Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, no matter how much I wish otherwise. I do not own DC characters as well.

Chapter Nine

Superman had stopped yet another catastrophe, this one not involving a robot but a collapsed dam. That story covered the front page of the Sunday edition of the Daily Planet. What he was reading for today he found as a blurb on page 5. It had been dark enough that only a vague description of the 'good citizen' was given. The mugger was a repeat offender, with a short string of past charges after his name.

Harry after reading of his exploit massaged his forehead. He'd picked up the newspaper from a small stack of them available for guests. He'd slept in past eight as reward for his good deed, and as a necessity for his aching ribs and head. There was more of a crowd in the buffet area when he'd arrived, thinned out as it was now near closing. Despite his optimistic outlook the night before, magic hadn't been entirely worked on his hand. It hurt more than it looked angry though and he considered morbidly it was the feeling of his skin regenerating.

He was wearing a long sleeved shirt again; it's to-long sleeves rolled down so that his injured hand was covered to casual glances. The shirt was cotton at least so he didn't look too odd. The bruises from his face were gone at least and the dittany had healed over the scrapes to look several days old. On his chin it almost looked like he'd nicked himself shaving, if he shaved. And if he was sloppy at that. And while his temple wasn't so easily camouflaged, he brushed his hair down as best he could. It was almost as long as he'd kept it fourth year. If he didn't need a veil over his forehead he'd keep it closer shorn. He had to concentrate to control his unconscious habit of pushing it back, but was satisfied it was enough for inside the hotel.

It was hot enough outside that he felt wary of venturing out, and with his hand it would probably be safer not to. He was relieved that his new acquaintance was spending the weekend with her cousin. Explaining away rapidly healing old wounds to someone who'd seen him quite recently was just to much of a headache to contemplate.


Harry knelt inside the closet sighing. It's light barely illuminated his trunk's contents. He didn't feel like dragging it back out into better lighting so he squinted into it's depths as he rummaged through. Something tumbled in the distance ominously just as he found what he was looking for.

He'd prefer finishing the superhero text, but Practical Defensive Magic and Its Uses Against the Dark Arts Volume 4 was withdrawn from his Defense stack and carried to the desk once he had his trunk sorted and closed. He needed to keep spells fresh in his mind, or he'd have to rely on fallbacks like Stupefy and Expelliarmus. Ever how useful they both were, dueling the Death Eaters in the Ministry had highlighted a whole new level of fighting for him. He and his friends had barely survived…and Sirius hadn't. He had a sickening feeling that fights like that were only going to become more common and he needed to be prepared. Dueling was half reflexive casting, instant decisions. He didn't have Hermione's near eidetic recall, and that could hurt him or someone else.

Daytime television was just as bad as he he'd heard Petunia complaining about. Or else he just didn't know where to find the good channels. He comforted himself that the second was probably true as he settled on a news station. He could never admit Petunia was right about something of course.

The journal he'd bought the day before was still in his bag where he'd left it last night. He withdrew it and one of the packaged pens. Harry pitched the packaging into the trash. Last he hung the Do Not Disturb sign on his door.

The mess from cleaning himself up last night he couldn't leave for the maid service. He'd have to dispose of it outside of the hotel. He'd had enough sense to have already wrung the blood out of the wash clothes fortunately.

Easing the journals spine as he sat down, he resolved to spend the day writing down useful spells from his books into it.


Two titans were facing off. It had been inevitable, with both parties tempers building over the past few days. Now that they were under one roof they had only just managed not exploding until halfway through breakfast.

"We're just friends." She ground out, her jaw of steel jutting out defiantly.

"We don't know anything about him, and you won't even tell me his last name. Can't you see where I might be a little-" The man known to the world at large as Superman leant forward on his elbows, his hands spread out in an appeal to reason.

"Gee. Maybe I'm not telling you his last name so you don't run a background check on him!" She'd barely escaped Diana without giving up too much information. The Amazon warrior had reeled in her concerns somewhat after Kara had explicitly stated that no, there was no way they could have met by him scheming.

"People like us, we have to be careful. It's not like I want him to be someone other than he appears, but you have to consider the possibility. It's for your safety-" Kara sank her forehead against the palm of her hand as he redelivered his exact same argument for the fifteenth time. He didn't seem to register any of her rebuttals or protests.

"You are so paranoid!" Her arms thrown in the air, a faint whirlwind nearly unsettled the pictures on the wall. Lois rubbed her temple. She had been for the last five minutes, her eyes closed as she took in their exchange silently.

"Why don't you invite him over for dinner?" Lois suggested to break down the tension. "That way Clark can see what kind of guy he is for himself and we'll put this to rest." They both turned to stare at her, clearly having forgotten her until she spoke.

"We are just friends." Kara wasn't snapping in response, nearly pleading instead.

"Kara. We'd still like to get to know your friend. Casual, not a hardcore interrogation." She'd be lying if she said no interrogation.

"Promise?" She asked her cousin-in-law hesitantly.

"Promise." Lois bobbed her head dutifully and turned to eye her husband with enough force to make him agree as well. His face was still reluctant, but the apartment would survive at least.

"Wednesday. Seven." Clark breathed out bowing his head to his plate and Kara relaxed as well. They both settled back to their meal, carefully avoiding such dangerous waters again for now.

TBC