escorting Starfire through the Watchtower like it’s just another Thursday. On my left, Aqualad is radiating his usual “I’m-too-cool-for-this” vibe, and on my right, well… Starfire is practically glued to my side.

And when I say glued, I mean velcro-levels of clingy. Every five seconds, her arm brushes mine like she’s testing to see if I’ll spontaneously combust. And every time it happens, she shoots me that look—you know, the one with those huge, green eyes that basically scream “You’re mine now.” If I had a Galleon for every time she “accidentally” touched me, I’d buy the Chudley Cannons and a new broomstick for every Weasley kid.

“Your armor—it gleams with the brilliance of X’hal’s eternal fire,” she says, gazing at me like I’m the most fascinating thing she’s seen since… well, ever.

“Uh… thanks?” I mumble, trying not to trip over my boots. Look, what am I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, it was custom-made to make me look like a cross between a Greek demigod and a medieval fantasy boss. Just your typical Tuesday.

Honestly, I’m not sure how to handle this whole situation. I mean, what do you even do when an alien princess kisses you, and then spends the next few hours following you around like you’re her destined soulmate? Because, yeah, that kiss wasn’t exactly subtle.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Kid Flash has been riding me about it non-stop.

“Yo, lover boy!” Wally’s voice echoes down the hallway, and a blur of yellow and red zips past us. “How’s Starfire? Got the wedding date set yet, or still picking venues?”

Before I can respond, Starfire perks up beside me. “Wedding? Is this a tradition I must prepare for?”

Great. Thanks, Wally.

I shoot him a death glare that basically says, Run fast if you value your life. He just laughs and zooms off, because of course he does. Meanwhile, Starfire is smiling so wide it looks like she just discovered her favorite Earth food. Which, for the record, is mustard. On waffles. Yeah, I don’t get it either.

Aqualad clears his throat, ever the responsible adult in the room. “Perhaps you should talk to her. Explain things. Clarify your intentions.”

“Oh yeah, great idea,” I mutter. “Because awkward conversations are totally my thing.”

By the time we reach the conference room, the gossip has spread faster than Fiendfyre in a hayloft. Every hero we pass gives me that look—the one that says, We know. And we’re judging you, but we’ll pretend we’re not.

Even Robin is smirking at me from the doorway like this is the highlight of his month.

“Smooth move, Potter,” he whispers as I walk by. “Wally’s never gonna let you live this down.”

“Brilliant,” I grumble. “Just what I need—dating advice from Batman’s sidekick.”

We step inside, and of course Wonder Woman and Superman are already seated at the table, looking like they’re about to discuss world peace or fight an interdimensional crisis. Starfire hovers at my side—literally, because that’s just what she does. I try not to stare at how effortlessly she floats.

Before I can say a word, Superman raises an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Got… distracted,” I mutter, side-eyeing Starfire, who’s now giving Superman a look like she’s trying to decide if he’s a friend, a foe, or some kind of Kryptonian fashion icon.

And then Robin, the little menace, casually leans against the wall, arms crossed. “By the way, Harry—Miss Martian, Mareena, Kara, and Zatanna all know about ‘the kiss.’ Thought you’d want a heads-up.”

“Oh, fantastic,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Anything else you want to ruin today, or are you done?”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just trying to help.”

And because my life can’t ever just be normal, Kara—as in Supergirl—walks in right then. And yeah, she’s acting weird. Her expression is this confusing mix of curiosity and… something else. Something I’m definitely not equipped to handle.

She walks right up to me, ignoring everyone else in the room, and tilts her head like she’s inspecting a very complicated magical artifact. “You kissed her?”

“I didn’t—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“She kissed you,” she says, like that somehow makes it better.

“Exactly,” I sigh. “Glad we’ve got that sorted.”

Kara frowns, like she’s working through some kind of algebraic equation. “I… do not understand why this bothers me.”

And that, folks, is how I discovered that explaining jealousy to a Kryptonian is about as easy as getting a Niffler to stop stealing shiny things.

“It’s, uh…” I glance around, hoping someone—anyone—will step in and save me from this train wreck of a conversation. Superman looks vaguely amused, Wonder Woman is watching with that terrifying mentor expression, and Robin? Yeah, Robin’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“Kara,” I try again, “it’s really not a big deal. It just… happened.”

Kara crosses her arms, her expression dead serious. “Is this one of those Earth customs I am supposed to understand?”

Before I can respond, Wonder Woman steps in, thank Merlin. “Kara, we’ll discuss this later. Harry—focus.”

“Right. Focus.” I take a deep breath, trying to gather the shreds of my dignity. One crisis at a time.

Starfire leans in close and whispers, “Do not fret, Harry. I will explain to friend Kara that our kiss was one of destiny.”

“Please don’t,” I whisper back.

And there you have it—my life in a nutshell. I’ve got a League meeting to survive, a confused Kryptonian who might be jealous, and an alien warrior princess who thinks we’re soulmates.

Oh, and somewhere in all of this, Wonder Woman still expects me to master my god-like strength so I don’t shatter anyone’s jaw again. Because apparently breaking Black Adam’s jaw with a single punch was bad.

And to think, I used to think Hogwarts was complicated.

Chapter Text

I landed at Mount Justice with a hiss as my armor decompressed, my boots clanking on the ground. This place was starting to look more like Hogwarts every day—only, instead of enchanted turrets and house-elves, we had dragons nesting on cliffs and Veela throwing everyone off with their glamour charms. Oh, and let’s not forget the goblins bickering over currency conversion rates like it's the Galleon Stock Exchange.

Yup. Just another day in the life of Shadowflame: teenage superhero, wizard, and accidental refugee wrangler.

I thought I’d finally get a break, maybe even sit down for five minutes, when I spotted Fred and George Weasley strolling over. They were wearing matching grins—the kind that screamed, We know something you don’t, and you’re really, really going to hate it.

This wasn’t going to end well.

"Oi, Shadow Casanova!" Fred called, waving his phone like it was a Golden Snitch.

Which, by the way, is terrifying—because Fred and George should not know how to use Muggle technology. And yet, somehow, they’ve mastered it better than half the people at the Watchtower.

George bumped my shoulder, grinning like a man who just found out Christmas was coming twice this year. “Heard all about your little alien adventure, mate.”

I blinked. “What alien adventure?”

Fred gave me that grin—the one that always ends with someone sprouting antlers. “Oh, just the part where you kissed Starfire. You know, alien princess? Red hair? Smokin’ hot?”

Ah. That alien adventure.

I groaned, already regretting every life choice that brought me to this moment. "Look, it wasn’t what you think—"

"It never is, mate," George interrupted with a wink. "But that didn’t stop us from spreading the word.”

Fred leaned in conspiratorially. “We told everyone. Sent a message to Hermione, Susan, Daphne... even Tonks.”

I froze. “You what?”

"Oh, yeah," George said cheerfully. “Tonks looked ready to hex the Watchtower into orbit.”

"And Hermione," Fred added, "is convinced you skipped study sessions to lock lips with alien royalty. She’s got theories. Many, many theories."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Merlin’s pants, this is worse than Showergate.”

Ah, yes. Showergate. The glorious day I accidentally walked in on Kara—aka Supergirl—in the shower. We both saw way more of each other than we intended, and Kara, being the absolute ray of sunshine she is, made sure the entire Watchtower knew exactly what I looked like. Naked.

Robin and Kid Flash still won’t let it go. They bring it up constantly.

Naturally, things got more awkward after that. Kara’s been acting... off. I think she’s jealous? Maybe? I’m not really sure. Kryptonians don’t exactly come with a user manual for human emotions.

But Starfire? Oh, Kori’s got no problem. She’s fully committed to this whole “soulmate” thing now. One kiss—one purely transactional kiss to teach her English—and suddenly, she’s acting like we’ve been star-crossed lovers for centuries.

And, because my life is never simple, Robin has decided my love life is his personal entertainment. He’s narrating it like a bad rom-com trailer.

"Two girls... one boy... endless possibilities," he’d said, with a grin so smug I wanted to punch it off his face.

Meanwhile, Kid Flash is sulking because, apparently, it's not fair that two girls are “fighting” over me while he’s still hopelessly single.

Honestly, I’ve lived through Death Eaters, basilisk attacks, and Voldemort—and yet somehow, this feels harder to survive.

Fred clapped me on the back. "You’ll get through it, mate. You always do.”

George gave me a grin so wide it was practically illegal. “And hey, look on the bright side: You’re not just the Savior of the Wizarding World anymore. Now you’re a full-blown intergalactic heartthrob.”

"At this rate," Fred added with a wicked glint in his eye, "you’ll need a flowchart just to keep track of your admirers."

I gave them my best deadpan look. "You two are the worst."

Fred grinned. "And yet, here we are."

George slung an arm around my shoulders. “You love us.”

"Debatable," I muttered, though the corner of my mouth betrayed me by twitching.

Just as I thought I might get a moment to breathe, Fred and George’s grins widened, and I knew—knew—that my day was about to get a whole lot worse.

Because if they were teasing me now, it was only a matter of time before I walked back into the Watchtower—and straight into whatever emotional minefield Kara and Kori had set up for me.

Yup. Just another day in paradise.

—

Meanwhile, at the Watchtower...

Kara hovered a few inches off the ground, her arms crossed so tightly it looked like she was holding herself together with duct tape and sheer willpower. The air around her practically buzzed with frustration, like someone had left a Kryptonian-sized phone on vibrate. Across the room, Kori was sprawled out on the couch like she’d just won the lottery and decided her prize was infinite chill. She was flipping through a book she very obviously couldn’t read, but hey, details.

Kara shot her a glare. "Do you have to sit like that?"

Kori looked up, her expression the perfect mix of innocence and smugness. "Like what, dear Kara?"

"Like... like you own the place."

Kori smiled warmly, completely unbothered. "I find it most enjoyable here. Why should I not relax?" She closed the book with an unnecessary amount of grace. "It is important to feel comfortable in the spaces we share with those we care for, yes?"

Kara scowled. She knew exactly what Kori was hinting at, and Kori knew she knew. This wasn’t just a conversation about personal space. This was about him.

“So,” Kara started, tone clipped, “what, you think you’re in love with Harry now? After one kiss?”

Kori’s smile turned positively radiant. “It was not just a kiss. It was the beginning of something truly beautiful. We are bonded.”

Kara snorted so hard she almost inhaled midair. “Yeah, okay. Pretty sure that kiss was just him helping you learn English. It’s not like he was thinking about soulmates or—whatever you’re talking about.”

Kori gave her the kind of look you’d give a particularly slow toddler. “Harry does not yet understand what his heart desires. But I do. He is kind, courageous, and fierce in his love for others.” She paused, just long enough for the smugness to seep through. “And he kissed me first.”

Kara dropped to the floor with a thud that echoed across the room. Her fists clenched tight at her sides. "That kiss meant nothing! He would’ve kissed a toaster if it helped you with your vocabulary!"

Kori tilted her head, intrigued. “This toaster... is it a romantic rival I should be aware of?”

Kara slapped her palm to her forehead. “No, Kori. It’s—ugh. It’s a metaphor.”

“Ah!” Kori brightened. “A metaphor. Like when Robin says you are ‘burning with jealousy.’”

Kara’s jaw dropped. “I am not jealous!”

Kori looked genuinely puzzled. “But you seem very upset that Harry kissed me.”

“No! I mean—yes. But not—” Kara sputtered, her brain doing donuts trying to keep up with her emotions. “You know what? It’s not about the kiss. It’s about... I don’t know! The principle of the thing!”

“The principle,” Kori repeated, nodding sagely. “Is this also a metaphor?”

Kara groaned. “No, Kori! Look, why do you even like him? He’s always late, he forgets everything, and—” She flushed bright red. “He walked in on me in the shower once!”

Kori’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, yes. Showergate.”

Kara glared. “Don’t call it that.”

“But it was a defining moment in your relationship,” Kori said, looking genuinely pleased.

“There is no relationship!” Kara practically shouted, her cheeks glowing a shade of red that could stop traffic.

Kori leaned back on the couch, entirely too content for someone embroiled in an emotional tug-of-war. “Perhaps not yet. But the stars are aligning. Harry has a great capacity for love, once he understands it. I believe we are destined to be together.”

Kara let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Right. So why does he act all awkward around you and completely forget I exist half the time?”

Kori gave her a look so soft it was almost pitying. “Perhaps it is because you confuse him, Kara.”

Kara blinked. “Me? I confuse him? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kori smiled, a little too knowingly. “You keep your heart hidden, even from yourself. Harry feels deeply, but he cannot understand your feelings if you do not understand them first.”

Kara opened her mouth to argue—then snapped it shut because, annoyingly, she didn’t have a good comeback for that.

“Do not worry, dear friend,” Kori said kindly. “There is no competition between us. I only wish for Harry’s happiness. If that happiness is with you...” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “Then I will celebrate it.”

Kara’s jaw clenched. “And if it’s with you?”

Kori’s smile turned mischievous. “Then I will celebrate that, too.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, thick with unspoken emotions and complicated feelings. It was the kind of silence that made Kara want to punch something. Preferably Harry.

Kara rubbed the back of her neck, feeling both angry and weirdly deflated. “This is so stupid.”

Kori’s laugh was light and musical. “Yes. But love is often stupid.”

Kara muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “stupid alien princess,” but Kori just hummed, thoroughly amused.

Right on cue, the door to the common room slid open with a soft whoosh, and in strolled Robin, hands tucked casually into his utility belt. He took one look at Kara’s flushed face and Kori’s serene smile, and his grin practically split his face in half.

“Well, well, well,” he said, with the kind of gleeful satisfaction that only comes from watching other people’s emotional car crashes in real-time. “This just made my whole day.”

Kara glared at him. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Grayson?”

Robin’s grin only widened. “Nope. Not even a little.”

Kori beamed at him. “Ah, Robin! You are just in time. Kara and I are discussing who will win Harry’s heart.”

Robin’s eyes sparkled with pure mischief. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

Kara groaned, already regretting every life choice that had brought her to this moment. “Why is this my life?”

Kori gave her shoulder a friendly pat. “Because, dear friend, life is full of delightful surprises.”

Kara let out a long-suffering sigh. Somehow, this was definitely Harry’s fault. She didn’t know exactly how yet, but when she figured it out, he was going to pay. Oh, he was so going to pay.

—

The Gotham docks looked like they’d been designed by someone who thought “gloom” was an aesthetic. Rain drizzled down, slicking every surface and making the streets shine like they’d been polished by a team of overachieving slugs. It was the kind of night where secrets could get lost—and people, too, if they weren’t careful.

Talia al Ghul stood there, completely unfazed, like royalty who’d wandered into a crime noir and decided to make herself comfortable. She had that whole “dangerous elegance” vibe down to a science, the kind of woman who could make you feel like you were both about to kiss and get stabbed at the same time. Across from her, Batman loomed like, well, Batman. Silent. Unmoving. The man was a human statue with an attitude problem and a cape that blended into the night like it was allergic to light.

“Talia.” His voice was low and raspy, like gravel that really needed a hug. “Why are you here?”

Talia didn’t bother with pleasantries. She wasn’t exactly the How’s-the-weather? type. “I need your help, Detective.”

Batman didn’t so much as blink. His stillness had a kind of terrifying calm to it—like a bomb you knew was ticking but couldn’t hear. “Help with what?”

Talia stepped closer, the rain catching in her eyelashes. “I need to get out. Away from my father.” Her voice was smooth, but the words carried weight. Escaping Ra’s al Ghul wasn’t exactly like skipping gym class. “And I need you to help get Grimm out too.”

That caught his attention. Batman didn’t say anything, but the silence grew heavier—like the part in a movie where the music drops, and you just know something important is about to go down.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that,” Batman said, folding his arms. The guy really knew how to make skepticism look dramatic.

Talia gave a small, dangerous smile, the kind that said she knew exactly how to make someone squirm. “His real name is Sirius Black.”

If Batman were a normal person, he might’ve looked surprised. But this was Batman, so his reaction was limited to a micro-shift that only a trained ninja or, you know, another Batman would notice. Inside, though? He was doing mental gymnastics. Sirius Black? Harry Potter’s godfather? That Sirius Black?

And the hits kept coming.

“He’s Harry’s godfather,” Talia added, just to twist the knife. “Your new teenage superhero, Shadowflame? He’s Sirius’ godson.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. Only a little, but enough to confirm that he’d already put the pieces together. Of course, he knew who Shadowflame really was. He’d been part of the team that busted Harry out of that Luthorcorp black site. The kid had been a mess—half-dead, experimented on, and somehow spliced with Wonder Woman’s DNA (because apparently Lex Luthor had nothing better to do). And let’s not forget the punch heard 'round the world: Harry had clocked Black Adam so hard the guy had probably forgotten his own name for a second.

That footage had gone viral in seconds—well, the edited footage, anyway. The part where a bunch of wizards, witches, and dragons showed up? Yeah, Batman had conveniently trimmed that out. No one needed that on the TikTok feed.

Talia’s voice dropped, smooth as silk. “I know who the boy is. I have no intention of hurting him. Sirius loves him like a son.”

Batman didn’t respond right away. Mostly because he was trying to calculate just how many things could go wrong if Ra’s got his hands on Sirius Black—or worse, Harry. Spoiler alert: a lot.

Finally, Batman gave the barest nod. “I’ll help.”

Talia raised an eyebrow, like she was surprised he’d agreed so easily. She probably shouldn’t have been. If there was one thing Batman was good at—besides glowering—it was looking out for the people who mattered. And yeah, Harry mattered.

“But I have to run it by the League first,” Batman added, because if there was one thing more terrifying than Ra’s al Ghul, it was Wonder Woman when she found out you’d made a decision without consulting her.

Talia gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Of course, Detective.”

And just like that, the conversation was over—two people standing in the rain, surrounded by shadows, knowing that whatever came next was going to be messy, dangerous, and probably involve a lot of punching.

Batman didn’t mind. After all, planning for chaos was kind of his thing. And if Sirius Black was alive? Yeah, this was going to be one heck of a ride.

—

Harry Potter was sprawled across the couch in the Mount Justice common area, a battlefield of relentless teasing waged by his so-called friends. He should’ve known that after one kiss with Starfire, it would be open season on Harry. He could practically hear the chatter echoing in his mind, each comment sharper than a Niffler’s claws, all sparked by the infamous footage from Robin’s suit camera. Yeah, that Robin. The one who’d graciously sent the footage to Fred and George, thus ensuring the entire wizarding world was now privy to his moment of weakness.

“Admit it, Harry,” Ginny teased, leaning forward with a grin that could rival a Golden Snitch in excitement. “That wasn’t just a kiss. That was a declaration of intergalactic romance.”

“It was practically a live stream,” Daphne added, her deadpan delivery making it even better. “She didn’t just kiss you; she sent out a press release.”

“I was half-expecting a pop-up ad for a Starfire merchandise line,” Neville chimed in, grinning widely. “What’s next, a Harry Potter and Starfire fan club?”

“Oh, her hair was glowing,” Luna chimed in, her dreamy voice painting a picture of cosmic energy. “That’s a sign. It means you’re destined for greatness… or at least a really passionate friendship.”

“Guys, come on,” Harry groaned, sinking deeper into the couch cushions like they might swallow him whole. “It was just a kiss. People kiss all the time! No need to summon the Daily Prophet.”

Ron was practically wheezing, clutching his sides. “Sure, but most people don’t make the kiss look like a scene from a rom-com. You were practically lit up like a Christmas tree.”

Harry rolled his eyes, desperate to become invisible. “You’re all the worst.”

The laughter crescendoed, and just when Harry was about to summon the Bat-Bogey Hex—or maybe just a pillow to hurl at someone—a comm device buzzed in his pocket. Not a text, a call.

From Batman.

Now, that shut everyone up. The air turned tense as Harry scrambled to answer, fumbling the comm like it was a live grenade. He pressed it to his ear, instantly channeling all the nerves he usually reserved for facing Snape. “Uh… Potter here?”

“Potter.” Batman’s voice was like gravel—dark and serious. You could practically feel the weight of the world on his shoulders through the comm.

“Yes, sir?” Harry straightened up, suddenly wishing he’d remembered to brush his hair.

“I have intel. Your godfather, Sirius Black, is alive.”

The words landed like a Bludger to the gut, sending shockwaves through Harry. He blinked, trying to process. “What?”

“He’s alive,” Batman repeated, as though he were speaking to someone who’d just failed their O.W.L.s. “He’s at Nanda Parbat, being held by the League of Assassins.”

“Wait, the League of… what?” Harry felt like he’d just walked into a Muggle movie plot gone wrong.

“Nanda Parbat. We’ll meet at the Watchtower in a few hours. Briefing at 1400 hours. Don’t be late.”

And just like that, Batman hung up, leaving Harry feeling like he’d just been hit by a spell that knocked all the breath from his lungs. Sirius was alive. After everything—the Veil, the grief, the loss—he was back. And apparently, he was in the clutches of some shadowy organization that sounded like it belonged in a bad superhero movie.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice broke through the haze, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “What did Batman say?”

Harry slowly pulled the comm away, heart racing like he was chasing a rogue Snitch. “Sirius is alive.”

The room exploded into a chorus of disbelief, with everyone shouting variations of “What?!” and “No way!” as if they’d just discovered chocolate ice cream for the first time.

“And he’s being held by the League of Assassins,” Harry added, trying to maintain some semblance of calm.

Tracey raised an eyebrow. “That sounds… not good.”

“Nope,” he replied, pacing now, his mind racing with possibilities. “But if they think they can keep him, they’ve got another thing coming.”

Ginny crossed her arms, a playful glint in her eye. “Hero mode activated. Starfire would be proud.”

Ron nudged Harry with a grin. “Just don’t go in there and kiss him, alright? Might send the wrong message.”

“Ugh, I swear…” Harry shot back, but his thoughts were already drifting to the mission ahead. Sirius was out there, alive and needing him. No League of Assassins, no fortress in the mountains, and certainly no army of trained killers would stop him.

As the gravity of the situation set in, a familiar sense of determination ignited within him. They were about to find out what happens when you mess with Harry Potter. And trust him, it wouldn’t be pretty.

—

As I materialized in the Watchtower via the Zeta Tube, I felt that familiar buzz of energy coursing through me, grounding me like an oversized cup of coffee on a Monday morning. The air was thick with anticipation, punctuated by the hum of screens flashing live feeds from various missions. I couldn’t shake the nerves twisting in my stomach—the impending rescue mission for Sirius was looming like a dark cloud, and I felt like the universe had decided to play an elaborate prank on me.

Stepping off the platform in my Black Celestial Nanotech Armor was a trip. Seriously, I looked like I just walked off a superhero fashion show. The armor gleamed with gold accents that caught the overhead lights and threw sparkles all over the place. The crimson gemstone embedded in my chest pulsed softly, like it had its own heartbeat, reminding me that I was not just a kid in a fancy suit—I had some serious magic surging through me. I flexed my golden gauntlets, feeling the solid reassurance that they provided, ready to take on whatever shenanigans lay ahead.

As I stepped into the bustling command center, I caught sight of Robin and Kid Flash making their way toward me. Their expressions morphed from playful to serious as they got closer, and I braced myself for the inevitable ribbing about that kiss with Starfire. But when they noticed the grim look on my face, their usual banter faded faster than a bad magician's rabbit.

“Uh, hey, Shadowflame,” Robin said, his voice lacking the usual mischief. “What’s up?”

“Not now,” I snapped, my mind racing faster than the Flash on a caffeine binge. I was done with jokes. Not when Sirius was in deep trouble.

“Right. Got it,” Kid Flash replied, raising his hands in mock surrender, as if I’d just threatened him with broccoli. “Serious mode engaged.”

We fell into step together, weaving through the main control room of the Watchtower, where the atmosphere shifted from lighthearted banter to something more intense. As we approached the briefing area, I felt a tangible weight settle on my shoulders, like a cat on a warm laptop keyboard.

Inside, Batman stood at the head of a sleek conference table, flanked by Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Black Canary, the Flash, and Superman. Supergirl, Starfire, and Speedy filled the seats, all eyes on Batman, the tension so thick you could cut it with a poorly sharpened pencil.

“Listen up,” he began, his voice low and commanding like the narrator of a high-stakes thriller. “We’re dealing with a critical situation. Sirius Black is being held captive by Ra’s al-Ghul and the League of Assassins. Our objective is straightforward: we need to rescue him and Talia al-Ghul.”

My heart raced at the mention of Talia al-Ghul and Ra’s al-Ghul. I didn’t know who they were, but they sounded like they could star in their own horror movie, and my godfather was right in the middle of their twisted plot.

“I’ll be leading the strike team,” Batman continued, scanning the room like he was taking inventory of his Batcave. His gaze landed on me. “Shadowflame, you’ll be with us. You know how to handle yourself.”

“Of course,” I nodded, trying to rein in my swirling thoughts. But seriously, my mind couldn’t help drifting back to that kiss with Starfire. Did everyone know about the awkwardly confusing conversation between me and Kara? This situation was already a Rubik’s Cube of complications, and now we were about to dive into a rescue mission against some seriously bad dudes.

Wonder Woman stepped forward, her presence so commanding that I half-expected her to pull a sword from thin air and demand an epic quest. “This mission is dangerous, and the League is not to be underestimated. We need to coordinate our strengths. Superman, you’ll scout ahead. Flash, gather intel on their movements.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders like a very unhelpful backpack. This was my chance to be a hero, to do something that mattered, something that could bring Sirius back to safety. I shot a glance at Starfire, who met my gaze with fierce determination. The spark between us was undeniable, but right now? Yeah, let’s table that for later.

“Shadowflame,” Batman’s voice sliced through my thoughts like a well-aimed Batarang. “You’ll be on point with Wonder Woman and Green Arrow. Your magic will be essential.”

“Understood,” I replied, straightening up like a kid who’d just realized he had a math test he forgot about. This was it. I was about to face danger head-on, and nothing—especially not my swirling feelings—was going to distract me from my mission. I had a godfather to save, and whoever Ra’s al-Ghul was, he was about to learn exactly who Shadowflame really was.

As the briefing continued, I focused on the mission, adrenaline pumping through my veins like I’d just chugged a double espresso. The love triangle? That could wait. Right now, it was all about rescuing Sirius and proving to everyone—and myself—that I was ready for this challenge.

—

As I leaned against the wall of the Watchtower, waiting for the League jet to be ready (which was just a fancy way of saying Green Arrow and Speedy were busy restocking their arrows while pretending it was a top-secret operation), I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a cosmic soap opera. Seriously, could we not have one normal day where saving the world didn’t involve weird love triangles and emotional confessions?

Just as I thought I might escape to my happy place (you know, the one with unlimited pizza and no awkward feelings), I saw Kori and Kara striding my way, their expressions a mix of determination and something else I couldn’t quite place—like the “we need to talk” look that had saved many a life on Earth.

“Hello, Shadowflame!” Kori said, beaming at me like I was the last piece of candy in a giant bowl. How did she manage to radiate that much cheer? “Can we talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure!” I said, trying to sound nonchalant while feeling like I was about to dive into a shark tank. “What’s up?”

Kara shot me a serious look, the kind that said she could vaporize me if I didn’t take this seriously. “We wanted to discuss the mission—and, uh, our feelings.”

“Feelings?” I repeated, my stomach doing a double backflip. Fantastic. Just what I needed before a rescue mission—an awkward talk about emotions. I could practically hear the audience’s collective “Oh boy, here we go.”

“Yes!” Kori nodded vigorously. “This mission is very important, and I do not wish to leave anything unsaid. I, uh, how do you say… I want to express my feelings for you!”

“Okay, feelings. Right. But what do you mean?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the idea that two incredible alien women might have a crush on me.

Kori tilted her head, her eyes sparkling like she’d just seen a giant pizza in the sky. “Kara and I both like you! Like, we really like you! You are like a—what is the word? A delicious fruit salad, and we want to share the bowl!”

“A fruit salad?” I said, blinking at her. “That’s a new one. I usually go for ‘hero’ or ‘guy who tries not to get blown up by supervillains,’ but fruit salad works too.”

Kara bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, but I could see the serious undertone behind her eyes. “We know we’re not bound by Earth’s customs. You don’t have to pick just one of us. We can all be together. Like a team!”

“Team!” Kori exclaimed, bouncing on her toes. “That is a good way to describe it! A team of love! I think it will be super fun!”

As my brain scrambled to process this, I suddenly noticed Robin and Kid Flash lurking nearby, trying to blend in with the wall as they eavesdropped on our conversation. Kid Flash had the most confused expression on his face, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kid Flash whispered to Robin, loud enough for me to hear. “Did I just hear that Harry is getting the chance to date two girls? How is that fair? Shouldn’t I be asking him for advice?”

Robin shot him a sidelong glance, a smirk creeping across his face. “You’re just jealous because he’s actually scoring two amazing girls, and you’re over here trying to figure out how to ask one out. Just be cool, Wally.”

“Be cool?” Kid Flash exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock despair. “How can I be cool when Harry’s pulling off this cosmic salad situation? What even is a cosmic salad?”

“Focus, guys!” I called over, trying to steer the conversation back on track before the whole thing spiraled into a complete circus. “Can we not discuss my love life while I’m about to rescue my godfather from a supervillain?”

Kori beamed at me, seemingly unfazed by the chaos. “Yes! Let us kick the butt of Ra’s al-Ghul and then have the best time!”

“Wait, what?” Kid Flash piped in, clearly still trying to catch up. “We’re kicking butt? Does that mean we’re actually going to fight or are we just going to have a heart-to-heart? Because I’m down for both!”

With adrenaline pumping through my veins and a smile creeping onto my face, I felt a wave of determination wash over me. We had a rescue mission to complete, and if it meant navigating this cosmic salad of feelings later, I could totally handle that. I just hoped Ra’s al-Ghul wasn’t as difficult to deal with as two crushes at once.

With a deep breath, I joined the rest of the team, ready to face whatever danger awaited us. Because if saving the universe was going to come with a side of unexpected romance and a sprinkle of superhero drama, I was all in.

—

Meanwhile, high in the mystical heights of Nanda Parbat, Sirius Black—Godfather Extraordinaire and former Casanova of Hogwarts—found himself pacing in a dimly lit cell that felt more like a glorified meditation chamber than an actual prison. The air was thick with incense that made him feel like he was perpetually in a very intense yoga class. But hey, at least he was getting his exercise.

Suddenly, his Godfather Sense kicked in—tingling with an intensity that could rival a siren’s song. Something awesome was happening, and he knew it had Harry’s name written all over it.

“Could it be? Has my scrappy little Prongslet somehow charmed not one but two incredibly hot girls into liking him? And they want to date him together?” Sirius mused aloud, grinning like a Cheshire cat. The boy had a knack for landing in delightful situations, even if they usually came with a side of danger. He felt a swell of pride. Way to go, Harry!

Just as he was basking in the glory of his Godson’s presumed success, the door creaked open, and in walked Talia al-Ghul. She was as enigmatic as a riddle and twice as deadly—think less “just a pretty face” and more “the last boss in a video game.” Before Sirius could muster a witty comeback, Talia crossed the room and planted a kiss right on his lips.

Sirius blinked, momentarily flabbergasted. “Whoa! Didn’t see that coming,” he exclaimed, leaning back slightly. “What was that for?”

“Good news, Black,” she said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Batman has agreed to help us. The Justice League is on their way to rescue us as we speak.”

“Wait, you mean my Godson is on his way? Harry is here? As Shadowflame?” Sirius could hardly contain his excitement, nearly bouncing on his toes. “You have no idea how proud I am right now!”

Talia raised an eyebrow, clearly trying not to roll her eyes. “Your pride is noted, but focus, please. They will be here soon, and we need to prepare for their arrival. Ra’s al-Ghul will not take this lightly.”

“Prepare? Pfft! This is going to be a party!” Sirius declared, feeling an adrenaline rush that made him forget he was supposed to be plotting an escape. “I can’t wait to see Harry and his new pals. Can you imagine? The kid’s probably rocking that armor of his, and I hear he’s packing some serious firepower! Do you think he’s got two alien princesses swooning over him? That’d be next-level legendary stuff right there!”

“Interesting priorities you have, Black,” Talia replied, a hint of amusement flickering in her emerald eyes. “But we must act quickly. This is not just about your Godson; it’s about getting out of here alive.”

Sirius took a deep breath, suddenly serious. “You’re right. But I have faith in Harry and his friends. They’ll come through. When they do, Ra’s is in for a rude awakening. I may be stuck in this cell, but my Godson is about to make waves.”

Just then, he felt that unmistakable thrill again—the kind that told him Harry was out there, cooking up a storm and getting into trouble as only he could. He could almost hear the sound of Harry’s laughter mixed with the crackle of magic radiating from his very soul.

“Let’s get ready for some chaos,” Sirius said, a mischievous grin returning to his face. “I have a feeling it’s about to get very interesting around here.”

Talia nodded, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination. “Then let us prepare. And Sirius,” she added, her eyes narrowing playfully, “try not to get too distracted by your Godson’s escapades.”

With a hearty laugh, Sirius shot back, “I make no promises! But let’s get out of here first. I want to celebrate Harry’s arrival with a little chaos of our own.”

As they plotted their escape, Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that the time for a showdown was drawing near. And let’s be honest, he was more than ready for it. Who wouldn’t be when your Godson was about to drop the mic in style? The stage was set, and chaos was on the horizon—just how Sirius liked it.

Chapter Text

At the southern gates of Nanda Parbat, Green Arrow nocked an arrow, his eyes locked on the patrol ahead. Beside him, Robin shifted on his feet, looking like a kid who had too much candy and not enough patience.

“You know, I could take out half these guys before you let that arrow fly,” Robin whispered, tossing a Birdarang from hand to hand like he was born to be annoying.

Green Arrow smirked. “Yeah, but I’m aiming for ‘coolest hero in the room.’ You might want to sit this one out.”

Robin snorted but didn’t argue. Which, honestly, was a win for everyone. Green Arrow fired, and with a satisfying thunk, his arrow pinned a guard’s cloak to the wall. The guy barely had time to think What the heck? before Robin’s Birdarang caught him right in the noggin.

“Two points,” Robin whispered. “And I’m calling this one: precision plus flair.”

With the outer perimeter guards slowly realizing they were having a very bad night, the two heroes worked in sync—silent takedowns, quick jabs, and a few well-placed gadgets. Green Arrow zipped up to a nearby rooftop with his grappling arrow, just in time to hear Robin below mutter, “Man, I hope this mission comes with snacks.”

Green Arrow tapped his comm. “Outer perimeter’s clear.”

From the northern gates, Batman’s voice came through, as grumpy as ever. “Copy that.”

At that moment, a streak of red zipped past them, and the Flash was inside the southern gate, moving faster than anyone could process. Guards who were definitely not expecting a speedster suddenly found themselves slumped against walls or lying face-first on the ground, neatly piled like laundry.

“All inner guards are down,” Flash said cheerfully over the comms. “That’s gotta be a record, right?”

Robin sighed. “We get it, Flash. You’re fast.”

Meanwhile, at the northern gate, Batman, Black Canary, and Speedy were running a well-oiled machine of stealth and muscle. A Batarang silently shattered a surveillance camera. Black Canary took out two guards without breaking a sweat—just a couple of swift jabs and boom, nap time.

Speedy nocked an arrow and whispered into his comm, “Remind me why Batman won’t let me banter on comms?”

“Because you’re already doing it,” Canary muttered, though Speedy swore she was trying not to laugh.

Not to be outdone, Kid Flash zipped past the remaining northern guards and tapped his comm. “Inner perimeter clear. Boom. Nailed it.”

