Harry Potter Returns
A Harry Potter/Superman Returns Crossover
Chapter Two
The Man Who Came to Antarctica
"What does this thing do?" Harry asked curiously, looking at the crystalline device he and Superman were standing in front of. There was a flat crystal disk on the floor; above it was a large crystal rod that rose upward, disappearing into the other crystals that formed a ceiling above them.
"I use it sometimes as a weight machine," Superman said, touching some crystals cylinders jutting from a nearby flat crystalline panel. "It's also measures strength — I use it to compare my current strength to my peak strength, when I'm at 100 percent power. I'm going to use it now to see how much of my powers have been transferred to you, Harry."
Harry nodded, though the gesture was automatic — he understood very little of what he saw in this place. As strange and exciting as Diagon Alley and Hogwarts had been when he'd first seen them, they were nothing compared to this place, even though in some ways it was much more plain than any of the wizarding places he'd been to in the past five years. "What else do you do around here, Superman?" Harry asked, looking around as the Man of Steel prepared the device for use.
"Do?" Superman seemed to ponder the question for a moment. "Well, I haven't done anything here for the past five years, since I've been gone all that time," he finally answered. "But before, this place was sort of a — training camp, where I learned about my powers and where I originally came from."
"Just like the school I go to, Hogwarts, is where I'm learning to use magic," Harry said.
"Pretty much," Superman agreed. He touched a final crystal and a soft hum began to sound throughout the Fortress. "Okay, it's ready. I'm going to go first, Harry, then we'll see where you stand." He stepped into the device, raising his arms above his head, his palms flat against the long crystal rod above him. Harry noticed that Superman's costume was much brighter than it had been before — it was the familiar red-and-blue he remembered from a photograph he'd seen once on the telly. When had the man had time to change? "Watch the blue rod on top of the panel," he told Harry, then said, "Start."
The hum began to increase, and Harry saw the bottom of the blue rod begin to glow. The glow began to rise along the blue rod as the hum got louder and louder. At the same time, Harry noticed that Superman seemed to be straining against the rod above him, though it hadn't budged an inch. The blue glow was now halfway up the rod and still going. Superman's expression was strained — Harry could see his arms beginning to tremble, and his eyes widened in surprise. How much force was he exerting against that crystal rod?
The glow was getting close to the top of the blue rod when Superman's arms finally buckled. The hum shut down, and he stepped off the disk, looking at the glowing rod. "Hmm," he said. "Seventy-five percent of full strength — that's more than I expected."
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, looking at the glowing blue rod as well.
"It means that I have about three-fourths of my original strength," Superman said, turning to look at Harry. "I expect when we have you take the strength test, you'll have about 25 percent of my full strength. Are you ready to give it a try?" he asked, smiling.
Harry looked up at the crystal rod that loomed above them. "Sure," he said, not feeling sure about it at all. "What do I have to do?"
"Just step onto the disk," Superman instructed him, "and raise your arms over your head, palms flat. I'll recalibrate the device to your height." Harry raised his hands and Superman moved a few crystals. The large crystal rod moved slowly down until it rested snugly against his hands. "All you have to do," Superman told him, "is to resist the push of the rod against your arms, keeping them locked and your legs straight. The force will increase until either your arms or legs give way. At that point the test is over, and the blue rod will display the percent of your strength compared against my optimal strength levels. When you're ready say 'Start'."
Harry took a deep breath. "Start," he said, and the crystal rod above him began pushing against his palms. At first it was no big deal, he hardly felt a thing, but as the blue glow of the rod on the display panel increased he felt more and more pressure against his hands. It crept upward, and Harry felt the tension in his arms and legs. Finally, when the blue glow had climbed about halfway up the rod, Harry could stand the pressure no more — his arms gave way. The hum of the device died away and Harry and Superman stared at the blue rod. It showed clearly more than a quarter of its length glowing.
"That's strange," Superman said. "Your strength measures at about 49 percent of my optimum level. But I topped out at 75 percent — those numbers add up to more than 100 percent."
"Could there have been a mistake?" Harry asked. He was rubbing his arms, which had felt strange as he stepped off the device — but now, mere moments later, the feeling had already passed; he felt completely fine already.
"No," Superman said, looking lost in thought. "Unless… it's because we also share your magical power as well, and it's having an effect on our strength levels." He turned to Harry. "Is there a way you can tell how much magical power you transferred to me?"
"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "It's hard to tell — my magic is operating at a way higher level than before, probably because of your powers inside me. But it feels like I have about two-thirds of my magic, if I had to guess how much I lost."
"I don't have a way to measure magical levels," Superman said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if I can figure out some way to do that?"
"Perhaps I could be of assistance?" a deep, calm voice asked, and both Harry and Superman spun around to look at the tall, white-haired man who stood smiling at them.
"Professor!" Harry said, surprised.
Superman looked at the new arrival, then at Harry. "Do you know this man, Harry?" he asked, wondering how he had penetrated the Fortress's defenses.
"Yes," Harry said, both happy and a bit apprehensive to see him. "This is Professor Albus Dumbledore, my headmaster at Hogwarts."
"At your service," Dumbledore said to Superman, with a small bow.
Several thousand miles to the north, in Metropolis, a young woman and her son exited a cab outside the Daily Planet building. She handed the cabbie the fare and a modest tip, then took her son's hand and led him into the building. The boy carried an inhaler, and he held it to his mouth as his mother led him along, taking deep breaths as they hurried inside the building. The young woman, muttering under her breath about day-care centers, was almost to the elevators when a young man with reddish-brown hair hailed her, coming up behind them.
"Hey Lois! How's it going this morning?"
"Terrible, Jimmy," she replied curtly. "Jason's day-care center was closed this morning — too many safety violations."
