Harry Potter: A Brave Beginning

The Justice Academy of America

Author's Note: I'm starting this story to continue what I hope to be a series of stories that retells the story of the boy-who-lived in several different ways. This is the second, the first being my story about Luna, A Prophecy Undone. I hope that you like this version and, no, before you say anything, I am not trying for strict canon.

Disclaimer: I do not claim any ownership of either the characters or plot from Harry Potter or any from the DC Universe.

Welcome Salutations

The afternoon sun had crept high into the sky. Hickory Drive was quiet and still—grown-ups had gone to work, kids to school, and the very young were being kept inside by stay-at-home parents. There was only one tiny buzz of activity on the street, in the form of a very young boy who was picking his way down the creek behind his house.

Harry Potter was fairly sure that his aunt did not know where he was. He was also pretty sure that she didn't care. He glanced at his watch—it was closing in on one o'clock. Right about now she was probably settling down in the living room for her favorite soap opera.

The small stream that ran behind his house had been his particular place since he was eight years old and his aunt and uncle pulled him out of school. With little else to do (he usually did all his schoolwork once a week, picking from the pile that his aunt left in his room to satisfy the board in control of home-schooling) he had explored every inch of it before he was ten.

His favorite time of year was the spring right before the other kids got out for school. Until then the old creek was his. As he sat down to have the lunch he'd packed for himself at his favorite point along the bend, he wondered if he'd spend his summer at home or if he'd be shipped off like he had been the summer before, to one of the camps they had set up for kids with 'special' abilities like his.

He hated the camps. For two summers running he'd had to work with every scientist, psychologist and counselor known to man, all of them trying to teach him to suppress the power he'd known was his since he was very young.

And that was, after all, the real problem he had with his aunt and uncle. He had been born different, and with the superheroes and villains spending days and nights in the evening news not everybody was keen on people who were different.

Harry had been threatened, on coming to realize that he had special abilities, with the possibility of being thrown out of their house. Not that he thought it would ever happen, not with the massive inheritance he'd received from his mother and father when they died. But all in all it was better to do what the Dursley's said. Besides, he thought a little glumly, he only had seven more years to worry about what they wanted. And then he'd be free to go off and do whatever he wanted.

Even become a costumed hero.

He laid back on the tall grass, arms crossed behind his head. It had been a dream of his, even before he realized that he had the powers to make it a reality. After all, his parents were killed by one of the villains that the superheroes themselves had fought. He liked to picture himself in a costume—had once been punished when an entire sketchbook of fantastic costumes had been found hidden beneath his bed. But more than anything he wondered what it would be like to fight alongside a hero like Superman, or to run alongside the Flash, or haunt the streets of Gotham City with the guy known as Batman.

Lazily, he lifted one hand in the air. "Fire," he said, as a ball of white flame sprung up from his fingertips. It was the first bit of magic he'd ever taught himself, the basics learned by scavenging time online when his guardians were nowhere to be found. "Ice," he said again, and the flames froze and fell from his fingers.

"Mom is gonna kill you if she finds you doing that freak stuff," said Dudley. Harry sprung up and turned around.

"What are you doing home?"

"It was an early day," he said with a shrug. Harry groaned. There was no way his cousin was going to let him off for doing magic. Not without a price, anyway.

"So, you going to tell her?" said Harry.

Dudley grinned, somewhat menacingly. "Well," he drawled. "Maybe I can let you go this one time…"

"If?" said Harry.

"If you'll take care of that thing I have to write."

"Your homework? Again?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Sure, why not."

Dudley grinned again. Ignoring his cousin, Harry laid back down on the grass. To his agitation the other boy didn't just go away, like he usually did. Dudley stood near him, saying nothing for several minutes. Finally Harry sat back up with a sigh.

"What else is it?" asked Harry.

"Well," said Dudley slowly. "I was just thinking that maybe I don't need you to help me with my homework. Maybe I can think of some other way for you to pay me back for being so nice to you."

Something sank in the pit of Harry's stomach. He got up to his feet, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to keep from hitting his cousin. "What is it?"