“Quiet,” Batman said without missing a beat.

Kid Flash let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You know, Bats, one day you’re gonna laugh, and it’ll probably break the universe.”

With both gates secure, Batman gave the go-ahead. “All teams, move forward.”

At the southern gate, Wonder Woman adjusted the lasso on her hip, her expression calm but determined. Beside her, Shadowflame’s hood shifted slightly, the hum of magic around him growing stronger. He cracked his knuckles, a grin tugging at his lips.

“So,” Shadowflame whispered into the comms, “is this a stealth mission, or are we allowed some dramatic flair?”

“Stealth,” Wonder Woman replied, giving him a Don’t even think about it look.

“But dramatic stealth, right?” he asked hopefully. “Because I was thinking we could—”

“Shadowflame,” Supergirl cut in, hovering a few inches off the ground, “flair can wait. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”

Shadowflame muttered something about how no one appreciated true artistry, but he followed without complaint.

Meanwhile, at the northern gate, Superman and Starfire moved with silent efficiency—well, as silent as two walking tanks could be. Superman’s X-ray vision swept over the area.

“All clear on our end,” Superman confirmed.

Starfire’s eyes glowed faintly, her energy simmering just under the surface. “This is what you call stealth?” she whispered. “Earth missions are much more fun than I expected.”

“Focus,” Batman said, somehow managing to sound even more Batman-y over the comms.

Both teams advanced, slipping through the gates with the precision of an Olympic relay team—if Olympic relay teams had superpowers and weapons. Not a single alarm had been raised, and the guards were either unconscious, tied up, or seriously reconsidering their life choices.

“This is way too smooth,” Shadowflame whispered, glancing around like he expected an explosion any second.

“Don’t jinx it,” Robin hissed.

Just then, Wonder Woman’s voice came over the comms, firm and reassuring. “Stay sharp, everyone. This isn’t over yet.”

Shadowflame couldn’t help but grin beneath his hood. “Oh, it’s definitely not over. It’s just getting started.”

With the mission humming along perfectly—for now—the heroes pressed deeper into Nanda Parbat. Because, let’s be honest, this was Nanda Parbat. Things were bound to get messy any minute now.

—

As the two teams crept through the maze-like corridors of Nanda Parbat, using the schematics Talia al Ghul had stashed in the mini-computers on Batman and Robin’s gauntlets, things started to feel a little too easy. And when things feel too easy? It’s probably because someone’s waiting to punch you in the face.

Up at the northern gate, Batman signaled for the team to halt with one of those silent hand gestures that basically screamed, “trouble incoming.” Superman glanced ahead with his X-ray vision, then frowned. "We've got company."

Out of the shadows sauntered Sportsmaster, twirling his staff like he was auditioning for the Olympics—and absolutely nailing “Most Punchable Smirk.”

“Oh look,” Sportsmaster said, leaning lazily on his weapon. “It’s the Justice League. Or half of it. Y’all lost or just sightseeing?”

"Nice of you to greet us," Speedy muttered, already pulling an arrow from his quiver. "We didn't even bring souvenirs."

Before anyone could respond, a holographic screen crackled to life on Sportsmaster’s gear, because obviously the League of Assassins likes to flex. Onscreen was none other than Ra’s al Ghul, looking as regal and scary as ever.

“You disappoint me, Detective,” Ra’s said, all cool menace. “Did you really think anything could happen in Nanda Parbat without my knowing?”

Batman gave the kind of blank stare only Batman can pull off—half annoyance, half “I hate everything.”

Speedy leaned toward Black Canary and whispered, “This dude seriously needs a hobby.”

Ra’s, unfazed by the sass, continued. “My daughter believes she can escape with Grimm and enlist the Justice League to help her. A clever plan... but no scheme unfolds in my domain without my permission.”

Superman crossed his arms. “He always talk this much?”

“Only when he’s losing,” Batman muttered.

With a nod, Ra’s turned his gaze toward the assassins. “Engage the intruders. I’ll deal with my daughter and her so-called beloved soon enough.”

The hologram blinked off, and Sportsmaster gave them a wolfish grin. “You heard the man. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Meanwhile, at the southern gate, the second team found their path blocked by Cheshire, twirling a dagger like it was an extension of her hand. Her catlike eyes gleamed beneath her mask, and somehow, despite standing still, she looked ready to pounce.

“Well, if it isn’t the dream team,” she purred. “You folks are cute, but you’re in way over your heads.”

“Ugh, not her again,” Green Arrow muttered. “It’s like we’ve got punch cards for recurring villains.”

Cheshire tilted her head. “Careful, Arrow. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Before anyone could exchange more banter, another hologram flickered to life, this time from Cheshire’s belt. And surprise, surprise—Ra’s al Ghul again. He looked far too pleased with himself.

“Ah,” Ra’s said smoothly. “More guests. My daughter’s taste is... eclectic.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure ‘eclectic’ is villain-speak for ‘weird.’”

Ra’s gave a small, cold smile. “This is where your journey ends. Engage the intruders,” he ordered, addressing the shadowy assassins emerging from the temple walls like smoke. “I’ll be with my daughter—and Grimm—shortly.”

With that, the hologram fizzled out, leaving Cheshire and a bunch of metahuman assassins grinning like they’d won the lottery.

Flash let out a slow breath. “Well. This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Robin,” Wonder Woman said, uncoiling her lasso. “Stay behind me.”

Robin flashed her a grin. “Come on, I’m not staying behind anybody. I’m VIP at this party.”

Back at the northern gate, Batman gave Kid Flash and Speedy a glance that basically translated to “Don’t make me regret this.”

“No killing,” he said flatly.

Kid Flash grinned. “What about, like, extreme napping?”

Superman stepped forward, his cape billowing like it always does at exactly the right moment, and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s make this quick.”

Shadowflame, practically vibrating with excitement, added, “Finally. I’ve got so many spells I’ve been dying to try.”

“You’re always dying to try your spells,” Supergirl pointed out. “Maybe let the rest of us have a turn?”

Before anyone could argue further, Sportsmaster flipped his staff into a fighting stance. “All right, Justice League. Show me what you got.”

At the same time, Cheshire’s dagger gleamed under the temple’s dim lights. The League’s metahumans stepped forward, energy crackling and fists ready.

And just like that, Nanda Parbat went from “sneaky infiltration” to “oh great, we’re doing this the hard way.”

—

So here’s the thing: Fighting assassins in a mystical death temple buried inside a mountain? Not how I imagined spending my day. But, hey, I’ve learned not to ask too many questions when I hang out with the Justice League. And right now, my biggest problem isn’t the whole “don’t cause a cave-in or everyone dies” situation.

It’s Cheshire.

Yeah, that Cheshire. The assassin with more knives than common sense and the grin of someone who knows exactly how much trouble she is—and enjoys every second of it.

I flick a quick binding spell from my gauntlets—just a neat little trick to wrap her up in glowing magical ropes. Should be easy, right? But no. She dodges with the kind of precision that makes ballerinas cry into their pointe shoes.

“Really?” I groan, swiping at her with a quick punch that she ducks under like she’s playing hopscotch. “You could at least pretend to struggle.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she purrs, circling me with all the grace of a cat toying with its prey. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I shoot a look over my shoulder at the cave walls. Can’t exactly throw fireballs in here unless I want to bury all of us under a few tons of rock. So, hand-to-hand it is.

As I step in to engage, she slides closer, eyes glittering with something that’s definitely not combat focus. “You know,” she says, voice low and dangerous, “for a kid in tights, you’re kind of cute.”

My brain does that thing where it just... shuts down. What—? Did she just—?

I stumble half a step, catching myself before I faceplant right into her. My gauntlets flicker uselessly, and the spells I had lined up in my head? Gone. Poof. Like they never existed.

Cheshire grins. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s loving every second of it. “Relax, hero,” she says, brushing past me like we’re old friends meeting at a coffee shop, not opponents in a high-stakes cave fight. “You and me... We could have a lot of fun. Just saying.”

Oh, come on. Is this real life?

Before I can come up with something—anything—resembling a smart response, Supergirl’s voice crackles over my comm.

“What did she just say?!”

I swear, if I survive this, I’m chucking these comms into the nearest volcano. “It’s not what it sounds like!” I blurt, blocking a swipe from Cheshire’s dagger and trying desperately not to trip over my own feet.

“Oh, it sounds exactly like what it sounds like,” Starfire’s voice chimes in from the northern gate, the tone far too sweet to be anything but passive-aggressive. “Flirting.”

“Flirting?” Supergirl repeats, her voice rising to levels that could probably shatter glass. “We tell him how we feel hours ago, and now an assassin is making moves on him?!”

I duck under another swing from Cheshire, heat rising to my face. “Look, she’s not— I mean, she is, but not in a— It’s just—”

Cheshire’s grin widens, because of course it does. “Oh, poor boy,” she coos, her voice silky as she throws a roundhouse kick my way, which I barely dodge. “Your girlfriends sound angry.”

“Not. Helping,” I mutter through gritted teeth, firing off a harmless pulse of magic toward her feet. Naturally, she cartwheels out of the way without breaking a sweat.

“Just saying,” Cheshire adds with a wink. “If the whole hero thing doesn’t work out, my offer’s still on the table.”

I am never living this down.

Supergirl groans over the comms, probably grinding her teeth into powder. “Stop flirting with the assassin, Shadowflame.”

“I’M NOT FLIRTING!” I shout, which is absolutely the kind of thing someone who’s totally not flirting would say.

“She’s doing it on purpose,” I grumble, narrowly dodging another knife aimed way too close to my face.

“You don’t sound very focused,” Starfire teases. “Perhaps we should have flirted with him first, to establish dominance.”

Supergirl’s frustration is practically radiating through the comms. “Kori, that is not— Ugh, just focus, okay? We can’t have him getting distracted by... by... her.”

Cheshire gives me a slow, knowing grin, then leans in like she’s about to tell me a secret. “For the record,” she whispers, her breath warm on my cheek, “I don’t always stab.”

I clear my throat, trying desperately not to combust on the spot. “Yeah, well, I have a strict no partnering with people who try to kill me policy.”

She smirks. “Shame.”

Supergirl’s voice cuts in, all business now. “Shadowflame, finish this. Before she kisses you or something.”

I swear, I feel my soul leave my body. “Not. Happening.”

Cheshire chuckles, stepping back just far enough to throw another taunt my way. “Shame,” she repeats, and I can feel the smirk in her voice. “Could’ve been fun.”

This mission cannot end fast enough.

—

Talia al-Ghul had always known how to make an entrance, but this time, it wasn’t the dramatic flair she preferred. Being dragged through the cold, stone hallways of Nanda Parbat by a couple of burly guards—who clearly skipped any kind of etiquette training—wasn’t exactly her idea of a grand reveal. Their grip was too tight, and she winced as they shoved her forward, making sure she stumbled just enough to remind her of her current situation.

“Careful, gentlemen,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You wouldn’t want to bruise the merchandise.”

Grimm—her rebellious companion, Sirius—stumbled alongside her, looking like a scuffed-up prince from a fairy tale who had wandered too far into the wrong forest. His dark hair was tousled, and though he tried to maintain his composure, the slight crease in his brow revealed his frustration. “You’d think they’d treat royalty with a little more respect,” he muttered, shooting a glare at their captors.

The guards exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed. “Keep it moving, pretty boy,” one of them barked, shoving Grimm just enough to send him a few steps forward. “You’re not special around here.”

Grimm opened his mouth to retort, but Talia cut him off with a sharp look. “Save your energy. We’ll need it.” She didn’t want him to get himself hurt because of some muscle-bound oaf’s ego. They were on a mission, and she wasn’t about to let their current predicament derail them.

As they approached the inner sanctum, the guards halted, their expressions shifting from brutish to wary. Ra’s al-Ghul’s presence had that effect on people. It was the kind of power that made even the most hardened warriors hesitate, and as the massive door creaked open, Talia felt a chill run down her spine.

Inside the sanctum, the air was thick with tension. Shadows danced along the walls, illuminated only by the flickering light of torches. Ra’s sat behind a grand obsidian desk, his dark robes flowing like smoke around him. His piercing green eyes locked onto Talia, a mixture of amusement and ire playing across his features.

“Talia,” he said, voice low and smooth, as if he were savoring the sound of her name. “My wayward daughter. I see you’ve brought a guest.”

“Grimm is no mere guest,” Talia replied, her tone firm. “He’s my ally. If you think you can intimidate him, you’re mistaken.”

Ra’s raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as if he were considering a particularly interesting puzzle. “And what exactly is he to you? A pawn in your little game?”

Sirius stepped forward, jaw clenched. “I’m not a pawn for anyone. I’m here because Talia needs me, and I’m not going to let her face you alone.” The fire in his voice surprised even him, but he couldn’t back down now.

Ra’s chuckled, the sound echoing ominously in the chamber. “Such spirit! I admire that. But I assure you, young man, you’re in over your head.” He gestured dismissively, and the guards stepped back, allowing Talia and Grimm a moment of reprieve.

“Is that why you’ve brought me here? To try to intimidate me with your theatrics?” Talia shot back, crossing her arms defiantly. “You’ve underestimated me before, Father, and I won’t let it happen again.”

Ra’s leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Ah, but this time, my dear daughter, I have a secret weapon.” He nodded to one of the guards, who moved to activate a holographic display. The air shimmered, and a three-dimensional image flickered to life—an intricate layout of Nanda Parbat, complete with real-time updates on the battles taking place within its walls.

Talia’s heart sank. “You’ve been watching us?”

“Always.” Ra’s smiled, the kind of smile that sent shivers down the spines of lesser men. “You and your little friends believe they can invade my sanctuary? How quaint. I’ve already ordered my forces to deal with them. But first,” he continued, gaze settling on Grimm, “I want to have a little chat with you, boy.”

“About what?” Sirius challenged, feeling the weight of Ra’s attention.

Ra’s paused, as if savoring the moment. “About your past. About who you really are.”

And just like that, the stakes were raised, the tension coiling tighter around them like a noose. Talia could feel the ground shifting beneath her feet, and she knew—whatever game Ra’s was playing, it was about to get a whole lot more dangerous.

—

I was about to lose it. Seriously, Cheshire was ready to be the reason I turned this fight into a one-man superhero meltdown. Here I was, knee-deep in a brawl with the League of Assassins, and she thought it was the perfect moment to toss out cheesy pick-up lines like we were in some low-budget rom-com. I could practically hear a laugh track cueing up every time she flashed that smug smile.

Trying to rein in my frustration, I channeled all that pent-up energy into something productive. “Glacius!” I shouted, activating the gauntlets of my armor with a flick of my wrist. Ice erupted beneath Cheshire’s feet, and she went down faster than a poorly balanced stack of pancakes.

“Oops,” I couldn’t help but smirk as I watched her flail like a fish out of water. But I wasn’t done yet. I followed up with a Body-Bind charm, the magic crackling from my gauntlets as I effectively put her in a magical timeout. “And a little ‘Silencio’ for good measure,” I added, sealing her lips like a pro. Who knew spell-casting could double as a way to shut up a flirt?

“Let’s see how charming you are now,” I quipped to no one in particular, feeling a swell of satisfaction.

I turned my attention back to the fight, surveying the chaos around me. Wonder Woman and Supergirl were engaged in a serious tussle with some hulking metahuman brutes, throwing punches that could probably wake the dead. They were phenomenal, but they had to tread carefully. One wrong move and the whole cave might cave in like a bad movie sequel.

Meanwhile, Green Arrow was a blur of arrows, taking down henchmen left and right like he was in an archery competition. And then there was Flash, zipping around like a caffeinated hummingbird, binding and gagging the remaining goons faster than I could blink. Seriously, I was half-tempted to pull out my phone and take notes on superhero efficiency.

Just then, I spotted Robin sauntering over, completely unbothered by the chaos around him. “Nice work with Cheshire,” he said, arms crossed and that infuriatingly cheeky grin plastered on his face. “Didn’t know you were into the whole ‘flirty fight’ scene. Should I be worried?”

I shot him a glare, but I could feel my mouth twitching at the corners. “I was just trying to keep her distracted so she wouldn’t, you know, kill us.”

“Sure, sure,” Robin replied, winking at me like we were best buds sharing a laugh over pizza. “But if you wanted to give her your number, you might want to wait until after the fight.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes. Was I supposed to be charmed by that? I glanced back at Wonder Woman and Supergirl, who were knocking down opponents left and right, while Green Arrow and Flash finished off the last of Cheshire’s goons.

Pride swelled in my chest as I took in the scene. We were a solid team, working together like a well-oiled machine. But just as I started to feel good about things, I caught sight of Cheshire again. Even bound and silenced, her eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint I knew too well.

“Just you wait, Shadowflame,” her gaze seemed to say. “This isn’t over yet.”

Fantastic. Just what I needed: a flirty assassin who wouldn’t quit. But for now, I had my friends by my side, and together we could handle anything—even Cheshire's endless teasing.

“Okay, team!” I called out, adrenaline surging through my veins. “Let’s wrap this up and get out of here before anyone else decides to come play!”

—

Meanwhile, in the sprawling open area of Nanda Parbat, the other team was putting on a superhero show that could easily rival any blockbuster film. Batman, Speedy, and Black Canary were throwing down with the kind of flair that would make even the toughest bad guys reconsider their career choices—but all without crossing that critical line.

Batman was locked in a fierce duel with Sportsmaster, his every move calculated and precise, like he was auditioning for “Dancing with the Stars: Superhero Edition.” He was all punches and counters, gracefully sidestepping attacks and landing strikes that sent Sportsmaster reeling without ever sending him to the ground for good. You could practically hear the dramatic music playing in the background. As usual, Batman was all business, leaving no room for Sportsmaster’s trademark snark. But seriously, what was it with villains and their need to chat during a fight?

Speedy was a whirlwind of arrows, darting around the battlefield like a caffeinated squirrel. “Hey, Batman! Is this what you meant by ‘shoot for the stars’?” he joked, letting another arrow fly, which found its mark right in a goon’s chest—thankfully, it was just a stun arrow. He was like a human pinball machine, bouncing from one henchman to the next, and I could almost see the score tallying up in his head.

“Focus, Speedy!” Black Canary shouted as she unleashed her infamous Canary Cry, sending a wave of sound through the air that knocked several goons off their feet, all while ensuring no one was seriously harmed. “We’re not here for a comedy routine!” Her voice was powerful enough to make anyone think twice about their life choices. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the bad guys were questioning their career paths right then and there.

Starfire was up against a particularly brutish metahuman who looked like he skipped leg day and was trying to make up for it with sheer brawn. It was like watching a fireworks show: bright, explosive, and definitely dangerous. She floated in the air, dodging his clumsy punches and firing off energy blasts that merely incapacitated him with precision and care. “This is not fair!” she exclaimed, laughing as she outmaneuvered him. “You cannot even catch me!”

Superman, meanwhile, was handling his own hulking brute with the kind of ease that made it look like he was just out for a casual stroll. He was throwing punches that could probably send a truck flying, but he was careful to pull his punches, ensuring the brute would feel it but not end up in the hospital. “Is that all you’ve got?” he quipped, shaking his head as if he were a coach disappointed in a player’s performance.

Then there was Kid Flash, zipping around faster than I could keep track of. He was practically a blur, taking out goons left and right, his energy levels so high I was pretty sure he was running on pure adrenaline and a few extra candy bars. “Hey, guys, can I get a snack break after this?” he called out with a cheeky grin, tying up another henchman with a flick of his wrist. “I’m running low on sugar!”

The open area was a playground for them, with no ceiling to worry about collapsing on their heads. It was like they had hit the jackpot, and they were determined to make the most of it without resorting to lethal force. Batman barked orders as they pressed forward, his tone serious, but there was an undercurrent of camaraderie that felt almost like a team huddle.

“Keep moving, team!” he commanded, scanning the battlefield like a hawk. “We need to get to Ra’s al Ghul before he decides to ruin our day.”

With that, they surged ahead, a united front against the chaos surrounding them. It was all about teamwork, strategy, and a healthy dose of superhero swagger. And honestly, it was a blast to watch. If this were a movie, I’d definitely buy a ticket to see how this all played out!

—

Back in Ra’s al Ghul’s sanctum, the atmosphere was about as lively as a funeral procession. The man himself was mid-monologue—a masterclass in dramatic villainy. If Ra’s’s voice were a color, it’d be an ominous black swirl, curling smugly through the air, choking the patience out of everyone forced to endure it.

Sirius could swear the League of Assassins could’ve been just as effective if they replaced half their combat drills with Ra’s’s lectures. The man could use words as weapons. Or maybe blunt instruments, considering how agonizingly dull they felt.

“You see,” Ra’s continued, pacing slowly, his dark robes billowing as if in sync with his self-importance, “power must be wielded by those with clarity of vision. By those unburdened by sentimentality—men who see the grand design and embrace the necessary sacrifices.”

He stopped and pivoted, his intense green gaze sweeping the room. "Civilizations rise and fall not by chance, but by design. And it is my hand that has tipped the scales, time and again, to maintain the balance. Kings, emperors, and empires have all been pawns upon my board."

Sirius shot Talia a sideways glance. "He always like this?" he whispered.

Talia gave the faintest shrug, her expression suggesting this was just another Tuesday in the life of an al Ghul.

Ra’s continued, utterly oblivious to—or more likely, uncaring of—the growing boredom in the room. "You, Grimm," he intoned, pivoting to face Sirius with a look of calculated intensity, "possess something few others do. A force within you. A gift. A burden you’ve yet to understand."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Here it comes."

“You’ve wandered through the world like a blind man holding a torch, ignorant of the fire’s true potential,” Ra’s said, voice low and dripping with condescension. “But under my guidance, your gifts will become more than you ever imagined. The League will forge you into a weapon—an instrument to bring about a new world. A perfect world.”

He extended a hand, as if expecting Sirius to bow down on the spot. "Join us willingly, Grimm. Embrace your destiny. Or I shall wrench your gifts from you by force, bend your will, and fashion you into a tool of balance myself. Either way, your fate is sealed."

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, I’d rather eat Dungbombs for breakfast."

Ra’s’s lips curled into a patronizing smile, as if humoring a child who didn’t understand the inevitable. "Your defiance amuses me. But defiance is just ignorance wearing the mask of courage. In time, you’ll understand. All beings submit to the League’s vision eventually, willingly or otherwise."

“‘Willingly or otherwise.’” Sirius mimicked Ra’s’s tone with an exaggerated sneer. “Mate, you sound like a Bond villain on a self-help kick."

Ra’s’s expression didn’t change—though, if you squinted, you could almost see a flicker of annoyance crack the thin veneer of calm. “You may jest, but I have stood where gods and kings have fallen. And you, Sirius Black—Grimm—stand at the precipice of a great destiny."

Sirius muttered under his breath, “You know, a man says the word ‘destiny’ enough times, and it starts sounding like a midlife crisis."

Ra’s swept past him, robes trailing in his wake, oblivious—or, more likely, indifferent—to the mockery. "The League has always operated from the shadows, shaping events unseen. Yet our methods are timeless. Civilization has grown fat, decadent, corrupt—"

"Oh Merlin, here comes the ‘decadent world’ part," Sirius groaned, loud enough for Talia to stifle a chuckle.

Ra’s pressed on, unbothered. "The old world must be razed if we are to usher in a new age. The Lazarus Pit has granted me the foresight of centuries—"

"And the personality of a dinner fork," Sirius muttered, shooting another look at Talia.

Talia raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “You get used to it.”

Sirius opened his mouth to offer a snarky comeback, but just then, Ra’s paused, his gaze sharpening as if sensing the shift in the room.

And that was when it happened—a brilliant red light flashed, searing through the sanctum with the intensity of a supernova, and hitting Ra's right in the back. Ra’s froze mid-sentence, his words cutting off abruptly like a faulty record.

His expression twisted with disbelief as he took an unsteady step forward—just in time to topple face-first onto the stone floor with an unceremonious thud.

The guards snapped to attention, weapons raised, but their confusion was short-lived. The cavalry had arrived.

There, at the entrance, stood Shadowflame—Harry—his black-and-gold armor gleaming, the red hood drawn low over his face, and his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. He looked every inch the hero he’d become, even without the fiery wings Sirius had seen in that video. Standing beside him was an A-list ensemble of justice—Wonder Woman, Supergirl, Green Arrow, Robin, and the Flash.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Harry said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge as he stepped into the room. "I hear someone needed rescuing."

The guards moved first, but they didn’t stand a chance.

Green Arrow’s arrows cut through the air, disabling weapons before they could even fire. Flash and Robin blurred through the room, taking down guards in synchronized chaos. Wonder Woman disarmed a dozen men with the same effort most people used to yawn. Supergirl? She punched through obstacles like they’d personally offended her.

Amid the pandemonium, Shadowflame strode forward with the calm of someone who knew the odds were already in his favor. His red eyes gleamed under the hood, focused directly on Sirius.

As he reached his godfather, Sirius's heart pounded, a tangled mix of disbelief, hope, and relief washing over him. When Harry lowered his hood, the world seemed to stop. There he was—Harry Potter. His Harry. Older, sharper, but unmistakably the same kid Sirius had sworn to protect all those years ago.

Without thinking, Sirius lunged forward, wrapping Harry in a bone-crushing hug. "Merlin, kid, you’re really here. I thought—I thought I’d lost you."

Harry stood stiff as a board for a moment, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with all that affection. Then, tentatively, he returned the hug, his arms tightening around Sirius.

"Miss me, old man?" Harry murmured, his voice low but tinged with humor.

Sirius let out a wet laugh, blinking away tears. "Miss you? I’ve been losing my bloody mind without you!"

Harry pulled back just enough to smirk at him. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy saving the world. No big deal.”

Sirius barked a laugh, ruffling Harry’s messy black hair. "You sound just like James."

"And you still smell like a wet dog," Harry shot back, grinning.

A throat cleared behind them. Wonder Woman gave them both a look—patient, but pointed. "We need to move. Ra’s won't stay down for long."

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing around at the still-unconscious Ra’s. "We’ll catch up later. For now, let’s get out of here."

As the group made their way out, Sirius felt a lightness he hadn’t known in years. His godson was alive, standing beside him, and this time, no power in the world was going to tear them apart again.

Talia, trailing behind, arched an eyebrow at Sirius. "So. This is the famous Harry Potter?"

"Shadowflame," Harry corrected with a grin. "But yeah. Guilty as charged."

Sirius shook his head with a smile. "Same kid. New name. Same trouble."

And with that, they disappeared into the night, the League of Assassins left behind in the dust, and a reunion long overdue finally in motion.

Chapter Text

The air was thick with tension and the faint whiff of burnt popcorn as the Justice League gathered in the shadowy depths of Nanda Parbat. The aftermath of a fierce battle still clung to the walls, which now bore witness to a curious sight: Ra's al Ghul, Cheshire, Sportsmaster, and their henchmen were unceremoniously bound and gagged, slumped against the wall like a rejected set of action figures. Their eyes flickered with anger and confusion, much like a kid who’d just been told they couldn’t have dessert.

Meanwhile, Superman and Wonder Woman, looking as poised as ever, were coordinating with the Watchtower. They were like a well-oiled machine, requesting more jets to transport the unwitting villains, their voices steady amidst the chaos. A couple of feet away, Flash, Kid Flash, Green Arrow, Speedy, and Black Canary kept watch over their captives. Their eyes darted to the inner sanctum's computers, where Batman worked with the kind of focus that could only be described as “very serious and a little scary.” His fingers danced over the keys, searching for hidden caches of the League of Assassins' operations across the globe.

In the midst of this superhero hubbub, Harry Potter and Robin were engaged in animated conversation with Sirius Black and Talia al Ghul. Harry leaned forward, his eyes practically glowing with enthusiasm as he recounted his bizarre journey.

“So, you see, I jumped through the Veil after you fell in,” Harry explained, his voice laced with urgency. “Next thing I knew, I was in the Nevada Desert of this universe!”

Sirius’s jaw dropped. “You mean to tell me I’ve travelled to a different universe without knowing? What is this, some kind of cosmic joke?”

“Believe me, it’s all too real,” Harry replied, grinning like he’d just discovered an unexpected bonus in a video game. “And when I got there, I was captured by Luthorcorp.”

“Luthorcorp?” Sirius frowned. “What in Merlin’s name is that?”

Talia, ever the composed presence, took it upon herself to explain. “Luthorcorp is a powerful technology conglomerate, led by Lex Luthor, one of the most dangerous men in this world. They’re known for their unethical experiments.”

Sirius’s expression darkened, as if he’d just bitten into a sour Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean. “Experimenting on you, are they? I’d love to hex that bastard!”

Harry chuckled lightly, his gaze shifting to Wonder Woman, who was standing nearby with a watchful demeanor, radiating calm like a lighthouse in a storm. “They spliced my DNA with Wonder Woman’s. Technically, she’s my parent now.”

“Wait, what?!” Sirius sputtered, shock etching his features as if he’d just learned that Quidditch was canceled. “No one can replace James and Lily!”

Diana stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm, like a mom reassuring a scared child. “I would never try to replace them. They were incredibly brave and selfless. I simply want to be a good mother to Harry.”

Sirius paused, contemplating her words like a wizard considering a particularly tricky spell. “Alright, I can accept that. But that doesn’t mean I won’t have a word with Luthor when I get the chance.”

Harry continued, “They kept me in a tank filled with some kind of goo until the Justice League rescued me over a month ago. And—get this—Diana’s demigod blood awakened the Phoenix and Basilisk DNA lying dormant in my body.”

Sirius’s eyes widened, an impressed grin creeping onto his face as if he’d just spotted a rare magical creature. “So that’s why I saw you flying with wings of fire in that video! Blimey, I wish I could’ve seen that live!”

“Yeah, that was on my seventeenth birthday,” Harry said, a hint of regret coloring his tone. “I’m sorry you missed it.”

“Missed it? I can’t believe I wasn’t there for my godson’s birthday!” Sirius exclaimed, his voice rising like the climax of a good story. “Don’t worry; I’ll make it up to you. I promise!”

Just then, Robin, with a gleam in his eye that could only be described as mischief personified, leaned in closer. “Oh, you should hear about Showergate.”

“What now?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

Harry flushed, rubbing the back of his neck like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Uh, it’s a long story…”

“Long story or not, spill it!” Sirius insisted, practically bouncing with anticipation, which was a sight to behold for someone who usually looked like they just stepped off a battlefield.

With a playful grin, Robin recounted the incident where Harry had inadvertently walked in on Supergirl while she was showering. Cue the laughter from the group. Sirius roared with laughter, pride swelling in his chest like a freshly inflated balloon.

“Good on you, Harry! I knew you’d turn into a proper ladies’ man!” Sirius declared, his laughter echoing off the stone walls like a victory cheer.

“That’s not all,” Robin continued, unable to resist the urge to tease further. “Starfire kissed him right after she landed on this planet. Just to learn English, of course.”

Sirius’s eyes lit up at this revelation, excitement bubbling over as if he’d just discovered a hidden stash of chocolate frogs. “An alien princess?! I knew my instincts were spot on! You’ve got it made, Harry!”

“Technically, it was just to learn English,” Harry muttered, but his cheeks were flushed with pride nonetheless.

Starfire chimed in, her voice cheerful but earnest. “I wish to share my heart with Harry! He is most wonderful!”

Sirius laughed again, the sound rich and full of joy, the kind that made you want to grab a cup of hot cocoa and bask in the glow of friendship. “You’re living the dream, my boy! But—” His eyes narrowed slightly as he realized Talia was listening. “Uh, that was teenage Sirius talking, not current Sirius, alright?”

“Of course,” Talia replied, her expression inscrutable but with a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes, as if she were privy to an inside joke.

Kid Flash, sitting off to the side, crossed his arms in jealousy, his expression like that of a kid denied dessert. “This is so unfair. Why does Harry get two girls?”

“Maybe you should try being more charming,” Speedy suggested, smirking like a cat who just spotted a mouse.

Supergirl, still a bit naive and seemingly oblivious to the layers of complexity in this superhero soap opera, tilted her head in confusion. “But why is it such a big deal if we all want to be together?”

“Let me explain,” Black Canary said, stepping in like a mediator in a superheroic court. “It’s more complicated than it looks. Relationships vary from person to person, especially across different cultures.”

“Relationships? Is this where I get to wear the crown of raw meat?” Starfire piped in, her eyes sparkling with excitement as if someone had just suggested a new game.

Superman shot Green Arrow an incredulous look, clearly trying to process the thought of his cousin Kara being involved in such a polygamous setup. Green Arrow, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the chaos unfolding before him.

“Hey, if it makes her happy, why not? Just don’t let Batman hear you say that,” he teased, gesturing toward the Dark Knight, who remained focused on the computer, oblivious to the antics around him.

“Let’s just finish what we came here to do,” Batman muttered without looking up, his voice a low growl that commanded attention.

As the banter continued, the camaraderie among the heroes was evident. Their laughter rang through the inner sanctum like a warm melody, a welcome reprieve from the seriousness of their mission. Amidst the chaos, Harry felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t known since he’d fallen through the Veil, knowing he was finally home—surrounded by friends who felt more like family than anything else.

—

Nanda Parbat loomed in the distance, its majestic mountains rising like ancient gods surveying the world below. The air was charged with an electric urgency as the Justice League prepared for a mission that felt more like a fantastical adventure than a covert operation.

From above, the sleek, stealth jet piloted by Martian Manhunter glided silently through the sky, the engines humming like a well-tuned orchestra. Batman, Green Arrow, Superman, Black Canary, Flash, Speedy, Robin, and Kid Flash formed a perimeter around the bound members of the League of Assassins. Ra's al Ghul, Sportsmaster, Cheshire, and their henchmen looked less like feared villains and more like particularly grumpy mall Santas at this point.

“Let us make this quick,” Batman commanded, his voice steady, slicing through the tension like a hot knife through butter.

“On it,” Green Arrow replied, scanning for any unexpected surprises—like a surprise party where everyone was armed and decidedly unfriendly.

Flash zoomed around, tying up the captured villains with a speed that made Kid Flash ask, “Can you teach me that?”

Meanwhile, Martian Manhunter maintained a calm demeanor that was almost infuriating. “All prisoners are secured,” he announced, a hint of relief coloring his voice, as if he’d just completed a particularly challenging level in a video game.

As they finished securing the area, Wonder Woman, Shadowflame (Harry), Supergirl, and Starfire emerged from the shadows, guiding Sirius Black and Talia al Ghul toward a second jet that was cloaked nearby.

Sirius bounced on his toes, his eyes wide with excitement as he took in the sleek aircraft. “Is that a jet? I have never seen one up close! This is brilliant!”

Talia rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “You are easily impressed, Black.”

“Hey! It is not every day you get to ride in a superhero jet!” Sirius retorted, his enthusiasm contagious enough to draw a grin from Harry.

Supergirl flashed a smile that could power a city. “You will love it. It is super fast! But hold on tight.”

Starfire’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she added, “We will soar through the skies like the stars themselves!” Her tone was filled with a cheerful anticipation, the kind that made it sound like they were about to embark on a delightful journey to the “mall of shopping” rather than an exhilarating rescue mission.

Harry chuckled, his heart warmed by Sirius’s exuberance. “Just wait until you see how it flies. It is like nothing you have ever experienced! You will feel like you are on the best broomstick ever!”

“Wait, what is a broomstick?” Starfire asked, her curiosity shining through like sunlight breaking a cloudy day.

Harry grinned, seizing the moment. “It is a magical flying stick we use for Quidditch—a wizarding sport where you try to catch four different balls while dodging each other. Picture a chaotic game of dodgeball, but with more glitter and less sense.”

