AN: I do not own either DC comics or Harry Potter, I will however be mangling their intellectual properties a bit so cannon nazis consider yourselves forewarned.
For sake of reference I'm sort of blending a post Gotham City plotline with bits of the New 52.
Chapter 1: Barbara
Blüdhaven, New Jersey; March 23 2012; 9:45 EST
Few glances are spared for the custom sport bike as it roared down the rain slick city road. Clouds rolled and churned above, storm surge battering the worn-down roof tops of the various buildings that dotted the small city on the bay. Downshifting with a quick foot tap the leather clad rider leaned into the turn on to the main faro through barely slowing down around the corner despite the slippery conditions.
Sometimes referred to as Gotham's working class sister, the 'harbor town' or rather small port city that sits thirty miles east of the megalopolis lived up well to its name. Settled along the largest span Gotham Bay, it acts as the main shipping port for Gotham and a significant feeder port for the rail lines that ran north to New York and out west to places like Metropolis.
Past the turn onto the main street, the motorbike's engine pitches down and rapidly back up as the rider one Barbra Gordon quickly shifts it back up to its highest gear. In its heyday at the turn of the century, massive trading houses reigned supreme often competing with one another to build a grander headquarters, causing a wide assortment of skyscrapers to bloom in the downtown sections of the city. Combined with a healthy whaling industry many boasted the bright future of the city becoming the largest port on the eastern seaboard and one of the busiest in the world.
However wishful hopes of it reaching the status of sister city to its more dour cousin Gotham were dashed by the double knockout blow of the oil boom and the ravages of the great depression. Weaving in and out of traffic down the main road she cannot help the smirk underneath the fully enclosed helmet. The light up the block changes to red, listening via an earpiece to the police radio broadcasts she knows there are no units in the area so instead of stopping hunkers down and jumps the curb onto the deserted sidewalk. Avoiding the stopped vehicles and blowing through the intersection, the cars on the cross street's horns blaring their displeasure in the background. The smirk is now a full blown grin as she revels in the mild daredevilry, making up for lost time after a sort.
Several years ago Barbara had been shot by a Gotham city criminal who called himself the Joker; the bullet had grazed her spine and effectively crippled her, costing her the use of her legs. At the time he had simply been trying show that 'everyone was one bad day away from turning into someone like him'. To prove the point he had decided to make an example of her father Commissioner Gordon head of the Gotham City Police. Unknown to madman he managed far more; in those days Barbara often spent her evenings in another form of daring, jumping from rooftops fighting crime as the partner of his self-proclaimed enemy Batman.
By turning the caped crusader's partner the rather uncreative named Batgirl into a paraplegic he managed to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone. Removing her ability to walk had also removed her from her passion of motorcycle riding.
Bursting from the clouds, the occasional bolt of lightning overhead providing a backlight to the largely unlit gothic style skyline, a throwback to when great trading houses reigned supreme. The great depression marked the beginning of the city's decline due to loss of its two major industries, many of trading houses folding under the pressure of the economic collapse and cheap oil quickly outstripping increasingly difficult to acquire whale oil. The cities rising star plummeted, businesses that didn't outright fail, seeing the writing on the wall quickly pulled up stakes reducing or outright removing their presence in the city. Most retreated to more stable ventures back in Gotham. The city today was a mere shell of its former glory acting as more a stop through for companies off loading cargo to more vibrant markets.
Winds whipped through the natural canyons formed by the spires of industry catching and churning the rain into a maelstrom and casting it down in the wake of the motorcycle as it once again rejoined the street on its high speed sprint southward. The energy was a dramatic counterpoint to the city's tempo; it had a depressed haggard feel, almost as if it simply limped on in its browbeaten existence through habit and momentum.
The towering skyscrapers hemming both sides of the main street gave way to shorter industrial buildings as the bike made its way to the original and arguably still beating heart of the city, the harbor. Spanning three sides of a natural inlet on the northern side of the greater Gotham bay, the glaring bright glow of eastern and northern sides cutting through the storms gloom, easily outlining assorted docks, warehouses and associated structures commonly found in a large commercial port. A wide assortment of floodlights providing plenty of light for workers scurrying like ants to unload the various cargo vessels currently in port as quickly as possible.
Finally slowing to a more sedate pace less she run into a container truck leaving the port, Barbara turned right as the main street continued to a roundabout intersection flanked with turnoffs into various gated entrances to the commercial harbor district. As the road continued parallel to the dock facilities well lit razor wire trimmed buildings gave way to older and more run down structures block by block around her. In contrast to the beehive of the main district, the western side of the harbor was mostly smaller pools of light segregated in the gloom only the sharp contrast of lightning from above outlined the area in full.
