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Harry woke early the next morning, the sunlight streaming through his bedroom curtains. Although he was awake, he kept his eyes firmly shut. "It was a dream," he told himself. "I dreamed that a letter told me I was magic. When I open my eyes, Bruce will be knocking on my door for training."
A loud knocking at the door snapped Harry from his musings. Harry sighed and got out of his bed.
"Master Harry," Alfred's voice said, muffled slightly from behind the door. "Are you ready for shopping?"
"Shopping?" Harry asked, excitement building at the potential realism of the situation.
"Yes, shopping at Diagon Alley. Master Bruce has brought a person who knows how to get us there."
"Thanks Alfred," Harry shouted. "I'll be there soon." Harry got dressed at a breakneck pace, before sprinting into the main room, where Bruce, Alfred, and a woman stood waiting.
The woman was tall and thin, and appeared to be in her early twenties at the oldest. She was dressed in, what Harry could only describe as, a female magicians outfit with black fishnet stockings, a tight white top, and a magician hat on her hat. "Harry, I presume," she said as Harry neared.
"Yes," Harry replied, somewhat hesitant of the newcomer.
Bruce took the lead. "Harry, this is the closest thing to a magical advisor that the Justice League could find on such short notice. Meet Zatanna, she's also magic."
"Heard you only found out about all this yesterday," Zatanna said to Harry.
Harry nodded. "So, you're magic as well? Did you go to Hogwarts?" Harry hadn't realised how excited he was about talking to someone like him.
Zatanna laughed. "No, Hogwarts is for British people. In America, we have Ilvermorny and Castelobruxo."
"So, did you to one of them?" Harry asked. His eyes narrowed in confusion before he questioned, "Why aren't I going to one of them?"
"I was actually home-schooled by my father. And you're going to Hogwarts since you would've been enrolled there since you were born in Britain."
Bruce put his hands on Harry shoulders, ending the conversation. "Sorry to bring this to a halt, but we do have things to be doing."
Zatanna nodded. "Everybody link hands," she ordered, and everybody complied. Bruce kept on hand on Harry's shoulder and touched Alfred's hand with his other. Zatanna placed her hand on Alfred, before she intoned, "Ekat su ot nogiad yella."
Harry's confusion was quickly replaced by nausea when it felt as though he was being pulled through his own navel as colours rushed by him. The confusion returned when he saw he was no longer in Wayne Manor's main hall, but was outside a tiny, grimy pub named the Leaky Cauldron. "Here we are," Zatanna said, rather cheerfully.
The four entered the pub and Harry looked around. The pub was dimly lit by, to Harry's amazement, hovering candles that drifted through the air, and a layer of dirt stained most tables. Few patrons were scattered around the pub, and the group went unnoticed by them as they walked to the bald barman.
Alfred stood at the bar and waited patiently for the barman to acknowledge them. "We'd like to get through to Diagon Alley," Alfred told the man when the barman looked. "We have one Muggle with us." He indicated Bruce.
The barman pulled out his wand, something that Harry would have to get used to, and pointed it at Bruce. A soft blue glow came from the wand and went to Bruce. "That should let him in," the barman said, showing his yellowing teeth as he talked. "Want me to open the way?"
The barman's eyes flicked from Bruce, to Alfred, to Zatanna (where Harry noticed his gaze lingered unnecessarily for a few seconds) and finally to Harry. "Is this … are you … you are … Harry Potter," he yelled, his stare fixed on Harry's scar.
The room suddenly went eerily silent, before the patrons of the bar rushed towards Harry shoving their hands towards him and yelling causing him to cower slightly.
"Enough," Bruce commanded, and everybody stopped, immediately convinced by his tone. "I do not know why you are doing this, and honestly I do not care. But you are all scaring him, and you will stop." He glared at the patrons, who meekly returned to their seats but did not stop whispering and glancing over.
One man stepped forwards from the crowd. He was dressed in a deep purple robe and had a light purple turban wrapped around his pale head. "V-V-Very nicely h-handled," the man complimented Bruce.