“That sounds fascinating!” Starfire exclaimed, her face lighting up with interest. “You must tell me more about it!”

As they boarded the jet, Wonder Woman initiated the launch sequence. The cockpit came alive with a gentle hum, vibrating beneath them like a cat preparing to pounce.

“Let us go,” she commanded, her voice dripping with confidence that could convince anyone of the existence of unicorns.

The jet lifted off, the breathtaking landscape of Nanda Parbat shrinking beneath them. Sirius looked out the window like a child at a candy store, marveling at the view.

“This is incredible! It is like flying on a broomstick but better!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with pure joy.

“Just remember to keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times,” Harry teased, earning a laugh from Talia and a playful shove from Supergirl.

“G’lufnog!” Starfire exclaimed suddenly, her eyes wide. “What is the purpose of keeping hands inside? Will they fly away?”

Harry chuckled, trying to explain. “It is just a safety thing. You don’t want anything to get caught or—”

“Or ‘kick the butt’ of the outside!” Starfire finished, proud of her adaptation of Earth phrases, though her understanding was a tad off.

“Yes! Exactly!” Harry laughed. “But without the kicking.”

As they soared toward Mount Justice, Harry felt a bubbling mix of excitement and nerves in his stomach. He knew Remus was going to flip his lid when he saw Sirius again, and not the ‘I just won the lottery’ kind of flip.

Mount Justice soon came into view—a fortress of hope rising against the skyline like a beacon in a world often dimmed by darkness. The jet landed, and they disembarked, ready for whatever awaited them.

As the hatch opened, there stood Remus Lupin, looking like someone who had just been told their favorite book was getting a sequel. His expression shifted from confusion to sheer disbelief as he took in the sight of Sirius.

“Sirius?” Remus’s voice trembled, as if he was trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream.

“Remus!” was the battle cry that erupted from Sirius as he rushed forward, the two friends crashing together in an emotional embrace. “I thought I would never see you again!”

“I thought you were dead!” Remus whispered, his voice thick with emotion, fighting back tears. “I mourned for you, Sirius.”

“I am sorry. It is a long story, but I am back now,” Sirius replied, stepping back to look at his best friend, eyes sparkling with joy.

“Harry, you brought him back!” Remus turned to Harry, gratitude pouring from his gaze. “You did this?”

“Of course! I could not leave him behind. I would never let him go again,” Harry beamed, pride swelling in his chest as he witnessed the reunion.

“Who are your friends?” Remus asked, gesturing to Starfire and Supergirl, who stood nearby with friendly smiles.

“This is Starfire and Supergirl. They are part of the League,” Harry explained, presenting them like a game show host revealing contestants.

Starfire stepped forward, her vibrant personality radiating warmth. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Remus! Harry has told me much about you!”

Remus managed a smile, still recovering from the shock of seeing Sirius alive. “It is nice to meet you too. Thank you for helping Harry.”

Supergirl nodded, her expression friendly. “We are all in this together. Trust me, it is way better with friends.”

As laughter and shared stories filled the air, hope enveloped them like a warm blanket. For the first time in what felt like forever, Remus’s heart soared, knowing his best friend was back and that their family—however unconventional—was complete again.

Together, they were ready to face whatever wild and crazy challenges lay ahead, united against the forces of darkness. After all, they were stronger together—a mismatched but utterly determined family ready to write their own epic saga.

—

There’s nothing quite like a hot shower after a mission. I mean, really, if there’s a better way to wash off sweat, grime and Justice League-level stress, I’d love to hear it. The hot water works magic on my aching muscles, and for five glorious minutes, I get to pretend that my life isn’t totally bonkers.

Then, of course, the universe laughs and reminds me: Harry, your life is never normal.

The bathroom door whooshes open.

I freeze.

Two very naked figures—Kara and Kori—slip into the shower with me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Kara? Kori?!” My voice cracks. Yep, real smooth, Harry. I could probably hit falsetto with that squeak.

Kara, who somehow manages to look smug and adorable under a spray of water, brushes her wet blonde hair behind her ear. “What? I’m just recreating the day we met.”

I blink. Met? What—? And then it hits me like a Bludger to the face: Showergate.

Ah yes, that day—when I accidentally walked in on Kara while she was showering. In my defense, these sliding doors don’t exactly come with "Occupied" signs. Still, I’d stood there like a complete idiot while we stared at each other in stunned horror, both very, very naked.

Naturally, Robin and the Weasley twins dubbed the incident “Showergate,” and the whole League thought it was hilarious. I thought it was the most awkward moment of my life.

Correction: This is now the most awkward moment of my life.

Kara steps closer, the spray bouncing off her shoulders and onto mine. “I figured you saw me naked the first time we met, so... why not do it again, you know, without the awkwardness?”

Without the awkwardness? Lady, we just flew past awkward and crashed straight into bizarre.

Before I can form a sentence, Kori beams at me. And look, Kori’s smile? It’s like sunshine bottled in human form. You can’t help but feel happy when she smiles at you—unless, of course, she’s naked in your shower and telling you you’re her soulmate.

“Harry, I too wish to create such a memory,” Kori says, her voice full of innocent enthusiasm. “It is important to me because I believe you are my soulmate.”

Of course, she does.

Kori’s idea of romance is... well, let’s just say it’s as straightforward as a brick to the face. She doesn’t mess around with subtlety. Tamaraneans love hard and fast, and the whole “slow-burn relationship” thing is apparently a very Earth-specific concept.

“Uh, Kori, that’s not really—” I try to explain, but my words fizzle out like a spell gone wrong.

Kori tilts her head in confusion, her big green eyes wide with curiosity. “This is not what humans do with their soulmates? Showering together to bond emotionally?”

“No—well, I mean, some do, but that’s not really—” Oh Merlin, I’m making this worse.

Kara leans against me, her shoulder brushing mine under the water. “Relax, Harry,” she says, her voice full of mischief. “We did say we wanted to explore things between the three of us.”

Oh. Right. That.

Because just a few hours ago, Kara and Kori decided to lay all their feelings on the table. And by “lay on the table,” I mean they both confessed they had feelings for me—and that they were perfectly okay with sharing me. Together. As in… they wanted to try being in a relationship. All three of us.

And now, here we are. Naked. In a shower. Together.

I can feel my brain short-circuiting. Someone please send help.

Before I can form any coherent thoughts, Kara’s lips are on mine. It’s soft at first, just a brush of her mouth, but then it deepens, and—yep—brain has officially left the building.

She tastes like mint toothpaste and a hint of vanilla, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of everything—her hand brushing my arm, the water drumming on our skin, the way her lips curve into a slight smile against mine.

I hover awkwardly, unsure whether to put my hands on her hips or keep standing there like a clueless idiot. (Spoiler: I pick the latter.)

Just as I think my brain might fully blue-screen, Kori steps in with her usual bright enthusiasm. “Ah! Now I understand this custom!” she announces. Then, without missing a beat, she kisses me too.

Kori’s kiss is different—softer, more exploratory, like she’s trying to memorize every emotion she’s read about love in one go. It’s warm, bright, and a little overwhelming, like kissing pure sunshine.

When Kori pulls back, her smile lights up the room. “Yes! I believe this is what humans call affection-sharing, yes?”

I’m about 90% sure my soul has left my body at this point.

“K-Kara… Kori…” I stammer, trying to form words that won’t make me sound like a total idiot.

Kara grins, obviously enjoying every second of this. “What’s the matter, Boy Wizard? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Kori giggles, and I swear it sounds like bells on a spring morning. “Or perhaps a clorbag varblernelk?”

I have no idea what that is, but I’m 99% sure it’s either adorable or an insult.

“Relax,” Kara says, running her fingers down my arm. “We’re not rushing anything. We’re just… seeing how this feels.”

“And does this not feel nice?” Kori asks, her expression full of genuine curiosity. “I wish to know if this is a shlorvak—a dream—or if this is truly happening.”

Trust me, Kori, I’ve been asking myself that question for a solid five minutes now.

I take a deep breath, the scent of shampoo and warm skin filling the air. “Yeah… It feels nice.”

Kara’s grin widens. “Good. See? No pressure. No expectations. Just us.”

“Yes!” Kori claps her hands, water splashing everywhere. “I am most pleased to share this… bonding shower.”

“Bonding shower?” I repeat weakly.

Kori nods enthusiastically. “Yes! A shower where we bond through affection.”

Kara bursts out laughing, leaning against me for support. “Oh, Kori, you’ve got so much to learn about Earth customs.”

Kori frowns thoughtfully, then shrugs. “That is all right. I shall learn. And until then…” She kisses my cheek with the same bright enthusiasm as everything else she does. “We shall create many wonderful memories together!”

Kara follows suit, pressing a kiss to my other cheek. “Yeah, Harry. Lots of memories.”

And just like that, the tension melts away. Because somehow, with these two? Even the weirdest moments feel… right.

Water streams down over us, and for the first time in forever, I let myself relax. Maybe—just maybe—this isn’t as crazy as it seems.

Okay, it’s totally crazy. But with Kara and Kori? I think I can live with that.

—

So, fun fact: life gets really weird when two of the hottest girls you’ve ever met decide to share a shower with you. And by "weird," I mean incredible but also terrifying, because there’s no manual on how to handle that without coming off like a complete idiot. Luckily, we didn't take things too far—just some serious make-out sessions that left my brain half-melted.

Now, here we are, post-shower, with both girls wearing my clothes like they’ve taken over my closet. Which, honestly? Not a bad look on them.

Kara’s drowning in one of my hoodies. She’s rolled the sleeves up, but it still looks like she borrowed it from a Yeti. Somehow, though, she pulls it off like a fashion statement. Meanwhile, Kori is rocking my old Quidditch jersey, which—uh—fits a little differently than it did on me. Spoiler alert: it’s now a lot shorter. Like, can-barely-cover-her-hips short.

Let’s just say I’m doing my best not to stare.

Just as I’m trying to convince my brain to reboot and stop being dumb, the door swings open, and in swoops the legend herself—Hedwig. My trusty owl, snow-white and sassy as ever, glides in like royalty making an entrance.

“Ladies, meet Hedwig,” I say, holding out my arm as she lands gracefully. “She’s my first friend. Saved my butt more times than I can count.”

Kara steps closer, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Hey, beautiful,” she murmurs, gently stroking Hedwig’s feathers.

Hedwig hoots approvingly, which, from her, is the equivalent of a standing ovation.

“Oh!” Kori gasps, clapping her hands together. “She is a most glorious creature of snow! May I call her… bumgorf?”

Kara raises an eyebrow. “Uh… bum-what?”

“Bumgorf,” Kori repeats happily. “It is a word of affection on my home planet, for one who is like a child to you.” She turns to Hedwig. “May I call you this, noble Hedwig?”

Hedwig tilts her head, blinking slowly. That’s owl-speak for Sure, whatever. You people are weird.

Kori beams. “She accepts me! This is most joyful!”

Kara chuckles, giving me a look that says, You really found yourself a weirdo. I grin back, thinking, Yeah, but she’s my weirdo.

Hedwig gives one final hoot, then hops to her perch by the window, clearly deciding we’re too boring to keep her awake. Classic Hedwig—she’s got the whole “aloof bird of mystery” thing down to a science.

“Alright,” I say, clapping my hands together. “How about I show you two around Mount Justice?”

Kara arches an eyebrow. “You mean there’s more to this place than the shower?”

I roll my eyes. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Yes!” Kori exclaims, bouncing a little on her toes. “I wish to explore this ‘Mount of Justice’! Perhaps there will be a room of games or… a mall of shopping?”

“Uh, not exactly,” I say, biting back a grin. “But there is a training room where we can, you know, kick butt.”

Kori gasps. “Oh! We shall kick the butt? This is most exciting! I will become a warrior of great renown!”

Kara nudges me with her elbow. “Well, Boy Wizard, lead the way. Let’s see what this place has to offer.”

We head out into the corridors, with Kara strolling along casually and Kori skipping like a kid at Disneyland. It’s hard to believe how much this place has changed in just a few weeks.

When we first arrived, it was just me and a small group of magical refugees—wizards, witches, and a handful of goblins. Now? This whole island chain around Mount Justice has become a sanctuary. We’ve got Veela, house-elves, centaurs, and even a couple of dragons hanging out here.

Yeah. Dragons. No big deal.

“This place is incredible,” Kara says, glancing around as we pass a gym where some goblins are sparring with enchanted swords. “Not exactly the Fortress of Solitude, but it’s got character.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” I offer. “We could use the help. Plus, I’m pretty sure you and Kori are the only Kryptonian and Tamaranean around here. You’re officially rare.”

“I like being rare!” Kori says brightly. “It means we are most special, yes?”

“Exactly,” I say, grinning. “And trust me, we need all the special we can get.”

We pass a Veela tending to a garden of magical herbs and a dragon snoozing by the lake outside. Kara’s eyes light up when she spots it.

“You’ve got dragons?” she asks, like I’ve been holding out on her. “Please tell me I get to fly one.”

“Only if you ask nicely,” I reply.

Kori gasps, her eyes sparkling. “Oh! May I also ask the dragon nicely? I would very much enjoy the flying!”

Kara laughs. “That’s assuming it doesn’t eat us first.”

We reach the main hall, where refugees are gathered, chatting and sharing food. There’s this sense of peace here—like, for the first time in a long while, these people feel safe.

“This place,” I say quietly, more to myself than to the girls, “it’s starting to feel like home.”

Kara gives me a soft smile. “Yeah. It does.”

Kori wraps an arm around my shoulders, her grin as bright as the sun. “And with us together, this place will only grow stronger!”

For a second, I just stand there, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. For the first time in… I don’t even know how long, I don’t feel like I have to do everything on my own.

Kara claps me on the back, breaking the moment. “Alright, tour guide. What’s next? Please say it’s the gym—I need to punch something.”

“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “Training room’s just ahead.”

Kori pumps her fists in the air. “We shall kick the butt! This is the most glorious day!”

I laugh, leading them down the hall. “Alright, come on, warriors of renown. Let’s go kick some butt.”

And just like that, with Kara at my side and Kori cheering us on, everything feels exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

—

Meanwhile, in Kasnia...

If Lady Shiva had a dollar for every time an idiot underestimated her, she could buy the Justice League's entire Watchtower. Twice. And have enough left over for a vacation in Tahiti.

The mission was supposed to be quick and clean. In, slice, out. No witnesses, no noise, no drama. Kasnia’s politicians were already paranoid enough without noticing that the deadliest assassin in the world had been there. She’d handled the job perfectly—because, of course, she had. You don’t get to be the most feared assassin on the planet by messing up simple assignments.

But then the message came in, and oh boy, it was a doozy.

Ra's al Ghul. Captured. Sportsmaster and Cheshire, too. Basically, all the fun people, Shiva thought with a sigh. Apparently, the Justice League decided it was "rescue mission" day and kicked in the doors to Nanda Parbat like they were storming a Taco Bell for late-night chalupas.

And the kicker? Talia al Ghul—Ra’s own daughter—was the one who betrayed them. Classic. The League of Assassins really needed to update their HR policies. "Rule #1: Don’t let family members with daddy issues anywhere near top-secret operations."

Now Ra’s was sitting in some Justice League lockup, probably plotting ways to turn the whole thing into some convoluted lesson about immortality and destiny. Meanwhile, every would-be assassin and henchperson who thought they were tough was already scrambling to grab whatever piece of the League they could. The power vacuum was going to be a mess. It always was.

Shiva rubbed her temples. "This is what I get for taking a day off."

Without Ra’s running the show, things were going to go downhill fast. Most of the smaller assassins didn’t have the sense to avoid stepping on landmines—metaphorically and literally. And Sportsmaster? Please. That guy couldn’t keep a plan together if you gave him duct tape and a flowchart. As for Cheshire... Well, Jade was talented. Problem was, she also had the self-preservation instincts of a cat on a windowsill.

In other words: Shiva was going to have to clean up this mess, and she already hated it.

She leapt from the roof she’d been perched on, landing silently in the alley below. Her mind was already working through the angles. First step? Figure out where Ra’s was being held. Second? Find out what Talia was up to—because if there was one thing Shiva knew, it was that Talia always had a backup plan.

And third? Well... third was probably rescuing Jade. Again. It was starting to become a routine at this point.

Honestly, Shiva didn’t even care that Ra’s had been captured. What bugged her was that the Justice League thought they’d won. They didn’t realize that capturing Ra’s al Ghul was like trying to trap smoke in a jar—it only made the fire spread faster.

And here’s the thing about Lady Shiva: she didn’t like losing. Ever. Especially not to people who wore spandex in public.

With a grin sharper than her blade, Shiva disappeared into the Kasnian night. The game was far from over.

And the Justice League? They were about to find out that they’d just rolled the dice on a game they had no idea how to play.

Chapter Text

Diana soared through the sky, leaving the bustling chaos of Mount Justice behind like an old superhero costume that just didn’t fit anymore. The sun warmed her skin, filling her with energy as she flew toward Themyscira, her heart racing with anticipation. It had been a long night, dropping off Harry, Kara, Kori, Sirius, and Talia. Honestly, Diana was ready for a break from the superhero hustle.

As she approached the familiar shores of her island paradise, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs mixed with the cheerful shouts of her fellow Amazons training nearby. Once she landed at the palace, she was immediately enveloped in the warm embrace of her mother, Queen Hippolyta, who looked like she could take on an army with just a fierce glare.

“Diana! It’s wonderful to see you!” Hippolyta exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with a pride that could probably light up the whole island. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

“Always, Mother,” Diana replied, managing a smile while internally debating whether she’d ever get to just hang out without some world-saving drama.

After exchanging pleasantries, they settled into a large room adorned with tapestries that told the stories of the Amazons. It was like a history lesson but with more action and fewer boring footnotes. “So, about this meeting with Atlantis and the UN,” Diana began, “we need to ensure we present a united front. This could change everything.”

Just as they were diving into the serious stuff—because apparently world diplomacy was a thing—they were interrupted by the dramatic entrance of Donna Troy, who burst through the door like a whirlwind of energy. Seriously, if there was an Olympic event for entrance drama, she’d take home the gold.

“Diana! I’ve been waiting forever to see you!” Donna declared, her excitement palpable enough to power a small village.

“Hey, Donna! How was training with Antiope?” Diana asked, mentally bracing herself for the over-the-top answer.

“Intense! But that’s not why I’m here! I heard something incredible—you have a son now? I need to meet him!” Donna practically bounced on her heels, and Diana couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, Harry,” Diana confirmed, a proud glimmer in her eye. “He’s been through a lot. I found him in a pretty rough spot, and now he’s part of our family.”

“Oh, cool! What’s he like? Is he as awesome as you? I can’t wait to lord it over him that I’m his aunt, even if I’m younger!” Donna grinned, clearly relishing the thought of that sibling rivalry.

“Easy there, superstar,” Diana laughed. “He’s amazing in his own right. But we need to keep things under wraps for now. His story is… complicated.”

Hippolyta, listening intently, leaned forward. “And I would like to meet my grandson as well. Unfortunately, he cannot come to Themyscira being a boy, but perhaps you could bring him to visit in Man’s World?”

“Of course! That’s the plan,” Diana assured her mother, her mind racing with the details. “We’ve come up with a backstory for him to protect his identity. He’ll go by Harry Peverell. Turns out, he’s actually a descendant of the Peverells, so he’s the last living heir of that family.”

“Wait, Charis Peverell?” Donna interrupted, her brow furrowed in curiosity. “Why that name?”

“It means grace,” Diana explained, her voice softening. “It suits him. He’s been through so much and yet he’s determined to help others.”

“And who is this James Peverell?” Hippolyta inquired, eyes sharp and perceptive.

“James is the alias we created for his father—a wealthy philanthropist I dated ages ago. He tragically died in an accident shortly after I found out I was pregnant with Harry. At the time, I was… conveniently busy with a crisis here in Themyscira,” Diana said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of sadness. “The League will spin it to say I was mourning while giving birth to Harry, but I had to keep him away from prying eyes for his own safety.”

“Wow, quite the story,” Donna said, a mix of admiration and disbelief washing over her. “So he’s Wonder Woman’s son but has a whole life waiting for him?”

“Exactly,” Diana affirmed, her smile returning. “He has a strong desire to be a hero, and he’s taken on the mantle of Shadowflame. He’s ready to make his mark.”

“And I assume the Peverell family empire will be waiting for him when he turns eighteen?” Hippolyta asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep! Batman helped create a cover story using one of his dummy companies—the Peverell Foundation,” Diana explained, leaning back in her chair, feeling a bit like a proud mom with an epic résumé. “It’s run by his godfather, Sirius, who also has a backstory as James’ best friend, along with Talia using the alias Talia Tate.”

Hippolyta nodded, absorbing the information like a sponge. “It sounds like Harry is destined for greatness, much like his mother.”

“I hope so,” Diana said, a warm smile spreading across her face. “He deserves to know where he comes from. When the time is right, we’ll introduce him to his family.”

Donna’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I can’t wait to meet him! He’s going to love having us as family.”

As they continued to discuss plans for the future, Diana felt a surge of hope. Harry’s journey was still unfolding, but he wasn’t alone. He had family, a legacy, and a bright future ahead—one filled with heroism and perhaps a little bit of mischief, just like his aunt and mother. And that, Diana mused, was something worth celebrating.

—

As I lay in bed, the soft weight of Kara and Kori snuggled against me felt like pure bliss. It was like being wrapped in a cozy blanket of awesomeness. Seriously, if someone could bottle this feeling, they’d be richer than Bruce Wayne. The two girls were fast asleep, looking peaceful enough to make even the toughest villain reconsider their life choices. But of course, my mind was buzzing with a million thoughts—mostly about the shiny thing in my hands.

In my grasp was the Potter Family Invisibility Cloak, a treasure from my past. I could practically hear the echoes of my adventures as I stared at it. Hogwarts, midnight sneaking, the occasional near-death experience—you know, typical wizard stuff. But now, I was in a bit of a pickle. Should I absorb this cloak into my armor?

The Crimson Gemstone in my armor pulsed, practically begging me to make a move. It felt like a kid in a candy store, and I was the poor parent trying to keep them from going wild. On one hand, this was an incredible opportunity to supercharge my powers. On the other, it felt like I’d be tossing a piece of my family’s legacy into a cosmic blender. Great. Just great.

Just then, I felt a stir beside me. Kori blinked awake, her fiery red hair an absolute mess, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Harry?” she mumbled, her voice all soft and sleepy. “What are you doing? Are you planning to kick the butt of someone while I am sleeping?”

I laughed. “No, Kori. Just…thinking.”

“Thinking is good!” she exclaimed, suddenly wide awake and leaning closer. “What do you think about?”

I hesitated for a second, then lifted the cloak. “I was thinking about this. I’m not sure if I should absorb it into my armor.”

Her eyes went wide, like I’d just told her I was going to fly to the moon on a giant marshmallow. “The beautiful invisibility cloak? That sounds so fun! But you look very serious. Is it not a good idea?”

“It’s a big decision,” I admitted, trying to articulate my feelings without sounding like a total sap. “This cloak means a lot to me. It’s like my trusty sidekick.”

“Ah, I understand! It is like a shlorvak for you! A special thing!” Kori beamed, her smile practically lighting up the room. “But if it will help you become more powerful, then it must be a great thing to do!”

Just then, Kara woke up, blinking at us as if she’d just stepped out of a time warp. “What is happening?” she asked, stifling a yawn. “Did I miss something?”

“Kori thinks I should absorb the cloak into my armor,” I explained, hoping to make this sound less dramatic than it felt. “But I’m unsure.”

Kara tilted her head, considering. “Why do you feel unsure? If it will help you protect us, then maybe you should do it!”

“But I will lose something special,” I said, glancing at the cloak, feeling a pang in my chest. “It’s a part of my family.”

Kori leaned closer, her eyes filled with sincerity. “Your family is here with you, Harry! We are your family now! You must do what feels right in your heart.”

Their words hit me like a ton of bricks, but in a good way. They were right. I had a new family now—one that would support me no matter what I chose. Maybe absorbing the cloak wasn’t about losing my past but about gaining strength to protect my future.

With newfound determination, I nodded. “You both are right. I do not need to rush into this decision.”

As I set the cloak aside for the moment, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. My gaze drifted back to Kara and Kori, their warmth and comfort wrapping around me like a protective blanket. Whatever came next, I knew I could face it with them by my side.

“Now, how about we get some more sleep?” I suggested, grinning. “There is nothing to kick the butt about right now.”

“Good idea!” Kori said, practically bouncing back down into the covers.

Kara smiled, settling back in as well. As I closed my eyes, ready to embrace whatever new adventures awaited us, I couldn’t help but think that with a little luck and a lot of magic, we could handle anything—together.

—

I was in the middle of an epic dream—so epic that I was probably going to need a whole series of books to do it justice. Picture this: I’m zooming through the skies, dodging Death Eaters while trying to maintain my balance with a giant slice of chocolate cake in one hand. You know, standard hero stuff. Just as I was about to shout something cool like, “Avada Kedavra? More like Avada... not today!” I was jolted awake by a weight on my chest.

I squinted against the morning light and found Kori and Kara sitting way too close for comfort, their faces alight with the kind of excitement you usually see in kids who just discovered a treasure map.

“Harry!” Kori chirped, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “We have discovered an incredible method of waking up that will make you feel happy and good!”

“Happy and good?” I echoed, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Like, a surprise party? Because I could totally use some cake right now.”

They exchanged a look that screamed, “You’re missing the point!” Kori leaned in, her big green eyes sparkling. “No, Harry! Not a party with cake! It is a more delightful way, one that involves helping you feel very good when you awaken!”

I was now fully awake, and my brain was racing to catch up. “Delightful way? As in... like a special breakfast? I mean, I love pancakes.”

Kara’s expression was a mix of determination and innocence. “It is much more intimate, Harry! Something that girlfriends do for their boyfriends!”

Ah, there it was. My face felt like it was spontaneously combusting. “Oh! Right! Like kisses! Kisses are good!” Wow, I really hoped that was a safe answer.

“Yes!” Kori exclaimed, her enthusiasm radiating. “But this is a different kind of waking! Like how you do with your, um, kisses?”

I suddenly felt like I had stepped into a really awkward scene from a rom-com. “Kisses? Sure! Kisses are great, but you know what else is great? Movies! We could totally watch a movie instead!”

Their expressions told me that I was not making any headway. Kori leaned in even closer, practically glowing with excitement. “No, no, Harry! We want to wake you up in a special way! To make you happy!”

“Right, right! I get that! But how about we stick to breakfast first?” I felt like I was trying to redirect a runaway train. “Maybe pancakes, followed by a movie marathon? I promise I’ll be the happiest Harry ever!”

“Movie!” Kori exclaimed, clapping her hands as if she’d just discovered the meaning of life.

“Yes! And then we will figure out how to make your waking extra special!” Kara added, her eyes sparkling like they were about to set off fireworks.

As we settled down to binge-watch whatever movie I could find, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer absurdity of my life. Here I was, Harry Potter, trying to navigate a universe where two adorable but utterly clueless alien girls were intent on making my mornings as complicated as possible. Just another day in my wonderfully weird life, right?

—

So, after that very interesting wake-up call the girls had given me (let’s just say it was an experience I would not be forgetting anytime soon), I was ready for a shower. Honestly, I felt like I needed to wash off the remnants of whatever bizarre dream—or reality—I’d stumbled into.

“Okay, Harry,” I muttered to myself as I stepped into the bathroom, the steam curling around me like a fluffy cloud. “This is your life now. Just roll with it.”

In the end, I couldn’t help but laugh. One day, I’m a wizard trying to figure out how to stop dark lords, and the next, I’m in a complicated superhero love triangle with two incredibly powerful alien girls. How does that even happen?

After a shower that felt like a mini-vacation (because nothing says “rejuvenation” like hot water and soap), I emerged feeling like a new man. I slipped on my favorite joggers and an old T-shirt—one that was slightly too small but had a cool graphic of a phoenix on it. “Perfect for a day of heroics,” I thought, admiring my reflection with a cheeky grin.

I strolled into the main room, and wow, was it a sight to behold. Kara was adjusting her Supergirl uniform, looking a mix of powerful and a little uncomfortable. “Ugh, why do these suits have to be so tight?” she grumbled, tugging at the hem like it was a rebellious snake.

Kori, on the other hand, was in full-on fashion mode, sliding into her Starfire outfit like a pro. “I feel strong like K’norfka! Like I can save planets!” she declared, striking a pose that would make any superheroine proud.

“Just save the flying for the Watchtower, okay?” I said, trying to suppress a laugh. “We don’t want to alarm the neighbors with any spontaneous superhero landings.”

“Agreed!” Kori said, her eyes sparkling like she was ready to take on the universe. “But I want to see the big shiny circle in the sky again!”

Once they were all suited up, I grabbed my backpack and nodded at the girls. “So, you’re headed to the Watchtower to hang out with Megan and Zatanna. Make sure to give Megan a hug from me, alright? She’s like a sister.”

“Will do!” Kara replied, giving me a thumbs-up. “Zatanna will love that too. She always enjoys a good ‘hey, Harry is thinking of you’ message.”

“Especially after we kinda left them in the dust yesterday,” Kori added, her cheerful smile lighting up the room.

“Right! Let’s keep that little adventure on the down-low,” I said, waving a hand like I was sealing a pact. “No one needs to know about our very interesting morning.”

As we stepped outside into the bright sunlight, I couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement bubbling in my stomach. With Kara and Kori beside me, I was ready for whatever awaited us.

What could possibly go wrong?

Okay, don’t answer that.

---

Deathstroke was having a pretty decent day. And by "decent," we mean he hadn't killed anyone important—yet. Lex Luthor’s latest contract? Child’s play. A few scientists poking their noses where they didn’t belong, no big deal. It was the kind of job Slade could do in his sleep.

Rose Wilson, his daughter and trainee, sounded bored out of her mind as she chimed over the comms. "Target down. Do we really have to stick around for extraction?"

Slade rolled his eye. "Patience, Rose. It builds character."

She groaned. “That sounds like something old people say when they want you to suffer.”

He let out a quiet chuckle—okay, she wasn’t wrong—and leaned against the rooftop’s ledge, staring down at Gotham’s murky streets. The city looked like someone had taken the world's grimiest snow globe and smashed it on a rainy sidewalk. But, hey, that was Gotham for you.

Just as Slade was about to give the all-clear, his comm pinged. A new data feed flashed across his screen. He took a glance—then froze.

Ra’s al Ghul. Captured by the Justice League.

That wasn’t the kind of thing you just brushed off. Ra’s had been untouchable for, oh, a few centuries. And the League didn’t just take him down; they stormed Nanda Parbat—his personal fortress—and bagged some bonus villains along the way. Sportsmaster, Cheshire, a few other lower-tier baddies.

But the real kicker? Talia al Ghul, Ra’s own daughter, sold him out.

Slade let out a low whistle. “Well. That’s awkward.”

This, right here, was the kind of chaos Slade lived for. Power shifts. Betrayals. Ancient empires teetering on the edge of collapse. It was like a Shakespearean drama, but with more sword fights and fewer confusing soliloquies.

Rose’s voice buzzed in his ear again. "Dad? What’s going on?"

"We’re leaving." Slade slung his rifle across his back. "The contract’s done. We’ve got bigger things to handle."

A pause. "Bigger than assassinating Luthor’s enemies?"

Slade grinned under his mask. "Much bigger. Ra’s al Ghul is out of the game, and the League of Assassins is up for grabs."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Wait. You’re going after them?" Rose sounded half-excited, half-terrified—pretty much how most people felt whenever Slade made plans.

"We are," he corrected. "With Ra’s gone and Talia betraying him, the League’s in free fall. Perfect time to swoop in and take control."

Slade started moving, boots silent against the rain-slick rooftop. The League of Assassins wasn’t just some ragtag bunch of hitmen. It was an ancient network with fingers in every pie—blackmail, espionage, assassinations, you name it. And with the right leader, it could become unstoppable.

Rose, never one to miss a beat, was already on the same wavelength. "So… What’s the play?"

"We visit Talia. See if she’s in the mood to cooperate." He shrugged, which was impressive, considering he was holding a grappling hook. "If not, well… you could use the combat practice."

Rose snorted. "You always say that."

"Because it’s always true."

He fired the grappling hook, and with a hiss of cable, he swung into the night. The cold air whipped against him, but Slade didn’t feel it. All he felt was the thrill of a perfectly executed plan sliding into place.

"Suit up, Rose," he said as he soared through the air. "We’ve got a League to steal."

This wasn’t just about power or control—okay, it was mostly about power and control—but it was also about legacy. Slade wasn’t going to let centuries of assassins, spies, and operatives scatter to the wind.

Because if there was one thing Slade Wilson knew how to do, it was take what wasn’t his—and make it better.

And with Rose by his side? They were about to build something no one could touch.

---

Meanwhile, somewhere in Northern Africa, Nyssa Raatko—better known as Nyssa al Ghul—was having one of those “multitasking” days. You know, the kind where you’re planning a high-profile assassination and suddenly get hit with family drama on top of it.

She stood at the edge of a campfire, casually oiling a dagger while her team prepped for the night’s festivities: the assassination of a ruthless warlord who, by all accounts, deserved everything coming his way. But just as Nyssa finished testing the blade’s weight in her hand, her comm crackled to life.

The report that came through made her pause mid-throw. Her father—Ra’s al Ghul himself—had been captured by the Justice League. That alone was enough to make her eyebrows rise. But the cherry on top? It wasn’t the League that had tipped the scales against him—it was her half-sister, Talia.

Nyssa blinked once. Twice. Then muttered, “Of course it was her.”

To be fair, Talia had always been unpredictable, but betrayal at this level? That was impressive, even for her. Nyssa tossed the dagger into the air, caught it easily, and smirked to herself. "Guess the family reunion’s going to be... interesting."

The assassin next to her—a wiry man named Yusuf—gave her a curious look. “What is it, Mistress?”

She turned her gaze toward him, her expression cold but amused. “A family emergency.”

Yusuf frowned. “Should we cancel the mission?”

Nyssa laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. “No. First, we kill a warlord. Then, we free my father. And after that?” She spun the dagger on her finger like a baton. “We deal with Talia.”

She didn’t say “avenge” out loud, but the promise was there, hanging in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Talia had crossed a line—one even Nyssa wouldn’t have dared to breach. And there were some things you just didn’t walk away from, not in the League of Assassins, and definitely not when Nyssa al Ghul was involved.

Yusuf shifted uneasily, but he knew better than to argue. “The warlord won’t know what hit him.”

“No,” Nyssa murmured, her eyes glinting in the firelight. “He won’t.”

She turned toward the camp, motioning for her team to move out. The warlord was a mere stepping stone—a warm-up, really—for the far bloodier work she had ahead of her. Because freeing her father was only the first item on her list. After that, Nyssa was going to make sure Talia learned a valuable lesson.

Family could stab you in the back. But Nyssa? She always made sure to stab back.

With that thought, she adjusted her hood, gave her team a silent signal, and disappeared into the night.

She had a warlord to kill—and a sister to settle the score with.

---

Meanwhile, at Mount Justice, Talia al Ghul sat comfortably on the couch, looking as if she owned the place—which, knowing Talia, wasn’t far from the truth. She leaned back with a smug smile, her sharp green eyes glinting with mischief, while Sirius Black slouched beside her, glaring into his coffee like it had personally offended him.

“So,” Talia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “have I told you about the time Ra’s forced Grimm here to spar against six assassins—blindfolded?”

Remus Lupin blinked. “I’m sorry... who’s Grimm?”

Harry, perched on the armrest with one eyebrow raised, fought back a grin. “Sirius, apparently.”

