Disclaimer - don't own, never have.

This is a bit of a filler to be honest.

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Chapter 21

Albus Dumbledore

"Cornelius."

"Albus - what a pleasant surprise!" the Minister stood up, grasping the older man's outstretched hand. "What brings you here?"

"A serious matter," I say - the pun quite unintentional. I sit down, and steeply my fingers in front of me, leaning forward.

"I have found recent evidence to suggest that a grave wrong may have been committed - a wrong which you have the power to make right."

Cornelius leans forward, and it is only through decades of experience that I manage not to frown at him. A little bit of a boost to his ego, push him up just that little bit, and the Minister will be all ears.

"What do you know about Sirius Black?"

"Black?" Cornelius frowns. "Dark wizard, death eater, murderer."

"The Potters had gone into hiding, and they had entrusted their welfare to one individual - you know this story."

"Black sold them out to You-Know-Who."

"Except that it wasn't Black. Peter Pettigrew was the traitor. It was Peter Pettigrew that killed all those innocent people by blowing up the gas line, all those years ago. It was Pettigrew that framed Black. It was Pettigrew that should be in prison."

"Mad," Cornelius whispers, his face expressing astonishment. "Barking mad."

I reach into my core, drawing on a bit of magic to augment myself. The oppressive power fills the room - well, oppressive to the Minister.

"I am not mad, Cornelius."

"But, but-"

"Pettigrew was an illegal animagus - he's been living as a rat all these years. I found him, earlier today."

Cornelius is speechless. Fortunately.

"This is your big chance. Instead of bringing Pettigrew in through the Aurors, and having tomorrow's newspapers say that you've been chasing the wrong man - you have the chance to right the wrongs of the previous government, free Black, and send Pettigrew to prison."

Cornelius manages to analyze this fairly quickly.

"Assuming that you're right-"

"Cornelius, a man has been put into Azkaban - unjustly - for more than a decade." I finally manage to catch his eyes, and he shrinks as he sees the anger I have restrained. "A grievous mistake has been made - it is your duty as Minister, to correct this."

Going through facts and evidence is of no use at this stage. Intimidation and appealing to his pride is.

Cornelius licks his lips. "You have Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

"A quick trial then, yes?"

"Get it done with, as soon as possible," I agree. "Have the paperwork drawn up immediately, get Pettigrew on the stand - and Black will turn himself in."

"How do you know all this?" Cornelius asks. "Has Black-"

"I discovered Pettigrew was hiding at Hogwarts, pretending to be a pet," I answer. Not entirely incorrect, and admitting that Sirius contacted me will do neither of us any favors.

"Alright then..."

"Two hours from now, I shall bring Peter Pettigrew in. Be prepared."

He nods, and I take my leave.

(0)

"Thank you," Sirius says, clutching a copy of the Prophet. The headline screams his innocence, reveals the shocking twist in the tale - and heaps lavish praise on the Minister for his part in administering speedy justice.

"No, I'm sorry I didn't try and investigate. I'm sorry - so very sorry."

More sorry than he will know. It seems all I do these days is regret decisions made in the past...

"You know why I've come to see you."

"Yes." I pause, wondering how to tell him his godson is a ruthless, unfeeling, powerful boy, who has undergone all sorts of hardship to become...what? An assassin? A vigilante?

"Harry is not an ordinary boy," I say. "He is nothing like his parents."

"I've read the reports - every single one of them. They all claim Harry killed Malfoy."

"He did. Lucius had been responsible for the death of the only person Harry ever truly cared about, and Harry killed him in a fit of anger."

"Malfoy was a powerful wizard - how could a young kid have done that?"

I sigh. "I made a mistake, Sirius - the consequences of which are horrible."

"What do you mean?"

I quickly gauge how much to tell him, how much he needs to know, how much he deserves to know...

"Listen closely..."

(0)

"Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning, Headmaster."

The boy stands straight in front of me, his arms down causally by his sides... but there is an alertness in his eyes, a readiness in his posture.

"Have you given the matter any thought?"

"I understand that there is a lot of magic left for me to learn, and moving to Hogwarts would be a way to perhaps integrate into society, live a semblance of a normal life... but I must decline your offer for now."

"I could arrange for you to have your own private quarters."

"Headmaster... I do not want a semblance of a normal life. I don't want to integrate into the Wizarding world. I don't want to study at Hogwarts. More importantly, I don't want to be defenceless in your school, amongst students and teacher who hate me for being a murderer."

Brutally honest.

"I want one thing."

"And that is?"

"Training. Teach me how to fight with a wand."