"Gosh, that's too bad," Jimmy said, smiling at her son. "Hi, Jason."
"Hello, Mr. Olsen," Jason said, around his inhaler, then took another deep breath.
The three of them stepped into an elevator, then were pressed to the rear as it filled with other passengers on their way to work that morning. After a few moments of silence, Jimmy glanced over at Lois. "Kind of ironic, isn't it, though?"
"What is?" she asked, frowning.
"Well, you wrote that series a few months ago on day-care centers that weren't keeping up with safety standards for the children, right?" Jimmy pointed out. "And now your day-care center…closes…because of…uh —" Jimmy fell silent as he saw the look on Lois's face.
"Yeah, I get it, Jimmy," she said, speaking in a low tone to keep her son from hearing the frustration in her voice. She was afraid he might take it as her being unhappy about him being here, which couldn't be further from the truth. She loved having him around, though he needed a lot of watching to make sure he took his medicine properly. Between her and Richard, however, they would manage for today, and hopefully find another day-care center by tomorrow or the next day.
The elevator slowly emptied out until there was only a handful of people, all of whom worked at the Planet. Several smiled at Lois or Jimmy; one passenger, Cat Grant, who wrote the Planet's gossip column, waved at Jason before they exited the elevator on the Planet's floor. Lois gave her a short smile, mostly for appearances' sake — she didn't care much for Grant, who'd spent some time circling her fiancé Richard before she got the message that he was taken.
Jason made a beeline for Richard's office — they could hear his shout of delighted surprise when the boy hurtled into his office and jumped into his lap. "Boy, he can sure move fast when he wants to," Jimmy commented, grinning at Lois. "He really likes Richard, doesn't he?"
"Of course," Lois spoke as if that fact should have been obvious. "Richard's his father."
"So," Jimmy said, holding up the camera dangling around his neck and looking around the newsroom. "When are you and he gonna get married?"
There was no reply, and Jimmy swung his camera around to look at Lois. She was glowering at him. She put her hand over the lens and pushed it down, looking him straight in the eye. "Jimmy, I've told you not to keep asking me that!" she said firmly, in a tone that brooked no further comment from him. "Have you got that?"
"Er, yes ma'am," Jimmy said meekly, chastised. "Sorry."
"Lane! Olsen!" a strident voice suddenly boomed out over the newsroom. "My office, now!"
"Coming, Mr. White!" Lois called, and she and Jimmy hustled into the offices of Perry White, Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet. White, a graying, dignified man, sat at his desk watching as Lois entered his office, sat down in a chair across from his desk, and casually asked, "What's up, Chief?"
"Nice of you two to make it in this morning," White replied, in an acerbic tone. "I was beginning to wonder if that Pulitzer Prize was going to your head, Lois, and you were out looking for a new job."
Lois just gave him a look — she knew Perry was having his little joke at her expense. For a while after Richard began working at the planet, Lois had considered finding employment elsewhere, as there was some tension between them over job assignments and who she was supposed to take orders from, especially after he was made assistant editor. They soon got those problems sorted out, however, and settled into a more-or-less normal routine, alternating weeks to bring Jason to and from daycare, and make sure he had his meds.
Jimmy, who had been silent to this point, grinned at the two of them, recognizing that the boss was just having a bit of fun with them. "C'mon, Chief," he said cheerfully. "You know Lois would never leave us."
White spared Jimmy barely a glance. "Olsen, don't call me chief!" he barked. Jimmy glanced at Lois, who shrugged imperceptibly — it was another sign of normalcy that Jimmy was the only person Perry White didn't want calling him "Chief" — it now seemed more like a running joke than actual dislike on Perry's part. "What are you working on now?" he asked the young photographer.
"Uh —" the question caught Jimmy flatfooted. He'd been floating for the past day or so, going out to take stock photographs for the city beat as needed. "Just —"
"Don't bother making something up," White cut him off. "I know what you've been doing — nothing."
"I've got the awards dinner coming up," Jimmy reminded him, referring to the ceremony for the Pulitzer Prizes being given out next month.
"Right," Perry snorted. "Presumably, however, you won't need an entire month getting ready to take those pictures, will you, Olsen?"
"No, sir," Jimmy said, in a small voice.
"Lot of important winners this year, Chief," Lois noted, and Perry gave her an ironic look. "Well, besides myself," she added hastily. "I mean —"
"I know what you meant," Perry said, waving off her explanation. "But your award is important, too. 'Why the World Doesn't Need Superman' came along at just the right time — it woke a lot of people up, made them start thinking about our planet in terms of what we can do for ourselves rather than what we expect someone to do for us.
"But it's still last year's news," he pointed out, leaning forward over his desk. "We're going to have to keep beating the bushes for new stories, keep ahead of the competition." He tossed a day-old copy of the paper across his desk to Lois. "Look at what's circled there," he told her.
"This?" Lois glanced at the article, momentarily confused. At first it looked like an obituary — one Gertrude Vanderworth, matriarch of the Vanderworth clan, had died the day before. But she saw the byline — Cat Grant — and realized this was from her gossip column. "What's Cat Grant doing writing obits?" she wanted to know.
"Keep reading," White prompted her. "It seems that when Mrs. Vanderworth passed away, the bulk of her estate went, not to her surviving family members, but to her current husband."
"Isn't that how that usually works?" Lois said, dryly.
"Yes, but nobody has any idea who the man is, and none of the family members are talking," White answered. "We've been searching the public records for a day now and haven't come up with a marriage certificate or notice for the past 25 years, since her previous husband died. Cat's still digging, but if she can't find anything, it probably can't be found—except by someone with a real knack for digging out the truth."