Having reached a stretch of road on which she was the only traveler, she reached down to flip a switch on the instrument panel the bike's engine seemly cut out as the muffler noise dropped to almost zero. Further extending a hand up to the left side of her helmet she quickly depressed a switch just behind the visor while at the same time flipping one on the right hand control of her bike. The headlamp switched off while night vision built into the helmet allowed her to continue to navigate with little difficulty.
Aptly called The Dockyards, this part of the harbor had originally been devoted to the maintenance, construction and repair of vessels. Failure to gain reinvestment for upgrades and expansion over the years as the city spiraled downward eventually saw this area largely abandoned by the more legitimate businesses. It is an open secret that many of the buildings here were merely fronts for companies of questionable repute run by various criminal syndicates who had overtaken the area allowing for the Dockyards to become the unofficial smuggling capital of the east coast.
Slowing further to allow the road noise from the bikes tires to be obscured by the falling rain, she pulled off the westward trekking main road and began to weave in thorough various backstreets. The lack of light and noise allowing her go unnoticed by any guards and to disappear into the shadows of the stormy night.
The years since her injury weren't easy for Barbara. Initially she had entered into a heavy depression due to her injury and the fact it had essentially put paid to her vigilante career. She was and is a strong believer in the necessity of crime fighters outside the traditional system. Years of watching her father wade through and battle the corruption inherent in Gotham had colored her perception that the innocent needed protection of someone beyond the system, someone such as Batman.
While being wheelchair bound put paid to her going out and prowling the night as Batgirl, she eventually was able to crawl out of her depression realizing she had other skills to offer than hitting bad guys with her fists. Putting her undeniably genius intellect to work she increased her already impressive ability with computers, and information management, essentially becoming an information broker and hacker for the side of order. Under the new moniker of Oracle she was able to provide information to vigilantes and law enforcement alike recreating herself in new role continuing to fight against injustice in spite of her injury.
However while not letting her disability stop her; Barbara always maintained a small hope of being able to undo the madman's damage. It always seemed like a pipe dream that lay outside her reach, until last year. Traveling to South Africa for highly experimental and questionably legal surgery followed by months of physical therapy had finally restored her ability to walk, as well as her ability to engage in one of her favored hobbies.
After more than half an hour of searching she found relatively secure back alley that lacked both patrols and surveillance cameras to park her bike. Out of sight of any wandering eyes, she parked in the darkest corner of the dead end alley, and began to run through her preparations physically and mentally. Despite the joyride through the rough and tumble city Barbara Gordon had work to do tonight, the soggy ride out to Blüdhaven was to follow up on a lead.
Two years ago, Dr. Hugo Strange hand managed to somehow influence the mayor or Gotham to allow him to take over a series of older slums in the city for a new prison. In the end effectively giving him his own kingdom inside Gotham, to run his own little mind games through. Barbara had to watch almost helplessly as the failed "Gotham City" project had led to one of the longest nights in Batman's career. All totaled the end result was shocking even to jaded crime fighters massive destruction, hundreds of innocent civilians incarcerated or killed and the death or disappearance of hundreds of criminals, including the supposed death of the Joker. It was easily the largest manmade disaster to ever strike the city; it seems no one had made it out of that incident without some scars.
Barbara took that whole event especially hard, information gathering was her job, and she should have at least caught some clue as to what was going on. The whole incident caught her unaware. It wasn't until Batman in his civilian alter ego as Bruce Wayne got sent in there did she start to see the horrors in their full glory. She felt she had failed, and Bruce's increased distance from her since that event she couldn't help but take as silent agreement to the fact. With the simple bracing vow of "never again" Barbara had kept her ear to the ground since then, detailing new hardware in her Oracle operations to brute force data mining, feverishly listening for any sort conspiracy brewing again.
As she removed her helmet her shoulder length red hair spilling out down her back. Securing the helmet in a locking holder, she quickly gathered her fiery hair into a simple pony tail to keep it out of the way. Hence her presence here tonight, over the last few months she had caught some chatter in her data mining referring to some sort of secret group starting to operate in Gotham. But that was all, getting details on them was like grasping at smoke, they didn't seem to employ any sort of central organization or engage in any amount of communication that she could detect.
Opening a side compartment behind the seat she removed her leather riding jacket, shivering slightly as the rain pelted her now exposed grey tee shirt. After affixing holsters on her lower arms holding a multiuse taser and collapsible baton, she quickly replaced the jacket with a sleek ballistic vest, a tad overzealous perhaps however years of being wheelchair bound had made her hyper vigilant against being shot again, even her riding jacket had Kevlar lining.