"Filius taught you a fair bit."

"I know that. I've practiced by myself - I've learnt spells... I believe I have progressed, but there is always more to learn."

He is dangerous enough without knowing how to fight with a wand.

"Harry, there is a reason Hogwarts teaches you varying subjects, across several years. It prepares you - prepares your magic. It-"

"Professor, please-" Harry smiles. "Let's skip all these pleasantries shall we? You want me at Hogwarts - I don't intend to put myself in such a situation - at least not now. Maybe six months down the line, or a year from now, I might consider it."

"Very well. I did promise you we would spar once today." I slowly draw my wand, keeping it down by my side. Harry has chosen the location of this meeting well - a large open meadow.

Harry's lips curve into a smile, and he takes several steps backwards. He now holds a knife in his left hand and a wand in his right hand. Or I believe it is a wand - it looks quite unusual. Almost as if it is made up of steel, but that isn't possible...

I focus back on the task at hand.

"Whenever you are ready," I tell him.

Harry springs into action, running full tilt at me.

He is very close when I flick my wand. Several earthen ropes spring from the ground around me. Harry dodges one, slices another with his wand...

From this range, I cannot miss. He barely has time to see my stunner, before I knock him out.

On the second go, I take him out in five seconds, using a decoy spell and a simple body bind that curves through the air to strike him.

He lasts eight seconds the next round, before I have him bound in ropes.

On the next go, Harry attempts magic. I send his spells back at him. He sidesteps, tries to shield another volley. My spells are however, not the standard stunner, and go straight through his shield, leaving him with extreme nausea.

I cure him with a counter spell, and he has another go. He goes slow this time, slowly getting closer, sidestepping the single spell I throw at him. I freeze his knife before it has been thrown halfway towards its target, and use a levitation spell to send it back at him. An arc of fire limits his options, and then I have his legs in a lock.

Harry gets to his feet and shoots off a blasting hex. I bat it away, and send a stunner at him - the spell moving through the air as quickly as I can manage - which is considerably fast. Impressively, he manages to put up a shield - which tears like paper.

I enervate him, and put my wand away.

"You are not ready to face a death eater in battle," I tell him. "You have much to learn."

"A duel is different, from battle," he answers. "But I do have a lot to learn - and I'm hoping you will help me."

"To what end, Harry?"

"Voldemort."

"And after Voldemort? What if Voldemort never comes back to power?"

"Justice."

"You would play god."

"I would do what needs to be done," Harry replies evenly. "Of all people - you cannot speak of playing god."

"No," I says softly. "No, I cannot. But I can speak from experience - and it is a dark and slippery road."

"Headmaster, I've told you this before, and I'm going to say it again..." Harry shakes his head. "I have no intention of becoming a Dark Lord, or to be a king - I have no desire to rule the masses."

This will get us nowhere. I nod, and we drop the issue.

"There is someone who desperately wants to meet you."

"Sirius Black?"

"Yes."

"How much have you told him?"

"I've told him that you're not the average child."

Harry chuckles - genuinely, I do believe.

"Years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to meet my Godfather. But he wasn't there - he's never been there. I honestly don't care about him."

"He was your father's best friend. Family in all but blood."

"How do I know he won't sell me out to the Ministry?"

"Sirius couldn't do that. Not to James son."

"That's not good enough for me," the boy pauses, and then nods decisively. "But I will meet with him. It'll be on my terms, early in the morning, a place of my choosing. Next Tuesday."

"Very well," I say. I expected nothing else.

"Is there a better way for me to travel, besides flying?"

There are options, but none that I want to share with a boy as troubled as Harry. Not yet.

"You'd have to take an airplane," I reply.

"How do you get to Gotham?"

I smile.

"Magic, of course."

(0)

(0)

Harry

The TranquliTea is quite busy when I enter. I slip through a group of men in suits, and walk around to what is now our table.

"I've got something to show you."

Raven looks up, her violet eyes slightly narrowed. It has been four days since we burnt the drug base. Four days since I went on a rampage. Four days since she saw me almost lose control. Four days since she saw the monster in me.

Four days since I saw her – four red eyes, glowing red tattoos winding their way across her face.

I didn't come by to visit – not once since then. I was confused – confused at her understanding. And perhaps, maybe, possible...a little scared. Maybe I was afraid of her reaction.

I sorted myself out, sitting cross-legged on a stone floor for a couple of hours, eyes closed, breathing deeply. I realized it did not matter. I still had aims, still had a purpose, still had a mission. Raven would be a very useful, powerful ally, but I had nothing to be scared of. That is what Bane would have told me.
I'm not so sure.