Lois got a horrible suspicion. "You… don't mean…"
White shook his head. "Oh, no, I wasn't thinking of putting you on it, Lois! I've got something much more important for you. Olsen, I'm assigning you to work with Cat on the Vanderworth story — find out who that husband is and what he's planning on doing with the money."
"Yes, Chi— er, yes sir," Jimmy said, under whelmed by the assignment. He liked Cat, but she usually looked right through him, like he wasn't even there.
"Well?" White said, when Jimmy didn't move. He jerked a thumb toward Grant's office. "Get out there and get busy!"
"Yes sir!" Jimmy said again, and slipped out of the office. Lois watched him go, then turned back to her boss.
"So what've you got for me this time, Chief?" she asked.
"The launch of the new shuttle Genesis is coming up in a few weeks," White replied. "They're using a new launch method — piggybacking on a Boeing 777. I want you to cover it." Lois made a face.
"Don't we have a science reporter for that kind of stuff?" she asked, plaintively.
"We do," White replied tersely. "And if I wanted him to cover it, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. I want you to put a human interest spin on it, Lois — get people excited about the space program again. You've got two weeks to get your background material ready — but I want that story ready the minute that airliner touches down after the shuttle launches. Okay, get to it." With a wave of his hand White dismissed her from his office.
Jimmy was waiting for her outside. "What'd he give you?" he asked her.
"The shuttle launch, in two weeks," she said, glumly. "I am so screwed."
"Are you kidding?" Jimmy looked at her in disbelief. "I'd kill to get to go up in that thing!"
"Too bad we can't change places," she said matter-of-factly, walking over to her desk and dropping her purse on it. Jimmy looked suddenly hopeful.
"Well, do you think we —"
"No," Lois said, with finality. "You deal with Cat Grant. And good luck." She walked into Richard White's office, where he was still talking with an excited Jason, who always enjoyed coming into the office with his parents.
"Thanks a bunch," Jimmy said, to her retreating back.
For several seconds, Harry simply looked at Professor Dumbledore in surprise. He never would have expected to see him here, of all places! "Professor," he asked the headmaster, "how did you find me?"
"And how did you manage to get in here undetected?" Superman added. "I've set up proximity alarms around the entire perimeter of the Fortress. They should have sounded when you came within a hundred yard from any direction."
"Both questions can be answered very easily," Dumbledore said placidly. But first he looked at the Man of Steel. "Do you mind if I sit down first? It was quite a trip here from South America."
"You flew?" Superman asked, looking around for something the elderly man could use as a chair. He looked quite ancient, Superman thought—he must be close to a hundred years old, if not more. "Well, I don't seem to have a chair handy —"
"Quite all right," Dumbledore said. "I can draw up one for myself." He took a wand from his robe and flicked it gently. Beside him a chintz arm chair appeared, and the headmaster settled comfortably into it. "Ahhh, much better," he sighed, crossing one leg over the other and massaging his booted toes.
Looking up, Dumbledore saw that both Harry and the Man of Steel were staring at him expectantly. "Oh, yes, how I got here," he said, reminded of Superman's last question. "I Apparated, of course."
"And what does that mean?" Superman asked.
It's a method wizards use to travel from one location to another almost instantly," Dumbledore replied. He glanced up from massaging his toes to look at Superman once again. "I presume that Harry has told you what he is?"
"Yes," Superman nodded. "I suppose I can make the same assumption about you, sir."
"Indeed," Dumbledore inclined his head. "Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at your service, Superman."
"You know who he is?" Harry asked, surprised once again.
"Of course," Dumbledore said, simply. "I make it my business to know as much as possible about what goes on in the world, both inside and outside of Great Britain. I remember when Superman first appeared in the United States, perhaps a decade ago."
"About that long, give or take," Superman agreed. "But I've been gone for the past five years, searching for survivors of my home planet, Krypton."
"But," Harry persisted impatiently, "you still haven't explained how you found me, yet. Sir," he added, diffidently.
"Quite right," Dumbledore agreed. "Please excuse my forgetfulness." Harry grinned, knowing the headmaster probably never forgot anything. "A little over an hour ago I received an owl post — a mail message, in your parlance, Superman — from the Ministry of Magic, informing me that once again, Harry Potter had performed magic out of bounds and was being expelled from Hogwarts.
"I don't know why they keep doing that," he said, turning to give Harry a merry smile. "As I've reminded Cornelius Fudge — our Minister of Magic, or highest official in Britain's wizarding government — on numerous occasions, only the Headmaster of the school has the power to dismiss a student.
"Of course, it required me to travel to the Ministry once again, to straighten things out. I was quite sure Harry would have a very good reason for performing magic at Privet Drive. However, when I arrived at the Ministry, I discovered that you were no longer at Privet Drive, Harry."
Harry frowned. "How could you know that, sir?"
"Because of the Trace," Dumbledore replied.
Harry shook his head. "I don't know what that is," he admitted. "Should I, sir?"
"Not really," the headmaster explained. "It is a charm placed on every magical child shortly after their birth, even Muggleborns. It has a twofold purpose: first, it allows a wizarding child's parents, and anyone else who knows the child's full name and both his parents' names to cast a spell that gives their location, no matter how far away it is. Second, the Trace can detect when magical spells are cast in the vicinity of the child."
"Oh," Harry said, in a flat voice, as he realized the obvious application of such an enchantment. "So that's how the Ministry knew I cast a Patronus Charm last year in Little Whinging!"
"They knew that a Patronus Charm had been cast, and that you were the only underage wizard in the vicinity when it occurred, so they were reasonably sure you had cast it," Dumbledore elaborated.