"Thank you," Bruce replied, his voice still firm. "Any reason you're not reacting the same as them?"
The man laughed weakly. "I w-will be seeing a-a lot of P-P-Potter," the man stuttered back, "since I-I am a professor at H-Hogwarts. Professor Q-Quirrell at your s-service."
Harry brushed past Bruce, his excitement overpowering his nerves. "What do you teach?"
"D-Defence Against the D-Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell replied. "Not th-that you need it." He chuckled feebly. "Pi-picking up your e-equipment?" Harry nodded. "I'll open the way."
Professor Quirrell led the four to a weeded courtyard, where he pulled out his wand and tapped a brick on the wall, before he bid his farewells and retreated to the pub.
Harry stared at the brick that Professor Quirrell had tapped. The brick was wriggling rapidly, as though it was struggling to escape the wall itself, before a small hole appeared in its centre. The hole enlarged until it formed an archway that led to a cobbled street that twisted its way out of sight, far further back than it could have logically fit.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Alfred announced grandly. "Now, our first stop will be the bank."
Alfred walked down the street and the rest followed. Harry marvelled at the sights, wishing he had more time so that he could just stop and stare at everything: the shops that sold all manner of items, the robed people trying to do their shopping, the variety of hooting owls down the street.
Several young children were stood against a shop. "The newest broom model." Harry heard one of them say excitedly.
Harry paused outside of the shop with Bruce and Alfred, and read the card under the broom labelled Nimbus 2000. The card told how the broom could reach top speeds of 80 miles per hour and how it was available for 340 Galleons.
"What's a Galleon," Harry asked Alfred.
"Wizarding money," he responded. "About five dollars to a Galleon, I believe."
"So that's …" Harry stopped to work out the conversion rate. "1700 dollars," he said incredulously. He turned to Bruce. "You know, I'll need transport to help with your job."
Bruce hid his smirk. "I'll think about it," he replied neutrally.
Alfred tapped both of them on the shoulders. "I must insist we do what we intended, which is to buy Master Harry's school essentials."
Harry pouted but followed Alfred to a tall white building which proudly stood above the other shops. Next to a set of bronze doors, stood a creature. The creature was dressed in flawless iron armour, with a gold and scarlet outfit over the top. The creature bowed deeply as the group passed, and Harry had to stop himself from staring.
As soon as they were at another set of doors, this one silver, Harry turned to Alfred. "Alfred, what was-"
"A goblin," Alfred responded. "Gringotts is run by them."
They went through the silver doors, and Harry looked around the vast marble hall they now stood in. Goblins lined the walls at desks, doing a variety of tasks: measuring coins, weighing all manner of gems, and signing paperwork.
"Excuse me," Alfred said to a goblin at the front counter. "We've come to see if Master Wayne has any vaults."
The goblin nodded, and gestured for Harry to step closer. The goblin indicated a quill on the table. "Draw blood with the quill," he instructed, his voice guttural.
Harry hesitated, but did so when Alfred smiled reassuringly. The quill began to write on parchment, which Harry read along with as it wrote.
Harry Wayne was Potter
Father: James Potter
Mother: Lily Potter nee Evans.
Vault number: 687
The goblin looked at Harry and then back to the parchment. "Very well," he said slowly. "I will have someone take you to your vault. Here is your key." Harry's eyes widened in amazement as the parchment hovered slightly in the air, before morphing, its paper texture becoming gold and its shape changing to a key. "Griphook, take these people to Vault 687!"
Zatanna looked at the approaching goblin. "You know, if you don't need me, I can get all the supplies Harry doesn't need to be there for. Find me when you're done." With that she left.
The goblin, Griphook, approached. He was short, about a foot under Harry's height, and had greying hair. Griphook silently led the group through a set of doors, taking them to a rail cart. As soon as they were all seated the cart took off, speeding through the through the track on its own accord.
The cart lurched to a halt, and Harry saw the small door with 687 emblazoned on its front. Harry unlocked the door with his key and gasped at what was inside. Mountains of gold coins, stacks of silver and piles of bronze. Harry eagerly collected as much of the coins as he could, cramming them into his pockets, bag, and anywhere that they would go.
