Thirty two days later, Harry Potter vanished an empty water bottle with a thought as he observed the scene before him. While he didn't know the name of this country- nobody seemed sure, since he had followed reports of violence to contested lands- he knew the situation before him unfortunately well.
In the middle of a sandstorm, armed men lurked as they waited for the convoy to reach them. Some had only small arms and rifles, Harry doubted those weapons would do more than scratch the surface of the French tanks that were incoming. That meant they were there for the cargo and to win supplies and weapons for themselves as the others, armed with rocket-propelled-grenades, dealt with the soldiers escorting the weapons, medicine, and food it to a nearby cluster of villages.
The conflict had originated due to religion, along with politics, xenophobia, and self-interest. Harry had seen religion hurt and help in equal measure over the years, and each case had to be seen from a detached perspective; he had no doubt of the existence of gods, but the only ones he had encountered that wanted war from their worshipers did not grant a peaceful afterlife. Those who had served such gods loyally in life would become playthings for the immortals upon their death, for an indeterminate amount of time, while their victims would be granted passage to an afterlife shrouded in more mystery than Harry could peer through. All he knew was that their deliverer was kind and caring, and that he would bet everything he had that it was a better place than the hells that these men would go to.
If their worshipped god did not want them, most likely because they had committed atrocities in its name, or it did not exist, then they would be given to this planet's corresponding afterlife and whatever god lived there until that god passed on and they were taken beyond, to the place Harry would never see. There had been many ancient religions on this planet and Harry didn't know which of them had existed, let alone which still cared what happened to the humans who barely acknowledged their continued existence.
But it didn't matter, really. Any of them would serve the purpose of punishing the men that Harry killed today.
He approached the terrorists without haste, knowing that the soldiers were still ten minutes from the ambush-point thanks to the tracking spell he had placed upon their leader. Harry's eyes were closed, his inner-eye being unbothered by the sand swarming around the bubble that covered his face. The same could not be said for those he was disabling, as they shielded their eyes with cloth or with their own hands and arms. They would be used to the local environment, but their bodies could only adapt to it so much and humans were not able to function properly in such extreme conditions.
Harry was silent as he stepped behind the nearest man, the only one with functional goggles, who had a battered pair of binoculars raised to his eyes in order to keep watch for the approaching convoy.
Harry clamped a hand over the man's mouth, and the scarlet glow of the stunner escaped only through the cracks between his fingers. He lowered the man to the floor, plucking the American pistol from the holster on the man's hip at the same time. Harry pulled back the slide, and sent a tiny tendril of magic past the bullet to look for any dirt or sand in the barrel.
If he was lucky, the unconscious lookout would know what Harry needed. If not, though, he would need to take at least one more of them for interrogation. He would take two.
Harry peered at each, and found no clear sign of who was in charge. Instead, he looked for the subtle signs. Presumably the senior two would be leading both the scavengers and the killers, so he examined each and every person.
Amongst those with RPGs, there was a clear choice. The man's energy was stiller than the others, as though he was wholly used to the stress of fighting and killing, and he was all-but motionless where the others fidgeted. He had found a position that could be held for an hour or two if necessary without becoming unbearable, and that told Harry of the man's experience as much as did his aura.
Of those who would rob the supplies, there were two possibilities. Harry examined both, and found that neither gave signs of nervousness or inexperience; one was younger but as confident as the older man. The older man had some disability in his right foot, making it odd for him to be in the scavenging team.
Harry only confirmed that the older man was in charge when the younger's hand ran over the length of his rifle in a loving, caring manner. As though he adored the killing power of the weapon, and the violence and power he could achieve through its use. As though he was aiming to kill, rather than fetch what they needed. His ability, then, was derived from a thirst for blood rather than a belief in their cause. That made Harry's decision as easy as it could be; nobody, at this level anyway, would follow a man who did not share their motivation.
Harry raised his left hand, the pistol in his right aiming over his fist, and a pair of red lights shot from his knuckles. One struck the lead RPGer, and the other the leader of the scavengers. Both fell to the ground, unconscious, while Harry pulled the trigger of his stolen handgun.
The first gunshot impaired his hearing, so only the heat that his inner eye saw spring from his barrel showed that eight shots followed the first. That, and the fact that the terrorists fell to the ground as their lights dimmed and their life-liquid poured from new holes opened by jacketed lead.
Harry left them there, picked up each of the three unharmed ambushers, and vanished from the country with a loud crack.