Raven follows me as I lead her out the front door, and around to the back. I produce a key and unlock a door set into the wall, just besides the door leading to the kitchen of the TranquiliTea.

A flight of stairs, and we come to another door. I unlock this door with a different key, and go through, gesturing for her to follow.

We step into a rather large room. A simple table sits in the centre, two chairs propped up against it. A fireplace is at the back. A double bed is at the right end, a one-wall kitchen on the left.

It isn't the most luxurious place. It's very basic, even cramped – or cosy, depending on your perspective.

I point at a door just beside the electric stove. "That's a bathroom in there."

She says nothing for a while. Then...

"For me?"

I hold out the keys. "Yes."

"Why?"

Because Raven is a useful ally. Because I need to be in her good books.

That is true, but more importantly, because she doesn't have a place of her own, and for some reason, it bothers me. How many nights has she spent freezing in some random doorway?

"Because you're part of my crusade now," I reply. "Because I have more money than I know what to do with, and you're..."

An ally? No, she has become more than just an ally. A friend? Perhaps yes, perhaps no.

I shrug.

"You didn't need to," she says, glancing around the room.

"I wanted to." And that much is true, without a shadow of doubt.

She still doesn't take the keys.

"I'm not going to hold this over you. Take the keys."

She still doesn't take the keys.

"Rachel..." I take her hand. A small purple spark dances from her hand to mine. It doesn't sting – merely tingles before she snuffs it out.

Her hand is cool in mine. Her skin feels nice.

How strange.

I place the keys in her palm, and fold her fingers over it.

She keeps the keys.

"I'll get us tea, why don't you make yourself at home?"

Raven doesn't say anything, still taking the room in.

I turn to leave.

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

(0)

I take a long sip, enjoying how the tea warms my throat.

"So, I suppose this is a perk?"

I try to raise an eyebrow. I can't, I never could. Sally would tease me about that...

"For my work in the crusade against injustice," she explains, a smirk forming on her lips. "Do I get a car and chauffeur as well?"

"Ras al Ghul does reward those who serve him, or his cause...but this is not something in return for your continued assistance. As I said – I will not hold this over you."

"And you represent Ras al Ghul?"

"I do. So do you, in your way – serving the cause is to serve him. He is the cause."

"Does he really hold as much power as legend says he does?"

"Ras al Ghul is immortal, everlasting," I answer. "The power of Ras, the power of the League lies in the fundamentals of the League itself – the quest for justice and peace. But one of the weapons of the League is the Legend itself."

She furrows her eyebrows. "So...yes?"

I laugh. I'm getting better at speaking like Dumbledore.

"You must have lots of questions," she says. Her forefinger beats a tattoo on the tabletop – betraying her nervousness.

"Do you want to answer them?"

"We..." Raven stops. Her mouth opens and closes. "The other night, what we did, what happened... It was..."

"Different?"

"Yes," she says. Her mouth mimes words, but no sound leaves her. A small noise of frustration escapes her. "I mean..."

"Special?" The question slips out from behind my mask. A quiet whisper, but she hears it in the silence of the room.

"Yes," she says softly. "Special. Harry... Nobody has seen that, and lived for much longer..."

"You stayed. You saw me destroy lives that night, but you stayed. That..." I struggle to find the right words. "That means something."

Silence reigns. My tea is no longer hot, merely warm. I finish it before it can get any colder. Raven doesn't touch her cup.

I stare into my empty cup. Divination...could Trelawney read my future from this cup? Or is she simply a crazy woman, who had a little bit too much to drink the night she made that prophecy... I wonder what story my cup could tell. Fire and brimstone, all too likely...

"I'm not human," Raven says suddenly, startling me a little.

Her eyes are staring at the table, but they are far, far away...

"Or at least, I'm not fully human..." Raven shifts in her seat. Her voice is soft, low.

"My mother was human. My father...is not."

I say nothing, my mind trying to process everything I'm being told. If not human, then what?

"My father is a demon."

(0)

My thoughts are still spinning when I press my thumb to the scanner. There is a short beep, and the door opens.

Demons, whole worlds besides our own, powers unimaginable...

I am so preoccupied; I almost miss the figure standing on the right. The lights are dim – I nearly missed him.

"Bruce."

"Harry."

"Been well?" I study him carefully as he steps into the light. "You look tired."

"You trying fighting crime and looking after a baby," he retorts, but there is a smile on his face. Helena Wayne does that to him.

