Warning: This story will contain swearing, nudity, non-explicit sex, and other mature themes. This is more Mature than any of my other stories I have written thus far.
Disclaimer: I own no recognizable property in the story, not Harry Potter, not Harley Quinn or any DC characters. If you recognize it from someplace else, it's not mine. Takes place post Season 2 of the cartoon Harley Quinn.
Magic is structured. Magic is precise. Magic is neatly organized into various unique and independent categories that let good guys be good and bad guys be bad.
These are the lies magicals teach to non-magicals to hide the truth.
Magic is raw chaos unleashed on the unsuspecting world.
-Mighty Magical Mishaps of the Twentieth Century, by Zatanna
"Is it true? Did the Potters defeat the Dark Lady?"
"It is, though not without cost. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed Lily and James."
"Oh my. And what of little Harry?"
"He survived, Minerva."
"And that is why you asked me to watch this house. You wish to place Harry here."
"Correct. Hagrid is bringing him now. I could not bring him, but Hagrid would die rather than let anything happen to the babe."
"This family is not fit for raising the Potter heir. They are not fit for raising their own son, let alone take in another. This will not end well."
"They are family. Lily, well, she cast a protection spell over her son, one that would perfectly protect him and his caretakers from all who would hurt them. I could not break it, if I had the inclination to try my best. Do you expect the remaining Death Eaters to not threaten the sole child of the family that defeated the Dark Lady? That other aspiring Dark Masters and Dark Mistresses won't threaten Harry to make a name for themselves?"
"He will be ignorant of his heritage."
"When he begins to exhibit accidental magic, I will come and explain everything. When he is older, I will assure he has the necessary training for someone in his situation."
"I will hold you to that, Albus. I will be holding you to that."
A motorcycle engine roared through the neighborhood.
Ten minutes earlier, 10,000 feet above Little Whinging
"Can you explain to me again why you think jumping out of an airplane is a good idea, Harley?" Pamela Isley, AKA Poison Ivy, screamed at her friend/lover/girlfriend.
"It worked for D.B. Cooper. With GPD crashing your wedding, the Justice League will soon be on our trail. We can lie low in England while things cool down," Harley explained as she tightened the parachutes. "They won't look for us here."
"Harls, we hijacked a commercial jet. They're going to look for us."
"Yeah, they will, but once this plane is done flying over England, and it'll go through France, Germany, Italy, maybe even Greece if there is enough fuel in the tanks. Your green voodoo will keep the flight crew memoryless and compliant, so they'll have a nightmare figuring out where we actually got off. As long as we don't make waves when we land, they'll eventually get bored and give up looking for us."
"Sometimes I hate when you make sense," Pamela conceded.
"Good thing it almost never happens, now let's JUMP!"
Five minutes later and several thousand feet lower, the pair quietly landed in the backyard of a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter neighborhood.
"Not as smooth as Chuck's kite, but the freefall was so exhilarating," Harley squealed. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to talk about, you know, him."
"It's OK," Ivy shrugged with minimal grimacing. "Sure, I was set to marry him yesterday, until the GPD and you interrupted, and I'm sure things wouldn't have worked out eventually because he was right, and, you know what? Let's just drop the whole conversation."
"Repression is my specialty," Harley smiled. "Now let's see who is currently living in our soon-to-be new house."
"Lying low might imply we shouldn't break into the house we literally just landed in," Ivy argued before tilting her head. "Although the plants here are quite happy."
"OK, OK, OK, we politely knock, and when they open the door we tie them up until we figure out our next move. Better?"
"Better," Ivy agreed. "Thank-you for listening."
The two knocked on the back door of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, Great Britain, where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, thank you very much.
"What the blazes do you think you are doing?" came the grumble from the whale of a man who eventually answered the back door. "Get out of our yard this instant."
"Nope," Harley retorted, pushing her way inside past the stunned lard-bag. No one had ever told him no before, or at least not that he listened to.
"I said out," Vernon Dursley snarled, grabbing Harley's arm to stop her by force.
With a twist and spin and snap, Vernon's ulna was then sticking out of his fleshy arm, courtesy of the agile super-villainess Harley Quinn. The blood spattered on the roof and over the kitchen table, luckily missing the carpet in the living room. Seeing he was about to shout or cry or shit himself, Harley grabbed a nearby cast iron frying pan and smashed it against his head.
"What the fuck, Harley?" Ivy sighed as she entered, locking the door behind her and pulling down the shades.
"I didn't want him to wake the neighbors," Harley said, pointing the frying pan at the bleeding mess on the floor. "Low key, remember?"
"He has family," Ivy informed, pointing to a portrait on the wall showing the walrus on the floor with a giraffe of a woman and a baby resembling a miniature tub of butter.
"Do you want the wife or the baby?" Harley asked, holding the frying pan ready in both hands.
"No, no, no, I got it," Ivy insisted, walking up the stairs as she shook her head. While Harley wandered around the house, touching the furniture and opening the fridge, she heard a muffled cry from upstairs, followed by silence.
"All good?" Harley called up.
"She's ours for a few days," Ivy confirmed. "Any longer and we'll have to plant her in the backyard. The baby's still sleeping."
"I don't know what would be worse, being planted in your own backyard or living as a suburban housewife."
"I know, right," Ivy chuckled nervously. "Who would want to be stuck at home with a bunch of screaming kids."
"And PTA and HOAs," Harley agreed.
"And birthdays and sleepovers."
"And sleeping in the same bed every night."
"An actual comfortable bed."
"And no Batman looking over your shoulder."
"No Arkham."
"A fresh start."
"A new start."
"Are, are you considering settling down?"
"I don't know, are you?"
"Maybe."
Only the silence between the two women allowed the soft thunk to be heard from the front door. The house plants grew three times in size as Ivy prepared for a fight while Harley grabbed a kitchen chair.
No one burst through the window.
No one broke through the roof.
The two waited, stomachs slightly queasy.
Nothing.
Harley silently put the chair back down and approached the door on her tiptoes without even a squeaky floorboard. Foregoing looking out the peephole, she cracked the door open.
"There is a fucking baby on the doorstep," Harley puzzled. "And a note. Who the fuck leaves a baby on a doorstep when it's this cold out?"
"Bring it in," Pamela urged, returning the plants to their normal sizes. Harley did so, opening the letter after placing the baby's basket in a mess of vines Ivy had created.
"Let's see, the family here is the Dursleys, this is their nephew Harry, his parents were killed, blah, blah, blah. Oh, he comes with magical protections. And dangers. Looks like some mojo will backlash if they kick him out before he's seventeen."
"I'm not a fan of magic," Pamela admitted. "Maybe we should find another house?"
"Too late now," Harley shrugged. "Let's just get some sleep and we'll figure it out in the morning."
"Fine, but I reserve the right to tell you I told you so."
With a mental command, Poison Ivy had Petunia bandage her husband's compound fracture so he didn't die, and then stand guard downstairs. Harley took little Harry into the spare bedroom where she created a makeshift crib out of pillows and blankets. Tucking him in, she entered the master bedroom where Pamela had had the plants in the room change out the sheets. She was already laying down on the king sized bed.
With a smirk, Harley stripped off her crop top and jumped on top of her naked girlfriend.