-)(-
He didn't want to sully his home with what he would do to them, and certainly didn't want them to be rejuvenated by the magic that overflowed there, so Harry had created another room in the cliff face, cut off from his home by nearly a mile of rock. In there, he chained up each of the captured terrorists and left them dangling from the ceiling. They had air, thanks to a spell, and each other for company. He would return an hour later, to learn where their organisation's headquarters were located. That would be enough time for the disconcertion from their lapse of consciousness to have an effect, and would make Harry's job easier.
Ideally he would just tear the information from their minds now, they would die as a result but that was their fate already and their souls would be untarnished by a continued existence, but he needed them awake to gauge the toll his mind-magics were taking on them. Without that precaution they would perish before he was done; he needed to know more than just the location, if they had the knowledge to offer to him.
Back in his home, Harry glanced at the screen of the laptop sat on his desk. It had not been too tricky to get it to work off magic, though he had gone through three others in the attempt, but making it effective for his purposes had been more difficult. Draining the core of electricity and then running magic through each part of its circuit was something he had done before, having needed to learn it in the technologically advanced lands he had visited, but the circuits of this planet had some slight differences that had stumped him briefly.
Copper was ever so slightly different in this world, and Harry had needed to go slightly easier on certain fragile parts.
Harry hadn't been able to figure out where he could look for Kryptonite in the real world, given that he was now recognised as a superhero by the news-casters. They seemed to love that there was now a superhero-who-kills; many of the population apparently knew how much more effective Superman would be if he dealt with the psychos and killers permanently and were thrilled to see someone stepping up and taking action like they would. Or in the way they insisted they would if they had the power.
A lie, but an unintentional one. Humans were capable of taking lives, but the further they progressed the less able they were to take them with their own hands. Some would be able to shoot a man dead, more would be able to click a button and end lives through a computer. But their softness would become evident when a knife was put into their hand, and they were told to slit the throat of one deserving of death.
Harry was fairly certain that they were happier because he didn't slaughter everyone he found committing a crime; robbery wasn't a good thing, but Harry hardly thought it was something he should punish harshly. So long as they had only stolen, he left them stuck to walls, and returned the possessions to the owners, if he could, or to the police if he could not. He didn't care to kill them if their crimes were forgivable, even; if someone was stabbed, it was horrible but an eye for an eye wasn't logical. It wasn't justice to kill a killer, when there was the option to imprison the killer.
Whereas, if someone took ten eyes, they deserved a harsh punishment. They were dangerous, without doubt, and imprisonment would do nothing to reform them. If they took ten lives, forfeiting their own was fair. Lenient, even. For one to kill ten people, they had to be that way by nature and indulging in their darkness. It was not a single incident, where someone could be provoked into rash action, humans called it "a crime of passion."
Those in America who had been upset to see him, many of them loathing the practice of magic where others disliked super-powered strangers and, still more, trusted Superman over Harry, had changed their tune when he broadened his horizons. Primarily, he'd stay in the States for the simple reason that this was where the super-powered fighting was centered, but the sandstorm had only been the most recent of many ventures into war-torn countries.
The first of these ventures to include an American Platoon had reached the news quickly, and one of the soldiers had managed to film it on some helmet-mounted camera. Upon learning that he had protected their soldiers, when there was virtually no hope for them in a situation where they were pinned down by far more than their fair share of enemies, the American public had decided Harry must be a good guy after all.
And his picture had spread further. Hence the difficulty to find Kryptonite. Who would sell it to a superhero, and be dumb enough to think he wouldn't capture them and give them to the police?
And, even if he used a glamour, where could Harry find a seller?
He had found his answer while browsing an anti-Superman forum, where there was a mention of something called the Dark web.
As it turned out, there was an entire section of the internet that Harry could not access with the simple browser he had been using. That had been frustrating; Harry's skills lay firmly outside of computing because he had spent most of his time in worlds of fighting and surviving, not typing at a keyboard. Not to mention the variety of systems found in different worlds.
He had found, eventually, that he needed to access something called Tor Hidden Service Protocols. He had no idea what that meant, but there was something about onion-like layers of defense to let users remain anonymous, and it hadn't been too tricky to find a browser that solely dealt with the parts of the internet that used that system. He'd gotten hold of one in fewer than seven hours of looking.
There were sites there devoted to crime, and others that Harry steered clear of. There was nothing he could do about the gun-trafficking or the rather disturbing pornography, and so he left the offenses that were being committed there. He felt fairly certain, though, that other tech-savvy heroes would be able to if they put their minds to it.
On the more basic criminal sites, Harry quickly found the appropriate subsection and that was where the browser constantly sat now to let him monitor any more developments. It was a site on which crews could be gathered for upcoming jobs, but the forum Harry was hovering over was a group of people trying to gather a crew to fight Superman should they run into him during the heist. They were claiming to have Kryptonite, so Harry was just waiting for a slipup in which one of them gave the details of when and where their job would take place. If they had the genuine article, great. If not, he would begin again, only not from scratch this time.