"I want a little extra spending money. I know you're able to get cash out of your trust…"

"I give most of it to your mum, to pay for taking care of me!" Harry said, astonished at his cousin's newfound gall. Somebody, one of his friends, had probably put him up to it.

"You can get more," whined Dudley. "Come on. Your parents were billionaires."

"And if I don't give it to you you're going to tell your mum I was out here using my powers?" said Harry. Dudley grinned again, and after a long moment Harry shrugged. "Fine, then. Tell her."

The smile faded from Dudley's face. "Yeah…okay. I guess I will."

Harry shrugged. He knew he'd probably get in major trouble, but it was better than giving in to his cousin's stupid demands. Dudley left, and when Harry finally headed home an hour later he wasn't surprised to walk into the kitchen and find his aunt, white-faced and nostrils flaring, waiting for him on the living room sofa.

"Dudley told me you were doing your little 'tricks' out by the creek," she said, her voice somewhat higher in pitch than usual.

"They aren't tricks," said Harry firmly. "I don't see what the big deal is. Most people don't mind superhumans…most people like them."

Mrs. Dursley's upper lip trembled visibly. "Well," she said after a long moment. "People are misguided. Superheroes cause more trouble than they're worth. If you want guidance take a good, long look at your Uncle Vernon. He puts his life on the line every day…"

Harry said nothing. After a little while he was excused to his room, where he would be confined for the rest of the day until his uncle got home and they could decide on a proper punishment.

Fairly certain that he had a few hours to himself without being bothered, Harry got to his knees and dug underneath his bed until he found an old shoebox. He pulled it out and fished through newspaper clippings and magazine articles until he found what he was looking for.

"Superman Defeats Mechanical Monstrosity," it read. The picture below it showed a pile of mechanical rubble and a man in red and blue who hovered in mid-air. Although he knew the story by heart he read it again, and then another and another, filling his mind with stories of his favorite heroes.

He'd be a hero someday, he was sure of it. But until he turned eighteen and had full control of the money his parents had left him he was stuck with the Dursleys, their stupid rules and their equally stupid punishments.

****

For using magic when he most definitely should not have been, Harry was confined to the house for the full first half of summer break. With little else to do, he spent his time plotting his escape from the house on Hickory Street, both possible and impossible. Mixed together were fantasies of running away in the night, living on his powers and reappearing for his inheritance when he turned eighteen years old, and realistic dreams of the house he would buy when he had a chance, far from the Dursleys. He toyed with the idea of moving to Metropolis, or Gotham City, and working alongside the big guns.

By the time his aunt and uncle relented, and he was allowed out of the house once again, his eleventh birthday was quickly approaching. Although he didn't have any particular reason to get excited—his family never honored the occasion—the fact that he was a year closer to his goal was cause for celebration in his mind at least.

When his birthday finally came, Harry couldn't help but be a little excited despite the fact that nobody else in his family really seemed to care.

Nobody even mentioned his birthday when he went down for breakfast that morning. His uncle was telling his aunt about a mugging that had taken place north of town, while Dudley had shoveled down his breakfast and was in the living room watching a rerun of his favorite reality TV show. Harry quietly piled what was left (not much) of the eggs and toast his aunt had made onto a plate and sat at the far end of the table.

"So Greg was on the radio calling for back-up, and now we're not sure where the perp ended up," finished Mr. Dursley.

Mrs. Dursley shook her head. "Well, I'm just glad that nobody got hurt," she said. "There sure are a lot of crazy people out there."

"Don't you know it," said Mr. Dursley.

Harry was halfway through his eggs when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it. On my way out, anyway." Mr. Dursley kissed his wife on the cheek and rose, disappearing through the short hallway that led to the front door. After a few moments he was back, frowning.

"Certified letter for the boy. He's going to have to sign for it."

Harry looked up. "Sign for what?"

"Just get to the door," his uncle growled. Harry left the table and went to the front door, where a harried looking postman was holding a thick envelope and a small digital device. Harry followed the man's instruction and signed the screen, taking the letter and closing the door behind him.