She hung an old army surplus multi-compartment webbed equipment belt on her hips complete with a six inch holstered knife on her left hip and pistol holster containing not a firearm but a grapple gun on her right. Situated to her satisfaction she then placed a slightly ratty pea coat overtop, the low profile vest seamlessly disappearing so that it gave no indication of its presence under the coat.
She had tried to tell Bruce about her concerns, get him involved in the search for leads, and while he did seemed curious especially after mentioning references to this leader simply known as "Shadow". He eventually told her to keep him informed if anything more turned up and essentially dismissed the whole thing. She shouldn't have been surprised; this wasn't the first conspiracy theory she had uncovered. More often than not they panned out to little, and while helping cut down on gang violence really hadn't shown much in the way of positive results beyond already established operations.
A final touch of doffing a weathered black leather cadet cap, taken in with her worn blue jeans and hiking boots finished out a functional yet forgettable appearance, thus camouflaged she set the security on the bike and walked out back down the alley. Despite objectively knowing it was a goose chase, Barbara just couldn't let it go. For weeks she refined and searched for any hints or clues, it seemed to be fruitless.
Until, last week she had finally gotten a breakthrough on the "shadow group". A series of encrypted emails linking back to what she had tentatively identified as one of this self proclaimed "Shadow's" agents had referenced Harley Quinn, Joker's former sidekick/lover had been seen down in the Dockyards.
She still remembered the uneasy feeling in her stomach when she had read that, Joker was dead overdosed on an experimental super steroid called Titan, or at least supposedly. His body never turned up at the morgue, wouldn't be the first time he'd managed to fake his death, the only one who seemingly knew for sure was Batman. The exact details were still lost to even her, Bruce had taken that whole thing to heart as usual he never talked about it, but after "Gotham City" he wasn't the same.
With this new data she had tried once again to bring it to his attention, but the moment she mentioned anything to do with Joker he had shut down and dismissed it as baseless rumor. It had shocked her to be so coldly cut off and dismissed, Bruce….Batman while never the warmest of people, never discounted anything until he had looked at the facts. This time however he did not only that but he became belligerent when she tried to press her case.
It had hurt; she had spent her teen years and early twenties working closely with Bruce. She had sacrificed the last vestiges of her childhood, her innocence of the world, and in the end her very body for him. In many ways he had been the older brother and gruff uncle she never had, there was a time she would have done anything he'd asked, followed his lead without question. Even after her injury she had forsaken a semblance of normal life instead turning herself into a reclusive hermit to help him with his mission. This callous rebuff of her hard work and theory just seemed like the final push to make a break in their already distancing relationship.
After a couple of days of stewing over the issue she decided in hindsight it wasn't completely out of character, with the months of sifting through reams of junk data to even get the vague traces she did, and asking someone to go poking around in the Dockyards of all places. It was wholly unsurprising that she couldn't get one of her associated heroes even her childhood friend Nightwing who was based out of Blüdhaven to take a look.
The Dockyards were an accepted evil, letting the bad guys operate in the open unmolested may have not sat well with some, but it did make it easier for the intelligence agencies, law enforcement and even people like Batman to keep tabs on them. If Batman didn't think the Jokers number two wandering around a den of thieves wasn't worth worrying about no one else seemingly would. After all, if there was something to the whispers she had uncovered more evidence would eventually surface.
Yet she still couldn't let it go, finally steeling herself for the obvious choice to make. If no one else would investigate then she would, thus she had come down to Blüdhaven because if the Shadow was interested Harley then it couldn't be anything good.
The rain lightened to a drizzle while the occasional crack of thunder still roared overhead, sticking her hands the pockets of her coat, Barbara began her way down towards the docks. Fixing an alert but disinterested expression on her face she maintained a steady unhurried swagger keeping an eye on her surroundings at all times. While not likely to come in contact with someone willing to try something it's never smart to walk in a rough area unaware, especially as an attractive woman.
Traveling from pool to pool of light cast off from the overhead lamps she took in everything as she walked down the warehouse lined street. Easily catching sight of several men brandishing an assortment of submachine guns ambling along in casual patrols, the unconcerned display of automatic weapons so brazenly would be shocking if was anywhere else but here. After all Blüdhaven had a well known and entrenched criminal element, the town having crime rates that even outstripped Gotham on a per capita basis.
The Dockyards, the headquarters of these groups, were essentially a war torn world unto themselves. In fact you likely wouldn't find the feeling of the place dissimilar to a market in Nigeria or Somalia. Even the police didn't come down here, stopping patrols well on the other side of the central harbor, only showing a presence when invited by the powers that be.