Sirius groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose like a man who regretted every choice that led to this exact moment. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You were the Grimm,” Talia said, smirking. “You had no memory of who you were—didn’t even know your name—so we gave you one.” She paused dramatically. “The Grimm. Mysterious, dangerous... if a little scruffy.”

“Scruffy?” Sirius muttered under his breath. “That’s rich, coming from a bunch of ninjas with hygiene issues.”

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Wait. So you’re telling me my godfather—the Sirius Black—became an assassin for the League?”

“Almost,” Talia replied smoothly. “Ra’s wanted him to join, but Sirius—sorry, Grimm—wasn’t exactly cooperative. Even without his memories, he was... stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” Sirius snorted. “Try ‘unreasonable.’ I wasn’t about to become the League’s attack dog, no matter how many times your dear old dad tried to make me ‘see reason.’”

Talia rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, that didn’t stop Ra’s from trying. You should’ve seen it, Harry. The way he fought—brute force combined with reckless instinct. No technique, no finesse, but somehow, he managed to survive every trial Ra’s threw at him.” She looked over at Sirius with a fond, teasing smile. “It was... impressive, in a chaotic sort of way.”

Remus chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

“I punched my way through it,” Sirius grumbled, shifting in his seat. “Literally. When in doubt, hit harder. That’s the Black family way.”

“You were very... memorable,” Talia continued, clearly enjoying herself. “Even Ra’s admitted that. He kept saying you were like a wolf that didn’t know it was a wolf. Raw power, no discipline. It’s why he named you Grimm—to remind you of what you were, even if you didn’t remember it yourself.”

Harry leaned in, grinning. “And I bet you hated every second of it.”

Sirius shot him a deadpan look. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you were terrible at first,” Talia said with a sly smile. “Tripping over your own feet, snapping at everyone like an angry dog. But once Ra’s forced you to start training, you got better—way better.”

“Of course I did,” Sirius muttered. “If I didn’t, they’d have killed me.”

Talia shrugged, as if that was just part of the charm. “It was survival of the fittest. And somehow, despite your... rough start, you survived.” She gave him an amused look. “You even earned the respect of some of the assassins.”

Harry crossed his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “So let me get this straight. You were basically a memory-wiped, grouchy assassin-in-training, and Ra’s wanted to recruit you because you fought like a wild animal?”

“Pretty much,” Sirius muttered. “And here I thought Azkaban was bad.”

“You were quite the spectacle,” Talia added, her voice dripping with amusement. “It’s a shame you never joined the League. You would have made a legendary assassin.”

Sirius huffed. “Yeah, well, I’m more of a ‘freedom and pranks’ kind of guy. Not really into the whole ‘cult of murder’ scene.”

Remus shook his head with a laugh. “You’ve had quite the adventure, Padfoot.”

Sirius shot him a playful glare. “Adventure? Try nightmare.”

Harry leaned back, folding his arms with a satisfied grin. “I don’t know. Sounds like a good story to me. ‘Sirius Black: The Assassin Who Refused to Play Along.’”

Talia smirked. “It does have a certain... poetic ring to it.”

Sirius gave Harry a sidelong glance. “If you write that, I’ll hex you.”

“Worth it,” Harry said with a shrug.

---

Back in the Wizarding World, things were going about as well as you’d expect when Lucius and Draco Malfoy were put in charge—meaning they were supervising from the sidelines while barking orders at a group of particularly inept Death Eaters. These were the bottom-tier types: the kind of Death Eaters you hire when you need a door kicked in but don’t care if they do it face-first.

“Careful with that rubble, you idiot!” Lucius snapped, waving his cane at a Death Eater who looked like he'd failed every single OWL exam. “The Dark Lord wants this room cleared, not further demolished.”

Draco, standing off to the side, arms crossed and looking thoroughly bored, leaned closer to his father. “They can’t all be this stupid, can they?”

Lucius sneered. “I’ve tried to believe otherwise, but every day proves me wrong.”

The room they were so painstakingly trying to clear housed the remains of the Veil of Death, or what was left of it after the Weasleys—those infernal, red-headed Blood Traitors—had blown it to bits the previous month. The thought of it still made Lucius’s skin crawl.

“Blood traitors,” he muttered under his breath, as if saying it aloud might somehow curse the Weasleys into a worse afterlife. “The worst family to ever pollute wizarding bloodlines.”

“Right,” Draco added bitterly. “And they didn’t just leave. No, they escaped—dragging along half of wizarding society with them!” His upper lip curled in disgust. “Half-bloods, Mudbloods, even Pureblood traitors like the Longbottoms. And the Greengrasses! Daphne Greengrass would’ve made a perfect bride, too—if she hadn’t run off with that lot.”

“And don’t forget the Veela,” Lucius grumbled, rubbing his temples. “The Dark Lord’s forces could’ve used the morale boost. But no. All of them, gone.”

Even the goblins—greedy little pests—had slipped through the Veil. And, because goblins never leave empty-handed, they’d taken every last Galleon from Gringotts with them, effectively bankrupting Wizarding Britain. The Malfoy family vault was as empty as Draco’s sympathy for house-elves. No gold, no investments, nothing. Poof.

And the dragons—they still couldn’t figure out how the Weasleys managed to smuggle dragons through the Veil, but those beasts had gone, too. Now Britain was dragonless and destitute.

Draco kicked a piece of debris across the room. “I swear, if I ever see another Weasley—”

“You’ll do nothing,” Lucius interrupted sharply. “Not until the Dark Lord decides how we’re going to fix this mess.”

Fixing things, in this case, meant clearing out the ruined chamber before Voldemort’s wrath descended upon them—because if there was one thing the Dark Lord hated more than Harry Potter, it was incompetence.

Speaking of wrath...

In the manor’s east wing, Narcissa Malfoy was stuck with the unenviable task of tending to Bellatrix, whose mind had spiraled into the kind of madness that made even her usual level of insanity look tame. The explosion that destroyed the Veil had taken her husband, Rodolphus, along with it. Whether Bellatrix was mourning or celebrating the fact was anyone’s guess.

She’d been laughing—no, cackling—ever since, like an old phonograph record stuck on the worst song imaginable.

“She’s lost it completely,” Narcissa murmured, dabbing at her sister’s face with a damp cloth. Bellatrix’s wild eyes gleamed as she stared off into nothing, her lips twitching with glee—or maybe sorrow. It was impossible to tell with Bellatrix. The line between joy and devastation had always been razor-thin with her.

“Rodolphus is dead,” Bellatrix whispered suddenly, her voice full of eerie delight, as if she were sharing a secret joke. Then she cackled—high, shrill, and utterly unhinged. “Boom! Gone, just like that! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Narcissa winced, pretending not to hear the strange mixture of glee and despair in her sister’s words. There was no point reasoning with Bellatrix. There never had been.

Lucius, from the doorway, gave Narcissa a weary look. “How is she?”

“Mad as a box of Puffskeins,” Narcissa said, sighing. “But you already knew that.”

Draco peeked in from behind his father, taking one look at his aunt and deciding he wanted nothing to do with whatever this situation was. “I’ll be... downstairs,” he mumbled, retreating before Bellatrix noticed him.

“Wise choice,” Lucius muttered under his breath.

Bellatrix suddenly stopped laughing, her dark eyes locking onto Lucius with disturbing clarity. “Lucius, darling,” she purred, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. “When are we going to hurt someone?”

Lucius’s spine stiffened. “Soon, Bella. Very soon.”

And with that unsettling promise hanging in the air, Lucius turned on his heel, cane tapping sharply against the marble floor as he strode away, Draco trailing behind him like a reluctant shadow.

The room behind them filled with Bellatrix’s giggling again—soft, eerie, and far too pleased with the world’s destruction.

Chapter Text

Deathstroke was not a man who tolerated loose ends. And right now, Talia al Ghul was the biggest, most annoying loose end imaginable—like a splinter buried so deep under your skin you couldn't even dig it out with a knife. He and Rose Wilson had scoured every corner of the underworld, every safe house, hideout, and secret lair they could think of. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It was like Talia had just poof—vanished off the face of the earth. And if there was one thing Slade Wilson hated, it was people who disappeared without leaving a trace.

He stood on the rooftop of a crumbling building somewhere in the middle of nowhere, arms crossed over his chest. The city below him buzzed with life—ignorant, blissfully unaware of the kind of people hunting in the shadows. His daughter Rose, perched on the edge like the daredevil she was, gave him a sideways glance. "So, what now, Dad? We’ve hit every lead, and still no sign of her."

Deathstroke’s jaw clenched under his mask. “She’s not off the grid,” he growled. “She’s been hidden.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “The League of Assassins didn’t hide her. They would’ve dragged her out kicking and screaming for betraying Ra’s. Which leaves…” She trailed off, her expression shifting into a knowing smirk.

Deathstroke didn’t need her to finish the thought. "The Justice League."

It made sense. Too much sense, actually. Talia betrays her father, and suddenly she vanishes without so much as a whisper? That kind of clean getaway reeked of League involvement—big, shiny Watchtower-level interference.

“So," Rose said, swinging her legs casually over the ledge, "we take it to the Watchtower? Crash a party or two?” She said it like she was suggesting pizza for dinner.

Slade shot her a look. “We don’t crash the League’s party unless we’re sure. For now, we need a new plan.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew what Rose was thinking: when it came to Talia, things were never simple. And if she was hiding under the League’s protection, it meant two things:

One, getting to her wouldn’t be easy.

And two, she was more dangerous than ever.

Rose grinned. “You know, Dad, if they’re hiding her, they probably think they’re keeping her safe from us.”

Deathstroke let out a dry chuckle. “Then they’ve underestimated us.”

His eye gleamed under his mask. He wasn't about to let a little thing like the Justice League get in the way of his plans. It was just a matter of time before he found Talia. And when he did? Well, let’s just say the League of Assassins would be under new management.

Rose stretched her arms, looking far too excited for what lay ahead. “I love family reunions.”

Slade smirked. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

And with that, the two of them disappeared into the night, silent as ghosts. After all, hunting was what they did best.

—

A deep BOOM reverberated through the sky as Kara’s fist collided with Harry’s gauntlet, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Nearby training drones exploded in a shower of metal shards, and the overhead lights flickered ominously. Harry smirked beneath his hood, his feet sliding slightly from the force but holding firm. Flames flickered behind him as his wings unfurled just long enough to steady himself mid-slide before retracting back into his armor.

Kara floated effortlessly above him, a grin plastered on her face. "Come on, Harry, is that all you’ve got? I thought those muscles meant something."

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You really want to do this? Because I thought we were just here to show off our superhero poses.”

“Yup!” Kara replied with a playful wink before vanishing in a blur of super-speed.

Harry barely had time to blink before she reappeared behind him, her boot aimed squarely at his back. But just as her foot was about to connect, Harry’s fiery wings burst out, forcing her to retreat from the searing heat.

“Nice try,” Harry quipped, twisting in mid-air. His body shimmered with red and gold light, and suddenly—BAM!—he vanished in a burst of speed, leaving a trail of embers in his wake.

Kara’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’ve been practicing!”

Before she could react, Harry reappeared above her, both fists blazing like the Fourth of July. He hammered downward, and Kara crossed her arms in a block, but the impact sent her rocketing toward the ground, crashing into the floor with enough force to crack the stone beneath.

"That tickled," Kara muttered, brushing dust from her suit as she stood.

Before she could unleash her next attack, Kori swooped in—literally from above. "Tamaranian blitz!" she shouted, glowing with radiant green light as she slammed into Harry like a meteor. They plummeted together, creating a crater on impact.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one!” Harry groaned, emerging from the debris. His armor had absorbed most of the hit, but the force still rattled him. His wings unfurled once more, flames swirling menacingly as the gem on his chest pulsed in sync with his heartbeat. “You’ve gotta stop announcing your attacks, Kori. It’s like telling your enemy what’s on your cheat sheet.”

Kori smirked. “It’s only cheating if it doesn’t work.” She unleashed twin energy blasts, emerald light streaking toward Harry like they were auditioning for a sci-fi movie.

Harry crossed his arms, channeling his magic into a glowing shield of flame. The bolts slammed into it, detonating with the force of an overly dramatic explosion, sending him skidding back. But before Kori could capitalize on it, Harry vanished again, this time reappearing behind her in a burst of fiery speed.

“Surprise!” he shouted, landing a spinning kick to her side, sending her flying across the arena.

Kara zoomed back into the fray, her hands glowing with solar energy. “Didn’t forget about me, did you?”

“Not a chance,” Harry shot back, blocking her punch with one gauntleted forearm. But Kara was ready this time. She pivoted, grabbing his arm mid-block and spinning him like a top before hurling him skyward.

Harry stabilized himself mid-flight, flames trailing from his wings like a jet stream. “Alright, that’s it—no more Mr. Nice Phoenix.”

The gem on his chest flared brighter, and suddenly, he was a streak of fire, rocketing back down toward Kara at breakneck speed. Kara braced herself as the two collided in mid-air with a thunderous boom, the shockwave rippling out like a sonic blast.

“You hit like a wizard, Harry!” Kara taunted, locking arms with him mid-flight as they grappled, their strengths evenly matched.

“And you fight like someone who skipped leg day!” Harry shot back, flames bursting from his wings to push them apart.

Before Kara could retort, Kori barreled into the fight again, catching both Harry and Kara in a wide arc of energy bolts. “Now this is fun!” Kori exclaimed, green light flaring around her as she unleashed a barrage of rapid-fire blasts.

The three fighters blurred across the battlefield, moving faster than a caffeinated squirrel on a sugar high. Every impact sent out shockwaves, and every dodge left scorch marks on the walls. They fought like titans—each hit powerful enough to crumble buildings, every movement precise and deliberate.

At one point, Kara and Kori teamed up, coordinating their attacks with the fluid grace of a perfectly timed dance number. Kori’s energy bolts pinned Harry in place, while Kara sped in, fists glowing with solar energy. Just as they were about to land the final blow, Harry erupted in a fiery explosion, his wings expanding to their full span, scattering them both like confetti.

“Enough!” Harry shouted, his voice booming with the force of both magic and Kryptonian power. He hovered in the air, flames curling around him, the gem on his chest burning brighter than the sun. “You wanted a fight? Now you've got one!”

Kara grinned, cracking her knuckles. “Finally, he’s taking the training wheels off.”

Kori’s eyes glowed brighter as she floated beside Kara. “Let’s make him regret that.”

And with that, the three of them launched toward each other again, moving faster than a speeding bullet, the arena shaking under the weight of their epic showdown. Energy beams clashed with fireballs, fists met shields of flame, and the air hummed with the sheer force of their powers. It was chaos, but what’s a superhero training day without a little mayhem?

---

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, the young wizards sat huddled together, jaws agape, eyes glued to the chaos unfolding before them. They were witnessing what could only be described as a superhero showdown, but without the popcorn.

Fred nudged George, both of them wide-eyed like kids in a candy store. “Do you reckon we’ll get to do that in training?”

George shook his head slowly, as if he’d just seen a giant troll moonwalk across the hall. “Mate, if that’s what’s waiting for us, I’m moving to Antarctica. Just me and the penguins.”

Neville gulped audibly, clutching his wand like it was a life preserver in a sea of trouble. “I thought we were just learning defense spells, not watching a superhero movie.”

Dean leaned closer to Seamus, who had taken on an expression that suggested he might spontaneously combust from sheer anxiety. “Still think joining this team was a good idea?”

Seamus shook his head grimly. “Not even a little bit, mate. Not even a little bit.”

Ron sat between Hermione and Ginny, his arms crossed and face scrunched up like he’d just tasted something sour. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “How are we supposed to keep up with that?”

Hermione was scribbling furiously in her notebook, not even bothering to look up. “We’ll manage—eventually,” she said, more to reassure herself than anyone else.

Ginny, however, had a spark in her eye that looked suspiciously like trouble. “I’m just saying… I’m gonna learn to fly like that.”

Ron turned to her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You’re mad. Completely and utterly mad.”

Ginny smirked and tilted her head, confidence radiating off her like a solar flare. “You say that now. Just wait.”

Before Ron could argue further, a commanding presence entered the training hall, disrupting the air like a sudden gust of wind. Talia al Ghul stepped into the arena, her hair billowing behind her like a scene from an action movie. Her emerald-green eyes swept over the young wizards, assessing them like a hawk sizing up its dinner. The atmosphere grew thick with tension; you could practically cut it with a knife.

“Training begins now,” Talia said, her voice slicing through the chaos like a sword through butter.

Fred and George exchanged uneasy glances, realizing their fun was about to come to a screeching halt. “Er… right now?” Fred asked, half-hoping she’d clarify this wasn’t some elaborate prank.

Talia arched an eyebrow that screamed authority. “Was I unclear?”

“No, no, perfectly clear,” George mumbled quickly, nudging Fred to shut up.

Neville raised a tentative hand, looking like he was back in Potions class and desperately hoping Snape wouldn’t call on him. “Um… What exactly are we training for?”

“Survival,” Talia replied, her tone as cool as an arctic breeze. “Or do you think Harry, Kara, and Kori are up there just for fun?”

“They… aren’t?” Dean whispered, horrified as reality sunk in.

Talia’s small, humorless smile suggested that she had no intention of sugar-coating the truth. “No. If you cannot survive them at their best, you will not survive what lies beyond this team.” She turned sharply, her cloak swirling behind her. “Stand.”

The young wizards scrambled to their feet, clutching their wands like they were the only things keeping them from tumbling into a bottomless pit of despair.

“Starting today,” Talia continued, pacing like a general preparing her troops for battle, “you will learn more than just spells. You will learn strategy. Discipline. Combat. The rules of war.” Her eyes narrowed as they landed on Ron, who looked particularly guilty. “And how to stop whining.”

Ron’s cheeks flushed as he quickly bit his tongue, the only thing preventing him from drowning in embarrassment.

Talia resumed her circuit, her gaze falling on Hermione’s notebook. “You,” she said, her voice smooth but commanding. “You seem to think knowledge will save you.”

Hermione straightened, meeting Talia’s gaze with determination. “It’s important. We need to understand what we’re facing,” she insisted, though even she could hear the slight tremor in her voice.

Talia inclined her head slightly, a flicker of approval crossing her features. “Knowledge is power. But only if you know how to wield it.” She gestured toward the fiery clash above them. “Observe them. Study them. What do you see?”

The wizards looked up, transfixed as Harry shot forward like a meteor, flames trailing behind him, while Kara and Kori danced around him in a dizzying display of energy blasts and pure chaos.

Fred squinted. “Uh… chaos?”

George nodded. “Yeah, lots of chaos.”

Talia shook her head slowly. “No. Precision. Strategy. Adaptability.” She pointed to Kara. “She uses speed and strength to overwhelm her opponent.” Then her finger shifted to Kori. “She employs distance and energy to keep Harry off balance.” Finally, her finger landed on Harry, who dodged their attacks with fiery bursts of movement. “And he… uses everything.”

Neville gulped again. “Everything?”

Talia’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement—or a warning. “Everything that works.”

“Do… do we have to fight them?” Seamus asked, his voice barely above a squeak, as if he were trying to talk his way out of a dragon’s lair.

“Eventually,” Talia said, not missing a beat. “But for now, we start small.”

With a clap of her hands, several practice dummies appeared in the arena, shimmering into existence. Each dummy was enchanted to look like an opponent—some wore Death Eater masks, while others resembled rogue metahumans. Basically, the scariest Halloween costumes you could imagine.

“First lesson,” Talia said smoothly, moving toward the dummies with the grace of a panther. “Hit hard. Hit fast. No hesitation. If you hesitate, you die.”

She stepped aside and gestured for them to begin.

The wizards exchanged nervous glances, uncertainty written all over their faces. Finally, Fred took a hesitant step forward, wand in hand. “Right. No hesitation. Got it.”

But before he could even utter a spell, Talia was suddenly behind him, moving faster than they could comprehend. With a flick of her wrist, she knocked his wand from his hand and swept his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor like a very confused pancake.

“Too slow,” she said coolly. “Try again.”

Fred groaned as he clutched his ribs. “She’s worse than Snape,” he muttered under his breath, wondering if the student exchange program to Antarctica was still an option.

“I heard that,” Talia said, not even bothering to glance back.

Ron turned to Hermione, his voice low and panic-stricken. “We’re doomed.”

Ginny, still captivated by the battle above, grinned like someone who’d just discovered a secret stash of chocolate. “Not doomed. Just… behind. For now.” With newfound determination, she stepped forward eagerly, raising her wand toward the nearest dummy.

Talia watched her, a glimmer of approval sparking in her eyes. “Good. You may yet survive.”

As the others reluctantly followed Ginny’s lead, Talia crossed her arms and smiled faintly, which was a bit terrifying. “By the end of this, you’ll either be warriors… or you’ll wish you’d gone to Antarctica with your friend.”

—

The young wizards had barely managed to drag themselves through another round of Talia’s brutal drills when two new arrivals sauntered in, looking far too smug for everyone else’s comfort.

Sirius Black grinned like he’d just found a hidden stash of Honeydukes chocolate. “Apologies for the delay. We were... lost.”

Remus Lupin sighed beside him. “We stopped for sandwiches, Sirius. There’s a difference.”

“Lost in time, lost in hunger. It’s all the same,” Sirius said with a wink.

Talia Al Ghul didn’t so much as blink. She’d been doing this long enough to recognize nonsense when it was wrapped up in charm. “Your timing is perfect,” she said, crossing her arms. “These children require more than just combat skills. They’ll need spellwork expertise. That’s where you two come in.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Finally! We get to traumatize the next generation. I’ve always dreamed of this day.”

Talia raised an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth twitched—almost like a smile. Almost. “I’ve already assessed their combat potential. You’ll handle the magic. Let’s make sure none of them die.”

Remus leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. “She has a strange way of saying ‘please.’”

---

Talia pointed toward the twins, who were currently trying to enchant each other’s socks to play ‘The Macarena.’ “These two are natural chaos-bringers. They’ll thrive with guerrilla tactics—illusions, traps, misdirection. They don’t fight fair, and that’s exactly how we’ll train them.”

Remus tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Illusion spells, charm traps, environmental magic. Make them unpredictable.”

Sirius grinned. “They’ll love that. It’s like weaponizing a prank war.”

---

Talia’s gaze shifted to Neville, who was wobbling under the weight of a shield charm but refused to give up. “Neville has more endurance than skill—yet. He’ll be our defensive specialist. Barriers, counters, survival tactics. He won’t start the fight, but he’ll be the last one standing.”

Remus gave a proud smile. “He just needs some confidence—and maybe a few binding charms.”

Sirius clapped Neville on the shoulder. “You’re a sleeper agent, kid. One day, you’ll be terrifying.”

Neville blinked. “Thanks?”

---

“Thomas is an athlete,” Talia continued, pointing to Dean. “He needs a style that enhances his physicality. Enchant his weapons. Make him dangerous with or without a wand.”

Remus nodded. “Transfiguration magic with combat spells—so he’s ready for anything, even if disarmed.”

Sirius leaned closer. “Basically, he’s going to be that guy who punches the villains in the face. I love it.”

---

Talia didn’t even flinch as Seamus made another dummy burst into flames behind her. “This one? He blows things up. A lot. But we’ll make sure those explosions hit the right target. He’ll focus on destructive magic—elemental spells, fire, and controlled detonations.”

Remus gave a weary sigh. “Key word: controlled.”

Sirius chuckled. “We should invest in fireproof robes.”

---

Talia pointed to Hermione, who was still scribbling notes in between blocking spells. “Granger will specialize in battlefield control. Wards, containment spells, transfiguration. If anyone can out-plan the enemy mid-fight, it’s her.”

Remus beamed. “She’ll keep the whole team standing.”

Sirius grinned. “As long as we can teach her to leave a little room for improvisation.”

Hermione glanced up from her notes. “I can improvise.”

Sirius winked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

---

Talia gave Ron a critical look—like she was trying to figure out whether he’d be more useful holding a sword or snacks. “Weasley is dependable. He’ll focus on support magic—disarming spells, crowd control, stunners. His job will be to keep everyone alive when things go south.”

Remus nodded. “He’ll learn shield charms, too. Someone has to guard the flank.”

Sirius shot Ron a grin. “Think of it as being the glue that holds the whole mess together.”

Ron groaned. “So I’m the guy making sure nobody dies?”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s an underrated skill.”

---

Talia smirked as she looked at Ginny. "This one has ambition. And a lot of fire. She’ll focus on aerial combat—fast, precise strikes from above. Give her flight spells and high-speed hexes."

Remus smiled knowingly. "We’ll teach her control. She’ll need it."

Sirius shot Ginny a mischievous grin. "You’ve got that dangerous look. I like it. You know, I’ll have a word with Harry—see if he’ll hand over his Firebolt. Not like he needs it anymore, what with those flaming wings of his."

Ginny’s eyes lit up, her smirk sharpening. "You serious?"

Sirius gave her a mock offended look. "Always."

Ginny chuckled, the corners of her mouth lifting higher. "I’ll take it off his hands—assuming he can catch me to hand it over."

Sirius clapped her on the shoulder, still grinning. "That’s the spirit. Make him work for it."

Remus sighed, shaking his head. "Great. Another competitive flyer in the family. Just what we needed."

Ginny leaned back, crossing her arms with a smug smile. "You say that like it’s news."

Sirius winked. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

---

With everyone assessed, Talia folded her arms. “These are the roles I see for each of them. Your job is to make sure their magic aligns with it. We don’t have time to waste.”

Sirius clapped his hands, looking way too excited about all this. “I’ll take the twins. Explosions and chaos? My kind of party.”

Remus sighed, already anticipating the paperwork from that decision. “I’ll focus on Neville and Ron. They’ll need a lot of encouragement.”

Talia gave them both a stern nod. “Good. Now, let’s see if you can keep them from getting themselves killed.”

Sirius flashed her a grin. “What’s life without a little risk?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Alive.”

Remus smiled faintly. “She’s got a point.”

And with that, the drills resumed—more groans, more fire, and more explosions ringing through the air. The young wizards were exhausted, scorched, and maybe slightly traumatized.

But hey, that’s how legends start.

—

Harry, Kara, and Kori hit the ground like comets, skidding to a stop as dust and pebbles flew in every direction. The cracks they left behind made it look like the earth had just tried—and failed—to survive a super-powered game of dodgeball. Harry folded his fiery wings back into his body with a satisfying whoosh, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Kara landed beside him, her arms crossed and wearing that I-could-do-this-all-day expression, while Kori hovered just above the ground, her glowing hair swirling in the wind like a living thing.

"That last hit was totally unnecessary," Harry grumbled, giving Kori a look. "You were aiming to throw me into orbit, admit it."

Kori blinked, confused but cheerful. "I did not aim for orbit! I only wished to... how do you say? Kick the butt? Yes, I wished to kick your butt very hard."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Same thing, Kori. Same thing."

Kara snickered. "He kinda deserved it, though, right?"

"Hey!" Harry shot her a look. "I thought we were teammates, Kara."

"I am a teammate," Kara replied with a grin. "I just think you need tougher skin. Kryptonian rules, remember?"

Kori beamed, clearly proud. "Yes! Kryptonian rules! No mercy until the enemy is the puddle on the floor!"

Harry stared at her. "That’s... definitely not a thing."

Before they could argue further, Sirius and Remus strolled over, both looking like they’d accidentally walked into a Quidditch match where the Snitch was on fire. Which, honestly, wasn’t too far off.

"Nice landing," Sirius said, clapping Harry on the back. "Though, for the record, in my day, we just dueled with wands. None of this aerial fistfight nonsense."

"That is because you were very silly back in your day," Kori said with complete sincerity. "But it is good that you are not the clorbag varblernelk now."

Sirius blinked, unsure whether to feel insulted or flattered. "Uh... thanks?"

Remus chuckled. "Don’t overthink it, Padfoot. Just smile and nod."

Talia, standing nearby with her arms crossed, arched an eyebrow. "Are you all finished with the comedy routine, or should I come back later?"

Sirius grinned. "Oh, we’re just getting started."

He turned to Ginny, who was standing with the rest of the wizards, arms folded and clearly sizing up the trio who had just landed. "Speaking of which," Sirius said slyly, "I think it’s time Harry handed over that Firebolt. He’s got those fancy wings now, and you need a broom, Weasley."

Ginny’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Finally. About time I got my hands on the fastest broom ever made."

Harry held up his hands. "Whoa, wait—who said I was giving up my Firebolt?"

"You don’t need it," Sirius said with an unrepentant grin. "Come on, kid, you’ve got wings made of fire. What’s a broom going to do that your own personal jetpack can’t?"

Ginny stepped forward, smirking like a cat that just found a mouse in the pantry. "Face it, Potter. I’m the better flyer anyway."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You think so?"

"I know so," Ginny said, daring him with her gaze. "Unless you’re too scared to let me prove it."

Kara leaned over to Kori with a whisper. "Oh yeah, he’s not getting out of this one."

Kori nodded earnestly. "Yes! This is the excellent moment of the honor battle, where the victorious one flies on the magical stick and the loser sulks, yes?"

Kara tried—and failed—to hide a grin. "Uh... yeah, something like that."

Harry groaned, realizing that there was absolutely no way out of this. "Fine. Take the broom. But if you scratch it—"

"You’ll have to catch me first," Ginny interrupted with a wink, snatching an imaginary Snitch out of the air.

Sirius threw back his head and laughed. "Now this is the kind of training I was hoping for!"

Talia rolled her eyes, though the hint of a smirk tugged at her lips. "If you're all done showing off, we have real work to do."

"Yes, ma’am," Harry muttered. "We’ll try not to knock down any more mountains."

"Please do," Remus added with a grin. "We’re running out of them."

Kori gasped, her eyes wide with concern. "Oh no! If we destroy all the mountains, where will the goats go?"

Harry shot a helpless look at Kara, who just shrugged. "Hey, you’re the one who decided to bring her along."

Kori floated higher, still fretting. "Should I bring the goats to the mall of shopping? Do they have goats there?"

Sirius gave a mischievous grin. "I love this kid."

Talia sighed. "This is going to be a long day."

—

Gotham Academy’s football field was buzzing with late-evening energy—the kind of buzz you only get when you’re one touchdown away from glory. Except, instead of a full team, it was just two guys: Dick Grayson and Victor Stone. One of them was supposed to be practicing football. The other? Well, he just liked running circles around people.

Dick jogged backward across the field, grinning like he had no idea what “tired” meant. “Come on, Vic! I know you’re not planning on throwing like that when the Wildcats scouts show up.”

Victor Stone, aka Future Quarterback of Gotham City (he hoped), huffed and rolled his eyes. “If I throw any harder, you’re going to have to catch it in the next zip code.”

Dick, never one to be out-sassed, gave him an exaggerated shrug. “Better that than handing it to the other team. You know, like the Gotham High Goons—”

“Don’t even,” Vic warned, stifling a laugh. “We don’t talk about the Goons.”

Dick winked. “We always talk about the Goons. Now come on, future NFL star. Let’s see that cannon arm.”

Vic sighed, shaking his head, but the smile creeping across his face betrayed him. “Alright, but if you mess this up, I’m benching you as my unofficial wide receiver.”

“Me?” Dick gasped, clutching his chest like Vic had mortally wounded him. “I am the perfect wide receiver. Ask anyone. I’ve got cat-like reflexes.”

Vic arched a skeptical brow. “More like squirrel-like reflexes, dude.”

Dick snickered but didn’t argue. “Alright, alright. I’ll catch it. Scouts love a good hero moment.”

Vic set his feet, gripping the football like it was the key to his future (because, let’s be honest, it kind of was). With a sharp inhale, he launched the ball, sending it spiraling through the air like a missile.

Dick took off, cutting across the field as if someone had hit fast-forward. The football arced high, but Dick leapt for it with a spin move that would’ve made a circus acrobat jealous. He hit the ground in a smooth roll, popped back up like gravity was just a suggestion, and held the ball above his head in triumph.

“Boom! Touchdown!” Dick whooped, tossing the ball back to Vic with a grin that practically glowed in the dark. “Told you I’ve got squirrel—uh, I mean cat-like reflexes.”

Vic caught the ball, shaking his head. “You make that look way too easy, man.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dick said, patting his own shoulder like he deserved a medal. “Well, that and stealing all your fries later.”

“Big talk for a guy who doesn’t even play football,” Vic teased, slinging the ball over his shoulder. “Seriously, though. What are you training for, anyway? You’re not on the track team, and you work out like you’ve got the Olympics tomorrow.”

Dick grinned. “Maybe I’ve got some secret goals of my own. Maybe I’m aiming for... world domination.”

“Uh-huh.” Vic crossed his arms. “More like ‘world’s most annoying best friend.’”

Dick slung an arm around Vic’s shoulders as they started toward the locker room. “Yeah, but I’m your most annoying best friend, and that’s what counts.”

Vic laughed, shoving him lightly. “You know, I really appreciate this, though. I need that scholarship, man.”

“You’re gonna crush it,” Dick said without missing a beat. “Wildcats would be nuts not to take you. Seriously, you throw like a young Tom Brady. Minus the weird diet and questionable fashion choices.”

Vic snorted. “Yeah? And what’s your plan, oh wise and mysterious one?”

Dick waggled his eyebrows. “Win the friend-of-the-quarterback lottery, obviously. VIP tickets, free snacks, the works.”

Vic grinned. “Deal. But only if you stop stealing my fries.”

Dick gasped, like Vic had just committed a mortal sin. “No promises, buddy. No promises.”

They both laughed as they made their way off the field, their voices carrying into the cool Gotham night. For now, the world outside didn’t matter—no villains, no secret identities (well, not that Vic knew about), and no looming doom. Just two best friends, a football, and the promise of fries at the finish line.

Because, really, that’s what friendship is all about. Right?

—

Raven stood in the middle of what used to be Azarath, feeling like she’d just botched the world’s worst science experiment—except the broken beakers were entire buildings, and the casualty list included everyone she’d ever known. The once-peaceful temples were now piles of rubble, and the sweet air that used to hum with meditation chants smelled like... well, if a barbecue exploded and caught everything on fire.

She tugged her hood lower, like that would help block out the carnage. Spoiler: it didn’t. No matter how hard she tried to keep her face calm, her insides felt like someone had stuffed them in a blender. All of this... because I wanted to get to know my dad. Note to self: If your father is a multi-eyed demon from a hell dimension, just send a card next time.

And as if things couldn’t get worse, that delightful dad of hers was now permanently in her head.

“Oh, come now, daughter,” Trigon purred like a smug cat lounging on a couch he just shredded. “You made your choice. This world was your gift to me. So thoughtful.”

Raven scowled. “You know you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ after someone gives you a gift, right?”

“Thank you, my little destroyer,” Trigon rumbled, his voice practically dripping with malice. “I’m sure you’ll get me another one soon.”

She took a deep breath. Freaking out? Not an option. Breaking down? Also not on the table. This wasn’t a “cry-in-the-bathroom-stall” kind of disaster. It was more of a “pack up and leave before things get worse” situation.

Unfortunately, “things getting worse” was kind of her brand.

Raven muttered the words that had always given her focus: “Azarath Metrion Zinthos.” A tiny flicker of calm settled in her mind, like the first sip of hot chocolate on a really cold day. But it didn’t last.

A jagged, swirling portal crackled to life in front of her. It wasn’t exactly neat—more like a gaping hole in reality with “I dare you to jump” energy—but it would do.

She glanced one last time at the wreckage of Azarath, guilt gnawing at her like a persistent mosquito. “Sorry,” she whispered, though she knew it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

But wallowing wasn’t going to fix anything. She had a demon father in her brain, a ruined home, and—bonus—absolutely no idea where she was headed next. Solid game plan, right?