"Let me have that," said his aunt, "it probably has something to do with your trust."

"I want to look at it," said Harry, holding it protectively down at his side. "It's my letter!"

His aunt rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said smartly. "Go ahead. It's just a bunch of legal junk you probably won't understand."

Defiantly, Harry went to the living room and ripped the envelope open. But rather than the expected legal memos his aunt had predicted, a thick packet of papers fell out, accompanied by a small metal disk.

Harry picked it up, staring at the engraving across the front. "JLA?" he mouthed to himself.

"Are you done?" his aunt said from the next room. "I'll need to go over that."

"It's not from the trust," Harry called back. "It's just…uh…somebody sent me a card for my birthday. That's all."

"Your birthday?" Mrs. Dursley followed him into the room, arms crossed across her chest. She narrowed her eyes. "Hmm. I'd almost forgotten about that. Who sent it to you?"

"Mrs. Bishop," he said, saying the first name that came to mind. Mrs. Bishop was a pucker-faced, stern older woman he had only met a handful of times—she was also his parents' lawyer when they were alive and, as such, executor of his trust. The law offices of Bishop, Bishop and Prewitt had sent him a birthday and Christmas card for every year that he had been alive—usually they were the only ones to do so. Harry held his breath, hoping his aunt didn't realize that he had already received the annual card a week before.

"All right," she said finally, though there was still a tone of disbelief in her voice. "Stay around the house today. I have more important things to do than make sure you're keeping out of trouble."

Harry said nothing in reply. When she wasn't looking he picked the packet that had fallen on the ground up and slid it into his shirt. Dudley was too busy watching his television show to notice. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made it to his room and slammed the door closed behind him, pulling a chair up against it so nobody would bother him.

He glanced over the papers. The first page had his name across the top, a few lines of stuff that looked technical and he wasn't sure he understood, and beneath that several lines of writing that looked like a schedule of some kind.

September 1-Arrive Justice Academy, Preliminary Testing and Assessments

September 2-Physical Combat Analysis, Orientation for Non-humans

September 3-5-General Orientation and Social Events

September 6-First Day of Classes

There were several more lines like this. Harry set this section of the papers aside and looked at what lay beneath, finding something that looked like a boarding pass to Kansas, a list of required items (required for what?) and, at the very bottom of the stack of papers, a page headed by his own name.

Potter, Harry

ID #:1873-7722

Class: Magic User

Brn. 1998

Parents: James, Potter (Class: Magic User) and Evans-Potter, Lily (Class: Human)

Potter, Harry: Shows a marked ability with magic, incantations. Heritage indicates potential shape-shifting abilities. Raised by Dursley, Vernon and Dursley, Petunia (Class: Human) who have no known abilities. Guardian Dursley, Vernon is Chief of Police.

Potter is recommended for admission into the Justice Academy of America.

There was more written on the page, but the only other thing that caught his eye was the handwritten scrawl at the bottom. "We would be proud to have you join us. Please respond promptly," he read aloud.

"What is the Justice Academy?" he said out loud. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small disk that had been included in the letter. He looked it over, finally noting that there was a small, shiny spot on the bottom of it. He touched it and suddenly a hologram, like nothing he'd ever seen before except in movies appeared. He set it down quickly and leaned in to see the image.

Floating in midair was a perfect image of Wonder Woman. "I would like to formally congratulate you on your admission to the Justice Academy of America. Unceasing in our search for brave and talented young souls to join us in our quest for truth and justice, an Academy was created for the soul purpose of training those deemed worthy. Contained within your packet you will find all the information that you will need to attend. You will also find a short synopsis detailing your reason for admittance. No reply is necessary, and we look forward to guiding you in a glorious new future."

The image disappeared, and Harry was left in shock. Had he really been recruited? And by the Justice League, no less?

He was so shocked that it took him several minutes to notice that the synopsis of his abilities had pointed out that his father was a magic user, just like he was.

He hid everything away—his aunt and uncle would never let him go—and began to think. Somehow, he had to get on the plane on September first.

And the Dursleys couldn't know about it.