Nothing new was on the board yet, so Harry moved on to the next piece of business he had for himself.
It wasn't one that would be fun, and Harry was very glad that he had placed the repellant wards a fortnight ago, and that they had plenty of time to take effect on the world around. It meant that he would just need to supplement them in a single spot a mile away, and the earth would be barren of all life for the time he needed.
He didn't need long, but it would be unfortunate if people or animals happened to die because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He appeared in the grass of the world above, a mile from the patch where his magical ingredients were growing, and sat cross-legged on the ground.
Unfortunately, summoning debris wouldn't help in this transfiguration, if it could be called such.
Harry raised a hand, and cracked his neck as he began the preparations for another ability he should not have. Another ability that was very useful at the moment, and related, he believed, to the moronic god who had given such gifts to other mortals Harry had encountered. It was an ability that he could occasionally make use of, whether or not it went against nature.
The people who had originally been given the power had all but wiped themselves out by the time Harry was sent there. The last two, the most able amongst their race in the art of the power, had been a threat to the lives of those in their solar system. Harry had been instructed to kill them quickly, and he had.
Harry shuddered as he channelled the certain type of magic, one very different to his own, into his right palm. He took three deep breaths and exhalations, before casting what would ordinarily be a spell of conjuration. This magic was not ordinary, and took a decent portion of Harry's energy from him; that was useful, at the moment, because too-potent spells could potentially lead to the captured fighters perishing prematurely. In mind-magics, an overuse of strength could twist the mind into something unrecognisable.
He still had weaponry stockpiled, should he have need of it.
So Harry poured energy into the spell, and closed his eyes as the shape formed and twisted in the air. His mind's eye withdrew, slightly, at the dazzling blaze that accompanied this power and Harry smiled to himself as he felt the instinctual need to flee.
Dragons hunted all things, after all. And he had created the creature; he had no control over it to exert as he would had it been transfigured or conjured.
Harry felt a brief temptation to wrestle the thing's mind, wishing to see how he measured up to the apex-magical beast. Quickly, though, Harry pushed it aside. Mainly because there was every chance he would lose in a battle of wills against a Dragon; their souls and minds mingled together naturally, and their resolution was immense.
But, as the dragon opened its mouth to roar and spew fire, Harry felt saddened. Creating such a beautiful creature, only to kill it, was a crime. It would have but a taste of life before being sent on.
Harry sent a piercing spell into the Dragon's open maw, as he felt fire stir in its throat. It did as it was supposed to, and stabbed straight through the unguarded, if tough, flesh inside the dragon's mouth. Another came after, punching further into the dragon's head to chip away at the bone. The third spell finished the job, and within a second of the first connecting the dragon collapsed to the ground in a heap.
It really had not been a fair fight. There had been times that Harry had faced gods with the visages of dragons; their mortal kin were like a kitten to a sphinx in comparison. Though that wasn't quite accurate, a Sphinx was roughly on the same level as an ordinary dragon, and would give a fraction of the fight of one of those destructive gods.
Harry harvested the dragon, storing every part of it in an expanded and cooled box, and popped back inside.
Harry sat at his desk, inside, and pulled out a second computer. There was something he needed to check, before taking it at face value.
There had been a post on one of the conspiracy-themed websites that had spoken about something Harry, too, had noticed. The reason he had found it was what made the post believable, considering the quality of most of the site's content, as the question mark that served as the poster's label was meant to slyly represent his superheros persona.
Harry couldn't find it in himself to care that the tiny differences in tire-tracks could be used to identify the mindset of the driver, and he was very skeptical when the Question claimed that toothpaste contained microchips that were used to regulate the quality of dentistry in any one state, but the Question occasionally made an interesting observation. The man was strange enough, seemingly unaware of the consequences, that he was perfectly willing to post all his theories on this website. Despite the fact that a fifth of them, roughly, concerned his fellow superheroes.
One of these fifth had come up a day before the faceless hero had deleted his account and removed all traces from the website. Harry found that interesting, and decided that it confirmed what he had suspected.
It made sense for the Justice League to expand their membership. There were incredible numbers of superheroes on this planet, and they could face greater threats as a unified force than they would ever be able to alone.
Harry's first clue had been when the big-seven of the league had begun to show up in other heroes' turf, but it had been reinforced by-
Ting.
Harry blinked, as another tab popped up on the computer in his lap. He tapped a few keys, and the Deep-Web browser installed on this computer popped up and followed the link; he had asked for notifications on any high-profile posts concerning Kryptonite, and the site had added him to a list. Presumably, the feature was intended to help their patrons find the right kind of job; Harry was using it to find the right kind of prey.