Alfred waited until Harry had a satisfactory amount of money in his possession. "Now that that's done, let's get started with the supplies. The closest shop we need is for your uniform, so that will be our first stop." Alfred looked at the shopping list.
The three people, and Griphook, re-entered the rail cart and sped back to the top of Gringotts and left the building. Alfred pointed to a nearby shop, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, which they entered.
Alfred and Bruce waited by the door, next to another man and woman, while Harry walked to a short woman dressed in all mauve robes. "First year at Hogwarts, dear?" the woman asked as Harry approached. "Got another first year being fitted up right now."
In the back of the room, a girl with frizzy brown hair was stood on a footstool, while a second worker pinned up her robes.
Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to the girl, and slipped a long test robe over his head and began to pin it.
"Hello," the girl next to Harry said politely, her gaze fixed forwards as she was being pinned, "I'm Hermione Granger. Are you also going into your first year?"
"I am," Harry responded, happy to be talking to another magical person his own age. "I'm Harry Wayne."
"This is so exciting, isn't it? This whole magic thing. I didn't believe it until we got an owl, and then a professor turned up to our house and made my teacup dance." Her sentences where breathless as she smiled. "What house do you think you'll be in?"
Taken aback by the girl's long-winded sente nce, Harry paused. "Houses?" he eventually asked.
"Are you Muggle-born as well?" she asked enthusiastically. "I am. Muggle-born I mean. Have you not read Hogwarts: A History?" Harry numbly shook his head. "Well then," her voice turned into that of a lecturer, "the four houses are: Gryffindor who favour bravery and chivalry, Hufflepuff who like hard work and friendship, Ravenclaw appreciates intelligence and those who want to have more knowledge, and Slytherin who are ambitious and cunning."
"Oh," Harry said weakly as he considered the options. "I don't know," he admitted. He knew he had traits of all the houses, so it was hard to pick one suddenly at short notice.
"Personally, I hope for either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, although Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad. As long as it's not Slytherin. They tend to not be fond of Muggle-borns. I'd avoid them if I were you," she advised.
The two continued to talk as Hermione's parents turned to Bruce. "It's nice to see her getting along with people," her father said to Bruce. "I'm Daniel, Hermione's father. This is Emma, her mother." He indicated the petite woman next to him, who had Hermione's frizzy hair.
"I'm Bruce. That's Harry over there." He pointed in the direction of the two children. The adults started to converse, both agreeing of the strangeness of the magic situation.
Harry and Hermiones' conversation was prematurely ended when the woman fitting Hermione said she was done. Hermione turned and looked at Harry and was stunned. "You're Harry Potter," she squealed. "I've read all about you."
"It's Harry Wayne now," Harry corrected her. After Harry had been adopted by Bruce, he happily changed his surname with him having no positive memories of his time as a Potter. "And you've read about me?"
She nodded eagerly. "In The Dark Lords: A Timeline. You destroyed the Dark Lord.
Madam Malkin pulled the pins out of the robes. "All done, dear," she said in an attempt at a neutral tone, although her eyes repeatedly flickered to the scar on Harry's forehead.
The two children stepped down and walked to their families. Hermione indicated Harry. "Mum, Dad, this is Harry Wayne. He's starting his first year as well."
"Harry … Wayne," Hermione's father said slowly, before he turned to Bruce. "Which means you're Bruce Wayne, correct."
Bruce rubbed the back of his head, hating to be recognised. "Correct," he disclosed.
Daniel grinned and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you Mr Wayne."
Bruce returned the smile and took the offered hand. "We're going to get the books next, care to join us?"
Hermione answered. "We've already bought the books. But I'd like to lotok at the bookstore again." She sent an eager look at her parents.
Hermione's parents nodded and the group walked to the next shop Flourish and Blotts. The bookstore shocked Harry, with the books being stacked as high as the ceiling. Alfred looked at the required book list. "I will buy the books," he told Harry, "so you may enjoy your company and look around."