His face settles into a mask – I'm not talking with Bruce Wayne anymore. I'm speaking to the Dark Knight.

"Something big is happening," he says. "Strange things are happening..."

I say nothing.

"Have you heard of anything? A whisper, a rumor?"

"I've heard a whisper of the League being active," I reply, slowly and carefully. "But I'm not sure if blowing up a drug base is really their style."

"I think it was. It was ruthless, bloody, and sent a powerful message. Crime lords are running scared."

"I'm not going to pretend I care one bit about the drug dealers. They were cruel, vicious men. I've heard they even ran a prostitution ring – picking scared girls off the streets." I shrug. "If someone's getting rid of people like that – good for them."

"They killed tens of people."

"And saved how many?"

"You think it stops there?"

I say nothing. We will never see eye to eye on this. There is no point trying.

"Is there anyone you can approach to find out more? Any member of the League that still has the power to do this?"

"Ras al Ghul."

"Ras al Ghul is dead. I watched him die."

"Did you? I always felt there was someone else in command, someone above Bane."

"Ras al Ghul is dead."

"I was told Ras al Ghul is immortal. It is one of the fundamental principles of the League."

"I trained with the League," Wayne says. "I never got that impression."

"But you never became a member," I point out. "You failed the test. Bane told me what happened."

"And you were a member…" Wayne narrows his eyes. "You need to kill become a member."

"You do."

My mismatched eyes meet his. Inside, I am anxious. Nervous. If he sees through my words, sees through my act…

Then he nods, and turns away.

"Bruce?"

He turns back towards me.

"Have you even encountered…have you ever thought of worlds outside our own? Powers beyond our control, powers beyond our imagination, magic, angels, demons…"

"I haven't encountered such things…" he answers slowly. "But…I have heard things, seen hints of more… I believe there are great things out there, both terrible and beautiful. But I don't allow myself to worry about that now."

"Okay."

(0)

I meet Sirius Black at one of the roadside restaurants along the main plaza in Birmingham. The place is packed – as a Sunday afternoon usually tends to be.

The sun – for once – is beaming down. Black blends in very well with the non-magical folk, his clothing appropriate.

And then there's Dumbledore besides him, wearing bright yellow robes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask the old wizard.

"Sirius here has never been to Birmingham, I had to apparate him here." Dumbledore smiles, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "And on such a pleasant day, I quite fancied a walk – I thought I might as well drop by and see how you're getting along."

"I'm doing fine," I say evenly.

"And I'm pleased to hear that. Very well then, I shall take my leave."

Dumbledore offers a brief inclination of his head in farewell, and turns on his heel.

I gesture to the table I have reserved. Sirius takes a seat, his eyes never leaving me. It is almost creepy, the way he stares at me.

"James," the man whispers, his voice so low that I barely hear him. Perhaps I was not meant to.

"Hi," I offer. "Coffee?"

His face breaks out in a handsome smile.

"Excuse me," he says. "I was just…remembering another time..."

"I do look like my father. I remind you of him."

Black chuckles. "You've probably heard that a lot."

I nod in agreement.

We order – hot chocolate for him, mocha for me. Out beverages soon arrive. Sirius doesn't touch his mug – leaning back in his seat, running his hands through his long hair.

"I wasn't there," he states. "I wasn't there for you – I promised your parents I would always look out for you – and I didn't."

He's right. He was never there.

"Harry… I'm your godfather. You may not trust me – you may not even need me… but I want you to know that I'm here now, and if there is ever anything, anything at all…"

"Mr. Black…why are you here?" I ask him.

He seems a bit taken aback by that. "I…wait, did you call me Mr. Black?"

I nod slowly.

"Please, call me Sirius. Mr. Black is just…odd." He grins and pretend to shudder. The grin quickly dies away though.

"I loved your parents. I saw you when you were only a few hours old – and I loved you. I thought you would be a right pain – I really did. But when I saw you, and you were tiny…" he shrugs. "I loved you. I still love you – James meant more to me than I can possibly describe – and I will always try to whatever I can for his son."

I say nothing. The silence – predictably – becomes too loud for him, and Sirius continues.

"I wasn't there for you – but I'm out of prison now. I just want to be there for you, and I'm hoping… I'm hoping you'll let me be your godfather."

"I killed Lucius Malfoy. From what I hear – you were a true Gryffindor, a paragon of the light and all that is holy. So tell me- why are you associating yourself with a murderer?"

"Paragon of light and all that is holy?" Sirius chuckles darkly, his voice bitter. "I'm a Black. Do you know that means?"

I do. It is why I agreed to this meeting in the first place.