The number of individuals out and about increased, as she made her way down the street towards the waterfront, in spite of the abysmal weather. Few gave her furtive evaluating looks as she passed quickly disregarding her, though she could feel some lingering a bit as her well. Not unexpected, her striking hair color tended to catch the eye, and worn jeans did fit a tad snug. The gun holster on display granted her enough passage room to keep form bumping into anyone, in an area where everyone was likely armed advertising the fact in that manner essentially told others, that while not looking for trouble she wasn't worried about it either.
Finally having walked to the end of the main alley the area opened up on to the docks proper, the sparse lighting broadened to provide minimal but sufficient views of several vessels being unloaded along quays populated with what could only be described as some sort of pirate's bizarre. A significant number of unsavory dockworkers worked cranes and loading equipment in and around crudely constructed stalls complete with hawkers making dockside deals to unload whatever pieces weren't being moved into warehouses or onto trucks.
Items ranged from largely unidentifiable shipping containers, to weapons and smaller specialized items. There was even the occasional animal cage sporting a rare or exotic animal, the obvious impression that if it was illegal it could probably be had here. As she progressed through the rain soaked milling crowd Barbara was caught with the thought that some federal agent could make his career leading a bust on this market. A small mental smirk as she guessed that it wouldn't even matter which agency, they could probably find a justification for any of them to come down on the district. Not that this knowledge would amount to much.
Despite or perhaps because of the poor lighting the entire area operated in a sedate comfortable manor. Any signs of hurry were simply in response to finishing tasks to get out of the rain no one exhibited signs of nervousness or concern about being caught, a well justified attitude. Hefty bribes to the local police kept them and other law enforcement agencies largely out of the area, unlike Gotham there was no James Gordon here to fight back against the graft and intimidation. As well, the average person had developed a healthy appreciation for not looking to hard into things that didn't concern them less they end up being fished out of the harbor.
It would have taken an army incursion to raid the Dockyard, and spying some of the weapons for sale, maybe not even that would have been enough. Sighing internally Barbara forced herself to turn a blind eye to the illegal goods. Most of the dangerous or highly illegal things here wouldn't actually travel into city proper, part of the balance played with the police in conjunction with the bribes. It operated more like the clearing houses for flowers in Holland, yes illegal things shipped into Blüdhaven, but once sold shipped right back out. It allowed the criminal ring leaders to enjoy the decadent comforts that America could provide those with lots of cash to spend, but still keep an eye on their business.
Also while a dangerous area that had dead people found floating in the harbor almost nightly few if any were what could be considered an innocent bystander. If they weren't floating in the water they would have likely been in a prison cell. The entire area operated in quasi martial law, the peace and the trading habits strictly enforced by the local crime lords. This strict self policing made sense in a sort of twisted way, all the bribe money in the world wouldn't save you in the end, if the government found you selling shoulder mounted rockets to home grown terrorists.
Finally shaking her herself from the hypothetical what ifs, Barbara focused on the moment. Continuing to the southernmost quay of the smuggler's cove her expression changed as she focused on finding her contact. Again not a surprising thing to have, everyone had informants in the Dockyard, its value in gathering "human Intel" on various underground groups was one the main reasons for tolerance of its blatant existence by the US government, it was a very poorly kept secret.
She finally spotted the particular ramshackle building she was looking for; the crowds were thicker on the actual quays themselves, where more of the rare exotic items were left, mostly so they could be easily reloaded on ship if not sold. Taking a deep breath and subtlety gripping for reassurance the small flash bang and tear gas grenades she had squirreled in her left and right pockets respectively, Barbara once again changed her pace to a predatory stalk through the milling crowd. The lethal authority she was able to impart in her step did a fairly effective job of parting people around her; she still had to shoulder a few people out of her way. But they did little more than glare at her and shuffle off on their business.
Finally after several minutes and several angry passersby she reached her destination. Set lengthwise along the open water facing side was what was identifiable at one time as a red shipping container. On the side facing into the pier the top half of the side wall cut out, in its place was were a series of shoddily installed bullet resistant glass windows. Behind them in a makeshift office bathed in harsh florescent lighting was the man she was looking for, talking to a couple of reasonably well dressed businessmen, her contact Peter Jeffers.
He stood out in a wild eye librarian sort of way, dark brown hair was unkempt as was the week's worth of stubble on his face. The unbuttoned collar of a blue dress shirt was visible under a v-neck grey cable knit sweater hung on his lean frame, his whole outfit while of decent quality still gave off a rumpled overslept look. In contrast to his mildly dopey appearance, he was gesturing with his hands enthusiastically over something on the desk between him and his guests.