Harry smiled at Alfred, and left with Hermione to a corner of the store. Hermione indicated books seemingly at random and explained them to Harry. "This one is about Hogwarts. This one is about Magic in other cultures. This one is about you."
Harry stopped, and looked at the large volume. "Me?"
Hermione nodded. "It talks about your parents, Lily and James Potter, how they died, and how you defeated Voldemort and then how you vanished from the Wizarding World."
Harry was dumbfounded. "How did they die? Why is it in a book?" His eyes pricked with tears. All Harry had ever been told is that his parents were drug addicted degenerates who died in a car crash.
"You didn't know? I'm sorry, I thought you'd have known. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, killed them both on a Halloween night. But you survived somehow and killed Voldemort."
Harry shook his head mutely and walked away to where Alfred was paying for the schoolbooks. "Are we done?" Harry asked.
"One more stop, your wand," Alfred replied.
Harry waited until all the books were bought and placed in a small trunk that the supplies should not have fitted in. Eventually, he, Alfred and Bruce bid their farewells to the Grangers and went to the final store.
Ollivanders was a narrow store, and looked to be almost falling apart. The faded gold letters on the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. Harry wondered if this was the oldest store on the shopping street.
Harry could feel the magical aura as soon as he entered the store, as though the building itself was buzzing with mystical energies that ran through the air.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice said from the shadows. A tall, gangly man stepped forwards, his pale silver eyes only matched by his grey hair.
"Hello," Harry replied awkwardly. "I'm here for a wand."
"Yes," the man said. "I assumed that I'd be seeing you soon, Mister Potter." He stared at Harry's eyes and Harry fought the urge to break eye-contact. "You have your mother's eyes. I remember her wand, you know? Ten and a quarter inches, swishy and made of willow. Useful for charm work." His eyes flicked to Harry's hair. "Your father preferred a mahogany wand, eleven inches and pliable. Used mainly for transfiguration."
Ollivander stepped forwards and stood inches from Harry and peered at the scar. "I sold the wand that did that to you. Thirteen inches, phoenix feather core. Very powerful. And dangerous in the wrong hands." He shook his head sadly. "Enough of this pointless reminiscing. Let's get your wand found." He held out his hand, and a tape measurer flew from across the store and into his grip. "Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm right-handed," Harry he offered awkwardly.
Ollivander grabbed Harry's right arm and measured, from finger to wrist, from shoulder to finger, from second knuckle to elbow. As he measured, he spoke softly, "Every wand has a core: dragon heartstring, unicorn hair or phoenix feather. No wand is the same as another, the size, wood, and length all play apart in if they will choose the wizard." Harry tried not to flinch as the tape measurer wrapped around his forehead. "That will do," Ollivander said, and the tape measurer fell to the floor.
A wand was pushed into Harry's hand, and immediately taken away. The wands came quickly, just to be snatched away as fast. The pile of discarded wands grew, as did Ollivander's glee. "Maybe, this one," Ollivander said curiously. "Holly and phoenix feather."
Harry took the offered wand, and suddenly felt the warmness from the wand spread into him, from the wodden tip into his very being. Giving it a wave, red and golden sparks flew from the tip and circled each other before dissipating into nothingness.
"Very interesting," Ollivander muttered softly.
"Interesting?" Harry asked. "What's interesting?"
"The phoenix that gave you that wand, gave another a wand. The wand that did that to you." He ran his bony finger along Harry's scar. "That wand will do great things for you, Mister Potter."
Harry smiled, awkwardly, and the group left to find Zatanna, who had bought ice-cream for them all. "All done?" she asked.
Bruce nodded. The group ate their ice-cream and talked, except from Harry who ate in silence. His mind was filled with questions: about the Dark Lord, his parents, about magic.
Minutes past until all the ice-creams were gone. "Ready to go back?" Zatanna questioned and everybody linked hands again. "Ekat su kcab ot eynaw ronam."
The world spun again, and by the time Harry regained his bearings he was back at Wayne Manor.
Review. Hermione introduced. She will not die this time, instead she will be a Metahuman. Feel free to suggest what her power(s) should be.