"What you're saying, Professor," Superman pointed out, "is that this Trace does not indicate who cast the spell, but only that it was cast in the vicinity of someone who has this Trace spell cast on them. Is that correct?"
"Indeed, quite correct," Dumbledore said, nodding agreement with the Man of Steel's deduction.
"Wait a minute," Harry spoke up. He'd suddenly realized something. "Is that why I got that letter back before I started second year, when Dobby the house-elf had caused Aunt Petunia's pudding to splatter all over the kitchen floor, and me as well?"
Dumbledore gave him a commiserating look. "I'm afraid so, Harry."
"Well — that's not — fair!" Harry sputtered indignant. "I didn't do anything wrong, then!"
"True, true," Dumbledore agreed. "But then, many things in life are unfair, Harry. "Dobby went on to cause you much more trouble during that year, if you recall."
Harry nodded grimly. Between Dobby and Gilderoy Lockhart, and Ron's broken wand, as well as the Basilisk and Tom Riddle's diary, he'd had more than his share of problems his second year at Hogwarts. "Do you recall," Dumbledore went on, "how you repaid Dobby for all the things he did to you?"
Superman was listening interestedly as well. "Uh, I — guess I helped him free himself from the Malfoys," Harry shrugged. "Is that what you mean, Professor?"
"Yes, I do," Dumbledore beamed at him. "You repaid Dobby with kindness and compassion, rather than anger and ill-will. I point this out in order to remind you that all of your decisions in life are important, not merely the ones that turn out the way you hope for them to."
Harry pondered this for several seconds, then nodded. "I guess I see what you mean, sir."
"There's also how you helped me, Harry," Superman spoke up. "Even though you were confronted with what must have been a very strange and frightening set of circumstances: A ship swooping down from the sky, narrowly avoiding crashing into an inhabited area, but managing to stay aloft long enough to reach uninhabited land and crash, gouging out a trail hundreds of yard long and setting dozens of fires in the area. I probably would have died if not for your help, though I hadn't intended to get you mixed up in this."
"Yeah, and look what it got you," Harry replied, sardonically. "Both of us are mixed up with each other now, literally!"
Dumbledore glanced at each of them in turn. "What has happened? Did something occur when you found Superman and his ship, Harry?"
"Yeah, you could say that," Harry said, his voice going a bit shrill for a moment. "There was an accident, and we ended up with some of each other's powers — I've got some of Superman's super-powers in me, and he's got some of my magic."
Dumbledore looked intrigued. "That is indeed an amazing occurrence. Can you tell me exactly what happened when this transpired?"
"It's a long story," Superman said. "It might take a while."
"In that case," Dumbledore suggested, "may I draw a pair of chairs for the two of you as well?"
It had taken the better part of two days, but with access to unlimited funds Luthor was able to hire a moving crew that transferred all of his personal effects (as well as many items from the mansion's vast array of fine art, literature, and furnishings) from the Vanderworth estate to the Gertrude, his new yacht. Luthor had also kept Stanford busy preparing for the next leg of their journey toward world domination.
He'd had a stroke of luck in finding Stanford, a quiet, unassuming fellow of east Indian heritage, who might have been treated rather poorly in prison if not for Lex Luthor's… well, "mentoring" was probably the closest he could come to what he'd done. His other henchmen — Brutus, Riley, and Grant — were best suited for security and the usual grunt jobs, but Stanford, though he did not possess the same scientific and technical genius Luthor did, was nearly worth his weight in gold for what he did know.
While the others had been supervising the transfer of property from the mansion to the yacht, Luthor was having Stanford install some new electronics and computers in the ship's control room. Meanwhile, he and Kitty were unpacking a last few knickknacks for the grand ballroom of the ship, which Luthor had converted to his personal study, with his complete library as well as the full-sized pool table and grand piano from the Vanderworth home.
"I still don't get why we don't just stay at the mansion," Kitty was pouting. She had a martini glass full of grapes — one of her bad habits, Luthor had discovered, was that she tended to graze. It was probably going to ruin her figure someday. But by then, he figured, he will have dumped her for someone else, younger and hopefully smarter.
"As someone said," Luthor remembered, "if the mountain won't come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain."
"We're looking for a mountain?" Kitty asked, confused.
"No," Luthor smiled. "More like a fortress."
Kitty pondered for a moment, then shrugged and popped a grape into her mouth. "I don't get it," she said.
"A fact I am painfully aware of all too often, my dear," Luthor said, with mock sympathy, and Kitty gave him a scornful look. Ignoring it, he continued, "I've had Stanford working on hacking several defense satellite systems in orbit around Earth, with the goal of identifying a particular crystalline configuration which, if I have remembered the chemical composition correctly (and I'm sure I have), we will be able to locate Superman's missing Fortress of Solitude."
"Missing?" Kitty looked up from her grapes. "I thought you said it was up in the arctic, that you'd been there before."
"Right on both counts," Luthor applauded. "Very good, my dear!" Kitty only smirked. "However, the first thing I did after Gertrude kicked the bucket was to dispatch a survey team to its last known location, to report on what they found there. They reported back nothing was there. As I expected, before our big blue boy scout took a powder he moved it someplace else.
"Either that, or he destroyed it," Luthor added, half to himself. "But I'm working under the assumption that he will eventually return to Earth after he's finished with whatever he's off doing at the moment. With that assumption, he will have left his Fortress here as a base to return to, after removing it a new location so that certain undesirables —" here Luthor made a "yours truly" gesture "— would be unable to find it again. However, once again the Man of Steel underestimates his opponent."
"And just what is it you want from this 'Fortress'?" Kitty asked, both curious and suspicious. "What did you do — leave one of your wigs there, or something?"