Walking to the end of the container Barbara noted the doors had been modified to open inward, likely so Peter could seal them as opposed to being sealed in. One look round to check for anyone watching and she turned the corner walking through the slit plastic screen that acted as a door at the end of the metal box.
"Oh Petey, you stopped returning my calls. Makes a girl wonder what happened to you." Barbara announced in a distinctly sweet toned voice, loudly over the din of the market and a generator set up nearby.
Peter froze mid gesture and looked up with a deer in head lights look at Barbara. "Wendy?…..Its good" He swallowed nervously, "good to see you in person, I was just um really busy. I didn't mean to you ignore you, you know I always have time to talk with you." His voice strained towards the end of the statement in a pleading tone.
Barbara simply smirked, more like you didn't think I'd risk coming down here to find you, "oh but Petey you know how much I rely on you. It's just so hard to trust people these days, I just couldn't imagine what I would do if I thought you might have stopped taking my calls." She let her smirk show a bit of teeth at the end.
Peter gulped harder.
To his defense Peter Jeffers was under the impression that Barbara was an arms dealer by the name of Wendy Patterson, who catered exclusively to contract killers. A woman he had not actually met in person before. Her years spent as a hermit hacker allowed Barbara to sanitize her digital footprint. There were no records for Barbara Gordon past college, and not single digital photo of her to be had. She did weekly sweeps of various internet hotspots just to be sure. Part of her work as Oracle allowed for her to be logistical support for various heroes helping them maintain their secret identities.
With her newfound anonymity she was able to set up contacts under various aliases to help acquire supplies. Someone trying to buy Semtex does tend to get noticed these days after all. It and other questionable purchases done at a distance but with scarily accurate background information and planning did allow her to cultivate a pretty authentic credibility as someone able to do business with but never to cross.
Barbara simply shot a look to the now nervously curious customers seated in front of Peter. "I'm sorry to just drop in on you then Petey, I don't get out here much but was hoping to talk to you alone without having to" she looked back to Peter "send someone to pick you up."
Peter's eyes widened noticeably he looked at the men seated in front of him, "I'll have finish up with two later, perhaps tomorrow?" Barbara was impressed that he didn't shout at them to get out like his body language suggested he wanted to.
The two men in tieless suits took the not so subtitle hint, gathering their belongings they made their way past Barbara giving her sidelong evaluating looks on the way out. After they left she made her way to one of the seats they had vacated and situated comfortably leaning back in the chair crossing her right leg over her left, her hands sitting on her lap.
Peter watched her much like a mouse would cautiously watch a snake approach. "Now Petey, this terrible weather has left me in no mood for games, so let's get to the point." She tossed a roll of hundred dollar bills onto the desk. "Where can I find Harley Quinn?"
His head shot up from looking at the roll of money quickly looking around as if they could have been overheard with all the background noise. "H-Harley?" He laughed nerviously, "how would I know where she is? Why do you want to know?"
"Relax Petey, I just had a few business issues to discuss with Ms. Quinn," She said with an exasperated sigh, "As to why you, you're the go to guy for explosives in Bloodhaven and everyone knows Harley likes things that go boom."
His earlier nervousness seemed to dissipate slightly as a calculating gleam entered his eyes, "Seems to me knowing where Harley is a bit of dangerous thing, as you say I know explosives. I also know that dangerous is expensive." Peter reached for the roll of money during this and started to unroll and count it.
"Cut the crap Pete, tell me where I can find Harley. I know she's here tonight, but there are a lot of buildings out there," She said with a gesture back to the docks. "So do me a favor, narrow my search the weather sucks, if it pans out I might even owe you one."
He paused counting the money at that, "Plus." Barbara sat up and leaned forward staring intently at him, "I'll forget about you trying to hide down in this hellhole from me, and not call in any favors regarding it."
Peter put the stack of money down managing not to let his hand shake too badly doing it. "Alright," He cleared his throat a moment, "I might have heard from client that she had secured building 27c out on the western edge of the warehouses." Barbara stood up and looked down at him. "See was that so bad Petey?"
"So….were good?" He asked half hopefully. She shot him a wicked grin, "Okay Petey, were friends again." Barbara reached across the desk patting him on the cheek, which made him flinch; "Besides you really do have the best quality Russian PVV5." With that she turned and left the now sweating man to collapse in his dockside office.
~So while i feverishly work on trying to finish the works I've already posted the intro's to almost a year ago, I had this one that just wouldn't leave me alone. Anyone interested in a Shadow/DC/Potter crossover? ~VR