It had been over two years since Harry had discovered Bruce and Dicks' secret identities and began his training.
Harry and Dick were both in the training circle again, like they did three times a week, Dick dressed in his Robin outfit and Harry in his training outfit, which consisted of a sun coloured yellow top and fire red trousers.
The two circled each other, both of their hands raised offensively. Robin was the first to strike, a fist aimed at Harry's chest. The attack was parried by Harry's arm, before he delivered a backspin kick to Robin's chest.
Robin went to the floor but used the momentum to roll back into a crouching position, where he attacked, a low kick to Harry's chest.
Harry caught the outstretched leg and pulled, sending Robin to the floor on his back.
Robin laughed from the floor before standing up and leaving the circle. "You've got the hang of this," he complimented.
Harry grinned as he also exited the circle. "Thanks," he replied. "Guess you and Bruce are pretty good teachers."
Robin's grin faltered slightly. "Did Bruce tell you the news yet?" he asked.
Harry shook his head. "What news?"
"I'm leaving Gotham."
Harry was stunned into silence. "Why?" he eventually asked.
"Gotham's going to be in good hands with you and Bruce. So, I'm going to Jump City. I can help them and make a name for myself. I leave tomorrow."
Harry felt tears sting his eyes, as the feelings of abandonment set in. Dick was the only friend he had, and now he was leaving him, just like the Dursleys had done many times.
Harry barely registered he was running until he was outside Bruce's door, pounding as loud as he could. The door opened and Bruce stood there. "I'm guessing Dick told you the news then."
"I don't want him to leave," Harry sobbed. "Make him stay."
Bruce sighed, sat on his bed, before Harry joined him. "So, you want to ignore what Dick wants, to make him do what you want him to do?"
Harry crossed his arms angrily. "No!" he complained. "I want him to want to stay."
"He doesn't want to stay," Bruce explained softly. "And you can't make somebody do something just because it's what you want." Harry began to cry and curled into the foetal position on Bruce's bed. Bruce looked at Harry and smiled sadly. "I know," Bruce said, patting Harry on the back. "I feel the same way."
A year passed and Harry settled into normalcy, training with Bruce. Bruce had decided that Harry was too young to become a sidekick, and so Bruce returned to fighting crime solo while harry was trained more.
The normalcy was shattered in June of 1991, with a simple letter. Alfred entered the Batcave while Bruce and Harry were training, a parchment in his hand. "Apologies for the interruption," Alfred said. "But Master Harry has a rather important letter."
Harry took the letter, slightly confused and Alfred and Bruce waited for Harry to open it. Harry scanned the envelope. It was a crisp white colour, with a dark red wax seal.
The envelope was addressed to him, and read Harry Wayne, Wayne Manor, Gotham City.
Harry opened the letter and began reading it aloud. "Dear Mr Wayne. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." Harry trailed off, giving an incredulous look at the letter before continuing. "Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall."
Harry looked at Bruce and Alfred in disbelief. "Is this a joke?" he asked sceptically.
Bruce shrugged his shoulders and took the letter from Harry's hands. But it was Alfred's reply that shocked. "No Master Harry. Hogwarts is very much real."
Bruce narrowed his eyes at Alfred. "What do you mean?"
Alfred took a moment to compose himself before he explained, "Hogwarts is a school in Britain for those with Magic."
"How do you know all this Alfred," Bruce asked.
"My parents met there," he said simply.
Harry was confused. "Does that mean you're a Wizard as well?"
Alfred shook his head sadly. "No, I am what is known, in the Wizarding World, as a Squib. Somebody born to magical parents who has no magic of their own."
"You never mentioned any of this," Bruce said firmly.
Shrugging, Alfred replied, "By the time I was eleven I knew I had no magic. My parents sent me to the finest Muggle schools they could find to compensate. When I was eighteen I joined the army, and my parents died while I was deployed. They were my only connection to the magical world. With them gone I left for America and lived a normal life, or as normal as can be when you are the caretaker for a man dressed as a bat." Alfred's eyes were glazed in remembrance.
"So, this is real?" Bruce indicated the letter.
"I would say so," Alfred replied, taking the letter out of Bruce's grasp. "My parents were quite saddened when I did not get this," he muttered, more to himself than the others. He turned it around to look at the other side. "This is what you'll need to buy before you start. You can get it from Diagon Alley in London," he said as he handed the shopping list to Harry.