"Very droll," Luthor retorted, dryly. "Since you're so easily amused by puzzles, Miss Kowalski, I will leave it to you to figure that out. I expect you'll have it worked out by the time we get there."
Leaving Kitty to sulk and eat grapes, Luthor ascended the spiral staircase leading up to the ship's main corridor, and from there up another staircase to the control room, where Stanford was hunched over a keyboard. "Come up with anything yet?" he asked the young Indian-American, glancing at the monitors showing satellite activity over various regions of the globe.
"Not yet," Stanford said, quietly. His fingers were flying over the keyboard as he alternated between three sets of satellites simultaneously, covering as much search area as possible.
"You're not checking the polar regions!" Luthor said suddenly, noticing where the satellites were pointed. "He's going to have put it somewhere people are unlikely to go — someplace like Antarctica, or even Siberia."
"Just being thorough," Stanford replied. "I haven't gotten access to a polar satellite yet — wait," he said, leaning over the keyboard eagerly. "I'm getting access to one now!"
As Luthor watched, an image began forming on one of the monitors of the south polar region. As the scan continued, a characteristic blue dot appeared in the Antarctic landmass. "Scan that," Luthor ordered.
"Scanning," Stanford acknowledged. Numbers began running across another monitor. After several moments, Stanford grinned. "Got it," he said smugly.
"That's it," Luthor said, elated. "Good work!" Stanford smiled proudly at Luthor's praise. He pulled out his cell phone, pressed one of the autodial buttons, and spoke as the connection was completed. "We've got our destination," he told Brutus, who had answered. "Be sure and put plenty of cold-weather gear on board, too — we're going to Antarctica!"
Professor Dumbledore was shaking his head in wonder as Harry and Superman finished telling him what had occurred the night the Man of Steel returned from his trip to Krypton. "A most curious situation," he murmured, thoughtfully, while he sipped at a cup of tea conjured as their story unfolded. "I might have surmised that such an exchange of powers could not take place without a — well, never mind," he shook his head, dismissing whatever idea was in his head. "Do you know how much of each of your powers were transferred to the other?" he asked, instead.
"Superman measured our strength levels with one of the — er, things, he has in here," Harry answered, pointing at the device he had used just a while ago. "But the numbers didn't add up."
"I suspect that our respective abilities are augmenting each other in some way," Superman explained once again, for Dumbledore's benefit.
"A fortunate circumstance," Dumbledore noted. "In some cases mixing special abilities can be a detriment."
"How do you mean, Professor?" Harry asked. "I mean, suppose Tonks was an Animagus as well as a Metamorphmagus — that would give her even more of an edge, being an Auror!" Harry noted that while Superman was listening to everything they were saying, he did not seemed to understand much of it.
"That would be an advantage," the headmaster admitted. "However, to name but one counterexample, consider a person with hyperlegilimensitis —"
"With what?" Harry exclaimed. "I never heard of that before!"
"It is a very rare malady, a condition where the witch or wizard is in a continual, non-invoked state of the Legilimens spell," Dumbledore replied.
"You mean, so they'd know everything someone was thinking?" Harry surmised. "That doesn't sound so bad." Harry himself had been living with something like that situation for years now, with his own private line into Voldemort's thoughts.
"On the contrary, it can be quite serious," Dumbledore corrected him. "A person with this affliction can sometimes pick up the thoughts of everyone nearby, not just someone he is in eye contact with, as is the case with normal Legilimency.
"Now, imagine such a person also afflicted with a condition such as lycanthropy," Dumbledore suggested.
"Lycanthropy?" Superman repeated. "You mean — werewolves?"
"Yes," the headmaster clarified. "Yes, Superman, such beings do exist. I'm sure that cannot be a great surprise to you, considering your own unlikely existence."
"You have a point," Superman admitted. "Unique beings, perhaps. But a whole society of magic-wielding humans —"
"No more surprising than an entire world of humans living on a crystalline-metal planet, circling a giant red star," Dumbledore pointed out. "Is that not how you've described your home planet, Krypton?"
Superman nodded again. "You seem to know quite a lot about me, sir."
"As I have said, I make it my business to know as much as possible, both within the Wizarding world, and outside it," Dumbledore replied.
"So," Superman folded his arms in front of himself, regarding the older man. "Do you have any suggestions for what Harry and I should do about our situation?"
"A very simple one," Dumbledore said, immediately. "Learn from one another." Harry and Superman looked at one another.
"You mean," Harry said, after a moment, "teach each other how to use our powers?"
"Quite correct, Harry."
But Harry looked doubtful. "I'm not sure how well that's going to work. I don't know what's involved in using Superman's powers yet, but I've been learning magic for five years now, and I know there's a lot I still haven't covered. It would take Superman years to get to where I am now!"
"Not to disparage your learning ability, Harry," Dumbledore said, gently, "but I think Superman has some abilities of his own, ones that will help him speed up the process. And if you have even a fraction of his powers, yours as well."
"What does he mean?" Harry asked, turning to Superman.
Superman was giving Dumbledore a bemused look. "I suppose the professor is referring to my speed — I can read the average book in seconds. And I retain anything I read or see."
"Huh," Harry said, nonplussed. "That would be a real handy trick to know!"
"You should be able to do it now," Superman told him. "You have about half my peak speed, assuming it's proportional to my strength, which is more than enough to read an entire book in seconds."
"But," Harry pointed out, "I still don't know how use these powers! In fact, I'm a bit scared to — what if I break something?"
"Yes, you do have to be careful," Superman agreed. "I suppose our best plan is me to teach you how to use and control your super-powers; then, afterwards, you can get me set up to study some books on magic at that school of yours." He looked at Dumbledore. "With your permission, of course, sir."