“Where are we going, little bird?” Trigon’s voice slithered through her mind, full of that “I’m an evil overlord, and I love it” charm. “You know you can’t run from me.”

“Not running,” she muttered, stepping toward the portal. “Just... creatively avoiding.”

Without another second of hesitation, she jumped through. The world twisted around her, colors blending into shadows, and then—boom—she was gone.

Where she’d land? Not a clue. Hopefully somewhere with less rubble. Maybe even a snack. And definitely no demons. Well, except for the one she couldn’t get rid of.

Trigon chuckled softly in her mind. “We’ll be together forever, daughter.”

Raven gritted her teeth. “Yeah, yeah. Get in line behind my other problems.”

The portal sealed behind her, leaving nothing but silence in Azarath’s ruins. And for the first time in a while, Raven let herself hope—just a little—that wherever she ended up, things might actually get better.

Or at least, not worse.

Chapter Text

I fiddled with my glasses for the hundredth time. They felt weird—like wearing shoes after you’ve already decided you hate shoes but forgot why. The charm on them was supposed to make people not notice my features, and it worked. To everyone else, I looked about as interesting as wallpaper. But me? I just felt like a complete idiot. After Luthorcorp’s little science project, I found out I didn’t even need glasses. But since I’d worn them my whole life, ditching them now felt... off. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Next to me, Diana adjusted her own glasses, because why not? She could’ve walked in wearing full Wonder Woman armor, and people would probably assume she was headed to Comic-Con. But no—business suit, glasses, and a whole lot of I-mean-business energy. Somehow, she made it look effortless, like undercover work was her idea of light cardio.

“We will meet Clark and Lois soon,” Diana said, as if I wasn’t already thinking about how awkward this was going to be. Not just any Clark—Superman. And not just any Lois—Lois Lane, the woman whose journalism probably scares crime bosses more than her fiancé does.

Look, I’ve handled Dark Lords and Dementors, but after what Rita Skeeter put me through back in the day, the idea of sitting down for an interview gives me war flashbacks. Please, for the love of Merlin, let this interview be chill. No enchanted quills. No ambush questions. Just a normal, nice conversation. Is that too much to ask?

We strolled into the Daily Planet, and it didn’t take long to spot Clark. The man could blend in about as well as a unicorn at a petting zoo. He stood there, tall and broad, with that whole “I build houses for orphans in my free time” vibe radiating off him. Beside him was Lois, who gave me a look that screamed, I will figure you out and write an award-winning piece about it. Great. This was already going well.

Clark stepped forward, all smiles. “Harry, it’s great to finally see you in Metropolis.”

He offered me a handshake, which I accepted, even though I half expected him to accidentally crush my hand. But no, his grip was firm, warm, and—annoyingly—perfect, like the guy probably practices friendly handshakes for fun.

“Yeah, same,” I said, trying not to sound like a complete dork. And because apparently I can’t help myself, I glanced at his glasses. “So, uh... the glasses thing. You really think that works?”

Clark blinked, clearly not expecting that. Diana shot me a quick look, the kind that said please don’t antagonize the Kryptonian.

“What do you mean?” Clark asked, amused.

“I mean, come on,” I said, waving a hand at him. “You look exactly like Superman—just, you know, with glasses. That’s not a disguise. That’s... accessorizing.”

Clark chuckled, and okay, I could see why Kara liked him so much. The guy radiated nice. “You’d be surprised,” he said.

I shook my head. “At least my glasses are magic. People actually don’t notice me. Yours? You’re banking on everyone having really, really bad facial recognition.”

Lois folded her arms and gave Clark a playful look. “Told you someone would figure it out one day.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “It’s worked so far.”

Diana gave me a small, amused smile. “Perhaps you should take notes.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “Yeah, sure. I’ll jot down, ‘Step One: Look suspiciously like a superhero.’”

Clark just smiled, the kind of smile that made you want to confess every secret you’ve ever kept. We headed deeper into the building, and I tried not to overthink the fact that I was sitting down with Superman and Lois Lane. No pressure.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Glasses. As a disguise. For Superman. It was like wearing sunglasses and hoping no one recognizes you at the mall. Wild.

At least I had magic on my side. If Lois pulled out an enchanted quill mid-interview, I was ready to bolt through a window and let Clark deal with it.

—

Lois closed her notebook with the kind of smile that said, I know you’re hiding something, and one day, I’ll dig it up like an archaeologist with a grudge. Harry had faced down dark wizards, Basilisks, and soul-sucking Dementors, but nothing prepared him for the unrelenting curiosity of Lois Lane.

“Thanks for your time, Harry.” She packed away her things, her expression practically screaming, This isn’t over.

Harry forced a polite smile. “Glad to help.” Which was a lie. He’d rather sit through another Rita Skeeter interview.

Then came the click in his ear—Clark, Diana, and Harry’s comms all lighting up at the same time.

“Anomalous signal detected near your position,” the Watchtower operator’s calm voice said. “Investigate immediately.”

The three of them exchanged a quick glance. The kind of glance that said, This could be bad.

Lois, of course, noticed the shift in the air. She folded her arms and gave Clark one of those I know what you’re up to, Smallville looks.

“Need to duck out?” she asked.

Clark shrugged with a sheepish grin that could’ve powered a small farm town. “Looks like it.”

Lois sighed, shouldering her bag. “Just don’t break anything important. That includes yourself.”

Clark leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

With Lois playing cover, the three of them slipped out to the terrace of the Daily Planet. They were pros at this—no sudden movements, no alarm bells, just three people casually preparing to save the day without making a scene.

Clark went first, because of course he did. With a quick tug, he ripped open his shirt to reveal the bright “S” symbol underneath. Seriously, Harry thought, how did that never get old?

Next up: Diana. She did one of those effortless spins—bam! Golden armor, lasso, tiara. Just like magic. Okay, it was magic, but still. The whole thing was borderline unfair. Harry would probably trip over his own boots if he tried it.

Now it was Harry’s turn. He flicked off his glasses—the same glasses he’d been ribbing Clark about earlier. Sure, it was a bit hypocritical, but in his defense, his glasses were magic. Totally different situation.

He touched the Crimson Gemstone embedded in the black-and-gold amulet around his neck. A wave of heat pulsed from the gem as his Shadowflame Armor flowed over him, every piece forming from liquid nanotech that glimmered like shadows in moonlight. The armor snapped into place, gold edges gleaming. His red hood dropped over his head with the exact amount of mysterious flair he'd been aiming for all along.

And then the wings happened.

Bird-like flames exploded from his back, spreading wide and trailing embers in the air. There are a lot of cool things about being a hero, but flying with fire wings? Easily top three.

Clark raised an eyebrow, clearly fighting back a grin. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Harry shrugged. “Says the guy with the shirt-rip-of-justice routine.”

Diana sighed, adjusting her sword at her side. “We’re on a timer, boys. Let’s move.”

With that, all three launched into the sky. Clark soared ahead, cape fluttering behind him in a way that only someone born to be a hero could pull off. Diana flew smoothly, like a warrior goddess on a mission. And Harry? He zipped through the air with flames streaming from his wings, and not for the first time, he thought: Flying with fire beats flying on a broom any day of the week.

Their comms crackled again. “Signal located—one mile east.”

Harry folded his wings tighter, picking up speed. As they flew side by side, he couldn’t resist throwing one last jab at Clark.

“So,” Harry said casually, “how exactly do you think the glasses thing works for you? You don’t even charm yours.”

Clark shot him a grin. “Are yours working right now?”

Touché, Superman. Touché.

—

We landed in the warehouse district with all the grace of three superheroes trying way too hard. My flaming wings folded back into my body with a whoosh, which always makes me feel like a human torch lighter—one flick and bam, instant fire. Clark, of course, landed like a god. No fanfare, just that calm Superman aura that says, Yeah, I do this every day. And Diana? She touched down so smoothly that even the wind seemed to sigh in appreciation. She’s the kind of person who could trip and still make it look like performance art.

Meanwhile, I was just trying not to faceplant and embarrass myself. Flying with wings made of fire looks awesome, but trust me, it’s a lot less glamorous when you forget to tuck them in and accidentally set someone’s umbrella on fire. (Not that I’m speaking from experience. Okay, maybe I am.)

The second we hit the ground, I knew something was off. The air was thick with magic—sharp, electric, like biting into tinfoil. It was the kind of magic that makes your skin prickle and your instincts yell, Danger, danger, Will Robinson! Not exactly the vibe you want on a quiet night in Metropolis.

I muttered, “Magic in the air. Probably not the party kind.”

Clark gave me a look like he was two seconds away from asking what party magic was, but before he could, the magical signal tugged at me again, like a GPS with an attitude problem. I followed it, weaving between warehouses with Diana and Clark trailing behind me. Clark was scanning everything with that freaky x-ray vision of his, and Diana moved like she was born to sneak around abandoned places. Meanwhile, I was just hoping I didn’t trip over a rusty pipe or something.

Then we saw her.

A girl floated in midair, cocooned in this weird bubble of energy, like she’d gotten stuck halfway between worlds. And not to be dramatic, but she looked like something straight out of a gothic fairy tale. Her skin was pale with this grayish tint, like she’d been dipped in moonlight, and her violet eyes were half-closed, as if she was barely hanging on. Her hair—dark purple, cut at a sharp angle—framed her face like she was born for mysterious Instagram selfies. Oh, and the cherry on top? A red gemstone, outlined in black, glowing faintly from the center of her forehead.

I’m telling you: You see a girl like that floating in a ball of energy, and you know your night just got a lot more complicated.

The energy field flickered, then blinked out of existence like a bad Wi-Fi connection. And just like that, the girl started falling.

“Crap,” I muttered, launching forward without thinking. (Pro tip: When something magical and possibly cursed falls from the sky, always catch it. That way, it has fewer chances to blow up in your face.)

One second I was standing still; the next, I was diving through the air, arms outstretched. I caught her just before she hit the ground, sliding a few feet on the pavement for dramatic effect. She was way too light, like she was missing half her soul or something.

Clark landed beside me in a heartbeat. “She okay?”

“Alive,” I said, shifting her in my arms to make sure I didn’t drop her. “But if magic burnout feels anything like getting whacked by a troll, she’s gonna have a great morning.”

Diana knelt next to us, her gaze fixed on the glowing gemstone in the girl’s forehead. “She carries a burden,” she said softly, like she was reading a prophecy.

I snorted. “Don’t we all?”

Clark glanced around the empty street, his expression tightening. “We need to move. Now.”

“No arguments here,” Diana said, already rising off the ground. “We’ll take her to the Watchtower. This situation feels... volatile.”

“Volatile?” I echoed. “Diana, the milk in my fridge is volatile. This is more like, ‘Oh no, we just picked up a cursed magical artifact in the shape of a person.’”

Clark smiled—because of course he did. He loves this kind of nonsense. “Want me to carry her? I am faster.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, but I’ve got this, Supes.” I adjusted my grip on the unconscious girl. “Besides, I’ve already caught her. Dropping her now would just be rude.”

Diana was already in the air, and Clark followed close behind. I didn’t need an invitation. My wings flared to life with a hiss, flames curling outward like an explosion in slow motion. With one powerful beat, I launched into the sky, the warehouse district shrinking beneath us.

And just as I was starting to feel like we’d dodged a bullet, a sharp crack echoed through the streets, followed by a low hum that made my hair stand on end.

Clark’s jaw clenched. “Too late.”

Yup. Because with us? It’s always too late.

My wings burned brighter as I picked up speed, the girl’s limp form cradled in my arms. “Well,” I muttered under my breath, “this is gonna get messy.”

And with that, we flew headfirst into whatever disaster was waiting for us, because apparently, trouble is just our default setting.

—

The three of us touched down just in time to catch the source of that very bad sound—a slow, sarcastic clap. Because clearly, things hadn’t been weird enough tonight.

Standing in the alley was a guy who looked like he just rolled out of a noir film and decided to punch it in the face. Trench coat—check. Rumpled suit—check. Cigarette dangling from his mouth like it paid rent—check. He had the kind of smirk that screamed, I know more than you, and I’m going to make sure you hate me for it.

“John Constantine,” Clark said, as if that explained anything. He folded his arms, looking like the world’s most polite bouncer. “We sometimes call him in when things get... supernatural.”

“And by sometimes,” Constantine added with a grin, “he means only when they’re properly desperate.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke in our direction like he was flavoring the air with sarcasm. “And here I thought tonight was going to be dull. Then you lot show up with a kid radiating demonic energy. Lovely.”

I shifted the unconscious girl in my arms, trying not to wince at how heavy the word demonic sounded. “Demonic? As in, horns-and-pitchforks kind of demonic, or more like an unfortunate magical side effect?” Because, believe me, with my luck, it’s always the first one.

Constantine gave me a look like I’d just asked if the sky was blue. “You tell me, mate. That pretty rock in her forehead? It’s giving off enough bad mojo to make the Exorcist blush. If you’re carrying that thing around hoping for a peaceful night, you’re in for a treat.”

Clark frowned. “What’s it doing here?”

“That’s the question, innit?” Constantine flicked his cigarette away, probably thinking it made him look cool. It didn’t. “I was tracking a demonic pulse, something nasty. Followed it all the way here.” He jabbed a finger toward the girl. “And it’s coming from her. Well, more specifically, from that.” He pointed at the gemstone in her forehead, as if we could somehow miss the giant glowing curse beacon.

I glanced down at her, suddenly feeling way more uncomfortable holding her. “Fantastic. We rescued a walking demonic time bomb.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.” Constantine shot me a grin that was more smug than helpful. “If she blows up, it’s been nice knowing you.”

Diana gave him one of her trademark I am so done with you looks. “Do you know what kind of demon we’re dealing with?”

“Not yet.” Constantine shrugged. “But trust me, whatever it is, it’s bad news. That rock isn’t just for decoration—it’s holding something back. And whatever’s inside it? Not exactly friendly.”

Great. Because carrying her around wasn’t stressful enough already.

“Any advice?” Clark asked, in that super-calm and reasonable voice he uses when things are about to go sideways.

Constantine gave us all a lazy smile, as if he was very pleased with himself. “Yeah. Don’t die.”

I groaned. “Oh, that’s super helpful. Thanks, you wanker.”

He winked at me. “Anytime, sunshine.”

Diana rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t fall out of her head. “We need to move before this gets worse.”

“You say that like it’s not already a disaster,” I muttered, adjusting my grip on the girl. Her gemstone pulsed faintly, like it was agreeing with me. Great. Even the cursed jewelry thinks I’m doomed.

Constantine snorted. “Don’t worry, mate. This’ll either end in blood, fire, or some combination of the two.”

“Comforting,” I said, my wings sparking to life as I prepared to take off again. “Really.”

Clark gave me a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll figure this out, Harry. We always do.”

“That’s the spirit!” Constantine called after us, already lighting another cigarette. “But if you start seeing demons, don’t come crying to me!”

With that, the three of us shot back into the sky, the girl still limp in my arms, her gemstone glowing with the kind of energy that promised nothing good.

And all I could think was, Yup, this is absolutely going to explode in my face.

—

By the time we stepped into the Watchtower infirmary, I could already tell this was going to be one of those days. You know, the kind where a cursed gemstone is the least of your problems. The Zeta Tube travel had scrambled Constantine’s nerves—and his patience, not that he had much of that to begin with.

“Bloody teleportation,” he grumbled, brushing off his trench coat like it had insulted him personally. “Could’ve warned me it feels like being flushed down a magical toilet.”

Diana shot him one of her trademark glares. “We’re here to save a life, Constantine, not cater to your comfort.”

Constantine winked, because of course he did. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll live.”

Meanwhile, I was still holding the unconscious girl, her forehead gem pulsing like it was the worst kind of magical mood ring. I wasn’t sure how long we had before it exploded or summoned something straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare, but it probably wasn’t long.

Clark led the way with that calm, purposeful stride only he can pull off. The infirmary doors slid open, and we were greeted by the welcoming faces of Batman and Martian Manhunter. You know, welcoming in the “we’ve heard bad news and expect worse” kind of way.

“Report,” Batman said, sharp and direct.

Constantine took his time lighting a cigarette—because apparently, when surrounded by superheroes, the best thing to do is act like you’ve got all day. “Right. So what you’ve got here is a girl with a cursed gemstone buried in her noggin, leaking more demonic energy than a heavy metal album cover.”

Batman’s frown deepened, which, frankly, felt like an achievement. “How dangerous?”

“Lethal,” Constantine said cheerfully. “The fun kind of cursed.”

Martian Manhunter hovered over the girl, his glowing hands scanning her with eerie calm. “The presence inside the gem is ancient. Its hostility is... overwhelming.”

Constantine blew out a stream of smoke. “Hostile? Mate, that’s putting it lightly.”

Clark sighed under his breath, clearly resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Diana crossed her arms, already looking fed up.

“What aren’t you telling us, Constantine?” she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

“Relax, I’ve told you everything I know.” Constantine’s smirk was back. “But whatever this thing is, it’s way beyond a standard exorcism.”

Batman turned to me. “Shadowflame, what’s your assessment?”

The air was thick with magic, sharp and oily, like the scent of burnt metal. It practically hummed under my skin. “Yeah, this thing’s cursed, all right. The bad kind. We need someone with more expertise—someone who knows how to handle this stuff before it goes nuclear.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who?”

I shifted to place the unconscious girl in my arms in one of the infirmary beds. “Bill Weasley. He’s a curse-breaker. This is exactly the kind of thing he deals with on a daily basis.” I glanced at Constantine. “And if that’s not enough, we could also call in the Goblins. They’ve got experience with cursed objects, and they’re the best I know when it comes to handling magical artifacts.”

Constantine stared at me like I’d just suggested summoning a unicorn to do our taxes. “Goblins? What, like the creepy little blokes from old fairy tales?”

I smirked. “Not quite. Think expert bankers with a side hustle in curses. They love a good challenge.”

He shook his head, looking more amused than concerned. “Right. I’ll just pretend that makes sense and hope I’m not around when they show up.”

Clark shot me a curious glance. “You trust them?”

“As much as you can trust anyone who loves gold and ancient hexes,” I said. “But yeah. If there’s anyone who can untangle this mess, it’s Bill and the Goblins.”

Batman was already calculating a dozen plans, I could see it in his eyes. “We’ll contact Weasley. If the Goblins are required, we’ll arrange that as well.” His gaze flicked to the gemstone on the girl’s forehead. “But we don’t have much time. If this thing activates—”

“Yeah, yeah, doom and gloom,” Constantine interrupted. “Just say the word if you want me to step in with an old-fashioned spell.”

Diana raised a brow. “You can actually do that?”

“Depends,” Constantine said with a grin. “How attached are you to this space station?”

I rolled my eyes. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to end with something exploding?”

Constantine chuckled. “Because, mate, it usually does.”

—

Meanwhile, inside Raven’s mind, things were going about as well as you’d expect when your father is a giant, interdimensional demon who wants to conquer the universe using your soul as a shortcut. Which is to say: badly.

The mindscape around her flickered, glitching between bleak landscapes—cracked wastelands, endless voids, fire-filled skies—as Raven fought to keep control. Trigon loomed in front of her, all four glowing red eyes radiating smug malice. His voice slithered through her thoughts, making the air itself feel heavy, like trying to breathe underwater.

"You're slipping, daughter," Trigon said, his voice as smooth and poisonous as oil. "It’s only a matter of time. You cannot fight me forever."

Raven gritted her teeth, summoning every ounce of focus to keep the dark energy from overwhelming her. It wasn’t just her life at stake—if Trigon managed to break free, he’d use her body to possess one of the powerful beings around her physical form. And with Superman, Martian Manhunter, and Wonder Woman within reach? Yeah, not exactly the best houseguests for a demon overlord to take over.

"No thanks, Dad," Raven shot back, her voice echoing across the warped expanse of her mind. "I’m not interested in playing meat puppet for your world-domination plans."

Trigon laughed, the sound vibrating through the very fabric of her mind. "Ah, but they are so much more than mere puppets. Imagine—possessing one of them. A Kryptonian, perhaps, or the Martian. With my power, they would be unstoppable."

Raven knew he wasn’t bluffing. She could feel his desire clawing at the edges of her consciousness, hungry and relentless. It wasn’t just about her anymore. He wanted more. He wanted them.

But Raven was not about to let that happen. She closed her eyes, centering herself. "Azarath Metrion Zinthos," she whispered, feeling the words settle like stones in her mind. They were the anchor she clung to—memories of her training, the calm guidance of her mentors in Azarath, and the fierce determination that had gotten her this far.

Trigon’s form shifted, expanding, as if trying to fill every inch of her mind. His power burned against her defenses, pressing harder with every moment. "You are weak, Raven. You always have been. You cannot resist me forever."

"I don’t have to," Raven snapped, summoning a wave of dark energy that surged toward her father. "I just need to resist you long enough."

She threw everything she had into the attack—her rage, her fear, her hope, and her love for the people waiting for her outside. Her magic crashed into Trigon like a tidal wave, pushing him back, at least for now.

But she knew this was only a temporary victory. Fighting Trigon was like holding back an avalanche with a paper umbrella. She was running out of time, and the worst part? Trigon knew it.

His grin stretched wide as he faded back into the shadows of her mind, his voice lingering like smoke. "Soon, daughter. I will take what is mine. And when I do... Earth will burn."

Raven exhaled, her breath ragged and shallow. The mindscape stabilized, if only for a moment, giving her a sliver of peace. But the weight of Trigon's presence never fully left. He was always there—watching, waiting, and ready to strike the moment she faltered.

And Raven had a sinking feeling that the moment would come sooner rather than later.

—

At Mount Justice, the training room buzzed with the sound of grunts, spells, and the occasional "Oof!" from someone hitting the mat a little too hard. Talia al Ghul stood with her arms folded, watching the young recruits with an expression that could only be described as “mild approval”—which, coming from her, was practically a glowing recommendation.

Susan Bones had just thrown Hannah Abbott over her shoulder, though it looked more like an accidental bear hug gone wrong. Luna Lovegood, meanwhile, stood a few feet away, observing her sparring dummy with such intense focus you’d think it had whispered state secrets.

Sirius Black leaned in toward Talia with a grin. “Think any of these kids have a shot at assassin school?”

“Must you always be so dramatic?” Remus Lupin asked, watching as Tracey Davis dodged a punch from Daphne Greengrass with almost surgical precision.

“It’s not drama, Moony—it’s flair,” Sirius said, waggling his eyebrows. "Besides, Tracey looks like she could slip poison into someone’s pumpkin juice without blinking.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “Assassination isn’t about enthusiasm, Black. It’s about control.”

Just then, Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour walked in, looking far too nonchalant for people whose job regularly involved dodging curses that could turn you into a slug—or worse. Bill gave the room a quick scan, as if searching for traps out of habit, while Fleur adjusted the dagger strapped to her thigh with a grace that said, I know exactly how deadly I am, thank you very much.

"How are they doing?" Bill asked, nodding toward the recruits.

"They live," Talia said dryly.

"Always a good start," Bill replied with a grin.

Before they could dive deeper into sarcastic banter, the doors to the training room hissed open, and Kara floated in, trailed by Kori, who radiated sunshine and excitement the way most people radiate exhaustion. Both were carrying what looked suspiciously like swatches of fabric.

"We were decorating Harry’s room!" Kara announced cheerfully, landing lightly on the floor.

"His room was a disaster of terrible design choices," Kori added with a bright smile. "So we are fixing it! Soon, it will be most... how do you say? Cozy for the snuggling.”

Sirius smirked. “That sounds dangerous.”

"Very dangerous!" Kori nodded eagerly, not picking up on the joke. "He was living like a—what is the phrase? A ‘clorbag varblernelk’?”

“That’s... probably accurate,” Remus muttered.

Kara clapped her hands together. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt your murder practice. We came to grab Bill. Watchtower needs you. Something about cursed artifacts.”

Bill blinked. “The Watchtower? First time for everything, I guess.”

"You will enjoy it!" Kori beamed, as if going to space was something you casually did on a Tuesday. "The Zeta Tube is much fun! It makes the 'whoosh,' and then you are somewhere else!"

Fleur raised an eyebrow at Bill. “You are not going without me.”

Bill chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

"You must hurry!" Kori said. "Harry—who is also the bumgorf of my heart—is in trouble! There are cursed objects and much seriousness."

“And by seriousness,” Kara added, “she means it’s Harry, so things are probably already on fire.”

As Bill adjusted his wand holster and Fleur tied her hair back, Sirius leaned toward Remus again. “Wanna bet this whole cursed artifact thing blows up in their faces?”

Remus snorted. “It’s Harry. That’s a given.”

With a final wave to the recruits, Kara gestured toward the exit. “C’mon, Weasleys! We’ve got a Zeta Tube to catch, and trust me—you don’t want Harry handling cursed objects without supervision.”

Kori floated beside her, practically vibrating with excitement. “Yes! Let us go and make the whoosh! And also, if you have snacks, please bring them. Space travel makes me feel most... lobstery.”

Everyone paused for a beat.

“You mean crabby?” Kara corrected gently.

“Yes! That! I am feeling most crabby,” Kori said with a bright smile. "Though not in the 'bad vibes' way—more in the 'I-would-like-a-sandwich' way."

Bill chuckled. "Right. Let me grab my curse-breaking kit, and we’re off."

And with that, the group headed toward the Zeta Tube, leaving the recruits—and the relative safety of Mount Justice—behind. Something told Bill this wasn’t going to be a simple consultation about cursed artifacts. If Harry was involved, it never was.

—

The Zeta Tube flashed, and Bill, Fleur, Kara, and Kori stepped into the Watchtower. For Bill and Fleur, it was a whirlwind of firsts: first time using a Zeta Tube, first time in space, and definitely the first time standing on an orbiting space station.

Bill’s jaw dropped. “This... is... incredible.” He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, except the presents were high-tech space gadgets and the vast expanse of the Earth glowing beneath them.

“I must tell Dad about this,” Bill whispered, running a hand along the smooth wall as if it could explain the mysteries of advanced technology to him. “Zeta Tubes, orbital stations… How does this even work?”

“Bill, mon cœur, you do not even understand how electricity works,” Fleur said, amused. She threaded her fingers through his and gave him a playful nudge.

“Sure, but this—this is space!” Bill gestured wildly. “You can’t expect me to stay calm!”

Shadowflame—Harry, really, but nowadays everyone insisted on calling him by his hero name—leaned against the Zeta platform, smirking. His black-and-gold armor shimmered in the station's light, the flames from his power flickering faintly along the edges. “Welcome to the Watchtower,” he said, giving them a casual salute. “Let’s get moving—Batman’s allergic to joy, and he’s waiting.”

Kara chuckled. “Accurate.”

As they walked through the pristine corridors, Bill couldn’t help whispering, “Do you think they have a spaceship garage? Or a weapons lab? This place must be filled with insane tech. I need to know everything.”

Kori floated alongside him, her hands clasped eagerly. “Do not worry, friend Bill! If we find the garage of ships, I will request permission to show you the many... flying things!” She gave him an encouraging smile, then turned to Fleur. “Do you believe Harry would allow us to conduct what Earthlings call ‘the party of housewarming’ once his room is complete?”

Fleur blinked. “A housewarming party?”

“Yes! Harry’s room will soon be ready for our staying over on many occasions, and so the housewarming must be required.” Kori smiled, positively radiant. “I am thinking it will have the foods and perhaps music! Is it not customary to ‘crank the tunes’? I will research the playlists.”

Shadowflame shot Kara a look that clearly asked, You’re the one who brought her, right? Kara just laughed. “I told you—she's still working on the whole Earth thing.”

Kori beamed proudly. “Yes, I am improving! I now understand the difference between the ‘mall of shopping’ and the ‘food of court.’ Although the ‘idioms’ do still cause the confusion.”

They reached the infirmary, where a group of heavy hitters awaited: Wonder Woman, Superman, Martian Manhunter, and, of course, the Dark Knight himself, Batman—looming silently in the corner like a thundercloud.

And then there was John Constantine. The trench coat-wearing mage slouched beside the unconscious girl on the infirmary bed. His cigarette was conspicuously absent—Batman’s rules—and he looked about as thrilled as a cat tossed into a bathtub.

His eyes scanned the new arrivals, settling on Fleur with a mischievous grin. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Fancy a drink sometime, love? Paris, maybe?”

Fleur raised an eyebrow, her expression cool and unamused. “Non. I am with Bill.” She slid her hand into her boyfriend’s, and Bill shot Constantine a smug grin, like a man who’d just won a very satisfying duel.

Undeterred, Constantine shifted his attention to Kara and Kori. “What about you two? I’ve got some free time on—”

Kara cut him off with a flat, amused smile. “No thanks. Also, you’re... kinda ancient.”

Kori tilted her head, trying to understand. “Yes, you are too... aged. And we are both with Harry.” She beamed proudly at Shadowflame, floating closer to him. “Also, I do not think you would survive Kara's 'kicking of the butt.’ It is very impressive.”

Constantine groaned. “Bloody hell. Not even aliens?”

Batman cleared his throat loudly, giving Constantine a look that could curdle milk. “Get to the point.”

Constantine rolled his eyes but turned to the unconscious girl on the bed, gesturing at the glowing gemstone embedded in her forehead. “Right, here’s the deal. This gem? Not just cursed—it’s dripping with demonic power. Ancient stuff. The kind that could turn your soul inside out just for fun.”

Fleur and Bill exchanged a glance, intrigued rather than intimidated.

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” Constantine asked, skeptical. “I mean, you two look like... I dunno, magical accountants. This isn’t your everyday haunted music box. This thing is nasty.”

“We’re curse-breakers,” Bill said simply, with the kind of quiet confidence that only came from years of experience.

Constantine gave a dry laugh. “Right. And I’m Father Christmas.”

Shadowflame clapped Bill on the shoulder. “Don’t underestimate them, you wanker. They’ve handled Goblin curses—and trust me, those make most ancient artifacts look like toys.”

“Goblins?” Constantine stared at them like they’d just spoken in tongues. “You mean the fairytale kind?”

“Something like that,” Shadowflame said with a grin.

Kori floated closer to the unconscious girl, her green eyes full of concern. “This gemstone... it holds her shlorvak, yes? Her dreams?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Constantine muttered.

“She looks most uncomfortable.” Kori gently brushed a strand of violet hair from Raven’s face. “I do not like it. It feels... clorbag varblernelk—like something terrible is trapped inside.”

Constantine blinked. “Clorbag varblernelk?”

“It means... something close to ‘unpleasant,’” Kara whispered to him with a smirk.

Bill knelt beside the bed, drawing his wand. “Well, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

Fleur joined him, her wand already out. “Together, yes?”

Bill grinned. “Always.”

As they prepared to unravel the mystery of the cursed gemstone, Constantine crossed his arms, muttering, “If these two can actually pull this off, I’ll eat my bloody trench coat.”

Batman, standing at the back, gave him a side-eye glare. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Chapter Text

On the sidelines of the Watchtower’s medbay, Batman was brooding (because of course he was), Superman was trying to stay optimistic (but his frown said otherwise), and Constantine… well, Constantine was trying to wrap his head around the fact that two red-blooded wizards were currently muttering spells over a glowing gemstone stuck in some poor girl’s forehead.

Bill ran his wand over the stone with the precision of a surgeon, Fleur mirroring him like they were synchronized swimmers but with magic. Soft, musical incantations filled the air—words that Constantine could tell were old, powerful, and way above his usual pay grade.

“So…” Constantine said, because he couldn't help himself. “You two just wave your fancy twigs at stuff and hope it works?”

Fleur’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look up. Bill gave a little smirk, the kind that said I’ve heard worse.

Constantine, meanwhile, leaned a bit closer, eyes narrowing. “You know, I’ve seen demons, angels, and eldritch horrors… But this? This feels new. I didn’t think there were still surprises left for me.”

Harry—or Shadowflame—chimed in with a grin. “Welcome to the wonderful world of wands, mate. Stick around, and you’ll see worse.”

Constantine gave him a skeptical look. He’d just met the kid today, and frankly, Harry had been a walking bundle of strange from the get-go—somewhere between an over-caffeinated teenager and a battle-hardened sorcerer. And that was saying something, coming from John Constantine.

Bill ignored the banter, still scanning the gemstone with his wand. “This,” he muttered, “isn’t just any curse. We’ve got something personal here. There’s a piece of her soul trapped inside this thing.”

Constantine let out a low whistle. “So… what, it’s a soul jar?”

Bill’s head jerked up, and Fleur shot him a sharp look. “You know about Horcruxes?”

Constantine shrugged. “Heard about 'em once. Nasty bit of business.” He gave Harry a side-eye. “You got one of those lying around, too?”

Harry smirked. “I try not to collect cursed objects.”

Bill shook his head, trying to keep things on track. “It’s not exactly a Horcrux. A Horcrux splits the soul on purpose, to cheat death. This—” He tapped the gemstone with his wand. “—this is more like a soul trap. Someone broke off a piece of her soul against her will and locked it in here.”

Superman’s frown deepened. “To control her.”

Bill nodded grimly. “Exactly.”

Constantine leaned back, crossing his arms. “You wizards really need hobbies that don’t involve pieces of people’s souls.”

Kara, standing nearby, leaned over to Kori and whispered, “Why’s he like this?”

Kori beamed. “I believe he is what humans call ‘grumpy lobster.’”

Constantine gave her a flat look. “I feel like I should be offended, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Batman cleared his throat—his universal signal to get back to work.

Bill rolled his eyes, but only a little. “Right. So here’s the problem. Whoever did this didn’t just toss a fragment of her soul into a gem and call it a day. They laced the whole thing with enough enchantments to make anyone who tries to break it regret every life decision they’ve ever made.”

“Death curses?” Constantine asked.

“Among other things,” Bill muttered. “It’s like a magical version of a landmine. One wrong move, and—” He mimed an explosion with his hands.

“Fun.” Constantine lit a cigarette, only to have Superman glare him into putting it out. He groaned but flicked it away. “Alright, so what’s the twist? There’s always a twist.”

Bill hesitated, glancing at Fleur.

She answered for him, her voice quiet but firm. “The curse isn’t just about controlling her. It’s a tether—a way to bring something through her.”

Constantine’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Big, red, and rhymes with ‘Demon.’”

Bill gave him a grim smile. “You got it in one.”

The room went dead silent. Even Kara—normally the first to crack a joke—looked nervous. Wonder Woman’s arms crossed like she was ready to cut something in half, and Batman’s jaw clenched, which meant he was at least five steps ahead of everyone else.

“So…” Kara broke the silence. “Any ideas on how we get it out without, you know, summoning the apocalypse?”

Bill exchanged a glance with Fleur. “We can break it,” he said, “but it’s going to take time—and a lot of focus. This kind of curse fights back.”

“And if it blows up in your faces?” Constantine asked.

Fleur’s smile was cool, but her eyes sparkled with defiance. “Then we shall make sure it does not.”

Kori floated closer, clasping her hands together. “I will help! I do not know the spells, but I will… offer the cheering and positive reinforcement.”

Bill chuckled. “We’ll take all the support we can get.”

Constantine rolled his eyes but gave Bill a grudging nod. “Alright, ginger. Just try not to get yourselves killed, yeah?”

Shadowflame clapped Bill on the back. “No pressure, mate. Just save the day, stop a demon, and don’t blow up the Watchtower.”

Bill grinned. “Piece of cake.”

Constantine snorted. “More like a cake that’s on fire and filled with dynamite.”

Before anyone else could respond, Batman’s low growl cut through the conversation. “Get to work.”