"My family is…or was – dark. Very, very dark. It's one of the reasons I was put away without a trial. I saw things growing up – I was brought up as a baby to continue the family legacy."

"But you changed."

"I tried to. I met James… I broke free of my family… for a while." Sirius shakes his head. "There is no breaking free from family. Blood is thicker than water."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I…" Sirius sighs, apparently struggling to find the right words. "I would have killed Peter that night. I wanted to do. I would have – if the rat didn't have an escape plan all ready and waiting. Peter as good as killed James and Lily, and I wanted to kill him…"

"You've killed before."

Sirius looks faintly surprised.

"I can sense it in the way you speak about taking another person's life. It would not be your first time."

"I've only killed once before – a Death Eater – and that was in war. He almost got James, and I…lost it."

Curious. On one hand he's a Black. He has killed; he knows the overpowering desire of revenge. On the other hand, he regrets killing a Death Eater – even in war.

"What I'm saying is… I know you did it because of the girl. I know better than you judge you for that."

There is a lull in conversation. I look to my left, at the bustling crowds. Groups of friends hang around, couples walk around arm in arm, a little kid tugs the trousers of a harried looking father – who smiles nevertheless and gives his son a ride on his shoulders.

"I don't need a godfather," I say eventually. "I don't need someone to look after me."

"It is a bit late for that," Sirius agrees, a sad smile on his face. "But – that's not really what a godfather is supposed to do."

"Do tell."

Sirius smirks. "A godfather is supposed to tease his godson, play pranks on him, buy him tons of gifts –"

"You're the fun uncle," I deadpan.

"In a way. I should have been there to take care of you years ago, and maybe I can't do that now, but I'd still like to have some sort of relationship."

I raise my mug towards him. A massive grin breaks out on the man's face, and he bumps my mug with his own.

"I do have a lot of money," he says. "Even more than you do – and I know how rich the Potter family is."

"Which means…?"

"Which means you're going to get a lot of presents. I've got years to catch up on, starting with…" he produces a small package with a flourish.

"What's that?"

"Tap it with your wand, and it will expand to something that just might resemble a broomstick."

It is…nice of him…unless there are tracking charms on the broom.

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Sirius replies. It reminds of me of the conversation Raven and I had, only a while ago, when I gave her the keys to her new place.

I take the package, and set it down by my mug.

"It's a Firebolt," Sirius blurts, unable to contain himself. "Fastest broom on the market, best broom in the world. That beauty has revolutionized broomsticks."

"You used to fly?"

"I loved flying," Sirius answers. "Still do…" he leans forward, his tone conspiratorial. "I have a flying motorbike."

I blink. "Really?"

"Oh yes. My old hag of a mother – bless her – was absolutely livid when she saw me riding it. I was out of her control by then, so I just gave her the bird and flew off into the sunset… James was great at Quidditch."

"So I've heard…have you met Andromeda yet?"

"Andi? I want to, but…wait, you know her?"

"I do," I say. "Haven't spoken to her since I killed Malfoy though…"

"Dear Andi…the only real friend I had in my family. Mind you, Cissy wasn't too bad till she got married…no, no she was."

"The Blacks might have been infamous for the Dark Arts, but…in the magical society, with their wealth, wouldn't they have a lot of power?"

"Oh yeah," Sirius nodded. "Lots of influence. I've got a seat on the Wizengamot and everything. There are files and folders back at my place with all sorts of details – leverage and whatnot."

"And you never thought of using it?"

"I was in Azkaban…" Sirius shrugs. "I couldn't care less about politics anyway. They can all go hang themselves. All I care about is…" he cuts off abruptly.

I raise my eyebrows.

"Well… you. And Andi."

"Why not use that influence now? I mean…you could get back at all those politicians. You could have a lot of fun."

"Fun?"

"Of course. You don't really care about politics, so just go in there, swing your political hammer and make a big mess."

"Huh." Sirius mulls it over, nodding slowly. "You may just be right."

Mission accomplished. Getting the influence and power of the Black family on my side will prove very useful.

"I have a flight to catch in a bit," I say, getting to my feet. "Thanks for…" I raise the gift.

"My pleasure. Thanks for seeing me, and if you ever, ever need anything…you know you have a Godfather to count on."

I offer my hand, and Sirius enthusiastically shakes it.

"Keep in touch," he says.

"I will."

(0)

Thanks for reading. Do let me know what you thought of it.

Now I shall watch, and cry, as Steven Gerrard plays at Anfield for the last time. Legend.

Cheers,
timefreak.