"Granted," Dumbledore said at once. "However, it could be most distracting to the students if you were to show up in your Superman persona. May I suggest that you come to the school in your civilian identity? I can introduce you to the staff as an American engaged in studying differences between the British and American methods of wizarding education."
"Well, that might be a problem," Superman replied hesitantly. "You see, I keep my civilian identity completely separate from my Superman identity — for the most part, I don't even suggest admit that I have a civilian identity. If I were to show up at the school in that identity, you and Harry would know it was me."
"Is that a problem?" Dumbledore asked, curiously. "We do not plan on telling anyone — do we, Harry?" the headmaster turned to Harry, looking at him expectantly.
Thinking about Ron and Hermione and what he'd planned to tell them the next time he saw them, Harry sighed and said, "No, sir — we don't."
"You've already told me there's a spell that allows wizards to read minds, Legilimens," the Man of Steel pointed out. "What if someone at the school reads one of your minds — or even mine, and discovers who I really am? I'm sorry," Superman shook his head. "I can't take that chance. I may have to come as Superman, and simply stay out of sight as much as possible."
But between Peeves and the numerous ghosts flitting around the castle — Nearly-Headless Nick would be particularly bothersome to keep quiet, Harry thought; Gryffindor's house ghost did so love a juicy item of gossip to pass around to the other ghosts — that Superman trying to hide out at Hogwarts wouldn't last very long. Unless —
"What about the Fidelius Charm?" Harry said, suddenly. "Could we use that to keep Superman's identity a secret?"
Dumbledore smiled. "I was just pondering that myself, Harry. It seems that great minds do think alike!" Harry smiled shyly; he didn't really consider his mind anywhere as sharp as Professor Dumbledore's.
"What is this Fidelius Charm?" Superman asked.
"It is a very complex spell," Dumbledore replied. "It is used to hide a piece of important information and make it communicable by only one person — called the Secret Keeper. Once this spell is cast, only the Secret Keeper would be able to communicate to anyone the information you wished hidden. Even those who already know the information will not be able to speak or otherwise communicate the information in any form whatsoever, excepting to those who already know the secret. This would also includes Legilimency, so your identity could not be taken from your mind unless you wished to communicate it. Your secret would be completely safe — no one save your Secret Keeper could tell anyone who you really are."
Superman looked skeptical, but Harry was nodding in agreement. "It's true, Superman," he said. "I know the Fidelius Charm works because I've seen it in action. I can't tell you what I learned — the Charm prevents that — but I can tell you it works perfectly. A person could be looking right at your secret, written out as plain as day, and they couldn't see it unless it was written by the Secret Keeper. In fact, no one except the Secret Keeper could even write it out in the first place, even if they knew it already!"
"That's a pretty amazing spell," Superman admitted. He looked lost in thought for some time, then nodded. "I think I can trust you, Harry — and you, Professor. How long will it take to cast the spell?"
"Not very long," Dumbledore said. "It is quite complex, but fortunately I have it memorized. Superman, if you will compose a statement describing the secret you would like kept, I will prepare the Charm."
"What should the statement say?" Superman asked, unsure of what the headmaster wanted from him.
"Oh, something on the order of, 'The secret identity of Superman is so-and-so'," Dumbledore replied. "You can also more fully qualify your identity than simply stating your name—for example, if your parents are still alive, you may add their names as well, and their relationship to you will also become secret."
"I see," Superman nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, that will be very helpful."
Dumbledore stood. "Before we begin, there is one small concession I must ask of you, Superman."
"What is that, sir?" the Man of Steel asked.
"The Secret Keeper of the Fidelius Charm cannot keep a secret about themselves," Dumbledore replied, then turned to Harry. "That is why your parents planned to make Sirius Black their Secret Keeper, Harry — because they could not be the keepers of the secret of where they lived. Even now that secret is in effect because its Secret Keeper, Peter Pettigrew, still lives."
Harry nodded grimly. He himself had saved Pettigrew's life when both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin planned to kill him for framing Sirius in Peter's supposed death, which had also killed a dozen Muggles on a public street in London back in 1981. "How should we handle this, sir? If Superman can't be his own Secret Keeper, how will he be able to control who knows who his secret identity really is?"
"It is a pretty problem," Dumbledore pondered for perhaps a minute before speaking again. "However, as usual, I believe I have a solution. The reflexivity prohibition on the Fidelius Charm applies primarily to the subject of the statement, not so much to the predicate. If Superman words the statement so his true identity is part of the predicate, and his alter-ego part of the subject, I believe the spell will be successful."
Dumbledore looked at Superman once again. "Do you consider Superman to be your true identity, or just an alter-ego you assume from time to time?"
"Superman is my alter-ego," the Man of Steel replied, firmly.
"Very good," Dumbledore said. "I will now cast the spell. When I touch your head with my wand, I want you to state your secret, making sure that you use the name 'Superman' in the predicate; for example, 'I, Albus Dumbledore, am the real identity of the person known as Superman.' Understood?"
Superman nodded, and Professor Dumbledore began reciting a series of incantations, speaking in a language Harry was unfamiliar with. The professor made many strange gestures in the air with his wand, some of them seeming to leave streamers of light glowing around them. Soon the tip of his wand was glowing red, creating arcane symbols in the space around himself, Harry, and the Man of Steel. After nearly fifteen minutes of this, he stopped chanting, reached up, and touched Superman's forehead with his wand.
Superman hesitated, then said, "I, Clark Kent, the adopted son of Martha and the late Jonathan Kent, of Smallville, Kansas, am the real identity of the person known as Superman." The red glow of Dumbledore's wand spread throughout Superman's body, then seemed to disappear. Both Superman and Dumbledore slumped — the Man of Steel, from a sudden chill that passed through his body, and Dumbledore from the exertion of casting the spell.