Bill and Fleur turned back to the gemstone, ready to do what they did best: break curses, outsmart dark magic, and hopefully—hopefully—save the day without summoning an interdimensional demon.

Constantine leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them go to work with a shake of his head. “Bloody wizards,” he muttered under his breath. “Thought I’d seen it all…”

—

When Bill pulled me aside, his face was all serious, like he was about to tell me my owl had run off with a hippogriff. And let’s be real—given my track record, this conversation was probably going to be bad news.

"Harry," he started carefully, like I might explode if he said it wrong. "There’s something you need to know."

I sighed. "Great. Go on, then. Might as well get it over with."

Bill rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. "You remember the diary? The one you destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets?"

The memory hit me like cold water—Ginny lying there, white as a sheet, Tom Riddle grinning like he owned the place, and Fawkes doing his whole ‘Phoenix of the Year’ routine to keep me alive.

"Yeah," I said, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "I remember."

Bill took a deep breath. "That diary wasn’t just cursed. It was a Horcrux—a piece of Voldemort’s soul."

I blinked. "Come again? A what?"

"A Horcrux," Bill repeated, slower this time. "Basically, Voldemort split his soul and stuck pieces of it into objects so he wouldn’t die. He made five of them."

Five. As in more than one. As in way too many pieces of Voldemort’s soul floating around. The room felt like it tilted sideways. I’d destroyed one already without even knowing what it was—but there were four more.

Bill ran a hand through his hair, looking like someone who’d just realized the goblins miscounted his vault. "Dumbledore figured it out and planned to hunt them with you. But after you… uh… went through the Veil, he told me. We tracked the others down and destroyed them."

I stared at him. "All of them?"

"All but one," Bill said, jaw tight. "Nagini. Voldemort’s pet snake. I killed her the night he attacked Hogwarts. That same night… Dumbledore died."

Okay, so that’s five Horcruxes. The diary, Nagini, and three others that Bill and Dumbledore had destroyed. But something still didn’t sit right, like when you know you’ve forgotten a textbook before a big exam.

And then it hit me—like a rogue Bludger to the brain.

The scar. My bloody scar. It had always been more than a fancy lightning bolt. It burned whenever Voldemort got too close, and I could see things through his eyes.

I hadn’t just been some unlucky kid with an unwanted facial feature. I’d been walking around with a bit of Voldemort’s soul inside me.

The part that really made my skin crawl? That piece of soul had only been destroyed when I jumped through the Veil to save Sirius. I’d been carrying that thing around my whole life—like an uninvited guest in my head.

And Dumbledore had known.

That manipulative old git had known the whole time. He’d raised me like a lamb for slaughter, just waiting for me to be in the right place, at the right time, to die.

Anger bubbled up in my chest, hot and sharp. What was I supposed to do now? Announce to the world that their beloved Dumbledore had been playing chess with my life? Tell everyone I’d been Voldemort’s human Horcrux, all part of some grand plan to take him down? Yeah, right. I could already picture the looks of disbelief—and the headlines: "Boy Who Lived Also Boy Who Died for Voldemort, Says So Himself."

"Harry?" Bill’s voice snapped me out of it.

"Yeah?" I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black stone, smooth and cold. "There’s one more thing. Dumbledore wanted you to have this."

I turned it over in my hand, waiting for it to sprout fangs or start whispering terrible secrets. It didn’t. It just sat there, buzzing faintly with magic.

"What is it?" I asked, frowning.

Bill gave me a tight, awkward smile. "It’s called the Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore thought you’d need it."

The Resurrection Stone? That sounded like something straight out of a fairy tale—right up there with talking swords and cursed spinning wheels. I squinted at Bill, waiting for him to tell me he was joking. He wasn’t.

"And what’s it supposed to do, exactly?"

"Bring people back from the dead." Bill shrugged, though he didn’t seem thrilled about the idea either. "Apparently, it’s connected to your Invisibility Cloak. There’s some old story about it. I’ll explain later."

Wait—my cloak? What, was it supposed to be some kind of legendary relic too? That made zero sense. If there were a grand prophecy about me and my cloak, someone could’ve at least put it in a brochure or something.

But before I could ask more questions, Bill clapped me on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Harry. And if you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," I muttered, slipping the stone into my pocket.

Bill walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and about a hundred unanswered questions. Horcruxes. The Resurrection Stone. Some kind of weird connection between my cloak and all this mess.

And the worst part? Dumbledore knew all along that I was carrying Voldemort’s soul like a cursed souvenir.

It felt like every answer just gave me a dozen more questions. And as usual, I was the one left to figure it all out.

Because, apparently, that’s just what being Harry Potter means—going in blind and hoping you don’t get eaten by whatever’s waiting at the other end.

—

When Bill and I returned to the infirmary, the air was already thick with tension—and magic. It was the kind of magic that made the skin prickle and hair stand on end, the way a storm feels just before the lightning hits. Fleur and Constantine were already in motion, weaving together ancient spells, each word pulling at the dark energy radiating from the girl like a curse.

But we weren’t alone. Not by a long shot.

Superman stood at the edge of the room, his arms crossed, jaw tight with worry. You could see the frustration in every muscle—he wanted to help, but when it came to dark magic, raw strength wouldn’t solve a thing. Batman loomed beside him, silent as always, his eyes narrowed as if he was already planning for every way this could go sideways.

“Anything we can do?” Superman asked, his voice gentle but urgent.

Constantine didn’t even glance up from the runes he was tracing around the girl. “Not unless you’ve suddenly got a degree in demonology or can cast exorcisms in Latin, Big Blue.”

“Didn’t think so,” Superman muttered, visibly forcing himself to stay still.

Martian Manhunter hovered nearby, his red eyes glowing faintly as he tried—unsuccessfully—to reach into the girl’s mind. “Her mind is under siege,” he said, frustration flickering across his usually serene face. “The demon’s presence is too strong. I cannot intervene without risking her psyche.”

“Then don’t,” Batman said sharply, his voice like a whip crack. “She’s holding her ground. Don’t push her over the edge.”

On one of the beds, Starfire sat cross-legged, her fiery hair glowing faintly in the low light. She wrung her hands, her usual optimism dimmed by the gravity of the situation. "She is strong," she whispered. "But even the strongest need help sometimes."

Supergirl stood beside her, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold in her own frustration. “It feels wrong not being able to do anything,” she whispered. “We’re supposed to save people.”

Wonder Woman gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “We are saving her,” Diana said with quiet conviction. “Our presence here gives her strength. Even when we cannot fight, standing together matters.”

I gave her a small smile. That’s Diana for you—always the perfect balance of warrior and mentor.

“Right then,” Constantine said, lighting another cigarette and glancing toward the assembled heroes. “Everyone ready to play the world’s most dangerous game of Operation?”

“Constantine,” Batman growled. “Focus.”

Constantine smirked. “I am focused. This is what focused looks like.”

---

Inside Raven’s mind, chaos reigned. She hovered midair, a small, flickering light against the oppressive darkness that was Trigon. His monstrous form towered over her, red eyes glowing with hatred and frustration. Every second the others worked to pull the gemstone free was another second his grip slipped—and he knew it.

"You cannot escape me, daughter," Trigon’s voice echoed through the void, every word laced with venom and rage. "Your mortal friends cannot protect you forever. You are mine. You will always be mine."

Raven’s limbs trembled, but she straightened her spine, forcing her fear back into the pit of her stomach. No. Not today.

For the briefest moment, she felt it—a flicker of warmth. Not from herself, but from the people gathered around her in the real world. They were there for her. Even if they didn't know each other, even if they couldn't reach her directly, their presence filled the edges of her mind with something she hadn’t realized she’d needed.

Hope.

“I’m not alone,” she whispered. And for the first time in a long while, she believed it.

She raised her head and glared at Trigon, her voice steady. “You’ve already lost, Father. Go back to where you belong.”

—

Bill’s chant intensified, the runes around Raven glowing brighter as he poured his magic into the ritual. Fleur’s voice joined his, her French incantations smooth and precise, a perfect counterbalance to Constantine’s rougher spellwork.

The gemstone embedded in the girl’s forehead pulsed, a deep, angry red, as if trying to fight back. Dark energy rippled out, twisting like serpents through the room—but Wonder Woman stepped forward, planting herself firmly between the magical backlash and the rest of us, her golden bracers gleaming.

“Stay strong, child,” she murmured, though I wasn’t sure if Raven could hear her. “We are with you.”

Martian Manhunter gave a solemn nod, his voice calm as a lake at dawn. “Hold on just a little longer.”

The gemstone vibrated violently now, Trigon’s fury thrumming through every pulse. The girl let out a strangled gasp, her body arching off the bed.

Supergirl took a step forward, her fists clenched. “She’s—”

“She’s got this,” Batman said firmly.

Superman’s gaze didn’t leave Raven. “She’s not giving up. We won’t either.”

I felt a knot in my chest ease just slightly. It wasn’t magic or superpowers—not the kind you can see anyway—but damn if it didn’t feel powerful to have these people here.

“Almost there!” Bill called out, sweat beading on his brow. “One last push!”

Constantine grinned, though it was the grin of a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. “Let’s send that ugly sod back to the pit, shall we?”

Fleur’s eyes glowed with Veela fire as she finished the final incantation, her magic lashing around the gemstone like chains. With a shout, she thrust her hands toward the girl.

The gemstone shuddered—and then, with a final pulse of malevolent energy, it ripped free from the girl’s forehead. For a split second, it hovered in the air, cracked and blackened, before shattering into dust.

A deafening roar echoed through the room—the demon’s last, furious scream as his connection to this plane was severed.

—

The girl’s body went limp, her breathing shallow but steady. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Constantine flopped onto his back, panting dramatically. “Next time someone needs an exorcism, do not call me.”

Fleur ignored him, leaning over the girl with a soft, relieved smile. “She’s stable,” Fleur murmured. “We did it.”

Supergirl let out a breath of relief, sagging against Wonder Woman. “Thank Rao…”

Starfire’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “She will heal. I know it.”

Martian Manhunter closed his eyes briefly, as if offering a silent prayer or thanks. Superman knelt beside the bed, giving the girl a small, reassuring nod. “You’re safe now,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.”

Batman stood at the edge of the room, arms folded, his expression as unreadable as ever. But I knew better. That look wasn’t cold indifference—it was vigilance. He wasn’t done watching over her, not by a long shot.

The girl stirred, her eyelids fluttering open, dazed but aware. She blinked slowly, taking in the room, the faces around her. Her gaze finally met mine, and in that moment, she gave the faintest nod—a silent thank you.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

Her voice was raspy, but there was a quiet strength to it. “I will be.”

She shifted slightly, wincing as if testing her limbs. Then, with a small breath, she added, “My name is… Raven.”

Supergirl smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Raven.”

“Yeah, well, pleasure’s all ours,” Constantine muttered, dragging himself to his feet with a groan. “Right, now that we’ve saved the day… who’s buying the first round?”

Superman chuckled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got quite the team, Harry.”

I grinned, exhaustion weighing me down like a lead blanket. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

And in that moment, standing in the infirmary surrounded by heroes, friends, and someone who now had a name—Raven—I knew that whatever came next, we’d face it together.

—

As Raven lay back on the medbay bed, her breath steady but the weight of her story heavy in the air, she looked around at the gathered heroes—Shadowflame, Supergirl, Starfire, Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Martian Manhunter, John Constantine, Bill Weasley, and Fleur Delacour. It was like a comic book movie meeting, minus the quips and bad CGI. Raven’s violet eyes, dim with exhaustion, scanned each face before she finally spoke.

“My real name is Rachel Roth… but most know me as Raven.” She paused, letting that sink in. “I… I wasn’t born on Earth. I was born in a place called Azarath—a realm between dimensions.”

Supergirl leaned in closer, her eyes lighting up like she was about to discover a new favorite Netflix series. “Azarath? That sounds beautiful.”

Raven’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “It was... once. Picture lush fields, emerald skies, and crimson clouds drifting lazily through the air. Peaceful, serene. But all of that… it’s gone now.”

Her gaze darkened, haunted by memories that were more than just fuzzy recollections. “My mother, Angela Roth, was a human who was tricked—used by a demon named Trigon. He thought he’d create a super-demon baby to take over Earth or something. Classic villain move, right?”

Shadowflame tensed beside Superman, his jaw tightening as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.

“Trigon sent priests from Azarath to take my mother in, so she’d survive long enough to give birth to me. They renamed her Arella and raised her among pacifists, trying to shield us from Trigon’s influence. But when I was born... the skies turned black. What once smelled like fresh air now reeked of brimstone. The ground shook with fear—Azarath’s peace shattered by my arrival.”

Wonder Woman’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “They blamed you for this?”

Raven shook her head. “Not all of them. Azar, the leader of the realm, raised me herself. She knew I could manipulate emotions—mine and others’. So, to keep me safe... she made me suppress everything. If I didn’t feel, I couldn’t lose control.”

“Until...” Batman prompted quietly, his sharp gaze as relentless as ever.

Raven closed her eyes, guilt creeping into her voice like an uninvited guest. “When I turned sixteen, I wanted to know more about my father. I thought... maybe I could handle his power. Maybe I could understand him.” She swallowed hard. “So, I summoned him.”

Constantine’s face paled, and it looked like he might faint. “Bloody hell, kid…”

“I thought I was in control,” Raven said, her voice trembling. “But I wasn’t. Trigon escaped. He corrupted the entire realm, turning Azarath into a wasteland. He killed everyone.” This time, her voice cracked for real, but she steadied it quickly. “Azar, Arella… they all died. And it was my fault.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the medbay machines—like a sad symphony for a shattered realm. Starfire reached for Raven’s hand, her grip gentle and warm. “You were only a child… It was not your fault.”

Raven offered her a grateful, yet tired glance. “It took everything I had, but I trapped Trigon inside a gemstone embedded in my forehead. I thought... that would be the end of it.” She shook her head. “But he was always there—pushing, whispering, waiting to break free.”

“And that’s how you ended up here?” Martian Manhunter asked softly, his eyes filled with compassion.

She nodded. “I couldn’t stay in Azarath—not with it in ruins, not with him still inside me. I left... and landed here.”

Superman leaned forward, his expression a mix of warmth and resolve. “You won’t have to run anymore, Rachel. You’re not alone now.”

Raven’s violet eyes shimmered with emotion she couldn’t quite suppress. “You don’t understand. Trigon… he’s not done. As long as I’m alive, he’s still a threat. I put everyone around me in danger.”

“You let us worry about that,” Shadowflame said, his voice firm. “We’ve dealt with worse.”

Constantine snorted. “Speak for yourself, mate. I still have nightmares about that time we fought the zombie apocalypse. Not my best hair day.”

Fleur smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Raven’s face like she was about to perform a spell. “We’ll help you, Raven. We have experience with darkness. And you don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

Supergirl squeezed Raven’s hand gently, her eyes sparkling with a fierce determination. “Yeah. We’ve got you.”

Starfire gave her a bright, reassuring smile, radiating positivity like a walking sunbeam. “You have a new home now, Rachel.”

Batman didn’t say anything, but his unyielding gaze was fixed on Raven, a flicker of unspoken determination shining in his eyes.

Raven swallowed hard, feeling something unfamiliar stirring in her chest—hope, that rarest of commodities. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “All of you.”

Constantine clapped his hands together, breaking the moment like a clown at a funeral. “Well, now that we’ve had a heart-to-heart, how about we make sure nothing’s going to explode anytime soon?”

Superman chuckled, and Wonder Woman shot him an amused glance. “Not everything ends in disaster, John.”

Shadowflame smiled, exhaustion creeping up on him. “This one didn’t. And that’s a win.”

In that moment, surrounded by heroes and friends who felt more like a family than she could have ever imagined, Raven realized—for the first time in a long time—that she didn’t have to carry the burden alone. Whatever came next, they would face it together. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

—

Slade Wilson was having one of those days. You know, the kind where your teenage daughter keeps trying to decapitate you, and your underground network of criminal informants decides to drop life-changing news in the middle of sparring practice. Classic parenting problems.

Rose swung her katana toward his head with enough force to lop off a lesser man’s skull, but Slade parried without so much as a grunt. “You’re telegraphing again,” he said, twisting his sword just enough to send her weapon clattering across the room. “That’s the fifth time today.”

Rose blew a strand of sweaty hair out of her face, glowering. “I thought you said I was getting better.”

“You are,” Slade replied, deadpan. “At disappointing me.”

Before she could throw her sword—or possibly a punch—at him, his phone buzzed from the table. He didn’t do voicemails (who even had the patience for those?), so he answered it with a curt, “Talk.”

On the other end was a contact who had seen enough of Deathstroke in action to know not to waste his time. “You’re not gonna believe this,” the guy said, voice crackling through the line. “Talia Tate is back.”

That got Slade’s attention. Talia Tate, one of Talia al Ghul’s favorite aliases, hadn’t been seen in years. And if she was crawling out from whatever rock she’d been hiding under, it wasn’t just for brunch.

“Where?” Slade asked, already mentally running through every possible move she could make.

“Peverell Industries,” the voice replied. “She’s their new CEO.”

Slade arched an eyebrow. “A corporate gig? For Talia? Please. What’s the real play?”

“Here’s the kicker,” the contact continued. “She’s attending the UN summit next week. You know, the one with Atlantis and Themyscira?”

Of course. The one where world leaders would gather to discuss treaties, magic, and probably eat those tiny canapés no one likes. Slade could practically smell the political scheming from here.

“Queen Hippolyta sent a personal invite to the company’s board,” the contact added. “Talia Tate included.”

Slade let out a humorless laugh. “That snake. Of course, she’s wormed her way into that.”

He hung up without saying goodbye (because who even needs manners?) and turned back to Rose, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping the whole time. “Guess what, kiddo? We’ve got plans next week.”

Rose tilted her head. “UN summit?”

“Yep. We’re going.” He tossed her a towel. “Pack light. This isn’t a smash-and-grab—it’s precision work.”

Rose grinned. “What’s the endgame? We nab Talia, take control of the League of Assassins, and rule the world?”

“Something like that,” Slade said, already calculating his next steps. “Once we’ve got Talia, the rest of the League will fall in line. And with Ra’s in a cell somewhere, it’ll be ours.”

Rose gave him a cocky smirk. “When’s the last time we did something that wasn’t precision work?”

Slade gave her a look that was part fond exasperation, part how-did-I-raise-this-gremlin? “I’ll remind you of that the next time I’m dragging your messes out of a police evidence locker.”

Rose rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. They both knew she had a talent for chaos.

Slade grabbed a black folder from the table—thick with surveillance reports, guest lists, and floor plans for the summit. His brain was already working overtime, fitting together the puzzle pieces. Talia had a plan. Whatever it was, Slade intended to be two steps ahead by the time it played out.

Because in this game? You either control the board, or you become a pawn. And Slade Wilson was no one’s pawn.

This summit was going to be fun.

—

Clark Kent was exhausted. Saving the world six times a day would do that to a guy. All he wanted now was to kick off his boots, scarf down some leftover pizza, and pretend he wasn’t an all-powerful alien for a few hours. You know, regular Tuesday night stuff.

When he stepped into his Metropolis apartment, the familiar creaks and hums of home welcomed him. The place smelled faintly of takeout and Lois’s shampoo. Her coat was still draped over a chair, right where she’d tossed it—half art installation, half ‘organized chaos,’ as she liked to call it.

He hit the button on the answering machine, and her voice came through, smooth and slightly frazzled:

“Hey, Smallville. I’ll be working late—deadline stuff. Don’t wait up, okay? Love you.”

Clark grinned. Deadline stuff meant two things: (1) Lois was in full journalist mode, which meant no sleep tonight, and (2) the odds of her ordering questionable Chinese food by 2 a.m. were astronomically high.

"Love you too," he said under his breath, knowing full well she couldn’t hear him. Not that it stopped him.

As he moved through the apartment, he peeled off his suit like it was some kind of alien spandex curse—because it kind of was. Boots off. Cape? Draped casually over the back of a chair, like a heroic laundry mishap. By the time he was down to just the top half of his uniform hanging around his waist, his brain was already halfway to shower and bed mode.

But then—because the universe clearly didn’t believe in giving heroes breaks—he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He froze, staring at his reflection. And here’s the weird part: for a fraction of a second, the guy in the mirror wasn’t him.

Gone was the boy-next-door smile. Instead, the reflection wore a smirk so cold and smug it could’ve made Lex Luthor cry for his mommy. Clark’s blue eyes flashed red, molten like they’d been dipped in a volcano. And the face staring back? Yeah, that wasn’t Clark Kent.

That was Trigon.

It only lasted a blink—so fast Clark didn’t even notice. He ran a hand through his hair, muttered something about needing a shave, and turned toward the bathroom.

But for the readers—you—it was pretty obvious.

Trigon, the literal demon king of emotional trauma, had found himself a new hotel to squat in: the Man of Steel. And nobody—nobody—had a clue. Not Batman. Not Wonder Woman. Not even Superman himself.

As Clark turned on the shower, oblivious to the supernatural squatters’ situation happening under his skin, the apartment settled into silence. But the reflection in the mirror lingered just a little too long.

Somewhere deep inside, Trigon smiled.

And just like that, the most powerful hero on Earth had a passenger—and nobody knew where the ride was headed.

Chapter Text

It’s been a wild week since Raven showed up. Not only did she bond with Kara and Kori like they were long-lost sisters, but she’s also moved into Mount Justice. And, of course, because nothing in my life can ever be simple, Mount Justice isn’t just a superhero hideout anymore. Nope. Now it’s also home to about a thousand witches, wizards, goblins, Veela, and a whole bunch of magical creatures from my old universe. Goblins are setting up banks, hippogriffs are nesting on nearby cliffs, and I’m pretty sure a nundu is prowling the lower tunnels. Basically, Mount Justice has become a magical zoo.

And somehow, I’m in charge of this circus.

Right now, I’m standing in front of a mirror, trying to convince myself I look like the person I’m supposed to be. Which is a lot harder than it sounds.

The guy staring back at me? He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline—like someone ripped him straight out of a teen drama show. Black hair, artfully messy. Emerald-green eyes that practically glow, even in bad lighting. If you squint, I look a lot like a young teen heartthrob. You know, minus the whole “part wizard, part superhero” thing.

I adjust the tie on my suit, which costs more than everything I’ve ever owned—probably even more than my Hogwarts tuition, if that had been a thing. I tug at the cuffs. Straighten the lapels. It’s still weird seeing myself in clothes like these. Back at Hogwarts, I spent most of my time in robes or hand-me-downs from Dudley. Now? I’m wearing a custom-tailored suit meant to make me look like a billionaire heir.

Because apparently, that’s who I am now.

Charis Peverell. Yeah, say it five times fast. That’s the name Batman and Diana cooked up for me—complete with a whole backstory about being the long-lost son of Diana of Themyscira (Wonder Woman, to her friends) and James Peverell (a dead guy Batman made up to keep things legit). Oh, and because I’m technically Diana’s kid, that makes me a prince of Themyscira. Not that I can actually go there, being, you know… male. But hey, titles are fun.

Oh, and did I mention that Peverell Industries is a thing now? Batman and the goblins thought it would be a great cover—give me a public identity and let the goblins do what they do best: infiltrate the world economy and make a lot of money. Nothing suspicious about that, right?

I shake my head, half-expecting to wake up from this fever dream.

Just as I’m starting to feel like an imposter in my own skin, the door swings open, and in strolls my support squad—Sirius, Remus, and Talia.

Sirius grins like he’s about to drag me to some dodgy pub. “Look at you, kid! Sharp as a dragon’s tooth.” He claps me on the back, nearly knocking the air out of me. “Your old man—” He catches himself, grinning slyly. “I mean, James—would’ve been proud.”

“Gee, thanks, Pads,” I mutter. “That really clears things up.”

Remus steps in next, looking about as comfortable as a cat in water. He’s pulling at his sleeves like the suit is slowly strangling him, but even he looks polished. “The suit fits,” he mutters.

High praise, coming from Moony.

Then there’s Talia. Cool, collected, and terrifyingly competent. She glides into the room like she owns it—and, to be fair, she kinda does. As far as the world knows, she’s Talia Tate, CEO of Peverell Industries. As far as I know, she could kill me with a business card and wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.

“You’re fidgeting,” Talia says, arching one perfect brow. “Stop it. You’ll make us look unprofessional.”

“Oh yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin our totally normal corporate image,” I say with a grin that’s 90% nerves.

Talia gives me a look that could freeze lava. “You need to embrace the role, Harry. If you don’t believe you’re Charis Peverell, no one else will.”

Before I can tell her how helpful that advice is (spoiler: it’s not), Sirius leans in and whispers, “Don’t worry, kid. Just wing it. Works every time.”

“Yeah, because your plans always go so smoothly,” Remus mutters, shooting Sirius a tired glare.

I take a deep breath and glance back at the mirror. The guy staring at me still looks like a stranger. But I don’t have a choice. This whole thing is happening, whether I’m ready or not.

Talia checks her watch. “We leave in five. Try not to look like you’re going to throw up.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Talia,” I say with a smirk. “Really inspiring.”

She rolls her eyes and sweeps out of the room, followed by Sirius and Remus. Sirius pauses at the door, flashing me one last grin. “Remember, kid—you’re Charis Peverell now. And Charis Peverell? He doesn’t sweat stuff like this.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter as he leaves, “Charis Peverell sounds exhausting.”

Alone again, I stare at my reflection one more time. I square my shoulders, adjust my cuffs, and force myself to smile.

“Alright, Charis,” I say to the mirror. “Time to make the world believe.”

And with that, I turn away and head out the door, hoping nobody realizes just how out of my depth I really am.

—

The limo glides through the streets of Metropolis like it owns the road, smooth as butter. Inside, I’m doing my best to not completely freak out. Which, let’s be real, is pretty impressive given the circumstances. I’m in a limo on my way to a freaking UN summit, flanked by three of the most dangerous and unpredictable people I know. What could possibly go wrong?

Sirius is sprawled out on the leather seat across from me, looking as relaxed as if we’re heading to a theme park instead of a diplomatic event. Remus sits next to him, one leg crossed over the other, sipping quietly from a flask he definitely didn’t clear with security. And Talia? She’s on my left, cool as a cucumber, flipping through today’s Daily Planet like it’s her personal to-do list.

“Enjoying the quiet before the chaos?” Sirius asks with a grin.

“Yeah, nothing says ‘calm’ like an impending diplomatic nightmare,” I mutter, adjusting the tie that still feels like a noose.

Talia folds the newspaper with surgical precision, then nudges it toward me with two fingers. “You might want to see this.”

Curious (and a little suspicious—because Talia doesn’t just hand things over without reason), I glance down at the headline.

NEW HERO ON THE BLOCK: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH CHARIS PEVERELL (aka SHADOWFLAME), THE TEENAGE WONDER WHO KNOCKED OUT BLACK ADAM.

There’s a photo of me, mid-flame-wing, looking way cooler than I felt at the time. I’m in my Shadowflame suit—black and gold, with a crimson gemstone embedded in the chest. The wings, made entirely of fire, look like something out of a myth, which was kind of the point. They flare out behind me as I hover just above the ground, like a phoenix trying to blend in with the locals.

I cringe internally, because, let’s be honest: the whole thing was Batman’s idea. It wasn’t just about punching Black Adam in the face (though that part was satisfying). It was about making sure people saw me do it. Building credibility. Public perception. All that strategic Bat-nonsense. The interview with Lois Lane was the cherry on top. If people believe in Shadowflame, they’ll believe in Charis Peverell. And if they believe in Charis, the whole backstory Bruce concocted holds water.

And it’s working. Maybe too well.

“I don’t suppose there’s an article about keeping impostor syndrome at bay?” I ask, shooting Talia a look.

She arches a brow, because Talia doesn't believe in syndromes. “You’re in the spotlight now, Harry. Best get comfortable.”

I let out a low groan and slump deeper into the leather seat. “Yeah, no pressure.”

Remus chuckles softly. “It could be worse.”

“Worse how?” I ask, half-expecting the universe to answer by throwing a meteor at us.

“You could’ve been interviewed by Clark Kent,” Remus says. “He’d make you cry halfway through, and you wouldn’t even know how it happened.”

Sirius laughs so hard I’m worried the driver might hear him. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

“Glad my existential crisis is entertaining for you,” I mutter, rubbing my temples.

Talia doesn’t even blink. “It’s not a crisis, Harry. It’s branding.”

I shoot her an incredulous look. “You say that like it’s better.”

She smirks. “It is. If you do it right.”

I glance at the paper again, catching another glimpse of myself as Shadowflame. I’ve only been operating under that name for a couple of months, and somehow the whole world already knows who I am. That’s what happens when you punch someone like Black Adam in the jaw. You don’t just make headlines. You become the headline.

The problem is, Shadowflame is everything Charis Peverell is supposed to be—confident, powerful, larger than life. But Charis Peverell? That’s still me, Harry Potter. And Harry Potter? He’s just a guy in an expensive suit, pretending not to drown under the weight of expectations.

Sirius claps a hand on my shoulder. “Relax, kid. You’ve got this.”

I wish I believed him. But for now, I settle for a half-smile and hope it looks convincing.

Because ready or not, Shadowflame is about to make his diplomatic debut. And something tells me it’s going to be one hell of a show.

—

The limo glides to a smooth stop, and before I even have time to adjust my tie one last time, I see the flashing lights outside. There’s enough paparazzi camped out at the entrance to start a small riot. Cameras click and whirr like an army of digital mosquitoes, eager to capture every moment of our arrival.

Sirius whistles low. "Look at that. They rolled out the red carpet just for us."

“Yeah,” I mutter, eyeing the crowd. “It’s either that or they’re preparing for a feeding frenzy.”

Remus shoots me a look of quiet sympathy but smooths it over with his usual calm demeanor. "We’ve faced worse. Remember the time you escaped that horde of Dementors? This should be easier. Just smile."

Right. Smile. Easy.

Talia catches my eye and gives me a subtle nod. She’s already in full CEO mode—poised, collected, and so sharp she could cut glass with just a glance. "Stay in character," she murmurs. "The prince, the billionaire, the hero. You are Charis Peverell."

No pressure or anything. Just your average, everyday Teenage Billionaire Prince with a secret superhero identity.

Sirius adjusts his cufflinks, smirking like he’s been waiting his whole life for this kind of attention. "Follow our lead, kid. We’ll handle the vultures."

Before I can second-guess the whole operation, the door swings open, and the outside world explodes in a shower of camera flashes and shouted questions.

"Mr. Black! Over here!"

"Is that really Charis Peverell?"

"Ms. Tate, what’s Peverell Industries’ next big move?"

"How does it feel to be a teenage billionaire, Charis?"

Talia, Sirius, and Remus step out first, effortlessly falling into their assigned roles. They look like they’ve done this a hundred times—cool and untouchable, giving just enough attention to keep the reporters on edge but not enough to spill anything meaningful. The media swarms them, and for a brief moment, I watch in awe as they dismantle the barrage of questions with the precision of a heist crew.

"Mr. Peverell is excited to meet with world leaders at the summit today," Talia says with a smile that could stop traffic.

"Of course, Charis will answer questions when appropriate," Sirius adds, flashing a grin that makes a few reporters blush. "He’s still getting used to all the attention."

Remus plays the quiet, responsible adult, fielding inquiries about the company’s future with a smile so sincere it’s almost unnerving. "We’ll release an official statement later today."

They’re good. Really good. Which means I just have to not screw this up.

My turn.

Taking a breath, I step out into the chaos, and for a second, the flashbulbs blind me. The crowd surges, shouting questions, but I channel every ounce of Shadowflame’s confidence. I stand tall, let a lazy grin spread across my face, and give the crowd what they came for: Teenage Billionaire Prince with a side of mystery.

I raise a hand in a small, half-wave, just the right amount of “I’m too cool for this” without coming off as rude. Cameras click like crazy.

"Charis! Over here!"

"What’s your favorite part of being a superhero?"

"Any comment on your connection to Themyscira?"

I don’t answer any of them, of course. That’s not how this works. The art of being Charis Peverell is all about looking like you could say something profound at any moment—but choosing not to. Instead, I keep walking, flanked by my very protective entourage. The message is clear: I’m important, I’m in control, and I’ve got people to handle the messy stuff.

We glide up the steps toward the entrance like we belong there, the crowd trailing behind us in a blur of noise and lights. I can feel the weight of their gazes on me—everyone trying to figure me out. They see the heir to a billion-dollar empire, a prince by blood, and a superhero by choice. They have no idea I’m also a kid who still gets nervous tying a Windsor knot.

Sirius leans in as we reach the summit doors, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "See? Told you you’d nail it."

I give him a quick glance. "If nailing it means not puking in front of fifty reporters, then yeah, I nailed it."

He chuckles. "That’s the spirit, kid."

Talia steps ahead, her heels clicking smartly against the marble as she leads us through the entrance. "Welcome to the big leagues, Charis. Better get used to it."

As the grand doors swing shut behind us, cutting off the roar of the paparazzi, I allow myself a small sigh of relief. One hurdle down. Now all I have to do is survive the UN summit without accidentally starting a diplomatic incident.

Easy, right?

—

From the shadowy perch of a high-rise across the street, Slade Wilson—better known to the world as Deathstroke—adjusts the scope of his rifle. The cold metal of the weapon feels comfortable in his hands, as natural as breathing. His one remaining eye narrows as he watches the limo roll to a stop beneath the UN summit building, and the four passengers step out into the chaos of cameras and questions.

“Look at them,” Slade mutters, mostly to himself. “Parading around like royalty.”

His daughter, Rose, sits beside him, chewing gum with all the enthusiasm of someone trying to stave off boredom. She’s in full costume—her signature white-and-black armor, a katana strapped to her back—but she lounges in her chair like it’s casual Friday.

"Teenage billionaire superhero," she says, watching Harry through a pair of binoculars. "I mean, come on, Dad. This kid’s living the dream."

Slade doesn’t reply immediately. His focus is on Charis Peverell—the heir apparent of some conveniently resurrected fortune, prince of Themyscira by blood, and, if the rumors are to be believed, the new superhero everyone’s talking about: Shadowflame. Slade’s been around long enough to smell something fishy when it wafts his way, and this kid stinks of secrets.

Rose blows a bubble and lets it pop loudly, earning a glare from her father. “Relax. It’s not like they can hear me from all the way up here.”

Slade shifts his weight slightly, still tracking Harry through the scope. "Don’t underestimate him, Rose. That kid might look soft, but he decked Black Adam hard enough to put him in traction."

Rose raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, and I bet that punch felt really good. Admit it—you’re impressed."

Slade doesn’t answer. He’s not the kind of man who admits to being impressed, especially by teenagers. Instead, he watches as Harry moves through the crowd, his every step measured, every glance calculated. If Slade hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought the kid was born into this life. But Slade does know better. The name "Peverell" might sound like old money, but it’s a name nobody had heard of until recently. And now, suddenly, it’s attached to Themyscira, Peverell Industries, and a fire-winged superhero?

"Something’s not right with him," Slade mutters.

"Yeah, no kidding," Rose says. "You think he knows Talia’s using him?"

Slade's jaw tightens beneath his mask. "He'll figure it out sooner or later. The question is, when—and how badly it’ll blow up in her face when he does."

Rose tilts her head, as if reconsidering the boy in the binoculars. “So, what’s the plan? Wait until he’s royally screwed, or...?”

Slade’s lips curl into a thin, predatory grin. “We watch. We wait. And when the time’s right..." He lets the sentence hang, knowing Rose can fill in the blanks.

Rose’s grin mirrors her father’s, a dangerous glint in her eye. “You always did know how to make a girl’s day, Dad.”