Bruce nodded, in thought. "Alfred, pen a reply with Harry's response," he instructed, as Harry shouted he wanted to go. "Harry, give me the list, we will all go shopping for these tomorrow."
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 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 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 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 I could find. 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 a 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 nogaid yella."
Harry's confusion was quickly replaced by nausea when it felt as though he was being forcefully pulled through his own navel. 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 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 he 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. "I do not know why you are doing this, and I do not care. But you are scaring him, and you will stop." He glared at the patrons, who meekly returned to their seats but did not stop whispering or glancing.
One man stepped forwards from the crowd. He was dressed in a deep purple robe and had a light purple turban wrapped around his 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, "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, as though it was struggling to escape, 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.
"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 was astonished at the sights, wishing 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.
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 a set of bronze doors, stood a creature with tanned skin, large pointed ears and nose, and dark slanted eyes. The creature was dressed in spotless iron armour, with a gold and scarlet outfit over the top. The creature bowed deeply and showed sharpened teeth 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 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 and parchment on the table. "Draw blood with the quill," he instructed, his voice guttural.
Harry hesitated, but did so when Alfred smiled reassuringly, jabbing the quill in his finger with just enough force for blood to drip. The quill began to write on parchment, which Harry read along with as it wrote.
Harry Wayne (Formerly 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, tapping the parchment. "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'm going to wander around. Might do some shopping. I'll wait at the ice-cream store, 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. "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 robe over his head and began to pin it.
"Hello," the girl next to Harry said, 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."
"Are you American?" she asked. "I noticed your accent."
"I'm technically British, but I have spent the last few years in America."
"My dad's cousin, Dawn, lives in America too. I read up on the American schools and thought about asking her about them but my Dad says she doesn't know anything not about the Muggle world."
"My relatives only just found out about magic, its a bit of a shock."
"It's so exciting though, 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 sentence, Harry paused. "House?" 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?"
"I only found out about magic yesterday," he replied.
"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 be more knowledge, and Slytherin who are ambitious and cunning."
"I don't know then," Harry admitted.
"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."
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 Lucas, Hermione's father. This is Matilda, her mother." He indicated the petite woman next to him, who had Hermione's frizzy hair but with a darker shade of brown.
"I'm Bruce. That's Harry over there." He pointed. The adults started to converse.
Harry and Hermiones' conversation was prematurely ended when the woman fitting Hermione said she was done. Hermione turned and looked at Harry for the first time and was stunned. "You're Harry Potter," she squealed. "I've read all about you."
"It's actually Harry Wayne now," Harry corrected her. "And you've read about me?"
She nodded eagerly. "In The Dark Lords: A Timeline. You destroyed the You-Know-Who."
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 flicked 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.
Lucas 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 on the requirement list. And some additional reading. But I'd like to look at the bookstore again."
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. "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 were killed by You-Know-Who, and how you defeated You-Know-Who and then how you vanished from the Wizarding World."
Harry was dumbfounded. "My parents were killed?" His eyes pricked with tears. The Dursleys made no secret of their deaths, but simply said they died in drunken car accident that they were at fault for.
"You didn't know?" Hermione paled. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd have known."
Harry shook his head 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. 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 could feel the magical aura as soon as he entered the store, as though the building itself was buzzing with mystical energies.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice said from the shadows. A tall, gangly man stepped forwards, his pale grey eyes only matched by his grey hair.
"Hello," Harry replied awkwardly. "I'm here for a wand."
"Yes," the man said. "I thought 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."
Harry seethed to himself. It seemed like everybody knew his parents, his life story. Everybody but Harry himself.
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. Let's get your wand found." He held out his hand, and a tape measurer flew from across the store and into his hand. "Which is your wand arm?"
"I'm right-handed," Harry guessed awkwardly.
Ollivander grabbed Harry's right arm and measured, from finger to wrist, from shoulder to finger, from the 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 a part 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 Ollivanders glee. "Maybe, this one," Ollivander said. "Holly and phoenix feather."
Harry took the offered wand, and suddenly felt the warmness from the wand spread into him. Giving it a wave, red and golden sparks flew from the tip and circled before dissipating.
"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.