Sitting down in the chair he'd conjured, Dumbledore leaned forward, seemingly exhausted. Yet only a moment later he looked up at Harry and Superman, beaming. "That's quite an interesting secret!" he said to Superman, rising to his feet once again. "I wonder how many people have thought Clark Kent was Superman over the years?"
Superman looked at him, concern on his face. "Professor, I thought it was impossible for anyone but me to communicate the secret once the spell was in place!"
"It is," agreed the headmaster in a placid tone. "But Harry and I were present during the casting of the spell, so we are aware of your secret already. However, it will be impossible for either of us to tell anyone else your secret — only you can do that." Superman relaxed, his fears allayed.
Dumbledore reached into his pocket, removing a pocket watch, one with twelve hands, each a different length, and glanced at it momentarily before putting it away again. "Well, I think it is time for me to be going," he said cheerfully. "I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts later in the summer. Harry, will you owl me when you and Superman plan to arrive? I trust you will begin your training in the use of Superman's abilities."
"Call me Clark, Professor," the Man of Steel said, warmly. "And thank you for your help with my identity. If I understand correctly, now no one on Earth can learn my true identity unless I tell them. Is that right?"
"Correct," Dumbledore said. "You may also give them a note with the secret written on it, or communicate it in some other fashion, but you are the only one who can do so. Well, I should be going — oh, Harry…"
"Yes sir?" Harry asked, almost surprised to be addressed once again.
"I almost forgot to mention, but you should really pop past your aunt and uncle's house sometime within the next two weeks, and stay there overnight at least once, in order to renew the blood protection spells for yourself. Do you remember when you left Privet Drive last year?"
"Uh —" Harry thought for a moment. "Oh. It was when the Order of the Phoenix came to collect me, at the end of the first week of August, I think."
"Good," Dumbledore said. "We still have a few weeks before the enchantment breaks, then. If you can, try to be there before the second Friday in July."
"Why?" Harry asked. "What happens then?"
"If things work out in my favor," Dumbledore replied, somewhat cryptically, "I will be able to use your help Friday evening with a small matter I plan on attending to around that time." Harry looked at Superman.
"That gives us around two weeks," Superman said, thinking over everything he'd need to show Harry so he could function properly as a super-powered being. "A little cramped for time, but I think we can teach Harry everything he needs to know by then."
"Excellent!" Dumbledore cried delightedly. "Very well, then. Superman — Clark — a great pleasure to finally meet you, sir! Harry, I hope to see you at Privet Drive in two weeks. I will send an owl when I plan to arrive." Dumbledore inclined his head briefly, then turned on his heel and vanished.
Clark stared for a moment at the spot where the headmaster had been, then clapped his hands together briskly, turning to Harry. "Well, Harry, if we're going to teach you how to use those new powers of yours in two weeks, we'd better get started right away!"
The next week and a half was like a blur to Harry, albeit one he seemed to experience in slow motion, as Clark began showing him the different powers he now possessed. He now had unimaginable strength and speed; the solid rock of nearby mountains was like putty in his hand — he could sink his fist elbow-deep into the side of a mountain with almost no effort. When he cast a spell, such as a Stunner, his speed now reduced the bolt to a slow crawl, almost stopping it in mid-air if he moved as fast as he seemed able to.
His eyes, he found, could now see perfectly well without his glasses, and Clark trained him in the use of his x-ray and heat vision, showing him how to focus his perception so that he "saw" objects through solid material. The only obstacle his vision couldn't penetrate was lead, though he also found that a very thin layer of lead did allow for some penetration. Heat vision was scarier, since his eyes actually generated beams of heat radiation, and Harry learned he could focus it with nearly microscopic precision or a wide beam of heat, and vary the intensity from soothing warmth to white-hot heat. His eyes were now capable of seeing great distances as well — he could easily discern individual rocks on the surface of the moon; his vision also worked in the opposite manner, allowing him to focus on exceedingly small objects as well. He was able to see microorganisms on his own skin, for example, though none of them seemed to last very long once there.
That, Clark explained, was a consequence of his invulnerability, another new power, but one he seemed to have little control over, compared to the others. The cells of his body, Clark explained, now generated an aura of energy that protected them, and at his normal power levels this aura extended a few millimeters beyond the surface of his skin, protecting both him and any skin-tight clothing he was wearing from harm. For a while Harry had great sport in breaking rocks, sharp metal objects, and even firing weapons at Clark's skin, to examine how protected they both were. Harry's own skin seemed just as invulnerable as Clark's — he did not even feel the impact of bullets against his chest, though he would have to repair his shirt afterwards — not being skin-tight, it did not always fare as well against bullets or knives as he did.
There was also the issue of control. Harry had realized it instinctively when he'd reached for his wand just after he'd crushed a rock to powder, but he found that with his enhanced kinesthetic sense he was able to very precisely control how much force he exerted; otherwise, everything he touched tended to crumble like ash in his grip.
Ironically, the power he had the most difficulty with was the one he would have thought would be the easiest for him to master — flight. It might have been psychological — after all, wizards weren't supposed to be able to fly without some type of aid, like a broom or flying carpet. The idea that he could just take off into the sky, with nothing beneath him but air, was so incredible to Harry, even after watching Clark show him again and again, effortlessly, that it took him several days of practice before he felt confident doing it.
After he'd gotten the hang of it, however, it was glorious: Harry was able to fly up into the air, hover, spin in place, and dive for the ground at what seemed like hundreds of miles an hour, pulling up at just the last second and landing so that, to normal senses, it would be as if he'd suddenly appeared from nowhere. Clark seemed to tolerate his exuberance — he generally preferred slower, more visible landings. By Tuesday, eleven days after he'd first glimpsed Clark's ship outside his window, he and Clark both felt Harry had enough control over his powers to return home.