The two of them sit in comfortable silence, watching as Harry disappears inside with his entourage. Slade lowers the scope and leans back, mentally running through the hundred ways this could all go sideways.

"Keep an eye on him," he tells Rose. "The kid's a wild card, and I don’t like wild cards."

Rose taps her binoculars against her knee, chewing thoughtfully on her gum. “You think Talia’s plan is gonna work?”

Slade shrugs. "Doesn't matter. When it doesn’t—" He taps his temple. "We’ll be there to pick up the pieces."

And with that, the mercenary father-daughter duo settle in, watching the building like hawks, knowing it’s only a matter of time before the cracks start to show.

—

The second we step inside, the paparazzi go absolutely bonkers. Flashes go off like strobe lights at a bad rave, and the noise? It’s a chaotic mix of shouted questions, camera clicks, and way-too-eager reporters calling out my “name” like we’re best friends. Honestly, if I didn’t have super hearing, I could pretend they were yelling at someone else.

I play the role like I was born into it: casual grin, hands in my pockets, the kind of walk that says, Yeah, I own the place—and maybe the next five blocks too. Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus are doing their thing—flashing charming, non-answers to the reporters. They’ve got the whole “mysterious board members of Peverell Industries” routine down pat. Talia, on the other hand, looks like she could run for office with how smooth she handles the press, batting questions aside with a smile that says, Try harder, amateurs.

All I have to do is look like the perfect combination of teenage billionaire, royal prince, and fire-winged superhero. No pressure, right?

And then I see her—Diana.

She’s standing by the entrance to the hall, looking every bit the Amazonian goddess she is. I mean, technically she is one, but even if she weren’t, she’s got that whole I can punch a tank in half and still make it to brunch on time energy down. She’s in full warrior-princess mode: dark hair falling over her shoulders, eyes calm but sharp enough to cut steel.

The second our eyes meet, her expression softens, and I can’t help but grin.

Without even thinking, I break away from the others and head toward her. The cameras behind me go wild—guess the press really loves a good “family reunion” shot.

“Mom,” I say as I wrap my arms around her. It still feels weird to call her that, but hey, it sells the story.

Diana hugs me tightly, and for a moment, all the pretense fades. She’s got this warm, grounding presence that makes everything—superhero stuff, secret identities, even this—feel manageable.

“You’re doing well, Charis,” she says softly. She always uses my “official” name when we’re out in public, just to drill the cover in a little deeper.

I grin. “Not bad for a kid from Little Whinging, huh?”

She pulls back slightly, her expression a mix of fondness and warning. “My mother is very excited to meet you.”

Oh. Right. Queen Hippolyta. The actual queen of Themyscira. No pressure or anything.

“So, uh... how’s she feeling about all this?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “Like, on a scale from ‘formal handshake’ to ‘you’re-not-good-enough-for-my-daughter.’”

Diana’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t quite smile. “She’s... traditional.”

Yeah. I figured. In other words: Don’t screw this up, kid.

“And what about Donna?” I ask, shifting gears. Diana’s sixteen-year-old adopted sister is technically my aunt now, which is both hilarious and terrifying.

Diana’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “She’s excited to meet you. She’s already trying to figure out what she can teach you.”

I groan. “Great. So she’s planning to kill me, then?”

“She likes to test people,” Diana says, way too calmly. “It’s an Amazon thing.”

“Oh, I bet it is.” I sigh dramatically. “So what’s the protocol here? Do I call her Aunt Donna? Aunt Wonder Girl? Auntie Amazon?”

Diana nudges me with her shoulder, her expression warm but firm. “Just behave.”

“No promises.” I smirk, because let’s be real—when have I ever?

We pull apart just as the paparazzi outside press closer, their cameras still pointed our way. Diana gives me that look—the one that says, Stay sharp. Remember why we’re here.

I straighten my jacket, slip my arm through hers, and flash her my best “I’ve-got-this” grin. “Ready to knock some political socks off?”

She loops her arm through mine like royalty does this sort of thing every day. “Let’s.”

And with that, we step into the hall together: Wonder Woman and her “son,” striding into a room full of ambassadors, politicians, and people just waiting for me to mess up.

Somewhere in this mess, Queen Hippolyta is waiting to meet me—and Donna, too. If I play my cards right, I’ll make it out with my dignity intact. If not? Well, at least I’ve already got fire wings. Those might come in handy for a quick exit.

—

The room they bring us to is massive—vaulted ceilings, gold trim, all that regal flair you’d expect from a diplomatic summit. It’s like they took the Sistine Chapel, threw in some Atlantean architecture, and sprinkled in a bit of Themysciran magic just to make everyone feel underdressed. Which, lucky me, I’m not.

I tug at the cuff of my ridiculously expensive jacket, making sure I still look like “Charis Peverell, Teenage Billionaire Prince,” even if I feel more like “Harry Potter, who is very much winging it right now.”

At Diana’s side, I step through the doorway, and there she is—the Queen Hippolyta, ruler of Themyscira, legendary Amazon warrior, and the woman I’m supposed to convince I belong in this insane world.

She stands by the far wall, straight-backed and regal, her armor gleaming as if she just came from battle. Her long blonde hair is braided intricately, her crown perched in place like it was forged to intimidate. And judging by the way she looks at me, I’d say mission accomplished.

The moment her piercing gaze lands on me, I feel like I just got hit with a Stunner. No smile, no warmth—just cold assessment, like she’s reading every secret I’ve ever tried to keep buried.

Perfect. Just what I need: a magical lie detector with a sword.

Beside her stands Donna Troy—Diana’s 16-year-old adopted sister, which makes her, hilariously enough, my aunt. She’s got this wild, mischievous glint in her dark eyes, like she’s two seconds away from challenging me to a duel just to see what I’m made of. She’s wearing a sleek black outfit with silver accents that somehow screams both “superhero” and “troublemaker.”

I give her a polite smile, trying to stay cool. She grins back, way too eager.

Oh yeah. This is gonna be fun.

Diana steps forward, and I follow her lead. “Mother, this is Charis.”

I bow slightly, because you bow to queens, even if they’re technically family. “Your Majesty.”

Hippolyta arches a brow. Her expression says, That better not be the best you’ve got. I resist the urge to tug at my collar and remind myself I fought Black Adam. I can do this.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” I add, keeping my voice steady. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her stare doesn’t waver. “I imagine you have.”

Okay. Off to a great start.

Donna leans closer, not even pretending to be subtle. “So, do those fire wings of yours really come out whenever you want, or is it more of a ‘magic mood ring’ situation?”

Before I can answer, Hippolyta clears her throat, silencing Donna with nothing but a look. Donna just shrugs, like What? I was curious.

Diana steps between us, clearly in her diplomatic mode. “Mother, Donna, I’d like you to officially welcome Charis as part of our family. He carries the name Peverell, but he is also my son in every way that matters.”

I glance at Diana, a little taken aback by how easily those words roll off her tongue. It’s like she really means it, like she’s not just saying it for the sake of the cover. And weirdly? That makes me feel... good.

Hippolyta studies me a moment longer, then gives the slightest nod. “You have your mother’s courage.”

It’s a small compliment, but I’ll take it. I give her my best charming smile—the one that’s gotten me out of trouble more times than I care to admit. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Donna, meanwhile, has no intention of letting me off easy. She steps closer, looking me up and down like I’m a shiny new toy. “So, when do we spar?”

“Spar?” I blink. “We just met.”

Donna grins, like that’s not a good excuse at all. “Exactly. Best way to get to know someone.”

Diana places a hand on Donna’s shoulder before things can spiral too far. “Later, Donna.”

Donna pouts, but Hippolyta gives a subtle nod of approval. “Your aunt is right. It is important to know how someone fights.”

Great. Family bonding, Amazon-style.

I plaster on my best smile and pretend I’m not slightly terrified. “Looking forward to it.”

Donna’s grin widens. “Hope you can keep up, Prince.”

Oh boy. What have I gotten myself into?

—

Meeting royalty is a lot like juggling flaming swords—you’re expected to smile, stay graceful, and definitely not drop anything, or, you know, set yourself on fire. With Diana on my arm, we weave through the crowd of UN dignitaries, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. I smile when required, nod like I actually care about diplomatic trade deals, and try not to think about how if I was in my superhero suit, it would’ve made all of this way more fun.

And then, as if this circus wasn’t lively enough, the Atlantean delegation arrives, and the whole room collectively loses its mind.

The doors swing open, and in walks Aquaman—sorry, King Orin. I swear the guy looks like he just walked out of a shampoo commercial, with that perfect salt-and-pepper beard and ocean-colored armor that gleams like it’s never seen a barnacle. Behind him is Queen Mera, looking like she’s ready to drown anyone who sneezes in her general direction. Her red hair flows behind her like it’s powered by some magical underwater breeze.

Then there’s Mareena, the sixteen-year-old princess who’s way too comfortable with teasing me about every part of my life. She spots me instantly, and, yep—there it is. That smug grin she always wears when she knows something I don’t. Which, by the way, is often.

Kaldur’ahm follows right behind them, calm as ever. He’s Aquaman’s sidekick and one of my closest friends in the Justice League. Where I have wings made of fire, Kaldur wields magical water whips and somehow manages to look dignified doing it. If I tried that, I’d just end up soaking everyone and slipping on the floor.

Mareena makes a beeline for me, giving me a quick once-over like she’s judging a fashion show. “Charis,” she says with a grin, “nice suit. Very billionaire chic. Though I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed the wings didn’t make an appearance.”

I flash her a grin right back. “Didn’t want to outshine your dad. It’s a courtesy thing.”

She laughs—one of those easy, teasing laughs that says she knows exactly how full of it I am. “Kara and Kori send their love, by the way. They told me not to steal you away, but… no promises.”

I roll my eyes. “Tell them I said thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Kaldur, ever the practical one, steps up next to us and raises an eyebrow. “Mareena, do you ever stop trying to cause trouble?”

“Why would I?” she replies, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Kaldur just shakes his head, then gives me a small nod. “Good to see you, Shadowflame. Surviving all this?”

“Barely,” I mutter. “If someone hands me one more canapé, I swear I’m going to start setting things on fire.”

“Don’t,” Kaldur advises with a rare smile. “Not unless you want your mother to ground you.”

Before I can fire back a witty comeback, the king himself approaches. Aquaman isn’t just a king—he looks like one. His sea-green eyes lock onto me, and for a split second, I feel like I’m about to get a lecture about the importance of tidal currents or something equally ocean-y.

“Charis Peverell,” he says in a voice that could command a hurricane. “Good to see you again. I’ve been hearing quite a bit about you from other League members.”

“Hopefully good things?” I say, aiming for polite but landing somewhere closer to awkward.

Aquaman’s grin is sharp, like the edge of a trident. “Mostly.”

Before I can figure out whether that’s a compliment or a veiled threat, Mera steps in with a smile that’s just as sharp as her husband’s. “You carry yourself well, young prince. Your mother should be proud.”

Diana squeezes my arm, and I’m about ninety percent sure it’s a silent warning not to say anything dumb.

I bow slightly, keeping my expression as prince-like as I can manage. “It’s an honor to meet you both.” I glance at Mareena and smirk. “And, of course, always a pleasure to see you.”

Mareena returns my smirk with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Obviously.”

With the pleasantries out of the way, the Atlanteans are soon swept up by the flow of the crowd, leaving me with Diana and Kaldur.

“Good job,” Kaldur says quietly. “You managed not to insult any royalty. That’s progress.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’ll put it on my résumé: Didn’t embarrass myself in front of Aquaman.”

Kaldur’s expression softens just enough to show amusement. “Remember, it’s not just about survival. It’s about making an impression.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter under my breath, “hopefully that impression isn’t ‘awkward teenage billionaire with a thing for fire wings.’”

Kaldur just gives me one of those cryptic, knowing looks and slips back into the crowd, leaving me to ponder the fact that this—playing the role of Charis Peverell—might just be more complicated than punching Black Adam in the face.

Chapter Text

Here’s the thing about dancing at high-stakes political events: It sounds way more glamorous than it actually is. You’d think it’s all twirls and elegance, but really, it’s just me trying not to make a complete fool of myself in front of dignitaries, superheroes, and, oh yeah, my girlfriends’ friend, Mareena. No pressure, right?

I was doing my best to stay out of trouble—blending into the crowd, sipping water, and hoping no one would notice the teenage prince/billionaire/superhero lurking by the snack table—when Sirius, Remus, and Talia cornered me like a pack of wolves.

"You’re brooding like someone canceled Christmas," Sirius said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “We can’t have that, pup. You’ve got an image to maintain.”

“I’m not brooding,” I grumbled, adjusting my ridiculously overpriced suit. "I’m just... reflecting."

Talia rolled her eyes so hard I was pretty sure they’d get stuck. “If that’s what reflecting looks like, you need to work on your PR face.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on her dress, which somehow managed to look both professional and deadly. “Seriously, Charis, you’re the Prince of Themyscira now. Lighten up before people think you’ve inherited Batman’s social skills.”

Remus chuckled into his glass. “That would be tragic.”

“Okay, first of all,” I shot back, “Batman has excellent social skills when he’s intimidating people.”

“And you’re doing a terrible job at it,” Sirius added with a grin.

Then Talia hit me with the kicker. “Why don’t you ask Mareena to dance?”

“Nope.” I shook my head so fast I probably looked like a malfunctioning robot. “Not happening.”

Sirius leaned in, smirking like the devil. “What’s the matter? You afraid of a little dance floor?”

Flashbacks of the Yule Ball hit me like a bludger to the face. “We all remember how well my last big dance went.” Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

“Oh please.” Talia waved that off like it was ancient history. (Which it kind of was, but still.) “You’ve come a long way since then. I made sure of it.”

She wasn’t lying. Talia had been relentless with the dance lessons. And when you’ve got partners like Kara and Kori, well… let’s just say I learned pretty fast. Turns out, Wonder Woman DNA plus hours of practice equals one surprisingly good dancer. Who knew?

Sirius nudged me toward the dance floor. “Come on, princeling. This is your chance to impress everyone—and by everyone, I mean Mareena.”

I glanced across the room, and yep—there she was, lounging by the dance floor with that effortless Atlantean confidence. She caught my eye and gave me a look that said, Well? What are you waiting for?

Great. Now if I didn’t ask her, I’d look like a coward.

“Fine,” I muttered, straightening my tie. “But if I trip and take out a UN delegate, I’m blaming you.”

Talia gave me a sly smile. “I’ll make sure it’s on brand.”

With one last deep breath, I adjusted my suit, plastered on what I hoped was a confident grin, and headed toward Mareena.

No way this could go wrong, right?

—

As I walked toward Mareena, my brain ran a marathon of bad ideas. Asking the Princess of Atlantis to dance at a high-profile event? Yep, that was right up there with poking a sleeping dragon—or worse, messing with Kori’s pizza stash. I could already hear tomorrow's headlines: “Shadowflame and Mareena: The Next Power Couple?”

Spoiler: My girlfriends were not going to be thrilled about this.

Mareena spotted me coming and gave me a grin that said, I know exactly what you're up to, and I'm going to enjoy every second of this. That grin was dangerous. Not “end-of-the-world” dangerous—more like “Kara and Kori laughing at me until I die of embarrassment” dangerous.

Still, I pushed through. I mean, how bad could it be? It’s just a dance, right? Right?

I stopped in front of her and offered my hand, trying to channel all the confidence I could muster. “Princess Mareena, would you do me the honor?”

She arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “How formal of you, Charis. Yes, I’d love to.”

Okay, step one, done. Now all I had to do was not trip over my feet or start a diplomatic incident. Easy, right?

As we made our way to the dance floor, I heard the click of a thousand cameras and the hum of reporters practically frothing at the mouth. Flashbulbs lit up like we were walking through a lightning storm.

“Shadowflame! Are you two dating?”

“Is this a new Atlantean-Themysciran alliance?”

“How does Wonder Woman feel about your royal courtship?”

Royal courtship? What?! I nearly tripped right there, but Mareena caught me, her smirk making it clear she was enjoying my discomfort. I gave her a look that screamed, Help me!

She just grinned. “Relax. They’ll get bored by tomorrow. Probably.”

“Yeah, because that makes me feel better.” I glanced toward the dance floor, hoping the music would drown out the chaos. Spoiler alert: It didn’t.

We started to dance, and I surprised myself—I didn’t step on her toes or even stumble. Talia’s rigorous dance lessons must have paid off. Or maybe it was the whole being-part-demigod-now thing kicking in. Either way, I wasn’t completely embarrassing myself. Yet.

As we swayed to the music, I leaned closer. “You know, this is definitely going to make things complicated with Kori and Kara.”

Mareena gave me a sly smile. “Oh, please. They’re not the jealous type.”

I shot her a doubtful look. “Yeah, well, tell that to the paparazzi. They’re going to have me married off to you by tomorrow.”

She chuckled, spinning gracefully under my arm. “Don’t worry. If things get messy, I’ll take the blame. We’ll say I seduced you.”

“Oh, sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Because that’s going to go over so well.”

The music shifted, the tempo picking up, and for a moment, the world shrank to just us, the beat, and the thrill of not making a complete fool of myself.

And honestly? It wasn’t half bad. If I survived the inevitable teasing from Kara and Kori, I might even call it fun.

—

In the dimly lit, top-secret war room of ARGUS, Rick Flagg was already regretting this conversation. The way Amanda Waller sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled like a chess grandmaster about to crush her opponent, made it clear: her mind was locked tighter than a vault at Fort Knox. And Rick? He was just here to try—emphasis on try—to talk her out of her latest insane idea.

A glowing tablet rested between them, proudly displaying the headline from the Daily Prophet:

"Shadowflame: Prince of Themyscira or Future Hero of Earth?"

By Lois Lane.

“Look, Amanda,” Flagg began, rubbing his temples like it might stop the incoming headache. “This kid—Charis Peverell—is off-limits. Prince of Themyscira. Diplomatic immunity. Not even eighteen. You try pulling him into Task Force X, and—best case—we’re looking at a lawsuit. Worst case? Wonder Woman personally rearranges all our bones.”

Waller didn’t blink. She just gave him that cool, unreadable stare that made him feel like an ant she hadn’t decided whether to crush or let crawl away. “I’ve handled worse,” she said, like recruiting a teenaged prince with terrifying magical abilities was just another Tuesday.

Rick exhaled slowly, reminding himself not to yell. Yelling at Waller never helped. She thrived on people losing their cool—probably filed it under “psychological warfare” in her planner. “Amanda, I don’t think you’re really grasping the situation here,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “This kid? Not just a prince—he’s royalty with a superpowered mom. We recruit him, and the Justice League shows up with angry Amazon reinforcements. You know, the kind that carry swords and don’t mess around.”

Waller leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table like she was about to tell Rick a secret she’d known all along. “The kid’s called Shadowflame for a reason,” she said, voice low and deliberate. “He’s dangerous. If we don’t get him on Task Force X, someone else will. And when that happens, we’ll be the ones running scared.”

Rick crossed his arms. “You mean like the Justice League? Because let’s be real—they probably already have his JL membership card printed. Just waiting for him to grow into it.”

Waller’s lips twitched into the kind of smile that made Flagg feel like he’d just stepped into a trap. “That’s the problem, Rick. If we let them scoop him up first, we lose the edge. I don’t care if he’s riding a Pegasus and wearing a sparkly crown—if there’s a chance we can recruit him, we take it.”

Rick groaned. “Amanda, he’s immune to half the stuff we use to control the Squad. No collar’s gonna work. And a bomb in the neck?” He shook his head. “You really think that’s gonna stop a kid who’s got literal fire running through his veins? One wrong step, and the only thing exploding is us.”

If Amanda Waller felt any fear at all, she didn’t show it. In fact, the gleam in her eyes suggested she enjoyed the challenge. “Then we’ll find another way,” she said, like they were discussing holiday plans instead of kidnapping magical royalty.

“You’re not listening, Amanda,” Rick snapped, frustration bubbling over. “The kid has diplomatic immunity. No loopholes. No technicalities. You drag him into this, and you’re not just poking Themyscira—you’re poking the whole Justice League. With a stick. A very short, very stupid stick.”

Waller didn’t even flinch. “Everyone has a weakness, Rick,” she said, voice smooth and confident. “You just have to know where to look.”

Rick ran a hand down his face. “Amanda, this kid’s the son of Diana of Themyscira. He probably grew up dodging arrows for fun. I’m pretty sure the ‘find-the-weakness’ playbook doesn’t work on him.”

That sly smile was back, the one that made Flagg’s stomach twist. “We’ll see. People like him think they’re untouchable. All I need is one slip. One mistake. And when he makes it? He’s mine.”

Rick threw his hands in the air. “And what if he doesn’t slip? What if—shock of shocks—you push too hard, and instead of a teammate, you end up with a magical teenage super-prince gunning for your head?”

Waller’s expression turned cold, like ice creeping under a doorframe. “Then I’ll make sure he never becomes anyone else’s weapon.”

The room went quiet, the hum of the overhead lights filling the silence. Rick sat back, shaking his head. Arguing with Waller was like arguing with gravity—pointless, exhausting, and guaranteed to end in a fall.

“You know,” he muttered, “one of these days, you’re gonna pull something like this and find out you poked the wrong bear.”

Waller’s smile didn’t waver. “Then I’ll make sure I’m the one holding the leash.”

Rick slumped in his chair, already imagining the PR nightmare waiting for him when this plan inevitably blew up in their faces. But hey—if Amanda Waller was anything, she was predictable. And unfortunately, predictably terrifying.

—

In a dimly lit, lavishly decorated hideout that smelled faintly of incense and old parchment, Barbara Ann Minerva lounged on a velvet chaise, absently flicking her claws across the screen of a tablet. She had plenty of things to hate about the modern world—Wi-Fi dead zones, airports, and gluten-free bread, just to name a few—but the internet? That was a guilty pleasure she could sink her claws into. The gossip, the secrets, the scandals... It was like a never-ending buffet. And today? Today, the main course was something very unexpected.

“Shadowflame: Prince of Themyscira or Future Hero of Earth?”

By Lois Lane.

Barbara’s golden eyes narrowed to slits as she read the article, her claw-tipped finger tapping the headline slowly, almost lazily, like a cat toying with prey. A son. Wonder Woman has a son. And somehow, somehow, she had managed to keep him hidden from the world for seventeen years.

Barbara let out a low, throaty chuckle that would’ve sent a shiver down anyone’s spine. “Oh, Diana... you’ve been holding out on me,” she murmured, her voice honey-sweet but laced with venom.

She skimmed through the article, absorbing every detail: Charis Peverell, aka Shadowflame. Wings made of literal fire. Billion Dollar inheritance from his father. Prince of Themyscira.

Her mind raced, piecing together the implications. If Diana’s son was real—and powerful—it meant she’d just stumbled on something far more valuable than gold artifacts or ancient scrolls. This wasn’t just a child; this was leverage. A chink in Wonder Woman’s supposedly invincible armor.

Barbara leaned back on the chaise, the corners of her mouth curling into a feral grin. "How poetic," she whispered, tracing the boy’s name on the screen. Charis Peverell. It had a regal sound to it, but there was something else... something familiar. The name tickled the back of her mind, as if she’d read it somewhere before in an old myth or forgotten tome. She’d have to look into that.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, all she could think about was what it would mean for Diana—and for her. After all these years of fighting, their battles had always been personal. But now? Now there was something new on the board. A piece neither of them had accounted for. A son.

And if Diana had been keeping him hidden, it wasn’t just out of some motherly desire for privacy. No, no—there had to be more to it. Secrets that deep weren’t buried unless they could unravel everything.

Barbara’s grin sharpened. “You didn’t tell me you had a prince, Diana,” she purred. “What else have you been hiding?”

The possibilities swirled in her mind like a storm. Maybe Charis was a weakness she could exploit. Maybe the boy was already a pawn of the Justice League, ripe for corruption—or liberation, depending on how she spun it. Or maybe, just maybe, the kid didn’t know the whole story either.

“Oh, this could be fun,” she whispered to herself, a wicked gleam in her eye.

She tossed the tablet aside, uncaring as it clattered to the floor. There were other ways to gather information—ways the Daily Planet couldn’t print, and Lois Lane couldn’t dig up. If Diana had gone to this much trouble to hide the boy, there were surely cracks in the foundation. And Barbara? She had a talent for sniffing out those cracks and driving her claws deep into them.

The grin widened, her fangs gleaming in the low light.

"Time to meet the prince," she said, her voice practically dripping with anticipation. "And see what kind of royal secrets he's hiding."

With a flick of her tail and a predator’s grace, Cheetah disappeared into the shadows, her mind already spinning with plots, promises, and possibilities. Whatever Diana thought she was protecting, it was about to come crashing down.

Because Barbara Ann Minerva didn’t just hunt prey—she tore it apart.

—

Dancing with Mareena was supposed to be easy. It’s just swaying to some music, keeping my balance, and not thinking about the headlines tomorrow. Spoiler alert: None of that was happening.

Mareena was laying it on thick. Her fingers brushed my shoulder, her smile practically screamed I love being mysterious, and every time she leaned closer, I could feel a dozen cameras go into overdrive. Somewhere, I just knew a tabloid editor was gleefully typing “Royal Romance? The Prince of Themyscira and the Princess of Atlantis Heat Up the Dance Floor!”

Meanwhile, I was praying Kara and Kori wouldn’t see those headlines and decide I needed to be roasted alive.

“You know they won’t care, right?” Mareena said, reading my mind—because of course she did. Atlanteans are freakishly perceptive. “Kara and Kori trust you. They’re not the jealous type.”

“Right.” I gave her a spin. “Because explaining this to my girlfriends is going to go over perfectly. I’ll just say, ‘Hey, it’s not what it looked like, we were only dodging paparazzi death beams.’ They’ll love that.”

Mareena laughed, and I swear the sound of it was designed to charm entire rooms into submission. She’s one of those people who can make giggling look dignified, while I probably looked like I was one awkward step away from spraining my dignity. Again.

Then, mid-spin, I saw him.

At first glance, he looked just like another rich guy at the gala—a silver-haired guest with an eye-patch wearing a tux, sipping champagne and working the room like he belonged there. But that face… It clicked in my brain like a puzzle piece snapping into place. I’d stared at it enough times on the Justice League’s “Most Wanted” board back at Watchtower.

Deathstroke.

The world’s deadliest assassin, blending into the crowd like he was auditioning for GQ’s Criminal Edition. And guess what? He wasn’t just here to enjoy the hors d’oeuvres. No, he was making a beeline—cool, calm, and collected—straight toward Talia.

Now, Talia wasn’t exactly helpless, but watching her stand by that giant marble column, casually sipping champagne, while Deathstroke closed in on her? Yeah, that was the stuff anxiety attacks are made of.

I tensed, but Mareena squeezed my hand. “Something wrong?”

“Oh, nothing major,” I muttered. “Just that guy in the tux? Yeah, that’s Deathstroke.”

Her eyes widened, flicking toward him for a second, but she stayed cool. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. He’s got the face that says, I’m very good at murder, and my tux cost more than your car.”

I had two options: 1) Cause a scene by throwing him through a wall, or 2) Play it cool and hope he didn’t ruin my night. Spoiler: Option two wasn’t really my style. But unfortunately, "prince with diplomatic immunity" doesn't mean you get to actually start fights at UN galas.

Mareena raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to figure out if I was about to do something reckless. To be honest, I hadn’t figured that out yet either.

“You gonna step in?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Trying not to,” I grumbled. “But you know me. Staying out of trouble isn’t exactly my thing.”

And with that, I gave her one last spin—because, if things went south, I wanted to at least look cool before all hell broke loose.

—

Deathstroke glided through the crowd like a shark at a pool party—completely unnoticed by everyone except the lifeguard. Unfortunately, in this case, the lifeguard was me, and I was stuck on the dance floor pretending not to have a heart attack.

He moved toward Talia with the kind of casual confidence that only someone with a kill count longer than a Tolstoy novel could pull off. Polished shoes, tailored tux, not a hair out of place. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked more like a billionaire mogul trying to network than a contract killer. But I did know better. Deathstroke didn’t “mingle.” He hunted.

Talia was by the marble column, sipping champagne, the picture of unbothered elegance. She hadn’t noticed him yet—at least, not that I could tell. Or maybe she had and just didn’t care. With Talia, it was always hard to tell whether she was ignoring a threat or waiting for it to make the first move.

Deathstroke slowed as he neared her, lifting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter like he did this sort of thing every Tuesday. He stopped just close enough to talk, but not close enough to raise suspicion. Subtle, smooth. Exactly the way someone like him operates.

I tightened my grip on Mareena’s hand, my instincts screaming at me to move.

“Harry…” she said quietly, catching my shift in focus.

“I see him,” I muttered, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. “He’s making his move.”

Mareena followed my gaze. “You think he’s here for her?”

“Who else?” I whispered. “Talia’s got more secrets than the Batcave. And Deathstroke’s not the type to show up just for the finger food.”

I wanted to bolt across the room, but that’d be a terrible idea. Punching a wanted assassin in front of every UN dignitary and a dozen news cameras? Yeah, that’s not exactly what Diana meant when she said I needed to ‘keep a low profile.’

So I stood there, practically vibrating with tension, as Deathstroke leaned in to talk to Talia. She didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised. She gave him the kind of smile that said, I’ve been expecting you.

I swore under my breath.

This was about to get complicated.

—

Deathstroke smiled the kind of smile that said, I could kill you, but let’s pretend we’re friends for now. “Selling out dear old Dad to the Justice League? That’s bold, even for you, Talia.”

Talia sipped her champagne like she was humoring a dull guest at a garden party. “Father’s time was over. And if you had the same opportunity, Slade, we both know you’d have taken it.”

Deathstroke’s visible eye narrowed. He leaned in, like a villain in a spy movie who just found out the hero's weakness. “The League of Assassins needs a new boss. You know I’m the guy for the job.” He glanced around, making sure no one was too close to hear. “Come with me. We could run it together. Or...” His voice dipped into something colder. “I take over, and you learn how unpleasant I can be.”

Talia didn’t even flinch. She gave him a smile that was sharp enough to cut glass. “Unfortunately for you, Slade, I’m perfectly content with my current arrangements.” She glanced meaningfully toward the crowd, where Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Aqualad, and Shadowflame—aka Harry—were casually scattered. Well, casually in a you-won’t-get-ten-feet-if-you-try-anything kind of way.

“And even if I wasn’t,” she added, her smile never wavering, “you know you can’t do a thing right now. Not with them watching.”

Deathstroke followed her gaze, his expression flickering with irritation for half a second. Shadowflame caught that tiny crack and couldn’t help but feel a smug little spark of victory. Harry had moved fast—alerting Diana and Donna while Mareena warned her parents and Aqualad. Now, every big hitter in the room was on high alert, their gazes subtle but locked on the world’s most dangerous mercenary.

Deathstroke’s lip curled. “Fine,” he muttered, draining his champagne with the air of someone swallowing broken glass. “Enjoy your party while you can, Talia.”

With that, he melted back into the crowd like the world’s deadliest magician performing a disappearing act. One second, he was there; the next, gone, leaving behind nothing but a chill in the air and an uncomfortable feeling that this wasn’t the last they’d see of him.

Harry exhaled—maybe a little louder than he meant to—but Talia just gave him a calm, knowing glance.

Translation: All good. For now.

Shadowflame had no doubt Deathstroke was already plotting his next move, probably involving fifty ways to ruin everyone's day. But hey, that was tomorrow's problem. For now, all Harry could do was stay alert and try to avoid thinking about how this dance was already shaping up to be the worst kind of diplomatic headache.

—

Deathstroke slipped out of the gala like a ghost in a tuxedo, blending into the shadows before the paparazzi could figure out who he was. Cameras flashed, reporters screamed questions, but the man was already gone—vanishing into the night as if he had a PhD in “I Was Never Here.”

Once clear of the chaos, he tapped the comm in his ear. “Rose. You alive up there?”

Rose’s voice crackled through the earpiece, sounding far too entertained for someone babysitting a sniper rifle. “Yup. I got eyes on the whole circus. Shadowflame and Mareena ratted you out fast, by the way. Real subtle, these kids.”

Deathstroke grunted. “Figures. You got eyes on them now?”

“Oh yeah. They’re all sticking close to their VIP buddies—Wonder Woman, Aquaman, you know, the don’t-mess-with-me crowd. I’d say you’re fresh outta luck if you were planning anything dramatic.” She paused. “Also, side note? Mareena’s been flirting with Shadowflame the entire night. Not sure if he’s scared or excited, but the headlines tomorrow are gonna be wild.”

Deathstroke pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fantastic. Just what I need—teen drama and royalty in the same sentence.”

“Hey, the kid’s got guts.” Rose chuckled. “He’s juggling Supergirl, Starfire, and now the Princess of Atlantis. If this whole hero thing doesn’t pan out, maybe he should write a dating manual.”

“Focus,” Deathstroke growled, scanning the quiet street. “How’s Talia?”

“Untouchable,” Rose reported. “She’s surrounded by power players. No way you’re getting her alone without kicking off World War Three.”

Deathstroke’s smile was thin, more knife than kindness. “I didn’t need to get her alone. Just had to remind her who’s waiting when the dust settles.”

Rose’s tone turned dry. “She didn’t seem all that worried. Honestly, she looked more like she was planning your funeral.”

“She’ll come around.” Deathstroke’s voice dripped with certainty. “And when she does, the League of Assassins will be mine.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Rose said, as if humoring a particularly ambitious toddler. “But with all these heavy-hitters breathing down your neck, you better hope your grand plan is really good. Otherwise, next time we chat, you’ll be dialing me from a jail cell.”

Deathstroke let out a low, humorless laugh. “Let them watch. They can’t stop what they don’t see coming.”

With that, he cut the connection and melted into the night. The gala might’ve been full of gods, warriors, and kings, but Deathstroke? He was playing the long game—and one day, they’d all see just how dangerous that could be.

—

The Daily Planet newsroom was the kind of chaos that could only be described as a perfectly choreographed disaster. Phones rang like angry toddlers, reporters scurried back and forth clutching half-finished stories, and Perry White’s voice blasted across the room like a foghorn trapped inside a bullhorn. In other words, just another normal night before a big edition.

Clark Kent sat at his desk, typing at superhuman speed—well, normal speed for him, but good enough to make every other reporter in the room wonder if he secretly mainlined coffee. Lois Lane, meanwhile, sat next to him, legs tucked under her like she was plotting world domination instead of polishing an article. She was biting her pen in that “I’m about to tell you you’re wrong” way she had perfected over the years.

Clark didn’t even look up. “You’re going to tell me this headline is terrible, aren’t you?”

Lois grinned. “You know it’s terrible, Smallville.”

“‘Atlantis and Themyscira Seek Inclusion in the UN’ sounds fine,” Clark muttered, even though he already knew it didn’t stand a chance.

“It sounds like something they’d slap on a boring government press release,” Lois countered. “Try: ‘When Gods and Kings Walk Among Us: Historic UN Summit Tomorrow.’”

Clark sighed, typing it in. She was right, of course. Lois was always right. But that was part of her charm—or so he kept telling himself.

Across the room, Perry White loomed like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Lane! Kent! Do you two plan on saving the paper before midnight, or should I just set it on fire now and save us the trouble?”

“Almost done!” Lois called back with a grin, like they weren’t 100% flying by the seat of their pants.

Clark’s phone buzzed on his desk, and he glanced at the screen. Jimmy Olsen’s name popped up. Clark knew enough about Jimmy to understand that late-night calls were never good news.

“Hey, Jimmy,” Clark answered, keeping his voice casual. “What’s going on?”