Harry's brow dipped, as the image accompanying the post popped up on his screen. He took a moment to process what he was seeing, and the frown turned into a scowl. That scowl turned into a fire alight in his eyes, as Harry read the details.
The poster was offering subscriptions to his website, where he would upload the video, for a fee. He had already gained the interest of a thousand web-goers, who would pay when they saw evidence that the video was online. Apparently the kryptonite phallus was not enough for them to believe that the poster could pull it off. Nor did the kryptonite-tipped tazer do enough to alleviate their scepticism.
Harry went over a dozen options in his mind before copying the link to the website and to the download of his browser. He opened his email, knowing that getting some help was the best option he had available to him. Learning the skills necessary to track them down would take too long, since they scheduled to kidnap and rape Supergirl the next night.
What he could do, however, was tag Batman with a tracing spell as he left his abode. If she was part of his mission, letting them sit in a prison spell would not be enough.
He sent the email, with a small message to go along with the content, and tapped on the other computer to refresh the screen. For some reason, a Kryptonite dildo wasn't what he was looking for. He wasn't willing to whip that out, should he get into a fight with Superman, and wasn't even willing to use the phallus to learn the energy signature of the rock.
Harry nodded to himself, seeing that they were going to make their move that very night, and vanished from the chair with a pop.
One of the restrained fighters gave a shout of fright as Harry appeared in the cave with a loud pop, mirroring the sound made as he left, and another yelled something angrily. Harry did not know their language; his magic would interpret it quickly enough, and the information would be stored in his mind, but he didn't need to wait for that.
They wouldn't tell him the information, even if he asked them in every possible combination of niceness and nastiness.
He stepped to the RPG-wielder, whose name he would never know, and saw a flicker of fear in the man's visage as the whites of Harry's eyes glowed blue.
As Harry dove into his mind, the man's every fear came rushing to the surface. The screams that followed were of terror, not pain, as Harry pushed further into the psyche.
-)(-
Subject: Thugs intending to rape Supergirl
Bruce Wayne,
Yes, I know your dual-identity. My name is Harry Potter. I fought Superman on his parents' (Martha and Thomas Kent) farm. I was held in your cave, bound by magical chains. You keep the Robin Suit of your second sidekick in a glass case. Batgirl recovered miraculously, and you may have discerned (by now) that I was responsible.
Presumably you have taken steps to prevent this being intercepted, and even if you have not then I assume you will still track down the person who is planning to sexually assault Superman's cousin. I am not able to do so myself, as I lack the necessary knowledge and ability.
I am sure I will see you soon. Give my regards to the family.
Batman's eyes drifted to Clark, as he tucked the handheld device back into his belt. The last line had made his frown deepen, but the content that the email held was more important than barely-concealed threats.
Bruce would have to tell his friend. While Batman would be able to stop them himself, Superman would be furious if, and when, he found out that Bruce had not asked for assistance.
The Wizard… Harry Potter, was an enigma. Bruce had come at the problem from too many different angles, but there was no way to keep track of the young man. He frequented Gotham and Metropolis, but also Europe and the Middle East. Sometimes he would be wandering the streets in the middle of the day, sometimes in rush hour, sometimes at night. Sometimes he had a clear purpose, sometimes he just seemed to be walking aimlessly. Sometimes he stopped petty crimes, sometimes he killed warlords.
There was a chance that Harry Potter was using this as a means to distract Superman and or Batman from something he was going to do. The most obvious thought, after a moment's deliberation, was that Harry might have been targeting a supervillain; there had been an increase in their activities lately, after the League had gone temporarily quiet, and some of them might have stepped on his toes.
Bruce would ask Dick to keep an eye on things in Gotham, and on the Wizard, then. He would be able to tail the wizard without alerting him, hopefully. Assuming that Harry Potter went on his own patrol tomorrow, that is. He often seemed to, but there was no discernable pattern to when he chose to venture into Gotham. If this Harry Potter went after one of Clark's villains, there would no doubt be news coverage of it immediately and Wally could arrive on the scene in minutes or less.
As though it was reading his thoughts, Bruce's computer buzzed behind him.
'What is it?' Clark asked, staring at Batman. Of course he had noticed there was something off with his friend. By her concerned frown, Diana had, too.
'An alert. One of the military satellites monitoring the Kh'Walana group has picked up spikes of energy coming from what has been identified as their base of operation.'
'Spikes of energy?' Diana asked, as she stood beside Bruce with one hand on the back of his chair.
'Magic.'