Although Harry had explained to Clark his home situation with the Dursleys, how they treated him, and his desire to live somewhere (anywhere!) else, Harry was secretly relishing the idea of laughing in their faces when they tried to order him about now, and the look of shock and pain on Dudley's face when he tried to slap or punch him. That alone would be worth going back for!
But if Clark had any inkling of how Harry felt, or his plans for Dudley and his parents as they both prepared to return home — Harry to Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Clark to his mother's home in Smallville — he said only, "Harry, when you're at your aunt and uncle's house, try not to call too much attention to your new powers."
Sounding slightly disappointed, Harry asked, "Why not?"
"Well, from what you've said, you're not allowed to use magic outside your school until you turn seventeen, is that correct?"
"Yeah, but —"
"But those restrictions don't apply to these new abilities, do they?" Harry shrugged slightly, then shook his head.
Clark nodded understanding. "I had to deal with my share of bullies when I was young as well; when I was little, before my powers really began to develop, I got beat up a couple of times."
Thinking about the times Dudley and his gang had tormented him, Harry asked, "What did you do about it?"
"I talked to my dad about it," Clark answered. "He'd told me never to use my powers in front of anyone, no matter what. I could have broken someone's hand if I let them punch me without 'giving' with the punch — you remember we practiced that some — and I might have taken off someone's head if I'd punched them back, in anger."
"I can't imagine you having to be some bully's punching bag," Harry said, disbelievingly. "Didn't you want to hit them back?!"
"Oh, sure," Clark nodded, earnestly. "I can't tell you how many baseballs I threw into the next county — or the next state — when I was trying to work off my frustrations. If my dad saw I was getting too worked up over some kid picking on me — like Brad Dolan, from my high school days — he'd send me out to cut wood for fence posts. Sometimes he'd even insist I use an axe." Harry grinned at that.
"But my point is," Clark went on, "you don't have to let your cousin run over you, but you don't need to beat him up, either, just to prove yourself. Do you?"
"I guess not," Harry said, a touch of reluctance in his voice. "I just know I'm gonna get yelled at when I get home, though."
"Well, you have been gone almost two weeks," Clark pointed out. "I imagine your aunt and uncle are worried about you."
"You don't know the Dursleys," Harry disagreed. "They're probably worried I will turn up again! I almost expect to get there and find all my stuff back in the cupboard under the stairs!" At Clark's quizzical look he added, "That's where they made me sleep for the first ten years I lived with them — they only moved me to a bedroom after I got the first letter inviting me to Hogwarts. Then they thought someone was watching them, and they didn't want to get in trouble with the authorities."
Superman said nothing. Privately, he was appalled at the treatment Harry had suffered at the hands of his relatives — while he, an orphan from a dead world, had found a home here with a loving couple who took him in, despite the strange circumstances of his arrival here on Earth, welcoming him as their own. It was Jonathan and Martha Kent and their love and compassion for him, their willingness to protect him and to deal with the unique problems he'd sometimes presented them with, that helped make him the man he was today — a man who stood for truth, justice, and equality for all.
"You won't be there very long," Clark pointed out. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned he'd be coming for you this Friday, didn't he? He said he needed your help with something, didn't he?"
Harry nodded, remembering that and smiling wryly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. I dunno what he needs me for, though."
"Maybe it's just a way to get you out of your aunt and uncle's house without you having to stay there too long," Clark suggested.
"Could be," Harry agreed. "Well, we'd better get going." He reached out a hand and Clark took it, shaking Harry's hand warmly. "If Dumbledore takes me to the Burrow — my friend Ron's house — like I hope, I'll get away the first chance I can and visit you in Smallville."
"Right," Clark said. "If I'm not there, try here. If you don't find me here, you remember how I showed you to use the main control console to check for messages?"
Harry tapped the side of his head. "Of course I remember — super memory!"
"Right!" Clark laughed. "Oh — and don't forget, when flying, try to stay below sonic speed while you're in the atmosphere, until we can practice high-speed flight techniques to avoid a huge backwash effect and sonic booms."
"Got it," Harry said, tired of being reminded for the fifteenth time. He'd only busted up a few mountain peaks, for Merlin's sake! "Okay, see you, Clark!"
"Bye, Harry." They both lifted slowly off the ground, rising into the frigid air above the Fortress through a small access hole and ascending into the twilight (it was still in the six months of night here in Antarctica). A few thousand feet in the air, Clark waved then turned and shot off to the north. Within a few seconds he was out of sight.
Harry smiled. It had been like a crazy but wonderful dream, these last ten days. But now he was ready to go back into the real world, to put all the things that he'd learned into practice. Hopefully, he thought, he'd be able to control himself like Clark had said, and avoid wringing Dudley's or his uncle's fat necks. Taking a deep breath for air and willing himself into motion, Harry shot upward, out of the atmosphere, and pointed himself toward England, and home.
Author's Note: I didn't mention it last chapter, but Harry Potter and Clark Kent/Superman are my two favorite characters -- I'm looking forward to writing this fic and seeing them interact with one another and the other characters from both mythos. Harry and Clark from Smallville would be another great crossover, but I wanted him to meet the Man of Steel before getting involved with the "Blur." I did use the idea that kryptonite and a massive electrical surge might transfer some of Clark's powers to someone else; the fun part was that it worked both ways with Harry's magical ability. I wonder how wild things can get with a slightly depowered Superman with magical abilities, much less a super-powered Harry, even if he's only half as strong as Superman normally is -- after all, the old saying goes, what's half of infinity...?