Jimmy’s voice came through, breathless and crackling with excitement. “Uh, so… you know how this gala thing was supposed to be low-key?”

Clark’s heart sank. “What happened?”

“Deathstroke. He’s here. Thought you’d wanna know before things, you know… escalate.”

Clark felt his pulse quicken—not that his pulse ever stayed quick for long, given the whole Kryptonian biology thing. “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll check in soon.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Supervillain sighting?”

Clark nodded grimly. “Deathstroke. At the gala.”

Lois groaned, already closing her laptop. “Of course it’s Deathstroke. It couldn’t just be a normal diplomatic event. Nope. Gotta have a guy with an eye patch and a sword crash the party.”

Clark gave her a sheepish smile. “You coming?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Lois grabbed her coat. “Someone’s gotta keep you from brooding.”

As they prepared to head out, what neither of them realized was that Clark had much bigger problems than Deathstroke lurking around a party.

Trigon—yes, that Trigon, demonic conqueror and general destroyer of worlds—was already inside Clark’s head, slowly sinking his claws deeper into Superman’s mind. Clark didn’t feel it, not yet. That was the thing about having an interdimensional demon take up residence in your brain: it was sneaky. It started small, like a tickle at the back of your thoughts, until one day—bam—you were marching to the beat of evil’s drum without even realizing it.

For now, though, Trigon was content to play the long game. Every League meeting Clark attended, every secret he learned about his teammates, every vulnerability Superman uncovered—Trigon quietly added it to his growing collection of intel.

Because, let’s be real: If you’ve already hitched a ride inside the most powerful man on Earth, the world is basically your oyster. And the best part? Nobody had a clue. Not yet.

But Trigon wasn’t in a rush. Why hurry, when victory was practically gift-wrapped and waiting? All he had to do was sit back, bide his time, and wait for the right moment to make his move.

And when that moment came? Well, let’s just say the League was going to wish they’d brought more than one Kryptonian to the fight.

—

The ruins of the Department of Mysteries looked more like the aftermath of a demolition derby than the place where magic’s greatest enigmas were once studied. Voldemort stood at the edge of the wreckage, the Elder Wand balanced lightly between his pale fingers, its wood smooth and polished, the power within humming like a barely leashed storm. He admired it for a moment longer—his most recent trophy from Dumbledore’s cold, lifeless hands. Three months since the old man’s death, and it still wasn’t enough to lift the dark mood that hung over the Dark Lord like a dementor's fog.

The Veil of Death loomed before him, or rather, what was left of it. The ancient archway—once a mystical portal to realms beyond—was now cracked and splintered, half the fabric that once fluttered eerily within it lying in tattered shreds on the ground. Lucius and Draco Malfoy stood nearby, pointedly keeping their faces blank as lesser Death Eaters scurried around, moving debris at their command. Supervision, it seemed, was the only physical labor the Malfoys were willing to perform.

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed in distaste. The sight of the Veil, broken and useless, made his temper itch like an old wound. The knowledge that so many witches and wizards—Weasleys included—had slipped through its portal to escape his grasp gnawed at him. Worse still, the cowards had taken everything of value: Goblins, Veela, magical creatures, and the entire contents of Gringotts. The wizarding economy lay in ruins, and Voldemort’s rage had become a daily ritual. These days, breathing too loudly in his presence could earn someone the Cruciatus.

Voldemort turned to Rookwood, the former Unspeakable, whose knowledge of the Department’s dark secrets had earned him a dubious place in the Dark Lord’s inner circle. “Can the Veil be repaired?” Voldemort’s voice was a whisper—low, deliberate, and more dangerous than a scream.

Rookwood shifted nervously. “It can, my Lord. But it will take precisely a month to stabilize the portal for safe passage.”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “A month?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Rookwood kept his gaze low, wisely avoiding Voldemort’s eyes. “The ritual to restore the Veil is most effective if performed on Samhain… Halloween.”

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the shuffling of Death Eaters clearing the last bits of debris. Voldemort’s lips curled in irritation. Patience had never been his strong suit, and waiting another month for the chance to cross over into this new world—the one where his enemies now hid with the two remaining Deathly Hallows—was almost unbearable.

He clenched his fist around the Elder Wand, fighting the urge to curse the incompetent fools surrounding him. His Horcruxes were gone, hunted down and destroyed by that infernal Dumbledore. Only the Hallows remained now. If he could retrieve the Potter family’s Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone—both of which had last been seen in the hands of those meddling Weasleys—he would become the Master of Death. Immortal. Untouchable.

And then, nothing could stop him. Not Dumbledore, not Potter’s ghost, not even Death itself.

With a frustrated hiss, Voldemort swept past Rookwood, his robes trailing behind him like shadows given form. “Inform me the moment everything is ready,” he ordered, his voice as cold as frostbite.

Rookwood gave a stiff nod, visibly relieved that the conversation was over.

“Bellatrix!” Voldemort called, his voice slicing through the air.

From the shadows, Bellatrix Lestrange emerged, wild-eyed and grinning in that unsettling way she’d perfected ever since her husband had been killed. Her cackle echoed through the empty room, shrill and unhinged, sending chills down the spines of even the most hardened Death Eaters. She practically danced toward Voldemort, delighted at being summoned.

“Yes, my Lord?” she whispered, her voice dripping with reverence and madness.

“Come,” Voldemort ordered, turning toward the exit. “We are leaving.”

But before he took another step, his red eyes locked onto Lucius and Draco. The Malfoys stiffened, sensing what was coming but powerless to prevent it.

“Crucio.”

Lucius crumpled to the ground first, writhing and screaming as the curse tore through him. Draco followed a second later, his face contorted in agony as he tried—and failed—to suppress his cries. Voldemort watched them squirm with a detached sort of pleasure, as if they were nothing more than insects pinned beneath his wand.

He held the curse a few moments longer, savoring their pain, before releasing it with a flick of his wrist. Both Malfoys lay panting on the ground, their faces pale and sweaty. Voldemort didn’t even spare them a second glance.

“Because I felt like it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but sharp as a dagger.

And with that, he turned on his heel and swept from the room, Bellatrix trailing behind him like a loyal hound, still giggling to herself.

Samhain couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Okay, so here’s the thing about galas: they sound fancy, but really, they’re just long, awkward parties where diplomats eat overpriced food, shake hands too much, and try to out-boring each other with speeches. Fun, right? Yeah, no. By the end of the night, I was ready to fake my own death just to escape.

Of course, Mareena—daughter of Aquaman and future queen of Atlantis—caught me right before I could make my grand exit. She gave me one of those smiles that said, You think you’re getting away that easy?

“See you tomorrow,” she said, sounding way too excited about the UN Summit. Because, obviously, nothing screams “good time” like sitting through hours of old people in suits arguing about international politics.

“Can’t wait,” I lied. I’ve gotten really good at it.

Mareena laughed like she knew I was full of it, gave me a playful wave, and disappeared into the crowd.

That’s when I found my family. You know, my new family—Wonder Woman (now officially Mom), Talia al Ghul (long story), and a few others who make things... complicated.

Sirius, my godfather, was the first to corner me. “Try not to burn anything down on your way to the Watchtower,” he said with a grin. He meant it as a joke, but knowing me, it was also solid advice.

“No promises,” I shot back. Look, accidental arson isn’t my fault. If things catch fire around me, that’s just destiny doing its thing.

Remus patted my shoulder, looking like the human embodiment of mild concern. “Keep an eye on things. If Deathstroke’s involved, we’re probably in for trouble.”

“Probably?” I raised an eyebrow. “Moony, when aren’t we in trouble?”

Then Donna swooped in, and—because she’s Donna—she hit me with her favorite line: “Don’t forget, I’m still your aunt, even if you’re technically older.”

“Technically,” I muttered, resisting the urge to hex her on the spot. “Respecting your elders is a lost art, I swear.”

She grinned, ruffling my hair like I was five. I swear, one of these days I’m going to enchant her shoes to tap-dance uncontrollably. Just for fun.

Finally, Queen Hippolyta—yep, my grandmother now, weird as that still is—gave me a soft smile. “Fly safely, Charis.”

She actually called me Charis. That’s rare. I nodded. “You too, Nana.” (She didn’t even blink. Respect.)

With the goodbyes wrapped up, it was time to suit up. I pressed the crimson gemstone on the amulet hanging around my neck, and the Shadowflame Armor flowed over me like liquid fire—black and gold plates locking into place with a smooth shhkk.

The gem on my chest pulsed, almost like it had a heartbeat. And then the wings—oh man, the wings—unfurled from my back, blazing bright and hot. They weren’t just for show either; they could actually carry me through the air.

Donna blinked, looking from the wings to me and back again. “Show-off.”

“Gotta stay on brand,” I said, smirking.

Hippolyta glanced at Diana. “You didn’t mention the wings.”

Diana just shrugged, like this was a totally normal thing. “He likes to be dramatic.”

Darn right I do. If you’ve got flaming wings, use them.

With one last wink at Donna, I shot into the air, wings trailing fire behind me. Diana followed close behind, carrying Talia like a sack of potatoes. (Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but close enough.)

We made our way toward the Zeta Tube station, the cool night air brushing against my face as the flames from my wings lit up the sky.

Next stop: the Watchtower, where we had a lovely debriefing session waiting for us.

What could possibly go wrong?

—

In the dimly lit gloom of a warehouse that smelled like old oil, desperation, and questionable life choices, Slade Wilson—Deathstroke to his enemies (and he had a lot of those)—paced the cracked concrete floor like a panther on a diet. The flickering overhead light gave the room the kind of ambiance horror movies dream about. If tonight's meeting with Talia had gone any worse, he might’ve been tempted to lie down and let the bulb finally sputter out in peace.

His daughter, Rose, leaned casually against a workbench cluttered with half-assembled weapons, broken gadgets, and enough sharp objects to open a cutlery store. She twirled a dagger between her fingers like it was a fidget spinner. "So," she said, flashing him a grin that was half smug, half 'I'm-just-here-for-the-drama.' "You blew it, huh?"

Slade shot her his best don’t-push-me glare, but Rose’s smirk only widened. “What? You thought Talia would be all, ‘Oh sure, I’ll help you take over the League of Assassins. Sounds fun!’ Shocker: She’s not into world domination today.”

“Shut it, Rose,” Slade growled, rubbing his temples. His mask hung from his belt, looking just as irritated as he felt. “This isn’t over.”

Rose plopped down onto a dusty crate and kicked her feet up on the table, the picture of teenage indifference. “Kinda sounds over,” she said, inspecting her nails. “Face it, Dad. Talia’s running Peverell Industries now. She probably spends her days reading spreadsheets and pretending board meetings are thrilling. What makes you think she’s gonna drop all that to play assassin with you?”

Slade scowled. “I didn’t ask nicely.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “She looked so thrilled when you threatened her. You realize intimidation doesn’t exactly scream ‘team player,’ right?”

"I don't need a lecture on interpersonal skills, Rose."

"Clearly." She gave him a look that suggested she was debating whether to pat him on the head or stab him for his own good. "Look, if you want Talia to cooperate, you need to offer her something she wants. Not... whatever that was."

Slade folded his arms, his mind chewing through possibilities like a dog gnawing on an old bone. He knew Talia—knew the assassin under the CEO facade hadn’t just vanished. No one just walks away from the League. Not really. She was protecting something. Or someone.

He muttered the thought aloud. "She’s hiding something."

Rose arched an eyebrow. "You think it’s Peverell?"

"Could be," Slade said, narrowing his one good eye. "That boy’s dangerous. Talia knows it. If I can get to him—or make her think I can—"

Rose let out a low whistle. “Blackmail. Classic. Wow, Dad, you’re really pulling out all the stops.”

“It’s not blackmail,” Slade snapped. “It’s strategy.”

“Sure. And I’m a motivational speaker.” Rose hopped off the crate, sliding her knife back into its sheath. “Look, Talia’s not stupid. She’s not gonna roll over because you flexed. If you want her on your side, you need to offer her something she needs. Or convince her she doesn’t have a choice.”

Slade grunted. It was annoying when Rose was right, mostly because she was right so often. Threats weren’t going to cut it with Talia anymore. She’d traded daggers for PowerPoints, and that made her even more dangerous. But everyone—everyone—had a price. He just had to find hers.

After a moment, a slow grin spread across his face, sharp as a dagger’s edge. "I think I know how to get her attention."

Rose gave him a skeptical look. "This should be good."

"Information," Slade said, his voice low and dangerous. "She’s been keeping tabs on me. Now it’s our turn to keep tabs on her."

Rose crossed her arms, intrigued but wary. "What kind of information are we talking about?"

“The kind that makes people reconsider their life choices,” Slade said, the grin still playing on his face. “We’ll start with Peverell—and her cozy little arrangement with him. Let’s see how far she’s willing to go to protect her new life… and her golden boy.”

Rose mirrored his grin, sharp and dangerous. “Now this I can get behind.”

Slade gave her a nod, already plotting their next move. "Good. We have work to do."

And just like that, the game was back on.

—

At the Watchtower, Batman was deep into his Bat-business—specifically, hacking into the UN gala venue’s security footage like it was no big deal. Robin sat beside him, munching popcorn like it was the greatest cinematic experience of all time, thoroughly enjoying the show as he scrubbed through clips of Deathstroke’s arrival. The assassin had approached Talia, whispered something sinister, and then vanished into the crowd like a cat burglar sneaking out of a bad brunch. Seriously smooth. Too smooth.

“How the heck did he get in?” Robin mumbled, rewinding the footage for the fiftieth time. “I mean, Deathstroke? At a UN gala? Did they just forget he’s literally an assassin?”

Batman didn’t answer, because, well, Batman. But Robin didn’t need a response. He was having way too much fun with this.

And then came the pièce de résistance. He pulled up the next part of the footage, and the room froze in sheer awe. Harry—okay, technically Shadowflame—was on the dance floor, twirling Mareena like a pro. The Atlantian princess was practically draped over him, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. For a kid who used to have two left feet, he was surprisingly smooth, thanks to hours of dance lessons with Kara, Kori, and a rather strict Talia.

Just as Mareena laughed and leaned in way closer than necessary, the Watchtower’s elevator doors dinged open, and in walked Superman and Lois. Kara and Kori floated in right behind them, deep in some animated conversation—until Robin, grinning like he’d just been told he could have all the pizza he wanted, waved them over.

“Oh, you’ve got to see this!” he exclaimed, motioning dramatically to the screen. “It’s our boy Harry, looking like a total player.”

Kara and Kori leaned in, curiosity piqued. Robin hit play, and they all watched as Harry spun Mareena across the floor. She was flirting up a storm—leaning in, laughing, and casually touching his arm like they were in some rom-com.

Robin was all ready for some juicy drama. After all, Harry was their boyfriend. Surely jealousy was a guarantee, right?

Instead, Kara burst out laughing. Kori gasped, clapping her hands like she’d just discovered a kitten in distress. “Oh! This is the most wonderful!” she exclaimed, her green eyes sparkling with delight.

Robin blinked. “Wait, you guys are okay with this?”

“Are you kidding?” Kara grinned, practically bouncing on her toes. “All those hours we spent teaching Harry to dance finally paid off!”

“Yes! He is now the expert of the spinning and the stepping!” Kori chimed in proudly, her long hair glowing in the low light. “Talia’s teachings were most effective, yes?”

Kara nodded, her smile bright enough to power a small city. “Mareena’s had a crush on Harry for ages. Honestly, it’s nice to see her finally make a move.”

“Wait.” Robin’s brow furrowed. “You’re both… okay with Mareena hitting on Harry?”

“Yes, of course!” Kori beamed. “Why would we not? We enjoy Harry, and it would be very selfish to keep him all for ourselves. That would be, how do you say, the lobstery thing to do.”

“More like the crabby thing,” Kara corrected gently, though she was still grinning.

“Yes! That!” Kori nodded eagerly. “Also, it is not just Mareena. Zatanna, too, has shown great interest in Harry.”

Robin stared at them, utterly bewildered. “So, let me get this straight. You two don’t care if Mareena or Zatanna join in? No jealousy at all?”

Kara shrugged, looking entirely too nonchalant. “Not really. I mean, we already share Harry, so… what’s a couple more?”

Kori’s face lit up. “More people to care for Harry only means more joy, yes? This is a thing that brings me much joy!”

Robin blinked at them, still processing this bizarre logic. “This is so weird,” he muttered, half-disappointed, half-amused. “I was really hoping for at least some drama.”

Kara patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry, Robin. No drama today.”

Just then, Batman’s low, gravelly voice cut through the cheerful atmosphere like a knife. “Focus. We have a job to do.”

Everyone’s attention snapped back to the screens, where Deathstroke was still gliding through the gala like he owned the place.

“He didn’t just walk in,” Batman stated, rewinding the footage again with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey. “Someone helped him. We need to figure out who.”

Robin muttered something under his breath about people being way too calm about polyamory, but Batman ignored him.

Superman, leaning casually against the wall, smirked at the whole scene. “Y’know, Bruce, sometimes I think half your job is just managing everyone’s relationships.”

Without missing a beat, Batman replied, “You’d be surprised how often that overlaps with crime-fighting.”

The footage rewound again, freezing on Deathstroke as he passed through the security checkpoint without a single guard batting an eye.

Robin leaned closer to Kara and whispered, “Any bets? I’m thinking inside job.”

Kara hummed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she studied the screen. “Could be. Or…” she gave him a sly grin. “It could just be Harry’s luck.”

Batman shot them both a look that said, Zip it.

This wasn’t just about Deathstroke crashing a fancy party. No, this was about what came next. And knowing Harry? It was only a matter of time before everything went kaboom.

—

The elevator doors slid open, and out I stepped—Shadowflame, Wonder Woman (Mom), and Talia al Ghul (yes, that Talia). Just to be clear, bringing Talia to the Watchtower was not on my bingo card for today. And judging by the way she was scanning every inch of the place like she was already figuring out the security flaws, this wasn’t going to be a smooth visit.

The others were huddled around the giant screen, where, of course, the universe had decided to play my most embarrassing moment of the night: the footage of me dancing with Mareena at the UN gala.

I froze mid-step. “Oh no. Please tell me that’s not still on loop.”

Robin spun in his chair, grinning ear to ear. “Look who’s here—our ballroom champion!”

Kara smirked from across the room. “I knew those lessons would pay off. Look at that dip! Mareena looked like she was about to faint.”

Kori floated over with a delighted clap of her hands. “Harry! Your movements were most splendiferous! I am most proud of you! You danced with such grace that even the k’norfka of our people would applaud!”

I buried my face in my hands. “Guys, seriously, can we not?”

“Why not?” Robin asked, rewinding the footage to my perfectly executed spin. “This is gold.”

“Because my dignity is already on life support?” I muttered.

Kara leaned against the console, her smirk growing. “Honestly, we might’ve suggested to Mareena that flirting with you wasn’t a bad idea.”

My head shot up. “You what?”

Kori beamed at me. “Yes! We thought it would be lovely if she also joined in your affections. We all like you very much, Harry. There is no reason not to share!”

I blinked. “I—uh—what?”

Mom gave me a look that said, You’ll figure this out eventually. Batman, meanwhile, decided it was time to end my public humiliation.

“Back to the actual threat,” he said, his tone as warm and welcoming as a winter storm. The screen switched to Deathstroke moving through the gala as if security didn’t exist.

“Focus,” he said again, like a frustrated dad trying to keep his kids from wrestling in the grocery store.

Mom stepped forward and gave a quick rundown of the night—diplomats, fancy suits, awkward small talk. Standard gala stuff, except, you know, with Deathstroke lurking around. Talia chimed in, her voice so calm you’d think she was discussing the weather.

“He found me early in the night,” she said. “He wants me to help him take over the League of Assassins. He believes my support will bring the League’s factions under his control.”

“Yikes,” Robin muttered. “And if you said no?”

Talia gave a cold, almost amused smile. “Then I become unnecessary.”

Superman frowned. “He threatened you?”

“Implied,” Talia corrected. “But it was clear enough.”

I crossed my arms, trying to wrap my head around all this. “So… Deathstroke wants to become the League’s new head honcho, and you’re his golden ticket?”

“Precisely,” Talia said smoothly.

Batman’s jaw tightened—not that you’d notice unless you were used to reading microexpressions like I was. “What’s his next move?”

Talia’s gaze flicked toward me. “I propose we meet him again. This time, Harry and I will go together.”

“Whoa, whoa, what?” I blurted. “Why me?”

“You’re going to help me make it clear that Deathstroke’s ambitions end here,” Talia said, like I hadn’t just become an unwilling player in this soap opera. “And together, we take control of the League.”

“Take control—wait, what now?” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How do I keep ending up in these situations?”

Robin grinned. “Because you’re the only person I know who can steal the Philosopher’s Stone and teach an Atlantean princess how to salsa.”

“Not helping,” I muttered.

Kara gave me a playful nudge. “Look at it this way—you’ve already got a squad. Between us, Mareena, Zatanna, and Kori, you’ve got backup.”

Kori nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And it will be most enjoyable! I have always wanted to engage in combat with a clorbag varblernelk like Deathstroke!”

Batman cleared his throat in that way that instantly killed all fun. “We’ll focus on strategy later. For now, we need to know everything about Deathstroke’s movements and connections.”

“Great,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “So, to recap: I’m teaming up with an ex-assassin to stop the world’s deadliest mercenary while managing a love life that’s starting to resemble a really weird dating sim. Awesome. Just another weekend in my totally normal life.”

Robin leaned over with a smirk. “Don’t forget—you still owe Mareena another dance.”

I groaned. “Why do I even talk to you?”

And with that, Batman turned back to the footage, like we hadn’t just confirmed that my life was spiraling into chaotic nonsense.

Because, of course, it was.

—

Meanwhile, inside Superman’s head, things were getting… crowded. Not that anyone else knew, of course. On the outside, Superman was still the same calm, unshakable Big Blue everyone counted on. But in the deep recesses of his mind, tucked away in a corner where not even the Kryptonian could hear him, Trigon lounged like a cat who’d just found a birdcage left open.

The demon prince curled comfortably in the shadows of Clark’s subconscious, his six burning eyes glinting with malice. He’d been here long enough to understand how this world worked—Superman’s mind was an iron fortress, but even fortresses have cracks. Cracks where Trigon could whisper.

And now, as Batman talked about the League of Assassins, Trigon’s interest piqued. The League of Assassins.

“Oh-ho… now this,” Trigon purred, his voice an oily hiss even Superman couldn’t hear, “this is interesting.”

He could almost taste the possibilities. The League was perfect—a network of killers, fanatics, and zealots, all willing to die in the name of whatever leader managed to string them along with promises of power. My kind of people. Sure, they weren’t demons from the nether realms, but with the right push… they'd do just fine as soldiers. Loyal, efficient, and disposable. Exactly how Trigon liked his minions.

A low rumble echoed through Superman’s mind, the mental equivalent of fingers drumming on a table. Now, how to take it? Deathstroke might have plans, but those were irrelevant. Trigon could use the assassin—or break him if needed. He grinned, showing far too many teeth. The humans always thought they were the players in this little game. They never realized they were just pieces on the board.

“And once I claim the League…” Trigon muttered to himself, “oh, what fun we’ll have.”

He could already picture it—an army of assassins, spreading fear and death across the world, with himself pulling the strings. Maybe he’d even turn one or two into his favored pets, warping their minds until they begged for his power. Not that he needed the League. Trigon was nothing if not patient. He could bide his time, worm deeper into Superman’s mind, and wait until the perfect moment to strike.

But an army on Earth would certainly speed things along. And oh, the delicious irony—Superman, humanity’s greatest hero, unknowingly hosting the seed of its downfall.

Trigon chuckled, a sound like fire crackling through bone. For now, though, all he had to do was wait. Let Superman play the hero. Let the mortals scheme and bicker. It was only a matter of time before the League would be his.

And when it is, he thought, all of you will burn.

—

Meanwhile, at the sleek, ocean-blue hotel the UN had secured for the Atlantean delegation (the walls were way too dry for Mareena’s taste), the young princess sat cross-legged on a plush couch, wringing a damp towel between her hands as if it could help her make sense of her tangled thoughts. Across from her, Queen Mera—warrior, diplomat, and Mom Extraordinaire—fixed her with that look. You know, the one moms everywhere have mastered. The I already know what you’re going to say, but I’m going to make you squirm anyway look.

"So," Mera began, her voice smooth and patient, like a tide that was in no hurry to come in but absolutely would when it was ready. "Do you want to tell me about the boy you danced with? Charis, is it?"

Mareena groaned and let herself flop dramatically against the couch cushions. "It’s Harry, Mom. And yes, I danced with him. And yes, I liked it. And yes, I’m pretty sure I’m in way over my head."

Mera’s lips quirked in the tiniest, most infuriatingly smug smile. "Over your head? You? A princess of Atlantis? That’s hard to believe."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Mareena muttered, though a grin tugged at her lips. "This is different. It’s not just, like, some silly crush. I’ve been… talking with Kara and Kori about him."

At that, Mera’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, like a curious sea serpent surfacing from the deep. "Kara and Kori. As in Supergirl and Starfire. His girlfriends."

"Yeah." Mareena twisted the towel harder. "And they… well, they’re not exactly mad about the idea of me liking him. Actually, they’ve been really nice about it."

Mera folded her arms, leaning back as she processed that bombshell. "Nice. As in… encouraging you?"

"Uh-huh. Apparently, they don’t mind sharing Harry." Mareena could feel her cheeks heating. "Which, I guess, is a thing with them? They kept saying stuff like, ‘The more, the merrier,’ and 'He’s lucky to have all of us.’"

Mera didn’t say anything at first, but the look on her face was something between amused and slightly alarmed—like she was trying to wrap her mind around teenage superhero dating culture and coming up short. Which, to be fair, was exactly how Mareena felt.

"Let me get this straight," Mera said slowly. "You’re telling me that his girlfriends—who, by the way, happen to be two of the most powerful young women on this planet—want you to pursue a relationship with him?"

"Yeah. Weird, right?" Mareena laughed nervously. "And it’s not just them. Zatanna’s shown some interest, too, and I think Miss Martian might be on board, though she’s playing it cool."

Mera pinched the bridge of her nose, as if all this information were physically painful. "I thought navigating surface politics was complicated. This… this is something else entirely."

Mareena sighed, resting her chin on her knees. "I know. But… I like him, Mom. A lot. He’s not like anyone else. He’s kind and funny, and when we danced… it just felt right. Like the currents pulling in exactly the same direction, you know?"

Mera gave her daughter a long, thoughtful look. "I do. But, Mareena, if you decide to go down this path, you need to be sure of what you want. And you need to understand that these kinds of relationships—especially with people like Harry—come with challenges. It won't always be easy."

"I know." Mareena smiled softly. "But I think it might be worth it."

Mera reached over and gave Mareena’s hand a gentle squeeze. "Well, just remember—if things get complicated, the ocean is always on your side."

"Thanks, Mom." Mareena grinned. "Though I’m not sure the ocean can help me much with Kara and Kori."

Mera chuckled. "Oh, trust me, Mareena. If you can survive royal politics in Atlantis, you can survive anything. Even superhero romance."

Mareena laughed—really laughed—and for the first time all day, the weight of her feelings didn’t feel quite so heavy. It was still complicated, sure, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t impossible.

And if she was going to dive headfirst into these uncharted waters, at least she knew one thing for sure: She had people in her corner, both above and below the waves.

—

The second we stepped out of the Zeta Tube at Mount Justice, I knew I was doomed. And not in a facing-down-Darkseid kind of way—no, this was much worse. All my friends were sitting in front of the giant monitor, watching the footage of me and Mareena dancing at the gala.

I felt my soul leave my body. I could handle assassins, dark lords, and interdimensional threats. But this? This was torture on a cosmic level.

“Look who’s back!” Fred grinned, spinning around in his chair like a mischievous goblin. “Harry, my man, I had no idea you were such a dancer.”

“Smooth moves,” George added, nudging the remote to replay the video again. “The twirl? Pure artistry.”

“Oh, please no,” I muttered. “Tell me you didn’t—”

“We sent it to everyone,” Fred said proudly. “You’re practically viral.”

“Robin hooked us up with the footage,” George added. “The Bat Kid’s got a real eye for drama.”

Kara leaned in beside me, clearly enjoying my misery. “See? I told you those dance lessons with Talia would pay off.”

Kori clapped her hands together, beaming. “Yes! And Mareena was most receptive to our encouragement of the flirting! She did a glorious job.”

I groaned. “Why?”

“Because it is good practice!” Kori said cheerfully. “We wish for you to feel comfortable with romance!”

“Plus,” Kara added with a shrug, “it’s fun to see you squirm.”

Meanwhile, Ginny, Tonks, and Hermione were trying very hard not to laugh. Ron, on the other hand, was doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk.

“Two girlfriends already,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow. “And now you’re adding Mareena to the mix?”

“Ambitious,” Tonks teased. “You sure you’ve got the stamina for that, Potter?”

I was never going to live this down. “You know what? I vote we focus on the assassin threatening to take over the League of Assassins. You know, the real problem?”

Sirius, lounging in his chair like he had all the time in the world, waved a hand. “We’re getting there, kiddo. First things first—what’s your strategy for managing all these girlfriends? You’re going to need a spreadsheet.”

Remus gave him a look that said, Please, for the love of Merlin, stop talking. “What Sirius means is… good luck.”

“That’s not what I mean at all,” Sirius said. “I want details.”

Talia, who had been standing quietly at my side this whole time, finally stepped forward. “Enough,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding. The room fell silent instantly, because, well, Talia tends to have that effect on people. “The mission is what matters.”

Even Fred and George stopped grinning, which was a minor miracle.

“Deathstroke won’t stop with a polite invitation,” Talia continued. “He’s made his intentions clear—he wants me to help him take over the League. We need to move quickly, and everyone here will have a role to play.”

Everyone straightened at that, the humor in the room replaced by something much more serious. Even Ron managed to look halfway competent, which I considered a win.

“You’re saying everyone?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Yes.” Talia’s expression was pure steel. “The training you’ve done over the last month has prepared you for this. You will all be involved, whether you like it or not.”

Ginny grinned. “Cool. So… can I fight the assassin?”

“No,” Talia said flatly.

Fred raised a hand. “Okay, but if no one else wants to, I’m happy to—”

“No,” Talia repeated, rubbing her temples like she regretted ever agreeing to work with us. “If we all survive this mission, it will be a miracle.”

“Miracles are kinda our thing,” Sirius said with a grin.

Kara nudged my arm. “Bumgorf, do not worry,” she whispered, using one of Kori’s endearing Tamaranean words. “We have faced worse than Deathstroke before.”

Kori floated beside her, smiling warmly. “Indeed! After this mission, we shall go to the mall of shopping to celebrate!”

And just like that, I knew: this mission was going to go off the rails. I could feel it in my bones.

—

Meanwhile, in her room at Mount Justice, Raven sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by candles and the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it was waiting for something to happen. Which, knowing her luck, it probably was. Meditation was supposed to help her find her center—whatever that meant. In theory, it was all about breathing, calming the mind, and becoming one with the universe. In practice? It was a lot harder without a giant glowing rock stuck to your forehead.

That gemstone—her personal prison and her father’s favorite tracking device—was gone now. For the first time in forever, she was free of Trigon’s voice whispering horrible things into her head. No more manipulations. No more constant battle to keep his influence at bay. She was finally just… Raven.

Which was nice. Also terrifying. Turns out, when you’ve spent your whole life defining yourself by what you’re running from, it’s a bit tricky to know what to do once you’ve stopped running.

She inhaled slowly, filling her lungs with the cool air of the dimly lit room, and let her mind drift. Emotions were still weird—like strange animals she wasn’t sure how to feed or approach without getting bitten. Anger, fear, guilt, even happiness—they all felt different now, sharper somehow, as if her senses were adjusting to a life without the constant hum of darkness.

Her thoughts flickered to Kara and Kori. Friends. Actual friends. Not just people who tolerated her or saw her as a walking apocalypse with good fashion sense. Friends who dragged her to movie nights, who let her brood without asking too many questions, and who didn’t mind when she occasionally snapped at them.

Kara, with her relentless optimism and the habit of punching problems into orbit. And Kori—sweet, sunshine-in-human-form Kori—who called hugs “the squeezing of friends” and looked at Raven like she was some rare, beautiful flower instead of a girl with more issues than a Gotham tabloid.

It was… nice. Strange, but nice.

She shifted slightly, adjusting her posture. Meditation was supposed to help her find balance between the old and the new, but so far all it had given her was the sudden, horrifying realization that she didn’t know what she liked to do for fun. Kori liked baking alien pastries that occasionally exploded. Kara liked rescuing people and collecting stray animals like they were Pokémon.

And Raven? So far, her hobbies were “brooding” and “not accidentally ending the world.” She was pretty sure those didn’t count.

She exhaled slowly, the candles flickering as if sensing her mood. If she could just find her center, maybe everything would click into place. Maybe the rest of the pieces—who she was now, what she wanted—would follow.

Or maybe she’d just end up sitting here all night, trying to make sense of her emotions like they were a riddle she couldn’t solve.

But that was okay.

For the first time in a long time, Raven wasn’t drowning in darkness or running from herself.

She was just here.

And that? That was a pretty good place to start.

—

In Gotham, it was the kind of night that practically begged for something dramatic to happen. Dark clouds, flickering streetlights, and just enough of a breeze to make alleyways feel ten times creepier. Perfect conditions for Artemis Crock to finally stop being someone’s problem and start being someone’s hero.

Artemis stood in her tiny room, chewing her lip like it owed her money. Family baggage? Oh yeah, she had plenty. Her dad was Sportsmaster, a professional bad guy and the kind of dad who’d think “Take Your Kid to Crime Day” was bonding time. Her sister, Cheshire, was an assassin with a flair for chaos and abandonment issues. Both were currently enjoying an extended stay at the Justice League’s finest accommodations, aka prison.

And her mom? Once upon a time, her mom was Huntress—until a bad night and a worse injury left her in a wheelchair. Now, she was a reformed villain trying to steer Artemis toward a “normal” life. But let’s be real: with Artemis’s gene pool, “normal” was never in the cards.

Tonight, though, Artemis was done waiting around to be told who she was supposed to be. She tiptoed past her sleeping mom, praying the TV’s droning crime show would keep her mom in dreamland. No one wants their first heroic mission to start with getting grounded.

Back in her room, Artemis grabbed her new uniform—a sleek, green-and-black bodysuit she’d spent way too many late nights sewing. It wasn’t flashy. There were no logos, no capes (because obviously, no capes), and definitely no high-tech gadgets. Just a girl with a bow and the hope that she wouldn’t embarrass herself on her first night out.

She slipped into the suit, feeling oddly...right. Like this was the version of Artemis she’d been waiting to meet all along. She slung her quiver across her back and adjusted her bow. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. And that was the important part.

One quick glance in the mirror. Yep—there she was. Not Cheshire, not Sportsmaster’s kid. Just Artemis Crock, looking like she was finally ready to stop being a walking family disappointment.

She cracked the window open, testing the fire escape with her boot. It held. Good. Breaking a leg before her first heroic outing would’ve been peak Crock luck.

She took one last look around her room, like it might suddenly reveal some hidden life advice. Nothing. Typical.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Artemis muttered, climbing through the window and into the night.

The Gotham skyline stretched out in front of her, dark and full of trouble. Perfect. She adjusted her quiver, took a breath, and smirked. Time to make her own story.

And if Gotham wasn’t ready for a hero with family drama, a ton of emotional baggage, and a wicked aim? Well, that was Gotham’s problem.

Cue dramatic rooftop leap in three, two, one…